‘Take here the rings from my white fingers, That are so long and small, And give them to my lady fair, Where she sits in her hall. XX ‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot loup to thee; My earthly part is all consumed, My spirit but speaks to thee.’ XXI Wringing her hands, tearing her hair, His lady she was seen, And thus address’d his servant Gordon, Where he stood on the green. XXII ‘O wae be to you, George Gordon! An ill death may you die! So safe and sound as you stand there, And my lord bereaved for me!’-- XXIII ‘I bad him loup, I bad him come, I bad him loup to me; I’d catch him in my arms twa, A foot I should not flee. XXIV ‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers, Which were so long and small, To give to you, his lady fair, Where you sat in your hall.’ XXV Sophia Hay[1267], Sophia Hay, O bonny Sophia was her name, Her waiting maid put on her cloaths, But I wot she tore them off again! XXVI And aft she cried, ‘Ohon! alas! A sair heart’s ill to win; I wan a sair heart when I married him, And to-day it’s return’d again.’ FOOTNOTES: [1263] trapan’d = tampered with. [1264] fey = doomed, having my fate on me. [1265] wire-window = grated window. [1266] twin = part. [1267] Sophia Hay = wife of Lord John [Gordon], burned in this fire. She had jilted the young lord of Tolquhon to marry him, which explains the allusion in the last stanza. _146. The Death of Parcy Reed_ I God send the land deliverance Frae every reaving, riding Scot; We’ll sune hae neither cow nor ewe, We’ll sune hae neither staig nor stot[1268]. II The outlaws come frae Liddesdale, They herry Redesdale far and near; The rich man’s gelding it maun gang, They canna pass the puir man’s mare. III Sure it were weel, had ilka thief Around his neck a halter strang; And curses heavy may they light On traitors vile oursels amang! IV Now Parcy Reed has Crosier taen, He has delivered him to the law; But Crosier says he’ll do waur than that, He’ll make the tower o’ Troughend fa’. V And Crosier says he will do waur, He will do waur if waur can be; He’ll make the bairns a’ fatherless, And then, the land it may lie lee. VI ‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed, ‘The morning sun is on the dew; The cauler breeze frae off the fells Will lead the dogs to the quarry true. VII ‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed, And to the hunting he has gane; And the three fause Ha’s o’ Girsonsfield Alang wi’ him he has them taen. VIII They hunted high, they hunted low, By heathery hill and birken shaw; They raised a buck on Rooken Edge, And blew the mort[1269] at fair Ealylawe IX