In Carvall where he lay,
His hall was all of fire,
His lady slain or day.
"Busk and boun, my merry men all,
Even and go ye with me,
For I dreamed that my hall was on fire
My lady slain or day."
(_or day_, before day.)
He busked him and bouned him,
And like a worthy knight,
And when he saw his hall burning,
His heart was no deal light.
He set a trumpet till his mouth,
He blew as it pleased his grace;
Twenty score of Hamiltons
Was light about the place.
"Had I known as much yesternight
As I do to-day,
Captain Car and all his men
Should not have gone so quite [away|.
"Fie upon thee, Captain Car,
And all thy bloody band;
Thou hast slain my lady gay,
More worth then all thy land.
"If thou had ought any ill will," he saith,
"Thou should have taken my life,
And have saved my children three,
All and my lovesome wife."
(_bouned_, prepared.)
THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE
|It fell about the Lammas tide,
When the muir-men win their hay,
The doughty Douglas bouned him to ride
Into England, to drive a prey.
He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,
With them the Lindsays, light and gay;
But the Jardines wad not with him ride,
And they rue it to this day.
And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne,
And part of Bambroughshire;
And three good towers on Reidswire fells,
He left them all on fire.
And he march'd up to Newcastle,
And rode it round about;
"O wha's the lord of this castle,
Or wha's the lady o't?"
But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
And O but he spake high!
"I am the lord of this castle,
My wife's the lady gay."
(_muir_, moor. _win_, make.)
"If thou'rt the lord of this castle,
Sae weel it pleases me!
For, ere I cross the Border fells,
The tane of us shall die."
He took a lang spear in his hand,
Shod with the metal free,
And for to meet the Douglas there,
He rode right furiously.
But O how pale his lady look'd,
Frae aff the castle wa,
When down before the Scottish spear
She saw proud Percy fa'.
"Had we twa been upon the green,
And never an eye to see,
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
But your sword sall gae wi' me."
"But gae ye up to Otterbourne,
And wait there dayés three;
And if I come not ere three dayés end,
A fause knight ca' ye me."
"The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;
'Tis pleasant there to be;
But there is nought at Otterbourne,
To feed my men and me.
(_free_, precious.)
"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
The birds fly wild from tree to tree;
But there is neither bread nor kale,
To fend my men and me.
"Yet I will stay at Otterbourne,
Where you shall welcome be;
And if ye come not at three days end,
A fause lord I'll ca' thee."
"Thither will I come," proud Percy said,
"By the might of Our Lady!"
"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas,
"My troth I plight to thee."
They lighted high on Otterbourne,
Upon the bent sae brown;
They lighted high on Otterbourne,
And threw their pallions down.
And he that had a bonnie boy,
Sent out his horse to grass;
And he that had not a bonnie boy,
His ain servant he was.
But up then spake a little page,
Before the peep of dawn--
"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
For Percy's hard at hand."
(_kale_, broth. _fend_, keep, support.
_bent_, field. _pallions_, pavilions, tents.)
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!
Sae loud I hear ye lie:
For Percy had not men yestreen
To dight my men and me.
"But I have dream'd a dreary dream,
Beyond the 'Isle of Sky;
I saw a dead man win a fight,
And I think that man was I."
He belted on his guid braid sword,
And to the field he ran;
But he forgot the helmet good,
That should have kept his brain.
When Percy wi' the Douglas met,
I wat he was fu' fain;
They swakked their swords, till sair they swat,
And the blood ran down like rain.
But Percy with his guid braid sword,
That could so sharply wound,
Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
Till he fell to the ground.
Then he called on his little foot-page,
And said--"Run speedily,
And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
Sir Hugh Montgomery.
(_swakked_, smote.)
"My nephew good," the Douglas said,
"What recks the death of ane!
Last night I dream'd a dreary dream,
And I ken the day's thy ain.
"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;
Take thou the vanguard of the three,
And hide me by the bracken bush,
That grows on yonder lily lea.
"O bury me by the bracken bush,
Beneath the blooming briar,
Let never living mortal ken
That ere a kindly Scot lies here."
He lifted up that noble lord,
Wi' the saut tear in his ee;
He hid him in the bracken bush,
That his merry-men might not see.
