L

THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.

ATE at e'en drinking the wine,

And ere they paid the lawing, They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing.

"O stay at hame, my noble lord, O stay at hame, my marrow! My cruel brother will you betray,

On the dowie' houms2 of Yarrow."

"O fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!
O fare ye weel, my Sarah!

For I maun gae, though I ne'er return,
Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
As oft she had done before, O,
She belted him with his noble brand,
And he's away to Yarrow.

1 Melancholy.

"Meek loveliness is round thee spread,

A softness still and holy;

The grace of forest charms decayed,

And pastoral melancholy."

2 Long river meadows.

Wordsworth-Yarrow visited.

As he gaed up the Tennies bank,

I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,

Till down in a den, he spied nine armed men, On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"O come ye here to part your land
The bonny Forest thorough?
Or come ye here to wield your brand,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"

“I come not here to part my land,
And neither to beg nor borrow,
I come to wield my noble brand

On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

"If I see all, ye're nine to ane,
And that's an unequal marrow,
Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

Four has he hurt, and five has slain,
On the bloody braes of Yarrow,

Till that stubborn knight came him behind,
And ran his body thorough.

“ Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, And tell your sister Sarah,

To come and lift her leafu' lord,

He's sleepin sound on Yarrow."

"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream,
I fear there will be sorrow!

I dream'd I pu'd the heather green,
Wi' my true love, on Yarrow.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south
From where my love repaireth,
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,
And tell me how he fareth!

"Deep in the glen strive armed men,
They've wrought me dole and sorrow,
They've slain the comeliest knight they've slain,
He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high high hill,
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,
And in the den spied ten slain men,
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
She searched his wounds all thorough,
She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear, For a' this breeds but sorrow,

I'll wed ye to a better lord,

Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

O haud your tongue, my father dear!
Ye mind me but of sorrow,

A fairer rose did never bloom,

Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow.1

"Where was it that the famous flower
Of Yarrow vale lay bleeding?
His bed perchance was yon smooth mound
On which the herd is feeding;
And haply from this crystal pool,
Now peaceful as the morning,
The Water-wraith ascended thrice,
And gave his doleful warning."

Yarrow visited.

HE Armstrongs appear at an early period to have been in possession of great part of Liddesdale, where may still be discovered the ruins of towers possessed by this nu

"The hero of the following ballad," says Sir Walter, "is a noted personage, both in history and tradition. His place of residence, now a roofless tower, was at the Hollows, a few miles from Langholm, where its ruins still serve to adorn a scene, which, in natural beauty, has few equals in Scotland. At the head of a desperate band of freebooters, this Armstrong is said to have spread the terror of his name almost as far as Newcastle, and to have levied black-mail, or