And he has sent a messenger
   Right quickly through the land,
  And raised mony an armed man
   To be at his command.

  The bride looked out at a high window,
   Beheld baith dale and down,
  And she was aware of her first true love,
   With riders mony a one.

  She scoffed him, and scorned him,
   Upon her wedding day;
  And said—­“It was the Fairy court
   “To see him in array!

  “O come ye here to fight, young lord,
   “Or come ye here to play? 
  “Or come ye here to drink good wine
   “Upon the wedding day?”

  “I come na here to fight,” he said,
   “I come na here to play;
  “I’ll but lead a dance wi’ the bonnie bride,
   “And mount and go my way.”

  It is a glass of the blood-red wine
   Was filled up them between,
  And aye she drank to Lauderdale,
   Wha her true love had been.

  He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
   And by the grass-green sleeve;
  He’s mounted her hie behind himsell,
   At her kinsmen spear’d na leave.

  “Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar! 
   “Now take her if you may! 
  “But, if you take your bride again,
   “We’ll call it but foul play.”

  There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys,
   A’ clad in the Johnstone grey;[A]
  They said they would take the bride again,
   By the strong hand, if they may.

  Some o’ them were right willing men,
   But they were na willing a’;
  And four-and-twenty Leader lads
   Bid them mount and ride awa’.

  Then whingers flew frae gentles’ sides,
   And swords flew frae the shea’s,
  And red and rosy was the blood
   Ran down the lily braes.

  The blood ran down by Caddon bank,
   And down by Caddon brae;
  And, sighing, said the bonnie bride—­
   “O waes me for foul play!”

  My blessing on your heart, sweet thing! 
   Wae to your willfu’ will! 
  There’s mony a gallant gentleman
   Whae’s blude ye have garr’d to spill.

  Now a’ you lords of fair England,
   And that dwell by the English border,
  Come never here to seek a wife,
   For fear of sic disorder.

  They’ll haik ye up, and settle ye bye,
   Till on your wedding day;
  Then gie ye frogs instead of fish,
   And play ye foul foul play.

[Footnote A:  Johnstone grey—­The livery of the ancient family of Johnstone.]

THE LAIRD O’ LOGIE

An edition of this ballad is current, under the title of “The Laird of Ochiltree;” but the editor, since publication of this work, has been fortunate enough to recover the following more correct and ancient copy, as recited by a gentleman residing near Biggar.  It agrees more nearly, both in the name and in the circumstances, with the real fact, than the printed ballad of Ochiltree.