The moon was clear, the day drew near,
The spears in flinders flew,
But mony a gallant Englishman
Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
The Gordons good, in English blood
They steeped their hose and shoon;
The Lindsays flew like fire about,
Till all the fray was done.
(_finders_, fragments.)
[Illustration: 0235]
The Percy and Montgomery met,
That either of other were fain;
They swapped swords, and they twa swat,
And aye the blood ran down between.
"Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy," he said,
"Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!"
"To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy,
"Now that I see it must be so?"
"Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loon,
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
But yield thee to the bracken bush,
That grows upon yon lily lea."
"I will not yield to a bracken bush,
Nor yet will I yield to a briar;
But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here."
As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
He struck his swords point in the ground;
The Montgomery was a courteous knight,
And quickly took him by the hand.
This deed was done at the Otterbourne,
About the breaking of the day;
Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush
And the Percy led captive away.
(_swapped_, smote.)
THE BONNY LASS OF ANGLESEY
|Our king he has a secret to tell,
And ay well keepit it must be;
The English lords are coming down
To dance and win the victory.
Our king has cried a noble cry,
And ay well keepit it must be:
"Gar saddle ye, and bring to me
The bonny lass of Anglesey."
Up she starts, as white as the milk,
Between him and his company:
"What is the thing I hae to ask,
If I should win the victory?"
"Fifteen ploughs but and a mill
I gie thee till the day thou die,
And the fairest knight in a' my court
To chuse thy husband for to be."
She's taen the fifteen lord[s] by the hand,
Saying, "Will ye come dance with me?"
But on the morn at ten o'clock
They gave it o'er most shamefully.
Up then raise the fifteenth lord--
I wat an angry man was he--
Laid by frae him his belt and sword,
And to the floor gaed manfully.
He said, "My feet shall be my dead
Before she win the victory;"
But before't was ten o'clock at night
He gaed it o'er as shamefully.
THE WEE WEE MAN
|As I was walking all alone,
Atween a water and a wa',
And there I spied a wee wee man,
He was the least that ere I saw.
His legs were scarce a shathmont's length,
And thick and thimber was his thigh;
Between his brows there was a span,
And between his shoulders there was three.
He took up a mickle stane,
And he flang't as far as I could see;
Though I had been a Wallace wight,
I couldna liften't to my knee.
(_shathmont_, six inches.)
"O wee wee man, but thou be strang!
Oh, tell me where thy dwelling be?"
"My dwelling's down at yon bonnie bower,
O will ye go with me and see?"
On we lap, and awa' we rade,
Till we came to yon bonny green;
We lighted down for to bait our horse,
And out there cam a lady fine;
Four and twenty at her back,
And they were a' clad out in green;
Though the King of Scotland had been there,
The warst o' them might hae been his queen.
On we lap, and awa' we rade,
Till we came to yon bonny ha';
Where the roof was o* the beaten gowd,
And the floor was o' the crystal a'.
When we cam to the stair foot
Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma';
But in the twinkling of an eye,
My wee wee man was clean awa.
(_lap_, leapt. _jimp_, slender.)
CLERK COLVILL, OR THE MERMAID
|Clerk Colvill and his lusty dame
Were walking in the garden green;
The belt around her stately waist
Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen.
"O promise me now, Clerk Colvill,
Or it will cost ye muckle strife,
Ride never by the wells of Slane,
If ye wad live and brook your life."
"Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame,
Now speak nae mair of that to me:
Did I ne'er see a fair woman,
But I wad sin with her body?"
He's ta'en leave o' his gay lady,
Nought minding what his lady said,
And he's rode by the wells of Slane,
Where washing was a bonny maid.
"Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid,
That wash sae clean your sark of silk;"
"And weel fa' you, fair gentleman,
Your body whiter than the milk."
(_brook_, preserve. _sark_, skirt.)
Then loud, loud cried the Clerk Colvill,
"Omy head it pains me sair;"
"Then take, then take," the maiden said,
"And frae my sark you'll cut a gare."
Then she's gi'ed him a little bane-knife,
And frae her sark he cut a share;
She's tied it round his whey-white face,
But ay his head it ached mair.
Then louder cried the Clerk Colvill,
"O sairer, sairer aches my head;"
"And sairer, sairer ever will,"
The maiden cries, "till you be dead."
Out then he drew his shining blade,
Thinking to stick her where she stood;
But she was vanish'd to a fish,
And swam far off, a fair mermaid.
