^a&L IftN W>-M TMuyr* 'W. or ->-^*^ V 9" : "jsat LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, ^U£ iC4t I f_ : ■ \ C -i UNITED STATES UF AMERICA. i\ h'-t rj; ^*j£2M» '^?* ^^^tm 3> :> J > ^ > "J>~ > ;>>: > : > .p. ^> ► _J3 • ?^> ^^' : > J> ~;zar ^>J>- :^fg ;>j2s> ^»- >3JR>~ :>s 3^*" »33I> :>i> :os» ^3 p i> ^»i> ► j> 3 s ^^> 3> 73^g %^->2> - >>_^f -*-»£> -=» 3» 23^T i> ~*=s^^5 >J< ^> -^jj > ™5^^ : -^ > ^>~^^^S ~°7>»^^- j?j» V * =5a 8i5l ^^>^i^^ ^^^3 fe^ ■ — Zal^S^ 5 Sg^fc*? 2» ^^^---3B ^r^ ^ ' 5 ^^^* 2^->j>? y-^Si^^^JJ 3*^>? 3 =5:55 ^fc^K »2* i£^i >> IdLlES* 1391 — ^-JfcT^Btak"^ (S3* P ^S^3fti | dI3Bfe-T* THE SCOTTISH BALLADS. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. The SCOTTISH SONGS ; collected and illustrated. In two volumes, uniform with the Scottish Ballads. Price 12s. The PICTURE of SCOTLAND. A new Edition, in two volumes, with eight fine Plates, £l, Is. TRADITIONS of EDINBURGH. In two volumes, foolscap 8vo. 12s. HISTORY of the REBELLIONS in SCOTLAND, from 1638 till 1660, in 1689, 1715-16, and in 1745-6. 5 vols. Ss. 6d. each. The POPULAR RHYMES of SCOTLAND, with Illustrations, chiefly collected from oral sources. In one volume. 6s. THE SCOTTISH BALLADS; COLLECTED AND ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT CHAMBERS, AUTHOR OF " TRADITIONS OF EDINBURGH," " THE PICTURE OF SCOTLAND," &C. DINBURGH $tintetr f>j) ioallantgite anti Company, foe WILLIAM TAIT, 78 PRINCES STREET. MDCCCXXIX. PREFACE. Since the publication of a few Scottish Bal- lads by Percy, in 1755, but especially during the present century, the public have been put in possession of many various collections of po- pular narrative poetry ; among which the chief are — Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scot- tish Border, 1801 — Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs, 1806 — Finlay's Historical and Ro- mantic Ballads, 1808 — Kinloch's Ancient Bal- lads, 1826 — Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern, 1827 — and Buchan's Ancient Ballads of the North of Scotland, 1828. Each of these works contains a certain number of ballads, which the editors recovered from the mouths of the common people, and printed for the first time ; as also a considerable number, which can only be called various versions of similar compositions elsewhere published. One way and another, nearly two hundred distinct- ly different ballads have been thus laid before the public ; some of them in no fewer than six different forms. And a representation has been afforded of the condition in which such poetry exists in all the principal provinces of Scot- land. In the present age, when, like the precious volumes of the Sibyl, books may be said to in- crease in value in so far as they are abbreviated, objection will scarcely be taken to a work which proposes to condense the diffused merit of so many different and expensive books. The reader will here find, that I have not only made a care- ful selection of what appeared to me in every respect the best of the whole mass of published ballads ; which has been already done, to a cer- tain extent, by recent compilers ; but that, by a more daring exertion of taste, I have, in a great many instances, associated what seemed to me the best stanzas, and the best lines, nay even the best words, of the various copies ex- tant; thus producing something considerably different, it is true, from what is to be found in any particular part of the country, and there- fore not correctly a representation of the con- dition of Scottish ballad poetry any where ; but which, nevertheless, as it combines many other advantages, is unquestionably better, at least in a literary point of view, than any other sin- gle thing either oral or printed. I am per- fectly aware that this mode of editing ballads 12 Ill is deprecated by the antiquary, as being little better than the deliberate vitiation of these re- vered compositions, of which so many other editors have been guilty. Yet, after a thorough review of all the circumstances, I have arrived at the conclusion, that it is not only allowable, but is absolutely demanded by the public. These narratives, it must be remarked, have not reached us in the exact shape in which they were thrown off by their authors. They have come down from the far retreats of antiquity, altogether dif- ferent in spirit, in language, and in form, from what they originally were. Many of them, es- pecially those most recently published, are so completely translated into the modern phraseo- logy of the vulgar, that it is impossible to say that they are genuine old ballads at all. Had they been, like the most of the English ballads published by Percy, preserved in a manuscript of considerable antiquity, and had they still borne marks of the taste of ancient times, I at once allow, that, as there would have been no necessity, so would there been no excuse, for adopting my plan of publishing them. Seeing, however, that they are put into our hands in a corrupted shape, and have, in reality, no ascer- tainable value in a historical or antiquarian point of view, it seems but proper that the next best IV plan should be adopted — that of purifying them as much as possible, and giving them the ut- most literary value of which they may be sus- ceptible. By adopting what the antiquarians would call the more faithful plan, I should have produced the same matter in thrice its present extent, and so much decussated into fragments, and so frequently repeated, that it would have been almost unfit for the general reader. By adopting the plan which taste and various other considerations forced upon me, I am hopeful that the reader will find, within the compass of a single volume, and at a very moderate price, nearly all that he could wish to see. To allay, in some measure, the fervour of the antiquary, let me remind him, that the ballads still exist, in their original shape, in the publications where they first appeared. All that I have attempted, is to combine, as in the Ossianic poems, certain compositions formerly fugitive and various, and which seemed capable of a more extensive ap- plication in the reading world if so combined, but which, in their native condition, could ne- ver have been much regarded, except by men devoted to the study of that species of litera- ture. Hanover Street, Edinburgh. April 27, 1829. INTRODUCTORY. The Ballads forming this volume are divided into four different classes : — I. Historical Ballads. II. Ballads supposed to refer to real cir- cumstances in Private Life. III. Romantic Ballads. IV. Imitations of the Ancient Ballads. The two first of these classes form properly one kind of ballad — namely, short metrical narratives of real incidents, which have happened in recent or remote times. They are here divided into two series, because it seemed somewhat awkward to mix up transactions of a public nature, and which are essentially connect- ed with history, with those which have taken place in the lives of particular and often obscure individuals. In this place, however, they may be considered as the same. The first thing to be considered in the character of this kind of ballad, is its antiquity. And here we are at once reduced to the necessity of presenting conjec- ture instead of fact. It is the belief of all previous en- quirers into this subject — and common-sense counte- nances the theory most expressly — that, in almost every case, the ballads referring to real incidents were com- posed immediately after the transactions which called them forth. It seems to have been a custom of the people from all time, to throw incidents which impress- ed their minds into this historical form. We see them, at the present day, do something of the same kind, in regard to notorious criminals, and to great battles. It is at least far more likely that they composed the bal- lads on the spur of the occasion, than with the delibe- rate retrospect of a historical novelist of the present day. Allowing this theory to be correct, we have here « Sir Patrick Spens," " The Gude Wallace," « The Battle of Otterbourne," " Young Bekie," " The Dou- glas Tragedy," iC Gil Morrice," &c. as compositions of the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centu- ries ; which must assuredly be considered a very re- spectable degree of antiquity for popular poems. Great changes, no doubt, must have taken place in the form and language of these productions, before they were arrested and fixed down in their present consistence by the types of the eighteenth century. We may even allow, that in some cases, as certain antiquaries sup- pose, they have degenerated from the lengthy and re- gular narratives which the minstrels formerly " carpit" to the noble of the land, and that, in all instances, they have become something decidedly inferior to what they were originally. Yet, after all, there is evidence to prove that this change cannot have been very great, during at least the last two centuries. 3 Hume, of Godscroft, in his History of the House of Douglas, which was published in 1646, thus quotes a verse from a ballad, which he says was composed on the death of the Knight of Liddisdale : The Countess of Douglas, out of her bowre she came, And loudly then that she did call ; It is for the Lord of Liddisdale, That I let all these tears downe fall. In allusion to the assassination of William, sixth Earl of Douglas, by James II., in 1440, the same wri- ter quotes the following stanza, anathematory of the scene of the incident, from another old ballad : Edinburgh Castle, toune and towre, God grant thou sink for sinne, And that even for the black dinoure, Erl Douglas got therein ! These fragments, besides implying the antiquity of the custom of writing ballads on historical subjects, prove, from the style of their versification and lan- guage, that little change has taken place on this spe- cies of poetry since at least the reign of Charles I. In all probability, had Hume had occasion to quote a stanza of " Sir Patrick Spens," or " Jock o' the Syde," we should have found it the same, word for word, with the corresponding passage in either of these two bal- lads, as now printed. All that can be said, therefore, regarding the two first classes of ballads in the present collection, is, that they are the proper traditionary records of certain in- cidents in history and private life, which made an im- pression on the minds of the populace at the time they happened ; and that they may be thus accepted, with slight reservations, as in general forming authentic spe- cimens of the popular poetry of their respective ages. The Romantic Ballads, which form the third class in this Collection, are different from the two first classes in every respect, except that they are the productions, and form the entertainment, of the same people. In strict chronology, perhaps, they ought to have been placed in the first rank ; for, while the ballads of the two first classes refer, in general, to incidents, of which there is some collateral and authentic record, these productions seem to have taken their rise in the in- fancy of society, before any other mode of historical commemoration had yet been discovered. The Ro- mantic Ballads, indeed, bear all the appearance of ha- ving been conceived in the very cradle of human na- ture ; they seem to have had their oiigin while as yet mankind was little more than a single family. Their stories are, in general, only^ such simple and familiar incidents as take place in a rude state of society : what is more, they are almost all common to every nation in the world. It would be absurd to contend, that these compo- sitions have existed in their present shape for a great length of time. All that can be said in favour of their antiquity, is, that they are the last shape or form into which the stories which amused our earliest ances- tors have been resolved. Some of them, moreover, are evidently of a less remote extraction than others — 5 are, indeed, only referable to the earlier ages of our own history. But this, nevertheless, is the proper ge- neral account of their origin. As one instance, for all, of the universality of these stories, both as to place and time, it may be mentioned, that the beautiful love tale of " Burd Helen" is the same with one called the Lai le Frene, preserved in English in the Auchinleck Manuscript, and in Nor- man in the Lais of Marie, which were written about the year 1250. " Tamlane" may also be referred to the story of Thomas the Rhymer, who flourished in the thirteenth century. The tale of " Fair Annie" is found, with many others, in the great Danish collec- tion called the Ksempe Viser, which was published in 1593. CONTENTS. The following List exhibits the Titles of the Ballads, al- phabetically arranged. An Index of the First Lines of the Ballads is placed at the end of the Volume. PAGE Andrew Lammie, 137 Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, . . . N . . 146 Brown Adam, 284 Burd Helen, . . 193 Captain Wedderburn's Courtship, . ... . 331 Childe Ether, 286 Clerk Saunders, 237 Dick o' the Cow, 46 Edom o' Gordon, . 67 Edward, Edward, 326 Fair Annie, 186 Fair Janet, . 247 Fair Margaret and Sweit William, .... 277 Frennet Hall, 90 Gil Morrice, . 114 Glenlogie, 343 Gude Wallace, 8 Hardyknute, , . . 376 Hobbie Noble, 55 Hughie Graham, 328 Hynde Etin, 217 VI PAGE Jock o' the Syde, ....... 40 Jock of Hazelgreen, . . . „ . 319 Johnie Armstrang, 35 Johnie Faa, the Gypsy Laddie, .... 143 Johnie of Braidislee, 181 Katherine Janfarie, ....... 337 Kempy Kaye, r 335 Kinmont Willie, 60 Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament, .... 133 Lammikin, 263 Lizie Baillie, 158 Lord Randal, 323 Margaret's Ghost, ...... 280 Marie Hamilton 120 May Collean, 232 Proud Lady Margaret, ...... 288 Rob Roy, 175 Sir James the Rose, ...... 353 Sir Patrick Spens, 3 Sir Roland, 259 Sweet William's Ghost, 244 Sweet Willie and Fair Annie, .... 269 The Baron of Brackley, 147 The Battle of Bothwell Bridge, .... 95 The Battle of Harlaw, 20 The Battle of Otterbourne, 13 The Battle of the Reidswire, ..... 72 The Bonnie Earl of Murray, ..... 77 The Bonnie House o' Airly, ..... 92 The Braes of Yarrow, (Hamilton of Bangour) . 167 The Braes of Yarrow, (Rev. J. Logan) . . . 173 The Burning of Frendraught, . . . . . 85 The Clerk's Twa Sons o' Owsenford, ... 345 The Douglas Tragedy, Ill The Dowie Dens o' Yarrow, 164 The Eve of St John, . . .',*'. . 388 The Gardener, . 317 The Gay Gos Hawk, 202 The Gude Wallace, . . . . . . 8 Vll PAGS The Heir of Linne, 309 The Laird o' Logie, 80 The Laird of Waristoun, 129 The Lass of Lochryan, 225 The Lochmaben Harper, 306 The Marchioness of Douglas. . . . . 150 The Mermaid of Galloway, 361 The Murder of Caerlaveroc, 370 The Threatened Invasion, ..... 97 The Twa Brothers, 126 The Twa Corbies, 283 The Twa Sisters, 298 The Wee Wee Man, 292 The Young Tamlane, 209 Willie's drowned in Yarrow, 171 Willie and May Margaret, 301 Willie and Helen, 395 Young Bekie, 103 Young Huntin, ..,,.,. 252 Young Johnston, , 293 Young Waters, 29 SCOTTISH BALLADS. PART FIRST. historical l&allaog. SCOTTISH BALLADS. PART FIRST. historical 23allaft& SIR PATRICK SPENS.* The king sits in Dunfermline toun,f Drinking the blude-red wine : " O where will I get a skeilly skipper To sail this ship o' mine ?" O up and spak an eldren knicht, Sat at the king's richt knee : " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That sails upon the sea." * The copy here given of this touching and beautiful ballad, is chiefly taken from that which was printed in Herd's Collection, with a few addi- tional verses from those found in the publications of Sir Walter Scott, and Messrs Jamieson, Motherwell, and Buchan. We owe it to Mr Motherwell, who gives some various readings and additional stanzas not here adopted, that the occasion of the ballad is now known to have been the expedition which conveyed Margaret, daughter of King Alexander III., to Norway, in 1281, when she was espoused to Eric, king of that country. Fordoun, in his History of Scotland, relates the incident, in a paragraph which I translate for the convenience of the reader : " A little before this, namely, in the year 1281, Margaret, daughter of Alexander III., was married to the King of Norway; who, leaving Scotland on the last day of July, was con- veyed thither in noble style, in company with many knights and nobles. In returning home, after the celebration of her nuptials, the Abbot of Bal- merinoch, Bernard of Monte- alto, and many other persons, were drown- ed." f The Scottish monarchs chiefly resided in their palace of Dunfermline, from the time of Malcolm Canmore to that of Alexander III. 4 The king has written a braid letter, And signed it wi' his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the sand.* The first line that Sir Patrick read, A loud lauch lauchit he ; The second line that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee. , 26 Towards the Yles fled day and nicht, And all he wan was deirly boucht. " This is," quod he, Ci the richt report Of all that I did heir and knaw, Though my discourse be something schort, Tak this to be a richt glide saw : * Contrair to God and the King's law, There was spilt mickle Christian blude Intil the battle of Harlaw ; This is the sum ; sae I conclude. But yet a bonnie while abyde, And I sail mak thee cleirly ken, What slauchter was on ilka side, Of LawJaml and of Hieland men, Wha for their awin haif evir bene : These lazie loons micht weel be spaired, Chessit like deirs into their dens, And gat their wages for reward. Malcomtosh, of the clan heid chief, Maclean, with his grit hauchty heid, With all their succour and relief, War dulefully dung to the deid : And now we are freed of their feid ; -j- They will not lang to come again ; Thousands with them, without remeid, On Donald's syde, that day war slain. And on the other syde war lost, Into the field that dismal day, Chief men of worth, of raeikle cost, To be lamentit sair for ay. * Story, or rather true saying. f Feud, quarrel. 21 The Lord Saltone of Rotbiemay, A man of micht and mickle main ; Grit dolour was for his decay, That sae unhappilie was slain. Of the best men amang them was The gracious gude Lord OgnVie, The sheriff-principal of Angus, Renownit for truth and equitie, For faith and magnanimitie ; He had few fallows in the field ; Yet fell by fatal destinie, For he naeways wad grant to yield. Sir James Scrimgeour of Dudhope, knicht, Grit Constable of fair Dundie, Unto the dulefu' death was dicht ; The King's chief bannerman was he ; A valiant man of chivalrie, Whase predecessors wan that place At Spey, with gude King William frie, 'Gainst Murray and Macduncan's race. Gude Sir Alexander Irving, The much renownit Laird of Drum, Nane in his days was bettir sene, When they war semblit all and some ; To praise him we sould nocht be dumbe, For valour, witte, and worthines ; To end his dayis he there did come, Whaise ransom is remeidyles. And there the Knicht of Lauriston Was slain into his armour sheen ; And gude Sir Robert Davidson, Wha Provost was of Abirdene ;* * The tomb of Sir Robert Davidson, " the Provost of braif Abirdene, 28 The Knicht of Panmure, as was sene, A mortal man,* in armour bricht ; Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene, Left to the world their last gude-nicht. There was not, sin' King Kenneth's dayis, Sic strange intestine cruel stryfe In Scotlande sene, as ilk man sayis, Where monie lyklief lost their lyfe ; Whilk made divorce twene man and wyfe, And monie children fatherles, Whilk in this realm has bene full ryfe ; Lord help these lands ! our wrangs redress ! In July, on St James his euin, That four-and-twenty dismal day, Twelve hundred, twelve score, and eleven, Of yeirs sin' Christ, the suthe to say ; Men will remember, as they may, When thus the veritie they knaw ; And monie a ane will mourne for ay The brim if battle of the Harlaw." § is still shown in St Nicholas Church, New Aberdeen. The valour of this worthy gentleman, and of his hardy little band of citizens, contributed greatly to the victory. * Deadly. f Handsome men. J Fierce. § First printed in Ramsay's Evergreen, as a poem composed before the year 1C00, but rightly suspected by antiquaries to have been a composition of much more recent date, if not written by Ramsay himself, or some of his friends. It is certain, however, that there was a ballad upon the sub- ject of the Battle of Harlaw, before the year 1549, as it is alluded to in the Complaynt of Scotland, published that year. A printed copy, of date 16G8, is stated to have been in the library of old Robert Mylne, the well-known collector of MSS.— See Mr Laing's "Early Metrical Tales." It is also certain, that there was a tune called *' The Battle of Harlaw," previous to the age of Diummond of Hawthornden, (the early part of the seventeenth century,) as, in the Polemo Middinia of that poet, the following ihiee lines occur : — " Interea ante alios dux piperlarius heros, Praecedens magnamque gerens cum burdine pypam, Incipit Harlai cunctis sonare Batdlum." ; 29 YOUNG WATERS. About Yule, when the wind blew cule, And the round tables * began, A-there is come to our king's court Mony a weel-fau'red man. The great, the great, thegither rade, The sma' cam a' behin' ; But wi' Young Waters, that brave knicht, There cam a gay gatherin'. The Queen luikit ower the castle-wa', Beheld baith dale and down ; And there she saw Young Waters Come ryding to the town. His footmen they did rin before, His horsemen rade behind ; And a mantel o' the burnin gowd Did keep him frae the wind. The horse Young Waters rade upon, It cost him hunders nine ; For it was siller-shod before, And gowd graith had behin'. At ilka tait o' his horse's mane, There hang a siller bell ; The wind was loud, the steed was proud, And they gied a sin dry knell. Out then spak a wylie lord, Unto the queen said he, * The game of the Round Tables, a favourite amusement of the Scot- tish kings, during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. c2 30 «' O tell me wha's the fairest face Rydis in the companie ?" " I've seen lairds, and I've seen lords. And knichts o' a hie degree ; But a fairer face than Young Waters, Mine eyes did nevir see." The king turn'd richt and round ahout, And an angry man was he : " An if he had been twice as fair, Ye micht hae exceptit me." " You're neither laird nor lord," she says, " But the king that weirs the croun ; There's no a lord in fair Scotland, But to thee maun bow down." But, a' that she could do or say, Appeasit he wadna be ; But, for the words that she had said, Young Waters he maun dee. " Likewise, for your ill- waled* words, Ye sail hae cause to mourn ; But for the bairn that ye are wi', Ye on a hill suld burn." Young Waters cam before the king, Fell low down on his knee ; " Win up, win up, Young Waters ! What's this I hear o' thee ?" " What ails the king at me ?" he said, " What ails the king at me ?" * lll-choscn. 31 " It is tauld me, the day, Sir Knicht, Ye've dune me treasonie." " Liars will lee on fell gude men ; Sae will they do on me : I wadna wish to be the man, That liars on wadna lee." " Yet, natheless," the king 'goud say, " In prison Strang gang ye ! O yea for yea," the king 'goud say, " Young Waters, ye sail dee I" Syne they liae taen him, Young Waters, Put fetters on his feet ; They hae taen Young Waters, and Thrown him in dungeon deep. " Aft hae I riddin through Striviling toune, Through heavy wind and weet ; But ne'er rade I through Striviling toune, Wi' fetters on my feet. Aft hae I ridden through Striviling toune, Through heavy wind and rain ; But I ne'er rade through Striviling toune, But thocht to hae ridden 't again." They broucht him to the Heiding Hill, His horse, hot and his saddle ; And they hae broucht to the Heiding Hill His young son in his cradle. And they hae brocht to the Heiding Hill His hounds intill a leish ; And they brocht to the Heiding Hill His gos-hawk in a jess. I 32 King James he then rade up the hill, And mony a man him wi' ; And called on his trustie page To come richt speidilie. " Ye'll do ye to the Earl o' Mar, Whar he sits on yon hill ; Bid him loose the brand frae his bodie, Young Waters for to kill." « O Gude forbid," the Earl said, " The like suld e'er fa' me, My bodie e'er suld beir the brand, That gars Young Waters dee !" Then he has loosed his trusty brand, And casten 't in the sea ; Says, " Never let them get a brand, Till it comes back to me I" The scaffold it was ready than, And he did mount it hie ; And a' the folk that luikit on, The tears did blind their ee. " O haud your tongues, my brethren deir, And mourn nae mair for me ; Ye're seeking grace frae a graceless face, For there is nane to gie. Ye'll tak a bit o' canvass claith, And put it ower my ee ; And, Jack, my man, ye'll be at hand The hour that I sail dee. Syne aff ye'll tak my bluidy sark, Gie it fair Margaret Graham e ; 33 For she may curse the dowie * day That broeht King James him hame. Ye'll bid her mak her bed narrow, And mak it naewise wide ; For a brawer man than Young Waters Will ne'er streek f by her side. Bid her do weel to my young son, And gie him nurses three ; Though, gin he live to be a man, King James will gar him dee." He ca'd upon the heidsman, then ; A purse o' gowd him ga'e ; Says, " Do your office, heidsman boy, And mak nae mair delay. O heid me sune, O heid me clean, And put me out o' pyne ; For it is by the king's command — Gar heid me till his min'. By him though I'm condemned to die, I'm lieve to his ain kin ; And, for the truth I'll plainly tell, I am his sister's son." " Gin ye're my sister's son," he said, " It is unkenn'd to me." " O mind na ye your sister Bess, That lives in the French countrie ?" " Gin Bess, then, be your mither dear, As I trust well she be, * Doleful. t Stretch. Si Gae hame, gae hame, Young Waters, Ye's neir be slain by me." But he laid by his napkin fine, Was saft as ony silk ; And on the block he laid his neck, Was whiter than the milk ; Says, " Strike the blow, ye heidsman boy, And that richt speidilie ; It's nevir be said, here gaes a knicht Was ance condemned to dee I" The heid was taen frae Young Waters, And mony tears for him shed ! But mair did mourn fair Margaret, As, raving, she lies mad.* * The ballad of Young Waters was first published by Lady Jean Home, (sister of the Earl of Home,) at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo, about the mid- dle of the last century. It has been often reprinted, but never in a com- plete shape, till at length Mr Buchan, in 1828, presented an entire copy in his " Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland." The version here printed comprehends the portion published by Lady Jean Home, im- proved by collation with Mr Buchan's, and further gives all the additional stanzas which the latter editor has preserved. Mr Buchan's additional por- tion commences at the twenty-first stanza ; the most curious and historical, though perhaps the least meritorious in a literary point of view, of the whole. The story of the ballad has hitherto been supposed to refer to " the bonnie Earl of Murray," whose fate is not ill shadowed out in the first twenty verses. Mr Buchan, in presenting the rest, has added a conjecture, that it is founded upon the story of David Graham of Fintry, who was ex- ecuted in 1592, for his accession to a popish plot. I must however acknow- ledge, that, since the publication of the complete ballad by the northern editor, I have not entertained the least doubt that it alludes to the fate of some one of the Scottish nobles executed by James I., after his return from his captivity in England. It is very probable, that Walter Stuart, second son of the Duke of Albany, is the individual referred to. Many circum- stances in the ballad go to prove this — the name, which may be a corrup- tion of Walter; the mention of the Heading (beheading) Hill of Stirling, which is known to have been the very scene of Walter Stuart's execution ; the relationship which Young Waters claims with the king ; and the sym- pathy expressed by the people, in the last verse, for the tate of the young knight, which exactly tallies with what is told us by the Scottish historians, regarding the popular feeling expressed in favour of the numerous nobles and princes of his own blood, whom the king saw it necessary to sacrifice. There is in the ballad, just that precise degree of vagueness, inapplicabi- lity, and exaggeration, which the people always give to such an historical fact, when they are left to relate it in their own way. 35 JOHNIE ARMSTRANG* Some speikis of lords, some speikis of lairds, And sic lyke men of hie degree ; * Johnie Armstrang, of Gilnockie, the hero of this ballad, is a noted personage both in history and tradition. He lived in the early part of the sixteenth century. He appears, both from the ballad and from tradition, as well as from authentic history, to have been a Border depredator on a singularly magnificent scale. His tower, which is still shown at a place called the Holloius, amidst the bewildering beauties of Eskdale, (Dumfries- shire,) is oqe of considerable strength and space, though now only serving in the capacity of a cow-house to the neighbouring farmer. In general, the private predatory wars which the borderers carried on agamst each other, were quite independent on the relations which subsisted between the go- vernments of the two countries. The nuisance, however, had reached such a height during the minority of James V., that, when the young sove- reign came of age, he found it necessary to repress the violence of his own borderers, in order to prevent a war with England, which he was very anxious to avoid. He therefore undertook a justiciary excursion through Ettrick Forest and Ewesdale, attended by an army of about ten thousand men. He successively seized and executed Cockburn of Henderland and Adam Scott of Tushilaw, two noted freebooters, the last of whom was so powerful, as to be popularly called " King of the Border." As he proceeded into Ewesdale, the evil genius of Johnie Armstrang, or, as others say, the private advice of some courtiers, prompted him to present himself before James, at the head of thirty-six horse, arrayed in all the pomp of border chivalry. Lindsay of Piiscottie, in his History of Scotland, corroborates almost every particular mentioned by the ballad. "After this hunting, he hanged John Armstrong, Laird of Kilknocky, and his complices, to the number of thirty-six persons : for the which many Scotsmen heavily la- mented : for he was the most redoubted chieftain that had been, for a long time, on the borders either of Scotland or England. He rode ever with twenty-four able gentlemen, well horsed : yet he never molested any Scot- tishman. But it is said, that, from the Borders to Newcastle, every man, of whatsomever estate, paid him tribute to be free of his trouble. He came before the king, with his foresaid number, richly apparelled, trusting that, in the free offer of his person, he should obtain the king's favour. But the king, seeing him and his men so gorgeous in their apparel, with so many brave men under a tyrant's commandment, forwardly turning him about, he bade take the tyrant ou: of his sight, saying, ' What wants that knave that a king should have ?' But John Armstrong made great offers to the king, that he should sustain himself, with forty gentlemen, ever ready at his service, on their own cost, without wronging any Seottishman. Se- condly, that there was not a subject in England, duke," earl, or baron, but, within a certain day, he should bring him to his majesty, either quick or dead. At length, he seeing no hope of favour said very proudly, ' It is folly to seek grace at a graceless face: but, (said he,) had I known this, I should have lived on the Borders, in despight of King Harry and you both ; for King Harry, I know he would downweigh my best horse with gold, to know that I was condemned to die this day.'" Johnie and all his retinue were accordingly hanged upon growing trees, at a place called Carlenrig Chapel, about ten miles above Hawick, on the high road to Langnolm. The country people, who hold the memory of the unfortunate marauders in very high respect, believe that, to manifest the injustice of their execu- tion, the trees immediately withered away. They were buried in a de- serted churchyard, where their graves are yet shown. 36 Of a gentleman I sing a sang, Sometyme called Laird of Gilnockie. The king he writes a luving letter, With his ain hand sae tenderlie, And he hath sent it to Johnie Armstrang, To come and speik with him speidilie. The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene ; They were a gallant companie : " We'll ride and meet our lawful king, And bring him safe to Gilnockie." " Make kinnen f and capon readie then, And venison in great plentie ; We'll welcome here our noble king; I hope he'll dine at Gilnockie !" They ran their horse on Langholm howm, And brak their speirs wi' mickle main ; The Jaidies luickit frae their loft windows : " God bring our men weel back again I" When Johnie cam before the king Wi' a' his men, sae brave to see, The king he movit his bonnet to him ; He weened he was a king as weel as he. " May I find grace, my sovereign liege, Grace for my loyal men and me ? For my name it is Johnie Armstrang, And subject of yours, my liege," said he. " Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! Out o' my sicht sune mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I'll not begin wi' thee." * Rabbits. 37 " Grant me my life, my liege, my king I And a bonnie gift I'll gie to thee ; Full four-and-twenty milk-white steids, Were a' foaled in ae year to me. I'll gie thee a' thae milk-white steids, That prance and nicher * at a speir ; And as muckle gude English gilt, f As four o' their braid backs dow J bear." " Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! Out o' my sicht sune mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I'll not begin wi' thee !" " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a bonnie gift I'll gie to thee ; Gude four-and-twenty ganging «jy mills, That gang through a' the yeir to me. Thae four-and-twenty mills complete Sail gang for thee through a' the yeir; And as muckle of gude red wheit, As a' their happers dow to bear." " Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! Out o' my sicht sune mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I'll not begin wi' thee." " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a great gift I'll gie to thee ; Bauld four-and-twenty sisters' sons, Sail for thee fecht, though a' should flee !" * Neigh. f Gold. f Can, or, are able to. ^ Going. D 2 38 " Away, away, thou traitor Strang I Out o' my sicht sune mayst thou be I I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I'll not begin wi' thee." " Grant me my life, my liege, my king I And a brave gift I'll gie to thee ; All between here and Newcastle toun, Shall pay their yeirly rent to thee." " Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! Out o' my sicht sune mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I'll not begin wi' thee." " Ye lied, ye lied, now, king," he says, " Although a king and prince ye be ! For I've lo'ed naething in my life, I weel daur say't, but honestie — Save a fat horse, and a fair woman, Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deir ; And England suld have fund me meal and mault, Gif I had lived this hundred yeir ! Sche suld have fund me meal and mault, And beef and mutton in a' plentie ; But nevir a Scots wyfe could have said, That e'er I skaithed her a puir flee. To seik het water aneath cauld ice, Surely it is a great folie — I have asked grace at a graceless face, But there is nane for my men and me ! But had I kenn'd, ere I cam frae hame, How thou unkind wadst been to me ! 