26 But for as fast as her love rade, And as fast as he ran, Before he wan to Glenlyon His love was dead and gane. 27 Then he has kissd her cheek, her cheek, And he has kissd her chin, And he has kissd her comely mouth, But no life was therein. 28 ‘O wae mat worth you, Glenlyon, An ill death mat ye die! Ye’ve twind me and the fairest flower My eyes did ever see. 29 ‘But I will kiss your cheek, Barbara, And I will kiss your chin, And I will kiss your comely mouth, But neer woman’s again. 30 ‘Deal well, deal well at my love’s lyke The beer but and the wine, For ere the morn at this same time Ye’ll deal the same at mine.’ * * * * * C Motherwell’s MS., p. 375, from the recitation of Agnes Lyle of Kilbarchan. 1 Four-and-twenty ladies fair Was playing at the ba, And out cam Barbra Livingston, The flower amang them a’. 2 Out cam Barbra Livingston, The flower amang them a’; The lusty laird of Linlyon Has stown her clean awa. 3 ‘The Hielands is no for me, kind sir, The Hielands is no for me; But, if you wud my favour win, You’ll tak me to Dundee.’ 4 ‘The Hielands’ll be for thee, my dear, The Hielands will be for thee; To the lusty laird o Linlyon A-married ye shall be.’ 5 When they came to Linlyon’s yetts, And lichted on the green, Every ane spak Earse to her, The tears cam trinkling down. 6 When they went to bed at nicht, To Linlyon she did say, ‘Och and alace, a weary nicht! Oh, but it’s lang till day!’ 7 ‘Your father’s steed in my stable, He’s eating corn and hay, And you’re lying in my twa arms; What need you long for day?’ 8 ‘If I had paper, pen, and ink, And candle for to see, I wud write a lang letter To my love in Dundee.’ 9 They brocht her paper, pen, and ink, And candle for to see, And she did write a lang letter To her love in Dundee. 10 When he cam to Linlyon’s yetts, And lichtit on the green, But lang or he wan up the stair His love was dead and gane. 11 ‘Woe be to thee, Linlyon, An ill death may thou die! Thou micht hae taen anither woman, And let my lady be.’ * * * * * D Campbell MSS, II, 254. 1 Bonnie Annie Livingstone Was walking out the way, By came the laird of Glendinning, And he’s stolen her away. The Highlands are no for me, kind sir, The Highlands are no for me, And, if you wad my favour win, You’d take me to Dundee. 2 He mounted her on a milk-white steed, Himself upon a grey, He’s taen her to the Highland hills, And stolen her quite away.