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."