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'I mauna think yer speech is sooth,'
Saft answered the Lilye—
'I winna dout mine ain gude Knicht
Tho' he's ayont the sea!'
Then scornfully the Rose sae red
Spake to the puir Lilye—
'The vows he feigned at thy bouir door,
He plicht in mine to me!'
'I'll hame and spread the sheets, Sister,
And deck my bed sae hie—
The bed sae wide made for a bride,
For I think I sune sal die!
'Your wierd I sal na be, Sister,
As mine I fear ye've bin—
Your luve I wil na cross, Sister,
It were a mortal sin!'
Earlsburn Glen is green to see,
Earlsburn water cleir—
Of the siller birk in Earlsburn Wood
They framit the Maiden's bier!
