18 The glass was filled with good red wine, And drunk between them twae: ‘Give me one shake of your bonny bride’s hand, And then I’ll boun my way.’ 19 He’s taen her by the milk-white hands, And by the grass-green sleeve, Pulld her on horseback him behind, At her friends askd nae leave. 20 Syne rode the water with great speed, And merrily the knows; There fifty from the bridal came— Indeed it was nae mows— 21 Thinking to take the bride again, Thro strength if that they may; But still he gart the trumpet sound The voice of foul play. 22 There were four and twenty ladies fair All walking on the lea; He gave to them the bonny bride, And bade them boun their way. 23 They splintered the spears in pieces now, And the blades flew in the sky, But the bonny laird of Lochinvar Has gained the victory. 24 Many a wife- and widow’s son Lay gasping on the ground, But the bonny laird of Lochinvar He has the victory won. * * * * * H Kinloch MSS, V, 313. 1 There was a lady fair, fair, Lived low down in yon glen, O And she’s been courted far an near By several gentlemen. O 2 At length the laird of Lammington Came frae the West Country, All to court that pretty girl, And her bridegroom for to be. 3 He told her father, so did he her mother, And all the rest of her kin, And he has told the lass hersel, And her kind favour has won. 4 At length the laird of Laughenwaur Came frae the English border, And all to court that pretty girl, Well mounted in good order. 5 He told her father, so did he her mother, As I heard people say, But he ner told the lass hersel, Till on her wedding-day. 6 But when the wedding-day was fixed, And married for to be, Then Lamington came to the town, The bridegroom for to see. 7 ‘O are ye come for sport, sir?’ he said, ‘Or are ye come for play? Or are ye for a sight o my bonny bride, Upon her wedding-day?’ 8 ‘A ‘m neither come for sport, sir,’ he said, ‘Nor am I come for play, But if I had one word o the bride I’d mount and go away.’ 9 There was a cup of the good red wine Was filled out them between, And aye she drank to Lammington, Who her true-love had been. 10 He’s taen her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve; He’s mounted her behind him then, At the bridegroom speered no leave. 11 The blood ran down by Cowden banks, And down by Cowden brae, And aye they gaured the piper play ‘It was a foul, foul play.’ 12 Ye gentlemen of Lochenwaur, That’s laigh in England born, Come ner to Scotland to court a wife, Or be sure ye’l get the scorn.