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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Collection of Ballads, by Andrew Lang
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions 
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at 
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: A Collection of Ballads
+
+
+Author: Andrew Lang
+
+
+
+Release Date: February 6, 2015  [eBook #1054]
+[This file was first posted on August 1, 1997]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLLECTION OF BALLADS***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1910 Chapman and Hall editionby David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+                          [Picture: Book cover]
+
+
+
+
+
+                             A COLLECTION OF
+                                 BALLADS
+
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                        EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION
+                                AND NOTES
+                                    BY
+                               ANDREW LANG
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                  LONDON
+                        CHAPMAN AND HALL, LIMITED
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                        _First Published in 1897_
+                             _Reprinted 1910_
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                             PAGE
+INTRODUCTION                                   ix
+SIR PATRICK SPENS                               1
+BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE                           5
+TAM LIN                                        10
+THOMAS THE RHYMER                              16
+“SIR HUGH; OR THE JEW’S DAUGHTER”              19
+SON DAVIE!  SON DAVIE!                         22
+THE WIFE OF USHER’S WELL                       24
+THE TWA CORBIES                                26
+THE BONNIE EARL MORAY                          27
+CLERK SAUNDERS                                 30
+WALY, WALY                                     35
+LOVE GREGOR; OR, THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN         37
+THE QUEEN’S MARIE                              41
+KINMONT WILLIE                                 45
+JAMIE TELFER                                   52
+THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY                            59
+THE BONNY HIND                                 62
+YOUNG BICHAM                                   65
+THE LOVING BALLAD OF LORD BATEMAN              69
+THE BONNIE HOUSE O’ AIRLY                      73
+ROB ROY                                        75
+THE BATTLE OF KILLIE-CRANKIE                   77
+ANNAN WATER                                    79
+THE ELPHIN NOURRICE                            81
+COSPATRICK                                     82
+JOHNNIE ARMSTRANG                              87
+EDOM O’ GORDON                                 92
+LADY ANNE BOTHWELL’S LAMENT                    98
+JOCK O THE SIDE                               101
+LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET                    107
+FAIR ANNIE                                    111
+THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW                      116
+SIR ROLAND                                    119
+ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY                   123
+THE BATTLE OF HARLAW—EVERGREEN VERSION        131
+TRADITIONARY VERSION                          138
+DICKIE MACPHALION                             142
+A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE                             143
+THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN                        145
+MAY COLVEN                                    147
+JOHNIE FAA                                    150
+HOBBIE NOBLE                                  152
+THE TWA SISTERS                               157
+MARY AMBREE                                   160
+ALISON GROSS                                  165
+THE HEIR OF LYNNE                             167
+GORDON OF BRACKLEY                            172
+EDWARD, EDWARD                                175
+YOUNG BENJIE                                  177
+AULD MAITLAND                                 180
+THE BROOMFIELD HILL                           189
+WILLIE’S LADYE                                193
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK                       196
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE POTTER                     209
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER                    221
+NOTES                                         227
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+WHEN the learned first gave serious attention to popular ballads, from
+the time of Percy to that of Scott, they laboured under certain
+disabilities.  The Comparative Method was scarcely understood, and was
+little practised.  Editors were content to study the ballads of their own
+countryside, or, at most, of Great Britain.  Teutonic and Northern
+parallels to our ballads were then adduced, as by Scott and Jamieson.  It
+was later that the ballads of Europe, from the Faroes to Modern Greece,
+were compared with our own, with European _Märchen_, or children’s tales,
+and with the popular songs, dances, and traditions of classical and
+savage peoples.  The results of this more recent comparison may be
+briefly stated.  Poetry begins, as Aristotle says, in improvisation.
+Every man is his own poet, and, in moments of stronge motion, expresses
+himself in song.  A typical example is the Song of Lamech in Genesis—
+
+    “I have slain a man to my wounding,
+    And a young man to my hurt.”
+
+Instances perpetually occur in the Sagas: Grettir, Egil, Skarphedin, are
+always singing.  In _Kidnapped_, Mr. Stevenson introduces “The Song of
+the Sword of Alan,” a fine example of Celtic practice: words and air are
+beaten out together, in the heat of victory.  In the same way, the women
+sang improvised dirges, like Helen; lullabies, like the lullaby of Danæ
+in Simonides, and flower songs, as in modern Italy.  Every function of
+life, war, agriculture, the chase, had its appropriate magical and
+mimetic dance and song, as in Finland, among Red Indians, and among
+Australian blacks.  “The deeds of men” were chanted by heroes, as by
+Achilles; stories were told in alternate verse and prose; girls, like
+Homer’s Nausicaa, accompanied dance and ball play, priests and
+medicine-men accompanied rites and magical ceremonies by songs.
+
+These practices are world-wide, and world-old.  The thoroughly popular
+songs, thus evolved, became the rude material of a professional class of
+minstrels, when these arose, as in the heroic age of Greece.  A minstrel
+might be attached to a Court, or a noble; or he might go wandering with
+song and harp among the people.  In either case, this class of men
+developed more regular and ample measures.  They evolved the hexameter;
+the _laisse_ of the _Chansons de Geste_; the strange technicalities of
+Scandinavian poetry; the metres of Vedic hymns; the choral odes of
+Greece.  The narrative popular chant became in their hands the Epic, or
+the mediæval rhymed romance.  The metre of improvised verse changed into
+the artistic lyric.  These lyric forms were fixed, in many cases, by the
+art of writing.  But poetry did not remain solely in professional and
+literary hands.  The mediæval minstrels and _jongleurs_ (who may best be
+studied in Léon Gautier’s Introduction to his _Epopées Françaises_) sang
+in Court and Camp.  The poorer, less regular brethren of the art, harped
+and played conjuring tricks, in farm and grange, or at street corners.
+The foreign newer metres took the place of the old alliterative English
+verse.  But unprofessional men and women did not cease to make and sing.
+
+Some writers have decided, among them Mr. Courthope, that our traditional
+ballads are degraded popular survivals of literary poetry.  The plots and
+situations of some ballads are, indeed, the same as those of some
+literary mediæval romances.  But these plots and situations, in Epic and
+Romance, are themselves the final literary form of _märchen_, myths and
+inventions originally _popular_, and still, in certain cases, extant in
+popular form among races which have not yet evolved, or borrowed, the
+ampler and more polished and complex _genres_ of literature.  Thus, when
+a literary romance and a ballad have the same theme, the ballad may be a
+popular degradation of the romance; or, it may be the original popular
+shape of it, still surviving in tradition.  A well-known case in prose,
+is that of the French fairy tales.
+
+Perrault, in 1697, borrowed these from tradition and gave them literary
+and courtly shape.  But _Cendrillon_ or _Chaperon Rouge_ in the mouth of
+a French peasant, is apt to be the old traditional version,
+uncontaminated by the refinements of Perrault, despite Perrault’s immense
+success and circulation.  Thus tradition preserves pre-literary forms,
+even though, on occasion, it may borrow from literature.  Peasant poets
+have been authors of ballads, without being, for all that, professional
+minstrels.  Many such poems survive in our ballad literature.
+
+The material of the ballad may be either romantic or historical.  The
+former class is based on one of the primeval invented situations, one of
+the elements of the _Märchen_ in prose.  Such tales or myths occur in the
+stories of savages, in the legends of peasants, are interwoven later with
+the plot in Epic or Romance, and may also inspire ballads.  Popular
+superstitions, the witch, metamorphosis, the returning ghost, the fairy,
+all of them survivals of the earliest thought, naturally play a great
+part.  The Historical ballad, on the other hand, has a basis of
+resounding fact, murder, battle, or fire-raising, but the facts, being
+derived from popular rumour, are immediately corrupted and distorted,
+sometimes out of all knowledge.  Good examples are the ballads on
+Darnley’s murder and the youth of James VI.
+
+In the romantic class, we may take _Tamlane_.  Here the idea of fairies
+stealing children is thoroughly popular; they also steal young men as
+lovers, and again, men may win fairy brides, by clinging to them through
+all transformations.  A classical example is the seizure of Thetis by
+Peleus, and Child quotes a modern Cretan example.  The dipping in milk
+and water, I may add, has precedent in ancient Egypt (in _The Two
+Brothers_), and in modern Senegambia.  The fairy tax, tithe, or teind,
+paid to Hell, is illustrated by old trials for witchcraft, in Scotland.
+{0a}  Now, in literary forms and romance, as in _Ogier le Danois_,
+persons are carried away by the Fairy King or Queen.  But here the
+literary romance borrows from popular superstition; the ballad has no
+need to borrow a familiar fact from literary romance.  On the whole
+subject the curious may consult “The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns,
+and Fairies,” by the Reverend Robert Kirk of Aberfoyle, himself,
+according to tradition, a victim of the fairies.
+
+Thus, in _Tamlane_, the whole _donnée_ is popular.  But the current
+version, that of Scott, is contaminated, as Scott knew, by incongruous
+modernisms.  Burns’s version, from tradition, already localizes the
+events at Carterhaugh, the junction of Ettrick and Yarrow.  But Burns’s
+version does not make the Earl of Murray father of the hero, nor the Earl
+of March father of the heroine.  Roxburgh is the hero’s father in Burns’s
+variant, which is more plausible, and the modern verses do not occur.
+This ballad apparently owes nothing to literary romance.
+
+In _Mary Hamilton_ we have a notable instance of the Historical Ballad.
+No Marie of Mary Stuart’s suffered death for child murder.
+
+She had no Marie Hamilton, no Marie Carmichael among her four Maries,
+though a lady of the latter name was at her court.  But early in the
+reign a Frenchwoman of the queen’s was hanged, with her paramour, an
+apothecary, for slaying her infant.  Knox mentions the fact, which is
+also recorded in letters from the English ambassador, uncited by Mr.
+Child.  Knox adds that there were ballads against the Maries.  Now, in
+March 1719, a Mary Hamilton, of Scots descent, a maid of honour of
+Catherine of Russia, was hanged for child murder (_Child_, vi. 383).  It
+has therefore been supposed, first by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe long
+ago, later by Professor Child, and then by Mr. Courthope, that our ballad
+is of 1719, or later, and deals with the Russian, not the Scotch,
+tragedy.
+
+To this we may reply (1) that we have no example of such a throwing back
+of a contemporary event, in ballads.  (2) There is a version (_Child_,
+viii. 507) in which Mary Hamilton’s paramour is a “pottinger,” or
+apothecary, as in the real old Scotch affair.  (3) The number of variants
+of a ballad is likely to be proportionate to its antiquity and wide
+distribution.  Now only _Sir Patrick Spens_ has so many widely different
+variants as _Mary Hamilton_.  These could hardly have been evolved
+between 1719 and 1790, when Burns quotes the poem as an old ballad.  (4)
+We have no example of a poem so much in the old ballad manner, for
+perhaps a hundred and fifty years before 1719.  The style first degraded
+and then expired: compare _Rob Roy_ and _Killiecrankie_, in this
+collection, also the ballads of _Loudoun Hill_, _The Battle of
+Philiphaugh_, and others much earlier than 1719.  New styles of popular
+poetry on contemporary events as _Sherriffmuir_ and _Tranent Brae_ had
+arisen.  (5) The extreme historic inaccuracy of _Mary Hamilton_ is
+paralleled by that of all the ballads on real events.  The mention of the
+Pottinger is a trace of real history which has no parallel in the Russian
+affair, and there is no room, says Professor Child, for the supposition
+that it was voluntarily inserted by reciter or copyist, to tally with the
+narrative in Knox’s History.
+
+On the other side, we have the name of Mary Hamilton occurring in a
+tragic event of 1719, but then the name does not uniformly appear in the
+variants of the ballad.  The lady is there spoken of generally as Mary
+Hamilton, but also as Mary Myle, Lady Maisry, as daughter of the Duke of
+York (Stuart), as Marie Mild, and so forth.  Though she bids sailors
+carry the tale of her doom, she is not abroad, but in Edinburgh town.
+Nothing can be less probable than that a Scots popular ballad-maker in
+1719, telling the tale of a yesterday’s tragedy in Russia, should throw
+the time back by a hundred and fifty years, should change the scene to
+Scotland (the heart of the sorrow would be Mary’s exile), and, above all,
+should compose a ballad in a style long obsolete.  This is not the method
+of the popular poet, and such imitations of the old ballad as
+_Hardyknute_ show that literary poets of 1719 had not knowledge or skill
+enough to mimic the antique manner with any success.
+
+We may, therefore, even in face of Professor Child, regard _Mary
+Hamilton_ as an old example of popular perversion of history in ballad,
+not as “one of the very latest,” and also “one of the very best” of
+Scottish popular ballads.
+
+_Rob Roy_ shows the same power of perversion.  It was not Rob Roy but his
+sons, Robin Oig (who shot Maclaren at the plough-tail), and James Mohr
+(alternately the spy, the Jacobite, and the Hanoverian spy once more),
+who carried off the heiress of Edenbelly.  Indeed a kind of added
+epilogue, in a different measure, proves that a poet was aware of the
+facts, and wished to correct his predecessor.
+
+Such then are ballads, in relation to legend and history.  They are, on
+the whole, with exceptions, absolutely popular in origin, composed by men
+of the people for the people, and then diffused among and altered by
+popular reciters.  In England they soon won their way into printed stall
+copies, and were grievously handled and moralized by the hack editors.
+
+No ballad has a stranger history than _The Loving Ballad of Lord
+Bateman_, illustrated by the pencils of Cruikshank and Thackeray.  Their
+form is a ludicrous cockney perversion, but it retains the essence.
+Bateman, a captive of “this Turk,” is beloved by the Turk’s daughter (a
+staple incident of old French romance), and by her released.  The lady
+after seven years rejoins Lord Bateman: he has just married a local
+bride, but “orders another marriage,” and sends home his bride “in a
+coach and three.”  This incident is stereotyped in the ballads and occurs
+in an example in the Romaic. {0b}
+
+Now Lord Bateman is _Young Bekie_ in the Scotch ballads, who becomes
+_Young Beichan_, _Young Bichem_, and so forth, and has adventures
+identical with those of Lord Bateman, though the proud porter in the
+Scots version is scarcely so prominent and illustrious.  As Motherwell
+saw, Bekie (Beichan, Buchan, Bateman) is really Becket, Gilbert Becket,
+father of Thomas of Canterbury.  Every one has heard how _his_ Saracen
+bride sought him in London.  (Robert of Gloucester’s _Life and Martyrdom
+of Thomas Becket_, Percy Society.  See Child’s Introduction, IV., i.
+1861, and _Motherwell’s Minstrelsy_, p. xv., 1827.)  The legend of the
+dissolved marriage is from the common stock of ballad lore, Motherwell
+found an example in the state of _Cantefable_, alternate prose and verse,
+like _Aucassin and Nicolette_.  Thus the cockney rhyme descends from the
+twelfth century.
+
+Such are a few of the curiosities of the ballad.  The examples selected
+are chiefly chosen for their romantic charm, and for the spirit of the
+Border raids which they record.  A few notes are added in an appendix.
+The text is chosen from among the many variants in Child’s learned but
+still unfinished collection, and an effort has been made to choose the
+copies which contain most poetry with most signs of uncontaminated
+originality.  In a few cases Sir Walter Scott’s versions, though
+confessedly “made up,” are preferred.  Perhaps the editor may be allowed
+to say that he does not merely plough with Professor Child’s heifer, but
+has made a study of ballads from his boyhood.
+
+This fact may exempt him, even in the eyes of too patriotic American
+critics, from “the common blame of a plagiary.”  Indeed, as Professor
+Child has not yet published his general theory of the Ballad, the editor
+does not know whether he agrees with the ideas here set forth.
+
+So far the Editor had written, when news came of Professor Child’s
+regretted death.  He had lived to finish, it is said, the vast collection
+of all known traditional Scottish and English Ballads, with all
+accessible variants, a work of great labour and research, and a
+distinguished honour to American scholarship.  We are not told, however,
+that he had written a general study of the topic, with his conclusions as
+to the evolution and diffusion of the Ballads: as to the influences which
+directed the selection of certain themes of _Märchen_ for poetic
+treatment, and the processes by which identical ballads were distributed
+throughout Europe.  No one, it is to be feared, is left, in Europe at
+least, whose knowledge of the subject is so wide and scientific as that
+of Professor Child.  It is to be hoped that some pupil of his may
+complete the task in his sense, if, indeed, he has left it unfinished.
+
+
+
+
+SIR PATRICK SPENS
+
+
+                          (_Border Minstrelsy_.)
+
+   THE king sits in Dunfermline town,
+      Drinking the blude-red wine o:
+   “O whare will I get a skeely skipper
+      To sail this new ship of mine o?”
+
+   O up and spake an eldern-knight,
+      Sat at the king’s right knee:
+   “Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
+      That ever saild the sea.”
+
+   Our king has written a braid letter,
+      And seald it with his hand,
+   And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
+      Was walking on the strand.
+
+   “To Noroway, to Noroway,
+      To Noroway oer the faem;
+   The king’s daughter of Noroway,
+      ’Tis thou maun bring her hame.”
+
+   The first word that Sir Patrick read,
+      Sae loud, loud laughed he;
+   The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
+      The tear blinded his ee.
+
+   “O wha is this has done this deed,
+      And tauld the king o me,
+   To send us out, at this time of the year,
+      To sail upon the sea?”
+
+   “Be it wind, be it weet, be it hall, be it sleet,
+      Our ship must sail the faem;
+   The king’s daughter of Noroway,
+      ’Tis we must fetch her hame.”
+
+   They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,
+      Wi’ a’ the speed they may;
+   They hae landed in Noroway,
+      Upon a Wodensday.
+
+   They hadna been a week, a week
+      In Noroway but twae,
+   When that the lords o Noroway
+      Began aloud to say:
+
+   “Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our king’s goud,
+      And a’ our queenis fee.”
+   “Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!
+      Fu’ loud I hear ye lie!
+
+   “For I brought as much white monie
+      As gane my men and me,
+   And I brought a half-fou’ o’ gude red goud,
+      Out o’er the sea wi’ me.
+
+   “Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a’!
+      Our gude ship sails the morn.”
+   “Now ever alake, my master dear,
+      I fear a deadly storm!
+
+   I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
+      Wi’ the auld moon in her arm;
+   And if we gang to sea, master,
+      I fear we’ll come to harm.”
+
+   They hadna sail’d a league, a league,
+      A league but barely three,
+   When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
+      And gurly grew the sea.
+
+   The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap,
+      It was sic a deadly storm;
+   And the waves cam o’er the broken ship,
+      Till a’ her sides were torn.
+
+   “O where will I get a gude sailor,
+      To take my helm in hand,
+   Till I get up to the tall top-mast;
+      To see if I can spy land?”
+
+   “O here am I, a sailor gude,
+      To take the helm in hand,
+   Till you go up to the tall top-mast
+      But I fear you’ll ne’er spy land.”
+
+   He hadna gane a step, a step,
+      A step but barely ane,
+   When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,
+      And the salt sea it came in.
+
+   “Gae, fetch a web o’ the silken claith,
+      Another o’ the twine,
+   And wap them into our ship’s side,
+      And let na the sea come in.”
+
+   They fetchd a web o the silken claith,
+      Another o the twine,
+   And they wapped them roun that gude ship’s side
+      But still the sea came in.
+
+   O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
+      To weet their cork-heel’d shoon!
+   But lang or a the play was play’d
+      They wat their hats aboon,
+
+   And mony was the feather-bed
+      That fluttered on the faem,
+   And mony was the gude lord’s son
+      That never mair cam hame.
+
+   The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
+      The maidens tore their hair,
+   A’ for the sake of their true loves,
+      For them they’ll see na mair.
+
+   O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,
+      Wi’ their fans into their hand,
+   Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
+      Come sailing to the strand!
+
+   And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
+      Wi’ their goud kaims in their hair,
+   A’ waiting for their ain dear loves!
+      For them they’ll see na mair.
+
+   O forty miles off Aberdeen,
+      ’Tis fifty fathoms deep,
+   And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
+      Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet.
+
+
+
+
+BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE
+
+
+                           (_Child_, vol. vi.)
+
+   IT fell about the Lammas tide,
+      When the muir-men win their hay,
+   The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
+      Into England, to drive a prey.
+
+   He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,
+      With them the Lindesays, light and gay;
+   But the Jardines wald nor with him ride,
+      And they rue it to this day.
+
+   And he has burn’d the dales of Tyne,
+      And part of Bambrough shire:
+   And three good towers on Reidswire fells,
+      He left them all on fire.
+
+   And he march’d up to Newcastle,
+      And rode it round about:
+   “O wha’s the lord of this castle?
+      Or wha’s the lady o’t?”
+
+   But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
+      And O but he spake hie!
+   “I am the lord of this castle,
+      My wife’s the lady gaye.”
+
+   “If thou’rt the lord of this castle,
+      Sae weel it pleases me!
+   For, ere I cross the Border fells,
+      The tane of us sall die.”
+
+   He took a lang spear in his hand,
+      Shod with the metal free,
+   And for to meet the Douglas there,
+      He rode right furiouslie.
+
+   But O how pale his lady look’d,
+      Frae aff the castle wa’,
+   When down, before the Scottish spear,
+      She saw proud Percy fa’.
+
+   “Had we twa been upon the green,
+      And never an eye to see,
+   I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
+      But your sword sall gae wi’ mee.”
+
+   “But gae ye up to Otterbourne,
+      And wait there dayis three;
+   And, if I come not ere three dayis end,
+      A fause knight ca’ ye me.”
+
+   “The Otterbourne’s a bonnie burn;
+      ’Tis pleasant there to be;
+   But there is nought at Otterbourne,
+      To feed my men and me.
+
+   “The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
+      The birds fly wild from tree to tree;
+   But there is neither bread nor kale,
+      To feed my men and me.
+
+   “Yet I will stay it Otterbourne,
+      Where you shall welcome be;
+   And, if ye come not at three dayis end,
+      A fause lord I’ll ca’ thee.”
+
+   “Thither will I come,” proud Percy said,
+      “By the might of Our Ladye!”—
+   “There will I bide thee,” said the Douglas,
+      “My troth I plight to thee.”
+
+   They lighted high on Otterbourne,
+      Upon the bent sae brown;
+   They lighted high on Otterbourne,
+      And threw their pallions down.
+
+   And he that had a bonnie boy,
+      Sent out his horse to grass,
+   And he that had not a bonnie boy,
+      His ain servant he was.
+
+   But up then spake a little page,
+      Before the peep of dawn:
+   “O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
+      For Percy’s hard at hand.”
+
+   “Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!
+      Sae loud I hear ye lie;
+   For Percy had not men yestreen,
+      To dight my men and me.
+
+   “But I have dream’d a dreary dream,
+      Beyond the Isle of Sky;
+   I saw a dead man win a fight,
+      And I think that man was I.”
+
+   He belted on his guid braid sword,
+      And to the field he ran;
+   But he forgot the helmet good,
+      That should have kept his brain.
+
+   When Percy wi the Douglas met,
+      I wat he was fu fain!
+   They swakked their swords, till sair they swat,
+      And the blood ran down like rain.
+
+   But Percy with his good broad sword,
+      That could so sharply wound,
+   Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
+      Till he fell to the ground.
+
+   Then he calld on his little foot-page,
+      And said—“Run speedilie,
+   And fetch my ain dear sister’s son,
+      Sir Hugh Montgomery.
+
+   “My nephew good,” the Douglas said,
+      “What recks the death of ane!
+   Last night I dreamd a dreary dream,
+      And I ken the day’s thy ain.
+
+   “My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;
+      Take thou the vanguard of the three,
+   And hide me by the braken bush,
+      That grows on yonder lilye lee.
+
+   “O bury me by the braken-bush,
+      Beneath the blooming brier;
+   Let never living mortal ken
+      That ere a kindly Scot lies here.”
+
+   He lifted up that noble lord,
+      Wi the saut tear in his e’e;
+   He hid him in the braken bush,
+      That his merrie men might not see.
+
+   The moon was clear, the day drew near,
+      The spears in flinders flew,
+   But mony a gallant Englishman
+      Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
+
+   The Gordons good, in English blood,
+      They steepd their hose and shoon;
+   The Lindesays flew like fire about,
+      Till all the fray was done.
+
+   The Percy and Montgomery met,
+      That either of other were fain;
+   They swapped swords, and they twa swat,
+      And aye the blood ran down between.
+
+   “Yield thee, now yield thee, Percy,” he said,
+      “Or else I vow I’ll lay thee low!”
+   “To whom must I yield,” quoth Earl Percy,
+      “Now that I see it must be so?”
+
+   “Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,
+      Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
+   But yield thee to the braken-bush,
+      That grows upon yon lilye lee!”
+
+   “I will not yield to a braken-bush,
+      Nor yet will I yield to a brier;
+   But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
+      Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here.”
+
+   As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
+      He stuck his sword’s point in the gronde;
+   The Montgomery was a courteous knight,
+      And quickly took him by the honde.
+
+   This deed was done at Otterbourne,
+      About the breaking of the day;
+   Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,
+      And the Percy led captive away.
+
+
+
+
+TAM LIN
+
+
+              (_Child_, Part II., p. 340, Burns’s Version.)
+
+   O I FORBID you, maidens a’,
+      That wear gowd on your hair,
+   To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
+      For young Tam Lin is there.
+
+   There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
+      But they leave him a wad,
+   Either their rings, or green mantles,
+      Or else their maidenhead.
+
+   Janet has kilted her green kirtle
+      A little aboon her knee,
+   And she has braided her yellow hair
+      A little aboon her bree,
+   And she’s awa’ to Carterhaugh,
+      As fast as she can hie.
+
+   When she came to Carterhaugh
+      Tam Lin was at the well,
+   And there she fand his steed standing,
+      But away was himsel.
+
+   She had na pu’d a double rose,
+      A rose but only twa,
+   Till up then started young Tam Lin,
+      Says, “Lady, thou’s pu nae mae.
+
+   “Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,
+      And why breaks thou the wand?
+   Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh
+      Withoutten my command?”
+
+   “Carterhaugh, it is my ain,
+      My daddie gave it me;
+   I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh,
+      And ask nae leave at thee.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   Janet has kilted her green kirtle
+      A little aboon her knee,
+   And she has snooded her yellow hair
+      A little aboon her bree,
+   And she is to her father’s ha,
+      As fast as she can hie.
+
+   Four and twenty ladies fair
+      Were playing at the ba,
+   And out then cam the fair Janet,
+      Ance the flower amang them a’.
+
+   Four and twenty ladies fair
+      Were playing at the chess,
+   And out then cam the fair Janet,
+      As green as onie grass.
+
+   Out then spak an auld grey knight,
+      Lay oer the castle wa,
+   And says, “Alas, fair Janet, for thee
+      But we’ll be blamed a’.”
+
+   “Haud your tongue, ye auld-fac’d knight,
+      Some ill death may ye die!
+   Father my bairn on whom I will,
+      I’ll father nane on thee.”
+
+   Out then spak her father dear,
+      And he spak meek and mild;
+   “And ever alas, sweet Janet,” he says.
+      “I think thou gaes wi child.”
+
+   “If that I gae wi’ child, father,
+      Mysel maun bear the blame;
+   There’s neer a laird about your ha
+      Shall get the bairn’s name.
+
+   “If my love were an earthly knight,
+      As he’s an elfin grey,
+   I wad na gie my ain true-love
+      For nae lord that ye hae.
+
+   “The steed that my true-love rides on
+      Is lighter than the wind;
+   Wi siller he is shod before
+      Wi burning gowd behind.”
+
+   Janet has kilted her green kirtle
+      A little aboon her knee,
+   And she has snooded her yellow hair
+      A little aboon her bree,
+   And she’s awa’ to Carterhaugh,
+      As fast as she can hie.
+
+   When she cam to Carterhaugh,
+      Tam Lin was at the well,
+   And there she fand his steed standing,
+      But away was himsel.
+
+   She had na pu’d a double rose,
+      A rose but only twa,
+   Till up then started young Tam Lin,
+      Says, “Lady, thou pu’s nae mae.
+
+   “Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,
+      Amang the groves sae green,
+   And a’ to kill the bonie babe
+      That we gat us between?”
+
+   “O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,” she says,
+      “For’s sake that died on tree,
+   If eer ye was in holy chapel,
+      Or christendom did see?”
+
+   “Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,
+      Took me with him to bide,
+   And ance it fell upon a day
+      That wae did me betide.
+
+   “And ance it fell upon a day,
+      A cauld day and a snell,
+   When we were frae the hunting come,
+      That frae my horse I fell;
+   The Queen o Fairies she caught me,
+      In yon green hill to dwell.
+
+   “And pleasant is the fairy land,
+      But, an eerie tale to tell,
+   Ay at the end of seven years
+      We pay a tiend to hell;
+   I am sae fair and fu’ o flesh
+      I’m feared it be mysel.
+
+   “But the night is Halloween, lady,
+      The morn is Hallowday;
+   Then win me, win me, an ye will,
+      For weel I wat ye may.
+
+   “Just at the mirk and midnight hour
+      The fairy folk will ride,
+   And they that wad their true love win,
+      At Miles Cross they maun bide.”
+
+   “But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,
+      Or how my true-love know,
+   Amang sae mony unco knights
+      The like I never saw?”
+
+   “O first let pass the black, lady,
+      And syne let pass the brown,
+   But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
+      Pu ye his rider down.
+
+   “For I’ll ride on the milk-white steed,
+      And ay nearest the town;
+   Because I was an earthly knight
+      They gie me that renown.
+
+   “My right hand will be gloyd, lady,
+      My left hand will be bare,
+   Cockt up shall my bonnet be,
+      And kaimd down shall my hair;
+   And thae’s the takens I gie thee,
+      Nae doubt I will be there.
+
+   “They’ll turn me in your arms, lady,
+      Into an esk and adder;
+   But hold me fast, and fear me not,
+      I am your bairn’s father.
+
+   “They’ll turn me to a bear sae grim,
+      And then a lion bold;
+   But hold me fast, and fear me not,
+      As ye shall love your child.
+
+   “Again they’ll turn me in your arms
+      To a red het gaud of airn;
+   But hold me fast, and fear me not,
+      I’ll do to you nae harm.
+
+   “And last they’ll turn me in your arms
+      Into the burning gleed;
+   Then throw me into well water,
+      O throw me in wi speed.
+
+   “And then I’ll be your ain true-love,
+      I’ll turn a naked knight;
+   Then cover me wi your green mantle,
+      And cover me out o sight.”
+
+   Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
+      And eerie was the way,
+   As fair Jenny in her green mantle
+      To Miles Cross she did gae.
+
+   About the middle o’ the night
+      She heard the bridles ring;
+   This lady was as glad at that
+      As any earthly thing.
+
+   First she let the black pass by,
+      And syne she let the brown;
+   But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,
+      And pu’d the rider down,
+
+   Sae weel she minded whae he did say,
+      And young Tam Lin did win;
+   Syne coverd him wi her green mantle,
+      As blythe’s a bird in spring.
+
+   Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
+      Out of a bush o broom:
+   “Them that has gotten young Tam Lin
+      Has gotten a stately groom.”
+
+   Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
+      And an angry woman was she;
+   “Shame betide her ill-far’d face,
+      And an ill death may she die,
+   For she’s taen awa the bonniest knight
+      In a’ my companie.
+
+   “But had I kend, Tam Lin,” she says,
+      “What now this night I see,
+   I wad hae taen out thy twa grey e’en,
+      And put in twa een o tree.”
+
+
+
+
+THOMAS THE RHYMER
+
+
+                       (_Child_, Part II., p. 317.)
+
+   TRUE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
+      A ferlie he spied wi’ his ee;
+   And there he saw a lady bright,
+      Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.
+
+   Her skirt was o the grass-green silk,
+      Her mantle o the velvet fyne,
+   At ilka tett of her horse’s mane
+      Hang fifty siller bells and nine.
+
+   True Thomas he pulld aff his cap,
+      And louted low down to his knee:
+   “All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
+      For thy peer on earth I never did see.”
+
+   “O no, O no, Thomas,” she said,
+      “That name does not belang to me;
+   I am but the queen of fair Elfland,
+      That am hither come to visit thee.
+
+   “Harp and carp, Thomas,” she said,
+      “Harp and carp, along wi’ me,
+   And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
+      Sure of your bodie I will be!”
+
+   “Betide me weal, betide me woe,
+      That weird sall never daunton me;
+   Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
+      All underneath the Eildon Tree.
+
+   “Now, ye maun go wi me,” she said,
+      “True Thomas, ye maun go wi me,
+   And ye maun serve me seven years,
+      Thro weal or woe as may chance to be.”
+
+   She mounted on her milk-white steed,
+      She’s taen True Thomas up behind,
+   And aye wheneer her bride rung,
+      The steed flew swifter than the wind.
+
+   O they rade on, and farther on—
+      The steed gaed swifter than the wind—
+   Until they reached a desart wide,
+      And living land was left behind.
+
+   “Light down, light down, now, True Thomas,
+      And lean your head upon my knee;
+   Abide and rest a little space,
+      And I will shew you ferlies three.
+
+   “O see ye not yon narrow road,
+      So thick beset with thorns and briers?
+   That is the path of righteousness,
+      Tho after it but few enquires.
+
+   “And see ye not that braid braid road,
+      That lies across that lily leven?
+   That is the path of wickedness,
+      Tho some call it the road to heaven.
+
+   “And see not ye that bonny road,
+      That winds about the fernie brae?
+   That is the road to fair Elfland,
+      Where thou and I this night maun gae.
+
+   “But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,
+      Whatever ye may hear or see,
+   For, if you speak word in Elflyn land,
+      Ye’ll neer get back to your ain countrie.”
+
+   O they rade on, and farther on,
+      And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee,
+   And they saw neither sun nor moon,
+      But they heard the roaring of the sea.
+
+   It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,
+      And they waded thro red blude to the knee;
+   For a’ the blude that’s shed an earth
+      Rins thro the springs o that countrie.
+
+   Syne they came on to a garden green,
+      And she pu’d an apple frae a tree:
+   “Take this for thy wages, True Thomas,
+      It will give the tongue that can never lie.”
+
+   “My tongue is mine ain,” True Thomas said,
+      “A gudely gift ye wad gie me!
+   I neither dought to buy nor sell,
+      At fair or tryst where I may be.
+
+   “I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
+      Nor ask of grace from fair ladye:”
+   “Now hold thy peace,” the lady said,
+      “For as I say, so must it be.”
+
+   He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
+      And a pair of shoes of velvet green,
+   And till seven years were gane and past
+      True Thomas on earth was never seen.
+
+
+
+
+“SIR HUGH; OR THE JEW’S DAUGHTER”
+
+
+                            (_Child_, vol. v.)
+
+   FOUR-AND-TWENTY bonny boys
+      Were playing at the ba,
+   And by it came him sweet Sir Hugh,
+      And he playd o’er them a’.
+
+   He kickd the ba with his right foot
+      And catchd it wi his knee,
+   And throuch-and-thro the Jew’s window
+      He gard the bonny ba flee.
+
+   He’s doen him to the Jew’s castell
+      And walkd it round about;
+   And there he saw the Jew’s daughter,
+      At the window looking out.
+
+   “Throw down the ba, ye Jew’s daughter,
+      Throw down the ba to me!”
