Sir Patrick Spens.

THE king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine;
"Oh where will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship of mine?"

Oh up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."

Our king has written a braid letter,
And sealed it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway,

'Tis thou maun bring her hame!"

The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud laughed he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blindit his e'e.

"Oh wha is this has done this deed,
And tauld the king o' me,

To send us out at this time of the year,
To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn Wi' a' the speed they may;

They hae landed in Norway

Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week
In Noroway, but twae,

When that the lords o' Noroway
Began aloud to say:

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd
And a' our queenis fee."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!

Fu' loud I hear ye lie!

"For I hae brought as much white monie

As gane my men and me,

And I hae brought a half-fou o' gude red gowd Out owre the sea wi' me.

"Make ready, make ready, my merry men a'! Our gude ship sails the morn." "Now, ever alake! my master dear, I fear a deadly storm!

"I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;

And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm."

They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league, but barely three,

When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,

And gurly grew the sea.

491

He promised me a wedding-ring—

The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow; Now he is wedded to his grave,

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow!

Sweet were his words when last we met:
My passion I as freely told him!
Clasped in his arms, I little thought

That I should never more behold him!
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost;
It vanished with a shriek of sorrow;
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,

And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow.
His mother from the window looked,
With all the longing of a mother;
His little sister weeping walked

The green-wood path to meet her brother. They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough;

They only saw the cloud of night,

They only heard the roar of Yarrow !

No longer from thy window look,

Thou hast no son, thou tender mother!

No longer walk, thou lovely maid;

Alas, thou hast no more a brother!

No longer seek him east or west,

And search no more the forest thorough, For, wandering in the night so dark, He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow.

The tear shall never leave my cheek,
No other youth shall be my marrow;
I'll seek thy body in the stream,
And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.

JOHN LOGAN.

The Douglas Tragedy.

"RISE up, rise up now, Lord Douglas," she says, "And put on your armor so bright;

Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armor so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest 's awa the last night.”