"Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out of my sight soon may'st thou be! I granted never a traitor's life, And now I'll not begin with thee."

"Ye lied, ye lied, now, king," he says, "Altho' a king and prince ye be! For I've loved naething in my life, I weel dare say it, but honestie.

"Save a fat horse, and a fair woman, Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deer; But England shou'd have found me meal and mault, Gif I had lived this hundred year.

"She shou'd have found me meal and mault, And beef and mutton in all plentie; But never a Scots wife cou'd have said, That e'er I skaith'd her a puir flee.

"To seek het water beneath cauld ice, Surely it is a great follie: I have ask'd grace at a graceless face, But there is nane for my men and me.

"But had I kenn'd, ere I came frae hame, How unkind thou wou'dst been to me, I wou'd ha'e keepit the Border side, In spite of all thy force and thee.

"Wist England's king that I was ta'en, Oh, gin a blythe man he wou'd be! For ance I slew his sister's son, And on his breast-bane brak a tree."

John wore a girdle about his middle, Embroider'd o'er with burning gold, Bespangled with the same metal, Maist beautiful was to behold.

There hang nine targats {8} at Johnnie's hat, An ilk ane worth three hundred pound: "What wants that knave that a king shou'd have, But the sword of honour and the crown?

"Oh, where got thee these targats, Johnnie. That blink sae brawly {9} aboon thy brie?" "I gat them in the field fechting, {10} Where, cruel king, thou durst not be.

"Had I my horse and harness gude, And riding as I wont to be, It shou'd have been tauld this hundred year, The meeting of my king and me!

"God be with thee, Kirsty, {11} my brother, Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun! Lang may'st thou live on the Border side, Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down!

"And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son, Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee! But an thou live this hundred year, Thy father's better thou'lt never be.

"Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall, Where on Esk side thou standest stout! Gif I had lived but seven years mair, I wou'd ha'e gilt thee round about."

John murder'd was at Carlinrigg, And all his gallant companie; But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae, To see sae mony brave men die;

Because they saved their country dear Frae Englishmen! Nane were sae bauld While Johnnie lived on the Border side, Nane of them durst come near his hauld.



Ballad: Edom O' Gordon



It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,— "We maun draw to a hald. {12}

"And whatna hald shall we draw to, My merry men and me? We will gae straight to Towie house, To see that fair ladye."

[The ladye stood on her castle wall, Beheld baith dale and down; There she was 'ware of a host of men Came riding towards the town.

"Oh, see ye not, my merry men all, Oh, see ye not what I see? Methinks I see a host of men; I marvel who they be."

She thought it had been her own wed lord. As he came riding hame; It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon, Wha reck'd nae sin nor shame.]

She had nae sooner buskit hersel', And putten on her gown, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were round about the town.

They had nae sooner supper set, Nae sooner said the grace, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were round about the place.

The ladye ran to her tower head, As fast as she cou'd hie, To see if, by her fair speeches, She cou'd with him agree.

As soon as he saw this ladye fair. And her yetts all lockit fast, He fell into a rage of wrath, And his heart was all aghast.

"Come down to me, ye ladye gay, Come down, come down to me; This night ye shall lye within my arms, The morn my bride shall be."

"I winna come down, ye false Gordon, I winna come down to thee; I winna forsake my ain dear lord, That is sae far frae me."

"Gi'e up your house, ye ladye fair, Gi'e up your house to me; Or I shall burn yoursel' therein, Bot and your babies three."

"I winna gi'e up, ye false Gordon, To nae sic traitor as thee; Tho' you shou'd burn mysel' therein, Bot and my babies three.

["But fetch to me my pistolette, And charge to me my gun; For, but if I pierce that bluidy butcher, My babes we will be undone."

She stiffly stood on her castle wall, And let the bullets flee; She miss'd that bluidy butcher's heart, Tho' she slew other three.]

"Set fire to the house!" quo' the false Gordon, "Since better may nae be; And I will burn hersel' therein, Bot and her babies three."

"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man, I paid ye weel your fee; Why pull ye out the grund-wa'-stance, Lets in the reek {13} to me?

"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man, I paid ye weel your hire; Why pull ye out my grund-wa'-stane, To me lets in the fire?"

"Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye, Ye paid me weel my fee; But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, Maun either do or dee."

Oh, then out spake her youngest son, Sat on the nurse's knee: Says—"Mither dear, gi'e o'er this house, For the reek it smothers me."

["I wou'd gi'e all my gold, my bairn, Sae wou'd I all my fee, For ae blast of the westlin' wind, To blaw the reek frae thee.]

"But I winna gi'e up my house, my dear, To nae sic traitor as he; Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair, Ye maun take share with me."

Oh, then out spake her daughter dear, She was baith jimp and small: "Oh, row me in a pair of sheets, And tow me o'er the wall."

They row'd her in a pair of sheets, And tow'd her o'er the wall; But on the point of Gordon's spear She got a deadly fall.

Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, And cherry were her cheeks; And clear, clear was her yellow hair, Whereon the red bluid dreeps.

Then with his spear he turn'd her o'er, Oh, gin her face was wan! He said—"You are the first that e'er I wish'd alive again."

He turn'd her o'er and o'er again, Oh, gin her skin was white! "I might ha'e spared that bonnie face To ha'e been some man's delight.

"Busk and boun, my merry men all, For ill dooms I do guess; I canna look on that bonnie face, As it lyes on the grass!"

"Wha looks to freits, {14} my master dear, Their freits will follow them; Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon Was daunted with a dame."

[But when the ladye saw the fire Come flaming o'er her head, She wept, and kissed her children twain; Said—"Bairns, we been but dead."

The Gordon then his bugle blew, And said—"Away, away! The house of Towie is all in a flame, I hald it time to gae."]

Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord, As he came o'er the lea; He saw his castle all in a flame, As far as he could see.

Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave, And oh, his heart was wae! "Put on, put on, my wighty {15} men, As fast as ye can gae.

"Put on, put on, my wighty men, As fast as ye can drie; For he that is hindmost of the thrang Shall ne'er get gude of me!"

Then some they rade, and some they ran, Full fast out o'er the bent; But ere the foremost could win up, Baith ladye and babes were brent.

[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, And wept in tearful mood; "Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed, Ye shall weep tears of bluid."

And after the Gordon he has gane, Sae fast as he might drie; And soon in the Gordon's foul heart's bluid He's wroken {16} his dear layde.]

And mony were the mudie {17} men Lay gasping on the green; And mony were the fair ladyes Lay lemanless at hame.

And mony were the mudie men Lay gasping on the green; For of fifty men the Gordon brocht, There were but five gaed hame.

And round, and round the walls he went, Their ashes for to view; At last into the flames he flew, And bade the world adieu.



Ballad: Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament



(Child, vol. iv. Early Edition.)

Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep, If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad, Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy, Thy father bred one great annoy. Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.

Balow, my darling, sleep a while, And when thou wak'st then sweetly smile; But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids, nay, God forbid; For in thine eye his look I see, The tempting look that ruin'd me. Balow, my boy, etc.

When he began to court my love, And with his sugar'd words to move, His tempting face, and flatt'ring chear, In time to me did not appear; But now I see that cruel he Cares neither for his babe nor me. Balow, my boy, etc.

Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman's mouth. Let never any after me Submit unto thy courtesy! For, if hey do, O! cruel thou Wilt her abuse and care not how! Balow, my boy, etc.

I was too cred'lous at the first, To yield thee all a maiden durst. Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love; But quick as thought the change is wrought, Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought. Balow, my boy, etc.

I wish I were a maid again! From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain; For now unto my grief I find They all are perjur'd and unkind; Bewitching charms bred all my harms;— Witness my babe lies in my arms. Balow, my boy, etc.

I take my fate from bad to worse, That I must needs be now a nurse, And lull my young son on my lap: From me, sweet orphan, take the pap. Balow, my child, thy mother mild Shall wail as from all bliss exil'd. Balow, my boy, etc.

Balow, my boy, weep not for me, Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee. Nor pity her deserved smart, Who can blame none but her fond heart; For, too soon tursting latest finds With fairest tongues are falsest minds. Balow, my boy, etc.

Balow, my boy, thy father's fled, When he the thriftless son has played; Of vows and oaths forgetful, he Preferr'd the wars to thee and me. But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine Make him eat acorns with the swine. Balow, my boy, etc.

But curse not him; perhaps now he, Stung with remorse, is blessing thee: Perhaps at death; for who can tell Whether the judge of heaven or hell, By some proud foe has struck the blow, And laid the dear deceiver low? Balow, my boy, etc.

I wish I were into the bounds Where he lies smother'd in his wounds, Repeating, as he pants for air, My name, whom once he call'd his fair; No woman's yet so fiercely set But she'll forgive, though not forget. Balow, my boy, etc.

