Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
Until she cam to the miller’s dam.

Out then cam the miller’s son,
And saw the fair maid soummin’¹ in.

‘O father, father, draw your dam!
There’s either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.’

The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drown’d womàan.

You couldna see her middle sma’,
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.

You couldna see her lily feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.

All amang her yellow hair
A string o’ pearls was twisted rare.

You couldna see her fingers sma’,
Wi’ diamond rings they were cover’d a’.

And by there cam a harper fine,
That harpit to the king at dine.

And when he look’d that lady on,
He sigh’d and made a heavy moan.

He’s made a harp of her breast-bane,
Whose sound wad melt a heart of stane.

He’s ta’en three locks o’ her yellow hair,
And wi’ them strung his harp sae rare.

He went into her father’s hall,
And there was the court assembled all.

He laid his harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play by lane.²

‘O yonder sits my father, the King,
And yonder sits my mother, the Queen;

‘And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
But by him my William, sweet and true.’

But the last tune that the harp play’d then—
   Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Was, ‘Woe to my sister, false Helàen!’
   By the bonnie milldams o’ Binnorie.

387   The Bonnie House o’ Airlie

IT fell on a day, and a bonnie simmer day,
   When green grew aits and barley,
That there fell out a great dispute
   Between Argyll and Airlie.

Argyll has raised an hunder men,
   An hunder harness’d rarely,
And he’s awa’ by the back of Dunkell,
   To plunder the castle of Airlie.

Lady Ogilvie looks o’er her bower-window,
   And O but she looks warely!
And there she spied the great Argyll,
   Come to plunder the bonnie house of Airlie.

‘Come down, come down, my Lady Ogilvie,
   Come down and kiss me fairly’:
‘O I winna kiss the fause Argyll,
   If he shouldna leave a standing stane in Airlie.’

He hath taken her by the left shoulder,
   Says, ‘Dame, where lies thy dowry?’
‘O it’s east and west yon wan water side,
   And it’s down by the banks of the Airlie.’

They hae sought it up, they hae sought it down,
   They hae sought it maist severely,
Till they fand it in the fair plum-tree
   That shines on the bowling-green of Airlie.

He hath taken her by the middle sae small,
   And O but she grat sairly!
And laid her down by the bonnie burn-side,
   Till they plunder’d the castle of Airlie.