« AnteriorContinuar »
Ah, no! the die was foully cast,
Her fondest earthly hope was gone; Her soul had brooded o'er the past,
Till pale despair remain'd alone. Her heart abused, her love misused,
Her parents drooping to the tomb, Weeping, she fled to desert bed,
To perish in its ample dome.
Was written for Albyn's Anthology, where it appeared to an old Border air of one part, which Mr Campbell had picked up. I have an impression that the ballad was founded on some published legend, but where it is to be found I have quite forgot.
“ O will you walk the wood, ladye,
Or will you walk the lea,
An' rest a while wi' me ?”
The wind blaws on the lea,
It shall not be wi' thee."
“ The stag bells on my hills, ladye,
The hart but an the hind, My flocks spread o'er the Border dales,
My steeds outstrip the wind.
A thousand tend my ca';
No ill can thee befa'.
“ D’ye mind when in that lonely bower
Meeting at eventide,
bride? I saw the blush break on your cheek,
The tear stand in your ee;
That then y e loed nae me ?”
“ But sair, sair hae I rued that day,
An' sairer yet may rue !
Nor yet my rosy hue.
Ye thought nae on my bridal bed,
Nae vow nor tear o' mine
Ye thought upon the lands o' Nith,
And how they might be thine.
“ Away, ye cruel fause leman !
Nae mair my bosom wring; There is a bird into yon bower,
O gin ye heard it sing!" “ Lady, beware! Some words there are
That secrets may betray-
What dares your wee bird say ?”
“It hirples on the bough, and sings,
O wae's me, dame, for thee!
That sleeps beneath the tree !
Nae belt or brand has he ;
My yeomen line the wood, ladye,
My steed stands at the tree,
Or mount an' ride wi' me.”
What gars the Jardine mount his steed,
An' scour o'er moor and dale ?
The Johnstones, with an hundred strong,
Have pass’d the sands o' Dryfe,
That dearer was than life.
And down by Tarras linn?
The heiress of the lands of Nith
Is lost to all her kin.
O lang, lang may her mother greet,
Down by the salt sea-faem;
Afore their bride come hame.