"What news, what news, ye weel-faur'd maid, What news hae ye this day to me?"

"Nae news, nae news, ye gentle knight,
Nae news hae I this day to thee;
But fifteen lords in the hostel-house
Are waiting Wallace for to see."

"If I had but in my pocket,

The worth of one single pennie,
I would go to the hostel-house,
And there the Englishmen wad see.'

She put her hand in her pocket,

And she has pulled out half-a-crown; Says, "Take ye that, ye belted knight, "Twill pay your way till ye come down."

As he went from the weel-faur'd maid,
A beggar bold I wat met he,
Was cover'd wi' a clouted cloak,

And in his hand a trusty tree.

"What news, what news, ye silly auld man, What news hae ye this day to gie?" "Nae news, nae news, ye belted knight, Nae news hae I this day to thee; But there's fifteen lords in the hostel-house Waiting Wallace for to see."

"Ye'll lend to me your clouted cloak,

That covers you frae head to thie, And I'll gang to the hostel-house, Asking there for some supplie.

Now he's gane to the West-muir wood,
And there he pull'd a trusty tree,
And then he's on to the hostel-house,
Asking there for charitie.

Down the stair the captain comes,
Aye the puir man for to see;
"If ye be a captain as gude as ye look,
Ye'll give a puir man some supplie."

"Whaur were ye born, ye crooked carle ? Whaur were ye born, in what countrie?" "In fair Scotland was I born,

Crooked carle that I be."

"I wad gie you fifty pounds,

Of gold and of the white monie,

I wad gie you fifty pounds,

If the traitor Wallace ye'd let me see."

"Tell down your monie," said Willie Wallace, "Tell down your monie, if it be gude;

For I'm sure I hae it in my power,
And I never had a better bode.

"Tell down your monie, if it be gude,
And let me see if it be fine;
For I'm sure I hae it in my power
To bring the traitor Wallace in."

The monie was told down on the table,
Silver bright of pounds fiftie;

"Now here I stand," said Willie Wallace,

"And what hae ye to say to me?"

He fell'd the captain where he stood,
Wi' a downright straik upon the floor,
He slew the rest around the room,

And speer'd gin there were ony more.

"Come, cover the table," quo' Willie Wallace,

"Come, cover the table now and wi' haste, For it will sune be three lang days,

Sin' I a bit o' meat did taste."

The table was not well covered,

Nor yet had he sat down to dine,

Till fifteen mair of the English lords
Cam' round the house where he was in.

The gudewife she ran butt the floor,
And aye the gudeman he ran ben;
From eight o'clock till four at noon,
Wallace has killed full thirty men.

He put his faes in sic a swither,

That five o' them he sticket dead; Five o' them he drown'd in the river, And five he hung in the West-muir wood.

Now he is on to the North-Inch gane, Where the maid was washing tenderlie ; "Now, by my sooth," said Willie Wallace, "It's been a sair day's wark to me !"

He's put his hand into his pocket,
And he has pu'd out twenty pun';
Says, "Take ye that, ye weel-faur'd maid,
For the gude luck o' your half-crown?"

ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN.

VERY few of the Scottish ballads are so beautiful or perfect as this, which I regard as the gem of Mr Jamieson's collection. The first version, printed in Herd's volumes, contains some evident interpolations—or rather transpositions-from a different ballad. This is evident towards the conclusion; for the catastrophe is represented as occurring on land, not on sea, which is entirely out of keeping with the previous part. In the version given by Sir Walter Scott, in the "Border Minstrelsy,” there is a deal of extraneous and superfluous matter, which interferes with, and to a certain extent detracts from, the simplicity of the story. Sir Walter's edition was compiled from three manuscript copies and two recitations; and finding, in one or other of these, certain verses which, though episodical and unnecessary, were of considerable merit, and interesting both from historical allusion and reference to witchcraft, he adopted them. But the version of Mr Jamieson, which I have adhered to, with little more than verbal alterations of the slightest kind, seems to me by far the finest; and I am sure that it will be considered so by all the lovers of genuine ballad-poetry.

"WHA will shoe my bonny feet?
Or wha will glove my hand?

Or wha will lace my middle jimp,

Wi' a new-made London band?

"And wha will kame my yellow hair,
Wi' a new-made siller kame?
And wha will be my bairn's father,
Till love Gregory come hame?"

"Your father 'll shoe your bonny feet,
Your mother glove your hand;
Your sister lace your middle jimp,
Wi' a new-made London band;

66

'Mysel' will kame your yellow hair
Wi' a new-made siller kame;

And the Lord will be the bairn's father
Till Gregory come hame."

"O gin I had a bonny ship,
And men to sail wi' me,

It's I wad gang to my true love,
Sin' he winna come to me!"

Her father's gi'en her a bonny ship,
And sent her to the strand;

She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
And turn'd her back to land.

She hadna been on the sea sailing,
About a month or more,

Till landed has she her bonny ship,

Near to her true love's door.

The night was dark, an' the wind was cauld
And her love was fast asleep,

And the bairn that was in her twa arms,
Fu' sair began to greet.