Andrew Lang: Verses about Steel Arms

SAY, fair maids, maying
In gardens green,
In deep dells straying,
What end hath been
Two Mays between
Of the flowers that shone
And your own sweet queen?—
“They are dead and gone!”

Say, grave priests, praying
In dule and teen,
From cells decaying
What have ye seen
Of the proud and mean,
Of Judas and John,
Of the foul and clean?—
“They are dead and gone!”

Say, kings, arraying
Loud wars to win,
Of your manslaying
What gain ye glean?
“They are fierce and keen,
But they fall anon,
On the sword that lean,—
They are dead and gone!”

ENVOY

Through the mad world’s scene
We are drifting on,
To this tune, I ween,
“They are dead and gone!”

Your hair and chin are like the hair
And chin Burne-Jones's ladies wear;
You were unfashionably fair
In '83;
And sad you were when girls are gay,
You read a book about Le vrai
Merite de l'homme, alone in May.
What CAN it be,
Le vrai merite de l'homme? Not gold,
Not titles that are bought and sold,
Not wit that flashes and is cold,
But Virtue merely!
Instructed by Jean-Jacques Rousseau
(And Jean-Jacques, surely, ought to know),
You bade the crowd of foplings go,
You glanced severely,
Dreaming beneath the spreading shade
Of 'that vast hat the Graces made;'
So Rouget sang--while yet he played
With courtly rhyme,
And hymned great Doisi's red perruque,
And Nice's eyes, and Zulme's look,
And dead canaries, ere he shook
The sultry time
With strains like thunder. Loud and low
Methinks I hear the murmur grow,
The tramp of men that come and go
With fire and sword.
They war against the quick and dead,
Their flying feet are dashed with red,
As theirs the vintaging that tread
Before the Lord.
O head unfashionably fair,
What end was thine, for all thy care?
We only see thee dreaming there:
We cannot see
The breaking of thy vision, when
The Rights of Man were lords of men,
When virtue won her own again
In '93.

The gypsies came to our good lord's gate
And wow but they sang sweetly!
They sang sae sweet and sae very complete
That down came the fair lady.

And she came tripping doun the stair,
And a' her maids before her;
As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face,
They coost the glamer o'er her.

'O come with me,' says Johnie Faw,
'O come with me, my dearie;
For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,
That your lord shall nae mair come near ye.'

Then she gied them the beer and the wine,
And they gied her the ginger;
But she gied them a far better thing,
The goud ring aff her finger.

'Gae take frae me this yay mantle,
And bring to me a plaidie;
For if kith and kin, and a' had sworn,
I'll follow the gypsy laddie.

'Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
Wi' my good lord beside me;
But this night I'll lye in a tenant's barn,
Whatever shall betide me!'

'Come to your bed,' says Johnie Faw,
'Oh, come to your bed, my dearie:
For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword,
Your lord shall nae mair come near ye.'

'I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faw,
I'll go to bed to my dearie;
For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,
My lord shall nae mair come near me.

'I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw,
I'll mak a hap to my dearie;
And he's get a' the coat gaes round,
And my lord shall nae mair come near me.'

And when our lord came hame at e'en,
And spier'd for his fair lady,
The tane she cry'd, and the other reply'd,
'She's awa' wi' the gypsy laddie!'

'Gae saddle to me the black black steed,
Gae saddle and make him ready;
Before that I either eat or sleep,
I'll gae seek my fair lady.'

And we were fifteen weel-made men,
Altho' we were na bonny;
And we were a' put down but ane,
For a fair young wanton lady.

Clavers and his Highlandmen
Came down upo' the raw, man,
Who being stout, gave mony a clout;
The lads began to claw then.
With sword and terge into their hand,
Wi which they were nae slaw, man,
Wi mony a fearful heavy sigh,
The lads began to claw then.

O'er bush, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er stark,
She flang amang them a', man;
The butter-box got many knocks,
Their riggings paid for a' then.
They got their paiks, wi sudden straiks,
Which to their grief they saw, man:
Wi clinkum, clankum o'er their crowns,
The lads began to fa' then.

Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,
And flang amang them a', man;
The English blades got broken beads,
Their crowns were cleav'd in twa then.
The durk and door made their last hour,
And prov'd their final fa', man;
They thought the devil had been there,
That play'd them sic a paw then.

The Solemn League and Covenant
Came whigging up the hills, man;
Thought Highland trews durst not refuse
For to subscribe their bills then.
In Willie's name, they thought nag ane
Durst stop their course at a', man,
But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock,
Cry'd, 'Furich--Whigs awa',' man.

Sir Evan Du, and his men true,
Came linking up the brink, man;
The Hogan Dutch they feared such,
They bred a horrid stink then.
The true Maclean and his fierce men
Came in amang them a', man;
Nane durst withstand his heavy hand.
All fled and ran awa' then.

Oh' on a ri, Oh' on a ri,
Why should she lose King Shames, man?
Oh' rig in di, Oh' rig in di,
She shall break a' her banes then;
With furichinish, an' stay a while,
And speak a word or twa, man,
She's gi' a straike, out o'er the neck,
Before ye win awa' then.

Oh fy for shame, ye're three for ane,
Hur-nane-sell's won the day, man;
King Shames' red-coats should be hung up,
Because they ran awa' then.
Had bent their brows, like Highland trows,
And made as lang a stay, man,
They'd sav'd their king, that sacred thing,
And Willie'd ran awa' then.

