B
Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 43.
1
Clerk Tamas lovd her fair Annie
As well as Mary lovd her son;
But now he hates her fair Annie,
And hates the lands that she lives in.
2
‘Ohon, alas!’ said fair Annie,
‘Alas! this day I fear I’ll die;
But I will on to sweet Tamas,
And see gin he will pity me.’
3
As Tamas lay ower his shott-window,
Just as the sun was gaen down,
There he beheld her fair Annie,
As she came walking to the town.
4
‘O where are a’ my well-wight men,
I wat, that I pay meat and fee,
For to lat a’ my hounds gang loose
To hunt this vile whore to the sea.’
5
The hounds they knew the lady well,
And nane o them they woud her bite,
Save ane that is ca’d Gaudywhere,
I wat he did the lady smite.
6
‘O wae mat worth ye, Gaudywhere!
An ill reward this is to me;
For ae bit that I gae the lave,
I’m very sure I’ve gien you three.
7
‘For me, alas! there’s nae remeid,
Here comes the day that I maun die;
I ken ye lovd your master well,
And sae, alas for me! did I.’
8
A captain lay ower his ship-window,
Just as the sun was gaen down;
There he beheld her fair Annie,
As she was hunted frae the town.
9
‘Gin ye’ll forsake father and mither,
And sae will ye your friends and kin,
Gin ye’ll forsake your lands sae broad,
Then come and I will take you in.’
10
‘Yes, I’ll forsake baith father and mither,
And sae will I my friends and kin;
Yes, I’ll forsake my lands sae broad,
And come, gin ye will take me in.’
11
Then a’ thing gaed frae fause Tamas,
And there was naething byde him wi;
Then he thought lang for Arrandella,
It was fair Annie for to see.
12
‘How do ye now, ye sweet Tamas?
And how gaes a’ in your countrie?’
‘I’ll do better to you than ever I’ve done,
Fair Annie, gin ye’ll come an see.’
13
‘O Guid forbid,’ said fair Annie,
‘That e’er the like fa in my hand!
Woud I forsake my ain gude lord
And follow you, a gae-through-land?
14
‘Yet nevertheless now, sweet Tamas,
Ye’ll drink a cup o wine wi me,
And nine times in the live lang day
Your fair claithing shall changed be.’
15
Fair Annie pat it till her cheek,
Sae did she till her milk-white chin,
Sae did she till her flattering lips,
But never a drap o wine gaed in.
16
Tamas pat it till his cheek,
Sae did he till his dimpled chin;
He pat it till his rosy lips,
And then the well o wine gaed in.
17
‘These pains,’ said he, ‘are ill to bide;
Here is the day that I maun die;
O take this cup frae me, Annie,
For o the same I am weary.’
18
‘And sae was I o you, Tamas,
When I was hunted to the sea;
But I’se gar bury you in state,
Which is mair than ye’d done to me.’
A. a.
121. (no such thing) a second time; inserted apparently by Motherwell.
Interlineations: 22. what he might spy. 24. riding by.
83. his broadsword from his side.
84. And slowly.
92. To see what she might spy.
93. spy’d Lord Thomas.
94. A begging along the highway.
103. puir oppressed man.
151. They glowred, but they brought the blude-red wine.
b.
11. is a.
12. the green wood oer.
13. Lady Margaret has followed him.
14. To seek her own true-love.
2. Wanting.
31. He has called up his merrie men all.
33. Hunt away, hunt away this.
34. her away from.
41, 51. and they.
42, 52. Till she ran quite over.
43. The scarlet robes.
44. They can never.
53. And there she spied.
54. Just as.
62. Some relief, some relief grant me.
63. lady that is deep, deep in.
64. And I am banished from.
71. fair ladie.
72. No relief, no relief I’ll grant thee.
73. Unless you forsake: in this.
74. And my: you will be.
81. He has mounted her.
82. And himself on a dapple.
83. The buglet horn hung done by there side.
84. And so slowly as they both.
91. One day L. M. at her castle-window.
92. Was sewing.
93. espied L. T.
