"O, where hae ye been, my lang-lost love,
This lang seven years an' more?"
"O, I'm come to seek my former vows
Ye granted me before."
"O, haud your tongue o' your former vows,
For they'll breed bitter strife;
O, haud your tongue o' your former vows,
For I am become a wife."
He turned him right an' round about,
And the tear blinded his e'e;
"I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground
If it hadna been for thee.
"I might hae had a king's daughter
Far, far ayont the sea,
I might hae had a king's daughter,
Had it nae been for love o' thee."
"If ye might hae had a king's daughter,
Yoursel' ye hae to blame;
Ye might hae taken the king's daughter,
For ye kenn'd that I was nane."
"O fause be the vows o' womankind,
But fair is their fause bodie;
I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground
Had it nae been for love o' thee."
"If I was to leave my husband dear,
And my twa babes also,
O where is it ye would tak' me to,
If I with thee should go?"
"I hae seven ships upon the sea,
The eighth brouct me to land,
Wi' four-and-twenty bold mariners,
And music of ilka hand."
She has taken up her twa little babes,
Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin;
"O fare ye weel, my ain twa babes,
For I'll never see you again."
She set her foot upon the ship,
No mariners could she behold;
But the sails were o' the taffetie,
And the masts o' the beaten gold.
"O how do you love the ship?" he said,
"O how do you love the sea?
And how do you love the bold mariners
That wait upon thee and me?"
"O I do love the ship," she said,
"And I do love the sea;
But wae to the dim mariners
That naewhere I can see!"
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,
And drumly grew his e'e.
The masts that were like the beaten gold,
Bent not on the heaving seas;
The sails that were o' the taffetie
Fill'd not in the east land breeze.
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
Until she espied his cloven hoof,
And she wept right bitterlie.
"O haud your tongue o' your weeping," he says:
"O' your weeping now let me be;
I will show you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy."
"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?"
"O yon are the hills o' heaven," he said
"Where you will never won."
"O what'n a mountain's yon," she said,
"Sae dreary wi' frost an' snow?"
"O yon is the mountain o' hell," he cried,
"Where you and I maun go!"
And aye when she turn'd her round about,
Aye taller he seemed for to be;
Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
Nae taller were than he.
He strack the tapmast wi' his hand,
The foremast wi' his knee;
And he brak that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her i' the sea.
* * * * *