"O is there any of my towers burnt, Or any of my castles won? Or is Lady Marjorie brought to bed, 45 Of a daughter or a son?" "O there is nane of thy towers burnt, Nor nane of thy castles broken; But Lady Marjorie is condemned to die, To be burnt in a fire of oaken." 50 "O gar saddle to me the black," he says, "Gar saddle to me the broun; Gar saddle to me the swiftest steed That e'er carried a man frae toun!" He left the black into the slap, 55 The broun into the brae; But fair fa' that bonnie apple-gray That carried this gay lord away! "Beet on, beet on, my brother dear, I value you not one straw; 60 For yonder comes my ain true luve, I hear his horn blaw. "Beet on, beet on, my father dear, I value you not a pin; For yonder comes my ain true luve, 65 I hear his bridle ring." He took a little horn out of his pocket, And he blew't baith loud and schill; And wi' the little life that was in her, She hearken'd to it full weel. 70 But when he came into the place, He lap unto the wa'; He thought to get a kiss o' her bonnie lips, But her body fell in twa! "O vow! O vow! O vow!" he said, 75 "O vow! but ye've been cruel: Ye've taken the timber out of my ain wood, And burnt my ain dear jewel! "Now for thy sake, Lady Marjorie, I'll burn baith father and mother; 80 And for thy sake, Lady Marjorie, I'll burn baith sister and brother. "And for thy sake, Lady Marjorie, I'll burn baith kith and kin; But I'll aye remember the pretty little boy 85 That did thy errand rin." LEESOME BRAND. Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 38. This is properly a tragic story, as may be perceived by comparing the present corrupted version (evidently made up from several different sources) with the Danish and Swedish ballads. See _Herr Medelvold_, _Danske Viser_, iii. 361, _Die wahrsagenden Nachtigallen_, in Grimm's _Altdänische Heldenlieder_, p. 88, _Fair Midel and Kirsten Lyle_, translated by Jamieson, _Illustrations_, p. 377; and _Herr Redevall_, _Svenska Folkvisor_, ii. 189, _Krist' Lilla och Herr Tideman_, Arwidsson, i. 352, _Sir Wal and Lisa Lyle_, translated by Jamieson, p. 373. My boy was scarcely ten years auld, Whan he went to an unco land, Where wind never blew, nor cocks ever crew, Ohon! for my son, Leesome Brand. Awa' to that king's court he went, 5 It was to serve for meat an' fee; Gude red gowd it was his hire, And lang in that king's court stay'd he.