Classic Poem

The ladie stude in her bour-door,
In her bour-door as she stude,
She thocht she heard a bridle ring,
That did her bodie gude.

She thocht it had been her father dear,
Come ridin owre the sand;
But it was her true-love Riedan,
Come hiean to her hand.

" You 're welcome, you 're welcome, Young Riedan," she said,
" To coal an cannel-licht;
You 're welcome, you 're welcome, Young Riedan,
To sleep in my bour this nicht."

" I thank you for your coal, madame,
An for your cannel tae;
There 's a fairer maid at Clyde's Water,
I love better than you."

" A fairer maid than me, Riedan?
A fairer maid than me?
A fairer maid than ten o me
You shurely neer did see."

He leant him owre his saddle-bow,
To gie her a kiss sae sweet;
She keppit him on a little penknife,
An gae him a wound sae deep.

" Oh hide! oh hide! my hourswoman,
Oh hide this deed on me!
An the silks that waur shappit for me at Yule
At Pasch sall be sewed for thee."

They saidled Young Riedan, they bridled Young Riedan,
The way he was wont to ride;
Wi a huntin-horn aboot his neck,
An a sharp sword by his side.

An they are on to Clyde's Water,
An they rade it up an doon,
An the deepest linn in a' Clyde's Water in
They flang him Young Riedan

" Lie you there, you Young Riedan,
Your bed it is fu wan;
The [maid] you hae at Clyde's Water,
For you she will think lang."

Up it spak the wily bird,
As it sat on the tree:
" Oh wae betide you, ill woman,
An an ill death may you dee!
For he had neer anither love,
Anither love but thee."

" Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot,
An pickle wheat aff my glue;
An your cage sall be o the beaten goud,
Whan it 's of the willow tree."

" I winna come doon, I sanna come doon,
To siccan a traitor as thee;
For as you did to Young Riedan,
Sae wald you do to mee."

" Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot,
An pickle wheat aff my hand;
An your cage sall be o the beaten goud,
Whan it 's o the willow wand."

" I winna come doon, I sanna come doon,
To siccan a traitor as thee;
You wald thraw my head aff my hasebane,
An fling it in the sea."

It fell upon a Lammas-tide
The king's court cam ridin bye:
" Oh whare is it him Young Riedan?
It 's fain I wald him see."

" Oh I hae no seen Young Riedan
Sin three lang weeks the morn;
It bodes me sair, and drieds me mair,
Clyde's Water 's him forlorn."

Up it spak the wily bird,
As it sat on the tree;
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .

" Leave aff, leave aff your day-seekin,
An ye maun seek by nicht;
Aboon the place Young Riedan lies,
The cannels burn bricht."

They gae up their day-seekin,
An they did seek by nicht;
An owre the place Young Riedan lay,
The cannels burnt bricht.

The firsten grip his mother got
Was o his yellow hair;
An was na that a dowie grip,
To get her ae son there!

The nexten grip his mother got
Was o his milk-white hand;
An wasna that a dowie grip,
To bring sae far to land!

White, white waur his wounds washen,
As white as ony lawn;
But sune 's the traitor stude afore,
Then oot the red blude sprang.


Fire wadna tak on her bourswoman,
Niether on cheek nor chin;
But it took fast on thae twa hands
That flang Young Riedan in.

" Come oot, come oot, my bourswoman,
Come oot, lat me win in;
For as I did the deed mysell,
Sae man I drie the pine."