POSTHUMOUS POEMS
They turned their horse-heads round about,
Rode back a day and twain:
And a' the rivers they rode upon
The devil rode at their rein.
Rode back a day and twain:
And a' the rivers they rode upon
The devil rode at their rein.
The third castle they came to,
It was the castle of Hermitage;
There is nae man may break the sides of it,
Though the stanes therein are great of age,
It was the castle of Hermitage;
There is nae man may break the sides of it,
Though the stanes therein are great of age,
"O whatten a may is yonder may,
That looks like ony flower?"
"O yon is my very love, Marjorie,
Was borne out of my bower."
That looks like ony flower?"
"O yon is my very love, Marjorie,
Was borne out of my bower."
The bower Lady Marjorie was in,
It had neither white cloths nor red,
There were nae rushes to the bower floors,
And nae pillows to the bed.
It had neither white cloths nor red,
There were nae rushes to the bower floors,
And nae pillows to the bed.
"O will ye come down but a very little,
For God's sake or for me?
Or will ye kiss me a very little,
But six poor kisses and three?"
For God's sake or for me?
Or will ye kiss me a very little,
But six poor kisses and three?"
She's leaned hersell to that window,
For sorrow she couldna stand;
She's bound her body by that window,
With iron at her hand.
For sorrow she couldna stand;
She's bound her body by that window,
With iron at her hand.
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