For Gilderoy that luve of mine,
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark of holland fine,
Wi' silken flowers wrought:
And he gied me a wedding ring,
Which I receiv'd wi' joy,
Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,
Like me and Gilderoy.

Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,

Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we past the langsome time,

Among the leaves sae green;
Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,
And sweetly kiss and toy,
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
My handsome Gilderoy.

Oh! that he still had been content,
Wi' me to lead his life;
But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent,
To stir in feates of strife:
And he in many a venturous deed,

His courage bauld would try;
And now this gars mine heart to bleed,

For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he tuik,
The tears they wat mine ee,

I

gave tull him a parting luik,

Nane eir durst meet him man to man,
He was sae brave a boy;

At length wi' numbers he was tane,
My winsome Gilderoy.

Wae worth the loun that made the laws, To hang a man for gear,

To 'reave of life for ox or ass,

For sheep, or horse, or mare: Had not their laws been made sae strick, I neir had lost my joy,

Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek,

For my dear Gilderoy.

Giff Gilderoy had done amisse,

He mought hae banisht been; Ah! what sair cruelty is this,

To hang sike handsome men : To hang the flower o' Scottish land, Sae sweet and fair a boy; Nae lady had sae white a hand,

As thee, my Gilderoy.

Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,

They bound him mickle strong, Tull Edenburrow they led him thair, And on a gallows hung:

They hung him high aboon the rest,

He was sae trim a boy;

Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best, My handsome Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his breath,

I bare his corpse away,

Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,
I washt his comelye clay;
And siker in a grave sae deep,
I laid the dear-lued boy,
And now for evir maun I weep,
My winsome Gilderoy.

All in her prime, have poets sung,
No gaudy youth, gallant and young,
E'er blest her longing armes ;
And hence arose her spight to vex,
And blast the youth of either sex,

By dint of hellish charms.

From Glaston came a lerned wight,
Full bent to marr her fell despight,

And well he did, I ween:
Sich mischief never had been known,
And, since his mickle lerninge shown,
Sich mischief ne'er has been.

He chauntede out his godlie booke,
He crost the water, blest the brooke,
Then-pater noster done,-
The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er ;
When lo! where stood a hag before,
Now stood a ghastly stone.

Full well 'tis known adown the dale:
Tho' passing strange indeed the tale,
And doubtfull may appear,

I'm bold to say, there's never a one, That has not seen the witch in stone, With all her household gear.

But tho' this lernede clerke did well; With grieved heart, alas! I tell,

She left this curse behind: That Wokey nymphs forsaken quite, Tho' sense and beauty both unite,

Should find no leman kind.

For lo! even, as the fiend did say,
The sex have found it to this day,
That men are wondrous scant:
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,
With all that's good and virtuous join'd,
Yet hardly one gallant.

Shall then sich maids unpitied moane?
They might as well, like her, be stone,
As thus forsaken dwell.

Since Glaston now can boast no clerks ; Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks,

And, oh! revoke the spell.

Yet stay-nor thus despond, ye fair;
Virtue's the gods' peculiar care;

I hear the gracious voice :
Your sex shall soon be blest agen,
We only wait to find sich men,
As best deserve your choice.

THE north-east wind did briskly blow,
The ship was safely moor'd ;
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,
And so leapt over-board.

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,

His heart long held in thrall; And whoso his impatience blames, I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.

A long long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land,

Nor once in thought or deed would stray,
Tho' ladies sought his hand.

For Bryan he was tall and strong,
Right blythsome roll'd his een,
Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,
He scant had twenty seen.

But who the countless charms can draw,
That grac'd his mistress true;
Such charms the old world seldom saw,
Nor oft I ween the new.

Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Like tendrils of the vine;

Her cheeks red dewy rose buds deck,
Her eyes like diamonds shine.

Soon as his well-known ship she spied,
She cast her weeds away,

And to the palmy shore she hied,

All in her best array.

In sea-green silk so neatly clad,

She there impatient stood;
The crew with wonder saw the lad
Repell the foaming flood,

Her hands a handkerchief display'd,
Which he at parting gave;
Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,
And manlier beat the wave.

Her fair companions one and all, Rejoicing crowd the strand; For now her lover swam in call, And almost touch'd the land.

Then through the white surf did she haste, To clasp her lovely swain ;

When, ah! a shark bit through his waste: His heart's blood dy'd the main !

He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave, Streaming with purple gore,

And soon it found a living grave,

And ah! was seen no more.

Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,
Fetch water from the spring:

She falls, she swoons, she dies away,
And soon her knell they ring.

Now each May morning round her tomb,
Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew,
So may your lovers scape his doom,
Her hapless fate scape you.

May our prophet grant my wishes, Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine: Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, Which I drank when I was thine.

Like a lion turns the warrior,

Back he sends an angry glare: Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, Vainly whizzing thro' the air.

Back the hero full of fury

Sent a deep and mortal wound: Instant sunk the Renegado,

Mute and lifeless on the ground.

With a thousand Moors surrounded, Brave Saavedra stands at bay :

Wearied out but never daunted,

Cold at length the warrior lay. Near him fighting great Alonzo

Stout resists the Paynim bands; From his slaughter'd steed dismounted Firm intrench'd behind him stands.

Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage:
Loss of blood at length enfeebles:
Who can war with thousands wage!
Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows,
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.

SOFTLY blow the evening breezes,

Softly fall the dews of night;
Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,
Shunning every glare of light.

In yon palace lives fair Zaida,
Whom he loves with flame so pure:
Loveliest she of Moorish ladies;
He a young and noble Moor.

Waiting for the appointed minute,
Oft he paces to and fro;
Stopping now, now moving forwards,
Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.

Hope and fear alternate teize him,

Oft he sighs with heart-felt care.—
See, fond youth, to yonder window
Softly steps the timorous fair.
Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre

To the lost benighted swain,
When all silvery bright she rises,
Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.

Lovely seems the sun's full glory

To the fainting seaman's eyes,

When some horrid storm dispersing
O'er the wave his radiance flies.

But a thousand times more lovely
To her longing lover's sight
Steals half-seen the beauteous maiden
Thro' the glimmerings of the night.

Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,
Whispering forth a gentle sigh:
Allah keep thee, lovely lady;

Tell me, am I doom'd to die?

Is it true the dreadful story,
Which thy damsel tells my page,
That seduc'd by sordid riches
Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age?

An old lord from Antiquera

Thy stern father brings along ; But canst thou, inconstant Zaida, Thus consent my love to wrong?

If 'tis true now plainly tell me,

Nor thus trifle with my woes; Hide not then from me the secret, Which the world so clearly knows.