FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[1239]ryding = raiding.[1240]lither =here an adverb, vilely.[1241]aiblins = perchance.[1242]know = knop of the hill.[1243]Hairibee = the place of execution at Carlisle.[1244]breek thie = thigh-pocket of his breeches.[1245]dree = last, endure.[1246]plain = complain.[1247]batts = beating.[1248]grit = great i. e. his heart swelled so.[1249]dought to = could.[1250]mends = amends.[1251]tied wi’ St Mary’s knot = hamstrung.[1252]jack = short coat of mail.[1253]laigh = low.[1254]blan = checked, stopped.[1255]plummet = pommel.[1256]lap a loup = leapt a leap.

[1239]ryding = raiding.

[1240]lither =here an adverb, vilely.

[1241]aiblins = perchance.

[1242]know = knop of the hill.

[1243]Hairibee = the place of execution at Carlisle.

[1244]breek thie = thigh-pocket of his breeches.

[1245]dree = last, endure.

[1246]plain = complain.

[1247]batts = beating.

[1248]grit = great i. e. his heart swelled so.

[1249]dought to = could.

[1250]mends = amends.

[1251]tied wi’ St Mary’s knot = hamstrung.

[1252]jack = short coat of mail.

[1253]laigh = low.

[1254]blan = checked, stopped.

[1255]plummet = pommel.

[1256]lap a loup = leapt a leap.

IGude Lord Scroope’s to the hunting gane,He has ridden o’er moss and muir;And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme,For stealing o’ the Bishop’s mare.II‘Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!Here hangs a broadsword by my side;And if that thou canst conquer me,The matter it may soon be tryed.’—III‘I ne’er was afraid of a traitor thief;Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme,I’ll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,If God but grant me life and time.’—IV‘Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope,And deal your blows as hard as you can!It shall be tried within an hour,Which of us two is the better man.’—VBut as they were dealing their blows so free,And both so bloody at the time,Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,All for to take brave Hughie the Graeme.VIThen they hae grippit Hughie the Graeme,And brought him up through Carlisle town:The lasses and lads stood on the walls,Crying, ‘Hughie the Graeme, thou’se ne’er gae down!’VIIThen they hae chosen a jury of men,The best that were in Carlisle town;And twelve of them cried out at once,‘Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae down!’VIIIThen up bespak him gude Lord Hume,As he sat by the judge’s knee;‘Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,If you’ll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.’—IX‘O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume!For sooth and sae it mauna be;For, were there but three Graemes of the name,They suld be hangèd a’ for me.’—X’Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,As she sat by the judge’s knee;‘A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge,If you’ll grant Hughie the Graeme to me!’—XI‘O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume,Forsooth and so it must na be;Were he but the one Graeme of the name,He suld be hangèd high for me.’—XII‘If I be guilty,’ said Hughie the Graeme,‘Of me my friends shall have small talk’;And he’s loupèd fifteen feet and three,Though his hands they were tied behind his back.XIIIHe lookèd over his left shoulder,And for to see what he might see;There was he aware of his auld father,Came tearing his hair most piteouslie.XIV‘O hald your tongue, my father,’ he says,‘And see that ye dinna weep for me!For they may ravish me o’ my life,But they canna banish me fro’ Heaven hie.XV‘Here, Johnie Armstrang, take thou my sword,That is made o’ the metal sae fine;And when thou comest to the English side,Remember the death of Hughie the Graeme.’

Gude Lord Scroope’s to the hunting gane,He has ridden o’er moss and muir;And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme,For stealing o’ the Bishop’s mare.

‘Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!Here hangs a broadsword by my side;And if that thou canst conquer me,The matter it may soon be tryed.’—

‘I ne’er was afraid of a traitor thief;Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme,I’ll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,If God but grant me life and time.’—

‘Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope,And deal your blows as hard as you can!It shall be tried within an hour,Which of us two is the better man.’—

But as they were dealing their blows so free,And both so bloody at the time,Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,All for to take brave Hughie the Graeme.

Then they hae grippit Hughie the Graeme,And brought him up through Carlisle town:The lasses and lads stood on the walls,Crying, ‘Hughie the Graeme, thou’se ne’er gae down!’

Then they hae chosen a jury of men,The best that were in Carlisle town;And twelve of them cried out at once,‘Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae down!’

Then up bespak him gude Lord Hume,As he sat by the judge’s knee;‘Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,If you’ll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.’—

‘O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume!For sooth and sae it mauna be;For, were there but three Graemes of the name,They suld be hangèd a’ for me.’—

’Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,As she sat by the judge’s knee;‘A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge,If you’ll grant Hughie the Graeme to me!’—

‘O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume,Forsooth and so it must na be;Were he but the one Graeme of the name,He suld be hangèd high for me.’—

‘If I be guilty,’ said Hughie the Graeme,‘Of me my friends shall have small talk’;And he’s loupèd fifteen feet and three,Though his hands they were tied behind his back.

He lookèd over his left shoulder,And for to see what he might see;There was he aware of his auld father,Came tearing his hair most piteouslie.

‘O hald your tongue, my father,’ he says,‘And see that ye dinna weep for me!For they may ravish me o’ my life,But they canna banish me fro’ Heaven hie.

‘Here, Johnie Armstrang, take thou my sword,That is made o’ the metal sae fine;And when thou comest to the English side,Remember the death of Hughie the Graeme.’

