The Elphin Nourrice

(C. K. Sharpe.)

I HEARD a cow low, a bonnie cow low, An’ a cow low down in yon glen; Lang, lang will my young son greet, Or his mither bid him come ben.

I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low, An’ a cow low down in yon fauld; Lang, lang will my young son greet, Or is mither take him frae cauld.

Waken, Queen of Elfan, An hear your Nourrice moan. O moan ye for your meat, Or moan ye for your fee, Or moan ye for the ither bounties That ladies are wont to gie?

I moan na for my meat, Nor yet for my fee, But I mourn for Christened land— It’s there I fain would be.

O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says, Till he stan’ at your knee, An’ ye’s win hame to Christen land, Whar fain it’s ye wad be.

O keep my bairn, Nourice, Till he gang by the hauld, An’ ye’s win hame to your young son, Ye left in four nights auld.