Ballad Book Part 24

Sune as he yielded up his breath, I bare his corpse away, Wi' tears that trickled for his death, I wash'd his comely clay; And sicker in a grave sae deep I laid the dear-lo'ed boy; And now forever I maun weep My winsome Gilderoy.

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN.

It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a falling, That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country, Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his men down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling: "O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly, hooly rose she up, To the place where he was lying, And when she drew the curtain by, "Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick, And it's a' for Barbara Allan;"

"O the better for me ye's never be, Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she, "When ye was in the tavern a drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?"

He turned his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing; "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan."

And slowly, slowly raise she up, And slowly, slowly left him, And sighing said, she could not stay, Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell gied, It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!

"O mother, mother, make my bed!

O make it saft and narrow!

Since my love died for me to-day, I'll die for him to-morrow."

THE GARDENER.

The gard'ner stands in his bower door, Wi' a primrose in his hand, And by there cam' a leal maiden, As jimp as a willow wand.

"O ladie, can ye fancy me, For to be my bride?

Ye'se get a' the flowers in my garden, To be to you a weed.

"The lily white sail be your smock; It becomes your bodie best; Your head sail be buskt wi' gilly-flower, Wi' the primrose in your breast.

"Your goun sall be the sweet-william; Your coat the camovine; Your ap.r.o.n o' the sallads neat, That taste baith sweet and fine.

"Your hose sall be the brade kail-blade, That is baith brade and lang; Narrow, narrow at the cute, And brade, brade at the brawn.

"Your gloves sail be the marigold, All glittering to your hand, Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort, That grows amang corn-land."

"O fare ye well, young man," she says, "Fareweil, and I bid adieu; If you can fancy me," she says, "I canna fancy you.

"Sin' ye've provided a weed for me Amang the simmer flowers, It's I'se provide anither for you, Amang the winter-showers:

"The new fawn snaw to be your smock; It becomes your bodie best; Your head sall be wrapt wi' the eastern wind, And the cauld rain on your breast."

ETIN THE FORESTER.

Lady Margaret sits in her bower door, Sewing her silken seam; She heard a note in Elmond's wood, And wished she there had been.

She loot the seam fa' frae her side, And the needle to her tae, And she is aff to Elmond's wood As fast as she could gae.

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but ane, Till by there cam' a young hynd chiel, Says, "Lady, lat alane.

"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut, Or why brake ye the tree?

For I am forester o' this wood: Ye should spier leave at me."

"I'll spier leave at na living man, Nor yet will I at thee; My father is king o'er a' this realm, This wood belangs to me."

"You're welcome to the wood, Marg'ret, You're welcome here to me; A fairer bower than e'er you saw.

I'll bigg this night for thee."

He has bigged a bower beside the thorn, He has fenced it up wi' stane, And there within the Elmond wood, They twa has dwelt their lane.

He kept her in the Elmond wood, For twelve lang years and mair; And seven fair sons to Hynd Etin, Did that gay lady bear.

It fell out ance upon a day, To the hunting he has gane; And he has ta'en his eldest son, To gang alang wi' him.

When they were in the gay greenwood, They heard the mavis sing; When they were up aboon the brae, They heard the kirk bells ring.

"O I wad ask ye something, father, An' ye wadna angry be!"

"Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."

"My mither's cheeks are aft-times weet, It's seldom they are dry; What is't that gars my mither greet, And sob sae bitterlie?"

"Nae wonder she suld greet, my boy, Nae wonder she suld pine, For it is twelve lang years and mair, She's seen nor kith nor kin, And it is twelve lang years and mair, Since to the kirk she's been.

"Your mither was an Earl's daughter, And cam' o' high degree, And she might hae wedded the first in the land, Had she nae been stown by me.

"For I was but her father's page, And served him on my knee; And yet my love was great for her, And sae was hers for me."

"I'll shoot the laverock i' the lift, The buntin on the tree, And bring them to my mither hames See if she'll merrier be."

It fell upon anither day, This forester thought lang; And he is to the hunting gane The forest leaves amang.

Wi' bow and arrow by his side, He took his path alane; And left his seven young children To bide wi' their mither at hame.

"O I wad ask ye something, mither, An ye wadna angry be."

"Ask on, ask on, my eldest son; Ask ony thing at me."