Fair Annie's taen a silver can, Afore the bride to skink; And down her cheeks the tears ay run, Upon hersell to think. 140 The bride gan stand her lord before: "Now speak, and dinna spare; Whare is this fair young lady frae? Whareto greets she sae sair?" "O hear ye now, dear lady mine, 145 The truth I tell to thee; It is but a bonny niece of mine, That is come o'er the sea." "O wae is me, my lord," she says, "To hear you say sic wrang; 150 It can be nane but your auld lemman; God rede whare she will gang!" "Then till her sorrow, and till her wae, I'll tell the truth to thee; For she was sald frae fremmit lands, 155 For mickle goud to me. "Her bairntime a' stand her before, Her seven young sons sae fair; And they maun now your pages be, That maks her heart sae sair." 160 "A little sister ance I had, A sister that hight Ann; By reivers she was stown awa', And sald in fremmit land. "She was a bairn when she was stown, 165 Yet in her tender years; And sair her parents mourn'd for her, Wi' mony sighs and tears. "Art thou fair Annie, sister mine, Thou noble violet flower? 170 Her mither never smil'd again Frae Annie left her bower! "O thou art she! a sister's heart Wants nane that tale to tell! And there he is, thy ain true lord; 175 God spare ye lang and well!" And gladness through the palace spread, Wi' mickle game and glee; And blythe were a' for fair Annie, Her bridal day to see. 180 And now untill her father's land This young bride she is gane; And her sister Annie's youngest son She hame wi' her has ta'en. LADY MARGARET. See p. 205. From Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 180. "The corn is turning ripe, Lord John, The nuts are growing fu', And ye are bound for your ain countrie; Fain wad I go wi' you." "Wi me, Marg'ret, wi me, Marg'ret, 5 What wad ye do wi' me? I've mair need o' a pretty little boy, To wait upon my steed." "It's I will be your pretty little boy, To wait upon your steed; 10 And ilka town that we come to, A pack of hounds I'll lead." "My hounds will eat o' the bread o' wheat, And ye of the bread of bran: And then you will sit and sigh, 15 That e'er ye loed a man." The first water that they cam to, I think they call it Clyde, He saftly unto her did say,-- "Lady Marg'ret, will ye ride?" 20