39 I wad hae keepit the Border side, In spite of all thy force and thee. Wist England's king that I was taen, O gin a blythe man he wad be ! For anes I slew his sister's son, And on his breist-bane brak a tree." John wore a girdle about his middle, Imbroidered ower wi' burning gold, Bespangled wi' the same metal ; Maist beautiful was to behold. There hang nine targats * at Johnie's hat, And ilk ane worth three hundred pound — " What wants that knave that a king suld have, But the sword of honour and the croun ! O whair got thou thae targats, Johnie, That blink sae brawly f abune thy bree ?" " I got them in the field fechtin, Whair, cruel king, thou durst not be. Had I my horse and harness gude, And riding as I wont to be, It suld have been tauld this hundred yeir, The meeting o' my king and me ! God be with thee, Kirsty, J my brother ! Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun ! Lang mayst thou live on the Border syde ? Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down ! And God be with thee, Kirsty, my son, Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee ! * Tassels. f Glitter so bravely. + Christopher, a very common Border name is former time*. 40 But an thou live this hundred yeir, Thy father's better thou'lt nevir be. Fareweel, my boimie Gilnock-hall, Where on the Esk thou standest stout ! Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair, I wad hae gilt thee round about." John murdered was at Carlen rig, And all his gallant companie ; But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae, To see sae mony brave men die — Because they saved their country deir Frae Englishmen ! Nane were sae bauld ; While Johnie lived on the Border syde, Nane o' them durst come ne'er his hauld.* JOCK O' THE SYDE.f Now Liddesdale has ridden a raid, But I wat they had better hae staid at hame ; * This copy of the ballad is derived, through the Minstrelsy of the Scot- tish Border, from >he Evergreen of Ramsay, who informs us that he took it down from the recitation of a gentleman of the name of Armstrong, who was the sixth in descent from the hero. f Jock o' the Syde was a noted Border mosstrooper in the reign of Mary Queen of Scots. The site of his residence, the Syde, is pointed out on a heathy upland, about two miles to the west of Newcastleton, in Liddesdale, (the southern district of Roxburghshire,) wh ie Mangerton Tower, the seat of his maternal uncle, is still visible, in a ruined state, on the haugh below. The fame of Jock o' the Syde, as a Border reaver, seems to have reached even to the court of his sovereign at Edinburgh, as Sir Richard Maitlandof Lethingtcn, in a poetical " Complaint" which he wrote "aganis the Thievis of Liddisdaill," thus speaks of him in particular : He is weel kenned, Johne of the Syde; A greater thief did never ryde; He never tyres For to break byres ; Ower muir and myres Ower gude ane guyde. 41 For Michael o' Wingfield he is dead, And Jock o' the Syde he is prisoner taen. For Mangerton House Lady Downie has gane ; Her coats she has kilted up to her knee ; And down the water wi' speed she rins, While tears in spaits * fa' fast frae her ee. Then up and spoke our gude auld lord : " What news, what news, sister Downie, to me ?" " Bad news, bad news, my Lord Mangerton ; Michael is killed, and they hae taen my son Johnnie." " Ne'er fear, sister Downie," quo' Mangerton ; " I have yokes of owsen, eighty and three ; My barns, my byres, and my faulds a' weil filled, I'll part wi' them a' ere Johnnie shall die. Three men I'll send to set him free, A' harneist wi' the best o' steil ; The English loons may hear, and drie The weight o' their braidswords to feel. His real name was Armstrong, as was that of the Laird of Mangerton also. There is no historical certainty in the event of the ballad, though, when we consider the condition of the Border previously to the Union of the crowns, there is not the least reason to doubt what is so strongly counte- nanced both by song and tradition. The ballad is here given directly from the Border Minstrelsy ; but it was originally published in a little volume, printed at Hawick, in 1784, (the Hawick Museum,) having been commu- nicated to the proprietors of that miscellany by John Elliot, Esq. of Reid- heugh, a gentleman from whom Sir Walter Scott afterwards derived many of the best ballads which went to the composition of his own excellent col- lection. The air to which the ballad is usually sung, is of a slow and me- lancholy kind, full of high romantic notes, and pathetic cadences. Yel, strange to say, it is interlarded with a very low and ludicrous burden. The first verse, as thus interlarded, runs as follows : Now Liddesdale has ridden a raid ; Fa la, diddle, du du diddle ! I wat they had better hae staid at hame ; For Michael o' Wingfield he is dead, And Jock o' the Syde he is prisoner taen ; Fa la, diddle, du du diddle ! * Torrents. D 2 42 The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa ; O Hobbie Noble, thou ane maun be I Thy coat is blue ; thou hast been true, Since England banished thee to me." Now Hobbie was an English man, In Bewcastle dale was bred and born : But his misdeeds they were sae great, . They banish'd him ne'er to return. Lord Mangerton then orders gave, " Your horses the wrang way maun be shod ; Like gentlemen ye mauima seem, But look like corn-caugers* gaun the road. Your armour gude ye mauima shaw/ Nor yet appear like men o' weir; As country lads be a' arrayed, Wi' branks and brecham-j- on each mare." Sae now their horses are the wrang way shod, And Hobbie has mounted his grey sae fine ; Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse behind, And on they rode for the water o' Tyne. At the Cholerford they a' licht doun, And there, wi' the help o' the licht o' the moon, A tree they cut, wi' fifteen nogs on each side, To climb up the wa' o' Newcastle toun. But when they cam to Newcastle toun, And were alichted at the wa', * Corn-carriers. f Halter and cart-collar. Branks, perhaps, signifies more particularly the two pieces of wood which the country people slip upon the faces of horses, but more frequently of cattle, and to which the halter is attached. Burns, describing the limbs of Death, says, " They were as lang, as sharp, and sma', As cheeks o' branks." 43 They fand their tree three ells ower laigh ; They fand their stick baith short and sma\ Then up and spak the Laird's ain Jock : " There's naething for't ; the gates we maun force." But when they cam the gate untill, A proud porter withstood baith men and horse. His neck in twa the Armstrangs wrang ; Wi' fit or hand he ne'er play'd pa ! His life and his keys at anes they hae taen, And cast the body ahind the wa\ Now sune they reach Newcastle jail, And to the prisoner thus they call : " Sleeps thou, or wakes thou, Jock o' the Syde, Or art thou weary of thy thrall ?" Jock answers thus, wi' dulefu' tone : " Aft, aft I wake — I seldom sleep : But whae's this kens my name sae weel, And thus to mese* my waes does seek?" Then out and spak the gude Laird's Jock, " Now fear ye na, my billie," quo he ; " For here are the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, And Hobbie Noble come to set ye free." " Now haud thy tongue, my gude Laird's Jock, For ever alas ! this canna be ; For, if a' Liddesdale were here the nicht, The morn's the day that I maun die. Full fifteen stane o' Spanish iron, They hae laid a richt sair on, me ; Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound Into this dungeon dark and dreirie." * Mese, soothe. \* 44 u Fear ye na that," quo the Laird's Jock ; " A faint heart ne'er wan a fair ladye ; Work thou within, we'll work without, And I'll be sworn we'll set thee free." The first strong door that they cam at, They loosed it without a key ; The next chained door that they cam at, They gar'd it a' to flinders flie. The prisoner now upon his back The Laird's Jock has got up fu' hie ; And doun the stair, him, irons and a', Wi' nae sma speed and joy, brings he. " Now Jock, my man," quo Hobbie Noble, " Some o' his weight ye may lay on me." " I wat weil no," quo the Laird's ain Jock, " I count him lichter than a flee." Sae out at the gates they a' are gane, The prisoner's set on horseback hie ; And now wi' speed they've taen the gate, While ilk ane jokes fu' wantonlie : " O Jock ! sae winsomely's ye ride, Wi' baith your feet upon ae side ! Sae weel ye're harneist and sae trig ! In troth, ye sit like ony bride !" The nicht, though wat, they did na mind, But hied them on fu' merrilie, Until they cam to Cholerford brae,* Where the water runs like mountains hie. But when they cam to Cholerford, There they met wi' an auld grey man ; * A ford upon the Tyne, above Hexham. t 45 Says : " Honest man, will the water ride ? Tell us in haste, if that ye can." " I wat weel no," quo the gude auld man ; " I hae lived here thretty years and three ; And I never yet saw the Tyne sae big, Nor running anes sae like a sea." Then out and spak the Laird's saft Wat, The greatest coward in the com panic ; " Now halt, now halt ! we need na try't ; The day is come we a' maun die !" " Puir faint-hearted thief !" quo the Laird's ain Jock, " There'll nae man die but him that's fie.* I'll guide ye a' richt safely through ; Lift ye the prisoner on ahint me." Wi* that the water they hae taen, By anes and twas they a' swam through ; " Here are we a' safe," quo the Laird's Jock, " And, puis faint Wat, what think ye noo ?" They scarce the other brae had won, When twenty men they saw pursue ; Frae Newcastle toun they had been sent, A' English lads baith stout and true. / But when the land-sergeant the water saw, " It winna ride, my lads," says he ; Then cried aloud — " The prisoner take, But leave the fetters, I pray, to me." " I wat weel no," quo the Laird's Jock ; " I'll keep them a' ; shoen to my mear they'll be, My gude bay mear — for I am sure, She has bought them a' richt dear frae thee." * Predestined \ 46 Sae now they are on to Liddesdale, E'en as fast as they could them hie ; The prisoner is brought to his ain fire-side, And there o's aims they mak him free. " Now Jock, my billie," quo a' the three, " The day is com'd thou was to dee ; But thou's as weel at thy ain ingle-side, Now sitting, I think, 'twixt thee and me !" DICK O' THE COW.* Now Liddesdale has layen lang in ; There is na riding there at a' ; The horses are a' grown sae lither fat, They downa stur out o' the sta'. Fair Johnie Armstrang to Willie did say, " Billie, a-riding we will gae ; England and us have been lang at feid ; Aiblins we'll licht on some bootie." Then they are come on to Hutton Ha' ; They rade that proper place about ; But the laird he was the wiser man, For he had left nae gear without. * This ballad, like its predecessor, " Jock o' the Syde," was originally published in the Hawick Museum, and afterwards copied into " The Min- strelsy of the Scottish Border." Both poems owe their origin to the dis- trict of Liddesdale, where, till late years, they formed a sort of code of po- pular literature, being impressed upon the memory of all ages and condi- tions of people, and invariably sung, from end to end, at all festive meetings. Some of the personages in this ballad are the same with those who figure in " Jock o' the Syde ;" as the Laird's Jock — that is, John Armstrong, son of the Laird of Mangerton, and cousin of Jock o' the Syde ; but this gentle- man is here represented at a somewhat later period of life, when he had, apparently, set up in business for himself, and drove a separate trade in thieving at Puddingburn House. < ' The Laird's Jock" appears, as one of the men of name in Liddesdale, in the list of Border clans, 1597. " Dick o' the Cow" was jester to Lord Scroope, the English Warden of the West Marches from 1590 to 1603. Innocent, the ordinary phrase in Scotland for a natural fool, is here frequently applied to him. 47 For he had left nae gear to steal, Except sax sheep upon a lee : Quo' Johnie, li I'd rather in England die, Ere thir sax sheep gae to Liddesdale wi' me." " But how ca' they the man we last met, Billie, as we cam ower the knowe ?" " That same he is an innocent fule, And men they call him Dick o' the Cow." " That fule has three as gude kye o' his ain, As there are in a' Cumberland, billie," quo' he : " Betide me life, betide me death, These kye shall go to Liddesdale wi' me." Then they have come on to the puir fule's house, And they hae broken his wa's sae wide ; They hae loosed out Dick o' the Cow's three kye, And ta'en three co'erlets frae his wife's bed. Then on the morn, when the day was licht, The shouts and the cries rase loud and hie : " O hand thy tongue, my wife," he says, i( And o' thy crying let me be I O baud thy tongue, my wife," he says, " And o' thy crying let me be ; And, ay where thou hast lost ae cow, In gude sooth I shall bring thee three." Now Dickie's gone to the good Lord Scroope ; And I wat a drearie fule was he ; " Now haud thy tongue, my fule," he says, " For I may not stand to jest wi' thee." " Shame fa' your jesting, my lord," quo' Dickie ; *' For nap a\o instincr 'P« wi' ma • For nae sic jesting 'grees t\ 48 Liddesdale's been in my house last nicht, And they hae awa my three kye frae me. But I may nae langer in Cumberland dwell, To be your puir fule and your leal, Unless you gie me leave, my lord, To gae to Liddesdale and steal." " I gie thee leave, my fule !" he says ; " Thou speaks against my honour and me, Unless thou gie me thy trowth and thy hand, Thou'lt steal frae nane but whae staw frae thee." " There is my trowth, and my richt hand ! My heid shall hang on Hairibee ; I'll ne'er cross Carlisle Sands again, If I steal frae a man but whae staw frae me." Dickie's ta'en leave o' lord and master ; I wat a merry fule was he ! He bought a bridle and a pair o' new spurs, And packed them up in his breek thie. Then Dickie's come on to Puddingburn House,* E'en as fast as he micht drie ; Then Dickie's come on to Puddingburn House, Where there were thirty Armstrangs and three. " O what's this come o' me now?" quo' Dickie; " What mickle wae is this ?" quo' he ; " For here is but ae innocent fule, And there are thirty Armstrangs and three I" * Puddingburn House was a house of strength, situated in a dean, or re- cess, formed by a little mountain rill, on the side of the Tinnis Hill in Liddesdale, being about three miles westward from the Syde. The ruins of the castle are now so much dilapidated, as only to serve as a sheep-fold ; but tradition still preserves a distinct picture of the former glories of the place. It records, for one thing, that the Laird's Jock had stables excava- ted in the side of the adjacent hill, capable of accommodating even more horse9 than those which Dickie « tied with St Mary's knot." 49 Yet he's come up to the fair ha' boord ; Sae weel he's become his courtesie ! " Weel may ye be, my gude Laird's Jock ! But the deil bless a' your companie ! I'm come to 'plain o' your man, Johnie Armstrang, And syne o' his billie Willie," quo he ; " How they've been in my house last nicht, And they hae taen my kye frae me." " Ha !" quo Johnie Armstrang," we will him hang." " Ha," quo Willie, " we'll him slae." Then up and spak another young Armstrang, " We'll gie him his batts, and let him gae." But up and spak the gude Laird's Jock, The best falla in a' the companie : " Sit doun thy ways a little while, Dickie, And a piece o' thy ain cow's hough I'll gie ye." But Dickie's heart it grew sae grit, That the ne'er a bit o't he dought to eat. Then he was aware o' an auld peat-house, Where a' the nicht he thoucht for to sleep. Then Dickie was aware o' an auld peat-house, " Where a' the nicht he thocht for to lye ; And a' the prayers the puir Me prayed, Were, " I wish I had amends for my gude three kye It was then the use of Puddingburn House, And the House of Mangerton, all haill, Them that cam na at the first ca', Gat nae mair meat till the neist meal. The lads that hungry and weary were, Abune the door-heid they threw the key ; E 50 Dickie he took glide notice o' that, Says, " There will be a bootie for me." Then Dickie has in to the stable gane, Where there stude thirty horses and three ; He has tied them a' wi' St Mary's knot,* A' these horses but barely three. He has tied them a' wi' St Mary's knot, A' these horses but barely three ; He's loupen on ane, taen another in hand, And away as fast as he can hie. But on the morn, when the day grew licht, The shouts and cries rase loud and hie : iC Ah ! whae has done this ?" quo the gude Laird's Jock ; " Tell me the truth and veritie ! Whae has done this deed ?" quo the gude Laird's Jock ; " See that to me ye dinna lie !" " Dickie has been in the stable last nicht, And has taen my brother's horse and mine frae me." " Ye wad ne'er be tald," quo the gude Laird's Jock ; " Have ye not found my tales fu' leal ? Ye ne'er wad out o' England bide, Till crooked, and blind, and a' wad steal." " But lend me thy bay," fair Johnie 'gan say ; " There's nae horse loose in the stable save he ; And I'll either fetch Dick o' the Cow again, Or the day is come that he shall dee." « To lend thee my bay !" the Laird's Jock 'gan say; " He's baith worth gowd and gude monie ; * Tying a horse with St Mary's knot, is an old Bordei cant phrase for hamstringing him. Dickie was obliged to resort to this cruel expedient, in order to prevent a pursuit. He only appears to have left the Laird's Jock's horse unhurt, out of gratitude for the protection afforded him by that genWeman on his arrival. 51 Dick o' the Cow has awa twa horse ; I wish thou may na mak him three." But he's taen the Laird's jack on his back, A twa-handed sword to hang by his thie ; He has taen a steel-cap on his heid, And galloped on to follow Dickie. Dickie was na a mile frae aff the toun, I wat a mile but barely three, When he was owertaen by fair Johnie Armstrang, Hand for hand, on Cannobie Lee.* " Abide, abide, thou traitor thief I The day is come that thou maun dee. 5 ' Then Dickie looked ower his left shouther, Said, " Johnie, hast thou nae mae in companie ? There is a preacher in our chapell, And a' the live-lang day teaches he : When day is gane and nicht is come, There's never ae word I mark but three. The first and second is — Faith and Conscience ; The third — Ne'er let a traitor free : But, Johnie, what faith and conscience was thine, When thou took awa my three kye frae me ? And when thou had taen awa my three kye, Thou thocht in thy heart thou wast not weel sped, Till thou sent thy billie Willie ower the knowe, To tak three coverlets aff my wife's bed 1" Then Johnie let a spear fa' laigh by his thie, Thocht weel to hae slain the innocent, I trow ; * A piece of ground on the banks of the Esk, on the way from Pud- dingburn House to Longtown. 52 But the powers above were mair than he, For he ran but the puir fule's jerkin through. Together they ran, or ever they blan ; This was Dickie the rule and he ! Dickie couldna win at him wi' the blade o' the sword, But felled him wi' the plummet under the ee. Thus Dickie has felled fair Johnie Armstrang, The prettiest man in the South Countrie : " Gramercy !" then 'gan Dickie say ; " I had but twa horse — thou hast made me three !" He has taen the steel-jack aff Johnie's back, The twa-handed sword, that hung low by his thie ; He has taen the steel-cap aff his heid : " Johnie, I'll tell my master I met wi' thee." When Johnie wakened out o' his dream, I wat a drearie man was he : " And is thou gane ? Now, Dickie, than The shame and the dule is left wi' me ! And is thou gane ? Now, Dickie, than The deil gae in thy companie ! For if I should live these hundred years, I ne'er shall fecht wi' a fule after thee !" Then Dickie's come hame to the gude Lord Scroope, E'en as fast as he micht hie : il Now, Dickie, 111 neither eat nor drink, Till hie hangit thou shalt be." " The shame speed the liars, my lord !" quo Dickie ; " This wasna the promise ye made to me ! For I'd ne'er gane to Liddesdale to steal, Had I not got my leave frae thee." 53 " But what gav'd ye steal the Laird's Jock's horse ? And, limmer, what gar d ye steal him ?" quo he ; " For lang thou micht'st in Cumberland dwelt, Ere the Laird's Jock had stown frae thee." " Indeed, I wat ye lied, my lord I And e'en sae loud as I hear ye lie ! I wan the horse frae fair Johnie Armstrang, Hand to hand on Cannobie Lee. There is the jack was on his back ; This twa-handed sword hung laigh by his thie ; And there's the steel-cap was on his heid ; I brought a' these tokens to let ye see." " If that be true thou to me tells, (And I think thou dares na tell a lie,) I'll gie thee fifteen punds for the horse, Weel tauld on thy cloak-lap shall be. I'll gie thee ane o' my best milk-kye, To maintain thy wife and children three ; And that may be as gude, I think, As ony twa o' thine wad be." 6f The shame speed the liars, my lord !" quo Dickie ; " Trow ye aye to mak a fule o' me ? I'll either hae twenty punds for the gude horse, Or he's gae to Morton fair wi' me." He's gien him twenty punds for the gude horse, A' in gowd and white monie ; He's gien him ane o' his best milk-kye, To maintain his wife and children three. Then Dickie's come doun through Carlisle toun, E'en as fast as he could drie ; e2 54 The first o' men that he met wi', Was my lord's brother, Bailiff Glozenburrie. " Weel be ye met, my gude Ralph Scroope J" " Welcome, my brother's fule !" quo he : " Where didst thou get Johnie Armstrang's horse ?" " Where did I get him, but steal him ?" quo he. " But wilt thou sell me the bonny horse ? And, billie, wilt thou sell him to ine ?" quo he : " Aye ; if thou tell me the money on my cloak-lap : For there's never ae penny I'll trust thee." " I'll gie thee ten punds for the gude horse ; Weel tald on thy cloak-lap they shall be ; And I'll gie thee ane o' the best milk-kye, To maintain thy wife and children three." " The shame speed the liars, my lord !" quo Dickie ; t( Trow ye aye to mak a fule o' me ! I'll either hae twenty punds for the gude horse, Or he's gae to Morton fair wi' me." He's gien him twenty punds for the gude horse, Baith in gowd and gude monie ; He's gien him ane o' his best milk-kye, To maintain his wife and children three. Then Dickie lap a loup fu' hie, And I wat a loud lauch lauched he : " I wish the neck o' the third horse were broken, If ony o' the twa were better than he !" Then Dickie's come hame to his wife again ; Judge ye how the puir fule had sped ! He's gien her twa score English punds, For the three auld coverlets taen aff her bed. 55 " And tak thee thae twa as gude kye, I trow, as a' thy three micht be ; And yet here is the white-footed naigie ; I trow he'll carry baith thee and me. But I may nae langer in Cumberland bide ; The Armstrangs they wad hang me hie." So Dickie's ta'en leave at lord and master, And at Burgh under Stanmuir there dwells he.* HOBBIE NOBLE.f Foul fa' the breist first treason bred in ! That Liddesdale may safely say : For in it there was baith meat and drink, And corn unto our geldings gay ; And we were a' stout-hearted men, As England she might often say ; But now we maun turn our backs and flee, Since brave Noble is sold away- * At the conclusion of the ballad, the singer used invariably to add, that Dickie's removal to Burgh under Stanmuir did not save him from the clutches of the Armstrongs. Having fallen into their power, several years after this exploit, he was plunged into a large boiling pot, and so put to death. The scene of this cruel transaction is pointed out somewhere in Cumberland. t This ballad delineates the fate of the hero who acted so conspicuous a part in the deliverance of Jock o' the Syde. After Hobbie had for some time exercised his profession against that native district from which he was banished, his countrymen at length succeeded in bribing some of his Scot- tish protectors to deliver him up. The chief person concerned in his ren- dition was an Armstrong, usually called Sim o' the Mains, the proprietor of a Border keep near Castletoun, now in ruins. Under the pretext of a foray into England, Hobbie was conducted by this person, and, 't would appear, other four, to Conscouthart-green, in the Waste of Bewcastle, and there surrendered to the proper officer of justice, by whom he was conducted to Carlisle, and executed next morning. The Laird of Manger- ton, with whom Hobbie was in high favour, is said to have taken a severe revenge upon the traitors who betrayed him; and Sim o' the Mains, ha- ving fled into England from the resentment of his chief, was seized, and executed at Carlisle, within two months after Hobbie's death. This ballad first appeared in the Hawick Museum, along with Jock o' the Syde and Dick o' the Cow. 56 Now Hobbie was an Englishman, And born into Bewcastle-dale ; But his misdeeds they were sae great, They banished him to Liddesdale. At Kershope foot* the tryste was set, Kershope of the lilye lee ; And there was traitor Sim o' the Mains, And with him a private companie. Then Hobbie has graithed his body fair, Baith wi' the iron and wi' the steil ; And he has taen out his fringed grey, And there brave Hobbie he rade him weil. Then Hobbie is doun the water gane, E'en as fast as he could hie ; Though a' should hae bursten and broken their hearts, Frae that riding tryste he wadna be. " Weel be ye met my feres -j- five ! And now what is your will wi' me ?" Then they cried a', wi' ae consent, " Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me. Wilt thou with us into England ride, And thy safe warrand we will be ? If we get a horse worth a hundred pound, Upon his back thou soon shalt be." " I daurna by day into England ride ; The land-sergeant has me at feid : And I know not what evil may betide ; For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is deid. * The confluence of the Kershope water with the Liddel ; a noted place of assignation among the moss-troopers, t Companions, friends. 57 And Anton Shiel he loves not me, For I gat twa drifts o' his sheip ; The great Earl of Whitfield* loves me not, For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep. But will ye stay till the day gae doun, Until the nicht come owev the grund ? And I'll be a guide worth ony twa, That may in Liddesdale be found. Though the nicht be black as pick and tar, I'll guide ye ower yon hill sae hie ; And bring ye a' in safety back, If ye'll be true and follow me." He has guided them ower moss and muir, Ower hill and hope, and mony a down; Until they cam to the Foulbogshiel, And there, brave Noble, he lichtit doun. But word is gane to the land-sergeant, In Askerton, where that he lay : " The deer that ye hae hunted sae lang, Is seen into the Waste this day." " Then Hobbie Noble is that deer ! I wat he carries the style fu hie ; Aft has he driven our bluid-hounds back, And held oursells at little lea. Gar warn the bows o' Hartlie-burn ; See they sharp their arrows on the wa : Warn Willeva and Speir Edom, And see the morn they meet me a'. Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh, And see it be by break o' day ; * Earl is surely a typographical mistake for earl. 58 And we will on to Conscouthart-green, For there, I think, we'll get our prey." Then Hobbie Noble has dreimit a dreim, In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay ; He dreimit his horse was aneath him shot, And he himsell got hard away. The cocks 'goud craw, the day 'goud daw, And I wot sae even fell doun the rain ; Had Hobbie Noble na wakened at that time, In the Foulbogshiel he had been taen or slain. " Awake, awake, my feres five ! I trow here maks a fu' ill day ; Yet the worst cloak o' this company, I hope shall cross the Waste this day." Now Hobbie thoucht the gates were clear ; But, ever alas ! it was na sae : They were beset by cruel men and keen, That away brave Hobbie micht na gae. " Yet follow me, my feres five, And see ye keip of me gude ray ; And the worst cloak o' this companie Even yet may cross the Waste this day." But the land-sergeant's men came Hobbie before, And traitor Sim cam Hobbie behin' ; So, had Hobbie been wicht as Wallace was, Away, alas ! he micht na win. Then Hobbie had but a laddie's sword ; But he did mair than a laddie's deed ; For that sword had clear'd Conscouthart-green, Had it not broke ower Jerswicrham's heid. 59 Then they hae taen brave Hobbie Noble, Wi's am bowstring they band him sae ; But his gentle heart was ne'er sae sair, As when his ain five bound him on the brae ! They hae taen him on for West Carlisle ; They asked him if he kenn'd the way ? Though much he thoucht, yet little he said ; He knew the gate as well as they. They hae taen him up the Ricker-gate ;* The wives they cast the windows wide ; And every wife to another 'gan say, " That's the man lows'd Jock o' the Syde !" " Fye on ye, women I why ca' ye me man ? For it's nae man that I'm used like ; I'm but like a forfoughen-j- hound, Has been fighting in a dirty syke." J They hae taen him up through Carlisle toun, And set him by the chimney fire ; They gave brave Noble a loaf to eat, And that was little his desire. They gave him a wheaten loaf to eat, And after that a can o' beer ; And they a' cried, with one consent, " Eat, brave Noble, and mak gude cheir ! Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie," they said, *' And to-morrow in Carlisle thou'se na dee." u How can I confess than," Hobbie says, " When I never saw them wi' my ee ?" Then Hobbie he swore a fu' great aith, Bi the day that he was gotten and born, * A street in Carlisle. t Exhausted with fatigue. X Ditch. 60 He never had ony thing o' my lord's, That either eat him grass or corn. " Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton ! For I think again I'll ne'er thee see : I wad hae betrayed nae lad alive, For a' the gowd in Christentie. And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale ! Baith the hie land and the law ; Keip ye weel frae the traitor Mains I For gowd and gear he'll sell ye a'. Yet wad I rather be ea'd Hobbie Noble, In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fau't, Than I'd be ca'd the the traitor Mains, That eats and drinks o' the meal and maut !' KINMONT WILLIE.* O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde ? O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroop ? How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie, On Hairibee to hing him up ? Had Willie had but twenty men, But twenty men as stout as he, Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen, Wi' eight score in his companie. * The incident on which this ballad is founded, took place on the I3th of April, 1596. It was the last enterprise of the kind whirh fell out betwixt the inhabitants of the two kingdoms, before the union of their sovereignty un- der James the Sixth. The hero was a noted depredator of the name of William Armstrong, but called, from his residence or property, Kinmont Willie. 61 They band his legs beneath the steed, They tied his hands behind his back ; They guarded him, fivesome on each side, And they brought him ovver the Liddel rack.* They led him through the Liddel rack, And also through the Carlisle sands ; They brought him to Carlisle Castell, To be at my Lord Scroop's commands. " My hands are tied, but my tongue is free, And whae will daur this deed avow ? Or answer by the Border law ? Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch ?" " Now baud thy tongue, thou rank reiver ! There's never a Scot sail set ye free : Before ye cross my castle yett, , I trow ye sail take fare we el o' me." " Fear ye na that, my lord," quo' Willie : " By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroop," he said, " I never yet lodged in a hostelrie,-|- But I paid my lawing J before I gaed." Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper, In Branksome Ha', where that he lay, That Lord Scroop has taen the Kinmont Willie, Between the hours of night and day. He has taen the table wi' his hand ; He garred the red wine spring on hie : " Now, Christ's curse on my head," he said, " But avenged of Lord Scroop I'll be ! * A ford on tl:e Lidde'. f Inn, t Reckoning. F 62 O is my basnet* a widow's curch,f Or my lance a wand of the willow tree, Or my arm a ladye's lilye hand, That an English lord should lichtlyj me ! And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie, Against the truce of Border tide, And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Is keeper here on the Scottish side ? And have they e'en taen him, Kinmont Willie, Withouten either dreid or fear, And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Can back a steed or shake a spear ? were there war between the lands, As weel I wot that there is none, 1 would slight Carlisle Castle high, Though it were builded of marble stone. I would set that castle in a low,§ And sloken it with English bluid ! There's never a man in Cumberland Should ken where Carlisle Castle stude I But since nae war's between the lands, And there is peace, and peace should be, I'll neither harm English lad nor lass, And yet the Kinmont freed shall be !" He has called him forty march-men bauld, I trow they were of his ain name, Except Sir Gilbert Elliot called, The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same. He has called him forty march-men bauld, Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch ; * Helmet. f Coif. J Slight. § Flame. I 63 With spur on heel, and 6plent on spauld,* And gluives of green, and feathers blue. There were five and five before them a', Wi' hunting horns, and bugles bright ; And five and five cam wi* Buccleuch, Like Warder's men, arrayed for fight. And five and five, like a mason gang, That carried the ladders lang and hie ; And five and five, like broken men ; And so they reached the Woodhouselee.f And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land, When to the English side we held, The first o' men that we met wi', Whae should it be but fause Sakelde? " Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?" Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me !" " We go to hunt an English stag, Has trespassed on the Scots countrie." " Where be ye gaun, ye marshalmen ?" Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell me true !' a \\r e g t0 ca t c h a ran k reiver, Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch.' " Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie ?" " We gang to herry a corbie's nest, That wons not far frae Woodhouselee." " Where be ye gaun, ye broken men ?" Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me !" * Armour on shoulder. f A house on the Border, belonging to Buccleuch. 64 Now Dickie o' Dryhope* led that band, And the never a word o' lear had he. " Why trespass ye on the English side ? Row-footed outlaws, stand !" quo' he. The never a word had Dickie to say ; Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie. Then on we held for Carlisle toun, And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossed ; The water was great and meikle of spait, But the never a man nor horse we lost. And when we reach'd the Staneshaw-bank, The wind was rising loud and hie ; And there the laird garr'd leave our steeds, For fear that they should stamp and nie. And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, The wind began full loud to blaw ; But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, When we cam beneath the castle wa\ We crept on knees, and held our breath, Till we placed the ladders against the wa' ; And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell To mount the first before us a'. He has taen the watchman by the throat ; He flung him doun upon the lead : " Had there not been peace between our land, Upon the other side he had gaed ! * Dryhope is a farm, but was formerly a distinct property, in Yarrow, near the eastern extremity of St Mary's Loch. It was possessed by a branch of the Seotts ; of which Mary Scott, the celebrated ** Flower o' Yarrow," was a daughter. 65 Now sound out, trumpets !" quo' Buccleuch ; " Let's waken Lord Scroop, richt merrilie !" Then loud the warden's trumpet blew— " O whae daur meddle wi me T * Then speedilie to work we gaed, And raised the slogan ane and a', And cut a hole through a sheet o' lead, And so we wan to the castle ha'. They thought King James and a' his men Had won the house wi' bow and spear ; It was but twenty Scots and ten, That put a thousand in sic a steer If Wi' coulters, and wi' fore-hammers, We garred the bars bang merrilie, Until we cam to the inner prison, Where Willie o' Kinmon the did lie* And when we cam to the lower prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie : " O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, Upon the morn that thou's to die ?" "OI sleep saft, and I wake aft ; It's lang since sleeping was fleyed % frae me ! Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that spier |J for me." Then Red Rowan has hente§ him up, The starkest ^[ man in Teviotdale : " Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroop I take farewell. * The name of a Border tune. f Stir. + Frightened. B Inquire. § Heaved. *f Strongest. 2 F 66 Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroop ! My good Lord Scroop, farewell !" he cried ; " I'll pay you for my lodging maill,* When first we meet on the Border side," Then shoulder-high, with shout and cry, We hore him down the ladder lang ; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's arms play'd clang ! " O mony a time/' quo' Kinmont Willie, " I've ridden horse baith wild and wudde;-{- But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode. And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, " I've prick'd a horse out ower the furs ; J But since the day I back'd a steed, I never wore sic cumbrous spurs !" || We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, When a' the Carlisle bells were rung, And a thousand men, in horse and foot, Cam wi' the keen Lord Scroop along. Buccleuch has turn'd to Eden Water, Even where it flow'd frae bank to brim, And he has plunged in, wi' a' his band, And safely swam them through the stream. He turn'd him on the other side, And at Lord Scroop his glove flung he : iC If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me !" Rent. f Mad. £ Furrows. Alluding to his irons. I 67 All sore astonished stood Lord Scroop ; He stood as still as rock of stone : He scarcely dared to trew* his eyes, When through the water they had gane. " He is either him sell a devil frae hell, Or else his mother a witch maun be ; f I wadna have ridden that wan water, For a' the gowd in Christendie !" J EDOM O' GORDON. § It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, " We maun draw to a hauld. * Give credence to. t It is relate.-! of the bold baron who executed this singular exploit, that, being afterwards called to account by Queen Elizabeth for his conduct, and being asked by her majesty how he had dared to undertake an enterprise so desperate and presumptuous, he answered, with characteristic boldness, " Dared, madam ! What is it that a man dares not do ?" $ From the Mins relsy of the Scottish Border, to which the reader may be referred for a great number of interesting particulars regarding the story of " Kinmont Willie." It may be proper to mention that this and the three preceding ballads are given in a cluster, as referring to one district and one subject — the Border and its old predatory character— though somewhat in violation of the chronological arrangement. § This ballad is founded upon a real event, which took place in the north of Scotland, in the year 1571, during the struggles between the party which held out for the imprisoned Queen Mary, and that which endeavour- ed to maintain the authority of her infant son James VI. The person here designated Edom o' Gordon, was Adam Gordon of Auchindown, brother of the Marquis of Huntly, and his deputy as lieutenant of the north of Scotland for the Queen. This gentleman committed many acts of oppres- sion on the clan Forbes, under colour of the Queen's authority ; and, in one collision with that family, killed Arthur, brother to Lord Forbes. He af- terwards smt a party, under one Captain Car, or Ker, to reduce the house of Towie, one of the chief seats of the name of Forbes. The proprietor of this mansion being from home, his lady, who was pregnant at the time, confiding too much in her sex and condition, not only refused to surrender, but gave Car some very opprobrious language over the walls ; which irri- tated him so much, that he set fire to the house, and burnt the whole in- mates, amounting in all to thhty-seven persons. As Gordon never cashiered 68 And whatna hauld sail we draw to, My merrie-men and me ? We will gae to the house o' Rodes, [Rothes] To see that fair ladye." She had nae sooner buskit hersell, Nor putten on her goun, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were round about the toun. They had nae suner sitten doun, Nor suner said the grace, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were closed about the place. The ladye ran to her touir heid, As fast as she could drie, To see if, by her fair speeches, She could with him agree. As sune as he saw the ladye fair, And hir yetts all lockit fast, Car for this inhuman action, he was held by the public voice to be equally guilty ; and accordingly we here find a ballad in which he is represented as the principal actor himself. Gordon, in his History of the Family of Gordon, informs us that, in the right old spirit of Scottish family feud, the Forbeses afterwards attempted to assassinate Gordon on the streets of Paris. " Forbes," he says, " with these desperate fellows, lay in wait, in the street through which he was to return to his lodgings from the palace of the Archbishop of Glasgow, then ambassador in France. They discharged their pistols upon Auchindown, as he passed by them, and wounded him in the thigh. His servants pur- sued, but could not catch them ; they only found, by good chance, Forbes's hat, in which was a paper with the name of the place where they were to meet. John Gordon, Lord of Glenluce and Longormes, son to Alexander Gordon, Bishop of Galloway, lord of the bedchamber to the King of France, getting instantly notice of this, immediately acquainted the king, who forthwith dispatched le grand provost de I'hotel, or the great provost of the palace, with his guards, in company with John Gordon, and Sir Adam's servants, to the place of their meeting to apprehend them. When they were arrived at the place, Sir Adam's servant, being impatient, rush- ed violently into the house, and killed Forbes ; but his associates were all apprehended, and broke upon the wheel." This dreadful incident would surely have made an excellent second part to the ballad. 69 He fell into a rage of wrath, And his heart was aghast. " Come down to me, ye ladye fair, Come down to me, let's see ; This nicht ye'se lie by my ain side, The morn my bride sail be." " I winna come doun, ye fause Gordon ; I winna come doun to thee ; I winna forsake my ain deir lord, That is sae far frae me." " Gie up your house, ye fair ladye, Gie up your house to me ; Or I will burn yoursell therein, But and your babies thrie." " I winna gie 't up, thou fause Gordon, To nae sic traitor as thee ; Though thou suld burn mysell therein, But and my babies thrie. And ein wae worth you, Jock, my man ! I paid ye weil your fee ; "Why pou ye out my grund-wa-stane, Lets in the reek to me ? And ein wae worth ye, Jock, my man ! I paid ye weil your hyre ; Why pou ye out my grund-wa-stane, To me lets in the fyre ?" " Ye paid me weil my hire, lady, Ye paid me weil my fee ; But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, Maun either do or die." 70 O then bespake her youngest son, Sat on the nurse's knee ; u Dear mother, gie ower your house," he says, " For the reek it worries me." " I winna gie up my house, my dear, To nae sic traitor as he ; Come weel, come wae, my jewel fair, Ye maun tak share wi' me." O then bespake her daughter deir ; She was baith jimp and sma' ; " O row me in a pair o' sheets, And tow me ower the wa'." They rowed her in a pair o' sheets, And towed her ower the wa' ; But on the point o' Edom's speir She gat a deidly fa'. O bonnie, bonnie, was her mouth, And cherry were her cheiks ; And cleir, cleir, was her yellow hair, Whereon the reid blude dreips. Then wi' his spier he turned her ower, gin her face was wan I He said, " You are the first that eir 1 wist alyve again." He turned her ower and ower again, O gin her skin was whyte ! He said, " I micht hae spaired thy lyfe, To been some man's delyte. Backe and boun, my merrie-men all, For ill dooms I do guess ; 71 I canna luik on that bonnie face, As it lies on the grass !" " Them luiks to freits, my master deir, Then freits will follow them ; * Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon Was dauntit by a dame." O then he spied her ain deir lord, As he came ower the lea ; He saw his castle in a fyre, As far as he could see." " Put on, put on, my michtie men, As fast as ye can drie ; For he that's hindmost o' my men, Sail ne'er get gude o' me. And some they rade, and some they ran, Fu' fast out ower the plain ; But lang, lang, ere he could get up, They a were deid and slain. But mony were the mudie men/ Lay gasping on the grene ; For o' fifty men that Edom brought, There were but fyve gaed hame. And mony were the mudie men, Lay gasping on the grene ; And mony were the fair ladyes, Lay lemanless at heme. And round and round the wa's he went, Their ashes for to view ; * A Scottish prorerb. Afreil is a superstitious maxim. 12 At last into the flames he ran, And bade the world adieu.* THE BATTLE OF THE REIDSWIRE.f T *E seventh of July, the suith to say, At the Reidswire the tryst was set ; Our wardens they affixed the day, And, as they promised, so they met. Alas, that day I'll ne'er forgett ! Was sure sae feir'd, and then sae faine — They came there, justice for to gett, Will never greenej to come again. Carmichael was our warden then ; He caused the county to convene ; And the Laird's Wat, that worthie man, Broucht in his sirname weil beseen,|| The Armistrangs, that aye hae been A hardie house, but not a hale :S * First printed by Lord Hailes, in a separate sheet, at Glasgow, in the year 1755, and afterwards engrossed by Percy in his Reliques, with a few alterations adopted from his celebrated folio manuscript. The above is Percy's version, with only a few orthographical alterations. t This skirmish, the last of any consequence fought upon the Borders, took place on the 7th of July, 1575, at a meeting held by the Wardens of the Marches, for the transaction of peaceable business, on Redswire, a part of Carter Fell. It was occasioned by the complaint of a Scotsman against an Englishman of the name of Favnstein. Sir John Forster, the English warden, having alleged that it was impossible to deliver up this man to justice, as he had already fled, the Scottish warden, Sir John Car- michael, took the liberty of admonishing him to " play fair." Forster re- torted by some injurious expressions regarding Carmichael's family, and gave other open signs of resentment. The Tynedale men, accepting Sir John's conduct as a signal for war, let fly a flight of arrows among the Scots ; and a battle then commenced, which is very faithfully described in the ballad. The Scots, chiefly by the exertions of the brave citizens of Jedburgh, who came up near the close of the fray, gained a complete vic- tory. $ Long. II Well-appointed. § That is, a broken clan, or clan without an acknowledged chief. 73 The Elliots, their honours to mainteene, Broucht down the lave of Liddesdale. Then Tividale came, too, wi' speid ; The Sheriff* broucht the Douglas down, Wi' Cranstoune, Gladstoune, -good at neid, Baith Rule water and Hawick toune.-j- Bonjethart bauldly made him boun', Wi' a' the Turnbulls, strong and stout ; The Rutherfoords, with grit renown, Convoyed the town of Jethart out. f Of other clans I cannot tell, Because our warning was not wide. By this our folks hae taen the fell, And laid doun pallions||, there to byde. We lookit doun the other side, And saw come breistin ower the brae, Wi' Sir John Forster for their guyde, Full fifteen hundred men and mae. It grieved him sair that day, I trow, Wi' Sir John Heron of Shipsydehouse : Because we were not men enow, They countit us not worth a louse. Sir George was gentle, meek, and douse ; § But he was hail and het as fyre ; And yet, for all his cracking crouse,«jj He rued the raid of the Reidswire. To deal with proud men is but pain ; For either must ye fecht or flie, Douglas of Cavers, hereditary Sheriff of Teviotdale. t That is to say, the inhabitants of the valley of Rule water and of the town of Hawick. X The inhabitants of Jedburgh, which is the nearest Scottish town to the field of battle. H Tents. § Grave. f Talking big. G 3 74 Or else no answer make again, But play the beist and let them be. It was nae wonder he was hie, Had Tynedale, Reidsdale, at his hand, Wi' Buikdale, Glensdale on the lee, And Hebsrime, and Northumberland. Yet was our meeting meek enough, Begun wi' merriment and mowes,* And at the brae, abune the heuch, The clerk sat down to call the rowes.-j- And some for kyne, and some for ewes, Call'd in of Dandie, Hob, and Jock — We saw, come marching ower the knowes, Five hundred Fenwicks in a flock. With jack and speir, and bows all bent, And warlike weapons at their will : Although we were na weel content, Yet, by my trowth, we feired nae ill. Some gaed to drink, and some stude still, And some to cards and dice them sped ; Till on ane Farnstein they fyled a bill, And he was fugitive and fled. Carmichael bade them speik out plainly, And cloke no cause for ill nor gude ; The other answering him as vainly, Began to reckon kin and blude : He rase and raxed J him where he stude, And bade him match him with his marrows, Then Tynedale heard them reason rude, And they loot off a flight of arrows. Then was there nocht but bow and speir, And every man pulled out a brand ; * Jests. t Rolls. t Stretched himself up to his full length, a gesticulation of pride 75 " A Schafton and a Fenwick" thare : Gude Symington was slain frae hand. The Scotsmen cried on other to stand, Frae time they saw John Robson slain — What should they cry? the king's command Could cause no cowards turn again. Up rose the Laird to red the cumber, Which would not be for all his boast ; What could we doe with sic a number ? Fyve thousand men into a host. Then Harry Purdie proved his cost, And very narrowly had mischieved him ; And there we had our warden lost, Wert not the grit God he relieved him. Another through the hreiks him hair, While flatlies to the ground he fell : Then thocht I weel we had lost him there, Into my stomach it struck a knell ! Yet up he rase, the truth to tell ye, And laid about him dunts full dour ; His horsemen they rade sturdilie, And stude about him in the stoure. Then rase the slogan with ane shout, " Fy, Tynedale, to it !" — " Jethart's here I" * I trow he was not half sae stout, But anes his stomach was asteir, With gun and genzie,f bow and speir, Men micht see mony a crackit croun 1 But up amang the merchant geir, They were as busy as we were doun. The swallow-tail frae tackles flew, Five hundreth flam £ into a flicht, * The slogans, or war-cries, of the men of Tynedale and the inhabitants of Jedburgh. f Engines of war. % Arrows. 76 But we had pistolets enew, And shot among them as we micht. With help of God the game gaed richt, Frae time the foremost of them fell ; Then ower the knowe without goodnight, They ran with mony a shout and yell. But after they had turned backs, Yet Tynedale men they turned again ; And had not been the merchant packs, There had been mae of Scotland slain. But, Jesu ! if the folks were faine To put the bussing on their thies : And so they fled wi' a' their main, Doun ower the braes, like cloggit bees. Sir Francis Russel * taen was there, And hurt, as we hear men rehearse ; Proud Wallington f was woundit sair, Albeit he be a Fenwick fierce. But if ye wald a souldier search, Among them a' were taen that nicht, Was nane sae wordie to put in verse, As Collingwood,J that courteous knicht. Young Henry Schafton he is hurt ; A souldier shot him with a bow : Scotland has cause to mak great sturt, For laming of the Laird of Mowe. § The Lairdis Wat did weel indeed ; His friends stude stoutly by himsel, With little Gladstain, gude in need, For Gretein kend nae gude by ill. * Brother to the Earl of Bedford. f Fenwick of Wallington, a powerful Northumbrian chief. $ Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, ancestor, I believe, to the late Lord Col- lingwood. § Ancestor of William Molle of Mains, Esq. The lands of Molle, pro- nounced Mowe, are upon Bowraont Water, in Roxburghshire. 77 The Sheriff wanted not gude will, Howbeit he micht not fight so fast ; Bonjethart, Hundlie, and Hunthill, Three, on they laid weel at the last. Except the horsemen of the guard, If I could put men to availe, None stouter stude out for their laird, Than did the lads of Liddesdale. But little harness had we there ; But auld Badrule had on a jack, And did richt weel, I you declare, With all his Trumbils at his back. Gude Elderstane was not to lack, Nor Kirktown, Newton, noble men ! Thirs all the specials I of speike, By others that I could not ken. Who did invent that day of play, We need not fear to find him sune ; For Sir John Foster, I dare well say, Made us this noisome afternune. Not that I speike preceesely out, That he supposed it would be perril ; But pride, and breaking out of feuid, Garr'd Tynedale lads begin the quarrel.* THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY.f Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands, Oh, where have ye been ? * This ballad has been preserved in the Bannatyne Manuscript, Advo. cates' Library. It was first printed by Allan Ramsay, in the Evergreen, but with some inaccuracies. The present copy is from a purer version, printed in the Border Minstrelsy. t The tragical circumstance upon which this ballad is founded, affords a notable illustration of the bloody feuds which prevailed among the nobility g2 78 They hae slain the Earl o' Murray, And lain him on the green. so late as the reign of James VI. James, Earl of Murray, the subject of the ballad, was a son of Lord Downe, but acquired the title of Moray, by marrying Elizabeth, eldest daughter of the celebrated Regent Moray. He was thought to be the handsomest man of his time ; and" it would appear from the song, that he was skilled in those chivalric accomplishments which are so well fitted to set off a good figure to advantage. There is even a suspicion that he was a gallant of the queen, Anne of Denmark, then re- cently brought over to Scotland ; but this seems to be countenanced by little else than the ballad. The following authentic account of his murder is from Sir \T alter Scott's delightful little work, entitled " Tales of a Grand- father." " The Earl of Huntly, head of the powerful family of Gordon, had chanced to have some feudal differences with the Earl of Murray, in the course of which John Gordon, a brother of Gordon of Cluny, was killed by a shot from Murray's castle of Darnaway. This was enough to make the two families irreconcilable enemies, even if they had been otherwise on friendly terms. About 1591-2, an accusation was brought against Murray for having given some countenance, or assistance, to Stewarr, Earl of Both- well, in a recent treasonable exploit. King James, without recollecting, perhaps, the hostility between the two earls, sent Huntly with a commis- sion to bring the Earl of Murray to his presence. Huntly probably rejoiced in the errand, as giving him an opportunity of revenging himself on his feudal enemy. He beset the house of Dunnibrissle, on the northern shore of the Forth, and summoned Murray to surrender. In reply, a gun was fired, which mortally wounded one of the Gordons. The assailants pro- ceeded to set fire to the house; when Dunbar, sheriff of the county of Mo- ray, said to the Earl, • Let us not stay to be burned in the flaming house : I will go out foremost, and the Gordons, taking me for your lordship, will kill me, while you escape in the confusion.' They rushed out among their enemies accordingly, and Dunbar was slain. But his death did not save his friend, as he had generously intended. Murray, indeed, escaped for the moment, but as he fled towards the rocks of the sea-shore, he was tra- ced by the silken tassels attached to his head- piece, which had taken fire as he broke out among the flames. By this means his pursuers followed him down amongst the cliffs near the sea; and Gordon of Buckie, who is said to have been the first that overtook him, wounded him mortally. As Mur- ray was gasping in the last agony, Huntly came up ; and it is alleged by tradition, that Gordon pointed his dirk against the person of his chief, say- ing, * By heaven, my lord, you shall be as deep in as I,' and so he compel- led him to wound Murray whilst he was dying. Huntly, with a wavering hand, struck the expiring earl in the face. Thinking of his superior beauty, even in that moment of parting life, Murray stammered out the dying words, ' You have spoiled a better face than your own.' " After this deed of violence, Huntly did not choose to return to Edin- burgh, but departed for the north. He took refuge, for the moment, in the castle of Ravenscraig, belonging to the Lord Sinclair, who told him, with a mixture of Scottish caution and hospitality, that he was welcome to come in, but would have been twice as welcome to have passed by. Gor- don, when a long period had passed by, avowed his contrition for the guilt he had incurred." It is a strange circumstance, but characteristic of the times, that this Gordon of Buckie was the person selected by Huntly to go over to Edin- burgh, to inform the king of the transaction. He did so, and escaped with- out being seized. The bodies of the Earl and the Sheriff of Moray lay for several months exposed in the church of Leith, their friends refusing to bury them till their murder should be avenged. But they were never gra- tified in their wish. Forty-three years afterwards, when advanced to extreme old age, Gordon 79 " Now wae be to you, Huntly ! And wherefore did ye sae ? I bade you bring him wi' you, But forbade you him to slay." He was a braw gallant, And he rade at the ring ; And the bonnie Earl o' Murray, Oh ! he micht ha' been a king. He was a braw gallant, And he rade at the gluve ; And the bonnie Earl o' Murray, Oh I he was the Queen's luve ! Oh I lang will his lady Look ower the Castle Doune,* Ere she see the Earl o' Murray Come sounding through the toun. testified his contrition for the murder of Murray on a very remarkable oc- casion. Being one of the jury at the trial of Lord Balmerino for leasing- making, on which occasion it was calculated that he would be sure to vote against the accused, he disappointed the expectations of all concerned, by rising up as soon as the assize was enclosed, and imploring them to consi- der well what they were about before giving an unfavourable verdict. " It was a matter of blood," he said, " and if they determined to shed that, they might feel the weight of it as long as they lived. He had him- self been drawn in to shed blood in his youth ; he had obtained the king's pardon for his offence ; but it cost him more to obtain God's grace. It had given him many sorrowful hours." As he said this, the tears ran over his face. Burnet records, in his gossiping history, that the speech of the old man struck a damp into the rest of the assize, though it did not prevent them from finding Balmerino guilty. It must have assuredly been a strange sight, to see this hoary murderer, who had been marked as a man sure to obey the tyrannical dictates of a court, rise up, and, with tears in his eyes, implore the gentler personages around him to pause before shedding inno- cent blood. We further learn, from Spalding's Troubles, that Gordon of Buckie com- manded one of the Marquis of Huntly's castles against the Covenanters, so lately as the year 1646. * Doune Castle, in Menteith, now in ruins, but still the property of the noble family of Moray. It may be mentioned, that Dunnibrissle, where the murder happened, was the seat of the earl's mother ; and that he was only there on a visit. 80 THE LAIRD O' LOGIE* O I will sing, if ye will hearken, If ye will hearken unto me ; The king has taen a puir prisoner, The wanton young Laird o' Logie. Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel, Carmichael's keeper o' the key ; And May Margaret's lamenting sair, A' for the love o' young Logie. When news cam to our gudely queen, She sich'd, and said richt mournfullie, * The historical incident which gave occasion to this ballad, is thus de- tailed in " The Historie of King James the Sext." It must only be pre- mised, that it took place before the year 1600, while as yet James I. resided in the palace of Holyrood, the humble monarch of solitary Scotland. «* In this close tyme, it fortunit that a gentleman called Weymis of Lo- gye, being also in credence at court, was delatit as a traffecker with Francis, Earl of Bothwell ; and he being examinat before king and counsel, con- fessit his accusation to be of veritie, that sundry times he had spoken with him, expresslie aganis the king's inhibition proclaimit in the contrare, whilk confession he subscry vit with his hand; and because the event of this mater had sik a success, it sail also be praysit by my pen, as a wor- thie turne, whilk suld in no ways be obscurit from the posteritie, for the gude example ; and therefore I have thought gude to insert the same for a perpetual memorie. " Queen Anne, our noble princess, was servit with diverss gentilwomen of hir a win countrie, and naymlie with ane callit Mres Margaret Twynstoun, to whom this gentilman, Weymes of Logye, bare great honest affection, tending to the gocilip band of marriage ; the quhilk was honestlie requytat by the said gentilwoman, yea evin in his greatest mister; for howsone she understude the said gentilman to be in distress, and apparentlie by his con- fession to be puneist to the death, and she having privilege to lye in the queynis chalmer this same verie night of his accusation, where the king was also reposing that same night, she came furth of the dure prevelie, bayth the prencis being then at quyet rest, and past to the chalmer, where the said gentilman was put in custody to certayne of the garde, and com- mandit thayme that immediatelie he sould be brought to the king and queyne, whereunto they geving sure credence, obeyit. But howsone she was come back to the chalmer dure, she desyrit the watches to stay till he sould come furth agayne, and so she closit the dure, and convoyit the gen- tilman to a window, where she ministrat a. long corde unto him, to convoy himself doun upon ; and sae be hir gude cheritable help he happilie escapit be the subteltie of loove." 81 <■ O what will come o' Lady Margaret, Wha beirs sic love to young- Logie ?" May Margaret tore her yellow hair, When as the queen told her the same : " I wis that I had ne'er been born, Or ne'er had known young Logie's name I" " Lament, lament na, May Margaret, And of your weeping let me be ; For ye maun to the king himsell, To seek the life o' young Logie." May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding, And curlit back her yellow hair ; " If I canna get young Logie's life, Fareweel to Scotland evermair !" When that she came before the king, She kneelit lowly on her knee : " O what's the matter, May Margaret ? And what needs a' this courtesie ?" " A boon, a boon, my noble liege ! A boon, a boon, I beg of thee ! And the first boon that I come to crave, Is to grant me the life of young Logie." " O na, O na, May Margaret, Forsooth, and so it maunna be ; For a' the gowd in fair Scotland Shall not save the life of young Logie." May Margaret she gaed down the stair, I wat she gaed richt mournfullie : " Oh ! a' the money in fair Scotland Wadna save the life o' young Logie !" 82 And sae she tore her yellow hair, Kinking her fingers ane by ane ; * And cursed the day that she was born, Or that she heard o' Logie's name ! " Lament, lament na, Margaret, And of your weeping let me be ; And I will to the king mysell, To seek the life o' young Logie." The queen she trippit up the stair, And lowly knelt upon her knee : " A boon, a boon, I crave, my liege ! Grant me the life of young Logie !" " If you had asked me castles and towers, I wad hae gien them, twa or three ; But a' the money in fair Scotland Wad na buy the life of young Logie I" The queen she trippit down the stair, And down she gaed richt mournfullie ; " Oh ! a' the money in fair Scotland Wad na buy the life of young Logie." Lady Margaret tore her yellow hair, When as the queen tauld her the same : " I'll tak a knife, and end my life, And be in the grave as sune as him." " Oh, fie ! na, na !" then spoke the queen ; " Fie, na ! fie, na ! this maunna be I I'll set ye on another way To win the life o' young Logie." * Wringing her fingers so hard in the agony of her distress, as to make them crack ; a very striking, though simple delineation of grief. 83 May Margaret has taen the king's redding-kame, Likewise the queen her wedding-knife ; And sent the tokens to Carmichael, To cause young Logie get his life. She sent him a purse o' the red gowd, Another o' the white monie ; She sent him a pistol for each hand, And bade him shoot when he gat frie. When he cam to the tolbooth stair, There he let his volley flee ; It made the king in his chamber start, E'en in the bed where he micht be. And when he cam to the queenis window, Whaten a joyfou shout ga'e he ! Saying, " Peace be to our royal queen, And peace be in her companie I" " O whaten a voice is that ?" quo' the king ; " Whaten a voice is that ?" quo' he : " Whaten a voice is that ?" quo' the king ; " I think it's the voice of young Logie. Gae out, gae out, my meny-men a', And bid Carmichael come speik to me ; For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that, That yon's the voice o' young Logie." When Carmichael came before the king, He fell down low upon his knee ; The very first word that the king spoke, Was, " Where's the young Laird o' Logie ?" Carmichael turned him round about, (I wat the tear blinded his ee,) * Comb for the hair. 84 " There came a token frae your grace, Has taen the laird away frae me." " Hast thou played me that, Carmichael ?" he said ; " And hast thou played me that?" quo' he ; " The morn, therefore, at twelve o'clock, Your men and you shall hangit be." " Ah, na ! fie, na !" then quoth the queen ; " Fie, my deir love I this canna be : If ye be gaun to hang them a', Indeed ye maun begin wi' me." Carmichael is gane to Margaret's bowir, Even as fast as he micht drie : " O if young Logie be within, Tell him to come and speik with me !" May Margaret turned her round about ; I wot a loud lauch lauchit she : fi The egg is chippit ; the bird is flown ; Ye'll see nae mair o' young Logie." 3 The tother at the Queen's Ferrie ; The tane is shippit at the pier o' Leith, The tother at the Queen's Ferrie ; And now the lady has gotten her luve, The winsome young Laird o' Logie ! * This ballad first appeared, under the title of " The Laird of Ochil- tree," in Herd's Collection. In the Border Minstrelsy appeared another version, under the title of " The Laird o' Logie;" and to it Mr Motherwell has latterly added a stanza from recitation. In the present edition, an at- tempt is made to combine the various incidents of both of these versions ; the qiieen's application for mercy being taken from Herd's, while the ex- pedient by which the hero is eventually liberated, is adopted from Sir Wal- ter Scott's. Thus, the present version, associating the varieties of other two, is considerably longer than either. 85 THE BURNING OF FRENDRAUGHT.* The eighteenth of October, A dismal tale to hear, How good Lord John and Rothiemay Were both burnt in the fire. * The reader, before perusing this ballad, will do well to give some at- tention to the following prose account of the incident on which it is found- ed ; an incident of the most mysterious and interesting nature to be found, perhaps, in the whole history of Scotland ; the murder of Darnley not ex- cepted. A mortal feud having arisen betwixt the Laird of Frendraught and the Laird of Rothiemay, both gentlemen of Banffshire, a rencontre took place, at which the retainers of both were present, on the 1st of January, 1630 ; when Rothiemay was killed, and several persons hurt on both sides. To stanch this bloody quarrel, the Marquis of Huntly, who was chief to both parties, and who had therefore a right to act as arbiter between them, or- dered Frendraught to pay fifty thousand merks to Rothiemay's widow. In the ensuing September, Frendraught fell into another quarrel, in the course of which James Lesly, son to Lesly of Pitcaple, was shot through the arm. Soon after the last incident, Frendraught having paid a visit to the Mar- quis of Huntly at the Bog of Gight, the Laird of Pitcaple came up with thirty armed men, to demand atonement for the wound of his son. Huntly acted in this case with great discretion. Without permitting the two lairds to come to a conference, he endeavoured to persuade the complaining par- ty that Frendraught was in reality innocent of his son's wound ; and, as Pitcaple went away vowing vengeance, he sent Frendraught home under a strong escort, which was commanded by his son the Viscount Aboyne, and by the young Laird of Rothiemay, son to him whom Frendraught had killed some months before. The party reached Frendraught Castle without being attacked by Pitcaple; when, Aboyne and Rothiemay offering to take leave of Frendraught and his lady, in order to return home, they were earnestly entreated by these individuals to remain a night, and postpone their return till to-morrow. Being with difficulty prevailed upon, the young Viscount and Rothiemay were well entertained, and after supper went cheerfully to bed. To continue the narrative in the words of Spalding — " The Viscount was laid in an bed in the Old Tower going off the hall, and standing upon a vault, wherein there was ane round hole, devised of old, just under Aboyne's bed. Robert Gordon, his servitor, and English Will, his page, were both laid in the same chamber. The Laird of Rothiemay, with some servants beside him, was laid in another chamber just above Aboyne's chamber; and in another room, above that chamber, were laid George Chalmers of Noth, and George Gordon, another of the Viscount's servants ; with them also was laid Captain Rolloch, then in Frendraught's own com- pany. All being thus at rest, about midnight that dolorous tower took fire in so sudden and furious a manner, yea, and in ane clap, that the noble Viscount, the Laird of Rothiemay, English Will, Colonel Wat, another of Aboyne's servants, and other two, being six in number, were cruelly burnt and tormented to the death, without help or relief ; the Laird of Frend- raught, his lady, and haill household looking on, without moving or stir- ring to deliver them from the fury of this fearful fire, as was reported. Ro- bert Gordon, called Sutherland Gordon, being in the Viscount's chamber, escaped this fire with the life. George Chalmers and Captain Rolloch, be- ll When steeds were saddled, and weel bridled, And ready for to ride, Then out came she and fause Frendraught, Inviting them to bide. Said, " Stay this nicht until ye sup, The morn until ye dine ; ing in the third room, escaped this fire also, and, as was said, Aboyne might have saved himself also if he would have gone out of doors, which he would not do, but suddenly ran up stairs to Rothiemay's chamber, and wakened him to rise ; and as he is awakening him, the timber passage and lofting of the chamber hastily takes fire, so that none of them could win down stairs again ; so they turned to a window looking to the close, where they piteously cried many times, ' Help ! help ! for God's cause !' The Laird and Lady, with their servants, all seeing and hearing the woeful crying, made no help or manner of helping ; which they perceiving, cried oftentimes mercy at God's hands for their sins ; syne clasped in each other's arms, and cheerfully suf- fered their martyrdom. Thus died this noble Viscount of singular expec- tation, Rothiemay, a brave youth, and the rest, by this doleful fire, never enough to be deplored, to the great grief and sorrow of their kin, parents, and hail common people, especially to the noble Marquis, who for his good will got this reward. No man can express the dolour of him and his lady, nor yet the grief of the Viscount's own dear lady, when it came to her ears, which she kept to her dying day, disdaining after the company of men all her life-time, following the love of the turtle dove. " It is reported that upon the morn after this woeful fire, the Lady Frendraught, daughter to the Earl of Sutherland, and near cousin to the Marquis, backed m a white plaid, and riding on a small nag, having a boy- leading her horse, without any more in her company, in this pitiful man- ner she came weeping and mourning to the Bog, desiring entry to speak with my lord; but this was refused; so she returned back to her own house, trie same gate she came, comfortless." — Spalding's History of the Troubles in Scotland. Suspicion formed two theories regarding the cause of the fire of Frend- raught. The first was, that the Laird had wilfully set fire to the tower, for the purpose of destroying the young Laird of Rothiemay. The other was, that it originated in the revengeful feelings of the Laird of Piteaple. In the first theory there is extremely little probability. First, it could not have been premeditated ; because the circumstance of Frendraught being accompanied home that day by Aboyne and Rothiemay, was entirely acci- dental. In the second place, there was no reason for Frendraught being in- clined to murder Rothiemay, except that he grudged the payment of the fifty thousand merks to his mother; while there was every reason for his being inclined rather to befriend a youth whom he had already injured by occasioning the death of his father. In the third place, ah Frendraught's family pa> ers, with much gold and silver, both in money and plate, were consumed in the fire. And, in the fourth place, it is extremely improbable that any man of his rank should commit so deliberate and so atrocious an act of villainy. On the other hand, it seems by no means improbable rhat Piteaple should have caused fire to be set to his enemy's house ; a mode of reprisal, which had been practised in the same district of country, as we have already seen, by a gentleman of only the preceding age. Pitcaple's men, moreover, had been heard to declare an intention of attempting some sucli enterprise against Frendraught ; as was proved on the trial of a gen- tleman of the name of Meldrum, who was apprehended, condemned, and executed for his alleged accession to their conspiracy. 