-. - . maisa&ssmsm BALLADS: SCOTTISH AND ENGLISH. BALLADS: SCOTTISH AND ENGLISH KDIXBU IU;H : WILLIAM P. NIMMO. BALLADS: SCOTTISH AND ENGLISH. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. LAWSON. EDINBURGH: WILLIAM P. NIMMO. CONTENTS. ADAM BELL, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly, . . .141 Andrew Lammie, . . . 45 8 Bailiffs Daughter of Islington, The, 38 Barbara Allan, ...... 235 Baron of Brackley, The, ..... 4 6 5 Barthram's Dirge, ...... 3 2 9 Battle of Bothwell Brig, The, . . . 39 Battle of Harlaw, The, . . . -79 Battle of Otterbourne, The, . .168 Brown Adam, ...... 270 Brownie of Blednoch, The, . . . .136 Burd Helen, 3* Captain Wedderbura's Courtship, .... 305 Catherine Johnstone, ..... 335 Chevy Chase, ...... 38 Chevy Chase, (modern version]) . __._ _^. . 47 Child of Elle, The, ...... 57 Christie's Will, 35 Clerk Saunders, ...... 20 Clerk's Twa Sons o" Owsenford, The, . . .229 Cospatrick, . . . .184 CONTENTS. PAGB Cruel Brother, The, . Cruel Sister, The, Demon Lover, The, Douglas Tragedy, The, .... Dowie Dens of Yarrow, The, . Earl Richard, Edom o' Gordon, Elfin Knight, The, Eve of St John, The, Fair Helen of Kirkconnell, . Fair Rosamond, . Gay GosS-Hawk, The, . . . .256 Gilderoy, GilMorice, Glasgerion, . . . Glenfinlas, ... -346 Glenlogie, . . . -331 Gude Wallace, The, . . 394 Hardyknute, ..... 6 3 HeirofLinne, The, . ... 24 Hermit of Warkworth, The, . . . . 106 Hobbie Noble, . . . . ** Hughie Graham, .... 43 2 Hughie the Graeme, ....- 43 Hunting of the Cheviot, The, . 3 8 Hynd Horn, . . . . . .271 Jock Johnstone the Tinkler, . . . . . 298 Jock o' the Side, ...... io Johnie Armstrang, ... 5 Johnie Armstrong's Good-night, .... 253 Johnnie Cope, . . . 210 CONTENTS. vii PAGB Johnnie Cope, (second version,') .... 212 Johnie Faa, . . . . . . .227 Johnie of Breadislee, ..... 434 Jolly Goss-hawk, The, . . . . .261 Katharine Janfarie, ...... 332 Kempion, . . . . . . .279 King and the Miller of Mansfield, The, . . .321 King Arthur's Death, . . . . .221 King Malcolm and Sir Colvin, .... 364 Kinmont Willie, ...... 204 Knockespock's Lady, ..... 447 Lady Anne, ....... 467 Laird of Lairistan, The, ..... 408 Lament of the Border Widow, . . . .421 Lammikin, . . . . . . 425 Lass of Lochroyan, The, . . . . .199 Legend of King Arthur, The, .... 218 Lizzie Lindsay, ...... 422 Lochmaben Harper, The, . . . . .132 Lord Beichan, . . . . . 374 Lord Ronald's Coronach, . . . . . 346 Margaret's Ghost, ;..... 288 Master of Weemys, The, ..... 390 May Colvin, . . . . . . .174 May Colvin, (second version,) . . . .177 Merchant's Daughter of Bristow, The, . . . 338 Miller's Son, The, ...... 362 Nut- Brown Maid, The, . . . ? . 188 Oscar of Alva, ...... 438 Patient Grissell, ...... 355 Proud Lady Margaret, ..... 381 vi;i CONTENTS. PAGE Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale, Robin Hood and the Widow's Sons, . l6 S Sir James the Rose, ... Sir Patrick Spens, .. Sweet William's Ghost, . . . 4 J 9 Thomas the Rhymer, .... Three Champions of Liddisdale, The, . . 48 TranentMuir, .... 2I 4 Twa Brothers, The, . Wee Wee Man, The, ..... Wife of Auchtermuchty, The, . . . . William and Helen, Willie and May Margaret, 28 5 Young Aikin, Young Tamlane, The, ...398 BALLADS. SIR PATRICK SPENS. 1 SIR PATRICK SPENS " was long admitted to be one of the earliest specimens of Scottish ballad poetry extant, but of late years there has been a considerable amount of discussion on this subject. It is now understood by many, on what is supposed to be reliab'e evidence, to have been written by Elizabeth Halkett, Lady Wardlaw, authoress of the bal.ad of " Hardyknute," the antiquity of which was also questioned for a time ; but this point is stil 1 open to dispute. The ballad details the circumstances of the expedition to Norway, which sailed, by command of Alexander III., in 1281, for the purpose of conveying thither Margaret, his daughter, who was espoused to Eric, King of Norway. On the return of the fleet the catastrophe of the ballad occurred, and among others, Sir Patrick Spans, the presumed head of the expedition, was drowned. THE king sits in Dunfermline toun, Drinking the blude-red wine ; " Oh where will I get a skeely skipper, 1 To sail this new ship o' mine ?" Oh up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee, "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sail'd the sea." Our king has written a braid letter, And seal'd it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the sand. Skilful sailor. SIR PA TRICK SPENS. "To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame." x The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud loud laughed he ; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee. " Oh wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me, To send us out, at this time of the year, To sail upon the sea ? " Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame." They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may ; They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say u Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud, And a' our queenis fee." "Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! Fu' loud I hear ye lie ; " For I hae brought as much white monie, As gane 1 my men and me, And I hae brought a half-fou 2 of gude red goud, Out o'er the sea wi' me. Suffice. * The eighth part of a peck. J PA TRICK SPENS. " Make ready, make ready, my merry men a' 1 Our gude ship sails the morn." " Now, ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm ! "I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we '11 come to harm." They hadna sail'd a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift * grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea. The anchors brak, and the topmasts lap, 2 It was sic a deadly storm ; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, Till a' her sides were torn. " Oh where will I get a gude sailor, To take my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall top-mast, To see if I can spy land ? " " Oh here am I, a sailor gude, To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall top-mast ; But I fear you '11 ne'er spy land." He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bout flew out of our goodly ship, And the salt sea it came in. " Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And wap 3 them into our ship's side, And let na the sea come in." Sky. * Sprang. 3 Wrap or swaddle. SIR PA TRICK SPENS. They fetch'd a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And they vvapp'd them round that gude ship s side, But still the sea came in. Oh laith, laith, 1 were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heel'd shoon ; But lang or a' the play was play'd, They wat their hats aboon. And mony was the feather bed, That floated on the faem ; And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam hame. The ladyes wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their true loves, For them they '11 see nae mair. Oh lang, lang may the ladyes sit, Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand ! And lang, lang may the maidens sit, With their goud kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves ! For them they '11 see nae mair. Half owre, half owre to Aberdour, 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi 1 the Scots lords at his feet ! 1 Reluctant. JOHNIE ARMSTRANG. JOHN IE ARMSTRANG. 'JOHNIE ARMSTRONG of Gilnockie, the hero of the following ballad, is a noted personage, both in history and tradition. He was, it would seem from the ballad, a brother of the laird of Mangertoun, chief of the name. Misplace of residence was at the Hallows, a few miles from Langholm, where its ruins still serve to adorn a scene, which, in natural beauty, has few equals in Scotland. At the head of a desperate band of freebooters, this Armstrong is said to have spread the terror of his name almost as far as Newcastle, and to have levied black mail, or protection and forbeai ance money, for many miles round. James V., of whom it was long remembered by his grateful people that he made the 'rush-bush keep the cow,' about 1529, undertook an expedition through the border counties, to suppress the turbulent spirit of the marchmen. But, before setting out upon his journey, he took the precaution of impri- soning the different Border chieftains, who were the chief protectors of the marauders. The Earl of Bothwell was forfeited, and confined in Edinburgh Castle. The lords of Home and Maxwell, the lairds of Buccleuch, Fairniherst, and Johnston, with many others, were also committed to ward. Cockburn of Henderland, and Adam Scott of Tushielaw, called the King of the Border, were publicly executed. The king then marched rapidly forward, at the head of a flying army of ten thousand men, through Ettrick forest and Ewsdale. The evil genius of our Jolmie Armstrong, 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. Pitscottie uses nearly the words of the ballad in describing the splendour of his equipment, and his high expectations of favour from the king. ' But James, looking upon him sternly, said to his attendants, What wants that knave that a king should have? and ordered him and his followers to instant execution.' 'But John Armstrong,' continues this minute historian, '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 Scotchman ; secondly, 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, see- ing no hope of favour, said very proudly, "It is folly to seek grace at a grace- less face : but," said he, "had I known this, I should have lived upon the Border in despite of king Harry and you both ; for I know king Harry would doTvnweigh my best liorse u'itfi gold to know that I were condemned to die this day. Pitscottie. Johnie, with all his retinue, was accordingly hanged upon growing trees, at a place called Carlenrig chapel, about ten miles above Hawick, on the high road to Langholm. The country people believe, that, to manifest the injustice of the execution, the trees witiiered away. Armstrong and his followers were buried in a deserted churchyard, where their graves are still shown. As this Border hero was a person of great note in his way, he is frequently alluded to by the writers of the time. Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, in the curious play published by Mr Pinkerton, from the Bannatyne MS., introduces a pardoner, or knavish dealer in reliques, who produces, among his holy rai ities 'The cordis, baith grit and lang, Quhilt hangit Johnie Armistrang, Of gude hemp, soft and sound. Gude haly pepill, I stand ford, Whaevir beis hangit in this cord, Neidis never to be drowned ! ' Pinkerton 's Scottish Poems. In The Complaynt of Scotland, John Armistrangis' dance, mentioned as a popular tune, has probably some reference to our hero. The common people of the high parts of Teviotdale, Liddesdale, and the country adjacent, ho.l JOHNIE ARMSTRANG. the memory of Johnie Armstrong in very high respect. They affirm also, that one of his attendants broke through the king's guard, and carried to Gil- nockie Tower the news of the bloody catastrophe. ' This song was first published by Allan Ramsay, in his Evergreen, who says he copied it from the mouth of a gentleman called Armstrong, who was in the sixth generation from this John. The reciter assured him that this was the genuine old ballad, the common one false." Scott s Minstrelsy. SOME speikis of lords, some speikis of lairds, And sic lyke men of hie degrie ; Of a gentleman I sing a sang, Sum tyme called laird of Gilnockie. The king he wrytes a luving letter, With his ain hand sae tenderly, And he hath sent it to Johnie Armstrang, To cum and speik with him speedily. The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene ; They were a gallant com panic " We '11 ride and meit our lawful king, And bring him safe to Gilnockie." " Make kinnen 1 and capon ready then, And venison in great plentie ; We 11 welcum here our royal king ; I hope he '11 dine at Gilnockie ! " They ran their horse on the Langholme howm, And brak their spears wi' mickle main ; 2 The ladies lukit frae their loft windows " God bring our men weel back agen ! " When Johnie cam' before the king, Wi' a' his men, sae brave to see, The king he movit his bonnet to him ; He ween'd he was a king as well 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. Rabbits. * Great force. JOHNIE ARMSTRANG. "Away, away, thou traitor strang ! Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I '11 not begin with thee." " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a bonnie gift I '11 gie to thee Full four-and-twenty milk-white steids, Were a' foaled in ae year to me. " I '11 gie thee a' these milk-white steids, That prance and nicker at a speir ; And as mickle gude English gilt As four o' their braid backs dow bear." " Away, away, thou traitor strang ! Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I '11 not begin wi' thee ! " " Grant me my life, my liege, my king And a bonnie gift I '11 gie to thee Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills, That gang through a' the yeir to me. " These four-and-twenty mills complete, Sail gang for thee through a' the yeir ; And as mickle of gude reid wheit As a' their happers dow to bear." " Away, away, thou traitor strang ! Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I '11 not begin wi' thee." " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a great gift I '11 gie to thee Bauld four-and-twenty sister's sons, Sail for thee fecht, though a' should flee ! " " Away, away, thou traitor strang ! Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I '11 not begin wi' thee." JOHNIE ARMSTRANG. " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a brave gift I '11 gie to thee All between heir and Newcastle town Sail pay their yeirly rent to thee." "Away, away, thou traitor strang ! Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life, And now I '11 not begin wi' thee." "Ye lied, ye lied, now, king," he says, " Although a king and prince ye be ! For I 've luved naething in my life, I weel dare say, but honesty " Save a fat horse, and a fair woman, Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deir ; But England suld have found me meal and mault, Gif I had lived this hundred yeir ! Sche suld have found 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 beneith cauld ice, Surely it is a greit 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! I wad have keepit the Border side, In spite of all thy force and thee. " Wist England's king that I was ta'en, Oh gin a blythe man he wad be ! For anes I slew his sister's son, And on his briest-bane brak a trie." John wore a girdle about his middle, Imbroidered ower wi' burning gold, Bespangled wi' the same metal ; Maist beautiful was to behold JOHNIE ARMSTRANG. There hang nine targets 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 crown ! " Oh whar got thou these targets, Johnie, That blink sae brawly 1 abune thy brie?" " I gat them in the field fechting, Where, 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 of my king and me ! " God be with thee, Kirsty, 2 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 ! But and thou live this hundred yeir, Thy father's better thou 'It nevir be. " Farewell ! my bonnie Gilnock hall, Where on Esk side thou standest stout 1 Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair, I wad hae gilt thee round about." John murder'd was at Carlinrigg, And all his gallant companie ; But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae, To see sae mony brave men dee Because they saved their country deir Frae Englishmen ! Nane were sae bauld While Johnie lived on the border syde, Nane of them durst cum neir his hauld. 1 Glance so bravely. 2 Christopher. JOCK a THE SYDE. JOCK O' THE SYDE. ' JOCK o" THE SYDE" was a famous Border mosstrooper in the reign of Queen Westmoreland, after his insurrection against the Earl of Northumberland. He changed his mail and costume with the earl : and by means of the dis- guise the latter succeeded in eluding his guard. Jock o' the Syde was secured as a prisoner, but was afterwards rescued by his kinsmen and their followers in the manner related in the ballad. "The land-steward mentioned in this ballad, and also in ' Hobbie Noble,'" says Sir Walter Scott, "was an officer under the warden, to whom was committed the apprehending of delin- quents, and the care of the public peace." Now Liddesdale has ridden a raid, But I wat they had better hae staid at hame ; For Michael o' Winfield he is dead, And Jock o' the Syde is prisoner ta'en. For Mangertoun 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 1 fa' fast frae her e'e. Then up and spoke our gude auld lord " What news, what news, sister Downie, to me ?" " Bad news, bad news, my Lord Mangertoun ; Michael is kill'd, and they hae ta'en my son Johnie." " Ne'er fear, sister Downie," quo' Mangertoun ; " I have yokes of ousen, eighty and three ; My barns, my byres, and my faulds a' weil fill'd, I '11 part wi' them a' ere Johnie shall die. u Three men I '11 send to set him free, A' harneist wi' the best o' steel ; The English louns may hear and drie* The weight o' their braid swords to feeL u The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa, O Hobbie Noble, thou ane maun be ! Thy coat is blue, thou hast been true, Since England banish'd thee to me." ' Torrents. Dread. JOCK O" THE SYDE. 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 Mangertoun them orders gave, " Your horses the wrang way maun be shod ; Like gentlemen ye mauna seim, But look like corn-caugers ga'en the road. 1 " Your armour gude ye mauna shaw, Nor yet appear like men o' weir ; As country lads be a' array' d, Wi' branks and brecham 2 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 of Tyne. At the Cholerford they all light down, And there, wi' the help of the light o' the moon, A tree they cut, wi' fifteen nogs on each side, To climb up the wa' of Newcastle toun. But when they came to Newcastle toun, And were alighted at the wa', 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 until, A proud porter withstood baith men and horse. His neck in twa the Armstrangs wrang ; Wi' fute or hand he ne'er play'd pa ! His life and his keys at anes they hae ta'en, And cast the body ahind the wa'. 1 Corn-carriers travelling. ' Rude harness. r. JOCK a THE SYDE. Now sune they reach Newcastle jail, And to the prisoner thus they call : " Sleeps thou, 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 wha's this kens my name sae weil, And thus to mese 1 my waes does seek ?" Then out and spak the gude Laird's Jock, " Now fear ye na, my billie," 2 quo' he ; "For here are the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, And Hobbie Noble, come to set thee free." " Now haud thy tongue, my gude Laird's Jock, For ever, alas ! this canna be ; For if a' Liddesdale were here the night, The morn 's the day that I maun die. " Full fifteen stane o' Spanish iron, They hae laid a' right sair on me ; Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound Into this dungeon dark and dreirie." " Fear ye na that," quo' the Laird's Jock ; " A faint heart ne'er wan a fair ladie ; Work thou within, we '11 work without, And I '11 be sworn we '11 set thee free." The first strong door that they cam at, They loosed it without a key ; The next chain'd door that they cam at, They garr'd it a' to flinders flee. The prisoner now upon his back, The Laird's Jock has got up fu' hie. And down the stairs, him, aims and a', Wi' nae sma' speid and joy, brings he. Soothe. * Friend or comrade. JOCK O THE SYDE. 13 " Now Jock, my man," quo' Hobbie Noble, " Some o' his weight ye may lay on me." " I wat weil no I" 1 quo' the Laird's ain Jock ; I count him lighter than a flee." Sae out at the gates they a' are gane, The prisoner's set on horseback hie ; And now wi' speid they've ta'en the gate, While ilk ane jokes fu' wantonlie : " O Jock ! sae winsomely's ye ride, Wi' baith your feet upon ae side ; Sae weil ye 're harniest, and sae trig, In troth ye sit like ony bride." The night, tho' wat, they did na mind, But hied them on fu' merrilie, Until they cam to Cholerford brae, Where the water ran like mountains hie. But when they cam to Cholerford, There they met with an auld man ; Says " Honest man, will the water ride ? Tell us in haste, if that ye can." " I wat weil no," quo' the gude auld man ; " I hae lived here thretty years and thrie, And I ne'er yet saw the Tyne sae big, Nor running anes sae like a sea." Then out and spoke the Laird's saft Wat, The greatest coward in the companie : " Now halt, now halt ! we need na try 't ; The day is come we a' maun die !" " Puir faint-hearted thief!" cried the Laird's ain Jock, " There '11 nae man die but him that's fey ; 2 I '11 guide ye a' right safely thro' ; Lift ye the pris'ner on ahint me." 1 " Indeed not," is a wak English rendering of this phrase. * Predestined. 14 HOBBIE NOBLE. Wi' that the water they hae ta'en, By anes and twas they a' swam thro' ; " Here are we a' safe," quo' the Laird's Jock, "And, puir faint Wat, what think ye now ?" 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-serjeant the water saw, " It winna ride, my lads," says he ; Then cried aloud " The prisoner take, But leave the aims, I pray, to me." " I wat weil no," quo' the Laird's Jock ; " I '11 keep them a' ; shoon to my mare they '11 be My gude bay mare for I am sure She has bought them a' fu' dear frae thee." Sae now they are on to Liddesdale, E'en as fast as they could them hie ; The prisoner is brought to 's 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 wast to die ; But thou 's as well at thy ain ingle-side, Now sitting, I think, 'twixt thee and me." HOBBIE NOBLE. HALBERT, or HOBBIE NOBLE, was an English outlaw and freebooter, who had taken refuge on the Scottish border. He was "the English man In Bewcastle was bred and born," who aided so materially in the escape of "Jock o' the Syde." The English authorities were anxious to secure the person of Hobbie, and fair means hav- ing been unsuccessful in this object, recourse was had to those of a sinister HOBBIE NOBLE. nature. Five of the Armstrongs, with Sim o' the Mains at their head, under- took to betray him into the hands of the English. They effected their pur- pose during a pretended hostile raid across the Border, and the unsuspecting freebooter fell into the snare prepared for him, and was immediately after- wards executed at Carlisle. Hobbie Nob!e, on account of the service which he had rendered the clan in securing the liberty of " Jock o' the Syde," was high in favour with its chiet the Laird of Manj;ertotin ; and the latter was so incensed at the traitorous per- fidy of Sim o' the Mains and his followers, that he determined on summary revenge. Sim, to escape, fled into England, and for some crime committed there, he was executed at Carlisle shortly after. FOUL fa' the breast 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 may turn our backs and flee, Since brave Noble is sold away. Now Hobbie was an English man, And born into Bewcastle dale ; But his misdeeds they were so great, They banish'd him to Liddesdale. At Kershope foot the tryst 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 1 his body fair Baith wi' the iron and wi' the steil ; And he has ta'en out his fringed grey, And there, brave Hobbie, he rade him weeL Then Hobbie is down the water gane, E'en as fast as he could hie; Tho' a' should ha'e bursten and broken their hearts, Frae that riding tryst he wad na be. 1 Clothed. 16 HOBBIE NOBLE. " Weel be ye met, my feres 1 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 sune sail be." " I daurna by day into England ride ; The land-serjeant has me at feid ; 2 And I know not what evil may betide, For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead. " And Anton Shiel he loves not me, For I gat twa drifts o' his sheep ; The great earl of Whitfield 3 loves me not, For nae geer frae me he e'er could keep. " But will ye stay till the day gae down, Until the night come o'er the grund, And I '11 be a guide worth ony twa, That may in Liddesdale be found ? " Though the night be black as pick and tar, I '11 guide ye o'er yon hill sae hie, And bring ye a' in safety back, If ye '11 be true, and follow me." He has guided them o'er moss and muir, O'er hill and hope, and mony a down ; Until they came to the Foulbogshiel, And there, brave Noble, he lighted down. But word is gane to the land-serjeant, In Askerton where that he lay " The deer, that ye ha'e hunted sae lang, Is seen into the Waste this day." 1 Companions. 2 Enmity. This shou'd perhaps be Ralph Whitfield. HOBBIE NOBLE. 17 " Then Hobbie Noble is that deer ! I wat he carries the style fu' hie ; Aft has he driven our bluidhounds back, 1 And set ourselves at little lee. " Gar warn the bows of 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 ; And we will on to Conscouthart-green, For there, I think, we '11 get our prey." Then Hobbie Noble has dreimit a dreim, In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay ; He dreimit his horse was aneith him shot, And he himself got hard away. The cocks could craw, the day could daw, And I wot sae even fell down the rain ; Had Hobbie na waken'd at that time, In the Foulbogshiel he had been ta'en or slain. " Get up, get up, my feres five ! I trow here makes a fu' ill day ; Yet the worst cloak o' this company, I hope, shall cross the Waste this day." 1 " The russet bloodhound, wont, near Annand's stream, To trace the sly thief with avenging foot, Close as an evil conscience still at hand." Our ancient statutes inform us, that the bloodhound, or sluith-hound, (so called from its quality of tracing the slot, or track, of men and animals,) was early used in the pursuit and detection of marauders. Nullus periurbet, aut impediat canem trassantem, aut Jwmines tmssantes cum ipso, ad seqiienditm latrones. Regium Majestatevt, lib. 4tus, cap. 32. And, so late as 1616, there was an order from the king's commissioners of the northern counties, that a certain number of slough-hounds should be maintained in every district of Cumberland, bordering upon Scotland. They were of great value, being sometimes sold for a hundred crowns. Exposition of Bleau's Atlas, voce Nithsdale. The breed of this sagacious animal, which could trace the human footstep with the most unerring accuracy, is now nearly extinct. Scott. B 1 8 HOB B IE NOBLE. Now Hobble thought the gates were clear But, ever alas ! it was na sae : They were beset by cruel men and keen, That away brave Hobble might na gae. " Yet follow me, my feres five, And see ye kelp of me guid ray ; And the worst cloak o' this company Even yet may cross the Waste this day." But the land-serjeant's men came Hobble before, The traitor Sim came Hobble behin', So had noble been wight as Wallace was, Away, alas ! he might na win. Then Hobbie had but a laddie's sword ; But he did mair than a laddie's deed ; For that sword had cleared Conscouthart-green, Had it not broke. o'er Jerswigham's head. Then they ha'e ta'en brave Hobbie Noble, Wi 's ain 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 ha'e ta'en him on for west Carlisle ; They asked him, if he kend the way ? Tho' much he thought, yet little he said ; He knew the gate as weel as they. They ha'e ta'en him up the Ricker-gate j 1 The wives they cast their windows wide ; And every wife to another can say, " That's the man loosed Jock o' the Syde ! " " Fy on ye, women ! why ca' ye me man ? For it 's nae man that I 'm used like ; I am but like a forfoughen 2 hound, Has been fighting in a dirty syke." 3 A street in Carlisle. 2 Q uite fatigued. 3 D itch- HOB B IE NOBLE. 19 They ha'e had him up thro' Carlisle town, 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 vvheaten loaf to eat, And after that a can of 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 's na die." " How can I confess them," Hobbie says, " When I never saw them with my e'e ?" Then Hobbie has sworn a fu' great aith, By the day that he was gotten and born, He never had ony thing o' my lord's, That either eat him grass or corn. " Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangertoun ! For I think again I '11 ne'er thee see : I wad ha'e betray'd nae lad alive, For a' the gowd o' Christentie. " And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale ! Baith the hie land and the law ; Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains ! For goud and gear he '11 sell ye a'. "Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble, In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fau't, Than I 'd be ca'd the traitor Mains, That eats and drinks o' the meal and maut." 20 CLERK SAUNDERS. CLERK SAUNDERS. 'Tms ballad is taken from Mr Herd's MSS., with several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect copy, in the same volume, and one or two conjec- tural emendations in the arrangement of the stanzas. The resemblance of the conclusion to the ballad beginning, ' There came a Ghost to Margaret's Door,' will strike every reader. The tale is uncommonly wild and beautiful, and apparently very correct. The custom of the passing bell is still kept up in many villages in Scotland. The sexton goes through the town ringing a small bell, and announcing the death of the departed, and the time of the funeral. The three concluding verses have been recovered since the firn edition of this work, (Minstrelsy:} and I am informed by the reciter that it was usual to separate from the rest that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers, as belonging to another story. For this, however, there seems no necessity, as other authorities give the whole as a complete tale " Sir Walter Scott. CLERK SAUNDERS and May Margaret Walk'd over yon garden green ; And sad and heavy was the love That fell thir t\va between. " A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said, " A bed for you and me ! " " Fye, na, fye, na," said May Margaret, " Till anes we married be. " For in may come my seven bauld brothers, Wi' torches burning bright ; They'll say' We hae but ae sister, And behold she's wi' a knight !' " " Then take the sword frae my scabbard, And slowly lift the pin ; And you may swear, and save your aith. Ye ne'er let Clerk Saunders in. " And take a napkin in your hand, And tie up baith your een ; And ye may swear, and safe your aith, Ye saw me na since late yestreen." It was about the midnight hour, When they asleep were laid, When in and cam her seven brothers, Wi torches burning red. CLERK SA UNDER S. When in and cam her seven brothers, Wi' torches shining bright ; They said " We hae but ae sister, And behold her vvi' a knight !" Then out and spake the first o' them, " My sword shall gar him die ! " And out and spake the second o' them, " His father has nae mair than he !" And out and spake the third o' them, " I wot they 're lovers dear ! " And out and spake the fourth o' them, " They hae been in love this mony a year !" Then out and spake the fifth o' them, " 'Twere sin true love to twain ! " And out and spake the sixth o' them, "It were shame to slay a sleeping man !" Then up and gat the seventh o' them, And never a word spake he ; But he has striped his bright brown brand, Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye. Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'd Into his arms as asleep she lay; And sad and silent was the night That was atween thir twae. And they lay still and sleeped sound, Till the day began to daw, And kindly to him she did say, " It's time, true love, you were awa." But he lay still and sleeped sound, Though the sun began to sheen ; She look'd atween her and the wa', And dull and drowsie were his een. Then in and came her father dear, Said " Let a' your mourning be; I '11 carry the dead corpse to the clay, And I '11 come back and comfort thee." CLERK SA UNDERS. " Comfort weel your seven sons, For comforted will I never be ; I ween 'twas neither knave nor loun Was in the bower last night wi' me." The clinking bell gaed through the toun, To carry the dead corpse to the clay ; And Clerk Saunders stood at May Margaret's window, I wot, an hour before the day. "Are ye sleeping, Margaret ?" he says, " Or are ye wauking presently ? Give me my faith and troth again, I wot, true love, I gave to thee." u Your faith and troth ye sail never get, Nor our true love sail never twin, Until ye come within my bower, And kiss me cheek and chin." " My mouth it is full cold, Margaret, It has the smell now of the ground ; And if I kiss thy comely mouth, Thy days of life will not be lang. " Oh, cocks are crowing a merry midnight, I wot, the wild-fowls are boding day ; Give me my faith and troth again, And let me fare upon my way." " Thy faith and troth thou sail na get, And our true love sail never twin, Until ye tell what comes of women, I wat, who die in strong traivelling." " Their beds are made in the heavens high, Down at the feet of our good Lord's knee Weel set about with wi' gillyflowers, I wot, sweet company for to see. " Oh, cocks are crowing a merry midnight, I wot, the wild-fowls are boding day The psalms of heaven will soon be sung And I ere now will be miss'd away." CLERK SA UNDERS. 23 Then she has taken a crystal wand, And she has stroken her troth thereon ; She has given it him out at the shot window, Wi' mony a sigh and heavy groan. " I thank thee, Marg'ret ; I thank thee, Marg'ret ; And aye I thank ye heartilie ; Gin ever the dead come for the quick, Be sure, Marg'ret, I '11 come for thee." It's hosen and shoon, and gown alone, She climb'd the wall and follow'd him, Until she came to the green forest, And there she lost the sight o' him. " Is there ony room at your head, Saunders ? Is there ony room at your feet ? Or ony room at your side, Saunders, Where fain, fain I wad sleep?" " There 's nae room at my head, Marg'ret, There 's nae room at my feet ; My bed it is full lowly now : Among the hungry worms I sleep. " Cauld mould is my covering now, But and my winding sheet : The dew it falls nae sooner down, Than my resting-place is weet. " But plait a wand o' bonnie birk, And lay it on my breast ; And shed a tear upon my grave, And wish my saul gude rest. " And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret, And Marg'ret o' veritie, Gin ere ye love another man, Ne'er love him as ye did me." Then up and crew the milk-white cock, And up and crew the gray ; Her lover vanish'd in the air, And she gaed weeping away. 24 THE HEIR OF LINNE. THE HEIR OF LINNE. "THE original of this ballad," Percy says in his Reliqves, "is found in the editor's folio MS., the breaches and defects in which render the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon, as indeed the completion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject. From the Scottish phrases here and there discernible in this poem, it should seem to have been originally composed beyond the Tweed. The Heir of Linne appears not to have been a lord of parliament, but a laird, whose title went along with his estate." PART THE FIRST. LITHE l and listen, gentlemen, To sing a song I will beginne : It is of a lord of faire Scotland, Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne. His father was a right good lord, His mother a lady of high degree ; But they, alas ! were dead, him froe, And he loved keeping companie. To spend the daye with merry cheare, To drinke and revell every night, To card and dice from eve to inorne, It was, I ween, his heart's delighte. To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare, To always spend and never spare, I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, Of gold and fee he mote be bare. Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne Till all his gold is gone and spent ; And he maun sell his landes so broad, His house, and landes, and all his rent. His father had a keen stewarde, And John o' the Scales was called hee : But John is become a gentel-man, And John has gott both gold and fee. 1 Attend, THE HEIR OF LINNE. 25 Saves, " Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, Let nought disturb thy merry cheere ; Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad, Good store of gold He give thee heere." " My gold is gone, my money is spent ; My lande nowe take it unto thee : Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales, And thine for aye my lande shall bee." Then John he did him to record draw, And John he cast him a god's-pennie j 1 But for every pounde that John agreed, The lande, I wis, was well worth three. He told him the gold upon the borde, He was right glad his land to winne ; " The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now He be the lord of Linne." Thus he hath sold his land soe broad, Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne, All but a poore and lonesome lodge, That stood far off in a lonely glenne. For soe he to his father hight ; " My sonne, when I am gonne," sayd hee, " Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad, And thou wilt spend thy gold so free : " But swear me nowe upon the roode, That lonesome lodge thou 'It never spend ; For when all the world doth frown on thee, Thou there shalt find a faithful friend." The heir of Linne is full of golde : And " come with me, my friends," sayd hee, " Let 's drinke, and rant, and merry make, And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee." 1 i. e. Earnest money ; from the French Denier a Dieu. At this day, when application is made to the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle to accept an exchange of the tenant under one of their leases, a piece of silver is presented by the new tenant, which is still called a " God's-penny." Percy. 2 6 THE HEIR OF LINNE. They ranted, drank, and merry made, Till all his gold it waxed thinne ; And then his friendes they slunk away ; They left the unthrifty heir of Linne. He had never a penny left in his purse, Never a penny left but three, And one was brass, another was lead, And another it was white monie. " Now well-a-day," sayd the heir of Linne, " Now well-a-day, and woe is mee, For when I was the lord of Linne, I never wanted gold nor fee. " But many a trustye friend have I, And why should I feel dole or care ? He borrow of them all by turnes, Soe need I not be never bare." But one, I wis, was not at home ; Another had payd his gold away ; Another call'd him thriftless loone. And bade him sharpely wend his way. " Now well-a-day," sayd the heir of Linne, " Now well-a-day, and woe is me ; For when I had my landes so broad, On me they lived right merrilee. " To beg my bread from door to door I wis, it were a brenning l shame : To rob and steal it were a sinne : To work my limbs I cannot frame. " Now He be away to my lonesome lodge, For there my father bade me wend ; When all the world should frown on mee I there should find a trusty friend." Burning. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 27 PART THE SECOND. Away then hyed the heir of Linne O'er hill and holt, 1 and moor and fenne, Until he came to lonesome lodge, That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne. He looked up, he looked dovvne, In hope some comfort for to winne: But bare and lothly 2 were the walles. " Here 's sorry cheare," quoth the heir of Linne. The little windowe dim and darke Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe ; No shimmering sunn here ever shone ; No halesome breeze here ever blew. No chair, ne table he mote spye, No cheerful hearth, ne welcome bed, Nought save a rope with running noose, That dangling hung up o'er his head. And over it in broad letters, These words were written so plain to see : " Ah ! graceless wretch, hast spent thine all, And brought thyself to penurie ? " All this my boding mind misgave, I therefore left this trusty friend : Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace, And all thy shame and sorrows end." Sorely shent 3 wi' this rebuke, Sorely shent was the heir of Linne ; His heart, I wis, was near to burst With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne. Never a word spake the heir of Linne, Never a word he spake but three : " This is a trusty friend indeed, And is right welcome unto mee." 1 Grove. '* Loathsome. 3 Shamed or abashed. 2 3 THE HEIR OF LINN E. Then round his necke the corde he drewe, And sprang aloft with his bodie : When lo ! the ceiling burst in twaine, And to the ground came tumbling hee. Astonyed lay the heir of Linne, Ne knewe if he were live- or dead : At length he looked, and sawe a bille, 1 And in it a key of gold so redd. He took the bille, and lookt it on, Strait good comfort found he there : Itt told him of a hole in the wall, In which there stood three chests in-fere. s Two were full of the beaten golde, The third was full of white monie ; And over them in broad letters These words were written so plaine to see : " Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere : Amend thy life and follies past ; For but thou amend thee of thy life, That rope must be thy end at last." " And let it bee," sayd the heir of Linne ; " And let it bee, but if I amend : 3 For here I will make mine avow, This reade 4 shall guide me to the end." Away then went with a merry cheare, Away then went the heir of Linne ; I wis, he neither ceased ne blanne, Till John o' the Scales' house he did winne. And when he came to John o' the Scales, Upp at the speere 5 then looked hee ; There sat three lords upon a rowe, Were drinking of the wine so free. 1 Letter. * Together. 3 Unless I amend. * Advice, counsel. Perhaps the hole in the door or window, by which it was speered, i. e. sparred, fastened, or shut. In Bale's Second Part of the Acts of Eng. Votaries^ we have this phrase, " The dare therof oft tytnes opened and speared agayne." Percy. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 29 And John himself sate at the board-head, Because now lord of Linne was hee. " I pray thee," he said, " good John o' the Scales, One forty pence for to lend mee." " Away, away, thou thriftless loone ; Away, away, this may not bee : For Christ's curse on my head," he sayd, " If ever I trust thee one pennie." Then bespake the heir of Linne. To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he : " Madame, some almes on me bestowe, I pray for sweet saint Charitie." " Away, away, thou thriftless loone, I swear thou gettest no alms of mee ; For if we should hang any losel * heere, The first we would begin with thee." Then bespak a good fellowe, Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord ; Sayd, " Turn againe, thou heir of Linne ; Some time thou wast a well good lord : " Some time a good fellow thou hast been, And sparedst not thy gold and fee ; Therefore He lend thee forty pence, And other forty if need bee. " And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, To let him sit in thy companie ; For well I wot thou hadst his land, And a good bargain it was to thee." Up then spake him John o' the Scales, All wood 2 he answer'd him againe : " Now Christ's curse on my head," he sayd, " But I did lose by that bargaine. 1 Rascal * Furious, or angrily. 30 THE HEIR OF LINNE. " And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, Before these lords so faire and free, Thou shall have it backe again better cheape, By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee." " I drawe you to record, lords," he said, With that he cast him a god's-pennie : " Now by my fay," said the heir of Linne, " And here good John is thy monie." And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold. And layd them down upon the bord : All woe begone was John o' the Scales, Soe shent he could say never a word. He told him forth the good red gold, He told it forth with mickle dinne. " The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now Ime againe the lord of Linne." Sayes, " Have thou here, thou good fellowe, Forty pence thou didst lend mee : Now I am againe the lord of Linne, And forty pounds I will give thee. " He make thee keeper of my forest, Both of the wild deere and the tame ; For but I reward thy bounteous heart, I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame." " Now well-a-day !" sayth Joan o' the Scales : " Now well-a-day! and woe is my life ! Yesterday I was lady of Linne, Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife." " Now fare-thee-well," sayd the heir of Linne ; Farewell now, John o' the Scales," said hee : Christ s curse light on me, if ever again I bring my lands in jeopardy." But he was ne'er sap Inck .1 kiv.cht, As ance wal bill her ride : Nor diil he sae much as r -.icli his hand To help her ower the tide. BI-BD HKI.KX. BURD TELEA T . 31 BURD HELEN. 'This beautiful tale of woman's love," wrote Dr Robert Chambers in 1829, "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 Jamie- son 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 frag- ments of another 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 Ballads and Songs,' has presented a very complete one, which he entitles ' Burd Helen.'" The present copy is compiled by Mr Chambers from the different imperfect versions above enumerated. LORD JOHN stood in his stable door, Said he was boun' to ride : Burd Helen stood in her bouir door, Said she'd run by his side. " The corn is turning ripe, Lord John ; The nuts are growing fu' : And ye are boun' 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." " Oh, I 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." " Oh, 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 ! " 32 BURD HELEN. " Oh, better ye'd stay at hame, Helen, And sew your silver seam ; For my house is in the far Hielands, And ye '11 ha'e 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 '11 ha'e puir welcome hame." " Then if you'll be my foot-page, Helen, As you tell unto me, Then you must cut your gown of green An inch abune your knee. " So you must cut your yellow locks An inch abune your e'e ; You must tell no man what is my name : My foot-page then you '11 be." Then he has luppen 1 on his white steed, And straight awa' did ride ; Burd Helen, dress'd in men's array, She ran fast by his side. And he was ne'er sae lack 2 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-long summer-day ; Until they cam to Clyde-water, Was fill'd 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 me swim !" 1 Leapt. * Little. BURD HELEN. 33 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 wade in, She wadit to the knee ; " Ochone, alas," quo' that ladye fair, " This water 's no for me ! " The second step that she wade in, She steppit to the middle : Then, sighing, said that fair ladye, " I 've wet my gowden girdle." The thirden step that she wade 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?" " Oh 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." " Oh 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." C 34 BURD HELEN. " But there is in yon castle, Helen, That stands on yonder lea, There is a lady in yon castle, Will sinder 1 you and me." M 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, 2 He tirled at the pin ; 3 And wha sae ready as the bauld porter, To open and let him in ? Many a lord and lady bright Met Lord John in the closs ; But the bonniest lady among 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 wond'rous hie : Let him, I pray thee, good Lord John, To chamber go with me." " It is not fit for a little foot-page, That has run through moss and mire, To go into chamber with any ladye That wears so rich attire. Part * Gate. Opened the gate by turning the latch. BURD HELEN. 35 "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 boun' to meat, Burd Helen was, at the bye-table, 1 Amang the pages set. " Oh 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." " Oh eat and drink, my bonnie boy, The white breid and the wine." " Oh the never a bit can I eat or drink ; My heart 's sae fu' o' pyne." 2 But out and spak Lord John his mother, And a skeely 8 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." " Oh it maks me laugh, my mother dear, Sic words to hear frae thee ; He is a squire's ae dearest son, That for love has follow'd me. " Rise up, rise up, my bonnie boy ; Gi'e my horse corn and hay." " Oh that I will, my master deir, As quickly as I may." 1 Side table. _ * Sorrow. 3 Skilful or rather expressing that property in old women which makes them far-seen in matters connected with the physics of human nature. Bucliajt. 36 BURD HELEN. 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. " Oh room ye round, my bonnie broun steids ; Oh room ye near the vva' ; For the pain that strikes through my twa sides, I fear, will gar me fa'." She lean'd 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' men boun' 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 ha'e heard a bairn loud greet, And a woman's heavy moan ! " " Richt hastilie 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. " Oh open the door, Burd Helen," he said, " Oh open and let me in ; I want to see if my steed be fed, Or my greyhounds fit to rin." " Oh lullaby, my own deir child ! Lullaby, deir child, deir ! I wold thy father were a king, Thy mother laid on a bier ! " BURD HELEN. 