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And he has hied him to his mother,

That vilest Witch of vilest kin; He says, My lady has a girdle,

All diamonds out, and gold within ;

And ay at every silver hem

Hangs fifty silver bells and ten : Oh, let her be lighter of her young bairn,

And that goodly gift shall be your ain! Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,

Nor ever see an end of wae ; But she shall die and turn to clay,

And ye shall wed another may.

Another may I'll never wed!

Another love I'll never ken!
But sadly sighed that weary wight,

I wish my days were at an en'!
He did him tell his mother again,

And said, -My lady has a steed, White as the drift, as roebuck swift,

His like is not in the lands of Leed;
For he is silver-shod before,

And he is golden-shod behin’;
And at ilka tate of that horse's mane

Is a golden chess and bell ringin';
And mickle did ye praise his speed,

When at the ring he ran so swift : Oh, let her be lighter of her young hairn,

And yours shall be that goodly gift. Of her young bairn she 's never be lighter,

Nor ever see an end of wae; But she shall die, and go to clay, And ye shall wed anither may.

Oh, mother! a woman's heart ye bear,

Take ruth upon a mother's pine; Take ruth on your own flesh and blood,

Nor let her sakeless bairnie tine : And it shall live your oye to be;

To cheer your eild in many a stead; And sain with benisons your truff,

When in the mould your bones are laid,

Away! away! for never she

Or imp or oye to me shall be; But she shall die and turn to clay,

And ye shall wed anither may. Oh! mother pree'd ye e'er of love,

And can ye bid me love again? And can she break her Willie's heart,

For him who dree'd a mother's pain?

And can ye thole to kill your son,

Your only hope! with ruthless rage ; Syne fa' yourself, like blasted tree,

Withered with curses, in your age? Away! away! what blacker curse

Nor uncomplying bairn can be! O’her young bairn she's never be lighter,

Nor ever an end of dolour see! Then out it speak the Billy Blin, *

Of Liddes' lord that aye took care: Then ye do buy a leaf of wax,

And kiauve it weel, and mould it fair; And shape it bairn and bairnlie-like,

And in twa glazen een ye pit;

* A kind of domestic fairy or sprite, supposed to interest itself in the welfare of the family.

With holy water synd * it o'er,

And by the holy Rood sain it;
And carry it to fair Alice's bower,

And Ave Mary!” nine times say;
Syne in the Lady Mother's name,

In Alice' arms the image lay;
And ilka knot and bolt undo,

Fair Alice's bower that is within ;
And do you to your mother then,

And bid her to your boy's christ'ning;
For dear 's the boy to you he's been!

Then notice weel what she will dae ;
And do you stand a little for-by,

And listen weel what she will say.
Now Willie has all his bidden done;
· In good time aye he gae warning;
And he's doen him to his mother then,

And bidden her to his boy's christ’ning.
O who has loosed the nine witch-knots

Among that lady's locks so fair?
And who the kembs of care ta'en out,

That was among that lady's hair ?
And who has killed the master kid,

That ran aneath the lady's bed?
And who has loosed her left-foot shoe,

And that young lady lighter made?” +
Then out it spake the Billy Blin,

As, aye at hand, he harkit near;
(And the witch did quake in lith and limb,

The weird of Billy Blin to hear):

Sprinkle. + Deceived by the false intelligence, the witch lays open ber machinations, which the sprite on the instant counteracts.

0, Willie has loosed the nine witch-knots,

Among that lady's locks so fair ;
And the kembs of care he has taken out,

That was among that lady's hair ;
And he has killed the master kid,

That ran aneath that lady's bed;
And he has loosed her left-foot shoe,

And his dear lady lighter made :
And thou, the fellest Hag on mold,

A mother's name that ever bure !
Time never shall slock the fiery pangs

I'll gar thy burning heart endure.

JAMIESON,

THE DOWIE* DENS OF YARROW.

Late at even, drinking the wine,

And ere they paid the lawing,
They set a combat them between,

To fight it in the dawning.
O stay at hame, my noble lord !

O stay at hame, my marrow!
My cruel brother will you betray,

On the dowie howms of Yarrow.

O fare ye weel, my lady gay!

O fare ye weel, my Sarah !
For I maun gae, though I ne'er return

Frae the dowie howms of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair,

As oft she had done before, O!
She belted him with his noble brand,

And he's awa to Yarrow.

As he gaed up the Tinnes' bank,

I wat he gaed with sorrow,
Till down in a den he 'spied nine armed men,

On the dowie howms of Yarrow.

• Dreary.

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