Chapter 6

"Mysel' will kame your yellow hair Wi' a new-made siller kame; And the Lord will be the bairn's father Till Gregory come hame."

"O gin I had a bonny ship, And men to sail wi' me, It's I wad gang to my true lore, Sin' he winna come to me!"

Her father's gi'en her a bonny ship, And sent her to the strand; She's ta'en her young son in her arms, And turn'd her back to land.

She hadna been on the sea sailing, About a month or more, Till landed has she her bonny ship, Near to her true love's door.

The night was dark, an' the wind was cauld, And her love was fast asleep, And the bairn that was in her twa arms, Fu' sair began to greet.

Lang stood she at her true love's door And lang tirl'd at the pin; At length up gat his fause mother, Says, "Wha's that wad be in?"

"O it is Annie of Lochroyan, Your love, come o'er the sea, But and your young son in her arms, Sae open the door to me."

"Awa, awa, ye ill woman, Ye're nae come here for gude; Ye're but a witch, or a vile warlock, Or mermaiden o' the flood!"

"I'm nae a witch, nor vile warlock, Nor mermaiden," said she; "But I am Annie of Lochroyan; O open the door to me!"

"O gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, As I trow not you be, Now tell me some o' the love-tokens That pass'd 'tween thee and me."

"O dinna ye mind, love Gregory, When we sate at the wine, How we chang'd the napkins frae our necks, It's no sae lang sinsyne?

"And yours was gude, and gude eneugh, But nae sae gude as mine; For yours was o' the cambrick clear, But mine o' the silk sae fine.

"And dinna ye mind, love Gregory, As we twa sate at dine, How we chang'd the rings frae our fingers, And I can show thee thine?

"And yours was gude, and gude eneugh, Yet nae sae gude as mine; For yours was o' the gude red gold, But mine o' the diamonds fine.

"Sae open the door, love Gregory, And open it wi' speed; Or your young son, that is in my arms, For cauld will soon be dead!"

"Awa, awa, ye ill woman, Gae frae my door for shame; For I hae gotten anither fair love, Sae ye may hie ye hame!"

"O hae ye gotten anither fair love, For a' the oaths ye sware? Then fare ye weel, fause Gregory, For me ye'se never see mair!"

O hooly, hooly gaed she back, As the day began to peep; She set her foot on gude ship board, And sair, sair did she weep.

"Tak down, tak down that mast o' gowd, Set up the mast o' tree; Ill sets it a forsaken lady To sail sae gallantlie!"

Love Gregory started frae his sleep, And to his mother did say; "I dream'd a dream this night, mither, That maks my heart right wae.

"I dream'd that Annie of Lochroyan, The flower of a' her kin, Was standing mournin' at iny door, But nane wad let her in."

"Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan, That ye mak a' this din; She stood a' last night at your door, But I trow she wan na in!"

"O wae betide ye, ill woman! An ill deid may ye die, That wadna open the door to her, Nor yet wad waken me!"

O quickly, quickly raise he up, And fast ran to the strand; And then he saw her, fair Annie, Was sailing frae the land.

And it's "Hey Annie!" and "How Annie! O Annie, winna ye bide?" But aye the mair that he cried "Annie!" The faster ran the tide.

And it's "Hey Annie!" and "How Annie! O Annie, speak to me!" But aye the louder that he cried "Annie!" The higher raise the sea.

The wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough, And the ship was rent in twain; And soon he saw her, fair Annie, Come floating through the faem.

He saw his young son in her arms, Baith toss'd abune the tide; He wrang his hands, and fast he ran, And plunged in the sea sae wide.

He catch'd her by the yellow hair, And drew her to the strand; But cauld and stiff was every limb, Afore he reach'd the land.

O first he kiss'd her cherry cheek, And syne he kiss'd her chin, And sair he kiss'd her bonny lips, But there was nae breath within.

And he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie, Till the sun was ganging down, Syne wi' a sigh his heart it brast, And his soul to heaven has flown.

* * * * *

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET.

Lord Thomas and fair Annet Sat a' day on a hill, When night was come, and the sun was set, They had na talk'd their fill.

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, Fair Annet took it ill; "O I will never wed a wife, Against my ain friends' will"

"Gif ye will never wed a wife, A wife will ne'er wed ye." Sae he is hame to tell his mither, And kneel'd upon his knee.

"O rede, O rede, mither," he says, "A gude rede gie to me; O sall I tak' the nut-brown bride, And let fair Annet be?"

"The nut-brown bride has gowd and gear, Fair Annet she's gat nane, And the little beauty fair Annet has, O it will soon be gane."

And he has to his brither gane; "Now, brither, rede ye me, O sall I marry the nut-brown bride, And let fair Annet be?"

