It fell about the Martinmas,
When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,
"We maun draw till a hauld.
"And what a hauld sall we draw till,
My merry men and me?
We wull gae to the house o' the Rode,
To see that fair lad-ie."
The ladie stude on her castle wa',
Beheld baith dale and down:
There she was ware of a host of men
Come riding towards the toun.
"O see ye nat, my merry men a'?
O see ye nat what I see?
Methinks I see a host of men:
I marvel wha they be!"
She weened it had been her luvely lord,
As he came riding hame;
It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon,
Wha recked nae sin nor shame.
She had nae sooner buskit hersel,
And putten on her goun,
But Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were round about the toun.
They had nae sooner supper set,
Nae sooner said the grace,
But Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were light about the place.
The lady ran up to her tower head,
Sae fast as she could hie,
To see if by her fair speech-es
She could wi' him agree.
But whan he see this lady saif,
And her gat-es all locked fast,
He fell into a rage of wrath,
And his look was all aghast.
"Come down to me, ye lady gay,
Come down, come down to me!
This night sall ye lig within mine arms
To-morrow my bride sall be."—
"I winna come down, ye false Gord-on,
I winna come down to thee;
I winna forsake my ain dear lord,
That is sae far frae me."—
"Give o'er your house, ye lady fair,
Give o'er your house to me,
Or I sall bren yoursel therein,
Bot and your babies three."—
"I winna give o'er, ye false Gord-on
To nae sic traitor as ye;
And if ye bren my ain dear babes,
My lord sall make you dree.
"But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man,
And charge ye weel my gun:
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher
My babes we been undone."
She stude upon her castle wa',
And let twa bullets flee:
She missed that bluidy butcher's heart
And only rased his knee.
"Set fire to the house!" quo' false Gord-on,
All wood wi' dule and ire:
"False lady, ye sall rue this deed,
As ye bren in the fire!"—
"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock my man,
I paid ye weel your fee:
Why pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane,
Lets in the reek to me?
"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock my man,
I paid ye weel your hire;
Why pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane,
To me lets in the fire?"—
"Ye paid me weel my hire, lady;
Ye paid me weel my fee;
But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man,
Maun either do or dee."
O then bespake her little son,
Sate on the nurse's knee:
Says, "Mither dear, gi'e o'er this house,
For the reek it smithers me."—
"I wad gi'e a' my gowd, my child,
Sae wad I a' my fee,
For ane blast o' the western wind
To blaw the reek frae thee."
O then bespake her dochter dear,
She was baith jimp and sma',
"O row me in a pair o' sheets,
And tow me o'er the wa'."
They rowd her in a pair o' sheets,
And towd her o'er the wa':
But on the point of Gordon's spear
She gat a deadly fa'.
O bonnie bonnie was her mouth,
And cherry were her cheeks,
And clear clear was her yellow hair,
Whereon the reid bluid dreeps.
Then wi' his spear he turned her o'er,—
O gin her face was wan!
He said, "Ye are the first that e'er
I wished alive again."
He turned her o'er and o'er again,—
O gin her skin was white!
"I might ha' spared that bonnie face
To hae been some man's delite.
"Busk and boun, my merry men a',
For ill dooms I do guess;
I canna luik in that bonnie face,
As it lies on the grass."—
"Tham luiks to freits, my master dear,
Then freits will follow thame:
Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon
Was daunted by a dame!"—
But when the ladie see the fire
Come flaming o'er her head,
She wept and kissed her children twain,
Said, "Bairns, we been but dead!"
The Gordon then his bugle blew,
And said, "Awa', awa';
This house o' the Rodes is a' in flame,
I hauld it time to ga'."
O then bespied her ain dear lord,
As he came o'er the lee;
He spied his castle all in blaze
Sae far as he could see.
Then sair, O sair his mind misgave,
And all his heart was wae;
"Put on! put on! my wighty men,
So fast as ye can gae!
"Put on! put on! my wighty men,
Sae fast as ye can dree;
For he that is hindmost of the thrang
Sall neir get guid o' me!"
Then some they rade, and some they rin,
Fou fast out-o'er the bent,
But ere the foremost could get up,
Baith ladie and babes were brent.
He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And wept in teenefu' muid:
"O traitors! for this cruel deed
Ye sall weep tears o' bluid!"
And after the Gordon he is gane,
So fast as he might dree;
And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's bluid
He's wroken his dear ladie.
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