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'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemency; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,

But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,

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 kissed,

That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd locked my heart in a case of gowd,

And pinned it with a siller pin.
And oh! if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I myseľ were dead and gane,
With the green grass growing over me!


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I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
Oh that I were where Helen lies

On fair Kirconnell lea!


Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,

And died to succour me!

Oh think na but my heart was sair,
When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair !
I laid her down wi' meikle care

On fair Kirconnell lea.


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 Kirconnell lea;


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

For her sake that died for me.

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O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair

Until the day I die.


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!'


O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest

On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,

On fair Kirconnell lea.


I wish I were where Helen lies:
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my Love died for me.







Over the mountains

And over the waves, Under the fountains

And under the graves ; Under floods that are deepest,

Which Neptune obey, Over rocks that are steepest

Love will find out the way. Where there is no place

For the glowworm to lie;
Where there is no space

For receipt of a fly;
Where the midge dares not venture,

Lest herself fast she lay;
If Love come, he will enter

And find out the way. You may esteem him

A child for his might;
Or you may deem him

A coward from his flight;
But if she whom Love doth honour

Be concealed from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her,

Love will find out the way.
Some think to lose him

By having him confined;
And some do suppose him,

Poor heart! to be blind;
But if ne'er so close you wall him,

Do the best that you may,
Blind Love, if so you call him,

Will find out his way.






You may train the eagle

To stoop to your fist;
Or you may inveigle

The phenix of the east;
The lioness, you may move her

To give o'er her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover:

He will find out the way.
If the earth should part him,

He would gallop it o’er;
If the seas should o’erthwart him,

He would swim to the shore.
Should his Love become swallow,

Through the air to stray,
Love will lend wings to follow,

And will find out the way.
There is no striving

To cross his intent,
There is no contriving

His plots to prevent;
But if once the message greet him,

That his true-love doth stay,
If death should come and meet him,
Love will find out the way.







There were twa brothers at the scule,

And when they got awa'—
• Its will ye play at the stane-chucking,

Or will ye play at the ba’,
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head,

And there we'll warsell a fa'.'


* I winna play at the stane-chucking,

Nor will I play at the ba',
But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill,

And there we'll warsel a fa’::


They warsled up, they warsled down,

Till John fell to the ground;
A dirk fell out of Willie's pouch,

And gave him a deadly wound. « Oh, Billie, lift me on your back,

Take me to yon well fair,
And wash the bluid frae aff my wound,

And it will bleed nae mair.'




He's lifted his brother upon his back,

Ta'en him to yon well fair ;
He's washed the bluid frae aff his wound,

But ay it bled mair and mair. “Tak ye aff my Holland sark,

And rive it gair by gair,
And stap it in my bluidy wound,

And syne 'twill bleed nae mair.'
He's taken aff his Holland sark,

And torn it gair by gair ;
He's stappit it in his bluidy wound,

But ay it bled mair and mair.



"Tak now aff my green sleiding,

And row me saftly in ;
And tak me up to yon kirk style,

Where the grass grows fair and green.'
He's taken aff the green sleiding,

And rowed him saftly in;
He's laid him down by yon kirk style,

Where the grass grows fair and green.


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