POSTHUMOUS POEMS
And he has drawn to him a weed
A weed of yellow and black;
But there was nae hood behind his hair
To hang down at his back.
A weed of yellow and black;
But there was nae hood behind his hair
To hang down at his back.
The first gate that he came to
It was little for his delight;
The knappies that were that gate upon
They were hewn of siller white.
It was little for his delight;
The knappies that were that gate upon
They were hewn of siller white.
The last gate that he came by
It was little for his ease;
Before he had well won ower it,
The blood ran frae his knees.
It was little for his ease;
Before he had well won ower it,
The blood ran frae his knees.
The neist gate that he came by
His comfort was waxen cold;
Every bolt that gate within
It was carven of red gold.
His comfort was waxen cold;
Every bolt that gate within
It was carven of red gold.
And he's gane up to the high chamber,
He's found that lady there,
The red sendal on her body,
And the red gold in her hair.
He's found that lady there,
The red sendal on her body,
And the red gold in her hair.
And as he stood low and very low
Amang thae goodly men;
He stood amang them hoodless,
There was nae man did him ken.
Amang thae goodly men;
He stood amang them hoodless,
There was nae man did him ken.
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