Four he hurt, an' five he slew,

On the dowie houms o' Yarrow,

Till that stubborn knight cam him behind,
An' ran his body thorrow.

"Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, An' tell your sister Sarah

To come an' lift her noble lord,

Who's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."

"Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream;
I kenned there wad be sorrow;
I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,
On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

She gaed up yon high, high hill—
I wat she gaed wi' sorrow-
An' in a den spied nine dead men,
On the dowie houms o' Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kamed his hair,
As oft she did before, O;

She drank the red blood frae him ran,
On the dowie houms o' Yarrow.

"O haud your tongue, my douchter dear,

For what needs a' this sorrow?

I'll wed you on a better lord

Than him you lost on Yarrow."

"O haud your tongue, my father dear.

An' dinna grieve your Sarah;

A better lord was never born

Than him I lost on Yarrow.

"Tak hame your ousen, tak hame your kye,

For they hae bred our sorrow;

I wiss that they had a' gane mad
Whan they cam first to Yarrow."

Unknown

LORD LOVEL

LORD LOVEL he stood at his castle gate,
Combing his milk-white steed;
When up came Lady Nancy Belle,
To wish her lover good speed.

"Where are you going, Lord Lovel?" she said, "Oh! where are you going?" said she;

"I'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle,

Strange countries for to see."

"When will you be back, Lord Lovel?" she said, "Oh! when will you come back?" said she; "In a year or two or three, at the most, I'll return to my fair Nancy."

But he had not been gone a year and a day,
Strange countries for to see,

When languishing thoughts came into his head,
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.

So he rode, and he rode on his milk-white steed, Till he came to London town,

And there he heard St. Pancras' bells,

And the people all mourning round.

"Oh, what is the matter," Lord Lovel he said, "Oh! what is the matter?" said he; "A lord's lady is dead," a woman replied, "And some call her Lady Nancy."

So he ordered the grave to be opened wide,
And the shroud he turned down,

And there he kissed her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears came trickling down.

Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day,
Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow;

Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.

Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' church,
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;

And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,

And out of her lover's a brier.

They grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple top,
And then they could grow no higher:

So there they entwined in a true-lover's knot,
For all lovers true to admire.

Unknown

BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY

IN Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin',
Made every youth cry Well-a-way!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man in to her then,

To the town where she was dwellin', "O haste and come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen."

So slowly, slowly rase she up,

And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtain by-
"Young man, I think you're dyin'."

"O it's I am sick and very very sick,
And it's all for Barbara Allen."
"Q the better for me ye'se never be,

Though your heart's blood were a-spillin'!

"O dinna ye mind, young man," says she,
"When the red wine ye were fillin',

That ye made the healths go round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allen?”

He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin':
66 'Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allen!"

As she was walking o'er the fields,
She heard the dead-bell knellin';
And every jow the dead-bell gave
Cried "Woe to Barbara Allen."

"O mother, mother, make my bed,
O make it saft and narrow:
My love has died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.

"Farewell," she said, "ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall

Of cruel Barbara Allen."

Unknown

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON

THERE was a youth, a well-beloved youth,

And he was a squire's son,

He loved the bailiff's daughter dear,

That lived in Islington.

Yet she was coy and would not believe

That he did love her so,

No, nor at any time would she

Any countenance to him show.

But when his friends did understand
His fond and foolish mind,
They sent him up to fair London
An apprentice for to bind.

And when he had been seven long years,
And never his love could see:

Many a tear have I shed for her sake,
When she little thought of me.

Then all the maids of Islington
Went forth to sport and play,
All but the bailiff's daughter dear;
She secretly stole away.

She pulled off her gown of green,
And put on ragged attire,
And to fair London she would go
Her true-love to enquire.

As she went along the high road,
The weather being hot and dry,
She sat her down upon a green bank,
And her true-love came riding by.

She started up, with a color so red,
Catching hold of his bridle-rein;
One penny, one penny, kind sir, she said,
Will ease me of much pain.

Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,
Pray tell me where you were born.
At Islington, kind sir, said she,

Where I have had many a scorn.

I prithee, sweet-heart, then tell to me,
O tell me, whether you know,
The bailiff's daughter of Islington.
She is dead, sir, long ago.