"Give owre your house, ye lady fair,
Give owre your house to me,
Or I sall bren yoursel therein,

Bot and your babies three."

"I winna, give owre, ye false Gordòn,
To nae sik traitor as ye;

And if ye bren my ain dear babes,
My lord sall make ye drie.

"But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man,
And charge ye weil my gun;
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butchèr,
My babes we been undone."

She stood upon her castle wa',

And let twa bullets flee;

She mist that bluidy butcher's heart,
And only razed his knee.

"Set fire to the house!" quo' false Gordòn,

All wud* wi' dule and ire;

"False lady, ye sall rue this deed,

As ye bren in the fire."

"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man,

I paid ye weil your fee;

Why pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane,

Lets in the reek to me?

"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man,
I paid ye weil your hire;

Why pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane,
To me lets in the fire?"

"Ye paid me weil my hire, lady;
Ye paid me weil my fee:
But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man,
Maun either do or die."

O, then outspake her little son,
Sate on the nurse's knee:

Says, "Mither dear, gi' owre this house,
For the reek it smither's me."

"I wad gie a' my gowd, my child,
Sae wad I a' my fee,

For ane blast o' the western wind,
To blaw the reek frae thee."

O, than outspake her dochter dear,
She was baith jimp and sma':
"O, row me in a pair of sheets,
And tow me owre the wa'."

They rowd her in a pair of sheets,
And towd her owre the wa';
But on the point of Gordon's spear,
She gat a deadly fa'.

O, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
And cherry were her cheeks,
And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
Whereon the red bluid dreips.

Then wi' his spear he turned her owre,
O, gin her face was wan!

He said, "Ye are the first that ere
I wished alive again."

He turned her owre and owre again,
O, gin her skin was white!
"I might ha' spared that bonnie face
To hae been some man's delight!

“Busk and boun, my merry men a',
For ill dooms I do guess;
I canna luik in that bonnie face,
As it lies on the grass."

"Who luiks to freits,* my master-dear,
Then freits will follow them:

Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon
Was daunted by a dame."

But when the lady saw the fire
Come flaming owre her head,

She wept and kist her children twain,
Said, "Bairns, we been but dead."

The Gordon then his bugle blew,

And said, "Awa', awa'!

This house o' the Rodes is a' in flame,
I hauld it time to ga"."

O, then bespyed her ain dear lord,

As he cam owre the lee;

He saw his castle all in a blaze,
Sae far as he could see.

Then sair, O sair, his mind misgave,
And all his heart was wae;
"Put on, put on, my wighty men,
So fast as ye can gae.

*Freits :" ill omens.

"Put on, put on, my wighty men,
So fast as ye can drie;

For he that is hindmost of the throng
Sall ne'er get guid o' me."

Then some they rode, and some they ran,
Fu' fast out owre the bent;
But ere the foremost could get up,
Baith lady and babes were brent.

He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And wept in teenfu' mood:

"O traitors! for this cruel deed
Ye sall weep tears o' bluid."

And after the Gordon he is gane,

Sae fast as he might drie:

And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's bluid
He's wroken his dear lady.

THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL.

This ballad first appeared as a fragment in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." Mr Robert Chambers recovered two additional stanzas, from recitation, in Peeblesshire, which are here inserted within brackets.

THERE lived a wife at Usher's well,
And a wealthy wife was she:
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sca.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,

When word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,

When word came to the carline wife,
That her sons she'd never see.

"I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fishes in the flood,

Till my three sons come hame to me
In earthly flesh and blood!"

It fell about the Martinmas,

When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o' the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in any sheugh;

But at the gates o' Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.*

*

"Blow up the fire, my maidens,
Bring water from the well,

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

And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide:
And she's ta'en her mantle her about,

Set down at the bed-side.

*The notion that the souls of the blessed wear garlands seems to be of Jewish origin.-SIR WALTER SCOTT.