87 'Twill be a token of gude greement 'Twixt your good lord and mine." " We'll turn again," said good Lord John. But, " No," said Rothiemay ; " My steed's trapann'd ; my bridle's broken ; I fear this day I'm fey."* When mass was sung, and bells were rung, And all men bound for bed, Then good Lord John and Rothiemay In one chamber were laid. They had not long cast off their clothes, And were but new asleep,f When the weary smoke began to rise, Likewise the scorching heat. " O waken, waken, Rothiemay, O waken, brother dear ; And turn ye to our Saviour ; There is strong treason here 1" When they were dressed in their clothes, And ready for to boune, The doors and windows were all secured, The roof-tree burning down. He did him to the wire window, As fast as he could gang ; Says, " Wae to the hands put in the stancheons, For out we'll never win !" When he stood at the wire window, Most doleful to be seen, * Predestined, or ordained to death. t Recently fallen asleep. 88 He did espy her, Lady Frendraught, Who stood upon the green. Cried, " Mercy, mercy ! Lady Frendraught ! Will ye not sink with sin ? For first your husband kill'd my father, And now you burn his son I" O then out spoke her, Lady Frendraught, And loudly did she cry, " It were great pitie for good Lord John, But none for Rothiemay. But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well— Ye cannot get away !" * The reek it rose, and the flame it flew, The fire augmented high, Until it came to Lord John's chamber window, And the bed wherein he lay. He lookit east, he lookit west, To see if any help was nigh ; At length his little page he saw, Who to his lord did loudly cry. " Oh, loup ! oh, loup ! my dear master ; Oh, loup ! and come to me : I'll catch you in my armis two ; One foot I will not flee. Oh, loup ! oh, loup ! my dear master, Though the window's dreigh and high ; I'll catch you in my armis two ; But Rothiemay may lie !" * In corroboration of the truth of this part of the ballad, opposed as it is to probability, Mr Finlay mentions, as a fact of which he was informed by a person residing near Frendraught, that many years ago, when the well of the castle was cleared out, a bunch of keys was found at the bottom. 89 " The fish shall swim the flood nae mair, Nor the corn grow through the clay, Ere the fiercest fire that ever was kindled Twin me and Rothiemay.* But I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot win to thee ; My heid's fast in the wire-window, And my feet's burning frae me ! My eyes are seething in my head, My flesh roasting also ; My bowels are boiling with my blood ; I'm sinking in the low ! f Take here the rings frae my white fingers, That are so long and small ; And give them to my lady fair, Where she sits in her hall. I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot loup to thee ; My earthly part is all consumed, My spirit but speiks thee !" Wringing her hands, tearing her hair, His lady she was seen ; Who thus address'd his servant Gordon, As he stude on the green. * So altered from the original, which ran thus :— ** The fish shall never swim the flood, Nor corn grow through the clay, Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindled, Twin me and Rothiemay." ■f In the original,— Is not that a woeful woe !' h2 90 " O wae be to you, George Gordon I An ill death may you die ! Sae safe and sound as ye stand there, And my lord bereaved from me !" " I bade him loup, I bade him come, I bade him loup to me ; I'd catch him in my armis two, A foot I should not flee. He threw me the rings from his white fingers, Which were so long and small, To give to you his lady fair, Where you sat in your hall." Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay, O bonnie Sophia was her name ; Her waiting maid put on her clothes ; But I wat she tore them off again. And aft she cried, " Alas ! alas ! A sair heart's ill to win ; I wan a sair heart when I married him ; And this day its weel return'd again !"* FRENNET HALL. When Frennet Castle's ivied walls Through yellow leaves were seen ; * This ballad was first published in an entire shape, in a little volume, printed at Edinburgh for private distribution, (1824,) termed " the North Country Garland." The present copy includes two or three additional verses, which had been previously recovered from tradition by Mr Finlay. The editor thinks it proper to give, in continuation, a very pleasing mo- dern ballad on the same subject, which first appeared in Herd's Collection. 91 When birds forsook the sapless boughs, And bees the faded green ; Then Lady Frennet, vengefu' dame, Did wander frae the ha', To the wide forest's dewie gloom, Among the leaves that fa'. Her page, the swiftest of her train, Had dumb a lofty tree, Whase branches to the angry blast Were soughing mournfullie. He turn'd his een towards the path That near the castle lay, Where good Lord John and Rothiemay Were riding down the brae. Swift darts the eagle through the sky, When prey beneath is seen : As quickly he forgot his hold, And perch'd upon the green. " O hie thee, hie thee, lady gay, Frae this dark wood awa' ! Some visitors of gallant mein Are hasting to the ha'." Then round she row'd her silken plaid, Her feet she did na spare, Until she left the forest's skirts A long bow-shot and mair. " O where, O where, my good Lord John, tell me where ye ride ? Within my castle-wall this nicht 1 hope ye mean to bide. 92 Kind nobles, will ye but alicht, In yonder bower to stay, Soft ease shall teach you to forget The hardness of the way." " Forbear entreaty, gentle dame, How can we here remain ? Full well you know your husband deir Was by my father slain : The thoughts of which, with fell revenge, Within your bosom swell : Enraged you've sworn that blood for blood Should this black passion quell." " O fear not, fear not, good Lord John, That I will you betray, Or sue requital for a debt Which nature cannot pay. Bear witness, a' ye powers on high ! Ye lichts that 'gin to shine ! This nicht shall prove the sacred cord, That knits your faith and mine." The lady slie, with honey'd words, Enticed thir youths to stay ; But the morning sun ne'er shone upon Lord John and Rothiemay. THE BONNIE HOUSE O' AIRLY.* It fell on a day, on a bonnie summer day, When the aits grew green and early, * Airly Castle, the ancient seat of the Earl of Airly, is situated in the county of Forfar, on a high promontory formed by the confluence of the 93 That there fell out a great dispute Between Argyle aud Airly.* Argyle has raised a hunder men, A hunder men and mairly, And he's awa doun by the back o' Dunkeld,f To plunder the bonnie house o' Airly. The lady look'd over her window sae hie, She lookit lang and weary, Till she has espied the great Argyle, Come to plunder the bonnie house o* Airly. " Come doun, come doun, Lady Ogilvie," he said, Come doun and kiss me fairly ; Or, I swear by the sword which I hold in my hand, I winna leave a stannin stane in Airly !" " I wadna kiss thee, fause Argyle, I wadna kiss thee fairly, Isla and Melgum. It is still a house of prodigious strength and size ; but, having been formerly secured by a ditch m front, at least twenty feet wide, and by a rampart wall, ten feet thick and thirty-five feet high, it was con- sidered, at the period alluded to in the ballad, as perfectly impregnable. Notwithstanding its great strength, it was reduced and burnt, in 1640, by the Earl (afterwards Marquis) of Areyle, who had a commission to that ef- fect from the Covenanters ; its proprietor, the Earl of Airly, being then in attendance upon King Charles in England. We learn from authentic do- cuments, that the Lady Ogilvie, who was wife of the Earl's eldest son, was not in Airly Castle at the time. She was at the house of Forthar, the usual residence of her husband, Lord Ogilvie. As Forthar, however, was also reduced by Argyle, and the lady expelled from it, much after the manner delineated in the ballad, it is probable that the poet has combined the two incidents under one theme of description. * The poet here gives the colour of an accidental quarrel to what had in reality been a long continued feud. The truth is, that Argyle, in admi- nistering the vengeance of the state to Airly, wreaked out feelings of re- venge which he had personally entertained against that nobleman air his life; at the same tinae gratifying his family pride by the humiliation of a rival clan. It is related by Gordon of Straloch, the author of a very curi- ous manuscript history of the civil wars, that Argyle was so much interest- ed personally in the destruction of Airly House, as to take up a hammer, and work till he sweat at the demolition of the door- ways and other hewed stone-work which had been spared by the fire. •f- The poet seems to be here topographically correct. If Argyle approach- ed Airly from his own country* he would probably take the road by Blair- gowrie, which leads " down by the back of Dunkeld." 94 O, I wadna kiss thee, fause Argyle, Though ye should na leave a stannin stane in Airly. He has taen her by the middle sae sma, Says, " Lady, where is your drury ?"* t( It's up and down by the bonnie burn-side, Amang the plantings o' Airly." They soucht it up, they soucht it doun, They soucht it late and early, Till they fand it in the bonnie ploom-tree, That shines on the bowling-green o' Airly. He has taen her by the middle sae sma', And O, but she grat sairly ! And he's set her up on a bonnie knowe-tap, To see the burning o' Airly. " O, I hae seven brave sons," she says ; " The youngest ne'er saw his daddie ; f And although I had as mony mae, I wad gie them a' to Charlie ! But gin my gude lord had been at hame, As this nicht he is wi' Charlie, There's no a Campbell in a' Argyle, Durst ha' plunder'd the bonnie house o' Airly I Were my gude lord but here this day, As he is wi' King Charlie, * Treasure, jewels ; as in the ancient romances. f If the Countess of Airly be here meant, the poet must be wrong as to the number of her ladyship's family. She had in reality only three chil- dren. If Lady Ogilvie be meant, he is still more widely wrong ; as she had only one. There is, perhaps, more truth in the second line of this stanza. Lady Ogilvie, when expelled by Argyle from Forthar, was pregnant, and, it may be added, experienced no little distress, and underwent no little danger, before she could find a place of refuge proper for her delicate condition. / 95 The dearest blude o' a thy kin Wad sloken the burning o' Airly I' THE BATTLE OF BOTH WELL-BRIDGE. " O billie, billie, bonny billie, Will ye gae to the wood wi' me ? We'll ca' our horse hame masterless, And gar them trow slain men are we." u O no, O no !" says Earlstoun, " For that's the thing that maunna be ; For I am sworn to Bothwell Hill, Where I maun either gae or die." So Earlstoun rose in the mora, And mounted by the break o' day ; And he has join'd our Scottish lads, As they were marching out the way. " Now, fareweel, father, and fareweel, mother, And fare ye weel, my sisters three ; And fare ye weel, my Earlstoun, For thee again I'll never see !" And they're awa to Bothwell Hill, And, waly, they rade bonnilie ! When the Duke o' Monmouth saw them comin', He went to view their companie. iC Ye're welcome, lads," then Monmouth said, " Ye're welcome, brave Scots lads, to me ; * Composed out of three copies, one of which (a carefully collated one) is in Mr Finlay's collection ; another in Cromek's Reliques of Nithsdale and Galloway Song; and a third in " the Ballad Book," Edinburgh, 1824. 96 And sae are ye, brave Earlstoun, The foremost o' your companie. But yield your weapons, ane and a ; O yield your weapons, lads, to me ; For, gin ye yield your weapons up, Ye'se a' gae hame to your countrie." But up there spoke a Lennox lad, And waly he spoke bonnilie : " I winna yield my weapons up, To you nor nae man that I see." Then he set up the flag o' red, A' set about wi' bonnie blue ; " Since ye'Jl no cease, and be at peace, See that ye stand by other true." They settled their cannons on the height, And shower'd their shot down in the howe And beat our Scots lads even doun ; Thick they lay slain on every knowe. As e'er ye saw the rain doun fa', Or yet the arrow frae the bow, Sae our Scots lads fell even doun, And they lay slain on every knowe. " O hold your hand," then Monmouth cried, Gie quarters to yon men for me !" But wicked Claverse swore an oath, His cornet's death revenged soud be. " O hold your hand," then Monmouth cried, " If ony thing you'll do for me : Hold up your hand, you cursed Graham, Else a rebel to our king ye'll be." 97 Then wicked Claverse turn'd about, I wot an angry man was he ; And he has lifted up his hat, And cried, " God bless his Majestie I" Then he's awa to London toun, Ay, e'en as fast as he can drie ; Fause witnesses he has wi' him taen, And taen Monmouth's head frae his bodye. Alang the brae, beyond the brig, Mony brave man lies cauld and still : But lang we'll mind, and sair we'll rue, The bloody battle o' Bothwell Hill.* . THE THREATENED INVASION, f Tune — How are ye, Kimmerf ELSPAT. " Fy, fy, Margaret ! woman, are ye in ? I nae sooner heard it, than fast I did rin * From the Border Minstrelsy, the editor of which procured it from re- citation. The hero is Gordon of Earlstoun, a gentleman of Galloway, who, after fighting at Bothwell-bridge, and escaping from it ; after being several times under sentence of death, and on the point of being executed ; was at length released from the grasp of his persecutors by the Revolution, which event he sui vived many years. The reader will scarce fail to be touched with the fine despair which this gentleman is made to express in the first few stanzas of the ballad. f This veiy curious and amusing little rustic dramatic poem seems to have been composed in 1719, when Spain, with which this country was then at war, threatened the coasts of Britain with an invasion in favour of the Chevalier de St George ; an invasion which partially did take effect in the north of Scotland, though in so slight a degree as to be repelled by only a few companies of men under General Wightman. This version of the bal- lad is composed out of two imperfect and confused copies, one of which is in Mr Sharpe's " Ballad Book," and the other in Mr Peter Buchan's " Gleanings of Scarce Old Ballads." In arranging the various verses, I have been guided partly by the sense, and partly by my recollection of their recital by an old schoolmaster of Peebles-shire, who, attired in petti- coats and head-gear, and carrying a roke under his arms, used, in my young days, to act this strange folly, to its very last verse, before gentlemen and ladies, when he had arrived at a particular stage of convivial merriment. I 98 Down the gate to tell ye, Down the gate to tell ye, Down the gate to tell ye, We'll no be left our skin. Oh dear ! oh dear ! didna ye hear, The French and the Spaniards are a' comin here ? And we'll a be murdered, And we'll a' be murdered, And we'll a' be murdered, Or the neist year. Weel micht I kent a' wasna richt ; I dreamt o' red and green a' last nicht, And twa cats fechtin, And twa cats fechtin, And twa cats fechtin ; I waukent wi' the fricht. Fare ye weel, woman, for now I maun rin ; Trow ye, if our neebour Eppie be in, And auld Robin Barber, And auld Robin Barber, And auld Robin Barber ? For I maun tell him." MARGARET. " Bide a wee, woman, and gies't a' out. They're bringing in black Paperie, I doubt, I doubt, And sad reformation, And sad reformation, And sad reformation, In a' the kirks about. I carena, for my ain part, though they come the morn ; I'll gie them another link to the cruiks o' their horn ; For I'll no yield it, For I'll no yield it, 99 For I'll no yield it, To ony man that's born. O, dinna ye mind o' this very fleer,, When we were a' riggit out to gang to Sherramuir, Wi' stanes in our aprons, Wi' stanes in our aprons, Wi' stanes in our aprons, Did muckle dule, I'm sure ?" ELSPAT. " Hech whowe ! Margaret, wasna that a gun ?" MARGARET. " Atweel, no, Elspat, 'twas me ******* *** ; We're weel when we get it, We're weel when we get it, We're weel when we get it, Awa wi' little din." SCOTTISH BALLADS PART SECOND. ISallatrs SUPPOSED TO REFER TO REAL CIRCUMSTANCES IN Uribat* Uit. I 2 SCOTTISH BALLADS. FART SECOND. SUPPOSED TO REFER TO REAL CIRCUMSTANCES IN $ rtbate 3tife* YOUNG BEKIE.* In London was Young Bekie born ; He long'd strange countries for to see ; He pass'd through many kingdoms great, Until he cam to Grand Turkye. He view'd the fashions of that land ; Their way of worship viewed he ; But to Mahound or Termagaunt Wad Bekie never bend a knee. * Young Bekie should be spelled Young Becket The hero was no less a personage than the father of the celebrated Thomas a Becket, and it would appear that the ballad is, upon the whole, a faithful history of the capti- vity, sufferings, and subsequent marriage of that individual. He had ac- companied Richard Cceur de Lion to the Holy Wars, out of motives of piety. Holinshed, speaking of the famous St Thomas of Canterbury, says, "This Becket was born in London ; his father hight (called) Gilbert; but his mother was a Syrian born, and by religion a Saracen." There is a story often printed regarding the strange love history of Gilbert Becket ; but it is perhaps only a prose version of the ballad. 104 So they have taen Young Bekie straight, And brought him before their hie jurie And, for he was a Christian man, They've handled him most cruellie. In every shoulder they bored a hole, In every hole they put a trie ; And they have made him trail the wine And spices on his fair bodye. Syne in their massiemore sae deep, Where he could neither hear nor see, For seven lang zeir they keepit him, Waiting the day that he mot die. The jailer had but ae dauchter, Her name was callit Susan Pye ; And ilka day, as she took the air, The prison door she passit by. But it fell out upon a day She heard Young Bekie sadly sing : His sang sae dulefu' was and sweet, Her heart wi' pity it did wring. " My hounds they all go masterless, My hawks they fly frae tree to tree ; My younger brother will heir my land ; Fair England again I'll never see ! Oh were I free as I hae been, My ship once more upon the sea, I'd turn my face to fair England, And sail nae mair to a far countrie !" She went away into her chamber ,- All nicht she never closed an ee ; 105 And when the morning licht cam in, At the prison door alane was she. And she has open'd the prison doors, I wot she open'd two or three, Ere she could get to Young Bekie, He was locked up so curiouslie. But when she cam Young Bekie to, Sore wonder'd he that may to see ; He took her for some fair captive : " Fair lady, I pray, of what countrie ?" " O have you any lands," she said, " Or castles in your ain countrie, That ye wad give to a lady fair, From prison strong to set you free ?" iff' " Near London toun 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." " 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." M 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." She took him frae her father's prison, Gi'en him the best o' her father's wine, And a brave health she drank to him, a I wish, Young Bekie, ye war mine I" 106 She's gi'en him to eat the gude spice- cake, She's gi'en him to drink the blude-red wine ; She's bidden him sometimes think on her, That sae kindly freed him out of pyne. " It's seven lang years, I'll mak a vow, And seven lang years I'll keep it true, If ye'll wed wi' nae other woman, O, I will wed nae man but you." She's broken a ring from her finger, And to Bekie half of it gave she : " Keep this to mind you of that love The lady bore that set you free." She's ta'en him to her father's port, And gi'en to him a ship of fame : " Fareweel, fareweel, my Young Bekie, I fear I'll ne'er see you again I" Young Bekie turn'd him round about, And lowly, lowly loutit he : u Ere seven years come to an end, I'll tak you to mine ain countrie." So he has come to London toun ; A happy, happy man was he ; The ladies a' around him thrang'd, To see him come frae slaverie. His mother she had died of sorrow, And sae were a' his brethren three ; His lands they a' were lying waste ; In ruins were his castles frie. Nae porter there stude at his yett ; Nae living creature could he see, 101 Except the screeching owls and bats, To cheir him with their companie. But gowd will gar the castles grow, And he has gowd and jewels frie ; And sune the pages round him thrang'd, To serve him on their bended knee. His hall was hung wi' silk and satin, His table rang wi' mirth and glee ; He sune forgot the lady fair, That lowsed him out o' slaverie. And he has courtit a lady gay, To heir wi' him his lands sae frie ; Ne'er thinking that the lady fair Was on her way frae Grand Turkye. Fair Susie Pye could get nae rest, She long'd sae sair her love to see : She thocht on him sae lang and sair, That she grew sick and like to die. Sae, lang ere seven years were gane, She's set a fair ship on the sea ; And secretly she stept on board, And turn'd her back to her ain countrie. But sic a vessel was never seen — The very masts were tapped wi' gold ; The sails were o' the satin fine, Most beautiful for to behold. She sailed east, she sailed west, Until to England's shore she came ; Where a bonny shepherd she espied, Feeding his sheep upon the plain. 108 « f What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd ? What news hast thou to tell to me ?" " Such news I hear, ladye," he says, " The like was never in this eountrie. There is a wedding in yonder hall, Has lastit thirty days and three ; But the bridegroom winna bed the bride, For the love of one that's 'yond the sea." She put her hand in her pocket, Gi'en him the gold and white monie ; " Hae, tak ye that, my bonny boy, For the gude news thou tell'st to me." When she cam to Young Bekie's gates, She tirl'd saftly at the pin ; Sae ready was the proud porter, To let this lovely lady in. " Is this young Bekie's hall ?" she said, " Or is that noble lord within ?" Ci Yes, he's in the hall, amang them all, And this is the day of his weddin." " And has he wed another love ? And has he clean forgotten me? Oh !" sighing, said that lady fair, " I wish I were in my ain eountrie." But she has taen her gay gold ring, That with her love she brak sae free ; Says, " Gie him that, thou proud porter, And bid him come and speak to me." When the porter came his lord before, He kneeled low down upon his knee : 3 109 " What aileth thee, thou proud porter, Thou art so full of courtesie ?" " O I've been porter at your gates, This thirty long years now and three ; But there stands a lady at them now, The like o' her did I never see ; On every finger she has a ring, And on the mid ane she has three ; And O she is the fairest lady, That my twa een did ever see 1" Then up bespak the bride's mother ; An angry woman, I wat, was she : " Ye micht have exceptit our bonnie bride, And twa three of our companie." « O hald your tongue, thou bride's mother, And of your folly let me be ; She's ten times fairer than the bride, Or ony in this companie ! My lord, she begs some of your breid, Bot and a cup of your reid wine ; And to remember the lady's love, That ance did lowse ye out of pyne." Then up and startit Young Bekie ; I wat he made the table flee : " I wad gie a' my yearly rent, 'Twere Susie Pye come ower the sea 1" And quickly hied he doun the stair ; Of fifteen steps he made but three ; He's taen his bonnie love in his arms, And kist, and kist her tenderlie. K 110 " Oh, hae ye taen another bride ? And hae ye quite forgotten me ? And hae ye quite forgotten her, That gave you life and libertie ?" She luikit ower her left shouther, To hide the tears stude in her ee : " Now, fare thee weel, Young Bekie," she says, " I'll try to think no more on thee." " Oh, never, never, Susie Pye ; For surely this can never be ; Nor ever shall I wed but her That's done and dree'd so much for me." Then out and^spak the forenoon bride : " My lord, your love it changeth soon ; This morning I was made your bride, Ye' ve chosen another ere it's noon." " O hald your tongue, thou forenoon bride ; Ye're ne'er a whit the waur o' me ; And, when ye return to your own countrie, A double dower I'll send wi' thee." He's taen fair Susie by the hand, And gently led her up and down ; And aye, as he kist her rosie lips, " Ye're welcome, jewel, to your own !" 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 bonnie love, Lady Jane.* * First published, in two different versions, by Mr Jamieson. The pre- sent copy is composed of the first of Mr J.'s two copies, arid another which has since besen printed in Mr Kinloch's " Ancient Scottish Ballads ;" ex- cepting the second verse of Young Bekie's prison-song, which is supplied from Mr Motherwell's Introduction, p. xv. Ill THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.* " Rise up, rise up, Lord Douglas," she says, " And put on your armour so bright ; Let it never be said that a daughter of thine Was married to a lord under night. Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, And put on your armour so bright ; And take better care of your youngest sister, For your eldest's awa the last night." He's mounted her on a milk-white steed, Himself on a dapple grey, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And lichtly they rode away. Lord William lookit ower his left shoulder, To see what he could see, And he spied her father and seven brethren bold Come riding ower the lee. " Licht down, licht down, Lady Margaret," he said, " And hold my steed in your hand, Until that against your seven brethren bold, And your father, I make a stand." * '* The ballad of the Douglas Tragedy is one of the few to which popu- lar tradition has ascribed complete locality. The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farm-house, in a wild and solitary glen, upon a torrent named Douglas Burn, which joins the Yarrow after passing a craggy rock, called the Douglas Craig. From this ancient tower," (formerly the residence of a branch of the family of Douglas,) " Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighbouring heights, are shown as marking the spot where the seven brothers were slain ; and the Douglas Burn is averred to have been the stream at which the lovers stopped to drink. So minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragic tale, which, consi- dering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event."— Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, fourth edition, vol. II. p. 214. 112 Sometimes she rade, and sometimes she gaed, Till again that place she did near, And there she saw her seven brethren slain, And her father still fechting sae dear. " O hald your hand, sweet William !" she said, " For your strokes they are wondrous sair ; True lovers I may get mony a ane, But a father I can never get mair." And she's taen out her handkerchief, That was o' the holland sae fine, And aye she dichtit her father's bluidy wounds, Where the blude ran red as the wine. " O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margaret," he said, " O whether will ye gang or bide ?" " I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said, " For ye've left me no other guide." He lifted her on the milk-white steed, Himself upon the grey, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side ; And slowly they rade away. He lifted her on the milk-white steed, Himself upon the brown, With Br bugelet horn hung down by his side, And they baith went weeping along. O they rade on, and on they rade, And a' by the licht o' the mune, Until they cam to yon wan water, And there they lichtit down. They lichtit down to tak a drink Of the spring that ran sae clear ; 113 And down the stream ran his gude heart's blude, And sair she 'gan to fear. " Hold up, hold up, Lord William/' she says, " For I fear that you are slain !" " "Tis nothing but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, That shines in the water sae plain." O they rade on, and on they rade, And a' by the licht o' the mune, Until they cam to his mother's ha' door, And there they lichtit down. " Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, " Get up, and let me in ! Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, " For this nicht my fair ladye I've won. Oh mak my bed, lady mother," he says, " Oh mak it braid and deip ; And lay Lady Margaret at my back, And the sounder I will sleip." Lord William was dead lang ere midnicht, Lady Margaret lang ere day — And all true lovers that go thegither, May they hae mair luck than they ! Lord William was buriet in St Marie's kirk, Lady Margaret in St Marie's quier : Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonnie red rose, And out o' the knicht's a brier. And they twa met, and they twa plett, And fain they wad be near ; And a' the warld micht ken richt weel, They were twa lovers dear. k 2 114 But bye and rade the Black Doiiglas ; And wow but he was roueh .!• For he pull'd up the bonnie brier, And flang 't in St Marie's Loch !* GIL MORRIGRf Gil Morrice was an Earl's son, His name it waxed wide ; It was na for his great riches, Nor yet his mickle pride, But it was for a lady gay, That lived on Carron side. " Where shall I get a bonnie boy, That will win hose and shoon, * This version of the Douglas Tragedy is entirely that given in the Bor- der Minstrelsy, except in the central part lying betwixt the fifth and twelfth verses, where some alterations are adopted from a fragment of another version, given by Mr Motherwell — Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern, p. 180. t The copy of Gil Morrice here presented, has been chiefly derived from that which Percy preserved in his " Reliques." A great number of the mo- dern stanzas which had crept into that copy, are here, however, omitted ; while many important additions are made from a popular version which Mr Motherwell printed from recitation, as also from a version of two hun- dred years standing, which Mr Jamieson derived from an old MS., once the property of the venerable Bishop of Dromore. The twenty- fourth and twenty-eighth stanzas were added by the editor, for the purpose of making the various pieces join neatly ; and the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh stanzas are the composition of Mr Jamieson. It is needless to remind the reader that this ballad suggested the favourite tragedy of !*f Douglas." " If any reliance," says Mr Motherwell, " can be placed on the traditions of the country where the scene of the ballad is laid, we will be enforced to believe that it is founded on facts which occurred at some remote period of Scottish history. The « green wood' of the ballad was the ancient forest of Dundaff, in Stirlingshire, and Lord Bernard's castle is said to have oc- cupied a precipitous cliff overhanging the water of Carron, on the lands of Halbertshire. A small burn which joins the Carron about five miles above these lands, is named the Earl's-burn, and the hill near the source of that stream, is called the Earl's-hill, both deriving their appellations, according to the unvarying traditions of the country, from the unfortunate earl's son, who is the hero of the ballad. He, also, according to the same respectable authority, was exceedingly beautiful, and especially remarkable for the ex- treme length and loveliness of his yellow hair, which is said to have shrouded him, as it were, with a*golden mist." — Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern, p, 258. 