CONTENTS OF VOLUME SECOND.
BOOK II.
GLASGERION.
The two following ballads have the same subject, and perhaps had a common original. The "Briton Glaskyrion" is honourably mentioned as a harper by Chaucer, in company with Chiron, Orion, and Orpheus, (House of Fame, B. iii. v. 118,) and with the last he is also associated, as Mr. Finlay has pointed out, by Bishop Douglas, in the Palice of Honour. "The Scottish writers," says Jamieson, "adapting the name to their own meridian, call him Glenkindy, Glenskeenie, &c."
Glasgerion is reprinted from Percy's Reliques, iii. 83.
Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne,
And a harper he was goode;
He harped in the kings chambere,
Where cuppe and caudle stoode,
And soe did hee in the queens chambere,5
Till ladies waxed wood,
And then bespake the kinges daughter,
And these wordes thus shee sayd:—
"Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,
Of thy striking doe not blinne;10
Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,
But it glads my hart withinne."
"Faire might [him fall,] ladye," quoth hee,
"Who taught you nowe to speake!
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere,15
My harte I neere durst breake."
"But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,
When all men are att rest:
As I am a ladie true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest."20
Home then came Glasgerion,
A glad man, lord! was hee:
"And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.
"For the kinges daughter of Normandye25
Hath granted mee my boone;
And att her chambere must I bee
Beffore the cocke have crowen."
"O master, master," then quoth hee,
"Lay your head downe on this stone;30
For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone."
But up then rose that lither ladd,
And hose and shoone did on;
A coller he cast upon his necke,35
Hee seemed a gentleman.
And when he came to the ladyes chamber,
He thrild upon a pinn:
The lady was true of her promise,
And rose and lett him inn.40
He did not take the lady gaye
To boulster nor to bed:
[Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,
A single word he sed.]
He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,45
Nor when he came, nor yode:
And sore that ladye did mistrust,
He was of some churls bloud.
But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hose and shoone;50
And cast the coller from off his necke:
He was but a churlès sonne.
"Awake, awake, my deere master,
The cock hath well-nigh crowen;
Awake, awake, my master deere,55
I hold it time to be gone.
"For I have saddled your horsse, master,
Well bridled I have your steede,
And I have served you a good breakfast,
For thereof ye have need."60
Up then rose good Glasgerion,
And did on hose and shoone,
And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.
And when he came to the ladyes chambere,65
He thrilled upon the pinne;
The ladye was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him inn.
"O whether have you left with me
Your bracelet or your glove?70
Or are you returned back againe
To know more of my love?"
Glasgerion swore a full great othe,
By oake, and ashe, and thorne;
"Ladye, I was never in your chambere,75
Sith the time that I was borne."
"O then it was your [lither] foot-page,
He hath beguiled mee:"
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-knìffe,
That hanged by her knee.80
Sayes, "there shall never noe churlès blood
Within my bodye spring:
No churlès blood shall e'er defile
The daughter of a kinge."
Home then went Glasgerion,85
And woe, good lord! was hee:
Sayes, "come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.
"If I had killed a man to-night,
Jack, I would tell it thee:90
But if I have not killed a man to-night,
Jacke, thou hast killed three."
And he puld out his bright browne sword,
And dryed it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither ladds head,95
Who did his ladye grieve.
He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil untill a stone:
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives werne all gone.100
[13], him fall.
[77], MS. litle.
GLENKINDIE.
From Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs, i. 91. The copy in the Thistle of Scotland, p. 31, is the same.
Glenkindie was ance a harper gude,
He harped to the king;
And Glenkindie was ance the best harper
That ever harp'd on a string.
[He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water,]5
Or water out o' a stane;
Or milk out o' a maiden's breast,
That bairn had never nane.
He's taen his harp intil his hand,
He harpit and he sang;10
And ay as he harpit to the king,
To haud him unthought lang.
"I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindie,
A robe o' the royal pa',
Gin ye will harp i' the winter's night15
Afore my nobles a'."
[And the king but and his nobles a']
Sat birling at the wine;
And he wad hae but his ae dochter,
To wait on them at dine.20
He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He's harpit them a' asleep,
Except it was the young countess,
That love did waukin keep.
[And first he has harpit a grave tune,]25
And syne he has harpit a gay;
And mony a sich atween hands
I wat the lady gae.
Says, "Whan day is dawen, and cocks hae crawen,
And wappit their wings sae wide,30
It's ye may come to my bower door,
And streek you by my side.
"But look that ye tell na Gib your man,
For naething that ye dee;
For, an ye tell him, Gib your man,35
He'll beguile baith you and me."
He's taen his harp intill his hand;
He harpit and he sang;
And he is hame to Gib his man,
As fast as he could gang.40
"O mith I tell you, Gib, my man,
Gin I a man had slain?"
"O that ye micht, my gude master,
Altho' ye had slain ten."
"Then tak ye tent now, Gib, my man,45
My bidden for to dee;
And, but an ye wauken me in time,
Ye sall be hangit hie.
"Whan day has dawen, and cocks hae crawen,
And wappit their wings sae wide,50
I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower,
And streek me by her side."
"Gae hame to your bed, my good master;
Ye've waukit, I fear, o'er lang;
For I'll wauken you in as good time,55
As ony cock i' the land."
He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
Until he harpit his master asleep,
Syne fast awa did gang.60
And he is till that lady's bower,
As fast as he could rin;
When he cam till that lady's bower,
He chappit [at the chin].
"O wha is this," says that lady,65
"That opens nae and comes in?"
"It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love,
O open and lat me in!"
She kent he was nae gentle knicht
That she had latten in;70
For neither whan he gaed nor cam,
Kist he her cheek or chin.
He neither kist her whan he cam,
Nor clappit her when he gaed;
And in and at her bower window,75
The moon shone like the gleed.
"O, ragged is your hose, Glenkindie,
And riven is your sheen,
And reavel'd is your yellow hair
That I saw late yestreen."80
"The stockings they are Gib my man's,
They came first to my hand;
And this is Gib my man's shoon;
At my bed feet they stand.
I've reavell'd a' my yellow hair85
Coming against the wind."
He's taen the harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
Until he cam to his master,
As fast as he could gang.90
"Won up, won up, my good master;
I fear ye sleep o'er lang;
There's nae a cock in a' the land
But has wappit his wings and crawn."
Glenkindie's tane his harp in hand,95
He harpit and he sang,
And he has reach'd the lady's bower,
Afore that e'er he blan.
When he cam to the lady's bower,
He chappit at the chin;100
"O, wha is that at my bower door,
That opens na and comes in?"
"It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love,
And in I canna win."
* * * * * * *
"Forbid it, forbid it," says that lady,105
"That ever sic shame betide;
That I should first be a wild loon's lass,
And than a young knight's bride."
There was nae pity for that lady,
For she lay cald and dead;110
But a' was for him, Glenkindie,
In bower he must go mad.
He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water;
The water out o' a stane;
The milk out o' a maiden's breast,115
That bairn had never nane.
He's taen his harp intill his hand;
Sae sweetly as it rang,
And wae and weary was to hear
[Glenkindie's dowie sang.]120
But cald and dead was that lady,
Nor heeds for a' his maen;
An he wad harpit till domisday,
She'll never speak again.
He's taen his harp intill his hand;125
He harpit and he sang;
And he is hame to Gib his man
As fast as he could gang.
"Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,
Till I pay you your fee;130
Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man;
Weel payit sall ye be!"
And he has taen him, Gib, his man,
And he has hang'd him hie;
And he's hangit him o'er his ain yate,135
As high as high could be.
[5-8]. These feats are all but equalled by the musician in the Swedish and Danish Harpans Kraft.
"He harped the bark from every tree,
And he harped the young from folk and from fee.
"He harped the hind from the wild-wood home,
He harped the bairn from its mother's womb."
Arwidsson, No. 149.
"Villemand takes his harp in his hand,
He goes down by the water to stand.
"He struck the harp with his hand,
And the fish leapt out upon the strand."
Grundtvig, No. 40.
[17-20]. This stanza is found in the opening of Brown Robin, which commences thus:—
"The king but and his nobles a'
Sat birling at the wine, [bis]
He would hae nane but his ae daughter
To wait on them at dine.
"She served them but, she served them ben,
Intill a gown o' green;
But her e'e was ay on Brown Robin,
That stood low under the rain," &c.
J.
[25-28]. The following stanza occurs in one of the editor's copies of The Gay Gosshawk:—
"O first he sang a merry song,
And then he sang a grave;
And then he pecked his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave."
J.
[64], at the chin. Sic.
[120]. This stanza has been altered, to introduce a little variety, and prevent the monotonous tiresomeness of repetition. J.
THE OLD BALLAD OF LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND THE LADY BARNARD.
The popularity of this ancient ballad is evinced by its being frequently quoted in old plays. In Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, (produced in 1611,) the fourteenth stanza is cited, thus:
"And some they whistled and some they sung,
Hey, down, down!
And some did loudly say,
Ever as the lord Barnet's horn blew,
Away, Musgrave, away."
Act V. Scene 3.
The oldest known copy of this piece is found in Wit Restor'd, (1658,) p. 174, and from the reprint of that publication we have taken it, (p. 293.) Dryden seems to have adopted it from the same source into his Miscellanies, and Ritson has inserted Dryden's version in Ancient Songs and Ballads, ii. 116. Percy's copy (Reliques, iii. 106,) was inferior to the one here used, and was besides somewhat altered by the editor.
A Scottish version, furnished by Jamieson, is given in the Appendix to this volume, and another, extend
ing to forty-eight stanzas, in Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, vol. xvii. p. 21.
Similar incidents, with a verbal coincidence in one stanza, occur in the ballad immediately succeeding the present.
As it fell one holy-day, hay downe,
As manybe in the yeare,
When young men and maids together did goe,
Their mattins and masse to heare,
Little Musgrave came to the church dore,5
The preist was at private masse;
But he had more minde of the faire women,
Then he had of our [ladys] grace.
The one of them was clad in green,
Another was clad in [pall;]10
And then came in my lord [Barnards] wife,
The fairest amonst them all.
She cast an eye on little Musgrave,
As bright as the summer sun,
And then bethought this little Musgrave,15
"This ladys heart have I woonn."
Quoth she, "I have loved thee, little Musgrave,
Full long and many a day:"
"So have I loved you, fair lady,
Yet never word durst I say."20
"I have a bower at Buckelsfordbery,
Full daintyly it is [deight;]
If thou wilt [wend] thither, thou little Musgrave,
Thou's lig in mine armes all night."
Quoth he, "I thank yee, faire lady,25
This kindnes thou showest to me;
But whether it be to my weal or woe,
This night I will lig with thee."
[All that heard] a little tinny page,
By his ladyes coach as he ran:30
[Quoth he,] "allthough I am my ladyes foot-page,
Yet I am lord Barnards man.
"My lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Whether I [sink] or swimm:"
And ever where the bridges were broake,35
He laid him downe to swimme.
"Asleepe, [awake!] thou lord Barnard,
As thou art a man of life;
For little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery,
Abed with thy own wedded wife."40
"If this be true, thou little tinny page,
This thing thou tellest to mee,
Then all the land in Bucklesfordbery
I freely will give to thee.
"But if it be a ly, thou little tinny page,45
This thing thou tellest to me,
On the hyest tree in Bucklesfordbery
There hanged shalt thou be."
He called up his merry men all:—
"Come saddle me my steed;50
This night must I to Buckellsfordbery,
For I never had greater need."
And some of them whistl'd, and some of them sung,
And some these words did say,
[Ever] when my lord Barnards horn blew,55
"Away, Musgrave, away!"
"Methinks I hear the thresel-cock,
Methinks I hear the jaye;
Methinks I hear my Lord Barnard,—
And I would I were away."60
"Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,
And huggell me from the cold;
Tis nothing but a shephards boy,
A driving his sheep to the fold.
"Is not thy hawke upon a perch?65
Thy steed eats oats and hay,
And thou [a] fair lady in thine armes,—
And wouldst thou bee away?"
With that my lord Barnard came to the dore,
And lit a stone upon;70
He plucked out three silver keys,
And he open'd the dores each one.
He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheet;
"How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,75
Doest thou find my lady sweet?"
"I find her sweet," quoth little Musgrave,
"The more 'tis to my paine;
I would gladly give three hundred pounds
That I were on yonder plaine."80
"Arise, arise, thou littell Musgrave,
And put thy clothés on;
It shal ne'er be said in my country,
I have killed a naked man.
"I have two swords in one scabberd,85
Full deere they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse."
The first stroke that little Musgrave stroke,
He hurt Lord Barnard sore;90
The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke,
Little Musgrave ne're struck more.
With that bespake this faire lady,
In bed whereas she lay;
"Although thou'rt dead, thou little Musgrave,95
Yet I for thee will pray;
"And wish well to thy soule will I,
So long as I have life;
So will I not for thee, Barnard,
Although I am thy wedded wife."100
He cut her paps from off her brest,
(Great pity it was to see,)
That some drops of this ladies heart's blood
Ran trickling downe her knee.
"Woe worth you, woe worth [you], my mery men all,105
You were ne're borne for my good;
Why did you not offer to stay my hand,
When ye [saw] me wax so wood!
"For I have slaine the bravest sir knight
That ever rode on steed;110
So have I done the fairest lady
That ever did womans deed.
"A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cryd,
"To put these lovers in;
But lay my lady on [the] upper hand,115
For she came of the better kin."
[8], lady.
[10], pale.
[11], Bernards.
[22], geight.
[23], wed.
[29], With that he heard: tyne.
[34], sinn.
[37], or wake.
[55], And ever.
[108], see.
LORD RANDAL (A).
From Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs, i. 162.
"The story of this ballad very much resembles that of Little Musgrave and Lord Barnard. The common title is, The Bonny Birdy. The first stanza is sung thus:—
'There was a knight, on a summer's night,
Was riding o'er the lee, diddle;
And there he saw a bonny birdy
Was singing on a tree, diddle:
O wow for day, diddle!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away,
For I ha'ena lang time to stay.'
In the text, the burden of diddle has been omitted; and the name of Lord Randal introduced, for the sake of distinction, and to prevent the ambiguity arising from 'the knight,' which is equally applicable to both."
The lines supplied by Jamieson have been omitted.
Allan Cunningham's "improved" version of the Bonny Birdy may be seen in his Songs of Scotland, ii. 130.
Lord Randal wight, on a summer's night,
Was riding o'er the lee,
And there he saw a bonny birdie
Was singin' on a tree:
"O wow for day!5
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away,
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!
"Mak haste, mak haste, ye wicht baron;
What keeps ye here sae late?10
Gin ye kent what was doing at hame,
I trow ye wad look blate.
"And O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day.
Gin it were day, and ye were away;15
For ye ha'ena lang time to stay!"
"O what needs I toil day and night,
My fair body to spill,
When I ha'e knichts at my command,
And ladies at my will?"20
"O weel is he, ye wight baron,
Has the blear drawn o'er his e'e;
But your lady has a knight in her arms twa,
That she lo'es far better nor thee.
"And O wow for day!25
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and ye were away;
For ye ha'ena lang time to stay!"
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye bonny birdie;
How you lie upon my sweet;30
I will tak out my bonny bow,
And in troth I will you sheet."
"But afore ye ha'e your bow weel bent,
And a' your arrows yare,
I will flee till anither tree,35
Whare I can better fare.
"And O wow for day
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away;
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!"40
"O whare was ye gotten, and where was ye clecked,
My bonny birdie, tell me?"
"O, I was clecked in good green wood,
Intill a holly tree;
A baron sae bald my nest herried,45
And ga'e me to his ladie.
"Wi' good white bread, and farrow-cow milk,
He bade her feed me aft;
And ga'e her a little wee summer-dale wandie,
To ding me sindle and saft.50
"Wi' good white bread, and farrow-cow milk,
I wat she fed me nought;
But wi' a little wee summer-dale wandie,
She dang me sair and oft:—
Gin she had done as ye her bade,55
I wadna tell how she has wrought.
"And O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and ye were away;
For ye ha'ena lang time to stay."60
Lord Randal rade, and the birdie flew,
The live-lang summer's night,
Till he cam till his lady's bower-door,
Then even down he did light.
The birdie sat on the crap o' a tree,65
And I wat it sang fu' dight:
"O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away;
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!"70
* * * * * * *
"O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and ye were away;
For ye ha'ena lang time to stay!"
"Now Christ assoile me o' my sin,"75
The fause knight he could say;
["It's nae for nought that the hawk whistles;]
And I wish that I were away!
"And O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!80
Gin it were day, and I were away;
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!"
"What needs ye lang for day,
And wish that ye were away?
Is na your hounds in my cellar85
Eating white meal and gray?"
"Yet, O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away,
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!"90
"Is na your horse in my stable,
Eating good corn and hay?
Is na your hawk on my perch tree,
Just perching for his prey?
And isna yoursel in my arms twa;95
Then how can ye lang for day?"
"Yet, O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away,
For I ha'ena lang time to stay.100
"Yet, O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
For he that's in bed wi' anither man's wife,
Has never lang time to stay."
