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THE FIRE OF FRENDRAUGHT
' Take here the rings from my white fingers,
That are so long and small, And give them to my lady fair,
Where she sits in her hall.
' So I cannot loup, I cannot come,
I cannot loup to thee ; My earthly part is all consumed,
My spirit but speaks to thee.'
Wringing her hands, tearing her hair,
His lady she was seen, And thus address'd his servant Gordon,
Where he stood on the green.
i O wae be to you, George Gordon !
An ill death may you die ! So safe and sound as you stand there,
And my lord bereaved for me ! '—
' I bad him loup, I bad him come,
I bad him loup to me ; I'd catch him in my arms twa,
A foot I should not flee.
xx rv ' He threw me the rings from his white fingers,
Which were so long and small, To give to you, his lady fair, Where you sat in your hall.' 766