At the water of Carron he did begin,
And fought the battle to the end;
Where there were killed, for our noble king,
Two thousand of our Danish men.

Gilbert Menzies, of high degree,

By whom the king's banner was borne ; For a brave cavalier was he,

But now to glory he is gone.

Then woe to Strachan, and Hacket baith!
And Lesly, ill death may thou die !
For ye have betrayed the gallant Grahams,
Who aye were true to majestie.

And the laird of Assint has seized Montrose,
And had him into Edinburgh town;

And frae his body taken the head,
And quartered him upon a trone.

And Huntly's gone the self-same way,
And our noble king is also gone ;

He suffered death for our nation,

Our mourning tears can ne'er be done.

But our brave young king is now come hame, King Charles the Second in degree ;

The Lord send peace into his time,

And God preserve his majestie!

THE DUKE OF GORDON'S THREE DAUGHTERS.

IF I did not consider myself in some measure bound to give a specimen of every kind of ballad which is in circulation in Scotland, and which has some claim to antiquity, I certainly should have omitted the following, as being pure doggrel. Nevertheless it is both old and popular, is sung at the present day by the peasantry in Aberdeenshire, and is a stockpiece with the chapmen throughout the northern districts of Scotland. I cannot pretend to assign any date to its composition; but it was known to Burns, who quotes the first line of it, with reference to a supposed tune; and it has an original air (given in "Johnston's Museum"), to which it is invariably sung. The title I take to be arbitrary. The Dukedom of Gordon was created in the year 1684, and there is no passage in the history of that family of a later date, which could be the foundation of such a story. Indeed, Burns says that the opening line was,

"The Lord o' Gordon has three daughters."

No one expects to find names set down accurately, even in ballads which are purely historical; but in this instance the minstrel, either advisedly or by accident, has set forward names which apparently lead to identification of parties. George, Earl of Huntley, chief of the Gordons, who was killed at the battle of Corrichie in 1562, had three daughters, Elizabeth, Margaret, and Jean, as specified in the ballad, and Jean did marry a Captain Alexander Ogilvie. So far song and history agree; but history tells us much more, and

indeed gives the lie to the minstrel. Lady Jean Gordon was not wedded to Captain Ogilvie in the flower of her youth. Her first husband was the notorious James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell; and that marriage was annulled by the contrivance of Bothwell, when he aspired to the hand of the unfortunate Queen Mary. Her second husband was Alexander, Earl of Sutherland, who died in 1594, and at his demise she was in her fiftieth year. She afterwards married Captain Alexander Ogilvie of Boyne, by whom, it is unnecessary to say, she left no issue.

Notwithstanding the remarkable coincidence of names, it seems highly improbable that she was the lady upon whom the ballad was composed; at all events, it is evident that the minstrel knew nothing of her personal history. I am inclined to think that the coincidence is altogether accidental. It was no uncommon practice for the reciters to prefix to their ditties high-sounding or popular names as a kind of additional attraction. Thus, one version of the ballad printed in this collection as "The Bonnie Banks o' Fordie," is vended at the stalls under the alluring title of "The Duke of Perth's Three Daughters." Nor were the minstrels at all scrupulous in the choice of pedigrees for the ennoblement of their heroes and heroines. Whenever it was necessary for the denouement of the story to elevate the station of a stray damsel, she was fathered upon the Earl of Richmond, or the Earl of Stockford, or, in certain extreme cases, upon his most Christian Majesty of France.

This ballad found favour in the critical eyes of Ritson, who inserted it in his collection of Scottish songs; possibly on the same principle which I once heard assigned by a penurious traveller for his invariable preference of the thinnest and sourest vin ordinaire to a more genial vintage. "Flavour and strength," he said, "may be all very well in their way. but they are sure signs of adulteration. Sir, I stand for purity; and I defy all the wine-doctors in the world to adulterate this!"

THE Duke of Gordon has three daughters,

THE

Elisabeth, Margaret, and Jean;

They wad not stay in bonnie Castle-Gordon,
But they wad go to bonnie Aberdeen.

They had na been in Aberdeen,

A twelvemonth and a day,

Till lady Jean fell in love wi' Captain Ogilvie,
And awa' wi' him she wad gae.

Word cam' to the Duke of Gordon,
In the chamber where he lay,

Lady Jean has fell in love wi' Captain Ogilvie,
And awa' wi' him she wad gae.

"Gae saddle me the black horse,
And you'll ride on the gray ;
And I will ride to bonnie Aberdeen,
Where I hae been mony a day."

They were na a mile from Aberdeen,
A mile but only threen,

Till he met wi' his twa daughters walking,
But awa' was Lady Jean.

"Where is your sister, maidens ? Where is your sister now?

Where is your sister, maidens,

That she is not walking wi' you?"

"O pardon us, honoured father!
O pardon us," they did say:
"Lady Jean is wi' Captain Ogilvie,
And awa' wi' him she will gae."

When he cam' to Aberdeen,
And doun upon the green,
There did he see Captain Ogilvie

Training up his men.

"O wae to you, Captain Ogilvie,

And an ill death thou shalt die !

For taking to my daughter,
Hanged thou shalt be."

Duke Gordon has wrote a braid letter,

And sent it to the King,

To cause hang Captain Ogilvie,

If ever he hanged a man.

"I will not hang Captain Ogilvie

For nae lord that I see;

But I'll cause him to put off the lace and scarlet, And put on the single livery."

Word cam' to Captain Ogilvie,

In the chamber where he lay,
To cast off the gold-lace and scarlet,
And put on the single livery.

"If this be for bonnie Jeanie Gordon,
This penance I'll tak' wi';

If this be for bonnie Jeanie Gordon,
All this I will dree."

Lady Jean had not been married,

Not a year but three,

Till she had a babe on every arm,
Anither on her knee.