4
And the breast of the ocean is as still
As the morning’ mist upon Morven Hill.
Oil sair did she rue baitli night and day,
Her hap was to be this Lady’s May.
Ae morning a minstrel, aged and poor,
Came liarping to this Ha-house door;
His heart seemed light, though his head was bare,
And spairlie coverit wi‘ thin white hair;
His beard adovvn his bosom fell
Streaming like snow in a wintery gale.
Sae sweet and blythesome was his lay,
The gowd spink danced upon the spray ;
The lint-white chirpt frae the bush,
And sweetly sang the lark and the thrush;
While decked in green the fairy crew
Danced frae the grass the morning dew
For the daemons of night had taken their flight
As soon as they saw the morning light,
And the ghaists had left the dreary yew;
Oh they trippit sae lightly over the lea,
Their doublets were green as green might be,
And they shone in the sun like the Spanish flee.
And aye the Minstrel harpet and sang,
Till his notes through ilka chamber rang;
Though decrepit, forlorn, and raggid was he,
There was merghe in his fingers and fire in his e‘e.
