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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballad Book, by Katherine Lee Bates (ed.)
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+Title: Ballad Book
+
+Author: Katherine Lee Bates (ed.)
+
+Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7935]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on June 2, 2003]
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+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLAD BOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Tiffany Vergon, Dave Maddock
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+BALLAD BOOK
+
+EDITED BY KATHARINE LEE BATES,
+
+WELLESLEY COLLEGE.
+
+
+
+    "The plaintive numbers flow
+  For old, unhappy, far-off things,
+     And battles long ago."
+
+  --WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+Probably no teacher of English literature in our schools or colleges
+would gainsay the statement that the chief aim of such instruction is
+to awaken in the student a genuine love and enthusiasm for the higher
+forms of prose, and more especially for poetry. For love is the surest
+guarantee of extended and independent study, and we teachers are the
+first to admit that the class-room is but the vestibule to
+education. So in beginning the critical study of English poetry it
+seems reasonable to use as a starting-point the early ballads,
+belonging as they do to the youth of our literature, to the youth of
+our English race, and hence appealing with especial power to the youth
+of the human heart. Every man of letters who still retains the
+boy-element in his nature--and most men, Sir Philip Sidney tells us,
+are "children in the best things, till they be cradled in their
+graves"--has a tenderness for these rough, frank, spirited old poems,
+while the actual boy in years, or the actual girl, rarely fails to
+respond to their charm. What Shakespeare knew, and Scott loved, and
+Bossetti echoes, can hardly be beneath the admiration of high school
+and university students. Rugged language, broken metres, absurd plots,
+dubious morals, are impotent to destroy the vital beauty that
+underlies all these. There is a philosophical propriety, too, in
+beginning poetic study with ballad lore, for the ballad is the germ of
+all poem varieties.
+
+This volume attempts to present such a selection from the old ballads
+as shall represent them fairly in their three main classes,--those
+derived from superstition, whether fairy-lore, witch-lore, ghost-lore,
+or demon-lore; those derived from tradition, Scotch and English; and
+those derived from romance and from domestic life in general. The
+Scottish ballads, because of their far superior poetic value, are
+found here in greater number than the English. The notes state in each
+case what version has been followed. The notes aim, moreover, to give
+such facts of historical or bibliographical importance as may attach
+to each ballad, with any indispensable explanation of outworn or
+dialectic phrases, although here much is left to the mother-wit of the
+student.
+
+It is hoped that this selection may meet a definite need in connection
+with classes not so fortunate as to have access to a ballad library,
+and that even where such access is procurable, it may prove a friendly
+companion in the private study and the recitation-room.
+
+KATHARINE LEE BATES.
+
+WELLESLEY COLLEGE,
+March, 1904.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION.
+  THE WEE WEE MAN
+  TAMLANE
+  TRUE THOMAS
+  THE ELFIN KNIGHT
+  LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT
+  TOM THUMBE
+  KEMPION
+  ALISON GROSS
+  THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL
+  A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE
+  PROUD LADY MARGARET
+  THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE
+  THE DEMON LOVER
+  RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED
+
+BALLADS OF TRADITION.
+  SIR PATRICK SPENS
+  THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURNE
+  THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT
+  EDOM O' GORDON
+  KINMONT WILLIE
+  KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY
+  ROBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS
+  ROBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE
+  ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL
+
+ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS.
+  ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN
+  LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET
+  THE BANKS O' YARROW
+  THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY
+  FINE FLOWERS I' THE VALLEY
+  THE GAY GOSS-HAWK
+  YOUNG REDIN
+  WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET
+  YOUNG BEICHAN
+  GILDEROY
+  BONNY BARBARA ALLAN
+  THE GARDENER
+  ETIN THE FORESTER
+  LAMKIN
+  HUGH OF LINCOLN
+  FAIR ANNIE
+  THE LAIRD O' DRUM
+  LIZIE LINDSAY
+  KATHARINE JANFARIE
+  GLENLOGIE
+  GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR
+  THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND
+  THE TWA CORBIES
+  HELEN OF KIRCONNELL
+  WALY WALY
+  LORD RONALD
+  EDWARD, EDWARD
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+The development of poetry, the articulate life of man, is hidden in
+that mist which overhangs the morning of history. Yet the indications
+are that this art of arts had its origin, as far back as the days of
+savagery, in the ideal element of life rather than the utilitarian.
+There came a time, undoubtedly, when the mnemonic value of verse was
+recognized in the transmission of laws and records and the hard-won
+wealth of experience.  Our own Anglo-Saxon ancestors, whose rhyme, it
+will be remembered, was initial rhyme, or alliteration, have
+bequeathed to our modern speech many such devices for "the knitting up
+of the memory," largely legal or popular phrases, as _bed and board_,
+_to have and to hold_, _to give and to grant_, _time and tide_, _wind
+and wave_, _gold and gear_; or proverbs, as, for example: _When bale
+is highest, boon is nighest_, better known to the present age under
+the still alliterative form: _The darkest hour's before the dawn_.
+But if we may trust the signs of poetic evolution in barbarous tribes
+to-day, if we may draw inferences from the sacred character attached
+to the Muses in the myths of all races, with the old Norsemen, for
+instance, SagAc being the daughter of Odin, we may rest a reasonable
+confidence upon the theory that poetry, the world over, finds its
+first utterance at the bidding of the religious instinct and in
+connection with religious rites.
+
+Yet the wild-eyed warriors, keeping time by a rude triumphal chant to
+the dance about the watch-fire, were mentally as children, with keen
+senses and eager imagination, but feeble reason, with fresh and
+vigorous emotions, but without elaborate language for these emotions.
+Swaying and shouting in rhythmic consent, they came slowly to the use
+of ordered words and, even then, could but have repeated the same
+phrases over and over. The burden--sometimes senseless to our modern
+understanding--to be found in the present form of many of our ballads
+may be the survival of a survival from those primitive iterations. The
+"Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw" of _The Elfin Knight_ is not, in this
+instance, inappropriate to the theme, yet we can almost hear shrilling
+through it a far cry from days when men called directly upon the
+powers of nature. Such refrains as "Binnorie, O Binnorie," "Jennifer
+gentle an' rosemaree," "Down, a down, a down, a down," have ancient
+secrets in them, had we ears to hear.
+
+One of the vexed questions of criticism regarding these refrains is
+whether they were rendered in alternation with the narrative verses or
+as a continuous under-song.  Early observers of Indian dances have
+noted that, while one leaping savage after another improvised a simple
+strain or two, the whole dancing company kept up a guttural cadence of
+"Heh, heh, heh!" or "Aw, aw, aw!"  which served the office of musical
+accompaniment. This choral iteration of rhythmic syllables, still
+hinted in the refrain, but only hinted, is believed to be the original
+element of poetry.
+
+In course of time, however, was evolved the individual singer. In the
+earlier stages of society, song was undoubtedly a common gift, and
+every normal member of the community bore his part in the recital of
+the heroic deeds that ordinarily formed the subject of these primeval
+lays. Were it the praise of a god, of a feasting champion, or of a
+slain comrade, the natural utterance was narrative. Later on, the more
+fluent and inventive improvisers came to the front, and finally the
+professional bard appeared. Somewhere in the process, too, the burden
+may have shifted its part from under-song to alternating chorus, thus
+allowing the soloist opportunity for rest and recollection.
+
+English ballads, as we have them in print to-day, took form in a far
+later and more sophisticated period than those just suggested; yet
+even thus our ballads stand nearest of anything in our literature to
+the primitive poetry that was born out of the social life of the
+community rather than made by the solitary thought of the artist. Even
+so comparatively small a group as that comprehended within this volume
+shows how truly the ballad is the parent stock of all other poetic
+varieties. In the ballad of plain narrative, as _The Hunting of the
+Cheviot,_ the epic is hinted. We go a step further in _A Lytell Geste
+of Robyn Hode,_--too long for insertion in this collection, but
+peculiarly interesting from the antiquarian point of view, having been
+printed, in part, as early as 1489,--and find at least a rough
+foundation for a genuine hero-lay, the _Lytell Geste_ being made up of
+a number of ballads rudely woven into one. A poem like this, though
+hardly "an epic in miniature,"--a phrase which has been proposed as
+the definition of a ballad,--is truly an epic in germ, lacking the
+finish of a miniature, but holding the promise of a seed. Where the
+narrative is highly colored by emotion, as in _Helen of Kirconnell_ or
+_Waly Waly,_ the ballad merges into the lyric. It is difficult here to
+draw the line of distinction. _A Lyke-Wake Dirge_ is almost purely
+lyric in quality, while _The Lawlands o' Holland, Gilderoy, The Twa
+Corbies, Bonny Barbara Allan,_ have each a pronounced lyric element.
+From the ballad of dialogue we look forward to the drama, not only
+from the ballad of pure dialogue, as _Lord Ronald,_ or _Edward,
+Edward,_ or that sweet old English folk-song, too long for insertion
+here, _The Not-Browne Mayd,_ but more remotely from the ballad of
+mingled dialogue and narrative, as _The Gardener or Fine Flowers i'
+the Valley._
+
+The beginnings of English balladry are far out of sight.  From the
+date when the race first had deeds to praise and words with which to
+praise them, it is all but certain that ballads were in the air. But
+even the mediteval ballads are lost to us. It was the written
+literature, the work of clerks, fixed upon the parchment, that
+survived, while the songs of the people, passing from lip to lip down
+the generations, continually reshaped themselves to the changing
+times. But they were never hushed. While Chaucer, his genius fed by
+Norman and Italian streams, was making the fourteenth century reecho
+with that laughter which "comes never to an end" of the Canterbury
+story-tellers; while Langland, even his Teutonic spirit swayed by
+French example, was brooding the gloomy _Vision of Piers the
+Plowman,_--gloom with a star at its centre; while those "courtly
+makers," Wyatt and Surrey, were smoothing English song, which in the
+hands of Skelton had become so
+
+  "Tatter'd and jagged,
+   Rudely raine-beaten,
+   Rusty and moth-eaten,"
+
+into the exquisite lyrical measures of Italy; while the mysteries and
+miracle-plays, also of Continental impulse, were striving to do God
+service by impressing the Scripture stories upon their rustic
+audiences,--the ballads were being sung and told from Scottish loch to
+English lowland, in hamlet and in hall. Heartily enjoyed in the
+baronial castle, scandalously well known in the monastery, they were
+dearest to the peasants.
+
+  "Lewd peple loven tales olde;
+   Swiche thinges can they wel report and holde."
+
+The versions in which we possess such ballads to-day are comparatively
+modern. Few can be dated further back than the reign of Elizabeth; the
+language of some is that of the eighteenth century. But the number and
+variety of these versions--the ballad of _Lord Ronald,_ for instance,
+being given in fifteen forms by Professor Child in his monumental
+edition of _The English and Scottish Popular Ballads;_ where "Lord
+Ronald, my son," appears variously as "Lord Randal, my son," "Lord
+Donald, my son," "King Henrie, my son," "Lairde Rowlande, my son,"
+"Billy, my son," "Tiranti, my son," "my own pretty boy," "my bonnie
+wee croodlin dow," "my little wee croudlin doo," "Willie doo, Willie
+doo," "my wee wee croodlin doo doo"--are sure evidence of oral
+transmission, and oral transmission is in itself evidence of
+antiquity. Many of our ballads, moreover,--nearly a third of the
+present collection, as the notes will show,--are akin to ancient
+ballads of Continental Europe, or of Asia, or both, which set forth
+the outlines of the same stories in something the same way.
+
+It should be stated that there is another theory altogether as to the
+origin of ballads. Instead of regarding them as a slow, shadowed,
+natural growth, finally fossilized in print, from the rhythmic cries
+of a barbaric dance-circle in its festal hour, there is a weighty
+school of critics who hold them to be the mere rag-tag camp-followers
+of mediaeval romance. See, for instance, the clownish ballad of _Tom
+Thumbe,_ with its confused Arthurian echoes. Some of the events
+recorded in our ballads, moreover, are placed by definite local
+tradition at a comparatively recent date, as _Otterburne, Edom o'
+Gordon, Kinmont Willie._ What becomes, then, of their claims to long
+descent? If these do not fall, it is because they are based less on
+the general theme and course of the story, matters that seem to
+necessitate an individual composer, than on the so-called communal
+elements of refrain, iteration, stock stanzas, stock epithets, stock
+numbers, stock situations, the frank objectivity of the point of view,
+the sudden glimpses into a pagan world.
+
+In the lands of the schoolhouse, the newspaper, and the public
+library, the conditions of ballad-production are past and gone. Yet
+there are still a few isolated communities in Europe where genuine
+folk-songs of spontaneous composition may be heard by the eavesdropper
+and jotted down with a surreptitious pencil; for the rustics shrink
+from the curiosity of the learned and are silent in the presence of
+strangers. The most precious contribution to our literature from such
+a, source is _The Bard of the Dimbovitza_, an English translation of
+folk-songs and ballads peculiar to a certain district of Roumania.
+They were gathered by a native gentlewoman from among the peasants on
+her father's estate. "She was forced," writes Carmen Sylva, Queen of
+Roumania, one of the two translators, "to affect a desire to learn
+spinning, that she might join the girls at their spinning parties, and
+so overhear their songs more easily; she hid in the tall maize to hear
+the reapers crooning them, ... she listened for them by death-beds, by
+cradles, at the dance, and in the tavern, with inexhaustible
+patience.... Most of them are improvisations. They usually begin and
+end with a refrain."
+
+The Celtic revival, too, is discovering not only the love of song,
+but, to some extent, the power of improvisation in the more remote
+corners of the British Isles. Instances of popular balladry in the
+west of Ireland are givrn by Lady Gregory in her _Poets and Dreamers._
+
+The Roumanians still have their lute-players; old people in Galway
+still remember the last of their wandering folk-bards; but the Ettrick
+Shepherd, a century ago, had to call upon imagination for the picture
+of
+
+  "Each Caledonian minstrel true,
+   Dressed in his plaid and bonnet blue,
+   With harp across his shoulders slung,
+   And music murmuring round his tongue."
+
+Fearless children of nature these strolling poets were, even as the
+songs they sang.
+
+  "Little recked they, our bards of old,
+   Of autumn's showers, or winter's cold.
+   Sound slept they on the 'nighted hill,
+   Lulled by the winds, or bubbling rill,
+   Curtained within the winter cloud,
+   The heath their couch, the sky their shroud;
+   Yet theirs the strains that touch the heart,--
+   Bold, rapid, wild, and void of art."
+
+The value and hence the dignity of the minstrel's profession declined
+with the progress of the printing-press in popular favor, and the
+character of the gleemen suffered in consequence. This was more marked
+in England than in Scotland. Indeed, the question has been raised as
+to whether there ever existed a class of Englishmen who were both
+ballad-singers and ballad-makers.  This was one of the points at issue
+between those eminent antiquarians, Bishop Percy and Mr. Ritson, in
+the eighteenth century. Dr. Percy had defined the English minstrels as
+an "order of men in the middle ages, who subsisted by the arts of
+poetry and music, and sung to the harp the verses which they
+themselves composed."  The inflammable Joseph Ritson, whose love of an
+honest ballad goes far to excuse him for his lack of gentle demeanor
+toward the unfaithful editor of the _Reliques,_ pounced down so
+fiercely upon this definition, contending that, however applicable to
+Icelandic skalds or Norman trouveres or ProvenASal troubadours, it was
+altogether too flattering for the vagabond fiddlers of England,
+roughly trolling over to tavern audiences the ballads borrowed from
+their betters, that the dismayed bishop altered his last clause to
+read, "verses composed by themselves or others."
+
+Sir Walter Scott sums up this famous quarrel with his characteristic
+good-humor. "The debate," he says, "resembles the apologue of the gold
+and silver shield. Dr.  Percy looked on the minstrel in the palmy and
+exalted state to which, no doubt, many were elevated by their talents,
+like those who possess excellence in the fine arts in the present day;
+and Ritson considered the reverse of the medal, when the poor and
+wandering gleeman was glad to purchase his bread by singing his
+ballads at the ale-house, wearing a fantastic habit, and latterly
+sinking into a mere crowder upon an untuned fiddle, accompanying his
+rude strains with a ruder ditty, the helpless associate of drunken
+revellers, and marvellously afraid of the constable and parish
+beadle."
+
+There is proof enough that, by the reign of Elizabeth, the printer was
+elbowing the minstrel out into the gutter.  In Scotland the strolling
+bard was still not without honor, but in the sister country we find
+him denounced by ordinance together with "rogues, vagabonds, and
+sturdy beggars." The London stalls were fed by Grub-street authors
+with penny ballads--trash for the greater part--printed in
+black-letter on broadsides. Many of these doggerel productions were
+collected into small miscellanies, known as _Garlands,_ in the reign
+of James I.; but few of the genuine old folk-songs found a refuge in
+print. Yet they still lived on in corners of England and Scotland,
+where "the spinsters and the knitters in the sun" crooned over
+half-remembered lays to peasant children playing at their feet.
+
+In 1723 a collection of English ballads, made up largely, though not
+entirely, of stall-copies, was issued by an anonymous editor, not a
+little ashamed of himself because of his interest in so unworthy a
+subject; for although Dryden and Addison had played the man and given
+kindly entertainment--the one in his _Miscellany Poems,_ the other in
+_The Spectator_--to a few ballad-gypsies, yet poetry in general, that
+most "flat, stale, and unprofitable" poetry of the early and middle
+eighteenth century, disdained all fellowship with the unkempt,
+wandering tribe.
+
+In the latter half of that century, however, occurred the great event
+in the history of our ballad literature.  A country clergyman of a
+literary turn of mind, resident in the north of England, being on a
+visit to his "worthy friend, Humphrey Pitt, Esq., then living at
+Shiffnal in Shropshire," had the glorious good luck to hit upon an old
+folio manuscript of ballads and romances.  "I saw it," writes Percy,
+"lying dirty on the floor under a Bureau in ye Parlour; being used by
+the Maids to light the fire."
+
+"A scrubby, shabby paper book" it may have been, with some leaves torn
+half away and others lacking altogether, but it was a genuine ballad
+manuscript, in handwriting of about the year 1650, and Percy,
+realizing that the worthy Mr. Pitt was feeding his parlor fire with
+very precious fuel, begged the tattered volume of his host and bore it
+proudly home, where with presumptuous pen he revised and embellished
+and otherwise, all innocently, maltreated the noble old ballads until
+he deemed, although with grave misgivings, that they would not too
+violently shock the polite taste of the eighteenth century.  The
+eighteenth century, wearied to death of its own politeness, worn out
+by the heartless elegance of Pope and the insipid sentimentality of
+Prior, gave these fresh, simple melodies an unexpected welcome, even
+in the face of the reigning king of letters, Dr. Johnson, who forbade
+them to come to court. But good poems are not slain by bad critics,
+and the old ballads, despite the burly doctor's displeasure, took
+henceforth a recognized place in English literature. Herd's delightful
+collection of Scottish songs and ballads, wherein are gathered so many
+of those magical refrains, the rough ore of Burns' fine gold,--"Green
+grow the rashes O," "Should auld acquaintance be forgot," "For the
+sake o' somebody,"--soon followed, and Ritson, while ever slashing
+away at poor Percy, often for his minstrel theories, more often for
+his ballad emendations, and most often for his holding back the
+original folio manuscript from publication, appeared himself as a
+collector and antiquarian of admirable quality. Meanwhile Walter
+Scott, still in his schoolboy days, had chanced upon a copy of the
+_Reliques_, and had fallen in love with ballads at first sight. All
+the morning long he lay reading the book beneath a huge platanus-tree
+in his aunt's garden. "The summer day sped onward so fast," he says,
+"that notwithstanding the sharp appetite of thirteen, I forgot the
+hour of dinner, was sought for with anxiety, and was found still
+entranced in my intellectual banquet. To read and to remember was in
+this instance the same thing, and henceforth I overwhelmed my
+school-fellows and all who would hearken to me, with tragical
+recitations from the ballads of Bishop Percy. The first time, too, I
+could scrape a few shillings together, which were not common
+occurrences with me, I bought unto myself a copy of these beloved
+volumes, nor do I believe I ever read a book half so frequently, or
+with half the enthusiasm."
+
+The later fruits of that schoolboy passion were garnered in Scott's
+original ballads, metrical romances, and no less romantic novels, all
+so picturesque with feudal lights and shadows, so pure with chivalric
+sentiment; but an earlier result was _The Minstrelsy of the Scottish
+Border,_ a collection of folk-songs gleaned in vacation excursions
+from pipers and shepherds and old peasant women of the border
+districts, and containing, with other ballads, full forty-three
+previously unknown to print, among them some of our very best. Other
+poet collectors--Motherwell and Aytoun--followed where Scott had led,
+Scott having been himself preceded by Allan Ramsay, who so early as
+1724 had included several old ballads, freely retouched, in his
+_Evergreen and Tea-Table Miscellany._ Nor were there lacking others,
+poets in ear and heart if not in pen, who went up and down the
+country-side, seeking to gather into books the old heroic lays that
+were already on the point of perishing from the memories of the
+people. Meanwhile Ritson's shrill cry for the publication of the
+original Percy manuscript was taken up in varying keys again and
+again, until in our own generation the echoes on our own side of the
+water grew so persistent that with no small difficulty the
+much-desired end was actually attained. The owners of the folio having
+been brought to yield their slow consent, our richest treasure of Old
+English song, for so perilously long a period exposed to all the
+hazards that beset a single manuscript, is safe in print at last and
+open to the inspection of us all. The late Professor Child of Harvard,
+our first American authority on ballad-lore, and Dr. Furnivall of
+London, would each yield the other the honor of this achievement for
+which no ballad-lover can speak too many thanks.
+
+A list of our principal ballad collections may be found of practical
+convenience, as well as of literary interest. Passing by the
+_Miscellanies,_ Percy, as becomes one of the gallant lineage to which
+he set up a somewhat doubtful claim, leads the van.
+
+Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. 1765.
+
+Herd's Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, etc.  1769.
+
+Ritson's Ancient Popular Poetry. 1791.
+
+Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads. 1792.
+
+Ritson's Robin Hood. 1795.
+
+Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 1802-1803.
+
+Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs. 1806.
+
+Finlay's Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads. 1808.
+
+Sharpe's Ballad Book. 1824.
+
+Maidment's North Countrie Garland. 1824.
+
+Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads. 1827.
+
+Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern. 1827.
+
+Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland.  1828.
+
+Chambers' Scottish Ballads. 1829.
+
+Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads. 1845.
+
+Child's English and Scottish Ballads. 1857-1858.
+
+Aytoun's Ballads of Scotland. 1858.
+
+Maidment's Scottish Ballads and Songs. 1868.
+
+Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript. 1868.
+
+Child's English and Scottish Popular Ballads (issued in parts).
+1882-98.
+
+
+
+A WORD WITH THE TEACHER.
+
+
+The methods of ballad-work in the class-room must of course vary with
+the amount of time at disposal, the extent of library privilege, and
+the attainment of the students.  Where the requisite books are at
+hand, it may be found a profitable exercise to commit a ballad to each
+member of the class, who shall hunt down the various English versions,
+and, as far as his power reaches, the foreign equivalents. But
+specific topical study can be put to advantage on the ballads
+themselves, the fifty collected here furnishing abundant data for
+discussion and illustration in regard to such subjects as the
+following:--
+
+                    / Teutonic.
+  Ballad Language  |  Dialectic.
+                    \ Idiomatic.
+
+                    /                    / Description.
+                   /  Ballad Stanza     |  Peculiar Fitness.
+                  |                      \ Variations.
+                  |
+  Ballad Music    |                      / Metre.
+                  |   Irregularities in |  Accent.
+                  |                      \ Rhyme.
+                   \  Significance of
+                    \   Irregularities.
+
+                    / Introduction.
+                   /  Dramatic Element.
+  Ballad Structure |  Involution of Plot.
+                   \  Proportion of Element.
+                    \ Conclusion.
+
+
+                              / Government.
+  Early English and Scottish |  Family.
+    Life as reflected in the |  Employments.
+    Ballads                  |  Pastimes.
+                              \ Manners.
+
+  Early English and Scottish  / Aspirations.
+    Character as reflected   |  Principles.
+    in the Ballads            \ Tastes.
+
+  Democracy in the Ballads.
+
+  Nature in the Ballads.
+
+  Color in the Ballads.
+
+  History and Science in the Ballads.
+
+  Manhood in the Ballads.
+
+  Womanhood in the Ballads.
+
+  Childhood in the Ballads.
+
+  Standards of Morality in the Ballads.
+
+  Religion in the Ballads / Pagan Element.
+                          \ Christian Element. / Catholic.
+                                               \ Protestant.
+  Figures of Speech / Enumeration
+    in the Ballads |  General Character.
+                    \ Proportion.
+
+                     / Epithets.
+                    /  Numbers.
+  Stock Material   |   Refrains.
+    of the Ballads |   Similes.
+                   |   Metaphors.
+                    \  Stanzas.
+                     \ Situations.
+
+  Humor of the Ballads. / In what consisting.
+                        \ At what directed.
+
+  Pathos of the Ballads. / By what elicited.
+                         \ How expressed.
+
+                          / In Form.
+  Beauty of the Ballads. |  In Matter.
+                          \ In Spirit.
+
+A more delicate, difficult, and valuable variety of study may be put
+upon the ballads, taken one by one, with the aim of impression upon a
+class the very simplicity of strength and sweetness in this wild
+minstrelsy. The mere recitation or reading of the ballad, with such
+unacademic and living comment as shall help the imagination of the
+hearer to leap into a vivid realization of the swiftly shifted scenes,
+the sympathy to follow with eager comprehension the crowded, changing
+passions, the whole nature to thrill with the warm pulse of the rough
+old poem, is perhaps the surest way to drive the ballad home, trusting
+it to work within the student toward that spirit--development which is
+more truly the end of education than mental storage. For these
+primitive folk-songs which have done so much to educate the poetic
+sense in the fine peasantry of Scotland,--that peasantry which has
+produced an Ettrick Shepherd and an Ayrshire Ploughman,--are
+assuredly,
+
+  "Thanks to the human heart by which we live,"
+
+among the best educators that can be brought into our schoolrooms.
+
+
+
+BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION.
+
+
+THE WEE WEE MAN.
+
+As I was wa'king all alane,
+  Between a water and a wa',
+There I spy'd a wee wee man,
+  And he was the least that e'er I saw.
+
+His legs were scant a shathmont's length,
+  And sma' and limber was his thie,
+Between his e'en there was a span,
+  And between his shoulders there was three.
+
+'He took up a meikle stane,
+  And he flang't as far as I could see;
+Though I had been a Wallace wight,
+  I couldna liften't to my knee.
+
+"O wee wee man, but thou be strang!
+  O tell me where thy dwelling be?"
+"My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower;
+  O will you go with me and see?"
+
+On we lap, and awa' we rade,
+  Till we cam' to yon bonny green;
+We lighted down for to bait our horse,
+  And out there cam' a lady sheen.
+
+Four and twenty at her back,
+  And they were a' clad out in green,
+Though the King o' Scotland had been there,
+  The warst o' them might hae been his Queen.
+
+On we lap, and awa' we rade,
+  Till we cam' to yon bonny ha',
+Where the roof was o' the beaten gowd,
+  And the floor was o' the crystal a'.
+
+When we cam' to the stair foot,
+  Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma';
+But in the twinkling of an e'e,
+  My wee wee man was clean awa'.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+TAMLANE.
+
+"O I forbid ye, maidens a',
+  That bind in snood your hair,
+To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
+  For young Tamlane is there."
+
+Fair Janet sat within her bower,
+  Sewing her silken seam,
+And fain would be at Carterhaugh,
+  Amang the leaves sae green.
+
+She let the seam fa' to her foot,
+  The needle to her tae,
+And she's awa' to Carterhaugh,
+  As quickly as she may.
+
+She's prink'd hersell, and preen'd hersell,
+  By the ae light o' the moon,
+And she's awa to Carterhaugh,
+  As fast as she could gang.
+
+She hadna pu'd a red red rose,
+  A rose but barely three,
+When up and starts the young Tamlane,
+  Says, "Lady, let a-be!
+
+"What gars ye pu' the rose, Janet?
+  What gars ye break the tree?
+Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,
+  Without the leave o' me?"
+
+"O I will pu' the flowers," she said,
+  "And I will break the tree;
+And I will come to Carterhaugh,
+  And ask na leave of thee."
+
+But when she cam' to her father's ha',
+  She looked sae wan and pale,
+They thought the lady had gotten a fright,
+  Or with sickness sair did ail.
+
+Janet has kilted her green kirtle
+  A little aboon her knee,
+And she has snooded her yellow hair
+  A little aboon her bree,
+And she's awa to Carterhaugh,
+  As fast as she can hie.
+
+She hadna pu'd a rose, a rose,
+  A rose but barely twae,
+When up there started young Tamlane,
+  Says, "Lady, thou pu's nae mae."
+
+"Now ye maun tell the truth," she said,
+  A word ye maunna lie;
+O, were ye ever in haly chapel,
+  Or sained in Christentie?"
+
+"The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet,
+  A word I winna lie;
+I was ta'en to the good church-door,
+  And sained as well as thee.
+
+"Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,
+  Dunbar, Earl March, was thine;
+We loved when we were children small,
+  Which yet you well may mind.
+
+"When I was a boy just turned of nine,
+  My uncle sent for me,
+To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,
+  And keep him companie.
+
+"There came a wind out of the north,
+  A sharp wind and a snell,
+And a dead sleep came over me,
+  And frae my horse I fell;
+The Queen of Fairies she was there,
+  And took me to hersell.
+
+"And we, that live in Fairy-land,
+  Nae sickness know nor pain;
+I quit my body when I will,
+  And take to it again.
+
+"I quit my body when I please,
+  Or unto it repair;
+We can inhabit at our ease
+  In either earth or air.
+
+"Our shapes and size we can convert
+  To either large or small;
+An old nut-shell's the same to us
+  As is the lofty hall.
+
+"We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet,
+  We revel in the stream;
+We wanton lightly on the wind,
+  Or glide on a sunbeam.
+
+"And never would I tire, Janet,
+  In fairy-land to dwell;
+But aye, at every seven years,
+  They pay the teind to hell;
+And I'm sae fat and fair of flesh,
+  I fear 'twill be mysell!
+
+"The morn at e'en is Hallowe'en;
+  Our fairy court will ride,
+Through England and through Scotland baith,
+  And through the warld sae wide,
+And if that ye wad borrow me,
+  At Miles Cross ye maun bide.
+
+"And ye maun gae to the Miles Cross,
+  Between twelve hours and one,
+Tak' haly water in your hand,
+  And cast a compass roun'."
+
+"But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane,
+  And how shall I thee knaw,
+Amang the throng o' fairy folk,
+  The like I never saw?"
+
+"The first court that comes alang,
+  Ye'll let them a' pass by;
+The neist court that comes alang
+  Salute them reverently.
+
+"The third court that comes alang
+  Is clad in robes o' green,
+And it's the head court of them a',
+  And in it rides the Queen.
+
+"And I upon a milk-white steed,
+  Wi' a gold star in my croun;
+Because I am a christen'd knight
+  They give me that renoun.
+
+'First let pass the black, Janet,
+  And syne let pass the broun,
+But grip ye to the milk-white steed,
+  And pu' the rider doun.
+
+"My right hand will be glov'd, Janet,
+  My left hand will be bare,
+And thae's the tokens I gie thee;
+  Nae doubt I will be there.
+
+"Ye'll seize upon me with a spring,
+  And to the ground I'll fa',
+And then you'll hear an elrish cry
+  That Tamlane is awa'.
+
+"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
+  An adder and a snake;
+But haud me fast, let me not pass,
+  Gin ye would be my maik.
+
+"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
+  An adder and an aske;
+They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
+  A bale that burns fast.
+
+"They'll shape me in your arms, Janet,
+  A dove, but and a swan:
+And last they'll shape me in your arms
+  A mother-naked man:
+Cast your green mantle over me--
+  And sae shall I be wan!"
+
+Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
+  And eerie was the way,
+As fair Janet, in her green mantle,
+  To Miles Cross she did gae.
+
+About the dead hour o' the night
+  She heard the bridles ring,
+And Janet was as glad o' that
+  As ony earthly thing.
+
+There's haly water in her hand,
+  She casts a compass round;
+And straight she sees a fairy band
+  Come riding o'er the mound.
+
+And first gaed by the black, black steed,
+  And then gaed by the broun;
+But fast she gript the milk-white steed,
+  And pu'd the rider doun.
+
+She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed,
+  And loot the bridle fa';
+And up there raise an elrish cry;
+  "He's won amang us a'!"
+
+They shaped him in fair Janet's arms
+  An aske, but and an adder;
+She held him fast in every shape,
+  To be her ain true lover.
+
+They shaped him in her arms at last
+  A mother-naked man,
+She cuist her mantle over him,
+  And sae her true love wan.
+
+Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,
+  Out of a bush o' broom:
+"She that has borrowed young Tamlane,
+  Has gotten a stately groom!"
+
+Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,
+  Out of a bush of rye:
+"She's ta'en away the bonniest knight
+  In a' my companie!
+
+"But had I kenned, Tamlane," she says,
+  "A lady wad borrow thee,
+I wad hae ta'en out thy twa gray e'en,
+  Put in twa e'en o' tree!
+
+"Had I but kenned, Tamlane," she says,
+  "Before ye came frae hame,
+I wad hae ta'en out your heart of flesh,
+  Put in a heart o' stane!
+
+"Had I but had the wit yestreen
+  That I hae coft this day,
+I'd hae paid my teind seven times to hell,
+  Ere you'd been won away!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+TRUE THOMAS.
+
+True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
+  A ferlie he spied with his e'e;
+And there he saw a ladye bright,
+  Come riding down by the Eildon tree.
+
+Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
+  Her mantle o' the velvet fine,
+At ilka tett of her horse's mane,
+  Hung fifty siller bells and nine.
+
+True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
+  And louted low down to his knee;
+"All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
+  For thy peer on earth I never did see."
+
+"O no, O no, Thomas," she said,
+  "That name does not belang to me;
+I'm but the Queen of fair Elfland,
+  That hither am come to visit thee!
+
+"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said,
+  "Harp and carp alang wi' me;
+And if ye daur to kiss my lips,
+  Sure of your bodie I shall be!"
+
+"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
+  That weird shall never daunton me!"
+Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
+  All underneath the Eildon tree.
+
+"Now ye maun go wi' me," she said,
+  "True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;
+And ye maun serve me seven years,
+  Through weal or woe as may chance to be."
+
+She's mounted on her milk-white steed,
+  She's ta'en True Thomas up behind;
+And aye, whene'er her bridle rang,
+  The steed gaed swifter than the wind.
+
+O they rade on, and further on,
+  The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
+Until they reached a desert wide,
+  And living land was left behind.
+
+"Light down, light down now, Thomas," she said,
+  "And lean your head upon my knee;
+Light down, and rest a little space,
+  And I will show you ferlies three.
+
+"O see ye na that braid braid road,
+  That stretches o'er the lily leven?
+That is the path of wickedness,
+  Though some call it the road to heaven.
+
+"And see ye na yon narrow road,
+  Sae thick beset wi' thorns and briers?
+That is the path of righteousness,
+  Though after it but few enquires.
+
+"And see ye na yon bonny road,
+  That winds about the ferny brae?
+That is the way to fair Elfland,
+  Where you and I this night maun gae.
+
+"But, Thomas, ye maun hauld your tongue,
+  Whatever you may hear or see;
+For if ye speak word in Elfin land,
+  Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie!"
+
+O they rade on, and further on,
+  And they waded through rivers aboon the knee,
+And they saw neither sun nor moon,
+  But they heard the roaring of a sea.
+
+It was mirk mirk night, there was nae stern-light,
+  And they waded through red blude to the knee;
+For a' the blude that's shed on earth,
+  Kins through the springs o' that countrie.
+
+Syne they came to a garden green,
+  And she pu'd an apple frae a tree--
+"Take this for thy wages, True Thomas;
+  It will give thee the tongue that can never lie!"
+
+"My tongue is my ain!" True Thomas he said,
+  "A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!
+I neither douglit to buy nor sell,
+  At fair or tryste where I may be.
+
+"I dought neither speak to prince nor peer,
+  Nor ask for grace from fair ladye!"
+"Now hauld thy tongue, Thomas!" she said
+  "For as I say, so must it be."
+
+He has gotten a coat of the even claith,
+  And a pair o' shoon of the velvet green;
+And till seven years were come and gane,
+  True Thomas on earth was never seen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE ELFIN KNIGHT.
+
+The Elfin knight stands on yon hill;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Blawing his horn baith loud and shrill,
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"If I had the horn that I hear blawn,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And the bonnie knight that blaws the horn!"
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+She had na sooner thae words said;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Than the Elfin knight cam' to her side:
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"Thou art too young a maid," quoth he,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+"Married wi' me you ill wad be."
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"I hae a sister younger than me;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And she was married yesterday."
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"Married to me ye shall be nane;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Till ye mak' me a sark without a seam;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun shape it, knifeless, sheerless,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye maun sew it, needle-threedless;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun wash it within a well,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Whaur dew never wat, nor rain ever fell,
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun dry it upon a thorn,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+That never budded sin' Adam was born."
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"O gin that kindness I do for thee;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+There's something ye maun do for me.
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"I hae an acre o' gude lea-land,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Between the saut sea and the strand;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"Ye'll plough it wi' your blawing horn,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye will sow it wi' pepper corn,
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun harrow't wi' a single tyne,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And shear it wi' a sheep's shank bane;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And bigg a cart o' lime and stane,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And Robin Redbreast maun trail it hame,
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun barn it in a mouse-hole,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye maun thresh it in your shoe sole;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun winnow it wi' your loof,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye maun sack it in your glove;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun dry it, but candle or coal,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye maun grind it, but quern or mill;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"When ye hae done, and finish'd your wark,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Then come to me, and ye'se get your sark!"
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT.
+
+There cam' a bird out o' a bush,
+  On water for to dine,
+An' sighing sair, says the king's daughter,
+  "O wae's this heart o' mine!"
+
+He's taen a harp into his hand,
+  He's harped them all asleep,
+Except it was the king's daughter,
+  Who ae wink couldna get.
+
+He's luppen on his berry-brown steed,
+  Taen 'er on behind himsell,
+Then baith rede down to that water
+  That they ca' Wearie's Well.
+
+"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
+  Nae harm shall thee befall;
+Aft times hae I water'd my steed
+  Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."
+
+The first step that she stepped in,
+  She stepped to the knee;
+And sighing sair, says this lady fair,
+  "This water's nae for me."
+
+"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
+  Nae harm shall thee befall;
+Aft times hae I water'd my steed
+  Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."
+
+The neist step that she stepped in,
+  She stepped to the middle;
+"O," sighend says this lady fair,
+  "I've wat my gowden girdle."
+
+"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
+  Nae harm shall thee befall;
+Aft times hae I water'd my steed
+  Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."
+
+The neist step that she stepped in,
+  She stepped to the chin;
+"O," sighend says this lady fair,
+  "I'll wade nae farer in."
+
+"Seven king's-daughters I've drownd here,
+  In the water o' Wearie's Well,
+And I'll mak' you the eight o' them,
+  And ring the common bell."
+
+"Sin' I am standing here," she says,
+  "This dowie death to die,
+Ae kiss o' your comely mouth
+  I'm sure wad comfort me."
+
+He's louted him o'er his saddle bow,
+  To kiss her cheek and chin;
+She's taen him in her arms twa,
+  An' thrown him headlong in.
+
+"Sin' seven king's-daughters ye've drownd here,
+  In the water o' Wearie's Well,
+I'll mak' you bridegroom to them a',
+  An' ring the bell mysell."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+TOM THUMBE.
+
+In Arthurs court Tom Thumbe did live,
+  A man of mickle might,
+The best of all the table round,
+  And eke a doughty knight:
+
+His stature but an inch in height,
+  Or quarter of a span;
+Then thinke you not this little knight,
+  Was prov'd a valiant man?
+
+His father was a plow-man plaine,
+  His mother milkt the cow,
+But yet the way to get a sonne
+  This couple knew not how,
+
+Untill such time this good old man
+  To learned Merlin goes,
+And there to him his deepe desires
+  In secret manner showes,
+
+How in his heart he wisht to have
+  A childe, in time to come,
+To be his heire, though it might be
+  No bigger than his Thumbe.
+
+Of which old Merlin thus foretold,
+  That he his wish should have,
+And so this sonne of stature small
+  The charmer to him gave.
+
+No blood nor bones in him should be,
+  In shape and being such,
+That men should heare him speake, but not
+  His wandring shadow touch:
+
+But all unseene to goe or come
+  Whereas it pleasd him still;
+And thus King Arthurs Dwarfe was born,
+  To fit his fathers will:
+
+And in foure minutes grew so fast,
+  That he became so tall
+As was the plowmans thumbe in height,
+  And so they did him call
+
+Tom Thumbe, the which the Fayry-Queene
+  There gave him to his name,
+Who, with her traine of Goblins grim,
+  Unto his christning came.
+
+Whereas she cloath'd him richly brave,
+  In garments fine and faire,
+Which lasted him for many yeares
+  In seemely sort to weare.
+
+His hat made of an oaken leafe,
+  His shirt a spiders web,
+Both light and soft for those his limbes
+  That were so smally bred;
+
+His hose and doublet thistle downe,
+  Togeather weav'd full fine;
+His stockins of an apple greene,
+  Made of the outward rine;
+
+His garters were two little haires,
+  Pull'd from his mothers eye,
+His bootes and shooes a mouses skin,
+  There tand most curiously.
+
+Thus, like a lustie gallant, he
+  Adventured forth to goe,
+With other children in the streets
+  His pretty trickes to show.
+
+Where he for counters, pinns, and points,
+  And cherry stones did play,
+Till he amongst those gamesters young
+  Had loste his stocke away,
+
+Yet could he soone renew the same,
+  When as most nimbly he
+Would dive into their cherry-baggs,
+  And there partaker be,
+
+Unseene or felt by any one,
+  Untill a scholler shut
+This nimble youth into a boxe,
+  Wherein his pins he put.
+
+Of whom to be reveng'd, he tooke
+  (In mirth and pleasant game)
+Black pots, and glasses, which he hung
+  Upon a bright sunne-beam.
+
+The other boyes to doe the like,
+  In pieces broke them quite;
+For which they were most soundly whipt,
+  Whereat he laught outright.
+
+And so Tom Thumbe restrained was
+  From these his sports and play,
+And by his mother after that
+  Compel'd at home to stay.
+
+Whereas about a Christmas time,
+  His father a hog had kil'd,
+And Tom would see the puddings made,
+  For fear they should be spil'd.
+
+He sate upon the pudding-boule,
+  The candle for to hold;
+Of which there is unto this day
+  A pretty pastime told:
+
+For Tom fell in, and could not be
+  For ever after found,
+For in the blood and batter he
+  Was strangely lost and drownd.
+
+Where searching long, but all in vaine,
+  His mother after that
+Into a pudding thrust her sonne,
+  Instead of minced fat.
+
+Which pudding of the largest size
+  Into the kettle throwne,
+Made all the rest to fly thereout,
+  As with a whirle-wind blowne.
+
+For so it tumbled up and downe,
+  Within the liquor there,
+As if the devill had been boiled;
+  Such was his mothers feare,
+
+That up she took the pudding strait.
+  And gave it at the door
+Unto a tinker, which from thence
+  In his blacke budget bore.
+
+From which Tom Thumbe got loose at last
+  And home return'd againe:
+Where he from following dangers long
+  In safety did remaine.
+
+Now after this, in sowing time,
+  His father would him have
+Into the field to drive his plow,
+  And thereupon him gave
+
+A whip made of a barly straw
+  To drive the cattle on:
+Where, in a furrow'd land new sowne,
+  Poore Tom was lost and gon.
+
+Now by a raven of great strength
+  Away he thence was borne,
+And carried in the carrions beake
+  Even like a graine of corne,
+
+Unto a giants castle top,
+  In which he let him fall,
+Where soone the giant swallowed up
+  His body, cloathes and all.
+
+But in his stomach did Tom Thumbe
+  So great a rumbling make,
+That neither day nor night he could
+  The smallest quiet take,
+
+Untill the giant had him spewd
+  Three miles into the sea,
+Whereas a fish soone tooke him up
+  And bore him thence away.
+
+Which lusty fish was after caught
+  And to king Arthur sent,
+Where Tom was found, and made his dwarfe,
+  Whereas his dayes he spent
+
+Long time in lively jollity,
+  Belov'd of all the court,
+And none like Tom was then esteem'd
+  Among the noble sort.
+
+Amongst his deedes of courtship done,
+  His highnesse did command,
+That he should dance a galliard brave
+  Upon his queenes left hand.
+
+The which he did, and for the same
+  The king his signet gave,
+Which Tom about his middle wore
+  Long time a girdle brave.
+
+Now after this the king would not
+  Abroad for pleasure goe,
+But still Tom Thumbe must ride with him,
+  Plac'd on his saddle-bow.
+
+Where on a time when as it rain'd,
+  Tom Thumbe most nimbly crept
+In at a button hole, where he
+  Within his bosome slept.
+
+And being neere his highnesse heart,
+  He crav'd a wealthy boone,
+A liberall gift, the which the king
+  Commanded to be done,
+
+For to relieve his fathers wants,
+  And mothers, being old;
+Which was so much of silver coin
+  As well his armes could hold.
+
+And so away goes lusty Tom,
+  With three pence on his backe,
+A heavy burthen, which might make
+  His wearied limbes to cracke.
+
+So travelling two dayes and nights,
+  With labour and great paine,
+He came into the house whereas
+  His parents did remaine;
+
+Which was but halfe a mile in space
+  From good king Arthurs court,
+The which in eight and forty houres
+  He went in weary sort.
+
+But comming to his fathers doore,
+  He there such entrance had
+As made his parents both rejoice,
+  And he thereat was glad.
+
+His mother in her apron tooke
+  Her gentle sonne in haste,
+And by the fier side, within
+  A walnut shell, him plac'd:
+
+Whereas they feasted him three dayes
+  Upon a hazell nut,
+Whereon he rioted so long
+  He them to charges put;
+
+And thereupon grew wonderous sicke,
+  Through eating too much meate,
+Which was sufficient for a month
+  For this great man to eate.
+
+But now his businesse call'd him foorth,
+  King Arthurs court to see,
+Whereas no longer from the same
+  He could a stranger be.
+
+But yet a few small April drops,
+  Which settled in the way,
+His long and weary journey forth
+  Did hinder and so stay.
+
+Until his carefull father tooke
+  A hollow straw in sport,
+And with one blast blew this his sonne
+  Into king Arthurs court.
+
+Now he with tilts and turnaments
+  Was entertained so,
+That all the best of Arthurs knights
+  Did him much pleasure show.
+
+As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake,
+  Sir Tristram, and sir Guy;
+Yet none compar'd with brave Tom Thum,
+  In knightly chivalry.
+
+In honor of which noble day,
+  And for his ladies sake,
+A challenge in king Arthurs court
+  Tom Thumbe did bravely make.
+
+Gainst whom these noble knights did run,
+  Sir Chinon and the rest,
+Yet still Tom Thumbe with matchles might
+  Did beare away the best.
+
+He likewise cleft the smallest haire
+  From his faire ladies head,
+Not hurting her whose even hand
+  Him lasting honors bred.
+
+Such were his deeds and noble acts
+  In Arthurs court there showne,
+As like in all the world beside
+  Was hardly seene or knowne.
+
+Now at these sports he toyld himselfe
+  That he a sicknesse tooke,
+Through which all manly exercise
+  He carelesly forsooke.
+
+Where lying on his bed sore sicke,
+  King Arthurs doctor came,
+With cunning skill, by physicks art,
+  To ease and cure the same.
+
+His body being so slender small,
+  This cunning doctor tooke
+A fine prospective glasse, with which
+  He did in secret looke
+
+Into his sickened body downe,
+  And therein saw that Death
+Stood ready in his wasted guts
+  To sease his vitall breath.
+
+His armes and leggs consum'd as small
+  As was a spiders web,
+Through which his dying houre grew on,
+  For all his limbes grew dead.
+
+His face no bigger than an ants,
+  Which hardly could be seene:
+The losse of which renowned knight
+  Much griev'd the king and queene.
+
+And so with peace and quietnesse
+  He left this earth below;
+And up into the Fayry Land
+  His ghost did fading goe.
+
+Whereas the Fayry Queene receiv'd
+  With heavy mourning cheere,
+The body of this valiant knight
+  Whom she esteem'd so deere.
+
+For with her dancing nymphes in greene,
+  She fetcht him from his bed,
+With musicke and sweet melody
+  So soone as life was fled:
+
+For whom king Arthur and his knights
+  Full forty daies did mourne;
+And, in remembrance of his name
+  That was so strangely borne,
+
+He built a tomb of marble gray,
+  And yeare by yeare did come
+To celebrate the mournefull day,
+  And buriall of Tom Thum.
+
+Whose fame still lives in England here,
+  Amongst the countrey sort;
+Of whom our wives and children small
+  Tell tales of pleasant sport.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+KEMPION.
+
+Her mither died when she was young,
+  Which gave her cause to make great moan;
+Her father married the warse woman
+  That ever lived in Christendom.
+
+She served her well wi' foot and hand,
+  In everything that, she could dee;
+But her stepmither hated her warse and warse,
+  And a powerful wicked witch was she.
+
+"Come hither, come hither, ye cannot choose;
+  And lay your head low on my knee;
+The heaviest weird I will you read
+  That ever was read to gay ladye.
+
+"Mickle dolour sail ye dree
+  When o'er the saut seas maun ye swim;
+And far mair dolour sail ye dree
+  When up to Estmere Crags ye climb.
+
+"I weird ye be a fiery snake;
+  And borrowed sall ye never be,
+Till Kempion, the kingis son,
+  Come to the crag and thrice kiss thee.
+Until the warld comes to an end,
+  Borrowed sall ye never be!"
+
+O mickle dolour did she dree,
+  And aye the saut seas o'er she swam;
+And far mair dolour did she dree
+  On Estmere Crags, when up she clamb.
+
+And aye she cried on Kempion,
+  Gin he would but come to her han':--
+Now word has gane to Kempion,
+  That siccan a beast was in the lan'.
+
+"Now by my sooth," said Kempion,
+  "This fiery beast I'll gang and see."
+"An' by my sooth," said Segramour,
+  "My ae brither, I'll gang wi' thee."
+
+They twa hae biggit a bonny boat,
+  And they hae set her to the sea;
+But a mile afore they reach'd the shore,
+  Around them 'gan the red fire flee.
+
+The worm leapt out, the worm leapt down,
+  She plaited nine times round stock and stane;
+And aye as the boat cam' to the beach,
+  O she hae strickit it aff again.
+
+"Min' how you steer, my brither dear:
+  Keep further aff!" said Segramour;
+"She'll drown us deep in the saut, saut sea,
+  Or burn us sair, if we come on shore."
+
+Syne Kempion has bent an arblast bow,
+  And aimed an arrow at her head;
+And swore, if she didna quit the shore,
+  Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.
+
+"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
+  Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee,
+Till Kempion, the kingis son,
+  Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."
+
+He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag,
+  And he has gi'en that beast a kiss:
+In she swang, and again she cam',
+  And aye her speech was a wicked hiss.
+
+"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
+  An' not for a' thy bow nor thee,
+Till Kempion, the kingis son,
+  Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."
+
+He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag,
+  And he has gi'en her kisses twa;
+In she swang, and again she cam',
+  The fieriest beast that ever you saw.
+
+"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
+  Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee,
+Till Kempion, the kingis son,
+  Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."
+
+He's louted him o'er the lofty crag,
+  And he has gi'en her kisses three;
+In she swang, a loathly worm;
+  An' out she stepped, a fair ladye.
+
+Nae cleeding had this lady fair,
+  To keep her body frae the cold;
+But Kempion took his mantle aff,
+  And around his ain true love did fold.
+
+"An' by my sooth," says Kempion,
+  "My ain true love!--for this is she,--
+They surely had a heart o' stane,
+  Could put thee to this misery.
+
+"O was it wer-wolf in the wood,
+  Or was it mermaid in the sea,
+Or wicked man, or wile woman,
+  My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee?"
+
+"It was na wer-wolf in the wood,
+  Nor was it mermaid in the sea;
+But it was my wicked stepmither,
+  And wae and weary may she be!"
+
+"O a heavier weird light her upon
+  Than ever fell on wile woman!
+Her hair sall grow rough, an' her teeth grow lang,
+  An' aye upon four feet maun she gang."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+ALISON GROSS.
+
+O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tower,
+  The ugliest witch in the north countrie,
+Has trysted me ae day up till her bower,
+  And mony fair speech she made to me.
+
+She straiked my head, and she kaim'd my hair,
+  And she set me down saftly on her knee;
+Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
+  Sae mony braw things as I wad you gie."
+
+She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet,
+  Wi' gowden flowers and fringes fine;
+Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
+  This gudely gift it sall be thine."
+
+"Awa', awa', ye ugly witch!
+  Haud far awa', and lat me be;
+I never will be your lemman sae true,
+  And I wish I were out o' your companie."
+
+She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk,
+  Weel wrought wi' pearls about the band;
+Says, "Gin ye will be my ain true-love,
+  This gudely gift ye sall command."
+
+She shaw'd me a cup o' the gude red gowd,
+  Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see;
+Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
+  This gudely gift I will you gie."
+
+"Awa', awa', ye ugly witch!
+  Haud far awa', and lat me be;
+For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth
+  For a' the gifts that you could gie."
+
+She's turn'd her richt and round about,
+  And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn;
+And she sware by the moon, and the stars
+  That she'd gar me rue the day I was born.
+
+Then out she has ta'en a silver wand,
+  And she's turn'd her three times round and round;
+She's muttered sic words, that my strength it fail'd,
+  And I fell down senseless on the ground.
+
+She's turned me into an ugly worm,
+  And gar'd me toddle about the tree;
+And ay, on ilka Saturday's night,
+  Auld Alison Gross, she cam' to me,
+
+Wi' silver basin, and silver kaim,
+  To kaim my headie upon her knee;
+But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth,
+  I'd rather hae toddled about the tree.
+
+But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en,
+  When the Seely Court was ridin' by,
+The Queen lighted down on a gowan bank,
+  Nae far frae the tree where I wont to lye.
+
+She took me up in her milk-white hand,
+  And she straiked me three times o'er her knee;
+She changed me again to my ain proper shape,
+  And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL.
+
+There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
+  And a wealthy wife was she;
+She had three stout and stalwart sons,
+  And sent them o'er the sea.
+
+They hadna been a week from her,
+  A week but barely ane,
+When word cam' to the carline wife,
+  That her three sons were gane.
+
+They hadna been a week from her,
+  A week but barely three,
+When word cam' to the carline wife,
+  That her sons she'd never see.
+
+"I wish the wind may never cease,
+  Nor fashes in the flood,
+Till my three sons come hame to me,
+  In earthly flesh and blood!"
+
+It fell about the Martinmas,
+  When nights are lang and mirk,
+The carline wife's three sons cam' hame,
+  And their hats were o' the birk.
+
+It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
+  Nor yet in ony sheugh;
+But at the gates o' Paradise,
+  That birk grew fair eneugh.
+
+"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine,
+  Bring water from the well!
+For a' my house shall feast this night,
+  Sin' my three sons are well."
+
+And she has made to them a bed,
+  She's made it large and wide;
+And she's happed her mantle them about,
+  Sat down at the bed-side.
+
+Up then crew the red red cock,
+  And up and crew the gray;
+The eldest to the youngest said,
+  "'Tis time we were away."
+
+"The cock doth, craw, the day doth daw,
+  The channerin' worm doth chide;
+Gin we be miss'd out o' our place,
+  A sair pain we maun bide."
+
+"Lie still, lie still a little wee while,
+  Lie still but if we may;
+Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
+  She'll go mad ere it be day."
+
+O it's they've ta'en up their mother's mantle,
+  And they've hangd it on the pin:
+"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle,
+  Ere ye hap us again!
+
+'Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear!
+  Fareweel to barn and byre!
+And fare-ye-weel, the bonny lass,
+  That kindles my mother's fire."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.
+
+This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+When thou from hence away art paste,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+Sit thee down and put them on,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at last,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+To Purgatory Fire thou comest at last,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If ever thou gavest meate or drinke,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+The fire shall never make thee shrinke,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If meate or drinke thou ne'er gav'st nane,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+The fire will burne thee to the bare bane,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+PROUD LADY MARGARET.
+
+'Twas on a night, an evening bright,
+  When the dew began to fa',
+Lady Margaret was walkin' up and doun,
+  Looking ower the castle wa'.
+
+She lookit east, she lookit west,
+  To see what she could spy,
+When a gallant knight cam' in her sight,
+  And to the gate drew nigh.
+
+"God mak' you safe and free, fair maid,
+  God mak' you safe and free!"
+"O sae fa' you, ye stranger knight,
+  What is your will wi' me?"
+
+"It's I am come to this castle,
+  To seek the love o' thee;
+And if ye grant me not your love
+  All for your sake I'll die."
+
+"If ye should die for me, young man,
+  There's few for ye will maen;
+For mony a better has died for me,
+  Whose graves are growing green."
+
+"O winna ye pity me, fair maid,
+  O winna ye pity me?
+Hae pity for a courteous knight,
+  Whose love is laid on thee."
+
+"Ye say ye are a courteous knight,
+  But I misdoubt ye sair;
+I think ye're but a miller lad,
+  By the white clothes ye wear.
+
+"But ye maun read my riddle," she said,
+  "And answer me questions three;
+And but ye read them richt," she said,
+  "Gae stretch ye out and die.
+
+"What is the fairest flower, tell me,
+  That grows on muir or dale?
