Four he hurt, an' five he slew, On the dowie houms o' Yarrow, Till that stubborn knight cam him behind, "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; She gaed up yon high, high hill— She kissed his cheek, she kamed his hair, She drank the red blood frae him ran, "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 Unknown LORD LOVEL LORD LOVEL he stood at his castle gate, "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, When languishing thoughts came into his head, 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 there he kissed her clay-cold lips, Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day, Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief, Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' church, 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, So there they entwined in a true-lover's knot, Unknown BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY IN Scarlet town, where I was born, All in the merry month of May, 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, "O it's I am sick and very very sick, Though your heart's blood were a-spillin'! "O dinna ye mind, young man," says she, That ye made the healths go round and round, He turned his face unto the wall, As she was walking o'er the fields, "O mother, mother, make my bed, "Farewell," she said, "ye virgins all, 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 And when he had been seven long years, Many a tear have I shed for her sake, Then all the maids of Islington She pulled off her gown of green, As she went along the high road, She started up, with a color so red, Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, Where I have had many a scorn. I prithee, sweet-heart, then tell to me, |