IO heard ye na o’ the silly blind Harper,How long he lived in Lochmaben town?And how he wad gang to fair England,To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown?IIBut first he gaed to his gude wyfe,Wi’ a’ the haste that he could thole[1257]—‘This wark,’ quo’ he, ‘will ne’er gae weel,Without a mare that has a foal.’—IIIQuo’ she, ‘Thou hast a gude gray mare,That’ll rin o’er hills baith laigh[1258]and hie;Sae set thee on the gray mare’s back,And leave the foal at hame wi’ me.’IVSo he is up to England gane,And even as fast as he can hie;And when he cam to Carlisle gate,O whae was there but the King Henrye?V‘Come into my hall, thou silly blind Harper,And of thy harping let me hear!’—‘O, by my sooth,’ quo’ the silly blind Harper,‘I’d rather hae stabling for my mare.’VIThe King look’d ower his left shoulder,And said unto his stable groom;‘Gae take the silly blind Harper’s mare,And tie her beside my Wanton Brown.’VIIThen aye he harpit, and aye he carpit[1259],Till a’ the lordlings footed the floor;They thought the music was sae sweet,They had nae mind o’ the stable door.VIIIAnd aye he harpit, and aye he carpit,Till a’ the nobles were fast asleep;Then quietly he took aff his shoon,And saftly down the stair did creep.IXSyne to the stable door he hied,Wi’ tread as light as light could be;And when he open’d and gaed in,There he fand thirty steeds and three.XHe took a colt halter frae his hose,And o’ his purpose he didna fail;He slipt it owre the Wanton’s nose,And tied it to his gray mare’s tail.XIHe turn’d them loose at the castle gate,Owre muir and moss and ilka dale;And she ne’er let the Wanton bait,But kept him still gaun to her tail.XIIThe mare she was right swift o’ foot,She didna fail to find the way;For she was at Lochmaben gateFu’ lang three hours before the day.XIIIWhen she came to the Harper’s door,There she gave mony a nicker and sneer[1260]—‘Rise up,’ quo’ the wife, ‘thou lazy lass;Let in thy master and his mare!’XIVThen up she rose, put on her clothes,And keekit out through the lock-hole—‘O! by my sooth,’ then cried the lass,‘Our mare has gotten a braw brown foal!’—XV‘Come haud thy tongue, thou foolish lass!The moon’s but glancing in your ee.I’ll wad my hail fee[1261]against a groat,He’s bigger than e’er our foal will be.’XVINow all this while in merry CarlisleThe Harper harpit to hie and law;And the fiend dought they do[1262]but listen him to,Until that the day began to daw.XVIIBut on the morn at fair daylight,When they had ended a’ their cheer,Behold the Wanton Brown was gane,And eke the poor blind Harper’s mare!XVIII‘Allace! allace!’ quo’ the silly blind Harper,‘And ever allace that I cam here!In Scotland I’ve tint a braw colt foal,In England they’ve stown my gude gray mare!’—XIX‘Come! cease thy allacing, thou silly blind Harper,And again of thy harping let us hear;And weel paid sall thy colt-foal be,And thou sall have a far better mare.’XXThen aye he harpit, and aye he carpit,Sae sweet were the harpings he let them hear!He was paid for the foal he had never lost,And three times ower for the gude gray mare.

O heard ye na o’ the silly blind Harper,How long he lived in Lochmaben town?And how he wad gang to fair England,To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown?

But first he gaed to his gude wyfe,Wi’ a’ the haste that he could thole[1257]—‘This wark,’ quo’ he, ‘will ne’er gae weel,Without a mare that has a foal.’—

Quo’ she, ‘Thou hast a gude gray mare,That’ll rin o’er hills baith laigh[1258]and hie;Sae set thee on the gray mare’s back,And leave the foal at hame wi’ me.’

So he is up to England gane,And even as fast as he can hie;And when he cam to Carlisle gate,O whae was there but the King Henrye?

‘Come into my hall, thou silly blind Harper,And of thy harping let me hear!’—‘O, by my sooth,’ quo’ the silly blind Harper,‘I’d rather hae stabling for my mare.’

The King look’d ower his left shoulder,And said unto his stable groom;‘Gae take the silly blind Harper’s mare,And tie her beside my Wanton Brown.’

Then aye he harpit, and aye he carpit[1259],Till a’ the lordlings footed the floor;They thought the music was sae sweet,They had nae mind o’ the stable door.

And aye he harpit, and aye he carpit,Till a’ the nobles were fast asleep;Then quietly he took aff his shoon,And saftly down the stair did creep.

Syne to the stable door he hied,Wi’ tread as light as light could be;And when he open’d and gaed in,There he fand thirty steeds and three.

He took a colt halter frae his hose,And o’ his purpose he didna fail;He slipt it owre the Wanton’s nose,And tied it to his gray mare’s tail.

He turn’d them loose at the castle gate,Owre muir and moss and ilka dale;And she ne’er let the Wanton bait,But kept him still gaun to her tail.

The mare she was right swift o’ foot,She didna fail to find the way;For she was at Lochmaben gateFu’ lang three hours before the day.

When she came to the Harper’s door,There she gave mony a nicker and sneer[1260]—‘Rise up,’ quo’ the wife, ‘thou lazy lass;Let in thy master and his mare!’