"O mother, mother, braid my hair;
My lusty lady, make my bed;
O brother, take my sword and spear,
For I have seen the false mermaid."
(_gare_, gore. _bane_, bone.)
LADY ISABEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT
|Fair lady Isabel sits in her bower sewing,
_Aye as the gowans grow gay;_
There she heard an elf-knight blawing his horn,
_The first morning in May._
"If I had yon horn that I hear blawing,
And yon elf-knight to sleep in my bosom."
This maiden had scarcely these words spoken,
Till in at her window the elf-knight has luppen.
"It's a very strange matter, fair maiden," said he,
"I canna blaw my horn, but ye call on me."
"But will ye go to yon greenwood side,
If ye canna' gang, I will cause you to ride."
He leapt on a horse, and she on another,
And they rode on to the greenwood together.
"Light down, light down, lady Isabel," said he,
"We are come to the place where ye are to die."
"Hae mercy, hae mercy, kind sir, on me,
Till ance my dear father and mother I see."
(_gowans_ flowers.)
[Illustration: 0243]
"Seven king's-daughters here hae I slain,
And ye shall be the eight o' them."
"O sit down a while lay your head on my knee,
That we may hae some rest before that I die."
She strok'd him sae fast, the nearer he did creep,
Wi' a sma' charm she lull'd him fast asleep.
Wi' his ain sword belt sae fast as she ban' him,
With his ain dag-dirk sae sair as she dang him.
"If seven kings' daughters here ye ha'e slain,
Lie ye here, a husband to them a'."
FAIR JANET
|Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
Ye maun gang to him soon;
Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
In case that his days are dune!"
Janet's awa' to her father,
As fast as she could hie;
"O what's your will wi' me, father?
O what's your will wi' me?"
(_ban'_, bound. _dag-dirk_, dagger. _dang_, struck.)
"My will wi' you, Fair Janet," he said,
"It is both bed and board;
Some say that ye lo'e Sweet Willie,
But ye maun wed a French lord."
"A French lord maun I wed, father?
A French lord maun I wed?
Then, by my sooth," quo' Fair Janet,
"He's ne'er enter my bed."
Janet's awa' to her chamber,
As fast as she could go;
Wha's the first ane that tapped there,
But Sweet Willie her jo!
"O we maun part this love, Willie,
That has been lang between;
There's a French lord coming o'er the sea
To wed me wi' a ring;
There's a French lord coming o'er the sea,
To wed and tak me hame."
"If we maun part this love, Janet,
It causeth mickle woe;
If we maun part this love, Janet,
It makes me into mourning go."
"But ye maun gang to your three sisters,
Meg, Marion, and Jean;
Tell them to come to Fair Janet,
In case that her days are dune."
Willie's awa to his three sisters,
Meg, Marion, and Jean;
"O haste, and gang to Fair Janet,
I fear that her days are dune."
Some drew to them their silken hose,
Some drew to them their shoon,
Some drew to them their silk mantles,
Their coverings to put on;
And they re awa to Fair Janet,
By the high light o' the moon.
"O I have born this babe, Willie,
Wi' mickle toil and pain;
Take hame, take hame, your babe, Willie,
For nurse I dare be nane."
He's tane his young son in his arms,
And kissed him cheek and chin,--
And he's awa' to his mother's bower,
By the high light o' the moon.
"O open, open, mother," he says,
"O open, and let me in;
The rain rains on my yellow hair,
And the dew drops o'er my chin,--
And I hae my young son in my arms,
I fear that his days are dune."
With her fingers lang and sma'
She lifted up the pin;
And with her arms lang and sma
Received the baby in.
"Gae back, gae back now, Sweet Willie,
And comfort your fair lady;
For where ye had but ae nourice,
Your young son shall hae three."
Willie he was scarce awa,
And the lady put to bed,
When in and came her father dear:
"Make haste, and busk the bride."
"There's a sair pain in my head, father,
There's a sair pain in my side;
And ill, O ill, am I, father,
This day for to be a bride.
"O ye maun busk this bonny bride,
And put a gay mantle on;
For she shall wed this auld French lord,
Gin she should die the morn."
Some put on the gay green robes,
And some put on the brown;
But Janet put on the scarlet robes,
To shine foremost through the town.