115 That will gae to Lord Bernard's ha*, And bid his lady come ? O, ye maun rin my errand, Willie, And ye maun rin wi' speed ; When other boys gae on their foot, On horseback ye shall ride." t Oh, master dear, I love yon weel, ' I love yon as my life ; But I will not to Lord Bernard's go, For to tryst forth his wife. For the baron he's a man o' micht ; He ne'er could byde a taunt ; And ye shall see, ere it be late, How little ye hae to vaunt." " Yet ye maun rin my errand, Willie, And ye maun rin wi' speed ; If ye refuse my hie command, I'll gar your body bleed. Gae, show to her this gay manteil, It's a' gowd but the hem ; Bid her come to the gude green wood, And bring nane but her lane. Gae, show to her this silken sark, Her ain hand sew'd the sleeve ; Bid her come out to Gil Morrice, Speir nae bauld baron's leave." " Sin' I maun rin this errand for you, Sae sair against my will ; I've made a vow, and I'll keep it true, It shall be done for ill." 116 When Willie came to broken brig, He bent his bow and swam ; And when he cam to grass growing, He set down his feet and ran. And when he cam to Bernard's ha, He would neither chap nor ca', But bent his bow to his white breast, And lichtly lap the wa\ He would not tell the man his errand, Though he stude at the gate, But straight into the ha' he cam, Where they were set at meat. " Good hallow, gentle sir and dame ; My errand canna wait : Dame, ye maun gae speak to Gil Morrice, Before that it be late. Ye see, ye see, this gay manteil ; It's a' gowd but the hem : Ye maun gae to the gude green wood, Even by yoursell alane. Ye see, ye see, this silken sark ; Your ain hand sew'd the sleeve : Ye maun gae speak to Gil Morrice, Speir nae bauld baron's leave." Oh, ay she stampit wi' her fit, And winkit wi' her ee ; But for a' that she could say or do, Forbidden he wadna be. " It's surely to my bouir-woman ; It canna be to me." 117 " I brocht it to Lord Bernard's lady ; I trow that thou be she." Then up and spak the wylie nurse, (The bairn upon her knee ;) " If it be come frae Gil Morrice, It's deir welcome to me." " Ye lie, ye lie, ye wylie nurse, Sae loud as I hear ye lie : I brocht it to Lord Bernard's lady ; I trow thou be na she." Then up and rose the bauld baron, And an angry man was he ; He took the table wi' his fit, And kepp'd it wi' his knee, Till siller cup, and mager dish, In flinders he garr'd flee. " Bring me a robe o' your cleiding, That hangs upon the pin ; And I'll awa to the gude green wood, And speik wi' your leman." " Oh, byde at hame, now, Lord Bernard, I warn you byde at hame ; Ne'er wyte a man for violence dune, That never thocht ye wrang. " He called unto his horse-keeper, " Mak ready you my steed ;" He called unto his chamberlain, " Mak ready you my weed." He's taen to him his trusty sword, That was of metal good ; 118 And he's rode grimly forth alane, All to the gay green wood. He socht Gil Morrice up and doun, He socht him here and there ; At length he spied him aneth a tree, Kaiming his yellow hair. In summer green was Morrice clad, As hunters wont to gang ; And, like the mavis on the bush, He whistled and he sang. His cheek was like the cherry red, His een were blythe and blue ; And bonnie shone the gowden locks, That curled ower his brow. He sang sae cheerly and sae clear, The greenwood echoes rang ; And the owerword o' the tune was ay, " My mother tarries lang." " Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gil Morrice, My lady loved ye weel ; The fairest part o' my bodie Is blacker than thy heel. Yet, ne'er the less, now Gil Morrice, For a' thy great beautie, Ye'se rue the day ye e'er was born ; That head sail gae wi' me." Now he has drawn his trusty brand, And slait it on the strae ; And through Gil Morrice's fair bodie He garred cauld iron gae. 119 And he has taen Gil Morrice' head, And set it on a spear ; The meanest man in all his train Has gotten that head to bear. And he has taen Gil Morrice up, Laid him across a steed ,• And the meanest man in all his train, Has gotten that horse to lead. The lady sat on the castle wa', Look'd ower baith dale and down ; And there she spied Gil Morrice' head, Come steering to the town. And he has taen that bloody head, And gien 't to his ladye : " Now lap it soft and kiss it oft ; Ye lo'ed him mair than me." And she's taen up the bloody head, And kissed baith cheek and chin : " I wadna gie a kiss o' thae cauld lips For a' thy earldom. I bore him in my father's bouir, Wi' mickle sin and shame ; I brocht him up in the wild green wood, Under the heavy rain. Mony a day have t rock'd thy cradle, And fondly seen thee sleep ! But now I'll gang about thy grave, And sair, sair will I weep 1" And syne she kiss'd his bluidy cheek, And syne his bluidy chin ; 120 « Oh better I lo'e my Gil Morrice, Than a' my kith and kin !" " Away, away, ye ill womaD, And an ill death may ye dee ! Gin I had kenned him for your son, He had ne'er been slain for me. I'll curse the hand that did the deed, The heart that thocht him ill ; I'll curse the feet that earned me, This comely youth to kill. Oh, I've killed ane of the bravest knichts, That e'er bestrode a steed ; Sae have I ane o' the fairest ladies, That e'er ware woman's weed I" MARIE HAMILTON.* Marie Hamilton to the kirk is gane, Wi' ribbons on her hair ; The king thocht mair o' Marie Hamilton, Than ony that were there. * Imperfect and contradictory versions of this affecting ballad occur in " The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," " The Ballad Book," Kinloch's " Ancient Ballads," Motherwell's " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern," and Buchan's " Gleanings of Old Ballads." By associating the best verses of each, and putting the whole into a natural arrangement, and by discarding such stanzas as are calculated, by their rude and unpoetical nature, to disturb the unity and beauty of the whole, I trust I have succeeded in making up a tolerable version. The ballad has evidently been occasioned by the misfortune of some fo- reign attendant upon the person of Queen Mary. Sir Walter Scott sup- poses, with much probability, that the story is the same with one which John Knox, in his «' Historie of the Reformation," places to the credit of the Queen's apothecary and one of her French servants. Yet Mr Sharpe, in his " Ballad Book," brings forward a circumstance which not a little stag- gers that otherwise unquestionable theory. " It is singular," says he, '* that, during the reign of the Czar Peter, one of the Empress's attend- ants, a Miss Hamilton, was executed for the murder of a natural child— not her first crime in that way, as was suspected ; and the Emperor, whose 121 Marie Hamilton to the kirk is gane, Wi' ribbons on her breist ; The king thocht mair o' Marie Hamilton, Than he listened to the priest. Marie Hamilton to the kirk is gane, Wi' gloves upon her hands ; The king thocht mair o' Marie Hamilton, Than the queen and a her lands. But word's gane to the kitchen, And word's gane to the ha', That Marie Hamilton gangs wi' bairn To the hichest Stewart o' a'. And she's gane to the Abbey garden, * To pu' the Savin Tree ; But, for a' that she could say or do, The babie wadna dee. She rowed it in her apron, And set it on the sea : " Now sink, swim ye, bonnie babe, Ye'se get nae mair o' me !" Queen Marie, she cam doun the stair, Wi' the gowd strings in her hair ; Saying : " Marie, where's the little babie, That I heard greet sae sair ?" " Oh, haud your tongue, my noble queen, Think no such thing to be ; admiration of her beauty did not preserve her life, stood upon the scaffold till her head was struck off, which he lifted by the ear, and kissed on the lips." At the same time, it must be acknowledged, that, so far as one can judge from apparent antiquity of sentiment, from the localities, from the universal diffusion of the ballad over Scotland, and the historical fact men- tioned by Knox, there seems great reason to believe that Sir Walter's the- ory is still valid. 122 'Twas but a stitch into my side, And sair it troubles me." " Ob, haud your tongue, Marie Hamilton ! Let all those words go free. Where, tell me, is the little babie, That I heard greet by thee ?" a I rowed it in my apron, And set it on the sea. I bade it sink, I bade it swim ; It wad get nae mair o' me." " Oh, wae be to thee, Marie Hamilton, And an ill deid may you dee ! If you had saved the babie's life, It micht have honoured thee. But, busk ye, busk ye, Marie Hamilton, Oh, busk ye to be a bride - 3 For I am going to Edinburgh toun, Your gay wedding to byde. Ye maun neither put on your robes o' black, Nor yet your robes o' broun ; But you maun put on your yellow gold stuffs, To shine through Edinburgh toun." Oh, slowly, slowly rase she up, And slowly put she on ; And slowly rode she out the way, Wi' monie a weary groan. The queen was clad in gay scarlet, Her merry maids all in green ; And Marie sae shone abune them a', They took her for the queen. 123 u Ride hooly, ride hooly, now, gentlemen ; Ride hooly now wi' me ! For never, I'm sure, a wearier burd Rade in your companie." But little wist Marie Hamilton, When she rade on the broun, That she was gaun to Edinburgh, And a' to be put doun. " Why weep ye sae, ye burgess wives, Why weep ye sae on me ? O, I am going to Edinburgh toun, A rich wedding to see." When she gaed up the Parliament Stairs, The corks frae her heels did flie ; But, ere that she cam doun again, She was condemned to dee. When she gaed up through the Netherbow Port, She lauched loud laughters three ; But when that she cam doun again, The tear blinded her ee. As she gaed doun the Canongate, The Canongate sae free, Monie a lady look'd ower her window, Weeping for sweet Marie. " Oh dinna weep for me, ladyes, Ye needna weep for me ! Had I not kill'd my ain dear bairn, This death I wadna dee. What need ye hech and howe, ladyes, What need ye howe for me ? 124. Ye never saw grace at a graceless face ; Queen Marie has nane to gie !" " Gae forward, gae forward," Queen Marie, she said ; " Gae forward, that ye may see ; For the very same words that ye hae said, Sail hang ye on the gallows tree !" O, when she gaed up through the Netherbow Port, She laucht loud laughters three ; But when she cam to the gallows fit, The tear blinded her ee. " Cast aff, cast aff, my goun," she 6aid, " But let my petticoat be ; And tye a napkin ower my face, That the gallows I mayna see. Yestreen, the queen she had four Maries ;* The nicht she has but three ; There was Marie Seton, and Marie Beatoun, And Marie Carmichael, and me. O, aften hae I dress'd my queen, And put gowd in her hair ; But now I've gotten for my reward, The gallows tree to share. O, aften hae I dress'd my queen, And aften made her bed : * It is a historical fact that, when Queen Mary was taken to France, four girls, the daughters of Scottish noblemen, who all were of the same age and the same Christian name, accompanied her on the voyage, and af- terwards returned to Scotland in her train. Their surnames were Living- ston, Fleming, Seton, and Beatoun : They were usually styled " the Four Maries." A portrait of Mane Beatoun exists at Balfour House, in Fife- shire. It does not seem probable, however, that the heroine of this ballad, though styled Marie Hamilton, and calling herself one of the Queen's Ma- ries, was in reality a member of that elegant corps of damsels. 125 But now I've gotten for my reward, The gallows tree to tread. Oh, happy, happy is the maid, That's born of beauty free 3 It was my dimpling rosie cheeks, That's been the dule o' me. I charge ye all, ye mariners, When ye sail ower the faem, Let neither my father nor mother wit, But that I'm comin hams ! Ye mariners, ye mariners, When ye sail ower the sea, Let neither my father nor mother wit, I hung on the gallows tree ! Oh, little did my mother think, That day she cradled me, What lands I was to travel ower, What death I was to dee. Oh, little did my father think, That day he held up me, That I, his first and fairest hope, Sould hing upon a tree I"* * Burns has seen fit to express high admiration of these very touching rcrses. — See his Letters, Currie's edition. l2 126 THE TWA BROTHERS.* " O will ye gae to the schule, billie ? Or will ye gae to the ba' ? Or will ye gae to the wood a-warslin, To see whilk o's maun fa' ?" (< I winna gae to the schule, billie ; Nor will I gae to the ba' ; But I will gae to the wood a-warslin, And there it's you maun fa'." They warsled up, they warsled doun, Till John fell to the ground ; And there was a knife in Willie's pouch, Gied him a deidly wound. w Oh, billie, lift me on your back ; Tak me to yon walle fair ; And wash the blude frae aff my wound, And it will bleed nae mair." He's liftit him up upon his back, Taen him to yon walle fair, * This ballad is supposed, with much probability, to refer to a tragical circumstance which took place in the noble family of Somerville, about the end of the sixteenth century, and which is thus detailed in the curious family memoir, entitled " Memorie of the Somervilles." " This year, 1589, in the month of July, there fell out a sad accident, as a farther warning that God was displeased with the family. The Lord Somervill having come from Cowthelly, early in the morning, in regard the weather was hott, he had riddenhard to be at the Drum be ten o'clock, which having done, he laid him down to rest." [The Drum is a house about four miles south from Edinburgh, formerly the property of the So- mervilles.] " The servant, with his two sons, William, Master of Somer- vill, and John, his brother, went with the horses to ane shott of land, called the Pretty Shott, directly opposite the front of the house, where there waa some meadow-ground for grassing the horses, and willows to shadow them- selves from the heat. They had not long continued in this place, when the Master of Somervill, after some little rest, awakening from his sleep, and finding the pistols that lay hard by him wet with the dew, began to rub and dry them, when unhappily one of them went off the ratch, being lying upon his knee, and the muzzle turned side-ways, the ball struck his brother John directly in the head, and killed him outright, so his sorrowful brother ne ver had one word from him, albeit he begged it with many tears." 12t And washed the blude from aff his wound ; But ay it bled the mair. " Oh, billie, tak aff my Holland sark, And ryve't frae gair to gair ; And stap it in my bluidy wound, And syne 'twill bleed nae mail*." He has taen aff his Holland sark, And riven't frae gair to gair ; He has stappit it in the bluidy wound ; But ay it bled mail- and mair. " Oh, brother deir, tak me on your back ; Tak me to yon kirk-yard ; And dig a graif baith wide and deip, And lay my body there. Ye'll lay my arrows at my heid, My bent bow at my feet, My sword and buckler at my side, As I was wont to sleep. When ye gae hame to your father, He'll speir for his son John ; Say, ye left him into Kirkland fair, Learning the schule alone. When ye gae hame to my sister, She'll speir for her brother John ; Ye'll say ye left him in Kirkland fair, The green grass growin aboon. When ye gae hame to my true love, She'll speir for her lord John ; Ye'll say ye left him in Kirkland fair ; But hame, ye fear, he'll never come." 128 Sae Willie has buried his brother dear Beneath the sod sae green ; And when the dulefu' task was dune, It's hameward he has gane. O heavy heavy was his heart, As to the door he cam ; But when he reached his father's chair, He grew baith pale and wan. " What blude is that upon your brow, My dear son, tell to me ?" " It's but the blude o' my gude grey steed ; He wadna ride wi' me." " Oh, thy steed's blude was ne'er sae red, Nor e'er sae deir to me." " Then, it's the blude o' my ae brother ; Oh, dule and wae is me!" " Now whaten a death will ye dee, Willie ? Now, Willie, tell to me ?" " Ye'll put me in an oarless boat, And I'll gae sail the sea." " And when will ye come hame again, Dear Willie, tell to me ?" " When the sun and mune dance on yon green ; And that will never be." * * This ballad first appeared in Mr Jamieson's " Popular Ballads and Songs." Various versions have since been published in " The Ballad Book," and " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern." The present copy is composed out of the three ; with the exception of the thirteenth, and the greater part of the fourteenth stanzas, which are interpolated by the editor, in order to connect the disjecta membra poetce— the disjoined portions of the story. 129 THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN.* Doun by your < bonnie' garden green, Sae merrily as she gaes ! She has, < I wis/ twa weel-made feet, And she trips upon her taes. • John Kincaid, Laird of Waristoun, (an estate situated between the city of Edinburgh and the sea, towards Leith,) was murdered, on the 2nd of July 1600, by a man named Robert Weir, who was employed to do so by his wife, Jean Livingstone, daughter of the Laird of Dunipace. The un- fortunate woman, who thus became implicated in a crime so revolting to humanity, was only twenty-one years of age at the time. It is probable from some circumstances, that her husband was considerably older than herself, and also that their marriage was any thing but one of love. It is only alleged, however, that she was instigated to seek his death by resent- ment for some bad treatment on his part, and, in particular, for a bite which he had inflicted on her arm. There was something extraordinary in the deliberation with which this wretched woman approached the awful gulf of crime. Having resolved on the means to be employed in the mur- der, she sent for a quondam servant of her father, Robert Weir, who lived in the neighbouring city. He came to the place of Waristoun, to see her ; but, for some unexplained reason, was not admitted. She again sent for him, and he again went. Again he was not admitted. At length, on his being called a third time, he was introduced to her presence. Before this time she had found an accomplice in the nurse of her child. It was then arranged, that Weir should be concealed in a cellar till the dead of night, when he should come forth and proceed to destroy the laird as he lay in his chamber. The bloody tragedy was acted precisely in accordance with this plan. Weir was brought up, at midnight, from the cellar to the hall by the lady herself, [and afterwards went forward alone to the laird's bedroom. As he proceeded to his bloody work, she retired to her bed, to wait the intelligence of her husband's murder. When Weir entered the chamber, Waristoun awoke with the noise, and leant inquiringly over the side of the bed. The murderer then leapt upon him ; the unhappy man uttered a great cry ; Weir gave him several dreadful blows on vital parts, particularly one on the flank vein. But as the laird was still able to cry out, he at length saw fit to take more effective measures : he seized him by the throat with both hands, and, compressing that part with all his force, succeeded, after a few minutes, in depriving him of fife. When the lady heard her husband's first death-shout, she leapt out of bed, in an agony of mingled horror and repentance, and descended to the hall ; but she made no effort to countermand her mission of destruction. She waited patiently till Weir came down to inform her that all was over. Weir made an immediate escape from justice ; but Lady Waristoun and the nurse were apprehended before the deed was half a day old. Being caught, as the Scottish law terms it, red-hand — that is, while still bearing un- equivocal marks of guilt, they were immediately tried by the magistrates of Edinburgh, and sentenced to be strangled and burnt at a stake. The lady's father, the Laird of Dunipace, was a favourite of King James VL, and he made all the interest he could with his majesty to procure a pardon; but all that could he obtained from the king, was an order that the unhappy lady should be executed by decapitation, and that at such an early hour in the morning as to make the affair as little of a spectacle as possible. The space intervening between her sentence and her execution was . 130 She has twa weel-made feet, ' I trow ;' Far better is her hand. She is as jimp in the middle i sae fine,' As ony willow wand. It was at dinner as they sat, And when they drank the wine, How happy were the laird and lady Of bonnie Waristoun I But he has spoken a word in jest ; Her answer was not good ; And he has thrown a plate at her, Made her mouth gush out o' blude. * She wasna frae her chamber door A step, but barely three, When up and at her richt hand There stood Man's Enemie ! " Gif ye will do my bidding, ' lady,' At my bidding for to be, only thirty-seven hours ; yet, in that little time, Lady Waristoun contri- ved to become converted from a blood-stained and unrelenting murderess into a perfect saint on earth. One of the then ministers of Edinburgh has left an account of her conversion, which was lately published, and would be extremely amusing, were it not for the disgust which seizes the mind on beholding such an instance of perverted religion. She went to the scaffold with a demeanour which would have graced a martyr. . Her lips were in- cessant in the utterance of pious exclamations. She professed herself con- fident of everlasting happiness. She even grudged every moment which she spent in this world, as so much taken from that sum of eternal felicity which she was to enjoy in the next. The people who came to witness the last scene, instead of having their minds inspired with a salutary horror for her crime, were engrossed in admiration of her saintly behaviour, and greedily gathered up every devout word which fell from her tongue. It would almost appear from the narrative of the clergyman, that her fate was rather a matter of envy than of any other feeling. Her execution took place at four in the morning of the 5th of July, at the Watergate, near Holyroodhouse ; and at the same hour her nurse was burnt on the castle- hill. It is some gratification to know, that the actual murderer, Weir, was eventually seized and executed, though not till four years after. * He threw a plate at her face, Made it a' gush out o* blude. Jamieson. 131 I'll learn you a * richt skeely' wile, Avenged for to be. At evening, when ye sit ' and sup,' And when ye drink the wine, See that ye fill the glass weel up To the Laird o' Waristoun." The Foul Thief he has kuist the knot ; She lift his head on hie ; And the fause nourice drew the knot, That Waristoun garred die. Then word has gane to Leith, * to Leith,' * And up to Edinbro toun, That the lady she has slain the laird, The laird of Waristoun. And they've taen her and the fause nourice, And in prison hae them boun' ; The nourice she was hard of heart, But the lady fell in a swoon. In it -j- came her brother dear ; A sorry man was he : " I wad gie a' the lands I hae, Bonnie Jean, to borrow ^ thee." " O borrow me, brother ! borrow me ! O borrowed sail I never be ; * The words within inverted commas are added for the purpose of ren- dering the versification of the various ingredient fragments uniform. t An expletive common in old Scottish ballads and songs, particularly at the beginnings of lines. X Ransom. 132 For I garxed kill my ain gude lord, And life is nae pleasure to me." In it came her mother dear ; A sony woman was she : " I wad gie my white money and gowd, Bonnie Jean, to borrow thee." " Borrow me, mother J borrow me I O borrowed sail I never be ; For I garred kill my ain gude lord, And life's nae pleasure to me." Then in it came her father dear ; A sorry man was he : " Ochon, alas, my bonnie Jean ! If I had you at hame wi' me ! Seven daughters I hae left at hame, As fair as fair can be ; But I would gie them a', ane by ane, O Jean, to borrow thee." " Oh borrow me, father ! borrow me ! Borrowed sail I never be ; I that is worthy o' the death It's richt that I suld die. Oh Warristoun, I was your wife These nine years, running ten ; And I never lo'ed ye half sae weel As now when ye're lying slain I Cause tak me out at nicht, at nicht Let the sun not on me shine : 6 133 And on yon heiding hill strike aff This dowie heid of mine. But first tak aff my gowd brocade ; Let only my petticoat be ; And tie my mantle ower my head ; For my death * I daurna see." Sae they've taen her to the heiding hill, At morn, afore the sun ; And wi' mournfu' sighs they've taen her life, For the death o' Waristoun. f LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.J Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip : * " The fire," in Jamieson. T Composed out of three copies, or rather fragments, which are to be respectively found in the collections of Jamieson, Kinloch, and Buchan. On account of the extremely meagre and inconsistent nature of these co- pies — inconsistent both in narrative and versification — I have had peculiar difficulty in forming even this imperfect and unsatisfactory edition, to which the addition of a new final stanza seemed indispensable, for the sake of a cadence. t This pathetic lament, the first edition of which appeared in Watson's Collection, (printed at the beginning of the last century,) and of which Dr Percy has since given a various edition from his folio manuscript, has hi- therto been supposed to have been utteied by Lady Jean Gordon, wife of the infamous Earl of Bothwell, on the occasion of her divorce from him, when he designed to marry Queen Mary; and, by another conjecture, has been attributed to a young lady in private life of the name of Boswell. The present editor, by the assistance of a valued antiquarian friend, is enabled now to lay a true and certain history of the heroine before the public. " Lady Anne Bothwell" was no other than the Honourable Anna Both- well, daughter of Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney at the Reformation, but who was afterwards raised to a temporal peerage, under the title of Lord Holyroodhouse. [He married Queen Mary to the Earl of Bothwell, after the forms of the Catholic Church.] This young lady, who is said to have possessed great beauty, was betrayed into a disgraceful connexion by the Honourable Sir Alexander Erskine, third son of John, seventh Earl of Mar, [by his lordship's second wife, Lady Marie Stewart, daughter of Es- me, Duke of Lennox.] As Miss Bothwell's father died in 1593, and as Sir Alexander had a letter of provision of the abbacy of Cambuskenneth in 1608, there arises a presumption, considering the age of the parties, that the unhappy circumstance which occasioned the Lament took place early M 134 If tbou'se be silent, I'se be glad ; Thy maining maks my heart full sad. Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy ; Thy father breids me great annoy. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. in the seventeenth century. This, indeed, is set almost beyond a question by the occurrence of a poem, apparently the first edition of Miss Both well's Lament, in a publication of the year 1606, - The Northern Lass, or the Nest of Fools." Peace, wayward bairn ! O cease thy mone ; Thy far more wayward daddy's gone, And never will recalled be, By cries of either thee or me : — For should we cry, Until we die, We could not 'scant his cruelty. Ballow, ballow, &c. He needs might in himself foresee, What thou successively might'st be ; And could he then, though me forego, His infant leave, ere he did know How like the dad Would be the lad, In time, to make fond maidens glad. Ballow, ballow, &c. Sir Alexander Erskine was considered the handsomest man of his age ; and his good looks are to this day testified by a portrait of him, by Jamieson, now in the possession of James Erskine of Cambus, Esq. He is there represent- ed in military dress, with a cuirass and scarf; but the splendours of his warlike attire are evidently unnecessary to set off the extreme beauty of his countenance. In addition to a pair of dark blue eyes, moustaches, and a set of fine ringlets — all of which were no doubt most effective auxiliaries to the " sugred words" and " feignings false," which moved Miss Bothwell to love — his visage is characterised by a peculiar vivacity of expression, which, in the living man, it is easy to conceive, must have been to the last degree fascinating. As to the ultimate fate of Miss Bothwell, it is unfortunately out of the editor's power to say any thing. That of her faithless lover happens to be better known. He entered into the French service, and became a colonel. When the religious troubles broke out in Scotland, Sir Alexander, disloyal in politics as in love, was prevailed upon by the Covenanters to undertake the command of one of their regiments. There is, in Lord Hailes' Collec- tion of Letters, one written, in 1640, by the chief men in that interest to a person unknown in France, desiring him to intercede with the Cardinal Richelieu and the King of France, for leave of absence for Sir Alexander till the end of the campaign then in hand. Ten days after the date of that letter, the colonel was blown up, along with the Earl of Haddington, and about eighty other persons of distinction, in the Castle of Dunglass, Ber- wickshire ; the powder magazine having been ignited by a menial boy, out of revenge against his master. It was the general sentiment of the time, and long a traditionary notion in his family, that he came to this dreadful end, on account of his treatment of the unhappy lady who indites the La- ment 5 she having probably died before that time of a broken heart. 185 When he began to court my luve, And with his sugred words to muve, His feignings false and flattering cheir To me that time did not appeir : But now I see, most cruel he Cares neither for his babe nor me. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. Lie still, my darling ; sleip a while, And, when thou wakest, sweetlie smile : But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids : nay, God forbid ! But yet I feir, thou wilt gae neir Thy father's heart and face to beir. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. Farewell, farewell, thou falsest youth, That ever kist a woman's mouth t Let nevir any, after me, Submit unto thy courtesie ; For, if they do, Oh, cruel thou Wilt her abuse, and care not how. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. I was too credulous at the first, To yield thee all a maiden durst. Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchanged, unchanged thy love ; But, quick as thought, the change is wrought, Thy love's no more, thy promise noucht. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip, Balow, my boy ; weep not for me, Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee ; 136 Nor pity her deserved smart, Who can blame none but her fond heart. The too soon trusting, latest finds, With fairest tongues are falsest minds. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to heir thee weip. Oh, do not, do not, prettie mine, To feignings false thy heart incline. Be loyal to thy lover true, And never change her for a new : If good or fair, of her have care ; For women's banning's* wondrous sair. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. Balow, my boy ; thy father's fled, When he the thriftless son has play'd. Of vows and oaths forgetful, he Prefers the wars to thee and me. But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine Makes him eat acoms with the swine. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to heir thee weip. Yet I can't chuse, but ever will Be loving to thy father still : Where'er he gae, where'er he ride, My luve with him doth still abide : In weel or wae, where'er he gae, My heart can ne'er depart him frae. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to heir thee weip. Then curse him not : perhaps now he, Stung with remorse, is blessing thee : * Cursing. 137 Perhaps at death ; for who can tell, Whether the judge of heaven or hell, By some proud foe, has struck the blow, And laid the dear deceiver low. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves -me sair to heir thee weip. I wish I were into the bounds Where he lies smothered in his wounds — Repeating, as he pants for air, My name, whom once he called his fair. No woman's yet so fiercely set, But she'll forgive, though not forget. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip I It grieves me sair to see thee weip. Balow, my boy ! I'll weip for thee ; Too soon, alas, thou'lt weip for me : Thy griefs are growing to a sum — God grant thee patience when they come ; Born to sustain thy mother's shame, A hapless fate, a bastard's name ! Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip 1 It grieves me sair to see thee weip.* ANDREW LAMMIE.f At Mill-o'-Tifty lived a man, In the neighbourhood of Fyvie ; * This copy of the Lament is composed out of that which appeared in Watson's Collection, with some stanzas, and various readings, from a ver- sion altogether different, which was published by Dr Percy. The editor at first thought of excluding the ballad altogether from his collection, as, although the poetry is exquisitely beautiful, the subject is one which it is by no means agreeable to reflect upon. He, however, afterwards saw rea- son to change his resolution, in the fine moral strain which pervades the unfortunate lady's lamentations. t Although the persons who figure in this ballad belong to a very hum- ble class of society, it is not easy for the most fastidious reader to withhold M 2 138 He had a lovely daughter fair, Was called bonnie Annie. Her bloom was like the springing flower, That greets the rosy morning ; With innocence, and graceful mien, Her beauteous form adorning. Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter, Whose name was Andrew Lammie ; He had the art to gain the heart O' Mill-o'-Tifty's* Annie. Proper he was, both young and gay ; His like was not in Fyvie ; No one was there that could compare With bonnie Andrew Lammie. Lord Fyvie he rode by the door Where lived Tifty's Annie ; his sympathies from it. It is said to be founded on real circumstances : the daughter of the Miller of Tifty, near Fyvie, in Aberdeenshire, fell in love with the trumpeter of the Laird of Fyvie, and being prevented from mar- rying him, by her father, who esteemed the match beneath his dignity, died in consequence of a broken heart. Both parties are said to have been re- markable for good looks. Annie's death, according to her grave-stone in Fyvie churchyard, took place in 1651. Andrew, however, did not die, as related in the ballad. There is a tradition in " the Lawland leas of Fyvie," that, some years afterwards, the melancholy fate of Tifty's Annie being men- tioned, and the ballad sung in a company in Edinburgh where he was pre- sent, he remained silent and motionless, till at length he was discovered by a groan suddenly bursting from him, and several of the buttons flying from his waistcoat. This will remind the reader of King Lear calling to his at- tendants to unbutton him, and also of a circumstance which occurs in the beautiful ballad of " the Marchioness of Douglas." It would appear that, in Allan Ramsay's days, " Bonnie Andrew Lammie" was a person of tra- ditional celebrity. In the beginning of that poet's third canto of " Christ's Kirk on the Green," a good old free-spoken cummer, as the best evidence of the power of her youthful charms, says — • ' I'se warrant ye have a' heard tell O' bonnie Andrew Lammie ; Stirfly in love wi' me he fell, As soon as e'er he saw me — That was a day !" * Annie's father is here called Mill-o'-Tifty, in accordance with the old Scottish practice of using local appellation's in preference to all others. 139 His trumpeter rode him before, Even this same Andrew Lammie. Her mother called her to the door, " Come here to me, my Annie ; Did you ever see a prettier man Than this trumpeter of Fy vie ?" She sighed sore, but said no more ; Alas ! for bonnie Annie ; She durst not own her heart was won By the trumpeter of Fyvie. At night when they went to their beds, All slept full sound but Annie ; Love so opprest her tender breast, Thinking on Andrew Lammie. " Love comes in at my bed-side, And love lies down beyond me, Love has possessed my tender breast, And wastes away my body. At Fyvie yetts there grows a flower, It grows baith braid and bonnie ; There is a daisy in the midst o' it, And it's ca'd by Andrew Lammie. gin that flower were in my breast, For the love I bear the laddie, 1 wad kiss it, and I wad clap it, And daut it for Andrew Lammie. had I but ae lock o' his hair, That grows sae lang and yellow, 1 wad waste my een wi' lookin at it, For the love o' Andrew Lammie. 140 The first time I and my love met Was in the woods of Fyvie ; His lovely form and speech so sweet Soon gained the heart of Annie. O, up and down, in Tifty's den, Where the burns run clear and bonnie, I've often gone to meet my love, My bonnie Andrew Lammie. He kissed my lips five thousand times, And aye he ca'd me bonnie ; And a' the answer he gat frae me, Was, « My bonnie Andrew Lammie !' " But now, alas ! her father heard, That the trumpeter of Fyvie Had had the art to gain the heart Of Tifty's bonnie Annie. And he has syne a letter wrote, And sent it on to Fyvie, To tell his daughter was bewitched By his servant, Andrew Lammie. When Lord Fyvie this letter read, O dear, but he was sorry ; " The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land Is bewitched by Andrew Lammie." Then up the stair his trumpeter He called soon and shortly ; " Pray tell me soon what's this you've done To Tifty's bonnie Annie?" " In wicked art I had no part, Nor therein am I canny ; 141 True love alone the heart has won Of Tifty's bonnie Annie. Woe betide Mill-o'-Tifty's pride, For it has ruined many ; He'll no hae't said that she should wed The trumpeter of Fyvie." " Love, I maun gang to Edinburgh, Love, I maun gang and leave thee." She sighed sore, and said no more, But, " O, gin I were wi' ye !" " I'll buy to thee a bridal goun ; My love, I'll buy it bonnie !" " But I'll be dead, ere ye come back, To see your bonnie Annie." " If you'll be true, and constant too, As my name's Andrew Lammie, I shall thee wed when I come back, Within the kirk of Fyvie." " I will be true, and constant too, To thee, my Andrew Lammie ; But my bridal bed will ere then be made In the green kirk-yard of Fyvie." He hied him hame, and having spieled To the house-top of Fyvie, He blew his trumpet loud and shrill, 'Twas heard at Mill-o'-Tifty. Her father locked the door at night, Laid by the keys fu' canny ; 142 And when he heard the trumpet sound, Said, <{ Your cow is lowing, Annie." " My father dear, I pray forbear, And reproach no more your Annie ; For I'd rather hear that cow to low Then hae a' the kine in Fyvie. I would not for your braw new gown, And a' your gifts sae many, That it were told in Fyvie's land How cruel you are to me." Her father struck her wondrous sore, As also did her mother ; Her sisters always did her scorn, As also did her brother. Her brother struck her wondrous sore, With cruel strokes and many ; He brak her back in the hall door, For loving Andrew Lammie. " Alas, my father and mother dear, Why are you so cruel to Annie ? My heart was broken first by love, Now you have broken my bodie. O, mother dear, make ye my bed, And lay my face to Fyvie ; There will I lie, and thus will die, For my love, Andrew Lammie." Her mother she has made her bed, And laid her face to Fyvie ; Her tender heart it soon did break, And she ne'er saw Andrew Lammie. 