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"Hir face a smile perpetual wore,
Hir teeth were ivorie,
Hir lips the little purple floure
"But, mark! what dool and care, fair maid
For beauty's but a snare,
Young Jock of Harden her betrayed,
"My, brother, Adam, stormed and raged,
"I kend his honor fair and firm,
"When June had deck'd the bracs in grene
And flushed the forest trec :
When young deers ranne on ilka hill,
And lambs on ilka lee;
"A shepherd frae our mountains hied, An ill death mot he dee!
'O master, master, haste,' he cried, 'O haste alang wi' me !"
"Our ewes are banished frae the glen,
"His hounds are ringing thro' your wood
And manye deer ar slaine;
A herd is fled to Douglas-Craig,
Will ne'er returne againe.
"Your brother Adam, stout and strong,
I warned on yon hill-side;
"O ill betide thy haste, young man!
Thou kend, to hunt on all my lande,
'Gae, saddel me my milk-white steed,
To Yarrow banks I'll hie wi' speed,
"But, low, low down, on Sundhop broom,
My brother Harden spyd;
And, with a stern and furious look,
He up to him did ride.
"Was't not enough, thou traytor strong, My sister to betray?
That thou shouldst scare my feebil ewes,
"Thy hounds ar ringing through our woods Our choicest deers ar slaine;
And hundreds fledd to Stuart's hills,
"It setts thee weel, thou haughtye youth,
"But wilt thou wedd my dear sister?
That's speerit in sic a way.
"Tak this for truth, I ne'er meant ill
Then spurrit his steed against the hill,
"He set a buglet to his mouth,
"O turn thee, turn thee, traytor strong; Cried Adam bitterlie;
"Nae haughtye Scott, of Harden's kin, Sal proodlye scool on me.
"Now draw thy sword, or gi'e thy word,
For one of them I'll have,
Or to thy face I'll thee disgrace
"He sprang frae aff his coal-black steed,
And tied him to a wande;
Then threw his bonnet aff his head,
And drew his deidlye brande.
"And lang they foucht, and sair they foucht
Wi' swords of mettyl kene,
Till clotted blud, in mony a spot,
Was sprynkelit on the grene.
"And lang they foucht, and sair they foucht, For braiver there war nane;
Braive Adam's thye was baithit in blud,
"Though Adam was baith stark and guide, Nae longer cou'd he stande;
His hand claive to his hivvye sword,
His nees plett lyke the wande.
"He leanit himsel agenst ane aek,
"Bein yald and stout, he wheelit about,
"I raid owr heicht, I raid through howe,
"And whan I came, the dysmal syghte
"And art thou there, O Gilmanscleuch!
Wi' faltren tongue he cried,
Hadst thou arrivit tyme eneuch,
Thy kinsmen hadna died.
"Be kind unto thy sister Jean,
Whatever may betide;
This nycht I meint, at Gilmanscleuch,