"The nut-brown bride has owsen, brither, The nut-brown bride has kye; I wad hae you marry the nut-brown bride, And cast fair Annet by."

"Her owsen may dee in the house, billie, And her kye into the byre, And I sall hae naething to mysel, But a fat fadge by the fire."

And he has to his sister gane; "Now, sister, rede to me; O sall I marry the nut-brown bride, And set fair Annet free?"

"I'se rede ye tak' fair Annet, Thomas, And let the brown bride alane, Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace, What is this we brought hame?"

"No! I will tak' my mither's counsel, And marry me out o' hand; And I will tak' the nut-brown bride, Fair Annet may leave the land."

Up then rose fair Annet's father, Twa hours or it were day, And he has gane into the bower, Wherein fair Annet lay.

"Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says, "Put on your silken sheen, Let us gae to Saint Marie's kirk, And see that rich weddin'."

"My maids, gae to my dressing-room And dress to me my hair, Where'er ye laid a plait before, See ye lay ten times mair.

"My maids, gae to my dressing-room And dress to me my smock, The ae half is o' the holland fine, The ither o' needle-work."

The horse fair Annet rade upon, He amblit like the wind, Wi' siller he was shod before, Wi' burning gowd behind.

Four-and-twenty siller bells, Were a' tied to his mane, Wi' ae tift o' the norlan' wind, They tinkled ane by ane.

Four-and-twenty gay gude knights, Rade by fair Annet's side, And four-and-twenty fair ladies, As gin she had been a bride.

And when she cam' to Marie's kirk, She sat on Marie's stane; The cleiding that fair Annet had on, It skinkled in their e'en.

And when she cam' into the kirk, She skimmer'd like the sun; The belt that was about her waist, Was a' wi' pearls bedone.

She sat her by the nut-brown bride, And her e'en they were sae clear, Lord Thomas he clean forgot the bride, When fair Annet drew near.

He had a rose into his hand, He gave it kisses three, And reaching by the nut-brown bride, Laid it on Annet's knee.

Up then spak' the nut-brown bride, She spak' wi' meikle spite; "Where gat ye that rose-water, Annet, That does mak' ye sae white?"

"O I did get the rose-water, Where ye'll get never nane, For I did get that rose-water, Before that I was born.

"Where I did get that rose-water, Ye'll never get the like; For ye've been washed in Dunnie's well, And dried on Dunnie's dyke.

"Tak' up and wear your rose, Thomas, And wear't wi' meikle care; For the woman sall never bear a son That will mak' my heart sae sair."

When night was come, and day was gane, And a' men boune to bed, Lord Thomas and the nut-brown bride In their chamber were laid.

They were na weel lyen down, And scarcely fa'en asleep, When up and stands she, fair Annet, Just at Lord Thomas' feet.

"Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride, Between ye and the wa'; And sae will I o' my winding-sheet, That suits me best of a'.

"Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride, Between ye and the stock; And sae will I o' my black, black kist, That has neither key nor lock!"

Lord Thomas rase, put on his claes, Drew till him hose and shoon; And he is to fair Annet's bower, By the lee light o' the moon.

The firsten bower that he cam' till, There was right dowie wark; Her mither and her three sisters, Were making fair Annet a sark.

The nexten bower that he cam' till There was right dowie cheer; Her father and her seven brethren, Were making fair Annet a bier.

The lasten bower that he cam' till, O heavy was his care, The deid candles were burning bright, Fair Annet was streekit there.

"O I will kiss your cheek, Annet, And I will kiss your chin; And I will kiss your clay-cauld lip, But I'll ne'er kiss woman again.

"This day ye deal at Annet's wake, The bread but and the wine; Before the morn at twal' o'clock, They'll deal the same at mine."

The tane was buried in Marie's kirk, The tither in Marie's quire, And out o' the tane there grew a birk, And out o' the tither a brier.

And ay they grew, and ay they drew, Until they twa did meet, And every ane that pass'd them by, Said, "Thae's been lovers sweet!"

* * * * *

THE BANKS O' YARROW.

Late at e'en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid the lawing, They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing.

"What though ye be my sister's lord, We'll cross our swords to-morrow." "What though my wife your sister be, I'll meet ye then on Yarrow."

"O stay at hame, my ain gude lord! O stay, my ain dear marrow! My cruel brither will you betray On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

"O fare ye weel, my lady dear! And put aside your sorrow; For if I gae, I'll sune return Frae the bonny banks o' Yarrow."

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, As oft she'd dune before, O; She belted him wi' his gude brand, And he's awa' to Yarrow.

When he gaed up the Tennies bank, As he gaed mony a morrow, Nine armed men lay in a den, On the dowie braes o' Yarrow.

"O come ye here to hunt or hawk The bonny Forest thorough? Or come ye here to wield your brand Upon the banks o' Yarrow?"