143 When Andrew hame from Edinburgh came, With mickle grief and sorrow : " My love has died for me to-day, I'll die for her to morrow." He has gone on to Tifty's den, Where the burn runs clear and bonnie ; With tears he viewed the Bridge of Heugh,* Where he parted last with Annie. Then he has sped to the church-yard, To the green church- yard of Fyvie ; With tears he watered his true love's grave, And died for Tifty's Annie.f JOHNIE FA A, THE GYPSY LADDIE.f The gypsies cam to our gude lord's yett, And O but they sang sweetly ; They sang sae sweet and sae very complete, That doun cam our fair lady. 4, * It is a received superstition in Scotland, that when" friends, or lovers, part at a bridge, they shall never again meet.— Motherwell's Minstrel- sy, p. 251. f The copy chiefly used in the compilation of this version, is one printed in Mr Motherwell's collection ; but several of the best verses are from a copy procured from tradition by Mr Jamieson. A number of stanzas pre- served by these gentlemen are here omitted, from a desire that the strain of pathetic sentiment may be as little disturbed as possible by mean and prosaic allusions : the twelfth is added by the editor. The ballad used in former times to be presented in a dramatic shape at rustic meetings in Aberdeenshire. f This ballad is averred by tradition to bear reference to a circumstance which is affirmed, by the same respectable authority, to have taken place, nearly two hundred years ago, in the noble family of Cassilis. The com- mon version of the story is thus reported in the Picture of Scotland, vol. I. Article Ayrshire : — " John, the sixth Earl of Cassilis, a stern Covenanter, and of whom it is recorded by Bishop Burnet, that he never would permit his language to be understood but in its direct sense, obtained to wife Lady Jean Hamilton, a daughter of Thomas, first Earl of Haddington, a man of singular genius, who had raised himself from the Scottish bar to a peerage and the best for- tune of his time. The match, as is probable from the character of the parties, seems to have been one dictated by policy ; for Lord Haddington 1U And she cam tripping down the stair, And all her maids before her ; was anxious to connect himself with the older peers, and Lord Cassilis might have some such anxiety to be allied to his father-in-law's good es- tates ; the religion and politics of the parties, moreover, were the same. It is therefore not very likely that Lady Jean herself had much to say in the bargain. On the contrary, says report, her affections were shamefully vio- lated. She had been previously beloved by a gallant young knight, a Sir John Faa of Dunbar, who had perhaps seen her at her father's seat of Tyn- ningham, which is not more than three miles from that town. .When seve- ral years were spent and gone, and Lady Cassilis had brought her husband three children, this passion led to a dreadful catastrophe. Her youthful lover, seizing an opportunity when the Earl was attending the Assembly of Divines at Westminster, came to Cassilis Castle, a massive old tower on the banks of the Doon, four miles from Maybole, then the principal residence of the family, and which is still to be seen in its original state. He was disguised as a gypsy, and attended by a band of these desperate outcasts. In the words of the ballad, The gypsies cam to the Yerl o' Cassilis' yett, And, oh, but they sang sweetly ; They sang sae sweet and sae complete, That doun cam our fair ladye. She came tripping doun the stairs, Wi' a' her maids before her ; And as sune as they saw her weel-faur'd face, They cuist the glaumourye ower her. Alas ! love has a glamourye for the eyes much more powerful than that supposed of old to be practised by wandering gypsies, and which must have been the only magic used on this occas.ou. The Countess right soon con- descended to elope with her lover. Most unfortunately, ere they had pro- ceeded very far, the Earl came home, am', learning the fact, immediately set out in pursuit. Accompanied by a band which put resistance out of the question, he overtook them, and captured the whole party, at a ford over the Doon, still called the Gypsies' Steps, a few miles from the castle. He brought them back to Cassilis, and there hanged all the gypsies, including the hapless Sir John, upon " the Dule Tree," a splendid and most umbra- geous plane, which yet flourishes upon a mound in front of the castle gate, and which was his gallows-in-ordinary, as the name testifies. As for the Countess, whose indiscretion occasioned all this waste of human life, she was taken by her husband to a window in front of the castle, and there, by a refinement of cruelty, compelled to survey the dreadful scene — to see, one after another, fifteen gallant men put to death, and at last to witness the dying agonies of him who had first been dear to her, and who had perilled all that men esteem in her behalf. The particular room in the stately old house where the unhappy lady endured this horrible torture, is still called " the Countess's Room." After undergoing a short confinement in that apartment, the house belonging to the family at Maybole was fitted for her reception, by the addition of a fine projecting stair-case, upon which were carved heads representing those of her lover and his band : and she was re- moved thither and confined for the rest of her life— the Earl in the mean- time marrying another wife. One of her daughters, Lady Margaret, was afterwards married to the celebrated Gilbert Burnet. The family, fortu- nately, has not been continued by her progeny, but by that of her husband's second wife. While confined in Maybole Castle, she is said to have wrought a prodigious quantity of tapestry, so as to have completely covered the walls of her prison ; but no vestige of it is now to be seen, the house ha- ving been repaired, (otherwise ruined, v )a few years ago, when size-paint 145 As sune as they saw her weel-fa'ured face, They cuist the glamourye* ower her. " O come with me," says Johnie Faa ; C( O come with me, my dearie : For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword, That your lord shall nae mair come near ye !" Then she gied them the gude wheit breid, And they ga'e her the ginger ; But she gied them a far better thing, The gowd ring aff her finger. " Gae tak frae me this gay mantil, And bring to me a plaidie ; For if kith and kin and a' had sworn, I'll follow the gipsy laddie. Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, Wi' my gude lord beside me ; This night I'll lie in a tenant's barn, Whatever shall betide me." « Come to your bed," says Johnie Faa ; " Come to your bed, my dearie : For I vow and I swear by the hilt o' my sword, That your lord shall nae mair come near ye." " I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faa ; I'll go to bed to my dearie : had become a more fashionable thing in Maybole than tapestry. The effi- gies of the gipsies are very minute, being subservient to the decoration of a fine triple window at the top of the stair-case, and stuck upon the tops and bottoms of a series of little pilasters, which adorn that part of the build- ing. The head of Johnie Faa himself is distinct from the rest, larger, and more lachrymose in the expression of the features. Some windows in the upper flat of Cassilis Castle are similarly adorned ; but regarding them tradition is silent." * A species of magical illusion, which the gipsies were formerly believed to exercise. N 5 146 For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand, That my lord shall nae raair come near me. I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faa ; I'll mak a hap to my dearie : And he's get a' the sash gaes round ; And my lord shall nae mair come near me." And when our lord cam hame at e'en, And speired for his fair lady, The tane she cried, and the other replied, " She's away wi' the gipsy laddie." " Gae saddle to me the black black steed ; Gae saddle and mak him ready : Before that I either eat or sleep, I'll gae seek my fair lady." And we were fifteen weel-made men, Although we were na bonnie ; And we were a' put down for ane, A fair young wanton lady.* BESSIE BELL AND MARY GRAY.f O, Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, They war twa bonnie lasses I * First printed in the Tea-Table Miscellany ; afterwards, with two ad- ditional verses, in Mr Finlay's Collection. The latter copy, which is con- sistent with one that the editor has heard sung by the common people, is here reprinted. f Mr Sharpe had the good fortune to recover this very interesting little ballad, which must be no other than that which Allan Ramsay supplanted by his lively songito the same air and with the same oiver-word. The story of these unfortunate beauties, as given in Pennant's Tour and the Statisti- cal Account of Scotland, was simply as follows : Bessie Bell and Mary Gray were the daughters of two country gentlemen in the neighbourhood of Perth ; and an intimate friendship subsisted between them. Bessie Bell, daughter of the Laird of Kinnaird, happening to be on 147 They biggit a bouir on yon burn- side, And theekit it ower wi' rashes. They theekit it ower wi' rashes green, They theekit it ower with heather ; But the pest cam frae the burrows-toun, And slew them baith thegither. They thocht to lie in Methven kirkyard, Amang their noble kin, But they maun lie in Stronach Haugh, To beek forenent the sun. And Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, They war twa bonnie lasses ! They big-git a bowir on yon burn-side, And theekit it ower wi' rashes. THE BARON OF BRACKLEY.* Doun Dee-side cam Inverey, whistling and playing ; He's lichtit at Brackley yetts, at the day dawing : a visit to Mary Gray, at her father's house of Lynedoch, when the plague of 1666 broke out, to avoid the infection, the two young ladies built them- selves a bower in a very retired and romantic spot, called the Burn-braes, about three quarters of a mile westward from Lynedoch House ; where they resided for some time, supplied with food, it is said, by a young gentleman of Perth, who was in love with them both. The disease was unfortunately communicated to them by their lover, and proved fatal ; when, according to custom in cases of the plague, they were not buried in the ordinary pa- rochial place of sepulture, but in a sequestered spot, called the Dronach Haugh, at the foot of a brae of the same name, upon the banks of the river Almond. Some tasteful person, in modern times, has fashioned a sort of bower over their double graves, and there " violets blue and daisies pied" will for ever blow over the remains of unfortunate beauty. * This ballad records an unfortunate rencontre, which took place on the 16th of September, 1666, between John Gordon of Brackley, commonly ealled the Baron of Brackley, (in Aberdeenshire,) and Farquharson of Inve- rey, a noted free-booter, who dwelt on Dee-side. The former gentleman, who is yet remembered by tradition as a person of the most amiable and respectable character, had contrived to offend Farquharson, Dy pounding some horses belonging to his (Farquharson's) followers, which had either strayed into the Brackley grounds, or become forfeited on account of some 148 Says, " Baron o' Brackley, O are ye within ? There's sharp swords at your yett, will gar your blood spin." The lady rase up ; to the window she went ; She heard her kye lowing ower hill and ower bent. " O rise up, ye baron, and turn back your kye ; For the lads o' Drumwharran are driving them bye." " How can T rise, lady, or turn them again ? Whare'er I hae ae man, I wat they hae ten." " Then rise up, my lasses ; tak rokes in your hand, And turn back the kye : I hae you at command. Gin I had a husband, as it seems I hae nane, He wadna lie in his bouir, see his kye taen." Then up gat the baron, and cried for his graith ;* Says, if Lady, I'll gang, though to leave you I'm laith. Come, kiss me, then, Peggy ; and gie me my speir ; I aye was for peace, though I never fear'd weir.-|- Come, kiss me, then, Peggy ; nor think I'm to blame : I weel may gae out ; but I'll never win in !" petty delinquencies committed by their proprietors. Farquharson was a man of violent habits and passions : he is yet remembered by the epithet Fuddie, descriptive of his hurried, impatient gait; and it is said that, ha- ving been in league with the powers of darkness, he was buried on the north gide of a hill, where the sun never shone. On account of the miraculous expedition with which he could sweep the cattle away from an hostile dis- trict, " Deil scoup wi' Fuddie!" is still a popular proverb, implying that the devil could alone keep his own part with him. This singular marau- der, it appears, from authentic information, wished at first to argue the point at issue with the Baron of Brackley ; but in the course of the alterca- tion some expression from one of the parties occasioned a mutual discharge of fire arms, by which Brackley and three of his followers fell. An attempt was made by the baron's friends to bring Fuddie to justice ; but the case seems to have been justly considered one of chance medley, and the accu- sed paTty was soon restored to society. * Accoutrements. f War. 149 When Brackley was buskit, and rade ower the close,* A gallanter baron ne'er lap to a horse. When Brackley was muutit, and rade ower the green, He was as bold a baron as ever was seen. Though there cam wi' Inverey thirty and three, There was nane wi' bonnie Brackley but his brother and he. Twa gallanter Gordons did never sword draw : But against four and thirty, wae's me, what is twa ? Wi' swords and wi' daggers they did him surround ; And they've pierced bonny Brackley wi' mony a wound. Frae the head o' the Dee to the banks o' the Spey, The Gordons may mourn him, and ban Inverey. " O cam ye by Brackley yetts ? was ye in there ? Saw ye his Peggy dear, riving her hair ?" " O I cam by Brackley yetts ; I was in there ; And I saw his Peggy a-making good cheer." That lady she feasted them, carried them ben, And laughed wi' the men that her baron had slain. " Oh, fye on ye, lady ! how could ye do sae ! You opened your yetts to the fause Inverey !" She ate wi' him, drank wi' him, welcomed him in ; She welcomed the villain that slew her baron ! She kept him till morning ; syne bade him be gane ; And shawed him the road whare he should na be taen, * The court-yard of the castle. N 2 150 i* Through Birss, and Aboyne," she says, " lyin in a tour, Ower the hills o' Glentannar ye'll skip in an hour." There's grief in the kitchen, and mirth in the ha' ; But the Baron of Brackley is deid and awa.* THE MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS.f PART FIRST. " O waly, waly, up yon bank, And waly, waly, doun yon brae, * From Mr Jamieson's " Popular Ballads and Songs," 1806. ■f- The circumstances in real life, which gave rise to this ballad, are given in a note to the song, " Waly, waly," at another part of this collection, but may here be more fully detailed. James, second Marquis of Douglas, when aged twenty-four, married, at Edinburgh, on the 7th of September, 1670, Lady Barbara Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth Earl of Mar. This lady is said to have been pre- viously wooed, without success, by a gentleman of the name of Lowrie, who, on account of his afterwards marrying Mariotte Weir, heiress of Blackwood, in Lanarkshire, was commonly called, according to the custom of Scotland, the Tutor, and sometimes the Laird, of Blackwood. Lowrie, who seems to have been considerably advanced in life at the time, was chamberlain or factor to the Marquis of Douglas ; a circumstance which gave him peculiar facilities for executing an atrocious scheme of vengeance he had projected against the lady. By a train of proceedings somewhat si- milar to those of Iago, and in particular, by pretending to have discovered a pair of men's shoes underneath the Marchioness's bed, he completely suc- ceeded in breaking up the affection of the unfortunate couple. Lord Dou- las, who, though a man of profligate conduct, had hitherto treated his wife with some degree of politeness, now rendered her life so miserable, that she was obliged to seek refuge with her father. The earl came with a large re- tinue, to carry her off, when, according to the ballad, as well as the tradi- tion of the country, a most affecting scene took place. The marquis him- self was so much overcome by the parting of his wife and child — for she had now borne a son— that he expressed, even in that last hour, a desire of being reconciled to her. But the traitorous Lowrie succeeded in prevent- ing him from doing so, by a well-aimed sarcasm at his weakness. Regarding the ultimate fate of the marchioness I am altogether ignorant. It is, however, very improbable that any reconciliation ever took place be- tween her and her husband, such as is related in the ballad. Her son was afterwards a personage of some historical note. When only eighteen years of age, he raised the 20th, or Cameronian regiment ; a band originally as- sociated in 1689 for the purpose of protecting the Convention of Estates at Edinburgh, while the measure of the Revolution was in agitation, but which he afterwards led abroad to fight in King William's French wars. He 151 And waly, waly, by yon burn- side,* Where I and my love wont to gae ! Hey, nonnie, nonnie, but love is bonnie, A little while, when it is new ; But when it's auld, it waxes cauld, And fades away like morning dew.f I leant my back unto an aik ; I thought it was a trusty tree ; But first it bowed, and syne it brak, And sae did my fause love to me. was killed, when in the act of leading on the regiment, at the battle of Steinkirk, in 1692, when only twenty-one years of age. The Marquis of Douglas married a second wife, who bore to him the noted Archibald Duke of Douglas, Lady Jane Douglas, and other children ; and thus, what is a very strange circumstance, the venerable Lord Douglas, who died in 1827, was but grandson to tbe "fause love" who sent the heroine of " Waly, waly," to take up her couch on Arthur's Seat, and slake her thirst at St Anton's Well, in the decade of 1670. Lowrie distinguished himself in the religious troubles of the reign of Charles II. He had been accessory to the insurrection of 1666, and was condemned to death for his concern in the affair of Bothwell-bridge, but was pardoned. Fountair.hall describes him as a man disliked by people of every party and every condition. * '* Waly, waly !" is a Scottish interjection of bewailment. It occurs in a ludicrous rhyme, which, in Peeblesshire, is sung by nurses, as an accom- paniment to the common fire-side phenomenon of a kindled stick, vibrated rapidly to and fro, so as to produce a semicircle of fire, for the amusement of children:— " Dingle, dingle, gowd bow ! [arch] Up the water in a low ! [flame] Far up i' Ettricke, There was a waddin : Twa and twa pykin a bane ; But I got ane, my leefu' lane ! Deuk's dub afore the door. There fell I ; A' the lave cried, Waly, waly ! But I cried, Feigh-fye !" f The stanza runs thus in the copy which Mr Motherwell has extracted from the Pepysian Library. In the ordinary versions, it begins, " O waly, waly, but love be bonnie ;" and Allan Ramsay gives this line as the title of the song, only substituting the word " gin" [if] for " but." A third vari- ation is quoted, in Leyden's Introduction to the " Complaynt of Scotland," from a manuscript Cantus, or Collection of Songs, dated in the latter part of the seventeenth century :— " Hey troly, loly ! love is joly, A whyle, whill it is new ; But when it's old, it grows full cold, Woe worth the love untrue !" 152 My mother tauld me, when I was young, That young man's love was ill to trow ; But untill her I wald give nae ear, And, alace, my ain wand dings me now ! had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win, 1 had locked my heart with a key o' gowd, And pinned it wi' a siller pin. O wherefore should I busk my head, O wherefore should I kaim my hair, Since my true-love has me forsook, And says he'll never love me mair ? As we came in by Glasgow toun, We were a comely sicht to see ; My love was clad in black velvet, And I mysell in cramasie. Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me, St Anton's Well shall be my drink, Since my true-love has forsaken me.* During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, both " Nonnie, nonnie," and " Troly, loly !" were common burdens of songs. A song under the title of " Trolee, lolee," is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland, 1548, and also in Laneham's Account of the reception of Queen Elizabeth at Ke- nilworth, 1575. Perhaps, the elegant modern burden, beginning, " Tol de rol, lol de rol," may be a genuine descendant of the ' * Troly, loly" of the two centuries before the last. * Arthur's seat is a well-known hill near Edinburgh, and St Anton's, or St Anthony's Well, a fountain which springs from its side, near to the ruins of a small chapel and hermitage, the tenant of which it must have supplied with water. The explanation here given of the occasion of the ballad is countenanced by local circumstances. The forlorn Countess, in alluding to the period when she was an honoured wife, speaks of a visit to Glasgow, a city near to her husband's residence and estates : in alluding to her pre- sent degraded condition, when residing with her father at Edinburgh, she introduces Arthur's Seat and St Anthony's Well, two objects of note in the immediate vicinity of the capital. 153 Oh, Martimas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? Oh, gentle death, when wilt thou come, And take a life that wearies me ? It's not the frost that freezes fell, Nor driftin' snaw's inclemencie ; It's not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart's grown cauld to me. And oh, an my young babe was bom, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysell were deid and gane, And the green grass growing over me I When lords and lairds cam to this toun, And gentlemen o' high degree, I took my auld son in my arms, And went to my chamber pleasantlie. But when lords and lairds come neist to the toun, And gentlemen o' high degree, O, I maun sit in the dark, alane, Wi* my young son* on the nurse's knee ! O, I maun sit in the dark, alane, And ne'er a ane to comfort me !" PART SECOND. " When I lay sick, and very sick, When I lay sick, and like to die, A gentleman of good account Came from the west to visit me ; * In old legendary poetry, " young son" and " auld son" are phrases ined only to denote the comparative ages of children. The young son is perhaps the child now in the nurse's arms ; the auld son he who has just begun to walk without leading-strings. 154 But Blackwood whispered in my lord's ear, He was ower lang in the chamber wi' me. When I was sick, and very sick, When I was sick, and like to die, As I drew near to my stair-head, I heard my ain lord lichtlie me. Gae, little page, and tell your lord, Gin he'll come doun and dine wi' me, I'll set him on a chair o' gowd, And serve him on my bended knee. The little page gaed up the stair : * Lord Douglas, dine wi' your ladye ; She'll set ye on a chair o' gowd, And serve ye on her bended knee.' 1 When cockle shells turn silver bells, When wine dreips red frae ilka tree, When frost and snaw will warm us a', Then I'll come doun and dine wi' thee.' What ails you at your youngest son, That sits upon the nurse's knee ? I'm sure that he has done nae harm, Unless to his ain nurse and me. If I had kent what I ken now, That love it was so ill to win, I should ne'er ha' wet my cherry cheek, For ony man or mother's son. But when my father got word o' this, O what an angry man was he ! He sent fourscore o' his archers bauld, To bring me safe to his ain countrie. 155 When I rose up, then, in the morn, My goodly palace for to lea', I knocked at my lord's chamber door. But ne'er a word wad he speak to me. < Fare ye weel, then, Jamie Douglas ; I need care as little as ye care for me : The Earl of Mar is my father dear, And I sune will see my ain countrie. Ye thocht that I was like yoursell, And loving ilk ane I did see ; But here I swear by the heavens clear, I never loved a man but thee.' Slowly, slowly, rase he up, And slowly, slowly cam he doun ; And when he saw me set on his horse, He garred his drums and trumpets sound. When I upon my horse was set, My tenants all were with me taen ; They set them doun upon their knees, And they begged me to come back again , * It's fare ye weel, my bonnie palace, And fare ye weel, my children three ! God grant your father may get mair grace, And love thee better than he has loved me. It's fare ye weel, my servants all, And you, my bonnie children three ! God grant your father grace to be kind, Till I see you safe in my ain countrie/ Now wae be to you, fause Blackwood, Aye, and an ill death may you die ! 156 Ye was the first and foremost man, That parted my true love and me." PART THIRD. " As on we cam to Edinburgh toun, My gude father he welcomed me. He caused his minstrels meet to sound : It was nae music at a' to me. For nae mirth nor music sounds in my ear, Since my true love's forsaken me. ' Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear, And of your weeping let me be. For a bill of divorce I'll gar write for him, And I'll get as gude a lord to thee.' ' Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear, And o' such talking let me be. I wadna gie ae look o' my guid lord's face For all the lords in the north countrie. Oh, I'll cast aff my robes o' red, And I'll put on my robes o' blue ; And I will travel to some other land, To see gin my love will on me rue. There sail nae wash come on my face ; There sail nae kame come in my hair ; There sail neither coal nor candle-licht Be seen intill my bouir mair.' " When she cam to her father's land, The tenants a' cam her to see ; Never a word she could speak to them, But the buttons aff her claes would flie.* * This affecting image of overpowering grief also occurs in a traditionary story, quoted in the notes to "Andrew Lammie," 157 " The lintie is a bonnie bird, And aften flies far frae its nest ; Sae a' the world may plainly see, They're far awa that I love best.' PART FOURTH. As she was sitting at her bouir window, Looking afar ower hill and glen, Wha did she see but fourscore soldiers, That cam to tak her back again. Out bespak the foremost man ; And whaten a weel-spoken man was he ! " If the Lady Douglas be within, Ye'U bid her come doun and speak to me." But out bespak her father then ; I wat an angry man was he ! " Ye may gang back the gate ye cam, For her face again ye'll never see." " Now haud your tongue, my father," she says, And of your folly let me be ; For I'll gae back to my gude lord, Since his love has come back to me." Sae she has dressed hersell fu braw, And mounted on her dapple grey, And, like a queen, wi' her men behind, She has ridden gayly out the way. She laughed like ony new-made bride, "When she took fareweel o' her father's towers ; But the tear, I wat, stude in her ee, When she cam in sicht o' her lover's bowers. 158 A 8 she cam by the Orange gate, Whaten a blythe sicht did she see ; Her gude lord coming her to meet, And in his hand her bairnies three ! "Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, That I may drink to my ladie :" She took the cup intill her hand, But her bonnie heart it brak in three.* LIZIE BAILLIE.f PART FIRST. It fell about the Lammas time, , When flowers were fresh and green, * This ballad has been compiled by the editor from various sources. The first eleven verses are, with the exception of the fourth, and a few other lines, those which Allan Ramsay printed in his Tea-Table Miscellany as an old song, and which have since been so popular, under the title of " Waly, waly, gin love be bonny." The few excepted lines, and the whole of the re- mainder, to the end of the Third Part, are procured from three sources : 1st, an imperfect version of the ballad which Mr Finlay printed under the title of " Jamie Douglas;" 2d, a complete one which Mr Motherwell has 6ince given as copied from the celebrated Pepys Collection, in the Pepysian Li- brary, Cambridge; 3d, a fragment called " the Laird of Blackwood," in Kinloch's " Ancient Scottish Ballads." The fourth part, with the excep- tion of the thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth verses, which are supplied by the editor, is chiefly taken from a manuscript and unpublished copy, submit- ted to my inspection by Mr Kinloch. One line, the last of the eleventh verse, is substituted from a nurse's copy, instead of one less elegant and pathetic, which has always hitherto been printed. Among the notes which Mr Kinloch has kiudly given me permission to use, there is a fact of a somewhat curious nature mentioned. Archibald, Duke of Douglas, used to take great pleasure in hearing the ballad sung. An old woman who had been dey, or dairy-woman, at Douglas Castle, and who communicated the ballad sixty years ago to the aged person from whom Mr Kinloch derived it, was frequently sent for by his Grace, to sing it to him. As she doled out the verses to their slow melancholy tune, his Grace wheeled round the room in a gilded chair, muttering imprecations against Lowrie, and sometimes exclaiming aloud, " Oh, that Blackwood must have been a d d soul !" It says a good deal for the heart of the Duke, whatever his general conduct in life says for his head, that he should have thus bewailed the treachery by which his father had permitted him- self to be so grievously imposed upon. The old woman who sung the bal- lad to his Grace, usually got a bottle of wine home in her lap, as her min- strel guerdon, t " Bonnie Lixie BaiHie had gone on a visit to Gar tartan, in Perthshire ; 159 Lizie Baillie to Gar tartan went, To see her sister Jean. Fair Lizie to Gartartan went, To stay a little while ; But mark what fortune her befell, When she went to the isle. There, as she lichtly tripped about, She met wi' Duncan Graham ; Who courted her along the way, Likewise convoyed her hame. " My bonnie Lizie Baillie, I'll row thee in my plaidie ; And ye maun gang alang wi' me, And be a Highland lady." " I'm sure they wadna ca' me wise, Gin I should gang wi' you, sir ; For I can neither card nor spin, Nor yet milk cow nor yowe, sir." " My bonnie Lizie Baillie, Let nane o' thae things daunt ye ; Ye'll ha'e nae need to card or spin, Your mother weel can want ye. But for a time we now maun part ; I hae nae time to tarry ; and, having made a trip to the island of Inehmahome, met with Duncan Graham, a handsome yeoman. They conceived a mutual flame, and were suddenly married. Though ignorant of the filiation of the heroine, we are certain that Castlecary (in Stirlingshire) belonged to persons of the name of Baillie. James Dundas of Breastmiln married Elizabeth Baillie, heiress of Castlecary, about the mddle of the last century." See the Rev. Mr Stir- ling's Edition o/Nimmo's History of ' Stirlingshir e, note, p. 503. From the peculiar way in which the battle of Killiecrankie is mentioned, I should think that the ballad owes its origin to a period immediately subsequent to that event Inehmahome, in the Lake of Menteith, remarkable for the ruias of an old priory, is " the isle" mentioned in the second verse. 160 Next time that we twa meet again, 'Twill be at Castlecary," When Lizie tarried out her time, And to her father's came ; The very first night she was there, Wha comes but Duncan Graham ! Says, " Bonnie Lizie Baillie, A gude deid mat ye dee ; Although to me ye brak your tryst, Now I am come for thee." " Oh, stay at hame," her father said ; " Your mother canna want ye :~ If ye should gang awa, we'll hae Another Killiecrankie !" " My bonnie Lizie Baillie, Come wi' me but delay ; Oh, would ye hae sae little wit, As mind what auld folks say ?" Sae she's cuist aff her bonnie goun, Made o' the silken sattin ; And she's put on a tartan plaid, To row amang the braken. She wadna hae the Lawlandman, That wears the coat sae blue ; But she wad hae the Hielandman, That wears the plaid and trews. She wadna hae a Lawland laird, Nor be an English lady ; But she wad gang wi' Duncan Graham, And row her in his plaidie. 161 Now, wae be to the silly chields, That dwell at Castlecary ; To let awa sic a bonnie lass, A. Hielandinan to marry ! PART SECOND. Fair Lizie has put her stockings on, And sae has she her shoon ; And kilted up her green claithing, And awa wi' Duncan gane. The road was lang and wearifu ; The braes were ill to climb ; And Lizie was sae tired and sair, Nae farther could she win. She sat her down upon a stane, And said, " Oh, I am weary ;" And she looked to see if she could see The towers o' Castlecary. And sair and heavy did she sigh, As the tear stude in her ee, When she thocht upon her parents dear, That she nae mair should see. " O, dinna ye repent, Lizie, O, dinna ye repent, That ye have come wi' Duncan Graham, Sae far out ower the bent ?" She lookit kindly in his face, And on her feet did stand : " I wad na gie my Duncan Graham For a' my father's land !" o2 162 u Come, then, my bonnie Lizie ; Ye ne'er shall rue for me ; Gie me but your love for my lore, It's a' I want of thee. And tak ye to your feet again, Although the gate seem lang : Ye'se hae the wale o' gude living, When to Kincawsen we gang. For my father he is a herd himsell, Wi* mony a cow and quey ; And we'll sleep on a bed o' green rashes, And dine on fresh curds and green whey." His mother stude in the sheilin' door, Said, " Ye're welcome hame to me ; Ye're welcome hame, my son Duncan, And your bonnie young lady wi' ye." She made them a bed o' green rashes, Weel covered wi' claith of grey ; And bonnie Lizie was sae weary, She sleepit till lang o' the day. " The sun looks in ower the hich hill-head; The laverock is lilting gay : Get up, get up, now, bonnie Lizie ; You've lain till it's lang o' the day ! Ye micht hae been out at the sheilin', Instead o' sae lang to lye ; Ye micht hae been up helping my mother To milk her gaits and kye." When Lizie lifted her frae her bed, And lookit where she lay, 163 I wat the tears burst frae her eeii, To see her beddin sae grey. When Lizie lookit her about, And saw the sheilin' sae sma', I wat the tear burst frae her een, To think on her fathers ha'. But when her true love ca'd her up, To milk his gaits and kye ; I wat nae langer could she conteen, But fairly did burst and cry. iC Now dinna ye repent, Lizie ? Now are na ye richt sorry ? To have followed here a Hieland herd, And left lords at Castlecary ?" " No I I shall ne'er repent, Duncan, And shanna e'er be sorry ; To be wi' thee in Hieland shiel, Is worth lords at Castlecary !" He's taen her by the hand sae white, And led her to his ha', And shown her to five hundred men, The lady ower them a'. He's taen her by the hand sae white, And gi'en her welcome hame ; And she is Lady o' Kincawsen, And he Sir Duncan Graham ! * * The First Part of this ballad is chiefly taken from a fragment in Herd's Collection, only a few stanzas and stray lines being admitted from a less poetical and refined copy in Mr Buchan's " Ballads and Songs." The Se- cond Part is composed out of a ballad called " Lizie Lindsay," which Mr Jamieson has given in an imperfect, and Mr Buchan in an entire shape, and which has evidently been the same, originally, with *• Bonnie Lizie Baillie," though chiefly referring to the post-nuptial part of the story. For the purpose of making the whole tell as a story, I have been under the ne- 164 THE DOWIE DENS O' YARROW.