'I now for ever bid adieu

To thee, my Andrew Lammie; Ere ye come back, I will be laid

In the green kirkyard of Fyvie."

He hied him to the head of the house,
To the house-top of Fyvie;
He blew his trumpet loud and shrill,
'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie.

Her father lock'd the door at night,
Laid by the keys fu' canny;

And when he heard the trumpet sound,
Said, "Your cow is lowing, Annie."

"My father dear, I pray forbear,

And reproach no more your Annie ; For I'd rather hear that cow to low Than hae a' the kine in Fyvie.

"I would not for my braw new gown, And a' your gifts sae many,

That it were told in Fyvie's land,
How cruel you are to Annie.

"But if ye

strike me, I will cry,

And gentlemen will hear me; Lord Fyvie will be riding by,

And he'll come in and see me."

At the same time, the Lord came in,

He said, "What ails thee, Annie?" “'Tis all for love now I must die, For bonnie Andrew Lammie."

"Pray, Mill o' Tiftie, gie consent, And let your daughter marry.' "It will be with some higher match Than the Trumpeter of Fyvie."

"If she were come of as high a kind
As she's adorn'd with beauty,
I would take her unto myself,
And make her mine own lady."

"It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide,
And they are rich and bonnie;
I would not leave my own true love
For all the lands of Fyvie."

Her father struck her wondrous sore,
As also did her mother;

Her sisters always did her scorn;
But woe be to her brother.

Her brother struck her wondrous sore,
With cruel strokes and many;
He brake her back in the hall door,
For liking Andrew Lammie.

"Alas! my father and mother dear,
Why so cruel to your Annie?
My heart was broken first by love,
My brother has broken my body."

"O mother dear, make ye my bed,
And lay my face to Fyvie;
Thus will I lie, and thus will die
For my love, Andrew Lammie!

"Ye neighbours hear, both far and near,
Ye pity Tiftie's Annie;
Who dies for love of one poor lad,
For bonnie Andrew Lammie.

"No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life,
Nor hurt my virgin honour;
My youthful heart was won by love,
But death will me exoner."

Her mother then she made her bed,
And laid her face to Fyvie;
Her tender heart it soon did break,
And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie.

But the word soon went up and down,
Through all the lands of Fyvie,
That she was dead and buried,
Even Tiftie's bonnie Annie.

Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands,
Said, "Alas for Tiftie's Annie!
The fairest flower's cut down by love,
That e'er sprung up in Fyvie.

"O woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride,
He might have let them marry;
I should have gi'en them both to live
Into the lands of Fyvie."

Her father sorely now laments
The loss of his dear Annie,
And wishes he had gi'en consent
To wed with Andrew Lammie.

Her mother grieves both air and late,
Her sisters, 'cause they scorn'd her;
Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve,
For the cruel usage he'd given her.

But now, alas! it was too late,
For they could not recall her;
Through life, unhappy is their fate,
Because they did control her.

When Andrew hame from Edinbro' came,
With meikle grief and sorrow:
"My love has died for me to-day,
I'll die for her to-morrow.

"Now I will on to Tiftie's den,

Where the burn runs clear and bonnie; With tears I'll view the Bridge of Sleugh,* Where I parted last with Annie.

"Then will I speed to the churchyard,
To the green churchyard of Fyvie;
With tears I'll water my love's grave,
Till I follow Tiftie's Annie."

Ye parents grave, who children have,
In crushing them be canny,
Lest when too late you do repent—
Remember Tiftie's Annie.

* "Sleugh" in one printed copy this is "Sheugh," and in a recited copy it was called "Skew;" but which is the right reading, the editor, from his ignorance of the topography of the lands of Fyvie, is unable to say. It is a received superstition in Scotland, that when friends or lovers part at a bridge, they shall never again meet.-W. M.

THE WEARY COBLE O' CARGILL.

This local ballad, which commemorates some real event, is given from the recitation of an old woman, residing in the neighbourhood of Cambusmichael, Perthshire. It possesses the elements of good poetry, and, had it fallen into the hands of those who make no scruple of interpolating and corrupting the text of oral song, it might have been made, with little trouble, a very interesting and pathetic composition.

Kercock and Balathy are two small villages on the banks of the Tay; the latter is nearly opposite Stobhall. According to tradition, the ill-fated hero of the ballad had a leman in each of these places, and it was on the occasion of his paying a visit to his Kercock love that the jealous dame in "Balathy toun," from a revengeful feeling, scuttled the boat in which he was to re-cross the Tay to Stobhall. -MOTHERWELL.

DAVID DRUMMOND's destinie,

Gude man o' appearance o' Cargill;
I wat his blude rins in the flude,
Sae sair against his parents' will.

She was the lass o' Balathy toun,
And he the butler o' Stobhall;
And mony a time she wauked late,
To bore the coble o' Cargill.

His bed was made in Kercock ha',
Of gude clean sheets and of the hay;
He wudna rest ae nicht therein,

But on the prude waters he wud gae.

His bed was made in Balathy toun,

Of the clean sheets and of the strae;
But I wat it was far better made,

Into the bottom o' bonnie Tay.