Page:Heir of Linne.pdf/5

 He looked up, he looked down, In hope some comfort for to win; But brie and lothly were the walls, "Here’s sorry cheer," quo' the Heir of Linne.

The little window, dim and dark, Was hung with ivy, breir, and yew; Nae simmer sun here ever shone, Nae halesome breeze here ever blew.

Nae chair, nae table could he spy, Nae cheerful hearth, nae welcome bed, Nought save a rope wi’ renning noose, That dangling hang up o’er his head.

And over it, in broad letters, These words were wrote so plain to see:– ''Ah! graceless wretch, hast spent thine all,'' And brought thyself to penurie?

All this my boding mind misgave, I therefore left this trusty friend: Let it now shield thy foul disgrace, And all thy shame and sorrows end.

Exceeding vext wi’ this rebuke, Exceeding vext was th’ Heir of Linne; His heart, I wot, was near to burst, With guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.

Never a word spake th’ Heir of Linne, Never a word but these spake be: "This is a trusty friend indeed, "And is right welcome unto me."

Then round his neck the cord he drew, And sprung aloft with his bodie; When, lo! the ceiling burst in twain, And to the ground came tumbling lie.

Astonished lay the Heir of Linne, Nor knew if he were live or dead;