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THE YOUNG TAHLANE. 117 |
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He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
Among the roses red; And what they did, I cannot say —
She ne'er return'd a maid.
When she cam to her father's ha', «
She looked pale and wan; They thought she'd dreed some sair sickness,
Or been with some leman.
She didna comb her yellow hair,
Nor make meikle o'er her head; w
And ilka thing that lady took,
Was like to be her deid.
It's four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba'; Janet, the wightest of them anes, a
Was faintest o' them a'.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess; And out there came the fair Janet,
As green as any grass. a>
Out and spak an auld grey-headed knight, Lay o'er the castle wa',— " And ever, alas! for thee, Janet, But we'll be blamed a'! " — |
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