37 " Oh open the door, Burd Helen," he says, " Oh open the door to me ; Or, as my sword hangs by my gair, 1 I '11 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 door o' deal, and locks o' steel, In splinders he gart 2 flee. "An askin', an askin', Lord John," she says, " An askin' ye '11 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 '11 grant me ; The warsten bouir in a' your touirs, For thy young son and me ! " " I grant, I grant your askins, Helen, An 1 that and mair frae me ; The very best bouir in a' my touirs, For my young son and thee. " Oh 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 ta'en her Burd Helen, And row'd her in the silk ; And he has ta'en his ain young son, And wash'd him in the milk. 1 Side. 2 Made or forced to. CHEVY CHASE. 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. CHEVY CHASE; OR, THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT. THE ancient ballad of " Chevy Chace " occupies the place of honour in Percy's Reliques. In it he believed that he had recovered the famous ballad of "Percy and Douglas," so long sung by the "crowders" or wandering min- strels. He printed it " from an old MS. at the end of Hearne's Preface to G. Newbrigiensis' Hist, 1719." The MS. copy was subscribed at the end, "Expliceth quoth Rychard Sheale," who was known to be a minstrel in the service of Edward, Earl of Derby, obit 1574. On this slight evidence Percy, and Ritson after him, con- cluded that Sheale was the author of the ballad, and not, as is equally probable, merely a copyist or ballad-singer transcribing from memory. A modernised version of " Chevy Chace," and one better known than the original, was written (probably) about the time of James I. "With regard to the subject of this ballad," Percy says, "although it has no countenance from history, there is room to think it had originally some foundation in fact. It was one of the laws of the Marches, frequently re- newed between the nations, that neither party should hunt in the other's borders without leave from the proprietors or their deputies. There had long been a rivalship between the two martial families of Percy and Douglas, which, heightened by the national quarrel, must have produced frequent challenges and struggles for superiority, petty invasions of their respective domains, and sharp contests for the point of honour, which would not always be recorded in history. Something of this kind, we may suppose, gave rise to the ancient ballad of the " Hunting a' the Cheviat." Percy, Earl of Northumberland, had vowed to hunt for three days in the Scottish border, without condescend- ing to ask leave from Earl Douglas, who was either lord of the soil, or lord warden of the Marches. Douglas would not fail to resent the insult, and endeavour to repel the intruders by force : this would mturally produce a sharp conflict between the two parties ; something of which, it is probable, did really happen, though not attended with the tragical circumstances re- corded in the ballad ; for these are evidently borrowed- from the Battle of Otterboume, a very different event, but which aftertimes would easily con- found with it" THE FIRST FYTTK. THE Percy out of Northumberland, And a vow to God made he, That he would hunt in the mountains ' At Cheviot within days three, CHEVY CHASE. 39 In the maugre 1 of doughty Douglas, And all that ever with him be. The fattest harts in all Cheviot, He said he would kill and carry them away : " By my faith," said the doughty Douglas again, " I will let 2 that hunting if that I may." Then the Percy out of Bamborough cam, With him a mighty meany; 3 With fifteen hundred archers bold of blood and bone, They were chosen out of shires three. This began on Mononday at morn, In Cheviot the hills so hie ; The child may rue that is unborn, It was the more pitie. The drivers through the woods went, For to raise the deer ; Bowmen bickert upon the bent 4 With their broad arrows clear. Then the wild (deer) through the woods went On every side shear ; Greyhounds through the groves glent 5 For to kill their deer. They began in Cheviot the hills above Early on Mononday ; By that it drew to the hour of noon A hundred fat harts dead there lay. They blew a mort upon the bent, They 'sembled on sides shear ; 6 To the quarry then the Percy went, To see the buttling 7 of the deer. He said, " It was the Douglas' promise This day to meet me here ; But I wist he would fail verament ; " 8 A great oath the Percy swear. 1 In spite of. 2 Prevent. * Company. * Discharged their arrows upon the hill. * Glided. 6 On every side. 1 Cutting up. 8 Truly. 40 CHEVY CHASE. At last a squire of Northumberland Look'd at his hand full nigh ; He was 'ware o' the doughty Douglas coming, With him a mighty meany, Both with spear, bill, and brand, It was a mighty sight to see ; Hardier men, both of heart nor hand, Were not in Christiantie. They were twenty hundred spearmen good, Withouten any fail ; They were born along by the water of Tweed, In the bounds of Teviotdale. " Leave off the brittling of the deer," he said, And to your bows look ye tak good heed ; For sith 1 ye were o' your mothers born Had ye never so mickle need." The doughty Douglas on a steed He rode at his men beforne ; His armour glitter'd as did a glede, 2 A bolder baron was never born. " Tell me what men ye are," he says, " Or whose men that ye be ; Who gave you leave to hunt in this Cheviot chase in the spite of me ?" The first man that ever him an answer made, It was the good Lord Percy ; "We will not tell thee what men we are," he says, " Nor whose men that we be ; But we will hunt here in this chase In spite of thine and of thee. "The fattest harts in all Cheviot We have kill'd, and cast to carry them away." " By my troth," said the doughty Douglas again, "Therefore the one of us shall dee this day." 1 Since - * A live coal CHEVY CHASE, 41 Then said the doughty Douglas Unto the Lord Percy; " To kill all these guiltless men, Alas ! it were great pitie. " But Percy, thou art a lord of land, I am an earl call'd within my country ; Let all our men upon a parti stand, And do the battle of thee and of me." " Now Christ's curse on his crown," said the Lord Percy, " Whosoever thereto says nay, By my troth, doughty Douglas," he says, " Thou shalt never see that day ; " Neither in England, Scotland, nor France, Nor for no man of a woman born, But, and fortune be my chance, I dare meet him on man for on." J Then spake a squire of Northumberland, Richard Witherington was his name : " It shall never be told in South-England," he says, "To King Harry the Fourth for shame. " I wat ye be great lordis twa, I am a poor squire of land ; I will never see my captain fight on a field, And stand myself, and look on ; But while I may my weapon wield, I will not fail both heart and hand." That day, that day, that dreadful day : The first fytte here I find. An you will hear any more o' the hunting o' the Cheviot, Yet is there more behind. 1 Man for man. 42 CHEVY CHASE. THE SECOND FVTTB. The Englishmen had their bows bent, Their hearts were good enow ; The first of arrows that they shot off, Seven score spearmen they slew. Yet bides the Earl Douglas upon the bent, A captain good enough ; And that was seen verament, For he wrought them both woe and wouhe. 1 The Douglas parted his host in three, Like a cheffe chieftain of pride ; With sure spears of mighty tree They come in on every side. Thorough our English archery Gave many a wound full wide ; Many a doughty (man) they gar'd 2 to die, Which gained them no pride. The Englishmen let their bows be, And pull'd out brands that were bright ; It was a heavy sight to see, Bright swords on basenets light. Thorough rich mail, and mony-plie, 8 Many sterne they stroke down straight ; Many a freke, 4 that was full free, There under foot did light. At last the Douglas and the Percy met, Like to captains of might and main ; They swapt 6 together, till they both swat, With swords that were of fine Milan. These worthy frekes for to fight Thereto they were full fain, Till the blood out of their basenets sprent, 8 As ever did hail or rain. a *r , l "l ur y- , , 2 Caused. . ^"'P' 6 ' (many fold,) a name for a close dress worn under the armour * Warrior. 5 Struck or smote. 6 Helmets flowed CHEVY CHASE. 43 " Hold thee, Percy," said the Douglas, And i' faith I shall thee bring Where thou shall have an earl's wages Of Jamie our Scottish king. " Thou shalt have thy ransom free, I hight thee hear this thing, For the manfullest man yet art thou That ever I conquer'd in field fighting." " Nay, then," said the Lord Percy, " I told it thee beforne, That I would never yielded be To no man of a woman born." With that there came an arrow hastilie Forth of a mighty wane, 1 It hath stricken the Earl Douglas In at the breast-bane. Thorough liver and lungs both The sharp arrow is gone, That never after in all his life days He spake mo words but ane, That was, " Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may, For my life days are gane." The Percy leaned on his brand, And saw the Douglas dee ; He took the dead man by the hand, And said, " Woe is me for thee ! " To have saved thy life I would have parted with My lands for years three, For a better man of heart, nor of hand, Was not in all the north countrie." Of all that see a Scottish knight, Was call'd Sir Hugh the Montgomerie, He saw the Douglas to the death was dight, He spendcd 2 a spear, a trustie tree. 1 One (man.) * Grasped. 44 CHEVY CHASE. He rode upon a courser Through a hundred archery ; He never stinted, nor never blane, 1 Till he came to the good Lord Percy. He set upon the Lord Percy A dint 2 that was full sore ; With a sure spear of a mighty tree Clean thorough the body he the Percy bore, At the other side, that a man might see A large cloth-yard and mair ; Two better captains were not in Christiantie, Than that day slain were there. An archer of Northumberland, Saw slain was the Lord Percy, He bare a bend-bow in his hand, Was made of trusty tree ; An arrow, that a cloth-yard was lang, To the hard steel hauled he ; A dint that was both sad and sore, He sat on Sir Hugh the Montgomerie. The dint it was both sad and sair That he of Montgomerie set ; The swan-feathers that his arrows bore, With his heart blood they were wet. There was never a freke one foot would flee, But still in stour did stand, Hewing on each other while they might drie, 3 With many a baleful brand. This battle began in Cheviot An hour before the noon, And when even-song bell was rung The battle was not half done. 1 Never slackened his pace. 2 Blow. 3 Suffer. CHEVY CHASE. 45 They took on on either hand By the light of the moon ; Many had no strength for to stand, In Cheviot the hills aboon. Of fifteen hundred archers of England, Went away but fifty and three ; Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland But even five and fiftie : But all .were slain Cheviot within ; They had no strength to stand on hie ; The child may rue that is unborn, It was the more pitie. There was slain with the Lord Percy, Sir John of Agerstone, Sir Roger the hinde 1 Hartly, Sir William the bold Heron. Sir George the worthy Lovel, A knight of great renown, Sir Ralph the rich Rugby, With dints were beaten down. For Witherington my heart was wae, That ever he slain should be ; For when both his legs were hewn in two, Yet he kneel' d and fought on his knee. There was slain with the doughty Douglas, Sir Hugh the Montgomerie, Sir Davy Liddle, that worthy was, His sister's son was he ; Sir Charles a Murray, in that place, That never a foot would flee ; Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was, With the Douglas did he dee. 1 Gentle. 46 CHEVY CHASE. So on the morrow they made them biers Of birch and hazel so gray ; Many widows with weeping tears Came to fetch their makes l away. Teviotdale may carp 2 of care, Northumberland may make great moan, For two such captains as slain were there, On the March parts shall never be none. Word is come to Edinborough, To Jamie, the Scottish king, That doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches, He lay slain Cheviot within. His hands did he wail and wring, He said, "Alas ! and woe is me ! Such another captain Scotland within," He said, " i' faith shall never be." Word is come to lovely London, Till to the Fourth Harry our king, That Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches, He lay slain Cheviot within. " God have mercy on his soul ! " said King Harry, " Good Lord, if Thy will it be ! I have a hundred captains in England," he said, " As good as ever was he ; But Percy, an I brook 3 my life, Thy death well quit 4 shall be." As our noble king made his a-vow, Like a noble prince of renown, For the death of the Lord Percy He did the battle of Humbledon ; Where six and thirty Scottish knights On a day were beaten down : Glendale glitter'd in their armour bright, Over castle, tower, and town. I | Ia . tes - * Tell. En Jy- * Avenged, (requited.) CHEVY CHASE. 47 This was the hunting of the Cheviot ; That tear began this spurn ; * Old men that knowen the ground well enough Call it the battle of Otterburn. At Otterburn began this spurn, Upon a Monenday ; There was the doughty Douglas slain, The Percy never went away. There was never a time on the March parts Since the Douglas and Percy met, But it was marvel an the red blood ran not, As the rain does in the street. Jesu Christ our bayes bete, 2 And to the bliss us bring ! This was the hunting of the Cheviot ; God send us all good ending. CHEVY CHASE. MODERN VERSION. GOD prosper long our noble king, Our lives and safeties all ; A woful hunting once there did In Chevy Chase befall. To drive the deer with hound and horn, Earl Percy took his way ; The child may rue that is unborn, The hunting of that day. 1 According to Percy, this is a proverbial expression, and means, "That tear- ing or pulling occasioned this spurn or kick," i. e. Chevy Chase was the cause of the Battle of Otterbourue. 2 Amend our evils, (sins ) 48 CHEVY CHASE. The stout Earl of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summer's days to take ; The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase To kill and bear away : The tidings to Earl Douglas came, In Scotland where he lay. Who sent Earl Percy present word, He would prevent his sport ; The English earl not fearing this, Did to the woods resort, With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of need To aim their shafts aright. The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran, To chase the fallow deer ; On Monday they began to hunt, When daylight did appear. And long before high noon they had An hundred fat bucks slain ; Then having dined, the drovers went To rouse them up again. The bowmen muster'd on the hills, Well able to endure ; Their backsides all, with special care, That day were guarded sure. The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, The nimble deer to take. And with their cries the hills and dales An echo shrill did make. Lord Percy to the quarry went, To view the tender deer ; Quoth he, " Earl Douglas promised This day to meet me here. CHEVY CHASE. 49 " If that I thought he would not come, No longer would I stay." With that, a brave young gentleman Thus to the earl did say : " Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come, His men in armour bright ; Full twenty hundred Scottish spears, All marching in our sight. " All men of pleasant Teviotdale, Fast by the river Tweed : " " Then cease your sport," Earl Percy said, " And take your bows with speed. ' And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance ; For there was never champion yet In Scotland or in France, " That ever did on horseback come, But, if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to break a spear." Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of the company, Whose armour shone like gold. " Show me," he said, " whose men ye be, That hunt so boldly here, That, without my consent, to chase And kill my fallow-deer." The man that first did answer make Was noble Percy he ; Who said, " We list not to declare, Nor show whose men we be. "Yet we will spend our dearest blood, Thy chiefest hart to slay;" Then Douglas swore a solemn oath, And thus in rage did say : D 50 CHEVY CHASE. " Ere thus I will out-braved be, One of us two shall die : I know thee well, an earl thou art ; Lord Percy, so am I. " But trust me, Percy, pity it were, And great offence, to kill Any of these our harmless men, For they have done no ilL " Let thou and I the battle try, And set our men aside : " " Accursed be he," Lord Percy said, " By whom this is denied." Then stept a gallant squire forth, (Witherington was his name) Who said, " I would not have it told To Henry our king for shame, " That e'er my captain fought on foot, And I stood looking on : You be two earls," said Witherington, " And I a squire alone. " I '11 do the best that do I may, While I have power to stand ; While I have power to wield my sword, I '11 fight with heart and hand'." Our English archers bent their bows, Their hearts were good and true ; At the first flight of arrows sent, Full threescore Scots they slew. To drive the deer with hound and horn, Earl Douglas had the bent ; A captain moved with mickle pride The spears to shivers sent They closed full fast on every side, No slackness there was found ; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground. CHEVY CHASE. 51 Christ ! it was a grief to see, And likewise for to hear, The cries of men lying in their gore, And scatter' d here and there. At last these two stout earls did meet, Like captains of great might ; Like lions moved they laid on loud, And made a cruel fight. They fought until they both did sweat ; With swords of temper'd steel ; Until the blood like drops of rain, They trickling down did feeL " Yield thee, Lord Percy," Douglas said ; " In faith I will thee bring, Where thou shall high advanced be, By James, our Scottish king. " Thy ransom I will freely give, And thus report of thee, Thou art the most courageous knight That ever I did see." " No, Douglas," quoth Earl Percy then, " Thy proffer I do scorn ; 1 will not yield to any Scot That ever yet was born." With that there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart, A deap and deadly blow : Who never spoke more words than these " Fight on, my merry men all ; For why, my life is at an end, Lord Percy sees my fall." Then leaving strife, Earl Percy took The dead man by the hand ; And said, " Earl Douglas, for thy life Would I had lost my land ! 52 CHEVY CHASE. 11 O Christ ! my very heart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake : For sure a more renowned knight Mischance did never take." A knight amongst the Scots there was, Which saw Earl Douglas die, Who straight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Earl Percy. Sir Hugh Montgomery was he call'd, Who, with a spear most bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight ; And pass'd the English archers all, Without all dread or fe?r, And through Earl Percy's body then He thrust his hateful spear. With such a veh'ment force and might He did his body gore, The spear ran through the other side A large cloth-yard and more. So thus did both these nobles die, Whose courage none could stain ; An English archer then perceived The noble earl was slain. He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree ; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew he. Against Sir Hugh Montgomery So right his shaft he set, The gray-goose wing that was thereon In his heart's blood was wet. This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun ; For when they rung the evening-bell, The battle scarce was done. CHEVY CHASE. 53 With the Earl Percy there was slain Sir John of Ogerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James, that bold baron. / And with Sir George and good Sir James, Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Rabby there was slain, Whose prowess did surmount. For Witherington needs must I wail, As one in doleful dumps ; For when his legs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumps. And with Earl Douglas there was slain Sir Hugh Montgomery, Sir Charles Carrel, that from the field One foot would never fly. Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too, His sister's son was he ; Sir David Lamb, so well-esteem'd, Yet saved could not be. And the Lord Maxwell in like wise Did with Earl Douglas die ; Of twenty hundred Scottish spears Scarce fifty-five did fly. Of fifteen hundred Englishmen Went home but fifty-three ; The rest were slain in Chevy Chase, Under the greenwood tree. Next day did many widows come, Their husbands to bewail ; They wash'd their wounds in brinish tears, But all would not prevail. Their bodies, bathed in purple blood, They bore with them away : They kiss'd them dead a thousand times, When they were clad in clay. 54 CHEVY CHASE. This news was brought to Edinburgh, Where Scotland's king did reign, That brave Earl Douglas suddenly Was with an arrow slain. " Oh heavy news ! " King James did say ; " Scotland can witness be, I have not any captain more Of such account as he." Like tidings to King Henry came, Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland Was slain in Chevy Chase. " Now God be with him," said our king, " Sith 'twill no better be ; I trust I have within my realm Five hundred as good as he. " Yet shall not Scot nor Scotland say, But I will vengeance take, And be revenged on them all, For brave Earl Percy's sake." This vow full well the king perform'd, After, on Humbledown ; In one day, fifty knights were slain, With lords of great renown. And of the rest, of small account, Did many thousands die : Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy Chase, Made by the Earl Percy. God save the king, and bless the land In plenty, joy, and peace ; And grant henceforth that foul debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease ! THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 55 THE DOWJEi DENS OF YARROW. THIS ballad, the preservation of which is due to Sir Walter Scott, is understood to be founded on fact. It relates to a duel fought between John Scott of Tushielaw, and his brother-in-law, Walter Scott, third son of Robert of Thirl- stane, in which the latter was slain. Tradition affirms, however, that he was not killed in fair fight, but that he was stabbed in the back by an accomplice of Tushielaw's, named Annan. Thirlstane was the brother of either the wife, or the betrothed bride of his opponent, and the alleged cause of feud was the lady's father having proposed to endow her with half of his property upon hei marriage with a warrior of such renown. LATE at e'en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid the lawing, 2 They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing. 3 " Oh stay at name, my noble lord, Oh stay at hame, my marrow ! 4 My cruel brother will you betray On the dowie houms of Yarrow." " Oh fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! Oh fare ye weel, my Sarah ! For I maun gae, though I ne'er return Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, As oft she had done before, O ; She belted him with his noble brand, And he 's away to Yarrow. As he gaed up the Tennies bank, 5 I wot he gaed wi' sorrow, Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men, On the dowie houms of Yarrow. " Oh come ye here to part your land, The bonnie Forest thorough ? Or come ye here to wield your brand, On the dowie houms of Yarrow ? " 1 Dismal, or dull. 2 Reckoning. 3 Dawn. * Mate (husband.) 5 The Tennies is the name of a farm of the Duke of Buccleuch's, a little below Yarrow Kirk. 56 THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. " I come not here to part my land, And neither to beg nor borrow ; I come to wield my noble brand On the bonnie banks of Yarrow. " If I see all, ye 're nine to ane ; And that's an unequal marrow j 1 Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." Four has he hurt, and five has slain, On the bloody braes of Yarrow, Till that stubborn knight came him behind, And ran his body thorough. "Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother 2 John, And tell your sister Sarah, To come and lift her leafu' lord ; He 's sleepin' sound on Yarrow." " Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream ; I fear there will be sorrow ! I dream'd I pu'd the heather green, 8 Wi' my true love, on Yarrow. " O gentle wind, that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, And tell me how he fareth ! " But in the glen strive armed men ; They Ve wrought me dole and sorrow ; They've slain the comeliest knight they've slain- He bleeding lies on Yarrow." As she sped down yon high high hill, She gaed wi' dole and sorrow, And in the den spied ten slain men, On the dowie banks of Yarrow. J Match. 2 Brother-in-law. > To dream of anything green is considered unlucky in Scotland. THE CHILD OF ELLE. 57 She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She search'd his wounds all thorough, She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red, On the dowie houms of Yarrow. " Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear ! For a' this breeds but sorrow ; I '11 wed ye to a better lord Than him ye lost on Yarrow." " Oh haud your tongue, my father dear ! Ye mind me but of sorrow ; A fairer rose did never bloom Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow." THE CHILD* OF ELLE. ON yonder hill a castle stands, With walls and towers bedight, And yonder lives the Child of Elle, A young and comely knight. The Child of Elle to his garden went, And stood at his garden pale, When, lo ! he beheld fair Emmeline's page Come tripping down the dale. The Child of Elle he hied him thence, I wis he stood not still, And soon he met fair Emmeline's page Come climbing up the hill. Now Christ thee save, thou little foot-page, Now Christ thee save and see ! Oh, tell me how does thy lady gay, And what may thy tidings be ? My lady she is all woe begone, And the tears they fall from her eyne ; And aye she laments the deadly feud Between her house and thine. 1 Knijrht. 58 THE CHILD OF ELLE. And here she sends thee a silken scarf Bedew'd with many a tear, And bids thee sometimes think on her, Who loved thee so dear. And here she sends thee a ring of gold, The last boon thou mayst have, And bids thee wear it for her sake, When she is laid in grave. For, ah ! her gentle heart is broke, And in grave soon must she be, Sith 1 her father hath chose her a new new love, And forbid her to think of thee. Her father hath brought her a carlish 2 knight, Sir John of the north countrey, And within three days she must him wed, Or he vows he will her slay. Now hie thee back, thou little foot-page, And greet thy lady from me, And tell her that I her own true love Will die, or set her free. Now hie thee back, thou little foot-page, And let thy fair lady know This night will I be at her bower-window, Betide me weal or woe. The boy he tripp'd, the boy he ran, He neither stint nor stay'd Until he came to fair Emmeline's bower, When kneeling down he said : " O lady, I Ve been with thy own true love, And he greets thee well by me ; This night will he be at thy bower-window, . And die, or set thee free." 1 Since. 2 Churlish. THE CHILD OF ELLE. 59 Now day was gone, and night was come, And all was fast asleep, All save the lady Emmeline, Who sat in her bower to weep : And soon she heard her true love's voice Low whisp'ring at the wall, " Awake, awake, my dear ladye, 'Tis I thy true love call. " Awake, awake, my lady dear, Come, mount this fair palfray I 1 This ladder of ropes will let thee down, I '11 carry thee hence away." "Now nay, now nay, thou gentle knight, Now nay, this may not be ; For aye should I tint 2 my maiden fame, If alone I should wend with thee." " O lady, thou with a knight so true Mayst safely wend alone, To my lady mother I will thee bring, Where marriage shall make us one." " My father he is a baron bold, Of lineage proud and hie ; And what would he say if his daughter Away with a knight should fly ? " Ah ! well I wot, he never would rest, Nor his meat should do him no good, Until he had slain thee, Child of Elle, And seen thy dear heart's blood." u O lady, wert thou in thy saddle set, And a little space him fro, I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that he could do. 1 Saddle-horse. 2 Lose. 60 THE CHILD OF ELLE. " O lady, wert thou in thy saddle set, And once without this wall, I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that might befall." Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe : At length he seized her lily-white hand, And down the ladder he drew : And thrice he clasp'd her to his breast, And kiss'd her tenderlie : The tears that fell from her fair eyes Ran like the fountain free. He mounted himself on his steed so tall, And her on a fair palfray, And slung his bugle about his neck, And roundly they rode away. All this beheard 1 her own damsel, In her bed whereon she lay, Quoth she, " My lord shall know of this, So I shall have gold and fee. " Awake, awake, thou baron bold ! Awake my noble dame ! Your daughter is fled with the Child of Elle To do the deed of shame." The baron he woke, the baron he rose, And call'd his merry men all : " And come thou forth, Sir John the knight, Thy lady is carried to thralL" Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, A mile forth of the town, When she was aware of her father's men Come galloping over the down : 1 Overheard. THE CHILD OF ELLE. 61 And foremost came the carlish knight, Sir John of the north countrey : " Now stop, now stop, thou false traitor, Nor carry that lady away. " For she is come of hie lineage, And was of a lady born, And ill it beseems thee, a false churl's son, To carry her hence to scorn." " Now loud thy liest, Sir John the knight, Now thou doest lie of me ; A knight me got, and a lady me bore, So never did none by thee. " But light now down, my lady fair, Light down, and hold my steed, While I and this discourteous knight Do try this arduous deed. " But light now down, my dear ladyfc, Light down, and hold my horse ; While I and this discourteous knight Do try our valour's force." Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe, While 'twixt her love and the carlish knight Past many a baleful 1 blow. The Child of Elle he fought so well, As his weapon he waved amain, That soon he had slain the carlish knight, And laid him upon the plain. And now the baron and all his men Full fast approached nigh : Ah ! what may lady Emmeline do ? 'Twere now no boot 2 to fly. 1 Serious. * No advantage. 62 THE CHILD OF ELLE. Her lover, he put his horn to his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill, And soon he saw his own merry men Come riding over the hill. " Now hold thy hand, thou bold baron, I pray thee hold thy hand, Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts Fast knit in true love's band. " Thy daughter I have dearly loved Full long and many a day ; But with such love as holy kirk Hath freely said we may. " Oh, give consent she may be mine, And bless a faithful pair ; My lands and livings are not small, My house and lineage fair : " My mother she was an earl's daughter, And a noble knight my sire " The baron he frown' d, and turn'd away With mickle dole and ire. Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept, And did all trembling stand : At length she sprang upon her knee, And held his lifted hand. " Pardon, my lord and father dear, This fair young knight and me : Trust me, but for the carlish knight, I never had fled from thee. " Oft have you call'd your Emmeline Your darling and your joy ; Oh, let not then your harsh resolves Your Emmeline destroy." The baron he stroked his dark-brown cheek, And turn'd his head aside, To wipe away the starting tear He proudly strove to hide. HARDYKNUTE. 63 In deep revolving thought he stood, And mused a little space ; Then raised fair Emmeline from the ground, With many a fond embrace. " Here take her, Child of Elle," he said, And gave her lily-white hand : " Here take my dear and only child, And with her half my land : " Thy father once mine honour wrong'd In days of youthful pride ; Do thou the injury repair In fondness for thy bride. " And as thou love her, and hold her dear, Heaven prosper thee and thine : And now my blessing wend wi' thee, My lovely Emmeline." HARDYKNUTE. A FRAGMENT. THE following ballad refers to the Battle of Largs, fought 1263, between Haco of Nor way and the forces of Alexander III. The Norsemen were driven back to their ships ; and, a tempest coming on, their fleet was destroyed. "Hardy- knute" was first published in 1719 as a fragment of some ancient ballad. The many imitations of and allusions to old ballads, however, excited suspi- cion that it was of modern date, and at last the authorship was tacitly ac- knowledged by Lady Wardlaw, the reputed writer of "Sir Patrick Spens" and other ballads. Lady Wardlaw afterwards printed it in the second edition of the Evergreen, with sixteen additional stanzas. STATELY stept he east the wa', And stately stept he west ; Full seventy yiers he now had sene, With skerss seven yiers of rest. He livit quhen Britons breach of faith Wrought Scotland meikle wae ; And ay his sword tauld, to their cost, He was their deadly fae. 64 HARDYKNUTE. Hie on a hill his castle stude, With halls and towirs a-hicht, And guidly chambers fair to see, Quhair he lodgit mony a knicht. His dame sae pierless anes and fair, For chast and bewtie deimt, Nae marrow 1 had in all the land, Saif Elenor the quene. Full thirtein sons to him scho bare, All men of valour stout, In bluidy ficht, with sword in hand, Nyne lost their lives bot 2 doubt ; Four yit remain, lang may they live To stand by liege and land ; Hie was their fame, hie was their micht, And hie was their command. Great luve they bare to Fairly fair, Their sister saft and deir ; Her girdle shaw'd her middle jimp, And gowden glist her hair. Quhat waefou wae her bewtie bred ! Waefou to young and auld ; Waefou, I trou, to kyth and kin, As story ever tauld. The king of Norse, in summer tyde, Puft up with powir and micht, Landed in fair Scotland the yie With mony a hardy knicht. The tydings to our gude Scots king Came as he sat at dyne, With noble chiefs in braif aray, Drinking the blude-reid wyne. " To horse, to horse, my royal liege, Your faes stand on the strand ; Full twenty thousand glittering spears The kinsj of Norse commands. 1 Equal or match. * Without HARD YKNUTE. 6 5 " Bring me my steed, Mage, dapple gray," Our gude king raise and cryd ; A trustier beast in all the land, A Scots king never seyd. 1 " Go, little page, tell Hardyknute, That lives on hill so hie, To draw his sword, the dreid of faes, And haste and follow me." The little page flew swift as dart Flung by his master's arm, " Cum down, cum down, Lord Hardyknute, And red 2 your king frae harm." Then reid, reid grew his dark-brown chicks, Sae did his dark-brown brow; His luiks grew kene as they were wont In dangers great to do. He has tane a horn as grene as grass, And gi'en five sounds sae shrill, That trees in grene-wood schuke thereat, Sae loud rang ilka hill. His sons, in manly sport and glie, Had past that summer's morn, Quhen low doun in a grassy dale, They heard their fatheris horn. " That horn," quoth they, " neir sounds in peace, We haif other sport to byde ;" And sune they heyd them up the hill, And sune were at his syde. " Late, late yestrene, I weind in peace To end my lengthened lyfe, My age micht weil excuse my arm Frae manly feats of stryfe. But now that Norse dois proudly boast Fair Scotland to inthrall, Its neir be said of Hardyknute, He feird to ficht or fall. 1 Rode. 2 Protect 66 HARDYKNUTE. " Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow, Thy arrows schute sae leil, That many a comely countenance They Ve turn'd to deidly pale. Brade Thomas, tak ye but your lance, Ye neid nae weapon mair, Gif ye ficht wi't as ye did anes 'Gainst Westmoreland's ferss 1 heir. "Malcom, licht of foot as stag, That runs in forest wyld, Get me my thousands thrie of men, Weil bred to sword and schield : Bring me my horse and harnisine, My blade of mettal cleir ;" If faes kend but the hand it bare, They sune had fled for feir. " Fareweil, my dame, my peirless gude," And tuke her by the hand, " Fairer to me in age you seim, Than maids for bewtie famed : My youngest son sail here remain, To guard these stately towirs, And shut the silver bolt that keips Sae fast your painted bowirs." And first scho wet her comely chicks, And then her bodice grene ; Her silken cords of twirtle twist Weil plett with silver schene ; And apron set with mony a dice Of neidle-wark sae rare, Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, Saif that of Fairly fair. And he has ridden owre muir and moss, Owre hills and mony a glen, Quhen he cam to a wounded knicht, Making a heavy mane : 1 Fierce. HARDYKNUTE. 67 " Here maun I lye, here maun I die, By treachery's false gyles ; Witless I was that eir gaif faith To wicked woman's smyles." Sir knicht, gin ye were in my bowir, To lean on silken seat, My ladyis kyndlie care you'd prove, Quha neir kend deidly hate ; Her self wald watch ye all the day, Hir maids at deid of nicht ; And Fairly fair your heart wald cheir, As scho stands in your sicht. " Arise, young knicht, and mount your steid, Full lown 's the schynand 1 day; Cheis from my menyie 2 quhom ye pleis, To leid ye on the way." With smyless luke, and visage wan, The wounded knicht reply'd, " Kind chiftain, your intent pursue, For here I maun abyde. " To me nae after day nor nicht Can eir be sweit or fair, But sune beneath sum draping trie Cauld death sail end my care." With him nae pleiding micht prevail ; Braif Hardyknute to gain, With fairest words and reason strang, Straif courteously in vain. Syne he has gane far hynd attowre 3 Lord Chattan's land sae wyde ; That lord a worthy wicht was ay, Quhen faes his courage seyd : * Of Pictish race, by mother's syde ; Quhen Picts ruled Caledon, Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid Quhen he saift Pictish crown. 1 Shining. * Choose from my men. 3 Far beyond. * Tried. 68 HARDYKNUTE. Now with his ferss and stalwart train He reicht a rysing heicht, Quhair, braid encampit on the dale, Norse menyie lay in sicht ; " Yonder, my valiant sons, and feris, 1 Our raging revers wait, On the unconquerit Scotish swaird, To try with us thair fate. " Mak orisons to Him that saift Our sauls upon the rude ; 2 Syne braifly schaw your veins are fill'd With Caledonian blude." Then furth he drew his trusty glaive, Quhyle thousands all around, Drawn frae their sheaths glanst in the sun, And loud the bougills sound. To join his king, adoun the hill In haste his march he made, Quhyle playand pibrochs 3 minstralls meit, Afore him stately strade. " Thryse welcum, valyiant stoup of weir, Thy nation's scheild and pryde, Thy king nae reason has to feir Quhen thou art be his syde." Quhen bows were bent, and darts were thrawn, For thrang scarce could they flie, The darts clove arrows as they met, The arrows dart the trie. Lang did they rage, and fecht full ferss, With little skaith to man ; But bludy, bludy was the field Or that lang day was done ! The king of Scots, that sindle* bruik'd The war that lukit lyke play, Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow, Sen bows seimt but delay. 1 Followers. 2 Cross. a Martial music. 4 Seldom. HARDYKNUTE. 69 Quoth noble Rothsay, " Myne I '11 keip, I wate its bleid a skore." " Haste up, my merry men," cry'd the king, As he rade on before. The king of Norse he socht to find, With him to mense the faucht j 1 But on his forehead there did licht A sharp unsonsie 2 shaft ; As he his hand put up to find The wound, an arrow kene, O waefou chance ! there pinn'd his hand In midst betwene his een. "Revenge ! revenge !" cried Rothsay's heir, " Your mail-coat sail nocht byde The strength and sharpness of my dart," Then sent it through his syde. Another arrow weil he mark'd, It persit his neck in twa ; His hands then quat the silver reins, He law as card 3 did fa'. " Sair bleids my liege ! sair, sair he bleids ! " Again with micht he drew, And gesture dreid, his sturdy bow ; Fast the braid arrow flew : Wae to the knicht he ettled at ; 4 Lament now quene Elgreid ; Hie dames to wail your darling's fall, His youth and comely meid. " Take aff, take aff his costly jupe," (Of gold weil was it twyn'd, Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk His steily harnes shynd.) " Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid Him 'venge the blude it beirs ; Say, if he face my bended bow He sure nae weapon feirs." 1 Try the fight. 2 Unlucky. 3 Low as earth. * Aimed at 70 HARDYKNUTE. Proud Norse with giant body tall, Braid shoulder, and arms strong, Cry"d, " Quhair is Hardyknute sae famed, And feird at Britain's throne ? " Though Britons tremble at his name, I sune sail mak him wail, That eir my sword was made sae sharp, Sae saft his coat of mail." That brag 1 his stout heart couldna byde, It lent him youthfu micht : " I 'm Hardyknute. This day," he cry'd, " To Scotland's king I hecht 2 To lay thee law as horse's hufe, My word I mean to keip." Syne with the first strake eir he strak He garr'd his body bleid. Norse ene lyke gray gosehauk's staird wyld, He sicht with shame and spyte ; "Disgraced is now my far-famed arm That left thee power to stryke." Then gaif his head a blaw sae fell, It made him doun to stoup, As law as he to ladies usit, In courtly guise to lout. Full sune he raised his bent body; His bow he marvell'd sair, Sen blaws till then on him but darr'd As touch of Fairly fair. Norse ferliet 3 too as sair as he, To see his stately luke ; Sae sune as eir he strake a fae, Sae sune his lyfe he tuke. Quhair, like a fyre to hether set, Bauld Thomas did advance, A sturdy fae, with luke enraged, Up towards him did prance ; 1 Boast Promised. 3 Wondered. HARDYKNUTE. 71 He spurr'd his steid throw thickest ranks The hardy youth to quell, Quha stude unmuvit at his approach, His furie to repel. " That schort brown shaft, sae meanly trim'd, Lukis lyke poor Scotland's geir ; But dreidfull seims the rusty poynt !" And loud he leuch in jeir. " Aft Britons' blude has dim'd its shyne, This poynt cut short their vaunt ;" Syne pierced the boisteris bairded cheik, Nae tyme he tuke to taunt. Schort quhyle he in his sadill swang ; His stirrip was nae stay, Sae feible hang his unbent knie, Sure taken he was fey. 1 Swith 2 on the harden'd clay he fell, Richt far was heard the thud, 3 But Thomas luikt not as he lay All weltering in his blude. With cairles gesture, mind unmuvit, On raid he north the plain, He seimt in thrang of fiercest stryfe, Quhen winner ay the same. Nor yit his heart dames' dimpelit cheik Could meise 4 saft luve to bruik ; Till vengeful Ann return'd his scorn, Then languid grew his luke. In thrawis of death, with wallowit cheik, All panting on the plain, The fainting corps of warriours lay. Neir to aryse again : Neir to return to native land ; Nae mair with blythsom sounds To boist the glories of the day, And schaw their shyning wounds. 1 Doomed to die. 2 Soon. 3 Heavy fall. * Bear. 72 HARDYKNUTE. On Norway's coast the widowit dame May wash the rocks with teirs, May lang luke owre the schiples 1 seis Before her mate appeirs. Ceise, Emma, ceise to hope in vain, Thy lord lyis in the clay; The valyiant Scots nae revers thole, 2 To carry lyfe away. There on a lie, quhair stands a cross Set up for monument, Thousands full fierce, that summer's day. Fill'd kene waris black intent. Let Scots, quhyle Scots, praise Hardyknute, Let Norse the name aye dreid ; Ay how he faucht, aft how he spaird, Sal latest ages reid. Full loud and chill blew westlin' wind, Sair beat the heavy showir, Mirk 3 grew the nicht eir Hardyknute Wan neir his stately towir : His towir that used with torches bleise To shyne sae far at nicht, Seim'd now as black as mourning weid ; Na marvel sair he sich'd. " Thair 's nae licht in my lady's bowir, Thair 's nae licht in my hall ; Nae blink shynes round my Fairly fair, Nor ward stands on my wall " Quhat bodes 4 it ? Robert, Thomas, say !" Nae answer fits thair dreid. " Stand back, my sons, I '11 be your gyde ;" But by they past with speid. "As fast I've sped owre Scotland's faes" There ceist his brag of weir, Sair schamit to mynd ocht but his dame, And maiden Fairly fair. 1 Shipless. 2 Suffer, allow. 3 Dark. Means. SIR JAMES THE ROSE. 73 Black feir he felt, but quhat to feir, He wist not yit with dreid : Sair schuke his body, sair his limbs, And all the warrior fled. SIR JAMES THE ROSE. THE following popular modern ballad was written by Michael Bruce, (1746-1767.) It narrates the riva'ry of two young chieftains to obtain the hand of Lord Buchan's daughter, which was attended with fatal consequences to all the parties. The characters are drawn with a masterly hand, and the incidents are related in a clear and distinct manner. OF all the Scottish northern chiefs, Of high and warlike name, The bravest was Sir James the Rose, A knicht of meikle fame. His growth was as the tufted fir, That crowns the mountain's brow ; And, waving o'er his shoulders broad, His locks of yellow flew. The chieftain of the brave clan Ross, A firm undaunted band ; Five hundred warriors drew their sword, Beneath his high command. In bloody fight thrice had he stood Against the English keen, Ere two and twenty opening springs This blooming youth had seen. The fair Matilda dear he loved, A maid of beauty rare ; Ev'n Margaret on the Scottish throne Was never half so fair. 74 Sf& JAMES THE ROSE. Lang had he woo'd, lang she refused, With seeming scorn and pride ; Yet aft her eyes confess'd the love Her fearful words denied. At last she bless'd his well-tried faith, Allow'd his tender claim ; She vow'd to him her virgin heart, And own'd an equal flame. Her father, Buchan's cruel lord, Their passion disapproved ; And bade her wed Sir John the Graeme, And leave the youth she loved. Ae nicht they met, as they were wont, Deep in a shady wood, Where, on a bank beside a burn, A blooming saugh x tree stood. Conceal'd among the underwood, The crafty Donald lay, The brother of Sir John the Graeme ; To hear what they would say. When thus the maid began : " My sire Your passion disapproves, And bids me wed Sir John the Graeme ; So here must end our loves. " My father's will must be obey'd ; Nocht boots 2 me to withstand ; Some fairer maid, in beauty's bloom, Must bless thee with her hand. "Matilda soon shall be forgot, And from thy mind effaced ; But may that happiness be thine, Which I can never taste." " What do I hear ? Is this thy vow ? " Sir James the Rose replied : "And will Matilda wed the Graeme, Though sworn to be my bride ? 1 Willow. 2 Nothing will avail. SIX JAMES THE ROSE. 75 " His sword shall sooner pierce my heart Than reave me of thy charms." Then clasp'd her to his beating breast, Fast lock'd into his arms. " I spake to try thy love," she said ; " I '11 ne'er wed man but thee : My grave shall be my bridal bed, Ere Graeme my husband be. " Take then, dear youth, this faithful kiss, In witness of my troth ; And every plague become my lot, That day I break my oath!" They parted thus, the sun was set, Up hasty Donald flies ; And, " Turn thee, turn thee, beardless youth !" He loud insulting cries. Soon turn'd about the fearless chief, And soon his sword he drew ; For Donald's blade, before his breast, Had pierced his tartans through. "This for my brother's slighted love ; His wrongs sit on my arm." Three paces back the youth retired, And saved himself from harm. Returning swift, his hand he rear'd, Frae Donald's head above, And through the brain and crashing bones His sharp-edged weapon drove. He staggering reel'd, then tumbled down, A lump of breathless clay : " So fall my foes ! " quoth valiant Rose, And stately strode away. Through the greenwood he quickly hied, Unto Lord Buchan's hall ; And at Matilda's window stood, And thus began to call : 7f> SSff JAMES THE ROSE. "Art thou asleep, Matilda dear? Awake, my love, awake ! Thy luckless lover on thee calls, A long farewell to take. " For I have slain fierce Donald Graeme ; His blood is on my sword : And distant are my faithful men, Nor can assist their lord. " To Skye I '11 now direct my way, Where my two brothers bide, And raise the valiant of the Isles, To combat on my side." " Oh, do not so," the maid replies ; " With me till morning stay ; For dark and dreary is the night, And dangerous the way, " All night I '11 watch you in the park. My faithful page I '11 send, To run and raise the Ross's clan, Their master to defend." Beneath a bush he laid him down, And wrapp'd him in his plaid ; While, trembling for her lover's fate, At distance stood the maid. Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale, Till, in a lonely glen, He met the furious Sir John Graeme, With twenty of his men. "Where go'st thou, little page ?" he said ; " So late who did thee send ? " ** I go to raise the Ross's clan, Their master to defend ; " For he hath slain Sir Donald Graeme ; His blood is on his sword : And far, far distant are his men, That should assist their lord." SIR JAMES THE ROSE. 77 "And has he slain my brother dear?" The furious Graeme replies : " Dishonour blast my name, but he By me, ere morning, dies ! " Tell me where is Sir James the Rose ; I will thee well reward." " He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park ; Matilda is his guard." They spurr'd their steeds in furious mood, And scour'd along the lee ; They reach'd Lord Buchan's lofty towers, By dawning of the day. Matilda stood without the gate ; To whom the Graeme did say, " Saw ye Sir James the Rose last night ? Or did he pass this way?" " Last day, at noon," Matilda said, Sir James the Rose pass'd by: He furious prick'd his sweaty steed, And onward fast did hie. " By this he is at Edinburgh, If horse and man hold good." " Your page, then, lied, who said he was Now sleeping in the wood." She wrung her hands, and tore her hair : " Brave Rose, thou art betray'd ; And ruin'd by those means," she cried, " From whence I hoped thine aid !" By this the valiant knight awoke ; The virgin's shrieks he heard ; And up he rose and drew his sword, When the fierce band appear'd. " Your sword last night my brother slew ; His blood yet dims its shine : And, ere the setting of the sun, Your blood shall reek on mine." 78 SIR JAMES THE ROSE. " You word it well," the chief replied ; " But deeds approve the man : Set by your bano!, and, hand to hand, We '11 try what valour can. " Oft boasting hides a coward's heart ; My weighty sword you fear, Which shone in front of Flodden field, When you kept in the rear." With dauntless step he forward strode, And dared him to the fight : But Graeme gave back, and fear*d his arm ; For well he knew its might. Four of his men, the bravest four, Sunk down beneath his sword : But still he scorn'd the poor revenge, And sought their haughty lord. Behind him basely came the Graeme, And pierced him in the side : Out spouting came the purple tide, And all his tartans dyed. But yet his sword quat not the grip, Nor dropp'd he to the ground, Till through his enemy's heart his steel Had forced a mortal wound. Graeme, like a tree with wind o'erthrown, Fell breathless on the clay; And down beside him sank the Rose, And faint and dying lay. The sad Matilda saw him fall : " Oh, spare his life ! " she cried ; " Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life ; Let her not be denied ! " Her well-known voice the hero heard ; He raised his death-closed eyes, And fix'd them on the weeping maid, And weakly thus replies : THE BA TTLE OF HARLA W. 79 "In vain Matilda begs the life, By death's arrest denied : My race is run adieu, my love" Then closed his eyes and died. The sword, yet warm, from his left side With frantic hand she drew : " I come, Sir James the Rose," she cried ; " I come to follow you !" She lean'd the hilt against the ground, And bared her snowy breast ; Then fell upon her lover's face, And sunk to endless rest. THE BATTLE OF HARLA W. THE Battle of Harlaw, fought between Donald of the Is!es and the Earl of Marr, July 24, 1411, is related very faithfully and circumstantially in the following ballad. FRAE Dunideir as I cam throuch, Doun by the hill of Banochie, Alangst the lands of Garioch, Grit pitie was to heir and se, The noys and dulsum 1 hermonie, That evir that dreiry day did daw, 2 Cryand the corynoch 3 on hie, "Alas, alas, for the Harlaw." I marvlit what the matter meint, All folks were in a fiery fairy,* I wist nocht quha 5 was fae or friend, Zit quietly I did me carrie ; But sen the days of auld king Harrie, Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene ; And thair I had nae tyme to tairy, For bissiness in Aberdene. I Dismal. 2 Dawn. a Singing a song of lament. * Consternation. 5 Knew not who. 8o THE BA TTLE OF HARLA W. Thus as I walkit on the way, To Inverury as I went, I met a man, and bad him stay, Requesting him to mak me 'quaint Of the beginning and the event, That happenit thair at the Harlaw ; Then he entreated me tak tent, 1 And he the truth sould to me schaw. " Grit Donald of the Yles did claim Unto the lands of Ross sum richt, And to the governour he came, Them for to haif gif that he micht ; Quha saw his interest was but slicht, And thairfore answerit with disdain ; He hastit hame baith day and nicht, And sent nae bod word 2 back again. " But Donald, right impatient Of that answer duke Robert gaif, He vow'd to God omnipotent, All the hale lands of Ross to haif; Or ells, he graithed in his graif, 3 He wald not quat his richt for nocht, Nor be abusit lyk a slaif, That bargain sould be deirly bocht. " Then haistylie he did command, That all his weir-men* should convene Ilk ane well harnisit frae hand, To meit, and heir quhat he did mein ; He waxit wrath, and vowit tein, 5 Sweirand he wald surpryse the north, Subdew the brugh of Aberdene, Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe, to Forth. " Thus with the weir-men of the Yles, Quha war ay at his bidding boun', With money maid, with forss and vvyls, Richt far and near, baith up and down ; 1 Pay attention. 2 Message. 3 Dressed in his grave. * Men of war. * Revenge. THE BA TTLE OF HARLA W. 81 Throw mount and muir, frae town to town, Allangst the land of Ross he roars, And all obey'd at his bandoun, 1 Evin frae the north to suthren shears. " Then all the cuntrie men did zield, For nae resistans durst they mak, Nor offer battill in the field, Be forss of arms to beir him bak ; Syne they resolvit all and spak, That best it was for their behoif, They should him for thair chiftain tak, Believing weil he did them luve. " Then he a proclamation maid, All men to meet at Inverness, Throw Murray land to mak a raid, 2 Frae Arthursyre unto Speyness ; And, furthermair, he sent express To schaw his collours and ensenzie, To all and sindry, mair and less, Throchout the boundis of Boyn and Enzie. "And then throw fair Strathbogie land, His purpose was for to pursew, And quhasoevir durst gainstand, That race they should full sairly rew ; Then he bad all his men be trew, And him defend by forss and slicht, And promist them rewardis anew, And mak them men of meikle micht. " Without resistans," as he said, " Throw all these parts he stoutly past, Quhair sum war wae, and sum war glaid. But Garioch was all agast ; Throw all these fields he sped him fast, For sic a sicht was never sene, And then, forsuith, he langd at last, To se the bruch of Aberdene. Command. * Inroad. THE BA TTLE OF HARLA W. " To hinder this prowd enterprise, The stout and michty erle of Mar, With all his men in arms did ryse, Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar ; And down the syde of Don richt far, Angus and Mearns did all convene To fecht, or Donald came fae nar The ryall bruch of Aberdene. " And thus the martial erle of Mar Marcht with his men in richt array, Befoire the enemie was aware, His banner bauldly did display ; For weil eneuch they kend the way, And all thair semblance weil they saw, Without all dangir or delay, Came hastily to the Harlaw. " With him the braif lord Ogilvy, Of Angus sheriff-principall ; The constabill of gude Dunde, The vanguard led before them all ; Suppose in number they war small, Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew, And maid thair faes befoir them fall, Quha then that race did sairly rew. "And then the worthy lord Saltoun, The strong undoubted laird of Drum, The stalwart laird of Lawriestone, With ilk thair forces all and sum ; Panmuir with all his men did cum ; The provost of braif Aberdene, With trumpets, and with tuck of drum, Came shortly in thair armour schene. " These with the erle of Mar came on, In the reir-ward richt orderlie, Thair enemies to set upon In awful manner hardily ; Togither vowit to live and die, Since they had marchit mony myles, For to suppress the tyrannic Of douted Donald of the Yles. THE BATTLE Of HARLAW. " But he in number ten to ane, Richt subtilie alang did ride, With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean, With all thair power at thair syde ; Presumeand on thair strenth and pryde, Without all feir or ony aw, 1 Richt bauldlie battill did abyde, Hard by the town of fair Harlaw. " The armies met the trumpet sounds, The dandring 2 drums alloud did tuck, Baith armies byding on the bounds, Till ane of them the feild sould bruik ; 3 Nae help was thairfor, nane wad jouk, 4 Ferss was the fecht on ilka side, And on the ground lay mony a bouk 5 Of them that thair did battill byde. " With doutsum victorie they dealt, The bludy battill lastit lang ; Each man his nibours force thair felt, The weakest aft-times gat the wrang ; Thair was nae mowis 6 thair them amang, Naething was heard but heavy knocks, That echo maid a duleful sang, Thairto resounding frae the rocks. But Donald's men at last gaif back, For they war all out of array ; The erle of Maris men throw them brak, Pursewing shairply in thair way, Their enemys to tak or slay, Be dynt of forss to gar them yield ; Quha war richt blyth to win away, And sae for feirdness tint 7 the field. " Then Donald fled, and that full fast, To mountains hich for all his micht ; For he and his war all agast, And ran till they war out of sicht ; 1 Fear or awe. 2 Rattling. 3 Hold. * Yield. * Body. " Jesting or trifling. 7 Fright lost. 84 THE BA TTLE OF HARLA W. And sae of Ross he lost his richt, Thoch mony men with him he brocht ; Towards the Yles fled day and nicht, And all he wan was deirlie bocht. " This is," quod he, " the richt report Of all that I did heir and knaw; Thoch my discourse be sumthing schort, Tak this to be a richt suthe saw. 1 Contrairie God and the king's law Thairwas spilt meikle Christian blude, Into the battil of Harlaw; This is the sum, sae I conclude. " But zit a bonnie quhyle abide, And I sail mak thee clearly ken, Quhat slauchter was on ilkay syde, Of Lowland and of Highland men ; Quha for their awin haif evir bene : These lazie lowns micht weil be spaird, Chessit lyke deirs into thair dens, And gat thair wages for rewaird. " Malcomtosch of the clan heid cheif, Maclean with his grit hauchty heid, With all thair succour and relief, War dulefully dung to the deid ; And now we are freid of thair feid, 2 And will not lang to come again ; Thousands with them without remeid, On Donald syde, that day war slain, "And on the uther syde war lost, Into the feild that dismal day, Cheif men of worth (of meikle cost) To be lamentit sair for ay; The lord Saltoun of Rothemay, A man of micht and meikle main, Grit dolour was for his decay, That sae unhappylie was slain. 1 True story. 2 Feui THE BA TTLE OF HARLA W. 85 " Of the best men amang them was The gracious gude lord Ogilvy, The sheriff-principall of Angus, Renownit for truth and equitie, For faith and magnanimitie ; He had few fallows in the feild, Zit fell by fatal destinie, For he nae ways wad grant to zield. " Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht, Grit constabill of fair Dunde, Unto the duleful deith was dicht ; * The kingis chief banner-man was he, A valiant man of chevalrie, Quhas 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 better sene, Quhen they war semblit all and sum : To praise him we should not be dum, For valour, wit, and worthyness, To end his days he ther did cum, Quhois ransom is remeidyless. "And thair the knicht of Lawriston Was slain into his armour schene ; And gude Sir Robert Davidson, Quha provest was of Aberdene ; 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. " Thair was not sin' king Keneth's days, Sic strange intestine crewel stryf In Scotland sene, as ilk man says, Quhair mony liklie lost thair lyfe; 1 Made to suffer. 85 FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. Quhilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe, And mony children fatherless, Quilk in this realme has been full ryfe ; . Lord, help these lands, our wrangs redress ! " In July, on Saint James his even, That four-and-twenty dismal day, Twelve hundred, ten score, and eleven, Of zeirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say; Men will remember as they may, Quhen thus the veritie they know ; And mony a ane may murn for ay, The brim 1 battil of the Harlaw." FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. 'A LADY of the name of Helen Irving or Bell, (for this is disputed by the two clans,) daughter of the laird of Kirkconnell, in Dumfriesshire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the favoured suitor was Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick : that of the other has escaped tradition, although it has been alleged that he was a Bell of Blacket-house. The addresses of the latter were, however, favoured by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the churchyard of Kirkconnell, a romantic spot surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of these private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and levelled his carabine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. Other accounts say that Fleming pursued his enemy to Spain, and slew him in the streets of Madrid." Sir Walter Scott. I WISH I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries ; Oh that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirkconnell lee ! Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me ! 1 Fierce. FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. 87 Oh think ye na my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spake nae mair ! There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirkconnell lee. As I went down the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirkconnell lee I lighted down, my sword did draw, I hacked him in pieces sma, I hacked him in pieces sma, For her sake that died for me. Helen fair, beyond compare 1 1 '11 make a garland of thy hair, Shall bind my heart for evermair Until the day I dee ! Oh that I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries ; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, " Haste, and come to me ! " Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! If I were with thee I were blest, Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest, On fair Kirkconnell lee. 1 wish my grave were growing green ; A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, And I in Helen's arms lying On fair Kirkconnell lee. I wish I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me -she cries, And I am weary of the skies, For her sake that died for me ! GILDEROY. GILDEROY. THE hero of this beautiful lament was Patrick Macgregor, Gillie Roy, the Red Boy, so called on account of the colour of his hair, and who was a notorious freebooter and cateran in the upper district of Perthshire, where he committed great outrages on the inhabitants. It is narrated in Spalding's History that " Gilderoy, and five other lymmars, were taken and had to Edinburgh, and all hanged in the month of July 1638." GILDEROY was a bonnie boy, Had roses till his shoon ; His stockings were of silken soy, Wi' garters hanging doon. It was, I ween, a comelie sight To see sae trim a boy ; He was my joy, and heart's delight, My handsome Gilderoy. Oh twa sic charming een he had, Breath sweet as any rose ; He never wore a Highland plaid, But costly silken clothes. He gain'd the luve of ladies gay, Nane e'er to him was coy ; Ah ! wae is me, I mourn the day For my dear Gilderoy. My Gilderoy and I were born Baith in a town together ; We scant were seven years beforn We 'gan to luve ilk ither. Our daddies and our mammies they Were fill'd wi' mickle joy, To think upon the bridal day Of me and Gilderoy. For Gilderoy, that luve of mine, Gude faith, I freely bought A wedding sark of Holland fine, Wi' dainty ruffles wrought; And he gied me a wedding ring, Which I received wi' joy. Nae lad nor lassie e'er could sing Like me and Gilderoy. GILDEROY. Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime, Till we were baith sixteen ; And aft we past the langsome time Amang the leaves sae green. Aft on the banks we 'd sit us there And sweetly kiss and toy, While he wi' garlands deck'd my hair, My handsome Gilderoy. Oh, that he still had been content Wi' me to lead his life ! But, ah, his manfu' heart was bent To stir in deeds of strife ! And he in many a vent'rous deed His courage bauld wad try ; And now this gars my heart to bleed For my dear Gilderoy. And when of me his leave he tuik, The tears they wat mine ee ; I gied him sic a parting luik ; " My benison gang wi' thee. God speed thee well, mine ain dear heart, Far gane is all my joy ; My heart is rent, sith we maun part, My handsome Gilderoy." The Queen of Scots possessed nought That my luve let me want ; For cow and sow he to me brought, And e'en when they were strant, All these did honestly possess ; He never did annoy Who never fail'd to pay their less To my luve, Gilderoy. My Gilderoy, baith far and near, Was fear'd in every town ; And bauldly bore away the gear Of mony a lowland loun. For man to man durst meet him nane He was sae brave a boy ; At length wi' numbers he was ta'en, My winsome Gilderoy. 90 GILDEROY. Wae worth the louns that made the laws, To hang a man for gear ; To reave of life for sic a cause As stealing horse or mare. Had not their laws been made sae strict, I ne'er had lost my joy, Wi' sorrow ne'er had wet my cheek For my dear Gilderoy. Gif Gilderoy had done amiss, He maught hae banisht been ; Ah ! what sair cruelty is this, To hang such handsome men ! To hang the flower of Scottish land, Sae sweet and fair a boy ! Nae lady had sae white a hand As thee, my Gilderoy. Of Gilderoy sae fear'd they were, Wi' irons his limbs they strung ; To Edinborow led him there, And on a gallows hung. They hung him high aboon the rest, He was sae bauld a boy ; There died the youth whom I lo'ed best, . My handsome Gilderoy. Sune as he yielded up his breath, I bore his corpse away ; Wi' tears that trickled for his death I wash'd his comelie clay. And sicker in a grave right deep I laid the dear-lo'ed boy ; And now for ever I maun weep, My winsome Gilderoy. THE CRUEL SISTER. 91 THE CRUEL SISTER. FROM Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, where it is given as compiled from a copy in Mrs Brown's MSS., intermixed with a beautiful fragment, of fourteen verses, transmitted to Scott by J. C. Walker, Esq., the historian of the Irish bards. It was transcribed from the memory of an old .woman. THERE were two sisters sat in a bour ; Binnorie, O Binnorie ; There came a knight to be their wooer ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. He courted the eldest with glove and ring, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. He courted the eldest with broach and knife, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. The eldest she was vexed sair, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And sore envied her sister fair ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. The eldest said to the youngest ane, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; " Will ye go and see our father's ships come in ?" By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. She's ta'en her by the lily hand, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And led her down to the river strand ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. The youngest stude upon a stane, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; The eldest came and push'd her in ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. 9 2 THE CRUEL SISTER. She took her by the middle sma, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And dash'd her bonny back to the jaw ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. " O sister, sister, reach your hand, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And ye shall be heir of half my land." By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. " O sister, I '11 not reach my hand, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And I '11 be heir of all your land ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. " Shame fa' the hand that I should take, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; It's twined me, and my world's make." By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. " O sister, reach me but your glove, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And sweet William shall be your love." By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. " Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove ! Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And sweet William shall better be my love, By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. " Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; Garr'd me gang maiden evermair." By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; Until she cam to the miller's dam ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. " O father, father, draw your dam ! Binnorie, O Binnorie ; There 's either a mermaid, or a milk-white swan."- By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. THE CRUEL SISTER. 93 The miller hasted and drew his dam, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And there he found a drowned woman ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. You could not see her yellow hair, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; For gowd and pearls that were so rare ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. You could not see her middle sma', Binnorie, O Binnorie ; Her gowden girdle was sae bra' ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. A famous harper passing by, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; The sweet pale face he chanced to spy; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. And when he look'd that lady on, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; He sigh'd and made a heavy moan ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. He made a harp of her breast-bone, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. The strings he framed of her yellow hair, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; Whose notes made sad the listening ear ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. He brought it to her father's hall, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And there was the court assembled all ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. He laid his harp upon a stone, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And straight it began to play alone ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. 94 THE TWA BROTHERS. " Oh yonder sits my father, the king, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And yonder sits my mother, the queen ; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. "And yonder stands my brother Hugh, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; And by him my William, sweet and true." By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. But the last tune that the harp plaj^d then, Binnorie, O Binnorie ; Was" Woe to my sister, false Helen ! " By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. THE TWA BROTHERS. John direc^y fn*he head^d'kir"^- 5 '^^"^ ^ s 'cke ^"broth"! ^MetnorieoFtke^S """^ W ****' ^^ ^ beg S ed il with many^eares." THERE were twa brothers at the scule, And when they got awa "It's will ye play at the stane-chuckino- Or will ye play at the ba', Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, And there we '11 warsell * a fa'." 1 Wrestle, THE TWA BROTHERS. 9$ " I winna play at the stane-chucking, Nor will I play at the ba', But I '11 gae up to yon bonnie green hill, And there we '11 warsell a fa'." They warsled up, they warsled down, Till John fell to the ground ; A dirk fell out of William's pouch, And gave John a deadly wound. " Oh lift me upon your back, Take me to yon well fair ; And wash my bloody wounds o'er and o'er, And they '11 ne'er bleed nae main" He's lifted his brother upon his back, Ta'en him to yon well fair ; He 's wash'd his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er, But they bleed ay mair and mair. " Tak ye aff my Holland sark, And rive it gair by gair, And row it in my bluidy wounds, And they '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." He's taken aff his Holland sark, And torn it gair by gair ; He's rowit it in his bluidy wounds, But they bleed ay mair and mair. " Tak now aff my green cleiding, And row me saftly in ; And tak me up to yon kirk style, Whare the grass grows fair and green." He's taken aff the green cleiding, And row'd him saftly in ; He 's laid him down by yon kirk style, Whare the grass grows fair and green. " What will ye say to your father dear, When ye gae hame at e'en ?" " I '11 say ye 're lying at yon kirk style, Whare the grass grows fair and green." 96 THE TWA BROTHERS. " Oh no, oh no, my brother dear, Oh you must not say so ; But say that I 'm gane to a foreign land, Whare nae man does me know." When he sat in his father's chair He grew baith pale and wan. " Oh what blude 's that upon your brow ? Oh dear son tell to me." "It is the blude o' my gude gray steed, He wadna ride wi* me." " Oh thy steed's blude was ne'er sae red, Nor e'er sae dear to me : Oh what blude 's this upon your cheek ? Oh dear son tell to me." " It is the blude of my greyhound, He wadna hunt for me." " Oh thy hound's blude was ne'er sae red, Nor e'er sae dear to me : Oh what blude 's this upon your hand ? Oh dear son tell to me." " It is the blude of my gay gosshawk, He wadna flee for me." " Oh thy hawk's blude was ne'er sae red, Nor e'er sae dear to me : Oh what blude 's this upon your dirk ? Dear Willie tell to me." " It is the blude of my ae brother, Oh dule and wae is me." " Oh what will ye say to your father ? Dear Willie tell to me." " I '11 saddle my steed, and awa I '11 ride To dwell in some far countrie." " Oh when will ye come hame again ? Dear Willie tell to me." "When sun and mune leap on yon hill, And that will never be." THE EVE OF ST JOHN. 97 She turn'd hersel right round about, And her heart burst into three : "My ae best son is deid and gane, And my tother ane I '11 ne'er see." THE EVE OF ST JOHN. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. (First printed in Lewis's "Tales of Wonder") SMAYLHO'ME, or Smallholm Tower, the scene of the following ballad, is situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandyknowe Crags. The tower is a high square building, surrounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The circuit of the outer court, being defended on three sides by a precipice and morass, is accessible only from the west by a steep and rocky path. The apartments, as is usual in a Border keep or fortress, are placed one above another, and communicate by a narrow stair; on the roof are two bartizans or platforms for defence or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron gate ; the distance between them being nine feet the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the elevated situa- tion of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many raises in every direction. Among the crags by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the Watch- fold, and is said to have been the station of a beacon in the times of war with England. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a heath in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Tower. THE Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, He spurr'd his courser on, Without stop or stay, down the rocky way That leads to Brotherstone. He went not with the bold Buccleuch, His banner broad to rear ; He went not 'gainst the English yew, To lift the Scottish spear. Yet his plate-jack 1 was braced, and his helmet was laced, And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, Full ten pound weight and more. 1 The plate-jack is coat armour ; the vaunt-brace, or wam-brace, armour for the body ; the sperthe, a battle-axe. G 9 S THE EVE OF ST JOHN. The Baron return'd in three days' space, And his looks were sad and sour ; And weary was his courser's pace As he reach'd his rocky tower. He came not from where Ancram Moor Ran red with English blood ; Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, His acton pierced and tore ; His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, But it was not English gore. He lighted at the Chapellage, He held him close and still ; And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, His name was English Will. " Come thou hither, my little foot-page, Come hither to my knee ; Thou art young, and tender of age, I think thou art true to me. " Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, And look thou tell me true ! Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, What did thy lady do ?" " My lady, each night, sought the lonely light That bourns on the wild Watchfold ; For, from height to height, the beacons bright, Of the English foemen told. " The bittern clamour'd from the moss, The wind blew loud and shrill ; Yet the craggy pathway she did cross, To the eiry Beacon Hill. u I watch'd her steps, and silent came Where she sat her on a stone, No watchman stood by the dreary flame It burned all alone. THE EVE OF ST JOHN. 99 u The second night I kept her in sight, Till to the fire she came, And, by Mary's might ! an armed knight Stood by the lonely flame. " And many a word that warlike lord Did speak to my lady there ; But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast, And I heard not what they were. " The third night there the sky was fair r And the mountain blast was still, As again I watch'd the secret pair, On the lonesome Beacon Hill. "And I heard her name the midnight hour, And name this holy eve ; And say, ' Come this night to thy lady's bower ; Ask no bold Baron's leave. " ' He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; His lady is all alone ; The door she '11 undo to her knight sae true, On the eve of good St John.' " ' I cannot come, I must not come ; I dare not come to thee ; On the eve of St John I must wander alone ; In thy bower I may not be.' " ' Now, out on thee, fainted-hearted knight ! Thou shouldst not say me nay; For the eve is sweet, and, when lovers meet, Is worth the whole summer's day. "'And I '11 chain the bloodhound, and the warder shall not sound, And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair ; So, by the black rood-stone, 1 and by holy St John, I conjure thee, my love, to be there !' 1 The black rood of Melrose was a crucifix of black marble, and of superior sanctity. THE EVE OF ST JOHN. " ( Though the bloodhound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot, And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east, And my footstep he would know.' " < Oh, fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east ! For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en, And there to say mass, till three days do pass, For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' " He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd ; Then he laugh'd right scornfully * He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight, May as well say mass for me. "'At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, In thy chamber will I be.' With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, And no more did I see." Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, From the dark to the blood-red high ; " Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou had seen, For, by Mary, he shall die !" " His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light ; His plume it was scarlet and blue ; On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, And his crest was a branch of the yew." " Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me ! For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould, All under the Eildon-tree." 1 1 Eildon is a high hill, terminating in three conical summits, immediately above the town of Melrose. THE EVE OF ST JOHN. 101 " Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! For I heard her name his name ; And that lady bright, she call'd the knight, Sir Richard of Coldinghame." The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, From high blood-red to pale " The grave is deep and dark and the corpse is stiff and stark So I may not trust thy tale. " Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, And Eildon slopes to the plain, Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, That gay gallant was slain, " The varying light deceived thy sight, And the wild winds drown'd the name ; For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing, For Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! " He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower grate, And he mounted the narrow stair To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait, He found his lady fair. That lady sat in mournful mood ; Look'd over hill and vale ; Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood, And all down Teviotdale. " Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright !" " Now hail, thou Baron true ! What news, what news from Ancrnm fight ? What news from the bold Buccleuch ? " " The Ancram Moor is red with gore, For many a Southron fell ; And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore To watch our beacons well." 102 THE EVE OF ST JOHN. The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said ; Nor added the Baron a word : Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair, And so did her moody lord. In sleep the lady mourn' d, and the Baron toss'd and turn'd, And oft to himself he said " The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep .... It cannot give up the dead ! " It was near the ringing of matin-bell, The night was well-nigh done, When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, On the eve of good St John. The lady look'd through the chamber fair, By the light of a dying flame ; And she was aware of a knight stood there Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! " Alas ! away, away ! " she cried, " For the holy Virgin's sake ! " " Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; But, lady, he will not awake. " By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, In bloody grave have I lain ; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, But, lady, they are said in vain. " By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand, Most foully slain I fell ; And my restless sprite on the beacon's height For a space is doom'd to dwell. " At our trysting place, for a certain space I must wander to and fro ; But I had not had power to come to thy bower, Hadst thou not conjured me so." THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. 103 Love master'd fear her brow she cross'd ; " How, Richard, hast thou sped? And art thou saved, or art thou lost ! " The Vision shook his head ! Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life, So bid thy lord believe ; That lawless love is guilt above, This awful sign receive." He laid his left palm on an oaken beam ; His right upon her hand : The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, For it scorch'd like a fiery brand. The sable score, of fingers four, Remains on that board impress'd ; And for evermore that lady wore A covering on her wrist. There is a Nun in Dryburgh bower, Ne'er looks upon the sun : There is a Monk in Melrose tower, He speaketh word to none. That Nun, who ne'er beholds the day, That Monk, who speaks to none That Nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay, That Monk the bold Baron. THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. ' THE ballad of " The Douglas Tragedy " is one of the few to which popular tra- dition has ascribed complete locality. The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the re- mains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farmhouse, in a wild solitary glen, upon a torrent named Douglas Burn, which joins the Yarrow after pass- ing a craggy rock called the Douglas Craig. From this ancient tower Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones, 104 THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. erected upon the neighbouring heights of Blackhouse, are shown as marking the spot where the seven brothers were slain; and the Douglas Burn is aver- red to have been the stream at which the lovers stopped to drink : so minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event." Scotfs Border Minstrelsy. u RISE up, rise up, now, 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, And himself on a dapple gray, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And lightly they rode away. Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder, To see what he could see ; And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold, Come riding over the lee. " Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said, " And hold my steed in your hand, Until that against your seven brethren bold And your father I make a stand." She held his steed in her milk-white hand, And never shed one tear, Until that she saw her seven brethren fa', And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear. " Oh, hold your hand, Lord William ! " she said, " For your strokes they are wondrous sair ; True lovers I can get many a ane, But a father I can never get mair." THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. 105 Oh, she 's ta'en out her handkerchief, It was o' the holland sae fine, And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds, That were redder than the wine. " Oh chuse, oh chuse, Lady Marg'ret," he said, " Oh whether will ye gang or bide ? " " I '11 gang, I '11 gang, Lord William," she said, " For ye have left me no other guide." He 's lifted her on a milk-white steed, And himself on a dapple gray, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And slowly they baith rade away. Oh, they rade on, and on they rade, And a' by the light of the moon, Until they came to yon wan water, And there they lighted down. They lighted down to tak' a drink Of the spring that ran so clear ; And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood, And sair she 'gan to fear. " Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says, " For I fear that you are slain ! " 'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, That shines in the water sae plain." Oh, they rade on, and on they rade, And a' by the light of the moon, Until they came to his mother's ha' door, And there they lighted 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 night my fair lady I 've win. " Oh mak' my bed, Lady Mother," he says, " Oh mak' it braid and deep ! And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back, And the sounder I will sleep." io6 THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, Lady Marg'ret lang ere day And all true lovers that go thegither, May they have mair luck than they ! Lord William was buried in St Marie's kirk, Lady Marg'ret in Marie's quire ; Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonnie red rose, And out o' the knight's a brier. And they twa met, and they twa plat, And fain they wad be near ; And a' the warld might ken right weel They were twa lovers dear. But by and rade the Black Douglas, And wow but he was rough : For he pull'd up the bonnie brier, And flang 't in St Marie's Loch. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. By BISHOP PERCY. ' The Hermitage of Warkworth is situated on the north bank of the Coquet, and about a mile above the castle. This secluded retreat consists of three small apartments, hollowed out of the freestone cliff which overlooks the river. An ascent of seventeen steps lead to the entrance of the outer and principal apart- ment, which is about eighteen feet long ; its width being seven feet and a half, and its height nearly the same. Above the doorway are the remains of some letters, now illegible, but which are supposed, when perfect, to have expressed, from the Latin version of the Psalms, the words ' Fuerunt mihi lacrymse mese panes die ac nocte.' ' MY TEARS HAVE BEEN MY MEAT DAY AND NIGHT.' The roof is chiselled in imitation of a groin, formed by two intersecting arches ; and at the east end, where the floor is raised two steps, is an altar occupying the whole width of the apartment. In the centre, immediately above the altar, is a niche in which there has probably stood a figure either of Christ or of the Virgin. Near to the altar, on the south side, there is carved in the wall a monumental figure of a female recumbent, and having at her feet what some antiquaries have called a dog, and others a bull's head. There is not within the hermitage the slightest vestige of arms or inscription to assist a curious inquirer in his endeavours to discover her name, her family, or her fate. In a niche near the foot of the monument is the figure of a man, conjectured to be that of the first hermit, on his knees, with his head resting on his right hand, and his left placed upon his breast. On the wall, on the same side, is cut a THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 107 basin for the reception of holy water ; and between the principal figure and the door are two small windows. At the west end there is a third small win- dow, of the form of a quatrefoil. Over the entrance, on the inside, a shield is sculptured ; but it is now so much effaced, that it is impossible to make out the arms with which it had been charged. Some persons have fancied that they could discern the figure of a gauntlet within the shield, but this bears a very remote resemblance to the arms of the Bertram family, one of whom is supposed to have formed this hermitage." Rambles in Northumberland. DARK was the night, and wild the storm, And loud the torrent's roar ; And loud the sea was heard to dash Against the distant shore. Musing on man's weak hapless state, The lonely Hermit lay ; When, lo ! he heard a female voice Lament in sore dismay. With hospitable haste he rose, And waked his sleeping fire ; And snatching up a lighted brand, Forth hied the rev'rend sire. All sad beneath a neighbouring tree A beauteous maid he found, Who beat her breast, and with her tears Bedew'd the mossy ground. " Oh weep not, lady, weep not so ; Nor let vain fears alarm ; My little cell shall shelter thee, And keep thee safe from harm." " It is not for myself I weep, Nor for myself I fear ; But for my dear and only friend, Who lately left me here : " And while some sheltering bower he sought Within this lonely wood, Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet Have slipt in yonder flood." loS THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. " Oh ! trust in Heaven," the Hermit said, " And to my cell repair ! Doubt not but I shall find thy friend, And ease thee of thy care." Then climbing up his rocky stairs, He scales the cliff so high ; And calls aloud, and waves his light, To guide the stranger's eye. Among the thickets long he winds, With careful steps and slow : At length a voice return'd his call, Quick answering from below : " Oh tell me, father, tell me true, If you have chanced to see A gentle maid, I lately left Beneath some neighbouring tree : " But either I have lost the place, Or she hath gone astray : And much I fear this fatal stream Hath snatch'd her hence away." "Praise Heaven, my son," the Hermit said ; " The lady 's safe and well : " And soon he join'd the wandering youth, And brought him to his cell. Then well was seen, these gentle friends, They loved each other dear; The youth he press'd her to his heart ; The maid let fall a tear Ah ! seldom had their host, I ween, Beheld so sweet a pair : The youth was tall, with manly bloom ; She, slender, soft, and fair. The youth was clad in forest green, With bugle-horn so bright ; She in a silken robe and scarf, Snatch'd up in hasty flight. THE HERMIT OF WAKRWOR7H. 109 " Sit down, my children," says the sage ; " Sweet rest your limbs require : " Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth, And mends his little fire. " Partake," he said, " my simple store, Dried fruits, and milk, and curds ;" And spreading all upon the board, Invites with kindly words. "Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare," The youthful couple say Then freely ate, and made good cheer, And talk'd their cares away. " Now say, my children, (for perchance My counsel may avail,) What strange adventure brought you here Within this lonely dale ? " " First tell me father," said the youth, "(Nor blame mine eager tongue,) What town is near ? What lands are these ? And to what lord belong ? " " Alas ! my son," the Hermit said, " Why do I live to say, The rightful lord of these domains Is banish'd far away ? " Ten winters now have shed their snows On this my lowly hall, Since valiant Hotspur (so the North Our youthful lord did call) "Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke Led up his northern powers, And stoutly fighting, lost his life Near proud Salopia's towers. " One son he left, a lovely boy, His country's hope and heir ; And, oh ! to save him from his foes It was his grandsire's care. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. " In Scotland safe he placed the child, Beyond the reach of strife, Nor long before the brave old earl At Braham lost his life. "And now the Percy name, so long Our northern pride and boast, Lies hid, alas ! beneath a cloud ; Their honours reft and lost. " No chieftain of that noble house Now leads our youth to arms ; The bordering Scots despoil our fields, And ravage all our farms. " Their halls and castles, once so fair, Now moulder in decay ; Proud strangers now usurp their lands, And bear their wealth away. " Not far from hence, where yon full stream Runs winding down the lea, Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers, And overlooks the sea. " Those towers, alas ! now lie forlorn, With noisome weeds o'erspread, Where feasted lords and courtly dames, And where the poor were fed, " Meantime far off, 'mid Scottish hills, The Percy lives unknown : On strangers' bounty he depends, And may not claim his own. " Oh might I with these aged eyes But live to see him here, Then should my soul depart in bliss ! " He said, and dropt a tear. " And is the Percy still so loved Of all his friends and thee ? Then bless me, father," said the youth, " For I, thy guest, am he." THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. in Silent he gazed, then turn'd aside To wipe the tears he shed ; And lifting up his hands and eyes, Pour'd blessings on his head : " Welcome, our dear and much-loved lord, Thy country's hope and care . But who may this young lady be, That is so wondrous fair?" u Now, father ! listen to my tale, And thou shall know the truth : And let thy sage advice direct My inexperienced youth. " In Scotland I 've been nobly bred Beneath the Regent's l hand, In feats of arms, and every lore To fit me for command. " With fond impatience long I burn'd My native land to see : At length I won my guardian friend To yield that boon to me. " Then up and down in hunter's garb I wander'd as in chase, Till in the noble Neville's 2 house I gain'd a hunter's place. " Some time with him I lived unknown, Till I 'd the hap so rare To please this young and gentle dame, That baron's daughter fair." " Now, Percy," said the blushing maid, " The truth I must reveal ; Souls great and generous, like co thine, Their noble deeds conceal. 1 Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuation of Fordun's Scott' Chronicon, caps. 18, 23, &c. 2 Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, who chiefly resided at his two castles of Brancepeth and R^iby, both in the bishoprick of .Durham. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. " It happen'd on a summer's day, Led by the fragrant breeze, I wander'd forth to take the air Among the greenwood trees. " Sudden a band of rugged Scots, That near in ambush lay, Moss-troopers from the border-side, There seized me for their prey. u My shrieks had all been spent in vain ; But Heaven, that saw my grief, Brought this brave youth within my call, Who flew to my relief. " With nothing but his hunting spear And dagger in his hand, He sprung like lightning on my foes, And caused them soon to stand. " He fought till more assistance came : The Scots were overthrown ; Thus freed me, captive, from their bands, To make me more his own." " O happy day ! " the youth replied : " Blest were the wounds I bear ! From that fond hour she deign'd to smile, And listen to my prayer. " And when she knew my name and birth, She vow'd to be my bride ; But oh ! we fear'd (alas, the while !) Her princely mother's pride : " Sister of haughty Bolingbroke, 1 Our house's ancient foe, To me, I thought, a banish'd wight Could ne'er such favour show. 1 Joan. Countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young lady, was daughter of John of Gaunt, and half-sister of King Henry IV. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 113 " Despairing then to gain consent, At length to fly with me I won this lovely timorous maid ; To Scotland bound are we. " This evening, as the night drew on, Fearing we were pursued, We turn'd adown the right-hand path, And gain'd this lonely wood: " Then lighting from our weary steeds To shun the pelting shower, We met thy kind conducting hand, And reach'd this friendly bower." " Now rest ye both," the Hermit said ; " Awhile your cares forego : Nor, lady, scorn my humble bed: We'll pass the night below." 