If linen lacks, for my love's sake Then quickly to him would I make My smock, once for his body meet, And wrap him in that winding-sheet. Ah me! how happy had I been, If he had ne'er been wrapt therein. Balow, my boy, etc.

Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee; Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me: Thy griefs are growing to a sum, God grant thee patience when they come; Born to sustain thy mother's shame, A hapless fate, a bastard's name. Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.



Ballad: Jock O The Side



(Child, Part VI., p. 479.)

Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid, But I wat they had better staid at hame; For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead, And my son Johnie is prisner tane? With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.

For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane, Her coats she has kilted up to her knee; And down the water wi speed she rins, While tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.

Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton: "What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?" "Bad news, bad news, my lord Mangerton; Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie."

"Neer fear, sister Downie," quo Mangerton; "I hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie, My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a' weel filld, And I'll part wi them a' ere Johnie shall die.

"Three men I'll take to set him free, Weel harnessd a' wi best of steel; The English rogues may hear, and drie The weight o their braid swords to feel

"The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa, O Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be! Thy coat is blue, thou has been true, Since England banishd thee, to me."

Now, Hobie was an English man, In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born; But his misdeeds they were sae great, They banished him neer to return.

Lord Mangerton then orders gave,— "Your horses the wrang way maun a' be shod; Like gentlemen ye must not seem, But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.

"Your armour gude ye maunna shaw, Nor ance appear like men o weir; As country lads be all arrayd, Wi branks and brecham on ilk mare."

Sae now a' their horses are shod the wrang way, And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine, Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse behind, And on they rode for the water o Tyne.

At the Cholerford they a' light down, And there, wi the help o the light o the moon, A tree they cut, wi fifteen naggs upon each side, To climb up the wall of Newcastle toun.

But when they came to Newcastle toun, And were alighted at the wa, They fand their tree three ells oer laigh, They fand their stick baith short aid sma.

Then up and spake the Laird's ain Jock, "There's naething for't; the gates we maun force." But when they cam the gate unto, A proud porter withstood baith men and horse.

His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung; Wi foot or hand he neer play'd paw; His life and his keys at anes they hae taen, And cast his body ahind the wa.

Now soon they reached Newcastle jail, And to the prisner thus they call: "Sleips thou, wakes thou, Jock o the Side, Or is thou wearied o thy thrall?"

Jock answers thus, wi dolefu tone: "Aft, aft I wake, I seldom sleip; But wha's this kens my name sae weel, And thus to hear my waes does seek?"

Then up and spake the good Laird's Jock: "Neer fear ye now, my billie," quo he; "For here's the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, And Hobie Noble, come to set thee free."

"Oh, had thy tongue, and speak nae mair, And o thy talk now let me be! For if a' Liddesdale were here the night, The morn's the day that I maun die.

"Full fifteen stane o Spanish iron, They hae laid a' right sair on me; Wi locks and keys I am fast bound Into this dungeon mirk and drearie."

"Fear ye no that," quo the Laird's Jock; "A faint heart neer wan a fair ladie; Work thou within, we'll work without, And I'll be sworn we set thee free."

The first strong dore that they came at, They loosed it without a key; The next chaind dore that they cam at, They gard it a' in flinders flee.

The prisner now, upo his back, The Laird's Jock's gotten up fu hie; And down the stair him, irons and a', Wi nae sma speed and joy brings he.

"Now, Jock, I wat," quo Hobie Noble, "Part o the weight ye may lay on me," "I wat weel no," quo the Laird's Jock "I count him lighter than a flee."

Sae out at the gates they a' are gane, The prisner's set on horseback hie; And now wi speed they've tane the gate; While ilk ane jokes fu wantonlie.

"O Jock, sae winsomely's ye ride, Wi baith your feet upo ae side! Sae weel's ye're harnessd, and sae trig! In troth ye sit like ony bride."

The night, tho wat, they didna mind, But hied them on fu mirrilie, Until they cam to Cholerford brae, Where the water ran like mountains hie.

But when they came to Cholerford, There they met with an auld man; Says, "Honest man, will the water ride? Tell us in haste, if that ye can."

"I wat weel no," quo the good auld man; "Here I hae livd this threty yeirs and three, And I neer yet saw the Tyne sae big, Nor rinning ance sae like a sea."

Then up and spake the Laird's saft Wat, The greatest coward in the company; "Now halt, now halt, we needna try't; The day is comd we a' maun die!"

"Poor faint-hearted thief!" quo the Laird's Jock, "There'll nae man die but he that's fie; I'll lead ye a' right safely through; Lift ye the prisner on ahint me.

Sae now the water they a' hae tane, By anes and 'twas they a' swam through "Here are we a' safe," says the Laird's Jock, "And, poor faint Wat, what think ye now?"

They scarce the ither side had won, When twenty men they saw pursue; Frae Newcastle town they had been sent, A' English lads right good and true.

But when the land-sergeant the water saw, "It winna ride, my lads," quo he; Then out he cries, "Ye the prisner may take, But leave the irons, I pray, to me."

"I wat weel no," cryd the Laird's Jock, "I'll keep them a'; shoon to my mare they'll be; My good grey mare; for I am sure, She's bought them a' fu dear frae thee."

Sae now they're away for Liddisdale, Een as fast as they coud them hie; The prisner's brought to his ain fireside, And there o's airns they make him free.

"Now, Jock, my billie," quo a' the three, "The day was comd thou was to die; But thou's as weel at thy ain fireside, Now sitting, I think, 'tween thee and me."

They hae gard fill up ae punch-bowl, And after it they maun hae anither, And thus the night they a' hae spent, Just as they had been brither and brither.



Ballad: Lord Thomas And Fair Annet



(Child, Part III., p. 182.)

Lord Thomas and Fair Annet Sate a' day on a hill; Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, They had not talkt their fill.

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, Fair Annet took it ill: "A, I will nevir wed a wife Against my ain friend's will."

"Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, A wife wull neir wed yee;" Sae he is hame to tell his mither, And knelt upon his knee.

"O rede, O rede, mither," he says, "A gude rede gie to mee; O sall I tak the nut-browne bride, And let Faire Annet bee?"

"The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, Fair Annet she has gat nane; And the little beauty Fair Annet haes O it wull soon be gane."

And he has till his brother gane: "Now, brother, rede ye mee; A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, And let Fair Annet bee?"

"The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, The nut-browne bride has kye; I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, And cast Fair Annet bye."

"Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie, And her kye into the byre; And I sall hae nothing to mysell Bot a fat fadge by the fyre."

And he has till his sister gane: "Now, sister, rede ye mee; O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, And set Fair Annet free?"

"I'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas, And let the browne bride alane; Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace, What is this we brought hame!"

"No, I will tak my mither's counsel, And marrie me owt o hand; And I will tak the nut-browne bride, Fair Annet may leive the land."

Up then rose Fair Annet's father, Twa hours or it wer day, And he is gane unto the bower Wherein Fair Annet lay.

"Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet," he says "Put on your silken sheene; Let us gae to St. Marie's Kirke, And see that rich weddeen."

"My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, And dress to me my hair; Whaireir yee laid a plait before, See yee lay ten times mair.

"My maids, gae to my dressing-room, And dress to me my smock; The one half is o the holland fine, The other o needle-work."

The horse Fair Annet rade upon, He amblit like the wind; Wi siller he was shod before, Wi burning gowd behind.

Four and twanty siller bells Wer a' tyed till his mane, And yae tift o the norland wind, They tinkled ane by ane.

Four and twanty gay gude knichts Rade by Fair Annet's side, And four and twanty fair ladies, As gin she had bin a bride.

And whan she cam to Marie's Kirk, She sat on Marie's stean: The cleading that Fair Annet had on It skinkled in their een.

And whan she cam into the kirk, She shimmerd like the sun; The belt that was about her waist Was a' wi pearles bedone.

She sat her by the nut-browne bride, And her een they wer sae clear, Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, When Fair Annet drew near.

He had a rose into his hand, He gae it kisses three, And reaching by the nut-browne bride, Laid it on Fair Annet's knee.

Up then spak the nut-browne bride, She spak wi meikle spite: "And whair gat ye that rose-water, That does mak yee sae white?"

"O I did get the rose-water Whair ye wull neir get nane, For I did get that very rose-water Into my mither's wame."

The bride she drew a long bodkin Frae out her gay head-gear, And strake Fair Annet unto the heart, That word spak nevir mair.

Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale, And marvelit what mote bee; But when he saw her dear heart's blude, A' wood-wroth wexed bee.

He drew his dagger that was sae sharp, That was sae sharp and meet, And drave it into the nut-browne bride, That fell deid at his feit.

"Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed, "Now stay, my dear," he cry'd; Then strake the dagger untill his heart, And fell deid by her side.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa, Fair Annet within the quiere, And o the ane thair grew a birk, The other a bonny briere.

