But none of these years work change on her:
As she seeks the lone greenwood,
She sees a man lying bleeding there,
While his horse beside him stood.
He called for help, where help there was none,
Tho' Mary was standing near,
Who spoke in a solemn eldritch tone,
Words strange to the human ear:
"The hairy adder I dinna like,
When I the fell creature meet,
Neither like I the moon-baying tyke.
Nor the Meg-o'-moniefeet.
I canna thole the yellow-wamed ask,
Sae fearful a thing to see;
But mair than a', and ower them a',
I hate fause Robin-a-Ree."
V.
Time puts in the sack that behind him hangs
Of things both old and new,
And every hour brings stranger things
Than those we have bidden adieu.
The last one of those children three,
Young Hector, Kildearn's pride,
Has gone, in his childish mirth and glee,
To play by the Solway tide.
That tide by which his father swore
As true to the silvery queen—
That tide is breaking with sullen roar,
And Hector no more is seen.
They may search, they may drag—the search is vain,
No Hector they'll ever find;
A lugger is yonder, away to the main,
Borne on an eastern wind.
And there is a woman who stands in the bay,
And she holds out both her hands,
As if she would wave that lugger away
To some of the distant lands.
And if you will trace her to her hold,
Where a purse of gold was laid,
You will find the drawer, but not the gold,
For the purse and gold are fled.
VI.
Time flies, but sin breeds in-and-in,
And a father's grief is stern;
Robin is dead, and a distant kin
Now calls himself Kildearn.
The moon's pale light falls on yonder tomb,
By which sits a woman grey,
And sings in the blast a revengeful doom,
In a woman's weird way.
"Chirk! whutthroats in yon auld taff dyke,
Hoot! grey owl in yon shaw,
Howl out! ye auld moon-baying tyke,
Ye winds mair keenly blaw,
Till ye rouse to the rage o' a wintry storm
The waves of the Solway sea,
And wauken the brawnit connach worm
On the grave o' Robin-a-Ree."