1 Lovely smiled the blushing morn, And every storm was fled : But lovelier far, with sweeter smile, Fair Eleanor left her bed. She found her Henry all alone, And cheer'd him with her sight ; The youth, consulting with his friend, Had watch'd the livelong night. What sweet surprise o'erpower'd her breast ! Her cheek what blushes dyed. When fondly he besought her there To yield to be his bride ! 1 Adjoining to the cliff which contains the chapel of the hermitage are the re- mains of a small building in which the hermit dwe.t. This consisted of one lower apartment, with a little bed-chamber over it, and is now in ruins; whereas the chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very entire and perfect. H ma 114 THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. " Within this lonely hermitage There is a chapel meet : Then grant, dear maid, my fond request, And make my bliss complete." u O Henry, when thou deign'st to sue, Can I thy suit withstand ? When thou, loved youth, hast won my heart, Can I refuse my hand ? " For thee I left a father's smiles, And mother's tender care ; And whether weal or woe betide, Thy lot I mean to share." "And wilt thou then, O generous maid, Such matchless favour show, To share with me, a banish'd wight, My peril, pain, or woe ? " Now Heaven, I trust, hath joys in store To crown thy constant breast : For know, fond hope assures my heart That we shall soon be blest. " Not far from hence stands Coquet Isle l Surrounded by the sea ; There dwells a holy friar, well known To all thy friends and thee ; " 'Tis Father Bernard, so revered For every worthy deed ; To Raby Castle he shall go, And for us kindly plead. " To fetch this good and holy man Our reverend host is gone ; And soon, I trust, his pious hands Will join us both in one. 1 In the little island of Coquet, near Warkworth, are still seen the ruins of a cell, which belonged to the Benedictine monks of Tynemouth Abbey. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 115 Thus they in sweet and tender talk The lingering hours beguile : At length they see the hoary sage Come from the neighbouring isle. With pious joy and wonder mix'd He greets the noble pair, And glad consents to join their hands With many a fervent prayer. Then strait to Raby's distant walls He kindly wends his way ; Meantime in love and dalliance sweet They spend the livelong day. And now, attended by their host, The Hermitage they view'd, Deep-hewn within a craggy cliff, And overhung with wood. And near a flight of shapely steps, All cut with nicest skill, And piercing through a stony arch, Ran winding up the hill : There, deck'd with many a flower and herb, His little garden stands ; With fruitful trees in shady rows, All planted by his hands. Then, scoop'd within the solid rock, Three sacred vaults he shows : The chief, a chapel, neatly arch'd, On branching columns rose. Each proper ornament was there, That should a chapel grace ; The lattice for confession framed, And holy-water vase. O'er either door a sacred text Invites to godly iear ; And in a little scutcheon hung The cross, and crown, and spear. Ii6 THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. Up to the altar's ample breadth Two easy steps ascend ; And near, a glimmering solemn light Two well-wrought windows lend. Beside the altar rose a tomb, All in the living stone On which a young and beauteous maid In goodly sculpture shone. A kneeling angel, fairly carved, Lean'd hovering o'er her breast ; A weeping warrior at her feet ; And near to these her crest. 1 The clift, the vault, but chief the tomb Attract the wondering pair : Eager they ask, " What hapless dame Lies sculptured here so fair ? " The Hermit sigh'd, the Hermit wept, For sorrow scarce could speak ; At length he wiped the trickling tears That all bedew'd his cheek. "Alas ! my children, human life Is but a vale of woe ; And very mournful is the tale Which ye so fain would know ! * THE HERMIT'S TAUL Young lord, thy grandsire had a friend In days of youthful fame ; Yon distant hills were his domains, Sir Bertram was his name. ! This is a bull's head, the crest of the Widdrington family. All the figures, &c., here described are still visible, only somewhat effaced with length of time. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTII. 117 Where'er the noble Percy fought, His friend was at his side ; And many a skirmish with the Scots Their early valour tried. Young Bertram loved a beauteous maid, As fair as fair might be ; The dew-drop on the lily's cheek Was not so fair as she. Fair Widdrington the maiden's name, Yon towers her dwelling-place ; l Her sire an old Northumbrian chief, Devoted to thy race. Many a lord, and many a knight, To this fair damsel came ; But Bertram was her only choice ; For him she felt a flame. Lord Percy pleaded for his friend, Her father soon consents ; None but the beauteous maid herself His wishes now prevents. But she, with studied fond delays, Defers the blissful hour ; And loves to try his constancy, And prove her maiden power. " That heart," she said, "is lightly prized, Which is too lightly won ; And long shall rue that easy maid Who yields her love too soon." Lord Percy made a solemn feast In Alnwick's princely hall : And there came lords, and there came knights, His chiefs and barons all. 1 Widdrington Castle is about five miles south of Warkwortli. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. With wassail, mirth, and revelry, The castle rang around : Lord Percy call'd for song and harp, And pipes of martial sound. The minstrels of thy noble house, All clad in robes of blue, With silver crescents on their arms, Attend in order due. The great achievements of thy race They sung : their high command How valiant Mainfred o'er the seas First led his northern band. 1 Brave Galfred next to Normandy With venturous Rollo came ; And, from his Norman castles won, Assumed the Percy name. 2 They sung how in the Conqueror's fleet Lord William shipp'd his powers, And gain'd a fair young Saxon bride, With all her lands and towers. 3 Then journeying to the Holy Land, There bravely fought and died ; But first the silver crescent won, Some paynim Soldan's pride. 1 See Dugdale's Baronetage, p. 269, &c. 2 In Lower Normandy are three places of the name of Percy, whence the family took the surname of De Percy. 3 William de Percy (fifth in descent from Galfred or GefTery de Percy, son of Mainfred) assisted in the conquest of England, and had given him the large pos- sessions, in Yorkshire, of Emma de Porte, (so the Norman writers name her,) whose father, a great Saxon lord, had been slain, fighting along with Harold. This young lady, William, from a principle of honour and generosity, married ; for, having had all her lands bestowed upon him by the Conqueror, "he, (to use the words of the old \Vhitliy Chronicle.^) wedded hyr that was very heire to them, in discharging of his conscience." See HarL MSS., 692 (26.) He died at Mountjoy, near Jerusalem, iu the first crusade. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 119 They sung how Agnes, beauteous heir, The queen's own brother wed, Lord Josceline, sprung from Charlemagne, In princely Brabant bred j 1 How he the Percy name revived, And how his noble line, Still foremost in their country's cause, With godlike ardour shine. With loud acclaims the list'ning crowd Applaud the master's song, And deeds of arms and war became The theme of every tongue. Now high heroic acts they tell, Their perils past recall ; When, lo ! a damsel young and fair Stepp'd forward through the hall. She Bertram courteously address'd ; And, kneeling on her knee, " Sir knight, the lady of thy love Hath sent this gift to thee." Then forth she drew a glittering helm, Well plaited many a fold ; The casque was wrought of temper'd steel, The crest of burnish'd gold. " Sir knight, thy lady sends thee this, And yields to be thy bride, When thou hast proved this maiden gift Where sharpest blows are tried." 1 Agues de Percy, sole heiress of her house, married Josceline de Louvaine, youngest son of Godfrey Barbatus, Duke of Brabant, and brother of Queen Adeliza, second wife of King Henry I. He took the name of Percy, and was ancestor of the Earls of Northumberland. His son, Lord Richard de Percy, was one of the twenty-six barons chosen to see the Magua Charta duly observed. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. Young Bertram took the shining helm. And thrice he kiss'd the same : "Trust me, I'll prove this precious casque With deeds of noblest fame." Lord Percy and his barons bold Then fix upon a day To scour the marches, late oppress'd, And Scottish wrongs repay. The knights assembled on the hills A thousand horse or more : Brave Widdrington, though sunk in years, The Percy standard bore. Tweed's limpid current soon they pass, And range the borders round : Down the green slopes of Tiviotdale Their bugle-horns resound. As when a lion in his den Hath heard the hunters' cries, And rushes forth to meet his foes, So did the Douglas rise. Attendant on their chief's command A thousand warriors wait : And now the fatal hour drew on Of cruel keen debate. A chosen troop of Scottish youths Advance before the rest ; Lord Percy mark'd their gallant mien, And thus his friend address'd : " Now, Bertram, prove thy lady's helm, Attack yon forward band ; Dead or alive I '11 rescue thee Or perish by their hand." Young Bertram bow'd, with glad assent, And spurr'd his eager steed, And calling on his lady's name, Rush'd forth with whirlwind speed. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. As when a grove of sapling oaks The livid lightning rends ; So fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks Sir Bertram's sword descends. This way and that he drives the steel, And keenly pierces through ; And many a tall and comely knight With furious force he slew. Now, closing fast on every side, They hem Sir Bertram round : But dauntless he repels their rage, And deals forth many a wound. The vigour of his single arm Had well-nigh won the field ; When ponderous fell a Scottish axe, And clave his lifted shield. Another blow his temples took, And reft his helm in twain ; That beauteous helm, his lady's gift ! His blood bedew'd the plain. Lord Percy saw his champion fall Amid th' unequal fight ; "And now, my noble friends," he said, " Let 's save this gallant knight." Then rushing in, with stretch' d-out shield, . He o'er the warrior hung, As some fierce eagle spreads her wing To guard her callow young. Three times they strove to seize their prey, Three times they quick retire : What force could stand his furious strokes, Or meet his martial fire ? Now gathering round on every part The battle raged amain ; And many a lady wept her lord, That hour untimely slain. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. Percy and Douglas, great in arms, There all their courage show'd ; And all the field was strew'd with dead, And all with crimson flow'd. At length the glory of the day The Scots reluctant yield, And, after wondrous valour shown, They slowly quit the field. All pale, extended on their shields. And weltering in his gore, Lord Percy's knights their bleeding friend To Wark's fair castle bore. 1 " Well hast thou earn'd my daughter's love," Her father kindly said ; " And she herself shall dress thy wounds, And tend thee in thy bed." A message went ; no daughter came, Fair Isabel ne'er appears : u Beshrew me," said the aged chief, " Young maidens have their fears. " Cheer up, my son, thou shalt her see, So soon as thou canst ride ; And she shall nurse thee in her bower, And she shall be thy bride." Sir Bertram at her name revived, He bless'd the soothing sound ; Fond hope supplied the nurse's care, And heal'd his ghastly wound. One early morn, while dewy drops Hung trembling on the tree, Sir Bertram from his sick-bed rose ; His bride he would go see. 1 Wark Castle, a fortress belonging to the English, and of great note in ancient times, stood on the southern banks of the river Tweed, a little to the east ol Teviotdale, and not far from Kelso. It is now entirely destroyed. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 123 A brother he had in prime of youth, Of courage firm and keen ; And he would 'tend him on the way, Because his wounds were green. All day o'er moss and moor they rode, By many a lonely tower ; And 'twas the dew-fall of the night Ere they drew near her bower. Most drear and dark the castle seem'd, That wont to shine so bright ; And long and loud Sir Bertram call'd Ere he beheld a light At length her aged nurse arose, With voice so shrill and clear " What wight is this, that calls so loud, And knocks so boldly here ? " " 'Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's love, Come from his bed of care : All day I 've ridden o'er moor and moss To see thy lady fair." " Now out, alas !" she loudly shriek'd ; " Alas ! how may this be ? For six long days are gone and past Since she set out to thee." Sad terror seized Sir Bertram's heart, And ready was he to fall ; When now the drawbridge was let down, And gates were open'd all. " Six days, young knight, are past and gone, Since she set out to thee ; And sure, if no sad harm had happ'd, Long since thou wouldst her see. " For when she heard thy grievous chance, She tore her hair, and cried, ' Alas ! I 've slain the comeliest knight, All through my folly and pride ! 124 THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. u ' And now to atone for my sad fault, And his dear health regain, I'll go myself, and nurse my love, And soothe his bed of pain.' " Then mounted she her milk-white steed One morn at break of day ; And two tall yeomen went with her, To guard her on the way." Sad terror smote Sir Bertram's heart, And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind : " Trust me," said he, " I ne'er will rest Till I thy lady find." That night he spent in sorrow and care ; And with sad-boding heart, Or ever the dawning of the day, His brother and he depart. " Now, brother, we '11 our ways divide, O'er Scottish hills to range ; Do thou go north, and I '11 go west ; And all our dress we '11 change. " Some Scottish carle hath seized my love, And borne her to his den ; And ne'er will I tread English ground Till she 's restored again." The brothers straight their paths divide, O'er Scottish hills to range ; And hide themselves in quaint disguise, And oft their dress they change. Sir Bertram, clad in gown of grey, Most like a palmer poor, To halls and castles wanders round, And begs from door to door. Sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, With pipe so sweet and shrill ; And wends to every tower and town, O'er every dale and hilL THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 125 One day as he sat under a thorn, All sunk in deep despair, An aged pilgrim pass'd him by, Who mark'd his face of care. " All minstrels yet that e'er I saw Are full of game and glee ; But thou art sad and woe-begone ! I marvel whence it be!" " Father, I serve an aged lord, Whose grief afflicts my mind ; His only child is stolen away, And fain I would her find." " Cheer up, my son ; perchance," he said, " Some tidings I may bear: For oft when human hopes have fail'd, Then heavenly comfort's near. " Behind yon hills, so steep and high, Down in a lowly glen, There stands a castle fair and strong, Far from the abode of men. "As late I chanced to crave an alms About this evening hour, Methought I heard a lady's voice Lamenting in the tower. " And when I ask'd what harm had happ'd, What lady sick there lay ? They rudely drove me from the gate, And bade me wend away." These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear, He thank'd him for his tale ; And soon he hasted o'er the hills, And soon he reach'd the vale. Then drawing near those lonely towers, Which stood in dale so low, And sitting down beside the gate, His pipes he 'gan to blow. 126 THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. " Sir Porter, is thy lord at home, To hear a minstrel's song ; Or may I crave a lodging here Without offence or wrong ? " " My lord," he said, " is not at home, To hear a minstrel's song ; And, should I lend thee lodging here, My life would not be long." He play'd again so soft a strain, Such power sweet sounds impart, He won the churlish porter's ear, And moved his stubborn heart. " Minstrel," he said, " thou play's! so sweet, Fair entrance thou shouldst win ; But, alas ! I 'in sworn upon the rood To let no stranger in. " Yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff Thou 'It find a sheltering cave ; And here thou shall my supper share, And there thy lodging have." All day he sits beside the gate, And pipes both loud and clear : All night he watches round the walls, In hopes his love to hear. The first night, as he silent watch'd All at the midnight hour, He plainly heard his lady's voice Lamenting in the tower. The second night, the moon shone clear, And gilt the spangled dew ; He saw his lady through the grate, But 'twas a transient view. The third night, wearied out, he slept 'Till near the morning tide ; When, starting up, he seiz'd his sword, And to the castle hied. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 127 When, lo ! he saw a ladder of ropes Depending from the wall : And o'er the moat was newly laid A poplar strong and tall. And soon he saw his love descend Wrapt in a tartan plaid, Assisted by a sturdy youth In Highland garb y-clad. Amazed, confounded at the sight, He lay unseen and still ; And soon he saw them cross the stream, And mount the neighbouring hilL Unheard, unknown of all within, The youthful couple fly ; But what can 'scape the lover's ken, Or shun his piercing eye ? With silent step he follows close Behind the flying pair, And saw her hang upon his arm With fond familiar air. " Thanks, gentle youth," she often said ; " My thanks thou well hast won : For me what wiles hast thou contrived ! For me what dangers run ! "And ever shall my grateful heart Thy services repay : " Sir Bertram would no further hear, But cried, " Vile traitor, stay ! " Vile traitor ! yield that lady up ! " And quick his sword he drew ; The stranger turn'd in sudden rage, And at Sir Bertram flew. With mortal hate their vigorous arms Gave many a vengeful blow ; But Bertram's stronger hand prevail' d, And laid the stranger low. 128 THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. " Die, traitor, die ! " A deadly thrust Attends each furious word. Ah ! then fair Isabel knew his voice, And rush'd beneath his sword. " Oh stop," she cried, " Oh stop thy arm ! Thou dost thy brother slay ! " And here the hermit paus'd, and wept ; His tongue no more could say. At length he cried, " Ye lovely pair, How shall I tell the rest ? Ere I could stop my piercing sword, It fell, and stabb'd her breast." " Wert thou thyself that hapless youth ? Ah ! cruel fate ! " they said. The hermit wept, and so did they : They sigh'd ; he hung his head. " Oh blind and jealous rage," he cried, " What evils from thee flow ? " The hermit paus'd ; they silent mourn'd : He wept, and they were woe. Ah ! when I heard my brother's name, And saw my lady bleed, I raved, I wept, I cursed my arm That wrought the fatal deed. In vain I clasp'd her to my breast, And closed the ghastly wound ; In vain I press'd his bleeding corpse, And raised it from the ground. My brother, alas ! spake never more, His precious life was flown : She kindly strove to soothe my pain, Regardless of her own. " Bertram," she said, " be comforted, And live to think on me : May we in heaven that union prove, Which here was not to be ! THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 129 " Bertram," she said, " I still was true j Thou only hadst my heart : May we hereafter meet in bliss ! We now, alas ! must part. " For thee I left my father's hall, And flew to thy relief, When, lo ! near Cheviot's fatal hills I met a Scottish chief, " Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffer 1 d love I had refused with scorn ; He slew my guards, and seized on me Upon that fatal morn ; " And in these dreary hated walls He kept me close confined ; And fondly sued, and warmly press'd, To win me to his mind. " Each rising morn increased my pain, Each night increased my fear ! When, wandering in this northern garb, Thy brother found me here. " He quickly form'd the brave design To set me, captive, free ; And on the moor his horses wait, Tied to a neighbouring tree. " Then haste, my love, escape away, And for thyself provide ; And sometimes fondly think on her Who should have been thy bride." Thus, pouring comfort on my soul, Even with her latest breath, She gave one parting, fond embrace, And closed her eyes in death. In wild amaze, in speechless woe, Devoid of sense, I lay: Then sudden, all in frantic mood, I meant myself to slay. 130 THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. And, rising up in furious haste, I seized the bloody brand : l A sturdy arm here interposed, And wrench'd it from my hand. A crowd, that from the castle came, Had miss'd their lovely ward ; And seizing me, to prison bare, And deep in dungeon barr'd. It chanced that on that very morn Their chief was prisoner ta'en ; Lord Percy had us soon exchanged, And strove to soothe my pain. And soon those honour'd dear remains To England were convey'd ; And there, within their silent tombs, With holy rites, were laid. For me, I loath'd my wretched life, And long to end it thought ; Till time, and books, and holy men, Had better counsels taught. They raised my heart to that pure source Whence heavenly comfort flows : They taught me to despise the world, And calmly bear its woes. No more the slave of human pride, Vain hope, and sordid care, I meekly vow'd to spend my life In penitence and prayer. The bold Sir Bertram, now no more Impetuous, haughty, wild ; But poor and humble Benedict, Now lowly, patient, mild. i.e., Sword. THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. My lands I gave to feed the poor, And sacred altars raise : And here, a lonely anchorite, I came to end my days. This sweet sequester'd vale I chose, These rocks, and hanging grove ; For oft beside that murmuring stream My love was wont to rove. My noble friend approved my choice ; This blest retreat he gave : And here I carved her beauteous form, And scoop'd this holy cave. Full fifty winters, all forlorn, My life I 've linger'd here ; And daily o'er this sculptured saint I drop the pensive tear. And thou, dear brother of my heart ! So faithful and so true, The sad remembrance of thy fate Still makes my bosom rue ! Yet not unpitied pass'd my life, Forsaken or forgot, The Percy and his noble sons Would grace my lowly cot ; Oft the great earl, from toils of state And cumbrous pomp of power, Would gladly seek my little cell, To spend the tranquil hour. But length of life is length of woe ! I lived to mourn his fall : I lived to mourn his godlike sons, And friends and followers all. But thou the honours of thy race, Loved youth, shalt now restore ; And raise again the Percy name More glorious than before. THE LOCHMABEN HARPER. He ceased ; and on the lovely pair His choicest blessings laid : While they, with thanks and pitying tears, His mournful tale repaid. And now what present course to take They ask the good old sire ; And, guided by his sage advice, To Scotland they retire. Meantime their suit such favour found At Raby's stately hall, Earl Neville and his princely spouse Now gladly pardon all. She, suppliant, at her nephew's l throne The royal grace implored : To all the honours of his race The Percy was restored. The youthful earl still more and more Admired his beauteous dame : Nine noble sons to him she bore, All worthy of their name. THE LOCHMABEN HARPER THE castle of Lochmaben was formerly a noble building 1 , situated upon a peninsula, projecting into one of the four lakes which are in the neighbour- hood of the royal burgh, and is said to have been the residence of Robert Bruce, while lord of Annandale. Accordingly it was always held to be a royal fortress, the keeping of which, according to the custom of the times, was granted to some powerful lord, with an allotment of lands and fishings, for the defence and maintenance of the place. There is extant a grant, dated i6th March 1511, to Robert Lander of the Bass, of the office of captain and keeper of Lochmaben castle for seven years, with many perquisites. Among others, the "land stolen frae the king," is bestowed on the captain, as his proper lands. What shall we say of a country, where the very ground was the subject of theft? An extraordinary and anomalous class of landed pro- 1 King Henry V. THE LOCHMABEN HARPER. 133 prietors dwell in the neighbourhood of Lochmaben. There are the inhabitants of four small villages, near the ancient castle, called the Four Towns of Loch- maben. They themselves are termed the King's Rentallers, or kindly tenants; under which denomination each of tliem lias a ri^lit, of an allodial nature, to a small piece of ground. It is said that these people are the descendants of Robert Bruce's menials, to whom he assigned, in reward of their faithful service, these portions of land burdened only with the payment of certain quit-rents, and grassums, or fines, ii| on the entry of a new tenant. The right of the rentallers is, in essence, a ri^ht of property, but, in form, only a right of lease ; of which they appeal for the foundation to the rent-ro Is of the lord of the castle and manor. This possession by rental, or by simple entry upon the rent-roll, was anciently a common, and peculiarly sacred, species of pro- perty, granted by a chief to his faithful followers; the connexion of landlord and tenant being esteemed of a nature too formal to be necessary, where there was honour on the one side, and gratitude upon the other. But, in the case of subjects granting a right of this kind, it was held to expire with the life of the granter, unless his heir chose to renew it ; and also upon the death of the rentaller himself, unless especially granted to his heiis, by which term only his first heir was understood. Hence, in modern days, the kindly tenants have entirely disappeared from the land. Fortunately for the inhabitants ol the Four Towns of Lochmaben, the maxim, that the king can never die, pre- vents their right of property from reverting to the crown. The Viscount of Stormonth, as royal keeper of the castle, did indeed, about the beginning of last century, make an attempt to remove the rentallers from their possessions, or at least to procure judgment, finding them obliged to take out feudal inves- titures, and subject themselves to the casualties thereto annexed. But the rentallers united in their common defence : and, having stated their immemo- rial possession, together with some favourable clauses in certain old acts of parliament, enacting that the king's poor kindly tenants of Lochmaben should not be hurt, they finally prevailed in an action before the Court of Session. From the peculiar state of their right of property, it follows that there is no occasion for feudal investitures, or the formal entry of an heir ; and, of course, when they choose to convey their lands, it is done by a simple deed of con- veyance, without charter or sasine. The kindly tenants of Lochmaben live (or at least till lately) much seques- tered from their neighbours, marry among themselves, and are distinguished from each other by soubriquets, according to the ancient border custom, repeatedly noticed. You meet among their writings with such names as John Out-bye, Will In-bye, White-fish, Red-fish, &c. They are tenaciously obsti- nate in defence of their privileges of commonty, &c., which are numerous. Their lands are in general neatly enclosed, and well cultivated, and they form a contented and industrious little community. Many of these particulars are extracted from the MSS. of Mr Syme, writer to the signet. Those who are desirous of mo'e information may consult Craig de Feudis, lib. ii., dig. 9, sec. 24. It is hoped ihe reader will excuse this digression, though somewhat professional ; especially as there can be little doubt that this diminutive republic must soon share the fate of mightier states; for, inconsequence of the increase of commerce, lands possessed under this singular tenure being now often brought to sale, and purchased by the neigh- bouring proprietors, will, in process of time be included in their investitures, and the right of rentallage be entirely forgotten. This ballad seems to be the most modern in which the harp, as a border instrument of music, is found to occur. Scott's Minstrelsy. OH, heard ye na o' the silly blind harper, How lang he lived in Lochmaben town? And how he wad gang to fair England, To steal the Lord Warden's Wanton Brown ! 134 THE LOCHMABEN HARPER. But first he gaed to his gude wyfe, Wi' a' the haste that he could thole, 1 " This wark," quo' he, " will ne'er gae weei, Without a mare that has a foal." Quo' she " Thou hast a gude gray mare, That can baith lance o'er laigh and hie ; Sae set thee on the gray mare's back, And leave the foal at hame wi' me." So he is up to England gane, And even as fast as he may drie ; 2 And whan he cam to Carlisle gate, Oh, wha was there but the warden, he ? "Come into my hall, thou silly blind harper, And of thy harping let me hear !" " Oh, by my sooth !" quo' the silly blind harper, " I wad rather hae stabling for my mare." The warden look'd ower his left shoulder, And said unto his stable groom " Gae take the silly blind harper's mare, And tie her beside my Wanton Brown." Then aye he harp'd, and aye he carp'd, 3 Till a' the lordlings footed the floor, But an* the music was sae sweet, The groom had nae mind o' the stable door. And aye he harp'd, and aye he carp'd, Till a' the nobles were fast asleep ; Then quickly he took aff his shoon, And saftly down the stair did creep. Syne to the stable door he hied, Wi' tread as light as light could be ; And when he open'd and gaed in, There he fand thirty steeds and three. 1 Suffer. 2 Endure. 3 Sung 01 recite(L THE LOCHMABEN HARPER. 135 He took a cowt 1 -halter frae his hose, And o' his purpose he didna fail ; He slipt it ower the Wanton's nose, And tied it to his gray mare's tail. He turn'd them loose at the castle gate, Ower muir and moss and ilka dale ; And she ne'er let the Wanton bait, But kept him a-galloping hame to her foaL The mare she was right swift o' foot, She didna fail to. find the way ; Fcr she was at Lochmaben gate, A lang three hours before the day. When she cam to the harper's door, There she gave mony a nicker and sneer 2 " Rise up," quo' the wife, " thou lazy lass ; Let in thy master and his mare." Then up she rose, put on her clothes, And keekit through at the lock-hole " Oh, by my sooth !" then cried the lass, " Our mare has gotten a braw brown foal ! " " Come, haud thy tongue, thou silly wench ! The morn's but glancing in your e'e." " I '11 wad my hail fee against a groat, 3 He's bigger than e'er our foal will be." Now all this while in merry Carlisle, The harper harp'd to hie and law ; And the fiend dought* they do but listen him to Until that the day began to daw. But on the morn, at fair daylight, When they had ended a' their cheer, Behold the Wanton Brown was gane, And eke the poor blind harper's mare ! 1 Colt 2 Neigh and snort 3 Bet my wages to fourpence. * Nothing could they do. 136 . THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH. " Allace ! allace !" quoth the cunning auld harper, And ever allace that I cam here ; In Scotland I lost a braw cowt foal, In England they've stown my gude gray mare !" " Come ! cease thy allacing, thou silly blind harper, And again of thy harping let us hear ; And weel payd sail thy cowt-foal be, And thou sail have a far better mare." Then aye he harp'd, and aye he carp'd ; Sae sweet were the harpings he let them hear ! He was paid for the foal he had never lost, And three times ower for the gude gray mare. THE BROWNIE 1 OF BLEDNOCH. 1 THE author of this noble ballad was William Nicholson, the Galloway poet, as he was, and is still, called in his own district He was born at Tanimaus, in the parish of Borgue, in August 1783 ; he died circa 1848, unseen, like a bird. Being extremely short-sighted, he was unfitted for being a shepherd or plough- man, and began life as a packman, like the hero of 'The Excursion;' and is still remembered in that region for his humour, his music, his verse, and his ruins of a man of true genius. His poems are scarcely known out of Galloway, but they are worth the knowing : none of them have the concentration and nerve of ' The Brownie,' but they are from the same brain and heart. ' The Country Lass,' a long poem, is excellent ; with much of Crabbe's power and compression. This, and the greater part of the volume, is in the Scot- tish dialect; but there is a fable 'The Butterfly and Bee' the English and sense, the fine, delicate humour and turn of which might have been Cowper*s ; and there is a bit of rugged sarcasm called ' Siller,' which Burns need not have been ashamed of. Poor Nicholson, besides his turn for verse, was an exquisite musician, and sang with a powerful and sweet voice. One may imagine the delight of a lonely town-end, when Willie, the packman and the piper, made his appearance, with his stories, and jokes, and ballads, his songs, and reels, and ' wanton wiles.' " Dr John Brown. THERE cam a strange wicht 2 to our town-en', And the fient a body 3 did him ken ; He tirl'd* na lang, but he glided ben, 5 Wi' a dreary, dreary hum. 1 A spirit supposed to haunt a particular place or house. Instead of doing any injury, he was believed to be of great use, particularly if well treated. They were called " Brownie" from their supposed swarthy or tawny colour. 2 Creature or person. 3 Nobody. * Stayed. * In, THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH. 137 His face did glow like the glow of the west, When the drumlie 1 cloud has it half o'ercast ; Or the struggling moon when she's sair distrest, Oh, sirs ! 'twas Aiken-drum. I trow the bauldest stood aback, Wi' a gape 2 an' a glour, 3 till their lugs* did crack, As the shapeless phantom mum'ling spak Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum ? Oh-, had ye seen the bairns's 5 fricht, As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wicht ! As they skulkit in 'tween the dark an' the licht, And graned out, " Aiken-drum ! " " Sauf us ! " quoth Jock, " d'ye see sic een ? 6 Cries Kate, " There 's a hole where a nose should ha* been ; An' the mouth's like a gash that a horn had ri'en Wow ! keep 's frae Aiken-drum ! " The black dog growlin' cow'red his tail, The lassie swarf 'd, 7 loot fa' the pail : Rob's lingle 8 brack as he mendit the flail, At the sicht o' Aiken-drum. His matted head on his breast did rest, A lang blue beard wan'er'd down like a vest ; But the glare o' his e'e hath nae bard exprest, Nor the skimes 9 o' Aiken-drum. Roun' his hairy form there was naething seen But a philabeg 10 o' the rashes green, An' his knotted knees played aye knoit 11 between What a sicht was Aiken-drum ! On his wauchie 12 arms three claws did meet, As they trail'd on the grun' by his taeless feet ; E'en the auld gudeman himseF did sweat, To look at Aiken-drum. 1 Dark. 2 Open mouth. 3 Stare. * Ears. 5 Children. G Such eyes. 7 Swooned. 8 Strong thread. 9 Glance of reflected light. 10 Short skirt or kilt. 11 Knocked together. 12 Wan-coloured. THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCII. But he drew a score, 1 himsel' did sain, 2 The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane ; While the young ane closer clespit her wean, 3 And turn'd frae Aiken-drum. But the canty auld wife cam till her breath, And she thocht the Bible might ward aff skaith,* Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith But it fear'd na Aiken-drum. " His presence protect us ! " quoth the auld gudeman ; " What wad ye, where won 5 ye by sea or by Ian' ? I conjure ye speak by the Beuk in my han' ! " What a grane gae Aiken-drum ! " I lived in a Ian' where we saw nae sky, I dwalt in a spot whar a burn 6 rins nae by; But I'se dwall noo wi' you if ye like to try Hae yae wark for Aiken-drum ? " I' 11 shiel a' your sheep 7 i' the mornin' sune, I '11 berry your crap 8 by the licht o' the moon, An' ba 9 the bairns wi' an unkenn'd 10 tune, If ye '11 keep poor Aiken-drum. " I '11 loup the linn n when ye canna wade, I '11 kirn the kirn, 12 and I '11 turn the bread : An' the wildest fillie that e'er was rede, 13 I 'se tame 't," quoth Aiken-drum. " To wear the tod 14 frae the flock on the fell To gather the dew frae the heather-bell An' to look at my face in your clear crystal well, Micht gie pleasure to Aiken-drum. " I 'se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark ; I use nae beddin', shoon, 15 nor sark ; 16 But a cogfu' o' brose, 1T 'tween the licht an' the dark, Is the wage o' Aiken-drum." 1 Drew a ciicle round him to ward off the evil one. * Bless. 3 Child. * Harm. 5 Live. 6 Brook. 7 Put the sheep under cover. 8 Get in the crop. 9 Hush. 10 Unknown. 11 Leap the brook. 12 Turn the churn. 13 Furious. 1* Drive the fox. 15 Shoes. 16 Shirt. 17 Basin of thin porridge. THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH. 139 Quoth the wylie l auld wife, " The thing speaks weel ; Our workers are scant, we hae routh 2 o' meal ; Gif 3 he'll do as he says be he man, be he deil Wow ! we '11 try this Aiken-drum." But the wenches skirl'd, 4 " He 's no be here ! His eldritch 5 look gars 6 us swarf 7 wi' fear ; And the feint a ane will the house come near, If they think but o' Aiken-drum. " For a foul and a stalwart ghaist 8 is he, Despair sits broodin' aboon his e'e-bree ; 9 And unchancie 10 to light on a maiden's e'e, Is the glower 11 o' Aiken-drum." " Puir clipmalabors ! 12 ye hae little wit ; Is 't na Hallowmas 13 noo, and the crap out yet ?" Sae she seelenced them a' wi' a stamp o' her fit " Sit-yer-wa's-doun, 14 Aiken-drum !" Roun' a' that side what wark was dune, By the streamer's gleam, or the glance o' the moon, A word, or a wish and the Brownie cam sune, Sae helpfu' was Aiken-drum. But he slade aye awa or the sun was up, He ne'er could look straught on Macmillan's cup ; 15 They watch'd but nane saw him his brose ever sup, Nor a spune sought Aiken-drum. On Blednoch banks, and on crystal Cree, For mony a day a toil'd wicht was he ; And the bairns they play'd harmless roun' his knee, Sae social was Aiken-drum. 1 Cautious or cunning. 2 Plenty. 3 If. * Screeched. 5 Hideous. 6 Makes. 1 Faint. 8 Powerful fiend. 9 Eye-brow. 10 Unlucky. H Glance. 12 Poor silly persons. 13 All-hallows. 14 Sit down. 15 A communion cup belonging to Macmiilan of Balmaghie, founder of a sect of Covenanters of his name. It was used as a test of faith. If, on taking it in his hand, the person trembled, or exhibited any signs of agitation, he was denounced as a heretic. 140 THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH. But a new-made wife, fu' o' rippish freaks, Fond o' a' things feat l for the five first weeks, Laid a mouldy pair o' her ain man's breeks By the brose o' Aiken-drum. Let the learn'd decide when they convene, What spell was him an' the breeks between ; For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen, An' sair miss'd was Aiken-drum. He was heard by a herd gaun by the Thrieve, Crying, " Lang, lang now may I greet an' grieve ; For alas ! I hae gotten baith fee an' leave Oh, luckless Aiken-drum ! " Awa ! ye wrangling sceptic tribe, Wi' your pro's an' your con's wad ye decide 'Gainst the 'sponsible voice o' a hale country-side On the facts 'bout Aiken-drum ? Though the "Brownie o' Blednoch" lang be gane, The mark o' his feet 's left on mony a stane ; An" mony a wife, and mony a wean, Tell the feats o' Aiken-drum. E'en now, licht loons 2 that gibe an' sneer At spiritual guests an' a' sic gear, 3 At the Glasnock mill hae swat wi' fear, An' look'd roun" for Aiken-drum. An' guidly folks hae gotten a fricht, When the moon was set, an' the stars gi'ed na licht, At the roaring linn 4 in the howe o' the nicht, 5 Wi' sughs 6 like Aiken-drum. 1 Novel. 2 Thoughtless persons. 3 Such things. * Cataract. * In midnight. 6 Sighs and groans. ADAM BELL. 141 ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. ADAM BELL and his associates were outlaws who lived in the forest of Ingle- wood, a dense wood which extended from Carlis'e to Penrith ; and which in after years was also frequented by Robin Hood and his followers, who occa- sionally came from Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire. According to certain authorities, Adam Bell and his band were contemporaries of the father of Robin Hood. The text here given is from Mr Bell's Early Ballads, and it is said to be formed from a collation of the two versions of Percy and Ritson. FYTTE THE FIRST. MERRY it was in the green forest, Among the leves green, Where that men hunt east and west With bows and arrows keen ; To raise the deer out of their den ; Such sights hath oft been seen : As by three yeomen of the north countrie, By them it is I mean. The one of them hight Adam Bell, The other, Clym of the Clough, The third was William of Cloudesly, An archer good enough. They were outlaw'd for venison, These yeomen everychone ; They swore them brethren upon a day, To English-wood for to gone. Now lith and listen, gentlemen, That of myrthes loveth to hear ; Two of them were single men, The third had a wedded fere. William was the wedded man, Much more then was his care ; He said to his brethren upon a day, To Carlisle he would fare, For to speak with fair Alice his wife, And with his children three. " By my troth," said Adam Bell, " Not by the counsel of me : 142 ADAM SELL. " For if you go to Carlisle, brother, And from this wild wood wend, If that the justice may you take, Your life were at an end" " If that I come not to-morrow, brother, By prime to you again, Trust you then that I am taken, Or else that I am slain." He took his leave of his brethren two, And to Carlisle he is gone : There he knock'd at his own window Shortly and anon. " Where be you, fair Alice," he said, " My wife and children three ? Lightly let in thine own husband, William of Cloudesly." " Alas ! " then sayde fair Alice, And sighed wondrous sore, " This place has been beset for you This half a year and more." " Now I am here," said Cloudesly, " I would that in I were ; Now fetch us meat and drink enough, And let us make good cheer." She fetch'd him meat and drink plenty, Like a true wedded wife ; And pleased him with that she had, Whom she loved as her life. There lay an old wife in that place, A little beside the fire, Which William had found of charity More than seven year. Up she rose, and walk'd full still, Evil mote she speed therefore ; For she had set no foot on ground In seven year before. ADAM BELL. 143 She went unto the justice hall, As fast as she could hie : " This night," she said, " is come to town William of Cloudesly." Thereof the justice was full fain, And so was the sheriff also : " Thou shalt not travaile hither, dame, for nought, Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go." They gave to her a right good gown, Of scarlet it was as I heard sayne ; She took the gift, and home she went, And couch'd her down again. They raised the town of merry Carlisle In all the haste that they can, And came thronging to William's house, As fast as they might gone. There they beset that good yeoman Round about on every side ; William heard great noise of folks, That thitherward fast hied. Alice open'd a back window, And looked all about, She was ware of the justice and sheriff both, With a full great rout. " Alas ! treason," cried [fair] Alice, " Ever woe may thou be ! Go into my chamber, my husband," she said, " Sweet William of Cloudesly." He took his sword and his buckler, His bow and his children three, And went into his strongest chamber, Where he thought surest to be. Fair Alice follow'd him as a lover true, With a poleaxe in her hand ; "He shall be dead that here cometh in This door, while I may stand." 144 ADAM BELL. Cloudesly bent a right good bow, That was of a trusty tree, He smote the justice on the breast, That his arrow burst in three. " A curse on his heart," said William, " This day thy coat did on ! If it had been no better than mine, It had gone near thy bone." " Yield thee, Cloudesly," said the justice, "And thy bow and thy arrows thee fro." " A curse on his heart," said the fair Alice, " That my husband counselleth so." " Set fire on the house," said the sheriff, " Sith it will no better be, And brenne we therein William," he said, " His wife and his children three." They fired the house in many a place, The fire flew up on high : " Alas ! " then cried fair Alice, " I see we here shall die." William open'd a back window, That was in his chamber high, And there with sheets he did let down His wife and his children three. " Have here my treasure," sayde William, " My wife and children three, For Christe's love do them no harm, But wreak you all on me." William shot so wondrous well, Till his arrows were all ygo ; And the fire so fast upon him fell, That his bowstring brent in two. The sparkles brent, and fell him upon, Good William of Cloudesly : Then was he a woeful man, and said, " This is a coward's death to me. ADAM BELL. 145 " Lever had I," sayde William, " With my sword in the rout to renne, Than here among mine enemies' wood Thus cruelly to bren." He took his sword and his buckler, And among them all he ran, Where the people were most in prese, He smote down many a man. There might no man abide his strokes, So fiercely on them he ran ; Then they threw windows and doors on him, And so took that good yeoman. There they bound him both hand and foot, And in a deep dungeon him cast ; " Now Cloudesly," said the justice, " Thou shalt be hang'd in haste." " A pair of new gallows," said the sheriff, " Now shall I for thee make ; And the gates of Carlisle shall be shut, No man shall come in thereat. " Then shall not help Clym of the Clough, Nor yet shall Adam Bell, Though they came with a thousand mo, Nor all the devils in hell" Early in the morning the justice uprose, To the gates first gan he gone, And commanded to be shut full close, Lightily everychone. Then went he to the market-place, As fast as he could hie ; A pair of new gallows there did he set up Beside the pillory. A little boy among them ask'd, " What mean'd that gallows-tree ? w They said, " To hang a good yeoman, William of Cloudesly." 146 ADAM BELL. That little boy was the town swine-herd, And kept fair Alice's swine ; Oft he had seen Cloudesly in the wood, And given him there to dine. He went out at a crevice in the wall, And lightly to the wood did gone ; There met he with those wightie l yeomen Shortly and anon. " Alas !" then said the little boy, " Ye tarry here too long ; Cloudesly is taken, and dampned to death, And ready for to hang." " Alas ! " then said good Adam Bell, " That ever we saw this day ! He had better have tarried here with us, So oft as we did him pray. " He might have dwelt in green forest, Under the shadows green, And have kept both him and us in rest, Out of all trouble and teen ! " Adam bent a right good bow, A great hart soon he had slain : " Take that, child," he said, " to thy dinner, And bring me mine arrow again." " Now go we hence," said those wightie yeomen, " Tarry we no longer here ; We shall him borrow by God his grace, Though we buy it full dear." To Carlisle went these bold yeomen, All in a morning of May. Here is a fytte of Cloudesly, And another is for to say. 1 Active. ADAM SELL. 147 FYTTE THE SECOND. And when they came to merry Carlisle, In a fair morning tide, They found the gates shut them until Round about on every side. " Alas ! " then said good Adam Bell, " That ever we were made men ! These gates be shut so wondrous well, We may not come therein." Then bespake him Clym of the Clough, " With a wile we will us in bring ; Let us say we be messengers, Straight come now from our king." Adam said, " I have a letter written, Now let us wisely work, We will say we have the king's seal ; I hold the porter no clerk." Then Adam Bell beat on the gates With strokes great and strong ; The porter marvell'd, who was thereat, And to the gates he throng. " Who is there now," said the porter, " That maketh all this knocking ?" " We be two messengers," quoth Clym of the Clough, " Be come right from our king." " We have a letter," said Adam Bell, " To the justice we must it bring ; Let us in our message to do, That we were again to the king." " There cometh none in," said the porter, " By him that died on a tree, Till a false thief be hang'd, Call'd William of Cloudesly." 