Says,--"Drap the het lead on her cheek, And drap it on her chin, And drap it on her rose-red lips, And she will speak again; O meikle will a maiden do, To her true love to win!" They drapt the het lead on her cheek, They drapt it on her chin, They drapt it on her rose-red lips, But breath was nane within. Then up arose her seven brothers, And made for her a bier; The boards were of the cedar wood, The plates o' silver clear. And up arose her seven sisters, And made for her a sark; The claith of it was satin fine, The steeking silken wark. The first Scots kirk that they cam' to, They gar'd the bells be rung; The neist Scots kirk that they cam' to, They gar'd the mass be sung. The third Scots kirk that they cam' to, They dealt the gowd for her; The fourth Scots kirk that they cam' to, Her true-love met them there. "Set down, set down the bier," he quoth, Till I look on the dead; The last time that I saw her face, Her cheeks were rosy red." He rent the sheet upon her face, A little abune the chin; And fast he saw her colour come, And sweet she smiled on him. "O give me a chive of your bread, my love, And ae drap o' your wine; For I have fasted for your sake, These weary lang days nine! "Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brothers; Gae hame an' blaw your horn! I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith, But I've gi'ed you the scorn. "I cam' not here to fair Scotland, To lie amang the dead; But I cam' here to fair Scotland, Wi' my ain true-love to wed." * * * * * YOUNG REDIN. Fair Catherine from her bower-window Looked over heath and wood; She heard a smit o' bridle-reins, And the sound did her heart good. "Welcome, young Redin, welcome! And welcome again, my dear! Light down, light down from your horse," she "It's long since you were here." "O gude morrow, lady, gude morrow, lady; God mak' you safe and free! I'm come to tak' my last fareweel, And pay my last visit to thee. "I mustna light, and I canna light, I winna stay at a'; For a fairer lady than ten of thee Is waiting at Castleswa'." "O if your love be changed, my dear, Since better may not be, Yet, ne'ertheless, for auld lang syne, Bide this ae night wi' me." She birl'd him wi' the ale and wine, As they sat down to sup; A living man he laid him down, But I wot he ne'er rose up. "Now lie ye there, young Redin," she says, "O lie ye there till morn,-- Though a fairer lady than ten of me Is waiting till you come home! "O lang, lang is the winter night, Till day begins to daw; There is a dead man in my bower, And I would he were awa'." She cried upon her bower-maiden, Aye ready at her ca': "There is a knight into my bower, 'Tis time he were awa'." They've booted him and spurred him, As he was wont to ride, A hunting-horn tied round his waist, A sharp sword by his side; And they've flung him into the wan water, The deepest pool in Clyde.