The Baron cam' to the greenwood,
Wi' muckle dule and care,

And there he spied brave Gil Morrice
Kaiming his yellow hair.

His hair was like the threads o' gold
Drawn frae Minerva's loom;
His lips like roses drapping dew,
His breath a sweet perfume.

His brow was like the mountain snaw
Gilt by the morning beam;
His cheeks like living roses glowed,
His een like azure stream.

The boy was clad in robes o' green,
Sweet as the infant spring;
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gar't the valleys ring.

"Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gil Morrice,

My lady lo'ed thee weel,

The fairest part of my body

Is blacker than thy heel.

"Yet ne'ertheless, now, Gil Morrice.

For a' thy great beautie,

Ye'se rue the day that ye was born,

Thy head sall gae with me.

Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And slait it on the strae,

And through Gil Morrice' fair body

He's gar'd cauld iron gae.

And he has ta'en Gil Morrice' head,

And set it on a spear;

The meanest man in a' his train

Has got the head to bear.

And he has ta'en Gil Morrice up,

Laid him across his steed,

And brought him to his painted bower,
And laid him on a bed.

The lady sat on the castle wa',

Beheld baith dale and down,

And there she saw Gil Morrice' head
Come trailing to the town.

"Far mair I lo'e that bloody head,
But and that yellow hair,
Than Lord Barnard and a' his lands,
As they lie here and there."

And she has ta'en Gil Morrice' head,
And kissed baith mouth and chin;

"I ance was fu' of Gil Morrice,
As hip is o' the stane.

"I got thee in my father's house

Wi' muckle grief and shame,

And brought thee up in good green wood, Under the heavy rain.

Oft have I by thy cradle sat,
And seen thee soundly sleep,
But now I'll go about thy grave,
The saut, saut tears to weep."

And syne she kissed his bloody cheek,
And syne his bloody chin;
"Better I lo'e my Gil Morrice,
Than a' my kith and kin.”

66

Away, away ye ill woman,

An ill death may you dee,

Gin I had kenn'd he'd been your son,

He'd ne'er been slain by me.

"Upraid me not, Lord Barnard, Upraid me not for shame,

Wi' that same spear, oh pierce my heart, And put me out of pain.

"Since nothing but Gil Morrice' head
Thy jealous rage could queil,

Let that same hand now take her life,
That ne'er to thee did ill.

"To me nae after days nor nights
Will e'er be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind."

"Enough of blood by me's been spilt,
Seek not your death from me;
I rather it had been mysel',

Than either him or thee.

"With heart so wae I hear your plaint, Sair, sair I rue the deed,

That e'er this cursèd hand o' mine
Did gar his body bleed.

"Dry up your tears, my winsome dame, Ye ne'er can heal the wound,

You see his head upon my spear,
His heart's blood on the ground.

"I curse the hand that did the deed,
The heart that thought the ill,
The feet that bore me with such speed
The comely youth to kill.

"I'll aye lament for Gil Morrice

As gin he were my ain;
I'll ne'er forget the dreary day

On which the youth was slain."

The Bonnie Banks o' Fordie.

This old ballad was long a popular favourite in the southern parishes of Perthshire; and, I believe, is still occasionally heard by the cottage and bothy inglesides of that ilk. Its historical bearing (if any) and exact locality have never been clearly defined. Sometimes it is found under the title of " Baby-Lon," sometimes "The Duke of Perth's Three Daughters." But there is no tradition in the Perth ducal family corresponding with the story. There is, of course, the burn of Ordie in Perthshire-about equi-distant between Perth and Dunkeld-and no stream in Scotland of the name of Fordie, so far as I know; and since editors generally name Perthshire as the native locality of the ballad, may the original phraseology of the oft repeated title not have been "The bonnie banks of Ordie"? From that to "The bonnie banks o' Fordie" would be a simple and likely transition-probably is a clerical error.

The name of the hero, "Baby-Lon," is evidently a corruption by the reciters of "Burd-alane,” signifying “The Solitary.'

THERE were three ladies lived in a bower,
Ech, wow, bonnie!

An' they went forth to pu' a flower

On the bonnie banks o' Fordie.

They hadna pu'd a flower but ane,
Ech, wow, bonnie!

When up there started a banish'd man
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie.

He's taen the first sister by the hand,
Ech, wow, bonnie!

An' he's turned her round and made her stand
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie.

"Now, whether will ye be a rank robber's wife," Ech, wow, bonnie!

"Or will ye dee by my wee penknife

On the bonnie banks o' Fordie?"

"It's I'll no' be a rank robber's wife," Ech, wow, bonnie!

"But I'll rather dee by your wee penknife On the bonnie banks o' Fordie."

He's killed this May, an' he's laid her by,
Ech, wow, bonnie!

For to bear the red rose companie

On the bonnie banks o' Fordie.

He has ta'en the second ane by the hand,
Ech, wow, bonnie!

An' he's turned her round and made her stand
On the bonnie banks o' Fordie.

"It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife," Ech, wow, bonnie!

"Or will ye dee by my wee penknife

On the bonnie banks o' Fordie?"

"It's I'll no' be a rank robber's wife," Ech, wow, bonnie!

"But I'll rather dee by your wee penknife On the bonnie banks o' Fordie."

He's killed this May, an' he's laid her by,
Ech, wow, bonnie!

For to bear the red rose companie

On the bonnie banks o' Fordie.

Then he's ta'en the youngest by the hand,
Ech, wow, bonnie!

An' he's turned her round and made her stand

On the bonnie banks o' Fordie.