+And what is the bird, the bonnie bird,
+  Sings next the nightingale?
+And what is the finest thing," she says,
+  "That king or queen can wale?"
+
+"The primrose is the fairest flower,
+  That springs on muir or dale;
+
+The mavis is the sweetest bird
+  Next to the nightingale;
+And yellow gowd's the finest thing,
+  That king or queen can wale."
+
+"But what is the little coin," she said,
+  "Wad buy my castle boun'?
+And what's the little boat," she said,
+  "Can sail the warld all roun'?"
+
+"O hey, how mony small pennies
+  Mak' thrice three thousand poun'?
+O hey, how mony small fishes
+  Swim a' the saut sea roun'?"
+
+"I think ye are my match," she said,
+  "My match, an' something mair;
+Ye are the first ere got the grant
+  Of love frae my father's heir.
+
+"My father was lord o' nine castles,
+  My mither lady o' three;
+My father was lord o' nine castles,
+  And there's nane to heir but me,
+Unless it be Willie, my ae brither,
+  But he's far ayont the sea."
+
+"If your father's lord o' nine castles,
+  Your mither lady o' three;
+It's I am Willie, your ae brither,
+  Was far ayont the sea."
+
+"If ye be my brither Willie," she said,
+  "As I doubt sair ye be,
+This nicht I'll neither eat nor drink,
+  But gae alang wi' thee."
+
+"Ye've owre ill-washen feet, Margaret,
+  And owre ill-washen hands,
+And owre coarse robes on your body,
+  Alang wi' me to gang.
+
+"The worms they are my bedfellows,
+  And the cauld clay my sheet,
+And the higher that the wind does blaw,
+  The sounder do I sleep.
+
+"My body's buried in Dunfermline,
+  Sae far ayont the sea:
+But day nor night nae rest can I get,
+  A' for the pride of thee.
+
+"Leave aff your pride, Margaret," he says;
+  "Use it not ony mair,
+Or, when ye come where I hae been,
+  Ye will repent it sair.
+
+"Cast aff, cast aff, sister," he says,
+  "The gowd band frae your croun;
+For if ye gang where I hae been,
+  Ye'll wear it laigher doun.
+
+"When ye are in the gude kirk set,
+  The gowd pins in your hair,
+Ye tak' mair delight in your feckless dress,
+  Than in your mornin' prayer.
+
+"And when ye walk in the kirkyard,
+  And in your dress are seen,
+There is nae lady that spies your face,
+  But wishes your grave were green.
+
+"Ye're straight and tall, handsome withal,
+  But your pride owergangs your wit;
+If ye do not your ways refrain,
+  In Pirie's chair ye'll sit.
+
+"In Pirie's chair ye'll sit, I say,
+  The lowest seat in hell;
+If ye do not amend your ways,
+  It's there that ye maun dwell!"
+
+Wi' that he vanished frae her sight,
+  In the twinking of an eye;
+And naething mair the lady saw
+  But the gloomy clouds and sky.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE.
+
+There were twa sisters lived in a bower;
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+The youngest o' them, O she was a flower,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+There cam' a squire frae the west,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The eldest she was vexed sair,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And sore envied her sister fair,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The eldest said to the youngest ane,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+"Will ye see our father's ships come in?"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+She's ta'en her by the lily hand;
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And led her down to the river strand,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The youngest stood upon a stane;
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+The eldest cam' and pushed her in,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"O sister, sister, reach your hand,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And ye shall be heir of half my land,"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"O sister, I'll not reach my hand,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And I'll be the heir of all your land;
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"Shame fa' the hand that I should take,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+It has twined me and my world's make;"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"O sister, sister, reach your glove,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And sweet William shall be your love;"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And sweet William shall be mair my love,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"Your cherry cheeks, and your yellow hair,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+Had gar'd me gang maiden ever mair,"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+Until she cam' to the miller's dam;
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The miller's daughter was baking bread,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And gaed for water as she had need,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"O father, father, draw your dam!
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+For there is a lady or milk-white swan,"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The miller hasted and drew his dam,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And there he found a drown'd woman,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+Ye couldna see her yellow hair,
+  Birmorie, O Binnorie;
+For gowd and pearls that were sae rare;
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+Ye couldna see her middle sma',
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+Her gowden girdle was sae braw,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+Ye couldna see her lilie feet,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+Her gowden fringes were sae deep,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"Sair will they be, whae'er they be,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+The hearts that live to weep for thee!"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+There cam' a harper passing by,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+The sweet pale face he chanced to spy,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+And when he looked that lady on,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+He sighed and made a heavy moan,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+He has ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+He brought the harp to her father's hall;
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And there was the court assembled all;
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+He set the harp upon a stane,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And it began to play alane,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+And sune the harp sang loud and clear,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie!
+"Farewell, my father and mither dear!"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+And neist when the harp began to sing,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie!
+'Twas "Farewell, sweetheart!" said the string,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+And then as plain as plain could be,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie!
+"There sits my sister wha drowned me!"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+THE DEMON LOVEE.
+
+"O, where hae ye been, my lang-lost love,
+  This lang seven years an' more?"
+"O, I'm come to seek my former vows
+  Ye granted me before."
+
+"O, haud your tongue o' your former vows,
+  For they'll breed bitter strife;
+O, haud your tongue o' your former vows,
+  For I am become a wife."
+
+He turned him right an' round about,
+  And the tear blinded his e'e;
+"I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground
+  If it hadna been for thee.
+
+"I might hae had a king's daughter
+  Far, far ayont the sea,
+I might hae had a king's daughter,
+  Had it nae been for love o' thee."
+
+"If ye might hae had a king's daughter,
+  Yoursel' ye hae to blame;
+Ye might hae taken the king's daughter,
+  For ye kenn'd that I was nane."
+
+"O fause be the vows o' womankind,
+  But fair is their fause bodie;
+I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground
+  Had it nae been for love o' thee."
+
+"If I was to leave my husband dear,
+  And my twa babes also,
+O where is it ye would tak' me to,
+  If I with thee should go?"
+
+"I hae seven ships upon the sea,
+  The eighth brouct me to land,
+Wi' four-and-twenty bold mariners,
+  And music of ilka hand."
+
+She has taken up her twa little babes,
+  Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin;
+"O fare ye weel, my ain twa babes,
+  For I'll never see you again."
+
+She set her foot upon the ship,
+  No mariners could she behold;
+But the sails were o' the taffetie,
+  And the masts o' the beaten gold.
+
+"O how do you love the ship?" he said,
+  "O how do you love the sea?
+And how do you love the bold mariners
+  That wait upon thee and me?"
+
+"O I do love the ship," she said,
+  "And I do love the sea;
+But wae to the dim mariners
+  That naewhere I can see!"
+
+They hadna sailed a league, a league,
+  A league but barely three,
+When dismal grew his countenance,
+  And drumly grew his e'e.
+
+The masts that were like the beaten gold,
+  Bent not on the heaving seas;
+The sails that were o' the taffetie
+  Fill'd not in the east land breeze.
+
+They hadna sailed a league, a league,
+  A league but barely three,
+Until she espied his cloven hoof,
+  And she wept right bitterlie.
+
+"O haud your tongue o' your weeping," he says:
+  "O' your weeping now let me be;
+I will show you how the lilies grow
+  On the banks of Italy."
+
+"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
+  That the sun shines sweetly on?"
+"O yon are the hills o' heaven," he said
+  "Where you will never won."
+
+"O what'n a mountain's yon," she said,
+  "Sae dreary wi' frost an' snow?"
+"O yon is the mountain o' hell," he cried,
+  "Where you and I maun go!"
+
+And aye when she turn'd her round about,
+  Aye taller he seemed for to be;
+Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
+  Nae taller were than he.
+
+He strack the tapmast wi' his hand,
+  The foremast wi' his knee;
+And he brak that gallant ship in twain,
+  And sank her i' the sea.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED.
+
+There was a knicht riding frae the east,
+  _Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree_.
+Who had been wooing at monie a place,
+  _As the dew flies ower the mulberry tree_.
+
+He cam' unto a widow's door,
+And speird whare her three dochters were.
+
+The auldest ane's to a washing gane,
+The second's to a baking gane.
+
+The youngest ane's to a wedding gane,
+And it will be nicht or she be hame.
+
+He sat him doun upon a stane,
+Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.
+
+The auldest ane she let him in,
+And pin'd the door wi' a siller pin.
+
+The second ane she made his bed,
+And laid saft pillows unto his head.
+
+The youngest ane was bauld and bricht,
+And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.
+
+"Gin ye will answer me questions ten,
+The morn ye sall be made my ain.
+
+"O what is heigher nor the tree?
+And what is deeper nor the sea?
+
+"Or what is heavier nor the lead?
+And what is better nor the breid?
+
+"O what is whiter nor the milk?
+Or what is safter nor the silk?
+
+"Or what is sharper nor a thorn?
+Or what is louder nor a horn?
+
+"Or what is greener nor the grass?
+Or what is waur nor a woman was?"
+
+"O heaven is higher nor the tree,
+And hell is deeper nor the sea.
+
+"O sin is heavier nor the lead,
+The blessing's better nor the breid.
+
+"The snaw is whiter nor the milk,
+And the down is safter nor the silk.
+
+"Hunger is sharper nor a thorn,
+And shame is louder nor a horn.
+
+"The pies are greener nor the grass,
+And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."
+
+As sune as she the fiend did name,
+  _Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree_,
+He flew awa in a blazing flame,
+  _As the dew files ower the mulberry tree_.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+
+BALLADS  OF TRADITION.
+
+
+SIR PATRICK SPENS.
+
+The King sits in Dunfermline toun,
+  Drinking the blude-red wine;
+"O whaur shall I get a skeely skipper,
+  To sail this gude ship of mine?"
+
+Then up an' spake an eldern knight,
+  Sat at the King's right knee;
+"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
+  That ever sailed the sea."
+
+The King has written a braid letter,
+  And seal'd it wi' his hand,
+And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens
+  Was walking on the sand.
+
+"To Noroway, to Noroway,
+  To Noroway o'er the faem;
+The King's daughter to Noroway,
+  It's thou maun tak' her hame."
+
+The first line that Sir Patrick read,
+  A loud laugh laughed he,
+The neist line that Sir Patrick read,
+  The tear blinded his e'e.
+
+"O wha is this hae dune this deed,
+  And tauld the King o' me,
+To send us out at this time o' the year
+  To sail upon the sea?
+
+"Be it wind or weet, be it hail or sleet,
+  Our ship maun sail the faem,
+The King's daughter to Noroway,
+  'Tis we maun tak' her hame."
+
+They hoisted their sails on Monday morn,
+  Wi' a' the speed they may;
+And they hae landed in Noroway
+  Upon the Wodensday.
+
+They hadna been a week, a week,
+  In Noroway but twae,
+When that the lords o' Noroway
+  Began aloud to say--
+
+"Ye Scotsmen spend a' our King's gowd,
+  And a' our Queenis fee."
+"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,
+  Sae loud's I hear ye lie!
+
+"For I brouct as mickle white monie,
+  As gane my men and me,
+And a half-fou o' the gude red gold,
+  Out owre the sea wi' me.
+
+"Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a',
+  Our gude ship sails the morn."
+"Now ever alack, my master dear,
+  I fear a deadly storm.
+
+"I saw the new moon late yestreen,
+  Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
+And I fear, I fear, my master dear,
+  That we sall come to harm!"
+
+They hadna sail'd a league, a league,
+  A league but barely three,
+When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
+  And gurly grew the sea.
+
+The ropes they brak, and the top-masts lap,
+  It was sic a deadly storm;
+And the waves cam' o'er the broken ship,
+  Till a' her sides were torn.
+
+"O whaur will I get a gude sailor
+  Will tak' the helm in hand,
+Until I win to the tall top-mast,
+  And see if I spy the land?"
+
+"It's here am I, a sailor gude,
+  Will tak' the helm in hand,
+Till ye win to the tall top-mast,
+  But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land."
+
+He hadna gane a step, a step,
+  A step but barely ane,
+When a bolt flew out of the gude ship's side,
+  And the saut sea it cam' in.
+
+"Gae, fetch a web of the silken claith,
+  Anither o' the twine,
+And wap them into the gude ship's side,
+  And let na the sea come in."
+
+They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
+  Anither o' the twine,
+And they wapp'd them into that gude ship's side,
+  But aye the sea cam' in.
+
+O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
+  To weet their cock-heeled shoon,
+But lang ere a' the play was o'er
+  They wat their hats abune.
+
+O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
+  To weet their milk-white hands,
+But lang ere a' the play was played
+  They wat their gouden bands.
+
+O lang, lang may the ladies sit,
+  Wi' their fans into their hand,
+Or ever they see Sir Patrick Spens
+  Come sailing to the land.
+
+O lang, lang may the maidens sit,
+  Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair,
+A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
+  For them they'll see nae mair.
+
+Half owre, half owre to Aberdour,
+  It's fifty fathom deep,
+And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
+  Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURNE.
+
+It fell about the Lammas tide,
+  When muirmen win their hay,
+That the doughty Earl of Douglas rade
+  Into England to fetch a prey.
+
+And he has ta'en the Lindsays light,
+  With them the Gordons gay;
+But the Jardines wad not with him ride,
+  And they rue it to this day.
+
+Then they hae harried the dales o' Tyne,
+  And half o' Bambrough-shire,
+And the Otter-dale they burned it haill,
+  And set it a' on fire.
+
+Then he cam' up to New Castel,
+  And rade it round about:
+"O who is the lord of this castel,
+  Or who is the lady o't?"
+
+But up and spake Lord Percy then,
+  And O but he spake hie:
+"It's I am the lord of this castel,
+  My wife is the lady gay."
+
+"If thou'rt the lord of this castel,
+  Sae weel it pleases me!
+For ere I cross the Border fell,
+  The tane of us shall dee."--
+
+He took a lang spear in his hand,
+  Shod with the metal free;
+And forth to meet the Douglas then,
+  He rade richt furiouslie.
+
+But O how pale his lady looked
+  Frae aff the castle wa',
+As doun before the Scottish spear
+  She saw proud Percy fa'!
+
+"Had we twa been upon the green,
+  And never an eye to see,
+I wad hae had you, flesh and fell,
+  But your sword shall gae wi' me."
+
+"Now gae up to the Otterburne,
+  And bide there dayis three,
+And gin I come not ere they end,
+  A fause knight ca' ye me!"
+
+"The Otterburne is a bonnie burn,
+  'Tis pleasant there to be;
+But there is nought at Otterburne
+  To feed my men and me.
+
+"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
+  The birds fly wild frae tree to tree;
+But there is neither bread nor kale,
+  To fend my men and me.
+
+"Yet I will stay at the Otterburne,
+  Where you shall welcome be;
+And, if ye come not at three dayis end,
+  A fause lord I'll ca' thee."
+
+"Thither will I come," Earl Percy said,
+  By the might of our Ladye!"
+"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas,
+  "My troth I plight to thee!"
+
+They lichted high on Otterburne,
+  Upon the bent sae broun;
+They lichted high on Otterburne,
+  And pitched their pallions doun.
+
+And he that had a bonnie boy,
+  He sent his horse to grass;
+And he that had not a bonnie boy,
+  His ain servant he was.
+
+Then up and spake a little boy,
+  Was near of Douglas' kin--
+"Methinks I see an English host
+  Come branking us upon!
+
+"Nine wargangs beiring braid and wide,
+  Seven banners beiring high;
+It wad do any living gude,
+  To see their colours fly!"
+
+"If this be true, my little boy,
+  That thou tells unto me,
+The brawest bower o' the Otterburne
+  Sall be thy morning fee.
+
+"But I hae dreamed a dreary dream,
+  Ayont the Isle o' Skye,--
+I saw a deid man win a fight,
+  And I think that man was I."
+
+He belted on his gude braid-sword,
+  And to the field he ran;
+But he forgot the hewmont strong,
+  That should have kept his brain.
+
+When Percy wi' the Douglas met,
+  I wot he was fu' fain:
+They swakkit swords, and they twa swat,
+  Till the blude ran down like rain.
+
+But Percy wi' his gude braid-sword,
+  That could sae sharply wound,
+Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
+  That he fell to the ground.
+
+And then he called his little foot-page,
+  And said--"Run speedilie,
+And fetch my ae dear sister's son,
+  Sir Hugh Montgomerie.
+
+"My nephew gude!" the Douglas said,
+  "What recks the death of ane?
+Last night I dreamed a dreary dream,
+  And ken the day's thy ain!
+
+"My wound is deep; I fain wad sleep!
+  Tak' thou the vanguard o' the three,
+And bury me by the bracken bush,
+  That grows on yonder lily lea.
+
+"O bury me by the bracken bush,
+  Beneath the blumin' brier;
+Let never living mortal ken
+  That a kindly Scot lies here!"
+
+He lifted up that noble lord,
+  Wi' the saut tear in his e'e;
+And he hid him by the bracken bush,
+  That his merry men might not see.
+
+The moon was clear, the day drew near,
+  The spears in flinders flew;
+And many a gallant Englishman
+  Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
+
+The Gordons gay, in English blude
+  They wat their hose and shoon;
+The Lindsays flew like fire about,
+  Till a' the fray was dune.
+
+The Percy and Montgomery met,
+  That either of other was fain;
+They swakkit swords, and sair they swat,
+  And the blude ran down between.
+
+"Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy!" he said,
+  Or else I will lay thee low!"
+"To whom maun I yield," Earl Percy said,
+  "Since I see that it maun be so?"
+
+"Thou shalt not yield to lord or loun,
+  Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
+But yield thee to the bracken-bush
+  That grows on yonder lily lea!"
+
+This deed was done at the Otterburne
+  About the breaking o' the day;
+Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush,
+  And the Percy led captive away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT.
+
+THE FIRST FIT.
+
+The PersA" owt off Northombarlande,
+  And a vowe to God mayd he,
+That he wold hunte in the mountayns
+  Off Chyviat within days thre,
+In the mauger of doughtA" Dogles,
+  And all that ever with him be.
+
+The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat
+  He sayd he wold kill, and cary them away:
+"Be my feth," sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn,
+  "I wyll let that hontyng, yf that I may."
+
+Then the PersA" owt of Banborowe cam,
+  With him a myghtye meany;
+With fifteen hondrith archares bold;
+  The wear chosen owt of shyars thre.
+
+This begane on a monday at morn,
+  In Cheviat the hillys so he;
+The chyld may rue that ys un-born,
+  It was the mor pittA".
+
+The dryvars thorowe the woodA"s went,
+  For to reas the dear;
+Bomen byckarte uppone the bent
+  With ther browd aras cleare.
+
+Then the wyld thorowe the woodA"s went,
+  On every sydA" shear;
+Grea-hondes thorowe the grevis glent,
+  For to kyll thear dear.
+
+The begane in Chyviat the hyls above,
+  Yerly on a monnynday;
+Be that it drewe to the oware off none,
+  A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.
+
+The blewe a mort uppone the bent,
+  The semblyd on sydis shear;
+To the quyrry then the PersA" went
+  To se the bryttlynge off the deare.
+
+He sayd, "It was the Duglas promys
+  This day to meet me hear;
+But I wyste he wold faylle, verament:"
+  A gret oth the PersA" swear.
+
+At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde
+  Lokyde at his hand full ny;
+He was war ath the doughetie Doglas comynge,
+  With him a myghtA" meany;
+
+Both with spear, byll, and brande;
+  Yt was a myghti sight to se;
+Hardyar men both off hart nar hande
+  Wear not in ChristiantA".
+
+The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good,
+  WithowtA" any fayle;
+The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde,
+  Yth bowndes of Tividale.
+
+"Leave off the brytlyng of the dear," he sayde,
+  "And to your bowys lock ye tayk good heed;
+For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne
+  Had ye never so mickle need."
+
+The dougheti Dogglas on a stede
+  He rode aft his men beforne;
+His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede;
+  A bolder barne was never born.
+
+"Tell me what men ye ar," he says,
+  "Or whos men that ye be:
+Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays,
+In the spyt of me?"
+
+The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,
+  Yt was the good lord PersA":
+We wyll not tell the what men we ar," he says,
+  "Nor whos men that we be;
+But we wyll hount hear in this chays,
+  In the spyt of thyne and of the.
+
+"The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat
+  We have kyld, and cast to carry them a-way:
+"Be my troth," sayd the doughtA" Dogglas agayn,
+  "Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day."
+
+Then sayd the doughtA" Doglas
+  Unto the lord PersA":
+"To kyll all thes giltles men,
+  Alas, it were great pitte!
+
+"But, PersA", thowe art a lord of lande,
+  I am a yerle callyd within my contrA";
+Let all our men uppone a parti stande,
+  And do the battell off the and of me."
+
+"Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne," sayd the lord PersA",
+  "Whosoever ther-to says nay;
+Be my troth, doughtA" Doglas," he says,
+  "Thow shalt never se that day.
+
+"Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,
+  Nor for no man of a woman born,
+But, and fortune be my chance,
+  I dar met him, on man for on."
+
+Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,
+  Richard Wytharynton was him nam;
+"It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde," he says,
+  "To kyng Herry the fourth for sham.
+
+"I wat youe byn great lordes twaw,
+  I am a poor squyar of lande;
+I wyll never se my captayne fyght on a fylde,
+  And stande myselffe, and looke on,
+But whyll I may my weppone welde,
+  I wyll not ffayll both hart and hande."
+
+That day, that day, that dredfull day!
+  The first fit here I fynde;
+And youe wyll here any mor a' the hountyng a'
+    the Chyviat,
+Yet ys ther mor behynd.
+
+
+THE SECOND FIT.
+
+The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent,
+  Ther hartes were good yenoughe;
+The first off arros that the shote off,
+  Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.
+
+Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,
+  A captayne good yenoughe,
+And that was sene verament,
+  For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.
+
+The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre,
+  Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,
+With suar speares off myghttA" tre,
+  The cum in on every syde:
+
+Thrughe our Yngglishe archery
+  Gave many a wounde full wyde;
+Many a doughete the garde to dy,
+  Which ganyde them no pryde.
+
+The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be,
+  And pulde owt brandes that wer bright;
+It was a hevy syght to se
+  Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.
+
+Throrowe ryche male and myneyeple,
+  Many sterne the stroke downe streght;
+Many a freyke, that was full fre,
+  Ther undar foot dyd lyght.
+
+At last the Duglas and the PersA" met,
+  Lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne;
+The swapte togethar tyll the both swat,
+  With swordes that wear of fyn myllA n,
+
+Thes worthA" freckys for to fyght,
+  Ther-to the wear full fayne,
+Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente,
+  As ever dyd heal or rayne.
+
+"Holde the, PersA"," sayd the Doglas,
+  "And i' feth I shall the brynge
+Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis
+  Of Jamy our Scottish kynge.
+
+"Thoue shalte have thy ranson fre,
+  I hight the hear this thinge,
+For the manfullyste man yet art thowe,
+  That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng."
+
+"Nay," sayd the lord PersA",
+  "I tolde it the beforne,
+That I wolde never yeldyde be
+  To no man of woman born."
+
+With that ther cam an arrowe hastely
+  Forthe off a myghtte wane;
+Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas
+  In at the brest bane.
+
+Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe
+  The sharp arrowe ys gane,
+That never after in all his lyffe-days,
+  He spayke mo wordes but ane:
+That was, "Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye may,
+  For my lyff-days ben gan."
+
+The PersA" leanyde on his brande,
+  And sawe the Duglas de;
+He tooke the dede man be the hande,
+  And sayd, "Wo ys me for the!
+
+"To have savyde thy lyffe I wolde have pertyde with
+  My landes for years thre,
+For a better man, of hart nare of hande,
+  Was not in all the north contrA"."
+
+Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,
+  Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry;
+He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght,
+  He spendyd a spear, a trust! tre:--
+
+He rod uppon a corsiare
+  Throughe a hondrith archery:
+He never styntyde, nar never blane,
+  Tyll he cam to the good lord PersA".
+
+He set uppone the lord PersA"
+  A dynte that was full soare;
+With a suar spear of a myghttA" tre
+  Clean thorow the body he the PersA" bore,
+
+A' the tother syde that a man myght se
+  A large cloth yard and mare:
+Towe bettar captayns wear nat in ChristiantA",
+  Then that day slain wear ther.
+
+An archar off Northomberlonde
+  Say slean was the lord PersA";
+He bar a bende-bowe in his hande,
+  Was made off trusti tre.
+
+An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,
+  To th' hard stele halyde he;
+A dynt that was both sad and soar,
+  He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry.
+
+The dynt yt was both sad and sar,
+  That he on Mongonberry sete;
+The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,
+  With his hart-blood the wear wete.
+
+Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle,
+  But still in stour dyd stand,
+Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre,
+  With many a balful brande.
+
+This battell begane in Chyviat
+  An owar befor the none,
+And when even-song bell was rang,
+  The battell was nat half done.
+
+The tooke on ethar hand
+  Be the lyght off the mone;
+Many hade no strenght for to stande,
+  In Chyviat the hillys aboun.
+
+Of fifteen hondrith archars of Yonglonde
+  Went away but fifti and thre;
+Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde,
+But even five and fifti:
+
+But all wear slayne Cheviat within;
+  The hade no strengthe to stand on hie;
+The chylde may rue that ys unborne,
+  It was the mor pittA".
+
+Thear was slayne with the lord PersA"
+  Sir John of Agerstone,
+Sir Rogar the hinde Hartly,
+  Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone.
+
+Sir Jorg the worthA" Lovele,
+  A knyght of great renowen,
+Sir Raff the ryche RugbA",
+  With dyntes wear beaten dowene.
+
+For Wetharryngton my harte was wo,
+  That ever he slayne shulde be;
+For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to,
+  Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne.
+
+Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas,
+  Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry,
+Sir Davye Lwdale, that worthA" was,
+  His sistars son was he:
+
+His Charls a MurrA" in that place,
+  That never a foot wolde fle;
+Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was,
+  With the Duglas dyd he dey.
+
+So on the morrowe the mayde them byears
+  Off birch and hasell so gray;
+Many wedous with wepyng tears
+  Cam to fach ther makys away.
+
+Tivydale may carpe off care,
+  Northombarlond may mayk grat mon,
+For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear,
+  On the march perti shall never be non.
+
+Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe,
+  To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,
+That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches,
+  He lay slean Chyviot with-in.
+
+His handdes dyd he weal and wryng,
+ He sayd, "Alas, and woe ys me!
+"Such an othar captayn Skotland within,"
+ He sayd, "y-feth shall never be."
+
+Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone,
+  Till the fourth Harry our kyng,
+That lord PersA", lyffe-tennante of the Merchis,
+  He lay slayne Chyviat within.
+
+"God have merci on his soil," sayd kyng Harry,
+  "Good lord, yf thy will it be!
+I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde," he sayd,
+  "As good as ever was hee:
+But PersA", and I brook my lyffe,
+  Thy deth well quyte shall be."
+
+As our noble kyng mayd his a-vowe,
+  Lyke a noble prince of renowen,
+For the deth of the lord PersA"
+  He dyde the battell of Hombyll-down:
+
+Wher syx and thrittA" Skottishe knyghtes
+  On a day wear beaten down;
+Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght,
+  Over castill, towar, and town.
+
+This was the Hontynge off the Cheviat;
+  That tear begane this spurn:
+Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe,
+  Call it the Battell of Otterburn.
+
+At Otterburn began this spurne
+  Uppon a monnynday:
+Ther was the dougghtA" Doglas slean,
+  The PersA" never went away.
+
+Ther was never a tym on the March partes
+  Sen the Doglas and the PersA" met,
+But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not,
+  As the reane doys in the stret.
+
+Jhesue Christ our balys bete,
+  And to the blys us brynge!
+Thus was the Hountynge of the Chevyat:
+  God send us all good endyng.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+EDOM O' GORDON.
+
+It fell about the Martinmas,
+  When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
+Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,
+  "We maun draw to a hauld.
+
+"And whatna hauld sall we draw to,
+  My merry men and me?
+We will gae to the house o' the Rodes,
+  To see that fair ladie."
+
+The ladie stude on her castle wa',
+  Beheld baith dale and down,
+There she was ware of a host of men
+  Were riding towards the town.
+
+"O see ye not, my merry men a',
+  O see ye not what I see?
+Methinks I see a host of men--
+  I marvel what they be."
+
+She ween'd it had been ner ain dear lord
+  As he cam' riding hame;
+It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon,
+  Wha recked nor sin nor shame.
+
+She had nae suner buskit hersell,
+  Nor putten on her goun,
+Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
+  Were round about the toun.
+
+They had nae suner supper set,
+  Nor suner said the grace,
+Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
+  Were light about the place.
+
+The ladie ran to her tower head,
+  As fast as she could hie,
+To see if, by her fair speeches,
+  She could with him agree.
+
+"Come doun to me, ye ladye gay,
+  Come doun, come doun to me;
+This nicht sall ye lie within my arms,
+  The morn my bride sall be."
+
+"I winna come doun, ye fause Gordon,
+  I winna come doun to thee;
+I winna forsake my ain dear lord,
+  That is sae far frae me."
+
+"Gie owre your house, ye ladie fair,
+  Gie owre your house to me;
+Or I sail burn yoursell therein,
+  But and your babies three."
+
+"I winna gie owre, ye false Gordon,
+  To nae sic traitor as thee;
+And if ye burn my ain dear babes,
+  My lord sall mak' ye dree!
+
+"But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man,
+  And charge ye weel my gun;
+For, but an I pierce that bludy butcher,
+  We a' sall be undone."
+
+She stude upon the castle wa',
+  And let twa bullets flee;
+She miss'd that bludy butcher's heart,
+  And only razed his knee.
+
+"Set fire to the house!" quo' the false Gordon,
+  All wude wi' dule and ire;
+"False ladie! ye sail rue that shot,
+  As ye burn in the fire."
+
+"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man!
+  I paid ye weel your fee;
+Why pu' ye out the grund-wa-stane,
+  Lets in the reek to me?
+
+"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man!
+  I paid ye weel your hire;
+Why pu' ye out my grund-wa-stane,
+  To me lets in the fire?"
+
+"Ye paid me weel my hire, lady,
+  Ye paid me weel my fee;
+But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man,
+  Maun either do or die."
+
+O then bespake her youngest son,
+  Sat on the nourice' knee;
+Says, "Mither dear, gie owre this house,
+  For the reek it smothers me."
+
+"I wad gie a' my gowd, my bairn,
+  Sae wad I a' my fee,
+For ae blast o' the westlin' wind,
+  To blaw the reek frae thee!"
+
+O then bespake her daughter dear--
+  She was baith jimp and sma'--
+"O row me in a pair o' sheets,
+  And tow me owre the wa'."
+
+They rowed her in a pair o' sheets,
+  And towed her owre the wa';
+But on the point o' Gordon's spear
+  She gat a deadly fa'.
+
+O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
+  And cherry were her cheeks;
+And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
+  Whereon the red blude dreeps.
+
+Then wi' his spear he turned her owre,
+  O gin her face was wan!
+He said, "You are the first that e'er
+  I wish'd alive again."
+
+He turned her owre and owre again,
+  O gin her skin was white!
+"I might hae spared that bonnie face,
+  To hae been some man's delight.
+
+"Busk and boun, my merry men a',
+  For ill dooms I do guess;
+I canna look on that bonnie face,
+  As it lies on the grass!"
+
+"Wha looks to freits, my master deir,
+  It's freits will follow them;
+Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon
+  Was dauntit by a dame."
+
+But when the lady saw the fire
+  Come flaming owre her head,
+She wept, and kiss'd her children twain,
+  Says, "Bairns, we been but dead."
+
+The Gordon then his bugle blew,
+  And said, "Awa', awa';
+The house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame,
+  I hold it time to ga'."
+
+O then bespied her ain dear lord,
+  As he came owre the lee;
+He saw his castle all in a lowe,
+  Sae far as he could see.
+
+"Put on, put on, my wichty men,
+  As fast as ye can dri'e;
+For he that is hindmost of the thrang,
+  Shall ne'er get gude o' me!"
+
+Then some they rade, and some they ran,
+  Fu' fast out-owre the bent;
+But ere the foremost could win up,
+  Baith lady and babes were brent.
+
+He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
+  And wept in teenfu' mood;
+"Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed,
+  Ye shall weep tears of blude."
+
+And after the Gordon he has gane,
+  Sae fast as he might dri'e,
+And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude,
+  He's wroken his fair ladie.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+KINMONT WILLIE.
+
+O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde?
+  O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroope?
+How they hae ta'en bauld Kinmont Willie,
+  On Haribee to hang him up?
+
+Had Willie had but twenty men,
+  But twenty men as stout as he,
+Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en,
+  Wi' eight score in his companie.
+
+They band his legs beneath the steed,
+  They tied his hands behind his back;
+They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
+  And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
+
+They led him thro' the Liddel-rack,
+  And also thro' the Carlisle sands;
+They brought him on to Carlisle castle,
+  To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.
+
+"My hands are tied, but my tongue is free,
+  And wha will dare this deed avow?
+Or answer by the Border law?
+  Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?"
+
+"Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
+  There's never a Scot shall set thee free:
+Before ye cross my castle yate
+  I trow ye shall take farewell o' me."
+
+"Fear ye na that, my lord," quo' Willie:
+  "By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroope," he said,
+"I never yet lodged in a hostelrie,
+  But I paid my lawing before I gaed."
+
+Now word is gane to the bauld keeper,
+  In Branksome Ha', where that he lay,
+That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont Willie,
+  Between the hours of night and day.
+
+He has ta'en the table wi' his hand,
+  He garr'd the red wine spring on hie,
+"Now a curse upon my head," he said,
+  "But avengA"d of Lord Scroope I'll be!
+
+"O is my basnet a widow's curch?
+  Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
+Or my arm a lady's lily hand,
+  That an English lord should lightly me?
+
+"And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,
+  Against the truce of Border tide,
+And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch
+  Is Keeper here on the Scottish side?
+
+"And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,
+  Withouten either dread or fear,
+And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch
+  Can back a steed, or shake a spear?
+
+"O were there war between the lands,
+  As well I wot that there is nane,
+I would slight Carlisle castle high,
+  Though it were builded of marble stane.
+
+"I would set that castle in a low,
+  And sloken it with English blood!
+There's never a man in Cumberland
+  Should ken where Carlisle castle stood.
+
+"But since nae war's between the lands,
+  And there is peace, and peace should be,
+I'll neither harm English lad or lass,
+  And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!"
+
+He has called him forty Marchmen bauld,
+  I trow they were of his ain name,
+Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called
+  The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
+
+He has called him forty Marchmen bauld,
+  Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch;
+With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,
+  And gluves of green, and feathers blue.
+
+There were five and five before them a',
+  Wi' hunting horns and bugles bright:
+And five and five cam' wi' Buccleuch,
+  Like warden's men, arrayed for fight.
+
+And five and five, like masons gang,
+  That carried the ladders lang and hie;
+And five and five like broken men;
+  And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
+
+And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land,
+  When to the English side we held,
+The first o' men that we met wi',
+  Wha sould it be but fause Sakelde?
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?"
+  Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"
+"We go to hunt an English stag,
+  Has trespassed on the Scots countrie."
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?"
+  Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell me true!"
+"We go to catch a rank reiver,
+  Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch."
+
+"Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,
+  Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?"
+"We gang to herry a corbie's nest,
+  That wons not far frae Woodhouselee."
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?"
+  Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"
+Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
+  And the nevir a word of lear had he.
+
+"Why trespass ye on the English side?
+  Row-footed outlaws, stand!" quo' he;
+The nevir a word had Dickie to say,
+  Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
+
+Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
+  And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossed,
+The water was great and meikle of spait,
+  But the never a horse nor man we lost.
+
+And when we reached the Staneshaw-bank,
+  The wind was rising loud and hie;
+And there the Laird garr'd leave our steeds,
+  For fear that they should stamp and neigh.
+
+And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,
+  The wind began full loud to blaw;
+But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
+  When we cam' beneath the castle wa'.
+
+We crept on knees, and held our breath,
+  Till we placed the ladders agin the wa';
+And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
+  To mount the first before us a'.
+
+He has ta'en the watchman by the throat,
+  He flung him down upon the lead:
+"Had there not been peace between our lands,
+  Upon the other side thou hadst gaed!
+
+"Now sound out, trumpets!" quo' Buccleuch;
+  "Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!"
+Then loud the warden's trumpet blew--
+  O wha, dare meddle wi' me?
+
+Then speedilie to wark we gaed,
+  And raised the slogan ane and a',
+And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,
+  And so we wan to the castle ha'.
+
+They thought King James and a' his men
+  Had won the house wi' bow and spear;
+It was but twenty Scots and ten,
+  That put a thousand in sic a stear!
+
+Wi' coulters, and wi' forehammers,
+  We garr'd the bars bang merrilie,
+Until we cam' to the inner prison,
+  Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.
+
+And when we cam' to the lower prison,
+  Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie,--
+"O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
+  Upon the morn that thou's to die?"
+
+"O I sleep saft, and I wake aft;
+  It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me;
+Gie my service back to my wife and bairns,
+  And a' gude fellows that spier for me."
+
+Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
+  The starkest man in Teviotdale,--
+"Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
+  Till of my Lord Scroope I tak' farewell.
+
+"Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
+  My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!" he cried:
+"I'll pay you for my lodging maill,
+  When first we meet on the Border side."
+
+Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
+  We bore him doun the ladder lang;
+At every stride Red Rowan made,
+  I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang
+
+"O mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie,
+  "I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;
+But a rougher beast than Red Rowan
+  I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode.
+
+"And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie,
+  I've pricked a horse out oure the furs;
+But since the day I backed a steed,
+  I never wore sic cumbrous spurs."
+
+We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,
+  When a' the Carlisle bells were rung,
+And a thousand men on horse and foot
+  Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along.
+
+Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,
+  Even where it flowed frae bank to brim,
+And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,
+  And safely swam them through the stream.
+
+He turned him on the other side,
+  And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:
+"If ye like na my visit in merry England,
+  In fair Scotland come visit me!"
+
+All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
+  He stood as still as rock of stane;
+He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,
+  When through the water they had gane.
+
+"He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
+  Or else his mither a witch maun be;
+I wadna hae ridden that wan water
+  For a' the gowd in Christentie."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTEBBURY.
+
+An ancient story Ile tell you anon
+Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
+He ruled over England with maine and with might,
+For he did great wrong, and mainteined little right.
+
+And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
+Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye;
+How for his housekeeping and high renowne,
+They rode poste for him to fair London towne.
+
+A hundred men, for the king did hear say,
+The abbot kept in his house every day;
+And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
+In velvet coates waited the abbot about.
+
+"How now, father abbot? I heare it of thee,
+Thou keepest a farre better house than mee;
+And for thy housekeeping and high renowne,
+I feare thou work'st treason against my crown."
+
+"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne,
+I never spend nothing but what is my owne;
+And I trust your grace will doe me no deere,
+For spending of my owne true-gotten geere."
+
+"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy faulte it is highe,
+And now for the same thou needest must dye;
+And except thou canst answer me questions three,
+Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.
+
+"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead,
+With my crown of golde so faire on my head,
+Among all my liegemen so noble of birthe,
+Thou must tell to one penny what I am worthe.
+
+"Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
+How soon I may ride the whole world about;
+And at the third question thou must not shrink,
+But tell me here truly, what I do think?"
+
+"O, these are deep questions for my shallow witt,
+Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
+But if you will give me but three weekes space,
+I'll do my endeavor to answer your grace."
+
+"Now three weekes space to thee will I give,
+And that is the longest thou hast to live;
+For unless thou answer my questions three,
+Thy life and thy lands are forfeit to mee."
+
+Away rode the abbot all sad at this word;
+And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford;
+But never a doctor there was so wise,
+That could with his learning an answer devise.
+
+Then home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold,
+And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
+"How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
+What newes do you bring us from good king John?"
+
+"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;
+That I have but three days more to live;
+For if I do not answer him questions three,
+My head will be smitten from my bodie.
+
+"The first is to tell him, there in that stead,
+With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
+Among all his liege men so noble of birth,
+To within one penny of what he is worth.
+
+"The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
+How soone he may ride this whole world about;
+And at the third question I must not shrinke,
+But tell him there trulye what he does thinke."
+
+"Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
+That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?
+Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
+And Ile ride to London to answers your quarrel.
+
+"Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,
+I am like your lordship, as ever may bee;
+And if you will but lend me your gowne,
+There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne."
+
+"Now horses and serving men thou shalt have,
+With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
+With crosier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
+Fit to appear 'fore our fader the pope."
+
+"Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say,
+"'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;
+For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
+Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.
+
+"And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
+With my crown of golde so faire on my head,
+Among all my liege men so noble of birthe,
+Tell me to one penny what I am worth."
+
+"For thirty pence our Savior was sold
+Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;
+And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
+For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee."
+
+The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
+"I did not think I had been worth so littel!
+--Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
+How soone I may ride this whole world about."
+
+"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
+Until the next morning he riseth againe;
+And then your grace need not make any doubt,
+But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."
+
+The king lie laughed, and swore "by St. Jone,
+I did not think it could be gone so soone!
+--Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
+But tell me here truly what I do thinke."
+
+"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
+You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury;
+But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
+That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."
+
+The king he laughed, and swore "by the masse,
+Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!"
+"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede;
+For alacke I can neither write ne reade."
+
+"Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee,
+For this merry jest thou hast shown unto mee;
+And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home,
+Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John."
+
+       *       *       *        *        *
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS.
+
+There are twelve months in all the year,
+As I hear many say,
+But the merriest month in all the year
+Is the merry month of May.
+
+Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,
+_With a link a down and a day,_
+And there he met a silly old woman,
+Was weeping on the way.
+
+"What news? what news, thou silly old woman?
+  What news hast thou for me?"
+Said she, "There's my three sons in Nottingham town
+  To-day condemned to die."
+
+"O, have they parishes burnt?" he said,
+  "Or have they ministers slain?
+Or have they robbed any virgin?
+  Or other men's wives have ta'en?"
+
+"They have no parishes burnt, good sir,
+  Nor yet have ministers slain,
+Nor have they robbed any virgin,
+  Nor other men's wives have ta'en."
+
+"O, what have they done?" said Robin Hood,
+  "I pray thee tell to me."
+"It's for slaying of the king's fallow-deer,
+  Bearing their long bows with thee."
+
+"Dost thou not mind, old woman," he said,
+  "How thou madest me sup and dine?
+By the truth of my body," quoth bold Robin Hood,
+  "You could not tell it in better time."
+
+Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,
+  _With a link a down and a day_,
+And there he met with a silly old palmer,
+  Was walking along the highway.
+
+"What news? what news, thou silly old man?
+  What news, I do thee pray?"
+Said he, "Three squires in Nottingham town
+  Are condemned to die this day."
+
+"Come change thy apparel with me, old man,
+  Come change thy apparel for mine;
+Here is forty shillings in good silvA"r,
+  Go drink it in beer or wine."
+
+"O, thine apparel is good," he said,
+  "And mine is ragged and torn;
+Wherever you go, wherever you ride,
+  Laugh ne'er an old man to scorn."
+
+"Come change thy apparel with me, old churl,
+  Come change thy apparel with mine;
+Here are twenty pieces of good broad gold,
+  Go feast thy brethren with wine."
+
+Then he put on the old man's hat,
+  It stood full high on the crown:
+"The first bold bargain that I come at,
+  It shall make thee come down."
+
+Then he put on the old man's cloak,
+  Was patched black, blew, and red;
+He thought it no shame all the day long,
+  To wear the bags of bread.
+
+Then he put on the old man's breeks,
+  Was patched from leg to side:
+"By the truth of my body," bold Robin can say,
+  "This man loved little pride."
+
+Then he put on the old man's hose,
+  Were patched from knee to wrist:
+"By the truth of my body," said bold Robin Hood,
+  "I'd laugh if I had any list."
+
+Then he put on the old man's shoes,
+  Were patched both beneath and aboon;
+Then Robin Hood swore a solemn oath,
+  "It's good habit that makes a man."
+
+Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,
+  _With a link a down and a down,_
+And there he met with the proud sheriff,
+  Was walking along the town.
+
+"O Christ you save, O sheriff!" he said;
+  "O Christ you save and see!
+And what will you give to a silly old man
+  To-day will your hangman be?"
+
+"Some suits, some suits," the sheriff he said,
+  "Some suits I'll give to thee;
+Some suits, some suits, and pence thirteen,
+  To-day's a hangman's fee."
+
+Then Robin he turns him round about,
+  And jumps from stock to stone:
+"By the truth of my body," the sheriff he said,
+  "That's well jumpt, thou nimble old man."
+
+"I was ne'er a hangman in all my life,
+  Nor yet intends to trade;
+But curst be he," said bold Robin,
+  "That first a hangman was made!
+
+"I've a bag for meal, and a bag for malt,
+  And a bag for barley and corn;
+A bag for bread, and a bag for beef,
+  And a bag for my little small horn.
+
+"I have a horn in my pocket,
+  I got it from Robin Hood,
+And still when I set it to my mouth,
+  For thee it blows little good."
+
+"O, wind thy horn, thou proud fellow,
+  Of thee I have no doubt.
+I wish that thou give stich a blast,
+  Till both thy eyes fall out."
+
+The first loud blast that he did blow,
+  He blew both loud and shrill;
+A hundred and fifty of Robin Hood's men
+  Came riding over the hill.
+
+The next loud blast that he did give,
+  He blew both loud and amain,
+And quickly sixty of Robin Hood's men
+  Came shining over the plain.
+
+"O, who are these," the sheriff he said,
+  "Come tripping over the lee?"
+"They're my attendants," brave Robin did say;
+  "They'll pay a visit to thee."
+
+They took the gallows from the slack,
+  They set it in the glen,
+They hanged the proud sheriff on that,
+  Released their own three men.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE.
+
+Come listen to me, you gallants so free,
+  All you that love mirth for to hear,
+And I will tell you of a bold outlaw,
+  That lived in Nottinghamshire.
+
+As Robin Hood in the forest stood,
+  All under the green-wood tree,
+There he was aware of a brave young man,
+  As fine as fine might be.
+
+The youngster was cloathed in scarlet red,
+  In scarlet fine and gay;
+And he did frisk it over the plain,
+  And chanted a roundelay.
+
+As Robin Hood next morning stood,
+  Amongst the leaves so gay,
+There did he espy the same young man
+  Come drooping along the way.
+
+The scarlet he wore the day before,
+  It was clean cast away;
+And at every step he fetcht a sigh,
+  "Alack and a well a day!"
+
+Then stepped forth brave Little John,
+  And Midge the miller's son,
+Which made the young man bend his bow,
+  When as he see them come.
+
+"Stand off, stand off," the young man said,
+  "What is your will with me?"
+"You must come before our master straight,
+  Under yon green-wood tree."
+
+And when he came bold Robin before,
+  Robin askt him courteously,
+"O hast thou any money to spare
+  For my merry men and me?"
+
+"I have no money," the young man said,
+  "But five shillings and a ring;
+And that I have kept this seven long years,
+  To have it at my wedding.
+
+"Yesterday I should have married a maid,
+  But she is now from me tane,
+And chosen to be an old knight's delight,
+  Whereby my poor heart is slain."
+
+"What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood,
+  "Come tell me, without any fail:"
+"By the faith of my body," then said the young man,
+  "My name it is Allin a Dale."
+
+"What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood,
+  "In ready gold or fee,
+To help thee to thy true love again,
+  And deliver her unto thee?"
+
+"I have no money," then quoth the young man,
+  "No ready gold nor fee,
+But I will swear upon a book
+  Thy true servant for to be."
+
+"How many miles is it to thy true love?
+  Come tell me without any guile:"
+"By the faith of my body," then said the young man,
+  "It is but five little mile."
+
+Then Robin he hasted over the plain,
+  He did neither stint nor lin,
+Until he came unto the church,
+  Where Allin should keep his wedding.
+
+"What hast thou here?" the bishop he said,
+  "I prithee now tell unto me:"
+"I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood,
+  "And the best in the north country."
+
+"O welcome, O welcome," the bishop he said,
+  "That musick best pleaseth me;"
+"You shall have no musick," quoth Robin Hood,
+  "Till the bride and the bridegroom I see."
+
+With that came in a wealthy knight,
+  Which was both grave and old,
+And after him a finikin lass,
+  Did shine like the glistering gold.
+
+"This is not a fit match," quoth bold Robin Hood,
+  "That you do seem to make here;
+For since we are come into the church,
+  The bride shall chuse her own dear."
+
+Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth,
+  And blew blasts two or three;
+When four and twenty bowmen bold
+  Came leaping over the lee.
+
+And when they came into the church-yard,
+  Marching all on a row,
+The first man was Allin a Dale,
+  To give bold Robin his bow.
+
+"This is thy true love," Robin he said,
+  "Young Allin, as I hear say;
+And you shall be married at this same time,
+  Before we depart away."
+
+"That shall not be," the bishop he said,
+  "For thy word shall not stand;
+They shall be three times askt in the church,
+  As the law is of our land."
+
+Robin Hood pulld off the bishop's coat,
+  And put it upon Little John;
+"By the faith of my body," then Robin said,
+  "This cloath does make thee a man."
+
+When Little John went into the quire,
+  The people began for to laugh;
+He askt them seven times in the church,
+  Lest three times should not be enough.
+
+"Who gives me this maid?" then said Little John;
+  Quoth Robin Hood, "That do I,
+And he that takes her from Allin, a Dale
+  Full dearly he shall her buy."
+
+And thus having ende of this merry wedding,
+  The bride lookt like a queen,
+And so they returned to the merry green-wood,
+  Amongst the leaves so green.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL.
+
+When Robin Hood and Little John,
+  _Down a down, a down, a down,_
+  Went o'er yon bank of broom,
+Said Robin Hood to Little John,
+  "We have shot for many a pound:"
+  _Hey down, a down, a down._
+
+"But I am not able to shoot one shot more,
+  My arrows will not flee;
+But I have a cousin lives down below,
+  Please God, she will bleed me."
+
+Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone,
+  As fast as he can win;
+But before he came there, as we do hear,
+  He was taken very ill.
+
+And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall,
+  He knocked all at the ring,
+But none was so ready as his cousin herself
+  For to let bold Robin in.
+
+"Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," she said,
+  "And drink some beer with me?"
+"No, I will neither eat nor drink,
+  Till I am blooded by thee."
+
+"Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she said,
+  "Which you did never see,
+And if you please to walk therein,
+  You blooded by me shall be."
+
+She took him by the lily-white hand,
+  And led him to a private room,
+And there she blooded bold Robin Hood,
+  Whilst one drop of blood would run.
+
+She blooded him in the vein of the arm,
+  And locked him up in the room;
+There did he bleed all the livelong day,
+  Untilt the next day at noon.
+
+He then bethought him of a casement door,
+  Thinking for to be gone;
+He was so weak he could not leap,
+  Nor he could not get down.
+
+He then bethought him of his bugle-horn,
+  Which hung low down to his knee;
+He set his horn unto his mouth,
+  And blew out weak blasts three.
+
+Then Little John, when hearing him,
+  As he sat under the tree,
+"I fear my master is near dead,
+  He blows so wearily."
+
+Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone,
+  As fast as he can dri'e;
+But when he came to Kirkley-hall,
+  He broke locks two or three:
+
+Untilt he came bold Robin to,
+  Then he fell on his knee:
+"A boon, a boon," cries Little John,
+  "Master, I beg of thee."
+
+"What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood,
+  "Little John, thou begs of me?"
+"It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall,
+  And all their nunnery."
+
+"Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood,
+  "That boon I'll not grant thee;
+I never hurt woman in all my life,
+  Nor man in woman's company.
+
+"I never hurt fair maid in all my time,
+  Nor at my end shall it be;
+But give me my bent bow in my hand,
+  And a broad arrow I'll let flee;
+And where this arrow is taken up,
+  There shall my grave digg'd be.
+
+"Lay me a green sod under my head,
+  And another at my feet;
+And lay my bent bow by my side,
+  Which was my music sweet;
+And make my grave of gravel and green,
+  Which is most right and meet.
+
+"Let me have length and breadth enough,
+  With under my head a green sod;
+That they may say, when I am dead,
+  Here lies bold Robin Hood."
+
+These words they readily promised him,
+  Which did bold Robin please;
+And there they buried bold Robin Hood,
+  Near to the fair Kirkleys.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS.
+
+
+ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN.
+
+"O wha will shoe my bonny feet?
+  Or wha will glove my hand?
+Or wha will lace my middle jimp,
+  Wi' a new-made London band?
+
+"And wha will kame my yellow hair,
+  Wi' a new-made siller kame?
+And wha will be my bairn's father,
+  Till love Gregory come haine?"
+
+"Your father'll shoe your bonny feet,
+  Your mother glove your hand;
+Your sister lace your middle jimp,
+  Wi' a new-made London band;
+
+"Mysel' will kame your yellow hair
+  Wi' a new-made siller kame;
+And the Lord will be the bairn's father
+  Till Gregory come hame."
+
+"O gin I had a bonny ship,
+  And men to sail wi' me,
+It's I wad gang to my true lore,
+  Sin' he winna come to me!"
+
+Her father's gi'en her a bonny ship,
+  And sent her to the strand;
+She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
+  And turn'd her back to land.
+
+She hadna been on the sea sailing,
+  About a month or more,
+Till landed has she her bonny ship,
+  Near to her true love's door.
+
+The night was dark, an' the wind was cauld,
+  And her love was fast asleep,
+And the bairn that was in her twa arms,
+  Fu' sair began to greet.
+
+Lang stood she at her true love's door
+  And lang tirl'd at the pin;
+At length up gat his fause mother,
+  Says, "Wha's that wad be in?"
+
+"O it is Annie of Lochroyan,
+  Your love, come o'er the sea,
+But and your young son in her arms,
+  Sae open the door to me."
+
+"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
+  Ye're nae come here for gude;
+Ye're but a witch, or a vile warlock,
+  Or mermaiden o' the flood!"
+
+"I'm nae a witch, nor vile warlock,
+  Nor mermaiden," said she;
+"But I am Annie of Lochroyan;
+  O open the door to me!"
+
+"O gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,
+  As I trow not you be,
+Now tell me some o' the love-tokens
+  That pass'd 'tween thee and me."
+
+"O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,
+  When we sate at the wine,
+How we chang'd the napkins frae our necks,
+  It's no sae lang sinsyne?
+
+"And yours was gude, and gude eneugh,
+  But nae sae gude as mine;
+For yours was o' the cambrick clear,
+  But mine o' the silk sae fine.
+
+"And dinna ye mind, love Gregory,
+  As we twa sate at dine,
+How we chang'd the rings frae our fingers,
+  And I can show thee thine?
+
+"And yours was gude, and gude eneugh,
+  Yet nae sae gude as mine;
+For yours was o' the gude red gold,
+  But mine o' the diamonds fine.
+
+"Sae open the door, love Gregory,
+  And open it wi' speed;
+Or your young son, that is in my arms,
+  For cauld will soon be dead!"
+
+"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
+  Gae frae my door for shame;
+For I hae gotten anither fair love,
+  Sae ye may hie ye hame!"
+
+"O hae ye gotten anither fair love,
+  For a' the oaths ye sware?
+Then fare ye weel, fause Gregory,
+  For me ye'se never see mair!"
+
+O hooly, hooly gaed she back,
+  As the day began to peep;
+She set her foot on gude ship board,
+  And sair, sair did she weep.
+
+"Tak down, tak down that mast o' gowd,
+  Set up the mast o' tree;
+Ill sets it a forsaken lady
+  To sail sae gallantlie!"
+
+Love Gregory started frae his sleep,
+  And to his mother did say;
+"I dream'd a dream this night, mither,
+  That maks my heart right wae.
+
+"I dream'd that Annie of Lochroyan,
+  The flower of a' her kin,
+Was standing mournin' at iny door,
+  But nane wad let her in."
+
+"Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan,
+  That ye mak a' this din;
+She stood a' last night at your door,
+  But I trow she wan na in!"
+
+"O wae betide ye, ill woman!
+  An ill deid may ye die,
+That wadna open the door to her,
+  Nor yet wad waken me!"
+
+O quickly, quickly raise he up,
+  And fast ran to the strand;
+And then he saw her, fair Annie,
+  Was sailing frae the land.
+
+And it's "Hey Annie!" and "How Annie!
+  O Annie, winna ye bide?"
+But aye the mair that he cried "Annie!"
+  The faster ran the tide.
+
+And it's "Hey Annie!" and "How Annie!
+  O Annie, speak to me!"
+But aye the louder that he cried "Annie!"
+  The higher raise the sea.
+
+The wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough,
+  And the ship was rent in twain;
+And soon he saw her, fair Annie,
+  Come floating through the faem.
+
+He saw his young son in her arms,
+  Baith toss'd abune the tide;
+He wrang his hands, and fast he ran,
+  And plunged in the sea sae wide.
+
+He catch'd her by the yellow hair,
+  And drew her to the strand;
+But cauld and stiff was every limb,
+  Afore he reach'd the land.
+
+O first he kiss'd her cherry cheek,
+  And syne he kiss'd her chin,
+And sair he kiss'd her bonny lips,
+  But there was nae breath within.
+
+And he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie,
+  Till the sun was ganging down,
+Syne wi' a sigh his heart it brast,
+  And his soul to heaven has flown.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET.
+
+Lord Thomas and fair Annet
+  Sat a' day on a hill,
+When night was come, and the sun was set,
+  They had na talk'd their fill.
+
+Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
+  Fair Annet took it ill;
+"O I will never wed a wife,
+  Against my ain friends' will"
+
+"Gif ye will never wed a wife,
+  A wife will ne'er wed ye."
+Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
+  And kneel'd upon his knee.
+
+"O rede, O rede, mither," he says,
+  "A gude rede gie to me;
+O sall I tak' the nut-brown bride,
+  And let fair Annet be?"