Then up she rose, put on her clothes,And keekit out through the lock-hole—‘O! by my sooth,’ then cried the lass,‘Our mare has gotten a braw brown foal!’—

‘Come haud thy tongue, thou foolish lass!The moon’s but glancing in your ee.I’ll wad my hail fee[1261]against a groat,He’s bigger than e’er our foal will be.’

Now all this while in merry CarlisleThe Harper harpit to hie and law;And the fiend dought they do[1262]but listen him to,Until that the day began to daw.

But on the morn at fair daylight,When they had ended a’ their cheer,Behold the Wanton Brown was gane,And eke the poor blind Harper’s mare!

‘Allace! allace!’ quo’ the silly blind Harper,‘And ever allace that I cam here!In Scotland I’ve tint a braw colt foal,In England they’ve stown my gude gray mare!’—

‘Come! cease thy allacing, thou silly blind Harper,And again of thy harping let us hear;And weel paid sall thy colt-foal be,And thou sall have a far better mare.’

Then aye he harpit, and aye he carpit,Sae sweet were the harpings he let them hear!He was paid for the foal he had never lost,And three times ower for the gude gray mare.

FOOTNOTES:[1257]thole = suffer, be capable of.[1258]laigh = low.[1259]carpit = sang, recited.[1260]nicker and sneer = whinny and snort.[1261]wad my hail fee = bet my whole wages.[1262]fiend dought they do = the deuce could they do.

[1257]thole = suffer, be capable of.

[1258]laigh = low.

[1259]carpit = sang, recited.

[1260]nicker and sneer = whinny and snort.

[1261]wad my hail fee = bet my whole wages.

[1262]fiend dought they do = the deuce could they do.

IThe eighteenth of October,A dismal tale to hearHow good Lord John and RothiemayWas both burnt in the fire.IIWhen steeds was saddled and well bridled,And ready for to ride,Then out it came her false Frendraught,Inviting them to bide.IIISaid, ‘Stay this night untill we sup,The morn untill we dine;’Twill be a token of good greement’Twixt your good lord and mine.’IV‘We’ll turn again,’ said good Lord John;‘But no,’ said Rothiemay,‘My steed’s trapan’d[1263], my bridle’s broken,I fear the day I’m fey[1264].’VWhen mass was sung and bells was rung,And all men bound for bed,Then good Lord John and RothiemayIn one chamber was laid.VIThey had not long cast off their cloaths,And were but now asleep,When the weary smoke began to rise,Likewise the scorching heat.VII‘O waken, waken, Rothiemay!O waken, brother dear!And turn you to our Saviour;There is strong treason here.’VIIIWhen they were dressèd in their cloaths,And ready for to boun,The doors and windows was all secur’d,The roof-tree burning down.IXHe did him to the wire-window[1265],As fast as he could gang;Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons!For out we’ll never win.XWhen he stood at the wire-window,Most doleful to be seen,He did espy her Lady Frendraught,Who stood upon the green.XICried, ‘Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!Will ye not sink with sin?For first your husband killed my father,And now you burn his son.’XIIO then out spoke her Lady Frendraught,And loudly did she cry;‘It were great pity for good Lord John,But none for Rothiemay;But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well,Ye cannot get away.’XIIIWhile he stood in this dreadful plight,Most piteous to be seen,There callèd out his servant Gordon,As he had frantic been:XIV‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come to me!I’ll catch you in my arms twa,One foot I will not flee.XV‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come away!I’ll catch you in my arms twa,But Rothiemay may lie.’—XVI‘The fish shall never swim in the flood,Nor corn grow through the clay,Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindledTwin[1266]me and Rothiemay.XVII‘But I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot win to thee;My head’s fast in the wire-window,My feet burning from me.XVIII‘My eyes are seething in my head,My flesh roasting also,My bowels are boiling with my blood;Is not that a woeful woe?XIX‘Take here the rings from my white fingers,That are so long and small,And give them to my lady fair,Where she sits in her hall.XX‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot loup to thee;My earthly part is all consumed,My spirit but speaks to thee.’XXIWringing her hands, tearing her hair,His lady she was seen,And thus address’d his servant Gordon,Where he stood on the green.XXII‘O wae be to you, George Gordon!An ill death may you die!So safe and sound as you stand there,And my lord bereaved for me!’—XXIII‘I bad him loup, I bad him come,I bad him loup to me;I’d catch him in my arms twa,A foot I should not flee.XXIV‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers,Which were so long and small,To give to you, his lady fair,Where you sat in your hall.’XXVSophia Hay[1267], Sophia Hay,O bonny Sophia was her name,Her waiting maid put on her cloaths,But I wot she tore them off again!XXVIAnd aft she cried, ‘Ohon! alas!A sair heart’s ill to win;I wan a sair heart when I married him,And to-day it’s return’d again.’

The eighteenth of October,A dismal tale to hearHow good Lord John and RothiemayWas both burnt in the fire.

When steeds was saddled and well bridled,And ready for to ride,Then out it came her false Frendraught,Inviting them to bide.

Said, ‘Stay this night untill we sup,The morn untill we dine;’Twill be a token of good greement’Twixt your good lord and mine.’

‘We’ll turn again,’ said good Lord John;‘But no,’ said Rothiemay,‘My steed’s trapan’d[1263], my bridle’s broken,I fear the day I’m fey[1264].’

When mass was sung and bells was rung,And all men bound for bed,Then good Lord John and RothiemayIn one chamber was laid.

They had not long cast off their cloaths,And were but now asleep,When the weary smoke began to rise,Likewise the scorching heat.

