But when he saw the ladye safe, "Come doun to me, ye ladye gay, "I winna come doun, ye fause Gordon, "Gi'e owre your house, ye ladye fair, "I winna gi'e owre, ye fause Gordon, And if ye burn my ain dear babes, "But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man, For, but if I pierce that bloody butcher, She stude upon her castle wa', And let twa bullets flee; She mist the bloody butcher's heart, And only razed his knee. "Set fire to the house!" quo' the fause Gordon, All wud wi' dule and ire; "Fause ladye! ye shall rue that shot, As ye birsle in the fire." "Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man, I paid ye weel your fee; Why pu' ye out the grund-wa-stane, Lets in the reek to me? "And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man, I paid you weel your hire; Why pu' ye out the grund-wa-stane, "Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye, But noo I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, 'Twas then outspak her youngest son, Says, "Mither dear, gi'e owre the house, “I wad gie a' my gowd, my bairn, For a'e blast o' the wastlin' wind, 'Twas then outspak her dochter dear 66 She was baith jimp and sma'— "O row me in a pair o' sheets, And tow me owre the wa'." They row'd her in a pair o' sheets, O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, Then wi' his spear he turn'd her owre, He said, "You are the first that e'er He turn'd her owre and owre again, "I might hae spared that bonnie face, "Back and boun, my merrie men a', I canna look on that bonnie face, "Wha looks to freits,* my master dear, It's freits will follow him; Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon Was daunted by a dame." But when the ladye saw the fire Come flaming owre her head, She wept, and kiss'd her children twain, The Gordon then his bugle blew, And cried, "Awa'! awa'! The house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame, O then she spied her ain dear lord As he cam' owre the lea; He saw his castle a' in a lowe, Sae far as he could see. * Omens. 'Twas sair, O sair his mind misgave, "Put on, put on, my michty men, As fast as she can drie ; For he that is hindmost o' the thrang Then some they rade, and some they ran, But ere the foremost could win up, He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, 66 'Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed, Ye sall weep tears o' bluid." And after the Gordon he has gane, Sae fast as he might drie. And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's bluid, And mony were the buirdly men Lay gasping on the green; And mony were the fair ladies Lay lemanless at hame. And mony were the buirdly men * Revenged. O round and round the wa's he went, At last into the flames he ran And bade the world adieu. The Twa Corbies. This brief but striking ballad is from Scott's Border Minstrelsy; and the fuller version subjoined, evidently a more modern composition, is from Motherwell's collection. There is an English copy printed by Ritson entitled "The Three Ravens," but the Scotch versions have the advantage of the English in point of graphic force and realistic horror. As I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane; "In behint yon auld fael dyke I wot there lies a new-slain knight; "His hound is to the hunting gane, So we may mak' our dinner sweet. "Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, We'll theck our nest when it grows bare. |