Chapter IV: Part 4

He's mounted on his coal-black steed,
O but his heart was wae!
But e'er he came to Clyde's water,
'Twas half-way up the brae.

When down he rade to the river-flood,
'Twas fast flowing ower the brim;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's rod frae him.

He leaned him ower his saddle-bow
To catch his rod again;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's hat frae him.

He leaned him ower his saddle-bow
To catch his hat by force;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie frae his horse.

O I canna turn my horse's head;
I canna strive to sowm;
I've gotten my mither's malison,
And it's here that I maun drown!"

The very hour this young man sank
Into the pot sae deep,
Up wakened his love, May Margaret,
Out of her heavy sleep.

"Come hither, come hither, my minnie dear,
Come hither read my dream;
I dreamed my love Willie was at our gates,
And nane wad let him in."

"Lie still, lie still, dear Margaret,
Lie still and tak' your rest;
Your lover Willie was at the gates,
'Tis but two quarters past."

Nimbly, nimbly rase she up,
And quickly put she on;
While ever against her window
The louder blew the win'.

Out she ran into the night,
And down the dowie den;
The strength that was in Clyde's water
Wad drown five hundred men.

She stepped in to her ankle,
She stepped free and bold;
"Ohone, alas!" said that ladye,
"This water is wondrous cold."

The second step that she waded,
She waded to the knee;
Says she, "I'd fain wade farther in,
If I my love could see."

The neistan step that she waded,
She waded to the chin;
'Twas a whirlin' pot o' Clyde's water
She got sweet Willie in.

"O ye've had a cruel mither, Willie!
And I have had anither;
But we shall sleep in Clyde's water
Like sister and like brither."

* * * * *

YOUNG BEICHAN.

In London was young Beichan born,
He longed strange countries for to see,
But he was ta'en by a savage Moor,
Who handled him right cruellie.

For he viewed the fashions of that land,
Their way of worship viewed he,
But to Mahound or Termagant
Would Beichan never bend a knee.

So in every shoulder they've putten a bore,
In every bore they've putten a tree,
And they have made him trail the wine
And spices on his fair bodie.

They've casten him in a dungeon deep,
Where he could neither hear nor see,
For seven years they've kept him there,
Till he for hunger's like to dee.

This Moor he had but ae daughter,
Her name was called Susie Pye,
And every day as she took the air,
Near Beichan's prison she passed by.

And so it fell upon a day,
About the middle time of Spring,
As she was passing by that way,
She heard young Beichan sadly sing.

All night long no rest she got,
Young Beichan's song for thinking on;
She's stown the keys from her father's head,
And to the prison strang is gone.

And she has opened the prison doors,
I wot she opened two or three,
Ere she could come young Beichan at,
He was locked up so curiouslie.

But when she cam' young Beichan till,
Sore wondered he that may to see;
He took her for some fair captive:
"Fair lady, I pray, of what countrie?"

"O have ye any lands," she said,
"Or castles in your own countrie,
That ye could give to a lady fair,
From prison strang to set you free?"

"Near London town I have a hall,
And other castles two or three;
I'll give them all to the lady fair
That out of prison will set me free."

"Give me the truth of your right hand,
The truth of it give unto me,
That for seven years ye'll no lady wed,
Unless it be alang with me."

"I'll give thee the truth of my right hand,
The truth of it I'll freely gie,
That for seven years I'll stay unwed,
For the kindness thou dost show to me."

And she has brib'd the proud warder,
Wi' mickle gold and white monie,
She's gotten the keys of the prison strang,
And she has set young Beichan free.

She's gi'en him to eat the good spice-cake,
She's gi'en him to drink the blude-red wine,
She's bidden him sometimes think on her,
That sae kindly freed him out o' pine.

And she has broken her finger-ring,
And to Beichan half of it gave she:
"Keep it, to mind you in foreign land
Of the lady's love that set you free.

"And set your foot on good ship-board,
And haste ye back to your ain countrie,
And before that seven years have an end,
Come back again, love, and marry me."

But lang ere seven years had an end,
She longed full sore her love to see,
So she's set her foot on good ship-board,
And turned her back on her ain countrie.

She sailèd east, she sailèd west,
Till to fair England's shore she came,
Where a bonny shepherd she espied,
Was feeding his sheep upon the plain.

"What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd?
What news hast thou to tell to me?"
"Such news I hear, ladie," he says,
"The like was never in this countrie.

"There is a wedding in yonder hall,
And ever the bells ring merrilie;
It is Lord Beichan's wedding-day
Wi' a lady fair o' high degree."

She's putten her hand into her pocket,
Gi'en him the gold and white monie;
"Hay, take ye that, my bonny boy,
All for the news thou tell'st to me."

When she came to young Beichan's gate,
She tirlèd saftly at the pin;
So ready was the proud porter
To open and let this lady in.

"Is this young Beichan's hall," she said,
"Or is that noble lord within?"
"Yea, he's in the hall among them all,
And this is the day o' his weddin."