94. A begging all.
101. fair ladie.
102. Some relief, some relief grant me.
103,4, 11. No relief, no relief, Lord Thomas, she said, But hanged thou shalt be.
121. O no, O no, Lady.
122. For no such things must be.
123. But with: I will.
124. And I’ll ride far off with thee.
131. O no, O no.
132. O no: must not.
141. She has called up her.
142, 152. and by.
143. Go bring to me a bottle of wine.
151. her up a bottle of wine.
153. so long.
154. The rank poison in put she.
16, 17. Wanting.
181. I’m wearied, I’m wearied, Lady Margaret, he said.
182. O I’m: talking to.
183. I, Lord Thomas, she.
184. you hounded your dogs.
191. bury you as one of my own.
192. And all in my own ground.
194. say you’re.
261
LADY ISABEL
‘Lady Isabel,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 129.
Lady Isabel’s step-mother accuses her of being her father’s leman; he gives her finer gowns than he gives his wife. Isabel replies that, in the first place, she is young, which is reason enough why her gowns should be fairer; but that, as a matter of fact, a lover of hers over seas sends her ten gowns to one that her father buys her. The step-mother invites Isabel to take wine with her. Isabel wishes first to go to a church. At this church she sees her own mother, and asks whether she shall flee the country or drink what has been prepared for her. Her mother enjoins her to drink the dowie drink; before she is cold she will be in a better place. Upon returning, Isabel is again pressed to take wine, and again begs to be excused for the moment; she wishes to see her maids in the garden. She gives her maids ring and brooch. A third time the step-mother proposes that they shall take wine together; the daughter, with due courtesy, begs the elder to begin. The step-mother goes through certain motions customary in ballads of this description, and swallows not a drop; Isabel duly repeats the mummery, but drinks. She has time to tell this wicked dame that their beds will be made very far apart. The step-mother goes mad.
Stanzas 20, 21, as has already been intimated, are a commonplace, and a foolish one. Stanza 24, in various forms, not always well adapted to the particular circumstances, ends several ballads: as No 64, F; No 65, H; No 66, A 28, 29, B 20, 21; No 67, B; No 70, B.
Translated by Gerhard, p. 161.
1
‘T was early on a May morning
Lady Isabel combd her hair;
But little kent she, or the morn
She woud never comb it mair.
2
‘T was early on a May morning
Lady Isabel rang the keys;
But little kent she, or the morn
A fey woman she was.
3
Ben it came her step-mother,
As white ‘s the lily flower:
‘It’s tauld me this day, Isabel,
You are your father’s whore.’
4
‘O them that tauld you that, mother,
I wish they neer drink wine;
For if I be the same woman
My ain sell drees the pine.
5
‘And them that’s tauld you that, mother,
I wish they neer drink ale;
For if I be the same woman
My ain sell drees the dail.’
6
‘It may be very well seen, Isabel,
It may be very well seen;
He buys to you the damask gowns,
To me the dowie green.’
7
‘Ye are of age and I am young,
And young amo my flowers;
The fairer that my claithing be,
The mair honour is yours.
8
‘I hae a love beyond the sea,
And far ayont the faem;
For ilka gown my father buys me,
My ain luve sends me ten.’
9
‘Come ben, come ben now, Lady Isabel,
And drink the wine wi me;
I hae twa jewels in ae coffer,
And ane o them I’ll gie [ye].’
10
‘Stay still, stay still, my mother dear,
Stay still a little while,
Till I gang into Marykirk;
It’s but a little mile.’
11
When she gaed on to Marykirk,
And into Mary’s quire,
There she saw her ain mother
Sit in a gowden chair.
12
‘O will I leave the lands, mother?
Or shall I sail the sea?
Or shall I drink this dowie drink
That is prepar’d for me?’
13
‘Ye winna leave the lands, daughter,
Nor will ye sail the sea,
But ye will drink this dowie drink
This woman’s prepar’d for thee.
