The Queen of Scots possessèd nought That my luve let me want; For cow and ewe he to me brought, And e'en when they were scant: All these did honestly possess, He never did annoy Who never failed to pay their cess To my luve Gilderoy. My Gilderoy, baith far and near, Was fear'd in every toun, And bauldly bare awa' the gear Of many a lawland loun: For man to man durst meet him nane, He was sae brave a boy; At length with numbers he was ta'en, My winsome Gilderoy. Wae worth the loun that made the laws, To hang a man for gear; To reive of life for sic a cause, As stealing horse or mare! Had not these laws been made sae strick, I ne'er had lost my joy, Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheek, For my dear Gilderoy. Gif Gilderoy had done amiss, He might have banished been. Ah, what sair cruelty is this, To hang sic handsome men! To hang the flower o' Scottish land, Sae sweet and fair a boy! Nae lady had so white a hand As thee, my Gilderoy. Of Gilderoy sae 'fraid they were, They bound him meikle strong, To Edinburgh they took him there, And on a gallows hung: They hung him high aboon the rest, He was sae trim a boy; There died the youth whom I lo'ed best, My handsome Gilderoy. Sune as he yielded up his breath, I bare his corpse away, Wi' tears that trickled for his death, I wash'd his comely clay; And sicker in a grave sae deep I laid the dear-lo'ed boy; And now forever I maun weep My winsome Gilderoy. * * * * * BONNY BARBARA ALLAN. It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a falling, That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country, Fell in love with Barbara Allan. He sent his men down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling: "O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan." O hooly, hooly rose she up, To the place where he was lying, And when she drew the curtain by, "Young man, I think you're dying." "O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick, And it's a' for Barbara Allan;" "O the better for me ye's never be, Tho your heart's blood were a spilling. "O dinna ye mind, young man," said she, "When ye was in the tavern a drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?" He turned his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing; "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan." And slowly, slowly raise she up, And slowly, slowly left him, And sighing said, she could not stay, Since death of life had reft him. She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell gied, It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan! "O mother, mother, make my bed! O make it saft and narrow! Since my love died for me to-day, I'll die for him to-morrow." * * * * * THE GARDENER.