148 ADAM BELL. Then spake the good yeoman, Clym of the Clough, And swore by Mary free, " And if that we stand long without, Like a thief hang'd thou shalt be. " Lo ! here we have the king's seal : What, lurden, 1 art thou wode ? " The porter went 2 it had been so, And lightly did off his hood. " Welcome is my lord's seal," he said ; " For that ye shall come in." He open'd the gate fully shortly : An evil opening for him. " Now are we in," said Adam Bell, " Whereof we are full fain ; But Christ he knows, that harrow'd hell, How we shall come out again." Had we the keys," said Clym of the Clough, " Right well then should we speed ; Then might we come out well enough When we see time and need." They call'd the porter to council, And wrang his neck in two, And cast him in a deep dungeon, And took his keys him fro. " Now am I porter," said Adam Bell, " See, brother, the keys are here ; The worst porter to merry Carlisle That it had this hundred year. " And now will we our bowes bend, Into the tower will we go, For to deliver our dear brother That lieth in care and woe." 1 clown. * Weened. ADAM BELL. 149 And thereupon they bent their bows, And look'd their strings were round, The market-place in merry Carlisle They beset that stound. 1 And as they looked them beside, A pair of new gallows there they see, And the justice with a quest of squires, That had judged William hang d to be. And Cloudesly lay ready there in a cart, Fast bound both foot and hand ; And a strong rope about his neck, All ready for to hang. The justice call'd to him a lad, Cloudesly's clothes he should have, To take the measure of that yeoman, Thereafter to make his grave. " I have seen as great a marvel," said Cloudesly, " As between this and prime, He that maketh a grave for me, Himself may lie therein." " Thou speakest proudly," said the justice, " I will thee hang with my hand ; " Full well heard this his brethren two, There still as they did stand. Then Cloudesly cast his eyes aside, And saw his two brethren stand At a corner of the market-place, With their good bows bent in their hand. " I see comfort," said Cloudesly, " Yet hope I well to fare, If I might have my hands at will, Right little would I care." 1 That instant. ISO ADAM SELL. Then spake good Adam Bell To Clym of the Clough so free, " Brother, see you mark the justice well ; Lo, yonder you may him see ; " And at the sheriff shoot I will, Strongly with arrow keen ; " A better shot in merry Carlisle This seven year was not seen. They loosed their arrows both at once, Of no man had they dread ; The one hit the justice, the other the sheriff, That both their sides gan bleed. All men voided, that them stood nigh, When the justice fell to the ground, And the sheriff fell nigh him by ; Either had his death wound. All the citizens fast gan fly, They durst no longer abide : Then lightly they loosed Cloudesly, Where he with ropes lay tied. William start to an officer of the town, His axe from his hand he wronge ; On eche side he smote them down, He thought he tarried too long. William said to his brethren two, " This day let us live and die, If ever you have need, as I have now, The same shall you find by me." They shot so well in that tide, Their strings were of silk full sure, That they kept the streetes on every side ; That battle did long endure. They fought together as brethren true, Like hardy men and bold, Many a man to the ground they threw, And many a heart made cold. ADAM BELL. 151 But when their arrows were all gone, Men press'd to them full fast, They drew their swordes then anon, And their bowes from them cast They went lightly on their way, With swordes and bucklers round ; By that it was mid of the day, They made many a wound. There was an out-horn in Carlisle blown, And the bells backward did ring ; Many a woman said, "Alas ! " And many their hands did wring. The mayor of Carlisle forth come was, With him a full great rout ; These yeomen dreaded him full sore, For of their lives they stood in great doubt. The mayor came arm'd a full great pace, With a poleaxe in his hand ; Many a strong man with him was, There in that stowre to stand. The mayor smote at Cloudesly with his bill, His buckler he brast in two, Full many a yeoman with great evil, " Alas ! Treason ! " they cried for woe ; " Keep well the gates fast," they bad, " That these traitors there out not go." But all for nought was that they wrought, For so fast they down were laid, Till they all three that so manful fought, Were gotten without abraide. 1 "Have here your keys," said Adam Bell, " Mine office I here forsake, And if you do by my counsel, A new porter do ye make." 1 Abroad. 152 ADAM SELL. He threw their keyes at their heads, And bade them well to thrive, And all that letteth any good yeoman To come and comfort his wife. Thus be these good yeomen gone to the wood, As lightly as leaf on lynde ; l They laugh and be merry in their mood, Their enemies be far behind. When they came to the English wood, Under the trusty tree, There they found bowes full good, And arrows full great plenty. "So God me help," said Adam Bell, And Clym of the Clough so free, " I would we were in merry Carlisle, Before that fair meyne." 2 They set them down, and made good cheer, And eat and drank full well A second fytte of these wightie yeomen ; Another I will you telL FYTTE THE THIRD. As they sat in English wood Under the greenwood tree, They thought they heard a woman weep, But her they mought not see. Sore then sigh'd the fair Alice : " That ever I saw this day ! For now is my dear husband slain ; Alas ! and well-a-day ! " Might I have spoken with his dear brethren, Or with either of them twain, To let them know what him befell, My heart were put out of pain ! " 1 The lime-tree ; but frequently applied to all trees in common. 1 Company. ADAM BELL. 153 Cloudesly walk'd a little beside, And look'd under the greenwood lynde, He was ware of his wife and children three, Full woe in heart and mind. " Welcome, wife," then said William, " Under this trusty tree : I had wende yesterday, by sweet Saint John, Thou shouldest me never have see." " Now well is me that ye be here, My heart is out of woe." " Dame," he said, " be merry and glad, And thank my brethren two." " Hereof to speak," said Adam Bell, " I-wis it is no boot ; The meat that you must sup withal, It runneth yet fast on foot." Then went they down into a land, These noble archers all three ; Each of them slew a hart of greece, 1 The best that they could see. " Have here the best, Alice, my wife," Said William of Cloudesly, " By cause ye so boldly stood by me When I was slain full nigh." Then went they to supper, With such meat as they had ; And thanked God of their fortune ; They were both merry and glad. And when they had supped well, Certain withouten lease, Cloudesly said, " We will to our king, To get us a charter of peace. A step or degree. 154 ADAM BELL. " Alice shall be at our sojourning, In a nunnery here beside ; My two sonnes shall with her go, And there they shall abide. " Mine eldest son shall go with me, For him have I no care ; And he shall bring you word again How that we do fare." Thus be these yeomen to London gone, As fast as they might hie. Till they came to the king's palace, Where they would needes be. And when they came to the kinge's court, Unto the palace gate, Of no man would they ask no leave, But boldly went in thereat. They preced prestly into the hall, Of no man had they dread ; The porter came after, and did them call, And with them began to chide. The usher said, " Yeomen, what would you have ? I pray you tell to me ; You might thus make officers shent : l Good sirs, of whence be ye ? "Sir, we be outlaws of the forest, Certain withouten leace, And hither we be come to our king, To get us a charter of peace." And when they came before the king, As it was the law of the land, They kneel'd down without letting, And each held up his hand. 1 Blamed. ADAM BELL. 155 They said, " Lord, we beseech thee here, That ye will grant us grace ; For we have slain your fat fallow deer, In many a sundry place." " What be your names ?" then said our king, " Anon that you tell me : " They said, " Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, And William of Cloudesly." " Be ye those thieves ?" then said our king, " That men have told of to me ? Here to God I make an avow, Ye shall be hang'd all three. " Ye shall be dead without mercy, As I am king of this land." He commanded his officers everychone Fast on them to lay hand. There they took these good yeomen, And arrested them all three : " So may I thrive," said Adam Bell, " This game liketh not me. " But, good lord, we beseech you now, That you grant us grace, Inasmuch as freely we be to you come, As freely we may fro you pass. " With such weapons as we have here, Till we be out of your place ; And if we live this hundred year, We will ask you no grace." "Ye speak proudly," said the king ; "Ye shall be hang'd all three." " That were great pity," then said the queen, " If any grace might be. *' My lord, when I came first into this land, To be your wedded wife, The first boon that I would ask, Ye would grant it me belyfe : 156 ADAM BELL. " And I ask'd you never none till now ; Therefore, good lord, grant it me." " Now ask it, madam," said the king, " And granted it shall be." " Then, good, my lord, I you beseech, These yeomen grant ye me." " Madam, ye might have ask'd a boon, That should have been worth all three. " Ye might have asked towers and towns, Parks and forests plenty." " None so pleasant to my pay," she said ; " Nor none so lefe to me." " Madam, sith it is your desire, " Your asking granted shall be ; But I had lever have given you Good market townes three." The queene was a glad woman, And said, " Lord, gramercy. I dare undertake for them, That true men shall they be. " But, good my lord, speak some merry word, That comfort they may see." " I grant you grace," then said our king ; " Wash, fellows, and to meat go ye." They had not sitten but a while Certain without lesynge, There came messengers out of the north With letters to our king. And when they came before the king, They kneel'd down on their knee, And said, " Lord, your officers greet you well, Of Carlisle in the north countrie." " How fareth my justice ?" said the king, " And my sheriff also ? " " Sir, they be slain, without leasing, And many an officer mo." ADAM BELL. 157 " Who hath them slain ?" said the king, Anon that thou tell me." " Adam Bell, and Clym of the Clough, And William of Cloudesly." " Alas, for ruth ! " then said our king ; " My heart is wondrous sore ; I had lever than a thousand pound, I had known of this before ; " For I have granted them grace, And that forthinketh me ; But had I known all this before, They had been hang'd all three." The king he open'd the letter anon, Himself he read it through, And found how these outlaws had slain Three hundred men and mo ; First the justice and the sheriff, And the mayor of Carlisle town, Of all the constables and catchipolls Alive were left not one ; The bailies and the beadles both, And the sergeaunts of the law, And forty fosters of the fe, These outlaws had yslavv ; And broke his parks and slain his deer, Of all they chose the best ; So perilous outlaws, as they were, Walk'd not by east nor west ; When the king this letter had read, In his heart he sighed sore : " Take up the tables anon," he said, " For I may eat no more." The king called his best archers To the butts with him to go : " I will see these fellows shoot," he said, " In the north have wrought this woe." 158 ADAM BELL. The kinge's horsemen busk them blyve, 1 And the queen's archers also ; So did these three wightie yeomen ; With them they thought to go. There twice or thrice they shot about, For to assay their hand ; There was no shot these yeomen shot That any prycke 2 might them stand. Then spake William of Cloudesly : " By him that for me died, I hold him never no good archer, That shooteth at butts so wide." u At what a butt now would ye shoot, I pray thee, tell to me ?" "At such a butte, sir," he said, " As men use in my countrie." William went into a field, And with him his two brethren ; There they set up two hazel rods, Twenty score paces between. " I hold him an archer," said Cloudesly, " That yonder wand cleaveth in two." " There is none suche," said the king, " Nor no man can so do." " I shall assay, sir," said Cloudesly, " Or that I farther go." Cloudesly with a bearing arrow Clave the wand in two. " Thou art the best archer," then said the king, <: Forsooth, that ever I see : " " And yet, for your love," said William, " I will do more maystery. 1 Got themselves ready quickly. 2 Mark. ADAM BELL. 159 " I have a son is seven year old, He is to me full dear ; I will him tie to a stake ; All shall see that be here ; "And lay an apple upon his head, And go six score paces him fro, And I myself with a broad arrow Shall cleave the apple in two." " Now haste thee," then said the king, " By him that died on a tree, But if thou do not as thou hast said, Hanged shall thou be. "An thou touch his head or gown, For sight that men may see, By all the saints that be in heaven, I shall hang you all three." " That I have promised," said William, " That I will never forsake." And there, even before the king, In the earth he drove a stake : And bound thereto his eldest son, And bade him stand still thereat ; And turn'd the child's face him fro, Because he should not start. An apple upon his head he set, And then his bow he bent : Six score paces they were out met, And thither Cloudesly went. There he drew out a fair broad arrow, His bow was great and long ; He set that arrow in his bow, That was both stiff and strong. He pray'd the people that were there, That they would all still stand, For he that shooteth for such a wager, Behoveth a steadfast hand. 160 ADAM BELL. Much people pray'd for Cloudesly, That his life savfed might be, And when he made him ready to shoot, There was many a weeping eye. But Cloudesly cleft the apple in two, That many a man might see ; " Over Gods forbode," said the king, " That thou should shoot at me." " I give thee eighteen pence a day. And my bowe shalt thou bear, And over all the north countrie I make thee chief rydere." " And I give thee seventeen pence a-day," said the queen, " By God, and by my fay ; Come fetch thy payment when thou wilt, No man shall say thee nay." " William, I make thee a gentleman Of clothing, and of fee : And thy two brethren, yeomen of my chamber, For they are so seemly to see. " Your son, for he is tender of age, Of my wine-cellar he shall be ; And when he cometh to man's estate, Better advanced shall he be." " And, William, bring me your wife," said the queen, " Me longeth her sore to see : She shall be my chief gentlewoman, To govern my nursery." The yeomen thank'd them all courteously, And said, " To some bishop will we wend, Of all the sins that we have done, To be assoiled at his hand." ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE. 161 So forth be gone these good yeomen, As fast as they might hie, And after came and dwell'd with the king, And died good men all three. Thus ended the lives of these good yeomen, God send them eternal bliss ; And all that with hand-bow shooteth, That of heaven may never miss. ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE. OF Robin Hood, the famous outlaw of Sherwood Forest, and his merry men, there are a large number of ballads ; but the limits of this volume necessitate us giving a selection only. Various periods, ranging from the time of Richard I. to the end of the reign of Edward II., have been assigned as the age in which Robin Hood lived. He is usually described as a yeoman, and his place of abode Sherwood Forest, in Nottinghamshire. His most noted fol.owers, and those generally spoken of in the ballads, are Little John, Friar Tuck, his chaplain, and his maid Marian. Nearly all the legends extol his courage, generosity, humanity, and skill as an archer. He robbed the rich only, who could afford to lose, and gave freely to the poor. He protected the needy, was a champion of the fair sex ; and he took great delight in robbing prelates. The two fol- lowing ballads exhibit the outlaw in his most attractive aspects. In one he affords assistance to a distressed lover ; and in the other he proves his grati- tude to an old woman who had once befriended him, by rescuing her three sons from the gallows. COME, listen to me, you gallants so free, All you that love mirth for to hear, And I will tell you of a bold outlaw, That lived in Nottinghamshire. As Robin Hood in the forest stood, All under the greenwood tree, There he was aware of a brave young man, As fine as fine might be. The youngster was clad in scarlet red, In scarlet fine and gay; And he did frisk it over the plain, And chanted a roundelay. 162 ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE. As Robin Hood next morning stood Amongst the leaves so gay, There did he espy the same young man Come drooping along the way. The scarlet he wore the day before It was clean cast away; And at every step he fetch'd a sigh. "Alas ! and a well-a-day! " Then stepped forth brave Little John, And Midge, the miller's son ; Which made the young man bend his bow, When as he see them come. "Stand off! stand off! " the young man said, " What is your will with me ?" "You must come before our master straight, Under yon greenwood tree." And when he came bold Robin before, Robin ask'd him courteously, " Oh, hast thou any money to spare, For my merry men and me ?" " I have no money," the young man said, " But five shillings and a ring ; And that I have kept those seven long years To have at my wedding. "Yesterday I should have married a maid, But she was from me ta'en, And chosen to be an old knight's delight, Whereby my poor heart is slain." " What is thy name ?" then said Robin Hood, " Come tell me without any fail." "By the faith of my body," then said the youn- man, " My name it is Allen-a-Dale." ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE. 163 " What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood, " In ready gold or fee, To help thee to thy true love again, And deliver her unto thee ?" " I have no money," then quoth, the young man, "No ready gold nor fee, But I will swear upon a book Thy true servant for to be.' " How many miles is it to thy true love ? Come tell me without guile." " By the faith of my body," then said the young man, " It is but five little mile." Then Robin he hasted over the plain, He did neither stint nor linn, 1 Until he came unto the church Where Allen should keep his weddin'. "What hast thou here ?" the bishop then said, " I prithee now tell unto me." " I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, " And the best in the north country." " Oh welcome, oh welcome," the bishop he said, "That music best pleaseth me." "You shall have no music," quoth Robin Hood, " Till the bride and bridegroom I see." With that came in a wealthy knight, Which was both grave and old ; And after him a finikin lass, Did shine like the glistering gold. " This is not a fit match," quoth Robin Hood, " That you do seem to make here ; For since we are come into the church, The bride shall chuse her own dear." 1 Stop nor Pt.i i6d ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE. Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, And blew blasts two and three ; When four-and-twenty yeomen bold Come leaping over the lea. And when they came into the churchyard, Marching all in a row, The first man was Allen-a-Dale, To give bold Robin his bow. " This is thy true love," Robin he said, " Young Allen, as I hear say ; And you shall be married this same time, Before we depart away." " That shall not be," the bishop he cried, " For thy word shall not stand ; They shall be three times ask'd in the church, As the law is of our land." Robin Hood pull'd off the bishop's coat, And put it upon Little John ; " By the faith of my body," then Robin said, " This cloth doth make thee a man." When Little John went into the quire, The people began to laugh ; He ask'd them seven times into church Lest three times should not be enough. "Who gives me this maid ?" said Little John, Quoth Robin Hood, "That do I ; And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale, Full dearly he shall her buy." And then having ended this merry wedding, The bride look'd like a queen ; And so they return'd to the merry greenwood, Amongst the leaves so green. ROBIN HOOD AND THE WIDOW'S SONS. 165 ROBIN HOOD AND THE WIDOW'S SONS. THERE are twelve months in all the year, As I hear many say, But the merriest month in all the year Is the merry month of May. Now Robin Hood is to Nottingnam gone, With a link a down and a day, And there he met a silly old woman, Was weeping on the way. " What news ? what news ? thou silly old woman, What news hast thou for me ? " Said she, " There 's my three sons in Nottingham town To-day condemned to die." " Oh, have they parishes burnt ? " he said, " Or have they ministers slain ? Or have they robb'd any virgin ? Or other men's wives have ta'en ? " " They have no parishes burnt, good sir, Nor yet have ministers slain, Nor have they robb'd any virgin, Nor other men's wives have ta'en." "Oh, what have they done?" said Robin Hood, " I pray thee tell to me." " It 's for slaying of the king's fallow deer, Bearing their long bows with thee." " Dost thou not mind, old woman," he said, " How thou madest me sup and dine ? By the truth of my body," quoth bold Robin Hood, " You could not tell it in better time." 166 ROBIN HOOD AND THE WIDOW'S SONS. Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone, With a link a down and a day, And there he met with a silly old palmer, 1 Was walking along the highway. " What news ? what news ? thou silly old man, What news, I do thee pray ? " Said he, " Three squires in Nottingham town Are condemn'd to die this day." " Come change thy apparel with me, old man, Come change thy apparel for mine ; Here is ten shillings in good silver, Go drink it in beer or wine." " Oh, thine apparel is good," he said, "And mine is ragged and torn ; Wherever you go, wherever you ride, Laugh not an old man to scorn." " Come change thy apparel with me, old churl, Come change thy apparel with mine ; Here is a piece of good broad gold, Go feast thy brethren with wine." Then he put on the old man's hat, It stood full high on the crown : " The first bold bargain that I come at, It shall make thee come down." Then he put on the old man's cloak, Was patch'd black, blue, and red ; He thought it no shame, all the day long, To wear the bags of bread. Then he put on the old man's breeks, Was patch'd from leg to side : " By the truth of my body," bold Robin can say, " This man loved little pride." Pilgrim. ROBIN HOOD AND THE WIDOW'S SONS. 167 Then he put on the old man's hose, Were patch'd from knee to wrist : " By the truth of my body," said bold Robin Hood, " I 'd laugh if I had any list." Then he put on the old man's shoes, Were patch'd both beneath and aboon ; Then Robin Hood swore a solemn oath, " It 's good habit that makes a man." Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone, With a link a down and a down, And there he met with the proud sheriff, Was walking along the town. " Save you, save you, sheriff !" he said ; " Now heaven you save and see ! And what will you give to a silly old man To-day will your hangman be ? " " Some suits, some suits," the sheriff he said, " Some suits I '11 give to thee ; Some suits, some suits, and pence thirteen, To-day 's a hangman's fee." Then Robin he turns him round about, And jumps from stock to stone : " By the truth of my body," the sheriff he said, " That 's well jumpt, thou nimble old man." " I was ne'er a hangman in all my life, Nor yet intends to trade; But curst be he," said bold Robin, " That first a hangman was made ! " I 've a bag for meal, and a bag for malt, And a bag for barley and corn ; A bag for bread, and a bag for beef, And a bag for my little small horn. " I have a horn in my pocket, I got it from Robin Hood, And still when I set it to my mouth, For thee it blows little sood." 1 68 THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. " Oh, wind thy horn, thou proud fellbw ! Of thee I have no doubt. I wish that thou give such a blast, Till both thy eyes fall out." The first loud blast that he did blow, He blew both loud and shrill ; A hundred and fifty of Robin Hood's men Came riding over the hill. The next loud blast that he did give, He blew both loud and amain, And quickly sixty of Robin Hood's men Came shining over the plain. " Oh, who are those," the sheriff he said, " Come tripping over the lee ? " " They 're my attendants," brave Robin did say ; " They '11 pay a visit to thee." They took the gallows from the slack, 1 They set it in the glen, They hang'd the proud sheriff on that, Released their own three men. THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. ' IN the year 1388, the Scottish nobles had determined upon an invasion of Eng- land upon a large scale, and had assembled a large army for that purpose; but, learning that the people of Northumberland were assembling an army on the eastern frontier, they resolved to limit their incursion to that which might be achieved by the Earl of Douglas, with a chosen band of four or five thou- and loading his army with spoil. "Percy, Earl of Northumberland, an English noble of great power, and with whom the Douglas had frequently had encounters, sent his two sons, Sir 1 Lower ground. THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 169 Henry and Sir Ralph Percy, to stop the progress of this invasion. Both were gallant knights ; but the first, who, from his impetuosity, was called Hotspur, was one of the most distinguished warriors in England, as Douglas was in Scotland. The brothers threw themselves hastily into Newcastle, to defend that important town ; and as Douglas, in an insulting manner, drew out his followers before the walls, they came out to skirmish with the Scots. Douglas and Henry Percy encountered personally ; and it so chanced that Douglas got possession, in the struggle, of Hotspur's spear, to the end of winch was attached a small ornament of silk, embroidered with pearls, on which was represented a lion, the cognisance, as it is called, of the Percies. Douglas shook this trophy aloft, and declared he would carry it into Scotland, and plant it on his castle of Dalkeith. " ' That,' said Percy, ' shall thou never do. I will regain my lance ere thou canst get back into Scotland.' " 'Then,' said Douglas, 'come to seek it, and thou shall find it before my tent.' " The Scots army, having completed the object of their expedition, began their retreat up the vale of the little river Reed, which afforded a tolerable road running towards the Scottish frontier. They encamped at Otterburn, about twenty miles from the frontier, on the igth August 1388. " In the middle of the night, the alarm arose in the Scottish camp, that the English hosl were coming upon them, and the moonlight showed the advance of Sir Harry Percy, with a body of men equal or superior in number to that of Douglas. He had already crossed the Reed-water, and was advancing towards the left flank of the Scottish army. Douplas, not choosing to receive the assault in that position, drew his men out of the camp, and with a degree of military skill, which could scarcely have been expected when his forces were of such an undisciplined character, he altogether changed the position of the army, and presented his troops with their front lo the advancing Eng- lish. " Hotspur, in the meantime, marched his squadrons through the deserted camp, where there was none left but a few servants and stragglers of the army. The interruptions which the English troops met with threw them a little into disorder, when the moon arising showed them the Scottish army, who they fancied were retreating, drawn up in complete order, and prepared to fight. The battle commenced with the greatest fury; for Percy and Douglas were the two most distinguished soldiers of their time, and each army trusted in the courage and talents of their commanders, whose names were shouted on either side. The Scots, who were outnumbered, were at length about to give way, when Douglas, their leader, caused his banner lo advance, altended by his best men. He himself, shouting his war-cry of 'Douglas!' rushed for- ward, clearing his way with the blows of his battle-axe, and breaking into the very thickest of the enemy. He fell at length, under three mortal wounds. Had his death been known, it would probably have decided ihe battle against the Scots; but the English only knew thai some brave man-at-arms had fallen. Meantime the other Scottish nobles pressed forward, and found their general dying among several of his faithful esquires and pages, who lay slain around. A stout priest, called William of North-Berwick, the chaplain of Douglas, was protecting the body of his patron with a long lance. " ' How fares it, cousin/ said Sinclair, the firsl Scottish knight who came up to the wounded leader. "'Indifferently,' answered Douglas; 'but, blessed be God, my ancestors have died on the field of battle, not on down-beds. I sink fast, but let them still cry my war-cry, and conceal my death from my followers. There was a tradition in our family, that a dead Douglas should win a field, and I trusl it will this day be accomplished.' " The nobles did as he had enjoined ; they concealed the earl's body, and again rushed on to the battle, shouting, Douglas 1 Douglas!' louder than before. The English were weakened by the loss of the brave brothers Henry and Ralph Percy, both of whom were made prisoners, fighting most gallantly; THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. and almost no man of note amongst the English escaped death or captivity. Hence a Scottish poet has said of the name of Douglas ' Ho? 18 have been known at that dread name to yield, And, Douglas dead, his name has won the field.' Sir Henry Percy became the prisoner of Sir Hugh Montgomery, who ob'iged h,n^ for ransom, to bmld a cast!e for him at Penoon, in Ayrshire The baule of Otterburn was disastrous to the leaders on both sides-Percy being mad captive, and Douglas slain on the field. It has been the subject of many songs and poems; and the great historian Froissart says that one oth action excepted, it was the best fought battle of that warlike time.'" Tales, IT fell about the Lammas tide, When the muir-men win their hay The doughty Earl of Douglas rode Into England, to catch a prey. He chose the Gordons and the Grsemes, With them the Lindesays, light and gay ; But the Jardines would not with him ride And they rue it to this day. And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne, And part of Bambrough shire ; And three good towers on Roxburgh fells, He left them all on fire. And he march'd up to Newcastle, And rode it round about ; " Oh wha's the lord of this castle, Or wha 's the lady o't ?" But up spake proud Lord Percy then, And oh, but he spake hie ! " I am the lord of this castle, My wife is the lady gay." " If thou 'rt the lord of this castle, Sae weel it pleases me ! For, ere I cross the border fells, The tane l of us shall die." 1 One or other. THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 171 He took a lang spear in his hand, Shod with the metal free, And for to meet the Douglas there, He rode right furiouslie. But oh, how pale his lady look'd Frae aff the castle wa', When down, before the Scottish spear, She saw proud Percy fa'. " Had we twa been upon the green, And never an eye to see, I wad hae had you flesh and fell ; l But your sword sail gae wi' me." ' But gae ye up to Otterbourne, And wait there dayis three ; And if I come not ere three dayis end, A fause knight ca' ye me." " The Otterbourne 's a bonnie burn ; 'Tis pleasant there to be ; But there is nought at Otterbourne To feed my men and me. " The deer rins wild on hill and dale, The birds fly wild from tree to tree ; But there is neither bread nor kale, To fend 2 my men and me. " Yet I will stay at Otterbourne, Where you shall welcome be ; And if ye come not at three dayis end, A fause lord I '11 ca' thee." " Thither will I come," proud Percy said, " By the might of Our Ladye !" " There will I bide thee," said the Douglas, "My trowth I plight to thee." Hide. 2 Support. 172 THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. They lighted high on Otterbourne, Upon the bent sae brown ; They lighted high on Otterbourne, And threw their pallions down. And he that had a bonnie boy, Sent out his horse to grass ; And he that had not a bonnie boy, His ain servant he was. But up then spake a little page, Before the peep of dawn " Oh waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, For Percy 's hard at hand." " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud ! Sae loud I hear ye lie : For Percy had no men yestreen, To dight J my men and me. " But I hae dream'd a dreary dream, Beyond the Isle of Sky ; I saw a dead man win a fight, And I think that man was I." He belted on his good braid sword, And to the field he ran ; But he forgot the helmet good, That should have kept his brain. When Percy wi' the Douglas met, I wat he was fu' fain ! 2 They swakked 3 their swords, till sair they swat, And the blood ran down like rain. But Percy, with his good broad sword, That could so sharply wound, Has wounded Douglas on the brow, Till he fell to the ground. 1 Meet J Well pleased. Used. THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 173 Then he call'd on his little foot-page, And said " Run speedilie, And fetch my ain dear sister's son, Sir Hugh Montgomery." " My nephew good," the Douglas said, " What recks * the death of ane ! Last night I dream'd a dreary dream, And I ken the day's thy ain. " My wound is deep ; I fain would sleep ; Take thou the vanguard of the three, And hide me by the braken 2 bush, That grows on yonder lilye lee. " Oh bury me by the braken bush, Beneath the blooming briar, Let never living mortal ken That ere a kindly Scot lies here." He lifted up that noble lord, Wi' the saut tear in his e'e ; He hid him in the braken bush, That his merrie men might not see. The moon was clear, the day drew near, The spears in flinders flew, But mony a gallant Englishman Ere day the Scotsmen slew. The Gordons good, in English blood, They steep'd their hose and shoon ; The Lindesays flew like fire about, Till all the fray was done. The Percy and Montgomery met, That either of other were fain ; They swakked swords, and they twa swat, And aye the blude ran down between. 1 Matters. * Fern. 174 MAY COLVIN. "Yield thee, oh yield thee, Percy !" he said. " Or else I vow I 'll lay thee low !" " Whom to shall I yield," said Earl Percy, " Now that I see it must be so ?" " Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, Nor yet shalt thou yield to me ; But yield thee to the braken bush That grows upon yon lilye lee ! " " I will not yield to a braken bush, Nor yet will I yield to a briar ; But I would yield to Earl Douglas, Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here." As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, He stuck his sword's point in the gronde ; And the Montgomery was a courteous knight, And quickly took him by the honde. This deed was done at Otterbourne, About the breaking of the day ; Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush, And the Percy led captive away. MAY COLVIN. THIS ballad, which is also known as May Collean and the False Sir John and Tkf Western Tragedy, appeared in a fragmentary condition in Herd's Collection ; and additions were afterwards made in Motherwell's Minstrelsy give both versions here. ci, The /'?.' rrt/ ' ? f the ballad - as m Herd and Motherwell, is on the " Carrick f r^,, between Girvan and Ballantrae, where stood Cariton Castle, the abode 1 Ine Jalse Sir John." The castle was situated on a rocky eminence overhanging the sea, called Gam Where her true love doth lie and languish in distress ; Most woefully for food he calls, When hunger did his heart oppress. He sighs and sobs, and makes great moan : " Farewell," he said, " sweet England, now for evermore, And all my friends that have me known In Bristow town with wealth and store. " But most of all farewell," quoth he, " My own true love, sweet Maudlin, whom I left behind ; For never more shall I see thee ; Woe to thy father most unkind ! " How well were I if thou wert here, With thy fair hands to close these wretched eyes; My torments easy would appear, My soul with joy should scale the skies." When Maudlin heard her lover's moan, Her eyes with tears, her heart with sorrow . filled was ; To speak with him no means is known, Such grievous doom on him did pass. Then she cast off her lad's attire ; A maiden's weed upon her back she seemly set : To the judge's house she did inquire, And there she did a service get. She did her duty there so well, And eke so prudently she did herself behave, W r ith her in love her master fell ; His servant's favour he doth crave. 344 THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER OF BRISTOW. " Maudlin," quoth he, " my heart's delight, To whom my heart is in affection tied, Breed not my death through thy despite ; A faithful friend I will be tried. " Grant me thy love, fair maid," quoth he, And at my hands require what thou canst devise, And I will grant it unto thee, Whereby thy credit may arise." " I have a brother, sir," she said, " For his religion is now condemn'd to die ; In loathsome prison he is laid, Oppress'd with grief and misery. " Grant me my brother's life," she said, " And to you my love and liking I will give." " That may not be," quoth he, " fair maid ; Except he turn, he cannot live." " An English friar there is," she said, " Of learning great, and passing pure of life, Let him to my brother be sent, And he will finish soon the strife." Her master hearing this request, The mariner in friar's weed she did array, And to her love that lay distress'd, She did a letter straight convey. When he had read these gentle lines, His heart was ravished with sudden joy; Where now she was full well he knew ; The friar likewise was not coy; But did declare to him at large The enterprise for him his love had taken in hand. The young man did the friar charge His love should straight depart the land. THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER OF BRISTOW. 345 " Here is no place for her," he said, " But woeful death and danger of her harmless life; Professing truth I was betray' d, And fearful flames must end my strife. " For ere I will my faith deny, And swear myself to follow damn'd Antichrist, I '11 yield my body for to die, To live in heaven with the Highest." " O sir !" the gentle friar said, " For your sweet love recant and save your wished life." " A woeful match," quoth he, " is made Where Christ is lost to win a wife." When she had wrought all means that might To save her friend, and that she saw it would not be, Then of the judge she claim'd her right, To die the death as well as he. When no persuasion could prevail, Nor change her mind in anything that she had said, She was with him condemn'd to die, And for them both one fire was made. And arm in arm most joyfully These lovers twain into the fire did go ; The mariner most faithfully Was likewise partner of their woe. But when the judges understood The faithful friendship did in them remain, They saved their lives ; and afterward To England sent them home again. Now was their sorrow turn'd to joy, And faithful lovers had now their heart's desire Their pains so well they did employ, God granted that they did require. 346 GLENFINLAS. And when they were to England come, And in merry Bristow arrived at the last, Great joy there was to all and some That heard the dangers they had past. Her gentle master she desired To be her father, and at the church to give her then : It was fulfill'd as she required, Unto the joy of all good men. GLENFINLAS ; OR, LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.* BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. 'THE simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bothy, (a hut built for the purpose of hunting,) and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered when two beauti- ful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced, by the syren who attached herself particu- larly to him, to leave the hut ; the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's-harp, some strain conse- crated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called The Glen of the Green Women. " Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are moun- tains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the Castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The Pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the 1 The lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the aged of the clan- GLENFINLAS. 347 principal access to the Highlands from that town. Glenartney is a forest near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery. " For them the viewless forms of air obey, Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; They know what spirit brews the stormful day, And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare, To see the phantom train their secret work prepare." Scott. OH hone a rie' ! oh hone a rie' ! l The pride of Albin's line is o'er, And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree ; We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! Oh, sprung from great Macgillianore, The chief that never fear'd a foe, How matchless was thy broad claymore, How deadly thine unerring bow ! Well can the Saxon 2 widows tell, How on the Teith's resounding shore, The boldest Lowland warriors fell, As down from Lenny's pass you bore. _, But o'er his hills, on festal day, How blazed Lord Ronald's Beltane-tree, 3 While youths and maids the light strathspey So nimbly danced, with Highland glee ! Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell, E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; But now the loud lament we swell, Oh, ne'er to see Lord Ronald more ! From distant isles a Chieftain came, The joys of Ronald's halls to find, And chase with him the dark brown game That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 1 "Alas for the prince, or chief." * " The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by the Highlanders to theif Low-country neighbours." Scott. 3 "The fires lighted by the Highlanders on the ist of May, in compliance with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are termed The Beltane-tree. It is a festival celebrated with various superstitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and in Wales." Scott. 348 GLENFINLAS. Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle The seer's prophetic spirit found, As, with a minstrel's fire the while, He waked his harp's harmonious sound. Full many a spell to him was known, Which wand'ring spirits shrink to hear; And many a lay of potent tone Was never meant for mortal ear. For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood, High converse with the dead they hold, And oft espy the fated shroud That shall the future corpse enfold. Oh, so it fell, that on a day, To rouse the red deer from their den, The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen. No vassals wait their sports to aid, To watch their safety, deck their board ; Their simple dress, the Highland plaid, Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. Three summer days, through brake and dell, Their whistling shafts successful flew ; And still, when dewy evening fell, The quarry to their hut they drew. In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook The solitary cabin stood, Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, Which murmurs through that lonely wood. Soft fell the night, the sky was calm, When three successive days had flown ; And summer mist in dewy balm Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. The moon, half hid in silvery flakes, Afar her dubious radiance shed, Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes, And resting on Benledi's head. GLENFINLAS. 349 Now in their hut, in social guise, Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy ; And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. " What lack we here to crown our bliss, While thus the pulse of joy beats high ? What, but fair woman's yielding kiss, Her panting breath, and melting eye ? " To chase the deer of yonder shades, This morning left their father's pile, The fairest of our mountain maids, The daughters of the proud Glengyle. " Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh ; But vain the lover's wily art, Beneath a sister's watchful eye. " But thou mayst teach that guardian fair, While far with Mary I am flown, Of other hearts to cease her care, And find it hard to guard her own. " Touch but thy harp, thou soon shall see The lovely Flora of Glengyle, Unmindful of her charge and me, Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile. " Or, if she choose a melting tale, All underneath the greenwood bough, Will good St Oran's rule prevail, Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ?" " Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death, No more on me shall rapture rise, Responsive to the panting breath, The yielding kiss, or melting eyes. u E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe, Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, I bade my harp's wild wailings flow, On me the seer's sad spirit came. 350 GLENFINLAS. u The last dread curse of angry heaven, With ghastly sights and sounds of woe, To dash each glimpse of joy, was given The gift, the future ill to know " The bark thou saw'st yon summer morn, So gaily part from Oban's bay, My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, Far on the rocky Colonsay. " Thy Fergus too thy sister's son, Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power, As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe, He left the skirts of huge Benmore. " Thou only saw'st their tartans wave, As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, Heardst but the pibroch, answering brave To many a target clanking round. " I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, I saw the wound his bosom bore, When on the serried Saxon spears He pour'd his clan's resistless roar. " And thou, who bidd'st me think of bliss, And bidd'st my heart awake to glee, And court, like thee, the wanton kiss, That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee ! " I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; The corpse-lights dance they're gone, and now . . . No more is given to gifted eye ! " " Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, Sad prophet of the evil hour! Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, Because to-morrow's storm may lour ? GLENFINLAS. 351 " Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear ; His blood shall bound at rapture's glow, Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear. " E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, My Mary's buskins brush the dew ;" He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell, But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. Within an hour return'd each hound ; In rush'd the rousers of the deer ; They howl'd in melancholy sound, Then closely couch beside the seer. No Ronald yet ; though midnight came, And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams, As, bending o'er the dying flame, He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. Sudden the hounds erect their ears, And sudden cease their moaning howl Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears By shivering limbs, and stifled growl Untouch'd, the harp began to ring, As softly, slowly, oped the door ; And shook responsive every string, As light a footstep press'd the floor. And by the watch-fire's glimmering light, Close by the minstrel's side was seen A huntress maid, in beauty bright, All dropping wet her robes of green. All dropping wet her garments seem ; Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare, As, bending o'er the dying gleam, She wrung the moisture from her hair. With maiden blush she softly said, " O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen, In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade, A lovely maid in vest of green : 352 GLENFINLAS. " With her a chief in Highland pride ; His shoulders bear the hunter's bow The mountain dirk adorns his side, Far on the wind his tartans flow ?" " And who art thou ? and who are they ?" All ghastly gazing, Moy replied ; " And why, beneath the moon's pale ray, Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ?" " Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide, Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle, Our father's towers o'erhang her side, The castle of the bold Glengyle. " To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer, Our woodland course this morn we bore, And haply met, while wandering here, The son of great Macgillianore, " Oh, aid me, then, to seek the pair, Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; Alone, I dare not venture there, Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost" " Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there ; Then first, my own sad vow to keep, Here will I pour my midnight prayer, Which still must rise when mortals sleep." " Oh, first, for pity's gentle sake, Guide a lone wanderer on her way ! For I must cross the haunted brake, And reach my father's towers ere day." " First, three times tell each Ave bead, And thrice a Pater-noster say ; Then kiss with me the holy reed : So shall we safely wind our way." GLENFINLAS. 