I winna forsake my ain dear lord,

And he is na far frae me."

“ Gie owre your house, ye lady fair,

Gie owre your house to me; Or I sall burn yoursell therein,

But and your babies three.”
“I winna gie owre, ye fause Gordon,

To nae sic traitor as thee.
And if ye burn my ain dear babes,
My lord sall mak'

ye

dree.
“ Now reach my pistoll, Glaud, my man,

And charge ye weel my gun;
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,

My babes, we been undone!”
She stude upon her castle wa’

And let twa bullets flee:
She miss'd that bluidy butcher's heart,

And only razed his knee. “ Set fire to the house !" quo' fause Gordon,

Wud? wi' dule and ire : “ Fause ladye, ye sall rue that shot,

As ye burn in the fire !" “ Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock,

weel

your Why pu' ye out the grund-wa' stane,

Lets in the reek to me ?
“ And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man !

I paid ye weel your hire;
Why pu' ye out the grund-wa' stane,

To me lets in the fire ?"

my man!

I paid ye

fee ;

"Wud, mad.

“ 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.”

O then bespake her little son,

Sat on the nurse's knee : Says, “ Mither dear, gie owre this house,

For the reek it smothers me."

“ I wad gie a' my gowd, my bairn,

a Sae wad I a' my fee, For ae blast o' the western wind,

To blaw the reek frae thee."

O then bespake her daughter dear,

She was baith jimp and sma’: “ O row' me in a pair o' sheets,

And tow me owre the wa'!”

They row'd her in a pair o'sheets,

And tow'd her owre the wa'; But on the point o' Gordon's spear

She gat a deadly fa'.

O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,

And cherry were her cheeks,
And clear, clear was her yellow hair,

Whereon the red blood dreeps.

Then wi' his spear he turn'd her owre;

O gin her face was wan!
He said, “ Ye are the first that e'er

I wish'd alive again.”

P

He turn'd her owre and owre again ;

O gin her skin was white ! “ I might hae spared that bonnie face

To hae been some man's delight."

“ Busk and boun, my merry men a',

For ill dooms I do guess ;
I cannot look on that bonnie face

As it lies on the grass."

" Wha looks to freits,' my master dear,

Its freits will follow them ; Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon

Was daunted by a dame.”

But when the ladye saw the fire

Come flaming o'er her head, She wept, and kiss'd her children twain,

Says, “ Bairns, we been but dead."

The Gordon then his bugle blew,

And said, “ Awa', awa'! This House oʻthe Rodes is a' in a flame,

I hauld it time to ga'.”

And this way lookit her ain dear lord,

As he came owre the lea ; He saw his castle a' in a lowe,

Sae far as he could see.

“ Put on, put on, my wighty men,

As fast as ye can dri'e !
For he that's hindmost o' the thrang

Sall ne'er get good o' me."

· Freits, (frights ?), ill-omens, ill-luck.

Then some they rade, and some they ran,

Out-owre the grass and bent; But ere the foremost could win up,

Baith lady and babes were brent.

And after the Gordon he is gane,

Sae fast as he might dri'e ; And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude

He's wroken his fair ladye.

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.

IN

N the merry month of May,

In a morn, by break of day,
Forth I walk'd by the wood-side,
Whenas May was in his pride:
There I spièd, all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.
Much ado there was, God wot;
He would love, and she would not.
She said, never man was true ;
He said, none was false to you.
He said, he had loved her long ;
She said, love should have no wrong.
Corydon would kiss her then ;
She said, maids must kiss no men,
Till they do for good and all :
Then she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth,
Never loved a truer youth.
Then with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth,
Such as silly shepherds use,
When they will not love abuse,

Love, which had been long deluded,
Was with kisses sweet concluded ;
And Phillida with garlands gay
Was made the Lady of the May.

NICHOLAS BRETON.

LORD RANDAL.

been,

WHERE hae ye been, Lord Randal, my

son ? O where hae ye my

handsome

young man ?" “I hae been to the wood ; mother, make my

bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie

down."

“Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son ? Where gat ye your dinner,

my
handsome

young

man ?"

“I dined wi' my love; mother,

make

my
bed

soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie

down.” “ What gat ye to dinner, Lord Randal, my son ? What gat ye to dinner, my handsome young man?” “ I gat eels boil'd in broo’; mother, make

my

bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie

down."

“And where are your bloodhounds, Lord Randal,

my son ?

And where are your bloodhounds, my handsome

young man ?”