All sore astonied stood the duke;
He stood as still as still mote be;
Then hasten'd back to tell the king;
But he was gone from under the tree.

But to what place he could not tell,
For never after he did him spy;
But he saw a barge go from the land,
And he heard ladies howl and cry.

And whether the king were there or not,
He never knew, nor ever could;
For from that sad and dreadful day,
He never more was seen on mold.1

JOHNIE FAA.

THERE was a popular tradition that the subject of this ballad was Lady Jean Hamilton, daughter of the Earl of Waddington, who was forced to marry John Earl of Cassilis, though her affections were already engaged to Sir John Faa of Dunbar. In 1643, several years after her marriage, Faa presented himself, in the absence of the earl, at Cassilis Castle, disguised as a gipsy chief, and accompanied by a band of followers; and the lady was persuaded to elope with her former lover. The earl returned; and learning what had occurred, set out with a large force in pursuit of the fugitives. He arrested Faa and his followers, and, returning to the castle, he ordered them to be hanged, and compelled the countess to witness the execution from a chamber window. He afterwards caused her to be imprisoned for life in a house at Maybole, which he had caused to be fitted up for the purpose, and in the staircase of which he caused to be carved a set of heads representing her lover and his troop.

The ballad was written on the above tradition; but, unfortunately for the truth of the story, subsequent investigations prove that it is entirely without foundation. The story was perhaps the invention of an enemy of the house of Cassilis, and as such would not be unparalleled in the history of ballad poetry.

THE gypsies cam to our gude lord's yett,2
And oh but they sang sweetly;

They sang sae sweet and sae very complete,
That down cam our fair lady.

1 Earth.

2 Gate.

And she cam tripping down the stair,
And all her maids before her ;

As sune as they saw her weel-faur'd1 face,
They ouist the glaumourye2 ower her.

"Oh come with me," says Johnie Faa;
"Oh come with me, my dearie;

For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,
That your lord shall nae mair come near ye!"

Then she gied them the gude wheit breid,
And they ga'e her the ginger;
But she gied them a far better thing,
The gowd ring aff her finger.

"Gae tak frae me this gay mantil,
And bring to me a plaidie;
For if kith and kin and a' had sworn,
I'll follow the gipsy laddie.

"Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
Wi' my gude lord beside me ;
This night I'll lie in a tenant's barn,
Whatever shall betide me."

"Come to your bed," says Johnie Faa;
"Come to your bed, my dearie;

For I vow and I swear by the hilt o' my sword,
That your lord shall nae mair come near ye.'

"I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faa;

I'll go to bed to my dearie;

For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,
That my lord shall nae mair come near me.

"I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faa;
I'll mak a hap to my dearie;

And he's get a' the sash gaes round,

And my lord shall nae mair come near me."

1 Favoured.

2 "A species of magical illusion, which the gypsies were formerly believed to exercise."-Chambers.

And when our lord cam hame at e'en,
And speired for his fair lady,

The tane she cried, and the other replied,
"She's away wi' the gipsy laddie.”

"Gae saddle to me the black black steed,
Gae saddle and mak him ready;
Before that I either eat or sleep
I'll gae seek my fair lady."

And we were fifteen weel-made men,
Although we were na bonnie;
And we were a' put down for ane,
A fair young wanton lady.

THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O' OWSENFORD.

"THIS singularly wild and beautiful old ballad is chiefly taken from the recitation of my grandmother, who learned it, when a girl, nearly seventy years ago (1828) from a Miss Anne Gray, resident at Reidpath Castle, Peeblesshire." Chambers.

PART FIRST.

OH I will sing to you a sang,
Will grieve your heart full sair;
How the Clerk's twa sons o' Owsenford
Have to learn some unco lear.1

They hadna been in fair Parish 2
A twelvemonth and a day,

Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in love
Wi' the Mayor's dauchters twae.3

1 Strange knowledge.

2 Paris.

3 Two.

And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote,
The ladies sew'd and sang;

There was mair mirth in that chamber
Than in a' fair Ferrol's land.

But word's gane to the michty Mayor,
As he sail'd on the sea,

That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans 1

O' his fair dauchters twae.

"If they ha'e wrang'd my twa dauchters,

Janet and Marjorie,

The morn, ere I taste meat or drink,

Hie hangit they shall be."

And word's gane to the Clerk himself,
As he was drinking wine,
That his twa sons at fair Parish,
Were bound in prison strang.

Then up and spak the Clerk's ladye,
And she spak tenderlie :
"Oh tak wi' ye a purse o' gowd,
Or even tak ye three;
And if ye canna get William,
Bring Henry hame to me."

Oh sweetly sang the nightingale,
As she sat on the wand;
But sair, sair mourn'd Owsenford,
As he gaed in the strand.

When he came to their prison strang,
He rade it round about,

And at a little shot-window

His sons were looking out.

"Oh lie ye there, my sons," he said,
"For owsen 2 or for kye? 3
Or what is it that ye lie for,
Sae sair bound as ye lie?"

1 Wronged them.

2 Oxen.

4 Cows.

"We lie not here for owsen, father;

Nor yet do we for kye;

But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love,
Sae sair bound as we lie.

"Oh, borrow us, borrow us,1 father," they said,

"For the luve we bear to thee!"

"Oh, never fear, my pretty sons, Weel borrow'd ye sall be."

Then he's gane to the michty Mayor,
And he spak courteouslie;
"Will ye grant my twa sons' lives,
Either for gold or fee?

Or will ye be sae gude a man,

As grant them baith to me?"

"I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives, Neither for gold nor fee;

Nor will I be sae gude a man

As gi'e them baith to thee;
But before the morn at twal o'clock
Ye'll see them hangit hie!"

Ben it came to the Mayor's dauchters,
Wi' kirtle coat alone;

Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,
As they tripp'd on the stone.

"Will ye gi'e us our loves, father,

For gold or yet for fee?

Or will ye take our own sweet lives,
And let our true loves be?"

He's ta'en a whip into his hand,

And lash'd them wondrous sair: "Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers, Ye'se never see them mair."

1 Ransom us.

2 Girls.