"And has he wed anither love?
And has he clean forgotten me?"
And sighin said that ladie gay,
"I wish I were in my ain countrie."

And she has ta'en her gay gold ring
That with her love she brake sae free;
Says, "Gie him that, ye proud porter,
And bid the bridegroom speak wi' me."

When the porter came his lord before,
He kneeled down low upon his knee:
"What aileth thee, my proud porter,
Thou art so full of courtesie?"

"I've been porter at your gates,
It's now for thirty years and three;
But the lovely lady that stands thereat,
The like o' her did I never see.

"For on every finger she has a ring,
And on her mid-finger she has three,
And meikle gold aboon her brow.
Sae fair a may did I never see."

It's out then spak the bride's mother,
And an angry woman, I wot, was she:
"Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,
And twa or three of our companie."

"O hold your tongue, thou bride's mother,
Of all your folly let me be;
She's ten times fairer nor the bride,
And all that's in your companie.

"And this golden ring that's broken in twa,
This half o' a golden ring sends she:
'Ye'll carry that to Lord Beichan,' she says,
'And bid him come an' speak wi' me.'

"She begs one sheave of your white bread,
But and a cup of your red wine,
And to remember the lady's love
That last relieved you out of pine."

"O well-a-day!" said Beichan then,
"That I so soon have married me!
For it can be none but Susie Pye,
That for my love has sailed the sea."

And quickly hied he down the stair;
Of fifteen steps he made but three;
He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms
And kist and kist her tenderlie.

"O hae ye ta'en anither bride?
And hae ye clean forgotten me?
And hae ye quite forgotten her
That gave you life and libertie?"

She lookit o'er her left shoulder,
To hide the tears stood in her ee:
"Now fare thee well, young Beichan," she says,
"I'll try to think no more on thee."

"O never, never, Susie Pye,
For surely this can never be,
Nor ever shall I wed but her
That's done and dreed so much for me."

Then out and spak the forenoon bride:
"My lord, your love it changeth soon.
This morning I was made your bride,
And another chose ere it be noon."

"O hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride,
Ye're ne'er a whit the worse for me,
And whan ye return to your ain land,
A double dower I'll send with thee."

He's ta'en Susie Pye by the milkwhite hand,
And led her thro' the halls sae hie,
And aye as he kist her red-rose lips,
"Ye're dearly welcome, jewel, to me."

He's ta'en her by the milkwhite hand,
And led her to yon fountain-stane;
He's changed her name from Susie Pye,
And call'd her his bonny love, Lady Jane.

* * * * *

GILDEROY.

Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,
Had roses till his shoon,
His stockings were of silken soy,
Wi' garters hanging doun:
It was, I ween, a comely sight,
To see sae trim a boy;
He was my joy and heart's delight,
My winsome Gilderoy.

O sic twa charming e'en he had,
A breath as sweet as rose,
He never ware a Highland plaid,
But costly silken clothes;
He gained the love of ladies gay,
Nane e'er to him was coy;
Ah, wae is me! I mourn this day
For my dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I were born
Baith in one toun together,
We scant were seven years beforn
We 'gan to luve each ither;
Our daddies and our mammies they
Were fill'd wi' meikle joy,
To think upon the bridal day
Of me and Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy, that luve of mine,
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark of Holland fine,
Wi' dainty ruffles wrought;
And he gied me a wedding-ring,
Which I received wi' joy;
Nae lad nor lassie e'er could sing
Like me and Gilderoy.

Wi' meikle joy we spent our prime,
Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we passed the langsam time
Amang the leaves sae green;
Aft on the banks we'd sit us there,
And sweetly kiss and toy;
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
My handsome Gilderoy.

O that he still had been content
Wi' me to lead his life!
But ah, his manfu' heart was bent
To stir in feats of strife.
And he in many a venturous deed
His courage bold wad try;
And now this gars my heart to bleed
For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he took,
The tears they wat mine e'e;
I gied him sic a parting look:
"My benison gang wi' thee!
God speed thee weel, my ain dear heart,
For gane is all my joy;
My heart is rent sith we maun part,
My handsome Gilderoy."

The Queen of Scots possessèd nought
That my luve let me want;
For cow and ewe he to me brought,
And e'en when they were scant:
All these did honestly possess,
He never did annoy
Who never failed to pay their cess
To my luve Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy, baith far and near,
Was fear'd in every toun,
And bauldly bare awa' the gear
Of many a lawland loun:
For man to man durst meet him nane,
He was sae brave a boy;
At length with numbers he was ta'en,
My winsome Gilderoy.

Wae worth the loun that made the laws,
To hang a man for gear;
To reive of life for sic a cause,
As stealing horse or mare!
Had not these laws been made sae strick,
I ne'er had lost my joy,
Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheek,
For my dear Gilderoy.

Gif Gilderoy had done amiss,
He might have banished been.
Ah, what sair cruelty is this,
To hang sic handsome men!
To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
Sae sweet and fair a boy!
Nae lady had so white a hand
As thee, my Gilderoy.

