I wish I were where Helen
lies,
For night and day on me she
cries;
And, like an angel, to the
skies
Still
seems to beckon me!
For me she lived, for me she
sigh’d,
For me she wish’d to
be a bride;
For me in life’s sweet
morn she died
On
fair Kirkconnel-Lee!
Where Kirtle waters gently
wind,
As Helen on my arm reclined,
A rival with a ruthless mind
Took
deadly aim at me.
My love, to disappoint the
foe,
Rush’d in between me
and the blow;
And now her corse is lying
low,
On
fair Kirkconnel-Lee!
Though Heaven forbids my wrath
to swell,
I curse the hand by which
she fell—
The fiend who made my heaven
a hell,
And
tore my love from me!
For if, when all the graces
shine,
Oh! if on earth there ’s
aught divine,
My Helen! all these charms
were thine,
They
centred all in thee!
Ah! what avails it that, amain,
I clove the assassin’s
head in twain?
No peace of mind, my Helen
slain,
No
resting-place for me.
I see her spirit in the air—
I hear the shriek of wild
despair,
When murder laid her bosom
bare,
On
fair Kirkconnel-Lee!
Oh! when I ’m sleeping
in my grave,
And o’er my head the
rank weeds wave,
May He who life and spirit
gave
Unite
my love and me!
Then from this world of doubts
and sighs,
My soul on wings of peace
shall rise,
And, joining Helen in the
skies,
Forget
Kirkconnel-Lee.
[24] During the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, a young lady, of great personal attractions and numerous accomplishments, named Helen Irving, daughter of Irving of Kirkconnel, in Annandale, was betrothed to Adam Fleming de Kirkpatrick, a young gentleman of fortune in the neighbourhood. Walking with her lover on the banks of the Kirtle, she was slain by a shot which had been aimed at Fleming by a disappointed rival. The melancholy history has been made the theme of three different ballads, two of these being old. The present ballad, by Mr Mayne, was inserted by Sir Walter Scott in the Edinburgh Annual Register of 1815.
THE WINTER SAT LANG.
The winter sat lang on the
spring o’ the year,
Our seedtime was late, and
our mailing was dear;
My mither tint her heart when
she look’d on us a’,
And we thought upon those
that were farest awa’.
Oh, were they but here that
are farest awa’!
Oh, were they but here that
are dear to us a’!
Our cares would seem light
and our sorrow but sma’,
If they were but here that
are far frae us a’!