‘O whaten-a mountain is yon,’ she said, ‘Sae dreary wi’ frost and snae[223]?’-- ‘O yon is the mountain o’ Hell,’ he said, ‘Where you and I will gae. XVIII ‘But haud your tongue, my dearest dear, Let a’ your follies a-bee, I’ll show where the white lilies grow, In the bottom o’ the sea.’ XIX And aye as she turn’d her round about, Aye taller he seem’d to be; Until that the tops o’ that gallant ship Nae taller were than he. XX He strack the top-mast wi’ his hand, The fore-mast wi’ his knee; And he brake that gallant ship in twain, And sank her in the sea. FOOTNOTES: [221] begane = overlaid. [222] gurly = rough, surly. [223] snae = snow. _29. Clerk Colven_ I Clerk Colven, and his gay ladie, As they walk’d in yon garden green, The belt about her middle jimp[224] It cost Clerk Colven crowns fifteen. II ‘O hearken weel now, my good lord, O hearken weel to what I say; When ye gang to the wall[225] o’ Stream O gang nae near the weel-faur’d may[226].’ III ‘O haud your tongue, my gay ladie, Now speak nae mair of that to me; For I nae saw a fair woman [That I cou’d] like so well as thee.’ IV He’s mounted on his berry-brown steed, And merry, merry rade he on, Till that he came to the wall o’ Stream, And there he saw the mermaiden. V ‘Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny may, And ay’s ye wash your sark o’ silk.’-- ‘It’s a’ for ye, you gentle knight, My skin is whiter than the milk.’ VI He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand, He’s ta’en her by the sleeve sae green, And he’s forgotten his gay ladie, And he’s awa’ wi’ the mermaiden. VII --‘Ohone, alas!’ says Clerk Colven, ‘And aye so sair as akes my head!’ And merrily leugh[227] the mermaiden, ‘O ’twill win on[228] till you be dead. VIII ‘But out ye tak’ your little pen-knife, And frae my sark ye shear a gare[229]; Row[230] that about your lovely head, And the pain ye’ll never feel nae mair.’ IX Out he has ta’en his little pen-knife, And frae her sark he’s shorn a gare; She’s ty’d it round his whey-white face, But and ay his head it akèd mair. X ‘Ohone, alas!’ says Clerk Colven, ‘O sairer, sairer akes my head!’-- ‘And sairer, sairer ever will, And aye be war’[231] till ye be dead.’ XI Then out he drew his shining blade And thought wi’ it to be her deid[232], But she’s become a fish again, And merrily sprang into the fleed[233]. XII He’s mounted on his berry-brown steed, And dowie[234], dowie rade he hame, And heavily, heavily lighted down When to his ladie’s bower he came. XIII