‘O waken, waken, Rothiemay!O waken, brother dear!And turn you to our Saviour;There is strong treason here.’

When they were dressèd in their cloaths,And ready for to boun,The doors and windows was all secur’d,The roof-tree burning down.

He did him to the wire-window[1265],As fast as he could gang;Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons!For out we’ll never win.

When he stood at the wire-window,Most doleful to be seen,He did espy her Lady Frendraught,Who stood upon the green.

Cried, ‘Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!Will ye not sink with sin?For first your husband killed my father,And now you burn his son.’

O then out spoke her Lady Frendraught,And loudly did she cry;‘It were great pity for good Lord John,But none for Rothiemay;But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well,Ye cannot get away.’

While he stood in this dreadful plight,Most piteous to be seen,There callèd out his servant Gordon,As he had frantic been:

‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come to me!I’ll catch you in my arms twa,One foot I will not flee.

‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come away!I’ll catch you in my arms twa,But Rothiemay may lie.’—

‘The fish shall never swim in the flood,Nor corn grow through the clay,Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindledTwin[1266]me and Rothiemay.

‘But I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot win to thee;My head’s fast in the wire-window,My feet burning from me.

‘My eyes are seething in my head,My flesh roasting also,My bowels are boiling with my blood;Is not that a woeful woe?

‘Take here the rings from my white fingers,That are so long and small,And give them to my lady fair,Where she sits in her hall.

‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot loup to thee;My earthly part is all consumed,My spirit but speaks to thee.’

Wringing her hands, tearing her hair,His lady she was seen,And thus address’d his servant Gordon,Where he stood on the green.

‘O wae be to you, George Gordon!An ill death may you die!So safe and sound as you stand there,And my lord bereaved for me!’—

‘I bad him loup, I bad him come,I bad him loup to me;I’d catch him in my arms twa,A foot I should not flee.

‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers,Which were so long and small,To give to you, his lady fair,Where you sat in your hall.’

Sophia Hay[1267], Sophia Hay,O bonny Sophia was her name,Her waiting maid put on her cloaths,But I wot she tore them off again!

And aft she cried, ‘Ohon! alas!A sair heart’s ill to win;I wan a sair heart when I married him,And to-day it’s return’d again.’

FOOTNOTES:[1263]trapan’d = tampered with.[1264]fey = doomed, having my fate on me.[1265]wire-window = grated window.[1266]twin = part.[1267]Sophia Hay = wife of Lord John [Gordon], burned in this fire. She had jilted the young lord of Tolquhon to marry him, which explains the allusion in the last stanza.

[1263]trapan’d = tampered with.

[1264]fey = doomed, having my fate on me.

[1265]wire-window = grated window.

[1266]twin = part.

[1267]Sophia Hay = wife of Lord John [Gordon], burned in this fire. She had jilted the young lord of Tolquhon to marry him, which explains the allusion in the last stanza.

