THE GAY GOSS-HAWK.
From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 151.
"This Ballad is published, partly from one under this title, in Mrs. Brown's collection, and partly from a MS. of some antiquity, penes Edit. The stanzas appearing to possess most merit have been selected from each copy."—Scott.
Annexed is [another version from Motherwell's collection]. A third, longer than either, is furnished by Buchan, Ballads of the North of Scotland, ii. 245, The Scottish Squire.
"O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,
Gin your feathering be sheen!"
"And waly, waly, my master dear,
Gin ye look pale and lean!
"O have ye tint, at tournament,5
Your sword, or yet your spear?
Or mourn ye for the southern lass,
Whom ye may not win near?"
"I have not tint, at tournament,
My sword nor yet my spear;10
But sair I mourn for my true love,
Wi' mony a bitter tear.
"But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk,
Ye can baith speak and flee;
Ye sall carry a letter to my love,15
Bring an answer back to me."