Jeanie Morison, "John Brown of Priesthill's Wife," in James A. Dickson, ed., Poems of Fighting Faith, pp. 36-37:

JOHN BROWN OF PRIESTHILL'S WIFE

They shot him at his cottage door,
An' his wife was standin' near,
But never a word of grief said she,
Nor dimmed her e'e a tear.

They tied his hands ahint his back,
An' bound his bonny e'en,
But her face was white, an' still, an' cauld
As a dead face it had been.

The heath, a' purple i' the sun,
Shone redder where he lay,
When they had warked their wicked will,
An' turned to ride away.

"An' what think ye o' your guidman noo,
Guidwife?" quoth Clavers rude; --
A flash cam' i' the tearless e'e --
To the white cheek the bluid.

She walked wi' steady step an' prood,
To whare her guidman lay,
She laid on her lap the shattered head,
An' wiped the bluid away.

"Aye thocht I muckle o' my guidman
An' far mair think I noo;
He's died for the Lord that died for him --
God forgi'e them that slew."

"Twere nocht but just," quoth Clavers cruel,
"Gin ye lay by his side?"
"Ay, wark your will," she answered him,
"Was never gladder bride."

She sat there still as the gloamin' fell,
An' they turned an' rode away,
Still, when the heath grew dusk in nicht,
On her knees the dead head lay.

But when the first star glimmered oot
I' the welkin quiet an' blue,
Ae lang look took she o' the e'en
She lo'ed, sae sichtless noo.

An' syne she shut the e'elids white,
An' kamed the clotted hair,
An' rowed him in his shepherd's plaid
Wi's life-bluid reddened sair.

She laid him on the purple heath,
Gently as babe that slept;
Nae word said she till a' was dune --
Syne sat her doun an' wept.

__________________
Andrew