Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, With bridal sheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,

Let in the expected husband-lover.

THE BRAES OF YARROW.

THY braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, When first on them I met my lover; Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream,

When now thy waves his body cover! For ever now, O Yarrow stream! Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; For never on thy banks shall I Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow.

He promised me a milk-white steed
To bear me to his father's bowers;
He promised me a little page

To squire me to his father's towers;
He promised me a wedding-ring,-
The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow;→
Now he is wedded to his grave,

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow!

That I should never more behold him!

No longer from thy window look-
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother!
No longer walk, thou lovely maid;

Alas, thou hast no more a brother!
No longer seek him east or west,

And search no more the forest thorough;

bride,

Return, and dry thy useless sorrow: Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs, He lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow.

WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR.

He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow.

The tear shall never leave my cheek,
No other youth shall be my marrow-
I'll seek thy body in the stream,

And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.

-The tear did never leave her cheek,

No other youth became her marrow; She found his body in the stream,

And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow.

JOHN LOGAN.

THE CHILD OF ELLE.

ON yonder hill a castle standes With walles and towres bedight, And yonder lives the Child of Elle, A younge and comely knighte.

The child of Elle to his garden went, And stood at his garden pale,

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy ladye from mee,
And tell her that I her owne true love
Will dye, or sette her free.

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know

This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe,

Betide me weale or woe.

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, He neither stint ne stayd

Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre, Whan kneeling downe he sayd,

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Y-wis he stoode not stille,

And soone he mette fair Emmelines page
Come climbing up the hille.

Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Now Christe thee save and see!
Oh tell me how does thy ladye gaye,
And what may thy tydinges bee?

My lady she is all woe-begone,

And the teares they falle from her eyne; And aye she laments the deadlye feude Betweene her house and thine.

And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe Bedewde with many a teare,

And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her, Who loved thee so deare.

And here she sends thee a ring of golde,
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
When she is layde in grave.

For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,

And in grave soon must shee bee,

Sith her father hath chose her a new new love,

And forbidde her to think of thee.

Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,

Sir John of the north countràye, And within three dayes shee must him wedde,

Or he vowes he will her slaye.

And he greets thee well by mee;

This night will he be at thy bowre-windowe,

And dye or sette thee free.

Nowe daye was gone and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe,
All save the ladye Emmeline,

Who sate in her bowre to weepe:

And soone she heard her true loves voice
Lowe whispering at the walle,
Awake, awake, my dear ladyè,
'Tis I thy true love call.

Awake, awake, my ladye deare,

Come, mount this faire palfraye;

This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
Ile carrye thee hence awaye.

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight,
Nowe nay, this may not bee;
For aye shold I tint my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee.

O ladye, thou with a knighte so true
Mayst safely wend alone,
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,
Where marriage shall make us one.

"My father he is a baron bolde,

Of lynage proude and hye; And what would he saye if his daughtèr Awaye with a knight should fly?

Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,

Nor his meate should doe him no goode Until he had slayne thee, Child of Elle, And scene thy deare hearts bloode."

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And a little space him fro,

I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that he could doe.

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And once without this walle,

I would not care for thy cruel fathèr, Nor the worst that might befalle.

Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe:

At length he seized her lilly-white hand, And downe the ladder he drewe:

And thrice he clasp'd her to his breste,
And kist her tenderlie :

The teares that fell from her fair eyes
Ranne like the fountayne free.

Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,

And her on a fair palfràye,

And slung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye.

All this beheard her own damsèlle,

In her bed whereas shee ley, Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this,

Soe I shall have golde and fee.

Awake, awake, thou baron bolde!

Awake, my noble dame!

Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle

To doe the deede of shame.

The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And call'd his merrye men all:

"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,

Thy ladye is carried to thrall."

Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her fathers men
Come galloping over the downe:

And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countràye:
"Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitòure,
Nor carry that ladye awaye.

For she is come of hye linèage,
And was of a ladye borne,

And ill it beseems thee a false churl's

sonne

To carrye her hence to scorne."

Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, Nowe thou doest lye of mee;

A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore,
Soe never did none by thee.

But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,
Light downe, and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knighte
Doe trye this arduous deede.

But light nowe downe, my deare ladyè,
Light downe, and hold my horse;
While I and this discourteous knight
Doe trye our valour's force.

Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe,

While 'twixt her love and the carlish

knight

Past many a baleful blowe.

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well,

As his weapon he waved amaine, That soone he had slaine the carlish knight, And layd him upon the plaine.

And nowe the baron and all his men
Full fast approachèd nye:
Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe?
'Twere nowe no boote to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill,
And soone he saw his owne merry men
Come ryding over the hill.

"Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baròn,
I pray thee hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts
Fast knit in true love's band.

Thy daughter I have dearly loved
Full long and many a day;
But with such love as holy kirke

Hath freelye said wee may.

Oh give consent shee may be mine,
And bless a faithfull paire :
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lineage faire :

lean'd,

Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat;

Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yean'd, And white with foam as if with cleaving

sleet.

Upon his side the Hart was lying stretch'd: His nostril touch'd a spring beneath a hill,

And with the last deep groan his breath

had fetch'd

The waters of the spring were trembling still.

And now, too happy for repose or rest

(Never had living man such joyful lot!), Sir Walter walk'd all round, north, south, and west,

Stone,

And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed.

And, in the summer-time when days are long,

I will come hither with my Paramour; And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's

song

We will make merry in that pleasant Bower.

Till the foundations of the mountains fail My Mansion with its Arbor shall en

dure;

The joy of them who till the fields of Swale,

And them who dwell among the woods of Ure!"

spot.

And climbing up the hill (it was at least Nine roods of sheer ascent), Sir Walter found

Three several hoof-marks which the hunted beast

Had left imprinted on the grassy ground.

Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, "Till

now

Such sight was never seen by living eyes:

Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow

Down to the very fountain where he lies.

stone-dead,

With breathless nostrils stretch'd above

the spring.

-Soon did the Knight perform what he had said,

And far and wide the fame thereof did ring.

Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steer'd,

A Cup of stone received the living

Well; Three Pillars of rude stone Sir Walter rear'd,

And built a house of Pleasure in the dell.