Of Gilderoy sae 'fraid they were,
They bound him meikle strong,
To Edinburgh they took him there,
And on a gallows hung:
They hung him high aboon the rest,
He was sae trim a boy;
There died the youth whom I lo'ed best,
My handsome Gilderoy.

Sune as he yielded up his breath,
I bare his corpse away,
Wi' tears that trickled for his death,
I wash'd his comely clay;
And sicker in a grave sae deep
I laid the dear-lo'ed boy;
And now forever I maun weep
My winsome Gilderoy.

* * * * *

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN.

It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the green leaves were a falling,
That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country,
Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his men down through the town,
To the place where she was dwelling:
"O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly, hooly rose she up,
To the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by,
"Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
And it's a' for Barbara Allan;"
"O the better for me ye's never be,
Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,
"When ye was in the tavern a drinking,
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?"

He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing;
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan."

And slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
And sighing said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
And every jow that the dead-bell gied,
It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!

"O mother, mother, make my bed!
O make it saft and narrow!
Since my love died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow."

* * * * *

THE GARDENER.

The gard'ner stands in his bower door,
Wi' a primrose in his hand,
And by there cam' a leal maiden,
As jimp as a willow wand.

"O ladie, can ye fancy me,
For to be my bride?
Ye'se get a' the flowers in my garden,
To be to you a weed.

"The lily white sail be your smock;
It becomes your bodie best;
Your head sail be buskt wi' gilly-flower,
Wi' the primrose in your breast.

"Your goun sall be the sweet-william;
Your coat the camovine;
Your apron o' the sallads neat,
That taste baith sweet and fine.

"Your hose sall be the brade kail-blade,
That is baith brade and lang;
Narrow, narrow at the cute,
And brade, brade at the brawn.

"Your gloves sail be the marigold,
All glittering to your hand,
Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort,
That grows amang corn-land."

"O fare ye well, young man," she says,
"Fareweil, and I bid adieu;
If you can fancy me," she says,
"I canna fancy you.

"Sin' ye've provided a weed for me
Amang the simmer flowers,
It's I'se provide anither for you,
Amang the winter-showers:

"The new fawn snaw to be your smock;
It becomes your bodie best;
Your head sall be wrapt wi' the eastern wind,
And the cauld rain on your breast."

* * * * *

ETIN THE FORESTER.

Lady Margaret sits in her bower door,
Sewing her silken seam;
She heard a note in Elmond's wood,
And wished she there had been.

She loot the seam fa' frae her side,
And the needle to her tae,
And she is aff to Elmond's wood
As fast as she could gae.

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,
Nor broken a branch but ane,
Till by there cam' a young hynd chiel,
Says, "Lady, lat alane.

"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut,
Or why brake ye the tree?
For I am forester o' this wood:
Ye should spier leave at me."

"I'll spier leave at na living man,
Nor yet will I at thee;
My father is king o'er a' this realm,
This wood belangs to me."

"You're welcome to the wood, Marg'ret,
You're welcome here to me;
A fairer bower than e'er you saw.
I'll bigg this night for thee."

He has bigged a bower beside the thorn,
He has fenced it up wi' stane,
And there within the Elmond wood,
They twa has dwelt their lane.

He kept her in the Elmond wood,
For twelve lang years and mair;
And seven fair sons to Hynd Etin,
Did that gay lady bear.

It fell out ance upon a day,
To the hunting he has gane;
And he has ta'en his eldest son,
To gang alang wi' him.

When they were in the gay greenwood,
They heard the mavis sing;
When they were up aboon the brae,
They heard the kirk bells ring.

"O I wad ask ye something, father,
An' ye wadna angry be!"
"Say on, say on, my bonny boy,
Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."

"My mither's cheeks are aft-times weet,
It's seldom they are dry;
What is't that gars my mither greet,
And sob sae bitterlie?"

"Nae wonder she suld greet, my boy,
Nae wonder she suld pine,
For it is twelve lang years and mair,
She's seen nor kith nor kin,
And it is twelve lang years and mair,
Since to the kirk she's been.

"Your mither was an Earl's daughter,
And cam' o' high degree,
And she might hae wedded the first in the land,
Had she nae been stown by me.

"For I was but her father's page,
And served him on my knee;
And yet my love was great for her,
And sae was hers for me."

"I'll shoot the laverock i' the lift,
The buntin on the tree,
And bring them to my mither hames
See if she'll merrier be."

It fell upon anither day,
This forester thought lang;
And he is to the hunting gane
The forest leaves amang.

Wi' bow and arrow by his side,
He took his path alane;
And left his seven young children
To bide wi' their mither at hame.

"O I wad ask ye something, mither,
An ye wadna angry be."
"Ask on, ask on, my eldest son;
Ask ony thing at me."

"Your cheeks are aft-times weet, mither;
You're greetin', as I can see."
"Nae wonder, nae wonder, my little son,
Nae wonder though I should dee!

"For I was ance an Earl's daughter,
Of noble birth and fame;
And now I'm the mither o' seven sons
Wha ne'er gat christendame."

