"Thy faith and troth thou sall na get, And our true love sall never twin, Until ye tell what comes of women,

I wat, who die in strong traivelling."

"Their beds are made in the heavens high, Down at the feet of our good Lord's knee, Weel set about wi' gillyflowers,

I wot, sweet company for to see.

"O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot, the wild-fowls are boding day;
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
And I ere now will be missed away.'

Then she has ta'en a crystal wand,

And she has stroken her troth thereon; She has given it him out at the shot window, Wi' mony a sigh and heavy groan.

"I thank ye, Marg'ret; I thank ye, Marg’ret; And aye I thank ye heartilie;

Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Margret, I'll come for thee."

It's hosen and shoon, and gown alone,
She climbed the wall and followed him,
Until she came to the green forest,

And there she lost the sight o' him.

"Is there ony room at your head, Saunders? Is there ony room at your feet?

Or ony room at your side, Saunders,

Where fain, fain I would sleep?"

"There's nae room at my head, Margret,
There's nae room at my feet;
My bed it is full lowly now:

Amang the hungry worms I sleep.

"Cauld mould is my covering now,
But and my winding sheet:
The dew it falls nae sooner down,
Than my resting place is weet.

“But plait a wand o' bonnie birk,
And lay it on my breast;
And shed a tear upon my grave,
And wish my saul gude rest.

"And fair Margret, and rare Marg❜ret,
And Margret o' veritie,

Gin ere ye love another man,

Ne'er love him as ye did me."

Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
And up and crew the gray;
Her lover vanished in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.

WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET;
OR, THE TWO CRUEL MOTHERS.

Published in a complete state by Motherwell, as procured by Mr Jamieson from Mrs Brown of Falkland,-a lady to whom much of the traditionary poetry of Scotland is indebted for preservation. Motherwell added several stanzas in the appendix to his volume, and completed the story; which has since been adopted by Mr R. Chambers, Mr P. Buchan, and Professor Aytoun. The additions, with the exception of the opening stanza, have been pre

served in the following; though, as a work of art, the fragment was more beautiful than the entire ballad.

"GIE corn to my horse, mither,

Gie meat unto my man;

For I maun gang to Margaret's bower
Before the nicht comes on."

"O, stay at hame, my son Willie !
The wind blaws cald and dour;
The nicht will be baith mirk and late
Before ye reach her bower."

"O, though the night were never sae dark,
Or the wind blew never sae cauld,
I will be in May Margaret's bower
Before twa hours be tauld."

"O, gin ye gang to May Margaret,
Without the leave of me,

Clyde's water's wide and deep enough ;—
My malison drown thee!"

He mounted on his coal-black steed,
And fast he rade awa';

But, ere he came to Clyde water,
Fu' loud the wind did blaw.

As he rode o'er yon high, high hill,
And down yon dowie den,
There was a roar in Clyde's water
Wad fear'd a hunder men.

His heart was warm, his pride was up;

Sweet Willie kentna fear;

But yet his mother's malison

Aye sounded in his ear.

O, he has swam through Clyde water
Though it was wide and deep;
And he came to May Margaret's door
When a' were fast asleep.

O, he's gane round and round about,
And tirled at the pin;

But doors were steek'd, and windows barr'd,
And nane wad let him in.

"O, open the door to me, Margaret—
O, open and let me in!

For my boots are full o' Clyde's water,
And frozen to the brim."

"I darena open the door to you,

Nor darena let you

in;

For my mither she is fast asleep,
And I darena mak a din."

"O, gin ye winna open the door,
Nor yet be kind to me,

Now tell me o' some out-chamber
Where I this nicht may be."

"Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie,
Nor here ye canna be;

For I've nae chambers out nor in,
Nae ane but barely three:

"The ta'en o' them is fu' o' corn,

The tither is fu' o' hay

The tither is fu' o' merry young men;
They winna remove till day.'

"O, fare ye weel, then, May Margaret, Sin' better maunna be;

I've won my mother's malison

Coming this nicht to thee."

He's mounted on his coal-black steed

O, but his heart was wae! But ere he came to Clyde water, 'Twas half up o'er the brae.

When he came to Clyde's water,
'Twas flowing ower the brim;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's cane frae him.

He leaned him ower his saddle bow,
To catch his cane again;

The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's hat frae him.

He leaned him ower his saddle bow,
To catch his hat by force;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie frae his horse.

His brother stood upon the bank,
Says, "Fye, man, will ye drown?
Ye'll turn ye to your high horse head,

And learn ye how to soom.

"How can I turn to my high horse head,

And learn me how to soom?

I've gotten my mother's malison,

It's here that I maun droon."