They theekit it o'er wi' rashes green, But the pest cam frae the burrows town, They thought to lye in Methven kirk yard, But they maun lye in Stronach Haugh, And Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, They war twa bonnie lasses! They biggit a bower on yon burn brae, And theekit it o'er wi' rashes. [From the Ballad Book, 1824. "There is much tenderness and simplicity in these verses.'-SIR WALTER SCOTT. The story of Bessy Bell and Mary Gray has been so often told, and is so well known, that it need not be repeated here. See Allan Ramsay's singular alteration of this pathetic ballad.] MUIRLAND WILLIE. Hearken, and I will tell you how But ay, he cried, whate'er betide, On his gray yaud as he did ride, Out o'er yon moss, out o'er yon moor, Till he came to her daddie's door. Goodman, quo he, be ye within? Now wooer, quo' he, wad ye light doun, Now, wooer, sin ye are lighted doun, The wooer he stepped up the house, I hae three owsen in a pleugh, Twa good gaun yaudes and gear aneugh, The place they ca' it Cadeneugh, I scorn to tell a lee! Forbye I have, frae the great laird, The maid put on her kirtle brown, The lover he stended up in haste, To win your love, lass, I'm come here, Troth try me whan you like. He took off his bonnet, and spat in his chow, The maiden blushed and binged fu' law, As they twa could agree. The lover he gae her the tither kiss, Your daughter wadna say me na, A kiln fu' o' corn, I'll gie to thée, Content, quo Willie, a feast-a feast, The bridal day it came to pass, Wi' mony a blythesome lad and lass, The winsome couple straked hands, Mess John tied up the marriage bands. * I have followed Allan Cunningham's copy of this verse, which is much more graphic than the original wording. And our bride's maidens werena few, Their toys and mutches were sae clean, Sic hirdum dirdum and sic din, And aye they reel'd and aye they set, [This is a long song and a good song. It was first published by Allan Ramsay.] FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNEL. I wish I were where Helen lies- O think nae ye my heart was sair She sank and swoon'd wi' meikle care On fair Kirconnel lea. Curst be the heart that thought the thought, As I went down the water wide, With sword in hand and side by side, On fair Kirconnel lea; The small bird ceased its song with awe For her that died for me. O that I were where Helen lies, I wish my grave were growing green, On fair Kirconnel lea. I wish I were where Helen lies, [It would be endless work to give the many variations in the song of Fair Helen, half a volume might be taken up in giving different |