She’s ta’en her young son in her arms, And to the door she’s gane, And long she knock’d, and sair she ca’d, But answer got she nane. XX ‘O open, open, Gregory! O open! if ye be within; For here’s the lass of Lochroyan, Come far fra kith and kin. XXI ‘O open the door, Lord Gregory! O open and let me in! The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory, The rain drops fra my chin. XXII ‘The shoe is frozen to my foot, The glove unto my hand, The wet drops fra my yellow hair, Na langer dow[315] I stand.’ XXIII O up then spak his ill mither, --An ill death may she die! ‘Ye’re no the lass of Lochroyan, She’s far out-owre the sea. XXIV ‘Awa’, awa’, ye ill woman, Ye’re no come here for gude; Ye’re but some witch or wil’ warlock, Or mermaid o’ the flood.’-- XXV ‘I am neither witch nor wil’ warlock, Nor mermaid o’ the sea, But I am Annie of Lochroyan, O open the door to me!’-- XXVI ‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, As I trow thou binna she, Now tell me of some love-tokens That pass’d ’tween thee and me.’ XXVII ‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory, As we sat at the wine, We changed the rings frae our fingers? And I can shew thee thine. XXVIII ‘O yours was gude, and gude enough, But ay the best was mine, For yours was o’ the gude red gowd, But mine o’ the diamond fine. XXIX ‘Yours was o’ the gude red gowd, Mine o’ the diamond fine; Mine was o’ the purest troth, But thine was false within.’-- XXX ‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan, As I kenna thou be, Tell me some mair o’ the love-tokens Pass’d between thee and me.’-- XXXI ‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory! As we sat on the hill, Thou twin’d me o’ my maidenheid, Right sair against my will? XXXII ‘Now open the door, love Gregory! Open the door! I pray; For thy young son is in my arms; And will be dead ere day.’-- XXXIII ‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman, So loud I hear ye lie; For Annie of the Lochroyan Is far out-owre the sea.’ XXXIV Fair Annie turn’d her round about: ‘Weel, sine that it be sae, May ne’er woman that has borne a son Hae a heart sae fu’ o’ wae! XXXV ‘Tak down, tak down that mast o’ gowd, Set up a mast of tree; It disna become a forsaken lady To sail sae royallie.’ XXXVI When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn, And the sun began to peep, Up then raise Lord Gregory, And sair, sair did he weep. XXXVII ‘O I hae dream’d a dream, mither, I wish it may bring good! That the bonny lass of Lochroyan At my bower window stood. XXXVIII