XIX. the Death of Menteith

Shrilly shriek'd the raging wind, And rudelie blew the blast; Wi awsum blink, throuch the dark ha, The speidy lichtning past.

'O hear ye nae, frae mid the loch, 'Arise a deidly grane? 'Sae evir does the spirit warn, 'Whan we sum dethe maun mane.

'I feir, I feir me, gude Sir John, 'Ye are nae safe wi me: 'What wae wald fill my heart gin ye 'Sold in my castle drie!'

"Ye neid nae feir, my leman deir, "I'm ay safe when wi thee; "And gin I maun nae wi thee live, "I here wad wish to die."

His man cam rinning to the ha Wi wallow cheik belyve: 'Sir John Menteith, your faes are neir, 'And ye maun flie or strive.

"What count syne leads the cruel knicht?" 'Thrie speirmen to your ane: 'I red ye flie, my master deir, 'Wi speid, or ye'll be slain.'

"Tak ye this gown, my deir Sir John, "To hide your shyning mail: "A boat waits at the hinder port "Owr the braid loch to sail."

"O whatten a piteous shriek was you "That sough'd upo my eir?" 'Nae piteous shriek I trow, ladie, 'Bot the rouch blast ye heir.'

They socht the castle, till the morn, Whan they were bown'd to gae, They saw the boat turn'd on the loch, Sir John's corse on the brae.