Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border: Consisting of Historical and Romantic Ballads, Collected in the Southern Counties of Scotland; with a Few of Modern Date, Founded Upon Local Tradition, Volume 1

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown, 1821 - Ballads, Scots
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Page 7 - 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.
Page 63 - If thou'rt the lord of this castle, Sae weel it pleases me, For, ere I cross the Border fells, The tane of us shall die.
Page lxii - I OFT have heard of Lydford law, How in the morn they hang and draw, And sit in judgment after : At first I wondered at it much; But since I find the reason such, As it deserves no laughter.
Page 200 - And as we cross'd the Bateable Land, When to the English side we held, The first o' men that we met wi', Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde ? ' Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen ? ' Quo' fause Sakelde ; ' come tell to me ! ' ' We go to hunt an English stag, Has trespass'd on the Scots countrie.
Page cvii - Tells how the drudging goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail had...
Page 201 - Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie?' 'We gang to herry a corbie's nest, That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.
Page 6 - O 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.
Page cvii - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Page 5 - Our King has written a braid letter, And seal'd 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.
Page 7 - Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; " And, if we gang to sea, master,

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