The King has gi’en the Queen a gift,
For her May-day’s propine,
He’s gi’en her a band o’ the diamond-stane,
Set in the siller fine.

The Queen she walked in Falkland yaird,
Beside the Hollans green,
And there she saw the bonniest man
That ever her eyes had seen.

His coat was the Ruthven white and red,
Sae sound asleep was he
The Queen she cried on May Beatrix,
That seely lad to see.

“Oh! wha sleeps here, May Beatrix,
Without the leave o’ me?”
“Oh! wha suld it be but my young brother
Frae Padua ower the sea!

“My father was the Earl Gowrie,
An Earl o’ high degree,
But they hae slain him by fause treason,
And gar’d my brothers flee.

“At Padua hae they learned their leir
In the fields o’ Italie;
And they hae crossed the saut sea-faem,
And a’ for love o’ me!”

* * * *

The Queen has cuist her siller band
About his craig o’ snaw;
But still he slept and naething kenned,
Aneth the Hollans shaw.

The King he daundered thro’ the yaird,
He saw the siller shine;
“And wha,” quoth he, “is this galliard
That wears yon gift o’ mine?”

The King has gane till the Queen’s ain bower,
An angry man that day;
But bye there cam’ May Beatrix
And stole the band away.

And she’s run in by the dern black yett,
Straight till the Queen ran she:
“Oh! tak ye back your siller band,
Or it gar my brother dee!”

The Queen has linked her siller band
About her middle sma’;
And then she heard her ain gudeman
Come rowting through the ha’.

“Oh! whare,” he cried, “is the siller band
I gied ye late yestreen?
The knops was a’ o’ the diamond stane,
Set in the siller sheen.”

“Ye hae camped birling at the wine,
A’ nicht till the day did daw;
Or ye wad ken your siller band
About my middle sma’!”

The King he stude, the King he glowered,
Sae hard as a man micht stare.
“Deil hae me! Like is a richt ill mark,—
Or I saw it itherwhere!

“I saw it round young Ruthven’s neck
As he lay sleeping still;
And, faith, but the wine was wondrous guid,
Or my wife is wondrous ill!”

* * * *

There was na gane a week, a week,
A week but barely three;
The King has hounded John Ramsay out,
To gar young Ruthven dee!

They took him in his brother’s house,
Nae sword was in his hand,
And they hae slain him, young Ruthven,
The bonniest in the land!

And they hae slain his fair brother,
And laid him on the green,
And a’ for a band o’ the siller fine
And a blink o’ the eye o’ the Queen!

Oh! had they set him man to man,
Or even ae man to three,
There was na a knight o’ the Ramsay bluid
Had gar’d Earl Gowrie dee!

The Queen O’ Spain and the Bauld Mclean.

A Ballad of the Sound of Mull.

1588.

The Queen o’ Spain had an ill gude-man.
The carle was auld and grey.
She has keeked in the glass at Hallow-een
A better chance to spae.

She’s kaimit out her lang black hair,
That fell below her knee.
She’s ta’en the apple in her hand,
To see what she might see.

Then first she saw her ain fair face,
And then the glass grew white,
And syne as black as the mouth o’ Hell
Or the sky on a winter night.

But last she saw the bonniest man
That ever her eyes had seen,
His hair was gold, and his eyes were grey,
And his plaid was red and green.

“Oh! the Spanish men are unco black
And unco blate,” she said;
“And they wear their mantles swart and side,
No the bonny green and red.”

“Oh! where shall I find sic a man?
That is the man for me!”
She has filled a ship wi’ the gude red gold,
And she has ta’en the sea.

And she’s sailed west and she’s sailed east,
And mony a man she’s seen;
But never the man wi’ the hair o’ gold,
And the plaid o’ red and green.

And she’s sailed east and she’s sailed west,
Till she cam’ to a narrow sea,
The water ran like a river in spate,
And the hills were wondrous hie.

And there she spied a bonny bay,
And houses on the strand,
And there the man in the green and red
Came rowing frae the land.

Says “Welcome here, ye bonny maid,
Ye’re welcome here for me.
Are ye the Lady o’ merry Elfland,
Or the Queen o’ some far countrie?”

“I am na the Lady o’ fair Elfland,
But I am the Queen o’ Spain.”
He’s lowted low, and kissed her hand,
Says “They ca’ me the McLean!”

“Then it’s a’ for the aefold love o’ thee
That I hae sailed the faem!”
“But, out and alas!” he has answered her,
“For I hae a wife at hame.”

“Ye maun cast her into a massymore,
Or away on a tide-swept isle;”
“But, out and alas!” he’s answered her,
“For my wife’s o’ the bluid o’ Argyll!”

Oh! they twa sat, and they twa grat,
And made their weary maen,
Till McLean has ridden to Dowart Castle,
And left the Queen her lane.

His wife was a Campbell, fair and fause,
Says “Lachlan, where hae ye been?”
“Oh! I hae been at Tobermory,
And kissed the hand o’ a Queen!”

“Oh! we maun send the Queen a stag,
And grouse for her propine,
And we’ll send her a cask o’ the usquebaugh,
And a butt o’ the red French wine!”

She has put a bomb in the clairet butt,
And eke a burning lowe,
She has sent them away wi’ her little foot-page
That cam’ frae the black Lochow.

* * * *

The morn McLean rade forth to see
The last blink o’ his Queen,
There stude her ship in the harbour gude,
Upon the water green.

But there cam’ a crash like a thunder-clap,
And a cloud on the water green.
The bonny ship in flinders flew,
And drooned was the bonny Queen.

McLean he speirit nor gude nor bad,
His skian dubh he’s ta’en,
And he’s cuttit the throat o’ that fause foot-page,
And sundered his white hausebane.

Keith of Craigentolly.

O Keith o’ Craigentolly!
Ye sall live to rue the day
When ye brak the berried holly
Beside St. Andrew’s bay!
When Pitcullo’s kine
Card down to the brine,
And were drooned in the driving spray!

In the bower o’ Craigentolly
Is a wan and waefu’ bride,
Singing, O waly! waly!
Through the whole country side;
And a river to wade
For a dying maid,
And a weary way to ride!

O Keith o’ Craigentolly,
The bairn’s grave by the sea!
O Keith o’ Craigentolly,
The graves of maidens three!
And a bluidy shift,
And a sainless shrift,
For Keith o’ Craigentolly!

PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.