'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 ladye 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 Margaret in Mary'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 wad 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'd in St. Mary's loch.

THE TWA CORBIES'.

[An English version makes the lady faithful,—
'She lifted up his bloody head,

And kissed his wounds that were so red;
She buried him before the prime,

She was dead herself ere evensong time."]

As I was walking all alane,

I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
'Where sall we gang and dine to-day?'

'In behint yon auld fail dyke,

I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And nae body kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

'His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet.

'Ye'll sit on his white hause bane,

And I'll pike out his bonny blue een:

Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,

We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.

'Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken whare he is gane;

O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.'

WALY, WALY.

[This fragment, variously corrupted, is often printed as part of a rather dull ballad, concerned with events in the history of Lord James Douglas, of the Laird of Blackwood, and of the lady who utters the beautiful lament here printed.]

VOL. I.

O waly, waly, up the bank,

O waly, waly, doun the brae,

And waly, waly, yon burn-side,

Where I and my love were 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, but love be bonnie
A little time while it is new!
But when it's auld it waxeth cauld,

And fadeth awa' like the 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.

Noo Arthur's Seat sall be my bed,

The sheets sall ne'er be press'd by me;
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink;
Since my true love's forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death, when wilt thou come ?
For of my life I am wearie.

'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.

Q

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

But had I wist before I kiss'd

That love had been so ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case o' goud,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee;
And I mysel' were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!

SUPERNATURAL.

CLERK SAUNDERS.

Clerk Saunders and may Margaret
Walked ower yon garden green;
And sad and heavy was the love
That fell thir twa between.

'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders said, 'A bed for you and me!'

'Fye na, fye na,' said may Margaret,

'Till anes we married be.

'For in may come my seven bauld brothers, 'Wi' torches burning bright;

They'll say "We hae but ae sister,

And behold she's wi' a knight !""'

'Then I'll take the sword frae my scabbard, And slowly lift the pin;

And you may swear, and safe your aith,

Ye never let Clerk Saunders in,

‘And take a napkin in your hand,
And tie up baith your bonny een;

And you may swear, and safe your aith,
Ye saw me na since late yestreen.'

It was about the midnight hour,
When they asleep were laid,

When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning red.

When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches shining bright;

They said, 'We hae but ae sister,

And behold her lying with a knight!'

Then out and spake the first o' them,

'I bear the sword shall gar him die!' And out and spake the second o' them, 'His father has nae mair than he'

And out and spake the third o' them,
'I wot that they are lovers dear!'
And out and spake the fourth o' them,
'They hae been in love this mony a year!'

Then out and spake the fifth o' them,
'It were great sin true love to twain !'
And out and spake the sixth o' them,

'It were shame to slay a sleeping man!'

Then up and gat the seventh o' them,
And never a word spake he;

But he has striped his bright brown brand

Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.

Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turned
Into his arms as asleep she lay ;

And sad and silent was the night
That was atween thir twae.