"Art thou fair Annie, sister mine,
Thou noble violet flower?170
Her mither never smil'd again
Frae Annie left her bower!
"O thou art she! a sister's heart
Wants nane that tale to tell!
And there he is, thy ain true lord;175
God spare ye lang and well!"
And gladness through the palace spread,
Wi' mickle game and glee;
And blythe were a' for fair Annie,
Her bridal day to see.180
And now untill her father's land
This young bride she is gane;
And her sister Annie's youngest son
She hame wi' her has ta'en.
LADY MARGARET. See p. [205].
From Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 180.
"The corn is turning ripe, Lord John,
The nuts are growing fu',
And ye are bound for your ain countrie;
Fain wad I go wi' you."
"Wi me, Marg'ret, wi me, Marg'ret,5
What wad ye do wi' me?
I've mair need o' a pretty little boy,
To wait upon my steed."