"The stockings they are Gib my man's, They came first to my hand; And this is Gib my man's shoon; At my bed feet they stand. I've reavell'd a' my yellow hair 85 Coming against the wind." He's taen the harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, Until he cam to his master, As fast as he could gang. 90 "Won up, won up, my good master; I fear ye sleep o'er lang; There's nae a cock in a' the land But has wappit his wings and crawn." Glenkindie's tane his harp in hand, 95 He harpit and he sang, And he has reach'd the lady's bower, Afore that e'er he blan. When he cam to the lady's bower, He chappit at the chin; 100 "O, wha is that at my bower door, That opens na and comes in?" "It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love, And in I canna win." * * * * * "Forbid it, forbid it," says that lady, 105 "That ever sic shame betide; That I should first be a wild loon's lass, And than a young knight's bride." There was nae pity for that lady, For she lay cald and dead; 110 But a' was for him, Glenkindie, In bower he must go mad. He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water; The water out o' a stane; The milk out o' a maiden's breast, 115 That bairn had never nane. He's taen his harp intill his hand; Sae sweetly as it rang, And wae and weary was to hear Glenkindie's dowie sang.[L120] 120 But cald and dead was that lady, Nor heeds for a' his maen; An he wad harpit till domisday, She'll never speak again. He's taen his harp intill his hand; 125 He harpit and he sang; And he is hame to Gib his man As fast as he could gang. "Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man, Till I pay you your fee; 130 Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man; Weel payit sall ye be!" And he has taen him, Gib, his man, And he has hang'd him hie; And he's hangit him o'er his ain yate, 135 As high as high could be. 5-8, These feats are all but equalled by the musician in the Swedish and Danish _Harpans Kraft_. "He harped the bark from every tree, And he harped the young from folk and from fee. "He harped the hind from the wild-wood home, He harped the bairn from its mother's womb." ARWIDSSON, No. 149. "Villemand takes his harp in his hand, He goes down by the water to stand.