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"Take down, take down, that mast o' gowd!

Set up a mast o' tree!

It disna become a forsaken lady

To sail sae royallie."

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When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,

And the sun began to peep,

Then up and raise him Lord Gregory,
And sair, sair did he weep.

"Oh I hae dream'd a dream, mother,

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That the bonny Lass of Lochroyan

I wish it may prove true!

Was at the yate e'en now.

"OI hae dream'd a dream, mother,

The thought o't gars me greet!

That fair Annie o' Lochroyan

Lay cauld dead at my feet."

“Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan

That ye make a' this din,

She stood a' last night at your door,

But I true she wan na in."

"O wae betide ye, ill woman! An ill deid may ye die!

That wadna open the door to her,

Nor yet wad waken me."

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O he's gane down to yon shore side
As fast as he could fare;

He saw fair Annie in the boat,

But the wind it toss'd her sair.

"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie!
O Annie, winna ye bide!"

But aye the mair he cried Annie,
The braider grew the tide.

"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie! Dear Annie, speak to me!"

But

aye

the louder he cried Annie,

The louder roar'd the sea.

The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dash'd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floated through the faem,

But the babie rose no more.

Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
Her bonny young son was gone.

O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair;
But clay-cold were her rosy lips-
Nae spark o' life was there.

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And first he kiss'd her cherry cheek,
And syne he kiss'd her chin,
And syne he kiss'd her rosy lips-

There was nae breath within.

"O wae betide my cruel mother!

An ill death may she die!

She turn'd my true love frae my door,

Wha came sae far to me.

"O wae betide my cruel mother!

An ill death may she die!

She turn'd fair Annie frae my door,

Wha died for love o' me."

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THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.

"THE ballad of The Douglas Tragedy is one of the few, to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality.

"The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farm-house, in a wild and solitary glen, upon a torrent named Douglas burn, which joins the Yarrow, after passing a craggy rock, called the Douglas craig. This wild scene, now a part of the Traquair estate, formed one of the most ancient possessions of the renowned family of Douglas; for Sir John Douglas, eldest son of William, the first Lord Douglas, is said to have sat, as baronial lord of Douglas burn, during his father's lifetime, in a parliament of Malcolm Canmore, held at Forfar.-GODSCROFT, vol. i. p. 20.

"The tower appears to have been square, with a circular turret at one angle, for carrying up the staircase, and for flanking the entrance. It is said to have derived its name of Blackhouse from the complexion of the Lords of Douglas, whose swarthy hue was a

family attribute. But, when the high mountains, by which it is inclosed, were covered with heather, which was the case till of late years, Blackhouse must also have merited its appellation from the appearance of the

scenery.

"From this ancient tower, Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighbouring heights of Blackhouse, are shown, as marking the spot where the seven brethren were slain; and the Douglas burn is averred to have been the stream, at which the lovers stopped to drink so minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event." Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 3.

After so circumstantial a description of the scene of the Douglas Tragedy, the reader may be amused to see the same story told in various Scandinavian ballads, with a no less plausible resemblance to actual history. This, as has already been pointed out under Guy of Warwick and Kempion, is an ordinary occurrence in the transmission of legends. "Popular tales, and anecdotes of every kind," says Jamieson, "soon obtain locality wherever they are told; and the intelligent and attentive traveller will not be surprised to find the same story which he had learnt when a child, with every appropriate circumstance of names, time, and place, in a Glen of Morven, Lochaber, or Rannoch, equally domesticated among the mountains of Norway, Caucasas, or Thibet." See Ribolt and Guldborg, (Danske Viser, Nyerup, iii. 326,) translated by Jamieson, Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 317. The corresponding Swedish ballads are in the Svenska Folk

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