Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
The Drowned LoversAnonymous
W
And clapping at his steed;
And looking o’er his white fingers,
His nose began to bleed.
And meat to my young man:
And I’ll awa’ to Meggie’s bower,
I’ll win ere she lie down.”
O bide this night wi’ me;
The best an’ cock o’ a’ the reest,
At your supper shall be.”
I value not a prin;
For I’ll awa’ to Meggie’s bower,
I’ll win ere she lie down.”
O stay this night wi’ me;
The best an’ sheep in a’ the flock
At your supper shall be.”
I value not a prin;
For I’ll awa’ to Meggie’s bower,
I’ll win ere she lie down.”
Sae sair against my will,
The deepest pot in Clyde’s water,
My malison ye’s feel.”
Cost me thrice thretty pound;
And I’ll put trust in his swift feet,
To hae me safe to land.”
And down yon dowie den,
The noise that was in Clyde’s water
Wou’d fear’d five hunder men.
Your waves seem ower strang;
Make me your wreck as I come back,
But spare me as I gang.”
And tirlèd at the pin;
“O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie,” he said,
“Ye’ll open, lat me come in.”
That calls me by my name?”
“It is your first love, sweet Willie,
This night newly come hame.”
As few hae I therein;
The best an’ love that ever I had,
Was here just late yestreen.”
For my puir steed to stand;
The warstan bower in a’ your bowers,
For me to lie therein:
My boots are fu’ o’ Clyde’s water,
I’m shivering at the chin.”
My stables are fu’ o’ hay;
My bowers are fu’ o’ gentlemen;—
They’ll nae remove till day.”
O farewell, and adieu;
I’ve gotten my mither’s malison,
This night coming to you.”
And down yon dowie den;
The rushing that was in Clyde’s water
Took Willie’s cane fra him.
To catch his cane again;
The rushing that was in Clyde’s water
Took Willie’s hat frae him.
To catch his hat thro’ force;
The rushing that was in Clyde’s water
Took Willie frae his horse.
Says, “Fye, man, will ye drown?
Ye’ll turn ye to your high horse head,
And learn how to sowm.”
And learn how to sowm?
I’ve gotten my mither’s malison,
It’s here that I maun drown!”
Into the pot sae deep,
Up it waken’d his love, Meggie,
Out o’ her drowsy sleep.
And read this dreary dream;
I dream’d my love was at our gates,
And nane wad let him in.”
Lye still and tak your rest;
Sin’ your true love was at your gates,
It’s but twa quarters past.”
And nimbly pat she on;
And the higher that the lady cried,
The louder blew the win’.
She stepped to the queet;
“Ohon, alas!” said that lady,
“This water’s wondrous deep.”
She wadit to the knee;
Says she, “I cou’d wade farther in,
It I my love cou’d see.”
She wadit to the chin;
The deepest pot in Clyde’s water,
She got sweet Willie in.
And I have had anither;
But we shall sleep in Clyde’s water,
Like sister an’ like brither.”