+
+"The nut-brown bride has gowd and gear,
+  Fair Annet she's gat nane,
+And the little beauty fair Annet has,
+  O it will soon be gane."
+
+And he has to his brither gane;
+  "Now, brither, rede ye me,
+O sall I marry the nut-brown bride,
+  And let fair Annet be?"
+
+"The nut-brown bride has owsen, brither,
+  The nut-brown bride has kye;
+I wad hae you marry the nut-brown bride,
+  And cast fair Annet by."
+
+"Her owsen may dee in the house, billie,
+  And her kye into the byre,
+And I sall hae naething to mysel,
+  But a fat fadge by the fire."
+
+And he has to his sister gane;
+  "Now, sister, rede to me;
+O sall I marry the nut-brown bride,
+  And set fair Annet free?"
+
+"I'se rede ye tak' fair Annet, Thomas,
+  And let the brown bride alane,
+Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
+  What is this we brought hame?"
+
+"No! I will tak' my mither's counsel,
+  And marry me out o' hand;
+And I will tak' the nut-brown bride,
+  Fair Annet may leave the land."
+
+Up then rose fair Annet's father,
+  Twa hours or it were day,
+And he has gane into the bower,
+  Wherein fair Annet lay.
+
+"Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says,
+  "Put on your silken sheen,
+Let us gae to Saint Marie's kirk,
+  And see that rich weddin'."
+
+"My maids, gae to my dressing-room
+  And dress to me my hair,
+Where'er ye laid a plait before,
+  See ye lay ten times mair.
+
+"My maids, gae to my dressing-room
+  And dress to me my smock,
+The ae half is o' the holland fine,
+  The ither o' needle-work."
+
+The horse fair Annet rade upon,
+  He amblit like the wind,
+Wi' siller he was shod before,
+  Wi' burning gowd behind.
+
+Four-and-twenty siller bells,
+  Were a' tied to his mane,
+Wi' ae tift o' the norlan' wind,
+  They tinkled ane by ane.
+
+Four-and-twenty gay gude knights,
+  Rade by fair Annet's side,
+And four-and-twenty fair ladies,
+  As gin she had been a bride.
+
+And when she cam' to Marie's kirk,
+  She sat on Marie's stane;
+The cleiding that fair Annet had on,
+  It skinkled in their e'en.
+
+And when she cam' into the kirk,
+  She skimmer'd like the sun;
+The belt that was about her waist,
+  Was a' wi' pearls bedone.
+
+She sat her by the nut-brown bride,
+  And her e'en they were sae clear,
+Lord Thomas he clean forgot the bride,
+  When fair Annet drew near.
+
+He had a rose into his hand,
+  He gave it kisses three,
+And reaching by the nut-brown bride,
+  Laid it on Annet's knee.
+
+Up then spak' the nut-brown bride,
+  She spak' wi' meikle spite;
+"Where gat ye that rose-water, Annet,
+  That does mak' ye sae white?"
+
+"O I did get the rose-water,
+  Where ye'll get never nane,
+For I did get that rose-water,
+  Before that I was born.
+
+"Where I did get that rose-water,
+  Ye'll never get the like;
+For ye've been washed in Dunnie's well,
+  And dried on Dunnie's dyke.
+
+"Tak' up and wear your rose, Thomas,
+  And wear't wi' meikle care;
+For the woman sall never bear a son
+  That will mak' my heart sae sair."
+
+When night was come, and day was gane,
+  And a' men boune to bed,
+Lord Thomas and the nut-brown bride
+  In their chamber were laid.
+
+They were na weel lyen down,
+  And scarcely fa'en asleep,
+When up and stands she, fair Annet,
+  Just at Lord Thomas' feet.
+
+"Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride,
+  Between ye and the wa';
+And sae will I o' my winding-sheet,
+  That suits me best of a'.
+
+"Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride,
+  Between ye and the stock;
+And sae will I o' my black, black kist,
+  That has neither key nor lock!"
+
+Lord Thomas rase, put on his claes,
+  Drew till him hose and shoon;
+And he is to fair Annet's bower,
+  By the lee light o' the moon.
+
+The firsten bower that he cam' till,
+  There was right dowie wark;
+Her mither and her three sisters,
+  Were making fair Annet a sark.
+
+The nexten bower that he cam' till
+  There was right dowie cheer;
+Her father and her seven brethren,
+  Were making fair Annet a bier.
+
+The lasten bower that he cam' till,
+  O heavy was his care,
+The deid candles were burning bright,
+  Fair Annet was streekit there.
+
+"O I will kiss your cheek, Annet,
+  And I will kiss your chin;
+And I will kiss your clay-cauld lip,
+  But I'll ne'er kiss woman again.
+
+"This day ye deal at Annet's wake,
+  The bread but and the wine;
+Before the morn at twal' o'clock,
+  They'll deal the same at mine."
+
+The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,
+  The tither in Marie's quire,
+And out o' the tane there grew a birk,
+  And out o' the tither a brier.
+
+And ay they grew, and ay they drew,
+  Until they twa did meet,
+And every ane that pass'd them by,
+  Said, "Thae's been lovers sweet!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE BANKS O' YARROW.
+
+Late at e'en, drinking the wine,
+  And ere they paid the lawing,
+They set a combat them between,
+  To fight it in the dawing.
+
+"What though ye be my sister's lord,
+  We'll cross our swords to-morrow."
+"What though my wife your sister be,
+  I'll meet ye then on Yarrow."
+
+"O stay at hame, my ain gude lord!
+  O stay, my ain dear marrow!
+My cruel brither will you betray
+  On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."
+
+"O fare ye weel, my lady dear!
+  And put aside your sorrow;
+For if I gae, I'll sune return
+  Frae the bonny banks o' Yarrow."
+
+She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
+  As oft she'd dune before, O;
+She belted him wi' his gude brand,
+  And he's awa' to Yarrow.
+
+When he gaed up the Tennies bank,
+  As he gaed mony a morrow,
+Nine armed men lay in a den,
+  On the dowie braes o' Yarrow.
+
+"O come ye here to hunt or hawk
+  The bonny Forest thorough?
+Or come ye here to wield your brand
+  Upon the banks o' Yarrow?"
+
+"I come not here to hunt or hawk,
+  As oft I've dune before, O,
+But I come here to wield my brand
+  Upon the banks o' Yarrow.
+
+"If ye attack me nine to ane,
+  Then may God send ye sorrow!--
+Yet will I fight while stand I may,
+  On the bonny banks o' Yarrow."
+
+Two has he hurt, and three has slain,
+  On the bloody braes o' Yarrow;
+But the stubborn knight crept in behind,
+  And pierced his body thorough.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, you brither John,
+  And tell your sister sorrow,--
+To come and lift her leafu' lord
+  On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."
+
+Her brither John gaed ower yon hill,
+  As oft he'd dune before, O;
+There he met his sister dear,
+  Cam' rinnin' fast to Yarrow.
+
+"I dreamt a dream last night," she says,
+  "I wish it binna sorrow;
+I dreamt I pu'd the heather green
+  Wi' my true love on Yarrow."
+
+"I'll read your dream, sister," he says,
+  "I'll read it into sorrow;
+Ye're bidden go take up your love,
+  He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."
+
+She's torn the ribbons frae her head
+  That were baith braid and narrow;
+She's kilted up her lang claithing,
+  And she's awa' to Yarrow.
+
+She's ta'en him in her arms twa,
+  And gien him kisses thorough;
+She sought to bind his mony wounds,
+  But he lay dead on Yarrow.
+
+"O haud your tongue," her father says
+  "And let be a' your sorrow;
+I'll wed you to a better lord
+  Than him ye lost on Yarrow."
+
+"O haud your tongue, father," she says,
+  "Far warse ye mak' my sorrow;
+A better lord could never be
+  Than him that lies on Yarrow."
+
+She kissed his lips, she kaim'd his hair.
+  As oft she'd dune before, O;
+And there wi' grief her heart did break
+  Upon the banks o' Yarrow.
+
+"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
+  "And put on your armour so bright;
+Lord William will hae Lady Margret awa
+  Before that it be light."
+
+"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
+  And put on your armour so bright,
+And take better care of your youngest sister,
+  For your eldest's awa the last night."
+
+He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
+  And himself on a dapple gray,
+With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
+  And lightly they rode away.
+
+Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,
+  To see what he could see,
+And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold,
+  Come riding over the lee.
+
+"Light down, light down, Lady Margret," he said,
+  "And hold my steed in your hand,
+Until that against your seven brethren bold,
+  And your father, I mak' a stand."
+
+She held his steed in her milk-white hand,
+  And never shed one tear,
+Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',
+  And her father hard fighting, who lov'd her so dear.
+
+"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said,
+  "For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
+True lovers I can get many a ane,
+  But a father I can never get mair."
+
+O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
+  It was o' the holland sae fine,
+And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
+  That were redder than the wine.
+
+"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret," he said,
+  "O whether will ye gang or bide?"
+"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,
+  "For ye have left me nae other guide."
+
+He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
+  And himself on a dapple gray,
+With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
+  And slowly they baith rade away.
+
+O they rade on, and on they rade,
+  And a' by the light of the moon,
+Until they came to yon wan water,
+  And there they lighted down.
+
+They lighted down to tak' a drink
+  Of the spring that ran sae clear,
+And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
+  And sair she gan to fear.
+
+"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says,
+  "For I fear that you are slain;"
+"'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,
+  That shines in the water sae plain."
+
+O they rade on, and on they rade,
+  And a' by the light of the moon,
+Until they cam' to his mother's ha' door,
+  And there they lighted down.
+
+"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
+  "Get up, and let me in!
+Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
+  "For this night my fair lady I've win.
+
+"O mak' my bed, lady mother," he says,
+  "O mak' it braid and deep,
+And lay Lady Margret close at my back,
+  And the sounder I will sleep."
+
+Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
+  Lady Margret lang ere day,
+And all true lovers that go thegither,
+  May they have mair luck than they!
+
+Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk,
+  Lady Margret in Mary's quire;
+Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
+  And out o' the knight's a briar.
+
+And they twa met, and they twa plat,
+  And fain they wad be near;
+And a' the warld might ken right weel
+  They were twa lovers dear.
+
+But by and rade the Black Douglas,
+  And wow but he was rough!
+For he pull'd up the bonny briar,
+  And flang't in St. Mary's Loch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FINE FLOWERS I' THE VALLEY.
+
+There were three sisters in a ha',
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+There came three lords amang them a',
+  (The red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+The first o' them was clad in red,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"O lady, will ye be my bride?"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+The second o' them was clad in green,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"O lady, will ye be my queen?"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+The third o' them was clad in yellow,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"O lady, will ye be my marrow?"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O ye maun ask my father dear,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Likewise the mother that did me bear;"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"And ye maun ask my sister Ann,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+And not forget my brother John;"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O I have ask'd thy father dear,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Likewise the mother that did thee bear;"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"And I have ask'd your sister Ann,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+But I forgot your brother John;"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+Now when the wedding day was come,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+The knight would take his bonny bride home,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+And mony a lord, and mony a knight,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Cam' to behold that lady bright,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+There was nae man that did her see,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+But wished himsell bridegroom to be,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+Her father led her down the stair,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+And her sisters twain they kiss'd her there;
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+Her mother led her through the close,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Her brother John set her on her horse;
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"You are high, and I am low,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Give me a kiss before you go,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+She was touting down to kiss him sweet,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+When wi' his knife he wounded her deep,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+She hadna ridden through half the town,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Until her heart's blood stained her gown,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"Ride saftly on," said the best young man,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"I think our bride looks pale and wan!"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O lead me over into yon stile,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+That I may stop and breathe awhile,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O lead me over into yon stair,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+For there I'll lie and bleed nae mair,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O what will you leave to your father dear?"
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"The siller-shod steed that brought me here,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"What will you leave to your mother dear?"
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"My wedding shift which I do wear,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"But she must wash it very clean,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+For my heart's blood sticks in every seam."
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"What will you leave to your sister Ann?"
+  (Pine flowers i' the valley;)
+"My silken gown that stands its lane,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"And what will you leave to your brother John?"
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"The gates o' hell to let him in,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE GAY GOSS-HAWK.
+
+"O well is me, my gay goss-hawk,
+  That ye can speak and flee;
+For ye shall carry a love-letter
+  To my true-love frae me.
+
+"O how shall I your true-love find,
+  Or how should I her knaw?
+I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake,
+An eye that ne'er her saw."
+
+"O well shall you my true-love ken,
+  Sae soon as her ye see,
+For of a' the flowers o' fair England,
+  The fairest flower is she.
+
+"And when ye come to her castle,
+  Light on the bush of ash,
+And sit ye there, and sing our loves,
+  As she comes frae the mass.
+
+"And when she goes into the house,
+  Light ye upon the whin;
+And sit ye there, and sing our loves,
+  As she gaes out and in."
+
+Lord William has written a love-letter,
+  Put in under the wing sae grey;
+And the bird is awa' to southern land,
+  As fast as he could gae.
+
+And when he flew to that castle,
+  He lighted on the ash,
+And there he sat, and sang their loves,
+  As she came frae the mass.
+
+And when she went into the house,
+  He flew unto the whin;
+And there he sat, and sang their loves,
+  As she gaed out and in.
+
+"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a',
+  The wine flows you amang,
+Till I gae to the west-window,
+  And hear a birdie's sang."
+
+She's gane into the west-window,
+  And fainly aye it drew,
+And soon into her white silk lap
+  The bird the letter threw.
+
+"Ye're bidden send your love a send,
+  For he has sent you three;
+And tell him where he can see you,
+  Or for your love he'll die."
+
+"I send him the rings from my white fingers,
+  The garlands aff my hair,
+I send him the heart that's in my breast,
+  What would my love hae mair?
+And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland,
+  Ye'll bid him meet me there."
+
+She's gane until her father dear,
+  As fast as she could hie,
+"An asking, an asking, my father dear,
+  An asking grant ye me!
+That if I die in merry England,
+  In Scotland you'll bury me.
+
+"At the first kirk o' fair Scotland,
+  Ye'll cause the bells be rung;
+At the neist kirk o' fair Scotland
+  Ye'll cause the mass be sung.
+
+"At the third kirk o' fair Scotland,
+  Ye'll deal the gowd for me;
+At the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland,
+  It's there you'll bury me."
+
+She has ta'en her to her bigly bower,
+  As fast as she could hie;
+And she has drapped down like deid,
+  Beside her mother's knee;
+Then out and spak' an auld witch-wife,
+  By the fire-side sate she.
+
+Says,--"Drap the het lead on her cheek,
+  And drap it on her chin,
+And drap it on her rose-red lips,
+  And she will speak again;
+O meikle will a maiden do,
+  To her true love to win!"
+
+They drapt the het lead on her cheek,
+  They drapt it on her chin,
+They drapt it on her rose-red lips,
+  But breath was nane within.
+
+Then up arose her seven brothers,
+  And made for her a bier;
+The boards were of the cedar wood,
+  The plates o' silver clear.
+
+And up arose her seven sisters,
+  And made for her a sark;
+The claith of it was satin fine,
+  The steeking silken wark.
+
+The first Scots kirk that they cam' to,
+  They gar'd the bells be rung;
+The neist Scots kirk that they cam' to,
+  They gar'd the mass be sung.
+
+The third Scots kirk that they cam' to,
+  They dealt the gowd for her;
+The fourth Scots kirk that they cam' to,
+  Her true-love met them there.
+
+"Set down, set down the bier," he quoth,
+  Till I look on the dead;
+The last time that I saw her face,
+  Her cheeks were rosy red."
+
+He rent the sheet upon her face,
+  A little abune the chin;
+And fast he saw her colour come,
+  And sweet she smiled on him.
+
+"O give me a chive of your bread, my love,
+  And ae drap o' your wine;
+For I have fasted for your sake,
+  These weary lang days nine!
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brothers;
+  Gae hame an' blaw your horn!
+I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith,
+  But I've gi'ed you the scorn.
+
+"I cam' not here to fair Scotland,
+  To lie amang the dead;
+But I cam' here to fair Scotland,
+  Wi' my ain true-love to wed."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+YOUNG REDIN.
+
+Fair Catherine from her bower-window
+  Looked over heath and wood;
+She heard a smit o' bridle-reins,
+  And the sound did her heart good.
+
+"Welcome, young Redin, welcome!
+  And welcome again, my dear!
+Light down, light down from your horse," she
+  "It's long since you were here."
+
+"O gude morrow, lady, gude morrow, lady;
+  God mak' you safe and free!
+I'm come to tak' my last fareweel,
+  And pay my last visit to thee.
+
+"I mustna light, and I canna light,
+  I winna stay at a';
+For a fairer lady than ten of thee
+  Is waiting at Castleswa'."
+
+"O if your love be changed, my dear,
+  Since better may not be,
+Yet, ne'ertheless, for auld lang syne,
+  Bide this ae night wi' me."
+
+She birl'd him wi' the ale and wine,
+  As they sat down to sup;
+A living man he laid him down,
+  But I wot he ne'er rose up.
+
+"Now lie ye there, young Redin," she says,
+  "O lie ye there till morn,--
+Though a fairer lady than ten of me
+  Is waiting till you come home!
+
+"O lang, lang is the winter night,
+  Till day begins to daw;
+There is a dead man in my bower,
+  And I would he were awa'."
+
+She cried upon her bower-maiden,
+  Aye ready at her ca':
+"There is a knight into my bower,
+  'Tis time he were awa'."
+
+They've booted him and spurred him,
+  As he was wont to ride,
+A hunting-horn tied round his waist,
+  A sharp sword by his side;
+And they've flung him into the wan water,
+  The deepest pool in Clyde.
+
+Then up bespake a little bird
+  That sate upon the tree,
+"Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady,
+  And pay your maid her fee."
+
+"Come down, come down, my pretty bird,
+  That sits upon the tree;
+I have a cage of beaten gold,
+  I'll gie it unto thee."
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady;
+  I winna come down to thee;
+For as ye have done to young Redin,
+  Ye'd do the like to me."
+
+O there came seeking young Redin
+  Mony a lord and knight,
+And there came seeking young Redin
+  Mony a lady bright.
+
+They've called on Lady Catherine,
+  But she sware by oak and thorn
+That she saw him not, young Redin,
+  Since yesterday at morn.
+
+The lady turned her round about,
+  Wi' mickle mournfu' din:
+"It fears me sair o' Clyde water
+  That he is drowned therein."
+
+Then up spake young Redin's mither,
+  The while she made her mane:
+"My son kenn'd a' the fords o' Clyde,
+  He'd ride them ane by ane."
+
+"Gar douk, gar douk!" his father he cried,
+  "Gar douk for gold and fee!
+O wha will douk for young Redin's sake,
+  And wha will douk for me?"
+
+They hae douked in at ae weil-head,
+  And out again at the ither:
+"We'll douk nae mair for young Redin,
+  Although he were our brither."
+
+Then out it spake a little bird
+  That sate upon the spray:
+"What gars ye seek him, young Redin,
+  Sae early in the day?
+
+"Leave aff your douking on the day,
+  And douk at dark o' night;
+Aboon the pool young Redin lies in,
+  The candles they'll burn bright."
+
+They left aff their douking on the day,
+  They hae douked at dark o' night;
+Aboon the pool where young Redin lay,
+  The candles they burned bright.
+
+The deepest pool in a' the stream
+  They found young Redin in;
+Wi' a great stone tied across his breast
+  To keep his body down.
+
+Then up and spake the little bird,
+  Says, "What needs a' this din?
+It was Lady Catherine took his life,
+  And hided him in the linn."
+
+She sware her by the sun and moon,
+  She sware by grass and corn,
+She hadna seen him, young Redin,
+  Since Monanday at morn.
+
+"It's surely been my bower-woman,--
+  O ill may her betide!
+I ne'er wad hae slain my young Redin,
+  And thrown him in the Clyde."
+
+Now they hae cut baith fern and thorn,
+  The bower-woman to brin;
+And they hae made a big balefire,
+  And put this maiden in;
+But the fire it took na on her cheek,
+  It took na on her chin.
+
+Out they hae ta'en the bower-woman,
+  And put her mistress in;
+The flame took fast upon her cheek,
+  Took fast upon her chin,
+Took fast upon her fair bodie,
+  Because of her deadly sin.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET.
+
+Willie stands in his stable,
+  A-clapping of his steed;
+And over his white fingers
+  His nose began to bleed.
+
+"Gie corn to my horse, mither;
+  Gie meat unto my man;
+For I maun gang to Margaret's bower,
+  Before the night comes on."
+
+"O stay at home, my son Willie!
+  The wind blaws cold and stour;
+The night will be baith mirk and late,
+  Before ye reach her bower."
+
+"O tho' the night were ever sae dark,
+  O the wind blew never sae cauld,
+I will be in May Margaret's bower
+  Before twa hours be tauld."
+
+"O bide this night wi' me, Willie,
+  O bide this night wi' me!
+The bestan fowl in a' the roost
+  At your supper, my son, shall be."
+
+"A' your fowls, and a' your roosts,
+  I value not a pin;
+I only care for May Margaret;
+  And ere night to her bower I'll win."
+
+"O an ye gang to May Margaret
+  Sae sair against my will,
+In the deepest pot o' Clyde's water
+  My malison ye's feel!"
+
+He mounted on his coal-black steed,
+  And fast he rade awa';
+But ere he came to Clyde's water
+  Fu' loud the wind did blaw.
+
+As he rade over yon hie hie hill,
+  And doun yon dowie den,
+There was a roar in Clyde's water
+  Wad feared a hundred men.
+
+But Willie has swam through Clyde's water,
+  Though it was wide and deep;
+And he came to May Margaret's door
+  When a' were fast asleep.
+
+O he's gane round and round about,
+  And tirled at the pin,
+But doors were steeked and windows barred,
+  And nane to let him in.
+
+"O open the door to me, Margaret!
+  O open and let me in!
+For my boots are fu' o' Clyde's water,
+  And frozen to the brim."
+
+"I daurna open the door to you,
+  I daurna let you in;
+For my mither she is fast asleep,
+  And I maun mak' nae din."
+
+"O gin ye winna open the door,
+  Nor be sae kind to me,
+Now tell me o' some out-chamber,
+  Where I this night may be."
+
+"Ye canna win in this night, Willie,
+  Nor here ye canna be;
+For I've nae chambers out nor in,
+  Nae ane but barely three.
+
+"The tane is fu' to the roof wi' corn,
+  The tither is fu' wi' hay;
+The third is fu' o' merry young men,
+  They winna remove till day."
+
+"O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret,
+  Sin' better it mauna be.
+I have won my mither's malison,
+  Coming this night to thee."
+
+He's mounted on his coal-black steed,
+  O but his heart was wae!
+But e'er he came to Clyde's water,
+  'Twas half-way up the brae.
+
+When down he rade to the river-flood,
+  'Twas fast flowing ower the brim;
+The rushing that was in Clyde's water
+  Took Willie's rod frae him.
+
+He leaned him ower his saddle-bow
+  To catch his rod again;
+The rushing that was in Clyde's water
+  Took Willie's hat frae him.
+
+He leaned him ower his saddle-bow
+  To catch his hat by force;
+The rushing that was in Clyde's water
+  Took Willie frae his horse.
+
+O I canna turn my horse's head;
+  I canna strive to sowm;
+I've gotten my mither's malison,
+  And it's here that I maun drown!"
+
+The very hour this young man sank
+  Into the pot sae deep,
+Up wakened his love, May Margaret,
+  Out of her heavy sleep.
+
+"Come hither, come hither, my minnie dear,
+  Come hither read my dream;
+I dreamed my love Willie was at our gates,
+  And nane wad let him in."
+
+"Lie still, lie still, dear Margaret,
+  Lie still and tak' your rest;
+Your lover Willie was at the gates,
+  'Tis but two quarters past."
+
+Nimbly, nimbly rase she up,
+  And quickly put she on;
+While ever against her window
+  The louder blew the win'.
+
+Out she ran into the night,
+  And down the dowie den;
+The strength that was in Clyde's water
+  Wad drown five hundred men.
+
+She stepped in to her ankle,
+  She stepped free and bold;
+"Ohone, alas!" said that ladye,
+  "This water is wondrous cold."
+
+The second step that she waded,
+  She waded to the knee;
+Says she, "I'd fain wade farther in,
+  If I my love could see."
+
+The neistan step that she waded,
+  She waded to the chin;
+'Twas a whirlin' pot o' Clyde's water
+  She got sweet Willie in.
+
+"O ye've had a cruel mither, Willie!
+  And I have had anither;
+But we shall sleep in Clyde's water
+  Like sister and like brither."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+YOUNG BEICHAN.
+
+In London was young Beichan born,
+  He longed strange countries for to see,
+But he was ta'en by a savage Moor,
+  Who handled him right cruellie.
+
+For he viewed the fashions of that land,
+  Their way of worship viewed he,
+But to Mahound or Termagant
+  Would Beichan never bend a knee.
+
+So in every shoulder they've putten a bore,
+  In every bore they've putten a tree,
+And they have made him trail the wine
+  And spices on his fair bodie.
+
+They've casten him in a dungeon deep,
+  Where he could neither hear nor see,
+For seven years they've kept him there,
+  Till he for hunger's like to dee.
+
+This Moor he had but ae daughter,
+  Her name was called Susie Pye,
+And every day as she took the air,
+  Near Beichan's prison she passed by.
+
+And so it fell upon a day,
+  About the middle time of Spring,
+As she was passing by that way,
+  She heard young Beichan sadly sing.
+
+All night long no rest she got,
+  Young Beichan's song for thinking on;
+She's stown the keys from her father's head,
+  And to the prison strang is gone.
+
+And she has opened the prison doors,
+  I wot she opened two or three,
+Ere she could come young Beichan at,
+  He was locked up so curiouslie.
+
+But when she cam' young Beichan till,
+  Sore wondered he that may to see;
+He took her for some fair captive:
+  "Fair lady, I pray, of what countrie?"
+
+"O have ye any lands," she said,
+  "Or castles in your own countrie,
+That ye could give to a lady fair,
+  From prison strang to set you free?"
+
+"Near London town I have a hall,
+  And other castles two or three;
+I'll give them all to the lady fair
+  That out of prison will set me free."
+
+"Give me the truth of your right hand,
+  The truth of it give unto me,
+That for seven years ye'll no lady wed,
+  Unless it be alang with me."
+
+"I'll give thee the truth of my right hand,
+  The truth of it I'll freely gie,
+That for seven years I'll stay unwed,
+  For the kindness thou dost show to me."
+
+And she has brib'd the proud warder,
+  Wi' mickle gold and white monie,
+She's gotten the keys of the prison strang,
+  And she has set young Beichan free.
+
+She's gi'en him to eat the good spice-cake,
+  She's gi'en him to drink the blude-red wine,
+She's bidden him sometimes think on her,
+  That sae kindly freed him out o' pine.
+
+And she has broken her finger-ring,
+  And to Beichan half of it gave she:
+"Keep it, to mind you in foreign land
+  Of the lady's love that set you free.
+
+"And set your foot on good ship-board,
+  And haste ye back to your ain countrie,
+And before that seven years have an end,
+  Come back again, love, and marry me."
+
+But lang ere seven years had an end,
+  She longed full sore her love to see,
+So she's set her foot on good ship-board,
+  And turned her back on her ain countrie.
+
+She sailA"d east, she sailA"d west,
+  Till to fair England's shore she came,
+Where a bonny shepherd she espied,
+  Was feeding his sheep upon the plain.
+
+"What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd?
+  What news hast thou to tell to me?"
+"Such news I hear, ladie," he says,
+  "The like was never in this countrie.
+
+"There is a wedding in yonder hall,
+  And ever the bells ring merrilie;
+It is Lord Beichan's wedding-day
+  Wi' a lady fair o' high degree."
+
+She's putten her hand into her pocket,
+  Gi'en him the gold and white monie;
+"Hay, take ye that, my bonny boy,
+  All for the news thou tell'st to me."
+
+When she came to young Beichan's gate,
+  She tirlA"d saftly at the pin;
+So ready was the proud porter
+  To open and let this lady in.
+
+"Is this young Beichan's hall," she said,
+  "Or is that noble lord within?"
+"Yea, he's in the hall among them all,
+  And this is the day o' his weddin."
+
+"And has he wed anither love?
+  And has he clean forgotten me?"
+And sighin said that ladie gay,
+  "I wish I were in my ain countrie."
+
+And she has ta'en her gay gold ring
+  That with her love she brake sae free;
+Says, "Gie him that, ye proud porter,
+  And bid the bridegroom speak wi' me."
+
+When the porter came his lord before,
+  He kneeled down low upon his knee:
+"What aileth thee, my proud porter,
+  Thou art so full of courtesie?"
+
+"I've been porter at your gates,
+  It's now for thirty years and three;
+But the lovely lady that stands thereat,
+  The like o' her did I never see.
+
+"For on every finger she has a ring,
+  And on her mid-finger she has three,
+And meikle gold aboon her brow.
+  Sae fair a may did I never see."
+
+It's out then spak the bride's mother,
+  And an angry woman, I wot, was she:
+"Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,
+  And twa or three of our companie."
+
+"O hold your tongue, thou bride's mother,
+  Of all your folly let me be;
+She's ten times fairer nor the bride,
+  And all that's in your companie.
+
+"And this golden ring that's broken in twa,
+  This half o' a golden ring sends she:
+'Ye'll carry that to Lord Beichan,' she says,
+  'And bid him come an' speak wi' me.'
+
+"She begs one sheave of your white bread,
+  But and a cup of your red wine,
+And to remember the lady's love
+  That last relieved you out of pine."
+
+"O well-a-day!" said Beichan then,
+  "That I so soon have married me!
+For it can be none but Susie Pye,
+  That for my love has sailed the sea."
+
+And quickly hied he down the stair;
+  Of fifteen steps he made but three;
+He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms
+  And kist and kist her tenderlie.
+
+"O hae ye ta'en anither bride?
+  And hae ye clean forgotten me?
+And hae ye quite forgotten her
+  That gave you life and libertie?"
+
+She lookit o'er her left shoulder,
+  To hide the tears stood in her ee:
+"Now fare thee well, young Beichan," she says,
+  "I'll try to think no more on thee."
+
+"O never, never, Susie Pye,
+  For surely this can never be,
+Nor ever shall I wed but her
+  That's done and dreed so much for me."
+
+Then out and spak the forenoon bride:
+  "My lord, your love it changeth soon.
+This morning I was made your bride,
+  And another chose ere it be noon."
+
+"O hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride,
+  Ye're ne'er a whit the worse for me,
+And whan ye return to your ain land,
+  A double dower I'll send with thee."
+
+He's ta'en Susie Pye by the milkwhite hand,
+  And led her thro' the halls sae hie,
+And aye as he kist her red-rose lips,
+  "Ye're dearly welcome, jewel, to me."
+
+He's ta'en her by the milkwhite hand,
+  And led her to yon fountain-stane;
+He's changed her name from Susie Pye,
+  And call'd her his bonny love, Lady Jane.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+GILDEROY.
+
+Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,
+  Had roses till his shoon,
+His stockings were of silken soy,
+  Wi' garters hanging doun:
+It was, I ween, a comely sight,
+  To see sae trim a boy;
+He was my joy and heart's delight,
+  My winsome Gilderoy.
+
+O sic twa charming e'en he had,
+  A breath as sweet as rose,
+He never ware a Highland plaid,
+  But costly silken clothes;
+He gained the love of ladies gay,
+  Nane e'er to him was coy;
+Ah, wae is me! I mourn this day
+  For my dear Gilderoy.
+
+My Gilderoy and I were born
+  Baith in one toun together,
+We scant were seven years beforn
+  We 'gan to luve each ither;
+Our daddies and our mammies they
+  Were fill'd wi' meikle joy,
+To think upon the bridal day
+  Of me and Gilderoy.
+
+For Gilderoy, that luve of mine,
+  Gude faith, I freely bought
+A wedding sark of Holland fine,
+  Wi' dainty ruffles wrought;
+And he gied me a wedding-ring,
+  Which I received wi' joy;
+Nae lad nor lassie e'er could sing
+  Like me and Gilderoy.
+
+Wi' meikle joy we spent our prime,
+  Till we were baith sixteen,
+And aft we passed the langsam time
+  Amang the leaves sae green;
+Aft on the banks we'd sit us there,
+  And sweetly kiss and toy;
+Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
+  My handsome Gilderoy.
+
+O that he still had been content
+  Wi' me to lead his life!
+But ah, his manfu' heart was bent
+  To stir in feats of strife.
+And he in many a venturous deed
+  His courage bold wad try;
+And now this gars my heart to bleed
+  For my dear Gilderoy.
+
+And when of me his leave he took,
+  The tears they wat mine e'e;
+I gied him sic a parting look:
+  "My benison gang wi' thee!
+God speed thee weel, my ain dear heart,
+  For gane is all my joy;
+My heart is rent sith we maun part,
+  My handsome Gilderoy."
+
+The Queen of Scots possessA"d nought
+  That my luve let me want;
+For cow and ewe he to me brought,
+  And e'en when they were scant:
+All these did honestly possess,
+  He never did annoy
+Who never failed to pay their cess
+  To my luve Gilderoy.
+
+My Gilderoy, baith far and near,
+  Was fear'd in every toun,
+And bauldly bare awa' the gear
+  Of many a lawland loun:
+For man to man durst meet him nane,
+  He was sae brave a boy;
+At length with numbers he was ta'en,
+  My winsome Gilderoy.
+
+Wae worth the loun that made the laws,
+  To hang a man for gear;
+To reive of life for sic a cause,
+  As stealing horse or mare!
+Had not these laws been made sae strick,
+  I ne'er had lost my joy,
+Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheek,
+  For my dear Gilderoy.
+
+Gif Gilderoy had done amiss,
+  He might have banished been.
+Ah, what sair cruelty is this,
+  To hang sic handsome men!
+To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
+  Sae sweet and fair a boy!
+Nae lady had so white a hand
+  As thee, my Gilderoy.
+
+Of Gilderoy sae 'fraid they were,
+  They bound him meikle strong,
+To Edinburgh they took him there,
+  And on a gallows hung:
+They hung him high aboon the rest,
+  He was sae trim a boy;
+There died the youth whom I lo'ed best,
+  My handsome Gilderoy.
+
+Sune as he yielded up his breath,
+  I bare his corpse away,
+Wi' tears that trickled for his death,
+  I wash'd his comely clay;
+And sicker in a grave sae deep
+  I laid the dear-lo'ed boy;
+And now forever I maun weep
+  My winsome Gilderoy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+BONNY BARBARA ALLAN.
+
+It was in and about the Martinmas time,
+  When the green leaves were a falling,
+That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country,
+  Fell in love with Barbara Allan.
+
+He sent his men down through the town,
+  To the place where she was dwelling:
+"O haste and come to my master dear,
+  Gin ye be Barbara Allan."
+
+O hooly, hooly rose she up,
+  To the place where he was lying,
+And when she drew the curtain by,
+  "Young man, I think you're dying."
+
+"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
+  And it's a' for Barbara Allan;"
+"O the better for me ye's never be,
+  Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.
+
+"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,
+  "When ye was in the tavern a drinking,
+That ye made the healths gae round and round,
+  And slighted Barbara Allan?"
+
+He turned his face unto the wall,
+  And death was with him dealing;
+"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
+  And be kind to Barbara Allan."
+
+And slowly, slowly raise she up,
+  And slowly, slowly left him,
+And sighing said, she could not stay,
+  Since death of life had reft him.
+
+She had not gane a mile but twa,
+  When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
+And every jow that the dead-bell gied,
+  It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!
+
+"O mother, mother, make my bed!
+  O make it saft and narrow!
+Since my love died for me to-day,
+  I'll die for him to-morrow."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+THE GARDENER.
+
+The gard'ner stands in his bower door,
+  Wi' a primrose in his hand,
+And by there cam' a leal maiden,
+  As jimp as a willow wand.
+
+"O ladie, can ye fancy me,
+  For to be my bride?
+Ye'se get a' the flowers in my garden,
+  To be to you a weed.
+
+"The lily white sail be your smock;
+  It becomes your bodie best;
+Your head sail be buskt wi' gilly-flower,
+  Wi' the primrose in your breast.
+
+"Your goun sall be the sweet-william;
+  Your coat the camovine;
+Your apron o' the sallads neat,
+  That taste baith sweet and fine.
+
+"Your hose sall be the brade kail-blade,
+  That is baith brade and lang;
+Narrow, narrow at the cute,
+  And brade, brade at the brawn.
+
+"Your gloves sail be the marigold,
+  All glittering to your hand,
+Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort,
+  That grows amang corn-land."
+
+"O fare ye well, young man," she says,
+  "Fareweil, and I bid adieu;
+If you can fancy me," she says,
+  "I canna fancy you.
+
+"Sin' ye've provided a weed for me
+  Amang the simmer flowers,
+It's I'se provide anither for you,
+  Amang the winter-showers:
+
+"The new fawn snaw to be your smock;
+  It becomes your bodie best;
+Your head sall be wrapt wi' the eastern wind,
+  And the cauld rain on your breast."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+ETIN THE FORESTER.
+
+Lady Margaret sits in her bower door,
+  Sewing her silken seam;
+She heard a note in Elmond's wood,
+  And wished she there had been.
+
+She loot the seam fa' frae her side,
+  And the needle to her tae,
+And she is aff to Elmond's wood
+  As fast as she could gae.
+
+She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,
+  Nor broken a branch but ane,
+Till by there cam' a young hynd chiel,
+  Says, "Lady, lat alane.
+
+"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut,
+  Or why brake ye the tree?
+For I am forester o' this wood:
+  Ye should spier leave at me."
+
+"I'll spier leave at na living man,
+  Nor yet will I at thee;
+My father is king o'er a' this realm,
+  This wood belangs to me."
+
+"You're welcome to the wood, Marg'ret,
+  You're welcome here to me;
+A fairer bower than e'er you saw.
+  I'll bigg this night for thee."
+
+He has bigged a bower beside the thorn,
+  He has fenced it up wi' stane,
+And there within the Elmond wood,
+  They twa has dwelt their lane.
+
+He kept her in the Elmond wood,
+  For twelve lang years and mair;
+And seven fair sons to Hynd Etin,
+  Did that gay lady bear.
+
+It fell out ance upon a day,
+  To the hunting he has gane;
+And he has ta'en his eldest son,
+  To gang alang wi' him.
+
+When they were in the gay greenwood,
+  They heard the mavis sing;
+When they were up aboon the brae,
+  They heard the kirk bells ring.
+
+"O I wad ask ye something, father,
+  An' ye wadna angry be!"
+"Say on, say on, my bonny boy,
+  Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."
+
+"My mither's cheeks are aft-times weet,
+  It's seldom they are dry;
+What is't that gars my mither greet,
+  And sob sae bitterlie?"
+
+"Nae wonder she suld greet, my boy,
+  Nae wonder she suld pine,
+For it is twelve lang years and mair,
+  She's seen nor kith nor kin,
+And it is twelve lang years and mair,
+  Since to the kirk she's been.
+
+"Your mither was an Earl's daughter,
+  And cam' o' high degree,
+And she might hae wedded the first in the land,
+  Had she nae been stown by me.
+
+"For I was but her father's page,
+  And served him on my knee;
+And yet my love was great for her,
+  And sae was hers for me."
+
+"I'll shoot the laverock i' the lift,
+  The buntin on the tree,
+And bring them to my mither hames
+  See if she'll merrier be."
+
+It fell upon anither day,
+  This forester thought lang;
+And he is to the hunting gane
+  The forest leaves amang.
+
+Wi' bow and arrow by his side,
+  He took his path alane;
+And left his seven young children
+  To bide wi' their mither at hame.
+
+"O I wad ask ye something, mither,
+  An ye wadna angry be."
+"Ask on, ask on, my eldest son;
+  Ask ony thing at me."
+
+"Your cheeks are aft-times weet, mither;
+  You're greetin', as I can see."
+"Nae wonder, nae wonder, my little son,
+  Nae wonder though I should dee!
+
+"For I was ance an Earl's daughter,
+  Of noble birth and fame;
+And now I'm the mither o' seven sons
+  Wha ne'er gat christendame."
+
+He's ta'en his mither by the hand,
+  His six brithers also,
+And they are on through Elmond-wood
+  As fast as they could go.
+
+They wistna weel wha they were gaen,
+  And weary were their feet;
+They wistna weel wha they were gaen,
+  Till they stopped at her father's gate.
+
+"I hae nae money in my pocket,
+  But jewel-rings I hae three;
+I'll gie them to you, my little son,
+  And ye'll enter there for me.
+
+"Ye'll gie the first to the proud porter,
+  And he will lat you in;
+Ye'll gie the next to the butler-boy,
+  And he will show you ben.
+
+"Ye'll gie the third to the minstrel
+  That's harping in the ha',
+And he'll play gude luck to the bonny boy
+  That comes frae the greenwood shaw."
+
+He gied the first to the proud porter,
+  And he opened and lat him in;
+He gied the next to the butler-boy,
+  And he has shown him ben;
+
+He gied the third to the minstrel
+  Was harping in the ha',
+And he played gude luck to the bonny boy
+  That cam' frae the greenwood shaw.
+
+Now when he cam' before the Earl,
+  He louted on his knee;
+The Earl he turned him round about,
+  And the saut tear blint his e'e.
+
+"Win up, win up, thou bonny boy,
+  Gang frae my companie;
+Ye look sae like my dear daughter,
+  My heart will burst in three!"
+
+"If I look like your dear daughter,
+  A wonder it is nane;
+If I look like your dear daughter,
+  I am her eldest son."
+
+"O tell me soon, ye little wee boy,
+  Where may my Margaret be?"
+"She's e'en now standing at your gates.
+  And my six brithers her wi'."
+
+"O where are a' my porter-boys
+  That I pay meat and fee,
+To open my gates baith braid and wide,
+  And let her come in to me?"
+
+When she cam' in before the Earl,
+  She fell doun low on her knee:
+"Win up, win up, my daughter dear;
+  This day ye'se dine wi' me."
+
+"Ae bit I canna eat, father,
+  Ae drop I canna drink,
+Till I see Etin, my husband dear;
+  Sae lang for him I think!"
+
+"O where are a' my rangers bold
+  That I pay meat and fee,
+To search the forest far and wide,
+  And bring Hynd Etin to me?"
+
+Out it speaks the little wee boy:
+  "Na, na, this maunna be;
+Without ye grant a free pardon,
+  I hope ye'll na him see!"
+
+"O here I grant a free pardon,
+  Well sealed wi' my ain han';
+And mak' ye search for Hynd Etin,
+  As sune as ever ye can."
+
+They searched the country braid and wide,
+  The forest far and near,
+And they found him into Elmond-wood,
+  Tearing his yellow hair.
+
+"Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin,
+  Win up and boun' wi' me;
+For we are come frae the castle,
+  And the Earl wad fain you see."
+
+"O lat him tak' my head," he says,
+  "Or hang me on a tree;
+For sin' I've lost my dear lady,
+  My life's nae worth to me!"
+
+"Your head will na be touched, Etin,
+  Nor sall you hang on tree;
+Your lady's in her father's court,
+  And all he wants is thee."
+
+When he cam' in before the Earl,
+  He louted on his knee:
+"Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin;
+  This day ye'se dine wi' me."
+
+As they were at their dinner set,
+  The boy he asked a boon:
+"I wold we were in haly kirk,
+To get our christendoun.
+
+"For we hae lived in gude greenwood
+  These twelve lang years and ane;
+But a' this time since e'er I mind
+  Was never a kirk within."
+
+"Your asking's na sae great, my boy,
+  But granted it sall be:
+This day to haly kirk sall ye gang,
+  And your mither sall gang you wi'."
+
+When she cam' to the haly kirk,
+  She at the door did stan';
+She was sae sunken doun wi' shame,
+  She couldna come farther ben.
+
+Then out it spak' the haly priest,
+  Wi' a kindly word spak' he:
+"Come ben, come ben, my lily-flower,
+  And bring your babes to me."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+LAMKIN.
+
+It's Lamkin was a mason good
+  As ever built wi' stane;
+He built Lord Wearie's castle,
+  But payment gat he nane.
+
+"O pay me, Lord Wearie,
+  Come, pay me my fee:"
+"I canna pay you, Lamkin,
+  For I maun gang o'er the sea."
+
+"O pay me now, Lord Wearie,
+  Come, pay me out o' hand:"
+"I canna pay you, Lamkin,
+  Unless I sell my land."
+
+"O gin ye winna pay me,
+  I here sall mak' a vow,
+Before that ye come hame again,
+  Ye sall hae cause to rue."
+
+Lord Wearie got a bonny ship,
+  To sail the saut sea faem;
+Bade his lady weel the castle keep,
+  Ay till he should come hame.
+
+But the nourice was a fause limmer
+  As e'er hung on a tree;
+She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
+  Whan her lord was o'er the sea.
+
+She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
+  When the servants were awa',
+Loot him in at a little shot-window,
+  And brought him to the ha'.
+
+"O where's a' the men o' this house,
+  That ca' me Lamkin?"
+"They're at the barn-well thrashing;
+  'Twill be lang ere they come in."
+
+"And where's the women o' this house,
+  That ca' me Lamkin?"
+"They're at the far well washing;
+  'Twill be lang ere they come in."
+
+"And where's the bairns o' this house,
+  That ca' me Lamkin?"
+"They're at the school reading;
+  'Twill be night or they come hame."
+
+"O where's the lady o' this house,
+  That ca's me Lamkin?"
+"She's up in her bower sewing,
+  But we soon can bring her down."
+
+Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife,
+  That hang down by his gaire,
+And he has gi'en the bonny babe
+  A deep wound and a sair.
+
+Then Lamkin he rocked,
+  And the fause nourice she sang,
+Till frae ilka bore o' the cradle
+  The red blood out sprang.
+
+Then out it spak' the lady,
+  As she stood on the stair:
+"What ails my bairn, nourice,
+  That he's greeting sae sair?
+
+"O still my bairn, nourice,
+  O still him wi' the pap!"
+"He winna still, lady,
+  For this nor for that."
+
+"O still my bairn, nourice,
+  O still him wi' the wand!"
+"He winna still, lady,
+  For a' his father's land."
+
+"O still my bairn, nourice,
+  O still him wi' the bell!"
+"He winna still, lady,
+  Till you come down yoursel."
+
+O the firsten step she steppit,
+  She steppit on a stane;
+But the neisten step she steppit,
+  She met him Lamkin.
+
+"O mercy, mercy, Lamkin,
+  Hae mercy upon me!
+Though you've ta'en my young son's life,
+  Ye may let mysel be."
+
+"O sall I kill her, nourice,
+  Or sall I lat her be?"
+"O kill her, kill her, Lamkin,
+  For she ne'er was good to me."
+
+"O scour the bason, nourice,
+  And mak' it fair and clean,
+For to keep this lady's heart's blood,
+  For she's come o' noble kin."
+
+"There need nae bason, Lamkin,
+  Lat it run through the floor;
+What better is the heart's blood
+  O' the rich than o' the poor?"
+
+But ere three months were at an end,
+  Lord Wearie cam' again;
+But dowie, dowie was his heart
+  When first he cam' hame.
+
+"O wha's blood is this," he says,
+  "That lies in the chamer?"
+"It is your lady's heart's blood;
+  'Tis as clear as the lamer."
+
+"And wha's blood is this," he says,
+  "That lies in my ha'?"
+"It is your young son's heart's blood;
+  'Tis the clearest ava."
+
+O sweetly sang the black-bird
+  That sat upon the tree;
+But sairer grat Lamkin,
+  When he was condemnd to die.
+
+And bonny sang the mavis,
+  Out o' the thorny brake;
+But sairer grat the nourice,
+  When she was tied to the stake.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+HUGH OF LINCOLN.
+
+Four and twenty bonny boys
+  Were playing at the ba',
+And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
+  The flower amang them a'.
+
+He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot,
+  And keppit it wi' his knee,
+Till even in at the Jew's window
+  He gart the bonny ba' flee.
+
+"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid,
+  Cast out that ba' o' mine."
+"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
+  "Till ye come up an' dine.
+
+"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
+  Come up and get the ba'."
+"I winna come, I mayna come,
+  Without my bonny boys a'."
+
+She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden,
+  Where the grass grew lang and green,
+She's pu'd an apple red and white,
+  To wyle the bonny boy in.
+
+She's wyled him in through ae chamber,
+  She's wyled him in through twa,
+She's wyled him into the third chamber,
+  And that was the warst o' a'.
+
+She's tied the little boy, hands and feet,
+  She's pierced him wi' a knife,
+She's caught his heart's blood in a golden cup,
+  And twinn'd him o' his life.
+
+She row'd him in a cake o' lead,
+  Bade him lie still and sleep,
+She cast him into a deep draw-well,
+  Was fifty fathom deep.
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+  And every bairn went hame,
+Then ilka lady had her young son,
+  But Lady Helen had nane.
+
+She's row'd her mantle her about,
+  And sair, sair 'gan she weep;
+And she ran unto the Jew's house,
+  When they were all asleep.
+
+"My bonny Sir Hugh, my pretty Sir Hugh,
+  I pray thee to me speak!"
+"Lady Helen, come to the deep draw-well
+  Gin ye your son wad seek."
+
+Lady Helen ran to the deep draw-well,
+  And knelt upon her knee:
+"My bonny Sir Hugh, an ye be here,
+  I pray thee speak to me!"
+
+"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,
+  The well is wondrous deep;
+A keen penknife sticks in my heart,
+  It is hard for me to speak.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
+  Fetch me my winding-sheet;
+And at the back o' merry Lincoln,
+  It's there we twa sall meet."
+
+Now Lady Helen she's gane hame,
+  Made him a winding-sheet;
+And at the back o' merry Lincoln,
+  The dead corpse did her meet.
+
+And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln
+  Without men's hands were rung;
+And a' the books o' merry Lincoln
+  Were read without men's tongue:
+Never was such a burial
+  Sin' Adam's days begun.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+FAIR ANNIE.
+
+Learn to mak' your bed, Annie,
+  And learn to lie your lane;
+For I am going ayont the sea,
+  A braw bride to bring hame.
+
+"Wi' her I'll get baith gowd and gear,
+  Wi' thee I ne'er gat nane;
+I got thee as a waif woman,
+  I'll leave thee as the same.
+
+"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
+  And brew my bridal ale,
+And wha will welcome my bright bride,
+That I bring owre the dale?"
+
+"It's I will bake your bridal bread,
+  And brew your bridal ale;
+And I will welcome your bright bride,
+  When she comes owre the dale."
+
+He set his foot into the stirrup,
+  His hand upon the mane;
+Says, "It will be a year and a day,
+  Ere ye see me again."
+
+Fair Annie stood in her bower door,
+  And looked out o'er the lan',
+And there she saw her ain gude lord
+  Leading his bride by the han'.
+
+She's drest her sons i' the scarlet red,
+  Hersel i' the dainty green;
+And tho' her cheek look'd pale and wan,
+  She weel might hae been a queen.
+
+She called upon her eldest son;
+  "Look yonder what ye see,
+For yonder comes your father dear,
+  Your stepmither him wi'.
+
+"Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
+  To your halls but and your bowers;
+Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
+  To your castles and your towers;
+Sae is your bright bride you beside,
+  She's fairer than the flowers!"
+
+"I thank ye, I thank ye, fair maiden,
+  That speaks sae courteouslie;
+If I be lang about this house,
+  Rewarded ye sall be.
+
+"O what'n a maiden's that," she says,
+  "That welcomes you and me?
+She is sae like my sister Annie,
+  Was stown i' the bower frae me."
+
+O she has served the lang tables,
+  Wi' the white bread and the wine;
+But ay she drank the wan water,
+  To keep her colour fine.
+
+And as she gaed by the first table,
+  She leugh amang them a';
+But ere she reach'd the second table,
+  She loot the tears doun fa'.
+
+She's ta'en a napkin lang and white,
+  And hung it on a pin;
+And it was a' to dry her e'en,
+  As she ga'ed out and in.
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+  And a' men boun to bed,
+The bride but and the bonny bridegroom,
+  In ae chamber were laid.
+
+She's ta'en her harp intill her hand,
+  To harp this twa asleep;
+And ay as she harped and as she sang,
+  Full sairly did she weep.
+
+"O seven full fair sons hae I born,
+  To the gude lord o' this place;
+And O that they were seven young hares,
+  And them to rin a race,
+And I mysel a gude greyhound,
+  And I wad gie them chase!
+
+"O seven full fair sons hae I born
+  To the gude lord o' this ha';
+And O that they were seven rattons
+  To rin frae wa' to wa',
+And I mysel a gude grey cat,
+  And I wad worry them a'!"
+
+"My goun is on," said the new-come bride,
+  "My shoon are on my feet;
+And I will to fair Annie's chamber,
+  And see what gars her greet.
+
+"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
+  And wha was't was your mither?
+And had ye ony sister, Annie,
+  Or had ye ony brither?"
+
+"The Earl o' Richmond was my father,
+  His lady was my mither,
+And a' the bairns beside mysel,
+  Was a sister and a brither."
+
+"O weel befa' your sang, Annie,
+  I wat ye hae sung in time;
+Gin the Earl o' Richmond was your father,
+  I wat sae was he mine.
+
+"O keep your lord, my sister dear,
+  Ye never were wranged by me;
+I had but ae kiss o' his merry mouth,
+  As we cam' owre the sea.
+
+There were five ships o' gude red gold
+  Cam' owre the seas wi' me,
+It's twa o' them will tak' me home,
+  And three I'll leave wi' thee."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE LAIRD O' DRUM.
+
+The Laird o' Drum is a-hunting gane,
+  All in a morning early,
+And he has spied a weel-faur'd May,
+  A-shearing at her barley.
+
+"My bonny May, my weel-faur'd May,
+  O will ye fancy me, O?
+Wilt gae and be the Leddy o' Drum,
+  And let your shearing a-be, O?"
+
+"It's I winna fancy you, kind sir,
+  Nor let my shearing a-be, O;
+For I'm ower low to be Leddy Drum,
+  And your light love I'll never be, O."
+
+"Gin ye'll cast aff that goun o' gray,
+  Put on the silk for me, O,
+I'll mak' a vow, and keep it true,
+  A light love you'll never be, O."
+
+"My father lie is a shepherd mean,
+  Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O,
+And ye may gae and speer at him,
+  For I am at his will, O."
+
+Drum is to her father gane,
+  Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O:
+"I am come to marry your ae daughter,
+  If ye'll gie me your good-will, O."
+
+"My dochter can naether read nor write,
+  She ne'er was brocht up at scheel, O;
+But weel can she milk baith cow and ewe,
+  And mak' a kebbuck weel, O.
+
+"She'll shake your barn, and win your corn,
+  And gang to kiln and mill, O;
+She'll saddle your steed in time o' need,
+  And draw aff your boots hersell, O."
+
+"I'll learn your lassie to read and write,
+  And I'll put her to the scheel, O;
+She shall neither need to saddle my steed,
+  Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O.
+
+"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
+  Or brew my bridal ale, O;
+And wha will welcome my bonnie bride
+  Is mair than I can tell, O."
+
+Four-and-twenty gentlemen
+  Gaed in at the yetts of Drum, O:
+But no a man has lifted his hat,
+  When the Leddy o' Drum cam' in, O.
+
+"Peggy Coutts is a very bonny bride,
+  And Drum is big and gawsy;
+But he might hae chosen a higher match
+  Than ony shepherd's lassie!"
+
+Then up bespak his brither John,
+  Says, "Ye've done us meikle wrang, O;
+Ye've married ane far below our degree,
+A mock to a' our kin, O."
+
+"Now haud your tongue, my brither John;
+  What needs it thee offend, O?
+I've married a wife to work and win,
+  And ye've married ane to spend, O.
+
+"The first time that I married a wife,
+  She was far abune my degree, O;
+She wadna hae walked thro' the yetts o' Drum,
+  But the pearlin' abune her bree, O,
+And I durstna gang in the room where she was,
+  But my hat below my knee, O!"
+
+He has ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
+  And led her in himsell, O;
+And in through ha's and in through bowers,--
+  "And ye're welcome, Leddy Drum, O."
+
+When they had eaten and well drunken,
+  And a' men boun for bed, O,
+The Laird of Drum and his Leddy fair,
+  In ae bed they were laid, O.
+
+"Gin ye had been o' high renown,
+  As ye're o' low degree, O,
+We might hae baith gane doun the street
+  Amang gude companie, O."
+
+"I tauld ye weel ere we were wed,
+  Ye were far abune my degree, O;
+But now I'm married, in your bed laid,
+  And just as gude as ye, O.
+
+"For an I were dead, and ye were dead,
+  And baith in ae grave had lain, O;
+Ere seven years were come and gane,
+  They'd no ken your dust frae mine, O."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+LIZIE LINDSAY.
+
+"Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay,
+  Will ye gae to the Hielands wi' me?
+Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay,
+  And dine on fresh curds and green whey?"
+
+Then out it spak' Lizie's mither,
+  An' a gude auld leddy was she:
+"Gin ye say sic a word to my daughter,
+  I'll gar ye be hangit hie!"
+
+"Keep weel your daughter for me, madam;
+  Keep weel your daughter for me.
+I care as leetle for your daughter
+  As ye can care for me!"
+
+Then out spak' Lizie's ain maiden,
+  An' a bonnie young lassie was she;
+"Now gin I were heir to a kingdom,
+  Awa' wi' young Donald I'd be."
+
+"O say ye sae to me, Nelly?
+  And does my Nelly say sae?
+Maun I leave my father and mither,
+  Awa' wi' young Donald to gae?"
+
+And Lizie's ta'en till her her stockings,
+  And Lizie's taen till her her shoon,
+And kilted up her green claithing,
+  And awa' wi' young Donald she's gane.
