University of Virginia Library


99

THE MENSTRIL: A BALLAD.

He sat upon the auld stane brig,
And, vow! he was the queerest fig
That ever mortal sang or saw;
His cloak was of the faded green,
His hair hung scattered owre his e'en,
And on his pipe he loud did blaw.
But oh! his pipin' wha could praise?
Sic music at his touch arase
Bot ear it left ye nocht ava!
It was his soul the menstril sent,
Sad-sounding through his instrument,
His simple pipe sae round and sma'.
Four-and-twenty gentlemen
Came riding doun the dowie glen,
As mony ladies fair and braw;
And aye as they came near and near,
With bridles jingling sweet to hear,
He louder on his pipe did blaw.

100

And this was Aither o' the Birk
Was riding to Saint Mary's kirk
To gie his dochter dear awa';
And he was gay, if she was sad,
And they for very mirth were mad,
Tho' she was mute amang them a'!
“O, what is this, my sister dear,
That glitters on your gluve sae clear,
An' seemed that fra' your chin did fa'?”
“O, Willie, that's a diamond free
That our step-minnie gae to me
When first she cam' amang us a'.”
“Now, sister Ann, it's a' a lee,—
Step-minnie ne'er was kind to thee,
An' see! the diamond's row'd awa'!”
“O, Willie, haud ye leal an' true,
It's but a drap o' mornin' dew
I kepit in the birken shaw!”
“O, what is this, my dochter dear,
That gars ye weep the bitter tear,
And ride sae sweir amang us a'?”

101

“O, faither dear, I 'maist could greet,
He plays sae sad, he plays sae sweet,
The menstril on his pipe sae sma'.”
He played sae low, he piped sae schrill,
The trees were charmed, the winds were still,
The laverocks fra' the lift did fa';
Sic glamourie was in his e'en,
Sic wizardrie in his playin',
he wiled the maiden's heart awa'!
“Now cease, thou menstril, cease to 'plain,
There is nae pleasour in thy strain,
Thou silly menstril, haste awa'!”
“Ride on, ride on, my faither dear,
And let me o' his piping hear,
Sae sweet he on his pipe does blaw!”
He raised the bannet aff his bree,—
O, vow! but he was bauld and slee;—
And loot his faded mantle fa';
Sae licht he to the saddle sprang,
Sae fondly to his waist she clang,
'Twas head aboot, and swith awa'!

102

Now shines the merry morning licht,—
But stars maun twinkle thro' the nicht
Ere brave Sir William bridle draw!
But haud thee up, thou gallant steed,
And shaw the utmost o' thy speed,
And thou wilt bear them safe awa'!