I - The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 4 (of 5) - 298

I

P. 182 f. “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 22 h; in the handwriting of William Laidlaw. From Jean Scott.

Fair Annie an Sweet Willie

Sat a’ day on yon hill;

Whan day was gane an night was comd,

They hadna said their fill.

Willie spak but ae wrang word,

An Annie took it ill:

‘I’ll never marry a fair woman

Against my friends’s will.’

Annie spak but ae wrang word,

An Willy lookit down:

‘If I binna gude eneugh for yer wife,

I’m our-gude for yer loun.’

Willie’s turnd his horse’s head about,

He’s turnd it to the broom,

An he’s away to his father’s bower,

I the ae light o the moon.

Whan he cam to his father’s bower,

[He tirlt at the pin;

Nane was sae ready as his father

To rise an let him in.]

‘An askin, an askin, dear father,

An askin I’ll ask thee;’

‘Say on, say on, my son Willie,

Whatever your askin be.’

‘O sall I marry the nit-brown bride,

Has corn, caitle an kye,

Or sall I marry Fair Annie,

Has nought but fair beauty?’

‘Ye ma sit a gude sate, Willy,

Wi corn, caitle an kye;

But ye’ll but sit a silly sate

Wi nought but fair beauty.’

Up than spak his sister’s son,

Sat on the nurse’s knee,

Sun-bruist in his mother’s wame,

Sun-brunt on his nurse’s knee:

‘O yer hogs will die out i the field,

Yer kye ill die i the byre;

An than, whan a’ yer gear is gane,

A fusom fag by yer fire!

But a’ will thrive at is wi you

An ye get yer heart’s desire.’

Willie’s turnd his horse’s head about,

He’s away to his mother’s bour, etc.

‘O my hogs ill die out i the field,

My kye die i the byre,

An than, whan a’ my gear is gane,

A fusom fag bi my fire!

But a’ will thrive at is wi me

Gin I get my heart’s desire.’

Willie’s, etc.,

He’s awae to his brother’s bower, etc.

“ ” “ ” sister’s bower, etc.@

Than Willie has set his wadin-day

Within thirty days an three,

An he has sent to Fair Annie

His waddin to come an see.

The man that gade to Fair Annie

Sae weel his errant coud tell:

‘The morn it’s Willie’s wadin-day,

Ye maun be there yer sell.’

’Twas up an spak her aged father,

He spak wi muckle care;

‘An the morn be Willie’s wadin-day,

I wate she maun be there.

‘Gar take a steed to the smiddie,

Caw on o it four shoon;

Gar take her to a merchant’s shop,

Cut off for her a gown.’

She wadna ha’t o the red sae red,

Nor yet o the grey sae grey,

But she wad ha’t o the sky couler

That she woor ilka day.

* * * * * *

There war four-an-twontie gray goss-hawks

A flaffin their wings sae wide,

To flaff the stour thra off the road

That Fair Annie did ride.

The[re] war four-a-twontie milk-white dows

A fleein aboon her head,

An four-an-twontie milk-white swans

Her out the gate to lead.

Whan she cam to St Marie’s kirk,

She lightit on a stane;

The beauty o that fair creature

Shone oer mony ane.

’Twas than out cam the nit-brown bride,

She spak wi muckle spite;

‘O where gat ye the water, Annie,

That washes you sae white?’

‘I gat my beauty

Where ye was no to see;

I gat it i my father’s garden,

Aneath an apple tree.

‘Ye ma wash i dubs,’ she said,

‘An ye ma wash i syke,

But an ye wad wash till doomsday

Ye neer will be as white.

‘Ye ma wash i dubs,’ she said,

‘An ye ma wash i the sea,

But an ye soud wash till doomsday

Ye’ll neer be as white as me.

‘For I gat a’ this fair beauty

Where ye gat never none,

For I gat a’ this fair beauty

Or ever I was born.’

It was than out cam Willie,

Wi hats o silks and flowers;

He said, Keep ye thae, my Fair Annie,

An brook them weel for yours.’

‘Na, keep ye thae, Willie,’ she said,

‘Gie them to yer nit-brown bride;

Bid her wear them wi mukle care,

For woman has na born a son

Sal mak my heart as sair.’