353 " Oh, shame to knighthood, strange and foul ! Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, Which best befits thy sullen vow. " Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, Thy heart was froze to love and joy, When gaily rung thy raptured lyre, To wanton Morna's melting eye." Wild stared the Minstrel's eyes of flame, And high his sable locks arose, And quick his colour went and came, As fear and rage alternate rose. " And thou, when by the blazing oak I lay, to her and love resign'd, Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke, Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind ? " Not thine a race of mortal blood, Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood, Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." He mutter'd thrice St Oran's rhyme, And thrice St Fillan's powerful prayer ; Then turn'd him to the eastern clime, And sternly shook his coal-black hair : And, bending o'er his harp, he flung His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; And loud, and high, and strange, they run.". As many a magic change they find. Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form. Till to the roof her stature grew ; Then, mingling with the rising storm, With one wild yell away she flew. Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : The slender hut in fragments flew ; But not a lock of Moy's loose hair Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. 354 GLENFINLAS. Wild mingling with the howling gale, Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; High o'er the Minstrel's head they sail, And die amid the northern skies. The voice of thunder shook the wood, As ceased the more than mortal yell ; And, spattering foul, a shower of blood, Upon the hissing firebrands felL Next, dropp'd from high a mangled arm ; The fingers strain'd a half-drawn blade ; And last, the life-blood streaming warm, Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. Oft o'er that head, in battling field, Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore ; That arm the broad claymore could wield, Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. Woe to Moneira's sullen rills : Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! There never son of Albin's hills Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen ! E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet At noon shall shun that sheltering den, Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet The wayward Ladies of the Glen. And we behind the chieftain's shield, No more shall we in safety dwell ; None leads the people to the field And we the loud lament must swelL Oh hone a rie' ! oh hone a rie' ! The pride of Albin's line is o'er, And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree ; We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! PA TIENT GRISSELL. 355 PATIENT GRISSELL. THE story of Griselda, the patient and virtuous model of womanly and wifely obedience, who came victoriously out of the most cruel and wicked ordeals, was first told in the Decameron. Boccaccio derived the incidents from Petrarch ; and Chaucer has embodied them in his Clerk ofOxenfortfs Tale. The following version of this popular ballad is from The Garland of Good Will, 1596. A NOBLE marquess, As he did ride a hunting Hard by a forest side, A fair and comely maiden, As she did sit a spinning, His gentle eye espied. Most fair and lovely, And of comely grace was she, Although in simple attire : She sung full sweetly, With pleasant voice melodiously, Which set the lord's heart on fire. The more he look'd, the more he might ; Beauty bred his heart's delight, And to this comely damsel Then he went : " God speed," quoth he, " thou famous flower, Fair mistress of this homely bower, Where love and virtue Dwell with sweet content." With comely gesture, And modest mild behaviour, She bid him welcome then ; She entertain'd him In faithful friendly manner, And all his gentlemen. The noble marquess In 's heart felt such a flame, Which set his senses all at strife : Quoth he, " Fair maiden, Show me soon what is thy name ! I mean to make thee my wife." 356 PATIENT GRISSELL. " Grissell is my name," quoth she, " Far unfit for your degree, A silly maiden, And of parents poor." " Nay, Grissell, thou art rich," he said, "A virtuous, fair, and comely maid ; Grant me thy love, And I will ask no more." IL At length she consented, And being both contented They married were with speed ; Her country russet Was changed to silk and velvet, As to her state agreed ; And when that she Was trimly tired in the same, Her beauty shone most bright, Far staining every Other fair and princely dame, That did appear in sight. Many envied her therefore, Because she was of parents poor, And 'twixt her lord and she, Great strife did raise. Some said this, and some said that, And some did call her beggar's brat, And to her lord They would her oft dispraise. " O noble marquess ! " Quoth they, " why dost thou wrong us. Thus basely for to wed, That might have gotten An honourable lady Into your princely bed ? Who will not now Your noble issue still deride, Which shall hereafter be born. PA TIE NT GRISSELL. 357 That are of blood so base, Born by the mother's side, The which will bring them in scorn. Put her, therefore, quite away, And take to you a lady gay, Whereby your lineage May renowned be." Thus every day they seem'd to prate That maliced Grissell's good estate ; Who all this while Took it most patiently. ill. When that the marquess Did see that they were bent thus Against his faithful wife, Whom he most dearly, Tenderly, and entirely, Beloved as his life ; Minding in secret For to prove her patient heart, Thereby her foes to disgrace ; Thinking to show her A hard discourteous part, That men might pity her case. Great with child this lady was, And at last it came to pass, Two goodly children At one birth she had : A son and daughter God had sent, Which did their father well content, And which did make Their mother's heart full glad. Great royal feasting, Was at these children's christening, And princely triumph made ; Six weeks together, All nobles that came thither, Were entertain'd and stay'd ; 355 PATIENT GRISSELL. And when all these pleasant Sportings were quite done, The marquess a messenger sent For his young daughter, And his pretty smiling son ; Declaring his full intent, How that the babes must murder'd be ; For so the marquess did decree. " Come, let me have The children," then he said. With that fair Grissell wept full sore, She wrung her hands, and said no more, " My gracious lord Must have his will obey'd." IV. She took the babies, Even from the nursing ladies, Between her tender arms ; She often wishes With many sorrowful kisses, That she might ease their harms. " Farewell, farewell, A thousand times, my children dear, Never shall I see you again ; 'Tis long of me, Your sad and woeful mother here, For whose sake both must be slain. Had I been born of royal race, You might have lived in happy case ; But you must die For my unworthiness. Come, messenger of death," quoth she, "Take my dearest babes to thee, And to their father My complaints express." He took the children, And to his noble master, He bore them thence with speed : PA TIENT GRISSELL. 359 Who in secret sent them Unto a noble lady, To be brought up in deed. Then to fair Grissell, With a heavy heart he goes, Where she sat mildly all alone A pleasant gesture, And a lovely look she shows, As if no grief she had known. Quoth he, "My children now are slain ; What thinks fair Grissell of the same ? Sweet Grissell, now Declare thy mind to me." " Sith you, my lord, are pleased with it, Poor Grissell thinks the action fit : Both I and mine At your command will be." v. " My nobles murmur, Fair Grissell, at thy honour, And I no joy can have, Till thou be banish'd, Both from the court and presence, As they unjustly crave. Thou must be stripp'd Out of thy stately garments all ; And as thou cam'st to me, In homely gray, Instead of bisse and purest pall, Now all thy clothing must be : My lady thou must be no more, Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore The poorest life Must now content thy mind. A groat to thee I must not give Thee to maintain while I do live ; Against my Grissell Such great foes I find." 360 PA TIE NT GRISSELL. When gentle Grissell Did hear these woeful tidings, The tears stood in her eyes, Nothing she answer'd, No words of discontentment Did from her lips arise. Her velvet gown Most patiently she stripp'd off, Her kirtle of silk with the same : Her russet gown Was brought again with many a scoff, To bear them herself she did frame. When she was dress' d in this array, And was ready to part away, " God send long life Unto my lord," quoth she ; " Let no offence be found in this, To give my love a parting kiss." With watery eyes, " Farewell, my dear," said he. VL From princely palace Unto her father's cottage Poor Grissell now is gone. Full sixteen winters She lived there contented ; No wrong she thought upon. And at that time through All the land the speeches went, The marquess should married be Unto a noble lady great, Of high descent ; And to the same all parties did agree. The marquess sent for Grissell fair, The bride's bed-chamber to prepare That nothing therein Might be found awry. The bride was with her brother come, Which was great joy to all and some ; But Grissell took All this most patiently. PATIENT GRISSELL, 3<5i And in the morning, When as they should be wedded, Her patience there was tried : Grissell was charged Herself in friendly manner For to attire the bride. Most willingly She gave consent to do the same ; The bride in bravery was dress'd, And presently The noble marquess thither came With all his lords at his request. " O Grissell, I would ask of thee, If to this match thou wilt agree ? Methinks thy looks Are waxed wondrous coy." With that they all began to smile, And Grissell she replied the while, " God send lord marquess Many years of joy." VII. The marquess was moved To see his best beloved Thus patient in distress ; He stept unto her, And by the hand he took her, These words he did express : " Thou art my bride, And all the bride I mean to have : These two thy own children be." The youthful lady On her knees did blessing crave, Her brother as well as she. " And you that envied her estate, Whom I have made my loving mate, Now blush for shame, And honour virtuous life. The chronicles of lasting fame Shall evermore extol the name Of patient Grissell, My most constant wife." 362 THE MILLER'S SON. THE MILLER'S SON. " OH woe is me, the time draws nigh My love and I must part ; No one doth know the cares and fears Of my poor troubled heart. f( Already I have suffered much, Our parting cost me dear ; Unless I were to go with you, Or you to tarry here. " My heart is fix'd within his breast, And that he knows right well ; I fear that I some tears will shed, When I bid you farewell. " When I bid you farewell," she said, " This day, and woe is me ; And cauld and shrill the wind blows still, Between my love and me. " The hat my love wears on his head, It 's not made of the woo ; But it is o' the silk so fine, And becomes his noble brow. " His eyes do wink, and aye so jimp, His hair shines like the broom ; And I would not gi'e my laddie's love For a' the wealth in Rome." He said, " Farewell, my dearest dear, Since from you I must go ; Let ne'er your heart be full of grief, Nor anguish make you woe. " If life remains, I will return, And bear you companie ;" Now cauld and shrill the wind blows ? till Between my love and me. THE MILLER'S SON. 363 " His bonnie middle is so well made, His shoulders brave and braid ; Out of my mind he '11 never be Till in my grave I 'm laid. " Till I 'm in grave laid low," she says, " Alas ! and woe is me ; Now cauld and raw the wind does blaw Between my love and me. " Some do mourn for oxen," she said, " And others mourn for kye ; And some do mourn for dowie death, But none for love but I. " What need I make all this din, For this will never dee ; And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still Between my love and me." She's ta'en her mantle her about, And sat down by the shore, In hopes to meet with some relief, But still her grief grew more. " Oh I '11 sit here while my life 's in, Until the day I die ; Oh cauld and shrill the wind blaws still Between my love and me. " Oh see ye not yon bonnie ship, She's beauteous to behold ; Her sails are of the tafety fine, Her topmasts shine like gold. " In yonder ship my love does skip, And quite forsaken me ; And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still Between my love and me. fc My love he 's neither laird nor lord, Nor ane of noble kin; But my bonnie love, the sailor bold, Is a poor miller's son. 364 KING MALCOLM AND SIR COLVIN. " He is a miller's son," she says, " And will be till he die ; And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still Between my love and me. " My love he 's bound to leave the land, And cross the watery faem ; And the bonnie ship my love sails in, The Goldspink is her name. " She sails mair bright than Phoebus fair Out o'er the raging sea ; And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still Between my love and me. " He promised to send letters to me, Ere six months they were gone ; But now nine months they are expired, And I 've received none. " So I may sigh, and say, alas ! This day, and woe is me ; And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still Between my love and me. " I wish a stock-stone aye on earth, And high winds on the sea ; To cause my true love stay at home, And no more go from me. " What needs me for to wish in vain ? Such things will never be ; The wind blaws sair in everywhere Between my love and me." THERE ance lived a king in fair Scotland, King Malcolm call'd by name ; Whom ancient history gives record For valour, worth, and fame. KING MALCOLM AND SIR COLVIN. 365 And it fell ance upon a day, The king sat down to dine ; And then he miss'd a favourite knight, Whose name was Sir Colvin. But out it speaks another knight, Ane o' Sir Colvin's kin ; " He's lying in bed right sick in love, All for your daughter Jean." " Oh waes me," said the royal king, " I' m sorry for the same ; She maun take bread and wine sae red, Give it to Sir Colvin." Then gently did she bear the bread, Her page did carry the wine ; And set a table at his bed, " Sir Colvin, rise and dine." " Oh well love I the wine, lady, Come frae your lovely hand ; But better love I your fair body, Than all fair Scotland's strand." " Oh hold your tongue now, Sir Colvin, Let all your folly be ; My love must be by honour won, Or nane shall enjoy me. " But on the head o' Elrick's hill, Near by yon sharp hawthorn, Where never a man with life e'er came Sin' our sweet Christ was born. " Oh ye '11 gang there and walk a' night, And boldly blaw your horn ; With honour that ye do return, Ye '11 marry me the morn." Then up it raise him, Sir Colvin, And dress' d in armour keen ; And he is on to Elrick's hill, Without light o' the meen. 366 KING MALCOLM AND SIR COLVIN. At midnight mark the meen upstarts, The knight walk'd up and down ; While loudest cracks o' thunder roar'd, Out ower the bent sae brown. Then by the twinkling of an e'e He spied an armed knight ; A fair lady bearing his brand, Wi' torches burning bright. Then he cried high as he came nigh, " Coward, thief, I bid you flee ! There is not ane comes to this hill But must engage wi' me. " Ye '11 best take road before I come, And best take foot and flee ; Here is a sword baith sharp and broad, Will quarter you in three." Sir Colvin said, " I 'm not afraid Of any here I see ; You ha'e not ta'en your God before, Less dread ha'e I o' thee." Sir Colvin then he drew his sword, His foe he drew his brand ; And they fought there on Elrick's hill Till they were bluidy men. The first an' stroke the knight he strake, Ga'e Colvin a slight wound ; The next an' stroke Lord Colvin strake Brought 's foe unto the ground. " I yield, I yield," the knight he said, " I fairly yield to thee ; Nae ane came e'er to Elrick hill E'er gain'd such victorie. " I and my forbears here did haunt Three hundred years and more ; I 'm safe to swear a solemn oath, We were never beat before." KING MALCOLM AND SIR COLVIN. 367 " An asking," said the lady gay, "An asking ye '11 grant me." " Ask on, ask on," said Sir Colvin, " What may your asking be ?" " Ye '11 gi'e me hame my wounded knight, Let me fare on my way ; And I'se ne'er be seen on Elrick's hill, By night, nor yet by day. And to this place we '11 come nae mair, Could we win safe away. " To trouble any Christian one Lives in the righteous law ; We '11 come nae mair unto this place, Could we win safe awa'." " Oh ye'se get hame your wounded knight, Ye shall not gang alane ; But I maun ha'e a word o' him, Before that we twa twine." Sir Colvin being a book-learn'd man, Sae gude in fencing tee ; He's drawn a stroke behind his hand, And follovv'd in speedilie. Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colvin 's drawn, And follow'd in speedilie ; The knight's brand, and sword hand, In the air he gar'd them flee. It flew sae high into the sky, And lighted on the ground ; The rings that were on these fingers Were worth five hundred pound. Up he has ta'en that bluidy hand, Set it before the king ; And the morn it was Wednesday, When he married his daughter Jean. 368 YOUNG AIKIX. YOUNG AIKIN. c Tms ballad is, to all appearance, very old, and agrees with the romantic history and times of Fergus II. It will be considered by all lovers of Scottish song, as a great acquisition to their store of traditionary poetry. The heroine, Lady Margaret, a king's daughter, was stolen by her father's cup-bearer, who built for her a bower, in which she was so artfully confined, that no one could have discovered the place of her residence. In this bower she bare to her adopted husband seven sons, the oldest of whom was the means of releas- ing her from her dreary abode. On his arrival at the court of his grandfather, whither he had gone to reconnoitre, the old monarch at once perceived such a family likeness in the face of this woodland boy, as made him inquire after the fate of his long-lost daughter. She, with the rest of her sons, arrived at her father's palace, and. like the prodigal, or long-lost son, was welcomed with joy and gladness. The ballad concludes with the pardon of young Aikin, his reception at the king's court, and the baptism of the children." Bvchan. LADY MARGARET sits in her bower door, Sewing at her silken seam ; She heard a note in Elmond's Wood, And wish'd she there had been. She loot the seam fa' frae her side, And the needle to her tae ; And she is on to Elmond's Wood As fast as she could gae. She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but ane, Till by it came a young hind cheil, Says, " Lady, lat alane. " Oh, why pu' ye the nut, the nut, Or why brake ye the tree ? For I am forester o' this wood ; Ye should spier leave at me." " I '11 ask leave at nae living man, Nor yet will I at thee ; My father is king o'er a' this realm : This wood belongs to me." She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but three, Till by it came him young Aikin, And gar'd her let them be. YOUNG AIKIN. 369 The highest tree in Elmond's Wood, He 's pu'd it by the reel ; And he has built for her a bower Near by a hallow seat. He 's built a bower, made it secure Wi' carbuncle and stane ; Though travellers were never sae nigh, Appearance it had nane. He's kept her there in Elmond's Wood For six lang years and one ; Till six pretty sons to him she bear, And the seventh she 's brought home. It fell ance upon a day, This guid lord went from home ; And he is to the hunting gane Took wi' him his eldest son. And when they were on a guid way, Wi' slowly pace did walk ; The boy's heart being something wae, He thus began to talk : " A question I would ask, father, Gin ye wouldna angry be." " Say on, say on, my bonnie boy, Ye's nae be quarrell'd by me." " I see my mother's cheeks aye weet, I never can see them dry ; And I wonder what aileth my mother, To mourn continually." " Your mother was a king's daughter, Sprung frae a high degree ; And she might ha'e wed some worthy prince, Had she not been stown by me ; " I was her father's cup-bearer, Just at that fatal time ; I catch'd her on a misty night, Whan summer was in prime ; 2 A 370 YOUNG AIKIN. u My luve to her was most sincere, Her luve was great for me ; But when she hardships doth endure, Her folly she doth see." " I '11 shoot the buntin' o' the bush, The linnet o' the tree, And bring them to my dear mither, See if she '11 merrier be." It fell upo' another day, This guid lord he thought lang ; And he is to the hunting gane Took wi' him his dog and gun ; Wi' bow and arrow by his side, He 's aff, single, alane ; And left his seven children to stay Wi' their mither at hame. u Oh, I will tell to you, mither, Gin ye wadna angry be." " Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy, Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me." " As we came frae the hynd hunting, We heard fine music ring." u My blessings on you, my bonnie boy ; I wish I 'd been there my lane." He 's ta'en his mither 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 gaen, Wi' the stratlins o' their feet ; They wistna weel where they were gaen, Till at her father's yate. " I ha'e nae money in my pocket, But royal rings ha'e three ; I '11 gie them you, my little young son, And ye '11 walk there for me ; YOUNG A I KIN. 371 " Ye '11 gi'e the first to the proud porter, And he will let you in ; Ye '11 gi'e the next to the butler boy, And he will show you ben ; " Ye '11 gie the third to the minstrel That plays before the king ; He '11 play success to the bonnie boy, Came through the wood him lane." He ga'e the first to the proud porter, And he open'd and let him in ; He ga'e the next to the butler boy, And he has shown him ben ; He ga'e the third to the minstrel That play'd before the king ; And he play'd success to the bonnie boy Came through the wood him lane. Now when he came before the king, Fell low down on his knee ; The king he turned round about, And the saut tear blinded his e'e. " Win up, win up, my bonnie boy, Gang frae my companie ; Ye look sae like my dear daughter, My heart will birst in three." " If I look like your dear daughter, A wonder it is none ; If I look like your dear daughter, I am her eldest son." " Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy, Where may my Margaret be ?" " She's just now standing at your yates, And my six brothers her wi'." " Oh, where are all my porter boys, That I pay meat and fee. To open my yates baith wide and braid ? Let her come in to me." 372 YOUNG When she came in before the king, Fell low down on her knee : "Win up, win up, my daughter dear, This day ye '11 dine wi' me." " Ae bit I canna eat, father, Nor ae drop can I drink, Till I see my mither and sister dear, For lang for them I think." When she came before the queen, Fell low down on her knee : " Win up, win up, my daughter dear, This day ye'se dine wi' me." " Ae bit I canna eat, mither, Nor ae drop can I drink, Until I see my dear sister, For lang for her I think." When that these two sisters met, She hail'd her courteouslie : " Come ben, come ben, my sister dear, This day ye'se dine wi' me." " Ae bit I canna eat, sister, Nor ae drop can I drink, Until I see my dear husband, For lang for him I think." " Oh, where are all my rangers bold, That I pay meat and fee, To search the forest far and wide, To bring Aikin to me ? " Out it speaks the little wee boy: " Na, na, this maunna be ; Without ye grant a free pardon, I hope ye '11 nae him see." " Oh, here I grant a free pardon, Well seal'd by my own han' ; Ye may make search for young Aikin As soon as ever you can." YOUNG A IK IN. 373 They search'd the country wide and braid, The forest far and near ; And found him into Elmond's Wood, Tearing his yellow hair. " Win up, win up, now young Aikin, \\ in up and boun wi' me ; We 're messengers come from the court ; The king wants you to see." " Oh, let him take frae me my head, Or hang me on a tree ; For since I Ve lost my dear lady, Life 's no pleasure to me." " Your head will nae be touch'd, Aikin, Nor hang'd upon a tree ; Your lady 's in her father's court, And all he wants is thee." When he came in before the king, Fell low down on his knee : " Win up, win up, now young Aikin, This day ye'se dine wi' me." But as they were at dinner set, The boy ask'd a boun ; " I wish we were in the good church, For to get Christendoun ; "We ha'e lived in guid green wood This seven years and ane ; But a' this time since ere I mind, Was never a church within." "Your asking's nae sae great, my boy, But granted it shall be : This day to guid church ye shall gang, And your mither shall gang you wi'." When into the guid church she came, She at the door did stan'; She was sae sair sunk down wi' shame, She couldna come farer ben. 374 LORD BEICHAN. Then out it speaks the parish priest, And a sweet smile ga'e he : " Come ben, come ben, my lily flower ; Present your babes to me." Charles, Vincent, Sam, and Dick, And likewise James and John ; They call'd the eldest Young Aikin, Which was his father's name. Then they stay*d in the royal court, And lived wi' mirth and glee ; And when her father was deceased, Heir of the crown was she. LORD BEICHAN. THIS ballad, of which there are several versions, is supposed to refer to the cir- cumstance of Gilbert Becket, the father of the famous Thomas a Becket, having been captured by the Saracens, and sold into slavery, from which he was afterwards liberated through the aid of a governor's daughter, whom he subsequently married. YOUNG Beichan was in London born, He was a man of hie degree ; He past through monie kingdoms great, Until he cam unto grand Turkic. He view'd the fashions of that land, Their way of worship viewed he ; But unto onie of their stocks He wadna sae much as bow a knee : Which made him to be taken straight, And brought afore their high jurie ; The savage Moor did speak upricht, And made him meikle ill to dree. In ilka shoulder they've bored a hole, And in ilka hole they 've put a tree ; They 've made him to draw carts and wains, Till he was sick and like to dee. LORD B El CHAN. 375 But young Beichan was a Christian born, And still a Christian was he ; Which made them put him in prison strang, And cauld and hunger sair to dree ; And fed on nocht but bread and water, Until the day that he mot dee. In this prison there grew a tree, And it was unco stout and strang ; Where he was chained by the middle, Until his life was almost gane. The savage Moor had but ae dochter, And her name it was Susie Pye ; And ilka day as she took the air, The prison door she passed by. But it fell ance upon a day, As she was walking, she heard him sing ; She listen'd to his tale of woe, A happy day for young Beichan ! " My hounds they all go masterless, My hawks they flee frae tree to tree, My youngest brother will heir my lands, My native land I '11 never see." " Oh were I but the prison-keeper, As I'm a lady o' hie degree, I soon wad set this youth at large, And send him to his ain countrie." She went away into her chamber, All nicht she never closed her ee ; And when the morning begoud to dawn, At the prison door alane was she. She gied the keeper a piece of gowd, And monie pieces o' white monie, To tak her through the bolts and bars, The lord frae Scotland she lang'd to see :- She saw young Beichan at the stake, Which made her weep maist bitterlie. 376 LORD BEICHAN. u Oh ha'e ye got onie lands," she says, " Or castles in your ain countrie ? It's what wad ye gi'e to the ladie fair Wha out o' prison wad set you free ? " "It's I ha'e houses, and I ha'e lands, Wi' monie castles fair to see, And I wad gie a' to that ladie gay, Wha out o' prison wad set me free." The keeper syne brak aff his chains, And set Lord Beichan at libertie : She filTd his pockets baith wi' gowd, To tak him till his ain countrie. She took him frae her father's prison, And gied to him the best o' wine ; And a brave health she drank to him, " I wish, Lord Beichan, ye were mine." " It 's seven lang years I '11 make a vow, And seven lang years I '11 keep it true ; If ye '11 wed wi' na ither woman, It's I will wed na man but you." She 's tane him to her father's port, And gi'en to him a ship o' fame, " Farewell, farewell, my Scottish lord, I fear I '11 ne'er see you again." Lord Beichan turn'd him round about, And lowly, lowly loutit he : " Ere seven lang years come to an end, I '11 tak you to mine ain countrie." Then whan he cam to Glasgow town, A happy, happy man was he ; The ladies a' around him thrang'd, To see him come frae slaverie. His mother she had died o' sorrow, And a' his brothers were dead but he ; His lands they a' were lying waste, In ruins were his castles free. LORD BEICHAN. 377 Na porter there stood at his yett ; Na human creature he could see ; Except the screeching owls and bats, Had he to bear him companie. But gowd will gar the castles grow, And he had gowd and jewels free ; And soon the pages around him thrang'd, To serve him on their bended knee. His hall was hung wi' silk and satin, His table rung wi' mirth and glee; He soon forgot the lady fair, That lows'd him out o' slaverie. Lord Beichan courted a lady gay, To heir wi' him his lands sae free, Ne'er thinking that a lady fair Was on her way frae grand Turkie. For Susie Pye could get nae rest, Nor day nor nicht could happy be, Still thinking on the Scottish lord, Till she was sick and like to dee. But she has builded a bonnie ship, Weel mann'd wi' seamen o' hie degree : And secretly she slept on board, And bid adieu to her ain countrie. But whan she cam to the Scottish shore, The bells were ringing sae merrilie ; It was Lord Beichan's wedding day, Wi' a lady fair o' hie degree. But sic a vessel was never seen, The very masts were tapp'd wi' gold ! Her sails were made o' the satin fine, Maist beautiful for to behold. But when the lady cam on shore, Attended wi' her pages three, Her shoon were of the beaten gowd, And she a lady of great beautie. 378 LORD BEICHAN. Then to the skipper she did say, " Can ye this answer gi'e to me Where are Lord Beichan's lands sae braid ? He surely lives in this countrie." Then up bespak' the skipper bold, (For he could speak the Turkish tongue,) " Lord Beichan lives not far away, This is the day of his wedding." " If ye will guide me to Beichan's yetts, I will ye well reward," said she, * Then she and all her pages went, A very gallant companie. When she cam to Lord Biechan's yetts, She tirl'd gently at the pin, Sae ready was the proud porter To let the wedding guests come in. " Is this Lord Beichan's house," she says, " Or is that noble lord within ?" "Yes, he is gane into the hall, With his brave bride, and monie ane." " Ye '11 bid him send me a piece of bread, Bot and a cup of his best wine ; And bid him mind the lady's love That ance did lowse him out o' pyne." Then in and cam the porter bold, I wat he gae three shouts and three, " The fairest lady stands at your yetts, That ever my twa een did see." Then up bespak the bride's mither, I wat an angry woman was she, " You micht ha'e excepted our bonnie bride, Tho' she'd been three times as fair as she." " My dame, your daughter 's fair enough, And aye the fairer mot she be ! But the fairest time that e'er she was, She '11 na compare wi' this ladie. LORD BE 1C HAN. 379 " She has a gowd ring on ilka finger, And on her mid-finger she has three ; She has as meikle gowd upon her head, As wad buy an earldom o' land to thee. " My lord, she begs some o' your bread, Bot and a cup o' your best wine, And bids you mind the lady's love That ance did lowse ye out o' pyne." Then up and started Lord Beichan, I wat he made the table flee, " I wad gi'e a' my yearlie rent, 'Twere Susie Pye come owre the sea." Syne up bespak the bride's mither, She was ne'er heard to speak sae free, " Ye '11 no forsake my ae dochter, Though Susie Pye has cross'd the sea?" " Tak hame, tak hame, your dochter, madam, For she is ne'er the waur o' me ; She cam to me on horseback riding, And she sail gang hame in chariot free." He 's tane Susie Pye by the milk-white hand, And led her through his halls sae hie, Ye 're now Lord Beichan's lawful wife, And thrice ye 're welcome unto me." Lord Beichan prepar'd for another wedding, Wi' baith their hearts sae fu' o' glee ; Says, " I '11 range nae mair in foreign lands, Sin' Susie Pye has cross'd the sea." " Fy ! gar a' our cooks mak ready ; And fy ! gar a' our pipers play ; And fy ! gar trumpets gae through the toun, That Lord Beichan's wedded twice in a day ! " 380 THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. (From Percys Religiies.} THERE was a youth, and a well-beloved youth, And he was a squire's son ; He loved a bailiff's daughter dear, That lived in Islington. Yet she, being coy, would not believe That he did love her so, Nor would she any countenance Unto this young man show. But when his friends did understand His fond and foolish mind, They sent him up to fair London, An apprentice him to bind. And now he 's gone 'tis seven long years, And never his love could see : " Oh, many a tear have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of me !" One day the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and play ; And then the bailiff's daughter dear, She secretly stole away. She pull'd off her pretty gown of pink, And put on ragged attire, And to fair London she would go, For her true love to inquire. And as she went along the road, The weather being hot and dry, She sat her down on a grassy bank, And her true love came riding by. PROUD LADY MARGARET. 381 She started up, with a colour so red, Catching hold of his bridle-rein : " One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said, " Would ease me of much pain." " Before I give you one penny, sweetheart, Pray tell me where you were born ? " "At Islington, kind sir," said she, " Where I have had many a scorn." " I prithee, sweetheart then tell to me, Oh tell me whether you know The bailiff's daughter of Islington ? " " She is dead, sir, long ago." " If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also ; For I '11 sail away for some far country, Where no man shall me know." " Oh stay, good youth ! oh look, dear love ! She standeth by thy side ; She's here alive, she is not dead, She's ready to be thy bride." " Oh, farewell grief, and welcome joy, Ten thousand times, therefore ! For now I have found mine own true love, Whom I thought I should never see more." PROUD LADY MARGARET. 'TWAS on a night, an evening bright, When the dew began to fa', Lady Margaret was walking up and down, Looking o'er her castle wa'. She looked east, and she looked west, To see what she could spy, When a gallant knight came in her sight, And to the gate drew nigh. 382 PROUD LAD Y MARC A RE T. " You seem to be no gentleman, You wear your boots so wide ; But you seem to be some cunning hunter, You wear the horn so syde." * " I am no cunning hunter," he said, " Nor ne'er intend to be ; But I am come to this castle To seek the love of thee ; And if you do not grant me love, This night for thee I '11 die." " If you should die for me, sir knight, There's few for you will mane ; a For mony a better has died for me, Whose graves are growing green. " But ye maun read my riddle," she said, " And answer my questions three ; And but ye read them right," she said, " Gae stretch ye out and die. " Now what is the flower, the ae first flower, Springs either on moor or dale ? And what is the bird, the bonnie, bonnie bird, Sings on the evening gale ?" " The primrose is the ae first flower, Springs either on moor or dale ; And the thistlecock is the bonniest bird, Sings on the evening gale." " But what's the little coin," she said, " Wald buy my castle bound ? And what 's the little boat," she said, " Can sail the world all round ?" " Oh hey, how mony small pennies Make thrice three thousand pound ? Or hey, how mony small fishes, Swim a' the salt sea round 1" Hanging low. 8 Lament. PROUD LADY MARGARET. " I think ye maun be my match," she said, " My match, and something mair, You are the first e'er got the grant Of love frae my father's heir. '* My father was lord of nine castles, My mother lady of three ; My father was lord of nine castles, And there 's nane to heir but me. " And round about a' thae castles You may baith plow and saw, And on the fifteenth day of May The meadows they will maw." " Oh hald your tongue, lady Marg'ret," he said, " For loud I hear you lie ! Your father was lord of nine castles, Your mother was lady of three ; Your father was lord of nine castles, But ye fa' heir to but three. " And round about a' thae castles, You may baith plow and saw, But on the fifteenth day of May The meadows will not maw. " I am your brother, Willie," he said, " I trow ye ken na me ; I came to humble your haughty heart, Has gar'd sae monie die." " If ye be my brother Willie," she said, " As I trow weel ye be, This night I '11 neither eat nor drink, But gae alang wi' thee." u Oh hald your tongue, lady Marg'ret," he said, " Again I hear you lie ; For ye've unwashen hands, and ye've un- washen feet, 1 To gae to clay wi' me. Alluding to the custom of washing and dressing dead bodies." Scott, 384 THE WEE WEE MAN. " For the wee worms are my bed-fellows, And cauld clay is my sheets ; And when the stormy winds do blow, My body lies and sleeps." THE WEE WEE MAN. THIS fragment was published by David Herd in the first edition of his collec- tion, 1769. As I was walking all alane, Between the water and the wa', There I spyed a wee wee man, And he was the least that e'er I saw. His legs were scarce a shathmont's length, 1 And thick and thimber was his thigh ; Between his brows there was a span, And between his shoulders there was three. He took up a meikle stane, And he flang 't as far as I could see ; Though I had been a Wallace wight, I couldna liften 't to my knee. " Oh, wee wee man, but thou be strang ! Oh tell me where thy dwelling be ? " "My dwelling's down by yon bonnie bower, Oh will you go with me and see ? " On we lap, and awa' we rade, Till we came to yon bonnie green ; We lighted down to bate our horse, And out there came a lady sheen. 1 The fist closed, with the thumb extended, and may be considered a measure of about six inches. CHRISTIE'S WILL. 385 Four-and-twenty at her back, And they were a' clad out in green ; Though the king of Scotland had been there, The warst o' them might hae been his queen. On we lap, and awa' we rade, Till we came to yon bonnie ha', Where the roof was o' the beaten gould, And the floor was o' the crystal a'. When we came to the stair foot, Ladies were dancing jimp and sma' ; But in the twinkling of an e'e, My wee wee man was clean awa'. CHRISTIE'S WILL. '!N the reign of Charles I., when the moss-trooping practices were not entirely discontinued, the tower of Gilnockie, in the parish of Cannoby, was occupied by William Armstrong, called, for distinction sake, Christies Will, a. lineal descendant of the famous John Armstrong, of Gilnockie, executed by James V. The hereditary love of plunder had descended to this person with the family mansion ; and, upon some marauding party, he was seized and imprisoned in the tolbooth of Jedburgh. The Earl of Traquair, Lord High Treasurer, hap- pening to visit Jedburgh, and knowing Christie's Will, inquired the cause of his confinement. Will replied, he was imprisoned for stealing two tethers (halters ;) but upon being more closely interrogated, acknowledged that there were two delicate colts at the end of them. The joke, such as it was, amused the Earl, who exerted his interest, and succeeded in releasing Christie's Will from bondage. Some time afterwards, a law-suit, of importance to Lord Traquair, was to be decided in the Court of Session ; and there was every reason to believe that the judgment would turn upon the voice of the presid- ing judge, who had a casting-vote, in case of an equal division among his brethren. The opinion of the president was unfavourable to Lord Traquair ; and the point was therefore to keep him out of the way when the question should be tried. In this dilemma the Earl had recourse to Christie's Will, who at once offered his service to kidnap the president. Upon due scrutiny, he found it was the judge's practice frequently to take the air on horseback 011 the sands of Leith, without an attendant. In one of these excursions, Christie's Will, who had long watched his opportunity, ventured to accost the president, and engaged him in conversation. His address and language were so amusing, that he decoyed the president into an unfrequented and furze common, called the Figgate Whins, where, riding suddenly up to him, he pulled him from his horse, muffled him in a large cloak, which he had pro- vided, and rode off with the luckless judge trussed up behind him. Will crossed the country with great expedition, by paths only known to persons of his description, and deposited his weary and terrified burden in an old castle 2 B 3S6 CHRISTIE'S WILL. in Annandale, called the Tower of Graham. The judge's horse being found. it n - as concluded that he had thrown his rider into the sea ; his friends went into mourning, and a successor was appointed to his office. Meanwhile the poor president spent a heavy time in the vault of the castle. He was im- prisoned and solitary ; receiving his food through an aperture in the wall, and never hearing the sound of a human voice, save when a shepherd called his dog by the name of Batty, and when a female domestic called upon Maudge, the cat. These, he concluded, were invocations of spirits ; for he held himself to be in the dungeon of a sorcerer. At length, after three months had elapsed, the law-suit was decided in favour of Lord Traquair; and Will was directed to set the president at liberty. Accordingly, he entered the vault at dead of night, seized the president, muffled him once more in the cloak, without speaking a single word, and, using the same mode of trans- portation, conveyed him to Leith sands, and set down the astonished judge on the very spot where he had taken him up. The joy of his friends, and the less agreeable surprise of his successor, may be easily conceived, when he appeared in court to reclaim his office and honours. All embraced his own persuasion, that he had been spirited away by witchcraft ; nor could he him- self be convinced to the contrary, until, many years afterwards, happening to travel in Annandale, his ears were saluted once more with the sounds of Maudge and Batty the only notes which had solaced his long confinement This led to a discovery of the whole story ; but, in these disorderly times, it was only laughed at as a fair ruse de guerre. " Wild and strange as this tradition may seem, there is little doubt of its foundation in fact. The judge upon whose person this extraordinary stratagem was practised was Sir Alexander Gibson, Lord Durie, collector of the reports, well known in the Scottish law under the title of ' Durie's Decisions.' He was advanced to the station of an ordinary lord of session, loth July 1621, and died at his own house of Durie, July 1646. Betwixt these periods this whimsical adventure must have happened; a date which corresponds with that of the tradition. " Tradition ascribes to Christie's Will another memorable feat, which seems worthy of being recorded. It is well known that, during the troubles of Charles I., the Larl of Traquair continued unalterably fixed in his attachment to his unfortunate master, in whose service he hazarded his person and im- poverished his estate. It was of consequence, it is said, to the king's service, that a certain packet, containing papers of importance, should be transmitted to him from Scotland. But the task was a difficult one, as the parliamentary leaders used their utmost endeavours to prevent any communication betwixt the king and his Scottish friends. Traquair, in this strait, again had recourse to the services of Christie's Will ; who undertook the commission, conveyed the papers safely to his majesty, and received an answer, to be delivered to Lord Traquair. But in the meantime his embassy had taken air, and Crom- well had despatched orders to intercept him at Carlisle. Christie's Will, unconscious of his danger, halted in the town to refresh his horse, and then pursue his journey. But as soon as he began to pass the long, high, and narrow bridge which crosses the Eden at Carlisle, either end of the pass was occupied by a party of parliamentary soldiers, who were lying in wait for him. The Borderer disdained to resign his enterprise even in these desperate cir- cumstances, and, at once forming his resolution, spurred his horse over the parapet. The river was in high flood. Will sunk the soldiers shouted he emerged again, and guiding his horse to a steep bank, called the Stanners, or Stanhouse, endeavoured to land, but ineffectually, owing to his heavy horse- man's cloak, now drenched in water. Will cut the loop, and the horse, feeling himself disembarrassed, made a desperate exertion, and succeeded in gaining the bank. Our hero set off at full speed, pursued by the troopers, who had for a time stood motionless and in astonishment at his temerity. Will, how- ever, was well mounted, and, having got the start, he kept it, menacing with his pistols any pursuer who seemed likely to gain on him an artifice which succeeded, although the arms were wet and useless. He was chased to the CHRISTIE'S WILL. 387 river Eske, which he swam without hesitation : and finding himself on Scot- tish ground, and in the neighbourhood of his friends, he turned on the northern bank, and, in the true spirit of a Border rider, invited his follower^ to come through and drink with him. After this taunt, he proceeded on his journey, and faithfully accomplished his mission. Such were the exploits of the very last Border freebooter of any note." Scott. TRAQUAIR has ridden up Chapelhope, And sae has he down by the Gray Mare's He never stinted 2 the light gallop, Until he speer'd 3 for Christie's Will. Now Christie's Will peep'd frae the tower, And out at the shot-hole keek'd he : " And ever unlucky," quo' he, " is the hour, That the warden comes to speer for me ! " " Good Christie's Will, now, have na fear ! Nae harm, good Will, shall hap to thee ; I saved thy life at the Jeddart air, At the Jeddart air frae the justice-tree. u Bethink how ye sware by the salt and the bread, 4 By the lightning, the wind, and the rain, That if ever of Christie's Will I had need, He would pay me my service again." " Gramercy, my lord," quoth Christie's Will, " Gramercy, my lord, for your grace to me ! When I turn my cheek, and claw my neck, I think of Traquair and the Jeddart tree." And he has open'd the fair tower yate To Traquair and a' his companie ; The spule o' the deer on the board he has set. The fattest that ran on the Hutton Lee. 1 A cataract on the Clyde, above Moffat 2 Slackened. 3 Inquired. * " He took bread and salt by this light, that he would never open his lips." Old Dramatist. CHRISTIE'S WILL. " Now wherefore sit ye sad, my lord ? And wherefore sit ye mournfullie ? And why eat ye not of the venison I shot, At the dead of night on Hutton Lee ? " " Oh, weel may I stint of feast and sport, And in my mind be vexed sair ! A vote of the cankered Session Court, Of land and living will make me bare. " But if auld Durie to heaven were flown, Or if auld Durie to hell were gane, Or ... if he could be but ten days stoun . . . My bonnie braid lands would still be my ain." " Oh, mony a time, my lord," he said, "I've stown the horse frae the sleeping loun; But for you I '11 steal a beast as braid ; For I '11 steal auld Durie frae Edinburgh town. " Oh, mony a time, my lord," he said, " I 've stown a kiss frae a sleeping wench ; But for you I '11 do as kittle a deed ; For I '11 steal an auld lurdane 1 aff the bench." And Christie's Will is to Edinburgh gane ; At the Borough Muir then entered he : And as he pass'd the gallows-stane, He cross'd his brow, and he bent his knee. He lighted at Lord Durie's door, And there he knock'd most manfullie ; And up and spake Lord Durie sae stour, " What tidings, thou stalwart groom, to me ?" " The fairest lady in Teviotdale Has sent, maist reverend sir, for thee ; She pleas at the session for her land, a' haill, And fain she wad plead her causft to thee." Fellow. CHRISTIE'S WILL. 39 " But how can I to that lady ride, With saving of my dignitie ? " " Oh, a curch and mantle ye may wear, And in my 9loak ye shall muffled be." Wi' curch on head, and cloak ower face, He mounted the judge on a palfrey fyne ; He rode away, a right round pace, And Christie's Will held the bridle reyn. The Lothian Edge they were not o'er, When they heard bugles bauldly ring, And, hunting over Middleton Moor, They met, I ween, our noble king. When Willie look'd upon our king, I wot a frighted man was he ! But ever auld Durie was startled mair, For tyning of his dignitie. The king he cross'd himself, I wis, When as the pair came riding bye : "An uglier crone, and a sturdier lown, I think were never seen with eye." Willie was hied to the tower of Graeme, He took auld Durie on his back, He shot him down to the dungeon deep, Which garr'd his auld banes gie mony a crack. For nineteen days, and nineteen nights, Of sun, or moon, or midnight stern, Auld Durie never saw a blink, The lodging was sae dark and dern. He thought the warlocks o' the rosy cross Had fang'd him in their nets sae fast ; Or that the gypsies' glamour'd 1 gang Had lair'd his learning at the last. 1 Infatuated. 