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 to-day?’

‘In behint yon auld fail dyke,

I wot there lies a new-slain knight;

And nae body kens that he lies there,

But his hawk, his hound, and 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 whare he is gane;

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

The wind sall blaw for evermair.’