(_busk_, dress.)
And some they mounted the black steed,
And some mounted the brown;
But Janet mounted the milk-white steed,
To ride foremost through the town.
"O wha will guide your horse, Janet?
O wha will guide him best?"
"O wha but Willie, my true love,
He kens I lo'e him best!"
And when they cam to Mary's kirk,
To tie the haly ban,
Fair Janet's cheek looked pale and wan,
And her colour ga'ed and cam.
When dinner it was past and done,
And dancing to begin,
"O we'll go take the bride's maidens,
And we'll go fill the ring."
O ben then cam the auld French lord,
Saying, "Bride, will ye dance with me?"
"Awa', awa', ye auld French Lord,
Your face I downa see."
O ben then cam now Sweet Willie,
He cam with ane advance:
"O I'll go tak the bride's maidens,
And we'll go tak a dance."
(_downa_, cannot.)
"I've seen ither days wi' you, Willie,
And so has mony mae;
Ye would hae danced wi' me mysel',
Let a my maidens gae."
O ben then cam now Sweet Willie,
Saying, "Bride, will ye dance wi' me?"
"Aye, by my sooth, and that I will,
Gin my back should break in three."
[And she's taen Willie by the hand,
The tear blinded her e'e;
"O I wad dance wi' my true love,
Tho' bursts my heart in three!"]
She hadna turned her through the dance,
Through the dance but thrice,
Whan she fell doun at Willie's feet,
And up did never rise!
[She's ta'en her bracelet frae her arm,
Her garter frae her knee:
"Gie that, gie that, to my young son;
He'll ne'er his mother see."]
Willie's ta'en the key of his coffer,
And gi'en it to his man;
"Gae hame, and tell my mother dear,
My horse he has me slain;
Bid her be kind to my young son,
For father he has nane."
["Gar deal, gar deal the bread," he cried,
"Gar deal, gar deal the wine;
This day has seen my true love's death,
This night shall witness mine."]
The tane was buried in Mary's kirk,
And the tither in Mary's quire:
Out of the tane there grew a birk,
And the tither a bonny briar.
(_tane_, one. _tither_, other.)
[Illustration: 0250]
FAIR HELEN
PART SECOND.
|I wish I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirconnell Lee!
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 succour me!
O think na ye my heart was sair,
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair,
There did she swoon wi' mickle care,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
As I went down the water side,
None but my foe to be my guidç,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell Lee;
I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me.
(_burd_, maid.)
O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair,
Shall bind my heart for evermair,
Until the day I die.
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 Lee.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries -,
And I am weary of the skies,
For her sake that died for me.
[Illustration: 0253]
THE CRUEL BROTHER
|There was three ladies play'd at the ba',
_With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay;_
There came a knight, and play'd o'er them a,
_As the primrose spreads so sweetly._
The eldest was baith tall and fair,
But the youngest was beyond compare.
The midmost had a gracefu' mien,
But the youngest look'd like beauty's queen.
The knight bow'd low to a' the three,
But to the youngest he bent his knee.
The lady turned her head aside,
The knight he woo'd her to be his bride.
The lady blush'd a rosy red,
And said, "Sir knight, I'm too young to wed."
"O lady fair, give me your hand,
And I'll mak you lady of a' my land."
"Sir knight, ere you my favour win,
Ye maun get consent frae a' my kin."
He has got consent frae her parents dear,
And likewise frae her sisters fair.
He has got consent frae her kin each one,
But forgot to speir at her brother John.
Now, when the wedding day was come,
The knight would take his bonny bride home,
And many a lord and many a knight,
Came to behold that lady bright.
And there was nae man that did her see,
But wished himself bridegroom to be.
Her father dear led her down the stair,
And her sisters twain they kiss'd her there.
Her mother dear led her through the close,
And her brother John set her on her horse.
She lean'd her o er the saddle-bow,
To give him a kiss ere she did go.
He has taen a knife, baith lang and sharp,
And stabb'd that bonny bride to the heart.
(_speir_, ask.)
She hadna ridden half thro' the town,
Until her heart's blood stained her gown.
"Ride saftly on," said the best young man,
"For I think our bonny bride looks pale and wan."
"O lead me gently up yon hill,
And I'll there sit down, and make my will."
"O what will you leave to your father dear?"
