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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1054-0.txt b/1054-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..71521cb --- /dev/null +++ b/1054-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9422 @@ +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*** + + +******* This file should be named 1054-0.txt or 1054-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/5/1054 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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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: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLLECTION OF BALLADS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1910 Chapman and Hall editionby David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>A COLLECTION OF<br /> +BALLADS</h1> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">EDITED, WITH +INTRODUCTION</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND NOTES</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br /> +ANDREW LANG</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">LONDON</span><br /> +CHAPMAN AND HALL, LIMITED</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagevi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. vi</span><i>First Published in 1897</i><br /> +<i>Reprinted 1910</i></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pageix">ix</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sir Patrick Spens</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Battle of Otterbourne</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Tam Lin</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Thomas the Rhymer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>“<span class="smcap">Sir Hugh; or the Jew’s +Daughter</span>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Son Davie</span>! <span +class="smcap">Son Davie</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Wife of Usher’s +Well</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Twa Corbies</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Bonnie Earl Moray</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Clerk Saunders</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Waly, Waly</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Love Gregor; or, the Lass of +Lochroyan</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Queen’s Marie</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Kinmont Willie</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Jamie Telfer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Douglas Tragedy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Bonny Hind</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Young Bicham</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Loving Ballad of Lord +Bateman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +viii</span><span class="smcap">The Bonnie House o’ +Airly</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Rob Roy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Battle of +Killie-Crankie</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Annan Water</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Elphin Nourrice</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Cospatrick</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Johnnie Armstrang</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Edom o’ Gordon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lady Anne Bothwell’s +Lament</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Jock o the Side</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lord Thomas and Fair Annet</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Fair Annie</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Dowie Dens of Yarrow</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sir Roland</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Rose the Red and White Lily</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Battle of Harlaw—Evergreen +Version</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Traditionary Version</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dickie Macphalion</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Lyke-Wake Dirge</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Laird of Waristoun</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">May Colven</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Johnie Faa</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page150">150</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Hobbie Noble</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Twa Sisters</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Mary Ambree</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page160">160</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span><span class="smcap">Alison Gross</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Heir of Lynne</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page167">167</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Gordon of Brackley</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Edward, Edward</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Young Benjie</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Auld Maitland</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Broomfield Hill</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Willie’s Ladye</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page193">193</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Robin Hood and the Monk</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page196">196</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Robin Hood and the Potter</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Robin Hood and the Butcher</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Notes</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page227">227</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> 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 <i>Märchen</i>, 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—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I have slain a man to my wounding,<br /> +And a young man to my hurt.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xii</span>Instances perpetually occur in the Sagas: Grettir, +Egil, Skarphedin, are always singing. In <i>Kidnapped</i>, +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.</p> +<p>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 <a name="pagexiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>either case, this class of men +developed more regular and ample measures. They evolved the +hexameter; the <i>laisse</i> of the <i>Chansons de Geste</i>; 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 <i>jongleurs</i> +(who may best be studied in Léon Gautier’s +Introduction to his <i>Epopées Françaises</i>) 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.</p> +<p>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 <a name="pagexiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiv</span>some literary mediæval +romances. But these plots and situations, in Epic and +Romance, are themselves the final literary form of +<i>märchen</i>, myths and inventions originally +<i>popular</i>, 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 <i>genres</i> 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.</p> +<p>Perrault, in 1697, borrowed these from tradition and gave them +literary and courtly shape. But <i>Cendrillon</i> or +<i>Chaperon Rouge</i> 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.</p> +<p><a name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xv</span>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 +<i>Märchen</i> 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.</p> +<p>In the romantic class, we may take <i>Tamlane</i>. 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, <a name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>I +may add, has precedent in ancient Egypt (in <i>The Two +Brothers</i>), and in modern Senegambia. The fairy tax, +tithe, or teind, paid to Hell, is illustrated by old trials for +witchcraft, in Scotland. <a name="citation0a"></a><a +href="#footnote0a" class="citation">[0a]</a> Now, in +literary forms and romance, as in <i>Ogier le Danois</i>, 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.</p> +<p>Thus, in <i>Tamlane</i>, the whole <i>donnée</i> 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 <a name="pagexvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xvii</span>ballad apparently owes nothing to literary +romance.</p> +<p>In <i>Mary Hamilton</i> we have a notable instance of the +Historical Ballad. No Marie of Mary Stuart’s suffered +death for child murder.</p> +<p>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 +(<i>Child</i>, 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.</p> +<p>To this we may reply (1) that we have no example of such a +throwing back of a contemporary event, in ballads. (2) +There <a name="pagexviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xviii</span>is a version (<i>Child</i>, 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 <i>Sir +Patrick Spens</i> has so many widely different variants as +<i>Mary Hamilton</i>. 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 +<i>Rob Roy</i> and <i>Killiecrankie</i>, in this collection, also +the ballads of <i>Loudoun Hill</i>, <i>The Battle of +Philiphaugh</i>, and others much earlier than 1719. New +styles of popular poetry on contemporary events as +<i>Sherriffmuir</i> and <i>Tranent Brae</i> had arisen. (5) +The extreme historic inaccuracy of <i>Mary Hamilton</i> 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, <a name="pagexix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xix</span>to tally with the narrative in +Knox’s History.</p> +<p>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 <i>Hardyknute</i> +show that literary poets of 1719 had not knowledge or skill +enough to mimic the antique manner with any success.</p> +<p>We may, therefore, even in face of Professor Child, regard +<i>Mary Hamilton</i> as an old example of popular perversion <a +name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xx</span>of history in +ballad, not as “one of the very latest,” and also +“one of the very best” of Scottish popular +ballads.</p> +<p><i>Rob Roy</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>No ballad has a stranger history than <i>The Loving Ballad of +Lord Bateman</i>, 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 name="pagexxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxi</span>(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. <a +name="citation0b"></a><a href="#footnote0b" +class="citation">[0b]</a></p> +<p>Now Lord Bateman is <i>Young Bekie</i> in the Scotch ballads, +who becomes <i>Young Beichan</i>, <i>Young Bichem</i>, 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 +<i>his</i> Saracen bride sought him in London. (Robert of +Gloucester’s <i>Life and Martyrdom of Thomas Becket</i>, +Percy Society. See Child’s Introduction, IV., i. +1861, and <i>Motherwell’s Minstrelsy</i>, 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 <i>Cantefable</i>, alternate prose and verse, <a +name="pagexxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxii</span>like +<i>Aucassin and Nicolette</i>. Thus the cockney rhyme +descends from the twelfth century.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>So far the Editor had written, when news came of Professor +Child’s regretted <a name="pagexxiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxiii</span>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 +<i>Märchen</i> 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.</p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>SIR +PATRICK SPENS</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Border Minstrelsy</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> king sits in +Dunfermline town,<br /> + Drinking the blude-red wine o:<br /> +“O whare will I get a skeely skipper<br /> + To sail this new ship of mine o?”</p> +<p class="poetry">O up and spake an eldern-knight,<br /> + Sat at the king’s right knee:<br /> +“Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor<br /> + That ever saild the sea.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Our king has written a braid letter,<br /> + And seald it with his hand,<br /> +And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,<br /> + Was walking on the strand.</p> +<p class="poetry">“To Noroway, to Noroway,<br /> + To Noroway oer the faem;<br /> +The king’s daughter of Noroway,<br /> + ’Tis thou maun bring her hame.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The first word that Sir Patrick read,<br /> + Sae loud, loud laughed he;<br /> +The neist word that Sir Patrick read,<br /> + The tear blinded his ee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>“O wha is this has done this deed,<br /> + And tauld the king o me,<br /> +To send us out, at this time of the year,<br /> + To sail upon the sea?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Be it wind, be it weet, be it hall, be +it sleet,<br /> + Our ship must sail the faem;<br /> +The king’s daughter of Noroway,<br /> + ’Tis we must fetch her hame.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,<br /> + Wi’ a’ the speed they may;<br /> +They hae landed in Noroway,<br /> + Upon a Wodensday.</p> +<p class="poetry">They hadna been a week, a week<br /> + In Noroway but twae,<br /> +When that the lords o Noroway<br /> + Began aloud to say:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our +king’s goud,<br /> + And a’ our queenis fee.”<br /> +“Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!<br /> + Fu’ loud I hear ye lie!</p> +<p class="poetry">“For I brought as much white monie<br /> + As gane my men and me,<br /> +And I brought a half-fou’ o’ gude red goud,<br /> + Out o’er the sea wi’ me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Make ready, make ready, my merry-men +a’!<br /> + Our gude ship sails the morn.”<br /> +“Now ever alake, my master dear,<br /> + I fear a deadly storm!</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw the new moon, late yestreen,<br /> + Wi’ the auld moon in her arm;<br /> +And if we gang to sea, master,<br /> + I fear we’ll come to harm.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>They hadna sail’d a league, a league,<br /> + A league but barely three,<br /> +When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,<br /> + And gurly grew the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap,<br /> + It was sic a deadly storm;<br /> +And the waves cam o’er the broken ship,<br /> + Till a’ her sides were torn.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O where will I get a gude sailor,<br /> + To take my helm in hand,<br /> +Till I get up to the tall top-mast;<br /> + To see if I can spy land?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O here am I, a sailor gude,<br /> + To take the helm in hand,<br /> +Till you go up to the tall top-mast<br /> + But I fear you’ll ne’er spy +land.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He hadna gane a step, a step,<br /> + A step but barely ane,<br /> +When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,<br /> + And the salt sea it came in.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gae, fetch a web o’ the silken +claith,<br /> + Another o’ the twine,<br /> +And wap them into our ship’s side,<br /> + And let na the sea come in.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They fetchd a web o the silken claith,<br /> + Another o the twine,<br /> +And they wapped them roun that gude ship’s side<br /> + But still the sea came in.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords<br /> + To weet their cork-heel’d shoon!<br /> +But lang or a the play was play’d<br /> + They wat their hats aboon,</p> +<p class="poetry">And mony was the feather-bed<br /> + That fluttered on the faem,<br /> +And mony was the gude lord’s son<br /> + That never mair cam hame.</p> +<p class="poetry">The ladyes wrang their fingers white,<br /> + The maidens tore their hair,<br /> +A’ for the sake of their true loves,<br /> + For them they’ll see na mair.</p> +<p class="poetry">O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,<br /> + Wi’ their fans into their hand,<br /> +Before they see Sir Patrick Spens<br /> + Come sailing to the strand!</p> +<p class="poetry">And lang, lang may the maidens sit,<br /> + Wi’ their goud kaims in their hair,<br /> +A’ waiting for their ain dear loves!<br /> + For them they’ll see na mair.</p> +<p class="poetry">O forty miles off Aberdeen,<br /> + ’Tis fifty fathoms deep,<br /> +And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,<br /> + Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet.</p> +<h2><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>BATTLE +OF OTTERBOURNE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. vi.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> fell about the +Lammas tide,<br /> + When the muir-men win their hay,<br /> +The doughty Douglas bound him to ride<br /> + Into England, to drive a prey.</p> +<p class="poetry">He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,<br /> + With them the Lindesays, light and gay;<br /> +But the Jardines wald nor with him ride,<br /> + And they rue it to this day.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he has burn’d the dales of Tyne,<br +/> + And part of Bambrough shire:<br /> +And three good towers on Reidswire fells,<br /> + He left them all on fire.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he march’d up to Newcastle,<br /> + And rode it round about:<br /> +“O wha’s the lord of this castle?<br /> + Or wha’s the lady o’t?”</p> +<p class="poetry">But up spake proud Lord Percy then,<br /> + And O but he spake hie!<br /> +“I am the lord of this castle,<br /> + My wife’s the lady gaye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“If thou’rt the lord of this +castle,<br /> + Sae weel it pleases me!<br /> +For, ere I cross the Border fells,<br /> + The tane of us sall die.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>He took a lang spear in his hand,<br /> + Shod with the metal free,<br /> +And for to meet the Douglas there,<br /> + He rode right furiouslie.</p> +<p class="poetry">But O how pale his lady look’d,<br /> + Frae aff the castle wa’,<br /> +When down, before the Scottish spear,<br /> + She saw proud Percy fa’.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Had we twa been upon the green,<br /> + And never an eye to see,<br /> +I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;<br /> + But your sword sall gae wi’ mee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But gae ye up to Otterbourne,<br /> + And wait there dayis three;<br /> +And, if I come not ere three dayis end,<br /> + A fause knight ca’ ye me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“The Otterbourne’s a bonnie +burn;<br /> + ’Tis pleasant there to be;<br /> +But there is nought at Otterbourne,<br /> + To feed my men and me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The deer rins wild on hill and dale,<br +/> + The birds fly wild from tree to tree;<br /> +But there is neither bread nor kale,<br /> + To feed my men and me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yet I will stay it Otterbourne,<br /> + Where you shall welcome be;<br /> +And, if ye come not at three dayis end,<br /> + A fause lord I’ll ca’ thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thither will I come,” proud Percy +said,<br /> + “By the might of Our Ladye!”—<br +/> +“There will I bide thee,” said the Douglas,<br /> + “My troth I plight to thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>They lighted high on Otterbourne,<br /> + Upon the bent sae brown;<br /> +They lighted high on Otterbourne,<br /> + And threw their pallions down.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he that had a bonnie boy,<br /> + Sent out his horse to grass,<br /> +And he that had not a bonnie boy,<br /> + His ain servant he was.</p> +<p class="poetry">But up then spake a little page,<br /> + Before the peep of dawn:<br /> +“O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,<br /> + For Percy’s hard at hand.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!<br /> + Sae loud I hear ye lie;<br /> +For Percy had not men yestreen,<br /> + To dight my men and me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But I have dream’d a dreary +dream,<br /> + Beyond the Isle of Sky;<br /> +I saw a dead man win a fight,<br /> + And I think that man was I.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He belted on his guid braid sword,<br /> + And to the field he ran;<br /> +But he forgot the helmet good,<br /> + That should have kept his brain.</p> +<p class="poetry">When Percy wi the Douglas met,<br /> + I wat he was fu fain!<br /> +They swakked their swords, till sair they swat,<br /> + And the blood ran down like rain.</p> +<p class="poetry">But Percy with his good broad sword,<br /> + That could so sharply wound,<br /> +Has wounded Douglas on the brow,<br /> + Till he fell to the ground.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>Then he calld on his little foot-page,<br /> + And said—“Run speedilie,<br /> +And fetch my ain dear sister’s son,<br /> + Sir Hugh Montgomery.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My nephew good,” the Douglas +said,<br /> + “What recks the death of ane!<br /> +Last night I dreamd a dreary dream,<br /> + And I ken the day’s thy ain.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;<br +/> + Take thou the vanguard of the three,<br /> +And hide me by the braken bush,<br /> + That grows on yonder lilye lee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O bury me by the braken-bush,<br /> + Beneath the blooming brier;<br /> +Let never living mortal ken<br /> + That ere a kindly Scot lies here.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He lifted up that noble lord,<br /> + Wi the saut tear in his e’e;<br /> +He hid him in the braken bush,<br /> + That his merrie men might not see.</p> +<p class="poetry">The moon was clear, the day drew near,<br /> + The spears in flinders flew,<br /> +But mony a gallant Englishman<br /> + Ere day the Scotsmen slew.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Gordons good, in English blood,<br /> + They steepd their hose and shoon;<br /> +The Lindesays flew like fire about,<br /> + Till all the fray was done.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Percy and Montgomery met,<br /> + That either of other were fain;<br /> +They swapped swords, and they twa swat,<br /> + And aye the blood ran down between.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>“Yield thee, now yield thee, Percy,” he +said,<br /> + “Or else I vow I’ll lay thee +low!”<br /> +“To whom must I yield,” quoth Earl Percy,<br /> + “Now that I see it must be so?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thou shalt not yield to lord nor +loun,<br /> + Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;<br /> +But yield thee to the braken-bush,<br /> + That grows upon yon lilye lee!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I will not yield to a braken-bush,<br /> + Nor yet will I yield to a brier;<br /> +But I would yield to Earl Douglas,<br /> + Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were +here.”</p> +<p class="poetry">As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,<br /> + He stuck his sword’s point in the gronde;<br +/> +The Montgomery was a courteous knight,<br /> + And quickly took him by the honde.</p> +<p class="poetry">This deed was done at Otterbourne,<br /> + About the breaking of the day;<br /> +Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,<br /> + And the Percy led captive away.</p> +<h2><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>TAM +LIN</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part II., p. 340, +Burns’s Version.)</p> +<p class="poetry">O I <span class="smcap">forbid</span> you, +maidens a’,<br /> + That wear gowd on your hair,<br /> +To come or gae by Carterhaugh,<br /> + For young Tam Lin is there.</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh<br +/> + But they leave him a wad,<br /> +Either their rings, or green mantles,<br /> + Or else their maidenhead.</p> +<p class="poetry">Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br /> + A little aboon her knee,<br /> +And she has braided her yellow hair<br /> + A little aboon her bree,<br /> +And she’s awa’ to Carterhaugh,<br /> + As fast as she can hie.</p> +<p class="poetry">When she came to Carterhaugh<br /> + Tam Lin was at the well,<br /> +And there she fand his steed standing,<br /> + But away was himsel.</p> +<p class="poetry">She had na pu’d a double rose,<br /> + A rose but only twa,<br /> +Till up then started young Tam Lin,<br /> + Says, “Lady, thou’s pu nae mae.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,<br /> + And why breaks thou the wand?<br /> +Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh<br /> + Withoutten my command?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Carterhaugh, it is my ain,<br /> + My daddie gave it me;<br /> +I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh,<br /> + And ask nae leave at thee.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br /> + A little aboon her knee,<br /> +And she has snooded her yellow hair<br /> + A little aboon her bree,<br /> +And she is to her father’s ha,<br /> + As fast as she can hie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Four and twenty ladies fair<br /> + Were playing at the ba,<br /> +And out then cam the fair Janet,<br /> + Ance the flower amang them a’.</p> +<p class="poetry">Four and twenty ladies fair<br /> + Were playing at the chess,<br /> +And out then cam the fair Janet,<br /> + As green as onie grass.</p> +<p class="poetry">Out then spak an auld grey knight,<br /> + Lay oer the castle wa,<br /> +And says, “Alas, fair Janet, for thee<br /> + But we’ll be blamed a’.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Haud your tongue, ye auld-fac’d +knight,<br /> + Some ill death may ye die!<br /> +Father my bairn on whom I will,<br /> + I’ll father nane on thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>Out then spak her father dear,<br /> + And he spak meek and mild;<br /> +“And ever alas, sweet Janet,” he says.<br /> + “I think thou gaes wi child.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“If that I gae wi’ child, +father,<br /> + Mysel maun bear the blame;<br /> +There’s neer a laird about your ha<br /> + Shall get the bairn’s name.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If my love were an earthly knight,<br /> + As he’s an elfin grey,<br /> +I wad na gie my ain true-love<br /> + For nae lord that ye hae.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The steed that my true-love rides on<br +/> + Is lighter than the wind;<br /> +Wi siller he is shod before<br /> + Wi burning gowd behind.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br /> + A little aboon her knee,<br /> +And she has snooded her yellow hair<br /> + A little aboon her bree,<br /> +And she’s awa’ to Carterhaugh,<br /> + As fast as she can hie.</p> +<p class="poetry">When she cam to Carterhaugh,<br /> + Tam Lin was at the well,<br /> +And there she fand his steed standing,<br /> + But away was himsel.</p> +<p class="poetry">She had na pu’d a double rose,<br /> + A rose but only twa,<br /> +Till up then started young Tam Lin,<br /> + Says, “Lady, thou pu’s nae mae.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,<br +/> + Amang the groves sae green,<br /> +And a’ to kill the bonie babe<br /> + That we gat us between?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>“O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,” she says,<br +/> + “For’s sake that died on tree,<br /> +If eer ye was in holy chapel,<br /> + Or christendom did see?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,<br /> + Took me with him to bide,<br /> +And ance it fell upon a day<br /> + That wae did me betide.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And ance it fell upon a day,<br /> + A cauld day and a snell,<br /> +When we were frae the hunting come,<br /> + That frae my horse I fell;<br /> +The Queen o Fairies she caught me,<br /> + In yon green hill to dwell.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And pleasant is the fairy land,<br /> + But, an eerie tale to tell,<br /> +Ay at the end of seven years<br /> + We pay a tiend to hell;<br /> +I am sae fair and fu’ o flesh<br /> + I’m feared it be mysel.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But the night is Halloween, lady,<br /> + The morn is Hallowday;<br /> +Then win me, win me, an ye will,<br /> + For weel I wat ye may.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Just at the mirk and midnight hour<br /> + The fairy folk will ride,<br /> +And they that wad their true love win,<br /> + At Miles Cross they maun bide.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,<br /> + Or how my true-love know,<br /> +Amang sae mony unco knights<br /> + The like I never saw?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>“O first let pass the black, lady,<br /> + And syne let pass the brown,<br /> +But quickly run to the milk-white steed,<br /> + Pu ye his rider down.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For I’ll ride on the milk-white +steed,<br /> + And ay nearest the town;<br /> +Because I was an earthly knight<br /> + They gie me that renown.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My right hand will be gloyd, lady,<br /> + My left hand will be bare,<br /> +Cockt up shall my bonnet be,<br /> + And kaimd down shall my hair;<br /> +And thae’s the takens I gie thee,<br /> + Nae doubt I will be there.</p> +<p class="poetry">“They’ll turn me in your arms, +lady,<br /> + Into an esk and adder;<br /> +But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br /> + I am your bairn’s father.</p> +<p class="poetry">“They’ll turn me to a bear sae +grim,<br /> + And then a lion bold;<br /> +But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br /> + As ye shall love your child.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Again they’ll turn me in your +arms<br /> + To a red het gaud of airn;<br /> +But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br /> + I’ll do to you nae harm.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And last they’ll turn me in your +arms<br /> + Into the burning gleed;<br /> +Then throw me into well water,<br /> + O throw me in wi speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And then I’ll be your ain +true-love,<br /> + I’ll turn a naked knight;<br /> +Then cover me wi your green mantle,<br /> + And cover me out o sight.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>Gloomy, gloomy was the night,<br /> + And eerie was the way,<br /> +As fair Jenny in her green mantle<br /> + To Miles Cross she did gae.</p> +<p class="poetry">About the middle o’ the night<br /> + She heard the bridles ring;<br /> +This lady was as glad at that<br /> + As any earthly thing.</p> +<p class="poetry">First she let the black pass by,<br /> + And syne she let the brown;<br /> +But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,<br /> + And pu’d the rider down,</p> +<p class="poetry">Sae weel she minded whae he did say,<br /> + And young Tam Lin did win;<br /> +Syne coverd him wi her green mantle,<br /> + As blythe’s a bird in spring.</p> +<p class="poetry">Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,<br /> + Out of a bush o broom:<br /> +“Them that has gotten young Tam Lin<br /> + Has gotten a stately groom.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,<br /> + And an angry woman was she;<br /> +“Shame betide her ill-far’d face,<br /> + And an ill death may she die,<br /> +For she’s taen awa the bonniest knight<br /> + In a’ my companie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But had I kend, Tam Lin,” she +says,<br /> + “What now this night I see,<br /> +I wad hae taen out thy twa grey e’en,<br /> + And put in twa een o tree.”</p> +<h2><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>THOMAS +THE RHYMER</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part II., p. +317.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">True</span> Thomas lay on +Huntlie bank;<br /> + A ferlie he spied wi’ his ee;<br /> +And there he saw a lady bright,<br /> + Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her skirt was o the grass-green silk,<br /> + Her mantle o the velvet fyne,<br /> +At ilka tett of her horse’s mane<br /> + Hang fifty siller bells and nine.</p> +<p class="poetry">True Thomas he pulld aff his cap,<br /> + And louted low down to his knee:<br /> +“All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!<br /> + For thy peer on earth I never did see.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O no, O no, Thomas,” she said,<br +/> + “That name does not belang to me;<br /> +I am but the queen of fair Elfland,<br /> + That am hither come to visit thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Harp and carp, Thomas,” she +said,<br /> + “Harp and carp, along wi’ me,<br /> +And if ye dare to kiss my lips,<br /> + Sure of your bodie I will be!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Betide me weal, betide me woe,<br /> + That weird sall never daunton me;<br /> +Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,<br /> + All underneath the Eildon Tree.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>“Now, ye maun go wi me,” she said,<br /> + “True Thomas, ye maun go wi me,<br /> +And ye maun serve me seven years,<br /> + Thro weal or woe as may chance to be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She mounted on her milk-white steed,<br /> + She’s taen True Thomas up behind,<br /> +And aye wheneer her bride rung,<br /> + The steed flew swifter than the wind.</p> +<p class="poetry">O they rade on, and farther on—<br /> + The steed gaed swifter than the wind—<br /> +Until they reached a desart wide,<br /> + And living land was left behind.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Light down, light down, now, True +Thomas,<br /> + And lean your head upon my knee;<br /> +Abide and rest a little space,<br /> + And I will shew you ferlies three.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O see ye not yon narrow road,<br /> + So thick beset with thorns and briers?<br /> +That is the path of righteousness,<br /> + Tho after it but few enquires.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And see ye not that braid braid road,<br +/> + That lies across that lily leven?<br /> +That is the path of wickedness,<br /> + Tho some call it the road to heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And see not ye that bonny road,<br /> + That winds about the fernie brae?<br /> +That is the road to fair Elfland,<br /> + Where thou and I this night maun gae.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But, Thomas, ye maun hold your +tongue,<br /> + Whatever ye may hear or see,<br /> +For, if you speak word in Elflyn land,<br /> + Ye’ll neer get back to your ain +countrie.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>O they rade on, and farther on,<br /> + And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee,<br /> +And they saw neither sun nor moon,<br /> + But they heard the roaring of the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern +light,<br /> + And they waded thro red blude to the knee;<br /> +For a’ the blude that’s shed an earth<br /> + Rins thro the springs o that countrie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Syne they came on to a garden green,<br /> + And she pu’d an apple frae a tree:<br /> +“Take this for thy wages, True Thomas,<br /> + It will give the tongue that can never +lie.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“My tongue is mine ain,” True +Thomas said,<br /> + “A gudely gift ye wad gie me!<br /> +I neither dought to buy nor sell,<br /> + At fair or tryst where I may be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I dought neither speak to prince or +peer,<br /> + Nor ask of grace from fair ladye:”<br /> +“Now hold thy peace,” the lady said,<br /> + “For as I say, so must it be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,<br /> + And a pair of shoes of velvet green,<br /> +And till seven years were gane and past<br /> + True Thomas on earth was never seen.</p> +<h2><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>“SIR HUGH; OR THE JEW’S DAUGHTER”</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. v.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Four-and-twenty</span> +bonny boys<br /> + Were playing at the ba,<br /> +And by it came him sweet Sir Hugh,<br /> + And he playd o’er them a’.</p> +<p class="poetry">He kickd the ba with his right foot<br /> + And catchd it wi his knee,<br /> +And throuch-and-thro the Jew’s window<br /> + He gard the bonny ba flee.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s doen him to the Jew’s +castell<br /> + And walkd it round about;<br /> +And there he saw the Jew’s daughter,<br /> + At the window looking out.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Throw down the ba, ye Jew’s +daughter,<br /> + Throw down the ba to me!”<br /> +“Never a bit,” says the Jew’s daughter,<br /> + “Till up to me come ye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“How will I come up? How can I come +up?<br /> + How can I come to thee?<br /> +For as ye did to my auld father,<br /> + The same ye’ll do to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s gane till her father’s +garden,<br /> + And pu’d an apple red and green;<br /> +’Twas a’ to wyle him sweet Sir Hugh,<br /> + And to entice him in.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>She’s led him in through ae dark door,<br /> + And sae has she thro nine;<br /> +She’s laid him on a dressing-table,<br /> + And stickit him like a swine.</p> +<p class="poetry">And first came out the thick, thick blood,<br +/> + And syne came out the thin;<br /> +And syne came out the bonny heart’s blood;<br /> + There was nae mair within.</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s rowd him in a cake o lead,<br /> + Bade him lie still and sleep;<br /> +She’s thrown him in Our Lady’s draw-well,<br /> + Was fifty fathom deep.</p> +<p class="poetry">When bells were rung, and mass was sung,<br /> + And a’ the bairns came hame,<br /> +When every lady gat hame her son,<br /> + The Lady Maisry gat nane.</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s taen her mantle her about,<br /> + Her coffer by the hand,<br /> +And she’s gane out to seek her son,<br /> + And wandered o’er the land.</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s doen her to the Jew’s +castell,<br /> + Where a’ were fast asleep:<br /> +“Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,<br /> + I pray you to me speak.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,<br +/> + Prepare my winding-sheet,<br /> +And at the back o merry Lincoln<br /> + The morn I will you meet.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Lady Maisry is gane hame,<br /> + Make him a winding-sheet,<br /> +And at the back o merry Lincoln,<br /> + The dead corpse did her meet.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>And a the bells o merry Lincoln<br /> + Without men’s hands were rung,<br /> +And a’ the books o merry Lincoln<br /> + Were read without man’s tongue,<br /> +And neer was such a burial<br /> + Sin Adam’s days begun.</p> +<h2><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>SON +DAVIE! SON DAVIE!</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Mackay</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">What</span> +bluid’s that on thy coat lap?<br /> + Son Davie! Son Davie!<br /> +What bluid’s that on thy coat lap?<br /> + And the truth come tell to me, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It is the bluid of my great hawk,<br /> + Mother lady, Mother lady!<br /> +It is the bluid of my great hawk,<br /> + And the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae +red,<br /> + Son Davie! Son Davie!<br /> +Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red,<br /> + And the truth come tell to me, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It is the bluid of my grey hound,<br /> + Mother lady! Mother lady!<br /> +It is the bluid of my grey hound,<br /> + And it wudna rin for me, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae +red,<br /> + Son Davie! Son Davie!<br /> +Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red,<br /> + And the truth come tell to me, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It is the bluid o’ my brother +John,<br /> + Mother lady! Mother lady!<br /> +It is the bluid o’ my brother John,<br /> + And the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>“What about did the plea begin?<br /> + Son Davie! Son Davie!”<br /> +“It began about the cutting o’ a willow wand,<br /> + That would never hae been a tree, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“What death dost thou desire to die?<br +/> + Son Davie! Son Davie!<br /> +What death dost thou desire to die?<br /> + And the truth come tell to me, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll set my foot in a bottomless +ship,<br /> + Mother lady! mother lady!<br /> +I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship,<br /> + And ye’ll never see mair o’ me, +O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“What wilt thou leave to thy poor +wife?<br /> + Son Davie! Son Davie!”<br /> +“Grief and sorrow all her life,<br /> + And she’ll never get mair frae me, +O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“What wilt thou leave to thy young +son?<br /> + Son Davie! son Davie!”<br /> +“The weary warld to wander up and down,<br /> + And he’ll never get mair o’ me, +O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“What wilt thou leave to thy mother +dear?<br /> + Son Davie! Son Davie!”<br /> +“A fire o’ coals to burn her wi’ hearty +cheer,<br /> + And she’ll never get mair o’ me, +O.”</p> +<h2><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>THE +WIFE OF USHER’S WELL</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. iii.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> lived a wife +at Usher’s Well,<br /> + And a wealthy wife was she;<br /> +She had three stout and stalwart sons,<br /> + And sent them oer the sea,</p> +<p class="poetry">They hadna been a week from her,<br /> + A week but barely ane,<br /> +When word came to the carline wife<br /> + That her three sons were gane.</p> +<p class="poetry">They hadna been a week from her,<br /> + A week but barely three,<br /> +Whan word came to the carlin wife<br /> + That her sons she’d never see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I wish the wind may never cease,<br /> + Nor fashes in the flood,<br /> +Till my three sons come hame to me,<br /> + In earthly flesh and blood!”</p> +<p class="poetry">It fell about the Martinmass,<br /> + Whan nights are lang and mirk,<br /> +The carline wife’s three sons came hame,<br /> + And their hats were o the birk.</p> +<p class="poetry">It neither grew in syke nor ditch,<br /> + Nor yet in ony sheugh;<br /> +But at the gates o Paradise<br /> + That birk grew fair eneugh.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>“Blow up the fire, my maidens!<br /> + Bring water from the well;<br /> +For a’ my house shall feast this night,<br /> + Since my three sons are well.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And she has made to them a bed,<br /> + She’s made it large and wide;<br /> +And she’s taen her mantle her about,<br /> + Sat down at the bedside.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Up then crew the red, red cock,<br /> + And up and crew the gray;<br /> +The eldest to the youngest said,<br /> + “’Tis time we were away.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The cock he hadna crawd but once,<br /> + And clapp’d his wings at a’,<br /> +Whan the youngest to the eldest said,<br /> + “Brother, we must awa.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,<br +/> + The channerin worm doth chide;<br /> +Gin we be mist out o our place,<br /> + A sair pain we maun bide.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fare ye weel, my mother dear!<br /> + Fareweel to barn and byre!<br /> +And fare ye weel, the bonny lass<br /> + That kindles my mother’s fire!”</p> +<h2><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>THE +TWA CORBIES</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. i.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> I was walking all +alane,<br /> +I heard twa corbies making a mane;<br /> +The tane unto the t’other say,<br /> +“Where sall we gang and dine the day?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“In behint yon auld fail dyke,<br /> +I wot there lies a new-slain knight;<br /> +And naebody kens that he lies there<br /> +But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.</p> +<p class="poetry">“His hound is to the hunting gane,<br /> +His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,<br /> +His lady’s ta’en another mate,<br /> +So we may make our dinner sweet.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye’ll sit on his white +hause-bane,<br /> +And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;<br /> +Wi ae lock o his gowden hair<br /> +We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Mony a one for him makes mane,<br /> +But nane sall ken whae he is gane,<br /> +Oer his white banes, when they are bare,<br /> +The wind sall blaw for evermair.”</p> +<h2><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>THE +BONNIE EARL MORAY</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. vi.)</p> +<p style="text-align: center">A.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> Highlands, and ye +Lawlands<br /> + Oh where have you been?<br /> +They have slain the Earl of Murray,<br /> + And they layd him on the green.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now wae be to thee, Huntly!<br /> + And wherefore did you sae?<br /> +I bade you bring him wi you,<br /> + But forbade you him to slay.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He was a braw gallant,<br /> + And he rid at the ring;<br /> +And the bonny Earl of Murray,<br /> + Oh he might have been a King!</p> +<p class="poetry">He was a braw gallant,<br /> + And he playd at the ba;<br /> +And the bonny Earl of Murray,<br /> + Was the flower amang them a’.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was a braw gallant,<br /> + And he playd at the glove;<br /> +And the bonny Earl of Murray,<br /> + Oh he was the Queen’s love!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh lang will his lady<br /> + Look oer the castle Down,<br /> +Eer she see the Earl of Murray<br /> + Come sounding thro the town!<br /> + Eer she, etc.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page28"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 28</span>B.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Open the gates<br /> + and let him come in;<br /> +He is my brother Huntly,<br /> + he’ll do him nae harm.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The gates they were opent,<br /> + they let him come in,<br /> +But fause traitor Huntly,<br /> + he did him great harm.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s ben and ben,<br /> + and ben to his bed,<br /> +And with a sharp rapier<br /> + he stabbed him dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady came down the stair,<br /> + wringing her hands:<br /> +“He has slain the Earl o Murray,<br /> + the flower o Scotland.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But Huntly lap on his horse,<br /> + rade to the King:<br /> +“Ye’re welcome hame, Huntly,<br /> + and whare hae ye been?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Where hae ye been?<br /> + and how hae ye sped?”<br /> +“I’ve killed the Earl o Murray<br /> + dead in his bed.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Foul fa you, Huntly!<br /> + and why did ye so?<br /> +You might have taen the Earl o Murray,<br /> + and saved his life too.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>“Her bread it’s to bake,<br /> + her yill is to brew;<br /> +My sister’s a widow,<br /> + and sair do I rue.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Her corn grows ripe,<br /> + her meadows grow green,<br /> +But in bonnie Dinnibristle<br /> + I darena be seen.”</p> +<h2><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>CLERK +SAUNDERS</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. iii.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Clerk Saunders</span> and +may Margaret<br /> + Walked ower yon garden green;<br /> +And sad and heavy was the love<br /> + That fell thir twa between.</p> +<p class="poetry">“A bed, a bed,” Clerk Saunders +said,<br /> + “A bed for you and me!”<br /> +“Fye na, fye na,” said may Margaret,<br /> + “’Till anes we married be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For in may come my seven bauld +brothers,<br /> + Wi’ torches burning bright;<br /> +They’ll say,—‘We hae but ae sister,<br /> + And behold she’s wi a +knight!’”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then take the sword frae my scabbard,<br +/> + And slowly lift the pin;<br /> +And you may swear, and save your aith.<br /> + Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And take a napkin in your hand,<br /> + And tie up baith your bonny e’en,<br /> +And you may swear, and save your aith,<br /> + Ye saw me na since late yestreen.”</p> +<p class="poetry">It was about the midnight hour,<br /> + When they asleep were laid,<br /> +When in and came her seven brothers,<br /> + Wi’ torches burning red.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>When in and came her seven brothers,<br /> + Wi’ torches burning bright:<br /> +They said, “We hae but ae sister,<br /> + And behold her lying with a knight!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out and spake the first o’ them,<br +/> + “I bear the sword shall gar him die!”<br +/> +And out and spake the second o’ them,<br /> + “His father has nae mair than he!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And out and spake the third o’ them,<br +/> + “I wot that they are lovers dear!”<br /> +And out and spake the fourth o’ them,<br /> + “They hae been in love this mony a +year!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out and spake the fifth o’ them,<br +/> + “It were great sin true love to +twain!”<br /> +And out and spake the sixth o’ them,<br /> + “It were shame to slay a sleeping +man!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up and gat the seventh o’ them,<br +/> + And never a word spake he;<br /> +But he has striped his bright brown brand<br /> + Out through Clerk Saunders’ fair bodye.</p> +<p class="poetry">Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she +turned<br /> + Into his arms as asleep she lay;<br /> +And sad and silent was the night<br /> + That was atween thir twae.</p> +<p class="poetry">And they lay still and sleeped sound<br /> + Until the day began to daw;<br /> +And kindly to him she did say,<br /> + “It is time, true love, you were +awa’.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But he lay still, and sleeped sound,<br /> + Albeit the sun began to sheen;<br /> +She looked atween her and the wa’,<br /> + And dull and drowsie were his e’en.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>Then in and came her father dear;<br /> + Said,—“Let a’ your mourning be:<br +/> +I’ll carry the dead corpse to the clay,<br /> + And I’ll come back and comfort +thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Comfort weel your seven sons;<br /> + For comforted will I never be:<br /> +I ween ’twas neither knave nor loon<br /> + Was in the bower last night wi’ me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The clinking bell gaed through the town,<br /> + To carry the dead corse to the clay;<br /> +And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret’s window,<br /> + I wot, an hour before the day.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Are ye sleeping, Margaret?” he +says,<br /> + “Or are ye waking presentlie?<br /> +Give me my faith and troth again,<br /> + I wot, true love, I gied to thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your faith and troth ye sall never +get,<br /> + Nor our true love sall never twin,<br /> +Until ye come within my bower,<br /> + And kiss me cheik and chin.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,<br +/> + It has the smell, now, of the ground;<br /> +And if I kiss thy comely mouth,<br /> + Thy days of life will not be lang.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O, cocks are crowing a merry +midnight,<br /> + I wot the wild fowls are boding day;<br /> +Give me my faith and troth again,<br /> + And let me fare me on my way.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,<br +/> + And our true love sall never twin,<br /> +Until ye tell what comes of women,<br /> + I wot, who die in strong traivelling?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>“Their beds are made in the heavens high,<br /> + Down at the foot of our good lord’s knee,<br +/> +Weel set about wi’ gillyflowers;<br /> + I wot, sweet company for to see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O, cocks are crowing a merry +midnight,<br /> + I wot the wild fowl are boding day;<br /> +The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,<br /> + And I, ere now, will be missed away.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then she has ta’en a crystal wand,<br /> + And she has stroken her troth thereon;<br /> +She has given it him out at the shot-window,<br /> + Wi’ mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I thank ye, Marg’ret, I thank ye, +Marg’ret;<br /> + And aye I thank ye heartilie;<br /> +Gin ever the dead come for the quick,<br /> + Be sure, Mag’ret, I’ll come for +thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">It’s hosen and shoon, and gown alone,<br +/> + She climb’d the wall, and followed him,<br /> +Until she came to the green forest,<br /> + And there she lost the sight o’ him.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Is there ony room at your head, +Saunders?<br /> + Is there ony room at your feet?<br /> +Is there ony room at your side, Saunders,<br /> + Where fain, fain I wad sleep?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“There’s nae room at my head, +Marg’ret,<br /> + There’s nae room at my feet;<br /> +My bed it is full lowly now,<br /> + Amang the hungry worms I sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Cauld mould is my covering now,<br /> + But and my winding-sheet;<br /> +The dew it falls nae sooner down<br /> + Than my resting-place is weet.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>“But plait a wand o’ bonnie birk,<br /> + And lay it on my breast;<br /> +And shed a tear upon my grave,<br /> + And wish my saul gude rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And fair Marg’ret, and rare +Marg’ret,<br /> + And Marg’ret, o’ veritie,<br /> +Gin ere ye love another man,<br /> + Ne’er love him as ye did me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up and crew the milk-white cock,<br /> + And up and crew the gray;<br /> +Her lover vanish’d in the air,<br /> + And she gaed weeping away.</p> +<h2><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>WALY, +WALY</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Mackay</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">waly</span>, waly, up the +bank,<br /> + O waly, waly, down the brae.<br /> +And waly, waly, yon burn side,<br /> + Where I and my love wont to gae.<br /> +I leaned my back unto an aik,<br /> + An’ thocht it was a trustie tree,<br /> +But first it bow’d and syne it brak,<br /> + Sae my true love did lichtly me.</p> +<p class="poetry">O waly, waly, but love is bonnie<br /> + A little time while it is new,<br /> +But when it’s auld it waxes cauld,<br /> + And fades away like morning dew.<br /> +O wherefore should I busk my head,<br /> + O wherefore should I kame my hair,<br /> +For my true love has me forsook,<br /> + And says he’ll never love me mair.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Arthur’s Seat shall be my bed,<br /> + The sheets shall ne’er be pressed by me,<br /> +St. Anton’s well shall be my drink,<br /> + Since my true love has forsaken me.<br /> +Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,<br /> + And shake the green leaves off the tree!<br /> +O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?<br /> + For of my life I am wearie!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>’Tis not the frost that freezes fell,<br /> + Nor blawing snaw’s inclemencie,<br /> +’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,<br /> + But my love’s heart’s grown cauld to +me.<br /> +When we came in by Glasgow toun<br /> + We were a comely sicht to see;<br /> +My love was clad in the black velvet,<br /> + And I mysel in cramasie.</p> +<p class="poetry">But had I wist before I kist<br /> + That love had been sae ill to win,<br /> +I’d locked my heart in a case of gold,<br /> + And pinned it wi’ a siller pin.<br /> +Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,<br /> + And set upon the nurse’s knee;<br /> +And I myself were dead and gane,<br /> + And the green grass growing over me!</p> +<h2><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>LOVE +GREGOR; OR, THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part III., p. +220.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“O <span class="smcap">wha</span> will +shoe my fu’ fair foot?<br /> + And wha will glove my hand?<br /> +And wha will lace my middle jimp,<br /> + Wi’ the new-made London band?</p> +<p class="poetry">“And wha will kaim my yellow hair,<br /> + Wi’ the new made silver kaim?<br /> +And wha will father my young son,<br /> + Till Love Gregor come hame?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your father will shoe your fu’ +fair foot,<br /> + Your mother will glove your hand;<br /> +Your sister will lace your middle jimp<br /> + Wi’ the new-made London band.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your brother will kaim your yellow +hair,<br /> + Wi’ the new made silver kaim;<br /> +And the king of heaven will father your bairn,<br /> + Till Love Gregor come haim.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But I will get a bonny boat,<br /> + And I will sail the sea,<br /> +For I maun gang to Love Gregor,<br /> + Since he canno come hame to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O she has gotten a bonny boat,<br /> + And sailld the sa’t sea fame;<br /> +She langd to see her ain true-love,<br /> + Since he could no come hame.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>“O row your boat, my mariners,<br /> + And bring me to the land,<br /> +For yonder I see my love’s castle,<br /> + Close by the sa’t sea strand.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She has ta’en her young son in her +arms,<br /> + And to the door she’s gone,<br /> +And lang she’s knocked and sair she ca’d,<br /> + But answer got she none.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O open the door, Love Gregor,” she +says,<br /> + “O open, and let me in;<br /> +For the wind blaws thro’ my yellow hair,<br /> + And the rain draps o’er my chin.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Awa, awa, ye ill woman,<br /> + You’r nae come here for good;<br /> +You’r but some witch, or wile warlock,<br /> + Or mer-maid of the flood.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I am neither a witch nor a wile +warlock,<br /> + Nor mer-maid of the sea,<br /> +I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;<br /> + O open the door to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal—<br +/> + And I trust ye are not she—<br /> +Now tell me some of the love-tokens<br /> + That past between you and me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,<br /> + When we sat at the wine,<br /> +How we changed the rings frae our fingers?<br /> + And I can show thee thine.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O yours was good, and good enough,<br /> + But ay the best was mine;<br /> +For yours was o’ the good red goud,<br /> + But mine o’ the diamonds fine.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>“But open the door now, Love Gregor,<br /> + O open the door I pray,<br /> +For your young son that is in my arms<br /> + Will be dead ere it be day.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Awa, awa, ye ill woman,<br /> + For here ye shanno win in;<br /> +Gae drown ye in the raging sea,<br /> + Or hang on the gallows-pin.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,<br +/> + And the sun began to peep,<br /> +Then up he rose him, Love Gregor,<br /> + And sair, sair did he weep.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,<br +/> + The thoughts o’ it gars me greet,<br /> +That Fair Annie of Rough Royal<br /> + Lay cauld dead at my feet.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal<br /> + That ye make a’ this din,<br /> +She stood a’ last night at this door,<br /> + But I trow she wan no in.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O wae betide ye, ill woman,<br /> + An ill dead may ye die!<br /> +That ye woudno open the door to her,<br /> + Nor yet woud waken me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O he has gone down to yon shore-side,<br /> + As fast as he could fare;<br /> +He saw Fair Annie in her boat,<br /> + But the wind it tossd her sair.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>And “Hey, Annie!” and “How, Annie!<br +/> + O Annie, winna ye bide?”<br /> +But ay the mair that he cried “Annie,”<br /> + The braider grew the tide.</p> +<p class="poetry">And “Hey, Annie!” and “How, +Annie!<br /> + Dear Annie, speak to me!”<br /> +But ay the louder he cried “Annie,”<br /> + The louder roard the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,<br /> + And dashd the boat on shore;<br /> +Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,<br /> + But her young son rose no more.</p> +<p class="poetry">Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,<br /> + And made a heavy moan;<br /> +Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,<br /> + But his bonny young son was gone.</p> +<p class="poetry">O cherry, cherry was her cheek,<br /> + And gowden was her hair,<br /> +But clay cold were her rosey lips,<br /> + Nae spark of life was there,</p> +<p class="poetry">And first he’s kissd her cherry cheek,<br +/> + And neist he’s kissed her chin;<br /> +And saftly pressd her rosey lips,<br /> + But there was nae breath within.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O wae betide my cruel mother,<br /> + And an ill dead may she die!<br /> +For she turnd my true-love frae my door,<br /> + When she came sae far to me.”</p> +<h2><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>THE +QUEEN’S MARIE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> (<i>Child</i>, +vi., <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Marie +Hamilton’s</span> to the kirk gane,<br /> + Wi ribbons in her hair;<br /> +The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br /> + Than ony that were there.</p> +<p class="poetry">Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane,<br /> + Wi ribbons on her breast;<br /> +The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br /> + Than he listend to the priest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane,<br /> + Wi gloves upon her hands;<br /> +The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br /> + Than the queen and a’ her lands.</p> +<p class="poetry">She hadna been about the king’s court<br +/> + A month, but barely one,<br /> +Till she was beloved by a’ the king’s court,<br /> + And the king the only man.</p> +<p class="poetry">She hadna been about the king’s court<br +/> + A month, but barely three,<br /> +Till frae the king’s court Marie Hamilton,<br /> + Marie Hamilton durst na be.</p> +<p class="poetry">The king is to the Abbey gane,<br /> + To pu the Abbey tree,<br /> +To scale the babe frae Marie’s heart;<br /> + But the thing it wadna be.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>O she has rowd it in her apron,<br /> + And set it on the sea:<br /> +“Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,<br /> + Ye’s get na mair o me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Word is to the kitchen gane,<br /> + And word is to the ha,<br /> +And word is to the noble room,<br /> + Amang the ladyes a’,<br /> +That Marie Hamilton’s brought to bed,<br /> + And the bonny babe’s mist and awa.</p> +<p class="poetry">Scarcely had she lain down again,<br /> + And scarcely faen asleep,<br /> +When up then started our gude queen,<br /> + Just at her bed-feet,<br /> +Saying “Marie Hamilton, where’s your babe?<br /> + For I am sure I heard it greet.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O no, O no, my noble queen!<br /> + Think no such thing to be!<br /> +’Twas but a stitch into my side,<br /> + And sair it troubles me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton,<br /> + Get up, and follow me,<br /> +For I am going to Edinburgh town,<br /> + A rich wedding for to see.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O slowly, slowly raise she up,<br /> + And slowly put she on;<br /> +And slowly rode she out the way,<br /> + Wi mony a weary groan.</p> +<p class="poetry">The queen was clad in scarlet,<br /> + Her merry maids all in green;<br /> +And every town that they cam to,<br /> + They took Marie for the queen.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>“Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,<br /> + Ride hooly now wi’ me!<br /> +For never, I am sure, a wearier burd<br /> + Rade in your cumpanie.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But little wist Marie Hamilton,<br /> + When she rade on the brown,<br /> +That she was ga’en to Edinburgh town,<br /> + And a’ to be put down.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives,<br /> + Why look ye so on me?<br /> +O, I am going to Edinburgh town,<br /> + A rich wedding for to see!”</p> +<p class="poetry">When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs,<br /> + The corks frae her heels did flee;<br /> +And lang or eer she cam down again,<br /> + She was condemned to die.</p> +<p class="poetry">When she cam to the Netherbow Port,<br /> + She laughed loud laughters three;<br /> +But when she cam to the gallows-foot,<br /> + The tears blinded her ee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yestreen the queen had four Maries,<br +/> + The night she’ll hae but three;<br /> +There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaten,<br /> + And Marie Carmichael, and me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O, often have I dressd my queen,<br /> + And put gold upon her hair;<br /> +But now I’ve gotten for my reward<br /> + The gallows to be my share.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Often have I dressd my queen,<br /> + And often made her bed:<br /> +But now I’ve gotten for my reward<br /> + The gallows-tree to tread.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>“I charge ye all, ye mariners,<br /> + When ye sail ower the faem,<br /> +Let neither my father nor mother get wit,<br /> + But that I’m coming hame.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I charge ye all, ye mariners,<br /> + That sail upon the sea,<br /> +Let neither my father nor mother get wit,<br /> + This dog’s death I’m to die.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For if my father and mother got wit,<br +/> + And my bold brethren three,<br /> +O mickle wad be the gude red blude,<br /> + This day wad be spilt for me!</p> +<p class="poetry">“O little did my mother ken,<br /> + The day she cradled me,<br /> +The lands I was to travel in,<br /> + Or the death I was to die!”</p> +<h2><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>KINMONT WILLIE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. vi.)</p> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">have</span> ye na heard o +the fause Sakelde?<br /> + O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?<br /> +How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,<br /> + On Hairibee to hang him up?</p> +<p class="poetry">Had Willie had but twenty men,<br /> + But twenty men as stout as be,<br /> +Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen<br /> + Wi eight score in his companie.</p> +<p class="poetry">They band his legs beneath the steed,<br /> + They tied his hands behind his back;<br /> +They guarded him, fivesome on each side,<br /> + And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.</p> +<p class="poetry">They led him thro the Liddel-rack.<br /> + And also thro the Carlisle sands;<br /> +They brought him to Carlisle castell.<br /> + To be at my Lord Scroope’s commands.</p> +<p class="poetry">“My hands are tied; but my tongue is +free,<br /> + And whae will dare this deed avow?<br /> +Or answer by the border law?<br /> + Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now haud thy tongue, thou rank +reiver!<br /> + There’s never a Scot shall set ye free:<br /> +Before ye cross my castle-yate,<br /> + I trow ye shall take farewell o me.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>“Fear na ye that, my lord,” quo Willie:<br +/> + “By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope,” +he said,<br /> +“I never yet lodged in a hostelrie—<br /> + But I paid my lawing before I gaed.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,<br /> + In Branksome Ha where that he lay,<br /> +That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie,<br /> + Between the hours of night and day.</p> +<p class="poetry">He has taen the table wi his hand,<br /> + He garrd the red wine spring on hie;<br /> +“Now Christ’s curse on my head,” he said,<br /> + “But avenged of Lord Scroope I’ll +be!</p> +<p class="poetry">“O is my basnet a widow’s curch?<br +/> + Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?<br /> +Or my arm a lady’s lilye hand,<br /> + That an English lord should lightly me?</p> +<p class="poetry">“And have they taen him, Kinmont +Willie,<br /> + Against the truce of Border tide?<br /> +And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch<br /> + Is keeper here on the Scottish side?</p> +<p class="poetry">“And have they een taen him, Kinmont +Willie,<br /> + Withouten either dread or fear,<br /> +And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch<br /> + Can back a steed, or shake a spear?</p> +<p class="poetry">“O were there war between the lands,<br +/> + As well I wot that there is none,<br /> +I would slight Carlisle castell high,<br /> + Tho it were builded of marble stone.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>“I would set that castell in a low,<br /> + And sloken it with English blood;<br /> +There’s nevir a man in Cumberland<br /> + Should ken where Carlisle castell stood.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But since nae war’s between the +lands,<br /> + And there is peace, and peace should be;<br /> +I’ll neither harm English lad or lass,<br /> + And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!”</p> +<p class="poetry">He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,<br /> + I trow they were of his ain name,<br /> +Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, calld<br /> + The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.</p> +<p class="poetry">He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,<br /> + Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch,<br /> +With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,<br /> + And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.</p> +<p class="poetry">There were five and five before them +a’,<br /> + Wi hunting-horns and bugles bright;<br /> +And five and five came wi Buccleuch,<br /> + Like Warden’s men, arrayed for fight.</p> +<p class="poetry">And five and five, like a mason-gang,<br /> + That carried the ladders lang and hie;<br /> +And five and five, like broken men;<br /> + And so they reached the Woodhouselee.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as we crossd the Bateable Land,<br /> + When to the English side we held,<br /> +The first o men that we met wi,<br /> + Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Where be ye gaun, ye hunters +keen?”<br /> + Quo fause Sakelde; “come tell to me!”<br +/> +“We go to hunt an English stag,<br /> + Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>“Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?”<br /> + Quo fause Sakelde; “come tell me +true!”<br /> +“We go to catch a rank reiver,<br /> + Has broken faith wi the bauld Buccleuch.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Where are ye gaun, ye mason-lads,<br /> + Wi a’ your ladders lang and hie?”<br /> +“We gang to herry a corbie’s nest,<br /> + That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Where be ye gaun, ye broken +men?”<br /> + Quo fause Sakelde; “come tell to me?”<br +/> +Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,<br /> + And the nevir a word o lear had he.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Why trespass ye on the English side?<br +/> + Row-footed outlaws, stand!” quo he;<br /> +The neer a word had Dickie to say,<br /> + Sae he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then on we held for Carlisle toun,<br /> + And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossd;<br /> +The water was great and meikle of spait,<br /> + But the nevir a horse nor man we lost.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when we reachd the Staneshaw-bank,<br /> + The wind was rising loud and hie;<br /> +And there the laird garrd leave our steeds,<br /> + For fear that they should stamp and nie.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,<br /> + The wind began full loud to blaw;<br /> +But ’twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,<br /> + When we came beneath the castell-wa.</p> +<p class="poetry">We crept on knees, and held our breath,<br /> + Till we placed the ladders against the wa;<br /> +And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell<br /> + To mount she first, before us a’.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>He has taen the watchman by the throat,<br /> + He flung him down upon the lead:<br /> +“Had there not been peace between our lands,<br /> + Upon the other side thou hadst gaed.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now sound out, trumpets!” quo +Buccleuch;<br /> + “Let’s waken Lord Scroope right +merrilie!”<br /> +Then loud the warden’s trumpet blew<br /> + “O whae dare meddle wi me?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then speedilie to wark we gaed,<br /> + And raised the slogan ane and a’,<br /> +And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,<br /> + And so we wan to the castel-ha.</p> +<p class="poetry">They thought King James and a’ his men<br +/> + Had won the house wi bow and speir;<br /> +It was but twenty Scots and ten<br /> + That put a thousand in sic a stear!</p> +<p class="poetry">Wi coulters, and wi fore-hammers,<br /> + We garrd the bars bang merrilie,<br /> +Until we came to the inner prison,<br /> + Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when we came to the lower prison,<br /> + Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie,<br /> +“O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,<br /> + Upon the morn that thou’s to die?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O I sleep saft, and I wake aft,<br /> + It’s lang since sleeping was fley’d frae +me;<br /> +Gie my service back to my wyfe and bairns<br /> + And a’ gude fellows that speer for +me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Red Rowan has hente him up,<br /> + The starkest man in Teviotdale:<br /> +“Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,<br /> + Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>“Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!<br /> + My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!” he cried;<br +/> +“I’ll pay you for my lodging-maill,<br /> + When first we meet on the border-side.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,<br /> + We bore him down the ladder lang;<br /> +At every stride Red Rowan made,<br /> + I wot the Kinmont’s airms playd clang!</p> +<p class="poetry">“O mony a time,” quo Kinmont +Willie.<br /> + “I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;<br +/> +But a rougher beast than Red Rowan,<br /> + I ween my legs have neer bestrode.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And mony a time,” quo Kinmont +Willie,<br /> + “I’ve pricked a horse out oure the +furs;<br /> +But since the day I backed a steed<br /> + I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs!”</p> +<p class="poetry">We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,<br /> + When a’ the Carlisle bells were rung,<br /> +And a thousand men, in horse and foot,<br /> + Cam wi the keen Lord Scroope along.