The Oxford Book of Ballads - online book

A Selection Of The Best English Lyric Ballads Chosen & Edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch

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' O though the nicht were eves' sae dark.
Or the wind blew never sae cauld, I will be in my Margaret's bour
Before twa hours be tald.'
VIII ' O an ye gang to Margaret's bour
Sae sair against my will, 1' the deepest pot o' Clyde's water
My malison ye'se feel.'
IX As he rade owre yon high high hill,
And doun yon dowie den, The roaring that was in Clyde's water
Wad fley'd live hundred men.
His heart was warm, his pride was up.
Sweet Willie kentna fear; But yet his mither's malison
Aye soundit in his ear.
'0 spare, O spare me, Clyde's water!
Your stream rins wondrous Strang; Mak' me your wrack as I come back,
But spare me as I gang!'
Then he rade in, and further in,
And he swam to an' fro, Until he 's grippit a hazel bush
That brung him to the brow.
malison J curse.             dowie] dismal, gloomy.             fley'd]
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