Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/bookofbritishbalOOballrich a TMl )F%J/ "b ^^ ^^%- ■i£ij'^- ^i> -;'" mMMMM^tmM LoNDO.v : Spottiswoodei and Shaw, fiew-ftieet-Squai «. INTRODUCTION. LTHOUGH various collections of British Ballads have been published, from time to time, since the elegant mind, re- fined taste, and sound judgment, of Bishop Percy were brought to bear upon the interesting and important sub- ject, no attempt has been made to select and arrange, in a popular form, the best of these Ballads, from the several volumes in which they are scattered, and mixed up with a mass of inferior, or objectionable, compositions. This appears, indeed, to have been almost the only department of our " Polite Literature," to which public attention has not been adequately directed. Yet, without subscribing to the opinion, attributed to high authorities, — " Give me the making of VI INTRODUCTION. National Ballads, and I care not who makes the Laws," — it requires no argument to prove their powerful influence over the thoughts and feelings of all classes — the cultivated as well as the uncultivated. It is not too much to say, that in "uncivill ages" no source of instruction was so fertile, — and no missionary so effective in moulding the general sentiment, as " the blinde cro wder " — it may have been, — " who, with no rougher voice than rude style," stirred up the sympathies of the multi- tude, and moved even the great heart of Sidney, " more than with a trumpet." Nor can he be considered a visionary, who would draw con- clusions, as to the pre-eminently moral character of Great Britain, from the fact, that the songs which encourage virtue and justice, uphold heroic fortitude, and inculcate, as an axiom, that " God defends the right," have been, in all ages, the chiefest ** darlings of the common people." The Editor has here endeavoured to form a selection that shall be agreeable and interesting to the general reader, and not unsatisfactory to the antiquary and the scholar. It has been, however, an essential part of his design, to collect only the Ballads that appear most worthy of preservation, — and not to reprint those which have no stronger re- commendation than their rarity; — rejecting none, because they are already suflGlciently known, and accepting none, because they are merely scarce. It was his duty to decline no labour that might give complete- ness to his task ; and to omit no opportunities of consulting available sources of information, whether accessible to all readers, or to be ob- tained only by patient industry and careful search. His plan, in its several details, it is unnecessary for him to explain, inasmuch as it is here sufficiently developed. It will be perceived, that he has not modernised the orthography ; believing, that " these old and antique songs" will be most readily welcomed in their ancient dress, — " The garb our Muses wore in former yeai's." He did not, however, consider it expedient to follow any chrono- logical order ; to have done so, with accuracy, would have been indeed impossible, for there are few of the more ancient compositions to which INTRODUCTION. Ml any date can be assigned. His leading purpose was so to arrange these Ballads as to obtain variety, both of style and illustration, without regard to the period at which they were written, or the sources in which they originated ; prefacing each by such explanatory remarks as should communicate all the information he was able to obtain con- cerning its history. In illustrating the work, he was ambitious so to appTy the great and admitted capabilities of British Art, as to prove that the em- bellished volumes of Germany and France were not of unapproachable excellence, in reference either to design or execution. He believes himself warranted in stating, that he has been enabled to submit examples of the genius of a large proportion of the more accomplished artists of Great Britain — as exhibited in drawing upon wood. The supremacy of our English engravers, in this class of Art, has been long established. m INDEX fMH ©@@K @[F [g^a^OiKl [i}AlL[L/?\[E)§« FAQE AULD ROBIN GRAY . . . .415 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by G. Dalziel and F. Branston. BARTHRAM'S DIRGE . . . .293 Designs by Fanny M'Ian. Engravings by Fred. Branston. CHEVY CHASE 1 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by W. J. Linton, T. Williams, J. Bastin, T. Armstrong, and E. Landells. COLIN AND LUCY . . . .261 Designs by E. M. Ward. Engravings by F. Branston. ELFINLAND WUD . . . .421 Designs by J. N. Paton. Engravings by T. Armstrong. FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL . . 393 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by G. P. Nicholls and G. Dalziel. FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM . 179 Designs by H. Warren. Engi-avings by Jackson. FAIR ROSAMOND . . . .21 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Williams, 0. Smith, E. Evans, J. Walmslet, and Miss Williams. FAUSE FOODRAGE . . . .165 Designs by T. M. Joy. Engravings by Miss Williams. FRENNETT HALL . . . .369 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by G. Dalziel, F. Branston, and G. P. Nicholls. GENEVIEVE 173 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Armstrong and G. P. • Nicholls. GIL MORRICE 97 Designs by Kenny Meadows. Engravings by Smith and Linton. GLENFINLAS 241 Designs by H. J. Townsend. Engravings by G. P. Nicholls, F. Branston, and J. Walmsley. PAOK HENGIST AND MEY . . . .433 Designs by F. R. Pickersgill. Engravings by J. L. Williams. JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE . . . 223 Designs by T. Sibson. Engravings by W. J. Linton. 'KATHERINE JANFARIE . . . 2G7 Designs by C. H. Weigall. Engravings by E. Landells. KEMPION . . . . .51 Designs by W. B. Scott. Engravings by Smith and Linton. KING ARTHUR'S DEATH . . .125 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by W. J. Green, G. P. Nicholls, and T. Armstrong. KING ESTMERE 375 Designs by J. Tenniel. Engravings by J. Bastin. LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT . . 409 Designs by J. S. Brine. Engravings by J. Bastin and T. Armstrong. LORD SOULIS 145 Designs by R. M'Ian. Engravings by Smith and Linton. LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET . . 157 Designs by J. H. Townsend. Engravings by W. Folkaru, Fred. Branston, J. Walmsley, and J. Bastin. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER . . .207 Designs by E. Corbould. Engravings by J, W. Whimper, andS. Williams. ROBIN GOODFELLOW . . . .85 Designs by R. Dadd. Engravings by W. J. Green. ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE . 323 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by G. P. Nicholls, Fred. Branston, and G. Dalziel. RUDIGER . Designs by E. M. Ward. Engravings by J. Walmsley. . 273 VI INDEX. RUTH PAGE 313 Designs by W. B. Scott. Engravings by W. J. Linton. SIR AGILTHORN 213 Designs by R. Redgrave, A.R.A. Engravings by Walmsley, Bastin, F. Branston, and H. Vizetelly. SIR ALDINGAR . . . . .107 Designs by J. Gilbert. Engravings by Gilks and Folkard. SIR ANDREW BARTON . . . .357 Designs by F. W. Fairholt. Engravings by T. Armstrong. SIR CAULINE . . . . .297 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by G. Dalziel. SIR JAMES THE ROSE . . . .339 Designs by J. S. Brine. Engravings by W. S. Linton and T. Armstrong. SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE . . .117 Designs by E. Corbould. Engravings by Orrin Smith. SIR PATRICK SPENS . . . .91 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Armstrong. THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE . . .185 Designs by W. B. Scott. Engravings by W. Folkard, H. Vizetelly, and T. Armstrong. THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN . 73 Designs by J. Gilbert. Engravings by H. Vizetelly, THE BONNIE BAIRNS , . . .235 Designs by E. Corbould. Engravings by J. Bastin and T. Wakefield. THE CHILD OF ELLE . . . .57 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Williams. THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD . . 13 Designs by J. R. Herbert, A.R.A. Engravings by Green. FAGF. THE CLERK'S TWA SONS 0' OWSENFORD . 349 Designs by H. C. Selous. Engravings by J. Bastin. THE CRUEL SISTER . . . . .387 •Designs by E. Corbould. Engravings by T. Armstrong. THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF ROBIN HOOD 333 Designs by H. Warren. Engravings by E. Evans. THE DEMON LOVER . . . .31 Designs by J. Gilbert. Engravings by Folkard and J. Bastin. THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW . . 229 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by Fred. Branston and E. Evans. THE EVE OF ST. JOHN . . .283 Designs by J. N. Paton. Engravings by Fred. Branston. THE GAY GOSS-HAWK . . .253 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Armstrong. THE HEIRE OF LINNE . . . .135 Designs by E. M. Ward. Engravings by J. Bastin. THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL . . .399 Designs by A. CROwauiLL. Engravings by T. Armstrong. THE MERMAID . . . ' . .195 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by W. J. Green, Fred. Branston, G. P. NiCHOLLS, and T. Armstrong. THE NUT-BROWN MAYD . . .37 Designs by T. Cresw^ick, W. B. Scott, and S. Williams. Engravings by S. and J. Williams, Landells, Vizetelly. THE TWA BROTHERS . . . .67 Designs by W. P. Frith. Engravings by J. Bastin. THE TWA CORBIES . . . .429 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by W. T. Green. -^ vv^ / HEVT-CHACE. Of the old heroic ballad of ^ \;^/ « Chevy-Chace," thus wrote Sir Philip Sidney : — "I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved, more than with a trumpet : and yet it is sung but by some blinde crowder, with no rougher voice, than rude style ; which beeing so evill apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivill age, what would it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Plndare ! " There can be ■^ no doubt that he referred to the very ancient, and not if to the comparatively modem, ballad ; yet Mr. Addison, quoting the great authority, applies it to the latter, — an error that did not escape the pene- (^/A tration of Dr. Percy, who printed both ; — the more ancient, from the preface to " Gul. Newbriglensis Hist.," by the learned antiquary Thomas Hearne, — (by .J^-\]\ whom, the authorship is assigned to "R. Sheale;") — the more recent, from "the common stall copies." The older seems to have been forgotten, until revived in the «' Reliques of Ancient. English Poetry ; " for Mr. Addison confines his criticism to the modern version, with which only he was acquainted ; and it does not appear that any of his contemporaries detected the mistake. The style of the old ballad. Dr. Percy characterises as " uncommonly rugged and uncouth ; " and " the soul of chivali-y," Sir Philip Sidney, describes it as " apparelled in the dust and cobweb of an uncivill age." It is, however, so full of vigour, life, and action, — so grand in its natural rudeness, that few will hesitate to subscribe to the opinion of Sir Walter Scott, that the current version has " lost in poetical fire and energy, and in vigour and pithiness of expression, more than it has gained in suavity of diction." We give, notwithstanding, the modem copy in preference, as far more intelligible to the general reader; merely extracting a verse of the ancient, as a sample of its rude style and rough strength: — this verse we take from the volume of Hearae. Cflt Ucrst otDt o« flortfinmftarlanOe, anO a OotDr to ©oO tnajlr Je UTfiat f)e toolB Juntc in tf)e mountains off fflfcsbfat toitlitn Baps iti.. In ti)c maaaer of Hougjtc DcbIcs anS all tjat cbrr totti) i)im tc. Although it was not the modem version that moved the great heart of Sidney " more than a trumpet," it is undoubtedly that which, for centuries, has maintained its popularity, in England, more firmly, and, perhaps, more universally, than any other /fK^ of the " favourites of the people." And, whether we agree with Percy, in considering that the old ballad was " expressly modernised," in consequence of the " eulogium " it received in the " Defence of Poetry ; " or with Scott, in believing the changes it has undergone to have been " produced by the gradual alterations of numerous recitere," there can be but one opinion as to its beauty, grandeur, force, and sim- plicity, — qualities, in the happy combination of which, it is unsprpassed by any composition in the language. ' I ^ l > ' I *, T Such border feuds as that of Chevy-Chace were of frequent oCiJurtericd ; kid although no authentic historical documents exist to determine -precisf-Jy, 'the; jtetiod . at which the " woeful hunting" actually occurred, there is no tioiibt' Shat'a l)attlo ' was fought under circumstances such as those recorded in the ballad, and as little m\ u that the old poem, by which it is commemorated, was composed soon after the event Evidence of its popularity has been given so early as the time of Queen Elizabeth, and of its being considered, even then, as the production of an " uncivill age." Reference is made to " the fourth Harry our Kyng;" but it was written, probably, during the reign of Henrj' the Sixth, when " James, the Scottish King," the first of the name, wore the crown of Scotland. That the affair took place previous to 1402 is certain; for the battle of Humbledowne, expressly alluded to, was fought on the fourteenth of September of that year. The only battle mentioned in history, wherein an earl of Douglas was slain fighting with a Percy, was that of Otterboume — the theme of several ballads, both of England and Scotland. This occurred in 1388, during the reign of Richard the Second ; and there are some reasons for supposing it to have been the Qp^^--^,_^ event commemorated in the baDad of Chevy-Chace. Sir Walter Scott, in his " Border Antiquities," has pub- lished an engraving of the Banner of ^W5N-3Mit'*^?v^^^f^aK^^ft««^^'~^^ Douglas, " supposed to have been " borne at this encounter ; ^ which we here copy ; as well as the Pennon of Percy, that had been previously "taken from him" by Douglas, during an incursion of the Scots into the English marches ; the attempt to regain which led to the fight of Otter- boume, where Douglas was killed, and Percy was taken prisoner. The circum- stances connected with this contest are strongly characteristic of the chivalric spirit of the age. They are given in Froissart. " The Earl of Douglas had a long conflict with Sir Henry Percy ; and in the end, by gallantry of arms, won his pennon, to the great vexation of Sir Henry and the other English. The Earl ijf Douglas said — ' I will carry this token of your prowess with me to Scotland, and place it on the tower of my castle at Dalkeith, that it may be seen firom far.