* [original ballad.] Late at e'en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid their lawing, They set a combat them between, To fecht it in the dawing. " O stay at hame, my noble lord ! O stay at hame, my marrow I My cruel brother will you betray, On the dowie houms o 5 Yarrow." " O fare ye weel, my ladye gay ! O fare ye weel, my Sarah ! For I maun gae, though I ne'er return Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, As oft she had done before, O ; cessity of altering several lines and verses, and re-writing others. In the Second Part, the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, fourteenth, fifteenth, six- teenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth stanzas, are from a manuscript copy which lately came into my possession. * According to the editor of the Border Minstrelsy, in whose publica- tion this ballad first appeared, it is founded upon an event in real life. The parties were John Scott of Tushielaw, and his brother-in-law, Walter Scott, third son of Robert Scott of Thirlstane. The unhappy event hap- pened in the early part of the seventeenth century, and was fatal to the latter person. Both parties were gentlemen of the vale of Ettrick ; but they appear to have chosen Yarrow for the scene of their rencontre, much upon the same principle as that whicl\ sometimes dictates, in modern cases of duelling, a choice of ground beyond seas, in preference to Chalk-farm. The combat took place on a level field to the west of Yarrow-kirk, imme- diately opposite to the mouth of a pass which connects Ettrick with Yar- row, and through which, in all probability, the combatants approached the scene of conflict. Two tall monumental stones, with inscriptions now ille- gible, yet remain to commemorate the duel. The place is called Annan's Treat, in consequence of a traditionary notion, that such was the name of the treacherous individual who slew the combatant by stabbing him behind his back. We are further informed by Sir Walter Scott, that, according to tradition, the murderer was the brother of either the wife, or the be- trothed bride, of the murdered, and that the alleged cause of quarrel was, the lady's father having proposed to endow her with half of his property, upon her marriage with a warrior of sueh renown. 165 She beltit him with his noble brand, And he's awa to Yarrow. As he gaed up the Tinnies bank, I wot he gaed wi' sorrow, Till, doun in a den, he spied nine armed men, On the dowie houms o' Yarrow. " O come ye here to part your land, The bonnie Forest thorough ? come ye here to wield your brand, On the dowie houms o' Yarrow ?" " I came not here to part my land, And neither to beg nor borrow ; 1 come to wield my noble brand, On the bonnie banks o' Yarrow." " If I see all, ye're nine to ane ; And that's an unequal marrow ; Yet I will fight, while lasts my brand, On the bonnie banks o' Yarrow 1" Four has he hurt, and five has slain, On the bloody braes o' Yarrow, Till that stubborn knicht cam him behind, And run his body thorough. " I dreimed a dreirie dreim last nicht ; God keep us a' frae sorrow ! I dreimed I pu'd the birk sae green,* Wi' my true love, on Yarrow." " I'll read your dreim, my sister deir, I'll read it into sorrow ; To dream of any thing green, is held in Scotland decidedly unlucky. 166 You pu'd the birk wi' your tnie love ; He's killed, he's killed on Yarrow I" " Oh gentle wind that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a kiss frae his deir mouth, And tell me how he fareth V She's torn the ribbons frae her head, That were baith thick and narrow ; She's kiltit up her green claithing, And she's awa to Yarrow. Sometimes she rade, sometimes she gaed, As she had done before, O ; And aye between she fell in a sweine,* Lang or she cam to Yarrow. As she sped down yon high high hill, She gaed wi' dule and sorrow ; And in the glen spied ten slain men, On the dowie banks o' Yarrow. She's taen him in her armis twa, And gien him kisses thorough ; And wi' her tears she has washed his wounds, On the dowie howms o' Yarrow. Out and spak her father dear, Says, " What needs a' this sorrow ? I can get you a far better lord, Than him that's deid on Yarrow." " Oh, haud your tongue, my father Ye mind me but of sorrow : A better lord there couldna be Than him that dee'd on Yarrow." 16T She kissed his lips and kamed his hair, As she had done before, O ; Syne, wi' a sigh,* her heart did break, Upon the braes o' Yarrow, f THE BRAES OF YARROW. [MODERN BALLAD.] WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR, ESQ. A. " Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride I Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, And think nae mair of the Braes of Yarrow." B. " Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride ? Where gat ye that winsome marrow ?" A. " I gat her where I daurna weil be seen, Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. Weip not, weip not, my bonnie, bonnie bride, Weip not, weip not, my winsome marrow ! Nor let thy heart lament to leive Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow." B. " Why does she weip, thy bonnie, bonnie bride ? Why does she weip, thy winsome marrow ? And why daur ye nae mair weil be seen, Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow ?" * Crack, in Mr Buchan's copy. f Composed out of three copies, one of which is in the Border Min- strelsy; another in " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern;" and the third in " Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland ;" besides a fragment in Herd's Collection, (vol. I. page 145,) which is stated to be sung to the tune of " Leader haughs and Yarrow." 168 A. " Lang maun she weip, lang maun she, maun she weip, Lang maun she weip wi' dule and sorrow, And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen, Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. For she has tint her luver, luver deir, Her luver deir, the cause of sorrow ; And I hae slain the comeliest swain That e'er pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow. Why runs thy streim, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red ? Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow ? And why yon melancholious weids, Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow ? What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flude ? What's yonder floats ? — Oh, dule and sorrow ! 'Tis he, the comely swain I slew Upon the dulefu' Braes of Yarrow. Wash, oh wash his wounds, his wounds, in tears, His wounds in tears o' dule and sorrow ; And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, And lay him on the banks of Yarrow. Then build, then build, ye sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow ; And weip around, in waeful wise, His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow ! Curse ye, curse ye, his useless useless shield, The arm that wrocht the deed of sorrow, The fatal speir that pierced his breist, His comely breist, on the Braes of Yarrow ! Did I not warn thee not to, not to, love, And warn from fight ? But, to my sorrow, 169 Too rashly bold, a stronger arm thou met'st, Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow. Sweit smells the birk ; green grows, green grows, the grass ; Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan ; Fair hangs the apple frae the rock ; Sweit the wave of Yarrow flowen ! Flows Yarrow sweit? as sweit, as sweit, flows Tweed ; As green its grass ; its gowan as yellow ; As sweit smells on its braes the birk ; The apple from its rocks as mellow ! Fair was thy love ! fair, fair, indeed, thy love ! In flowery bands thou didst him fetter ; Though he was fair, and well-beloved again, Than I he never loved thee better. Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride ! Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ! Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow." C. iC How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ? How can I busk a winsome marrow? How can I lo'e him on the banks o' Tweed That slew my love on the Braes o' Yarrow ? Oh, Yarrow fields, may never, never rain, Nor dew, thy tender blossoms cover I For there was basely slain my love, My luve, as he had not been a lover. The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple vest — 'twas my ain sewing ; r 170 Ah wretched me ! I little, little kenned, He was, in these, to meet his ruin. The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, Unmindful of my dule and sorrow : But, ere the too-fa' of the nicht, He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow ! Much I rejoiced, that waefu', waefu' day ; I sang, my voice the woods returning ; But, lang ere nicht, the speir was flown, That slew my love, and left me mourning. What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, But with his cruel rage pursue me ? My luver's blude is on thy speir — How canst thou, barbarous man, then, woo me ? My happy sisters may be, may be proud, With cruel and ungentle scoffing— May bid me seek, on Yarrow-Braes, My luver nailed in his coffin. My brother Douglas may upbraid, And strive, with threat'ning words, to muve me ; My luver's blude is on thy speir — How canst thou ever bid me luve thee ? Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve ! With bridal-sheets my body cover ! Unbar, ye bridal-maids, the door ! Let in th' expected husband-lover ! But who the expected husband, husband is ? His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter Ah, me ! what ghastly spectre's yon, Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding, after ? 171 Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down ; O lay his cold head on my pillow ! Take off, take off these bridal weids, And crown my careful head with willow. Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved, Oh, could my warmth to life restore thee ! Yet lie all night between my breists, — No youth lay ever there before thee ! Pale, pale, indeed, Oh lovely, lovely youth, Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lie all night betwein my breists, No youth shall ever lie there after !" " Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride ! Return, and dry thy useless sorrow ! Thy lover heids nocht of thy sighs ; He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow." * WILLIE'S DROWNED IN YARROW. Doun in yon garden sweet and gay, Where bonnie grows the lilie, I heard a fair maid, sighing, say, " My wish be wi' sweet Willie ! O Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, And Willie's wondrous bonnie ; And Willie hecht to marry me, Gin e'er he married ony. * This ballad, which its author professed to be written " in imitation of the ancient manner," and which he inscribed to a lady who possessed a great taste for old Scottish ballad poetry, Lady Jean Home, was first published in the Tea-Table Miscellany. The version given above is derived, through Ritson's " Scottish Songs," from the last Edinburgh edition of Hamilton's Works, with the advantage of a collation with the copy printed in the Tea- Table Miscellany. 172 But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, And does not hear me weeping : Draws many a tear frae true love's ee, When other maids are sleeping. Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, The nicht I'll mak it narrow ; For, a' the live-lang winter nicht, I lie twined o' my marrow. Oh gentle wind, that bloweth south, . From where my love repaireth, Convey a kiss frae his deir mouth, And tell me how he fareth ! O tell sweit Willie to come doun, And bid him no be cruel ; And tell him no to break the heart Of his love and only jewel. O tell sweit Willie to come doun, And hear the mavis singing ; And see the birds on ilka bush, And leaves around them hinging. The lavrock there, wi' her white breist, And gentle throat sae narrow ; There's sport eneuch for gentlemen, On Leader haughs and Yarrow. O Leader haughs are wide and braid, And Yarrow haughs are bonnie ; There Willie hecht to marry me, If e'er he married ony. 173 O came ye by yon water side ? Pou'd you the rose or lilie ? Or cam ye by yon meadow green ? Or saw ye my sweit Willie ?" She sought him up, she sought him doun, She sought the braid and narrow ; Syne, in the cleaving o' a craig, She found him drowned in Yarrow ! * THE BRAES OF YARROW. [MODERN BALLAD.] THE REV. JOHN LOGAN. " Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream, When first on them I met my lover ; Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, When now thy waves his body cover ! For ever, now, Oh, Yarrow stream, Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ! For ever, on thy banks shall I Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow,, * Of this exquisitely beautiful little ballad, which seems to refer to a different circumstance from that which forms the ground-work of " The Dowie Dens o' Yarrow," the fourth, tenth, and eleventh stanzas are printed together, as a complete song, in Ram; ay's Tea-Table Miscellany, under the title of " Rare Willy drown'd in Yarrow." The remaining stanzas of the present edition are selected from a ballad entitled " The Haughs o' Yarrow," published in " Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland," 2 vols. 1828. It has been tbe fortune of this ballad, as well as of " The Dowie Dens o' Yarrow," to be imitated by a modern poet of some note. " The Braes of Yarrow," by the Rev. Mr Logan, author of the beautiful Ode to the Cuckoo, has evidently been suggested by it. It is given in continuation. p2 174 He promised me a milk-white steed, To bear me to his father's bowers ; He promised me a little page, To squire me to his father's towers ; He promised me a wedding ring— The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ; Now he is wedded to his grave, Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! Sweet were his words when last we met ; My passion I as freely told him ! Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought That I should never more behold him ! Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow ; Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. His mother from the window looked, With all the longing of a mother ; His little sister weeping walked The greenwood path, to meet her brother : They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough, — They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow ! No longer from thy window look ; Thou hast no son, thou tender mother 1 No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! No longer seek him east or west, And search no more the forest thorough ! For, wandering in the night so dark, He fell a lifeless corpse, in Yarrow. The tear shall never leave my cheek ; No other youth shall be my marrow : 175 I'll seek thy body in the stream, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow." The tear did never leave her cheek ; No other youth became her marrow ; She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow.* ROB ROY.f Rob Roy frae the Hielands cam, Unto the Lawland Border, To steal awa a gay ladye, To haud his house in order. He cam ower the loch o' Lynn ; Twenty men his arms did carry ; Himsell gaed in and fand her out, Protesting he would marry. * Derived, through Ritson's Collection of " Scottish Songs," from the author's works, London, 1781. f The hero of this ballad was Robert Macgregor, son of the famous Rob Roy Macgregor, and generally called Rob Og, that is, Rob the Little. He was outlawed, by sentence of the Court of Justiciary, in 1736, for not ap- pearing to stand trial for the murder of a man of the name of Maclaren. In this state of outlawry, he formed the mad and desperate project of carrying off, and forcibly accomplishing a marriage with, Jane Kay, heiress of Edin- belly : an estate in the western and mountainous part of Stirlingshire, near the haunts of the proscribed clan Macgregor. Rob and his brother James, at the head of an armed band, entered the young lady's house, dragged her out, and tying her, hand and foot, with ropes, laid her across a horse, and brought her in this situation to the house of one of their clan, in a wild and sequestered part of Argyleshire, where, after some show of a marriage ce- remony, she was put to bed, and forcibly compelled to submit to his em- braces. On a discovery of the place of her concealment, she was rescued by her relations ; and Rob Roy and his brother James were seized and brought to Edinburgh for trial. A lady still alive, who was a very little girl in the year 1752, has often described to the editor the sensation which was created in the town of Stirling when this famous outlaw, attired in a soldier's great- coat, and riding on a horse, below whose belly his feet were tied, wa9 brought by a military guard through that town, on his way from some Highland fastness, where he had been taken, to Edinburgh. James made his escape from prison, before sentence ; but Rob, the prime agent in the crime> was condemned and executed, February, 1753% 176 When he cam, he surrounded the house : No tidings there cam before him ; Or else the lady would have been gone ; For still she did abhor him. " O will ye gae wi' me ?" he says ; " O will ye be my honey ? will ye be my wedded wife ? For I loe ye best of ony." " I winna gae wi' you," she says ; " I winna be your honey ; 1 winna be your wedded wife ; Ye loe me for my money." Wi' mournful cries and watery eyes, Fast hauding by her mother ; Wi' mournful cries and watery eyes, They were parted frae each other. He gied her nae time to be dress'd, As ladies do when they're brides ; But he hastened and hurried her awa, And rowed her in his plaids. He mounted her upon a horse, Himsell lap on behind her ; And they're awa to the Hieland hills, Where her friends may never find her. As they gaed ower the Hieland hills, The lady aften fainted ; Saying, " Wae be to my cursed gowd, This road to me invented !" m They rade till they cam to Ballyshine ; At Ballyshine they tarried. He brought to her a cotton gown ; Yet ne'er wad she be married. Two held her up before the priest ; Four carried her to bed, O ! Maist mournfully she wept and cried, When she by him was laid, O. [The tune, which has hitherto heen a rude set of " the Mill, Mill, O," here changes to something like " Jenny dang the Weaver." By another account, it has hitherto been " The Bonnie House o' Airly," and now changes to u Haud awa frae me, Donald !"] u O be content, O be content, O be content to stay,, lady ; For now you are my wedded wife, Until my dying day, lady ! Rob Roy was my father call'd ; Macgregor was his name, lady. He led a band o' heroes bauld, And I am here the same, lady. He was a hedge unto his friends, A heckle to his foes, lady ; And every one that did him wrang, He took him by the nose, lady. I am as bold, I am as bold, As my father was afore, lady ; He that daurs dispute my word, Shall feel my gude claymore, lady. My father left me cows and yowes, And sheep, and goats, and a', lady ; 178 And you and twenty thousand merks Will raak me a man fu' braw, lady." * * Compiled from three various versions ; one of which is in Cromek's " Select Scottish Songs," another in " The North-countrie Garland," and the third in Mr Kinloch's MSS. SCOTTISH BALLADS. PART THIRD. a&omantic asallairs* SCOTTISH BALLADS. PART THIRD. JOHNIE OF BRAIDISLEE.* Johnie rose up in a May morning, Called for water to wash his hands : " Gar loose to me the gude grey dogs, That are bound wi' iron bands." When Johnie's mother gat word o' that, Her hands for dule she wrang : " O Johnie, for my benison, To the greenwood dinna gang ! Eneuch ye hae o' the gude wheat breid, And eneuch o' the blude-red wine ; * Johnie of Braidislee is supposed to have been an outlaw and a deer- stealer, who possessed the old castle of Morton, near Durisdeer, in Dum- fries-shire. At what period he lived, cannot now be ascertained : it is only supposable that it must have been a remote one, as the country around his castle has been reduced from the condition of a deer forest to that of a cul- tivated domain from a time beyond the memory of tradition. The version of the ballad here given is partly copied from those printed in the Border Minstrelsy, and in the publications of Messrs Kinloch and Motherwell, and is partly taken from the recitation of a lady resident at Peebles, and from a manuscript copy submitted to me by Mr Kinloch. The twelfth, thir- teenth, fourteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, twenty-first, twenty-second, twenty-third, twenty-sixth, and twenty-seventh stanzas, are here printed for the first time. Q 6 182 And therefore for nae venison, Johnie, I pray ye stir frae hame." But Johnie buskt up his gude bend bow, His arrows ane by ane ; And he has gane to Durisdeer, To hunt the dun deer down. Johnie lookit east, and Johnie lookit west, And he lookit aneath the sun ;* And there he espied the dun deer sleeping, Aneath a bush o' whin.f Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap, And he skaithed her on the side ; And atween the water and the brae, His hounds they laid her pride. O Johnie's taen out the dun deer's liver, And sae has he her lungs ; And he has fed his three bluidy hounds, As they had been earls' sons. They eat sae muckle o' the venison, And drank sae muckle o' the blude, That Johnie and a' his bluidy hounds Fell asleep as they had been dead. And by there cam a silly auld man, And an ill death may he dee ; * Apparently an allusion to the practice among huntsmen, and others who have occasion to traverse wild parts of the country, of stooping to the ground and looking along its surface, so as to have every little incumbent object relieved against the sky. This mode of discovering objects, which is technically called looking beloiv the sky, is particularly necessary in the twilight, or in the dark. We are informed by Mr KiDloch, that, in the Highlands of Scotland, where the mountain roads are dangerous, and al- most impassable in winter, long black poles, with white tops, are placed at intervals along the path, to guide the traveller ; and these are only discern- ible in the dark, by " looking below the sky" at everv short distance. t Furze 183 And he's away to the seven foresters, As fast as he can drie. « What news, what news, you silly auld man ? What news hae ye to me ?" " Nae news, nae news," quo' the silly auld man " Nae news hae I to thee. But as I cam by yon wan water, And doun amang the scroggs,* O there I saw a gentleman Sleepin amang his dogs. His cheeks were like the roses red, His neck was like the snaw : He was the bonniest gentleman My eyes they ever saw. His coat was o' the scarlet red ; His vest was o' the same ; His stockings were o' the worset lace, And buckles tied to the same. The shirt that was upon his back, Was o' the Holland fine ; The doublet that was over that, Was o' the Lincoln twine. The buttons that were upon his sleeve, Were o' the gowd sae gude ; And the gude grey hounds he lay amang, Their mouths were dyed wi' blude." Out then spoke one, out then spoke two, Out then spoke two or three ; Out spoke the Master Forester, " It's Johnie o' Braid islee. * Stunted trees. 184 if this be true, thou silly auld man, Which you tell unto me, Five hundred pounds of yearly rent, It shall not pay your fee. But if this be a lie, thou silly auld man, Which you tell unto me, The highest tree in a' yon wood, On it you'll hangit be." It's doun, doun, and it's doun, doun, It's doun amang the scroggs, There they espied brave Johnie lie, Sleepin amang his dogs. Out then shot one, out then shot two, Out then shot two or three; Out shot the Master Forester, Wounded Johnie abune the knee. " O wae be to you seven foresters ! I wonder ye dinna think shame, You being seven sturdy men, And I but a man my lane. Now fail me not, my ten fingers, That are both long and small ; Now fail me not, my noble heart, For in thee I trust for all. Now fail me not, my gude bend bow, That was in London coft ; Now fail me not, my golden string, Which my true lover wrocht. Stand stout, stand stout, my noble dogs, Stand stout, and dinna flee ! 185 Stand fast, stand fast, my gude grey hounds, And we will gar them dee !" Johnie set his back unto an aik, His foot against a stane ; And he has slain the seven foresters, He has slain them a' but ane. He has tossed him up, he has tossed him doun, He has broken his collar bone ; He has tied him to his bridle reins, Bade him carry the tidings home. " Now, wae befa' thee, thou silly auld man t An ill death may ye dee ! Upon thy head be a' this blude ! For mine, I ween, is free. O is there a bird in a' this bush, Wad sing as I wad say ; Go home and tell my auld mother, That I have won the day. Is there ever a bird in a' this bush, Wad sing as I wad say ; Go home and tell my own true love To come and fetch Johnie away. Is there a bird in this hale forest, Will do as muckle for me, As dip its wing in the wan water, And straik it ower my ee-bree ?" The starling flew to his mother's window-stane It whistled and it sang ; And ay the owerword o' its tune Was, " Johnie tarries lang !" Q2 186 They made a rod o* the hazel bush, Another o' the slae-thorn tree ; And mony mony were the men At fetching our Johnie. Then out and spak his auld mither, And fast her tears did fa' : " Ye wadna be warned, my son Johnie, Frae the hunting to bide awa. Aft hae I brought to Braidislee The less gear* and the mair; But I ne'er brought to Braidislee What grieved my heart sae sair." Now Johnie's gude bend bow is broke, And his grey dogs are slain ; And his body lies in Durisdeer, And his hunting it is done. FAIR ANNIE. " Learn to mak your bed, Annie, And learn to lie your lane ; For I am gaun ower the saut sea, A bright bride to bring hame. Wi' her I will get gowd and gear, Where wi' thee I gat nane : Ye cam to me as a waif f woman ; I'll leave thee as the same. » Gear, which generally signifies money, seems here to denote spoil, f Stray, unclaimed. 187 O wha will bake my bridal breid, Or brew my bridal ale ? Or wha will welcome my bright bride, That I bring ower the dale ?" "01 will bake your bridal breid, And brew your bridal ale ; And I will welcome your bright bride, That ye bring ower the dale." " But she that welcomes my bright bride, Maun gang like maiden fair ; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And braid her yellow hair." " O, how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane ? Have I not borne you sevin sons, And am with child again ? The firsten o' your sevin sons, He wears a warrior's weed ; The second o' your sevin sons, He backs a warrior's steed. The thirden o' your sevin sons, He can baith read and write ; The fourthen o' your sevin sons, He does it maist perfeyte.* The fifthen o' your sevin sons, He draws baith ale and wine ; The sixthen o' your sevin sons, He serves you when you dine.f * Perfectly, or neatly. t We are assured by Mr Jamieson, that the gradations of employment in this numerous family, from the warrior to the waiter, are by no means inconsistent, as they might at first sight appear, with the manners of the age of chivalry. 188 / The youngest o' your sevin sons, In cradle lies his lane ;* Fu' saftly does he sleep and smile, Nor heeds his mother's maen.-j* Yet I will bake your bridal breid, And brew your bridal ale ; And I will welcome your bright bride, That ye bring ower the dale." " Then, since ye've taen the turn in hand, See that ye do it richt ; See bouir, and ha', in a' the house, That they be deirly dicht." O a' the day she wuishj and wrang,§ And a' the nicht she buik ;|| And ay, at ween hands, ^[ gaed to her chamber, On her young son to look. She dressed her sons in the red scarlet, Hersell in the dainty green ;f * And, though her cheek was pale and wan, She micht hae been a queen. * A liberty is taken with this stanza, and with this line in particular, for the purpose of making the various ingredients of the present version of the ballad consistent. f Moan. $ Washed clothes. § Wrung, i. e. the clothes washed. II Baked. «fl At intervals. ** Perhaps this should rather be " the dowie [doleful'} green ;" for such an epithet is not only attached to the colour green in one of the pieces in Mr Kinloch's MSS., but is more consistent with popular superstition. There is a rhyme in Aberdeenshire, which is held as quite proverbial on the subject : " Green Is luve deen." That is, green signifies love done, or finished. From the same notion arises the well-known phrase applied to an elder sister when a younger is married before her — " She has given her sister green stockings." 189 And she's gane up to the touir head, Looked over sea and land, To see and spy her ain deir lord, As he cam to the strand. She lookit east, she lookit west, And south below the sun, And there she spied her gude lord's ship Come sailing gaily on.* " Come up, come up, my eldest son, And look ower yon sea strand, And see your father's bright young bride Come sailing to the land." " Come doun, come doun, ray mother dear ; Come aff the castle-wa' ! I fear, if langer ye stand there, Ye'll let yoursell doun fa'." Some ran east, and some ran west, And some ran to the sea, And nane but Annie was left at hame, To welcome the bright ladye. Sae she has to her coffer gane, Taen out her silver kame ; And she has kamed doun her yellow hair, As she a maid had been. She has taen a cake o' the best breid, A stoup o' the best wine ; And a' the keys upon her arm ; And to the yett she's gane. * In orig. " Come sailing to the Ian'." 190 " O ye're welcome hame, my master deir, To your ha' but and your bouirs ; Ye're welcome hame, my master deir, To your castle and your touirs. And sae are ye welcome, ladye fair, To your ha' but and your bouirs ; And sae are ye welcome, ladye fair, For a' that's here is yours." " I thank thee, Annie ; I thank thee, Annie Sae deirly as I thank thee ; Ye're the likest to my sister Annie, That ever I did see. There cam a knicht out ower the sea, And stealed my sister away ; The shame be in his company, And the land where'er he gae !" O ay she served the lang tables Wi' the white breid and the wine ; And ay she drank the wan water, To haud her colour fine.* As she gaed by the first table, She smiled upon them a' ; But, ere she reached the second table, She loot the tears doun fa'. She's taen a napkin lang and white, And hung't upon a pin ; It was to dry her watery eyes, As she gaed out and in. * That is, to prevent her complexion from betraying the agonised state of her feelings. 191 She served them up, she served them doun, She served them frank and free ; But when she gaed behind their backs, The saut tears filled her ee. When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men boune to bed, The bride but and the bonnie bridegroom In ae chamber were laid. Fair Annie took out her virginals, To harp thir twa asleep ; And ay, as sadly she did play, Fu' sairly did she weep. Lang wae and sad fair Annie sat, And dreirie Avas her sang ; And ever, as she sobbed and grat, " Wae to him that did me wrang ! Oh, gin my sons were yon grey rats, That climb the castle wa', And I mysell a bluidy grey cat, I'd rise and worry them a' !" Then out and spak the bonnie bride, In bride's bed, where she lay : " O this is like my sister Anne, That does sae sadly play." " Lie still, lie still, my gay ladye. Lie still and sleep a wee ; It's naething but an auld servant That waileth sae for me." " Oh, gin my sevin sons were yon sevin young hares, That rin round the castle wa', 192 And I mysell a bluidy grew-hound, I wad rise and worry them a'." « My gown is on," quoth the new-made bride ; " My shoes are on my feet ; And I sail to fair Annie's chamber, To see what gars her greet. What ails you, what ails you, fair Annie, That ye mak sic a maen ? Has your wine-barrels cuist the girds, Or is your white breid gane ?" " It's nae for breid nor wine-barrels, That the tears come in my ee ; But because in a' this vvaild sae wide There's nane to care for me. It's nae because my wine is spilt, Or that my white breid's gane ; But because I've lost my true lore's love, And he's wed to another dame." " O wha was't was your father, Annie, Or wha was't was your mother ? Or had ye ony sister, Annie, Or had ye ony brother ?" " The Earl o' Richmond was my father, The lady was my mother ; * And a' the bairns, besides mysell, Was a sister and a brother." " If the Earl o' Richmond was your father, I wat sae was he mine ; * King Henrie and Queen Ellinore in Mr Kinloch's MSS. In other co- pies, the Earl of Wemyss and Countess. 7 193 And it shall not be for lack o' gowd, That ye your love shall tyne. * For I hae sevin ships o' my ain, A' loaded to the brim ; And I will gie them a' to thee, Wi' four to your auldest son." " Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride, Awa, awa frae me ! I wadna hear my Annie greet, For a' the gowd ye hae. If sevin ships did bring you here, It's ane shall tak you hame : The lave I'll keep to your sister Annie ; For tocher she gat nane." f BURD HELEN4 Lord John stood in his stable door, Said he was boune to ride : Burd Helen stood in her bouir door, Said she'd run by his side. * Lose. t This very pleasing and singularly well- versified ballad is believed, by the people who recite it, to have been occasioned by a real event ; and it is affirmed in the prose notes by which it is generally accompanied, that the bridegroom was aware of his mistress's relation to the new-come bride, but courted the latter for the purpose of securing a tocher, or portion, for her sister, Lady Anne. In compiling the present reading, use has been made of the various copies presented in the publications of Herd, Scott, Jamieson, and Motherwell, besides a very good copy in manuscript which has been supplied by the kindness of Mr Kinloch. It was found necessary, in arranging and associating so many various ingredients, to insert two new stanzas, the thirty-ninth and fortieth ; which appeared to the editor better than to leave a hiatus. Mr Jamieson has shown, in a learned and elabo- rate treatise, that the story of " Fair Annie" is common to the northern nations of Europe, and, in particular, that the Danes have a ballad almost similar, called *• Skioen Anna." t Burd, is commonly prefixed to the names of young ladies in old bal- lads. It seems to have been the Mademoiselle, or Miss, of former time*. R 194 " The com is turning ripe, Lord John ; The nuts are growing fu' : And ye are boune for your ain countrie ; Fain wad I go with you." " Wi' me, Helen ! wi' me, Helen ! What wad ye do wi' me? I've mair need o' a little foot-page, Than of the like o' thee." i( OI will be your little foot- boy, To wait upon your steed : And I will be your little foot-page, Your leish of hounds to lead." " But my hounds will eat the breid o' wheat, And ye the dust and bran ; Then will ye sit and sigh, Helen, That e'er ye lo'ed a man." " O your dogs may eat the gude wheat-breid, And I the dust and bran ; Yet will I sing and say, Weel's me, That e'er I lo'ed a man !" " O better ye'd stay at hame, Helen, And sew your silver seam ; For my house is in the far Hielands, And ye'll hae puir welcome hame." " I winna stay, Lord John," she said, " To sew my silver seam ; Though your house is in the far Hielands, And I'll hae puir welcome hame." " Then if you'll be my foot-page, Helen, As you tell unto me, 195 Then you must cut your gown of green An inch abune your knee. So you must cut your yellow locks An inch abune your ee ; You must tell no man what is my name : My foot-page then you'll be." Then he has luppen on his white steed, And straight awa did ride ; Burd Helen, dressed in men's array, She ran fast by his side. And he was ne'er sae lack * a knicht, As ance wad bid her ride ; And she was ne'er sae mean a May, As ance wad bid him bide. Lord John he rade, Burd Helen ran, A live-lang simmer day ; Until they cam to Clyde-water, Was filled frae bank to brae. " Seest thou yon water, Helen," said he, " That flows from bank to brim ?" " I trust to God, Lord John," she said, " You ne'er will see f me swim 1" But he was ne'er sae lack a knicht, As ance wad bid her ride ; Nor did he sae much as reach his hand, To help her ower the tide. The firsten step that she waide J in, She wadit to the knee : * In another version, " courteous." t Suffer, permit. ± A preterite of wade, peculiar to Scotland. 