Ha! boys! I see a party appearing-wha's yon? Methinks it's the Captain of Bewcastle, and Jeptha's John,

Coming down by the foul steps of Catlowdie's loan: They'll make a' sicker, come which way they will. Ha, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',

My gear's a' ta'en.

Captain Musgrave, and a' his band,

Are coming down by the Siller-strand,

And the Muckle toun-bell o' Carlisle is rung:

My gear was a' weel won,

And before it's carried o'er the Border, mony a man's gae down.

Fy, lads! shout a' a' a' a' a',
My gear's a' gane.

CARLISLE YETTS.

["An old lady of Dumfriesshire," says Allan Cunningham, "often mentioned to me the horror which she felt when she saw several heads on the Scottish-gates of Carlisle, one of which was that of a youth with very long yellow hair. The story of a lady, young and beautiful, who came from a distant part and gazed at this head every morning at sunrise, and every evening at sunset, is also told by many. At last the head and the lady disappeared."]

White was the rose in my love's hat,
As he rowed me in his lowland plaidie ;
His heart was true as death in love,
His hand was aye in battle ready.

His long, lòng hair, in yellow hanks,
Waved o'er his cheeks sae sweet and ruddy;
But now it waves o'er Carlisle yetts,
In dripping ringlets, soil'd and bloody.

When I came first through fair Carlisle,
Ne'er was a town sae gladsome seeming;
The white rose flaunted o'er the wall,
The thistled pennons wide were streaming.
When I came next through fair Carlisle,
O sad, sad seem'd the town and eerie !
The old men sobb'd, the gray dames wept,
"O lady! come ye to seek your dearie?"

I tarried on a heathery hill,

My tresses to my cheeks were frozen ;
And far adown the midnight wind
I heard the din of battle closing.
The gray day dawned-amang the snow
Lay many a young and gallant fellow;
And O! the sun shone bright in vain,
On twa blue een 'tween locks of yellow.

A tress of soil'd and yellow hair,
Close in my bosom I am keeping-
Since earthly joys are torn from me,

Come welcome woe, and want, and weeping!
Woe, woe upon that cruel heart,

Woe, woe upon that hand sae bloody,
That lordless leaves my true-love's hall,

And makes me wail a virgin widow!

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

[From Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, where will also be found the " 'pure antiquity" copy of this ballad. Percy was Dean of Carlisle from 1778 to 1782.]

In Carleile dwelt king Arthur,

A prince of passing might;

And there maintain'd his table round,
Beset with many a knight.

And there he kept his Christmas
With mirth and princely cheare,
When, lo a strange and cunning boy
Before him did appeare.

A kirtle, and a mantle

This boy had him upon,

With brooches, rings, and owches

Full daintily bedone.

He had a sarke of silk

About his middle meet;

And thus, with seemly curtesy,
He did king Arthur greet.

"God speed thee, brave king Arthur,

Thus feasting in thy bowre.
And Guenever thy goodly queen,

That fair and peerlesse flowre.

Ye gallant lords, and lordlings,
I wish you all take heed,

Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose
Should prove a cankred weed."

Then straitway from his bosome
A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle

Of wondrous shape, and hew.

"Now have thou here, king Arthur,
Have this here of mee,
And give unto thy comely queen,
All-shapen as you see.

No wife it shall become,

That once hath been to blame." Then every knight in Arthur's court Slye glaunced at his dame.

And first came lady Guenever,
The mantle she must trye.
This dame, she was new-fangled,

And of a roving eye.

When she had tane the mantle,
And all was with it cladde,
From top to toe it shiver'd down,
As tho' with sheers beshradde.

One while it was too long,

Another while too short,

And wrinkled on her shoulders

In most unseemly sort.

Now green, now red it seemed,

Then all of sable hue.

"Beshrew me," quoth king Arthur,

"I think thou beest not true."

Down she threw the mantle,

Ne longer would not stay; But storming like a fury,

To her chamber flung away.

She curst the whoreson weaver,
That had the mantle wrought:
And doubly curst the froward impe,
Who thither had it brought.

I had rather live in desarts

Beneath the green-wood tree:
Than here, base king, among thy groomes,
The sport of them and thee."

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady,
And bade her to come near:

"Yet dame, if thou be guilty,
I pray thee now forbear."

This lady, pertly gigling,

With forward step came on,
And boldly to the little boy,
With fearless face is gone.

When she had tane the mantle,
With purpose for to wear;
It shrunk up to her shoulder,
And left her b**side bare.