Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/354

 "The bearing-bread is soft and new, There is no soil in the straining wine: The bed was made between green and blue, It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.

"The fair grass was my bearing-bread, The well-water my washing-wine; The low leaves were my bearing-bed, And that was best in the sides of Tyne."

"O daughter, if ye have done this thing, I wot the greater grief is mine; This was a bitter child-bearing, When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.

"About the time of sea-swallows That fly full thick by six and nine, Ye'll have my body out of the house, To bury me by the sides of Tyne.

"Set nine stones by the wall for twain, Red rose leaves will never make wine; For the bed I take will measure ten, The ways are sair fra' the Till to the Tyne.

"Tread twelve girl's paces out for three, Red rose leaves will never make wine; For the pit I made has taken me, The ways are sair fra' the Till to the Tyne."