* 'By God, Earl Douglas,' replied Sir Harry, ' you shall not even bear it out of Northumberland.' • You must come, then,' answered Earl Douglas, * this night, and, if you will, venture to take it away.' " A copy of this ballad — partly in black letter, with which we have collated the text of Dr. Percy — is preserved in the folio collection at the British Museum. One, how- ever, much older, and more perfect, is in the Pepysian Collection, in the library of Magdalen College, Cambridge. Dr. Percy does not state that he had compared his text with this edition ; and it is singular that it should have escaped his notice ; for he was intimately acquainted with the collection, to which he makes frequent reference in the cov'jre ,of hft work. That he overlooked it, we have little doubt ; for although the differjai^es ,^e not many, nor very material, they are so obviously improvements, tJiat he could not .ba.ve hesitated to adopt them. We have introduced them in nearly every lratal>cc ; the reader may ascertain their value by taking the trouble to com- pare owe copy with that of Dr. Percy. S^^fe^fC&^^S^ '^"i^^^^^OB prosper long our noble king, ) j ^ ' l^^B-^'7 Our lives and safetyes all ; / '^^ ^"^^'i ^ woeful hunting once there did In Chevy-Chace befall. To drive the deere with hound and home, Erie Percy took his way ; The child may rue that is unborne, ^ vill thee bringe. Where thou shalt high advanced bee By James our Scottish king : Thy ransome I will freely give. And this report of thee. Thou art the most couragious knight, That ever I did see/ * Noe, Douglas,' quoth Erie Percy then, ' Thy proffer I doe scorne ; 1 will not yeelde to any Scott, That ever yett was borne.' With that, there came an arrow keene Out of an English bow. Which struck Erie Douglas to the heart, A deepe and deadlye blow : Who never spake 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 life, Erie Percy tooke The dead man by the hand; And said, ' Erie Douglas, for thy life Wold I had lost my land. O Christ ! my verry heart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake ; For sure, a more redoubted knight Mischance did never take.' A knight amongst the Scotts there was, Which saw Erie Douglas dye. Who streight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Erie Percy : Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd, Who, with a spere full bright. Well-mounted on a gallant steed. Ran fiercely through the fight ; And past the English archers all. Without a dread or feare ; And through Erie Percy's body then He thrust his hatefuU spere ; With such vehement force and might He did his body gore, The staff" ran through the other side A large cloth-yard, and more. So thus did both these nobles dye, Wliose courage none could staine : An English archer then perceiv'd The noble erle was slaine ; He had a bow bent in his hand. Made of a trusty tree ; An arrow of a cloth-yard long To the hard head haled he : II 1155;.' ^-.-.^ Franklin del. Armstrong ae. i4 Clbtbg-oribace. -, 1-=- " • •- > ^ 1 .-/^ C / - " fe Against Sir Hugh Mountgomery So right the shaft he sett ; The grey goose wing that was thereon In his hearts bloode was wett. This fight did last from breake of day, Till setting of the sunne ; For when they rung the evening-bell, The battel scarce was done. "With stout Erie Percy, there was slaine Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff. and Sir John, Sir James, that bold barrbn. And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both knights of good account, Grood Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine, Whose prowesse did surmount. For Witherington my heart is .woe. That ever he slaine shold be : For when his legs were hewn in two He knelt and fought on his knee. * And with Erie Douglas, there was slaine Sir Hugh Mountgomery, Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld One foote wold never flee. Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too, His sisters sonne was hee ; Sir David Lamb, so weU esteem'd, But saved he cold not bee. » This stanza is introduced from the old ballad — in ac- cordance with the suggestion of Dr. Percy ; for although the death of Witherington, as described in the ancient copy, is exquisitely touching, in the modem version it " never fails to excite ridicule." Franklin del. arfi£bB-(»r!)ace. And the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Erie Douglas dye : Of twenty hundred Scottish speres, Scarce fifty-five did flye. Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty -three ; The rest in Chevy-Chase were slaine, Under the greene woode tree. Next day did many widdowes come, Their husbands to bewayle ; They washt their wounds in brinish teares. But all wold not prevayle. Their bodyes, bathed in purple blood, They bore with them away : They kist them dead a thousand times, Ere they were cladd in clay. The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, Where Scottlands king did raigne, That brave Erie Douglas suddenlye Was with an arrow slaine : * O heavy newes,' King James did say, ' Scottland can witnesse bee, I have not any captaine more Of such accoimt as hee.' Like tydings to King Henry came. Within as short a space. That Percy of Northumberland Was slaine in Chevy-Chase : ' Now Grod be with him,' said our king, * Sith 'twill noe better bee ; I trust I have, within my realme, Five hundred as good as hee : Franklin del. Armstrong lo. ■/7— >"tTT'' '-^j'Z Yett shall not Scotts nor Scottland say, But I will vengeance take : I'll be revenged on them all, For brave Erie Percy's sake.' This vow full well the king perform'd After, at Humbledowne ; In one day, fifty knights were slayne, With lords of high renowne : And of the rest, of small account, Did many hundreds dye. Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase, Made by the Erie Percy. God save the king, and bless this land With plenty e, joy, and peace ; And grant, henceforth, that foule debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease. 7raukllr> del. ^«p HE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD is characterised by ^^ Mr. Addison, as " one of the darling songs of the com- mon people," and " the delight of most Englishmen in some part of their age." In the motto prefixed to the essay in which he refers to it, he describes it, by a quotation from Horace, as " sine pondere et arte," — "a plain and simple copy of nature, destitute of the helps and orna- ments of art." Few compositions in the language have been more universally read, or more extensively popular, among all classes ; so true it is, that — One touch of nature makes the whole world kin ; — for the language is mean, and the style is poor. There is, indeed, to borrow ^ from the same classic authority, " even a despicable simplicity in the verse ; " and he carries his notions of refinement so far as to add, that " the quoting any of it would look like a design to turn it into ridictile," — an opinion by no means worthy of the critic, and which conveys an ill compliment to the taste and judg- ment of his readers. But it makes its way into the heart by a surer passage than that of poetic grace : the sentiments are genuine and unaffected ; and, therefore, " they are able to move the mind of the most polite reader with inward meltings of himianity and compassion." Mr. Addison perceived and appreciated the in- trinsic value of the gem, through its coarse natural coating ; it gave him a " most exquisite pleasure," and he recommended it to popularity by a short paper in the " Spectator." According to Ritson, "it appears to have been written in 1595, being entered in that year on the Stationers' Books." Dr. Percy reprinted it, — collating it with another ancient edition, — from a black-letter copy in the Pepys' collection, where its title, at large, is, " The Children in the Wood ; or. The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament, to the tune of Rogero." This tune of " Rogero " we print, as it is given by Ritson : — ^^ But Dr. Percy and Ritson are at issue as to the date of the composition. The former considers the subject of the ballad to have been taken from an old play, " Of a young child murthered in a wood, by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle ; by Robert Yarrington, 1601 ;"the story being similar in its leading features, although the scene of the drama is laid, not in Norfolk, but in Padua. Percy's reasons for giving the merit of originality to the play-wright are by no means conclusive, and the point must be considered as determined by the fact of its previous entry on the Stationers' Books. Indeed, the ballad may be said to carry with it internal evidence ^ of its English birth ; and was, most probably, founded on some actual occurrence ; for its great merit lies in the apparent absence of invention, the seeming adherence to plain truth, and the thorough simplicity that pervades it, as if the author were content with the mere relation of the story — aiming at nothing but to tell a tale in rhyme ; even the touching incident to which the composition is mainly indebted for its feme — the babes lying imburied in the forest, — Cill robin rcObrtast pafnfullp DiO caitx tt)tm toiti) Itanrs,— is a picture so natural as to have resulted without an effort of imagination. The justice accorded to the murderer, — the mode in which it is administered, — the way in which the crime is made manifest by the confession of one of the fellows who