* * * * * * *
Then out Lord Randal drew his brand,105
And straiked it o'er a strae;
And through and through the fause knight's waste
He gar'd cald iron gae;
And I hope ilk ane sall sae be serv'd,
That treats an honest man sae!110
[77], This is a proverbial saying in Scotland. J.
GIL MORRICE.
"Of the many ancient ballads which have been preserved by tradition among the peasantry of Scotland, none has excited more interest in the world of letters than the beautiful and pathetic tale of Gil Morice; and this, no less on account of its own intrinsic merits as a piece of exquisite poetry, than of its having furnished the plot of the justly celebrated tragedy of Douglas. It has likewise supplied Mr. Langhorne with the principal materials from which he has woven the fabric of his sweet, though prolix poem of Owen of Carron. Perhaps the list could be easily increased of those who have drawn their inspiration from this affecting strain of Olden Minstrelsy.
"If any reliance is to be placed on the traditions of that part of the country where the scene of the ballad is laid, we will be enforced to believe that it is founded on facts which occurred at some remote period of Scottish History. The 'grene wode' of the ballad was the ancient forest of Dundaff, in Stirlingshire, and Lord Barnard's Castle is said to have occupied a precipitous cliff, overhanging the water of Carron, on the lands of Halbertshire. A small burn, which joins the Carron
about five miles above these lands, is named the Earlsburn, and the hill near the source of that stream is called the Earlshill, both deriving their appellations, according to the unvarying traditions of the country, from the unfortunate Erle's son who is the hero of the ballad. He, also, according to the same respectable authority, was 'beautiful exceedingly,' and especially remarkable for the extreme length and loveliness of his yellow hair, which shrouded him as it were a golden mist. To these floating traditions we are, probably, indebted for the attempts which have been made to improve and embellish the ballad, by the introduction of various new stanzas since its first appearance in a printed form.
"In Percy's Reliques, it is mentioned that it had run through two editions in Scotland, the second of which appeared at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo.; and that to both there was prefixed an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of the poem was owing 'to a lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses,' and requesting that 'any reader, who could render it more correct or complete, would oblige the public with such improvements.' This was holding out too tempting a bait not to be greedily snapped at by some of those 'Ingenious Hands' who have corrupted the purity of legendary song in Scotland by manifest forgeries and gross impositions. Accordingly, sixteen additional verses soon appeared in manuscript, which the Editor of the Reliques has inserted in their proper places, though he rightly views them in no better light than that of an ingenious interpolation. Indeed, the whole ballad of Gil Morice, as the writer of the present notice has been politely informed by the learned and elegant Editor of
the Border Minstrelsy, underwent a total revisal about the period when the tragedy of Douglas was in the zenith of its popularity, and this improved copy, it seems, embraced the ingenious interpolation above referred to. Independent altogether of this positive information, any one, familiar with the state in which traditionary poetry has been transmitted to the present times, can be at no loss to detect many more 'ingenious interpolations,' as well as paraphrastic additions, in the ballad as now printed. But, though it has been grievously corrupted in this way, the most scrupulous inquirer into the authenticity of ancient song can have no hesitation in admitting that many of its verses, even as they now stand, are purely traditionary, and fair, and genuine parcels of antiquity, unalloyed with any base admixture of modern invention, and in nowise altered, save in those changes of language to which all oral poetry is unavoidably subjected, in its progress from one age to another." Motherwell.
We have given Gil Morrice as it stands in the Reliques, (iii. 132,) degrading to the margin those stanzas which are undoubtedly spurious, and we have added an ancient traditionary version, obtained by Motherwell, which, if it appear short and crude, is at least comparatively incorrupt. Chield Morice, taken down from recitation, and printed in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, (p. 269,) nearly resembles Gil Morrice, as here exhibited. We have also inserted in the Appendix Childe Maurice, "the very old imperfect copy," mentioned in the Reliques, and first published from the Percy MS. by Jamieson.
The sets of Gil Morrice in the collections of Herd, Pinkerton, Ritson, &c., are all taken from Percy.
Gil Morrice was an erles son,
His name it waxed wide:
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor zet his mickle pride;
[Bot it was for a lady gay]5
That liv'd on Carron side.
"Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha',
And bid his lady cum?10
"And ze maun rin my errand, Willie,
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horseback ze sall ride."
"O no! O no! my master dear!15
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld barons,
For to triest furth his wife."
"My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
My dear Willie," he sayd:20
"How can ze strive against the stream?
For I sall be obeyd."
"Bot, O my master dear!" he cry'd,
"In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede,25
For fear ze should be tain."
"Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
Bid hir cum here wi' speid:
If ze refuse my heigh command,
I'll gar zour body bleid.30
"Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,
'T is a' gowd bot the hem;
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane hot hir lain:
"And there it is, a silken sarke,35
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave."
"Yes, I will gae zour black errand,
Though it be to zour cost;40
Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd,
In it ze sall find frost.
"The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt;
As ze will see, before it's nicht,45
How sma' ze hae to vaunt.
"And sen I maun zour errand rin
Sae sair against my will,
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill."50
[And quhen he came to broken brigue,]
He bent his bow and swam;
And quhen he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
And quhen he came to Barnard's ha',55
Would neither chap nor ca';
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Though he stude at the gait;60
Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.
"Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!
My message winna waite;
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod,65
Before that it be late.
"Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel,
'Tis a' gowd bot the hem:
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode,
Ev'n by your sel alane.70
"And there it is, a silken sarke,
Your ain hand sewd the sleive:
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice;
Speir nae bauld barons leave."
The lady stamped wi' hir foot,75
And winked wi' hir ee;
But a' that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.
"It's surely to my bow'r-woman;
It neir could be to me."80
"I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;
I trow that ze be she."
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee):
"If it be cum frae Gill Morice,85
It's deir welcum to mee."
"Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,
Sae loud I heird ze lee;
I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;
Then up and spack the bauld baron,
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knee,
Till siller cup and [ezer] dish95
In flinders he gard flee.
"Gae bring a robe of zour cliding,
That hings upon the pin;
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,
And speik wi' zour lemman."100
"O bide at hame, now, Lord Barnard,
I warde ze bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence,
That neir wate ze wi' nane."
Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode,105
He whistled and he sang:
"O what mean a' the folk coming?
My mother tarries lang."
[The baron came to the grene wode,]
Wi' mickle dule and care;110
And there he first spied Gill Morice
Kameing his zellow hair.
"Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,
My lady loed thee weel;
The fairest part of my bodie115
Is blacker than thy heel.
"Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice,
For a' thy great beautie,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That head sall gae wi' me."120
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And [slait it] on the strae;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's gar cauld iron gae.
[And he has tain Gill Morice' head,]125
And set it on a speir:
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.
And he has tain Gill Morice up,
Laid him across his steid,130
And brocht him to his painted bowr,
And laid him on a bed.
The lady sat on castil wa',
Beheld baith dale and doun;
And there she saw Gill Morice' head135
Cum trailing to the toun.
"Far better I loe that bluidy head,
Bot and that zellow hair,
Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands,
As they lig here and thair."140
And she has tain her Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin:
"I was once as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip is o' the stean.
"I got ze in my father's house,145
Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude green wode,
Under the heavy rain.
"Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,
And fondly seen thee sleip;150
Bot now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip."
[And syne she kissd] his bluidy cheik,
And syne his bluidy chin:
"O better I loe my Gill Morice155
Than a' my kith and kin!"
["Away, away, ze il woman,]
And an ill deith mait ze dee:
Gin I had ken'd he'd bin zour son,
He'd neir bin slain for mee."160
[5]. The stall copies of the ballad complete the stanza thus:
His face was fair, lang was his hair,
In the wild woods he staid;
But his fame was for a fair lady
That lived on Carronside.
Which is no injudicious interpolation, inasmuch as it is founded upon the traditions current among the vulgar, regarding Gil Morice's comely face and long yellow hair. Motherwell.
[51-58]. A familiar commonplace in ballad poetry. See Childe Vyet, Lady Maisry, Lord Barnaby, &c.
[95], mazer.
His hair was like the threeds of gold
Drawne frae Minerva's loome;
His lipps like roses drapping dew;
His breath was a' perfume.
His brow was like the mountain snae
Gilt by the morning beam;
His cheeks like living roses glow;
His een like azure stream.
The boy was clad in robes of grene,
Sweete as the infant spring;
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gart the vallies ring.
[122], slaited.
That sweetly wavd around his face,
That face beyond compare;
He sang sae sweet, it might dispel
A' rage but fell dispair.
[153]. Stall copy, And first she kissed.
"Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard!
Obraid me not for shame!
Wi' that saim speir, O pierce my heart!
And put me out o' pain.
"Since nothing bot Gill Morice' head
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life
That neir to thee did ill.
"To me nae after days nor nichts
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind."
"Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,
Seek not zour death frae me;
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.
"With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
"Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound;
Ze see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground.
"I curse the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' sik speid,
The comely zouth to kill.
"I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were mine ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day
On which the zouth was slain."
CHILD NORYCE.
From Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 282.
"By testimony of a most unexceptionable description,—but which it would be tedious here to detail,—the Editor can distinctly trace this ballad as existing in its present shape at least a century ago, which carries it decidedly beyond the date of the first printed copy of Gil Morice; and this with a poem which has been preserved but by oral tradition, is no mean positive antiquity."
In the Introduction to his collection, Motherwell mentions his having found a more complete copy of this ballad under the title of Babe Nourice.
Child Noryce is a clever young man,
He wavers wi' the wind;
His horse was silver shod before,
With the beaten gold behind.
He called to his little man John,5
Saying, "You don't see what I see;
For O yonder I see the very first woman
That ever loved me.
"Here is a glove, a glove," he said,
"Lined with the silver gris;10
You may tell her to come to the merry green wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
"Here is a ring, a ring," he says,
"It's all gold but the stane;
You may tell her to come to the merry green wood,15
And ask the leave o' nane."
"So well do I love your errand, my master,
But far better do I love my life;
O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castel,
To betray away his wife?"20
"O don't I give you meat," he says,
"And don't I pay you fee?
How dare you stop my errand?" he says;
"My orders you must obey."
O when he came to Lord Barnard's castel,25
He tinkled at the ring;
Who was as ready as [Lord Barnard] himself
To let this little boy in?
"Here is a glove, a glove," he says,
"Lined with the silver gris;30
You are bidden to come to the merry green wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
"Here is a ring, a ring," he says,
"It's all gold but the stane:
You are bidden to come to the merry green wood,35
And ask the leave o' nane."
Lord Barnard he was standing by,
And an angry man was he:
"O little did I think there was a lord in this world
My lady loved but me!"40
O he dressed himself in the Holland smocks,
And garments that was gay;
And he is away to the merry green wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
Child Noryce sits on yonder tree,45
He whistles and he sings:
"O wae be to me," says Child Noryce,
"Yonder my mother comes!"
Child Noryce he came off the tree,
His mother to take off the horse:50
"Och alace, alace," says Child Noryce,
"My mother was ne'er so gross."
Lord Barnard he had a little small sword,
That hung low down by his knee;
He cut the head off Child Noryce,55
And put the body on a tree.
And when he came to his castel,
And to his lady's hall,
He threw the head into her lap,
Saying, "Lady, there is a ball!"60
She turned up the bloody head,
She kissed it frae cheek to chin:
"Far better do I love this bloody head
Than all my royal kin.
"When I was in my father's castell,65
In my virginitie,
There came a lord into the North,
Gat Child Noryce with me."
"O wae be to thee, Lady Margaret," he said,
"And an ill death may you die;70
For if you had told me he was your son,
He had ne'er been slain by me."
[27]. This unquestionably should be Lady Barnard, instead of her lord. See third stanza under. M.
CLERK SAUNDERS.
From the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, (iii. 175,) where it was first published. It was "taken from Mr. Herd's MSS., with several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect copy in the same volume, and one or two conjectural emendations in the arrangement of the stanzas."
That that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers is an independent story, is obvious both from internal evidence, and from the separate existence of those concluding stanzas in a variety of forms: as, Sweet William's Ghost, (Tea-Table Miscellany, ii. 142,) Sweet William and May Margaret, (Kinloch, p. 241,) William and Marjorie, (Motherwell, p. 186.) Of this second part, Motherwell observes, that it is often made the tail-piece to other ballads where a deceased lover appears to his mistress. The two were, however, combined by Sir Walter Scott, and the present Editor has contented himself with indicating distinctly the close of the proper story.
An inferior copy of Clerk Saunders, published by Jamieson, is inserted in the Appendix, for the sake of
a few valuable stanzas. It resembles the Swedish ballad of The Cruel Brother, (Svenska Folk-Visor, iii. 107,) which, however, is much shorter. The edition of Buchan, (i. 160,) is entirely worthless. A North-Country version of the First Part is given by Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, 233.
PART FIRST.
Clerk Saunders and may Margaret,
Walked ower yon garden green;
And sad and heavy was the love
That fell thir twa between.
"A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said,5
"A bed for you and me!"—
"Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret,
"Till anes we married be;
"For in may come my seven bauld brothers,
Wi' torches burning bright;10
They'll say—'We hae but ae sister,
And behold she's wi' a knight!'"—
"Then take the sword from my scabbard,
And slowly lift the pin;
And you may swear, and safe your aith,15
Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.
"And take a napkin in your hand,
And tie up baith your bonny een;
And you may swear, and safe your aith,
[Ye saw me na since late yestreen]."20
It was about the midnight hour,
When they asleep were laid,
When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning red.
When in and came her seven brothers,25
Wi' torches burning bright;
They said, "We hae but ae sister,
And behold her lying with a knight!"
Then out and spake the first o' them,
"I bear the sword shall gar him die!"30
And out and spake the second o' them,
"His father has nae mair than he!"
And out and spake the third o' them,
"I wot that they are lovers dear!"
And out and spake the fourth o' them,35
"They hae been in love this mony a year!"
Then out and spake the fifth o' them,
"It were great sin true love to twain!"
And out and spake the sixth of them,
"It were shame to slay a sleeping man!"40
Then up and gat the seventh o' them,
And never a word spake he;
But he has striped his bright brown brand
Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.
Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'd45
Into his arms as asleep she lay;
And sad and silent was the night
That was atween thir twae.
And they lay still and sleeped sound,
Until the day began to daw;50
And kindly to him she did say,
"It is time, true love, you were awa."
But he lay still, and sleeped sound,
Albeit the sun began to sheen;
She looked atween her and the wa',55
And dull and drowsie were his een.
Then in and came her father dear,
Said—"Let a' your mourning be:
I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay,
And I'll come back and comfort thee."—60
"Comfort weel your seven sons,
For comforted will I never be:
I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
Was in the bower last night wi' me."—
[20]. In Kinloch's version of this ballad we have an additional stanza here:—
——"Ye'll take me in your arms twa,
Ye'll carry me into your bed,
And ye may swear, and save your aith,
That in your bour floor I ne'er gae'd."
PART SECOND.
[The clinking bell gaed through the town],
To carry the dead corse to the clay;
And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,
I wot, an hour before the day.
"Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says,5
"Or are ye waking presentlie?
Give me my faith and troth again,
I wot, true love, I gied to thee."—
"Your faith and troth ye sall never get,
Nor our true love sall never twin,10
Until ye come within my bower,
And kiss me cheik and chin."—
"My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,
It has the smell, now, of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,15
Thy days of life will not be lang.
"O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowls are boding day;
Give me my faith and troth again,
And let me fare me on my way."—20
"Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,
And our true love shall never twin,
Until ye tell what comes of women,
I wot, who die in strong traiveling."
"Their beds are made in the heavens high,25
Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,
Weel set about wi' gillyflowers;
I wot sweet company for to see.
"O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowl are boding day;30
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
And I, ere now, will be miss'd away."—
Then she has ta'en a [crystal] wand,
And she has stroken her troth thereon;
She has given it him out at the shot-window,35
Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.
"I thank ye, Marg'ret; I thank ye, Marg'ret;
And aye I thank ye heartilie;
Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Marg'ret, I'll come for thee."—40
It's hosen and shoon and gown alone,
She climb'd the wall, and follow'd him,
Until she came to the green forest,
And there she lost the sight o' him.
"Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?45
Is there ony room at your feet?
Or ony room at your side, Saunders,
Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?"—
"There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret,
There's nae room at my feet;50
My bed it is full lowly now:
Amang the hungry worms I sleep.
"Cauld mould is my covering now,
But and my winding-sheet;
The dew it falls nae sooner down,55
Than my resting place is weet.
"[But plait a wand o' bonny birk],
And lay it on my breast;
And shed a tear upon my grave,
And wish my saul gude rest.60
"And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret,
And Marg'ret o' veritie,
Gin e'er ye love another man,
Ne'er love him as ye did me."—
Then up and crew the milk-white cock,65
And up and crew the grey;
Her lover vanish'd in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.
[1]. The custom of the passing bell is still kept up in many villages in Scotland. The sexton goes through the town, ringing a small bell, and announcing the death of the departed, and the time of the funeral. Scott.
[33]. Chrisom.
[57]. The custom of binding the new-laid sod of the churchyard with osiers, or other saplings, prevailed both in England and Scotland, and served to protect the turf from injury by cattle, or otherwise. Scott.
SWEET WILLIE AND LADY MARGERIE.
From Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 370.