+
+The road it was lang and was weary;
+  The braes they were ill for to climb;
+Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling,
+  A fit further couldna she win.
+
+"O are we near hame yet, dear Donald?
+  O are we near hame yet, I pray?"
+"We're naething near hame, bonnie Lizie,
+  Nor yet the half o' the way."
+
+Sair, O sair was she sighing,
+  And the saut tear blindit her e'e:
+"Gin this be the pleasures o' luving,
+  They never will do wi' me!"
+
+"Now haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie;
+  Ye never sall rue for me;
+Gie me but your luve for my ain luve,
+  It is a' that your tocher will be.
+
+"O haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie,
+  Altho' that the gait seem lang;
+And you's hae the wale o' gude living
+  When to Kincaussie we gang.
+
+"My father he is an auld shepherd,
+  My mither she is an auld dey;
+And we'll sleep on a bed o' green rashes,
+  And dine on fresh curds and green whey."
+
+They cam' to a hamely puir cottage;
+  The auld woman 'gan for to say:
+"O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald,
+  It's yoursell has been lang away."
+
+"Ye mustna ca' me Sir Donald,
+  But ca' me young Donald your son;
+For I hae a bonnie young leddy
+  Behind me, that's coming alang.
+
+"Come in, come in, bonnie Lizie,
+  Come hither, come hither," said he;
+"Altho' that our cottage be leetle,
+  I hope we'll the better agree.
+
+"O mak' us a supper, dear mither,
+  And mak' it o' curds and green whey;
+And mak' us a bed o' green rashes,
+  And cover it o'er wi' fresh hay."
+
+She's made them a bed o' green rashes,
+  And covered it o'er wi' fresh hay.
+Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling,
+  And lay till 'twas lang o' the day.
+
+"The sun looks in o'er the hill-head,
+  An' the laverock is liltin' sae gay;
+Get up, get up, bonnie Lizie,
+  Ye've lain till it's lang o' the day.
+
+"Ye might hae been out at the shealin',
+  Instead o' sae lang to lie;
+And up and helping my mither
+  To milk her gaits and her kye."
+
+Then sadly spak' out Lizie Lindsay,
+  She spak' it wi' mony a sigh:
+"The leddies o' Edinbro' city
+  They milk neither gaits nor kye."
+
+"Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizie,
+  Rise up and mak' yoursel' fine;
+For we maun be at Kincaussie,
+  Before that the clock strikes nine."
+
+But when they cam' to Kincaussie,
+  The porter he loudly doth say,
+"O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald;
+  It's yoursell has been lang away!"
+
+It's doun then cam' his auld mither,
+  Wi' a' the keys in her han';
+Saying, "Tak' ye these, bonnie Lizie,
+  For a' is at your comman'."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+KATHARINE JANFARIE.
+
+There was a may, and a weel-faur'd may.
+  Lived high up in yon glen:
+Her name was Katharine Janfarie,
+  She was courted by mony men.
+
+Doun cam' the Laird o' Lamington,
+  Doun frae the South Countrie;
+And he is for this bonny lass,
+  Her bridegroom for to be.
+
+He asked na her father, he asked na her mither,
+  He asked na ane o' her kin;
+But he whispered the bonny lassie hersel',
+  And did her favor win.
+
+Doun cam' an English gentleman,
+  Doun frae the English border;
+And he is for this bonnie lass,
+  To keep his house in order.
+
+He asked her father, he asked her mither,
+  And a' the lave o' her kin;
+But he never asked the lassie hersel'
+  Till on her wedding-e'en.
+
+But she has wrote a lang letter,
+  And sealed it wi' her han';
+And sent it away to Lamington,
+  To gar him understan'.
+
+The first line o' the letter he read,
+  He was baith fain and glad;
+But or he has read the letter o'er,
+  He's turned baith wan and sad.
+
+Then he has sent a messenger,
+  To rin through a' his land;
+And four and twenty armed men
+  Were sune at his command.
+
+But he has left his merry men all,
+  Left them on the lee;
+And he's awa' to the wedding-house,
+  To see what he could see.
+
+They all rase up to honor him,
+  For he was of high renown;
+They all rase up to welcome him,
+  And bade him to sit down.
+
+O meikle was the gude red wine
+  In silver cups did flow;
+But aye she drank to Lamington,
+  And fain with him wad go.
+
+"O come ye here to fight, young lord?
+  Or come ye here to play?
+Or come ye here to drink gude wine
+  Upon the wedding-day?"
+
+"I come na here to fight," he said,
+  "I come na here to play;
+I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,
+  And mount and go my way."
+
+He's caught her by the milk-white hand,
+  And by the grass-green sleeve;
+He's mounted her hie behind himsel',
+  At her kinsfolk spier'd na leave.
+
+It's up, it's up the Couden bank,
+  It's doun the Couden brae;
+And aye they made the trumpet soun,
+  "It's a' fair play!"
+
+Now a' ye lords and gentlemen
+  That be of England born,
+Come ye na doun to Scotland thus,
+  For fear ye get the scorn!
+
+They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words,
+  And play ye foul play;
+They'll dress you frogs instead of fish
+  Upon your wedding-day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+GLENLOGIE.
+
+Threescore o' nobles rade to the king's ha',
+But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a';
+Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonny black e'e,
+"Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!"
+
+"O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he."
+"O say na sae, mither, for that canna be;
+Though Drumlie is richer, and greater than he,
+Yet if I maun lo'e him, I'll certainly dee.
+
+"Where will I get a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon,
+Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?"
+"O here am I, a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon,
+Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon."
+
+When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine,"
+'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine."
+"O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine,
+To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.
+
+"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee."
+The first line he read, a low smile ga'e he;
+The next line he read, the tear blindit his e'e;
+But the last line he read, he gart the table flee.
+
+"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown;
+Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae the town;"
+But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green,
+O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane.
+
+When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there;
+Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair;
+"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she
+"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see."
+
+Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben,
+But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down;
+She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e;
+"O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR
+
+It fell about the Martinmas time,
+  And a gay time it was than,
+That our gudewife had puddings to mak'
+  And she boil'd them in the pan.
+
+The wind blew cauld frae east and north,
+  And blew intil the floor;
+Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
+  "Get up and bar the door."
+
+"My hand is in my hussyskep,
+  Gudeman, as ye may see;
+An it shou'dna be barr'd this hunder year,
+  It's ne'er be barr'd by me."
+
+They made a paction 'tween them twa,
+  They made it firm and sure,
+That the first word whaever spak,
+  Should rise and bar the door.
+
+Than by there came twa gentlemen,
+  At twelve o'clock at night,
+Whan they can see na ither house,
+  And at the door they light.
+
+"Now whether is this a rich man's house,
+  Or whether is it a poor?"
+But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak,
+  For barring of the door.
+
+And first they ate the white puddings,
+  And syne they ate the black:
+Muckle thought the gudewife to hersell,
+  Yet ne'er a word she spak.
+
+Then ane unto the ither said,
+  "Here, man, tak ye my knife;
+Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard,
+  And I'll kiss the gudewife."
+
+"But there's na water in the house,
+  And what shall we do than?"
+"What ails ye at the pudding bree
+  That boils into the pan?"
+
+O up then started our gudeman,
+  An angry man was he;
+"Will ye kiss my wife before my een,
+  And scaud me wi' pudding bree?"
+
+O up then started our gudewife,
+  Gied three skips on the floor;
+"Gudeman, ye've spak the foremost word;
+  Get up and bar the door."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND.
+
+"The luve that I hae chosen,
+  I'll therewith be content;
+The saut sea sail be frozen
+  Before that I repent.
+Repent it sall I never
+  Until the day I dee;
+But the Lawlands o' Holland
+  Hae twinned my luve and me.
+
+"My luve he built a bonny ship,
+  And set her to the main,
+Wi' twenty-four brave mariners
+  To sail her out and hame.
+But the weary wind began to rise,
+  The sea began to rout,
+And my luve and his bonny ship
+  Turned withershins about.
+
+"There sall nae mantle cross my back,
+  No kaim gae in my hair,
+Sall neither coal nor candle-light
+  Shine in my bower mair;
+Nor sall I choose anither luve
+  Until the day I dee,
+Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland
+  Hae twinned my luve and me."
+
+"Noo haud your tongue, my daughter dear,
+  Be still, and bide content;
+There are mair lads in Galloway;
+  Ye needna sair lament."
+"O there is nane in Galloway,
+  There's nane at a' for me.
+I never lo'ed a lad but ane,
+  And he's drowned i' the sea."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE TWA CORBIES.
+
+As I was walking all alane,
+I heard twa corbies making a maen;
+The tane into the t'ither did say,
+"Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"
+
+"O doun beside yon auld fail dyke,
+I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
+Nae living kens that he lies there,
+But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair,
+
+"His hound is to the hunting gane,
+His hawk to fetch the wildfowl hame,
+His lady's ta'en another mate,
+Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.
+
+"O we'll sit on his white hause bane,
+And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en,
+Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,
+We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.
+
+"Mony a ane for him makes maen,
+But nane shall ken whaur he is gane;
+Over his banes when they are bare,
+The wind shall blaw for evermair."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+HELEN OF KIRCONNELL.
+
+I wad I were where Helen lies;
+Night and day on me she cries;
+O that I were where Helen lies
+    On fair Kirconnell lea!
+
+Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
+And curst the hand that fired the shot,
+When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
+    And died to succor me!
+
+O think na but my heart was sair
+When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair!
+I laid her down wi' meikle care
+    On fair Kirconnell lea.
+
+As I went down the water-side,
+Nane but my foe to be my guide,
+Nane but my foe to be my guide,
+    On fair Kirconnell lea;
+
+I lighted down my sword to draw,
+I hackA(d him in pieces sma',
+I hackA(d him in pieces sma',
+    For her sake that died for me.
+
+O Helen fair, beyond compare!
+I'll make a garland of thy hair
+Shall bind my heart for evermair
+    Until the day I dee.
+
+O that I were where Helen lies!
+Night and day on me she cries;
+Out of my bed she bids me rise,
+    Says, "Haste and come to me!"
+
+O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
+If I were with thee, I were blest,
+Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
+    On fair Kirconnell lea.
+
+I wad my grave were growing green,
+A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
+And I in Helen's arms lying,
+    On fair Kirconnell lea.
+
+I wad I were where Helen lies;
+Night and day on me she cries;
+And I am weary of the skies,
+    Since my Love died for me.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+WALY WALY.
+
+O waly waly up the bank,
+  And waly waly down the brae,
+And waly waly yon burn-side
+  Where I and my Love wont to gae!
+I leant my back unto an aik,
+  I thought it was a trusty tree;
+But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
+  Sae my true Love did lichtly me.
+
+O waly waly, but love be bonny
+  A little time while it is new;
+But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld
+  And fades awa' like morning dew.
+O wherefore should I busk my head?
+  Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
+For my true Love has me forsook,
+  And says he'll never loe me mair.
+
+Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed;
+  The sheets sall ne'er be prest by me:
+Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
+  Since my true Love has forsaken me.
+Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
+  And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
+O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
+  For of my life I am wearie.
+
+'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
+  Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;
+'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
+  But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.
+When we came in by Glasgow town
+  We were a comely sight to see;
+My Love was clad in black velvet,
+  And I mysell in cramasie.
+
+But had I wist, before I kist,
+  That love had been sae ill to win;
+I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd
+  And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
+And, O! that my young babe were born,
+  And set upon, the nurse's knee,
+And I mysell were dead and gane,
+  And the green grass growing over me!
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+LORD RONALD.
+
+"O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son,
+   O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?"
+"I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,
+   For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."
+
+"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
+   Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?"
+"I dined wi' my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,
+   For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."
+
+  "What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
+    What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?"
+  "I gat eels boil'd in broo'; mother, make my bed soon,
+    For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."
+
+  "What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son?
+    What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?"
+  "O they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed soon,
+    For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."
+
+  "O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Ronald, my son!
+    O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!"
+  "O yes! I am poison'd! mother, make my bed soon,
+    For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+EDWARD, EDWARD.
+
+'Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
+    Edward, Edward?
+Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
+  And why sae sad gang yee O?'
+'O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
+    Mither, mither,
+O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
+  And I had nae mair bot hee O.'
+
+'Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
+    Edward, Edward,
+Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
+  My deir son, I tell thee O.'
+'O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
+    Mither, mither,
+O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
+  That erst was sae fair and frie O.'
+
+'Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
+    Edward, Edward,
+Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
+  Sum other dule ye drie O.'
+'O I hae killed my fadir deir,
+    Mither, mither,
+O I hae killed my fadir deir,
+  Alas, and wae is mee O!'
+
+'And whatten penance wul ye drie for that,
+    Edward, Edward?
+'And whatten penance wul ye drie for that?
+  My deir son, now tell me O.'
+'He set my feit in yonder boat,
+    Mither, mither,
+He set my feit in yonder boat,
+  And He fare ovir the sea O.'
+
+'And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
+    Edward, Edward?
+And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
+  That were sae fair to see O?'
+'Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
+    Mither, mither,
+Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
+  For here nevir mair maun I bee O.'
+
+'And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
+    Edward, Edward?
+And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
+  When ye gang ovir the sea O?'
+'The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
+    Mither, mither,
+The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
+  For thame nevir mair wul I see O.'
+
+'And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
+    Edward, Edward?
+And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
+  My deir son, now tell me O.'
+'The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
+    Mither, mither,
+The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
+  Sic counseils ye gave to me O.'
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+THE WEE WEE MAN. Mainly after Herd. Given also by Motherwell, Buchan,
+and Kinloch, and in Caw's "Poetical Museum." _Shathmont_, a six inch
+measure. _Lap_, leaped. _Jimp_, neat.
+
+
+TAMLANE. Mainly after Aytoun's collated version. Stanzas 16-19,
+obtained by Scott "from a gentleman residing near Langholm," are too
+modern in diction to harmonize well with the rest, but are retained
+here because of their fidelity to the ancient beliefs of the country
+folk about fairies. Widely varying versions are given in Johnson's
+"Museum," communicated by Burns, under title of _Tam Lin_; in the
+Glenriddell MS. under title of _Young Tom Line_; by Herd, under title
+of _Kertonha_, corruption of Carterhaugh; by Motherwell, under titles
+of _Young Tamlin_ and _Tomaline_; by Buchan, under titles of
+_Tam-a-line_ and _Tam a-Lin_; and in the Campbell MS. under title of
+_Young Tam Lane_. There are humorous Scottish songs, too, of _Tam o
+Lin_, _Tam o the Linn_, _Tom a Lin_, and _Tommy Linn_. The ballad is
+of respectable antiquity, the _Tayl of the Yong Tamlene_ and the dance
+of _Thom of Lyn_ being noticed in a work as old as the "Complaynt of
+Scotland" (1548); yet it seems to have no Continental cousins, but to
+be strictly of Scottish origin. It belongs to Selkirkshire, whose
+peasants still point out upon the plain of Carterhaugh, about a mile
+above Selkirk, the fairy rings in the grass. _Preen'd_, decked.
+_Gars_, makes. _Bree_, brow, _Sained_, baptized, _Snell_, keen.
+_Teind_, tithe.  _Borrow_, ransom. _Cast a compass_, draw a circle.
+_Elrish_, elvish. _Gin_, if. _Maik_, mate. _Aske_, lizard. _Bale_,
+fire. _But and_, and also. _Tree_, wood. _Coft_, bought.
+
+
+TRUE THOMAS. Mainly after Scott. This is one of the ballads written
+down from the recital of the "good Mrs. Brown," to whose admirable
+memory ballad-lovers are so deeply indebted. It is given in the Brown
+MS. as _Thomas Rymer and Queen of Elfland_; in the Campbell MS. as
+_Thomas the Rhymer_. Scott obtained his excellent version from "a lady
+residing not far from Ercildoune." This Thomas the Rhymer, or True
+Thomas, or Thomas of Ercildoune, was a veritable personage, who dwelt
+in the village of Ercildoune situate by "Leader's silver tide" some
+two miles above its junction with the Tweed.  Tradition has it that
+his date was the thirteenth century and his full name Thomas Learmont.
+He was celebrated as poet and prophet, the rustics believing that his
+gift of soothsaying was imparted by the Fairy Queen, who kept him with
+her in Elfland for seven years, permitting him then to return to the
+upper world for a season and utter his oracles, but presently
+recalling him to her mysterious court. A fragmentary old poem, showing
+probable traces, as Jamieson suggests, of the Rhymer's own authorship,
+tells this famous adventure in language whose antiquated form cannot
+disguise its sweetness. The melancholy likelihood seems to be that
+True Thomas was a fibbing Thomas, after all, and invented this story
+of his sojourn in Elfland to gain credit for his poetical prophecies,
+which claim to have first proceeded from the mouth of the Fairy Queen,
+when
+
+  "Scho broghte hym agayne to Eldone tree,
+     Vndir nethe that grenewode spraye;
+   In Huntlee bannkes es mery to bee,
+     Whare fowles synges bothe nyght and daye."
+
+_Ferlie_, wonder. _Ilka tett_, each lock (of hair).  _Louted_, bowed.
+_Harp and carp_, play and talk.  _Leven_, lawn. _Stern-light_,
+star-light. _Dought_, could.
+
+
+THE ELFIN KNIGHT. After Aytoun's version framed by collation from
+copies given by Motherwell, Kinloch, and Buchan.  These were in the
+main recovered by recitation, although there is a broadside copy of
+the ballad in the Pepysian collection at Cambridge.  Fragments of the
+story have been handed down in tavern-songs and nursery-rhymes, and it
+is to be found, more or less disguised, in the literatures of many
+countries, European and Asiatic. It is only in our own versions,
+however, that the outwitted knight is a supernatural being, usually an
+elf, though sometimes degenerating into "the Deil." Nowhere out of
+canny Scotland does his ungallantry debar him from the human ranks.
+_Sark_, shirt. _Gin_, if. _Tyne_, prong.  _Shear_, reap. _Bigg_,
+build. _Loof_, hollow of the hand. _But_ (candle, etc.), without
+(candle, etc.)
+
+
+LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT. Mainly after Buchan's version entitled
+_The Water o' Wearie's Well_, although it is in another version given
+by Buchan, under title of _The Gowans sae Gay_, that the name of the
+lady is disclosed, and the elfin nature of the eccentric lover
+revealed. In that ballad Lady Isobel falls in love with the elf-knight
+on hearing him
+
+           "blawing his horn,
+  The first morning in May,"
+
+and this more tuneful version retains in the first two stanzas a
+fading trace of the fairy element and the magic music, the bird, whose
+song may be supposed to have caused the lady's heartache, being
+possibly the harper in elfin disguise. In most of the versions,
+however, the knight is merely a human knave, usually designated as
+Fause Sir John, and the lady is frequently introduced as May Colven or
+Colvin or Collin or Collean, though also as Pretty Polly. The story is
+widely circulated, appearing in the folk-songs of nearly all the
+nations of northern and southern Europe. It has been suggested that
+the popular legend may be "a wild shoot from the story of Judith and
+Holofernes." _Dowie_, doleful.
+
+
+TOM THUMBE. After Ritson, with omissions. Ritson prints from a
+manuscript dated 1630, the oldest copy known to be extant, but the
+story itself can be traced much further back and was evidently a prime
+favorite with the English rustics. The plain, often doggerel verse,
+and the rough, often coarse humor of this ballad make it appear at
+striking disadvantage among the Scottish folk-songs, essentially
+poetic as even the rudest of them are. Tom Thumbe, it must be
+confessed, is but a clumsy sort of elf, and the ballad as a whole can
+hardly be said to have a fairy atmosphere. Yet it is of value as
+adding to the data for a comparison between the English and the
+Scottish peasantry, as throwing light on the fun-loving spirit, the
+sports and practical joking of Merrie England, as showing the tenacity
+of the Arthurian tradition, together with the confusion of chivalric
+memories, as displaying the ignorant credulity of the popular mind
+toward science no less than toward history, and as illustrating, by
+giving us in all this bald, sing-song run of verses, here and there a
+sweet or dainty fancy and at least one stanza of exquisite tenderness
+and grace, the significant fact that in the genuine old English
+ballads beauty is not the rule, but the surprise. _Counters_,
+coin-shaped pieces of metal, ivory, or wood, used in reckoning.
+_Points_, here probably the bits of tin plate used to tag the strands
+of cotton yarn with which, in lieu of buttons, the common folk
+fastened their garments. The points worn by the nobles were laces or
+silken strands ornamented with aiglets of gold or silver.
+
+
+KEMPION. After Allingham's version collated from copies given by
+Scott, Buchan, and Motherwell, with a touch or two from the kindred
+ballad _The Laidley Worm of Spindleston Heugh._ Buchan and Motherwell
+make the name of the hero Kemp Owyne.  Similar ballads are known in
+Iceland and Denmark, and the main features of the story appear in both
+the classic and romantic literatures.  _Weird_, destiny. _Dree_,
+suffer. _Borrowed_, ransomed. _Arblast bow_, cross-bow. _Stythe_,
+place. _Louted_, bowed.
+
+
+ALISON GROSS. After Jamieson's version taken from the recitation of
+Mrs. Brown. Child claims that this tale is a variety of _Beauty and
+the Beast. Lemman_, lover. _Gar_, make. _Toddle_, twine.  _Seely
+Court_, Happy Court or Fairy Court. See English Dictionary for changes
+of meaning in _silly_.
+
+
+THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL. After Scott, with a stanza or two from
+Chambers, both versions being recovered by recitation.  Although this
+is scarcely more than a fragment, it is well-nigh unsurpassed for
+genuine ballad beauty, the mere touches of narrative suggesting far
+deeper things than they actually relate. _Martinmas_, the eleventh of
+November. _Carline wife_, old peasant-woman.  _Fashes_, troubles.
+_Birk_, birch. _Syke_, marsh.  _Sheugh_, trench. _Channerin'_,
+fretting. _Gin_, if. _Byre_, cow-house.
+
+
+A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE. After Scott. This dirge belongs to the north of
+England and is said to have been chanted, in Yorkshire, over the dead,
+down to about 1624. _Lyke-Wake_, dead-watch. _Sleete_, salt, it being
+the old peasant custom to place a quantity of this on the breast of
+the dead. _Whinny-muir_, Furze-moor. A manuscript found by Ritson in
+the Cotton Library states: "When any dieth, certaine women sing a song
+to the dead bodie, recyting the journey that the partye deceased must
+goe; and they are of beliefe (such is their fondnesse) that once in
+their lives, it is good to give a pair of new shoes to a poor man, for
+as much as, after this life, they are to pass barefoote through a
+great launde, full of thornes and furzen, except by the meryte of the
+almes aforesaid they have redemed the forfeyte; for, at the edge of
+the launde, an oulde man shall meet them with the same shoes that were
+given by the partie when he was lyving; and, after he hath shodde
+them, dismisseth them to go through thick and thin, without scratch or
+scalle." _Brigg o' Dread_, Bridge of Dread.  Descriptions of this
+Bridge of Dread are found in various Scottish poems, the most minute
+being given in the legend of _Sir Owain_.  Compare the belief of the
+Mahometan that in his approach to the judgment-seat, he must traverse
+a bar of red-hot iron, stretched across a bottomless abyss, true
+believers being upheld by their good works, while the wicked fall
+headlong into the gulf.
+
+
+PROUD LADY MARGARET. After Aytoun. The original versions of this
+ballad, as given by Scott, Buchan, Dixon, and Laing, differ widely. It
+is known under various titles, _The Courteous Knight_, _The Jolly Hind
+Squire_, _The Knicht o Archerdale_, _Fair Margret_, and _Jolly
+Janet_. Similar ballads are rife in France, although in these it is
+more frequently the ghost of a dead lady who admonishes her living
+lover. _Wale_, choose.  _Ill-washen feet_, etc., in allusion to the
+custom of washing and dressing the dead for burial. _Feckless_,
+worthless. _Pirie's chair_ remains an unsolved riddle of the ballad,
+editors and commentators not being as good at guessing as the ghost.
+
+
+THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE. Mainly after Aytoun.  There are many
+versions of this ballad in Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland,
+varying widely in titles, refrains, and indeed in everything save the
+main events of the story. A broadside copy appeared as early as
+1656. Ballads on the same subject are very popular among the
+Scandinavian peoples, and traces of the story are found as far away as
+China and South Africa. _Twined_, parted. _Make_, mate.  _Gar'd_,
+made. Although Lockhart would have the burden pronounced
+BinnoI†rie, a more musical effect is secured by following
+Jamieson and pronouncing BinnoI"rie.
+
+
+THE DEMON LOVER. After Scott. Buchan has a version under title of
+_James Herries_, the demon being here transformed into a lover who has
+died abroad and comes in spirit guise to punish his "Jeanie Douglas"
+for her broken vows. Motherwell gives a graphic fragment.  _Ilka_,
+every, _Drumly_, dark. _Won_, dwell.
+
+
+RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED. Mainly after Motherwell.  There are several
+broadsides, differing slightly, of this ballad. Riddling folk-songs
+similar to this in general features have been found among the Germans
+and Russians and in Gaelic literature. _Speird_, asked. Unco, uncanny.
+Gin, if. Pies, magpies. Clootie, see Burus's Address to the Deil.
+
+  "O thou! whatever title suit thee,
+  Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie," etc.
+
+
+SIR PATRICK SPENS. After Scott. There are many versions of
+
+  "The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,"
+
+as Coleridge so justly terms it, the fragment in the Reliques being
+un-surpassed among them all for poetic beauty. Herd's longer copy,
+like several of the others, runs song-fashion:
+
+  "They had not saild upon the sea
+    A league but merely nine, O,
+  When wind and weit and snaw and sleit
+    Cam' blawin' them behin', O."
+
+Motherwell gives the ballad in four forms, in one of them the skipper
+being dubbed Sir Patrick, in another Earl Patrick, in another Young
+Patrick, and in yet another Sir Andrew Wood. Jamieson's version puts
+into Sir Patrick's mouth an exclamation that reflects little credit
+upon his sailor character:
+
+  "O wha is this, or wha is that,
+    Has tald the king o' me?
+  For I was never a gude seaman,
+    Nor ever intend to be."
+
+But with a few such trifling exceptions, the tone toward the skipper
+is universally one of earnest respect and sympathy, the keynote of
+every ballad being the frank, unconscious heroism of this "gude Sir
+Patrick Spens." In regard to the foundation for the story, Scott
+maintains that "the king's daughter of Noroway" was Margaret, known to
+history as the Maid of Norway, daughter of Eric, king of Norway, and
+of Margaret, daughter of Alexander III. of Scotland.  This last-named
+monarch died in 1285, the Maid of Norway, his yellow-haired little
+granddaughter, being the heiress to his crown.  The Maid of Norway
+died, however, before she was of age to assume control of her
+turbulent Scottish kingdom. Scott surmises, on the authority of the
+ballad, that Alexander, desiring to have the little princess reared in
+the country she was to rule, sent this expedition for her during his
+life-time. No record of such a voyage is extant, although possibly the
+presence of the king is a bold example of poetic license, and the
+reference is to an earlier and more disastrous embassy than that
+finally sent by the Regency of Scotland, after Alexander's death, to
+their young queen, Sir Michael Scott of wizard fame being at that time
+one of the ambassadors. Finlay, on the other hand, places this ballad
+in the days of James III., who married Margaret of Denmark. Here we
+have historic testimony of the voyage, but none of the shipwreck,--yet
+against any one of these theories the natural objection is brought
+that so lamentable a disaster, involving so many nobles of the realm,
+would hardly be suffered to escape the pen of the chronicler.
+Motherwell, Maidment, and Aytoun, relying on a corroborative passage
+in Fordun's _Scotichronicon_, hold with good appearance of reason that
+the ballad pictures what is known as an actual shipwreck, on the
+return from Norway of those Scottish lords who had escorted thither
+the bride of Eric, the elder Margaret, afterward mother of the little
+Maid of Norway. The ballad itself well bears out this theory,
+especially in the taunt flung at the Scottish gallants for lingering
+too long in nuptial festivities on the inhospitable Norwegian coast.
+The date of this marriage was 1281. _Skeely_, skilful.  _Gane_,
+sufficed. _Half-fou_, half-bushel. _Gurly_, stormy.
+
+
+THE BATTE OF OTTERBURNE. After Scott. There are several Scottish
+versions of this spirit-stirring ballad, and also an English version,
+first printed in the fourth edition of the _Reliques_. The English
+ballad, naturally enough, dwells more on the prowess of Percy and his
+countrymen in the combat than on their final discomfiture.  A vivid
+account of the battle of Otterburne may be found in Froissart's
+_Chronicles_. In brief, it was a terrible slaughter brought about by
+the eager pride and ambition of those two hot-blooded young
+chieftains, James, Earl of Douglas, and the redoubtable Harry Percy.
+Yet the generosity of the leaders and the devoted loyalty of their men
+throw a moral splendor over the scene of bloodshed. In the year 1388
+Douglas, at the head of three thousand Scottish spears, made a raid
+into Northumberland and, before the walls of Newcastle, engaged Percy
+in single combat, capturing his lance with the attached pennon.
+Douglas retired in triumph, brandishing his trophy, but Hotspur,
+burning with shame, hurriedly mustered the full force of the Marches
+and, following hard upon the Scottish rear, made a night attack upon
+the camp of Douglas at Otterbnrne, about twenty miles from the
+frontier. Then ensued a moonlight battle, gallant and desperate,
+fought on either side with unflinching bravery, and ending in the
+defeat of the English, Percy being taken prisoner. But the Scots
+bought their glory dear by the loss of their noble leader, who, when
+the English troops, superior in number, were gaining ground, dashed
+forward with impetuous courage, cheering on his men, and cleared a way
+with his swinging battle-axe into the heart of the enemy's ranks.
+Struck down by three mortal wounds, he died in the midst of the fray,
+urging with his failing breath these last requests upon the little
+guard of kinsmen who pressed about him: "First, that yee keep my death
+close both from our owne folke and from the enemy; then, that ye
+suffer not my standard to be lost or cast downe; and last, that ye
+avenge my death, and bury me at Melrosse with my father. If I could
+hope for these things," he added, "I should die with the greater
+contentment; for long since I heard a prophesie that a dead man should
+winne a field, and I hope in God it shall be I." Lammas-tide, the
+first of August. Muirmen, moorinen. Harried, plundered. The tane, the
+one. Fell, skin. (The inference is that Percy was rescued by his men.)
+_Gin_, if. _Burn_, brook. _Kale_, broth. _Fend_, sustain. _Bent_, open
+field.  _Petitions_, tents (pavilions). _Branking_, prancing.
+_Wargangs_, wagons.  _Ayont_, beyond. _Hewmont_, helmet. _Smakkit_,
+smote.  _Bracken_, fern.
+
+
+THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT.  After Hearne, who first printed it from a
+manuscript in the Ashmolean collection at Oxford. It was next printed
+in the Reliques, under title of Chevy-Chase,--a title now reserved for
+the later and inferior broadside version which was singularly popular
+throughout the seventeenth century and is still better known than this
+far more spirited original. "With regard to the subject of this
+ballad,"--to quote from Bishop Percy,--"although it has no countenance
+from history, there is room to think it had originally some foundation
+in fact. It was one of the laws of the Marches, frequently renewed
+between the nations, that neither party should hunt in the other's
+borders, without leave from the proprietors or their deputies. There
+had long been a rivalship between the two martial families of Percy
+and Douglas, which, heightened by the national quarrel, must have
+produced frequent challenges and struggles for superiority, petty
+invasions of their respective domains, and sharp contests for the
+point of honour; which would not always be recorded in history.
+Something of this kind, we may suppose, gave rise to the ancient
+ballad of the Hunting o' the Cheviat. Percy, Earl of Northumberland,
+had vowed to hunt for three days in the Scottish border, without
+condescending to ask leave from Earl Douglas, who was either lord of
+the soil, or lord warden of the Marches. Douglas would not fail to
+resent the insult, and endeavour to repel the intruders by force; this
+would naturally produce a sharp conflict between the two parties;
+something of which, it is probable, did really happen, though not
+attended with the tragical circumstances recorded in the ballad: for
+these are evidently borrowed from the Battle of Otterbourn, a very
+different event, but which aftertimes would easily confound with it."
+The date of the ballad cannot, of course, be strictly ascertained. It
+was considered old in the middle of the sixteenth century, being
+mentioned in _The Complaynt of Scotland_ (1548) among the "sangis of
+natural music of the antiquite."  Not much can be said for its
+"natural music," yet despite its roughness of form and enviable
+inconsistencies of spelling, it has always found grace with the poets.
+Rare Ben Jonson used to say that he would rather have been the author
+of _Chevy Chase_ than of all his works; Addison honored the broadside
+version with two critiques in the _Spectator_; and Sir Philip Sidney,
+though lamenting that the ballad should be "so evil apparrelled in the
+dust and cobwebs of that uncivill age," breaks out with the ingenuous
+confession: "I never heard the olde song of Percy and Duglas that I
+found not my heart mooved more then with a trumpet, and yet is it sung
+but by some blinde crouder, with no rougher voice then rude stile."
+Mauger, despite.  _Let_, hinder. _Meany_, company. _Shyars_,
+shires. _Bomen_, bowmen.  _Byckarte_, moved quickly, rattling their
+weapons. _Bent_, open field.  _Aras_, arrows. _Wyld_, wild creatures,
+as deer. _Shear_, swiftly. _Grevis_, groves. _Glent_, glanced, flashed
+by. _Oware off none_, hour of noon.  _Mart_, death-signal (as used in
+hunting.) _Quyrry_, quarry, slaughtered game. _Bryttlynge_, cutting
+up. _Wyste_, knew. _Byll and brande_, axe and sword. _Glede_, live
+coal. _The ton_, the one. _Yerle_, earl. _Cars_, curse. _Nam_, name.
+_Wat_, wot, know. _Sloughe_, slew. _Byddys_, abides. _Wouche_, injury.
+_Ost_, host. _Suar_, sure. _Many a doughete the garde to dy_, many a
+doughty (knight) they caused to die. _Basnites_, small helmets.
+_Myneyeple_, maniple (of many folds), a coat worn under the armor.
+_Freyke_, warrior. _Swapte_, smote.  _Myllan_, Milan.  _Hight_,
+promise. _Spendyd_, grasped (spanned). _Corsiare_, courser.  _Blane_,
+halted.  _Dynte_, stroke. _Halyde_, hauled. _Stour_, press of battle.
+_Dre_, endure. _Hinde_, gentle. _Hewyne in to_, hewn in two. _The
+mayde them byears_, they made them biers. _Makys_, mates. _Carpe off
+care_, tell of sorrow.  _March perti_, the Border district.
+_Lyff-tenant_, lieutenant. _Weal_, clasp. _Brook_, enjoy. _Quyte_,
+avenged. _That tear begane this spurn_, that wrong caused this
+retaliation. _Reane_, rain.  _Ballys bete_, sorrows amend.
+
+
+EDOM O' GORDON. After Aytoun. This ballad was first printed at
+Glasgow, 1755, as taken down by Sir David Dalrymple "from the
+recitation of a lady," and was afterwards inserted--"interpolated and
+corrupted," says the unappeasable Ritson--in Percy's _Reliques_.
+Ritson himself published a genuine and ancient copy from a manuscript
+belonging apparently to the last quarter of the sixteenth century and
+preserved in the Cotton Library. The ballad is known under two other
+titles, _Captain Car_ and _The Burning o' London Castle._
+Notwithstanding this inexactitude in names, the ballad has an
+historical basis. In 1571 Adam Gordon, deputy-lieutenant of the North
+of Scotland for Queen Mary, was engaged in a struggle against the clan
+Forbes, who upheld the Reformed Faith and the King's party. Gordon was
+successful in two sharp encounters, but "what glory and renown he
+obtained of these two victories," says the contemporary History of
+King James the Sixth, "was all cast down by the infamy of his next
+attempt; for immediately after this last conflict he directed his
+soldiers to the castle of Towie, desiring the house to be rendered to
+him in the Queen's name; which was obstinately refused by the lady,
+and she burst forth with certain injurious words.  And the soldiers
+being impatient, by command of their leader, Captain Ker, fire was put
+to the house, wherein she and the number of twenty-seven persons were
+cruelly burnt to the death."
+
+_Martinmas_, the eleventh of November. _Hauld_, stronghold.  _Toun_,
+enclosed place. _Buskit_, made ready. _Light_, alighted. _But and_,
+and also. _Dree_, suffer. _But an_, unless. _Wude_, mad. _Dule_,
+pain. _Reek_, smoke. _Nourice_, nurse. _Jimp_, slender. _Row_,
+roll. _Tow_, throw.  _Busk and boun_, up and away.  _Freits_, ill
+omens. _Lowe_, blaze.  _Wichty_, sturdy. _Bent_, field. _Teenfu'_,
+sorrowful. _Wroken_, avenged.
+
+KINMONT WILLIE. After Scott. This dashing ballad appeared for the
+first time in the Border Minstrelsy, having been "preserved by
+tradition," says Scott, "on the West Borders, but much mangled by
+reciters, so that some conjectural emendations have been absolutely
+necessary to render it intelligible." The facts in the case seem to be
+that in 1596 Salkeld, deputy of Lord Scroope, English Warden of the
+West Marches, and Robert Scott, for the Laird of Buccleuch, Keeper of
+Liddesdale, met on the border line for conference in the interest of
+the public weal. The truce, that on such occasions extended from the
+day of the meeting to the next day at sunset, was this time violated
+by a party of English soldiers, who seized upon William Armstrong of
+Kinmonth, a notorious freebooter, as he, attended by but three or four
+men, was returning from the conference; and lodged him in Carlisle
+Castle. The Laird of Buccleuch, after treating in vain for his
+release, raised two hundred horse, surprised the castle and carried
+off the prisoner without further ceremony. This exploit the haughty
+Queen of England "esteemed a great affront" and "stormed not a little"
+against the "bauld Buccleuch." _Haribee_, the place of execution at
+Carlisle. _Liddel-rack_, a ford on the Liddel.  _Reiver_, robber.
+_Hostelrie_, inn. _Lawing_, reckoning.  _Garr'd_, made.  _Basnet_,
+helmet. _Curch_, cap.  _Lightly_, set light by. _Low_, blaze.  _Splent
+on spauld_, armor on shoulder. _Woodhouselee_, a house belonging to
+Buccleuch, on the Border. _Herry_, harry, spoil.  _Corbie_, crow.
+_Wons_, dwells. _Lear_, lore.  _Row-footed_, rough-footed(?). _Spait_,
+flood.  _Garr'd_, made. _Stear_, stir.  _Coulters_, ploughshares.
+_Forehammers_, the large hammers that strike before the small,
+sledgehammers.  _Fley'd_, frightened.  _Spier_, inquire. _Hente_,
+caught. _Maill_, rent.  _Airns_, irons. _Wood_, mad. _Furs_,
+furrows. _Trew_, trust.
+
+
+KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. After Percy, who printed from
+an ancient black-letter copy. There are three other broadside versions
+of this popular ballad extant, and at least one older version has been
+lost. Similar riddle-stories are to be found in almost all European
+literatures. There is nothing in this ballad save the name of King
+John, with his reputation for unjust and high-handed dealing, that can
+be called traditional. _Deere_, harm.  _Stead_, place. _St. Bittel_,
+St. Botolph(?).
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS.  After Ritson, who has
+collected in two volumes the ballads of Robin Hood. This is believed
+to be one of the oldest of them all. A concise introduction to the
+Robin Hood ballads is given by Mr. Hales in the _Percy Folio MS_.
+vol. i. This legendary king of Sherwood Forest is more rightfully the
+hero of English song than his splendid rival, the Keltic King Arthur,
+
+                  "whose name, a ghost,
+  Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak,
+  And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still."
+
+Yet there is scarcely less doubt as to the actual existence of a
+flesh-and-blood Robin Hood than there is as to the actual existence of
+a flesh-and-blood King Arthur. But let History look to her own;
+Literature need have no scruple in claiming both the archer-prince of
+outlaws and the blameless king of the Table Bound. Kobber chieftain or
+democratic agitator, romantic invention or Odin-myth, it is certain
+that by the fourteenth century Robin Hood was a familiar figure in
+English balladry. We have our first reference to this generous-hearted
+rogue of the greenwood, who is supposed by Ritson to have lived from
+1160 to 1247, in Langlande's _Piers Ploughman_ (1362).  There are
+brief notices of the popular bandit in Wyntoun's _Scottish Chronicle_
+(1420), Fordun's _Scotichronicon_ (1450), and Mair's _Historia Majoris
+Brittaniae_ (1521). Famous literary allusions occur in Latimer's
+_Sixth Sermon before Edward VI_. (1548), in Drayton's _Polyolbion
+(1613), and Fuller's _Worthies of England_ (1662). The Robin Hood
+ballads illustrate to the full the rough and heavy qualities, both of
+form and thought, that characterize all our English folk-songs as
+opposed to the Scottish. We feel the difference instantly when a
+minstrel from over the Border catches up the strain:
+
+  "There's mony ane sings o'grass, o'grass,
+    And mony ane sings o'corn;
+  And mony ane sings o'Robin Hood,
+    Kens little whar' he was born.
+
+  "It was na' in the ha', the ha',
+    Nor in the painted bower;
+  But it was in the gude greenwood,
+    Amang the lily flower."
+
+Yet these rude English ballads have just claims on our regard.  They
+stand our feet squarely upon the basal rock of Saxon ethics, they
+breathe a spirit of the sturdiest independence, and they draw, in a
+few strong strokes, so fresh a picture of the joyous, fearless life
+led under the green shadows of the deer-haunted forest by that
+memorable band, bold Robin and Little John, Friar Tuck and George a
+Green, Will Scarlett, Midge the Miller's Son, Maid Marian and the
+rest, that we gladly succumb to a charm recognized by Shakespeare
+himself: "They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many
+merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of
+England; they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and
+fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world."--_As You
+Like It._
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE. After Ritson. This ballad is first found
+in broadside copies of the latter half of the seventeenth
+century. _Lin._, pause.
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. After Ritson, who made his version from
+a collation of two copies given in a York garland.
+
+
+ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. After Aytoun, who improves on Jamieson's
+version. This beautiful ballad is given in varying forms by Herd,
+Scott, Buchan, and others. Lochroyan, or Loch Ryan, is a bay on the
+south-west coast of Scotland. _Jimp_, slender. _Gin_, if.  _Greet_,
+cry. _Tirl'd_, rattled. _But and_, and also. _Warlock_, wizard.
+_Sinsyne_, since then.  _Hooly_, slowly. _Deid_, death. _Syne_, then.
+
+
+LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. After Aytoun, who adds to the first
+twenty-four stanzas of the copy given in the _Reliques_ a concluding
+fourteen taken from Jamieson's _Sweet Willie and Fair Annie_. The
+unfortunate lady elsewhere figures as _The Nut-Brown Bride_ and _Fair
+Ellinor_. There are Norse ballads which relate something akin to the
+same story. _Gif_, if. _Rede_, counsel. _Owsen_, oxen.  _Billie_, an
+affectionate term for brother.  _Byre_, cow-house. _Fadge_, clumsy
+woman.  _Sheen_, shoes. _Tift_, whiff. _Gin_, if.  _Cleiding_,
+clothing.  _Bruik_, enjoy. _Kist_, chest. _Lee_, lonesome. _Till_,
+to. _Dowie_, doleful. _Sark_, shroud. _But and_, and also. _Birk_,
+birch.
+
+
+THE BANKS OF YARROW. After Allingham's collated version. There are
+many renderings of this ballad, which Scott declares to be a great
+favorite among the peasantry of the Ettrick forest, who firmly believe
+it founded on fact. The river Yarrow, so favored of the poets, flows
+through a valley in Selkirkshire and joins the Tweed above the town of
+Selkirk. The _Tennies_ is a farm below the Yarrow kirk.  _Lawing_,
+reckoning. _Dawing,_, dawn. _Marrow_, mate.  _Dowie_, doleful.
+_Leafu', _lawful. _Binna_, be not.
+
+
+THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. After Scott. This ballad is likewise known under
+titles of _Earl Brand, Lady Margaret _and _The Child of Ell_. Danish,
+Swedish, Norwegian and Icelandic ballads relate a kindred story, and
+the incident of the intertwining plants that spring from the graves of
+hapless lovers, occurs in the folk-lore of almost all peoples.
+_Bugelet_, a small bugle. _Dighted_, strove to stanch. _Plat_,
+intertwined.
+
+
+PINE FLOWERS I' THE VALLEY. After Aytoun, his version, though taken
+down from recitation, being in reality a compound of Herd's and
+Jamieson's. Aytoun claims that "this is perhaps the most popular of
+all the Scottish ballads, being commonly recited and sung even at the
+present day." Different refrains are often employed, and the ballad is
+frequently given under title of _The Cruel Brother_. Stories similar
+to this are found in the balladry of both northern and southern
+Europe. Marrow, mate. Close, avenue leading from the door to the
+street. Loutiny, bowing. Its lane, alone.
+
+
+THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. Mainly after Motherwell, although his version is
+entitled _The Jolly Goshawk_. The epithet Gay has the sanction of
+Scott and Jamieson. Buchan gives a rendering of this ballad under
+title of The Scottish Squire. Whin, furze. Bigly, spacious. Sark,
+shroud. Claith, cloth. Steeking, stitching. Gar'd, made. Chive,
+morsel. Skaith, harm.
+
+
+YOUNG REDIN. After Allingham's collated copy. There are many versions
+of this ballad, the hero being variously known as Young Hunting, Earl
+Richard, Lord William, Lord John and Young Redin. Birl'd, plied. Douk,
+dive. Weil-head, eddy. Linn, the pool beneath a cataract. Brin, burn.
+Balefire, bonfire.
+
+
+WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET. After Allingham's copy framed by collating
+Jamieson's fragmentary version with Buchan's ballad of _The Drowned
+Lovers_. Stour, wild. Pot, a pool in a river. Dowie den, doleful
+hollow. Tirled, rattled. Sleeked, fastened. Brae, hillside. Sowm,
+swim. Minnie, affectionate term for mother.
+
+YOUNG BEICHAN. Mainly after Jamieson, his version being based upon a
+copy taken down from the recitation of the indefatigable Mrs. Brown
+and collated with a manuscript and stall copy, both from Scotland, a
+recited copy from the North of England, and a short version "picked
+off an old wall in Piccadilly." Of this ballad of _Young Beichan_
+there are numerous renderings, the name of the hero undergoing many
+variations,--Bicham, Brechin, Beachen, Bekie, Bateman, Bondwell--and
+the heroine, although Susie Pye or Susan Pye in ten of the fourteen
+versions, figuring also as Isbel, Essels, and Sophia. It was probably
+an English ballad at the start, but bears the traces of the Scottish
+minstrels who were doubtless prompt to borrow it. There is likelihood
+enough that the ballad was originally suggested by the legend of
+Gilbert Becket, father of the great archbishop; the story running that
+Becket, while a captive in Holy Land, plighted his troth to the
+daughter of a Saracenic prince.  When the crusader had made good his
+escape, the lady followed him, inquiring her way to "England" and to
+"London," where she wandered up and down the streets, constantly
+repeating her lover's name, "Gilbert," the third and last word of
+English that she knew, until finally she found him, and all her woes
+were put to flight by the peal of wedding bells. _Termagant_, the name
+given in the old romances to the God of the Saracens.  _Pine_, pain.
+_Sheave_, slice. _But and_, and also. _Dreed_, endured.
+
+
+GILDEROY. After the current version adapted from the original by Sir
+Alexander Halket or his sister, Lady Elizabeth Wardlaw, the composer
+of _Hardyknute_. There is extant a black-letter broadside printed in
+England as early as 1650, and the ballad appears in several
+miscellanies of later date. The reviser added the sixth, seventh, and
+eighth stanzas. It is mortifying to learn that this "winsome Gilderoy
+"--the name, properly Gillie roy, signifying in Gaelic "the red-haired
+lad"--was in reality one Patrick Mac-Gregor, who was hanged at the
+cross of Edinburgh, 1638, as a common cateran or free-booter. That the
+romantic element in the ballad so outweighs the historical, must
+account for its classification here.  _Soy_, silk. _Cess_,
+black-mail. _Gear_, property.
+
+
+BONNY BARBARA ALLAN. After the version given in Ramsay's _Tea-Table
+Miscellany_ and followed by Herd, Ritson, and others. Percy prints
+with this in the _Reliques_ a longer, but poorer copy. In Pepys's
+_Diary_, Jan. 2,1666, occurs an allusion to the "little Scotch song of
+Barbary Alien." _Gin_, if. _Hooly_, slowly.  _Jow_, knell.
+
+
+THE GARDENER. After Kinloch. Buchan gives a longer, but less valuable
+version. _Jimp_, slender. _Weed_, dress. _Camorine_, camomile.
+_Kail-blade_, cabbage-leaf. _Cute_, ankle.  _Brawn_, calf.
+_Blaewort_, witch bells.
+
+
+ETIN THE FORESTER. Collated. No single version of this ballad is
+satisfactory, not Kinloch's fine fragment, _Hynde Etin_, nor Buchan's
+complete but inferior version, _Young Akin_, nor the modernized copy,
+_Young Hastings_, communicated by Buchan to Motherwell. Earlier and
+better renderings of the ballad have doubtless been lost. In the old
+Scottish speech, an Etin signified an ogre or giant, and although the
+existing versions show but faint traces of a supernatural element, it
+is probable that the original character of the story has been changed
+by the accidents of tradition, and that the Etin was at the outset in
+line with such personages as Arnold's Forsaken Merman. In the
+beautiful kindred ballads which abound in the Norse and German
+literatures, the Etin is sometimes represented by a merman, though
+usually by an elf-king, dwarf-king, or hill-king.  _Hind chiel_, young
+stripling. _Spier_, ask. _Bigg_, build. _Their lane_, alone. _Brae_,
+hillside. _Gars_, makes. _Greet_, weep. _Stown_, stolen.  _Laverock_,
+lark. _Lift_, air. _Buntin'_, blackbird.  _Christendame_, christening.
+_Ben_, in. _Shaw_, forest. _Louted_, bowed. _Boun'_, go.
+
+
+LAMKIN. After Jamieson. The many versions of this ballad show an
+unusually small number of variations. The name, though occurring in
+the several forms of Lambert Linkin, Lamerlinkin, Rankin, Belinkin,
+Lankyn, Lonkin, Balcanqual, most often appears as Lamkin or Lammikin
+or Lambkin, being perhaps a nick-name given to the mason for the
+meekness with which he had borne his injuries. This would explain the
+resentful tone of his inquiries on entering the house. _Nourice_,
+nurse. _Limmer_, wretch.  _Shot-window_, projecting window. _Gaire_,
+edge of frock. _Ilka_, each.  _Bore_, crevice. _Greeting_, crying.
+_Dowie_, doleful.  _Chamer_, chamber.  _Lamer_, amber. _Ava'_, of all.
+
+
+HUGH OF LINCOLN. Mainly after Jamieson. Percy gives a version of this
+famous ballad under title of _The Jew's Daughter_, and Herd and
+Motherwell, as well as Jamieson, have secured copies from recitation.
+The general view that this ballad rests upon an historical basis has
+but slender authority behind it. Matthew Paris, never too reliable as
+a chronicler, says that in 1255 the Jews of Lincoln, after their
+yearly custom, stole a little Christian boy, tortured and crucified
+him, and flung him into a pit, where his mother found the body. This
+is in all probability one of the many cruel slanders circulated
+against the Jews during the Middle Ages, to reconcile the Christian
+conscience to the Christian maltreatment of that long-suffering
+race. Such stories are related of various mediaeval innocents, in
+various lands and centuries, and may be classed together, until better
+evidence to the contrary presents itself, as malicious falsehood. This
+ballad should be compared, of course, with Chaucer's _Prioresses
+Tale_. _Keppit_, caught. _Gart_, made.  _Twinn'd_, deprived.  _Row'd_,
+rolled. _Ilka_, each. _Gin_, it.
+
+
+FAIR ANNIE. Mainly after Jamieson's version entitled _Lady Jane_.
+Jamieson gives another copy, where the heroic lady is known as _Burd
+Helen_, but Scott, Motherwell, Kinloch, Buchan, and others agree on
+the name _Fair Annie_. The pathetic beauty of the ballad has secured
+it a wide popularity. There are Danish, Swedish, Dutch, and German
+versions. "But Fair Annie's fortunes have not only been charmingly
+sung," says Professor Child.  "They have also been exquisitely _told_
+in a favorite lay of Marie de France, 'Le Lai del Freisne.' This tale
+of Breton origin is three hundred years older than any manuscript of
+the ballad. Comparison will, however, quickly show that it is not the
+source either of the English or of the Low German and Scandinavian
+ballad. The tale and the ballads have a common source, which lies
+further back, and too far for us to find." _Your lane_, alone. _Braw_,
+finely dressed.  _Gear_, goods.  _But and_, and also. _Stown_, stolen.
+_Leugh_, laughed.  _Loot_, let. _Gars_, makes. _Greet_, weep.
+
+
+THE LAIRD O' DRUM. After Aytoun's collated version.  Copies obtained
+from recitation are given by Kinloch and Buchan.  The eccentric Laird
+o' Drum was an actual personage, who, in the seventeenth century,
+mortified his aristocratic relatives and delighted the commons by
+marrying a certain Margaret Coutts, a woman of lowly rank, his first
+wife having been a daughter of the Marquis of Huntly. The old shepherd
+speaks in the Aberdeen dialect. _Weel-faur'd_, well-favored.  _Gin_,
+if. _Speer_, ask. _Kebbuck_, cheese.  _Yetts_, gates. _Gawsy_, portly.
+_But the pearlin' abune her bree_, without the lace above her brow.
+
+
+LIZIE LINDSAY. After Jamieson. Complete copies are given by Buchan and
+Whitelaw, also. _Till_, to. _Braes_, hills. _Fit_, foot. _Gin_, if.
+_Tocher_, dowry. _Gait_, way.  _Wale_, choice. _Dey_, dairy-woman.
+_Laverock_, lark. _Liltin'_, carolling. _Shealin'_, sheep-shed. _Gaits
+and kye_, goats and cows.
+
+
+KATHARINE JANFARIE. Mainly after Motherwell's version entitled
+_Catherine Johnstone_. Other renderings are given by Scott, Maidment,
+and Buchan. In Scott's version the name of the English suitor is Lord
+Lochinvar, and both name and story the thieving poet has turned, as
+everybody knows, to excellent account. The two closing stanzas here
+seem to betray the hand of an English balladist.  _Weel-faur'd_,
+well-favored. _Lave_, rest. _Spier'd_, asked. _Brae_, hill.
+
+GLENLOGIE. After Smith's version in the _Scottish Minstrel_,--a book
+wherein "great liberties," Motherwell claims, have been taken with
+ancient lays. A rough but spirited version is given by Sharpe, and a
+third by Buchan. _Gar_, make. _His lane_, alone.
+
+
+GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR. After Herd. This ballad appears, too, in
+Johnson's _Museum_ and Ritson's _Scottish Songs_.  _Martinmas_, the
+eleventh of November. _Intil_, into.  _Hussyskep_, house-keeping.
+_Bree_, broth. _Scaud_, scald.
+
+
+THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND. After Herd. Another version, longer and
+poorer, occurs in Johnson's _Museum_. _Withershins_, the wrong
+way. _Twinned_, parted.
+
+
+THE TWA CORBIES. After Scott, who received it from Mr. C. K. Sharpe,
+"as written down, from tradition, by a lady."  This seems to be the
+Scottish equivalent of an old English poem, _The Three Ravens_, given
+by Ritson in his _Ancient Songs_. _Corbies_, ravens.  _Fail_, turf.
+_Kens_, knows. _Hause_, neck.  _Pyke_, pick. _Theek_, thatch.
+
+
+HELEN OF KIRCONNEL. After Scott. Other versions are given by Herd,
+Ritson, and Jamieson. There is said to be a traditional basis for the
+ballad, and the grave of the lovers, Adam Fleming and Helen Irving (or
+Helen Bell), is still pointed out in the churchyard of Kirconnell,
+near Springkell. _Burd_, lady.
+
+
+WALY WALY. After Ramsay, being first published in the _Tea-Table
+Miscellany_. These touching and tender stanzas have been pieced by
+Chambers into the patchwork ballad, _Lord Jamie Douglas_, but
+evidently it is not there that they belong. _Waly_, a cry of
+lamentation. _Brae_, hillside. _Burn_, brook. _Syne_, then. _Lichtly_,
+slight. _Busk_, adorn. _Marti'mas_, November. _Fell_, bitterly.
+_Cramasie_, crimson.
+
+
+LORD RONALD. After Scott's version entitled _Lord Randal_. Scott
+adopts this name because he thinks the ballad may originally have had
+reference to the death of Thomas Randolph, or Randal, Earl of
+Murray,--a theory which Allingham, with more justice than mercy,
+briefly disposes of as "mere antiquarian moonshine."  In point of fact
+the ballad recounts an old, old story, told in many literatures,
+Italian, German, Dutch, Swedish, Danish, Magyar, Wendish, Bohemian,
+Catalan. The English offshoot takes on a bewildering variety of
+forms. (See Introduction, pp. xiii, xiv.) _Broo'_, broth.
+
+
+EDWARD, EDWARD. After Percy, the ballad having made its first
+appearance in the _Reliques_. Motherwell gives an interesting version,
+in which the murderer, who in this case has slain his brother, is
+addressed as _Son Davie_. There are German, Swedish, Danish and Finish
+equivalents. The old orthography, which is retained here for its
+literary interest, cannot obscure the tragic power of the ballad.
+_Frie_, free. _Dule ye drie_, grief ye suffer.  _Tul_, till.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Ballad Book, by Katherine Lee Bates (ed.)
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballad Book, by Katherine Lee Bates (ed.)