He's ta'en his mither by the hand,
His six brithers also,
And they are on through Elmond-wood
As fast as they could go.

They wistna weel wha they were gaen,
And weary were their feet;
They wistna weel wha they were gaen,
Till they stopped at her father's gate.

"I hae nae money in my pocket,
But jewel-rings I hae three;
I'll gie them to you, my little son,
And ye'll enter there for me.

"Ye'll gie the first to the proud porter,
And he will lat you in;
Ye'll gie the next to the butler-boy,
And he will show you ben.

"Ye'll gie the third to the minstrel
That's harping in the ha',
And he'll play gude luck to the bonny boy
That comes frae the greenwood shaw."

He gied the first to the proud porter,
And he opened and lat him in;
He gied the next to the butler-boy,
And he has shown him ben;

He gied the third to the minstrel
Was harping in the ha',
And he played gude luck to the bonny boy
That cam' frae the greenwood shaw.

Now when he cam' before the Earl,
He louted on his knee;
The Earl he turned him round about,
And the saut tear blint his e'e.

"Win up, win up, thou bonny boy,
Gang frae my companie;
Ye look sae like my dear daughter,
My heart will burst in three!"

"If I look like your dear daughter,
A wonder it is nane;
If I look like your dear daughter,
I am her eldest son."

"O tell me soon, ye little wee boy,
Where may my Margaret be?"
"She's e'en now standing at your gates.
And my six brithers her wi'."

"O where are a' my porter-boys
That I pay meat and fee,
To open my gates baith braid and wide,
And let her come in to me?"

When she cam' in before the Earl,
She fell doun low on her knee:
"Win up, win up, my daughter dear;
This day ye'se dine wi' me."

"Ae bit I canna eat, father,
Ae drop I canna drink,
Till I see Etin, my husband dear;
Sae lang for him I think!"

"O where are a' my rangers bold
That I pay meat and fee,
To search the forest far and wide,
And bring Hynd Etin to me?"

Out it speaks the little wee boy:
"Na, na, this maunna be;
Without ye grant a free pardon,
I hope ye'll na him see!"

"O here I grant a free pardon,
Well sealed wi' my ain han';
And mak' ye search for Hynd Etin,
As sune as ever ye can."

They searched the country braid and wide,
The forest far and near,
And they found him into Elmond-wood,
Tearing his yellow hair.

"Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin,
Win up and boun' wi' me;
For we are come frae the castle,
And the Earl wad fain you see."

"O lat him tak' my head," he says,
"Or hang me on a tree;
For sin' I've lost my dear lady,
My life's nae worth to me!"

"Your head will na be touched, Etin,
Nor sall you hang on tree;
Your lady's in her father's court,
And all he wants is thee."

When he cam' in before the Earl,
He louted on his knee:
"Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin;
This day ye'se dine wi' me."

As they were at their dinner set, The boy he asked a boon: "I wold we were in haly kirk, To get our christendoun.

"For we hae lived in gude greenwood
These twelve lang years and ane;
But a' this time since e'er I mind
Was never a kirk within."

"Your asking's na sae great, my boy,
But granted it sall be:
This day to haly kirk sall ye gang,
And your mither sall gang you wi'."

When she cam' to the haly kirk,
She at the door did stan';
She was sae sunken doun wi' shame,
She couldna come farther ben.

Then out it spak' the haly priest,
Wi' a kindly word spak' he:
"Come ben, come ben, my lily-flower,
And bring your babes to me."

* * * * *

LAMKIN.

It's Lamkin was a mason good
As ever built wi' stane;
He built Lord Wearie's castle,
But payment gat he nane.

"O pay me, Lord Wearie,
Come, pay me my fee:"
"I canna pay you, Lamkin,
For I maun gang o'er the sea."

"O pay me now, Lord Wearie,
Come, pay me out o' hand:"
"I canna pay you, Lamkin,
Unless I sell my land."

"O gin ye winna pay me,
I here sall mak' a vow,
Before that ye come hame again,
Ye sall hae cause to rue."

Lord Wearie got a bonny ship,
To sail the saut sea faem;
Bade his lady weel the castle keep,
Ay till he should come hame.

But the nourice was a fause limmer
As e'er hung on a tree;
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
Whan her lord was o'er the sea.

She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
When the servants were awa',
Loot him in at a little shot-window,
And brought him to the ha'.

"O where's a' the men o' this house,
That ca' me Lamkin?"
"They're at the barn-well thrashing;
'Twill be lang ere they come in."

"And where's the women o' this house,
That ca' me Lamkin?"
"They're at the far well washing;
'Twill be lang ere they come in."

"And where's the bairns o' this house,
That ca' me Lamkin?"
"They're at the school reading;
'Twill be night or they come hame."

"O where's the lady o' this house,
That ca's me Lamkin?"
"She's up in her bower sewing,
But we soon can bring her down."

Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife,
That hang down by his gaire,
And he has gi'en the bonny babe
A deep wound and a sair.

Then Lamkin he rocked,
And the fause nourice she sang,
Till frae ilka bore o' the cradle
The red blood out sprang.

