FOOTNOTES:
[401] Mr Newell says: "I have heard it sung at a picnic, by a whole carful of little girls. The melody is pretty. These children were of the poorest class."
[402] "The house of Inchmurry, formerly called Kirkland, was built of old by the abbot of Holyrood-house for his accommodation when he came to that country, and was formerly the minister's manse." Statistical Account of Scotland, XIII, 506, cited by Jamieson, I, 62. There are still three or four Kirklands in Scotland and the north of England.
[50]
THE BONNY HIND
'The Bonny Hyn,' Herd's MSS, I, 224; II, fol. 65, fol. 83.
This piece is transcribed three times in Herd's manuscripts, with a note prefixed in each instance that it was copied from the mouth of a milkmaid in 1771. An endorsement to the same effect on the last transcript gives the date as 1787, no doubt by mistake. Scott had only MS. I in his hands, which accidentally omits two stanzas (13, 14), and he printed this defective copy with the omission of still another (4): Minstrelsy, II, 298, ed. 1802; III, 309, ed. 1833. Motherwell supplies these omitted stanzas, almost in Herd's very words, in the Introduction to his collection, p. lxxxiv, note 99. He remarks, p. 189, that tales of this kind abound in the traditionary poetry of Scotland. The two ballads which follow, Nos [51], [52], are of the same general description.
In the first half of the story 'The Bonny Hind' comes very near to the fine Scandinavian ballad of 'Margaret,' as yet known to be preserved only in Färöe and Icelandic. The conclusions differ altogether. Margaret in the Färöe ballad, 'Margretu kvæði,' Færöiske Kvæder, Hammershaimb, No 18, is the only daughter of the Norwegian king Magnus, and has been put in a convent. After two or three months she longs to see her father's house again. On her way thither she is assaulted by a young noble with extreme violence: to whom she says,
Now you have torn off all my clothes, and done me sin and shame,
I beg you, before God most high, tell me what is your name.
Magnus, he answers, is his father, and Gertrude his mother, and he himself is Olaf, and was brought up in the woods. By this she recognizes that he is her own brother. Olaf begs her to go back to the convent, and say nothing, bearing her sorrow as she may. This she does. But every autumn the king makes a feast, and invites to it all the nuns in the cloister. Margaret is missed, and asked for. Is she sick or dead? Why does she not come to the feast, like other merry dames? The wicked abbess answers, Your daughter is neither sick nor dead; she goes with child, like other merry dames. The king rides off to the cloister, encounters his daughter, and demands who is the father of her child. She replies that she will sooner die than tell. The king leaves her in wrath, but returns presently, resolved to burn the convent, and Margaret in it, Olaf comes from the wood, tired and weary, sees the cloister burning, and quenches the flames with his heart's blood.
The Icelandic ballad, 'Margrètar kvæði,' Íslenzk Fornkvæði, Grundtvig and Sigurðsson, No 14, has the same story. It is, however, the man who brings on the discovery by asking the woman's parentage. The editors inform us that the same subject is treated in an unprinted Icelandic ballad, less popular as to style and stanza, in the Arne Magnussen collection, 154.
The story of Kullervo, incorporated in what is called the national epic of the Finns, the Kalevala, has striking resemblances with the ballads of the Bonny Hind class. While returning home in his sledge from a somewhat distant errand, Kullervo met three times a girl who was travelling on snow-shoes, and invited her to get in with him. She rejected his invitation with fierceness, and the third time he pulled her into the sledge by force. She angrily bade him let her go, or she would dash the sledge to pieces; but he won her over by showing her rich things. The next morning she asked what was his race and family; for it seemed to her that he must come of a great line. "No," he said, "neither of great nor small. I am Kalervo's unhappy son. Tell me of what stock art thou." "Of neither great nor small," she answered. "I am Kalervo's unhappy daughter." She was, in fact, a long-lost sister of Kullervo's, who, when a child, had gone to the wood for berries, and had never found her way home. She had wept the first day and the second; the third and fourth, the fifth and sixth, she had tried every way to kill herself. She broke out in heart-piercing lamentations:
'O that I had died then, wretched!
O that I had perished, weak one!
Had not lived to hear these horrors,
Had not lived this shame to suffer!'
So saying she sprang from the sledge into the river, and found relief under the waters.
Kullervo, mad with anguish, went home to his mother, and told her what had happened. He asked only how he might die,—by wolf or bear, by whale or sea-pike. His mother vainly sought to soothe him. He consented to live only till the wrongs of his parents had been revenged. His mother tried to dissuade him even from seeking a hero's death in fight.
'If thou die in battle, tell me,
What protection shall remain then
For the old age of thy father?'
'Let him die in any alley,
Lay his life down in the house-yard.'
'What protection shall remain then
For the old age of thy mother?'
'Let her die on any straw-truss;
Let her stifle in the stable.'
'Who shall then be left thy brother,
Who stand by him in mischances?'
'Let him pine away in the forest,
Let him drop down on the common.'
'Who shall then be left thy sister,
Who stand by her in mischances?'
'When she goes to the well for water,
Or to the washing, let her stumble.'
Kullervo had his fill of revenge. Meanwhile father, brother, sister, and mother died, and he came back to his home to find it empty and cold. A voice from his mother's grave seemed to direct him to go to the wood for food: obeying it, he came again to the polluted spot, where grass or flowers would not grow any more. He asked his sword would it like to feed on guilty flesh and drink wicked blood. The sword said, Why should I not like to feed on guilty flesh and drink wicked blood, I that feed on the flesh of the good and drink the blood of the sinless? Kullervo set the sword hilt in the earth, and threw himself on the point. (Kalewala, übertragen von Schiefner, runes 35, 36.)
The dialogue between Kullervo and his mother is very like a passage in another Finnish rune, 'Werinen Pojka,' 'The Bloody Son,' Schröter, Finnische Runen, 124, ed. 1819; 150, ed. 1834. This last is a form of the ballad known in Scottish as ['Edward,' No 13], or of ['The Twa Brothers,' No 49]. Something similar is found in ['Lizie Wan,' No 51].
The passage 5-7 is a commonplace that may be expected to recur under the same or analogous circumstances, as it does in '[Tam Lin,' D], 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter,' 'The Maid and the Magpie,' and in one version of 'The Broom of Cowdenknows.' These are much less serious ballads, and the tone of stanza 5, which so ill befits the distressful situation, is perhaps owing to that stanza's having been transferred from some copy of one of these. It might well change places with this, from 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter,' A:
Sith you have had your will of me,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knight,
Tell me what is your name.
Much better with the solemn adjuration in the Färöe 'Margaret,' or even this in 'Ebbe Galt,' Danske Viser, No 63, 8:
Now you have had your will of me,
To both of us small gain,
By the God that is above all things,
I beg you tell your name.
Herd's MSS, II, fol. 65. "Copied from the mouth of a milkmaid, by W. L. in 1771."
1
O may she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon gardens green,
And there she spied a gallant squire
As squire had ever been.
2
And may she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon hollin tree,
And there she spied a brisk young squire,
And a brisk young squire was he.
3
'Give me your green manteel, fair maid,
Give me your maidenhead;
Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel,
Gi me your maidenhead.'
4
He has taen her by the milk-white hand,
And softly laid her down,
And when he's lifted her up again
Given her a silver kaim.
5
'Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,
Perhaps there may be nane;
But if you be a courtier,
You'll tell to me your name.'
6
'I am nae courtier, fair maid,
But new come frae the sea;
I am nae courtier, fair maid,
But when I court 'ith thee.
7
'They call me Jack when I'm abroad,
Sometimes they call me John;
But when I'm in my father's bower
Jock Randal is my name.'
8
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
Ffor I'm Lord Randal's yae daughter,
He has nae mair nor me.'
9
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
For I'm Lord Randal's yae yae son,
Just now come oer the sea.'
10
She's putten her hand down by her spare,
And out she's taen a knife,
And she has putn't in her heart's bluid,
And taen away her life.
11
And he's taen up his bonny sister,
With the big tear in his een,
And he has buried his bonny sister
Amang the hollins green.
12
And syne he's hyed him oer the dale,
His father dear to see:
'Sing O and O for my bonny hind,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'
13
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you needna care;
There's aught score hyns in yonder park,
And five score hyns to spare.
14
'Four score of them are siller-shod,
Of thae ye may get three;'
'But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'
15
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you need na care;
Take you the best, gi me the warst,
Since plenty is to spare.'
16
'I care na for your hyns, my lord,
I care na for your fee;
But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath the hollin tree!'
17
'O were ye at your sister's bower,
Your sister fair to see,
Ye'll think na mair o your bonny hyn
Beneath the hollin tree.'
* * * * *
'The Bonny Heyn,' I, 224.
32. Should be It's not for you a weed. Motherwell.
43. The third copy omits when.
43, 4. he lifted, He gae her. Motherwell.
51, 2. The second copy has they.
64. All have courteth. Scott prints wi' thee, with thee.
73. The third copy has tower.
103, 4.
She's soakt it in her red heart's blood,
And twin'd herself of life. Motherwell.
13, 14. The first copy omits these stanzas.
[51]
LIZIE WAN
[A]. a. 'Lizie Wan,' Herd's MSS, I, 151; II, 78. b. Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.
[B]. 'Rosie Ann,' Motherwell's MS., p. 398.
A, first printed in Herd's Scottish Songs, ed. 1776, is here given from his manuscript copy. B is now printed for the first time.
A is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og Skotske Folkeviser, No 50, who subjoins a Danish ballad, 'Liden Ellen og hendes Broder,' of similar character. Of this the editor had three versions, differing but little, and all of slight poetical value, and he prints one which was committed to writing some sixty or seventy years ago, with some readings from the others. Liden Jensen, having killed Liden Ellen in a wood, pretends to his mother that she has gone off with some knights. He is betrayed by blood on his clothes, confesses the truth, and is condemned to be burned. 'Herr Axel,' Arwidsson's Swedish collection, No 46, I, 308, under similar circumstances, kills Stolts Kirstin's two children, is asked by his mother why his hands are bloody, pretends to have slain a hind in the wood, and has his head struck off by order of his father.
'Herr Peder og hans Söster,' an unpublished Danish ballad, of which Grundtvig obtained a single traditional version, has also a slight resemblance to 'Lizie Wan.' Kirsten invites Sir Peter to her bed. He declines for various reasons, which she refutes. She discovers him to be her brother by her needle-work in his shirt. He draws his knife and stabs her. "This was also a pitiful sight, the twin children playing in the mother's bosom." Compare Kristensen, II, No 74 A, D, E, at the end.
The conclusion, A 11-12, B 10-17, resembles that of '[The Twa Brothers],' No 49, but is poetically much inferior.
A.
Herd's MSS, I, 151; stanzas 1-6, II, p. 78. Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.
1
Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door,
Weeping and making a mane,
And by there came her father dear:
'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'
2
'I ail, and I ail, dear father,' she said,
'And I'll tell you a reason for why;
There is a child between my twa sides,
Between my dear billy and I.'
3
Now Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door,
Sighing and making a mane,
And by there came her brother dear:
'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'
4
'I ail, I ail, dear brither,' she said,
'And I'll tell you a reason for why;
There is a child between my twa sides,
Between you, dear billy, and I.'
5
'And hast thou tald father and mother o that?
And hast thou tald sae o me?'
And he has drawn his gude braid sword,
That hang down by his knee.
6
And he has cutted aff Lizie Wan's head,
And her fair body in three,
And he's awa to his mothers bower,
And sair aghast was he.
7
'What ails thee, what ails thee, Geordy Wan?
What ails thee sae fast to rin?
For I see by thy ill colour
Some fallow's deed thou hast done.'
8
'Some fallow's deed I have done, mother,
And I pray you pardon me;
For I've cutted aff my greyhound's head;
He wadna rin for me.'
9
'Thy greyhound's bluid was never sae red,
O my son Geordy Wan!
For I see by thy ill colour
Some fallow's deed thou hast done.'
10
'Some fallow's deed I hae done, mother,
And I pray you pardon me;
For I hae cutted aff Lizie Wan's head
And her fair body in three.'
11
'O what wilt thou do when thy father comes hame,
O my son Geordy Wan?'
'I'll set my foot in a bottomless boat,
And swim to the sea-ground.'
12
'And when will thou come hame again,
O my son Geordy Wan?'
'The sun and the moon shall dance on the green
That night when I come hame.'
B.
Motherwell's MS., p. 398. From the recitation of Mrs Storie, Lochwinnich.
1
Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,
Greitin and making grit mane,
When down by cam her father, saying,
What ails thee Rosie Ann?
2
'A deal, a deal, dear father,' she said,
'Great reason hae I to mane,
For there lyes a little babe in my side,
Between me and my brither John.'
3
Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,
Weeping and making great mane,
And wha cam doun but her mither dear,
Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?
4
'A deal, a deal, dear mither,' she said,
'Great reason hae I to mane,
For there lyes a little babe in my side,
Between me and my brither John.'
5
Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,
Greiting and making great mane,
And wha came doun but her sister dear,
Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?
6
'A deal, a deal, dear sister,' she said,
'Great reason hae I to mane,
For there lyes a little babe in my side,
Between me and my brither John.'
7
Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,
Weeping and making great mane,
And wha cam doun but her fause, fause brither,
Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?
8
'A deal, a deal, dear brither,' she said,
'Great reason hae I to cry,
For there lyes a little babe in my side,
Between yoursell and I.'
9
'Weel ye hae tauld father, and ye hae tauld mither,
And ye hae tauld sister, a' three;'
Syne he pulled out his wee penknife,
And he cut her fair bodie in three.
10
'O what blude is that on the point o your knife,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'It is my horse's, that I did kill,
Dear mother and fair ladie.'
11
'The blude o your horse was neer sae red,
Dear son, come tell to me:'
'It is my grandfather's, that I hae killed,
Dear mother and fair ladie.'
12
'The blude o your grandfather was neer sae fresh,
Dear son, come tell to me:'
'It is my sister's, that I did kill,
Dear mother and fair ladie.'