And ay they grew, and ay they threw, As they wad faine be neare; And by this ye may ken right weil They were twa luvers deare.



Ballad: Fair Annie



(Child, Part III., p. 69.)

"It's narrow, narrow, make your bed, And learn to lie your lane: For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie, A braw bride to bring hame. Wi her I will get gowd and gear; Wi you I neer got nane.

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

"It's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, And I will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring oer the dale."

"But she that welcomes my brisk bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And braid her yellow hair."

"But how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane? Have I not born seven sons to thee, And am with child again?"

She's taen her young son in her arms, Another in her hand, And she's up to the highest tower, To see him come to land.

"Come up, come up, my eldest son, And look oer yon sea-strand, And see your father's new-come bride, Before she come to land."

"Come down, come down, my mother dear, Come frae the castle wa! I fear, if langer ye stand there, Ye'll let yoursell down fa."

And she gaed down, and farther down, Her love's ship for to see, And the topmast and the mainmast Shone like the silver free.

And she's gane down, and farther down, The bride's ship to behold, And the topmast and the mainmast They shone just like the gold.

She's taen her seven sons in her hand, I wot she didna fail; She met Lord Thomas and his bride, As they came oer the dale.

"You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas, You're welcome to your land; You're welcome with your fair ladye, That you lead by the hand.

"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye, You're welcome to your bowers; Your welcome to your hame, ladye, For a' that's here is yours."

"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie, Sae dearly as I thank thee; You're the likest to my sister Annie, That ever I did see.

"There came a knight out oer the sea, And steald my sister away; The shame scoup in his company, And land where'er he gae!"

She hang ae napkin at the door, Another in the ha, And a' to wipe the trickling tears, Sae fast as they did fa.

And aye she served the lang tables With white bread and with wine, And aye she drank the wan water, To had her colour fine.

And aye she served the lang tables, With white bread and with brown; And aye she turned her round about, Sae fast the tears fell down.

And he's taen down the silk napkin, Hung on a silver pin, And aye he wipes the tear trickling A'down her cheek and chin.

And aye he turn'd him round about, And smiled amang his men; Says, "Like ye best the old ladye, Or her that's new come hame?"

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men bound to bed, Lord Thomas and his new-come bride To their chamber they were gaed.

Annie made her bed a little forbye, To hear what they might say; "And ever alas!" Fair Annie cried, "That I should see this day!

"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats, Running on the castle wa, And I were a grey cat mysell, I soon would worry them a'.

"Gin my young sons were seven young hares, Running oer yon lilly lee, And I were a grew hound mysell, Soon worried they a' should be."

And wae and sad Fair Annie sat, And drearie was her sang, And ever, as she sobbd and grat, "Wae to the man that did the wrang!"

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

"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie, That ye make sic a moan? Has your wine-barrels cast the girds, Or is your white bread gone?

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

"The Earl of Wemyss was my father, The Countess of Wemyss my mother; And a' the folk about the house To me were sister and brother."

"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father, I wot sae was he mine; And it shall not be for lack o gowd That ye your love sall fyne.

"For I have seven ships o mine ain, A' loaded to the brim, And I will gie them a' to thee Wi four to thine eldest son: But thanks to a' the powers in heaven That I gae maiden hame!"



Ballad: The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow



(Child, Part III. Early Edition.)

Late at e'en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid the lawing, They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing.

"Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord, Oh, stay at hame, my marrow! My cruel brother will you betray On the dowie houms of Yarrow."

"Oh, fare ye weel, my ladye gaye! Oh, fare ye weel, my Sarah! For I maun gae, though I ne'er return, Frae the dowie banks of Yarrow."

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, As oft she had done before, O; She belted him with his noble brand, And he's away to Yarrow.

As he gaed up the Tennies bank, I wot he gaed wi' sorrow, Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men, On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"Oh, come ye here to part your land, The bonnie Forest thorough? Or come ye here to wield your brand, On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"

"I come not here to part my land, And neither to beg nor borrow; I come to wield my noble brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

"If I see all, ye're nine to ane; An that's an unequal marrow: Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

Four has he hurt, and five has slain, On the bloody braes of Yarrow; Till that stubborn knight came him behind, And ran his body thorough.

"Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John, And tell your sister Sarah, To come and lift her leafu' lord; He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."

"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream; I fear there will be sorrow! I dream'd I pu'd the heather green, Wi' my true love, on Yarrow.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, And tell me how he fareth!

"But in the glen strive armed men; They've wrought me dole and sorrow; They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain— He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high, high hill, She gaed wi' dole and sorrow, And in the den spied ten slain men, On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She search'd his wounds all thorough, She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red, On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear! For a' this breeds but sorrow; I'll wed ye to a better lord Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear! Ye mind me but of sorrow: A fairer rose did never bloom Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."



Ballad: Sir Roland



(Child, vol. i. Early Edition.)

Whan he cam to his ain luve's bouir He tirled at the pin, And sae ready was his fair fause luve To rise and let him in.

"O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says, "Thrice welcome thou art to me; For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir, And to-morrow we'll wedded be."

"This night is hallow-eve," he said, "And to-morrow is hallow-day; And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, That has made my heart fu' wae.

"I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, And I wish it may cum to gude: I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound, And gied me his lappered blude."

* * * * *

"Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland," she said, And set you safely down." O your chamber is very dark, fair maid, And the night is wondrous lown."

"Yes, dark, dark is my secret bouir, And lown the midnight may be; For there is none waking in a' this tower But thou, my true love, and me."

* * * * *

She has mounted on her true love's steed, By the ae light o' the moon; She has whipped him and spurred him, And roundly she rade frae the toun.

She hadna ridden a mile o' gate, Never a mile but ane, When she was aware of a tall young man, Slow riding o'er the plain,

She turned her to the right about, Then to the left turn'd she; But aye, 'tween her and the wan moonlight, That tall knight did she see.

And he was riding burd alane, On a horse as black as jet, But tho' she followed him fast and fell, No nearer could she get.

"O stop! O stop! young man," she said; "For I in dule am dight; O stop, and win a fair lady's luve, If you be a leal true knight."

But nothing did the tall knight say, And nothing did he blin; Still slowly ride he on before And fast she rade behind.

She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed, Till his breast was all a foam; But nearer unto that tall young knight, By Our Ladye she could not come.

"O if you be a gay young knight, As well I trow you be, Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay Till I come up to thee."

But nothing did that tall knight say, And no whit did he blin, Until he reached a broad river's side And there he drew his rein.

"O is this water deep?" he said, "As it is wondrous dun? Or is it sic as a saikless maid, And a leal true knight may swim?"

"The water it is deep," she said, "As it is wondrous dun; But it is sic as a saikless maid, And a leal true knight may swim."

The knight spurred on his tall black steed; The lady spurred on her brown; And fast they rade unto the flood, And fast they baith swam down.

"The water weets my tae," she said; "The water weets my knee, And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight, For the sake of Our Ladye."

"If I would help thee now," he said, "It were a deadly sin, For I've sworn neir to trust a fair may's word, Till the water weets her chin."

"Oh, the water weets my waist," she said, "Sae does it weet my skin, And my aching heart rins round about, The burn maks sic a din.

"The water is waxing deeper still, Sae does it wax mair wide; And aye the farther that we ride on, Farther off is the other side.

"O help me now, thou false, false knight, Have pity on my youth, For now the water jawes owre my head, And it gurgles in my mouth."

The knight turned right and round about, All in the middle stream; And he stretched out his head to that lady, But loudly she did scream.

"O this is hallow-morn," he said, "And it is your bridal-day, But sad would be that gay wedding, If bridegroom and bride were away.

"And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret! Till the water comes o'er your bree, For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet, Wha rides this ford wi' me.

"Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret! Turn ye round, and look on me, Thou hast killed a true knight under trust, And his ghost now links on with thee."



Ballad: Rose The Red And White Lily



(Child, Part IV.)

O Rose the Red and White Lilly, Their mother dear was dead, And their father married an ill woman, Wishd them twa little guede.

Yet she had twa as fu fair sons As eer brake manis bread, And the tane of them loed her White Lilly, And the tither lood Rose the Red.

O, biggit ha they a bigly bowr, And strawn it oer wi san, And there was mair mirth i the ladies' bowr Than in a' their father's lan.

But out it spake their step-mother, Wha stood a little foreby: "I hope to live and play the prank Sal gar your loud sang ly."

She's calld upon her eldest son: "Come here, my son, to me; It fears me sair, my eldest son, That ye maun sail the sea."

"Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear, Your bidding I maun dee; But be never war to Rose the Red Than ye ha been to me."