Down Deeside cam Inveraye
Whistlin' and playing,
An' called loud at Brackley gate
Ere the day dawning--
'Come, Gordon of Brackley.
Proud Gordon, come down,
There's a sword at your threshold
Mair sharp than your own.'

'Arise now, gay Gordon,'
His lady 'gan cry,
'Look, here is bold Inveraye
Driving your kye.'
'How can I go, lady,
An' win them again,
When I have but ae sword,
And Inveraye ten?'

'Arise up, my maidens,
Wi' roke and wi' fan,
How blest had I been
Had I married a man!
Arise up, my maidens,
Tak' spear and tak' sword,
Go milk the ewes, Gordon,
An' I will be lord.'

The Gordon sprung up
Wi' his helm on his head,
Laid his hand on his sword,
An' his thigh on his steed,
An' he stooped low, and said,
As he kissed his young dame,
'There's a Gordon rides out
That will never ride hame.'

There rode with fierce Inveraye
Thirty and three,
But wi' Brackley were nane
But his brother and he;
Twa gallanter Gordons
Did never blade draw,
But against three-and-thirty
Wae's me! what are twa?

Wi' sword and wi' dagger
They rushed on him rude;
The twa gallant Gordons
Lie bathed in their blude.
Frae the springs o' the Dee
To the mouth o' the Tay,
The Gordons mourn for him,
And curse Inveraye.

'O were ye at Brackley?
An' what saw ye there?
Was his young widow weeping
An' tearing her hair?'
'I looked in at Brackley,
I looked in, and oh!
There was mirth, there was feasting,
But naething o' woe.

'As a rose bloomed the lady,
An' blithe as a bride,
As a bridegroom bold Inveraye
Smiled by her side.
Oh! she feasted him there
As she ne'er feasted lord,
While the blood of her husband
Was moist on his sword.

'In her chamber she kept him
Till morning grew gray,
Thro' the dark woods of Brackley
She shewed him the way.
'Yon wild hill,' she said,
'Where the sun's shining on,
Is the hill of Glentanner,--
One kiss, and begone!''

There's grief in the cottage,
There's grief in the ha',
For the gude, gallant Gordon
That's dead an' awa'.
To the bush comes the bud,
An' the flower to the plain,
But the gude and the brave
They come never again.

As I came in by Dunidier,
An doun by Netherha,
There was fifty thousand Hielanmen
A marching to Harlaw.
(Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.

As I cam on, an farther on,
An doun an by Balquhain,
Oh there I met Sir James the Rose,
Wi him Sir John the Gryme.

'O cam ye frae the Hielans, man?
And cam ye a' the wey?
Saw ye Macdonell an his men,
As they cam frae the Skee?'

'Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man,
An me cam a ta wey,
An she saw Macdonell an his men,
As they cam frae ta Skee.'

'Oh, was ye near Macdonell's men?
Did ye their numbers see?
Come, tell to me, John Hielanman,
What micht their numbers be?'

'Yes, me was near, an near eneuch,
An me their numbers saw;
There was fifty thousand Hielanmen
A marching to Harlaw.'

'Gin that be true,' says James the Rose,
'We'll no come meikle speed;
We'll cry upo our merry men,
And lichtly mount our steed.'

'Oh no, oh no!' quo' John the Gryme,
'That thing maun never be;
The gallant Grymes were never bate,
We'll try what we can dee.'

As I cam on, an farther on,
An doun an by Harlaw,
They fell fu close on ilka side;
Sic fun ye never saw.

They fell fu close on ilka side,
Sic fun ye never saw;
For Hielan swords gied clash for clash,
At the battle o Harlaw.

The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords,
They laid on us fu sair,
An they drave back our merry men
Three acres breadth an mair.

Brave Forbes to his brither did say,
'Noo brither, dinna ye see?
They beat us back on ilka side,
An we'se be forced to flee.'

'Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
That thing maun never be;
Tak ye your good sword in your hand,
An come your wa's wi me.'

'Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
The clans they are ower strang,
An they drive back our merry men,
Wi swords baith sharp an lang.'

Brave Forbes drew his men aside,
Said, 'Tak your rest a while,
Until I to Drumminnor send,
To fess my coat o mail.'

The servan he did ride,
An his horse it did na fail,
For in twa hours an a quarter
He brocht the coat o mail.

Then back to back the brithers twa
Gaed in amo the thrang,
An they hewed doun the Hielanmen,
Wi swords baith sharp an lang.

Macdonell he was young an stout,
Had on his coat o mail,
And he has gane oot throw them a'
To try his han himsell.

The first ae straik that Forbes strack,
He garrt Macdonell reel;
An the neist ae straik that Forbes strack,
The great Macdonell fell.

And siccan a lierachie,
I'm sure ye never sawe
As wis amo the Hielanmen,
When they saw Macdonell fa.

An whan they saw that he was deid,
They turnd and ran awa,
An they buried him in Legget's Den,
A large mile frae Harlaw.

They rade, they ran, an some did gang,
They were o sma record;
But Forbes and his merry men,
They slew them a' the road.

On Monanday, at mornin,
The battle it began,
On Saturday at gloamin',
Ye'd scarce kent wha had wan.

