Part 17 (2/2)
”Oh! whare,” he cried, ”is the siller band I gied ye late yestreen?
The knops was a' o' the diamond-stane, Set in the siller sheen.”
”Ye hae camped birling at the wine, A' nicht till the day did daw; Or ye wad ken your siller band About my middle sma'!”
The King he stude, the King he glowered, Sae hard as a man micht stare: ”Deil hae me! Like is a richt ill mark, - Or I saw it itherwhere!
”I saw it round young Ruthven's neck As he lay sleeping still; And, faith, but the wine was wondrous guid, Or my wife is wondrous ill!”
There was na gane a week, a week, A week but barely three; The King has hounded John Ramsay out, To gar young Ruthven dee!
They took him in his brother's house, Nae sword was in his hand, And they hae slain him, young Ruthven, The bonniest in the land!
And they hae slain his fair brother, And laid him on the green, And a' for a band o' the siller fine And a blink o' the eye o' the Queen!
Oh! had they set him man to man, Or even ae man to three, There was na a knight o' the Ramsay bluid Had gar'd Earl Gowrie dee!
III--THE DEAD MAN'S DANCE
”The dance is in the castle ha', And wha will dance wi' me?”
”There's never a man o' living men, Will dance the nicht wi' thee!”
Then Margaret's gane within her bower, Put ashes on her hair, And ashes on her bonny breast And on hen shoulders bare.
There cam' a knock to her bower-door, And blythe she let him in; It was her brother frae the wars, She lo'ed abune her kin.
”Oh, Willie, is the battle won?
Or are you fled?” said she, ”This nicht the field was won and lost, A' in a far countrie.
”This nicht the field was lost and won, A' in a far countrie, And here am I within your bower, For nane will dance with thee.”
”Put gold upon your head, Margaret, Put gold upon your hair, And gold upon your girdle-band, And on your breast so fair!”
”Nay, nae gold for my breast, Willie, Nay, nae gold for my hair, It's ashes o' oak and dust o' earth, That you and I maun wear!
”I canna dance, I mauna dance, I daurna dance with thee.
To dance atween the quick and the deid, Is nae good companie.”
The fire it took upon her cheek, It took upon her chin, Nae Ma.s.s was sung, nor bells was rung, For they twa died in deidly sin.
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