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CXXXIII

FORSAK’EN

O waly waly up the bank,

And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly yon burn-side

Where I and my Love wont to gae ! I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree ; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,

Sae my true Love did lichtly me.

O waly waly, but love be bonny

A little time while it is new ;
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld

And fades awa’ like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head ?

Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? For my true Love has me forsook,

And says he'll never loe me mair.

bed ;

Now Arthur-seat sall be my

The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me : Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,

Since my true Love has forsaken me. Marti’mas wind, when wilt thou blaw

And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come ?

For of my life I am wearie.

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,

But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town

We were a comely sight to see ;
My Love was clad in the black velvét,

And I mysell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kist,

That love had been sae ill to win ;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd

And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
And, o ! if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysell were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!

Anon.

CXXXIV

Upon my lap my sovereign sits
And sucks upon my breast;
Meantime his love maintains my life
And gives my sense her rest.

Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

When thou hast taken thy repast,
Repose, my babe, on me ;
So may thy mother and thy nurse
Thy cradle also be.

Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy !

I grieve that duty doth not work
All that my wishing would,
Because I would not be to thee
But in the best I should.

Sing lullalıy, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

Yet as I am,

and as

I

may,
I must and will be thine,
Though all too little for thy self
Vouchsafing to be mine.

Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

Anon.

CXXXV

FAIR HELEN

I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
o that I were where Helen lies

On fair Kirconnell lea!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,

And died to succour me !
O think na but my heart was sair
When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair!
I laid her down wi' meikle care

On fair Kirconnell lea.

As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my fue to be my guide,

On fair Kirconnell lea;
I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
I hacked him in pieces sma',

For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare !
I'll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair

Until the day I die.
O that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries ;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,

Says, 'Haste and come to me!'
( Helen fair! O Helen chaste !
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest

On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,

On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish I were where Helen lies ;

ght and day or me she cries; And I am weary of the skies, Since my Love died for me.

Anon.

CXXXVI

THE TWA CORBIES
As I was walking all alane
I heard twa corbies making a mane ;
The tane unto the t'other say,
'Where sall we gang and dine today?'

-In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain Knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
• His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.

'Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pick out his bonnie blue een :
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare,

Mony a one for him makes mane, But nane sall ken where he is gane ; O’er his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair.'

Anon.

CXXXVII

ON THE DEATH OF MR. WILLIAM

HERVEY

LIAM

a

It was a dismal and a fearful night,-
Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling light,
When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast,

By something liker death possest.
My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow,

And on my soul hung the dull weight

Of some intolerable fate. What bell was that? Ah me! Too much I know !

My sweet companion, and my gentle peer,
Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here,
Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan?

O thou hast left me all alone !
Thy soul and body, when death's agony

Besieged around thy noble heart,

Did not with more reluctance part Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee. Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, Have ye not seen us, walking every day? Was there a tree about which did not know

The love betwixt us two? Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade,

Or your sad branches thicker join,

And into darksome shades combine, Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid. Large was his soul ; as large a soul as e'er Submitted to inform a body here ; High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have,

But low and humble as his grave ; So high that all the virtues there did come

As to the chiefest seat

Conspicuous, and great ;
So low that for me too it made a room.

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