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THOMAS THE RHYMER
' Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunten rne' Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips, All underneath the Eildon Tree.
' Now ye maun go wi' me,' she said, ' True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ;
And ye maun serve me seven years,
Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be.'
She's mounted on her milk-white steed, She 's ta'en true Thomas up behind;
And aye, whene'er her bridle rang,
The steed gaed swifter than the wind.
O they rade on, and farther on,
The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
Until they reach'd a desert wide, And living land was left behind.
' Light down, light down now, true Thomas, And lean your head upon my knee ;
Abide ye there a little space,
And I will show you ferlies three.
• O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset wi' thorns and briers ? That is the Path of Righteousness, Though after it but few inquires.