And when he looked that lady on,
He sighed and made a heavy moan;

He made a harp of her breast-bane,
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stane;

The strings he framed of her yellow hair,
Whose notes made sad the listening ear;

He brought it to her father's ha',
And there was the court assembled a’;

He laid his harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play alane:

"O yonder sits my father, the king,
And yonder sits my mother, the queen;

"And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
And by him my William, sweet and true."

But the last tune that the harp played then,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;

Was-"Wae to my sister, false Helen!"
By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.

THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL

THERE lived a wife at Usher's Well,

And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sea.

They hadna been a week from her
A week but barely ane,

Whan word came to the carline wife,
That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,

Whan word came to the carline wife,

That her sons she'd never see.

Unknown

The Wife of Usher's Well

2547

"I wish the wind may never cease, Nor fashes in the flood,

Till my three sons come hame to me,

In earthly flesh and blood!"

It fell about the Martinmas,

When nights are lang and mirk,

The carline wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o' the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o' Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.

"Blow up the fire, my maidens!
Bring water from the well!

For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well."

And she had made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide;
And she's ta'en her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bed-side.

Up then crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
""Tis time we were awa'."

The cock he hadna crawed but once,

And clapped his wings at a',

Whan the youngest to the eldest said, "Brother, we must awa'.

"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw',

The channerin' worm doth chide;

Gin we be missed out o' our place,

A sair pain we maun bide."

"Lie still, lie still, a little wee while,

Lie still but if we may;

Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll go mad ere it be day."

O they've ta'en up their mother's mantle,
And they've hinged it on the pin:
"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle,
Ere ye hap us again!

"Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare-ye-weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire."

A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE

THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte,
-Every nighte and alle,
Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.

When thou from hence away art passed,
-Every nighte and alle,

To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
-Every nighte and alle,

Sit thee down and put them on;

And Christe receive thy saule.

Unknown

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
-Every nighte and alle,

The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane;

And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou may'st pass,

-Every nighte and alle,

To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last;

And Christe receive thy saule,

The Douglas Tragedy

2549

From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass,

-Every nighte and alle,

To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;

And Christe receive thy saule.

If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
-Every nighte and alle,

The fire sall never make thee shrink;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane,
-Every nighte and alle,

The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
-Every nighte and alle,

Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,

And Christe receive thy saule.

Unknown

THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY

"RISE UP, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, "And put on your armor so bright;

Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armor so bright,

And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa the last night."

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple gray,

With a bugelet-horn hung down by his side,
And lightly they rode away.

Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,

To see what he could see,

And there he spied her seven brethren bold,
Come riding o'er the lea.

"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said, "And hold my steed in your hand,

Until that against your seven brethren bold,
And your father, I mak' a stand."

She held his steed in her milk-white hand,
And never did shed one tear,

Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',

And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.

"O haud your hand, Lord William!" she said,

"For your strokes they are wondrous sair;

True lovers I can get many an ane,
But a father I can never get mair."

O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
It was o' the Holland sae fine,
And aye she dighted her father's wounds,
That were redder than the wine.

"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret," he said,
"O whether will ye gang or bide?”
"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,
"For ye've left me no other guide."

He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple gray,

With a bugelet-horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.

O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they cam' to yon wan water,
And there they lighted doun.

They lighted doun to tak' a drink
Of the spring that ran sae clear;

And doun the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
And sair she gan to fear.