BESSY BELL AN' MARY GRAY.

They theekit it o'er wi' birk and brume,
They theekit it o'er wi' heather,
Till the pest cam' frae the neib'rin town,
An' streekit them baith thegither,

They were na' buried in Meffen kirk-yard,
Amang the rest o' their kin;

But they were buried by Dornoch-haugh,
On the bent before the sun:
Sing, Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lasses,
Wha' biggit a bower on yon burn-brae,

An' theekit it o'er wi' thrashes.

161

The above fragment is here collated from the singing of two aged persons, one of them a native of Perthshire. It is to be regretted, that none of the intermediate stanzas of this fine old Ballad are upon record; neither Bannatyne nor Maitland, have the Ballad entered into their MSS. whilst all the information gained respecting it, is obtained from country traditions.

Elizabeth Bell is said to have been a gentleman's daughter in Perthshire, while Mary Gray belonged to the house of Lindoch. The ladies were intimate friends, and while the plague raged in Scotland, in 1666, they retired to a glen near Lindoch, to avoid the contagion, and there built for themselves a bower, where they might have remained in security, until its fury had been spent, but for the imprudence of a young gentleman, ardently attached to one of the young ladies, and who imparted to both the contagion, when they drooped and died. A large flat stone rests above their remains, pointing out to strangers the site of their interment.

PRETTY PEG OF DERBY.

A Captain of Irish Dragoons on parade,
While his regiment was stationed in Derby, O,
Fell in love, as it is said,

With a young blooming maid,

Though he sued in vain to win pretty Peggy, O.

To-morrow I must leave thee, pretty Peggy, O,
Though my absence may not grieve thee, pretty Peggy, O,
Braid up thy yellow hair,

Ere thou tripp'st it down the stair,

And take farewell of me, thy soldier laddie, O.

Ere the dawn's reveillie sounds to march, I'm ready, O,
To make my pretty Peg a Captain's lady, O,
Then, what would your mammy think,

To hear the guineas clink,

And the hautboys playing before thee, O.

Must I tell you, says she, as I've told you before,
With your proffers of love, not to tease me more,
For I never do intend,

Ere to go to foreign land,

Or follow to the wars a soldier laddie, O.

Out spake a brother officer, the gallant De Lorn,
As he eyed the haughty maiden, with pity and scorn,
Never mind, we'll have gallore

Of pretty girls more,

When we've come to the town of Kilkenny, O.

THE SHANNON SIDE.

But when they had come to Kilkenny, O,
Where the damsels were lovely and many, O,
Sighing deeply, he would say,

Though we're many miles away,

Let us pledge a health to pretty Peg of Derby, O.

163

Collated with a copy taken down from recitation, we never having seen the original Ballad in print. The opening stanza of this once popular piece, whose air has been adapted to songs without number, and latterly, by Moor, for his "Eveleen's Bower," is the best, which we here present to our readers in its original dress:

O there was a regiment of Irish dragoons,
And they were marching through Derby, O,
The Captain fell in love

With a young chamber-maid,

And her name it was called pretty Peggy, O.

THE SHANNON SIDE.

'Twas in the month of April,

One morning by the dawn,

When violets and cowslips,
Bestrewed every lawn,
Where Flora's flowery mantle,
Bedeck'd the fields with pride,

I met a lovely damsel,

Down by the Shannon side.

"Good-morrow, pretty fair one,"
To the maiden I did say;
"Why are you up so early,

And how far go you this way?"

With cheeks like blooming roses,
The damsel she replied,

"I go to feed my father's sheep,
Down by the Shannon side."

From budding elm, and branching thorn,
Each little native sung,

But wilder thrilling melody,

Down glen and greenwood rung;
As o'er the velvet moss we pass'd,
Where Erin's daughters glide,
And flit along the Sylvan shores,
And bowers on Shannon side.

We kiss'd, shook hands, and parted,
When the bud was on the breer;

I did not come that way again,
Till autumn sered the year,
When crossing o'er a pleasant lawn,
By chance, my love I spied
Beside her father's bleating flock,
Down by the Shannon side.

I never dream'd a maiden

Could my wavering fancy win,

Till first I met this fair one,

Then love he enter'd in,

And wreck'd my former peace of mind:
I sought her for my bride,
Now happiness shall crown our days,

Down by the Shannon side.

Altered from a well known old free Ballad of Irish extraction,

bearing the same title with the foregoing, while the third and fifth stanzas are original.

LIGHT OF THE MOON.-LATE WOOER. 165

ALONE BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON.

WHEN fairies dance light on the grass,
Wha revel a' night in a roun';

There, say will you meet me, sweet lass,
Alone by the light of the moon.

Though sweet be the jessamine grove,
And fragrant the roses in June,
More bland are the whispers of love,

Breath'd forth by the light of the moon.

Where the nightingale perch'd on the thorn,
Enchants every ear with her tune,
Rejoicing soft twilight's return,

Let us meet by the light of the moon.

Yes! Rosa, will hie to her love,

Through the glen by the burnie, as soon

As evening has silver'd the grove,

Alone by the light of the moon.

Altered from the olden copy, while the last stanza is original.

THE LATE WOOER.

THE auld man he came over the lea,

Ha, ha, ha, I'll no hae him,

Out over the lea,

He came to court me,

With his auld gray beard newly shaven.