An sic a weary buryin,
I'm sure ye never saw,
As wis the Sunday after that,
On the muirs aneath Harlaw.

Gin anybody speer at ye
For them ye took awa,
Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,
They're sleepin at Harlaw.

Lord Bateman was a noble lord,
A noble lord of high degree;
He shipped himself all aboard of a ship,
Some foreign country for to see.

He sailed east, he sailed west,
Until he came to famed Turkey,
Where he was taken and put to prison,
Until his life was quite weary.

All in this prison there grew a tree,
O there it grew so stout and strong!
Where he was chained all by the middle,
Until his life was almost gone.

This Turk he had one only daughter,
The fairest my two eyes eer see;
She steal the keys of her father's prison,
And swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.

O she took him to her father's cellar,
And gave to him the best of wine;
And every health she drank unto him
Was 'I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was mine.'

'O have you got houses, have you got land,
And does Northumberland belong to thee?
And what would you give to the fair young lady
As out of prison would let you go free?'

'O I've got houses and I've got land,
And half Northumberland belongs to me;
And I will give it all to the fair young lady
As out of prison would let me go free.'

'O in seven long years I'll make a vow
For seven long years, and keep it strong,
That if you'll wed no other woman,
O I will wed no other man.'

O she took him to her father's harbor,
And gave to him a ship of fame,
Saying, 'Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,
I fear I shall never see you again.'

Now seven long years is gone and past,
And fourteen days, well known to me;
She packed up all her gay clothing,
And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.

O when she arrived at Lord Bateman's castle,
How boldly then she rang the bell!
'Who's there? who's there?' cries the proud young porter,
'O come unto me pray quickly tell.'

'O is this here Lord Bateman's castle,
And is his lordship here within?'
'O yes, O yes,' cries the proud young porter,
'He's just now taking his young bride in.'

'O bid him to send me a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the very best wine,
And not forgetting the fair young lady
As did release him when close confine.'

O away and away went this proud young porter,
O away and away and away went he,
Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber,
Where he went down on his bended knee.

'What news, what news, my proud young porter?
What news, what news? come tell to me:'
'O there is the fairest young lady
As ever my two eyes did see.

'She has got rings on every finger,
And on one finger she has got three;
With as much gay gold about her middle
As would buy half Northumberlee.

'O she bids you to send her a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the very best wine,
And not forgetting the fair young lady
As did release you when close confine.'

Lord Bateman then in passion flew,
And broke his sword in splinters three,
Saying, 'I will give half of my father's land,
If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.'

Then up and spoke this young bride's mother,
Who never was heard to speak so free;
Saying, 'You'll not forget my only daughter,
If so be Sophia has crossed the sea.'

'O it's true I made a bride of your daughter,
But she's neither the better nor the worse for me;
She came to me with a horse and saddle,
But she may go home in a coach and three.'

Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage,
With both their hearts so full of glee,
Saying, 'I will roam no more to foreign countries,
Now that Sophia has crossed the sea.'

When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte,
Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,
They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,
And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.

When [the] brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight,
Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,
Because he was slaine most treacherouslie
Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.

She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe
In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe;
A faire shirt of male then slipped on shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,
A stronge arminge-sword shee girt by her side,
On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,
Bidding all such, as wold, [to] bee of her band;
To wayte on her person came thousand and three:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

'My soldiers,' she saith, 'soe valliant and bold,
Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;
Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee:'
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say,
'Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,
Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree,
No mayden was ever like Mary Ambree.'

She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,
With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fife,
With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

'Before I will see the worst of you all
To come into danger of death or of thrall,
This hand and this life I will venture so free:'
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array,
Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;
Seven howers in skirmish continued shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,
And her enemyes bodyes with bulletts so hott;
For one of her own men a score killed shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,
Away all her pellets and powder had sent,
Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,
At length she was forced to make a retyre;
Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Her foes they besett her on everye side,
As thinking close siege shee cold never abide;
To beate down the walles they all did decree:
But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.

Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,
And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,
There daring their captaines to match any three:
O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!

'Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give
To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?
Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:'
Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.

'Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,
Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?
'A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,
Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee.'

'No captaine of England; behold in your sight
Two brests in my bosome, and therefore no knight:
Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,
But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree.'

'But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,
Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre?
If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee,
Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.'

The Prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne,
Who long had advanced for England's fair crowne;
Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee,
And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree.

But this virtuous mayden despised them all:
''Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall;
A maiden of England, sir, never will bee
The wench of a monarcke,' quoth Mary Ambree.

Then to her owne country shee back did returne,
Still holding the foes of rare England in scorne!
Therfore English captaines of every degree
Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.

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 take the sword frae my scabbard,
And slowly lift the pin;
And you may swear, and save your aith.
Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.

'And take a napkin in your hand,
And tie up baith your bonny e'en,
And you may swear, and save 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 burning 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.

And they lay still and sleeped sound
Until the day began to daw;
And kindly to him she did say,
'It is time, true love, you were awa'.'

But he lay still, and sleeped sound,
Albeit the sun began to sheen;
She looked atween her and the wa',
And dull and drowsie were his e'en.

Then in and came her father dear;
Said,--'Let a' your mourning be:
I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay,
And I'll come back and comfort thee.'

'Comfort weel your seven sons;
For comforted will I never be:
I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
Was in the bower last night wi' me.'

The clinking bell gaed through the town,
To carry the dead corse to the clay;
And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,
I wot, an hour before the day.

