"Lift strae frae the beds," did Simmy say; To the gallery window Simmy sped, He has set his strength to a window bar, And bursten it out o' the binding lead.

He has bursten the bolts o' the Elliot men, Out ower the window the strae cast he, For they bid to loup frae the window high, And licht on the strae their fa' would be.

To the Bishop's chamber Simmy ran; "Oh, sleep ye saft, my Lord!" says he; "Fu' weary am I o' your bread and water, Ye'se hae wine and meat when ye dine wi' me."

He has lifted the loon across his shoulder; "We maun leave the hoose by the readiest way!"

He has cast him doon frae the window high, And a' to hansel the new fa'n strae!

Then twa by twa the Elliots louped, The Armstrongs louped by twa and twa.

"I trow, if we licht on the auld fat Bishop, That nane the harder will be the fa'!"

They rade by nicht and they slept by day; I wot they rade by an unkenned track; "The Bishop was licht as a flea," said Sim, "Or ever we cam' to the Liddel rack."

Then "Welcome, my Lord," did Simmy say, "We'll win to Whythaugh afore we dine, We hae drunk o' your cauld and ate o' your dry, But ye'll taste o' our Liddesdale beef and wine."

II--THE YOUNG RUTHVEN

The King has gi'en the Queen a gift, For her May-day's propine, He's gi'en her a band o' the diamond-stane, Set in the siller fine.

The Queen she walked in Falkland yaird, Beside the hollans green, And there she saw the bonniest man That ever her eyes had seen.

His coat was the Ruthven white and red, Sae sound asleep was he The Queen she cried on May Beatrix, That bonny lad to see.

"Oh! wha sleeps here, May Beatnix, Without the leave o' me?"

"Oh! wha suld it be but my young brother Frae Padua ower the sea!

"My father was the Earl Gowrie, An Earl o' high degree, But they hae slain him by fause treason, And gar'd my brothers flee.

"At Padua hae they learned their leir In the fields o' Italie; And they hae crossed the saut sea-faem.

And a' for love o' me!"

The Queen has cuist her siller band About his craig o' snaw; But still he slept and naething kenned, Aneth the hollans shaw.

The King was walking thro' the yaird, He saw the siller shine; "And wha," quo' he, "is this galliard That wears yon gift o' mine?"

The King has gane till the Queen's ain bower, An angry man that day; But bye there cam' May Beatrix And stole the band away.

And she's run in by the little black yett, Straight till the Queen ran she: "Oh! tak ye back your siller band, On it gar my brother dee!"

The Queen has linked her siller band About her middle sma'; And then she heard her ain gudeman Come sounding through the ha'.

"Oh! whare," he cried, "is the siller band I gied ye late yestreen?

The knops was a' o' the diamond-stane, Set in the siller sheen."

"Ye hae camped birling at the wine, A' nicht till the day did daw; Or ye wad ken your siller band About my middle sma'!"

The King he stude, the King he glowered, Sae hard as a man micht stare: "Deil hae me! Like is a richt ill mark, - Or I saw it itherwhere!

"I saw it round young Ruthven's neck As he lay sleeping still; And, faith, but the wine was wondrous guid, Or my wife is wondrous ill!"

There was na gane a week, a week, A week but barely three; The King has hounded John Ramsay out, To gar young Ruthven dee!

They took him in his brother's house, Nae sword was in his hand, And they hae slain him, young Ruthven, The bonniest in the land!

And they hae slain his fair brother, And laid him on the green, And a' for a band o' the siller fine And a blink o' the eye o' the Queen!

Oh! had they set him man to man, Or even ae man to three, There was na a knight o' the Ramsay bluid Had gar'd Earl Gowrie dee!

III--THE DEAD MAN'S DANCE

"The dance is in the castle ha', And wha will dance wi' me?"

"There's never a man o' living men, Will dance the nicht wi' thee!"

Then Margaret's gane within her bower, Put ashes on her hair, And ashes on her bonny breast And on hen shoulders bare.

There cam' a knock to her bower-door, And blythe she let him in; It was her brother frae the wars, She lo'ed abune her kin.

"Oh, Willie, is the battle won?

Or are you fled?" said she, "This nicht the field was won and lost, A' in a far countrie.

"This nicht the field was lost and won, A' in a far countrie, And here am I within your bower, For nane will dance with thee."

"Put gold upon your head, Margaret, Put gold upon your hair, And gold upon your girdle-band, And on your breast so fair!"

"Nay, nae gold for my breast, Willie, Nay, nae gold for my hair, It's ashes o' oak and dust o' earth, That you and I maun wear!

"I canna dance, I mauna dance, I daurna dance with thee.

To dance atween the quick and the deid, Is nae good companie."

The fire it took upon her cheek, It took upon her chin, Nae Ma.s.s was sung, nor bells was rung, For they twa died in deidly sin.