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"For me to yield my lady bright

To such an aged knight as thee, People wad think I war gane mad, Or a' the courage flown frae me.”

But up then spake the second knight,
I wat he spake right boustouslie,
"Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright,
Or here the tane of us shall die."

"My lady is my world's meed:
My life I winna yield to nane;
But if ye be men of your manhead,
Ye'll only fight me ane by ane."

He lighted aff his milk-white steed,
An' gae his lady him by the head,
Say'n, "See you dinna change your cheer,
Until you see my body bleed."

He set his back unto an aik,

He set his feet against a stane,
An' he has fought these fifteen men,
An' kill'd them a' but barely ane;
For he has left that aged knight,
An' a' to carry the tidings hame.

When he gaed to his lady fair,

I wat he kiss'd her tenderlie ;

"Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought; Now we shall walk the greenwood free."

THE BARON OF BRACKLEY.

THIS very spirited ballad commemorates an encounter which took place between Gordon of Brackley and Farquharson of Inverey in the year 1666. The following version is that which was printed by Mr Jamieson.

DOWN Deeside cam' Inverey, whistling and play

ing;

He's lighted at Brackley yetts, at the day dawing.

Says, "Baron o' Brackley, O are ye within?
There's sharp swords at your yett will gar your blood
spin."

The lady rase up; to the window she went ;
She heard her kye lowing o'er hill and o'er bent.

"O rise up, ye baron, and turn back your kye; For the lads o' Drumwharran are driving them bye."

"How can I rise, lady, or turn them again? Where'er I hae ae man, I wat they hae ten."

"Then rise up, my lasses; tak rokes in your hand, And turn back the kye: I hae you at command.

66 Gin I had a husband, as it seems I hae nane, He wadna lie in his bower, see his kye taen."

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Then up gat the baron, and cried for his graith;

Says, "Lady, I'll gang, though to leave you I'm laith.

Come, kiss me, then, Peggy; and gie me my spear;

I aye was for peace, though I never fear'd weir.

Come, kiss me, then, Peggy; nor think I'm to blame; I weel may gae out; but I'll never win in !"

When Brackley was buskit, and rade o'er the closs, A gallanter baron ne'er lap to a horse.

When Brackley was mounted and rade o'er the green, He was as bold a baron as ever was seen.

Tho' there cam' wi' Inverey thirty and three, There was nane wi' bonnie Brackley but his brother and he.

Twa gallanter Gordons did never sword draw :
But against four and thirty, wae's me, what is twa?

;

Wi' swords and wi' daggers they did him surround And they've pierced bonnie Brackley wi' mony a wound.

Frae the head o' the Dee to the banks o' the Spey, The Gordons may mourn him, and ban Inverey.

"O cam' ye by Brackley yetts? was ye in there? Saw ye his Peggy dear, riving her hair?"

"O I cam' by Brackley yetts; I was in there; And I saw his Peggy a-making good cheer."

That lady she feasted them, carried them ben,
And laughed wi' the men that her baron had slain.

"Oh, fye on ye, lady! how could you do sae! You opened your yetts to the fause Inverey!"

She ate wi' him, drank wi' him, welcomed him in ; She welcomed the villain that slew her baron!

She kept him till morning; syne bade him be gane, And shawed him the road whare he should na be tane.

"Through Birss, and Aboyne," she says, "lyin in a tour,

Ower the hills o' Glentannar ye'll skip in an hour."

There's grief in the kitchen, and mirth in the ha'; But the Baron of Brackley is dead and awa.

THE TRUMPETER OF FYVIE.

THIS ballad, though rude in structure, is extremely popular in the north-east of Scotland, where versions of it, in one shape or another, are to be found at every stall. It exhibits, as Mr Jamieson has remarked, an uncommon looseness in rhyming; indeed the rhymes, where they do occur, appear to be rather casual than intended. This is a marked feature in the ballad-poetry of Spain; and it is sometimes traceable in that of Germany-as, for example, in the old ballad called Espenzweiglein," which commences thus :

"Hätt mir ein Espenzweiglein
Gebogen zu der erden;

Den liebsten Bulen, den ich hab,
Der ist mir leider allzu ferne.

Er ist mir doch zu ferne nicht,
Bei ihm hab' ich geschlafen;

Von rothem gold ein fingerlein

Hab' ich in seinem bett gelassen."

Here the effect is produced solely through cadence, the element of rhyme being wanting.

This ballad is said to be founded upon a real occurrencethe daughter of the Miller of Tifty having fallen in love with the Trumpeter of Fyvie, but being prevented by her father from marrying him in consequence of his poverty. Her gravestone, bearing the date 1631, is shown in the parish churchyard; and on one of the turrets of Fyvie Castle there

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