Then up arose her seven brethren, They hewed it from the solid oak, Then up and got her seven sisters, The first Scotch Kirk that they came to, The next Scotch Kirk that they came to, But when they came to St. Mary's kirk, Set down, set down the bier, he said, Let me look her upon : But as soon as Lord William touched her hand Her colour began to come. She brightened like the lily, Till her pale colour was gone: With rosy cheek, and ruby lip, A morsel of your bread, my Lord, Go home, go home, my seven bold brothers, I trow ye would have given me the skaith, Commend me to my gray Father, Gar'd burn me on my breast. Ah! woe to you, you light woman! For we left father and sisters at home, SCOTT'S BORDER MINSTRELSY. LADY ELSPAT. How brent's your brow, my Lady Elspat! O' a' the maids o' fair Scotland, There's nane like Lady Elspat fair. Perform your vows, sweet William, she says, But wae be to her brother's page, That heard the words thir twa did say ; He's told them to her lady mother, Who wrought sweet William mickle wae. For she has taken him, sweet William, And she 's gar'd bind him with his bow-string, Till the red blood of his fair body From ilka nail of his hand did spring O, it fell once upon a time, That the Lord-Justice came to town; And what is the crime now, lady, he says, That has by this young man been done? O, he has broken my bonny castle, That was weel built wi' lime and stane; And he has broken my honny coffers, I wot he has stolen them every ane. Then out it spake her Lady Elspat, As she sat by Lord-Justice' knee : He hasna broken her bonny castle, That was weel built wi' lime and stane; Nor has he stolen her rich jewels, For I wot she has them every one. But though he was my first true love, She would this way our loves divide. Syne out and spake the Lord-Justice, I see no fault in this young man ; And take your love, now, Lady Elspat; There stands a steed in my stable, Cost me both gold and white money; As he'll ride about in a summer's day. JAMIESON. SWEET WILLIE OF LIDDESDALE. SWEET WILLIE, the flower of Liddesdale, And he's doen him to foreign lands, And he's wooed a wife and brought her hame. And many a may in Liddesdale Did sadly sigh to see that tide; But never a may in Liddesdale For lovely-sweet fair Alice was, And bonnie yellow was her hair; And happy, happy might she been, But his mother wrought her mickle care. His mother wrought her mickle care, Sad in her bower fair Alice sits, And sore, oh, sore! sore is her pain! And sore and woeful is his heart, While Willie mourns o'er her in vain. |