We spoke no word, we made no sign
But blindly rade we on,
For an angry voice was in our ears
That bade us to begone,
We were brothers all baptised in blood,
Yet sought to be alone!
Away, away! with headlong speed
We rade through wind and rain,
And never more upon the earth
Did we all meet again.
There's some have died upon the field,
And some upon the tree,
And some are bent and broken men
Within a far countrie,
But the heaviest curse hath lighted down
On him that tempted me!
O hame, hame, hame!—that holy place—
There is nae hame for me!
There's not a child that sees my face
But runs to its mither's knee.
There's not a man of woman born
That dares to call me kin—
O grave! wert thou but deep enough
To hide me and my sin!
I wander east, I wander west,
I neither can stop nor stay,
But I dread the night when all men rest
Far more than the glint of day.
O weary night, wi' all its stars
Sae clear, and pure, and hie!
Like the eyes of angels up in heaven
That will not weep for me!
O weary night, when the silence lies
Around me, broad and deep,
And dreams of earth, and dreams of heaven,
That vex me in my sleep.
For aye I see the murdered man,
As on the muir he lay,
With his pale white face, and reverend head,
And his locks sae thin and gray;
And my hand grows red with the holy blude
I shed that bitter day!
O were I but a water drop