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"Lie still, lie still, a little wee while,

Lie still but if we may;

Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll go mad ere it be day."

O they've ta'en up their mother's mantle,
And they've hinged it on the pin:
"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle,
Ere ye hap us again!

"Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare-ye-weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire."

A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE

THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte,
-Every nighte and alle,
Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.

When thou from hence away art passed,
-Every nighte and alle,

To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
-Every nighte and alle,

Sit thee down and put them on;

And Christe receive thy saule.

Unknown

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
-Every nighte and alle,

The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou may'st pass,
-Every nighte and alle,

To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last;

And Christe receive thy saule.

From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass,

-Every nighte and alle,

To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;

And Christe receive thy saule.

If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
—Every nighte and alle,

The fire sall never make thee shrink;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane,
-Every nighte and alle,

The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
-Every nighte and alle,

Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,

And Christe receive thy saule.

Unknown

THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY

"RISE up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, "And put on your armor so bright;

Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armor so bright,

And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa the last night."

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple gray,

With a bugelet-horn hung down by his side,

And lightly they rode away.

Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,

To see what he could see,

And there he spied her seven brethren bold,
Come riding o'er the lea.

"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said, "And hold my steed in your hand,

Until that against your seven brethren bold,
And your father, I mak' a stand."

She held his steed in her milk-white hand,
And never did shed one tear,

Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',

And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.

"O haud your hand, Lord William!" she said, "For your strokes they are wondrous sair;

True lovers I can get many an ane,

But a father I can never get mair."

O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
It was o' the Holland sae fine,
And aye she dighted her father's wounds,
That were redder than the wine.

"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret," he said, "O whether will ye gang or bide?"

"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said, "For ye've left me no other guide."

He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple gray,

With a bugelet-horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.

O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they cam' to yon wan water,
And there they lighted doun.

They lighted doun to tak' a drink
Of the spring that ran sae clear;

And doun the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
And sair she gan to fear.

"Haud up, haud up, Lord William," she says,

"For I fear that you are slain!"

"Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, That shines in the water sae plain."

O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they cam' to his mother's ha' door,
And there they lighted doun.

"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
"Get up and let me in!—

Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
"For this night my fair lady I've win.

"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
"O mak it braid and deep!

And lay Lady Margʼret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep."

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
Lady Marg'ret lang ere day;

And all true lovers that go thegither,
May they have mair luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk,
Lady Marg'ret in Mary's quire;

Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o' the knight's a brier.

And they twa met, and they twa plat,
And fain they wad be near;

And a' the warld might ken right weel
They were twa lovers dear.

But by and rade the Black Douglas,
And wow but he was rough!
For he pu'ed up the bonny brier,
And flang't in St. Mary's Lough.

Unknown

FAIR ANNIE

THE reivers they stole Fair Annie,

As she walked by the sea;

But a noble knight was her ransom soon, Wi' gowd and white monie.

She bided in strangers' land wi' him,
And none knew whence she cam;
She lived in the castle wi' her love,
But never told her name.

"It's narrow, narrow, mak your bed,
And learn to lie your lane;

For I'm gaun owre the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw Bride to bring hame.
Wi' her I will get gowd and gear,

Wi' you I ne'er gat nane.

"But wha will bake my bridal bread,

Or brew my bridal ale?

And wha will welcome my bright Bride, That I bring owre the dale?"

"It's I will bake your bridal bread,

And brew your bridal ale;

And I will welcome your bright Bride,
That you bring owre the dale."

"But she that welcomes my bright Bride Maun gang like maiden fair;

She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And comely braid her hair.

"Bind up, bind up your yellow hair, And tie it on your neck;

And see you look as maiden-like

As the day that first we met."

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