The gard'ner stands in his bower door, Wi' a primrose in his hand, And by there cam' a leal maiden, As jimp as a willow wand. "O ladie, can ye fancy me, For to be my bride? Ye'se get a' the flowers in my garden, To be to you a weed. "The lily white sail be your smock; It becomes your bodie best; Your head sail be buskt wi' gilly-flower, Wi' the primrose in your breast. "Your goun sall be the sweet-william; Your coat the camovine; Your apron o' the sallads neat, That taste baith sweet and fine. "Your hose sall be the brade kail-blade, That is baith brade and lang; Narrow, narrow at the cute, And brade, brade at the brawn. "Your gloves sail be the marigold, All glittering to your hand, Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort, That grows amang corn-land." "O fare ye well, young man," she says, "Fareweil, and I bid adieu; If you can fancy me," she says, "I canna fancy you. "Sin' ye've provided a weed for me Amang the simmer flowers, It's I'se provide anither for you, Amang the winter-showers: "The new fawn snaw to be your smock; It becomes your bodie best; Your head sall be wrapt wi' the eastern wind, And the cauld rain on your breast." * * * * * ETIN THE FORESTER. Lady Margaret sits in her bower door, Sewing her silken seam; She heard a note in Elmond's wood, And wished she there had been. She loot the seam fa' frae her side, And the needle to her tae, And she is aff to Elmond's wood As fast as she could gae. She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but ane, Till by there cam' a young hynd chiel, Says, "Lady, lat alane. "O why pu' ye the nut, the nut, Or why brake ye the tree? For I am forester o' this wood: Ye should spier leave at me." "I'll spier leave at na living man, Nor yet will I at thee; My father is king o'er a' this realm, This wood belangs to me." "You're welcome to the wood, Marg'ret, You're welcome here to me; A fairer bower than e'er you saw. I'll bigg this night for thee." He has bigged a bower beside the thorn, He has fenced it up wi' stane, And there within the Elmond wood, They twa has dwelt their lane. He kept her in the Elmond wood, For twelve lang years and mair; And seven fair sons to Hynd Etin, Did that gay lady bear. It fell out ance upon a day, To the hunting he has gane; And he has ta'en his eldest son, To gang alang wi' him. When they were in the gay greenwood, They heard the mavis sing; When they were up aboon the brae, They heard the kirk bells ring. "O I wad ask ye something, father, An' ye wadna angry be!" "Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me." "My mither's cheeks are aft-times weet, It's seldom they are dry; What is't that gars my mither greet, And sob sae bitterlie?"