| |
| TWA race doon by the Gatehope-Slack, | |
| When nicht is wearin’ near to the noon, | |
| He on the gray and she on the black; | |
| Her faither and brithers are hard on the track, | |
| And Solway sands are white in the moon. | 5 |
| |
| Strong is their love, but their loves may be twined | |
| Or ever the lady grant love’s boon; | |
| Elliots and Armstrongs hold chase behind, | |
| Their shouts and curses ring down the wind, | |
| And Solway sands stretch white in the moon. | 10 |
| |
| Annan rins fu’ frae brae to bank, | |
| But Katharine’s lover is nae coward loon; | |
| Into the good gray’s foam-flecked flank | |
| In the rowels o’ the gray steel sank, | |
| And Solway sands wait white in the moon. | 15 |
| |
| The water ’s up to his bandelier, | |
| It ’s up to the waist o’ her satin goon; | |
| “We ’ll win to the shore and never fear, | |
| There ’s never a Elliot will follow here,” | |
| And Solway sands glint white in the moon. | 20 |
| |
| The steeds and the riders are safely o’er, | |
| Through the swirl o’ waters that waste and droon; | |
| “We try the swimming this night no more, | |
| The boat is waiting on Solway shore, | |
| And Solway sands shine white in the moon.” | 25 |
| |
| Through the gray tide-water their horses splash, | |
| Through the salt pools left on the sea-sand broon; | |
| Then on to the waiting boat they dash,— | |
| Their midnight riding is wild and rash, | |
| And Solway sands gleam white in the moon. | 30 |
| |
| “To-night the boat’s rough deck I trow, | |
| Next night the bridal in Carlisle toon.” | |
| But nights shall come and nights shall go, | |
| O’er their bride-bed deep in the quicksand’s flow, | |
| And Solway sands stand white in the moon. | 35 |
| |
| The boat rocks light on the Solway wave, | |
| The turn of the tide is coming soon, | |
| But slowly they sink in their ghastly grave, | |
| Wrapped round in the dark with none to save, | |
| And Solway sands laugh white in the moon. | 40 |
| |
| The cloud wrack breaks, and the stars shine fair, | |
| The sea’s voice sounds like a mystic rune, | |
| The skipper looks out, but none are there, | |
| The glimmering coast-line is wide and bare, | |
| And Solway Sands are white in the moon. | 45 |
| |
