There stood his fleet steed, There stood his gray father, For hame came his steed, But hame never came he. Eight lines of this song may be found in Finlay's collection of ballads. My friend Mr. Yellowlees had the kindness to communicate two old and clever verses: one gives a name to the unfortunate hero. High upon highlands, Rode out on a day. The other contains a very moving image of domestic desolation: My meadow lies green, And my corn is unshorn; And my babe is unborn. I have not tried to graft these verses upon the song. By conferring a name on the hero, much of the romantic charm would be removed; and the words ascribed to the young widow are rather too full of worldly care to correspond with the sorrow of the father and the mother. |