She hadna cross’d a rigg[239] o’ land, A rigg but barely ane, When she met wi’ his auld father, Came riding all alane. XVI ‘Where has ye been, now, lady fair, Where has ye been sae late? We hae been seeking Young Hunting, But him we canna get.’-- XVII ‘Young Hunting kens a’ the fords o’ Clyde, He’ll ride them ane by ane; And though the night was ne’er so mirk, Young Hunting will be hame.’ XVIII O there came seeking Young Hunting Mony a lord and knight, And there came seeking Young Hunting Mony a lady bright. XIX And it fell ance upon a day The King was bound to ride, And he has miss’d Young Hunting, Should hae ridden on his right side. XX And they have to his true love gane; But she sware by the thorn, ‘O I have not seen Young Hunting Since yesterday at morn. XXI ‘It fears me sair in Clyde Water That he is drown’d therein!’ O they have sent for the King’s divers, To dive for Young Hunting. XXII ‘Gar dive, gar dive!’ the King he cried, ‘Gar dive for gold and fee! O wha will dive for Young Hunting’s sake, Or wha will dive for me?’ XXIII They dived in at the tae water-bank, They dived in at the tither: ‘We can dive no more for Young Hunting, Altho’ he were our brither.’ XXIV It fell that in that lady’s castle The King was boun to bed, And out it spake the popinjay That flew abune his head: XXV ‘Leave off, leave off, your day diving, And dive upon the night; And where that sackless[240] Knight lies slain The candles will burn bright.’ XXVI They left their diving on the day, And dived upon the night; And over the place Young Hunting lay The candles shone fu’ bright. XXVII The deepest pot in Clyde Water They got Young Hunting in, With a green turf tied across his breast To keep that good lord down. XXVIII Then up and spake the King himsel’, When he saw the deadly wound: ‘O wha has slain my right-hand man, That held my hawk and hound?’ XXIX Then up and spake the popinjay, Says, ‘What needs a’ this din? It was his light leman took his life, And hided him in the linn[241].’ XXX She sware her by the grass sae green, So did she by the corn, She hadna seen Young Hunting Since Monanday at morn. XXXI ‘Put not the wyte[242] on me,’ she says, ‘It was my May[243] Catheren.’ Then they have cut baith thorn and fern, To burn that maiden in. XXXII When they had ta’en her May Catheren, In the bonfire set her in; It wouldna take upon her cheeks, Nor yet upon her chin, Nor yet upon her yellow hair, To heal the deadly sin. XXXIII