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And the breast of the ocean is as still
As the morning mist upon Morven Hill.
Oh sair did she rue, baith night and day,
Her hap was to be this Lady's May.

Ae morning a minstrel, aged and poor,
Came harping to this Ha' house door;
His heart seemed light, though his head was bare,
And spairlie coverit wi' thin white hair;
His beard adown his bosom fell
Streaming like snow in a wintery gale.
Sae sweet and blythesome was his lay,
The gowd-sprink danced upon the spray;
The lint-white chirpet frae the bush,
And sweetly sang the lark and the thrush;
While decked in green the fairy crew
Danced frae the grass the morning dew
For the demons of night had taken their flight
As soon as they saw the morning light,
And the ghaists had left the dreary yew;
Oh they trippit sae lightly over the lea
Their doublets were green as green could be
And they shone in the sun like the Spanish flee.
And aye tde Minstrel harpet and sung,
Till his notes through ilka chamber rang;
Though decrepit, forlorn, and raggid was he
There was merghe in his fingers and fire in his e'e.