14
‘Your bed is made in a better place
Than ever hers will be,
And ere ye’re cauld into the room
Ye will be there wi me.’
15
‘Come in, come in now, Lady Isabel,
And drink the wine wi me;
I hae twa jewels in ae coffer,
And ane o them I’ll gie [ye].’
16
‘Stay still, stay still, my mother dear,
Stay still a little wee,
Till I gang to yon garden green,
My Maries a’ to see.’
17
To some she gae the broach, the broach,
To some she gae a ring;
But wae befa her step-mother!
To her she gae nae thing.
18
‘Come in, come in now, Lady Isabel,
And drink the wine wi me;
I hae twa jewels in ae coffer,
And ane o them I’ll gie [ye].’
19
Slowly to the bower she came,
And slowly enterd in,
And being full o courtesie,
Says, Begin, mother, begin.
20
She put it till her cheek, her cheek,
Sae did she till her chin,
Sae did she till her fu fause lips,
But never a drap gaed in.
21
Lady Isabel put it till her cheek,
Sae did she till her chin,
Sae did she till her rosy lips,
And the rank poison gaed in.
22
‘O take this cup frae me, mother,
O take this cup frae me;
My bed is made in a better place
Than ever yours will be.
23
‘My bed is in the heavens high,
Amang the angels fine;
But yours is in the lowest hell,
To drie torment and pine.’
24
Nae moan was made for Lady Isabel
In bower where she lay dead,
But a’ was for that ill woman,
In the fields mad she gaed.
262
LORD LIVINGSTON
‘Lord Livingston,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 39.
As far as can be made out, Livingston and Seaton engage themselves to play against one another at some game, the victor expecting to stand the better in the eyes of a lady. They then proceed to Edinburgh castle, where a lady, whose ‘gowns seem like green,’ marshals the company in pairs, and chooses Livingston for her own partner. This preference enrages Seaton, who challenges Livingston to fight with him the next day. Up to this point the pairing may have been for a dance, or what not, but now we are told that Livingston and the fair dame are laid in the same bed, and further on that they were wedded that same night. In the morning Livingston arms himself for his fight; he declines to let his lady dress herself in man’s clothes and fight in his stead. On his way ‘to plain fields’ a witch warns him that she has had the dream which Sweet William dreams in No 74, and others elsewhere. Livingston is ‘slain,’ but for all that stands presently bleeding by his lady’s knee: see No 73, B 34, D 17. She begs him to hold out but half an hour, and every leech in Edinburgh shall come to him: see No 88, A 12, etc. He orders his lands to be dealt to the auld that may not, the young that cannot, etc.: see No 92, A 10, B 15. The lady declares that it was known from her birth that she was to marry a knight and lose him the next day. She will now do for his sake what other ladies would not be equal to (and which nevertheless many other ballad-ladies have undertaken, as in No 69 and elsewhere). When seven years are near an end her heart breaks.
This ballad, or something like it, was known at the end of the last century. The story has a faint resemblance to that of ‘Armstrong and Musgrave,’ a broadside printed in the last quarter of the seventeenth century: Crawford Ballads, No 123, Old Ballads, 1723, I, 175; Evans, Old Ballads, 1777, II, 70. Pinkerton acknowledges that he composed the ‘Lord Livingston’ of his Tragic Ballads, 1781, p. 69, but he says that he had “small lines from tradition.” (Ancient Scotish Poems, 1786, I, cxxxi.) Pinkerton’s ballad is the one which Buchan refers to, II, 308. It is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 139, No 21.
1
It fell about the Lammas time,
When wightsmen won their hay,
A’ the squires in merry Linkum
Went a’ forth till a play.
2
They playd until the evening tide,
The sun was gaeing down;
A lady thro plain fields was bound,
A lily leesome thing.
3
Two squires that for this lady pledged,
In hopes for a renown,
The one was calld the proud Seaton,
The other Livingston.
4
‘When will ye, Michaell o Livingston,
Wad for this lady gay?’
‘To-morrow, to-morrow,’ said Livingston,
‘To-morrow, if you may.’