+   “Never a bit,” says the Jew’s daughter,
+      “Till up to me come ye.”
+
+   “How will I come up?  How can I come up?
+      How can I come to thee?
+   For as ye did to my auld father,
+      The same ye’ll do to me.”
+
+   She’s gane till her father’s garden,
+      And pu’d an apple red and green;
+   ’Twas a’ to wyle him sweet Sir Hugh,
+      And to entice him in.
+
+   She’s led him in through ae dark door,
+      And sae has she thro nine;
+   She’s laid him on a dressing-table,
+      And stickit him like a swine.
+
+   And first came out the thick, thick blood,
+      And syne came out the thin;
+   And syne came out the bonny heart’s blood;
+      There was nae mair within.
+
+   She’s rowd him in a cake o lead,
+      Bade him lie still and sleep;
+   She’s thrown him in Our Lady’s draw-well,
+      Was fifty fathom deep.
+
+   When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+      And a’ the bairns came hame,
+   When every lady gat hame her son,
+      The Lady Maisry gat nane.
+
+   She’s taen her mantle her about,
+      Her coffer by the hand,
+   And she’s gane out to seek her son,
+      And wandered o’er the land.
+
+   She’s doen her to the Jew’s castell,
+      Where a’ were fast asleep:
+   “Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
+      I pray you to me speak.”
+
+   “Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
+      Prepare my winding-sheet,
+   And at the back o merry Lincoln
+      The morn I will you meet.”
+
+   Now Lady Maisry is gane hame,
+      Make him a winding-sheet,
+   And at the back o merry Lincoln,
+      The dead corpse did her meet.
+
+   And a the bells o merry Lincoln
+      Without men’s hands were rung,
+   And a’ the books o merry Lincoln
+      Were read without man’s tongue,
+   And neer was such a burial
+      Sin Adam’s days begun.
+
+
+
+
+SON DAVIE!  SON DAVIE!
+
+
+                               (_Mackay_.)
+
+   “WHAT bluid’s that on thy coat lap?
+      Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+   What bluid’s that on thy coat lap?
+      And the truth come tell to me, O.”
+
+   “It is the bluid of my great hawk,
+      Mother lady, Mother lady!
+   It is the bluid of my great hawk,
+      And the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”
+
+   “Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red,
+      Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+   Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red,
+      And the truth come tell to me, O.”
+
+   “It is the bluid of my grey hound,
+      Mother lady!  Mother lady!
+   It is the bluid of my grey hound,
+      And it wudna rin for me, O.”
+
+   “Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red,
+      Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+   Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red,
+      And the truth come tell to me, O.”
+
+   “It is the bluid o’ my brother John,
+      Mother lady!  Mother lady!
+   It is the bluid o’ my brother John,
+      And the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”
+
+   “What about did the plea begin?
+      Son Davie!  Son Davie!”
+   “It began about the cutting o’ a willow wand,
+      That would never hae been a tree, O.”
+
+   “What death dost thou desire to die?
+      Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+   What death dost thou desire to die?
+      And the truth come tell to me, O.”
+
+   “I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship,
+      Mother lady! mother lady!
+   I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship,
+      And ye’ll never see mair o’ me, O.”
+
+   “What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife?
+      Son Davie!  Son Davie!”
+   “Grief and sorrow all her life,
+      And she’ll never get mair frae me, O.”
+
+   “What wilt thou leave to thy young son?
+      Son Davie! son Davie!”
+   “The weary warld to wander up and down,
+      And he’ll never get mair o’ me, O.”
+
+   “What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear?
+      Son Davie!  Son Davie!”
+   “A fire o’ coals to burn her wi’ hearty cheer,
+      And she’ll never get mair o’ me, O.”
+
+
+
+
+THE WIFE OF USHER’S WELL
+
+
+                           (_Child_, vol. iii.)
+
+   THERE lived a wife at Usher’s Well,
+      And a wealthy wife was she;
+   She had three stout and stalwart sons,
+      And sent them oer the sea,
+
+   They hadna been a week from her,
+      A week but barely ane,
+   When word came to the carline wife
+      That her three sons were gane.
+
+   They hadna been a week from her,
+      A week but barely three,
+   Whan word came to the carlin wife
+      That her sons she’d never see.
+
+   “I wish the wind may never cease,
+      Nor fashes in the flood,
+   Till my three sons come hame to me,
+      In earthly flesh and blood!”
+
+   It fell about the Martinmass,
+      Whan nights are lang and mirk,
+   The carline wife’s three sons came hame,
+      And their hats were o the birk.
+
+   It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
+      Nor yet in ony sheugh;
+   But at the gates o Paradise
+      That birk grew fair eneugh.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   “Blow up the fire, my maidens!
+      Bring water from the well;
+   For a’ my house shall feast this night,
+      Since my three sons are well.”
+
+   And she has made to them a bed,
+      She’s made it large and wide;
+   And she’s taen her mantle her about,
+      Sat down at the bedside.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   Up then crew the red, red cock,
+      And up and crew the gray;
+   The eldest to the youngest said,
+      “’Tis time we were away.”
+
+   The cock he hadna crawd but once,
+      And clapp’d his wings at a’,
+   Whan the youngest to the eldest said,
+      “Brother, we must awa.
+
+   “The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
+      The channerin worm doth chide;
+   Gin we be mist out o our place,
+      A sair pain we maun bide.
+
+   “Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
+      Fareweel to barn and byre!
+   And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
+      That kindles my mother’s fire!”
+
+
+
+
+THE TWA CORBIES
+
+
+                            (_Child_, vol. i.)
+
+   AS I was walking all alane,
+   I heard twa corbies making a mane;
+   The tane unto the t’other say,
+   “Where sall we gang and dine the day?”
+
+   “In behint yon auld fail dyke,
+   I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
+   And naebody kens that he lies there
+   But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
+
+   “His hound is to the hunting gane,
+   His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
+   His lady’s ta’en another mate,
+   So we may make our dinner sweet.
+
+   “Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
+   And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;
+   Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
+   We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.
+
+   “Mony a one for him makes mane,
+   But nane sall ken whae he is gane,
+   Oer his white banes, when they are bare,
+   The wind sall blaw for evermair.”
+
+
+
+
+THE BONNIE EARL MORAY
+
+
+                           (_Child_, vol. vi.)
+
+                                    A.
+
+   YE Highlands, and ye Lawlands
+      Oh where have you been?
+   They have slain the Earl of Murray,
+      And they layd him on the green.
+
+   “Now wae be to thee, Huntly!
+      And wherefore did you sae?
+   I bade you bring him wi you,
+      But forbade you him to slay.”
+
+   He was a braw gallant,
+      And he rid at the ring;
+   And the bonny Earl of Murray,
+      Oh he might have been a King!
+
+   He was a braw gallant,
+      And he playd at the ba;
+   And the bonny Earl of Murray,
+      Was the flower amang them a’.
+
+   He was a braw gallant,
+      And he playd at the glove;
+   And the bonny Earl of Murray,
+      Oh he was the Queen’s love!
+
+   Oh lang will his lady
+      Look oer the castle Down,
+   Eer she see the Earl of Murray
+      Come sounding thro the town!
+         Eer she, etc.
+
+                                    B.
+
+   “Open the gates
+      and let him come in;
+   He is my brother Huntly,
+      he’ll do him nae harm.”
+
+   The gates they were opent,
+      they let him come in,
+   But fause traitor Huntly,
+      he did him great harm.
+
+   He’s ben and ben,
+      and ben to his bed,
+   And with a sharp rapier
+      he stabbed him dead.
+
+   The lady came down the stair,
+      wringing her hands:
+   “He has slain the Earl o Murray,
+      the flower o Scotland.”
+
+   But Huntly lap on his horse,
+      rade to the King:
+   “Ye’re welcome hame, Huntly,
+      and whare hae ye been?
+
+   “Where hae ye been?
+      and how hae ye sped?”
+   “I’ve killed the Earl o Murray
+      dead in his bed.”
+
+   “Foul fa you, Huntly!
+      and why did ye so?
+   You might have taen the Earl o Murray,
+      and saved his life too.”
+
+   “Her bread it’s to bake,
+      her yill is to brew;
+   My sister’s a widow,
+      and sair do I rue.
+
+   “Her corn grows ripe,
+      her meadows grow green,
+   But in bonnie Dinnibristle
+      I darena be seen.”
+
+
+
+
+CLERK SAUNDERS
+
+
+                           (_Child_, vol. iii.)
+
+   CLERK SAUNDERS and may Margaret
+      Walked ower yon garden green;
+   And sad and heavy was the love
+      That fell thir twa between.
+
+   “A bed, a bed,” Clerk Saunders said,
+      “A bed for you and me!”
+   “Fye na, fye na,” said may Margaret,
+      “’Till anes we married be.
+
+   “For in may come my seven bauld brothers,
+      Wi’ torches burning bright;
+   They’ll say,—‘We hae but ae sister,
+      And behold she’s wi a knight!’”
+
+   “Then take the sword frae my scabbard,
+      And slowly lift the pin;
+   And you may swear, and save your aith.
+      Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.
+
+   “And take a napkin in your hand,
+      And tie up baith your bonny e’en,
+   And you may swear, and save your aith,
+      Ye saw me na since late yestreen.”
+
+   It was about the midnight hour,
+      When they asleep were laid,
+   When in and came her seven brothers,
+      Wi’ torches burning red.
+
+   When in and came her seven brothers,
+      Wi’ torches burning bright:
+   They said, “We hae but ae sister,
+      And behold her lying with a knight!”
+
+   Then out and spake the first o’ them,
+      “I bear the sword shall gar him die!”
+   And out and spake the second o’ them,
+      “His father has nae mair than he!”
+
+   And out and spake the third o’ them,
+      “I wot that they are lovers dear!”
+   And out and spake the fourth o’ them,
+      “They hae been in love this mony a year!”
+
+   Then out and spake the fifth o’ them,
+      “It were great sin true love to twain!”
+   And out and spake the sixth o’ them,
+      “It were shame to slay a sleeping man!”
+
+   Then up and gat the seventh o’ them,
+      And never a word spake he;
+   But he has striped his bright brown brand
+      Out through Clerk Saunders’ fair bodye.
+
+   Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turned
+      Into his arms as asleep she lay;
+   And sad and silent was the night
+      That was atween thir twae.
+
+   And they lay still and sleeped sound
+      Until the day began to daw;
+   And kindly to him she did say,
+      “It is time, true love, you were awa’.”
+
+   But he lay still, and sleeped sound,
+      Albeit the sun began to sheen;
+   She looked atween her and the wa’,
+      And dull and drowsie were his e’en.
+
+   Then in and came her father dear;
+      Said,—“Let a’ your mourning be:
+   I’ll carry the dead corpse to the clay,
+      And I’ll come back and comfort thee.”
+
+   “Comfort weel your seven sons;
+      For comforted will I never be:
+   I ween ’twas neither knave nor loon
+      Was in the bower last night wi’ me.”
+
+   The clinking bell gaed through the town,
+      To carry the dead corse to the clay;
+   And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret’s window,
+      I wot, an hour before the day.
+
+   “Are ye sleeping, Margaret?” he says,
+      “Or are ye waking presentlie?
+   Give me my faith and troth again,
+      I wot, true love, I gied to thee.”
+
+   “Your faith and troth ye sall never get,
+      Nor our true love sall never twin,
+   Until ye come within my bower,
+      And kiss me cheik and chin.”
+
+   “My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,
+      It has the smell, now, of the ground;
+   And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
+      Thy days of life will not be lang.
+
+   “O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
+      I wot the wild fowls are boding day;
+   Give me my faith and troth again,
+      And let me fare me on my way.”
+
+   “Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,
+      And our true love sall never twin,
+   Until ye tell what comes of women,
+      I wot, who die in strong traivelling?
+
+   “Their beds are made in the heavens high,
+      Down at the foot of our good lord’s knee,
+   Weel set about wi’ gillyflowers;
+      I wot, sweet company for to see.
+
+   “O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
+      I wot the wild fowl are boding day;
+   The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
+      And I, ere now, will be missed away.”
+
+   Then she has ta’en a crystal wand,
+      And she has stroken her troth thereon;
+   She has given it him out at the shot-window,
+      Wi’ mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.
+
+   “I thank ye, Marg’ret, I thank ye, Marg’ret;
+      And aye I thank ye heartilie;
+   Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
+      Be sure, Mag’ret, I’ll come for thee.”
+
+   It’s hosen and shoon, and gown alone,
+      She climb’d the wall, and followed him,
+   Until she came to the green forest,
+      And there she lost the sight o’ him.
+
+   “Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?
+      Is there ony room at your feet?
+   Is there ony room at your side, Saunders,
+      Where fain, fain I wad sleep?”
+
+   “There’s nae room at my head, Marg’ret,
+      There’s nae room at my feet;
+   My bed it is full lowly now,
+      Amang the hungry worms I sleep.
+
+   “Cauld mould is my covering now,
+      But and my winding-sheet;
+   The dew it falls nae sooner down
+      Than my resting-place is weet.
+
+   “But plait a wand o’ bonnie birk,
+      And lay it on my breast;
+   And shed a tear upon my grave,
+      And wish my saul gude rest.
+
+   “And fair Marg’ret, and rare Marg’ret,
+      And Marg’ret, o’ veritie,
+   Gin ere ye love another man,
+      Ne’er love him as ye did me.”
+
+   Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
+      And up and crew the gray;
+   Her lover vanish’d in the air,
+      And she gaed weeping away.
+
+
+
+
+WALY, WALY
+
+
+                               (_Mackay_.)
+
+   O WALY, waly, up the bank,
+      O waly, waly, down the brae.
+   And waly, waly, yon burn side,
+      Where I and my love wont to gae.
+   I leaned my back unto an aik,
+      An’ thocht it was a trustie tree,
+   But first it bow’d and syne it brak,
+      Sae my true love did lichtly me.
+
+   O waly, waly, but love is bonnie
+      A little time while it is new,
+   But when it’s auld it waxes cauld,
+      And fades away like morning dew.
+   O wherefore should I busk my head,
+      O wherefore should I kame my hair,
+   For my true love has me forsook,
+      And says he’ll never love me mair.
+
+   Now Arthur’s Seat shall be my bed,
+      The sheets shall ne’er be pressed by me,
+   St. Anton’s well shall be my drink,
+      Since my true love has forsaken me.
+   Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
+      And shake the green leaves off the tree!
+   O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
+      For of my life I am wearie!
+
+   ’Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
+      Nor blawing snaw’s inclemencie,
+   ’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
+      But my love’s heart’s grown cauld to me.
+   When we came in by Glasgow toun
+      We were a comely sicht to see;
+   My love was clad in the black velvet,
+      And I mysel in cramasie.
+
+   But had I wist before I kist
+      That love had been sae ill to win,
+   I’d locked my heart in a case of gold,
+      And pinned it wi’ a siller pin.
+   Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,
+      And set upon the nurse’s knee;
+   And I myself were dead and gane,
+      And the green grass growing over me!
+
+
+
+
+LOVE GREGOR; OR, THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN
+
+
+                      (_Child_, Part III., p. 220.)
+
+   “O WHA will shoe my fu’ fair foot?
+      And wha will glove my hand?
+   And wha will lace my middle jimp,
+      Wi’ the new-made London band?
+
+   “And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
+      Wi’ the new made silver kaim?
+   And wha will father my young son,
+      Till Love Gregor come hame?”
+
+   “Your father will shoe your fu’ fair foot,
+      Your mother will glove your hand;
+   Your sister will lace your middle jimp
+      Wi’ the new-made London band.
+
+   “Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,
+      Wi’ the new made silver kaim;
+   And the king of heaven will father your bairn,
+      Till Love Gregor come haim.”
+
+   “But I will get a bonny boat,
+      And I will sail the sea,
+   For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
+      Since he canno come hame to me.”
+
+   O she has gotten a bonny boat,
+      And sailld the sa’t sea fame;
+   She langd to see her ain true-love,
+      Since he could no come hame.
+
+   “O row your boat, my mariners,
+      And bring me to the land,
+   For yonder I see my love’s castle,
+      Close by the sa’t sea strand.”
+
+   She has ta’en her young son in her arms,
+      And to the door she’s gone,
+   And lang she’s knocked and sair she ca’d,
+      But answer got she none.
+
+   “O open the door, Love Gregor,” she says,
+      “O open, and let me in;
+   For the wind blaws thro’ my yellow hair,
+      And the rain draps o’er my chin.”
+
+   “Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
+      You’r nae come here for good;
+   You’r but some witch, or wile warlock,
+      Or mer-maid of the flood.”
+
+   “I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,
+      Nor mer-maid of the sea,
+   I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;
+      O open the door to me.”
+
+   “Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal—
+      And I trust ye are not she—
+   Now tell me some of the love-tokens
+      That past between you and me.”
+
+   “O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,
+      When we sat at the wine,
+   How we changed the rings frae our fingers?
+      And I can show thee thine.
+
+   “O yours was good, and good enough,
+      But ay the best was mine;
+   For yours was o’ the good red goud,
+      But mine o’ the diamonds fine.
+
+   “But open the door now, Love Gregor,
+      O open the door I pray,
+   For your young son that is in my arms
+      Will be dead ere it be day.”
+
+   “Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
+      For here ye shanno win in;
+   Gae drown ye in the raging sea,
+      Or hang on the gallows-pin.”
+
+   When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,
+      And the sun began to peep,
+   Then up he rose him, Love Gregor,
+      And sair, sair did he weep.
+
+   “O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,
+      The thoughts o’ it gars me greet,
+   That Fair Annie of Rough Royal
+      Lay cauld dead at my feet.”
+
+   “Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal
+      That ye make a’ this din,
+   She stood a’ last night at this door,
+      But I trow she wan no in.”
+
+   “O wae betide ye, ill woman,
+      An ill dead may ye die!
+   That ye woudno open the door to her,
+      Nor yet woud waken me.”
+
+   O he has gone down to yon shore-side,
+      As fast as he could fare;
+   He saw Fair Annie in her boat,
+      But the wind it tossd her sair.
+
+   And “Hey, Annie!” and “How, Annie!
+      O Annie, winna ye bide?”
+   But ay the mair that he cried “Annie,”
+      The braider grew the tide.
+
+   And “Hey, Annie!” and “How, Annie!
+      Dear Annie, speak to me!”
+   But ay the louder he cried “Annie,”
+      The louder roard the sea.
+
+   The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
+      And dashd the boat on shore;
+   Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
+      But her young son rose no more.
+
+   Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,
+      And made a heavy moan;
+   Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,
+      But his bonny young son was gone.
+
+   O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
+      And gowden was her hair,
+   But clay cold were her rosey lips,
+      Nae spark of life was there,
+
+   And first he’s kissd her cherry cheek,
+      And neist he’s kissed her chin;
+   And saftly pressd her rosey lips,
+      But there was nae breath within.
+
+   “O wae betide my cruel mother,
+      And an ill dead may she die!
+   For she turnd my true-love frae my door,
+      When she came sae far to me.”
+
+
+
+
+THE QUEEN’S MARIE
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vi., _Border Minstrelsy_.)
+
+   MARIE HAMILTON’S to the kirk gane,
+      Wi ribbons in her hair;
+   The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
+      Than ony that were there.
+
+   Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane,
+      Wi ribbons on her breast;
+   The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
+      Than he listend to the priest.
+
+   Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane,
+      Wi gloves upon her hands;
+   The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
+      Than the queen and a’ her lands.
+
+   She hadna been about the king’s court
+      A month, but barely one,
+   Till she was beloved by a’ the king’s court,
+      And the king the only man.
+
+   She hadna been about the king’s court
+      A month, but barely three,
+   Till frae the king’s court Marie Hamilton,
+      Marie Hamilton durst na be.
+
+   The king is to the Abbey gane,
+      To pu the Abbey tree,
+   To scale the babe frae Marie’s heart;
+      But the thing it wadna be.
+
+   O she has rowd it in her apron,
+      And set it on the sea:
+   “Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,
+      Ye’s get na mair o me.”
+
+   Word is to the kitchen gane,
+      And word is to the ha,
+   And word is to the noble room,
+      Amang the ladyes a’,
+   That Marie Hamilton’s brought to bed,
+      And the bonny babe’s mist and awa.
+
+   Scarcely had she lain down again,
+      And scarcely faen asleep,
+   When up then started our gude queen,
+      Just at her bed-feet,
+   Saying “Marie Hamilton, where’s your babe?
+      For I am sure I heard it greet.”
+
+   “O no, O no, my noble queen!
+      Think no such thing to be!
+   ’Twas but a stitch into my side,
+      And sair it troubles me.”
+
+   “Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton,
+      Get up, and follow me,
+   For I am going to Edinburgh town,
+      A rich wedding for to see.”
+
+   O slowly, slowly raise she up,
+      And slowly put she on;
+   And slowly rode she out the way,
+      Wi mony a weary groan.
+
+   The queen was clad in scarlet,
+      Her merry maids all in green;
+   And every town that they cam to,
+      They took Marie for the queen.
+
+   “Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,
+      Ride hooly now wi’ me!
+   For never, I am sure, a wearier burd
+      Rade in your cumpanie.”
+
+   But little wist Marie Hamilton,
+      When she rade on the brown,
+   That she was ga’en to Edinburgh town,
+      And a’ to be put down.
+
+   “Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives,
+      Why look ye so on me?
+   O, I am going to Edinburgh town,
+      A rich wedding for to see!”
+
+   When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs,
+      The corks frae her heels did flee;
+   And lang or eer she cam down again,
+      She was condemned to die.
+
+   When she cam to the Netherbow Port,
+      She laughed loud laughters three;
+   But when she cam to the gallows-foot,
+      The tears blinded her ee.
+
+   “Yestreen the queen had four Maries,
+      The night she’ll hae but three;
+   There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaten,
+      And Marie Carmichael, and me.
+
+   “O, often have I dressd my queen,
+      And put gold upon her hair;
+   But now I’ve gotten for my reward
+      The gallows to be my share.
+
+   “Often have I dressd my queen,
+      And often made her bed:
+   But now I’ve gotten for my reward
+      The gallows-tree to tread.
+
+   “I charge ye all, ye mariners,
+      When ye sail ower the faem,
+   Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
+      But that I’m coming hame.
+
+   “I charge ye all, ye mariners,
+      That sail upon the sea,
+   Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
+      This dog’s death I’m to die.
+
+   “For if my father and mother got wit,
+      And my bold brethren three,
+   O mickle wad be the gude red blude,
+      This day wad be spilt for me!
+
+   “O little did my mother ken,
+      The day she cradled me,
+   The lands I was to travel in,
+      Or the death I was to die!”
+
+
+
+
+KINMONT WILLIE
+
+
+                           (_Child_, vol. vi.)
+
+   O HAVE ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?
+      O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?
+   How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,
+      On Hairibee to hang him up?
+
+   Had Willie had but twenty men,
+      But twenty men as stout as be,
+   Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen
+      Wi eight score in his companie.
+
+   They band his legs beneath the steed,
+      They tied his hands behind his back;
+   They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
+      And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
+
+   They led him thro the Liddel-rack.
+      And also thro the Carlisle sands;
+   They brought him to Carlisle castell.
+      To be at my Lord Scroope’s commands.
+
+   “My hands are tied; but my tongue is free,
+      And whae will dare this deed avow?
+   Or answer by the border law?
+      Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?”
+
+   “Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
+      There’s never a Scot shall set ye free:
+   Before ye cross my castle-yate,
+      I trow ye shall take farewell o me.”
+
+   “Fear na ye that, my lord,” quo Willie:
+      “By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope,” he said,
+   “I never yet lodged in a hostelrie—
+      But I paid my lawing before I gaed.”
+
+   Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,
+      In Branksome Ha where that he lay,
+   That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie,
+      Between the hours of night and day.
+
+   He has taen the table wi his hand,
+      He garrd the red wine spring on hie;
+   “Now Christ’s curse on my head,” he said,
+      “But avenged of Lord Scroope I’ll be!
+
+   “O is my basnet a widow’s curch?
+      Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
+   Or my arm a lady’s lilye hand,
+      That an English lord should lightly me?
+
+   “And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie,
+      Against the truce of Border tide?
+   And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch
+      Is keeper here on the Scottish side?
+
+   “And have they een taen him, Kinmont Willie,
+      Withouten either dread or fear,
+   And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch
+      Can back a steed, or shake a spear?
+
+   “O were there war between the lands,
+      As well I wot that there is none,
+   I would slight Carlisle castell high,
+      Tho it were builded of marble stone.
+
+   “I would set that castell in a low,
+      And sloken it with English blood;
+   There’s nevir a man in Cumberland
+      Should ken where Carlisle castell stood.
+
+   “But since nae war’s between the lands,
+      And there is peace, and peace should be;
+   I’ll neither harm English lad or lass,
+      And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!”
+
+   He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,
+      I trow they were of his ain name,
+   Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, calld
+      The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
+
+   He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,
+      Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch,
+   With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,
+      And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.
+
+   There were five and five before them a’,
+      Wi hunting-horns and bugles bright;
+   And five and five came wi Buccleuch,
+      Like Warden’s men, arrayed for fight.
+
+   And five and five, like a mason-gang,
+      That carried the ladders lang and hie;
+   And five and five, like broken men;
+      And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
+
+   And as we crossd the Bateable Land,
+      When to the English side we held,
+   The first o men that we met wi,
+      Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde!
+
+   “Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?”
+      Quo fause Sakelde; “come tell to me!”
+   “We go to hunt an English stag,
+      Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.”
+
+   “Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?”
+      Quo fause Sakelde; “come tell me true!”
+   “We go to catch a rank reiver,
+      Has broken faith wi the bauld Buccleuch.”
+
+   “Where are ye gaun, ye mason-lads,
+      Wi a’ your ladders lang and hie?”
+   “We gang to herry a corbie’s nest,
+      That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.”
+
+   “Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?”
+      Quo fause Sakelde; “come tell to me?”
+   Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
+      And the nevir a word o lear had he.
+
+   “Why trespass ye on the English side?
+      Row-footed outlaws, stand!” quo he;
+   The neer a word had Dickie to say,
+      Sae he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie.
+
+   Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
+      And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossd;
+   The water was great and meikle of spait,
+      But the nevir a horse nor man we lost.
+
+   And when we reachd the Staneshaw-bank,
+      The wind was rising loud and hie;
+   And there the laird garrd leave our steeds,
+      For fear that they should stamp and nie.
+
+   And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,
+      The wind began full loud to blaw;
+   But ’twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
+      When we came beneath the castell-wa.
+
+   We crept on knees, and held our breath,
+      Till we placed the ladders against the wa;
+   And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
+      To mount she first, before us a’.
+
+   He has taen the watchman by the throat,
+      He flung him down upon the lead:
+   “Had there not been peace between our lands,
+      Upon the other side thou hadst gaed.
+
+   “Now sound out, trumpets!” quo Buccleuch;
+      “Let’s waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!”
+   Then loud the warden’s trumpet blew
+      “O whae dare meddle wi me?”
+
+   Then speedilie to wark we gaed,
+      And raised the slogan ane and a’,
+   And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,
+      And so we wan to the castel-ha.
+
+   They thought King James and a’ his men
+      Had won the house wi bow and speir;
+   It was but twenty Scots and ten
+      That put a thousand in sic a stear!
+
+   Wi coulters, and wi fore-hammers,
+      We garrd the bars bang merrilie,
+   Until we came to the inner prison,
+      Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie.
+
+   And when we came to the lower prison,
+      Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie,
+   “O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
+      Upon the morn that thou’s to die?”
+
+   “O I sleep saft, and I wake aft,
+      It’s lang since sleeping was fley’d frae me;
+   Gie my service back to my wyfe and bairns
+      And a’ gude fellows that speer for me.”
+
+   Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
+      The starkest man in Teviotdale:
+   “Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
+      Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.
+
+   “Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
+      My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!” he cried;
+   “I’ll pay you for my lodging-maill,
+      When first we meet on the border-side.”
+
+   Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
+      We bore him down the ladder lang;
+   At every stride Red Rowan made,
+      I wot the Kinmont’s airms playd clang!
+
+   “O mony a time,” quo Kinmont Willie.
+      “I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;
+   But a rougher beast than Red Rowan,
+      I ween my legs have neer bestrode.
+
+   “And mony a time,” quo Kinmont Willie,
+      “I’ve pricked a horse out oure the furs;
+   But since the day I backed a steed
+      I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs!”
+
+   We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,
+      When a’ the Carlisle bells were rung,
+   And a thousand men, in horse and foot,
+      Cam wi the keen Lord Scroope along.
+
+   Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,
+      Even where it flowd frae bank to brim,
+   And he has plunged in wi a’ his band,
+      And safely swam them thro the stream.
+
+   He turned him on the other side,
+      And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:
+   “If ye like na my visit in merry England,
+      In fair Scotland come visit me!”
+
+   All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
+      He stood as still as rock of stane;
+   He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,
+      When thro the water they had gane.
+
+   “He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
+      Or else his mother a witch maun be;
+   I wad na have ridden that wan water
+      For a’ the gowd in Christentie.”
+
+
+
+
+JAMIE TELFER
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. vi.  Early Edition.)
+
+   IT fell about the Martinmas tyde,
+      When our Border steeds get corn and hay
+   The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,
+      And he’s ower to Tividale to drive a prey.
+
+   The first ae guide that they met wi’,
+      It was high up Hardhaughswire;
+   The second guide that we met wi’,
+      It was laigh down in Borthwick water.
+
+   “What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?”
+      “Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;
+   But, gin ye’ll gae to the fair Dodhead,
+      Mony a cow’s cauf I’ll let thee see.”
+
+   And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,
+      Right hastily they clam the peel;
+   They loosed the kye out, ane and a’,
+      And ranshackled the house right weel.
+
+   Now Jamie Telfer’s heart was sair,
+      The tear aye rowing in his e’e;
+   He pled wi’ the captain to hae his gear,
+      Or else revenged he wad be.
+
+   The captain turned him round and leugh;
+      Said—“Man, there’s naething in thy house,
+   But ae auld sword without a sheath,
+      That hardly now wad fell a mouse!”
+
+   The sun was na up, but the moon was down,
+      It was the gryming o’ a new fa’n snaw,
+   Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot,
+      Between the Dodhead and the Stobs’s Ha’
+
+   And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,
+      He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
+   Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot—
+      “Wha’s this that brings the fraye to me?”
+
+   “It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,
+      And a harried man I think I be!
+   There’s naething left at the fair Dodhead,
+      But a waefu’ wife and bairnies three.
+
+   “Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha’.
+      For succour ye’se get nane frae me!
+   Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
+      For, man! ye ne’er paid money to me.”
+
+   Jamie has turned him round about,
+      I wat the tear blinded his e’e—
+   “I’ll ne’er pay mail to Elliot again,
+      And the fair Dodhead I’ll never see!
+
+   “My hounds may a’ rin masterless,
+      My hawks may fly frae tree to tree;
+   My lord may grip my vassal lands,
+      For there again maun I never be.”
+
+   He has turned him to the Tiviot side,
+      E’en as fast as he could drie,
+   Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh
+      And there he shouted baith loud and hie.
+
+   Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve—
+      “Wha’s this that brings the fray to me?”
+   “It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,
+      A harried man I trow I be.
+
+   “There’s naething left in the fair Dodhead,
+      But a greeting wife and bairnies three,
+   And sax poor câ’s stand in the sta’,
+      A’ routing loud for their minnie.”
+
+   “Alack a wae!” quo’ auld Jock Grieve,
+      “Alack! my heart is sair for thee!
+   For I was married on the elder sister,
+      And you on the youngest of a’ the three.”
+
+   Then he has ta’en out a bonny black,
+      Was right weel fed wi’ corn and hay,
+   And he’s set Jamie Telfer on his back,
+      To the Catslockhill to tak’ the fray.
+
+   And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,
+      He shouted loud and weel cried he,
+   Till out and spak him William’s Wat—
+      “O wha’s this brings the fraye to me?”
+
+   “It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,
+      A harried man I think I be!
+   The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear;
+      For God’s sake rise, and succour me!”
+
+   “Alas for wae!” quo’ William’s Wat,
+      “Alack, for thee my heart is sair!
+   I never cam by the fair Dodhead,
+      That ever I fand thy basket bare.”
+
+   He’s set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,
+      Himsel’ upon a freckled gray,
+   And they are on wi, Jamie Telfer,
+      To Branksome Ha to tak the fray.
+
+   And whan they cam to Branksome Ha’,
+      They shouted a’ baith loud and hie,
+   Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,
+      Said—“Wha’s this brings the fray to me?
+
+   “It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,
+      And a harried man I think I be!
+   There’s nought left in the fair Dodhead,
+      But a greeting wife and bairnies three.”
+
+   “Alack for wae!” quoth the gude auld lord,
+      “And ever my heart is wae for thee!
+   But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,
+      And see that he come to me speedilie!
+
+   “Gar warn the water, braid and wide,
+      Gar warn it soon and hastily!
+   They that winna ride for Telfer’s kye,
+      Let them never look in the face o’ me!
+
+   “Warn Wat o’ Harden, and his sons,
+      Wi’ them will Borthwick water ride;
+   Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,
+      And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.
+
+   “Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,
+      And warn the Currors o’ the Lee;
+   As ye come down the Hermitage Slack,
+      Warn doughty Willie o’ Gorrinbery.”
+
+   The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran,
+      Sae starkly and sae steadilie!
+   And aye the ower-word o’ the thrang,
+      Was—“Rise for Branksome readilie!”
+
+   The gear was driven the Frostylee up,
+      Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,
+   Whan Willie has looked his men before,
+      And saw the kye right fast driving.
+
+   “Wha drives thir kye?” ’gan Willie say,
+      “To mak an outspeckle o’ me?”
+   “It’s I, the captain o’ Bewcastle, Willie;
+      I winna layne my name for thee.”
+
+   “O will ye let Telfer’s kye gae back,
+      Or will ye do aught for regard o’ me?
+   Or, by the faith o’ my body,” quo’ Willie Scott,
+      “I se ware my dame’s cauf’s-skin on thee!”
+
+   “I winna let the kye gae back,
+      Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear,
+   But I will drive Jamie Telfer’s kye,
+      In spite of every Scot that’s here.”
+
+   “Set on them, lads!” quo’ Willie than,
+      “Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!
+   For ere they win to the Ritterford,
+      Mony a toom saddle there sall be!”
+
+   But Willie was stricken ower the head,
+      And through the knapscap the sword has gane;
+   And Harden grat for very rage,
+      Whan Willie on the ground lay slain.
+
+   But he’s ta’en aff his gude steel-cap,
+      And thrice he’s waved it in the air—
+   The Dinlay snaw was ne’er mair white,
+      Nor the lyart locks of Harden’s hair.
+
+   “Revenge! revenge!” auld Wat ’gan cry;
+      “Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!
+   We’ll ne’er see Tiviotside again,
+      Or Willie’s death revenged shall be.”
+
+   O mony a horse ran masterless,
+      The splintered lances flew on hie;
+   But or they wan to the Kershope ford,
+      The Scots had gotten the victory.
+
+   John o’ Brigham there was slain,
+      And John o’ Barlow, as I hear say;
+   And thirty mae o’ the captain’s men,
+      Lay bleeding on the grund that day.
