"Count them less, or count them more,
Nine times you shall number o'er;—
"And when each number you shall speak,
Cast seed by seed into the lake."
Karin she ate of the fruit sae fine;
'Twas mellow as sand, and sweet as brine.
Seed by seed she let them fall;
The waters rippled over all.
But ilka seed as Karin threw,
Uprose a bubble to her view,—
Uprose a sigh from out the lake,
As though a baby's heart did break.
* * * * *
Twice nine years are come and gone;
Karin the fair she walks her lone.
She sees around, on ilka side,
Maiden and mither, wife and bride.
Wan and pale her bonny brow,
Sunken and sad her eyelids now.