5
Then they hae wadded their wagers,
And laid their pledges down;
To the high castle o Edinbro
They made them ready boun.
6
The chamber that they did gang in,
There it was daily dight;
The kipples were like the gude red gowd,
As they stood up in hight,
And the roof-tree like the siller white,
And shin’d like candles bright.
7
The lady fair into that ha
Was comely to be seen;
Her kirtle was made o the pa,
Her gowns seemd o the green.
8
Her gowns seemd like green, like green,
Her kirtle o the pa;
A siller wand intill her hand,
She marshalld ower them a’.
9
She gae every knight a lady bright,
And every squire a may;
Her own sell chose him Livingston,
They were a comely tway.
10
Then Seaton started till his foot,
The fierce flame in his ee:
‘On the next day, wi sword in hand,
On plain fields meet ye me.’
11
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a’ man bound for bed,
Lord Livingston and his fair dame
In bed were sweetly laid.
12
The bed, the bed where they lay in
Was coverd wi the pa;
A covering o the gude red gowd
Lay nightly ower the twa.
13
So they lay there, till on the morn
The sun shone on their feet;
Then up it raise him Livingston
To draw to him a weed.
14
The first an weed that he drew on
Was o the linen clear;
The next an weed that he drew on,
It was a weed o weir.
15
The niest an weed that he drew on
Was gude iron and steel;
Twa gloves o plate, a gowden helmet,
Became that hind chiel weel.
16
Then out it speaks that lady gay—
A little forbye stood she—
‘I’ll dress mysell in men’s array,
Gae to the fields for thee.’
17
‘O God forbid,’ said Livingston,
‘That eer I dree the shame;
My lady slain in plain fields,
And I coward knight at hame!’
18
He scarcely travelled frae the town
A mile but barely twa
Till he met wi a witch-woman,
I pray to send her wae!
19
‘This is too gude a day, my lord,
To gang sae far frae town;
This is too gude a day, my lord,
On field to make you boun.
20
‘I dreamd a dream concerning thee,
O read ill dreams to guid!
Your bower was full o milk-white swans,
Your bride’s bed full o bluid.’
21
‘O bluid is gude,’ said Livingston,
‘To bide it whoso may;
If I be frae yon plain fields,
Nane knew the plight I lay.’
22
Then he rade on to plain fields
As swift’s his horse coud hie,
And there he met the proud Seaton,
Come boldly ower the lee.
23
‘Come on to me now, Livingston,
Or then take foot and flee;
This is the day that we must try
Who gains the victorie.’
24
Then they fought with sword in hand
Till they were bluidy men;
But on the point o Seaton’s sword
Brave Livingston was slain.
25
His lady lay ower castle-wa,
Beholding dale and down,
When Blenchant brave, his gallant steed,
Came prancing to the town.
26
‘O where is now my ain gude lord
He stays sae far frae me?’
‘O dinna ye see your ain gude lord
Stand bleeding by your knee?’
27
‘O live, O live, Lord Livingston,
The space o ae half hour,
There’s nae a leech in Edinbro town
But I’ll bring to your door.’
28
‘Awa wi your leeches, lady,’ he said,
‘Of them I’ll be the waur;
There’s nae a leech in Edinbro town
That can strong death debar.
29
‘Ye’ll take the lands o Livingston
And deal them liberallie,
To the auld that may not, the young that cannot,
And blind that does na see,
And help young maidens’ marriages,
That has nae gear to gie.’
30
‘My mother got it in a book,
The first night I was born,
I woud be wedded till a knight,
And him slain on the morn.
31
‘But I will do for my love’s sake
What ladies woudna thole;
Ere seven years shall hae an end,
Nae shoe’s gang on my sole.
32
‘There’s never lint gang on my head,
Nor kame gang in my hair,
Nor ever coal nor candle-light
Shine in my bower mair.’
33
When seven years were near an end,
The lady she thought lang,
And wi a crack her heart did brake,
And sae this ends my sang.
