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92 |
AKCHIE OF CA'FIELD. |
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The live-lang night these twelve men rade, And aye till they were right wearie,
Until they cam to the Murraywhate, it
And they lighted there right speedilie.
" A smith ! a smith !" then Dickie he cries, "A smith, a smith, right speedilie,
To file the irons frae my dear brither,
For forward, forward we wad be." so
They hadna filed a shackle of iron, A shackle of iron but barely thrie,
When out and spak young Simon brave, " 0 dinna you see what I do see ?
" Lo ! yonder comes Lieutenant Gordon, ss Wi' a hundred men in his companie;
This night will be our lyke-wake night, The mora the day we a' maun die."
0 there was mounting, mounting in haste, And there was marching upon the lee; x
Until they cam to Annan water, And it was flowing like the sea.
" My mare is young and very skeigh, And in o' the weil she will drown me;
But ye'll take mine, and I'll take thine, 95
And sune through the water we sail be." |
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