IGod send the land deliveranceFrae every reaving, riding Scot;We’ll sune hae neither cow nor ewe,We’ll sune hae neither staig nor stot[1268].IIThe outlaws come frae Liddesdale,They herry Redesdale far and near;The rich man’s gelding it maun gang,They canna pass the puir man’s mare.IIISure it were weel, had ilka thiefAround his neck a halter strang;And curses heavy may they lightOn traitors vile oursels amang!IVNow Parcy Reed has Crosier taen,He has delivered him to the law;But Crosier says he’ll do waur than that,He’ll make the tower o’ Troughend fa’.VAnd Crosier says he will do waur,He will do waur if waur can be;He’ll make the bairns a’ fatherless,And then, the land it may lie lee.VI‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed,‘The morning sun is on the dew;The cauler breeze frae off the fellsWill lead the dogs to the quarry true.VII‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed,And to the hunting he has gane;And the three fause Ha’s o’ GirsonsfieldAlang wi’ him he has them taen.VIIIThey hunted high, they hunted low,By heathery hill and birken shaw;They raised a buck on Rooken Edge,And blew the mort[1269]at fair EalylaweIXThey hunted high, they hunted low,They made the echoes ring amain;With music sweet o’ horn and hound,They merry made fair Redesdale glen.XThey hunted high, they hunted low,They hunted up, they hunted down,Until the day was past the prime,And it grew late in the afternoon.XIThey hunted high in Batinghope,When as the sun was sinking low;Says Parcy then, ‘Ca’ off the dogs,We’ll bait our steeds and homeward go.’XIIThey lighted high in Batinghope,Atween the brown and benty ground;They had but rested a little whileTill Parcy Reed was sleeping sound.XIIIThere’s nane may lean on a rotten staff,But him that risks to get a fa’;There’s nane may in a traitor trust,And traitors black were every Ha’.XIVThey’ve stown the bridle off his steed,And they’ve put water in his lang gun;They’ve fixed his sword within the sheathThat out again it winna come.XV‘Awaken ye, waken ye, Parcy Reed,Or by your enemies be ta’en!For yonder are the five CrosiersA-coming owre the Hingin-stane!’—XVI‘If they be five, and we be four,Sae that ye stand alang wi’ me,Then every man ye will take one,And only leave but two to me:We will them meet as brave men ought,And make them either fight or flee.’—XVII‘We mayna stand, we canna stand,We daurna stand alang wi’ thee;The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,And they wad kill baith thee and we.’—XVIII‘O turn thee, turn thee, Johnie Ha’,O turn thee, man, and fight wi’ me;When ye come to Troughend again,My gude black naig I will gie thee;He cost full twenty pound o’ gowd,Atween my brother John and me.’—XIX‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,I daurna turn and fight wi’ thee;The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,And they wad kill baith thee and me.—XX‘O turn thee, turn thee, Willie Ha’,O turn thee, man, and fight wi’ me;When ye come to Troughend again,A yoke o’ owsen I’ll gie thee.’—XXI‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,I daurna turn and fight wi’ thee;The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,And they wad kill baith thee and me.’—XXII‘O turn thee, turn thee, Tommy Ha’,O turn now, man, and fight wi’ me;If ever we come to Troughend again,My daughter Jean I’ll gie to thee.’—XXIII‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,I daurna turn and fight wi’ thee;The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,And they wad kill baith thee and me.’—XXIV‘O shame upon ye, traitors a’!I wish your hames ye may never see;Ye’ve stown the bridle off my naig,And I can neither fight nor flee.XXV‘Ye’ve stown the bridle off my naig,And ye’ve put water i’ my lang gun;Ye’ve fixed my sword within the sheathThat out again it winna come.’XXVIHe had but time to cross himsel’.A prayer he hadna time to say,Till round him came the Crosiers keen,All riding graith’d[1270]and in array.XXVII‘Weel met, weel met, now, Parcy Reed,Thou art the very man we sought;Owre lang hae we been in your debt,Now will we pay you as we ought.XXVIII‘We’ll pay thee at the nearest tree,Where we shall hang thee like a hound.’—Brave Parcy rais’d his fankit[1271]sword,And fell’d the foremost to the ground.XXIXAlake, and wae for Parcy Reed!Alake, he was an unarmed man!Four weapons pierced him all at once,As they assail’d him there and than.XXXThey fell upon him all at once,They mangled him most cruellie;The slightest wound might caused his deid,And they hae gi’en him thirty-three;They hackit off his hands and feet,And left him lying on the lee.XXXI‘Now, Parcy Reed, we’ve paid our debt,Ye canna weel dispute the tale,’The Crosiers said, and off they rade;They rade the airt[1272]o’ Liddesdale.XXXIIIt was the hour o’ gloaming gray,When herds come in frae fauld and pen;A herd he saw a huntsman lie,Says he, ‘Can this be Laird Troughen’?’—XXXIII‘There’s some will ca’ me Parcy Reed,And some will ca’ me Laird Troughen’;It’s little matter what they ca’ me,My faes hae made me ill to ken.XXXIV‘There’s some will ca’ me Parcy Reed,And speak my praise in tower and town;It’s little matter what they do now,My life-blood rudds the heather brown.XXXV‘There’s some will ca’ me Parcy Reed,And a’ my virtues say and sing;I would much rather have just nowA draught o’ water frae the spring.’XXXVIThe herd flung aff his clouted shoonAnd to the nearest fountain ran;He made his bonnet serve a cup,And wan the blessing o’ the dying man.XXXVII‘Now, honest herd, ye maun do mair,Ye maun do mair, as I you tell;Ye maun bear tidings to Troughend,And bear likewise my last farewell.XXXVIII‘A farewell to my wedded wife,A farewell to my brother John,Wha sits into the Troughend towerWi’ heart as black as any stone.XXXIX‘A farewell to my daughter Jean,A farewell to my young sons five;Had they been at their father’s hand,I had this night been man alive.XL‘A farewell to my followers a’,And a’ my neighbours gude at need;Bid them think how the treacherous Ha’sBetrayed the life o’ Parcy Reed.XLI‘The laird o’ Clennel bears my bow,The laird o’ Brandon bears my brand;Whene’er they ride i’ the Border-side,They’ll mind the fate o’ the laird Troughend.’

God send the land deliveranceFrae every reaving, riding Scot;We’ll sune hae neither cow nor ewe,We’ll sune hae neither staig nor stot[1268].

The outlaws come frae Liddesdale,They herry Redesdale far and near;The rich man’s gelding it maun gang,They canna pass the puir man’s mare.

Sure it were weel, had ilka thiefAround his neck a halter strang;And curses heavy may they lightOn traitors vile oursels amang!

Now Parcy Reed has Crosier taen,He has delivered him to the law;But Crosier says he’ll do waur than that,He’ll make the tower o’ Troughend fa’.

And Crosier says he will do waur,He will do waur if waur can be;He’ll make the bairns a’ fatherless,And then, the land it may lie lee.

‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed,‘The morning sun is on the dew;The cauler breeze frae off the fellsWill lead the dogs to the quarry true.

‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed,And to the hunting he has gane;And the three fause Ha’s o’ GirsonsfieldAlang wi’ him he has them taen.

They hunted high, they hunted low,By heathery hill and birken shaw;They raised a buck on Rooken Edge,And blew the mort[1269]at fair Ealylawe

They hunted high, they hunted low,They made the echoes ring amain;With music sweet o’ horn and hound,They merry made fair Redesdale glen.

They hunted high, they hunted low,They hunted up, they hunted down,Until the day was past the prime,And it grew late in the afternoon.

They hunted high in Batinghope,When as the sun was sinking low;Says Parcy then, ‘Ca’ off the dogs,We’ll bait our steeds and homeward go.’

