9 'O hast thou died, Fair Nancybelle, O hast thou died for me! O hast thou died, Fair Nancybelle! Then I will die for thee.' 10 Fair Nancybelle died, as it might be, this day, Lord Lavel he died tomorrow; Fair Nancybelle died with pure, pure love, Lord Lavel he died with sorrow. 11 Lord Lavel was buried in Mary's kirk, Nancybelle in Mary's quire; And out o the ane there grew a birk, Out the other a bonny brier. 12 And ae they grew, and ae they threw, Until they twa did meet, That ilka ane might plainly see They war twa lovers sweet. C Communicated by Mr Alexander Laing, 1873, as taken down from the recitation of Miss Fanny Walker, of Mount Pleasant, near Newburgh-on-Tay. 1 Lord Travell stands in his stable-door, Dressing his milk-white steed, An bye comes Lady Ounceville: 'I wish you muckle speed. 2 'Oh whar are ye gaun, Lord Travell?' she says, 'Whar are gaun frae me?' 'I am gaun to London town, Some strange things for to see.' 3 'Whan will ye be back, Lord Travell?' she says, 'Whan will ye be back to me?' 'I will be back in seven lang years, To wed my gay ladie.' 4 'Oh that is too lang for me,' she says, 'Oh that is too lang for me; Oh that is too lang for me,' she says, 'To wed thy gay ladie.' 5 He hadna been in London town A week but only three, Whan a boding voice thirld in his ear, That Scotland he maun see. 6 He rade an he rode alang the highway, Till he cam to yon little town: 'Oh is there ony body dead? The bells they mak sic a sound.' 7 He rade an he rode alang the highway, Till he cam to yon little town: 'Oh is there ony body dead? The folk gae mournin round.' 8 'Oh yes indeed, there is ane dead, Her name is Ounceville; An she has died for a courteous knicht, His name is Lord Travell.' 9 'Oh hand ye aboot, ye gentlemen, The white bread an the wine, For the morn's nicht aboot this time Ye'll do the same for mine!' D Kinloch MSS, VII, 83, from the recitation of a lady of Roxburghshire; Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 31. 1 Lord Lovel stands at his stable-door, Mounted upon a grey steed, And bye cam Ladie Nanciebel, And wishd Lord Lovel much speed. 2 'O whare are ye going, Lord Lovel? My dearest, tell unto me:' 'I am going a far journey, Some strange countrey to see. 3 'But I'll return in seven long years, Lady Nanciebel to see:' 'Oh seven, seven, seven long years, They are much too long for me.' * * * * * * * 4 He was gane about a year away, A year but barely ane, Whan a strange fancy cam intil his head That faire Nanciebel was gane.