146 ScorrTrisH MERMAIDS. 
‘QO, is it a voice frae twa earthlie lips 
Whilk made sic melodie? 
It wad wyle the lark frae the morning lift, 
An’ weel may it wyle me! 
‘The simmer dew fa’s soft, fair maid, 
Aneath the siller moon; 
But eerie is thy seat i’ the rock, 
Washed wi’ the white sea foam. 
‘ How rosie is thy parting lips, 
How lilie-white thy skin; 
An’ weel I wat thae kissing e’en 
Wad tempt a saint to sin.’ 
Then took she up his green mantle, 
Of lowing gowd the hem; 
Then took she up his silken cap, 
Rich wi’ a siller stem; 
An’ she threw them wi’ her lilie hand 
Amang the white sea faem. 
She took the bride-ring frae his finger, 
An’ threw it in the sea: 
‘That hand shall mense nae ither ring, 
But in the will o’ me.’ 
She faulded him in her lilie arms, 
An’ left her pearhie kame; 
His fleecy locks trailed owre the sand, 
As she took the white sea faem. 
First raise the star out owre the hill, 
An’ neist the lovelier moon; 
While the beauteous bride 0’ Gallowa’ 
Looked for her blithe bridegroom.”’ 
Fortunate, it would seem, then, is he who can stand the 
sweet temptation. Narrow enough was the escape of the young 
laird of Lornty, in Perthshire. Riding home late one night,’ 
accompanied by his man, he heard what sounded like cries of 
distress from the direction of a loch near at hand, which lay 
hidden in a wood. Making his way quickly to the spot, he saw 
in the water a beautiful young woman, apparently in the last 
stages of exhaustion. Faintly she called for help, appealing to 
him by name. Without hesitation he plunged into the loch and 
was about to catch hold of the maiden by her long yellow locks, 
that “lay like hanks of gold upon the water,’’ when a warning cry 