They lighted high in Batinghope,Atween the brown and benty ground;They had but rested a little whileTill Parcy Reed was sleeping sound.

There’s nane may lean on a rotten staff,But him that risks to get a fa’;There’s nane may in a traitor trust,And traitors black were every Ha’.

They’ve stown the bridle off his steed,And they’ve put water in his lang gun;They’ve fixed his sword within the sheathThat out again it winna come.

‘Awaken ye, waken ye, Parcy Reed,Or by your enemies be ta’en!For yonder are the five CrosiersA-coming owre the Hingin-stane!’—

‘If they be five, and we be four,Sae that ye stand alang wi’ me,Then every man ye will take one,And only leave but two to me:We will them meet as brave men ought,And make them either fight or flee.’—

‘We mayna stand, we canna stand,We daurna stand alang wi’ thee;The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,And they wad kill baith thee and we.’—

‘O turn thee, turn thee, Johnie Ha’,O turn thee, man, and fight wi’ me;When ye come to Troughend again,My gude black naig I will gie thee;He cost full twenty pound o’ gowd,Atween my brother John and me.’—

‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,I daurna turn and fight wi’ thee;The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,And they wad kill baith thee and me.—

‘O turn thee, turn thee, Willie Ha’,O turn thee, man, and fight wi’ me;When ye come to Troughend again,A yoke o’ owsen I’ll gie thee.’—

‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,I daurna turn and fight wi’ thee;The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,And they wad kill baith thee and me.’—

‘O turn thee, turn thee, Tommy Ha’,O turn now, man, and fight wi’ me;If ever we come to Troughend again,My daughter Jean I’ll gie to thee.’—

‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,I daurna turn and fight wi’ thee;The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,And they wad kill baith thee and me.’—

‘O shame upon ye, traitors a’!I wish your hames ye may never see;Ye’ve stown the bridle off my naig,And I can neither fight nor flee.

‘Ye’ve stown the bridle off my naig,And ye’ve put water i’ my lang gun;Ye’ve fixed my sword within the sheathThat out again it winna come.’

He had but time to cross himsel’.A prayer he hadna time to say,Till round him came the Crosiers keen,All riding graith’d[1270]and in array.

‘Weel met, weel met, now, Parcy Reed,Thou art the very man we sought;Owre lang hae we been in your debt,Now will we pay you as we ought.

‘We’ll pay thee at the nearest tree,Where we shall hang thee like a hound.’—Brave Parcy rais’d his fankit[1271]sword,And fell’d the foremost to the ground.

Alake, and wae for Parcy Reed!Alake, he was an unarmed man!Four weapons pierced him all at once,As they assail’d him there and than.

They fell upon him all at once,They mangled him most cruellie;The slightest wound might caused his deid,And they hae gi’en him thirty-three;They hackit off his hands and feet,And left him lying on the lee.

‘Now, Parcy Reed, we’ve paid our debt,Ye canna weel dispute the tale,’The Crosiers said, and off they rade;They rade the airt[1272]o’ Liddesdale.

It was the hour o’ gloaming gray,When herds come in frae fauld and pen;A herd he saw a huntsman lie,Says he, ‘Can this be Laird Troughen’?’—

‘There’s some will ca’ me Parcy Reed,And some will ca’ me Laird Troughen’;It’s little matter what they ca’ me,My faes hae made me ill to ken.

‘There’s some will ca’ me Parcy Reed,And speak my praise in tower and town;It’s little matter what they do now,My life-blood rudds the heather brown.

‘There’s some will ca’ me Parcy Reed,And a’ my virtues say and sing;I would much rather have just nowA draught o’ water frae the spring.’

The herd flung aff his clouted shoonAnd to the nearest fountain ran;He made his bonnet serve a cup,And wan the blessing o’ the dying man.

‘Now, honest herd, ye maun do mair,Ye maun do mair, as I you tell;Ye maun bear tidings to Troughend,And bear likewise my last farewell.

‘A farewell to my wedded wife,A farewell to my brother John,Wha sits into the Troughend towerWi’ heart as black as any stone.

‘A farewell to my daughter Jean,A farewell to my young sons five;Had they been at their father’s hand,I had this night been man alive.

‘A farewell to my followers a’,And a’ my neighbours gude at need;Bid them think how the treacherous Ha’sBetrayed the life o’ Parcy Reed.

‘The laird o’ Clennel bears my bow,The laird o’ Brandon bears my brand;Whene’er they ride i’ the Border-side,They’ll mind the fate o’ the laird Troughend.’

FOOTNOTES:[1268]stot = steer.[1269]mort = death of the deer.[1270]graith’d = harnessed, in armour.[1271]fankit = entangled.[1272]airt = direction.

[1268]stot = steer.

[1269]mort = death of the deer.

[1270]graith’d = harnessed, in armour.

[1271]fankit = entangled.

[1272]airt = direction.

