They fought on, and Johnnie fought on,
Wi' swords o' temper'd steel,
Until the draps o' red, red blood
Ran trinkling down the field.

They fought on, and Johnnie fought on,
They fought right manfullie,

Till they left not alive in a' the King's court
A man only but three.

And they begoud at eight of the morn,
And they fought on till three;
When the Tailliant, like the swallow swift,
Owre Johnnie's head did flee:

But Johnnie being a clever young boy,
He wheeled him round about;

And on the point of Johnnie's broadsword,
The Tailliant he slew out.

A priest, a priest," fair Johnnie cried, "To wed my love and me!"

A clerk, a clerk," her father cried, "To sum her tocher free."

"I'll hae none of your gold," fair Johnnie cried,

"Nor none of your other gear;

But I will have my own fair bride,
For this day I've won her dear."

He's ta'en his true love by the hand,
He led her up the plain :

"Have you any more of your English dogs, You want for to have slain ?"

He put a little horn to his mouth,
He blew 't baith loud and shrill;
And Honour is into Scotland gone,
In spite of England's Skill.

He put his little horn to his mouth,
He blew it owre again;

And aye the sound the good horn cryed,
Was "Johnnie and his men!"

CATHERINE JOHNSTONE.

Of this ballad two versions have already been published, one in the Border Minstrelsy, the other in "A North Countrie Garland." The present copy was obtained from recitation, in the West of Scotland, and is now given as exhibiting the state in which this popular ballad is there preserved. The tenth stanza seems to contain an allusion to the Knights of the Round Table.-MOTHERWELL.

THERE was a lass, as I heard say,
Lived low doun in a glen;

Her name was Catherine Johnstone,
Weel known to many men.

Doun came the Laird o' Lamington,

Doun from the south countrie

And he is for this bonnie lass,
Her bridegroom for to be.

;

He's ask'd her father and mother,
The chief of a' her kin;

And then he ask'd the bonnie lass,
And did her favour win.

Doun came an English gentleman,
Doun from the English border;
He is for this bonnie lass,

To keep his house in order.

He ask'd her father and mother,
As I do hear them say;

But he never asked the lass hersel,
Till on her wedding-day.

But she has wrote a long letter,
And sealed it with her hand;
And sent it to Lord Lamington,
To let him understand.

The first line o' the letter he read,
He was baith glad and fain,
But ere he read the letter o'er,
He was baith pale and wan.

Then he has sent a messenger,
And out through all his land;
And four-and-twenty armed men
Were all at his command.

But he has left his merry men

He's left them on the lee;

And he's awa to the wedding-house,

To see what he could see.

But when he came to the wedding-house, As I do understand;

There were four-and-twenty belted knights Sat at a table round.

They rose all to honour him,

For he was of high renown; They rose all for to welcome him, And bade him to sit down.

O meikle was the good red wine,
In silver cups did flow;
But aye she drank to Lamington,
For with him would she go.

O meikle was the good red wine,
In silver cups gaed round;
At length they began to whisper words,
None could them understand.

"O came ye here for sport, young man?
Or came ye here for play?
Or came ye for our bonnie bride,
On this her wedding-day?"

"I came not here for sport," he said,
"Neither did I for play;

But for one word o' your bonnie bride, I'll mount and go away."

They set her maids behind her,

To hear what they would say;
But the first question he ask'd at her
Was always answered, Nay;
The next question he ask'd at her
Was, "Mount, and come away."

It's up and to the Couden bank,
And doun the Couden brae;

And aye she made the trumpet sound,

It's a weel won play."

O meikle was the blood was shed,
Upon the Couden brae;

And aye she made the trumpet sound,
"It's a' fair play.

"Come a' ye English gentlemen,

That is of England born;

Come na doun to Scotland,

For fear ye get the scorn.

"They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words,
And that's foul play;

And they'll dress you frogs instead of fish,
Just on your wedding-day."

GILDEROY.

This very popular ballad appears to have been adapted from a much older one by Sir Alexander Halket, brother of Elizabeth Halket, Lady Wardlaw, authoress of "Hardyknute," and of many other imitations of ancient minstrelsy. The hero was one Patrick MacGregor, a noted Highland cateran, who was executed, with five of his gang, in Edinburgh, in 1638. He was usually called Gillie Roy-or the Red Boy-from the colour of his hair. Hence the designation of Gilderoy, by which he is known to posterity with almost as much romance thrown about his story as that which has enveloped the exploits of Rob Roy, Claude Duval, or Robin Hood. But almost every country has its model thief; and Scottish romance possesses two in Rob Roy and Gillie Roy.

GILDEROY was a bonnie boy,
Had roses till his shoon;
His stockings were of silken soy,
Wi' garters hanging doon.