The Mother’s Malison, or, Clyde’s Water

No: 216; variant: 216B

  1. ‘GIE corn to my horse, mither, Gie meat unto my man, For I maun gang to Margaret’s bower Before the nicht comes on.’
  2. ‘O stay at hame now, my son Willie, The wind blaws cald and sour; The nicht will be baith mirk and late Before ye reach her bower.’
  3. ‘O the nicht were ever sae dark, Or the wind blew never sae cald, I will be In my Margaret’s bower Before twa hours be tald.’
  4. ‘O gin ye gang to May Margaret, Without the leave of me, Clyde’s water’s wide and deep enough, My malison drown thee!’
  5. He mounted on his coal-black steed, And fast he rade awa, But ere he came to Clyde’s water Fu loud the wind did blaw.
  6. As he rode oer yon hich, hich hill, And down yon dowie den, There was a roar in Clyde’s water Wad feard a hunder men.
  7. His heart was warm, his pride was up; Sweet Willie kentna fear; But yet his mither’s malison Ay sounded in his ear.
  8. O he has swam through Clyde’s water, Tho it was wide and deep, And he came to May Margaret’s door, When a’ were fast asleep.
  9. O he’s gane round and round about, And tirled at the pin; But doors were steekd, and windows barrd, And nane wad let him in.
  10. ‘O open the door to me, Margaret! O open amd lat me in! For my boots are full o Clyde’s water And frozen to the brim.’
  11. ‘I darena open the door to you, Nor darena lat you in, For my mither she is fast asleep, And I darena mak nae din.’
  12. ‘O gin ye winna open the door, Nor yet be kind to me, Now tell me o some out-chamber Where I this nicht may be.’
  13. ‘Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie, Nor here ye canna be; For I’ve nae chambers out nor in, Nae ane but barely three.
  14. ‘The tane o them is fu o corn, The tither is fu o hay; The tither is fu o merry young men; They winna remove till day.’
  15. ‘O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret, Sin better manna be; I’ve win my mither’s malison, Coming this nicht to thee.’
  16. He’s mounted on his coal-black steed, O but his heart was wae! But, ere he came to Clyde’s water, ‘Twas half up oer the brae.
  17. . . . . . . . . . he plunged in, But never raise again.