And he bred up that bonny boy, Call’d him his sister’s son; And he thought nae eye could ever see The deed that had been done. XV O so it fell upon a day, When hunting they might be, They rested them in Silverwood, Beneath that green aik tree. XVI And many were the green-wood flowers Upon that grave that grew, And marvell’d much that bonny boy To see their lovely hue. XVII ‘What’s paler than the primrose wan? What’s redder than the rose? What’s fairer than the lilye flower On this wee know[352] that grows?’-- XVIII O out and answer’d Jellon Grame, And he spak hastilie: ‘Your mother was a fairer flower, And lies beneath this tree. XIX ‘More pale she was, when she sought my grace, Than primrose pale and wan; And redder than rose her ruddy heart’s blood, That down my broadsword ran.’-- XX Wi’ that the boy has bent his bow, It was baith stout and lang; And thro’ and thro’ him, Jellon Grame, He gar’d an arrow gang. XXI Says,--‘Lie ye there, now, Jellon Grame! My malisoun gang you wi’! The place that my mother lies buried in Is far too good for thee.’ FOOTNOTES: [352] wee know = little hillock. _50. Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard_ _O wow for day! And, dear, gin it were day! Gin it were day, and I were away-- For I ha’ na lang time to stay._ I As it fell on one holy-day, As many be in the year, When young men and maids together did go Their matins and mass to hear, II Little Musgrave came to the church-door-- The priest was at private mass-- But he had more mind of the fair women Than he had of Our Lady’s grace. III The one of them was clad in green, Another was clad in pall[353], And then came in my Lord Barnard’s wife, The fairest amongst them all. IV She cast an eye on Little Musgrave As bright as the summer sun; And then bethought him Little Musgrave, ‘This lady’s heart have I won.’ V Quoth she, ‘I have loved thee, Little Musgrave, Full long and many a day.’-- ‘So have I loved you, fair ladye, Yet never word durst I say.’-- VI ‘But I have a bower at Bucklesfordberry, Full daintily it is dight; If thou’lt wend thither, thou Little Musgrave, Thou’s lig[354] in my arms all night.’ VII Quoth he, ‘I thank thee, fair ladye, This kindness thou showest to me; And whether it be to my weal or woe This night I will lodge with thee.’ VIII With that beheard a little tiny page, By his lady’s coach as he ran. Says, ‘Although I am my lady’s foot-page, Yet I am Lord Barnard’s man.’ IX