"The silver-shod steed that brought me here."
"What will you leave to your mother dear?"
"My velvet pall and silken gear."
"And what will you leave to your sister Ann?"
"My silken scarf, and my gowden fan."
"What will ye leave to your sister Grace?"
"My bloody clothes to wash and dress."
"What will ye leave to your brother John?"
"The gallows-tree to hang him on."
"What will ye leave to your brother John's wife?"
"The wilderness to end her life."
This fair lady in her grave was laid,
And a mass was o'er her said.
But it would have made your heart right sair,
To see the bridegroom rive his hair.
(_rive_, tear.)
LAMKIN
|It's Lamkin was a mason good
As ever built with stane,
He built Lord Wearies 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 ha'e 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.
(_faem_, foam.)
But the nourice was a fause limmer
As e'er hung on a tree;
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
When her lord was o'er the sea.
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
When the servants were awa';
Let 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."
(_nourice_, nurse. _limmer_, wretch. _shot-window_, projecting window.)
Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife,
That hang down by his gair,
And he has gi'en the bonny babe
A deep wound and a sair.
Then Lamkin he rocked,
And the fause nourice 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 fathers land."
"O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the bell!"
"He winna still, lady,
Till ye come down yoursel'."
(_gair,_ skirt. _bore_, hole. _greeting_, crying.)
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!
Ha'e 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 basin, 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 basin, Lamkin;
Let 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 came again -,
But dowie dowie was his heart
When first he came hame.
(_dowie_, gloomy.)
"O wha's blood is this," he says,
"That lies in the châmer?"
"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 condemn'd to die.
And bonny sang the mavis
Out o' the thorny brake;
But sairer grat the nourice,
When she was tied to the stake.
COSPATRICK
|Cospatrick has sent o'er the faem;
Cospatrick brought his lady hame;
And fourscore ships have come her wi',
The lady by the green-wood tree.
(_lamer_, amber. _faem_, sea.)
There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread,
And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae red,
And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour,
And twal* and twal' wi' the paramour.
Sweet Willy was a widow's son,
And at her stirrup he did run;
And she was clad in the finest pall,
But aye she let the tears down fall.
"O is your saddle set awry?
Or rides your steed for you ower high?
Or are you mourning, in your tide,
That you should be Cospatrick's bride?"
"I am not mourning, at this tide,
That I should be Cospatrick's bride;
But I am sorrowing in my mood,
That I should leave my mother good.
"But, gentle boy, come tell to me,
What is the custom of thy country?"--
"The custom thereof, my dame," he says,
"Will ill a gentle lady please.
"Seven king's daughters has our lord wedded,
And seven king's daughters has our lord bedded;
But he's cutted their breasts ' frae their breast-bane,
And sent them mourning hame again.
(_twal'_ twelve. _bouted_, bolted. _tide_, time.)
"Yet, gin you're sure that you're a maid,
Ye may gae safely to his bed;
But gif o' that ye be na sure,
Then hire some damsel o' your bower."--
The lady's call'd her bour maiden,
That waiting was into her train;
"Five thousands merks I'll gie to thee,
To sleep this night with my lord for me."--
When bells were rung, and mass was sayen,
And a' men unto bed were gane,
Cospatrick and the bonny maid,
Into a chamber they were laid.
"Now, speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,
And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;
And speak up, my bonny brown sword, that winna lie,
Is this a true maiden that lies by me?"--
"It is not a maid that you hae wedded,
But it is a maid that you hae bedded;
It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,
But not the maiden that it should be."--
O wrathfully he left the bed,
Aud wrathfully his claes on did;
And he has ta'en him through the ha',
And on his mother he did ca'.
"I am the most unhappy man,
That ever was in Christian land!
I courted a maiden, meek and mild,
And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi' child."--
"O stay, my son, into this ha',
And sport ye wi* your merrymen a';
And I will to the secret bower,
To see how it fares wi' your paramour."--
The carline she was stark and sture,
She aff the hinges dang the dure;
"O is your bairn to laird or loon,
Or is it to your father's groom?"--
"O hear me, mother, on my knee,
Till my sad story I tell to thee:
O we were sisters, sisters seven,
We were the fairest under heaven.
"It fell on a summer's afternoon,
When a' our toilsome task was done,
We cast the kevils us amang,