"Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal-
And I trust ye are not she-

Now tell me some of the love-tokens
That past between you and me."

"O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor, When we sat at the wine,

How we changed the rings frae our fingers? And I can show thee thine.

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yours was good, and good enneugh, But ay the best was mine;

For yours was o the good red goud,
But mine o the dimonds fine.

"But open the door now, Love Gregor,
O open the door I pray,

For your young son that is in my arms
Will be dead ere it be day."

"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,

For here ye shanno win in; Gae drown ye in the raging sea,

Or hang on the gallows-pin."

When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,
And the sun began to peep,

Then it raise him Love Gregor,
And sair, sair did he weep.

"O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,

The thoughts o it gars' me greet,R

That Fair Annie of Rough Royal

Lay cauld dead at my feet.'

"Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal

That ye make a' this din,

She stood a' last night at this door,
But I trow she wan' no in."
Shall not get. ? Makes. • Weep.

9 Got.

That ye woudno open the door to her,
Nor yet woud waken me."

O he has gone down to yon shore-side, As fast as he could fare;

He saw Fair Annie in her boat,

But the wind it tossed her sair.

And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie!
O Annie, winna ye bide?"

But ay the mair that he cried Annie,
The braider grew the tide.

And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie!
Dear Annie, speak to me!"

But ay the louder he cried Annie,
The louder roard the sea.

The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dashd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
But her young son raise no more.

Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
But his bonny young son was gone.

O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair,
But clay cold were her rosy lips,
Nae spark of life was there.

And first he's kissd her cherry cheek,
And neist he's kissed her chin;
And saftly pressed her rosey lips,
But there was nae breath within.

10 Death.

"O wae betide my cruel mother,
And an ill dead may she die!

For she turnd my true-love frae my door,
When she came sae far to me."

10

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN

It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the green leaves were a falling,
That Sir John Græme, in the West Country,
Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down through the town,
To the place where she was dwelling:
"O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly,' hooly rose she up,

To the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by,

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'Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:"
"O the better for me ye's never be,

Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,

"When ye was in the tavern a drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?"

He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing:
“Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan."

1 Softly.

And slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
And sighing said, she coud not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
And every jow that the dead-bell gied,
It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!

22

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THE GAY Goss-HAWK

"O WELL 's me o my gay goss-hawk,
That he can speak and flee;
He'll carry a letter to my love,
Bring back another to me."

1

"O how can I your true-love ken‚1

Or how can I her know?

Whan frae her mouth I never heard couth,
Nor wi my eyes her saw."

"O well sal ye my true-love ken,

As soon as you her see;

For, of a' the flowrs in fair Englan,
The fairest flowr is she.

"At even at my love's bowr-door
There grows a bowing birk,
An sit ye down and sing thereon,
As she gangs to the kirk.

1 Know. • Sound. • Birch.

"An four-and-twenty ladies fair
Will wash and go to kirk,
But well shall ye my true-love ken,
For she wears goud on her skirt.

"An four and twenty gay ladies
Will to the mass repair,

But well sal ye my true-love ken,
For she wears goud on her hair."

O even at that lady's bowr-door
There grows a bowin birk,
An he set down and sang thereon,
As she ged to the kirk.

"O eet and drink, my marys' a',
The wine flows you among,
Till I gang to my shot-window,
An hear yon bonny bird's song.

"Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,

O first he sang a merry song,
An then he sang a grave,
An then he peckd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.

Ha, there's a letter frae your love,
He says he sent you three;
He canno wait your love langer,
But for your sake he'll die.

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'He bids you write a letter to him;

He says he's sent you five;

He canno wait your love langer,
Tho you're the fairest woman alive."