"O might I live to see that day,

How blythely would I close my e'en ! I've seen enough could I but see

My bonny Hay the Scottish queen.

"Haste to the king, my little page,
And say my daughter he shall see,
That she's o'ercome with grateful love,
Say that, and leave the rest to me.”

O but King Gregory was fain,

The beauteous Hay was all his dream,
And aye he combed his raven locks,
And aye he bathed him in the stream,

And aye he haunted Leven side,

And bent above the wave so cool; For there was no mirror in the land

But the streamlet or the standing pool.

And King Gregory saw his buirdly form
With pleasure never known before;
And King Gregory thought his hanging brow
Of majesty the signal bore.

But the rimy fringe upon his beard

O but it grieved his heart to see, And ill he brooked the silver hairs That floated o'er his dark e'e-bree.

But John of Erol he was sad,

Nor wist he how to win the day;
He feared the pride of Athol's lord,
And he feared the heart of bonny Hay.

For well he knew he long had wooed
With fondest love and fervency,
And rowed her in his highland plaid
When there was never an eye to see;

And well he knew that maiden's love
Is by such lone endearments won,
And much he feared that Athol's lord
Erol and Stormont would o'er-run ;

He knew that should the king assay
To wear him in his highland glen,

He had much better meet again
Canute the Dane and all his men.

The lovely Hay sat in her bower,
Her gouden locks the breezes swung ;
And aye she looked to the Athol hills,
And aye she lilted and she sung.

"The Highland hills are bonny hills,
Altho' they kythe so darkly blue :
The rock-rose nods upon the cliff,

The heather-blooms their brows bedew

"The braes are steep, and the dells are deep,
And the water sings unto the tree.
Fair is the face of Lowland dale,
But dearer far yon hills to me!

"For all yon hills will soon be mine,
Their grizly tops and glens of dew;
And mine shall be the bravest lord
That ever gathering bugle blew.

"O he has rowed me in his plaid,
And he has made my bosom fain,
Which never man has done but he,
And never man shall do again.”.

And aye the southland breeze came bye,
And blew aside her kirtle green,
And aye it kissed her glowing cheek,
And aye it heaved her bosom's screen,

And sure so light and fair a form,

Was never stretched on Ila's shore,

And sure that moulded lily breast-
Ah! it was ne'er so white before!

Yet from that fair and comely form
The lady raised a startled e'e,
The colour altered on her cheek,
And the tear-drop fell upon her knee,

Her song is past, and gone the blast,
Up stands her father by her side:
"Rise up, rise up, my daughter dear,

Thou ne'er canst be Lord Athol's bride,

The days rolled on. O they were long!
Yet still regretted past away;
The nights went bye with weary pace,
O sleepless nights to lovely Hay!

For every hour she hoped to see
Lord Athol at her father's door,
She longed to see the Highland clans,
• The target, and the broad claymore.

No rescue came !-The day arrived,--
Oh, cold, cold ran old Erol's blood!
There came a loud rap to the gate,

And at that gate Lord Athol stood,

With sevenscore clansmen him behind,
Well mounted and in bright array.
Old Erol ran into the hall,

Shouting "To arms, to arms, hurra!

"Haste, warder, to the northern tower,
And peal the gathering note amain,
Till every tree bawl forth the sound
From Ila ford to Dunsinnane."

O loud loud did the maiden laugh,
To see old Erol in the gin,

And loud loud was the knock and call,
But none would let Lord Athol in.

He heaved the guard-stone from the earth, With strength beyond the wizard's spell, And dashed it on the iron gate,

Till bolts and bars in flinders fell.

Old Erol came into the court,

He saw that better might not be,

He touched his bonnet with his hand,
Aware of Athol's injury.

"Lord Athol, if thou'rt come to fight, Trust me, thou shalt have routh of weir;

Lord Athol, if thou'rt come to feast,
There is no knight so welcome here."

A frown hung on Lord Athol's brow;
He turned him round upon his heel,