</p> +<p class="poetry">Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,<br /> + Even where it flowd frae bank to brim,<br /> +And he has plunged in wi a’ his band,<br /> + And safely swam them thro the stream.</p> +<p class="poetry">He turned him on the other side,<br /> + And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:<br /> +“If ye like na my visit in merry England,<br /> + In fair Scotland come visit me!”</p> +<p class="poetry">All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,<br /> + He stood as still as rock of stane;<br /> +He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,<br /> + When thro the water they had gane.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>“He is either himsell a devil frae hell,<br /> + Or else his mother a witch maun be;<br /> +I wad na have ridden that wan water<br /> + For a’ the gowd in Christentie.”</p> +<h2><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>JAMIE +TELFER</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. vi. Early +Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> fell about the +Martinmas tyde,<br /> + When our Border steeds get corn and hay<br /> +The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,<br /> + And he’s ower to Tividale to drive a prey.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first ae guide that they met wi’,<br +/> + It was high up Hardhaughswire;<br /> +The second guide that we met wi’,<br /> + It was laigh down in Borthwick water.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What tidings, what tidings, my trusty +guide?”<br /> + “Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;<br +/> +But, gin ye’ll gae to the fair Dodhead,<br /> + Mony a cow’s cauf I’ll let thee +see.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,<br /> + Right hastily they clam the peel;<br /> +They loosed the kye out, ane and a’,<br /> + And ranshackled the house right weel.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Jamie Telfer’s heart was sair,<br /> + The tear aye rowing in his e’e;<br /> +He pled wi’ the captain to hae his gear,<br /> + Or else revenged he wad be.</p> +<p class="poetry">The captain turned him round and leugh;<br /> + Said—“Man, there’s naething in thy +house,<br /> +But ae auld sword without a sheath,<br /> + That hardly now wad fell a mouse!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>The sun was na up, but the moon was down,<br /> + It was the gryming o’ a new fa’n +snaw,<br /> +Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot,<br /> + Between the Dodhead and the Stobs’s +Ha’</p> +<p class="poetry">And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,<br /> + He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,<br /> +Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot—<br /> + “Wha’s this that brings the fraye to +me?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the +fair Dodhead,<br /> + And a harried man I think I be!<br /> +There’s naething left at the fair Dodhead,<br /> + But a waefu’ wife and bairnies three.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gae seek your succour at Branksome +Ha’.<br /> + For succour ye’se get nane frae me!<br /> +Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,<br /> + For, man! ye ne’er paid money to +me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Jamie has turned him round about,<br /> + I wat the tear blinded his e’e—<br /> +“I’ll ne’er pay mail to Elliot again,<br /> + And the fair Dodhead I’ll never see!</p> +<p class="poetry">“My hounds may a’ rin +masterless,<br /> + My hawks may fly frae tree to tree;<br /> +My lord may grip my vassal lands,<br /> + For there again maun I never be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He has turned him to the Tiviot side,<br /> + E’en as fast as he could drie,<br /> +Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh<br /> + And there he shouted baith loud and hie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve—<br +/> + “Wha’s this that brings the fray to +me?”<br /> +“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,<br +/> + A harried man I trow I be.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>“There’s naething left in the fair +Dodhead,<br /> + But a greeting wife and bairnies three,<br /> +And sax poor câ’s stand in the sta’,<br /> + A’ routing loud for their minnie.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Alack a wae!” quo’ auld Jock +Grieve,<br /> + “Alack! my heart is sair for thee!<br /> +For I was married on the elder sister,<br /> + And you on the youngest of a’ the +three.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he has ta’en out a bonny black,<br +/> + Was right weel fed wi’ corn and hay,<br /> +And he’s set Jamie Telfer on his back,<br /> + To the Catslockhill to tak’ the fray.</p> +<p class="poetry">And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,<br /> + He shouted loud and weel cried he,<br /> +Till out and spak him William’s Wat—<br /> + “O wha’s this brings the fraye to +me?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the +fair Dodhead,<br /> + A harried man I think I be!<br /> +The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear;<br /> + For God’s sake rise, and succour +me!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Alas for wae!” quo’ +William’s Wat,<br /> + “Alack, for thee my heart is sair!<br /> +I never cam by the fair Dodhead,<br /> + That ever I fand thy basket bare.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s set his twa sons on coal-black +steeds,<br /> + Himsel’ upon a freckled gray,<br /> +And they are on wi, Jamie Telfer,<br /> + To Branksome Ha to tak the fray.</p> +<p class="poetry">And whan they cam to Branksome Ha’,<br /> + They shouted a’ baith loud and hie,<br /> +Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,<br /> + Said—“Wha’s this brings the fray +to me?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair +Dodhead,<br /> + And a harried man I think I be!<br /> +There’s nought left in the fair Dodhead,<br /> + But a greeting wife and bairnies three.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Alack for wae!” quoth the gude +auld lord,<br /> + “And ever my heart is wae for thee!<br /> +But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,<br /> + And see that he come to me speedilie!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gar warn the water, braid and wide,<br +/> + Gar warn it soon and hastily!<br /> +They that winna ride for Telfer’s kye,<br /> + Let them never look in the face o’ me!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Warn Wat o’ Harden, and his +sons,<br /> + Wi’ them will Borthwick water ride;<br /> +Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,<br /> + And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,<br +/> + And warn the Currors o’ the Lee;<br /> +As ye come down the Hermitage Slack,<br /> + Warn doughty Willie o’ Gorrinbery.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran,<br /> + Sae starkly and sae steadilie!<br /> +And aye the ower-word o’ the thrang,<br /> + Was—“Rise for Branksome +readilie!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The gear was driven the Frostylee up,<br /> + Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,<br /> +Whan Willie has looked his men before,<br /> + And saw the kye right fast driving.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wha drives thir kye?” ’gan +Willie say,<br /> + “To mak an outspeckle o’ me?”<br +/> +“It’s I, the captain o’ Bewcastle, Willie;<br +/> + I winna layne my name for thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>“O will ye let Telfer’s kye gae back,<br /> + Or will ye do aught for regard o’ me?<br /> +Or, by the faith o’ my body,” quo’ Willie +Scott,<br /> + “I se ware my dame’s cauf’s-skin +on thee!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I winna let the kye gae back,<br /> + Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear,<br /> +But I will drive Jamie Telfer’s kye,<br /> + In spite of every Scot that’s here.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Set on them, lads!” quo’ +Willie than,<br /> + “Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!<br /> +For ere they win to the Ritterford,<br /> + Mony a toom saddle there sall be!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But Willie was stricken ower the head,<br /> + And through the knapscap the sword has gane;<br /> +And Harden grat for very rage,<br /> + Whan Willie on the ground lay slain.</p> +<p class="poetry">But he’s ta’en aff his gude +steel-cap,<br /> + And thrice he’s waved it in the air—<br +/> +The Dinlay snaw was ne’er mair white,<br /> + Nor the lyart locks of Harden’s hair.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Revenge! revenge!” auld Wat +’gan cry;<br /> + “Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!<br /> +We’ll ne’er see Tiviotside again,<br /> + Or Willie’s death revenged shall +be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O mony a horse ran masterless,<br /> + The splintered lances flew on hie;<br /> +But or they wan to the Kershope ford,<br /> + The Scots had gotten the victory.</p> +<p class="poetry">John o’ Brigham there was slain,<br /> + And John o’ Barlow, as I hear say;<br /> +And thirty mae o’ the captain’s men,<br /> + Lay bleeding on the grund that day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>The captain was run thro’ the thick of the +thigh—<br /> + And broken was his right leg bane;<br /> +If he had lived this hundred year,<br /> + He had never been loved by woman again.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Hae back thy kye!” the captain +said;<br /> + “Dear kye, I trow, to some they be!<br /> +For gin I suld live a hundred years,<br /> + There will ne’er fair lady smile on +me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then word is gane to the captain’s +bride,<br /> + Even in the bower where that she lay,<br /> +That her lord was prisoner in enemy’s land,<br /> + Since into Tividale he had led the way.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,<br +/> + And helped to put it ower his head,<br /> +Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,<br /> + When he ower Liddel his men did lead!”</p> +<p class="poetry">There was a wild gallant amang us a’,<br +/> + His name was Watty wi’ the Wudspurs,<br /> +Cried—“On for his house in Stanegirthside,<br /> + If ony man will ride with us!”</p> +<p class="poetry">When they cam to the Stanegirthside,<br /> + They dang wi’ trees, and burst the door;<br /> +They loosed out a’ the captain’s kye,<br /> + And set them forth our lads before.</p> +<p class="poetry">There was an auld wife ayont the fire,<br /> + A wee bit o’ the captain’s kin—<br +/> +“Wha daur loose out the captain’s kye,<br /> + Or answer to him and his men?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the +kye,<br /> + I winna layne my name frae thee!<br /> +And I will loose out the captain’s kye,<br /> + In scorn of a’ his men and he.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>When they cam to the fair Dodhead,<br /> + They were a wellcum sight to see!<br /> +For instead of his ain ten milk-kye,<br /> + Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he has paid the rescue shot,<br /> + Baith wi’ goud, and white monie;<br /> +And at the burial o’ Willie Scott,<br /> + I wot was mony a weeping e’e.</p> +<h2><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>THE +DOUGLAS TRAGEDY</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. ii. Early +Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Rise</span> up, rise +up now, Lord Douglas,” she says,<br /> + “And put on your armour so bright;<br /> +Let it never be said that a daughter of thine<br /> + Was married to a lord under night.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,<br +/> + And put on your armour so bright,<br /> +And take better care of your youngest sister,<br /> + For your eldest’s awa the last +night.”—</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s mounted her on a milk-white +steed,<br /> + And himself on a dapple grey,<br /> +With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,<br /> + And lightly they rode away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord William lookit o’er his left +shoulder,<br /> + To see what he could see,<br /> +And there be spy’d her seven brethren bold,<br /> + Come riding o’er the lee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Light down, light down, Lady +Marg’ret,” he said,<br /> + “And hold my steed in your hand,<br /> +Until that against your seven brothers bold,<br /> + And your father I make a stand.”—</p> +<p class="poetry">She held his steed in her milk white hand,<br +/> + And never shed one tear,<br /> +Until that she saw her seven brethren fa’,<br /> + And her father hard fighting, who loved her so +dear.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>“O hold your hand, Lord William!” she +said,<br /> + “For your strokes they are wondrous sair;<br +/> +True lovers I can get many a ane,<br /> + But a father I can never get mair.”—</p> +<p class="poetry">O she’s ta’en out her +handkerchief,<br /> + It was o’ the holland sae fine,<br /> +And aye she dighted her father’s bloody wounds,<br /> + That were redder than the wine.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O chuse, O chuse, Lady +Marg’ret,” he said,<br /> + “O whether will ye gang or bide?”<br /> +“I’ll gang, I’ll gang, Lord William,” she +said,<br /> + “For ye have left me no other +guide.”—</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s lifted her on a milk-white steed,<br +/> + And himself on a dapple grey.<br /> +With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,<br /> + And slowly they baith rade away.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>O they rade on, and on they rade,<br /> + And a’ by the light of the moon,<br /> +Until they came to yon wan water,<br /> + And there they lighted down.</p> +<p class="poetry">They lighted down to tak a drink<br /> + Of the spring that ran sae clear:<br /> +And down the stream ran his gude heart’s blood,<br /> + And sair she ’gan to fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Hold up, hold up, Lord William,” +she says,<br /> + “For I fear that you are slain!”<br /> +“’Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak<br +/> + That shines in the water sae plain.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O they rade on, and on they rade,<br /> + And a’ by the light of the moon,<br /> +Until they cam to his mother’s ha’ door,<br /> + And there they lighted down.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Get up, get up, lady mother,” he +says,<br /> + “Get up, and let me in!—<br /> +Get up, get up, lady mother,” he says,<br /> + “For this night my fair ladye I’ve +win.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O mak my bed, lady mother,” he +says,<br /> + “O mak it braid and deep!<br /> +And lay Lady Marg’ret close at my back,<br /> + And the sounder I will sleep.”—</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,<br /> + Lady Marg’ret lang ere day—<br /> +And all true lovers that go thegither,<br /> + May they have mair luck than they!</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord William was buried in St. Marie’s +kirk,<br /> + Lady Margaret in Marie’s quire;<br /> +Out o’ the lady’s grave grew a bonny red rose,<br /> + And out o’ the knight’s a brier.</p> +<p class="poetry">And they twa met, and they twa plat,<br /> + And fain they wad be near;<br /> +And a’ the warld might ken right weel,<br /> + They were twa lovers dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">But by and rade the Black Douglas,<br /> + And wow but he was rough!<br /> +For he pull’d up the bonny brier,<br /> + An flang’t in St. Marie’s Loch.</p> +<h2><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>THE +BONNY HIND</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. ii.)</p> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">May</span> she comes, and +may she goes,<br /> + Down by yon gardens green,<br /> +And there she spied a gallant squire<br /> + As squire had ever been.</p> +<p class="poetry">And may she comes, and may she goes,<br /> + Down by yon hollin tree,<br /> +And there she spied a brisk young squire,<br /> + And a brisk young squire was he.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Give me your green manteel, fair +maid,<br /> + Give me your maidenhead;<br /> +Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel,<br /> + Gi me your maidenhead.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He has taen her by the milk-white hand,<br /> + And softly laid her down,<br /> +And when he’s lifted her up again<br /> + Given her a silver kaim.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Perhaps there may be bairns, kind +sir,<br /> + Perhaps there may be nane;<br /> +But if you be a courtier,<br /> + You’ll tell to me your name.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I am na courtier, fair maid,<br /> + But new come frae the sea;<br /> +I am nae courtier, fair maid,<br /> + But when I court’ith thee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>“They call me Jack when I’m abroad,<br /> + Sometimes they call me John;<br /> +But when I’m in my father’s bower<br /> + Jock Randal is my name.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,<br /> + Sae loud’s I hear ye lee!<br /> +For I’m Lord Randal’s yae daughter,<br /> + He has nae mair nor me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,<br /> + Sae loud’s I hear ye lee!<br /> +For I’m Lord Randal’s yae yae son,<br /> + Just now come oer the sea.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s putten her hand down by her +spare<br /> + And out she’s taen a knife,<br /> +And she has putn’t in her heart’s bluid,<br /> + And taen away her life.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he’s taen up his bonny sister,<br /> + With the big tear in his een,<br /> +And he has buried his bonny sister<br /> + Amang the hollins green.</p> +<p class="poetry">And syne he’s hyed him oer the dale,<br +/> + His father dear to see:<br /> +“Sing O and O for my bonny hind,<br /> + Beneath yon hollin tree!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“What needs you care for your bonny +hyn?<br /> + For it you needna care;<br /> +There’s aught score hyns in yonder park,<br /> + And five score hyns to spare.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fourscore of them are siller-shod,<br /> + Of thae ye may get three;”<br /> +“But O and O for my bonny hyn,<br /> + Beneath yon hollin tree!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>“What needs you care for your bonny hyn?<br /> + For it you needna care;<br /> +Take you the best, gi me the warst,<br /> + Since plenty is to spare.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I care na for your hyns, my lord,<br /> + I care na for your fee;<br /> +But O and O for my bonny hyn,<br /> + Beneath the hollin tree!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O were ye at your sister’s +bower,<br /> + Your sister fair to see,<br /> +Ye’ll think na mair o your bonny hyn<br /> + Beneath the hollin tree.”</p> +<h2><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>YOUNG +BICHAM</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. ii.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> London city was +Bicham born,<br /> + He longd strange countries for to see,<br /> +But he was taen by a savage Moor,<br /> + Who handld him right cruely.</p> +<p class="poetry">For thro his shoulder he put a bore,<br /> + An thro the bore has pitten a tree,<br /> +And he’s gard him draw the carts o wine,<br /> + Where horse and oxen had wont to be.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s casten [him] in a dungeon deep,<br +/> + Where he coud neither hear nor see;<br /> +He’s shut him up in a prison strong,<br /> + An he’s handld him right cruely.</p> +<p class="poetry">O this Moor he had but ae daughter,<br /> + I wot her name was Shusy Pye;<br /> +She’s doen her to the prison-house,<br /> + And she’s calld young Bicham one word by.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O hae ye ony lands or rents,<br /> + Or citys in your ain country,<br /> +Coud free you out of prison strong,<br /> + An coud maintain a lady free?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O London city is my own,<br /> + An other citys twa or three,<br /> +Coud loose me out o prison strong,<br /> + An could maintain a lady free.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>O she has bribed her father’s men<br /> + Wi meikle goud and white money,<br /> +She’s gotten the key o the prison doors,<br /> + And she has set Young Bicham free.</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s gi’n him a loaf o good white +bread,<br /> + But an a flask o Spanish wine,<br /> +An she bad him mind on the ladie’s love<br /> + That sae kindly freed him out o pine.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Go set your foot on good ship-board,<br +/> + An haste you back to your ain country,<br /> +An before that seven years has an end,<br /> + Come back again, love, and marry me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">It was long or seven years had an end<br /> + She longd fu sair her love to see;<br /> +She’s set her foot on good ship-board,<br /> + An turnd her back on her ain country.</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s saild up, so has she down,<br /> + Till she came to the other side;<br /> +She’s landed at Young Bicham’s gates,<br /> + An I hop this day she sal be his bride.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Is this Young Bicham’s +gates?” says she.<br /> + “Or is that noble prince within?”<br /> +“He’s up the stair wi his bonny bride,<br /> + An monny a lord and lady wi him.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O has he taen a bonny bride,<br /> + An has he clean forgotten me?”<br /> +An sighing said that gay lady,<br /> + “I wish I were in my ain country!”</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s pitten her ban in her pocket,<br /> + An gin the porter guineas three;<br /> +Says, “Take ye that, ye proud porter,<br /> + An bid the bridegroom speak to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>O whan the porter came up the stair,<br /> + He’s fa’n low down upon his knee:<br /> +“Won up, won up, ye proud porter,<br /> + And what makes a’ this courtesy?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O I’ve been porter at your +gates<br /> + This mair nor seven years an three,<br /> +But there is a lady at them now<br /> + The like of whom I never did see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For on every finger she has a ring,<br +/> + An on the mid-finger she has three,<br /> +An there’s as meikle goud aboon her brow<br /> + As woud buy an earldom o lan to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up it started Young Bicham,<br /> + An sware so loud by Our Lady,<br /> +“It can be nane but Shusy Pye<br /> + That has come oor the sea to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O quickly ran he down the stair,<br /> + O fifteen steps he has made but three,<br /> +He’s tane his bonny love in his arms<br /> + An a wot he kissd her tenderly.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O hae you tane a bonny bride?<br /> + An hae you quite forsaken me?<br /> +An hae ye quite forgotten her<br /> + That gae you life an liberty?”</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s lookit oer her left shoulder<br /> + To hide the tears stood in her ee;<br /> +“Now fare thee well, Young Bicham,” she says,<br /> + “I’ll strive to think nae mair on +thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>“Take back your daughter, madam,” he +says,<br /> + “An a double dowry I’ll gie her wi;<br +/> +For I maun marry my first true love,<br /> + That’s done and suffered so much for +me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s tak his bonny love by the han,<br /> + And led her to yon fountain stane;<br /> +He’s changed her name frae Shusy Pye,<br /> + An he’s cald her his bonny love, Lady +Jane.</p> +<h2><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>THE +LOVING BALLAD OF LORD BATEMAN</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. ii. +<i>Cockney copy</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lord Bateman</span> was a +noble lord,<br /> + A noble lord of high degree;<br /> +He shipped himself all aboard of a ship,<br /> + Some foreign country for to see.</p> +<p class="poetry">He sailed east, he sailed west,<br /> + Until he came to famed Turkey,<br /> +Where he was taken and put to prison,<br /> + Until his life was quite weary.</p> +<p class="poetry">All in this prison there grew a tree,<br /> + O there it grew so stout and strong!<br /> +Where he was chained all by the middle,<br /> + Until his life was almost gone.</p> +<p class="poetry">This Turk he had one only daughter,<br /> + The fairest my two eyes eer see;<br /> +She steal the keys of her father’s prison,<br /> + And swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.</p> +<p class="poetry">O she took him to her father’s cellar,<br +/> + And gave to him the best of wine;<br /> +And every health she drank unto him<br /> + Was “I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was +mine.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>“O have you got houses, have you got land,<br /> + And does Northumberland belong to thee?<br /> +And what would you give to the fair young lady<br /> + As out of prison would let you go free?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O I’ve got houses and I’ve +got land,<br /> + And half Northumberland belongs to me;<br /> +And I will give it all to the fair young lady<br /> + As out of prison would let me go free.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O in seven long years I’ll make a +vow<br /> + For seven long years, and keep it strong,<br /> +That if you’ll wed no other woman,<br /> + O I will wed no other man.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O she took him to her father’s harbor,<br +/> + And gave to him a ship of fame,<br /> +Saying, “Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,<br /> + I fear I shall never see you again.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now seven long years is gone and past,<br /> + And fourteen days, well known to me;<br /> +She packed up all her gay clothing,<br /> + And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.</p> +<p class="poetry">O when she arrived at Lord Bateman’s +castle,<br /> + How boldly then she rang the bell!<br /> +“Who’s there? who’s there?” cries the +proud young porter,<br /> + “O come unto me pray quickly tell.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O is this here Lord Bateman’s +castle,<br /> + And is his lordship here within?”<br /> +“O yes, O yes,” cries the proud young porter,<br /> + “He’s just now taking his young bride +in.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>“O bid him to send me a slice of bread,<br /> + And a bottle of the very best wine,<br /> +And not forgetting the fair young lady<br /> + As did release him when close confine.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O away and away went this proud young +porter,<br /> + O away and away and away went he,<br /> +Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber,<br /> + Where he went down on his bended knee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What news, what news, my proud young +porter?<br /> + What news, what news? come tell to me:”<br /> +“O there is the fairest young lady<br /> + As ever my two eyes did see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“She has got rings on every finger,<br /> + And on one finger she has got three;<br /> +With as much gay gold about her middle<br /> + As would buy half Northumberlee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O she bids you to send her a slice of +bread,<br /> + And a bottle of the very best wine,<br /> +And not forgetting the fair young lady<br /> + As did release you when close confine.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord Bateman then in passion flew,<br /> + And broke his sword in splinters three,<br /> +Saying, “I will give half of my father’s land,<br /> + If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up and spoke this young bride’s +mother,<br /> + Who never was heard to speak so free;<br /> +Saying, “You’ll not forget my only daughter,<br /> + If so be Sophia has crossed the sea.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>“O it’s true I made a bride of your +daughter,<br /> + But she’s neither the better nor the worse for +me;<br /> +She came to me with a horse and saddle,<br /> + But she may go home in a coach and three.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage,<br +/> + With both their hearts so full of glee,<br /> +Saying, “I will roam no more to foreign countries,<br /> + Now that Sophia has crossed the sea.”</p> +<h2><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>THE +BONNIE HOUSE O’ AIRLY</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. vii. +Early Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> fell on a day, +and a bonnie summer day,<br /> + When the corn grew green and yellow,<br /> +That there fell out a great dispute<br /> + Between Argyle and Airly.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Duke o’ Montrose has written to +Argyle<br /> + To come in the morning early,<br /> +An’ lead in his men, by the back O’ Dunkeld,<br /> + To plunder the bonnie house o’ Airly.</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady look’d o’er her window sae +hie,<br /> + And O but she looked weary!<br /> +And there she espied the great Argyle<br /> + Come to plunder the bonnie house o’ Airly.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come down, come down, Lady +Margaret,” he says,<br /> + “Come down and kiss me fairly,<br /> +Or before the morning clear daylight,<br /> + I’ll no leave a standing stane in +Airly.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,<br /> + I wadna kiss thee fairly,<br /> +I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,<br /> + Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane +Airly.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He has ta’en her by the middle sae +sma’,<br /> + Says, “Lady, where is your drury?”<br /> +“It’s up and down by the bonnie burn side,<br /> + Amang the planting of Airly.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>They sought it up, they sought it down,<br /> + They sought it late and early,<br /> +And found it in the bonnie balm-tree,<br /> + That shines on the bowling-green o’ Airly,</p> +<p class="poetry">He has ta’en her by the left shoulder,<br +/> + And O but she grat sairly,<br /> +And led her down to yon green bank,<br /> + Till he plundered the bonnie house o’ +Airly.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O it’s I hae seven braw +sons,” she says,<br /> + “And the youngest ne’er saw his +daddie,<br /> +And altho’ I had as mony mae,<br /> + I wad gie them a’ to Charlie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But gin my good lord had been at +hame,<br /> + As this night he is wi’ Charlie,<br /> +There durst na a Campbell in a’ the west<br /> + Hae plundered the bonnie house o’ +Airly.”</p> +<h2><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>ROB +ROY</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. vi. Early +Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Rob Roy</span> from the +Highlands cam,<br /> + Unto the Lawlan’ border,<br /> +To steal awa a gay ladie<br /> + To haud his house in order.<br /> +He cam oure the lock o’ Lynn,<br /> + Twenty men his arms did carry;<br /> +Himsel gaed in, an’ fand her out,<br /> + Protesting he would many.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O will ye gae wi’ me,” he +says,<br /> + “Or will ye be my honey?<br /> +Or will ye be my wedded wife?<br /> + For I love you best of any.”<br /> +“I winna gae wi’ you,” she says,<br /> + “Nor will I be your honey,<br /> +Nor will I be your wedded wife;<br /> + You love me for my money.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">But he set her on a coal-black steed,<br /> + Himsel lap on behind her,<br /> +An’ he’s awa to the Highland hills,<br /> + Whare her frien’s they canna find her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">“Rob Roy was my father ca’d,<br /> + Macgregor was his name, ladie;<br /> +He led a band o’ heroes bauld,<br /> + An’ I am here the same, ladie.<br /> +Be content, be content,<br /> + Be content to stay, ladie,<br /> +For thou art my wedded wife<br /> + Until thy dying day, ladie.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>“He was a hedge unto his frien’s,<br /> + A heckle to his foes, ladie,<br /> +Every one that durst him wrang,<br /> + He took him by the nose, ladie.<br /> +I’m as bold, I’m as bold,<br /> + I’m as bold, an more, ladie;<br /> +He that daurs dispute my word,<br /> + Shall feel my guid claymore, ladie.”</p> +<h2><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>THE +BATTLE OF KILLIE-CRANKIE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. vii. +Early Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Clavers</span> and his +Highlandmen<br /> + Came down upo’ the raw, man,<br /> +Who being stout, gave mony a clout;<br /> + The lads began to claw then.<br /> +With sword and terge into their hand,<br /> + Wi which they were nae slaw, man,<br /> +Wi mony a fearful heavy sigh,<br /> + The lads began to claw then.</p> +<p class="poetry">O’er bush, o’er bank, o’er +ditch, o’er stark,<br /> + She flang amang them a’, man;<br /> +The butter-box got many knocks,<br /> + Their riggings paid for a’ then.<br /> +They got their paiks, wi sudden straiks,<br /> + Which to their grief they saw, man:<br /> +Wi clinkum, clankum o’er their crowns,<br /> + The lads began to fa’ then.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,<br /> + And flang amang them a’, man;<br /> +The English blades got broken beads,<br /> + Their crowns were cleav’d in twa then.<br /> +The durk and door made their last hour,<br /> + And prov’d their final fa’, man;<br /> +They thought the devil had been there,<br /> + That play’d them sic a paw then.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>The Solemn League and Covenant<br /> + Came whigging up the hills, man;<br /> +Thought Highland trews durst not refuse<br /> + For to subscribe their bills then.<br /> +In Willie’s name, they thought nag ane<br /> + Durst stop their course at a’, man,<br /> +But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock,<br /> + Cry’d, “Furich—Whigs +awa’,” man.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Evan Du, and his men true,<br /> + Came linking up the brink, man;<br /> +The Hogan Dutch they feared such,<br /> + They bred a horrid stink then.<br /> +The true Maclean and his fierce men<br /> + Came in amang them a’, man;<br /> +Nane durst withstand his heavy hand.<br /> + All fled and ran awa’ then.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Oh’ on a ri</i>, <i>Oh’ on a +ri</i>,<br /> + Why should she lose King Shames, man?<br /> +<i>Oh’ rig in di</i>, <i>Oh’ rig in di</i>,<br /> + She shall break a’ her banes then;<br /> +With <i>furichinish</i>, an’ stay a while,<br /> + And speak a word or twa, man,<br /> +She’s gi’ a straike, out o’er the neck,<br /> + Before ye win awa’ then.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh fy for shame, ye’re three for ane,<br +/> + Hur-nane-sell’s won the day, man;<br /> +King Shames’ red-coats should be hung up,<br /> + Because they ran awa’ then.<br /> +Had bent their brows, like Highland trows,<br /> + And made as lang a stay, man,<br /> +They’d sav’d their king, that sacred thing,<br /> + And Willie’d ran awa’ then.</p> +<h2><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>ANNAN +WATER</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. ii. Early +Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Annan</span> +water’s wading deep,<br /> + And my love Annie’s wondrous bonny;<br /> +And I am laith she suld weet her feet,<br /> + Because I love her best of ony.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gar saddle me the bonny black,—<br +/> + Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:<br /> +For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,<br /> + And all to see my bonny ladye.”—</p> +<p class="poetry">He has loupen on the bonny black,<br /> + He stirr’d him wi’ the spur right +sairly;<br /> +But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,<br /> + I think the steed was wae and weary.</p> +<p class="poetry">He has loupen on the bonny gray,<br /> + He rade the right gate and the ready;<br /> +I trow he would neither stint nor stay,<br /> + For he was seeking his bonny ladye.</p> +<p class="poetry">O he has ridden o’er field and fell,<br +/> + Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;<br /> +His spurs o’ steel were sair to bide,<br /> + And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, bonny grey, now play your part!<br +/> + Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,<br /> +Wi’ corn and hay ye’se be fed for aye,<br /> + And never spur sall make you wearie.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;<br /> + But when she wan the Annan water,<br /> +She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,<br /> + Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O boatman, boatman, put off your +boat!<br /> + Put off your boat for gowden monie!<br /> +I cross the drumly stream the night,<br /> + Or never mair I see my honey.”—</p> +<p class="poetry">“O I was sworn sae late yestreen,<br /> + And not by ae aith, but by many;<br /> +And for a’ the gowd in fair Scotland,<br /> + I dare na take ye through to Annie.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The side was stey, and the bottom deep,<br /> + Frae bank to brae the water pouring;<br /> +And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,<br /> + For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.</p> +<p class="poetry">O he has pou’d aff his dapperpy coat,<br +/> + The silver buttons glancèd bonny;<br /> +The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,<br /> + He was sae full of melancholy.</p> +<p class="poetry">He has ta’en the ford at that stream +tail;<br /> + I wot he swam both strong and steady;<br /> +But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,<br /> + And he never saw his bonny ladye.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O wae betide the frush saugh wand!<br /> + And wae betide the bush of brier!<br /> +It brake into my true love’s hand,<br /> + When his strength did fail, and his limbs did +tire.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And wae betide ye, Annan water,<br /> + This night that ye are a drumlie river!<br /> +For over thee I’ll build a bridge,<br /> + That ye never more true love may +sever.”—</p> +<h2><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>THE +ELPHIN NOURRICE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>C. K. Sharpe</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">heard</span> a cow low, a +bonnie cow low,<br /> + An’ a cow low down in yon glen;<br /> +Lang, lang will my young son greet,<br /> + Or his mither bid him come ben.</p> +<p class="poetry">I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,<br /> + An’ a cow low down in yon fauld;<br /> +Lang, lang will my young son greet,<br /> + Or is mither take him frae cauld.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Waken, Queen of Elfan,<br /> + An hear your Nourrice moan.<br /> + O moan ye for your meat,<br /> + Or moan ye for your fee,<br /> + Or moan ye for the ither bounties<br /> + That ladies are wont to gie?</p> +<p class="poetry">I moan na for my meat,<br /> + Nor yet for my fee,<br /> +But I mourn for Christened land—<br /> + It’s there I fain would be.</p> +<p class="poetry">O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says,<br /> + Till he stan’ at your knee,<br /> +An’ ye’s win hame to Christen land,<br /> + Whar fain it’s ye wad be.</p> +<p class="poetry">O keep my bairn, Nourice,<br /> + Till he gang by the hauld,<br /> +An’ ye’s win hame to your young son,<br /> + Ye left in four nights auld.</p> +<h2><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>COSPATRICK</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Mackay</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Cospatrick</span> has sent +o’er the faem;<br /> +Cospatrick brought his ladye hame;<br /> +And fourscore ships have come her wi’,<br /> +The ladye by the green-wood tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">There were twal’ and twal’ +wi’ baken bread,<br /> +And twal’ and twal’ wi’ gowd sae red,<br /> +And twal’ and twal’ wi’ bouted flour,<br /> +And twal’ and twal’ wi’ the paramour.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet Willy was a widow’s son,<br /> +And at her stirrup he did run;<br /> +And she was clad in the finest pall,<br /> +But aye she loot the tears down fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O is your saddle set awrye?<br /> +Or rides your steed for you owre high?<br /> +Or are you mourning, in your tide,<br /> +That you suld be Cospatrick’s bride?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I am not mourning, at this tide,<br /> +That I suld he Cospatrick’s bride;<br /> +But I am sorrowing in my mood,<br /> +That I suld leave my mother good.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But, gentle boy, come tell to me,<br /> +What is the custom of thy countrie?”<br /> +“The custom thereof, my dame,” he says,<br /> +“Will ill a gentle ladye please.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>“Seven king’s daughters has our lord +wedded,<br /> +And seven king’s daughters has our lord bedded;<br /> +But he’s cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane,<br /> +And sent them mourning hame again.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yet, gin you’re sure that +you’re a maid,<br /> +Ye may gae safely to his bed;<br /> +But gif o’ that ye be na sure,<br /> +Then hire some damsel o’ your bour.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The ladye’s called her bour-maiden,<br /> +That waiting was unto her train.<br /> +“Five thousand marks I’ll gie to thee,<br /> +To sleep this night with my lord for me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When bells were rung, and mass was sayne,<br /> +And a’ men unto bed were gane,<br /> +Cospatrick and the bonny maid,<br /> +Into ae chamber they were laid.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to +me, bed,<br /> +And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;<br /> +And speak, my sword, that winna lie,<br /> +Is this a true maiden that lies by me?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It is not a maid that you hae wedded,<br +/> +But it is a maid that you hae bedded;<br /> +It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,<br /> +But not the maiden that it should be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O wrathfully he left the bed,<br /> +And wrathfully his claes on did;<br /> +And he has ta’en him through the ha’,<br /> +And on his mother he did ca’.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>“I am the most unhappy man,<br /> +That ever was in Christen land?<br /> +I courted a maiden, meik and mild,<br /> +And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi’ child.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O stay, my son, into this ha’,<br +/> +And sport ye wi’ your merry men a’;<br /> +And I will to the secret bour,<br /> +To see how it fares wi’ your paramour.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The carline she was stark and stare,<br /> +She aff the hinges dang the dure.<br /> +“O is your bairn to laird or loun,<br /> +Or is it to your father’s groom?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O hear me, mother, on my knee,<br /> +Till my sad story I tell to thee:<br /> +O we were sisters, sisters seven,<br /> +We were the fairest under heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">“It fell on a summer’s +afternoon,<br /> +When a’ our toilsome work was done,<br /> +We coost the kevils us amang,<br /> +To see which suld to the green-wood gang.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ohon! alas, for I was youngest,<br /> +And aye my weird it was the strongest!<br /> +The kevil it on me did fa’,<br /> +Whilk was the cause of a’ my woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For to the green-wood I maun gae,<br /> +To pu’ the red rose and the slae;<br /> +To pu’ the red rose and the thyme,<br /> +To deck my mother’s bour and mine.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I hadna pu’d a flower but ane,<br +/> +When by there came a gallant hinde,<br /> +Wi’ high colled hose and laigh colled shoon,<br /> +And he seemed to be some king’s son.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>“And be I maid, or be I nae,<br /> +He kept me there till the close o’ day;<br /> +And be I maid, or be I nane,<br /> +He kept me there till the day was done.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He gae me a lock o’ his yellow +hair,<br /> +And bade me keep it ever mair;<br /> +He gae me a carknet o’ bonny beads,<br /> +And bade me keep it against my needs.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He gae to me a gay gold ring,<br /> +And bade me keep it abune a’ thing.”<br /> +“What did ye wi’ the tokens rare,<br /> +That ye gat frae that gallant there?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O bring that coffer unto me,<br /> +And a’ the tokens ye sall see.”<br /> +“Now stay, daughter, your bour within,<br /> +While I gae parley wi’ my son.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O she has ta’en her thro’ the +ha’,<br /> +And on her son began to ca’:<br /> +“What did ye wi’ the bonny beads,<br /> +I bade ye keep against your needs?</p> +<p class="poetry">“What did you wi’ the gay gold +ring,<br /> +I bade you keep abune a’ thing?”<br /> +“I gae them to a ladye gay,<br /> +I met in green-wood on a day.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But I wad gie a’ my halls and +tours,<br /> +I had that ladye within my bours,<br /> +But I wad gie my very life,<br /> +I had that ladye to my wife.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now keep, my son, your ha’s and +tours;<br /> +Ye have that bright burd in your bours;<br /> +And keep, my son, your very life;<br /> +Ye have that ladye to your wife.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>Now, or a month was come and gane,<br /> +The ladye bore a bonny son;<br /> +And ’twas written on his breast-bane,<br /> +“Cospatrick is my father’s name.”</p> +<h2><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>JOHNNIE ARMSTRANG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Some</span> speak of lords, +some speak of lairds,<br /> + And sic like men of high degree;<br /> +Of a gentleman I sing a sang,<br /> + Some time call’d Laird of Gilnockie.</p> +<p class="poetry">The king he writes a loving letter,<br /> + With his ain hand sae tenderlie,<br /> +And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,<br /> + To come and speak with him speedilie.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene,<br /> + They were a gallant companie:<br /> +“We’ll ride and meet our lawful king,<br /> + And bring him safe to Gilnockie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Make kinnen <a name="citation87"></a><a +href="#footnote87" class="citation">[87]</a> and capon ready, +then,<br /> + And venison in great plentie;<br /> +We’ll welcome here our royal king;<br /> + I hope he’ll dine at Gilnockie!”</p> +<p class="poetry">They ran their horse on the Langholm howm,<br +/> + And brake their spears with meikle main;<br /> +The ladies lookit frae their loft windows—<br /> + “God bring our men weel hame again!”</p> +<p class="poetry">When Johnnie came before the king,<br /> + With all his men sae brave to see,<br /> +The king he moved his bonnet to him;<br /> + He ween’d he was a king as well as he.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>“May I find grace, my sovereign liege,<br /> + Grace for my loyal men and me?<br /> +For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,<br /> + And a subject of yours, my liege,” said +he.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br /> + Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!<br /> +I granted never a traitor’s life,<br /> + And now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br +/> + And a bonnie gift I’ll gi’e to thee;<br +/> +Full four-and-twenty milk-white steeds,<br /> + Were all foal’d in ae year to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll gi’e thee all these +milk-white steeds,<br /> + That prance and nicher <a name="citation88a"></a><a +href="#footnote88a" class="citation">[88a]</a> at a spear;<br /> +And as meikle gude Inglish gilt, <a name="citation88b"></a><a +href="#footnote88b" class="citation">[88b]</a><br /> + As four of their braid backs dow <a +name="citation88c"></a><a href="#footnote88c" +class="citation">[88c]</a> bear.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br /> + Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!<br /> +I granted never a traitor’s life,<br /> + And now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br +/> + And a bonnie gift I’ll gi’e to thee:<br +/> +Gude four-and-twenty ganging <a name="citation88d"></a><a +href="#footnote88d" class="citation">[88d]</a> mills,<br /> + That gang thro’ all the year to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“These four-and-twenty mills complete,<br +/> + Shall gang for thee thro’ all the year;<br /> +And as meikle of gude red wheat,<br /> + As all their happers dow to bear.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br /> + Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!<br /> +I granted never a traitor’s life,<br /> + And now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br +/> + And a great gift I’ll gi’e to thee:<br +/> +Bauld four-and-twenty sisters’ sons<br /> + Shall for thee fecht, tho’ all shou’d +flee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br /> + Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!<br /> +I granted never a traitor’s life,<br /> + And now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br +/> + And a brave gift I’ll gi’e to thee:<br +/> +All between here and Newcastle town<br /> + Shall pay their yearly rent to thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br /> + Out of my sight soon may’st thou be!<br /> +I granted never a traitor’s life,<br /> + And now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,” he +says,<br /> + “Altho’ a king and prince ye be!<br /> +For I’ve loved naething in my life,<br /> + I weel dare say it, but honestie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Save a fat horse, and a fair woman,<br +/> + Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deer;<br /> +But England shou’d have found me meal and mault,<br /> + Gif I had lived this hundred year.</p> +<p class="poetry">“She shou’d have found me meal and +mault,<br /> + And beef and mutton in all plentie;<br /> +But never a Scots wife cou’d have said,<br /> + That e’er I skaith’d her a puir +flee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>“To seek het water beneath cauld ice,<br /> + Surely it is a great follie:<br /> +I have ask’d grace at a graceless face,<br /> + But there is nane for my men and me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But had I kenn’d, ere I came frae +hame,<br /> + How unkind thou wou’dst been to me,<br /> +I wou’d ha’e keepit the Border side,<br /> + In spite of all thy force and thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wist England’s king that I was +ta’en,<br /> + Oh, gin a blythe man he wou’d be!<br /> +For ance I slew his sister’s son,<br /> + And on his breast-bane brak a tree.”</p> +<p class="poetry">John wore a girdle about his middle,<br /> + Embroider’d o’er with burning gold,<br +/> +Bespangled with the same metal,<br /> + Maist beautiful was to behold.</p> +<p class="poetry">There hang nine targats <a +name="citation90a"></a><a href="#footnote90a" +class="citation">[90a]</a> at Johnnie’s hat,<br /> + An ilk ane worth three hundred pound:<br /> +“What wants that knave that a king shou’d have,<br /> + But the sword of honour and the crown?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, where got thee these targats, +Johnnie.<br /> + That blink sae brawly <a name="citation90b"></a><a +href="#footnote90b" class="citation">[90b]</a> aboon thy +brie?”<br /> +“I gat them in the field fechting, <a +name="citation90c"></a><a href="#footnote90c" +class="citation">[90c]</a><br /> + Where, cruel king, thou durst not be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Had I my horse and harness gude,<br /> + And riding as I wont to be,<br /> +It shou’d have been tauld this hundred year,<br /> + The meeting of my king and me!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>“God be with thee, Kirsty, <a +name="citation91"></a><a href="#footnote91" +class="citation">[91]</a> my brother,<br /> + Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun!<br /> +Lang may’st thou live on the Border side,<br /> + Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down!</p> +<p class="poetry">“And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son,<br +/> + Where thou sits on thy nurse’s knee!<br /> +But an thou live this hundred year,<br /> + Thy father’s better thou’lt never +be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall,<br /> + Where on Esk side thou standest stout!<br /> +Gif I had lived but seven years mair,<br /> + I wou’d ha’e gilt thee round +about.”</p> +<p class="poetry">John murder’d was at Carlinrigg,<br /> + And all his gallant companie;<br /> +But Scotland’s heart was ne’er sae wae,<br /> + To see sae mony brave men die;</p> +<p class="poetry">Because they saved their country dear<br /> + Frae Englishmen! Nane were sae bauld<br /> +While Johnnie lived on the Border side,<br /> + Nane of them durst come near his hauld.</p> +<h2><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>EDOM +O’ GORDON</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> fell about the +Martinmas,<br /> + When the wind blew shrill and cauld,<br /> +Said Edom o’ Gordon to his men,—<br /> + “We maun draw to a hald. <a +name="citation92"></a><a href="#footnote92" +class="citation">[92]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">“And whatna hald shall we draw to,<br /> + My merry men and me?<br /> +We will gae straight to Towie house,<br /> + To see that fair ladye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">[The ladye stood on her castle wall,<br /> + Beheld baith dale and down;<br /> +There she was ’ware of a host of men<br /> + Came riding towards the town.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, see ye not, my merry men all,<br /> + Oh, see ye not what I see?<br /> +Methinks I see a host of men;<br /> + I marvel who they be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She thought it had been her own wed lord.<br /> + As he came riding hame;<br /> +It was the traitor, Edom o’ Gordon,<br /> + Wha reck’d nae sin nor shame.]</p> +<p class="poetry">She had nae sooner buskit hersel’,<br /> + And putten on her gown,<br /> +Till Edom o’ Gordon and his men<br /> + Were round about the town.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>They had nae sooner supper set,<br /> + Nae sooner said the grace,<br /> +Till Edom o’ Gordon and his men<br /> + Were round about the place.</p> +<p class="poetry">The ladye ran to her tower head,<br /> + As fast as she cou’d hie,<br /> +To see if, by her fair speeches,<br /> + She cou’d with him agree.</p> +<p class="poetry">As soon as he saw this ladye fair.<br /> + And her yetts all lockit fast,<br /> +He fell into a rage of wrath,<br /> + And his heart was all aghast.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come down to me, ye ladye gay,<br /> + Come down, come down to me;<br /> +This night ye shall lye within my arms,<br /> + The morn my bride shall be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I winna come down, ye false Gordon,<br +/> + I winna come down to thee;<br /> +I winna forsake my ain dear lord,<br /> + That is sae far frae me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gi’e up your house, ye ladye +fair,<br /> + Gi’e up your house to me;<br /> +Or I shall burn yoursel’ therein,<br /> + Bot and your babies three.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I winna gi’e up, ye false +Gordon,<br /> + To nae sic traitor as thee;<br /> +Tho’ you shou’d burn mysel’ therein,<br /> + Bot and my babies three.</p> +<p class="poetry">[“But fetch to me my pistolette,<br /> + And charge to me my gun;<br /> +For, but if I pierce that bluidy butcher,<br /> + My babes we will be undone.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>She stiffly stood on her castle wall,<br /> + And let the bullets flee;<br /> +She miss’d that bluidy butcher’s heart,<br /> + Tho’ she slew other three.]</p> +<p class="poetry">“Set fire to the house!” quo’ +the false Gordon,<br /> + “Since better may nae be;<br /> +And I will burn hersel’ therein,<br /> + Bot and her babies three.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my +man,<br /> + I paid ye weel your fee;<br /> +Why pull ye out the grund-wa’-stance,<br /> + Lets in the reek <a name="citation94"></a><a +href="#footnote94" class="citation">[94]</a> to me?</p> +<p class="poetry">“And e’en wae worth ye, Jock, my +man,<br /> + I paid ye weel your hire;<br /> +Why pull ye out my grund-wa’-stane,<br /> + To me lets in the fire?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye,<br /> + Ye paid me weel my fee;<br /> +But now I’m Edom o’ Gordon’s man,<br /> + Maun either do or dee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, then out spake her youngest son,<br /> + Sat on the nurse’s knee:<br /> +Says—“Mither dear, gi’e o’er this +house,<br /> + For the reek it smothers me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">[“I wou’d gi’e all my gold, +my bairn,<br /> + Sae wou’d I all my fee,<br /> +For ae blast of the westlin’ wind,<br /> + To blaw the reek frae thee.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>“But I winna gi’e up my house, my dear,<br +/> + To nae sic traitor as he;<br /> +Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair,<br /> + Ye maun take share with me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, then out spake her daughter dear,<br /> + She was baith jimp and small:<br /> +“Oh, row me in a pair of sheets,<br /> + And tow me o’er the wall.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They row’d her in a pair of sheets,<br /> + And tow’d her o’er the wall;<br /> +But on the point of Gordon’s spear<br /> + She got a deadly fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,<br /> + And cherry were her cheeks;<br /> +And clear, clear was her yellow hair,<br /> + Whereon the red bluid dreeps.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then with his spear he turn’d her +o’er,<br /> + Oh, gin her face was wan!<br /> +He said—“You are the first that e’er<br /> + I wish’d alive again.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He turn’d her o’er and o’er +again,<br /> + Oh, gin her skin was white!<br /> +“I might ha’e spared that bonnie face<br /> + To ha’e been some man’s delight.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Busk and boun, my merry men all,<br /> + For ill dooms I do guess;<br /> +I canna look on that bonnie face,<br /> + As it lyes on the grass!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wha looks to freits, <a +name="citation95"></a><a href="#footnote95" +class="citation">[95]</a> my master dear,<br /> + Their freits will follow them;<br /> +Let it ne’er be said brave Edom o’ Gordon<br /> + Was daunted with a dame.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>[But when the ladye saw the fire<br /> + Come flaming o’er her head,<br /> +She wept, and kissed her children twain;<br /> + Said—“Bairns, we been but +dead.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Gordon then his bugle blew,<br /> + And said—“Away, away!<br /> +The house of Towie is all in a flame,<br /> + I hald it time to gae.”]</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord,<br /> + As he came o’er the lea;<br /> +He saw his castle all in a flame,<br /> + As far as he could see.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave,<br /> + And oh, his heart was wae!<br /> +“Put on, put on, my wighty <a name="citation96a"></a><a +href="#footnote96a" class="citation">[96a]</a> men,<br /> + As fast as ye can gae.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Put on, put on, my wighty men,<br /> + As fast as ye can drie;<br /> +For he that is hindmost of the thrang<br /> + Shall ne’er get gude of me!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then some they rade, and some they ran,<br /> + Full fast out o’er the bent;<br /> +But ere the foremost could win up,<br /> + Baith ladye and babes were brent.</p> +<p class="poetry">[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,<br /> + And wept in tearful mood;<br /> +“Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed,<br /> + Ye shall weep tears of bluid.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And after the Gordon he has gane,<br /> + Sae fast as he might drie;<br /> +And soon in the Gordon’s foul heart’s bluid<br /> + He’s wroken <a name="citation96b"></a><a +href="#footnote96b" class="citation">[96b]</a> his dear +layde.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>And mony were the mudie <a name="citation97"></a><a +href="#footnote97" class="citation">[97]</a> men<br /> + Lay gasping on the green;<br /> +And mony were the fair ladyes<br /> + Lay lemanless at hame.</p> +<p class="poetry">And mony were the mudie men<br /> + Lay gasping on the green;<br /> +For of fifty men the Gordon brocht,<br /> + There were but five gaed hame.</p> +<p class="poetry">And round, and round the walls he went,<br /> + Their ashes for to view;<br /> +At last into the flames he flew,<br /> + And bade the world adieu.</p> +<h2><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>LADY +ANNE BOTHWELL’S LAMENT</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. iv. Early +Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Balow</span>, my boy, ly +still and sleep,<br /> +It grieves me sore to hear thee weep,<br /> +If thou’lt be silent, I’ll be glad,<br /> +Thy mourning makes my heart full sad.<br /> +Balow, my boy, thy mother’s joy,<br /> +Thy father bred one great annoy.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>ly still and +sleep</i>,<br /> + <i>It grieves me sore to hear thee weep</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Balow, my darling, sleep a while,<br /> +And when thou wak’st then sweetly smile;<br /> +But smile not as thy father did,<br /> +To cozen maids, nay, God forbid;<br /> +For in thine eye his look I see,<br /> +The tempting look that ruin’d me.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">When he began to court my love,<br /> +And with his sugar’d words to move,<br /> +His tempting face, and flatt’ring chear,<br /> +In time to me did not appear;<br /> +But now I see that cruel he<br /> +Cares neither for his babe nor me.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth<br /> +That ever kist a woman’s mouth.<br /> +Let never any after me<br /> +Submit unto thy courtesy!<br /> +For, if hey do, O! cruel thou<br /> +Wilt her abuse and care not how!<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">I was too cred’lous at the first,<br /> +To yield thee all a maiden durst.<br /> +Thou swore for ever true to prove,<br /> +Thy faith unchang’d, unchang’d thy love;<br /> +But quick as thought the change is wrought,<br /> +Thy love’s no mair, thy promise nought.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">I wish I were a maid again!<br /> +From young men’s flatt’ry I’d refrain;<br /> +For now unto my grief I find<br /> +They all are perjur’d and unkind;<br /> +Bewitching charms bred all my harms;—<br /> +Witness my babe lies in my arms.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">I take my fate from bad to worse,<br /> +That I must needs be now a nurse,<br /> +And lull my young son on my lap:<br /> +From me, sweet orphan, take the pap.<br /> +Balow, my child, thy mother mild<br /> +Shall wail as from all bliss exil’d.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>Balow, my boy, weep not for me,<br /> +Whose greatest grief’s for wronging thee.<br /> +Nor pity her deserved smart,<br /> +Who can blame none but her fond heart;<br /> +For, too soon tursting latest finds<br /> +With fairest tongues are falsest minds.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">Balow, my boy, thy father’s fled,<br /> +When he the thriftless son has played;<br /> +Of vows and oaths forgetful, he<br /> +Preferr’d the wars to thee and me.<br /> +But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine<br /> +Make him eat acorns with the swine.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">But curse not him; perhaps now he,<br /> +Stung with remorse, is blessing thee:<br /> +Perhaps at death; for who can tell<br /> +Whether the judge of heaven or hell,<br /> +By some proud foe has struck the blow,<br /> +And laid the dear deceiver low?<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">I wish I were into the bounds<br /> +Where he lies smother’d in his wounds,<br /> +Repeating, as he pants for air,<br /> +My name, whom once he call’d his fair;<br /> +No woman’s yet so fiercely set<br /> +But she’ll forgive, though not forget.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">If linen lacks, for my love’s sake<br /> +Then quickly to him would I make<br /> +My smock, once for his body meet,<br /> +And wrap him in that winding-sheet.<br /> +Ah me! how happy had I been,<br /> +If he had ne’er been wrapt therein.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>etc.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">Balow, my boy, I’ll weep for thee;<br /> +Too soon, alake, thou’lt weep for me:<br /> +Thy griefs are growing to a sum,<br /> +God grant thee patience when they come;<br /> +Born to sustain thy mother’s shame,<br /> +A hapless fate, a bastard’s name.<br /> + <i>Balow</i>, <i>my boy</i>, <i>ly still and +sleep</i>,<br /> + <i>It grieves me sore to hear thee weep</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>JOCK +O THE SIDE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part VI., p. +479.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> Liddisdale has +ridden a raid,<br /> + But I wat they had better staid at hame;<br /> +For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead,<br /> + And my son Johnie is prisner tane?<br /> + With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.</p> +<p class="poetry">For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane,<br /> + Her coats she has kilted up to her knee;<br /> +And down the water wi speed she rins,<br /> + While tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton:<br /> + “What news, what news, sister Downie, to +me?”<br /> + “Bad news, bad news, my lord Mangerton;<br /> + Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son +Johnie.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Neer fear, sister Downie,” quo +Mangerton;<br /> + “I hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie,<br /> +My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a’ weel filld,<br /> + And I’ll part wi them a’ ere Johnie +shall die.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Three men I’ll take to set him +free,<br /> + Weel harnessd a’ wi best of steel;<br /> +The English rogues may hear, and drie<br /> + The weight o their braid swords to feel</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>“The Laird’s Jock ane, the Laird’s +Wat twa,<br /> + O Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be!<br /> +Thy coat is blue, thou has been true,<br /> + Since England banishd thee, to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, Hobie was an English man,<br /> + In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born;<br /> +But his misdeeds they were sae great,<br /> + They banished him neer to return.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord Mangerton then orders gave,—<br /> + “Your horses the wrang way maun a’ be +shod;<br /> +Like gentlemen ye must not seem,<br /> + But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your armour gude ye maunna shaw,<br /> + Nor ance appear like men o weir;<br /> +As country lads be all arrayd,<br /> + Wi branks and brecham on ilk mare.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Sae now a’ their horses are shod the +wrang way,<br /> + And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine,<br /> +Jock his lively bay, Wat’s on his white horse behind,<br /> + And on they rode for the water o Tyne.</p> +<p class="poetry">At the Cholerford they a’ light down,<br +/> + And there, wi the help o the light o the moon,<br /> +A tree they cut, wi fifteen naggs upon each side,<br /> + To climb up the wall of Newcastle toun.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when they came to Newcastle toun,<br /> + And were alighted at the wa,<br /> +They fand their tree three ells oer laigh,<br /> + They fand their stick baith short aid sma.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>Then up and spake the Laird’s ain Jock,<br /> + “There’s naething for’t; the gates +we maun force.”<br /> +But when they cam the gate unto,<br /> + A proud porter withstood baith men and horse.</p> +<p class="poetry">His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung;<br /> + Wi foot or hand he neer play’d paw;<br /> +His life and his keys at anes they hae taen,<br /> + And cast his body ahind the wa.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now soon they reached Newcastle jail,<br /> + And to the prisner thus they call:<br /> +“Sleips thou, wakes thou, Jock o the Side,<br /> + Or is thou wearied o thy thrall?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Jock answers thus, wi dolefu tone:<br /> + “Aft, aft I wake, I seldom sleip;<br /> +But wha’s this kens my name sae weel,<br /> + And thus to hear my waes does seek?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up and spake the good Laird’s +Jock:<br /> + “Neer fear ye now, my billie,” quo +he;<br /> +“For here’s the Laird’s Jock, the Laird’s +Wat,<br /> + And Hobie Noble, come to set thee free.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, had thy tongue, and speak nae +mair,<br /> + And o thy talk now let me be!<br /> +For if a’ Liddesdale were here the night,<br /> + The morn’s the day that I maun die.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Full fifteen stane o Spanish iron,<br /> + They hae laid a’ right sair on me;<br /> +Wi locks and keys I am fast bound<br /> + Into this dungeon mirk and drearie.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>“Fear ye no that,” quo the Laird’s +Jock;<br /> + “A faint heart neer wan a fair ladie;<br /> +Work thou within, we’ll work without,<br /> + And I’ll be sworn we set thee free.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The first strong dore that they came at,<br /> + They loosed it without a key;<br /> +The next chaind dore that they cam at,<br /> + They gard it a’ in flinders flee.</p> +<p class="poetry">The prisner now, upo his back,<br /> + The Laird’s Jock’s gotten up fu hie;<br +/> +And down the stair him, irons and a’,<br /> + Wi nae sma speed and joy brings he.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, Jock, I wat,” quo Hobie +Noble,<br /> + “Part o the weight ye may lay on me,”<br +/> +“I wat weel no,” quo the Laird’s Jock<br /> + “I count him lighter than a flee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Sae out at the gates they a’ are gane,<br +/> + The prisner’s set on horseback hie;<br /> +And now wi speed they’ve tane the gate;<br /> + While ilk ane jokes fu wantonlie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O Jock, sae winsomely’s ye +ride,<br /> + Wi baith your feet upo ae side!<br /> +Sae weel’s ye’re harnessd, and sae trig!<br /> + In troth ye sit like ony bride.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The night, tho wat, they didna mind,<br /> + But hied them on fu mirrilie,<br /> +Until they cam to Cholerford brae,<br /> + Where the water ran like mountains hie.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when they came to Cholerford,<br /> + There they met with an auld man;<br /> +Says, “Honest man, will the water ride?<br /> + Tell us in haste, if that ye can.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>“I wat weel no,” quo the good auld man;<br +/> + “Here I hae livd this threty yeirs and +three,<br /> +And I neer yet saw the Tyne sae big,<br /> + Nor rinning ance sae like a sea.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up and spake the Laird’s saft +Wat,<br /> + The greatest coward in the company;<br /> +“Now halt, now halt, we needna try’t;<br /> + The day is comd we a’ maun die!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Poor faint-hearted thief!” quo the +Laird’s Jock,<br /> + “There’ll nae man die but he +that’s fie;<br /> +I’ll lead ye a’ right safely through;<br /> + Lift ye the prisner on ahint me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Sae now the water they a’ hae tane,<br /> + By anes and ’twas they a’ swam +through<br /> +“Here are we a’ safe,” says the Laird’s +Jock,<br /> + “And, poor faint Wat, what think ye +now?”</p> +<p class="poetry">They scarce the ither side had won,<br /> + When twenty men they saw pursue;<br /> +Frae Newcastle town they had been sent,<br /> + A’ English lads right good and true.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when the land-sergeant the water saw,<br /> + “It winna ride, my lads,” quo he;<br /> +Then out he cries, “Ye the prisner may take,<br /> + But leave the irons, I pray, to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I wat weel no,” cryd the +Laird’s Jock,<br /> + “I’ll keep them a’; shoon to my +mare they’ll be;<br /> +My good grey mare; for I am sure,<br /> + She’s bought them a’ fu dear frae +thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>Sae now they’re away for Liddisdale,<br /> + Een as fast as they coud them hie;<br /> +The prisner’s brought to his ain fireside,<br /> + And there o’s airns they make him free.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, Jock, my billie,” quo +a’ the three,<br /> + “The day was comd thou was to die;<br /> +But thou’s as weel at thy ain fireside,<br /> + Now sitting, I think, ’tween thee and +me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They hae gard fill up ae punch-bowl,<br /> + And after it they maun hae anither,<br /> +And thus the night they a’ hae spent,<br /> + Just as they had been brither and brither.</p> +<h2><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>LORD +THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part III., p. +182.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lord Thomas</span> and Fair +Annet<br /> + Sate a’ day on a hill;<br /> +Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,<br /> + They had not talkt their fill.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord Thomas said a word in jest,<br /> + Fair Annet took it ill:<br /> +“A, I will nevir wed a wife<br /> + Against my ain friend’s will.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,<br /> + A wife wull neir wed yee;”<br /> +Sae he is hame to tell his mither,<br /> + And knelt upon his knee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O rede, O rede, mither,” he +says,<br /> + “A gude rede gie to mee;<br /> +O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,<br /> + And let Faire Annet bee?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“The nut-browne bride haes gowd and +gear,<br /> + Fair Annet she has gat nane;<br /> +And the little beauty Fair Annet haes<br /> + O it wull soon be gane.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And he has till his brother gane:<br /> + “Now, brother, rede ye mee;<br /> +A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,<br /> + And let Fair Annet bee?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>“The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,<br /> + The nut-browne bride has kye;<br /> +I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,<br /> + And cast Fair Annet bye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Her oxen may dye i’ the house, +billie,<br /> + And her kye into the byre;<br /> +And I sall hae nothing to mysell<br /> + Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And he has till his sister gane:<br /> + “Now, sister, rede ye mee;<br /> +O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,<br /> + And set Fair Annet free?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’se rede ye tak Fair Annet, +Thomas,<br /> + And let the browne bride alane;<br /> +Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,<br /> + What is this we brought hame!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“No, I will tak my mither’s +counsel,<br /> + And marrie me owt o hand;<br /> +And I will tak the nut-browne bride,<br /> + Fair Annet may leive the land.