was " for a robbery judged to die," — the tracing its discovery to the " blessed will of God," — the picture of the uncle dying in prison for debt, — and the moral appended to the story, — may all be accepted as proofs of the English origin of the ballad. We regard the ballad, therefore, as a very model of the pure old English style, — the native species of poetry of this country ; " rough rhymes and unadorned narra- tives, such " — we quote from Dr. Aikin — "as were ever the delight of the vulgar ; " — and although the age which gave them birth was fertile in productions, infinitely surpassing them in correctness, elegance, and beauty, the more simple compositions were sure to have made greater way with the "common sort of people." It is so, indeed, to this day ; an assertion that may be readily established by reference to the contents of any modern ballad-monger's stall. Many who are insensible to the harmonies of refinement are readily aroused and excited by the voice of nature. Our version is taken, not from the " Reliques " of Dr. Percy — although the accomplished prelate took few liberties with the ballad as he found it in the Pepysian collection, — but from an old copy in the British Museum : — it is thus entitled ; " The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament, who, on his death- bed, committed the keeping of his two children, a boy and girl, to his own brother, who did most wickedly cause them to be destroyed, that so he might possess himself and children of the estate ; but, by the just judgments of the Almighty, himself and all that he had was destroyed from off the face of the earth. To the tune of ' Rogero.' London : Printed by and for W. D., and sold by C. Boxes, at the Sun and Bible, in Gilt-Spur Street." This ballad differs in many passages from that which Dr. Percy has given ; and is, we think, more true to the rugged nature which the writer desired to exhibit. We have collated it, however, with that in black letter, in the Pepys' Library, where its title is as follows : — " The Norfolk Gentleman, his Last Will and Testament, who committed the keeping of his chDdren to his own brother, who dealt most wickedly with them, and how God plagued him for it. The tune — Rogero. Printed for W. Thackeray and T. Passinger." From this edition we introduce a few verbal restorations ; such, for example, as the word " painfully " instead of " piously," in the verse above quoted ; and in the line that precedes it, the words " as babes wanting relief," in lieu of " as wanting due relief. " The Pepysian ballad is ornamented by two coarse wood-cuts ; the principal of which exhibits the robbers fighting over the sleeping babes, surrounded by robin-red-breasts, who are prematurely covering them with leaves. Herbert. AH.A. del. N Herbert, A.R.A. del. Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, No helpe his life could save ; His wife by him as sicke did lye, And both possest one grave. No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kinde, In love they lived, in love they dyed, And left two babes behinde : The one a fine and pretty boy, Not passing three yeares olde ; The other a girl more young than he, And made in beautyes molde. The father left his little son, As plainlye doth appeare. When he to perfect age should come. Three hundred poundes a yeare. And to his little daughter Jane, Two hundred poundes in gold. To be paid downe on marriage-day. Which might not be controU'd : But if the children chance to dye. Ere they to age should come. Their uncle should possesse their wealth ; For so the wille did run. ' Now, brother,' said the dying man, ' Look to my children deare ; Be good unto my boy and girl. No friendes else have they here : To God and you I do commend My children night and day ; A little while be sure we have Within this world to staye. You must be father and mother both. And uncle all in one ; God knowes what will become of them When I am dead and gone.' 16 / J- ,ii Hetbsrt, A.R.A. del. With that bespake their mother deare, ' O brother kinde,' quoth shee, * You are the man must bring my babes To wealth or miserie : If you do keep them carefully, Then God will you reward ; If otherwise you seem to deal, God will your deedes regard.' With lippes as cold as any stone, They kist the children small : ' God bless you both, my children deare ! ' With that the teares did fall. These speeches then their brother spoke To this sicke couple there : * The keeping of your children dear, Sweet sister, do not feare : God never prosper me nor mine, Nor aught else that I have. If I do wrong your children deare, When you are layd in grave.' Their parents being dead and gone. The children home he takes. And brings them both unto his house, Where much of them he makes. He had not kept these pretty babes A twelvemonth and a daye. But, for their