"--
Ballad: The Elphin Nourrice
(C. K. Sharpe.)
I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,
An' a cow low down in yon glen;
Lang, lang will my young son greet,
Or his mither bid him come ben.
I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,
An' a cow low down in yon fauld;
Lang, lang will my young son greet,
Or is mither take him frae cauld.
Waken, Queen of Elfan,
An hear your Nourrice moan.
O moan ye for your meat,
Or moan ye for your fee,
Or moan ye for the ither bounties
That ladies are wont to gie?
I moan na for my meat,
Nor yet for my fee,
But I mourn for Christened land--
It's there I fain would be.
O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says,
Till he stan' at your knee,
An' ye's win hame to Christen land,
Whar fain it's ye wad be.
O keep my bairn, Nourice,
Till he gang by the hauld,
An' ye's win hame to your young son,
Ye left in four nights auld.
Ballad: Cospatrick
(Mackay.)
Cospatrick has sent o'er the faem;
Cospatrick brought his ladye hame;
And fourscore ships have come her wi',
The ladye by the green-wood tree.
There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread,
And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae red,
And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour,
And twal' and twal' wi' the paramour.
Sweet Willy was a widow's son,
And at her stirrup he did run;
And she was clad in the finest pall,
But aye she loot the tears down fall.
"O is your saddle set awrye?
Or rides your steed for you owre high?
Or are you mourning, in your tide,
That you suld be Cospatrick's bride?"
"I am not mourning, at this tide,
That I suld he Cospatrick's bride;
But I am sorrowing in my mood,
That I suld leave my mother good.
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