Summary

Mary Macgregor Stories from the Ballads, Told to the Children

What dost thou at my feet, my bonny maid?'
'Ah, sire,' cried she, 'I have come to beg of thee a boon. Nor ever since I came over the sea have I begged of thee until now. Give me, I beseech of thee, the life of the young Laird of Logie.'
'Alas, May Margaret,' cried the king, 'that cannot I do! An thou gavest to me all the gold that is in Scotland yet could I not save the lad.'
Then Margaret Twynlace turned away and crept back to the queen's bower. Yet now no tears fell from her blue eyes, for if neither king nor queen could help the young Laird of Logie, she herself would save him from death.
Source: Gutenberg

Mary Macgregor Stories from the Ballads, Told to the Children

And as he walked the wind touched the strings of the elfin harp and drew forth a wail so full of dole that those who heard it whispered: 'It is a note of death.'
On walked Thomas, slow and sad, and oft he turned to look again at the grim walls of the castle, which he knew he would never see again.
And the moonbeams fell upon the grey tower, and in the soft light the walls grew less grim, less stern, so thought Thomas.
'Farewell,' he cried, 'farewell. Nor song nor dance shall evermore find place within thy walls. On thy hearthstone shall the wild hare seek a refuge for her young.
Source: Gutenberg

Mary Macgregor Stories from the Ballads, Told to the Children

Thomas hastened to the woods and threw himself down by the bank of a little brook.
Ah yes! spring has come. How the little birds sing, how the gentle breezes whisper! Yet listen! what is it Thomas hears beyond the song of the birds, the whisper of the breeze?
On the air floats the sound of silver bells. Thomas raises his head. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle! The sound draws nearer, clearer. It is music such as one might hear in Elfland.
Beyond the wood, over the lonely moors, rode a lady. So fair a lady had Thomas never seen.
Source: Gutenberg

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