Ballad on Mr. Heron’s Election—No. 3

5In March the three-an’-twentieth morn,

6 The sun raise clear an’ bright;

7But oh! I was a waefu’ man,

8 Ere to-fa’ o’ the night.

9Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land,

10 Wi’ equal right and fame,

11And thereto was his kinsmen join’d,

12 The Murray’s noble name.

13Yerl Galloway’s man o’ men was I,

14 And chief o’ Broughton’s host;

15So twa blind beggars, on a string,

16 The faithfu’ tyke will trust.

17But now Yerl Galloway’s sceptre’s broke,

18 And Broughton’s wi’ the slain,

19And I my ancient craft may try,

20 Sin’ honesty is gane.

21’Twas by the banks o’ bonie Dee,

22 Beside Kirkcudbright’s towers,

23The Stewart and the Murray there,

24 Did muster a’ their powers.

25Then Murray on the auld grey yaud,

26 Wi’ winged spurs did ride,

27That auld grey yaud a’ Nidsdale rade,

28 He staw upon Nidside.

29And there had na been the Yerl himsel,

30 O there had been nae play;

31But Garlies was to London gane,

32 And sae the kye might stray.

33And there was Balmaghie, I ween,

34 In front rank he wad shine;

35But Balmaghie had better been

36 Drinkin’ Madeira wine.

37And frae Glenkens cam to our aid

38 A chief o’ doughty deed;

39In case that worth should wanted be,

40 O’ Kenmure we had need.

41And by our banners march’d Muirhead,

42 And Buittle was na slack;

43Whase haly priesthood nane could stain,

44 For wha could dye the black?

45And there was grave squire Cardoness,

46 Look’d on till a’ was done;

47Sae in the tower o’ Cardoness

48 A howlet sits at noon.

49And there led I the Bushby clan,

50 My gamesome billie, Will,

51And my son Maitland, wise as brave,

52 My footsteps follow’d still.

53The Douglas and the Heron’s name,

54 We set nought to their score;

55The Douglas and the Heron’s name,

56 Had felt our weight before.

57But Douglasses o’ weight had we,

58 The pair o’ lusty lairds,

59For building cot-houses sae fam’d,

60 And christenin’ kail-yards.

61And there Redcastle drew his sword,

62 That ne’er was stain’d wi’ gore,

63Save on a wand’rer lame and blind,

64 To drive him frae his door.

65And last cam creepin’ Collieston,

66 Was mair in fear than wrath;

67Ae knave was constant in his mind—

68 To keep that knave frae scaith.