Annie’s luppen on her steed

An she has ridden hame,

Than Annie’s luppen of her steed

An her bed she has taen.

When mass was sung, an bells war rung,

An a’ man bound to bed,

An Willie an his nit-brown bride

I their chamber war laid.

They war na weel laid in their bed,

Nor yet weel faen asleep,

Till up an startit Fair Annie,

Just up at Willie’s feet.

‘How like ye yer bed, Willie?

An how like ye yer sheets?

An how like ye yer nut-brown bride,

Lies in yer arms an sleeps?’

‘Weel eneugh I like my bed, Annie,

Weel eneugh I like my sheets;

But wae be to the nit-brown bride

Lies in my arms an sleeps!’

Willie’s ca’d on his merry men a’

To rise an pit on their shoon;

‘An we’ll awae to Annie’s bower,

Wi the ae light o the moon.’

An whan he cam to Annie’s bower,

He tirlt at the pin;

Nane was sae ready as her father

To rise an let him in.

There was her father a[n] her se’en brethren

A makin to her a bier,

Wi ae stamp o the melten goud,

Another o siller clear.

When he cam to the chamber-door

Where that the dead lay in,

There was her mother an six sisters

A makin to her a sheet,

Wi ae drap o . . . .

Another o silk sae white.

‘Stand by, stand by now, ladies a’,

Let me look on the dead;

The last time that I kiss[t] her lips

They war mair bonny red.’

‘Stand by, stand by now, Willie,’ they said,

‘An let ye her alane;

Gin ye had done as ye soud done,

She wad na there ha lien.’

‘Gar deal, gar deal at Annie’s burrial

The wheat bread an the wine,

For or the morn at ten o clock

Ye’s deal’d as fast at mine.’

5. Whan he cam to his father’s bower, etc. Completed from 36.

7². caitle written under cattle.

8⁴. Annie written over nought.

11. 4–8 are intended to be repeated, with mother substituted for father.

13, 14. 4–8, 12, are intended to be repeated, with the proper substitutions for brother, sister.

After 19: Something about her sadle and steed.

20², 37², 38⁴. A’; which may be intended.

29. Compare E 30: but I am unable to suggest a satisfactory restoration of the stanza.

After 41: etc. See Sweet Willie an Janet. What should follow is probably, Sweet Willie was buried, etc.

There are six stanzas of ‘Lord Thomas and Fair Elenor,’ from Mrs Gammell’s recitation, in Pitcairn’s MSS, III, 35. They are of no value.

75. Lord Lovel.

P. 204 f., note †, 512 b. Add: Hruschka u. Toischer, Deutsche V. l. aus Böhmen, p. 108, No 20, a-f.

205 a, note, III, 510 b. For ‘Stolten Hellelille, see Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, II, 352, No 312, ‘Gøde og Hillelille.’ Add: ‘Greven og lille Lise,’ Kristensen, Jyske Folkeminder, X, 319, No 79, A-E.

205 b, III, 510 b. ‘Den elskedes Død:’ the same volume of Kristensen, ‘Herr Peders Kjæreste,’ p. 327, No 80.

206, 512 b, III, 510 b. ‘Lou Fil del Rey et sa Mio morto,’ Daymard, Vieux Chants p. rec. en Quercy, p. 82.

There is a similar ballad, ending with admonition from the dead mistress, in Luzel, Soniou, I, 324, 25, ‘Cloaregic ar Stanc.’

76. The Lass of Roch Royal.

213 a. Title of B. Not Lochroyan in Herd, I, 144, but, both in title and text, Lochvoyan. In Herd, II, 60, the title has Lochroyan; the word does not occur in so much of the text as remains. Printed Lochroyan by Herd, and probably Lochroyan was intended in I, 144, as the alternative, though the last letter but one is indistinctly written, and may be read e. B came to Herd “by post from a lady in Ayrshire (?), name unknown.” Also, No 38, A a, No 51, A a; No 161, B a; No 220, A. Note (in pencil, and indistinct as to the place), Herd’s MSS, I, 143.

215 a. A part of this ballad is introduced into two versions of ‘The Mother’s Malison,’ No 216; see IV, 186. See also ‘Fair Janet,’ No 64, A 13, D 5, G 5.

217. B. Lochvoyan everywhere, not Lochroyan.

221. E 2². Finlay, in a letter to Scott, March 27, 1803 (Letters, I, No 87), says, “in a copy which I have seen, with the music, it is a birchen, instead of a silver, kame.”

‘The Lass of Lochroyan,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 82, Abbotsford. Communicated to Scott by Major Henry Hutton, Royal Artillery, 24th December, 1802 (Letters I, No 77), as recollected by his father and the family.

Some ten stanzas of this version (16–19, 25–27, 30, 32, 34) appear to have been used by Scott in compiling the copy printed in his Minstrelsy, E b. (The note on E b, p. 226, requires correction.) There is much in common with B, E a, F.

‘O wha will shoe my bonny foot?

And wha will glove my hand?

And wha will bind my middle jimp

Wi a lang, lang linen band?

‘O wha will kame my yellow hair,

With a haw bayberry kame?

And wha will be my babe’s father

Till Gregory come hame?’

‘Thy father, he will shoe thy foot,

Thy brother will glove thy hand,

Thy mither will bind thy middle jimp

Wi a lang, lang linen band.

‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair,

Wi a haw bayberry kame;

The Almighty will be thy babe’s father

Till Gregory come hame.’

‘And wha will build a bonny ship,

And set it on the sea?

For I will go to seek my love,

My ain love Gregory.’

Up then spak her father dear,

A wafu man was he;

‘And I will build a bonny ship,

And set her on the sea.

‘And I will build a bonny ship,

And set her on the sea,

And ye sal gae and seek your love,

Your ain love Gregory.’

Then he’s gard build a bonny ship,

And set it on the sea,

Wi four-and-twenty mariners,

To bear her company.

O he’s gart build a bonny ship,

To sail on the salt sea;

The mast was o the beaten gold,

The sails [o] cramoisie.

The sides were o the gude stout aik,

The deck o mountain pine,

The anchor o the silver shene,

The ropes o silken twine.

She had na saild but twenty leagues,

But twenty leagues and three,

When she met wi a rank rever,

And a’ his companie.

‘Now are ye queen of heaven hie,

Come to pardon a’ our sin?

Or are ye Mary Magdalane,

Was born at Bethlam?’

‘I’m no the queen of heaven hie,

Come to pardon ye your sin,

Nor am I Mary Magdalane,

Was born in Bethlam.

‘But I’m the lass of Lochroyan,

That’s sailing on the sea

To see if I can find my love,

My ain love Gregory.’

‘O see na ye yon bonny bower?

It’s a’ covered oer wi tin;

When thou hast saild it round about,

Lord Gregory is within.’

And when she saw the stately tower,

Shining both clear and bright,

Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,

Built on a rock of height,

Says, Row the boat, my mariners,

And bring me to the land,

For yonder I see my love’s castle,

Close by the salt sea strand.

She saild it round, and saild it round,

And loud and loud cried she

‘Now break, now break your fairy charms,

And set my true-love free.’

She’s taen her young son in her arms

And to the door she’s gane,

And long she knockd, and sair she ca’d,

But answer got she nane.

‘O open, open, Gregory!

O open! if ye be within;

For here’s the lass of Lochroyan,

Come far fra kith and kin.

‘O open the door, Lord Gregory!

O open and let me in!

The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory,

The rain drops fra my chin.

‘The shoe is frozen to my foot,

The glove unto my hand,

The wet drops fra my yellow hair,

Na langer dow I stand.’

O up then spak his ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

‘Y’re no the lass of Lochroyan,

She’s far out-our the sea.

‘Awa, awa, ye ill woman,

Ye’re no come here for gude;

Ye’re but some witch or wil warlock,

Or mermaid o the flood.’

‘I am neither witch nor wil warlock,

Nor mermaid o the sea,

But I am Annie of Lochroyan,

O open the door to me!’

‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,

As I trow thou binna she,

Now tell me of some love-tokens

That past tween thee and me.’

‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,

As we sat at the wine,

We chang’d the rings frae our fingers?

And I can shew thee thine.

‘O yours was gude, and gude enough,

But ay the best was mine,

For yours was o the gude red gowd,

But mine o the diamond fine.

‘Yours was o the gude red gowd,

Mine o the diamond fine;

Mine was o the purest troth,

But thine was false within.’

‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan,

As I kenna thou be,

Tell me some mair o the love-tokens

Past between thee and me.’

‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory,

As we sat on the hill,

Thou twin’d me o my maidenheid,

Right sair against my will?

‘Now open the door, love Gregory!

Open the door! I pray;

For thy young son is in my arms,

And will be dead ere day.’

‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman,

So loud I hear ye lie;

For Annie of the Lochroyan

Is far out-our the sea.’

Fair Annie turnd her round about:

‘Weel, sine that it be sae,

May neer woman that has borne a son

Hae a heart sae fu o wae!

‘Take down, take down that mast o gowd,

Set up a mast of tree;

It disna become a forsaken lady

To sail sae royallie.’

When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,

And the sun began to peep,

Up then raise Lord Gregory,

And sair, sair did he weep.

‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,

I wish it may bring good!

That the bonny lass of Lochroyan

At my bower-window stood.

‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,

The thought o’t gars me greet!

That fair Annie of Lochroyan

Lay dead at my bed-feet.’

‘Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan

That ye make a’ this main,

She stood last night at your bower-door,

But I hae sent her hame.’

‘O wae betide ye, ill woman,

An ill death may ye die!

That wadna open the door yoursell

Nor yet wad waken me.’

O he’s gane down to yon shore-side,

As fast as he coud dree,

And there he saw fair Annie’s bark

A rowing our the sea.

‘O Annie, Annie,’ loud he cried,

‘O Annie, O Annie, bide!’

But ay the mair he cried Annie

The braider grew the tide.

‘O Annie, Annie, dear Annie,

Dear Annie, speak to me!’

But ay the louder he gan call

The louder roard the sea.

The wind blew loud, the waves rose hie

And dashd the boat on shore;

Fair Annie’s corpse was in the feume,

The babe rose never more.

Lord Gregory tore his gowden locks

And made a wafu moan;

Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,

His bonny son was gone.

‘O cherry, cherry was her cheek,

And gowden was her hair,

And coral, coral was her lips,

Nane might with her compare.’

Then first he kissd her pale, pale cheek,

And syne he kissd her chin,

And syne he kissd her wane, wane lips,

There was na breath within.

‘O wae betide my ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

She turnd my true-love frae my door,

Who came so far to me.

‘O wae betide my ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

She has no been the deid o ane,

But she’s been the deid of three.’

Then he’s taen out a little dart,

Hung low down by his gore,

He thrust it through and through his heart,

And words spak never more.

1¹, 43¹. Oh.

77. Sweet William’s Ghost.

P. 233. G. These three stanzas, which Scott annexed to ‘Clerk Saunders’ in the second edition of the Minstrelsy, 1803, II, 41, were contributed by the Ettrick Shepherd, who writes, not quite lucidly: “Altho this ballad [Clerk Saunders] is mixed with another, according to my mother’s edition, in favour of whose originality I am strongly prepossessed, yet, as the one does in no sense disgrace the other in their present form, according to her it ends thus.”

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 141, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of James Hogg.

‘But plett a wand o bonnie birk

An lay it on my breast,

An drap a tear upon my grave,

An wiss my saul gude rest.

‘But fair Marget, an rare Marget,

An Marget, o verity,

If eer ye loe another man,

Neer loe him as ye did me.’

But up then crew the milk-white cock,

An up then crew the grey;

Her lover vanishd in the air,

An she gaed weepin away.

78. The Unquiet Grave.

P. 236 b. Add: Waldau’s Böhmische Granaten, II, 121, No 176.

236 f., III, 512 f. The Rev. S. Baring-Gould has recovered several copies of ‘The Unquiet Grave’ in the West Country. It will be observed that the variations in this ballad do not take a wide range. The verses are not always sung in the same order; there is not story enough to keep them in place. Mr Baring-Gould informs me that there is a Devon popular tale which is very similar (possibly a prose version of the ballad). In this, a bramble-leaf comes between the lips of the maiden and her dead lover, and her life is saved thereby. This tale is utilized in the ballad as printed in Songs of the West, No 6, ‘Cold blows the wind, sweetheart!’