"This Ballad, which possesses considerable beauty and pathos, is given from the recitation of a lady, now far advanced in years, with whose grandmother it was a deserved favourite. It is now for the first time printed. It bears some resemblance to Clerk Saunders."
Subjoined is a different copy from Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland.
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,
And he wore a milk-white weed O;
And weel could Willie read and write,
Far better ride on steed O.
Lady Margerie was the first ladye5
That drank to him the wine O;
And aye as the healths gaed round and round,
"Laddy, your love is mine O."
Lady Margerie was the first ladye
That drank to him the beer O;10
And aye as the healths gaed round and round,
Laddy, ye're welcome here O.
"You must come intill my bower,
When the evening bells do ring O;
And you must come intill my bower,15
When the evening mass doth sing O."
He's taen four-and-twenty braid arrows,
And laced them in a whang O;
And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower,
As fast as he can gang O.20
He set his ae foot on the wa',
And the other on a stane O;
And he's kill'd a' the king's life guards,
He's kill'd them every man O.
"O open, open, Lady Margerie,25
Open and let me in O;
The weet weets a' my yellow hair,
And the dew draps on my chin O."
With her feet as white as sleet,
She strode her bower within O;30
And with her fingers lang and sma',
She's looten sweet Willie in O.
She's louted down unto his foot,
To lowze sweet Willie's shoon O;
The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze,35
The blood had frozen in O.
"O Willie, O Willie, I fear that thou
Hast bred me dule and sorrow;
The deed that thou hast done this nicht
Will kythe upon the morrow."40
In then came her father dear,
And a braid sword by his gare O;
And he's gien Willie, the widow's son,
A deep wound and a sair O.
"Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says,45
"Your sweat weets a' my side O;
Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says,
"For your sweat I downa bide O."
She turned her back unto the wa',
Her face unto the room O;50
And there she saw her auld father,
Fast walking up and doun O.
"Woe be to you, father," she said,
"And an ill deid may you die O;
For ye've killed Willie, the widow's son,55
And he would have married me O."
She turned her back unto the room,
Her face unto the wa' O;
And with a deep and heavy sich,
Her heart it brak in twa O.60
WILLIE AND LADY MAISRY.
From Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 155.
The Bent sae Brown, in the same volume, p. 30, resembles both Clerk Saunders and the present ballad, but has a different catastrophe.
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,
And milk-white was his weed;
It sets him weel to bridle a horse,
And better to saddle a steed, my dear,
And better to saddle a steed.5
But he is on to Maisry's bower door,
And tirled at the pin;
"Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry,
Ye'll open, let me come in, my dear,
Ye'll open, let me come in."10
"O who is this at my bower door,
Sae well that knows my name?"
"It is your ain true love, Willie,
If ye love me, lat me in, my dear,
Then huly, huly raise she up,
For fear o' making din;
Then in her arms lang and bent,
She caught sweet Willie in, my dear,
She caught sweet Willie in.20
She lean'd her low down to her toe,
To loose her true love's sheen;
But cauld, cauld were the draps o' bleed,
Fell fae his trusty brand, my dear,
Fell fae his trusty brand.25
"What frightfu' sight is that, my love?
A frightfu' sight to see;
What bluid is this on your sharp brand,
O may ye not tell me, my dear?
O may ye not tell me?"30
"As I came thro' the woods this night,
The wolf maist worried me;
O shou'd I slain the wolf, Maisry?
Or shou'd the wolf slain me, my dear?
Or shou'd the wolf slain me?"35
They hadna kiss'd nor love clapped,
As lovers when they meet,
Till up it starts her auld father,
Out o' his drowsy sleep, my dear,
"O what's become o' my house cock
Sae crouse at ane did craw?
I wonder as much at my bold watch,
That's nae shootin ower the wa', my dear,
That's nae shooting ower the wa'.45
"My gude house cock, my only son,
Heir ower my land sae free;
If ony ruffian hae him slain,
High hanged shall he be, my dear,
High hanged shall he be."50
Then he's on to Maisry's bower door,
And tirled at the pin;
"Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry,
Ye'll open, lat me come in, my dear,
Ye'll open, lat me come in."55
Between the curtains and the wa',
She row'd her true love then;
And huly went she to the door,
And let her father in, my dear,
And let her father in.60
"What's become o' your maries, Maisry,
Your bower it looks sae teem?
What's become o' your green claithing?
Your beds they are sae thin, my dear,
Your beds they are sae thin."65
"Gude forgie you, father," she said,
"I wish ye be't for sin;
Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me,
But never found me wrang, my dear,
But never found me wrang."70
He turn'd him right and round about,
As he'd been gaun awa';
But sae nimbly as he slippet in,
Behind a screen sae sma', my dear,
Behind a screen sae sma'.75
Maisry thinking a' dangers past,
She to her love did say;
"Come, love, and take your silent rest,
My auld father's away, my dear,
My auld father's away!"80
Then baith lock'd in each other's arms,
They fell full fast asleep;
When up it starts her auld father,
And stood at their bed feet, my dear,
And stood at their bed feet.85
"I think I hae the villain now,
That my dear son did slay;
But I shall be reveng'd on him,
Before I see the day, my dear,
Then he's drawn out a trusty brand,
And stroak'd it o'er a stray;
And thro' and thro' sweet Willie's middle
He's gart cauld iron gae, my dear,
He's gart cauld iron gae.95
Then up it waken'd Lady Maisry,
Out o' her drowsy sleep;
And when she saw her true love slain,
She straight began to weep, my dear,
She straight began to weep.100
"O gude forgie you now, father," she said,
"I wish ye be't for sin;
For I never lov'd a love but ane,
In my arms ye've him slain, my dear,
In my arms ye've him slain."105
"This night he's slain my gude bold watch,
Thirty stout men and twa;
Likewise he's slain your ae brother,
To me was worth them a', my dear,
To me was worth them a'."110
"If he has slain my ae brither,
Himsell had a' the blame;
For mony a day he plots contriv'd,
To hae sweet Willie slain, my dear,
"And tho' he's slain your gude bold watch,
He might hae been forgien;
They came on him in armour bright,
When he was but alane, my dear,
When he was but alane."120
Nae meen was made for this young knight,
In bower where he lay slain;
But a' was for sweet Maisry bright,
In fields where she ran brain, my dear,
In fields where she ran brain.125
THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O' OWSENFORD.
"This singularly wild and beautiful old ballad," says Chambers, (Scottish Ballads, p. 345,) "is chiefly taken from the recitation of the editor's grandmother, who learned it, when a girl, nearly seventy years ago, from a Miss Anne Gray, resident at Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire; some additional stanzas, and a few various readings, being adopted from a less perfect, and far less poetical copy, published in Mr. Buchan's [Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, i. 281,] and from a fragment in the Border Minstrelsy, entitled The Wife of Usher's Well, [vol. i. p. 214, of this collection,] but which is evidently the same narrative."[A]
"The editor has been induced to divide this ballad into two parts, on account of the great superiority of what follows over what goes before, and because the latter portion is in a great measure independent of the other, so far as sense is concerned. The first part is composed of the Peeblesshire version, mingled with that of the northern editor: the second is formed of the Peeblesshire version, mingled with the fragment called The Wife of Usher's Well."
The natural desire of men to hear more of characters in whom they have become strongly interested, has frequently stimulated the attempt to continue successful fictions, and such supplements are proverbially unfortunate. A ballad-singer would have powerful inducements to gratify this passion of his audience, and he could most economically effect the object by stringing two ballads together. When a tale ended tragically, the sequel must of necessity be a ghost-story, and we have already had, in Clerk Saunders, an instance of this combination. Mr. Chambers has furnished the best possible reasons for believing that the same process has taken place in the case of the present ballad, and that the two parts, (which occur separately,) having originally had no connection, were arbitrarily united, to suit the purposes of some unscrupulous rhapsodist.
[A] There is to a certain extent a resemblance between this ballad and the German ballad Das Schloss in Oesterreich, found in most of the German collections, and in Swedish and Danish.
PART FIRST.
O I will sing to you a sang,
Will grieve your heart full sair;
How the Clerk's twa sons o' Owsenford
Have to learn some unco lear.
They hadna been in fair Parish5
A twelvemonth and a day,
Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in love
Wi' the Mayor's dauchters twae.
And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote,
The ladies sewed and sang;10
There was mair mirth in that chamber,
Than in a' fair Ferrol's land.
But word's gane to the michty Mayor,
As he sailed on the sea,
That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans15
O' his fair dauchters twae.
"If they hae wranged my twa dauchters,
Janet and Marjorie,
The morn, ere I taste meat or drink,
Hie hangit they shall be."20
And word's gane to the clerk himsell,
As he was drinking wine,
That his twa sons at fair Parish
Were bound in prison strang.
Then up and spak the Clerk's ladye,25
And she spak tenderlie:
"O tak wi' ye a purse o' gowd,
Or even tak ye three;
And if ye canna get William,
Bring Henry hame to me."30
O sweetly sang the nightingale,
As she sat on the wand;
But sair, sair mourned Owsenford,
As he gaed in the strand.
When he came to their prison strang,35
He rade it round about,
And at a little shot-window,
His sons were looking out.
"O lie ye there, my sons," he said,
"For owsen or for kye?40
Or what is it that ye lie for,
Sae sair bound as ye lie?"
"We lie not here for owsen, father;
Nor yet do we for kye;
But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love,45
Sae sair bound as we lie.
"O borrow us, borrow us, father," they said,
"For the luve we bear to thee!"
"O never fear, my pretty sons,
Weel borrowed ye sall be."50
Then he's gane to the michty Mayor,
And he spak courteouslie:
"Will ye grant my twa sons' lives,
Either for gold or fee?
Or will ye be sae gude a man,55
As grant them baith to me?"
"I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives,
Neither for gold nor fee;
Nor will I be sae gude a man,
As gie them baith to thee;60
But before the morn at twal o'clock,
Ye'll see them hangit hie!"
Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters,
Wi' kirtle coat alone;
Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,65
As they tripped on the stone.
"Will ye gie us our loves, father,
For gold, or yet for fee?
Or will ye take our own sweet lives,
And let our true loves be?"70
He's taen a whip into his hand,
And lashed them wondrous sair;
"Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers;
Ye'se never see them mair."
Then out it speaks auld Owsenford;75
A sorry man was he:
"Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs;
For a' this maunna be."
Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry:
"Come here, Janet, to me;80
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?"
"Ye sall hae your faith and troth,
Wi' God's blessing and mine:"
And twenty times she kissed his mouth,85
Her father looking on.
Then out it speaks him gay William:
"Come here, sweet Marjorie;
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?"90
"Yes, ye sall hae your faith and troth,
Wi' God's blessing and mine:"
And twenty times she kissed his mouth,
Her father looking on.
* * * * * * *
"O ye'll tak aff your twa black hats,95
Lay them down on a stone,
That nane may ken that ye are clerks,
Till ye are putten doun."
The bonnie clerks they died that morn;
Their loves died lang ere noon;100
And the waefu' Clerk o' Owsenford
To his lady has gane hame.
PART SECOND.
His lady sat on her castle wa',
Beholding dale and doun;
And there she saw her ain gude lord
Come walking to the toun.
"Ye're welcome, ye're welcome, my ain gude lord,5
Ye're welcome hame to me;
But where-away are my twa sons?
Ye suld hae brought them wi' ye."
"O they are putten to a deeper lear,
And to a higher scule:10
Your ain twa sons will no be hame
Till the hallow days o' Yule."
"O sorrow, sorrow, come mak my bed;
And, dule, come lay me doun;
For I will neither eat nor drink,15
Nor set a fit on groun'!"
The hallow days o' Yule were come,
And the nights were lang and mirk,
When in and cam her ain twa sons,
And their hats made o' the birk.20
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheuch;
But at the gates o' Paradise
That birk grew fair eneuch.
"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine,25
Bring water from the well;
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my twa sons are well.
"O eat and drink, my merry-men a',
The better shall ye fare;30
For my two sons they are come hame
To me for evermair."
And she has gane and made their bed,
She's made it saft and fine;
And she's happit them wi' her gay mantil,35
Because they were her ain.
But the young cock crew in the merry Linkum,
And the wild fowl chirped for day;
And the aulder to the younger said,
"Brother, we maun away.40
"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin worm doth chide;
Gin we be missed out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide."
"Lie still, lie still a little wee while,45
Lie still but if we may;
Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll gae mad ere it be day."
* * * * * * *
O it's they've taen up their mother's mantil,
And they've hung it on a pin:50
"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantil,
Ere ye hap us again."
CHILDE VYET.
First printed in a complete form in Maidment's North Countrie Garland, p. 24. The same editor contributed a slightly different copy to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, (p. 173.) An inferior version is furnished by Buchan, i. 234, and Jamieson has published a fragment on the same story, here given in the [Appendix].
Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet,
Were both born in ane bower,
Had both their loves on one Lady,
[The less was their honour].
Childe Vyet and Lord Ingram,5
Were both born in one hall,
Had both their loves on one Lady
The worse did them befall.
Lord Ingram woo'd the Lady Maiserey,
From father and from mother;10
Lord Ingram woo'd the Lady Maiserey,
From sister and from brother.
Lord Ingram wooed the Lady Maiserey,
With leave of all her kin;
And every one gave full consent,15
But she said no, to him.
Lord Ingram wooed the Lady Maiserey,
Into her father's ha';
Childe Vyet wooed the Lady Maiserey,
Among the sheets so sma'.20
Now it fell out upon a day,
She was dressing her head,
That ben did come her father dear,
Wearing the gold so red.
"Get up now, Lady Maiserey,25
Put on your wedding gown,
For Lord Ingram will be here,
Your wedding must be done!"
"I'd rather be Childe Vyet's wife,
The white fish for to sell,30
Before I were Lord Ingram's wife,
To wear the silk so well!
"I'd rather be Childe Vyet's wife,
With him to beg my bread,
Before I'd be Lord Ingram's wife,35
To wear the gold so red.
"Where will I get a bonny boy,
Will win gold to his fee,
Will run unto Childe Vyet's ha',
With this letter from me?"40
"O here, I am the boy," says one,
"Will win gold to my fee,
And carry away any letter,
To Childe Vyet from thee."
And when he found the bridges broke,45
He bent his bow and swam;
And when he found the grass growing,
He hasten'd and he ran.
And when he came to Vyet's castle,
He did not knock nor call,50
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly leaped the wall;
And ere the porter open'd the gate,
The boy was in the hall.
The first line that Childe Vyet read,55
A grieved man was he;
The next line that he looked on,
A tear blinded his e'e.
"What ails my own brother," he says,
"He'll not let my love be;60
But I'll send to my brother's bridal;
The woman shall be free.
"Take four and twenty bucks and ewes,
And ten tun of the wine,
And bid my love be blythe and glad,65
And I will follow syne."
There was not a groom about that castle,
But got a gown of green;
And a' was blythe, and a' was glad,
But Lady Maiserey [was wi' wean].70
There was no cook about the kitchen,
But got a gown of gray;
And a' was blythe, and a' was glad,
But Lady Maiserey was wae.
'Tween Mary Kirk and that castle,75
Was all spread o'er with [garl],
To keep the lady and her maidens,
From tramping on the [marl].
From Mary Kirk to that castle,
Was spread a cloth of gold,80
To keep the lady and her maidens,
From treading on the mould.
When mass was sung, and bells were rung,
And all men bound for bed,
Then Lord Ingram and Lady Maiserey,85
In one bed they were laid.
When they were laid upon their bed,
It was baith soft and warm,
He laid his hand over her side,
Says he, "you are with bairn."90
"I told you once, so did I twice,
When ye came as my wooer,
That Childe Vyet, your one brother,
One night lay in my bower.
"I told you twice, so did I thrice,95
Ere ye came me to wed,
That Childe Vyet, your one brother,
One night lay in my bed!"
"O will you father your bairn on me,
And on no other man?100
And I'll gie him to his dowry,
Full fifty ploughs of land."
"I will not father my bairn on you,
Nor on no wrongous man,
Tho' you'd gie him to his dowry,105
Five thousand ploughs of land."
Then up did start him Childe Vyet,
Shed by his yellow hair,
And gave Lord Ingram to the heart,
A deep wound and a sair.110
Then up did start him Lord Ingram,
Shed by his yellow hair,
And gave Childe Vyet to the heart,
A deep wound and a sair.
There was no pity for the two lords,115
Where they were lying slain,
All was for Lady Maiserey:
In that bower she gaed brain!
There was no pity for the two lords,
When they were lying dead,120
All was for Lady Maiserey:
In that bower she went mad!
"O get to me a cloak of cloth,
A staff of good hard tree;
If I have been an evil woman,125
I shall beg till I die.
"For ae bit I'll beg for Childe Vyet,
For Lord Ingram I'll beg three,
All for the honourable marriage, that
At Mary Kirk he gave me!"130
[4]. The less was their bonheur. Motherwell.
[70], she was neen. Motherwell.
[76], gold.
[78], mould. N. C. G.
LADY MAISRY.
This ballad, said to be very popular in Scotland, was taken down from recitation by Jamieson, and is extracted from his collection, vol. i. p. 73. A different copy, from Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 234, is given in the Appendix. Another, styled Young Prince James, may be seen in Buchan's Ballads, vol. i. 103. Bonnie Susie Cleland, Motherwell, p. 221, is still another version.
