"Sir Knight, thy lady beares a son,
Who, like a dragon bright,
Shall prove most dreadful to his foes,
And terrible in fight.

His name advanc'd in future times
On banners shall be worn:
But lo! thy lady's life must passe
Before he can be born."

All sore opprest with fear and doubt
Long time lord Albret stood;
At length he winds his doubtful way
Back thro' the dreary wood.

Eager to clasp his lovely dame
Then fast he travels back :

But when he reach'd his castle gate,
His gate was hung with black.

In every court and hall he found
A sullen silence reigne;
Save where, amid the lonely towers,
He heard her maidens' plaine;

And bitterly lament and weep,
With many a grievous grone :

Then sore his bleeding heart misgave,
His lady's life was gone.

With faultering step he enters in,

Yet half afraid to goe;

With trembling voice asks why they grieve, Yet fears the cause to knowe.

"Three times the sun hath rose and set;"

They said, then stopt to weep:

"Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare In death's eternal sleep.

"For, ah! in travel sore she fell,

So sore that she must dye;

Unless some shrewd and cunning leech
Could ease her presentlye.

But when a cunning leeche was fet,

Too soon declared he,

She, or her babe must lose its life;
Both saved could not be.

Now take my life, thy lady said,
My little infant save:

And O commend me to my lord,
When I am laid in grave.

O tell him how that precious babe
Cost him a tender wife;
And teach my son to lisp her name,
Who died to save his life.

Then calling still upon thy name,
And praying still for thee;
Without repining or complain,
Her gentle soul did flee."

What tongue can paint lord Albret's woe,

The bitter tears he shed,

The bitter pangs that wrung

To find his lady dead?

his heart,

Dead with affright at first we lay;
But rousing up anon,
We ran to see our little lord:
Our little lord was gone!

But how or where we could not tell;
For lying on the ground,
In deep and magic slumbers laid,
The nurses there we found.

O grief on grief! lord Albret said:
No more his tongue cou'd say,
When falling in a deadly swoone,
Long time he lifeless lay.

At length restor❜d to life and sense
He nourisht endless woe,

No future joy his heart could taste,
No future comfort know.

So withers on the mountain top
A fair and stately oake,
Whose vigorous arms are borne away
By some rude thunder-stroke.

At length the castle irksome grew,
He loathes his wonted home;

His native country he forsakes,
In foreign lands to roame.

Sir James the Rose.

[From Motherwell's Minstrelsy."]

O HEARD ye o' Sir James the Rose,
The young heir o' Buleighan?
For he has killed a gallant squire,

And his friends are out to take him.

Now he's gone to the house of Marr,
Where the Nourice was his leman;
To seek his dear he did repair,

Thinking she would befriend him.

Where are ye going, Sir James?" she says; 'Or where now are you riding? Oh, I am bound to a foreign land,

For now I'm under hiding.

'O have ye seen Sir James the Rose,
The young heir of Buleighan?
For he has killed a gallant squire,
And we're sent out to tak' him.'

"I have seen Sir James,' she says;
For he passed by here on Monday;
If the steed be swift that he rides on,
He's past the hichts o' Lundie.'

As they rode on man after man,
Then she cried out behind them,
'If you do seek Sir James the Rose,
I'll tell you where you'll find him.'

'Seek

ye
the bank abune the mill,
In the lowlands of Buleighan;

And there you'll find Sir James the Rose,
Lying sleeping in his brechan.

Ye must not awake him out of sleep,
Nor yet must you affright him;

Till you drive a dart quite through his heart,
And through his body pierce him.'

They sought the bank abune the mill,
In the lowlands of Buleighan,

And there they found Sir James the Rose,
Lying sleeping in his brechan.

Up then spake Sir John the Græme,
Who had the charge a-keeping,
It shall ne'er be said, dear gentlemen,
We killed him when a-sleeping.'

They seized his broad sword and his targe,
And closely him surrounded;

And when he wakened out of sleep,
His senses were confounded.

'O pardon, pardon, gentlemen-
Have mercy now upon me.'

'Such as you gave, such you shall have,
And so we fall upon thee.'

nald, my man, wait me upon,
And I'll gie you my brechan:
you stay here till I die,
et my trews of tartan.

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