WHY JESUS WEPT 
41 
bones shall auche sair wi’ sorrow !  Weel, weel, it’s an ill warld 
after a’ ! Greumoch wad be slow wi’ sic ill news, an’ she 
wull maun haste. Weel, weel ! 
Exit hastily. 
 
 
 
 
 
SCENE VII 
 
 
MOLLY, outside Tyson’s Cottage.  Moonrise. 
 
 
MOLLY TYSON. 
 
O there is edged the waning moon 
Out of the hollow of Sty Head Pass ! 
Gable is grander for the gloom. 
Lingmell is silver !  Ah, the bloom 
Of the rose of night ; oh, dulcet tune 
Of the dew falling on the grass ! 
 
I am the veritable Queen 
Of Night :  my king is hither bound. 
A moment and he comes — oh, breast ! 
Heave if thou wilt ! — such stir is rest. 
He comes, ah !  steals to me unseen. 
The trees are high, the shades profound. 
 
Together over moor and lake ! 
Together over scaur and fell !