13
'What will ye do when your father comes hame,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'I'll set my foot on yon shipboard,
And I hope she'll sail wi me.'
14
'What will ye do wi your bonny bonny young wife,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'I'll set her foot on some other ship,
And I hope she'll follow me.'
15
'And what will ye do wi your wee son,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'I'll leave him wi you, my dear mother,
To keep in remembrance of me.'
16
'What will ye do wi your houses and lands,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'I'll leave them wi you, my dear mother,
To keep my own babie.'
17
'And whan will you return again,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'When the sun and the mune meet on yon hill,
And I hope that'll neer be.'
[B]. Written without division into stanzas.
[52]
THE KING'S DOCHTER LADY JEAN
[A]. a. 'The King's Dochter Lady Jean,' Motherwell's MS., p. 657. b. 'Lady Jean,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xxi.
[B]. Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189 f.
[C]. 'Castle Ha's Daughter,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 241.
[D]. 'Bold Burnet's Daughter.' a. Buchan's MSS, I, 120. b. The same, II, 141.
B is the ballad referred to, and partly cited, in Motherwell's preface to 'The Broom blooms bonnie and says it is fair,' Minstrelsy, p. 189. This copy has been extremely injured by tradition; so much so as not to be intelligible in places except by comparison with A. The act described in stanza 9 should be done by the king's daughter's own hand; stanza 12 should be addressed by her to her sister; stanza 13 is composed of fragments of two. C and D have suffered worse, for they have been corrupted and vulgarized.
At the beginning there is resemblance to '[Tam Lin]' and to '[Hind Etin].'
A.
a. Motherwell's MS., p. 657. From the recitation of Mrs Storie, Lochwinnich. b. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xxi, No XXIII, one stanza.
1
The king's young dochter was sitting in her window,
Sewing at her silken seam;
She lookt out o the bow-window,
And she saw the leaves growing green, my luve,
And she saw the leaves growing green.
2
She stuck her needle into her sleeve,
Her seam down by her tae,
And she is awa to the merrie green-wood,
To pu the nit and slae.
3
She hadna pu't a nit at a',
A nit but scarcely three,
Till out and spak a braw young man,
Saying, How daur ye bow the tree?
4
'It's I will pu the nit,' she said,
'And I will bow the tree,
And I will come to the merrie green wud,
And na ax leive o thee.'
5
He took her by the middle sae sma,
And laid her on the gerss sae green,
And he has taen his will o her,
And he loot her up agen.
6
'Now syn ye hae got your will o me,
Pray tell to me your name;
For I am the king's young dochter,' she said,
'And this nicht I daurna gang hame.'
7
'Gif ye be the king's young dochter,' he said,
'I am his auldest son;
I wish I had died on some frem isle,
And never had come hame!
8
'The first time I came hame, Jeanie,
Thou was na here nor born;
I wish my pretty ship had sunk,
And I had been forlorn!
9
'The neist time I came hame, Jeanie,
Thou was sittin on the nourice knee;
And I wish my pretty ship had sunk,
And I had never seen thee!
10
'And the neist time I came hame, Jeanie,
I met thee here alane;
I wish my pretty ship had sunk,
And I had neer come hame!'
11
She put her hand down by her side,
And doun into her spare,
And she pou't out a wee pen-knife,
And she wounded hersell fu sair.
12
Hooly, hooly rase she up,
And hooly she gade hame,
Until she came to her father's parlour,
And there she did sick and mane.
13
'O sister, sister, mak my bed,
O the clean sheets and strae,
O sister, sister, mak my bed,
Down in the parlour below.'
14
Her father he came tripping down the stair,
His steps they were fu slow;
'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' he said,
'Ye're lying far ower low.'
15
'O late yestreen, as I came hame,
Down by yon castil wa,
O heavy, heavy was the stane
That on my briest did fa!'
16
Her mother she came tripping doun the stair,
Her steps they were fu slow;
'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said,
'Ye're lying far ower low.'
17
'O late yestreen, as I cam hame,
Down by yon castil wa,
O heavy, heavy was the stane
That on my breast did fa!'
18
Her sister came tripping doun the stair,
Her steps they were fu slow;
'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said,
'Ye're lying far ower low.'
19
'O late yestreen, as I cam hame,
Doun by yon castil wa,
O heavy, heavy was the stane
That on my breast did fa!'
20
Her brither he cam trippin doun the stair,
His steps they were fu slow;
He sank into his sister's arms,
And they died as white as snaw.
B.
Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189. From Margery Johnston.
1
Lady Margaret sits in her bow-window,
Sewing her silken seam;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
2
She's drapt the thimble at her tae,
And her scissars at her heel,
And she's awa to the merry green-wood,
To see the leaves grow green.
3
She had scarsely bowed a branch,
Or plucked a nut frae the tree,
Till up and starts a fair young man,
And a fair young man was he.
4
'How dare ye shake the leaves?' he said,
'How dare ye break the tree?
How dare ye pluck the nuts,' he said,
'Without the leave of me?'
5
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Oh I know the merry green wood's my ain,
And I'll ask the leave of nane.'
6
He gript her by the middle sae sma,
He gently sat her down,
While the grass grew up on every side,
And the apple trees hang down.
7
She says, Young man, what is your name?
For ye've brought me to meikle shame;
For I am the king's youngest daughter,
And how shall I gae hame?
8
'If you're the king's youngest daughter,
It's I'm his auldest son,
And heavy heavy is the deed, sister,
That you and I have done.'
9
He had a penknife in his hand,
Hang low down by his gair,
And between the long rib and the short one
He woundit her deep and sair.
10
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And fast and fast her ruddy bright blood
Fell drapping on the ground.
11
She took the glove off her right hand,
And slowly slipt it in the wound,
And slowly has she risen up,
And slowly slipped home.
* * * * *
12
'O sister dear, when thou gaes hame
Unto thy father's ha,
It's make my bed baith braid and lang,
Wi the sheets as white as snaw.'
* * * * *
13
'When I came by the high church-yard
Heavy was the stain that bruised my heel,
... that bruised my heart,
I'm afraid it shall neer heal.'
* * * * *
C.
Buchan's Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, I, 241.
1
As Annie sat into her bower,
A thought came in her head,
That she would gang to gude greenwood,
Across the flowery mead.
2
She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower,
Nor broken a branch but twa,
Till by it came a gentle squire,
Says, Lady, come awa.
3
There's nane that comes to gude greenwood
But pays to me a tein,
And I maun hae your maidenhead,
Or than your mantle green.
4
'My mantle's o the finest silk,
Anither I can spin;
But gin you take my maidenhead,
The like I'll never fin.'
5
He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve,
There laid her low in gude greenwood,
And at her spierd nae leave.
6
When he had got his wills o her,
His wills as he had taen,
She said, If you rightly knew my birth,
Ye'd better letten alane.
7
'Is your father a lord o might?
Or baron o high degree?
Or what race are ye sprung frae,
That I should lat ye be?'
8
'O I am Castle Ha's daughter,
O birth and high degree,
And if he knows what ye hae done,
He'll hang you on a tree.'
9
'If ye be Castle Ha's daughter,
This day I am undone;
If ye be Castle Ha's daughter,
I am his only son.'
10
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jelly hind squire,
Sae loud as I hear you lie,
Castle Ha, he has but ae dear son,
And he is far beyond the sea.'
11
'O I am Castle Ha's dear son,
A word I dinna lie;
Yes, I am Castle Ha's dear son,
And new come oer the sea.
12
''Twas yesterday, that fatal day,
That I did cross the faem;
I wish my bonny ship had sunk,
And I had neer come hame.'
13
Then dowie, dowie, raise she up,
And dowie came she hame,
And stripped aff her silk mantle,
And then to bed she's gane.
14
Then in it came her mother dear,
And she steps in the fleer:
'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,
What makes your lying here?'
15
'This morning fair, as I went out,
Near by yon castle wa,
Great and heavy was the stane
That on my foot did fa.'
16
'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers,
Towers, or mony a town?
Will not these cure your bonny foot,
Gar you gae hale and soun?'
17
'Ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers,
And towers, and mony a town,
But nought will cure my bonny foot,
Gar me gang hale and soun.'
18
Then in it came her father dear,
And he trips in the fleer:
'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,
What makes your lying here?'
19
'This morning fair, as I went out,
Near by yon castle wa,
Great and heavy was the stane
That on my foot did fa.'
20
'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers,
And towers, and mony a town?
Will not these cure your bonny foot,
Gar you gang hale and soun?'
21
'O ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers,
And towers, and mony a town,
But nought will cure my bonny foot,
Gar me gang hale and soun.'
22
Then in it came her sister Grace;
As she steps in the fleer,
'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,
What makes your lying here?
23
'Win up, and see your ae brother,
That's new come ower the sea;'
'Ohon, alas!' says fair Annie,
'He spake ower soon wi me.'
24
To her room her brother's gane,
Stroked back her yellow hair,
To her lips his ain did press,
But words spake never mair.
D.
a. Buchan's MSS, I, 120. b. The same, II, 141.
1
The lady's taen her mantle her middle about,
Into the woods she's gane,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
2
She hadna poud a flower o gude green-wood,
O never a flower but ane,
Till by he comes, an by he gangs,
Says, Lady, lat alane.
3
For I am forester o this wood,
And I hae power to pine
Your mantle or your maidenhead,
Which o the twa ye'll twine.
4
'My mantle is o gude green silk,
Another I can card an spin;
But gin ye tak my maidenhead,
The like I'll never fin.'
5
He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve,
And laid her low at the foot o a tree,
At her high kin spierd nae leave.
6
'I am bold Burnet's ae daughter,
You might hae lat me be:'
'And I'm bold Burnet's ae dear son,
Then dear! how can this dee?'
7
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jolly hind squire,
So loud's I hear you lie!
Bold Burnet has but ae dear son,
He's sailing on the sea.'
8
'Yesterday, about this same time,
My bonny ship came to land;
I wish she'd sunken in the sea,
And never seen the strand!
9
'Heal well this deed on me, lady,
Heal well this deed on me!'
'Although I would heal it neer sae well,
Our God above does see.'
10
She's taen her mantle her middle about,
And mourning went she hame,
And a' the way she sighd full sair,
Crying, Am I to blame!
11
Ben it came her father dear,
Stout stepping on the flear:
'Win up, win up, my daughter Janet,
And welcome your brother here.'
12
Up she's taen her milk-white hand,
Streakd by his yellow hair,
Then turnd about her bonny face,
And word spake never mair.
[A]. b.
12. fine silken.
13. She luikit out at her braw bower window.
[B].
11,2 and 2 are joined in the MS.
51,4 joined with 4. 54. no leave of thee, an emendation by Motherwell, for rhyme.
94. He struck: an emendation.
103,4 are joined with 9.
133. That bruised by heart.
After 13 is written A stanza wanting.
[D].
The first three stanzas are not properly divided in a, and in b the first fourteen lines not divided at all.
a.
112. An stepping.
71. kind squire in both copies.
b.
54. kin's.
91. Heal well, heal well on me, Lady Janet.
112. Stout stepping.
123. She turned.
[53]
YOUNG BEICHAN
[A]. 'Young Bicham,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 13, c. 1783.
[B]. 'Young Brechin,' Glenriddell MSS, XI, 80, 1791.
[C]. 'Young Bekie.' a. Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 11, c. 1783. b. Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 127.
[D]. 'Young Beachen,' Skene MSS, p. 70, 1802-1803.
[E]. 'Young Beichan and Susie Pye,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 117.
[F]. 'Susan Pye and Lord Beichan,' Pitcairn's MSS, III, 159.
[G]. Communicated by Mr Alex. Laing, of Newburgh-on-Tay.
[H]. 'Lord Beichan and Susie Pye,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 260.
[I]. Communicated by Mr David Loudon, Morham, Haddington.
[J]. Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 85.
[K]. Communicated by Mr David Loudon.
[L]. The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. Illustrated by George Cruikshank, 1839.
[M]. 'Young Bondwell,' Buchan's MSS, I, 18. J. H. Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 1.
[N]. 'Susan Py, or Young Bichen's Garland.' a. Falkirk, printed by T. Johnston, 1815. b. Stirling, M. Randall.
A, B, D, F, and the fragment G now appear for the first time in print, and the same is true of I, J, K, which are of less account. C a is here given according to the manuscript, without Jamieson's "collations." Of E and C b Jamieson says: This ballad and that which succeeds it are given from copies taken from Mrs Brown's recitation,[403] collated with two other copies procured from Scotland; one in MS.; another, very good, one printed for the stalls; a third, in the possession of the late Reverend Jonathan Boucher, of Epsom, taken from recitation in the north of England; and a fourth, about one third as long as the others, which the editor picked off an old wall in Piccadilly. L, the only English copy, was derived from the singing of a London vagrant. It is, says Dixon, the common English broadsheet "turned into the dialect of Cockaigne."[404] M was probably a broadside or stall copy, and is certainly of that quality, but preserves a very ancient traditional feature.
D and M, besides the name Linne, have in common a repetition of the song, a trait which we also find in one version of 'The Heir of Linne;'[405] see Dixon's Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 30, stanzas 2-6, Percy Society, vol. XVII.
In Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 68, it is remarked that L, "the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print," is one of the publications mentioned in one of Thackeray's catalogues of broadsides. The 'Bateman,' in Thackeray's list, is the title of an entirely different ballad, 'A Warning for Maidens, or Young Bateman,' reprinted from the Roxburghe collection by W. Chappell, III, 193.
"Young Beichan" is a favorite ballad, and most deservedly. There are beautiful repetitions of the story in the ballads of other nations, and it has secondary affinities with the extensive cycle of '[Hind Horn],' the parts of the principal actors in the one being inverted in the other.
The hero's name is mostly Beichan, with slight modifications like Bekie, C, Bicham, A, Brechin, B; in L, Bateman; in M, Bondwell. The heroine is Susan Pye in ten of the fourteen versions; Isbel in C; Essels, evidently a variety of Isbel, in M, which has peculiar relations with C; Sophia in K, L.
