FOOTNOTES:

[133] Rochholz has cited the Raghuvansa in Deutscher Unsterblichkeits Glaube, p. 208; the other oriental citations are made by Kuhn, Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, I, 62 f.

[134] Schenkl, in Germania, XI, 451 f; who also cites Tibullus, I, 1, 67, Propertius, IV, 11, 1, and inscriptions, as Gruter, p. 1127, 8.

[79]
THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL

[A]. 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 111, ed. 1802.

[B]. 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' stanzas 18-23, Kinloch MSS, V, 403.

B forms the conclusion, as already said, to a beautiful copy of '[The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford],' recited by the grandmother of Robert Chambers.

A motive for the return of the wife's three sons is not found in the fragments which remain to us. The mother had cursed the sea when she first heard they were lost, and can only go mad when she finds that after all she has not recovered them; nor will a little wee while, B 5, make any difference. There is no indication that the sons come back to forbid obstinate grief, as the dead often do. But supplying a motive would add nothing to the impressiveness of these verses. Nothing that we have is more profoundly affecting.

A is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 14; by Freiligrath, Zwischen den Garben, II, 227, ed. Stuttgart, 1877; by Doenniges, p. 61; by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 9, with insertion of B 5, 6; and by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 227, after Allingham.

A

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 111, 1802, from the recitation of an old woman residing near Kirkhill, in West Lothian.

1 There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them oer the sea.

2 They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
Whan word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.

3 They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
Whan word came to the carlin wife
That her sons she'd never see.

4 'I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood.'

5 It fell about the Martinmass,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carlin wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o the birk.

6 It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.

*  *  *  *  *

7 'Blow up the fire, my maidens,
Bring water from the well;
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well.'

8 And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide,
And she's taen her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bed-side.

*  *  *  *  *

9 Up then crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
'Tis time we were away.

10 The cock he hadna crawd but once,
And clappd his wings at a',
When the youngest to the eldest said,
Brother, we must awa.

11 'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin worm doth chide;
Gin we be mist out o our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.

12 'Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire!'

B

Kinloch MSS, V, 403, stanzas 18-23. In the handwriting of James Chambers, as sung to his maternal grandmother, Janet Grieve, seventy years before, by an old woman, a Miss Ann Gray, of the Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire: January 1, 1829.

1 The hallow days o Yule are come,
The nights are lang an dark,
An in an cam her ain twa sons,
Wi their hats made o the bark.

2 'O eat an drink, my merry men a',
The better shall ye fare,
For my twa sons the are come hame
To me for evermair.'

3 She has gaen an made their bed,
An she's made it saft an fine,
An she's happit them wi her gay mantel,
Because they were her ain.

4 O the young cock crew i the merry Linkem,
An the wild fowl chirpd for day;
The aulder to the younger did say,
Dear brother, we maun away.

5 'Lie still, lie still a little wee while,
Lie still but if we may;
For gin my mother miss us away
She'll gae mad or it be day.'

6 O it's they've taen up their mother's mantel,
An they've hangd it on the pin:
'O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantel,
Or ye hap us again!'

A.

42. fishes. The correction is suggested in ed. 1833 of the Border Minstrelsy. Aytoun reads freshes.

[80]
OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE

Percy MS., p. 90; Hales and Furnivall, I, 235.

This fine ballad was printed in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, III, 48, ed. of 1765, "with considerable corrections." The information given by a page, the reward promised and the alternative punishment threatened him, the savage vengeance taken on the lady and the immediate remorse, are repeated in '[Little Musgrave],' No 81. So the "Sleep you, wake you" of 41, a frequent formula for such occasions,[135] which we find in 'Earl Brand,' No 7, D 1, 'King Arthur and King Cornwall,' No 30, st. 493; '[Clerk Saunders],' No 69, F 4; '[Willie and Lady Maisry],' No 70, B 2, 11; '[The Bent sae Brown],' No 71, st. 5; ['Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' No 73, E] 5; 'Sweet William's Ghost,' No 77, B 2; '[Jellon Grame],' A 4; 'The Drowned Lovers,' Buchan, I, 140, st. 11; 'Jock o the Side,' Caw's Museum, st. 16; 'Kinmont Willie,' Scott, st. 35; 'The Baron of Brackley,' Scarce Ancient Ballads, st. 2; the song or ballad in 'King Lear,' III, 6, 40; Ravenscroft's Pammelia, 1609, No 30; the interlude of 'The Four Elements' (Steevens); Íslenzk Fornkvæði, II, 115, st. 26, 27; 'Der todte Freier,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 75, No 24a, Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 167=Mittler No 545, Wunderhorn, IV, 73, etc., and Deutsches Museum, 1862, II, 803, No 10; Ampère, Instructions, p. 36; Coussemaker, No 48, st. 5; Kolberg, Pieśni ludu Polskiego, No 7e, st. 8; etc.

Old Robin, instead of attaching a cross of red cloth to the right shoulder of his coat or cloak, shapes the cross in his shoulder "of white flesh and of red," st. 32; that is, burns the cross in with a hot iron, as was done sometimes by the unusually devout or superstitious, or for a pious fraud: Mabillon, Annales, ad annum 1095, cited by Michaud, Histoire des Croisades, I, 110, note, ed. 1825.

Translated by Bodmer, I, 153; by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 66.

1 God let neuer soe old a man
Marry soe yonge a wiffe
As did Old Robin of Portingale;
He may rue all the dayes of his liffe.

2 Ffor the maiors daughter of Lin, God wott,
He chose her to his wife,
And thought to haue liued in quiettnesse
With her all the dayes of his liffe.

3 They had not in their wed-bed laid,
Scarcly were both on sleepe,
But vpp shee rose, and forth shee goes
To Sir Gyles, and fast can weepe.

4 Saies, Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?
Or be not you within?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

5 'But I am waking, sweete,' he said,
'Lady, what is your will?'
'I haue vnbethought me of a wile,
How my wed lord we shall spill.

6 'Four and twenty knights,' she sayes,
'That dwells about this towne,
Eene four and twenty of my next cozens,
Will helpe to dinge him downe.'

7 With that beheard his litle foote-page,
As he was watering his masters steed;
Soe s ...
His verry heart did bleed.

8 He mourned, sikt, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode,
The teares he for his master wept
Were blend water and bloude.

9 With that beheard his deare master,
As [he] in his garden sate;
Says, Euer alacke, my litle page,
What causes thee to weepe?

10 'Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
Which makes thee shed such teares?

11 'Or if it be my head-kookes-man,
Greiued againe he shalbe,
Nor noe man within my howse
Shall doe wrong vnto thee.'

12 'But it is not your head-kookes-man,
Nor none of his degree;
But [f]or to morrow, ere it be noone,
You are deemed to die.

13 'And of that thanke your head-steward,
And after, your gay ladie:'
'If it be true, my litle foote-page,
Ile make thee heyre of all my land.'

14 'If it be not true, my deare master,
God let me neuer thye:'
'If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou be.'

15 He called downe his head-kookes-man,
Cooke in kitchen super to dresse:
'All and anon, my deare master,
Anon att your request.'

16 . . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'And call you downe my faire lady,
This night to supp with mee.'

17 And downe then came that fayre lady,
Was cladd all in purple and palle;
The rings that were vpon her fingers
Cast light thorrow the hall.

18 'What is your will, my owne wed lord,
What is your will with mee?'
'I am sicke, fayre lady,
Sore sicke, and like to dye.'

19 'But and you be sicke, my owne wed lord,
Soe sore it greiueth mee;
But my fiue maydens and my selfe
Will goe and make your bedd.

20 'And at the wakening of your first sleepe
You shall haue a hott drinke made,
And at the wakening of your next sleepe
Your sorrowes will haue a slake.'

21 He put a silke cote on his backe,
Was thirteen inches folde,
And put a steele cap vpon his head,
Was gilded with good red gold.

22 And he layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his ffeete,
And full well knew Old Robin then
Whether he shold wake or sleepe.

23 And about the middle time of the night
Came twenty four good knights in;
Sir Gyles he was the formost man,
Soe well he knew that ginne.

24 Old Robin, with a bright browne sword,
Sir Gyles head he did winne;
Soe did he all those twenty four,
Neuer a one went quicke out [agen].

25 None but one litle foot-page,
Crept forth at a window of stone,
And he had two armes when he came in,
And [when he went out he had none].

26 Vpp then came that ladie light,
With torches burning bright;
Shee thought to haue brought Sir Gyles a drinke,
But shee found her owne wedd knight.

27 And the first thinge that this ladye stumbled vpon
Was of Sir Gyles his ffoote;
Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me,
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote!

28 And the second thing that this ladie stumbled on
Was of Sir Gyles his head;
Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me,
Heere lyes my true-loue deade!

29 Hee cutt the papps beside he[r] brest,
And bad her wish her will;
And he cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her wish on still.

30 'Mickle is the mans blood I haue spent,
To doe thee and me some good;'
Sayes, Euer alacke, my fayre lady,
I thinke that I was woode!

31 He calld then vp his litle foote-page,
And made him heyre of all his land,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

32 And he shope the crosse in his right sholder,
Of the white flesh and the redd,
And he went him into the holy land,
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead.

61, 3, 232, 243. 24.

81. sist.

111, 121. bookes man: cf. 151.

142. never dye.

152. Cooke seems to be wrongly repeated.

193. 5.

203. first sleep.

212. 13.

253. 2.

254. So Hales and Furnivall.

261. ladie bright. Qy fayre?

262. burning light.

281. 2d.

302. thee & and.

323. sent him.

And always for &.