As I was walking all alane,
 I heard twa corbies making a mane;
 The tane unto the t'other say,
 "Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"

 "In behint yon auld fail dyke,
 I wot there lies a new slain knight;
 And naebody kens that he lies there,
 But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

 "His hound is to the hunting gane,
 His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame;
 His lady's ta'en another mate,
 So we may mak our dinner sweet.

 "Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
 And I'll pike out his bonny blue een;
 Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
 We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.

 "Mony a one for him makes mane,
 But nane sall ken where he is gane;
 Oer his white banes, when they are bare,
 The wind sall blaw for evermair."