In Lady Maisry we seem to have the English form of a tragic story which, starting from Denmark, has spread over almost all the north of Europe, that of King Waldemar and his Sister. Grundtvig's collection gives seven copies of the Danish ballad upon this subject (Kong Valdemar og hans Söster, No. 126), the oldest from a manuscript of the beginning of the 17th century. Five Icelandic versions are known, one Norse, one Faroish, five Swedish (four of them in Arwidsson, No. 53, Liten Kerstin och Fru Sofia), and several in German, as Graf Hans von Holstein und seine Schwester Annchristine, Erk, Liederhort, p. 155;
Der Grausame Bruder, Erk, p. 153, and Hoffmann, Schlesische Volkslieder, No. 27; Der Grobe Bruder, Wunderhorn, ii. 272; Der Pfalzgraf am Rhein, id. i. 259, etc.; also a fragment in Wendish. The relationship of the English ballad to the rest of the cycle can perhaps be easiest shown by comparison with the simplified and corrupted German versions.
The story appears to be founded on facts which occurred during the reign and in the family of the Danish king, Waldemar the First, sometime between 1157 and 1167. Waldemar is described as being, with all his greatness, of a relentless and cruel disposition (in ira pertinax; in suos tantum plus justo crudelior). Tradition, however, has imputed to him a brutal ferocity beyond belief. In the ballad before us, Lady Maisry suffers for her weakness by being burned at the stake, but in the Danish, Swedish, and German ballads, the king's sister is beaten to death with leathern whips, by her brother's own hand.
"Er schlug sie so sehre, er schlug sie so lang,
Bis Lung und Leber aus dem Leib ihr sprang!"
The Icelandic and Faroe ballads have nothing of this horrible ferocity, but contain a story which is much nearer to probability, if not to historical truth. While King Waldemar is absent on an expedition against the Wends, his sister Kristín is drawn into a liaison with her second-cousin, the result of which is the birth of two children. Sofía, the Queen, maliciously makes the state of things known to the king the moment he returns (which is on the very day of Kristín's lying in, according to the Danish ballad), but he will not believe the story,—all the more because the accused parties are within prohibited degrees of
consanguinity. Kristín is summoned to come instantly to her brother, and obeys the message, though she is weak with childbirth, and knows that the journey will cost her her life. She goes to the court on horseback (in the Danish ballads falling from the saddle once or twice on the way), and on her arrival is put to various tests to ascertain her condition, concluding with a long dance with the king, to which, having held out for a considerable time, she at last succumbs, and falls dead in her brother's arms.
The incidents of the journey on horseback, and the cruel probation by the dance, are found in the ballad which follows the present (Fair Janet), and these coincidences Grundtvig considers sufficient to establish its derivation from the Danish. The general similarity of Lady Maisry to King Waldemar and his Sister is, however, much more striking. For our part, we are inclined to believe that both the English ballads had this origin, but the difference in their actual form is so great, that, notwithstanding this conviction, we have not felt warranted in putting them together.
The young lords o' the north country
Have all a-wooing gane,
To win the love of lady Maisry,
But o' them she wou'd hae nane.
O thae hae sought her, lady Maisry,5
Wi' broaches, and wi' rings;
And they hae courted her, lady Maisry,
Wi' a' kin kind of things.
And they hae sought her, lady Maisry,
Frae father and frae mither;10
And they hae sought her, lady Maisry,
Frae sister and frae brither.
And they hae follow'd her, lady Maisry,
Thro' chamber, and through ha';
But a' that they could say to her,15
Her answer still was "Na."
"O haud your tongues, young men," she said,
"And think nae mair on me;
For I've gi'en my love to an English lord,
Sae think nae mair on me."20
Her father's kitchey-boy heard that,
(An ill death mot he die!)
And he is in to her brother,
As fast as gang cou'd he.
"O is my father and my mother weel,25
But and my brothers three?
Gin my sister lady Maisry be weel,
There's naething can ail me."
"Your father and your mother is weel,
But and your brothers three;30
Your sister, lady Maisry's, weel,
Sae big wi' bairn is she."
"A malison light on the tongue,
Sic tidings tells to me!—
But gin it be a lie you tell,35
You shall be hanged hie."
He's doen him to his sister's bower,
Wi' mickle dool and care;
And there he saw her, lady Maisry,
Kembing her yellow hair.40
["O wha is aucht that bairn," he says,]
"That ye sae big are wi'?
And gin ye winna own the truth,
This moment ye sall die."
She's turned her richt and round about,45
And the kembe fell frae her han';
A trembling seized her fair bodie,
And her rosy cheek grew wan.
"O pardon me, my brother dear,
And the truth I'll tell to thee;50
My bairn it is to Lord William,
And he is betrothed to me."
"O cou'dna ye gotten dukes, or lords,
Intill your ain countrie,
That ye drew up wi' an English dog,55
To bring this shame on me?
"But ye maun gi'e up your English lord,
Whan your young babe is born;
For, gin ye keep by him an hour langer,
Your life shall be forlorn."60
"I will gi'e up this English lord,
Till my young babe be born;
But the never a day nor hour langer,
Though my life should be forlorn."
"O whare is a' my merry young men,65
Wham I gi'e meat and fee,
To pu' the bracken and the thorn,
To burn this vile whore wi'?"
"O whare will I get a bonny boy,
To help me in my need,70
To rin wi' haste to Lord William,
And bid him come wi' speed?"
O out it spak a bonny boy,
Stood by her brother's side;
"It's I wad rin your errand, lady,75
O'er a' the warld wide.
"Aft ha'e I run your errands, lady,
When blawin baith wind and weet;
But now I'll rin your errand, lady,
With saut tears on my cheek."80
O whan he came to broken briggs,
He bent his bow and swam;
And whan he came to the green grass growin',
He slack'd his shoon and ran.
And when he came to Lord William's yeats,85
He badena to chap or ca';
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly lap the wa';
And, or the porter was at the yeat,
The boy was in the ha'.90
"O is my biggins broken, boy?
Or is my towers won?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
O' a dear daughter or son?"
"Your biggin isna broken, sir,95
Nor is your towers won;
But the fairest lady in a' the land
This day for you maun burn."
"O saddle to me the black, the black,
Or saddle to me the brown;100
Or saddle to me the swiftest steed
That ever rade frae a town."
Or he was near a mile awa',
She heard his weir-horse sneeze;
"Mend up the fire, my fause brother,105
It's nae come to my knees."
O whan he lighted at the yeat,
She heard his bridle ring:
"Mend up the fire, my fause brother;
It's far yet frae my chin.110
"Mend up the fire to me, brother,
Mend up the fire to me;
For I see him comin' hard and fast,
Will soon men't up for thee.
"O gin my hands had been loose, Willy,115
Sae hard as they are boun',
I wadd hae turn'd me frae the gleed,
And casten out your young son."
"O I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your father and your mother;120
And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your sister and your brother;
"And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
The chief o' a' your kin;
And the last bonfire that I come to,125
Mysell I will cast in."
v. [41]. See preface to Clerk Saunders, p. 319.
FAIR JANET.
From Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 1.
"This ballad, the subject of which appears to have been very popular, is printed as it was sung by an old woman in Perthshire. The air is extremely beautiful."
Herd gave an imperfect version of this ballad under the title of Willie and Annet, in his Scottish Songs, i. 219; repeated after him in Ritson's Scottish Songs, and in Johnson's Museum. Finlay's copy, improved, but made up of fragments, follows the present, and in the Appendix is Sweet Willie and Fair Maisry, from Buchan's collection. We have followed Motherwell by inserting (in brackets) three stanzas from Willie and Annet and Sweet Willie, which contribute slightly to complete Sharpe's copy. None of these ballads is satisfactory, though Sharpe's is the best. Touching the relation of Fair Janet to the Danish ballad of King Waldemar and his Sister, the reader will please look at the preface to the preceding ballad.
"Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
Ye maun gang to him soon;
Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
In case that his days are dune!"
Janet's awa' to her father,5
As fast as she could hie;
"O what's your will wi' me, father?
O what's your will wi' me?"
"My will wi' you, Fair Janet," he said,
"It is both bed and board;10
Some say that ye lo'e Sweet Willie,
But ye maun wed a French lord."
"A French lord maun I wed, father?
A French lord maun I wed?
Then, by my sooth," quo' Fair Janet,15
"He's ne'er enter my bed."
Janet's awa' to her chamber,
As fast as she could go;
Wha's the first ane that tapped there,
But Sweet Willie her jo!20
"O we maun part this love, Willie,
That has been lang between;
There's a French lord coming o'er the sea
To wed me wi' a ring;
There 's a French lord coming o'er the sea,25
To wed and tak me hame."
"If we maun part this love, Janet,
It causeth mickle woe;
If we maun part this love, Janet,
It makes me into mourning go."30
"But ye maun gang to your three sisters,
Meg, Marion, and Jean;
Tell them to come to Fair Janet,
In case that her days are dune."
Willie's awa' to his three sisters,35
Meg, Marion, and Jean;
"O haste, and gang to Fair Janet,
I fear that her days are dune."
Some drew to them their silken hose,
Some drew to them their shoon,40
Some drew to them their silk manteils,
Their coverings to put on;
And they're awa' to Fair Janet,
By the hie light o' the moon.
* * * * * * *
"O I have born this babe, Willie,45
Wi' mickle toil and pain;
Take hame, take hame, your babe, Willie,
For nurse I dare be nane."
He's tane his young son in his arms,
And kist him cheek and chin,—50
And he's awa' to his mother's bower,
By the hie light o' the moon.
"O open, open, mother," he says,
"O open, and let me in;
The rain rains on my yellow hair,55
And the dew drops o'er my chin,—
And I hae my young son in my arms,
I fear that his days are dune."
With her fingers lang and sma'
She lifted up the pin;60
And with her arms lang and sma'
Received the baby in.
"Gae back, gae back now, Sweet Willie,
And comfort your fair lady;
For where ye had but ae nourice,65
Your young son shall hae three."
Willie he was scarce awa',
And the lady put to bed,
When in and came her father dear:
"Make haste, and busk the bride."70
"There's a sair pain in my head, father,
There's a sair pain in my side;
And ill, O ill, am I, father,
This day for to be a bride."
"O ye maun busk this bonny bride,75
And put a gay mantle on;
For she shall wed this auld French lord,
Gin she should die the morn."
Some put on the gay green robes,
And some put on the brown;80
But Janet put on the scarlet robes,
To shine foremost through the town.
And some they mounted the black steed,
And some mounted the brown;
But Janet mounted the milk-white steed,85
To ride foremost through the town.
"O wha will guide your horse, Janet?
O wha will guide him best?"
"O wha but Willie, my true love,
He kens I lo'e him best!"90
And when they cam to Marie's kirk,
To tye the haly ban,
Fair Janet's cheek looked pale and wan,
And her colour gaed and cam.
When dinner it was past and done,95
And dancing to begin,
"O we'll go take the bride's maidens,
And we'll go fill the ring."
O ben than cam the auld French lord,
Saying, "Bride, will ye dance with me?"
"Awa', awa', ye auld French Lord,100
Your face I downa see."
O ben than cam now Sweet Willie,
He cam with ane advance:
"O I'll go tak the bride's maidens,105
And we'll go tak a dance."
"I've seen ither days wi' you, Willie,
And so has mony mae;
Ye would hae danced wi' me mysel',
Let a' my maidens gae."110
O ben than cam now Sweet Willie,
Saying, "Bride, will ye dance wi' me?"
"Aye, by my sooth, and that I will,
Gin my back should break in three."
[And she's ta'en Willie by the hand,115
The tear blinded her e'e;
"O I wad dance wi' my true love,
Tho' bursts my heart in three!">[
She hadna turned her throw the dance,
Throw the dance but thrice,120
Whan she fell doun at Willie's feet,
And up did never rise!
[She's ta'en her bracelet frae her arm,
Her garter frae her knee:
"Gie that, gie that, to my young son;125
He'll ne'er his mother see.">[
Willie's ta'en the key of his coffer,
And gi'en it to his man;
"Gae hame, and tell my mother dear,
My horse he has me slain;130
Bid her be kind to my young son,
For father he has nane."
["Gar deal, gar deal the bread," he cried,
"Gar deal, gar deal the wine;
This day has seen my true love's death,135
This night shall witness mine.">[
The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,
And the tither in Marie's quire:
Out of the tane there grew a birk,
And the tither a bonny brier.140
SWEET WILLIE.
"This ballad has had the misfortune, in common with many others, of being much mutilated by reciters. I have endeavoured, by the assistance of some fragments, to make it as complete as possible; and have even taken the liberty of altering the arrangement of some of the stanzas of a lately-procured copy, that they might the better cohere with those already printed." Finlay's Scottish Ballads, ii. 61.
"Will you marry the southland lord,
A queen o' fair England to be?
Or will you mourn for sweet Willie,
The morn upon yon lea?"
"I will marry the southland lord,5
Father, sen it is your will;
But I'd rather it were my burial day,
For my grave I'm going till.
"O go, O go now my bower wife,
O go now hastilie,10
O go now to sweet Willie's bower,
And bid him cum speak to me.—
"Now, Willie, gif ye love me weel,
As sae it seems to me,
Gar build, gar build a bonny ship,15
Gar build it speedilie!
"And we will sail the sea sae green
Unto some far countrie;
Or we'll sail to some bonny isle,
Stands lanely midst the sea."20
But lang or e'er the ship was built,
Or deck'd or rigged out,
Cam sic a pain in Annet's back,
That down she cou'dna lout.
"Now, Willie, gin ye love me weel,25
As sae it seems to me,
O haste, haste, bring me to my bower,
And my bower maidens three."
He's ta'en her in his arms twa,
And kiss'd her cheek and chin,30
He's brocht her to her ain sweet bower,
But nae bower maid was in.
"Now leave my bower, Willie," she said,
"Now leave me to my lane;
Was never man in a lady's bower35
When she was travailing."
He's stepped three steps down the stair,
Upon the marble stane,
Sae loud's he heard his young son greet,
"Now come, now come, Willie," she said,
"Tak your young son frae me,
And hie him to your mother's bower,
With speed and privacie."
And he is to his mother's bower,45
As fast as he could rin;
"Open, open, my mother dear,
Open, and let me in;
"For the rain rains on my yellow hair,
The dew stands on my chin,50
And I have something in my lap,
And I wad fain be in."
"O go, O go now, sweet Willie,
And make your lady blithe,
For wherever you had ae nourice,55
Your young son shall hae five."—
Out spak Annet's mother dear,
An' she spak a word o' pride;
Says, "Whare is a' our bride's maidens,
They're no busking the bride?"60
"O haud your tongue, my mother dear,
Your speaking let it be,
For I'm sae fair and full o' flesh,
Little busking will serve me."
Out an' spak the bride's maidens,65
They spak a word o' pride;
Says, "Whare is a' the fine cleiding?
Its we maun busk the bride."
"Deal hooly wi' my head, maidens,
Deal hooly wi' my hair,70
For it was washen late yestreen,
And it is wonder sair.
"My maidens, easy wi' my back,
And easy wi' my side;
O set my saddle saft, Willie,75
I am a tender bride."
O up then spak the southland lord,
And blinkit wi' his ee;
"I trow this lady's born a bairn,"
Then laucht loud lauchters three.80
"Ye hae gi'en me the gowk, Annet,
But I'll gie you the scorn;
For there's no a bell in a' the town
Shall ring for you the morn."
Out and spak then sweet Willie,85
"Sae loud's I hear you lie,
There's no a bell in a' the town
But shall ring for Annet and me."
And Willie swore a great great oath,
And he swore by the thorn,90
That she was as free o' a child that night,
As the night that she was born.
O up an' spak [the brisk bridegroom],
And he spak up wi' pride,
"Gin I should lay my gloves in pawn,95
I will dance wi' the bride."
"Now haud your tongue, [my lord," she said],
"Wi' dancing let me be,
I am sae thin in flesh and blude,
Sma' dancing will serve me."100
But she's ta'en Willie by the hand,
The tear blinded her ee;
"But I wad dance wi' my true love,
But bursts my heart in three."
She's ta'en her bracelet frae her arm,105
Her garter frae her knee,
"Gie that, gie that, to my young son;
He'll ne'er his mother see."
[93]. Sic Herd. Finlay, then sweet Willie.
[97]. Sic Herd. Finlay, Willie, she said.
FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN.
Of this beautiful piece a complete copy was first published by Scott, another afterwards by Jamieson. Both are here given, the latter, as in some respects preferable, having the precedence. The ballad is found almost entire in Herd's Scottish Songs, i. 206, a short fragment in Johnson's Museum, p. 5, and a more considerable one, called Love Gregory, in Buchan's collection, ii. 199. This last has been unnecessarily repeated in a very indifferent publication of the Percy Society, vol. xvii. Dr. Wolcot, Burns, and Jamieson have written songs on the story of Fair Annie, and Cunningham has modernized Sir Walter Scott's version, after his fashion, in the Songs of Scotland, i. 298.
