THE

THE GUDEWIFE OF TULLOSHILL, AND THE LORD OF LAUDERDALE.

There dwelt in pastoral Tulloshill, Where waves the mountain broom, A fair gudewife, and a leal auld man, As ye’d found in landwart toun.

Her cheeks were dyed wi’ health’s bright glow, That spake in her eyes o’ blue; And wantonly the dimpling smile Play’d round her cherry mou’.

The rustic swains jeer’d merrily, While seated o’er the cann,— And wonder’d why so young a dame, Had wed so auld a man!

The gudewife went to Lauder Tower, And made a loud lament; And told the Lord of Lauderdale She coudna pay her rent.

Perish’d the firstlings of their flocks, The winters were sae chill, The April snaw lay on the ground When it fell at Tulloshill.

Upspake the Lord of Lauderdale, “Gudewife, I grant a boon, “Ye’se sit rent-free at Martinmas “If ye bring me snaw in June.”

And he toy’d wi’ the gudewife’s sunny locks, And chuck’d her under the chin; And compared her skin to the creamy flocks, That o’er the Scenes-law rin.

“Now haud ye there, Sir Knight,” she said, And away like a fawn she ran; But he did nae mair to the merry wife Than became an honest man.

She made a ba’ of drifted snaw, Which she gather’d by Criblaw shiel; And she laid it in a rocky dean, And cover’d it wi’ grey meal.

And she brought it in the end of June To ancient Thirlestane; And my lord received her graciously In his state chamber alane.

“Now spare your speech, gudewife,” he cried, “And make no foolish mane; “For one kiss o’ your hinny mou “Were worth a’ Thirlestane.”

“Now, fare thee weel! Sir Knight,” she said, (As her Ladyship cam ben,) “Ye’se get the best at Tulloshill, “When ye shoot the mountain hen.”

Deep lay the snaw in Lammermoor, On mountain height and glen, And cauld, cauld blew the sleety shower O’er Greenlaw’s mossy fen.

And deep lay the snaw in Leader-haughs, And drifted o’er the plain, When at the rack-rent o’ the year She thought o’ her Lord again.

“The spring returns to Whalplaw burn, “The birds to Langhope shaw; “But when will Lauderdale return?— “O, he’s been lang awa!

“When Charlie gets his rightfu’ crown, “Which Cromwell fain wad wear; “When the democratic parliament “To the depths of hell shall stear.

“Alas! for the battle of Worcester, “Where Lauderdale was ta’en, “And the gallant Duke of Hamilton “Lay dead amang the slain.

“My silken snood I’d gladly sell, “And crimson kirtle gay, “To ransom him, laid in the Tower “For aiding royalty.

“My siller brooch I’d gladly sell, “And eke my golden kaim; “And surely I’d gang daft wi’ joy, “Were my good lord come hame!”

Her Culross girdle from the shelf She took, sae large and clean; For eighteen cakes o’ the Merse’s make This girdle held I ween.

She baked a bannock, large and round, Wi’ flour frae Carfrae mill;— And there ne’er was a cake but had its maik, Save that o’ Tulloshill.

For aye as she kneaded it o’er and o’er, She fill’d it fou o’ gold, Then doubled it up like a honeycomb, Wi’ treasures in its fold.

She plaited up her yellow hair In an artful sunny braid; Then cover’d her locks wi’ the bonnet blue, And her bosom wi’ the plaid.

She laced her velvet milk-white limbs In the tartan trews sae rough, And buried her well-turned ancles in The folds of homespun stuff.

Thus fashion’d, in a herdsman’s dress, She padded her shelty’s back; And rode behind her leal auld man When wearied wi’ her walk.

Like drovers from the north countrie, They travell’d on together; And gallop’d away to London town, O’er mountain, glen, and heather.

And as the Borders wide they pass’d, The southron dames wou’d say, “Beshrew me! that’s a bonny lad, “Led by his father grey.”

The gudewife came to London town, And went into Rag Fair, And drest herself like a beggar-wife, Wi’ wallets scant and bare.

