He thought the warlocks o' the rosy cross,1
Had fanged him in their nets sae fast;
Or that the gipsies' glamoured gang?

Had laired his learning at the last.

'Hey! Batty, lad! far yaud! far yaud!'

These were the morning sounds heard he;

And ever 'Alack!' auld Durie cried,

'The de'il is hounding his tykes on me!'

And whiles a voice on Baudrons cried,

With sound uncouth, and sharp, and hie;

'I have tar-barrelled mony a witch,3

But now, I think, they'll clear scores wi' me!'

The King has caused a bill be wrote,

And he has set it on the Tron,

'He that will bring Lord Durie back,

Shall have five hundred merks and one.'

Traquair has written a privie letter,

And he has sealed it wi' his seal,

'Ye may let the auld brock out o' the poke; The land's my ain, and a's gane weel.'

O Will has mounted his bonny black,

And to the tower of Græme did trudge,

1 See Note 32.

2 See Note 33.

See Note 34.

And once again, on his sturdy back,
Has he hente up the weary judge.

He brought him to the council stairs, And there full loudly shouted he, 'Gie me my guerdon, my sovereign liege,

And take ye back your auld Durie!'

THOMAS THE RHYMER1

PART FIRST

ANCIENT

TRUE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his ee;
And there he saw a ladye bright,

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilka tett of her horse's mane,
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap,
And louted low down to his knee,

'All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven! For thy peer on earth I never did see.'

'O no, O no, Thomas,' she said,

'That name does not belang to me;

I am but the queen of fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.

1 See Note 35.

'Harp and carp, Thomas,' she said; 'Harp and carp along wi' me;

And if ye dare to kiss my lips,

Sure of your bodie I will be.'

'Betide me weal, betide me woe,

That weird shall never daunton me.'
Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.

'Now, ye maun go wi' me,' she said;

'True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;

And ye maun serve me seven years,

Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be.'

She mounted on her milk-white steed;
She's ta'en true Thomas up behind:
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung,

The steed flew swifter than the wind.

O they rade on, and farther on;

The steed gaed swifter than the wind;

Until they reached a desert wide,

And living land was left behind.

'Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, And lean your head upon my knee;

Abide and rest a little space,

And I will shew you ferlies three.

'O see ye not yon narrow road,

So thick beset with thorns and briers?

That is the path of righteousness,

Though after it but few enquires.

'And see ye not that braid braid road, That lies across that lily leven?

That is the path of wickedness,

Though some call it the road to heaven.

'And see not ye that bonny road,

That winds about the fernie brae?

That is the road to fair Elfland,

Where thou and I this night maun gae.

'But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see;

For, if you speak word in Elflyn land,

Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie.'

O they rade on, and farther on,

And they waded through rivers aboon the knee,

And they saw neither sun nor moon,

But they heard the roaring of the sea.