And lang, lang, may the maidens sit,
With their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves!

For them they 'll see nae mair.

O forty miles off Aberdeen

'Tis fifty fathoms deep

And there lies gude sir Patrick Spens,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY

"RISE up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
"And put on your armour 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 armour 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-grey,

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 spy'd her seven brethren bold,

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Come riding o'er the lee.

"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 make a stand.".

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

Until that she saw her seven brethren fa'

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

"O hold your hand, Lord William !" she said,
"For your strokes they are wondrous sair;

True lovers I can get many a 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 bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.

"O chuse, O chuse, lady Margret," he said, "O whether will ye gang or bide?"

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"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said, "For you have left me no other guide.".

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He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,

And himself on a dapple-grey,

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

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

They lighted down to take a drink

Of the spring that ran sae clear,

And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,

And sair she 'gan to fear.

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"Hold up, hold up, lord William," she says,

"For I fear that you are slain!"

"'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, That shines on the water sae plain.".

O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,

Until they came to his mother's ha' door,
And there they lighted down.

"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
"Get up, and let me in!

Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
"For this night my fair lady I've win.

"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
"O mak it braid and deep!
And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep."

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
Lady Marg'ret lang ere day –

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And all true lovers that go togither,

May they have mair luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk,
Lady Margret in Marie's quire;

Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o' the knight's a brier.

And they twa met, and they twa plat,

And fain they would be near;

And a' the warld might ken right weel,
They were twa lovers dear.

But bye and rade the Black Douglas,
And wow but he was rough!

For he pull'd up the bonny brier,
And flang it in St. Marie's Loch.

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THOMAS THE RYMER

TRUE Thomas lay o'er yond grassy bank,
And he beheld a ladie gay,

A ladie that was brisk and bold,
Come riding o'er the fernie brae.

Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,
Her mantle of the velvet fine,
At ilka tett of her horse's mane
Hung fifty silver bells and nine.

True Thomas he took off his hat

And bowed him low down till his knee: 'All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven! For your peer on earth I never did see.'

'O no, O no, True Thomas,' she says,

'That name does not belong to me;

I am but the queen of fair Elfland,

And I'm come here for to visit thee.

'Harp and carp, Thomas,' she said,

'Harp and carp along wi' me; But if ye dare to kiss my lips, Sure of your bodie I will be.'

'Betide me weal, betide me woe,

That weird shall never daunton me;'

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips

All underneath the Eildon Tree.

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'But ye maun go wi' me now, Thomas, True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me, For ye maun serve me seven years,

Thro' weel or wae as may chance to be.'

She turned about her milk-white steed,

And took True Thomas up behind,

And aye when e'er her bridle rang,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.

For forty days and forty nights

He wade thro' red blude to the knee,

And he saw neither sun nor moon,

But heard the roaring of the sea.

O they rade on and further on,

Until they came to a garden green: 'Light down, light down, ye ladie free, Some of that fruit let me pull to thee.'

'O no, O no, True Thomas,' she says,

'That fruit maun not be touched by thee,

For a' the plagues that are in hell
Light on the fruit of this countrie.

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30

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'But I have a loaf here in my lap,

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Likewise a bottle of claret wine,

And here ere we go farther on,

We'll rest a while, and ye may dine.'

When he had eaten and drunk his fill,

'Lay down your head upon my knee,' The lady sayd, 'ere we climb yon hill,

And I will show you ferlies three.

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