The French King first he lauchit loud, And syne did he begin to sing; "My een are auld, and my heart is cauld, Or I suld hae known the minstrels' King. "Gae take to him this ring o' gowd, And this mantle o' the silk sae fine, And bid him mak a maister sang For his sovereign ladye's sake and mine." "I winna take the gowden ring, Nor yet the mantle fine: But I'll mak the sang for my ladye's sake, And for a cup of wine." The Queen was sitting at the cards, The King ahint her back; And aye she dealed the red honours, And aye she dealed the black; And syne unto the dourest Prince She spak richt courteouslie;-- "Now will ye play, Lord Admiral, Now will ye play wi' me?" The dourest Prince he bit his lip, And his brow was black as glaur; "The only game that e'er I play Is the bluidy game o' war!" "And gin ye play at that, young man, It weel may cost ye sair; Ye'd better stick to the game at cards, For you'll win nae honours there!" The King he leuch, and the Queen she leuch, Till the tears ran blithely doon; But the Admiral he raved and swore, Till they kicked him frae the room. The harper came, and the harper sang, And oh but they were fain; For when he had sung the gude sang twice, They called for it again. It was the sang o' the Field o' Gowd, In the days of auld langsyne; When bauld King Henry crossed the seas, Wi' his brither King to dine. And aye he harped, and aye he carped, Till up the Queen she sprang-- "I'll wad a County Palatine, Gude Walter made that sang." Three days had come, three days had gane, The fourth began to fa', When our gude Queen to the Frenchman said, "It's time I was awa! "O, bonny are the fields o' France, And saftly draps the rain; But my bairnies are in Windsor Tower, And greeting a' their lane. "Now ye maun come to me, Sir King, As I have come to ye; And a benison upon your heid For a' your courtesie! "Ye maun come, and bring your ladye fere; Ye sall na say me no; And ye'se mind, we have aye a bed to spare For that gawsy chield Guizot." Now he has ta'en her lily-white hand, And put it to his lip, And he has ta'en her to the strand, And left her in her ship. "Will ye come back, sweet bird?" he cried, "Will ye come kindly here, When the lift is blue, and the lavrocks sing, In the spring-time o' the year?" "It's I would blithely come, my Lord, To see ye in the spring; It's I would blithely venture back But for ae little thing. "It isna that the winds are rude, Or that the waters rise, But I loe the roasted beef at hame, And no thae puddock-pies!" The Massacre of the Macpherson. [FROM THE GAELIC.] I. Fhairshon swore a feud Against the clan M'Tavish; Marched into their land To murder and to rafish; For he did resolve To extirpate the vipers, With four-and-twenty men And five-and-thirty pipers. II.