291

CHILD OWLET

‘Childe Owlet,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 27; Motherwell’s MS., p. 572.

Lady Erskine invites Child Owlet to be her paramour. Child Owlet revolts at the suggestion; he is sister’s son to Lord Ronald. The lady cuts herself with a penknife sufficiently to draw blood; Lord Ronald hears her moaning, comes in, and asks what blood this is; his wife gives him to understand that Child Owlet has offered her violence. A council is held upon the case, and the youth is condemned to be torn by four horses. There was not a twig or a rush on the moor that was not dropping with his blood.

The chain of gold in the first stanza and the penknife below the bed in the fourth have a false ring, and the story is of the tritest. The ballad seems at best to be a late one, and is perhaps mere imitation, but, for an imitation, the last two stanzas are unusually successful.

Lady Erskine sits in her chamber,

Sewing at her silken seam,

A chain of gold for Childe Owlet,

As he goes out and in.

But it fell ance upon a day

She unto him did say,

Ye must cuckold Lord Ronald,

For a’ his lands and ley.

‘O cease! forbid, madam,’ he says,

‘That this shoud eer be done!

How would I cuckold Lord Ronald,

And me his sister’s son?’

Then she’s ta’en out a little penknife,

That lay below her bed,

Put it below her green stay’s cord,

Which made her body bleed.

Then in it came him Lord Ronald,

Hearing his lady’s moan;

‘What blood is this, my dear,’ he says,

‘That sparks on the fire-stone?’

‘Young Childe Owlet, your sister’s son,

Is now gane frae my bower;

If I hadna been a good woman,

I’d been Childe Owlet’s whore.’

Then he has taen him Childe Owlet,

Laid him in prison strong,

And all his men a council held

How they woud work him wrong.

Some said they woud Childe Owlet hang,

Some said they woud him burn;

Some said they woud have Childe Owlet

Between wild horses torn.

‘There are horses in your stables stand

Can run right speedilie,

And ye will to your stable go,

And wile out four for me.’

They put a foal to ilka foot,

And are to ilka hand,

And sent them down to Darling muir,

As fast as they coud gang.

There was not a kow in Darling muir,

Nor ae piece o a rind,

But drappit o Childe Owlet’s blude

And pieces o his skin.

There was not a kow in Darling muir,

Nor ae piece o a rash,

But drappit o Childe Owlet’s blude

And pieces o his flesh.