O they rade on, and on they rade,
    And a’ by the light of the moon,
  Until they came to yon wan water,
    And there they lighted down.

  They lighted down to tak a drink
    Of the spring that ran sae clear;
  And down the stream ran his gude heart’s blood,
    And sair she gan to fear.

  “Hold up, hold up, Lord William,” she says,
    “For I fear that you are slain!”
  “’Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak;
    “That shines in the water sae plain.”

  O they rade on, and on they rade,
    And a’ by the light of the moon,
  Until they cam’ to his mother’s ha’ door,
    And there they lighted down.

  “Get up, get up, lady mother,” he says,
    “Get up, and let me in!—­
  “Get up, get up, lady mother,” he says,
    “For this night my fair lady I’ve win.

  “O mak my bed, lady mother,” he says,
    “O mak it braid and deep! 
  “And lay Lady Marg’ret close at my back,
    “And the sounder I will sleep.”

  Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
    Lady Marg’ret lang ere day—­
  And all true lovers that go thegither,
    May they have mair luck than they!

  Lord William was buried in St Marie’s kirk,
    Lady Margaret in Mary’s quire;
  Out o’ the lady’s grave grew a bonny red rose,
    And out o’ the knight’s a brier.

  And they twa met, and they twa plat,
    And fain they wad be near;
  And a’ the warld might ken right weel,
    They were twa lovers dear.

  But bye and rade the Black Douglas,
    And wow but he was rough! 
  For he pull’d up the bonny brier,
    And flang’d in St Mary’s loch.

YOUNG BENJIE.  NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

In this ballad the reader will find traces of a singular superstition, not yet altogether discredited in the wilder parts of Scotland.  The lykewake, or watching a dead body, in itself a melancholy office, is rendered, in the idea of the assistants, more dismally awful, by the mysterious horrors of superstition.  In the interval betwixt death and interment, the disembodied spirit is supposed to hover around its mortal habitation, and, if invoked by certain rites, retains the power of communicating, through its organs, the cause of its dissolution.  Such enquiries, however are always dangerous, and never to be resorted to unless the deceased is suspected to have suffered foul play, as it is called.  It is the more unsafe to tamper with this charm, in an unauthorized manner; because the inhabitants of the infernal regions are, at such periods, peculiarly active.  One of the most potent ceremonies in the charm, for causing the dead body to speak, is, setting the door ajar, or half open.  On this account, the peasants of Scotland sedulously avoid leaving the door ajar, while a corpse lies in the house.  The door must either be left wide open, or quite shut; but the first is always