196 " Ochone, alas," quo* that ladye fair, " This water's no for me I" The second step that she waide in, She steppit to the middle : Then, sighing, said that fair ladye, " I've wet my gowden girdle." The thirden step that she waide in, She steppit to the neck ; When that the bairn that she was wi', For cauld began to quake. " Lie still, my babe ; lie still, my babe ; Lie still as lang's ye may : Your father, that rides on horseback high, Cares little for us twae." And when she cam to the other side, She sat down on a stane ; Says, " Them that made me, help me now ; For I am far frae hame ! Oh, tell me this, now, good Lord John ; In pity tell to me ;' How far is it to your lodging, Where we this nicht maun be ?" " O dinna ye see yon castle, Helen, Stands on yon sunny lea ? There ye'se get ane o' my mother's men ; Ye'se get nae mair o' me." " O weel see I your bonnie castell, Stands on yon sunny lea ; But I'se hae nane o' your mother's men, Though I never get mair o* thee." 197 " But there is in yon castle, Helen, That stands on yonder lea ; There is a lady in yon castell, Will sinder you and me." " I wish nae ill to that ladye ; She comes na in my thocht : But I wish the maid maist o' your love, That dearest has you bocht." When he cam to the porter's yett, He tilled at the pin ; And wha sae ready as the bauld porter, To open and let him in ? Mony a lord and lady bright Met Lord John in the closs ; But the bonniest lady amang them a' Was hauding Lord John's horse. Four and twenty gay ladyes Led him through bouir and ha' ; But the fairest lady that was there, Led his horse to the sta'. Then up bespak Lord John's sister ; These were the words spak she : " You have the prettiest foot-page, brother, My eyes did ever see — But that his middle is sae thick, His girdle sae wondrous hie : Let him, I pray thee, good Lord John, To chamber go with me." e< It is not fit for a little foot-page, That has run through moss and mire, r2 198 To go into chamber with any ladye That wears so rich attire. It were more meet for a little foot-page, That has run through moss and mire, To take his supper upon his knee, And sit doun by the kitchen fire." When bells were rung, and mass was sung ? And a' men boune to meat, Burd Helen was, at the bye-table, Amang the pages set. " O eat and drink, my bonnie boy, The white breid and the beer." " The never a bit can I eat or drink ; My heart's sae fu' o' fear." " O eat and drink, my bonnie boy, The white breid and the wine." " O the never a bit can I eat or drink ; My heart's sae fu' o' pyne." But out and spak Lord John his mother, And a skeely* woman was she : " Where met ye, my son, wi' that bonnie boy> That looks sae sad on thee ? Sometimes his cheek is rosy red, And sometimes deidly wan : He's liker a woman grit wi' child, Than a young lord's serving man." " O it maks me laugh, my mother dear, Sic words to hear frae thee. * Skilful—or rather expressing that property in old women which makes them far- seen in matters connected with the physics of human na- 199 He is a squire's ae dearest son, That for love has followed me. Rise up, rise up, my bonnie boy ; Gie my horse corn and hay." " O that I will, my master deir, As quickly as I may." She took the hay aneath her arm, The corn intill her hand ; But atween the stable-door and the sta' Burd Helen made a stand. " O room ye round, my bonnie broun steids ; room ye near the wa' ; For the pain that strikes through my twa sides, 1 fear, will gar me fa'." She leaned her back again' the wa' ; Strong travail came her on ; And, e'en among the great horse' feet, She has brought forth her son. When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' man boune for bed, Lord John's mother and sister gay In ae bouir they were laid. Lord John hadna weel got aff his claes, Nor was he weel laid doun, Till his mother heard a bairn greet, And a woman's heavy moan. " Win up, win up, Lord John," she said ; " Seek neither stockings nor shoen : For I hae heard a bairn loud greet, And a woman's heavy moan !" 200 Richt bastilie he rase him up, Socht neither hose nor shoen ; And he's doen him to the stable door, By the lee licht o' the mune. " O open the door, Burd Helen/' he said, " O open and let me in ; I want to see if my steed be fed, Or my greyhounds fit to rin." " O lullaby, my own deir child I Lullaby, deir child, deir ! I wold thy father were a king, Thy mother laid on a beir !" " O open the door, Burd Helen," he says, " O open the door to me ; Or, as my sword hangs by my gair, I'll gar it gang in three !" " That never was my mother's custome, And I hope it's ne'er be mine ; A knicht into her companie, When she dries a' her pyne." He hit the door then wi' his foot, Sae did he wi' his knee ; Till doors o' deal, and locks o' steel, In splinders he gart flee. " An askin, an askin, Lord John," she says, " An askin ye'll grant me ; The meanest maid about your house, To bring a drink to me. An askin, an askin, my dear Lord John, An askin ye'll grant me ; 201 The warsten bouir in a' your touirs, For thy young son and me !" " I grant, I grant your askins, Helen, A' that and mair frae me ; The very best bouir in a' my touirs, For my young son and thee. O have thou comfort, fair Helen ; Be of good cheer, I pray ; And your bridal and your kirking baith Shall stand upon ae day." And he has taen her Burd Helen, And rowed her in the silk ; And he has taen his ain young son, And washed him in the milk. And there was ne'er a gayer bridegroom, Nor yet a blyther bride, As they, Lord John, and Lady Helen, Neist day to kirk did ride.* * This beautiful tale of woman's love— beautiful in the pathos of its simple and touching narrative, and equally beautiful in the pathos of its simple and touching language — was first published, by Percy, as an English ballad, under the title of " Childe Waters." Mr Jamieson long afterwards published a Scottish version, under the title of " Burd Ellen," from the recitation of a lady of the name of Brown ; adding some fragments of ano- ther copy, which he had taken down from the singing of Mrs Arrot of Aberbrothwick. Mr Kinloch has more lately given, under the title of " Lady Margaret," an imperfect copy, superior in some points to that of Mr Jamieson ; and, more recently still, Mr Buchan, in his " Ancient Bal- lads and Songs," has presented a very complete one, which he entitles " Burd Helen." The present editor, in compiling this copy, has used not only all the above, more or less, but has been indebted for some valuable verses and lines to one which has been obligingly submitted to him in ma- nuscript by Mr Kinloch. He has found in few cases so much difficulty in selecting and associating the various ingredients of his ballads as in this ; there being, in no other instance, so great a discrepancy in the various sets, while in few he has had to deal with so many imperfect and meagre ver- sions. On this account, he has been obliged to take some slight verbal li- berties with verses third, seventh, eighth, thirteenth, fifteenth, and fifty- fourth. As an extreme instance of the extent of these liberties, the reader is requested to compare verses seventh and eighth with the following, which are from Mrs Arrof s fragment : 202 THE GAY GOSS HAWK. O waly, waly, my gay goss hawk, Gin your feathering be sheen I" ** O will ye stay at hame, Ellen, And sew your silver seam ? Or will ye to the rank Highlands ? For my lands lie far frae hame." " I winna stay at hame, Lord Thomas, And sew my silver seam ; But I'll gae to the rank Highlands, Though your lands lie far frae hame." A much greater liberty has been taken in the final stanza. It is altered, for the sake of an agreeable cadence at the conclusion, from the following verse of Mr Buchan's copy : " There is not here a woman living But her, shall be my bride ; And all is for the fair speeches I got frae her at Clyde." This violation of the original may appear somewhat daring. Yet it is sanc- tioned by the respectable example of Mr Jamieson, who has added three new stanzas to the conclusion of his copy, for the purpose of giving a tra- gical turn to the loves of Lord John and Burd Ellen ; she dying in his arms, immediately after he has broke into the stable. Since a former editor had ventured upon adding three stanzas to alter the catastrophe, I judged that I might, without much fear, alter one, to smooth away the abruptness of the genuine conclusion. Mr Jamieson's addition is subjoined: She heaved up her droopin head ; O but her face was wan ! And the smile upon her wallowed lip Wad melted heart o' stane. " O blessings on thy couth, Lord John ! Weels me to see this day ! For muckle hae I done and dree'd; But weel does this repay ! And Oh, be to my bairnie kind, As I hae loved thee" — Back in his trembling arms she sank, And cauld death closed her ee. I believe woman's love— that " lovely and fearful thing," as a great poet finely terms it — has seldom found in man an appreciation or a reward worthy of its unspeakable tenderness and infinite fidelity; and I am dispo- sed to think, with Mr Jamieson, that woe and death are, upon the whole, its more probable issue than almost any other fate. Yet, in the present case, as all the complete known editions of the ballad concurred in repre- senting it as at length finding its merit recognised in Burd Helen, I have thought it a preferable course to retain the usual conclusion ; only taking the small liberty above specified. 203 " And waly, waly, my master dear, Gin ye look pale and lean ! have ye tint, at tournament, Your sword, or yet your spear? Or mourn ye for the southern lass, Whom ye may not win near ?" " I have not tint, at tournament, My sword, nor yet my spear; But sair I mourn for my true love, Wi' mony a bitter tear. But weels me on ye, my gay goss hawk, Ye can baith speak and flee : Ye sail carry a letter to my love, Bring an answer back to me." " But how sail I your true love find, Or how sail I her know ? 1 bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake, An eye that ne'er her saw." " O weel sail ye my true love ken, As sune as ye her see ; For, of a' the Souks o' fair England, The fairest flouir is she. The thing o' my love's face that's white, Is like the dove or maw ;* The thing o' my love's face that's red, Is like blude shed on snaw. And even at my true love's bouir door, There grows a flouiring birk ;f And ye maun sit and sing thereon, As she comes frae the kirk. * The sea-mew. t Birch. 204 And four and twenty fair ladyes Will to the mass repair ; But weel may ye my ladye ken, The fairest ladye there. And when she gaes into the house, Sit ye upon the whin ;* And sit ye there, and sing our loves, As she gaes out and in." Lord William has written a love letter, Put it under the pinions grey ; And he's awa to Southern land,^ As fast as his wings can gae. And even at that ladye's bouir, There grew a flouiring birk ; And he sat doun and sung thereon, As she gaed to the kirk. And weel he kent that ladye fair, Amang her maidens free ; For the flouir that springs in May morning Was not so sweet as she. He lichtit at the ladye's yett,f And sat him on the whin ; And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love, Till a' was coshj within. And first he sang a low low note, And syne he sang a clear ; And ay the owerword o' the sang Was — " Your love can no win here." " Feast on, feast on, my maidens a' ; The wine flows you amang ; * Furze bush. t Gate. % Lulled, quiet. 205 Till I gang to my shot-window,* To hear yon birdie's sang." She's gane unto her shot-window, And fain the birdie grew ; And sune into her white silk lap, The bird the letter threw. " Have there a letter from Lord William ; He says he sent you three ; He canna wait your love langer, But for your sake he'll die." " I sent him the rings from my white fingers, The garlands off my hair ; I sent him the heart that's in my breast ; What wad my love hae mair? Gae bid him bake his bridal bread, And brew his bridal ale ; And I shall meet him at Mary's kirk, Lang, lang ere it be stale." The lady's gane to her chamber, And a moanfu' woman was she ; As gin she had taen a sudden brash, f And were about to die. " An asking an askin, my father deir, An askin I beg of thee." " Ask not that paughty Scottish lord ; For him ye ne'er shall see. But, for your honest askin else, Weel granted it shall be." * Explained in the notes to " Clerk Saunders." t Sickness. 4; A favour or boon. S 206 " Then, gin I die in Southern land, In Scotland gar bury me.* At the first kirk in fair Scotland, Ye'll cause the bells be rung ; At the second kirk o' fair Scotland, Ye'll cause the mass be sung. At the third kirk o' fair Scotland, You'll deal gold for my sake ; And at the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland, It's there ye'll bury me at. And now, my tender father deir, This askin grant you me." " Your askin is but small," he said, " Weel granted it shall be." [The lady asks the same boon, and receives a similar answer, first from her mother, then from her sisters, and lastly from her seven brothers.] Then down as deid that lady dropt, Beside her mother's knee ; When out and spak an auld witch wife, By the fire-side sat she. Says, " Drap the het lead on lier cheek, And drap it on her chin ; And drap it on her rosy lips ; And she will speak again. For much a young lady will do, To her true love to win," They drapt the het lead on her cheek, Sae did they on her chin ; * Cause me to be buried in Scotland. 207 They drapt it on her red rose lips ; But they breathed none again. She neither chattered with her teeth, Nor shivered with her chin. " Alas, alas !" her father cried ; " There is nae breath within." Then up arose her sevin brethren, And hewed to her a bier ; They hewed it frae the solid aik, Laid it ower wi' silver clear. Then up and gat her sevin sisters, And sewed to her a kell ; And every steek that they put in, Sewed to a siller bell. u O weel is me, my jolly goss hawk, That ye can speak and flee ! Come show me any love tokens, That you have brought to me." " She sends you the rings from her white fingers, The garlands from her hair ; She sends you the heart within her breist ; And what would you have mair ? And at the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland, She bids you meet her there." " Come hither, all my merry young men, And drink the good red wine ; For we maun on to fair England, To free my love from pyne." At the first kirk of fair Scotland, They gart the bells be rung ; 208 At the second kirk of fair Scotland, They gart the mass be sung. At the third kirk o' fair Scotland, They dealt gold for her sake ; And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, Her true love met them at. " Set doun, set doun the corpse," he said, " Till I look on the dead. The last time that I saw her face, She ruddy was and red ; But now alas, and woe is me, She's wallowed* like a weed." He rent the sheet upon her face, A little abune her chin ■ And as soon as Lord William looked thereon, Her colour began to come. She brightened like the lily flouir, Till her pale colour was gone ; With rosy cheek, and ruby lip, She smiled her love upon. " A morsel of your breid, my lord, And one glass of your wine ; For I hae fasted these three lang days, All for your sake and mine. Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers ! Gae hame and blaw the horn ! I trow ye wad ha' gien me the skaith ; But I've gien you the scorn. I cam not here to fair Scotland, To lie amang the mool ; * Faded. 209 But I cam here to fair Scotland, To wear the silks sae weel. I cam not here to fair Scotland, To lie amang the dead ; But I cam here to fair Scotland To wear the gold sae red." * THE YOUNG TAMLANE.f "01 forbid ye, maidens a', That weir gowd in your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh ;.J For the young Tamlane is there." But up and spak her, fair Janet, The fairest o' a' her kin : * This very beautiful ballad is composed of two copies, one of which is found, under the same title, in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," while the other is published, by the title of " The Jolly Goshawk," in Mo- therwell's " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern." Of these two versions, the former is by many degrees the more poetical and refined ; but the present may be pronounced considerably better than either, comprehending the best passages of both, and being at the same time more copious in its details of the story. f This fine old fairy ballad is derived from the Border Minstrelsy, where it will be found prefaced by an elaborate essay " « On the Fairies of Popular Superstition," which a competent judge has declared to be not the least de- lightful of all its author's many delightful works. A fragment of the bal- lad, under the title of " Kerton Ha'," appeared in Herd's Collection, 1776 ; but there are many circumstances which show, that, in some shape or other, it existed as a popular poem several centuries ago. In the present version some verses are omitted near the beginning, from a wish to remove the only obstacle which should hitherto have stood in the way of its prefer- ment to the memories of the young and the pure. $ The ballad is completely localised in Selkirkshire. " Carterhaugh is a plain, at the conflux of the Ettrick and Yarrow, about a mile above Sel- kirk, and two miles below Newark Castle, which is said to have been the habitation of the heroine's father, though others place his residence in the tower of Oakwood. The peasants yet point out upon the plain of Carter- haugh, those electrical rings which vulgar credulity supposes to be traces of the Fairy revels. Here, they say, were placed the stands of milk, and of water, in which Tamlane was dipped, in order to effect the disenchant- ment ; and upon these spots, according to their mode of expressing them- selves, the grass will never grow."— Border Minstrelsy. S2 210 " I'll come and gae by Carterhaugh, And spier nae leave of him." Janet Las kilted her green kirtle A little abime her knee ; And she has braided her yellow hair A little abune her bree.* She has prinked hersell and preened hersell By the ae licht o' the mime ; And she's awa to Carterhaugh, To speik wi' young Tamlane. And when she cam to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well ; And there she fand his steed standing, But awaye was himsell. She hadna pu'd a red red rose, A rose but barely three ; When up and started Young Tamlane, At Lady Janet's knee. Says, " Why pu' ye the rose, Janet ? What gars ye break the tree ? Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, Withoutten leave o' me ?" Says, " Carterhaugh it is mine ain ; My father gave it me ; I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o' thee." He's taen her by the milk-white hand, Amang the leaves sae green ; * The ladies are always represented, in Dunbar's Poems, with green mantles and yellow hair. 211 And sair and muckle was the love, That fell thir twa between. He's taen her by the milk-white hand, Amang the roses red ; And they have vow'd a solemn vow, Ilk other for to wed. " But ye maun tell me first, Tamlane ; A word ye maunna lie ; Was ye e'er in a haly chapell, Or sained* in Christendie. " " The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet ; A word I winna lie ; A knicht was my father, a lady my mother ; I'm as weel born as thee. Randolph, Earl of Murray, was my sire, Dunbar, Earl March, is thine ; We loved when we were children small, Which yet you well may mind. When I was a boy just turn'd of nine, My uncle sent for me, To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him, And keep him companie. There cam a wind out of the north, A sharp wind and a snell ; And a dead sleep came over me, And frae my horse I fell. The Queen of Fairies keppit me, In yon green hill to dwell ; * Hallowed. 212 And I'm a fairy, lyth and limb ; Fair lady, view me well. But we that live in Fairy-land, No sickness know, nor pain ; I quit my body when I will, And take to it again. I quit my body when I please, Or unto it repair ; We can inhabit, at our ease, In either earth or air. Our shapes and size we can convert, To either large or small ; An old nutshell's the same to us, As is the lofty hall. We sleep in rose-buds, soft and sweet, We revel in the stream ; We wanton lightly on the wind, Or glide on the sun-beam. And all our wants are well supplied, From every rich man's store, Who thankless sins the gifts he gets, And vainly grasps for more. Then I would never tire, Janet, In elfish land to dwell ; But ay at every seven years, They pay the teind to hell ; And I'm sae fat and fair of flesh, I fear 'twill be mysell. This nicht is Halloween, Janet, The morn is Hallowday ; 213 And, gin ye daur your true love win, Ye hae nae time to stay. The nicht it is gude Halloween, When fairy folk will ride ; And they that wad their true love win, At Miles Cross they maun bide." " But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane ? Or how shall I thee knaw, Amang so many unearthly knichts, The like I never saw ?" " The first company that passes by, Say na, and let them gae ; The next company that passes by, Say na, and do richt sae ; The third company that passes by, Then I'll be ane o thae. First let past the black, Janet, And syne let pass the broun ; But grip ye to the milk-white steed And pu' the rider doun. For I ride on the milk-white steed, And ay nearest the toun ; Because I was a christened knicht, They gave me that renoun. My right hand will be gloved, Janet, My left hand will be bare ; And these the tokens I gie thee, Nae doubt I will be there. They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake ; 214 But haud me fast, let me not pass, Gin ye wald be my maike. They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an aske ; * They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, A balef that burns fast. They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, A red-hot gaud o' airn ; But haud me fast, let me not pass, For I'll do you no harm. First dip me in a stand o' milk, And then in a stand o' water ; But haud me fast, let me not pass — I'll be your ain true lover. And, next, they'll shape me in your arms, A toad, bat, and an eel; But haud me fast, let me not pass, As you do love me weel. They'll shape me in your arms, Janet, A dove but and a swan ; And last, they'll shape me in your arms, A mother-naked man : Cast your green mantle over me — I'll be mysell again !" Gloomy, gloomy was the nicht, And eeriej was the way, As fair Janet, in her green mantle, To Miles Cross § she did gae. * Newt. t Faggot. $ Producing superstitious dread. § Miles Cross is said to have stood near the Duke of Buccleueh's seat at Bowhill, about half a mile from Carterhaugh. 215 The heavens were black, the nicht was dark, And drearie was the place ; But Janet stood, with eager wish Her lover to embrace. Betwixt the hours of twelve and one, A north wind tore the bent ; And straight she heard strange elritch sounds Upon that wind which went. About the deid hour o' the nicht, She heard the bridles ring ; And Janet was as glad o' that, As any earthly thing ! Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill, The hemlock small blew clear ; And louder notes from hemlock large, And bog-reed, struck the ear ; For solemn sounds, or sober thoughts, The Fairies cannot bear. They sing, inspired with love and joy, Like sky-larks in the air ; Of solid sense, or thought that's grave, You'll find no traces there. Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved, The dreary heath upon ; And louder louder waxed the sound, As they came riding on. Will o' Wisp before them went, Sent forth a twinkling light ; And soon she saw the Fairy bands All riding in her sight. 216 And first she gaed by the black black steed, And then she gaed by the broun ; But fast she grippit the milk-white steed, And pu'd the rider doun. She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed, And loot the bridal fa' ; And up there rase an erlitch cry — " He's won amang us a' !" They shaped him in fair Janet's arms, An aske, but and an adder ; She held him fast in every shape, To be her ain true lover. They shaped him in her arms at last, A mother-naked man ; She wrapt him in her green mantle, And sae her true love wan. Up then spak the Queen o' Fairies, Out o' a bush o' broom : " She that has borrowed Young Tamlane, Has gotten a stately groom." Up then spak the Queen o' Fairies, Out o' a bush o' rye : " She's taen awa the bonniest knicht In a' my company. But had T kenned, Tamlane," she says, " A lady wad borrowed thee, I wad taen out thy twa gray een, Put in twa een o' tree. Had I but kenned, Tamlane," she says, " Before ye cam frae hame, 217 I wad taen out your heart o' flesh, Put in a heart o' stane. Had I but had the wit yestreen, That I hae coft* the day, I'd paid my kane seven times to hell, Ere you'd been won away !" HYNDE ETIN.f May Margaret stood in her bouir door, Kaming her yellow hair : She heard a note J in Elmond's wood, § And wished that she was there. Sae she has kiltit her petticoats A little abune her knee ; And she's awa to Elmond's wood, As fast as she could gae. She hadna poued a nut, a nut, Nor broke a branch but ane, When by and came a young hind chiel, Says, ' « Lady ! let alane. O why pou ye the nut, the nut, Or why break ye the tree ? I'm forester ower a' this wood ; Ye sould speir leave at me." * Bought. ■f Etin, in old Scottish popular poetry and tradition, signifies Giant, or perhaps more properly what is now understood in the nursery by the term Ogre. £ Queritur — should not this rather be, " saw a nut ?" § In Mr Kinloch's fragment, " Mulberry wood ;" but in Mr Buchan's fragment, called " Young Hastings," the re'ading is " Amonshaw wood ;" which, taken in connexion with the reading in the text, may allow a con- jecture that the ballad is localised on the banks of the river Almond, in Perthshire. T 7 218 But aye she poued the other berry, Nae thinking o' the skaith ; * And says, " To wrang ye, Hynde Etin, I wad be unco laith." f But he has taen her by the yellow locks, And tied her till a tree ; And said, " For slichting my commands, An ill death ye sail drie 1" He poued a tree out o' the wood, The biggest that was there ; And he howkit a cave many fathoms deep, And put May Margaret there. " Now rest ye there, ye saucy May ; My woods are free for thee ; And, gif I tak ye to mysell, The better ye'll like me." Nae rest, nae rest May Margaret took ; Sleep she gat never nane : Her back lay on the cauld cauld floor, Her head upon a stane. " O tak me out," May Margaret cried ; " O tak me hame to thee ; And I sail be your bounden page, Until the day I dee." He took her out the dungeon deep ; And awa wi' him she's gane : But sad was the day a king's dauchter Gaed hame wi' Hynde Etin. O they have lived in Elmond's wood, For six lang years and one ; * Harm. t Very loath. 219 Till six pretty sons to him she bore, And the seventh she's brought home. These seven bairns, sae fair and fine, That she did to him bring, They never were in good church door, Nor ever gat good lurking. And aye at nicht, wi' harp in hand, (As they lay still asleep,) She sat hersell by their bedside, And bitterly did weep. Singing, " Ten lang years now have I lived Within this cave of stane ; And never was at good kirk-door, Nor heard the kirk-bell ring." But it fell ance upon a day, Hynde Etin went from home ; And, for to carry his game to him, Has taen his eldest son. And as they through the good greenwood Wi' slawsome pace did gae, The bonnie boy's heart grew grit and sair, * And thus he 'goud to say : " A question I would ask, father, An ye wadna angry be." " Say on, say on, my bonnie boy ; Ask ony thing at me." " My mother's cheeks are aften wet ; I seldom see them dry ; * In Scotland, when a boy's feelings are so much excited as to cause him to begin to cry, his heart is said to grow great; alluding to the expansion of the breast, which always takes place before weeping. 220 And I wonder aye what aileth my mother, To mourn continually ?" " Nae wonder that your mother's cheeks Ye seldom see them dry : Nae wonder, nae wonder, my bonnie boy, Though she should brast * and die. For she was born a king's dauchter, Of noble birth and fame ; And now she is Hynde Etin's wife, Wha ne'er gat Christendame. But we'll shoot the laverock f in the lift,| The buntlin § on the tree ; And ye'll tak them hame to your mother, And see if blythe she'll be." It fell upon another day, Hynde Etin he thocht lang ; And he is to the gude greenwood, As fast as he could gang. Wi' bow and arrow by his side, He's aff, single, alane ; And left his seven bairns to stay, Wi' their mother, at hame. " I'll tell you, mother," quoth the auldest son, An ye wadna angry be" — " Speak on, speak on, my bonnie boy, Ye'se nae be quarrelled by me." " As we cam frae the hynd-hunting, We heard fine music ring !" * Burst. |- Lark. $ Sky. § Buntling. 221 ° My blessings on ye, my bonnie boy ! I wish I'd been there my lane." He's taen his mother by the hand, His six brothers also ; And they are on through Elmond's wood, As fast as they could go. They wistna weel where they were gaun, Wi' the stratlings o' their feet ; They wistna weel where they were gaun, Till at her father's yett. *< I hae nae money in my pocket, But royal rings hae three ; I'll gie them you, my eldest son, And ye'll walk there for me. Ye'll gie the first to the proud porter ; And he will let you in : You'll gie the next to the butler-boy ; And he will show you ben : You'll gie the next to the ministrell, That plays before the king ; He'll play success to the bonnie boy, Cam through the wood his lane." He gae the first to the proud porter ; And he opened and loot him in. He gae the neist to the butler-boy ; And he has shown him ben. He gae the third to the ministrell, That played before the king ; And he played success to the bonnie boy, Came through the wood his lane. t2 222 Now when he came before the king, He fell low on his knee. The king he turned him round about, And the saut tear blint * his ee. " Win up, win up, my bonnie boy ! Gang frae my companie ! Ye look sae like my dear dauchter, My heart will burst in three." " If I look like your dear dauchter, A wonder it is none : If I look like your dear dauchter, I am her eldest son." " Will ye tell me, my little wee boy, Where may my Margaret be ?" " She's just now standing at your yetts, And my six brothers her wi'." " O where are a' my porter boys, That I pay meat and fee, To open my yetts baith wide and braid, Let her come in to me ?" When she came in before the king, She fell low on her knee : " Win up, win up, my dauchter dear; This day ye'll dine wi' me." " Ae bit I canna eat, father, Nor ae drap can I drink, Till I see my mother and sister dear, For lang o' them I think." When she came in before the queen, She fell low on her knee : * Blinded. 223 " Win up, win up, my dauchter dear ; This day ye'se dine wi' me." " Ae bit I canna eat, mother, Nor ae drap can I drink, Until I see my dear sister, For lang o' her I think." And when her sister dear cam in, She hailed her courteouslie : " Come ben, come ben, my sister dear • This day ye'se dine wi' me." " Ae bit I canna eat, sister, Nor ae drap can I drink, Until I see my dear husband, For lang o' him I think." " O where are all my rangers bold, That I pay meat and fee ; To search the forest far and wide, And bring Etin to me ?" But out then spak the little wee boy, " Na, na ; this maunna be : Without ye grant a free pardon, I hope ye'll nae him see." " O here I grant a free pardon, Weel sealed by my own hand : And sae make search for Hynde Etin As sune as e'er ye can." They searched the country wide and braid, The forests far and near ; Till they fund him into Elmond's wood, Tearing his yellow hair. 224 " Win up, win up, now, Hynde Etin ; Win up and boune wi' me ; We're messengers come from the court The king wants you to see." " O let him tak frae me the head, Or hang me on a tree ; For, since I've lost my dear Margaret, Life's nae pleasure to me." " Your head will nae be touched, Etin, Nor hanged upon a tree : Your lady's in her father's court ; And all he wants is thee." When he came in before the king, He fell low on his knee ; " Win up, win up, now, Hynde Etin ; This day ye'se dine wi' me." But as they were at dinner set, The boy asked a boon : Thou brave heir o' Buleichan !" Then up she rase, and furth she gaes ; And, in that hour o' tein,* She wandered to the dowie glen, And never mair was seen. * Excessive grief. t To. 363 Her kame was o' the whitely pearl, Her hand like new- won milk ; Her bosom was like the snawy curd, In a net o' sea-green silk. She kamed her locks ower her white shoulders, A fleece baith wide and lang ; And, ilka ringlet she shed frae her brows, She raised a lichtsome sang. I' the very first lilt o' that sweet sang, The birds forhood* their young, And they flew i' the gate o' the grey howlet, To listen to the sweet maiden. I' the second lilt o' that sweet sang, O' sweetness it was sae fu', The tod lap up ower our fauld-dike, And dichtit his red-wat mou. I' the veiy third lilt o' that sweet sang, Red lowed the new-woke moon ; The stars drappit blude on the yellow gowan tap, Sax miles round that maiden. " I hae dwalt on the Nith," quo' the young Cowehill, " Thae twenty years and three ; But the sweetest sang I ever heard Comes through the greenwood to me. O, is it a voice frae twa earthlie lips, That maks sic melody ? It wad wylef the lark frae the morning lift, And weel may it wyle me !" * Forsook. t Entice. 364 " I dreamed a dreary dream, master, Whilk I am rad ye rede ; I dreamed ye kissed a pair o' sweet lips, That drapped o' red heart's-blude." " Come, haud my steed, ye little foot-page, Shod wi' the red gowd roun' ; Till I kiss the lips whilk sing sae sweet :" And lichtlie lap he doun. " Kiss nae the singer's lips, master, Kiss nae the singer's chin ; Touch nae her hand," quo' the little foot-page, " If skaithless hame ye wad win. O, wha will sit in your toom saddle, O wha will bruik your gluve ; And wha will fauld your erled bride In tb§ kindlie clasps o' luve ?" He took aff his hat, a' gowd i' the rim, Knot wi' a siller ban' ; He seemed a' in lowe* with his gowd raiment, As through the greenwood he ran. "The summer dew fa's saft, fair maid, Aneath the siller mune ; But eerie is thy seat i' the rock, Washed wi' the white sea faem. Come, wash me wi' thy lilie-white hand, Below and 'boon the knee ; And I'll kame thae links o' yellow burning gowd, Aboon thy bonnie blue ee. Flame* 365 How rosie are thy parting lips, How lilie-white thy skin ! And, weel I wat, thae kissing een Wad tempt a saint to sin !" " Tak aff thae bars and bobs o' gowd Wi' thy gared doublet fine ; And thraw me aff thy green mantle, Leafed wi' the siller twine. And a' in courtesie, fair knicht, A maiden's mind to win : The gowd lacing o' thy green weeds Wad harm her lilie skin." Syne cuist he aff his green mantle, Hemmed wi' the red gowd roun' ; His costly doublet cuist he aff, Wi' red gowd flowered doun. '•>:- r ^- ?£*? £^^^ sr -a^^T i"