And up there rose an eldritch cry"He's won amang us a'!"

They shaped him in fair Janet's arms
An aske, but and a snake;
She held him fast in every shape
To be her ain true make.

They shaped him in her arms at last
A mother-naked man ;

She cast her mantle over him,

And sae her true Love wan.

Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,
Out of a bush o' broom :

"She that has borrow'd young Tamlane
Has gotten a stately groom!"

Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,
Out of a bush o' rye :

"She's ta'en away the bonniest knight
In a' my company.

"But had I kenn'd, Tamlane!" she says,"A lady would borrow thee,

I would hae ta'en out thy twa gray een,
Put in twa een o' tree.

"Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane!" she says,-— "Before ye came frae hame,

I would hae ta'en out your heart o' flesh, Put in a heart o' stane.

"Had I but had the wit yest're'en
That I hae coft this day,

I had paid my kane seven times to Hell
Ere you had been won away."

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

The King sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blude-red wine :
"O where will I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this ship o' mine?”

Then up and spake an eldern knight,
Sate at the King's right knee :
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sail'd the sea."

Our King has written a braid letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens
Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway, over the faem! The King's daughter of Noroway'Tis thou maun bring her hame."

The first line that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud laughed he;
The next line that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has done this deed,
Has told the King o' me,

To send us out this time o' the year
To sail upon the sea ?

"Be't wind, be't weet, be't hail, be't sleet, Our ship must sail the faem;

The King's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoisted their sails on Monenday morn

Wi' a' the speed they may;

And they hae landed in Noroway

Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week,

In Noroway but twa

When that the lords o' Noroway

Began aloud to say:

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's gowd

And a' our Queenis fee!" "Ye lee, ye lee, ye liars loud!

Fu' loud I hear ye lee.

"For I brought as much o' the white monie
As gane my men and me,

And a half-fou o' the gude red gowd
Out owre the sea wi' me.

"Make ready, make ready, my merry men a'!
Our gude ship sails the morn."

"Now ever alack! my master dear! I fear a deadly storm.

"I saw the new moon late yest're'en, Wi' the auld moon in her arm;

And if we gang to sea, master!

I fear we will come to harm."

They hadna sail'd a league, a league,

A league but barely three,

When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,

And gurly grew the sea.

The anchors brake, and the topmasts lap,—

It was sic a deadly storm;

And the waves came owre the broken ship,
Till a' her sides were torn.

"O where will I get a gude sailor
To take my helm in hand,
Till I get up to the tall topmast,
To see if I can spy land."

"O here am I a sailor gude
To take the helm in hand

Till you go up to the tall topmast,—
But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."

He hadna gane a step, a step,
A step but barely ane,

When a bolt flew out of our goodly ship,
And the salt sea it came in.

Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,

Anither o' the twine,

And wap them into our ship's side,

And let na the sea come in.

They fetch'd a web o' the silken claith,

Anither o' the twine,

And they wapped them into the gude ship's side;

But aye the sea came in.

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords

To weet their cork-heel'd shoon,

But lang or a' the play was play'd
They wat their heads abune.

O lang, lang may the ladies sit

Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand.

And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
Wi' the gowd kaims in their hair,
Awaiting for their ain dear loves,—
For them they'll see nae mair.

Half owre, half owre, to Aberdour,

It's fifty fathom deep :

And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,

Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

CHEVY CHACE.

THE FIRST FYTTE.

The Percy out of Northumberland,
And a vow to God made he

That he would hunt in the mountains
At Cheviot within days three,
In the maugre of doughty Douglas
And all that ever with him be.

The fattest harts in all Cheviot,

He said he would kill and carry them away:

"By my faith," said the doughty Douglas again,

66

'I will let that hunting if that I may."

Then the Percy out of Bamborough came,

With him a mighty meanỳ:

With fifteen hundred archers of blood and bone,They were chosen out of shires three.

This began on Monday at morn,

In Cheviot the hills so hie :

The child may rue that is unborn,—
It was the more pity.

The drivers through the woods went
For to raise the deer;

Bowmen bicker'd upon the bent,

With their broad arrows clear.

Then the wild [deer] through the woods went,
On every side shear;

Greyhounds through the groves glent,

For to kill the deer.