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Up then rose Fair Annet’s father,<br /> + Twa hours or it wer day,<br /> +And he is gane unto the bower<br /> + Wherein Fair Annet lay.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,” he +says<br /> + “Put on your silken sheene;<br /> +Let us gae to St. Marie’s Kirke,<br /> + And see that rich weddeen.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,<br +/> + And dress to me my hair;<br /> +Whaireir yee laid a plait before,<br /> + See yee lay ten times mair.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>“My maids, gae to my dressing-room,<br /> + And dress to me my smock;<br /> +The one half is o the holland fine,<br /> + The other o needle-work.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The horse Fair Annet rade upon,<br /> + He amblit like the wind;<br /> +Wi siller he was shod before,<br /> + Wi burning gowd behind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Four and twanty siller bells<br /> + Wer a’ tyed till his mane,<br /> +And yae tift o the norland wind,<br /> + They tinkled ane by ane.</p> +<p class="poetry">Four and twanty gay gude knichts<br /> + Rade by Fair Annet’s side,<br /> +And four and twanty fair ladies,<br /> + As gin she had bin a bride.</p> +<p class="poetry">And whan she cam to Marie’s Kirk,<br /> + She sat on Marie’s stean:<br /> +The cleading that Fair Annet had on<br /> + It skinkled in their een.</p> +<p class="poetry">And whan she cam into the kirk,<br /> + She shimmerd like the sun;<br /> +The belt that was about her waist<br /> + Was a’ wi pearles bedone.</p> +<p class="poetry">She sat her by the nut-browne bride,<br /> + And her een they wer sae clear,<br /> +Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,<br /> + When Fair Annet drew near.</p> +<p class="poetry">He had a rose into his hand,<br /> + He gae it kisses three,<br /> +And reaching by the nut-browne bride,<br /> + Laid it on Fair Annet’s knee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>Up then spak the nut-browne bride,<br /> + She spak wi meikle spite:<br /> +“And whair gat ye that rose-water,<br /> + That does mak yee sae white?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O I did get the rose-water<br /> + Whair ye wull neir get nane,<br /> +For I did get that very rose-water<br /> + Into my mither’s wame.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The bride she drew a long bodkin<br /> + Frae out her gay head-gear,<br /> +And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,<br /> + That word spak nevir mair.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,<br /> + And marvelit what mote bee;<br /> +But when he saw her dear heart’s blude,<br /> + A’ wood-wroth wexed bee.</p> +<p class="poetry">He drew his dagger that was sae sharp,<br /> + That was sae sharp and meet,<br /> +And drave it into the nut-browne bride,<br /> + That fell deid at his feit.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now stay for me, dear Annet,” he +sed,<br /> + “Now stay, my dear,” he cry’d;<br +/> +Then strake the dagger untill his heart,<br /> + And fell deid by her side.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,<br /> + Fair Annet within the quiere,<br /> +And o the ane thair grew a birk,<br /> + The other a bonny briere.</p> +<p class="poetry">And ay they grew, and ay they threw,<br /> + As they wad faine be neare;<br /> +And by this ye may ken right weil<br /> + They were twa luvers deare.</p> +<h2><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>FAIR +ANNIE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part III., p. +69.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">It’s</span> +narrow, narrow, make your bed,<br /> + And learn to lie your lane:<br /> +For I’m ga’n oer the sea, Fair Annie,<br /> + A braw bride to bring hame.<br /> +Wi her I will get gowd and gear;<br /> + Wi you I neer got nane.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But wha will bake my bridal bread,<br /> + Or brew my bridal ale?<br /> +And wha will welcome my brisk bride,<br /> + That I bring oer the dale?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s I will bake your bridal +bread,<br /> + And brew your bridal ale,<br /> +And I will welcome your brisk bride,<br /> + That you bring oer the dale.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But she that welcomes my brisk bride<br +/> + Maun gang like maiden fair;<br /> +She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,<br /> + And braid her yellow hair.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But how can I gang maiden-like,<br /> + When maiden I am nane?<br /> +Have I not born seven sons to thee,<br /> + And am with child again?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>She’s taen her young son in her arms,<br /> + Another in her hand,<br /> +And she’s up to the highest tower,<br /> + To see him come to land.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come up, come up, my eldest son,<br /> + And look oer yon sea-strand,<br /> +And see your father’s new-come bride,<br /> + Before she come to land.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come down, come down, my mother dear,<br +/> + Come frae the castle wa!<br /> +I fear, if langer ye stand there,<br /> + Ye’ll let yoursell down fa.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And she gaed down, and farther down,<br /> + Her love’s ship for to see,<br /> +And the topmast and the mainmast<br /> + Shone like the silver free.</p> +<p class="poetry">And she’s gane down, and farther down,<br +/> + The bride’s ship to behold,<br /> +And the topmast and the mainmast<br /> + They shone just like the gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s taen her seven sons in her hand,<br +/> + I wot she didna fail;<br /> +She met Lord Thomas and his bride,<br /> + As they came oer the dale.</p> +<p class="poetry">“You’re welcome to your house, Lord +Thomas,<br /> + You’re welcome to your land;<br /> +You’re welcome with your fair ladye,<br /> + That you lead by the hand.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>“You’re welcome to your ha’s, +ladye,<br /> + You’re welcome to your bowers;<br /> +Your welcome to your hame, ladye,<br /> + For a’ that’s here is yours.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, +Annie,<br /> + Sae dearly as I thank thee;<br /> +You’re the likest to my sister Annie,<br /> + That ever I did see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“There came a knight out oer the sea,<br +/> + And steald my sister away;<br /> +The shame scoup in his company,<br /> + And land where’er he gae!”</p> +<p class="poetry">She hang ae napkin at the door,<br /> + Another in the ha,<br /> +And a’ to wipe the trickling tears,<br /> + Sae fast as they did fa.</p> +<p class="poetry">And aye she served the lang tables<br /> + With white bread and with wine,<br /> +And aye she drank the wan water,<br /> + To had her colour fine.</p> +<p class="poetry">And aye she served the lang tables,<br /> + With white bread and with brown;<br /> +And aye she turned her round about,<br /> + Sae fast the tears fell down.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he’s taen down the silk napkin,<br /> + Hung on a silver pin,<br /> +And aye he wipes the tear trickling<br /> + A’down her cheek and chin.</p> +<p class="poetry">And aye he turn’d him round about,<br /> + And smiled amang his men;<br /> +Says, “Like ye best the old ladye,<br /> + Or her that’s new come hame?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>When bells were rung, and mass was sung,<br /> + And a’ men bound to bed,<br /> +Lord Thomas and his new-come bride<br /> + To their chamber they were gaed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Annie made her bed a little forbye,<br /> + To hear what they might say;<br /> +“And ever alas!” Fair Annie cried,<br /> + “That I should see this day!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gin my seven sons were seven young +rats,<br /> + Running on the castle wa,<br /> +And I were a grey cat mysell,<br /> + I soon would worry them a’.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gin my young sons were seven young +hares,<br /> + Running oer yon lilly lee,<br /> +And I were a grew hound mysell,<br /> + Soon worried they a’ should be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And wae and sad Fair Annie sat,<br /> + And drearie was her sang,<br /> +And ever, as she sobbd and grat,<br /> + “Wae to the man that did the wrang!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“My gown is on,” said the new-come +bride,<br /> + “My shoes are on my feet,<br /> +And I will to Fair Annie’s chamber,<br /> + And see what gars her greet.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair +Annie,<br /> + That ye make sic a moan?<br /> +Has your wine-barrels cast the girds,<br /> + Or is your white bread gone?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>“O wha was’t was your father, Annie,<br /> + Or wha was’t was your mother?<br /> +And had ye ony sister, Annie,<br /> + Or had ye ony brother?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“The Earl of Wemyss was my father,<br /> + The Countess of Wemyss my mother;<br /> +And a’ the folk about the house<br /> + To me were sister and brother.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“If the Earl of Wemyss was your +father,<br /> + I wot sae was he mine;<br /> +And it shall not be for lack o gowd<br /> + That ye your love sall fyne.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For I have seven ships o mine ain,<br /> + A’ loaded to the brim,<br /> +And I will gie them a’ to thee<br /> + Wi four to thine eldest son:<br /> +But thanks to a’ the powers in heaven<br /> + That I gae maiden hame!”</p> +<h2><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>THE +DOWIE DENS OF YARROW</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part III. +Early Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Late</span> at e’en, +drinking the wine,<br /> + And ere they paid the lawing,<br /> +They set a combat them between,<br /> + To fight it in the dawing.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord,<br /> + Oh, stay at hame, my marrow!<br /> +My cruel brother will you betray<br /> + On the dowie houms of Yarrow.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!<br /> + Oh, fare ye weel, my Sarah!<br /> +For I maun gae, though I ne’er return,<br /> + Frae the dowie banks of Yarrow.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d +his hair,<br /> + As oft she had done before, O;<br /> +She belted him with his noble brand,<br /> + And he’s away to Yarrow.</p> +<p class="poetry">As he gaed up the Tennies bank,<br /> + I wot he gaed wi’ sorrow,<br /> +Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm’d men,<br /> + On the dowie houms of Yarrow.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, come ye here to part your land,<br +/> + The bonnie Forest thorough?<br /> +Or come ye here to wield your brand,<br /> + On the dowie houms of Yarrow?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>“I come not here to part my land,<br /> + And neither to beg nor borrow;<br /> +I come to wield my noble brand,<br /> + On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If I see all, ye’re nine to +ane;<br /> + An that’s an unequal marrow:<br /> +Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,<br /> + On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Four has he hurt, and five has slain,<br /> + On the bloody braes of Yarrow;<br /> +Till that stubborn knight came him behind,<br /> + And ran his body thorough.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother +John,<br /> + And tell your sister Sarah,<br /> +To come and lift her leafu’ lord;<br /> + He’s sleepin’ sound on +Yarrow.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yestreen I dream’d a dolefu’ +dream;<br /> + I fear there will be sorrow!<br /> +I dream’d I pu’d the heather green,<br /> + Wi’ my true love, on Yarrow.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O gentle wind, that bloweth south,<br /> + From where my love repaireth,<br /> +Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,<br /> + And tell me how he fareth!</p> +<p class="poetry">“But in the glen strive armed men;<br /> + They’ve wrought me dole and sorrow;<br /> +They’ve slain—the comeliest knight they’ve +slain—<br /> + He bleeding lies on Yarrow.”</p> +<p class="poetry">As she sped down yon high, high hill,<br /> + She gaed wi’ dole and sorrow,<br /> +And in the den spied ten slain men,<br /> + On the dowie banks of Yarrow.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>She kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d his +hair,<br /> + She search’d his wounds all thorough,<br /> +She kiss’d them, till her lips grew red,<br /> + On the dowie houms of Yarrow.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, haud your tongue, my daughter +dear!<br /> + For a’ this breeds but sorrow;<br /> +I’ll wed ye to a better lord<br /> + Than him ye lost on Yarrow.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear!<br +/> + Ye mind me but of sorrow:<br /> +A fairer rose did never bloom<br /> + Than now lies cropp’d on Yarrow.”</p> +<h2><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>SIR +ROLAND</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. i. Early +Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Whan</span> he cam to his +ain luve’s bouir<br /> + He tirled at the pin,<br /> +And sae ready was his fair fause luve<br /> + To rise and let him in.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,” +she says,<br /> + “Thrice welcome thou art to me;<br /> +For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir,<br /> + And to-morrow we’ll wedded be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“This night is hallow-eve,” he +said,<br /> + “And to-morrow is hallow-day;<br /> +And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,<br /> + That has made my heart fu’ wae.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,<br +/> + And I wish it may cum to gude:<br /> +I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound,<br /> + And gied me his lappered blude.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">“Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland,” +she said,<br /> + And set you safely down.”<br /> +“O your chamber is very dark, fair maid,<br /> + And the night is wondrous lown.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>“Yes, dark, dark is my secret bouir,<br /> + And lown the midnight may be;<br /> +For there is none waking in a’ this tower<br /> + But thou, my true love, and me.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">She has mounted on her true love’s +steed,<br /> + By the ae light o’ the moon;<br /> +She has whipped him and spurred him,<br /> + And roundly she rade frae the toun.</p> +<p class="poetry">She hadna ridden a mile o’ gate,<br /> + Never a mile but ane,<br /> +When she was aware of a tall young man,<br /> + Slow riding o’er the plain,</p> +<p class="poetry">She turned her to the right about,<br /> + Then to the left turn’d she;<br /> +But aye, ’tween her and the wan moonlight,<br /> + That tall knight did she see.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he was riding burd alane,<br /> + On a horse as black as jet,<br /> +But tho’ she followed him fast and fell,<br /> + No nearer could she get.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O stop! O stop! young man,” +she said;<br /> + “For I in dule am dight;<br /> +O stop, and win a fair lady’s luve,<br /> + If you be a leal true knight.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But nothing did the tall knight say,<br /> + And nothing did he blin;<br /> +Still slowly ride he on before<br /> + And fast she rade behind.</p> +<p class="poetry">She whipped her steed, she spurred her +steed,<br /> + Till his breast was all a foam;<br /> +But nearer unto that tall young knight,<br /> + By Our Ladye she could not come.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>“O if you be a gay young knight,<br /> + As well I trow you be,<br /> +Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay<br /> + Till I come up to thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But nothing did that tall knight say,<br /> + And no whit did he blin,<br /> +Until he reached a broad river’s side<br /> + And there he drew his rein.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O is this water deep?” he said,<br +/> + “As it is wondrous dun?<br /> +Or is it sic as a saikless maid,<br /> + And a leal true knight may swim?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“The water it is deep,” she +said,<br /> + “As it is wondrous dun;<br /> +But it is sic as a saikless maid,<br /> + And a leal true knight may swim.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The knight spurred on his tall black steed;<br +/> + The lady spurred on her brown;<br /> +And fast they rade unto the flood,<br /> + And fast they baith swam down.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The water weets my tae,” she +said;<br /> + “The water weets my knee,<br /> +And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight,<br /> + For the sake of Our Ladye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“If I would help thee now,” he +said,<br /> + “It were a deadly sin,<br /> +For I’ve sworn neir to trust a fair may’s word,<br /> + Till the water weets her chin.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, the water weets my waist,” she +said,<br /> + “Sae does it weet my skin,<br /> +And my aching heart rins round about,<br /> + The burn maks sic a din.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>“The water is waxing deeper still,<br /> + Sae does it wax mair wide;<br /> +And aye the farther that we ride on,<br /> + Farther off is the other side.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O help me now, thou false, false +knight,<br /> + Have pity on my youth,<br /> +For now the water jawes owre my head,<br /> + And it gurgles in my mouth.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The knight turned right and round about,<br /> + All in the middle stream;<br /> +And he stretched out his head to that lady,<br /> + But loudly she did scream.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O this is hallow-morn,” he +said,<br /> + “And it is your bridal-day,<br /> +But sad would be that gay wedding,<br /> + If bridegroom and bride were away.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret!<br +/> + Till the water comes o’er your bree,<br /> +For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet,<br /> + Wha rides this ford wi’ me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Turn round, turn round, proud +Margaret!<br /> + Turn ye round, and look on me,<br /> +Thou hast killed a true knight under trust,<br /> + And his ghost now links on with thee.”</p> +<h2><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>ROSE +THE RED AND WHITE LILY</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part IV.)</p> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">Rose</span> the Red and +White Lilly,<br /> + Their mother dear was dead,<br /> +And their father married an ill woman,<br /> + Wishd them twa little guede.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet she had twa as fu fair sons<br /> + As eer brake manis bread,<br /> +And the tane of them loed her White Lilly,<br /> + And the tither lood Rose the Red.</p> +<p class="poetry">O, biggit ha they a bigly bowr,<br /> + And strawn it oer wi san,<br /> +And there was mair mirth i the ladies’ bowr<br /> + Than in a’ their father’s lan.</p> +<p class="poetry">But out it spake their step-mother,<br /> + Wha stood a little foreby:<br /> +“I hope to live and play the prank<br /> + Sal gar your loud sang ly.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s calld upon her eldest son:<br /> + “Come here, my son, to me;<br /> +It fears me sair, my eldest son,<br /> + That ye maun sail the sea.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,<br +/> + Your bidding I maun dee;<br /> +But be never war to Rose the Red<br /> + Than ye ha been to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +124</span>“O had your tongue, my eldest son,<br /> + For sma sal be her part;<br /> +You’ll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth<br /> + Gin your very fair heart should break.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s calld upon her youngest son:<br /> + “Come here, my son, to me;<br /> +It fears me sair, my youngest son,<br /> + That ye maun sail the sea.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,<br +/> + Your bidding I maun dee;<br /> +But be never war to White Lilly<br /> + Than ye ha been to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O haud your tongue, my youngest son,<br +/> + For sma sall be her part;<br /> +You’ll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth<br /> + Tho your very fair heart should break.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When Rose the Red and White Lilly<br /> + Saw their twa loves were gane,<br /> +Then stopped ha they their loud, loud sang,<br /> + And tane up the still moarnin;<br /> +And their step-mother stood listnin by,<br /> + To hear the ladies’ mean.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake her, White Lily;<br /> + “My sister, we’ll be gane;<br /> +Why shou’d we stay in Barnsdale,<br /> + To waste our youth in pain?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then cutted ha they their green cloathing,<br +/> + A little below their knee;<br /> +And sae ha they their yallow hair,<br /> + A little aboon there bree;<br /> +And they’ve doen them to haely chapel<br /> + Was christened by Our Ladye.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>There ha they changed their ain twa names,<br /> + Sae far frae ony town;<br /> +And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy,<br /> + And the tither o them Roge the Roun.</p> +<p class="poetry">Between this twa a vow was made,<br /> + An they sware it to fulfil;<br /> +That at three blasts o a buglehorn,<br /> + She’d come her sister till.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Sweet Willy’s gane to the kingis +court,<br /> + Her true-love for to see,<br /> +And Roge the Roun to good green wood,<br /> + Brown Robin’s man to be.</p> +<p class="poetry">As it fell out upon a day,<br /> + They a did put the stane;<br /> +Full seven foot ayont them a<br /> + She gard the puttin-stane gang.</p> +<p class="poetry">She leand her back against an oak,<br /> + And gae a loud Ohone!<br /> +Then out it spake him Brown Robin,<br /> + “But that’s a woman’s +moan!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip?<br /> + Or by my yallow hair;<br /> +Or ken ye by my milk-white breast?<br /> + For ye never saw it bare?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I ken no by your red rose lip,<br /> + Nor by your yallow hair;<br /> +Nor ken I by your milk-white breast,<br /> + For I never saw it bare;<br /> +But, come to your bowr whaever sae likes,<br /> + Will find a ladye there.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>“Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within,<br /> + Thro fraud, deceit, or guile,<br /> +Wi this same bran that’s in my han<br /> + I swear I will thee kill.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But I will come thy bowr within,<br /> + An spear nae leave,” quoth he;<br /> +“An this same bran that’s i my ban,<br /> + I sall ware back on the.”</p> +<p class="poetry">About the tenth hour of the night,<br /> + The ladie’s bowr door was broken,<br /> +An eer the first hour of the day<br /> + The bonny knave bairn was gotten.</p> +<p class="poetry">When days were gane and months were run,<br /> + The ladye took travailing,<br /> +And sair she cry’d for a bow’r-woman,<br /> + For to wait her upon.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake him, Brown Robin:<br /> + “Now what needs a’ this din?<br /> +For what coud any woman do<br /> + But I coud do the same?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Twas never my mither’s +fashion,” she says,<br /> + “Nor sall it ever be mine,<br /> +That belted knights shoud eer remain<br /> + Where ladies dreed their pine.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But ye take up that bugle-horn,<br /> + An blaw a blast for me;<br /> +I ha a brother i the kingis court<br /> + Will come me quickly ti.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O gin ye ha a brither on earth<br /> + That ye love better nor me,<br /> +Ye blaw the horn yoursel,” he says,<br /> + “For ae blast I winna gie.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +127</span>She’s set the horn till her mouth,<br /> + And she’s blawn three blasts sae shrill;<br /> +Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court,<br /> + And came her quickly till.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up it started Brown Robin,<br /> + An an angry man was he:<br /> +“There comes nae man this bowr within<br /> + But first must fight wi me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O they hae fought that bowr within<br /> + Till the sun was gaing down,<br /> +Till drops o blude frae Rose the Red<br /> + Cam trailing to the groun.</p> +<p class="poetry">She leand her back against the wa,<br /> + Says, “Robin, let a’ be;<br /> +For it is a lady born and bred<br /> + That’s foughten sae well wi thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O seven foot he lap a back;<br /> + Says, “Alas, and wae is me!<br /> +I never wisht in a’ my life,<br /> + A woman’s blude to see;<br /> +An ae for the sake of ae fair maid<br /> + Whose name was White Lilly.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake her White Lilly,<br /> + An a hearty laugh laugh she:<br /> +“She’s lived wi you this year an mair,<br /> + Tho ye kenntna it was she.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now word has gane thro a’ the lan,<br /> + Before a month was done,<br /> +That Brown Robin’s man, in good green wood,<br /> + Had born a bonny young son.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>The word has gane to the kingis court,<br /> + An to the king himsel;<br /> +“Now, by my fay,” the king could say,<br /> + “The like was never heard tell!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,<br /> + An a hearty laugh laugh he:<br /> +“I trow some may has playd the loun,<br /> + And fled her ain country.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Bring me my steed,” then +cry’d the king,<br /> + “My bow and arrows keen;<br /> +I’ll ride mysel to good green wood,<br /> + An see what’s to be seen.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“An’t please your grace,” +said Bold Arthur,<br /> + “My liege, I’ll gang you wi,<br /> +An try to fin a little foot-page,<br /> + That’s strayd awa frae me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O they’ve hunted i the good green wood<br +/> + The buck but an the rae,<br /> +An they drew near Brown Robin’s bowr,<br /> + About the close of day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake the king in hast,<br /> + Says, “Arthur look an see<br /> +Gin that be no your little foot-page<br /> + That leans against yon tree.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Arthur took his bugle-horn,<br /> + An blew a blast sae shrill;<br /> +Sweet Willy started at the sound,<br /> + An ran him quickly till.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O wanted ye your meat, Willy?<br /> + Or wanted ye your fee?<br /> +Or gat ye ever an angry word,<br /> + That ye ran awa frae me?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +129</span>“I wanted nought, my master dear;<br /> + To me ye ay was good;<br /> +I came but to see my ae brother,<br /> + That wons in this green wood.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake the king again,<br /> + Says, “Bonny boy, tell to me,<br /> +Wha lives into yon bigly bowr,<br /> + Stands by yon green oak tree?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, pardon me,” says Sweet +Willie,<br /> + “My liege, I dare no tell;<br /> +An I pray you go no near that bowr,<br /> + For fear they do you fell.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy,<br +/> + For I winna be said nay;<br /> +But I will gang that bowr within,<br /> + Betide me weal or wae.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They’ve lighted off their milk-white +steeds,<br /> + An saftly enterd in,<br /> +And there they saw her White Lilly,<br /> + Nursing her bonny young son.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, by the rood,” the king coud +say,<br /> + “This is a comely sight;<br /> +I trow, instead of a forrester’s man,<br /> + This is a lady bright!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake her, Rose the Red,<br /> + An fell low down on her knee:<br /> +“Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege,<br /> + An our story I’ll tell thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Our father was a wealthy lord,<br /> + That wond in Barnsdale;<br /> +But we had a wicked step-mother,<br /> + That wrought us meickle bale.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>“Yet she had twa as fu fair sons<br /> + As ever the sun did see,<br /> +An the tane of them lood my sister dear,<br /> + An the tother said he lood me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,<br /> + As by the king he stood:<br /> +“Now, by the faith o my body,<br /> + This shoud be Rose the Red!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then in it came him Brown Robin,<br /> + Frae hunting O the deer;<br /> +But whan he saw the king was there,<br /> + He started back for fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">The king has taen him by the hand,<br /> + An bide him naithing dread;<br /> +Says, “Ye maun leave the good greenwood,<br /> + Come to the court wi speed.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up he took White Lilly’s son,<br /> + An set him on his knee;<br /> +Says—“Gin ye live to wield a bran,<br /> + My bowman ye sall bee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The king he sent for robes of green,<br /> + An girdles o shinning gold;<br /> +He gart the ladies be arrayd<br /> + Most comely to behold.</p> +<p class="poetry">They’ve done them unto Mary kirk,<br /> + An there gat fair wedding,<br /> +An fan the news spread oer the lan,<br /> + For joy the bells did ring.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it spake her Rose the Red,<br /> + An a hearty laugh laugh she:<br /> +“I wonder what would our step-dame say,<br /> + Gin she his sight did see!”</p> +<h2><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>THE +BATTLE OF HARLAW<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evergreen Version</span></h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. vii. +Early Edition, Appendix.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Frae</span> Dunidier as I +cam throuch,<br /> + Doun by the hill of Banochie,<br /> +Allangst the lands of Garioch.<br /> + Grit pitie was to heir and se<br /> + The noys and dulesum hermonie,<br /> +That evir that dreiry day did daw!<br /> + Cryand the corynoch on hie,<br /> +Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.</p> +<p class="poetry">I marvlit what the matter meant;<br /> + All folks were in a fiery fariy:<br /> +I wist nocht wha was fae or freind,<br /> + Yet quietly I did me carrie.<br /> + But sen the days of auld King Hairy,<br /> +Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene,<br /> + And thair I had nae tyme to tairy,<br /> +For bissiness in Aberdene.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus as I walkit on the way,<br /> + To Inverury as I went,<br /> +I met a man, and bad him stay,<br /> + Requeisting him to mak me quaint<br /> + Of the beginning and the event<br /> +That happenit thair at the Harlaw;<br /> + Then he entreited me to tak tent,<br /> +And he the truth sould to me schaw.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim<br /> + Unto the lands of Ross sum richt,<br /> +And to the governour he came,<br /> + Them for to haif, gif that he micht,<br /> + Wha saw his interest was but slicht,<br /> +And thairfore answerit with disdain.<br /> + He hastit hame baith day and nicht,<br /> +And sent nae bodward back again.</p> +<p class="poetry">But Donald richt impatient<br /> + Of that answer Duke Robert gaif,<br /> +He vow’d to God Omniyotent,<br /> + All the hale lands of Ross to half,<br /> + Or ells be graithed in his graif:<br /> +He wald not quat his richt for nocht,<br /> + Nor be abusit like a slaif;<br /> +That bargin sould be deirly bocht.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then haistylie he did command<br /> + That all his weir-men should convene;<br /> +Ilk an well harnisit frae hand,<br /> + To melt and heir what he did mein.<br /> + He waxit wrath and vowit tein;<br /> +Sweirand he wald surpryse the North,<br /> + Subdew the brugh of Aberdene,<br /> +Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus with the weir-men of the yles,<br /> + Wha war ay at his bidding bown,<br /> +With money maid, with forss and wyls,<br /> + Richt far and neir, baith up and doun,<br /> + Throw mount and muir, frae town to town,<br /> +Allangst the lands of Ross he roars,<br /> + And all obey’d at his bandown,<br /> +Evin frae the North to Suthren shoars.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then all the countrie men did yield;<br /> + For nae resistans durst they mak,<br /> +<a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>Nor +offer batill in the feild,<br /> + Be forss of arms to beir him bak.<br /> + Syne they resolvit all and spak,<br /> +That best it was for thair behoif,<br /> + They sould him for thair chiftain tak,<br /> +Believing weil he did them luve.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he a proclamation maid,<br /> + All men to meet at Inverness,<br /> +Throw Murray land to mak a raid,<br /> + Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness.<br /> + And further mair, he sent express,<br /> +To schaw his collours and ensenzie,<br /> + To all and sindry, mair and less,<br /> +Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then throw fair Strathbogie land<br /> + His purpose was for to pursew,<br /> +And whatsoevir durst gainstand,<br /> + That race they should full sairly rew.<br /> + Then he bad all his men be trew,<br /> +And him defend by forss and slicht,<br /> + And promist them rewardis anew,<br /> +And mak them men of mekle micht.</p> +<p class="poetry">Without resistans, as he said,<br /> + Throw all these parts he stoutly past,<br /> +Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid,<br /> + But Garioch was all agast.<br /> + Throw all these feilds be sped him fast,<br /> +For sic a sicht was never sene;<br /> + And then, forsuith, he langd at last<br /> +To se the bruch of Aberdene.</p> +<p class="poetry">To hinder this prowd enterprise,<br /> + The stout and michty Erl of Marr<br /> +With all his men in arms did ryse,<br /> + Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar:<br /> + <a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>And down the syde of Don richt far,<br /> +Angus and Mearns did all convene<br /> + To fecht, or Donald came sae nar<br /> +The ryall bruch of Aberdene.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thus the martial Erle of Marr<br /> + Marcht with his men in richt array;<br /> +Befoir his enemis was aware,<br /> + His banner bauldly did display.<br /> + For weil enewch they kent the way,<br /> +And all their semblance well they saw:<br /> + Without all dangir or delay,<br /> +Come haistily to the Harlaw.</p> +<p class="poetry">With him the braif Lord Ogilvy,<br /> + Of Angus sheriff principall,<br /> +The constable of gude Dundè,<br /> + The vanguard led before them all.<br /> + Suppose in number they war small,<br /> +Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew,<br /> + And maid thair faes befor them fall,<br /> +Wha then that race did sairly rew.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then the worthy Lord Salton,<br /> + The strong undoubted Laird of Drum,<br /> +The stalwart Laird of Lawristone,<br /> + With ilk thair forces all and sum.<br /> + Panmuir with all his men, did cum,<br /> +The provost of braif Aberdene,<br /> + With trumpets and with tuick of drum,<br /> +Came schortly in thair armour schene.</p> +<p class="poetry">These with the Earle of Marr came on,<br /> + In the reir-ward richt orderlie,<br /> +Thair enemies to sett upon;<br /> + In awfull manner hardilie,<br /> + Togither vowit to live and die,<br /> +Since they had marchit mony mylis,<br /> + For to suppress the tyrannie<br /> +Of douted Donald of the Ysles.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>But he, in number ten to ane,<br /> + Right subtilè alang did ryde,<br /> +With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean,<br /> + With all thair power at thair syde;<br /> + Presumeand on their strenth and pryde,<br /> +Without all feir or ony aw,<br /> + Richt bauldie battil did abyde,<br /> +Hard by the town of fair Harlaw.</p> +<p class="poetry">The armies met, the trumpet sounds,<br /> + The dandring drums alloud did touk,<br /> +Baith armies byding on the bounds,<br /> + Till ane of them the feild sould bruik.<br /> + Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk,<br /> +Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde,<br /> + And on the ground lay mony a bouk<br /> +Of them that thair did battil byd.</p> +<p class="poetry">With doutsum victorie they dealt,<br /> + The bludy battil lastit lang;<br /> +Each man fits nibours forss thair felt,<br /> + The weakest aft-tymes gat the wrang:<br /> + Thair was nae mowis thair them amang,<br /> +Naithing was hard but heavy knocks,<br /> + That eccho mad a dulefull sang,<br /> +Thairto resounding frae the rocks.</p> +<p class="poetry">But Donalds men at last gaif back,<br /> + For they war all out of array:<br /> +The Earl of Marris men throw them brak,<br /> + Pursewing shairply in thair way,<br /> + Thair enemys to tak or slay,<br /> +Be dynt of forss to gar them yield;<br /> + Wha war richt blyth to win away,<br /> +And sae for feirdness tint the feild.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Donald fled, and that full fast,<br /> + To mountains hich for all his micht;<br /> +For he and his war all agast,<br /> + And ran till they war out of sicht;<br /> + <a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>And sae of Ross he lost his richt,<br /> +Thocht mony men with hem he brocht;<br /> + Towards the yles fled day and nicht,<br /> +And all he wan was deirlie bocht.</p> +<p class="poetry">This is (quod he) the richt report<br /> + Of all that I did heir and knaw;<br /> +Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort,<br /> + Tak this to be a richt suthe saw:<br /> + Contrairie God and the kings law,<br /> +Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude,<br /> + Into the battil of Harlaw:<br /> +This is the sum, sae I conclude.</p> +<p class="poetry">But yet a bonnie while abide,<br /> + And I sall mak thee cleirly ken<br /> +What slaughter was on ilkay syde,<br /> + Of Lowland and of Highland men,<br /> + Wha for thair awin haif evir bene;<br /> +These lazie lowns micht weil be spared,<br /> + Chased like deers into their dens,<br /> +And gat their wages for reward.</p> +<p class="poetry">Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif,<br /> + Macklean with his grit hauchty heid,<br /> +With all thair succour and relief,<br /> + War dulefully dung to the deid;<br /> + And now we are freid of thair feid,<br /> +They will not lang to cum again;<br /> + Thousands with them, without remeid,<br /> +On Donald’s syd, that day war slain.</p> +<p class="poetry">And on the uther syde war lost,<br /> + Into the feild that dismal day,<br /> +Chief men of worth, of mekle cost,<br /> + To be lamentit sair for ay.<br /> + The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay,<br /> +A man of micht and mekle main;<br /> + Grit dolour was for his decay,<br /> +That sae unhappylie was slain.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>Of the best men amang them was<br /> + The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy,<br /> +The sheriff-principal of Angus,<br /> + Renownit for truth and equitie,<br /> + For faith and magnanimitie;<br /> +He had few fallows in the field,<br /> + Yet fell by fatall destinie,<br /> +For he naeways wad grant to yield.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,<br /> + Grit constabill of fair Dundè,<br /> +Unto the dulefull deith was dicht;<br /> + The kingis cheif bannerman was he,<br /> + A valiant man of chevalrie,<br /> +Whose predecessors wan that place<br /> + At Spey, with gude King William frie<br /> +’Gainst Murray, and Macduncan’s race.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gude Sir Allexander Irving,<br /> + The much renowit laird of Drum,<br /> +Nane in his days was bettir sene<br /> + When they war semblit all and sum.<br /> + To praise him we sould not be dumm,<br /> +For valour, witt, and worthyness;<br /> + To end his days he ther did cum<br /> +Whose ransom is remeidyless.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thair the knicht of Lawriston<br /> + Was slain into his armour schene,<br /> +And gude Sir Robert Davidson,<br /> + Wha provost was of Aberdene:<br /> + The knicht of Panmure, as was sene,<br /> +A mortall man in armour bricht,<br /> + Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene,<br /> +Left to the warld thair last gude nicht.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thair was not sen King Keneths days<br /> + Sic strange intestine crewel stryf<br /> +In Scotland sene, as ilk man says,<br /> + Whare mony liklie lost thair lyfe;<br /> + <a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe,<br /> +And mony childrene fatherless,<br /> + Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe:<br /> +Lord help these lands, our wrangs redress.</p> +<p class="poetry">In July, on Saint James his even,<br /> + That four and twenty dismall day,<br /> +Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven<br /> + Of theirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say,<br /> + Men will remember, as they may,<br /> +When thus the ventie they knaw,<br /> + And mony a ane may murn for ay,<br /> +The brim battil of the Harlaw.</p> +<h2>TRADITIONARY VERSION</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part VI.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> I came in by +Dunidier,<br /> + An doun by Netherha,<br /> +There was fifty thousand Hielanmen<br /> + A marching to Harlaw.<br /> +(Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.</p> +<p class="poetry">As I cam on, an farther on,<br /> + An doun an by Balquhain,<br /> +Oh there I met Sir James the Rose,<br /> + Wi him Sir John the Gryme.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O cam ye frae the Hielans, man?<br /> + And cam ye a’ the wey?<br /> +Saw ye Macdonell an his men,<br /> + As they cam frae the Skee?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man,<br /> + An me cam a ta wey,<br /> +An she saw Macdonell an his men,<br /> + As they cam frae ta Skee.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>“Oh, was ye near Macdonell’s men?<br /> + Did ye their numbers see?<br /> +Come, tell to me, John Hielanman,<br /> + What micht their numbers be?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yes, me was near, an near eneuch,<br /> + An me their numbers saw;<br /> +There was fifty thousand Hielanmen<br /> + A marching to Harlaw.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gin that be true,” says James the +Rose,<br /> + “We’ll no come meikle speed;<br /> +We’ll cry upo our merry men,<br /> + And lichtly mount our steed.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh no, oh no!” quo’ John the +Gryme,<br /> + “That thing maun never be;<br /> +The gallant Grymes were never bate,<br /> + We’ll try what we can dee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">As I cam on, an farther on,<br /> + An doun an by Harlaw,<br /> +They fell fu close on ilka side;<br /> + Sic fun ye never saw.</p> +<p class="poetry">They fell fu close on ilka side,<br /> + Sic fun ye never saw;<br /> +For Hielan swords gied clash for clash,<br /> + At the battle o Harlaw.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords,<br /> + They laid on us fu sair,<br /> +An they drave back our merry men<br /> + Three acres breadth an mair.</p> +<p class="poetry">Brave Forbës to his brither did say,<br /> + “Noo brither, dinna ye see?<br /> +They beat us back on ilka side,<br /> + An we’se be forced to flee.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>“Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,<br /> + That thing maun never be;<br /> +Tak ye your good sword in your hand,<br /> + An come your wa’s wi me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,<br /> + The clans they are ower strang,<br /> +An they drive back our merry men,<br /> + Wi swords baith sharp an lang.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Brave Forbës drew his men aside,<br /> + Said, “Tak your rest a while,<br /> +Until I to Drumminnor send,<br /> + To fess my coat o mail.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The servan he did ride,<br /> + An his horse it did na fail,<br /> +For in twa hours an a quarter<br /> + He brocht the coat o mail.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then back to back the brithers twa<br /> + Gaed in amo the thrang,<br /> +An they hewed doun the Hielanmen,<br /> + Wi swords baith sharp an lang.</p> +<p class="poetry">Macdonell he was young an stout,<br /> + Had on his coat o mail,<br /> +And he has gane oot throw them a’<br /> + To try his han himsell.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first ae straik that Forbës strack,<br +/> + He garrt Macdonell reel;<br /> +An the neist ae straik that Forbës strack,<br /> + The great Macdonell fell.</p> +<p class="poetry">And siccan a lierachie,<br /> + I’m sure ye never sawe<br /> +As wis amo the Hielanmen,<br /> + When they saw Macdonell fa.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>An whan they saw that he was deid,<br /> + They turnd and ran awa,<br /> +An they buried him in Legget’s Den,<br /> + A large mile frae Harlaw.</p> +<p class="poetry">They rade, they ran, an some did gang,<br /> + They were o sma record;<br /> +But Forbës and his merry men,<br /> + They slew them a’ the road.</p> +<p class="poetry">On Monanday, at mornin,<br /> + The battle it began,<br /> +On Saturday at gloamin’,<br /> + Ye’d scarce kent wha had wan.</p> +<p class="poetry">An sic a weary buryin,<br /> + I’m sure ye never saw,<br /> +As wis the Sunday after that,<br /> + On the muirs aneath Harlaw.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gin anybody speer at ye<br /> + For them ye took awa,<br /> +Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,<br /> + They’re sleepin at Harlaw.</p> +<h2><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>DICKIE MACPHALION</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Sharpe’s Ballad Book</i>, +No. XIV.)</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">went</span> to the mill, +but the miller was gone,<br /> +I sat me down, and cried ochone!<br /> +To think on the days that are past and gone,<br /> + Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.<br /> + Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,<br /> + To think on the days that are past and gone,<br /> + Of Dickie Macphalion that’s +slain.</p> +<p class="poetry">I sold my rock, I sold my reel,<br /> +And sae hae I my spinning wheel,<br /> +And a’ to buy a cap of steel<br /> + For Dickie Macphalion that’s slain!<br /> + Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,<br /> + And a’ to buy a cap of steel<br /> + For Dickie Macphalion that’s +slain.</p> +<h2><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>A +LYKE-WAKE DIRGE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Border Minstrelsy</i>, vol. +ii., p. 357.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">This</span> ae nighte, this +ae nighte,<br /> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">When thou from hence away art paste,<br /> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,<br /> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +Sit thee down and put them on;<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">If hosen and shoon thou ne’er gavest +nane,<br /> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,<br /> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +To Brigg o’ Dread thou comest at laste,<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>From Brigg o’ Dread when thou mayst passe,<br /> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">If ever thou gavest meat or drink,<br /> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +The fire sall never make thee shrinke;<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,<br +/> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">This ae nighte, this ae nighte,<br /> + <i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br /> +Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,<br /> + <i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>THE +LAIRD OF WARISTOUN</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. iii. +Early Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Down</span> by yon garden +green,<br /> + Sae merrily as she gaes;<br /> +She has twa weel-made feet,<br /> + And she trips upon her taes.</p> +<p class="poetry">She has twa weel-made feet;<br /> + Far better is her hand;<br /> +She’s as jimp in the middle<br /> + As ony willow wand.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gif ye will do my bidding,<br /> + At my bidding for to be,<br /> +It’s I will make you lady<br /> + Of a’ the lands you see.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">He spak a word in jest;<br /> + Her answer was na good;<br /> +He threw a plate at her face,<br /> + Made it a’ gush out o’ blood.</p> +<p class="poetry">She wasna frae her chamber<br /> + A step but barely three,<br /> +When up and at her richt hand<br /> + There stood Man’s Enemy.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gif ye will do my bidding,<br /> + At my bidding for to be,<br /> +I’ll learn you a wile,<br /> + Avenged for to be.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>The foul thief knotted the tether;<br /> + She lifted his head on hie;<br /> +The nourice drew the knot<br /> + That gar’d lord Waristoun die.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then word is gane to Leith,<br /> + Also to Edinburgh town<br /> +That the lady had kill’d the laird,<br /> + The laird o’ Waristoun.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Tak aff, tak aff my hood<br /> + But lat my petticoat be;<br /> +Pat my mantle o’er my head;<br /> + For the fire I downa see.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, a’ ye gentle maids,<br /> + Tak warning now by me,<br /> +And never marry ane<br /> + But wha pleases your e’e.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For he married me for love,<br /> + But I married him for fee;<br /> +And sae brak out the feud<br /> + That gar’d my dearie die.”</p> +<h2><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>MAY +COLVEN</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, Part I., p. 56.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">False</span> Sir John a +wooing came<br /> + To a maid of beauty fair;<br /> +May Colven was this lady’s name,<br /> + Her father’s only heir.</p> +<p class="poetry">He wood her butt, he wood her ben,<br /> + He wood her in the ha,<br /> +Until he got this lady’s consent<br /> + To mount and ride awa.</p> +<p class="poetry">He went down to her father’s bower,<br /> + Where all the steeds did stand,<br /> +And he’s taken one of the best steeds<br /> + That was in her father’s land.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s got on and she’s got on,<br /> + As fast as they could flee,<br /> +Until they came to a lonesome part,<br /> + A rock by the side of the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Loup off the steed,” says false +Sir John,<br /> + “Your bridal bed you see;<br /> +For I have drowned seven young ladies,<br /> + The eighth one you shall be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,<br /> + All and your silken gown,<br /> +For it’s oer good and oer costly<br /> + To rot in the salt sea foam.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>“Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,<br /> + All and your embroiderd shoen,<br /> +For oer good and oer costly<br /> + To rot in the salt sea foam.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O turn you about, O false Sir John,<br +/> + And look to the leaf of the tree,<br /> +For it never became a gentleman<br /> + A naked woman to see.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He turned himself straight round about,<br /> + To look to the leaf of the tree,<br /> +So swift as May Colven was<br /> + To throw him in the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O help, O help, my May Colven,<br /> + O help, or else I’ll drown;<br /> +I’ll take you home to your father’s bower,<br /> + And set you down safe and sound.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“No help, no help, O false Sir John,<br +/> + No help, nor pity thee;<br /> +Tho’ seven kings’ daughters you have drownd,<br /> + But the eighth shall not be me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So she went on her father’s steed,<br /> + As swift as she could flee,<br /> +And she came home to her father’s bower<br /> + Before it was break of day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:<br /> + “May Colven, where have you been?<br /> +What has become of false Sir John,<br /> + That woo’d you so late the streen?</p> +<p class="poetry">“He woo’d you butt, he woo’d +you ben,<br /> + He woo’d you in the ha,<br /> +Until he got your own consent<br /> + For to mount and gang awa.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>“O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,<br /> + Lay not the blame upon me;<br /> +Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,<br /> + Your cage of the root of the tree.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Up then spake the king himself,<br /> + In the bed-chamber where he lay:<br /> +“What ails the pretty parrot,<br /> + That prattles so long or day?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“There came a cat to my cage door,<br /> + It almost a worried me,<br /> +And I was calling on May Colven<br /> + To take the cat from me.”</p> +<h2><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>JOHNIE FAA</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vol. iv. Early +Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> gypsies came to +our good lord’s gate<br /> + And wow but they sang sweetly!<br /> +They sang sae sweet and sae very complete<br /> + That down came the fair lady.</p> +<p class="poetry">And she came tripping doun the stair,<br /> + And a’ her maids before her;<br /> +As soon as they saw her weel-far’d face,<br /> + They coost the glamer o’er her.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O come with me,” says Johnie +Faw,<br /> + “O come with me, my dearie;<br /> +For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,<br /> + That your lord shall nae mair come near +ye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then she gied them the beer and the wine,<br /> + And they gied her the ginger;<br /> +But she gied them a far better thing,<br /> + The goud ring aff her finger.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gae take frae me this yay mantle,<br /> + And bring to me a plaidie;<br /> +For if kith and kin, and a’ had sworn,<br /> + I’ll follow the gypsy laddie.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>“Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,<br /> + Wi’ my good lord beside me;<br /> +But this night I’ll lye in a tenant’s barn,<br /> + Whatever shall betide me!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come to your bed,” says Johnie +Faw,<br /> + “Oh, come to your bed, my dearie:<br /> +For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword,<br /> + Your lord shall nae mair come near ye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll go to bed to my Johnie +Faw,<br /> + I’ll go to bed to my dearie;<br /> +For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,<br /> + My lord shall nae mair come near me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll mak a hap to my Johnie +Faw,<br /> + I’ll mak a hap to my dearie;<br /> +And he’s get a’ the coat gaes round,<br /> + And my lord shall nae mair come near me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And when our lord came hame at e’en,<br +/> + And spier’d for his fair lady,<br /> +The tane she cry’d, and the other reply’d,<br /> + “She’s awa’ wi’ the gypsy +laddie!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gae saddle to me the black black +steed,<br /> + Gae saddle and make him ready;<br /> +Before that I either eat or sleep,<br /> + I’ll gae seek my fair lady.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And we were fifteen weel-made men,<br /> + Altho’ we were na bonny;<br /> +And we were a’ put down but ane,<br /> + For a fair young wanton lady.</p> +<h2><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>HOBBIE NOBLE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Child</i>, vi. Early +Edition.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Foul</span> fa’ the +breast first treason bred in!<br /> + That Liddesdale may safely say:<br /> +For in it there was baith meat and drink,<br /> + And corn unto our geldings gay.</p> +<p class="poetry">We were stout-hearted men and true,<br /> + As England it did often say;<br /> +But now we may turn our backs and fly,<br /> + Since brave Noble is seld away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Hobie he was an English man,<br /> + And born into Bewcastle dale;<br /> +But his misdeeds they were sae great,<br /> + They banish’d him to Liddisdale.</p> +<p class="poetry">At Kershope foot the tryst was set,<br /> + Kershope of the lilye lee;<br /> +And there was traitour Sim o’ the Mains,<br /> + With him a private companie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Hobie has graith’d his body weel,<br +/> + I wat it was wi’ baith good iron and steel;<br +/> +And he has pull’d out his fringed grey,<br /> + And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>Then Hobie is down the water gane,<br /> + E’en as fast as he may drie;<br /> +Tho’ they shoud a’ brusten and broken their +hearts,<br /> + Frae that tryst Noble he would na be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Weel may ye be, my feiries five!<br /> + And aye, what is your wills wi’ me?”<br +/> +Then they cry’d a’ wi’ ae consent,<br /> + “Thou’rt welcome here, brave Noble, to +me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wilt thou with us in England ride,<br /> + And thy safe warrand we will be?<br /> +If we get a horse worth a hundred punds,<br /> + Upon his back that thou shalt be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I dare not with you into England +ride;<br /> + The Land-sergeant has me at feid:<br /> +I know not what evil may betide,<br /> + For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And Anton Shiel he loves not me,<br /> + For I gat twa drifts o his sheep;<br /> +The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not,<br /> + For nae gear frae me he e’er could keep.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But will ye stay till the day gae +down,<br /> + Until the night come o’er the grund,<br /> +And I’ll be a guide worth ony twa,<br /> + That may in Liddesdale be fund?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Tho’ dark the night as pitch and +tar,<br /> + I’ll guide ye o’er yon hills fu’ +hie;<br /> +And bring ye a’ in safety back,<br /> + If ye’ll be true and follow me.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +154</span>He’s guided them o’er moss and muir,<br /> + O’er hill and houp, and mony a down;<br /> +Til they came to the Foulbogshiel,<br /> + And there, brave Noble, he lighted down.</p> +<p class="poetry">But word is gane to the Land-sergeant,<br /> + In Askirton where that he lay—<br /> +“The deer that ye hae hunted lang,<br /> + Is seen into the Waste this day.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then Hobbie Noble is that deer!<br /> + I wat he carries the style fu’ hie;<br /> +Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back,<br /> + And set yourselves at little lee.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn;<br /> + See they shaft their arrows on the wa’!<br /> +Warn Willeva and Spear Edom,<br /> + And see the morn they meet me a’.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh,<br /> + And see it be by break o’ day;<br /> +And we will on to Conscowthart-Green,<br /> + For there, I think, we’ll get our +prey.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Hobbie Noble has dream’d a dream,<br +/> + In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay;<br /> +He thought his horse was neath him shot,<br /> + And he himself got hard away.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cocks could crow, the day could dawn,<br /> + And I wot so even down fell the rain;<br /> +If Hobbie had no waken’d at that time,<br /> + In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Get up, get up, my feiries five!<br /> + For I wot here makes a fu’ ill day;<br /> +Yet the warst cloak of this companie,<br /> + I hope, shall cross the Waste this day.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>Now Hobie thought the gates were clear;<br /> + But, ever alas! it was not sae:<br /> +They were beset wi’ cruel men and keen,<br /> + That away brave Hobbie could not gae.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yet follow me, my feiries five,<br /> + And see of me ye keep good ray;<br /> +And the worst cloak o’ this companie<br /> + I hope shall cross the Waste this day.”</p> +<p class="poetry">There was heaps of men now Hobbie before,<br /> + And other heaps was him behind,<br /> +That had he wight as Wallace was,<br /> + Away brave Noble he could not win.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword;<br /> + But he did more than a laddies deed;<br /> +In the midst of Conscouthart-Green,<br /> + He brake it oer Jersawigham’s head.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,<br /> + Wi’ his ain bowstring they band him sae;<br /> +And I wat heart was ne’er sae sair,<br /> + As when his ain five band him on the brae.</p> +<p class="poetry">They have tane him on for West Carlisle;<br /> + They ask’d him if he knew the why?<br /> +Whate’er he thought, yet little he said;<br /> + He knew the way as well as they.</p> +<p class="poetry">They hae ta’en him up the Ricker gate;<br +/> + The wives they cast their windows wide;<br /> +And every wife to anither can say,<br /> + “That’s the man loos’d Jock +o’ the Side!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fye on ye, women! why ca’ ye me +man?<br /> + For it’s nae man that I’m used like;<br +/> +I am but like a forfoughen hound,<br /> + Has been fighting in a dirty syke.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span>Then they hae tane him up thro’ Carlisle town,<br +/> + And set him by the chimney fire;<br /> +They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to eat,<br /> + And that was little his desire.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat,<br /> + And after that a can o beer;<br /> +Then they cried a’ with ae consent,<br /> + “Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheer!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Confess my lord’s horse, +Hobie,” they said,<br /> + “And the morn in Carlisle thou’s no +die;”<br /> +“How shall I confess them,” Hobie says,<br /> + “For I never saw them with mine +eye?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Hobie has sworn a fu’ great aith,<br +/> + By the day that he was gotten and born,<br /> +He never had ony thing o’ my lord’s,<br /> + That either eat him grass or corn.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton!<br +/> + For I think again I’ll ne’er thee +see:<br /> +I wad betray nae lad alive,<br /> + For a’ the goud in Christentie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale!<br +/> + Baith the hie land and the law;<br /> +Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains!<br /> + For goud and gear he’ll sell ye a’.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yet wad I rather be ca’d Hobie +Noble,<br /> + In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut,<br /> +Before I’d be ca’d traitor Mains,<br /> + That eats and drinks of the meal and +maut.”</p> +<h2><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>THE +TWA SISTERS</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Sharpe’s Ballad Book</i>, +No. X., p. 30.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">There</span> liv’d twa sisters in a bower,<br +/> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + There liv’d twa sisters in a bower,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + The youngest o’ them, O, she was a flower!<br +/> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> There came a squire frae the +west,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + There cam a squire frae the west,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + He lo’ed them baith, but the youngest best,<br +/> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He gied the eldest a gay gold +ring,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + But he lo’ed the youngest aboon a’ +thing,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page158"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 158</span>“Oh sister, sister, will ye go +to the sea?<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + Our father’s ships sail bonnilie,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> The youngest sat down upon a +stane,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + The youngest sat down upon a stane,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + The eldest shot the youngest in,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Oh sister, sister, +lend me your hand,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + And you shall hae my gouden fan,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Oh, sister, sister, +save my life,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + Oh sister, sister, save my life,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + And ye shall be the squire’s wife,<br /> +Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> First she sank, and then she +swam,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + First she sank, and then she swam,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + Until she cam to Tweed mill dam,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page159"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 159</span>The millar’s daughter was +baking bread,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + The millar’s daughter was baking bread,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + She went for water, as she had need,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Oh father, father, in +our mill dam,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch,<br +/> + Oh father, father, in our mill dam,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + There’s either a lady, or a milk-white +swan,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> They could nae see her +fingers small,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + They could nae see her fingers small,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + Wi’ diamond rings they were cover’d +all,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> They could nae see her yellow +hair,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + They could nae see her yellow hair,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + Sae mony knots and platts war there,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Bye there cam a fiddler +fair,<br /> + Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br +/> + Bye there cam a fiddler fair,<br /> + Stirling for +aye:<br /> + And he’s ta’en three tails o’ her +yellow hair,<br /> +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<h2><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>MARY +AMBREE</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Reliques of Ancient English +Poetry</i>, vol. ii. p. 230.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> captaines +couragious, whom death cold not daunte,<br /> +Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,<br /> +They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,<br /> +And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.</p> +<p class="poetry">When [the] brave sergeant-major was slaine in +her sight,<br /> +Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,<br /> +Because he was slaine most treacherouslie<br /> +Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.</p> +<p class="poetry">She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe<br +/> +In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe;<br /> +A faire shirt of male then slipped on shee:<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry">A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,<br +/> +A stronge arminge-sword shee girt by her side,<br /> +On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee:<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,<br +/> +Bidding all such, as wold, [to] bee of her band;<br /> +To wayte on her person came thousand and three:<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry">“My soldiers,” she saith, +“soe valliant and bold,<br /> +Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;<br /> +Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee:”<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry">Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they +did say,<br /> +“Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,<br /> +Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree,<br /> +No mayden was ever like Mary Ambree.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for +life,<br /> +With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fife,<br /> +With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Before I will see the worst of you +all<br /> +To come into danger of death or of thrall,<br /> +This hand and this life I will venture so free:”<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array,<br /> +Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;<br /> +Seven howers in skirmish continued shee:<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry">She filled the skyes with the smoke of her +shott,<br /> +And her enemyes bodyes with bulletts so hott;<br /> +For one of her own men a score killed shee:<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry">And when her false gunner, to spoyle her +intent,<br /> +Away all her pellets and powder had sent,<br /> +Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three:<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry">Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,<br +/> +At length she was forced to make a retyre;<br /> +Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee:<br /> +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p class="poetry">Her foes they besett her on everye side,<br /> +As thinking close siege shee cold never abide;<br /> +To beate down the walles they all did decree:<br /> +But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in +hand,<br /> +And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,<br /> +There daring their captaines to match any three:<br /> +O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span>“Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou +give<br /> +To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?<br /> +Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:”<br +/> +Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye captaines couragious, of valour so +bold,<br /> +Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?”<br /> +“A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,<br /> +Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“No captaine of England; behold in your +sight<br /> +Two brests in my bosome, and therefore no knight:<br /> +Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,<br /> +But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“But art thou a woman, as thou dost +declare,<br /> +Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre?<br /> +If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee,<br /> +Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The Prince of Great Parma heard of her +renowne,<br /> +Who long had advanced for England’s fair crowne;<br /> +Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee,<br /> +And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>But this virtuous mayden despised them all:<br /> +“’Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall;<br /> +A maiden of England, sir, never will bee<br /> +The wench of a monarcke,” quoth Mary Ambree.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then to her owne country shee back did +returne,<br /> +Still holding the foes of rare England in scorne!<br /> +Therfore English captaines of every degree<br /> +Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.</p> +<h2><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>ALISON GROSS</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">Alison Gross</span>, that +lives in yon tow’r,<br /> + The ugliest witch in the north countrie,<br /> +She trysted me ae day up till her bow’r,<br /> + And mony fair speeches she made to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">She straik’d my head, and she +kaim’d my hair,<br /> + And she set me down saftly on her knee;<br /> +Says—“If ye will be my leman sae true,<br /> + Sae mony braw things as I will you +gi’e.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She shaw’d me a mantle of red scarlet,<br +/> + With gowden flowers and fringes fine;<br /> +Says—“If ye will be my leman sae true,<br /> + This goodly gift it shall be thine.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,<br /> + Hand far awa, and let me be;<br /> +I never will be your leman sae true,<br /> + And I wish I were out of your company.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She neist brocht a sark of the saftest silk,<br +/> + Weel wrought with pearls about the band;<br /> +Says—“If ye will be my ain true love,<br /> + This goodly gift ye shall command.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She show’d me a cup of the good red +gowd,<br /> + Weel set with jewels sae fair to see;<br /> +Says—“If ye will be my leman sae true,<br /> + This goodly gift I will you gi’e.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>“Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,<br /> + Haud far awa, and let me be;<br /> +For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth,<br /> + For all the gifts that ye cou’d +gi’e.”</p> +<p class="poetry">She’s turn’d her richt and round +about,<br /> + And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn;<br /> +And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon,<br /> + That she’d gar me rue the day I was born.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out has she ta’en a silver wand,<br +/> + And she turn’d her three times round and +round;<br /> +She mutter’d sic words, that my strength it +fail’d,<br /> + And I fell down senseless on the ground.</p> +<p class="poetry">She turn’d me into an ugly worm,<br /> + And gar’d me toddle about the tree;<br /> +And aye on ilka Saturday night,<br /> + Auld Alison Gross she came to me,</p> +<p class="poetry">With silver basin, and silver kame,<br /> + To kame my headie upon her knee;<br /> +But rather than kiss her ugly mouth,<br /> + I’d ha’e toddled for ever about the +tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">But as it fell out on last +Hallow-e’en,<br /> + When the seely court was ridin’ by,<br /> +The queen lighted down on a gowan bank,<br /> + Near by the tree where I wont to lye.</p> +<p class="poetry">She took me up in her milk-white hand,<br /> + And she straik’d me three times o’er her +knee;<br /> +She chang’d me again to my ain proper shape,<br /> + And nae mair do I toddle about the tree.</p> +<h2><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>THE +HEIR OF LYNNE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the lords in +faire Scotland<br /> + A song I will begin:<br /> +Amongst them all dwelled a lord<br /> + Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.</p> +<p class="poetry">His father and mother were dead him froe,<br /> + And so was the head of all his kinne;<br /> +He did neither cease nor blinne<br /> + To the cards and dice that he did run.