And when we came to the lower prison, Where Kinmont Willie he did lie. "O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, Upon the morn that thou's to die?" "O, I sleep saft, and I wake aft, It's long since sleeping was fley'd frae me! Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that speir for me!" The Red Rowan has lifted him up The starkest man in Teviotdale; "Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of Lord Scrope I take farewell. "Farewell, farewell, my good Lord Scrope, My good Lord Scrope, farewell," he cried, "I'll pay you for my lodging maill, When first we meet on the border side." Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, We bore him down the ladder lang, At every stride Red Rowan made I wot the Kinmont's airms played clang. "O, mony a time," quoth Kinmont Willie, "I have ridden horse both wild and woad, But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode!" We scarce had reached the Haneshaw bank, When all the Carlisle hills were rung, And a thousand men on horse and foot Came wi' the keen Lord Scrope along. Buccleugh has turned to Eden water, Even where it flowed from bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi' a' his band And safely swam them thro' the stream. He turned him on the other side, And at Lord Scrope his glove flung he, "If ye like na' my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me!" This was a daring exploit, and has been gallantly sung. The words seem to come out of the mouth of one of the very moss troopers who had acted a part in the achievement, and the whole composition is rough but finely flavoured; and strongly dramatic. Queen Elizabeth, when she heard of it, was highly indignant, and "stormed not a little." Two years afterwards, the "bold Buccleugh" was in England, and Elizabeth was anxious to see so doughty a chieftain. He was presented accordingly, and Elizabeth, in a rough and peremptory manner, demanded of him how he had dared to undertake an enterprise so desperate and presumptuous! "What is it," replied the undaunted Scot, "that a man dare not do?" Elizabeth, struck with his boldness, turned to a lord in waiting, and said, "with ten thousand men such as this, our brother of Scotland might shake the firmest throne in Europe." There is another ballad relating to the same Lord Scrope, and the execution of a noted reiver, named "Hughie the Græme," who had made woeful havoc in his time among the farmsteads of the Marches, and the cattle of "merry England." Hughie did not escape Hairibee. The actual offence for which he suffered was his stealing the Bishop of Carlisle's mare. The following is the ballad:-- HUGHIE THE GRÆME. Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane, He has ridden our moss and muir; And he has grippit Hughie the Græme, For stealing o' the bishop's mare.