"O had your tongue, my eldest son, For sma sal be her part; You'll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth Gin your very fair heart should break."

She's calld upon her youngest son: "Come here, my son, to me; It fears me sair, my youngest son, That ye maun sail the sea."

"Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear, Your bidding I maun dee; But be never war to White Lilly Than ye ha been to me."

"O haud your tongue, my youngest son, For sma sall be her part; You'll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth Tho your very fair heart should break."

When Rose the Red and White Lilly Saw their twa loves were gane, Then stopped ha they their loud, loud sang, And tane up the still moarnin; And their step-mother stood listnin by, To hear the ladies' mean.

Then out it spake her, White Lily; "My sister, we'll be gane; Why shou'd we stay in Barnsdale, To waste our youth in pain?"

Then cutted ha they their green cloathing, A little below their knee; And sae ha they their yallow hair, A little aboon there bree; And they've doen them to haely chapel Was christened by Our Ladye.

There ha they changed their ain twa names, Sae far frae ony town; And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy, And the tither o them Roge the Roun.

Between this twa a vow was made, An they sware it to fulfil; That at three blasts o a buglehorn, She'd come her sister till.

Now Sweet Willy's gane to the kingis court, Her true-love for to see, And Roge the Roun to good green wood, Brown Robin's man to be.

As it fell out upon a day, They a did put the stane; Full seven foot ayont them a She gard the puttin-stane gang.

She leand her back against an oak, And gae a loud Ohone! Then out it spake him Brown Robin, "But that's a woman's moan!"

"Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip? Or by my yallow hair; Or ken ye by my milk-white breast? For ye never saw it bare?"

"I ken no by your red rose lip, Nor by your yallow hair; Nor ken I by your milk-white breast, For I never saw it bare; But, come to your bowr whaever sae likes, Will find a ladye there."

"Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within, Thro fraud, deceit, or guile, Wi this same bran that's in my han I swear I will thee kill."

"But I will come thy bowr within, An spear nae leave," quoth he; "An this same bran that's i my ban, I sall ware back on the."

About the tenth hour of the night, The ladie's bowr door was broken, An eer the first hour of the day The bonny knave bairn was gotten.

When days were gane and months were run, The ladye took travailing, And sair she cry'd for a bow'r-woman, For to wait her upon.

Then out it spake him, Brown Robin: "Now what needs a' this din? For what coud any woman do But I coud do the same?"

"Twas never my mither's fashion," she says, "Nor sall it ever be mine, That belted knights shoud eer remain Where ladies dreed their pine.

"But ye take up that bugle-horn, An blaw a blast for me; I ha a brother i the kingis court Will come me quickly ti."

"O gin ye ha a brither on earth That ye love better nor me, Ye blaw the horn yoursel," he says, "For ae blast I winna gie."

She's set the horn till her mouth, And she's blawn three blasts sae shrill; Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court, And came her quickly till.

Then up it started Brown Robin, An an angry man was he: "There comes nae man this bowr within But first must fight wi me."

O they hae fought that bowr within Till the sun was gaing down, Till drops o blude frae Rose the Red Cam trailing to the groun.

She leand her back against the wa, Says, "Robin, let a' be; For it is a lady born and bred That's foughten sae well wi thee."

O seven foot he lap a back; Says, "Alas, and wae is me! I never wisht in a' my life, A woman's blude to see; An ae for the sake of ae fair maid Whose name was White Lilly."

Then out it spake her White Lilly, An a hearty laugh laugh she: "She's lived wi you this year an mair, Tho ye kenntna it was she."

Now word has gane thro a' the lan, Before a month was done, That Brown Robin's man, in good green wood, Had born a bonny young son.

The word has gane to the kingis court, An to the king himsel; "Now, by my fay," the king could say, "The like was never heard tell!"

Then out it spake him Bold Arthur, An a hearty laugh laugh he: "I trow some may has playd the loun, And fled her ain country."

"Bring me my steed," then cry'd the king, "My bow and arrows keen; I'll ride mysel to good green wood, An see what's to be seen."

"An't please your grace," said Bold Arthur, "My liege, I'll gang you wi, An try to fin a little foot-page, That's strayd awa frae me."

O they've hunted i the good green wood The buck but an the rae, An they drew near Brown Robin's bowr, About the close of day.

Then out it spake the king in hast, Says, "Arthur look an see Gin that be no your little foot-page That leans against yon tree."

Then Arthur took his bugle-horn, An blew a blast sae shrill; Sweet Willy started at the sound, An ran him quickly till.

"O wanted ye your meat, Willy? Or wanted ye your fee? Or gat ye ever an angry word, That ye ran awa frae me?"

"I wanted nought, my master dear; To me ye ay was good; I came but to see my ae brother, That wons in this green wood."

Then out it spake the king again, Says, "Bonny boy, tell to me, Wha lives into yon bigly bowr, Stands by yon green oak tree?"

"Oh, pardon me," says Sweet Willie, "My liege, I dare no tell; An I pray you go no near that bowr, For fear they do you fell."

"Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy, For I winna be said nay; But I will gang that bowr within, Betide me weal or wae."

They've lighted off their milk-white steeds, An saftly enterd in, And there they saw her White Lilly, Nursing her bonny young son.

"Now, by the rood," the king coud say, "This is a comely sight; I trow, instead of a forrester's man, This is a lady bright!"

Then out it spake her, Rose the Red, An fell low down on her knee: "Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege, An our story I'll tell thee.

"Our father was a wealthy lord, That wond in Barnsdale; But we had a wicked step-mother, That wrought us meickle bale.

"Yet she had twa as fu fair sons As ever the sun did see, An the tane of them lood my sister dear, An the tother said he lood me."

Then out it spake him Bold Arthur, As by the king he stood: "Now, by the faith o my body, This shoud be Rose the Red!"

Then in it came him Brown Robin, Frae hunting O the deer; But whan he saw the king was there, He started back for fear.

The king has taen him by the hand, An bide him naithing dread; Says, "Ye maun leave the good greenwood, Come to the court wi speed."

Then up he took White Lilly's son, An set him on his knee; Says—"Gin ye live to wield a bran, My bowman ye sall bee."

The king he sent for robes of green, An girdles o shinning gold; He gart the ladies be arrayd Most comely to behold.

They've done them unto Mary kirk, An there gat fair wedding, An fan the news spread oer the lan, For joy the bells did ring.

Then out it spake her Rose the Red, An a hearty laugh laugh she: "I wonder what would our step-dame say, Gin she his sight did see!"



Ballad: The Battle Of Harlaw—Evergreen Version



(Child, vol. vii. Early Edition, Appendix.)

Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch, Doun by the hill of Banochie, Allangst the lands of Garioch. Grit pitie was to heir and se The noys and dulesum hermonie, That evir that dreiry day did daw! Cryand the corynoch on hie, Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.

I marvlit what the matter meant; All folks were in a fiery fariy: I wist nocht wha was fae or freind, Yet quietly I did me carrie. But sen the days of auld King Hairy, Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene, And thair I had nae tyme to tairy, For bissiness in Aberdene.

Thus as I walkit on the way, To Inverury as I went, I met a man, and bad him stay, Requeisting him to mak me quaint Of the beginning and the event That happenit thair at the Harlaw; Then he entreited me to tak tent, And he the truth sould to me schaw.

Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim Unto the lands of Ross sum richt, And to the governour he came, Them for to haif, gif that he micht, Wha saw his interest was but slicht, And thairfore answerit with disdain. He hastit hame baith day and nicht, And sent nae bodward back again.

But Donald richt impatient Of that answer Duke Robert gaif, He vow'd to God Omniyotent, All the hale lands of Ross to half, Or ells be graithed in his graif: He wald not quat his richt for nocht, Nor be abusit like a slaif; That bargin sould be deirly bocht.

Then haistylie he did command That all his weir-men should convene; Ilk an well harnisit frae hand, To melt and heir what he did mein. He waxit wrath and vowit tein; Sweirand he wald surpryse the North, Subdew the brugh of Aberdene, Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.

Thus with the weir-men of the yles, Wha war ay at his bidding bown, With money maid, with forss and wyls, Richt far and neir, baith up and doun, Throw mount and muir, frae town to town, Allangst the lands of Ross he roars, And all obey'd at his bandown, Evin frae the North to Suthren shoars.

Then all the countrie men did yield; For nae resistans durst they mak, Nor offer batill in the feild, Be forss of arms to beir him bak. Syne they resolvit all and spak, That best it was for thair behoif, They sould him for thair chiftain tak, Believing weil he did them luve.

Then he a proclamation maid, All men to meet at Inverness, Throw Murray land to mak a raid, Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness. And further mair, he sent express, To schaw his collours and ensenzie, To all and sindry, mair and less, Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie.

