O they hae fought the wood within,
Till the sun was going down;
And drops o' blood, frae Rose the Red,
Came pouring to the ground.
She leant her back against an aik,
Said—"Robin, let me be:
"For it is a ladye, bred and born,
"That has fought this day wi' thee."
O seven foot he started back.
Cried—"Alas and woe is me!