| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895. |
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| Douglas Gordon |
| | | Frederic Edward Weatherly (b. 1848) |
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| “ROW me o’er the strait, Douglas Gordon, | |
| Row me o’er the strait, my love,” said she, | |
| “Where we greeted in the summer, Douglas Gordon, | |
| Beyond the little Kirk by the old, old trysting tree.” | |
| Never a word spoke Douglas Gordon, | 5 |
| But he looked into her eyes so tenderly, | |
| And he set her at his side, | |
| And away across the tide | |
| They floated to the little Kirk, | |
| And the old, old trysting tree. | 10 |
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| “Give me a word of love, Douglas Gordon, | |
| Just a word of pity, O my love,” said she, | |
| “For the bells will ring to-morrow, Douglas Gordon, | |
| My wedding bells, my love, but not for you and me. | |
| They told me you were false, Douglas Gordon, | 15 |
| And you never came to comfort me!” | |
| And she saw the great tears rise, | |
| In her lover’s silent eyes, | |
| As they drifted to the little Kirk, | |
| And the old, old, trysting tree. | 20 |
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| “And it ’s never, never, never, Douglas Gordon, | |
| Never in this world that you may come to me, | |
| But tell me that you love me, Douglas Gordon, | |
| And kiss me for the love of all that used to be!” | |
| Then he flung away his sail, his oars and rudder, | 25 |
| And he took her in his arms so tenderly, | |
| And they drifted on amain, | |
| And the bells may call in vain, | |
| For she and Douglas Gordon | |
| Are drowned in the sea. | 30 |
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