"An' what brings the laird at sic a like time?" She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown, Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down. An' when she cam' ben he bow'd fu' low, An' what was his errand he soon let her know; Amazed was the laird when the lady said "Na," And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa'. Dumfounder'd was he, nae sigh did he gie, He mounted his mare--he rade cannily; An' aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen, "She's daft to refuse the laird o' Cockpen." ----Carolina, Lady Nairne. _(Stanzas added by Miss Ferrier)_ And now that the laird his exit had made, Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said; "Oh, for ane I'll get better, its waur I'll get ten, I was daft to refuse the laird o' Cockpen." Next time that the laird and the lady were seen, They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green; Now she sits in the ha like a weel-tappit hen, But as yet there's nae chickens appear'd at Cockpen. [Illustration: 0066] THE LIDDEL BOWER |Oh, will ye walk the wood, lady? Or will ye walk the lea? Or will ye gae to the Liddel Bower, An' rest a while wi' me?" "The deer lies in the wood, Douglas, The wind blaws on the lea; An' when I gae to Liddel Bower It shall not be wi' thee." "The stag bells on my hills, Lady, The hart but and the hind; My flocks lie in the Border dale, My steeds outstrip the wind; "At ae blast o' my bugle horn, A thousand tend the ca: Oh, gae wi' me to Liddel Bower-- What ill can thee befa'? "D ye mind when in that lonely bower We met at even tide, I kissed your young an' rosy lips, An' wooed you for my bride? "I saw the blush break on your cheek, The tear stand in your e'e; Oh, could I ween, fair Lady Jane, That then ye lo'ed na me?" "But sair, sair hae I rued that day, An' sairer yet may rue; Ye thought na on my maiden love, Nor yet my rosy hue. "Ye thought na' on my bridal bed, Nor vow nor tear o' mine; Ye thought upon the lands o' Nith, An' how they might be thine. "Away! away! ye fause leman, Nae mair my bosom wring: There is a bird within yon bower, Oh, gin ye heard it sing!" Red grew the Douglas' dusky cheek, He turned his eye away, The gowden hilt fell to his hand; "What can the wee bird say?" It hirpled on the bough an' sang, "Oh, wae's me, dame, for thee, An' wae's me for the comely knight That sleeps aneath the tree! "His cheek lies on the cauld, cauld clay, Nae belt nor brand has he; His blood is on a kinsman's spear; Oh, wae's me, dame, for thee!" "My yeomen line the wood, lady, My steed stands at the tree; An' ye maun dree a dulefu' weird, Or mount and fly wi' me." What gars Caerlaverock yeomen ride Sae fast in belt an' steel? What gars the Jardine mount his steed, And scour owre muir and dale? Why seek they up by Liddel ford,