The Bloody Son

(FINNISH.)     O where have ye been the morn sae late,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     O where have ye been the morn sae late?     And I wot I hae but anither.     By the water-gate, by the water-gate,     O dear mither.     And whatten kin o wark had ye there to make,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And whatten kin o wark had ye there to make?     And I wot I hae but anither.     I watered my steeds with water frae the lake,     O dear mither.     Why is your coat sae fouled the day,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     Why is your coat sae fouled the day?     And I wot I hae but anither.     The steeds were stamping sair by the weary banks of clay,     O dear mither.     And where gat ye thae sleeves of red,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And where gat ye thae sleeves of red?     And I wot I hae but anither.     I have slain my ae brither by the weary water-head,     O dear mither.     And where will ye gang to mak your mend,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And where will ye gang to mak your mend?     And I wot I hae not anither.     The warldis way, to the warldis end,     O dear mither.     And what will ye leave your father dear,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And what will ye leave your father dear?     And I wot I hae not anither.     The wood to fell and the logs to bear,     For hell never see my body mair,     O dear mither.     And what will ye leave your mither dear,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And what will ye leave your mither dear?     And I wot I hae not anither.     The wool to card and the wool to wear,     For yell never see my body mair,     O dear mither.     And what will ye leave for your wife to take,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And what will ye leave for your wife to take?     And I wot I hae not anither.     A goodly gown and a fair new make,     For shell do nae mair for my bodys sake,     O dear mither.     And what will ye leave your young son fair,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And what will ye leave your young son fair?     And I wot ye hae not anither.     A twiggen school-rod for his body to bear,     Though it garred him greet hell get nae mair,     O dear mither.     And what will ye leave your little daughter sweet,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And what will ye leave your little daughter sweet?     And I wot ye hae not anither.     Wild mulberries for her mouth to eat,     Shell get nae mair though it garred her greet,     O dear mither.     And when will ye come back frae roamin,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     And when will ye come back frae roamin?     And I wot I hae not anither.     When the sunrise out of the north is comen,     O dear mither.     When shall the sunrise on the north side be,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     When shall the sunrise on the north side be?     And I wot I hae not anither.     When chuckie-stanes shall swim in the sea,     O dear mither.     When shall stanes in the sea swim,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     When shall stanes in the sea swim?     And I wot I hae not anither.     When birdies feathers are as lead therein,     O dear mither.     When shall feathers be as lead,     My merry son, come tell me hither?     When shall feathers be as lead?     And I wot I hae not anither.     When God shall judge between the quick and dead,     O dear mither.