Death bound me fast on the bourn of birth,
On the hems of earth and the skirts of air
"O well is thee, though the weird be strange
"When the years are gone, and the time is
And thy soul may sing, though thy soul were
"Nor death, nor heaven, nor hell, nor birth
Strong lords are these of the living earth
Whose breath is made of sport and strife,
"And wouldst thou change thy doom with me,
For the life that lightens and lifts the sea
I would not rise from the slain world's tomb
That word went up through the mirk mid sky,
And the Lord was ware of the keen twin cry,
He's given the ghaist of the babe new-born
He's given the sprite of the wild wan sea
When a year was gone and a year was come,.
"For the lee-lang year thou hast held us dumb
"Is the face of thy grace as the night's face
The hands that smite are the hands that spare
The prayer once heard is as God's own word;
The twofold flames of the twin lights play
Where the sea-banks green and the sea-floods
And the sand quakes ever; and ill fare they
|The wind wears roun', the day wears doun,
There's nae man rides by the mirk muirsides,
For a fause faint lord of the south seaboard
"The winds are strang, and the nights are lang,
But though ye slay me that haud and stay me,
When cocks were crawing and day was dawing,
O blithe and braw were the bride-folk a',
And sad as doom was her fause bridegroom,
But ye camena nigh me till day came by me
And the cry was sair, and the wrath was mair,
For broad and brown the spate swang down,
Nae scathe ye'll win o' your father's kin,
Than I wad stand on the fair green strand,
Than I wad stand at a strange man's hand,
And the faem to hide me, and thou beside me,
He's kissed her twice, he's kissed her thrice,
But the stream was starker, the spate was
And nae man knows but the wave that flows
And shame to cledding, and woe to wedding,
"And what shall they have to their marriage
"Meat of strong crying, salt of sad sighing,.
"And what shall they have to their wedding
"Wine of weeping, and draughts of sleeping,
She's plighted her soul for doom and dole
She looked fu' lang in their een, sighing,
She has slain her young son at her breast,
Says, "Eat your fill of your flesh, my lord,
Says, "Drink your fill of your wine, my lord,
I would they were quick in my body again,