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
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+Title: Ballad Book
+
+Author: Katherine Lee Bates (ed.)
+
+Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7935]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on June 2, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLAD BOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Tiffany Vergon, Dave Maddock
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+BALLAD BOOK
+
+EDITED BY KATHARINE LEE BATES,
+
+WELLESLEY COLLEGE.
+
+
+
+    "The plaintive numbers flow
+  For old, unhappy, far-off things,
+     And battles long ago."
+
+  --WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+Probably no teacher of English literature in our schools or colleges
+would gainsay the statement that the chief aim of such instruction is
+to awaken in the student a genuine love and enthusiasm for the higher
+forms of prose, and more especially for poetry. For love is the surest
+guarantee of extended and independent study, and we teachers are the
+first to admit that the class-room is but the vestibule to
+education. So in beginning the critical study of English poetry it
+seems reasonable to use as a starting-point the early ballads,
+belonging as they do to the youth of our literature, to the youth of
+our English race, and hence appealing with especial power to the youth
+of the human heart. Every man of letters who still retains the
+boy-element in his nature--and most men, Sir Philip Sidney tells us,
+are "children in the best things, till they be cradled in their
+graves"--has a tenderness for these rough, frank, spirited old poems,
+while the actual boy in years, or the actual girl, rarely fails to
+respond to their charm. What Shakespeare knew, and Scott loved, and
+Bossetti echoes, can hardly be beneath the admiration of high school
+and university students. Rugged language, broken metres, absurd plots,
+dubious morals, are impotent to destroy the vital beauty that
+underlies all these. There is a philosophical propriety, too, in
+beginning poetic study with ballad lore, for the ballad is the germ of
+all poem varieties.
+
+This volume attempts to present such a selection from the old ballads
+as shall represent them fairly in their three main classes,--those
+derived from superstition, whether fairy-lore, witch-lore, ghost-lore,
+or demon-lore; those derived from tradition, Scotch and English; and
+those derived from romance and from domestic life in general. The
+Scottish ballads, because of their far superior poetic value, are
+found here in greater number than the English. The notes state in each
+case what version has been followed. The notes aim, moreover, to give
+such facts of historical or bibliographical importance as may attach
+to each ballad, with any indispensable explanation of outworn or
+dialectic phrases, although here much is left to the mother-wit of the
+student.
+
+It is hoped that this selection may meet a definite need in connection
+with classes not so fortunate as to have access to a ballad library,
+and that even where such access is procurable, it may prove a friendly
+companion in the private study and the recitation-room.
+
+KATHARINE LEE BATES.
+
+WELLESLEY COLLEGE,
+March, 1904.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION.
+  THE WEE WEE MAN
+  TAMLANE
+  TRUE THOMAS
+  THE ELFIN KNIGHT
+  LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT
+  TOM THUMBE
+  KEMPION
+  ALISON GROSS
+  THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL
+  A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE
+  PROUD LADY MARGARET
+  THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE
+  THE DEMON LOVER
+  RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED
+
+BALLADS OF TRADITION.
+  SIR PATRICK SPENS
+  THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURNE
+  THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT
+  EDOM O' GORDON
+  KINMONT WILLIE
+  KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY
+  ROBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS
+  ROBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE
+  ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL
+
+ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS.
+  ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN
+  LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET
+  THE BANKS O' YARROW
+  THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY
+  FINE FLOWERS I' THE VALLEY
+  THE GAY GOSS-HAWK
+  YOUNG REDIN
+  WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET
+  YOUNG BEICHAN
+  GILDEROY
+  BONNY BARBARA ALLAN
+  THE GARDENER
+  ETIN THE FORESTER
+  LAMKIN
+  HUGH OF LINCOLN
+  FAIR ANNIE
+  THE LAIRD O' DRUM
+  LIZIE LINDSAY
+  KATHARINE JANFARIE
+  GLENLOGIE
+  GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR
+  THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND
+  THE TWA CORBIES
+  HELEN OF KIRCONNELL
+  WALY WALY
+  LORD RONALD
+  EDWARD, EDWARD
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+The development of poetry, the articulate life of man, is hidden in
+that mist which overhangs the morning of history. Yet the indications
+are that this art of arts had its origin, as far back as the days of
+savagery, in the ideal element of life rather than the utilitarian.
+There came a time, undoubtedly, when the mnemonic value of verse was
+recognized in the transmission of laws and records and the hard-won
+wealth of experience.  Our own Anglo-Saxon ancestors, whose rhyme, it
+will be remembered, was initial rhyme, or alliteration, have
+bequeathed to our modern speech many such devices for "the knitting up
+of the memory," largely legal or popular phrases, as _bed and board_,
+_to have and to hold_, _to give and to grant_, _time and tide_, _wind
+and wave_, _gold and gear_; or proverbs, as, for example: _When bale
+is highest, boon is nighest_, better known to the present age under
+the still alliterative form: _The darkest hour's before the dawn_.
+But if we may trust the signs of poetic evolution in barbarous tribes
+to-day, if we may draw inferences from the sacred character attached
+to the Muses in the myths of all races, with the old Norsemen, for
+instance, Sagâ being the daughter of Odin, we may rest a reasonable
+confidence upon the theory that poetry, the world over, finds its
+first utterance at the bidding of the religious instinct and in
+connection with religious rites.
+
+Yet the wild-eyed warriors, keeping time by a rude triumphal chant to
+the dance about the watch-fire, were mentally as children, with keen
+senses and eager imagination, but feeble reason, with fresh and
+vigorous emotions, but without elaborate language for these emotions.
+Swaying and shouting in rhythmic consent, they came slowly to the use
+of ordered words and, even then, could but have repeated the same
+phrases over and over. The burden--sometimes senseless to our modern
+understanding--to be found in the present form of many of our ballads
+may be the survival of a survival from those primitive iterations. The
+"Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw" of _The Elfin Knight_ is not, in this
+instance, inappropriate to the theme, yet we can almost hear shrilling
+through it a far cry from days when men called directly upon the
+powers of nature. Such refrains as "Binnorie, O Binnorie," "Jennifer
+gentle an' rosemaree," "Down, a down, a down, a down," have ancient
+secrets in them, had we ears to hear.
+
+One of the vexed questions of criticism regarding these refrains is
+whether they were rendered in alternation with the narrative verses or
+as a continuous under-song.  Early observers of Indian dances have
+noted that, while one leaping savage after another improvised a simple
+strain or two, the whole dancing company kept up a guttural cadence of
+"Heh, heh, heh!" or "Aw, aw, aw!"  which served the office of musical
+accompaniment. This choral iteration of rhythmic syllables, still
+hinted in the refrain, but only hinted, is believed to be the original
+element of poetry.
+
+In course of time, however, was evolved the individual singer. In the
+earlier stages of society, song was undoubtedly a common gift, and
+every normal member of the community bore his part in the recital of
+the heroic deeds that ordinarily formed the subject of these primeval
+lays. Were it the praise of a god, of a feasting champion, or of a
+slain comrade, the natural utterance was narrative. Later on, the more
+fluent and inventive improvisers came to the front, and finally the
+professional bard appeared. Somewhere in the process, too, the burden
+may have shifted its part from under-song to alternating chorus, thus
+allowing the soloist opportunity for rest and recollection.
+
+English ballads, as we have them in print to-day, took form in a far
+later and more sophisticated period than those just suggested; yet
+even thus our ballads stand nearest of anything in our literature to
+the primitive poetry that was born out of the social life of the
+community rather than made by the solitary thought of the artist. Even
+so comparatively small a group as that comprehended within this volume
+shows how truly the ballad is the parent stock of all other poetic
+varieties. In the ballad of plain narrative, as _The Hunting of the
+Cheviot,_ the epic is hinted. We go a step further in _A Lytell Geste
+of Robyn Hode,_--too long for insertion in this collection, but
+peculiarly interesting from the antiquarian point of view, having been
+printed, in part, as early as 1489,--and find at least a rough
+foundation for a genuine hero-lay, the _Lytell Geste_ being made up of
+a number of ballads rudely woven into one. A poem like this, though
+hardly "an epic in miniature,"--a phrase which has been proposed as
+the definition of a ballad,--is truly an epic in germ, lacking the
+finish of a miniature, but holding the promise of a seed. Where the
+narrative is highly colored by emotion, as in _Helen of Kirconnell_ or
+_Waly Waly,_ the ballad merges into the lyric. It is difficult here to
+draw the line of distinction. _A Lyke-Wake Dirge_ is almost purely
+lyric in quality, while _The Lawlands o' Holland, Gilderoy, The Twa
+Corbies, Bonny Barbara Allan,_ have each a pronounced lyric element.
+From the ballad of dialogue we look forward to the drama, not only
+from the ballad of pure dialogue, as _Lord Ronald,_ or _Edward,
+Edward,_ or that sweet old English folk-song, too long for insertion
+here, _The Not-Browne Mayd,_ but more remotely from the ballad of
+mingled dialogue and narrative, as _The Gardener or Fine Flowers i'
+the Valley._
+
+The beginnings of English balladry are far out of sight.  From the
+date when the race first had deeds to praise and words with which to
+praise them, it is all but certain that ballads were in the air. But
+even the mediteval ballads are lost to us. It was the written
+literature, the work of clerks, fixed upon the parchment, that
+survived, while the songs of the people, passing from lip to lip down
+the generations, continually reshaped themselves to the changing
+times. But they were never hushed. While Chaucer, his genius fed by
+Norman and Italian streams, was making the fourteenth century reecho
+with that laughter which "comes never to an end" of the Canterbury
+story-tellers; while Langland, even his Teutonic spirit swayed by
+French example, was brooding the gloomy _Vision of Piers the
+Plowman,_--gloom with a star at its centre; while those "courtly
+makers," Wyatt and Surrey, were smoothing English song, which in the
+hands of Skelton had become so
+
+  "Tatter'd and jagged,
+   Rudely raine-beaten,
+   Rusty and moth-eaten,"
+
+into the exquisite lyrical measures of Italy; while the mysteries and
+miracle-plays, also of Continental impulse, were striving to do God
+service by impressing the Scripture stories upon their rustic
+audiences,--the ballads were being sung and told from Scottish loch to
+English lowland, in hamlet and in hall. Heartily enjoyed in the
+baronial castle, scandalously well known in the monastery, they were
+dearest to the peasants.
+
+  "Lewd peple loven tales olde;
+   Swiche thinges can they wel report and holde."
+
+The versions in which we possess such ballads to-day are comparatively
+modern. Few can be dated further back than the reign of Elizabeth; the
+language of some is that of the eighteenth century. But the number and
+variety of these versions--the ballad of _Lord Ronald,_ for instance,
+being given in fifteen forms by Professor Child in his monumental
+edition of _The English and Scottish Popular Ballads;_ where "Lord
+Ronald, my son," appears variously as "Lord Randal, my son," "Lord
+Donald, my son," "King Henrie, my son," "Lairde Rowlande, my son,"
+"Billy, my son," "Tiranti, my son," "my own pretty boy," "my bonnie
+wee croodlin dow," "my little wee croudlin doo," "Willie doo, Willie
+doo," "my wee wee croodlin doo doo"--are sure evidence of oral
+transmission, and oral transmission is in itself evidence of
+antiquity. Many of our ballads, moreover,--nearly a third of the
+present collection, as the notes will show,--are akin to ancient
+ballads of Continental Europe, or of Asia, or both, which set forth
+the outlines of the same stories in something the same way.
+
+It should be stated that there is another theory altogether as to the
+origin of ballads. Instead of regarding them as a slow, shadowed,
+natural growth, finally fossilized in print, from the rhythmic cries
+of a barbaric dance-circle in its festal hour, there is a weighty
+school of critics who hold them to be the mere rag-tag camp-followers
+of mediaeval romance. See, for instance, the clownish ballad of _Tom
+Thumbe,_ with its confused Arthurian echoes. Some of the events
+recorded in our ballads, moreover, are placed by definite local
+tradition at a comparatively recent date, as _Otterburne, Edom o'
+Gordon, Kinmont Willie._ What becomes, then, of their claims to long
+descent? If these do not fall, it is because they are based less on
+the general theme and course of the story, matters that seem to
+necessitate an individual composer, than on the so-called communal
+elements of refrain, iteration, stock stanzas, stock epithets, stock
+numbers, stock situations, the frank objectivity of the point of view,
+the sudden glimpses into a pagan world.
+
+In the lands of the schoolhouse, the newspaper, and the public
+library, the conditions of ballad-production are past and gone. Yet
+there are still a few isolated communities in Europe where genuine
+folk-songs of spontaneous composition may be heard by the eavesdropper
+and jotted down with a surreptitious pencil; for the rustics shrink
+from the curiosity of the learned and are silent in the presence of
+strangers. The most precious contribution to our literature from such
+a, source is _The Bard of the Dimbovitza_, an English translation of
+folk-songs and ballads peculiar to a certain district of Roumania.
+They were gathered by a native gentlewoman from among the peasants on
+her father's estate. "She was forced," writes Carmen Sylva, Queen of
+Roumania, one of the two translators, "to affect a desire to learn
+spinning, that she might join the girls at their spinning parties, and
+so overhear their songs more easily; she hid in the tall maize to hear
+the reapers crooning them, ... she listened for them by death-beds, by
+cradles, at the dance, and in the tavern, with inexhaustible
+patience.... Most of them are improvisations. They usually begin and
+end with a refrain."
+
+The Celtic revival, too, is discovering not only the love of song,
+but, to some extent, the power of improvisation in the more remote
+corners of the British Isles. Instances of popular balladry in the
+west of Ireland are givrn by Lady Gregory in her _Poets and Dreamers._
+
+The Roumanians still have their lute-players; old people in Galway
+still remember the last of their wandering folk-bards; but the Ettrick
+Shepherd, a century ago, had to call upon imagination for the picture
+of
+
+  "Each Caledonian minstrel true,
+   Dressed in his plaid and bonnet blue,
+   With harp across his shoulders slung,
+   And music murmuring round his tongue."
+
+Fearless children of nature these strolling poets were, even as the
+songs they sang.
+
+  "Little recked they, our bards of old,
+   Of autumn's showers, or winter's cold.
+   Sound slept they on the 'nighted hill,
+   Lulled by the winds, or bubbling rill,
+   Curtained within the winter cloud,
+   The heath their couch, the sky their shroud;
+   Yet theirs the strains that touch the heart,--
+   Bold, rapid, wild, and void of art."
+
+The value and hence the dignity of the minstrel's profession declined
+with the progress of the printing-press in popular favor, and the
+character of the gleemen suffered in consequence. This was more marked
+in England than in Scotland. Indeed, the question has been raised as
+to whether there ever existed a class of Englishmen who were both
+ballad-singers and ballad-makers.  This was one of the points at issue
+between those eminent antiquarians, Bishop Percy and Mr. Ritson, in
+the eighteenth century. Dr. Percy had defined the English minstrels as
+an "order of men in the middle ages, who subsisted by the arts of
+poetry and music, and sung to the harp the verses which they
+themselves composed."  The inflammable Joseph Ritson, whose love of an
+honest ballad goes far to excuse him for his lack of gentle demeanor
+toward the unfaithful editor of the _Reliques,_ pounced down so
+fiercely upon this definition, contending that, however applicable to
+Icelandic skalds or Norman trouveres or Provençal troubadours, it was
+altogether too flattering for the vagabond fiddlers of England,
+roughly trolling over to tavern audiences the ballads borrowed from
+their betters, that the dismayed bishop altered his last clause to
+read, "verses composed by themselves or others."
+
+Sir Walter Scott sums up this famous quarrel with his characteristic
+good-humor. "The debate," he says, "resembles the apologue of the gold
+and silver shield. Dr.  Percy looked on the minstrel in the palmy and
+exalted state to which, no doubt, many were elevated by their talents,
+like those who possess excellence in the fine arts in the present day;
+and Ritson considered the reverse of the medal, when the poor and
+wandering gleeman was glad to purchase his bread by singing his
+ballads at the ale-house, wearing a fantastic habit, and latterly
+sinking into a mere crowder upon an untuned fiddle, accompanying his
+rude strains with a ruder ditty, the helpless associate of drunken
+revellers, and marvellously afraid of the constable and parish
+beadle."
+
+There is proof enough that, by the reign of Elizabeth, the printer was
+elbowing the minstrel out into the gutter.  In Scotland the strolling
+bard was still not without honor, but in the sister country we find
+him denounced by ordinance together with "rogues, vagabonds, and
+sturdy beggars." The London stalls were fed by Grub-street authors
+with penny ballads--trash for the greater part--printed in
+black-letter on broadsides. Many of these doggerel productions were
+collected into small miscellanies, known as _Garlands,_ in the reign
+of James I.; but few of the genuine old folk-songs found a refuge in
+print. Yet they still lived on in corners of England and Scotland,
+where "the spinsters and the knitters in the sun" crooned over
+half-remembered lays to peasant children playing at their feet.
+
+In 1723 a collection of English ballads, made up largely, though not
+entirely, of stall-copies, was issued by an anonymous editor, not a
+little ashamed of himself because of his interest in so unworthy a
+subject; for although Dryden and Addison had played the man and given
+kindly entertainment--the one in his _Miscellany Poems,_ the other in
+_The Spectator_--to a few ballad-gypsies, yet poetry in general, that
+most "flat, stale, and unprofitable" poetry of the early and middle
+eighteenth century, disdained all fellowship with the unkempt,
+wandering tribe.
+
+In the latter half of that century, however, occurred the great event
+in the history of our ballad literature.  A country clergyman of a
+literary turn of mind, resident in the north of England, being on a
+visit to his "worthy friend, Humphrey Pitt, Esq., then living at
+Shiffnal in Shropshire," had the glorious good luck to hit upon an old
+folio manuscript of ballads and romances.  "I saw it," writes Percy,
+"lying dirty on the floor under a Bureau in ye Parlour; being used by
+the Maids to light the fire."
+
+"A scrubby, shabby paper book" it may have been, with some leaves torn
+half away and others lacking altogether, but it was a genuine ballad
+manuscript, in handwriting of about the year 1650, and Percy,
+realizing that the worthy Mr. Pitt was feeding his parlor fire with
+very precious fuel, begged the tattered volume of his host and bore it
+proudly home, where with presumptuous pen he revised and embellished
+and otherwise, all innocently, maltreated the noble old ballads until
+he deemed, although with grave misgivings, that they would not too
+violently shock the polite taste of the eighteenth century.  The
+eighteenth century, wearied to death of its own politeness, worn out
+by the heartless elegance of Pope and the insipid sentimentality of
+Prior, gave these fresh, simple melodies an unexpected welcome, even
+in the face of the reigning king of letters, Dr. Johnson, who forbade
+them to come to court. But good poems are not slain by bad critics,
+and the old ballads, despite the burly doctor's displeasure, took
+henceforth a recognized place in English literature. Herd's delightful
+collection of Scottish songs and ballads, wherein are gathered so many
+of those magical refrains, the rough ore of Burns' fine gold,--"Green
+grow the rashes O," "Should auld acquaintance be forgot," "For the
+sake o' somebody,"--soon followed, and Ritson, while ever slashing
+away at poor Percy, often for his minstrel theories, more often for
+his ballad emendations, and most often for his holding back the
+original folio manuscript from publication, appeared himself as a
+collector and antiquarian of admirable quality. Meanwhile Walter
+Scott, still in his schoolboy days, had chanced upon a copy of the
+_Reliques_, and had fallen in love with ballads at first sight. All
+the morning long he lay reading the book beneath a huge platanus-tree
+in his aunt's garden. "The summer day sped onward so fast," he says,
+"that notwithstanding the sharp appetite of thirteen, I forgot the
+hour of dinner, was sought for with anxiety, and was found still
+entranced in my intellectual banquet. To read and to remember was in
+this instance the same thing, and henceforth I overwhelmed my
+school-fellows and all who would hearken to me, with tragical
+recitations from the ballads of Bishop Percy. The first time, too, I
+could scrape a few shillings together, which were not common
+occurrences with me, I bought unto myself a copy of these beloved
+volumes, nor do I believe I ever read a book half so frequently, or
+with half the enthusiasm."
+
+The later fruits of that schoolboy passion were garnered in Scott's
+original ballads, metrical romances, and no less romantic novels, all
+so picturesque with feudal lights and shadows, so pure with chivalric
+sentiment; but an earlier result was _The Minstrelsy of the Scottish
+Border,_ a collection of folk-songs gleaned in vacation excursions
+from pipers and shepherds and old peasant women of the border
+districts, and containing, with other ballads, full forty-three
+previously unknown to print, among them some of our very best. Other
+poet collectors--Motherwell and Aytoun--followed where Scott had led,
+Scott having been himself preceded by Allan Ramsay, who so early as
+1724 had included several old ballads, freely retouched, in his
+_Evergreen and Tea-Table Miscellany._ Nor were there lacking others,
+poets in ear and heart if not in pen, who went up and down the
+country-side, seeking to gather into books the old heroic lays that
+were already on the point of perishing from the memories of the
+people. Meanwhile Ritson's shrill cry for the publication of the
+original Percy manuscript was taken up in varying keys again and
+again, until in our own generation the echoes on our own side of the
+water grew so persistent that with no small difficulty the
+much-desired end was actually attained. The owners of the folio having
+been brought to yield their slow consent, our richest treasure of Old
+English song, for so perilously long a period exposed to all the
+hazards that beset a single manuscript, is safe in print at last and
+open to the inspection of us all. The late Professor Child of Harvard,
+our first American authority on ballad-lore, and Dr. Furnivall of
+London, would each yield the other the honor of this achievement for
+which no ballad-lover can speak too many thanks.
+
+A list of our principal ballad collections may be found of practical
+convenience, as well as of literary interest. Passing by the
+_Miscellanies,_ Percy, as becomes one of the gallant lineage to which
+he set up a somewhat doubtful claim, leads the van.
+
+Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. 1765.
+
+Herd's Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, etc.  1769.
+
+Ritson's Ancient Popular Poetry. 1791.
+
+Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads. 1792.
+
+Ritson's Robin Hood. 1795.
+
+Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 1802-1803.
+
+Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs. 1806.
+
+Finlay's Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads. 1808.
+
+Sharpe's Ballad Book. 1824.
+
+Maidment's North Countrie Garland. 1824.
+
+Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads. 1827.
+
+Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern. 1827.
+
+Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland.  1828.
+
+Chambers' Scottish Ballads. 1829.
+
+Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads. 1845.
+
+Child's English and Scottish Ballads. 1857-1858.
+
+Aytoun's Ballads of Scotland. 1858.
+
+Maidment's Scottish Ballads and Songs. 1868.
+
+Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript. 1868.
+
+Child's English and Scottish Popular Ballads (issued in parts).
+1882-98.
+
+
+
+A WORD WITH THE TEACHER.
+
+
+The methods of ballad-work in the class-room must of course vary with
+the amount of time at disposal, the extent of library privilege, and
+the attainment of the students.  Where the requisite books are at
+hand, it may be found a profitable exercise to commit a ballad to each
+member of the class, who shall hunt down the various English versions,
+and, as far as his power reaches, the foreign equivalents. But
+specific topical study can be put to advantage on the ballads
+themselves, the fifty collected here furnishing abundant data for
+discussion and illustration in regard to such subjects as the
+following:--
+
+                    / Teutonic.
+  Ballad Language  |  Dialectic.
+                    \ Idiomatic.
+
+                    /                    / Description.
+                   /  Ballad Stanza     |  Peculiar Fitness.
+                  |                      \ Variations.
+                  |
+  Ballad Music    |                      / Metre.
+                  |   Irregularities in |  Accent.
+                  |                      \ Rhyme.
+                   \  Significance of
+                    \   Irregularities.
+
+                    / Introduction.
+                   /  Dramatic Element.
+  Ballad Structure |  Involution of Plot.
+                   \  Proportion of Element.
+                    \ Conclusion.
+
+
+                              / Government.
+  Early English and Scottish |  Family.
+    Life as reflected in the |  Employments.
+    Ballads                  |  Pastimes.
+                              \ Manners.
+
+  Early English and Scottish  / Aspirations.
+    Character as reflected   |  Principles.
+    in the Ballads            \ Tastes.
+
+  Democracy in the Ballads.
+
+  Nature in the Ballads.
+
+  Color in the Ballads.
+
+  History and Science in the Ballads.
+
+  Manhood in the Ballads.
+
+  Womanhood in the Ballads.
+
+  Childhood in the Ballads.
+
+  Standards of Morality in the Ballads.
+
+  Religion in the Ballads / Pagan Element.
+                          \ Christian Element. / Catholic.
+                                               \ Protestant.
+  Figures of Speech / Enumeration
+    in the Ballads |  General Character.
+                    \ Proportion.
+
+                     / Epithets.
+                    /  Numbers.
+  Stock Material   |   Refrains.
+    of the Ballads |   Similes.
+                   |   Metaphors.
+                    \  Stanzas.
+                     \ Situations.
+
+  Humor of the Ballads. / In what consisting.
+                        \ At what directed.
+
+  Pathos of the Ballads. / By what elicited.
+                         \ How expressed.
+
+                          / In Form.
+  Beauty of the Ballads. |  In Matter.
+                          \ In Spirit.
+
+A more delicate, difficult, and valuable variety of study may be put
+upon the ballads, taken one by one, with the aim of impression upon a
+class the very simplicity of strength and sweetness in this wild
+minstrelsy. The mere recitation or reading of the ballad, with such
+unacademic and living comment as shall help the imagination of the
+hearer to leap into a vivid realization of the swiftly shifted scenes,
+the sympathy to follow with eager comprehension the crowded, changing
+passions, the whole nature to thrill with the warm pulse of the rough
+old poem, is perhaps the surest way to drive the ballad home, trusting
+it to work within the student toward that spirit--development which is
+more truly the end of education than mental storage. For these
+primitive folk-songs which have done so much to educate the poetic
+sense in the fine peasantry of Scotland,--that peasantry which has
+produced an Ettrick Shepherd and an Ayrshire Ploughman,--are
+assuredly,
+
+  "Thanks to the human heart by which we live,"
+
+among the best educators that can be brought into our schoolrooms.
+
+
+
+BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION.
+
+
+THE WEE WEE MAN.
+
+As I was wa'king all alane,
+  Between a water and a wa',
+There I spy'd a wee wee man,
+  And he was the least that e'er I saw.
+
+His legs were scant a shathmont's length,
+  And sma' and limber was his thie,
+Between his e'en there was a span,
+  And between his shoulders there was three.
+
+'He took up a meikle stane,
+  And he flang't as far as I could see;
+Though I had been a Wallace wight,
+  I couldna liften't to my knee.
+
+"O wee wee man, but thou be strang!
+  O tell me where thy dwelling be?"
+"My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower;
+  O will you go with me and see?"
+
+On we lap, and awa' we rade,
+  Till we cam' to yon bonny green;
+We lighted down for to bait our horse,
+  And out there cam' a lady sheen.
+
+Four and twenty at her back,
+  And they were a' clad out in green,
+Though the King o' Scotland had been there,
+  The warst o' them might hae been his Queen.
+
+On we lap, and awa' we rade,
+  Till we cam' to yon bonny ha',
+Where the roof was o' the beaten gowd,
+  And the floor was o' the crystal a'.
+
+When we cam' to the stair foot,
+  Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma';
+But in the twinkling of an e'e,
+  My wee wee man was clean awa'.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+TAMLANE.
+
+"O I forbid ye, maidens a',
+  That bind in snood your hair,
+To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
+  For young Tamlane is there."
+
+Fair Janet sat within her bower,
+  Sewing her silken seam,
+And fain would be at Carterhaugh,
+  Amang the leaves sae green.
+
+She let the seam fa' to her foot,
+  The needle to her tae,
+And she's awa' to Carterhaugh,
+  As quickly as she may.
+
+She's prink'd hersell, and preen'd hersell,
+  By the ae light o' the moon,
+And she's awa to Carterhaugh,
+  As fast as she could gang.
+
+She hadna pu'd a red red rose,
+  A rose but barely three,
+When up and starts the young Tamlane,
+  Says, "Lady, let a-be!
+
+"What gars ye pu' the rose, Janet?
+  What gars ye break the tree?
+Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,
+  Without the leave o' me?"
+
+"O I will pu' the flowers," she said,
+  "And I will break the tree;
+And I will come to Carterhaugh,
+  And ask na leave of thee."
+
+But when she cam' to her father's ha',
+  She looked sae wan and pale,
+They thought the lady had gotten a fright,
+  Or with sickness sair did ail.
+
+Janet has kilted her green kirtle
+  A little aboon her knee,
+And she has snooded her yellow hair
+  A little aboon her bree,
+And she's awa to Carterhaugh,
+  As fast as she can hie.
+
+She hadna pu'd a rose, a rose,
+  A rose but barely twae,
+When up there started young Tamlane,
+  Says, "Lady, thou pu's nae mae."
+
+"Now ye maun tell the truth," she said,
+  A word ye maunna lie;
+O, were ye ever in haly chapel,
+  Or sained in Christentie?"
+
+"The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet,
+  A word I winna lie;
+I was ta'en to the good church-door,
+  And sained as well as thee.
+
+"Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,
+  Dunbar, Earl March, was thine;
+We loved when we were children small,
+  Which yet you well may mind.
+
+"When I was a boy just turned of nine,
+  My uncle sent for me,
+To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,
+  And keep him companie.
+
+"There came a wind out of the north,
+  A sharp wind and a snell,
+And a dead sleep came over me,
+  And frae my horse I fell;
+The Queen of Fairies she was there,
+  And took me to hersell.
+
+"And we, that live in Fairy-land,
+  Nae sickness know nor pain;
+I quit my body when I will,
+  And take to it again.
+
+"I quit my body when I please,
+  Or unto it repair;
+We can inhabit at our ease
+  In either earth or air.
+
+"Our shapes and size we can convert
+  To either large or small;
+An old nut-shell's the same to us
+  As is the lofty hall.
+
+"We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet,
+  We revel in the stream;
+We wanton lightly on the wind,
+  Or glide on a sunbeam.
+
+"And never would I tire, Janet,
+  In fairy-land to dwell;
+But aye, at every seven years,
+  They pay the teind to hell;
+And I'm sae fat and fair of flesh,
+  I fear 'twill be mysell!
+
+"The morn at e'en is Hallowe'en;
+  Our fairy court will ride,
+Through England and through Scotland baith,
+  And through the warld sae wide,
+And if that ye wad borrow me,
+  At Miles Cross ye maun bide.
+
+"And ye maun gae to the Miles Cross,
+  Between twelve hours and one,
+Tak' haly water in your hand,
+  And cast a compass roun'."
+
+"But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane,
+  And how shall I thee knaw,
+Amang the throng o' fairy folk,
+  The like I never saw?"
+
+"The first court that comes alang,
+  Ye'll let them a' pass by;
+The neist court that comes alang
+  Salute them reverently.
+
+"The third court that comes alang
+  Is clad in robes o' green,
+And it's the head court of them a',
+  And in it rides the Queen.
+
+"And I upon a milk-white steed,
+  Wi' a gold star in my croun;
+Because I am a christen'd knight
+  They give me that renoun.
+
+'First let pass the black, Janet,
+  And syne let pass the broun,
+But grip ye to the milk-white steed,
+  And pu' the rider doun.
+
+"My right hand will be glov'd, Janet,
+  My left hand will be bare,
+And thae's the tokens I gie thee;
+  Nae doubt I will be there.
+
+"Ye'll seize upon me with a spring,
+  And to the ground I'll fa',
+And then you'll hear an elrish cry
+  That Tamlane is awa'.
+
+"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
+  An adder and a snake;
+But haud me fast, let me not pass,
+  Gin ye would be my maik.
+
+"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
+  An adder and an aske;
+They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
+  A bale that burns fast.
+
+"They'll shape me in your arms, Janet,
+  A dove, but and a swan:
+And last they'll shape me in your arms
+  A mother-naked man:
+Cast your green mantle over me--
+  And sae shall I be wan!"
+
+Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
+  And eerie was the way,
+As fair Janet, in her green mantle,
+  To Miles Cross she did gae.
+
+About the dead hour o' the night
+  She heard the bridles ring,
+And Janet was as glad o' that
+  As ony earthly thing.
+
+There's haly water in her hand,
+  She casts a compass round;
+And straight she sees a fairy band
+  Come riding o'er the mound.
+
+And first gaed by the black, black steed,
+  And then gaed by the broun;
+But fast she gript the milk-white steed,
+  And pu'd the rider doun.
+
+She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed,
+  And loot the bridle fa';
+And up there raise an elrish cry;
+  "He's won amang us a'!"
+
+They shaped him in fair Janet's arms
+  An aske, but and an adder;
+She held him fast in every shape,
+  To be her ain true lover.
+
+They shaped him in her arms at last
+  A mother-naked man,
+She cuist her mantle over him,
+  And sae her true love wan.
+
+Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,
+  Out of a bush o' broom:
+"She that has borrowed young Tamlane,
+  Has gotten a stately groom!"
+
+Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,
+  Out of a bush of rye:
+"She's ta'en away the bonniest knight
+  In a' my companie!
+
+"But had I kenned, Tamlane," she says,
+  "A lady wad borrow thee,
+I wad hae ta'en out thy twa gray e'en,
+  Put in twa e'en o' tree!
+
+"Had I but kenned, Tamlane," she says,
+  "Before ye came frae hame,
+I wad hae ta'en out your heart of flesh,
+  Put in a heart o' stane!
+
+"Had I but had the wit yestreen
+  That I hae coft this day,
+I'd hae paid my teind seven times to hell,
+  Ere you'd been won away!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+TRUE THOMAS.
+
+True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
+  A ferlie he spied with his e'e;
+And there he saw a ladye bright,
+  Come riding down by the Eildon tree.
+
+Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
+  Her mantle o' the velvet fine,
+At ilka tett of her horse's mane,
+  Hung fifty siller bells and nine.
+
+True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
+  And louted low down to his knee;
+"All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
+  For thy peer on earth I never did see."
+
+"O no, O no, Thomas," she said,
+  "That name does not belang to me;
+I'm but the Queen of fair Elfland,
+  That hither am come to visit thee!
+
+"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said,
+  "Harp and carp alang wi' me;
+And if ye daur to kiss my lips,
+  Sure of your bodie I shall be!"
+
+"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
+  That weird shall never daunton me!"
+Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
+  All underneath the Eildon tree.
+
+"Now ye maun go wi' me," she said,
+  "True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;
+And ye maun serve me seven years,
+  Through weal or woe as may chance to be."
+
+She's mounted on her milk-white steed,
+  She's ta'en True Thomas up behind;
+And aye, whene'er her bridle rang,
+  The steed gaed swifter than the wind.
+
+O they rade on, and further on,
+  The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
+Until they reached a desert wide,
+  And living land was left behind.
+
+"Light down, light down now, Thomas," she said,
+  "And lean your head upon my knee;
+Light down, and rest a little space,
+  And I will show you ferlies three.
+
+"O see ye na that braid braid road,
+  That stretches o'er the lily leven?
+That is the path of wickedness,
+  Though some call it the road to heaven.
+
+"And see ye na yon narrow road,
+  Sae thick beset wi' thorns and briers?
+That is the path of righteousness,
+  Though after it but few enquires.
+
+"And see ye na yon bonny road,
+  That winds about the ferny brae?
+That is the way to fair Elfland,
+  Where you and I this night maun gae.
+
+"But, Thomas, ye maun hauld your tongue,
+  Whatever you may hear or see;
+For if ye speak word in Elfin land,
+  Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie!"
+
+O they rade on, and further on,
+  And they waded through rivers aboon the knee,
+And they saw neither sun nor moon,
+  But they heard the roaring of a sea.
+
+It was mirk mirk night, there was nae stern-light,
+  And they waded through red blude to the knee;
+For a' the blude that's shed on earth,
+  Kins through the springs o' that countrie.
+
+Syne they came to a garden green,
+  And she pu'd an apple frae a tree--
+"Take this for thy wages, True Thomas;
+  It will give thee the tongue that can never lie!"
+
+"My tongue is my ain!" True Thomas he said,
+  "A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!
+I neither douglit to buy nor sell,
+  At fair or tryste where I may be.
+
+"I dought neither speak to prince nor peer,
+  Nor ask for grace from fair ladye!"
+"Now hauld thy tongue, Thomas!" she said
+  "For as I say, so must it be."
+
+He has gotten a coat of the even claith,
+  And a pair o' shoon of the velvet green;
+And till seven years were come and gane,
+  True Thomas on earth was never seen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE ELFIN KNIGHT.
+
+The Elfin knight stands on yon hill;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Blawing his horn baith loud and shrill,
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"If I had the horn that I hear blawn,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And the bonnie knight that blaws the horn!"
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+She had na sooner thae words said;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Than the Elfin knight cam' to her side:
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"Thou art too young a maid," quoth he,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+"Married wi' me you ill wad be."
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"I hae a sister younger than me;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And she was married yesterday."
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"Married to me ye shall be nane;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Till ye mak' me a sark without a seam;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun shape it, knifeless, sheerless,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye maun sew it, needle-threedless;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun wash it within a well,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Whaur dew never wat, nor rain ever fell,
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun dry it upon a thorn,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+That never budded sin' Adam was born."
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"O gin that kindness I do for thee;
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+There's something ye maun do for me.
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"I hae an acre o' gude lea-land,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Between the saut sea and the strand;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"Ye'll plough it wi' your blawing horn,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye will sow it wi' pepper corn,
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun harrow't wi' a single tyne,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And shear it wi' a sheep's shank bane;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And bigg a cart o' lime and stane,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And Robin Redbreast maun trail it hame,
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun barn it in a mouse-hole,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye maun thresh it in your shoe sole;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun winnow it wi' your loof,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye maun sack it in your glove;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"And ye maun dry it, but candle or coal,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+And ye maun grind it, but quern or mill;
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+"When ye hae done, and finish'd your wark,
+  (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
+Then come to me, and ye'se get your sark!"
+  (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT.
+
+There cam' a bird out o' a bush,
+  On water for to dine,
+An' sighing sair, says the king's daughter,
+  "O wae's this heart o' mine!"
+
+He's taen a harp into his hand,
+  He's harped them all asleep,
+Except it was the king's daughter,
+  Who ae wink couldna get.
+
+He's luppen on his berry-brown steed,
+  Taen 'er on behind himsell,
+Then baith rede down to that water
+  That they ca' Wearie's Well.
+
+"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
+  Nae harm shall thee befall;
+Aft times hae I water'd my steed
+  Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."
+
+The first step that she stepped in,
+  She stepped to the knee;
+And sighing sair, says this lady fair,
+  "This water's nae for me."
+
+"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
+  Nae harm shall thee befall;
+Aft times hae I water'd my steed
+  Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."
+
+The neist step that she stepped in,
+  She stepped to the middle;
+"O," sighend says this lady fair,
+  "I've wat my gowden girdle."
+
+"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
+  Nae harm shall thee befall;
+Aft times hae I water'd my steed
+  Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."
+
+The neist step that she stepped in,
+  She stepped to the chin;
+"O," sighend says this lady fair,
+  "I'll wade nae farer in."
+
+"Seven king's-daughters I've drownd here,
+  In the water o' Wearie's Well,
+And I'll mak' you the eight o' them,
+  And ring the common bell."
+
+"Sin' I am standing here," she says,
+  "This dowie death to die,
+Ae kiss o' your comely mouth
+  I'm sure wad comfort me."
+
+He's louted him o'er his saddle bow,
+  To kiss her cheek and chin;
+She's taen him in her arms twa,
+  An' thrown him headlong in.
+
+"Sin' seven king's-daughters ye've drownd here,
+  In the water o' Wearie's Well,
+I'll mak' you bridegroom to them a',
+  An' ring the bell mysell."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+TOM THUMBE.
+
+In Arthurs court Tom Thumbe did live,
+  A man of mickle might,
+The best of all the table round,
+  And eke a doughty knight:
+
+His stature but an inch in height,
+  Or quarter of a span;
+Then thinke you not this little knight,
+  Was prov'd a valiant man?
+
+His father was a plow-man plaine,
+  His mother milkt the cow,
+But yet the way to get a sonne
+  This couple knew not how,
+
+Untill such time this good old man
+  To learned Merlin goes,
+And there to him his deepe desires
+  In secret manner showes,
+
+How in his heart he wisht to have
+  A childe, in time to come,
+To be his heire, though it might be
+  No bigger than his Thumbe.
+
+Of which old Merlin thus foretold,
+  That he his wish should have,
+And so this sonne of stature small
+  The charmer to him gave.
+
+No blood nor bones in him should be,
+  In shape and being such,
+That men should heare him speake, but not
+  His wandring shadow touch:
+
+But all unseene to goe or come
+  Whereas it pleasd him still;
+And thus King Arthurs Dwarfe was born,
+  To fit his fathers will:
+
+And in foure minutes grew so fast,
+  That he became so tall
+As was the plowmans thumbe in height,
+  And so they did him call
+
+Tom Thumbe, the which the Fayry-Queene
+  There gave him to his name,
+Who, with her traine of Goblins grim,
+  Unto his christning came.
+
+Whereas she cloath'd him richly brave,
+  In garments fine and faire,
+Which lasted him for many yeares
+  In seemely sort to weare.
+
+His hat made of an oaken leafe,
+  His shirt a spiders web,
+Both light and soft for those his limbes
+  That were so smally bred;
+
+His hose and doublet thistle downe,
+  Togeather weav'd full fine;
+His stockins of an apple greene,
+  Made of the outward rine;
+
+His garters were two little haires,
+  Pull'd from his mothers eye,
+His bootes and shooes a mouses skin,
+  There tand most curiously.
+
+Thus, like a lustie gallant, he
+  Adventured forth to goe,
+With other children in the streets
+  His pretty trickes to show.
+
+Where he for counters, pinns, and points,
+  And cherry stones did play,
+Till he amongst those gamesters young
+  Had loste his stocke away,
+
+Yet could he soone renew the same,
+  When as most nimbly he
+Would dive into their cherry-baggs,
+  And there partaker be,
+
+Unseene or felt by any one,
+  Untill a scholler shut
+This nimble youth into a boxe,
+  Wherein his pins he put.
+
+Of whom to be reveng'd, he tooke
+  (In mirth and pleasant game)
+Black pots, and glasses, which he hung
+  Upon a bright sunne-beam.
+
+The other boyes to doe the like,
+  In pieces broke them quite;
+For which they were most soundly whipt,
+  Whereat he laught outright.
+
+And so Tom Thumbe restrained was
+  From these his sports and play,
+And by his mother after that
+  Compel'd at home to stay.
+
+Whereas about a Christmas time,
+  His father a hog had kil'd,
+And Tom would see the puddings made,
+  For fear they should be spil'd.
+
+He sate upon the pudding-boule,
+  The candle for to hold;
+Of which there is unto this day
+  A pretty pastime told:
+
+For Tom fell in, and could not be
+  For ever after found,
+For in the blood and batter he
+  Was strangely lost and drownd.
+
+Where searching long, but all in vaine,
+  His mother after that
+Into a pudding thrust her sonne,
+  Instead of minced fat.
+
+Which pudding of the largest size
+  Into the kettle throwne,
+Made all the rest to fly thereout,
+  As with a whirle-wind blowne.
+
+For so it tumbled up and downe,
+  Within the liquor there,
+As if the devill had been boiled;
+  Such was his mothers feare,
+
+That up she took the pudding strait.
+  And gave it at the door
+Unto a tinker, which from thence
+  In his blacke budget bore.
+
+From which Tom Thumbe got loose at last
+  And home return'd againe:
+Where he from following dangers long
+  In safety did remaine.
+
+Now after this, in sowing time,
+  His father would him have
+Into the field to drive his plow,
+  And thereupon him gave
+
+A whip made of a barly straw
+  To drive the cattle on:
+Where, in a furrow'd land new sowne,
+  Poore Tom was lost and gon.
+
+Now by a raven of great strength
+  Away he thence was borne,
+And carried in the carrions beake
+  Even like a graine of corne,
+
+Unto a giants castle top,
+  In which he let him fall,
+Where soone the giant swallowed up
+  His body, cloathes and all.
+
+But in his stomach did Tom Thumbe
+  So great a rumbling make,
+That neither day nor night he could
+  The smallest quiet take,
+
+Untill the giant had him spewd
+  Three miles into the sea,
+Whereas a fish soone tooke him up
+  And bore him thence away.
+
+Which lusty fish was after caught
+  And to king Arthur sent,
+Where Tom was found, and made his dwarfe,
+  Whereas his dayes he spent
+
+Long time in lively jollity,
+  Belov'd of all the court,
+And none like Tom was then esteem'd
+  Among the noble sort.
+
+Amongst his deedes of courtship done,
+  His highnesse did command,
+That he should dance a galliard brave
+  Upon his queenes left hand.
+
+The which he did, and for the same
+  The king his signet gave,
+Which Tom about his middle wore
+  Long time a girdle brave.
+
+Now after this the king would not
+  Abroad for pleasure goe,
+But still Tom Thumbe must ride with him,
+  Plac'd on his saddle-bow.
+
+Where on a time when as it rain'd,
+  Tom Thumbe most nimbly crept
+In at a button hole, where he
+  Within his bosome slept.
+
+And being neere his highnesse heart,
+  He crav'd a wealthy boone,
+A liberall gift, the which the king
+  Commanded to be done,
+
+For to relieve his fathers wants,
+  And mothers, being old;
+Which was so much of silver coin
+  As well his armes could hold.
+
+And so away goes lusty Tom,
+  With three pence on his backe,
+A heavy burthen, which might make
+  His wearied limbes to cracke.
+
+So travelling two dayes and nights,
+  With labour and great paine,
+He came into the house whereas
+  His parents did remaine;
+
+Which was but halfe a mile in space
+  From good king Arthurs court,
+The which in eight and forty houres
+  He went in weary sort.
+
+But comming to his fathers doore,
+  He there such entrance had
+As made his parents both rejoice,
+  And he thereat was glad.
+
+His mother in her apron tooke
+  Her gentle sonne in haste,
+And by the fier side, within
+  A walnut shell, him plac'd:
+
+Whereas they feasted him three dayes
+  Upon a hazell nut,
+Whereon he rioted so long
+  He them to charges put;
+
+And thereupon grew wonderous sicke,
+  Through eating too much meate,
+Which was sufficient for a month
+  For this great man to eate.
+
+But now his businesse call'd him foorth,
+  King Arthurs court to see,
+Whereas no longer from the same
+  He could a stranger be.
+
+But yet a few small April drops,
+  Which settled in the way,
+His long and weary journey forth
+  Did hinder and so stay.
+
+Until his carefull father tooke
+  A hollow straw in sport,
+And with one blast blew this his sonne
+  Into king Arthurs court.
+
+Now he with tilts and turnaments
+  Was entertained so,
+That all the best of Arthurs knights
+  Did him much pleasure show.
+
+As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake,
+  Sir Tristram, and sir Guy;
+Yet none compar'd with brave Tom Thum,
+  In knightly chivalry.
+
+In honor of which noble day,
+  And for his ladies sake,
+A challenge in king Arthurs court
+  Tom Thumbe did bravely make.
+
+Gainst whom these noble knights did run,
+  Sir Chinon and the rest,
+Yet still Tom Thumbe with matchles might
+  Did beare away the best.
+
+He likewise cleft the smallest haire
+  From his faire ladies head,
+Not hurting her whose even hand
+  Him lasting honors bred.
+
+Such were his deeds and noble acts
+  In Arthurs court there showne,
+As like in all the world beside
+  Was hardly seene or knowne.
+
+Now at these sports he toyld himselfe
+  That he a sicknesse tooke,
+Through which all manly exercise
+  He carelesly forsooke.
+
+Where lying on his bed sore sicke,
+  King Arthurs doctor came,
+With cunning skill, by physicks art,
+  To ease and cure the same.
+
+His body being so slender small,
+  This cunning doctor tooke
+A fine prospective glasse, with which
+  He did in secret looke
+
+Into his sickened body downe,
+  And therein saw that Death
+Stood ready in his wasted guts
+  To sease his vitall breath.
+
+His armes and leggs consum'd as small
+  As was a spiders web,
+Through which his dying houre grew on,
+  For all his limbes grew dead.
+
+His face no bigger than an ants,
+  Which hardly could be seene:
+The losse of which renowned knight
+  Much griev'd the king and queene.
+
+And so with peace and quietnesse
+  He left this earth below;
+And up into the Fayry Land
+  His ghost did fading goe.
+
+Whereas the Fayry Queene receiv'd
+  With heavy mourning cheere,
+The body of this valiant knight
+  Whom she esteem'd so deere.
+
+For with her dancing nymphes in greene,
+  She fetcht him from his bed,
+With musicke and sweet melody
+  So soone as life was fled:
+
+For whom king Arthur and his knights
+  Full forty daies did mourne;
+And, in remembrance of his name
+  That was so strangely borne,
+
+He built a tomb of marble gray,
+  And yeare by yeare did come
+To celebrate the mournefull day,
+  And buriall of Tom Thum.
+
+Whose fame still lives in England here,
+  Amongst the countrey sort;
+Of whom our wives and children small
+  Tell tales of pleasant sport.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+KEMPION.
+
+Her mither died when she was young,
+  Which gave her cause to make great moan;
+Her father married the warse woman
+  That ever lived in Christendom.
+
+She served her well wi' foot and hand,
+  In everything that, she could dee;
+But her stepmither hated her warse and warse,
+  And a powerful wicked witch was she.
+
+"Come hither, come hither, ye cannot choose;
+  And lay your head low on my knee;
+The heaviest weird I will you read
+  That ever was read to gay ladye.
+
+"Mickle dolour sail ye dree
+  When o'er the saut seas maun ye swim;
+And far mair dolour sail ye dree
+  When up to Estmere Crags ye climb.
+
+"I weird ye be a fiery snake;
+  And borrowed sall ye never be,
+Till Kempion, the kingis son,
+  Come to the crag and thrice kiss thee.
+Until the warld comes to an end,
+  Borrowed sall ye never be!"
+
+O mickle dolour did she dree,
+  And aye the saut seas o'er she swam;
+And far mair dolour did she dree
+  On Estmere Crags, when up she clamb.
+
+And aye she cried on Kempion,
+  Gin he would but come to her han':--
+Now word has gane to Kempion,
+  That siccan a beast was in the lan'.
+
+"Now by my sooth," said Kempion,
+  "This fiery beast I'll gang and see."
+"An' by my sooth," said Segramour,
+  "My ae brither, I'll gang wi' thee."
+
+They twa hae biggit a bonny boat,
+  And they hae set her to the sea;
+But a mile afore they reach'd the shore,
+  Around them 'gan the red fire flee.
+
+The worm leapt out, the worm leapt down,
+  She plaited nine times round stock and stane;
+And aye as the boat cam' to the beach,
+  O she hae strickit it aff again.
+
+"Min' how you steer, my brither dear:
+  Keep further aff!" said Segramour;
+"She'll drown us deep in the saut, saut sea,
+  Or burn us sair, if we come on shore."
+
+Syne Kempion has bent an arblast bow,
+  And aimed an arrow at her head;
+And swore, if she didna quit the shore,
+  Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.
+
+"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
+  Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee,
+Till Kempion, the kingis son,
+  Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."
+
+He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag,
+  And he has gi'en that beast a kiss:
+In she swang, and again she cam',
+  And aye her speech was a wicked hiss.
+
+"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
+  An' not for a' thy bow nor thee,
+Till Kempion, the kingis son,
+  Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."
+
+He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag,
+  And he has gi'en her kisses twa;
+In she swang, and again she cam',
+  The fieriest beast that ever you saw.
+
+"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
+  Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee,
+Till Kempion, the kingis son,
+  Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."
+
+He's louted him o'er the lofty crag,
+  And he has gi'en her kisses three;
+In she swang, a loathly worm;
+  An' out she stepped, a fair ladye.
+
+Nae cleeding had this lady fair,
+  To keep her body frae the cold;
+But Kempion took his mantle aff,
+  And around his ain true love did fold.
+
+"An' by my sooth," says Kempion,
+  "My ain true love!--for this is she,--
+They surely had a heart o' stane,
+  Could put thee to this misery.
+
+"O was it wer-wolf in the wood,
+  Or was it mermaid in the sea,
+Or wicked man, or wile woman,
+  My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee?"
+
+"It was na wer-wolf in the wood,
+  Nor was it mermaid in the sea;
+But it was my wicked stepmither,
+  And wae and weary may she be!"
+
+"O a heavier weird light her upon
+  Than ever fell on wile woman!
+Her hair sall grow rough, an' her teeth grow lang,
+  An' aye upon four feet maun she gang."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+ALISON GROSS.
+
+O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tower,
+  The ugliest witch in the north countrie,
+Has trysted me ae day up till her bower,
+  And mony fair speech she made to me.
+
+She straiked my head, and she kaim'd my hair,
+  And she set me down saftly on her knee;
+Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
+  Sae mony braw things as I wad you gie."
+
+She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet,
+  Wi' gowden flowers and fringes fine;
+Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
+  This gudely gift it sall be thine."
+
+"Awa', awa', ye ugly witch!
+  Haud far awa', and lat me be;
+I never will be your lemman sae true,
+  And I wish I were out o' your companie."
+
+She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk,
+  Weel wrought wi' pearls about the band;
+Says, "Gin ye will be my ain true-love,
+  This gudely gift ye sall command."
+
+She shaw'd me a cup o' the gude red gowd,
+  Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see;
+Says, "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
+  This gudely gift I will you gie."
+
+"Awa', awa', ye ugly witch!
+  Haud far awa', and lat me be;
+For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth
+  For a' the gifts that you could gie."
+
+She's turn'd her richt and round about,
+  And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn;
+And she sware by the moon, and the stars
+  That she'd gar me rue the day I was born.
+
+Then out she has ta'en a silver wand,
+  And she's turn'd her three times round and round;
+She's muttered sic words, that my strength it fail'd,
+  And I fell down senseless on the ground.
+
+She's turned me into an ugly worm,
+  And gar'd me toddle about the tree;
+And ay, on ilka Saturday's night,
+  Auld Alison Gross, she cam' to me,
+
+Wi' silver basin, and silver kaim,
+  To kaim my headie upon her knee;
+But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth,
+  I'd rather hae toddled about the tree.
+
+But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en,
+  When the Seely Court was ridin' by,
+The Queen lighted down on a gowan bank,
+  Nae far frae the tree where I wont to lye.
+
+She took me up in her milk-white hand,
+  And she straiked me three times o'er her knee;
+She changed me again to my ain proper shape,
+  And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL.
+
+There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
+  And a wealthy wife was she;
+She had three stout and stalwart sons,
+  And sent them o'er the sea.
+
+They hadna been a week from her,
+  A week but barely ane,
+When word cam' to the carline wife,
+  That her three sons were gane.
+
+They hadna been a week from her,
+  A week but barely three,
+When word cam' to the carline wife,
+  That her sons she'd never see.
+
+"I wish the wind may never cease,
+  Nor fashes in the flood,
+Till my three sons come hame to me,
+  In earthly flesh and blood!"
+
+It fell about the Martinmas,
+  When nights are lang and mirk,
+The carline wife's three sons cam' hame,
+  And their hats were o' the birk.
+
+It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
+  Nor yet in ony sheugh;
+But at the gates o' Paradise,
+  That birk grew fair eneugh.
+
+"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine,
+  Bring water from the well!
+For a' my house shall feast this night,
+  Sin' my three sons are well."
+
+And she has made to them a bed,
+  She's made it large and wide;
+And she's happed her mantle them about,
+  Sat down at the bed-side.
+
+Up then crew the red red cock,
+  And up and crew the gray;
+The eldest to the youngest said,
+  "'Tis time we were away."
+
+"The cock doth, craw, the day doth daw,
+  The channerin' worm doth chide;
+Gin we be miss'd out o' our place,
+  A sair pain we maun bide."
+
+"Lie still, lie still a little wee while,
+  Lie still but if we may;
+Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
+  She'll go mad ere it be day."
+
+O it's they've ta'en up their mother's mantle,
+  And they've hangd it on the pin:
+"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle,
+  Ere ye hap us again!
+
+'Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear!
+  Fareweel to barn and byre!
+And fare-ye-weel, the bonny lass,
+  That kindles my mother's fire."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.
+
+This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+When thou from hence away art paste,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+Sit thee down and put them on,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at last,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+To Purgatory Fire thou comest at last,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If ever thou gavest meate or drinke,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+The fire shall never make thee shrinke,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If meate or drinke thou ne'er gav'st nane,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+The fire will burne thee to the bare bane,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+  Everie nighte and alle,
+Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte,
+  And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+PROUD LADY MARGARET.
+
+'Twas on a night, an evening bright,
+  When the dew began to fa',
+Lady Margaret was walkin' up and doun,
+  Looking ower the castle wa'.
+
+She lookit east, she lookit west,
+  To see what she could spy,
+When a gallant knight cam' in her sight,
+  And to the gate drew nigh.
+
+"God mak' you safe and free, fair maid,
+  God mak' you safe and free!"
+"O sae fa' you, ye stranger knight,
+  What is your will wi' me?"
+
+"It's I am come to this castle,
+  To seek the love o' thee;
+And if ye grant me not your love
+  All for your sake I'll die."
+
+"If ye should die for me, young man,
+  There's few for ye will maen;
+For mony a better has died for me,
+  Whose graves are growing green."
+
+"O winna ye pity me, fair maid,
+  O winna ye pity me?
+Hae pity for a courteous knight,
+  Whose love is laid on thee."
+
+"Ye say ye are a courteous knight,
+  But I misdoubt ye sair;
+I think ye're but a miller lad,
+  By the white clothes ye wear.
+
+"But ye maun read my riddle," she said,
+  "And answer me questions three;
+And but ye read them richt," she said,
+  "Gae stretch ye out and die.
