O first he sang a merry sang, And syne he sang a grave; And syne he pecked his feathers gray, To her the letter gave.
“Have there a letter from lord William; He says he’s sent ye three; He canna wait your love langer, But for your sake he’ll dee.”--
“Gae bid him bake his bridal bread, And brew his bridal ale; And I shall meet him at Mary’s kirk, Lang, lang ere it be stale.”
The lady’s gane to her chamber, And a moanfu’ woman was she; As gin she had ta’en a sudden brash, And were about to dee.
“A boon, a boon, my father dear, A boon I beg of thee!”-- “Ask not that paughty Scottish lord, For him you ne’er shall see.
“But, for your honest asking else, Weel granted it shall be.”-- “Then, gin I die in Southern land, In Scotland gar bury me.
“And the first kirk that ye come to, Ye’s gar the mass be sung; And the next kirk that ye come to, Ye’s gar the bells be rung.
“And when ye come to St. Mary’s kirk, Ye’s tarry there till night.” And so her father pledg’d his word, And so his promise plight.
She has ta’en her to her bigly bour As fast as she could fare; And she has drank a sleepy draught, That she had mix’d wi’ care.
And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek, That was sae bright of blee, And she seem’d to be as surely dead As any one could be.
Then spak her cruel step-minnie, “Tak ye the burning lead, And drap a drap on her bosome, To try if she be dead.”
They took a drap o’ boiling lead, They drapp’d it on her breast; “Alas! alas!” her father cried, “She’s dead without the priest.”
She neither chatter’d with her teeth, Nor shiver’d with her chin; “Alas! alas!” her father cried, “There is nae breath within.”
Then up arose her seven brethren. And hew’d to her a bier; They hew’d it frae the solid aik, Laid it o’er wi’ silver clear.
Then up and gat her seven sisters, And sewed to her a kell; And every steek that they put in Sewed to a siller bell.
The first Scots kirk that they cam to, They garr’d the bells be rung; The next Scots kirk that they cam to, They garr’d the mass be sung.
But when they cam to St. Mary’s kirk, There stude spearmen all on a raw; And up and started lord William, The chieftane amang them a’.
“Set down, set down the bier,” he said, “Let me look her upon:” But as soon as lord William touch’d her hand, Her colour began to come.