</p> +<p class="poetry">To drinke the wine that was so cleere!<br /> + With every man he would make merry.<br /> +And then bespake him John of the Scales,<br /> + Unto the heire of Lynne say’d hee,</p> +<p class="poetry">Sayes “how dost thou, Lord of Lynne,<br +/> + Doest either want gold or fee?<br /> +Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode<br /> + To such a good fellow as me?</p> +<p class="poetry">“For . . . I . . . ” he said,<br /> + “My land, take it unto thee;<br /> +I draw you to record, my lords all;”<br /> + With that he cast him a Gods pennie.</p> +<p class="poetry">He told him the gold upon the bord,<br /> + It wanted never a bare penny.<br /> +“That gold is thine, the land is mine,<br /> + The heire of Lynne I will bee.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +168</span>“Heeres gold enough,” saithe the heire of +Lynne,<br /> + “Both for me and my company.”<br /> +He drunke the wine that was so cleere,<br /> + And with every man he made merry.</p> +<p class="poetry">Within three quarters of a yeare<br /> + His gold and fee it waxed thinne,<br /> +His merry men were from him gone,<br /> + And left himselfe all alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">He had never a penny left in his purse,<br /> + Never a penny but three,<br /> +And one was brasse and another was lead<br /> + And another was white mony.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now well-a-day!” said the heire of +Lynne,<br /> + “Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!<br /> +For when I was the Lord of Lynne,<br /> + I neither wanted gold nor fee;</p> +<p class="poetry">“For I have sold my lands so broad,<br /> + And have not left me one penny!<br /> +I must go now and take some read<br /> + Unto Edenborrow and beg my bread.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He had not beene in Edenborrow<br /> + Nor three quarters of a yeare,<br /> +But some did give him and some said nay,<br /> + And some bid “to the deele gang yee!</p> +<p class="poetry">“For if we should hang some land +selfeer,<br /> + The first we would begin with thee.”<br /> +“Now well-a-day!” said the heire of Lynne,<br /> + “Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>“For now I have sold my lands so broad<br /> + That merry man is irke with mee;<br /> +But when that I was the Lord of Lynne<br /> + Then on my land I lived merrily;</p> +<p class="poetry">“And now I have sold my land so broade<br +/> + That I have not left me one pennye!<br /> +God be with my father!” he said,<br /> + “On his land he lived merrily.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Still in a study there as he stood,<br /> + He unbethought him of a bill,<br /> +He unbethought him of a bill<br /> + Which his father had left with him.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bade him he should never on it looke<br /> + Till he was in extreame neede,<br /> +“And by my faith,” said the heire of Lynne,<br /> + “Then now I had never more neede.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He tooke the bill and looked it on,<br /> + Good comfort that he found there;<br /> +It told him of a castle wall<br /> + Where there stood three chests in feare:</p> +<p class="poetry">Two were full of the beaten gold,<br /> +The third was full of white money.<br /> +He turned then downe his bags of bread<br /> +And filled them full of gold so red.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he did never cease nor blinne<br /> +Till John of the Scales house he did winne.<br /> +When that he came John of the Scales,<br /> +Up at the speere he looked then;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>There sate three lords upon a rowe,<br /> +And John o’ the Scales sate at the bord’s head,<br /> +And John o’ the Scales sate at the bord’s head<br /> +Because he was the lord of Lynne.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then bespake the heire of Lynne<br /> + To John o’ the Scales wife thus sayd hee,<br +/> +Sayd “Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott<br /> + That I may sit downe in this company?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now Christ’s curse on my +head,” she said,<br /> + “If I do trust thee one pennye,”<br /> +Then bespake a good fellowe,<br /> + Which sate by John o’ the Scales his knee,</p> +<p class="poetry">Said “have thou here, thou heire of +Lynne,<br /> + Forty-pence I will lend thee,—<br /> +Some time a good fellow thou hast beene<br /> + And other forty if it need bee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They drunken wine that was so cleere,<br /> + And every man they made merry,<br /> +And then bespake him John o’ the Scales<br /> + Unto the Lord of Lynne said hee;</p> +<p class="poetry">Said “how doest thou heire of Lynne,<br +/> + Since I did buy thy lands of thee?<br /> +I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe,<br /> + Nor ever did I buy it of thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I draw you to recorde, lords +all:”<br /> + With that he cast him god’s penny;<br /> +Then he tooke to his bags of bread,<br /> + And they were full of the gold so red.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>He told him the gold then over the borde<br /> + It wanted never a broad pennye;<br /> +“That gold is thine, the land is mine,<br /> + And the heire of Lynne againe I will bee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now well-a-day!” said John +o’ the Scales’ wife,<br /> + “Well-a-day, and woe is me!<br /> +Yesterday I was the lady of Lynne,<br /> + And now I am but John o’ the Scales +wife!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Says “have thou here, thou good +fellow,<br /> +Forty pence thou did lend me;<br /> +Forty pence thou did lend me,<br /> +And forty I will give thee,<br /> +I’ll make thee keeper of my forrest,<br /> +Both of the wild deere and the tame.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But then bespake the heire of Lynne,<br /> + These were the words and thus spake hee,<br /> +“Christ’s curse light upon my crowne<br /> + If ere my land stand in any jeopardye!”</p> +<h2><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>GORDON OF BRACKLEY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Down</span> Deeside cam +Inveraye<br /> + Whistlin’ and playing,<br /> +An’ called loud at Brackley gate<br /> + Ere the day dawning—<br /> +“Come, Gordon of Brackley.<br /> + Proud Gordon, come down,<br /> +There’s a sword at your threshold<br /> + Mair sharp than your own.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Arise now, gay Gordon,”<br /> + His lady ’gan cry,<br /> +“Look, here is bold Inveraye<br /> + Driving your kye.”<br /> +“How can I go, lady,<br /> + An’ win them again,<br /> +When I have but ae sword,<br /> + And Inveraye ten?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Arise up, my maidens,<br /> + Wi’ roke and wi’ fan,<br /> +How blest had I been<br /> + Had I married a man!<br /> +Arise up, my maidens,<br /> + Tak’ spear and tak’ sword,<br /> +Go milk the ewes, Gordon,<br /> + An’ I will be lord.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>The Gordon sprung up<br /> + Wi’ his helm on his head,<br /> +Laid his hand on his sword,<br /> + An’ his thigh on his steed,<br /> +An’ he stooped low, and said,<br /> + As he kissed his young dame,<br /> +“There’s a Gordon rides out<br /> + That will never ride hame.”</p> +<p class="poetry">There rode with fierce Inveraye<br /> + Thirty and three,<br /> +But wi’ Brackley were nane<br /> + But his brother and he;<br /> +Twa gallanter Gordons<br /> + Did never blade draw,<br /> +But against three-and-thirty<br /> + Wae’s me! what are twa?</p> +<p class="poetry">Wi’ sword and wi’ dagger<br /> + They rushed on him rude;<br /> +The twa gallant Gordons<br /> + Lie bathed in their blude.<br /> +Frae the springs o’ the Dee<br /> + To the mouth o’ the Tay,<br /> +The Gordons mourn for him,<br /> + And curse Inveraye.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O were ye at Brackley?<br /> + An’ what saw ye there?<br /> +Was his young widow weeping<br /> + An’ tearing her hair?”<br /> +“I looked in at Brackley,<br /> + I looked in, and oh!<br /> +There was mirth, there was feasting,<br /> + But naething o’ woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">“As a rose bloomed the lady,<br /> + An’ blithe as a bride,<br /> +As a bridegroom bold Inveraye<br /> + Smiled by her side.<br /> +<a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>Oh! she +feasted him there<br /> + As she ne’er feasted lord,<br /> +While the blood of her husband<br /> + Was moist on his sword.</p> +<p class="poetry">“In her chamber she kept him<br /> + Till morning grew gray,<br /> +Thro’ the dark woods of Brackley<br /> + She shewed him the way.<br /> +‘Yon wild hill,’ she said,<br /> + ‘Where the sun’s shining on,<br /> +Is the hill of Glentanner,—<br /> + One kiss, and begone!’”</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s grief in the cottage,<br /> + There’s grief in the ha’,<br /> +For the gude, gallant Gordon<br /> + That’s dead an’ awa’.<br /> +To the bush comes the bud,<br /> + An’ the flower to the plain,<br /> +But the gude and the brave<br /> + They come never again.</p> +<h2><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>EDWARD, EDWARD</h2> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Why</span> does your +brand sae drop wi’ blude,<br /> + Edward, +Edward?<br /> +Why does your brand sae drop wi’ blude<br /> + And why sae sad gang ye, O?”<br /> +“O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,<br /> + Mither, +mither;<br /> +O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,<br /> + And I hae nae mair but he, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your hawk’s blude was never sae +red,<br /> + Edward, +Edward;<br /> +Your hawk’s blude was never sae red,<br /> + My dear son, I tell thee, O.”<br /> +“O I hae killed my red-roan steed,<br /> + Mither, +mither;<br /> +O I hae killed my red-roan steed,<br /> + That was sae fair and free, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Your steed was auld, and ye’ve +plenty mair,<br /> + Edward, +Edward;<br /> +Your steed was auld, and ye’ve plenty mair;<br /> + Some ither dule ye dree, O.”<br /> +“O I hae killed my father dear,<br /> + Mither, +mither;<br /> +O I hae killed my father dear,<br /> + Alas, and wae is me, O!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“And whatten penance will ye dree for +that,<br /> + Edward, +Edward?<br /> +Whatten penance will ye dree for that?<br /> + My dear son, now tell me, O.”<br /> +<a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span>“I’ll set my feet in yonder boat,<br /> + Mither, +mither;<br /> +I’ll set my feet in yonder boat,<br /> + And I’ll fare over the sea, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“And what will ye do wi’ your +tow’rs and your ha’,<br /> + Edward, +Edward?<br /> +And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your +ha’,<br /> + That were sae fair to see, O?”<br /> +“I’ll let them stand till they doun fa’,<br /> + Mither, +mither;<br /> +I’ll let them stand till they doun fa’,<br /> + For here never mair maun I be, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“And what will ye leave to your bairns +and your wife,<br /> + Edward, +Edward?<br /> +And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,<br /> + When ye gang ower the sea, O?”<br /> +“The warld’s room: let them beg through life,<br /> + Mither, +mither;<br /> +The warld’s room: let them beg through life;<br /> + For them never mair will I see, O.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“And what will ye leave to your ain +mither dear,<br /> + Edward, +Edward?<br /> +And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,<br /> + My dear son, now tell me, O?”<br /> +“The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear,<br /> + Mither, +mither;<br /> +The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear:<br /> + Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!”</p> +<h2><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>YOUNG BENJIE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the maids of +fair Scotland,<br /> + The fairest was Marjorie;<br /> +And young Benjie was her ae true love,<br /> + And a dear true love was he.</p> +<p class="poetry">And wow but they were lovers dear,<br /> + And lov’d full constantlie;<br /> +But aye the mair when they fell out,<br /> + The sairer was their plea.</p> +<p class="poetry">And they ha’e quarrell’d on a +day,<br /> + Till Marjorie’s heart grew wae;<br /> +And she said she’d chuse another luve,<br /> + And let young Benjie gae.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he was stout and proud-hearted,<br /> + And thought o’t bitterlie;<br /> +And he’s gane by the wan moonlight,<br /> + To meet his Marjorie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, open, open, my true love,<br /> + Oh, open and let me in!”<br /> +“I darena open, young Benjie,<br /> + My three brothers are within.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie burd,<br /> + Sae loud’s I hear ye lee;<br /> +As I came by the Louden banks,<br /> + They bade gude e’en to me.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>“But fare ye weel, my ae fause love,<br /> + That I have lov’d sae lang!<br /> +It sets ye chuse another love,<br /> + And let young Benjie gang.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Marjorie turn’d her round about,<br +/> + The tear blinding her e’e;<br /> +“I darena, darena let thee in,<br /> + But I’ll come down to thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then salt she smil’d, and said to +him—<br /> + “Oh, what ill ha’e I done?”<br /> +He took her in his arms twa,<br /> + And threw her o’er the linn.</p> +<p class="poetry">The stream was strong, the maid was stout,<br +/> + And laith, laith to be dang;<br /> +But ere she wan the Louden banks,<br /> + Her fair colour was wan.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up bespake her eldest brother—<br /> + “Oh, see na ye what I see?”<br /> +And out then spake her second brother—<br /> + “It is our sister Marjorie!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Out then spake her eldest brother—<br /> + “Oh, how shall we her ken?”<br /> +And out then spake her youngest brother—<br /> + “There’s a honey mark on her +chin.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they’ve ta’en the comely +corpse,<br /> + And laid it on the ground;<br /> +Saying—“Wha has kill’d our ae sister?<br /> + And how can he be found?</p> +<p class="poetry">“The night it is her low lykewake,<br /> + The morn her burial day;<br /> +And we maun watch at mirk midnight,<br /> + And hear what she will say.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>With doors ajar, and candles light,<br /> + And torches burning clear,<br /> +The streekit corpse, till still midnight,<br /> + They waked, but naething hear.</p> +<p class="poetry">About the middle of the night<br /> + The cocks began to craw;<br /> +And at the dead hour of the night,<br /> + The corpse began to thraw.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, wha has done thee wrang, sister,<br +/> + Or dared the deadly sin?<br /> +Wha was sae stout, and fear’d nae dout,<br /> + As throw ye o’er the linn?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Young Benjie was the first ae man<br /> + I laid my love upon;<br /> +He was sae stout and proud-hearted,<br /> + He threw me o’er the linn.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Shall we young Benjie head, sister?<br +/> + Shall we young Benjie hang?<br /> +Or shall we pike out his twa gray een,<br /> + And punish him ere he gang?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye maunna Benjie head, brothers,<br /> + Ye maunna Benjie hang;<br /> +But ye maun pike out his twa gray een.<br /> + And punish him ere he gang.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Tie a green gravat round his neck,<br /> + And lead him out and in,<br /> +And the best ae servant about your house<br /> + To wait young Benjie on.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And aye at every seven years’ +end,<br /> + Ye’ll take him to the linn;<br /> +For that’s the penance he maun dree,<br /> + To scug his deadly sin.”</p> +<h2><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>AULD +MAITLAND</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> lived a king +in southern land,<br /> + King Edward hight his name;<br /> +Unwordily he wore the crown,<br /> + Till fifty years were gane.</p> +<p class="poetry">He had a sister’s son o’s ain,<br +/> + Was large of blood and bane;<br /> +And afterward, when he came up,<br /> + Young Edward hight his name.</p> +<p class="poetry">One day he came before the king,<br /> + And kneel’d low on his knee:<br /> +“A boon, a boon, my good uncle,<br /> + I crave to ask of thee!</p> +<p class="poetry">“At our lang wars, in fair Scotland,<br +/> + I fain ha’e wish’d to be,<br /> +If fifteen hundred waled wight men<br /> + You’ll grant to ride with me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thou shall ha’e thae, thou shall +ha’e mae;<br /> + I say it sickerlie;<br /> +And I myself, an auld gray man,<br /> + Array’d your host shall see.”</p> +<p class="poetry">King Edward rade, King Edward ran—<br /> + I wish him dool and pyne!<br /> +Till he had fifteen hundred men<br /> + Assembled on the Tyne.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>And thrice as many at Berwicke<br /> + Were all for battle bound,<br /> +[Who, marching forth with false Dunbar,<br /> + A ready welcome found.]</p> +<p class="poetry">They lighted on the banks of Tweed,<br /> + And blew their coals sae het,<br /> +And fired the Merse and Teviotdale,<br /> + All in an evening late.</p> +<p class="poetry">As they fared up o’er Lammermoor,<br /> + They burn’d baith up and down,<br /> +Until they came to a darksome house,<br /> + Some call it Leader-Town.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wha hauds this house?” young +Edward cried,<br /> + “Or wha gi’est o’er to +me?”<br /> +A gray-hair’d knight set up his head,<br /> + And crackit right crousely:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of Scotland’s king I haud my +house;<br /> + He pays me meat and fee;<br /> +And I will keep my gude auld house,<br /> + While my house will keep me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">They laid their sowies to the wall,<br /> + With mony a heavy peal;<br /> +But he threw o’er to them agen<br /> + Baith pitch and tar barrel.</p> +<p class="poetry">With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn,<br +/> + Amang them fast he threw;<br /> +Till mony of the Englishmen<br /> + About the wall he slew.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full fifteen days that braid host lay,<br /> + Sieging Auld Maitland keen;<br /> +Syne they ha’e left him, hail and feir,<br /> + Within his strength of stane.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>Then fifteen barks, all gaily good,<br /> + Met them upon a day,<br /> +Which they did lade with as much spoil<br /> + As they you’d bear away.</p> +<p class="poetry">“England’s our ain by heritage;<br +/> + And what can us withstand,<br /> +Now we ha’e conquer’d fair Scotland,<br /> + With buckler, bow, and brand?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they are on to the land of France,<br /> + Where auld king Edward lay,<br /> +Burning baith castle, tower, and town,<br /> + That he met in his way.</p> +<p class="poetry">Until he came unto that town,<br /> + Which some call Billop-Grace:<br /> +There were Auld Maitland’s sons, all three,<br /> + Learning at school, alas!</p> +<p class="poetry">The eldest to the youngest said,<br /> + “Oh, see ye what I see?<br /> +If all be true yon standard says,<br /> + We’re fatherless all three.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For Scotland’s conquer’d up +and down;<br /> + Landmen we’ll never be!<br /> +Now, will you go, my brethren two,<br /> + And try some jeopardy?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they ha’e saddled twa black +horse,<br /> + Twa black horse and a gray;<br /> +And they are on to king Edward’s host,<br /> + Before the dawn of day.</p> +<p class="poetry">When they arrived before the host,<br /> + They hover’d on the lay:<br /> +“Wilt thou lend me our king’s standard,<br /> + To bear a little way?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>“Where wast thou bred? where wast thou born?<br +/> + Where, or in what countrie?”<br /> +“In north of England I was born;”<br /> + (It needed him to lee.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“A knight me gat, a ladye bore,<br /> + I am a squire of high renown;<br /> +I well may bear’t to any king<br /> + That ever yet wore crown.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“He ne’er came of an Englishman,<br +/> + Had sic an e’e or bree;<br /> +But thou art the likest Auld Maitland,<br /> + That ever I did see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But sic a gloom on ae browhead,<br /> + Grant I ne’er see again!<br /> +For mony of our men he slew,<br /> + And mony put to pain.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When Maitland heard his father’s name,<br +/> + An angry man was he;<br /> +Then, lifting up a gilt dagger,<br /> + Hung low down by his knee,</p> +<p class="poetry">He stabb’d the knight the standard +bore,<br /> + He stabb’d him cruellie;<br /> +Then caught the standard by the neuk,<br /> + And fast away rode he.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, is’t na time, +brothers,” he cried,<br /> + “Now, is’t na time to flee?”<br /> +“Ay, by my sooth!” they baith replied,<br /> + “We’ll bear you companye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The youngest turn’d him in a path,<br /> + And drew a burnish’d brand,<br /> +And fifteen of the foremost slew,<br /> + Till back the lave did stand.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>He spurr’d the gray into the path,<br /> + Till baith his sides they bled:<br /> +“Gray! thou maun carry me away,<br /> + Or my life lies in wad!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The captain lookit o’er the wall,<br /> + About the break of day;<br /> +There he beheld the three Scots lads<br /> + Pursued along the way.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig!<br +/> + My nephews are at hand;<br /> +And they shall lodge with me to-night,<br /> + In spite of all England.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Whene’er they came within the yate,<br /> + They thrust their horse them frae,<br /> +And took three lang spears in their hands,<br /> + Saying—“Here shall come nae +me!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And they shot out, and they shot in,<br /> + Till it was fairly day;<br /> +When mony of the Englishmen<br /> + About the draw-brig lay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they ha’e yoked the carts and +wains,<br /> + To ca’ their dead away,<br /> +And shot auld dykes abune the lave,<br /> + In gutters where they lay.</p> +<p class="poetry">The king, at his pavilion door,<br /> + Was heard aloud to say:<br /> +“Last night, three of the lads of France<br /> + My standard stole away.</p> +<p class="poetry">“With a fause tale, disguised they +came,<br /> + And with a fauser trayne;<br /> +And to regain my gaye standard,<br /> + These men where all down slayne.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>“It ill befits,” the youngest said,<br /> + “A crownèd king to lee;<br /> +But, or that I taste meat and drink,<br /> + Reprovèd shall he be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He went before king Edward straight,<br /> + And kneel’d low on his knee:<br /> +“I wou’d ha’e leave, my lord,” he +said,<br /> + “To speak a word with thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The king he turn’d him round about,<br /> + And wistna what to say:<br /> +Quo’ he, “Man, thou’s ha’e leave to +speak,<br /> + Though thou should speak all day.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye said that three young lads of +France<br /> + Your standard stole away,<br /> +With a fause tale and fauser trayne,<br /> + And mony men did slay;</p> +<p class="poetry">“But we are nane the lads of France,<br +/> + Nor e’er pretend to be:<br /> +We are three lads of fair Scotland,—<br /> + Auld Maitland’s sons are we.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Nor is there men in all your host<br /> + Daur fight us three to three.”<br /> +“Now, by my sooth,” young Edward said,<br /> + “Weel fitted ye shall be!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Piercy shall with the eldest fight,<br +/> + And Ethert Lunn with thee;<br /> +William of Lancaster the third,<br /> + And bring your fourth to me!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot<br /> + Has cower’d beneath thy hand;<br /> +For every drap of Maitland blood,<br /> + I’ll gi’e a rig of land.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>He clanked Piercy o’er the head<br /> + A deep wound and a sair,<br /> +Till the best blood of his body<br /> + Came running down his hair.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, I’ve slayne ane; slay ye the +twa;<br /> + And that’s gude companye;<br /> +And if the twa shou’d slay ye baith,<br /> + Ye’se get nae help frae me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear,<br /> + Had many battles seen;<br /> +He set the youngest wonder sair,<br /> + Till the eldest he grew keen.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I am nae king, nor nae sic thing:<br /> + My word it shanna stand!<br /> +For Ethert shall a buffet bide,<br /> + Come he beneath my brand.”</p> +<p class="poetry">He clankit Ethert o’er the head<br /> + A deep wound and a sair,<br /> +Till the best blood in his body<br /> + Came running o’er his hair.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, I’ve slayne twa; slay ye the +ane;<br /> + Isna that gude companye?<br /> +And though the ane shou’d slay ye baith.<br /> + Ye’se get nae help of me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The twa-some they ha’e slayne the ane,<br +/> + They maul’d him cruellie;<br /> +Then hung him over the draw-brig,<br /> + That all the host might see.</p> +<p class="poetry">They rade their horse, they ran their horse,<br +/> + Then hover’d on the lee:<br /> +“We be three lads of fair Scotland,<br /> + That fain wou’d fighting see.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +187</span>This boasting when young Edward heard,<br /> + An angry man was he:<br /> +“I’ll take yon lad, I’ll bind yon lad,<br /> + And bring him bound to thee!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, God forbid,” king Edward +said,<br /> + “That ever thou shou’d try!<br /> +Three worthy leaders we ha’e lost,<br /> + And thou the forth wou’d lie.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If thou shou’dst hang on yon +draw-brig,<br /> + Blythe wou’d I never be.”<br /> +But, with the poll-axe in his hand,<br /> + Upon the brig sprang be.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first stroke that young Edward +ga’e,<br /> + He struck with might and main;<br /> +He clove the Maitland’s helmet stout,<br /> + And bit right nigh the brain.</p> +<p class="poetry">When Maitland saw his ain blood fall,<br /> + An angry man was he;<br /> +He let his weapon frae him fall,<br /> + And at his throat did flee.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thrice about he did him swing,<br /> + Till on the ground he light,<br /> +Where he has halden young Edward,<br /> + Tho’ he was great in might.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now let him up,” king Edward +cried,<br /> + “And let him come to me;<br /> +And for the deed that thou hast done,<br /> + Thou shalt ha’e earldomes three!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“It’s ne’er be said in +France, nor e’er<br /> + In Scotland, when I’m hame,<br /> +That Edward once lay under me,<br /> + And e’er gat up again!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>He pierced him through and through the heart,<br /> + He maul’d him cruellie;<br /> +Then hung him o’er the draw-brig,<br /> + Beside the other three.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now take frae me that feather-bed,<br /> + Make me a bed of strae!<br /> +I wish I hadna lived this day,<br /> + To make my heart sae wae.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If I were ance at London Tow’r,<br +/> + Where I was wont to be,<br /> +I never mair shou’d gang frae hame,<br /> + Till borne on a bier-tree.”</p> +<h2><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>THE +BROOMFIELD HILL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a knight +and lady bright<br /> + Set trysts amo the broom,<br /> +The one to come at morning eav,<br /> + The other at afternoon.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll wager a wager wi’ +you,” he said,<br /> + “An hundred marks and ten,<br /> +That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills,<br /> + Return a maiden again.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ll wager a wager wi’ +you,” she said,<br /> + “A hundred pounds and ten,<br /> +That I will gang to Broomfield Hills,<br /> + A maiden return again.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady stands in her bower door,<br /> + And thus she made her mane:<br /> +“Oh, shall I gang to Broomfield Hills,<br /> + Or shall I stay at hame?</p> +<p class="poetry">“If I do gang to Broomfield Hills<br /> + A maid I’ll not return;<br /> +But if I stay from Broomfield Hills,<br /> + I’ll be a maid mis-sworn.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out it speaks an auld witch wife,<br /> + Sat in the bower aboon:<br /> +“O ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills,<br /> + Ye shall not stay at hame.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>“But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills,<br /> + Walk nine times round and round;<br /> +Down below a bonny burn bank,<br /> + Ye’ll find your love sleeping sound.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye’ll pu the bloom frae off the +broom,<br /> + Strew’t at his head and feet,<br /> +And aye the thicker that ye do strew,<br /> + The sounder he will sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The broach that is on your napkin,<br /> + Put it on his breast bane,<br /> +To let him know, when he does wake,<br /> + That’s true love’s come and gane.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The rings that are on your fingers,<br +/> + Lay them down on a stane,<br /> +To let him know, when he does wake,<br /> + That’s true love’s come and gane.</p> +<p class="poetry">“And when he hae your work all done,<br +/> + Ye’ll gang to a bush o’ broom,<br /> +And then you’ll hear what he will say,<br /> + When he sees ye are gane.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When she came to Broomfield Hills,<br /> + She walked it nine times round,<br /> +And down below yon burn bank,<br /> + She found him sleeping sound.</p> +<p class="poetry">She pu’d the bloom frae off the broom,<br +/> + Strew’d it at ’s head and feet,<br /> +And aye the thicker that she strewd,<br /> + The sounder he did sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry">The broach that was on her napkin,<br /> + She put it on his breast-bane,<br /> +To let him know, when he did wake,<br /> + His love was come and gane.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +191</span>The rings that were on her fingers,<br /> + She laid upon a stane,<br /> +To let him know, when he did wake,<br /> + His love was come and gane.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now when she had her work all dune,<br /> + She went to a bush o’ broom,<br /> +That she might hear what he did say,<br /> + When he saw that she was gane.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O where were ye my guid grey hound,<br +/> + That I paid for sae dear,<br /> +Ye didna waken me frae my sleep<br /> + When my true love was sae near?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I scraped wi’ my foot, master,<br +/> + Till a’ my collars rang,<br /> +But still the mair that I did scrape,<br /> + Waken woud ye nane.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Where were ye, my bony brown steed,<br +/> + That I paid for sae dear,<br /> +That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep<br /> + When my love was sae near?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I patted wi my foot, master,<br /> + Till a’ my bridles rang,<br /> +But the mair that I did patt,<br /> + Waken woud ye nane.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O where were ye, my gay goss-hawk<br /> + That I paid for sae dear,<br /> +That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep<br /> + When ye saw my love near?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I flapped wi my wings, master,<br /> + Till a’ my bells they rang,<br /> +But still, the mair that I did flap,<br /> + Waken woud ye nane.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +192</span>“O where were ye, my merry young men<br /> + That I pay meat and fee,<br /> +That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep<br /> + When my love ye did see?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye’ll sleep mair on the night, +master,<br /> + And wake mair on the day;<br /> +Gae sooner down to Broomfield Hills<br /> + When ye’ve sic pranks to play.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If I had seen any armèd men<br /> + Come riding over the hill—<br /> +But I saw but a fair lady<br /> + Come quietly you until.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“O wae mat worth yow, my young men,<br /> + That I pay meat and fee,<br /> +That ye woudna waken me frae sleep<br /> + When ye my love did see?</p> +<p class="poetry">“O had I waked when she was nigh,<br /> + And o her got my will,<br /> +I shoudna cared upon the morn<br /> + The sma birds o her were fill.”</p> +<p class="poetry">When she went out, right bitter she wept,<br /> + But singing came she hame;<br /> +Says, “I hae been at Broomfield Hills,<br /> + And maid returned again.”</p> +<h2><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>WILLIE’S LADYE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Willie</span> has +ta’en him o’er the faem,<br /> +He’s wooed a wife, and brought her hame;<br /> +He’s wooed her for her yellow hair,<br /> +But his mother wrought her meikle care;</p> +<p class="poetry">And meikle dolour gar’d her dree,<br /> +For lighter she can never be;<br /> +But in her bow’r she sits with pain,<br /> +And Willie mourns o’er her in vain.</p> +<p class="poetry">And to his mother he has gane,<br /> +That vile rank witch, of vilest kind!<br /> +He says—“My lady has a cup,<br /> +With gowd and silver set about;<br /> +This gudely gift shall be your ain,<br /> +And let her be lighter of her bairn.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of her bairn she’s never be +lighter,<br /> +Nor in her bow’r to shine the brighter<br /> +But she shall die, and turn to clay,<br /> +And you shall wed another may.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Another may I’ll never wed,<br /> +Another may I’ll never bring hame.”<br /> +But, sighing, said that weary wight—<br /> +“I wish my life were at an end.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yet gae ye to your mother again,<br /> +That vile rank witch, of vilest kind<br /> +And say, your ladye has a steed,<br /> +The like of him’s no in the land of Leed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>“For he is silver shod before,<br /> +And he is gowden shod behind;<br /> +At every tuft of that horse mane<br /> +There’s a golden chess, and a bell to ring.<br /> +This gudely gift shall be her ain,<br /> +And let me be lighter of my bairn.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of her young bairn she’s +ne’er be lighter,<br /> +Nor in her bow’r to shine the brighter;<br /> +But she shall die, and turn to clay,<br /> +And ye shall wed another may.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Another may I’ll never wed,<br /> +Another may I’ll never bring hame.”<br /> +But, sighing, said that weary wight—<br /> +“I wish my life were at an end!”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yet gae ye to your mother again,<br /> +That vile rank witch, of rankest kind!<br /> +And say, your ladye has a girdle,<br /> +It’s all red gowd to the middle;</p> +<p class="poetry">“And aye, at ilka siller hem,<br /> +Hang fifty siller bells and ten;<br /> +This gudely gift shall be her ain,<br /> +And let me be lighter of my bairn.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of her young bairn she’s +ne’er be lighter,<br /> +Nor in your bow’r to shine the brighter;<br /> +For she shall die, and turn to clay,<br /> +And thou shall wed another may.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Another may I’ll never wed,<br /> +Another may I’ll never bring hame.”<br /> +But, sighing, said that weary wight—<br /> +“I wish my days were at an end!”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>Then out and spak the Billy Blind,<br /> +He spak aye in good time [his mind]:—<br /> +“Yet gae ye to the market place,<br /> +And there do buy a loaf of wace;<br /> +Do shape it bairn and bairnly like,<br /> +And in it two glassen een you’ll put.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, wha has loosed the nine +witch-knots<br /> +That were amang that ladye’s locks?<br /> +And wha’s ta’en out the kames of care,<br /> +That were amang that ladye’s hair?</p> +<p class="poetry">“And wha has ta’en down that bush +of woodbine<br /> +That hung between her bow’r and mine?<br /> +And wha has kill’d the master kid<br /> +That ran beneath that ladye’s bed?<br /> +And wha has loosed her left foot shee,<br /> +And let that ladye lighter be?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Syne, Willie’s loosed the nine +witch-knots<br /> +That were amang that ladye’s locks;<br /> +And Willie’s ta’en out the kames of care<br /> +That were into that ladye’s hair;<br /> +And he’s ta’en down the bush of woodbine,<br /> +Hung atween her bow’r and the witch carline.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he has killed the master kid<br /> +That ran beneath that ladye’s bed;<br /> +And he has loosed her left foot shee,<br /> +And latten that ladye lighter be;<br /> +And now he has gotten a bonnie son,<br /> +And meikle grace be him upon.</p> +<h2><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> somer when the +shawes be sheyne,<br /> + And leves be large and longe,<br /> +Hit is full mery in feyre foreste<br /> + To here the foulys song.</p> +<p class="poetry">To se the dere draw to the dale,<br /> + And leve the hilles hee,<br /> +And shadow hem in the leves grene,<br /> + Vndur the grene-wode tre.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hit befell on Whitsontide,<br /> + Erly in a may mornyng,<br /> +The son vp fayre can shyne,<br /> + And the briddis mery can syng.</p> +<p class="poetry">“This is a mery mornyng,” seid +Litulle Johne,<br /> + “Be hym that dyed on tre;<br /> +A more mery man than I am one<br /> + Lyves not in Cristianté.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Pluk vp thi hert, my dere +mayster,”<br /> + Litulle Johne can sey,<br /> +“And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme<br /> + In a mornynge of may.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ze on thynge greves me,” seid +Robyne,<br /> + “And does my hert mych woo,<br /> +That I may not so solem day<br /> + To mas nor matyns goo.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>“Hit is a fourtnet and more,” seyd hee,<br +/> + “Syn I my Sauyour see;<br /> +To day will I to Notyngham,” seid Robyn,<br /> + “With the myght of mylde Mary.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then spake Moche the mylner sune,<br /> + Euer more wel hym betyde,<br /> +“Take xii thi wyght zemen<br /> + Well weppynd be thei side.<br /> +Such on wolde thi selfe slon<br /> + That xii dar not abyde.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Off alle my mery men,” seid +Robyne,<br /> + “Be my feithe I wil non haue;<br /> +But Litulle Johne shall beyre my bow<br /> + Til that me list to drawe.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thou shalle beyre thin own,” seid +Litulle Jon,<br /> + “Maister, and I wil beyre myne,<br /> +And we wille shete a peny,” seid Litulle Jon,<br /> + “Vnder the grene wode lyne.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I wil not shete a peny,” seyde +Robyn Hode,<br /> + “In feith, Litulle Johne, with thee,<br /> +But euer for on as thou shetes,” seid Robyn,<br /> + “In feith I holde the thre.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too,<br /> + Bothe at buske and brome,<br /> +Til Litulle Johne wan of his maister<br /> + V s. to hose and shone.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>A ferly strife fel them betwene,<br /> + As they went bi the way;<br /> +Litull Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs,<br /> + And Robyn Hode seid schortly nay.</p> +<p class="poetry">With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone,<br /> + And smote him with his honde;<br /> +Litul John waxed wroth therwith,<br /> + And pulled out his bright bronde.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Were thou not my maister,” seid +Litulle Johne,<br /> + “Thou shuldis by hit ful sore;<br /> +Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn,<br /> + For thou getes me no more.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Robyn goes to Notyngham,<br /> + Hymselfe mornynge allone,<br /> +And Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode,<br /> + The pathes he knowe alkone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whan Robyn came to Notyngham,<br /> + Sertenly withoutene layne,<br /> +He prayed to God and myld Mary<br /> + To brynge hym out saue agayne.</p> +<p class="poetry">He gos into seynt Mary chirche,<br /> + And knelyd downe before the rode;<br /> +Alle that euer were the churche within<br /> + Beheld wel Robyne Hode.</p> +<p class="poetry">Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke,<br /> + I pray to God woo he be;<br /> +Full sone he knew gode Robyn<br /> + As sone as he hym se.</p> +<p class="poetry">Out at the durre he ran<br /> + Ful sone and anon;<br /> +Alle the zatis of Notyngham<br /> + He made to be sparred euerychone.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +199</span>“Rise vp,” he seid, “thou prowde +schereff,<br /> + Buske the and make the bowne;<br /> +I haue spyed the kynges felone,<br /> + For sothe he is in this towne.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I haue spyed the false felone,<br /> + As he stondes at his masse;<br /> +Hit is longe of the,” seide the munke,<br /> + “And euer he fro vs passe.</p> +<p class="poetry">“This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode;<br +/> + Vnder the grene wode lynde,<br /> +He robbyt me onys of a C pound,<br /> + Hit shalle neuer out of my mynde.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Vp then rose this prowd schereff,<br /> + And zade towarde hym zare;<br /> +Many was the modur son<br /> + To the kyrk with him can fare.</p> +<p class="poetry">In at the durres thei throly thrast<br /> + With staves ful gode ilkone,<br /> +“Alas, alas,” seid Robin Hode,<br /> + “Now mysse I Litulle Johne.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde<br /> + That hangit down be his kne;<br /> +Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust,<br /> + Thidurward wold he.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thryes thorow at them he ran,<br /> + Then for sothe as I yow say,<br /> +And woundyt many a modur sone,<br /> + And xii he slew that day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span>Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed<br /> + Sertanly he brake in too;<br /> +“The smyth that the made,” seid Robyn,<br /> + “I pray God wyrke him woo.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For now am I weppynlesse,” seid +Robyne,<br /> + “Alasse, agayn my wylle;<br /> +But if I may fle these traytors fro,<br /> + I wot thei wil me kylle.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Robyns men to the churche ran<br /> + Throout hem euerilkon;<br /> +Sum fel in swonyng as thei were dede,<br /> + And lay still as any stone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Non of theym were in her mynde<br /> + But only Litulle Jon.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Let be your dule,” seid Litulle +Jon,<br /> + “For his luf that dyed on tre;<br /> +Ze that shulde be duzty men,<br /> + Hit is gret shame to se.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oure maister has bene hard bystode,<br +/> + And zet scapyd away;<br /> +Pluk up your hertes and leve this mone,<br /> + And herkyn what I shal say.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He has seruyd our lady many a day,<br /> + And zet wil securly;<br /> +Therefore I trust in her specialy<br /> + No wycked deth shal he dye.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Therfor be glad,” seid Litul +Johne,<br /> + “And let this mournyng be,<br /> +And I shall be the munkes gyde,<br /> + With the myght of mylde Mary.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span>“And I mete hym,” seid Litull Johne,<br /> + “We will go but we too<br /> +. . . . . . .<br /> + . . . . . . .</p> +<p class="poetry">“Loke that ze kepe wel our tristil tre<br +/> + Vnder the levys smale,<br /> +And spare non of this venyson<br /> + That gose in thys vale.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Forthe thei went these zemen too,<br /> + Litul Johne and Moche onfere,<br /> +And lokid on Moche emys hows<br /> + The hyeway lay fulle nere.</p> +<p class="poetry">Litul John stode at a window in the +mornynge,<br /> + And lokid forth at a stage;<br /> +He was war wher the munke came ridynge,<br /> + And with him a litul page.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Be my feith,” said Litul Johne to +Moche,<br /> + “I can the tel tithyngus gode;<br /> +I se wher the munk comys rydyng,<br /> + I know hym be his wyde hode.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thei went into the way these zemen bothe<br /> + As curtes men and hende,<br /> +Thei spyrred tithyngus at the munke,<br /> + As thei hade bene his frende.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fro whens come ze,” seid Litul +Johne,<br /> + “Tel vs tithyngus, I yow pray,<br /> +Off a false owtlay [called Robyn Hode],<br /> + Was takyn zisturday.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He robbyt me and my felowes bothe<br /> + Of xx marke in serten;<br /> +If that false owtlay be takyn,<br /> + For sothe we wolde be fayne.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>“So did he me,” seid the munke,<br /> + “Of a C pound and more;<br /> +I layde furst hande hym apon,<br /> + Ze may thonke me therefore.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I pray God thanke yow,” seid +Litulle Johne,<br /> + “And we wil when we may;<br /> +We wil go with yow, with your leve,<br /> + And brynge yow on your way.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For Robyn Hode hase many a wilde +felow,<br /> + I telle yow in certen;<br /> +If thei wist ze rode this way,<br /> + In feith ze shulde be slayn.”</p> +<p class="poetry">As thei went talkyng be the way,<br /> + The munke an Litulle Johne,<br /> +Johne toke the munkes horse be the hede<br /> + Ful sone and anone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Johne toke the munkes horse be the hed,<br /> + For sothe as I yow say,<br /> +So did Muche the litulle page,<br /> + For he shulde not stirre away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Be the golett of the hode<br /> + Johne pulled the munke downe;<br /> +Johne was nothynge of hym agast,<br /> + He lete hym falle on his crowne.</p> +<p class="poetry">Litulle Johne was sore agrevyd,<br /> + And drew out his swerde in hye;<br /> +The munke saw he shulde be ded,<br /> + Lowd mercy can he crye.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>“He was my maister,” said Litulle Johne,<br +/> + “That thou hase browzt in bale;<br /> +Shalle thou neuer cum at our kynge<br /> + For to telle hym tale.”</p> +<p class="poetry">John smote of the munkes hed,<br /> + No longer wolde he dwelle;<br /> +So did Moche the litulle page,<br /> + For ferd lest he wold tell.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ther thei beryed hem both<br /> + In nouther mosse nor lynge,<br /> +And Litulle Johne and Muche infere<br /> + Bare the letturs to oure kyng.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">He kneled down vpon—his kne,<br /> + “God zow sane, my lege lorde,<br /> +Jesus yow saue and se.</p> +<p class="poetry">“God yow saue, my lege kyng,”<br /> + To speke Johne was fulle bolde;<br /> +He gaf hym tbe letturs in his hond,<br /> + The kyng did hit unfold.</p> +<p class="poetry">The kyng red the letturs anon,<br /> + And seid, “so met I the,<br /> +Ther was neuer zoman in mery Inglond<br /> + I longut so sore to see.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Wher is the munke that these shuld haue +browzt?”<br /> + Oure kynge gan say;<br /> +“Be my trouthe,” seid Litull Jone,<br /> + “He dyed aftur the way.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The kyng gaf Moche and Litul Jon<br /> + xx pound in sertan,<br /> +And made theim zemen of the crowne,<br /> + And bade theim go agayn.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +204</span>He gaf Johne the seel in hand,<br /> + The scheref for to bere,<br /> +To brynge Robyn hym to,<br /> + And no man do hym dere.</p> +<p class="poetry">Johne toke his leve at cure kyng,<br /> + The sothe as I yow say;<br /> +The next way to Notyngham<br /> + To take he zede the way.</p> +<p class="poetry">When Johne came to Notyngham<br /> + The zatis were sparred ychone;<br /> +Johne callid vp the porter,<br /> + He answerid sone anon.</p> +<p class="poetry">“What is the cause,” seid Litul +John,<br /> + “Thou sparris the zates so fast?”<br /> +“Because of Robyn Hode,” seid [the] porter,<br /> + “In depe prison is cast.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Johne, and Moche, and Wylle Scathlok,<br +/> + For sothe as I yow say,<br /> +Thir slew oure men vpon oure wallis,<br /> + And sawtene vs euery day.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Litulle Johne spyrred aftur the schereff,<br /> + And sone he hym fonde;<br /> +He oppyned the kyngus privè seelle,<br /> + And gaf hyn in his honde.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the schereft saw the kyngus seelle,<br /> + He did of his hode anon;<br /> +“Wher is the munke that bare the letturs?”<br /> + He said to Litulle Johne.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>“He is so fayn of hym,” seid Litulle +Johne,<br /> + “For sothe as I yow sey,<br /> +He has made hym abot of Westmynster,<br /> + A lorde of that abbay.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The scheref made John gode chere,<br /> + And gaf hym wine of the best;<br /> +At nyzt thei went to her bedde,<br /> + And euery man to his rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the scheref was on-slepe<br /> + Dronken of wine and ale,<br /> +Litul Johne and Moche for sothe<br /> + Toke the way vnto the jale.</p> +<p class="poetry">Litul Johne callid vp the jayler,<br /> + And bade him ryse anon;<br /> +He seid Robyn Hode had brokyn preson,<br /> + And out of hit was gon.</p> +<p class="poetry">The portere rose anon sertan,<br /> + As sone as he herd John calle;<br /> +Litul Johne was redy with a swerd,<br /> + And bare hym to the walle.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now will I be porter,” seid Litul +Johne,<br /> + “And take the keyes in honde;”<br /> +He toke the way to Robyn Hode,<br /> + And sone he hym vnbonde.</p> +<p class="poetry">He gaf hym a gode swerd in his hond,<br /> + His hed with for to kepe,<br /> +And ther as the walle was lowyst<br /> + Anon down can thei lepe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Be that the cok began to crow,<br /> + The day began to sprynge,<br /> +The scheref fond the jaylier ded,<br /> + The comyn belle made he rynge.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>He made a crye thoroowt al the tow[n],<br /> + Whedur he be zoman or knave,<br /> +That cowthe brynge hyrn Robyn Hode,<br /> + His warisone he shuld haue.</p> +<p class="poetry">“For I dar neuer,” said the +scheref,<br /> + “Cum before oure kynge,<br /> +For if I do, I wot serten,<br /> + For sothe he wil me henge.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The scheref made to seke Notyngham,<br /> + Bothe be strete and stye,<br /> +And Robyn was in mery Scherwode<br /> + As lizt as lef on lynde.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then bespake gode Litulle Johne,<br /> + To Robyn Hode can he say,<br /> +“I haue done the a gode turne for an euylle,<br /> + Quyte me whan thou may.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I haue done the a gode turne,” +said Litulle Johne,<br /> + “For sothe as I you saie;<br /> +I haue brouzt the vnder grene wode lyne;<br /> + Fare wel, and haue gode day.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Nay, be my trouthe,” seid Robyn +Hode,<br /> + “So shalle hit neuer be;<br /> +I make the maister,” seid Robyn Hode,<br /> + “Off alle my men and me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Nay, be my trouthe,” seid Litulle +Johne,<br /> + “So shall hit neuer be,<br /> +But lat me be a felow,” seid Litulle Johne,<br /> + “Non odur kepe I’ll be.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>Thus Johne gate Robyn Hode out of prisone,<br /> + Sertan withoutyn layne;<br /> +When his men saw hym hol and sounde,<br /> + For sothe they were ful fayne.</p> +<p class="poetry">They filled in wyne, and made him glad,<br /> + Vnder the levys smale,<br /> +And zete pastes of venysone,<br /> + That gode was with ale.</p> +<p class="poetry">Than worde came to oure kynge,<br /> + How Robyn Hode was gone,<br /> +And how the scheref of Notyngham<br /> + Durst neuer loke hyme vpone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then bespake oure cumly kynge,<br /> + In an angur hye,<br /> +“Litulle Johne hase begyled the schereff,<br /> + In faith so hase he me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Litulle Johne has begyled vs bothe,<br +/> + And that fulle wel I se,<br /> +Or ellis the schereff of Notyngham<br /> + Hye hongut shuld he be.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I made hem zemen of the crowne,<br /> + And gaf hem fee with my hond,<br /> +I gaf hem grithe,” seid oure kyng,<br /> + “Thorowout alle mery Inglond.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I gaf hem grithe,” then seide oure +kyng,<br /> + “I say, so mot I the,<br /> +For sothe soche a zeman as he is on<br /> + In alle Ingland ar not thre.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He is trew to his maister,” seide +oure kynge,<br /> + “I say, be swete seynt Johne;<br /> +<a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>He louys +bettur Robyn Hode,<br /> + Then he dose vs ychone.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Robyne Hode is euer bond to him,<br /> + Bothe in strete and stalle;<br /> +Speke no more of this matter,” seid oure kynge,<br /> + “But John has begyled vs alle.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus endys the talkyng of the munke<br /> + And Robyne Hode i-wysse;<br /> +God, that is euer a crowned kyng,<br /> + Bryng vs alle to his blisse.</p> +<h2><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +209</span>ROBIN HOOD AND THE POTTER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> schomer, when the +leves spryng,<br /> + The bloschems on every bowe,<br /> +So merey doyt the berdys syng<br /> + Yn wodys merey now.</p> +<p class="poetry">Herkens, god yemen,<br /> + Comley, corteysse, and god,<br /> +On of the best that yever bar bou,<br /> + Hes name was Roben Hode.</p> +<p class="poetry">Roben Hood was the yemans name,<br /> + That was boyt corteys and fre;<br /> +For the loffe of owr ladey,<br /> + All wemen werschep he.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bot as the god yemen stod on a day,<br /> + Among hes mery manèy,<br /> +He was war of a prowd potter,<br /> + Cam dryfyng owyr the ley.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yonder comet a prod potter,” seyde +Roben,<br /> + “That long hayt hantyd this wey;<br /> +He was never so corteys a man<br /> + On peney of pawage to pay.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Y met hem bot at Wentbreg,” seyde +Lytyll John,<br /> + “And therfor yeffell mot he the,<br /> +Seche thre strokes he me gafe,<br /> + Yet they cleffe by my seydys.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>“Y ley forty shillings,” seyde Lytyll +John,<br /> + “To pay het thes same day,<br /> +Ther ys nat a man arnong hus all<br /> + A wed schall make hem ley.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Her ys forty shillings,” seyde +Roben,<br /> + “Mor, and thow dar say,<br /> +That y schall make that prowde potter,<br /> + A wed to me schall he ley.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Ther thes money they leyde,<br /> + They toke bot a yeman to kepe;<br /> +Roben befor the potter he breyde,<br /> + And bad hem stond stell.</p> +<p class="poetry">Handys apon hes horse he leyde,<br /> + And bad the potter stonde foll stell;<br /> +The potter schorteley to hem seyde,<br /> + “Felow, what ys they well?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“All thes thre yer, and mor, +potter,” he seyde,<br /> + “Thow hast hantyd thes wey,<br /> +Yet wer tow never so cortys a man<br /> + One peney of pauage to pay.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“What ys they name,” seyde the +potter,<br /> + “For pauage thow ask of me?”<br /> +“Roben Hod ys mey name,<br /> + A wed schall thow leffe me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Well well y non leffe,” seyde the +potter,<br /> + “Nor pavag well y non pay;<br /> +Away they honde fro mey horse,<br /> + Y well the tene eyls, be me fay.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The potter to hes cart he went,<br /> + He was not to seke;<br /> +A god to-hande staffe therowt he hent,<br /> + Befor Roben he lepe.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +211</span>Roben howt with a swerd bent,<br /> + A bokeler en hes honde [therto];<br /> +The potter to Roben he went,<br /> + And seyde, “Felow, let mey horse +go.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Togeder then went thes two yemen,<br /> + Het was a god seyt to se;<br /> +Therof low Robyn hes men,<br /> + Ther they stod onder a tre.</p> +<p class="poetry">Leytell John to hes felowhes seyde,<br /> + “Yend potter welle steffeley stonde:”<br +/> +The potter, with an acward stroke,<br /> + Smot the bokeler owt of hes honde;</p> +<p class="poetry">And ar Roben meyt get hem agen<br /> + Hes bokeler at hes fette,<br /> +The potter yn the neke hem toke,<br /> + To the gronde sone he yede.</p> +<p class="poetry">That saw Roben hes men,<br /> + As they stode ender a bow;<br /> +“Let us helpe owr master,” seyed Lytell John,<br /> + “Yonder potter els well hem sclo.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thes yemen went with a breyde,<br /> + To ther master they cam.<br /> +Leytell John to hes master seyde,<br /> + “He haet the wager won?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Schall y haff yowr forty +shillings,” seyde Lytel John,<br /> + “Or ye, master, schall haffe myne?”<br +/> +“Yeff they wer a hundred,” seyde Roben,<br /> + “Y feythe, they ben all theyne.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>“Het ys fol leytell cortesey,” seyde the +potter,<br /> + “As y haffe harde weyse men saye,<br /> +Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey,<br /> + To let hem of hes gorney.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt,” +seyde Roben,<br /> + “Thow seys god yemenrey;<br /> +And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day,<br /> + Thow schalt never be let for me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Y well prey the, god potter,<br /> + A felischepe well thow haffe?<br /> +Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne;<br /> + Y well go to Notynggam.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Y grant therto,” seyde the +potter,<br /> + “Thow schalt feynde me a felow gode;<br /> +But thow can sell mey pottes well,<br /> + Come ayen as thow yode.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Nay, be mey trowt,” seyde +Roben,<br /> + “And then y bescro mey hede<br /> +Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen,<br /> + And eney weyffe well hem chepe.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Than spake Leytell John,<br /> + And all hes felowhes heynd,<br /> +“Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam,<br /> + For he ys leytell howr frende.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Heyt war howte,” seyde Roben,<br +/> + “Felowhes, let me alone;<br /> +Thorow the helpe of howr ladey,<br /> + To Notynggam well y gon.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +213</span>Robyn went to Notynggam,<br /> + Thes pottes for to sell;<br /> +The potter abode with Robens men,<br /> + Ther he fered not eylle.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tho Roben droffe on hes wey,<br /> + So merey ower the londe:<br /> +Heres mor and affter ys to saye,<br /> + The best ys beheynde.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">[THE SECOND +FIT.]</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Roben cam to +Netynggam,<br /> + The soyt yef y scholde saye,<br /> +He set op hes horse anon,<br /> + And gaffe hem hotys and haye.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yn the medys of the towne,<br /> + Ther he schowed hes war;<br /> +“Pottys! pottys!” he gan crey foll sone,<br /> + “Haffe hansell for the mar.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate<br /> + Schowed he hes chaffar;<br /> +Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow,<br /> + And chepyd fast of hes war.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet, “Pottys, gret chepe!” creyed +Robyn,<br /> + “Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde;”<br /> +And all that saw hem sell,<br /> + Seyde he had be no potter long.</p> +<p class="poetry">The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe,<br /> + He sold tham for pens thre;<br /> +Preveley seyde man and weyffe,<br /> + “Ywnder potter schall never the.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +214</span>Thos Roben solde foll fast,<br /> + Tell he had pottys bot feyffe;<br /> +On he hem toke of his car,<br /> + And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Therof sche was foll fayne,<br /> + “Gramarsey, sir,” than seyde sche;<br /> +“When ye com to thes contre ayen,<br /> + Y schall bey of they pottys, so mot y +the.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye schall haffe of the best,” +seyde Roben,<br /> + And swar be the treneytè;<br /> +Foll corteysley she gan hem call,<br /> + “Com deyne with the screfe and me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Godamarsey,” seyde Roben,<br /> + “Yowr bedyng schalle be doyn;”<br /> +A mayden yn the pottys gan ber,<br /> + Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whan Roben ynto the hall cam,<br /> + The screffe sone he met;<br /> +The potter cowed of corteysey,<br /> + And sone the screffe he gret.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow +and me;<br /> + Feyffe pottys smalle and grete!”<br /> +“He ys fol wellcom,” seyd the screffe,<br /> + “Let os was, and go to mete.”</p> +<p class="poetry">As they sat at her methe,<br /> + With a nobell cher,<br /> +Two of the screffes men gan speke<br /> + Off a gret wagèr,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>Was made the thother daye,<br /> + Off a schotyng was god and feyne,<br /> +Off forty shillings, the soyt to saye,<br /> + Who scholde thes wager wen.</p> +<p class="poetry">Styll than sat thes prowde po,<br /> + Thos than thowt he;<br /> +“As y am a trow Cerstyn man,<br /> + Thes schotyng well y se.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Whan they had fared of the best,<br /> + With bred and ale and weyne,<br /> +To the bottys they made them prest,<br /> + With bowes and boltys full feyne.</p> +<p class="poetry">The screffes men schot foll fast,<br /> + As archares that weren godde;<br /> +Ther cam non ner ney the marke<br /> + Bey halfe a god archares bowe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Stell then stod the prowde potter,<br /> + Thos than seyde he;<br /> +“And y had a bow, be the rode,<br /> + On schot scholde yow se.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thow schall haffe a bow,” seyde +the screffe,<br /> + “The best that thow well cheys of thre;<br /> +Thou semyst a stalward and a stronge,<br /> + Asay schall thow be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The screffe commandyd a yeman that stod hem +bey<br /> + Affter bowhes to wende;<br /> +The best bow that the yeman browthe<br /> + Roben set on a stryng.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>“Now schall y wet and thow be god,<br /> + And polle het op to they ner;”<br /> +“So god me helpe,” seyde the prowde potter,<br /> + “Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger.”</p> +<p class="poetry">To a quequer Roben went,<br /> + A god bolt owthe he toke;<br /> +So ney on to the marke he went,<br /> + He fayled not a fothe.</p> +<p class="poetry">All they schot abowthe agen,<br /> + The screffes men and he;<br /> +Off the marke he welde not fayle,<br /> + He cleffed the preke on thre.</p> +<p class="poetry">The screffes men thowt gret schame,<br /> + The potter the mastry wan;<br /> +The screffe lowe and made god game,<br /> + And seyde, “Potter, thow art a man;<br /> +Thow art worthey to ber a bowe,<br /> + Yn what plas that thow gang.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe,<br /> + Forsoyt,” he seyde, “and that a +godde;<br /> +Yn mey cart ys the bow<br /> + That I had of Robyn Hode.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Knowest thow Robyn Hode?” seyde +the screffe,<br /> + “Potter, y prey the tell thou me;”<br /> +“A hundred torne y haffe schot with hem,<br /> + Under hes tortyll tree.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,” +seyde the screffe,<br /> + And swar be the trenitè,<br /> +[“Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,” he seyde,]<br /> + “That the fals owtelawe stod be me.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +217</span>“And ye well do afftyr mey red,” seyde the +potter,<br /> + “And boldeley go with me,<br /> +And to morow, or we het bred,<br /> + Roben Hode wel we se.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Y well queyt the,” kod the +screffe,<br /> + And swer be god of meythe;<br /> +Schetyng thay left, and hom they went,<br /> + Her scoper was redey deythe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Upon the morow, when het was day,<br /> + He boskyd hem forthe to reyde;<br /> +The potter hes carte forthe gan ray,<br /> + And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde.</p> +<p class="poetry">He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe,<br /> + And thankyd her of all thyng:<br /> +“Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer,<br /> + Y geffe yow her a golde ryng.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Gramarsey,” seyde the weyffe,<br +/> + “Sir, god eylde het the;”<br /> +The screffes hart was never so leythe,<br /> + The feyr forest to se.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when he cam ynto the foreyst,<br /> + Yonder the leffes grene,<br /> +Berdys ther sange on bowhes prest,<br /> + Het was gret joy to sene.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Her het ys mercy to be,” seyde +Roben,<br /> + “For a man that had hawt to spende;<br /> +Be mey horne we schall awet<br /> + Yeff Roben Hode be ner hande.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +218</span>Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe,<br /> + And blow a blast that was full god,<br /> +That herde hes men that ther stode,<br /> + Fer downe yn the wodde;<br /> +“I her mey master,” seyde Leytell John;<br /> + They ran as thay wer wode.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whan thay to thar master cam,<br /> + Leytell John wold not spar;<br /> +“Master, how haffe yow far yn Notynggam?<br /> + How haffe yow solde yowr war?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll John,<br /> + Loke thow take no car;<br /> +Y haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam,<br /> + For all howr chaffar.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“He ys foll wellcom,” seyde Lytyll +John,<br /> + “Thes tydyng ys foll godde;”<br /> +The screffe had lever nar a hundred ponde<br /> + [He had never sene Roben Hode.]</p> +<p class="poetry">“Had I west that beforen,<br /> + At Notynggam when we wer,<br /> +Thow scholde not com yn feyr forest<br /> + Of all thes thowsande eyr.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“That wot y well,” seyde Roben,<br +/> + “Y thanke god that ye be her;<br /> +Therfor schall ye leffe yowr horse with hos,<br /> + And all your hother ger.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“That fend I godys forbode,” kod +the screffe,<br /> + “So to lese mey godde;”<br /> +“Hether ye cam on horse foll hey,<br /> + And hom schall ye go on fote;<br /> +<a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>And gret +well they weyffe at home,<br /> + The woman ys foll godde.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Y schall her sende a wheyt palffrey,<br +/> + Het hambellet as the weynde;<br /> +Ner for the loffe of yowr weyffe,<br /> + Off mor sorow scholde yow seyng.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thes parted Robyn Hode and the screffe,<br /> + To Notynggam he toke the waye;<br /> +Hes weyffe feyr welcomed hem hom,<br /> + And to hem gan sche saye:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Seyr, how haffe yow fared yn grene +foreyst?<br /> + Haffe ye browt Roben hom?”<br /> +“Dam, the deyell spede him, bothe bodey and bon,<br /> + Y haffe hade a foll grete skorne.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of all the god that y haffe lade to +grene wod,<br /> + He hayt take het fro me,<br /> +All bot this feyr palffrey,<br /> + That he hayt sende to the.”</p> +<p class="poetry">With that sche toke op a lowde lawhyng,<br /> + And swhar be hem that deyed on tre,<br /> +“Now haffe yow payed for all the pottys<br /> + That Roben gaffe to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now ye be corn hom to Notynggam,<br /> + Ye schall haffe god ynowe;”<br /> +Now speke we of Roben Hode,<br /> + And of the pottyr onder the grene bowhe.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Potter, what was they pottys worthe<br +/> + To Notynggam that y ledde with me?”<br /> +<a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +220</span>“They wer worth two nobellys,” seyd he,<br +/> + “So mot y treyffe or the;<br /> +So cowde y had for tham,<br /> + And y had ther be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thow schalt hafe ten ponde,” seyde +Roben,<br /> + “Of money feyr and fre;<br /> +And yever whan thou comest to grene wod,<br /> + Wellcom, potter to me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thes partyd Robyn, the screffe, and the +potter,<br /> + Ondernethe the grene-wod tre;<br /> +God haffe mersey on Robyn Hodys solle,<br /> + And saffe all god yemanrey!</p> +<h2><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +221</span>ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, all you brave +gallants, and listen awhile,<br /> + <i>With hey +down</i>, <i>down</i>, <i>an a down</i>,<br /> + That are in the bowers within;<br /> +For of Robin Hood, that archer good,<br /> + A song I intend for to sing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Upon a time it chancèd so,<br /> + Bold Robin in forrest did ’spy<br /> +A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,<br /> + With his flesh to the market did hye.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Good morrow, good fellow,” said +jolly Robin,<br /> + “What food hast [thou]? tell unto me;<br /> +Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell,<br /> + For I like well thy company.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The butcher he answer’d jolly Robin,<br +/> + “No matter where I dwell;<br /> +For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham<br /> + I am going, my flesh to sell.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“What’s [the] price of thy +flesh?” said jolly Robin,<br /> + “Come, tell it soon unto me;<br /> +And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear,<br /> + For a butcher fain would I be.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span>“The price of my flesh,” the butcher +repli’d,<br /> + “I soon will tell unto thee;<br /> +With my bonny mare, and they are not too dear,<br /> + Four mark thou must give unto me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Four mark I will give thee,” saith +jolly Robin,<br /> + “Four mark it shall be thy fee;<br /> +The mony come count, and let me mount,<br /> + For a butcher I fain would be.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone,<br /> + His butchers trade to begin;<br /> +With good intent to the sheriff he went,<br /> + And there he took up his inn.</p> +<p class="poetry">When other butchers did open their meat,<br /> + Bold Robin he then begun;<br /> +But how for to sell he knew not well,<br /> + For a butcher he was but young.</p> +<p class="poetry">When other butchers no meat could sell,<br /> + Robin got both gold and fee;<br /> +For he sold more meat for one peny<br /> + Then others could do for three.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when he sold his meat so fast,<br /> + No butcher by him could thrive;<br /> +For he sold more meat for one peny<br /> + Than others could do for five.</p> +<p class="poetry">Which made the butchers of Nottingham<br /> + To study as they did stand,<br /> +Saying, “Surely he ‘is’ some prodigal,<br /> + That hath sold his fathers land.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +223</span>The butchers stepped to jolly Robin,<br /> + Acquainted with him for to be;<br /> +“Come, brother,” one said, “we be all of one +trade,<br /> + Come, will you go dine with me?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Accurst of his heart,” said jolly +Robin,<br /> + “That a butcher doth deny;<br /> +I will go with you, my brethren true,<br /> + As fast as I can hie.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But when to the sheriffs house they came,<br /> + To dinner they hied apace,<br /> +And Robin Hood he the man must be<br /> + Before them all to say grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Pray God bless us all,” said jolly +Robin,<br /> + “And our meat within this place;<br /> +A cup of sack so good will nourish our blood,<br /> + And so do I end my grace.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come fill us more wine,” said +jolly Robin,<br /> + “Let us be merry while we do stay;<br /> +For wine and good cheer, be it never so dear,<br /> + I vow I the reck’ning will pay.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Come, ‘brothers,’ be +merry,” said jolly Robin,<br /> + “Let us drink, and never give ore;<br /> +For the shot I will pay, ere I go my way,<br /> + If it cost me five pounds and more.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“This is a mad blade,” the butchers +then said;<br /> + Saies the sheriff, “He is some +prodigàl,<br /> +That some land has sold for silver and gold,<br /> + And now he doth mean to spend all.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>“Hast thou any horn beasts,” the sheriff +repli’d,<br /> + “Good fellow, to sell unto me?”<br /> +“Yes, that I have, good master sheriff,<br /> + I have hundreds two or three;</p> +<p class="poetry">“And a hundred aker of good free land,<br +/> + If you please it to see:<br /> +And Ile make you as good assurance of it,<br /> + As ever my father made me.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The sheriff he saddled his good +palfrèy,<br /> + And, with three hundred pound in gold,<br /> +Away he went with bold Robin Hood,<br /> + His horned beasts to behold.</p> +<p class="poetry">Away then the sheriff and Robin did ride,<br /> + To the forrest of merry Sherwood;<br /> +Then the sheriff did say, “God bless us this day<br /> + From a man they call Robin Hood!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But when a little farther they came,<br /> + Bold Robin he chancèd to spy<br /> +A hundred head of good red deer,<br /> + Come tripping the sheriff full nigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">“How like you my horn’d beasts, +good master sheriff?