Of his text, Jamieson remarks, "it is given verbatim from the large MS. collection, transmitted from Aberdeen, by my zealous and industrious friend, Professor Robert Scott of that university. I have every reason to believe, that no liberty whatever has been taken with the text, which is certainly more uniform than
any copy heretofore published. It was first written down many years ago, with no view towards being committed to the press; and is now given from the copy then taken, with the addition only of stanzas twenty-two and twenty-three, which the editor has inserted from memory." Popular Ballads, i. 36.
"Lochryan is a beautiful, though somewhat wild and secluded bay, which projects from the Irish Channel into Wigtonshire, having the little seaport of Stranraer situated at its bottom. Along its coast, which is in some places high and rocky, there are many ruins of such castles as that described in the ballad." Chambers.
"O wha will shoe my fair foot,
And wha will glove my han'?
And wha will lace my middle jimp
Wi' a new-made London ban'?
"Or wha will kemb my yellow hair5
Wi' a new-made silver kemb?
Or wha'll be father to my young bairn,
Till love Gregor come hame?"
"Your father'll shoe your fair foot,
Your mother glove your han';10
Your sister lace your middle jimp
Wi' a new-made London ban';
"Your brethren will kemb your yellow hair
Wi' a new-made silver kemb;
And the king o' Heaven will father your bairn,15
Till love Gregor come hame."
"O gin I had a bonny ship,
And men to sail wi' me,
It's I wad gang to my true love,
Sin he winna come to me!"20
Her father's gien her a bonny ship,
And sent her to the stran';
She's taen her young son in her arms,
And turn'd her back to the lan'.
She hadna been o' the sea sailin'25
About a month or more,
Till landed has she her bonny ship
Near her true-love's door.
The nicht was dark, and the wind blew cald,
And her love was fast asleep,30
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,35
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;
So open the door to me."40
"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
You're nae come here for gude;
You're but a witch, or a vile warlock,
Or mermaid o' the flude."
"I'm nae a witch or vile warlock,45
Or mermaiden," said she;—
"I'm but your Annie of Lochroyan;—
O open the door to me!"
"O gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,
As I trust not ye be,50
What taiken can ye gie that e'er
I kept your companie?"
"O dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says,
"Whan we sat at the wine,
How we changed the napkins frae our necks?55
It's nae sae lang sinsyne.
"And yours was gude, and gude enough,
But nae sae gude as mine;
For yours was o' the cambrick clear,
But mine o' the silk sae fine.60
"And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says,
"As we twa sat at dine,
How we chang'd the rings frae our fingers,
And I can shew thee thine:
"And yours was gude, and gude enough,65
Yet nae sae gude as mine;
For yours was o' the gude red gold,
But mine o' the diamonds fine.
"Sae open the door, now, love Gregor,
And open it wi' speed;70
Or your young son, that is in my arms,
For cald will soon be dead."
"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
Gae frae my door for shame;
For I hae gotten anither fair love,75
Sae ye may hie you hame."
"O hae ye gotten anither fair love,
For a' the oaths ye sware?
Then fare ye weel, now, fause Gregor;
For me ye's never see mair!"80
O hooly, hooly gaed she back,
As the day began to peep;
She set her foot on good ship board,
And sair, sair did she weep.
"Tak down, tak down the mast o' goud;85
Set up the mast o' tree;
Ill sets it a forsaken lady
To sail sae gallantlie.
"Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk;
Set up the sails o' skin;90
Ill sets the outside to be gay,
Whan there's sic grief within!"
Love Gregor started frae his sleep,
And to his mother did say,
"I dreamt a dream this night, mither,95
That maks my heart richt wae;
"I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan,
The flower o' a' her kin,
Was standin' mournin' at my door,
But nane wad lat her in."100
"O there was a woman stood at the door,
Wi' a bairn intill her arms;
But I wadna let her within the bower,
For fear she had done you harm."
O quickly, quickly raise he up,105
And fast ran to the strand;
And there he saw her, fair Annie,
Was sailing frae the land.
And "heigh, Annie!" and "how, Annie!
O, Annie, winna ye bide?"110
But ay the louder that he cried "Annie,"
The higher rair'd the tide.
And "heigh, Annie!" and "how, Annie!
O, Annie, speak to me!"
But ay the louder that he cried "Annie,"115
The louder rair'd 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 o'er the main.120
He saw his young son in her arms,
Baith toss'd aboon 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,125
And drew her to the strand;
But cald and stiff was every limb,
Before he reach'd the land.
O first he kist her cherry cheek,
And syne he kist her chin;130
And sair he kist her ruby lips,
But there was nae breath within.
O he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie,
Till the sun was ganging down;
Syne wi' a sich his heart it brast,135
And his saul to heaven has flown.
THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN.
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 199.
"This edition of the ballad is composed of verses selected from three MS. copies, and two obtained from recitation. Two of the copies are in Herd's MS.; the third in that of Mrs. Brown of Falkland."
Lord Gregory is represented in Scott's version, "as confined by fairy charms in an enchanted castle situated in the sea." But Jamieson assures us that when a boy he had frequently heard this ballad chanted in Morayshire, and no mention was ever made of enchantment, or "fairy charms." "Indeed," he very justly adds, "the two stanzas on that subject [v. 41-52,] are in a style of composition very peculiar, and different from the rest of the piece, and strongly remind us of the interpolations in the ballad of Gil Morris."
"O wha will shoe my bonny foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp
Wi' a lang, lang linen band?
"O wha will kame my yellow hair,5
With a new-made silver kame?
And wha will father my young son,
Till Lord Gregory come hame?"—
"Thy father will shoe thy bonny foot,
Thy mother will glove thy hand,10
Thy sister will lace thy middle jimp,
Till Lord Gregory come to land.
"Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair
With a new-made silver kame,
And God will be thy bairn's father15
Till Lord Gregory come hame."—
"But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea;
And I will gang to Lord Gregory,
Since he canna come hame to me."20
Syne she's gar'd build a bonny boat,
To sail the salt, salt sea;
The sails were o' the light green silk,
The tows o' taffety.
She hadna sailed but twenty leagues,25
But twenty leagues and three,
When she met wi' a rank robber,
And a' his company.
"Now whether are ye the queen hersell,
(For so ye weel might be,)30
Or are ye the Lass of Lochroyan,
Seekin' Lord Gregory?"—
"O I am neither the queen," she said,
"Nor sic I seem to be;
But I am the Lass of Lochroyan,35
Seekin' Lord Gregory."—
"O see na thou yon bonny bower,
It's a' cover'd o'er wi' tin?
When thou hast sail'd it round about,
Lord Gregory is within."40
And when she saw the stately tower
Shining sae clear and bright,
Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,
Built on a rock of height;
Says—"Row the boat, my mariners,45
And bring me to the land!
For yonder I see my love's castle
Close by the salt-sea strand."
She sail'd it round, and sail'd it round,
And loud, loud cried she—50
"Now break, now break, ye fairy charms,
And set my true love free!"
She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
And to the door she's gane;
And long she knock'd, and sair she ca'd,55
But answer got she nane.
"O open the door, Lord Gregory!
O open and let me in!
For the wind blaws through my yellow hair,
And the rain draps o'er my chin."—60
"Awa, awa, ye ill woman!
Ye're no come here for good!
Ye're but some witch or wil warlock,
Or mermaid o' the flood."—
"I am neither witch, nor wil warlock,65
Nor mermaid o' the sea;
But I am Annie of Lochroyan;
O open the door to me!"—
"Gin thou be Annie of Lochroyan,
(As I trow thou binna she,)70
Now tell me some o' the love tokens
That past between thee and me."
"O dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory,
As we sat at the wine,
We changed the rings frae our fingers?75
And I can show thee thine.
"O yours was gude, and gude enough,
But aye the best was mine;
For yours was o' the gude red gowd,
But mine o' the diamond fine.80
"And has na thou mind, Lord Gregory,
As we sat on the hill,
Thou twin'd me o' my maidenheid
Right sair against my will?
"Now open the door, Lord Gregory!85
Open the door, I pray!
For thy young son is in my arms,
And will be dead ere day."—
"If thou be the lass of Lochroyan,
(As I kenna thou be,)90
Tell me some mair o' the love tokens
Past between me and thee."
Fair Annie turn'd her round about—
"Weel! since that it be sae,
May never a woman that has borne a son,95
Hae a heart sae fou o' wae!
"Take down, take down, that mast o' gowd!
Set up a mast o' tree!
It disna become a forsaken lady
To sail sae royallie."100
When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,
And the sun began to peep,
Then up and raise him Lord Gregory,
And sair, sair did he weep.
"Oh I hae dream'd a dream, mother,105
I wish it may prove true!
That the bonny Lass of Lochroyan
Was at the yate e'en now.
"O I hae dream'd a dream, mother,
The thought o't gars me greet!110
That fair Annie o' Lochroyan
Lay cauld dead at my feet."—
"Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan
That ye make a' this din,
She stood a' last night at your door,115
But I true she wan na in."—
"O wae betide ye, ill woman!
An ill deid may ye die!
That wadna open the door to her,
O he's gane down to yon shore side
As fast as he could fare;
He saw fair Annie in the boat,
But the wind it toss'd her sair.
"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie!125
O Annie, winna ye bide!"
But aye the mair he cried Annie,
The braider grew the tide.
"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie!
Dear Annie, speak to me!"130
But aye the louder he cried Annie,
The louder roar'd the sea.
The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dash'd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floated through the faem,135
But the babie rose no more.
Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
Her bonny young son was gone.140
O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair;
But clay-cold were her rosy lips—
Nae spark o' life was there.
And first he kiss'd her cherry cheek,145
And syne he kiss'd her chin,
And syne he kiss'd her rosy lips—
There was nae breath within.
"O wae betide my cruel mother!
An ill death may she die!150
She turn'd my true love frae my door,
Wha came sae far to me.
"O wae betide my cruel mother!
An ill death may she die!
She turn'd fair Annie frae my door,155
Wha died for love o' me."
THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 3.
This ballad, of which more than thirty versions have been published in the Northern languages, is preserved in English in several forms, all of them more or less unsatisfactory. Of these the present copy comes nearest to the pure original, as it is found in Danish. The next best is The Brave Earl Brand and The King of England's Daughter, recently printed for the first time in Bell's Ballads of the Peasantry, and given [at the end of this volume]. Erlinton (vol. iii. 220) is much mutilated, and has a perverted conclusion, but retains a faint trace of one characteristic trait of the ancient ballad, which really constitutes the turning point of the story, but which all the others lack. (See Erlinton.) A fragment exists in the Percy MS., of which we can only say that if it much resembled Percy's Child of Elle (which it cannot), it might without loss be left undisturbed forever. In the only remaining copy Robin Hood appears as the hero. (See vol. v. p. 334.) It is of slight value, but considerably less insipid than the Child of Elle. Motherwell (Minstrelsy, p. 180) has given a few variations to Scott's ballad, but they are of no importance.—Of the corresponding Danish ballad, Ribolt og Guldborg, Grundtvig has collected more than twenty versions, some of them ancient, many obtained from recitation, and eight of the
kindred Hildebrand og Hilde. There have also been printed of the latter, three versions in Swedish, and of the former, three in Icelandic, two in Norse, and seven in Swedish. (Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser, ii. 308-403, 674-81.) Jamieson has translated an inferior copy of the Danish ballad in Illustrations of North. Antiq., p. 317.
"The ballad of The Douglas Tragedy," says Scott, "is one of the few (?) to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality.
"The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farm-house, in a wild and solitary glen, upon a torrent named Douglas burn, which joins the Yarrow, after passing a craggy rock, called the Douglas craig.... From this ancient tower Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighboring heights of Blackhouse, are shown, as marking the spot where the seven brethren were slain; and the Douglas burn is averred to have been the stream at which the lovers stopped to drink: so minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event."
Were it not for Scott's concluding remark, and the obstinate credulity of most of the English and Scotch editors, we should hardly think it necessary to say that the locality of some of the incidents in Ribolt and Guldborg, is equally well ascertained (Grundtvig, 342, 343). "Popular tales and anecdotes of every kind," as Jamieson well remarks, "soon obtain locality wherever they are told; and the intelligent and attentive
traveller will not be surprised to find the same story which he had learnt when a child, with every appropriate circumstance of names, time, and place, in a Glen of Morven, Lochaber, or Rannoch, equally domesticated among the mountains of Norway, Caucasus, or Thibet." Ill. North. Ant. p. 317.
"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
"And put on your armour so bright;
Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.
"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,5
And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa' the last night."—
He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,10
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,15
Come riding o'er the lee.
"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said,
"And hold my steed in your hand,
Until that against your seven brethren bold,
And your father, I make a stand."—20
She held his steed in her milk-white hand,
And never shed one tear,
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',
And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.
"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said,25
"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,30
And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.
"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg'ret," he said,
"O whether will ye gang or bide?"—
"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,35
"For you have left me no other guide."—
He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.40
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 drink45
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!"—50
"'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,55
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.60
"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
"O mak it braid and deep!
And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep."
Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,65
Lady Marg'ret lang ere day—
And all true lovers that go thegither,
May they have mair luck than they!
[Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk],
Lady Marg'ret in Marie's quire;70
Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o' the knight's a brier.
And they twa met, and they twa plat,
And fain they wad be near;
And a' the warld might ken right weel,75
They were twa lovers dear.
But bye and rade the Black Douglas,
And wow but he was rough!
For he pull'd up the bonny brier,
And flang't in St. Marie's Loch.80
[69-80]. This miracle is frequently witnessed over the graves of faithful lovers.—King Mark, according to the German romance, planted a rose on Tristan's grave, and a vine on that of Isold. The roots struck down into the very hearts of the dead lovers, and the stems twined lovingly together. The French account is somewhat different. An eglantine sprung from the tomb of Tristan, and twisted itself round the monument of Isold. It was cut down three times, but grew up every morning fresher than before, so that it was allowed to stand. Other examples are, in this volume,
Fair Janet, Lord Thomas and Fair Annet; in the third volume, Prince Robert, &c. The same phenomenon is exhibited in the Swedish ballads of Hertig Fröjdenborg och Fröken Adelin, Lilla Rosa, Hilla Lilla, Hertig Nils, (Svenska Folk-Visor, i. 95, 116, Arwidsson, ii. 8, 21, 24,) in the Danish ballad of Herr Sallemand, (Danske Viser, iii. 348,) in the Breton ballad of Lord Nann and the Korrigan, translated in Keightley's Fairy Mythology, p. 433, in a Servian tale cited by Talvi, Versuch, &c., p. 139, and in the Afghan poem of Audam and Doorkhaunee, described by Elphinstone, Account of the Kingdom of Caubul, i. 295,—which last reference we owe to Talvi.—In the case of the Danish ballad it is certain, and in some of the other cases probable, that the idea was derived from the romance of Tristan.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR.
The four pieces which follow have all the same subject. Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor, is given from the Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, vol. i. p. 249, where it is entitled, A Tragical Ballad on the unfortunate Love of Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor, together with the Downfal of the Brown Girl. The text differs but slightly from that of Percy, (iii. 121,) and Ritson, Ancient Songs, ii. 89.
Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester,
And a chaser of the king's deer;
Fair Ellinor was a fine woman,
And Lord Thomas he loved her dear.
"Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," he said,5
"And riddle us both as one;
Whether I shall marry with fair Ellinor,
And let the brown girl alone?"
"The brown girl she has got houses and land,
And fair Ellinor she has got none;10
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
Bring me the brown girl home."
As it befell on a high holiday,
As many more did beside,
Lord Thomas he went to fair Ellinor,15
That should have been his bride.
But when he came to fair Ellinors bower,
He knocked there at the ring;
But who was so ready as fair Ellinor,
For to let Lord Thomas in.20
"What news, what news, Lord Thomas?" she said,
"What news hast thou brought unto me?"
"I am come to bid thee to my wedding,
And that is bad news for thee."
"O God forbid, Lord Thomas," she said,25
"That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been thy bride my own self,
And you to have been the bridegrom."
"Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," she said,
"And riddle it all in one;30
Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas's wedding,
Or whether I shall tarry at home?"
"There are many that are your friends, daughter,
And many that are your foe;
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,35
To Lord Thomas's wedding don't go."
"There's many that are my friends, mother;
And if a thousand more were my foe,
Betide my life, betide my death,
To Lord Thomas's wedding I'll go."40
She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merry men all in green;
And as they rid through every town,
They took her to be some queen.
But when she came to Lord Thomas's gate,
She knocked there at the ring;45
But who was so ready as Lord Thomas,
To let fair Ellinor in.
"Is this your bride?" fair Ellinor said;
"Methinks she looks wonderful brown;50
Thou might'st have had as fair a woman,
As ever trod on the ground."
"Despise her not, fair Ellin," he said,
"Despise her not unto me;
For better I love thy little finger,55
Than all her whole body."
This brown bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharp,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
Prick'd fair Ellinor to the heart.60
"O Christ now save thee," Lord Thomas he said,
"Methinks thou look'st wondrous wan;
Thou us'd to look with as fresh a colour,
As ever the sun shin'd on."
"O art thou blind, Lord Thomas?" she said,
"Or canst thou not very well see?65
O dost thou not see my own heart's blood
Run trickling down my knee?"
Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;
As he walk'd about the hall,70
He cut off his bride's head from her shoulders,
And threw it against the wall.
