Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Scottish ballads

240
She wrung her hands, and tore her hair,
She wrung her hands most bitterlie ;
" This is my fause brothers, I fear,
This night hae used this crueltie.
But I will do for my love's sake,
Wad be done by ladies rare ;
For seven years shall hae an end,
E'er a kame gang in my hair.
I will do for my love's sake,
What other ladies wad think lack ;
For seven years shall hae an end,
Or e'er I wear but dowie black."
Then in and came her father dear.
Said, " Let your mourning be ;
I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay.
And come back and comfort thee."
" Comfort weel your seven sons, sir ;
For comforted will I never be :
1 ween 'twas neither knave nor loon.
Was in the bower last night wi' me."
His corpse was laid in the cauld clay ;
The bells gaed tinkling through the toun.
" Alas, alas !" said May Margaret,
That e'er I heard that waefu' sound I"
When seven years were come and gane.
Lady Margaret she thocht lang ;
And she is up to the highest tower,"
By the lee licht o' the moon.
She was lookin ower her castle high,
To see what her might fa' ;