<br /> + They be fat and fair for to see;”<br /> +“I tell thee, good fellow, I would I were gone,<br /> + For I like not thy company.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Robin set his horn to his mouth,<br /> + And blew but blasts three;<br /> +Then quickly anon there came Little John,<br /> + And all his company.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>“What is your will, master?” then said +Little John,<br /> + “Good master come tell unto me;”<br /> +“I have brought hither the sheriff of Nottingham<br /> + This day to dine with thee.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“He is welcome to me,” then said +Little John,<br /> + “I hope he will honestly pay;<br /> +I know he has gold, if it be but well told,<br /> + Will serve us to drink a whole day.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Robin took his mantle from his back,<br /> + And laid it upon the ground:<br /> +And out of the sheriffs portmantle<br /> + He told three hundred pound.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Robin he brought him thorow the wood,<br +/> + And set him on his dapple gray;<br /> +“O have me commanded to your wife at home;”<br /> + So Robin went laughing away.</p> +<h2><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +227</span>NOTES</h2> +<h3><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span><span class="smcap">Sir Patrick Spens</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span></h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Child</span> finds the first published +version of “the grand old ballad of Sir Patrick +Spens,” as Coleridge calls it, in Bishop Percy’s +<i>Reliques</i>. Here the name is “Spence,” and +the middle rhyme—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Haf owre, haf +owre to Aberdour,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>noblesse</i> in +Flanders—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Their ladies +them may abide in bower and hall well long!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span><span class="smcap">The Battle of +Otterburn</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span></h3> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>, 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.</p> +<p>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 <a name="page231"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 231</span>illness, thinking of Lockhart, not +yet his son-in-law, he quoted—</p> +<blockquote><p>“My wound is deep, I fain would sleep,<br /> +Take thou the vanguard of the three.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Child thinks the command to</p> +<blockquote><p>“yield to the bracken-bush”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>unmartial. This does not seem a strong objection, in +Froissart’s time. It is explained in an oral +fragment—</p> +<blockquote><p>“For there lies aneth yon bracken-bush<br /> +Wha aft has conquered mair than thee.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Tam Lin</span>, <span class="smcap">or +Tamlane</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span></h3> +<p>Burns’s version, in Johnson’s <i>Museum</i> +(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. <i>The Complaint of Scotland</i> (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 <i>Secret +Commonwealth</i>. The Nereids, in Modern Greece, practise +fairy cantrips, and the same beliefs exist in Samoa and New +Caledonia. The metamorphoses are found in the +<i>Odyssey</i>, Book iv., in the winning of Thetis, the +<i>Nereid</i>, <i>or Fairy Bride</i>, by Peleus, in a modern +Cretan fairy tale, and so on. There is a similar incident +in <i>Penda Baloa</i>, a Senegambian ballad (<i>Contes Populaires +de la Sénégambie</i>, Berenger Ferand, Paris, +1885). The dipping of Tamlane has precedents in <i>Old +Deccan Days</i>, in a Hottentot tale by Bleek, and in <i>Les Deux +Frères</i>, the Egyptian story, translated by Maspero (the +Editor has already given these parallels in a note to <i>Border +Ballads</i>, by Graham R. Thomson). Mr. Child also cites +Mannhardt, “Wald und Feldkulte,” ii. +64–70. <a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +232</span>Carterhaugh, the scene of the ballad, is at the +junction of Ettrick and Yarrow, between Bowhill and +Philiphaugh.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Thomas Rymer</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span></h3> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>; 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,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Betide, betide, whate’er betide,<br +/> +There will aye be a Haig in Bemersyde,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and a Haig still owns that ancient <i>château</i> 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 <i>Secret Commonwealth of Elves</i>, +<i>Fauns</i>, <i>and Fairies</i> may be consulted, or the +Editor’s <i>Perrault</i>, p. xxxv. (Oxford, 1888). Of +the later legends about Thomas, Scott gives plenty, in <i>The +Border Minstrelsy</i>. The <a name="page233"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 233</span>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.”</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Sir Hugh</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span></h3> +<p>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.”</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Son Davie</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page22">22</a></span></h3> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Wife of Usher’s +Well</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></h3> +<p>Here</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“The cock doth +craw, the day doth daw,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +234</span><span class="smcap">The Twa Corbies</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page26">26</a></span></h3> +<p>From the third volume of <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>, derived by +Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe from a traditional version. The +English version, “Three Ravens,” was published in +<i>Melismata</i>, 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—</p> +<blockquote><p>“She buried him before the prime,<br /> +She was dead herselfe ere evensong time.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Probably the English is the earlier version.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Bonnie Earl of +Murray</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></h3> +<p>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 <i>Tea Table Miscellany</i>, +and it is often sung to this day.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Clerk Saunders</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page30">30</a></span></h3> +<p>First known as published in <i>Border Minstrelsy</i> +(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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Waly</span>, <span +class="smcap">Waly</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></h3> +<p>From Ramsay’s <i>Tea Table Miscellany</i>, a curiously +composite gathering of verses. There is a verse, obviously +a variant, in a sixteenth century song, cited by <a +name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +235</span>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 <i>The Heart of +Midlothian</i>. The Cairn of Nichol Mushat, the +wife-murderer, is not far off. The ruins of Anthony’s +Chapel are still extant.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Love Gregor</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page37">37</a></span></h3> +<p>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 +<i>Odyssey</i>: 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 +<i>Alt-Giechische Märchen</i>.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Queen’s +Marie</span>—<span class="smcap">Mary +Hamilton</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span></h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>(2) This is especially improbable, because, in 1719, the +old vein of ballad poetry had run dry, popular song <a +name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>had chosen +other forms, and no literary imitator could have written Mary +Hamilton in 1719.</p> +<p>(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.</p> +<p>(4) The name, Mary Hamilton, is often <i>not</i> given +to the heroine in variants of the ballad. She is of several +names and ranks in the variants.</p> +<p>(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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Kinmont Willie</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page45">45</a></span></h3> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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 <i>aut +Gualterus aut diabolus</i>, 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Jamie Telfer</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span></h3> +<p>Scott, for once, was wrong in his localities. The +Dodhead of the poem is <i>not</i> that near Singlee, in <a +name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>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 <i>Minstrelsy</i>, 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Douglas Tragedy</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page59">59</a></span></h3> +<p>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</p> + +<blockquote><p> “gathered +a band<br /> +Of the best that would ride at her command,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>in the <i>Lay of the Last Minstrel</i>. The ancient keep +of Blackhouse on Douglas Burn may have been the home of the +heroine, if we are to localize.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Bonny Hind</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page62">62</a></span></h3> +<p>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 <i>Kalevala</i>. 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 +<a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>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 <i>Chants Populaires du Pays +Messin</i>, p. 60. (<i>Ballads and Lyrics of Old +France</i>, p. 63)</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Young Beichan</span>, <span +class="smcap">or Young Bicham</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page65">65</a></span></h3> +<p>This is the original of the Cockney <i>Loving Ballad of Lord +Bateman</i>, 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 <i>Life of Becket</i>, or Beket), Percy Society, +1845. The date may be <i>circ.</i> 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 +<i>Märchen</i> as “The Black Bull o’ +Norraway.” No story is more widely diffused (see <i>A +Far Travelled Tale</i>, in the Editor’s <i>Custom and +Myth</i>). The appearance of the “True Love,” +just at her lover’s wedding, is common in the +<i>Märchen</i> 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 <i>Aucassin and +Nicolette</i>. The notes to Cruikshank’s <i>Loving +Ballad</i> are, obviously, by Thackeray.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Bonny House o’ +Airly</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></h3> +<p>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. <a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +239</span>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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Rob Roy</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page75">75</a></span></h3> +<p>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 +<i>Catriona</i> 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 <i>Catriona</i>, 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 <i>Rob Roy</i>.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Killiecrankie</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page77">77</a></span></h3> +<p>Fought on July 27, 1689. <i>Not</i> 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.</p> +<h3><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span><span class="smcap">Annan Water</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span></h3> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i> 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Elphin Nourrice</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span></h3> +<p>This curious poem is taken from the reprint of Charles +Kirkpatrick Sharpe’s tiny <i>Ballad Book</i>, itself now +almost <i>introuvable</i>. 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Johnnie Armstrang</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page87">87</a></span></h3> +<p>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 <i>Complaint of Scotland</i>. +In Sir Herbert Maxwell’s <i>History of Dumfries and +Galloway</i> is an excellent account of the historical facts of +the case.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Edom o’ Gordon</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page92">92</a></span></h3> +<p>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, <a name="page241"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 241</span>burned Towie House, a seat of the +Forbes’s. Ker recurs in the long and more or less +literary ballad of <i>The Battle of Balrinnes</i>. 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Lady Anne Bothwell’s +Lament</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span></h3> +<p>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, <i>The Northern Lass</i> (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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Jock o’ The Side</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page101">101</a></span></h3> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +242</span><span class="smcap">Lord Thomas and Fair +Annet</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></h3> +<p>Published in Percy’s <i>Reliques</i>, 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 +<i>Märchen</i> of the type of <i>The Black Bull of +Norraway</i>.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Fair Annie</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page111">111</a></span></h3> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. There are Danish, +Swedish, Dutch, and German versions, and the theme enters +artistic poetry as early as Marie de France (<i>Le Lai del +Freisne</i>). In Scotch the Earl of Wemyss is a recent +importation: the earldom dates from 1633. Of course this +process of attaching a legend or <i>Märchen</i> 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Downie Dens of +Yarrow</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span></h3> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Sir Roland</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span></h3> +<p>From Motherwell’s <i>Minstrelsy</i>. The +authenticity of the ballad is dubious, but, if a forgery, it is a +very <a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +243</span>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.”</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Rose the Red and White +Lily</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></h3> +<p>From the Jamieson-Brown MS., originally written out by Mrs. +Brown in 1783: Sir Waiter made changes in <i>The Border +Minstrelsy</i>. 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Battle of Harlaw</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page131">131</a></span></h3> +<p>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 <i>The Antiquary</i>. +This, indeed, is beyond all rivalry the most splendid modern +imitation of the ancient popular Muse.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Dickie Macphalion</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page142">142</a></span></h3> +<p>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.</p> +<h3>A <span class="smcap">Lyke-Wake Dirge</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page143">143</a></span></h3> +<p>From the <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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 <i>Songs of the +North</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span><span class="smcap">The Laird of +Waristoun</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span></h3> +<p>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</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“I wish that ye +may sink for sin”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>occurs in an earlier ballad on Edinburgh Castle—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And that all for the black dinner<br /> +Earl Douglas got therein.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><span class="smcap">May Colven</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page147">147</a></span></h3> +<p>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 <i>diablement +changé en route</i>. More probably the origin is a +<i>Märchen</i> of a kind of <i>Rakshasa</i> 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Johnie Faa</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150</a></span></h3> +<p>From Pinkerton’s Scottish Ballads. The event +narrated is a legend of the house of Cassilis (Kennedy), <a +name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>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, <i>The +Raiders</i>, may be consulted. The ballad was first +printed, as far as is known, in Ramsay’s <i>Tea Table +Miscellany</i>.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Hobbie Noble</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page152">152</a></span></h3> +<p>The hero recurs in <i>Jock o’ the Side</i>, 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 <i>History of Dumfries and Galloway</i> may be +consulted for these and similar reivers.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Twa Sisters</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span></h3> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Mary Ambree</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page160">160</a></span></h3> +<p>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 <i>Billy +Taylor</i>. 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Alison Gross</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page165">165</a></span></h3> +<p>Jamieson gave this ballad from a manuscript, altering the +spelling in conformity with Scots orthography. Mr. Child +prints the manuscript; here Jamieson’s more <a +name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>familiar +spelling is retained. The idea of the romance occurs in a +Romaic <i>Märchen</i>, 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 +<i>Beauty and the Beast</i>. It would be more correct to +say that <i>Beauty and the Beast</i> is a late, courtly, French +adaptation and amplification of the original popular “wild +growth” which first appears (in literary form) as <i>Cupid +and Psyche</i>, 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Heir of Lynne</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page167">167</a></span></h3> +<p>From Percy’s Folio Manuscript. There is a cognate +Greek epigram—</p> +<blockquote><p>Χρυσὸν +ἀνὴρ εὗρων +ἔλιπε +βρόχον +αὐτὰρ ὁ +χρυσόν<br /> +Ὅν λίπεν, +οὐχ εὑρών, +ἥφεν τον +εὗρε +βρόχον.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><span class="smcap">Gordon of Brackley</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page172">172</a></span></h3> +<p>This, though probably not the most authentic, is decidedly the +most pleasing version; it is from Mackay’s collection, +perhaps from his pen.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Edward</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page175">175</a></span></h3> +<p>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 +<i>Son Davie</i>, which may be compared. Fratricides and +unconscious incests were motives dear to popular poetry.</p> +<h3><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span><span class="smcap">Young Benjie</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page177">177</a></span></h3> +<p>From the <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>. That corpses +<i>might</i> 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 <i>a bloody glove</i>, 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Auld Maitland</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page180">180</a></span></h3> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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 +<i>lacuna</i>. They are especially modern in style. +Now thus to fill up sham <i>lacunæ</i> 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 <i>supercheries</i>, +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 +<i>Blackwood</i> set? And is it conceivable that his old +mother, entering into the joke, would <a name="page248"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 248</span>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 <i>Domestic Manners of Sir Walter Scott</i>, p. 61, +1834.)</p> +<p>“Maitland upon auld beird gray” is mentioned by +Gawain Douglas, in his <i>Palice of Honour</i>, 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 <i>Hardyknute</i>, and at least on a level +with <i>Sir Roland</i>. The possibility of such forgeries +is now very slight indeed, but vitiates early collections.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +249</span><span class="smcap">The Broomfield +Hill</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span></h3> +<p>From Buchan’s <i>Ballads of the North of +Scotland</i>. 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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Willie’s Ladye</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page193">193</a></span></h3> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Robin Hood Ballads</span>.—p. <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page196">196</a></span></h3> +<p>There is plentiful “learning” about Robin Hood, +but no real knowledge. He is first mentioned in literature, +as the subject of “rhymes,” in <i>Piers Plowman</i> +(<i>circ.</i> 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 +<i>Ivanhoe</i>) as the period of Richard I. Kuhn seeks to +show that Hood is a survival of Woden, or of his <i>Wooden</i>, +“wooden horse” or hobby horse. The Robin Hood +play was parallel with the May games, which, as Mr. Frazer shows +in his <i>Golden Bough</i>, 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 +<a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 250</span>attaches +to such popular heroes. An historical Robin there may have +been, but <i>premit nox alta</i>.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Robin Hood and the Monk</span>.—p. +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page196">196</a></span></h3> +<p>This copy follows in Mr. Child’s early edition, +“from the second edition of Ritson’s <i>Robin +Hood</i>, 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.)</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Robin Hood and the +Potter</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></h3> +<p>Published by Ritson, from a Cambridge MS., probably of the +reign of Henry VII.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Robin Hood and the +Butcher</span>.—p. <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span></h3> +<p>Published by Ritson, from a Black Letter copy in the +collection of Anthony Wood, the Oxford antiquary.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote0a"></a><a href="#citation0a" +class="footnote">[0a]</a> See Pitcairn, Case of Alison +Pearson, 1586.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0b"></a><a href="#citation0b" +class="footnote">[0b]</a> Translated in <i>Ballads and +Lyrics of Old France</i>.—A. L.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87"></a><a href="#citation87" +class="footnote">[87]</a> “Kinnen,” +rabbits.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88a"></a><a href="#citation88a" +class="footnote">[88a]</a> “Nicher,” neigh.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88b"></a><a href="#citation88b" +class="footnote">[88b]</a> “Gilt,” gold.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88c"></a><a href="#citation88c" +class="footnote">[88c]</a> “Dow,” are able +to.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88d"></a><a href="#citation88d" +class="footnote">[88d]</a> “Ganging,” +going.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90a"></a><a href="#citation90a" +class="footnote">[90a]</a> “Targats”, +tassels.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90b"></a><a href="#citation90b" +class="footnote">[90b]</a> “Blink sae brawly,” +glance so bravely.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90c"></a><a href="#citation90c" +class="footnote">[90c]</a> “Fechting,” +fighting.</p> +<p><a name="footnote91"></a><a href="#citation91" +class="footnote">[91]</a> “Kirsty,” +Christopher.</p> +<p><a name="footnote92"></a><a href="#citation92" +class="footnote">[92]</a> “Hald,” hold.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94"></a><a href="#citation94" +class="footnote">[94]</a> “Reek,” smoke.</p> +<p><a name="footnote95"></a><a href="#citation95" +class="footnote">[95]</a> “Freits,” omens.</p> +<p><a name="footnote96a"></a><a href="#citation96a" +class="footnote">[96a]</a> “Wighty,” +valiant.</p> +<p><a name="footnote96b"></a><a href="#citation96b" +class="footnote">[96b]</a> “Wroken,” +revenged.</p> +<p><a name="footnote97"></a><a href="#citation97" +class="footnote">[97]</a> “Mudie,” bold.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLLECTION OF BALLADS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1054-h.htm or 1054-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/5/1054 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: A Collection of Ballads + +Author: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: September, 1997 [EBook #1054] +[This file was first posted on August 1, 1997] +[Most recently updated: June 25, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A COLLECTION OF BALLADS *** + + + + +Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + +A Collection of Ballads + + + + +Contents: + +Sir Patrick Spens +Battle Of Otterbourne +Tam Lin +Thomas The Rhymer +"Sir Hugh; Or The Jew's Daughter" +Son Davie! Son Davie! +The Wife Of Usher's Well +The Twa Corbies +The Bonnie Earl Moray +Clerk Saunders +Waly, Waly +Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan +The Queen's Marie +Kinmont Willie +Jamie Telfer +The Douglas Tragedy +The Bonny Hind +Young Bicham +The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman +The Bonnie House O' Airly +Rob Roy +The Battle Of Killie-Crankie +Annan Water +The Elphin Nourrice +Cospatrick +Johnnie Armstrang +Edom O' Gordon +Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament +Jock O The Side +Lord Thomas And Fair Annet +Fair Annie +The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow +Sir Roland +Rose The Red And White Lily +The Battle Of Harlaw--Evergreen Version +Traditionary Version +Dickie Macphalion +A Lyke-Wake Dirge +The Laird Of Waristoun +May Colven +Johnie Faa +Hobbie Noble +The Twa Sisters +Mary Ambree +Alison Gross +The Heir Of Lynne +Gordon Of Brackley +Edward, Edward +Young Benjie +Auld Maitland +The Broomfield Hill +Willie's Ladye +Robin Hood And The Monk +Robin Hood And The Potter +Robin Hood And The Butcher + + + +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 Marchen, 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 Danae 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 +mediaeval 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 mediaeval minstrels and +jongleurs (who may best be studied in Leon Gautier's Introduction +to his Epopees Francaises) 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 mediaeval romances. But these plots +and situations, in Epic and Romance, are themselves the final +literary form of marchen, 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 Marchen 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. {1} 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 donnee 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. +{2} + +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 Marchen 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: "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. + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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!" + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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! + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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!" + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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 ca'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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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 glanced 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."-- + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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 {3} 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 {4} at a spear; +And as meikle gude Inglish gilt, {5} +As four of their braid backs dow {6} 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 {7} 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 {8} 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 {9} aboon thy brie?" +"I gat them in the field fechting, {10} +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, {11} 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. {12} + +"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 {13} 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, {14} 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 {15} 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 {16} his dear layde.] + +And mony were the mudie {17} 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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!" + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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!" + + + +Ballad: 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 Dunde, +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 subtile 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 Dunde, +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. + + + +Ballad: 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 Forbes 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 Forbes 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 Forbes strack, +He garrt Macdonell reel; +An the neist ae straik that Forbes 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 Forbes 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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!" + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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!" + + + +Ballad: 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." + + + +Ballad: 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 crowned king to lee; +But, or that I taste meat and drink, +Reproved 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." + + + +Ballad: 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 armed 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." + + + +Ballad: 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. + + + +Ballad: 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 Cristiante." + +"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 prive 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. + + + +Ballad: 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 maney, +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 treneyte; +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 wager, + +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 trenite, +["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! + + + +Ballad: 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 chanced 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 prodigal, +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 palfrey, +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 chanced 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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 +Senegambie, Berenger Ferand, Paris, 1885). The dipping of Tamlane +has precedents in Old Deccan Days, in a Hottentot tale by Bleek, +and in Les Deux Freres, 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 + + +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 chateau 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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 +Marchen. + + +THE QUEEN'S MARIE--MARY HAMILTON + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 a +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 Marchen 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 +Marchen 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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 Marchen of the type of The Black Bull of Norraway. + + +FAIR ANNIE + + +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 Marchen 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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 change en route. More probably the +origin is a Marchen 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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 Marchen, 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 + + +From Percy's Folio Manuscript. There is a cognate Greek epigram-- + +[Greek text which cannot be reproduced] + + +GORDON OF BRACKLEY + + +This, though probably not the most authentic, is decidedly the most +pleasing version; it is from Mackay's collection, perhaps from his +pen. + + +EDWARD + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 lacunae 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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +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 + + +Published by Ritson, from a Cambridge MS., probably of the reign of +Henry VII. + + +ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER + + +Published by Ritson, from a Black Letter copy in the collection of +Anthony Wood, the Oxford antiquary. + + + +Footnotes: + + +{1} See Pitcairn, Case of Alison Pearson, 1586. + +{2} Translated in Ballads and Lyrics of Old France.--A. L. + +{3} "Kinnen," rabbits. + +{4} "Nicher," neigh. + +{5} "Gilt," gold. + +{6} "Dow," are able to. + +{7} "Ganging," going. + +{8} "Targats", tassels. + +{9} "Blink sae brawly," glance so bravely. + +{10} "Fechting," fighting. + +{11} "Kirsty," Christopher. + +{12} "Hald," hold. + +{13} "Reek," smoke. + +{14} "Freits," omens. + +{15} "Wighty," valiant. + +{16} "Wroken," revenged. + +{17} "Mudie," bold. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A COLLECTION OF BALLADS *** + +This file should be named cblad10.txt or cblad10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, cblad11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, cblad10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/cblad10.zip b/old/cblad10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3cf00d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/cblad10.zip diff --git a/old/cblad10h.htm b/old/cblad10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c79e8f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/cblad10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5704 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>A Collection of Ballads</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">A Collection of Ballads, by Andrew Lang</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Collection of Ballads, by Andrew Lang +(#6 in our series by Andrew Lang) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: A Collection of Ballads + +Author: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: September, 1997 [EBook #1054] +[This file was first posted on August 1, 1997] +[Most recently updated: June 25, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>A Collection of Ballads</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>Sir Patrick Spens<br />Battle Of Otterbourne<br />Tam Lin<br />Thomas +The Rhymer<br />“Sir Hugh; Or The Jew’s Daughter”<br />Son +Davie! Son Davie!<br />The Wife Of Usher’s Well<br />The +Twa Corbies<br />The Bonnie Earl Moray<br />Clerk Saunders<br />Waly, +Waly<br />Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan<br />The Queen’s +Marie<br />Kinmont Willie<br />Jamie Telfer<br />The Douglas Tragedy<br />The +Bonny Hind<br />Young Bicham<br />The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman<br />The +Bonnie House O’ Airly<br />Rob Roy<br />The Battle Of Killie-Crankie<br />Annan +Water<br />The Elphin Nourrice<br />Cospatrick<br />Johnnie Armstrang<br />Edom +O’ Gordon<br />Lady Anne Bothwell’s Lament<br />Jock O The +Side<br />Lord Thomas And Fair Annet<br />Fair Annie<br />The Dowie +Dens Of Yarrow<br />Sir Roland<br />Rose The Red And White Lily<br />The +Battle Of Harlaw—Evergreen Version<br />Traditionary Version<br />Dickie +Macphalion<br />A Lyke-Wake Dirge<br />The Laird Of Waristoun<br />May +Colven<br />Johnie Faa<br />Hobbie Noble<br />The Twa Sisters<br />Mary +Ambree<br />Alison Gross<br />The Heir Of Lynne<br />Gordon Of Brackley<br />Edward, +Edward<br />Young Benjie<br />Auld Maitland<br />The Broomfield Hill<br />Willie’s +Ladye<br />Robin Hood And The Monk<br />Robin Hood And The Potter<br />Robin +Hood And The Butcher</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>Märchen</i>, +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—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“I have slain a man to my wounding,<br />And a young man to +my hurt.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Instances perpetually occur in the Sagas: Grettir, Egil, Skarphedin, +are always singing. In <i>Kidnapped</i>, 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 Danae 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.</p> +<p>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 <i>laisse</i> of the <i>Chansons de Geste</i>; +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 mediaeval 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 mediaeval minstrels and <i>jongleurs</i> (who may best be studied +in Léon Gautier’s Introduction to his <i>Epopées</i> +<i>Françaises</i>) 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.</p> +<p>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 mediaeval romances. But these plots and situations, +in Epic and Romance, are themselves the final literary form of <i>märchen</i>, +myths and inventions originally <i>popular</i>, 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 <i>genres</i> +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.</p> +<p>Perrault, in 1697, borrowed these from tradition and gave them literary +and courtly shape. But <i>Cendrillon</i> or <i>Chaperon Rouge</i> +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.</p> +<p>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 <i>Märchen</i> 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.</p> +<p>In the romantic class, we may take <i>Tamlane</i>. 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 <i>The Two Brothers</i>), and in modern Senegambia. The fairy +tax, tithe, or teind, paid to Hell, is illustrated by old trials for +witchcraft, in Scotland. <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a> +Now, in literary forms and romance, as in <i>Ogier le Danois</i>, 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.</p> +<p>Thus, in <i>Tamlane</i>, the whole <i>donnée</i> 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.</p> +<p>In <i>Mary Hamilton</i> we have a notable instance of the Historical +Ballad. No Marie of Mary Stuart’s suffered death for child +murder.</p> +<p>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 (<i>Child</i>, 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.</p> +<p>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 +(<i>Child</i>, 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 +<i>Sir Patrick Spens</i> has so many widely different variants as <i>Mary +Hamilton</i>. 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 <i>Rob Roy</i> and <i>Killiecrankie</i>, in +this collection, also the ballads of <i>Loudoun Hill</i>,<i> The Battle +of Philiphaugh</i>, and others much earlier than 1719. New styles +of popular poetry on contemporary events as <i>Sherriffmuir</i> and +<i>Tranent Brae</i> had arisen. (5) The extreme historic inaccuracy +of <i>Mary Hamilton</i> 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.</p> +<p>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 <i>Hardyknute</i> show +that literary poets of 1719 had not knowledge or skill enough to mimic +the antique manner with any success.</p> +<p>We may, therefore, even in face of Professor Child, regard <i>Mary +Hamilton</i> 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.</p> +<p><i>Rob Roy</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>No ballad has a stranger history than <i>The Loving Ballad of Lord +Bateman</i>, 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. +<a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a></p> +<p>Now Lord Bateman is <i>Young Bekie</i> in the Scotch ballads, who +becomes <i>Young Beichan</i>,<i> Young Bichem</i>, 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 <i>his</i> Saracen bride sought him in London. (Robert +of Gloucester’s <i>Life and Martyrdom of Thomas Becket</i>, Percy +Society. See Child’s Introduction, IV., i. 1861, and <i>Motherwell’s +Minstrelsy</i>, 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 <i>Cantefable</i>, alternate prose and verse, like <i>Aucassin +and Nicolette</i>. Thus the cockney rhyme descends from the twelfth +century.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <i>Märchen</i> +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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Sir Patrick Spens</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Border Minstrelsy.)</p> +<p>The king sits in Dunfermline town,<br />Drinking the blude-red wine +o:<br />“O whare will I get a skeely skipper<br />To sail this +new ship of mine o?”</p> +<p>O up and spake an eldern-knight,<br />Sat at the king’s right +knee:<br />“Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor<br />That ever +saild the sea.”</p> +<p>Our king has written a braid letter,<br />And seald it with his hand,<br />And +sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,<br />Was walking on the strand.</p> +<p>“To Noroway, to Noroway,<br />To Noroway oer the faem;<br />The +king’s daughter of Noroway,<br />’Tis thou maun bring her +hame.”</p> +<p>The first word that Sir Patrick read,<br />Sae loud, loud laughed +he;<br />The neist word that Sir Patrick read,<br />The tear blinded +his ee.</p> +<p>“O wha is this has done this deed,<br />And tauld the king +o me,<br />To send us out, at this time of the year,<br />To sail upon +the sea?”</p> +<p>“Be it wind, be it weet, be it hall, be it sleet,<br />Our +ship must sail the faem;<br />The king’s daughter of Noroway,<br />’Tis +we must fetch her hame.”</p> +<p>They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,<br />Wi’ a’ +the speed they may;<br />They hae landed in Noroway,<br />Upon a Wodensday.</p> +<p>They hadna been a week, a week<br />In Noroway but twae,<br />When +that the lords o Noroway<br />Began aloud to say:</p> +<p>“Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our king’s goud,<br />And +a’ our queenis fee.”<br />“Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars +loud!<br />Fu’ loud I hear ye lie!</p> +<p>“For I brought as much white monie<br />As gane my men and +me,<br />And I brought a half-fou’ o’ gude red goud,<br />Out +o’er the sea wi’ me.</p> +<p>“Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a’!<br />Our gude +ship sails the morn.”<br />“Now ever alake, my master dear,<br />I +fear a deadly storm!</p> +<p>I saw the new moon, late yestreen,<br />Wi’ the auld moon in +her arm;<br />And if we gang to sea, master,<br />I fear we’ll +come to harm.”</p> +<p>They hadna sail’d a league, a league,<br />A league but barely +three,<br />When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,<br />And +gurly grew the sea.</p> +<p>The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap,<br />It was sic a deadly +storm;<br />And the waves cam o’er the broken ship,<br />Till +a’ her sides were torn.</p> +<p>“O where will I get a gude sailor,<br />To take my helm in +hand,<br />Till I get up to the tall top-mast;<br />To see if I can +spy land?”</p> +<p>“O here am I, a sailor gude,<br />To take the helm in hand,<br />Till +you go up to the tall top-mast<br />But I fear you’ll ne’er +spy land.”</p> +<p>He hadna gane a step, a step,<br />A step but barely ane,<br />When +a bout flew out of our goodly ship,<br />And the salt sea it came in.</p> +<p>“Gae, fetch a web o’ the silken claith,<br />Another +o’ the twine,<br />And wap them into our ship’s side,<br />And +let na the sea come in.”</p> +<p>They fetchd a web o the silken claith,<br />Another o the twine,<br />And +they wapped them roun that gude ship’s side<br />But still the +sea came in.</p> +<p>O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords<br />To weet their cork-heel’d +shoon!<br />But lang or a the play was play’d<br />They wat their +hats aboon,</p> +<p>And mony was the feather-bed<br />That fluttered on the faem,<br />And +mony was the gude lord’s son<br />That never mair cam hame.</p> +<p>The ladyes wrang their fingers white,<br />The maidens tore their +hair,<br />A’ for the sake of their true loves,<br />For them +they’ll see na mair.</p> +<p>O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,<br />Wi’ their fans into their +hand,<br />Before they see Sir Patrick Spens<br />Come sailing to the +strand!</p> +<p>And lang, lang may the maidens sit,<br />Wi’ their goud kaims +in their hair,<br />A’ waiting for their ain dear loves!<br />For +them they’ll see na mair.</p> +<p>O forty miles off Aberdeen,<br />’Tis fifty fathoms deep,<br />And +there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,<br />Wi’ the Scots lords at +his feet.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Battle Of Otterbourne</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. vi.)</p> +<p>It fell about the Lammas tide,<br />When the muir-men win their hay,<br />The +doughty Douglas bound him to ride<br />Into England, to drive a prey.</p> +<p>He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,<br />With them the Lindesays, +light and gay;<br />But the Jardines wald nor with him ride,<br />And +they rue it to this day.</p> +<p>And he has burn’d the dales of Tyne,<br />And part of Bambrough +shire:<br />And three good towers on Reidswire fells,<br />He left them +all on fire.</p> +<p>And he march’d up to Newcastle,<br />And rode it round about:<br />“O +wha’s the lord of this castle?<br />Or wha’s the lady o’t +?”</p> +<p>But up spake proud Lord Percy then,<br />And O but he spake hie!<br />“I +am the lord of this castle,<br />My wife’s the lady gaye.”</p> +<p>“If thou’rt the lord of this castle,<br />Sae weel it +pleases me!<br />For, ere I cross the Border fells,<br />The tane of +us sall die.”</p> +<p>He took a lang spear in his hand,<br />Shod with the metal free,<br />And +for to meet the Douglas there,<br />He rode right furiouslie.</p> +<p>But O how pale his lady look’d,<br />Frae aff the castle wa’,<br />When +down, before the Scottish spear,<br />She saw proud Percy fa’.</p> +<p>“Had we twa been upon the green,<br />And never an eye to see,<br />I +wad hae had you, flesh and fell;<br />But your sword sall gae wi’ +mee.”</p> +<p>“But gae ye up to Otterbourne,<br />And wait there dayis three;<br />And, +if I come not ere three dayis end,<br />A fause knight ca’ ye +me.”</p> +<p>“The Otterbourne’s a bonnie burn;<br />’Tis pleasant +there to be;<br />But there is nought at Otterbourne,<br />To feed my +men and me.</p> +<p>“The deer rins wild on hill and dale,<br />The birds fly wild +from tree to tree;<br />But there is neither bread nor kale,<br />To +feed my men and me.</p> +<p>“Yet I will stay it Otterbourne,<br />Where you shall welcome +be;<br />And, if ye come not at three dayis end,<br />A fause lord I’ll +ca’ thee.”</p> +<p>“Thither will I come,” proud Percy said,<br />“By +the might of Our Ladye!”—<br />“There will I bide +thee,” said the Douglas,<br />“My troth I plight to thee.”</p> +<p>They lighted high on Otterbourne,<br />Upon the bent sae brown;<br />They +lighted high on Otterbourne,<br />And threw their pallions down.</p> +<p>And he that had a bonnie boy,<br />Sent out his horse to grass,<br />And +he that had not a bonnie boy,<br />His ain servant he was.</p> +<p>But up then spake a little page,<br />Before the peep of dawn:<br />“O +waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,<br />For Percy’s hard at hand.”</p> +<p>“Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!<br />Sae loud I hear ye lie;<br />For +Percy had not men yestreen,<br />To dight my men and me.</p> +<p>“But I have dream’d a dreary dream,<br />Beyond the Isle +of Sky;<br />I saw a dead man win a fight,<br />And I think that man +was I.”</p> +<p>He belted on his guid braid sword,<br />And to the field he ran;<br />But +he forgot the helmet good,<br />That should have kept his brain.</p> +<p>When Percy wi the Douglas met,<br />I wat he was fu fain!<br />They +swakked their swords, till sair they swat,<br />And the blood ran down +like rain.</p> +<p>But Percy with his good broad sword,<br />That could so sharply wound,<br />Has +wounded Douglas on the brow,<br />Till he fell to the ground.</p> +<p>Then he calld on his little foot-page,<br />And said—“Run +speedilie,<br />And fetch my ain dear sister’s son,<br />Sir Hugh +Montgomery.</p> +<p>“My nephew good,” the Douglas said,<br />“What +recks the death of ane!<br />Last night I dreamd a dreary dream,<br />And +I ken the day’s thy ain.</p> +<p>“My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;<br />Take thou the vanguard +of the three,<br />And hide me by the braken bush,<br />That grows on +yonder lilye lee.</p> +<p>“O bury me by the braken-bush,<br />Beneath the blooming brier;<br />Let +never living mortal ken<br />That ere a kindly Scot lies here.”</p> +<p>He lifted up that noble lord,<br />Wi the saut tear in his e’e;<br />He +hid him in the braken bush,<br />That his merrie men might not see.</p> +<p>The moon was clear, the day drew near,<br />The spears in flinders +flew,<br />But mony a gallant Englishman<br />Ere day the Scotsmen slew.</p> +<p>The Gordons good, in English blood,<br />They steepd their hose and +shoon;<br />The Lindesays flew like fire about,<br />Till all the fray +was done.</p> +<p>The Percy and Montgomery met,<br />That either of other were fain;<br />They +swapped swords, and they twa swat,<br />And aye the blood ran down between.</p> +<p>“Yield thee, now yield thee, Percy,” he said,<br />“Or +else I vow I’ll lay thee low!”<br />“To whom must +I yield,” quoth Earl Percy,<br />“Now that I see it must +be so ?”</p> +<p>“Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,<br />Nor yet shalt +thou yield to me;<br />But yield thee to the braken-bush,<br />That +grows upon yon lilye lee!”</p> +<p>“I will not yield to a braken-bush,<br />Nor yet will I yield +to a brier;<br />But I would yield to Earl Douglas,<br />Or Sir Hugh +the Montgomery, if he were here.”</p> +<p>As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,<br />He stuck his sword’s +point in the gronde;<br />The Montgomery was a courteous knight,<br />And +quickly took him by the honde.</p> +<p>This deed was done at Otterbourne,<br />About the breaking of the +day;<br />Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,<br />And the Percy +led captive away.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Tam Lin</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part II., p. 340, Burns’s Version.)</p> +<p>O I forbid you, maidens a’,<br />That wear gowd on your hair,<br />To +come or gae by Carterhaugh,<br />For young Tam Lin is there.</p> +<p>There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh<br />But they leave him +a wad,<br />Either their rings, or green mantles,<br />Or else their +maidenhead.</p> +<p>Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br />A little aboon her knee,<br />And +she has braided her yellow hair<br />A little aboon her bree,<br />And +she’s awa’ to Carterhaugh,<br />As fast as she can hie.</p> +<p>When she came to Carterhaugh<br />Tam Lin was at the well,<br />And +there she fand his steed standing,<br />But away was himsel.</p> +<p>She had na pu’d a double rose,<br />A rose but only twa,<br />Till +up then started young Tam Lin,<br />Says, “Lady, thou’s +pu nae mae.</p> +<p>“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,<br />And why breaks thou +the wand?<br />Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh<br />Withoutten my command?”</p> +<p>“Carterhaugh, it is my ain,<br />My daddie gave it me;<br />I’ll +come and gang by Carterhaugh,<br />And ask nae leave at thee.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br />A little aboon her knee,<br />And +she has snooded her yellow hair<br />A little aboon her bree,<br />And +she is to her father’s ha,<br />As fast as she can hie.</p> +<p>Four and twenty ladies fair<br />Were playing at the ba,<br />And +out then cam the fair Janet,<br />Ance the flower amang them a’.</p> +<p>Four and twenty ladies fair<br />Were playing at the chess,<br />And +out then cam the fair Janet,<br />As green as onie grass.</p> +<p>Out then spak an auld grey knight,<br />Lay oer the castle wa,<br />And +says, “Alas, fair Janet, for thee<br />But we’ll be blamed +a’.”</p> +<p>“Haud your tongue, ye auld-fac’d knight,<br />Some ill +death may ye die!<br />Father my bairn on whom I will,<br />I’ll +father nane on thee.”</p> +<p>Out then spak her father dear,<br />And he spak meek and mild;<br />“And +ever alas, sweet Janet,” he says.<br />“I think thou gaes +wi child.”</p> +<p>“If that I gae wi’ child, father,<br />Mysel maun bear +the blame;<br />There’s neer a laird about your ha<br />Shall +get the bairn’s name.</p> +<p>“If my love were an earthly knight,<br />As he’s an elfin +grey,<br />I wad na gie my ain true-love<br />For nae lord that ye hae.</p> +<p>“The steed that my true-love rides on<br />Is lighter than +the wind;<br />Wi siller he is shod before<br />Wi burning gowd behind.”</p> +<p>Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br />A little aboon her knee,<br />And +she has snooded her yellow hair<br />A little aboon her bree,<br />And +she’s awa’ to Carterhaugh,<br />As fast as she can hie.</p> +<p>When she cam to Carterhaugh,<br />Tam Lin was at the well,<br />And +there she fand his steed standing,<br />But away was himsel.</p> +<p>She had na pu’d a double rose,<br />A rose but only twa,<br />Till +up then started young Tam Lin,<br />Says, “Lady, thou pu’s +nae mae.</p> +<p>“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,<br />Amang the groves +sae green,<br />And a’ to kill the bonie babe<br />That we gat +us between?”</p> +<p>“O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,” she says,<br />“For’s +sake that died on tree,<br />If eer ye was in holy chapel,<br />Or christendom +did see?”</p> +<p>“Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,<br />Took me with him to bide,<br />And +ance it fell upon a day<br />That wae did me betide.</p> +<p>“And ance it fell upon a day,<br />A cauld day and a snell,<br />When +we were frae the hunting come,<br />That frae my horse I fell;<br />The +Queen o Fairies she caught me,<br />In yon green hill to dwell.</p> +<p>“And pleasant is the fairy land,<br />But, an eerie tale to +tell,<br />Ay at the end of seven years<br />We pay a tiend to hell;<br />I +am sae fair and fu’ o flesh<br />I’m feared it be mysel.</p> +<p>“But the night is Halloween, lady,<br />The morn is Hallowday;<br />Then +win me, win me, an ye will,<br />For weel I wat ye may.</p> +<p>“Just at the mirk and midnight hour<br />The fairy folk will +ride,<br />And they that wad their true love win,<br />At Miles Cross +they maun bide.”</p> +<p>“But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,<br />Or how my true-love +know,<br />Amang sae mony unco knights<br />The like I never saw?”</p> +<p>“O first let pass the black, lady,<br />And syne let pass the +brown,<br />But quickly run to the milk-white steed,<br />Pu ye his +rider down.</p> +<p>“For I’ll ride on the milk-white steed,<br />And ay nearest +the town;<br />Because I was an earthly knight<br />They gie me that +renown.</p> +<p>“My right hand will be gloyd, lady,<br />My left hand will +be bare,<br />Cockt up shall my bonnet be,<br />And kaimd down shall +my hair;<br />And thae’s the takens I gie thee,<br />Nae doubt +I will be there.</p> +<p>“They’ll turn me in your arms, lady,<br />Into an esk +and adder;<br />But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br />I am your bairn’s +father.</p> +<p>“They’ll turn me to a bear sae grim,<br />And then a +lion bold;<br />But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br />As ye shall +love your child.</p> +<p>“Again they’ll turn me in your arms<br />To a red het +gaud of airn;<br />But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br />I’ll +do to you nae harm.</p> +<p>“And last they’ll turn me in your arms<br />Into the +burning gleed;<br />Then throw me into well water,<br />O throw me in +wi speed.</p> +<p>“And then I’ll be your ain true-love,<br />I’ll +turn a naked knight;<br />Then cover me wi your green mantle,<br />And +cover me out o sight.”</p> +<p>Gloomy, gloomy was the night,<br />And eerie was the way,<br />As +fair Jenny in her green mantle<br />To Miles Cross she did gae.</p> +<p>About the middle o’ the night<br />She heard the bridles ring;<br />This +lady was as glad at that<br />As any earthly thing.</p> +<p>First she let the black pass by,<br />And syne she let the brown;<br />But +quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,<br />And pu’d the rider +down,</p> +<p>Sae weel she minded whae he did say,<br />And young Tam Lin did win;<br />Syne +coverd him wi her green mantle,<br />As blythe’s a bird in spring.</p> +<p>Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,<br />Out of a bush o broom:<br />“Them +that has gotten young Tam Lin<br />Has gotten a stately groom.”</p> +<p>Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,<br />And an angry woman was she;<br />“Shame +betide her ill-far’d face,<br />And an ill death may she die,<br />For +she’s taen awa the bonniest knight<br />In a’ my companie.</p> +<p>“But had I kend, Tam Lin,” she says,<br />“What +now this night I see,<br />I wad hae taen out thy twa grey e’en,<br />And +put in twa een o tree.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Thomas The Rhymer</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part II., p. 317.)</p> +<p>True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;<br />A ferlie he spied wi’ +his ee;<br />And there he saw a lady bright,<br />Come riding down by +the Eildon Tree.</p> +<p>Her skirt was o the grass-green silk,<br />Her mantle o the velvet +fyne,<br />At ilka tett of her horse’s mane<br />Hang fifty siller +bells and nine.</p> +<p>True Thomas he pulld aff his cap,<br />And louted low down to his +knee:<br />“All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!<br />For thy +peer on earth I never did see.”</p> +<p>“O no, O no, Thomas,” she said,<br />“That name +does not belang to me;<br />I am but the queen of fair Elfland,<br />That +am hither come to visit thee.</p> +<p>“Harp and carp, Thomas,” she said,<br />“Harp and +carp, along wi’ me,<br />And if ye dare to kiss my lips,<br />Sure +of your bodie I will be!”</p> +<p>“Betide me weal, betide me woe,<br />That weird sall never +daunton me;<br />Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,<br />All underneath +the Eildon Tree.</p> +<p>“Now, ye maun go wi me,” she said,<br />“True Thomas, +ye maun go wi me,<br />And ye maun serve me seven years,<br />Thro weal +or woe as may chance to be.”</p> +<p>She mounted on her milk-white steed,<br />She’s taen True Thomas +up behind,<br />And aye wheneer her bride rung,<br />The steed flew +swifter than the wind.</p> +<p>O they rade on, and farther on—<br />The steed gaed swifter +than the wind—<br />Until they reached a desart wide,<br />And +living land was left behind.</p> +<p>“Light down, light down, now, True Thomas,<br />And lean your +head upon my knee;<br />Abide and rest a little space,<br />And I will +shew you ferlies three.</p> +<p>“O see ye not yon narrow road,<br />So thick beset with thorns +and briers?<br />That is the path of righteousness,<br />Tho after it +but few enquires.</p> +<p>“And see ye not that braid braid road,<br />That lies across +that lily leven?<br />That is the path of wickedness,<br />Tho some +call it the road to heaven.</p> +<p>“And see not ye that bonny road,<br />That winds about the +fernie brae?<br />That is the road to fair Elfland,<br />Where thou +and I this night maun gae.</p> +<p>“But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,<br />Whatever ye may +hear or see,<br />For, if you speak word in Elflyn land,<br />Ye’ll +neer get back to your ain countrie.”</p> +<p>O they rade on, and farther on,<br />And they waded thro rivers aboon +the knee,<br />And they saw neither sun nor moon,<br />But they heard +the roaring of the sea.</p> +<p>It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,<br />And they +waded thro red blude to the knee;<br />For a’ the blude that’s +shed an earth<br />Rins thro the springs o that countrie.</p> +<p>Syne they came on to a garden green,<br />And she pu’d an apple +frae a tree:<br />“Take this for thy wages, True Thomas,<br />It +will give the tongue that can never lie.”</p> +<p>“My tongue is mine ain,” True Thomas said,<br />“A +gudely gift ye wad gie me!<br />I neither dought to buy nor sell,<br />At +fair or tryst where I may be.</p> +<p>“I dought neither speak to prince or peer,<br />Nor ask of +grace from fair ladye:”<br />“Now hold thy peace,” +the lady said,<br />“For as I say, so must it be.”</p> +<p>He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,<br />And a pair of shoes +of velvet green,<br />And till seven years were gane and past<br />True +Thomas on earth was never seen.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: “Sir Hugh; Or The Jew’s Daughter”</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. v.)</p> +<p>Four-and-twenty bonny boys<br />Were playing at the ba,<br />And +by it came him sweet Sir Hugh,<br />And he playd o’er them a’.</p> +<p>He kickd the ba with his right foot<br />And catchd it wi his knee,<br />And +throuch-and-thro the Jew’s window<br />He gard the bonny ba flee.</p> +<p>He’s doen him to the Jew’s castell<br />And walkd it +round about;<br />And there he saw the Jew’s daughter,<br />At +the window looking out.</p> +<p>“Throw down the ba, ye Jew’s daughter,<br />Throw down +the ba to me!”<br />“Never a bit,” says the Jew’s +daughter,<br />“Till up to me come ye.”</p> +<p>“How will I come up? How can I come up?<br />How can +I come to thee?<br />For as ye did to my auld father,<br />The same +ye’ll do to me.”</p> +<p>She’s gane till her father’s garden,<br />And pu’d +an apple red and green;<br />’Twas a’ to wyle him sweet +Sir Hugh,<br />And to entice him in.</p> +<p>She’s led him in through ae dark door,<br />And sae has she +thro nine;<br />She’s laid him on a dressing-table,<br />And stickit +him like a swine.</p> +<p>And first came out the thick, thick blood,<br />And syne came out +the thin;<br />And syne came out the bonny heart’s blood;<br />There +was nae mair within.</p> +<p>She’s rowd him in a cake o lead,<br />Bade him lie still and +sleep;<br />She’s thrown him in Our Lady’s draw-well,<br />Was +fifty fathom deep.</p> +<p>When bells were rung, and mass was sung,<br />And a’ the bairns +came hame,<br />When every lady gat hame her son,<br />The Lady Maisry +gat nane.</p> +<p>She’s taen her mantle her about,<br />Her coffer by the hand,<br />And +she’s gane out to seek her son,<br />And wandered o’er the +land.</p> +<p>She’s doen her to the Jew’s castell,<br />Where a’ +were fast asleep:<br />“Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,<br />I +pray you to me speak.”</p> +<p>“Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,<br />Prepare my winding-sheet,<br />And +at the back o merry Lincoln<br />The morn I will you meet.”</p> +<p>Now Lady Maisry is gane hame,<br />Make him a winding-sheet,<br />And +at the back o merry Lincoln,<br />The dead corpse did her meet.</p> +<p>And a the bells o merry Lincoln<br />Without men’s hands were +rung,<br />And a’ the books o merry Lincoln<br />Were read without +man’s tongue,<br />And neer was such a burial<br />Sin Adam’s +days begun.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Son Davie! Son Davie!</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Mackay.)</p> +<p>“What bluid’s that on thy coat lap?<br />Son Davie! +Son Davie!<br />What bluid’s that on thy coat lap?<br />And the +truth come tell to me, O.”</p> +<p>“It is the bluid of my great hawk,<br />Mother lady, Mother +lady!<br />It is the bluid of my great hawk,<br />And the truth I hae +tald to thee, O.”</p> +<p>“Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red,<br />Son Davie! +Son Davie!<br />Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red,<br />And +the truth come tell to me, O.”</p> +<p>“It is the bluid of my grey hound,<br />Mother lady! +Mother lady!<br />It is the bluid of my grey hound,<br />And it wudna +rin for me, O.”</p> +<p>“Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red,<br />Son Davie! +Son Davie!<br />Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red,<br />And +the truth come tell to me, O.”</p> +<p>“It is the bluid o’ my brother John,<br />Mother lady! +Mother lady!<br />It is the bluid o’ my brother John,<br />And +the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”</p> +<p>“What about did the plea begin?<br />Son Davie! Son Davie!”<br />“It +began about the cutting o’ a willow wand,<br />That would never +hae been a tree, O.”</p> +<p>“What death dost thou desire to die?<br />Son Davie! +Son Davie!<br />What death dost thou desire to die?<br />And the truth +come tell to me, O.”</p> +<p>“I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship,<br />Mother lady! +mother lady!<br />I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship,<br />And +ye’ll never see mair o’ me, O.”</p> +<p>“What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife?<br />Son Davie! +Son Davie!”<br />“Grief and sorrow all her life,<br />And +she’ll never get mair frae me, O.”</p> +<p>“What wilt thou leave to thy young son?<br />Son Davie! son +Davie!”<br />“The weary warld to wander up and down,<br />And +he’ll never get mair o’ me, O.”</p> +<p>“What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear?<br />Son Davie! +Son Davie!”<br />“A fire o’ coals to burn her wi’ +hearty cheer,<br />And she’ll never get mair o’ me, O.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Wife Of Usher’s Well</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. iii.)</p> +<p>There lived a wife at Usher’s Well,<br />And a wealthy wife +was she;<br />She had three stout and stalwart sons,<br />And sent them +oer the sea,</p> +<p>They hadna been a week from her,<br />A week but barely ane,<br />When +word came to the carline wife<br />That her three sons were gane.</p> +<p>They hadna been a week from her,<br />A week but barely three,<br />Whan +word came to the carlin wife<br />That her sons she’d never see.</p> +<p>“I wish the wind may never cease,<br />Nor fashes in the flood,<br />Till +my three sons come hame to me,<br />In earthly flesh and blood!”</p> +<p>It fell about the Martinmass,<br />Whan nights are lang and mirk,<br />The +carline wife’s three sons came hame,<br />And their hats were +o the birk.</p> +<p>It neither grew in syke nor ditch,<br />Nor yet in ony sheugh;<br />But +at the gates o Paradise<br />That birk grew fair eneugh.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“Blow up the fire, my maidens!<br />Bring water from the well;<br />For +a’ my house shall feast this night,<br />Since my three sons are +well.”</p> +<p>And she has made to them a bed,<br />She’s made it large and +wide;<br />And she’s taen her mantle her about,<br />Sat down +at the bedside.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Up then crew the red, red cock,<br />And up and crew the gray;<br />The +eldest to the youngest said,<br />“’Tis time we were away.”</p> +<p>The cock he hadna crawd but once,<br />And clapp’d his wings +at a’,<br />Whan the youngest to the eldest said,<br />“Brother, +we must awa.</p> +<p>“The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,<br />The channerin worm +doth chide;<br />Gin we be mist out o our place,<br />A sair pain we +maun bide.</p> +<p>“Fare ye weel, my mother dear!<br />Fareweel to barn and byre!<br />And +fare ye weel, the bonny lass<br />That kindles my mother’s fire!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Twa Corbies</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. i.)</p> +<p>As I was walking all alane,<br />I heard twa corbies making a mane;<br />The +tane unto the t’other say,<br />“Where sall we gang and +dine the day?”</p> +<p>“In behint yon auld fail dyke,<br />I wot there lies a new-slain +knight;<br />And naebody kens that he lies there<br />But his hawk, +his hound, and his lady fair.</p> +<p>“His hound is to the hunting gane,<br />His hawk to fetch the +wild-fowl hame,<br />His lady’s ta’en another mate,<br />So +we may make our dinner sweet.</p> +<p>“Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,<br />And I’ll +pike out his bonny blue een;<br />Wi ae lock o his gowden hair<br />We’ll +theek our nest when it grows bare.</p> +<p>“Mony a one for him makes mane,<br />But nane sall ken whae +he is gane,<br />Oer his white banes, when they are bare,<br />The wind +sall blaw for evermair.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Bonnie Earl Moray</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. vi.)</p> +<p>A.</p> +<p>Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands<br />Oh where have you been?<br />They +have slain the Earl of Murray,<br />And they layd him on the green.</p> +<p>“Now wae be to thee, Huntly!<br />And wherefore did you sae?<br />I +bade you bring him wi you,<br />But forbade you him to slay.”</p> +<p>He was a braw gallant,<br />And he rid at the ring;<br />And the +bonny Earl of Murray,<br />Oh he might have been a King!</p> +<p>He was a braw gallant,<br />And he playd at the ba;<br />And the +bonny Earl of Murray,<br />Was the flower amang them a’.</p> +<p>He was a braw gallant,<br />And he playd at the glove;<br />And the +bonny Earl of Murray,<br />Oh he was the Queen’s love!</p> +<p>Oh lang will his lady<br />Look oer the castle Down,<br />Eer she +see the Earl of Murray<br />Come sounding thro the town!<br />Eer she, +etc.</p> +<p>B.</p> +<p>“Open the gates<br />and let him come in;<br />He is my brother +Huntly,<br />he’ll do him nae harm.”</p> +<p>The gates they were opent,<br />they let him come in,<br />But fause +traitor Huntly,<br />he did him great harm.</p> +<p>He’s ben and ben,<br />and ben to his bed,<br />And with a +sharp rapier<br />he stabbed him dead.</p> +<p>The lady came down the stair,<br />wringing her hands:<br />“He +has slain the Earl o Murray,<br />the flower o Scotland.”</p> +<p>But Huntly lap on his horse,<br />rade to the King:<br />“Ye’re +welcome hame, Huntly,<br />and whare hae ye been?</p> +<p>“Where hae ye been?<br />and how hae ye sped?”<br />“I’ve +killed the Earl o Murray<br />dead in his bed.”</p> +<p>“Foul fa you, Huntly!<br />and why did ye so?<br />You might +have taen the Earl o Murray,<br />and saved his life too.”</p> +<p>“Her bread it’s to bake,<br />her yill is to brew;<br />My +sister’s a widow,<br />and sair do I rue.</p> +<p>“Her corn grows ripe,<br />her meadows grow green,<br />But +in bonnie Dinnibristle<br />I darena be seen.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Clerk Saunders</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. iii.)</p> +<p>Clerk Saunders and may Margaret<br />Walked ower yon garden green;<br />And +sad and heavy was the love<br />That fell thir twa between.</p> +<p>“A bed, a bed,” Clerk Saunders said,<br />“A bed +for you and me!”<br />“Fye na, fye na,” said may Margaret,<br />“’Till +anes we married be.</p> +<p>“For in may come my seven bauld brothers,<br />Wi’ torches +burning bright;<br />They’ll say,—‘We hae but ae sister,<br />And +behold she’s wi a knight!’”</p> +<p>“Then take the sword frae my scabbard,<br />And slowly lift +the pin;<br />And you may swear, and save your aith.<br />Ye never let +Clerk Saunders in.</p> +<p>“And take a napkin in your hand,<br />And tie up baith your +bonny e’en,<br />And you may swear, and save your aith,<br />Ye +saw me na since late yestreen.”</p> +<p>It was about the midnight hour,<br />When they asleep were laid,<br />When +in and came her seven brothers,<br />Wi’ torches burning red.</p> +<p>When in and came her seven brothers,<br />Wi’ torches burning +bright:<br />They said, “We hae but ae sister,<br />And behold +her lying with a knight!”</p> +<p>Then out and spake the first o’ them,<br />“I bear the +sword shall gar him die!”<br />And out and spake the second o’ +them,<br />“His father has nae mair than he!”</p> +<p>And out and spake the third o’ them,<br />“I wot that +they are lovers dear!”<br />And out and spake the fourth o’ +them,<br />“They hae been in love this mony a year!”</p> +<p>Then out and spake the fifth o’ them,<br />“It were great +sin true love to twain!”<br />And out and spake the sixth o’ +them,<br />“It were shame to slay a sleeping man!”</p> +<p>Then up and gat the seventh o’ them,<br />And never a word +spake he;<br />But he has striped his bright brown brand<br />Out through +Clerk Saunders’ fair bodye.</p> +<p>Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turned<br />Into his +arms as asleep she lay;<br />And sad and silent was the night<br />That +was atween thir twae.</p> +<p>And they lay still and sleeped sound<br />Until the day began to +daw;<br />And kindly to him she did say,<br />“It is time, true +love, you were awa’.”</p> +<p>But he lay still, and sleeped sound,<br />Albeit the sun began to +sheen;<br />She looked atween her and the wa’,<br />And dull and +drowsie were his e’en.</p> +<p>Then in and came her father dear;<br />Said,—“Let a’ +your mourning be:<br />I’ll carry the dead corpse to the clay,<br />And +I’ll come back and comfort thee.”</p> +<p>“Comfort weel your seven sons;<br />For comforted will I never +be:<br />I ween ’twas neither knave nor loon<br />Was in the bower +last night wi’ me.”</p> +<p>The clinking bell gaed through the town,<br />To carry the dead corse +to the clay;<br />And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret’s window,<br />I +wot, an hour before the day.</p> +<p>“Are ye sleeping, Margaret?” he says,<br />“Or +are ye waking presentlie?<br />Give me my faith and troth again,<br />I +wot, true love, I gied to thee.”</p> +<p>“Your faith and troth ye sall never get,<br />Nor our true +love sall never twin,<br />Until ye come within my bower,<br />And kiss +me cheik and chin.”</p> +<p>“My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,<br />It has the smell, +now, of the ground;<br />And if I kiss thy comely mouth,<br />Thy days +of life will not be lang.</p> +<p>“O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,<br />I wot the wild +fowls are boding day;<br />Give me my faith and troth again,<br />And +let me fare me on my way.”</p> +<p>“Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,<br />And our true love +sall never twin,<br />Until ye tell what comes of women,<br />I wot, +who die in strong traivelling?</p> +<p>“Their beds are made in the heavens high,<br />Down at the +foot of our good lord’s knee,<br />Weel set about wi’ gillyflowers;<br />I +wot, sweet company for to see.</p> +<p>“O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,<br />I wot the wild +fowl are boding day;<br />The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,<br />And +I, ere now, will be missed away.”</p> +<p>Then she has ta’en a crystal wand,<br />And she has stroken +her troth thereon;<br />She has given it him out at the shot-window,<br />Wi’ +mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.</p> +<p>“I thank ye, Marg’ret, I thank ye, Marg’ret;<br />And +aye I thank ye heartilie;<br />Gin ever the dead come for the quick,<br />Be +sure, Mag’ret, I’ll come for thee.”</p> +<p>It’s hosen and shoon, and gown alone,<br />She climb’d +the wall, and followed him,<br />Until she came to the green forest,<br />And +there she lost the sight o’ him.</p> +<p>“Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?<br />Is there ony +room at your feet?<br />Is there ony room at your side, Saunders,<br />Where +fain, fain I wad sleep?”</p> +<p>“There’s nae room at my head, Marg’ret,<br />There’s +nae room at my feet;<br />My bed it is full lowly now,<br />Amang the +hungry worms I sleep.</p> +<p>“Cauld mould is my covering now,<br />But and my winding-sheet;<br />The +dew it falls nae sooner down<br />Than my resting-place is weet.