Beichan is London born in A, D, [E], H, I, N, English born in B; London city is his own, A 6, B 7, F 7, or he has a hall there, I 7, N 27 f.; half Northumberland belongs to him, L; he is lord of the towers of Line, D 9, C 5, M 5, which are in London, D 15 f, but are transferred by reciters to the water of Tay, M 29, and to Glasgow, or the vicinity, H 20. H, though it starts with calling him London born, speaks of him thereafter as a Scottish lord, 12, 18, 31.[406]
Beichan has an Englishman's desire strange countries for to see, A, D, [E], I, L, N. In C, M he goes abroad, Quentin Durward fashion, not to gratify his taste for travel, but to serve for meat and fee. F makes him go to the Holy Land, without specifying his motive, but we may fairly suppose it religious. C sends him no further than France, and M to an unnamed foreign land. He becomes the slave of a Moor or Turk, A, B, D, H, I, L, N, or a "Prudent," F, who treats him cruelly. They bore his shoulders and put in a "tree," and make him draw carts, like horse or ox, A, B, D, [E], H; draw plough and harrow, F, plough and cart, N; or tread the wine-press, I. This is because he is a staunch Christian, and would never bend a knee to Mahound or Termagant, E, or onie of their stocks, H, or gods, I. They cast him into a dungeon, where he can neither hear nor see, and he is nigh perishing with hunger. This, also, is done in H 5, on account of his perseverance in Christianity; but in C, M he is imprisoned for falling in love with the king's daughter, or other lovely may.
From his prison Beichan makes his moan (not to a stock or a stone, but to the Queen of Heaven, D 4). His hounds go masterless, his hawks flee from tree to tree, his younger brother will heir his lands, and he shall never see home again, E, H. If a lady [earl] would borrow him, he would run at her stirrup; if a widow [auld wife] would borrow him, he would become her son; and if a maid would borrow him, he would wed her with a ring, C, D, M, B.[407] The only daughter of the Moor, Turk, or king (of a 'Savoyen,' B 5, perhaps a corruption of Saracen), already interested in the captive, or immediately becoming so upon hearing Beichan's song, asks him if he has lands and means at home to maintain a lady that should set him free, and is told that he has ample estates, all of which he would bestow on such a lady, A, B, E, F, H, L, N. She steals the keys and delivers the prisoner, C, D, E, I, J, L, M, N; refreshes him with bread and wine [wine], A, D, E, F, J 4, K 3, B, H, L; supplies him with money, C 9, H 15, M 12, N 14, and with a ship, F 9, H 18, L 9; to which C, M add a horse and hounds [and hawks, M]. She bids him mind on the lady's love that freed him out of pine, A 8, D 12, [E 13], M 14, N 15, and in E 16 breaks a ring from her finger, and gives half of it to Beichan to assist his memory. There is a solemn vow, or at least a clear understanding, that they are to marry within seven years, A 9, B 9, E 12 f., H 17, 19, L 8, N 11 [three years, C 11].
When seven years are at an end, or even before, Susan Pye feels a longing, or a misgiving, which impels her to go in search of the object of her affections, and she sets her foot on good shipboard, and turns her back on her own country, A 10, B 10, D 15, L 10, N 23.[408] C and M preserve here a highly important feature which is wanting in the other versions. Isbel, or Essels, is roused from her sleep by the Billy Blin, C 14, by a woman in green, a fairy, M 15, who makes known to her that that very day, or the morn, is Bekie's [Bondwell's] wedding day. She is directed to attire herself and her maids very splendidly, and go to the strand; a vessel will come sailing to her, and they are to go on board. The Billy Blin will row her over the sea, C 19; she will stroke the ship with a wand, and take God to be her pilot, M 19. Thus, by miraculous intervention, she arrives at the nick of time.
Beichan's fickleness is not accounted for in most of the versions. He soon forgot his deliverer and courted another, he was young, and thought not upon Susan Pye, say H, N. C, on the contrary, tells us that Beichan had not been a twelvemonth in his own country, when he was forced to marry a duke's daughter or lose all his land. E and K intimate that he acts under constraint; the wedding has lasted three and thirty days, and he will not bed with his bride for love of one beyond the sea, E 21, K 1.[409]
On landing, Susan Pye falls in with a shepherd feeding his flock, E, K M]. She asks, Whose are these sheep, these kye, these castles? and is told they are Lord Beichan's, G. She asks the news, and is informed that there is a wedding in yonder hall that has lasted thirty days and three, E, K, or that there is to be a wedding on the morn, M; it seems to be a matter generally known, N. In other versions she comes directly to Young Beichan's hall, and is first informed by the porter, A, B, F, H, L, or the fact is confirmed by the porter, E, M, N; she hears the music within, and divines, C. She bribes the porter to bid the bridegroom come and speak to her, A, B, C, D, J, N; send her down bread and wine, and not forget the lady who brought him out of prison, B, F, H, J, K, L. In E 26 she sends up her half ring to the bridegroom N 40, but not till Beichan has declined to come down].
The porter falls on his knee and informs his master that the fairest and richest lady that eyes ever saw is at the gate [ladies, C, M]. The bride, or the bride's mother more commonly, reproves the porter for his graceless speech; he might have excepted the bride, or her mother, or both: "Gin she be braw without, we's be as braw within." But the porter is compelled by truth to persist in his allegation; fair as they may be, they were never to compare with yon lady, B, D, E, H, M. Beichan takes the table with his foot and makes the cups and cans to flee, B 18, D 23, F 28, G 3, H 47, J 5, N 42;[410] he exclaims that it can be none but Susie Pye, A, B, D, G, H, I [Burd Isbel, C], and clears the stair, fifteen steps, thirty steps, in three bounds, A 19, D 24, N 43. His old love reproaches him for his forgetfulness, A, C, D, M, N;[411] she asks back her faith and troth, B 21. Beichan bids the forenoon bride's mother take back her daughter: he will double her dowry, A 22, D 27, E 39; she came on horseback, she shall go back in chariots, coaches, three, B 22, D 27[412] [H 49, in chariot free]. He marries Susie Pye, having her baptized by the name of Lady Jean, A, B, D, [E], F, I, J.[413]
This story of Beichan, or Bekie, agrees in the general outline, and also in some details, with a well-known legend about Gilbert Beket, father of St Thomas. The earlier and more authentic biographies lack this particular bit of romance, but the legend nevertheless goes back to a date not much later than a century after the death of the saint, being found in a poetical narrative preserved in a manuscript of about 1300.[414]
We learn from this legend that Gilbert Beket, in his youth, assumed the cross and went to the Holy Land, accompanied only by one Richard, his servant. They "did their pilgrimage" in holy places, and at last, with other Christians, were made captive by the Saracens and put in strong prison. They suffered great hardship and ignominy in the service of the Saracen prince Admiraud. But Gilbert found more grace than the rest; he was promoted to serve the prince at meat (in his chains), and the prince often would ask him about England and the English faith. Admiraud's only daughter fell in love with Gilbert, and when she saw her time, in turn asked him the like questions. Gilbert told her that he was born in London; told her of the belief of Christians, and of the endless bliss that should be their meed. The maid asked him if he was ready to die for his Lord's love, and Gilbert declared that he would, joyfully. When the maid saw that he was so steadfast, she stood long in thought, and then said, I will quit all for love of thee, and become Christian, if thou wilt marry me. Gilbert feared that this might be a wile; he replied that he was at her disposition, but he must bethink himself. She went on loving him, the longer the more. After this Gilbert and the rest broke prison and made their way to the Christians. The prince's daughter, reduced to desperation by love and grief, left her heritage and her kin, sparing for no sorrow, peril, or contempt that might come to her, not knowing whither to go or whether he would marry her when found, and went in quest of Gilbert. She asked the way to England, and when she had come there had no word but London to assist her further. She roamed through the streets, followed by a noisy and jeering crowd of wild boys and what not, until one day by chance she stopped by the house in which Gilbert lived. The man Richard, hearing a tumult, came out to see what was the matter, recognized the princess, and ran to tell his master.[415] Gilbert bade Richard take the lady to the house of a respectable woman near by, and presently went to see her. She swooned when she saw him. Gilbert was nothing if not discreet: he "held him still," as if he had nothing in mind. But there was a conference of six bishops just then at St. Paul's, and he went and told them his story and asked advice. One of the six prophetically saw a divine indication that the two were meant to be married, and all finally recommended this if the lady would become Christian. Brought before the bishops, she said, Most gladly, if he will espouse me; else I had not left my kin. She was baptized[416] with great ceremony, and the marriage followed.
The very day after the wedding Gilbert was seized with such an overmastering desire to go back to the Holy Land that he wist not what to do. But his wife was thoroughly converted, and after a struggle with herself she consented, on condition that Beket should leave with her the man Richard, who knew her language. Gilbert was gone three years and a half, and when he came back Thomas was a fine boy.
That our ballad has been affected by the legend of Gilbert Beket is altogether likely. The name Bekie is very close to Beket, and several versions, A, D, H, I, N, set out rather formally with the announcement that Bekie was London born, like the Latin biographies and the versified one of Garnier de Pont Sainte Maxence. Our ballad, also, in some versions, has the Moor's daughter baptized, a point which of course could not fail in the legend. More important still is it that the hero of the English ballad goes home and forgets the woman he has left in a foreign land, instead of going away from home and forgetting the love he has left there. But the ballad, for all that, is not derived from the legend. Stories and ballads of the general cast of 'Young Beichan' are extremely frequent.[417] The legend lacks some of the main points of these stories, and the ballad, in one version or another, has them, as will be seen by referring to what has been said under 'Hind Horn,' pp 194 ff. Bekie and Beket go to the East, like Henry and Reinfrit of Brunswick, the Noble Moringer, the good Gerhard, Messer Torello, the Sire de Créqui, Alexander of Metz, and others. Like the larger part of these, they are made prisoners by the Saracens. He will not bow the knee to Mahound; neither will the Sire de Créqui, though he die for it.[418] Beichan is made to draw cart, plough, harrow, like a beast. So Henry of Brunswick in a Swedish and a Danish ballad,[419] and Alexander von Metz, or the Graf von Rom, in his most beautiful and touching story.[420] Henry of Brunswick is set free by a "heathen" lady in the Danish ballad. In one version of Beichan, E, the lady on parting with her love breaks her ring and gives him one half, as Henry, or his wife, Reinfrit, Gerhard, Créqui, and others do. At this point in the story the woman pursues the man, and parts are inverted. Susan Pye is warned that Beichan is to be married the next day, in C by a Billy-Blin, in M by a woman in green, or fairy, and is conveyed to Beichan's castle or hall with miraculous despatch, just as Henry and others are warned, and are transported to their homes by devil, angel, or necromancer. In E and N the old love is identified by a half ring or ring, as in so many of the stories of the class of Henry the Lion.
Norse, Spanish, and Italian ballads preserve a story essentially the same as that of 'Young Beichan.'
Scandinavian.
Danish. 'Stolt Ellensborg,' Grundtvig, IV, 238, No 218, nine versions, A-G, from manuscripts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, H, I, from recent tradition. B is previously printed (with alterations) in Levninger, 'Jomfrue Ellensborg,' I, 66, No 12, Danske Viser, III, 268, No 213; I, 'Stalt Ellen henter sin Fæstemand' is in Kristensen, I, 89, No 36. Of the older texts, A, B, C are absolutely pure and true to tradition, D-G retouched or made over.
Icelandic, of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, as above, p. 259, M.
Swedish, from Cavallius and Stephens' collection, Grundtvig, p. 255, K.
Färöe, taken down in 1827, Grundtvig, p. 256, L.
Norwegian, 'Herre Per i Riki,' Landstad, p. 596, No 76, N.
The variations of these twelve versions are insignificant. The names Herr Peder den Rige and Ellensborg [Ellen] are found in nearly all. It comes into Sir Peter's mind that he ought to go to Jerusalem to expiate his sins, and he asks his betrothed, Ellensborg, how long she will wait for him. She will wait eight years, and marry no other, though the king should woo her [seven, L; nine, M, "If I do not come then, break the engagement;" eight, and not more, N]. The time passes and Peter does not come back. Ellensborg goes to the strand. Traders come steering in, and she is asked to buy of their ware,—sendal, linen, and silk green as leek. She cares not for these things; have they not seen her sister's son [brother], for whom she is grieving to death? They know nothing of her sister's son, but well they know Sir Peter the rich: he has betrothed a lady in the Øster-king's realm;[421] a heathen woman, "and you never came into his mind," E 13; he is to be married to-morrow, K 6. A wee swain tells her, M 14, 16, that he sits in Austurríki drinking the ale of forgetfulness, and will never come home; he shall not drink long, says she. Ellensborg asks her brother to undertake a voyage for her; he will go with her if she will wait till summer; rather than wait till summer she will go alone, A, D, G. She asks fraternal advice about going in search of her lover, A, E, the advice of her uncles, I; asks the loan of a ship, B, C, F, H, N. She is told that such a thing would be a shame; she had better take another lover; the object is not worth the trouble; the voyage is bad for a man and worse for a woman. Her maids give her advice that is more to her mind, E, but are as prudent as the rest in the later I. She attires herself like a knight, clips her maids' hair, B, H, I, L, M, and puts them into men's clothes, D, L; sets herself to steer and the maids to row, A-G, L.[422]
The voyage is less than two months, B, C, E; less than three months, I; quite three months, L. It is the first day of the bridal when she lands, B 22, E 24, N 14; in B Ellensborg learns this from a boy who is walking on the sand. Sword at side, she enters the hall where Peter is drinking his bridal. Peter, can in hand, rises and says, Bless your eyes, my sister's son; welcome to this strange land. In B he asks, How are my father and mother? and she tells him that his father lies dead on his bier, his mother in sick-bed. In L, waiting for no greeting, she says, Well you sit at the board with your wife! Are all lords wont thus to keep their faith? The bride's mother, D, G, the heathen bride, E, an unnamed person, probably the bride, A, B, F, N, says, That is not your sister's son, but much more like a woman; her hair is like spun gold, and braided up under a silk cap.
