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diff --git a/old/7ball10.txt b/old/7ball10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..624913f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7ball10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7998 @@ +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 +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: 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: 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.) + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLAD BOOK *** + +This file should be named 7ball10.txt or 7ball10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7ball11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7ball10a.txt + +Produced by Tiffany Vergon, Dave Maddock +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: 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 myllà n, + +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 BinnoÌ„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.) + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLAD BOOK *** + +This file should be named 8ball10.txt or 8ball10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8ball11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8ball10a.txt + +Produced by Tiffany Vergon, Dave Maddock +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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