+
+   The captain was run thro’ the thick of the thigh—
+      And broken was his right leg bane;
+   If he had lived this hundred year,
+      He had never been loved by woman again.
+
+   “Hae back thy kye!” the captain said;
+      “Dear kye, I trow, to some they be!
+   For gin I suld live a hundred years,
+      There will ne’er fair lady smile on me.”
+
+   Then word is gane to the captain’s bride,
+      Even in the bower where that she lay,
+   That her lord was prisoner in enemy’s land,
+      Since into Tividale he had led the way.
+
+   “I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,
+      And helped to put it ower his head,
+   Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,
+      When he ower Liddel his men did lead!”
+
+   There was a wild gallant amang us a’,
+      His name was Watty wi’ the Wudspurs,
+   Cried—“On for his house in Stanegirthside,
+      If ony man will ride with us!”
+
+   When they cam to the Stanegirthside,
+      They dang wi’ trees, and burst the door;
+   They loosed out a’ the captain’s kye,
+      And set them forth our lads before.
+
+   There was an auld wife ayont the fire,
+      A wee bit o’ the captain’s kin—
+   “Wha daur loose out the captain’s kye,
+      Or answer to him and his men?”
+
+   “It’s I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye,
+      I winna layne my name frae thee!
+   And I will loose out the captain’s kye,
+      In scorn of a’ his men and he.”
+
+   When they cam to the fair Dodhead,
+      They were a wellcum sight to see!
+   For instead of his ain ten milk-kye,
+      Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.
+
+   And he has paid the rescue shot,
+      Baith wi’ goud, and white monie;
+   And at the burial o’ Willie Scott,
+      I wot was mony a weeping e’e.
+
+
+
+
+THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. ii.  Early Edition.)
+
+   “RISE up, rise up now, Lord Douglas,” she says,
+      “And put on your armour so bright;
+   Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
+      Was married to a lord under night.
+
+   “Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
+      And put on your armour so bright,
+   And take better care of your youngest sister,
+      For your eldest’s awa the last night.”—
+
+   He’s mounted her on a milk-white steed,
+      And himself on a dapple grey,
+   With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
+      And lightly they rode away.
+
+   Lord William lookit o’er his left shoulder,
+      To see what he could see,
+   And there be spy’d her seven brethren bold,
+      Come riding o’er the lee.
+
+   “Light down, light down, Lady Marg’ret,” he said,
+      “And hold my steed in your hand,
+   Until that against your seven brothers bold,
+      And your father I make a stand.”—
+
+   She held his steed in her milk white hand,
+      And never shed one tear,
+   Until that she saw her seven brethren fa’,
+      And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.
+
+   “O hold your hand, Lord William!” she said,
+      “For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
+   True lovers I can get many a ane,
+      But a father I can never get mair.”—
+
+   O she’s ta’en out her handkerchief,
+      It was o’ the holland sae fine,
+   And aye she dighted her father’s bloody wounds,
+      That were redder than the wine.
+
+   “O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg’ret,” he said,
+      “O whether will ye gang or bide?”
+   “I’ll gang, I’ll gang, Lord William,” she said,
+      “For ye have left me no other guide.”—
+
+   He’s lifted her on a milk-white steed,
+      And himself on a dapple grey.
+   With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
+      And slowly they baith rade away.
+
+   O they rade on, and on they rade,
+      And a’ by the light of the moon,
+   Until they came to yon wan water,
+      And there they lighted down.
+
+   They lighted down to tak a drink
+      Of the spring that ran sae clear:
+   And down the stream ran his gude heart’s blood,
+      And sair she ’gan to fear.
+
+   “Hold up, hold up, Lord William,” she says,
+      “For I fear that you are slain!”
+   “’Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak
+      That shines in the water sae plain.”
+
+   O they rade on, and on they rade,
+      And a’ by the light of the moon,
+   Until they cam to his mother’s ha’ door,
+      And there they lighted down.
+
+   “Get up, get up, lady mother,” he says,
+      “Get up, and let me in!—
+   Get up, get up, lady mother,” he says,
+      “For this night my fair ladye I’ve win.
+
+   “O mak my bed, lady mother,” he says,
+      “O mak it braid and deep!
+   And lay Lady Marg’ret close at my back,
+      And the sounder I will sleep.”—
+
+   Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
+      Lady Marg’ret lang ere day—
+   And all true lovers that go thegither,
+      May they have mair luck than they!
+
+   Lord William was buried in St. Marie’s kirk,
+      Lady Margaret in Marie’s quire;
+   Out o’ the lady’s grave grew a bonny red rose,
+      And out o’ the knight’s a brier.
+
+   And they twa met, and they twa plat,
+      And fain they wad be near;
+   And a’ the warld might ken right weel,
+      They were twa lovers dear.
+
+   But by and rade the Black Douglas,
+      And wow but he was rough!
+   For he pull’d up the bonny brier,
+      An flang’t in St. Marie’s Loch.
+
+
+
+
+THE BONNY HIND
+
+
+                           (_Child_, vol. ii.)
+
+   O MAY she comes, and may she goes,
+      Down by yon gardens green,
+   And there she spied a gallant squire
+      As squire had ever been.
+
+   And may she comes, and may she goes,
+      Down by yon hollin tree,
+   And there she spied a brisk young squire,
+      And a brisk young squire was he.
+
+   “Give me your green manteel, fair maid,
+      Give me your maidenhead;
+   Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel,
+      Gi me your maidenhead.”
+
+   He has taen her by the milk-white hand,
+      And softly laid her down,
+   And when he’s lifted her up again
+      Given her a silver kaim.
+
+   “Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,
+      Perhaps there may be nane;
+   But if you be a courtier,
+      You’ll tell to me your name.”
+
+   “I am na courtier, fair maid,
+      But new come frae the sea;
+   I am nae courtier, fair maid,
+      But when I court’ith thee.
+
+   “They call me Jack when I’m abroad,
+      Sometimes they call me John;
+   But when I’m in my father’s bower
+      Jock Randal is my name.”
+
+   “Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,
+      Sae loud’s I hear ye lee!
+   For I’m Lord Randal’s yae daughter,
+      He has nae mair nor me.”
+
+   “Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,
+      Sae loud’s I hear ye lee!
+   For I’m Lord Randal’s yae yae son,
+      Just now come oer the sea.”
+
+   She’s putten her hand down by her spare
+      And out she’s taen a knife,
+   And she has putn’t in her heart’s bluid,
+      And taen away her life.
+
+   And he’s taen up his bonny sister,
+      With the big tear in his een,
+   And he has buried his bonny sister
+      Amang the hollins green.
+
+   And syne he’s hyed him oer the dale,
+      His father dear to see:
+   “Sing O and O for my bonny hind,
+      Beneath yon hollin tree!”
+
+   “What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
+      For it you needna care;
+   There’s aught score hyns in yonder park,
+      And five score hyns to spare.
+
+   “Fourscore of them are siller-shod,
+      Of thae ye may get three;”
+   “But O and O for my bonny hyn,
+      Beneath yon hollin tree!”
+
+   “What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
+      For it you needna care;
+   Take you the best, gi me the warst,
+      Since plenty is to spare.”
+
+   “I care na for your hyns, my lord,
+      I care na for your fee;
+   But O and O for my bonny hyn,
+      Beneath the hollin tree!”
+
+   “O were ye at your sister’s bower,
+      Your sister fair to see,
+   Ye’ll think na mair o your bonny hyn
+      Beneath the hollin tree.”
+
+
+
+
+YOUNG BICHAM
+
+
+                           (_Child_, vol. ii.)
+
+   IN London city was Bicham born,
+      He longd strange countries for to see,
+   But he was taen by a savage Moor,
+      Who handld him right cruely.
+
+   For thro his shoulder he put a bore,
+      An thro the bore has pitten a tree,
+   And he’s gard him draw the carts o wine,
+      Where horse and oxen had wont to be.
+
+   He’s casten [him] in a dungeon deep,
+      Where he coud neither hear nor see;
+   He’s shut him up in a prison strong,
+      An he’s handld him right cruely.
+
+   O this Moor he had but ae daughter,
+      I wot her name was Shusy Pye;
+   She’s doen her to the prison-house,
+      And she’s calld young Bicham one word by.
+
+   “O hae ye ony lands or rents,
+      Or citys in your ain country,
+   Coud free you out of prison strong,
+      An coud maintain a lady free?”
+
+   “O London city is my own,
+      An other citys twa or three,
+   Coud loose me out o prison strong,
+      An could maintain a lady free.”
+
+   O she has bribed her father’s men
+      Wi meikle goud and white money,
+   She’s gotten the key o the prison doors,
+      And she has set Young Bicham free.
+
+   She’s gi’n him a loaf o good white bread,
+      But an a flask o Spanish wine,
+   An she bad him mind on the ladie’s love
+      That sae kindly freed him out o pine.
+
+   “Go set your foot on good ship-board,
+      An haste you back to your ain country,
+   An before that seven years has an end,
+      Come back again, love, and marry me.”
+
+   It was long or seven years had an end
+      She longd fu sair her love to see;
+   She’s set her foot on good ship-board,
+      An turnd her back on her ain country.
+
+   She’s saild up, so has she down,
+      Till she came to the other side;
+   She’s landed at Young Bicham’s gates,
+      An I hop this day she sal be his bride.
+
+   “Is this Young Bicham’s gates?” says she.
+      “Or is that noble prince within?”
+   “He’s up the stair wi his bonny bride,
+      An monny a lord and lady wi him.”
+
+   “O has he taen a bonny bride,
+      An has he clean forgotten me?”
+   An sighing said that gay lady,
+      “I wish I were in my ain country!”
+
+   She’s pitten her ban in her pocket,
+      An gin the porter guineas three;
+   Says, “Take ye that, ye proud porter,
+      An bid the bridegroom speak to me.”
+
+   O whan the porter came up the stair,
+      He’s fa’n low down upon his knee:
+   “Won up, won up, ye proud porter,
+      And what makes a’ this courtesy?”
+
+   “O I’ve been porter at your gates
+      This mair nor seven years an three,
+   But there is a lady at them now
+      The like of whom I never did see.
+
+   “For on every finger she has a ring,
+      An on the mid-finger she has three,
+   An there’s as meikle goud aboon her brow
+      As woud buy an earldom o lan to me.”
+
+   Then up it started Young Bicham,
+      An sware so loud by Our Lady,
+   “It can be nane but Shusy Pye
+      That has come oor the sea to me.”
+
+   O quickly ran he down the stair,
+      O fifteen steps he has made but three,
+   He’s tane his bonny love in his arms
+      An a wot he kissd her tenderly.
+
+   “O hae you tane a bonny bride?
+      An hae you quite forsaken me?
+   An hae ye quite forgotten her
+      That gae you life an liberty?”
+
+   She’s lookit oer her left shoulder
+      To hide the tears stood in her ee;
+   “Now fare thee well, Young Bicham,” she says,
+      “I’ll strive to think nae mair on thee.”
+
+   “Take back your daughter, madam,” he says,
+      “An a double dowry I’ll gie her wi;
+   For I maun marry my first true love,
+      That’s done and suffered so much for me.”
+
+   He’s tak his bonny love by the han,
+      And led her to yon fountain stane;
+   He’s changed her name frae Shusy Pye,
+      An he’s cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVING BALLAD OF LORD BATEMAN
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. ii.  _Cockney copy_.)
+
+   LORD BATEMAN was a noble lord,
+      A noble lord of high degree;
+   He shipped himself all aboard of a ship,
+      Some foreign country for to see.
+
+   He sailed east, he sailed west,
+      Until he came to famed Turkey,
+   Where he was taken and put to prison,
+      Until his life was quite weary.
+
+   All in this prison there grew a tree,
+      O there it grew so stout and strong!
+   Where he was chained all by the middle,
+      Until his life was almost gone.
+
+   This Turk he had one only daughter,
+      The fairest my two eyes eer see;
+   She steal the keys of her father’s prison,
+      And swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.
+
+   O she took him to her father’s cellar,
+      And gave to him the best of wine;
+   And every health she drank unto him
+      Was “I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was mine.”
+
+   “O have you got houses, have you got land,
+      And does Northumberland belong to thee?
+   And what would you give to the fair young lady
+      As out of prison would let you go free?”
+
+   “O I’ve got houses and I’ve got land,
+      And half Northumberland belongs to me;
+   And I will give it all to the fair young lady
+      As out of prison would let me go free.”
+
+   “O in seven long years I’ll make a vow
+      For seven long years, and keep it strong,
+   That if you’ll wed no other woman,
+      O I will wed no other man.”
+
+   O she took him to her father’s harbor,
+      And gave to him a ship of fame,
+   Saying, “Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,
+      I fear I shall never see you again.”
+
+   Now seven long years is gone and past,
+      And fourteen days, well known to me;
+   She packed up all her gay clothing,
+      And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.
+
+   O when she arrived at Lord Bateman’s castle,
+      How boldly then she rang the bell!
+   “Who’s there? who’s there?” cries the proud young porter,
+      “O come unto me pray quickly tell.”
+
+   “O is this here Lord Bateman’s castle,
+      And is his lordship here within?”
+   “O yes, O yes,” cries the proud young porter,
+      “He’s just now taking his young bride in.”
+
+   “O bid him to send me a slice of bread,
+      And a bottle of the very best wine,
+   And not forgetting the fair young lady
+      As did release him when close confine.”
+
+   O away and away went this proud young porter,
+      O away and away and away went he,
+   Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber,
+      Where he went down on his bended knee.
+
+   “What news, what news, my proud young porter?
+      What news, what news? come tell to me:”
+   “O there is the fairest young lady
+      As ever my two eyes did see.
+
+   “She has got rings on every finger,
+      And on one finger she has got three;
+   With as much gay gold about her middle
+      As would buy half Northumberlee.
+
+   “O she bids you to send her a slice of bread,
+      And a bottle of the very best wine,
+   And not forgetting the fair young lady
+      As did release you when close confine.”
+
+   Lord Bateman then in passion flew,
+      And broke his sword in splinters three,
+   Saying, “I will give half of my father’s land,
+      If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.”
+
+   Then up and spoke this young bride’s mother,
+      Who never was heard to speak so free;
+   Saying, “You’ll not forget my only daughter,
+      If so be Sophia has crossed the sea.”
+
+   “O it’s true I made a bride of your daughter,
+      But she’s neither the better nor the worse for me;
+   She came to me with a horse and saddle,
+      But she may go home in a coach and three.”
+
+   Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage,
+      With both their hearts so full of glee,
+   Saying, “I will roam no more to foreign countries,
+      Now that Sophia has crossed the sea.”
+
+
+
+
+THE BONNIE HOUSE O’ AIRLY
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. vii.  Early Edition.)
+
+   IT fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day,
+      When the corn grew green and yellow,
+   That there fell out a great dispute
+      Between Argyle and Airly.
+
+   The Duke o’ Montrose has written to Argyle
+      To come in the morning early,
+   An’ lead in his men, by the back O’ Dunkeld,
+      To plunder the bonnie house o’ Airly.
+
+   The lady look’d o’er her window sae hie,
+      And O but she looked weary!
+   And there she espied the great Argyle
+      Come to plunder the bonnie house o’ Airly.
+
+   “Come down, come down, Lady Margaret,” he says,
+      “Come down and kiss me fairly,
+   Or before the morning clear daylight,
+      I’ll no leave a standing stane in Airly.”
+
+   “I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,
+      I wadna kiss thee fairly,
+   I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,
+      Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane Airly.”
+
+   He has ta’en her by the middle sae sma’,
+      Says, “Lady, where is your drury?”
+   “It’s up and down by the bonnie burn side,
+      Amang the planting of Airly.”
+
+   They sought it up, they sought it down,
+      They sought it late and early,
+   And found it in the bonnie balm-tree,
+      That shines on the bowling-green o’ Airly,
+
+   He has ta’en her by the left shoulder,
+      And O but she grat sairly,
+   And led her down to yon green bank,
+      Till he plundered the bonnie house o’ Airly.
+
+   “O it’s I hae seven braw sons,” she says,
+      “And the youngest ne’er saw his daddie,
+   And altho’ I had as mony mae,
+      I wad gie them a’ to Charlie.
+
+   “But gin my good lord had been at hame,
+      As this night he is wi’ Charlie,
+   There durst na a Campbell in a’ the west
+      Hae plundered the bonnie house o’ Airly.”
+
+
+
+
+ROB ROY
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. vi.  Early Edition.)
+
+   ROB ROY from the Highlands cam,
+      Unto the Lawlan’ border,
+   To steal awa a gay ladie
+      To haud his house in order.
+   He cam oure the lock o’ Lynn,
+      Twenty men his arms did carry;
+   Himsel gaed in, an’ fand her out,
+      Protesting he would many.
+
+   “O will ye gae wi’ me,” he says,
+      “Or will ye be my honey?
+   Or will ye be my wedded wife?
+      For I love you best of any.”
+   “I winna gae wi’ you,” she says,
+      “Nor will I be your honey,
+   Nor will I be your wedded wife;
+      You love me for my money.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   But he set her on a coal-black steed,
+      Himsel lap on behind her,
+   An’ he’s awa to the Highland hills,
+      Whare her frien’s they canna find her.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   “Rob Roy was my father ca’d,
+      Macgregor was his name, ladie;
+   He led a band o’ heroes bauld,
+      An’ I am here the same, ladie.
+   Be content, be content,
+      Be content to stay, ladie,
+   For thou art my wedded wife
+      Until thy dying day, ladie.
+
+   “He was a hedge unto his frien’s,
+      A heckle to his foes, ladie,
+   Every one that durst him wrang,
+      He took him by the nose, ladie.
+   I’m as bold, I’m as bold,
+      I’m as bold, an more, ladie;
+   He that daurs dispute my word,
+      Shall feel my guid claymore, ladie.”
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF KILLIE-CRANKIE
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. vii.  Early Edition.)
+
+   CLAVERS and his Highlandmen
+      Came down upo’ the raw, man,
+   Who being stout, gave mony a clout;
+      The lads began to claw then.
+   With sword and terge into their hand,
+      Wi which they were nae slaw, man,
+   Wi mony a fearful heavy sigh,
+      The lads began to claw then.
+
+   O’er bush, o’er bank, o’er ditch, o’er stark,
+      She flang amang them a’, man;
+   The butter-box got many knocks,
+      Their riggings paid for a’ then.
+   They got their paiks, wi sudden straiks,
+      Which to their grief they saw, man:
+   Wi clinkum, clankum o’er their crowns,
+      The lads began to fa’ then.
+
+   Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,
+      And flang amang them a’, man;
+   The English blades got broken beads,
+      Their crowns were cleav’d in twa then.
+   The durk and door made their last hour,
+      And prov’d their final fa’, man;
+   They thought the devil had been there,
+      That play’d them sic a paw then.
+
+   The Solemn League and Covenant
+      Came whigging up the hills, man;
+   Thought Highland trews durst not refuse
+      For to subscribe their bills then.
+   In Willie’s name, they thought nag ane
+      Durst stop their course at a’, man,
+   But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock,
+      Cry’d, “Furich—Whigs awa’,” man.
+
+   Sir Evan Du, and his men true,
+      Came linking up the brink, man;
+   The Hogan Dutch they feared such,
+      They bred a horrid stink then.
+   The true Maclean and his fierce men
+      Came in amang them a’, man;
+   Nane durst withstand his heavy hand.
+      All fled and ran awa’ then.
+
+   _Oh’ on a ri_, _Oh’ on a ri_,
+      Why should she lose King Shames, man?
+   _Oh’ rig in di_, _Oh’ rig in di_,
+      She shall break a’ her banes then;
+   With _furichinish_, an’ stay a while,
+      And speak a word or twa, man,
+   She’s gi’ a straike, out o’er the neck,
+      Before ye win awa’ then.
+
+   Oh fy for shame, ye’re three for ane,
+      Hur-nane-sell’s won the day, man;
+   King Shames’ red-coats should be hung up,
+      Because they ran awa’ then.
+   Had bent their brows, like Highland trows,
+      And made as lang a stay, man,
+   They’d sav’d their king, that sacred thing,
+      And Willie’d ran awa’ then.
+
+
+
+
+ANNAN WATER
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. ii.  Early Edition.)
+
+   “ANNAN water’s wading deep,
+      And my love Annie’s wondrous bonny;
+   And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
+      Because I love her best of ony.
+
+   “Gar saddle me the bonny black,—
+      Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:
+   For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
+      And all to see my bonny ladye.”—
+
+   He has loupen on the bonny black,
+      He stirr’d him wi’ the spur right sairly;
+   But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
+      I think the steed was wae and weary.
+
+   He has loupen on the bonny gray,
+      He rade the right gate and the ready;
+   I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
+      For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
+
+   O he has ridden o’er field and fell,
+      Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;
+   His spurs o’ steel were sair to bide,
+      And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.
+
+   “Now, bonny grey, now play your part!
+      Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
+   Wi’ corn and hay ye’se be fed for aye,
+      And never spur sall make you wearie.”
+
+   The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;
+      But when she wan the Annan water,
+   She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,
+      Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
+
+   “O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
+      Put off your boat for gowden monie!
+   I cross the drumly stream the night,
+      Or never mair I see my honey.”—
+
+   “O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
+      And not by ae aith, but by many;
+   And for a’ the gowd in fair Scotland,
+      I dare na take ye through to Annie.”
+
+   The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
+      Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
+   And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,
+      For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.
+
+   O he has pou’d aff his dapperpy coat,
+      The silver buttons glancèd bonny;
+   The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
+      He was sae full of melancholy.
+
+   He has ta’en the ford at that stream tail;
+      I wot he swam both strong and steady;
+   But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
+      And he never saw his bonny ladye.
+
+   “O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
+      And wae betide the bush of brier!
+   It brake into my true love’s hand,
+      When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
+
+   “And wae betide ye, Annan water,
+      This night that ye are a drumlie river!
+   For over thee I’ll build a bridge,
+      That ye never more true love may sever.”—
+
+
+
+
+THE ELPHIN NOURRICE
+
+
+                            (_C. K. Sharpe_.)
+
+   I HEARD a cow low, a bonnie cow low,
+      An’ a cow low down in yon glen;
+   Lang, lang will my young son greet,
+      Or his mither bid him come ben.
+
+   I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,
+      An’ a cow low down in yon fauld;
+   Lang, lang will my young son greet,
+      Or is mither take him frae cauld.
+
+      Waken, Queen of Elfan,
+      An hear your Nourrice moan.
+      O moan ye for your meat,
+      Or moan ye for your fee,
+      Or moan ye for the ither bounties
+      That ladies are wont to gie?
+
+   I moan na for my meat,
+      Nor yet for my fee,
+   But I mourn for Christened land—
+      It’s there I fain would be.
+
+   O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says,
+      Till he stan’ at your knee,
+   An’ ye’s win hame to Christen land,
+      Whar fain it’s ye wad be.
+
+   O keep my bairn, Nourice,
+      Till he gang by the hauld,
+   An’ ye’s win hame to your young son,
+      Ye left in four nights auld.
+
+
+
+
+COSPATRICK
+
+
+                               (_Mackay_.)
+
+   COSPATRICK has sent o’er the faem;
+   Cospatrick brought his ladye hame;
+   And fourscore ships have come her wi’,
+   The ladye by the green-wood tree.
+
+   There were twal’ and twal’ wi’ baken bread,
+   And twal’ and twal’ wi’ gowd sae red,
+   And twal’ and twal’ wi’ bouted flour,
+   And twal’ and twal’ wi’ the paramour.
+
+   Sweet Willy was a widow’s son,
+   And at her stirrup he did run;
+   And she was clad in the finest pall,
+   But aye she loot the tears down fall.
+
+   “O is your saddle set awrye?
+   Or rides your steed for you owre high?
+   Or are you mourning, in your tide,
+   That you suld be Cospatrick’s bride?”
+
+   “I am not mourning, at this tide,
+   That I suld he Cospatrick’s bride;
+   But I am sorrowing in my mood,
+   That I suld leave my mother good.”
+
+   “But, gentle boy, come tell to me,
+   What is the custom of thy countrie?”
+   “The custom thereof, my dame,” he says,
+   “Will ill a gentle ladye please.
+
+   “Seven king’s daughters has our lord wedded,
+   And seven king’s daughters has our lord bedded;
+   But he’s cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane,
+   And sent them mourning hame again.
+
+   “Yet, gin you’re sure that you’re a maid,
+   Ye may gae safely to his bed;
+   But gif o’ that ye be na sure,
+   Then hire some damsel o’ your bour.”
+
+   The ladye’s called her bour-maiden,
+   That waiting was unto her train.
+   “Five thousand marks I’ll gie to thee,
+   To sleep this night with my lord for me.”
+
+   When bells were rung, and mass was sayne,
+   And a’ men unto bed were gane,
+   Cospatrick and the bonny maid,
+   Into ae chamber they were laid.
+
+   “Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,
+   And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;
+   And speak, my sword, that winna lie,
+   Is this a true maiden that lies by me?”
+
+   “It is not a maid that you hae wedded,
+   But it is a maid that you hae bedded;
+   It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,
+   But not the maiden that it should be.”
+
+   O wrathfully he left the bed,
+   And wrathfully his claes on did;
+   And he has ta’en him through the ha’,
+   And on his mother he did ca’.
+
+   “I am the most unhappy man,
+   That ever was in Christen land?
+   I courted a maiden, meik and mild,
+   And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi’ child.”
+
+   “O stay, my son, into this ha’,
+   And sport ye wi’ your merry men a’;
+   And I will to the secret bour,
+   To see how it fares wi’ your paramour.”
+
+   The carline she was stark and stare,
+   She aff the hinges dang the dure.
+   “O is your bairn to laird or loun,
+   Or is it to your father’s groom?”
+
+   “O hear me, mother, on my knee,
+   Till my sad story I tell to thee:
+   O we were sisters, sisters seven,
+   We were the fairest under heaven.
+
+   “It fell on a summer’s afternoon,
+   When a’ our toilsome work was done,
+   We coost the kevils us amang,
+   To see which suld to the green-wood gang.
+
+   “Ohon! alas, for I was youngest,
+   And aye my weird it was the strongest!
+   The kevil it on me did fa’,
+   Whilk was the cause of a’ my woe.
+
+   “For to the green-wood I maun gae,
+   To pu’ the red rose and the slae;
+   To pu’ the red rose and the thyme,
+   To deck my mother’s bour and mine.
+
+   “I hadna pu’d a flower but ane,
+   When by there came a gallant hinde,
+   Wi’ high colled hose and laigh colled shoon,
+   And he seemed to be some king’s son.
+
+   “And be I maid, or be I nae,
+   He kept me there till the close o’ day;
+   And be I maid, or be I nane,
+   He kept me there till the day was done.
+
+   “He gae me a lock o’ his yellow hair,
+   And bade me keep it ever mair;
+   He gae me a carknet o’ bonny beads,
+   And bade me keep it against my needs.
+
+   “He gae to me a gay gold ring,
+   And bade me keep it abune a’ thing.”
+   “What did ye wi’ the tokens rare,
+   That ye gat frae that gallant there?”
+
+   “O bring that coffer unto me,
+   And a’ the tokens ye sall see.”
+   “Now stay, daughter, your bour within,
+   While I gae parley wi’ my son.”
+
+   O she has ta’en her thro’ the ha’,
+   And on her son began to ca’:
+   “What did ye wi’ the bonny beads,
+   I bade ye keep against your needs?
+
+   “What did you wi’ the gay gold ring,
+   I bade you keep abune a’ thing?”
+   “I gae them to a ladye gay,
+   I met in green-wood on a day.
+
+   “But I wad gie a’ my halls and tours,
+   I had that ladye within my bours,
+   But I wad gie my very life,
+   I had that ladye to my wife.”
+
+   “Now keep, my son, your ha’s and tours;
+   Ye have that bright burd in your bours;
+   And keep, my son, your very life;
+   Ye have that ladye to your wife.”
+
+   Now, or a month was come and gane,
+   The ladye bore a bonny son;
+   And ’twas written on his breast-bane,
+   “Cospatrick is my father’s name.”
+
+
+
+
+JOHNNIE ARMSTRANG
+
+
+   SOME speak of lords, some speak of lairds,
+      And sic like men of high degree;
+   Of a gentleman I sing a sang,
+      Some time call’d Laird of Gilnockie.
+
+   The king he writes a loving letter,
+      With his ain hand sae tenderlie,
+   And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,
+      To come and speak with him speedilie.
+
+   The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene,
+      They were a gallant companie:
+   “We’ll ride and meet our lawful king,
+      And bring him safe to Gilnockie.
+
+   “Make kinnen {87} and capon ready, then,
+      And venison in great plentie;
+   We’ll welcome here our royal king;
+      I hope he’ll dine at Gilnockie!”
+
+   They ran their horse on the Langholm howm,
+      And brake their spears with meikle main;
+   The ladies lookit frae their loft windows—
+      “God bring our men weel hame again!”
+
+   When Johnnie came before the king,
+      With all his men sae brave to see,
+   The king he moved his bonnet to him;
+      He ween’d he was a king as well as he.
+
+   “May I find grace, my sovereign liege,
+      Grace for my loyal men and me?
+   For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,
+      And a subject of yours, my liege,” said he.
+
+   “Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+      Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!
+   I granted never a traitor’s life,
+      And now I’ll not begin with thee.”
+
+   “Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
+      And a bonnie gift I’ll gi’e to thee;
+   Full four-and-twenty milk-white steeds,
+      Were all foal’d in ae year to me.
+
+   “I’ll gi’e thee all these milk-white steeds,
+      That prance and nicher {88a} at a spear;
+   And as meikle gude Inglish gilt, {88b}
+      As four of their braid backs dow {88c} bear.”
+
+   “Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+      Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!
+   I granted never a traitor’s life,
+      And now I’ll not begin with thee.”
+
+   “Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
+      And a bonnie gift I’ll gi’e to thee:
+   Gude four-and-twenty ganging {88d} mills,
+      That gang thro’ all the year to me.
+
+   “These four-and-twenty mills complete,
+      Shall gang for thee thro’ all the year;
+   And as meikle of gude red wheat,
+      As all their happers dow to bear.”
+
+   “Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+      Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!
+   I granted never a traitor’s life,
+      And now I’ll not begin with thee.”
+
+   “Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
+      And a great gift I’ll gi’e to thee:
+   Bauld four-and-twenty sisters’ sons
+      Shall for thee fecht, tho’ all shou’d flee.”
+
+   “Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+      Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!
+   I granted never a traitor’s life,
+      And now I’ll not begin with thee.”
+
+   “Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
+      And a brave gift I’ll gi’e to thee:
+   All between here and Newcastle town
+      Shall pay their yearly rent to thee.”
+
+   “Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+      Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!
+   I granted never a traitor’s life,
+      And now I’ll not begin with thee.”
+
+   “Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,” he says,
+      “Altho’ a king and prince ye be!
+   For I’ve loved naething in my life,
+      I weel dare say it, but honestie.
+
+   “Save a fat horse, and a fair woman,
+      Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deer;
+   But England shou’d have found me meal and mault,
+      Gif I had lived this hundred year.
+
+   “She shou’d have found me meal and mault,
+      And beef and mutton in all plentie;
+   But never a Scots wife cou’d have said,
+      That e’er I skaith’d her a puir flee.
+
+   “To seek het water beneath cauld ice,
+      Surely it is a great follie:
+   I have ask’d grace at a graceless face,
+      But there is nane for my men and me.
+
+   “But had I kenn’d, ere I came frae hame,
+      How unkind thou wou’dst been to me,
+   I wou’d ha’e keepit the Border side,
+      In spite of all thy force and thee.
+
+   “Wist England’s king that I was ta’en,
+      Oh, gin a blythe man he wou’d be!
+   For ance I slew his sister’s son,
+      And on his breast-bane brak a tree.”
+
+   John wore a girdle about his middle,
+      Embroider’d o’er with burning gold,
+   Bespangled with the same metal,
+      Maist beautiful was to behold.
+
+   There hang nine targats {90a} at Johnnie’s hat,
+      An ilk ane worth three hundred pound:
+   “What wants that knave that a king shou’d have,
+      But the sword of honour and the crown?
+
+   “Oh, where got thee these targats, Johnnie.
+      That blink sae brawly {90b} aboon thy brie?”
+   “I gat them in the field fechting, {90c}
+      Where, cruel king, thou durst not be.
+
+   “Had I my horse and harness gude,
+      And riding as I wont to be,
+   It shou’d have been tauld this hundred year,
+      The meeting of my king and me!
+
+   “God be with thee, Kirsty, {91} my brother,
+      Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun!
+   Lang may’st thou live on the Border side,
+      Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down!
+
+   “And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son,
+      Where thou sits on thy nurse’s knee!
+   But an thou live this hundred year,
+      Thy father’s better thou’lt never be.
+
+   “Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall,
+      Where on Esk side thou standest stout!
+   Gif I had lived but seven years mair,
+      I wou’d ha’e gilt thee round about.”
+
+   John murder’d was at Carlinrigg,
+      And all his gallant companie;
+   But Scotland’s heart was ne’er sae wae,
+      To see sae mony brave men die;
+
+   Because they saved their country dear
+      Frae Englishmen!  Nane were sae bauld
+   While Johnnie lived on the Border side,
+      Nane of them durst come near his hauld.
+
+
+
+
+EDOM O’ GORDON
+
+
+   IT fell about the Martinmas,
+      When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
+   Said Edom o’ Gordon to his men,—
+      “We maun draw to a hald. {92}
+
+   “And whatna hald shall we draw to,
+      My merry men and me?
+   We will gae straight to Towie house,
+      To see that fair ladye.”
+
+   [The ladye stood on her castle wall,
+      Beheld baith dale and down;
+   There she was ’ware of a host of men
+      Came riding towards the town.
+
+   “Oh, see ye not, my merry men all,
+      Oh, see ye not what I see?
+   Methinks I see a host of men;
+      I marvel who they be.”
+
+   She thought it had been her own wed lord.
+      As he came riding hame;
+   It was the traitor, Edom o’ Gordon,
+      Wha reck’d nae sin nor shame.]
+
+   She had nae sooner buskit hersel’,
+      And putten on her gown,
+   Till Edom o’ Gordon and his men
+      Were round about the town.
+
+   They had nae sooner supper set,
+      Nae sooner said the grace,
+   Till Edom o’ Gordon and his men
+      Were round about the place.
+
+   The ladye ran to her tower head,
+      As fast as she cou’d hie,
+   To see if, by her fair speeches,
+      She cou’d with him agree.
+
+   As soon as he saw this ladye fair.
+      And her yetts all lockit fast,
+   He fell into a rage of wrath,
+      And his heart was all aghast.
+
+   “Come down to me, ye ladye gay,
+      Come down, come down to me;
+   This night ye shall lye within my arms,
+      The morn my bride shall be.”
+
+   “I winna come down, ye false Gordon,
+      I winna come down to thee;
+   I winna forsake my ain dear lord,
+      That is sae far frae me.”
+
+   “Gi’e up your house, ye ladye fair,
+      Gi’e up your house to me;
+   Or I shall burn yoursel’ therein,
+      Bot and your babies three.”
+
+   “I winna gi’e up, ye false Gordon,
+      To nae sic traitor as thee;
+   Tho’ you shou’d burn mysel’ therein,
+      Bot and my babies three.
