AN OLD HOUSE AND A BOOK 241 



They row'd her in a pair o' sheets, 



And tow'd her owre the wa' ; 

 But on the point o' Gordon's spear 



She gat a deadly fa'. 



bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, 

 And cherry were her cheeks, 



And clear, clear was her yellow hair, 

 Whereon the red blood dreeps. 



Then wi' his spear he turn'd her owre ; 



gin her face was wan ! 



He said, Ye are the first that e'er 



1 wish'd alive again.' 



He cam' and lookit again at her ; 



O gin her skin was white ! 

 < 1 might hae spared that bonnie face 



To hae been some man's delight. 



* Busk and boun, my merry men a', 

 For ill dooms I do guess ; 



1 cannot look on that bonnie face 



As it lies on the grass.' 



' Wha looks to freits, my master dear, 



Its freits will follow them ; 

 Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon 



Was daunted by a dame. . . .' ' 



I cannot help wondering whether the great work done 

 in the last century and a half towards the recovery of old 

 ballads in their integrity will have any effect beyond the 

 entertainment of a few scientific men and lovers of what 

 is ancient, now that the first effects upon Wordsworth 

 and his contemporaries have died away. Can it possibly 

 give a vigorous impulse to a new school of poetry that 

 shall treat the life of our time and what in past times has 

 most meaning for us as freshly as those ballads did the 

 life of their time? It is possible; and it is surely impos- 

 sible that such examples of simple, realistic narrative shall 