Then out it spak' the lady,
As she stood on the stair:
"What ails my bairn, nourice,
That he's greeting sae sair?

"O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the pap!"
"He winna still, lady,
For this nor for that."

"O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the wand!"
"He winna still, lady,
For a' his father's land."

"O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the bell!"
"He winna still, lady,
Till you come down yoursel."

O the firsten step she steppit,
She steppit on a stane;
But the neisten step she steppit,
She met him Lamkin.

"O mercy, mercy, Lamkin,
Hae mercy upon me!
Though you've ta'en my young son's life,
Ye may let mysel be."

"O sall I kill her, nourice,
Or sall I lat her be?"
"O kill her, kill her, Lamkin,
For she ne'er was good to me."

"O scour the bason, nourice,
And mak' it fair and clean,
For to keep this lady's heart's blood,
For she's come o' noble kin."

"There need nae bason, Lamkin,
Lat it run through the floor;
What better is the heart's blood
O' the rich than o' the poor?"

But ere three months were at an end,
Lord Wearie cam' again;
But dowie, dowie was his heart
When first he cam' hame.

"O wha's blood is this," he says,
"That lies in the chamer?"
"It is your lady's heart's blood;
'Tis as clear as the lamer."

"And wha's blood is this," he says,
"That lies in my ha'?"
"It is your young son's heart's blood;
'Tis the clearest ava."

O sweetly sang the black-bird
That sat upon the tree;
But sairer grat Lamkin,
When he was condemnd to die.

And bonny sang the mavis,
Out o' the thorny brake;
But sairer grat the nourice,
When she was tied to the stake.

* * * * *

HUGH OF LINCOLN.

Four and twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba',
And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
The flower amang them a'.

He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot,
And keppit it wi' his knee,
Till even in at the Jew's window
He gart the bonny ba' flee.

"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid,
Cast out that ba' o' mine."
"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
"Till ye come up an' dine.

"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
Come up and get the ba'."
"I winna come, I mayna come,
Without my bonny boys a'."

She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden,
Where the grass grew lang and green,
She's pu'd an apple red and white,
To wyle the bonny boy in.

She's wyled him in through ae chamber,
She's wyled him in through twa,
She's wyled him into the third chamber,
And that was the warst o' a'.

She's tied the little boy, hands and feet,
She's pierced him wi' a knife,
She's caught his heart's blood in a golden cup,
And twinn'd him o' his life.

She row'd him in a cake o' lead,
Bade him lie still and sleep,
She cast him into a deep draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And every bairn went hame,
Then ilka lady had her young son,
But Lady Helen had nane.

She's row'd her mantle her about,
And sair, sair 'gan she weep;
And she ran unto the Jew's house,
When they were all asleep.

"My bonny Sir Hugh, my pretty Sir Hugh,
I pray thee to me speak!"
"Lady Helen, come to the deep draw-well
Gin ye your son wad seek."

Lady Helen ran to the deep draw-well,
And knelt upon her knee:
"My bonny Sir Hugh, an ye be here,
I pray thee speak to me!"

"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,
The well is wondrous deep;
A keen penknife sticks in my heart,
It is hard for me to speak.

"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
Fetch me my winding-sheet;
And at the back o' merry Lincoln,
It's there we twa sall meet."

Now Lady Helen she's gane hame,
Made him a winding-sheet;
And at the back o' merry Lincoln,
The dead corpse did her meet.

And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln
Without men's hands were rung;
And a' the books o' merry Lincoln
Were read without men's tongue:
Never was such a burial
Sin' Adam's days begun.

* * * * *

FAIR ANNIE.

Learn to mak' your bed, Annie,
And learn to lie your lane;
For I am going ayont the sea,
A braw bride to bring hame.

"Wi' her I'll get baith gowd and gear,
Wi' thee I ne'er gat nane;
I got thee as a waif woman,
I'll leave thee as the same.

"But wha will bake my bridal bread, And brew my bridal ale, And wha will welcome my bright bride, That I bring owre the dale?"

"It's I will bake your bridal bread,
And brew your bridal ale;
And I will welcome your bright bride,
When she comes owre the dale."

He set his foot into the stirrup,
His hand upon the mane;
Says, "It will be a year and a day,
Ere ye see me again."

Fair Annie stood in her bower door,
And looked out o'er the lan',
And there she saw her ain gude lord
Leading his bride by the han'.

She's drest her sons i' the scarlet red,
Hersel i' the dainty green;
And tho' her cheek look'd pale and wan,
She weel might hae been a queen.

She called upon her eldest son;
"Look yonder what ye see,
For yonder comes your father dear,
Your stepmither him wi'.

"Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
To your halls but and your bowers;
Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
To your castles and your towers;
Sae is your bright bride you beside,
She's fairer than the flowers!"

"I thank ye, I thank ye, fair maiden,
That speaks sae courteouslie;
If I be lang about this house,
Rewarded ye sall be.

"O what'n a maiden's that," she says,
"That welcomes you and me?
She is sae like my sister Annie,
Was stown i' the bower frae me."