+
+   [“But fetch to me my pistolette,
+      And charge to me my gun;
+   For, but if I pierce that bluidy butcher,
+      My babes we will be undone.”
+
+   She stiffly stood on her castle wall,
+      And let the bullets flee;
+   She miss’d that bluidy butcher’s heart,
+      Tho’ she slew other three.]
+
+   “Set fire to the house!” quo’ the false Gordon,
+      “Since better may nae be;
+   And I will burn hersel’ therein,
+      Bot and her babies three.”
+
+   “Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man,
+      I paid ye weel your fee;
+   Why pull ye out the grund-wa’-stance,
+      Lets in the reek {94} to me?
+
+   “And e’en wae worth ye, Jock, my man,
+      I paid ye weel your hire;
+   Why pull ye out my grund-wa’-stane,
+      To me lets in the fire?”
+
+   “Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye,
+      Ye paid me weel my fee;
+   But now I’m Edom o’ Gordon’s man,
+      Maun either do or dee.”
+
+   Oh, then out spake her youngest son,
+      Sat on the nurse’s knee:
+   Says—“Mither dear, gi’e o’er this house,
+      For the reek it smothers me.”
+
+   [“I wou’d gi’e all my gold, my bairn,
+      Sae wou’d I all my fee,
+   For ae blast of the westlin’ wind,
+      To blaw the reek frae thee.]
+
+   “But I winna gi’e up my house, my dear,
+      To nae sic traitor as he;
+   Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair,
+      Ye maun take share with me.”
+
+   Oh, then out spake her daughter dear,
+      She was baith jimp and small:
+   “Oh, row me in a pair of sheets,
+      And tow me o’er the wall.”
+
+   They row’d her in a pair of sheets,
+      And tow’d her o’er the wall;
+   But on the point of Gordon’s spear
+      She got a deadly fall.
+
+   Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
+      And cherry were her cheeks;
+   And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
+      Whereon the red bluid dreeps.
+
+   Then with his spear he turn’d her o’er,
+      Oh, gin her face was wan!
+   He said—“You are the first that e’er
+      I wish’d alive again.”
+
+   He turn’d her o’er and o’er again,
+      Oh, gin her skin was white!
+   “I might ha’e spared that bonnie face
+      To ha’e been some man’s delight.
+
+   “Busk and boun, my merry men all,
+      For ill dooms I do guess;
+   I canna look on that bonnie face,
+      As it lyes on the grass!”
+
+   “Wha looks to freits, {95} my master dear,
+      Their freits will follow them;
+   Let it ne’er be said brave Edom o’ Gordon
+      Was daunted with a dame.”
+
+   [But when the ladye saw the fire
+      Come flaming o’er her head,
+   She wept, and kissed her children twain;
+      Said—“Bairns, we been but dead.”
+
+   The Gordon then his bugle blew,
+      And said—“Away, away!
+   The house of Towie is all in a flame,
+      I hald it time to gae.”]
+
+   Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord,
+      As he came o’er the lea;
+   He saw his castle all in a flame,
+      As far as he could see.
+
+   Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave,
+      And oh, his heart was wae!
+   “Put on, put on, my wighty {96a} men,
+      As fast as ye can gae.
+
+   “Put on, put on, my wighty men,
+      As fast as ye can drie;
+   For he that is hindmost of the thrang
+      Shall ne’er get gude of me!”
+
+   Then some they rade, and some they ran,
+      Full fast out o’er the bent;
+   But ere the foremost could win up,
+      Baith ladye and babes were brent.
+
+   [He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
+      And wept in tearful mood;
+   “Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed,
+      Ye shall weep tears of bluid.”
+
+   And after the Gordon he has gane,
+      Sae fast as he might drie;
+   And soon in the Gordon’s foul heart’s bluid
+      He’s wroken {96b} his dear layde.]
+
+   And mony were the mudie {97} men
+      Lay gasping on the green;
+   And mony were the fair ladyes
+      Lay lemanless at hame.
+
+   And mony were the mudie men
+      Lay gasping on the green;
+   For of fifty men the Gordon brocht,
+      There were but five gaed hame.
+
+   And round, and round the walls he went,
+      Their ashes for to view;
+   At last into the flames he flew,
+      And bade the world adieu.
+
+
+
+
+LADY ANNE BOTHWELL’S LAMENT
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. iv.  Early Edition.)
+
+   BALOW, my boy, ly still and sleep,
+   It grieves me sore to hear thee weep,
+   If thou’lt be silent, I’ll be glad,
+   Thy mourning makes my heart full sad.
+   Balow, my boy, thy mother’s joy,
+   Thy father bred one great annoy.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _ly still and sleep_,
+      _It grieves me sore to hear thee weep_.
+
+   Balow, my darling, sleep a while,
+   And when thou wak’st then sweetly smile;
+   But smile not as thy father did,
+   To cozen maids, nay, God forbid;
+   For in thine eye his look I see,
+   The tempting look that ruin’d me.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   When he began to court my love,
+   And with his sugar’d words to move,
+   His tempting face, and flatt’ring chear,
+   In time to me did not appear;
+   But now I see that cruel he
+   Cares neither for his babe nor me.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth
+   That ever kist a woman’s mouth.
+   Let never any after me
+   Submit unto thy courtesy!
+   For, if hey do, O! cruel thou
+   Wilt her abuse and care not how!
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   I was too cred’lous at the first,
+   To yield thee all a maiden durst.
+   Thou swore for ever true to prove,
+   Thy faith unchang’d, unchang’d thy love;
+   But quick as thought the change is wrought,
+   Thy love’s no mair, thy promise nought.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   I wish I were a maid again!
+   From young men’s flatt’ry I’d refrain;
+   For now unto my grief I find
+   They all are perjur’d and unkind;
+   Bewitching charms bred all my harms;—
+   Witness my babe lies in my arms.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   I take my fate from bad to worse,
+   That I must needs be now a nurse,
+   And lull my young son on my lap:
+   From me, sweet orphan, take the pap.
+   Balow, my child, thy mother mild
+   Shall wail as from all bliss exil’d.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   Balow, my boy, weep not for me,
+   Whose greatest grief’s for wronging thee.
+   Nor pity her deserved smart,
+   Who can blame none but her fond heart;
+   For, too soon tursting latest finds
+   With fairest tongues are falsest minds.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   Balow, my boy, thy father’s fled,
+   When he the thriftless son has played;
+   Of vows and oaths forgetful, he
+   Preferr’d the wars to thee and me.
+   But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine
+   Make him eat acorns with the swine.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   But curse not him; perhaps now he,
+   Stung with remorse, is blessing thee:
+   Perhaps at death; for who can tell
+   Whether the judge of heaven or hell,
+   By some proud foe has struck the blow,
+   And laid the dear deceiver low?
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   I wish I were into the bounds
+   Where he lies smother’d in his wounds,
+   Repeating, as he pants for air,
+   My name, whom once he call’d his fair;
+   No woman’s yet so fiercely set
+   But she’ll forgive, though not forget.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   If linen lacks, for my love’s sake
+   Then quickly to him would I make
+   My smock, once for his body meet,
+   And wrap him in that winding-sheet.
+   Ah me! how happy had I been,
+   If he had ne’er been wrapt therein.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._
+
+   Balow, my boy, I’ll weep for thee;
+   Too soon, alake, thou’lt weep for me:
+   Thy griefs are growing to a sum,
+   God grant thee patience when they come;
+   Born to sustain thy mother’s shame,
+   A hapless fate, a bastard’s name.
+      _Balow_, _my boy_, _ly still and sleep_,
+      _It grieves me sore to hear thee weep_.
+
+
+
+
+JOCK O THE SIDE
+
+
+                       (_Child_, Part VI., p. 479.)
+
+   NOW Liddisdale has ridden a raid,
+      But I wat they had better staid at hame;
+   For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead,
+      And my son Johnie is prisner tane?
+      With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.
+
+   For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane,
+      Her coats she has kilted up to her knee;
+   And down the water wi speed she rins,
+      While tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.
+
+   Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton:
+      “What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?”
+      “Bad news, bad news, my lord Mangerton;
+      Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie.”
+
+   “Neer fear, sister Downie,” quo Mangerton;
+      “I hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie,
+   My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a’ weel filld,
+      And I’ll part wi them a’ ere Johnie shall die.
+
+   “Three men I’ll take to set him free,
+      Weel harnessd a’ wi best of steel;
+   The English rogues may hear, and drie
+      The weight o their braid swords to feel
+
+   “The Laird’s Jock ane, the Laird’s Wat twa,
+      O Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be!
+   Thy coat is blue, thou has been true,
+      Since England banishd thee, to me.”
+
+   Now, Hobie was an English man,
+      In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born;
+   But his misdeeds they were sae great,
+      They banished him neer to return.
+
+   Lord Mangerton then orders gave,—
+      “Your horses the wrang way maun a’ be shod;
+   Like gentlemen ye must not seem,
+      But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.
+
+   “Your armour gude ye maunna shaw,
+      Nor ance appear like men o weir;
+   As country lads be all arrayd,
+      Wi branks and brecham on ilk mare.”
+
+   Sae now a’ their horses are shod the wrang way,
+      And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine,
+   Jock his lively bay, Wat’s on his white horse behind,
+      And on they rode for the water o Tyne.
+
+   At the Cholerford they a’ light down,
+      And there, wi the help o the light o the moon,
+   A tree they cut, wi fifteen naggs upon each side,
+      To climb up the wall of Newcastle toun.
+
+   But when they came to Newcastle toun,
+      And were alighted at the wa,
+   They fand their tree three ells oer laigh,
+      They fand their stick baith short aid sma.
+
+   Then up and spake the Laird’s ain Jock,
+      “There’s naething for’t; the gates we maun force.”
+   But when they cam the gate unto,
+      A proud porter withstood baith men and horse.
+
+   His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung;
+      Wi foot or hand he neer play’d paw;
+   His life and his keys at anes they hae taen,
+      And cast his body ahind the wa.
+
+   Now soon they reached Newcastle jail,
+      And to the prisner thus they call:
+   “Sleips thou, wakes thou, Jock o the Side,
+      Or is thou wearied o thy thrall?”
+
+   Jock answers thus, wi dolefu tone:
+      “Aft, aft I wake, I seldom sleip;
+   But wha’s this kens my name sae weel,
+      And thus to hear my waes does seek?”
+
+   Then up and spake the good Laird’s Jock:
+      “Neer fear ye now, my billie,” quo he;
+   “For here’s the Laird’s Jock, the Laird’s Wat,
+      And Hobie Noble, come to set thee free.”
+
+   “Oh, had thy tongue, and speak nae mair,
+      And o thy talk now let me be!
+   For if a’ Liddesdale were here the night,
+      The morn’s the day that I maun die.
+
+   “Full fifteen stane o Spanish iron,
+      They hae laid a’ right sair on me;
+   Wi locks and keys I am fast bound
+      Into this dungeon mirk and drearie.”
+
+   “Fear ye no that,” quo the Laird’s Jock;
+      “A faint heart neer wan a fair ladie;
+   Work thou within, we’ll work without,
+      And I’ll be sworn we set thee free.”
+
+   The first strong dore that they came at,
+      They loosed it without a key;
+   The next chaind dore that they cam at,
+      They gard it a’ in flinders flee.
+
+   The prisner now, upo his back,
+      The Laird’s Jock’s gotten up fu hie;
+   And down the stair him, irons and a’,
+      Wi nae sma speed and joy brings he.
+
+   “Now, Jock, I wat,” quo Hobie Noble,
+      “Part o the weight ye may lay on me,”
+   “I wat weel no,” quo the Laird’s Jock
+      “I count him lighter than a flee.”
+
+   Sae out at the gates they a’ are gane,
+      The prisner’s set on horseback hie;
+   And now wi speed they’ve tane the gate;
+      While ilk ane jokes fu wantonlie.
+
+   “O Jock, sae winsomely’s ye ride,
+      Wi baith your feet upo ae side!
+   Sae weel’s ye’re harnessd, and sae trig!
+      In troth ye sit like ony bride.”
+
+   The night, tho wat, they didna mind,
+      But hied them on fu mirrilie,
+   Until they cam to Cholerford brae,
+      Where the water ran like mountains hie.
+
+   But when they came to Cholerford,
+      There they met with an auld man;
+   Says, “Honest man, will the water ride?
+      Tell us in haste, if that ye can.”
+
+   “I wat weel no,” quo the good auld man;
+      “Here I hae livd this threty yeirs and three,
+   And I neer yet saw the Tyne sae big,
+      Nor rinning ance sae like a sea.”
+
+   Then up and spake the Laird’s saft Wat,
+      The greatest coward in the company;
+   “Now halt, now halt, we needna try’t;
+      The day is comd we a’ maun die!”
+
+   “Poor faint-hearted thief!” quo the Laird’s Jock,
+      “There’ll nae man die but he that’s fie;
+   I’ll lead ye a’ right safely through;
+      Lift ye the prisner on ahint me.”
+
+   Sae now the water they a’ hae tane,
+      By anes and ’twas they a’ swam through
+   “Here are we a’ safe,” says the Laird’s Jock,
+      “And, poor faint Wat, what think ye now?”
+
+   They scarce the ither side had won,
+      When twenty men they saw pursue;
+   Frae Newcastle town they had been sent,
+      A’ English lads right good and true.
+
+   But when the land-sergeant the water saw,
+      “It winna ride, my lads,” quo he;
+   Then out he cries, “Ye the prisner may take,
+      But leave the irons, I pray, to me.”
+
+   “I wat weel no,” cryd the Laird’s Jock,
+      “I’ll keep them a’; shoon to my mare they’ll be;
+   My good grey mare; for I am sure,
+      She’s bought them a’ fu dear frae thee.”
+
+   Sae now they’re away for Liddisdale,
+      Een as fast as they coud them hie;
+   The prisner’s brought to his ain fireside,
+      And there o’s airns they make him free.
+
+   “Now, Jock, my billie,” quo a’ the three,
+      “The day was comd thou was to die;
+   But thou’s as weel at thy ain fireside,
+      Now sitting, I think, ’tween thee and me.”
+
+   They hae gard fill up ae punch-bowl,
+      And after it they maun hae anither,
+   And thus the night they a’ hae spent,
+      Just as they had been brither and brither.
+
+
+
+
+LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET
+
+
+                      (_Child_, Part III., p. 182.)
+
+   LORD THOMAS and Fair Annet
+      Sate a’ day on a hill;
+   Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
+      They had not talkt their fill.
+
+   Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
+      Fair Annet took it ill:
+   “A, I will nevir wed a wife
+      Against my ain friend’s will.”
+
+   “Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
+      A wife wull neir wed yee;”
+   Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
+      And knelt upon his knee.
+
+   “O rede, O rede, mither,” he says,
+      “A gude rede gie to mee;
+   O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
+      And let Faire Annet bee?”
+
+   “The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
+      Fair Annet she has gat nane;
+   And the little beauty Fair Annet haes
+      O it wull soon be gane.”
+
+   And he has till his brother gane:
+      “Now, brother, rede ye mee;
+   A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
+      And let Fair Annet bee?”
+
+   “The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,
+      The nut-browne bride has kye;
+   I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
+      And cast Fair Annet bye.”
+
+   “Her oxen may dye i’ the house, billie,
+      And her kye into the byre;
+   And I sall hae nothing to mysell
+      Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.”
+
+   And he has till his sister gane:
+      “Now, sister, rede ye mee;
+   O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
+      And set Fair Annet free?”
+
+   “I’se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,
+      And let the browne bride alane;
+   Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
+      What is this we brought hame!”
+
+   “No, I will tak my mither’s counsel,
+      And marrie me owt o hand;
+   And I will tak the nut-browne bride,
+      Fair Annet may leive the land.”
+
+   Up then rose Fair Annet’s father,
+      Twa hours or it wer day,
+   And he is gane unto the bower
+      Wherein Fair Annet lay.
+
+   “Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,” he says
+      “Put on your silken sheene;
+   Let us gae to St. Marie’s Kirke,
+      And see that rich weddeen.”
+
+   “My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
+      And dress to me my hair;
+   Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
+      See yee lay ten times mair.
+
+   “My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
+      And dress to me my smock;
+   The one half is o the holland fine,
+      The other o needle-work.”
+
+   The horse Fair Annet rade upon,
+      He amblit like the wind;
+   Wi siller he was shod before,
+      Wi burning gowd behind.
+
+   Four and twanty siller bells
+      Wer a’ tyed till his mane,
+   And yae tift o the norland wind,
+      They tinkled ane by ane.
+
+   Four and twanty gay gude knichts
+      Rade by Fair Annet’s side,
+   And four and twanty fair ladies,
+      As gin she had bin a bride.
+
+   And whan she cam to Marie’s Kirk,
+      She sat on Marie’s stean:
+   The cleading that Fair Annet had on
+      It skinkled in their een.
+
+   And whan she cam into the kirk,
+      She shimmerd like the sun;
+   The belt that was about her waist
+      Was a’ wi pearles bedone.
+
+   She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
+      And her een they wer sae clear,
+   Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
+      When Fair Annet drew near.
+
+   He had a rose into his hand,
+      He gae it kisses three,
+   And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
+      Laid it on Fair Annet’s knee.
+
+   Up then spak the nut-browne bride,
+      She spak wi meikle spite:
+   “And whair gat ye that rose-water,
+      That does mak yee sae white?”
+
+   “O I did get the rose-water
+      Whair ye wull neir get nane,
+   For I did get that very rose-water
+      Into my mither’s wame.”
+
+   The bride she drew a long bodkin
+      Frae out her gay head-gear,
+   And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
+      That word spak nevir mair.
+
+   Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,
+      And marvelit what mote bee;
+   But when he saw her dear heart’s blude,
+      A’ wood-wroth wexed bee.
+
+   He drew his dagger that was sae sharp,
+      That was sae sharp and meet,
+   And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
+      That fell deid at his feit.
+
+   “Now stay for me, dear Annet,” he sed,
+      “Now stay, my dear,” he cry’d;
+   Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
+      And fell deid by her side.
+
+   Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,
+      Fair Annet within the quiere,
+   And o the ane thair grew a birk,
+      The other a bonny briere.
+
+   And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
+      As they wad faine be neare;
+   And by this ye may ken right weil
+      They were twa luvers deare.
+
+
+
+
+FAIR ANNIE
+
+
+                       (_Child_, Part III., p. 69.)
+
+   “IT’S narrow, narrow, make your bed,
+      And learn to lie your lane:
+   For I’m ga’n oer the sea, Fair Annie,
+      A braw bride to bring hame.
+   Wi her I will get gowd and gear;
+      Wi you I neer got nane.
+
+   “But wha will bake my bridal bread,
+      Or brew my bridal ale?
+   And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
+      That I bring oer the dale?”
+
+   “It’s I will bake your bridal bread,
+      And brew your bridal ale,
+   And I will welcome your brisk bride,
+      That you bring oer the dale.”
+
+   “But she that welcomes my brisk bride
+      Maun gang like maiden fair;
+   She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
+      And braid her yellow hair.”
+
+   “But how can I gang maiden-like,
+      When maiden I am nane?
+   Have I not born seven sons to thee,
+      And am with child again?”
+
+   She’s taen her young son in her arms,
+      Another in her hand,
+   And she’s up to the highest tower,
+      To see him come to land.
+
+   “Come up, come up, my eldest son,
+      And look oer yon sea-strand,
+   And see your father’s new-come bride,
+      Before she come to land.”
+
+   “Come down, come down, my mother dear,
+      Come frae the castle wa!
+   I fear, if langer ye stand there,
+      Ye’ll let yoursell down fa.”
+
+   And she gaed down, and farther down,
+      Her love’s ship for to see,
+   And the topmast and the mainmast
+      Shone like the silver free.
+
+   And she’s gane down, and farther down,
+      The bride’s ship to behold,
+   And the topmast and the mainmast
+      They shone just like the gold.
+
+   She’s taen her seven sons in her hand,
+      I wot she didna fail;
+   She met Lord Thomas and his bride,
+      As they came oer the dale.
+
+   “You’re welcome to your house, Lord Thomas,
+      You’re welcome to your land;
+   You’re welcome with your fair ladye,
+      That you lead by the hand.
+
+   “You’re welcome to your ha’s, ladye,
+      You’re welcome to your bowers;
+   Your welcome to your hame, ladye,
+      For a’ that’s here is yours.”
+
+   “I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie,
+      Sae dearly as I thank thee;
+   You’re the likest to my sister Annie,
+      That ever I did see.
+
+   “There came a knight out oer the sea,
+      And steald my sister away;
+   The shame scoup in his company,
+      And land where’er he gae!”
+
+   She hang ae napkin at the door,
+      Another in the ha,
+   And a’ to wipe the trickling tears,
+      Sae fast as they did fa.
+
+   And aye she served the lang tables
+      With white bread and with wine,
+   And aye she drank the wan water,
+      To had her colour fine.
+
+   And aye she served the lang tables,
+      With white bread and with brown;
+   And aye she turned her round about,
+      Sae fast the tears fell down.
+
+   And he’s taen down the silk napkin,
+      Hung on a silver pin,
+   And aye he wipes the tear trickling
+      A’down her cheek and chin.
+
+   And aye he turn’d him round about,
+      And smiled amang his men;
+   Says, “Like ye best the old ladye,
+      Or her that’s new come hame?”
+
+   When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+      And a’ men bound to bed,
+   Lord Thomas and his new-come bride
+      To their chamber they were gaed.
+
+   Annie made her bed a little forbye,
+      To hear what they might say;
+   “And ever alas!” Fair Annie cried,
+      “That I should see this day!
+
+   “Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,
+      Running on the castle wa,
+   And I were a grey cat mysell,
+      I soon would worry them a’.
+
+   “Gin my young sons were seven young hares,
+      Running oer yon lilly lee,
+   And I were a grew hound mysell,
+      Soon worried they a’ should be.”
+
+   And wae and sad Fair Annie sat,
+      And drearie was her sang,
+   And ever, as she sobbd and grat,
+      “Wae to the man that did the wrang!”
+
+   “My gown is on,” said the new-come bride,
+      “My shoes are on my feet,
+   And I will to Fair Annie’s chamber,
+      And see what gars her greet.
+
+   “What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,
+      That ye make sic a moan?
+   Has your wine-barrels cast the girds,
+      Or is your white bread gone?
+
+   “O wha was’t was your father, Annie,
+      Or wha was’t was your mother?
+   And had ye ony sister, Annie,
+      Or had ye ony brother?”
+
+   “The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
+      The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
+   And a’ the folk about the house
+      To me were sister and brother.”
+
+   “If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
+      I wot sae was he mine;
+   And it shall not be for lack o gowd
+      That ye your love sall fyne.
+
+   “For I have seven ships o mine ain,
+      A’ loaded to the brim,
+   And I will gie them a’ to thee
+      Wi four to thine eldest son:
+   But thanks to a’ the powers in heaven
+      That I gae maiden hame!”
+
+
+
+
+THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW
+
+
+                   (_Child_, Part III.  Early Edition.)
+
+   LATE at e’en, drinking the wine,
+      And ere they paid the lawing,
+   They set a combat them between,
+      To fight it in the dawing.
+
+   “Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord,
+      Oh, stay at hame, my marrow!
+   My cruel brother will you betray
+      On the dowie houms of Yarrow.”
+
+   “Oh, fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!
+      Oh, fare ye weel, my Sarah!
+   For I maun gae, though I ne’er return,
+      Frae the dowie banks of Yarrow.”
+
+   She kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d his hair,
+      As oft she had done before, O;
+   She belted him with his noble brand,
+      And he’s away to Yarrow.
+
+   As he gaed up the Tennies bank,
+      I wot he gaed wi’ sorrow,
+   Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm’d men,
+      On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
+
+   “Oh, come ye here to part your land,
+      The bonnie Forest thorough?
+   Or come ye here to wield your brand,
+      On the dowie houms of Yarrow?”
+
+   “I come not here to part my land,
+      And neither to beg nor borrow;
+   I come to wield my noble brand,
+      On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.
+
+   “If I see all, ye’re nine to ane;
+      An that’s an unequal marrow:
+   Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,
+      On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.”
+
+   Four has he hurt, and five has slain,
+      On the bloody braes of Yarrow;
+   Till that stubborn knight came him behind,
+      And ran his body thorough.
+
+   “Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John,
+      And tell your sister Sarah,
+   To come and lift her leafu’ lord;
+      He’s sleepin’ sound on Yarrow.”
+
+   “Yestreen I dream’d a dolefu’ dream;
+      I fear there will be sorrow!
+   I dream’d I pu’d the heather green,
+      Wi’ my true love, on Yarrow.
+
+   “O gentle wind, that bloweth south,
+      From where my love repaireth,
+   Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,
+      And tell me how he fareth!
+
+   “But in the glen strive armed men;
+      They’ve wrought me dole and sorrow;
+   They’ve slain—the comeliest knight they’ve slain—
+      He bleeding lies on Yarrow.”
+
+   As she sped down yon high, high hill,
+      She gaed wi’ dole and sorrow,
+   And in the den spied ten slain men,
+      On the dowie banks of Yarrow.
+
+   She kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d his hair,
+      She search’d his wounds all thorough,
+   She kiss’d them, till her lips grew red,
+      On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
+
+   “Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear!
+      For a’ this breeds but sorrow;
+   I’ll wed ye to a better lord
+      Than him ye lost on Yarrow.”
+
+   “Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear!
+      Ye mind me but of sorrow:
+   A fairer rose did never bloom
+      Than now lies cropp’d on Yarrow.”
+
+
+
+
+SIR ROLAND
+
+
+                    (_Child_, vol. i.  Early Edition.)
+
+   WHAN he cam to his ain luve’s bouir
+      He tirled at the pin,
+   And sae ready was his fair fause luve
+      To rise and let him in.
+
+   “O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,” she says,
+      “Thrice welcome thou art to me;
+   For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir,
+      And to-morrow we’ll wedded be.”
+
+   “This night is hallow-eve,” he said,
+      “And to-morrow is hallow-day;
+   And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
+      That has made my heart fu’ wae.
+
+   “I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
+      And I wish it may cum to gude:
+   I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound,
+      And gied me his lappered blude.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   “Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland,” she said,
+      And set you safely down.”
+   “O your chamber is very dark, fair maid,
+      And the night is wondrous lown.”
+
+   “Yes, dark, dark is my secret bouir,
+      And lown the midnight may be;
+   For there is none waking in a’ this tower
+      But thou, my true love, and me.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   She has mounted on her true love’s steed,
+      By the ae light o’ the moon;
+   She has whipped him and spurred him,
+      And roundly she rade frae the toun.
+
+   She hadna ridden a mile o’ gate,
+      Never a mile but ane,
+   When she was aware of a tall young man,
+      Slow riding o’er the plain,
+
+   She turned her to the right about,
+      Then to the left turn’d she;
+   But aye, ’tween her and the wan moonlight,
+      That tall knight did she see.
+
+   And he was riding burd alane,
+      On a horse as black as jet,
+   But tho’ she followed him fast and fell,
+      No nearer could she get.
+
+   “O stop!  O stop! young man,” she said;
+      “For I in dule am dight;
+   O stop, and win a fair lady’s luve,
+      If you be a leal true knight.”
+
+   But nothing did the tall knight say,
+      And nothing did he blin;
+   Still slowly ride he on before
+      And fast she rade behind.
+
+   She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed,
+      Till his breast was all a foam;
+   But nearer unto that tall young knight,
+      By Our Ladye she could not come.
+
+   “O if you be a gay young knight,
+      As well I trow you be,
+   Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay
+      Till I come up to thee.”
+
+   But nothing did that tall knight say,
+      And no whit did he blin,
+   Until he reached a broad river’s side
+      And there he drew his rein.
+
+   “O is this water deep?” he said,
+      “As it is wondrous dun?
+   Or is it sic as a saikless maid,
+      And a leal true knight may swim?”
+
+   “The water it is deep,” she said,
+      “As it is wondrous dun;
+   But it is sic as a saikless maid,
+      And a leal true knight may swim.”
+
+   The knight spurred on his tall black steed;
+      The lady spurred on her brown;
+   And fast they rade unto the flood,
+      And fast they baith swam down.
+
+   “The water weets my tae,” she said;
+      “The water weets my knee,
+   And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight,
+      For the sake of Our Ladye.”
+
+   “If I would help thee now,” he said,
+      “It were a deadly sin,
+   For I’ve sworn neir to trust a fair may’s word,
+      Till the water weets her chin.”
+
+   “Oh, the water weets my waist,” she said,
+      “Sae does it weet my skin,
+   And my aching heart rins round about,
+      The burn maks sic a din.
+
+   “The water is waxing deeper still,
+      Sae does it wax mair wide;
+   And aye the farther that we ride on,
+      Farther off is the other side.
+
+   “O help me now, thou false, false knight,
+      Have pity on my youth,
+   For now the water jawes owre my head,
+      And it gurgles in my mouth.”
+
+   The knight turned right and round about,
+      All in the middle stream;
+   And he stretched out his head to that lady,
+      But loudly she did scream.
+
+   “O this is hallow-morn,” he said,
+      “And it is your bridal-day,
+   But sad would be that gay wedding,
+      If bridegroom and bride were away.
+
+   “And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret!
+      Till the water comes o’er your bree,
+   For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet,
+      Wha rides this ford wi’ me.
+
+   “Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret!
+      Turn ye round, and look on me,
+   Thou hast killed a true knight under trust,
+      And his ghost now links on with thee.”
+
+
+
+
+ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY
+
+
+                           (_Child_, Part IV.)
+
+   O ROSE the Red and White Lilly,
+      Their mother dear was dead,
+   And their father married an ill woman,
+      Wishd them twa little guede.
+
+   Yet she had twa as fu fair sons
+      As eer brake manis bread,
+   And the tane of them loed her White Lilly,
+      And the tither lood Rose the Red.
+
+   O, biggit ha they a bigly bowr,
+      And strawn it oer wi san,
+   And there was mair mirth i the ladies’ bowr
+      Than in a’ their father’s lan.
+
+   But out it spake their step-mother,
+      Wha stood a little foreby:
+   “I hope to live and play the prank
+      Sal gar your loud sang ly.”
+
+   She’s calld upon her eldest son:
+      “Come here, my son, to me;
+   It fears me sair, my eldest son,
+      That ye maun sail the sea.”
+
+   “Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,
+      Your bidding I maun dee;
+   But be never war to Rose the Red
+      Than ye ha been to me.”
+
+   “O had your tongue, my eldest son,
+      For sma sal be her part;
+   You’ll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth
+      Gin your very fair heart should break.”
+
+   She’s calld upon her youngest son:
+      “Come here, my son, to me;
+   It fears me sair, my youngest son,
+      That ye maun sail the sea.”
+
+   “Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,
+      Your bidding I maun dee;
+   But be never war to White Lilly
+      Than ye ha been to me.”
+
+   “O haud your tongue, my youngest son,
+      For sma sall be her part;
+   You’ll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth
+      Tho your very fair heart should break.”
+
+   When Rose the Red and White Lilly
+      Saw their twa loves were gane,
+   Then stopped ha they their loud, loud sang,
+      And tane up the still moarnin;
+   And their step-mother stood listnin by,
+      To hear the ladies’ mean.
+
+   Then out it spake her, White Lily;
+      “My sister, we’ll be gane;
+   Why shou’d we stay in Barnsdale,
+      To waste our youth in pain?”
+
+   Then cutted ha they their green cloathing,
+      A little below their knee;
+   And sae ha they their yallow hair,
+      A little aboon there bree;
+   And they’ve doen them to haely chapel
+      Was christened by Our Ladye.
+
+   There ha they changed their ain twa names,
+      Sae far frae ony town;
+   And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy,
+      And the tither o them Roge the Roun.
+
+   Between this twa a vow was made,
+      An they sware it to fulfil;
+   That at three blasts o a buglehorn,
+      She’d come her sister till.
+
+   Now Sweet Willy’s gane to the kingis court,
+      Her true-love for to see,
+   And Roge the Roun to good green wood,
+      Brown Robin’s man to be.
+
+   As it fell out upon a day,
+      They a did put the stane;
+   Full seven foot ayont them a
+      She gard the puttin-stane gang.
+
+   She leand her back against an oak,
+      And gae a loud Ohone!
+   Then out it spake him Brown Robin,
+      “But that’s a woman’s moan!”
+
+   “Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip?
+      Or by my yallow hair;
+   Or ken ye by my milk-white breast?
+      For ye never saw it bare?”
+
+   “I ken no by your red rose lip,
+      Nor by your yallow hair;
+   Nor ken I by your milk-white breast,
+      For I never saw it bare;
+   But, come to your bowr whaever sae likes,
+      Will find a ladye there.”
+
+   “Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within,
+      Thro fraud, deceit, or guile,
+   Wi this same bran that’s in my han
+      I swear I will thee kill.”
+
+   “But I will come thy bowr within,
+      An spear nae leave,” quoth he;
+   “An this same bran that’s i my ban,
+      I sall ware back on the.”
+
+   About the tenth hour of the night,
+      The ladie’s bowr door was broken,
+   An eer the first hour of the day
+      The bonny knave bairn was gotten.
+
+   When days were gane and months were run,
+      The ladye took travailing,
+   And sair she cry’d for a bow’r-woman,
+      For to wait her upon.
+
+   Then out it spake him, Brown Robin:
+      “Now what needs a’ this din?
+   For what coud any woman do
+      But I coud do the same?”
+
+   “Twas never my mither’s fashion,” she says,
+      “Nor sall it ever be mine,
+   That belted knights shoud eer remain
+      Where ladies dreed their pine.
+
+   “But ye take up that bugle-horn,
+      An blaw a blast for me;
+   I ha a brother i the kingis court
+      Will come me quickly ti.”
+
+   “O gin ye ha a brither on earth
+      That ye love better nor me,
+   Ye blaw the horn yoursel,” he says,
+      “For ae blast I winna gie.”
+
+   She’s set the horn till her mouth,
+      And she’s blawn three blasts sae shrill;
+   Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court,
+      And came her quickly till.
+
+   Then up it started Brown Robin,
+      An an angry man was he:
+   “There comes nae man this bowr within
+      But first must fight wi me.”
+
+   O they hae fought that bowr within
+      Till the sun was gaing down,
+   Till drops o blude frae Rose the Red
+      Cam trailing to the groun.
+
+   She leand her back against the wa,
+      Says, “Robin, let a’ be;
+   For it is a lady born and bred
+      That’s foughten sae well wi thee.”
+
+   O seven foot he lap a back;
+      Says, “Alas, and wae is me!
+   I never wisht in a’ my life,
+      A woman’s blude to see;
+   An ae for the sake of ae fair maid
+      Whose name was White Lilly.”
+
+   Then out it spake her White Lilly,
+      An a hearty laugh laugh she:
+   “She’s lived wi you this year an mair,
+      Tho ye kenntna it was she.”
+
+   Now word has gane thro a’ the lan,
+      Before a month was done,
+   That Brown Robin’s man, in good green wood,
+      Had born a bonny young son.
+
+   The word has gane to the kingis court,
+      An to the king himsel;
+   “Now, by my fay,” the king could say,
+      “The like was never heard tell!”
