The dint it was both sad and sore
That he of Montgomery set;
The swan feathers his arrow bore
With his heart-blood were wet.

There was never a freke one foot would flee, But still in stour did stand,

Hewing on each other while they might dree, With many a baleful brand.

This battle begun in Cheviot
An hour before the noon,
And when even-song bell was rung

The battle was not half done.

They took on, on either hand,
By the light of the moon :
Many had no strength for to stand
In Cheviot, the hills aboon.

Of fifteen hundred archers of England
Went away but fifty and three ;

Of twenty hundred spear-men of Scotland
But even five and fifty:

But all were slain Cheviot within,

They had no strength to stand [or flee].

The child may rue that is unborn :

It was the more pity.

There was slain with the lord Percy
Sir John of Agerstone,

Sir Roger the [hend] Hartley,
Sir William the bold Hern.

Sir George the worthy Lovell—
A knight of great renown,
Sir Ralph the rich Rugby,
With dints were beaten down.

For Witherington my heart was woe,

That ever he slain should be,

For when both his legs were yewn in two,
Yet he kneel'd and fought on his knee.

There was slain with the doughty Douglas
Sir Hugh Montgomery,

Sir David Liddel that worthy was
(His sister's son was he),

Sir Charles a Murray-in that place
That never a foot would flee,
Sir Hugh Maxwell—a lord he was,
With the Douglas did he dee.

So on the morrow they made them biers
Of birch and hazel [and slae];
Many widows with weeping tears
Came to fetch their mates away.

Teviotdale may carp of care,

Northumberland may make great moan, For two such captains as slain were there On the March parts shall never be known.

Word is come unto Edinborough,

To Jamie, the Scottish King,

That doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches, He lay slain Cheviot within.

His hands did he weal and wring;

He said " Alas! and woe is me!
Such another captain Scotland within,"
He said," i' faith should never be."

Word is come unto lovely London,
Till the fourth Harry, our King,

That Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches,
He lay slain Cheviot within.

"God have mercy on his soul!" said King Harry,— "Good Lord! if thy will it be.

I have a hundred captains in England
As good as ever was he :

But, Percy! an I brook my life,
Thy death well quit shall be !"

As our noble King made his avow,
Like a noble prince of renown,
For the death of the lord Percy

He did the battle of Humbledown,

Where six and thirty Scottish knights
On a day were beaten down :
Glendale glitter'd on their armour bright,
Over castle, tower, and town.

This was the Hunting of the Cheviot ;-
That tear began this spurn:

Old men that know the ground well enough
Call it the Battle of Otterburn.

At Otterburn began this spurn

Upon a Monenday;

There was the doughty Douglas slain,

The Percy never went away.

There was never a time on the March parts,
Since the Douglas and the Percy met,
But it was marvel an the red blood ran not
As the rain does in the street.

Jesu Christ our balès bete

And to the bliss us bring!

Thus was the Hunting of the Cheviot.

God send us good ending!

JOHNIE OF braedisleE.

Johnie rose up in a May morning, Call'd for water to wash his hands; "Gar loose to me the gude grey dogs That are bound wi' iron bands!"

When Johnie's mither gat word o' that,
Her hands for dule she wrang;

O Johnie! for my benison,

To the greenwood dinna gang!

"Enough ye hae o' the gude [white] bread And enough o' the blude-red wine; And therefore for nae venison

I pray ye stir [for mine]."

But Johnie has busk'd his gude bend-bow,
His arrows one by one,

And he has gane to Durisdeer

To hunt the dun deer down.

As he came down by Merriemass,
And in the benty line,

There has he spied a deer lying
Aneath a bush o' ling.

Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap,-
He wounded her on the side;

And atween the water and the brae

His hounds they have laid her pride.

And Johnie has brittled the deer sae weel,
He's had out her liver and lungs ;

And wi' these he has feasted his bludy hounds
As if they had been earls' sons.

They eat so much o' the venison,
And drank sae much o' the blude,
That Johnie and a' his bludy hounds

Fell asleep as they had been [wood].

And by there came a silly auld carle :
An ill death mote he die !

For he is awa to Hislinton

Where the Seven Foresters lie.

"What news? what news? ye grey-headed carle ! What news bring ye to me?"

"I bring no news," said the grey-headed carle,— "Save what these een did see.

"As I came down by Merriemass,
And down amang the scroggs,
The bonniest child that e'er I saw
Lay sleeping amang his dogs.

"The sark that was upon his back
Was o' the holland fine;

And the doublet which was over that
Was o' the lincome twine;

"The buttons that were on his sleeve
Were o' the gowd sae gude;
The gude grey hounds he lay amang
Their mouths were dyed in blude.”

Then out and spake the First Forester,
The head man o' them a':

"If this be Johnie o' Braedislee,

Nae nearer will we draw."

But up

and spake the Sixth Forester (His sister's son was he)—

"If this be Johnie o' Braedislee,

We soon shall gar him dee."