And then throw fair Strathbogie land His purpose was for to pursew, And whatsoevir durst gainstand, That race they should full sairly rew. Then he bad all his men be trew, And him defend by forss and slicht, And promist them rewardis anew, And mak them men of mekle micht.

Without resistans, as he said, Throw all these parts he stoutly past, Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid, But Garioch was all agast. Throw all these feilds be sped him fast, For sic a sicht was never sene; And then, forsuith, he langd at last To se the bruch of Aberdene.

To hinder this prowd enterprise, The stout and michty Erl of Marr With all his men in arms did ryse, Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar: And down the syde of Don richt far, Angus and Mearns did all convene To fecht, or Donald came sae nar The ryall bruch of Aberdene.

And thus the martial Erle of Marr Marcht with his men in richt array; Befoir his enemis was aware, His banner bauldly did display. For weil enewch they kent the way, And all their semblance well they saw: Without all dangir or delay, Come haistily to the Harlaw.

With him the braif Lord Ogilvy, Of Angus sheriff principall, The constable of gude Dunde, The vanguard led before them all. Suppose in number they war small, Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew, And maid thair faes befor them fall, Wha then that race did sairly rew.

And then the worthy Lord Salton, The strong undoubted Laird of Drum, The stalwart Laird of Lawristone, With ilk thair forces all and sum. Panmuir with all his men, did cum, The provost of braif Aberdene, With trumpets and with tuick of drum, Came schortly in thair armour schene.

These with the Earle of Marr came on, In the reir-ward richt orderlie, Thair enemies to sett upon; In awfull manner hardilie, Togither vowit to live and die, Since they had marchit mony mylis, For to suppress the tyrannie Of douted Donald of the Ysles.

But he, in number ten to ane, Right subtile alang did ryde, With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean, With all thair power at thair syde; Presumeand on their strenth and pryde, Without all feir or ony aw, Richt bauldie battil did abyde, Hard by the town of fair Harlaw.

The armies met, the trumpet sounds, The dandring drums alloud did touk, Baith armies byding on the bounds, Till ane of them the feild sould bruik. Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk, Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde, And on the ground lay mony a bouk Of them that thair did battil byd.

With doutsum victorie they dealt, The bludy battil lastit lang; Each man fits nibours forss thair felt, The weakest aft-tymes gat the wrang: Thair was nae mowis thair them amang, Naithing was hard but heavy knocks, That eccho mad a dulefull sang, Thairto resounding frae the rocks.

But Donalds men at last gaif back, For they war all out of array: The Earl of Marris men throw them brak, Pursewing shairply in thair way, Thair enemys to tak or slay, Be dynt of forss to gar them yield; Wha war richt blyth to win away, And sae for feirdness tint the feild.

Then Donald fled, and that full fast, To mountains hich for all his micht; For he and his war all agast, And ran till they war out of sicht; And sae of Ross he lost his richt, Thocht mony men with hem he brocht; Towards the yles fled day and nicht, And all he wan was deirlie bocht.

This is (quod he) the richt report Of all that I did heir and knaw; Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort, Tak this to be a richt suthe saw: Contrairie God and the kings law, Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude, Into the battil of Harlaw: This is the sum, sae I conclude.

But yet a bonnie while abide, And I sall mak thee cleirly ken What slaughter was on ilkay syde, Of Lowland and of Highland men, Wha for thair awin haif evir bene; These lazie lowns micht weil be spared, Chased like deers into their dens, And gat their wages for reward.

Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif, Macklean with his grit hauchty heid, With all thair succour and relief, War dulefully dung to the deid; And now we are freid of thair feid, They will not lang to cum again; Thousands with them, without remeid, On Donald's syd, that day war slain.

And on the uther syde war lost, Into the feild that dismal day, Chief men of worth, of mekle cost, To be lamentit sair for ay. The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay, A man of micht and mekle main; Grit dolour was for his decay, That sae unhappylie was slain.

Of the best men amang them was The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy, The sheriff-principal of Angus, Renownit for truth and equitie, For faith and magnanimitie; He had few fallows in the field, Yet fell by fatall destinie, For he naeways wad grant to yield.

Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht, Grit constabill of fair Dunde, Unto the dulefull deith was dicht; The kingis cheif bannerman was he, A valiant man of chevalrie, Whose predecessors wan that place At Spey, with gude King William frie 'Gainst Murray, and Macduncan's race.

Gude Sir Allexander Irving, The much renowit laird of Drum, Nane in his days was bettir sene When they war semblit all and sum. To praise him we sould not be dumm, For valour, witt, and worthyness; To end his days he ther did cum Whose ransom is remeidyless.

And thair the knicht of Lawriston Was slain into his armour schene, And gude Sir Robert Davidson, Wha provost was of Aberdene: The knicht of Panmure, as was sene, A mortall man in armour bricht, Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene, Left to the warld thair last gude nicht.

Thair was not sen King Keneths days Sic strange intestine crewel stryf In Scotland sene, as ilk man says, Whare mony liklie lost thair lyfe; Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe, And mony childrene fatherless, Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe: Lord help these lands, our wrangs redress.

In July, on Saint James his even, That four and twenty dismall day, Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven Of theirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say, Men will remember, as they may, When thus the ventie they knaw, And mony a ane may murn for ay, The brim battil of the Harlaw.



Ballad: Traditionary Version



(Child, Part VI.)

As I came in by Dunidier, An doun by Netherha, There was fifty thousand Hielanmen A marching to Harlaw. (Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.

As I cam on, an farther on, An doun an by Balquhain, Oh there I met Sir James the Rose, Wi him Sir John the Gryme.

"O cam ye frae the Hielans, man? And cam ye a' the wey? Saw ye Macdonell an his men, As they cam frae the Skee?"

"Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man, An me cam a ta wey, An she saw Macdonell an his men, As they cam frae ta Skee."

"Oh, was ye near Macdonell's men? Did ye their numbers see? Come, tell to me, John Hielanman, What micht their numbers be?"

"Yes, me was near, an near eneuch, An me their numbers saw; There was fifty thousand Hielanmen A marching to Harlaw."

"Gin that be true," says James the Rose, "We'll no come meikle speed; We'll cry upo our merry men, And lichtly mount our steed."

"Oh no, oh no!" quo' John the Gryme, "That thing maun never be; The gallant Grymes were never bate, We'll try what we can dee."

As I cam on, an farther on, An doun an by Harlaw, They fell fu close on ilka side; Sic fun ye never saw.

They fell fu close on ilka side, Sic fun ye never saw; For Hielan swords gied clash for clash, At the battle o Harlaw.

The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords, They laid on us fu sair, An they drave back our merry men Three acres breadth an mair.

Brave Forbes to his brither did say, "Noo brither, dinna ye see? They beat us back on ilka side, An we'se be forced to flee."

"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear, That thing maun never be; Tak ye your good sword in your hand, An come your wa's wi me."

"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear, The clans they are ower strang, An they drive back our merry men, Wi swords baith sharp an lang."

Brave Forbes drew his men aside, Said, "Tak your rest a while, Until I to Drumminnor send, To fess my coat o mail."

The servan he did ride, An his horse it did na fail, For in twa hours an a quarter He brocht the coat o mail.

Then back to back the brithers twa Gaed in amo the thrang, An they hewed doun the Hielanmen, Wi swords baith sharp an lang.

Macdonell he was young an stout, Had on his coat o mail, And he has gane oot throw them a' To try his han himsell.

The first ae straik that Forbes strack, He garrt Macdonell reel; An the neist ae straik that Forbes strack, The great Macdonell fell.

And siccan a lierachie, I'm sure ye never sawe As wis amo the Hielanmen, When they saw Macdonell fa.

An whan they saw that he was deid, They turnd and ran awa, An they buried him in Legget's Den, A large mile frae Harlaw.

They rade, they ran, an some did gang, They were o sma record; But Forbes and his merry men, They slew them a' the road.

On Monanday, at mornin, The battle it began, On Saturday at gloamin', Ye'd scarce kent wha had wan.

An sic a weary buryin, I'm sure ye never saw, As wis the Sunday after that, On the muirs aneath Harlaw.

Gin anybody speer at ye For them ye took awa, Ye may tell their wives and bairnies, They're sleepin at Harlaw.



Ballad: Dickie Macphalion



(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. XIV.)

I went to the mill, but the miller was gone, I sat me down, and cried ochone! To think on the days that are past and gone, Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain. Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo, To think on the days that are past and gone, Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.

I sold my rock, I sold my reel, And sae hae I my spinning wheel, And a' to buy a cap of steel For Dickie Macphalion that's slain! Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo, And a' to buy a cap of steel For Dickie Macphalion that's slain.



Ballad: A Lyke-Wake Dirge



(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Every nighte and alle, Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thye saule.

