[ [46] Sir David Lindsay writes of persons going
To Sanct Trid well to mend thair ene.
[ [47] I had intended only to quote a few lines of this touching lament, but it is all so beautiful, I cannot refrain from quoting the whole, and trust that those who know it well already will not mind reading it again.
THE MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS.
Oh, waly, waly up yon bank, An' waly, waly down yon brae, An' waly, waly by yon burn side, Whar I an' my love were wont to gae.
Hey nonnie, nonnie, but love is bonnie A little while, when it is new, But when it's auld, it waxes cauld, An' wears awa like mornin' dew.
Oh, wherefore sud I busk my head, An' wherefore sud I kaim my hair, Sin' my gude Lord's forsaken me, An' says he'll never lo'e me mair.
When we rade in, by Glasgow toun, We were a comely sight to see, My Lord was clad in black velvet An' I, mysel', in cramasye.
Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, Nae roof henceforth shall shelter me. St. Anton's Well shall be my drink, Sin' my gude Lord's forsaken me.
It's no' the frost, that freezes fell, Nor driftin' snaw's inclemencie, It's no' sic cauld, that gars me greet, But my love's heart's grown cauld to me.
When I lay sick, an' very sick, When I lay sick, an' like to die, A gentleman o' gude account Cam' frae the west to visit me; But Blackwood whispered in my Lord's ear A fause word, baith o' him an' me.