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"It fell about the Martinmas, when nights are long and mirk, The carline wife's three sons cam hame, and their hats were o' the birk. It neither grew in syke nor dyke, nor yet in ony sheugh, But at the gates o' Paradise that birk grew fair eneuch."
Wae betide ye!" she said, suddenly changing her tone, "and cut the houghs of the creature whase fleetness ye trust in! Sheugh sheugh! awa wi'ye, that hae spilled sae muckle blude, and now wad save your ain awa wi'ye for a railing Rabshakeh, a cursing Shimei, a bloodthirsty Doeg! The swords drawn now that winna be lang o' o'ertaking ye, ride as fast as ye will."
When near her, you were sensible of a strange, subtle, intoxicating perfume, very fragrant, perfectly indefinable, which clung, not only to her dress, but to every thing belonging to her. From what flowers it was distilled no artist in essences alive could have told. I incline to think that, like the "birk" in the ghost's garland, "They were not grown on earthly bank, Nor yet on earthly sheugh."
Wae betide ye!" she said, suddenly changing her tone, "and cut the houghs of the creature whase fleetness ye trust in! Sheugh sheugh! awa wi'ye, that hae spilled sae muckle blude, and now wad save your ain awa wi'ye for a railing Rabshakeh, a cursing Shimei, a bloodthirsty Doeg! The swords drawn now that winna be lang o' o'ertaking ye, ride as fast as ye will."
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