+
+   Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,
+      An a hearty laugh laugh he:
+   “I trow some may has playd the loun,
+      And fled her ain country.”
+
+   “Bring me my steed,” then cry’d the king,
+      “My bow and arrows keen;
+   I’ll ride mysel to good green wood,
+      An see what’s to be seen.”
+
+   “An’t please your grace,” said Bold Arthur,
+      “My liege, I’ll gang you wi,
+   An try to fin a little foot-page,
+      That’s strayd awa frae me.”
+
+   O they’ve hunted i the good green wood
+      The buck but an the rae,
+   An they drew near Brown Robin’s bowr,
+      About the close of day.
+
+   Then out it spake the king in hast,
+      Says, “Arthur look an see
+   Gin that be no your little foot-page
+      That leans against yon tree.”
+
+   Then Arthur took his bugle-horn,
+      An blew a blast sae shrill;
+   Sweet Willy started at the sound,
+      An ran him quickly till.
+
+   “O wanted ye your meat, Willy?
+      Or wanted ye your fee?
+   Or gat ye ever an angry word,
+      That ye ran awa frae me?”
+
+   “I wanted nought, my master dear;
+      To me ye ay was good;
+   I came but to see my ae brother,
+      That wons in this green wood.”
+
+   Then out it spake the king again,
+      Says, “Bonny boy, tell to me,
+   Wha lives into yon bigly bowr,
+      Stands by yon green oak tree?”
+
+   “Oh, pardon me,” says Sweet Willie,
+      “My liege, I dare no tell;
+   An I pray you go no near that bowr,
+      For fear they do you fell.”
+
+   “Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy,
+      For I winna be said nay;
+   But I will gang that bowr within,
+      Betide me weal or wae.”
+
+   They’ve lighted off their milk-white steeds,
+      An saftly enterd in,
+   And there they saw her White Lilly,
+      Nursing her bonny young son.
+
+   “Now, by the rood,” the king coud say,
+      “This is a comely sight;
+   I trow, instead of a forrester’s man,
+      This is a lady bright!”
+
+   Then out it spake her, Rose the Red,
+      An fell low down on her knee:
+   “Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege,
+      An our story I’ll tell thee.
+
+   “Our father was a wealthy lord,
+      That wond in Barnsdale;
+   But we had a wicked step-mother,
+      That wrought us meickle bale.
+
+   “Yet she had twa as fu fair sons
+      As ever the sun did see,
+   An the tane of them lood my sister dear,
+      An the tother said he lood me.”
+
+   Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,
+      As by the king he stood:
+   “Now, by the faith o my body,
+      This shoud be Rose the Red!”
+
+   Then in it came him Brown Robin,
+      Frae hunting O the deer;
+   But whan he saw the king was there,
+      He started back for fear.
+
+   The king has taen him by the hand,
+      An bide him naithing dread;
+   Says, “Ye maun leave the good greenwood,
+      Come to the court wi speed.”
+
+   Then up he took White Lilly’s son,
+      An set him on his knee;
+   Says—“Gin ye live to wield a bran,
+      My bowman ye sall bee.”
+
+   The king he sent for robes of green,
+      An girdles o shinning gold;
+   He gart the ladies be arrayd
+      Most comely to behold.
+
+   They’ve done them unto Mary kirk,
+      An there gat fair wedding,
+   An fan the news spread oer the lan,
+      For joy the bells did ring.
+
+   Then out it spake her Rose the Red,
+      An a hearty laugh laugh she:
+   “I wonder what would our step-dame say,
+      Gin she his sight did see!”
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF HARLAW
+EVERGREEN VERSION
+
+
+              (_Child_, vol. vii.  Early Edition, Appendix.)
+
+   FRAE Dunidier as I cam throuch,
+      Doun by the hill of Banochie,
+   Allangst the lands of Garioch.
+      Grit pitie was to heir and se
+      The noys and dulesum hermonie,
+   That evir that dreiry day did daw!
+      Cryand the corynoch on hie,
+   Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.
+
+   I marvlit what the matter meant;
+      All folks were in a fiery fariy:
+   I wist nocht wha was fae or freind,
+      Yet quietly I did me carrie.
+      But sen the days of auld King Hairy,
+   Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene,
+      And thair I had nae tyme to tairy,
+   For bissiness in Aberdene.
+
+   Thus as I walkit on the way,
+      To Inverury as I went,
+   I met a man, and bad him stay,
+      Requeisting him to mak me quaint
+      Of the beginning and the event
+   That happenit thair at the Harlaw;
+      Then he entreited me to tak tent,
+   And he the truth sould to me schaw.
+
+   Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim
+      Unto the lands of Ross sum richt,
+   And to the governour he came,
+      Them for to haif, gif that he micht,
+      Wha saw his interest was but slicht,
+   And thairfore answerit with disdain.
+      He hastit hame baith day and nicht,
+   And sent nae bodward back again.
+
+   But Donald richt impatient
+      Of that answer Duke Robert gaif,
+   He vow’d to God Omniyotent,
+      All the hale lands of Ross to half,
+      Or ells be graithed in his graif:
+   He wald not quat his richt for nocht,
+      Nor be abusit like a slaif;
+   That bargin sould be deirly bocht.
+
+   Then haistylie he did command
+      That all his weir-men should convene;
+   Ilk an well harnisit frae hand,
+      To melt and heir what he did mein.
+      He waxit wrath and vowit tein;
+   Sweirand he wald surpryse the North,
+      Subdew the brugh of Aberdene,
+   Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.
+
+   Thus with the weir-men of the yles,
+      Wha war ay at his bidding bown,
+   With money maid, with forss and wyls,
+      Richt far and neir, baith up and doun,
+      Throw mount and muir, frae town to town,
+   Allangst the lands of Ross he roars,
+      And all obey’d at his bandown,
+   Evin frae the North to Suthren shoars.
+
+   Then all the countrie men did yield;
+      For nae resistans durst they mak,
+   Nor offer batill in the feild,
+      Be forss of arms to beir him bak.
+      Syne they resolvit all and spak,
+   That best it was for thair behoif,
+      They sould him for thair chiftain tak,
+   Believing weil he did them luve.
+
+   Then he a proclamation maid,
+      All men to meet at Inverness,
+   Throw Murray land to mak a raid,
+      Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness.
+      And further mair, he sent express,
+   To schaw his collours and ensenzie,
+      To all and sindry, mair and less,
+   Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie.
+
+   And then throw fair Strathbogie land
+      His purpose was for to pursew,
+   And whatsoevir durst gainstand,
+      That race they should full sairly rew.
+      Then he bad all his men be trew,
+   And him defend by forss and slicht,
+      And promist them rewardis anew,
+   And mak them men of mekle micht.
+
+   Without resistans, as he said,
+      Throw all these parts he stoutly past,
+   Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid,
+      But Garioch was all agast.
+      Throw all these feilds be sped him fast,
+   For sic a sicht was never sene;
+      And then, forsuith, he langd at last
+   To se the bruch of Aberdene.
+
+   To hinder this prowd enterprise,
+      The stout and michty Erl of Marr
+   With all his men in arms did ryse,
+      Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar:
+      And down the syde of Don richt far,
+   Angus and Mearns did all convene
+      To fecht, or Donald came sae nar
+   The ryall bruch of Aberdene.
+
+   And thus the martial Erle of Marr
+      Marcht with his men in richt array;
+   Befoir his enemis was aware,
+      His banner bauldly did display.
+      For weil enewch they kent the way,
+   And all their semblance well they saw:
+      Without all dangir or delay,
+   Come haistily to the Harlaw.
+
+   With him the braif Lord Ogilvy,
+      Of Angus sheriff principall,
+   The constable of gude Dundè,
+      The vanguard led before them all.
+      Suppose in number they war small,
+   Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew,
+      And maid thair faes befor them fall,
+   Wha then that race did sairly rew.
+
+   And then the worthy Lord Salton,
+      The strong undoubted Laird of Drum,
+   The stalwart Laird of Lawristone,
+      With ilk thair forces all and sum.
+      Panmuir with all his men, did cum,
+   The provost of braif Aberdene,
+      With trumpets and with tuick of drum,
+   Came schortly in thair armour schene.
+
+   These with the Earle of Marr came on,
+      In the reir-ward richt orderlie,
+   Thair enemies to sett upon;
+      In awfull manner hardilie,
+      Togither vowit to live and die,
+   Since they had marchit mony mylis,
+      For to suppress the tyrannie
+   Of douted Donald of the Ysles.
+
+   But he, in number ten to ane,
+      Right subtilè alang did ryde,
+   With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean,
+      With all thair power at thair syde;
+      Presumeand on their strenth and pryde,
+   Without all feir or ony aw,
+      Richt bauldie battil did abyde,
+   Hard by the town of fair Harlaw.
+
+   The armies met, the trumpet sounds,
+      The dandring drums alloud did touk,
+   Baith armies byding on the bounds,
+      Till ane of them the feild sould bruik.
+      Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk,
+   Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde,
+      And on the ground lay mony a bouk
+   Of them that thair did battil byd.
+
+   With doutsum victorie they dealt,
+      The bludy battil lastit lang;
+   Each man fits nibours forss thair felt,
+      The weakest aft-tymes gat the wrang:
+      Thair was nae mowis thair them amang,
+   Naithing was hard but heavy knocks,
+      That eccho mad a dulefull sang,
+   Thairto resounding frae the rocks.
+
+   But Donalds men at last gaif back,
+      For they war all out of array:
+   The Earl of Marris men throw them brak,
+      Pursewing shairply in thair way,
+      Thair enemys to tak or slay,
+   Be dynt of forss to gar them yield;
+      Wha war richt blyth to win away,
+   And sae for feirdness tint the feild.
+
+   Then Donald fled, and that full fast,
+      To mountains hich for all his micht;
+   For he and his war all agast,
+      And ran till they war out of sicht;
+      And sae of Ross he lost his richt,
+   Thocht mony men with hem he brocht;
+      Towards the yles fled day and nicht,
+   And all he wan was deirlie bocht.
+
+   This is (quod he) the richt report
+      Of all that I did heir and knaw;
+   Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort,
+      Tak this to be a richt suthe saw:
+      Contrairie God and the kings law,
+   Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude,
+      Into the battil of Harlaw:
+   This is the sum, sae I conclude.
+
+   But yet a bonnie while abide,
+      And I sall mak thee cleirly ken
+   What slaughter was on ilkay syde,
+      Of Lowland and of Highland men,
+      Wha for thair awin haif evir bene;
+   These lazie lowns micht weil be spared,
+      Chased like deers into their dens,
+   And gat their wages for reward.
+
+   Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif,
+      Macklean with his grit hauchty heid,
+   With all thair succour and relief,
+      War dulefully dung to the deid;
+      And now we are freid of thair feid,
+   They will not lang to cum again;
+      Thousands with them, without remeid,
+   On Donald’s syd, that day war slain.
+
+   And on the uther syde war lost,
+      Into the feild that dismal day,
+   Chief men of worth, of mekle cost,
+      To be lamentit sair for ay.
+      The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay,
+   A man of micht and mekle main;
+      Grit dolour was for his decay,
+   That sae unhappylie was slain.
+
+   Of the best men amang them was
+      The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy,
+   The sheriff-principal of Angus,
+      Renownit for truth and equitie,
+      For faith and magnanimitie;
+   He had few fallows in the field,
+      Yet fell by fatall destinie,
+   For he naeways wad grant to yield.
+
+   Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,
+      Grit constabill of fair Dundè,
+   Unto the dulefull deith was dicht;
+      The kingis cheif bannerman was he,
+      A valiant man of chevalrie,
+   Whose predecessors wan that place
+      At Spey, with gude King William frie
+   ’Gainst Murray, and Macduncan’s race.
+
+   Gude Sir Allexander Irving,
+      The much renowit laird of Drum,
+   Nane in his days was bettir sene
+      When they war semblit all and sum.
+      To praise him we sould not be dumm,
+   For valour, witt, and worthyness;
+      To end his days he ther did cum
+   Whose ransom is remeidyless.
+
+   And thair the knicht of Lawriston
+      Was slain into his armour schene,
+   And gude Sir Robert Davidson,
+      Wha provost was of Aberdene:
+      The knicht of Panmure, as was sene,
+   A mortall man in armour bricht,
+      Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene,
+   Left to the warld thair last gude nicht.
+
+   Thair was not sen King Keneths days
+      Sic strange intestine crewel stryf
+   In Scotland sene, as ilk man says,
+      Whare mony liklie lost thair lyfe;
+      Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe,
+   And mony childrene fatherless,
+      Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe:
+   Lord help these lands, our wrangs redress.
+
+   In July, on Saint James his even,
+      That four and twenty dismall day,
+   Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven
+      Of theirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say,
+      Men will remember, as they may,
+   When thus the ventie they knaw,
+      And mony a ane may murn for ay,
+   The brim battil of the Harlaw.
+
+
+
+
+TRADITIONARY VERSION
+
+
+                           (_Child_, Part VI.)
+
+   AS I came in by Dunidier,
+      An doun by Netherha,
+   There was fifty thousand Hielanmen
+      A marching to Harlaw.
+   (Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.
+
+   As I cam on, an farther on,
+      An doun an by Balquhain,
+   Oh there I met Sir James the Rose,
+      Wi him Sir John the Gryme.
+
+   “O cam ye frae the Hielans, man?
+      And cam ye a’ the wey?
+   Saw ye Macdonell an his men,
+      As they cam frae the Skee?”
+
+   “Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man,
+      An me cam a ta wey,
+   An she saw Macdonell an his men,
+      As they cam frae ta Skee.”
+
+   “Oh, was ye near Macdonell’s men?
+      Did ye their numbers see?
+   Come, tell to me, John Hielanman,
+      What micht their numbers be?”
+
+   “Yes, me was near, an near eneuch,
+      An me their numbers saw;
+   There was fifty thousand Hielanmen
+      A marching to Harlaw.”
+
+   “Gin that be true,” says James the Rose,
+      “We’ll no come meikle speed;
+   We’ll cry upo our merry men,
+      And lichtly mount our steed.”
+
+   “Oh no, oh no!” quo’ John the Gryme,
+      “That thing maun never be;
+   The gallant Grymes were never bate,
+      We’ll try what we can dee.”
+
+   As I cam on, an farther on,
+      An doun an by Harlaw,
+   They fell fu close on ilka side;
+      Sic fun ye never saw.
+
+   They fell fu close on ilka side,
+      Sic fun ye never saw;
+   For Hielan swords gied clash for clash,
+      At the battle o Harlaw.
+
+   The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords,
+      They laid on us fu sair,
+   An they drave back our merry men
+      Three acres breadth an mair.
+
+   Brave Forbës to his brither did say,
+      “Noo brither, dinna ye see?
+   They beat us back on ilka side,
+      An we’se be forced to flee.”
+
+   “Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
+      That thing maun never be;
+   Tak ye your good sword in your hand,
+      An come your wa’s wi me.”
+
+   “Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
+      The clans they are ower strang,
+   An they drive back our merry men,
+      Wi swords baith sharp an lang.”
+
+   Brave Forbës drew his men aside,
+      Said, “Tak your rest a while,
+   Until I to Drumminnor send,
+      To fess my coat o mail.”
+
+   The servan he did ride,
+      An his horse it did na fail,
+   For in twa hours an a quarter
+      He brocht the coat o mail.
+
+   Then back to back the brithers twa
+      Gaed in amo the thrang,
+   An they hewed doun the Hielanmen,
+      Wi swords baith sharp an lang.
+
+   Macdonell he was young an stout,
+      Had on his coat o mail,
+   And he has gane oot throw them a’
+      To try his han himsell.
+
+   The first ae straik that Forbës strack,
+      He garrt Macdonell reel;
+   An the neist ae straik that Forbës strack,
+      The great Macdonell fell.
+
+   And siccan a lierachie,
+      I’m sure ye never sawe
+   As wis amo the Hielanmen,
+      When they saw Macdonell fa.
+
+   An whan they saw that he was deid,
+      They turnd and ran awa,
+   An they buried him in Legget’s Den,
+      A large mile frae Harlaw.
+
+   They rade, they ran, an some did gang,
+      They were o sma record;
+   But Forbës and his merry men,
+      They slew them a’ the road.
+
+   On Monanday, at mornin,
+      The battle it began,
+   On Saturday at gloamin’,
+      Ye’d scarce kent wha had wan.
+
+   An sic a weary buryin,
+      I’m sure ye never saw,
+   As wis the Sunday after that,
+      On the muirs aneath Harlaw.
+
+   Gin anybody speer at ye
+      For them ye took awa,
+   Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,
+      They’re sleepin at Harlaw.
+
+
+
+
+DICKIE MACPHALION
+
+
+                    (_Sharpe’s Ballad Book_, No. XIV.)
+
+   I WENT to the mill, but the miller was gone,
+   I sat me down, and cried ochone!
+   To think on the days that are past and gone,
+      Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.
+         Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
+      To think on the days that are past and gone,
+         Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.
+
+   I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
+   And sae hae I my spinning wheel,
+   And a’ to buy a cap of steel
+      For Dickie Macphalion that’s slain!
+         Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
+      And a’ to buy a cap of steel
+         For Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.
+
+
+
+
+A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE
+
+
+                 (_Border Minstrelsy_, vol. ii., p. 357.)
+
+   THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+   When thou from hence away art paste,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+   If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   Sit thee down and put them on;
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+   If hosen and shoon thou ne’er gavest nane,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+   From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   To Brigg o’ Dread thou comest at laste,
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+   From Brigg o’ Dread when thou mayst passe,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+   If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   The fire sall never make thee shrinke;
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+   If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+   This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+      _Every nighte and alle_,
+   Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
+      _And Christe receive thye saule_.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. iii.  Early Edition.)
+
+   DOWN by yon garden green,
+      Sae merrily as she gaes;
+   She has twa weel-made feet,
+      And she trips upon her taes.
+
+   She has twa weel-made feet;
+      Far better is her hand;
+   She’s as jimp in the middle
+      As ony willow wand.
+
+   “Gif ye will do my bidding,
+      At my bidding for to be,
+   It’s I will make you lady
+      Of a’ the lands you see.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   He spak a word in jest;
+      Her answer was na good;
+   He threw a plate at her face,
+      Made it a’ gush out o’ blood.
+
+   She wasna frae her chamber
+      A step but barely three,
+   When up and at her richt hand
+      There stood Man’s Enemy.
+
+   “Gif ye will do my bidding,
+      At my bidding for to be,
+   I’ll learn you a wile,
+      Avenged for to be.”
+
+   The foul thief knotted the tether;
+      She lifted his head on hie;
+   The nourice drew the knot
+      That gar’d lord Waristoun die.
+
+   Then word is gane to Leith,
+      Also to Edinburgh town
+   That the lady had kill’d the laird,
+      The laird o’ Waristoun.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   Tak aff, tak aff my hood
+      But lat my petticoat be;
+   Pat my mantle o’er my head;
+      For the fire I downa see.
+
+   Now, a’ ye gentle maids,
+      Tak warning now by me,
+   And never marry ane
+      But wha pleases your e’e.
+
+   “For he married me for love,
+      But I married him for fee;
+   And sae brak out the feud
+      That gar’d my dearie die.”
+
+
+
+
+MAY COLVEN
+
+
+                        (_Child_, Part I., p. 56.)
+
+   FALSE Sir John a wooing came
+      To a maid of beauty fair;
+   May Colven was this lady’s name,
+      Her father’s only heir.
+
+   He wood her butt, he wood her ben,
+      He wood her in the ha,
+   Until he got this lady’s consent
+      To mount and ride awa.
+
+   He went down to her father’s bower,
+      Where all the steeds did stand,
+   And he’s taken one of the best steeds
+      That was in her father’s land.
+
+   He’s got on and she’s got on,
+      As fast as they could flee,
+   Until they came to a lonesome part,
+      A rock by the side of the sea.
+
+   “Loup off the steed,” says false Sir John,
+      “Your bridal bed you see;
+   For I have drowned seven young ladies,
+      The eighth one you shall be.
+
+   “Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
+      All and your silken gown,
+   For it’s oer good and oer costly
+      To rot in the salt sea foam.
+
+   “Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
+      All and your embroiderd shoen,
+   For oer good and oer costly
+      To rot in the salt sea foam.”
+
+   “O turn you about, O false Sir John,
+      And look to the leaf of the tree,
+   For it never became a gentleman
+      A naked woman to see.”
+
+   He turned himself straight round about,
+      To look to the leaf of the tree,
+   So swift as May Colven was
+      To throw him in the sea.
+
+   “O help, O help, my May Colven,
+      O help, or else I’ll drown;
+   I’ll take you home to your father’s bower,
+      And set you down safe and sound.”
+
+   “No help, no help, O false Sir John,
+      No help, nor pity thee;
+   Tho’ seven kings’ daughters you have drownd,
+      But the eighth shall not be me.”
+
+   So she went on her father’s steed,
+      As swift as she could flee,
+   And she came home to her father’s bower
+      Before it was break of day.
+
+   Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:
+      “May Colven, where have you been?
+   What has become of false Sir John,
+      That woo’d you so late the streen?
+
+   “He woo’d you butt, he woo’d you ben,
+      He woo’d you in the ha,
+   Until he got your own consent
+      For to mount and gang awa.”
+
+   “O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,
+      Lay not the blame upon me;
+   Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,
+      Your cage of the root of the tree.”
+
+   Up then spake the king himself,
+      In the bed-chamber where he lay:
+   “What ails the pretty parrot,
+      That prattles so long or day?”
+
+   “There came a cat to my cage door,
+      It almost a worried me,
+   And I was calling on May Colven
+      To take the cat from me.”
+
+
+
+
+JOHNIE FAA
+
+
+                   (_Child_, vol. iv.  Early Edition.)
+
+   THE gypsies came to our good lord’s gate
+      And wow but they sang sweetly!
+   They sang sae sweet and sae very complete
+      That down came the fair lady.
+
+   And she came tripping doun the stair,
+      And a’ her maids before her;
+   As soon as they saw her weel-far’d face,
+      They coost the glamer o’er her.
+
+   “O come with me,” says Johnie Faw,
+      “O come with me, my dearie;
+   For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,
+      That your lord shall nae mair come near ye.”
+
+   Then she gied them the beer and the wine,
+      And they gied her the ginger;
+   But she gied them a far better thing,
+      The goud ring aff her finger.
+
+   “Gae take frae me this yay mantle,
+      And bring to me a plaidie;
+   For if kith and kin, and a’ had sworn,
+      I’ll follow the gypsy laddie.
+
+   “Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
+      Wi’ my good lord beside me;
+   But this night I’ll lye in a tenant’s barn,
+      Whatever shall betide me!”
+
+   “Come to your bed,” says Johnie Faw,
+      “Oh, come to your bed, my dearie:
+   For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword,
+      Your lord shall nae mair come near ye.”
+
+   “I’ll go to bed to my Johnie Faw,
+      I’ll go to bed to my dearie;
+   For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,
+      My lord shall nae mair come near me.
+
+   “I’ll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw,
+      I’ll mak a hap to my dearie;
+   And he’s get a’ the coat gaes round,
+      And my lord shall nae mair come near me.”
+
+   And when our lord came hame at e’en,
+      And spier’d for his fair lady,
+   The tane she cry’d, and the other reply’d,
+      “She’s awa’ wi’ the gypsy laddie!”
+
+   “Gae saddle to me the black black steed,
+      Gae saddle and make him ready;
+   Before that I either eat or sleep,
+      I’ll gae seek my fair lady.”
+
+   And we were fifteen weel-made men,
+      Altho’ we were na bonny;
+   And we were a’ put down but ane,
+      For a fair young wanton lady.
+
+
+
+
+HOBBIE NOBLE
+
+
+                      (_Child_, vi.  Early Edition.)
+
+   FOUL fa’ the breast first treason bred in!
+      That Liddesdale may safely say:
+   For in it there was baith meat and drink,
+      And corn unto our geldings gay.
+
+   We were stout-hearted men and true,
+      As England it did often say;
+   But now we may turn our backs and fly,
+      Since brave Noble is seld away.
+
+   Now Hobie he was an English man,
+      And born into Bewcastle dale;
+   But his misdeeds they were sae great,
+      They banish’d him to Liddisdale.
+
+   At Kershope foot the tryst was set,
+      Kershope of the lilye lee;
+   And there was traitour Sim o’ the Mains,
+      With him a private companie.
+
+   Then Hobie has graith’d his body weel,
+      I wat it was wi’ baith good iron and steel;
+   And he has pull’d out his fringed grey,
+      And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel.
+
+   Then Hobie is down the water gane,
+      E’en as fast as he may drie;
+   Tho’ they shoud a’ brusten and broken their hearts,
+      Frae that tryst Noble he would na be.
+
+   “Weel may ye be, my feiries five!
+      And aye, what is your wills wi’ me?”
+   Then they cry’d a’ wi’ ae consent,
+      “Thou’rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me.
+
+   “Wilt thou with us in England ride,
+      And thy safe warrand we will be?
+   If we get a horse worth a hundred punds,
+      Upon his back that thou shalt be.”
+
+   “I dare not with you into England ride;
+      The Land-sergeant has me at feid:
+   I know not what evil may betide,
+      For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.
+
+   “And Anton Shiel he loves not me,
+      For I gat twa drifts o his sheep;
+   The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not,
+      For nae gear frae me he e’er could keep.
+
+   “But will ye stay till the day gae down,
+      Until the night come o’er the grund,
+   And I’ll be a guide worth ony twa,
+      That may in Liddesdale be fund?
+
+   “Tho’ dark the night as pitch and tar,
+      I’ll guide ye o’er yon hills fu’ hie;
+   And bring ye a’ in safety back,
+      If ye’ll be true and follow me.”
+
+   He’s guided them o’er moss and muir,
+      O’er hill and houp, and mony a down;
+   Til they came to the Foulbogshiel,
+      And there, brave Noble, he lighted down.
+
+   But word is gane to the Land-sergeant,
+      In Askirton where that he lay—
+   “The deer that ye hae hunted lang,
+      Is seen into the Waste this day.”
+
+   “Then Hobbie Noble is that deer!
+      I wat he carries the style fu’ hie;
+   Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back,
+      And set yourselves at little lee.
+
+   “Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn;
+      See they shaft their arrows on the wa’!
+   Warn Willeva and Spear Edom,
+      And see the morn they meet me a’.
+
+   “Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh,
+      And see it be by break o’ day;
+   And we will on to Conscowthart-Green,
+      For there, I think, we’ll get our prey.”
+
+   Then Hobbie Noble has dream’d a dream,
+      In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay;
+   He thought his horse was neath him shot,
+      And he himself got hard away.
+
+   The cocks could crow, the day could dawn,
+      And I wot so even down fell the rain;
+   If Hobbie had no waken’d at that time,
+      In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.
+
+   “Get up, get up, my feiries five!
+      For I wot here makes a fu’ ill day;
+   Yet the warst cloak of this companie,
+      I hope, shall cross the Waste this day.”
+
+   Now Hobie thought the gates were clear;
+      But, ever alas! it was not sae:
+   They were beset wi’ cruel men and keen,
+      That away brave Hobbie could not gae.
+
+   “Yet follow me, my feiries five,
+      And see of me ye keep good ray;
+   And the worst cloak o’ this companie
+      I hope shall cross the Waste this day.”
+
+   There was heaps of men now Hobbie before,
+      And other heaps was him behind,
+   That had he wight as Wallace was,
+      Away brave Noble he could not win.
+
+   Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword;
+      But he did more than a laddies deed;
+   In the midst of Conscouthart-Green,
+      He brake it oer Jersawigham’s head.
+
+   Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,
+      Wi’ his ain bowstring they band him sae;
+   And I wat heart was ne’er sae sair,
+      As when his ain five band him on the brae.
+
+   They have tane him on for West Carlisle;
+      They ask’d him if he knew the why?
+   Whate’er he thought, yet little he said;
+      He knew the way as well as they.
+
+   They hae ta’en him up the Ricker gate;
+      The wives they cast their windows wide;
+   And every wife to anither can say,
+      “That’s the man loos’d Jock o’ the Side!”
+
+   “Fye on ye, women! why ca’ ye me man?
+      For it’s nae man that I’m used like;
+   I am but like a forfoughen hound,
+      Has been fighting in a dirty syke.”
+
+   Then they hae tane him up thro’ Carlisle town,
+      And set him by the chimney fire;
+   They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to eat,
+      And that was little his desire.
+
+   Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat,
+      And after that a can o beer;
+   Then they cried a’ with ae consent,
+      “Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheer!
+
+   “Confess my lord’s horse, Hobie,” they said,
+      “And the morn in Carlisle thou’s no die;”
+   “How shall I confess them,” Hobie says,
+      “For I never saw them with mine eye?”
+
+   Then Hobie has sworn a fu’ great aith,
+      By the day that he was gotten and born,
+   He never had ony thing o’ my lord’s,
+      That either eat him grass or corn.
+
+   “Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton!
+      For I think again I’ll ne’er thee see:
+   I wad betray nae lad alive,
+      For a’ the goud in Christentie.
+
+   “And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale!
+      Baith the hie land and the law;
+   Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains!
+      For goud and gear he’ll sell ye a’.
+
+   “Yet wad I rather be ca’d Hobie Noble,
+      In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut,
+   Before I’d be ca’d traitor Mains,
+      That eats and drinks of the meal and maut.”
+
+
+
+
+THE TWA SISTERS
+
+
+                 (_Sharpe’s Ballad Book_, No. X., p. 30.)
+
+      THERE liv’d twa sisters in a bower,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      There liv’d twa sisters in a bower,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      The youngest o’ them, O, she was a flower!
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      There came a squire frae the west,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      There cam a squire frae the west,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      He lo’ed them baith, but the youngest best,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      But he lo’ed the youngest aboon a’ thing,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      “Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?
+            Stirling for aye:
+      Our father’s ships sail bonnilie,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.”
+
+      The youngest sat down upon a stane,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      The youngest sat down upon a stane,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      The eldest shot the youngest in,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      “Oh sister, sister, lend me your hand,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      And you shall hae my gouden fan,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      “Oh, sister, sister, save my life,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      Oh sister, sister, save my life,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      And ye shall be the squire’s wife,
+   Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.”
+
+      First she sank, and then she swam,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      First she sank, and then she swam,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      Until she cam to Tweed mill dam,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      The millar’s daughter was baking bread,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      The millar’s daughter was baking bread,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      She went for water, as she had need,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      “Oh father, father, in our mill dam,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch,
+      Oh father, father, in our mill dam,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      There’s either a lady, or a milk-white swan,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.”
+
+      They could nae see her fingers small,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      They could nae see her fingers small,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      Wi’ diamond rings they were cover’d all,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      They could nae see her yellow hair,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      They could nae see her yellow hair,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      Sae mony knots and platts war there,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+      Bye there cam a fiddler fair,
+         Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+      Bye there cam a fiddler fair,
+            Stirling for aye:
+      And he’s ta’en three tails o’ her yellow hair,
+   Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+
+
+
+MARY AMBREE
+
+
+         (_Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_, vol. ii. p. 230.)
+
+   WHEN captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte,
+   Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,
+   They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,
+   And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.
+
+   When [the] brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight,
+   Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,
+   Because he was slaine most treacherouslie
+   Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.
+
+   She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe
+   In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe;
+   A faire shirt of male then slipped on shee:
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,
+   A stronge arminge-sword shee girt by her side,
+   On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee:
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,
+   Bidding all such, as wold, [to] bee of her band;
+   To wayte on her person came thousand and three:
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   “My soldiers,” she saith, “soe valliant and bold,
+   Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;
+   Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee:”
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say,
+   “Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,
+   Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree,
+   No mayden was ever like Mary Ambree.”
+
+   She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,
+   With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fife,
+   With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   “Before I will see the worst of you all
+   To come into danger of death or of thrall,
+   This hand and this life I will venture so free:”
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array,
+   Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;
+   Seven howers in skirmish continued shee:
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,
+   And her enemyes bodyes with bulletts so hott;
+   For one of her own men a score killed shee:
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,
+   Away all her pellets and powder had sent,
+   Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three:
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,
+   At length she was forced to make a retyre;
+   Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee:
+   Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+   Her foes they besett her on everye side,
+   As thinking close siege shee cold never abide;
+   To beate down the walles they all did decree:
+   But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.
+
+   Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,
+   And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,
+   There daring their captaines to match any three:
+   O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!
+
+   “Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give
+   To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?
+   Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:”
+   Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.
+
+   “Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,
+   Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?”
+   “A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,
+   Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee.”
+
+   “No captaine of England; behold in your sight
+   Two brests in my bosome, and therefore no knight:
+   Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,
+   But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree.”
+
+   “But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,
+   Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre?
+   If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee,
+   Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.”
+
+   The Prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne,
+   Who long had advanced for England’s fair crowne;
+   Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee,
+   And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree.
+
+   But this virtuous mayden despised them all:
+   “’Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall;
+   A maiden of England, sir, never will bee
+   The wench of a monarcke,” quoth Mary Ambree.
+
+   Then to her owne country shee back did returne,
+   Still holding the foes of rare England in scorne!
+   Therfore English captaines of every degree
+   Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.
+
+
+
+
+ALISON GROSS
+
+
+   O ALISON GROSS, that lives in yon tow’r,
+      The ugliest witch in the north countrie,
+   She trysted me ae day up till her bow’r,
+      And mony fair speeches she made to me.
+
+   She straik’d my head, and she kaim’d my hair,
+      And she set me down saftly on her knee;
+   Says—“If ye will be my leman sae true,
+      Sae mony braw things as I will you gi’e.”
+
+   She shaw’d me a mantle of red scarlet,
+      With gowden flowers and fringes fine;
+   Says—“If ye will be my leman sae true,
+      This goodly gift it shall be thine.”
+
+   “Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
+      Hand far awa, and let me be;
+   I never will be your leman sae true,
+      And I wish I were out of your company.”
+
+   She neist brocht a sark of the saftest silk,
+      Weel wrought with pearls about the band;
+   Says—“If ye will be my ain true love,
+      This goodly gift ye shall command.”
+
+   She show’d me a cup of the good red gowd,
+      Weel set with jewels sae fair to see;
+   Says—“If ye will be my leman sae true,
+      This goodly gift I will you gi’e.”
+
+   “Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
+      Haud far awa, and let me be;
+   For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth,
+      For all the gifts that ye cou’d gi’e.”
+
+   She’s turn’d her richt and round about,
+      And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn;
+   And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon,
+      That she’d gar me rue the day I was born.
+
+   Then out has she ta’en a silver wand,
+      And she turn’d her three times round and round;
+   She mutter’d sic words, that my strength it fail’d,
+      And I fell down senseless on the ground.
+
+   She turn’d me into an ugly worm,
+      And gar’d me toddle about the tree;
+   And aye on ilka Saturday night,
+      Auld Alison Gross she came to me,
+
+   With silver basin, and silver kame,
+      To kame my headie upon her knee;
+   But rather than kiss her ugly mouth,
+      I’d ha’e toddled for ever about the tree.
+
+   But as it fell out on last Hallow-e’en,
+      When the seely court was ridin’ by,
+   The queen lighted down on a gowan bank,
+      Near by the tree where I wont to lye.
