"O make my bed, lady mother," he says,
"O make it broad and deep,

And lay Lady Margaret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep."

Lord William was dead long ere midnight,
Lady Margaret long ere day,

And all true lovers that go thegither,
May they have more luck than they !

Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk,
Lady Margaret in Mary's quire ;

Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o' the knight's a brier.

And they two met, and they two plat,
And fain they would be near;

And all the world might ken1 right well
They were two lovers dear.

But by and rode the Black Douglas,
And wow but he was rough!
For he pull'd up the bonny brier,

And flang't in St. Mary's Loch.

THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW
Late at e'en, drinking the wine,
And ere they paid the lawing,2
They set a combat them between
To fight it in the dawing.

1 know.

2 reckoning.

"O stay at home, my noble lord, O stay at home, my marrow ! 1 My cruel brother will you betray

On the dowie 2 holms of Yarrow."

“O fare ye well, my lady gay!
O fare ye well, my Sarah!

For I maun go, though I ne'er return
Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,
As oft she had done before, O;
She's belted him with his noble brand,
And he's away to Yarrow.

As he gaed up the Tennies bank

I wot he gaed with sorrow,

Till down in a glen, he spied nine armed men On the dowie holms of Yarrow.

"O come ye here to part your land,
The bonnie Forest thorough?
Or come ye here to wield your brand,
On the dowie holms of Yarrow?"

"I come not here to part my land,
And neither to beg nor borrow;
I come to wield my noble brand,
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

1 mate, husband.

2 sad.

"If I see ye all, ye're nine to one,
And that's unequal marrow;
Yet will I fight while lasts my brand,
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

Four has he hurt, and five has slain,
On the bloody braes of Yarrow,
Till that stubborn knight came from behind,
And ran his body thorough.

"Go home, go home, good brother John,
And tell your sister Sarah,

To come and lift her leaful lord,
He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."

"Yestreen I dreamed a doleful dream;
I fear there will be sorrow!

I dreamed I pulled the heather green,
With my true love, on Yarrow.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,
From where my love repaireth,
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth
And tell me how he fareth.

"But in the glen strive armed men ;

They've wrought me dole and sorrow; They've slain the comeliest knight they've slain

He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high, high hill,
She gaed with dole and sorrow,
And in the den spied ten slain men,
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,
She searched his wounds all thorough,
She kissed them till her lips grew red,
On the dowie holms of Yarrow.

"Now hold your tongue, my daughter dear! For all this breeds but sorrow;

I'll wed ye to a' better lord,

Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"Oh hold your tongue, my father dear!

Ye mind me but of sorrow;

A fairer rose did never bloom

Than now lies cropped on Yarrow."

THE BORDER WIDOW 1

My love he built me a bonny bower
And clad it all with lily flower,
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
'Than
my true love he built for me.

1 This poem, like the following, is probably only part of a longer ballad. Both poems differ somewhat from the true ballad in that they are lyrical in subject as well as in form: this poem is a lament rather than a story.

D

There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport and went away;
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower and slew my knight.

He slew my knight to me so dear :
He slew my knight and poined1 his gear;
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremity.

I sewed his sheet, making my moan;
I watched the corpse, myself alone ;
I watched his body, night and day;
No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,

And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ;
I digged a grave, and laid him in,
And happed him with the sod so green.

But think na ye my heart was sair
When I laid the mold on his yellow hair;
O think ye not my heart was woe,
When I turned about, away to go?

No living man I'll love again,
Since that my lovely knight is slain ;
With one lock of his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart for evermair.

1 seized.