Ay, though she be laid in her bridal bed,
There is guiltless blood upon her head;
And on her soul the hue of a crime,
That will never wash out till the end of time.
Advise, advise! dear matron, advise!
For you are humble, devout, and wise.
We ask a last advice from you--
Our hour is come--what shall we do?"
"O, wondrous creatures, ye maun allow
I naething can ken of beings like you;
But ere the voice calls at eleven,
Go ask your Father who is in heaven."
Away, away, the burdies flew
Aye singing, "Adieu, kind heart, adieu!
They that hae blood on their hands may rue
Afore the day-beam kiss the dew.
There's naught sae heinous in human life
As taking a helpless baby's life;
There's naething sae kind aneath the sky
As cheering the heart that soon maun die."
The morning came wi' drift an' snaw,
And with it news frae the bridal-ha',
That death had been busy, and blood was spilt,
May Heaven preserve us all from guilt!
They tell of a deed--Believe't who can?
Such tale was never told by man;
The bridegroom is gone in fire and flood,
And the bridal-bed is steep'd with blood!
The poor auld matron died ere day,
And was found as life was passing away;
And twa bonny burdies sang in the bed,
The one at the feet, the other the head.
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