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 to Tividale he had led the way.
"I would lour'd hae had a winding-sheet,
And help'd to put it owre his head,
Ere he'd been disgraced by the Border Scot
When he owre Liddel his men did lead!"
There was a wild gallant amang us a,'
His name was Wattie wi' the Wudspurs,Cried-"On for his house in Stanegarthside If ony man will ride [of ours]!”
When they came to the Stanegarthside,
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 dare loose out the Captain's kye,
Or answer to him or his men?"
"It's I, Wattie 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 came to the fair Dodhead,
They were a welcome 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' gowd and wi' white monie ;
And at the burial of Willie Scott
I wot was mony a weeping ee.
THE BORDER WIDOW'S LAMENT.
My Love he built me a bonnie bower,
And clad it a' wi' the lily flower :
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see
Than my true Love he built for me.
There came a knight by middle day,
He spied his sport and went away;
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower and slew my knight.
He slew my knight to me sae dear,
He slew my knight and poin'd his gear ;
My servants all for life did flee
And left me in extremity.
I sew'd his sheet, making my mane,
I watch'd the corpse myself alane,
I watch'd his body night and day,-
No living creature came that way.
I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed and whiles I sat ;
I digg'd a grave, and laid him in,
And happ'd him wi' the sod sae green.
But think na ye my heart was sair
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair?
O, think na ye my heart was wae
When I turn'd about, away to gae?
Nae living man I'll love again,
Since that my lovely knight is slain :
Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart forevermair.
THE BROOM O THE COWDENKNOWES.
O the broom, and the bonnie broom,
The broom o' the Cowdenknowes!
And aye sae sweet as the lassie sang
I' the bught, milking the ewes.
The hills were high on ilka side,
And the bught i' the lirk o' the hill;
And aye as she sang her voice it rang
Out owre the head o' the hill.
There was a troop o' gentlemen
Came riding merrily by,
And ane o' them has rade out o' the way,
To the bught, to the bonnie may.
"Weel may ye save and see, bonnie lass!
And weel may ye save and see!"
"And sae wi' you, ye weel-bred knight !
And what's your will wi' me?”
"The night is misty and mirk, fair may! And I hae ridden astray;
And will ye be sae kind, fair may!
As come out and point my way?"
"Ride on! ride on! ye ramp rider !
Your steed's baith stout and strang:
For out of the bught I darena come,
For fear that ye do me wrang."
“O winna ye pity me? bonnie lass ! O winna ye pity me?
O winna ye pity my poor steed
Stands trembling at yon tree?"
"I wouldna pity your poor steed
Though it were tied to a thorn,
For if ye would gain my love the night,
Ye would slight me ere the morn.
"For I ken ye by your weel-busked hat,
And your merrie twinkling ee,
That ye're the laird o' the Oakland Hills, And ye may weel seem to be."
"O I'm not the laird o' the Oakland Hills, Ye're far mistaken o' me ;
But I'm ane o' the men about his house,
And right aft in his company."
He has ta'en her by the middle jimp
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He's lifted her owre the fauld-dyke,
And speir'd at her sma' leave.
O he's ta'en out a purse o' gowd,
And streeked her yellow hair;
"Now take ye that, my bonnie may !
O' me till ye hear mair!"
He's leap'd upon his berry-brown steed,
And soon he's owreta'en his men ;
And ane and a' cried out to him-
"O master! ye've tarried [then]".
"O I hae been East, and I have been West, And I hae been far owre the knowes,
But the bonniest lass that ever I saw
Is i' the bught, milking the ewes !"
She's set the pail upon her head,
And she's gane singing hame ;
"O where hae ye been? my ae daughter!
Ye hae na been your lane."
"O naebody was wi' me, father!
O naebody's been wi' me:
The night is misty and mirk, father!
Ye may gae to the door and see.
"But wae be to your eweherd, father!
And an ill death may he dee:
He bug the bught at the back o' the knowe,
And a tod has frighten'd me.
"There came a tod to the bught door,
The like I never saw :
And ere he had ta'en the lamb he did,
I'd lour'd he had ta'en them a'."
O when fifteen weeks were come and gane,
Fifteen weeks and three,
The lassie began to look thin and pale,
And to lang for his twinkling ee.
It fell on a day, on a hot simmer day,
She was calling her father's kye,
By came a troop of gentlemen
A merrily riding by.
"Weel may ye save and see, bonnie may !
Weel may ye save and see!
Weel I wot ye to be a bonnie may,—
But wha's ought that babe ye are wi'?"
Never a word could the lassie say,
For never a ane could she blame;
And never a word could the lassie say
But "I hae a gudeman at hame."
"Ye lied, ye lied, my bonnie may!
Sae loud as I hear ye lee :
For dinna ye mind that misty night
I was in the bught wi' thee?
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