"He is a lord from the Border side,
From North England, I mean;
And when he lichted at my yetts,
His style was Lord Lymington."

"O where will I get a bonnie boy,
Will win baith meit and fee;
And will rin on to Lamington,
And come again to me?"

"O here am I, a bonnie boy,
Wad win baith hose and shoen;
And will rin on to Lamington,
And come richt sune again."

"Where ye find the brigs broken,
Ye maun bend your bow and swim ;
And where you find the grass growing,
Ye maun slack your bow and rin.

And when ye come to Lamington,
Bide not to chap or ca';

your breist,

But set your bent bow to
And lichtly loup the wa'.

Bid him mind the words that he last spoke,
When we sindered on the lee;

And bid him saddle, and ride full fast,
If he be set for me."

Where'er he fand the brigs broken,
He bent his bow and swam ;
Where'er he fand the grass growing,
He slacked his bow and ran.

And when he cam to Lamington,
He did neither chap nor ca';

But set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.

"What news, what news, my bonnie boy? What news hae ye to me?"

"Bad news, bad news, my lord," he said; "Your lady awa will be.

Ye're bidden mind the words ye last spak,
When ye sindered on the lee;
Ye're bidden saddle and ride full fast,
Gif set for her ye be."

O he has sent a messenger

Richt quickly through the land, And four-and-twenty armed men Were sune at his command.

The bride looked out at a high window,
Beheld baith dale and down ;

And she was aware of her first true love,
With riders many a one.

She scoffed him, and scorned him,
Upon her wedding-day;

And said, "It was the Fairy Court,
To see him in array !"

But he has left his merry-men all;
He left them on the lee;
And he's awa to the wedding-house,
To see what he could see.

When he cam to the wedding-house,
And there had lichtit doun,

The cups of gold, with good red wine,
Were going roun' and roun'.

When he gaed into the wedding-house,
As I do understand,

There were four-and-twenty belted knichts,
Sat at a table round.*

They all rose up to honour him;
For he was of high renown;
They all rose up to welcome him,
And bade him to sit down.

O meikle was the gude red wine,
In silver cups did flow;
But aye she drank to Lamington,
For with him she would go.

O meikle was the gude red wine,
In silver cups gaed round:
At length they began to whisper words;
None could them understand.

When Lymington did call on her,
She wadna come ava;

But when Lamington did whisper her,
She was na sweer to draw.

"Now, cam ye here for sport ?" they said, "Or cam ye here for play?

Or for a sicht of our bonnie bride,
And then to boune your way?"

"I came not here for sport," he said;
"Nor did I come for play;
But for one word of your bonnie bride,
I'll mount and go away."

They set her maids behind her back,
To hear what they should say;

* This seems an allusion to the ancient sport of the Round Table.

But the first question he asked her,
Was always answered nay;
The next question he asked her,
Was," Mount and come away."

It is a glass o' the blude-red wine,
Was filled up them between,
And aye she drank to Lamington,
Who her true love had been.

He has taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He's mounted her hie behind himsell,
At her kinsmen speired nae leave.

"Now take your bride, Lord Lymington!
Now take her, if you may!
But, if you take your bride again,
We'll call it but foul play."

There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys,

A' clad in Johnstone-grey;

*

They said they would take the bride again,
By the strong hand, if they may.

Some o' them were richt willing men ;
But they were na willing a';

And four-and-twenty Leader lads

Bade them mount and ride awa.

Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides,
And swords flew frae the shea's ;
And red and rosy was the blude
Ran doun the lilye braes.

The blood ran doun by Cadden bank,
And doun by Cadden brae;

* Johnstone-grey-the livery of the ancient Border family of Johnstone.

And, sighing, said the bonnie bride,
"Oh, wae's me for foul play!"

My blessing on your heart, sweit thing!
Wae to your wilfu' will!
There's mony a gallant gentleman,
Whase blude ye hae garr'd spill.

Now, a' ye English gentlemen,
That are of England born,
Come never here to seek a wife,
For fear ye get the scorn.

They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words,
Till, on your wedding day,
They'll gie ye frogs instead o' fish,
And play ye foul foul play.

GLENLOGIE.*

Four-and-twenty nobles sits in the king's ha';
Bonnie Glenlogie is the flower amang them a'.

In cam Lady Jean, skipping on the floor,
And she has chosen Glenlogie amang a' that was there.

She turned to his footman, and thus she did say: "Oh, what is his name, and where does he stay?"

"His name is Glenlogie, when he is from home. He is of the gay Gordons; † his name it is John."

(From "The Ballad Book," 1824.

The Gordons, who form a numerous and most respectable clan in the counties of Aberdeen and Banff, are, or were, always styled, in popular parlance, "the gay Gordons," probably from peculiarity of character.

"He turned about lichtly, as the Gordons does a',"