"Now yield thee, Graeme, and give me back
Lord Selby's beauteous daughter;
Else I shall sever thy head and heave't

To thy light love o'er the water."

"My sword is steel, Sir Richard, like thine, And thy head's as loose on thy neck as mine."

And again their dark eyes flash'd, and again
They closed-on sweet Eske side

The ringdoves sprung from their roosts, for the blows
Were echoing far and wide:

Sir Richard was stark, and Sir Roland was strong;
And the combat was fierce, but it lasted not long.

There's blood upon young Roland's blade,
There's blood on Sir Richard's brand;

There's blood shower'd o'er their weeds of steel,
And rain'd on the grassy land ;

But blood to a warrior's like dew to the flower,
The combat but wax'd still more deadly and dour.

A dash was heard in the moonlit Eske,

And up its banks of green

Fair Edith Selby came with a shriek,

And knelt the knights between:

"Oh, spare him, Sir Richard!"--she held her white hands All spotted with blood 'neath the merciless brands.

Young Roland look'd down on his true love and smiled,
Sir Richard look'd also, and said,

"Curse on them that true love would sunder!"-he sheath'd
With his broad palm his berry-brown blade;
And long may the Selbys, abroad and at hame,
Find a friend and a foe like the good gallant Graeme!

216

THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O'OWSENFORD.

Part the First.

O I WILL sing to you a sang,

Will grieve your heart full sair;
How the Clerk's twa sons o' Owsenford
Have to learn some unco lear.

They hadna been in fair Parish,'
A twelvemonth and a day,

Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in love,
Wi' the Mayor's dauchter's twae.

And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote,
The ladies sewed and sang;

There was mair mirth in that chamber,
Than in a' fair Ferrol's land.

But word's gane to the michty Mayor,

As he sailed on the sea,

That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans

O' his fair dauchters twae.

"If they ha'e wranged my twa dauchters,

Janet and Marjorie,

The morn, ere I taste meat or drink,

Hie hangit they shall be.”

And word's gane to the Clerk himself,
As he was drinking wine,

That his twa sons at fair Parish
Were bound in prison strang.

Then up and spak' the Clerk's ladye,
And she spak' tenderlie :
"O tak' wi' ye a purse o' gowd,

Or even tak' ye three;

And if ye canna get William,
Bring Henry hame to me."

(1) Paris.

O sweetly sang the nightingale,

As she sat on the wand;

But sair, sair mourned Owsenford,
As he gaed in the strand.

When he came to their prison strang,
He rade it round about,
And at a little shot-window,
His sons were looking out.

"O lie ye there, my sons," he said,
"For owsen or for kye?1

Or what is it that ye lie for,

Sae sair bound as ye lie?"—

"We lie not here for owsen, father;

Nor yet do we for kye;

But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love,

Sae sair bound as we lie.

"Oh, borrow us, borrow us, father," they said,

"For the luve we bear to thee!"

"O never fear, my pretty sons,
Weel borrowed ye shall be."

Then he's gane to the michty Mayor,
And he spak' courteouslie;
"Will ye grant my twa sons' lives,
Either for gold or fee ?

Or will ye be sae gude a man,

As grant them baith to me?"

"I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives, Neither for gold nor fee;

Nor will I be sae gude a man,

As gi'e them baith to thee;
But before the morn at twal o'clock,

Ye'll see them hangit hie!"

Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters,
Wi' kirtle coat alone;

Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,
As they tripped on the stone.

(1) i. e. for stealing oxen or cows.

“Will ye gi'e us our loves, father?
For gold or yet for fee?

Or will ye take our own sweet lives,
And let our true loves be?"

He's ta'en a whip into his hand,
And lash'd them wondrous sair:
"Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers,
Ye'se never see them mair."

Then out it speaks auld Owsenford,
A sorry man was he:

66

Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs; For a' this maunna be."

Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry :
"Come here, Janet, to me;
Will ye gi'e me my faith and troth,
And love, as I ga'e thee?"

"Ye sall ha'e your faith and troth,
Wi' God's blessing and mine.

And twenty times she kissed his mouth, Her father looking on.

Then out it speaks him gay William:
"Come here, sweet Marjorie;
Will ye gi'e me my faith and troth,
And love, as I ga'e thee?"

"Yes, ye sall ha'e your faith and troth, Wi' God's blessing and mine."

And twenty times she kissed his mouth, Her father looking on.

"O ye'll tak' aff your twa black hats, Lay them down on a stone,

That nane may ken that ye are clerks, Till ye are putten doun."

The bonnie clerks they died that morn ;
Their loves died lang ere noon;

And the waefu' Clerk o' Owsenford
To his lady has gane hame.

Part the Second.

His lady sat on her castle wa',
Beholding dale and doun;

And there she saw her ain gude lord
Come walking to the toun.

"Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, Ye're welcome hame to me;

But whereaway are my twa sons?
Ye suld hae brought them wi' ye."

"O they are putten to a deeper lear,
And to a higher scule :

Your ain twa sons will no be hame
Till the hallow days o' Yule."

"O sorrow, sorrow, come mak' my bed;
And, dule, come lay me doun;
For I will neither eat nor drink,
Nor set a fit on groun'!"

The hallow days o' Yule were come,
And the nights were lang and mirk,
When in and cam' her ain twa sons,
And their hats made o' the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheuch;

But at the gates o' Paradise

That birk grew fair eneuch.

"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine, Bring water from the well;

For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my twa sons are well.

"O eat and drink, my merry-men a',
The better shall ye fare;

For my twa sons they are come hame
To me for evermair."

U