Anonymous.

HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL.

WISH I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirkconnell lee.

Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,

When in my arms bird Helen dropt
And died to succour me!

Oh, think ye na my heart was sair,

When my love dropt down and spake nae mair: There did she swoon wi' meikle care,

On fair Kirkconnell lee.

As I went down the water side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide
On fair Kirkconnell lee-

I lighted down, my sword did draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',

I hacked him in pieces sma'

For her sake that died for me.

Oh, Helen, fair beyond compare!
I'll weave a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair,
Until the day I dee.

Oh, that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, "Haste and come to me!"

Oh, Helen fair! Oh, Helen chaste!
Were I with thee I would be blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirkconnell lee.

I wish my grave were growing green; A winding sheet drawn o'er my e'en, And I in Helen's arms lying

On fair Kirkconnell lee.

I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries,
And I am weary of the skies,

For her sake that died for me.

"WALY, WALY,"

H, waly, waly up the bank,
And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wont to gae!
I leaned my bauk unto an aik,

And thoucht it was a trusty tree;
But first it bowed and syne it brak :
Sae
my true-love did lichtlie me.

Oh, waly, waly, but love be bonnie
A little time while it be new ;
But when its auld it waxes cauld,

And fades away like the morning dew. Oh, wherefore should I busk my heid, Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true-love has me forsook,

And says

he'll love me never mair.

Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me,

St. Anton's well shall be my drink,

Since my true-love has forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree?

87

O gentle death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearie.

'Tis not the fruit that freezes fell, Nor blawing men's inclemencie ;

'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry;

grown

cauld to me.

But my love's heart's
When we came in by Glasgow toun,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel' in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kiss'd

That love had been so ill to win,
I'd locked my heart in a case of gold,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
Oh, oh, if my young babe was born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysel' were dead and gone,

And the green grass growin' ower me!

William Cartwright.

[BORN 1611. DIED 1643.]

To CUPID.

HOU who didst never see the light, Nor know'st the pleasure of the sight, But, always blinded, canst not say, Now it is night, or now 'tis day;

So captivate her sight, so blind her eye, That still she love me, yet she ne'er know why.

Thou who dost wound us with such art,
We see no blood drop from the heart,
And, subt❜ly cruel, leav'st no sign

To tell the blow or hand was thine;

O gently, gently wound my fair, that she

May thence believe the wound did come from me.