'Are ye sleeping, Margaret?' he says,
'Or are ye waking presentlie?
Give me my faith and troth again,
I wot, true love, I gied to thee.'

'Your faith and troth ye sall never get,
Nor our true love sall never twin,
Until ye come within my bower,
And kiss me cheik and chin.'

'My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,
It has the smell, now, of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
Thy days of life will not be lang.

'O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowls are boding day;
Give me my faith and troth again,
And let me fare me on my way.'

'Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,
And our true love sall never twin,
Until ye tell what comes of women,
I wot, who die in strong traivelling?

'Their beds are made in the heavens high,
Down at the foot of our good lord's knee,
Weel set about wi' gillyflowers;
I wot, sweet company for to see.

'O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowl are boding day;
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
And I, ere now, will be missed away.'

Then she has ta'en a crystal wand,
And she has stroken her troth thereon;
She has given it him out at the shot-window,
Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.

'I thank ye, Marg'ret, I thank ye, Marg'ret;
And aye I thank ye heartilie;
Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Mag'ret, I'll come for thee.'

It's hosen and shoon, and gown alone,
She climb'd the wall, and followed him,
Until she came to the green forest,
And there she lost the sight o' him.

'Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?
Is there ony room at your feet?
Is there ony room at your side, Saunders,
Where fain, fain I wad sleep?'

'There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret,
There's nae room at my feet;
My bed it is full lowly now,
Amang the hungry worms I sleep.

'Cauld mould is my covering now,
But and my winding-sheet;
The dew it falls nae sooner down
Than my resting-place is weet.

'But plait a wand o' bonnie birk,
And lay it on my breast;
And shed a tear upon my grave,
And wish my saul gude rest.

'And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret,
And Marg'ret, o' veritie,
Gin ere ye love another man,
Ne'er love him as ye did me.'

Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
And up and crew the gray;
Her lover vanish'd in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.

Some speak of lords, some speak of lairds,
And sic like men of high degree;
Of a gentleman I sing a sang,
Some time call'd Laird of Gilnockie.

The king he writes a loving letter,
With his ain hand sae tenderlie,
And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,
To come and speak with him speedilie.

The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene,
They were a gallant companie:
'We'll ride and meet our lawful king,
And bring him safe to Gilnockie.

'Make kinnen and capon ready, then,
And venison in great plentie;
We'll welcome here our royal king;
I hope he'll dine at Gilnockie!'

They ran their horse on the Langholm howm,
And brake their spears with meikle main;
The ladies lookit frae their loft windows--
'God bring our men weel hame again!'

When Johnnie came before the king,
With all his men sae brave to see,
The king he moved his bonnet to him;
He ween'd he was a king as well as he.

'May I find grace, my sovereign liege,
Grace for my loyal men and me?
For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,
And a subject of yours, my liege,' said he.

'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
I granted never a traitor's life,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee;
Full four-and-twenty milk-white steeds,
Were all foal'd in ae year to me.

'I'll gi'e thee all these milk-white steeds,
That prance and nicher at a spear;
And as meikle gude Inglish gilt,
As four of their braid backs dow bear.'

'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
I granted never a traitor's life,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee:
Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills,
That gang thro' all the year to me.

'These four-and-twenty mills complete,
Shall gang for thee thro' all the year;
And as meikle of gude red wheat,
As all their happers dow to bear.'

'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
I granted never a traitor's life,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
And a great gift I'll gi'e to thee:
Bauld four-and-twenty sisters' sons
Shall for thee fecht, tho' all shou'd flee.'

'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
I granted never a traitor's life,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
And a brave gift I'll gi'e to thee:
All between here and Newcastle town
Shall pay their yearly rent to thee.'

'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
I granted never a traitor's life,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,' he says,
'Altho' a king and prince ye be!
For I've loved naething in my life,
I weel dare say it, but honestie.

'Save a fat horse, and a fair woman,
Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deer;
But England shou'd have found me meal and mault,
Gif I had lived this hundred year.

'She shou'd have found me meal and mault,
And beef and mutton in all plentie;
But never a Scots wife cou'd have said,
That e'er I skaith'd her a puir flee.

'To seek het water beneath cauld ice,
Surely it is a great follie:
I have ask'd grace at a graceless face,
But there is nane for my men and me.

'But had I kenn'd, ere I came frae hame,
How unkind thou wou'dst been to me,
I wou'd ha'e keepit the Border side,
In spite of all thy force and thee.

'Wist England's king that I was ta'en,
Oh, gin a blythe man he wou'd be!
For ance I slew his sister's son,
And on his breast-bane brak a tree.'

John wore a girdle about his middle,
Embroider'd o'er with burning gold,
Bespangled with the same metal,
Maist beautiful was to behold.

There hang nine targats at Johnnie's hat,
An ilk ane worth three hundred pound:
'What wants that knave that a king shou'd have,
But the sword of honour and the crown?

'Oh, where got thee these targats, Johnnie.
That blink sae brawly aboon thy brie?'
'I gat them in the field fechting,
Where, cruel king, thou durst not be.

'Had I my horse and harness gude,
And riding as I wont to be,
It shou'd have been tauld this hundred year,
The meeting of my king and me!

'God be with thee, Kirsty, my brother,
Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun!
Lang may'st thou live on the Border side,
Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down!

