12 He has taen the narrow ford, An she has taen the wide; Lang, lang ere he was at the middle, She was sittin at the ither side. 13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wi sighen said that Fair Margaret, Alace, I'm far frae hame! 14 'Hoo mony miles is't to your castle? Noo Lord John, tell to me;' 'Hoo mony miles is't to my castle? It's thirty miles an three:' Wi sighen said that Fair Margaret, It'll never be gane by me! 15 But up it spak the wily bird, As it sat on the tree, 'Rin on, rin on noo, Fair Margaret, It scarcely miles is three.' 16 Whan they cam to the wide Hielands, An lichted on the green, Every an spak Erse to anither, But Margaret she spak nane. 17 Whan they waur at table set, An birlin at the best, Margaret set at a bye-table, An fain she wald hain rest. 18 'Oh mither, mither, mak my bed Wi clean blankets an sheets, An lay my futeboy at my feet, The sounder I may sleep.' 19 She has made Lord John his bed, Wi clean blankets an sheets, An laid his futeboy at his feet, But neer a wink culd he sleep. 20 'Win up, win up noo, Fair Margaret, An see that my steed has meat; See that his corn is in his travisse, Nor lyin amang his feet.' 21 Slowly, slowly rase she up, An slowly put she on, An slowly gaed she doon the stair, Aye makin a heavy moan. * * * * * * * 22 'An asken, an asken, gude Lord John, I pray you grant it me; For the warst bed in a' your hoose, To your young son an me.' 23 'Your asken is but sma, Margaret, Sune grantet it shall be; For the best bed in a' my hoose Is owre little for thee.' 24 'An asken, an asken, gude Lord John, I pray you grant it me; For the warst ale in a' your hoose, That ye wald gie to me.' 25 'Your asken is but sma, Margaret, Sune grantet it sall be; For the best wine in a' my hoose Is owre little for thee. 26 'But cheer up your heart noo, Fair Margaret, For, be it as it may, Your kirken an your fair weddin Sall baith be on one day.' F Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 114, from Mrs Arrot of Arberbrothick. 1 Lord Thomas stands in his stable-door, Seeing his steeds kaimd down; Lady Ellen sits at her bower-door, Sewing her silver seam. 2 'O will ye stay at hame, Ellen, And sew your silver seam? Or will ye to the rank highlands? For my lands lay far frae hame.' 3 'I winna stay at hame, Lord Thomas, And sew my silver seam; But I'll gae to the rank highlands, Tho your lands lay far frae hame.' * * * * * * *