He set the hilt against the ground,
And the point against his heart;
There never were three lovers met,75
That sooner did depart.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET.
From Percy's Reliques, iii. 290, where it was "given, with some corrections, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland." There is a corresponding Swedish Ballad, Herr Peder och Liten Kerstin, in the Svenska Folk-Visor, i. 49. It is translated in Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, by William and Mary Howitt, i. 258.
Lord Thomas and fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.
Lord Thomas said a word in jest,5
Fair Annet took it ill:
"A' I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends will."
"Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee:"10
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.
"O rede, O rede, mither," he says,
"A gude rede gie to mee:
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,15
And let faire Annet bee?"
"The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty fair Annet has,
O it wull soon be gane."20
And he has till his brother gane:
"Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A', sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let fair Annet bee?"
"The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,25
The nut-browne bride has kye:
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast fair Annet bye."
"Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie,
And her kye into the byre,30
And I sall hae nothing to mysell,
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre."
And he has till his sister gane:
"Now sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,35
And set fair Annet free?"
"Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
What is this we brought hame!"40
"No, I will tak my mithers counsel,
And marrie me owt o' hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride;
Fair Annet may leive the land."
Up then rose fair Annets father,45
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower
Wherein fair Annet lay.
"Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says,
"Put on your silken sheene;50
Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,
And see that rich weddeen."
"My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before,55
See yee lay ten times mair.
"My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o' the holland fine,
The other o' needle-work."60
The horse fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind;
Wi' siller he was shod before,
Wi' burning gowd behind.
Four and twanty siller bells65
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o' the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
Four and twanty gay gude knichts
Rade by fair Annets side,70
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
And whan she cam to Maries kirk,
She sat on Maries stean:
The cleading that fair Annet had on75
It skinkled in their een.
And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmer'd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist,
She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
Whan fair Annet she drew near.
He had a rose into his hand,85
And he gave it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on fair Annets knee.
Up than spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi' meikle spite;90
"And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?"
"O I did get the rose-water
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water95
Into my mithers wame."
The bride she drew a long bodkin
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake fair Annet unto the heart,
That word she nevir spak mair.100
Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale,
And marvelit what mote bee:
But whan he saw her dear hearts blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed hee.
He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,105
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.
"Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed,
"Now stay, my dear," he cry'd;110
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.
Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',
Fair Annet within the quiere;
And o' the tane thair grew a birk,115
The other a bonny briere.
And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil,
They were twa luvers deare.120
SWEET WILLIE AND FAIR ANNIE
Is another version of the foregoing piece, furnished by Jamieson, Popular Ballads, i. 22.
"The text of Lord Thomas and Fair Annet," remarks Jamieson, "seems to have been adjusted, previous to its leaving Scotland, by some one who was more of a scholar than the reciters of ballads generally are; and, in attempting to give it an antique cast, it has been deprived of somewhat of that easy facility which is the distinguished characteristic of the traditionary ballad narrative. With the text of the following ditty, no such experiment has been made. It is here given pure and entire, as it was taken down by the editor, from the recitation of a lady in Aberbrothick, (Mrs. W. Arrot.) As she had, when a child, learnt the ballad from an elderly maid-servant, and probably had not repeated it for a dozen years before I had the good fortune to be introduced to her, it may be depended upon, that every line was recited to me as nearly as possible in the exact form in which she learnt it."
Mr. Chambers, in conformity with the plan of his work, presents us with an edition composed out of Percy's and Jamieson's, with some amended readings and additional verses from a manuscript copy, (Scottish Ballads, p. 269.)
Sweet Willie and fair Annie
Sat a' day on a hill;
And though they had sitten seven year,
They ne'er wad had their fill.
Sweet Willie said a word in haste,5
And Annie took it ill:
"I winna wed a tocherless maid,
Against my parent's will."
"Ye're come o' the rich, Willie,
And I'm come o' the poor;10
I'm o'er laigh to be your bride,
And I winna be your whore."
O Annie she's gane till her bower,
And Willie down the den;
And he's come till his mither's bower,15
By the lei light o' the moon.
"O sleep ye, wake ye, mither?" he says,
"Or are ye the bower within?"
["I sleep richt aft, I wake richt aft;]
What want ye wi' me, son?20
"Whare hae ye been a' night, Willie?
O wow! ye've tarried lang!"
"I have been courtin' fair Annie,
And she is frae me gane.
"There is twa maidens in a bower;25
Which o' them sall I bring hame?
The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,
And fair Annie has nane."
"It's an ye wed the nut-brown maid,
I'll heap gold wi' my hand;30
But an ye wed her, fair Annie,
I'll straik it wi' a wand.
"The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,
And fair Annie has nane;
And Willie, for my benison,35
The nut-brown maid bring hame."
"O I sall wed the nut-brown maid,
And I sall bring her hame;
But peace nor rest between us twa,
"But, alas, alas!" says sweet Willie,
"O fair is Annie's face!"
"But what's the matter, my son Willie,
She has nae ither grace."
"Alas, alas!" says sweet Willie,45
"But white is Annie's hand!"
"But what's the matter, my son Willie,
She hasna a fur o' land."
"Sheep will die in cots, mither,
And owsen die in byre;50
And what's this warld's wealth to me,
An I get na my heart's desire?
"Whare will I get a bonny boy,
That wad fain win hose and shoon,
That will rin to fair Annie's bower,55
Wi' the lei light o' the moon?
"Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin',
The morn at twal at noon;
Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin',
The heir o' [Duplin town].60
"She manna put on the black, the black,
Nor yet the dowie brown;
But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,
And her bonny locks hangin' down."
He is on to Annie's bower,65
And tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel,
To open and let him in.
"Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin',
The morn at twal at noon;70
Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin',
The heir of Duplin town.
"Ye manna put on the black, the black,
Nor yet the dowie brown;
But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,75
And your bonny locks hangin' down."
"Its I will come to Willie's weddin',
The morn at twal at noon;
Its I will come to Willie's weddin',
But I rather the mass had been mine.80
"Maidens, to my bower come,
And lay gold on my hair;
And whare ye laid ae plait before,
Ye'll now lay ten times mair.
"Taylors, to my bower come,85
And mak to me a weed;
And smiths unto my stable come,
And shoe to me a steed."
At every tate o' Annie's horse' mane
There hang a silver bell;90
And there came a wind out frae the south,
Which made them a' to knell.
And whan she came to Mary-kirk,
And sat down in the deas,
The light, that came frae fair Annie,95
Enlighten'd a' the place.
But up and stands the nut-brown bride,
Just at her father's knee;
"O wha is this, my father dear,
That blinks in Willie's e'e?"100
"O this is Willie's first true love,
Before he loved thee."
"If that be Willie's first true love,
He might ha'e latten me be;
She has as much gold on ae finger,105
As I'll wear till I die.
"O whare got ye that water, Annie,
That washes you sae white?"
"I got it in my mither's wambe,
Whare ye'll ne'er get the like.110
"For ye've been wash'd in Dunny's well,
And dried on Dunny's dyke;
And a' the water in the sea
Will never wash ye white."
Willie's ta'en a rose out o' his hat,115
Laid it in Annie's lap;
"[The bonniest to the bonniest fa's,]
Hae, wear it for my sake."
"Tak up and wear your rose, Willie,
And wear't wi' mickle care,120
For the woman sall never bear a son,
That will mak my heart sae sair."
Whan night was come, and day was gane,
And a' man boun to bed,
Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride125
In their chamber were laid.
They werena weel lyen down,
And scarcely fa'n asleep,
Whan up and stands she, fair Annie,
"Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride,
Between ye and the wa';
And sae will I o' my winding sheet,
That suits me best ava.
"Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride,135
Between ye and the stock;
And sae will I o' my black black kist,
That has neither key nor lock."
Sad Willie raise, put on his claise,
Drew till him his hose and shoon,140
And he is on to Annie's bower,
By the lei light o' the moon.
The firsten bower that he came till,
There was right dowie wark;
Her mither and her three sisters145
Were makin' to Annie a sark.
The nexten bower that he came till,
There was right dowie cheir;
Her father and her seven brethren
Were makin' to Annie a bier.150
The lasten bower, that he came till,
[O heavy was his care!
The waxen lights were burning bright,]
And fair Annie streekit there.
He's lifted up the coverlet,155
[Where she, fair Annie, lay;
Sweet was her smile, but wan her cheek;
O wan, and cald as clay!]
"It's I will kiss your bonny cheek,
And I will kiss your chin;160
And I will kiss your clay-cald lip;
But I'll never kiss woman again.
"The day ye deal at Annie's burial
The bread but and the wine;
Before the morn at twall o'clock,165
They'll deal the same at mine."
The tane was buried in Mary's kirk,
The tither in Mary's quire;
And out o' the tane there grew a birk,
And out o' the tither a brier.170
And ay they grew, and ay they drew,
Untill they twa did meet;
And every ane that past them by,
Said, "Thae's been lovers sweet!"
[19]. That is, my slumbers are short, broken, and interrupted. J.
[60]. Duplin town. Duplin is the seat of the earl of Kinnoul, from which he derives his title of viscount. It is in the neighborhood of Perth. It is observable, that ballads are very frequently adapted to the meridian of the place where they are found. J.
FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.
From Percy's Reliques, iii. 164.
"This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, acts ii. and iii.; although the six lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. Its full title is Fair Margaret's misfortunes; or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding night, with the sudden death and burial of those noble lovers.
"The lines preserved in the play are this distich:
"You are no love for me, Margaret,
I am no love for you."
Act iii. 5.
And the following stanza:
"When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,
In came Margarets grimly ghost,
And stood at Williams feet.
Act ii. 8.
"These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any other language: [Mallet's Margaret's Ghost.]
"Since the first edition, some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of
the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy."
The variations in Herd's copy, (i. 145,) and in Ritson's (Ancient Songs, ii. 92,) are unimportant.
In the main the same is the widely known ballad, Der Ritter und das Mägdlein, Erk, p. 81, Hoffmann's Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 9; Herr Malmstens Dröm, Svenska Folkvisor, iii. 104, Arwidsson, ii. 21; Volkslieder der Wenden, by Haupt and Schmaler, i. 159-162 (Hoffmann); in Dutch, with a different close, Hoffmann's Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 61: also Lord Lovel, post, p. 162.
As it fell out on a long summer's day,
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.
"I see no harm by you, Margaret,5
And you see none by mee;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see."
Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,
Combing her yellow hair;10
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.
Then down she layd her ivory combe,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower,15
But ne'er came alive in't again.
When day was gone, and night was come,
And all men fast asleep,
Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,
And stood at Williams feet.20
["Are you awake, sweet William?" shee said,]
"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet."
When day was come, and night 'twas gone,25
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,
"My dear, I have cause to weep.
"I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye,
Such dreames are never good:30
I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood."
"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of red swine,35
And thy bride-bed full of blood."
He called up his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
By the leave of my ladie."40
And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethren,
To let sweet William in.
Then he turned up the covering-sheet;45
"Pray let me see the dead;
Methinks she looks all pale and wan,
She hath lost her cherry red.
"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,
Than any of thy kin:50
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win."
With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous mone,
"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,55
And let our sister alone."
"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
[Deal on your cake and your wine:]
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."
Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,65
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel,
And William in the higher:70
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.
They grew till they grew unto the church top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,75
Which made all the people admire.
Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.80
God give you joy, you lovers true,
In bride-bed fast asleep;
Lo! I am going to my green-grass grave,
And I'm in my winding sheet.
Herd's copy.
[62]. Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. P.
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST
As already remarked, is often made the sequel to other ballads. (See [Clerk Saunders], p. 45.) It was first printed in the fourth volume of Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, with some imperfections, and with two spurious stanzas for a conclusion. We subjoin to Ramsay's copy the admirable version obtained by Motherwell from recitation, and still another variation furnished by Kinloch.
Closely similar in many respects are the Danish Fæstemanden i Graven (Aage og Else), Grundtvig, No. 90, and the Swedish Sorgens Magt, Svenska F. V., i. 29, ii. 204, or Arwidsson, ii. 103. Also Der Todte Freier, Erk's Liederhort, 24, 24 a. In the Danish and Swedish ballads it is the uncontrolled grief of his mistress that calls the lover from his grave: in the English, the desire to be freed from his troth-plight.—See vol. i. p. 213, 217.
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous groan,
And ay he tirled at the pin,
But answer made she none.
"Is that my father Philip,
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true love Willy,
From Scotland new come home?"
"Tis not thy father Philip,
Nor yet thy brother John;10
But 'tis thy true love Willy,
From Scotland new come home.
"O sweet Margaret! O dear Margaret!
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,15
As I gave it to thee."
"Thy faith and troth thou's never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin."20
"If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man:
And should I kiss thy rosy lips,
Thy days will not be lang.
"O sweet Margaret, O dear Margaret,25
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,
As I gave it to thee."
"Thy faith and troth thou's never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,30
Till you take me to yon kirk-yard,
And wed me with a ring."
"My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my spirit, Margaret,35
That's now speaking to thee."
She stretched out her lily-white hand,
And for to do her best;
"Hae [there] your faith and troth, Willy,
God send your soul good rest."40
Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee,
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed she.
"Is there any room at your head, Willy,45
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willy,
Wherein that I may creep?"
"There's no room at my head, Margaret,
There's no room at my feet;50
There's no room at my side, Margaret,
My coffin's made so meet."
Then up and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
"Tis time, tis time, my dear Margaret,55
That you were going away."
No more the ghost to Margaret said,
But, with a grievous groan,
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.60
"O stay, my only true love, stay,"
The constant Margaret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her een,
Stretch'd her soft limbs, and died.
[39]. ther's.
WILLIAM AND MARJORIE.
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 186.
Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,
Sat sewing her silken seam,
And by her came a pale, pale ghost,
Wi' mony a sigh and mane.
"Are ye my father the king?" she says,5
"Or are ye my brither John?
Or are ye my true love, sweet William,
From England newly come?"
"I'm not your father the king," he says,
"No, no, nor your brither John;10
But I'm your true love, sweet William,
From England that's newly come."
"Have ye brought me any scarlets sae red,
Or any of the silks sae fine;
Or have ye brought me any precious things,15
That merchants have for sale?"
"I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,
No, no, nor the silks sae fine;
But I have brought you my winding-sheet
Ower many a rock and hill.20
"Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,
For faith and charitie,
Will ye gie to me my faith and troth,
That I gave once to thee?"
"O your faith and troth I'll not gie to thee,25
No, no, that will not I,
Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips,
And in my arms you lye."
"My lips they are sae bitter," he says,
"My breath it is sae strang,30
If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be lang.
"The cocks are crawing, Marjorie," he says,—
"The cocks are crawing again;
It's time the dead should part the quick,—35
Marjorie, I must be gane."
She followed him high, she followed him low,
Till she came to yon churchyard green;
And there the deep grave opened up,
And young William he lay down.40
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,
"That stand here at your head?"
"O it's three maidens, Marjorie," he says,
"That I promised once to wed."
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,45
"That stand close at your side?"
"O it's three babes, Marjorie," he says,
"That these three maidens had."
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,
"That lye close at your feet?"50
"O it's three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says,
"That's waiting my soul to keep."
O she took up her white, white hand,
And she struck him on the breast,
Saying,—"Have there again your faith and troth,55
And I wish your saul gude rest."
SWEET WILLIAM AND MAY MARGARET.
Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.
As May Marg'ret sat in her bouerie,
In her bouer all alone,
At the very parting o' midnicht,
She heard a mournfu' moan.
"O is it my father, O is it my mother,5
Or is it my brother John?
Or is it sweet William, my ain true love,
To Scotland new come home?"
"It is na your father, it is na your mother,
It is na your brother John;10
But it is sweet William, your ain true love,
To Scotland new come home."
"Hae ye brought me onie fine things,
Onie new thing for to wear?
Or hae ye brought me a braid o' lace,15
To snood up my gowden hair?"
"I've brought ye na fine things at all,
Nor onie new thing to wear,
Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace,
To snood up your gowden hair.20
"But Margaret, dear Margaret,
I pray ye speak to me;
O gie me back my faith and troth,
As dear as I gied it thee!"
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get,25
Nor will I wi' ye twin,
Till ye come within my bower,
And kiss me, cheek and chin."
"O Margaret, dear Margaret,
I pray ye speak to me;30
O gie me back my faith and troth,
As dear as I gied it thee."
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get,
Nor will I wi' ye twin,
Till ye tak me to yonder kirk,35
And wed me wi' a ring."
"O should I come within your bouer,
I am na earthly man:
If I should kiss your red, red lips,
Your days wad na be lang.40
"My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard,
It's far ayont the sea;
And it is my spirit, Margaret,
That's speaking unto thee."
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get,45
Nor will I twin wi' thee,
Tell ye tell me the pleasures o' Heaven,
And pains of hell how they be."
"The pleasures of heaven I wat not of,
But the pains of hell I dree;50
There some are hie hang'd for huring,
And some for adulterie."
Then Marg'ret took her milk-white hand,
And smooth'd it on his breast;—
"Tak your faith and troth, William,55
God send your soul good rest!"
