“My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,
      It has the smell, now, of the ground;
    And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
      To the grave thou will be bound.

    “O, cocks are crawing a merry midnight,
      I wot the wild-fowls are boding day;
    Gie me my faith and troth again,
      And let me fare me on my way.”

    “Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,
      And our true love shall never twin,
    Until ye tell what comes of women,
      I wot, who die in strong travailing.”

    “Their beds are made in the heavens high,
      Down at the foot of our good Lord’s knee,
    Weel set about wi’ gillyflowers;
      I wot sweet company for to see.

    “O, cocks are crawing a merry midnight,
      I wot the wild-fowl are boding day;
    The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
      And I, ere now, will be missed away.”

    Then she has ta’en a crystal wand,
      And she has stroken her troth thereon,
    She has given it him out at the shot-window,
      Wi’ mony a sigh and heavy groan.

    “I thank ye, Margaret; I thank ye, Margaret;
      And aye I thank ye heartilie;
    Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
      Be sure, Margaret, I’ll come for thee.”

    It’s hosen, and shoon, and gown, alane,
      She clam the wa’ and after him;
    Until she cam to the green forest,
      And there she lost the sight o’ him.

    “Is there ony room at your head, Saunders,
      Is there ony room at your feet? 
    Or ony room at your side, Saunders,
      Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?”

    “There’s nae room at my head, Margaret,
      There’s nae room at my feet;
    My bed it is full lowly now: 
      ’Mang the hungry worms I sleep.

    “Cauld mould is my covering now,
      But and my winding-sheet;
    The dew it falls nae sooner down,
      Than my resting-place is weet.

    “But plait a wand o’ the bonnie birk
      And lay it on my breast;
    And shed a tear upon my grave,
      And wish my saul gude rest.

    “And fair Margaret, and rare Margaret,
      And Margaret o’ veritie,
    Gin e’er ye love anither man,
      Ne’er love him as ye did me.”

    Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
      And up and crew the gray;
    Her lover vanished in the air,
      And she gaed weeping away.

XXV

DOROTHY DURANT

By Mrs CROWE