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"Hir face a smile perpetual wore,
Hir teeth were ivorie,
Hir lips the little purple floure
That blumes on Baillie-lee.

"But, mark! what dool and care, fair maid For beauty's but a snare,

Young Jock of Harden her betrayed,
Whilk greeved us wonder sair.

"My, brother, Adam, stormed and raged, And swore in angry mood, Either to right his dear sister,

Or shed the traytor's blood.

"I kend his honor fair and firm,
And didna doubt his faithe,
But, being youngest of seven brethren,
To marry he was laith.

"When June had deck'd the bracs in grene And flushed the forest tree:

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,
Their lambs ar drawn away,
The fairest raes on Eldin braes
Ar Jock of Harden's prey.

"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;

And he's away to Yarrow's banks.
As fast as he can ride.'

"O ill betide thy haste, young man!
Thou micht ha'e tald it me;
Thou kend, to hunt on all my lande,
The Harden lads were free.

'Gae, saddel me my milk-white steed,
Gae, saddel him suddenly;

To Yarrow banks I'll hie wi' speed,
This bauld huntir to see.

"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, And chase the lambs away?

Thy hounds ar ringing through our woods Our choicest deers ar slaine;

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And hundreds fledd to Stuart's hills,
Wull ne'er returne againe.'

"It setts thee weel, thou haughtye youth, To bend such taunts on me;

Oft ha'e you hunted Aikwood hills
And no man hindered thee.'

"But wilt thou wedd my dear sister?
Now tell me aye or nay.'
'Nae questions will I answer thee
That's speerit in sic a way.

"Tak this for truth, I ne'er meant ill To nouther thee nor thine.'

Then spurrit his steed against the hill,
Was fleeter than the hynde.

"He set a buglet to his mouth,
And blew baith loud and cleir;
A sign to all his merry men
Their huntin to forbear.

"O turn thee, turn thee, traytor strong;

Cried Adam bitterlie;

"Nae haughtye Scott, of Harden's kin, Sal proodlye scool on me.

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"Now draw thy sword, or gi'e thy word, For one of them I'll have,

Or to thy face I'll thee disgrace
And ca' thee coward knave.'

"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,
And Harden's coller bane.

"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,
Nae mair cou'd act his parte;
A wudman then sprang frae the brume,
And percit young Harden's herte.

"Bein yald and stout, he wheelit about,
And kluve his head in twaine;
Then calmlye laid him on the grene,
Niver to ryse againe.

"I raid owr heicht, I raid through howe,
And ferr outstrippit the wynde,
And sent my voyce the forest throw,
But naething cou'd I fynde.

"And whan I came, the dysmal syghte
Wad melt an herte of stane !
My brither fente and bleiden laye,
Young Harden neirly gane.

"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,
To maik of hir my bride:

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