Page:Posthumous poems (IA posthumousswinb00swin).pdf/83

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EARL ROBERT
 
Up then gat her auld father,
Between the wall and her bed feet;
"Is there ony breath in your lips, Earl Robert,
To gar a dead mouth smell sweet?"

He's tane her by the gold girdle,
He's garr'd it break atwain;
There's nae room here for Earl Robert,
The ways are sae fou' o' rain.

He's tane a keen sword in his hand,
He's set him to the wa';
And the very heart's blood of Earl Robert,
I wot he's garr'd it fa'.

Out then spak she, fair Annie,
At the bed's foot where she lay;
"There's a time for you the night, father,
And a time for us the day.

"O gin ye dig na deep, father,
I wot ye maun dig wide;
And set my lord to the nether hand,
And my bairn to the green side.

"Ye'll set my head to his foot, father,
That he be neist the sun;
For a' that was between us twa,
I think it's a' weel done."

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