The following ballad, it will be perceived, is utterly at variance with the facts of history. It was first printed in Evans's _Old Ballads_, and is said to be the composition of one Forbes, schoolmaster at Mary-Culter, on Dee-side. The dialect is broad Aberdeen.
Murn ye heighlands, and murn ye leighlands, I trow ye hae meikle need; For thi bonny burn o' Corichie His run this day wi' bleid.
Thi hopefu' laird o' Finliter,[L5] 5 Erle Huntly's gallant son, For thi love hi bare our beauteous quine His gar't fair Scotland mone.
Hi his braken his ward in Aberdene, Throu dreid o' thi fause Murry, 10 And his gather't the gentle Gordone clan, An' his father, auld Huntly.
Fain wid he tak our bonny guide quine, An' beare hir awa' wi' him; But Murry's slee wyles spoil't a' thi sport, 15 An' reft him o' lyfe and lim.
Murry gar 't rayse thi tardy Merns men, An' Angis, an' mony ane mair, Erle Morton, and the Byres Lord Linsay, An' campit at thi hill o' Fare. 20
Erle Huntlie came wi' Haddo Gordone, An' countit ane thusan men; But Murry had abien twal hunder, Wi' sax score horsemen and ten.
They soundit thi bougills an' the trumpits, 25 An' marchit on in brave array, Till the spiers an' the axis forgatherit, An' than did begin thi fray.
Thi Gordones sae fercelie did fecht it, Withouten terrer or dreid, 30 That mony o' Murry's men lay gaspin, An' dyit thi grund wi theire bleid.
Then fause Murry feingit to flee them, An' they pursuit at his backe, Whan thi haf o' thi Gordones desertit, 35 An' turnit wi' Murray in a crack.
Wi hether i' thir bonnits they turnit, The traiter Haddo o' their heid, An' slaid theire brithers an' their fatheris, An' spoilit an' left them for deid. 40
Then Murry cried to tak thi auld Gordone, An' mony ane ran wi' speid; But Stuart o' Inchbraik had him stickit, An' out gushit thi fat lurdane's bleid.
Then they teuke his twa sones quick an' hale, 45 An' bare them awa' to Aberdene; But fair did our guide quine lament Thi waeful chance that they were tane.
Erle Murry lost mony a gallant stout man; Thi hopefu' laird o' Thornitune, 50 Pittera's sons, an Egli's far fearit laird, An mair to mi unkend, fell doune.
Erle Huntly mist ten score o' his bra' men, Sum o' heigh an' sum o' leigh degree; Skeenis youngest son, thi pryde o' a' the clan, Was ther fun' dead, he widna flee. 55