When thou from hence away art paste, Every nighte and alle, To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste; And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, Every nighte and alle, Sit thee down and put them on; And Christe receive thye saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane, Every nighte and alle, The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane; And Christe receive thye saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe, Every nighte and alle, To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at laste, And Christe receive thye saule.

From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe, Every nighte and alle, To Purgatory fire thou comest at last, And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest meat or drink, Every nighte and alle, The fire sall never make thee shrinke; And Christe receive thye saule.

If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane, Every nighte and alle, The fire will burn thee to the bare bane; And Christe receive thye saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Every nighte and alle, Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thye saule.



Ballad: The Laird Of Waristoun



(Child, vol. iii. Early Edition.)

Down by yon garden green, Sae merrily as she gaes; She has twa weel-made feet, And she trips upon her taes.

She has twa weel-made feet; Far better is her hand; She's as jimp in the middle As ony willow wand.

"Gif ye will do my bidding, At my bidding for to be, It's I will make you lady Of a' the lands you see."

* * * * *

He spak a word in jest; Her answer was na good; He threw a plate at her face, Made it a' gush out o' blood.

She wasna frae her chamber A step but barely three, When up and at her richt hand There stood Man's Enemy.

"Gif ye will do my bidding, At my bidding for to be, I'll learn you a wile, Avenged for to be."

The foul thief knotted the tether; She lifted his head on hie; The nourice drew the knot That gar'd lord Waristoun die.

Then word is gane to Leith, Also to Edinburgh town That the lady had kill'd the laird, The laird o' Waristoun.

* * * * *

Tak aff, tak aff my hood But lat my petticoat be; Pat my mantle o'er my head; For the fire I downa see.

Now, a' ye gentle maids, Tak warning now by me, And never marry ane But wha pleases your e'e.

"For he married me for love, But I married him for fee; And sae brak out the feud That gar'd my dearie die."



Ballad: May Colven



(Child, Part I., p. 56.)

False Sir John a wooing came To a maid of beauty fair; May Colven was this lady's name, Her father's only heir.

He wood her butt, he wood her ben, He wood her in the ha, Until he got this lady's consent To mount and ride awa.

He went down to her father's bower, Where all the steeds did stand, And he's taken one of the best steeds That was in her father's land.

He's got on and she's got on, As fast as they could flee, Until they came to a lonesome part, A rock by the side of the sea.

"Loup off the steed," says false Sir John, "Your bridal bed you see; For I have drowned seven young ladies, The eighth one you shall be.

"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven, All and your silken gown, For it's oer good and oer costly To rot in the salt sea foam.

"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven. All and your embroiderd shoen, For oer good and oer costly To rot in the salt sea foam."

"O turn you about, O false Sir John, And look to the leaf of the tree, For it never became a gentleman A naked woman to see."

He turned himself straight round about, To look to the leaf of the tree, So swift as May Colven was To throw him in the sea.

"O help, O help, my May Colven, O help, or else I'll drown; I'll take you home to your father's bower, And set you down safe and sound."

"No help, no help, O false Sir John, No help, nor pity thee; Tho' seven kings' daughters you have drownd, But the eighth shall not be me."

So she went on her father's steed, As swift as she could flee, And she came home to her father's bower Before it was break of day.

Up then and spoke the pretty parrot: "May Colven, where have you been? What has become of false Sir John, That woo'd you so late the streen?

"He woo'd you butt, he woo'd you ben, He woo'd you in the ha, Until he got your own consent For to mount and gang awa."

"O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot, Lay not the blame upon me; Your cup shall be of the flowered gold, Your cage of the root of the tree."

Up then spake the king himself, In the bed-chamber where he lay: "What ails the pretty parrot, That prattles so long or day?"

"There came a cat to my cage door, It almost a worried me, And I was calling on May Colven To take the cat from me."



Ballad: Johnie Faa



(Child, vol. iv. Early Edition.)

The gypsies came to our good lord's gate And wow but they sang sweetly! They sang sae sweet and sae very complete That down came the fair lady.

And she came tripping doun the stair, And a' her maids before her; As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face, They coost the glamer o'er her.

"O come with me," says Johnie Faw, "O come with me, my dearie; For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword, That your lord shall nae mair come near ye."

Then she gied them the beer and the wine, And they gied her the ginger; But she gied them a far better thing, The goud ring aff her finger.

"Gae take frae me this yay mantle, And bring to me a plaidie; For if kith and kin, and a' had sworn, I'll follow the gypsy laddie.

"Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, Wi' my good lord beside me; But this night I'll lye in a tenant's barn, Whatever shall betide me!"

"Come to your bed," says Johnie Faw, "Oh, come to your bed, my dearie: For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword, Your lord shall nae mair come near ye."

"I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faw, I'll go to bed to my dearie; For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand, My lord shall nae mair come near me.

"I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw, I'll mak a hap to my dearie; And he's get a' the coat gaes round, And my lord shall nae mair come near me."

And when our lord came hame at e'en, And spier'd for his fair lady, The tane she cry'd, and the other reply'd, "She's awa' wi' the gypsy laddie!"

"Gae saddle to me the black black steed, Gae saddle and make him ready; Before that I either eat or sleep, I'll gae seek my fair lady."

And we were fifteen weel-made men, Altho' we were na bonny; And we were a' put down but ane, For a fair young wanton lady.



Ballad: Hobbie Noble



(Child, vi. Early Edition.)

Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in! That Liddesdale may safely say: For in it there was baith meat and drink, And corn unto our geldings gay.

We were stout-hearted men and true, As England it did often say; But now we may turn our backs and fly, Since brave Noble is seld away.

Now Hobie he was an English man, And born into Bewcastle dale; But his misdeeds they were sae great, They banish'd him to Liddisdale.

At Kershope foot the tryst was set, Kershope of the lilye lee; And there was traitour Sim o' the Mains, With him a private companie.

Then Hobie has graith'd his body weel, I wat it was wi' baith good iron and steel; And he has pull'd out his fringed grey, And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel.

Then Hobie is down the water gane, E'en as fast as he may drie; Tho' they shoud a' brusten and broken their hearts, Frae that tryst Noble he would na be.

"Weel may ye be, my feiries five! And aye, what is your wills wi' me?" Then they cry'd a' wi' ae consent, "Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me.

"Wilt thou with us in England ride, And thy safe warrand we will be? If we get a horse worth a hundred punds, Upon his back that thou shalt be."

"I dare not with you into England ride; The Land-sergeant has me at feid: I know not what evil may betide, For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.

"And Anton Shiel he loves not me, For I gat twa drifts o his sheep; The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not, For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep.

"But will ye stay till the day gae down, Until the night come o'er the grund, And I'll be a guide worth ony twa, That may in Liddesdale be fund?

"Tho' dark the night as pitch and tar, I'll guide ye o'er yon hills fu' hie; And bring ye a' in safety back, If ye'll be true and follow me."

He's guided them o'er moss and muir, O'er hill and houp, and mony a down; Til they came to the Foulbogshiel, And there, brave Noble, he lighted down.

But word is gane to the Land-sergeant, In Askirton where that he lay— "The deer that ye hae hunted lang, Is seen into the Waste this day."

"Then Hobbie Noble is that deer! I wat he carries the style fu' hie; Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back, And set yourselves at little lee.

"Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn; See they shaft their arrows on the wa'! Warn Willeva and Spear Edom, And see the morn they meet me a'.

"Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh, And see it be by break o' day; And we will on to Conscowthart-Green, For there, I think, we'll get our prey."

Then Hobbie Noble has dream'd a dream, In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay; He thought his horse was neath him shot, And he himself got hard away.

The cocks could crow, the day could dawn, And I wot so even down fell the rain; If Hobbie had no waken'd at that time, In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.

"Get up, get up, my feiries five! For I wot here makes a fu' ill day; Yet the warst cloak of this companie, I hope, shall cross the Waste this day."

Now Hobie thought the gates were clear; But, ever alas! it was not sae: They were beset wi' cruel men and keen, That away brave Hobbie could not gae.

"Yet follow me, my feiries five, And see of me ye keep good ray; And the worst cloak o' this companie I hope shall cross the Waste this day."

There was heaps of men now Hobbie before, And other heaps was him behind, That had he wight as Wallace was, Away brave Noble he could not win.

Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword; But he did more than a laddies deed; In the midst of Conscouthart-Green, He brake it oer Jersawigham's head.

Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble, Wi' his ain bowstring they band him sae; And I wat heart was ne'er sae sair, As when his ain five band him on the brae.

They have tane him on for West Carlisle; They ask'd him if he knew the why? Whate'er he thought, yet little he said; He knew the way as well as they.

They hae ta'en him up the Ricker gate; The wives they cast their windows wide; And every wife to anither can say, "That's the man loos'd Jock o' the Side!"