</p> +<p>“But plait a wand o’ bonnie birk,<br />And lay it on +my breast;<br />And shed a tear upon my grave,<br />And wish my saul +gude rest.</p> +<p>“And fair Marg’ret, and rare Marg’ret,<br />And +Marg’ret, o’ veritie,<br />Gin ere ye love another man,<br />Ne’er +love him as ye did me.”</p> +<p>Then up and crew the milk-white cock,<br />And up and crew the gray;<br />Her +lover vanish’d in the air,<br />And she gaed weeping away.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Waly, Waly</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Mackay.)</p> +<p>O waly, waly, up the bank,<br />O waly, waly, down the brae.<br />And +waly, waly, yon burn side,<br />Where I and my love wont to gae.<br />I +leaned my back unto an aik,<br />An’ thocht it was a trustie tree,<br />But +first it bow’d and syne it brak,<br />Sae my true love did lichtly +me.</p> +<p>O waly, waly, but love is bonnie<br />A little time while it is new,<br />But +when it’s auld it waxes cauld,<br />And fades away like morning +dew.<br />O wherefore should I busk my head,<br />O wherefore should +I kame my hair,<br />For my true love has me forsook,<br />And says +he’ll never love me mair.</p> +<p>Now Arthur’s Seat shall be my bed,<br />The sheets shall ne’er +be pressed by me,<br />St. Anton’s well shall be my drink,<br />Since +my true love has forsaken me.<br />Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,<br />And +shake the green leaves off the tree!<br />O gentle Death, when wilt +thou come?<br />For of my life I am wearie!</p> +<p>’Tis not the frost that freezes fell,<br />Nor blawing snaw’s +inclemencie,<br />’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,<br />But +my love’s heart’s grown cauld to me.<br />When we came in +by Glasgow toun<br />We were a comely sicht to see;<br />My love was +clad in the black velvet,<br />And I mysel in cramasie.</p> +<p>But had I wist before I kist<br />That love had been sae ill to win,<br />I’d +locked my heart in a case of gold,<br />And pinned it wi’ a siller +pin.<br />Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,<br />And set upon the +nurse’s knee;<br />And I myself were dead and gane,<br />And the +green grass growing over me!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part III., p. 220.)</p> +<p>“O wha will shoe my fu’ fair foot?<br />And wha will +glove my hand?<br />And wha will lace my middle jimp,<br />Wi’ +the new-made London band?</p> +<p>“And wha will kaim my yellow hair,<br />Wi’ the new made +silver kaim?<br />And wha will father my young son,<br />Till Love Gregor +come hame?”</p> +<p>“Your father will shoe your fu’ fair foot,<br />Your +mother will glove your hand;<br />Your sister will lace your middle +jimp<br />Wi’ the new-made London band.</p> +<p>“Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,<br />Wi’ the +new made silver kaim;<br />And the king of heaven will father your bairn,<br />Till +Love Gregor come haim.”</p> +<p>“But I will get a bonny boat,<br />And I will sail the sea,<br />For +I maun gang to Love Gregor,<br />Since he canno come hame to me.”</p> +<p>O she has gotten a bonny boat,<br />And sailld the sa’t sea +fame;<br />She langd to see her ain true-love,<br />Since he could no +come hame.</p> +<p>“O row your boat, my mariners,<br />And bring me to the land,<br />For +yonder I see my love’s castle,<br />Close by the sa’t sea +strand.”</p> +<p>She has ta’en her young son in her arms,<br />And to the door +she’s gone,<br />And lang she’s knocked and sair she ca’d,<br />But +answer got she none.</p> +<p>“O open the door, Love Gregor,” she says,<br />“O +open, and let me in;<br />For the wind blaws thro’ my yellow hair,<br />And +the rain draps o’er my chin.”</p> +<p>“Awa, awa, ye ill woman,<br />You’r nae come here for +good;<br />You’r but some witch, or wile warlock,<br />Or mer-maid +of the flood.”</p> +<p>“I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,<br />Nor mer-maid +of the sea,<br />I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;<br />O open the door +to me.”</p> +<p>“Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal—<br />And I trust ye +are not she—<br />Now tell me some of the love-tokens<br />That +past between you and me.”</p> +<p>“O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,<br />When we sat at the +wine,<br />How we changed the rings frae our fingers?<br />And I can +show thee thine.</p> +<p>“O yours was good, and good enough,<br />But ay the best was +mine;<br />For yours was o’ the good red goud,<br />But mine o’ +the diamonds fine.</p> +<p>“But open the door now, Love Gregor,<br />O open the door I +pray,<br />For your young son that is in my arms<br />Will be dead ere +it be day.”</p> +<p>“Awa, awa, ye ill woman,<br />For here ye shanno win in;<br />Gae +drown ye in the raging sea,<br />Or hang on the gallows-pin.”</p> +<p>When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,<br />And the sun began +to peep,<br />Then up he rose him, Love Gregor,<br />And sair, sair +did he weep.</p> +<p>“O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,<br />The thoughts o’ +it gars me greet,<br />That Fair Annie of Rough Royal<br />Lay cauld +dead at my feet.”</p> +<p>“Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal<br />That ye make a’ +this din,<br />She stood a’ last night at this door,<br />But +I trow she wan no in.”</p> +<p>“O wae betide ye, ill woman,<br />An ill dead may ye die!<br />That +ye woudno open the door to her,<br />Nor yet woud waken me.”</p> +<p>O he has gone down to yon shore-side,<br />As fast as he could fare;<br />He +saw Fair Annie in her boat,<br />But the wind it tossd her sair.</p> +<p>And “Hey, Annie!” and “How, Annie!<br />O Annie, +winna ye bide?”<br />But ay the mair that he cried “Annie,”<br />The +braider grew the tide.</p> +<p>And “Hey, Annie!” and “How, Annie!<br />Dear Annie, +speak to me!”<br />But ay the louder he cried “Annie,”<br />The +louder roard the sea.</p> +<p>The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,<br />And dashd the boat on +shore;<br />Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,<br />But her young +son rose no more.</p> +<p>Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,<br />And made a heavy moan;<br />Fair +Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,<br />But his bonny young son was +gone.</p> +<p>O cherry, cherry was her cheek,<br />And gowden was her hair,<br />But +clay cold were her rosey lips,<br />Nae spark of life was there,</p> +<p>And first he’s kissd her cherry cheek,<br />And neist he’s +kissed her chin;<br />And saftly pressd her rosey lips,<br />But there +was nae breath within.</p> +<p>“O wae betide my cruel mother,<br />And an ill dead may she +die!<br />For she turnd my true-love frae my door,<br />When she came +sae far to me.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Queen’s Marie</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vi., Border Minstrelsy.)</p> +<p>Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane,<br />Wi ribbons in her hair;<br />The +king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br />Than ony that were there.</p> +<p>Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane,<br />Wi ribbons on her breast;<br />The +king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br />Than he listend to the priest.</p> +<p>Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane,<br />Wi gloves upon her +hands;<br />The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br />Than the queen +and a’ her lands.</p> +<p>She hadna been about the king’s court<br />A month, but barely +one,<br />Till she was beloved by a’ the king’s court,<br />And +the king the only man.</p> +<p>She hadna been about the king’s court<br />A month, but barely +three,<br />Till frae the king’s court Marie Hamilton,<br />Marie +Hamilton durst na be.</p> +<p>The king is to the Abbey gane,<br />To pu the Abbey tree,<br />To +scale the babe frae Marie’s heart;<br />But the thing it wadna +be.</p> +<p>O she has rowd it in her apron,<br />And set it on the sea:<br />“Gae +sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,<br />Ye’s get na mair o me.”</p> +<p>Word is to the kitchen gane,<br />And word is to the ha,<br />And +word is to the noble room,<br />Amang the ladyes a’,<br />That +Marie Hamilton’s brought to bed,<br />And the bonny babe’s +mist and awa.</p> +<p>Scarcely had she lain down again,<br />And scarcely faen asleep,<br />When +up then started our gude queen,<br />Just at her bed-feet,<br />Saying +“Marie Hamilton, where’s your babe?<br />For I am sure I +heard it greet.”</p> +<p>“O no, O no, my noble queen!<br />Think no such thing to be!<br />’Twas +but a stitch into my side,<br />And sair it troubles me.”</p> +<p>“Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton,<br />Get up, and follow me,<br />For +I am going to Edinburgh town,<br />A rich wedding for to see.”</p> +<p>O slowly, slowly raise she up,<br />And slowly put she on;<br />And +slowly rode she out the way,<br />Wi mony a weary groan.</p> +<p>The queen was clad in scarlet,<br />Her merry maids all in green;<br />And +every town that they cam to,<br />They took Marie for the queen.</p> +<p>“Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,<br />Ride hooly now wi’ +me!<br />For never, I am sure, a wearier burd<br />Rade in your cumpanie.”</p> +<p>But little wist Marie Hamilton,<br />When she rade on the brown,<br />That +she was ga’en to Edinburgh town,<br />And a’ to be put down.</p> +<p>“Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives,<br />Why look ye so on me?<br />O, +I am going to Edinburgh town,<br />A rich wedding for to see!”</p> +<p>When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs,<br />The corks frae her heels +did flee;<br />And lang or eer she cam down again,<br />She was condemned +to die.</p> +<p>When she cam to the Netherbow Port,<br />She laughed loud laughters +three;<br />But when she cam to the gallows-foot,<br />The tears blinded +her ee.</p> +<p>“Yestreen the queen had four Maries,<br />The night she’ll +hae but three;<br />There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaten,<br />And +Marie Carmichael, and me.</p> +<p>“O, often have I dressd my queen,<br />And put gold upon her +hair;<br />But now I’ve gotten for my reward<br />The gallows +to be my share.</p> +<p>“Often have I dressd my queen,<br />And often made her bed:<br />But +now I’ve gotten for my reward<br />The gallows-tree to tread.</p> +<p>“I charge ye all, ye mariners,<br />When ye sail ower the faem,<br />Let +neither my father nor mother get wit,<br />But that I’m coming +hame.</p> +<p>“I charge ye all, ye mariners,<br />That sail upon the sea,<br />Let +neither my father nor mother get wit,<br />This dog’s death I’m +to die.</p> +<p>“For if my father and mother got wit,<br />And my bold brethren +three,<br />O mickle wad be the gude red blude,<br />This day wad be +spilt for me!</p> +<p>“O little did my mother ken,<br />The day she cradled me,<br />The +lands I was to travel in,<br />Or the death I was to die!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Kinmont Willie</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. vi.)</p> +<p>O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?<br />O have ye na heard o +the keen Lord Scroop?<br />How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,<br />On +Hairibee to hang him up?</p> +<p>Had Willie had but twenty men,<br />But twenty men as stout as be,<br />Fause +Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen<br />Wi eight score in his companie.</p> +<p>They band his legs beneath the steed,<br />They tied his hands behind +his back;<br />They guarded him, fivesome on each side,<br />And they +brought him ower the Liddel-rack.</p> +<p>They led him thro the Liddel-rack.<br />And also thro the Carlisle +sands;<br />They brought him to Carlisle castell.<br />To be at my Lord +Scroope’s commands.</p> +<p>“My hands are tied; but my tongue is free,<br />And whae will +dare this deed avow?<br />Or answer by the border law?<br />Or answer +to the bauld Buccleuch?”</p> +<p>“Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!<br />There’s +never a Scot shall set ye free:<br />Before ye cross my castle-yate,<br />I +trow ye shall take farewell o me.”</p> +<p>“Fear na ye that, my lord,” quo Willie:<br />“By +the faith o my body, Lord Scroope,” he said,<br />“I never +yet lodged in a hostelrie—<br />But I paid my lawing before I +gaed.”</p> +<p>Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,<br />In Branksome Ha where +that he lay,<br />That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie,<br />Between +the hours of night and day.</p> +<p>He has taen the table wi his hand,<br />He garrd the red wine spring +on hie;<br />“Now Christ’s curse on my head,” he said,<br />“But +avenged of Lord Scroope I’ll be!</p> +<p>“O is my basnet a widow’s curch?<br />Or my lance a wand +of the willow-tree?<br />Or my arm a lady’s lilye hand,<br />That +an English lord should lightly me?</p> +<p>“And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie,<br />Against the truce +of Border tide?<br />And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch<br />Is keeper +here on the Scottish side?</p> +<p>“And have they een taen him, Kinmont Willie,<br />Withouten +either dread or fear,<br />And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch<br />Can +back a steed, or shake a spear?</p> +<p>“O were there war between the lands,<br />As well I wot that +there is none,<br />I would slight Carlisle castell high,<br />Tho it +were builded of marble stone.</p> +<p>“I would set that castell in a low,<br />And sloken it with +English blood;<br />There’s nevir a man in Cumberland<br />Should +ken where Carlisle castell stood.</p> +<p>“But since nae war’s between the lands,<br />And there +is peace, and peace should be;<br />I’ll neither harm English +lad or lass,<br />And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!”</p> +<p>He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,<br />I trow they were of his +ain name,<br />Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, calld<br />The Laird of Stobs, +I mean the same.</p> +<p>He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,<br />Were kinsmen to the bauld +Buccleuch,<br />With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,<br />And gleuves +of green, and feathers blue.</p> +<p>There were five and five before them a’,<br />Wi hunting-horns +and bugles bright;<br />And five and five came wi Buccleuch,<br />Like +Warden’s men, arrayed for fight.</p> +<p>And five and five, like a mason-gang,<br />That carried the ladders +lang and hie;<br />And five and five, like broken men;<br />And so they +reached the Woodhouselee.</p> +<p>And as we crossd the Bateable Land,<br />When to the English side +we held,<br />The first o men that we met wi,<br />Whae sould it be +but fause Sakelde!</p> +<p>“Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?”<br />Quo fause Sakelde; +“come tell to me!”<br />“We go to hunt an English +stag,<br />Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.”</p> +<p>“Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?”<br />Quo fause Sakelde; +“come tell me true!”<br />“We go to catch a rank reiver,<br />Has +broken faith wi the bauld Buccleuch.”</p> +<p>“Where are ye gaun, ye mason-lads,<br />Wi a’ your ladders +lang and hie?”<br />“We gang to herry a corbie’s nest,<br />That +wons not far frae Woodhouselee.”</p> +<p>“Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?”<br />Quo fause Sakelde; +“come tell to me?”<br />Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,<br />And +the nevir a word o lear had he.</p> +<p>“Why trespass ye on the English side?<br />Row-footed outlaws, +stand!” quo he;<br />The neer a word had Dickie to say,<br />Sae +he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie.</p> +<p>Then on we held for Carlisle toun,<br />And at Staneshaw-bank the +Eden we crossd;<br />The water was great and meikle of spait,<br />But +the nevir a horse nor man we lost.</p> +<p>And when we reachd the Staneshaw-bank,<br />The wind was rising loud +and hie;<br />And there the laird garrd leave our steeds,<br />For fear +that they should stamp and nie.</p> +<p>And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,<br />The wind began full loud +to blaw;<br />But ’twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,<br />When +we came beneath the castell-wa.</p> +<p>We crept on knees, and held our breath,<br />Till we placed the ladders +against the wa;<br />And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell<br />To mount +she first, before us a’.</p> +<p>He has taen the watchman by the throat,<br />He flung him down upon +the lead:<br />“Had there not been peace between our lands,<br />Upon +the other side thou hadst gaed.</p> +<p>“Now sound out, trumpets!” quo Buccleuch;<br />“Let’s +waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!”<br />Then loud the warden’s +trumpet blew<br />“O whae dare meddle wi me?”</p> +<p>Then speedilie to wark we gaed,<br />And raised the slogan ane and +a’,<br />And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,<br />And so we +wan to the castel-ha.</p> +<p>They thought King James and a’ his men<br />Had won the house +wi bow and speir;<br />It was but twenty Scots and ten<br />That put +a thousand in sic a stear!</p> +<p>Wi coulters, and wi fore-hammers,<br />We garrd the bars bang merrilie,<br />Until +we came to the inner prison,<br />Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie.</p> +<p>And when we came to the lower prison,<br />Where Willie o Kinmont +he did lie,<br />“O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,<br />Upon +the morn that thou’s to die?”</p> +<p>“O I sleep saft, and I wake aft,<br />It’s lang since +sleeping was fley’d frae me;<br />Gie my service back to my wyfe +and bairns<br />And a’ gude fellows that speer for me.”</p> +<p>Then Red Rowan has hente him up,<br />The starkest man in Teviotdale:<br />“Abide, +abide now, Red Rowan,<br />Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.</p> +<p>“Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!<br />My gude Lord +Scroope, farewell!” he cried;<br />“I’ll pay you for +my lodging-maill,<br />When first we meet on the border-side.”</p> +<p>Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,<br />We bore him down the +ladder lang;<br />At every stride Red Rowan made,<br />I wot the Kinmont’s +airms playd clang!</p> +<p>“O mony a time,” quo Kinmont Willie.<br />“I have +ridden horse baith wild and wood;<br />But a rougher beast than Red +Rowan,<br />I ween my legs have neer bestrode.</p> +<p>“And mony a time,” quo Kinmont Willie,<br />“I’ve +pricked a horse out oure the furs;<br />But since the day I backed a +steed<br />I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs!”</p> +<p>We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,<br />When a’ the Carlisle +bells were rung,<br />And a thousand men, in horse and foot,<br />Cam +wi the keen Lord Scroope along.</p> +<p>Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,<br />Even where it flowd frae +bank to brim,<br />And he has plunged in wi a’ his band,<br />And +safely swam them thro the stream.</p> +<p>He turned him on the other side,<br />And at Lord Scroope his glove +flung he:<br />“If ye like na my visit in merry England,<br />In +fair Scotland come visit me!”</p> +<p>All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,<br />He stood as still as +rock of stane;<br />He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,<br />When thro +the water they had gane.</p> +<p>“He is either himsell a devil frae hell,<br />Or else his mother +a witch maun be;<br />I wad na have ridden that wan water<br />For a’ +the gowd in Christentie.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Jamie Telfer</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. vi. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>It fell about the Martinmas tyde,<br />When our Border steeds get +corn and hay<br />The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,<br />And +he’s ower to Tividale to drive a prey.</p> +<p>The first ae guide that they met wi’,<br />It was high up Hardhaughswire;<br />The +second guide that we met wi’,<br />It was laigh down in Borthwick +water.</p> +<p>“What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?”<br />“Nae +tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;<br />But, gin ye’ll gae to +the fair Dodhead,<br />Mony a cow’s cauf I’ll let thee see.”</p> +<p>And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,<br />Right hastily they clam +the peel;<br />They loosed the kye out, ane and a’,<br />And ranshackled +the house right weel.</p> +<p>Now Jamie Telfer’s heart was sair,<br />The tear aye rowing +in his e’e;<br />He pled wi’ the captain to hae his gear,<br />Or +else revenged he wad be.</p> +<p>The captain turned him round and leugh;<br />Said—“Man, +there’s naething in thy house,<br />But ae auld sword without +a sheath,<br />That hardly now wad fell a mouse!”</p> +<p>The sun was na up, but the moon was down,<br />It was the gryming +o’ a new fa’n snaw,<br />Jamie Telfer has run three myles +a-foot,<br />Between the Dodhead and the Stobs’s Ha’</p> +<p>And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,<br />He shouted loud, and +cried weel hie,<br />Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot—<br />“Wha’s +this that brings the fraye to me?”</p> +<p>“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,<br />And +a harried man I think I be!<br />There’s naething left at the +fair Dodhead,<br />But a waefu’ wife and bairnies three.</p> +<p>“Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha’.<br />For succour +ye’se get nane frae me!<br />Gae seek your succour where ye paid +black-mail,<br />For, man! ye ne’er paid money to me.”</p> +<p>Jamie has turned him round about,<br />I wat the tear blinded his +e’e—<br />“I’ll ne’er pay mail to Elliot +again,<br />And the fair Dodhead I’ll never see!</p> +<p>“My hounds may a’ rin masterless,<br />My hawks may fly +frae tree to tree;<br />My lord may grip my vassal lands,<br />For there +again maun I never be.”</p> +<p>He has turned him to the Tiviot side,<br />E’en as fast as +he could drie,<br />Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh<br />And there +he shouted baith loud and hie.</p> +<p>Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve—<br />“Wha’s +this that brings the fray to me?”<br />“It’s I, Jamie +Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,<br />A harried man I trow I be.</p> +<p>“There’s naething left in the fair Dodhead,<br />But +a greeting wife and bairnies three,<br />And sax poor câ’s +stand in the sta’,<br />A’ routing loud for their minnie.”</p> +<p>“Alack a wae!” quo’ auld Jock Grieve,<br />“Alack! +my heart is sair for thee!<br />For I was married on the elder sister,<br />And +you on the youngest of a’ the three.”</p> +<p>Then he has ta’en out a bonny black,<br />Was right weel fed +wi’ corn and hay,<br />And he’s set Jamie Telfer on his +back,<br />To the Catslockhill to tak’ the fray.</p> +<p>And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,<br />He shouted loud and weel +cried he,<br />Till out and spak him William’s Wat—<br />“O +wha’s this brings the fraye to me?”</p> +<p>“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,<br />A +harried man I think I be!<br />The captain of Bewcastle has driven my +gear;<br />For God’s sake rise, and succour me!”</p> +<p>“Alas for wae!” quo’ William’s Wat,<br />“Alack, +for thee my heart is sair!<br />I never cam by the fair Dodhead,<br />That +ever I fand thy basket bare.”</p> +<p>He’s set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,<br />Himsel’ +upon a freckled gray,<br />And they are on wi, Jamie Telfer,<br />To +Branksome Ha to tak the fray.</p> +<p>And whan they cam to Branksome Ha’,<br />They shouted a’ +baith loud and hie,<br />Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,<br />Said—“Wha’s +this brings the fray to me?</p> +<p>“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead,<br />And +a harried man I think I be!<br />There’s nought left in the fair +Dodhead,<br />But a greeting wife and bairnies three.”</p> +<p>“Alack for wae!” quoth the gude auld lord,<br />“And +ever my heart is wae for thee!<br />But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,<br />And +see that he come to me speedilie!</p> +<p>“Gar warn the water, braid and wide,<br />Gar warn it soon +and hastily!<br />They that winna ride for Telfer’s kye,<br />Let +them never look in the face o’ me!</p> +<p>“Warn Wat o’ Harden, and his sons,<br />Wi’ them +will Borthwick water ride;<br />Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,<br />And +Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.</p> +<p>“Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,<br />And warn the Currors +o’ the Lee;<br />As ye come down the Hermitage Slack,<br />Warn +doughty Willie o’ Gorrinbery.”</p> +<p>The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran,<br />Sae starkly and sae +steadilie!<br />And aye the ower-word o’ the thrang,<br />Was—“Rise +for Branksome readilie!”</p> +<p>The gear was driven the Frostylee up,<br />Frae the Frostylee unto +the plain,<br />Whan Willie has looked his men before,<br />And saw +the kye right fast driving.</p> +<p>“Wha drives thir kye?” ’gan Willie say,<br />“To +mak an outspeckle o’ me?”<br />“It’s I, the +captain o’ Bewcastle, Willie;<br />I winna layne my name for thee.”</p> +<p>“O will ye let Telfer’s kye gae back,<br />Or will ye +do aught for regard o’ me?<br />Or, by the faith o’ my body,” +quo’ Willie Scott,<br />“I se ware my dame’s cauf’s-skin +on thee!”</p> +<p>“I winna let the kye gae back,<br />Neither for thy love, nor +yet thy fear,<br />But I will drive Jamie Telfer’s kye,<br />In +spite of every Scot that’s here.”</p> +<p>“Set on them, lads!” quo’ Willie than,<br />“Fye, +lads, set on them cruellie!<br />For ere they win to the Ritterford,<br />Mony +a toom saddle there sall be!</p> +<p>But Willie was stricken ower the head,<br />And through the knapscap +the sword has gane;<br />And Harden grat for very rage,<br />Whan Willie +on the ground lay slain.</p> +<p>But he’s ta’en aff his gude steel-cap,<br />And thrice +he’s waved it in the air—<br />The Dinlay snaw was ne’er +mair white,<br />Nor the lyart locks of Harden’s hair.</p> +<p>“Revenge! revenge!” auld Wat ’gan cry;<br />“Fye, +lads, lay on them cruellie!<br />We’ll ne’er see Tiviotside +again,<br />Or Willie’s death revenged shall be.”</p> +<p>O mony a horse ran masterless,<br />The splintered lances flew on +hie;<br />But or they wan to the Kershope ford,<br />The Scots had gotten +the victory.</p> +<p>John o’ Brigham there was slain,<br />And John o’ Barlow, +as I hear say;<br />And thirty mae o’ the captain’s men,<br />Lay +bleeding on the grund that day.</p> +<p>The captain was run thro’ the thick of the thigh—<br />And +broken was his right leg bane;<br />If he had lived this hundred year,<br />He +had never been loved by woman again.</p> +<p>“Hae back thy kye!” the captain said;<br />“Dear +kye, I trow, to some they be!<br />For gin I suld live a hundred years,<br />There +will ne’er fair lady smile on me.”</p> +<p>Then word is gane to the captain’s bride,<br />Even in the +bower where that she lay,<br />That her lord was prisoner in enemy’s +land,<br />Since into Tividale he had led the way.</p> +<p>“I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,<br />And helped to put +it ower his head,<br />Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,<br />When +he ower Liddel his men did lead!”</p> +<p>There was a wild gallant amang us a’,<br />His name was Watty +wi’ the Wudspurs,<br />Cried—“On for his house in +Stanegirthside,<br />If ony man will ride with us!”</p> +<p>When they cam to the Stanegirthside,<br />They dang wi’ trees, +and burst the door;<br />They loosed out a’ the captain’s +kye,<br />And set them forth our lads before.</p> +<p>There was an auld wife ayont the fire,<br />A wee bit o’ the +captain’s kin—<br />“Wha daur loose out the captain’s +kye,<br />Or answer to him and his men?”</p> +<p>“It’s I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye,<br />I winna +layne my name frae thee!<br />And I will loose out the captain’s +kye,<br />In scorn of a’ his men and he.”</p> +<p>When they cam to the fair Dodhead,<br />They were a wellcum sight +to see!<br />For instead of his ain ten milk-kye,<br />Jamie Telfer +has gotten thirty and three.</p> +<p>And he has paid the rescue shot,<br />Baith wi’ goud, and white +monie;<br />And at the burial o’ Willie Scott,<br />I wot was +mony a weeping e’e.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Douglas Tragedy</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. ii. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>“Rise up, rise up now, Lord Douglas,” she says,<br />“And +put on your armour so bright;<br />Let it never be said that a daughter +of thine<br />Was married to a lord under night.</p> +<p>“Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,<br />And put on your +armour so bright,<br />And take better care of your youngest sister,<br />For +your eldest’s awa the last night.”—</p> +<p>He’s mounted her on a milk-white steed,<br />And himself on +a dapple grey,<br />With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,<br />And +lightly they rode away.</p> +<p>Lord William lookit o’er his left shoulder,<br />To see what +he could see,<br />And there be spy’d her seven brethren bold,<br />Come +riding o’er the lee.</p> +<p>“Light down, light down, Lady Marg’ret,” he said,<br />“And +hold my steed in your hand,<br />Until that against your seven brothers +bold,<br />And your father I make a stand.”—</p> +<p>She held his steed in her milk white hand,<br />And never shed one +tear,<br />Until that she saw her seven brethren fa’,<br />And +her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.</p> +<p>“O hold your hand, Lord William!” she said,<br />“For +your strokes they are wondrous sair;<br />True lovers I can get many +a ane,<br />But a father I can never get mair.”—</p> +<p>O she’s ta’en out her handkerchief,<br />It was o’ +the holland sae fine,<br />And aye she dighted her father’s bloody +wounds,<br />That were redder than the wine.</p> +<p>“O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg’ret,” he said,<br />“O +whether will ye gang or bide?”<br />“I’ll gang, I’ll +gang, Lord William,” she said,<br />“For ye have left me +no other guide.”—</p> +<p>He’s lifted her on a milk-white steed,<br />And himself on +a dapple grey.<br />With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,<br />And +slowly they baith rade away.</p> +<p>O they rade on, and on they rade,<br />And a’ by the light +of the moon,<br />Until they came to yon wan water,<br />And there they +lighted down.</p> +<p>They lighted down to tak a drink<br />Of the spring that ran sae +clear:<br />And down the stream ran his gude heart’s blood,<br />And +sair she ’gan to fear.</p> +<p>“Hold up, hold up, Lord William,” she says,<br />“For +I fear that you are slain!”<br />“’Tis naething but +the shadow of my scarlet cloak<br />That shines in the water sae plain.”</p> +<p>O they rade on, and on they rade,<br />And a’ by the light +of the moon,<br />Until they cam to his mother’s ha’ door,<br />And +there they lighted down.</p> +<p>“Get up, get up, lady mother,” he says,<br />“Get +up, and let me in!—<br />Get up, get up, lady mother,” he +says,<br />“For this night my fair ladye I’ve win.</p> +<p>“O mak my bed, lady mother,” he says,<br />“O mak +it braid and deep!<br />And lay Lady Marg’ret close at my back,<br />And +the sounder I will sleep.”—</p> +<p>Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,<br />Lady Marg’ret +lang ere day—<br />And all true lovers that go thegither,<br />May +they have mair luck than they!</p> +<p>Lord William was buried in St. Marie’s kirk,<br />Lady Margaret +in Marie’s quire;<br />Out o’ the lady’s grave grew +a bonny red rose,<br />And out o’ the knight’s a brier.</p> +<p>And they twa met, and they twa plat,<br />And fain they wad be near;<br />And +a’ the warld might ken right weel,<br />They were twa lovers dear.</p> +<p>But by and rade the Black Douglas,<br />And wow but he was rough!<br />For +he pull’d up the bonny brier,<br />An flang’t in St. Marie’s +Loch.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Bonny Hind</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. ii.)</p> +<p>O May she comes, and may she goes,<br />Down by yon gardens green,<br />And +there she spied a gallant squire<br />As squire had ever been.</p> +<p>And may she comes, and may she goes,<br />Down by yon hollin tree,<br />And +there she spied a brisk young squire,<br />And a brisk young squire +was he.</p> +<p>“Give me your green manteel, fair maid,<br />Give me your maidenhead;<br />Gif +ye winna gie me your green manteel,<br />Gi me your maidenhead.”</p> +<p>He has taen her by the milk-white hand,<br />And softly laid her +down,<br />And when he’s lifted her up again<br />Given her a +silver kaim.</p> +<p>“Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,<br />Perhaps there +may be nane;<br />But if you be a courtier,<br />You’ll tell to +me your name.”</p> +<p>“I am na courtier, fair maid,<br />But new come frae the sea;<br />I +am nae courtier, fair maid,<br />But when I court’ith thee.</p> +<p>“They call me Jack when I’m abroad,<br />Sometimes they +call me John;<br />But when I’m in my father’s bower<br />Jock +Randal is my name.”</p> +<p>“Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,<br />Sae loud’s I hear +ye lee!<br />For I’m Lord Randal’s yae daughter,<br />He +has nae mair nor me.”</p> +<p>“Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,<br />Sae loud’s I hear +ye lee!<br />For I’m Lord Randal’s yae yae son,<br />Just +now come oer the sea.”</p> +<p>She’s putten her hand down by her spare<br />And out she’s +taen a knife,<br />And she has putn’t in her heart’s bluid,<br />And +taen away her life.</p> +<p>And he’s taen up his bonny sister,<br />With the big tear in +his een,<br />And he has buried his bonny sister<br />Amang the hollins +green.</p> +<p>And syne he’s hyed him oer the dale,<br />His father dear to +see:<br />“Sing O and O for my bonny hind,<br />Beneath yon hollin +tree!”</p> +<p>“What needs you care for your bonny hyn?<br />For it you needna +care;<br />There’s aught score hyns in yonder park,<br />And five +score hyns to spare.</p> +<p>“Fourscore of them are siller-shod,<br />Of thae ye may get +three;”<br />“But O and O for my bonny hyn,<br />Beneath +yon hollin tree!”</p> +<p>“What needs you care for your bonny hyn?<br />For it you needna +care;<br />Take you the best, gi me the warst,<br />Since plenty is +to spare.”</p> +<p>“I care na for your hyns, my lord,<br />I care na for your +fee;<br />But O and O for my bonny hyn,<br />Beneath the hollin tree!”</p> +<p>“O were ye at your sister’s bower,<br />Your sister fair +to see,<br />Ye’ll think na mair o your bonny hyn<br />Beneath +the hollin tree.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Young Bicham</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. ii.)</p> +<p>In London city was Bicham born,<br />He longd strange countries for +to see,<br />But he was taen by a savage Moor,<br />Who handld him right +cruely.</p> +<p>For thro his shoulder he put a bore,<br />An thro the bore has pitten +a tree,<br />And he’s gard him draw the carts o wine,<br />Where +horse and oxen had wont to be.</p> +<p>He’s casten [him] in a dungeon deep,<br />Where he coud neither +hear nor see;<br />He’s shut him up in a prison strong,<br />An +he’s handld him right cruely.</p> +<p>O this Moor he had but ae daughter,<br />I wot her name was Shusy +Pye;<br />She’s doen her to the prison-house,<br />And she’s +calld young Bicham one word by.</p> +<p>“O hae ye ony lands or rents,<br />Or citys in your ain country,<br />Coud +free you out of prison strong,<br />An coud maintain a lady free?”</p> +<p>O London city is my own,<br />An other citys twa or three,<br />Coud +loose me out o prison strong,<br />An could maintain a lady free.”</p> +<p>O she has bribed her father’s men<br />Wi meikle goud and white +money,<br />She’s gotten the key o the prison doors,<br />And +she has set Young Bicham free.</p> +<p>She’s gi’n him a loaf o good white bread,<br />But an +a flask o Spanish wine,<br />An she bad him mind on the ladie’s +love<br />That sae kindly freed him out o pine.</p> +<p>“Go set your foot on good ship-board,<br />An haste you back +to your ain country,<br />An before that seven years has an end,<br />Come +back again, love, and marry me.”</p> +<p>It was long or seven years had an end<br />She longd fu sair her +love to see;<br />She’s set her foot on good ship-board,<br />An +turnd her back on her ain country.</p> +<p>She’s saild up, so has she down,<br />Till she came to the +other side;<br />She’s landed at Young Bicham’s gates,<br />An +I hop this day she sal be his bride.</p> +<p>“Is this Young Bicham’s gates?” says she.<br />“Or +is that noble prince within?”<br />“He’s up the stair +wi his bonny bride,<br />An monny a lord and lady wi him.”</p> +<p>“O has he taen a bonny bride,<br />An has he clean forgotten +me?”<br />An sighing said that gay lady,<br />“I wish I +were in my ain country!”</p> +<p>She’s pitten her ban in her pocket,<br />An gin the porter +guineas three;<br />Says, “Take ye that, ye proud porter,<br />An +bid the bridegroom speak to me.”</p> +<p>O whan the porter came up the stair,<br />He’s fa’n low +down upon his knee:<br />“Won up, won up, ye proud porter,<br />And +what makes a’ this courtesy?”</p> +<p>“O I’ve been porter at your gates<br />This mair nor +seven years an three,<br />But there is a lady at them now<br />The +like of whom I never did see.</p> +<p>“For on every finger she has a ring,<br />An on the mid-finger +she has three,<br />An there’s as meikle goud aboon her brow<br />As +woud buy an earldom o lan to me.”</p> +<p>Then up it started Young Bicham,<br />An sware so loud by Our Lady,<br />“It +can be nane but Shusy Pye<br />That has come oor the sea to me.”</p> +<p>O quickly ran he down the stair,<br />O fifteen steps he has made +but three,<br />He’s tane his bonny love in his arms<br />An a +wot he kissd her tenderly.</p> +<p>“O hae you tane a bonny bride?<br />An hae you quite forsaken +me?<br />An hae ye quite forgotten her<br />That gae you life an liberty?”</p> +<p>She’s lookit oer her left shoulder<br />To hide the tears stood +in her ee;<br />“Now fare thee well, Young Bicham,” she +says,<br />“I’ll strive to think nae mair on thee.”</p> +<p>“Take back your daughter, madam,” he says,<br />“An +a double dowry I’ll gie her wi;<br />For I maun marry my first +true love,<br />That’s done and suffered so much for me.”</p> +<p>He’s tak his bonny love by the han,<br />And led her to yon +fountain stane;<br />He’s changed her name frae Shusy Pye,<br />An +he’s cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. ii. Cockney copy.)</p> +<p>Lord Bateman was a noble lord,<br />A noble lord of high degree;<br />He +shipped himself all aboard of a ship,<br />Some foreign country for +to see.</p> +<p>He sailed east, he sailed west,<br />Until he came to famed Turkey,<br />Where +he was taken and put to prison,<br />Until his life was quite weary.</p> +<p>All in this prison there grew a tree,<br />O there it grew so stout +and strong!<br />Where he was chained all by the middle,<br />Until +his life was almost gone.</p> +<p>This Turk he had one only daughter,<br />The fairest my two eyes +eer see;<br />She steal the keys of her father’s prison,<br />And +swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.</p> +<p>O she took him to her father’s cellar,<br />And gave to him +the best of wine;<br />And every health she drank unto him<br />Was +“I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was mine.”</p> +<p>“O have you got houses, have you got land,<br />And does Northumberland +belong to thee?<br />And what would you give to the fair young lady<br />As +out of prison would let you go free?”</p> +<p>“O I’ve got houses and I’ve got land,<br />And +half Northumberland belongs to me;<br />And I will give it all to the +fair young lady<br />As out of prison would let me go free.”</p> +<p>“O in seven long years I’ll make a vow<br />For seven +long years, and keep it strong,<br />That if you’ll wed no other +woman,<br />O I will wed no other man.”</p> +<p>O she took him to her father’s harbor,<br />And gave to him +a ship of fame,<br />Saying, “Farewell, farewell to you, Lord +Bateman,<br />I fear I shall never see you again.”</p> +<p>Now seven long years is gone and past,<br />And fourteen days, well +known to me;<br />She packed up all her gay clothing,<br />And swore +Lord Bateman she would go see.</p> +<p>O when she arrived at Lord Bateman’s castle,<br />How boldly +then she rang the bell!<br />“Who’s there? who’s there?” +cries the proud young porter,<br />“O come unto me pray quickly +tell.”</p> +<p>“O is this here Lord Bateman’s castle,<br />And is his +lordship here within?”<br />“O yes, O yes,” cries +the proud young porter,<br />“He’s just now taking his young +bride in.”</p> +<p>“O bid him to send me a slice of bread,<br />And a bottle of +the very best wine,<br />And not forgetting the fair young lady<br />As +did release him when close confine.”</p> +<p>O away and away went this proud young porter,<br />O away and away +and away went he,<br />Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber,<br />Where +he went down on his bended knee.</p> +<p>“What news, what news, my proud young porter?<br />What news, +what news? come tell to me:”<br />“O there is the fairest +young lady<br />As ever my two eyes did see.</p> +<p>“She has got rings on every finger,<br />And on one finger +she has got three;<br />With as much gay gold about her middle<br />As +would buy half Northumberlee.</p> +<p>“O she bids you to send her a slice of bread,<br />And a bottle +of the very best wine,<br />And not forgetting the fair young lady<br />As +did release you when close confine.”</p> +<p>Lord Bateman then in passion flew,<br />And broke his sword in splinters +three,<br />Saying, “I will give half of my father’s land,<br />If +so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.”</p> +<p>Then up and spoke this young bride’s mother,<br />Who never +was heard to speak so free;<br />Saying, “You’ll not forget +my only daughter,<br />If so be Sophia has crossed the sea.”</p> +<p>“O it’s true I made a bride of your daughter,<br />But +she’s neither the better nor the worse for me;<br />She came to +me with a horse and saddle,<br />But she may go home in a coach and +three.”</p> +<p>Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage,<br />With both their +hearts so full of glee,<br />Saying, “I will roam no more to foreign +countries,<br />Now that Sophia has crossed the sea.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Bonnie House O’ Airly</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. vii. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>It fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day,<br />When the corn grew +green and yellow,<br />That there fell out a great dispute<br />Between +Argyle and Airly.</p> +<p>The Duke o’ Montrose has written to Argyle<br />To come in +the morning early,<br />An’ lead in his men, by the back O’ +Dunkeld,<br />To plunder the bonnie house o’ Airly.</p> +<p>The lady look’d o’er her window sae hie,<br />And O but +she looked weary!<br />And there she espied the great Argyle<br />Come +to plunder the bonnie house o’ Airly.</p> +<p>“Come down, come down, Lady Margaret,” he says,<br />“Come +down and kiss me fairly,<br />Or before the morning clear daylight,<br />I’ll +no leave a standing stane in Airly.”</p> +<p>“I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,<br />I wadna kiss thee fairly,<br />I +wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,<br />Gin you shouldna leave a standing +stane Airly.”</p> +<p>He has ta’en her by the middle sae sma’,<br />Says, “Lady, +where is your drury?”<br />“It’s up and down by the +bonnie burn side,<br />Amang the planting of Airly.”</p> +<p>They sought it up, they sought it down,<br />They sought it late +and early,<br />And found it in the bonnie balm-tree,<br />That shines +on the bowling-green o’ Airly,</p> +<p>He has ta’en her by the left shoulder,<br />And O but she grat +sairly,<br />And led her down to yon green bank,<br />Till he plundered +the bonnie house o’ Airly.</p> +<p>“O it’s I hae seven braw sons,” she says,<br />“And +the youngest ne’er saw his daddie,<br />And altho’ I had +as mony mae,<br />I wad gie them a’ to Charlie.</p> +<p>“But gin my good lord had been at hame,<br />As this night +he is wi’ Charlie,<br />There durst na a Campbell in a’ +the west<br />Hae plundered the bonnie house o’ Airly.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Rob Roy</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. vi. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>Rob Roy from the Highlands cam,<br />Unto the Lawlan’ border,<br />To +steal awa a gay ladie<br />To haud his house in order.<br />He cam oure +the lock o’ Lynn,<br />Twenty men his arms did carry;<br />Himsel +gaed in, an’ fand her out,<br />Protesting he would many.</p> +<p>“O will ye gae wi’ me,” he says,<br />“Or +will ye be my honey?<br />Or will ye be my wedded wife?<br />For I love +you best of any.”<br />“I winna gae wi’ you,” +she says,<br />“Nor will I be your honey,<br />Nor will I be your +wedded wife;<br />You love me for my money.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>But he set her on a coal-black steed,<br />Himsel lap on behind her,<br />An’ +he’s awa to the Highland hills,<br />Whare her frien’s they +canna find her.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“Rob Roy was my father ca’d,<br />Macgregor was his name, +ladie;<br />He led a band o’ heroes bauld,<br />An’ I am +here the same, ladie.<br />Be content, be content,<br />Be content to +stay, ladie,<br />For thou art my wedded wife<br />Until thy dying day, +ladie.</p> +<p>“He was a hedge unto his frien’s,<br />A heckle to his +foes, ladie,<br />Every one that durst him wrang,<br />He took him by +the nose, ladie.<br />I’m as bold, I’m as bold,<br />I’m +as bold, an more, ladie;<br />He that daurs dispute my word,<br />Shall +feel my guid claymore, ladie.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Battle Of Killie-Crankie</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. vii. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>Clavers and his Highlandmen<br />Came down upo’ the raw, man,<br />Who +being stout, gave mony a clout;<br />The lads began to claw then.<br />With +sword and terge into their hand,<br />Wi which they were nae slaw, man,<br />Wi +mony a fearful heavy sigh,<br />The lads began to claw then.</p> +<p>O’er bush, o’er bank, o’er ditch, o’er stark,<br />She +flang amang them a’, man;<br />The butter-box got many knocks,<br />Their +riggings paid for a’ then.<br />They got their paiks, wi sudden +straiks,<br />Which to their grief they saw, man:<br />Wi clinkum, clankum +o’er their crowns,<br />The lads began to fa’ then.</p> +<p>Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,<br />And flang amang them a’, +man;<br />The English blades got broken beads,<br />Their crowns were +cleav’d in twa then.<br />The durk and door made their last hour,<br />And +prov’d their final fa’, man;<br />They thought the devil +had been there,<br />That play’d them sic a paw then.</p> +<p>The Solemn League and Covenant<br />Came whigging up the hills, man;<br />Thought +Highland trews durst not refuse<br />For to subscribe their bills then.<br />In +Willie’s name, they thought nag ane<br />Durst stop their course +at a’, man,<br />But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock,<br />Cry’d, +“Furich—Whigs awa’,” man.</p> +<p>Sir Evan Du, and his men true,<br />Came linking up the brink, man;<br />The +Hogan Dutch they feared such,<br />They bred a horrid stink then.<br />The +true Maclean and his fierce men<br />Came in amang them a’, man;<br />Nane +durst withstand his heavy hand.<br />All fled and ran awa’ then.</p> +<p><i>Oh’ on a ri, Oh’ on a ri</i>,<br />Why should she +lose King Shames, man?<br /><i>Oh’ rig in di, Oh’ rig in +di</i>,<br />She shall break a’ her banes then;<br />With <i>furichinish</i>, +an’ stay a while,<br />And speak a word or twa, man,<br />She’s +gi’ a straike, out o’er the neck,<br />Before ye win awa’ +then.</p> +<p>Oh fy for shame, ye’re three for ane,<br />Hur-nane-sell’s +won the day, man;<br />King Shames’ red-coats should be hung up,<br />Because +they ran awa’ then.<br />Had bent their brows, like Highland trows,<br />And +made as lang a stay, man,<br />They’d sav’d their king, +that sacred thing,<br />And Willie’d ran awa’ then.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Annan Water</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. ii. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>“Annan water’s wading deep,<br />And my love Annie’s +wondrous bonny;<br />And I am laith she suld weet her feet,<br />Because +I love her best of ony.</p> +<p>“Gar saddle me the bonny black,—<br />Gar saddle sune, +and make him ready:<br />For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,<br />And +all to see my bonny ladye.”—</p> +<p>He has loupen on the bonny black,<br />He stirr’d him wi’ +the spur right sairly;<br />But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,<br />I +think the steed was wae and weary.</p> +<p>He has loupen on the bonny gray,<br />He rade the right gate and +the ready;<br />I trow he would neither stint nor stay,<br />For he +was seeking his bonny ladye.</p> +<p>O he has ridden o’er field and fell,<br />Through muir and +moss, and mony a mire;<br />His spurs o’ steel were sair to bide,<br />And +fra her fore-feet flew the fire.</p> +<p>“Now, bonny grey, now play your part!<br />Gin ye be the steed +that wins my deary,<br />Wi’ corn and hay ye’se be fed for +aye,<br />And never spur sall make you wearie.”</p> +<p>The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;<br />But when she wan +the Annan water,<br />She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,<br />Had +a thousand merks been wadded at her.</p> +<p>“O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!<br />Put off your boat +for gowden monie!<br />I cross the drumly stream the night,<br />Or +never mair I see my honey.”—</p> +<p>“O I was sworn sae late yestreen,<br />And not by ae aith, +but by many;<br />And for a’ the gowd in fair Scotland,<br />I +dare na take ye through to Annie.”</p> +<p>The side was stey, and the bottom deep,<br />Frae bank to brae the +water pouring;<br />And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,<br />For +she heard the water-kelpy roaring.</p> +<p>O he has pou’d aff his dapperpy coat,<br />The silver buttons +glancèd bonny;<br />The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,<br />He +was sae full of melancholy.</p> +<p>He has ta’en the ford at that stream tail;<br />I wot he swam +both strong and steady;<br />But the stream was broad, and his strength +did fail,<br />And he never saw his bonny ladye.</p> +<p>“O wae betide the frush saugh wand!<br />And wae betide the +bush of brier!<br />It brake into my true love’s hand,<br />When +his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.</p> +<p>“And wae betide ye, Annan water,<br />This night that ye are +a drumlie river!<br />For over thee I’ll build a bridge,<br />That +ye never more true love may sever.”—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Elphin Nourrice</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(C. K. Sharpe.)</p> +<p>I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,<br />An’ a cow low down +in yon glen;<br />Lang, lang will my young son greet,<br />Or his mither +bid him come ben.</p> +<p>I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,<br />An’ a cow low down +in yon fauld;<br />Lang, lang will my young son greet,<br />Or is mither +take him frae cauld.</p> +<p>Waken, Queen of Elfan,<br />An hear your Nourrice moan.<br />O moan +ye for your meat,<br />Or moan ye for your fee,<br />Or moan ye for +the ither bounties<br />That ladies are wont to gie?</p> +<p>I moan na for my meat,<br />Nor yet for my fee,<br />But I mourn +for Christened land—<br />It’s there I fain would be.</p> +<p>O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says,<br />Till he stan’ at +your knee,<br />An’ ye’s win hame to Christen land,<br />Whar +fain it’s ye wad be.</p> +<p>O keep my bairn, Nourice,<br />Till he gang by the hauld,<br />An’ +ye’s win hame to your young son,<br />Ye left in four nights auld.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Cospatrick</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Mackay.)</p> +<p>Cospatrick has sent o’er the faem;<br />Cospatrick brought +his ladye hame;<br />And fourscore ships have come her wi’,<br />The +ladye by the green-wood tree.</p> +<p>There were twal’ and twal’ wi’ baken bread,<br />And +twal’ and twal’ wi’ gowd sae red,<br />And twal’ +and twal’ wi’ bouted flour,<br />And twal’ and twal’ +wi’ the paramour.</p> +<p>Sweet Willy was a widow’s son,<br />And at her stirrup he did +run;<br />And she was clad in the finest pall,<br />But aye she loot +the tears down fall.</p> +<p>“O is your saddle set awrye?<br />Or rides your steed for you +owre high?<br />Or are you mourning, in your tide,<br />That you suld +be Cospatrick’s bride?”</p> +<p>“I am not mourning, at this tide,<br />That I suld he Cospatrick’s +bride;<br />But I am sorrowing in my mood,<br />That I suld leave my +mother good.”</p> +<p>“But, gentle boy, come tell to me,<br />What is the custom +of thy countrie?”<br />“The custom thereof, my dame,” +he says,<br />“Will ill a gentle ladye please.</p> +<p>“Seven king’s daughters has our lord wedded,<br />And +seven king’s daughters has our lord bedded;<br />But he’s +cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane,<br />And sent them mourning +hame again.</p> +<p>“Yet, gin you’re sure that you’re a maid,<br />Ye +may gae safely to his bed;<br />But gif o’ that ye be na sure,<br />Then +hire some damsel o’ your bour.”</p> +<p>The ladye’s called her bour-maiden,<br />That waiting was unto +her train.<br />“Five thousand marks I’ll gie to thee,<br />To +sleep this night with my lord for me.”</p> +<p>When bells were rung, and mass was sayne,<br />And a’ men unto +bed were gane,<br />Cospatrick and the bonny maid,<br />Into ae chamber +they were laid.</p> +<p>“Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,<br />And +speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;<br />And speak, my sword, that winna +lie,<br />Is this a true maiden that lies by me?”</p> +<p>“It is not a maid that you hae wedded,<br />But it is a maid +that you hae bedded;<br />It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,<br />But +not the maiden that it should be.”</p> +<p>O wrathfully he left the bed,<br />And wrathfully his claes on did;<br />And +he has ta’en him through the ha’,<br />And on his mother +he did ca’.</p> +<p>“I am the most unhappy man,<br />That ever was in Christen +land?<br />I courted a maiden, meik and mild,<br />And I hae gotten +naething but a woman wi’ child.”</p> +<p>“O stay, my son, into this ha’,<br />And sport ye wi’ +your merry men a’;<br />And I will to the secret bour,<br />To +see how it fares wi’ your paramour.”</p> +<p>The carline she was stark and stare,<br />She aff the hinges dang +the dure.<br />“O is your bairn to laird or loun,<br />Or is it +to your father’s groom?”</p> +<p>“O hear me, mother, on my knee,<br />Till my sad story I tell +to thee:<br />O we were sisters, sisters seven,<br />We were the fairest +under heaven.</p> +<p>“It fell on a summer’s afternoon,<br />When a’ +our toilsome work was done,<br />We coost the kevils us amang,<br />To +see which suld to the green-wood gang.</p> +<p>“Ohon! alas, for I was youngest,<br />And aye my weird it was +the strongest!<br />The kevil it on me did fa’,<br />Whilk was +the cause of a’ my woe.</p> +<p>“For to the green-wood I maun gae,<br />To pu’ the red +rose and the slae;<br />To pu’ the red rose and the thyme,<br />To +deck my mother’s bour and mine.</p> +<p>“I hadna pu’d a flower but ane,<br />When by there came +a gallant hinde,<br />Wi’ high colled hose and laigh colled shoon,<br />And +he seemed to be some king’s son.</p> +<p>“And be I maid, or be I nae,<br />He kept me there till the +close o’ day;<br />And be I maid, or be I nane,<br />He kept me +there till the day was done.</p> +<p>“He gae me a lock o’ his yellow hair,<br />And bade me +keep it ever mair;<br />He gae me a carknet o’ bonny beads,<br />And +bade me keep it against my needs.</p> +<p>“He gae to me a gay gold ring,<br />And bade me keep it abune +a’ thing.”<br />“What did ye wi’ the tokens +rare,<br />That ye gat frae that gallant there?”</p> +<p>“O bring that coffer unto me,<br />And a’ the tokens +ye sall see.”<br />“Now stay, daughter, your bour within,<br />While +I gae parley wi’ my son.”</p> +<p>O she has ta’en her thro’ the ha’,<br />And on +her son began to ca’:<br />“What did ye wi’ the bonny +beads,<br />I bade ye keep against your needs?</p> +<p>“What did you wi’ the gay gold ring,<br />I bade you +keep abune a’ thing?”<br />“I gae them to a ladye +gay,<br />I met in green-wood on a day.</p> +<p>“But I wad gie a’ my halls and tours,<br />I had that +ladye within my bours,<br />But I wad gie my very life,<br />I had that +ladye to my wife.”</p> +<p>“Now keep, my son, your ha’s and tours;<br />Ye have +that bright burd in your bours;<br />And keep, my son, your very life;<br />Ye +have that ladye to your wife.”</p> +<p>Now, or a month was come and gane,<br />The ladye bore a bonny son;<br />And +’twas written on his breast-bane,<br />“Cospatrick is my +father’s name.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Johnnie Armstrang</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Some speak of lords, some speak of lairds,<br />And sic like men +of high degree;<br />Of a gentleman I sing a sang,<br />Some time call’d +Laird of Gilnockie.</p> +<p>The king he writes a loving letter,<br />With his ain hand sae tenderlie,<br />And +he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,<br />To come and speak with him +speedilie.</p> +<p>The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene,<br />They were a gallant +companie:<br />“We’ll ride and meet our lawful king,<br />And +bring him safe to Gilnockie.</p> +<p>“Make kinnen <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a> +and capon ready, then,<br />And venison in great plentie;<br />We’ll +welcome here our royal king;<br />I hope he’ll dine at Gilnockie!”</p> +<p>They ran their horse on the Langholm howm,<br />And brake their spears +with meikle main;<br />The ladies lookit frae their loft windows—<br />“God +bring our men weel hame again!”</p> +<p>When Johnnie came before the king,<br />With all his men sae brave +to see,<br />The king he moved his bonnet to him;<br />He ween’d +he was a king as well as he.</p> +<p>“May I find grace, my sovereign liege,<br />Grace for my loyal +men and me?<br />For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,<br />And a subject +of yours, my liege,” said he.</p> +<p>“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon +may’st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor’s life,<br />And +now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p>“Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br />And a bonnie gift +I’ll gi’e to thee;<br />Full four-and-twenty milk-white +steeds,<br />Were all foal’d in ae year to me.</p> +<p>“I’ll gi’e thee all these milk-white steeds,<br />That +prance and nicher <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a> +at a spear;<br />And as meikle gude Inglish gilt, <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a><br />As +four of their braid backs dow <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a> +bear.”</p> +<p>“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon +may’st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor’s life,<br />And +now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p>“Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br />And a bonnie gift +I’ll gi’e to thee:<br />Gude four-and-twenty ganging <a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7">{7}</a> +mills,<br />That gang thro’ all the year to me.</p> +<p>“These four-and-twenty mills complete,<br />Shall gang for +thee thro’ all the year;<br />And as meikle of gude red wheat,<br />As +all their happers dow to bear.”</p> +<p>“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon +may’st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor’s life,<br />And +now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p>“Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br />And a great gift +I’ll gi’e to thee:<br />Bauld four-and-twenty sisters’ +sons<br />Shall for thee fecht, tho’ all shou’d flee.”</p> +<p>“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon +may’st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor’s life,<br />And +now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p>“Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br />And a brave gift +I’ll gi’e to thee:<br />All between here and Newcastle town<br />Shall +pay their yearly rent to thee.”</p> +<p>“Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon +may’st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor’s life,<br />And +now I’ll not begin with thee.”</p> +<p>“Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,” he says,<br />“Altho’ +a king and prince ye be!<br />For I’ve loved naething in my life,<br />I +weel dare say it, but honestie.</p> +<p>“Save a fat horse, and a fair woman,<br />Twa bonnie dogs to +kill a deer;<br />But England shou’d have found me meal and mault,<br />Gif +I had lived this hundred year.</p> +<p>“She shou’d have found me meal and mault,<br />And beef +and mutton in all plentie;<br />But never a Scots wife cou’d have +said,<br />That e’er I skaith’d her a puir flee.</p> +<p>“To seek het water beneath cauld ice,<br />Surely it is a great +follie:<br />I have ask’d grace at a graceless face,<br />But +there is nane for my men and me.</p> +<p>“But had I kenn’d, ere I came frae hame,<br />How unkind +thou wou’dst been to me,<br />I wou’d ha’e keepit +the Border side,<br />In spite of all thy force and thee.</p> +<p>“Wist England’s king that I was ta’en,<br />Oh, +gin a blythe man he wou’d be!<br />For ance I slew his sister’s +son,<br />And on his breast-bane brak a tree.”</p> +<p>John wore a girdle about his middle,<br />Embroider’d o’er +with burning gold,<br />Bespangled with the same metal,<br />Maist beautiful +was to behold.</p> +<p>There hang nine targats <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8">{8}</a> +at Johnnie’s hat,<br />An ilk ane worth three hundred pound:<br />“What +wants that knave that a king shou’d have,<br />But the sword of +honour and the crown?</p> +<p>“Oh, where got thee these targats, Johnnie.<br />That blink +sae brawly <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9">{9}</a> aboon +thy brie?”<br />“I gat them in the field fechting, <a name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10">{10}</a><br />Where, +cruel king, thou durst not be.</p> +<p>“Had I my horse and harness gude,<br />And riding as I wont +to be,<br />It shou’d have been tauld this hundred year,<br />The +meeting of my king and me!</p> +<p>“God be with thee, Kirsty, <a name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11">{11}</a> +my brother,<br />Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun!<br />Lang may’st +thou live on the Border side,<br />Ere thou see thy brother ride up +and down!</p> +<p>“And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son,<br />Where thou sits +on thy nurse’s knee!<br />But an thou live this hundred year,<br />Thy +father’s better thou’lt never be.</p> +<p>“Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall,<br />Where on Esk side thou +standest stout!<br />Gif I had lived but seven years mair,<br />I wou’d +ha’e gilt thee round about.”</p> +<p>John murder’d was at Carlinrigg,<br />And all his gallant companie;<br />But +Scotland’s heart was ne’er sae wae,<br />To see sae mony +brave men die;</p> +<p>Because they saved their country dear<br />Frae Englishmen! +Nane were sae bauld<br />While Johnnie lived on the Border side,<br />Nane +of them durst come near his hauld.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Edom O’ Gordon</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It fell about the Martinmas,<br />When the wind blew shrill and cauld,<br />Said +Edom o’ Gordon to his men,—<br />“We maun draw to +a hald. <a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</a></p> +<p>“And whatna hald shall we draw to,<br />My merry men and me?<br />We +will gae straight to Towie house,<br />To see that fair ladye.”</p> +<p>[The ladye stood on her castle wall,<br />Beheld baith dale and down;<br />There +she was ’ware of a host of men<br />Came riding towards the town.</p> +<p>“Oh, see ye not, my merry men all,<br />Oh, see ye not what +I see?<br />Methinks I see a host of men;<br />I marvel who they be.”</p> +<p>She thought it had been her own wed lord.<br />As he came riding +hame;<br />It was the traitor, Edom o’ Gordon,<br />Wha reck’d +nae sin nor shame.]</p> +<p>She had nae sooner buskit hersel’,<br />And putten on her gown,<br />Till +Edom o’ Gordon and his men<br />Were round about the town.</p> +<p>They had nae sooner supper set,<br />Nae sooner said the grace,<br />Till +Edom o’ Gordon and his men<br />Were round about the place.</p> +<p>The ladye ran to her tower head,<br />As fast as she cou’d +hie,<br />To see if, by her fair speeches,<br />She cou’d with +him agree.</p> +<p>As soon as he saw this ladye fair.<br />And her yetts all lockit +fast,<br />He fell into a rage of wrath,<br />And his heart was all +aghast.</p> +<p>“Come down to me, ye ladye gay,<br />Come down, come down to +me;<br />This night ye shall lye within my arms,<br />The morn my bride +shall be.”</p> +<p>“I winna come down, ye false Gordon,<br />I winna come down +to thee;<br />I winna forsake my ain dear lord,<br />That is sae far +frae me.”</p> +<p>“Gi’e up your house, ye ladye fair,<br />Gi’e up +your house to me;<br />Or I shall burn yoursel’ therein,<br />Bot +and your babies three.”</p> +<p>“I winna gi’e up, ye false Gordon,<br />To nae sic traitor +as thee;<br />Tho’ you shou’d burn mysel’ therein,<br />Bot +and my babies three.</p> +<p>[“But fetch to me my pistolette,<br />And charge to me my gun;<br />For, +but if I pierce that bluidy butcher,<br />My babes we will be undone.”</p> +<p>She stiffly stood on her castle wall,<br />And let the bullets flee;<br />She +miss’d that bluidy butcher’s heart,<br />Tho’ she +slew other three.]</p> +<p>“Set fire to the house!” quo’ the false Gordon,<br />“Since +better may nae be;<br />And I will burn hersel’ therein,<br />Bot +and her babies three.”</p> +<p>“Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man,<br />I paid ye weel +your fee;<br />Why pull ye out the grund-wa’-stance,<br />Lets +in the reek <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13">{13}</a> +to me?</p> +<p>“And e’en wae worth ye, Jock, my man,<br />I paid ye +weel your hire;<br />Why pull ye out my grund-wa’-stane,<br />To +me lets in the fire?”</p> +<p>“Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye,<br />Ye paid me weel my fee;<br />But +now I’m Edom o’ Gordon’s man,<br />Maun either do +or dee.”</p> +<p>Oh, then out spake her youngest son,<br />Sat on the nurse’s +knee:<br />Says—“Mither dear, gi’e o’er this +house,<br />For the reek it smothers me.”</p> +<p>[“I wou’d gi’e all my gold, my bairn,<br />Sae +wou’d I all my fee,<br />For ae blast of the westlin’ wind,<br />To +blaw the reek frae thee.]</p> +<p>“But I winna gi’e up my house, my dear,<br />To nae sic +traitor as he;<br />Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair,<br />Ye maun +take share with me.”</p> +<p>Oh, then out spake her daughter dear,<br />She was baith jimp and +small:<br />“Oh, row me in a pair of sheets,<br />And tow me o’er +the wall.”</p> +<p>They row’d her in a pair of sheets,<br />And tow’d her +o’er the wall;<br />But on the point of Gordon’s spear<br />She +got a deadly fall.</p> +<p>Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,<br />And cherry were her cheeks;<br />And +clear, clear was her yellow hair,<br />Whereon the red bluid dreeps.</p> +<p>Then with his spear he turn’d her o’er,<br />Oh, gin +her face was wan!<br />He said—“You are the first that e’er<br />I +wish’d alive again.”</p> +<p>He turn’d her o’er and o’er again,<br />Oh, gin +her skin was white!<br />“I might ha’e spared that bonnie +face<br />To ha’e been some man’s delight.</p> +<p>“Busk and boun, my merry men all,<br />For ill dooms I do guess;<br />I +canna look on that bonnie face,<br />As it lyes on the grass!”</p> +<p>“Wha looks to freits, <a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14">{14}</a> +my master dear,<br />Their freits will follow them;<br />Let it ne’er +be said brave Edom o’ Gordon<br />Was daunted with a dame.”</p> +<p>[But when the ladye saw the fire<br />Come flaming o’er her +head,<br />She wept, and kissed her children twain;<br />Said—“Bairns, +we been but dead.”</p> +<p>The Gordon then his bugle blew,<br />And said—“Away, +away!<br />The house of Towie is all in a flame,<br />I hald it time +to gae.”]</p> +<p>Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord,<br />As he came o’er the +lea;<br />He saw his castle all in a flame,<br />As far as he could +see.</p> +<p>Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave,<br />And oh, his heart was wae!<br />“Put +on, put on, my wighty <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15">{15}</a> +men,<br />As fast as ye can gae.</p> +<p>“Put on, put on, my wighty men,<br />As fast as ye can drie;<br />For +he that is hindmost of the thrang<br />Shall ne’er get gude of +me!”</p> +<p>Then some they rade, and some they ran,<br />Full fast out o’er +the bent;<br />But ere the foremost could win up,<br />Baith ladye and +babes were brent.</p> +<p>[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,<br />And wept in tearful mood;<br />“Ah, +traitors! for this cruel deed,<br />Ye shall weep tears of bluid.”</p> +<p>And after the Gordon he has gane,<br />Sae fast as he might drie;<br />And +soon in the Gordon’s foul heart’s bluid<br />He’s +wroken <a name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16">{16}</a> his dear +layde.]</p> +<p>And mony were the mudie <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17">{17}</a> +men<br />Lay gasping on the green;<br />And mony were the fair ladyes<br />Lay +lemanless at hame.</p> +<p>And mony were the mudie men<br />Lay gasping on the green;<br />For +of fifty men the Gordon brocht,<br />There were but five gaed hame.</p> +<p>And round, and round the walls he went,<br />Their ashes for to view;<br />At +last into the flames he flew,<br />And bade the world adieu.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Lady Anne Bothwell’s Lament</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. iv. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,<br />It grieves me sore to hear +thee weep,<br />If thou’lt be silent, I’ll be glad,<br />Thy +mourning makes my heart full sad.<br />Balow, my boy, thy mother’s +joy,<br />Thy father bred one great annoy.<br />Balow, my boy, ly still +and sleep,<br />It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.</p> +<p>Balow, my darling, sleep a while,<br />And when thou wak’st +then sweetly smile;<br />But smile not as thy father did,<br />To cozen +maids, nay, God forbid;<br />For in thine eye his look I see,<br />The +tempting look that ruin’d me.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p> +<p>When he began to court my love,<br />And with his sugar’d words +to move,<br />His tempting face, and flatt’ring chear,<br />In +time to me did not appear;<br />But now I see that cruel he<br />Cares +neither for his babe nor me.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p> +<p>Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth<br />That ever kist a woman’s +mouth.<br />Let never any after me<br />Submit unto thy courtesy!<br />For, +if hey do, O! cruel thou<br />Wilt her abuse and care not how!<br />Balow, +my boy, etc.</p> +<p>I was too cred’lous at the first,<br />To yield thee all a +maiden durst.<br />Thou swore for ever true to prove,<br />Thy faith +unchang’d, unchang’d thy love;<br />But quick as thought +the change is wrought,<br />Thy love’s no mair, thy promise nought.<br />Balow, +my boy, etc.</p> +<p>I wish I were a maid again!<br />From young men’s flatt’ry +I’d refrain;<br />For now unto my grief I find<br />They all are +perjur’d and unkind;<br />Bewitching charms bred all my harms;—<br />Witness +my babe lies in my arms.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p> +<p>I take my fate from bad to worse,<br />That I must needs be now a +nurse,<br />And lull my young son on my lap:<br />From me, sweet orphan, +take the pap.<br />Balow, my child, thy mother mild<br />Shall wail +as from all bliss exil’d.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p> +<p>Balow, my boy, weep not for me,<br />Whose greatest grief’s +for wronging thee.<br />Nor pity her deserved smart,<br />Who can blame +none but her fond heart;<br />For, too soon tursting latest finds<br />With +fairest tongues are falsest minds.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p> +<p>Balow, my boy, thy father’s fled,<br />When he the thriftless +son has played;<br />Of vows and oaths forgetful, he<br />Preferr’d +the wars to thee and me.<br />But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine<br />Make +him eat acorns with the swine.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p> +<p>But curse not him; perhaps now he,<br />Stung with remorse, is blessing +thee:<br />Perhaps at death; for who can tell<br />Whether the judge +of heaven or hell,<br />By some proud foe has struck the blow,<br />And +laid the dear deceiver low?<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p> +<p>I wish I were into the bounds<br />Where he lies smother’d +in his wounds,<br />Repeating, as he pants for air,<br />My name, whom +once he call’d his fair;<br />No woman’s yet so fiercely +set<br />But she’ll forgive, though not forget.<br />Balow, my +boy, etc.</p> +<p>If linen lacks, for my love’s sake<br />Then quickly to him +would I make<br />My smock, once for his body meet,<br />And wrap him +in that winding-sheet.<br />Ah me! how happy had I been,<br />If he +had ne’er been wrapt therein.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p> +<p>Balow, my boy, I’ll weep for thee;<br />Too soon, alake, thou’lt +weep for me:<br />Thy griefs are growing to a sum,<br />God grant thee +patience when they come;<br />Born to sustain thy mother’s shame,<br />A +hapless fate, a bastard’s name.<br />Balow, my boy, ly still and +sleep,<br />It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Jock O The Side</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part VI., p. 479.)</p> +<p>Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid,<br />But I wat they had better +staid at hame;<br />For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead,<br />And my +son Johnie is prisner tane?<br />With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.</p> +<p>For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane,<br />Her coats she has kilted +up to her knee;<br />And down the water wi speed she rins,<br />While +tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.</p> +<p>Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton:<br />“What news, what +news, sister Downie, to me?”<br />“Bad news, bad news, my +lord Mangerton;<br />Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie.”</p> +<p>“Neer fear, sister Downie,” quo Mangerton;<br />“I +hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie,<br />My barns, my byres, and my +faulds, a’ weel filld,<br />And I’ll part wi them a’ +ere Johnie shall die.</p> +<p>“Three men I’ll take to set him free,<br />Weel harnessd +a’ wi best of steel;<br />The English rogues may hear, and drie<br />The +weight o their braid swords to feel</p> +<p>“The Laird’s Jock ane, the Laird’s Wat twa,<br />O +Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be!<br />Thy coat is blue, thou has been +true,<br />Since England banishd thee, to me.”</p> +<p>Now, Hobie was an English man,<br />In Bewcastle-dale was bred and +born;<br />But his misdeeds they were sae great,<br />They banished +him neer to return.</p> +<p>Lord Mangerton then orders gave,—<br />“Your horses the +wrang way maun a’ be shod;<br />Like gentlemen ye must not seem,<br />But +look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.</p> +<p>“Your armour gude ye maunna shaw,<br />Nor ance appear like +men o weir;<br />As country lads be all arrayd,<br />Wi branks and brecham +on ilk mare.”</p> +<p>Sae now a’ their horses are shod the wrang way,<br />And Hobie +has mounted his grey sae fine,<br />Jock his lively bay, Wat’s +on his white horse behind,<br />And on they rode for the water o Tyne.</p> +<p>At the Cholerford they a’ light down,<br />And there, wi the +help o the light o the moon,<br />A tree they cut, wi fifteen naggs +upon each side,<br />To climb up the wall of Newcastle toun.</p> +<p>But when they came to Newcastle toun,<br />And were alighted at the +wa,<br />They fand their tree three ells oer laigh,<br />They fand their +stick baith short aid sma.</p> +<p>Then up and spake the Laird’s ain Jock,<br />“There’s +naething for’t; the gates we maun force.”<br />But when +they cam the gate unto,<br />A proud porter withstood baith men and +horse.</p> +<p>His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung;<br />Wi foot or hand he neer +play’d paw;<br />His life and his keys at anes they hae taen,<br />And +cast his body ahind the wa.</p> +<p>Now soon they reached Newcastle jail,<br />And to the prisner thus +they call:<br />“Sleips thou, wakes thou, Jock o the Side,<br />Or +is thou wearied o thy thrall?”</p> +<p>Jock answers thus, wi dolefu tone:<br />“Aft, aft I wake, I +seldom sleip;<br />But wha’s this kens my name sae weel,<br />And +thus to hear my waes does seek?”</p> +<p>Then up and spake the good Laird’s Jock:<br />“Neer fear +ye now, my billie,” quo he;<br />“For here’s the Laird’s +Jock, the Laird’s Wat,<br />And Hobie Noble, come to set thee +free.”</p> +<p>“Oh, had thy tongue, and speak nae mair,<br />And o thy talk +now let me be!<br />For if a’ Liddesdale were here the night,<br />The +morn’s the day that I maun die.</p> +<p>“Full fifteen stane o Spanish iron,<br />They hae laid a’ +right sair on me;<br />Wi locks and keys I am fast bound<br />Into this +dungeon mirk and drearie.”</p> +<p>“Fear ye no that,” quo the Laird’s Jock;<br />“A +faint heart neer wan a fair ladie;<br />Work thou within, we’ll +work without,<br />And I’ll be sworn we set thee free.”</p> +<p>The first strong dore that they came at,<br />They loosed it without +a key;<br />The next chaind dore that they cam at,<br />They gard it +a’ in flinders flee.</p> +<p>The prisner now, upo his back,<br />The Laird’s Jock’s +gotten up fu hie;<br />And down the stair him, irons and a’,<br />Wi +nae sma speed and joy brings he.</p> +<p>“Now, Jock, I wat,” quo Hobie Noble,<br />“Part +o the weight ye may lay on me,”<br />“I wat weel no,” +quo the Laird’s Jock<br />“I count him lighter than a flee.”</p> +<p>Sae out at the gates they a’ are gane,<br />The prisner’s +set on horseback hie;<br />And now wi speed they’ve tane the gate;<br />While +ilk ane jokes fu wantonlie.</p> +<p>“O Jock, sae winsomely’s ye ride,<br />Wi baith your +feet upo ae side!<br />Sae weel’s ye’re harnessd, and sae +trig!<br />In troth ye sit like ony bride.”</p> +<p>The night, tho wat, they didna mind,<br />But hied them on fu mirrilie,<br />Until +they cam to Cholerford brae,<br />Where the water ran like mountains +hie.</p> +<p>But when they came to Cholerford,<br />There they met with an auld +man;<br />Says, “Honest man, will the water ride?<br />Tell us +in haste, if that ye can.”</p> +<p>“I wat weel no,” quo the good auld man;<br />“Here +I hae livd this threty yeirs and three,<br />And I neer yet saw the +Tyne sae big,<br />Nor rinning ance sae like a sea.”</p> +<p>Then up and spake the Laird’s saft Wat,<br />The greatest coward +in the company;<br />“Now halt, now halt, we needna try’t;<br />The +day is comd we a’ maun die!”</p> +<p>“Poor faint-hearted thief!” quo the Laird’s Jock,<br />“There’ll +nae man die but he that’s fie;<br />I’ll lead ye a’ +right safely through;<br />Lift ye the prisner on ahint me.</p> +<p>Sae now the water they a’ hae tane,<br />By anes and ’twas +they a’ swam through<br />“Here are we a’ safe,” +says the Laird’s Jock,<br />“And, poor faint Wat, what think +ye now?”</p> +<p>They scarce the ither side had won,<br />When twenty men they saw +pursue;<br />Frae Newcastle town they had been sent,<br />A’ English +lads right good and true.</p> +<p>But when the land-sergeant the water saw,<br />“It winna ride, +my lads,” quo he;<br />Then out he cries, “Ye the prisner +may take,<br />But leave the irons, I pray, to me.”</p> +<p>“I wat weel no,” cryd the Laird’s Jock,<br />“I’ll +keep them a’; shoon to my mare they’ll be;<br />My good +grey mare; for I am sure,<br />She’s bought them a’ fu dear +frae thee.”</p> +<p>Sae now they’re away for Liddisdale,<br />Een as fast as they +coud them hie;<br />The prisner’s brought to his ain fireside,<br />And +there o’s airns they make him free.</p> +<p>“Now, Jock, my billie,” quo a’ the three,<br />“The +day was comd thou was to die;<br />But thou’s as weel at thy ain +fireside,<br />Now sitting, I think, ’tween thee and me.”</p> +<p>They hae gard fill up ae punch-bowl,<br />And after it they maun +hae anither,<br />And thus the night they a’ hae spent,<br />Just +as they had been brither and brither.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Lord Thomas And Fair Annet</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part III., p. 182.)</p> +<p>Lord Thomas and Fair Annet<br />Sate a’ day on a hill;<br />Whan +night was cum, and sun was sett,<br />They had not talkt their fill.</p> +<p>Lord Thomas said a word in jest,<br />Fair Annet took it ill:<br />“A, +I will nevir wed a wife<br />Against my ain friend’s will.”</p> +<p>“Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,<br />A wife wull neir wed yee;”<br />Sae +he is hame to tell his mither,<br />And knelt upon his knee.</p> +<p>“O rede, O rede, mither,” he says,<br />“A gude +rede gie to mee;<br />O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,<br />And let +Faire Annet bee?”</p> +<p>“The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,<br />Fair Annet she +has gat nane;<br />And the little beauty Fair Annet haes<br />O it wull +soon be gane.”</p> +<p>And he has till his brother gane:<br />“Now, brother, rede +ye mee;<br />A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,<br />And let Fair +Annet bee?”</p> +<p>“The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,<br />The nut-browne +bride has kye;<br />I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,<br />And +cast Fair Annet bye.”</p> +<p>“Her oxen may dye i’ the house, billie,<br />And her +kye into the byre;<br />And I sall hae nothing to mysell<br />Bot a +fat fadge by the fyre.”</p> +<p>And he has till his sister gane:<br />“Now, sister, rede ye +mee;<br />O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,<br />And set Fair Annet +free?”</p> +<p>“I’se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,<br />And let the +browne bride alane;<br />Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,<br />What +is this we brought hame!”</p> +<p>“No, I will tak my mither’s counsel,<br />And marrie +me owt o hand;<br />And I will tak the nut-browne bride,<br />Fair Annet +may leive the land.”</p> +<p>Up then rose Fair Annet’s father,<br />Twa hours or it wer +day,<br />And he is gane unto the bower<br />Wherein Fair Annet lay.</p> +<p>“Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,” he says<br />“Put +on your silken sheene;<br />Let us gae to St. Marie’s Kirke,<br />And +see that rich weddeen.”</p> +<p>“My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,<br />And dress to me +my hair;<br />Whaireir yee laid a plait before,<br />See yee lay ten +times mair.</p> +<p>“My maids, gae to my dressing-room,<br />And dress to me my +smock;<br />The one half is o the holland fine,<br />The other o needle-work.”</p> +<p>The horse Fair Annet rade upon,<br />He amblit like the wind;<br />Wi +siller he was shod before,<br />Wi burning gowd behind.</p> +<p>Four and twanty siller bells<br />Wer a’ tyed till his mane,<br />And +yae tift o the norland wind,<br />They tinkled ane by ane.</p> +<p>Four and twanty gay gude knichts<br />Rade by Fair Annet’s +side,<br />And four and twanty fair ladies,<br />As gin she had bin +a bride.</p> +<p>And whan she cam to Marie’s Kirk,<br />She sat on Marie’s +stean:<br />The cleading that Fair Annet had on<br />It skinkled in +their een.</p> +<p>And whan she cam into the kirk,<br />She shimmerd like the sun;<br />The +belt that was about her waist<br />Was a’ wi pearles bedone.</p> +<p>She sat her by the nut-browne bride,<br />And her een they wer sae +clear,<br />Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,<br />When Fair Annet +drew near.</p> +<p>He had a rose into his hand,<br />He gae it kisses three,<br />And +reaching by the nut-browne bride,<br />Laid it on Fair Annet’s +knee.</p> +<p>Up then spak the nut-browne bride,<br />She spak wi meikle spite:<br />“And +whair gat ye that rose-water,<br />That does mak yee sae white?”</p> +<p>“O I did get the rose-water<br />Whair ye wull neir get nane,<br />For +I did get that very rose-water<br />Into my mither’s wame.”</p> +<p>The bride she drew a long bodkin<br />Frae out her gay head-gear,<br />And +strake Fair Annet unto the heart,<br />That word spak nevir mair.</p> +<p>Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,<br />And marvelit what mote +bee;<br />But when he saw her dear heart’s blude,<br />A’ +wood-wroth wexed bee.</p> +<p>He drew his dagger that was sae sharp,<br />That was sae sharp and +meet,<br />And drave it into the nut-browne bride,<br />That fell deid +at his feit.</p> +<p>“Now stay for me, dear Annet,” he sed,<br />“Now +stay, my dear,” he cry’d;<br />Then strake the dagger untill +his heart,<br />And fell deid by her side.</p> +<p>Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,<br />Fair Annet within the +quiere,<br />And o the ane thair grew a birk,<br />The other a bonny +briere.</p> +<p>And ay they grew, and ay they threw,<br />As they wad faine be neare;<br />And +by this ye may ken right weil<br />They were twa luvers deare.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Fair Annie</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part III., p. 69.)</p> +<p>“It’s narrow, narrow, make your bed,<br />And learn to +lie your lane:<br />For I’m ga’n oer the sea, Fair Annie,<br />A +braw bride to bring hame.<br />Wi her I will get gowd and gear;<br />Wi +you I neer got nane.</p> +<p>“But wha will bake my bridal bread,<br />Or brew my bridal +ale?<br />And wha will welcome my brisk bride,<br />That I bring oer +the dale?”</p> +<p>“It’s I will bake your bridal bread,<br />And brew your +bridal ale,<br />And I will welcome your brisk bride,<br />That you +bring oer the dale.”</p> +<p>“But she that welcomes my brisk bride<br />Maun gang like maiden +fair;<br />She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,<br />And braid her yellow +hair.”</p> +<p>“But how can I gang maiden-like,<br />When maiden I am nane?<br />Have +I not born seven sons to thee,<br />And am with child again?”</p> +<p>She’s taen her young son in her arms,<br />Another in her hand,<br />And +she’s up to the highest tower,<br />To see him come to land.</p> +<p>“Come up, come up, my eldest son,<br />And look oer yon sea-strand,<br />And +see your father’s new-come bride,<br />Before she come to land.”</p> +<p>“Come down, come down, my mother dear,<br />Come frae the castle +wa!<br />I fear, if langer ye stand there,<br />Ye’ll let yoursell +down fa.”</p> +<p>And she gaed down, and farther down,<br />Her love’s ship for +to see,<br />And the topmast and the mainmast<br />Shone like the silver +free.</p> +<p>And she’s gane down, and farther down,<br />The bride’s +ship to behold,<br />And the topmast and the mainmast<br />They shone +just like the gold.</p> +<p>She’s taen her seven sons in her hand,<br />I wot she didna +fail;<br />She met Lord Thomas and his bride,<br />As they came oer +the dale.</p> +<p>“You’re welcome to your house, Lord Thomas,<br />You’re +welcome to your land;<br />You’re welcome with your fair ladye,<br />That +you lead by the hand.</p> +<p>“You’re welcome to your ha’s, ladye,<br />You’re +welcome to your bowers;<br />Your welcome to your hame, ladye,<br />For +a’ that’s here is yours.”</p> +<p>“I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie,<br />Sae dearly +as I thank thee;<br />You’re the likest to my sister Annie,<br />That +ever I did see.</p> +<p>“There came a knight out oer the sea,<br />And steald my sister +away;<br />The shame scoup in his company,<br />And land where’er +he gae!”</p> +<p>She hang ae napkin at the door,<br />Another in the ha,<br />And +a’ to wipe the trickling tears,<br />Sae fast as they did fa.</p> +<p>And aye she served the lang tables<br />With white bread and with +wine,<br />And aye she drank the wan water,<br />To had her colour fine.</p> +<p>And aye she served the lang tables,<br />With white bread and with +brown;<br />And aye she turned her round about,<br />Sae fast the tears +fell down.</p> +<p>And he’s taen down the silk napkin,<br />Hung on a silver pin,<br />And +aye he wipes the tear trickling<br />A’down her cheek and chin.</p> +<p>And aye he turn’d him round about,<br />And smiled amang his +men;<br />Says, “Like ye best the old ladye,<br />Or her that’s +new come hame?”</p> +<p>When bells were rung, and mass was sung,<br />And a’ men bound +to bed,<br />Lord Thomas and his new-come bride<br />To their chamber +they were gaed.</p> +<p>Annie made her bed a little forbye,<br />To hear what they might +say;<br />“And ever alas!” Fair Annie cried,<br />“That +I should see this day!</p> +<p>“Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,<br />Running on the +castle wa,<br />And I were a grey cat mysell,<br />I soon would worry +them a’.</p> +<p>“Gin my young sons were seven young hares,<br />Running oer +yon lilly lee,<br />And I were a grew hound mysell,<br />Soon worried +they a’ should be.”</p> +<p>And wae and sad Fair Annie sat,<br />And drearie was her sang,<br />And +ever, as she sobbd and grat,<br />“Wae to the man that did the +wrang!”</p> +<p>“My gown is on,” said the new-come bride,<br />“My +shoes are on my feet,<br />And I will to Fair Annie’s chamber,<br />And +see what gars her greet.</p> +<p>“What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,<br />That ye make +sic a moan?<br />Has your wine-barrels cast the girds,<br />Or is your +white bread gone?</p> +<p>“O wha was’t was your father, Annie,<br />Or wha was’t +was your mother?<br />And had ye ony sister, Annie,<br />Or had ye ony +brother?”</p> +<p>“The Earl of Wemyss was my father,<br />The Countess of Wemyss +my mother;<br />And a’ the folk about the house<br />To me were +sister and brother.”</p> +<p>“If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,<br />I wot sae was +he mine;<br />And it shall not be for lack o gowd<br />That ye your +love sall fyne.</p> +<p>“For I have seven ships o mine ain,<br />A’ loaded to +the brim,<br />And I will gie them a’ to thee<br />Wi four to +thine eldest son:<br />But thanks to a’ the powers in heaven<br />That +I gae maiden hame!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part III. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>Late at e’en, drinking the wine,<br />And ere they paid the +lawing,<br />They set a combat them between,<br />To fight it in the +dawing.</p> +<p>“Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord,<br />Oh, stay at hame, my +marrow!<br />My cruel brother will you betray<br />On the dowie houms +of Yarrow.”</p> +<p>“Oh, fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!<br />Oh, fare ye weel, my +Sarah!<br />For I maun gae, though I ne’er return,<br />Frae the +dowie banks of Yarrow.”</p> +<p>She kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d his hair,<br />As oft +she had done before, O;<br />She belted him with his noble brand,<br />And +he’s away to Yarrow.</p> +<p>As he gaed up the Tennies bank,<br />I wot he gaed wi’ sorrow,<br />Till, +down in a den, he spied nine arm’d men,<br />On the dowie houms +of Yarrow.</p> +<p>“Oh, come ye here to part your land,<br />The bonnie Forest +thorough?<br />Or come ye here to wield your brand,<br />On the dowie +houms of Yarrow?”</p> +<p>“I come not here to part my land,<br />And neither to beg nor +borrow;<br />I come to wield my noble brand,<br />On the bonnie banks +of Yarrow.</p> +<p>“If I see all, ye’re nine to ane;<br />An that’s +an unequal marrow:<br />Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,<br />On +the bonnie banks of Yarrow.”</p> +<p>Four has he hurt, and five has slain,<br />On the bloody braes of +Yarrow;<br />Till that stubborn knight came him behind,<br />And ran +his body thorough.</p> +<p>“Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John,<br />And tell your +sister Sarah,<br />To come and lift her leafu’ lord;<br />He’s +sleepin’ sound on Yarrow.”</p> +<p>“Yestreen I dream’d a dolefu’ dream;<br />I fear +there will be sorrow!<br />I dream’d I pu’d the heather +green,<br />Wi’ my true love, on Yarrow.</p> +<p>“O gentle wind, that bloweth south,<br />From where my love +repaireth,<br />Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,<br />And tell me +how he fareth!</p> +<p>“But in the glen strive armed men;<br />They’ve wrought +me dole and sorrow;<br />They’ve slain—the comeliest knight +they’ve slain—<br />He bleeding lies on Yarrow.”</p> +<p>As she sped down yon high, high hill,<br />She gaed wi’ dole +and sorrow,<br />And in the den spied ten slain men,<br />On the dowie +banks of Yarrow.</p> +<p>She kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d his hair,<br />She search’d +his wounds all thorough,<br />She kiss’d them, till her lips grew +red,<br />On the dowie houms of Yarrow.</p> +<p>“Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear!<br />For a’ +this breeds but sorrow;<br />I’ll wed ye to a better lord<br />Than +him ye lost on Yarrow.”</p> +<p>“Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear!<br />Ye mind me but +of sorrow:<br />A fairer rose did never bloom<br />Than now lies cropp’d +on Yarrow.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Sir Roland</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. i. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>Whan he cam to his ain luve’s bouir<br />He tirled at the pin,<br />And +sae ready was his fair fause luve<br />To rise and let him in.</p> +<p>“O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,” she says,<br />“Thrice +welcome thou art to me;<br />For this night thou wilt feast in my secret +bouir,<br />And to-morrow we’ll wedded be.”</p> +<p>“This night is hallow-eve,” he said,<br />“And +to-morrow is hallow-day;<br />And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,<br />That +has made my heart fu’ wae.</p> +<p>“I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,<br />And I wish it may +cum to gude:<br />I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound,<br />And +gied me his lappered blude.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland,” she said,<br />And +set you safely down.”<br />O your chamber is very dark, fair maid,<br />And +the night is wondrous lown.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dark, dark is my secret bouir,<br />And lown the midnight +may be;<br />For there is none waking in a’ this tower<br />But +thou, my true love, and me.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>She has mounted on her true love’s steed,<br />By the ae light +o’ the moon;<br />She has whipped him and spurred him,<br />And +roundly she rade frae the toun.</p> +<p>She hadna ridden a mile o’ gate,<br />Never a mile but ane,<br />When +she was aware of a tall young man,<br />Slow riding o’er the plain,</p> +<p>She turned her to the right about,<br />Then to the left turn’d +she;<br />But aye, ’tween her and the wan moonlight,<br />That +tall knight did she see.</p> +<p>And he was riding burd alane,<br />On a horse as black as jet,<br />But +tho’ she followed him fast and fell,<br />No nearer could she +get.</p> +<p>“O stop! O stop! young man,” she said;<br />“For +I in dule am dight;<br />O stop, and win a fair lady’s luve,<br />If +you be a leal true knight.”</p> +<p>But nothing did the tall knight say,<br />And nothing did he blin;<br />Still +slowly ride he on before<br />And fast she rade behind.</p> +<p>She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed,<br />Till his breast +was all a foam;<br />But nearer unto that tall young knight,<br />By +Our Ladye she could not come.</p> +<p>“O if you be a gay young knight,<br />As well I trow you be,<br />Pull +tight your bridle reins, and stay<br />Till I come up to thee.”</p> +<p>But nothing did that tall knight say,<br />And no whit did he blin,<br />Until +he reached a broad river’s side<br />And there he drew his rein.</p> +<p>“O is this water deep?” he said,<br />“As it is +wondrous dun?<br />Or is it sic as a saikless maid,<br />And a leal +true knight may swim?”</p> +<p>“The water it is deep,” she said,<br />“As it is +wondrous dun;<br />But it is sic as a saikless maid,<br />And a leal +true knight may swim.”</p> +<p>The knight spurred on his tall black steed;<br />The lady spurred +on her brown;<br />And fast they rade unto the flood,<br />And fast +they baith swam down.</p> +<p>“The water weets my tae,” she said;<br />“The water +weets my knee,<br />And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight,<br />For +the sake of Our Ladye.”</p> +<p>“If I would help thee now,” he said,<br />“It were +a deadly sin,<br />For I’ve sworn neir to trust a fair may’s +word,<br />Till the water weets her chin.”</p> +<p>“Oh, the water weets my waist,” she said,<br />“Sae +does it weet my skin,<br />And my aching heart rins round about,<br />The +burn maks sic a din.</p> +<p>“The water is waxing deeper still,<br />Sae does it wax mair +wide;<br />And aye the farther that we ride on,<br />Farther off is +the other side.</p> +<p>“O help me now, thou false, false knight,<br />Have pity on +my youth,<br />For now the water jawes owre my head,<br />And it gurgles +in my mouth.”</p> +<p>The knight turned right and round about,<br />All in the middle stream;<br />And +he stretched out his head to that lady,<br />But loudly she did scream.</p> +<p>“O this is hallow-morn,” he said,<br />“And it +is your bridal-day,<br />But sad would be that gay wedding,<br />If +bridegroom and bride were away.</p> +<p>“And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret!<br />Till the water +comes o’er your bree,<br />For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper +yet,<br />Wha rides this ford wi’ me.</p> +<p>“Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret!<br />Turn ye round, +and look on me,<br />Thou hast killed a true knight under trust,<br />And +his ghost now links on with thee.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Rose The Red And White Lily</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part IV.)</p> +<p>O Rose the Red and White Lilly,<br />Their mother dear was dead,<br />And +their father married an ill woman,<br />Wishd them twa little guede.</p> +<p>Yet she had twa as fu fair sons<br />As eer brake manis bread,<br />And +the tane of them loed her White Lilly,<br />And the tither lood Rose +the Red.</p> +<p>O, biggit ha they a bigly bowr,<br />And strawn it oer wi san,<br />And +there was mair mirth i the ladies’ bowr<br />Than in a’ +their father’s lan.</p> +<p>But out it spake their step-mother,<br />Wha stood a little foreby:<br />“I +hope to live and play the prank<br />Sal gar your loud sang ly.”</p> +<p>She’s calld upon her eldest son:<br />“Come here, my +son, to me;<br />It fears me sair, my eldest son,<br />That ye maun +sail the sea.”</p> +<p>“Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,<br />Your bidding I +maun dee;<br />But be never war to Rose the Red<br />Than ye ha been +to me.”</p> +<p>“O had your tongue, my eldest son,<br />For sma sal be her +part;<br />You’ll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth<br />Gin your +very fair heart should break.”</p> +<p>She’s calld upon her youngest son:<br />“Come here, my +son, to me;<br />It fears me sair, my youngest son,<br />That ye maun +sail the sea.”</p> +<p>“Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,<br />Your bidding I +maun dee;<br />But be never war to White Lilly<br />Than ye ha been +to me.”</p> +<p>“O haud your tongue, my youngest son,<br />For sma sall be +her part;<br />You’ll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth<br />Tho +your very fair heart should break.”</p> +<p>When Rose the Red and White Lilly<br />Saw their twa loves were gane,<br />Then +stopped ha they their loud, loud sang,<br />And tane up the still moarnin;<br />And +their step-mother stood listnin by,<br />To hear the ladies’ mean.</p> +<p>Then out it spake her, White Lily;<br />“My sister, we’ll +be gane;<br />Why shou’d we stay in Barnsdale,<br />To waste our +youth in pain?”</p> +<p>Then cutted ha they their green cloathing,<br />A little below their +knee;<br />And sae ha they their yallow hair,<br />A little aboon there +bree;<br />And they’ve doen them to haely chapel<br />Was christened +by Our Ladye.</p> +<p>There ha they changed their ain twa names,<br />Sae far frae ony +town;<br />And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy,<br />And the tither +o them Roge the Roun.</p> +<p>Between this twa a vow was made,<br />An they sware it to fulfil;<br />That +at three blasts o a buglehorn,<br />She’d come her sister till.</p> +<p>Now Sweet Willy’s gane to the kingis court,<br />Her true-love +for to see,<br />And Roge the Roun to good green wood,<br />Brown Robin’s +man to be.</p> +<p>As it fell out upon a day,<br />They a did put the stane;<br />Full +seven foot ayont them a<br />She gard the puttin-stane gang.</p> +<p>She leand her back against an oak,<br />And gae a loud Ohone!<br />Then +out it spake him Brown Robin,<br />“But that’s a woman’s +moan!”</p> +<p>“Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip?<br />Or by my yallow hair;<br />Or +ken ye by my milk-white breast?<br />For ye never saw it bare?”</p> +<p>“I ken no by your red rose lip,<br />Nor by your yallow hair;<br />Nor +ken I by your milk-white breast,<br />For I never saw it bare;<br />But, +come to your bowr whaever sae likes,<br />Will find a ladye there.”</p> +<p>“Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within,<br />Thro fraud, deceit, +or guile,<br />Wi this same bran that’s in my han<br />I swear +I will thee kill.”</p> +<p>“But I will come thy bowr within,<br />An spear nae leave,” +quoth he;<br />“An this same bran that’s i my ban,<br />I +sall ware back on the.”</p> +<p>About the tenth hour of the night,<br />The ladie’s bowr door +was broken,<br />An eer the first hour of the day<br />The bonny knave +bairn was gotten.</p> +<p>When days were gane and months were run,<br />The ladye took travailing,<br />And +sair she cry’d for a bow’r-woman,<br />For to wait her upon.</p> +<p>Then out it spake him, Brown Robin:<br />“Now what needs a’ +this din?<br />For what coud any woman do<br />But I coud do the same?”</p> +<p>“Twas never my mither’s fashion,” she says,<br />“Nor +sall it ever be mine,<br />That belted knights shoud eer remain<br />Where +ladies dreed their pine.</p> +<p>“But ye take up that bugle-horn,<br />An blaw a blast for me;<br />I +ha a brother i the kingis court<br />Will come me quickly ti.”</p> +<p>“O gin ye ha a brither on earth<br />That ye love better nor +me,<br />Ye blaw the horn yoursel,” he says,<br />“For ae +blast I winna gie.”</p> +<p>She’s set the horn till her mouth,<br />And she’s blawn +three blasts sae shrill;<br />Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court,<br />And +came her quickly till.</p> +<p>Then up it started Brown Robin,<br />An an angry man was he:<br />“There +comes nae man this bowr within<br />But first must fight wi me.”</p> +<p>O they hae fought that bowr within<br />Till the sun was gaing down,<br />Till +drops o blude frae Rose the Red<br />Cam trailing to the groun.</p> +<p>She leand her back against the wa,<br />Says, “Robin, let a’ +be;<br />For it is a lady born and bred<br />That’s foughten sae +well wi thee.”</p> +<p>O seven foot he lap a back;<br />Says, “Alas, and wae is me!<br />I +never wisht in a’ my life,<br />A woman’s blude to see;<br />An +ae for the sake of ae fair maid<br />Whose name was White Lilly.”</p> +<p>Then out it spake her White Lilly,<br />An a hearty laugh laugh she:<br />“She’s +lived wi you this year an mair,<br />Tho ye kenntna it was she.”</p> +<p>Now word has gane thro a’ the lan,<br />Before a month was +done,<br />That Brown Robin’s man, in good green wood,<br />Had +born a bonny young son.</p> +<p>The word has gane to the kingis court,<br />An to the king himsel;<br />“Now, +by my fay,” the king could say,<br />“The like was never +heard tell!”</p> +<p>Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,<br />An a hearty laugh laugh he:<br />“I +trow some may has playd the loun,<br />And fled her ain country.”</p> +<p>“Bring me my steed,” then cry’d the king,<br />“My +bow and arrows keen;<br />I’ll ride mysel to good green wood,<br />An +see what’s to be seen.”</p> +<p>“An’t please your grace,” said Bold Arthur,<br />“My +liege, I’ll gang you wi,<br />An try to fin a little foot-page,<br />That’s +strayd awa frae me.”</p> +<p>O they’ve hunted i the good green wood<br />The buck but an +the rae,<br />An they drew near Brown Robin’s bowr,<br />About +the close of day.</p> +<p>Then out it spake the king in hast,<br />Says, “Arthur look +an see<br />Gin that be no your little foot-page<br />That leans against +yon tree.”</p> +<p>Then Arthur took his bugle-horn,<br />An blew a blast sae shrill;<br />Sweet +Willy started at the sound,<br />An ran him quickly till.</p> +<p>“O wanted ye your meat, Willy?<br />Or wanted ye your fee?<br />Or +gat ye ever an angry word,<br />That ye ran awa frae me?”</p> +<p>“I wanted nought, my master dear;<br />To me ye ay was good;<br />I +came but to see my ae brother,<br />That wons in this green wood.”</p> +<p>Then out it spake the king again,<br />Says, “Bonny boy, tell +to me,<br />Wha lives into yon bigly bowr,<br />Stands by yon green +oak tree?”</p> +<p>“Oh, pardon me,” says Sweet Willie,<br />“My liege, +I dare no tell;<br />An I pray you go no near that bowr,<br />For fear +they do you fell.”</p> +<p>“Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy,<br />For I winna be said +nay;<br />But I will gang that bowr within,<br />Betide me weal or wae.”</p> +<p>They’ve lighted off their milk-white steeds,<br />An saftly +enterd in,<br />And there they saw her White Lilly,<br />Nursing her +bonny young son.</p> +<p>“Now, by the rood,” the king coud say,<br />“This +is a comely sight;<br />I trow, instead of a forrester’s man,<br />This +is a lady bright!”</p> +<p>Then out it spake her, Rose the Red,<br />An fell low down on her +knee:<br />“Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege,<br />An our story +I’ll tell thee.</p> +<p>“Our father was a wealthy lord,<br />That wond in Barnsdale;<br />But +we had a wicked step-mother,<br />That wrought us meickle bale.</p> +<p>“Yet she had twa as fu fair sons<br />As ever the sun did see,<br />An +the tane of them lood my sister dear,<br />An the tother said he lood +me.”</p> +<p>Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,<br />As by the king he stood:<br />“Now, +by the faith o my body,<br />This shoud be Rose the Red!”</p> +<p>Then in it came him Brown Robin,<br />Frae hunting O the deer;<br />But +whan he saw the king was there,<br />He started back for fear.</p> +<p>The king has taen him by the hand,<br />An bide him naithing dread;<br />Says, +“Ye maun leave the good greenwood,<br />Come to the court wi speed.”</p> +<p>Then up he took White Lilly’s son,<br />An set him on his knee;<br />Says—“Gin +ye live to wield a bran,<br />My bowman ye sall bee.”</p> +<p>The king he sent for robes of green,<br />An girdles o shinning gold;<br />He +gart the ladies be arrayd<br />Most comely to behold.</p> +<p>They’ve done them unto Mary kirk,<br />An there gat fair wedding,<br />An +fan the news spread oer the lan,<br />For joy the bells did ring.</p> +<p>Then out it spake her Rose the Red,<br />An a hearty laugh laugh +she:<br />“I wonder what would our step-dame say,<br />Gin she +his sight did see!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Battle Of Harlaw—Evergreen Version</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. vii. Early Edition, Appendix.)</p> +<p>Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch,<br />Doun by the hill of Banochie,<br />Allangst +the lands of Garioch.<br />Grit pitie was to heir and se<br />The noys +and dulesum hermonie,<br />That evir that dreiry day did daw!<br />Cryand +the corynoch on hie,<br />Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.</p> +<p>I marvlit what the matter meant;<br />All folks were in a fiery fariy:<br />I +wist nocht wha was fae or freind,<br />Yet quietly I did me carrie.<br />But +sen the days of auld King Hairy,<br />Sic slauchter was not hard nor +sene,<br />And thair I had nae tyme to tairy,<br />For bissiness in +Aberdene.</p> +<p>Thus as I walkit on the way,<br />To Inverury as I went,<br />I met +a man, and bad him stay,<br />Requeisting him to mak me quaint<br />Of +the beginning and the event<br />That happenit thair at the Harlaw;<br />Then +he entreited me to tak tent,<br />And he the truth sould to me schaw.</p> +<p>Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim<br />Unto the lands of Ross sum +richt,<br />And to the governour he came,<br />Them for to haif, gif +that he micht,<br />Wha saw his interest was but slicht,<br />And thairfore +answerit with disdain.<br />He hastit hame baith day and nicht,<br />And +sent nae bodward back again.</p> +<p>But Donald richt impatient<br />Of that answer Duke Robert gaif,<br />He +vow’d to God Omniyotent,<br />All the hale lands of Ross to half,<br />Or +ells be graithed in his graif:<br />He wald not quat his richt for nocht,<br />Nor +be abusit like a slaif;<br />That bargin sould be deirly bocht.</p> +<p>Then haistylie he did command<br />That all his weir-men should convene;<br />Ilk +an well harnisit frae hand,<br />To melt and heir what he did mein.<br />He +waxit wrath and vowit tein;<br />Sweirand he wald surpryse the North,<br />Subdew +the brugh of Aberdene,<br />Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.</p> +<p>Thus with the weir-men of the yles,<br />Wha war ay at his bidding +bown,<br />With money maid, with forss and wyls,<br />Richt far and +neir, baith up and doun,<br />Throw mount and muir, frae town to town,<br />Allangst +the lands of Ross he roars,<br />And all obey’d at his bandown,<br />Evin +frae the North to Suthren shoars.</p> +<p>Then all the countrie men did yield;<br />For nae resistans durst +they mak,<br />Nor offer batill in the feild,<br />Be forss of arms +to beir him bak.<br />Syne they resolvit all and spak,<br />That best +it was for thair behoif,<br />They sould him for thair chiftain tak,<br />Believing +weil he did them luve.</p> +<p>Then he a proclamation maid,<br />All men to meet at Inverness,<br />Throw +Murray land to mak a raid,<br />Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness.<br />And +further mair, he sent express,<br />To schaw his collours and ensenzie,<br />To +all and sindry, mair and less,<br />Throchout the bounds of Byne and +Enzie.</p> +<p>And then throw fair Strathbogie land<br />His purpose was for to +pursew,<br />And whatsoevir durst gainstand,<br />That race they should +full sairly rew.<br />Then he bad all his men be trew,<br />And him +defend by forss and slicht,<br />And promist them rewardis anew,<br />And +mak them men of mekle micht.</p> +<p>Without resistans, as he said,<br />Throw all these parts he stoutly +past,<br />Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid,<br />But Garioch was +all agast.<br />Throw all these feilds be sped him fast,<br />For sic +a sicht was never sene;<br />And then, forsuith, he langd at last<br />To +se the bruch of Aberdene.</p> +<p>To hinder this prowd enterprise,<br />The stout and michty Erl of +Marr<br />With all his men in arms did ryse,<br />Even frae Curgarf +to Craigyvar:<br />And down the syde of Don richt far,<br />Angus and +Mearns did all convene<br />To fecht, or Donald came sae nar<br />The +ryall bruch of Aberdene.</p> +<p>And thus the martial Erle of Marr<br />Marcht with his men in richt +array;<br />Befoir his enemis was aware,<br />His banner bauldly did +display.<br />For weil enewch they kent the way,<br />And all their +semblance well they saw:<br />Without all dangir or delay,<br />Come +haistily to the Harlaw.</p> +<p>With him the braif Lord Ogilvy,<br />Of Angus sheriff principall,<br />The +constable of gude Dundè,<br />The vanguard led before them all.<br />Suppose +in number they war small,<br />Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew,<br />And +maid thair faes befor them fall,<br />Wha then that race did sairly +rew.</p> +<p>And then the worthy Lord Salton,<br />The strong undoubted Laird +of Drum,<br />The stalwart Laird of Lawristone,<br />With ilk thair +forces all and sum.<br />Panmuir with all his men, did cum,<br />The +provost of braif Aberdene,<br />With trumpets and with tuick of drum,<br />Came +schortly in thair armour schene.</p> +<p>These with the Earle of Marr came on,<br />In the reir-ward richt +orderlie,<br />Thair enemies to sett upon;<br />In awfull manner hardilie,<br />Togither +vowit to live and die,<br />Since they had marchit mony mylis,<br />For +to suppress the tyrannie<br />Of douted Donald of the Ysles.</p> +<p>But he, in number ten to ane,<br />Right subtilè alang did +ryde,<br />With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean,<br />With all thair power +at thair syde;<br />Presumeand on their strenth and pryde,<br />Without +all feir or ony aw,<br />Richt bauldie battil did abyde,<br />Hard by +the town of fair Harlaw.</p> +<p>The armies met, the trumpet sounds,<br />The dandring drums alloud +did touk,<br />Baith armies byding on the bounds,<br />Till ane of them +the feild sould bruik.<br />Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk,<br />Ferss +was the fecht on ilka syde,<br />And on the ground lay mony a bouk<br />Of +them that thair did battil byd.</p> +<p>With doutsum victorie they dealt,<br />The bludy battil lastit lang;<br />Each +man fits nibours forss thair felt,<br />The weakest aft-tymes gat the +wrang:<br />Thair was nae mowis thair them amang,<br />Naithing was +hard but heavy knocks,<br />That eccho mad a dulefull sang,<br />Thairto +resounding frae the rocks.</p> +<p>But Donalds men at last gaif back,<br />For they war all out of array:<br />The +Earl of Marris men throw them brak,<br />Pursewing shairply in thair +way,<br />Thair enemys to tak or slay,<br />Be dynt of forss to gar +them yield;<br />Wha war richt blyth to win away,<br />And sae for feirdness +tint the feild.</p> +<p>Then Donald fled, and that full fast,<br />To mountains hich for +all his micht;<br />For he and his war all agast,<br />And ran till +they war out of sicht;<br />And sae of Ross he lost his richt,<br />Thocht +mony men with hem he brocht;<br />Towards the yles fled day and nicht,<br />And +all he wan was deirlie bocht.</p> +<p>This is (quod he) the richt report<br />Of all that I did heir and +knaw;<br />Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort,<br />Tak this to +be a richt suthe saw:<br />Contrairie God and the kings law,<br />Thair +was spilt mekle Christian blude,<br />Into the battil of Harlaw:<br />This +is the sum, sae I conclude.</p> +<p>But yet a bonnie while abide,<br />And I sall mak thee cleirly ken<br />What +slaughter was on ilkay syde,<br />Of Lowland and of Highland men,<br />Wha +for thair awin haif evir bene;<br />These lazie lowns micht weil be +spared,<br />Chased like deers into their dens,<br />And gat their wages +for reward.</p> +<p>Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif,<br />Macklean with his grit hauchty +heid,<br />With all thair succour and relief,<br />War dulefully dung +to the deid;<br />And now we are freid of thair feid,<br />They will +not lang to cum again;<br />Thousands with them, without remeid,<br />On +Donald’s syd, that day war slain.</p> +<p>And on the uther syde war lost,<br />Into the feild that dismal day,<br />Chief +men of worth, of mekle cost,<br />To be lamentit sair for ay.<br />The +Lord Saltoun of Rothemay,<br />A man of micht and mekle main;<br />Grit +dolour was for his decay,<br />That sae unhappylie was slain.</p> +<p>Of the best men amang them was<br />The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy,<br />The +sheriff-principal of Angus,<br />Renownit for truth and equitie,<br />For +faith and magnanimitie;<br />He had few fallows in the field,<br />Yet +fell by fatall destinie,<br />For he naeways wad grant to yield.</p> +<p>Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,<br />Grit constabill of fair +Dundè,<br />Unto the dulefull deith was dicht;<br />The kingis +cheif bannerman was he,<br />A valiant man of chevalrie,<br />Whose +predecessors wan that place<br />At Spey, with gude King William frie<br />’Gainst +Murray, and Macduncan’s race.</p> +<p>Gude Sir Allexander Irving,<br />The much renowit laird of Drum,<br />Nane +in his days was bettir sene<br />When they war semblit all and sum.<br />To +praise him we sould not be dumm,<br />For valour, witt, and worthyness;<br />To +end his days he ther did cum<br />Whose ransom is remeidyless.</p> +<p>And thair the knicht of Lawriston<br />Was slain into his armour +schene,<br />And gude Sir Robert Davidson,<br />Wha provost was of Aberdene:<br />The +knicht of Panmure, as was sene,<br />A mortall man in armour bricht,<br />Sir +Thomas Murray, stout and kene,<br />Left to the warld thair last gude +nicht.</p> +<p>Thair was not sen King Keneths days<br />Sic strange intestine crewel +stryf<br />In Scotland sene, as ilk man says,<br />Whare mony liklie +lost thair lyfe;<br />Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe,<br />And +mony childrene fatherless,<br />Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe:<br />Lord +help these lands, our wrangs redress.</p> +<p>In July, on Saint James his even,<br />That four and twenty dismall +day,<br />Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven<br />Of theirs sen Chryst, +the suthe to say,<br />Men will remember, as they may,<br />When thus +the ventie they knaw,<br />And mony a ane may murn for ay,<br />The +brim battil of the Harlaw.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Traditionary Version</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part VI.)</p> +<p>As I came in by Dunidier,<br />An doun by Netherha,<br />There was +fifty thousand Hielanmen<br />A marching to Harlaw.<br />(Chorus) Wi +a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.</p> +<p>As I cam on, an farther on,<br />An doun an by Balquhain,<br />Oh +there I met Sir James the Rose,<br />Wi him Sir John the Gryme.</p> +<p>“O cam ye frae the Hielans, man?<br />And cam ye a’ the +wey?<br />Saw ye Macdonell an his men,<br />As they cam frae the Skee?”</p> +<p>“Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man,<br />An me cam a ta wey,<br />An +she saw Macdonell an his men,<br />As they cam frae ta Skee.”</p> +<p>“Oh, was ye near Macdonell’s men?<br />Did ye their numbers +see?<br />Come, tell to me, John Hielanman,<br />What micht their numbers +be?”</p> +<p>“Yes, me was near, an near eneuch,<br />An me their numbers +saw;<br />There was fifty thousand Hielanmen<br />A marching to Harlaw.”</p> +<p>“Gin that be true,” says James the Rose,<br />“We’ll +no come meikle speed;<br />We’ll cry upo our merry men,<br />And +lichtly mount our steed.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, oh no!” quo’ John the Gryme,<br />“That +thing maun never be;<br />The gallant Grymes were never bate,<br />We’ll +try what we can dee.”</p> +<p>As I cam on, an farther on,<br />An doun an by Harlaw,<br />They +fell fu close on ilka side;<br />Sic fun ye never saw.</p> +<p>They fell fu close on ilka side,<br />Sic fun ye never saw;<br />For +Hielan swords gied clash for clash,<br />At the battle o Harlaw.</p> +<p>The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords,<br />They laid on us fu sair,<br />An +they drave back our merry men<br />Three acres breadth an mair.</p> +<p>Brave Forbës to his brither did say,<br />“Noo brither, +dinna ye see?<br />They beat us back on ilka side,<br />An we’se +be forced to flee.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,<br />That thing maun never +be;<br />Tak ye your good sword in your hand,<br />An come your wa’s +wi me.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,<br />The clans they are ower +strang,<br />An they drive back our merry men,<br />Wi swords baith +sharp an lang.”</p> +<p>Brave Forbës drew his men aside,<br />Said, “Tak your +rest a while,<br />Until I to Drumminnor send,<br />To fess my coat +o mail.”</p> +<p>The servan he did ride,<br />An his horse it did na fail,<br />For +in twa hours an a quarter<br />He brocht the coat o mail.</p> +<p>Then back to back the brithers twa<br />Gaed in amo the thrang,<br />An +they hewed doun the Hielanmen,<br />Wi swords baith sharp an lang.</p> +<p>Macdonell he was young an stout,<br />Had on his coat o mail,<br />And +he has gane oot throw them a’<br />To try his han himsell.</p> +<p>The first ae straik that Forbës strack,<br />He garrt Macdonell +reel;<br />An the neist ae straik that Forbës strack,<br />The +great Macdonell fell.</p> +<p>And siccan a lierachie,<br />I’m sure ye never sawe<br />As +wis amo the Hielanmen,<br />When they saw Macdonell fa.</p> +<p>An whan they saw that he was deid,<br />They turnd and ran awa,<br />An +they buried him in Legget’s Den,<br />A large mile frae Harlaw.</p> +<p>They rade, they ran, an some did gang,<br />They were o sma record;<br />But +Forbës and his merry men,<br />They slew them a’ the road.</p> +<p>On Monanday, at mornin,<br />The battle it began,<br />On Saturday +at gloamin’,<br />Ye’d scarce kent wha had wan.</p> +<p>An sic a weary buryin,<br />I’m sure ye never saw,<br />As +wis the Sunday after that,<br />On the muirs aneath Harlaw.</p> +<p>Gin anybody speer at ye<br />For them ye took awa,<br />Ye may tell +their wives and bairnies,<br />They’re sleepin at Harlaw.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Dickie Macphalion</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Sharpe’s Ballad Book, No. XIV.)</p> +<p>I went to the mill, but the miller was gone,<br />I sat me down, +and cried ochone!<br />To think on the days that are past and gone,<br />Of +Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.<br />Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,<br />To +think on the days that are past and gone,<br />Of Dickie Macphalion +that’s slain.</p> +<p>I sold my rock, I sold my reel,<br />And sae hae I my spinning wheel,<br />And +a’ to buy a cap of steel<br />For Dickie Macphalion that’s +slain!<br />Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,<br />And a’ to buy a cap of +steel<br />For Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: A Lyke-Wake Dirge</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)</p> +<p>This ae nighte, this ae nighte,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />Fire, +and sleet, and candle-lighte,<br /><i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p>When thou from hence away art paste,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />To +Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;<br /><i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p>If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />Sit +thee down and put them on;<br /><i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p>If hosen and shoon thou ne’er gavest nane,<br /><i>Every nighte +and alle</i>,<br />The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;<br /><i>And +Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p>From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,<br /><i>Every nighte and +alle</i>,<br />To Brigg o’ Dread thou comest at laste,<br /><i>And +Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p>From Brigg o’ Dread when thou mayst passe,<br /><i>Every nighte +and alle</i>,<br />To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,<br /><i>And +Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p>If ever thou gavest meat or drink,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />The +fire sall never make thee shrinke;<br /><i>And Christe receive thye +saule</i>.</p> +<p>If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,<br /><i>Every nighte and +alle</i>,<br />The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;<br /><i>And +Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<p>This ae nighte, this ae nighte,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />Fire, +and sleet, and candle-lighte,<br /><i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Laird Of Waristoun</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. iii. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>Down by yon garden green,<br />Sae merrily as she gaes;<br />She +has twa weel-made feet,<br />And she trips upon her taes.</p> +<p>She has twa weel-made feet;<br />Far better is her hand;<br />She’s +as jimp in the middle<br />As ony willow wand.</p> +<p>“Gif ye will do my bidding,<br />At my bidding for to be,<br />It’s +I will make you lady<br />Of a’ the lands you see.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>He spak a word in jest;<br />Her answer was na good;<br />He threw +a plate at her face,<br />Made it a’ gush out o’ blood.</p> +<p>She wasna frae her chamber<br />A step but barely three,<br />When +up and at her richt hand<br />There stood Man’s Enemy.</p> +<p>“Gif ye will do my bidding,<br />At my bidding for to be,<br />I’ll +learn you a wile,<br />Avenged for to be.”</p> +<p>The foul thief knotted the tether;<br />She lifted his head on hie;<br />The +nourice drew the knot<br />That gar’d lord Waristoun die.</p> +<p>Then word is gane to Leith,<br />Also to Edinburgh town<br />That +the lady had kill’d the laird,<br />The laird o’ Waristoun.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Tak aff, tak aff my hood<br />But lat my petticoat be;<br />Pat my +mantle o’er my head;<br />For the fire I downa see.</p> +<p>Now, a’ ye gentle maids,<br />Tak warning now by me,<br />And +never marry ane<br />But wha pleases your e’e.</p> +<p>“For he married me for love,<br />But I married him for fee;<br />And +sae brak out the feud<br />That gar’d my dearie die.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: May Colven</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, Part I., p. 56.)</p> +<p>False Sir John a wooing came<br />To a maid of beauty fair;<br />May +Colven was this lady’s name,<br />Her father’s only heir.</p> +<p>He wood her butt, he wood her ben,<br />He wood her in the ha,<br />Until +he got this lady’s consent<br />To mount and ride awa.</p> +<p>He went down to her father’s bower,<br />Where all the steeds +did stand,<br />And he’s taken one of the best steeds<br />That +was in her father’s land.</p> +<p>He’s got on and she’s got on,<br />As fast as they could +flee,<br />Until they came to a lonesome part,<br />A rock by the side +of the sea.</p> +<p>“Loup off the steed,” says false Sir John,<br />“Your +bridal bed you see;<br />For I have drowned seven young ladies,<br />The +eighth one you shall be.</p> +<p>“Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,<br />All and your silken +gown,<br />For it’s oer good and oer costly<br />To rot in the +salt sea foam.</p> +<p>“Cast off, cast off, my May Colven.<br />All and your embroiderd +shoen,<br />For oer good and oer costly<br />To rot in the salt sea +foam.”</p> +<p>“O turn you about, O false Sir John,<br />And look to the leaf +of the tree,<br />For it never became a gentleman<br />A naked woman +to see.”</p> +<p>He turned himself straight round about,<br />To look to the leaf +of the tree,<br />So swift as May Colven was<br />To throw him in the +sea.</p> +<p>“O help, O help, my May Colven,<br />O help, or else I’ll +drown;<br />I’ll take you home to your father’s bower,<br />And +set you down safe and sound.”</p> +<p>“No help, no help, O false Sir John,<br />No help, nor pity +thee;<br />Tho’ seven kings’ daughters you have drownd,<br />But +the eighth shall not be me.”</p> +<p>So she went on her father’s steed,<br />As swift as she could +flee,<br />And she came home to her father’s bower<br />Before +it was break of day.</p> +<p>Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:<br />“May Colven, where +have you been?<br />What has become of false Sir John,<br />That woo’d +you so late the streen?</p> +<p>“He woo’d you butt, he woo’d you ben,<br />He woo’d +you in the ha,<br />Until he got your own consent<br />For to mount +and gang awa.”</p> +<p>“O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,<br />Lay not the blame +upon me;<br />Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,<br />Your cage +of the root of the tree.”</p> +<p>Up then spake the king himself,<br />In the bed-chamber where he +lay:<br />“What ails the pretty parrot,<br />That prattles so +long or day?”</p> +<p>“There came a cat to my cage door,<br />It almost a worried +me,<br />And I was calling on May Colven<br />To take the cat from me.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Johnie Faa</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vol. iv. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>The gypsies came to our good lord’s gate<br />And wow but they +sang sweetly!<br />They sang sae sweet and sae very complete<br />That +down came the fair lady.</p> +<p>And she came tripping doun the stair,<br />And a’ her maids +before her;<br />As soon as they saw her weel-far’d face,<br />They +coost the glamer o’er her.</p> +<p>“O come with me,” says Johnie Faw,<br />“O come +with me, my dearie;<br />For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,<br />That +your lord shall nae mair come near ye.”</p> +<p>Then she gied them the beer and the wine,<br />And they gied her +the ginger;<br />But she gied them a far better thing,<br />The goud +ring aff her finger.</p> +<p>“Gae take frae me this yay mantle,<br />And bring to me a plaidie;<br />For +if kith and kin, and a’ had sworn,<br />I’ll follow the +gypsy laddie.</p> +<p>“Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,<br />Wi’ my good +lord beside me;<br />But this night I’ll lye in a tenant’s +barn,<br />Whatever shall betide me!”</p> +<p>“Come to your bed,” says Johnie Faw,<br />“Oh, +come to your bed, my dearie:<br />For I vow and swear by the hilt of +my sword,<br />Your lord shall nae mair come near ye.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go to bed to my Johnie Faw,<br />I’ll go +to bed to my dearie;<br />For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,<br />My +lord shall nae mair come near me.</p> +<p>“I’ll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw,<br />I’ll mak +a hap to my dearie;<br />And he’s get a’ the coat gaes round,<br />And +my lord shall nae mair come near me.”</p> +<p>And when our lord came hame at e’en,<br />And spier’d +for his fair lady,<br />The tane she cry’d, and the other reply’d,<br />“She’s +awa’ wi’ the gypsy laddie!”</p> +<p>“Gae saddle to me the black black steed,<br />Gae saddle and +make him ready;<br />Before that I either eat or sleep,<br />I’ll +gae seek my fair lady.”</p> +<p>And we were fifteen weel-made men,<br />Altho’ we were na bonny;<br />And +we were a’ put down but ane,<br />For a fair young wanton lady.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Hobbie Noble</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Child, vi. Early Edition.)</p> +<p>Foul fa’ the breast first treason bred in!<br />That Liddesdale +may safely say:<br />For in it there was baith meat and drink,<br />And +corn unto our geldings gay.</p> +<p>We were stout-hearted men and true,<br />As England it did often +say;<br />But now we may turn our backs and fly,<br />Since brave Noble +is seld away.</p> +<p>Now Hobie he was an English man,<br />And born into Bewcastle dale;<br />But +his misdeeds they were sae great,<br />They banish’d him to Liddisdale.</p> +<p>At Kershope foot the tryst was set,<br />Kershope of the lilye lee;<br />And +there was traitour Sim o’ the Mains,<br />With him a private companie.</p> +<p>Then Hobie has graith’d his body weel,<br />I wat it was wi’ +baith good iron and steel;<br />And he has pull’d out his fringed +grey,<br />And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel.</p> +<p>Then Hobie is down the water gane,<br />E’en as fast as he +may drie;<br />Tho’ they shoud a’ brusten and broken their +hearts,<br />Frae that tryst Noble he would na be.</p> +<p>“Weel may ye be, my feiries five!<br />And aye, what is your +wills wi’ me?”<br />Then they cry’d a’ wi’ +ae consent,<br />“Thou’rt welcome here, brave Noble, to +me.</p> +<p>“Wilt thou with us in England ride,<br />And thy safe warrand +we will be?<br />If we get a horse worth a hundred punds,<br />Upon +his back that thou shalt be.”</p> +<p>“I dare not with you into England ride;<br />The Land-sergeant +has me at feid:<br />I know not what evil may betide,<br />For Peter +of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.</p> +<p>“And Anton Shiel he loves not me,<br />For I gat twa drifts +o his sheep;<br />The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not,<br />For +nae gear frae me he e’er could keep.</p> +<p>“But will ye stay till the day gae down,<br />Until the night +come o’er the grund,<br />And I’ll be a guide worth ony +twa,<br />That may in Liddesdale be fund?</p> +<p>“Tho’ dark the night as pitch and tar,<br />I’ll +guide ye o’er yon hills fu’ hie;<br />And bring ye a’ +in safety back,<br />If ye’ll be true and follow me.”</p> +<p>He’s guided them o’er moss and muir,<br />O’er +hill and houp, and mony a down;<br />Til they came to the Foulbogshiel,<br />And +there, brave Noble, he lighted down.</p> +<p>But word is gane to the Land-sergeant,<br />In Askirton where that +he lay—<br />“The deer that ye hae hunted lang,<br />Is +seen into the Waste this day.”</p> +<p>“Then Hobbie Noble is that deer!<br />I wat he carries the +style fu’ hie;<br />Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back,<br />And +set yourselves at little lee.</p> +<p>“Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn;<br />See they shaft their +arrows on the wa’!<br />Warn Willeva and Spear Edom,<br />And +see the morn they meet me a’.</p> +<p>“Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh,<br />And see it be by break +o’ day;<br />And we will on to Conscowthart-Green,<br />For there, +I think, we’ll get our prey.”</p> +<p>Then Hobbie Noble has dream’d a dream,<br />In the Foulbogshiel, +where that he lay;<br />He thought his horse was neath him shot,<br />And +he himself got hard away.</p> +<p>The cocks could crow, the day could dawn,<br />And I wot so even +down fell the rain;<br />If Hobbie had no waken’d at that time,<br />In +the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.</p> +<p>“Get up, get up, my feiries five!<br />For I wot here makes +a fu’ ill day;<br />Yet the warst cloak of this companie,<br />I +hope, shall cross the Waste this day.”</p> +<p>Now Hobie thought the gates were clear;<br />But, ever alas! it was +not sae:<br />They were beset wi’ cruel men and keen,<br />That +away brave Hobbie could not gae.</p> +<p>“Yet follow me, my feiries five,<br />And see of me ye keep +good ray;<br />And the worst cloak o’ this companie<br />I hope +shall cross the Waste this day.”</p> +<p>There was heaps of men now Hobbie before,<br />And other heaps was +him behind,<br />That had he wight as Wallace was,<br />Away brave Noble +he could not win.</p> +<p>Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword;<br />But he did more than +a laddies deed;<br />In the midst of Conscouthart-Green,<br />He brake +it oer Jersawigham’s head.</p> +<p>Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,<br />Wi’ his ain bowstring +they band him sae;<br />And I wat heart was ne’er sae sair,<br />As +when his ain five band him on the brae.</p> +<p>They have tane him on for West Carlisle;<br />They ask’d him +if he knew the why?<br />Whate’er he thought, yet little he said;<br />He +knew the way as well as they.</p> +<p>They hae ta’en him up the Ricker gate;<br />The wives they +cast their windows wide;<br />And every wife to anither can say,<br />“That’s +the man loos’d Jock o’ the Side!”</p> +<p>“Fye on ye, women! why ca’ ye me man?<br />For it’s +nae man that I’m used like;<br />I am but like a forfoughen hound,<br />Has +been fighting in a dirty syke.”</p> +<p>Then they hae tane him up thro’ Carlisle town,<br />And set +him by the chimney fire;<br />They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to +eat,<br />And that was little his desire.</p> +<p>Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat,<br />And after that a can +o beer;<br />Then they cried a’ with ae consent,<br />“Eat, +brave Noble, and make gude cheer!</p> +<p>“Confess my lord’s horse, Hobie,” they said,<br />“And +the morn in Carlisle thou’s no die;”<br />“How shall +I confess them,” Hobie says,<br />“For I never saw them +with mine eye?”</p> +<p>Then Hobie has sworn a fu’ great aith,<br />By the day that +he was gotten and born,<br />He never had ony thing o’ my lord’s,<br />That +either eat him grass or corn.</p> +<p>“Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton!<br />For I think again +I’ll ne’er thee see:<br />I wad betray nae lad alive,<br />For +a’ the goud in Christentie.</p> +<p>“And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale!<br />Baith the hie land +and the law;<br />Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains!<br />For goud and +gear he’ll sell ye a’.</p> +<p>“Yet wad I rather be ca’d Hobie Noble,<br />In Carlisle +where he suffers for his faut,<br />Before I’d be ca’d traitor +Mains,<br />That eats and drinks of the meal and maut.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Twa Sisters</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Sharpe’s Ballad Book, No. X., p. 30.)</p> +<p>There liv’d twa sisters in a bower,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how +Edinbruch.<br />There liv’d twa sisters in a bower,<br />Stirling +for aye:<br />The youngest o’ them, O, she was a flower!<br />Bonny +Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p>There came a squire frae the west,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />There +cam a squire frae the west,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />He lo’ed +them baith, but the youngest best,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that +stands upon Tay.</p> +<p>He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />He +gied the eldest a gay gold ring,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />But he +lo’ed the youngest aboon a’ thing,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne +that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p>“Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?<br />Hey Edinbruch, +how Edinbruch.<br />Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?<br />Stirling +for aye:<br />Our father’s ships sail bonnilie,<br />Bonny Sanct +Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.”</p> +<p>The youngest sat down upon a stane,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />The +youngest sat down upon a stane,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />The eldest +shot the youngest in,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p>“Oh sister, sister, lend me your hand,<br />Hey Edinbruch, +how Edinbruch.<br />Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand,<br />Stirling +for aye:<br />And you shall hae my gouden fan,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne +that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p>“Oh, sister, sister, save my life,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how +Edinbruch.<br />Oh sister, sister, save my life,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />And +ye shall be the squire’s wife,<br />Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that +stands upon Tay.”</p> +<p>First she sank, and then she swam,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />First +she sank, and then she swam,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />Until she cam +to Tweed mill dam,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p>The millar’s daughter was baking bread,<br />Hey Edinbruch, +how Edinbruch.<br />The millar’s daughter was baking bread,<br />Stirling +for aye:<br />She went for water, as she had need,<br />Bonny Sanct +Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p>“Oh father, father, in our mill dam,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how +Edinbruch,<br />Oh father, father, in our mill dam,<br />Stirling for +aye:<br />There’s either a lady, or a milk-white swan,<br />Bonny +Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.”</p> +<p>They could nae see her fingers small,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />They +could nae see her fingers small,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />Wi’ +diamond rings they were cover’d all,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne +that stands upon Tay.</p> +<p>They could nae see her yellow hair,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />They +could nae see her yellow hair,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />Sae mony +knots and platts war there,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands +upon Tay.</p> +<p>Bye there cam a fiddler fair,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />Bye +there cam a fiddler fair,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />And he’s +ta’en three tails o’ her yellow hair,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne +that stands upon Tay.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Mary Ambree</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>(Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 230.)</p> +<p>When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte,<br />Did march +to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,<br />They mustred their souldiers +by two and by three,<br />And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.</p> +<p>When [the] brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight,<br />Who +was her true lover, her joy, and delight,<br />Because he was slaine +most treacherouslie<br />Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.</p> +<p>She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe<br />In buffe of the +bravest, most seemelye to showe;<br />A faire shirt of male then slipped +on shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p>A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,<br />A stronge arminge-sword +shee girt by her side,<br />On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put +shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p>Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,<br />Bidding +all such, as wold, [to] bee of her band;<br />To wayte on her person +came thousand and three:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary +Ambree?</p> +<p>“My soldiers,” she saith, “soe valliant and bold,<br />Nowe +followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;<br />Still formost in battell +myselfe will I bee:”<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary +Ambree?</p> +<p>Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say,<br />“Soe +well thou becomest this gallant array,<br />Thy harte and thy weapons +so well do agree,<br />No mayden was ever like Mary Ambree.”</p> +<p>She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,<br />With ancyent +and standard, with drum and with fife,<br />With brave clanging trumpetts, +that sounded so free;<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p>“Before I will see the worst of you all<br />To come into danger +of death or of thrall,<br />This hand and this life I will venture so +free:”<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p>Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array,<br />Gainst three +times theyr number by breake of the daye;<br />Seven howers in skirmish +continued shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p>She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,<br />And her enemyes +bodyes with bulletts so hott;<br />For one of her own men a score killed +shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p>And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,<br />Away all her +pellets and powder had sent,<br />Straight with her keen weapon she +slasht him in three:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p>Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,<br />At length she was +forced to make a retyre;<br />Then her souldiers into a strong castle +drew shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p> +<p>Her foes they besett her on everye side,<br />As thinking close siege +shee cold never abide;<br />To beate down the walles they all did decree:<br />But +stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.</p> +<p>Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,<br />And mounting +the walls all undaunted did stand,<br />There daring their captaines +to match any three:<br />O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!</p> +<p>“Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give<br />To +ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?<br />Come yield thy selfe +quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:”<br />Then smiled sweetlye +brave Mary Ambree.</p> +<p>“Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,<br />Whom thinke +you before you now you doe behold?<br />“A knight, sir, of England, +and captaine soe free,<br />Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee.”</p> +<p>“No captaine of England; behold in your sight<br />Two brests +in my bosome, and therefore no knight:<br />Noe knight, sirs, of England, +nor captaine you see,<br />But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree.”</p> +<p>“But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,<br />Whose valor +hath proved so undaunted in warre?<br />If England doth yield such brave +maydens as thee,<br />Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.”</p> +<p>The Prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne,<br />Who long had +advanced for England’s fair crowne;<br />Hee wooed her and sued +her his mistress to bee,<br />And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree.</p> +<p>But this virtuous mayden despised them all:<br />“’Ile +nere sell my honour for purple nor pall;<br />A maiden of England, sir, +never will bee<br />The wench of a monarcke,” quoth Mary Ambree.</p> +<p>Then to her owne country shee back did returne,<br />Still holding +the foes of rare England in scorne!<br />Therfore English captaines +of every degree<br />Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Alison Gross</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tow’r,<br />The ugliest witch +in the north countrie,<br />She trysted me ae day up till her bow’r,<br />And +mony fair speeches she made to me.</p> +<p>She straik’d my head, and she kaim’d my hair,<br />And +she set me down saftly on her knee;<br />Says—“If ye will +be my leman sae true,<br />Sae mony braw things as I will you gi’e.”</p> +<p>She shaw’d me a mantle of red scarlet,<br />With gowden flowers +and fringes fine;<br />Says—“If ye will be my leman sae +true,<br />This goodly gift it shall be thine.”</p> +<p>“Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,<br />Hand far awa, and let me be;<br />I +never will be your leman sae true,<br />And I wish I were out of your +company.”</p> +<p>She neist brocht a sark of the saftest silk,<br />Weel wrought with +pearls about the band;<br />Says—“If ye will be my ain true +love,<br />This goodly gift ye shall command.”</p> +<p>She show’d me a cup of the good red gowd,<br />Weel set with +jewels sae fair to see;<br />Says—“If ye will be my leman +sae true,<br />This goodly gift I will you gi’e.”</p> +<p>“Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,<br />Haud far awa, and let me be;<br />For +I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth,<br />For all the gifts that ye cou’d +gi’e.”</p> +<p>She’s turn’d her richt and round about,<br />And thrice +she blew on a grass-green horn;<br />And she sware by the moon and the +stars aboon,<br />That she’d gar me rue the day I was born.</p> +<p>Then out has she ta’en a silver wand,<br />And she turn’d +her three times round and round;<br />She mutter’d sic words, +that my strength it fail’d,<br />And I fell down senseless on +the ground.</p> +<p>She turn’d me into an ugly worm,<br />And gar’d me toddle +about the tree;<br />And aye on ilka Saturday night,<br />Auld Alison +Gross she came to me,</p> +<p>With silver basin, and silver kame,<br />To kame my headie upon her +knee;<br />But rather than kiss her ugly mouth,<br />I’d ha’e +toddled for ever about the tree.</p> +<p>But as it fell out on last Hallow-e’en,<br />When the seely +court was ridin’ by,<br />The queen lighted down on a gowan bank,<br />Near +by the tree where I wont to lye.</p> +<p>She took me up in her milk-white hand,<br />And she straik’d +me three times o’er her knee;<br />She chang’d me again +to my ain proper shape,<br />And nae mair do I toddle about the tree.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Heir Of Lynne</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all the lords in faire Scotland<br />A song I will begin:<br />Amongst +them all dwelled a lord<br />Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.</p> +<p>His father and mother were dead him froe,<br />And so was the head +of all his kinne;<br />He did neither cease nor blinne<br />To the cards +and dice that he did run.</p> +<p>To drinke the wine that was so cleere!<br />With every man he would +make merry.<br />And then bespake him John of the Scales,<br />Unto +the heire of Lynne say’d hee,</p> +<p>Sayes “how dost thou, Lord of Lynne,<br />Doest either want +gold or fee?<br />Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode<br />To such +a good fellow as me?</p> +<p>“For . . I . . “ he said,<br />“My land, take it +unto thee;<br />I draw you to record, my lords all;”<br />With +that he cast him a Gods pennie.</p> +<p>He told him the gold upon the bord,<br />It wanted never a bare penny.<br />“That +gold is thine, the land is mine,<br />The heire of Lynne I will bee.”</p> +<p>“Heeres gold enough,” saithe the heire of Lynne,<br />“Both +for me and my company.”<br />He drunke the wine that was so cleere,<br />And +with every man he made merry.</p> +<p>Within three quarters of a yeare<br />His gold and fee it waxed thinne,<br />His +merry men were from him gone,<br />And left himselfe all alone.</p> +<p>He had never a penny left in his purse,<br />Never a penny but three,<br />And +one was brasse and another was lead<br />And another was white mony.</p> +<p>“Now well-a-day!” said the heire of Lynne,<br />“Now +well-a-day, and woe is mee!<br />For when I was the Lord of Lynne,<br />I +neither wanted gold nor fee;</p> +<p>“For I have sold my lands so broad,<br />And have not left +me one penny!<br />I must go now and take some read<br />Unto Edenborrow +and beg my bread.”</p> +<p>He had not beene in Edenborrow<br />Nor three quarters of a yeare,<br />But +some did give him and some said nay,<br />And some bid “to the +deele gang yee!</p> +<p>“For if we should hang some land selfeer,<br />The first we +would begin with thee.”<br />“Now well-a-day!” said +the heire of Lynne,<br />“Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!</p> +<p>“For now I have sold my lands so broad<br />That merry man +is irke with mee;<br />But when that I was the Lord of Lynne<br />Then +on my land I lived merrily;</p> +<p>“And now I have sold my land so broade<br />That I have not +left me one pennye!<br />God be with my father!” he said,<br />“On +his land he lived merrily.”</p> +<p>Still in a study there as he stood,<br />He unbethought him of a +bill,<br />He unbethought him of a bill<br />Which his father had left +with him.</p> +<p>Bade him he should never on it looke<br />Till he was in extreame +neede,<br />“And by my faith,” said the heire of Lynne,<br />“Then +now I had never more neede.”</p> +<p>He tooke the bill and looked it on,<br />Good comfort that he found +there;<br />It told him of a castle wall<br />Where there stood three +chests in feare:</p> +<p>Two were full of the beaten gold,<br />The third was full of white +money.<br />He turned then downe his bags of bread<br />And filled them +full of gold so red.</p> +<p>Then he did never cease nor blinne<br />Till John of the Scales house +he did winne.<br />When that he came John of the Scales,<br />Up at +the speere he looked then;</p> +<p>There sate three lords upon a rowe,<br />And John o’ the Scales +sate at the bord’s head,<br />And John o’ the Scales sate +at the bord’s head<br />Because he was the lord of Lynne.</p> +<p>And then bespake the heire of Lynne<br />To John o’ the Scales +wife thus sayd hee,<br />Sayd “Dame, wilt thou not trust me one +shott<br />That I may sit downe in this company?”</p> +<p>“Now Christ’s curse on my head,” she said,<br />“If +I do trust thee one pennye,”<br />Then bespake a good fellowe,<br />Which +sate by John o’ the Scales his knee,</p> +<p>Said “have thou here, thou heire of Lynne,<br />Forty-pence +I will lend thee,—<br />Some time a good fellow thou hast beene<br />And +other forty if it need bee.”</p> +<p>They drunken wine that was so cleere,<br />And every man they made +merry,<br />And then bespake him John o’ the Scales<br />Unto +the Lord of Lynne said hee;</p> +<p>Said “how doest thou heire of Lynne,<br />Since I did buy thy +lands of thee?