"I come not here to hunt or hawk, As oft I've dune before, O, But I come here to wield my brand Upon the banks o' Yarrow.

"If ye attack me nine to ane, Then may God send ye sorrow!-- Yet will I fight while stand I may, On the bonny banks o' Yarrow."

Two has he hurt, and three has slain, On the bloody braes o' Yarrow; But the stubborn knight crept in behind, And pierced his body thorough.

"Gae hame, gae hame, you brither John, And tell your sister sorrow,-- To come and lift her leafu' lord On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

Her brither John gaed ower yon hill, As oft he'd dune before, O; There he met his sister dear, Cam' rinnin' fast to Yarrow.

"I dreamt a dream last night," she says, "I wish it binna sorrow; I dreamt I pu'd the heather green Wi' my true love on Yarrow."

"I'll read your dream, sister," he says, "I'll read it into sorrow; Ye're bidden go take up your love, He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."

She's torn the ribbons frae her head That were baith braid and narrow; She's kilted up her lang claithing, And she's awa' to Yarrow.

She's ta'en him in her arms twa, And gien him kisses thorough; She sought to bind his mony wounds, But he lay dead on Yarrow.

"O haud your tongue," her father says "And let be a' your sorrow; I'll wed you to a better lord Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"O haud your tongue, father," she says, "Far warse ye mak' my sorrow; A better lord could never be Than him that lies on Yarrow."

She kissed his lips, she kaim'd his hair. As oft she'd dune before, O; And there wi' grief her heart did break Upon the banks o' Yarrow.

* * * * *

THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY

"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, "And put on your armour so bright; Lord William will hae Lady Margret awa Before that it be light."

"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 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 spy'd her seven brethren bold, Come riding over the lee.

"Light down, light down, Lady Margret," 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 shed one tear, Until that she saw her seven brethren fa', And her father hard fighting, who lov'd 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?" "I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said, "For ye have left me nae 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 came to yon wan water, And there they lighted down.

They lighted down to tak' 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.

"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 in the water sae plain."

O they rade on, and on they rade, And a' by the light of the moon, Until they cam' 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 Margret close at my back, And the sounder I will sleep."

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, Lady Margret lang ere day, And all true lovers that go thegither, May they have mair luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk, Lady Margret in Mary's quire; Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose, And out o' the knight's a briar.

And they twa met, and they twa plat, And fain they wad be near; And a' the warld might ken right weel They were twa lovers dear.

But by and rade the Black Douglas, And wow but he was rough! For he pull'd up the bonny briar, And flang't in St. Mary's Loch.

* * * * *

FINE FLOWERS I' THE VALLEY.

There were three sisters in a ha', (Fine flowers i' the valley;) There came three lords amang them a', (The red, green, and the yellow.)

The first o' them was clad in red, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) "O lady, will ye be my bride?" (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

The second o' them was clad in green, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) "O lady, will ye be my queen?" (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

The third o' them was clad in yellow, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) "O lady, will ye be my marrow?" (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"O ye maun ask my father dear, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) Likewise the mother that did me bear;" (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"And ye maun ask my sister Ann, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) And not forget my brother John;" (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"O I have ask'd thy father dear, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) Likewise the mother that did thee bear;" (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"And I have ask'd your sister Ann, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) But I forgot your brother John;" (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

Now when the wedding day was come, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) The knight would take his bonny bride home, (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

And mony a lord, and mony a knight, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) Cam' to behold that lady bright, (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

There was nae man that did her see, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) But wished himsell bridegroom to be, (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

Her father led her down the stair, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) And her sisters twain they kiss'd her there; (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

Her mother led her through the close, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) Her brother John set her on her horse; (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"You are high, and I am low, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) Give me a kiss before you go," (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

She was touting down to kiss him sweet, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) When wi' his knife he wounded her deep, (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

She hadna ridden through half the town, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) Until her heart's blood stained her gown, (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"Ride saftly on," said the best young man, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) "I think our bride looks pale and wan!" (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"O lead me over into yon stile, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) That I may stop and breathe awhile," (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"O lead me over into yon stair, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) For there I'll lie and bleed nae mair," (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"O what will you leave to your father dear?" (Fine flowers i' the valley;) "The siller-shod steed that brought me here," (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"What will you leave to your mother dear?" (Fine flowers i' the valley;) "My wedding shift which I do wear," (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"But she must wash it very clean, (Fine flowers i' the valley;) For my heart's blood sticks in every seam." (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"What will you leave to your sister Ann?" (Pine flowers i' the valley;) "My silken gown that stands its lane," (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

"And what will you leave to your brother John?" (Fine flowers i' the valley;) "The gates o' hell to let him in," (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)

* * * * *

THE GAY GOSS-HAWK.

"O well is me, my gay goss-hawk, That ye can speak and flee; For ye shall carry a love-letter To my true-love frae me.

