I.

It was on an angry winter night,
When Mary sat in her gloom,
There came to her door an ill-doing wight---
Kildearn's drunken groom:
He placed in her hand a gold-filled purse,
And spoke of love's sacred flame;
And well she knew the unholy source
Whence the man and the money came.

"Awa and awa, thou crawling worm,
On whom thy horse will tread
Awa and awa, and tell Kildearn,
I accept his noble meed."
She placed the purse in a cabinet old,
And locked it right carefullie,
"Lie there, lie there, thou ill-won gold.
Till needed thou shalt be."

IV.

The years roll on, nor Robin-a-Ree
Can their onward progress stay,
The years roll on, and children three,
Have blessed his bridal day.
And Mary Lee is there to see,
As she sat in her lonely home,
Two of Kildearn's children three,
Borne away to Kildearn's tomb.

But none of these years work change on her:
As she seeks the lone greenwood,
She sees a man lying bleeding there,
While his horse beside him stood.
He called for help, where help there was none,
Tho' Mary was standing near,
Who spoke in a solemn eldritch tone,
Words strange to the human ear:

"The hairy adder I dinna like,
When I the fell creature meet,
Neither like I the moon-baying tyke.
Nor the Meg-o'-moniefeet.
I canna thole the yellow-wamed ask,
Sae fearful a thing to see;
But mair than a', and ower them a',
I hate fause Robin-a-Ree."

V.

Time puts in the sack that behind him hangs
Of things both old and new,
And every hour brings stranger things
Than those we have bidden adieu.
The last one of those children three,
Young Hector, Kildearn's pride,
Has gone, in his childish mirth and glee,
To play by the Solway tide.

That tide by which his father swore
As true to the silvery queen--
That tide is breaking with sullen roar,
And Hector no more is seen.
They may search, they may drag--the search is vain,
No Hector they'll ever find;
A lugger is yonder, away to the main,
Borne on an eastern wind.

And there is a woman who stands in the bay,
And she holds out both her hands,
As if she would wave that lugger away
To some of the distant lands.
And if you will trace her to her hold,
Where a purse of gold was laid,
You will find the drawer, but not the gold,
For the purse and gold are fled.

VI.

Time flies, but sin breeds in-and-in,
And a father's grief is stern;
Robin is dead, and a distant kin
Now calls