O she has served the lang tables,
Wi' the white bread and the wine;
But ay she drank the wan water,
To keep her colour fine.

And as she gaed by the first table,
She leugh amang them a';
But ere she reach'd the second table,
She loot the tears doun fa'.

She's ta'en a napkin lang and white,
And hung it on a pin;
And it was a' to dry her e'en,
As she ga'ed out and in.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men boun to bed,
The bride but and the bonny bridegroom,
In ae chamber were laid.

She's ta'en her harp intill her hand,
To harp this twa asleep;
And ay as she harped and as she sang,
Full sairly did she weep.

"O seven full fair sons hae I born,
To the gude lord o' this place;
And O that they were seven young hares,
And them to rin a race,
And I mysel a gude greyhound,
And I wad gie them chase!

"O seven full fair sons hae I born
To the gude lord o' this ha';
And O that they were seven rattons
To rin frae wa' to wa',
And I mysel a gude grey cat,
And I wad worry them a'!"

"My goun is on," said the new-come bride,
"My shoon are on my feet;
And I will to fair Annie's chamber,
And see what gars her greet.

"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
And wha was't was your mither?
And had ye ony sister, Annie,
Or had ye ony brither?"

"The Earl o' Richmond was my father,
His lady was my mither,
And a' the bairns beside mysel,
Was a sister and a brither."

"O weel befa' your sang, Annie,
I wat ye hae sung in time;
Gin the Earl o' Richmond was your father,
I wat sae was he mine.

"O keep your lord, my sister dear,
Ye never were wranged by me;
I had but ae kiss o' his merry mouth,
As we cam' owre the sea.

There were five ships o' gude red gold
Cam' owre the seas wi' me,
It's twa o' them will tak' me home,
And three I'll leave wi' thee."

* * * * *

THE LAIRD O' DRUM.

The Laird o' Drum is a-hunting gane,
All in a morning early,
And he has spied a weel-faur'd May,
A-shearing at her barley.

"My bonny May, my weel-faur'd May,
O will ye fancy me, O?
Wilt gae and be the Leddy o' Drum,
And let your shearing a-be, O?"

"It's I winna fancy you, kind sir,
Nor let my shearing a-be, O;
For I'm ower low to be Leddy Drum,
And your light love I'll never be, O."

"Gin ye'll cast aff that goun o' gray,
Put on the silk for me, O,
I'll mak' a vow, and keep it true,
A light love you'll never be, O."

"My father lie is a shepherd mean,
Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O,
And ye may gae and speer at him,
For I am at his will, O."

Drum is to her father gane,
Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O:
"I am come to marry your ae daughter,
If ye'll gie me your good-will, O."

"My dochter can naether read nor write,
She ne'er was brocht up at scheel, O;
But weel can she milk baith cow and ewe,
And mak' a kebbuck weel, O.

"She'll shake your barn, and win your corn,
And gang to kiln and mill, O;
She'll saddle your steed in time o' need,
And draw aff your boots hersell, O."

"I'll learn your lassie to read and write,
And I'll put her to the scheel, O;
She shall neither need to saddle my steed,
Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O.

"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or brew my bridal ale, O;
And wha will welcome my bonnie bride
Is mair than I can tell, O."

Four-and-twenty gentlemen
Gaed in at the yetts of Drum, O:
But no a man has lifted his hat,
When the Leddy o' Drum cam' in, O.

"Peggy Coutts is a very bonny bride,
And Drum is big and gawsy;
But he might hae chosen a higher match
Than ony shepherd's lassie!"

Then up bespak his brither John, Says, "Ye've done us meikle wrang, O; Ye've married ane far below our degree, A mock to a' our kin, O."

"Now haud your tongue, my brither John;
What needs it thee offend, O?
I've married a wife to work and win,
And ye've married ane to spend, O.

"The first time that I married a wife,
She was far abune my degree, O;
She wadna hae walked thro' the yetts o' Drum,
But the pearlin' abune her bree, O,
And I durstna gang in the room where she was,
But my hat below my knee, O!"

He has ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
And led her in himsell, O;
And in through ha's and in through bowers,--
"And ye're welcome, Leddy Drum, O."

When they had eaten and well drunken,
And a' men boun for bed, O,
The Laird of Drum and his Leddy fair,
In ae bed they were laid, O.

"Gin ye had been o' high renown,
As ye're o' low degree, O,
We might hae baith gane doun the street
Amang gude companie, O."

"I tauld ye weel ere we were wed,
Ye were far abune my degree, O;
But now I'm married, in your bed laid,
And just as gude as ye, O.

"For an I were dead, and ye were dead,
And baith in ae grave had lain, O;
Ere seven years were come and gane,
They'd no ken your dust frae mine, O."

* * * * *

LIZIE LINDSAY.

"Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay,
Will ye gae to the Hielands wi' me?
Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay,
And dine on fresh curds and green whey?"

Then out it spak' Lizie's mither,
An' a gude auld leddy was she:
"Gin ye say sic a word to my daughter,
I'll gar ye be hangit hie!"