390 THE MASTER OF WEEMYS. " Hey ! Batty lad ! far yaud I 1 far yaud ! " These were the morning sounds heard he ; And ever " Alack ! " auld Durie cried, " The deil is hounding his tykes on me !" And whiles a voice on Baudrons cried, With sound uncouth, and sharp and hie : " I have tar-barrel'd mony a witch, But now, I think, they '11 clear scores wi' me ! " The king has caused a bill be wrote, And he has set it on the Tron : " He that will bring Lord Durie back, Shall have five hundred marks and one." Traquair has written a private letter, And he has seal'd it wi' his seal : "Ye may let the auld brock 2 out o' the poke; The land 's my ain, and a's gane weel." Oh, Will has mounted his bonnie black, And to the tower of Graeme did trudge, And once again, on his sturdy back, Has he hent up the weary judge. He brought him to the council stairs, And there full loudly shouted he, " Gi'e me my guerdon, my sovereign liege, And take ye back your auld Durie !" THE MASTER OF WEEMYS. BY WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. THE Master of Weemys has biggit 3 a ship, To saile upon the sea ; And four-and-twenty bauld marineres, Doe beare him companie. 1 The signal made by a shepherd to his dog, when he is to drive away some sheep at a distance. Scott. * Fox. 3 Built THE MASTER OF VVEEMYS. 391 They have hoistit sayle and left the land, They have saylit mylis three ; When up there 'lap the bonnie mermayd, All in the Norland sea. " Oh, whare saile ye," quo' the bonnie mermayd, " Upon the saut sea-faem ?" " It's we are bounde until Norroway, God send us skaithless l hame ! " " Oh, Norroway is a gay, gay strande, And a merrie land, I trowe ; But nevir nane sail see Norroway, Gin the mermayd keeps her vowe ! Down deukit 2 then the mermayden, Deep intil the middil sea ; And merrie leuch that master bauld, With his jollie companie. They saylit awa', and they saylit awa', They have saylit leagues ten ; When lo ! uplap by the gude ship's side The self-same mermayden. Shee held a glass intil her right hande, In the uthir shee held a kame ; And shee kembit her haire, and aye she sang As shee flotterit 3 on the faem. And shee gliskit round and round about, Upon the waters wan ; Oh, nevir againe, on land or sea, Shall be seen sik a fair woman. And shee shed her haire off her milk-white bree Wi' her fingers sae sma' and lang ; And fast as saylit that gude ship en, Sae louder was aye her sang. I Safe iy. 2 Dived. s Floated. 392 THE MASTER OF WEEMYS. And aye shee sang, and aye shee sang As shee rade upon the sea : " If ye bee men of Christian moulde, Throwe the master out to mee. " Throwe out to mee the master bauld, If ye be Christian men ; But an ye faile, though fast ye sayle, Ye '11 nevir see land agen ! " Sayle on, sayle on, sayle on," said shee, " Sayle on, and nevir blinne ; The winde at will your saylis may fill, But the land ye shall never win ! " It 's never word spak that master bauld, But a loud laugh leuch the crewe ; And in the deep then the mermayden Doun drappit frae their viewe. But ilk ane kythit l her bonnie face, How dark, dark grew its lire ; And ilk ane saw her bricht, bricht eyne, Leming 2 like coals o' fire. And ilk ane saw her lang bright hair Gae flashing through the tide, And the sparkles o' the glass shee brake Upon that gude ship's side. " Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld, The wind blaws unco hie." " Oh, there 's not a sterne 3 in a' the lift To guide us through the sea." " Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld, The storm is coming fast." " Then up, then up, my bonnie boy, Unto the topmast mast. 1 Observed. * Shining. 3 Star. THE MASTER OF WEEMYS. 393 " Creep up into the tallest mast, Gae up my ae best man ; Climb up until the tall top-mast, And spy gin * ye see land." " Oh, all is mirk towards the eist, And all is mirk be west ; Alas, there is not a spot of light Where any eye can rest ! " " Looke oute, looke oute, my bauldest man, Looke oute unto the storme ; And if ye cannot get sicht o' land, Do you see the dawin o' morn?" " Oh alace, alace, my master deare," Spak then that ae best man ; " Nor licht nor land, nor living thing, Do I spy on any hand." " Looke yet agen, my ae best man, And tell me what ye do see." " O Lord, I spy the false mermayden Fast say ling out owre the sea 1" " How can ye spy the false mermayden Fast sayling on the mirk sea ? For there 's neither mune nor mornin' licht In troth it can nevir bee." " Oh, there is neither mune nor mornin' licht, Nor ae star's blink on the sea ; But, as I am a Christian man, That witch woman I see ! " Good Lord ! there is a scaud o' fire Fast coming out owre the sea ; And fast therein the grim mermayden Is sayling on to thee ! 2 Look if. 394 THE GUDE WALLACE. u Shee hailes our ship wf a shrill, shrill cry Shee is coming, alace, more near." " Ah, woe is me now," said the master bauld, " For I both do see and hear ! u Come doun, come doun, my ae best man, For an ill weird I maun drie ; Yet, I reck not for my sinful self, But thou, my trew companie ! n THE GUDE WALLACES ' The first seven stanzas of this ballad are from a copy in Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland. The remainder is composed out of two copies one in Johnston's Musical Museum, the other in Buchan's Gleanings of Scarce Old Ballads. The twenty-ninth, thirtieth, and thirty-first verses are slightly altered by the editor, for the sake of completing the narrative in a con- sistent manner." Robert Chambers. WALLACE wicht, upon a.nicht, Cam riding ower a linn ; And he is to his leman's 2 bouir, And tirl'd at the pin. 8 " O sleep ye, or wake ye, lady ? " he cried ; " Ye '11 rise and let me in." " O wha is this at my bouir door, That knocks and knows my name ? " "My name is William Wallace; Ye may my errand ken." " The truth to you I will rehearse The secret I '11 unfauld ; Into your enemies' hands, this nicht, I fairly ha'e you sauld." 1 The incident on which this ballad is founded is fully narrated in Blind Harry's Wallace. 2 Lover's. 8 Knocked at the door. THE GUDE WALLACE. 395 " If that be true ye tell to me, Do ye repent it sair?" " Oh, that I do," she said, " dear Wallace, And will do evermair ! " The English did surround my house, And forcit me theretill ; But for your sake, my dear Wallace, I could burn on a hill." Then he ga'e her a loving kiss ; The teir drapt fra his e'e ; Says, " Fare ye weel for evermair ; Your face nae mair I '11 see." She dress'd him in her ain claithing, And frae her house he came ; Which made the Englishmen admire To see sic a stalwart dame ! Now Wallace to the Hielands went, Where nae meat nor drink had he ; Said, " Fa' me life, or fa' me death, To some toun I maun drie." 1 He steppit ower the river Tay On the North Inch steppit he ; And there he saw a weel-faured May, 2 Was washing aneath a tree. "What news, what news, ye weel-faured May? What news ha'e ye to me ? What news, what news, ye weel-faured May, What news in the south countrie ?" " O see ye, sir, yon hostler-house That stands on yonder plain ? This very day have landit in it Full fifteen Englishmen, Repair. 2 Maid. 396 THE GUDE WALLACE. " In search of Wallace, our champion, Intending he should dee ! " " Then, by my sooth," says Wallace wicht, " These Englishmen I 'se see. " If I had but in my pocket, The worth of a single pennie, I wad gang to the hostler-house, These gentlemen to see." She put her hand in her pocket, And pull'd out half-a-croun, Says, " Tak ye that, ye beltit knicht, And pay your lawin 1 doun." As he went frae the wjsel-faured May, A beggar bold met he, Was cover'd wi' a clouted cloke, In his hand a trustie tree. " What news, what news, ye silly auld man ? What news ha'e ye to gie ? " " No news, no news, ye beltit knicht, No news ha'e I to thee, But fifteen lords in the hostler-house Waiting Wallace for to see." " Ye '11 lend to me your clouted cloke, That kivers ye frae heid to shie ; 2 And I will go to the hostler-house, To ask for some supplie." Now he's gane to the West-muir wood, And pull'd a trustie tree ; And then he 's on to the hostler gone, Asking there for charitie. Doun the stair the captain comes, The puir man for to see : " If ye be captain as guid as ye look, You '11 give me some supplie." 1 Reckoning. a Foot THE GUDE WALLACE. 397 " Where were you born, ye cruikit carle ? Where, and in what countrie ? " " In fair Scotland, sir, was I born, Cruikit carle, as ye ca' me. ' " O I wad give you fifty pounds Of gold and white monie ; I wad give you fifty pounds, If Wallace ye would let me see." " Tell doun your money," quo' the cruikit carle, " Tell doun your money good ; 1 'm sure I have it in my pouir, And never had a better bode." J The money was told upon the table, Of silver pounds fiftie : " Now here I stand ! " quo' the gude Wallace, And his cloke frae him gar'd flee. He slew the captain where he stood ; The rest they did quake and rair : He slew the rest around the room ; Syne asked if there were ony mair. " Get up, get up, gudewife," he says, " And get me some dinner in haste ; For it soon will be three lang days' time, Sin' a bit o' meat I did taste ! " The dinner was na weil readie, Nor yet on the table set, When other fifteen Englishmen Were lichtit at the yett. " Come out, come out, thou traitor, Wallace, This is the day ye maun dee !" " I lippen nae sae little to God," he says, Although I be but ill wordie." Offer. 398 THE YOUNG TAMLANE. The gudewife had an auld gudeman ; By gude Wallace he stiffly stude, Till ten o' the fifteen Englishmen Lay before the door in their blude. The other five he took alive, To the greenwood as they ran ; And he has hang'd them bot 1 mercie ; Up hich upon a grain. Now he is to the North Inch gone, Where the May was washing tenderlie. " Now, by my sooth," said the gude Wallace, " It 's been a sair day's wark to me." He put his hand in his pocket, And pull'd out twenty pounds ; Says, " Tak ye that, ye weel-faured May, For the gude luck o' your half-croun." Full five-and-twenty men he slew, Five hang'd upon a grain ; On the morn he sat, wi' his merry-men a', In Lochmaben toun at dine. 'THE following ballad, still popular in Ettrick Forest, where the scene is laid, is certainly of much greater antiquity than its phraseology, gradually modern- ised as transmitted by tradition, wou'd seem to denote. The ' Tale of the Young Tamlane' is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland : and the air to which it was chaunted, seems to have been accommodated to a particular dance, for the dance of ' Thorn of Lynn,' another variation of ' Thomalin,' likewise occurs in the same performance. Like every popular subject, it seems to have been frequently parodied ; and a burlesque ballad, beginning, ' Tom o' the Linn was a Scotsman born,' is still well known. " In a medley, contained in a curious and ancient MS. cantus, penes J. G. Daly ell, Esq., there is an allusion to our ballad : ' Sing young Thomlin, be merry, be merry, and twice so merry.' Without. For I ri.I-; on the milk-white steed, WT a Kolii star in my crown : Because I was a ehristen'cl knigh*., They gave me that renown. TAMI.ANK. THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 399 " In ' Scottish Songs,' 1774, * part of the original tale was published under the title of 'Kerton Ha','-a corruption of Carterhaugh; and m the , same collection, there is a fragment containing two or three additional verses, beginning ( ^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ WZ.&T, I '11 wager with you,' &c. "In Johnson's ' Musical Museum ' a more complete copy occurs, under the title of 'Thorn Linn/ which, with some alterations, was reprinted in the '^The^rlsenfe'dition is the most perfect which has yet appeared ; being prepared from a collation of the printed copies with a very accurate one m Glenriddell's MSS., and with several rec.tals from tradition. Some : verges .are omitted in this edition, being ascertained to belong to a separa e ba Had, which will be found in a subsequent part of the work. In one : recital only, the eU- known fragment of the < Wee, wee Man' was introduced in the ^me ineasure with the rest of the poem. It was retained in the first ed.t.on , but now omitted, as the editor has been favoured by the learned Mr K^J" copv of the original poem of which it is a detached fragment. 1 he editor has been enabled to add several verses of beauty and interest to this edition of 'Tamlane,' in consequence of a copy, obtained from a gentleman re a ,, near Langholm, which is said to be very ancient, though the diction is some- what of a modern cast. The manners of the fairies are detailed at consider- able length, and in poetry of no common merit. . " Carferhaugh is a plain at the conflux of the Ettnck and Yarrow m Sel- kirkshire, about a mile above Selkirk, and two miles below Newark Castle - a romantic ruin which overhangs the Yarrow, and which is said to have been the habitation of our heroine's father, though others place his residence in the tower of Oakwood. The peasants point out, upon the plain, those electnca rings, which vulgar credulity supposes to be traces of the/airv revels, ti ere^ hey say were placed the stands of milk, and of water, m which Tamlane was dipped, in order to effect the disenchantment; and upon these spots, according to their mode of expressing themselves, the gr a* 8 lll T ne T e ' jrow. Miles Cross, (perhaps a corruption of Mary's Cross,) where &&"**"& the arrival of the fairy train, is said to have stood near the Duke of Buccleuch s seat of Bowhill, about half a mile from Carterhaugh. In no part of Scotland, indeed, has the belief in fairies maintained its ground with more pertinacity than in Selkirkshire. The most sceptical among the lower ranks only venture to assert that their appearances and mischievous exploits have ceased, or at least become infrequent, since the light of the gospel was diffused m its purity. One of their frolics is said to have happened late in the last century, ine victim of elfin sport was a poor man, who, being employed in pulling neatn. upon Peatlaw, a hill not far from Carterhaugh, had tired of his labour, and laid him down to sleep upon a fairy ring. When he awakened, he was amazed to find himself in the midst of a populous city, to which, as well as to th means of his transportation, he was an utter stranger. His coat was left upon the Peatlaw; and his bonnet, which had fallen off in the course of his aerial journey, was afterwards found hanging upon the steeple of the church Lanark. The distress of the poor man was in some degree reheved by meet ing a carrier, whom he had formerly known, and who conducted him back to Selkirk by a slower conveyance than had whirled him to asgow. **i had been carried off by the fairies was implicitly believed, by all, who did reflect that a man may have private reasons for leaving his own country, and for disguising his having intentionally done so. Scott. O I forbid ye, maidens a', That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tamlane is there. 400 THE YOUNG TAMLANE. There 's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh, But maun leave him a wad, 1 Either goud rings, or green mantles, Or else their maidenhead. Now, gowd rings ye may buy, maidens, Green mantles ye may spin ; But, gin ye lose your maidenhead, Ye '11 ne'er get that agen. But up then spak her, fair Janet, The fairest o' a' her kin ; " I '11 come and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o' him." Janet has kiltet her green kirtle, 2 A little abune her knee ; And she has braided her yellow hair, A little abune her bree. And when she came to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well ; And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himselL She hadna pu'd a red red rose, A rose but barely three ; Till up and starts a wee wee man, At lady Janet's knee. Says " Why pu' ye the rose, Janet ? What gars ye break the tree ? Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, Withouten leave o' me ? " Says " Carterhaugh it is mine ain ; My daddie gave it me ; I '11 come and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o' thee." 1 Pledge. 2 The ladies are always represented in Dunbar's Poems with green mantles and yellow hair. THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 4 O1 He 's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, Amang the leaves sae green ; And what they did I cannot tell The green leaves were between. He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, Among the roses red ; And what they did I cannot say She ne'er returned a maid. When she cam to her father's ha', She looked pale and wan ; They thought she dried some sair sickness, Or been wi' some leman. 1 She didna comb her yellow hair, Nor made meikle o' her heid ; And ilka thing that lady took, Was like to be her deid. 2 It 's four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba' ; Janet, the wightest of them anes, Was faintest o' them a'. Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the chess ; And out there came the fair Janet, As green as any grass. Out and spak an auld gray-headed knight, Lay o'er the castle wa' " And ever alas ! for thee, Janet, But we'll be blamed a' ! " " Now haud your tongue, ye auld gray knight! And an ill deid may ye die, Father my bairn on whom I will, I '11 father nane on thee." 1 Lover. * Deatl i 2 o 402 THE YOUNG TAMLANE. Out then spak her father dear, And he spak meik and mild " And ever, alas ! my sweet Janet, I fear ye gae with child." " And if I be with child, father, Mysell maun bear the blame ; There's ne'er a knight about your ha' Shall ha'e the bairnie's name. " And if I be with child, father, 'Twill prove a wondrous birth ; For well I swear I 'm not wi' bairn To any man on earth. "If my love were an earthly knight, As he 's an elfin gray, I wadna gi'e my ain true love For nae lord that ye ha'e." She princk'd hersell and prinn'd ] hersell, By the ae light of the moon, And she 's away to Carterhaugh, To speak wi' young Tamlane. And when she cam to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well ; And there she saw the steed standing, But away was himsell. She hadna pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twae, When up and started young Tamlane, Says " Lady, thou pu's nae mae ! " Why pu' ye the rose, Janet, Within this garden green, And a' to kill the bonnie babe, That we got us between ? " Dressed herself gaily. THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 43 " The truth ye '11 tell to me, Tamlane ; A word ye mauna lie ; Gin e'er ye was in haly chapel, Or sained 1 in Christentie." " The truth I '11 tell to thee, Janet, A word I winna lie ; A knight me got, and a lady me bore, As well as they did thee. " Randolph, earl Murray, was my sire, Dunbar, earl March, is thine ; 2 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 came 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 3 me, In yon green hill to dwell ; 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. 404 THE YOUNG TAMLANE. " 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 nut-shell's the same to us, As in 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 a 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 aye at every seven years, They pay the teind to hell ; And I am sae fat, and fair of flesh, I fear 'twill be myselL " This night is Hallowe'en, Janet, The morn is Hallowday ; And, gin ye dare your true love win, Ye ha'e nae time to stay. " The night it is good Hallowe'en, 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 knights, The like I never saw ? " THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 45 " The first company, that passes by, Sae na, and let them gae ; The next company, that passes by, Say na, and do right sae ; The third company, that passes by, Than I '11 be ane o' thae. " First let pass the black, Janet, And syne let pass the brown ; But grip ye to the milk-white steed. And pu' the rider down. " For I ride on the milk-white steed, Wi' a gold star on my crown ; Because I was a christened knight, They gave me that renown. " My right hand will be gloved, Janet, My left hand will be bare ; And these the tokens I gi'e thee, Nae doubt I will be there. " They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake ; But had me fast, let me not pass, Gin ye wad be my maike. 1 " They '11 turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an ask ; 2 They '11 turn me in your arms, Janet, A bale 3 that burns fast. " They '11 turn me in your arms, Janet, A red-hot gad 4 o' aim ; But had me fast, let me not pass, For I '11 do you no harm. " First dip me in a stand o' milk, And then in a stand o' water ; But had me fast, let me not pass I '11 be your bairn's father. 1 Match, or companion. Newt, or lizard. 3 Faggot. 406 THE YOUNG TAMLANE. " And, next, they '11 shape me in your arms, A tod, but and an eel ; But had me fast, nor let me gang, 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 '11 be myself again." Gloomy, gloomy, was the night, And eiry * was the way, As fair Janet, in her green mantle, To Miles Cross she did gae. The heavens were black, the night was dark, And dreary 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 2 sounds Upon that wind which went. About the dead hour o' the night, 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 ; But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts, The Fairies cannot bear. ' Producing superstitious dread. J Wild THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 47 They sing, inspired with love and joy, Like sky-larks in the air ; Of solid sense, or thought that 's grave, You '11 find no traces there. Fair Janet stood with mind unmoved, The dreary heath upon ; And louder, louder wax'd the sound, As they came riding on. Will o' the Wisp before them went, Sent forth a twinkling light ; And soon she saw the Fairy bands All riding in her sight. And first gaed by the black black steed, And then gaed by the brown ; But fast she gript the milk-white steed, And pu'd the rider down. She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed, And loot the bridle fa' ; And up there raise an erlish cry * He 's won amang us a' ! " They shaped him in fair Janet's arms, An esk, but and an adder ; She held him fast in every shape- To be her bairn's father. They shaped him in her arms at last, A mother-naked man ; She wrapt him in hpr green mantle, And sae her true love wan. 1 Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, Out o' bush o' broom " She that has borrowed young Tamlane, Has gotten a stately groom." Gained. 408 THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN. Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies Out o' a bush of rye " She 's ta'en awa the bonniest knight In a' my cumpanie. " But had I kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, " A lady wad borrow'd thee I wad ta'en out thy twa gray een, Put in twa een o' tree. " Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, " Before ye came frae hame I wad tane out your heart o' flesh, Put in a heart o' stane. "Had I but had the wit yestreen, That I ha'e coft 1 the day I 'd paid my kane 2 seven times to hell, Ere you 'd been won 3 away ! " THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN ; OR, THE THREE CHAMPIONS OF LIDDISDALE. BY JAMES HOGG. ' THE scene of this ballad is laid in the upper parts of Liddisdale, in which dis- trict the several residences of the three champions are situated, as is also the old castle of Hermitage, with the farmhouses of Saughentree and Roughley. As to the authenticity of the story, all that I can say of it is, that I used to hear it told, when I was a boy, by William Scott, a joiner of that country, and was much taken with some of the circumstances. Were I to relate it verbatim, it would only be anticipating a great share of the poem." Autlurr. " O DICKIE, 'tis light, and the moon shines bright, Will ye gang and watch the deer wi' me ? " " Ay, by my sooth, at the turn o' the night, We '11 drive the holm of the Saughentree." 1 Bought * Rent paid in kind. <* Gained. THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN. 49 The moon had turn'd the roof of heaven ; The ground lay deep in drifted snaw ; The Hermitage bell had rung eleven, And our yeomen watch'd behind the ha'. The deer was skight, 1 and the snaw was light, And never a blood-drap could they draw ; " Now, by my sooth," cried Dickie then, " There 's something yonder will fear us a'. " Right owre the knowe where Liddel lies Nae wonder that it derkens my e'e, See yonder's a thing of fearsome size, And it 's moving this way hastilye. " Say, what is yon, my brother John ? The Lord preserve baith you and me ! But our hearts are the same, and sure our aim, And he that comes near these bullets shall prie." 2 " Oh haud your tongue, my brother dear, Let us survey 't wi' steady e'e ; Tis a dead man they are carrying here, And 'tis fit that the family warn'd should be." They ran to the ha', and they waken'd them a', But none were at home but maidens three ; Then close in the shade of the wall they stay'd, To watch what the issue of this would be. And there they saw a dismal sight, A sight had nearly freezed their blood ; One lost her sight in the fair moonlight, And one of them fainted where they stood. Four stalwart men, on arms so bright, Came bearing a corpse with many a wound ; His habit bespoke him a lord or knight, And his fair ringlets swept the ground. 1 Tim ; d . Feel or taste. 410 THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN'. They heard one to another say " A place to leave him will not be found ; The door is lock'd, and the key away, In the byre 1 will we lay him down." Then into the byre the corpse they bore, And away they fled right speedilye ; The rest took shelter behind the door, In wild amazement as well might be And into the byre no ane durst gang, No, not for the life of his bodye ; But the blood on the snaw was trail'd alang, And they kend a' wasna as it should be. Next morning all the dalesmen ran, For soon the word was far and wide ; And there lay the Laird of Lairistan, The bravest knight on the Border side ! He was wounded behind, and wounded before, And cloven through the left cheek-bone ; And clad in the habit he daily wore ; But his sword, and his belt, and his bonnet were gone. Then east and west the word has gane, And soon to Branxholm ha' it flew, That Elliot of Lairistan he was slain, And how or why no living knew. Buccleuch has mounted his milk-white steed, With fifty knights in his companye ; To Hermitage castle they rode with speed, Where all the dale was summon'd to be. And soon they came, a numerous host, And they swore and touch'd the fair bodye ; But Jocky o' Millburn he was lost, And could not be found in the hale countrye. 1 Cow-house. THE LAIRD OF LA IRIS TAN. 4 " Now wae be to thee, Armstrong o' Millburn 1 And oh, an ill death may'st thou dee ! Thou hast put down brave Lairistan, But his equal thou wilt never be. " The Bewcastle men may ramp and rave, And drive away the Liddisdale kye ; For now is our guardian laid in his grave, And Branxholm and Thirlstane distant lye." The dalesmen thus his loss deplore, And every.one his virtues tell ; His hounds lay howling at the door, His hawks flew idle o'er the fell. When three long years were come and gone, Two shepherds sat on Roughley hill ; And aye they sigh'd and made their moan O'er the present times that look'd so ill " Our young king lives at London town, Buccleuch must bear him companye ; And Thirlstane 's all to flinders gone ; And who shall our protector be ? " And jealous of the Stuart race, The English lords begin to thraw ; The land is in a piteous case When subjects rise against the law. " Our grief and ruin are forespoke, The nation has received a stain, A stain like that on Sundup's cloak, That never will wash out again." Amazement kythed 1 in the shepherd's face, His mouth to open wide began ; He stared and look'd from place to place, As things across his mem'ry ran. Appeared. 412 THE LAIRD OF LAIRTSTAK. The broider'd cloak of gaudy green, Which Sundup wore, and was sae gay, For three lang years had ne'er been seen At chapel, raid, nor holiday. Once on a night he overheard, From two old dames of southron land, A tale the which he greatly fear'd, But ne'er could th'roughly understand. " Now tell me, neighbour, tell me true ; Your sim'lie bodes us little good ; I fear the cloak you mention'd now I fear 'tis stain'd with noble blood." " Indeed, my friend, you've guess'd aright; I never meant to tell to man That tale ; but crimes will come to light, Let human wits do what they can. " But He, who ruleth wise and well, Hath order'd from his seat on high, That aye since valiant Elliot fell, That mantle bears the purple dye. " And all the waters in Liddisdale, And all that lash the British shore, Can ne'er wash out the wondrous maele ! l It still seems fresh with purple gore." Then east and west the word is gane, And soon to Branxholm ha' it flew, And Halbert o' Sundup he was ta'en, And brought before the proud Buccleuch. The cloak was hung in open hall, Where ladies and lords of high degree, And many a one, both great and small, Were struck with awe the same to see. Stain. THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN. 413 " Now tell me, Sundup," said Buccleuch, " Is this the judgment of God on high ? If that be Elliot's blood we view, False Sundup thou shalt surely die ! " Then Halbert turn'd him where he stood, And wiped the round tear frae his e'e ; " That blood, my lord, is Elliot's blood ; I winna keep in the truth frae thee." " Oh ever-alack !" said good Buccleuch, " If that be true thou tell'st to me, On the highest tree in Branxholm-heuch, Stout Sundup, thou must hangit be." " 'Tis Elliot's blood, my lord, 'tis true ; And Elliot's death was wrought by me ; And were the deed again to do, I 'd do 't in spite of hell and thee. " My sister, brave Jock Armstrong's bride, The fairest flower of Liddisdale, By Lairistan foully was betray' d, And roundly has he pay'd the mail. " We watch'd him in her secret bower, And found her to his bosom prest : He begg'd to have his broad claymore, And dared us both to do our best. " Perhaps, my lord, ye '11 truly say, In rage from laws of arms we swerved ; Though Lairistan got double play, 'Twas fairer play than he deserved. " We might have kill'd him in the dark, When in the lady's arms lay he ; We might have kill'd him in his sark, Yet gave him room to fight or flee. " ' Come on then,' gallant Millburn cried, ' My single arm shall do the deed j Or heavenly justice is denied, Or that false heart of thine shall bleed.' 414 THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN. " Then to 't they fell, both sharp and snell, With steady hand and watchful e'en, From both the trickling blood-drops fell, And the words of death were said between. " The first stroke Millburn to him gave, He ript his bosom to the bone ; Though Armstrong was a yeoman brave, Like Elliot living there was none. " His growth was like the Border oak, His strength the bison's strength outvied ; His courage like the mountain rock ; For skill his man he never tried. " Oft had we three on border fray Made chiefs nd armies stand in awe ; And little ween'd to see the day On other deadly thus to draw. " The first wound that brave Millburn got, The tear of rage rowed in his e'e ; The next stroke that brave Millburn got, The blood ran dreeping to his knee. " My sword I gripp'd into my hand, And fast to his assistance ran : What could I do ? I could not stand And see the base deceiver win. " ' Now turn,' I cried, ' thou limmer loun ! 1 Turn round and change a blow with me, Or, by the righteous Powers aboon, I '11 hew the arm from thy bodye.' " He turn'd with many a haughty word, And lounged and pass'd most furiouslye ; But, with one slap of my broad sword, I brought the traitor to his knee. 1 Base villian. THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAiV. 415 " ' Now take thou that,' stout Armstrong cried, ' For all the pain thou 'st gi'en to me ;' (Though then he shortly would have died) And ran him through the fair bodye." Buccleuch's stern look began to change, To tine * a warrior loath was he ; The crime was call'd a brave revenge, And Halbert of Sundup was set free. Then every man for Millburn mourn'd, And wish'd him to enjoy his own ; But Millburn never more return'd Till ten long years were come and gone. Then loud alarms through England ring, And deeds of death and dool began ; The commons rose against the king, And friends to different parties ran. The nobles join the royal train, And soon his ranks with grandeur fill ; They sought their foes with might and main, And found them lying on Edgehill. The trumpets blew, the bullets flew, And long and bloody was the fray : At length o'erpower'd, the rebel crew Before the royal troops gave way. " Who was the man," Lord Lindsey cried, " That fought so well through all the fray ? Whose coat of rags, together tied, Seems to have seen a better day. " Such bravery in so poor array, I never in my life did see ; His valour three times turn'd the day, When we were on the point to flee." Lose. 416 THE ELFIN KNICHT, Then up there spoke a man of note, Who stood beside his majestye " My liege, the man's a Border Scot, Who volunteer' d to fight for thee. " He says you 're kind, but counsell'd ill, And sit unstable on your throne ; But had he power unto his will, He swears he 'd kill the dogs each one." The king he smiled, and said aloud, " Go bring the valiant Scot to me ; When we have all our foes subdued, The lord of Liddel he shall be." The king gave him his gay gold ring, And made him there a belted knight ; But Millburn bled to save his king, The king to save his royal right. THE ELFIN KNICHT. THERE stands a knicht at the tap o' yon hill, Oure the hills and far awa' He has blawn his horn loud and shrill, The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " If I had the horn that I hear blawn, Oure the hills and far awa' And the knicht that blaws that horn," The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. She had na sooner thae words said, Oure the hills and far awa' Than the elfin knicht cam to her side, The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. THE ELFIN KNICHT. 417 " Are na ye cure young a may, 1 Oure the hills and far awa' Wi' onie young man doun to lie," The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " I have a sister younger than I, Oure the hills and far awa' And she was married yesterday," The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " Married wi' me ye sail ne'er be nane, Oure the hills and far awa' Till ye mak to me a sark but 2 a seam,"- The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun shape it knife, sheerless, Oure the hills and far awa' And ye maun sew it needle, threedless," 3 The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun wash it in yon cistran, Oure the hills and far awa' Whare water never stood nor ran," The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun dry it on yon hawthorn, Oure the hills and far awa' Whare the sun ne'er shon sin' man was born,"- The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " Gin that courtesie I do for thee, Oure the hills and far awa' Ye maun do this for me," The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " Ye '11 get an acre o' gude red land, 4 Oure the hills and far awa' Atween the saut sea and the sand," The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. 1 Maid. 2 Without. 3 Without knife or scissors, needle or thread. 4 Tilled land. 2 15 41 8 THE ELFIN KNICHT. " I want that land for to be corn,- Oure the hills and far awa' And ye maun aer 1 it wi' your horn," The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun saw it without a seed, Oure the hills and far awa' And ye maun harrow it wi' a threed," The cauld wind : s blawn my plaid awa'. "And ye maun shear it wi' your knife, Oure the hills and far awa' And na tyne a pickle o't for your life," The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun moue 2 it in yon mouse-hole, - Oure the hills and far awa', And ye maun thrash it in your shoe-sole," The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun fan it wi' your luves, 8 Oure the hills and far awa' And ye maun sack it in your gloves," The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun bring it oure the sea, Oure the hills and far awa' Fair and clean, and dry to me," The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. " And whan that your wark is weill deen, 4 Oure the hills and far awa' Ye'se get your sark without a seam," The cauld wind 's blawn my plaid awa'. 1 Till. * p u t ;t up in ricks. 8 Winnow it with your palms. * Well done. SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 419 SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. (Front Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany) THERE came a ghost to Marg'ret's door, Wi' many a grievous groan ; And aye he tirled at the pin, But answer made she none. "Is that my father Philip ? Or is 't my brother John ? Or is 't my true love, Willie, From Scotland new come home ?" " 'Tis not thy father Philip, Nor yet thy brother John ; But 'tis thy true love, Willie, From Scotland new come home. " O sweet Marg'ret ! O dear Marg'ret ! I pray thee speak to me ; Give me my faith and troth, Marg'ret, As I gave it to thee." " Thy faith and troth thou's never get, Nor yet will I thee lend, Till that thou come within my bower, And kiss my cheek and chin." " If I should come within thy bower, I am no earthly man ; And should I kiss thy rosy lips, Thy days will not be lang. " O sweet Marg'ret ! dear Marg'ret ! I pray thee speak to me ; Give me my faith and troth, Marg'ret, As I gave it to thee." " Thy faith and troth thou's never get, Nor yet will I thee lend, Till you take me to yon kirkyard, And wed me wi' a ring." 420 SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. " My bones are buried in yon kirkyard, Afar beyond the sea ; And it is but my spirit, Marg'ret, That 's now speaking to thee." She stretched out her lily-white hand, And for to do her best : " Hae, there's your faith and troth, Willie ; God send your soul good rest" Now she has kilted her robes of green, A piece below her knee, And a' the live-lang winter night, The dead corp follow'd she. "Is there any room at your head, Willie ? Or any room at your feet ? Or any room at your side, Willie, Wherein that I may creep ? " " There 's no room at my head, Marg'ret, There 's no room at my feet ; There 's no room at my side, Marg'ret, My coffin's made so meet" Then up and crew the red, red cock, And up then crew the gray: " 'Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Marg'ret, That you were going away." No more the ghost to Marg'ret said, But with a grievous groan, Evanish'd in a cloud of mist, And left her all alone. " Oh stay, my only true love, stay," The constant Marg'ret cry'd ; Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her een, Stretch'd her soft limbs, and died. LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. 421 LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. 'THIS fragment, obtained from recitation in the Forest of Ettrick, is said to relate to the execution of Cockburne of Henderland, a Border freebooter, hanged over the gate of his own tower, by James V., in the course of that memorable expedition, in 1529, which was fatal to Johnie Armstrong, Adam Scott of Tushielaw, and many other marauders. The adjacent countr" which now hardly bears a single tree, is celebrated by Lesly as, in his tinn affording shelter to the largest stags in Scotland. A mountain torrent, call The adjacent country, ime, ,*..*. ~ -. = Ied H'endetfand^Burn'rrushes impetuously from the hills, through a rocky chasm, named ihe Dow Glen, and passes near the site of the tower. To the recesses wnerc sne is saiu 10 n*vc DU i^ . v ) .*.. ---- - t ----- a cataract the tumultuous noise which announced the close of his existence. In a deserted burial-place, which once surrounded the chapel of the castle, the monument of Cockburne and his lady is still shown. It is a large stone, broKen in three parts ; but some armorial bearings may yet be traced and the following inscription is still legible, though defaced : ' HERE LYES PERYS OF COKBURNE AND HIS WYFE MARJORY.' am , the King of Thieves. A path through the mountains which separate the vale of Ettrick from the head of Yarrow, is sti;l called the King's Road, and seems to have been the route which he followed The remains of the tower of Tushielaw are yet visible, overhanging the wild banks of the Ettrick, and are an object of terror to the benighted peasant, from an idea of their being haunted by spectres. From these heights and through the adjacent county of Peebles, passes a wild path, called still the Thief's Road, from having been used chiefly by the marauders of the Border." Scott. MY love he built me a bonnie bower, And clad it a' wi' lily flower ; A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, Than my true love he built for me. There came a man, by middle day, He spied his sport, and went away; And brought the king that very night, Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear : My servants all for life did flee, And left me in extremitie. 422 LIZZIE LINDSA Y. I sew'd his sheet, making my mane ; I watch'd the corpse mysell alane ; I watch'd his body night and day ; No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back, And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ; I digg'd a grave, and laid him in, And happ'd him with the sod sae green. But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair ? Oh, think na ye my heart was wae, When I turn'd about, away to gae ? Nae living man I '11 love again, Since that my lively knight is slain ; Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair I '11 chain my heart for evermair. LIZZIE LINDSAY. THERE was a braw ball in Edinburgh, And mony braw ladies were there, But nae ane at a' the assembly Could wi' Lizzie Lindsay compare. In cam the young laird o' Kincassie, An' a bonnie young laddie was he : " Will ye lea' yere ain kintra, Lizzie, An' gang to the Hielands wi' me ? " She turn'd her roun' on her heel, An' a very loud laughter gaed she : " I wad like to ken whar I was ganging, And wha I was gaun to gang wi'." " My name is young Donald M'Donald, My name I will never deny; My father he is an auld shepherd, Sae weel as he can herd the kye ; LIZZIE LINDSA Y. 423 " My father he is an auld shepherd, My mother she is an auld dame ; If ye '11 gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, Ye's neither want curds nor cream." " If ye '11 call at the Canongate port, At the Canongate port call on me, I '11 give you a bottle o' sherry, And bear you companie." He ca'd at the Canongate port, At the Canongate port call'd he ; She drank wi' him a bottle o' sherry, And bore him guid companie. "Will ye gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, Will ye gang to the Hielands wi' me ? If ye '11 gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, Ye shall not want curds nor green whey." In there cam her auld mither, A jolly auld lady was she : " I wad like to ken whar she was ganging, And wha she was gaun to gang wi'." " My name is young Donald M'Donald, My name I will never deny ; My father he is an auld shepherd, Sae weel as he can herd the kye. " Oh, but I would give you ten guineas To have her one hour in a room, To get her fair body a picture, To keep me from thinking long." " Oh, I value not your ten guineas, As little as ye value mine; But if that you covet my daughter, Take her with you if you do incline." " Pack up my silks and my satins, And pack up my hose and my shoon, And likewise my clothes in small bundles^ And away wi' young Donald I '11 gang." 424 LIZZIE LINDSA K They pack'd up her silks and her satins, They pack'd up her hose and her shoon, And likewise her clothes in small bundles, And away with young Donald she 's gane. When that they cam to the Hielands, The braes they were baith lang and stey, Bonnie Lizzie was wearied wi' ganging She had travell'd a lang summer day. " Oh, are we near hame, Sir Donald, Oh, are we near hame, I pray?" " We 're no near hame, bonnie Lizzie, Nor yet the half o' the way." They cam to a homely poor cottage, An auld man was standing by : " Ye 're welcome hame, Sir Donald, Ye 've been sae lang away." " Oh, call me no more Sir Donald, But call me young Donald, your son ; For I have a bonnie young lady Behind me for to come in." " Come in, come in, bonnie Lizzie, Come in, come in," said he ; " Although that our cottage be little, Perhaps the better we '11 'gree." " Oh, make us a supper, dear mother, And make it of curds and green whey ; And make us a bed o' green rushes, And cover it o'er wi' green hay." " Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, Why lie ye so long in the day ? Ye might hae been helping my mother To make the curds and green whey." " Oh, haud your tongue, Sir Donald, Oh, haud your tongue, I pray ; I wish I had ne'er left my mother ; I can neither make curds nor whey." LAMMIKIN. 4 2 5 " Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, And put on your satins so fine ; For we maun be at Kincassie Before that the clock strikes nine." But when they came to Kincassie, The porter was standing by : " Ye're welcome home, Sir Donald, Ye 've been so long away." It's down then came his auld mither, With all the keys in her hand, Saying, " Take you these, bonnie Lizzie, All under them 's at your command." LAMMIKIN. ' LAMMIKIN is one of the most popular of all the Scottish ballads, and it is recited in many different ways, and in many different shapes of verse. Ine first printed version is in Herd's Collection, 1776, since which time various editions have been published in the successive collections of Messrs Jamieson, Finlay and Motherwell ; Mr Finlay printing two different copies, ihe pre- sent edition is composed out of these five various versions ; a few words and lines being supplied here and there by the editor, to make the mgred.ents anneal-as, for instance, the greater part of the thirtieth, thirty-second, and thirty-fifth stanzas. Mr Finlay conjectures that Balweane Castle, in Hie, was the scene of the dreadful tragedy described in the bal;ad,-a conjecture which derives force from the circumstance of Lammikm being stated, in o: of Mr Finlay's versions, to have taken refuge in the woods round Doune Castle in the neighbouring district of Menteith. It is constantly affirmed by the old people who recite the ballad, that all the circumstances were of real occurrence ; but at what period they may have taken place, it is not in their power to say." R. Chambers, LAMMIKIN was as gude a mason As ever hew'd a stane. He biggit * Lord Weirie's castel, But payment gat he nane. " Oh pay me, Lord Weirie, Come, pay me my fee." " I canna pay you, Lammikin, For I maun gang ower the sea." Built. 426 LAMMIKIN. " Oh pay me now, Lord Weirie, Come, pay me out of hand." " I canna pay you, Lammikin, Unless I sell my land." " Sin' ye winna gie me my guerdon, lord, Sin' ye winna gie me my hyre, Yon stout castel, that I hae built, I sail gar*t rock wi' fyre." Lord Weirie got a bonnie ship, To sail the saut sea faem ; Bade his ladye weel the castel keep, Aye till he should come hame. He said unto his ladye fair, Before he gaed abuird, * Beware, beware o' Lammikin, For he lies in the wudde." Syne he's gane to the green saut sea, And she 's gane to her bouir ; But first she gard steik * the doors and windows Of castle, ha', and touir. They steikit windows, they steikit yetts, 2 Close to the cheek and chin ; A* but a little shot-window, Where Lammikin crap in. u Good morrow, good morrow, and save you, nurse," Spak out the Lammikin. " Good morrow to yoursell, fair sir," The fause nurse said to him. Where is the lord o' this castel ?" Spak out the Lammikin. " He's ower the sea," the fause nurse said, "To counsel wi' the king." 1 Close. 