263
THE NEW-SLAIN KNIGHT
‘The New-Slain Knight,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 197.
A knight (who twaddles in the first person at the beginning) finds a maid sleeping under a hedge, wakes her, and tells her that he has seen a dead man in her father’s garden. She asks about the dead man’s hawk, hound, sword. His hawk and hound were gone, his horse was tied to a tree, a bloody sword lay under his head. She asks about his clothes, and receives a description, with the addition that his hair was bonny and new combed. ‘I combed it late yesterday!’ says the lady. ‘Who now will shoe my foot, and glove my hand, and father my bairn?’ The knight offers himself for all these, but the lady will commit herself only to Heaven. The knight, after knacking his fingers quite superfluously, unmasks; he has only been making a trial of her truth.
A large part of this piece is imitated or taken outright from very well known ballads (as has already been pointed out by the editor of the Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, 1871, p. 345): 5–8 from ‘Young Johnstone,’ No 88; 10, 11 from ‘The Lass of Roch Royal,’ No 76 (see particularly E 1–4, and compare No 66, A 24, etc.); for 131,2 see No 91, B 51, 61, 71, D 71,2, No 257, A 7.
Grundtvig notes that this piece is of the same description as the Danish ‘Troskabspröven,’ Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, IV, 553, No 252, one version of which is translated by Prior, III, 289, No 146. Naturally, the fidelity of maid or wife is celebrated in the ballads of every tongue and people. This particular ballad, so far as it is original, is of very ordinary quality. The ninth stanza is pretty, but not quite artless.
Translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 294, No 46.
1
My heart is lighter than the poll;
My folly made me glad,
As on my rambles I went out,
Near by a garden-side.
2
I walked on, and farther on,
Love did my heart engage;
There I spied a well-faird maid,
Lay sleeping near a hedge.
3
Then I kissd her with my lips
And stroked her with my hand:
‘Win up, win up, ye well-faird maid,
This day ye sleep oer lang.
4
‘This dreary sight that I hae seen
Unto my heart gives pain;
At the south side o your father’s garden,
I see a knight lies slain.’
5
‘O what like was his hawk, his hawk?
Or what like was his hound?
And what like was the trusty brand
This new-slain knight had on?’
6
‘His hawk and hound were from him gone,
His steed tied to a tree;
A bloody brand beneath his head,
And on the ground lies he.’
7
‘O what like was his hose, his hose?
And what like were his shoon?
And what like was the gay clothing
This new-slain knight had on?’
8
‘His coat was of the red scarlet,
His waistcoat of the same;
His hose were of the bonny black,
And shoon laced with cordin.
9
‘Bonny was his yellow hair,
For it was new combd down;’
Then, sighing sair, said the lady fair,
‘I combd it late yestreen.
10
‘O wha will shoe my fu fair foot?
Or wha will glove my hand?
Or wha will father my dear bairn,
Since my love’s dead and gane?’
11
‘O I will shoe your fu fair foot,
And I will glove your hand;
And I’ll be father to your bairn,
Since your love’s dead and gane.’
12
‘I winna father my bairn,’ she said,
‘Upon an unkent man;
I’ll father it on the King of Heaven,
Since my love’s dead and gane.’
13
The knight he knackd his white fingers,
The lady tore her hair;
He’s drawn the mask from off his face,
Says, Lady, mourn nae mair.
14
‘For ye are mine, and I am thine,
I see your love is true;
And if I live and brook my life
Ye’se never hae cause to rue.’
101, 111. fair fu.
264
THE WHITE FISHER
‘The White Fisher,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 200.
A young lord, Willie, asks his ‘gay lady’ whose the child is that she is going with. She owns that a priest is the father, which does not appear to disconcert Willie. A boy is born, and the mother charges Willie to throw him into the sea, ‘never to return till white fish he bring hame.’ Willie takes the boy (now called his son) to his mother, and tells her that his ‘bride’ is a king’s daughter; upon which his mother, who had had an ill opinion of the lady, promises to do as well by Willie’s son as she had done by Willie. Returning to his wife, he finds her weeping and repining for the ‘white fisher’ that she had ‘sent to the sea.’ Willie offers her a cordial; she says that the man who could have drowned her son would be capable of poisoning her. Willie then tells her that his mother has the boy in charge; she is consoled, and declares that if he had not been the father she should not have been the mother.
