ballad, as now published, consists of two parts. The first seems to
be an address, either by Fleming or his rival, to the lady; if, indeed,
it constituted any portion of the original poem. For the editor cannot
help suspecting, that these verses have been the production of a
different and inferior bard, and only adapted to the original measure
and tune. But this suspicion, being unwarranted by any copy he has been
able to procure, he does not venture to do more than intimate his own
opinion. The second part, by far the most beautiful, and which is
unquestionably original, forms the lament of Fleming over the grave of
fair Helen.

The ballad is here given, without alteration or improvement, from the
most accurate copy which could be recovered. The fate of Helen has not,
however, remained unsung by modern bards. A lament, of great poetical
merit, by the learned historian Mr Pinkerton, with several other poems
on this subject, have been printed in various forms.

The grave of the lovers is yet shewn in the church-yard of Kirconnell,
near Springkell. Upon the tomb-stone can still be read--_Hie jacet
Adamus Fleming;_ a cross and sword are sculptured on the stone. The
former is called, by the country people, the gun with which Helen was
murdered; and the latter, the avenging sword of her lover. _Sit illis
terra levis!_ A heap of stones is raised on the spot where the murder
was committed; a token of abhorrence common to most nations.[A]

[Footnote A: This practice has only very lately become obsolete in
Scotland. The editor remembers, that, a few years ago, a cairn was
pointed out to him in the King's Park of Edinburgh, which had been
raised in detestation of a cruel murder, perpetrated by one Nicol
Muschet, on the body of his wife, in that place, in the year 1720.]

FAIR HELEN.

PART FIRST.

O! sweetest sweet, and fairest fair,
Of birth and worth beyond compare,
Thou art the causer of my care,
Since first I loved thee.

Yet God hath given to me a mind,
The which to thee shall prove as kind
As any one that thou shalt find,
Of high or low degree.

The shallowest water makes maist din,
The deadest pool the deepest linn.
The richest man least truth within,
Though he preferred be.

Yet, nevertheless, I am content,
And never a whit my love repent,
But think the time was a' weel spent,
Though I disdained be.

O! Helen sweet, and maist complete,
My captive spirit's at thy