wealth, he did devise To make them both awaye. He bargain'd with two ruffians rude. Which were of furious mood, That they should take the children young. And slay them in a wood. He told his wife, and all he had. He would the children send To be brought up in faire London, With one that was his friend. ofTm ^ WfVERSITY ) ^te ®!)tltrr£n in tfte WiooO. Herbert, A.H_&. d*:. Away then went the pretty babes, Rejoycing at that tide, Rejoycing with a merry minde, They should on cock-horse ride. They prate and prattle pleasantly. As they rode on the waye, To those that should their butchers be, And work their lives decaye : So that the pretty speeche they had, Made murtherers heart relent : And they that tooke the deed to do, Full sore they did repent. Yet one of them more hard of heart, Did vowe to do his charge, Because the wretch, that hired him, Had paid him very large. The other would not agree thereto, So here they fell at strife ; "With one another they did fight, About the childrens life : And he that was of mildest mood. Did slaye the other there. Within an unfrequented wood ; Where babes did quake for feare ! He took the children by the hand. When teares stood in their eye, And bade them come and go with him, And look they did not crye : And two long miles he ledd them thus, While they for bread complaine : ' Stay here,' quoth he, 'I'll bring ye bread. When I do come againe.' These pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and downe ; But never more they sawe the man Approaching from the town ; 18 '^fit (EftilUrcn in t]^e SHooK. \f^' II I V, Their prettye lippes with black -berries, Were all besmear'd and dyed, And when they sawe the darksome night. They sat them downe and cryed. Thus wandered these two pretty babes, Till deathe did end their grief. In one anothers armes they dyed. As babes wanting relief : No burial these pretty babes Of any man receives. Till robin-red-breast painfully Did cover them with leaves. And now the heavy wrathe of God Upon their uncle fell ; Yea^ fearfull fiends did haunt his house. His conscience felt an hell : His barnes were fired, his goods consum'd. His landes were baiTen made, His cattle dyed within the field, And nothing with him stayd. And in the voyage of Portugal Two of his sonnes did dye ; And to conclude, himself was brought Unto much miserye : He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land Ere seven years came about. And now at length this wicked act Did by this meanes come out : The fellowe, that did take in hand These children for to kill, Was for a robbery judg'd to dye, As was God's blessed will : Who did confess the very truth, The which is here exprest ; Their uncle dyed while he for debt Did long in prison rest. 4- 'Wbt aDj^Uliren in ^t Wioot. All you that be executors, And overseers eke, Of children that be fatherless, And infants mild and meek ; Take you example by this thing, And yield to each his right. Lest God with such like miserye Your wicked minds requite. lerben, A FUA. del. m I S #.\i ! AIR ROSAMOND. The fate of " Fair Rosamond " was a favourite theme with the early minstrels, and the historians have not disdained to preserve the memory of her exceeding beauty, and her sad story. It is, however, briefly told. She was, according to Stowe, who follows Higden the monk of Chester, the daughter of Walter Lord Clifford ; became the " lemman " of Henry the Second, to whom she bore two sons, William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey, Bishop of Lincoln ; and died at Wood- stock, A. D. 1177, — "poisoned by Queen Eleanor, as some thought." Stowe proceeds to relate, that her royal lover " had made for her a house of wonderfull working; so that no man or woman might come to her but he that was instructed by the king, or such as were right secret with him, touching the matter. This house, after some, was named Labyrinthus, or Dedalus' worke, which was wrought like unto a knot, in a garden called a maze." Drayton, in his " Epistle to Rosamond," using the poet's license, describes it as " consisting of vaults under ground, arched and walled ;" and in the ballad we shall copy, it is more minutely pictured as " a bower," curiously built of " stone and timber strong," having no fewer than one hundred and fifty doors ; and so cunningly contrived, with turnings round about, that none could obtain access to it except by "a clue of thread." But jealousy is proverbially quick-sighted. Queen Eleanor discovered the secret, possessed herself of " the clue of thriddle or silk," and " so dealt " with her rival that — she lived not long. Authorities differ as to the mode by which the queen obtained the necessary guide. Hollinshed seriously relates, that " the king had drawne it after him out of her chamber with his foot ; " and Speed, that " it fell from Rosamond's lappe as she sate