"Fye on ye, women! why ca' ye me man? For it's nae man that I'm used like; I am but like a forfoughen hound, Has been fighting in a dirty syke."

Then they hae tane him up thro' Carlisle town, And set him by the chimney fire; They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to eat, And that was little his desire.

Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat, And after that a can o beer; Then they cried a' with ae consent, "Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheer!

"Confess my lord's horse, Hobie," they said, "And the morn in Carlisle thou's no die;" "How shall I confess them," Hobie says, "For I never saw them with mine eye?"

Then Hobie has sworn a fu' great aith, By the day that he was gotten and born, He never had ony thing o' my lord's, That either eat him grass or corn.

"Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton! For I think again I'll ne'er thee see: I wad betray nae lad alive, For a' the goud in Christentie.

"And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale! Baith the hie land and the law; Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains! For goud and gear he'll sell ye a'.

"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobie Noble, In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut, Before I'd be ca'd traitor Mains, That eats and drinks of the meal and maut."



Ballad: The Twa Sisters



(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. X., p. 30.)

There liv'd twa sisters in a bower, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. There liv'd twa sisters in a bower, Stirling for aye: The youngest o' them, O, she was a flower! Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

There came a squire frae the west, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. There cam a squire frae the west, Stirling for aye: He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

He gied the eldest a gay gold ring, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. He gied the eldest a gay gold ring, Stirling for aye: But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

"Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea? Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea? Stirling for aye: Our father's ships sail bonnilie, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay."

The youngest sat down upon a stane, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. The youngest sat down upon a stane, Stirling for aye: The eldest shot the youngest in, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

"Oh sister, sister, lend me your hand, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand, Stirling for aye: And you shall hae my gouden fan, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

"Oh, sister, sister, save my life, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. Oh sister, sister, save my life, Stirling for aye: And ye shall be the squire's wife, Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that stands upon Tay."

First she sank, and then she swam, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. First she sank, and then she swam, Stirling for aye: Until she cam to Tweed mill dam, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

The millar's daughter was baking bread, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. The millar's daughter was baking bread, Stirling for aye: She went for water, as she had need, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

"Oh father, father, in our mill dam, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch, Oh father, father, in our mill dam, Stirling for aye: There's either a lady, or a milk-white swan, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay."

They could nae see her fingers small, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. They could nae see her fingers small, Stirling for aye: Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd all, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

They could nae see her yellow hair, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. They could nae see her yellow hair, Stirling for aye: Sae mony knots and platts war there, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.

Bye there cam a fiddler fair, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. Bye there cam a fiddler fair, Stirling for aye: And he's ta'en three tails o' her yellow hair, Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.



Ballad: Mary Ambree



(Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 230.)

When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte, Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt, They mustred their souldiers by two and by three, And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.

When [the] brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight, Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight, Because he was slaine most treacherouslie Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.

She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe; A faire shirt of male then slipped on shee: Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide, A stronge arminge-sword shee girt by her side, On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee: Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand, Bidding all such, as wold, [to] bee of her band; To wayte on her person came thousand and three: Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

"My soldiers," she saith, "soe valliant and bold, Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde; Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee:" Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say, "Soe well thou becomest this gallant array, Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree, No mayden was ever like Mary Ambree."

She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life, With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fife, With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free; Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

"Before I will see the worst of you all To come into danger of death or of thrall, This hand and this life I will venture so free:" Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array, Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye; Seven howers in skirmish continued shee: Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott, And her enemyes bodyes with bulletts so hott; For one of her own men a score killed shee: Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent, Away all her pellets and powder had sent, Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three: Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre, At length she was forced to make a retyre; Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee: Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Her foes they besett her on everye side, As thinking close siege shee cold never abide; To beate down the walles they all did decree: But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.

Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand, And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand, There daring their captaines to match any three: O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!

"Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live? Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:" Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.

"Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold, Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold? "A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free, Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee."

"No captaine of England; behold in your sight Two brests in my bosome, and therefore no knight: Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see, But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree."

"But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare, Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre? If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee, Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree."

The Prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne, Who long had advanced for England's fair crowne; Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee, And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree.

But this virtuous mayden despised them all: "'Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall; A maiden of England, sir, never will bee The wench of a monarcke," quoth Mary Ambree.

Then to her owne country shee back did returne, Still holding the foes of rare England in scorne! Therfore English captaines of every degree Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.



Ballad: Alison Gross



O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tow'r, The ugliest witch in the north countrie, She trysted me ae day up till her bow'r, And mony fair speeches she made to me.

She straik'd my head, and she kaim'd my hair, And she set me down saftly on her knee; Says—"If ye will be my leman sae true, Sae mony braw things as I will you gi'e."

She shaw'd me a mantle of red scarlet, With gowden flowers and fringes fine; Says—"If ye will be my leman sae true, This goodly gift it shall be thine."

"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch, Hand far awa, and let me be; I never will be your leman sae true, And I wish I were out of your company."

She neist brocht a sark of the saftest silk, Weel wrought with pearls about the band; Says—"If ye will be my ain true love, This goodly gift ye shall command."

She show'd me a cup of the good red gowd, Weel set with jewels sae fair to see; Says—"If ye will be my leman sae true, This goodly gift I will you gi'e."

"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch, Haud far awa, and let me be; For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth, For all the gifts that ye cou'd gi'e."

She's turn'd her richt and round about, And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn; And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon, That she'd gar me rue the day I was born.

Then out has she ta'en a silver wand, And she turn'd her three times round and round; She mutter'd sic words, that my strength it fail'd, And I fell down senseless on the ground.

She turn'd me into an ugly worm, And gar'd me toddle about the tree; And aye on ilka Saturday night, Auld Alison Gross she came to me,

With silver basin, and silver kame, To kame my headie upon her knee; But rather than kiss her ugly mouth, I'd ha'e toddled for ever about the tree.

But as it fell out on last Hallow-e'en, When the seely court was ridin' by, The queen lighted down on a gowan bank, Near by the tree where I wont to lye.

She took me up in her milk-white hand, And she straik'd me three times o'er her knee; She chang'd me again to my ain proper shape, And nae mair do I toddle about the tree.



Ballad: The Heir Of Lynne



Of all the lords in faire Scotland A song I will begin: Amongst them all dwelled a lord Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.

His father and mother were dead him froe, And so was the head of all his kinne; He did neither cease nor blinne To the cards and dice that he did run.

To drinke the wine that was so cleere! With every man he would make merry. And then bespake him John of the Scales, Unto the heire of Lynne say'd hee,

Sayes "how dost thou, Lord of Lynne, Doest either want gold or fee? Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode To such a good fellow as me?

"For . . I . . " he said, "My land, take it unto thee; I draw you to record, my lords all;" With that he cast him a Gods pennie.

He told him the gold upon the bord, It wanted never a bare penny. "That gold is thine, the land is mine, The heire of Lynne I will bee."

"Heeres gold enough," saithe the heire of Lynne, "Both for me and my company." He drunke the wine that was so cleere, And with every man he made merry.

Within three quarters of a yeare His gold and fee it waxed thinne, His merry men were from him gone, And left himselfe all alone.

He had never a penny left in his purse, Never a penny but three, And one was brasse and another was lead And another was white mony.

"Now well-a-day!" said the heire of Lynne, "Now well-a-day, and woe is mee! For when I was the Lord of Lynne, I neither wanted gold nor fee;

"For I have sold my lands so broad, And have not left me one penny! I must go now and take some read Unto Edenborrow and beg my bread."

He had not beene in Edenborrow Nor three quarters of a yeare, But some did give him and some said nay, And some bid "to the deele gang yee!

"For if we should hang some land selfeer, The first we would begin with thee." "Now well-a-day!" said the heire of Lynne, "Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!

"For now I have sold my lands so broad That merry man is irke with mee; But when that I was the Lord of Lynne Then on my land I lived merrily;

"And now I have sold my land so broade That I have not left me one pennye! God be with my father!" he said, "On his land he lived merrily."

Still in a study there as he stood, He unbethought him of a bill, He unbethought him of a bill Which his father had left with him.

Bade him he should never on it looke Till he was in extreame neede, "And by my faith," said the heire of Lynne, "Then now I had never more neede."

He tooke the bill and looked it on, Good comfort that he found there; It told him of a castle wall Where there stood three chests in feare:

Two were full of the beaten gold, The third was full of white money. He turned then downe his bags of bread And filled them full of gold so red.

Then he did never cease nor blinne Till John of the Scales house he did winne. When that he came John of the Scales, Up at the speere he looked then;

There sate three lords upon a rowe, And John o' the Scales sate at the bord's head, And John o' the Scales sate at the bord's head Because he was the lord of Lynne.

And then bespake the heire of Lynne To John o' the Scales wife thus sayd hee, Sayd "Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott That I may sit downe in this company?"