A tells us, and so F, G, that it was two months before Ellensborg could speak to Peter privately. Then, on a Yule day, when he was going to church, she said, It does not occur to you that you gave me your troth. Sir Peter stood as if women had shorn his hair, and recollected all as if it had been yesterday. In B-E, H, I, L, M, N, this incident has, perhaps, dropped out. In these immediately, as in A, F, G, after this interview, Sir Peter, recalled to his senses or to his fidelity, conceives the purpose of flying with Ellensborg. Good people, he says, knights and swains, ladies and maids, follow my bride to bed, while I take my sister's son over the meads, through the wood, B-E, H, I, N. In A, F, Sir Peter asks the bride how long she will bide while he takes his nephew across the kingdom; in G begs the boon that, since his sister's son is going, he may ride with him, just accompany him to the strand and take leave of him; in L, M, hopes she will not be angry if he convoys his nephew three days on his way. (It is at this point in C, H, I, L, that the bride says it is no sister's son, but a woman.) The bride remarks that there are knights and swains enow to escort his sister's son, and that he might more fitly stay where he is, but Sir Peter persists that he will see his nephew off in person.
Sir Peter and Ellensborg go aboard the ship, he crying, You will see me no more! When they are at sea Ellensborg lets out her hair, A, B, C, H; she wishes that the abandoned bride may now feel the grief which she herself had borne for years. The proceeding is less covert in I, L, M than in the other versions.
As Ellensborg and Peter are making for the ship in D 30, 31 (and G 36, 37, borrowed from D), she says, Tell me, Sir Peter, why would you deceive me so? Sir Peter answers that he never meant to deceive her; it was the lady of Østerland that did it; she had changed his mind. A magical change is meant. This agrees with what is said in A 24, 25 (also F, G), that when Ellensborg got Peter alone to herself, and said, You do not remember that you plighted your troth to me, everything came back to him as if it had happened yesterday. And again in the Färöe copy, L 49, Ellensborg, from the prow, cries to Ingibjörg on the strand, Farewell to thee with thy elf-ways, við títt elvargangi! I have taken to myself my true love that I lent thee so long; implying that Sir Peter had been detained by Circean arts, by a sleepy drench of óminnis öl, or ale of forgetfulness, Icelandic M 14, which, in the light of the other ballads, is to be understood literally, and not figuratively. The feature of a man being made, by magical or other means, to forget a first love who had done and suffered much for him, and being suddenly restored to consciousness and his original predilection, is of the commonest occurrence in traditional tales.[423]
Our English ballad affords no other positive trace of external interference with the hero's will than the far-fetched allegation in C that the choice before him was to accept a duke's daughter or forfeit his lands. The explanation of his inconstancy in H, N, that young men ever were fickle found, is vulgar, and also insufficient, for Beichan returns to his old love per saltum, like one from whose eyes scales have fallen and from whose back a weight has been taken, not tamely, like a facile youth that has swerved. E and K, as already said, distinctly recognize that Beichan was not acting with free mind, and, for myself, I have little doubt that, if we could go back far enough, we should find that he had all along been faithful at heart.
Spanish. A. 'El Conde Sol,' Duran, Romancero, I, 180, No 327, from tradition in Andalusia, by the editor; Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, II, 48, No 135. In this most beautiful romance the County Sol, named general in great wars between Spain and Portugal, and leaving a young wife dissolved in tears, tells her that she is free to marry if he does not come back in six years. Six pass, and eight, and more than ten, yet the county does not return, nor does there come news of him. His wife implores and obtains leave of her father to go in search of her husband. She traverses France and Italy, land and sea, and is on the point of giving up hope, when one day she sees a herdsman pasturing cows. Whose are these cows? she asks. The County Sol's, is the answer. And whose these wheat-fields, these ewes, these gardens, and that palace? whose the horses I hear neigh? The County Sol's, is the answer in each case.[424] And who that lady that a man folds in his arms? The lady is betrothed to him and the county is to marry her. The countess changes her silken robe for the herdsman's sackcloth, and goes to ask an alms at the county's gate. Beyond all hope, the county comes out himself to bring it. "Whence comest thou, pilgrim?" he asks. She was born in Spain. "How didst thou make thy way hither?" She came to seek her husband, footing the thorns by land, risking the perils of the sea; and when she found him he was about to marry, he had forgotten his faithful wife. "Pilgrim, thou art surely the devil, come to try me." "No devil," she said, "but thy wife indeed, and therefore come to seek thee." Upon this, without a moment's tarrying, the county ordered his horse, took up his wife, and made his best speed to his native castle. The bride he would have taken remained unmarried, for those that put on others' robes are sure to be stripped naked.
B. 'Gerineldo,' taken down in Asturias by Amador de los Rios, Jahrbuch für romanische u. englische Literatur, III, 290, 1861, and the same year (Nigra) in Revista Iberica, I, 51; a version far inferior to A, and differing in no important respect as to the story.
C. 'La boda interrumpida,' Milá, Romancerillo Catalan, p. 221, No 244, seven copies, A-G, none good. A, which is about one third Castilian, relates that war is declared between France and Portugal, and the son of Conde Burgos made general. The countess his wife does nothing but weep. The husband tells her to marry again if he does not come back in seven years. More than seven years are gone, and the lady's father asks why she does not marry. "How can I," she replies, "if the count is living? Give me your blessing, and let me go in search of him." She goes a hundred leagues on foot, in the disguise of a pilgrim. Arrived at a palace she sees pages pass, and asks them for whom a horse is intended. It is for Count Burgos's son, who marries that night. She asks to be directed to the young count, is told that she will find him in the hall, enters, and begs an alms, as coming from Italy and without a penny. The young man says, If you come from Italy, what is the news? Is Conde Bueso's wife living? The pilgrim desires some description of the lady. It seems that she wore a very costly petticoat on her wedding-day. The pilgrim takes off her glove and shows her ring; she also takes off and shows the expensive petticoat. There is great weeping in that palace, for first wives never can be forgotten. Don Bueso and the pilgrim clap hands and go home.
Italian: Piedmontese. A. 'Moran d'Inghilterra,' communicated to Rivista Contemporanea, XXXI, 3, 1862, by Nigra, who gives the variations of four other versions. The daughter of the sultan is so handsome that they know not whom to give her to, but decide upon Moran of England. The first day of his marriage he did nothing but kiss her, the second he wished to leave her, and the third he went off to the war. "When shall you return?" asked his wife. "If not in seven years, marry." She waited seven years, but Moran did not come. His wife went all over England on horseback, and came upon a cowherd. "Whose cows are these?" she asked. They were Moran's. "Has Moran a wife?" This is the day when he is to marry, and if she makes haste she will be in time for the wedding. She spurs her horse, and arrives in season. They offer her to drink in a gold cup. She will drink from no cup that is not her own; she will not drink while another woman is there; she will not drink till she is mistress. Moran throws his arms round her neck, saying, Mistress you ever have been and still shall be.
B. 'Morando,' Ferraro, Canti popolari monferrini, p. 42, No 32, from Alessandria. Murando d'Inghilterra, of the king's household, fell in love with the princess, for which the king sent him off. The lady knocked at his door, and asked when he would come back. In seven years, was the answer, and if not she was to marry. The princess stole a hundred scudi from her father, frizzled her hair French fashion, bought a fashionable suit, and rode three days and nights without touching ground, eating, or drinking. She came upon a laundryman, and asked who was in command there. Murando. She knocked at the door, and Murando asked, Have you come to our wedding? She would come to the dance. At the dance she was recognized by the servants. Murando asked, How came you here? "I rode three days and three nights without touching ground, eating, or drinking." This is my wife, said Murando; and the other lady he bade return to her father.
It is possible that this ballad may formerly have been known in France. Nothing is left and known that shows this conclusively, but there is an approach to the Norse form in a fragment which occurs in several widely separated localities. A lover goes off in November, promising his love to return in December, but does not. A messenger comes to bid the lady, in his name, seek another lover, for he has another love. "Is she fairer than I, or more powerful?" She is not fairer, but more powerful: she makes rosemary flower on the edge of her sleeve, changes the sea into wine and fish into flesh. Bujeaud, I, 203. In 'La Femme Abandonnée,' Puymaigre, I, 72, the lover is married to a Fleming:
Elle fait venir le soleil
A minuit dans sa chambre,
Elle fait bouiller la marmite
Sans feu et sans rente.
In a Canadian version, 'Entre Paris et Saint-Denis,' Gagnon, p. 303, the deserted woman is a king's daughter, and the new love,
Ell' fait neiger, ell' fait grêler,
Ell' fait le vent qui vente.
Ell' fait reluire le soleil
A minuit dans sa chambre.
Ell' fait pousser le romarin
Sur le bord de la manche.
Puymaigre notes that there is a version very near to the Canadian in the sixth volume of Poésies populaires de la France, cinquième recueil, Ardennes, No 2.[425]
A broadside ballad, 'The Turkish Lady,' 'The Turkish Lady and the English Slave,' printed in Logan's Pedlar's Pack, p. 16, Christie, I, 247, from singing, and preserved also in the Kinloch MSS, V, 53, I, 263, from Elizabeth Beattie's recitation, simply relates how a Turkish pirate's daughter fell in love with an Englishman, her slave, offered to release him if he would turn Turk, but chose the better part of flying with him to Bristol, and becoming herself a Christian brave.
Sir William Stanley, passing through Constantinople, is condemned to die for his religion. A lady, walking under the prison walls, hears his lament, and begs his life of the Turk. She would make him her husband, and bring him to adore Mahomet. She offers to set the prisoner free if he will marry her, but he has a wife and children on English ground. The lady is sorry, but generously gives Stanley five hundred pounds to carry him to his own country. Sir William Stanley's Garland, Halliwell's Palatine Anthology, pp 277 f.
Two Magyars have been shut up in a dungeon by the sultan, and have not seen sun, moon, or stars for seven years. The sultan's daughter hears their moan, and offers to free them if they will take her to Hungary. This they promise to do. She gets the keys, takes money, opens the doors, and the three make off. They are followed; one of the Magyars kills all the pursuers but one, who is left to carry back the news. It is now proposed that there shall be a duel to determine who shall have the lady. She begs them rather to cut off her head than to fight about her. Szilágyi Niklas says he has a love at home, and leaves the sultan's daughter to his comrade, Hagymási László. Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, p. 93: see p. 107 of this volume.
C b is translated by Loève-Veimars, p. 330; E by Cesare Cantù, Documenti alla Storia Universale, Torino, 1858, Tomo Vo, Parte IIIa, p. 796; E, as retouched by Allingham, by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 18.
A.
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 13.
1
In London city was Bicham born,
He longd strange countries for to see,
But he was taen by a savage Moor,
Who handld him right cruely.
2
For thro his shoulder he put a bore,
An thro the bore has pitten a tree,
An he's gard him draw the carts o wine,
Where horse and oxen had wont to be.
3
He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep,
Where he coud neither hear nor see;
He's shut him up in a prison strong,
An he's handld him right cruely.
4
O this Moor he had but ae daughter,
I wot her name was Shusy Pye;
She's doen her to the prison-house,
And she's calld Young Bicham one word by.
5
'O hae ye ony lands or rents,
Or citys in your ain country,
Coud free you out of prison strong,
An coud mantain a lady free?'
6
'O London city is my own,
An other citys twa or three,
Coud loose me out o prison strong,
An coud mantain a lady free.'
7
O she has bribed her father's men
Wi meikle goud and white money,
She's gotten the key o the prison doors,
An she has set Young Bicham free.
8
She's gi'n him a loaf o good white bread,
But an a flask o Spanish wine,
An she bad him mind on the ladie's love
That sae kindly freed him out o pine.
9
'Go set your foot on good ship-board,
An haste you back to your ain country,
An before that seven years has an end,
Come back again, love, and marry me.'
10
It was long or seven years had an end
She longd fu sair her love to see;
She's set her foot on good ship-board,
An turnd her back on her ain country.
11
She's saild up, so has she doun,
Till she came to the other side;
She's landed at Young Bicham's gates,
An I hop this day she sal be his bride.
12
'Is this Young Bicham's gates?' says she,
'Or is that noble prince within?'
'He's up the stairs wi his bonny bride,
An monny a lord and lady wi him.'
13
'O has he taen a bonny bride,
An has he clean forgotten me!'
An sighing said that gay lady,
I wish I were in my ain country!
14
But she's pitten her han in her pocket,
An gin the porter guineas three;
Says, Take ye that, ye proud porter,
An bid the bridegroom speak to me.
15
O whan the porter came up the stair,
He's fa'n low down upon his knee:
'Won up, won up, ye proud porter,
An what makes a' this courtesy?'
16
'O I've been porter at your gates
This mair nor seven years an three,
But there is a lady at them now
The like of whom I never did see.
17
'For on every finger she has a ring,
An on the mid-finger she has three,
An there's as meikle goud aboon her brow
As woud buy an earldome o lan to me.'
18
Then up it started Young Bicham,
An sware so loud by Our Lady,
'It can be nane but Shusy Pye,
That has come oer the sea to me.'
19
O quickly ran he down the stair,
O fifteen steps he has made but three;
He's tane his bonny love in his arms,
An a wot he kissd her tenderly.
20
'O hae you tane a bonny bride?
An hae you quite forsaken me?
An hae ye quite forgotten her
That gae you life an liberty?'
21
She's lookit oer her left shoulder
To hide the tears stood in her ee;
'Now fare thee well, Young Bicham,' she says,
'I'll strive to think nae mair on thee.'
22
'Take back your daughter, madam,' he says,
'An a double dowry I'll gi her wi;
For I maun marry my first true love,
That's done and suffered so much for me.'
23
He's take his bonny love by the han,
And led her to yon fountain stane;
He's changd her name frae Shusy Pye,
An he's cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.
B.
Glenriddell MSS, XI, 80.
1
In England was Young Brechin born,
Of parents of a high degree;
The selld him to the savage Moor,
Where they abused him maist cruellie.
2
Thro evry shoulder they bord a bore,
And thro evry bore they pat a tree;
They made him draw the carts o wine,
Which horse and owsn were wont to drie.
3
The pat him into prison strong,
Where he could neither hear nor see;
They pat him in a dark dungeon,
Where he was sick and like to die.
4
'Is there neer an auld wife in this town
That'll borrow me to be her son?
Is there neer a young maid in this town
Will take me for her chiefest one?'
5
A Savoyen has an only daughter,
I wat she's called Young Brichen by;
'O sleepst thou, wakest thou, Brichen?' she says,
'Or who is't that does on me cry?
6
'O hast thou any house or lands,
Or hast thou any castles free,
That thou wadst gi to a lady fair
That out o prison wad bring thee?'
7
'O lady, Lundin it is mine,
And other castles twa or three;
These I wad gie to a lady fair
That out of prison wad set me free.'
8
She's taen him by the milk-white hand,
And led him to a towr sae hie,
She's made him drink the wine sae reid,
And sung to him like a mavosie.
9
O these two luvers made a bond,
For seven years, and that is lang,
That he was to marry no other wife,
And she's to marry no other man.
10
When seven years were past and gane,
This young lady began to lang,
And she's awa to Lundin gane,
To see if Brechin's got safe to land.
11
When she came to Young Brechin's yett,
She chappit gently at the gin;
'Is this Young Brechin's yett?' she says,
'Or is this lusty lord within?'
'O yes, this is Lord Brechin's yett,
And I wat this be his bridal een.'
12
She's put her hand in her pocket,
And thrawin the porter guineas three;
'Gang up the stair, young man,' she says,
'And bid your master come down to me.
13
'Bid him bring a bite o his ae best bread,
And a bottle o his ae best wine,
And neer forget that lady fair
That did him out o prison bring.'
14
The porter tripped up the stair,
And fell low down upon his knee:
'Rise up, rise up, ye proud porter,
What mean you by this courtesie?'
15
'O I hae been porter at your yett
This thirty years and a' but three;
There stands the fairest lady thereat
That ever my twa een did see.
16
'On evry finger she has a ring,
On her mid-finger she has three;
She's as much gold on her horse's neck
As wad by a earldom o land to me.
17
'She bids you send o your ae best bread,
And a bottle o your ae best wine,
And neer forget the lady fair
That out o prison did you bring.'
18
He's taen the table wi his foot,
And made the cups and cans to flee:
'I'll wager a' the lands I hae
That Susan Pye's come oer the sea.'
* * * * *
19
Then up and spak the bride's mother:
'And O an ill deid may ye die!
If ye didna except the bonny bride,
Ye might hae ay excepted me.'
20
'O ye are fair, and fair, madam,
And ay the fairer may ye be!
But the fairest day that eer ye saw,
Ye were neer sae fair as yon lady.'
21
O when these lovers two did meet,
The tear it blinded baith their ee;
'Gie me my faith and troth,' she says,
'For now fain hame wad I be.'
22
'Tak hame your daughter, madam,' he says,
'She's neer a bit the war o me;
Except a kiss o her bonny lips,
Of her body I am free;
She came to me on a single horse,
Now I'll send her hame in chariots three.
23
He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
And he's led her to a yard o stane;
He's changed her name frae Susan Pye,
And calld her lusty Lady Jane.
C.
a. Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. II. b. Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 127.
1
Young Bekie was as brave a knight
As ever saild the sea;
An he's doen him to the court of France,
To serve for meat and fee.
2
He had nae been i the court of France
A twelvemonth nor sae long,
Til he fell in love with the king's daughter,
An was thrown in prison strong.
3
The king he had but ae daughter,
Burd Isbel was her name;
An she has to the prison-house gane,
To hear the prisoner's mane.
4
'O gin a lady woud borrow me,
At her stirrup-foot I woud rin;
Or gin a widow wad borrow me,
I woud swear to be her son.
5
'Or gin a virgin woud borrow me,
I woud wed her wi a ring;
I'd gi her ha's, I'd gie her bowers,
The bonny towrs o Linne.'
6
O barefoot, barefoot gaed she but,
An barefoot came she ben;
It was no for want o hose an shoone,
Nor time to put them on.
7
But a' for fear that her father dear
Had heard her making din:
She's stown the keys o the prison-house dor
An latten the prisoner gang.
8
O whan she saw him, Young Bekie,
Her heart was wondrous sair!
For the mice but an the bold rottons
Had eaten his yallow hair.
9
She's gien him a shaver for his beard,
A comber till his hair,
Five hunder pound in his pocket,
To spen, an nae to spair.
10
She's gien him a steed was good in need,
An a saddle o royal bone,
A leash o hounds o ae litter,
An Hector called one.
11
Atween this twa a vow was made,
'Twas made full solemnly,
That or three years was come an gane,
Well married they shoud be.
12
He had nae been in 's ain country
A twelvemonth till an end,
Till he's forcd to marry a duke's daughter,
Or than lose a' his land.
13
'Ohon, alas!' says Young Beckie,
'I know not what to dee;
For I canno win to Burd Isbel,
And she kensnae to come to me.'
14
O it fell once upon a day
Burd Isbel fell asleep,
An up it starts the Belly Blin,
An stood at her bed-feet.
15
'O waken, waken, Burd Isbel,
How [can] you sleep so soun,
Whan this is Bekie's wedding day,
An the marriage gain on?
16
'Ye do ye to your mither's bowr,
Think neither sin nor shame;
An ye tak twa o your mither's marys,
To keep ye frae thinking lang.
17
'Ye dress yoursel in the red scarlet,
An your marys in dainty green,
An ye pit girdles about your middles
Woud buy an earldome.
18
'O ye gang down by yon sea-side,
An down by yon sea-stran;
Sae bonny will the Hollans boats
Come rowin till your han.
19
'Ye set your milk-white foot abord,
Cry, Hail ye, Domine!
An I shal be the steerer o 't,
To row you oer the sea.'
20
She's tane her till her mither's bowr,
Thought neither sin nor shame,
An she took twa o her mither's marys,
To keep her frae thinking lang.
21
She dressd hersel i the red scarlet,
Her marys i dainty green,
And they pat girdles about their middles
Woud buy an earldome.
22
An they gid down by yon sea-side,
An down by yon sea-stran;
Sae bonny did the Hollan boats
Come rowin to their han.
23
She set her milk-white foot on board,
Cried, Hail ye, Domine!
An the Belly Blin was the steerer o 't,
To row her oer the sea.
24
Whan she came to Young Bekie's gate,
She heard the music play;
Sae well she kent frae a' she heard,
It was his wedding day.
25
She's pitten her han in her pocket,
Gin the porter guineas three;
'Hae, tak ye that, ye proud porter,
Bid the bride-groom speake to me.'
26
O whan that he cam up the stair,
He fell low down on his knee:
He haild the king, an he haild the queen,
An he haild him, Young Bekie.
27
'O I've been porter at your gates
This thirty years an three;
But there's three ladies at them now,
Their like I never did see.
28
'There's ane o them dressd in red scarlet,
And twa in dainty green,
An they hae girdles about their middles
Woud buy an earldome.'
29
Then out it spake the bierly bride,
Was a' goud to the chin;
'Gin she be braw without,' she says,
'We's be as braw within.'
30
Then up it starts him, Young Bekie,
An the tears was in his ee:
'I'll lay my life it's Burd Isbel,
Come oer the sea to me.'
31
O quickly ran he down the stair,
An whan he saw 't was shee,
He kindly took her in his arms,
And kissd her tenderly.
32
'O hae ye forgotten, Young Bekie,
The vow ye made to me,
Whan I took you out o the prison strong,
Whan ye was condemnd to die?
33
'I gae you a steed was good in need,
An a saddle o royal bone,
A leash o hounds o ae litter,
An Hector called one.'
34
It was well kent what the lady said,
That it wasnae a lee,
For at ilka word the lady spake,
The hound fell at her knee.
35
'Tak hame, tak hame your daughter dear,
A blessing gae her wi,
For I maun marry my Burd Isbel,
That's come oer the sea to me.'
36
'Is this the custom o your house,
Or the fashion o your lan,
To marry a maid in a May mornin,
An send her back at even?'
D.
Skene MSS, p. 70. North of Scotland, 1802-3.
1
Young Beachen was born in fair London,
And foreign lands he langed to see;
He was taen by the savage Moor,
An the used him most cruellie.
2
Through his showlder they pat a bore,
And through the bore the pat a tree;
They made him trail their ousen carts,
And they used him most cruellie.
3
The savage Moor had ae daughter,
I wat her name was Susan Pay;
An she is to the prison house,
To hear the prisoner's moan.
4
He made na his moan to a stocke,
He made na it to a stone,
But it was to the Queen of Heaven
That he made his moan.
5
'Gin a lady wad borrow me,
I at her foot wad run;
An a widdow wad borrow me,
I wad become her son.
6
'But an a maid wad borrow me,
I wad wed her wi a ring;
I wad make her lady of haas and bowers,
An of the high towers of Line.'
7
'Sing oer yer sang, Young Beachen,' she says,
'Sing oer yer sang to me;'
'I never sang that sang, lady,
But I wad sing to thee.
8
'Gin a lady wad borrow me,
I at her foot wad run;
An a widdow wad borrow me,
I wad become her son.
9
'But an a maid wad borrow me,
I wad wed her wi a ring;
I wad make her lady of haas and bowers,
An of the high towers of Line.'
10
Saftly, [saftly] gaed she but,
An saftlly gaed she ben,
It was na for want of hose nor shoon,
Nor time to pet them on.
11
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
An she has staen the keys of the prison,
An latten Young Beachen gang.
12
She gae him a leaf of her white bread,
An a bottle of her wine,
She bad him mind on the lady's love
That freed him out of pine.
13
She gae him a steed was guid in need,
A saddle of the bane,
Five hundred pown in his pocket,
Bad him gae speeding hame.
14
An a leash of guid grayhounds,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
15
Whan seven lang years were come and gane,
Shusie Pay thought lang,
An she is on to fair London,
As fast as she could gang.
16
Whan she cam to Young Beachen's gate,
. . . . . . .
'Is Young Beachan at hame,
Or is he in this countrie?'
17
'He is at hame, is hear,' they said,
. . . . . . .
An sighan says her Susie Pay,
Has he quite forgotten me?
18
On every finger she had a ring,
On the middle finger three;
She gae the porter ane of them:
'Get a word o your lord to me.'
19
He gaed up the stair,
Fell low down on his knee:
'Win up, my proud porter,
What is your will wi me?'
20
'I hae been porter at yer gate
This thirty year and three;
The fairst lady is at yer gate
Mine eyes did ever see.'
21
Out spak the bride's mither,
An a haghty woman was she:
'If ye had na eccepted the bonny bride,
Ye might well ha eccepted me.'
22
'No disparagement to you, madam,
Nor none unto her Grace;
The sole of your lady's foot
Is fairer than her face.'
23
He's gaen the table wi his foot,
And couped it wi his knee:
'I wad my head and a' my land
'T is Susie Pay, come oer the sea.'
24
The stair was thirty steps,
I wat he made them three;
He took her in his arms twa:
'Susie Pay, ye'r welcome to me.'
25
'Gie me a shive of your white bread,
An a bottle of your wine;
Dinna ye mind on the lady's love
That freed ye out of pine?'
26
He took her ...
Down to yon garden green,
An changed her name fra Susie Pay,
An called her bonny Lady Jean.
27
'Yer daughter came here on high horse-back,
She sal gae hame in coaches three,
An I sall double her tocher our,
She's nane the war o me.'
28
'It's na the fashion o our countrie,
Nor yet o yer nane,
To wed a maid in the morning,
An send her hame at een.'
29
'It's na the fashion o my countrie,
Nor is it of my nane,
But I man mind on the lady's love
That freed me out of pine.'
E.
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 117, compounded from A, a manuscript and a stall copy from Scotland, a recited copy from the north of England, and a short version picked off a wall in London. (The parts which repeat A are in smaller type.)
1
In London was Young Beichan born,
He longed strange countries for to see,
But he was taen by a savage Moor,
Who handled him right cruellie.
2
For he viewed the fashions of that land,
Their way of worship viewed he,
But to Mahound or Termagant
Would Beichan never bend a knee.
3
So in every shoulder they've putten a bore,
In every bore they've putten a tree,
And they have made him trail the wine
And spices on his fair bodie.
4
They've casten him in a dungeon deep,
Where he could neither hear nor see,
For seven years they kept him there,
Till he for hunger's like to die.
5
This Moor he had but ae daughter,
Her name was called Susie Pye,
And every day as she took the air,
Near Beichan's prison she passed by.
6
O so it fell upon a day
She heard Young Beichan sadly sing:
'My hounds they all go masterless,
My hawks they flee from tree to tree,
My younger brother will heir my land,
Fair England again I'll never see!'
7
All night long no rest she got,
Young Beichan's song for thinking on;
She's stown the keys from her father's head,
And to the prison strong is gone.
8
And she has opend the prison doors,
I wot she opend two or three,
Ere she could come Young Beichan at,
He was locked up so curiouslie.
9
But when she came Young Beichan before,
Sore wonderd he that may to see;
He took her for some fair captive:
'Fair Lady, I pray, of what countrie?'
10
'O have ye any lands,' she said,
'Or castles in your own countrie,
That ye could give to a lady fair,
From prison strong to set you free?'
11
'Near London town I have a hall,
With other castles two or three;
I'll give them all to the lady fair
That out of prison will set me free.'
12
'Give me the truth of your right hand,
The truth of it give unto me,
That for seven years ye'll no lady wed,
Unless it be along with me.'
13
'I'll give thee the truth of my right hand,
The truth of it I'll freely gie,
That for seven years I'll stay unwed,
For the kindness thou dost show to me.'
14
And she has brib'd the proud warder
Wi mickle gold and white monie,
She's gotten the keys of the prison strong,
And she has set Young Beichan free.
15
She's gien him to eat the good spice-cake,
She's gien him to drink the blood-red wine,
She's bidden him sometimes think on her,
That sae kindly freed him out of pine.
16
She's broken a ring from her finger,
And to Beichan half of it gave she:
'Keep it, to mind you of that love
The lady bore that set you free.
17
'And set your foot on good ship-board,
And haste ye back to your own countrie,
And before that seven years have an end,
Come back again, love, and marry me.'
18
But long ere seven years had an end,
She longd full sore her love to see,
For ever a voice within her breast
Said, 'Beichan has broke his vow to thee:'
So she's set her foot on good ship-board,
And turnd her back on her own countrie.
19
She sailed east, she sailed west,
Till to fair England's shore she came,
Where a bonny shepherd she espied,
Feeding his sheep upon the plain.
20
'What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd?
What news hast thou to tell to me?'
'Such news I hear, ladie,' he says,
'The like was never in this countrie.
21
'There is a wedding in yonder hall,
Has lasted these thirty days and three;
Young Beichan will not bed with his bride,
For love of one that's yond the sea.'
22
She's put her hand in her pocket,
Gien him the gold and white monie:
'Hae, take ye that, my bonny boy,
For the good news thou tellst to me.'
23
When she came to Young Beichan's gate,
She tirled softly at the pin;
So ready was the proud porter
To open and let this lady in.
24
'Is this Young Beichan's hall,' she said,
'Or is that noble lord within?'
'Yea, he's in the hall among them all,
And this is the day o his weddin.'
25
'And has he wed anither love?
And has he clean forgotten me?'
And sighin said that gay ladie,
I wish I were in my own countrie!
26
And she has taen her gay gold ring,
That with her love she brake so free;
Says, Gie him that, ye proud porter,
And bid the bridegroom speak to me.
27
When the porter came his lord before,
He kneeled down low on his knee:
'What aileth thee, my proud porter,
Thou art so full of courtesie?'
28
'I've been porter at your gates,
It's thirty long years now and three;
But there stands a lady at them now,
The like o her did I never see.
29
'For on every finger she has a ring,
And on her mid-finger she has three,
And as meickle gold aboon her brow
As would buy an earldom to me.'
30
It's out then spak the bride's mother,
Aye and an angry woman was shee:
'Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,
And twa or three of our companie.'
31
'O hold your tongue, thou bride's mother,
Of all your folly let me be;
She's ten times fairer nor the bride,
And all that's in your companie.
32
'She begs one sheave of your white bread,
But and a cup of your red wine,
And to remember the lady's love
That last relievd you out of pine.'
33
'O well-a-day!' said Beichan then,
'That I so soon have married thee!
For it can be none but Susie Pye,
That sailed the sea for love of me.'
34
And quickly hied he down the stair;
Of fifteen steps he made but three;
He's taen his bonny love in his arms,
And kist and kist her tenderlie.
35
'O hae ye taen anither bride?
And hae ye quite forgotten me?
And hae ye quite forgotten her
That gave you life and libertie?'
36
She looked oer her left shoulder,
To hide the tears stood in her ee:
'Now fare thee well, Young Beichan,' she says,
'I'll try to think no more on thee.'
37
'O never, never, Susie Pye,
For surely this can never be,
Nor ever shall I wed but her
That's done and dreed so much for me.'
38
Then out and spak the forenoon bride:
'My lord, your love it changeth soon;
This morning I was made your bride,
And another chose ere it be noon.'
39
O hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride,
Ye're neer a whit the worse for me,
And whan ye return to your own countrie,
A double dower I'll send with thee.'
40
He's taen Susie Pye by the white hand,
And gently led her up and down,
And ay as he kist her red rosy lips,
'Ye're welcome, jewel, to your own.'
41
He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
And led her to yon fountain stane;
He's changed her name from Susie Pye,
And he's call'd her his bonny love, Lady Jane.
F.
Pitcairn's MSS, III, 159, 1817-25. From the recitation of Widow Stevenson, aged seventy-three: "East Country."
1
In the lands where Lord Beichan was born,
Amang the stately steps of stane,
He wore the goud at his left shoulder,
But to the Holy Land he's gane.
2
He was na lang in the Holy Land,
Amang the Prudents that was black,
He was na lang in the Holy Land,
Till the Prudent did Lord Beichan tak.
3
The gard him draw baith pleugh and harrow,
And horse and oxen twa or three;
They cast him in a dark dungeon,
Whare he coud neither hear nor see.
4
The Prudent had a fair daughter,
I wot they ca'd her Susy Pye,
And all the keys in that city
Hang at that lady by and bye.
5
It once fell out upon a day
That into the prison she did gae,
And whan she cam to the prison door,
She kneeled low down on her knee.
6
'O hae ye ony lands, Beichan,
Or hae ye ony castles hie,
Whar ye wad tak a young thing to,
If out of prison I wad let thee?'
7
'Fair London's mine, dear lady,' he said,
'And other places twa or three,
Whar I wad tak a young thing to,
If out of prison ye wad let me.'
8
O she has opened the prison door,
And other places twa or three,
And gien him bread, and wine to drink,
In her own chamber privately.
9
O then she built a bonny ship,
And she has set it on the main,
And she has built a bonny ship,
It's for to tak Lord Beichan hame.
10
O she's gaen murning up and down,
And she's gaen murnin to the sea,
Then to her father she has gane in,
Wha spak to her right angrily.
11
'O do ye mourn for the goud, daughter,
Or do ye mourn for the whyte monie?
Or do ye mourn for the English squire?
I wat I will gar hang him hie.'
12
'I neither mourn for the goud, father,
Nor do I for the whyte monie,
Nor do I for the English squire;
And I care na tho ye hang him hie.
13
'But I hae promised an errand to go,
Seven lang miles ayont the sea,
And blythe and merry I never will be
Untill that errand you let me.'
14
'That errand, daughter, you may gang,
Seven long miles beyond the sea,
Since blythe and merry you'll neer be
Untill that errand I'll let thee.'
15
O she has built a bonny ship,
And she has set it in the sea,
And she has built a bonny ship,
It's all for to tak her a long journie.
16
And she's sailed a' the summer day,
I wat the wind blew wondrous fair;
In sight of fair London she has come,
And till Lord Beichan's yett she walked.
17
Whan she cam till Lord Beichan's yett,
She rappit loudly at the pin:
'Is Beichan lord of this bonny place?
I pray ye open and let me in.
18
'And O is this Lord Beichan's yett,
And is the noble lord within?'
'O yes, it is Lord Beichan's yett,
He's wi his bride and mony a ane.'
19
'If you'll gang up to Lord Beichan,
Tell him the words that I tell thee;
It will put him in mind of Susy Pye,
And the Holy Land, whareer he be.
20
'Tell him to send one bite of bread,
It's and a glass of his gude red wine,
Nor to forget the lady's love
That loosed him out of prison strong.'
* * * * *
21
'I hae been porter at your yett,
I'm sure this therty lang years and three,
But the fairest lady stands thereat
That evir my twa eyes did see.
22
'On ilka finger she has a ring,
And on the foremost she has three;
As muckle goud is on her head
As wad buy an earldom of land to thee.
23
'She bids you send a bite of bread,
It's and a glass of your gude red wine,
Nor to forget the lady's love
That let you out of prison strong.'
24
It's up and spak the bride's mother,
A weight of goud hung at her chin:
'There is no one so fair without
But there are, I wat, as fair within.'
25
It's up and spak the bride hersel,
As she sat by the gude lord's knee:
'Awa, awa, ye proud porter,
This day ye might hae excepted me.'
* * * * *
26
'Tak hence, tak hence your fair daughter,
Tak hame your daughter fair frae me;
For saving one kiss of her bonny lips,
I'm sure of her body I am free.
27
'Awa, awa, ye proud mither,
It's tak your daughter fair frae me;
For I brought her home with chariots six,
And I'll send her back wi coaches three.'
28
It's he's taen the table wi his fit,
And syne he took it wi his knee;
He gard the glasses and wine so red,
He gard them all in flinders flee.
29
O he's gane down the steps of stairs,
And a' the stately steps of stane,
Until he cam to Susy Pye;
I wat the tears blinded baith their eyne.
30
He led her up the steps of stairs,
And a' the stately steps of stane,
And changed her name from Susy Pye,
And ca'd her lusty Lady Jane.
31
'O fye, gar cooks mak ready meat,
O fye, gar cooks the pots supply,
That it may be talked of in fair London,
I've been twice married in ae day.'
G.
Communicated by Mr Alexander Laing, of Newburg-on-Tay, as derived from the recitation of Miss Walker.
* * * * *
1
'O wha's aught a' yon flock o sheep,
An wha's aught a' yon flock o kye?
An wha's aught a' yon pretty castles,
That you sae often do pass bye?'
2
'They're a' Lord Beekin's sheep,
They're a' Lord Beekin's kye;
They're a' Lord Beekin's castles,
That you sae often do pass bye.'
* * * * *
3
He's tane [the] table wi his feet,
Made cups an candlesticks to flee:
'I'll lay my life 't is Susy Pie,
Come owr the seas to marry me.'
H.
Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 260.
1
Young Beichan was in London born,
He was a man of hie degree;
He past thro monie kingdoms great,
Until he cam unto Grand Turkie.
2
He viewd the fashions of that land,
Their way of worship viewed he,
But unto onie of their stocks
He wadna sae much as bow a knee:
3
Which made him to be taken straight,
And brought afore their hie jurie;
The savage Moor did speak upricht,
And made him meikle ill to dree.
4
In ilka shoulder they've bord a hole,
And in ilka hole they've put a tree;
They've made him to draw carts and wains,
Till he was sick and like to dee.
5
But Young Beichan was a Christian born,
And still a Christian was he;
Which made them put him in prison strang,
And cauld and hunger sair to dree,
And fed on nocht but bread and water,
Until the day that he mot dee.
6
In this prison there grew a tree,
And it was unco stout and strang,
Where he was chained by the middle,
Until his life was almaist gane.
7
The savage Moor had but ae dochter,
And her name it was Susie Pye,
And ilka day as she took the air,
The prison door she passed bye.
8
But it fell ance upon a day,
As she was walking, she heard him sing;
She listend to his tale of woe,
A happy day for Young Beichan!
9
'My hounds they all go masterless,
My hawks they flee frae tree to tree,
My youngest brother will heir my lands,
My native land I'll never see.'
10
'O were I but the prison-keeper,
As I'm a ladie o hie degree,
I soon wad set this youth at large,
And send him to his ain countrie.'
11
She went away into her chamber,
All nicht she never closd her ee;
And when the morning begoud to dawn,
At the prison door alane was she.
12
She gied the keeper a piece of gowd,
And monie pieces o white monie,
To tak her thro the bolts and bars,
The lord frae Scotland she langd to see;
She saw young Beichan at the stake,
Which made her weep maist bitterlie.
13
'O hae ye got onie lands,' she says,
'Or castles in your ain countrie?
It's what wad ye gie to the ladie fair
Wha out o prison wad set you free?'
14
'It's I hae houses, and I hae lands,
Wi monie castles fair to see,
And I wad gie a' to that ladie gay,
Wha out o prison wad set me free.'
15
The keeper syne brak aff his chains,
And set Lord Beichan at libertie;
She filld his pockets baith wi gowd,
To tak him till his ain countrie.
16
She took him frae her father's prison,
And gied to him the best o wine,
And a brave health she drank to him:
'I wish, Lord Beichan, ye were mine!
17
'It's seven lang years I'll mak a vow,
And seven lang years I'll keep it true;
If ye'll wed wi na ither woman,
It's I will wed na man but you.'
18
She's tane him to her father's port,
And gien to him a ship o fame:
'Farewell, farewell, my Scottish lord,
I fear I'll neer see you again.'
19
Lord Beichan turnd him round about,
And lowly, lowly loutit he:
'Ere seven lang years come to an end,
I'll tak you to mine ain countrie.'
20
Then whan he cam to Glasgow town,
A happy, happy man was he;
The ladies a' around him thrangd,
To see him come frae slaverie.
21
His mother she had died o sorrow,
And a' his brothers were dead but he;
His lands they a' were lying waste,
In ruins were his castles free.
22
Na porter there stood at his yett,
Na human creature he could see,
Except the screeching owls and bats,
Had he to bear him companie.
23
But gowd will gar the castles grow,
And he had gowd and jewels free,
And soon the pages around him thrangd,
To serve him on their bended knee.
24
His hall was hung wi silk and satin,
His table rung wi mirth and glee,
He soon forgot the lady fair
That lowsd him out o slaverie.
25
Lord Beichan courted a lady gay,
To heir wi him his lands sae free,
Neer thinking that a lady fair
Was on her way frae Grand Turkie.
26
For Susie Pye could get na rest,
Nor day nor nicht could happy be,
Still thinking on the Scottish lord,
Till she was sick and like to dee.
27
But she has builded a bonnie ship,
Weel mannd wi seamen o hie degree,
And secretly she stept on board,
And bid adieu to her ain countrie.
28
But whan she cam to the Scottish shore,
The bells were ringing sae merrilie;
It was Lord Beichan's wedding day,
Wi a lady fair o hie degree.
29
But sic a vessel was never seen;
The very masts were tappd wi gold,
Her sails were made o the satin fine,
Maist beautiful for to behold.
30
But whan the lady cam on shore,
Attended wi her pages three,
Her shoon were of the beaten gowd,
And she a lady of great beautie.
31
Then to the skipper she did say,
'Can ye this answer gie to me?
Where are Lord Beichan's lands sae braid?
He surely lives in this countrie.'
32
Then up bespak the skipper bold,
For he could speak the Turkish tongue:
'Lord Beichan lives not far away;
This is the day of his wedding.'
33
'If ye will guide me to Beichan's yetts,
I will ye well reward,' said she;
Then she and all her pages went,
A very gallant companie.
34
When she cam to Lord Beichan's yetts,
She tirld gently at the pin;
Sae ready was the proud porter
To let the wedding guests come in.
35
'Is this Lord Beichan's house,' she says,
'Or is that noble lord within?'
'Yes, he is gane into the hall,
With his brave bride and monie ane.'
36
'Ye'll bid him send me a piece of bread,
Bot and a cup of his best wine;
And bid him mind the lady's love
That ance did lowse him out o pyne.'
37
Then in and cam the porter bold,
I wat he gae three shouts and three:
'The fairest lady stands at your yetts
That ever my twa een did see.'
38
Then up bespak the bride's mither,
I wat an angry woman was she:
'You micht hae excepted our bonnie bride,
Tho she'd been three times as fair as she.'
39
'My dame, your daughter's fair enough,
And aye the fairer mot she be!
But the fairest time that eer she was,
She'll na compare wi this ladie.
40
'She has a gowd ring on ilka finger,
And on her mid-finger she has three;
She has as meikle gowd upon her head
As wad buy an earldom o land to thee.
41
'My lord, she begs some o your bread,
Bot and a cup o your best wine,
And bids you mind the lady's love
That ance did lowse ye out o pyne.'
42
Then up and started Lord Beichan,
I wat he made the table flee:
'I wad gie a' my yearlie rent
'T were Susie Pye come owre the sea.'
43
Syne up bespak the bride's mother,
She was never heard to speak sae free:
'Ye'll no forsake my ae dochter,
Tho Susie Pye has crossd the sea?'
44
'Tak hame, tak hame, your dochter, madam,
For she is neer the waur o me;
She cam to me on horseback riding,
And she sall gang hame in chariot free.'
45
He's tane Susie Pye by the milk-white hand,
And led her thro his halls sae hie:
'Ye're now Lord Beichan's lawful wife,
And thrice ye're welcome unto me.'
46
Lord Beichan prepard for another wedding,
Wi baith their hearts sae fu o glee;
Says, 'I'll range na mair in foreign lands,
Sin Susie Pye has crossd the sea.
47
'Fy! gar a' our cooks mak ready,
And fy! gar a' our pipers play,
And fy! gar trumpets gae thro the toun,
That Lord Beichan's wedded twice in a day!'
I.
Communicated by Mr David Louden, as recited by Mrs Dodds, Morham, Haddington, the reciter being above seventy in 1873.
1
In London was Young Bechin born,
Foreign nations he longed to see;
He passed through many kingdoms great,
At length he came unto Turkie.
2
He viewed the fashions of that land,
The ways of worship viewed he,
But unto any of their gods
He would not so much as bow the knee.
3
On every shoulder they made a bore,
In every bore they put a tree,
Then they made him the winepress tread,
And all in spite of his fair bodie.
4
They put him into a deep dungeon,
Where he could neither hear nor see,
And for seven years they kept him there,
Till for hunger he was like to die.
5
Stephen, their king, had a daughter fair,
Yet never a man to her came nigh;
And every day she took the air,
Near to his prison she passed by.
6
One day she heard Young Bechin sing
A song that pleased her so well,
No rest she got till she came to him,
All in his lonely prison cell.
7
'I have a hall in London town,
With other buildings two or three,
And I'll give them all to the ladye fair
That from this dungeon shall set me free.'
8
She stole the keys from her dad's head,
And if she oped one door ay she opened three,
Till she Young Bechin could find out,
He was locked up so curiouslie.
* * * * *
9
'I've been a porter at your gate
This thirty years now, ay and three;
There stands a ladye at your gate,
The like of her I neer did see.
10
'On every finger she has a ring,
On the mid-finger she has three;
She's as much gold about her brow
As would an earldom buy to me.'
* * * * *
11
He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
He gently led her through the green;
He changed her name from Susie Pie,
An he's called her lovely Ladye Jean.
J.
Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 85. From tradition.
* * * * *
1
She's taen the keys frae her fadder's coffer,
Tho he keeps them most sacredlie,
And she has opend the prison strong,
And set Young Beichan at libertie.
* * * * *
2
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Gae up the countrie, my chile,' she says,
'Till your fadder's wrath be turned from thee.'
* * * * *
3
She's put her han intill her purse,
And gave the porter guineas three;
Says, 'Tak ye that, ye proud porter,
And tell your master to speak wi me.
4
'Ye'll bid him bring a shower o his best love,
But and a bottle o his wine,
And do to me as I did to him in time past,
And brought him out o muckle pine.'
5
He's taen the table wi his foot,
And he has keppit it wi his knee:
'I'll wager my life and a' my lan,
It's Susan Pie come ower the sea.
6
'Rise up, rise up, my bonnie bride,
Ye're neither better nor waur for me;
Ye cam to me on a horse and saddle,
But ye may gang back in a coach and three.'
K.
Communicated by Mr David Louden, as obtained from Mrs Dickson, Rentonhall.
* * * * *
1
'There is a marriage in yonder hall,
Has lasted thirty days and three;
The bridegroom winna bed the bride,
For the sake of one that's owre the sea.'
* * * * *
2
'What news, what news, my brave young porter?
What news, what news have ye for me?'
'As beautiful a ladye stands at your gate
As eer my two eyes yet did see.'
3
'A slice of bread to her get ready,
And a bottle of the best of wine;
Not to forget that fair young ladye
Who did release thee out of close confine.'
4
Lord Bechin in a passion flew,
And rent himself like a sword in three,
Saying, 'I would give all my father's riches
If my Sophia was 'cross the sea.'
5
Up spoke the young bride's mother,
Who never was heard to speak so free,
Saying, 'I hope you'll not forget my only daughter,
Though your Sophia be 'cross the sea.'
6
'I own a bride I've wed your daughter,
She's nothing else the worse of me;
She came to me on a horse and saddle,
She may go back in a coach and three.'
L.
The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. Illustrated by George Cruikshank. 1839.
1
Lord Bateman was a noble lord,
A noble lord of high degree;
He shipped himself all aboard of a ship,
Some foreign country for to see.
2
He sailed east, he sailed west,
Until he came to famed Turkey,
Where he was taken and put to prison,
Until his life was quite weary.
3
All in this prison there grew a tree,
O there it grew so stout and strong!
Where he was chained all by the middle,
Until his life was almost gone.
4
This Turk he had one only daughter,
The fairest my two eyes eer see;
She steel the keys of her father's prison,
And swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.
5
O she took him to her father's cellar,
And gave to him the best of wine;
And every health she drank unto him
Was, 'I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was mine.'
6
'O have you got houses, have you got land,
And does Northumberland belong to thee?
And what would you give to the fair young lady
As out of prison would let you go free?'
7
'O I've got houses and I've got land,
And half Northumberland belongs to me;
And I will give it all to the fair young lady
As out of prison would let me go free.'
8
'O in seven long years, I'll make a vow
For seven long years, and keep it strong,
That if you'll wed no other woman,
O I will wed no other man.'
9
O she took him to her father's harbor,
And gave to him a ship of fame,
Saying, Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,
I fear I never shall see you again.
10
Now seven long years is gone and past,
And fourteen days, well known to me;
She packed up all her gay clothing,
And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.
11
O when she arrived at Lord Bateman's castle,
How boldly then she rang the bell!
'Who's there? who's there?' cries the proud young porter,
'O come unto me pray quickly tell.'
12
'O is this here Lord Bateman's castle,
And is his lordship here within?'
'O yes, O yes,' cries the proud young porter,
'He's just now taking his young bride in.'
13
'O bid him to send me a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the very best wine,
And not forgetting the fair young lady
As did release him when close confine.'
14
O away and away went this proud young porter,
O away and away and away went he,
Until he come to Lord Bateman's chamber,
When he went down on his bended knee.
15
'What news, what news, my proud young porter?
What news, what news? Come tell to me:'
'O there is the fairest young lady
As ever my two eyes did see.
16
'She has got rings on every finger,
And on one finger she has got three;
With as much gay gold about her middle
As would buy half Northumberlee.
17
'O she bids you to send her a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the very best wine,
And not forgetting the fair young lady
As did release you when close confine.'
18
Lord Bateman then in passion flew,
And broke his sword in splinters three,
Saying, I will give half of my father's land,
If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.
19
Then up and spoke this young bride's mother,
Who never was heard to speak so free;
Saying, You'll not forget my only daughter,
If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.
20
'O it's true I made a bride of your daughter,
But she's neither the better nor the worse for me;
She came to me with a horse and saddle,
But she may go home in a coach and three.'
21
Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage,
With both their hearts so full of glee,
Saying, I will roam no more to foreign countries,
Now that Sophia has crossed the sea.
M.
Buchan's MSS, I, 18. J.H. Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 1.
1
Young Bonwell was a squire's ae son,
And a squire's ae son was he;
He went abroad to a foreign land,
To serve for meat and fee.
2
He hadna been in that country
A twalmonth and a day,
Till he was cast in prison strong,
For the sake of a lovely may.
3
'O if my father get word of this,
At hame in his ain country,
He'll send red gowd for my relief,
And a bag o white money.
4
'O gin an earl woud borrow me,
At his bridle I woud rin;
Or gin a widow woud borrow me,
I'd swear to be her son.
5
'Or gin a may woud borrow me,
I'd wed her wi a ring,
Infeft her wi the ha's and bowers
O the bonny towers o Linne.'
6
But it fell ance upon a day
Dame Essels she thought lang,
And she is to the jail-house door,
To hear Young Bondwell's sang.
7
'Sing on, sing on, my bonny Bondwell,
The sang ye sang just now:'
'I never sang the sang, lady,
But I woud war 't on you.
8
'O gin my father get word o this,
At hame in his ain country,
He'll send red gowd for my relief,
And a bag o white money.
9
'O gin an earl woud borrow me,
At his bridle I woud rin;
Or gin a widow would borrow me,
I'd swear to be her son.
10
'Or gin a may woud borrow me,
I woud wed her wi a ring,
Infeft her wi the ha's and bowers
O the bonny towers o Linne.'
11
She's stole the keys o the jail-house door,
Where under the bed they lay;
She's opend to him the jail-house door,
And set Young Bondwell free.
12
She gae 'm a steed was swift in need,
A saddle o royal ben,
A hunder pund o pennies round,
Bade him gae roav an spend.
13
A couple o hounds o ae litter,
And Cain they ca'd the one;
Twa gay gos-hawks she gae likeways,
To keep him onthought lang.
14
When mony days were past and gane,
Dame Essels thought fell lang,
And she is to her lonely bower,
To shorten her wi a sang.
15
The sang had such a melody,
It lulld her fast asleep;
Up starts a woman, clad in green,
And stood at her bed-feet.
16
'Win up, win up, Dame Essels,' she says,
'This day ye sleep ower lang;
The morn is the squire's wedding day,
In the bonny towers o Linne.
17
'Ye'll dress yoursell in the robes o green,
Your maids in robes sae fair,
And ye'll put girdles about their middles,
Sae costly, rich and rare.
18
'Ye'll take your maries alang wi you,
Till ye come to yon strand;
There ye'll see a ship, wi sails all up,
Come sailing to dry land.
19
'Ye'll take a wand into your hand,
Ye'll stroke her round about,
And ye'll take God your pilot to be,
To drown ye'll take nae doubt.'
20
Then up it raise her Dame Essels,
Sought water to wash her hands,
But aye the faster that she washd,
The tears they trickling ran.
21
Then in it came her father dear,
And in the floor steps he:
'What ails Dame Essels, my daughter dear,
Ye weep sae bitterlie?
22
'Want ye a small fish frae the flood,
Or turtle frae the sea?
Or is there man in a' my realm
This day has offended thee?'
23
'I want nae small fish frae the flood,
Nor turtle frae the sea;
But Young Bondwell, your ain prisoner,
This day has offended me.'
24
Her father turnd him round about,
A solemn oath sware he:
'If this be true ye tell me now
High hanged he shall be.
25
'To-morrow morning he shall be
Hung high upon a tree:'
Dame Essels whisperd to hersel,
'Father, ye've made a lie.'
26
She dressd hersel in robes o green,
Her maids in robes sae fair,
Wi gowden girdles round their middles,
Sae costly, rich and rare.
27
She's taen her mantle her about,
A maiden in every hand;
They saw a ship, wi sails a' up,
Come sailing to dry land.
28
She's taen a wand intill her hand,
And stroked her round about,
And she's taen God her pilot to be,
To drown she took nae doubt.
29
So they saild on, and further on,
Till to the water o Tay;
There they spied a bonny little boy,
Was watering his steeds sae gay.
30
'What news, what news, my little boy,
What news hae ye to me?
Are there any weddings in this place,
Or any gaun to be?'
31
'There is a wedding in this place,
A wedding very soon;
The morn's the young squire's wedding day,
In the bonny towers of Linne.'
32
O then she walked alang the way
To see what coud be seen,
And there she saw the proud porter,
Drest in a mantle green.
33
'What news, what news, porter?' she said,
'What news hae ye to me?
Are there any weddings in this place,
Or any gaun to be?'
34
'There is a wedding in this place,
A wedding very soon;
The morn is Young Bondwell's wedding day,
The bonny squire o Linne.'
35
'Gae to your master, porter,' she said,
'Gae ye right speedilie;
Bid him come and speak wi a maid
That wishes his face to see.'
36
The porter's up to his master gane,
Fell low down on his knee;
'Win up, win up, my porter,' he said,
'Why bow ye low to me?'
37
'I hae been porter at your yetts
These thirty years and three,
But fairer maids than's at them now
My eyes did never see.
38
'The foremost she is drest in green,
The rest in fine attire,
Wi gowden girdles round their middles,
Well worth a sheriff's hire.'
39
Then out it speaks Bondwell's own bride,
Was a' gowd to the chin;
'They canno be fairer thereout,' she says,
'Than we that are therein.'
40
'There is a difference, my dame,' he said,
''Tween that ladye's colour and yours;
As much difference as you were a stock,
She o the lily flowers.'