'And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son,
Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee!
But an thou live this hundred year,
Thy father's better thou'lt never be.

'Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall,
Where on Esk side thou standest stout!
Gif I had lived but seven years mair,
I wou'd ha'e gilt thee round about.'

John murder'd was at Carlinrigg,
And all his gallant companie;
But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae,
To see sae mony brave men die;

Because they saved their country dear
Frae Englishmen! Nane were sae bauld
While Johnnie lived on the Border side,
Nane of them durst come near his hauld.

It fell about the Martinmas,
When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,--
'We maun draw to a hald.

'And whatna hald shall we draw to,
My merry men and me?
We will gae straight to Towie house,
To see that fair ladye.'

[The ladye stood on her castle wall,
Beheld baith dale and down;
There she was 'ware of a host of men
Came riding towards the town.

'Oh, see ye not, my merry men all,
Oh, see ye not what I see?
Methinks I see a host of men;
I marvel who they be.'

She thought it had been her own wed lord.
As he came riding hame;
It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon,
Wha reck'd nae sin nor shame.]

She had nae sooner buskit hersel',
And putten on her gown,
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were round about the town.

They had nae sooner supper set,
Nae sooner said the grace,
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were round about the place.

The ladye ran to her tower head,
As fast as she cou'd hie,
To see if, by her fair speeches,
She cou'd with him agree.

As soon as he saw this ladye fair.
And her yetts all lockit fast,
He fell into a rage of wrath,
And his heart was all aghast.

'Come down to me, ye ladye gay,
Come down, come down to me;
This night ye shall lye within my arms,
The morn my bride shall be.'

'I winna come down, ye false Gordon,
I winna come down to thee;
I winna forsake my ain dear lord,
That is sae far frae me.'

'Gi'e up your house, ye ladye fair,
Gi'e up your house to me;
Or I shall burn yoursel' therein,
Bot and your babies three.'

'I winna gi'e up, ye false Gordon,
To nae sic traitor as thee;
Tho' you shou'd burn mysel' therein,
Bot and my babies three.

['But fetch to me my pistolette,
And charge to me my gun;
For, but if I pierce that bluidy butcher,
My babes we will be undone.'

She stiffly stood on her castle wall,
And let the bullets flee;
She miss'd that bluidy butcher's heart,
Tho' she slew other three.]

'Set fire to the house!' quo' the false Gordon,
'Since better may nae be;
And I will burn hersel' therein,
Bot and her babies three.'

'Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man,
I paid ye weel your fee;
Why pull ye out the grund-wa'-stance,
Lets in the reek to me?

'And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man,
I paid ye weel your hire;
Why pull ye out my grund-wa'-stane,
To me lets in the fire?'

'Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye,
Ye paid me weel my fee;
But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man,
Maun either do or dee.'

Oh, then out spake her youngest son,
Sat on the nurse's knee:
Says--'Mither dear, gi'e o'er this house,
For the reek it smothers me.'

['I wou'd gi'e all my gold, my bairn,
Sae wou'd I all my fee,
For ae blast of the westlin' wind,
To blaw the reek frae thee.]

'But I winna gi'e up my house, my dear,
To nae sic traitor as he;
Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair,
Ye maun take share with me.'

Oh, then out spake her daughter dear,
She was baith jimp and small:
'Oh, row me in a pair of sheets,
And tow me o'er the wall.'

They row'd her in a pair of sheets,
And tow'd her o'er the wall;
But on the point of Gordon's spear
She got a deadly fall.

Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
And cherry were her cheeks;
And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
Whereon the red bluid dreeps.

Then with his spear he turn'd her o'er,
Oh, gin her face was wan!
He said--'You are the first that e'er
I wish'd alive again.'

He turn'd her o'er and o'er again,
Oh, gin her skin was white!
'I might ha'e spared that bonnie face
To ha'e been some man's delight.

'Busk and boun, my merry men all,
For ill dooms I do guess;
I canna look on that bonnie face,
As it lyes on the grass!'

'Wha looks to freits, my master dear,
Their freits will follow them;
Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon
Was daunted with a dame.'

[But when the ladye saw the fire
Come flaming o'er her head,
She wept, and kissed her children twain;
Said--'Bairns, we been but dead.'

The Gordon then his bugle blew,
And said--'Away, away!
The house of Towie is all in a flame,
I hald it time to gae.']

Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord,
As he came o'er the lea;
He saw his castle all in a flame,
As far as he could see.

Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave,
And oh, his heart was wae!
'Put on, put on, my wighty men,
As fast as ye can gae.

'Put on, put on, my wighty men,
As fast as ye can drie;
For he that is hindmost of the thrang
Shall ne'er get gude of me!'

Then some they rade, and some they ran,
Full fast out o'er the bent;
But ere the foremost could win up,
Baith ladye and babes were brent.

[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And wept in tearful mood;
'Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed,
Ye shall weep tears of bluid.'

And after the Gordon he has gane,
Sae fast as he might drie;
And soon in the Gordon's foul heart's bluid
He's wroken his dear layde.]

And mony were the mudie men
Lay gasping on the green;
And mony were the fair ladyes
Lay lemanless at hame.

And mony were the mudie men
Lay gasping on the green;
For of fifty men the Gordon brocht,
There were but five gaed hame.

And round, and round the walls he went,
Their ashes for to view;
At last into the flames he flew,
And bade the world adieu.

Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in!
That Liddesdale may safely say:
For in it there was baith meat and drink,
And corn unto our geldings gay.

We were stout-hearted men and true,
As England it did often say;
But now we may turn our backs and fly,
Since brave Noble is seld away.

Now Hobie he was an English man,
And born into Bewcastle dale;
But his misdeeds they were sae great,
They banish'd him to Liddisdale.

At Kershope foot the tryst was set,
Kershope of the lilye lee;
And there was traitour Sim o' the Mains,
With him a private companie.

Then Hobie has graith'd his body weel,
I wat it was wi' baith good iron and steel;
And he has pull'd out his fringed grey,
And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel.

Then Hobie is down the water gane,
E'en as fast as he may drie;
Tho' they shoud a' brusten and broken their hearts,
Frae that tryst Noble he would na be.

'Weel may ye be, my feiries five!
And aye, what is your wills wi' me?'
Then they cry'd a' wi' ae consent,
'Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me.

'Wilt thou with us in England ride,
And thy safe warrand we will be?
If we get a horse worth a hundred punds,
Upon his back that thou shalt be.'

'I dare not with you into England ride;
The Land-sergeant has me at feid:
I know not what evil may betide,
For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.

'And Anton Shiel he loves not me,
For I gat twa drifts o his sheep;
The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not,
For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep.

'But will ye stay till the day gae down,
Until the night come o'er the grund,
And I'll be a guide worth ony twa,
That may in Liddesdale be fund?

'Tho' dark the night as pitch and tar,
I'll guide ye o'er yon hills fu' hie;
And bring ye a' in safety back,
If ye'll be true and follow me.'

He's guided them o'er moss and muir,
O'er hill and houp, and mony a down;
Til they came to the Foulbogshiel,
And there, brave Noble, he lighted down.

But word is gane to the Land-sergeant,
In Askirton where that he lay--
'The deer that ye hae hunted lang,
Is seen into the Waste this day.'

'Then Hobbie Noble is that deer!
I wat he carries the style fu' hie;
Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back,
And set yourselves at little lee.

'Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn;
See they shaft their arrows on the wa'!
Warn Willeva and Spear Edom,
And see the morn they meet me a'.

'Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh,
And see it be by break o' day;
And we will on to Conscowthart-Green,
For there, I think, we'll get our prey.'

Then Hobbie Noble has dream'd a dream,
In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay;
He thought his horse was neath him shot,
And he himself got hard away.

The cocks could crow, the day could dawn,
And I wot so even down fell the rain;
If Hobbie had no waken'd at that time,
In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.

'Get up, get up, my feiries five!
For I wot here makes a fu' ill day;
Yet the warst cloak of this companie,
I hope, shall cross the Waste this day.'

Now Hobie thought the gates were clear;
But, ever alas! it was not sae:
They were beset wi' cruel men and keen,
That away brave Hobbie could not gae.

'Yet follow me, my feiries five,
And see of me ye keep good ray;
And the worst cloak o' this companie
I hope shall cross the Waste this day.'

There was heaps of men now Hobbie before,
And other heaps was him behind,
That had he wight as Wallace was,
Away brave Noble he could not win.

Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword;
But he did more than a laddies deed;
In the midst of Conscouthart-Green,
He brake it oer Jersawigham's head.

Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,
Wi' his ain bowstring they band him sae;
And I wat heart was ne'er sae sair,
As when his ain five band him on the brae.

They have tane him on for West Carlisle;
They ask'd him if he knew the why?
Whate'er he thought, yet little he said;
He knew the way as well as they.

They hae ta'en him up the Ricker gate;
The wives they cast their windows wide;
And every wife to anither can say,
'That's the man loos'd Jock o' the Side!'

'Fye on ye, women! why ca' ye me man?
For it's nae man that I'm used like;
I am but like a forfoughen hound,
Has been fighting in a dirty syke.'

Then they hae tane him up thro' Carlisle town,
And set him by the chimney fire;
They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to eat,
And that was little his desire.

Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat,
And after that a can o beer;
Then they cried a' with ae consent,
'Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheer!

'Confess my lord's horse, Hobie,' they said,
'And the morn in Carlisle thou's no die;'
'How shall I confess them,' Hobie says,
'For I never saw them with mine eye?'

Then Hobie has sworn a fu' great aith,
By the day that he was gotten and born,
He never had ony thing o' my lord's,
That either eat him grass or corn.

'Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton!
For I think again I'll ne'er thee see:
I wad betray nae lad alive,
For a' the goud in Christentie.

'And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale!
Baith the hie land and the law;
Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains!
For goud and gear he'll sell ye a'.

'Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobie Noble,
In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut,
Before I'd be ca'd traitor Mains,
That eats and drinks of the meal and maut.'

O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?
O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?
How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,
On Hairibee to hang him up?

Had Willie had but twenty men,
But twenty men as stout as be,
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen
Wi eight score in his companie.

They band his legs beneath the steed,
They tied his hands behind his back;
They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.

They led him thro the Liddel-rack.
And also thro the Carlisle sands;
They brought him to Carlisle castell.
To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.

'My hands are tied; but my tongue is free,
And whae will dare this deed avow?
Or answer by the border law?
Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?'

'Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
There's never a Scot shall set ye free:
Before ye cross my castle-yate,
I trow ye shall take farewell o me.'

