Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/389



The wood elf twisted sun-beams red Into a shapely weed, And the tallest birk in Sillarwood He hewed into a steed; And shod it wi' the burning gold To glance like ony glede.

The Ettin shook his bridle reins And merrily they rung, For four and twenty sillar bells On ilka side were hung.

The Ettin rade, and better rade, Some thretty miles and three, A bugle horn hung at his breast, A lang sword at his knee; 'I wud I met,' said the Ettin lang, 'The maiden Marjorie!'

The Ettin rade and better rade Till he has reached her bouir, And there he saw fair Marjorie As bricht as lily flouir.

'O Sillarwood!—Sweet Sillarwood!— Gin Sillarwood were mine,