Ballad Book

by Unknown

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 LOVER.

"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.

* * * * *