And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:

His barnes were fired, his goods consumed,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field,
And nothing with him stayd.

And in the voyage to Portugal
Two of his sonnes did dye;

And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye:

He pawnd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven yeares came about.
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:

The fellowe, that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to dye,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been displayd:
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.

You that executors be made,
And overseers eke,

Of children that be fatherless
And infants mild and meeke;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.

Orlinton.

[From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border."]

[Sir Walter Scott imagines this to be the rude original of the following ballad-the Child of Elle. Agreeing with such great authority, we here give it precedence.]

ERLINTON had a fair daughter,

I wat he weird her in a great sin,
For he has built a bigly bower,
An' a' to put that lady in.

An' he has warn'd her sisters six,
An' sae has he her brethren se'en,
Outher to watch her a' the night,

Or else to seek her morn an e'en.

She hadna been i' that bigly bower,
Na not a night, but barely ane,
Till there was Willie, her ain true love,
Chapp'd at the door, cryin', 'Peace within!'

O whae is this at my bower door,
That chaps sae late, or kens the gin?'
'O it is Willie, your ain true love,
I pray you rise an' let me in!'

• But in my bower there is a wake,
An' at the wake there is a wane;

But I'll come to the green-wood the morn,
Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' dawn.'

Then she's gane to her bed again,

Where she has layen till the cock crew thrice,
Then she said to her sisters a',

'Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise.'

She pat on her back her silken gown,
An' on her breast a siller pin,
An' she's tane a sister in ilka hand,
An' to the green-wood she is gane.

She hadna walk'd in the green-wood,
Na not a mile but barely ane,

Till there was Willie, her ain true love,
Whae frae her sisters has her ta'en.

He took her sisters by the hand,

He kiss'd them baith, ar' sent them hame, An' he's ta'en his true love him behind,

And through the green-wood they are gane.

They hadna ridden in the bonnie green-wood, Na not a mile but barely ane,

When there came fifteen o' the boldest knights,
That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane.

The foremost was an aged knight,
He wore the grey hair on his chin,
Says, Yield to me thy lady bright,

An' thou shalt walk the woods within.'

"For me to yield my lady bright
To such an aged knight as thee,
People wad think I war gane mad,
Or a' the courage flown frae me.'

But up then spake the second knight,
I wat he spake right boustouslie,
Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright,
Or here the tane of us shall die.'

'My lady is my warld's meed:

My life I winna yield to nane;
But if ye be men of your manhead,
Ye'll only fight me ane by ane.'

He lighted aff his milk-white steed,
An' gae his lady him by the head,
Say'n,See ye dinna change your cheer,
Untill ye see my body bleed.'

He set his back unto an aik,

He set his feet against a stane,

An' he has fought these fifteen men,
An' kill'd them a' but barely ane;

For he has left that aged knight,
An' a' to carry the tidings hame.

When he gaed to his lady fair,

I wat he kiss'd her tenderlie;

Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought: Now we shall walk the green-wood free.'

Reliques,' where it Editor's follo MS.;

[This ballad is taken from Percy's was given from a fragment in the which, though extremely defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited a strong desire to attempt a completion of the story. The reader,' says Dr. Percy, will easily discover the supplemental stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same time be inclined to pardon it, when he considers how difficult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity and artless beauties of the original.' Probably, however, the reader will be inclined to agree with Sir Walter Scott ('Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border') in ascribing its greatest beauties to the poetical taste of the ingenious Editor. They are,' he says, in the true style of Gothic embellishment.']

N yonder hill a castle standes,
With walles and towres bedight,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.

The Child of Elle to his garden wente,
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page
Come trippinge downe the dale,

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Y-wis he stoode not stille,

And soone he mette faire Emmelines page
Come climbing up the hille.

Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Now Christe thee save and see!

Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye,
And what may thy tydinges bee?

My lady shee is all woe-begone,

And the teares they falle from her eyne;
And aye she laments the deadlye feude.
Betweene her house and thine.

And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe
Bedewde with many a teare,

And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.

And here shee sends thee a ring of golde
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
Whan she is layde in grave.

For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,

And in grave soone must shee bee,

Sith her father hath chose her a new new love, And forbidde her to think of thee.

Her father hath brought her a carlish knight, Sir John of the north countràye,

And within three dayes shee must him wedde,
Or he vowes he will her slaye.

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy ladye from mee,

And telle her that I her owne true love
Will dye, or sette her free.

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know

This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe,
Betide me weale or woe.