'Fear na ye that, my lord,' quo Willie:
'By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope,' he said,
'I never yet lodged in a hostelrie--
But I paid my lawing before I gaed.'

Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,
In Branksome Ha where that he lay,
That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie,
Between the hours of night and day.

He has taen the table wi his hand,
He garrd the red wine spring on hie;
'Now Christ's curse on my head,' he said,
'But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be!

'O is my basnet a widow's curch?
Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
Or my arm a lady's lilye hand,
That an English lord should lightly me?

'And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie,
Against the truce of Border tide?
And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch
Is keeper here on the Scottish side?

'And have they een taen him, Kinmont Willie,
Withouten either dread or fear,
And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch
Can back a steed, or shake a spear?

'O were there war between the lands,
As well I wot that there is none,
I would slight Carlisle castell high,
Tho it were builded of marble stone.

'I would set that castell in a low,
And sloken it with English blood;
There's nevir a man in Cumberland
Should ken where Carlisle castell stood.

'But since nae war's between the lands,
And there is peace, and peace should be;
I'll neither harm English lad or lass,
And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!'

He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,
I trow they were of his ain name,
Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, calld
The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.

He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,
Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch,
With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,
And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.

There were five and five before them a',
Wi hunting-horns and bugles bright;
And five and five came wi Buccleuch,
Like Warden's men, arrayed for fight.

And five and five, like a mason-gang,
That carried the ladders lang and hie;
And five and five, like broken men;
And so they reached the Woodhouselee.

And as we crossd the Bateable Land,
When to the English side we held,
The first o men that we met wi,
Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde!

'Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?'
Quo fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me!'
'We go to hunt an English stag,
Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.'

'Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?'
Quo fause Sakelde; 'come tell me true!'
'We go to catch a rank reiver,
Has broken faith wi the bauld Buccleuch.'

'Where are ye gaun, ye mason-lads,
Wi a' your ladders lang and hie?'
'We gang to herry a corbie's nest,
That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.'

'Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?'
Quo fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me?'
Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
And the nevir a word o lear had he.

'Why trespass ye on the English side?
Row-footed outlaws, stand!' quo he;
The neer a word had Dickie to say,
Sae he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie.

Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossd;
The water was great and meikle of spait,
But the nevir a horse nor man we lost.

And when we reachd the Staneshaw-bank,
The wind was rising loud and hie;
And there the laird garrd leave our steeds,
For fear that they should stamp and nie.

And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,
The wind began full loud to blaw;
But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
When we came beneath the castell-wa.

We crept on knees, and held our breath,
Till we placed the ladders against the wa;
And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
To mount she first, before us a'.

He has taen the watchman by the throat,
He flung him down upon the lead:
'Had there not been peace between our lands,
Upon the other side thou hadst gaed.

'Now sound out, trumpets!' quo Buccleuch;
'Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!'
Then loud the warden's trumpet blew
'O whae dare meddle wi me?'

Then speedilie to wark we gaed,
And raised the slogan ane and a',
And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,
And so we wan to the castel-ha.

They thought King James and a' his men
Had won the house wi bow and speir;
It was but twenty Scots and ten
That put a thousand in sic a stear!

Wi coulters, and wi fore-hammers,
We garrd the bars bang merrilie,
Until we came to the inner prison,
Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie.

And when we came to the lower prison,
Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie,
'O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
Upon the morn that thou's to die?'

'O I sleep saft, and I wake aft,
It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me;
Gie my service back to my wyfe and bairns
And a' gude fellows that speer for me.'

Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
The starkest man in Teviotdale:
'Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.

'Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!' he cried;
'I'll pay you for my lodging-maill,
When first we meet on the border-side.'

Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
We bore him down the ladder lang;
At every stride Red Rowan made,
I wot the Kinmont's airms playd clang!

'O mony a time,' quo Kinmont Willie.
'I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;
But a rougher beast than Red Rowan,
I ween my legs have neer bestrode.

'And mony a time,' quo Kinmont Willie,
'I've pricked a horse out oure the furs;
But since the day I backed a steed
I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs!'

We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,
When a' the Carlisle bells were rung,
And a thousand men, in horse and foot,
Cam wi the keen Lord Scroope along.

Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,
Even where it flowd frae bank to brim,
And he has plunged in wi a' his band,
And safely swam them thro the stream.

He turned him on the other side,
And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:
'If ye like na my visit in merry England,
In fair Scotland come visit me!'

All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
He stood as still as rock of stane;
He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,
When thro the water they had gane.

'He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
Or else his mother a witch maun be;
I wad na have ridden that wan water
For a' the gowd in Christentie.'

It fell about the Martinmas tyde,
When our Border steeds get corn and hay
The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,
And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.

The first ae guide that they met wi',
It was high up Hardhaughswire;
The second guide that we met wi',
It was laigh down in Borthwick water.

'What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?'
'Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;
But, gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodhead,
Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see.'

And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,
Right hastily they clam the peel;
They loosed the kye out, ane and a',
And ranshackled the house right weel.

Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,
The tear aye rowing in his e'e;
He pled wi' the captain to hae his gear,
Or else revenged he wad be.

The captain turned him round and leugh;
Said--'Man, there's naething in thy house,
But ae auld sword without a sheath,
That hardly now wad fell a mouse!'