And when she came to London Tower She feign’d herself insane, And aye the burden of her song Was, “Harry, back again!”

And, “Carle, now the king has come!” She sung wi’ Scottish voice; But when she chanted Leaderhaughs, His lordship did rejoice.

And aye she leugh and aye she lap, And foolish words let pass; While the sentinels stood by and jeer’d The silly Scottish lass.

And they have sworn to take her up, And fling her in the moat; When up came the keeper of the Tower, Who made them change their note.

“Know ye the Lord of Lauderdale?” Said the officer of the Tower; “O I wad kiss him lug frae lug!” Quoth she, “within this hour;

“And garland him with gowans rare, “Frae Mid-side Maggy’s bower; “Gif ye wad let a silly lass “Your draw-brig wander o’er.”

They let her pass the castle-gates, Although her looks were wild; For she gambol’d on so harmlessly, Like a lamb or a little child.

Beneath her ragged arm she bore The bannock doubled o’er— “Is such your Scottish bread, daft lass?” Quoth the keeper of the Tower.

“O sweet is Scotia’s aiten-cakes, “And pure her siller springs; “And the food we cull from Scotia’s hills “Might banquet English kings.”

Forth came the Earl’s waiting-man, When he heard the gudewife sing; For Leaderhaughs and Cowdenknowes Made his very heart-strings ring.

“Go, speed, and your lordly master tell, “But take it good or ill, “That Mid-side Maggy greets him here, “From broomy Tulloshill.”

She went into Lord Lauderdale, Who sat in chains array’d; But as she pass’d the steel-laced gates, She felt her heart dismay’d.

And she felt a woman’s natural fears Rush o’er her fainting soul, When she pass’d beneath the Traitor’s Gate, And heard the lions growl.

When she pass’d beneath the Traitor’s Gate, And saw Lord Derby’s head, She thought her velvet thighs wad shake Away frae the knee-pan lid.

She sat her down at his lordship’s feet, And comb’d her yellow hair; And the gold fell down like diamond heaps In shining goupins there.

She took the bannock in her hand, And brake it o’er her knee; And on the floor, in yellow showers, The golden guineas flee.

“Now take thee these, my worthy lord, “’Tis all I have to gi’e! “And seek in Holland’s princely towers “For safety o’er the sea.”—

“A friend in need’s a friend indeed!” He took her by the hand; “For such a dame as thee, gudewife, “I’d part wi’ hauf my land!

“But fare thee weel! my bonny dow! “Oh! fare thee weel a while; “Ye’se sit rent free till I return “To broomy Tulloshill.

“Frae Leader-side to rocky Esk “The lands ye see are mine, “Yet fate decrees, in a foreign land, “That I these fields maun tine.”

“Now, fare thee weel! my generous lord,” Was all that she could say, “I’ll pray for you on my bare, bare knees “Till your returning day.”

They durst nae harm Lord Lauderdale, Nor they durst nae set him free, Till nine lang years pass’d o’er his head In the Tower sae drearilie.

When Cromwell low in the dust was laid, And that parliament in its wane, Which he long had rein’d wi’ a master-hand, Our lord got free again.

Away he sail’d o’er the snowy foam, To the Prince of Holland’s towers, And met his king right gladsomely In Hague’s canal-lined bowers.

And aye he blest the leal gudewife That won’d at Tulloshill; For he found her goud of use to him When his ain was nae in his will.

And, O! but she was a proud gudewife, When she hail’d the king’s return; For again she saw Lord Lauderdale Restored to Leader-burn.

No more like tenant, scant o’ cash, Rent-time did her dismay; For she got free lease of Tulloshill Her life-lang and a day.

My lord gi’ed her a silver belt, Sprinkled wi’ diamonds fine; And she walk’d in a star-like galaxy, Dug from the Indian mine.

The muse’s finest flights maun fail, So drops my downy quill; For John is Duke of Lauderdale— Meg—Queen of Tulloshill.