Old English Ballads

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Francis Barton Gummere
Ginn, 1894 - 380 ページ
 

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123 ページ - Where be ye gaun, ye broken men ?' Quo' fause Sakelde ; ' come tell to me !' Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the never a word o' lear had he. ' Why trespass ye on the English side ? Row-footed outlaws, stand!' quo' he; The never a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
123 ページ - And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, The wind began full loud to blaw, But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath the castle wa'.
172 ページ - O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?" "I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down." "Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome, young man?
149 ページ - Late late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi the auld moone in hir arme, And I feir, I feir, my deir master, That we will cum to harme.
354 ページ - she said, " For your strokes they are wondrous sair ; True lovers I can get many a ane, But a father I can never get mair.
172 ページ - OI fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, my son! OI fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man! " " O yes! I am poisond; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.
148 ページ - The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch lauched he; The next line that Sir Patrick red, The teir blinded his ee. "O wha is this has don this deid, This ill deid don to me, To send me out this time o' the yeir, To sail upon the se!
169 ページ - And first came out the thick, thick blood, And syne came out the thin, And syne came out the bonny heart's blood ; There was nae mair within. She's rowd him in a cake o lead, Bade him lie still and sleep ; She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw-well, Was fifty fathom deep. When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' the bairns came hame, When every lady gat hame her son, The Lady Maisry gat nane.
149 ページ - Wi thair gold kems in their hair, Waiting for thair ain deir lords, For they'll se thame na mair. Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour, It's fiftie fadom deip, And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, Wi the Scots lords at his feit.
350 ページ - Tis I, my love, sits on your grave, And will not let you sleep; For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips, And that is all I seek.

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