'Wha looks to freits, my master dear, Its freits will follow them; Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon Was daunted by a dame.' But when the ladye saw the fire She wept, and kiss'd her children twain, The Gordon then his bugle blew, And said, 'Awa', awa'! This house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame; I hauld it time to ga'.' And this way lookit her ain dear lord, As he came owre the lea; He saw his castle a' in a lowe, Sae far as he could see. 'Put on, put on, my wighty men, As fast as ye can dri'e! For he that's hindmost o' the thrang Sall ne'er get good o' me.' Then some they rade, and some they ran, But ere the foremost could win up, And after the Gordon he is gane, And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude ROMANTIC. GLASGERION. [Glasgerion, or Kurion the Pale, was a Celtic minstrel, whom Chaucer places in the company of such bards as 'blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides.' This ballad exists in the Scotch version of Glenkindie (Jamieson, i. 93). It is here printed from Percy's Reliques, Bohn's Ed.] Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne, And soe did hee in the queens chambere, And then bespake the kinges daughter, 'Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, Of thy striking doe not blinne ; 'Faire might he fall,' quoth hee, 'Who taught you nowe to speake! I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere, 'But come to my bower, my Glasgerion, As I am a ladie true of my promise, Home then came Glasgerion, A glad man, lord! was hee: 'And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy, 'For the kinges daughter of Normandye Hath granted mee my boone; And att her chambere must I bee Beffore the cocke have crowen.' 'O master, master,' then quoth hee, But up then rose that lither ladd, And when he came to the ladyes chamber, He thrild upon a pinn: The lady was true of her promise, And rose and lett him inn. He did not take the lady gaye To boulster nor to bed: Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille, He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe, But home then came that lither ladd, 'Awake, awake, my deere master, 'For I have saddled your horse, mastèr, And I have served you a good breakfast, Up then rose good Glasgerion, And when he came to the ladyes chambere, He thrilled upon the pinne; The lady was more than true of promise, And rose and let him inn. 'O whether have you left with me Glasgerion swore a full great othe, 'O then it was your lither foot-page, He hath beguiled mee :' Then shee pulled forth a little pen-knìffe, That hanged by her knee. Sayes, 'There shall never noe churlès blood Within my bodye spring: No churlès blood shall eer defile The daughter of a kinge.' Home then went Glasgerion, And woe, good lord! was hee: Sayes, 'Come thou hither, Jacke my boy, Come hither unto mee. 'If I had killed a man to-night, Jacke, I would tell it thee: But if I have not killed a man to-night, And he puld out his bright browne sword, And he smote off that lither ladds head, He sett the swords poynt till his brest, Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd, THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. [This ballad exists in Denmark, and in other European countries. The Scotch have localised it, and point out Blackhouse, on the wild Douglas Burn, a tributary of the Yarrow, as the scene of the tragedy.] 'Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas,' she says, Let it never be said, that a daughter of thine 'Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, He's mounted her on a milk-white steed, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, Lord William lookit o'er is left shoulder, To see what he could see, And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold, |