IO bonny Baby LivingstonWent forth to view the hay,And by it came him Glenlyon,Sta’ bonny Baby away.IIO first he’s ta’en her silken coat,And neist her satten gown,Syne row’d[1273]her in a tartan plaid,And hap’d her roun’ and roun’.IIIHe has set her upon his steedAnd roundly rode away,And ne’er loot her look back againThe live-long summer’s day.IVHe’s carried her o’er hills and muirsTill they came to a Highland glen,And there he’s met his brother John,With twenty armèd men.VO there were cows, and there were ewes,And lasses milking there!But Baby ne’er ance look’d about,Her heart was fill’d wi’ care.VIGlenlyon took her in his arms,And kiss’d her, cheek and chin;Says, ‘I’d gie a’ these cows and ewesBut ae kind look to win.’—VII‘O ae kind look ye ne’er shall get,Nor win a smile frae me,Unless to me you’ll favour shew,And take me to Dundee.’—VIII‘Dundee, Baby? Dundee, Baby?Dundee you ne’er shall seeTill I’ve carried you to GlenlyonAnd have my bride made thee.IX‘We’ll stay a while at Auchingour,And get sweet milk and cheese,And syne we’ll gang to Glenlyon,And there live at our ease.’—X‘I winna stay at Auchingour,Nor eat sweet milk and cheese,Nor go with thee to Glenlyon,For there I’ll ne’er find ease.’XIThen out it spake his brother John,‘O were I in your place,I’d take that lady hame again,For a’ her bonny face.XII‘Commend me to the lass that’s kind,Tho’ na so gently born;And, gin her heart I coudna gain,To take her hand I’d scorn.’—XIII‘O haud your tongue now, John,’ he says,‘You wis na what you say;For I have lo’ed that bonny faceThis twelve month and a day.XIV‘And tho’ I’ve lo’ed her lang and sair,A smile I ne’er cou’d win;Yet what I’ve got ance in my powerTo keep I think nae sin.’XVWhen they came to Glenlyon Castle,They lighted at the yate,And out it came his sisters three,Wha did them kindly greet.XVIO they’ve ta’en Baby by the handsAnd led her o’er the green,And ilka lady spake a word,But bonny Baby spake nane.XVIIThen out it spake her bonny Jean,The youngest o’ the three;‘O lady, dinna look sae sad,But tell your grief to me.’—XVIII‘O wherefore should I tell my grief,Since lax[1274]I canna find?I’m stown frae a’ my kin and friends,And my love I left behind.XIX‘But had I paper, pen, and ink,Before that it were day,I yet might get a letter sentIn time to Johny Hay.’XXO she’s got paper, pen, and ink,And candle that she might see,And she has written a broad letterTo Johny at Dundee.XXIAnd she has gotten a bonny boy,That was baith swift and strang,Wi’ philabeg and bonnet blue,Her errand for to gang.XXII‘O boy, gin ye’d my blessing winAnd help me in my need,Run wi’ this letter to my love,And bid him come wi’ speed.XXIII‘And here’s a chain of good red gowd,And gowden guineas three,And when you’ve well your errand done,You’ll get them for your fee.’XXIVThe boy he ran o’er hill and dale,Fast as a bird cou’d flee,And ere the sun was twa hours heightThe boy was at Dundee.XXVAnd when he came to Johny’s doorHe knockèd loud and sair;Then Johny to the window came,And loudly cry’d, ‘Wha’s there?’—XXVI‘O here’s a letter I have brought,Which ye maun quickly read,And, gin ye wou’d your lady save,Gang back wi’ me wi’ speed.’XXVIIO when he had the letter read,An angry man was he;He says, ‘Glenlyon, thou shalt rueThis deed of villany!XXVIII‘Woe be to thee, Glenlyon!’ he says,‘An ill death may thou dee!Thou micht hae ta’en anither woman,And let my lady be.XXIX‘O saddle to me the black, the black,O saddle to me the brown,O saddle to me the swiftest steedThat e’er rade frae the town.XXX‘And arm ye well, my merry men a’,And follow me to the glen,For I vow I’ll neither eat nor sleepTill I get my love again.’XXXIHe’s mounted on a milk-white steed,The boy upon a gray,And they got to Glenlyon’s castleAbout the close of day.XXXIIAs Baby at her window stood,The west wind saft did bla’;She heard her Johny’s well-kent voiceBeneath the castle wa’.XXXIII‘O Baby, haste, the window jump!I’ll kep you in my arm;My merry men a’ are at the yate,To rescue you frae harm.’XXXIVShe’s to the window fixt her sheetsAnd slippèd safely down,And Johny catch’d her in his arms,Ne’er loot her touch the ground.XXXVShe’s mounted on her Johny’s horse,Fu’ blithely can she say,—‘Glenlyon, you hae lost your bride!She’s aff wi’ Johny Hay!’XXXVIGlenlyon and his brother JohnWere birling in the ha’,When they heard Johny’s bridle ring,As fast he rade awa’.XXXVII‘Rise, Jock! gang out and meet the priest,I hear his bridle ring!My Baby now shall be my wifeBefore the laverocks sing.’—XXXVIII‘O brother, this is not the priest;I fear he’ll come owre late;For armèd men with shining brandsStand at the castle-yate.’—XXXIX‘Haste Donald, Duncan, Dugald, Hugh!Haste, take your sword and spier!We’ll gar these traytors rue the hourThat e’er they ventured here.’XLThe Highland men drew their claymores,And gae a warlike shout,But Johny’s merry men kept the yate,Nae ane durst venture out.XLIThe lovers rade the live-lang night,And safe gat on their way,And bonny Baby LivingstonHas gotten Johny Hay.XLII‘Awa’, Glenlyon! fy for shame!Gae hide ye in some den!You’ve latten your bride be stown frae you,For a’ your armed men.’

O bonny Baby LivingstonWent forth to view the hay,And by it came him Glenlyon,Sta’ bonny Baby away.

