"Weel be ye met, my feres five!

And now, what is your will wi' me?" Then they cried a' wi' ae consent,

"Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me.

"Wilt thou with us into England ride,
And thy safe warrand we will be?
If we get a horse worth a hundred pound,
Upon his back thou sune shalt be."

"I daur na by day into England ride! The land-serjeant has me at feid: And I know not what evil may betide,

For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.

"And Anton Shiel he loves not me,

For I gat twa drifts o' his sheep;
The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not,
For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep.

"But will ye stay till the day gae down,
Until the night come o'er the grund,
And I'll be a guide worth ony twa,
That may in Liddesdale be found?

"Tho' the night be black as pitch and tar,
I'll guide ye o'er yon hill sae hie;
And bring ye a' in safety back,
If ye'll be true and follow me."

He has guided them o'er moss and muir,
O'er hill and hope, and bent sae broun;
Until they came to the Foulbogshiel,

And there, brave Noble, he lighted doun.

But word is gane to the land-serjeant,
In Askerton where that he lay—
"The deer, that ye hae hunted sae lang,
Is seen into the Waste this day.”

"Then Hobbie Noble is that deer!
I wat he carries the style fu' hie;
Aft has he driven our sleuth-hounds back,
And set ourselves at little lee.

"Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn; See they sharp their arrows on the wa' : Warn Willeva and Speir Edom,

And see the morn they meet me a'.

"Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh,
And see it be by break o' day;
And we will on to Conscouthart-green,
For there, I think, we'll get our prey."

Then Hobbie Noble has dreimit a dreim,

In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay ; He dreimit his horse was aneath him shot, And he himself got hard away.

The cocks could craw, the day could daw,
And I wot sae even fell down the rain;
Had Hobbie na wakened at that time,
In the Foulbogshiel he had been slain.

"Awake, awake, my feres five!

I trow here makes a fu' ill day; Yet the worst cloak o' this company,

I hope shall cross the Waste this day."

Now Hobbie thought the gates were clear;
But ever, alas! it was na sae :

They were beset by cruel men and keen,
That away brave Hobbie might na gae.

"Yet follow me, my feres five,

And see ye keep of me guid ray; And the worst cloak o' this company

Even yet may cross the Waste this day."

But the land-serjeant's men came Hobbie before,
The traitor Sim came Hobbie behin',
So had Noble been wight as Wallace was,
Away, alas! he might na win.

Then Hobbie had but a laddie's sword;
But he did mair than a laddie's deed;
For that sword had cleared Conscouthart-green,
Had it not broke o'er Jerswigham's head.

Then they hae ta'en brave Hobbie Noble,
Wi's ain bowstring they band him sae ;
But his gentle heart was ne'er sae sair,

As when his ain five bound him on the brae.

They hae ta'en him on for west Carlisle ;
They asked him if he kend the way ?
Tho' much he thought, yet little he said;
He knew the gate as weel as they.

They hae ta'en him up the Ricker-gate;
The wives they cast their windows wide:
And every wife to another can say,

"That's the man loosed Jock o' the Side!"

"Fy on ye, women! why ca' ye me man? For it's nae man that I'm used like;

I am but like a forfoughen hound,
Has been fighting in a dirty syke."

They hae had him up thro' Carlisle town,
And set him by the chimney fire;
They gave brave Noble a loaf to eat,
And that was little his desire.

They gave him a wheaten loaf to eat,
And after that a can of beer;

And they a' cried, with one consent,

66

'Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheer! "Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie," they said, "And to-morrow in Carlisle thou's na die." "How can I confess them," Hobbie says,

"When I never saw them with my e'e?"
Then Hobbie has sworn a fu' great aith,
By the day that he was gotten and born,
He never had ony thing o' my lord's,
That either eat him grass or corn.

"Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton !
For I think again I'll ne'er thee see:
I wad hae betrayed nae lad alive,
For a' the gowd o' Christentie.

"And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale !
Baith the hie land and the law ;
Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains ;
For gowd and gear he'll sell ye a"."

Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble,

In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fau't, Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains,

That eats and drinks o' the meal and maut.

DONALD OF THE ISLES.

THIS is a version, hitherto unpublished, of a ballad better known by the name of "Lizie Lindsay," which title I would have given it, but for the confusion arising from the circumstance that another popular ballad, on a similar subject, is called "Lizie Baillie." This has led to the conjecture that they are variations of the same composition; but I am quite satisfied that they refer to different incidents, and were written at different periods.

I owe this version to the kindness of Mr Kinloch, in whose manuscript collection it is inserted, as taken down from recitation in the Mearns. Mr Kinloch says, in a note: "It is very popular in the north; and few milk-maids in that quarter but can chaunt it to a very pleasant tune."

Besides various stall editions, copies of Lizie Lindsay have been printed by Messrs Jamieson, Buchan, and Whitelaw. The two first are indifferent, but Mr Whitelaw's is a very spirited version. I should add that Mr Buchan has published a ballad, under the title of "Donald of the Isles," which is simply a variety of the rather rude ditty called "Glasgow Peggie," which will be found in this collection. The elopement of Lowland maidens with strapping Highlanders was a favourite theme of the north-country minstrels; and such occurrences were by no means unusual. More than a century ago, a maternal grand-aunt of the Editor, a daughter of Keir of Kinmonth and Wester Rhynd, in the lowlands of Perthshire, was wooed by Robertson of Blairfettie, a Highland gentleman of more following than means, whose estate lay beyond the Pass of Killiecrankie. The young lady was willing, but her father was resolute against the match; and,