It made the king in his chamber start,
E'en in the bed where he might be.

"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',
"And bid Carmichael come speak to me;
"For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,
"That yon's the shot o' young Logie."

When Carmichael came before the king,
He fell low down upon his knee;
The very first word that the king spake,
Was--"Where's the laird of young Logie?"

Carmichael turn'd him round about,
(I wot the tear blinded his eye)
"There came a token frae your grace,
"Has ta'en away the laird frae me."

"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?"
"And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;
"The morn the justice court's to stand,
"And Logic's place ye maun supply."

Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,
Even as fast as he may drie--
"O if young Logie be within,
"Tell him to come and speak with me!"

May Margaret turned her round about,
(I wot a loud laugh laughed she)
"The egg is chipped, the bird is flown,
"Ye'll see na mair of young Logie."

The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith,
The tother at the Queen's Ferrie;
And she's gotten a father to her bairn,
The wanton laird of young Logie.

[Footnote A: _Redding kain_--Comb for the hair.]

NOTE ON THE LAIRD O' LOGIE.

_Carmichael's the keeper o' the key._--P. 344. v. 2.

Sir John Carmichael of Carmichael, the hero of the ballad, called the
Raid of the Reidswair, was appointed captain of the king's guard in
1588, and usually had the keeping of state criminals of rank.

A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.

This is a sort of charm, sung by the lower ranks of Roman Catholics, in
some parts of the north of England, while watching a dead body, previous
to interment. The tune is doleful and monotonous, and, joined to the
mysterious import of the words, has a solemn effect. The word _sleet_,
in the chorus, seems to be corrupted from _selt_, or salt; a quantity of
which, in compliance with a popular superstition, is frequently placed
on the breast of a corpse.

The mythologic ideas of the dirge are common to various creeds. The
Mahometan believes, that, in advancing to the final judgment seat, he
must traverse a bar of red-hot iron, stretched across a bottomless
gulph. The good works of each true believer, assuming a substantial
form, will then interpose betwixt his feet and this _"Bridge of Dread;"_
but the wicked, having no such protection, must fall headlong into the
abyss