BONNY BARBARA ALLAN
Was first published in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, (ii. 171,) from which it is transferred verbatim into Herd's Scottish Songs, Johnson's Museum, Ritson's Scottish Songs, &c. Percy printed it, "with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy," Reliques, iii. 175, together with another version, which follows the present. Mr. G. F. Graham, Songs of Scotland, ii. 157, has pointed out an allusion to the "little Scotch Song of Barbary Allen," in Pepys's Diary, 2 Jan. 1665-6.
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 man down through the town,5
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,10
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 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:"
"O the better for me ye's never be,15
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."20
He turn'd 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,25
And slowly, slowly left him;
And sighing said, she cou'd not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead-bell ringing,30
And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
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 today,35
I'll die for him tomorrow."
BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.
From Percy's Reliques, iii. 169.
"Given, with some corrections, from an old blackletter copy, entitled, Barbara Allen's Cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy."
In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merrye month of May,5
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the towne where shee was dwellin;10
"You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
"For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him,15
O lovelye Barbara Allen."
"Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee
For bonny Barbara Allen."20
So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
"Yong man, I think y'are dying."
He turned his face unto her strait,25
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
"O lovely maid, come pity mee,
I'me on my death-bed lying."
"If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin?30
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell," sayd Barbara Allen.
He turnd his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
"Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,35
Adieu to Barbara Allen!"
As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
"Unworthy Barbara Allen!"40
She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:
"Laye down, laye down the corps," she sayd,
"That I may look upon him."
With scornful eye she looked downe,45
Her cheeke with laughter swellin,
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
"Unworthye Barbara Allen!"
When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe;50
"O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to-morrowe.
"Hard-harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him,55
When he was alive and neare me!"
She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the daye,
"Farewell," she sayd, "ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen."
LORD LOVEL.
"This ballad, taken down from the recitation of a lady in Roxburghshire, appears to claim affinity to Border Song; and the title of the 'discourteous squire,' would incline one to suppose that it has derived its origin from some circumstance connected with the county of Northumberland, where Lovel was anciently a well-known name." Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 31.
A version from a recent broadside is printed in Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, Percy Society, vol. xvii. p. 78.
A fragment of a similar story, the relations of the parties being reversed, is Lady Alice, given in Bell's Ballads of the Peasantry, p. 127, and Notes and Queries, 2d S, i. 418.—Compare also Fair Margaret, &c. p. 140.
Lord Lovel stands at his stable door,
Mounted upon a grey steed;
And bye came Ladie Nanciebel,
And wish'd Lord Lovel much speed.
"O whare are ye going, Lord Lovel,5
My dearest tell to me?"
"O I am going a far journey,
Some strange countrie to see;
"But I'll return in seven long years,
Lady Nanciebel to see."10
"O seven, seven, seven long years,
They are much too long for me."
* * * * * * *
He was gane a year away,
A year but barely ane,
When a strange fancy cam into his head,15
That fair Nanciebel was gane.
It's then he rade, and better rade,
Until he cam to the toun,
And then he heard a dismal noise,
For the church bells a' did soun'.20
He asked what the bells rang for;
They said, "It's for Nanciebel;
She died for a discourteous squire,
And his name is Lord Lovel."
The lid o' the coffin he opened up,25
The linens he faulded doun;
And ae he kiss'd her pale, pale lips,
And the tears cam trinkling doun.
"Weill may I kiss those pale, pale lips,
For they will never kiss me;—30
I'll mak a vow, and keep it true,
That they'll ne'er kiss ane but thee."
Lady Nancie died on Tuesday's nicht,
Lord Lovel upon the niest day;
Lady Nancie died for pure, pure love,35
Lord Lovel, for deep sorray.
LORD SALTON AND AUCHANACHIE.
The following fragment was first published in Maidment's North Countrie Garland, p. 10; shortly after, in Buchan's Gleanings, p. 161. A more complete copy, from Buchan's larger collection, is annexed.
* * * * * * *
Ben came her father,
Skipping on the floor,
Said, "Jeanie, you're trying
The tricks of a whore.
"You're caring for him5
That cares not for thee,
And I pray you take Salton,
Let Auchanachie be."
"I will not have Salton,
It lies low by the sea;10
He is bowed in the back,
He's thrawen in the knee;
And I'll die if I get not
My brave Auchanachie."
"I am bowed in the back,15
Lassie as ye see,
But the bonny lands of Salton
Are no crooked tee."
And when she was married
She would not lie down,20
But they took out a knife,
And cuttit her gown;
Likewise of her stays
The lacing in three,
And now she lies dead25
For her Auchanachie.
Out comes her bower-woman,
Wringing her hands,
Says, "Alas for the staying
So long on the sands!30
"Alas for the staying
So long on the flood!
For Jeanie was married,
And now she is dead."
LORD SALTON AND AUCHANACHIE.
From Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, ii. 133.
"Auchanachie Gordon is bonny and braw,
He would tempt any woman that ever he saw;
He would tempt any woman, so has he tempted me,
And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie."
In came her father, tripping on the floor,5
Says, "Jeanie, ye're trying the tricks o' a whore;
Ye're caring for them that cares little for thee,
Ye must marry Salton, leave Auchanachie.
"Auchanachie Gordon, he is but a man,
Altho' he be pretty, where lies his free land?10
Salton's lands they lie broad, his towers they stand hie,
Ye must marry Salton, leave Auchanachie.
"Salton will gar you wear silk gowns fring'd to thy knee,
But ye'll never wear that wi' your love Auchanachie."
"Wi' Auchanachie Gordon I would beg my bread,15
Before that wi' Salton I'd wear gowd on my head;
"Wear gowd on my head, or gowns fring'd to the knee,
And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie;
O Salton's valley lies low by the sea,
He's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee."20
"O Salton's a valley lies low by the sea;
Though he's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee,
Though he's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee,
The bonny rigs of Salton they're nae thrawin tee."
"O you that are my parents to church may me bring,25
But unto young Salton I'll never bear a son;
For son, or for daughter, I'll ne'er bow my knee,
And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie."
When Jeanie was married, from church was brought hame,
When she wi' her maidens sae merry shou'd hae been,30
When she wi' her maidens sae merry shou'd hae been,
She's called for a chamber to weep there her lane.
"Come to your bed, Jeanie, my honey and my sweet,
For to stile you mistress I do not think it meet."
"Mistress, or Jeanie, it is a' ane to me,35
It's in your bed, Salton, I never will be."
Then out spake her father, he spake wi' renown,
"Some of you that are maidens, ye'll loose aff her gown;
Some of you that are maidens, ye'll loose aff her gown,
And I'll mend the marriage wi' ten thousand crowns."40
Then ane of her maidens they loosed aff her gown,
But bonny Jeanie Gordon, she fell in a swoon;
She fell in a swoon low down by their knee;
Says, "Look on, I die for my love Auchanachie!"
That very same day Miss Jeanie did die,45
And hame came Auchanachie, hame frae the sea;
Her father and mither welcom'd him at the gate;
He said, "Where's Miss Jeanie, that she's nae here yet?"
Then forth came her maidens, all wringing their hands,
Saying, "Alas! for your staying sae lang frae the land:50
Sae lang frae the land, and sae lang fra the fleed,
They've wedded your Jeanie, and now she is dead!"
"Some of you, her maidens, take me by the hand,
And show me the chamber Miss Jeanie died in;"
He kiss'd her cold lips, which were colder than stane,55
And he died in the chamber that Jeanie died in.
WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET.
A fragment obtained by Jamieson from the recitation of Mrs. Brown, of Falkland. Popular Ballads, i. 135. In connection with this we give the complete story from Buchan. Aytoun has changed the title to The Mother's Malison. An Italian ballad, containing a story similar to that of this ballad and the two following (but of independent origin), is La Maledizione Materna, in Marcoaldi's Canti Popolari, p. 170.
"Gie corn to my horse, mither;
Gie meat unto my man;
For I maun gang to Margaret's bower,
Before the nicht comes on."
"O stay at hame now, my son Willie!5
The wind blaws cald and sour;
The nicht will be baith mirk and late,
Before ye reach her bower."
"O tho' the nicht were ever sae dark,
Or the wind blew never sae cald,10
I will be in my Margaret's bower
Before twa hours be tald."
"O gin ye gang to May Margaret,
Without the leave of me,
Clyde's water's wide and deep enough;—15
My malison drown thee!"
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.20
As he rode o'er yon hich, hich hill,
And down yon dowie den,
There was a roar in Clyde's water
Wad fear'd a hunder men.
His heart was warm, his pride was up;25
Sweet Willie kentna fear;
But yet his mither's malison
Ay sounded in his ear.
O he has swam through Clyde's water,
Tho' it was wide and deep;30
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 steek'd, and window's bar'd,35
"O open the door to me, Margaret,—
O open and lat me in!
For my boots are full o' Clyde's water,
And frozen to the brim."40
"I darena open the door to you,
Nor darena lat you in;
For my mither she is fast asleep,
And I darena mak nae din."
"O gin ye winna open the door,45
Nor yet be kind to me,
Now tell me o' some out-chamber,
Where I this nicht may be."
"Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie,
Nor here ye canna be;50
For I've nae chambers out nor in,
Nae ane but barely three:
"The tane o' them is fu' o' corn,
The tither is fu' o' hay;
The tither is fu' o' merry young men;—55
They winna remove till day."
"O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret,
Sin better manna be;
I've win my mither's malison,
He's mounted on his coal-black steed,—
O but his heart was wae!
But, ere he came to Clyde's water,
'Twas half up o'er the brae.
* * * * * * *
—— he plunged in,
But never raise again.
THE DROWNED LOVERS.
From Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 140. The copy in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. iii., is nearly the same.
Willie stands in his stable door,
And clapping at his steed;
And looking o'er his white fingers,
His nose began to bleed.
"Gie corn to my horse, mother;5
And meat to my young man;
And I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,
I'll win ere she lie down."
"O bide this night wi' me, Willie,
O bide this night wi' me;10
The best an' cock o' a' the reest,
At your supper shall be.
"A' your cocks, and a' your reests,
I value not a prin;
For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,15
I'll win ere she lie down."
"Stay this night wi' me, Willie,
O stay this night wi' me;
The best an' sheep in a' the flock
At your supper shall be."20
"A' your sheep, and a' your flocks,
I value not a prin;
For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,
I'll win ere she lie down."
"O an' ye gang to Meggie's bower,25
Sae sair against my will,
The deepest pot in Clyde's water,
My malison ye's feel."
"The guid steed that I ride upon
Cost me thrice thretty pound;30
And I'll put trust in his swift feet,
To hae me safe to land."
As he rade ower yon high, high hill,
And down yon dowie den,
The noise that was in Clyde's water35
Wou'd fear'd five huner men.
"O roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud,
Your streams seem wond'rous strang;
[Make me your wreck as I come back],
But spare me as I gang."40
Then he is on to Meggie's bower,
And tirled at the pin;
"O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie," he said,
"Ye'll open, lat me come in."
"O wha is this at my bower door,45
That calls me by my name?"
"It is your first love, sweet Willie,
This night newly come hame."
"I hae few lovers thereout, thereout,
As few hae I therein;50
The best an' love that ever I had,
Was here just late yestreen."
"The warstan stable in a' your stables,
For my puir steed to stand;
The warstan bower in a' your bowers,55
For me to lie therein:
My boots are fu' o' Clyde's water,
I'm shivering at the chin."
"My barns are fu' o' corn, Willie,
My stables are fu' o' hay;60
My bowers are fu' o' gentlemen;—
They'll nae remove till day."
"O fare-ye-well, my fause Meggie,
O farewell, and adieu;
I've gotten my mither's malison,65
This night coming to you."
As he rode ower yon high, high hill,
And down yon dowie den;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's cane frae him.70
He lean'd him ower his saddle bow,
To catch his cane again;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's hat frae him.
He lean'd him ower his saddle bow,75
To catch his hat thro' force;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie frae his horse.
His brither stood upo' the bank,
Says, "Fye, man, will ye drown?80
Ye'll turn ye to your high horse head,
And learn how to sowm."
"How can I turn to my horse head,
And learn how to sowm?
I've gotten my mither's malison,85
Its here that I maun drown!"
The very hour this young man sank
Into the pot sae deep,
Up it waken'd his love, Meggie,
Out o' her drowsy sleep.90
"Come here, come here, my mither dear,
And read this dreary dream;
I dream'd my love was at our gates,
And nane wad let him in."
"Lye still, lye still now, my Meggie.95
Lye still and tak your rest;
Sin' your true love was at your yates,
It's but twa quarters past."
Nimbly, nimbly raise she up,
And nimbly pat she on;100
And the higher that the lady cried,
The louder blew the win.'
The first an' step that she stepp'd in,
She stepped to the queet;
"Ohon, alas!" said that lady,105
"This water's wond'rous deep."
The next an' step that she wade in,
She wadit to the knee;
Says she, "I cou'd wide farther in,
If I my love cou'd see."110
The next an' step that she wade in,
She wadit to the chin;
The deepest pot in Clyde's water
She got sweet Willie in.
"You've had a cruel mither, Willie,115
And I have had anither;
But we shall sleep in Clyde's water,
Like sister an' like brither."
[ 39], 40. Found also in Leander on the Bay, and taken from the epigram of Martial:
"Clamabat tumidis audax Leander in undis,
Mergite me fluctus, cum rediturus ero."
WILLIE'S DROWNED IN GAMERY.
From Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 245. A fragment, exhibiting some differences, is among those ballads of Buchan which are published in the Percy Society's volumes, xvii. 66. Four stanzas, of a superior cast, upon the same story, are printed in the Tea-Table Miscellany, (ii. 141.)
Rare Willy drown'd in Yarrow.
"Willy's rare, and Willy's fair,
And Willy's wond'rous bonny;
And Willy heght to marry me,
Gin e'er he married ony.
"Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,
This night I'll make it narrow;
For a' the livelang winter night
I ly twin'd of my marrow.
"O came you by yon water-side?
Pou'd you the rose or lilly?
Or came you by yon meadow green?
Or saw you my sweet Willy?"
She sought him east, she sought him west,
She sought him braid and narrow;
Syne in the cleaving of a craig,
She found him drown'd in Yarrow.
These stanzas furnished the theme to Logan's Braes of Yarrow.
"O Willie is fair, and Willie is rare,
And Willie is wond'rous bonny;
And Willie says he'll marry me,
Gin ever he marry ony."
"O ye'se get James, or ye'se get George,5
Or ye's get bonny Johnnie;
Ye'se get the flower o' a' my sons,
Gin ye'll forsake my Willie."
"O what care I for James or George,
Or yet for bonny Peter?10
I dinna value their love a leek,
An' I getna Willie the writer."
"O Willie has a bonny hand,
And dear but it is bonny;"
"He has nae mair for a' his land;15
What wou'd ye do wi' Willie?"
"O Willie has a bonny face,
And dear but it is bonny;"
"But Willie has nae other grace;
What wou'd ye do wi' Willie?"20
"Willie's fair, and Willie's rare,
And Willie's wond'rous bonny;
There's nane wi' him that can compare,
I love him best of ony."
On Wednesday, that fatal day,25
The people were convening;
Besides all this, threescore and ten,
To gang to the bridesteel wi' him.
"Ride on, ride on, my merry men a',
I've forgot something behind me;30
I've forgot to get my mother's blessing,
To gae to the bridesteel wi' me."
"Your Peggy she's but bare fifteen,
And ye are scarcely twenty;
The water o' Gamery is wide and braid,35
My heavy curse gang wi' thee!"
Then they rode on, and further on,
Till they came on to Gamery;
The wind was loud, the stream was proud,
And wi' the stream gaed Willie.40
Then they rode on, and further on,
Till they came to the kirk o' Gamery;
And every one on high horse sat,
But Willie's horse rade toomly.
When they were settled at that place,45
The people fell a mourning;
And a council held amo' them a',
But sair, sair wept Kinmundy.
Then out it speaks the bride hersell,
Says, "What means a' this mourning?50
Where is the man amo' them a',
That shou'd gie me fair wedding?"
Then out it speaks his brother John,
Says, "Meg, I'll tell you plainly;
The stream was strong, the clerk rade wrong,55
And Willie's drown'd in Gamery."
She put her hand up to her head,
Where were the ribbons many;
She rave them a', let them down fa',
And straightway ran to Gamery.60
She sought it up, she sought it down,
Till she was wet and weary;
And in the middle part o' it,
There she got her deary.
Then she stroak'd back his yellow hair,65
And kiss'd his mou' sae comely;
"My mother's heart's be as wae as thine;
We'se baith asleep in the water o' Gamery."
ANNAN WATER.
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 282.
