  IMay Margaret sits in her bower door Sewing her silken seam; She heard a note in Elmond’s wood, And wish’d she there had been. IIShe loot The needle to her tae And she is on to Elmond’s wood As fast as she could gae. IIIShe hadna pu’d a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but ane, Till by there came the Hynd Etin, Says, ‘Lady, lat alane. IV‘O why pu’ ye the nut, the nut, Or why break ye the tree? For I am forester o’ this wood: Ye should spier V‘I’ll ask leave at nae living man, Nor yet will I at thee; My father is king o’er a’ this realm, This wood belongs to me.’ VIThe highest tree in Elmond’s wood, He’s pu’d it by the reet And he has built for her a bower Near by a hallow seat VIIHe’s kept her there in Elmond’s wood For six lang years and ane, Till six pretty sons to him she bare, And the seventh she’s brought hame. VIIIIt fell out ance upon a day He’s to the hunting gane, And a’ to carry his game for him He’s tane his eldest son. IX‘A question I will ask, father, Gin ye wadna angry be.’— ‘Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye’se nae be quarrell’d by me.’ X‘I see my mither’s cheeks aye weet, I never can see them dry; And I wonder what aileth my mither To mourn [sae constantly].’— XI‘Your mither was a king’s daughtÈr, Sprung frae a high degree; She might hae wed some worthy prince Had she na been stown XII‘Your mither was a king’s daughtÈr Of noble birth and fame, But now she’s wife o’ Hynd Etin, Wha ne’er gat christendame. XIII‘But we’ll shoot the buntin’ o’ the bush, The linnet o’ the tree, And ye’se tak’ them hame to your dear mither, See if she’ll merrier be.’ XIVIt fell upon anither day, He’s to the hunting gane And left his seven [young] children To stay wi’ their mither at hame. XV‘O I will tell to you, mither, Gin ye wadna angry be.’— ‘Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy, Ye’se nae be quarrell’d by me.’— XVI‘As we came frae the hind-hunting, We heard fine music ring.’— ‘My blessings on you, my bonny boy, I wish I’d been there my lane.’ XVIIThey wistna weel where they were gaen, Wi’ the stratlins They wistna weel where they were gaen, Till at her father’s yate XVIII‘I hae nae money in my pocket, But royal rings hae three; I’ll gie them you, my little young son, And ye’ll walk there for me. XIX‘Ye’ll gi’e the first to the proud portÈr And he will let you in; Ye’ll gi’e the next to the butler-boy And he will show you ben XX‘Ye’ll gi’e the third to the minstrel That plays before the King; He’ll play success to the bonny boy Came thro’ the wood him lane.’ XXIHe ga’e the first to the proud portÈr And he open’d and let him in; He ga’e the next to the butler-boy, And he has shown him ben. XXIIHe ga’e the third to the minstrel That play’d before the King, And he play’d success to the bonny boy Came thro’ the wood him lane. XXIIINow when he came before the King, Fell low upon his knee |
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