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THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.

RISE up, rise up now, Lord Douglas, she says,
And put on your armour 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 armour 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 buglet horn hung down by his side,
And lightly he rode away.

Lord William looked over his left shoulder,

To see what he could see,

And there he 'spied her seven brethren bold,

Come riding over the lee.

Light down, light down, Lady Margaret, he said,

And hold my steed in your hand,

Until that against your seven brethren bold,

And your father, I make a stand.

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

Until that she saw her seven brethren fall,

And her father hard fighting, that she loved so dear.

O hold your hand, Lord William, she said,

For

your strokes they are wondrous sore; True lovers I can get many a one,

But a Father I can never get more.

O she 's taken out her handkerchief,

It was of the Holland so fine,

And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.

O choose, O choose, Lady Margaret, he said,
O whether will ye gang or bide?

I'll

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

He has lifted her on a milk-white steed,
Himself on a dapple gray,

With a buglet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they both rode away.

O they rode on, and on they rode,
And all by the light of the moon,
Until that they came to yon wan water,
And there they lighted down.

They lighted down to take a drink

Of the spring that ran so clear,

And down the stream ran his good heart's blood,
And sore she began to fear.

Hold up, hold up, Lord William, she says,

For I fear that you are slain!

"T is nothing but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, That shines in the water so plain.

O they rode on, and on they rode,

And all by the light of the moon,
Until they came to his mother's ha' door,
And there they lighted down.

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 have won.

O make my bed, lady mother, he says,
O make it broad and deep!

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

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight—

Lady Margaret, long ere day:

And all true lovers that go together,

May they have more luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk,
Lady Margaret in Marie's quire;

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

And they two met, and they two plait,
And fain they would be near;
-And all the world might ken right well,
They were two lovers dear.

But bye and rade the black Douglas,
And wow, but he was rough!

For he pull'd up the bonny brier,
And flang 't in St. Marie's loch.

JAMIESON.

THE GAY GOSS-HAWK.

*

O WALY, Waly, my gay goss-hawk,
Gin your feathering be sheen!
And waly, waly, my master dear,
Gin ye look pale and lean!

O have ye tint at tournament
Your sword, or yet your spear;
Or mourn ye for the southern lass,
Whom ye may not win near?

I have not tint at tournament

My sword, nor yet my spear; But sore I mourn for my true love, With many a bitter tear.

But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk,
You can both speak and flee;

Ye shall carry a letter to my true love,
Bring an answer back to me.

But how shall I your true love find,
Or how should I her know;

I bear a tongue ne'er with her spake,
An eye that ne'er her saw?

* But.

O weel shall ye my true love ken,
So soon as ye her see;

For, of all the flowers of fair England,
The fairest flower is she.

The red that's on my true love's cheek
Is like blood drops on the snaw;
The white that is on her breast so fair,
Like the down of the white sea-maw.

And even at my love's bower door
There grows a flowering birk;
And ye may sit and sing thereon,
As she gangs to the Kirk.

And four-and-twenty fair ladies
Will to the Mass repair;

But well may ye my true love ken,

The fairest lady there.

Lord William has written a love letter,

Put it under his pinion gray;
And he's away to Southern land
As fast as wings can gae.

And even at that lady's bower
There grew a flowering birk ;
And he sat down and sang thereon,
As she gaed to the kirk.

And when he kent that lady fair

Among her maidens free ;

For the flower that springs in May morning

Was never so fair as she;

He lighted at that lady's gate,

And sat him on a pin;

And sang full sweet the notes of love,

Till all was still within.

K

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