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The dow sat on the window tree,

An' held a lock o' yellow hair ; She perch'd upon that lady's knee,

An' carefully she placed it there.

" What can this mean? it is the same,

Or else my senses me beguile! This lock belong'd to David Græme,

The flower of a' the British isle.

It is not cut wi' shears nor knife,

But frae his haffat torn awa: I ken he lo'ed me as his life,

But this I canna read at a'.

The dow flew east, the dow flew west,

The dow flew far ayont the fell,
And back she came, wi' panting breast

Ere ringing of the castle bell.

She lighted on the hollow tap,

An' cried Cur-dow, an' hung her wing : Then flew into that lady's lap,

An' there she placed a diamond ring.

" What can this mean? it is the same,

Or else my senses me beguile? This ring I gave to David Græme,

The flower of a' the British isle.

“ He sends me back the tokens true !

Was ever maid perplex'd like me ? 'Twould seem h'as rued o’ ilka vow,

But all is wrapt in mystery."

Then down she sat, an' sair she grat;

With rapid whirl her fancy wrought, In wyting this, an' blamin' that;

But O the cause she never thought!

When, lo! Sir David's trusty hound,

Wi' humpling back, an' hollow ee, Came cringing in; an' lookit round,

Wi' hopeless stare, wha there might be.

He laid his head upon her knee,

With looks that did her heart assail ; An' a' that she cou'd flatter, he

Wad neither bark, nor wag his tail !

She fed him wi' the milk sae sweet,

An' ilka thing that he wadha'e,
He lick'd her hands, he lick'd her feet,

Then slowly, slowly trudged away.

But she has eyed the honest hound,

An' a' to see where he wad gae: He stopp'd, and howl'd, an' look'd around,

Then slowly, slowly, trudged away.

Then she cast aff her coal-black shoon,

An' sae has she her silken hose; She kiltit high her 'broider'd gown,

An' after him in haste she goes.

She follow'd him over muirs and rocks,

Through mony a dell an' dowy glen, Till frae her brow, and lovely locks,

The dew-drops fell like drops o' rain.

An' aye she said, “My love is hid,

And dare na come the castle nigh; But him I'll find, an' him I'll chide,

For leaving his poor maid to sigh;

“But ae press to his manly breast,

An' ae kiss o' his bonny mou', Will weel atone for a' the past,

An' a' the pain I suffer now."

But in a hagg in yonder flow,

Ah, there she fand her gallant kuight! A loathsome carcass lying low,

Red-rusted all his armour bright:

Wi' ae wound through his shoulder-bane,

An' in his bosom twa or three ; Wi' flies an' vermine sair o'ergane,

An' ugsome to the sight was he.

His piercing een, that love did bect,

Had now become the raven's prey; His tongue, that moved to accents sweet,

Deep frae his throat was torn away.

Poor Reyno fawn’d, an' took his place,

As glad to see the livid clay;
Then lick'd his master's bloated face,

An' kindly down beside him lay.

“Now coming was the night sae dark,

An' gane was a' the light o' day," The muir was dun, the heavens mirk,

An' deep an' dreary was the way.

The croaking raven soar'd on high,

Thick, thick the cherking weazels ran; At hand she heard the howlet's cry,

An' groans as of a dying man.

Wi' horror, an' wi' dread aghast,

That lady turn'd, and thought o' hame, An' there she saw, approaching fast, The likeness o' her noble Græme !

His grim, grim eyelids didna move;

His thin, thin cheek was deadly pale ; His mouth was black, and sair he strove

T'impart to her some dreadfu' tale.

For thrice his withered hand he waved,

An' laid it on his bleedin' breast,
Hast thou a tender heart received ?

How thou wilt tremble at the rest !

Fain wad I tell what there befel,

But it's unmeet for mortal ear :
The dismal deeds on yonder fell

Wad shock a human heart to hear.


Note I.
The dow flew east, the dow flew west.

P. 9, v. 1.
I borroned the above line from a beautiful old plich I have often heard my mother repeat,
but of which she know no tradition; and from this
introduction the part of the dove naturally arose.
The rhyme runs thus:

The heron flew east, the heron flew west,
The heron flew to the fair forest;
She flew o'er streams and meadows green,
And a' to see what could be seen:
And when she saw the faithful pair,
Her breast grew sick, her head grew sair ;
For there she saw a lovely bower,
Was a' clad o'er wi' lily-flower;

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