+
+   She took me up in her milk-white hand,
+      And she straik’d me three times o’er her knee;
+   She chang’d me again to my ain proper shape,
+      And nae mair do I toddle about the tree.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEIR OF LYNNE
+
+
+   OF all the lords in faire Scotland
+      A song I will begin:
+   Amongst them all dwelled a lord
+      Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.
+
+   His father and mother were dead him froe,
+      And so was the head of all his kinne;
+   He did neither cease nor blinne
+      To the cards and dice that he did run.
+
+   To drinke the wine that was so cleere!
+      With every man he would make merry.
+   And then bespake him John of the Scales,
+      Unto the heire of Lynne say’d hee,
+
+   Sayes “how dost thou, Lord of Lynne,
+      Doest either want gold or fee?
+   Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode
+      To such a good fellow as me?
+
+   “For . . . I . . . ” he said,
+      “My land, take it unto thee;
+   I draw you to record, my lords all;”
+      With that he cast him a Gods pennie.
+
+   He told him the gold upon the bord,
+      It wanted never a bare penny.
+   “That gold is thine, the land is mine,
+      The heire of Lynne I will bee.”
+
+   “Heeres gold enough,” saithe the heire of Lynne,
+      “Both for me and my company.”
+   He drunke the wine that was so cleere,
+      And with every man he made merry.
+
+   Within three quarters of a yeare
+      His gold and fee it waxed thinne,
+   His merry men were from him gone,
+      And left himselfe all alone.
+
+   He had never a penny left in his purse,
+      Never a penny but three,
+   And one was brasse and another was lead
+      And another was white mony.
+
+   “Now well-a-day!” said the heire of Lynne,
+      “Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!
+   For when I was the Lord of Lynne,
+      I neither wanted gold nor fee;
+
+   “For I have sold my lands so broad,
+      And have not left me one penny!
+   I must go now and take some read
+      Unto Edenborrow and beg my bread.”
+
+   He had not beene in Edenborrow
+      Nor three quarters of a yeare,
+   But some did give him and some said nay,
+      And some bid “to the deele gang yee!
+
+   “For if we should hang some land selfeer,
+      The first we would begin with thee.”
+   “Now well-a-day!” said the heire of Lynne,
+      “Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!
+
+   “For now I have sold my lands so broad
+      That merry man is irke with mee;
+   But when that I was the Lord of Lynne
+      Then on my land I lived merrily;
+
+   “And now I have sold my land so broade
+      That I have not left me one pennye!
+   God be with my father!” he said,
+      “On his land he lived merrily.”
+
+   Still in a study there as he stood,
+      He unbethought him of a bill,
+   He unbethought him of a bill
+      Which his father had left with him.
+
+   Bade him he should never on it looke
+      Till he was in extreame neede,
+   “And by my faith,” said the heire of Lynne,
+      “Then now I had never more neede.”
+
+   He tooke the bill and looked it on,
+      Good comfort that he found there;
+   It told him of a castle wall
+      Where there stood three chests in feare:
+
+   Two were full of the beaten gold,
+   The third was full of white money.
+   He turned then downe his bags of bread
+   And filled them full of gold so red.
+
+   Then he did never cease nor blinne
+   Till John of the Scales house he did winne.
+   When that he came John of the Scales,
+   Up at the speere he looked then;
+
+   There sate three lords upon a rowe,
+   And John o’ the Scales sate at the bord’s head,
+   And John o’ the Scales sate at the bord’s head
+   Because he was the lord of Lynne.
+
+   And then bespake the heire of Lynne
+      To John o’ the Scales wife thus sayd hee,
+   Sayd “Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott
+      That I may sit downe in this company?”
+
+   “Now Christ’s curse on my head,” she said,
+      “If I do trust thee one pennye,”
+   Then bespake a good fellowe,
+      Which sate by John o’ the Scales his knee,
+
+   Said “have thou here, thou heire of Lynne,
+      Forty-pence I will lend thee,—
+   Some time a good fellow thou hast beene
+      And other forty if it need bee.”
+
+   They drunken wine that was so cleere,
+      And every man they made merry,
+   And then bespake him John o’ the Scales
+      Unto the Lord of Lynne said hee;
+
+   Said “how doest thou heire of Lynne,
+      Since I did buy thy lands of thee?
+   I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe,
+      Nor ever did I buy it of thee.”
+
+   “I draw you to recorde, lords all:”
+      With that he cast him god’s penny;
+   Then he tooke to his bags of bread,
+      And they were full of the gold so red.
+
+   He told him the gold then over the borde
+      It wanted never a broad pennye;
+   “That gold is thine, the land is mine,
+      And the heire of Lynne againe I will bee.”
+
+   “Now well-a-day!” said John o’ the Scales’ wife,
+      “Well-a-day, and woe is me!
+   Yesterday I was the lady of Lynne,
+      And now I am but John o’ the Scales wife!”
+
+   Says “have thou here, thou good fellow,
+   Forty pence thou did lend me;
+   Forty pence thou did lend me,
+   And forty I will give thee,
+   I’ll make thee keeper of my forrest,
+   Both of the wild deere and the tame.”
+
+   But then bespake the heire of Lynne,
+      These were the words and thus spake hee,
+   “Christ’s curse light upon my crowne
+      If ere my land stand in any jeopardye!”
+
+
+
+
+GORDON OF BRACKLEY
+
+
+   DOWN Deeside cam Inveraye
+      Whistlin’ and playing,
+   An’ called loud at Brackley gate
+      Ere the day dawning—
+   “Come, Gordon of Brackley.
+      Proud Gordon, come down,
+   There’s a sword at your threshold
+      Mair sharp than your own.”
+
+   “Arise now, gay Gordon,”
+      His lady ’gan cry,
+   “Look, here is bold Inveraye
+      Driving your kye.”
+   “How can I go, lady,
+      An’ win them again,
+   When I have but ae sword,
+      And Inveraye ten?”
+
+   “Arise up, my maidens,
+      Wi’ roke and wi’ fan,
+   How blest had I been
+      Had I married a man!
+   Arise up, my maidens,
+      Tak’ spear and tak’ sword,
+   Go milk the ewes, Gordon,
+      An’ I will be lord.”
+
+   The Gordon sprung up
+      Wi’ his helm on his head,
+   Laid his hand on his sword,
+      An’ his thigh on his steed,
+   An’ he stooped low, and said,
+      As he kissed his young dame,
+   “There’s a Gordon rides out
+      That will never ride hame.”
+
+   There rode with fierce Inveraye
+      Thirty and three,
+   But wi’ Brackley were nane
+      But his brother and he;
+   Twa gallanter Gordons
+      Did never blade draw,
+   But against three-and-thirty
+      Wae’s me! what are twa?
+
+   Wi’ sword and wi’ dagger
+      They rushed on him rude;
+   The twa gallant Gordons
+      Lie bathed in their blude.
+   Frae the springs o’ the Dee
+      To the mouth o’ the Tay,
+   The Gordons mourn for him,
+      And curse Inveraye.
+
+   “O were ye at Brackley?
+      An’ what saw ye there?
+   Was his young widow weeping
+      An’ tearing her hair?”
+   “I looked in at Brackley,
+      I looked in, and oh!
+   There was mirth, there was feasting,
+      But naething o’ woe.
+
+   “As a rose bloomed the lady,
+      An’ blithe as a bride,
+   As a bridegroom bold Inveraye
+      Smiled by her side.
+   Oh! she feasted him there
+      As she ne’er feasted lord,
+   While the blood of her husband
+      Was moist on his sword.
+
+   “In her chamber she kept him
+      Till morning grew gray,
+   Thro’ the dark woods of Brackley
+      She shewed him the way.
+   ‘Yon wild hill,’ she said,
+      ‘Where the sun’s shining on,
+   Is the hill of Glentanner,—
+      One kiss, and begone!’”
+
+   There’s grief in the cottage,
+      There’s grief in the ha’,
+   For the gude, gallant Gordon
+      That’s dead an’ awa’.
+   To the bush comes the bud,
+      An’ the flower to the plain,
+   But the gude and the brave
+      They come never again.
+
+
+
+
+EDWARD, EDWARD
+
+
+   “WHY does your brand sae drop wi’ blude,
+            Edward, Edward?
+   Why does your brand sae drop wi’ blude
+      And why sae sad gang ye, O?”
+   “O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,
+            Mither, mither;
+   O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,
+      And I hae nae mair but he, O.”
+
+   “Your hawk’s blude was never sae red,
+            Edward, Edward;
+   Your hawk’s blude was never sae red,
+      My dear son, I tell thee, O.”
+   “O I hae killed my red-roan steed,
+            Mither, mither;
+   O I hae killed my red-roan steed,
+      That was sae fair and free, O.”
+
+   “Your steed was auld, and ye’ve plenty mair,
+            Edward, Edward;
+   Your steed was auld, and ye’ve plenty mair;
+      Some ither dule ye dree, O.”
+   “O I hae killed my father dear,
+            Mither, mither;
+   O I hae killed my father dear,
+      Alas, and wae is me, O!”
+
+   “And whatten penance will ye dree for that,
+            Edward, Edward?
+   Whatten penance will ye dree for that?
+      My dear son, now tell me, O.”
+   “I’ll set my feet in yonder boat,
+            Mither, mither;
+   I’ll set my feet in yonder boat,
+      And I’ll fare over the sea, O.”
+
+   “And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your ha’,
+            Edward, Edward?
+   And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your ha’,
+      That were sae fair to see, O?”
+   “I’ll let them stand till they doun fa’,
+            Mither, mither;
+   I’ll let them stand till they doun fa’,
+      For here never mair maun I be, O.”
+
+   “And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
+            Edward, Edward?
+   And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
+      When ye gang ower the sea, O?”
+   “The warld’s room: let them beg through life,
+            Mither, mither;
+   The warld’s room: let them beg through life;
+      For them never mair will I see, O.”
+
+   “And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
+            Edward, Edward?
+   And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
+      My dear son, now tell me, O?”
+   “The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear,
+            Mither, mither;
+   The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear:
+      Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!”
+
+
+
+
+YOUNG BENJIE
+
+
+   OF all the maids of fair Scotland,
+      The fairest was Marjorie;
+   And young Benjie was her ae true love,
+      And a dear true love was he.
+
+   And wow but they were lovers dear,
+      And lov’d full constantlie;
+   But aye the mair when they fell out,
+      The sairer was their plea.
+
+   And they ha’e quarrell’d on a day,
+      Till Marjorie’s heart grew wae;
+   And she said she’d chuse another luve,
+      And let young Benjie gae.
+
+   And he was stout and proud-hearted,
+      And thought o’t bitterlie;
+   And he’s gane by the wan moonlight,
+      To meet his Marjorie.
+
+   “Oh, open, open, my true love,
+      Oh, open and let me in!”
+   “I darena open, young Benjie,
+      My three brothers are within.”
+
+   “Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie burd,
+      Sae loud’s I hear ye lee;
+   As I came by the Louden banks,
+      They bade gude e’en to me.
+
+   “But fare ye weel, my ae fause love,
+      That I have lov’d sae lang!
+   It sets ye chuse another love,
+      And let young Benjie gang.”
+
+   Then Marjorie turn’d her round about,
+      The tear blinding her e’e;
+   “I darena, darena let thee in,
+      But I’ll come down to thee.”
+
+   Then salt she smil’d, and said to him—
+      “Oh, what ill ha’e I done?”
+   He took her in his arms twa,
+      And threw her o’er the linn.
+
+   The stream was strong, the maid was stout,
+      And laith, laith to be dang;
+   But ere she wan the Louden banks,
+      Her fair colour was wan.
+
+   Then up bespake her eldest brother—
+      “Oh, see na ye what I see?”
+   And out then spake her second brother—
+      “It is our sister Marjorie!”
+
+   Out then spake her eldest brother—
+      “Oh, how shall we her ken?”
+   And out then spake her youngest brother—
+      “There’s a honey mark on her chin.”
+
+   Then they’ve ta’en the comely corpse,
+      And laid it on the ground;
+   Saying—“Wha has kill’d our ae sister?
+      And how can he be found?
+
+   “The night it is her low lykewake,
+      The morn her burial day;
+   And we maun watch at mirk midnight,
+      And hear what she will say.”
+
+   With doors ajar, and candles light,
+      And torches burning clear,
+   The streekit corpse, till still midnight,
+      They waked, but naething hear.
+
+   About the middle of the night
+      The cocks began to craw;
+   And at the dead hour of the night,
+      The corpse began to thraw.
+
+   “Oh, wha has done thee wrang, sister,
+      Or dared the deadly sin?
+   Wha was sae stout, and fear’d nae dout,
+      As throw ye o’er the linn?”
+
+   “Young Benjie was the first ae man
+      I laid my love upon;
+   He was sae stout and proud-hearted,
+      He threw me o’er the linn.”
+
+   “Shall we young Benjie head, sister?
+      Shall we young Benjie hang?
+   Or shall we pike out his twa gray een,
+      And punish him ere he gang?”
+
+   “Ye maunna Benjie head, brothers,
+      Ye maunna Benjie hang;
+   But ye maun pike out his twa gray een.
+      And punish him ere he gang.
+
+   “Tie a green gravat round his neck,
+      And lead him out and in,
+   And the best ae servant about your house
+      To wait young Benjie on.
+
+   “And aye at every seven years’ end,
+      Ye’ll take him to the linn;
+   For that’s the penance he maun dree,
+      To scug his deadly sin.”
+
+
+
+
+AULD MAITLAND
+
+
+   THERE lived a king in southern land,
+      King Edward hight his name;
+   Unwordily he wore the crown,
+      Till fifty years were gane.
+
+   He had a sister’s son o’s ain,
+      Was large of blood and bane;
+   And afterward, when he came up,
+      Young Edward hight his name.
+
+   One day he came before the king,
+      And kneel’d low on his knee:
+   “A boon, a boon, my good uncle,
+      I crave to ask of thee!
+
+   “At our lang wars, in fair Scotland,
+      I fain ha’e wish’d to be,
+   If fifteen hundred waled wight men
+      You’ll grant to ride with me.”
+
+   “Thou shall ha’e thae, thou shall ha’e mae;
+      I say it sickerlie;
+   And I myself, an auld gray man,
+      Array’d your host shall see.”
+
+   King Edward rade, King Edward ran—
+      I wish him dool and pyne!
+   Till he had fifteen hundred men
+      Assembled on the Tyne.
+
+   And thrice as many at Berwicke
+      Were all for battle bound,
+   [Who, marching forth with false Dunbar,
+      A ready welcome found.]
+
+   They lighted on the banks of Tweed,
+      And blew their coals sae het,
+   And fired the Merse and Teviotdale,
+      All in an evening late.
+
+   As they fared up o’er Lammermoor,
+      They burn’d baith up and down,
+   Until they came to a darksome house,
+      Some call it Leader-Town.
+
+   “Wha hauds this house?” young Edward cried,
+      “Or wha gi’est o’er to me?”
+   A gray-hair’d knight set up his head,
+      And crackit right crousely:
+
+   “Of Scotland’s king I haud my house;
+      He pays me meat and fee;
+   And I will keep my gude auld house,
+      While my house will keep me.”
+
+   They laid their sowies to the wall,
+      With mony a heavy peal;
+   But he threw o’er to them agen
+      Baith pitch and tar barrel.
+
+   With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn,
+      Amang them fast he threw;
+   Till mony of the Englishmen
+      About the wall he slew.
+
+   Full fifteen days that braid host lay,
+      Sieging Auld Maitland keen;
+   Syne they ha’e left him, hail and feir,
+      Within his strength of stane.
+
+   Then fifteen barks, all gaily good,
+      Met them upon a day,
+   Which they did lade with as much spoil
+      As they you’d bear away.
+
+   “England’s our ain by heritage;
+      And what can us withstand,
+   Now we ha’e conquer’d fair Scotland,
+      With buckler, bow, and brand?”
+
+   Then they are on to the land of France,
+      Where auld king Edward lay,
+   Burning baith castle, tower, and town,
+      That he met in his way.
+
+   Until he came unto that town,
+      Which some call Billop-Grace:
+   There were Auld Maitland’s sons, all three,
+      Learning at school, alas!
+
+   The eldest to the youngest said,
+      “Oh, see ye what I see?
+   If all be true yon standard says,
+      We’re fatherless all three.
+
+   “For Scotland’s conquer’d up and down;
+      Landmen we’ll never be!
+   Now, will you go, my brethren two,
+      And try some jeopardy?”
+
+   Then they ha’e saddled twa black horse,
+      Twa black horse and a gray;
+   And they are on to king Edward’s host,
+      Before the dawn of day.
+
+   When they arrived before the host,
+      They hover’d on the lay:
+   “Wilt thou lend me our king’s standard,
+      To bear a little way?”
+
+   “Where wast thou bred? where wast thou born?
+      Where, or in what countrie?”
+   “In north of England I was born;”
+      (It needed him to lee.)
+
+   “A knight me gat, a ladye bore,
+      I am a squire of high renown;
+   I well may bear’t to any king
+      That ever yet wore crown.”
+
+   “He ne’er came of an Englishman,
+      Had sic an e’e or bree;
+   But thou art the likest Auld Maitland,
+      That ever I did see.
+
+   “But sic a gloom on ae browhead,
+      Grant I ne’er see again!
+   For mony of our men he slew,
+      And mony put to pain.”
+
+   When Maitland heard his father’s name,
+      An angry man was he;
+   Then, lifting up a gilt dagger,
+      Hung low down by his knee,
+
+   He stabb’d the knight the standard bore,
+      He stabb’d him cruellie;
+   Then caught the standard by the neuk,
+      And fast away rode he.
+
+   “Now, is’t na time, brothers,” he cried,
+      “Now, is’t na time to flee?”
+   “Ay, by my sooth!” they baith replied,
+      “We’ll bear you companye.”
+
+   The youngest turn’d him in a path,
+      And drew a burnish’d brand,
+   And fifteen of the foremost slew,
+      Till back the lave did stand.
+
+   He spurr’d the gray into the path,
+      Till baith his sides they bled:
+   “Gray! thou maun carry me away,
+      Or my life lies in wad!”
+
+   The captain lookit o’er the wall,
+      About the break of day;
+   There he beheld the three Scots lads
+      Pursued along the way.
+
+   “Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig!
+      My nephews are at hand;
+   And they shall lodge with me to-night,
+      In spite of all England.”
+
+   Whene’er they came within the yate,
+      They thrust their horse them frae,
+   And took three lang spears in their hands,
+      Saying—“Here shall come nae me!”
+
+   And they shot out, and they shot in,
+      Till it was fairly day;
+   When mony of the Englishmen
+      About the draw-brig lay.
+
+   Then they ha’e yoked the carts and wains,
+      To ca’ their dead away,
+   And shot auld dykes abune the lave,
+      In gutters where they lay.
+
+   The king, at his pavilion door,
+      Was heard aloud to say:
+   “Last night, three of the lads of France
+      My standard stole away.
+
+   “With a fause tale, disguised they came,
+      And with a fauser trayne;
+   And to regain my gaye standard,
+      These men where all down slayne.”
+
+   “It ill befits,” the youngest said,
+      “A crownèd king to lee;
+   But, or that I taste meat and drink,
+      Reprovèd shall he be.”
+
+   He went before king Edward straight,
+      And kneel’d low on his knee:
+   “I wou’d ha’e leave, my lord,” he said,
+      “To speak a word with thee.”
+
+   The king he turn’d him round about,
+      And wistna what to say:
+   Quo’ he, “Man, thou’s ha’e leave to speak,
+      Though thou should speak all day.”
+
+   “Ye said that three young lads of France
+      Your standard stole away,
+   With a fause tale and fauser trayne,
+      And mony men did slay;
+
+   “But we are nane the lads of France,
+      Nor e’er pretend to be:
+   We are three lads of fair Scotland,—
+      Auld Maitland’s sons are we.
+
+   “Nor is there men in all your host
+      Daur fight us three to three.”
+   “Now, by my sooth,” young Edward said,
+      “Weel fitted ye shall be!
+
+   “Piercy shall with the eldest fight,
+      And Ethert Lunn with thee;
+   William of Lancaster the third,
+      And bring your fourth to me!
+
+   “Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot
+      Has cower’d beneath thy hand;
+   For every drap of Maitland blood,
+      I’ll gi’e a rig of land.”
+
+   He clanked Piercy o’er the head
+      A deep wound and a sair,
+   Till the best blood of his body
+      Came running down his hair.
+
+   “Now, I’ve slayne ane; slay ye the twa;
+      And that’s gude companye;
+   And if the twa shou’d slay ye baith,
+      Ye’se get nae help frae me.”
+
+   But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear,
+      Had many battles seen;
+   He set the youngest wonder sair,
+      Till the eldest he grew keen.
+
+   “I am nae king, nor nae sic thing:
+      My word it shanna stand!
+   For Ethert shall a buffet bide,
+      Come he beneath my brand.”
+
+   He clankit Ethert o’er the head
+      A deep wound and a sair,
+   Till the best blood in his body
+      Came running o’er his hair.
+
+   “Now, I’ve slayne twa; slay ye the ane;
+      Isna that gude companye?
+   And though the ane shou’d slay ye baith.
+      Ye’se get nae help of me.”
+
+   The twa-some they ha’e slayne the ane,
+      They maul’d him cruellie;
+   Then hung him over the draw-brig,
+      That all the host might see.
+
+   They rade their horse, they ran their horse,
+      Then hover’d on the lee:
+   “We be three lads of fair Scotland,
+      That fain wou’d fighting see.”
+
+   This boasting when young Edward heard,
+      An angry man was he:
+   “I’ll take yon lad, I’ll bind yon lad,
+      And bring him bound to thee!
+
+   “Now, God forbid,” king Edward said,
+      “That ever thou shou’d try!
+   Three worthy leaders we ha’e lost,
+      And thou the forth wou’d lie.
+
+   “If thou shou’dst hang on yon draw-brig,
+      Blythe wou’d I never be.”
+   But, with the poll-axe in his hand,
+      Upon the brig sprang be.
+
+   The first stroke that young Edward ga’e,
+      He struck with might and main;
+   He clove the Maitland’s helmet stout,
+      And bit right nigh the brain.
+
+   When Maitland saw his ain blood fall,
+      An angry man was he;
+   He let his weapon frae him fall,
+      And at his throat did flee.
+
+   And thrice about he did him swing,
+      Till on the ground he light,
+   Where he has halden young Edward,
+      Tho’ he was great in might.
+
+   “Now let him up,” king Edward cried,
+      “And let him come to me;
+   And for the deed that thou hast done,
+      Thou shalt ha’e earldomes three!”
+
+   “It’s ne’er be said in France, nor e’er
+      In Scotland, when I’m hame,
+   That Edward once lay under me,
+      And e’er gat up again!”
+
+   He pierced him through and through the heart,
+      He maul’d him cruellie;
+   Then hung him o’er the draw-brig,
+      Beside the other three.
+
+   “Now take frae me that feather-bed,
+      Make me a bed of strae!
+   I wish I hadna lived this day,
+      To make my heart sae wae.
+
+   “If I were ance at London Tow’r,
+      Where I was wont to be,
+   I never mair shou’d gang frae hame,
+      Till borne on a bier-tree.”
+
+
+
+
+THE BROOMFIELD HILL
+
+
+   THERE was a knight and lady bright
+      Set trysts amo the broom,
+   The one to come at morning eav,
+      The other at afternoon.
+
+   “I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,” he said,
+      “An hundred marks and ten,
+   That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills,
+      Return a maiden again.”
+
+   “I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,” she said,
+      “A hundred pounds and ten,
+   That I will gang to Broomfield Hills,
+      A maiden return again.”
+
+   The lady stands in her bower door,
+      And thus she made her mane:
+   “Oh, shall I gang to Broomfield Hills,
+      Or shall I stay at hame?
+
+   “If I do gang to Broomfield Hills
+      A maid I’ll not return;
+   But if I stay from Broomfield Hills,
+      I’ll be a maid mis-sworn.”
+
+   Then out it speaks an auld witch wife,
+      Sat in the bower aboon:
+   “O ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills,
+      Ye shall not stay at hame.
+
+   “But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills,
+      Walk nine times round and round;
+   Down below a bonny burn bank,
+      Ye’ll find your love sleeping sound.
+
+   “Ye’ll pu the bloom frae off the broom,
+      Strew’t at his head and feet,
+   And aye the thicker that ye do strew,
+      The sounder he will sleep.
+
+   “The broach that is on your napkin,
+      Put it on his breast bane,
+   To let him know, when he does wake,
+      That’s true love’s come and gane.
+
+   “The rings that are on your fingers,
+      Lay them down on a stane,
+   To let him know, when he does wake,
+      That’s true love’s come and gane.
+
+   “And when he hae your work all done,
+      Ye’ll gang to a bush o’ broom,
+   And then you’ll hear what he will say,
+      When he sees ye are gane.”
+
+   When she came to Broomfield Hills,
+      She walked it nine times round,
+   And down below yon burn bank,
+      She found him sleeping sound.
+
+   She pu’d the bloom frae off the broom,
+      Strew’d it at ’s head and feet,
+   And aye the thicker that she strewd,
+      The sounder he did sleep.
+
+   The broach that was on her napkin,
+      She put it on his breast-bane,
+   To let him know, when he did wake,
+      His love was come and gane.
+
+   The rings that were on her fingers,
+      She laid upon a stane,
+   To let him know, when he did wake,
+      His love was come and gane.
+
+   Now when she had her work all dune,
+      She went to a bush o’ broom,
+   That she might hear what he did say,
+      When he saw that she was gane.
+
+   “O where were ye my guid grey hound,
+      That I paid for sae dear,
+   Ye didna waken me frae my sleep
+      When my true love was sae near?”
+
+   “I scraped wi’ my foot, master,
+      Till a’ my collars rang,
+   But still the mair that I did scrape,
+      Waken woud ye nane.”
+
+   “Where were ye, my bony brown steed,
+      That I paid for sae dear,
+   That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep
+      When my love was sae near?”
+
+   “I patted wi my foot, master,
+      Till a’ my bridles rang,
+   But the mair that I did patt,
+      Waken woud ye nane.”
+
+   “O where were ye, my gay goss-hawk
+      That I paid for sae dear,
+   That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep
+      When ye saw my love near?”
+
+   “I flapped wi my wings, master,
+      Till a’ my bells they rang,
+   But still, the mair that I did flap,
+      Waken woud ye nane.”
+
+   “O where were ye, my merry young men
+      That I pay meat and fee,
+   That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep
+      When my love ye did see?”
+
+   “Ye’ll sleep mair on the night, master,
+      And wake mair on the day;
+   Gae sooner down to Broomfield Hills
+      When ye’ve sic pranks to play.
+
+   “If I had seen any armèd men
+      Come riding over the hill—
+   But I saw but a fair lady
+      Come quietly you until.”
+
+   “O wae mat worth yow, my young men,
+      That I pay meat and fee,
+   That ye woudna waken me frae sleep
+      When ye my love did see?
+
+   “O had I waked when she was nigh,
+      And o her got my will,
+   I shoudna cared upon the morn
+      The sma birds o her were fill.”
+
+   When she went out, right bitter she wept,
+      But singing came she hame;
+   Says, “I hae been at Broomfield Hills,
+      And maid returned again.”
+
+
+
+
+WILLIE’S LADYE
+
+
+   WILLIE has ta’en him o’er the faem,
+   He’s wooed a wife, and brought her hame;
+   He’s wooed her for her yellow hair,
+   But his mother wrought her meikle care;
+
+   And meikle dolour gar’d her dree,
+   For lighter she can never be;
+   But in her bow’r she sits with pain,
+   And Willie mourns o’er her in vain.
+
+   And to his mother he has gane,
+   That vile rank witch, of vilest kind!
+   He says—“My lady has a cup,
+   With gowd and silver set about;
+   This gudely gift shall be your ain,
+   And let her be lighter of her bairn.”
+
+   “Of her bairn she’s never be lighter,
+   Nor in her bow’r to shine the brighter
+   But she shall die, and turn to clay,
+   And you shall wed another may.”
+
+   “Another may I’ll never wed,
+   Another may I’ll never bring hame.”
+   But, sighing, said that weary wight—
+   “I wish my life were at an end.”
+
+   “Yet gae ye to your mother again,
+   That vile rank witch, of vilest kind
+   And say, your ladye has a steed,
+   The like of him’s no in the land of Leed.
+
+   “For he is silver shod before,
+   And he is gowden shod behind;
+   At every tuft of that horse mane
+   There’s a golden chess, and a bell to ring.
+   This gudely gift shall be her ain,
+   And let me be lighter of my bairn.”
+
+   “Of her young bairn she’s ne’er be lighter,
+   Nor in her bow’r to shine the brighter;
+   But she shall die, and turn to clay,
+   And ye shall wed another may.”
+
+   “Another may I’ll never wed,
+   Another may I’ll never bring hame.”
+   But, sighing, said that weary wight—
+   “I wish my life were at an end!”
+
+   “Yet gae ye to your mother again,
+   That vile rank witch, of rankest kind!
+   And say, your ladye has a girdle,
+   It’s all red gowd to the middle;
+
+   “And aye, at ilka siller hem,
+   Hang fifty siller bells and ten;
+   This gudely gift shall be her ain,
+   And let me be lighter of my bairn.”
+
+   “Of her young bairn she’s ne’er be lighter,
+   Nor in your bow’r to shine the brighter;
+   For she shall die, and turn to clay,
+   And thou shall wed another may.”
+
+   “Another may I’ll never wed,
+   Another may I’ll never bring hame.”
+   But, sighing, said that weary wight—
+   “I wish my days were at an end!”
+
+   Then out and spak the Billy Blind,
+   He spak aye in good time [his mind]:—
+   “Yet gae ye to the market place,
+   And there do buy a loaf of wace;
+   Do shape it bairn and bairnly like,
+   And in it two glassen een you’ll put.
+
+   “Oh, wha has loosed the nine witch-knots
+   That were amang that ladye’s locks?
+   And wha’s ta’en out the kames of care,
+   That were amang that ladye’s hair?
+
+   “And wha has ta’en down that bush of woodbine
+   That hung between her bow’r and mine?
+   And wha has kill’d the master kid
+   That ran beneath that ladye’s bed?
+   And wha has loosed her left foot shee,
+   And let that ladye lighter be?”
+
+   Syne, Willie’s loosed the nine witch-knots
+   That were amang that ladye’s locks;
+   And Willie’s ta’en out the kames of care
+   That were into that ladye’s hair;
+   And he’s ta’en down the bush of woodbine,
+   Hung atween her bow’r and the witch carline.
+
+   And he has killed the master kid
+   That ran beneath that ladye’s bed;
+   And he has loosed her left foot shee,
+   And latten that ladye lighter be;
+   And now he has gotten a bonnie son,
+   And meikle grace be him upon.
+
+
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK
+
+
+   IN somer when the shawes be sheyne,
+      And leves be large and longe,
+   Hit is full mery in feyre foreste
+      To here the foulys song.
+
+   To se the dere draw to the dale,
+      And leve the hilles hee,
+   And shadow hem in the leves grene,
+      Vndur the grene-wode tre.
+
+   Hit befell on Whitsontide,
+      Erly in a may mornyng,
+   The son vp fayre can shyne,
+      And the briddis mery can syng.
+
+   “This is a mery mornyng,” seid Litulle Johne,
+      “Be hym that dyed on tre;
+   A more mery man than I am one
+      Lyves not in Cristianté.”
+
+   “Pluk vp thi hert, my dere mayster,”
+      Litulle Johne can sey,
+   “And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
+      In a mornynge of may.”
+
+   “Ze on thynge greves me,” seid Robyne,
+      “And does my hert mych woo,
+   That I may not so solem day
+      To mas nor matyns goo.
+
+   “Hit is a fourtnet and more,” seyd hee,
+      “Syn I my Sauyour see;
+   To day will I to Notyngham,” seid Robyn,
+      “With the myght of mylde Mary.”
+
+   Then spake Moche the mylner sune,
+      Euer more wel hym betyde,
+   “Take xii thi wyght zemen
+      Well weppynd be thei side.
+   Such on wolde thi selfe slon
+      That xii dar not abyde.”
+
+   “Off alle my mery men,” seid Robyne,
+      “Be my feithe I wil non haue;
+   But Litulle Johne shall beyre my bow
+      Til that me list to drawe.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   “Thou shalle beyre thin own,” seid Litulle Jon,
+      “Maister, and I wil beyre myne,
+   And we wille shete a peny,” seid Litulle Jon,
+      “Vnder the grene wode lyne.”
+
+   “I wil not shete a peny,” seyde Robyn Hode,
+      “In feith, Litulle Johne, with thee,
+   But euer for on as thou shetes,” seid Robyn,
+      “In feith I holde the thre.”
+
+   Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too,
+      Bothe at buske and brome,
+   Til Litulle Johne wan of his maister
+      V s. to hose and shone.
+
+   A ferly strife fel them betwene,
+      As they went bi the way;
+   Litull Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs,
+      And Robyn Hode seid schortly nay.
+
+   With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone,
+      And smote him with his honde;
+   Litul John waxed wroth therwith,
+      And pulled out his bright bronde.
+
+   “Were thou not my maister,” seid Litulle Johne,
+      “Thou shuldis by hit ful sore;
+   Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn,
+      For thou getes me no more.”
+
+   Then Robyn goes to Notyngham,
+      Hymselfe mornynge allone,
+   And Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode,
+      The pathes he knowe alkone.
+
+   Whan Robyn came to Notyngham,
+      Sertenly withoutene layne,
+   He prayed to God and myld Mary
+      To brynge hym out saue agayne.
+
+   He gos into seynt Mary chirche,
+      And knelyd downe before the rode;
+   Alle that euer were the churche within
+      Beheld wel Robyne Hode.
+
+   Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke,
+      I pray to God woo he be;
+   Full sone he knew gode Robyn
+      As sone as he hym se.
+
+   Out at the durre he ran
+      Ful sone and anon;
+   Alle the zatis of Notyngham
+      He made to be sparred euerychone.
+
+   “Rise vp,” he seid, “thou prowde schereff,
+      Buske the and make the bowne;
+   I haue spyed the kynges felone,
+      For sothe he is in this towne.
+
+   “I haue spyed the false felone,
+      As he stondes at his masse;
+   Hit is longe of the,” seide the munke,
+      “And euer he fro vs passe.
+
+   “This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode;
+      Vnder the grene wode lynde,
+   He robbyt me onys of a C pound,
+      Hit shalle neuer out of my mynde.”
+
+   Vp then rose this prowd schereff,
+      And zade towarde hym zare;
+   Many was the modur son
+      To the kyrk with him can fare.
+
+   In at the durres thei throly thrast
+      With staves ful gode ilkone,
+   “Alas, alas,” seid Robin Hode,
+      “Now mysse I Litulle Johne.”
+
+   But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde
+      That hangit down be his kne;
+   Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust,
+      Thidurward wold he.
+
+   Thryes thorow at them he ran,
+      Then for sothe as I yow say,
+   And woundyt many a modur sone,
+      And xii he slew that day.
+
+   Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed
+      Sertanly he brake in too;
+   “The smyth that the made,” seid Robyn,
+      “I pray God wyrke him woo.
