Tales of the Olden Time Lord Beichan hied him down the stair,— Of fifteen steps he made but three, Whom he did kiss most tenderlie. He's ta'en her by the lily hand, Fair Susie blushing look'd around, "Oh, have ye ta'en another bride, "But sadly I will wend my way, 66 Oh, never, never, Susie Pye, Oh, never more shall you leave me; This night you'll be my wedded wife, And lady of my lands so free." Syne up then spake the bride's mother, "Take home, take home your daughter dear, Lord Beichan got ready another wedding, "O how can I carry a letter to her, I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spak', Tales of the Olden Time Tales of the Olden Time "The white o' my love's skin is white As down o' dove or maw; The red o' my love's cheek is red As blood that's spilt on snaw. "When ye come to the castle, And sit you there and sing our loves "Four and twenty fair ladies When the gos-hawk flew to that castle, He lighted on the ash; And there he sat and sang their loves 66 As she came frae the mass. Stay where ye be, my maidens a', And sip red wine anon, Till I go to my west window And hear a birdie's moan." She's gane unto her west window, And unto that lady's white, white neck The bird a letter threw. "Ye're bidden to send your love a send, For he has sent you twa; And tell him where he may see you soon, 66 Or he cannot live ava." "I send him the ring from my finger, The garland off my hair, I send him the heart that's in my breast; And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland, She hied her to her father dear 66 I'm sick at the heart, my father dear; "Ask me na for that Scottish lord, For him ye'll never see!" "An asking, an asking, dear father!" she says, "An asking grant you me; That if I die in fair England, In Scotland ye'll bury me. "At the first kirk o' fair Scotland, "At the third kirk o' fair Scotland, You deal gold for my sake; Tales of the Olden Time Tales At the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland, of the Olden Time O there you'll bury me at! "This is all my asking, father, I pray you grant it me!" But why do ye talk o' suchlike things? The lady's gane to her chamber, The lady's gane, to her chamber She's fallen into a heavy trance, Out and spak' an auld witch-wife, At the fireside sat she: "Gin she has killed herself for love, I wot it weel may be: |