Our bodies into the brake were flung,
  To feed the hawks and the ravens young;
  And there our little bones reclined,
  And white they bleach’d in the winter wind.

  Our youngest sister found them there,
  And wiped them clean wi’ her yellow hair;
  And every day she sits and grieves,
  And covers them o’er wi’ the wabron leaves.

  Then our twin souls they sought the sky,
  And were welcome guests in the heavens high;
  And we gat our choice through all the spheres
  What lives to lead for a thousand years.

  Then humble, old matron, lend us thine aid,
  For this night the choice is to be made;
  And we have sought thy lowly hearth
  For the last advice thou giv’st on earth.

  Say, shall we skim o’er this earth below,
  Beholding its scenes of joy and woe;
  And try to reward the virtuous heart,
  And make the unjust and the sinner smart?

  Or shall we choose the star of love,
  In a holy twilight still to move;
  Or fly to frolic, light and boon,
  On the silver mountains of the moon?

  O, tell us, for we hae nane beside! 
  Our daddy’s gane, and our mammy’s a bride. 
  She is blitliely laid in her bridal sheet,
  But a spirit stands at her bed feet.

  Ay, though she be laid in her bridal bed,
  There is guiltless blood upon her head;
  And on her soul the hue of a crime,
  That will never wash out till the end of time.

  Advise, advise! dear matron, advise! 
  For you are humble, devout, and wise. 
  We ask a last advice from you—­
  Our hour is come—­what shall we do?”

  “O, wondrous creatures, ye maun allow
  I naething can ken of beings like you;
  But ere the voice calls at eleven,
  Go ask your Father who is in heaven.”

  Away, away, the burdies flew
  Aye singing, “Adieu, kind heart, adieu! 
  They that hae blood on their hands may rue
  Afore the day-beam kiss the dew.

  There’s naught sae heinous in human life
  As taking a helpless baby’s life;
  There’s naething sae kind aneath the sky
  As cheering the heart that soon maun die.”

  The morning came wi’ drift an’ snaw,
  And with it news frae the bridal-ha’,
  That death had been busy, and blood was spilt,
  May Heaven preserve us all from guilt!

  They tell of a deed—­Believe’t who can? 
  Such tale was never told by man;
  The bridegroom is gone in fire and flood,
  And the bridal-bed is steep’d with blood!

  The poor auld matron died ere day,
  And was found as life was passing away;
  And twa bonny burdies sang in the bed,
  The one at the feet, the other the head.

  Now I have heard tales, and told them too,
  Hut this is beyond what I could do;
  And far hae I ridden, and far hae I gane,
  But burdies like these I never saw nane.