Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election - Ballad Third


 * 'Twas in the seventeen hunder year
 * O' grace, and ninety-five,
 * That year I was the wae'est man
 * Of ony man alive.


 * In March the three-an'-twentieth morn,
 * The sun raise clear an' bright;
 * But oh! I was a waefu' man,
 * Ere to-fa' o' the night.


 * Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land,
 * Wi' equal right and fame,
 * And thereto was his kinsmen join'd,
 * The Murray's noble name.


 * Yerl Galloway's man o' men was I,
 * And chief o' Broughton's host;
 * So twa blind beggars, on a string,
 * The faithfu' tyke will trust.


 * But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre's broke,
 * And Broughton's wi' the slain,
 * And I my ancient craft may try,
 * Sin' honesty is gane.


 * 'Twas by the banks o' bonie Dee,
 * Beside Kirkcudbright's towers,
 * The Stewart and the Murray there,
 * Did muster a' their powers.


 * Then Murray on the auld grey yaud,
 * Wi' winged spurs did ride,
 * That auld grey yaud a' Nidsdale rade,
 * He staw upon Nidside.


 * And there had na been the Yerl himsel,
 * O there had been nae play;
 * But Garlies was to London gane,
 * And sae the kye might stray.


 * And there was Balmaghie, I ween,
 * In front rank he wad shine;
 * But Balmaghie had better been
 * Drinkin' Madeira wine.


 * And frae Glenkens cam to our aid
 * A chief o' doughty deed;
 * In case that worth should wanted be,
 * O' Kenmure we had need.


 * And by our banners march'd Muirhead,
 * And Buittle was na slack;
 * Whase haly priesthood nane could stain,
 * For wha could dye the black?


 * And there was grave squire Cardoness,
 * Look'd on till a' was done;
 * Sae in the tower o' Cardoness
 * A howlet sits at noon.


 * And there led I the Bushby clan,
 * My gamesome billie, Will,
 * And my son Maitland, wise as brave,
 * My footsteps follow'd still.


 * The Douglas and the Heron's name,
 * We set nought to their score;
 * The Douglas and the Heron's name,
 * Had felt our weight before.


 * But Douglasses o' weight had we,
 * The pair o' lusty lairds,
 * For building cot-houses sae fam'd,
 * And christenin' kail-yards.


 * And there Redcastle drew his sword,
 * That ne'er was stain'd wi' gore,
 * Save on a wand'rer lame and blind,
 * To drive him frae his door.


 * And last cam creepin' Collieston,
 * Was mair in fear than wrath;
 * Ae knave was constant in his mind-
 * To keep that knave frae scaith.