He says he's sent ye five; He canna wait your love langer, Tho' you're the fairest woman alive." "Ye bid him bake his bridal bread, And brew his bridal ale; And I'll meet him in fair Scotland, Lang, lang ere it be stale." She's doen to her father dear, Fa'en low down on her knee: "A boon, a boon, my father dear, I pray you, grant it me." "Ask on, ask on, my daughter, An granted it shall be; Except ae squire in fair Scotland, An him you shall never see." "The only boon, my father dear, That I do crave of thee,-- Is, gin I die in Southern lands, In Scotland to bury me. "And the first in kirk that ye come till, Ye gar the bells be rung; And the nextin kirk that ye come to, Ye gar the mass be sung. "And the thirdin kirk that ye come till, You deal gold for my sake. And the fourthin kirk that ye come till, You tarry there till night." She has doen her to her bigly bower As fast as she could fare; And she has ta'en a sleepy draught, That she had mix'd wi' care. (_gar,_ make. _bigly,_ big.) The Gay Goss-Hawk ss' 63 She's laid her down upon her bed, An soon she fa en asleep, And soon o'er every tender limb Cold death began to creep. When night was flown, and day was come, Nae ane that did her see But thought she was a surely dead, As ony lady could be. Her father and her brothers dear Gar'd make to her a bier; The tae half was o' gude red gold, The tither o' silver clear. Her mither and her sisters fair Gar'd work for her a sark; The tae half was o' cambric fine The tither o' needle wark. An the first in kirk that they came till, They gar'd the bells be rung; The nextin kirk that they came till, They gar'd the mass be sung. The thirdin kirk that they came till, They dealt gold for her sake, An' the fourthin kirk that they came till, Lo, there they met her make. (_make_, mate.) "Lay down, lay down the bigly bier," "Let me the dead look on:" Wi' cherry cheeks and ruby lips She lay and smiled on him. "O ae shave of your bread, true love, An' ae glass of your wine; For I hae fasted for your sake These fully days is nine. "Gang hame, gang hame, my seven bold brithers, Gang hame and sound your horn! And ye may boast in southern lands Your sister's played you scorn." [Illustration: 0099] BROWN ADAM [Illustration: 9100] |O wha wad wish the wind to blaw, Or the green leaves fa' therewith? Or wha wad wish a lealer love Than Brown Adam the Smith? His hammer's o' the beaten gold, His study's o' the steel, (_study_, that which stands, i.e. the anvil (?)) His fingers white, are my delight, He blows his bellows weel. But they hae banish'd him, Brown Adam, Frae father and frae mother; And they hae banish'd him, Brown Adam,