The balmy milk of a woman's breast
Waxed curdled green and sour,
And Mary Lee was by all confessed
As changed from that fatal hour.
At times, when the moon gave little light,
She sat by the Solway side,
And thought, as she sat, of that happy night
When he swore by the Solway tide.
Far sweeter to her the roaring wind,
Than when it was solemn and low,
For the waters he swore by seemed to her mind
As resenting that broken vow.
Still darker and darker the cloud on her brow,
Yet paler her tearless cheek;
But no one her sorrow would ever know,
Nor word would she ever speak.
'Tis the story old, old, so often told,
To be told while time shall be,
Fair Catherine, the heiress of Ravenswold,
Is the wife of Robin-a-Ree.
III.
It was on an angry winter night,
When Mary sat in her gloom,
There came to her door an ill-doing wight---
Kildearn's drunken groom:
He placed in her hand a gold-filled purse,
And spoke of love's sacred flame;
And well she knew the unholy source
Whence the man and the money came.
"Awa and awa, thou crawling worm,
On whom thy horse will tread
Awa and awa, and tell Kildearn,
I accept his noble meed."
She placed the purse in a cabinet old,
And locked it right carefullie,
"Lie there, lie there, thou ill-won gold.
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