+
+   “For now am I weppynlesse,” seid Robyne,
+      “Alasse, agayn my wylle;
+   But if I may fle these traytors fro,
+      I wot thei wil me kylle.”
+
+   Robyns men to the churche ran
+      Throout hem euerilkon;
+   Sum fel in swonyng as thei were dede,
+      And lay still as any stone.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   Non of theym were in her mynde
+      But only Litulle Jon.
+
+   “Let be your dule,” seid Litulle Jon,
+      “For his luf that dyed on tre;
+   Ze that shulde be duzty men,
+      Hit is gret shame to se.
+
+   “Oure maister has bene hard bystode,
+      And zet scapyd away;
+   Pluk up your hertes and leve this mone,
+      And herkyn what I shal say.
+
+   “He has seruyd our lady many a day,
+      And zet wil securly;
+   Therefore I trust in her specialy
+      No wycked deth shal he dye.
+
+   “Therfor be glad,” seid Litul Johne,
+      “And let this mournyng be,
+   And I shall be the munkes gyde,
+      With the myght of mylde Mary.
+
+   “And I mete hym,” seid Litull Johne,
+      “We will go but we too
+   . . . . . . .
+      . . . . . . .
+
+   “Loke that ze kepe wel our tristil tre
+      Vnder the levys smale,
+   And spare non of this venyson
+      That gose in thys vale.”
+
+   Forthe thei went these zemen too,
+      Litul Johne and Moche onfere,
+   And lokid on Moche emys hows
+      The hyeway lay fulle nere.
+
+   Litul John stode at a window in the mornynge,
+      And lokid forth at a stage;
+   He was war wher the munke came ridynge,
+      And with him a litul page.
+
+   “Be my feith,” said Litul Johne to Moche,
+      “I can the tel tithyngus gode;
+   I se wher the munk comys rydyng,
+      I know hym be his wyde hode.”
+
+   Thei went into the way these zemen bothe
+      As curtes men and hende,
+   Thei spyrred tithyngus at the munke,
+      As thei hade bene his frende.
+
+   “Fro whens come ze,” seid Litul Johne,
+      “Tel vs tithyngus, I yow pray,
+   Off a false owtlay [called Robyn Hode],
+      Was takyn zisturday.
+
+   “He robbyt me and my felowes bothe
+      Of xx marke in serten;
+   If that false owtlay be takyn,
+      For sothe we wolde be fayne.”
+
+   “So did he me,” seid the munke,
+      “Of a C pound and more;
+   I layde furst hande hym apon,
+      Ze may thonke me therefore.”
+
+   “I pray God thanke yow,” seid Litulle Johne,
+      “And we wil when we may;
+   We wil go with yow, with your leve,
+      And brynge yow on your way.
+
+   “For Robyn Hode hase many a wilde felow,
+      I telle yow in certen;
+   If thei wist ze rode this way,
+      In feith ze shulde be slayn.”
+
+   As thei went talkyng be the way,
+      The munke an Litulle Johne,
+   Johne toke the munkes horse be the hede
+      Ful sone and anone.
+
+   Johne toke the munkes horse be the hed,
+      For sothe as I yow say,
+   So did Muche the litulle page,
+      For he shulde not stirre away.
+
+   Be the golett of the hode
+      Johne pulled the munke downe;
+   Johne was nothynge of hym agast,
+      He lete hym falle on his crowne.
+
+   Litulle Johne was sore agrevyd,
+      And drew out his swerde in hye;
+   The munke saw he shulde be ded,
+      Lowd mercy can he crye.
+
+   “He was my maister,” said Litulle Johne,
+      “That thou hase browzt in bale;
+   Shalle thou neuer cum at our kynge
+      For to telle hym tale.”
+
+   John smote of the munkes hed,
+      No longer wolde he dwelle;
+   So did Moche the litulle page,
+      For ferd lest he wold tell.
+
+   Ther thei beryed hem both
+      In nouther mosse nor lynge,
+   And Litulle Johne and Muche infere
+      Bare the letturs to oure kyng.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   He kneled down vpon—his kne,
+      “God zow sane, my lege lorde,
+   Jesus yow saue and se.
+
+   “God yow saue, my lege kyng,”
+      To speke Johne was fulle bolde;
+   He gaf hym tbe letturs in his hond,
+      The kyng did hit unfold.
+
+   The kyng red the letturs anon,
+      And seid, “so met I the,
+   Ther was neuer zoman in mery Inglond
+      I longut so sore to see.
+
+   “Wher is the munke that these shuld haue browzt?”
+      Oure kynge gan say;
+   “Be my trouthe,” seid Litull Jone,
+      “He dyed aftur the way.”
+
+   The kyng gaf Moche and Litul Jon
+      xx pound in sertan,
+   And made theim zemen of the crowne,
+      And bade theim go agayn.
+
+   He gaf Johne the seel in hand,
+      The scheref for to bere,
+   To brynge Robyn hym to,
+      And no man do hym dere.
+
+   Johne toke his leve at cure kyng,
+      The sothe as I yow say;
+   The next way to Notyngham
+      To take he zede the way.
+
+   When Johne came to Notyngham
+      The zatis were sparred ychone;
+   Johne callid vp the porter,
+      He answerid sone anon.
+
+   “What is the cause,” seid Litul John,
+      “Thou sparris the zates so fast?”
+   “Because of Robyn Hode,” seid [the] porter,
+      “In depe prison is cast.
+
+   “Johne, and Moche, and Wylle Scathlok,
+      For sothe as I yow say,
+   Thir slew oure men vpon oure wallis,
+      And sawtene vs euery day.”
+
+   Litulle Johne spyrred aftur the schereff,
+      And sone he hym fonde;
+   He oppyned the kyngus privè seelle,
+      And gaf hyn in his honde.
+
+   When the schereft saw the kyngus seelle,
+      He did of his hode anon;
+   “Wher is the munke that bare the letturs?”
+      He said to Litulle Johne.
+
+   “He is so fayn of hym,” seid Litulle Johne,
+      “For sothe as I yow sey,
+   He has made hym abot of Westmynster,
+      A lorde of that abbay.”
+
+   The scheref made John gode chere,
+      And gaf hym wine of the best;
+   At nyzt thei went to her bedde,
+      And euery man to his rest.
+
+   When the scheref was on-slepe
+      Dronken of wine and ale,
+   Litul Johne and Moche for sothe
+      Toke the way vnto the jale.
+
+   Litul Johne callid vp the jayler,
+      And bade him ryse anon;
+   He seid Robyn Hode had brokyn preson,
+      And out of hit was gon.
+
+   The portere rose anon sertan,
+      As sone as he herd John calle;
+   Litul Johne was redy with a swerd,
+      And bare hym to the walle.
+
+   “Now will I be porter,” seid Litul Johne,
+      “And take the keyes in honde;”
+   He toke the way to Robyn Hode,
+      And sone he hym vnbonde.
+
+   He gaf hym a gode swerd in his hond,
+      His hed with for to kepe,
+   And ther as the walle was lowyst
+      Anon down can thei lepe.
+
+   Be that the cok began to crow,
+      The day began to sprynge,
+   The scheref fond the jaylier ded,
+      The comyn belle made he rynge.
+
+   He made a crye thoroowt al the tow[n],
+      Whedur he be zoman or knave,
+   That cowthe brynge hyrn Robyn Hode,
+      His warisone he shuld haue.
+
+   “For I dar neuer,” said the scheref,
+      “Cum before oure kynge,
+   For if I do, I wot serten,
+      For sothe he wil me henge.”
+
+   The scheref made to seke Notyngham,
+      Bothe be strete and stye,
+   And Robyn was in mery Scherwode
+      As lizt as lef on lynde.
+
+   Then bespake gode Litulle Johne,
+      To Robyn Hode can he say,
+   “I haue done the a gode turne for an euylle,
+      Quyte me whan thou may.
+
+   “I haue done the a gode turne,” said Litulle Johne,
+      “For sothe as I you saie;
+   I haue brouzt the vnder grene wode lyne;
+      Fare wel, and haue gode day.”
+
+   “Nay, be my trouthe,” seid Robyn Hode,
+      “So shalle hit neuer be;
+   I make the maister,” seid Robyn Hode,
+      “Off alle my men and me.”
+
+   “Nay, be my trouthe,” seid Litulle Johne,
+      “So shall hit neuer be,
+   But lat me be a felow,” seid Litulle Johne,
+      “Non odur kepe I’ll be.”
+
+   Thus Johne gate Robyn Hode out of prisone,
+      Sertan withoutyn layne;
+   When his men saw hym hol and sounde,
+      For sothe they were ful fayne.
+
+   They filled in wyne, and made him glad,
+      Vnder the levys smale,
+   And zete pastes of venysone,
+      That gode was with ale.
+
+   Than worde came to oure kynge,
+      How Robyn Hode was gone,
+   And how the scheref of Notyngham
+      Durst neuer loke hyme vpone.
+
+   Then bespake oure cumly kynge,
+      In an angur hye,
+   “Litulle Johne hase begyled the schereff,
+      In faith so hase he me.
+
+   “Litulle Johne has begyled vs bothe,
+      And that fulle wel I se,
+   Or ellis the schereff of Notyngham
+      Hye hongut shuld he be.
+
+   “I made hem zemen of the crowne,
+      And gaf hem fee with my hond,
+   I gaf hem grithe,” seid oure kyng,
+      “Thorowout alle mery Inglond.
+
+   “I gaf hem grithe,” then seide oure kyng,
+      “I say, so mot I the,
+   For sothe soche a zeman as he is on
+      In alle Ingland ar not thre.
+
+   “He is trew to his maister,” seide oure kynge,
+      “I say, be swete seynt Johne;
+   He louys bettur Robyn Hode,
+      Then he dose vs ychone.
+
+   “Robyne Hode is euer bond to him,
+      Bothe in strete and stalle;
+   Speke no more of this matter,” seid oure kynge,
+      “But John has begyled vs alle.”
+
+   Thus endys the talkyng of the munke
+      And Robyne Hode i-wysse;
+   God, that is euer a crowned kyng,
+      Bryng vs alle to his blisse.
+
+
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE POTTER
+
+
+   IN schomer, when the leves spryng,
+      The bloschems on every bowe,
+   So merey doyt the berdys syng
+      Yn wodys merey now.
+
+   Herkens, god yemen,
+      Comley, corteysse, and god,
+   On of the best that yever bar bou,
+      Hes name was Roben Hode.
+
+   Roben Hood was the yemans name,
+      That was boyt corteys and fre;
+   For the loffe of owr ladey,
+      All wemen werschep he.
+
+   Bot as the god yemen stod on a day,
+      Among hes mery manèy,
+   He was war of a prowd potter,
+      Cam dryfyng owyr the ley.
+
+   “Yonder comet a prod potter,” seyde Roben,
+      “That long hayt hantyd this wey;
+   He was never so corteys a man
+      On peney of pawage to pay.”
+
+   “Y met hem bot at Wentbreg,” seyde Lytyll John,
+      “And therfor yeffell mot he the,
+   Seche thre strokes he me gafe,
+      Yet they cleffe by my seydys.
+
+   “Y ley forty shillings,” seyde Lytyll John,
+      “To pay het thes same day,
+   Ther ys nat a man arnong hus all
+      A wed schall make hem ley.”
+
+   “Her ys forty shillings,” seyde Roben,
+      “Mor, and thow dar say,
+   That y schall make that prowde potter,
+      A wed to me schall he ley.”
+
+   Ther thes money they leyde,
+      They toke bot a yeman to kepe;
+   Roben befor the potter he breyde,
+      And bad hem stond stell.
+
+   Handys apon hes horse he leyde,
+      And bad the potter stonde foll stell;
+   The potter schorteley to hem seyde,
+      “Felow, what ys they well?”
+
+   “All thes thre yer, and mor, potter,” he seyde,
+      “Thow hast hantyd thes wey,
+   Yet wer tow never so cortys a man
+      One peney of pauage to pay.”
+
+   “What ys they name,” seyde the potter,
+      “For pauage thow ask of me?”
+   “Roben Hod ys mey name,
+      A wed schall thow leffe me.”
+
+   “Well well y non leffe,” seyde the potter,
+      “Nor pavag well y non pay;
+   Away they honde fro mey horse,
+      Y well the tene eyls, be me fay.”
+
+   The potter to hes cart he went,
+      He was not to seke;
+   A god to-hande staffe therowt he hent,
+      Befor Roben he lepe.
+
+   Roben howt with a swerd bent,
+      A bokeler en hes honde [therto];
+   The potter to Roben he went,
+      And seyde, “Felow, let mey horse go.”
+
+   Togeder then went thes two yemen,
+      Het was a god seyt to se;
+   Therof low Robyn hes men,
+      Ther they stod onder a tre.
+
+   Leytell John to hes felowhes seyde,
+      “Yend potter welle steffeley stonde:”
+   The potter, with an acward stroke,
+      Smot the bokeler owt of hes honde;
+
+   And ar Roben meyt get hem agen
+      Hes bokeler at hes fette,
+   The potter yn the neke hem toke,
+      To the gronde sone he yede.
+
+   That saw Roben hes men,
+      As they stode ender a bow;
+   “Let us helpe owr master,” seyed Lytell John,
+      “Yonder potter els well hem sclo.”
+
+   Thes yemen went with a breyde,
+      To ther master they cam.
+   Leytell John to hes master seyde,
+      “He haet the wager won?
+
+   “Schall y haff yowr forty shillings,” seyde Lytel John,
+      “Or ye, master, schall haffe myne?”
+   “Yeff they wer a hundred,” seyde Roben,
+      “Y feythe, they ben all theyne.”
+
+   “Het ys fol leytell cortesey,” seyde the potter,
+      “As y haffe harde weyse men saye,
+   Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey,
+      To let hem of hes gorney.”
+
+   “Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt,” seyde Roben,
+      “Thow seys god yemenrey;
+   And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day,
+      Thow schalt never be let for me.
+
+   “Y well prey the, god potter,
+      A felischepe well thow haffe?
+   Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne;
+      Y well go to Notynggam.”
+
+   “Y grant therto,” seyde the potter,
+      “Thow schalt feynde me a felow gode;
+   But thow can sell mey pottes well,
+      Come ayen as thow yode.”
+
+   “Nay, be mey trowt,” seyde Roben,
+      “And then y bescro mey hede
+   Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen,
+      And eney weyffe well hem chepe.”
+
+   Than spake Leytell John,
+      And all hes felowhes heynd,
+   “Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam,
+      For he ys leytell howr frende.”
+
+   “Heyt war howte,” seyde Roben,
+      “Felowhes, let me alone;
+   Thorow the helpe of howr ladey,
+      To Notynggam well y gon.”
+
+   Robyn went to Notynggam,
+      Thes pottes for to sell;
+   The potter abode with Robens men,
+      Ther he fered not eylle.
+
+   Tho Roben droffe on hes wey,
+      So merey ower the londe:
+   Heres mor and affter ys to saye,
+      The best ys beheynde.
+
+                            [THE SECOND FIT.]
+
+   WHEN Roben cam to Netynggam,
+      The soyt yef y scholde saye,
+   He set op hes horse anon,
+      And gaffe hem hotys and haye.
+
+   Yn the medys of the towne,
+      Ther he schowed hes war;
+   “Pottys! pottys!” he gan crey foll sone,
+      “Haffe hansell for the mar.”
+
+   Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate
+      Schowed he hes chaffar;
+   Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow,
+      And chepyd fast of hes war.
+
+   Yet, “Pottys, gret chepe!” creyed Robyn,
+      “Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde;”
+   And all that saw hem sell,
+      Seyde he had be no potter long.
+
+   The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe,
+      He sold tham for pens thre;
+   Preveley seyde man and weyffe,
+      “Ywnder potter schall never the.”
+
+   Thos Roben solde foll fast,
+      Tell he had pottys bot feyffe;
+   On he hem toke of his car,
+      And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.
+
+   Therof sche was foll fayne,
+      “Gramarsey, sir,” than seyde sche;
+   “When ye com to thes contre ayen,
+      Y schall bey of they pottys, so mot y the.”
+
+   “Ye schall haffe of the best,” seyde Roben,
+      And swar be the treneytè;
+   Foll corteysley she gan hem call,
+      “Com deyne with the screfe and me.”
+
+   “Godamarsey,” seyde Roben,
+      “Yowr bedyng schalle be doyn;”
+   A mayden yn the pottys gan ber,
+      Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon.
+
+   Whan Roben ynto the hall cam,
+      The screffe sone he met;
+   The potter cowed of corteysey,
+      And sone the screffe he gret.
+
+   “Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me;
+      Feyffe pottys smalle and grete!”
+   “He ys fol wellcom,” seyd the screffe,
+      “Let os was, and go to mete.”
+
+   As they sat at her methe,
+      With a nobell cher,
+   Two of the screffes men gan speke
+      Off a gret wagèr,
+
+   Was made the thother daye,
+      Off a schotyng was god and feyne,
+   Off forty shillings, the soyt to saye,
+      Who scholde thes wager wen.
+
+   Styll than sat thes prowde po,
+      Thos than thowt he;
+   “As y am a trow Cerstyn man,
+      Thes schotyng well y se.”
+
+   Whan they had fared of the best,
+      With bred and ale and weyne,
+   To the bottys they made them prest,
+      With bowes and boltys full feyne.
+
+   The screffes men schot foll fast,
+      As archares that weren godde;
+   Ther cam non ner ney the marke
+      Bey halfe a god archares bowe.
+
+   Stell then stod the prowde potter,
+      Thos than seyde he;
+   “And y had a bow, be the rode,
+      On schot scholde yow se.”
+
+   “Thow schall haffe a bow,” seyde the screffe,
+      “The best that thow well cheys of thre;
+   Thou semyst a stalward and a stronge,
+      Asay schall thow be.”
+
+   The screffe commandyd a yeman that stod hem bey
+      Affter bowhes to wende;
+   The best bow that the yeman browthe
+      Roben set on a stryng.
+
+   “Now schall y wet and thow be god,
+      And polle het op to they ner;”
+   “So god me helpe,” seyde the prowde potter,
+      “Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger.”
+
+   To a quequer Roben went,
+      A god bolt owthe he toke;
+   So ney on to the marke he went,
+      He fayled not a fothe.
+
+   All they schot abowthe agen,
+      The screffes men and he;
+   Off the marke he welde not fayle,
+      He cleffed the preke on thre.
+
+   The screffes men thowt gret schame,
+      The potter the mastry wan;
+   The screffe lowe and made god game,
+      And seyde, “Potter, thow art a man;
+   Thow art worthey to ber a bowe,
+      Yn what plas that thow gang.”
+
+   “Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe,
+      Forsoyt,” he seyde, “and that a godde;
+   Yn mey cart ys the bow
+      That I had of Robyn Hode.”
+
+   “Knowest thow Robyn Hode?” seyde the screffe,
+      “Potter, y prey the tell thou me;”
+   “A hundred torne y haffe schot with hem,
+      Under hes tortyll tree.”
+
+   “Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,” seyde the screffe,
+      And swar be the trenitè,
+   [“Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,” he seyde,]
+      “That the fals owtelawe stod be me.
+
+   “And ye well do afftyr mey red,” seyde the potter,
+      “And boldeley go with me,
+   And to morow, or we het bred,
+      Roben Hode wel we se.”
+
+   “Y well queyt the,” kod the screffe,
+      And swer be god of meythe;
+   Schetyng thay left, and hom they went,
+      Her scoper was redey deythe.
+
+   Upon the morow, when het was day,
+      He boskyd hem forthe to reyde;
+   The potter hes carte forthe gan ray,
+      And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde.
+
+   He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe,
+      And thankyd her of all thyng:
+   “Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer,
+      Y geffe yow her a golde ryng.”
+
+   “Gramarsey,” seyde the weyffe,
+      “Sir, god eylde het the;”
+   The screffes hart was never so leythe,
+      The feyr forest to se.
+
+   And when he cam ynto the foreyst,
+      Yonder the leffes grene,
+   Berdys ther sange on bowhes prest,
+      Het was gret joy to sene.
+
+   “Her het ys mercy to be,” seyde Roben,
+      “For a man that had hawt to spende;
+   Be mey horne we schall awet
+      Yeff Roben Hode be ner hande.”
+
+   Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe,
+      And blow a blast that was full god,
+   That herde hes men that ther stode,
+      Fer downe yn the wodde;
+   “I her mey master,” seyde Leytell John;
+      They ran as thay wer wode.
+
+   Whan thay to thar master cam,
+      Leytell John wold not spar;
+   “Master, how haffe yow far yn Notynggam?
+      How haffe yow solde yowr war?”
+
+   “Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll John,
+      Loke thow take no car;
+   Y haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam,
+      For all howr chaffar.”
+
+   “He ys foll wellcom,” seyde Lytyll John,
+      “Thes tydyng ys foll godde;”
+   The screffe had lever nar a hundred ponde
+      [He had never sene Roben Hode.]
+
+   “Had I west that beforen,
+      At Notynggam when we wer,
+   Thow scholde not com yn feyr forest
+      Of all thes thowsande eyr.”
+
+   “That wot y well,” seyde Roben,
+      “Y thanke god that ye be her;
+   Therfor schall ye leffe yowr horse with hos,
+      And all your hother ger.”
+
+   “That fend I godys forbode,” kod the screffe,
+      “So to lese mey godde;”
+   “Hether ye cam on horse foll hey,
+      And hom schall ye go on fote;
+   And gret well they weyffe at home,
+      The woman ys foll godde.
+
+   “Y schall her sende a wheyt palffrey,
+      Het hambellet as the weynde;
+   Ner for the loffe of yowr weyffe,
+      Off mor sorow scholde yow seyng.”
+
+   Thes parted Robyn Hode and the screffe,
+      To Notynggam he toke the waye;
+   Hes weyffe feyr welcomed hem hom,
+      And to hem gan sche saye:
+
+   “Seyr, how haffe yow fared yn grene foreyst?
+      Haffe ye browt Roben hom?”
+   “Dam, the deyell spede him, bothe bodey and bon,
+      Y haffe hade a foll grete skorne.
+
+   “Of all the god that y haffe lade to grene wod,
+      He hayt take het fro me,
+   All bot this feyr palffrey,
+      That he hayt sende to the.”
+
+   With that sche toke op a lowde lawhyng,
+      And swhar be hem that deyed on tre,
+   “Now haffe yow payed for all the pottys
+      That Roben gaffe to me.
+
+   “Now ye be corn hom to Notynggam,
+      Ye schall haffe god ynowe;”
+   Now speke we of Roben Hode,
+      And of the pottyr onder the grene bowhe.
+
+   “Potter, what was they pottys worthe
+      To Notynggam that y ledde with me?”
+   “They wer worth two nobellys,” seyd he,
+      “So mot y treyffe or the;
+   So cowde y had for tham,
+      And y had ther be.”
+
+   “Thow schalt hafe ten ponde,” seyde Roben,
+      “Of money feyr and fre;
+   And yever whan thou comest to grene wod,
+      Wellcom, potter to me.”
+
+   Thes partyd Robyn, the screffe, and the potter,
+      Ondernethe the grene-wod tre;
+   God haffe mersey on Robyn Hodys solle,
+      And saffe all god yemanrey!
+
+
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER
+
+
+   COME, all you brave gallants, and listen awhile,
+            _With hey down_, _down_, _an a down_,
+      That are in the bowers within;
+   For of Robin Hood, that archer good,
+      A song I intend for to sing.
+
+   Upon a time it chancèd so,
+      Bold Robin in forrest did ’spy
+   A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,
+      With his flesh to the market did hye.
+
+   “Good morrow, good fellow,” said jolly Robin,
+      “What food hast [thou]? tell unto me;
+   Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell,
+      For I like well thy company.”
+
+   The butcher he answer’d jolly Robin,
+      “No matter where I dwell;
+   For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham
+      I am going, my flesh to sell.”
+
+   “What’s [the] price of thy flesh?” said jolly Robin,
+      “Come, tell it soon unto me;
+   And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear,
+      For a butcher fain would I be.”
+
+   “The price of my flesh,” the butcher repli’d,
+      “I soon will tell unto thee;
+   With my bonny mare, and they are not too dear,
+      Four mark thou must give unto me.”
+
+   “Four mark I will give thee,” saith jolly Robin,
+      “Four mark it shall be thy fee;
+   The mony come count, and let me mount,
+      For a butcher I fain would be.”
+
+   Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone,
+      His butchers trade to begin;
+   With good intent to the sheriff he went,
+      And there he took up his inn.
+
+   When other butchers did open their meat,
+      Bold Robin he then begun;
+   But how for to sell he knew not well,
+      For a butcher he was but young.
+
+   When other butchers no meat could sell,
+      Robin got both gold and fee;
+   For he sold more meat for one peny
+      Then others could do for three.
+
+   But when he sold his meat so fast,
+      No butcher by him could thrive;
+   For he sold more meat for one peny
+      Than others could do for five.
+
+   Which made the butchers of Nottingham
+      To study as they did stand,
+   Saying, “Surely he ‘is’ some prodigal,
+      That hath sold his fathers land.”
+
+   The butchers stepped to jolly Robin,
+      Acquainted with him for to be;
+   “Come, brother,” one said, “we be all of one trade,
+      Come, will you go dine with me?”
+
+   “Accurst of his heart,” said jolly Robin,
+      “That a butcher doth deny;
+   I will go with you, my brethren true,
+      As fast as I can hie.”
+
+   But when to the sheriffs house they came,
+      To dinner they hied apace,
+   And Robin Hood he the man must be
+      Before them all to say grace.
+
+   “Pray God bless us all,” said jolly Robin,
+      “And our meat within this place;
+   A cup of sack so good will nourish our blood,
+      And so do I end my grace.”
+
+   “Come fill us more wine,” said jolly Robin,
+      “Let us be merry while we do stay;
+   For wine and good cheer, be it never so dear,
+      I vow I the reck’ning will pay.
+
+   “Come, ‘brothers,’ be merry,” said jolly Robin,
+      “Let us drink, and never give ore;
+   For the shot I will pay, ere I go my way,
+      If it cost me five pounds and more.”
+
+   “This is a mad blade,” the butchers then said;
+      Saies the sheriff, “He is some prodigàl,
+   That some land has sold for silver and gold,
+      And now he doth mean to spend all.
+
+   “Hast thou any horn beasts,” the sheriff repli’d,
+      “Good fellow, to sell unto me?”
+   “Yes, that I have, good master sheriff,
+      I have hundreds two or three;
+
+   “And a hundred aker of good free land,
+      If you please it to see:
+   And Ile make you as good assurance of it,
+      As ever my father made me.”
+
+   The sheriff he saddled his good palfrèy,
+      And, with three hundred pound in gold,
+   Away he went with bold Robin Hood,
+      His horned beasts to behold.
+
+   Away then the sheriff and Robin did ride,
+      To the forrest of merry Sherwood;
+   Then the sheriff did say, “God bless us this day
+      From a man they call Robin Hood!”
+
+   But when a little farther they came,
+      Bold Robin he chancèd to spy
+   A hundred head of good red deer,
+      Come tripping the sheriff full nigh.
+
+   “How like you my horn’d beasts, good master sheriff?
+      They be fat and fair for to see;”
+   “I tell thee, good fellow, I would I were gone,
+      For I like not thy company.”
+
+   Then Robin set his horn to his mouth,
+      And blew but blasts three;
+   Then quickly anon there came Little John,
+      And all his company.
+
+   “What is your will, master?” then said Little John,
+      “Good master come tell unto me;”
+   “I have brought hither the sheriff of Nottingham
+      This day to dine with thee.”
+
+   “He is welcome to me,” then said Little John,
+      “I hope he will honestly pay;
+   I know he has gold, if it be but well told,
+      Will serve us to drink a whole day.”
+
+   Then Robin took his mantle from his back,
+      And laid it upon the ground:
+   And out of the sheriffs portmantle
+      He told three hundred pound.
+
+   Then Robin he brought him thorow the wood,
+      And set him on his dapple gray;
+   “O have me commanded to your wife at home;”
+      So Robin went laughing away.
+
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+SIR PATRICK SPENS.—p. 1
+
+
+MR. CHILD finds the first published version of “the grand old ballad of
+Sir Patrick Spens,” as Coleridge calls it, in Bishop Percy’s _Reliques_.
+Here the name is “Spence,” and the middle rhyme—
+
+                      “Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,”
+
+is not of early date.  The “Cork-heeled Shoon,” too, cannot be early, but
+ballads are subject, in oral tradition, to such modern interpolations.
+The verse about the ladies waiting vainly is anticipated in a popular
+song of the fourteenth century, on a defeat of the _noblesse_ in
+Flanders—
+
+          “Their ladies them may abide in bower and hall well long!”
+
+If there be historical foundation for the ballad, it is probably a
+blending of the voyage of Margaret, daughter of Alexander III., to wed
+Eric, King of Norway, in 1281 (some of her escort were drowned on their
+way home), with the rather mysterious death, or disappearance, of
+Margaret’s daughter, “The Maid of Norway,” on her voyage to marry the son
+of Edward I., in 1290.  A woman, who alleged that she was the Maid of
+Norway, was later burned at the stake.  The great number and variety of
+versions sufficiently indicate the antiquity of this ballad, wherein
+exact history is not to be expected.
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN.—p. 5
+
+
+From _The Border Minstrelsy_, Sir Walter Scott’s latest edition of 1833:
+the copy in the edition of 1802 is less complete.  The gentle and joyous
+passage of arms here recorded, took place in August 1388.  We have an
+admirable account of Otterburn fight from Froissart, who revels in a
+gallant encounter, fairly fought out hand to hand, with no intervention
+of archery or artillery, and for no wretched practical purpose.  In such
+a combat the Scots, never renowned for success at long bowls, and led by
+a Douglas, were likely to prove victorious, even against long odds, and
+when taken by surprise.
+
+Choosing an advantage in the discordant days of Richard II., the Scots
+mustered a very large force near Jedburgh, merely to break lances on
+English ground, and take loot.  Learning that, as they advanced by the
+Carlisle route, the English intended to invade Scotland by Berwick and
+the east coast, the Scots sent three or four hundred men-at-arms, with a
+few thousand mounted archers and pikemen, who should harry Northumberland
+to the walls of Newcastle.  These were led by James, Earl of Douglas,
+March, and Murray.  In a fight at Newcastle, Douglas took Harry Percy’s
+pennon, which Hotspur vowed to recover.  The retreat began, but the Scots
+waited at Otterburn, partly to besiege the castle, partly to abide
+Hotspur’s challenge.  He made his attack at moonlight, with overwhelming
+odds, but was hampered by a marsh, and incommoded by a flank attach of
+the Scots.  Then it came to who would pound longest, with axe and sword.
+Douglas cut his way through the English, axe in hand, and was overthrown,
+but his men protected his body.  The Sinclairs and Lindsay raised his
+banner, with his cry; March and Dunbar came up; Hotspur was taken by
+Montgomery, and the English were routed with heavy loss.  Douglas was
+buried in Melrose Abbey; very many years later the English defiled his
+grave, but were punished at Ancram Moor.  There is an English poem on the
+fight of “about 1550”; it has many analogies with our Scottish version,
+and, doubtless, ours descends from a ballad almost contemporary.  The
+ballad was a great favourite of Scott’s.  In a severe illness, thinking
+of Lockhart, not yet his son-in-law, he quoted—
+
+    “My wound is deep, I fain would sleep,
+    Take thou the vanguard of the three.”
+
+Mr. Child thinks the command to
+
+    “yield to the bracken-bush”
+
+unmartial.  This does not seem a strong objection, in Froissart’s time.
+It is explained in an oral fragment—
+
+    “For there lies aneth yon bracken-bush
+    Wha aft has conquered mair than thee.”
+
+Mr. Child also thinks that the “dreamy dream” may be copied from Hume of
+Godscroft.  It is at least as probable that Godscroft borrowed from the
+ballad which he cites.  The embroidered gauntlet of the Percy is in the
+possession of Douglas of Cavers to this day.
+
+
+
+TAM LIN, OR TAMLANE.—p. 10
+
+
+Burns’s version, in Johnson’s _Museum_ (1792).  Scott’s version is made
+up of this copy, Riddell’s, Herd’s, and oral recitations, and contains
+feeble literary interpolations, not, of course, by Sir Walter.  _The
+Complaint of Scotland_ (1549) mentions the “Tale of the Young Tamlene” as
+then popular.  It is needless here to enter into the subject of
+Fairyland, and captures of mortals by Fairies: the Editor has said his
+say in his edition of Kirk’s _Secret Commonwealth_.  The Nereids, in
+Modern Greece, practise fairy cantrips, and the same beliefs exist in
+Samoa and New Caledonia.  The metamorphoses are found in the _Odyssey_,
+Book iv., in the winning of Thetis, the _Nereid_, _or Fairy Bride_, by
+Peleus, in a modern Cretan fairy tale, and so on.  There is a similar
+incident in _Penda Baloa_, a Senegambian ballad (_Contes Populaires de la
+Sénégambie_, Berenger Ferand, Paris, 1885).  The dipping of Tamlane has
+precedents in _Old Deccan Days_, in a Hottentot tale by Bleek, and in
+_Les Deux Frères_, the Egyptian story, translated by Maspero (the Editor
+has already given these parallels in a note to _Border Ballads_, by
+Graham R. Thomson).  Mr. Child also cites Mannhardt, “Wald und
+Feldkulte,” ii. 64–70.  Carterhaugh, the scene of the ballad, is at the
+junction of Ettrick and Yarrow, between Bowhill and Philiphaugh.
+
+
+
+THOMAS RYMER.—p. 16
+
+
+From _The Border Minstrelsy_; the original was derived from a lady living
+near Erceldoune (Earlston), and from Mrs. Brown’s MSS.  That Thomas of
+Erceldoune had some popular fame as a rhymer and soothsayer as early as
+1320–1350, seems to be established.  As late as the Forty Five, nay, even
+as late as the expected Napoleonic invasion, sayings attributed to Thomas
+were repeated with some measure of belief.  A real Thomas Rymer of
+Erceldoune witnessed an undated deed of Peter de Haga, early in the
+thirteenth century.  The de Hagas, or Haigs of Bemersyde, were the
+subjects of the prophecy attributed to Thomas,
+
+    “Betide, betide, whate’er betide,
+    There will aye be a Haig in Bemersyde,”
+
+and a Haig still owns that ancient _château_ on the Tweed, which has a
+singular set of traditions.  Learmont is usually given as the Erceldoune
+family name; a branch of the family owned Dairsie in Fifeshire, and were
+a kind of hereditary provosts of St. Andrews.  If Thomas did predict the
+death of Alexander III., or rather report it by dint of clairvoyance, he
+must have lived till 1285.  The date of the poem on the Fairy Queen,
+attributed to Thomas, is uncertain, the story itself is a variant of
+“Ogier the Dane.”  The scene is Huntly Bank, under Eildon Hill, and was
+part of the lands acquired, at fantastic prices, by Sir Walter Scott.