O first he’s ta’en her silken coat,And neist her satten gown,Syne row’d[1273]her in a tartan plaid,And hap’d her roun’ and roun’.

He has set her upon his steedAnd roundly rode away,And ne’er loot her look back againThe live-long summer’s day.

He’s carried her o’er hills and muirsTill they came to a Highland glen,And there he’s met his brother John,With twenty armèd men.

O there were cows, and there were ewes,And lasses milking there!But Baby ne’er ance look’d about,Her heart was fill’d wi’ care.

Glenlyon took her in his arms,And kiss’d her, cheek and chin;Says, ‘I’d gie a’ these cows and ewesBut ae kind look to win.’—

‘O ae kind look ye ne’er shall get,Nor win a smile frae me,Unless to me you’ll favour shew,And take me to Dundee.’—

‘Dundee, Baby? Dundee, Baby?Dundee you ne’er shall seeTill I’ve carried you to GlenlyonAnd have my bride made thee.

‘We’ll stay a while at Auchingour,And get sweet milk and cheese,And syne we’ll gang to Glenlyon,And there live at our ease.’—

‘I winna stay at Auchingour,Nor eat sweet milk and cheese,Nor go with thee to Glenlyon,For there I’ll ne’er find ease.’

Then out it spake his brother John,‘O were I in your place,I’d take that lady hame again,For a’ her bonny face.

‘Commend me to the lass that’s kind,Tho’ na so gently born;And, gin her heart I coudna gain,To take her hand I’d scorn.’—

‘O haud your tongue now, John,’ he says,‘You wis na what you say;For I have lo’ed that bonny faceThis twelve month and a day.

‘And tho’ I’ve lo’ed her lang and sair,A smile I ne’er cou’d win;Yet what I’ve got ance in my powerTo keep I think nae sin.’

When they came to Glenlyon Castle,They lighted at the yate,And out it came his sisters three,Wha did them kindly greet.

O they’ve ta’en Baby by the handsAnd led her o’er the green,And ilka lady spake a word,But bonny Baby spake nane.

Then out it spake her bonny Jean,The youngest o’ the three;‘O lady, dinna look sae sad,But tell your grief to me.’—

‘O wherefore should I tell my grief,Since lax[1274]I canna find?I’m stown frae a’ my kin and friends,And my love I left behind.

‘But had I paper, pen, and ink,Before that it were day,I yet might get a letter sentIn time to Johny Hay.’

O she’s got paper, pen, and ink,And candle that she might see,And she has written a broad letterTo Johny at Dundee.

And she has gotten a bonny boy,That was baith swift and strang,Wi’ philabeg and bonnet blue,Her errand for to gang.

‘O boy, gin ye’d my blessing winAnd help me in my need,Run wi’ this letter to my love,And bid him come wi’ speed.

‘And here’s a chain of good red gowd,And gowden guineas three,And when you’ve well your errand done,You’ll get them for your fee.’

The boy he ran o’er hill and dale,Fast as a bird cou’d flee,And ere the sun was twa hours heightThe boy was at Dundee.

And when he came to Johny’s doorHe knockèd loud and sair;Then Johny to the window came,And loudly cry’d, ‘Wha’s there?’—

‘O here’s a letter I have brought,Which ye maun quickly read,And, gin ye wou’d your lady save,Gang back wi’ me wi’ speed.’

O when he had the letter read,An angry man was he;He says, ‘Glenlyon, thou shalt rueThis deed of villany!

‘Woe be to thee, Glenlyon!’ he says,‘An ill death may thou dee!Thou micht hae ta’en anither woman,And let my lady be.

‘O saddle to me the black, the black,O saddle to me the brown,O saddle to me the swiftest steedThat e’er rade frae the town.

‘And arm ye well, my merry men a’,And follow me to the glen,For I vow I’ll neither eat nor sleepTill I get my love again.’

He’s mounted on a milk-white steed,The boy upon a gray,And they got to Glenlyon’s castleAbout the close of day.

As Baby at her window stood,The west wind saft did bla’;She heard her Johny’s well-kent voiceBeneath the castle wa’.

‘O Baby, haste, the window jump!I’ll kep you in my arm;My merry men a’ are at the yate,To rescue you frae harm.’

She’s to the window fixt her sheetsAnd slippèd safely down,And Johny catch’d her in his arms,Ne’er loot her touch the ground.

She’s mounted on her Johny’s horse,Fu’ blithely can she say,—‘Glenlyon, you hae lost your bride!She’s aff wi’ Johny Hay!’

Glenlyon and his brother JohnWere birling in the ha’,When they heard Johny’s bridle ring,As fast he rade awa’.

‘Rise, Jock! gang out and meet the priest,I hear his bridle ring!My Baby now shall be my wifeBefore the laverocks sing.’—

‘O brother, this is not the priest;I fear he’ll come owre late;For armèd men with shining brandsStand at the castle-yate.’—

‘Haste Donald, Duncan, Dugald, Hugh!Haste, take your sword and spier!We’ll gar these traytors rue the hourThat e’er they ventured here.’

The Highland men drew their claymores,And gae a warlike shout,But Johny’s merry men kept the yate,Nae ane durst venture out.

The lovers rade the live-lang night,And safe gat on their way,And bonny Baby LivingstonHas gotten Johny Hay.

‘Awa’, Glenlyon! fy for shame!Gae hide ye in some den!You’ve latten your bride be stown frae you,For a’ your armed men.’

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