"And what will ye leave your young son fair, My merry son, come tell me hither? And what will ye leave your young son fair? And I wot ye hae not anither." "A twiggen school-rod for his body to bear, Though it garred him greet he'll get nae mair, O dear mither." "And what will ye leave your little daughter sweet, My merry son, come tell me hither? And what will ye leave your little daughter sweet? And I wot ye hae not anither." "Wild mulberries for her mouth to eat, She'll get nae mair though it garred her greet, O dear mither." "And when will ye come back frae roamin', My merry son, come tell me hither? And when will ye come back frae roamin'? And I wot I hae not anither." "When the sunrise out of the north is comen, O dear mither." "When shall the sunrise on the north side be, My merry son, come tell me hither? When shall the sunrise on the north side be? And I wot I hae not anither." "When chuckie-stanes shall swim in the sea, O dear mither." "When shall stanes in the sea swim, My merry son, come tell me hither? When shall stanes in the sea swim? And I wot I hae not anither." "When birdies' feathers are as lead therein, O dear mither." "When shall feathers be as lead, My merry son, come tell me hither? When shall feathers be as lead? And I wot I hae not anither." "When God shall judge between the quick and dead, O dear mither." THE SEA-SWALLOWS This fell when Christmas lights were done, (Red rose leaves will never make wine) But before the Easter lights begun; The ways are sair fra' the Till to the Tyne. Two lovers sat where the rowan blows And all the grass is heavy and fine, By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows When the wind brings them over Tyne. Blossom of broom will never make bread, Red rose leaves will never make wine; Between her brows she is grown red, That was full white in the fields by Tyne. "O what is this thing ye have on, Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?" "O father, this is my little son That I found hid in the sides of Tyne. "O what will ye give my son to eat, Red rose leaves will never make wine?" "Fen-water and adder's meat." The ways are sair fra' the Till to the Tyne. "Or what will ye get my son to wear?" (Red rose leaves will never make wine.) "A weed and a web of nettle's hair." The ways are sair fra' the Till to the Tyne. "Or what will ye take to line his bed?" (Red rose leaves will never make wine.) "Two black stones at the kirkwall's head." The ways are sair fra' the Till to the Tyne. "Or what will ye give my son for land?" (Red rose leaves will never make wine.) "Three girl's paces of red sand." The ways are sair fra' the Till to the Tyne.