7
And loot him perish in the deep,
For raising the lady o' Dun frae her sleep.
He prigget for merey, he prayed for grace,
While the tears run down his aged face.
He vowed to heaven he meant nae offence,
And beggit the men to let him gae hence-
To hirple his was to the cot house door,
And clieer wi' his lays the simple and poor ;
For though his comforts here were but few,
His bosom beat to nature true,
Nae mercy here, quoth the men can be given,
But we hope, auld man, you'll meet it in heaven,
Our lady's behests we are bound to obey,
Albert we hae danced to your roundelay,
Then strick on your harp the last sound of woe,
Before that yon sleep in your cauld bed below.
The Laird o' Dun hath power of the law,
The Minstrel was flung in harp an a'
The Minstrel he groaned and his harp it rung
And mute for aye was his tunefu' tongue.
A waesome sight it was to see,
Him lunched sae quick to eternity.
Anee kythit o'er the stream his beard sae hoare
Syne his spirit winged its way to gloar,
And never mair was that ministrel seen;
But aye and anon, at morn and een,
His harp it sounded to the breeze,
And his figure was seen to gilde through the trees,
And groans were heard sae loud and sae deep
