Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, fifth edition, 1812, II,
427; taken down from the recitation of Walter Grieve by
William Laidlaw.
| 1 |
'O where have you been, my long, long love,
This long seven years and mair?'
'O I'm come to seek my former vows
Ye granted me before.' |
| 2 |
'O hold your tongue of your former vows,
For they will breed sad strife;
O hold your tongue of your former vows,
For I am become a wife.' |
| 3 |
He turned him right and round about,
And the tear blinded his ee:
'I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,
If it had not been for thee. |
| 4 |
'I might hae had a king's daughter,
Far, far beyond the sea;
I might have had a king's daughter,
Had it not been for love o thee.' |
| 5 |
'If ye might have had a king's daughter,
Yer sel ye had to blame;
Ye might have taken the king's daughter,
For ye kend that I was nane. |
| 6 |
'If I was to leave my husband dear,
And my two babes also,
O what have you to take me to,
If with you I should go?' |
| 7 |
'I hae seven ships upon the sea —
The eighth brought me to land —
With four-and-twenty bold mariners,
And music on every hand.' |
| 8 |
She has taken up her two little babes,
Kissd them baith cheek and chin:
'O fair ye weel, my ain two babes,
For I'll never see you again.' |
| 9 |
She set her foot upon the ship,
No mariners could she behold;
But the sails were o the taffetie,
And the masts o the beaten gold. |
| 10 |
She had not sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,
And drumlie grew his ee. |
| 11 |
They had not saild a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
Until she espied his cloven foot,
And she wept right bitterlie. |
| 12 |
'O hold your tongue of your weeping,' says he,
'Of your weeping now let me be;
I will shew you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy.' |
| 13 |
'O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?'
'O you are the hills of heaven,' he said,
'Where you will never win.' |
| 14 |
'O whaten a mountain is yon,' she said,
'All so dreary wi frost and snow?'
'O yon is the mountain of hell,' he cried,
'Where you and I will go.' |
| 15 |
He strack the tap-mast wi his hand,
The fore-mast wi his knee,
And he brake that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her in the sea. |