"O how shall I your true-love find, Or how should I her knaw? I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake, An eye that ne'er her saw."

"O well shall you my true-love ken, Sae soon as her ye see, For of a' the flowers o' fair England, The fairest flower is she.

"And when ye come to her castle, Light on the bush of ash, And sit ye there, and sing our loves, As she comes frae the mass.

"And when she goes into the house, Light ye upon the whin; And sit ye there, and sing our loves, As she gaes out and in."

Lord William has written a love-letter, Put in under the wing sae grey; And the bird is awa' to southern land, As fast as he could gae.

And when he flew to that castle, He lighted on the ash, And there he sat, and sang their loves, As she came frae the mass.

And when she went into the house, He flew unto the whin; And there he sat, and sang their loves, As she gaed out and in.

"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', The wine flows you amang, Till I gae to the west-window, And hear a birdie's sang."

She's gane into the west-window, And fainly aye it drew, And soon into her white silk lap The bird the letter threw.

"Ye're bidden send your love a send, For he has sent you three; And tell him where he can see you, Or for your love he'll die."

"I send him the rings from my white fingers, The garlands aff my hair, I send him the heart that's in my breast, What would my love hae mair? And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland, Ye'll bid him meet me there."

She's gane until her father dear, As fast as she could hie, "An asking, an asking, my father dear, An asking grant ye me! That if I die in merry England, In Scotland you'll bury me.

"At the first kirk o' fair Scotland, Ye'll cause the bells be rung; At the neist kirk o' fair Scotland Ye'll cause the mass be sung.

"At the third kirk o' fair Scotland, Ye'll deal the gowd for me; At the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland, It's there you'll bury me."

She has ta'en her to her bigly bower, As fast as she could hie; And she has drapped down like deid, Beside her mother's knee; Then out and spak' an auld witch-wife, By the fire-side sate she.

Says,--"Drap the het lead on her cheek, And drap it on her chin, And drap it on her rose-red lips, And she will speak again; O meikle will a maiden do, To her true love to win!"

They drapt the het lead on her cheek, They drapt it on her chin, They drapt it on her rose-red lips, But breath was nane within.

Then up arose her seven brothers, And made for her a bier; The boards were of the cedar wood, The plates o' silver clear.

And up arose her seven sisters, And made for her a sark; The claith of it was satin fine, The steeking silken wark.

The first Scots kirk that they cam' to, They gar'd the bells be rung; The neist Scots kirk that they cam' to, They gar'd the mass be sung.

The third Scots kirk that they cam' to, They dealt the gowd for her; The fourth Scots kirk that they cam' to, Her true-love met them there.

"Set down, set down the bier," he quoth, Till I look on the dead; The last time that I saw her face, Her cheeks were rosy red."

He rent the sheet upon her face, A little abune the chin; And fast he saw her colour come, And sweet she smiled on him.

"O give me a chive of your bread, my love, And ae drap o' your wine; For I have fasted for your sake, These weary lang days nine!

"Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brothers; Gae hame an' blaw your horn! I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith, But I've gi'ed you the scorn.

"I cam' not here to fair Scotland, To lie amang the dead; But I cam' here to fair Scotland, Wi' my ain true-love to wed."

* * * * *

YOUNG REDIN.

Fair Catherine from her bower-window Looked over heath and wood; She heard a smit o' bridle-reins, And the sound did her heart good.

"Welcome, young Redin, welcome! And welcome again, my dear! Light down, light down from your horse," she "It's long since you were here."

"O gude morrow, lady, gude morrow, lady; God mak' you safe and free! I'm come to tak' my last fareweel, And pay my last visit to thee.

"I mustna light, and I canna light, I winna stay at a'; For a fairer lady than ten of thee Is waiting at Castleswa'."

"O if your love be changed, my dear, Since better may not be, Yet, ne'ertheless, for auld lang syne, Bide this ae night wi' me."

She birl'd him wi' the ale and wine, As they sat down to sup; A living man he laid him down, But I wot he ne'er rose up.

"Now lie ye there, young Redin," she says, "O lie ye there till morn,-- Though a fairer lady than ten of me Is waiting till you come home!

"O lang, lang is the winter night, Till day begins to daw; There is a dead man in my bower, And I would he were awa'."

She cried upon her bower-maiden, Aye ready at her ca': "There is a knight into my bower, 'Tis time he were awa'."

They've booted him and spurred him, As he was wont to ride, A hunting-horn tied round his waist, A sharp sword by his side; And they've flung him into the wan water, The deepest pool in Clyde.

Then up bespake a little bird That sate upon the tree, "Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady, And pay your maid her fee."

"Come down, come down, my pretty bird, That sits upon the tree; I have a cage of beaten gold, I'll gie it unto thee."