'And there it is, a silken sark,
'Your ain hand sew'd the sleive;
'Ye maun gae speik to Child Maurice;
'Speir na bauld baron's leive.'

She lady stamped wi' her foot,
And winked wi' her eie;
But a' that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wald nae be.

"It's surely to my bower-woman,
"It neir cold be to me."

I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady,
'I trow that ye be she.'

Then up and spak the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon her knie),
"If it be come from Child Maurice
"It's deir welcum to me."

‹ Ye lie, ye lie, ye filthy nurse,
'Sae loud as I heir ye lie;
'I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady
'I trow ye be nae shee.'

Then up and spake the bauld baron
An angry man was he:
He has tane the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knie,
Till crystal cup and ezar dish

In flinders he gard flie.

"Gae bring a robe of your cliding, "Wi' a' the haste ye can, "And I'll gae to the gude grenewode, "And speik wi' your lemman."

'O bide at hame now Lord Barnard! 'I ward ye bide at hame;

"Neir wyte a man for violence, 'Wha neir wyte ye wi' nane.'

Child Maurice sat in the grenewode,
He whistled and he sang;
“O what meins a' the folk coming?
My mother tarries lang."

The baron to the grenewode cam,
Wi' meikle dule and care;

And there he first spy'd Child Maurice,
Kaming his yellow hair.

'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Child Maurice, 'My lady loes thee weil:

The fairest part of my body

Is blacker than thy heil.

‹ Yet neir the less now, Child Maurice,
For a' thy great bewtie,
'Ye'se rew the day ye eir was born;
'That head sall gae wi' me.'

Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And slaided owr the strae;
And throuch Child Maurice fair body
He gar'd the cauld iron gae.

And he has tane Child Maurice heid,
And set it on a speir;

The meinest man in a' his train
Has gotten that heid to beir.

And he has tane Child Maurice up,
Laid him across his steid;
And brocht him to his painted bower,
And laid him on a bed.

The lady on the castle wa'

Beheld baith dale and down;

And there she saw Child Maurice heid
Cum trailing to the toun.

"Better I loe that bluidy heid, "Bot and that yellow hair,

"Than Lord Barnard and a' his lands “As they lig here and there.”

And she has tane Child Maurice heid,
And kissed baith cheik and chin;
"I was anes fow of Child Maurice,
"As the hip is o' the stane.

"I gat ye in my father's house
"Wi' meikle sin and shame;
I brocht ye up in the grenewode
"Ken'd to mysell alane:

"Aft have I by thy craddle sitten,
"And fondly sein thee sleip;
"But now I maun gae 'bout thy grave
"A mother's teirs to weip."

Again she kiss'd his bluidy cheik,
Again his bluidy chin;

"O better I loed my son Maurice,
"Than a' my kyth and kin !"

Awa, awa, ye ill woman,

An ill dethe may ye die!

'Gin I had ken'd he was your son
"He had neir been slayne by me.'

"Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard!
"Obraid me not for shame!

"Wi' that sam speir, O perce my heart, "And save me frae my pain!

"Since nothing but Child Maurice head Thy jealous rage cold quell,

"Let that same hand now tak her lyfe, "That neir to thee did ill.

"To me nae after days nor nichts
"Will eir be saft or kind:
"I'll fill the air wi' heavy sichs,
"And greit till I be blind."

'Eneuch of bluid by me's been spilt,
'Seek not your dethe frae me;
'I'd rather far it had been mysell,
'Than either him or thee.

'Wi' hopeless wae I hear your plaint,
'Sair, sair I rue the deid,-
'That eir this cursed hand of mine
'Sold gar his body bleid!

Dry up your teirs, my winsome dame,
They neir can heal the wound;

'Ye see his heid upon the speir,
'His heart's bluid on the ground.

'I curse the hand that did the deid,
'The heart that thocht the ill,
'The feet that bare me wi' sic speid,
'The comelie youth to kill.

'I'll aye lament for Child Maurice
As gin he war my ain;
'I'll neir forget the dreiry day

'On which the youth was slain.'

This Ballad, incomparable for pathos, is undoubtedly Scottish, and one of the oldest in print. It is here given from one of the oldest copies, and has been carefully collated with more than a dozen different editions. Several verses to be found in modern editions, describing the Child as having hair "like threads of gold drawn from the loom of Minerva,” a "snawy brow, cheeks like roses," and a breath remarkable for perfume, I have omitted as evident interpolations nowise harmonizing with the general tone and spirit of the Ballad. I may add that it has been general. ly supposed that this Ballad furnished Home with the plot for his Tragedy of Douglas.

II.

GILDEROY.

GILDEROY was a bonny boy,
Had roses till his shoon;
His stockings were of silken soy,
Wi' garters hanging doun.
It was, I ween, a comelie sight
To see sae trim a boy:
He was my joy, and heart's delight,
My handsome Gilderoy.

O sic twa charming een he had!
Breath sweet as ony rose:
He never ware a highland plaid,
But costly silken clothes.
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,
Nane eer to him was coy:
Ah wae is me, I mourn the day
For my dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I were born
Baith in ae toun together;
We scant were seven years beforn
We gan to luve ilk ither:
Our dadies and our mamies thay
Were fill'd wi' mickle joy,
To think upon the bridal day
Of me and Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy, that luve of mine
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark of Holland fine
Wi' dainty ruffles wrought;
And he gied me a wedding ring
Which I receiv'd wi' joy:
Nae lad nor lassie eer could sing
Like me and Gilderoy.