Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, With bridal sheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the expected husband-lover. THE BRAES OF YARROW. THY braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, When first on them I met my lover; Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, When now thy waves his body cover! For ever now, O Yarrow stream! Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; For never on thy banks shall I Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. He promised me a milk-white steed To squire me to his father's towers; Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow! Sweet were his words when last we met; But who the expected husband husband Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought is? That I should never more behold him! His hands, methinks, are bathed in Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost; No longer from thy window look- Alas, thou hast no more a brother! And search no more the forest thorough; Return, return, O mournful mournful For, wandering in the night so dark, bride, Return, and dry thy useless sorrow: Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs, He lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow. WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR. He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. The tear shall never leave my cheek, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. -The tear did never leave her cheek, No other youth became her marrow; She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. JOHN LOGAN. THE CHILD OF ELLE. ON yonder hill a castle standes With walles and towres bedight, And yonder lives the Child of Elle, A younge and comely knighte. The child of Elle to his garden went, And stood at his garden pale, Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe, Betide me weale or woe. The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, He neither stint ne stayd Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre, Whan kneeling downe he sayd, Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page O ladye, I've been with thy own true love, Come trippinge downe the dale. The Child of Elle he hyed him thence, And soone he mette fair Emmelines page Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page, My lady she is all woe-begone, And the teares they falle from her eyne; And aye she laments the deadlye feude Betweene her house and thine. And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe Bedewde with many a teare, And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her, Who loved thee so deare. And here she sends thee a ring of golde, For, ah! her gentle heart is broke, And in grave soon must shee bee, Sith her father hath chose her a new new love, And forbidde her to think of thee. Her father hath brought her a carlish knight, Sir John of the north countràye, And within three dayes shee must him wedde, Or he vowes he will her slaye. And he greets thee well by mee; This night will he be at thy bowre-windowe, And dye or sette thee free. Nowe daye was gone and night was come, Who sate in her bowre to weepe: And soone she heard her true loves voice Awake, awake, my ladye deare, Come, mount this faire palfraye; This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, O ladye, thou with a knighte so true "My father he is a baron bolde, Of lynage proude and hye; And what would he saye if his daughtèr Awaye with a knight should fly? Ah! well I wot, he never would rest, Nor his meate should doe him no goode Until he had slayne thee, Child of Elle, And scene thy deare hearts bloode." O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And a little space him fro, I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that he could doe. O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And once without this walle, I would not care for thy cruel fathèr, Nor the worst that might befalle. Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe: At length he seized her lilly-white hand, And downe the ladder he drewe: And thrice he clasp'd her to his breste, The teares that fell from her fair eyes Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle, And her on a fair palfràye, And slung his bugle about his necke, All this beheard her own damsèlle, In her bed whereas shee ley, Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this, Soe I shall have golde and fee. Awake, awake, thou baron bolde! Awake, my noble dame! Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle To doe the deede of shame. The baron he woke, the baron he rose, "And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte, Thy ladye is carried to thrall." Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, And foremost came the carlish knight, For she is come of hye linèage, And ill it beseems thee a false churl's sonne To carrye her hence to scorne." Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, Nowe thou doest lye of mee; A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore, But light nowe downe, my ladye faire, But light nowe downe, my deare ladyè, Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe, While 'twixt her love and the carlish knight Past many a baleful blowe. The Child of Elle hee fought soe well, As his weapon he waved amaine, That soone he had slaine the carlish knight, And layd him upon the plaine. And nowe the baron and all his men Her lover he put his horne to his mouth, "Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baròn, Thy daughter I have dearly loved Hath freelye said wee may. Oh give consent shee may be mine, Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter Three several Pillars, each a rough-hewn lean'd, Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat; Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yean'd, And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet. Upon his side the Hart was lying stretch'd: His nostril touch'd a spring beneath a hill, And with the last deep groan his breath had fetch'd The waters of the spring were trembling still. And now, too happy for repose or rest (Never had living man such joyful lot!), Sir Walter walk'd all round, north, south, and west, Stone, And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed. And, in the summer-time when days are long, I will come hither with my Paramour; And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's song We will make merry in that pleasant Bower. Till the foundations of the mountains fail My Mansion with its Arbor shall en dure; The joy of them who till the fields of Swale, And them who dwell among the woods of Ure!" And gazed and gazed upon that darling Then home he went, and left the Hart, spot. And climbing up the hill (it was at least Nine roods of sheer ascent), Sir Walter found Three several hoof-marks which the hunted beast Had left imprinted on the grassy ground. Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, "Till now Such sight was never seen by living eyes: Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow Down to the very fountain where he lies. stone-dead, With breathless nostrils stretch'd above the spring. -Soon did the Knight perform what he had said, And far and wide the fame thereof did ring. Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steer'd, A Cup of stone received the living Well; Three Pillars of rude stone Sir Walter rear'd, And built a house of Pleasure in the dell. |