SIR DAVID GREME.

THE dow flew east, the dow flew west,
The dow flew far ayont the fell,
An' sair at e'en she seem'd distrest,
But what perplext her could not tell.

But aye she cry'd, Cur-dow, cur-dow,
An' ruffled a' her feathers fair;
An' lookit sad, an' wadna bow
To taste the sweetest, finest ware.

The lady pined, an' some did blame
(She didna blame the bonny dow),
But sair she blamed Sir David Græme,
Wha now to her had broke his vow.

He swore by moon and stars sae bright, And by their bed-the grass sae green, To meet her there on Lammas night, Whatever dangers lay between:

To risk his fortune and his life,
To bear her from her father's ha',
To give her a' the lands o' Dryfe,
An' wed wi' her for gude an' a'.

1

THE

MOUNTAIN BARD,

AND

FOREST MINSTREL;

CONSISTING OF

LEGENDARY BALLADS AND SONGS.

BY

JAMES HOGG,

THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD

Fain would I hear our mountains ring

With blasts which former minstrels blew ;

Drive slumber hence on viewless wing,
And tales of other times renew.

PHILADELPHIA:

JOHN LOCKEN, 311 MARKET ST.