Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Scottish ballads

137
Perhaps at death ; for who can tell,
Whether the judge of heaven or hell,
By some proud foe, has struck the blow,
And laid the dear deceiver low.
Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip !
It grieves me sair to heir thee weip.
I wish I were into the bounds
Where he lies smothered in his wounds —
Repeating, as he pants for air,
My name, whom once he called his fair.
No woman's yet so fiercely set,
But she'll forgive, though not forget.
Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip I
It grieves me sair to see thee weip.
Balow, my boy I I'll weip for thee ;
Too soon, alas, thou'lt weip for me :
Thy griefs are growing to a sum —
God grant thee patience when they come ;
Bom to sustain thy mother's shame,
A hapless fate, a bastard's name I
Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip I
It grieves me sair to see thee weip.*
ANDREW LAMMIE-t
At Mill-o'-Tifty lived a man.
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie ;
* This copy of the Lament is composed out of that which appeared in
Watson's Collection, with some stanzas, and various readings, from a ver-
sion altogether different, which was published by Dr Percy. The editor
at first thought of excluding the ballad altogether from his collection, as,
although the poetry is exquisitely beautiful, the subject is one which it i»
by no means agreeable to reflect upon. He, however, afterwards saw rea-
son to change his resolution, in the fine moral strain which pervades the
unfortunate lady's lamentations.
t Although the persons who figure in this ballad belong to a very hum-
We class of society, it is not easy for the most fastidious reader to withhold
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