"Keep weel your daughter for me, madam;
Keep weel your daughter for me.
I care as leetle for your daughter
As ye can care for me!"

Then out spak' Lizie's ain maiden,
An' a bonnie young lassie was she;
"Now gin I were heir to a kingdom,
Awa' wi' young Donald I'd be."

"O say ye sae to me, Nelly?
And does my Nelly say sae?
Maun I leave my father and mither,
Awa' wi' young Donald to gae?"

And Lizie's ta'en till her her stockings,
And Lizie's taen till her her shoon,
And kilted up her green claithing,
And awa' wi' young Donald she's gane.

The road it was lang and was weary;
The braes they were ill for to climb;
Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling,
A fit further couldna she win.

"O are we near hame yet, dear Donald?
O are we near hame yet, I pray?"
"We're naething near hame, bonnie Lizie,
Nor yet the half o' the way."

Sair, O sair was she sighing,
And the saut tear blindit her e'e:
"Gin this be the pleasures o' luving,
They never will do wi' me!"

"Now haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie;
Ye never sall rue for me;
Gie me but your luve for my ain luve,
It is a' that your tocher will be.

"O haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie,
Altho' that the gait seem lang;
And you's hae the wale o' gude living
When to Kincaussie we gang.

"My father he is an auld shepherd,
My mither she is an auld dey;
And we'll sleep on a bed o' green rashes,
And dine on fresh curds and green whey."

They cam' to a hamely puir cottage;
The auld woman 'gan for to say:
"O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald,
It's yoursell has been lang away."

"Ye mustna ca' me Sir Donald,
But ca' me young Donald your son;
For I hae a bonnie young leddy
Behind me, that's coming alang.

"Come in, come in, bonnie Lizie,
Come hither, come hither," said he;
"Altho' that our cottage be leetle,
I hope we'll the better agree.

"O mak' us a supper, dear mither,
And mak' it o' curds and green whey;
And mak' us a bed o' green rashes,
And cover it o'er wi' fresh hay."

She's made them a bed o' green rashes,
And covered it o'er wi' fresh hay.
Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling,
And lay till 'twas lang o' the day.

"The sun looks in o'er the hill-head,
An' the laverock is liltin' sae gay;
Get up, get up, bonnie Lizie,
Ye've lain till it's lang o' the day.

"Ye might hae been out at the shealin',
Instead o' sae lang to lie;
And up and helping my mither
To milk her gaits and her kye."

Then sadly spak' out Lizie Lindsay,
She spak' it wi' mony a sigh:
"The leddies o' Edinbro' city
They milk neither gaits nor kye."

"Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizie,
Rise up and mak' yoursel' fine;
For we maun be at Kincaussie,
Before that the clock strikes nine."

But when they cam' to Kincaussie,
The porter he loudly doth say,
"O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald;
It's yoursell has been lang away!"

It's doun then cam' his auld mither,
Wi' a' the keys in her han';
Saying, "Tak' ye these, bonnie Lizie,
For a' is at your comman'."

* * * * *

KATHARINE JANFARIE.

There was a may, and a weel-faur'd may.
Lived high up in yon glen:
Her name was Katharine Janfarie,
She was courted by mony men.

Doun cam' the Laird o' Lamington,
Doun frae the South Countrie;
And he is for this bonny lass,
Her bridegroom for to be.

He asked na her father, he asked na her mither,
He asked na ane o' her kin;
But he whispered the bonny lassie hersel',
And did her favor win.

Doun cam' an English gentleman,
Doun frae the English border;
And he is for this bonnie lass,
To keep his house in order.

He asked her father, he asked her mither,
And a' the lave o' her kin;
But he never asked the lassie hersel'
Till on her wedding-e'en.

But she has wrote a lang letter,
And sealed it wi' her han';
And sent it away to Lamington,
To gar him understan'.

The first line o' the letter he read,
He was baith fain and glad;
But or he has read the letter o'er,
He's turned baith wan and sad.

Then he has sent a messenger,
To rin through a' his land;
And four and twenty armed men
Were sune at his command.

But he has left his merry men all,
Left them on the lee;
And he's awa' to the wedding-house,
To see what he could see.

They all rase up to honor him,
For he was of high renown;
They all rase up to welcome him,
And bade him to sit down.

O meikle was the gude red wine
In silver cups did flow;
But aye she drank to Lamington,
And fain with him wad go.

"O come ye here to fight, young lord?
Or come ye here to play?
Or come ye here to drink gude wine
Upon the wedding-day?"

"I come na here to fight," he said,
"I come na here to play;
I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,
And mount and go my way."

He's caught her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He's mounted her hie behind himsel',
At her kinsfolk spier'd na leave.

It's up, it's up the Couden bank,
It's doun the Couden brae;
And aye they made the trumpet soun,
"It's a' fair play!"

Now a' ye lords and gentlemen
That be of England born,
Come ye na doun to Scotland thus,
For fear ye get the scorn!

They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words,
And play ye foul play;
They'll dress you frogs instead of fish
Upon your wedding-day!

* * * * *

GLENLOGIE.

Threescore o' nobles rade to the king's ha', But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a'; Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonny black e'e, "Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!"

"O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he." "O say na sae, mither, for that canna be; Though Drumlie is richer, and greater than he, Yet if I maun lo'e him, I'll certainly dee.

"Where will I get a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?" "O here am I, a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon."

When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine," 'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine." "O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine, To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.

"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee." The first line he read, a low smile ga'e he; The next line he read, the tear blindit his e'e; But the last line he read, he gart the table flee.

"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown; Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae the town;" But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green, O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane.

When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there; Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair; "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see."

Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben, But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down; She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e; "O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."

* * * * *

GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR

It fell about the Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was than,
That our gudewife had puddings to mak'
And she boil'd them in the pan.

The wind blew cauld frae east and north,
And blew intil the floor;
Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
"Get up and bar the door."

"My hand is in my hussyskep,
Gudeman, as ye may see;
An it shou'dna be barr'd this hunder year,
It's ne'er be barr'd by me."

They made a paction 'tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure,
That the first word whaever spak,
Should rise and bar the door.

Than by there came twa gentlemen,
At twelve o'clock at night,
Whan they can see na ither house,
And at the door they light.

"Now whether is this a rich man's house,
Or whether is it a poor?"
But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak,
For barring of the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,
And syne they ate the black:
Muckle thought the gudewife to hersell,
Yet ne'er a word she spak.

Then ane unto the ither said,
"Here, man, tak ye my knife;
Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard,
And I'll kiss the gudewife."

"But there's na water in the house,
And what shall we do than?"
"What ails ye at the pudding bree
That boils into the pan?"

O up then started our gudeman,
An angry man was he;
"Will ye kiss my wife before my een,
And scaud me wi' pudding bree?"

O up then started our gudewife,
Gied three skips on the floor;
"Gudeman, ye've spak the foremost word;
Get up and bar the door."

* * * * *

THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND.

"The luve that I hae chosen,
I'll therewith be content;
The saut sea sail be frozen
Before that I repent.
Repent it sall I never
Until the day I dee;
But the Lawlands o' Holland
Hae twinned my luve and me.

"My luve he built a bonny ship,
And set her to the main,
Wi' twenty-four brave mariners
To sail her out and hame.
But the weary wind began to rise,
The sea began to rout,
And my luve and his bonny ship
Turned withershins about.

"There sall nae mantle cross my back,
No kaim gae in my hair,
Sall neither coal nor candle-light
Shine in my bower mair;
Nor sall I choose anither luve
Until the day I dee,
Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland
Hae twinned my luve and me."

"Noo haud your tongue, my daughter dear,
Be still, and bide content;
There are mair lads in Galloway;
Ye needna sair lament."
"O there is nane in Galloway,
There's nane at a' for me.
I never lo'ed a lad but ane,
And he's drowned i' the sea."

* * * * *

THE TWA CORBIES.

As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a maen; The tane into the t'ither did say, "Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"

"O doun beside yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain knight; Nae living kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair,

"His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wildfowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.

"O we'll sit on his white hause bane, And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en, Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair, We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.

"Mony a ane for him makes maen, But nane shall ken whaur he is gane; Over his banes when they are bare, The wind shall blaw for evermair."

* * * * *

HELEN OF KIRCONNELL.

I wad I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea!

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succor me!

O think na but my heart was sair When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair! I laid her down wi' meikle care On fair Kirconnell lea.

As I went down the water-side, Nane but my foe to be my guide, Nane but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirconnell lea;

I lighted down my sword to draw, I hackéd him in pieces sma', I hackéd him in pieces sma', For her sake that died for me.

O Helen fair, beyond compare! I'll make a garland of thy hair Shall bind my heart for evermair Until the day I dee.

O that I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, "Haste and come to me!"

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! If I were with thee, I were blest, Where thou lies low and takes thy rest On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wad my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, And I in Helen's arms lying, On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wad I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; And I am weary of the skies, Since my Love died for me.

* * * * *

WALY WALY.

O waly waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn-side
Where I and my Love wont to gae!
I leant my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true Love did lichtly me.

O waly waly, but love be bonny
A little time while it is new;
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld
And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head?
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed;
The sheets sall ne'er be prest by me:
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true Love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearie.

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town
We were a comely sight to see;
My Love was clad in black velvet,
And I mysell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd
And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
And, O! that my young babe were born,
And set upon, the nurse's knee,
And I mysell were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!

* * * * *

LORD RONALD.

"O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son,
O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?"
"I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?"
"I dined wi' my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?"
"I gat eels boil'd in broo'; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son?
What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?"
"O they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Ronald, my son!
O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!"
"O yes! I am poison'd! mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down."

* * * * *

EDWARD, EDWARD.

'Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
Edward, Edward?
Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
And why sae sad gang yee O?'
'O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
And I had nae mair bot hee O.'

'Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward,
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son, I tell thee O.'
'O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was sae fair and frie O.'