+
+"What is the fairest flower, tell me,
+  That grows on muir or dale?
+And what is the bird, the bonnie bird,
+  Sings next the nightingale?
+And what is the finest thing," she says,
+  "That king or queen can wale?"
+
+"The primrose is the fairest flower,
+  That springs on muir or dale;
+
+The mavis is the sweetest bird
+  Next to the nightingale;
+And yellow gowd's the finest thing,
+  That king or queen can wale."
+
+"But what is the little coin," she said,
+  "Wad buy my castle boun'?
+And what's the little boat," she said,
+  "Can sail the warld all roun'?"
+
+"O hey, how mony small pennies
+  Mak' thrice three thousand poun'?
+O hey, how mony small fishes
+  Swim a' the saut sea roun'?"
+
+"I think ye are my match," she said,
+  "My match, an' something mair;
+Ye are the first ere got the grant
+  Of love frae my father's heir.
+
+"My father was lord o' nine castles,
+  My mither lady o' three;
+My father was lord o' nine castles,
+  And there's nane to heir but me,
+Unless it be Willie, my ae brither,
+  But he's far ayont the sea."
+
+"If your father's lord o' nine castles,
+  Your mither lady o' three;
+It's I am Willie, your ae brither,
+  Was far ayont the sea."
+
+"If ye be my brither Willie," she said,
+  "As I doubt sair ye be,
+This nicht I'll neither eat nor drink,
+  But gae alang wi' thee."
+
+"Ye've owre ill-washen feet, Margaret,
+  And owre ill-washen hands,
+And owre coarse robes on your body,
+  Alang wi' me to gang.
+
+"The worms they are my bedfellows,
+  And the cauld clay my sheet,
+And the higher that the wind does blaw,
+  The sounder do I sleep.
+
+"My body's buried in Dunfermline,
+  Sae far ayont the sea:
+But day nor night nae rest can I get,
+  A' for the pride of thee.
+
+"Leave aff your pride, Margaret," he says;
+  "Use it not ony mair,
+Or, when ye come where I hae been,
+  Ye will repent it sair.
+
+"Cast aff, cast aff, sister," he says,
+  "The gowd band frae your croun;
+For if ye gang where I hae been,
+  Ye'll wear it laigher doun.
+
+"When ye are in the gude kirk set,
+  The gowd pins in your hair,
+Ye tak' mair delight in your feckless dress,
+  Than in your mornin' prayer.
+
+"And when ye walk in the kirkyard,
+  And in your dress are seen,
+There is nae lady that spies your face,
+  But wishes your grave were green.
+
+"Ye're straight and tall, handsome withal,
+  But your pride owergangs your wit;
+If ye do not your ways refrain,
+  In Pirie's chair ye'll sit.
+
+"In Pirie's chair ye'll sit, I say,
+  The lowest seat in hell;
+If ye do not amend your ways,
+  It's there that ye maun dwell!"
+
+Wi' that he vanished frae her sight,
+  In the twinking of an eye;
+And naething mair the lady saw
+  But the gloomy clouds and sky.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE.
+
+There were twa sisters lived in a bower;
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+The youngest o' them, O she was a flower,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+There cam' a squire frae the west,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The eldest she was vexed sair,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And sore envied her sister fair,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The eldest said to the youngest ane,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+"Will ye see our father's ships come in?"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+She's ta'en her by the lily hand;
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And led her down to the river strand,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The youngest stood upon a stane;
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+The eldest cam' and pushed her in,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"O sister, sister, reach your hand,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And ye shall be heir of half my land,"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"O sister, I'll not reach my hand,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And I'll be the heir of all your land;
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"Shame fa' the hand that I should take,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+It has twined me and my world's make;"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"O sister, sister, reach your glove,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And sweet William shall be your love;"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And sweet William shall be mair my love,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"Your cherry cheeks, and your yellow hair,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+Had gar'd me gang maiden ever mair,"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+Until she cam' to the miller's dam;
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The miller's daughter was baking bread,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And gaed for water as she had need,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"O father, father, draw your dam!
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+For there is a lady or milk-white swan,"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+The miller hasted and drew his dam,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And there he found a drown'd woman,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+Ye couldna see her yellow hair,
+  Birmorie, O Binnorie;
+For gowd and pearls that were sae rare;
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+Ye couldna see her middle sma',
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+Her gowden girdle was sae braw,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+Ye couldna see her lilie feet,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+Her gowden fringes were sae deep,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+"Sair will they be, whae'er they be,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+The hearts that live to weep for thee!"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+There cam' a harper passing by,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+The sweet pale face he chanced to spy,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+And when he looked that lady on,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+He sighed and made a heavy moan,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+He has ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And wi' them strung his harp sae rare,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+He brought the harp to her father's hall;
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And there was the court assembled all;
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+He set the harp upon a stane,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie;
+And it began to play alane,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+And sune the harp sang loud and clear,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie!
+"Farewell, my father and mither dear!"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+And neist when the harp began to sing,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie!
+'Twas "Farewell, sweetheart!" said the string,
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+And then as plain as plain could be,
+  Binnorie, O Binnorie!
+"There sits my sister wha drowned me!"
+  By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+THE DEMON LOVEE.
+
+"O, where hae ye been, my lang-lost love,
+  This lang seven years an' more?"
+"O, I'm come to seek my former vows
+  Ye granted me before."
+
+"O, haud your tongue o' your former vows,
+  For they'll breed bitter strife;
+O, haud your tongue o' your former vows,
+  For I am become a wife."
+
+He turned him right an' round about,
+  And the tear blinded his e'e;
+"I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground
+  If it hadna been for thee.
+
+"I might hae had a king's daughter
+  Far, far ayont the sea,
+I might hae had a king's daughter,
+  Had it nae been for love o' thee."
+
+"If ye might hae had a king's daughter,
+  Yoursel' ye hae to blame;
+Ye might hae taken the king's daughter,
+  For ye kenn'd that I was nane."
+
+"O fause be the vows o' womankind,
+  But fair is their fause bodie;
+I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground
+  Had it nae been for love o' thee."
+
+"If I was to leave my husband dear,
+  And my twa babes also,
+O where is it ye would tak' me to,
+  If I with thee should go?"
+
+"I hae seven ships upon the sea,
+  The eighth brouct me to land,
+Wi' four-and-twenty bold mariners,
+  And music of ilka hand."
+
+She has taken up her twa little babes,
+  Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin;
+"O fare ye weel, my ain twa babes,
+  For I'll never see you again."
+
+She set her foot upon the ship,
+  No mariners could she behold;
+But the sails were o' the taffetie,
+  And the masts o' the beaten gold.
+
+"O how do you love the ship?" he said,
+  "O how do you love the sea?
+And how do you love the bold mariners
+  That wait upon thee and me?"
+
+"O I do love the ship," she said,
+  "And I do love the sea;
+But wae to the dim mariners
+  That naewhere I can see!"
+
+They hadna sailed a league, a league,
+  A league but barely three,
+When dismal grew his countenance,
+  And drumly grew his e'e.
+
+The masts that were like the beaten gold,
+  Bent not on the heaving seas;
+The sails that were o' the taffetie
+  Fill'd not in the east land breeze.
+
+They hadna sailed a league, a league,
+  A league but barely three,
+Until she espied his cloven hoof,
+  And she wept right bitterlie.
+
+"O haud your tongue o' your weeping," he says:
+  "O' your weeping now let me be;
+I will show you how the lilies grow
+  On the banks of Italy."
+
+"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
+  That the sun shines sweetly on?"
+"O yon are the hills o' heaven," he said
+  "Where you will never won."
+
+"O what'n a mountain's yon," she said,
+  "Sae dreary wi' frost an' snow?"
+"O yon is the mountain o' hell," he cried,
+  "Where you and I maun go!"
+
+And aye when she turn'd her round about,
+  Aye taller he seemed for to be;
+Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
+  Nae taller were than he.
+
+He strack the tapmast wi' his hand,
+  The foremast wi' his knee;
+And he brak that gallant ship in twain,
+  And sank her i' the sea.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED.
+
+There was a knicht riding frae the east,
+  _Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree_.
+Who had been wooing at monie a place,
+  _As the dew flies ower the mulberry tree_.
+
+He cam' unto a widow's door,
+And speird whare her three dochters were.
+
+The auldest ane's to a washing gane,
+The second's to a baking gane.
+
+The youngest ane's to a wedding gane,
+And it will be nicht or she be hame.
+
+He sat him doun upon a stane,
+Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.
+
+The auldest ane she let him in,
+And pin'd the door wi' a siller pin.
+
+The second ane she made his bed,
+And laid saft pillows unto his head.
+
+The youngest ane was bauld and bricht,
+And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.
+
+"Gin ye will answer me questions ten,
+The morn ye sall be made my ain.
+
+"O what is heigher nor the tree?
+And what is deeper nor the sea?
+
+"Or what is heavier nor the lead?
+And what is better nor the breid?
+
+"O what is whiter nor the milk?
+Or what is safter nor the silk?
+
+"Or what is sharper nor a thorn?
+Or what is louder nor a horn?
+
+"Or what is greener nor the grass?
+Or what is waur nor a woman was?"
+
+"O heaven is higher nor the tree,
+And hell is deeper nor the sea.
+
+"O sin is heavier nor the lead,
+The blessing's better nor the breid.
+
+"The snaw is whiter nor the milk,
+And the down is safter nor the silk.
+
+"Hunger is sharper nor a thorn,
+And shame is louder nor a horn.
+
+"The pies are greener nor the grass,
+And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."
+
+As sune as she the fiend did name,
+  _Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree_,
+He flew awa in a blazing flame,
+  _As the dew files ower the mulberry tree_.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+
+BALLADS  OF TRADITION.
+
+
+SIR PATRICK SPENS.
+
+The King sits in Dunfermline toun,
+  Drinking the blude-red wine;
+"O whaur shall I get a skeely skipper,
+  To sail this gude ship of mine?"
+
+Then up an' spake an eldern knight,
+  Sat at the King's right knee;
+"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
+  That ever sailed the sea."
+
+The King has written a braid letter,
+  And seal'd it wi' his hand,
+And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens
+  Was walking on the sand.
+
+"To Noroway, to Noroway,
+  To Noroway o'er the faem;
+The King's daughter to Noroway,
+  It's thou maun tak' her hame."
+
+The first line that Sir Patrick read,
+  A loud laugh laughed he,
+The neist line that Sir Patrick read,
+  The tear blinded his e'e.
+
+"O wha is this hae dune this deed,
+  And tauld the King o' me,
+To send us out at this time o' the year
+  To sail upon the sea?
+
+"Be it wind or weet, be it hail or sleet,
+  Our ship maun sail the faem,
+The King's daughter to Noroway,
+  'Tis we maun tak' her hame."
+
+They hoisted their sails on Monday morn,
+  Wi' a' the speed they may;
+And they hae landed in Noroway
+  Upon the Wodensday.
+
+They hadna been a week, a week,
+  In Noroway but twae,
+When that the lords o' Noroway
+  Began aloud to say--
+
+"Ye Scotsmen spend a' our King's gowd,
+  And a' our Queenis fee."
+"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,
+  Sae loud's I hear ye lie!
+
+"For I brouct as mickle white monie,
+  As gane my men and me,
+And a half-fou o' the gude red gold,
+  Out owre the sea wi' me.
+
+"Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a',
+  Our gude ship sails the morn."
+"Now ever alack, my master dear,
+  I fear a deadly storm.
+
+"I saw the new moon late yestreen,
+  Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
+And I fear, I fear, my master dear,
+  That we sall come to harm!"
+
+They hadna sail'd a league, a league,
+  A league but barely three,
+When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
+  And gurly grew the sea.
+
+The ropes they brak, and the top-masts lap,
+  It was sic a deadly storm;
+And the waves cam' o'er the broken ship,
+  Till a' her sides were torn.
+
+"O whaur will I get a gude sailor
+  Will tak' the helm in hand,
+Until I win to the tall top-mast,
+  And see if I spy the land?"
+
+"It's here am I, a sailor gude,
+  Will tak' the helm in hand,
+Till ye win to the tall top-mast,
+  But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land."
+
+He hadna gane a step, a step,
+  A step but barely ane,
+When a bolt flew out of the gude ship's side,
+  And the saut sea it cam' in.
+
+"Gae, fetch a web of the silken claith,
+  Anither o' the twine,
+And wap them into the gude ship's side,
+  And let na the sea come in."
+
+They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
+  Anither o' the twine,
+And they wapp'd them into that gude ship's side,
+  But aye the sea cam' in.
+
+O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
+  To weet their cock-heeled shoon,
+But lang ere a' the play was o'er
+  They wat their hats abune.
+
+O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
+  To weet their milk-white hands,
+But lang ere a' the play was played
+  They wat their gouden bands.
+
+O lang, lang may the ladies sit,
+  Wi' their fans into their hand,
+Or ever they see Sir Patrick Spens
+  Come sailing to the land.
+
+O lang, lang may the maidens sit,
+  Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair,
+A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
+  For them they'll see nae mair.
+
+Half owre, half owre to Aberdour,
+  It's fifty fathom deep,
+And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
+  Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURNE.
+
+It fell about the Lammas tide,
+  When muirmen win their hay,
+That the doughty Earl of Douglas rade
+  Into England to fetch a prey.
+
+And he has ta'en the Lindsays light,
+  With them the Gordons gay;
+But the Jardines wad not with him ride,
+  And they rue it to this day.
+
+Then they hae harried the dales o' Tyne,
+  And half o' Bambrough-shire,
+And the Otter-dale they burned it haill,
+  And set it a' on fire.
+
+Then he cam' up to New Castel,
+  And rade it round about:
+"O who is the lord of this castel,
+  Or who is the lady o't?"
+
+But up and spake Lord Percy then,
+  And O but he spake hie:
+"It's I am the lord of this castel,
+  My wife is the lady gay."
+
+"If thou'rt the lord of this castel,
+  Sae weel it pleases me!
+For ere I cross the Border fell,
+  The tane of us shall dee."--
+
+He took a lang spear in his hand,
+  Shod with the metal free;
+And forth to meet the Douglas then,
+  He rade richt furiouslie.
+
+But O how pale his lady looked
+  Frae aff the castle wa',
+As doun before the Scottish spear
+  She saw proud Percy fa'!
+
+"Had we twa been upon the green,
+  And never an eye to see,
+I wad hae had you, flesh and fell,
+  But your sword shall gae wi' me."
+
+"Now gae up to the Otterburne,
+  And bide there dayis three,
+And gin I come not ere they end,
+  A fause knight ca' ye me!"
+
+"The Otterburne is a bonnie burn,
+  'Tis pleasant there to be;
+But there is nought at Otterburne
+  To feed my men and me.
+
+"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
+  The birds fly wild frae tree to tree;
+But there is neither bread nor kale,
+  To fend my men and me.
+
+"Yet I will stay at the Otterburne,
+  Where you shall welcome be;
+And, if ye come not at three dayis end,
+  A fause lord I'll ca' thee."
+
+"Thither will I come," Earl Percy said,
+  By the might of our Ladye!"
+"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas,
+  "My troth I plight to thee!"
+
+They lichted high on Otterburne,
+  Upon the bent sae broun;
+They lichted high on Otterburne,
+  And pitched their pallions doun.
+
+And he that had a bonnie boy,
+  He sent his horse to grass;
+And he that had not a bonnie boy,
+  His ain servant he was.
+
+Then up and spake a little boy,
+  Was near of Douglas' kin--
+"Methinks I see an English host
+  Come branking us upon!
+
+"Nine wargangs beiring braid and wide,
+  Seven banners beiring high;
+It wad do any living gude,
+  To see their colours fly!"
+
+"If this be true, my little boy,
+  That thou tells unto me,
+The brawest bower o' the Otterburne
+  Sall be thy morning fee.
+
+"But I hae dreamed a dreary dream,
+  Ayont the Isle o' Skye,--
+I saw a deid man win a fight,
+  And I think that man was I."
+
+He belted on his gude braid-sword,
+  And to the field he ran;
+But he forgot the hewmont strong,
+  That should have kept his brain.
+
+When Percy wi' the Douglas met,
+  I wot he was fu' fain:
+They swakkit swords, and they twa swat,
+  Till the blude ran down like rain.
+
+But Percy wi' his gude braid-sword,
+  That could sae sharply wound,
+Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
+  That he fell to the ground.
+
+And then he called his little foot-page,
+  And said--"Run speedilie,
+And fetch my ae dear sister's son,
+  Sir Hugh Montgomerie.
+
+"My nephew gude!" the Douglas said,
+  "What recks the death of ane?
+Last night I dreamed a dreary dream,
+  And ken the day's thy ain!
+
+"My wound is deep; I fain wad sleep!
+  Tak' thou the vanguard o' the three,
+And bury me by the bracken bush,
+  That grows on yonder lily lea.
+
+"O bury me by the bracken bush,
+  Beneath the blumin' brier;
+Let never living mortal ken
+  That a kindly Scot lies here!"
+
+He lifted up that noble lord,
+  Wi' the saut tear in his e'e;
+And he hid him by the bracken bush,
+  That his merry men might not see.
+
+The moon was clear, the day drew near,
+  The spears in flinders flew;
+And many a gallant Englishman
+  Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
+
+The Gordons gay, in English blude
+  They wat their hose and shoon;
+The Lindsays flew like fire about,
+  Till a' the fray was dune.
+
+The Percy and Montgomery met,
+  That either of other was fain;
+They swakkit swords, and sair they swat,
+  And the blude ran down between.
+
+"Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy!" he said,
+  Or else I will lay thee low!"
+"To whom maun I yield," Earl Percy said,
+  "Since I see that it maun be so?"
+
+"Thou shalt not yield to lord or loun,
+  Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
+But yield thee to the bracken-bush
+  That grows on yonder lily lea!"
+
+This deed was done at the Otterburne
+  About the breaking o' the day;
+Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush,
+  And the Percy led captive away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT.
+
+THE FIRST FIT.
+
+The Persè owt off Northombarlande,
+  And a vowe to God mayd he,
+That he wold hunte in the mountayns
+  Off Chyviat within days thre,
+In the mauger of doughtè Dogles,
+  And all that ever with him be.
+
+The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat
+  He sayd he wold kill, and cary them away:
+"Be my feth," sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn,
+  "I wyll let that hontyng, yf that I may."
+
+Then the Persè owt of Banborowe cam,
+  With him a myghtye meany;
+With fifteen hondrith archares bold;
+  The wear chosen owt of shyars thre.
+
+This begane on a monday at morn,
+  In Cheviat the hillys so he;
+The chyld may rue that ys un-born,
+  It was the mor pittè.
+
+The dryvars thorowe the woodès went,
+  For to reas the dear;
+Bomen byckarte uppone the bent
+  With ther browd aras cleare.
+
+Then the wyld thorowe the woodès went,
+  On every sydè shear;
+Grea-hondes thorowe the grevis glent,
+  For to kyll thear dear.
+
+The begane in Chyviat the hyls above,
+  Yerly on a monnynday;
+Be that it drewe to the oware off none,
+  A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.
+
+The blewe a mort uppone the bent,
+  The semblyd on sydis shear;
+To the quyrry then the Persè went
+  To se the bryttlynge off the deare.
+
+He sayd, "It was the Duglas promys
+  This day to meet me hear;
+But I wyste he wold faylle, verament:"
+  A gret oth the Persè swear.
+
+At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde
+  Lokyde at his hand full ny;
+He was war ath the doughetie Doglas comynge,
+  With him a myghtè meany;
+
+Both with spear, byll, and brande;
+  Yt was a myghti sight to se;
+Hardyar men both off hart nar hande
+  Wear not in Christiantè.
+
+The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good,
+  Withowtè any fayle;
+The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde,
+  Yth bowndes of Tividale.
+
+"Leave off the brytlyng of the dear," he sayde,
+  "And to your bowys lock ye tayk good heed;
+For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne
+  Had ye never so mickle need."
+
+The dougheti Dogglas on a stede
+  He rode aft his men beforne;
+His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede;
+  A bolder barne was never born.
+
+"Tell me what men ye ar," he says,
+  "Or whos men that ye be:
+Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays,
+In the spyt of me?"
+
+The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,
+  Yt was the good lord Persè:
+We wyll not tell the what men we ar," he says,
+  "Nor whos men that we be;
+But we wyll hount hear in this chays,
+  In the spyt of thyne and of the.
+
+"The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat
+  We have kyld, and cast to carry them a-way:
+"Be my troth," sayd the doughtè Dogglas agayn,
+  "Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day."
+
+Then sayd the doughtè Doglas
+  Unto the lord Persè:
+"To kyll all thes giltles men,
+  Alas, it were great pitte!
+
+"But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande,
+  I am a yerle callyd within my contrè;
+Let all our men uppone a parti stande,
+  And do the battell off the and of me."
+
+"Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne," sayd the lord Persè,
+  "Whosoever ther-to says nay;
+Be my troth, doughtè Doglas," he says,
+  "Thow shalt never se that day.
+
+"Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,
+  Nor for no man of a woman born,
+But, and fortune be my chance,
+  I dar met him, on man for on."
+
+Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,
+  Richard Wytharynton was him nam;
+"It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde," he says,
+  "To kyng Herry the fourth for sham.
+
+"I wat youe byn great lordes twaw,
+  I am a poor squyar of lande;
+I wyll never se my captayne fyght on a fylde,
+  And stande myselffe, and looke on,
+But whyll I may my weppone welde,
+  I wyll not ffayll both hart and hande."
+
+That day, that day, that dredfull day!
+  The first fit here I fynde;
+And youe wyll here any mor a' the hountyng a'
+    the Chyviat,
+Yet ys ther mor behynd.
+
+
+THE SECOND FIT.
+
+The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent,
+  Ther hartes were good yenoughe;
+The first off arros that the shote off,
+  Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.
+
+Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,
+  A captayne good yenoughe,
+And that was sene verament,
+  For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.
+
+The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre,
+  Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,
+With suar speares off myghttè tre,
+  The cum in on every syde:
+
+Thrughe our Yngglishe archery
+  Gave many a wounde full wyde;
+Many a doughete the garde to dy,
+  Which ganyde them no pryde.
+
+The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be,
+  And pulde owt brandes that wer bright;
+It was a hevy syght to se
+  Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.
+
+Throrowe ryche male and myneyeple,
+  Many sterne the stroke downe streght;
+Many a freyke, that was full fre,
+  Ther undar foot dyd lyght.
+
+At last the Duglas and the Persè met,
+  Lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne;
+The swapte togethar tyll the both swat,
+  With swordes that wear of fyn myllàn,
+
+Thes worthè freckys for to fyght,
+  Ther-to the wear full fayne,
+Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente,
+  As ever dyd heal or rayne.
+
+"Holde the, Persè," sayd the Doglas,
+  "And i' feth I shall the brynge
+Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis
+  Of Jamy our Scottish kynge.
+
+"Thoue shalte have thy ranson fre,
+  I hight the hear this thinge,
+For the manfullyste man yet art thowe,
+  That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng."
+
+"Nay," sayd the lord Persè,
+  "I tolde it the beforne,
+That I wolde never yeldyde be
+  To no man of woman born."
+
+With that ther cam an arrowe hastely
+  Forthe off a myghtte wane;
+Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas
+  In at the brest bane.
+
+Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe
+  The sharp arrowe ys gane,
+That never after in all his lyffe-days,
+  He spayke mo wordes but ane:
+That was, "Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye may,
+  For my lyff-days ben gan."
+
+The Persè leanyde on his brande,
+  And sawe the Duglas de;
+He tooke the dede man be the hande,
+  And sayd, "Wo ys me for the!
+
+"To have savyde thy lyffe I wolde have pertyde with
+  My landes for years thre,
+For a better man, of hart nare of hande,
+  Was not in all the north contrè."
+
+Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,
+  Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry;
+He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght,
+  He spendyd a spear, a trust! tre:--
+
+He rod uppon a corsiare
+  Throughe a hondrith archery:
+He never styntyde, nar never blane,
+  Tyll he cam to the good lord Persè.
+
+He set uppone the lord Persè
+  A dynte that was full soare;
+With a suar spear of a myghttè tre
+  Clean thorow the body he the Persè bore,
+
+A' the tother syde that a man myght se
+  A large cloth yard and mare:
+Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiantè,
+  Then that day slain wear ther.
+
+An archar off Northomberlonde
+  Say slean was the lord Persè;
+He bar a bende-bowe in his hande,
+  Was made off trusti tre.
+
+An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,
+  To th' hard stele halyde he;
+A dynt that was both sad and soar,
+  He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry.
+
+The dynt yt was both sad and sar,
+  That he on Mongonberry sete;
+The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,
+  With his hart-blood the wear wete.
+
+Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle,
+  But still in stour dyd stand,
+Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre,
+  With many a balful brande.
+
+This battell begane in Chyviat
+  An owar befor the none,
+And when even-song bell was rang,
+  The battell was nat half done.
+
+The tooke on ethar hand
+  Be the lyght off the mone;
+Many hade no strenght for to stande,
+  In Chyviat the hillys aboun.
+
+Of fifteen hondrith archars of Yonglonde
+  Went away but fifti and thre;
+Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde,
+But even five and fifti:
+
+But all wear slayne Cheviat within;
+  The hade no strengthe to stand on hie;
+The chylde may rue that ys unborne,
+  It was the mor pittè.
+
+Thear was slayne with the lord Persè
+  Sir John of Agerstone,
+Sir Rogar the hinde Hartly,
+  Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone.
+
+Sir Jorg the worthè Lovele,
+  A knyght of great renowen,
+Sir Raff the ryche Rugbè,
+  With dyntes wear beaten dowene.
+
+For Wetharryngton my harte was wo,
+  That ever he slayne shulde be;
+For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to,
+  Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne.
+
+Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas,
+  Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry,
+Sir Davye Lwdale, that worthè was,
+  His sistars son was he:
+
+His Charls a Murrè in that place,
+  That never a foot wolde fle;
+Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was,
+  With the Duglas dyd he dey.
+
+So on the morrowe the mayde them byears
+  Off birch and hasell so gray;
+Many wedous with wepyng tears
+  Cam to fach ther makys away.
+
+Tivydale may carpe off care,
+  Northombarlond may mayk grat mon,
+For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear,
+  On the march perti shall never be non.
+
+Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe,
+  To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,
+That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches,
+  He lay slean Chyviot with-in.
+
+His handdes dyd he weal and wryng,
+ He sayd, "Alas, and woe ys me!
+"Such an othar captayn Skotland within,"
+ He sayd, "y-feth shall never be."
+
+Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone,
+  Till the fourth Harry our kyng,
+That lord Persè, lyffe-tennante of the Merchis,
+  He lay slayne Chyviat within.
+
+"God have merci on his soil," sayd kyng Harry,
+  "Good lord, yf thy will it be!
+I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde," he sayd,
+  "As good as ever was hee:
+But Persè, and I brook my lyffe,
+  Thy deth well quyte shall be."
+
+As our noble kyng mayd his a-vowe,
+  Lyke a noble prince of renowen,
+For the deth of the lord Persè
+  He dyde the battell of Hombyll-down:
+
+Wher syx and thrittè Skottishe knyghtes
+  On a day wear beaten down;
+Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght,
+  Over castill, towar, and town.
+
+This was the Hontynge off the Cheviat;
+  That tear begane this spurn:
+Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe,
+  Call it the Battell of Otterburn.
+
+At Otterburn began this spurne
+  Uppon a monnynday:
+Ther was the dougghtè Doglas slean,
+  The Persè never went away.
+
+Ther was never a tym on the March partes
+  Sen the Doglas and the Persè met,
+But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not,
+  As the reane doys in the stret.
+
+Jhesue Christ our balys bete,
+  And to the blys us brynge!
+Thus was the Hountynge of the Chevyat:
+  God send us all good endyng.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+EDOM O' GORDON.
+
+It fell about the Martinmas,
+  When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
+Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,
+  "We maun draw to a hauld.
+
+"And whatna hauld sall we draw to,
+  My merry men and me?
+We will gae to the house o' the Rodes,
+  To see that fair ladie."
+
+The ladie stude on her castle wa',
+  Beheld baith dale and down,
+There she was ware of a host of men
+  Were riding towards the town.
+
+"O see ye not, my merry men a',
+  O see ye not what I see?
+Methinks I see a host of men--
+  I marvel what they be."
+
+She ween'd it had been ner ain dear lord
+  As he cam' riding hame;
+It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon,
+  Wha recked nor sin nor shame.
+
+She had nae suner buskit hersell,
+  Nor putten on her goun,
+Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
+  Were round about the toun.
+
+They had nae suner supper set,
+  Nor suner said the grace,
+Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
+  Were light about the place.
+
+The ladie ran to her tower head,
+  As fast as she could hie,
+To see if, by her fair speeches,
+  She could with him agree.
+
+"Come doun to me, ye ladye gay,
+  Come doun, come doun to me;
+This nicht sall ye lie within my arms,
+  The morn my bride sall be."
+
+"I winna come doun, ye fause Gordon,
+  I winna come doun to thee;
+I winna forsake my ain dear lord,
+  That is sae far frae me."
+
+"Gie owre your house, ye ladie fair,
+  Gie owre your house to me;
+Or I sail burn yoursell therein,
+  But and your babies three."
+
+"I winna gie owre, ye false Gordon,
+  To nae sic traitor as thee;
+And if ye burn my ain dear babes,
+  My lord sall mak' ye dree!
+
+"But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man,
+  And charge ye weel my gun;
+For, but an I pierce that bludy butcher,
+  We a' sall be undone."
+
+She stude upon the castle wa',
+  And let twa bullets flee;
+She miss'd that bludy butcher's heart,
+  And only razed his knee.
+
+"Set fire to the house!" quo' the false Gordon,
+  All wude wi' dule and ire;
+"False ladie! ye sail rue that shot,
+  As ye burn in the fire."
+
+"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man!
+  I paid ye weel your fee;
+Why pu' ye out the grund-wa-stane,
+  Lets in the reek to me?
+
+"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man!
+  I paid ye weel your hire;
+Why pu' ye out my grund-wa-stane,
+  To me lets in the fire?"
+
+"Ye paid me weel my hire, lady,
+  Ye paid me weel my fee;
+But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man,
+  Maun either do or die."
+
+O then bespake her youngest son,
+  Sat on the nourice' knee;
+Says, "Mither dear, gie owre this house,
+  For the reek it smothers me."
+
+"I wad gie a' my gowd, my bairn,
+  Sae wad I a' my fee,
+For ae blast o' the westlin' wind,
+  To blaw the reek frae thee!"
+
+O then bespake her daughter dear--
+  She was baith jimp and sma'--
+"O row me in a pair o' sheets,
+  And tow me owre the wa'."
+
+They rowed her in a pair o' sheets,
+  And towed her owre the wa';
+But on the point o' Gordon's spear
+  She gat a deadly fa'.
+
+O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
+  And cherry were her cheeks;
+And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
+  Whereon the red blude dreeps.
+
+Then wi' his spear he turned her owre,
+  O gin her face was wan!
+He said, "You are the first that e'er
+  I wish'd alive again."
+
+He turned her owre and owre again,
+  O gin her skin was white!
+"I might hae spared that bonnie face,
+  To hae been some man's delight.
+
+"Busk and boun, my merry men a',
+  For ill dooms I do guess;
+I canna look on that bonnie face,
+  As it lies on the grass!"
+
+"Wha looks to freits, my master deir,
+  It's freits will follow them;
+Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon
+  Was dauntit by a dame."
+
+But when the lady saw the fire
+  Come flaming owre her head,
+She wept, and kiss'd her children twain,
+  Says, "Bairns, we been but dead."
+
+The Gordon then his bugle blew,
+  And said, "Awa', awa';
+The house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame,
+  I hold it time to ga'."
+
+O then bespied her ain dear lord,
+  As he came owre the lee;
+He saw his castle all in a lowe,
+  Sae far as he could see.
+
+"Put on, put on, my wichty men,
+  As fast as ye can dri'e;
+For he that is hindmost of the thrang,
+  Shall ne'er get gude o' me!"
+
+Then some they rade, and some they ran,
+  Fu' fast out-owre the bent;
+But ere the foremost could win up,
+  Baith lady and babes were brent.
+
+He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
+  And wept in teenfu' mood;
+"Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed,
+  Ye shall weep tears of blude."
+
+And after the Gordon he has gane,
+  Sae fast as he might dri'e,
+And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude,
+  He's wroken his fair ladie.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+KINMONT WILLIE.
+
+O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde?
+  O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroope?
+How they hae ta'en bauld Kinmont Willie,
+  On Haribee to hang him up?
+
+Had Willie had but twenty men,
+  But twenty men as stout as he,
+Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en,
+  Wi' eight score in his companie.
+
+They band his legs beneath the steed,
+  They tied his hands behind his back;
+They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
+  And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
+
+They led him thro' the Liddel-rack,
+  And also thro' the Carlisle sands;
+They brought him on to Carlisle castle,
+  To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.
+
+"My hands are tied, but my tongue is free,
+  And wha will dare this deed avow?
+Or answer by the Border law?
+  Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?"
+
+"Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
+  There's never a Scot shall set thee free:
+Before ye cross my castle yate
+  I trow ye shall take farewell o' me."
+
+"Fear ye na that, my lord," quo' Willie:
+  "By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroope," he said,
+"I never yet lodged in a hostelrie,
+  But I paid my lawing before I gaed."
+
+Now word is gane to the bauld keeper,
+  In Branksome Ha', where that he lay,
+That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont Willie,
+  Between the hours of night and day.
+
+He has ta'en the table wi' his hand,
+  He garr'd the red wine spring on hie,
+"Now a curse upon my head," he said,
+  "But avengèd of Lord Scroope I'll be!
+
+"O is my basnet a widow's curch?
+  Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
+Or my arm a lady's lily hand,
+  That an English lord should lightly me?
+
+"And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,
+  Against the truce of Border tide,
+And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch
+  Is Keeper here on the Scottish side?
+
+"And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,
+  Withouten either dread or fear,
+And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch
+  Can back a steed, or shake a spear?
+
+"O were there war between the lands,
+  As well I wot that there is nane,
+I would slight Carlisle castle high,
+  Though it were builded of marble stane.
+
+"I would set that castle in a low,
+  And sloken it with English blood!
+There's never a man in Cumberland
+  Should ken where Carlisle castle stood.
+
+"But since nae war's between the lands,
+  And there is peace, and peace should be,
+I'll neither harm English lad or lass,
+  And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!"
+
+He has called him forty Marchmen bauld,
+  I trow they were of his ain name,
+Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called
+  The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
+
+He has called him forty Marchmen bauld,
+  Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch;
+With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,
+  And gluves of green, and feathers blue.
+
+There were five and five before them a',
+  Wi' hunting horns and bugles bright:
+And five and five cam' wi' Buccleuch,
+  Like warden's men, arrayed for fight.
+
+And five and five, like masons gang,
+  That carried the ladders lang and hie;
+And five and five like broken men;
+  And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
+
+And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land,
+  When to the English side we held,
+The first o' men that we met wi',
+  Wha sould it be but fause Sakelde?
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?"
+  Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"
+"We go to hunt an English stag,
+  Has trespassed on the Scots countrie."
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?"
+  Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell me true!"
+"We go to catch a rank reiver,
+  Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch."
+
+"Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,
+  Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie?"
+"We gang to herry a corbie's nest,
+  That wons not far frae Woodhouselee."
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?"
+  Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"
+Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
+  And the nevir a word of lear had he.
+
+"Why trespass ye on the English side?
+  Row-footed outlaws, stand!" quo' he;
+The nevir a word had Dickie to say,
+  Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
+
+Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
+  And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossed,
+The water was great and meikle of spait,
+  But the never a horse nor man we lost.
+
+And when we reached the Staneshaw-bank,
+  The wind was rising loud and hie;
+And there the Laird garr'd leave our steeds,
+  For fear that they should stamp and neigh.
+
+And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,
+  The wind began full loud to blaw;
+But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
+  When we cam' beneath the castle wa'.
+
+We crept on knees, and held our breath,
+  Till we placed the ladders agin the wa';
+And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
+  To mount the first before us a'.
+
+He has ta'en the watchman by the throat,
+  He flung him down upon the lead:
+"Had there not been peace between our lands,
+  Upon the other side thou hadst gaed!
+
+"Now sound out, trumpets!" quo' Buccleuch;
+  "Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!"
+Then loud the warden's trumpet blew--
+  O wha, dare meddle wi' me?
+
+Then speedilie to wark we gaed,
+  And raised the slogan ane and a',
+And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,
+  And so we wan to the castle ha'.
+
+They thought King James and a' his men
+  Had won the house wi' bow and spear;
+It was but twenty Scots and ten,
+  That put a thousand in sic a stear!
+
+Wi' coulters, and wi' forehammers,
+  We garr'd the bars bang merrilie,
+Until we cam' to the inner prison,
+  Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.
+
+And when we cam' to the lower prison,
+  Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie,--
+"O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
+  Upon the morn that thou's to die?"
+
+"O I sleep saft, and I wake aft;
+  It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me;
+Gie my service back to my wife and bairns,
+  And a' gude fellows that spier for me."
+
+Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
+  The starkest man in Teviotdale,--
+"Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
+  Till of my Lord Scroope I tak' farewell.
+
+"Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
+  My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!" he cried:
+"I'll pay you for my lodging maill,
+  When first we meet on the Border side."
+
+Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
+  We bore him doun the ladder lang;
+At every stride Red Rowan made,
+  I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang
+
+"O mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie,
+  "I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;
+But a rougher beast than Red Rowan
+  I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode.
+
+"And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie,
+  I've pricked a horse out oure the furs;
+But since the day I backed a steed,
+  I never wore sic cumbrous spurs."
+
+We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,
+  When a' the Carlisle bells were rung,
+And a thousand men on horse and foot
+  Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along.
+
+Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,
+  Even where it flowed frae bank to brim,
+And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,
+  And safely swam them through the stream.
+
+He turned him on the other side,
+  And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:
+"If ye like na my visit in merry England,
+  In fair Scotland come visit me!"
+
+All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
+  He stood as still as rock of stane;
+He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,
+  When through the water they had gane.
+
+"He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
+  Or else his mither a witch maun be;
+I wadna hae ridden that wan water
+  For a' the gowd in Christentie."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTEBBURY.
+
+An ancient story Ile tell you anon
+Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
+He ruled over England with maine and with might,
+For he did great wrong, and mainteined little right.
+
+And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
+Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye;
+How for his housekeeping and high renowne,
+They rode poste for him to fair London towne.
+
+A hundred men, for the king did hear say,
+The abbot kept in his house every day;
+And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
+In velvet coates waited the abbot about.
+
+"How now, father abbot? I heare it of thee,
+Thou keepest a farre better house than mee;
+And for thy housekeeping and high renowne,
+I feare thou work'st treason against my crown."
+
+"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne,
+I never spend nothing but what is my owne;
+And I trust your grace will doe me no deere,
+For spending of my owne true-gotten geere."
+
+"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy faulte it is highe,
+And now for the same thou needest must dye;
+And except thou canst answer me questions three,
+Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.
+
+"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead,
+With my crown of golde so faire on my head,
+Among all my liegemen so noble of birthe,
+Thou must tell to one penny what I am worthe.
+
+"Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
+How soon I may ride the whole world about;
+And at the third question thou must not shrink,
+But tell me here truly, what I do think?"
+
+"O, these are deep questions for my shallow witt,
+Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
+But if you will give me but three weekes space,
+I'll do my endeavor to answer your grace."
+
+"Now three weekes space to thee will I give,
+And that is the longest thou hast to live;
+For unless thou answer my questions three,
+Thy life and thy lands are forfeit to mee."
+
+Away rode the abbot all sad at this word;
+And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford;
+But never a doctor there was so wise,
+That could with his learning an answer devise.
+
+Then home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold,
+And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
+"How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
+What newes do you bring us from good king John?"
+
+"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;
+That I have but three days more to live;
+For if I do not answer him questions three,
+My head will be smitten from my bodie.
+
+"The first is to tell him, there in that stead,
+With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
+Among all his liege men so noble of birth,
+To within one penny of what he is worth.
+
+"The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
+How soone he may ride this whole world about;
+And at the third question I must not shrinke,
+But tell him there trulye what he does thinke."
+
+"Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
+That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?
+Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
+And Ile ride to London to answers your quarrel.
+
+"Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,
+I am like your lordship, as ever may bee;
+And if you will but lend me your gowne,
+There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne."
+
+"Now horses and serving men thou shalt have,
+With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
+With crosier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
+Fit to appear 'fore our fader the pope."
+
+"Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say,
+"'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;
+For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
+Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.
+
+"And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
+With my crown of golde so faire on my head,
+Among all my liege men so noble of birthe,
+Tell me to one penny what I am worth."
+
+"For thirty pence our Savior was sold
+Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;
+And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
+For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee."
+
+The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
+"I did not think I had been worth so littel!
+--Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
+How soone I may ride this whole world about."
+
+"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
+Until the next morning he riseth againe;
+And then your grace need not make any doubt,
+But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."
+
+The king lie laughed, and swore "by St. Jone,
+I did not think it could be gone so soone!
+--Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
+But tell me here truly what I do thinke."
+
+"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
+You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury;
+But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
+That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."
+
+The king he laughed, and swore "by the masse,
+Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!"
+"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede;
+For alacke I can neither write ne reade."
+
+"Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee,
+For this merry jest thou hast shown unto mee;
+And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home,
+Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John."
+
+       *       *       *        *        *
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS.
+
+There are twelve months in all the year,
+As I hear many say,
+But the merriest month in all the year
+Is the merry month of May.
+
+Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,
+_With a link a down and a day,_
+And there he met a silly old woman,
+Was weeping on the way.
+
+"What news? what news, thou silly old woman?
+  What news hast thou for me?"
+Said she, "There's my three sons in Nottingham town
+  To-day condemned to die."
+
+"O, have they parishes burnt?" he said,
+  "Or have they ministers slain?
+Or have they robbed any virgin?
+  Or other men's wives have ta'en?"
+
+"They have no parishes burnt, good sir,
+  Nor yet have ministers slain,
+Nor have they robbed any virgin,
+  Nor other men's wives have ta'en."
+
+"O, what have they done?" said Robin Hood,
+  "I pray thee tell to me."
+"It's for slaying of the king's fallow-deer,
+  Bearing their long bows with thee."
+
+"Dost thou not mind, old woman," he said,
+  "How thou madest me sup and dine?
+By the truth of my body," quoth bold Robin Hood,
+  "You could not tell it in better time."
+
+Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,
+  _With a link a down and a day_,
+And there he met with a silly old palmer,
+  Was walking along the highway.
+
+"What news? what news, thou silly old man?
+  What news, I do thee pray?"
+Said he, "Three squires in Nottingham town
+  Are condemned to die this day."
+
+"Come change thy apparel with me, old man,
+  Come change thy apparel for mine;
+Here is forty shillings in good silvèr,
+  Go drink it in beer or wine."
+
+"O, thine apparel is good," he said,
+  "And mine is ragged and torn;
+Wherever you go, wherever you ride,
+  Laugh ne'er an old man to scorn."
+
+"Come change thy apparel with me, old churl,
+  Come change thy apparel with mine;
+Here are twenty pieces of good broad gold,
+  Go feast thy brethren with wine."
+
+Then he put on the old man's hat,
+  It stood full high on the crown:
+"The first bold bargain that I come at,
+  It shall make thee come down."
+
+Then he put on the old man's cloak,
+  Was patched black, blew, and red;
+He thought it no shame all the day long,
+  To wear the bags of bread.
+
+Then he put on the old man's breeks,
+  Was patched from leg to side:
+"By the truth of my body," bold Robin can say,
+  "This man loved little pride."
+
+Then he put on the old man's hose,
+  Were patched from knee to wrist:
+"By the truth of my body," said bold Robin Hood,
+  "I'd laugh if I had any list."
+
+Then he put on the old man's shoes,
+  Were patched both beneath and aboon;
+Then Robin Hood swore a solemn oath,
+  "It's good habit that makes a man."
+
+Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,
+  _With a link a down and a down,_
+And there he met with the proud sheriff,
+  Was walking along the town.
+
+"O Christ you save, O sheriff!" he said;
+  "O Christ you save and see!
+And what will you give to a silly old man
+  To-day will your hangman be?"
+
+"Some suits, some suits," the sheriff he said,
+  "Some suits I'll give to thee;
+Some suits, some suits, and pence thirteen,
+  To-day's a hangman's fee."
+
+Then Robin he turns him round about,
+  And jumps from stock to stone:
+"By the truth of my body," the sheriff he said,
+  "That's well jumpt, thou nimble old man."
+
+"I was ne'er a hangman in all my life,
+  Nor yet intends to trade;
+But curst be he," said bold Robin,
+  "That first a hangman was made!
+
+"I've a bag for meal, and a bag for malt,
+  And a bag for barley and corn;
+A bag for bread, and a bag for beef,
+  And a bag for my little small horn.
+
+"I have a horn in my pocket,
+  I got it from Robin Hood,
+And still when I set it to my mouth,
+  For thee it blows little good."
+
+"O, wind thy horn, thou proud fellow,
+  Of thee I have no doubt.
+I wish that thou give stich a blast,
+  Till both thy eyes fall out."
+
+The first loud blast that he did blow,
+  He blew both loud and shrill;
+A hundred and fifty of Robin Hood's men
+  Came riding over the hill.
+
+The next loud blast that he did give,
+  He blew both loud and amain,
+And quickly sixty of Robin Hood's men
+  Came shining over the plain.
+
+"O, who are these," the sheriff he said,
+  "Come tripping over the lee?"
+"They're my attendants," brave Robin did say;
+  "They'll pay a visit to thee."
+
+They took the gallows from the slack,
+  They set it in the glen,
+They hanged the proud sheriff on that,
+  Released their own three men.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE.
+
+Come listen to me, you gallants so free,
+  All you that love mirth for to hear,
+And I will tell you of a bold outlaw,
+  That lived in Nottinghamshire.
+
+As Robin Hood in the forest stood,
+  All under the green-wood tree,
+There he was aware of a brave young man,
+  As fine as fine might be.
+
+The youngster was cloathed in scarlet red,
+  In scarlet fine and gay;
+And he did frisk it over the plain,
+  And chanted a roundelay.
+
+As Robin Hood next morning stood,
+  Amongst the leaves so gay,
+There did he espy the same young man
+  Come drooping along the way.
+
+The scarlet he wore the day before,
+  It was clean cast away;
+And at every step he fetcht a sigh,
+  "Alack and a well a day!"
+
+Then stepped forth brave Little John,
+  And Midge the miller's son,
+Which made the young man bend his bow,
+  When as he see them come.
+
+"Stand off, stand off," the young man said,
+  "What is your will with me?"
+"You must come before our master straight,
+  Under yon green-wood tree."
+
+And when he came bold Robin before,
+  Robin askt him courteously,
+"O hast thou any money to spare
+  For my merry men and me?"
+
+"I have no money," the young man said,
+  "But five shillings and a ring;
+And that I have kept this seven long years,
+  To have it at my wedding.
+
+"Yesterday I should have married a maid,
+  But she is now from me tane,
+And chosen to be an old knight's delight,
+  Whereby my poor heart is slain."
+
+"What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood,
+  "Come tell me, without any fail:"
+"By the faith of my body," then said the young man,
+  "My name it is Allin a Dale."
+
+"What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood,
+  "In ready gold or fee,
+To help thee to thy true love again,
+  And deliver her unto thee?"
+
+"I have no money," then quoth the young man,
+  "No ready gold nor fee,
+But I will swear upon a book
+  Thy true servant for to be."
+
+"How many miles is it to thy true love?
+  Come tell me without any guile:"
+"By the faith of my body," then said the young man,
+  "It is but five little mile."
+
+Then Robin he hasted over the plain,
+  He did neither stint nor lin,
+Until he came unto the church,
+  Where Allin should keep his wedding.
+
+"What hast thou here?" the bishop he said,
+  "I prithee now tell unto me:"
+"I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood,
+  "And the best in the north country."
+
+"O welcome, O welcome," the bishop he said,
+  "That musick best pleaseth me;"
+"You shall have no musick," quoth Robin Hood,
+  "Till the bride and the bridegroom I see."
+
+With that came in a wealthy knight,
+  Which was both grave and old,
+And after him a finikin lass,
+  Did shine like the glistering gold.
+
+"This is not a fit match," quoth bold Robin Hood,
+  "That you do seem to make here;
+For since we are come into the church,
+  The bride shall chuse her own dear."
+
+Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth,
+  And blew blasts two or three;
+When four and twenty bowmen bold
+  Came leaping over the lee.
+
+And when they came into the church-yard,
+  Marching all on a row,
+The first man was Allin a Dale,
+  To give bold Robin his bow.
+
+"This is thy true love," Robin he said,
+  "Young Allin, as I hear say;
+And you shall be married at this same time,
+  Before we depart away."
+
+"That shall not be," the bishop he said,
+  "For thy word shall not stand;
+They shall be three times askt in the church,
+  As the law is of our land."
+
+Robin Hood pulld off the bishop's coat,
+  And put it upon Little John;
+"By the faith of my body," then Robin said,
+  "This cloath does make thee a man."
+
+When Little John went into the quire,
+  The people began for to laugh;
+He askt them seven times in the church,
+  Lest three times should not be enough.
+
+"Who gives me this maid?" then said Little John;
+  Quoth Robin Hood, "That do I,
+And he that takes her from Allin, a Dale
+  Full dearly he shall her buy."
+
+And thus having ende of this merry wedding,
+  The bride lookt like a queen,
+And so they returned to the merry green-wood,
+  Amongst the leaves so green.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL.
+
+When Robin Hood and Little John,
+  _Down a down, a down, a down,_
+  Went o'er yon bank of broom,
+Said Robin Hood to Little John,
+  "We have shot for many a pound:"
+  _Hey down, a down, a down._
+
+"But I am not able to shoot one shot more,
+  My arrows will not flee;
+But I have a cousin lives down below,
+  Please God, she will bleed me."
+
+Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone,
+  As fast as he can win;
+But before he came there, as we do hear,
+  He was taken very ill.
+
+And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall,
+  He knocked all at the ring,
+But none was so ready as his cousin herself
+  For to let bold Robin in.
+
+"Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," she said,
+  "And drink some beer with me?"
+"No, I will neither eat nor drink,
+  Till I am blooded by thee."
+
+"Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she said,
+  "Which you did never see,
+And if you please to walk therein,
+  You blooded by me shall be."
+
+She took him by the lily-white hand,
+  And led him to a private room,
+And there she blooded bold Robin Hood,
+  Whilst one drop of blood would run.
+
+She blooded him in the vein of the arm,
+  And locked him up in the room;
+There did he bleed all the livelong day,
+  Untilt the next day at noon.
+
+He then bethought him of a casement door,
+  Thinking for to be gone;
+He was so weak he could not leap,
+  Nor he could not get down.
+
+He then bethought him of his bugle-horn,
+  Which hung low down to his knee;
+He set his horn unto his mouth,
+  And blew out weak blasts three.
+
+Then Little John, when hearing him,
+  As he sat under the tree,
+"I fear my master is near dead,
+  He blows so wearily."
+
+Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone,
+  As fast as he can dri'e;
+But when he came to Kirkley-hall,
+  He broke locks two or three:
+
+Untilt he came bold Robin to,
+  Then he fell on his knee:
+"A boon, a boon," cries Little John,
+  "Master, I beg of thee."
+
+"What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood,
+  "Little John, thou begs of me?"
+"It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall,
+  And all their nunnery."
+
+"Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood,
+  "That boon I'll not grant thee;
+I never hurt woman in all my life,
+  Nor man in woman's company.
+
+"I never hurt fair maid in all my time,
+  Nor at my end shall it be;
+But give me my bent bow in my hand,
+  And a broad arrow I'll let flee;
+And where this arrow is taken up,
+  There shall my grave digg'd be.
+
+"Lay me a green sod under my head,
+  And another at my feet;
+And lay my bent bow by my side,
+  Which was my music sweet;
+And make my grave of gravel and green,
+  Which is most right and meet.
+
+"Let me have length and breadth enough,
+  With under my head a green sod;
+That they may say, when I am dead,
+  Here lies bold Robin Hood."
+
+These words they readily promised him,
+  Which did bold Robin please;
+And there they buried bold Robin Hood,
+  Near to the fair Kirkleys.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS.
+
+
+ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN.
+
+"O wha will shoe my bonny feet?
+  Or wha will glove my hand?
+Or wha will lace my middle jimp,
+  Wi' a new-made London band?
+
+"And wha will kame my yellow hair,
+  Wi' a new-made siller kame?
+And wha will be my bairn's father,
+  Till love Gregory come haine?"
+
+"Your father'll shoe your bonny feet,
+  Your mother glove your hand;
+Your sister lace your middle jimp,
+  Wi' a new-made London band;
+
+"Mysel' will kame your yellow hair
+  Wi' a new-made siller kame;
+And the Lord will be the bairn's father
+  Till Gregory come hame."
+
+"O gin I had a bonny ship,
+  And men to sail wi' me,
+It's I wad gang to my true lore,
+  Sin' he winna come to me!"
+
+Her father's gi'en her a bonny ship,
+  And sent her to the strand;
+She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
+  And turn'd her back to land.
+
+She hadna been on the sea sailing,
+  About a month or more,
+Till landed has she her bonny ship,
+  Near to her true love's door.
+
+The night was dark, an' the wind was cauld,
+  And her love was fast asleep,
+And the bairn that was in her twa arms,
+  Fu' sair began to greet.
+
+Lang stood she at her true love's door
+  And lang tirl'd at the pin;
+At length up gat his fause mother,
+  Says, "Wha's that wad be in?"
+
+"O it is Annie of Lochroyan,
+  Your love, come o'er the sea,
+But and your young son in her arms,
+  Sae open the door to me."
+
+"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
+  Ye're nae come here for gude;
+Ye're but a witch, or a vile warlock,
+  Or mermaiden o' the flood!"
+
+"I'm nae a witch, nor vile warlock,
+  Nor mermaiden," said she;
+"But I am Annie of Lochroyan;
+  O open the door to me!"
+
+"O gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,
+  As I trow not you be,
+Now tell me some o' the love-tokens
+  That pass'd 'tween thee and me."
+
+"O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,
+  When we sate at the wine,
+How we chang'd the napkins frae our necks,
+  It's no sae lang sinsyne?
+
+"And yours was gude, and gude eneugh,
+  But nae sae gude as mine;
+For yours was o' the cambrick clear,
+  But mine o' the silk sae fine.
+
+"And dinna ye mind, love Gregory,
+  As we twa sate at dine,
+How we chang'd the rings frae our fingers,
+  And I can show thee thine?
+
+"And yours was gude, and gude eneugh,
+  Yet nae sae gude as mine;
+For yours was o' the gude red gold,
+  But mine o' the diamonds fine.
+
+"Sae open the door, love Gregory,
+  And open it wi' speed;
+Or your young son, that is in my arms,
+  For cauld will soon be dead!"
+
+"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
+  Gae frae my door for shame;
+For I hae gotten anither fair love,
+  Sae ye may hie ye hame!"
+
+"O hae ye gotten anither fair love,
+  For a' the oaths ye sware?
+Then fare ye weel, fause Gregory,
+  For me ye'se never see mair!"
+
+O hooly, hooly gaed she back,
+  As the day began to peep;
+She set her foot on gude ship board,
+  And sair, sair did she weep.
+
+"Tak down, tak down that mast o' gowd,
+  Set up the mast o' tree;
+Ill sets it a forsaken lady
+  To sail sae gallantlie!"
+
+Love Gregory started frae his sleep,
+  And to his mother did say;
+"I dream'd a dream this night, mither,
+  That maks my heart right wae.
+
+"I dream'd that Annie of Lochroyan,
+  The flower of a' her kin,
+Was standing mournin' at iny door,
+  But nane wad let her in."
+
+"Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan,
+  That ye mak a' this din;
+She stood a' last night at your door,
+  But I trow she wan na in!"
+
+"O wae betide ye, ill woman!
+  An ill deid may ye die,
+That wadna open the door to her,
+  Nor yet wad waken me!"
+
+O quickly, quickly raise he up,
+  And fast ran to the strand;
+And then he saw her, fair Annie,
+  Was sailing frae the land.
+
+And it's "Hey Annie!" and "How Annie!
+  O Annie, winna ye bide?"
+But aye the mair that he cried "Annie!"
+  The faster ran the tide.
+
+And it's "Hey Annie!" and "How Annie!
+  O Annie, speak to me!"
+But aye the louder that he cried "Annie!"
+  The higher raise the sea.
+
+The wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough,
+  And the ship was rent in twain;
+And soon he saw her, fair Annie,
+  Come floating through the faem.
+
+He saw his young son in her arms,
+  Baith toss'd abune the tide;
+He wrang his hands, and fast he ran,
+  And plunged in the sea sae wide.
+
+He catch'd her by the yellow hair,
+  And drew her to the strand;
+But cauld and stiff was every limb,
+  Afore he reach'd the land.
+
+O first he kiss'd her cherry cheek,
+  And syne he kiss'd her chin,
+And sair he kiss'd her bonny lips,
+  But there was nae breath within.
+
+And he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie,
+  Till the sun was ganging down,
+Syne wi' a sigh his heart it brast,
+  And his soul to heaven has flown.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET.
+
+Lord Thomas and fair Annet
+  Sat a' day on a hill,
+When night was come, and the sun was set,
+  They had na talk'd their fill.
+
+Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
+  Fair Annet took it ill;
+"O I will never wed a wife,
+  Against my ain friends' will"
+
+"Gif ye will never wed a wife,
+  A wife will ne'er wed ye."
+Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
+  And kneel'd upon his knee.
+
+"O rede, O rede, mither," he says,
+  "A gude rede gie to me;
+O sall I tak' the nut-brown bride,
+  And let fair Annet be?"
