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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. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. 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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