To make this story hang together at all, we must suppose that the third and fourth stanzas are tropical, and that Willie was the priest; or else that they are sarcastic, and are uttered in bitter resentment of Willie’s suspicion, or affected suspicion. But we need not trouble ourselves much to make these counterfeits reasonable. Those who utter them rely confidently upon our taking folly and jargon as the marks of genuineness. The white fisher is a trumpery fancy; 2, 7, 8, 12 are frippery commonplaces.
1
‘It is a month, and isna mair,
Love, sin I was at thee,
But find a stirring in your side;
Who may the father be?
2
‘Is it to a lord of might,
Or baron of high degree?
Or is it to the little wee page
That rode along wi me?’
3
‘It is not to a man of might,
Nor baron of high degree,
But it is to a popish priest;
My lord, I winna lie.
4
‘He got me in my bower alone,
As I sat pensively;
He vowed he would forgive my sins,
If I would him obey.’
5
Now it fell ance upon a day
This young lord went from home,
And great and heavy were the pains
That came this lady on.
6
Then word has gane to her gude lord,
As he sat at the wine,
And when the tidings he did hear
Then he came singing hame.
7
When he came to his own bower-door,
He tirled at the pin:
‘Sleep ye, wake ye, my gay lady,
Ye’ll let your gude lord in.’
8
Huly, huly raise she up,
And slowly put she on,
And slowly came she to the door;
She was a weary woman.
9
‘Ye’ll take up my son, Willie,
That ye see here wi me,
And hae him down to yon shore-side,
And throw him in the sea.
10
‘Gin he sink, ye’ll let him sink,
Gin he swim, ye’ll let him swim;
And never let him return again
Till white fish he bring hame.’
11
Then he’s taen up his little young son,
And rowd him in a band,
And he is on to his mother,
As fast as he could gang.
12
‘Ye’ll open the door, my mother dear,
Ye’ll open, let me come in;
My young son is in my arms twa,
And shivering at the chin.’
13
‘I tauld you true, my son Willie,
When ye was gaun to ride,
That lady was an ill woman
That ye chose for your bride.’
14
‘O hold your tongue, my mother dear,
Let a’ your folly be;
I wat she is a king’s daughter
That’s sent this son to thee.
15
‘I wat she was a king’s daughter
I loved beyond the sea,
And if my lady hear of this
Right angry will she be.’
16
‘If that be true, my son Willie—
Your ain tongue winna lie—
Nae waur to your son will be done
Than what was done to thee.’
17
He’s gane hame to his lady,
And sair mourning was she:
‘What ails you now, my lady gay,
Ye weep sa bitterlie?’
18
‘O bonny was the white fisher
That I sent to the sea;
But lang, lang will I look for fish
Ere white fish he bring me!
19
‘O bonny was the white fisher
That ye kiest in the faem;
But lang, lang will I look for fish
Ere white fish he fetch hame!
20
‘I fell a slumbering on my bed
That time ye went frae me,
And dreamd my young son filld my arms,
But when waked, he’s in the sea.’
21
‘O hold your tongue, my gay lady,
Let a’ your mourning be,
And I’ll gie you some fine cordial,
My love, to comfort thee.’
22
‘I value not your fine cordial,
Nor aught that ye can gie;
Who could hae drownd my bonny young son
Could as well poison me.’
28
‘Cheer up your heart, my lily flower,
Think nae sic ill o me;
Your young son’s in my mother’s bower,
Set on the nourice knee.
24
‘Now, if ye’ll be a gude woman,
I’ll neer mind this to thee;
Nae waur is done to your young son
Than what was done to me.’
25
‘Well fell’s me now, my ain gude lord;
These words do cherish me;
If it hadna come o yoursell, my lord,
‘T would neer hae come o me.’
73. Ye sleep ye, wake ye.
265
THE KNIGHT’S GHOST
‘The Knight’s Ghost,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 227.
A lady who is expecting the return of her lord from sea goes down to the strand to meet him. The ship comes in, but the sailors tell her that she will never see her husband; he has been slain. She invites the men to drink with her, takes them down to the cellar, makes them drunk, locks the door, and bids them lie there for the bad news they have told; then she throws the keys into the sea, to lie there till her lord returns. After these efforts she falls asleep in her own room, and her dead lord starts up at her feet; he brings the keys with him, and charges her to release his men, who had done their best for him and were not to blame for his death. The lady, to turn this visit to the more account, asks to be informed what day she is to die, and what day to be buried. The knight is not empowered to answer, but, come to heaven when she will, he will be her porter. He sees no objection to telling her that she will be married again and have nine children, six ladies free and three bold young men.
The piece has not a perceptible globule of old blood in it, yet it has had the distinction of being more than once translated as a specimen of Scottish popular ballads. ‘Monie’ in 22 may be plausibly read, or understood, ‘menie,’ retinue; still the antecedent presumption in favor of nonsense in ballads of this class makes one hesitate. 73,4 is unnatural; no dissembling would be required to induce the young men to drink. In 83, ‘birled them wi the beer’ is what we should expect, not ‘birled wi them.’
Translated by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder der Vorzeit, p. 57, No 13; by Gerhard, p. 154.
1
‘There is a fashion in this land,
And even come to this country,
That every lady should meet her lord
When he is newly come frae sea:
2
‘Some wi hawks, and some wi hounds,
And other some wi gay monie;
But I will gae myself alone,
And set his young son on his knee.’
3
She’s taen her young son in her arms,
And nimbly walkd by yon sea-strand,
And there she spy’d her father’s ship,
As she was sailing to dry land.
4
‘Where hae ye put my ain gude lord,
This day he stays sae far frae me?’
‘If ye be wanting your ain gude lord,
A sight o him ye’ll never see.’
5
‘Was he brunt? or was he shot?
Or was he drowned in the sea?
Or what’s become o my ain gude lord,
That he will neer appear to me?’
6
‘He wasna brunt, nor was he shot,
Nor was he drowned in the sea;
He was slain in Dumfermling,
A fatal day to you and me.’
7
‘Come in, come in, my merry young men,
Come in and drink the wine wi me;
And a’ the better ye shall fare
For this gude news ye tell to me.’
8
She’s brought them down to yon cellar,
She brought them fifty steps and three;
She birled wi them the beer and wine,
Till they were as drunk as drunk could be.
9
Then she has lockd her cellar-door,
For there were fifty steps and three:
‘Lie there, wi my sad malison,
For this bad news ye’ve tauld to me.’
10
She’s taen the keys intill her hand
And threw them deep, deep in the sea:
‘Lie there, wi my sad malison,
Till my gude lord return to me.’
11
Then she sat down in her own room,
And sorrow lulld her fast asleep,
And up it starts her own gude lord,
And even at that lady’s feet.
12
‘Take here the keys, Janet,’ he says,
‘That ye threw deep, deep in the sea;
And ye’ll relieve my merry young men,
For they’ve nane o the swick o me.
13
‘They shot the shot, and drew the stroke,
And wad in red bluid to the knee;
Nae sailors mair for their lord coud do
Nor my young men they did for me.’
14
‘I hae a question at you to ask,
Before that ye depart frae me;
You’ll tell to me what day I’ll die,
And what day will my burial be?’
15
‘I hae nae mair o God’s power
Than he has granted unto me;
But come to heaven when ye will,
There porter to you I will be.
16
‘But ye’ll be wed to a finer knight
Than ever was in my degree;
Unto him ye’ll hae children nine,
And six o them will be ladies free.
17
‘The other three will be bold young men,
To fight for king and countrie;
The ane a duke, the second a knight,
And third a laird o lands sae free.’