+
+"The nut-brown bride has gowd and gear,
+  Fair Annet she's gat nane,
+And the little beauty fair Annet has,
+  O it will soon be gane."
+
+And he has to his brither gane;
+  "Now, brither, rede ye me,
+O sall I marry the nut-brown bride,
+  And let fair Annet be?"
+
+"The nut-brown bride has owsen, brither,
+  The nut-brown bride has kye;
+I wad hae you marry the nut-brown bride,
+  And cast fair Annet by."
+
+"Her owsen may dee in the house, billie,
+  And her kye into the byre,
+And I sall hae naething to mysel,
+  But a fat fadge by the fire."
+
+And he has to his sister gane;
+  "Now, sister, rede to me;
+O sall I marry the nut-brown bride,
+  And set fair Annet free?"
+
+"I'se rede ye tak' fair Annet, Thomas,
+  And let the brown bride alane,
+Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
+  What is this we brought hame?"
+
+"No! I will tak' my mither's counsel,
+  And marry me out o' hand;
+And I will tak' the nut-brown bride,
+  Fair Annet may leave the land."
+
+Up then rose fair Annet's father,
+  Twa hours or it were day,
+And he has gane into the bower,
+  Wherein fair Annet lay.
+
+"Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says,
+  "Put on your silken sheen,
+Let us gae to Saint Marie's kirk,
+  And see that rich weddin'."
+
+"My maids, gae to my dressing-room
+  And dress to me my hair,
+Where'er ye laid a plait before,
+  See ye lay ten times mair.
+
+"My maids, gae to my dressing-room
+  And dress to me my smock,
+The ae half is o' the holland fine,
+  The ither o' needle-work."
+
+The horse fair Annet rade upon,
+  He amblit like the wind,
+Wi' siller he was shod before,
+  Wi' burning gowd behind.
+
+Four-and-twenty siller bells,
+  Were a' tied to his mane,
+Wi' ae tift o' the norlan' wind,
+  They tinkled ane by ane.
+
+Four-and-twenty gay gude knights,
+  Rade by fair Annet's side,
+And four-and-twenty fair ladies,
+  As gin she had been a bride.
+
+And when she cam' to Marie's kirk,
+  She sat on Marie's stane;
+The cleiding that fair Annet had on,
+  It skinkled in their e'en.
+
+And when she cam' into the kirk,
+  She skimmer'd like the sun;
+The belt that was about her waist,
+  Was a' wi' pearls bedone.
+
+She sat her by the nut-brown bride,
+  And her e'en they were sae clear,
+Lord Thomas he clean forgot the bride,
+  When fair Annet drew near.
+
+He had a rose into his hand,
+  He gave it kisses three,
+And reaching by the nut-brown bride,
+  Laid it on Annet's knee.
+
+Up then spak' the nut-brown bride,
+  She spak' wi' meikle spite;
+"Where gat ye that rose-water, Annet,
+  That does mak' ye sae white?"
+
+"O I did get the rose-water,
+  Where ye'll get never nane,
+For I did get that rose-water,
+  Before that I was born.
+
+"Where I did get that rose-water,
+  Ye'll never get the like;
+For ye've been washed in Dunnie's well,
+  And dried on Dunnie's dyke.
+
+"Tak' up and wear your rose, Thomas,
+  And wear't wi' meikle care;
+For the woman sall never bear a son
+  That will mak' my heart sae sair."
+
+When night was come, and day was gane,
+  And a' men boune to bed,
+Lord Thomas and the nut-brown bride
+  In their chamber were laid.
+
+They were na weel lyen down,
+  And scarcely fa'en asleep,
+When up and stands she, fair Annet,
+  Just at Lord Thomas' feet.
+
+"Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride,
+  Between ye and the wa';
+And sae will I o' my winding-sheet,
+  That suits me best of a'.
+
+"Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride,
+  Between ye and the stock;
+And sae will I o' my black, black kist,
+  That has neither key nor lock!"
+
+Lord Thomas rase, put on his claes,
+  Drew till him hose and shoon;
+And he is to fair Annet's bower,
+  By the lee light o' the moon.
+
+The firsten bower that he cam' till,
+  There was right dowie wark;
+Her mither and her three sisters,
+  Were making fair Annet a sark.
+
+The nexten bower that he cam' till
+  There was right dowie cheer;
+Her father and her seven brethren,
+  Were making fair Annet a bier.
+
+The lasten bower that he cam' till,
+  O heavy was his care,
+The deid candles were burning bright,
+  Fair Annet was streekit there.
+
+"O I will kiss your cheek, Annet,
+  And I will kiss your chin;
+And I will kiss your clay-cauld lip,
+  But I'll ne'er kiss woman again.
+
+"This day ye deal at Annet's wake,
+  The bread but and the wine;
+Before the morn at twal' o'clock,
+  They'll deal the same at mine."
+
+The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,
+  The tither in Marie's quire,
+And out o' the tane there grew a birk,
+  And out o' the tither a brier.
+
+And ay they grew, and ay they drew,
+  Until they twa did meet,
+And every ane that pass'd them by,
+  Said, "Thae's been lovers sweet!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE BANKS O' YARROW.
+
+Late at e'en, drinking the wine,
+  And ere they paid the lawing,
+They set a combat them between,
+  To fight it in the dawing.
+
+"What though ye be my sister's lord,
+  We'll cross our swords to-morrow."
+"What though my wife your sister be,
+  I'll meet ye then on Yarrow."
+
+"O stay at hame, my ain gude lord!
+  O stay, my ain dear marrow!
+My cruel brither will you betray
+  On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."
+
+"O fare ye weel, my lady dear!
+  And put aside your sorrow;
+For if I gae, I'll sune return
+  Frae the bonny banks o' Yarrow."
+
+She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
+  As oft she'd dune before, O;
+She belted him wi' his gude brand,
+  And he's awa' to Yarrow.
+
+When he gaed up the Tennies bank,
+  As he gaed mony a morrow,
+Nine armed men lay in a den,
+  On the dowie braes o' Yarrow.
+
+"O come ye here to hunt or hawk
+  The bonny Forest thorough?
+Or come ye here to wield your brand
+  Upon the banks o' Yarrow?"
+
+"I come not here to hunt or hawk,
+  As oft I've dune before, O,
+But I come here to wield my brand
+  Upon the banks o' Yarrow.
+
+"If ye attack me nine to ane,
+  Then may God send ye sorrow!--
+Yet will I fight while stand I may,
+  On the bonny banks o' Yarrow."
+
+Two has he hurt, and three has slain,
+  On the bloody braes o' Yarrow;
+But the stubborn knight crept in behind,
+  And pierced his body thorough.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, you brither John,
+  And tell your sister sorrow,--
+To come and lift her leafu' lord
+  On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."
+
+Her brither John gaed ower yon hill,
+  As oft he'd dune before, O;
+There he met his sister dear,
+  Cam' rinnin' fast to Yarrow.
+
+"I dreamt a dream last night," she says,
+  "I wish it binna sorrow;
+I dreamt I pu'd the heather green
+  Wi' my true love on Yarrow."
+
+"I'll read your dream, sister," he says,
+  "I'll read it into sorrow;
+Ye're bidden go take up your love,
+  He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."
+
+She's torn the ribbons frae her head
+  That were baith braid and narrow;
+She's kilted up her lang claithing,
+  And she's awa' to Yarrow.
+
+She's ta'en him in her arms twa,
+  And gien him kisses thorough;
+She sought to bind his mony wounds,
+  But he lay dead on Yarrow.
+
+"O haud your tongue," her father says
+  "And let be a' your sorrow;
+I'll wed you to a better lord
+  Than him ye lost on Yarrow."
+
+"O haud your tongue, father," she says,
+  "Far warse ye mak' my sorrow;
+A better lord could never be
+  Than him that lies on Yarrow."
+
+She kissed his lips, she kaim'd his hair.
+  As oft she'd dune before, O;
+And there wi' grief her heart did break
+  Upon the banks o' Yarrow.
+
+"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
+  "And put on your armour so bright;
+Lord William will hae Lady Margret awa
+  Before that it be light."
+
+"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
+  And put on your armour so bright,
+And take better care of your youngest sister,
+  For your eldest's awa the last night."
+
+He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
+  And himself on a dapple gray,
+With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
+  And lightly they rode away.
+
+Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,
+  To see what he could see,
+And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold,
+  Come riding over the lee.
+
+"Light down, light down, Lady Margret," he said,
+  "And hold my steed in your hand,
+Until that against your seven brethren bold,
+  And your father, I mak' a stand."
+
+She held his steed in her milk-white hand,
+  And never shed one tear,
+Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',
+  And her father hard fighting, who lov'd her so dear.
+
+"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said,
+  "For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
+True lovers I can get many a ane,
+  But a father I can never get mair."
+
+O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
+  It was o' the holland sae fine,
+And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
+  That were redder than the wine.
+
+"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret," he said,
+  "O whether will ye gang or bide?"
+"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,
+  "For ye have left me nae other guide."
+
+He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
+  And himself on a dapple gray,
+With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
+  And slowly they baith rade away.
+
+O they rade on, and on they rade,
+  And a' by the light of the moon,
+Until they came to yon wan water,
+  And there they lighted down.
+
+They lighted down to tak' a drink
+  Of the spring that ran sae clear,
+And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
+  And sair she gan to fear.
+
+"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says,
+  "For I fear that you are slain;"
+"'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,
+  That shines in the water sae plain."
+
+O they rade on, and on they rade,
+  And a' by the light of the moon,
+Until they cam' to his mother's ha' door,
+  And there they lighted down.
+
+"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
+  "Get up, and let me in!
+Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
+  "For this night my fair lady I've win.
+
+"O mak' my bed, lady mother," he says,
+  "O mak' it braid and deep,
+And lay Lady Margret close at my back,
+  And the sounder I will sleep."
+
+Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
+  Lady Margret lang ere day,
+And all true lovers that go thegither,
+  May they have mair luck than they!
+
+Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk,
+  Lady Margret in Mary's quire;
+Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
+  And out o' the knight's a briar.
+
+And they twa met, and they twa plat,
+  And fain they wad be near;
+And a' the warld might ken right weel
+  They were twa lovers dear.
+
+But by and rade the Black Douglas,
+  And wow but he was rough!
+For he pull'd up the bonny briar,
+  And flang't in St. Mary's Loch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FINE FLOWERS I' THE VALLEY.
+
+There were three sisters in a ha',
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+There came three lords amang them a',
+  (The red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+The first o' them was clad in red,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"O lady, will ye be my bride?"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+The second o' them was clad in green,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"O lady, will ye be my queen?"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+The third o' them was clad in yellow,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"O lady, will ye be my marrow?"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O ye maun ask my father dear,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Likewise the mother that did me bear;"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"And ye maun ask my sister Ann,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+And not forget my brother John;"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O I have ask'd thy father dear,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Likewise the mother that did thee bear;"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"And I have ask'd your sister Ann,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+But I forgot your brother John;"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+Now when the wedding day was come,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+The knight would take his bonny bride home,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+And mony a lord, and mony a knight,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Cam' to behold that lady bright,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+There was nae man that did her see,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+But wished himsell bridegroom to be,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+Her father led her down the stair,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+And her sisters twain they kiss'd her there;
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+Her mother led her through the close,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Her brother John set her on her horse;
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"You are high, and I am low,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Give me a kiss before you go,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+She was touting down to kiss him sweet,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+When wi' his knife he wounded her deep,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+She hadna ridden through half the town,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+Until her heart's blood stained her gown,
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"Ride saftly on," said the best young man,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"I think our bride looks pale and wan!"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O lead me over into yon stile,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+That I may stop and breathe awhile,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O lead me over into yon stair,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+For there I'll lie and bleed nae mair,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"O what will you leave to your father dear?"
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"The siller-shod steed that brought me here,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"What will you leave to your mother dear?"
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"My wedding shift which I do wear,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"But she must wash it very clean,
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+For my heart's blood sticks in every seam."
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"What will you leave to your sister Ann?"
+  (Pine flowers i' the valley;)
+"My silken gown that stands its lane,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+"And what will you leave to your brother John?"
+  (Fine flowers i' the valley;)
+"The gates o' hell to let him in,"
+  (Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.)
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE GAY GOSS-HAWK.
+
+"O well is me, my gay goss-hawk,
+  That ye can speak and flee;
+For ye shall carry a love-letter
+  To my true-love frae me.
+
+"O how shall I your true-love find,
+  Or how should I her knaw?
+I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake,
+An eye that ne'er her saw."
+
+"O well shall you my true-love ken,
+  Sae soon as her ye see,
+For of a' the flowers o' fair England,
+  The fairest flower is she.
+
+"And when ye come to her castle,
+  Light on the bush of ash,
+And sit ye there, and sing our loves,
+  As she comes frae the mass.
+
+"And when she goes into the house,
+  Light ye upon the whin;
+And sit ye there, and sing our loves,
+  As she gaes out and in."
+
+Lord William has written a love-letter,
+  Put in under the wing sae grey;
+And the bird is awa' to southern land,
+  As fast as he could gae.
+
+And when he flew to that castle,
+  He lighted on the ash,
+And there he sat, and sang their loves,
+  As she came frae the mass.
+
+And when she went into the house,
+  He flew unto the whin;
+And there he sat, and sang their loves,
+  As she gaed out and in.
+
+"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a',
+  The wine flows you amang,
+Till I gae to the west-window,
+  And hear a birdie's sang."
+
+She's gane into the west-window,
+  And fainly aye it drew,
+And soon into her white silk lap
+  The bird the letter threw.
+
+"Ye're bidden send your love a send,
+  For he has sent you three;
+And tell him where he can see you,
+  Or for your love he'll die."
+
+"I send him the rings from my white fingers,
+  The garlands aff my hair,
+I send him the heart that's in my breast,
+  What would my love hae mair?
+And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland,
+  Ye'll bid him meet me there."
+
+She's gane until her father dear,
+  As fast as she could hie,
+"An asking, an asking, my father dear,
+  An asking grant ye me!
+That if I die in merry England,
+  In Scotland you'll bury me.
+
+"At the first kirk o' fair Scotland,
+  Ye'll cause the bells be rung;
+At the neist kirk o' fair Scotland
+  Ye'll cause the mass be sung.
+
+"At the third kirk o' fair Scotland,
+  Ye'll deal the gowd for me;
+At the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland,
+  It's there you'll bury me."
+
+She has ta'en her to her bigly bower,
+  As fast as she could hie;
+And she has drapped down like deid,
+  Beside her mother's knee;
+Then out and spak' an auld witch-wife,
+  By the fire-side sate she.
+
+Says,--"Drap the het lead on her cheek,
+  And drap it on her chin,
+And drap it on her rose-red lips,
+  And she will speak again;
+O meikle will a maiden do,
+  To her true love to win!"
+
+They drapt the het lead on her cheek,
+  They drapt it on her chin,
+They drapt it on her rose-red lips,
+  But breath was nane within.
+
+Then up arose her seven brothers,
+  And made for her a bier;
+The boards were of the cedar wood,
+  The plates o' silver clear.
+
+And up arose her seven sisters,
+  And made for her a sark;
+The claith of it was satin fine,
+  The steeking silken wark.
+
+The first Scots kirk that they cam' to,
+  They gar'd the bells be rung;
+The neist Scots kirk that they cam' to,
+  They gar'd the mass be sung.
+
+The third Scots kirk that they cam' to,
+  They dealt the gowd for her;
+The fourth Scots kirk that they cam' to,
+  Her true-love met them there.
+
+"Set down, set down the bier," he quoth,
+  Till I look on the dead;
+The last time that I saw her face,
+  Her cheeks were rosy red."
+
+He rent the sheet upon her face,
+  A little abune the chin;
+And fast he saw her colour come,
+  And sweet she smiled on him.
+
+"O give me a chive of your bread, my love,
+  And ae drap o' your wine;
+For I have fasted for your sake,
+  These weary lang days nine!
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brothers;
+  Gae hame an' blaw your horn!
+I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith,
+  But I've gi'ed you the scorn.
+
+"I cam' not here to fair Scotland,
+  To lie amang the dead;
+But I cam' here to fair Scotland,
+  Wi' my ain true-love to wed."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+YOUNG REDIN.
+
+Fair Catherine from her bower-window
+  Looked over heath and wood;
+She heard a smit o' bridle-reins,
+  And the sound did her heart good.
+
+"Welcome, young Redin, welcome!
+  And welcome again, my dear!
+Light down, light down from your horse," she
+  "It's long since you were here."
+
+"O gude morrow, lady, gude morrow, lady;
+  God mak' you safe and free!
+I'm come to tak' my last fareweel,
+  And pay my last visit to thee.
+
+"I mustna light, and I canna light,
+  I winna stay at a';
+For a fairer lady than ten of thee
+  Is waiting at Castleswa'."
+
+"O if your love be changed, my dear,
+  Since better may not be,
+Yet, ne'ertheless, for auld lang syne,
+  Bide this ae night wi' me."
+
+She birl'd him wi' the ale and wine,
+  As they sat down to sup;
+A living man he laid him down,
+  But I wot he ne'er rose up.
+
+"Now lie ye there, young Redin," she says,
+  "O lie ye there till morn,--
+Though a fairer lady than ten of me
+  Is waiting till you come home!
+
+"O lang, lang is the winter night,
+  Till day begins to daw;
+There is a dead man in my bower,
+  And I would he were awa'."
+
+She cried upon her bower-maiden,
+  Aye ready at her ca':
+"There is a knight into my bower,
+  'Tis time he were awa'."
+
+They've booted him and spurred him,
+  As he was wont to ride,
+A hunting-horn tied round his waist,
+  A sharp sword by his side;
+And they've flung him into the wan water,
+  The deepest pool in Clyde.
+
+Then up bespake a little bird
+  That sate upon the tree,
+"Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady,
+  And pay your maid her fee."
+
+"Come down, come down, my pretty bird,
+  That sits upon the tree;
+I have a cage of beaten gold,
+  I'll gie it unto thee."
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady;
+  I winna come down to thee;
+For as ye have done to young Redin,
+  Ye'd do the like to me."
+
+O there came seeking young Redin
+  Mony a lord and knight,
+And there came seeking young Redin
+  Mony a lady bright.
+
+They've called on Lady Catherine,
+  But she sware by oak and thorn
+That she saw him not, young Redin,
+  Since yesterday at morn.
+
+The lady turned her round about,
+  Wi' mickle mournfu' din:
+"It fears me sair o' Clyde water
+  That he is drowned therein."
+
+Then up spake young Redin's mither,
+  The while she made her mane:
+"My son kenn'd a' the fords o' Clyde,
+  He'd ride them ane by ane."
+
+"Gar douk, gar douk!" his father he cried,
+  "Gar douk for gold and fee!
+O wha will douk for young Redin's sake,
+  And wha will douk for me?"
+
+They hae douked in at ae weil-head,
+  And out again at the ither:
+"We'll douk nae mair for young Redin,
+  Although he were our brither."
+
+Then out it spake a little bird
+  That sate upon the spray:
+"What gars ye seek him, young Redin,
+  Sae early in the day?
+
+"Leave aff your douking on the day,
+  And douk at dark o' night;
+Aboon the pool young Redin lies in,
+  The candles they'll burn bright."
+
+They left aff their douking on the day,
+  They hae douked at dark o' night;
+Aboon the pool where young Redin lay,
+  The candles they burned bright.
+
+The deepest pool in a' the stream
+  They found young Redin in;
+Wi' a great stone tied across his breast
+  To keep his body down.
+
+Then up and spake the little bird,
+  Says, "What needs a' this din?
+It was Lady Catherine took his life,
+  And hided him in the linn."
+
+She sware her by the sun and moon,
+  She sware by grass and corn,
+She hadna seen him, young Redin,
+  Since Monanday at morn.
+
+"It's surely been my bower-woman,--
+  O ill may her betide!
+I ne'er wad hae slain my young Redin,
+  And thrown him in the Clyde."
+
+Now they hae cut baith fern and thorn,
+  The bower-woman to brin;
+And they hae made a big balefire,
+  And put this maiden in;
+But the fire it took na on her cheek,
+  It took na on her chin.
+
+Out they hae ta'en the bower-woman,
+  And put her mistress in;
+The flame took fast upon her cheek,
+  Took fast upon her chin,
+Took fast upon her fair bodie,
+  Because of her deadly sin.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET.
+
+Willie stands in his stable,
+  A-clapping of his steed;
+And over his white fingers
+  His nose began to bleed.
+
+"Gie corn to my horse, mither;
+  Gie meat unto my man;
+For I maun gang to Margaret's bower,
+  Before the night comes on."
+
+"O stay at home, my son Willie!
+  The wind blaws cold and stour;
+The night will be baith mirk and late,
+  Before ye reach her bower."
+
+"O tho' the night were ever sae dark,
+  O the wind blew never sae cauld,
+I will be in May Margaret's bower
+  Before twa hours be tauld."
+
+"O bide this night wi' me, Willie,
+  O bide this night wi' me!
+The bestan fowl in a' the roost
+  At your supper, my son, shall be."
+
+"A' your fowls, and a' your roosts,
+  I value not a pin;
+I only care for May Margaret;
+  And ere night to her bower I'll win."
+
+"O an ye gang to May Margaret
+  Sae sair against my will,
+In the deepest pot o' Clyde's water
+  My malison ye's feel!"
+
+He mounted on his coal-black steed,
+  And fast he rade awa';
+But ere he came to Clyde's water
+  Fu' loud the wind did blaw.
+
+As he rade over yon hie hie hill,
+  And doun yon dowie den,
+There was a roar in Clyde's water
+  Wad feared a hundred men.
+
+But Willie has swam through Clyde's water,
+  Though it was wide and deep;
+And he came to May Margaret's door
+  When a' were fast asleep.
+
+O he's gane round and round about,
+  And tirled at the pin,
+But doors were steeked and windows barred,
+  And nane to let him in.
+
+"O open the door to me, Margaret!
+  O open and let me in!
+For my boots are fu' o' Clyde's water,
+  And frozen to the brim."
+
+"I daurna open the door to you,
+  I daurna let you in;
+For my mither she is fast asleep,
+  And I maun mak' nae din."
+
+"O gin ye winna open the door,
+  Nor be sae kind to me,
+Now tell me o' some out-chamber,
+  Where I this night may be."
+
+"Ye canna win in this night, Willie,
+  Nor here ye canna be;
+For I've nae chambers out nor in,
+  Nae ane but barely three.
+
+"The tane is fu' to the roof wi' corn,
+  The tither is fu' wi' hay;
+The third is fu' o' merry young men,
+  They winna remove till day."
+
+"O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret,
+  Sin' better it mauna be.
+I have won my mither's malison,
+  Coming this night to thee."
+
+He's mounted on his coal-black steed,
+  O but his heart was wae!
+But e'er he came to Clyde's water,
+  'Twas half-way up the brae.
+
+When down he rade to the river-flood,
+  'Twas fast flowing ower the brim;
+The rushing that was in Clyde's water
+  Took Willie's rod frae him.
+
+He leaned him ower his saddle-bow
+  To catch his rod again;
+The rushing that was in Clyde's water
+  Took Willie's hat frae him.
+
+He leaned him ower his saddle-bow
+  To catch his hat by force;
+The rushing that was in Clyde's water
+  Took Willie frae his horse.
+
+O I canna turn my horse's head;
+  I canna strive to sowm;
+I've gotten my mither's malison,
+  And it's here that I maun drown!"
+
+The very hour this young man sank
+  Into the pot sae deep,
+Up wakened his love, May Margaret,
+  Out of her heavy sleep.
+
+"Come hither, come hither, my minnie dear,
+  Come hither read my dream;
+I dreamed my love Willie was at our gates,
+  And nane wad let him in."
+
+"Lie still, lie still, dear Margaret,
+  Lie still and tak' your rest;
+Your lover Willie was at the gates,
+  'Tis but two quarters past."
+
+Nimbly, nimbly rase she up,
+  And quickly put she on;
+While ever against her window
+  The louder blew the win'.
+
+Out she ran into the night,
+  And down the dowie den;
+The strength that was in Clyde's water
+  Wad drown five hundred men.
+
+She stepped in to her ankle,
+  She stepped free and bold;
+"Ohone, alas!" said that ladye,
+  "This water is wondrous cold."
+
+The second step that she waded,
+  She waded to the knee;
+Says she, "I'd fain wade farther in,
+  If I my love could see."
+
+The neistan step that she waded,
+  She waded to the chin;
+'Twas a whirlin' pot o' Clyde's water
+  She got sweet Willie in.
+
+"O ye've had a cruel mither, Willie!
+  And I have had anither;
+But we shall sleep in Clyde's water
+  Like sister and like brither."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+YOUNG BEICHAN.
+
+In London was young Beichan born,
+  He longed strange countries for to see,
+But he was ta'en by a savage Moor,
+  Who handled him right cruellie.
+
+For he viewed the fashions of that land,
+  Their way of worship viewed he,
+But to Mahound or Termagant
+  Would Beichan never bend a knee.
+
+So in every shoulder they've putten a bore,
+  In every bore they've putten a tree,
+And they have made him trail the wine
+  And spices on his fair bodie.
+
+They've casten him in a dungeon deep,
+  Where he could neither hear nor see,
+For seven years they've kept him there,
+  Till he for hunger's like to dee.
+
+This Moor he had but ae daughter,
+  Her name was called Susie Pye,
+And every day as she took the air,
+  Near Beichan's prison she passed by.
+
+And so it fell upon a day,
+  About the middle time of Spring,
+As she was passing by that way,
+  She heard young Beichan sadly sing.
+
+All night long no rest she got,
+  Young Beichan's song for thinking on;
+She's stown the keys from her father's head,
+  And to the prison strang is gone.
+
+And she has opened the prison doors,
+  I wot she opened two or three,
+Ere she could come young Beichan at,
+  He was locked up so curiouslie.
+
+But when she cam' young Beichan till,
+  Sore wondered he that may to see;
+He took her for some fair captive:
+  "Fair lady, I pray, of what countrie?"
+
+"O have ye any lands," she said,
+  "Or castles in your own countrie,
+That ye could give to a lady fair,
+  From prison strang to set you free?"
+
+"Near London town I have a hall,
+  And other castles two or three;
+I'll give them all to the lady fair
+  That out of prison will set me free."
+
+"Give me the truth of your right hand,
+  The truth of it give unto me,
+That for seven years ye'll no lady wed,
+  Unless it be alang with me."
+
+"I'll give thee the truth of my right hand,
+  The truth of it I'll freely gie,
+That for seven years I'll stay unwed,
+  For the kindness thou dost show to me."
+
+And she has brib'd the proud warder,
+  Wi' mickle gold and white monie,
+She's gotten the keys of the prison strang,
+  And she has set young Beichan free.
+
+She's gi'en him to eat the good spice-cake,
+  She's gi'en him to drink the blude-red wine,
+She's bidden him sometimes think on her,
+  That sae kindly freed him out o' pine.
+
+And she has broken her finger-ring,
+  And to Beichan half of it gave she:
+"Keep it, to mind you in foreign land
+  Of the lady's love that set you free.
+
+"And set your foot on good ship-board,
+  And haste ye back to your ain countrie,
+And before that seven years have an end,
+  Come back again, love, and marry me."
+
+But lang ere seven years had an end,
+  She longed full sore her love to see,
+So she's set her foot on good ship-board,
+  And turned her back on her ain countrie.
+
+She sailèd east, she sailèd west,
+  Till to fair England's shore she came,
+Where a bonny shepherd she espied,
+  Was feeding his sheep upon the plain.
+
+"What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd?
+  What news hast thou to tell to me?"
+"Such news I hear, ladie," he says,
+  "The like was never in this countrie.
+
+"There is a wedding in yonder hall,
+  And ever the bells ring merrilie;
+It is Lord Beichan's wedding-day
+  Wi' a lady fair o' high degree."
+
+She's putten her hand into her pocket,
+  Gi'en him the gold and white monie;
+"Hay, take ye that, my bonny boy,
+  All for the news thou tell'st to me."
+
+When she came to young Beichan's gate,
+  She tirlèd saftly at the pin;
+So ready was the proud porter
+  To open and let this lady in.
+
+"Is this young Beichan's hall," she said,
+  "Or is that noble lord within?"
+"Yea, he's in the hall among them all,
+  And this is the day o' his weddin."
+
+"And has he wed anither love?
+  And has he clean forgotten me?"
+And sighin said that ladie gay,
+  "I wish I were in my ain countrie."
+
+And she has ta'en her gay gold ring
+  That with her love she brake sae free;
+Says, "Gie him that, ye proud porter,
+  And bid the bridegroom speak wi' me."
+
+When the porter came his lord before,
+  He kneeled down low upon his knee:
+"What aileth thee, my proud porter,
+  Thou art so full of courtesie?"
+
+"I've been porter at your gates,
+  It's now for thirty years and three;
+But the lovely lady that stands thereat,
+  The like o' her did I never see.
+
+"For on every finger she has a ring,
+  And on her mid-finger she has three,
+And meikle gold aboon her brow.
+  Sae fair a may did I never see."
+
+It's out then spak the bride's mother,
+  And an angry woman, I wot, was she:
+"Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,
+  And twa or three of our companie."
+
+"O hold your tongue, thou bride's mother,
+  Of all your folly let me be;
+She's ten times fairer nor the bride,
+  And all that's in your companie.
+
+"And this golden ring that's broken in twa,
+  This half o' a golden ring sends she:
+'Ye'll carry that to Lord Beichan,' she says,
+  'And bid him come an' speak wi' me.'
+
+"She begs one sheave of your white bread,
+  But and a cup of your red wine,
+And to remember the lady's love
+  That last relieved you out of pine."
+
+"O well-a-day!" said Beichan then,
+  "That I so soon have married me!
+For it can be none but Susie Pye,
+  That for my love has sailed the sea."
+
+And quickly hied he down the stair;
+  Of fifteen steps he made but three;
+He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms
+  And kist and kist her tenderlie.
+
+"O hae ye ta'en anither bride?
+  And hae ye clean forgotten me?
+And hae ye quite forgotten her
+  That gave you life and libertie?"
+
+She lookit o'er her left shoulder,
+  To hide the tears stood in her ee:
+"Now fare thee well, young Beichan," she says,
+  "I'll try to think no more on thee."
+
+"O never, never, Susie Pye,
+  For surely this can never be,
+Nor ever shall I wed but her
+  That's done and dreed so much for me."
+
+Then out and spak the forenoon bride:
+  "My lord, your love it changeth soon.
+This morning I was made your bride,
+  And another chose ere it be noon."
+
+"O hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride,
+  Ye're ne'er a whit the worse for me,
+And whan ye return to your ain land,
+  A double dower I'll send with thee."
+
+He's ta'en Susie Pye by the milkwhite hand,
+  And led her thro' the halls sae hie,
+And aye as he kist her red-rose lips,
+  "Ye're dearly welcome, jewel, to me."
+
+He's ta'en her by the milkwhite hand,
+  And led her to yon fountain-stane;
+He's changed her name from Susie Pye,
+  And call'd her his bonny love, Lady Jane.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+GILDEROY.
+
+Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,
+  Had roses till his shoon,
+His stockings were of silken soy,
+  Wi' garters hanging doun:
+It was, I ween, a comely sight,
+  To see sae trim a boy;
+He was my joy and heart's delight,
+  My winsome Gilderoy.
+
+O sic twa charming e'en he had,
+  A breath as sweet as rose,
+He never ware a Highland plaid,
+  But costly silken clothes;
+He gained the love of ladies gay,
+  Nane e'er to him was coy;
+Ah, wae is me! I mourn this day
+  For my dear Gilderoy.
+
+My Gilderoy and I were born
+  Baith in one toun together,
+We scant were seven years beforn
+  We 'gan to luve each ither;
+Our daddies and our mammies they
+  Were fill'd wi' meikle joy,
+To think upon the bridal day
+  Of me and Gilderoy.
+
+For Gilderoy, that luve of mine,
+  Gude faith, I freely bought
+A wedding sark of Holland fine,
+  Wi' dainty ruffles wrought;
+And he gied me a wedding-ring,
+  Which I received wi' joy;
+Nae lad nor lassie e'er could sing
+  Like me and Gilderoy.
+
+Wi' meikle joy we spent our prime,
+  Till we were baith sixteen,
+And aft we passed the langsam time
+  Amang the leaves sae green;
+Aft on the banks we'd sit us there,
+  And sweetly kiss and toy;
+Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
+  My handsome Gilderoy.
+
+O that he still had been content
+  Wi' me to lead his life!
+But ah, his manfu' heart was bent
+  To stir in feats of strife.
+And he in many a venturous deed
+  His courage bold wad try;
+And now this gars my heart to bleed
+  For my dear Gilderoy.
+
+And when of me his leave he took,
+  The tears they wat mine e'e;
+I gied him sic a parting look:
+  "My benison gang wi' thee!
+God speed thee weel, my ain dear heart,
+  For gane is all my joy;
+My heart is rent sith we maun part,
+  My handsome Gilderoy."
+
+The Queen of Scots possessèd nought
+  That my luve let me want;
+For cow and ewe he to me brought,
+  And e'en when they were scant:
+All these did honestly possess,
+  He never did annoy
+Who never failed to pay their cess
+  To my luve Gilderoy.
+
+My Gilderoy, baith far and near,
+  Was fear'd in every toun,
+And bauldly bare awa' the gear
+  Of many a lawland loun:
+For man to man durst meet him nane,
+  He was sae brave a boy;
+At length with numbers he was ta'en,
+  My winsome Gilderoy.
+
+Wae worth the loun that made the laws,
+  To hang a man for gear;
+To reive of life for sic a cause,
+  As stealing horse or mare!
+Had not these laws been made sae strick,
+  I ne'er had lost my joy,
+Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheek,
+  For my dear Gilderoy.
+
+Gif Gilderoy had done amiss,
+  He might have banished been.
+Ah, what sair cruelty is this,
+  To hang sic handsome men!
+To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
+  Sae sweet and fair a boy!
+Nae lady had so white a hand
+  As thee, my Gilderoy.
+
+Of Gilderoy sae 'fraid they were,
+  They bound him meikle strong,
+To Edinburgh they took him there,
+  And on a gallows hung:
+They hung him high aboon the rest,
+  He was sae trim a boy;
+There died the youth whom I lo'ed best,
+  My handsome Gilderoy.
+
+Sune as he yielded up his breath,
+  I bare his corpse away,
+Wi' tears that trickled for his death,
+  I wash'd his comely clay;
+And sicker in a grave sae deep
+  I laid the dear-lo'ed boy;
+And now forever I maun weep
+  My winsome Gilderoy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+BONNY BARBARA ALLAN.
+
+It was in and about the Martinmas time,
+  When the green leaves were a falling,
+That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country,
+  Fell in love with Barbara Allan.
+
+He sent his men down through the town,
+  To the place where she was dwelling:
+"O haste and come to my master dear,
+  Gin ye be Barbara Allan."
+
+O hooly, hooly rose she up,
+  To the place where he was lying,
+And when she drew the curtain by,
+  "Young man, I think you're dying."
+
+"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
+  And it's a' for Barbara Allan;"
+"O the better for me ye's never be,
+  Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.
+
+"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,
+  "When ye was in the tavern a drinking,
+That ye made the healths gae round and round,
+  And slighted Barbara Allan?"
+
+He turned his face unto the wall,
+  And death was with him dealing;
+"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
+  And be kind to Barbara Allan."
+
+And slowly, slowly raise she up,
+  And slowly, slowly left him,
+And sighing said, she could not stay,
+  Since death of life had reft him.
+
+She had not gane a mile but twa,
+  When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
+And every jow that the dead-bell gied,
+  It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!
+
+"O mother, mother, make my bed!
+  O make it saft and narrow!
+Since my love died for me to-day,
+  I'll die for him to-morrow."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+THE GARDENER.
+
+The gard'ner stands in his bower door,
+  Wi' a primrose in his hand,
+And by there cam' a leal maiden,
+  As jimp as a willow wand.
+
+"O ladie, can ye fancy me,
+  For to be my bride?
+Ye'se get a' the flowers in my garden,
+  To be to you a weed.
+
+"The lily white sail be your smock;
+  It becomes your bodie best;
+Your head sail be buskt wi' gilly-flower,
+  Wi' the primrose in your breast.
+
+"Your goun sall be the sweet-william;
+  Your coat the camovine;
+Your apron o' the sallads neat,
+  That taste baith sweet and fine.
+
+"Your hose sall be the brade kail-blade,
+  That is baith brade and lang;
+Narrow, narrow at the cute,
+  And brade, brade at the brawn.
+
+"Your gloves sail be the marigold,
+  All glittering to your hand,
+Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort,
+  That grows amang corn-land."
+
+"O fare ye well, young man," she says,
+  "Fareweil, and I bid adieu;
+If you can fancy me," she says,
+  "I canna fancy you.
+
+"Sin' ye've provided a weed for me
+  Amang the simmer flowers,
+It's I'se provide anither for you,
+  Amang the winter-showers:
+
+"The new fawn snaw to be your smock;
+  It becomes your bodie best;
+Your head sall be wrapt wi' the eastern wind,
+  And the cauld rain on your breast."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+ETIN THE FORESTER.
+
+Lady Margaret sits in her bower door,
+  Sewing her silken seam;
+She heard a note in Elmond's wood,
+  And wished she there had been.
+
+She loot the seam fa' frae her side,
+  And the needle to her tae,
+And she is aff to Elmond's wood
+  As fast as she could gae.
+
+She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,
+  Nor broken a branch but ane,
+Till by there cam' a young hynd chiel,
+  Says, "Lady, lat alane.
+
+"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut,
+  Or why brake ye the tree?
+For I am forester o' this wood:
+  Ye should spier leave at me."
+
+"I'll spier leave at na living man,
+  Nor yet will I at thee;
+My father is king o'er a' this realm,
+  This wood belangs to me."
+
+"You're welcome to the wood, Marg'ret,
+  You're welcome here to me;
+A fairer bower than e'er you saw.
+  I'll bigg this night for thee."
+
+He has bigged a bower beside the thorn,
+  He has fenced it up wi' stane,
+And there within the Elmond wood,
+  They twa has dwelt their lane.
+
+He kept her in the Elmond wood,
+  For twelve lang years and mair;
+And seven fair sons to Hynd Etin,
+  Did that gay lady bear.
+
+It fell out ance upon a day,
+  To the hunting he has gane;
+And he has ta'en his eldest son,
+  To gang alang wi' him.
+
+When they were in the gay greenwood,
+  They heard the mavis sing;
+When they were up aboon the brae,
+  They heard the kirk bells ring.
+
+"O I wad ask ye something, father,
+  An' ye wadna angry be!"
+"Say on, say on, my bonny boy,
+  Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."
+
+"My mither's cheeks are aft-times weet,
+  It's seldom they are dry;
+What is't that gars my mither greet,
+  And sob sae bitterlie?"
+
+"Nae wonder she suld greet, my boy,
+  Nae wonder she suld pine,
+For it is twelve lang years and mair,
+  She's seen nor kith nor kin,
+And it is twelve lang years and mair,
+  Since to the kirk she's been.
+
+"Your mither was an Earl's daughter,
+  And cam' o' high degree,
+And she might hae wedded the first in the land,
+  Had she nae been stown by me.
+
+"For I was but her father's page,
+  And served him on my knee;
+And yet my love was great for her,
+  And sae was hers for me."
+
+"I'll shoot the laverock i' the lift,
+  The buntin on the tree,
+And bring them to my mither hames
+  See if she'll merrier be."
+
+It fell upon anither day,
+  This forester thought lang;
+And he is to the hunting gane
+  The forest leaves amang.
+
+Wi' bow and arrow by his side,
+  He took his path alane;
+And left his seven young children
+  To bide wi' their mither at hame.
+
+"O I wad ask ye something, mither,
+  An ye wadna angry be."
+"Ask on, ask on, my eldest son;
+  Ask ony thing at me."
+
+"Your cheeks are aft-times weet, mither;
+  You're greetin', as I can see."
+"Nae wonder, nae wonder, my little son,
+  Nae wonder though I should dee!
+
+"For I was ance an Earl's daughter,
+  Of noble birth and fame;
+And now I'm the mither o' seven sons
+  Wha ne'er gat christendame."
+
+He's ta'en his mither by the hand,
+  His six brithers also,
+And they are on through Elmond-wood
+  As fast as they could go.
+
+They wistna weel wha they were gaen,
+  And weary were their feet;
+They wistna weel wha they were gaen,
+  Till they stopped at her father's gate.
+
+"I hae nae money in my pocket,
+  But jewel-rings I hae three;
+I'll gie them to you, my little son,
+  And ye'll enter there for me.
+
+"Ye'll gie the first to the proud porter,
+  And he will lat you in;
+Ye'll gie the next to the butler-boy,
+  And he will show you ben.
+
+"Ye'll gie the third to the minstrel
+  That's harping in the ha',
+And he'll play gude luck to the bonny boy
+  That comes frae the greenwood shaw."
+
+He gied the first to the proud porter,
+  And he opened and lat him in;
+He gied the next to the butler-boy,
+  And he has shown him ben;
+
+He gied the third to the minstrel
+  Was harping in the ha',
+And he played gude luck to the bonny boy
+  That cam' frae the greenwood shaw.
+
+Now when he cam' before the Earl,
+  He louted on his knee;
+The Earl he turned him round about,
+  And the saut tear blint his e'e.
+
+"Win up, win up, thou bonny boy,
+  Gang frae my companie;
+Ye look sae like my dear daughter,
+  My heart will burst in three!"
+
+"If I look like your dear daughter,
+  A wonder it is nane;
+If I look like your dear daughter,
+  I am her eldest son."
+
+"O tell me soon, ye little wee boy,
+  Where may my Margaret be?"
+"She's e'en now standing at your gates.
+  And my six brithers her wi'."
+
+"O where are a' my porter-boys
+  That I pay meat and fee,
+To open my gates baith braid and wide,
+  And let her come in to me?"
+
+When she cam' in before the Earl,
+  She fell doun low on her knee:
+"Win up, win up, my daughter dear;
+  This day ye'se dine wi' me."
+
+"Ae bit I canna eat, father,
+  Ae drop I canna drink,
+Till I see Etin, my husband dear;
+  Sae lang for him I think!"
+
+"O where are a' my rangers bold
+  That I pay meat and fee,
+To search the forest far and wide,
+  And bring Hynd Etin to me?"
+
+Out it speaks the little wee boy:
+  "Na, na, this maunna be;
+Without ye grant a free pardon,
+  I hope ye'll na him see!"
+
+"O here I grant a free pardon,
+  Well sealed wi' my ain han';
+And mak' ye search for Hynd Etin,
+  As sune as ever ye can."
+
+They searched the country braid and wide,
+  The forest far and near,
+And they found him into Elmond-wood,
+  Tearing his yellow hair.
+
+"Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin,
+  Win up and boun' wi' me;
+For we are come frae the castle,
+  And the Earl wad fain you see."
+
+"O lat him tak' my head," he says,
+  "Or hang me on a tree;
+For sin' I've lost my dear lady,
+  My life's nae worth to me!"
+
+"Your head will na be touched, Etin,
+  Nor sall you hang on tree;
+Your lady's in her father's court,
+  And all he wants is thee."
+
+When he cam' in before the Earl,
+  He louted on his knee:
+"Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin;
+  This day ye'se dine wi' me."
+
+As they were at their dinner set,
+  The boy he asked a boon:
+"I wold we were in haly kirk,
+To get our christendoun.
+
+"For we hae lived in gude greenwood
+  These twelve lang years and ane;
+But a' this time since e'er I mind
+  Was never a kirk within."
+
+"Your asking's na sae great, my boy,
+  But granted it sall be:
+This day to haly kirk sall ye gang,
+  And your mither sall gang you wi'."
+
+When she cam' to the haly kirk,
+  She at the door did stan';
+She was sae sunken doun wi' shame,
+  She couldna come farther ben.
+
+Then out it spak' the haly priest,
+  Wi' a kindly word spak' he:
+"Come ben, come ben, my lily-flower,
+  And bring your babes to me."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+LAMKIN.
+
+It's Lamkin was a mason good
+  As ever built wi' stane;
+He built Lord Wearie's castle,
+  But payment gat he nane.
+
+"O pay me, Lord Wearie,
+  Come, pay me my fee:"
+"I canna pay you, Lamkin,
+  For I maun gang o'er the sea."
+
+"O pay me now, Lord Wearie,
+  Come, pay me out o' hand:"
+"I canna pay you, Lamkin,
+  Unless I sell my land."
+
+"O gin ye winna pay me,
+  I here sall mak' a vow,
+Before that ye come hame again,
+  Ye sall hae cause to rue."
+
+Lord Wearie got a bonny ship,
+  To sail the saut sea faem;
+Bade his lady weel the castle keep,
+  Ay till he should come hame.
+
+But the nourice was a fause limmer
+  As e'er hung on a tree;
+She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
+  Whan her lord was o'er the sea.
+
+She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
+  When the servants were awa',
+Loot him in at a little shot-window,
+  And brought him to the ha'.
+
+"O where's a' the men o' this house,
+  That ca' me Lamkin?"
+"They're at the barn-well thrashing;
+  'Twill be lang ere they come in."
+
+"And where's the women o' this house,
+  That ca' me Lamkin?"
+"They're at the far well washing;
+  'Twill be lang ere they come in."
+
+"And where's the bairns o' this house,
+  That ca' me Lamkin?"
+"They're at the school reading;
+  'Twill be night or they come hame."
+
+"O where's the lady o' this house,
+  That ca's me Lamkin?"
+"She's up in her bower sewing,
+  But we soon can bring her down."
+
+Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife,
+  That hang down by his gaire,
+And he has gi'en the bonny babe
+  A deep wound and a sair.
+
+Then Lamkin he rocked,
+  And the fause nourice she sang,
+Till frae ilka bore o' the cradle
+  The red blood out sprang.
+
+Then out it spak' the lady,
+  As she stood on the stair:
+"What ails my bairn, nourice,
+  That he's greeting sae sair?
+
+"O still my bairn, nourice,
+  O still him wi' the pap!"
+"He winna still, lady,
+  For this nor for that."
+
+"O still my bairn, nourice,
+  O still him wi' the wand!"
+"He winna still, lady,
+  For a' his father's land."
+
+"O still my bairn, nourice,
+  O still him wi' the bell!"
+"He winna still, lady,
+  Till you come down yoursel."
+
+O the firsten step she steppit,
+  She steppit on a stane;
+But the neisten step she steppit,
+  She met him Lamkin.
+
+"O mercy, mercy, Lamkin,
+  Hae mercy upon me!
+Though you've ta'en my young son's life,
+  Ye may let mysel be."
+
+"O sall I kill her, nourice,
+  Or sall I lat her be?"
+"O kill her, kill her, Lamkin,
+  For she ne'er was good to me."
+
+"O scour the bason, nourice,
+  And mak' it fair and clean,
+For to keep this lady's heart's blood,
+  For she's come o' noble kin."
+
+"There need nae bason, Lamkin,
+  Lat it run through the floor;
+What better is the heart's blood
+  O' the rich than o' the poor?"
+
+But ere three months were at an end,
+  Lord Wearie cam' again;
+But dowie, dowie was his heart
+  When first he cam' hame.
+
+"O wha's blood is this," he says,
+  "That lies in the chamer?"
+"It is your lady's heart's blood;
+  'Tis as clear as the lamer."
+
+"And wha's blood is this," he says,
+  "That lies in my ha'?"
+"It is your young son's heart's blood;
+  'Tis the clearest ava."
+
+O sweetly sang the black-bird
+  That sat upon the tree;
+But sairer grat Lamkin,
+  When he was condemnd to die.
+
+And bonny sang the mavis,
+  Out o' the thorny brake;
+But sairer grat the nourice,
+  When she was tied to the stake.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+HUGH OF LINCOLN.
+
+Four and twenty bonny boys
+  Were playing at the ba',
+And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
+  The flower amang them a'.
+
+He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot,
+  And keppit it wi' his knee,
+Till even in at the Jew's window
+  He gart the bonny ba' flee.
+
+"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid,
+  Cast out that ba' o' mine."
+"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
+  "Till ye come up an' dine.
+
+"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
+  Come up and get the ba'."
+"I winna come, I mayna come,
+  Without my bonny boys a'."
+
+She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden,
+  Where the grass grew lang and green,
+She's pu'd an apple red and white,
+  To wyle the bonny boy in.
+
+She's wyled him in through ae chamber,
+  She's wyled him in through twa,
+She's wyled him into the third chamber,
+  And that was the warst o' a'.
+
+She's tied the little boy, hands and feet,
+  She's pierced him wi' a knife,
+She's caught his heart's blood in a golden cup,
+  And twinn'd him o' his life.
+
+She row'd him in a cake o' lead,
+  Bade him lie still and sleep,
+She cast him into a deep draw-well,
+  Was fifty fathom deep.
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+  And every bairn went hame,
+Then ilka lady had her young son,
+  But Lady Helen had nane.
+
+She's row'd her mantle her about,
+  And sair, sair 'gan she weep;
+And she ran unto the Jew's house,
+  When they were all asleep.
+
+"My bonny Sir Hugh, my pretty Sir Hugh,
+  I pray thee to me speak!"
+"Lady Helen, come to the deep draw-well
+  Gin ye your son wad seek."
+
+Lady Helen ran to the deep draw-well,
+  And knelt upon her knee:
+"My bonny Sir Hugh, an ye be here,
+  I pray thee speak to me!"
+
+"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,
+  The well is wondrous deep;
+A keen penknife sticks in my heart,
+  It is hard for me to speak.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
+  Fetch me my winding-sheet;
+And at the back o' merry Lincoln,
+  It's there we twa sall meet."
+
+Now Lady Helen she's gane hame,
+  Made him a winding-sheet;
+And at the back o' merry Lincoln,
+  The dead corpse did her meet.
+
+And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln
+  Without men's hands were rung;
+And a' the books o' merry Lincoln
+  Were read without men's tongue:
+Never was such a burial
+  Sin' Adam's days begun.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+FAIR ANNIE.
+
+Learn to mak' your bed, Annie,
+  And learn to lie your lane;
+For I am going ayont the sea,
+  A braw bride to bring hame.
+
+"Wi' her I'll get baith gowd and gear,
+  Wi' thee I ne'er gat nane;
+I got thee as a waif woman,
+  I'll leave thee as the same.
+
+"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
+  And brew my bridal ale,
+And wha will welcome my bright bride,
+That I bring owre the dale?"
+
+"It's I will bake your bridal bread,
+  And brew your bridal ale;
+And I will welcome your bright bride,
+  When she comes owre the dale."
+
+He set his foot into the stirrup,
+  His hand upon the mane;
+Says, "It will be a year and a day,
+  Ere ye see me again."
+
+Fair Annie stood in her bower door,
+  And looked out o'er the lan',
+And there she saw her ain gude lord
+  Leading his bride by the han'.
+
+She's drest her sons i' the scarlet red,
+  Hersel i' the dainty green;
+And tho' her cheek look'd pale and wan,
+  She weel might hae been a queen.
+
+She called upon her eldest son;
+  "Look yonder what ye see,
+For yonder comes your father dear,
+  Your stepmither him wi'.
+
+"Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
+  To your halls but and your bowers;
+Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
+  To your castles and your towers;
+Sae is your bright bride you beside,
+  She's fairer than the flowers!"
+
+"I thank ye, I thank ye, fair maiden,
+  That speaks sae courteouslie;
+If I be lang about this house,
+  Rewarded ye sall be.
+
+"O what'n a maiden's that," she says,
+  "That welcomes you and me?
+She is sae like my sister Annie,
+  Was stown i' the bower frae me."
+
+O she has served the lang tables,
+  Wi' the white bread and the wine;
+But ay she drank the wan water,
+  To keep her colour fine.
+
+And as she gaed by the first table,
+  She leugh amang them a';
+But ere she reach'd the second table,
+  She loot the tears doun fa'.
+
+She's ta'en a napkin lang and white,
+  And hung it on a pin;
+And it was a' to dry her e'en,
+  As she ga'ed out and in.
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+  And a' men boun to bed,
+The bride but and the bonny bridegroom,
+  In ae chamber were laid.
+
+She's ta'en her harp intill her hand,
+  To harp this twa asleep;
+And ay as she harped and as she sang,
+  Full sairly did she weep.
+
+"O seven full fair sons hae I born,
+  To the gude lord o' this place;
+And O that they were seven young hares,
+  And them to rin a race,
+And I mysel a gude greyhound,
+  And I wad gie them chase!
+
+"O seven full fair sons hae I born
+  To the gude lord o' this ha';
+And O that they were seven rattons
+  To rin frae wa' to wa',
+And I mysel a gude grey cat,
+  And I wad worry them a'!"
+
+"My goun is on," said the new-come bride,
+  "My shoon are on my feet;
+And I will to fair Annie's chamber,
+  And see what gars her greet.
+
+"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
+  And wha was't was your mither?
+And had ye ony sister, Annie,
+  Or had ye ony brither?"
+
+"The Earl o' Richmond was my father,
+  His lady was my mither,
+And a' the bairns beside mysel,
+  Was a sister and a brither."
+
+"O weel befa' your sang, Annie,
+  I wat ye hae sung in time;
+Gin the Earl o' Richmond was your father,
+  I wat sae was he mine.
+
+"O keep your lord, my sister dear,
+  Ye never were wranged by me;
+I had but ae kiss o' his merry mouth,
+  As we cam' owre the sea.
+
+There were five ships o' gude red gold
+  Cam' owre the seas wi' me,
+It's twa o' them will tak' me home,
+  And three I'll leave wi' thee."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE LAIRD O' DRUM.
+
+The Laird o' Drum is a-hunting gane,
+  All in a morning early,
+And he has spied a weel-faur'd May,
+  A-shearing at her barley.
+
+"My bonny May, my weel-faur'd May,
+  O will ye fancy me, O?
+Wilt gae and be the Leddy o' Drum,
+  And let your shearing a-be, O?"
+
+"It's I winna fancy you, kind sir,
+  Nor let my shearing a-be, O;
+For I'm ower low to be Leddy Drum,
+  And your light love I'll never be, O."
+
+"Gin ye'll cast aff that goun o' gray,
+  Put on the silk for me, O,
+I'll mak' a vow, and keep it true,
+  A light love you'll never be, O."
+
+"My father lie is a shepherd mean,
+  Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O,
+And ye may gae and speer at him,
+  For I am at his will, O."
+
+Drum is to her father gane,
+  Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O:
+"I am come to marry your ae daughter,
+  If ye'll gie me your good-will, O."
+
+"My dochter can naether read nor write,
+  She ne'er was brocht up at scheel, O;
+But weel can she milk baith cow and ewe,
+  And mak' a kebbuck weel, O.
+
+"She'll shake your barn, and win your corn,
+  And gang to kiln and mill, O;
+She'll saddle your steed in time o' need,
+  And draw aff your boots hersell, O."
+
+"I'll learn your lassie to read and write,
+  And I'll put her to the scheel, O;
+She shall neither need to saddle my steed,
+  Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O.
+
+"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
+  Or brew my bridal ale, O;
+And wha will welcome my bonnie bride
+  Is mair than I can tell, O."
+
+Four-and-twenty gentlemen
+  Gaed in at the yetts of Drum, O:
+But no a man has lifted his hat,
+  When the Leddy o' Drum cam' in, O.
+
+"Peggy Coutts is a very bonny bride,
+  And Drum is big and gawsy;
+But he might hae chosen a higher match
+  Than ony shepherd's lassie!"
+
+Then up bespak his brither John,
+  Says, "Ye've done us meikle wrang, O;
+Ye've married ane far below our degree,
+A mock to a' our kin, O."
+
+"Now haud your tongue, my brither John;
+  What needs it thee offend, O?
+I've married a wife to work and win,
+  And ye've married ane to spend, O.
+
+"The first time that I married a wife,
+  She was far abune my degree, O;
+She wadna hae walked thro' the yetts o' Drum,
+  But the pearlin' abune her bree, O,
+And I durstna gang in the room where she was,
+  But my hat below my knee, O!"
+
+He has ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
+  And led her in himsell, O;
+And in through ha's and in through bowers,--
+  "And ye're welcome, Leddy Drum, O."
+
+When they had eaten and well drunken,
+  And a' men boun for bed, O,
+The Laird of Drum and his Leddy fair,
+  In ae bed they were laid, O.
+
+"Gin ye had been o' high renown,
+  As ye're o' low degree, O,
+We might hae baith gane doun the street
+  Amang gude companie, O."
+
+"I tauld ye weel ere we were wed,
+  Ye were far abune my degree, O;
+But now I'm married, in your bed laid,
+  And just as gude as ye, O.
+
+"For an I were dead, and ye were dead,
+  And baith in ae grave had lain, O;
+Ere seven years were come and gane,
+  They'd no ken your dust frae mine, O."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+LIZIE LINDSAY.
+
+"Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay,
+  Will ye gae to the Hielands wi' me?
+Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay,
+  And dine on fresh curds and green whey?"
+
+Then out it spak' Lizie's mither,
+  An' a gude auld leddy was she:
+"Gin ye say sic a word to my daughter,
+  I'll gar ye be hangit hie!"
+
+"Keep weel your daughter for me, madam;
+  Keep weel your daughter for me.
+I care as leetle for your daughter
+  As ye can care for me!"
+
+Then out spak' Lizie's ain maiden,
+  An' a bonnie young lassie was she;
+"Now gin I were heir to a kingdom,
+  Awa' wi' young Donald I'd be."
+
+"O say ye sae to me, Nelly?
+  And does my Nelly say sae?
+Maun I leave my father and mither,
+  Awa' wi' young Donald to gae?"
+
+And Lizie's ta'en till her her stockings,
+  And Lizie's taen till her her shoon,
+And kilted up her green claithing,
+  And awa' wi' young Donald she's gane.
