Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/394

 For I can hear the wild halloo That freichts the face o' Morn!

'The Hunters fell o' Sillarwood Hae packs full fifty-three: They hunt all day, they hunt all nicht, They never bow an ee:

'The Hunters fell o' Sillarwood Hae steeds but blude or bane: They bear fiert maidens to a weird Where mercy there is nane!

'And I the Laird o' Sillarwood Hae beds baith deep and wide, (Of clay-cauld earth) whereon to streik A proud and dainty bride!

'Ho! look beside yon bonny birk— The latest blink of day Is gleamin' on a comely heap Of freshly dug red clay;

'Richt cunning hands they were that digged Forenent the birken tree