+His passion for land was really part of his passion for collecting
+antiquities.  The theory of Fairyland here (as in many other Scottish
+legends and witch trials) is borrowed from the Pre-Christian Hades, and
+the Fairy Queen is a late refraction from Persephone.  Not to eat, in the
+realm of the dead, is a regular precept of savage belief, all the world
+over.  Mr. Robert Kirk’s _Secret Commonwealth of Elves_, _Fauns_, _and
+Fairies_ may be consulted, or the Editor’s _Perrault_, p. xxxv. (Oxford,
+1888).  Of the later legends about Thomas, Scott gives plenty, in _The
+Border Minstrelsy_.  The long ancient romantic poem on the subject is
+probably the source of the ballad, though a local ballad may have
+preceded the long poem.  Scott named the glen through which the Bogle
+Burn flows to Chiefswood, “The Rhymer’s Glen.”
+
+
+
+SIR HUGH.—p. 19
+
+
+The date of the Martyrdom of Hugh is attributed by Matthew Paris to 1225.
+Chaucer puts a version in the mouth of his Prioress.  No doubt the story
+must have been a mere excuse for Jew-baiting.  In America the Jew becomes
+“The Duke” in a version picked up by Mr. Newells, from the recitation of
+a street boy in New York.  The daughter of a Jew is not more likely than
+the daughter of a duke to have been concerned in the cruel and
+blasphemous imitation of the horrors attributed by Horace to the witch
+Canidia.  But some such survivals of pagan sorcery did exist in the
+Middle Ages, under the influence of “Satanism.”
+
+
+
+SON DAVIE.—p. 22
+
+
+Motherwell’s version.  One of many ballads on fratricide, instigated by
+the mother: or inquired into by her, as the case may be.  “Edward” is
+another example of this gloomy situation.
+
+
+
+THE WIFE OF USHER’S WELL.—p. 24
+
+
+Here
+
+                   “The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,”
+
+having a middle rhyme, can scarcely be of extreme antiquity.  Probably,
+in the original poem, the dead return to rebuke the extreme grief of the
+Mother, but the poem is perhaps really more affecting in the absence of a
+didactic motive.  Scott obtained it from an old woman in West Lothian.
+Probably the reading “fashes,” (troubles), “in the flood” is correct, not
+“fishes,” or “freshes.”  The mother desires that the sea may never cease
+to be troubled till her sons return (verse 4, line 2).  The peculiar doom
+of women dead in child-bearing occurs even in Aztec mythology.
+
+
+
+THE TWA CORBIES.—p. 26
+
+
+From the third volume of _Border Minstrelsy_, derived by Charles
+Kirkpatrick Sharpe from a traditional version.  The English version,
+“Three Ravens,” was published in _Melismata_, by T. Ravensworth (1611).
+In Scots, the lady “has ta’en another mate” his hawk and hound have
+deserted the dead knight.  In the English song, the hounds watch by him,
+the hawks keep off carrion birds, as for the lady—
+
+    “She buried him before the prime,
+    She was dead herselfe ere evensong time.”
+
+Probably the English is the earlier version.
+
+
+
+THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY.—p. 27
+
+
+Huntly had a commission to apprehend the Earl, who was in the disgrace of
+James VI.  Huntly, as an ally of Bothwell, asked him to surrender at
+Donibristle, in Fife; he would not yield to his private enemy, the house
+was burned, and Murray was slain, Huntly gashing his face.  “You have
+spoiled a better face than your own,” said the dying Earl (1592).  James
+Melville mentions contemporary ballads on the murder.  Ramsay published
+the ballad in his _Tea Table Miscellany_, and it is often sung to this
+day.
+
+
+
+CLERK SAUNDERS.—p. 30
+
+
+First known as published in _Border Minstrelsy_ (1802).  The apparition
+of the lover is borrowed from “Sweet Willie’s Ghost.”  The evasions
+practised by the lady, and the austerities vowed by her have many Norse,
+French, and Spanish parallels in folk-poetry.  Scott’s version is “made
+up” from several sources, but is, in any case, verse most satisfactory as
+poetry.
+
+
+
+WALY, WALY.—p. 35
+
+
+From Ramsay’s _Tea Table Miscellany_, a curiously composite gathering of
+verses.  There is a verse, obviously a variant, in a sixteenth century
+song, cited by Leyden.  St. Anthon’s Well is on a hill slope of Arthur’s
+Seat, near Holyrood.  Here Jeanie Deans trysted with her sister’s
+seducer, in _The Heart of Midlothian_.  The Cairn of Nichol Mushat, the
+wife-murderer, is not far off.  The ruins of Anthony’s Chapel are still
+extant.
+
+
+
+LOVE GREGOR.—p. 37
+
+
+There are French and Romaic variants of this ballad.  “Lochroyal,” where
+the ballad is localized, is in Wigtownshire, but the localization varies.
+The “tokens” are as old as the Return of Odysseus, in the _Odyssey_: his
+token is the singular construction of his bridal bed, attached by him to
+a living tree-trunk.  A similar legend occurs in Chinese.  See Gerland’s
+_Alt-Giechische Märchen_.
+
+
+
+THE QUEEN’S MARIE—MARY HAMILTON.—p. 41
+
+
+A made-up copy from Scott’s edition of 1833.  This ballad has caused a
+great deal of controversy.  Queen Mary had no Mary Hamilton among her
+Four Maries.  No Marie was executed for child-murder.  But we know, from
+Knox, that ballads were recited against the Maries, and that one of the
+Mary’s chamberwomen was hanged, with her lover, a pottinger, or
+apothecary, for getting rid of her infant.  These last facts were
+certainly quite basis enough for a ballad, the ballad echoing, not
+history, but rumour, and rumour adapted to the popular taste.  Thus the
+ballad might have passed unchallenged, as a survival, more or less
+modified in time, of Queen Mary’s period.  But in 1719 a Mary Hamilton, a
+Maid of Honour, of Scottish descent, was executed in Russia, for
+infanticide.  Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe conceived that this affair was
+the origin of the ballad, and is followed by Mr. Child.
+
+We reply (1) The ballad has almost the largest number of variants on
+record.  This is a proof of antiquity.  Variants so many, differing in
+all sorts of points, could not have arisen between 1719, and the age of
+Burns, who quotes the poem.
+
+(2)  This is especially improbable, because, in 1719, the old vein of
+ballad poetry had run dry, popular song had chosen other forms, and no
+literary imitator could have written Mary Hamilton in 1719.
+
+(3)  There is no example of a popular ballad in which a contemporary
+event, interesting just because it is contemporary, is thrown back into a
+remote age.
+
+(4)  The name, Mary Hamilton, is often _not_ given to the heroine in
+variants of the ballad.  She is of several names and ranks in the
+variants.
+
+(5)  As Mr. Child himself remarked, the “pottinger” of the real story of
+Queen Mary’s time occurs in one variant.  There was no “pottinger” in the
+Russian affair.
+
+All these arguments, to which others might be added, seem fatal to the
+late date and modern origin of the ballad, and Mr. Child’s own faith in
+the hypothesis was shaken, if not overthrown.
+
+
+
+KINMONT WILLIE.—p. 45
+
+
+From _The Border Minstrelsy_.  The account in Satchells has either been
+based on the ballad, or the ballad is based on Satchells.  After a
+meeting, on the Border of Salkeld of Corby, and Scott of Haining, Kinmont
+Willie was seized by the English as he rode home from the tryst.  Being
+“wanted,” he was lodged in Carlisle Castle, and this was a breach of the
+day’s truce.  Buccleugh, as warder, tried to obtain Willie’s release by
+peaceful means.  These failing, Buccleugh did what the ballad reports,
+April 13, 1596.  Harden and Goudilands were with Buccleugh, being his
+neighbours near Branxholme.  Dicky of Dryhope, with others, Armstrongs,
+was also true to the call of duty.  A few verses in the ballad are
+clearly by _aut Gualterus aut diabolus_, and none the worse for that.
+Salkeld, of course, was not really slain; and, if the men were “left for
+dead,” probably they were not long in that debatable condition.  In the
+rising of 1745 Prince Charlie’s men forded Eden as boldly as Buccleuch,
+the Prince saving a drowning Highlander with his own hand.
+
+
+
+JAMIE TELFER.—p. 52
+
+
+Scott, for once, was wrong in his localities.  The Dodhead of the poem is
+_not_ that near Singlee, in Ettrick, but a place of the same name, near
+Skelfhill, on the southern side of Teviot, within three miles of Stobs,
+where Telfer vainly seeks help from Elliot.  The other Dodhead is at a
+great distance from Stobs, up Borthwick Water, over the tableland, past
+Clearburn Loch and Buccleugh, and so down Ettrick, past Tushielaw.  The
+Catslockhill is not that on Yarrow, near Ladhope, but another near
+Branxholme, whence it is no far cry to Branxholme Hall.  Borthwick Water,
+Goudilands (below Branxholme), Commonside (a little farther up Teviot),
+Allanhaugh, and the other places of the Scotts, were all easily “warned.”
+There are traces of a modern hand in this excellent ballad.  The
+topography is here corrected from MS. notes in a first edition of the
+_Minstrelsy_, in the library of Mr. Charles Grieve at Branxholme’ Park, a
+scion of “auld Jock Grieve” of the Coultart Cleugh.  Names linger long in
+pleasant Teviotdale.
+
+
+
+THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.—p. 59
+
+
+The ballad has Norse analogues, but is here localized on the Douglas
+Burn, a tributary of Yarrow on the left bank.  The St. Mary’s Kirk would
+be that now ruinous, on St. Mary’s Loch, the chapel burned by the Lady of
+Branxholme when she
+
+                “gathered a band
+    Of the best that would ride at her command,”
+
+in the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_.  The ancient keep of Blackhouse on
+Douglas Burn may have been the home of the heroine, if we are to
+localize.
+
+
+
+THE BONNY HIND.—p. 62
+
+
+Herd got this tragic ballad from a milkmaid, in 1771.  Mr. Child quotes a
+verse parallel, preserved in Faroe, and in the Icelandic.  There is a
+similar incident in the cycle of Kullervo, in the Finnish _Kalevala_.
+Scott says that similar tragedies are common in Scotch popular poetry;
+such cases are “Lizzie Wan,” and “The King’s Dochter, Lady Jean.”  A
+sorrow nearly as bitter occurs in the French “Milk White Dove”: a brother
+kills his sister, metamorphosed into a white deer.  “The Bridge of Death”
+(French) seems to hint at something of the same kind; or rather the
+Editor finds that he has arbitrarily read “The Bonny Hind” into “Le Pont
+des Morts,” in Puymaigre’s _Chants Populaires du Pays Messin_, p. 60.
+(_Ballads and Lyrics of Old France_, p. 63)
+
+
+
+YOUNG BEICHAN, OR YOUNG BICHAM.—p. 65
+
+
+This is the original of the Cockney _Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman_,
+illustrated by Cruikshank, and by Thackeray.  There is a vast number of
+variants, evidence to the antiquity of the story.  The earliest known
+trace is in the familiar legend of the Saracen lady, who sought and found
+her lover, Gilbert Becket, father of Thomas à Becket, in London (see
+preface to _Life of Becket_, or Beket), Percy Society, 1845.  The date
+may be _circ._ 1300.  The kind of story, the loving daughter of the cruel
+captor, is as old as Medea and Jason, and her search for her lover comes
+in such _Märchen_ as “The Black Bull o’ Norraway.”  No story is more
+widely diffused (see _A Far Travelled Tale_, in the Editor’s _Custom and
+Myth_).  The appearance of the “True Love,” just at her lover’s wedding,
+is common in the _Märchen_ of the world, and occurs in a Romaic ballad,
+as well as in many from Northern Europe.  The “local colour”—the Moor or
+Saracen—is derived from Crusading times, perhaps.  Motherwell found the
+ballad recited with intervals of prose narrative, as in _Aucassin and
+Nicolette_.  The notes to Cruikshank’s _Loving Ballad_ are, obviously, by
+Thackeray.
+
+
+
+THE BONNY HOUSE O’ AIRLY.—p. 73
+
+
+Lord Airly’s houses were destroyed by Argyll, representing the
+Covenanters, and also in pursuance of a private feud, in 1639, or 1640.
+There are erroneous versions of this ballad, in which Lochiel appears,
+and the date is, apparently, transferred to 1745.  Montrose, in his early
+Covenanting days, was not actually concerned in the burning of the Bonnie
+House, which he, when a Royalist, revenged on the possessions of “gleyed
+Argyll.”  The reference to “Charlie” is out of keeping; no one, perhaps,
+ever called Charles I. by that affectionate name.  Lady Ogilvie had not
+the large family attributed to her: her son, Lord Ogilvie, escaped from
+prison in the Castle of St. Andrews, after Philiphaugh.  A Lord Ogilvie
+was out in 1745; and, later, had a regiment in the French Service.  Few
+families have a record so consistently loyal.
+
+
+
+ROB ROY.—p. 75
+
+
+The abductors of the widowed young heiress of Edenhelly were Rob’s sons,
+Robin Oig, who went through a form of marriage with the girl, and James
+Mohr, a good soldier, but a double-dyed spy and scoundrel.  Robin Oig was
+hanged in 1753.  James Mohr, a detected traitor to Prince Charles, died
+miserably in Paris, in 1754.  Readers of Mr. Stevenson’s _Catriona_ know
+James well; information as to his villanies is extant in Additional MSS.
+(British Museum).  This is probably the latest ballad in the collection.
+It occurs in several variants, some of which, copied out by Burns, derive
+thence a certain accidental interest.  In Mr. Stevenson’s _Catriona_, the
+heroine of that name takes a thoroughly Highland view of the abduction.
+Robin Oig, in any case, was “nane the waur o’ a hanging,” for he shot a
+Maclaren at the plough-tail, before the Forty-Five.  The trial of these
+sons of Alpen was published shortly after Scott’s _Rob Roy_.
+
+
+
+KILLIECRANKIE.—p. 77
+
+
+Fought on July 27, 1689.  _Not_ on the haugh near the modern road by the
+railway, but higher up the hill, in the grounds of Urrard House.  Two
+shelter trenches, whence Dundee’s men charged, are still visible, high on
+the hillside above Urrand.  There is said, by Mr. Child, to have been a
+contemporary broadside of the ballad, which is an example of the
+evolution of popular ballads from the old traditional model.  There is
+another song, by, or attributed to, Burns, and of remarkable spirit and
+vigour.
+
+
+
+ANNAN WATER.—p. 79
+
+
+From _The Border Minstrelsy_ Scott says that these are the original words
+of the tune of “Allan Water,” and that he has added two verses from a
+variant with a fortunate conclusion.  “Allan Water” is a common river
+name; the stream so called joins Teviot above Branxholme.  Annan is the
+large stream that flows into the Solway Frith.  The Gate-slack, in
+Annandale, fixes the locality.
+
+
+
+THE ELPHIN NOURRICE.—p. 81
+
+
+This curious poem is taken from the reprint of Charles Kirkpatrick
+Sharpe’s tiny _Ballad Book_, itself now almost _introuvable_.  It does
+not, to the Editor’s knowledge, occur elsewhere, but is probably
+authentic.  The view of the Faery Queen is more pleasing and sympathetic
+than usual.  Why mortal women were desired as nurses (except to attend on
+stolen mortal children, kept to “pay the Kane to hell”) is not obvious.
+Irish beliefs are precisely similar; in England they are of frequent
+occurrence.
+
+
+
+JOHNNIE ARMSTRANG.—p. 87
+
+
+Armstrang of Gilnockie was a brother of the laird of Mangertoun.  He had
+a kind of Robin Hood reputation on the Scottish Border, as one who only
+robbed the English.  Pitscottie’s account of his slaying by James V.
+(1529) reads as if the ballad were his authority, and an air for the
+subject is mentioned in the _Complaint of Scotland_.  In Sir Herbert
+Maxwell’s _History of Dumfries and Galloway_ is an excellent account of
+the historical facts of the case.
+
+
+
+EDOM O’ GORDON.—p. 92
+
+
+Founded on an event in the wars between Kingsmen and Queensmen, in the
+minority of James VI., while Queen Mary was imprisoned in England.
+“Edom” was Adam Gordon of Auchindown, brother of Huntley, and a Queen’s
+man.  He, by his retainer, Car, or Ker, burned Towie House, a seat of the
+Forbes’s.  Ker recurs in the long and more or less literary ballad of
+_The Battle of Balrinnes_.  In variants the localities are much altered,
+and, in one version, the scene is transferred to Ayrshire, and Loudoun
+Castle.  All the ballads of fire-raising, a very usual practice, have
+points in common, and transference was easy.
+
+
+
+LADY ANNE BOTHWELL’S LAMENT.—p. 98
+
+
+Tradition has confused the heroine of this piece with the wife of
+Bothwelhaugh, who slew the Regent Murray.  That his motive was not mere
+political assassination, but to avenge the ill-treatment and death of his
+wife, seems to be disproved by Maidment.  The affair, however, is still
+obscure.  This deserted Lady Anne of the ballad was, in fact, not the
+wife of Bothwelhaugh, but the daughter of the Bishop of Orkney; her lover
+is said to have been her cousin, Alexander Erskine, son of the Earl of
+Mar.  Part of the poem (Mr. Child points out) occurs in Broome’s play,
+_The Northern Lass_ (1632).  Though a popular favourite, the piece is
+clearly of literary origin, and has been severely “edited” by a literary
+hand.  This version is Allan Ramsay’s.
+
+
+
+JOCK O’ THE SIDE.—p. 101
+
+
+A Liddesdale chant.  Jock flourished about 1550–1570, and is commemorated
+as a receiver by Sir Richard Maitland in a poem often quoted.  The
+analogies of this ballad with that of “Kinmont Willie” are very close.
+The reference to a punch-bowl sounds modern, and the tale is much less
+plausible than that of “Kinmont Willie,” which, however, bears a few
+obvious marks of Sir Walter’s own hand.  A sceptical editor must choose
+between two theories: either Scott of Satchells founded his account of
+the affair of “Kinmont Willie” on a pre-existing ballad of that name, or
+the ballad printed by Scott is based on the prose narrative of Scott of
+Satchells.  The former hypothesis, everything considered, is the more
+probable.
+
+
+
+LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET.—p. 107
+
+
+Published in Percy’s _Reliques_, from a Scotch manuscript, “with some
+corrections.”  The situation, with various differences in detail and
+conclusion, is popular in Norse and Romaic ballads, and also in many
+_Märchen_ of the type of _The Black Bull of Norraway_.
+
+
+
+FAIR ANNIE.—p. 111
+
+
+From _The Border Minstrelsy_.  There are Danish, Swedish, Dutch, and
+German versions, and the theme enters artistic poetry as early as Marie
+de France (_Le Lai del Freisne_).  In Scotch the Earl of Wemyss is a
+recent importation: the earldom dates from 1633.  Of course this process
+of attaching a legend or _Märchen_ to a well-known name, or place, is one
+of the most common in mythological evolution, and by itself invalidates
+the theory which would explain myths by a philological analysis of the
+proper names in the tale.  These may not be, and probably are not, the
+original names.
+
+
+
+THE DOWNIE DENS OF YARROW.—p. 116
+
+
+From _The Border Minstrelsy_.  Scott thought that the hero was Walter
+Scott, third son of Thirlestane, slain by Scott of Tushielaw.  The
+“monument” (a standing stone near Yarrow) is really of a very early,
+rather Post-Roman date, and refers to no feud of Thirlestane, Oakwood,
+Kirkhope, or Tushielaw.  The stone is not far from Yarrow Krik, near a
+place called Warrior’s Rest.  Hamilton of Bangour’s version is beautiful
+and well known.  Quite recently a very early interment of a corpse, in
+the curved position, was discovered not far from the standing stone with
+the inscription.  Ballad, stone, and interment may all be distinct and
+separate.
+
+
+
+SIR ROLAND.—p. 119
+
+
+From Motherwell’s _Minstrelsy_.  The authenticity of the ballad is
+dubious, but, if a forgery, it is a very skilled one for the early
+nineteenth century.  Poets like Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Rossetti, and Mrs.
+Marriot Watson have imitated the genuine popular ballad, but never so
+closely as the author of “Sir Roland.”
+
+
+
+ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY.—p. 123
+
+
+From the Jamieson-Brown MS., originally written out by Mrs. Brown in
+1783: Sir Waiter made changes in _The Border Minstrelsy_.  The ballad is
+clearly a composite affair.  Robert Chambers regarded Mrs. Brown as the
+Mrs. Harris of ballad lore, but Mr. Norval Clyne’s reply was absolutely
+crushing and satisfactory.
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF HARLAW.—p. 131
+
+
+Fought on July 24, 1411.  This fight broke the Highland force in
+Scotland.  The first version is, of course, literary, perhaps a
+composition of 1550, or even earlier.  The second version is traditional,
+and was procured by Aytoun from Lady John Scott, herself the author of
+some beautiful songs.  But the best ballad on the Red Harlaw is that
+placed by Scott in the mouth of Elspeth, in _The Antiquary_.  This,
+indeed, is beyond all rivalry the most splendid modern imitation of the
+ancient popular Muse.
+
+
+
+DICKIE MACPHALION.—p. 142
+
+
+A great favourite of Scott’s, who heard it sung at Miss Edgeworth’s,
+during his tour in Ireland (1825).  One verse recurs in a Jacobite chant,
+probably of 1745–1760, but the bibliography of Jacobite songs is
+especially obscure.
+
+
+
+A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.—p. 143
+
+
+From the _Border Minstrelsy_.  The ideas are mainly pre-Christian; the
+Brig o’ Dread occurs in Islamite and Iroquois belief, and in almost all
+mythologies the souls have to cross a River.  Music for this dirge is
+given in Mr. Harold Boulton’s and Miss Macleod’s _Songs of the North_.
+
+
+
+THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN.—p. 145
+
+
+This version was taken down by Sir Walter Scott from his mother’s
+recitation, for Jamieson’s book of ballads.  Jamieson later quarrelled
+bitterly with Sir Walter, as letters at Abbotsford prove.  A variant is
+given by Kinloch, and a longer, less poetical, but more historically
+accurate version is given by Buchan.  The House of Waristoun is, or
+lately was, a melancholy place hanging above a narrow lake, in the
+northern suburbs of Edinburgh, near the Water of Leith.  Kincaid was the
+name of the Laird; according to Chambers, the more famous lairds of
+Covenanting times were Johnstons.  Kincaid is said to have treated his
+wife cruelly, wherefore she, or her nurse, engaged one Robert Weir, an
+old servant of her father (Livingstone of Dunipace), to strangle the
+unhappy man in his own bedroom (July 2, 1600).  The lady was beheaded,
+the nurse was burned, and, later, Weir was also executed.  The line
+
+                      “I wish that ye may sink for sin”
+
+occurs in an earlier ballad on Edinburgh Castle—
+
+    “And that all for the black dinner
+    Earl Douglas got therein.”
+
+
+
+MAY COLVEN.—p. 147
+
+
+From Herd’s MS.  Versions occur in Polish, German, Magyar, Portuguese,
+Scandinavian, and in French.  The ballad is here localised on the Carrick
+coast, near Girvan.  The lady is called a Kennedy of Culzean.  Prof.
+Bugge regards this widely diffused ballad as based on the Apocryphal
+legend of Judith and Holofernes.  If so, the legend is _diablement changé
+en route_.  More probably the origin is a _Märchen_ of a kind of
+_Rakshasa_ fatal to women.  Mr. Child has collected a vast mass of
+erudition on the subject, and by no means acquiesces in Prof. Bugge’s
+ingenious hypothesis.
+
+
+
+JOHNIE FAA.—p. 150
+
+
+From Pinkerton’s Scottish Ballads.  The event narrated is a legend of the
+house of Cassilis (Kennedy), but is wholly unhistorical.  “Sir John Faa,”
+in the fable, is aided by Gypsies, but, apparently, is not one of the
+Earls of Egypt, on whom Mr. Crockett’s novel, _The Raiders_, may be
+consulted.  The ballad was first printed, as far as is known, in Ramsay’s
+_Tea Table Miscellany_.
+
+
+
+HOBBIE NOBLE.—p. 152
+
+
+The hero recurs in _Jock o’ the Side_, and Jock o’ the Mains is an
+historical character, that is, finds mention in authentic records, as
+Scott points out.  The Armstrongs were deported in great numbers, as “an
+ill colony,” to Ulster, by James I.  Sir Herbert Maxwell’s _History of
+Dumfries and Galloway_ may be consulted for these and similar reivers.
+
+
+
+THE TWA SISTERS.—p. 157
+
+
+A version of “Binnorie.”  The ballad here ends abruptly; doubtless the
+fiddler made fiddle-strings of the lady’s hair, and a fiddle of her
+breast-bone, while the instrument probably revealed the cruelty of the
+sister.  Other extant versions are composite or interpolated, so this
+fragment (Sharpe’s) has been preferred in this place.
+
+
+
+MARY AMBREE.—p. 160
+
+
+Taken by Percy from a piece in the Pepys Collection.  The girl warrior is
+a favourite figure in popular romance.  Often she slays a treacherous
+lover, as in _Billy Taylor_.  Nothing is known of Mary Ambree as an
+historical personage; she may be as legendary as fair maiden Lilias, of
+Liliarid’s Edge, who “fought upon her stumps.”  In that case the local
+name is demonstrably earlier than the mythical Lilias, who fought with
+such tenacity.
+
+
+
+ALISON GROSS.—p. 165
+
+
+Jamieson gave this ballad from a manuscript, altering the spelling in
+conformity with Scots orthography.  Mr. Child prints the manuscript; here
+Jamieson’s more familiar spelling is retained.  The idea of the romance
+occurs in a Romaic _Märchen_, but, in place of the Queen of Faery, a more
+beautiful girl than the sorceress (Nereid in Romaic), restores the youth
+to his true shape.  Mr. Child regarded the tale as “one of the numerous
+wild growths” from _Beauty and the Beast_.  It would be more correct to
+say that _Beauty and the Beast_ is a late, courtly, French adaptation and
+amplification of the original popular “wild growth” which first appears
+(in literary form) as _Cupid and Psyche_, in Apuleius.  Except for the
+metamorphosis, however, there is little analogy in this case.  The
+friendly act of the Fairy Queen is without parallel in British Folklore,
+but Mr. Child points out that the Nereid Queen, in Greece, is still as
+kind as Thetis of old, not a sepulchral siren, the shadow of the pagan
+“Fairy Queen Proserpina,” as Campion calls her.
+
+
+
+THE HEIR OF LYNNE.—p. 167
+
+
+From Percy’s Folio Manuscript.  There is a cognate Greek epigram—
+
+    Χρυσὸν ἀνὴρ εὗρων ἔλιπε βρόχον αὐτὰρ ὁ χρυσόν
+    Ὅν λίπεν, οὐχ εὑρών, ἥφεν τον εὗρε βρόχον.
+
+
+
+GORDON OF BRACKLEY.—p. 172
+
+
+This, though probably not the most authentic, is decidedly the most
+pleasing version; it is from Mackay’s collection, perhaps from his pen.
+
+
+
+EDWARD.—p. 175
+
+
+Percy got this piece from Lord Hailes, with pseudo-antiquated spelling.
+Mr. Swinburne has published a parallel ballad “From the Finnish.”  There
+are a number of parallel ballads on Cruel Brothers, and Cruel Sisters,
+such as _Son Davie_, which may be compared.  Fratricides and unconscious
+incests were motives dear to popular poetry.
+
+
+
+YOUNG BENJIE.—p. 177
+
+
+From the _Border Minstrelsy_.  That corpses _might_ begin to “thraw,” if
+carelessly watched, was a prevalent superstition.  Scott gives an
+example: the following may be added, as less well known.  The watchers
+had left the corpse alone, and were dining in the adjoining room, when a
+terrible noise was heard in the chamber of death.  None dared enter; the
+minister was sent for, and passed into the room.  He emerged, asked for a
+pair of tongs, and returned, bearing in the tongs _a bloody glove_, and
+the noise ceased.  He always declined to say what he had witnessed.
+Ministers were exorcists in the last century, and the father of James
+Thomson, the poet, died suddenly in an interview with a guest, in a
+haunted house.  The house was pulled down, as being uninhabitable.
+
+
+
+AULD MAITLAND.—p. 180
+
+
+From _The Border Minstrelsy_.  This ballad is inserted, not for its
+merit, still less for its authenticity, but for the problem of its
+puzzling history.  Scott certainly got it from the mother of the Ettrick
+Shepherd, in 1801.  The Shepherd’s father had been a grown-up man in
+1745, and his mother was also of a great age, and unlikely to be able to
+learn a new-forged ballad by heart.  The Shepherd himself (then a most
+unsophisticated person) said, in a letter of June 30, 1801, that he was
+“surprized to hear this song is suspected by some to be a modern forgery;
+the contrary will be best proved by most of the old people, here about,
+having a great part of it by heart.”  The two last lines of verse seven
+were, confessedly, added by Hogg, to fill a _lacuna_.  They are
+especially modern in style.  Now thus to fill up sham _lacunæ_ in sham
+ballads of his own, with lines manifestly modern, was a favourite trick
+of Surtees of Mainsforth.  He used the device in “Barthram’s Dirge,”
+which entirely took in Sir Walter, and was guilty of many other
+_supercheries_, especially of the “Fray of Suport Mill.”  Could the
+unlettered Shepherd, fond of hoaxes as he was, have invented this
+stratagem, sixteen years before he joined the _Blackwood_ set?  And is it
+conceivable that his old mother, entering into the joke, would commit her
+son’s fraudulent verses to memory, and recite them to Sir Walter as
+genuine tradition?  She said to Scott, that the ballad “never was printed
+i’ the world, for my brothers and me learned it and many mae frae auld
+Andrew Moore, and he learned it frae auld Baby Mettlin” (Maitland?) “wha
+was housekeeper to the first laird o’ Tushilaw.”  (On Ettrick, near
+Thirlestane.  She doubtless meant the first of the Andersons of
+Tushielaw, who succeeded the old lairds, the Scotts.)  “She was said to
+hae been another or a guid ane, and there are many queer stories about
+hersel’, but O, she had been a grand singer o’ auld songs an’ ballads.”
+(Hogg’s _Domestic Manners of Sir Walter Scott_, p. 61, 1834.)
+
+“Maitland upon auld beird gray” is mentioned by Gawain Douglas, in his
+_Palice of Honour_, which the Shepherd can hardly have read, and Scott
+identified this Maitland with the ancestor of Lethington; his date was
+1250–1296.  On the whole, even the astute Shepherd, in his early days of
+authorship, could hardly have laid a plot so insidious, and the question
+of the authenticity and origin of the ballad (obvious interpolations
+apart) remains a mystery.  Who could have forged it?  It is, as an
+exercise in imitation, far beyond _Hardyknute_, and at least on a level
+with _Sir Roland_.  The possibility of such forgeries is now very slight
+indeed, but vitiates early collections.
+
+If we suspect Leyden, who alone had the necessary knowledge of
+antiquities, we are still met by the improbability of old Mrs. Hogg being
+engaged in the hoax.  Moreover, Leyden was probably too keen an antiquary
+to take part in one of the deceptions which Ritson wished to punish so
+severely.  Mr. Child expresses his strong and natural suspicions of the
+authenticity of the ballad, and Hogg is, certainly, a dubious source.  He
+took in Jeffrey with the song of “Donald Macgillavray,” and instantly
+boasted of his triumph.  He could not have kept his secret, after the
+death of Scott.  These considerations must not be neglected, however
+suspicious “Auld, Maitland” may appear.
+
+
+
+THE BROOMFIELD HILL.—p. 189
+
+
+From Buchan’s _Ballads of the North of Scotland_.  There are Elizabethan
+references to the poem, and a twelfth century romance turns on the main
+idea of sleep magically induced.  The lover therein is more fortunate
+than the hero of the ballad, and, finally, overcomes the spell.  The idea
+recurs in the Norse poetry.
+
+
+
+WILLIE’S LADYE.—p. 193
+
+
+Scott took this ballad from Mrs. Brown’s celebrated Manuscript.  The kind
+of spell indicated was practised by Hera upon Alcmena, before the birth
+of Heracles.  Analogous is the spell by binding witch-knots, practised by
+Simaetha on her lover, in the second Idyll of Theocritus.  Montaigne has
+some curious remarks on these enchantments, explaining their power by
+what is now called “suggestion.”  There is a Danish parallel to “Willie’s
+Ladye,” translated by Jamieson.
+
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD BALLADS.—p. 196
+
+
+There is plentiful “learning” about Robin Hood, but no real knowledge.
+He is first mentioned in literature, as the subject of “rhymes,” in
+_Piers Plowman_ (_circ._ 1377).  As a topic of ballads he must be much
+older than that date.  In 1439 his name was a synonym for a bandit.
+Wyntoun, the Scots chronicler, dates the outlaw in the time of Edward I.
+Major, the Scots philosopher and master of John Knox, makes a guess
+(taken up by Scott in _Ivanhoe_) as the period of Richard I.  Kuhn seeks
+to show that Hood is a survival of Woden, or of his _Wooden_, “wooden
+horse” or hobby horse.  The Robin Hood play was parallel with the May
+games, which, as Mr. Frazer shows in his _Golden Bough_, were really
+survivals of a world-wide religious practice.  But Robin Hood need not be
+confused with the legendary May King.  Mr. Child judiciously rejects
+these mythological conjectures, based, as they are, on far-fetched
+etymologies and analogies.  Robin is an idealized bandit, reiver, or
+Klepht, as in modern Romaic ballads, and his adventures are precisely
+such as popular fancy everywhere attaches to such popular heroes.  An
+historical Robin there may have been, but _premit nox alta_.
+
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK.—p. 196
+
+
+This copy follows in Mr. Child’s early edition, “from the second edition
+of Ritson’s _Robin Hood_, as collated by Sir Frederic Madden.”  It is
+conjectured to be “possibly as old as the reign of Edward II.”  That the
+murder of a monk should be pardoned in the facile way described is
+manifestly improbable.  Even in the lawless Galloway of 1508, McGhie of
+Phumpton was fined six merks for “throwing William Schankis, monk, from
+his horse.”  (History of Dumfries and Galloway, by Sir Herbert Maxwell,
+p. 155.)
+
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE POTTER.—p. 209
+
+
+Published by Ritson, from a Cambridge MS., probably of the reign of Henry
+VII.
+
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER.—p. 221
+
+
+Published by Ritson, from a Black Letter copy in the collection of
+Anthony Wood, the Oxford antiquary.
+
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTES
+
+
+{0a}  See Pitcairn, Case of Alison Pearson, 1586.
+
+{0b}  Translated in _Ballads and Lyrics of Old France_.—A. L.
+
+{87}  “Kinnen,” rabbits.
+
+{88a}  “Nicher,” neigh.
+
+{88b}  “Gilt,” gold.
+
+{88c}  “Dow,” are able to.
+
+{88d}  “Ganging,” going.
+
+{90a}  “Targats”, tassels.
+
+{90b}  “Blink sae brawly,” glance so bravely.
+
+{90c}  “Fechting,” fighting.
+
+{91}  “Kirsty,” Christopher.
+
+{92}  “Hald,” hold.
+
+{94}  “Reek,” smoke.
+
+{95}  “Freits,” omens.
+
+{96a}  “Wighty,” valiant.
+
+{96b}  “Wroken,” revenged.
+
+{97}  “Mudie,” bold.
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLLECTION OF BALLADS***
+
+
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