+
+The road it was lang and was weary;
+  The braes they were ill for to climb;
+Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling,
+  A fit further couldna she win.
+
+"O are we near hame yet, dear Donald?
+  O are we near hame yet, I pray?"
+"We're naething near hame, bonnie Lizie,
+  Nor yet the half o' the way."
+
+Sair, O sair was she sighing,
+  And the saut tear blindit her e'e:
+"Gin this be the pleasures o' luving,
+  They never will do wi' me!"
+
+"Now haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie;
+  Ye never sall rue for me;
+Gie me but your luve for my ain luve,
+  It is a' that your tocher will be.
+
+"O haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie,
+  Altho' that the gait seem lang;
+And you's hae the wale o' gude living
+  When to Kincaussie we gang.
+
+"My father he is an auld shepherd,
+  My mither she is an auld dey;
+And we'll sleep on a bed o' green rashes,
+  And dine on fresh curds and green whey."
+
+They cam' to a hamely puir cottage;
+  The auld woman 'gan for to say:
+"O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald,
+  It's yoursell has been lang away."
+
+"Ye mustna ca' me Sir Donald,
+  But ca' me young Donald your son;
+For I hae a bonnie young leddy
+  Behind me, that's coming alang.
+
+"Come in, come in, bonnie Lizie,
+  Come hither, come hither," said he;
+"Altho' that our cottage be leetle,
+  I hope we'll the better agree.
+
+"O mak' us a supper, dear mither,
+  And mak' it o' curds and green whey;
+And mak' us a bed o' green rashes,
+  And cover it o'er wi' fresh hay."
+
+She's made them a bed o' green rashes,
+  And covered it o'er wi' fresh hay.
+Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling,
+  And lay till 'twas lang o' the day.
+
+"The sun looks in o'er the hill-head,
+  An' the laverock is liltin' sae gay;
+Get up, get up, bonnie Lizie,
+  Ye've lain till it's lang o' the day.
+
+"Ye might hae been out at the shealin',
+  Instead o' sae lang to lie;
+And up and helping my mither
+  To milk her gaits and her kye."
+
+Then sadly spak' out Lizie Lindsay,
+  She spak' it wi' mony a sigh:
+"The leddies o' Edinbro' city
+  They milk neither gaits nor kye."
+
+"Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizie,
+  Rise up and mak' yoursel' fine;
+For we maun be at Kincaussie,
+  Before that the clock strikes nine."
+
+But when they cam' to Kincaussie,
+  The porter he loudly doth say,
+"O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald;
+  It's yoursell has been lang away!"
+
+It's doun then cam' his auld mither,
+  Wi' a' the keys in her han';
+Saying, "Tak' ye these, bonnie Lizie,
+  For a' is at your comman'."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+KATHARINE JANFARIE.
+
+There was a may, and a weel-faur'd may.
+  Lived high up in yon glen:
+Her name was Katharine Janfarie,
+  She was courted by mony men.
+
+Doun cam' the Laird o' Lamington,
+  Doun frae the South Countrie;
+And he is for this bonny lass,
+  Her bridegroom for to be.
+
+He asked na her father, he asked na her mither,
+  He asked na ane o' her kin;
+But he whispered the bonny lassie hersel',
+  And did her favor win.
+
+Doun cam' an English gentleman,
+  Doun frae the English border;
+And he is for this bonnie lass,
+  To keep his house in order.
+
+He asked her father, he asked her mither,
+  And a' the lave o' her kin;
+But he never asked the lassie hersel'
+  Till on her wedding-e'en.
+
+But she has wrote a lang letter,
+  And sealed it wi' her han';
+And sent it away to Lamington,
+  To gar him understan'.
+
+The first line o' the letter he read,
+  He was baith fain and glad;
+But or he has read the letter o'er,
+  He's turned baith wan and sad.
+
+Then he has sent a messenger,
+  To rin through a' his land;
+And four and twenty armed men
+  Were sune at his command.
+
+But he has left his merry men all,
+  Left them on the lee;
+And he's awa' to the wedding-house,
+  To see what he could see.
+
+They all rase up to honor him,
+  For he was of high renown;
+They all rase up to welcome him,
+  And bade him to sit down.
+
+O meikle was the gude red wine
+  In silver cups did flow;
+But aye she drank to Lamington,
+  And fain with him wad go.
+
+"O come ye here to fight, young lord?
+  Or come ye here to play?
+Or come ye here to drink gude wine
+  Upon the wedding-day?"
+
+"I come na here to fight," he said,
+  "I come na here to play;
+I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,
+  And mount and go my way."
+
+He's caught her by the milk-white hand,
+  And by the grass-green sleeve;
+He's mounted her hie behind himsel',
+  At her kinsfolk spier'd na leave.
+
+It's up, it's up the Couden bank,
+  It's doun the Couden brae;
+And aye they made the trumpet soun,
+  "It's a' fair play!"
+
+Now a' ye lords and gentlemen
+  That be of England born,
+Come ye na doun to Scotland thus,
+  For fear ye get the scorn!
+
+They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words,
+  And play ye foul play;
+They'll dress you frogs instead of fish
+  Upon your wedding-day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+GLENLOGIE.
+
+Threescore o' nobles rade to the king's ha',
+But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a';
+Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonny black e'e,
+"Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!"
+
+"O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he."
+"O say na sae, mither, for that canna be;
+Though Drumlie is richer, and greater than he,
+Yet if I maun lo'e him, I'll certainly dee.
+
+"Where will I get a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon,
+Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?"
+"O here am I, a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon,
+Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon."
+
+When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine,"
+'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine."
+"O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine,
+To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.
+
+"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee."
+The first line he read, a low smile ga'e he;
+The next line he read, the tear blindit his e'e;
+But the last line he read, he gart the table flee.
+
+"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown;
+Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae the town;"
+But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green,
+O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane.
+
+When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there;
+Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair;
+"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she
+"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see."
+
+Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben,
+But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down;
+She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e;
+"O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR
+
+It fell about the Martinmas time,
+  And a gay time it was than,
+That our gudewife had puddings to mak'
+  And she boil'd them in the pan.
+
+The wind blew cauld frae east and north,
+  And blew intil the floor;
+Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
+  "Get up and bar the door."
+
+"My hand is in my hussyskep,
+  Gudeman, as ye may see;
+An it shou'dna be barr'd this hunder year,
+  It's ne'er be barr'd by me."
+
+They made a paction 'tween them twa,
+  They made it firm and sure,
+That the first word whaever spak,
+  Should rise and bar the door.
+
+Than by there came twa gentlemen,
+  At twelve o'clock at night,
+Whan they can see na ither house,
+  And at the door they light.
+
+"Now whether is this a rich man's house,
+  Or whether is it a poor?"
+But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak,
+  For barring of the door.
+
+And first they ate the white puddings,
+  And syne they ate the black:
+Muckle thought the gudewife to hersell,
+  Yet ne'er a word she spak.
+
+Then ane unto the ither said,
+  "Here, man, tak ye my knife;
+Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard,
+  And I'll kiss the gudewife."
+
+"But there's na water in the house,
+  And what shall we do than?"
+"What ails ye at the pudding bree
+  That boils into the pan?"
+
+O up then started our gudeman,
+  An angry man was he;
+"Will ye kiss my wife before my een,
+  And scaud me wi' pudding bree?"
+
+O up then started our gudewife,
+  Gied three skips on the floor;
+"Gudeman, ye've spak the foremost word;
+  Get up and bar the door."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND.
+
+"The luve that I hae chosen,
+  I'll therewith be content;
+The saut sea sail be frozen
+  Before that I repent.
+Repent it sall I never
+  Until the day I dee;
+But the Lawlands o' Holland
+  Hae twinned my luve and me.
+
+"My luve he built a bonny ship,
+  And set her to the main,
+Wi' twenty-four brave mariners
+  To sail her out and hame.
+But the weary wind began to rise,
+  The sea began to rout,
+And my luve and his bonny ship
+  Turned withershins about.
+
+"There sall nae mantle cross my back,
+  No kaim gae in my hair,
+Sall neither coal nor candle-light
+  Shine in my bower mair;
+Nor sall I choose anither luve
+  Until the day I dee,
+Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland
+  Hae twinned my luve and me."
+
+"Noo haud your tongue, my daughter dear,
+  Be still, and bide content;
+There are mair lads in Galloway;
+  Ye needna sair lament."
+"O there is nane in Galloway,
+  There's nane at a' for me.
+I never lo'ed a lad but ane,
+  And he's drowned i' the sea."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE TWA CORBIES.
+
+As I was walking all alane,
+I heard twa corbies making a maen;
+The tane into the t'ither did say,
+"Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"
+
+"O doun beside yon auld fail dyke,
+I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
+Nae living kens that he lies there,
+But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair,
+
+"His hound is to the hunting gane,
+His hawk to fetch the wildfowl hame,
+His lady's ta'en another mate,
+Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.
+
+"O we'll sit on his white hause bane,
+And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en,
+Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,
+We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.
+
+"Mony a ane for him makes maen,
+But nane shall ken whaur he is gane;
+Over his banes when they are bare,
+The wind shall blaw for evermair."
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+HELEN OF KIRCONNELL.
+
+I wad I were where Helen lies;
+Night and day on me she cries;
+O that I were where Helen lies
+    On fair Kirconnell lea!
+
+Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
+And curst the hand that fired the shot,
+When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
+    And died to succor me!
+
+O think na but my heart was sair
+When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair!
+I laid her down wi' meikle care
+    On fair Kirconnell lea.
+
+As I went down the water-side,
+Nane but my foe to be my guide,
+Nane but my foe to be my guide,
+    On fair Kirconnell lea;
+
+I lighted down my sword to draw,
+I hackéd him in pieces sma',
+I hackéd him in pieces sma',
+    For her sake that died for me.
+
+O Helen fair, beyond compare!
+I'll make a garland of thy hair
+Shall bind my heart for evermair
+    Until the day I dee.
+
+O that I were where Helen lies!
+Night and day on me she cries;
+Out of my bed she bids me rise,
+    Says, "Haste and come to me!"
+
+O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
+If I were with thee, I were blest,
+Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
+    On fair Kirconnell lea.
+
+I wad my grave were growing green,
+A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
+And I in Helen's arms lying,
+    On fair Kirconnell lea.
+
+I wad I were where Helen lies;
+Night and day on me she cries;
+And I am weary of the skies,
+    Since my Love died for me.
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+WALY WALY.
+
+O waly waly up the bank,
+  And waly waly down the brae,
+And waly waly yon burn-side
+  Where I and my Love wont to gae!
+I leant my back unto an aik,
+  I thought it was a trusty tree;
+But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
+  Sae my true Love did lichtly me.
+
+O waly waly, but love be bonny
+  A little time while it is new;
+But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld
+  And fades awa' like morning dew.
+O wherefore should I busk my head?
+  Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
+For my true Love has me forsook,
+  And says he'll never loe me mair.
+
+Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed;
+  The sheets sall ne'er be prest by me:
+Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
+  Since my true Love has forsaken me.
+Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
+  And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
+O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
+  For of my life I am wearie.
+
+'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
+  Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;
+'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
+  But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.
+When we came in by Glasgow town
+  We were a comely sight to see;
+My Love was clad in black velvet,
+  And I mysell in cramasie.
+
+But had I wist, before I kist,
+  That love had been sae ill to win;
+I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd
+  And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
+And, O! that my young babe were born,
+  And set upon, the nurse's knee,
+And I mysell were dead and gane,
+  And the green grass growing over me!
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+LORD RONALD.
+
+"O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son,
+   O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?"
+"I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,
+   For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."
+
+"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
+   Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?"
+"I dined wi' my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,
+   For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."
+
+  "What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
+    What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?"
+  "I gat eels boil'd in broo'; mother, make my bed soon,
+    For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."
+
+  "What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son?
+    What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?"
+  "O they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed soon,
+    For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."
+
+  "O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Ronald, my son!
+    O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!"
+  "O yes! I am poison'd! mother, make my bed soon,
+    For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+EDWARD, EDWARD.
+
+'Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
+    Edward, Edward?
+Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
+  And why sae sad gang yee O?'
+'O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
+    Mither, mither,
+O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
+  And I had nae mair bot hee O.'
+
+'Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
+    Edward, Edward,
+Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
+  My deir son, I tell thee O.'
+'O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
+    Mither, mither,
+O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
+  That erst was sae fair and frie O.'
+
+'Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
+    Edward, Edward,
+Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
+  Sum other dule ye drie O.'
+'O I hae killed my fadir deir,
+    Mither, mither,
+O I hae killed my fadir deir,
+  Alas, and wae is mee O!'
+
+'And whatten penance wul ye drie for that,
+    Edward, Edward?
+'And whatten penance wul ye drie for that?
+  My deir son, now tell me O.'
+'He set my feit in yonder boat,
+    Mither, mither,
+He set my feit in yonder boat,
+  And He fare ovir the sea O.'
+
+'And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
+    Edward, Edward?
+And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
+  That were sae fair to see O?'
+'Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
+    Mither, mither,
+Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
+  For here nevir mair maun I bee O.'
+
+'And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
+    Edward, Edward?
+And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
+  When ye gang ovir the sea O?'
+'The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
+    Mither, mither,
+The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
+  For thame nevir mair wul I see O.'
+
+'And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
+    Edward, Edward?
+And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
+  My deir son, now tell me O.'
+'The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
+    Mither, mither,
+The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
+  Sic counseils ye gave to me O.'
+
+       *        *        *        *        *
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+THE WEE WEE MAN. Mainly after Herd. Given also by Motherwell, Buchan,
+and Kinloch, and in Caw's "Poetical Museum." _Shathmont_, a six inch
+measure. _Lap_, leaped. _Jimp_, neat.
+
+
+TAMLANE. Mainly after Aytoun's collated version. Stanzas 16-19,
+obtained by Scott "from a gentleman residing near Langholm," are too
+modern in diction to harmonize well with the rest, but are retained
+here because of their fidelity to the ancient beliefs of the country
+folk about fairies. Widely varying versions are given in Johnson's
+"Museum," communicated by Burns, under title of _Tam Lin_; in the
+Glenriddell MS. under title of _Young Tom Line_; by Herd, under title
+of _Kertonha_, corruption of Carterhaugh; by Motherwell, under titles
+of _Young Tamlin_ and _Tomaline_; by Buchan, under titles of
+_Tam-a-line_ and _Tam a-Lin_; and in the Campbell MS. under title of
+_Young Tam Lane_. There are humorous Scottish songs, too, of _Tam o
+Lin_, _Tam o the Linn_, _Tom a Lin_, and _Tommy Linn_. The ballad is
+of respectable antiquity, the _Tayl of the Yong Tamlene_ and the dance
+of _Thom of Lyn_ being noticed in a work as old as the "Complaynt of
+Scotland" (1548); yet it seems to have no Continental cousins, but to
+be strictly of Scottish origin. It belongs to Selkirkshire, whose
+peasants still point out upon the plain of Carterhaugh, about a mile
+above Selkirk, the fairy rings in the grass. _Preen'd_, decked.
+_Gars_, makes. _Bree_, brow, _Sained_, baptized, _Snell_, keen.
+_Teind_, tithe.  _Borrow_, ransom. _Cast a compass_, draw a circle.
+_Elrish_, elvish. _Gin_, if. _Maik_, mate. _Aske_, lizard. _Bale_,
+fire. _But and_, and also. _Tree_, wood. _Coft_, bought.
+
+
+TRUE THOMAS. Mainly after Scott. This is one of the ballads written
+down from the recital of the "good Mrs. Brown," to whose admirable
+memory ballad-lovers are so deeply indebted. It is given in the Brown
+MS. as _Thomas Rymer and Queen of Elfland_; in the Campbell MS. as
+_Thomas the Rhymer_. Scott obtained his excellent version from "a lady
+residing not far from Ercildoune." This Thomas the Rhymer, or True
+Thomas, or Thomas of Ercildoune, was a veritable personage, who dwelt
+in the village of Ercildoune situate by "Leader's silver tide" some
+two miles above its junction with the Tweed.  Tradition has it that
+his date was the thirteenth century and his full name Thomas Learmont.
+He was celebrated as poet and prophet, the rustics believing that his
+gift of soothsaying was imparted by the Fairy Queen, who kept him with
+her in Elfland for seven years, permitting him then to return to the
+upper world for a season and utter his oracles, but presently
+recalling him to her mysterious court. A fragmentary old poem, showing
+probable traces, as Jamieson suggests, of the Rhymer's own authorship,
+tells this famous adventure in language whose antiquated form cannot
+disguise its sweetness. The melancholy likelihood seems to be that
+True Thomas was a fibbing Thomas, after all, and invented this story
+of his sojourn in Elfland to gain credit for his poetical prophecies,
+which claim to have first proceeded from the mouth of the Fairy Queen,
+when
+
+  "Scho broghte hym agayne to Eldone tree,
+     Vndir nethe that grenewode spraye;
+   In Huntlee bannkes es mery to bee,
+     Whare fowles synges bothe nyght and daye."
+
+_Ferlie_, wonder. _Ilka tett_, each lock (of hair).  _Louted_, bowed.
+_Harp and carp_, play and talk.  _Leven_, lawn. _Stern-light_,
+star-light. _Dought_, could.
+
+
+THE ELFIN KNIGHT. After Aytoun's version framed by collation from
+copies given by Motherwell, Kinloch, and Buchan.  These were in the
+main recovered by recitation, although there is a broadside copy of
+the ballad in the Pepysian collection at Cambridge.  Fragments of the
+story have been handed down in tavern-songs and nursery-rhymes, and it
+is to be found, more or less disguised, in the literatures of many
+countries, European and Asiatic. It is only in our own versions,
+however, that the outwitted knight is a supernatural being, usually an
+elf, though sometimes degenerating into "the Deil." Nowhere out of
+canny Scotland does his ungallantry debar him from the human ranks.
+_Sark_, shirt. _Gin_, if. _Tyne_, prong.  _Shear_, reap. _Bigg_,
+build. _Loof_, hollow of the hand. _But_ (candle, etc.), without
+(candle, etc.)
+
+
+LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT. Mainly after Buchan's version entitled
+_The Water o' Wearie's Well_, although it is in another version given
+by Buchan, under title of _The Gowans sae Gay_, that the name of the
+lady is disclosed, and the elfin nature of the eccentric lover
+revealed. In that ballad Lady Isobel falls in love with the elf-knight
+on hearing him
+
+           "blawing his horn,
+  The first morning in May,"
+
+and this more tuneful version retains in the first two stanzas a
+fading trace of the fairy element and the magic music, the bird, whose
+song may be supposed to have caused the lady's heartache, being
+possibly the harper in elfin disguise. In most of the versions,
+however, the knight is merely a human knave, usually designated as
+Fause Sir John, and the lady is frequently introduced as May Colven or
+Colvin or Collin or Collean, though also as Pretty Polly. The story is
+widely circulated, appearing in the folk-songs of nearly all the
+nations of northern and southern Europe. It has been suggested that
+the popular legend may be "a wild shoot from the story of Judith and
+Holofernes." _Dowie_, doleful.
+
+
+TOM THUMBE. After Ritson, with omissions. Ritson prints from a
+manuscript dated 1630, the oldest copy known to be extant, but the
+story itself can be traced much further back and was evidently a prime
+favorite with the English rustics. The plain, often doggerel verse,
+and the rough, often coarse humor of this ballad make it appear at
+striking disadvantage among the Scottish folk-songs, essentially
+poetic as even the rudest of them are. Tom Thumbe, it must be
+confessed, is but a clumsy sort of elf, and the ballad as a whole can
+hardly be said to have a fairy atmosphere. Yet it is of value as
+adding to the data for a comparison between the English and the
+Scottish peasantry, as throwing light on the fun-loving spirit, the
+sports and practical joking of Merrie England, as showing the tenacity
+of the Arthurian tradition, together with the confusion of chivalric
+memories, as displaying the ignorant credulity of the popular mind
+toward science no less than toward history, and as illustrating, by
+giving us in all this bald, sing-song run of verses, here and there a
+sweet or dainty fancy and at least one stanza of exquisite tenderness
+and grace, the significant fact that in the genuine old English
+ballads beauty is not the rule, but the surprise. _Counters_,
+coin-shaped pieces of metal, ivory, or wood, used in reckoning.
+_Points_, here probably the bits of tin plate used to tag the strands
+of cotton yarn with which, in lieu of buttons, the common folk
+fastened their garments. The points worn by the nobles were laces or
+silken strands ornamented with aiglets of gold or silver.
+
+
+KEMPION. After Allingham's version collated from copies given by
+Scott, Buchan, and Motherwell, with a touch or two from the kindred
+ballad _The Laidley Worm of Spindleston Heugh._ Buchan and Motherwell
+make the name of the hero Kemp Owyne.  Similar ballads are known in
+Iceland and Denmark, and the main features of the story appear in both
+the classic and romantic literatures.  _Weird_, destiny. _Dree_,
+suffer. _Borrowed_, ransomed. _Arblast bow_, cross-bow. _Stythe_,
+place. _Louted_, bowed.
+
+
+ALISON GROSS. After Jamieson's version taken from the recitation of
+Mrs. Brown. Child claims that this tale is a variety of _Beauty and
+the Beast. Lemman_, lover. _Gar_, make. _Toddle_, twine.  _Seely
+Court_, Happy Court or Fairy Court. See English Dictionary for changes
+of meaning in _silly_.
+
+
+THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL. After Scott, with a stanza or two from
+Chambers, both versions being recovered by recitation.  Although this
+is scarcely more than a fragment, it is well-nigh unsurpassed for
+genuine ballad beauty, the mere touches of narrative suggesting far
+deeper things than they actually relate. _Martinmas_, the eleventh of
+November. _Carline wife_, old peasant-woman.  _Fashes_, troubles.
+_Birk_, birch. _Syke_, marsh.  _Sheugh_, trench. _Channerin'_,
+fretting. _Gin_, if. _Byre_, cow-house.
+
+
+A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE. After Scott. This dirge belongs to the north of
+England and is said to have been chanted, in Yorkshire, over the dead,
+down to about 1624. _Lyke-Wake_, dead-watch. _Sleete_, salt, it being
+the old peasant custom to place a quantity of this on the breast of
+the dead. _Whinny-muir_, Furze-moor. A manuscript found by Ritson in
+the Cotton Library states: "When any dieth, certaine women sing a song
+to the dead bodie, recyting the journey that the partye deceased must
+goe; and they are of beliefe (such is their fondnesse) that once in
+their lives, it is good to give a pair of new shoes to a poor man, for
+as much as, after this life, they are to pass barefoote through a
+great launde, full of thornes and furzen, except by the meryte of the
+almes aforesaid they have redemed the forfeyte; for, at the edge of
+the launde, an oulde man shall meet them with the same shoes that were
+given by the partie when he was lyving; and, after he hath shodde
+them, dismisseth them to go through thick and thin, without scratch or
+scalle." _Brigg o' Dread_, Bridge of Dread.  Descriptions of this
+Bridge of Dread are found in various Scottish poems, the most minute
+being given in the legend of _Sir Owain_.  Compare the belief of the
+Mahometan that in his approach to the judgment-seat, he must traverse
+a bar of red-hot iron, stretched across a bottomless abyss, true
+believers being upheld by their good works, while the wicked fall
+headlong into the gulf.
+
+
+PROUD LADY MARGARET. After Aytoun. The original versions of this
+ballad, as given by Scott, Buchan, Dixon, and Laing, differ widely. It
+is known under various titles, _The Courteous Knight_, _The Jolly Hind
+Squire_, _The Knicht o Archerdale_, _Fair Margret_, and _Jolly
+Janet_. Similar ballads are rife in France, although in these it is
+more frequently the ghost of a dead lady who admonishes her living
+lover. _Wale_, choose.  _Ill-washen feet_, etc., in allusion to the
+custom of washing and dressing the dead for burial. _Feckless_,
+worthless. _Pirie's chair_ remains an unsolved riddle of the ballad,
+editors and commentators not being as good at guessing as the ghost.
+
+
+THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE. Mainly after Aytoun.  There are many
+versions of this ballad in Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland,
+varying widely in titles, refrains, and indeed in everything save the
+main events of the story. A broadside copy appeared as early as
+1656. Ballads on the same subject are very popular among the
+Scandinavian peoples, and traces of the story are found as far away as
+China and South Africa. _Twined_, parted. _Make_, mate.  _Gar'd_,
+made. Although Lockhart would have the burden pronounced
+Binnŏrie, a more musical effect is secured by following
+Jamieson and pronouncing Binnōrie.
+
+
+THE DEMON LOVER. After Scott. Buchan has a version under title of
+_James Herries_, the demon being here transformed into a lover who has
+died abroad and comes in spirit guise to punish his "Jeanie Douglas"
+for her broken vows. Motherwell gives a graphic fragment.  _Ilka_,
+every, _Drumly_, dark. _Won_, dwell.
+
+
+RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED. Mainly after Motherwell.  There are several
+broadsides, differing slightly, of this ballad. Riddling folk-songs
+similar to this in general features have been found among the Germans
+and Russians and in Gaelic literature. _Speird_, asked. Unco, uncanny.
+Gin, if. Pies, magpies. Clootie, see Burus's Address to the Deil.
+
+  "O thou! whatever title suit thee,
+  Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie," etc.
+
+
+SIR PATRICK SPENS. After Scott. There are many versions of
+
+  "The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,"
+
+as Coleridge so justly terms it, the fragment in the Reliques being
+un-surpassed among them all for poetic beauty. Herd's longer copy,
+like several of the others, runs song-fashion:
+
+  "They had not saild upon the sea
+    A league but merely nine, O,
+  When wind and weit and snaw and sleit
+    Cam' blawin' them behin', O."
+
+Motherwell gives the ballad in four forms, in one of them the skipper
+being dubbed Sir Patrick, in another Earl Patrick, in another Young
+Patrick, and in yet another Sir Andrew Wood. Jamieson's version puts
+into Sir Patrick's mouth an exclamation that reflects little credit
+upon his sailor character:
+
+  "O wha is this, or wha is that,
+    Has tald the king o' me?
+  For I was never a gude seaman,
+    Nor ever intend to be."
+
+But with a few such trifling exceptions, the tone toward the skipper
+is universally one of earnest respect and sympathy, the keynote of
+every ballad being the frank, unconscious heroism of this "gude Sir
+Patrick Spens." In regard to the foundation for the story, Scott
+maintains that "the king's daughter of Noroway" was Margaret, known to
+history as the Maid of Norway, daughter of Eric, king of Norway, and
+of Margaret, daughter of Alexander III. of Scotland.  This last-named
+monarch died in 1285, the Maid of Norway, his yellow-haired little
+granddaughter, being the heiress to his crown.  The Maid of Norway
+died, however, before she was of age to assume control of her
+turbulent Scottish kingdom. Scott surmises, on the authority of the
+ballad, that Alexander, desiring to have the little princess reared in
+the country she was to rule, sent this expedition for her during his
+life-time. No record of such a voyage is extant, although possibly the
+presence of the king is a bold example of poetic license, and the
+reference is to an earlier and more disastrous embassy than that
+finally sent by the Regency of Scotland, after Alexander's death, to
+their young queen, Sir Michael Scott of wizard fame being at that time
+one of the ambassadors. Finlay, on the other hand, places this ballad
+in the days of James III., who married Margaret of Denmark. Here we
+have historic testimony of the voyage, but none of the shipwreck,--yet
+against any one of these theories the natural objection is brought
+that so lamentable a disaster, involving so many nobles of the realm,
+would hardly be suffered to escape the pen of the chronicler.
+Motherwell, Maidment, and Aytoun, relying on a corroborative passage
+in Fordun's _Scotichronicon_, hold with good appearance of reason that
+the ballad pictures what is known as an actual shipwreck, on the
+return from Norway of those Scottish lords who had escorted thither
+the bride of Eric, the elder Margaret, afterward mother of the little
+Maid of Norway. The ballad itself well bears out this theory,
+especially in the taunt flung at the Scottish gallants for lingering
+too long in nuptial festivities on the inhospitable Norwegian coast.
+The date of this marriage was 1281. _Skeely_, skilful.  _Gane_,
+sufficed. _Half-fou_, half-bushel. _Gurly_, stormy.
+
+
+THE BATTE OF OTTERBURNE. After Scott. There are several Scottish
+versions of this spirit-stirring ballad, and also an English version,
+first printed in the fourth edition of the _Reliques_. The English
+ballad, naturally enough, dwells more on the prowess of Percy and his
+countrymen in the combat than on their final discomfiture.  A vivid
+account of the battle of Otterburne may be found in Froissart's
+_Chronicles_. In brief, it was a terrible slaughter brought about by
+the eager pride and ambition of those two hot-blooded young
+chieftains, James, Earl of Douglas, and the redoubtable Harry Percy.
+Yet the generosity of the leaders and the devoted loyalty of their men
+throw a moral splendor over the scene of bloodshed. In the year 1388
+Douglas, at the head of three thousand Scottish spears, made a raid
+into Northumberland and, before the walls of Newcastle, engaged Percy
+in single combat, capturing his lance with the attached pennon.
+Douglas retired in triumph, brandishing his trophy, but Hotspur,
+burning with shame, hurriedly mustered the full force of the Marches
+and, following hard upon the Scottish rear, made a night attack upon
+the camp of Douglas at Otterbnrne, about twenty miles from the
+frontier. Then ensued a moonlight battle, gallant and desperate,
+fought on either side with unflinching bravery, and ending in the
+defeat of the English, Percy being taken prisoner. But the Scots
+bought their glory dear by the loss of their noble leader, who, when
+the English troops, superior in number, were gaining ground, dashed
+forward with impetuous courage, cheering on his men, and cleared a way
+with his swinging battle-axe into the heart of the enemy's ranks.
+Struck down by three mortal wounds, he died in the midst of the fray,
+urging with his failing breath these last requests upon the little
+guard of kinsmen who pressed about him: "First, that yee keep my death
+close both from our owne folke and from the enemy; then, that ye
+suffer not my standard to be lost or cast downe; and last, that ye
+avenge my death, and bury me at Melrosse with my father. If I could
+hope for these things," he added, "I should die with the greater
+contentment; for long since I heard a prophesie that a dead man should
+winne a field, and I hope in God it shall be I." Lammas-tide, the
+first of August. Muirmen, moorinen. Harried, plundered. The tane, the
+one. Fell, skin. (The inference is that Percy was rescued by his men.)
+_Gin_, if. _Burn_, brook. _Kale_, broth. _Fend_, sustain. _Bent_, open
+field.  _Petitions_, tents (pavilions). _Branking_, prancing.
+_Wargangs_, wagons.  _Ayont_, beyond. _Hewmont_, helmet. _Smakkit_,
+smote.  _Bracken_, fern.
+
+
+THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT.  After Hearne, who first printed it from a
+manuscript in the Ashmolean collection at Oxford. It was next printed
+in the Reliques, under title of Chevy-Chase,--a title now reserved for
+the later and inferior broadside version which was singularly popular
+throughout the seventeenth century and is still better known than this
+far more spirited original. "With regard to the subject of this
+ballad,"--to quote from Bishop Percy,--"although it has no countenance
+from history, there is room to think it had originally some foundation
+in fact. It was one of the laws of the Marches, frequently renewed
+between the nations, that neither party should hunt in the other's
+borders, without leave from the proprietors or their deputies. There
+had long been a rivalship between the two martial families of Percy
+and Douglas, which, heightened by the national quarrel, must have
+produced frequent challenges and struggles for superiority, petty
+invasions of their respective domains, and sharp contests for the
+point of honour; which would not always be recorded in history.
+Something of this kind, we may suppose, gave rise to the ancient
+ballad of the Hunting o' the Cheviat. Percy, Earl of Northumberland,
+had vowed to hunt for three days in the Scottish border, without
+condescending to ask leave from Earl Douglas, who was either lord of
+the soil, or lord warden of the Marches. Douglas would not fail to
+resent the insult, and endeavour to repel the intruders by force; this
+would naturally produce a sharp conflict between the two parties;
+something of which, it is probable, did really happen, though not
+attended with the tragical circumstances recorded in the ballad: for
+these are evidently borrowed from the Battle of Otterbourn, a very
+different event, but which aftertimes would easily confound with it."
+The date of the ballad cannot, of course, be strictly ascertained. It
+was considered old in the middle of the sixteenth century, being
+mentioned in _The Complaynt of Scotland_ (1548) among the "sangis of
+natural music of the antiquite."  Not much can be said for its
+"natural music," yet despite its roughness of form and enviable
+inconsistencies of spelling, it has always found grace with the poets.
+Rare Ben Jonson used to say that he would rather have been the author
+of _Chevy Chase_ than of all his works; Addison honored the broadside
+version with two critiques in the _Spectator_; and Sir Philip Sidney,
+though lamenting that the ballad should be "so evil apparrelled in the
+dust and cobwebs of that uncivill age," breaks out with the ingenuous
+confession: "I never heard the olde song of Percy and Duglas that I
+found not my heart mooved more then with a trumpet, and yet is it sung
+but by some blinde crouder, with no rougher voice then rude stile."
+Mauger, despite.  _Let_, hinder. _Meany_, company. _Shyars_,
+shires. _Bomen_, bowmen.  _Byckarte_, moved quickly, rattling their
+weapons. _Bent_, open field.  _Aras_, arrows. _Wyld_, wild creatures,
+as deer. _Shear_, swiftly. _Grevis_, groves. _Glent_, glanced, flashed
+by. _Oware off none_, hour of noon.  _Mart_, death-signal (as used in
+hunting.) _Quyrry_, quarry, slaughtered game. _Bryttlynge_, cutting
+up. _Wyste_, knew. _Byll and brande_, axe and sword. _Glede_, live
+coal. _The ton_, the one. _Yerle_, earl. _Cars_, curse. _Nam_, name.
+_Wat_, wot, know. _Sloughe_, slew. _Byddys_, abides. _Wouche_, injury.
+_Ost_, host. _Suar_, sure. _Many a doughete the garde to dy_, many a
+doughty (knight) they caused to die. _Basnites_, small helmets.
+_Myneyeple_, maniple (of many folds), a coat worn under the armor.
+_Freyke_, warrior. _Swapte_, smote.  _Myllan_, Milan.  _Hight_,
+promise. _Spendyd_, grasped (spanned). _Corsiare_, courser.  _Blane_,
+halted.  _Dynte_, stroke. _Halyde_, hauled. _Stour_, press of battle.
+_Dre_, endure. _Hinde_, gentle. _Hewyne in to_, hewn in two. _The
+mayde them byears_, they made them biers. _Makys_, mates. _Carpe off
+care_, tell of sorrow.  _March perti_, the Border district.
+_Lyff-tenant_, lieutenant. _Weal_, clasp. _Brook_, enjoy. _Quyte_,
+avenged. _That tear begane this spurn_, that wrong caused this
+retaliation. _Reane_, rain.  _Ballys bete_, sorrows amend.
+
+
+EDOM O' GORDON. After Aytoun. This ballad was first printed at
+Glasgow, 1755, as taken down by Sir David Dalrymple "from the
+recitation of a lady," and was afterwards inserted--"interpolated and
+corrupted," says the unappeasable Ritson--in Percy's _Reliques_.
+Ritson himself published a genuine and ancient copy from a manuscript
+belonging apparently to the last quarter of the sixteenth century and
+preserved in the Cotton Library. The ballad is known under two other
+titles, _Captain Car_ and _The Burning o' London Castle._
+Notwithstanding this inexactitude in names, the ballad has an
+historical basis. In 1571 Adam Gordon, deputy-lieutenant of the North
+of Scotland for Queen Mary, was engaged in a struggle against the clan
+Forbes, who upheld the Reformed Faith and the King's party. Gordon was
+successful in two sharp encounters, but "what glory and renown he
+obtained of these two victories," says the contemporary History of
+King James the Sixth, "was all cast down by the infamy of his next
+attempt; for immediately after this last conflict he directed his
+soldiers to the castle of Towie, desiring the house to be rendered to
+him in the Queen's name; which was obstinately refused by the lady,
+and she burst forth with certain injurious words.  And the soldiers
+being impatient, by command of their leader, Captain Ker, fire was put
+to the house, wherein she and the number of twenty-seven persons were
+cruelly burnt to the death."
+
+_Martinmas_, the eleventh of November. _Hauld_, stronghold.  _Toun_,
+enclosed place. _Buskit_, made ready. _Light_, alighted. _But and_,
+and also. _Dree_, suffer. _But an_, unless. _Wude_, mad. _Dule_,
+pain. _Reek_, smoke. _Nourice_, nurse. _Jimp_, slender. _Row_,
+roll. _Tow_, throw.  _Busk and boun_, up and away.  _Freits_, ill
+omens. _Lowe_, blaze.  _Wichty_, sturdy. _Bent_, field. _Teenfu'_,
+sorrowful. _Wroken_, avenged.
+
+KINMONT WILLIE. After Scott. This dashing ballad appeared for the
+first time in the Border Minstrelsy, having been "preserved by
+tradition," says Scott, "on the West Borders, but much mangled by
+reciters, so that some conjectural emendations have been absolutely
+necessary to render it intelligible." The facts in the case seem to be
+that in 1596 Salkeld, deputy of Lord Scroope, English Warden of the
+West Marches, and Robert Scott, for the Laird of Buccleuch, Keeper of
+Liddesdale, met on the border line for conference in the interest of
+the public weal. The truce, that on such occasions extended from the
+day of the meeting to the next day at sunset, was this time violated
+by a party of English soldiers, who seized upon William Armstrong of
+Kinmonth, a notorious freebooter, as he, attended by but three or four
+men, was returning from the conference; and lodged him in Carlisle
+Castle. The Laird of Buccleuch, after treating in vain for his
+release, raised two hundred horse, surprised the castle and carried
+off the prisoner without further ceremony. This exploit the haughty
+Queen of England "esteemed a great affront" and "stormed not a little"
+against the "bauld Buccleuch." _Haribee_, the place of execution at
+Carlisle. _Liddel-rack_, a ford on the Liddel.  _Reiver_, robber.
+_Hostelrie_, inn. _Lawing_, reckoning.  _Garr'd_, made.  _Basnet_,
+helmet. _Curch_, cap.  _Lightly_, set light by. _Low_, blaze.  _Splent
+on spauld_, armor on shoulder. _Woodhouselee_, a house belonging to
+Buccleuch, on the Border. _Herry_, harry, spoil.  _Corbie_, crow.
+_Wons_, dwells. _Lear_, lore.  _Row-footed_, rough-footed(?). _Spait_,
+flood.  _Garr'd_, made. _Stear_, stir.  _Coulters_, ploughshares.
+_Forehammers_, the large hammers that strike before the small,
+sledgehammers.  _Fley'd_, frightened.  _Spier_, inquire. _Hente_,
+caught. _Maill_, rent.  _Airns_, irons. _Wood_, mad. _Furs_,
+furrows. _Trew_, trust.
+
+
+KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. After Percy, who printed from
+an ancient black-letter copy. There are three other broadside versions
+of this popular ballad extant, and at least one older version has been
+lost. Similar riddle-stories are to be found in almost all European
+literatures. There is nothing in this ballad save the name of King
+John, with his reputation for unjust and high-handed dealing, that can
+be called traditional. _Deere_, harm.  _Stead_, place. _St. Bittel_,
+St. Botolph(?).
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS.  After Ritson, who has
+collected in two volumes the ballads of Robin Hood. This is believed
+to be one of the oldest of them all. A concise introduction to the
+Robin Hood ballads is given by Mr. Hales in the _Percy Folio MS_.
+vol. i. This legendary king of Sherwood Forest is more rightfully the
+hero of English song than his splendid rival, the Keltic King Arthur,
+
+                  "whose name, a ghost,
+  Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak,
+  And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still."
+
+Yet there is scarcely less doubt as to the actual existence of a
+flesh-and-blood Robin Hood than there is as to the actual existence of
+a flesh-and-blood King Arthur. But let History look to her own;
+Literature need have no scruple in claiming both the archer-prince of
+outlaws and the blameless king of the Table Bound. Kobber chieftain or
+democratic agitator, romantic invention or Odin-myth, it is certain
+that by the fourteenth century Robin Hood was a familiar figure in
+English balladry. We have our first reference to this generous-hearted
+rogue of the greenwood, who is supposed by Ritson to have lived from
+1160 to 1247, in Langlande's _Piers Ploughman_ (1362).  There are
+brief notices of the popular bandit in Wyntoun's _Scottish Chronicle_
+(1420), Fordun's _Scotichronicon_ (1450), and Mair's _Historia Majoris
+Brittaniae_ (1521). Famous literary allusions occur in Latimer's
+_Sixth Sermon before Edward VI_. (1548), in Drayton's _Polyolbion
+(1613), and Fuller's _Worthies of England_ (1662). The Robin Hood
+ballads illustrate to the full the rough and heavy qualities, both of
+form and thought, that characterize all our English folk-songs as
+opposed to the Scottish. We feel the difference instantly when a
+minstrel from over the Border catches up the strain:
+
+  "There's mony ane sings o'grass, o'grass,
+    And mony ane sings o'corn;
+  And mony ane sings o'Robin Hood,
+    Kens little whar' he was born.
+
+  "It was na' in the ha', the ha',
+    Nor in the painted bower;
+  But it was in the gude greenwood,
+    Amang the lily flower."
+
+Yet these rude English ballads have just claims on our regard.  They
+stand our feet squarely upon the basal rock of Saxon ethics, they
+breathe a spirit of the sturdiest independence, and they draw, in a
+few strong strokes, so fresh a picture of the joyous, fearless life
+led under the green shadows of the deer-haunted forest by that
+memorable band, bold Robin and Little John, Friar Tuck and George a
+Green, Will Scarlett, Midge the Miller's Son, Maid Marian and the
+rest, that we gladly succumb to a charm recognized by Shakespeare
+himself: "They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many
+merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of
+England; they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and
+fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world."--_As You
+Like It._
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE. After Ritson. This ballad is first found
+in broadside copies of the latter half of the seventeenth
+century. _Lin._, pause.
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. After Ritson, who made his version from
+a collation of two copies given in a York garland.
+
+
+ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. After Aytoun, who improves on Jamieson's
+version. This beautiful ballad is given in varying forms by Herd,
+Scott, Buchan, and others. Lochroyan, or Loch Ryan, is a bay on the
+south-west coast of Scotland. _Jimp_, slender. _Gin_, if.  _Greet_,
+cry. _Tirl'd_, rattled. _But and_, and also. _Warlock_, wizard.
+_Sinsyne_, since then.  _Hooly_, slowly. _Deid_, death. _Syne_, then.
+
+
+LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. After Aytoun, who adds to the first
+twenty-four stanzas of the copy given in the _Reliques_ a concluding
+fourteen taken from Jamieson's _Sweet Willie and Fair Annie_. The
+unfortunate lady elsewhere figures as _The Nut-Brown Bride_ and _Fair
+Ellinor_. There are Norse ballads which relate something akin to the
+same story. _Gif_, if. _Rede_, counsel. _Owsen_, oxen.  _Billie_, an
+affectionate term for brother.  _Byre_, cow-house. _Fadge_, clumsy
+woman.  _Sheen_, shoes. _Tift_, whiff. _Gin_, if.  _Cleiding_,
+clothing.  _Bruik_, enjoy. _Kist_, chest. _Lee_, lonesome. _Till_,
+to. _Dowie_, doleful. _Sark_, shroud. _But and_, and also. _Birk_,
+birch.
+
+
+THE BANKS OF YARROW. After Allingham's collated version. There are
+many renderings of this ballad, which Scott declares to be a great
+favorite among the peasantry of the Ettrick forest, who firmly believe
+it founded on fact. The river Yarrow, so favored of the poets, flows
+through a valley in Selkirkshire and joins the Tweed above the town of
+Selkirk. The _Tennies_ is a farm below the Yarrow kirk.  _Lawing_,
+reckoning. _Dawing,_, dawn. _Marrow_, mate.  _Dowie_, doleful.
+_Leafu', _lawful. _Binna_, be not.
+
+
+THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. After Scott. This ballad is likewise known under
+titles of _Earl Brand, Lady Margaret _and _The Child of Ell_. Danish,
+Swedish, Norwegian and Icelandic ballads relate a kindred story, and
+the incident of the intertwining plants that spring from the graves of
+hapless lovers, occurs in the folk-lore of almost all peoples.
+_Bugelet_, a small bugle. _Dighted_, strove to stanch. _Plat_,
+intertwined.
+
+
+PINE FLOWERS I' THE VALLEY. After Aytoun, his version, though taken
+down from recitation, being in reality a compound of Herd's and
+Jamieson's. Aytoun claims that "this is perhaps the most popular of
+all the Scottish ballads, being commonly recited and sung even at the
+present day." Different refrains are often employed, and the ballad is
+frequently given under title of _The Cruel Brother_. Stories similar
+to this are found in the balladry of both northern and southern
+Europe. Marrow, mate. Close, avenue leading from the door to the
+street. Loutiny, bowing. Its lane, alone.
+
+
+THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. Mainly after Motherwell, although his version is
+entitled _The Jolly Goshawk_. The epithet Gay has the sanction of
+Scott and Jamieson. Buchan gives a rendering of this ballad under
+title of The Scottish Squire. Whin, furze. Bigly, spacious. Sark,
+shroud. Claith, cloth. Steeking, stitching. Gar'd, made. Chive,
+morsel. Skaith, harm.
+
+
+YOUNG REDIN. After Allingham's collated copy. There are many versions
+of this ballad, the hero being variously known as Young Hunting, Earl
+Richard, Lord William, Lord John and Young Redin. Birl'd, plied. Douk,
+dive. Weil-head, eddy. Linn, the pool beneath a cataract. Brin, burn.
+Balefire, bonfire.
+
+
+WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET. After Allingham's copy framed by collating
+Jamieson's fragmentary version with Buchan's ballad of _The Drowned
+Lovers_. Stour, wild. Pot, a pool in a river. Dowie den, doleful
+hollow. Tirled, rattled. Sleeked, fastened. Brae, hillside. Sowm,
+swim. Minnie, affectionate term for mother.
+
+YOUNG BEICHAN. Mainly after Jamieson, his version being based upon a
+copy taken down from the recitation of the indefatigable Mrs. Brown
+and collated with a manuscript and stall copy, both from Scotland, a
+recited copy from the North of England, and a short version "picked
+off an old wall in Piccadilly." Of this ballad of _Young Beichan_
+there are numerous renderings, the name of the hero undergoing many
+variations,--Bicham, Brechin, Beachen, Bekie, Bateman, Bondwell--and
+the heroine, although Susie Pye or Susan Pye in ten of the fourteen
+versions, figuring also as Isbel, Essels, and Sophia. It was probably
+an English ballad at the start, but bears the traces of the Scottish
+minstrels who were doubtless prompt to borrow it. There is likelihood
+enough that the ballad was originally suggested by the legend of
+Gilbert Becket, father of the great archbishop; the story running that
+Becket, while a captive in Holy Land, plighted his troth to the
+daughter of a Saracenic prince.  When the crusader had made good his
+escape, the lady followed him, inquiring her way to "England" and to
+"London," where she wandered up and down the streets, constantly
+repeating her lover's name, "Gilbert," the third and last word of
+English that she knew, until finally she found him, and all her woes
+were put to flight by the peal of wedding bells. _Termagant_, the name
+given in the old romances to the God of the Saracens.  _Pine_, pain.
+_Sheave_, slice. _But and_, and also. _Dreed_, endured.
+
+
+GILDEROY. After the current version adapted from the original by Sir
+Alexander Halket or his sister, Lady Elizabeth Wardlaw, the composer
+of _Hardyknute_. There is extant a black-letter broadside printed in
+England as early as 1650, and the ballad appears in several
+miscellanies of later date. The reviser added the sixth, seventh, and
+eighth stanzas. It is mortifying to learn that this "winsome Gilderoy
+"--the name, properly Gillie roy, signifying in Gaelic "the red-haired
+lad"--was in reality one Patrick Mac-Gregor, who was hanged at the
+cross of Edinburgh, 1638, as a common cateran or free-booter. That the
+romantic element in the ballad so outweighs the historical, must
+account for its classification here.  _Soy_, silk. _Cess_,
+black-mail. _Gear_, property.
+
+
+BONNY BARBARA ALLAN. After the version given in Ramsay's _Tea-Table
+Miscellany_ and followed by Herd, Ritson, and others. Percy prints
+with this in the _Reliques_ a longer, but poorer copy. In Pepys's
+_Diary_, Jan. 2,1666, occurs an allusion to the "little Scotch song of
+Barbary Alien." _Gin_, if. _Hooly_, slowly.  _Jow_, knell.
+
+
+THE GARDENER. After Kinloch. Buchan gives a longer, but less valuable
+version. _Jimp_, slender. _Weed_, dress. _Camorine_, camomile.
+_Kail-blade_, cabbage-leaf. _Cute_, ankle.  _Brawn_, calf.
+_Blaewort_, witch bells.
+
+
+ETIN THE FORESTER. Collated. No single version of this ballad is
+satisfactory, not Kinloch's fine fragment, _Hynde Etin_, nor Buchan's
+complete but inferior version, _Young Akin_, nor the modernized copy,
+_Young Hastings_, communicated by Buchan to Motherwell. Earlier and
+better renderings of the ballad have doubtless been lost. In the old
+Scottish speech, an Etin signified an ogre or giant, and although the
+existing versions show but faint traces of a supernatural element, it
+is probable that the original character of the story has been changed
+by the accidents of tradition, and that the Etin was at the outset in
+line with such personages as Arnold's Forsaken Merman. In the
+beautiful kindred ballads which abound in the Norse and German
+literatures, the Etin is sometimes represented by a merman, though
+usually by an elf-king, dwarf-king, or hill-king.  _Hind chiel_, young
+stripling. _Spier_, ask. _Bigg_, build. _Their lane_, alone. _Brae_,
+hillside. _Gars_, makes. _Greet_, weep. _Stown_, stolen.  _Laverock_,
+lark. _Lift_, air. _Buntin'_, blackbird.  _Christendame_, christening.
+_Ben_, in. _Shaw_, forest. _Louted_, bowed. _Boun'_, go.
+
+
+LAMKIN. After Jamieson. The many versions of this ballad show an
+unusually small number of variations. The name, though occurring in
+the several forms of Lambert Linkin, Lamerlinkin, Rankin, Belinkin,
+Lankyn, Lonkin, Balcanqual, most often appears as Lamkin or Lammikin
+or Lambkin, being perhaps a nick-name given to the mason for the
+meekness with which he had borne his injuries. This would explain the
+resentful tone of his inquiries on entering the house. _Nourice_,
+nurse. _Limmer_, wretch.  _Shot-window_, projecting window. _Gaire_,
+edge of frock. _Ilka_, each.  _Bore_, crevice. _Greeting_, crying.
+_Dowie_, doleful.  _Chamer_, chamber.  _Lamer_, amber. _Ava'_, of all.
+
+
+HUGH OF LINCOLN. Mainly after Jamieson. Percy gives a version of this
+famous ballad under title of _The Jew's Daughter_, and Herd and
+Motherwell, as well as Jamieson, have secured copies from recitation.
+The general view that this ballad rests upon an historical basis has
+but slender authority behind it. Matthew Paris, never too reliable as
+a chronicler, says that in 1255 the Jews of Lincoln, after their
+yearly custom, stole a little Christian boy, tortured and crucified
+him, and flung him into a pit, where his mother found the body. This
+is in all probability one of the many cruel slanders circulated
+against the Jews during the Middle Ages, to reconcile the Christian
+conscience to the Christian maltreatment of that long-suffering
+race. Such stories are related of various mediaeval innocents, in
+various lands and centuries, and may be classed together, until better
+evidence to the contrary presents itself, as malicious falsehood. This
+ballad should be compared, of course, with Chaucer's _Prioresses
+Tale_. _Keppit_, caught. _Gart_, made.  _Twinn'd_, deprived.  _Row'd_,
+rolled. _Ilka_, each. _Gin_, it.
+
+
+FAIR ANNIE. Mainly after Jamieson's version entitled _Lady Jane_.
+Jamieson gives another copy, where the heroic lady is known as _Burd
+Helen_, but Scott, Motherwell, Kinloch, Buchan, and others agree on
+the name _Fair Annie_. The pathetic beauty of the ballad has secured
+it a wide popularity. There are Danish, Swedish, Dutch, and German
+versions. "But Fair Annie's fortunes have not only been charmingly
+sung," says Professor Child.  "They have also been exquisitely _told_
+in a favorite lay of Marie de France, 'Le Lai del Freisne.' This tale
+of Breton origin is three hundred years older than any manuscript of
+the ballad. Comparison will, however, quickly show that it is not the
+source either of the English or of the Low German and Scandinavian
+ballad. The tale and the ballads have a common source, which lies
+further back, and too far for us to find." _Your lane_, alone. _Braw_,
+finely dressed.  _Gear_, goods.  _But and_, and also. _Stown_, stolen.
+_Leugh_, laughed.  _Loot_, let. _Gars_, makes. _Greet_, weep.
+
+
+THE LAIRD O' DRUM. After Aytoun's collated version.  Copies obtained
+from recitation are given by Kinloch and Buchan.  The eccentric Laird
+o' Drum was an actual personage, who, in the seventeenth century,
+mortified his aristocratic relatives and delighted the commons by
+marrying a certain Margaret Coutts, a woman of lowly rank, his first
+wife having been a daughter of the Marquis of Huntly. The old shepherd
+speaks in the Aberdeen dialect. _Weel-faur'd_, well-favored.  _Gin_,
+if. _Speer_, ask. _Kebbuck_, cheese.  _Yetts_, gates. _Gawsy_, portly.
+_But the pearlin' abune her bree_, without the lace above her brow.
+
+
+LIZIE LINDSAY. After Jamieson. Complete copies are given by Buchan and
+Whitelaw, also. _Till_, to. _Braes_, hills. _Fit_, foot. _Gin_, if.
+_Tocher_, dowry. _Gait_, way.  _Wale_, choice. _Dey_, dairy-woman.
+_Laverock_, lark. _Liltin'_, carolling. _Shealin'_, sheep-shed. _Gaits
+and kye_, goats and cows.
+
+
+KATHARINE JANFARIE. Mainly after Motherwell's version entitled
+_Catherine Johnstone_. Other renderings are given by Scott, Maidment,
+and Buchan. In Scott's version the name of the English suitor is Lord
+Lochinvar, and both name and story the thieving poet has turned, as
+everybody knows, to excellent account. The two closing stanzas here
+seem to betray the hand of an English balladist.  _Weel-faur'd_,
+well-favored. _Lave_, rest. _Spier'd_, asked. _Brae_, hill.
+
+GLENLOGIE. After Smith's version in the _Scottish Minstrel_,--a book
+wherein "great liberties," Motherwell claims, have been taken with
+ancient lays. A rough but spirited version is given by Sharpe, and a
+third by Buchan. _Gar_, make. _His lane_, alone.
+
+
+GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR. After Herd. This ballad appears, too, in
+Johnson's _Museum_ and Ritson's _Scottish Songs_.  _Martinmas_, the
+eleventh of November. _Intil_, into.  _Hussyskep_, house-keeping.
+_Bree_, broth. _Scaud_, scald.
+
+
+THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND. After Herd. Another version, longer and
+poorer, occurs in Johnson's _Museum_. _Withershins_, the wrong
+way. _Twinned_, parted.
+
+
+THE TWA CORBIES. After Scott, who received it from Mr. C. K. Sharpe,
+"as written down, from tradition, by a lady."  This seems to be the
+Scottish equivalent of an old English poem, _The Three Ravens_, given
+by Ritson in his _Ancient Songs_. _Corbies_, ravens.  _Fail_, turf.
+_Kens_, knows. _Hause_, neck.  _Pyke_, pick. _Theek_, thatch.
+
+
+HELEN OF KIRCONNEL. After Scott. Other versions are given by Herd,
+Ritson, and Jamieson. There is said to be a traditional basis for the
+ballad, and the grave of the lovers, Adam Fleming and Helen Irving (or
+Helen Bell), is still pointed out in the churchyard of Kirconnell,
+near Springkell. _Burd_, lady.
+
+
+WALY WALY. After Ramsay, being first published in the _Tea-Table
+Miscellany_. These touching and tender stanzas have been pieced by
+Chambers into the patchwork ballad, _Lord Jamie Douglas_, but
+evidently it is not there that they belong. _Waly_, a cry of
+lamentation. _Brae_, hillside. _Burn_, brook. _Syne_, then. _Lichtly_,
+slight. _Busk_, adorn. _Marti'mas_, November. _Fell_, bitterly.
+_Cramasie_, crimson.
+
+
+LORD RONALD. After Scott's version entitled _Lord Randal_. Scott
+adopts this name because he thinks the ballad may originally have had
+reference to the death of Thomas Randolph, or Randal, Earl of
+Murray,--a theory which Allingham, with more justice than mercy,
+briefly disposes of as "mere antiquarian moonshine."  In point of fact
+the ballad recounts an old, old story, told in many literatures,
+Italian, German, Dutch, Swedish, Danish, Magyar, Wendish, Bohemian,
+Catalan. The English offshoot takes on a bewildering variety of
+forms. (See Introduction, pp. xiii, xiv.) _Broo'_, broth.
+
+
+EDWARD, EDWARD. After Percy, the ballad having made its first
+appearance in the _Reliques_. Motherwell gives an interesting version,
+in which the murderer, who in this case has slain his brother, is
+addressed as _Son Davie_. There are German, Swedish, Danish and Finish
+equivalents. The old orthography, which is retained here for its
+literary interest, cannot obscure the tragic power of the ballad.
+_Frie_, free. _Dule ye drie_, grief ye suffer.  _Tul_, till.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Ballad Book, by Katherine Lee Bates (ed.)
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLAD BOOK ***
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