H

NORA'S VOW

EAR what Highland Nora said:-
"The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left but he and I.

For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valor lost or won,

I would not wed the Earlie's son."

"A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke:
"Are lightly made and lightly broke;
The heather on the mountain's height
Begins to bloom in purple light;
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre deep from glen and brae:
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son."

"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest;

The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush Kilchurn;
Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly:
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son."

Still in the water-lily's shade

Her wonted nest the wild-swan made;
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;
To shun the clash of foeman's steel,

No Highland brogue has turned the heel:
But Nora's heart is lost and won,-

She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

THE BALLAD OF THE RED HARLAW'

In The Antiquary›

HE herring loves the merry moonlight,

THE

The mackerel loves the wind,

But the oyster loves the dredging-sang,

For they come of a gentle kind.

Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
And listen great and sma’,

And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.

The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',

And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
For the sair field of Harlaw.

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They hae bridled a hundred black,

With a chafron of steel on each horse's head,

And a good knight upon his back.

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,

A mile but barely ten,

When Donald came branking down the brae

Wi' twenty thousand men.

Their tartans they were waving wide,

Their glaives were glancing clear,

The pibrochs rung frae side to side,
Would deafen ye to hear.

The great Earl in his stirrup stood,

That Highland host to see.

"Now here a knight that's stout and good

May prove a jeopardie:

"What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay,

That rides beside my reyne,

Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,

And I were Roland Cheyne?

"To turn the rein were sin and shame,
To fight were wondrous peril,-
What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl!"—

"Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,

And ye were Roland Cheyne,
The spur should be in my horse's side,
And the bridle upon his mane.

"If they hae twenty thousand blades,
And we twice ten times ten,

Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
And we are mail-clad men.

"My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern,

Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude
Grow cauld for Highland kerne.”

He turned him right and round again,
Said, Scorn na at my mither;
Light loves I may get mony a ane,
But minnie ne'er anither.

Ο

SONG: BRIGNALL BANKS

From Rokeby'

H, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen.

And as I rode by Dalton Hall,

Beneath the turrets high,

A maiden on the castle wall

Was singing merrily:

"Oh, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green:

I'd rather rove with Edmund there,

Than reign our English queen."

"If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,
To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life lead we,
That dwell by dale and down.

And if thou canst that riddle read,
As read full well you may,

Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
As blithe as Queen of May.”—

"Maiden! a nameless life I lead,

A nameless death I'll die:

The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,
Were better mate than I!

And when I'm with my comrades met,
Beneath the greenwood bough,

What once we were we all forget,

Nor think what we are now.

Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green,

And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen."

T

BONNY DUNDEE

THE Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke,

"Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be

broke;

So let each Cavalier who loves honor and me

O Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

Chorus: - Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,

Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;
Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,
And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!"

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street:
The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;
But the Provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en let him be,—
The gude town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee."

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;

[Chorus.

But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee,
Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!

[Chorus.

With sour-featured Whigs the Grass-market* was crammed,
As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged:
There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e,
As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.

[Chorus.

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,

And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers;

But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free,
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

[Chorus.

He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke:-

"Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three, For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee."

[Chorus.

The Gordon demands of him which way he goes:-
"Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

[Chorus.

"There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth; If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North; *The place of public execution.