But flee away, burdies! flee away!
For I darenae bide wi' you till day."
"Ye maun let us bide till our feathers dry,
For the time of our trial's drawing nigh.
A voice will call at the hour eleven,
An' a naked sword appear in heaven!
"There's an offering to make, but not by men,
On altar as white as the snow of the glen--
There's a choice to be made, and a vow to pay,
And blood to spill ere the break of day."
"O, tell me, beings of marvellous birth,
If ye are twa creatures of heaven or earth?
For ye look an' ye speak, I watnae how--
But I'm fear'd, I'm fear'd, little burdies for you!"
"Ye needna be fear'd, for it's no our part
To injure the kind and the humble heart;
And those whose trust is in heaven high,
The Angel of God will aye be nigh.
We were twa sisters bred in a bower,
As gay as the lark an' as fair as the flower;
But few of the ills of this world we proved,
Till we were slain by the hands we loved.
Our bodies into the brake were flung,
To feed the hawks and the ravens young;
And there our little bones reclined,
And white they bleach'd in the winter wind.
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