The sun was na up, but the moon was down,
It was the gryming o' a new fa'n snaw,
Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot,
Between the Dodhead and the Stobs's Ha'

And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,
He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot--
'Wha's this that brings the fraye to me?'

'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's naething left at the fair Dodhead,
But a waefu' wife and bairnies three.

'Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha'.
For succour ye'se get nane frae me!
Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
For, man! ye ne'er paid money to me.'

Jamie has turned him round about,
I wat the tear blinded his e'e--
'I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again,
And the fair Dodhead I'll never see!

'My hounds may a' rin masterless,
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree;
My lord may grip my vassal lands,
For there again maun I never be.'

He has turned him to the Tiviot side,
E'en as fast as he could drie,
Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh
And there he shouted baith loud and hie.

Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve--
'Wha's this that brings the fray to me?'
'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
A harried man I trow I be.

'There's naething left in the fair Dodhead,
But a greeting wife and bairnies three,
And sax poor ca's stand in the sta',
A' routing loud for their minnie.'

'Alack a wae!' quo' auld Jock Grieve,
'Alack! my heart is sair for thee!
For I was married on the elder sister,
And you on the youngest of a' the three.'

Then he has ta'en out a bonny black,
Was right weel fed wi' corn and hay,
And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back,
To the Catslockhill to tak' the fray.

And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,
He shouted loud and weel cried he,
Till out and spak him William's Wat--
'O wha's this brings the fraye to me?'

'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
A harried man I think I be!
The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear;
For God's sake rise, and succour me!'

'Alas for wae!' quo' William's Wat,
'Alack, for thee my heart is sair!
I never cam by the fair Dodhead,
That ever I fand thy basket bare.'

He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,
Himsel' upon a freckled gray,
And they are on wi, Jamie Telfer,
To Branksome Ha to tak the fray.

And whan they cam to Branksome Ha',
They shouted a' baith loud and hie,
Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,
Said--'Wha's this brings the fray to me?

'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's nought left in the fair Dodhead,
But a greeting wife and bairnies three.'

'Alack for wae!' quoth the gude auld lord,
'And ever my heart is wae for thee!
But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,
And see that he come to me speedilie!

'Gar warn the water, braid and wide,
Gar warn it soon and hastily!
They that winna ride for Telfer's kye,
Let them never look in the face o' me!

'Warn Wat o' Harden, and his sons,
Wi' them will Borthwick water ride;
Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,
And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.

'Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,
And warn the Currors o' the Lee;
As ye come down the Hermitage Slack,
Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinbery.'

The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran,
Sae starkly and sae steadilie!
And aye the ower-word o' the thrang,
Was--'Rise for Branksome readilie!'

The gear was driven the Frostylee up,
Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,
Whan Willie has looked his men before,
And saw the kye right fast driving.

'Wha drives thir kye?' 'gan Willie say,
'To mak an outspeckle o' me?'
'It's I, the captain o' Bewcastle, Willie;
I winna layne my name for thee.'

'O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back,
Or will ye do aught for regard o' me?
Or, by the faith o' my body,' quo' Willie Scott,
'I se ware my dame's cauf's-skin on thee!'

'I winna let the kye gae back,
Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear,
But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye,
In spite of every Scot that's here.'

'Set on them, lads!' quo' Willie than,
'Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!
For ere they win to the Ritterford,
Mony a toom saddle there sall be!

But Willie was stricken ower the head,
And through the knapscap the sword has gane;
And Harden grat for very rage,
Whan Willie on the ground lay slain.

But he's ta'en aff his gude steel-cap,
And thrice he's waved it in the air--
The Dinlay snaw was ne'er mair white,
Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair.

'Revenge! revenge!' auld Wat 'gan cry;
'Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!
We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again,
Or Willie's death revenged shall be.'

O mony a horse ran masterless,
The splintered lances flew on hie;
But or they wan to the Kershope ford,
The Scots had gotten the victory.

John o' Brigham there was slain,
And John o' Barlow, as I hear say;
And thirty mae o' the captain's men,
Lay bleeding on the grund that day.

The captain was run thro' the thick of the thigh--
And broken was his right leg bane;
If he had lived this hundred year,
He had never been loved by woman again.

'Hae back thy kye!' the captain said;
'Dear kye, I trow, to some they be!
For gin I suld live a hundred years,
There will ne'er fair lady smile on me.'

Then word is gane to the captain's bride,
Even in the bower where that she lay,
That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land,
Since into Tividale he had led the way.

'I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,
And helped to put it ower his head,
Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,
When he ower Liddel his men did lead!'

There was a wild gallant amang us a',
His name was Watty wi' the Wudspurs,
Cried--'On for his house in Stanegirthside,
If ony man will ride with us!'

When they cam to the Stanegirthside,
They dang wi' trees, and burst the door;
They loosed out a' the captain's kye,
And set them forth our lads before.

There was an auld wife ayont the fire,
A wee bit o' the captain's kin--
'Wha daur loose out the captain's kye,
Or answer to him and his men?'

'It's I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye,
I winna layne my name frae thee!
And I will loose out the captain's kye,
In scorn of a' his men and he.'

When they cam to the fair Dodhead,
They were a wellcum sight to see!
For instead of his ain ten milk-kye,
Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.

And he has paid the rescue shot,
Baith wi' goud, and white monie;
And at the burial o' Willie Scott,
I wot was mony a weeping e'e.