41
Then out it speaks him Young Bondwell,
An angry man was he:
'Cast up the yetts baith wide an braid,
These ladies I may see.'
42
Quickly up stairs Dame Essel's gane,
Her maidens next her wi;
Then said the bride, This lady's face
Shows the porter's tauld nae lie.
43
The lady unto Bondwell spake,
These words pronounced she:
O hearken, hearken, fause Bondwell,
These words that I tell thee.
44
Is this the way ye keep your vows
That ye did make to me,
When your feet were in iron fetters,
Ae foot ye coudna flee?
45
I stole the keys o the jail-house door
Frae under the bed they lay,
And opend up the jail-house door,
Set you at liberty.
46
Gae you a steed was swift in need,
A saddle o royal ben,
A hunder pund o pennies round,
Bade you gae rove an spend.
47
A couple o hounds o ae litter,
Cain they ca'ed the ane,
Twa gay gos-hawks as swift's eer flew,
To keep you onthought lang.
48
But since this day ye've broke your vow,
For which ye're sair to blame,
And since nae mair I'll get o you,
O Cain, will ye gae hame?
49
'O Cain! O Cain!' the lady cried,
And Cain did her ken;
They baith flappd round the lady's knee,
Like a couple o armed men.
50
He's to his bride wi hat in hand,
And haild her courteouslie:
'Sit down by me, my bonny Bondwell,
What makes this courtesie?'
51
'An asking, asking, fair lady,
An asking ye'll grant me;'
'Ask on, ask on, my bonny Bondwell,
What may your askings be?'
52
'Five hundred pounds to you I'll gie,
Of gowd an white monie,
If ye'll wed John, my ain cousin;
He looks as fair as me.'
53
'Keep well your monie, Bondwell,' she said,
'Nae monie I ask o thee;
Your cousin John was my first love,
My husband now he's be.'
54
Bondwell was married at morning ear,
John in the afternoon;
Dame Essels is lady ower a' the bowers
And the high towers o Linne.
N.
a. Falkirk, printed by T. Johnston, 1815. b. Stirling, M. Randall.
1
In London was Young Bichen born,
He longd strange lands to see;
He set his foot on good ship-board,
And he sailed over the sea.
2
He had not been in a foreign land
A day but only three,
Till he was taken by a savage Moor,
And they used him most cruelly.
3
In every shoulder they put a pin,
To every pin they put a tree;
They made him draw the plow and cart,
Like horse and oxen in his country.
4
He had not servd the savage Moor
A week, nay scarcely but only three,
Till he has casten him in prison strong,
Till he with hunger was like to die.
5
It fell out once upon a day
That Young Bichen he made his moan,
As he lay bound in irons strong,
In a dark and deep dungeon.
6
'An I were again in fair England,
As many merry day I have been,
Then I would curb my roving youth
No more to see a strange land.
7
'O an I were free again now,
And my feet well set on the sea,
I would live in peace in my own country,
And a foreign land I no more would see.'
8
The savage Moor had but one daughter,
I wot her name was Susan Py;
She heard Young Bichen make his moan,
At the prison-door as she past by.
9
'O have ye any lands,' she said,
'Or have you any money free,
Or have you any revenues,
To maintain a lady like me?'
10
'O I have land in fair England,
And I have estates two or three,
And likewise I have revenues,
To maintain a lady like thee.'
11
'O will you promise, Young Bichen,' she says,
'And keep your vow faithful to me,
That at the end of seven years
In fair England you'll marry me?
12
'I'll steal the keys from my father dear,
Tho he keeps them most secretly;
I'll risk my life for to save thine,
And set thee safe upon the sea.'
13
She's stolen the keys from her father,
From under the bed where they lay;
She opened the prison strong
And set Young Bichen at liberty.
14
She's gone to her father's coffer,
Where the gold was red and fair to see;
She filled his pockets with good red gold,
And she set him far upon the sea.
15
'O mind you well, Young Bichen,' she says,
'The vows and oaths you made to me;
When you are come to your native land,
O then remember Susan Py!'
16
But when her father he came home
He missd the keys there where they lay;
He went into the prison strong,
But he saw Young Bichen was away.
17
'Go bring your daughter, madam,' he says,
'And bring her here unto me;
Altho I have no more but her,
Tomorrow I'll gar hang her high.'
18
The lady calld on the maiden fair
To come to her most speedily;
'Go up the country, my child,' she says,
'Stay with my brother two years or three.
19
'I have a brother, he lives in the isles,
He will keep thee most courteously
And stay with him, my child,' she says,
'Till thy father's wrath be turnd from thee.'
20
Now will we leave young Susan Py
A while in her own country,
And will return to Young Bichen,
Who is safe arrived in fair England.
21
He had not been in fair England
Above years scarcely three,
Till he has courted another maid,
And so forgot his Susan Py.
22
The youth being young and in his prime,
Of Susan Py thought not upon,
But his love was laid on another maid,
And the marriage-day it did draw on.
23
But eer the seven years were run,
Susan Py she thought full long;
She set her foot on good ship-board,
And she has saild for fair England.
24
On every finger she put a ring,
On her mid-finger she put three;
She filld her pockets with good red gold,
And she has sailed oer the sea.
25
She had not been in fair England
A day, a day, but only three,
Till she heard Young Bichen was a bridegroom,
And the morrow to be the wedding-day.
26
'Since it is so,' said young Susan,
'That he has provd so false to me,
I'll hie me to Young Bichen's gates,
And see if he minds Susan Py.'
27
She has gone up thro London town,
Where many a lady she there did spy;
There was not a lady in all London
Young Susan that could outvie.
28
She has calld upon a waiting-man,
A waiting-man who stood near by:
'Convey me to Young Bichen's gates,
And well rewarded shals thou be.'
29
When she came to Young Bichen's gate
She chapped loudly at the pin,
Till down there came the proud porter;
'Who's there,' he says, 'that would be in?'
30
'Open the gates, porter,' she says,
'Open them to a lady gay,
And tell your master, porter,' she says,
'To speak a word or two with me.'
31
The porter he has opend the gates;
His eyes were dazzled to see
A lady dressd in gold and jewels;
No page nor waiting-man had she.
32
'O pardon me, madam,' he cried,
'This day it is his wedding-day;
He's up the stairs with his lovely bride,
And a sight of him you cannot see.'
33
She put her hand in her pocket,
And therefrom took out guineas three,
And gave to him, saying, Please, kind sir,
Bring down your master straight to me.
34
The porter up again has gone,
And he fell low down on his knee,
Saying, Master, you will please come down
To a lady who wants you to see.
35
A lady gay stands at your gates,
The like of her I neer did see;
She has more gold above her eye
Nor would buy a baron's land to me.
36
Out then spake the bride's mother,
I'm sure an angry woman was she:
'You're impudent and insolent,
For ye might excepted the bride and me.'
37
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye proud woman,
I'm sure sae loud as I hear you lie;
She has more gold on her body
Than would buy the lands, the bride, and thee!'
38
'Go down, go down, porter,' he says,
'And tell the lady gay from me
That I'm up-stairs wi my lovely bride,
And a sight of her I cannot see.'
39
The porter he goes down again,
The lady waited patiently:
'My master's with his lovely bride,
And he'll not win down my dame to see.'
40
From off her finger she's taen a ring;
'Give that your master,' she says, 'from me,
And tell him now, young man,' she says,
'To send down a cup of wine to me.'
41
'Here's a ring for you, master,' he says,
'On her mid-finger she has three,
And you are desird, my lord,' he says,
'To send down a cup of wine with me.'
42
He hit the table with his foot,
He kepd it with his right knee:
'I'll wed my life and all my land
That is Susan Py, come o'er the sea!'
43
He has gone unto the stair-head,
A step he took but barely three;
He opend the gates most speedily,
And Susan Py he there could see.
44
'Is this the way, Young Bichen,' she says,
'Is this the way you've guided me?
I relieved you from prison strong,
And ill have you rewarded me.
45
'O mind ye, Young Bichen,' she says,
'The vows and oaths that ye made to me,
When ye lay bound in prison strong,
In a deep dungeon of misery?'
46
He took her by the milk-white hand,
And led her into the palace fine;
There was not a lady in all the palace
But Susan Py did all outshine.
47
The day concluded with joy and mirth,
On every side there might you see;
There was great joy in all England
For the wedding-day of Susan Py.
[B].
171. bids me.
225, 6. Connected with 23 in MS.
226. send he.
[C]. a.
152. How y you.
b.
33. omits house.
42. omits foot.
71. omits dear.
73. For she's ... of the prison.
74. And gane the dungeon within.
81. And when.
82. Wow but her heart was sair.
91. She's gotten.
111. thir twa.
132. I kenna.
134. kensnae.
141. fell out.
152. How y you.
161. till.
162. As fast as ye can gang.
163. tak three.
164. To haud ye unthocht lang.
181. Syne ye.
183. And bonny.
193. And I will.
202. As fast as she could gang.
203. she's taen.
204. To haud her unthocht lang.
223. And sae bonny did.
224. till.
243. And her mind misgae by.
244. That 't was.
252. markis three.
254. Bid your master.
274. did never.
291. and spak.
293. be fine.
294. as fine.
323. out of.
343. at the first.
352. gang.
364. Send her back a maid.
[D].
Written throughout without division into stanzas.
7. A like repetition occurs again in the Skene MSS: see No 36, p. 316.
101, 2. One line in the MS. The metre, in several places where it is incomplete, was doubtless made full by repetition: see 191, 3.
141. This line thus: (an a Leash of guid gray hounds). The reciter evidently could remember only this point in the stanza.
16, 17.
Whan she cam to Young Beachens gate
Is Young Beachen at hame
Or is he in this countrie
He is at hame is hearly (?) said
Him an sigh an says her Susie Pay
Has he quite forgotten me
191, 3. Probably sung, the stair, the stair; win up, win up.
223, 4. The latter half of the stanza must be supposed to be addressed to Young Beachen.
261, 2. He took her down to yon gouden green.
274. Sh's.
292. my name.
After 29 a stanza belonging apparently to some other ballad:
Courtess kind, an generous mind,
An winna ye answer me?
An whan the hard their lady's word,
Well answered was she.
[E].
64-6 was introduced, with other metrical passages, into a long tale of 'Young Beichan and Susy Pye,' which Motherwell had heard related, and of which he gives a specimen at p. xv. of his Introduction: "Well, ye must know that in the Moor's castle there was a massymore, which is a dark dungeon for keeping prisoners. It was twenty feet below the ground, and into this hole they closed poor Beichan. There he stood, night and day, up to his waist in puddle water; but night or day it was all one to him, for no ae styme of light ever got in. So he lay there a lang and weary while, and thinking on his heavy weird, he made a murnfu sang to pass the time, and this was the sang that he made, and grat when he sang it, for he never thought of ever escaping from the massymore, or of seeing his ain country again:
'My hounds they all run masterless,
My hawks they flee from tree to tree;
My youngest brother will heir my lands,
And fair England again I'll never see.
'Oh were I free as I hae been,
And my ship swimming once more on sea,
I'd turn my face to fair England,
And sail no more to a strange countrie.'
"Now the cruel Moor had a beautiful daughter, called Susy Pye, who was accustomed to take a walk every morning in her garden, and as she was walking ae day she heard the sough o Beichan's sang, coming as it were from below the ground," etc., etc.
[F].
33. dungeon (donjon).
61. only lands.
62. only castles.
81. Oh.
103. ha she has gane in: originally has she gane in.
132. Many, with Seven written over: Seven in 142.
20. After this stanza: Then the porter gaed up the stair and said.
25. After this stanza: Then Lord Beichan gat up, and was in a great wrath, and said.
31. ae: indistinct, but seems to have been one changed to ae or a.
[H].
43. carts and wains for carts o wine of A 23, B 23. We have wine in H 43, I 33, and wine is in all likelihood original.
Christie, I, 31, abridges this version, making "a few slight alterations from the way he had heard it sung:" these, and one or two more.
24. wadna bend nor bow.
71. The Moor he had.
251. But Beichan courted.
[I].
11. Bechin was pronounced Beekin.
[K].
1. Before this, as gloss, or remnant of a preceding stanza: She came to a shepherd, and he replied.
2. After this, in explanation: She gave Lord Bechin a slice of bread and a bottle of wine when she released him from prison, hence the following.
31. to him.
4. After this: He had married another lady, not having heard from his Sophia for seven long years.
[L].
"This affecting legend is given ... precisely as I have frequently heard it sung on Saturday nights, outside a house of general refreshment (familiarly termed a wine-vaults) at Battle-bridge. The singer is a young gentleman who can scarcely have numbered nineteen summers.... I have taken down the words from his own mouth at different periods, and have been careful to preserve his pronunciation." [Attributed to Charles Dickens.] As there is no reason for indicating pronunciation here, in this more than in other cases, the phonetic spelling is replaced by common orthography. Forms of speech have, however, been preserved, excepting two, with regard to which I may have been too nice.
13. his-self.
52, 92. guv.
[M].
103. in for wi (?): wi in 53.
122, 462. bend. Possibly, however, understood to be bend == leather, instead of ben == bane, bone.
134, 474. on thought.
[N]. a.
Susan Py, or Young Bichens Garland. Shewing how he went to a far country, and was taken by a savage Moor and cast into prison, and delivered by the Moor's daughter, on promise of marriage; and how he came to England, and was going to be wedded to another bride; with the happy arrival of Susan Py on the wedding day. Falkirk, Printed by T. Johnston, 1815.
b.
34. his own.
42. A week, a week, but only.
73. own land.
74. And foreign lands no more.
111. young man.
132. he lay.
243. her trunks.
254. was the.
282. that stood hard by.
284. thou shalt.
292. She knocked.
314. waiting-maid.
322. For this is his.
341. up the stairs.
343. will you.
364. Ye might.
372. Sae loud as I hear ye lie.
394. And a sight of him you cannot see.
404. To bring.
423. I'll lay.
442. way that you've used me.
474. wedding of.