Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel, May Margaret sits in the Queen's bower, "Lament, lament na, May Margaret, And of your weeping let me be, For ye maun to the king himsel, To seek the life o' young Logie." May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding, When she came before the king, "A boon, a boon, my noble liege, And the first boon that I come to crave, "O na, O na, May Margaret, Forsooth, and so it manna be; For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland Shall not save the life o' young Logie." But she has stown the king's redding kaim, To cause young Logie get his life. She sent him a purse o' the red gowd, She sent him a pistol for each hand, And bade him shoot when he gat free. When he came to the Tolbooth stair, It made the king in his chamber start, Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a', When Carmichael came before the king, Carmichael turn'd him round about, "Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael? And has thou play'd me that?" quoth he; "The morn the Justice Court's to stand, And Logie's place ye maun supplie." Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower, drie "O if young Logie be within, Tell him to come and speak with me!" May Margaret turn'd her round about, The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith, THE TWA BROTHERS. The domestic tragedy which this affecting ballad commemorates is not without a precedent in real history; nay, we are almost inclined to believe that it originated in the following melancholy event : "This year, 1589, in the moneth of July, ther falls out a sad accident, as a further warneing that God was displeased with the familie. The Lord Sommervill haveing come from Cowthally, earlie in the morning, in regaird the weather was hott, he had ridden hard to be at the Drum be ten a clock, which haveing done, he laid him down to rest. The servant, with his two sones, William Master of Sommervill, and John his brother, went with the horses to ane Shott of land, called the Prety Shott, directly opposite the front of the house where there was some meadow ground for grassing the horses, and willowes to shaddow themselves from the heat. They had not long continued in this place, when the Master of Somervill efter some litle rest awakeing from his sleep, and finding his pistolles that lay hard by him wett with the dew he began to rub and dry them, when unhappily one of them went off the ratch, being lying upon his knee, and the muzel turned syde-ways, the ball strocke his brother John directly in the head, and killed him outright, soe that his sorrowful brother never had one word from him, albeit he begged it with many teares."-Memorie of the Somervilles, vol. i. p. 467.-W. M. THERE were twa brothers at the scule, "It's will ye play at the stane-chucking? "I winna play at the stane-chucking, But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill, And there we 'll warsle a fa'." They warsled up, they warsled down, "O lift me, lift me on your back, And wash my bloody wounds o'er and o'er, He's lifted his brother upon his back, Ta'en him to yon well so fair; He's wash'd his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er; But aye they bleed an' mair and mair. "Tak ye aff my Holland sark, And rive it gair by gair, And row it in my bluidy wounds, And they'll ne'er bleed ony mair." He's taken aff his Holland sark, He's rowit it in his bluidy wounds, "Tak now aff my green cleiding, He's laid him down by yon kirk style, "What will ye say to your father dear, When ye gae hame at e'en ?" "I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk style, Whare the grass grows fair and green." "O no, O no, my brother dear, 0 you must not say so; But say that I'm gane to a foreign land, When he sat in his father's chair "O what blude's that upon your brow? O dear son, tell to me." "It is the blude o' my gude gray steed; He wadna ride wi' me." "O thy steed's blude was ne'er sae red, O what blude's this upon your cheek? "It is the blude of my greyhound; |