Anonymous

AS I was walking all alane,

I heard twa corbies making a mane;

The tane unto the t’other say,

‘Where sall we gang and dine the day?’

‘In behint yon auld fail dyke,

I wot there lies a new-slain knight;

And naebody kens that he lies there

But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

‘His hound is to the hunting gane,

His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

His lady’s ta’en another mate,

So we may make our dinner sweet.

‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,

And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;

Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair

We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.

‘Mony a one for him makes mane,

But nane sall ken whae he is gane,

O’er his white banes, when they are bare,

The wind sall blaw for evermair.’