8 . . . . . . . And was caain out her father’s kye, When by came a troop of gentlemen, Were riding along the way. 9 ‘Fair may it fa thee, weel-fa’rt may! Wha’s aught the bairn ye’re wi?’ ‘O I hae a husband o my ain, To father my bairn te.’ 10 ‘You lie, you lie, you well-far’d may, Sae loud’s I hear you lie! Do you mind the dark and misty night I was in the bught wi thee?’ 11 ‘Oh well do I ken by your milk-white steed, And by your merry winkin ee, That you are the laird of Lochinvar, That was in the bught wi me.’ * * * * * K Joseph Robertson’s Journal of Excursions, No 6; “taken down from a man in the parish of Leochel, 12 February, 1829.” * * * * * * 1 There was four and twenty gentlemen, As they were ridin by, And aff there loups the head o them, Cums in to this fair may. 2 ‘It’s a mark and a mark and a misty night, And we canna know the way; And ye wad be as gude to us As shew us on the way.’ 3 ‘Ye’ll get a boy for meat,’ she says, ‘Ye’ll get a boy for fee, . . . . . . . That will shew you the right way.’ 4 ‘We’ll get a boy for meat,’ he says, ‘We’ll get a boy for fee, But we do not know where to seek That bonny boy out.’ * * * * * * 5 ‘It’s foul befa my auld father’s men, An ill death mat they die! They’ve biggit the ewe bucht sae far frae the town They’ve tristed the men to me.’ * * * * * L Buchan’s MSS, II, 178. O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, The broom grows oer the burn! Aye when I mind on ‘s bonny yellow hair, I aye hae cause to mourn. 1 There was a bonny, a well-fared may, In the fauld milking her kye, When by came a troop of merry gentlemen, And sae merrily they rode by. O the broom, etc. 2 The maid she sang till the hills they rang, And a little more forebye, Till in came ane of these gentlemen To the bught o the bonny may. 3 ‘Well mat ye sing, fair maid,’ he says, ‘In the fauld, milking your kye; The night is misty, weet and dark, And I’ve gane out o my way.’ 4 ‘Keep on the way ye ken, kind sir, Keep on the way ye ken; But I pray ye take care o Clyde’s water, For the stream runs proud and fair.’ 5 ‘I ken you by your lamar beads, And by your blinking ee, That your mother has some other maid To send to the ewes than thee.’ 6 ‘I ken you by your powderd locks, And by your gay gold ring, That ye are the laird o Rock-rock lays, That beguiles all young women.’ 7 ‘I’m not the laird o the Rock-rock lays, Nor ever hopes to be; But I am one o the finest knights That’s in his companie.