"Now Christ's curse on my head," she said, "If I do trust thee one pennye," Then bespake a good fellowe, Which sate by John o' the Scales his knee,

Said "have thou here, thou heire of Lynne, Forty-pence I will lend thee,— Some time a good fellow thou hast beene And other forty if it need bee."

They drunken wine that was so cleere, And every man they made merry, And then bespake him John o' the Scales Unto the Lord of Lynne said hee;

Said "how doest thou heire of Lynne, Since I did buy thy lands of thee? I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe, Nor ever did I buy it of thee."

"I draw you to recorde, lords all:" With that he cast him god's penny; Then he tooke to his bags of bread, And they were full of the gold so red.

He told him the gold then over the borde It wanted never a broad pennye; "That gold is thine, the land is mine, And the heire of Lynne againe I will bee."

"Now well-a-day!" said John o' the Scales' wife, "Well-a-day, and woe is me! Yesterday I was the lady of Lynne, And now I am but John o' the Scales wife!"

Says "have thou here, thou good fellow, Forty pence thou did lend me; Forty pence thou did lend me, And forty I will give thee, I'll make thee keeper of my forrest, Both of the wild deere and the tame."

But then bespake the heire of Lynne, These were the words and thus spake hee, "Christ's curse light upon my crowne If ere my land stand in any jeopardye!"



Ballad: Gordon Of Brackley



Down Deeside cam Inveraye Whistlin' and playing, An' called loud at Brackley gate Ere the day dawning— "Come, Gordon of Brackley. Proud Gordon, come down, There's a sword at your threshold Mair sharp than your own."

"Arise now, gay Gordon," His lady 'gan cry, "Look, here is bold Inveraye Driving your kye." "How can I go, lady, An' win them again, When I have but ae sword, And Inveraye ten?"

"Arise up, my maidens, Wi' roke and wi' fan, How blest had I been Had I married a man! Arise up, my maidens, Tak' spear and tak' sword, Go milk the ewes, Gordon, An' I will be lord."

The Gordon sprung up Wi' his helm on his head, Laid his hand on his sword, An' his thigh on his steed, An' he stooped low, and said, As he kissed his young dame, "There's a Gordon rides out That will never ride hame."

There rode with fierce Inveraye Thirty and three, But wi' Brackley were nane But his brother and he; Twa gallanter Gordons Did never blade draw, But against three-and-thirty Wae's me! what are twa?

Wi' sword and wi' dagger They rushed on him rude; The twa gallant Gordons Lie bathed in their blude. Frae the springs o' the Dee To the mouth o' the Tay, The Gordons mourn for him, And curse Inveraye.

"O were ye at Brackley? An' what saw ye there? Was his young widow weeping An' tearing her hair?" "I looked in at Brackley, I looked in, and oh! There was mirth, there was feasting, But naething o' woe.

"As a rose bloomed the lady, An' blithe as a bride, As a bridegroom bold Inveraye Smiled by her side. Oh! she feasted him there As she ne'er feasted lord, While the blood of her husband Was moist on his sword.

"In her chamber she kept him Till morning grew gray, Thro' the dark woods of Brackley She shewed him the way. 'Yon wild hill,' she said, 'Where the sun's shining on, Is the hill of Glentanner,— One kiss, and begone!'"

There's grief in the cottage, There's grief in the ha', For the gude, gallant Gordon That's dead an' awa'. To the bush comes the bud, An' the flower to the plain, But the gude and the brave They come never again.



Ballad: Edward, Edward



"Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude, Edward, Edward? Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude And why sae sad gang ye, O?" "O I hae killed my hawk sae gude, Mither, mither; O I hae killed my hawk sae gude, And I hae nae mair but he, O."

"Your hawk's blude was never sae red, Edward, Edward; Your hawk's blude was never sae red, My dear son, I tell thee, O." "O I hae killed my red-roan steed, Mither, mither; O I hae killed my red-roan steed, That was sae fair and free, O."

"Your steed was auld, and ye've plenty mair, Edward, Edward; Your steed was auld, and ye've plenty mair; Some ither dule ye dree, O." "O I hae killed my father dear, Mither, mither; O I hae killed my father dear, Alas, and wae is me, O!"

"And whatten penance will ye dree for that, Edward, Edward? Whatten penance will ye dree for that? My dear son, now tell me, O." "I'll set my feet in yonder boat, Mither, mither; I'll set my feet in yonder boat, And I'll fare over the sea, O."

"And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha', Edward, Edward? And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha', That were sae fair to see, O?" "I'll let them stand till they doun fa', Mither, mither; I'll let them stand till they doun fa', For here never mair maun I be, O."

"And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward? And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, When ye gang ower the sea, O?" "The warld's room: let them beg through life, Mither, mither; The warld's room: let them beg through life; For them never mair will I see, O."

"And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, Edward, Edward? And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, My dear son, now tell me, O?" "The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear, Mither, mither; The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear: Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!"



Ballad: Young Benjie



Of all the maids of fair Scotland, The fairest was Marjorie; And young Benjie was her ae true love, And a dear true love was he.

And wow but they were lovers dear, And lov'd full constantlie; But aye the mair when they fell out, The sairer was their plea.

And they ha'e quarrell'd on a day, Till Marjorie's heart grew wae; And she said she'd chuse another luve, And let young Benjie gae.

And he was stout and proud-hearted, And thought o't bitterlie; And he's gane by the wan moonlight, To meet his Marjorie.

"Oh, open, open, my true love, Oh, open and let me in!" "I darena open, young Benjie, My three brothers are within."

"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie burd, Sae loud's I hear ye lee; As I came by the Louden banks, They bade gude e'en to me.

"But fare ye weel, my ae fause love, That I have lov'd sae lang! It sets ye chuse another love, And let young Benjie gang."

Then Marjorie turn'd her round about, The tear blinding her e'e; "I darena, darena let thee in, But I'll come down to thee."

Then salt she smil'd, and said to him— "Oh, what ill ha'e I done?" He took her in his arms twa, And threw her o'er the linn.

The stream was strong, the maid was stout, And laith, laith to be dang; But ere she wan the Louden banks, Her fair colour was wan.

Then up bespake her eldest brother— "Oh, see na ye what I see?" And out then spake her second brother— "It is our sister Marjorie!"

Out then spake her eldest brother— "Oh, how shall we her ken?" And out then spake her youngest brother— "There's a honey mark on her chin."

Then they've ta'en the comely corpse, And laid it on the ground; Saying—"Wha has kill'd our ae sister? And how can he be found?

"The night it is her low lykewake, The morn her burial day; And we maun watch at mirk midnight, And hear what she will say."

With doors ajar, and candles light, And torches burning clear, The streekit corpse, till still midnight, They waked, but naething hear.

About the middle of the night The cocks began to craw; And at the dead hour of the night, The corpse began to thraw.

"Oh, wha has done thee wrang, sister, Or dared the deadly sin? Wha was sae stout, and fear'd nae dout, As throw ye o'er the linn?"

"Young Benjie was the first ae man I laid my love upon; He was sae stout and proud-hearted, He threw me o'er the linn."

"Shall we young Benjie head, sister? Shall we young Benjie hang? Or shall we pike out his twa gray een, And punish him ere he gang?"

"Ye maunna Benjie head, brothers, Ye maunna Benjie hang; But ye maun pike out his twa gray een. And punish him ere he gang.

"Tie a green gravat round his neck, And lead him out and in, And the best ae servant about your house To wait young Benjie on.

"And aye at every seven years' end, Ye'll take him to the linn; For that's the penance he maun dree, To scug his deadly sin."



Ballad: Auld Maitland



There lived a king in southern land, King Edward hight his name; Unwordily he wore the crown, Till fifty years were gane.

He had a sister's son o's ain, Was large of blood and bane; And afterward, when he came up, Young Edward hight his name.

One day he came before the king, And kneel'd low on his knee: "A boon, a boon, my good uncle, I crave to ask of thee!

"At our lang wars, in fair Scotland, I fain ha'e wish'd to be, If fifteen hundred waled wight men You'll grant to ride with me."

"Thou shall ha'e thae, thou shall ha'e mae; I say it sickerlie; And I myself, an auld gray man, Array'd your host shall see."

King Edward rade, King Edward ran— I wish him dool and pyne! Till he had fifteen hundred men Assembled on the Tyne.

And thrice as many at Berwicke Were all for battle bound, [Who, marching forth with false Dunbar, A ready welcome found.]

They lighted on the banks of Tweed, And blew their coals sae het, And fired the Merse and Teviotdale, All in an evening late.

As they fared up o'er Lammermoor, They burn'd baith up and down, Until they came to a darksome house, Some call it Leader-Town.

"Wha hauds this house?" young Edward cried, "Or wha gi'est o'er to me?" A gray-hair'd knight set up his head, And crackit right crousely: