6

"But she that welcomes my bright Bride
Maun gang like maiden fair;

She maun lace up her robe sae jimp,
And comely braid her hair.

7

"Bind up, bind up your yellow hair,

And tie it on your neck;
And see you look as maiden-like
As the day that first we met."

8

"O how can I gang maiden-like,
When maiden I am nane?
Have I not borne six sons to thee,

And am wi' child again?"

9

"I'll put cooks into my kitchen,

And stewards in my hall,

And I'll have bakers for my bread,

And brewers for my ale;

But you're to welcome my bright Bride,

That I bring owre the dale."

ΙΟ

Three months and a day were gane and past,

Fair Annie she gat word,

That her love's ship was come at last,

Wi' his bright young Bride aboard.

II

She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
Anither in her hand;

And she's gane up to the highest tower,
Looks over sea and land.

12

"Come doun, come doun, my mother dear,

Come aff the castle wa'!

I fear if langer ye stand there,

Ye'll let yoursell doun fa'."

13

She's ta'en a cake o' the best bread,

A stoup o' the best wine;

And a' the keys upon her arm,

And to the yett is gane.

14

"O ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
To your castles and your towers;
Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
To your ha's, but and your bowers.
And welcome to your hame, fair lady!
For a' that's here is yours."

15

"O whatna lady's that, my lord, That welcomes you and me? Gin I be lang about this place,

Her friend I mean to be."

16

Fair Annie served the lang tables
Wi' the white bread and the wine;

But aye she drank the wan water
To keep her color fine.

17

And she gaed by the first table,

And smiled upon them a';

But ere she reach'd the second table,
The tears began to fa'.

18

She took a napkin lang and white,

And hung it on a pin;

It was to wipe away the tears,

As she gaed out and in.

19

When bells were rung and mass was sung,

And a' men bound for bed,

The bridegroom and the bonny bride
In ae chamber were laid.

20

Fair Annie's ta'en a harp in her hand,
To harp thir twa asleep;

But aye, as she harpit and she sang,
Fu' sairly did she weep.

21

"O gin my sons were seven rats,
Rinnin' on the castle wa',

And I mysell a great gray cat,
I soon wad worry them a'!

22

"O gin my sons were seven hares, Rinnin' o'er yon lily lee,

And I mysell a good greyhound,

Soon worried they a' should be!"

23

Then out and spak' the bonny young Bride, In bride-bed where she lay:

"That's like my sister Annie," she says; "Wha is it doth sing and play?"

24

"I'll put on my gown," said the new-come Bride,

"And my shoes upon my feet;

I will see wha doth sae sadly sing,

And what is it gars her greet.

25

"What ails you, what ails you, my housekeeper,

That ye mak' sic a mane?

Has ony wine-barrel cast its girds,

Or is a' your white bread gane?”

26

"It is na because my wine is spilt,

Or that my white bread's gane;

But because I've lost my true love's love,

And he's wed to anither ane."

27

"Noo tell me wha was your father?" she says,

"Noo tell me wha was your mother?

And had ye ony sister?" she says,

"And had ye ever a brother?”

28

"The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
The Countess of Wemyss my mother,
Young Elinor she was my sister dear,
And Lord John he was my brother."

29

"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
I wot sae was he mine;

And it's O my sister Annie!
Your love ye sall na tyne.

30

"Tak' your husband, my sister dear;
You ne'er were wrang'd for me,
Beyond a kiss o' his merry mouth
As we came o'er the sea.

31

"Seven ships, loaded weel,

Came o'er the sea wi' me; Ane o' them will tak' me hame, And six I'll gie to thee."

BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY

I

ALL in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swelling,
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay
For love o' Barbara Allen.

2

He sent his man unto her then,

To the town where she was dwelling: "O haste and come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen.”

3

Slowly, slowly rase she up,

And she cam' where he was lying;

And when she drew the curtain by,

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

4

"O it's I am sick, and very, very sick,

And it's a' for Barbara Allen."

"O the better for me ye'se never be,

Tho' your heart's blude were a-spilling!"