"The following verses are the original words of the tune of Allan Water, by which name the song is mentioned in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. The ballad is given from tradition; and it is said that a bridge over the Annan, was built in consequence of the melancholy catastrophe which it narrates. Two verses are added in this edition, from another copy of the ballad, in which the conclusion proves fortunate. By the Gatehope-Slack, is perhaps meant the Gate-Slack, a pass in Annandale. The Annan, and the Frith of Solway, into which it falls, are the frequent scenes of tragical accidents. The Editor trusts he will be pardoned for inserting the following awfully impressive account of such an event, contained in a letter from Dr. Currie, of Liverpool, by whose correspondence, while in the course of preparing these volumes for the press, he has been alike honoured and instruct
ed. After stating that he had some recollection of the ballad which follows, the biographer of Burns proceeds thus:—'I once in my early days heard (for it was night, and I could not see) a traveller drowning; not in the Annan itself, but in the Frith of Solway, close by the mouth of that river. The influx of the tide had unhorsed him, in the night, as he was passing the sands from Cumberland. The west wind blew a tempest, and, according to the common expression, brought in the water three foot a-breast. The traveller got upon a standing net, a little way from the shore. There he lashed himself to the post, shouting for half an hour for assistance—till the tide rose over his head! In the darkness of the night, and amid the pauses of the hurricane, his voice, heard at intervals, was exquisitely mournful. No one could go to his assistance—no one knew where he was—the sound seemed to proceed from the spirit of the waters. But morning rose—the tide had ebbed—and the poor traveller was found lashed to the pole of the net, and bleaching in the wind.'"
Scott.
"Annan water's wading deep,
And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony.
"Gar saddle me the bonny black,5
Gar saddle sune, and make him ready;
For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
And all to see my bonny ladye."
He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;10
But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.
He has loupen on the bonny grey,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,15
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
O he has ridden o'er field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and mony a mire:
His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.20
"Now, bonny grey, now play your part!
Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
And never spur sall make you wearie."—
The grey was a mare, and a right good mare;25
But when she wan the Annan water,
She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,
Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
Put off your boat for gowden money!30
I cross the drumly stream the night,
Or never mair I see my honey."
"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
And not by ae aith, but by many;
And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,35
I dare na take ye through to Annie."
The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,
For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.40
O he has pou'd aff his dapperby coat,
The silver buttons glanced bonny;
The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
He was sae full of melancholy.
He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;45
I wot he swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny ladye!
"O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
And wae betide the bush of brier!50
It brake into my true love's hand,
When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
"And wae betide ye, Annan Water,
This night that ye are a drumlie river!
For over thee I'll build a bridge,55
That ye never more true love may sever."—
ANDREW LAMMIE.
"From a stall copy published at Glasgow several years ago, collated with a recited copy, which has furnished one or two verbal improvements." Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 239.
Mr. Jamieson has published two other sets of this simple, but touching ditty, (i. 126, ii. 382,) one of which is placed after the present. Motherwell's text is almost verbatim that of Buchan's Gleanings, p. 98. The Thistle of Scotland copies Buchan and Jamieson without acknowledgment.
The story has been made the foundation of a rude drama in the North of Scotland. For a description of similar entertainments, see Cunningham's Introduction to his Songs of Scotland, i. 148.
The unfortunate maiden's name, according to Buchan, (Gleanings, p. 197,) "was Annie, or Agnes, (which are synonymous in some parts of Scotland,) Smith, who died of a broken heart on the 9th of January, 1631, as is to be found on a roughly cut stone, broken in many pieces, in the green churchyard of
Fyvie." "What afterwards became of Bonny Andrew Lammie," says Jamieson, "we have not been able to learn; but the current tradition of the 'Lawland leas of Fyvie,' says, that some years subsequent to the melancholy fate of poor Tifty's Nanny, her sad story being mentioned, and the ballad sung in a company in Edinburgh when he was present, he remained silent and motionless, till he was discovered by a groan suddenly bursting from him, and several of the buttons flying from his waistcoat."
At Mill o' Tifty liv'd a man,
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie;
He had a lovely daughter fair,
Was called bonny Annie.
Her bloom was like the springing flower5
That salutes the rosy morning;
With innocence and graceful mien
Her beauteous form adorning.
Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
Whose name was Andrew Lammie;10
He had the art to gain the heart
Of Mill o' Tiftie's Annie.
Proper he was, both young and gay,
His like was not in Fyvie;
No one was there that could compare15
With this same Andrew Lammie.
Lord Fyvie he rode by the door,
Where lived Tiftie's Annie;
His trumpeter rode him before,
Even this same Andrew Lammie.20
Her mother call'd her to the door:
"Come here to me, my Annie;
Did you ever see a prettier man
Than this Trumpeter of Fyvie?"
She sighed sore, but said no more,25
Alas, for bonny Annie!
She durst not own her heart was won
By the Trumpeter of Fyvie.
At night when they went to their beds,
All slept full sound but Annie;30
Love so opprest her tender breast,
Thinking on Andrew Lammie.
"Love comes in at my bed side,
And love lies down beyond me;
Love has possess'd my tender breast,35
And love will waste my body.
"The first time I and my love met
Was in the woods of Fyvie;
His lovely form and speech so sweet
Soon gain'd the heart of Annie.40
"He called me mistress; I said, No,
I'm Tiftie's bonny Annie;
With apples sweet he did me treat,
And kisses soft and many.
"It's up and down in Tiftie's den,45
Where the burn runs clear and bonny,
I've often gone to meet my love,
My bonny Andrew Lammie."
But now, alas! her father heard
That the Trumpeter of Fyvie50
Had had the art to gain the heart
Of Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Her father soon a letter wrote,
And sent it on to Fyvie,
To tell his daughter was bewitch'd55
By his servant Andrew Lammie.
When Lord Fyvie had this letter read,
O dear! but he was sorry;
The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land
Is bewitched by Andrew Lammie.60
Then up the stair his trumpeter
He called soon and shortly:
"Pray tell me soon, what's this you've done
To Tiftie's bonny Annie?"
"In wicked art I had no part,65
Nor therein am I canny;
True love alone the heart has won
Of Tiftie's bonny Annie.
"Woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride,
For it has ruin'd many;70
He'll no ha'e 't said that she should wed
The Trumpeter of Fyvie.
"Where will I find a boy so kind,
That'll carry a letter canny,
Who will run on to Tiftie's town,75
Give it to my love Annie?"
"Here you shall find a boy so kind,
Who'll carry a letter canny,
Who will run on to Tiftie's town,
And gi'e 't to thy love Annie."80
"It's Tiftie he has daughters three,
Who all are wondrous bonny;
But ye'll ken her o'er a' the lave,
Gi'e that to bonny Annie."
"It's up and down in Tiftie's den,85
Where the burn runs clear and bonny;
There wilt thou come and meet thy love,
Thy bonny Andrew Lammie.
"When wilt thou come, and I'll attend?
My love, I long to see thee."90
"Thou may'st come to the bridge of Sleugh,
And there I'll come and meet thee."
"My love, I go to Edinbro',
And for a while must leave thee;"
She sighed sore, and said no more95
But "I wish that I were wi' thee."
"I'll buy to thee a bridal gown,
My love, I'll buy it bonny;"
"But I'll be dead, ere ye come back
To see your bonnie Annie."100
"If you'll be true and constant too,
As my name's Andrew Lammie,
I shall thee wed, when I come back
To see the lands of Fyvie."
"I will be true, and constant too,105
To thee, my Andrew Lammie;
But my bridal bed will ere then be made,
In the green churchyard of Fyvie."
"Our time is gone, and now comes on,
My dear, that I must leave thee;110
If longer here I should appear,
Mill o' Tiftie he would see me."
"I now for ever bid adieu
To thee, my Andrew Lammie;
Ere ye come back, I will be laid115
In the green churchyard of Fyvie."
He hied him to the head of the house,
To the house top of Fyvie;
He blew his trumpet loud and schill;
'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie.120
Her father lock'd the door at night,
Laid by the keys fu' canny;
And when he heard the trumpet sound,
Said, "Your cow is lowing, Annie."
"My father dear, I pray forbear,125
And reproach no more your Annie;
For I'd rather hear that cow to low,
Than ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie.
"I would not, for my braw new gown,
And a' your gifts sae many,130
That it were told in Fyvie's land
How cruel you are to Annie.
"But if ye strike me, I will cry,
And gentlemen will hear me;
Lord Fyvie will be riding by,135
And he'll come in and see me."
At the same time, the Lord came in;
He said, "What ails thee, Annie?"
"'Tis all for love now I must die,
For bonny Andrew Lammie."140
"Pray, Mill o' Tifty, gi'e consent,
And let your daughter marry."
"It will be with some higher match
Than the Trumpeter of Fyvie."
"If she were come of as high a kind145
As she's adorned with beauty,
I would take her unto myself,
And make her mine own lady."
"It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide,
And they are rich and bonny;150
I would not leave my own true love,
For all the lands of Fyvie."
Her father struck her wondrous sore,
And also did her mother;
Her sisters always did her scorn;155
But woe be to her brother!
Her brother struck her wondrous sore,
With cruel strokes and many;
He brake her back in the hall door,
"Alas! my father and mother dear,
Why so cruel to your Annie?
My heart was broken first by love,
My brother has broken my body.
"O mother dear, make ye my bed,165
And lay my face to Fyvie;
Thus will I ly, and thus will die,
For my love, Andrew Lammie!
"Ye neighbours, hear, both far and near;
Ye pity Tiftie's Annie,170
Who dies for love of one poor lad,
For bonny Andrew Lammie.
"No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life,
Nor hurt my virgin honour;
My youthful heart was won by love,175
But death will me exoner."
Her mother then she made her bed,
And laid her face to Fyvie;
Her tender heart it soon did break,
And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie.180
But the word soon went up and down,
Through all the lands of Fyvie,
That she was dead and buried,
Even Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands,185
Said, "Alas, for Tiftie's Annie!
The fairest flower's cut down by love,
That e'er sprung up in Fyvie.
"O woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride!
He might have let them marry;190
I should have giv'n them both to live
Into the lands of Fyvie."
Her father sorely now laments
The loss of his dear Annie,
And wishes he had gi'en consent195
To wed with Andrew Lammie.
Her mother grieves both air and late;
Her sisters, 'cause they scorn'd her;
Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve,
For the cruel usage he'd giv'n her.200
But now, alas! it was too late,
For they could not recal her;
Through life, unhappy is their fate,
Because they did controul her.
When Andrew hame from Edinburgh came,205
With meikle grief and sorrow,
"My love has died for me to-day,
I'll die for her to-morrow.
"Now I will on to Tiftie's den,
Where the burn runs clear and bonny;210
With tears I'll view the bridge of [Sleugh],
Where I parted last with Annie.
"Then will I speed to the churchyard,
To the green churchyard of Fyvie;
With tears I'll water my love's grave,215
Till I follow Tiftie's Annie."
Ye parents grave, who children have,
In crushing them be canny,
Lest when too late you do repent;
Remember Tiftie's Annie.220
[211]. "In one printed copy this is 'Sheugh,' and in a recited copy it was called 'Skew'; which is the right reading, the editor, from his ignorance of the topography of the lands of Fyvie, is unable to say. It is a received superstition in Scotland, that, when friends or lovers part at a bridge, they shall never again meet." Motherwell.
THE TRUMPETER OF FYVIE.
"The ballad was taken down by Dr. Leyden from the recitation of a young lady (Miss Robson) of Edinburgh, who learned it in Teviotdale. It was current in the Border counties within these few years, as it still is in the northeast of Scotland, where the scene is laid." Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 129.
At Fyvie's yetts there grows a flower,
It grows baith braid and bonny;
There's a daisie in the midst o' it,
And it's ca'd by Andrew Lammie.
"O gin that flower war in my breast,5
For the love I bear the laddie;
I wad kiss it, and I wad clap it,
And daut it for Andrew Lammie.
"The first time me and my love met,
Was in the woods of Fyvie;10
He kissed my lips five thousand times,
And ay he ca'd me bonny;
And a' the answer he gat frae me,
Was, My bonny Andrew Lammie!"
"'Love, I maun gang to Edinburgh;15
Love, I maun gang and leave thee;'
I sighed right sair, and said nae mair,
But, O gin I were wi' ye!"
"But true and trusty will I be,
As I am Andrew Lammie;20
I'll never kiss a woman's mouth,
Till I come back and see thee."
"And true and trusty will I be,
As I am Tiftie's Annie;
I'll never kiss a man again,25
Till ye come back and see me."
Syne he's come back frae Edinburgh,
To the bonny hows o' Fyvie;
And ay his face to the nor-east,
To look for Tiftie's Annie.30
"I ha'e a love in Edinburgh,
Sae ha'e I intill Leith, man;
I hae a love intill Montrose,
Sae ha'e I in Dalkeith, man.
"And east and west, where'er I go,35
My love she's always wi' me;
For east and west, where'er I go,
My love she dwells in Fyvie.
"My love possesses a' my heart,
Nae pen can e'er indite her;40
She's ay sae stately as she goes,
That I see nae mae like her.
"But Tiftie winna gi'e consent
His dochter me to marry,
Because she has five thousand marks,45
And I have not a penny.
"Love pines away, love dwines away,
Love, love, decays the body;
For love o' thee, oh I must die;
Adieu, my bonny Annie!"50
Her mither raise out o' her bed,
And ca'd on baith her women:
"What ails ye, Annie, my dochter dear?
O Annie, was ye dreamin'?
"What dule disturb'd my dochter's sleep?55
O tell to me, my Annie!"
She sighed right sair, and said nae mair,
But, "O for Andrew Lammie!"
Her father beat her cruellie,
Sae also did her mother;60
Her sisters sair did scoff at her;
But wae betide her brother!
Her brother beat her cruellie,
Till his straiks they werena canny;
He brak her back, and he beat her sides,65
For the sake o' Andrew Lammie.
"O fie, O fie, my brother dear,
The gentlemen 'll shame ye;
The laird o' Fyvie he's gaun by,
And he'll come in and see me.70
And he'll kiss me, and he'll clap me,
And he will speer what ails me;
And I will answer him again,
It's a' for Andrew Lammie."
Her sisters they stood in the door,75
Sair griev'd her wi' their folly;
"O sister dear, come to the door,
Your cow is lowin on you."
"O fie, O fie, my sister dear,
Grieve me not wi' your folly;80
I'd rather hear the trumpet sound,
Than a' the kye o' Fyvie.
"Love pines away, love dwines away,
Love, love decays the body;
For love o' thee now I maun die—85
Adieu to Andrew Lammie!"
But Tiftie's wrote a braid letter,
And sent it into Fyvie,
Saying, his daughter was bewitch'd
By bonny Andrew Lammie.90
"Now, Tiftie, ye maun gi'e consent,
And lat the lassie marry."
"I'll never, never gi'e consent
To the Trumpeter of Fyvie."
When Fyvie looked the letter on,95
He was baith sad and sorry:
Says—"The bonniest lass o' the country-side
Has died for Andrew Lammie."
O Andrew's gane to the house-top
O' the bonny house o' Fyvie;100
He's blawn his horn baith loud and shill
O'er the lawland leas o' Fyvie.
"Mony a time ha'e I walk'd a' night,
And never yet was weary;
But now I may walk wae my lane,105
For I'll never see my deary.
"Love pines away, love dwines away,
Love, love, decays the body:
For the love o' thee, now I maun die—
I come, my bonny Annie!"110
FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL.
"The following very popular ballad has been handed down by tradition in its present imperfect state. The affecting incident on which it is founded is well known. A lady, of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell, (for this is disputed by the two clans,) daughter of the Laird of Kirconnell, in Dumfries-shire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the favoured suitor was Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick; that of the other has escaped tradition: though it has been alleged that he was a Bell, of Blacket House. The addresses of the latter were, however, favoured by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the churchyard of Kirconnell, a romantic spot, almost surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of these private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and levelled his carabine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms.
A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. Other accounts say, that Fleming pursued his enemy to Spain, and slew him in the streets of Madrid.
"The ballad, as now published, consists of two parts. The first seems to be an address, either by Fleming or his rival, to the lady; if, indeed, it constituted any portion of the original poem. For the Editor cannot help suspecting, that these verses have been the production of a different and inferior bard, and only adapted to the original measure and tune. But this suspicion being unwarranted by any copy he has been able to procure, he does not venture to do more than intimate his own opinion. The second part, by far the most beautiful, and which is unquestionably original, forms the lament of Fleming over the grave of fair Helen.
"The ballad is here given, without alteration or improvement, from the most accurate copy which could be recovered. The fate of Helen has not, however, remained unsung by modern bards. A lament, of great poetical merit, by the learned historian, Mr. Pinkerton, with several other poems on this subject, have been printed in various forms.[B]
"The grave of the lovers is yet shown in the churchyard of Kirconnell, near Springkell. Upon the tombstone can still be read—Hic jacet Adamus Fleming;
a cross and sword are sculptured on the stone. The former is called by the country people, the gun with which Helen was murdered; and the latter the avenging sword of her lover. Sit illis terra levis! A heap of stones is raised on the spot where the murder was committed; a token of abhorrence common to most nations." Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 98.
Versions of the Second Part, (which alone deserves notice,) nearly agreeing with Scott's, are given in the Illustrations to the new edition of Johnson's Museum, p. 143, by Mr. Stenhouse, p. 210, by Mr. Sharpe. Inferior and fragmentary ones in Herd's Scottish Songs, i. 257; Johnson's Museum, 163; Ritson's Scottish Song, i. 145; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 203.
[B] For Pinkerton's elegy, see his Select Scottish Ballads, i. 109; for Mayne's, the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 86, Part ii. 64. Jamieson has enfeebled the story in Popular Ballads, i. 205, and Wordsworth's Ellen Irwin hardly deserves more praise. Ed.