No Scottish ballad is superior in pathos to 'Helen of Kirkconnell'. It is based on a traditionary tale--the date of the event being lost--but the locality, in the parish of Kirkpatrick-Fleming in Dumfriesshire, is known; and there the graves of "Burd Helen" and her lover are still pointed out. The following is Sir Walter Scott's account of the story: "A lady of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell (for this is disputed by the two clans), daughter of the laird of Kirkconnell in Dumfriesshire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the favoured suitor was Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick: that of the other has escaped tradition, although it has been alleged he was a Bell of Blackel-house. The addresses of the latter were, however, favoured by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the Churchyard of Kirkconnell, a romantic spot, surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of their private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and levelled his carbine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces." See 'Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border', vol. ii. p. 317. The original ballad--well known though it is--may be quoted as an admirable illustration of the different types of poetic genius in dealing with the same, or a kindred, theme. I wish I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirkconnell lee! Cursed be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me! Oh think ye na my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spake nae mair! There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirkconnell lee. As I went down the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirkconnell lee-- I lighted down, my sword did draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma', For her sake that died for me. Oh, Helen fair, beyond compare! I'll weave a garland of thy hair Shall bind my heart for evermair, Until the day I dee! Oh that I were where Helen lies! Day and night on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, "Haste, and come to me!" O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! Were I with thee I would be blest, Where thou lies low and takes thy rest, On fair Kirkconnell lee. I wish my grave were growing green, A winding sheet drawn o'er my e'en, And I in Helen's arms lying On fair Kirkconnell lee.