2 Gates. LAMMIK1N. 427 " Where are the lads o' this castel ? " Spak out the Lammikin. " They 're a' wi' Lord Weirie, ower the sea," The fause nurse said to him. " Where are the lasses o' this castel ?" Spak out the Lammikin. " They 're a' out at the washing, sir," The fause nurse said to him. " Where is the lady o' this castel ?" Spak out the Lammikin. " She's sewing in her paintit bouir," The fause nurse said to him. " Oh where, oh where is her auld son ?" Spak out the Lammikin. " He 's gane awa to buy pearlins, 'Gain 1 our lady ly in." * " Thae pearlins she shall never weir," Spak out the Lammikin ; "And that, I trow, is nae pitie," Said the fause nurse to him. " But how can we get at this dame ?" Spak out the Lammikin. Oh stab the babe, and mak it cry, And that will bring her doun." Lammikin nipp'd the bonnie babe, While loud the nourice sings ; Lammikin nipp'd the bonnie babe, While heich the red blude springs. " Oh gentle nourice, still my bairn ; Oh still him wi' the keys." He will not still, fair lady, ? Let me do what I please." 1 Against the time when our lady shall lie in. 423 LAMMIKIN. " Oh gentle nourice, still my bairn ; Oh still him wi' the ring." . " He winna still, fair lady, Let me do any thing." " Oh gentle nourice, still my bairn, Wi' the spune, but or the knife." " I '11 try what I can do, madam, Though I should lose my life. " Sweet nourice, loud still cries my bairn ; Oh still him wi' the belL" "He will not still, fair lady, Till ye come doun yourselL" " Oh how can I come down, nourice, This cauld, dark, frosty nicht, Without a coal into my bouir, But or i a candle licht ?" " There are twa smocks into your kist, As white as ony swan : Put ane o' them about you, madam ; Its sheen will licht you doun." She 's taen the white smock about her, And she 's come tripping doun ; And wha did meet her at the fit, But the bluidy Lammikin. " Oh mercy, mercy, Lammikin ! Hae mercy upon me ! Though you hae taen my young son's life, You may let mysell abee." " Now sail I kill her, nourice, say, Or sail I let her be ?" " Oh kill her, kill her, Lammikin, For she ne'er was gude to me." 1 Without LAMMIKIN. 429 " Scour, then, the basin, nourice fair, And scour it very clean ; It's a' to haud this ladye's blude, For she 's come o' noble kin." She's lifted up her babe sae fair, And kiss'd his caller brow ; " I needna say fareweel, my babe, For I sune sail follow you." Syne they have taen this winsome dame, And tied her doun wi' bands ; And in her heart's blude, as it ran, They 've blythely wash d their hands. Lord Weirie sat, far ower the sen, With mony a lord and dame ; And aye he thocht on his lad) e, That lanesome sat at hame. " I wish, I wish a' may be weel, With my ladye at hame ; For the rings o' gowd on my fingers, They're bursting a' in twain !" He's gar'd his ship be riggit fast, And he's sail'd ower the faem, Ad sune, full sune, was Lord Weirie Ance mair at his door-stane. When Weirie and his train licht doun, It was cauld winter e'en ; Nae voice was there to welcome them, Nor nae licht to be seen. " Oh, open, open, lady mine, The doors come ope to me !" Nae kindly voice cam frae within, An answer for to gie. 430 HUGHIE THE GR&ME. Oh, dowie was Lord Weirie's heart When he cam to the door ; But better dowie was his heart When he saw his chamber floor. Oh sweetly sang the blackbird That sat upon the tree ; But sairer grat the Lammikin, When he was condemn'd to die. Oh bonnie sang the mavis Out o' the thorny brake ; But sairer grat the nourice, When she was tied to the stake. HUGHIE THE GILEME. ' I FIND no traces of the particular Hughie Graeme of this ballad ; but, from the mention of the bishop, I suspect he may have been one of about four hundred Borderers against whom bills of complaint were exhibited to Robert Aldridge, lord bishop of Carlisle, about 1553, ' fr divers incursions, burnings, murders, mutilations, and spoils, by them committed.' " Scott. GUDE Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane, He has ridden o'er moss and muir ; And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme, For stealing o' the bishop's mare. " Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be ; Here hangs a broad sword by my side ; And if that thou canst conquer me, The matter it may soon be try'd." " I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief: Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme, I '11 make thee repent thee of thy deeds, If God but grant me life and time." HUGHIE THE GRJEME. 431 " Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope, And deal your blows as hard as you can ; It shall be tried within an hour Which of us two is the better man." But as they were dealing their blows so free, And both so bloody at the time, Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall, All for to take brave Hughie the Graeme. Then they hae grippit Hughie the Graeme, And brought him up through Carlisle town ; The lasses and lads stood on the walls, Crying " Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er gae down ! " Then hae they chosen a jury of men, The best that were in Carlisle town ; And twelve of them cried out at once, " Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae down !" Then up bespak him gude Lord Hume, As he sat by the judge's knee : " Twenty white owsen, my gude lord, If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." " Oh no, oh no, my gude Lord Hume ! Forsooth and sae it mauna be ; For were there but three Graemes of the name, They suld be hanged a' for me." 'Twas up and spak the gude Lady Hume, As she sat by the judge's knee : " A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge, If you '11 grant Hughie the Graeme to me." " Oh no, oh no, my gude Lady Hume ! Forsooth and so it mauna be ; Were he but the one Graeme of the name, He suld be hanged high for me." 432 HUGHIE GRAHAM. " If I be guilty," said Hughie the Graeme, " Of me my friends shall have small talk ;" And he has loup'd fifteen feet and three, Though his hands they were tied behind his back He look'd over his left shoulder, And for to see what he might see ; There was he aware of his auld father, Came tearing his hair most piteously. " Oh, hald your tongue, my father," he says, " And see that ye dinna weep for me ; For they may ravish me o' my life, But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie. " Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife! The last time we came o\ver the muir, 'Twas thou bereft me of my life, And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore. " Here, Johnie Armstrang, take thou my sword, That is made o' the metal sae fine ; And when thou comest to the English side, Remember the death of Hughie the Graeme." HUGHIE GRAHAM. BURNS transmitted the following version of Hughie Graham to "Johnson's Museum." He obtained it from oral tradition in Ayrshire ; and Stirling, not Carlisle, is here made the locality of the ballad. OUR lords are to the mountains gane, A-hunting o' the fallow-deer, And they hae grippit Hughie Graham For stealing o' the bishop's mare. And they hae tied him hand and foot, And led him up through Stirling town ; The lads and lasses met him there, Cried, " Hughie Graham, thou art a loun." HUGHIE GRAHAM. 433 " Oh, lovvse my right hand free," he says, " And put my braid sword in the same ; He's no in Stirling town this day, Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graham." Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, As he sat by the bishop's knee : " Five hundred white stots I '11 gie you, If ye '11 let Hughie Graham gae free." " Oh, haud your tongue," the bishop says, " And wi' your pleading let me be ; For though ten Grahams were in his coat, Hughie Graham this day shall dee." ' Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the bishop's knee : " Five hundred white pence I '11 gie you, If ye '11 gie Hughie Graham to me." " Oh, haud your tongue now, lady fair, And wi' your pleading let it be ; Although ten Grahams were in his coat, It's for my honour he maun dee." They 've ta'en him to the gallows-knowe, He looked to the gallows-tree ; Yet never colour left his cheek, Nor ever did he blin ! his e'e. At length he looked round about, To see whatever he could spy ; And there he saw his auld father, And he was weeping bitterly. " Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear, And wi' your weeping let it be ; Thy weeping 's sairer on my heart Than a' that they can do to me. " And ye may gie my brother John My sword that's bent in the middle clear; And let him come at twelve o'clock, And see me pay the bishop's ma^e. 2 E 434 JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE. "And ye may gie my brother James My sword that's bent in the middle brown ; And bid him come at four o'clock, And see his brother Hugh cut down. " Remember me to Maggy my wife, The neist time ye gang o'er the moor ; Tell her she staw the bishop's mare Tell her she was the bishop's whore. " And ye may tell my kith and kin, I never did disgrace their blood ; And when they meet the bishop's cloak, To mak it shorter by the hood." JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE. THE hero of this ballad appears to have been an outlaw and deer-stealer robably one of the broken men residing upon the Border. There are several ifferent copies, in one of which the principal personage is called Johnie of tAOl LVJli, 111 4^U4UU1WBUUC| lltj w 1UI11UUA. J-1 Cdi LU LUK1 btt3UG L11CJ C Wmm d. ;ark, built by Sir Thomas Randolph, on the face of a very great and high ill ; so artificially, that, by the advantage of the hill, all wild beasts such as lieers, harts, and roes, and hares did easily leap in, but could not get out again ; and if any other cattle such as cows, sheep, or goats did volun- tarily leap in, or were forced to do it, it is doubted \t their owners were per- mitted to get them out again.' (Account of Presbytery of Penpont, apud Macfar lane's MSS.) Such a paik would form a convenient domain to an outlaw's castle ; and the mention of Durrisdeer, a neighbouring parish, adds weight to the tradition. I have seen, on a mountain near Callendar, a sort of pinfold, composed of immense rocks piled upon each other, which, I was told, was anciently constructed for the above-mentioned purpose. The mountain is thence called Uah var, or the Cove oftfte Giant." Scott. JOHNIE rose up in a May morning, CalPd for water to wash his hands : " Gar loose to me the gude graie dogs That are bound wi' iron bands." JOHN IE OF BREADISLEE. 435 When Johnie's mother gat word o' that, Her hands for dule she wrang : " O Johnie ! for my benison, 1 To the greenwood dinna gang ! " Eneugh ye hae o' gude wheat bread, And eneugh o' the blude-red wine ; And, therefore, for nae venison, Johnie, I pray ye, stir frae hame." But Johnie 's busk't up his gude bent bow, His arrows, ane by ane ; And he has gane to Durrisdeer, To hunt the dun deer down. As he came down by Merriemass, And in by the benty line, There has he espied a deer lying Aneath a bush of ling. 2 Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap, And he wounded her on the side ; But, atween the water and the brae, His hounds they laid her pride. And Johnie has bryttled 3 the deer sae weel, That he 's had out her liver and lungs ; And wi' these he has feasted his bludy hounds, As if they had been erl's sons. They eat so much o' the venison, And drank sae much o' the blude, That Johnie and a' his bludy hounds Fell asleep as they had been dead. And by there came a silly auld carle, An ill death mote he die ! For he's awa to Hislinton, Where the seven foresters did lie. 1 Blessing. * Heath. 8 Cut up. 436 JOHNIE OP BREADISLEE. " What news, what news, ye gray-headed carle ? What news bring ye to me ?" " I bring nae news," said the gray -headed carle, " Save what these eyes did see. " As I came down by Merriemass, And down among the scroggs, 1 The bonniest child that ever I saw Lay sleeping amang his dogs. " The shirt that was upon his back Was o' the Holland fine ; The doublet which was over that Was o' the Lincome twine. " The buttons that were on his sleeve Were o' the goud sae gude ; The gude graie hounds he lay amang, Their mouths were dyed wi' blude." Then out and spak the first forester, The heid man ower them a' : " If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, Nae nearer will we draw." But up and spak the sixth forester, (His sister's son was he :) " If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, We soon shall gar him dee ! " The first flight of arrows the foresters shot, They wounded him on the knee ; And out and spak the seventh forester : " The next will gar him dee." Johnie 's set his back against an aik, His fute against a stane ; And he has slain the seven foresters He has slain them a' but ane. Stunted trees. JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE. 437 He has broke three ribs in that ane's side, But and his collar-bane ; He 's laid him twa-fald ower his steed Bade him carry the tidings hame. " Oh, is there na a bonnie bird, Can sing as I can say ; Could flee away to my mother's bower, And tell to fetch Johnie away ! " The starling flew to his mother's window- stane, It whistled and it sang ; And aye the owerword 1 o' the tune, Was " Johnie tarries lang !" 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 mother, And fast her tears did fa' .- " Ye wadna be warn'd, my son Johnie, Frae the hunting to bide awa'. " Aft hae I brought to Breadislee The less gear a and the mair ; But I ne'er brought to Breadislee What grieved my heart sae sair 1 " But wae betyde that silly auld carle ! An ill death shall he dee ! For the highest tree in Merriemass Shall be his morning's fee." Now Johnie's gude bend bow is broke, And his gude graie dogs are slain ; And his bodie lies dead in Durrisdeer, And his hunting it is done. 1 Refrain. * Spoil 438 OSCAR OF AL VA. OSCAR OF ALVA. BY LORD BYRON. How sweetly shines through azure skies, The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore ; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, And hear the din of arms no more. But often has yon rolling moon On Alva's casques of silver play*d ; And view'd at midnight's silent noon, Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd : And on the crimson'd rocks beneath, Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death, She saw the gasping warrior low ; While many an eye which ne'er again Could mark the rising orb of day, Turn'd feebly from the gory plain, Beheld in death her fading ray. Once to those eyes the lamp of Love, They blest her dear propitious light ; But now she glimmer 1 d from above, A sad, funereal torch of night. Faded is Alva's noble race, And gray her towers are seen afar ; No more her heroes urge the chase, Or roll the crimson tide of war. But who was last of Alva's clan ? Why grows the moss on Alva's stone ? Her towers resound no steps of man, They echo to the gale alone. OSCAR OF ALVA. 439 And when that gale is fierce and high, A sound is heard in yonder hall : It rises hoarsely through the sky, And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall. Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs, It shakes the shield of Oscar brave ; But there no more his banners rise, No more his plumes of sable wave. Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, When Angus hail'd his eldest born ; The vassals round their chieftain's hearth Crowd to applaud the happy morn. They feast upon the mountain deer, The pibroch raised its piercing note : To gladden more their Highland cheer, The strains in martial numbers float. And they who heard the war-notes wild, Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain Should play before the hero's child While he should lead the tartan train. Another year is quickly past, And Angus hails another son ; His natal day is like the last, Nor soon the jocund feast was done. Taught by their sire to bend the bow, On Alva's dusky hills of wind, The boys in childhood chased the roe, And left their hounds in speed behind. But ere their years of youth are o'er, They mingle in the ranks of war ; They lightly wheel the bright claymore, And send the whistling arrow far. Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair, Wildly it stream'd along the gale ; But Allan's locks were bright and fair, And pensive seeni'd his cheek, and pale. 440 OSCAR OF ALFA. But Oscar own'd a hero's soul, His dark eye shone through beams of truth ; Allan had early learn'd control, And smooth his words had been from youth. Both, both were brave : the Saxon spear Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel ; And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear, But Oscar's bosom knew to feel; While Allan's soul belied his form, Unworthy with such charms to dwell ; Keen as the lightning of the storm, On foes his deadly vengeance fell. From high Southannon's distant tower Arrived a young and noble dame ; With Kenneth's lands to form her dower, Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came ; And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, And Angus on his Oscar smiled ; It soothed the father's feudal pride Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child. Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note ! Hark to the swelling nuptial song ! In joyous strains the voices float, And still the choral peal prolong. See how the heroes' blood-red plumes Assembled wave in Alva's hall ; Each youth his varied plaid assumes, Attending on their chieftain's call. It is not war their aid demands, The pibroch plays the song of peace ; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands, Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late : Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame ? While thronging guests and ladies wait, Nor Oscar nor his brother came. OSCAR OF ALVA. 441 At length young Allan join'd the bride ; " Why comes not Oscar ?" Angus said. " Is he not here?" the youth replied ; " With me he roved not o'er the glade. " Perchance, forgetful of the day, 'Tis his to chase the bounding roe ; Or ocean's waves prolong his stay ; Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." " Oh, no !" the anguish'd sire rejoin'd, " Nor chase nor wave my boy delay ; Would he to Mora seem unkind ? Would aught to her impede his way ? " Oh, search, ye chiefs ! oh, search, around ! Allan, with these through Alva fly ; Till Oscar, till my son is found, Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply." All is confusion through the vale The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, It rises on the murmuring gale, Till night expands her dusky wings ; It breaks the stillness of the night. But echoes through her shades in vain, It sounds through morning's misty light, But Oscar comes not o'er the plain. Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief For Oscar search'd each mountain cave ! Then hope is lost ; in boundless grief, His locks in gray torn ringlets wave. " Oscar, my son ! thou God of heaven, Restore the prop of sinking age ! Or if that hope no more is given, Yield his assassin to my rage. " Yes, on some desert rocky shore My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie ; Then grant, thou God ! I ask no more, With him his frantic sire may die ! 442 OSCAR OF AL VA. "Yet he may live away, despair ! Be calm, my soul ! he yet may live ; T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear ! God ! my impious prayer forgive. " What, if he live for me no more, 1 sink forgotten in the dust, The hope of Alva's age is o'er ; Alas ! can pangs like these be just ?" Thus did the hapless parent mourn, Till Time, which soothes severest woe, Had bade serenity return, And made the tear-drop cease to flow. For still some latent hope survived That Oscar might once more appear : His hope now droop'd and now revived, Till Time had told a tedious year. Days roll'd along, the orb of light Again had run his destined race, No Oscar bless'd his father's sight, And sorrow left a fainter trace. For youthful Allan still remain'd, And now his father's only joy ; And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd, For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy. She thought that Oscar low was laid, And Allan's face was wondrous fair : If Oscar lived, some other maid Had claim' d his faithless bosom's care. And Angus said, if one year more In fruitless hope was pass'd away, His fondest scruples should be o'er, And he would name their nuptial day. Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last Arrived the dearly destined morn ; The year of anxious trembling past, What smiles the lovers' cheeks adorn ! OSCAR OF ALVA. 443 Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note ! Hark to the swelling nuptial song ! In joyous strains the voices float, And still the choral peal prolong. Again the clan, in festive crowd, Throng through the gate of Alva s hall ; The sounds of mirth re-echo loud, And all their former joy recall. But who is he, whose darken'd brow Glooms in the midst of general mirth ? Before his eyes' far fiercer glow The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. Dark is the robe which wraps his form, And tall his plume of gory red ; His voice is like the rising storm, But light and trackless is his tread. 'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round. The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff d ; With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, And all combine to hail the draught. Sudden the stranger-chief arose, And all the clamorous crowd are hush d; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush' d. Old man !" he cried, " this pledge is done ? Thou saw'st 'twas duly drunk by me : It hail'd the nuptials of thy son : Now will I claim a pledge from thee. " While all around is mirth and joy, To bless thy Allan's happy lot, Say, hadst thou ne'er another boy ? Say, why should Oscar be forgot ? " Alas !" the helpless sire replied, The big tear starting as he spoke, " When Oscar left my hall, or died, This aged heart was almost broke. 444 OSCAR OF ALVA. " Thrice has the earth revolved her course Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight : And Allan is my last resource, Since martial Oscar's death or flight." " 'Tis well," replied the stranger stern, And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye ; " Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn : Perhaps the hero did not die. " Perchance, if those whom most he loved Would call, thy Oscar might return ; Perchance the chief has only roved ; For him thy beltane yet may burn. 1 " Fill high the bowl the table round, We will not claim the pledge by stealth ; With wine let every cup be crown'd ; Pledge me departed Oscar's health." " With all my soul," old Angus said, And fill'd his goblet to the brim ; " Here's to my boy ! alive or dead, I ne'er shall find a son like him." " Bravely, old man, this health has sped ; But why does trembling Allan stand ? Come, drink remembrance of the dead, And raise thy cup with firmer hand." The crimson glow of Allan's face Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue ; The drops of death each other chase Adown in agonising dew. Thrice did he raise the goblet high, And thrice his lips refused to taste ; For thrice he caught the stranger's eye On his with deadly fury placed. 1 Beltane Tree, a Highland festival on the ist of May, held near fires lighted for the occasion. OSCAR OF ALVA. 445 " And is it thus a brother hails A brother's fond remembrance here ? If thus affection's strength prevails, What might \ve not expect from fear ?" Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl, " Would Oscar now could share our mirth !" Internal fear appall'd his soul ; He said, and dash'd the cup to earth. '"Tis he ! I hear my murderer's voice !" Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form ; " A murderer's voice !" the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm. The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, The stranger's gone amidst the crew A form was seen in tartan green, And tall the shade terrific grew. His waist was bound with a broad belt round, His plume of sable stream'd on high ; But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there, And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye. And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild, On Angus bending low the knee ; And thrice he frown'd on a chief on the ground, Whom shivering crowds with horror see. The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole The thunders through the welkin ring, And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm, Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing. Cold was the feast, the revel ceased, Who lies upon the stony floor ? Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast, At length his life-pulse throbs once more 446 OSCAR OF ALVA. a Away ! away ! let the leech essay To pour the light on Allan's eyes ;" His sand is done his race is run ; Oh ! never more shall Allan rise ! But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, His locks are lifted by the gale : And Allan's barbed arrow lay With him in dark Glentanar's vale. And whence the dreadful stranger came, Or who, no mortal wight can tell ; But no one doubts the form of flame, For Alva's sons knew Oscar well. Ambition nerved young Allan's hand, Exulting demons wing'd his dart ; While Envy waved her burning brand, And pour'd her venom round his heart. Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow ; Whose streaming life-blood stains his side ? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, The dart has drunk his vital tide. And Mora's eye could Allan move, She bade his wounded pride rebel ; Alas ! that eyes which beam'd with love Should urge the soul to deeds of hell. Lo ! seest thou not a lonely tomb Which rises o'er a warrior dead ? It glimmers through the twilight gloom ; Oh ! that is Allan's nuptial bed. Far, distant far, the noble grave Which held his clan's great ashes stood ; And o'er his corse no banners wave, For they were stain'd with kindred blood. What minstrel gray, what hoary bard, Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise ? The song is glory's chief reward, But who can strike a murderer's praise ? KNOCKESPOCK'S LADY. 447 Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, No minstrel dare the theme awake ; Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, His harp in shuddering chords would break. No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, Shall sound his glories high in air : A dying father's bitter curse, A brother's death-groan echoes there. KNOCKESPOCK'S LADY. BY WILLIAM THOM. ' AN ancestor of James Adam Gordon, Esq., the present laird of Knockespock, about a century and a half ago, in a second marriage, had taken to wife the lovely Jean Leith of Harthill. His affectionate lady, notwithstanding their great disparity of age, watched the chamber of her sick husband by day and by night, and would not divide her care with any one. Worn out and wasted from continued attendance on her husband, she fell into a sleep, and was awakened only by the smoke and flames of their burning mansion : the menials had fled the doom of the dying laird and his lady seemed fixed. In her heroic affections she bore her husband from the burning house, laid him in a sheltered spot, and forced through the very flames for ' plaids to wrap him in.'" Whitelaw, AE wastefu' howl o'er earth and sea, Nae gleam o' heaven's licht, Might mark the bounds o' Benachie That black and starless nicht. Siclike the nicht, siclike the hour, Siclike the wae they ken, Wha watch till those loved eyes shall close That ne'er may ope again. As gin to tak the last lang look, He raised a lichtless e'e ; Now list, oh thou, his lady wife, Knockespock speaks to thee ! 448 KNOCKESPOCK' S LADY. " Sit doun, my Jeanie Gordon, love, Sit doun an' baud my head ; There 's sic a low beneath my brow Maun soon, soon be my dead. " Aye whaur ye find the stoun, O Jean, Press tae your kindly han' ; I wadna gi'e ae breath o' thee For a' else on my Ian'. " Your couthie words dreep medicine, Your very touch can heal ; An' oh, your e'e does mair for me Than a' our doctor's skill !" She leant athwart his burnin' brow, Her tears lap lichtly doun ; Beneath her saft, saft, dautin' han' Knockespock sleepit soun'. For woman's watch is holiness In woman's heart sae rare, When a' the warld is cauld an' dark, There's licht and litheness there !" What 's yon that tints the deep dark brae, An' flickers on the green ? It 's no the rays o' morning gray, Nor yet the bonnie meen ! That licht that flares on Benachie Knockespock weel may rue ; Nor Gadie's stream would dit yon gleam That wraps his dwalling now. But what recks she how fast they flee The heartless hinds are gane ; Are nane to help their listless laird ? Their friendless lady ? Nane ! KNOCKESPOCK'S LADY. 449 Yet woman's love ! oh, woman's love ! The wide unmeasured sea Is nae so deep as woman's love As her sweet sympathy ! Upon the wet and windy sward She wadna let him down, But wiled an' wiled the lithest beild Wi' breckans happet roun'. Knockespock's cauld, he's deadly cauld Whaur has his lady gane ? How has she left him in the loan A' tremblin' there alane ? An' has she gane for feckless gowd, To tempt yon fearfu' lowe ? Or is her fair mind, wreck'd and wrang, Forgane its guidance now? She fearless speels the reekin' tower, Though red, red is the wa', An' braves the deaf 'nin' din an' stour, Whare cracklin' rafters fa'. It is na gowd, nor gallant robes, Gars Jeanie Gordon rin ; But she has wiled the saftest plaids To wrap her leal lord in. For woman's heart is tenderness ; Yet woman weel may dare The deftest deed, an' tremble nane, Gin true love be her care. u The lowe has scaith'd your locks, my Jean, An' scorch'd your bonnie brow ; The graceless flame consumes our hame What thinks my lady now ?" 2 F 450 EARL RICHARD. " My locks will grow again, my love, My broken brow will men' ; Your kindly breast 's the lealest haine That I can ever ken ; " But, oh that waesome look o' thine, Knockespock, I wad gi'e The livin' heart frae out my breast For aught to pleasure thee ! " Weel, woman's heart ! ay, woman's heart ! There grows a something there ; The sweetest flower on bank or bower Maun nane wi' that compare. EARL RICHARD. ' WHETHER thjs ballad is originally the production of an English or a Scotch minstrel admits of question ; certain, however, it is, that it has been received into both countries at a pretty early period. Hearne, in his preface to Gul. Neubrigiensis Historia, Oxon., 1719, vol. L, p. 70, mentions that the Knight and Shepherd's Daughter was well known in the time of Queen Elizabeth. In Fletcher's Pilgrim, act iv., scene ii., a stanza of the same ballad is quoted. The English version of this ballad is given in the Reliques of English Poetry, voL iii. There are various copies of it current in Scotland. The present ver- sion, obtained from recitation in one of the northern counties, is out of sight the most circumstantial and elaborated that has yet been printed. It possesses no small portion of humour, and appears to be of greater antiquity than the copy published in the Reliques. In one of the recited copies of this ballad, Earl Richard endeavours to shake the lady's conviction of his identity by using the same means as the Gaberlunzie man, who sang: ' I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee, And draw a black clout owre my e'e, A cripple or blind they will ca" me.' But the eyes of love were too sharp to be deceived by such witty devices, for, as the ballad has it, when * He came hirplin' on a stick, And leanin* on a tree," the lady, with a hasty voice, in the face of all the court, immediately cries out ' Be he cripple, or be he blind, The same man is he ! With my low silver e'e.' "Earl Richard's unbridegroom-like behaviour on his wedding night, aud EARL RICHARD. 451 his agreeable discovery on the morrow, will remind the ballad reader of tbe fentle Sir Gawaine, who, when reluctantly turning round to caress his lothly ride, much to his joy and contentment found her transformed into a most lovesome lady." Motherwell. EARL RICHARD once on a day, And all his valiant men so wight ; He did him down to Barnisdale, Where all the land is fair and light. He was aware of a damosel, I wot fast on she did her bound, With towers of gold upon her head, As fair a woman as could be found. He said, " Busk on you, fair ladye, The white flowers and the red ; For I would give my bonnie ship To get your maidenhead." " I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive, And drown you in the sea ; For all this would not mend the miss That ye would do to me." " The miss is not so great, ladye, Soon mended it might be. ' " I have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland, Stand on the water Tay ; You'll have them and as much flour As they'll grind in a day." " I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive, And drown you in the sea ; For all that would not mend the miss That ye would do for me." " The miss is not so great, ladye, Soon mended it will be. " I have four-and-twenty milk-white cows All calved in a day ; You '11 have them and as much hain'd grass As they all on can gae." 452 EARL RICHARD. " I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive, And drown ye in the sea ; For all that would not mend the miss, That ye would do to me." " The miss is not so great, ladye, Soon mended it might be. " I have four-and-twenty milk-white steeds, All foaled in one year ; You '11 have them and as much red gold, As all their backs can bear." She turn'd her right and round about, And she swore by the mold, " I would not be your love," said she, " For that church full of gold." He turn'd him right and round about, And he swore by the mass, Says, " Lady, ye my love shall be, And gold ye shall have less." She turn'd her right and round about, And she swore by the moon, " I would not be your love," says she, " For all the gold in Rome." He turn'd him right and round about, And he swore by the moon, Says, " Lady, ye my love shall be, And gold ye shall have none." He caught her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve ; And there has taken his will of her, Wholly without her leave. The lady frown'd and sadly blush'd, And oh ! but she thought shame ; " Says, " If you are a knight at all, You surely will tell me your name." EARL RICHARD. 453 <: In some places they call me Jack, In other some they call me John ; But when into the Queen's court, Oh then, Lithcock it is my name." Lithcock ! Lithcock '. " the lady said, And oft she spelt it over again ; "Lithcock! it's Latin," the lady said, " Richard's the English of that name." The knight he rode, the lady ran, A live long summer's day ; Till they came to the wan water, That all men do call Tay. He set his horse head to the water, Just through it for to ride ; And the lady was as ready as him, The waters for to wade. For he had never been as kind hearted, As to bid the lady ride ; And she had never been so low hearted, As for to bid him bide. But deep into the wan water, There stands a great big stone ; He turn'd his wight horse head about, Said, " Lady fair, will ye loup on ? " She's taken the wand was in her hand, And struck it on the foam, And before he got the middle stream, The lady was on dry land. " By the help of God and our Lady, My help lyes not in your hand." " I learn'd it from my mother dear, Few is there that has learn'd better ; When I came to a deep water, I can swim through like ony otter. 454 EARL RICHARD. " I learn'd it from my mother dear, I find I learn'd it for my weel ; When I came to a deep water, I can swim through like ony eeL" " Turn back, turn back, you lady fair, You know not what I see ; There is a lady in that castle, That will burn you and me." u Betide me weal, betide me wae, That lady will I see." She took a ring from her finger, And gave 't the porter for his fee ; Says, " Tak you that, my good porter, And bid the queen speak to me." And when she came before the queen, There she fell low down on her kneee ; Says, " There is a knight into your court, This day has robb'd me." " Oh, has he robb'd you of your gold, Or has he robb'd you of your fee ? " "He has not robb'd me of my gold, He has not robb'd me of my fee ; He has robb'd me of my maidenhead, The fairest flower of my bodie." " There is no knight in all my court, That thus has robb'd thee ; But you'll have the truth of his right hand, Or else for your sake he '11 dee ; Though it were Earl Richard my own brother, And oh ! forbid that it be ; " Then, sighing, said the lady fair, " I wot the samen man is he." The queen called on her merry men, Even fifty men and three ; Earl Richard used to be the first man, But now the hindmost was he. EARL RICHARD. 453 He's taken out one hundred pounds, And told it in his glove ; Says, " Tak you that, my lady fair, And seek another love." " Oh no, oh no," the lady cried, " That 's what shall never be ; 1 11 have the truth of your right hand, The queen it gave to me." " I wish I had drunk of your water, sister, When I did drink your wine ; That for a carle's fair daughter, It does gar me dree 1 all this pine." " May be I am a carle's daughter, And may be never nane ; When ye met me in the green wood, Why did you not let me alane ? " 11 Will you wear the short clothes, Or will you wear the side, Or will you walk to your wedding, Or will you till it ride ? " " I will not wear the short clothes, But I will wear the side; I will not walk to my wedding, But I to it will ride." When he was set upon the horse, The lady him behind ; Then cauld and eerie 2 were the words, The twa had them between. She said, " Good e'en, ye nettles tall, Just there where ye grow at the dyke, If the auld carlin my mother was here, Sae weel's she would your pates pike. 1 Suffer. * Ominous. 456 EARL RICHARD. " How she would stap 1 you in her poke, 2 I wot at that she wadna fail ; And boil ye in her auld brass pan, And of ye mak right gude kail. " And she would meal you with millering, That she gathers at the mill ; And mak you thick as any daigh, And when the pan was brimful " Would mess you up in scuttle dishes, Syne bid us sup till we were fou, Lay down her head upon a poke, Then sleep and snore like any sow." " Away ! away ! you bad woman, For all your vile words grieveth me, When ye heed so little for yourself, I 'm sure ye '11 heed far less for me. " I wish I had drunk your water, sister, When that I did drink of your wine ; Since for a carle's fair daughter, It aye gars me dree all this pine." " May be I am a carle's daughter, And may be never nane ; When ye met me in the good green wood, Why did you not let me alane ? " Gude e'en, gude e'en, ye heather berries, As ye 're growing on yon hill ; If the auld carle and his bags were here, I wot he would get meat his fill. " Late, late at night I knit our pokes, With even four-and-twenty knots ; And in the morn at breakfast time, I '11 carry the keys of an earl's locks. J Put. Bag. EARL RICHARD. 457 " Late, late, at night I knit our pokes, With even four-and-t\venty strings ; And if you look to my white fingers, They have as many gay gold rings." " Away ! away ! ye ill woman, And sore your vile words grieveth me ; When you heed so little for yourself, I 'm sure ye '11 heed far less for me. " But if you are a carle's daughter, As I take you to be ; How did you get the gay clothing, In green wood ye had on thee ?" " My mother she's a poor woman, She nursed earl's children three; And I get them from a foster sister, For to beguile such sparks as thee." " But if you be a carle's daughter, As I believe you be ; How did you learn the good Latin, In green wood ye spoke to me ?" " My mother she 's a mean woman, She nursed earl's children three ; I learn'd it from their chapelain, To beguile such sparks as ye." When mass was sung, and bells were rung, And all men boune for bed ; Then Earl Richard and this ladye In ane bed they were laid. He turn'd his face to the stock, And she hers to the stane ; And cauld and dreary was the luve That was thir twa between. 458 ANDREW LAMMIE. Great was the mirth in the kitchen, Likewise intill the ha' ; But in his bed lay Earl Richard, Wiping the tears awa'. He wept till he fell fast asleep, Then slept till licht was come ; Then he did hear the gentlemen That talked in the room. Said, " Saw ye ever a fitter match Betwixt the ane and ither ; The king o' Scotland's fair dochter, And the queen of England's brither." " And is she the king of Scotland's fair dochter ? This day, oh, weel is me ! For seven times has my steed been saddled To come to court with thee ; And with this witty lady fair How happy must I be !" ANDREW LAMMIE. 1 THIS ballad 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 marrying 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 remarkable for good looks. Annie's death, according to her grave-stone in Fyvie churchyard, took place in 1631. Andrew, however, did not Hie, 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 mentioned, and the ballad sung in a company in Edinburgh where he was present, 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 attendants 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 day, ' Bonnie Andrew Lammie' was a ANDREW LAMMIE. 459 person of traditional 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 ; Stiffly in love wi' me he fell, As soon as e'er he saw me That was a day.'" Chambers. AT Mill o' Tifty lived a man, In the neighbourhood of Fyvie ; He had a lovely daughter, fair, Was called bonnie Annie. Her bloom was like the springing flower That salutes 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 Of Mill o' Tif tie's Annie. Proper he was, both young and gay, His like was not in Fyvie ; No one was there that could compare With this same Andrew Lammie. Lord Fyvie he rode by the door Where lived Tiftie's Annie ; His trumpeter rode him before, Even this same Andrew Lammie. Her mother call'd her to the door, " Come here to me, my Annie ; Did you ever see a prettier man Than this trumpeter of Fyvie ? " She sigh'd sore, but said no more, Alas ! for bonnie Annie ; She durst not own her heart was won By the trumpeter of Fyvie. ANDREW LAMMIE. 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 possess'd my tender breast, And love will waste my body. " The first time I and my love met Was in the woods of Fyvie ; His lovely form and speech so sweet, Soon gain'd the heart of Annie. " He call'd me mistress ; I said, ' No ; I 'm Tiftie's bonnie Annie ; ' With apples sweet he did me treat, And kisses soft and many. " It's up and down in Tiftie's den, Where the burn rins clear and bonnie, I 've often gone to meet my love, My bonnie Andrew Lammie." But now, alas ! her father heard That the trumpeter of Fyvie Had had the art to gain the heart Of Tiftie's bonnie Annie. Her father soon a letter wrote, And sent it on to Fyvie, To tell his daughter was bewitch'd By his servant, Andrew Lammie. When Lord Fyvie had this letter read, Oh dear, but he was sorry; The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land Is bewitch'd by Andrew Lammie. ANDREW LAMMIR. Then up the stair his trumpeter He call'd soon and shortly: " Pray tell me soon, What "s this you 've done To Tiftie's bonnie Annie ? " " In wicked art I had no part, Nor therein am I canny ; True love alone the heart has won Of Tiftie's bonnie Annie. " Woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride, For it has ruin'd many ; He'll no ha'e 't said that she should wed The trumpeter of Fyvie. " Where will I find a boy so kind That '11 carry a letter canny Who will run on to Tiftie's town, Give it to my love Annie ? " " Here you shall find a boy so kind, Who '11 carry a letter canny Who will run on to Tiftie's town, And gi'e 't to thy love Annie." " It's Tiftie he has daughters three, Who all are wondrous bonnie ; But ye '11 ken her o'er a' the lave Gi'e that to bonnie Annie." " It 's up and down in Tiftie's den, Where the burn runs clear and bonnie ; There wilt thou come and meet thy love, Thy bonnie Andrew Lammie. " When wilt thou come, and I '11 attend ? My love, I long to see thee :" " Thou may'st come to the Bridge of Sleugh, And there I '11 come and meet thee." 462 ANDREW LAMMIE. " My love, I go to Edinbro', And for a while must leave thee ; " She sigh'd sore, and said no more, " But I wish that I were wi' thee." " I '11 buy to thee a bridal gown ; My love, I '11 buy it bonnie :" " But I'll be dead e'er ye come back To see your bonnie Annie." * " If you'll be true, and constant too, As my name 's Andrew Lainmie, I shall thee wed when I come back To see the lands o' 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 churchyard of Fyvie." " Our time is gone, and now comes on, My dear, that I must leave thee ; If longer here I should appear, Mill o* Tiftie he would see me." " I now for ever bid adieu To thee, my Andrew Lammie ; Ere ye come back I will be laid In the green churchyard of Fyvie." He hied him to the head of the house, To the house-top of Fyvie ; He blew his trumpet loud and schill 'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie. Her father lock'd the door at night, Laid by the keys fu' canny ; 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, Than ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie. ANDREW LAMMIE. 463 " I would not for my braw new gown, And a' your gifts so many, That it were told in Fyvie's land How cruel you are to Annie. " But if you strike me I will cry, And gentlemen will hear me ; Lord Fyvie will be riding by, And he '11 come in and see me." At the same time the lord came in, He said, " What ails thee, Annie ?" " 'Tis all for love now I must die For bonnie Andrew Lammie. " Pray, Mill o' Tifty, gi'e consent, And let your daughter marry." "It will be with some higher match Than the trumpeter of Fyvie." If she were come of as high .a kind As she's adorn'd with beauty, 1 would take her unto myself, And make her mine own lady." *' It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide, And they are rich and bonnie ; I would not leave my own true love For all the lands of Fyvie." Her father struck her wondrous sore, As also did her mother ; Her sisters always did her scorn; But woe be to her brother. Her brother struck her wondrous sore, With cruel strokes and many ; He brake her back in the hall door, For liking Andrew Lammie. " Alas ! my father and mother dear, Why so cruel to your Annie ? My heart was broken first by love, My brother has broken my body. 464 ANDREW LAAIMIE. " Oh, mother dear, make ye my bed, And lay my face to Fyvie ; Thus will I ly, and thus will die, For my love, Andrew Lammie ! " Ye neighbours hear, both far and near, Ye pity Tiftie's Annie ; Who dies for love of one poor lad For bonnie Andrew Lammie. " No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life, Nor hurt my virgin honour ; My youthful heart was won by love, But death will me exoner." Her mother then she made her bed, And laid her face to Fyvie ; Her tender heart it soon did break, And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie. But the word soon went up and down, Through all the lands of Fyvie, That she was dead and buried Even Tiftie's bonnie Annie. Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands, Said, " Alas, for Tiftie's Annie ! The fairest flower 's cut down by love That e'er sprung up in Fyvie." " Oh, woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride, He might have let them marry ; I should have given them both to live Into the lands of Fyvie." Her father sorely now laments The loss of his dear Annie, And wishes he had gi'en consent, To wed with Andrew Lammie. Her mother grieves both air and late, Her sister's cause they scorned her ; Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve, For the cruel usage he'd given her. THE BARON OF BRACKLEY. 465 But now, alas ! it was too late, For they could not recall her ; Through life, unhappy is their fate, Because they did controul her. When Andrew hame from Edinburgh came, With meikle grief and sorrow ; " My love has died for me to-day, " I '11 die for her to-morrow. " Now I will on to Tiftie's den, Where the burn rins clear and bonnie ; With tears I '11 view the bridge of Sleugh, 1 Where I parted last with Annie. " Then will I speed to the church-yard, To the green church-yard of Fyvie ; With tears I '11 water my love's grave, Till I follow Tiftie's Annie." Ye parents grave, who children have, In crushing them be canny ; Lest when too late you do repent, Remember Tiftie's Annie. THE BARON OF BRACKLEY. DOWN Dee-side came Inverey whistling and play- ing ; He's lighted at Brackley yates at the day dawing. " Says, " Baron o' Brackley, O are ye within ? There's sharp swords at the yate will gar your blood spin." I " It is a received superstition in Scotland, thnt when friends or lovers part at a bridge, they shall never again m - .... . . !_- F\l - I . - - .- . . -- " p - - . /