<br />I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe,<br />Nor +ever did I buy it of thee.”</p> +<p>“I draw you to recorde, lords all:”<br />With that he +cast him god’s penny;<br />Then he tooke to his bags of bread,<br />And +they were full of the gold so red.</p> +<p>He told him the gold then over the borde<br />It wanted never a broad +pennye;<br />“That gold is thine, the land is mine,<br />And the +heire of Lynne againe I will bee.”</p> +<p>“Now well-a-day!” said John o’ the Scales’ +wife,<br />“Well-a-day, and woe is me!<br />Yesterday I was the +lady of Lynne,<br />And now I am but John o’ the Scales wife!”</p> +<p>Says “have thou here, thou good fellow,<br />Forty pence thou +did lend me;<br />Forty pence thou did lend me,<br />And forty I will +give thee,<br />I’ll make thee keeper of my forrest,<br />Both +of the wild deere and the tame.”</p> +<p>But then bespake the heire of Lynne,<br />These were the words and +thus spake hee,<br />“Christ’s curse light upon my crowne<br />If +ere my land stand in any jeopardye!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Gordon Of Brackley</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Down Deeside cam Inveraye<br />Whistlin’ and playing,<br />An’ +called loud at Brackley gate<br />Ere the day dawning—<br />“Come, +Gordon of Brackley.<br />Proud Gordon, come down,<br />There’s +a sword at your threshold<br />Mair sharp than your own.”</p> +<p>“Arise now, gay Gordon,”<br />His lady ’gan cry,<br />“Look, +here is bold Inveraye<br />Driving your kye.”<br />“How +can I go, lady,<br />An’ win them again,<br />When I have but +ae sword,<br />And Inveraye ten?”</p> +<p>“Arise up, my maidens,<br />Wi’ roke and wi’ fan,<br />How +blest had I been<br />Had I married a man!<br />Arise up, my maidens,<br />Tak’ +spear and tak’ sword,<br />Go milk the ewes, Gordon,<br />An’ +I will be lord.”</p> +<p>The Gordon sprung up<br />Wi’ his helm on his head,<br />Laid +his hand on his sword,<br />An’ his thigh on his steed,<br />An’ +he stooped low, and said,<br />As he kissed his young dame,<br />“There’s +a Gordon rides out<br />That will never ride hame.”</p> +<p>There rode with fierce Inveraye<br />Thirty and three,<br />But wi’ +Brackley were nane<br />But his brother and he;<br />Twa gallanter Gordons<br />Did +never blade draw,<br />But against three-and-thirty<br />Wae’s +me! what are twa?</p> +<p>Wi’ sword and wi’ dagger<br />They rushed on him rude;<br />The +twa gallant Gordons<br />Lie bathed in their blude.<br />Frae the springs +o’ the Dee<br />To the mouth o’ the Tay,<br />The Gordons +mourn for him,<br />And curse Inveraye.</p> +<p>“O were ye at Brackley?<br />An’ what saw ye there?<br />Was +his young widow weeping<br />An’ tearing her hair?”<br />“I +looked in at Brackley,<br />I looked in, and oh!<br />There was mirth, +there was feasting,<br />But naething o’ woe.</p> +<p>“As a rose bloomed the lady,<br />An’ blithe as a bride,<br />As +a bridegroom bold Inveraye<br />Smiled by her side.<br />Oh! she feasted +him there<br />As she ne’er feasted lord,<br />While the blood +of her husband<br />Was moist on his sword.</p> +<p>“In her chamber she kept him<br />Till morning grew gray,<br />Thro’ +the dark woods of Brackley<br />She shewed him the way.<br />‘Yon +wild hill,’ she said,<br />‘Where the sun’s shining +on,<br />Is the hill of Glentanner,—<br />One kiss, and begone!’”</p> +<p>There’s grief in the cottage,<br />There’s grief in the +ha’,<br />For the gude, gallant Gordon<br />That’s dead +an’ awa’.<br />To the bush comes the bud,<br />An’ +the flower to the plain,<br />But the gude and the brave<br />They come +never again.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Edward, Edward</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>“Why does your brand sae drop wi’ blude,<br />Edward, +Edward?<br />Why does your brand sae drop wi’ blude<br />And why +sae sad gang ye, O?”<br />“O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,<br />Mither, +mither;<br />O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,<br />And I hae nae mair +but he, O.”</p> +<p>“Your hawk’s blude was never sae red,<br />Edward, Edward;<br />Your +hawk’s blude was never sae red,<br />My dear son, I tell thee, +O.”<br />“O I hae killed my red-roan steed,<br />Mither, +mither;<br />O I hae killed my red-roan steed,<br />That was sae fair +and free, O.”</p> +<p>“Your steed was auld, and ye’ve plenty mair,<br />Edward, +Edward;<br />Your steed was auld, and ye’ve plenty mair;<br />Some +ither dule ye dree, O.”<br />“O I hae killed my father dear,<br />Mither, +mither;<br />O I hae killed my father dear,<br />Alas, and wae is me, +O!”</p> +<p>“And whatten penance will ye dree for that,<br />Edward, Edward?<br />Whatten +penance will ye dree for that?<br />My dear son, now tell me, O.”<br />“I’ll +set my feet in yonder boat,<br />Mither, mither;<br />I’ll set +my feet in yonder boat,<br />And I’ll fare over the sea, O.”</p> +<p>“And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your ha’,<br />Edward, +Edward?<br />And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your +ha’,<br />That were sae fair to see, O?”<br />“I’ll +let them stand till they doun fa’,<br />Mither, mither;<br />I’ll +let them stand till they doun fa’,<br />For here never mair maun +I be, O.”</p> +<p>“And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,<br />Edward, +Edward?<br />And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,<br />When +ye gang ower the sea, O?”<br />“The warld’s room: +let them beg through life,<br />Mither, mither;<br />The warld’s +room: let them beg through life;<br />For them never mair will I see, +O.”</p> +<p>“And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,<br />Edward, +Edward?<br />And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,<br />My +dear son, now tell me, O?”<br />“The curse of hell frae +me sall ye bear,<br />Mither, mither;<br />The curse of hell frae me +sall ye bear:<br />Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Young Benjie</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all the maids of fair Scotland,<br />The fairest was Marjorie;<br />And +young Benjie was her ae true love,<br />And a dear true love was he.</p> +<p>And wow but they were lovers dear,<br />And lov’d full constantlie;<br />But +aye the mair when they fell out,<br />The sairer was their plea.</p> +<p>And they ha’e quarrell’d on a day,<br />Till Marjorie’s +heart grew wae;<br />And she said she’d chuse another luve,<br />And +let young Benjie gae.</p> +<p>And he was stout and proud-hearted,<br />And thought o’t bitterlie;<br />And +he’s gane by the wan moonlight,<br />To meet his Marjorie.</p> +<p>“Oh, open, open, my true love,<br />Oh, open and let me in!”<br />“I +darena open, young Benjie,<br />My three brothers are within.”</p> +<p>“Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie burd,<br />Sae loud’s I hear +ye lee;<br />As I came by the Louden banks,<br />They bade gude e’en +to me.</p> +<p>“But fare ye weel, my ae fause love,<br />That I have lov’d +sae lang!<br />It sets ye chuse another love,<br />And let young Benjie +gang.”</p> +<p>Then Marjorie turn’d her round about,<br />The tear blinding +her e’e;<br />“I darena, darena let thee in,<br />But I’ll +come down to thee.”</p> +<p>Then salt she smil’d, and said to him—<br />“Oh, +what ill ha’e I done?”<br />He took her in his arms twa,<br />And +threw her o’er the linn.</p> +<p>The stream was strong, the maid was stout,<br />And laith, laith +to be dang;<br />But ere she wan the Louden banks,<br />Her fair colour +was wan.</p> +<p>Then up bespake her eldest brother—<br />“Oh, see na +ye what I see?”<br />And out then spake her second brother—<br />“It +is our sister Marjorie!”</p> +<p>Out then spake her eldest brother—<br />“Oh, how shall +we her ken?”<br />And out then spake her youngest brother—<br />“There’s +a honey mark on her chin.”</p> +<p>Then they’ve ta’en the comely corpse,<br />And laid it +on the ground;<br />Saying—“Wha has kill’d our ae +sister?<br />And how can he be found?</p> +<p>“The night it is her low lykewake,<br />The morn her burial +day;<br />And we maun watch at mirk midnight,<br />And hear what she +will say.”</p> +<p>With doors ajar, and candles light,<br />And torches burning clear,<br />The +streekit corpse, till still midnight,<br />They waked, but naething +hear.</p> +<p>About the middle of the night<br />The cocks began to craw;<br />And +at the dead hour of the night,<br />The corpse began to thraw.</p> +<p>“Oh, wha has done thee wrang, sister,<br />Or dared the deadly +sin?<br />Wha was sae stout, and fear’d nae dout,<br />As throw +ye o’er the linn?”</p> +<p>“Young Benjie was the first ae man<br />I laid my love upon;<br />He +was sae stout and proud-hearted,<br />He threw me o’er the linn.”</p> +<p>“Shall we young Benjie head, sister?<br />Shall we young Benjie +hang?<br />Or shall we pike out his twa gray een,<br />And punish him +ere he gang?”</p> +<p>“Ye maunna Benjie head, brothers,<br />Ye maunna Benjie hang;<br />But +ye maun pike out his twa gray een.<br />And punish him ere he gang.</p> +<p>“Tie a green gravat round his neck,<br />And lead him out and +in,<br />And the best ae servant about your house<br />To wait young +Benjie on.</p> +<p>“And aye at every seven years’ end,<br />Ye’ll +take him to the linn;<br />For that’s the penance he maun dree,<br />To +scug his deadly sin.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Auld Maitland</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There lived a king in southern land,<br />King Edward hight his name;<br />Unwordily +he wore the crown,<br />Till fifty years were gane.</p> +<p>He had a sister’s son o’s ain,<br />Was large of blood +and bane;<br />And afterward, when he came up,<br />Young Edward hight +his name.</p> +<p>One day he came before the king,<br />And kneel’d low on his +knee:<br />“A boon, a boon, my good uncle,<br />I crave to ask +of thee!</p> +<p>“At our lang wars, in fair Scotland,<br />I fain ha’e +wish’d to be,<br />If fifteen hundred waled wight men<br />You’ll +grant to ride with me.”</p> +<p>“Thou shall ha’e thae, thou shall ha’e mae;<br />I +say it sickerlie;<br />And I myself, an auld gray man,<br />Array’d +your host shall see.”</p> +<p>King Edward rade, King Edward ran—<br />I wish him dool and +pyne!<br />Till he had fifteen hundred men<br />Assembled on the Tyne.</p> +<p>And thrice as many at Berwicke<br />Were all for battle bound,<br />[Who, +marching forth with false Dunbar,<br />A ready welcome found.]</p> +<p>They lighted on the banks of Tweed,<br />And blew their coals sae +het,<br />And fired the Merse and Teviotdale,<br />All in an evening +late.</p> +<p>As they fared up o’er Lammermoor,<br />They burn’d baith +up and down,<br />Until they came to a darksome house,<br />Some call +it Leader-Town.</p> +<p>“Wha hauds this house?” young Edward cried,<br />“Or +wha gi’est o’er to me?”<br />A gray-hair’d knight +set up his head,<br />And crackit right crousely:</p> +<p>“Of Scotland’s king I haud my house;<br />He pays me +meat and fee;<br />And I will keep my gude auld house,<br />While my +house will keep me.”</p> +<p>They laid their sowies to the wall,<br />With mony a heavy peal;<br />But +he threw o’er to them agen<br />Baith pitch and tar barrel.</p> +<p>With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn,<br />Amang them fast he +threw;<br />Till mony of the Englishmen<br />About the wall he slew.</p> +<p>Full fifteen days that braid host lay,<br />Sieging Auld Maitland +keen;<br />Syne they ha’e left him, hail and feir,<br />Within +his strength of stane.</p> +<p>Then fifteen barks, all gaily good,<br />Met them upon a day,<br />Which +they did lade with as much spoil<br />As they you’d bear away.</p> +<p>“England’s our ain by heritage;<br />And what can us +withstand,<br />Now we ha’e conquer’d fair Scotland,<br />With +buckler, bow, and brand?”</p> +<p>Then they are on to the land of France,<br />Where auld king Edward +lay,<br />Burning baith castle, tower, and town,<br />That he met in +his way.</p> +<p>Until he came unto that town,<br />Which some call Billop-Grace:<br />There +were Auld Maitland’s sons, all three,<br />Learning at school, +alas!</p> +<p>The eldest to the youngest said,<br />“Oh, see ye what I see?<br />If +all be true yon standard says,<br />We’re fatherless all three.</p> +<p>“For Scotland’s conquer’d up and down;<br />Landmen +we’ll never be!<br />Now, will you go, my brethren two,<br />And +try some jeopardy?”</p> +<p>Then they ha’e saddled twa black horse,<br />Twa black horse +and a gray;<br />And they are on to king Edward’s host,<br />Before +the dawn of day.</p> +<p>When they arrived before the host,<br />They hover’d on the +lay:<br />“Wilt thou lend me our king’s standard,<br />To +bear a little way?”</p> +<p>“Where wast thou bred? where wast thou born?<br />Where, or +in what countrie?”<br />“In north of England I was born;”<br />(It +needed him to lee.)</p> +<p>“A knight me gat, a ladye bore,<br />I am a squire of high +renown;<br />I well may bear’t to any king<br />That ever yet +wore crown.”</p> +<p>“He ne’er came of an Englishman,<br />Had sic an e’e +or bree;<br />But thou art the likest Auld Maitland,<br />That ever +I did see.</p> +<p>“But sic a gloom on ae browhead,<br />Grant I ne’er see +again!<br />For mony of our men he slew,<br />And mony put to pain.”</p> +<p>When Maitland heard his father’s name,<br />An angry man was +he;<br />Then, lifting up a gilt dagger,<br />Hung low down by his knee,</p> +<p>He stabb’d the knight the standard bore,<br />He stabb’d +him cruellie;<br />Then caught the standard by the neuk,<br />And fast +away rode he.</p> +<p>“Now, is’t na time, brothers,” he cried,<br />“Now, +is’t na time to flee?”<br />“Ay, by my sooth!” +they baith replied,<br />“We’ll bear you companye.”</p> +<p>The youngest turn’d him in a path,<br />And drew a burnish’d +brand,<br />And fifteen of the foremost slew,<br />Till back the lave +did stand.</p> +<p>He spurr’d the gray into the path,<br />Till baith his sides +they bled:<br />“Gray! thou maun carry me away,<br />Or my life +lies in wad!”</p> +<p>The captain lookit o’er the wall,<br />About the break of day;<br />There +he beheld the three Scots lads<br />Pursued along the way.</p> +<p>“Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig!<br />My nephews are at +hand;<br />And they shall lodge with me to-night,<br />In spite of all +England.”</p> +<p>Whene’er they came within the yate,<br />They thrust their +horse them frae,<br />And took three lang spears in their hands,<br />Saying—“Here +shall come nae me!”</p> +<p>And they shot out, and they shot in,<br />Till it was fairly day;<br />When +mony of the Englishmen<br />About the draw-brig lay.</p> +<p>Then they ha’e yoked the carts and wains,<br />To ca’ +their dead away,<br />And shot auld dykes abune the lave,<br />In gutters +where they lay.</p> +<p>The king, at his pavilion door,<br />Was heard aloud to say:<br />“Last +night, three of the lads of France<br />My standard stole away.</p> +<p>“With a fause tale, disguised they came,<br />And with a fauser +trayne;<br />And to regain my gaye standard,<br />These men where all +down slayne.”</p> +<p>“It ill befits,” the youngest said,<br />A crownèd +king to lee;<br />But, or that I taste meat and drink,<br />Reprovèd +shall he be.”</p> +<p>He went before king Edward straight,<br />And kneel’d low on +his knee:<br />“I wou’d ha’e leave, my lord,” +he said,<br />“To speak a word with thee.”</p> +<p>The king he turn’d him round about,<br />And wistna what to +say:<br />Quo’ he, “Man, thou’s ha’e leave to +speak,<br />Though thou should speak all day.”</p> +<p>“Ye said that three young lads of France<br />Your standard +stole away,<br />With a fause tale and fauser trayne,<br />And mony +men did slay;</p> +<p>“But we are nane the lads of France,<br />Nor e’er pretend +to be:<br />We are three lads of fair Scotland,—<br />Auld Maitland’s +sons are we.</p> +<p>“Nor is there men in all your host<br />Daur fight us three +to three.”<br />“Now, by my sooth,” young Edward said,<br />“Weel +fitted ye shall be!</p> +<p>“Piercy shall with the eldest fight,<br />And Ethert Lunn with +thee;<br />William of Lancaster the third,<br />And bring your fourth +to me!</p> +<p>“Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot<br />Has cower’d beneath +thy hand;<br />For every drap of Maitland blood,<br />I’ll gi’e +a rig of land.”</p> +<p>He clanked Piercy o’er the head<br />A deep wound and a sair,<br />Till +the best blood of his body<br />Came running down his hair.</p> +<p>“Now, I’ve slayne ane; slay ye the twa;<br />And that’s +gude companye;<br />And if the twa shou’d slay ye baith,<br />Ye’se +get nae help frae me.”</p> +<p>But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear,<br />Had many battles seen;<br />He +set the youngest wonder sair,<br />Till the eldest he grew keen.</p> +<p>“I am nae king, nor nae sic thing:<br />My word it shanna stand!<br />For +Ethert shall a buffet bide,<br />Come he beneath my brand.”</p> +<p>He clankit Ethert o’er the head<br />A deep wound and a sair,<br />Till +the best blood in his body<br />Came running o’er his hair.</p> +<p>“Now, I’ve slayne twa; slay ye the ane;<br />Isna that +gude companye?<br />And though the ane shou’d slay ye baith.<br />Ye’se +get nae help of me.”</p> +<p>The twa-some they ha’e slayne the ane,<br />They maul’d +him cruellie;<br />Then hung him over the draw-brig,<br />That all the +host might see.</p> +<p>They rade their horse, they ran their horse,<br />Then hover’d +on the lee:<br />“We be three lads of fair Scotland,<br />That +fain wou’d fighting see.”</p> +<p>This boasting when young Edward heard,<br />An angry man was he:<br />“I’ll +take yon lad, I’ll bind yon lad,<br />And bring him bound to thee!</p> +<p>“Now, God forbid,” king Edward said,<br />“That +ever thou shou’d try!<br />Three worthy leaders we ha’e +lost,<br />And thou the forth wou’d lie.</p> +<p>“If thou shou’dst hang on yon draw-brig,<br />Blythe +wou’d I never be.”<br />But, with the poll-axe in his hand,<br />Upon +the brig sprang be.</p> +<p>The first stroke that young Edward ga’e,<br />He struck with +might and main;<br />He clove the Maitland’s helmet stout,<br />And +bit right nigh the brain.</p> +<p>When Maitland saw his ain blood fall,<br />An angry man was he;<br />He +let his weapon frae him fall,<br />And at his throat did flee.</p> +<p>And thrice about he did him swing,<br />Till on the ground he light,<br />Where +he has halden young Edward,<br />Tho’ he was great in might.</p> +<p>“Now let him up,” king Edward cried,<br />“And +let him come to me;<br />And for the deed that thou hast done,<br />Thou +shalt ha’e earldomes three!”</p> +<p>“It’s ne’er be said in France, nor e’er<br />In +Scotland, when I’m hame,<br />That Edward once lay under me,<br />And +e’er gat up again!”</p> +<p>He pierced him through and through the heart,<br />He maul’d +him cruellie;<br />Then hung him o’er the draw-brig,<br />Beside +the other three.</p> +<p>“Now take frae me that feather-bed,<br />Make me a bed of strae!<br />I +wish I hadna lived this day,<br />To make my heart sae wae.</p> +<p>“If I were ance at London Tow’r,<br />Where I was wont +to be,<br />I never mair shou’d gang frae hame,<br />Till borne +on a bier-tree.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: The Broomfield Hill</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There was a knight and lady bright<br />Set trysts amo the broom,<br />The +one to come at morning eav,<br />The other at afternoon.</p> +<p>“I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,” he said,<br />“An +hundred marks and ten,<br />That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills,<br />Return +a maiden again.”</p> +<p>“I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,” she said,<br />“A +hundred pounds and ten,<br />That I will gang to Broomfield Hills,<br />A +maiden return again.”</p> +<p>The lady stands in her bower door,<br />And thus she made her mane:<br />“Oh, +shall I gang to Broomfield Hills,<br />Or shall I stay at hame?</p> +<p>“If I do gang to Broomfield Hills<br />A maid I’ll not +return;<br />But if I stay from Broomfield Hills,<br />I’ll be +a maid mis-sworn.”</p> +<p>Then out it speaks an auld witch wife,<br />Sat in the bower aboon:<br />“O +ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills,<br />Ye shall not stay at hame.</p> +<p>“But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills,<br />Walk nine times +round and round;<br />Down below a bonny burn bank,<br />Ye’ll +find your love sleeping sound.</p> +<p>“Ye’ll pu the bloom frae off the broom,<br />Strew’t +at his head and feet,<br />And aye the thicker that ye do strew,<br />The +sounder he will sleep.</p> +<p>“The broach that is on your napkin,<br />Put it on his breast +bane,<br />To let him know, when he does wake,<br />That’s true +love’s come and gane.</p> +<p>“The rings that are on your fingers,<br />Lay them down on +a stane,<br />To let him know, when he does wake,<br />That’s +true love’s come and gane.</p> +<p>“And when he hae your work all done,<br />Ye’ll gang +to a bush o’ broom,<br />And then you’ll hear what he will +say,<br />When he sees ye are gane.”</p> +<p>When she came to Broomfield Hills,<br />She walked it nine times +round,<br />And down below yon burn bank,<br />She found him sleeping +sound.</p> +<p>She pu’d the bloom frae off the broom,<br />Strew’d it +at ’s head and feet,<br />And aye the thicker that she strewd,<br />The +sounder he did sleep.</p> +<p>The broach that was on her napkin,<br />She put it on his breast-bane,<br />To +let him know, when he did wake,<br />His love was come and gane.</p> +<p>The rings that were on her fingers,<br />She laid upon a stane,<br />To +let him know, when he did wake,<br />His love was come and gane.</p> +<p>Now when she had her work all dune,<br />She went to a bush o’ +broom,<br />That she might hear what he did say,<br />When he saw that +she was gane.</p> +<p>“O where were ye my guid grey hound,<br />That I paid for sae +dear,<br />Ye didna waken me frae my sleep<br />When my true love was +sae near?”</p> +<p>“I scraped wi’ my foot, master,<br />Till a’ my +collars rang,<br />But still the mair that I did scrape,<br />Waken +woud ye nane.”</p> +<p>“Where were ye, my bony brown steed,<br />That I paid for sae +dear,<br />That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep<br />When my +love was sae near?”</p> +<p>“I patted wi my foot, master,<br />Till a’ my bridles +rang,<br />But the mair that I did patt,<br />Waken woud ye nane.”</p> +<p>“O where were ye, my gay goss-hawk<br />That I paid for sae +dear,<br />That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep<br />When ye +saw my love near?”</p> +<p>“I flapped wi my wings, master,<br />Till a’ my bells +they rang,<br />But still, the mair that I did flap,<br />Waken woud +ye nane.”</p> +<p>“O where were ye, my merry young men<br />That I pay meat and +fee,<br />That ye woudna waken me out o’ my sleep<br />When my +love ye did see?”</p> +<p>“Ye’ll sleep mair on the night, master,<br />And wake +mair on the day;<br />Gae sooner down to Broomfield Hills<br />When +ye’ve sic pranks to play.</p> +<p>“If I had seen any armèd men<br />Come riding over the +hill—<br />But I saw but a fair lady<br />Come quietly you until.”</p> +<p>“O wae mat worth yow, my young men,<br />That I pay meat and +fee,<br />That ye woudna waken me frae sleep<br />When ye my love did +see?</p> +<p>“O had I waked when she was nigh,<br />And o her got my will,<br />I +shoudna cared upon the morn<br />The sma birds o her were fill.”</p> +<p>When she went out, right bitter she wept,<br />But singing came she +hame;<br />Says, “I hae been at Broomfield Hills,<br />And maid +returned again.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Willie’s Ladye</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Willie has ta’en him o’er the faem,<br />He’s wooed +a wife, and brought her hame;<br />He’s wooed her for her yellow +hair,<br />But his mother wrought her meikle care;</p> +<p>And meikle dolour gar’d her dree,<br />For lighter she can +never be;<br />But in her bow’r she sits with pain,<br />And Willie +mourns o’er her in vain.</p> +<p>And to his mother he has gane,<br />That vile rank witch, of vilest +kind!<br />He says—“My lady has a cup,<br />With gowd and +silver set about;<br />This gudely gift shall be your ain,<br />And +let her be lighter of her bairn.”</p> +<p>“Of her bairn she’s never be lighter,<br />Nor in her +bow’r to shine the brighter<br />But she shall die, and turn to +clay,<br />And you shall wed another may.”</p> +<p>“Another may I’ll never wed,<br />Another may I’ll +never bring hame.”<br />But, sighing, said that weary wight—<br />“I +wish my life were at an end.”</p> +<p>“Yet gae ye to your mother again,<br />That vile rank witch, +of vilest kind<br />And say, your ladye has a steed,<br />The like of +him’s no in the land of Leed.</p> +<p>“For he is silver shod before,<br />And he is gowden shod behind;<br />At +every tuft of that horse mane<br />There’s a golden chess, and +a bell to ring.<br />This gudely gift shall be her ain,<br />And let +me be lighter of my bairn.”</p> +<p>“Of her young bairn she’s ne’er be lighter,<br />Nor +in her bow’r to shine the brighter;<br />But she shall die, and +turn to clay,<br />And ye shall wed another may.”</p> +<p>“Another may I’ll never wed,<br />Another may I’ll +never bring hame.”<br />But, sighing, said that weary wight—<br />I +wish my life were at an end!”</p> +<p>“Yet gae ye to your mother again,<br />That vile rank witch, +of rankest kind!<br />And say, your ladye has a girdle,<br />It’s +all red gowd to the middle;</p> +<p>“And aye, at ilka siller hem,<br />Hang fifty siller bells +and ten;<br />This gudely gift shall be her ain,<br />And let me be +lighter of my bairn.”</p> +<p>“Of her young bairn she’s ne’er be lighter,<br />Nor +in your bow’r to shine the brighter;<br />For she shall die, and +turn to clay,<br />And thou shall wed another may.”</p> +<p>“Another may I’ll never wed,<br />Another may I’ll +never bring hame.”<br />But, sighing, said that weary wight—<br />“I +wish my days were at an end!”</p> +<p>Then out and spak the Billy Blind,<br />He spak aye in good time +[his mind]:-<br />“Yet gae ye to the market place,<br />And there +do buy a loaf of wace;<br />Do shape it bairn and bairnly like,<br />And +in it two glassen een you’ll put.</p> +<p>“Oh, wha has loosed the nine witch-knots<br />That were amang +that ladye’s locks?<br />And wha’s ta’en out the kames +of care,<br />That were amang that ladye’s hair?</p> +<p>“And wha has ta’en down that bush of woodbine<br />That +hung between her bow’r and mine?<br />And wha has kill’d +the master kid<br />That ran beneath that ladye’s bed?<br />And +wha has loosed her left foot shee,<br />And let that ladye lighter be?”</p> +<p>Syne, Willie’s loosed the nine witch-knots<br />That were amang +that ladye’s locks;<br />And Willie’s ta’en out the +kames of care<br />That were into that ladye’s hair;<br />And +he’s ta’en down the bush of woodbine,<br />Hung atween her +bow’r and the witch carline.</p> +<p>And he has killed the master kid<br />That ran beneath that ladye’s +bed;<br />And he has loosed her left foot shee,<br />And latten that +ladye lighter be;<br />And now he has gotten a bonnie son,<br />And +meikle grace be him upon.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Robin Hood And The Monk</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In somer when the shawes be sheyne,<br />And leves be large and longe,<br />Hit +is full mery in feyre foreste<br />To here the foulys song.</p> +<p>To se the dere draw to the dale,<br />And leve the hilles hee,<br />And +shadow hem in the leves grene,<br />Vndur the grene-wode tre.</p> +<p>Hit befell on Whitsontide,<br />Erly in a may mornyng,<br />The son +vp fayre can shyne,<br />And the briddis mery can syng.</p> +<p>“This is a mery mornyng,” seid Litulle Johne,<br />“Be +hym that dyed on tre;<br />A more mery man than I am one<br />Lyves +not in Cristianté.”</p> +<p>“Pluk vp thi hert, my dere mayster,”<br />Litulle Johne +can sey,<br />“And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme<br />In a mornynge +of may.”</p> +<p>“Ze on thynge greves me,” seid Robyne,<br />“And +does my hert mych woo,<br />That I may not so solem day<br />To mas +nor matyns goo.</p> +<p>“Hit is a fourtnet and more,” seyd hee,<br />“Syn +I my Sauyour see;<br />To day will I to Notyngham,” seid Robyn,<br />“With +the myght of mylde Mary.”</p> +<p>Then spake Moche the mylner sune,<br />Euer more wel hym betyde,<br />“Take +xii thi wyght zemen<br />Well weppynd be thei side.<br />Such on wolde +thi selfe slon<br />That xii dar not abyde.”</p> +<p>“Off alle my mery men,” seid Robyne,<br />“Be my +feithe I wil non haue;<br />But Litulle Johne shall beyre my bow<br />Til +that me list to drawe.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“Thou shalle beyre thin own,” seid Litulle Jon,<br />“Maister, +and I wil beyre myne,<br />And we wille shete a peny,” seid Litulle +Jon,<br />“Vnder the grene wode lyne.”</p> +<p>“I wil not shete a peny,” seyde Robyn Hode,<br />“In +feith, Litulle Johne, with thee,<br />But euer for on as thou shetes,” +seid Robyn,<br />“In feith I holde the thre.”</p> +<p>Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too,<br />Bothe at buske and brome,<br />Til +Litulle Johne wan of his maister<br />V s. to hose and shone.</p> +<p>A ferly strife fel them betwene,<br />As they went bi the way;<br />Litull +Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs,<br />And Robyn Hode seid schortly +nay.</p> +<p>With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone,<br />And smote him with his +honde;<br />Litul John waxed wroth therwith,<br />And pulled out his +bright bronde.</p> +<p>“Were thou not my maister,” seid Litulle Johne,<br />“Thou +shuldis by hit ful sore;<br />Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn,<br />For +thou getes me no more.”</p> +<p>Then Robyn goes to Notyngham,<br />Hymselfe mornynge allone,<br />And +Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode,<br />The pathes he knowe alkone.</p> +<p>Whan Robyn came to Notyngham,<br />Sertenly withoutene layne,<br />He +prayed to God and myld Mary<br />To brynge hym out saue agayne.</p> +<p>He gos into seynt Mary chirche,<br />And knelyd downe before the +rode;<br />Alle that euer were the churche within<br />Beheld wel Robyne +Hode.</p> +<p>Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke,<br />I pray to God woo he be;<br />Full +sone he knew gode Robyn<br />As sone as he hym se.</p> +<p>Out at the durre he ran<br />Ful sone and anon;<br />Alle the zatis +of Notyngham<br />He made to be sparred euerychone.</p> +<p>“Rise vp,” he seid, “thou prowde schereff,<br />Buske +the and make the bowne;<br />I haue spyed the kynges felone,<br />For +sothe he is in this towne.</p> +<p>“I haue spyed the false felone,<br />As he stondes at his masse;<br />Hit +is longe of the,” seide the munke,<br />“And euer he fro +vs passe.</p> +<p>“This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode;<br />Vnder the grene wode +lynde,<br />He robbyt me onys of a C pound,<br />Hit shalle neuer out +of my mynde.”</p> +<p>Vp then rose this prowd schereff,<br />And zade towarde hym zare;<br />Many +was the modur son<br />To the kyrk with him can fare.</p> +<p>In at the durres thei throly thrast<br />With staves ful gode ilkone,<br />“Alas, +alas,” seid Robin Hode,<br />“Now mysse I Litulle Johne.”</p> +<p>But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde<br />That hangit down be his +kne;<br />Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust,<br />Thidurward +wold he.</p> +<p>Thryes thorow at them he ran,<br />Then for sothe as I yow say,<br />And +woundyt many a modur sone,<br />And xii he slew that day.</p> +<p>Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed<br />Sertanly he brake in too;<br />“The +smyth that the made,” seid Robyn,<br />“I pray God wyrke +him woo.</p> +<p>“For now am I weppynlesse,” seid Robyne,<br />“Alasse, +agayn my wylle;<br />But if I may fle these traytors fro,<br />I wot +thei wil me kylle.”</p> +<p>Robyns men to the churche ran<br />Throout hem euerilkon;<br />Sum +fel in swonyng as thei were dede,<br />And lay still as any stone.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Non of theym were in her mynde<br />But only Litulle Jon.</p> +<p>“Let be your dule,” seid Litulle Jon,<br />“For +his luf that dyed on tre;<br />Ze that shulde be duzty men,<br />Hit +is gret shame to se.</p> +<p>“Oure maister has bene hard bystode,<br />And zet scapyd away;<br />Pluk +up your hertes and leve this mone,<br />And herkyn what I shal say.</p> +<p>“He has seruyd our lady many a day,<br />And zet wil securly;<br />Therefore +I trust in her specialy<br />No wycked deth shal he dye.</p> +<p>“Therfor be glad,” seid Litul Johne,<br />“And +let this mournyng be,<br />And I shall be the munkes gyde,<br />With +the myght of mylde Mary.</p> +<p>“And I mete hym,” seid Litull Johne,<br />“We will +go but we too</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“Loke that ze kepe wel our tristil tre<br />Vnder the levys +smale,<br />And spare non of this venyson<br />That gose in thys vale.”</p> +<p>Forthe thei went these zemen too,<br />Litul Johne and Moche onfere,<br />And +lokid on Moche emys hows<br />The hyeway lay fulle nere.</p> +<p>Litul John stode at a window in the mornynge,<br />And lokid forth +at a stage;<br />He was war wher the munke came ridynge,<br />And with +him a litul page.</p> +<p>“Be my feith,” said Litul Johne to Moche,<br />“I +can the tel tithyngus gode;<br />I se wher the munk comys rydyng,<br />I +know hym be his wyde hode.”</p> +<p>Thei went into the way these zemen bothe<br />As curtes men and hende,<br />Thei +spyrred tithyngus at the munke,<br />As thei hade bene his frende.</p> +<p>“Fro whens come ze,” seid Litul Johne,<br />“Tel +vs tithyngus, I yow pray,<br />Off a false owtlay [called Robyn Hode],<br />Was +takyn zisturday.</p> +<p>“He robbyt me and my felowes bothe<br />Of xx marke in serten;<br />If +that false owtlay be takyn,<br />For sothe we wolde be fayne.”</p> +<p>“So did he me,” seid the munke,<br />“Of a C pound +and more;<br />I layde furst hande hym apon,<br />Ze may thonke me therefore.”</p> +<p>“I pray God thanke yow,” seid Litulle Johne,<br />“And +we wil when we may;<br />We wil go with yow, with your leve,<br />And +brynge yow on your way.</p> +<p>“For Robyn Hode hase many a wilde felow,<br />I telle yow in +certen;<br />If thei wist ze rode this way,<br />In feith ze shulde +be slayn.”</p> +<p>As thei went talkyng be the way,<br />The munke an Litulle Johne,<br />Johne +toke the munkes horse be the hede<br />Ful sone and anone.</p> +<p>Johne toke the munkes horse be the hed,<br />For sothe as I yow say,<br />So +did Muche the litulle page,<br />For he shulde not stirre away.</p> +<p>Be the golett of the hode<br />Johne pulled the munke downe;<br />Johne +was nothynge of hym agast,<br />He lete hym falle on his crowne.</p> +<p>Litulle Johne was sore agrevyd,<br />And drew out his swerde in hye;<br />The +munke saw he shulde be ded,<br />Lowd mercy can he crye.</p> +<p>“He was my maister,” said Litulle Johne,<br />“That +thou hase browzt in bale;<br />Shalle thou neuer cum at our kynge<br />For +to telle hym tale.”</p> +<p>John smote of the munkes hed,<br />No longer wolde he dwelle;<br />So +did Moche the litulle page,<br />For ferd lest he wold tell.</p> +<p>Ther thei beryed hem both<br />In nouther mosse nor lynge,<br />And +Litulle Johne and Muche infere<br />Bare the letturs to oure kyng.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>He kneled down vpon—his kne,<br />“God zow sane, my lege +lorde,<br />Jesus yow saue and se.</p> +<p>“God yow saue, my lege kyng,”<br />To speke Johne was +fulle bolde;<br />He gaf hym tbe letturs in his hond,<br />The kyng +did hit unfold.</p> +<p>The kyng red the letturs anon,<br />And seid, “so met I the,<br />Ther +was neuer zoman in mery Inglond<br />I longut so sore to see.</p> +<p>“Wher is the munke that these shuld haue browzt?”<br />Oure +kynge gan say;<br />“Be my trouthe,” seid Litull Jone,<br />“He +dyed aftur the way.”</p> +<p>The kyng gaf Moche and Litul Jon<br />xx pound in sertan,<br />And +made theim zemen of the crowne,<br />And bade theim go agayn.</p> +<p>He gaf Johne the seel in hand,<br />The scheref for to bere,<br />To +brynge Robyn hym to,<br />And no man do hym dere.</p> +<p>Johne toke his leve at cure kyng,<br />The sothe as I yow say;<br />The +next way to Notyngham<br />To take he zede the way.</p> +<p>When Johne came to Notyngham<br />The zatis were sparred ychone;<br />Johne +callid vp the porter,<br />He answerid sone anon.</p> +<p>“What is the cause,” seid Litul John,<br />“Thou +sparris the zates so fast?”<br />“Because of Robyn Hode,” +seid [the] porter,<br />“In depe prison is cast.</p> +<p>“Johne, and Moche, and Wylle Scathlok,<br />For sothe as I +yow say,<br />Thir slew oure men vpon oure wallis,<br />And sawtene +vs euery day.”</p> +<p>Litulle Johne spyrred aftur the schereff,<br />And sone he hym fonde;<br />He +oppyned the kyngus privè seelle,<br />And gaf hyn in his honde.</p> +<p>When the schereft saw the kyngus seelle,<br />He did of his hode +anon;<br />“Wher is the munke that bare the letturs?”<br />He +said to Litulle Johne.</p> +<p>“He is so fayn of hym,” seid Litulle Johne,<br />“For +sothe as I yow sey,<br />He has made hym abot of Westmynster,<br />A +lorde of that abbay.”</p> +<p>The scheref made John gode chere,<br />And gaf hym wine of the best;<br />At +nyzt thei went to her bedde,<br />And euery man to his rest.</p> +<p>When the scheref was on-slepe<br />Dronken of wine and ale,<br />Litul +Johne and Moche for sothe<br />Toke the way vnto the jale.</p> +<p>Litul Johne callid vp the jayler,<br />And bade him ryse anon;<br />He +seid Robyn Hode had brokyn preson,<br />And out of hit was gon.</p> +<p>The portere rose anon sertan,<br />As sone as he herd John calle;<br />Litul +Johne was redy with a swerd,<br />And bare hym to the walle.</p> +<p>“Now will I be porter,” seid Litul Johne,<br />“And +take the keyes in honde;”<br />He toke the way to Robyn Hode,<br />And +sone he hym vnbonde.</p> +<p>He gaf hym a gode swerd in his hond,<br />His hed with for to kepe,<br />And +ther as the walle was lowyst<br />Anon down can thei lepe.</p> +<p>Be that the cok began to crow,<br />The day began to sprynge,<br />The +scheref fond the jaylier ded,<br />The comyn belle made he rynge.</p> +<p>He made a crye thoroowt al the tow[n],<br />Whedur he be zoman or +knave,<br />That cowthe brynge hyrn Robyn Hode,<br />His warisone he +shuld haue.</p> +<p>“For I dar neuer,” said the scheref,<br />“Cum +before oure kynge,<br />For if I do, I wot serten,<br />For sothe he +wil me henge.”</p> +<p>The scheref made to seke Notyngham,<br />Bothe be strete and stye,<br />And +Robyn was in mery Scherwode<br />As lizt as lef on lynde.</p> +<p>Then bespake gode Litulle Johne,<br />To Robyn Hode can he say,<br />“I +haue done the a gode turne for an euylle,<br />Quyte me whan thou may.</p> +<p>“I haue done the a gode turne,” said Litulle Johne,<br />“For +sothe as I you saie;<br />I haue brouzt the vnder grene wode lyne;<br />Fare +wel, and haue gode day.”</p> +<p>“Nay, be my trouthe,” seid Robyn Hode,<br />“So +shalle hit neuer be;<br />I make the maister,” seid Robyn Hode,<br />“Off +alle my men and me.”</p> +<p>“Nay, be my trouthe,” seid Litulle Johne,<br />“So +shall hit neuer be,<br />But lat me be a felow,” seid Litulle +Johne,<br />“Non odur kepe I’ll be.”</p> +<p>Thus Johne gate Robyn Hode out of prisone,<br />Sertan withoutyn +layne;<br />When his men saw hym hol and sounde,<br />For sothe they +were ful fayne.</p> +<p>They filled in wyne, and made him glad,<br />Vnder the levys smale,<br />And +zete pastes of venysone,<br />That gode was with ale.</p> +<p>Than worde came to oure kynge,<br />How Robyn Hode was gone,<br />And +how the scheref of Notyngham<br />Durst neuer loke hyme vpone.</p> +<p>Then bespake oure cumly kynge,<br />In an angur hye,<br />“Litulle +Johne hase begyled the schereff,<br />In faith so hase he me.</p> +<p>“Litulle Johne has begyled vs bothe,<br />And that fulle wel +I se,<br />Or ellis the schereff of Notyngham<br />Hye hongut shuld +he be.</p> +<p>“I made hem zemen of the crowne,<br />And gaf hem fee with +my hond,<br />I gaf hem grithe,” seid oure kyng,<br />“Thorowout +alle mery Inglond.</p> +<p>“I gaf hem grithe,” then seide oure kyng,<br />“I +say, so mot I the,<br />For sothe soche a zeman as he is on<br />In +alle Ingland ar not thre.</p> +<p>“He is trew to his maister,” seide oure kynge,<br />“I +say, be swete seynt Johne;<br />He louys bettur Robyn Hode,<br />Then +he dose vs ychone.</p> +<p>“Robyne Hode is euer bond to him,<br />Bothe in strete and +stalle;<br />Speke no more of this matter,” seid oure kynge,<br />“But +John has begyled vs alle.”</p> +<p>Thus endys the talkyng of the munke<br />And Robyne Hode i-wysse;<br />God, +that is euer a crowned kyng,<br />Bryng vs alle to his blisse.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Robin Hood And The Potter</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In schomer, when the leves spryng,<br />The bloschems on every bowe,<br />So +merey doyt the berdys syng<br />Yn wodys merey now.</p> +<p>Herkens, god yemen,<br />Comley, corteysse, and god,<br />On of the +best that yever bar bou,<br />Hes name was Roben Hode.</p> +<p>Roben Hood was the yemans name,<br />That was boyt corteys and fre;<br />For +the loffe of owr ladey,<br />All wemen werschep he.</p> +<p>Bot as the god yemen stod on a day,<br />Among hes mery manèy,<br />He +was war of a prowd potter,<br />Cam dryfyng owyr the ley.</p> +<p>“Yonder comet a prod potter,” seyde Roben,<br />“That +long hayt hantyd this wey;<br />He was never so corteys a man<br />On +peney of pawage to pay.”</p> +<p>“Y met hem bot at Wentbreg,” seyde Lytyll John,<br />“And +therfor yeffell mot he the,<br />Seche thre strokes he me gafe,<br />Yet +they cleffe by my seydys.</p> +<p>“Y ley forty shillings,” seyde Lytyll John,<br />“To +pay het thes same day,<br />Ther ys nat a man arnong hus all<br />A +wed schall make hem ley.”</p> +<p>“Her ys forty shillings,” seyde Roben,<br />“Mor, +and thow dar say,<br />That y schall make that prowde potter,<br />A +wed to me schall he ley.”</p> +<p>Ther thes money they leyde,<br />They toke bot a yeman to kepe;<br />Roben +befor the potter he breyde,<br />And bad hem stond stell.</p> +<p>Handys apon hes horse he leyde,<br />And bad the potter stonde foll +stell;<br />The potter schorteley to hem seyde,<br />“Felow, what +ys they well?”</p> +<p>“All thes thre yer, and mor, potter,” he seyde,<br />“Thow +hast hantyd thes wey,<br />Yet wer tow never so cortys a man<br />One +peney of pauage to pay.”</p> +<p>“What ys they name,” seyde the potter,<br />“For +pauage thow ask of me?”<br />“Roben Hod ys mey name,<br />A +wed schall thow leffe me.”</p> +<p>“Well well y non leffe,” seyde the potter,<br />“Nor +pavag well y non pay;<br />Away they honde fro mey horse,<br />Y well +the tene eyls, be me fay.”</p> +<p>The potter to hes cart he went,<br />He was not to seke;<br />A god +to-hande staffe therowt he hent,<br />Befor Roben he lepe.</p> +<p>Roben howt with a swerd bent,<br />A bokeler en hes honde [therto];<br />The +potter to Roben he went,<br />And seyde, “Felow, let mey horse +go.”</p> +<p>Togeder then went thes two yemen,<br />Het was a god seyt to se;<br />Therof +low Robyn hes men,<br />Ther they stod onder a tre.</p> +<p>Leytell John to hes felowhes seyde,<br />“Yend potter welle +steffeley stonde:”<br />The potter, with an acward stroke,<br />Smot +the bokeler owt of hes honde;</p> +<p>And ar Roben meyt get hem agen<br />Hes bokeler at hes fette,<br />The +potter yn the neke hem toke,<br />To the gronde sone he yede.</p> +<p>That saw Roben hes men,<br />As they stode ender a bow;<br />“Let +us helpe owr master,” seyed Lytell John,<br />“Yonder potter +els well hem sclo.”</p> +<p>Thes yemen went with a breyde,<br />To ther master they cam.<br />Leytell +John to hes master seyde,<br />“He haet the wager won?</p> +<p>“Schall y haff yowr forty shillings,” seyde Lytel John,<br />“Or +ye, master, schall haffe myne?”<br />“Yeff they wer a hundred,” +seyde Roben,<br />“Y feythe, they ben all theyne.”</p> +<p>“Het ys fol leytell cortesey,” seyde the potter,<br />“As +y haffe harde weyse men saye,<br />Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower +the wey,<br />To let hem of hes gorney.”</p> +<p>“Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt,” seyde Roben,<br />“Thow +seys god yemenrey;<br />And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day,<br />Thow +schalt never be let for me.</p> +<p>“Y well prey the, god potter,<br />A felischepe well thow haffe?<br />Geffe +me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne;<br />Y well go to Notynggam.”</p> +<p>“Y grant therto,” seyde the potter,<br />“Thow +schalt feynde me a felow gode;<br />But thow can sell mey pottes well,<br />Come +ayen as thow yode.”</p> +<p>“Nay, be mey trowt,” seyde Roben,<br />“And then +y bescro mey hede<br />Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen,<br />And eney +weyffe well hem chepe.”</p> +<p>Than spake Leytell John,<br />And all hes felowhes heynd,<br />“Master, +be well war of the screffe of Notynggam,<br />For he ys leytell howr +frende.”</p> +<p>“Heyt war howte,” seyde Roben,<br />“Felowhes, +let me alone;<br />Thorow the helpe of howr ladey,<br />To Notynggam +well y gon.”</p> +<p>Robyn went to Notynggam,<br />Thes pottes for to sell;<br />The potter +abode with Robens men,<br />Ther he fered not eylle.</p> +<p>Tho Roben droffe on hes wey,<br />So merey ower the londe:<br />Heres +mor and affter ys to saye,<br />The best ys beheynde.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>[THE SECOND FIT.]</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>When Roben cam to Netynggam,<br />The soyt yef y scholde saye,<br />He +set op hes horse anon,<br />And gaffe hem hotys and haye.</p> +<p>Yn the medys of the towne,<br />Ther he schowed hes war;<br />“Pottys! +pottys!” he gan crey foll sone,<br />“Haffe hansell for +the mar.”</p> +<p>Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate<br />Schowed he hes chaffar;<br />Weyffes +and wedowes abowt hem drow,<br />And chepyd fast of hes war.</p> +<p>Yet, “Pottys, gret chepe!” creyed Robyn,<br />“Y +loffe yeffell thes to stonde;”<br />And all that saw hem sell,<br />Seyde +he had be no potter long.</p> +<p>The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe,<br />He sold tham for pens +thre;<br />Preveley seyde man and weyffe,<br />“Ywnder potter +schall never the.”</p> +<p>Thos Roben solde foll fast,<br />Tell he had pottys bot feyffe;<br />On +he hem toke of his car,<br />And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.</p> +<p>Therof sche was foll fayne,<br />“Gramarsey, sir,” than +seyde sche;<br />“When ye com to thes contre ayen,<br />Y schall +bey of they pottys, so mot y the.”</p> +<p>“Ye schall haffe of the best,” seyde Roben,<br />And +swar be the treneytè;<br />Foll corteysley she gan hem call,<br />“Com +deyne with the screfe and me.”</p> +<p>“Godamarsey,” seyde Roben,<br />“Yowr bedyng schalle +be doyn;”<br />A mayden yn the pottys gan ber,<br />Roben and +the screffe weyffe folowed anon.</p> +<p>Whan Roben ynto the hall cam,<br />The screffe sone he met;<br />The +potter cowed of corteysey,<br />And sone the screffe he gret.</p> +<p>“Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me;<br />Feyffe +pottys smalle and grete!”<br />“He ys fol wellcom, seyd +the screffe,<br />“Let os was, and go to mete.”</p> +<p>As they sat at her methe,<br />With a nobell cher,<br />Two of the +screffes men gan speke<br />Off a gret wagèr,</p> +<p>Was made the thother daye,<br />Off a schotyng was god and feyne,<br />Off +forty shillings, the soyt to saye,<br />Who scholde thes wager wen.</p> +<p>Styll than sat thes prowde po,<br />Thos than thowt he;<br />“As +y am a trow Cerstyn man,<br />Thes schotyng well y se.”</p> +<p>Whan they had fared of the best,<br />With bred and ale and weyne,<br />To +the bottys they made them prest,<br />With bowes and boltys full feyne.</p> +<p>The screffes men schot foll fast,<br />As archares that weren godde;<br />Ther +cam non ner ney the marke<br />Bey halfe a god archares bowe.</p> +<p>Stell then stod the prowde potter,<br />Thos than seyde he;<br />“And +y had a bow, be the rode,<br />On schot scholde yow se.”</p> +<p>“Thow schall haffe a bow,” seyde the screffe,<br />“The +best that thow well cheys of thre;<br />Thou semyst a stalward and a +stronge,<br />Asay schall thow be.”</p> +<p>The screffe commandyd a yeman that stod hem bey<br />Affter bowhes +to wende;<br />The best bow that the yeman browthe<br />Roben set on +a stryng.</p> +<p>“Now schall y wet and thow be god,<br />And polle het op to +they ner;”<br />“So god me helpe,” seyde the prowde +potter,<br />“Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger.”</p> +<p>To a quequer Roben went,<br />A god bolt owthe he toke;<br />So ney +on to the marke he went,<br />He fayled not a fothe.</p> +<p>All they schot abowthe agen,<br />The screffes men and he;<br />Off +the marke he welde not fayle,<br />He cleffed the preke on thre.</p> +<p>The screffes men thowt gret schame,<br />The potter the mastry wan;<br />The +screffe lowe and made god game,<br />And seyde, “Potter, thow +art a man;<br />Thow art worthey to ber a bowe,<br />Yn what plas that +thow gang.”</p> +<p>“Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe,<br />Forsoyt,” he seyde, +“and that a godde;<br />Yn mey cart ys the bow<br />That I had +of Robyn Hode.”</p> +<p>“Knowest thow Robyn Hode?” seyde the screffe,<br />“Potter, +y prey the tell thou me;”<br />“A hundred torne y haffe +schot with hem,<br />Under hes tortyll tree.”</p> +<p>“Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,” seyde the screffe,<br />And +swar be the trenitè,<br />[“Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,” +he seyde,]<br />“That the fals owtelawe stod be me.</p> +<p>“And ye well do afftyr mey red,” seyde the potter,<br />“And +boldeley go with me,<br />And to morow, or we het bred,<br />Roben Hode +wel we se.”</p> +<p>“Y well queyt the,” kod the screffe,<br />And swer be +god of meythe;<br />Schetyng thay left, and hom they went,<br />Her +scoper was redey deythe.</p> +<p>Upon the morow, when het was day,<br />He boskyd hem forthe to reyde;<br />The +potter hes carte forthe gan ray,<br />And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde.</p> +<p>He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe,<br />And thankyd her of all +thyng:<br />“Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer,<br />Y +geffe yow her a golde ryng.”</p> +<p>“Gramarsey,” seyde the weyffe,<br />“Sir, god eylde +het the;”<br />The screffes hart was never so leythe,<br />The +feyr forest to se.</p> +<p>And when he cam ynto the foreyst,<br />Yonder the leffes grene,<br />Berdys +ther sange on bowhes prest,<br />Het was gret joy to sene.</p> +<p>“Her het ys mercy to be,” seyde Roben,<br />“For +a man that had hawt to spende;<br />Be mey horne we schall awet<br />Yeff +Roben Hode be ner hande.”</p> +<p>Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe,<br />And blow a blast that was +full god,<br />That herde hes men that ther stode,<br />Fer downe yn +the wodde;<br />“I her mey master,” seyde Leytell John;<br />They +ran as thay wer wode.</p> +<p>Whan thay to thar master cam,<br />Leytell John wold not spar;<br />“Master, +how haffe yow far yn Notynggam?<br />How haffe yow solde yowr war?”</p> +<p>“Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll John,<br />Loke thow take no car;<br />Y +haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam,<br />For all howr chaffar.”</p> +<p>“He ys foll wellcom,” seyde Lytyll John,<br />“Thes +tydyng ys foll godde;”<br />The screffe had lever nar a hundred +ponde<br />[He had never sene Roben Hode.]</p> +<p>“Had I west that beforen,<br />At Notynggam when we wer,<br />Thow +scholde not com yn feyr forest<br />Of all thes thowsande eyr.”</p> +<p>“That wot y well,” seyde Roben,<br />“Y thanke +god that ye be her;<br />Therfor schall ye leffe yowr horse with hos,<br />And +all your hother ger.”</p> +<p>“That fend I godys forbode,” kod the screffe,<br />“So +to lese mey godde;”<br />“Hether ye cam on horse foll hey,<br />And +hom schall ye go on fote;<br />And gret well they weyffe at home,<br />The +woman ys foll godde.</p> +<p>“Y schall her sende a wheyt palffrey,<br />Het hambellet as +the weynde;<br />Ner for the loffe of yowr weyffe,<br />Off mor sorow +scholde yow seyng.”</p> +<p>Thes parted Robyn Hode and the screffe,<br />To Notynggam he toke +the waye;<br />Hes weyffe feyr welcomed hem hom,<br />And to hem gan +sche saye:</p> +<p>“Seyr, how haffe yow fared yn grene foreyst?<br />Haffe ye +browt Roben hom?”<br />“Dam, the deyell spede him, bothe +bodey and bon,<br />Y haffe hade a foll grete skorne.</p> +<p>“Of all the god that y haffe lade to grene wod,<br />He hayt +take het fro me,<br />All bot this feyr palffrey,<br />That he hayt +sende to the.”</p> +<p>With that sche toke op a lowde lawhyng,<br />And swhar be hem that +deyed on tre,<br />“Now haffe yow payed for all the pottys<br />That +Roben gaffe to me.</p> +<p>“Now ye be corn hom to Notynggam,<br />Ye schall haffe god +ynowe;”<br />Now speke we of Roben Hode,<br />And of the pottyr +onder the grene bowhe.</p> +<p>“Potter, what was they pottys worthe<br />To Notynggam that +y ledde with me?”<br />“They wer worth two nobellys,” +seyd he,<br />“So mot y treyffe or the;<br />So cowde y had for +tham,<br />And y had ther be.”</p> +<p>“Thow schalt hafe ten ponde,” seyde Roben,<br />“Of +money feyr and fre;<br />And yever whan thou comest to grene wod,<br />Wellcom, +potter to me.”</p> +<p>Thes partyd Robyn, the screffe, and the potter,<br />Ondernethe the +grene-wod tre;<br />God haffe mersey on Robyn Hodys solle,<br />And +saffe all god yemanrey!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>Ballad: Robin Hood And The Butcher</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Come, all you brave gallants, and listen awhile,<br /><i>With hey +down, down, an a down</i>,<br />That are in the bowers within;<br />For +of Robin Hood, that archer good,<br />A song I intend for to sing.</p> +<p>Upon a time it chancèd so,<br />Bold Robin in forrest did +’spy<br />A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,<br />With his +flesh to the market did hye.</p> +<p>“Good morrow, good fellow,” said jolly Robin,<br />“What +food hast [thou]? tell unto me;<br />Thy trade to me tell, and where +thou dost dwell,<br />For I like well thy company.”</p> +<p>The butcher he answer’d jolly Robin,<br />“No matter +where I dwell;<br />For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham<br />I am +going, my flesh to sell.”</p> +<p>“What’s [the] price of thy flesh?” said jolly Robin,<br />“Come, +tell it soon unto me;<br />And the price of thy mare, be she never so +dear,<br />For a butcher fain would I be.”</p> +<p>“The price of my flesh,” the butcher repli’d,<br />“I +soon will tell unto thee;<br />With my bonny mare, and they are not +too dear,<br />Four mark thou must give unto me.”</p> +<p>“Four mark I will give thee,” saith jolly Robin,<br />“Four +mark it shall be thy fee;<br />The mony come count, and let me mount,<br />For +a butcher I fain would be.”</p> +<p>Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone,<br />His butchers trade to begin;<br />With +good intent to the sheriff he went,<br />And there he took up his inn.</p> +<p>When other butchers did open their meat,<br />Bold Robin he then +begun;<br />But how for to sell he knew not well,<br />For a butcher +he was but young.</p> +<p>When other butchers no meat could sell,<br />Robin got both gold +and fee;<br />For he sold more meat for one peny<br />Then others could +do for three.</p> +<p>But when he sold his meat so fast,<br />No butcher by him could thrive;<br />For +he sold more meat for one peny<br />Than others could do for five.</p> +<p>Which made the butchers of Nottingham<br />To study as they did stand,<br />Saying, +“Surely he ‘is’ some prodigal,<br />That hath sold +his fathers land.”</p> +<p>The butchers stepped to jolly Robin,<br />Acquainted with him for +to be;<br />“Come, brother,” one said, “we be all +of one trade,<br />Come, will you go dine with me?”</p> +<p>“Accurst of his heart,” said jolly Robin,<br />“That +a butcher doth deny;<br />I will go with you, my brethren true,<br />As +fast as I can hie.”</p> +<p>But when to the sheriffs house they came,<br />To dinner they hied +apace,<br />And Robin Hood he the man must be<br />Before them all to +say grace.</p> +<p>“Pray God bless us all,” said jolly Robin,<br />“And +our meat within this place;<br />A cup of sack so good will nourish +our blood,<br />And so do I end my grace.”</p> +<p>“Come fill us more wine,” said jolly Robin,<br />“Let +us be merry while we do stay;<br />For wine and good cheer, be it never +so dear,<br />I vow I the reck’ning will pay.</p> +<p>“Come, ‘brothers,’ be merry,” said jolly +Robin,<br />“Let us drink, and never give ore;<br />For the shot +I will pay, ere I go my way,<br />If it cost me five pounds and more.”</p> +<p>“This is a mad blade,” the butchers then said;<br />Saies +the sheriff, “He is some prodigàl,<br />That some land +has sold for silver and gold,<br />And now he doth mean to spend all.</p> +<p>“Hast thou any horn beasts,” the sheriff repli’d,<br />“Good +fellow, to sell unto me?”<br />“Yes, that I have, good master +sheriff,<br />I have hundreds two or three;</p> +<p>“And a hundred aker of good free land,<br />If you please it +to see:<br />And Ile make you as good assurance of it,<br />As ever +my father made me.”</p> +<p>The sheriff he saddled his good palfrèy,<br />And, with three +hundred pound in gold,<br />Away he went with bold Robin Hood,<br />His +horned beasts to behold.</p> +<p>Away then the sheriff and Robin did ride,<br />To the forrest of +merry Sherwood;<br />Then the sheriff did say, “God bless us this +day<br />From a man they call Robin Hood!”</p> +<p>But when a little farther they came,<br />Bold Robin he chancèd +to spy<br />A hundred head of good red deer,<br />Come tripping the +sheriff full nigh.</p> +<p>“How like you my horn’d beasts, good master sheriff?<br />They +be fat and fair for to see;”<br />“I tell thee, good fellow, +I would I were gone,<br />For I like not thy company.”</p> +<p>Then Robin set his horn to his mouth,<br />And blew but blasts three;<br />Then +quickly anon there came Little John,<br />And all his company.</p> +<p>“What is your will, master?” then said Little John,<br />“Good +master come tell unto me;”<br />“I have brought hither the +sheriff of Nottingham<br />This day to dine with thee.”</p> +<p>“He is welcome to me,” then said Little John,<br />“I +hope he will honestly pay;<br />I know he has gold, if it be but well +told,<br />Will serve us to drink a whole day.”</p> +<p>Then Robin took his mantle from his back,<br />And laid it upon the +ground:<br />And out of the sheriffs portmantle<br />He told three hundred +pound.</p> +<p>Then Robin he brought him thorow the wood,<br />And set him on his +dapple gray;<br />“O have me commanded to your wife at home;”<br />So +Robin went laughing away.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>NOTES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SIR PATRICK SPENS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Mr. Child finds the first published version of “the grand old +ballad of Sir Patrick Spens,” as Coleridge calls it, in Bishop +Percy’s <i>Reliques</i>. Here the name is “Spence,” +and the middle rhyme—</p> +<p>“Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,”</p> +<p>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 <i>noblesse</i> in Flanders—</p> +<p>“Their ladies them may abide in bower and hall well long!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>, 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.</p> +<p>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—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“My wound is deep, I fain would sleep,<br />Take thou the vanguard +of the three.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Mr. Child thinks the command to</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“yield to the bracken-bush”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>unmartial. This does not seem a strong objection, in Froissart’s +time. It is explained in an oral fragment—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“For there lies aneth yon bracken-bush<br />Wha aft has conquered +mair than thee.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>TAM LIN, OR TAMLANE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Burns’s version, in Johnson’s <i>Museum</i> (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. <i>The Complaint of Scotland</i> (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 <i>Secret Commonwealth</i>. The Nereids, in Modern +Greece, practise fairy cantrips, and the same beliefs exist in Samoa +and New Caledonia. The metamorphoses are found in the <i>Odyssey</i>, +Book iv., in the winning of Thetis, the <i>Nereid, or Fairy Bride</i>, +by Peleus, in a modern Cretan fairy tale, and so on. There is +a similar incident in <i>Penda Baloa</i>, a Senegambian ballad (<i>Contes +Populaires de la Sénégambie</i>, Berenger Ferand, Paris, +1885). The dipping of Tamlane has precedents in <i>Old Deccan +Days</i>, in a Hottentot tale by Bleek, and in <i>Les Deux Frères</i>, +the Egyptian story, translated by Maspero (the Editor has already given +these parallels in a note to <i>Border Ballads</i>, 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THOMAS RYMER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>; 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,</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Betide, betide, whate’er betide,<br />There will aye +be a Haig in Bemersyde,”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>and a Haig still owns that ancient <i>château</i> 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 <i>Secret Commonwealth of Elves, +Fauns, and Fairies</i> may be consulted, or the Editor’s <i>Perrault</i>, +p. xxxv. (Oxford, 1888). Of the later legends about Thomas, Scott +gives plenty, in <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SIR HUGH</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SON DAVIE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE WIFE OF USHER’S WELL</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Here</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE TWA CORBIES</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From the third volume of <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>, derived by Charles +Kirkpatrick Sharpe from a traditional version. The English version, +“Three Ravens,” was published in <i>Melismata</i>, 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—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“She buried him before the prime,<br />She was dead herselfe +ere evensong time.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Probably the English is the earlier version.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>Tea Table +Miscellany</i>, and it is often sung to this day.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>CLERK SAUNDERS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>First known as published in <i>Border Minstrelsy</i> (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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>WALY, WALY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From Ramsay’s <i>Tea Table Miscellany</i>, 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 <i>The +Heart of Midlothian</i>. The Cairn of Nichol Mushat, the wife-murderer, +is not far off. The ruins of Anthony’s Chapel are still +extant.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>LOVE GREGOR</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>Odyssey</i>: 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 <i>Alt-Giechische +Märchen</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE QUEEN’S MARIE—MARY HAMILTON</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>(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.</p> +<p>(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.</p> +<p>(4) The name, Mary Hamilton, is often <i>not</i> given to the +heroine in variants of the ballad. She is of several names and +ranks in the variants.</p> +<p>(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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>KINMONT WILLIE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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 <i>aut</i> +<i>Gualterus aut diabolus</i>, 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>JAMIE TELFER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Scott, for once, was wrong in his localities. The Dodhead of +the poem is <i>not</i> 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 <i>Minstrelsy</i>, 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“gathered a band<br />Of the best that would ride at her command,”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>in the <i>Lay of the Last Minstrel</i>. The ancient keep of +Blackhouse on Douglas Burn may have been the home of the heroine, if +we are to localize.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE BONNY HIND</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 +<i>Kalevala</i>. 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 +<i>Chants Populaires du Pays</i> <i>Messin</i>, p. 60. (<i>Ballads +and Lyrics of Old France</i>, p. 63)</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>YOUNG BEICHAN, OR YOUNG BICHAM</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>This is the original of the Cockney <i>Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman</i>, +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 <i>Life of Becket</i>, or Beket), Percy Society, +1845. The date may be <i>circ</i>. 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 <i>Märchen</i> as “The +Black Bull o’ Norraway.” No story is more widely diffused +(see <i>A Far Travelled Tale</i>, in the Editor’s <i>Custom and +Myth</i>). The appearance of the “True Love,” just +at her lover’s wedding, is common in the <i>Märchen</i> 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 <i>Aucassin and Nicolette</i>. +The notes to Cruikshank’s <i>Loving Ballad</i> are, obviously, +by Thackeray.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE BONNY HOUSE O’ AIRLY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>ROB ROY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>Catriona</i> 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 <i>Catriona</i>, +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 +<i>Rob Roy</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>KILLIECRANKIE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Fought on July 27, 1689. <i>Not</i> 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>ANNAN WATER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i> 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE ELPHIN NOURRICE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>This curious poem is taken from the reprint of Charles Kirkpatrick +Sharpe’s tiny <i>Ballad Book</i>, itself now almost <i>introuvable</i>. +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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>JOHNNIE ARMSTRANG</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>Complaint of Scotland</i>. +In Sir Herbert Maxwell’s <i>History of Dumfries and Galloway</i> +is an excellent account of the historical facts of the case.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>EDOM O’ GORDON</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>The Battle of Balrinnes</i>. +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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>LADY ANNE BOTHWELL’S LAMENT</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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, <i>The Northern Lass</i> (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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>JOCK O’ THE SIDE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Published in Percy’s <i>Reliques</i>, 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 <i>Märchen</i> of the type of <i>The +Black Bull of Norraway</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>FAIR ANNIE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. There are Danish, Swedish, +Dutch, and German versions, and the theme enters artistic poetry as +early as Marie de France (<i>Le Lai del Freisne</i>). In Scotch +the Earl of Wemyss is a recent importation: the earldom dates from 1633. +Of course this process of attaching a legend or <i>Märchen</i> +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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE DOWNIE DENS OF YARROW</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>SIR ROLAND</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From Motherwell’s <i>Minstrelsy</i>. 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.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From the Jamieson-Brown MS., originally written out by Mrs. Brown +in 1783: Sir Waiter made changes in <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. +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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE BATTLE OF HARLAW</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>The +Antiquary</i>. This, indeed, is beyond all rivalry the most splendid +modern imitation of the ancient popular Muse.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>DICKIE MACPHALION</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From the <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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 +<i>Songs of the North</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“I wish that ye may sink for sin”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>occurs in an earlier ballad on Edinburgh Castle—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“And that all for the black dinner<br />Earl Douglas got therein.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>MAY COLVEN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>diablement changé en route</i>. More probably +the origin is a <i>Märchen</i> of a kind of <i>Rakshasa</i> 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>JOHNIE FAA</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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, <i>The Raiders</i>, may be consulted. The ballad was first +printed, as far as is known, in Ramsay’s <i>Tea Table Miscellany</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>HOBBIE NOBLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The hero recurs in <i>Jock o’ the Side</i>, 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 <i>History of Dumfries and Galloway</i> +may be consulted for these and similar reivers.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE TWA SISTERS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>MARY AMBREE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>Billy Taylor</i>. 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>ALISON GROSS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>Märchen</i>, 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 <i>Beauty and the Beast</i>. It would be more correct to +say that <i>Beauty and the Beast</i> is a late, courtly, French adaptation +and amplification of the original popular “wild growth” +which first appears (in literary form) as <i>Cupid and Psyche</i>, 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE HEIR OF LYNNE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From Percy’s Folio Manuscript. There is a cognate Greek +epigram—</p> +<p>Χρυσον ανηρ ευρων +ελιπε βροχον +αυταρ ο χρυσον<br />Ον +λιπεν, ουχ ευρων, +ηφεν τον ευρε +βροχον</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GORDON OF BRACKLEY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>This, though probably not the most authentic, is decidedly the most +pleasing version; it is from Mackay’s collection, perhaps from +his pen.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>EDWARD</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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 <i>Son Davie</i>, which may be compared. Fratricides +and unconscious incests were motives dear to popular poetry.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>YOUNG BENJIE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From the <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>. That corpses <i>might</i> +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 <i>a bloody glove</i>, 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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>AULD MAITLAND</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>. 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 <i>lacuna</i>. They are especially modern +in style. Now thus to fill up sham <i>lacunae</i> 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 <i>supercheries</i>, +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 <i>Blackwood</i> 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 <i>Domestic Manners of Sir Walter Scott</i>, p. 61, 1834.)</p> +<p>“Maitland upon auld beird gray” is mentioned by Gawain +Douglas, in his <i>Palice of Honour</i>, 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 <i>Hardyknute</i>, +and at least on a level with <i>Sir Roland</i>. The possibility +of such forgeries is now very slight indeed, but vitiates early collections.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>THE BROOMFIELD HILL</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>From Buchan’s <i>Ballads of the North of Scotland</i>. +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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>WILLIE’S LADYE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>ROBIN HOOD BALLADS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>There is plentiful “learning” about Robin Hood, but no +real knowledge. He is first mentioned in literature, as the subject +of “rhymes,” in <i>Piers Plowman</i> (<i>circ</i>. 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 <i>Ivanhoe</i>) +as the period of Richard I. Kuhn seeks to show that Hood is a +survival of Woden, or of his <i>Wooden</i>, “wooden horse” +or hobby horse. The Robin Hood play was parallel with the May +games, which, as Mr. Frazer shows in his <i>Golden Bough</i>, 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 <i>premit nox alta</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>This copy follows in Mr. Child’s early edition, “from +the second edition of Ritson’s <i>Robin Hood</i>, 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.)</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>ROBIN HOOD AND THE POTTER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Published by Ritson, from a Cambridge MS., probably of the reign +of Henry VII.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<h3>ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Published by Ritson, from a Black Letter copy in the collection of +Anthony Wood, the Oxford antiquary.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> See Pitcairn, +Case of Alison Pearson, 1586.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> Translated +in <i>Ballads and Lyrics of Old France</i>.—A. L.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> “Kinnen,” +rabbits.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> “Nicher,” +neigh.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> “Gilt,” +gold.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> “Dow,” +are able to.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7">{7}</a> “Ganging,” +going.</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8">{8}</a> “Targats”, +tassels.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9">{9}</a> “Blink +sae brawly,” glance so bravely.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10">{10}</a> “Fechting,” +fighting.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11">{11}</a> “Kirsty,” +Christopher.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a> “Hald,” +hold.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13">{13}</a> “Reek,” +smoke.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14">{14}</a> “Freits,” +omens.</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15">{15}</a> “Wighty,” +valiant.</p> +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16">{16}</a> “Wroken,” +revenged.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17">{17}</a> “Mudie,” +bold.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A COLLECTION OF BALLADS ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named cblad10h.htm or cblad10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, cblad11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, cblad10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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