It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheugh; But at the gates o' Paradise That birk grew fair eneugh. 'Blow up the fire, my maidens! Bring water from the well! For a' my house shall feast this night, Since my three sons are well.' And she has made to them a bed, She 's made it large and wide; And she 's ta'en her mantle her about, Sat down at the bedside. Up then crew the red, red cock, And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said. ''Tis time we were away.' The cock he hadna craw'd but once, And clapp'd his wings at a', When the youngest to the eldest said, 'Brother, we must awa'. 'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerin' worm doth chide; Gin we be miss'd out o' our place, A sair pain we maun bide.' 'Lie still, lie still but a little wee while, Lie still but if we may; Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes, She'll go mad ere it be day.' 'Fare ye weel, my mother dear! Fareweel to barn and byre! And fare ye weel, the bonny lass That kindles my mother's fire!' fashes] troubles. syke] marsh. sheugh] trench. channerin'] fretting. Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent. 379. The Three Ravens THERE were three ravens sat on a tree, They were as black as they might be. The one of them said to his make, 'Where shall we our breakfast take?' 'Down in yonder greene field There lies a knight slain under his shield; 'His hounds they lie down at his feet, So well they can their master keep; 'His hawks they flie so eagerly, There 's no fowl dare come him nigh.' Down there comes a fallow doe As great with young as she might goe. She lift up his bloudy head And kist his wounds that were so red. She gat him up upon her back And carried him to earthen lake. She buried him before the prime, She was dead herself ere evensong time. God send every gentleman Such hounds, such hawks, and such a leman. make] mate. Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent. 380. The Twa Corbies (SCOTTISH VERSION) AS I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane: The tane unto the tither did say, 'Whar sall we gang and dine the day?' '--In behint yon auld fail dyke I wot there lies a new-slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. 'His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady 's ta'en anither mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet. 'Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en: Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 'Mony a one for him maks mane, But nane sall ken whar he is gane: O'er his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair.' corbies] ravens. fail] turf. hause] neck. theek] thatch. Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent. 381. A Lyke-Wake Dirge THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte, --Every nighte and alle, Fire and fleet and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thy saule.