“But you shall see the Ettrick stream Run thro’ the dells o’ Yarrow, Before ye hear o’ an offer to me, Or a man to be my marrow.
“My face is foul, my heart is large, A kinder none there is; And must I pass away my days, In sullen loneliness?”
The mother told her of young Scott, And waited her reply; “O Mother, I’d rather marry him Than ever he should die!”
But the tears rose welling from their spring, And filled her cushat eyes; “But, Mother, how if when we’re wed, He should my heart despise?”
“Oh, marriage,” quo’ the wily dame, “Is not that hard to snoove, If ye should marry Willie Scott, Ye’ll be like hand and glove.”
Sir Gideon entered young Scott’s dungeon; “Thy death is at my hand, Ye came as a thief in the dead o’ night, And stole my cows from my land.
“But I’ll give ye a chance for life, For all ye have said of me, Either to marry my daughter Meg, Or hang upon yonder tree.
“And the boldest Scott on the Border March, Shall never take ye down, Until your skeleton is seen And ye drop away bone by bone.”
“And ye would spare my life,” he said, “For all ye come so gleg, If I would stoop and give my hand To your bonny daughter Meg?
“Ye are the Murray of Elibank, I Scott of Oakwood Tower, I would not marry your daughter Meg, Tho’ a kingdom were her dower;
“But little I fear to meet my death, As I do to tell you this; An ye had fallen in my hands, Such were your fate, I wiss.
“Ye think that your winsome daughter Meg,” Oh! he spoke so scornfully,-- “Will get a husband at the last, But, faith, my lad, ye lie,
“I rather choose upon the gallows To render up my breath; I trow there will be Scots enough Left to revenge my death.”
“There is my thumb, thou young braggart,” Sir Gideon chafing cried, “I wouldn’t hinder ye your choice For death shall be your bride.
“And let the Scots o’ a’ the Border Revenge your death that dare.” He left young Scott unto himself, And quit his dungeon stair.
It was about the midnight time, When his dungeon door ga’ed back; And the sentinel who guarded it Let in a woman in black.
“What want ye wi’ me, fair Maiden?” The Scott o’ Harden said. “I come to ask if thy dying wish Can be by me obeyed?
“I am a lassie o’ the house, And wait on Sir Gideon’s dame; And tho’ ye have refused poor Meg, Her prayers will be the same.”