Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 69

He was a braw gallant, And he play'd at the ba'; And the bonny Earl of Murray Was the flower amang them a'!

He was a braw gallant, And he play'd at the gluve; And the bonny Earl of Murray, O he was the Queen's luve!

O lang will his Lady Look owre the Castle Downe, Ere she see the Earl of Murray Come sounding through the town!

Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent.

387. Helen of Kirconnell

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

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

O think na ye my heart was sair, When my Love dropp'd and spak nae mair!

There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirconnell lea.

As I went down the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirconnell lea;

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.

O Helen fair, beyond compare!

I'll mak a garland o' 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'd be blest, Where thou lies low and taks thy rest, On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn owre my e'en, And I in Helen's arms lying, On fair Kirconnell lea.

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.

Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent.

388. Waly, Waly

O WALY, waly, up the bank, And waly, waly, doun the brae, And waly, waly, yon burn-side, Where I and my Love wont to gae!

I lean'd my back unto an aik, I thocht it was a trustie tree; But first it bow'd and syne it brak-- Sae my true love did lichtlie me.

O waly, waly, gin love be bonnie A little time while it is new!

But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld, And fades awa' like morning dew.

O wherefore should I busk my heid, Or wherefore should I kame my hair?

For my true Love has me forsook, And says he'll never lo'e me mair.

Now Arthur's Seat sall be my bed, The sheets sall ne'er be 'filed by me; Saint Anton's well sall be my drink; Since my true Love has forsaken me.

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the tree?

O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?

For of my life I am weare.

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie, 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry; But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.

When we cam in by Glasgow toun, We were a comely sicht to see; My Love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win, I had lock'd my heart in a case o' gowd, And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.

And O! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee; And I mysel were dead and gane, And the green gra.s.s growing over me!

cramasie] crimson.

Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent.

389. Barbara Allen's Cruelty

IN Scarlet town, where I was born, There was a fair maid dwellin', Made every youth cry Well-a-way!

Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May, When green buds they were swellin', Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay, For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man in to her then, To the town where she was dwellin', 'O haste and come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen.'

So slowly, slowly rase she up, And slowly she came nigh him, And when she drew the curtain by-- 'Young man, I think you're dyin'.'

'O it 's I am sick and very very sick, And it 's all for Barbara Allen.'

'O the better for me ye'se never be, Tho' your heart's blood were a-spillin'!

'O dinna ye mind, young man,' says she, 'When the red wine ye were fillin', That ye made the healths go round and round, And slighted Barbara Allen?'

He turn'd his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealin': 'Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allen!'

As she was walking o'er the fields, She heard the dead-bell knellin'; And every jow the dead-bell gave Cried 'Woe to Barbara Allen.'

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

'Farewell,' she said, 'ye virgins all, And shun the fault I fell in: Henceforth take warning by the fall Of cruel Barbara Allen.'

jow] beat, toll.

Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent.

390. Pipe and Can

I

THE Indian weed withered quite; Green at morn, cut down at night; Shows thy decay: all flesh is hay: Thus think, then drink Tobacco.