'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemency; 25 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see ; 30 But had I wist, before I kissed, That love had been sae ill to win, I'd locked my heart in a case of gowd, 35 And oh ! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysel' were dead and gane, With the green grass growing over me! LXXVII BURD HELEN. I wish I were where Helen lies; Oh that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea! 40 Anon. Curst be the heart that thought the thought, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, Oh think na but my heart was sair, When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair! I laid her down wi' meikle care Oh fair Kirconnell lea. 5 10 As I went down the water-side, On fair Kirconnell lea; I lighted down my sword to draw, For her sake that died for me. O Helen fair, beyond compare? Until the day I die. 15 20 I wish my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, I wish I were where Helen lies: Since my Love died for me. 35 40 Anon. LXXVIII LOVE'S ENTERPRISE. Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves; Which Neptune obey, Where there is no place For the glowworm to lie; Where there is no space For receipt of a fly; Where the midge dares not venture, Lest herself fast she lay; If Love come, he will enter You may esteem him A child for his might; Or you may deem him A coward from his flight; But if she whom Love doth honour Be concealed from the day, Set a thousand guards upon her, 5 ΙΟ 15 20 Love will find out the way. Some think to lose him 25 By having him confined ; And some do suppose him, Poor heart! to be blind; But if ne'er so close you wall him, Do the best that you may, Blind Love, if so you call him, Will find out his way. 30 His plots to prevent; But if once the message greet him, There were twa brothers at the scule, 'It's will ye play at the stane-chucking, Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, And there we'll warsell a fa'.' 5 'I winna play at the stane-chucking, But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill, They warsled up, they warsled down, A dirk fell out of Willie's pouch, 'Oh, Billie, lift me on your back, Take me to yon well fair, And wash the bluid frae aff my wound, And it will bleed nae mair.' He's lifted his brother upon his back, Ta'en him to yon well fair; He's washed the bluid fra aff his wound, But ay it bled mair and mair. 'Tak ye aff my Holland sark, And stap it in my bluidy wound, ΙΟ 15 20 25 He's taken aff his Holland sark, And torn it gair by gair; 30 |