5
He looked up, he looked down,
In hope some comfort for to win;
But brie and lothly were the walls,
"Here’s sorry cheer," quo' the Heir of Linne.
The little window, dim and dark,
Was hung with ivy, breir, and yew;
Nae simmer sun here ever shone,
Nae halesome breeze here ever blew.
Nae chair, nae table could he spy,
Nae cheerful hearth, nae welcome bed,
Nought save a rope wi’ renning noose,
That dangling hang up o’er his head.
And over it, in broad letters,
These words were wrote so plain to see:–
Ah! graceless wretch, hast spent thine all,
And brought thyself to penurie?
All this my boding mind misgave,
I therefore left this trusty friend:
Let it now shield thy foul disgrace,
And all thy shame and sorrows end.
Exceeding vext wi’ this rebuke,
Exceeding vext was th’ Heir of Linne;
His heart, I wot, was near to burst,
With guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.
Never a word spake th’ Heir of Linne,
Never a word but these spake be:
"This is a trusty friend indeed,
"And is right welcome unto me."
Then round his neck the cord he drew,
And sprung aloft with his bodie;
When, lo! the ceiling burst in twain,
And to the ground came tumbling lie.
Astonished lay the Heir of Linne,
Nor knew if he were live or dead;