to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the sight of the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her foote, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde." But historians content themselves with informing us, that the lady " lived not long after," and do not insinuate that she was wounded with other weapons than sharp words ; although tradition and the ballad-makers unite in charging the queen with the murder of Fair Rosamond, by compelling her to drink poison. She was buried at " Godstow, in a house of nunnes, beside Oxford," and, according to Stowe, " with these verses carved upon her tombe," — JEilc tacet in tuinba, Sosa inunlii. nun Hosa munOa! Jjlon TctoUt, scl) olci. quae rctiolere solet Her body, we learn from Speed, in his " History of Henry the Second," remained " in the quire under a fair hearse of silk, with tapers continually burning before it, which, as it should seeme, was so furnished at the charges of King John — that the holy virgins might releeve, with their prayers, the soules of his father. King Henrie, and of Lady Rosamond, there interred." Percy printed this ballad ; and also " Queen Eleanor's Confession," " from an old copy, in which the queen is described as confessing her numerous crimes to her husband, disguised as a friar, in the presence of her paramour, ♦ Earl Marshall,' who 21 <0 W^^^^^ ^,<5^ had previously obtained the king's promise, that no harm should happen to him, ' no matter what the queen might say.' " A.t the conclusion of the ceremony, — The King lookt over his left shoulder. And a grim look, looked he ; ' Earl Marshall,' he said, ' but for my oath. Thou hadst swung on the gallows tree.' This verse is quoted, not from Percy, but from a more spirited version of the story, in the " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modem," of William Motherwell, by whom it was " re- covered from recitation. " The ballad was recited or sung to the following air : — Of this ballad, there are two copies in the folio collection at the British Museum ; one of them is in black letter, " printed for C. Bates, in Pye Comer." Another ballad, together with the air to which it was recited, or sung, printed in " The Garland of Delight," makes the queen a penitent in prison, where she " was kept twenty-six years ; " and in another, the " Overthrow of Fair Rosamond " is stated to have been caused by " her brother's unadvisedly praising her beauty to two young knights of Salisbury as they rid on the road ; " King Harry, who chanced to be by, overheard the conversation, and " writ three letters sealed with gold," which he charged young Clifford to deliver into the maiden's hands. The result was, her arrival at court, her subsequent removal to Woodstock, and her death, "by force of poison strong." According to Dr. Percy, the ballad (of "Fair Rosamond") appears to have been first published in " Strange Histories, or Songes and Sonets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, Knights, and Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Deloney. Loud. 1612. 4to." Percy printed it, "with conjectural emendations," from four ancient copies in black letter ; two of them in the Pepys Library. With these two we have collated it, restoring several of the passages as we there found them. The reader who will take the trouble to compare our copy with that of Dr. Percy, will find that these " restorations " are neither few in number nor of small importance. One example may, perhaps, suffice : — Percy's copy. Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres ; Soft peace their sexe delightes ; Kot rugged campes, but courtlye bowers ; Gay feastes, nor cmell fightes. THE PKPYSIAN COPY. Faire ladies brooke not bloody warres ; Sweet peace their pleasures breede ; The nourisher of hearts content. Which fancy first did feede. Deloney's "Strange Histories" has been recently reprinted by the "Percy Society," from the only perfect copy known to exist. Its date is 1607. The ballad, here, very closely resembles that which occurs in the Pepysian Collection ; although in several passages it is different. i. Franklin del V-fV? 2jt-f ^ Jpat'r 3Closamonl». The blood within her chrystal cheekes Did such a colour drive, As though the lillye and the rose For mastership did strive. Yea Rosamond, fair Rosamond, Her name was called so, To whom our queene, dame Elinor, Was known a deadlye foe. The king, therefore, for her defence, Against the furious queene, At "Woodstocke builded such a bower, The like was never seene. Most curiously that bower was built Of stone and timber strong. An hundred and fifty doors Did to this bower belong : And they so cunninglye contriv'd, With turnings round about. That none but with a clue of thread Could enter in or out. And for his love and ladyes sake. That was so faire and brighte, The keeping of this bower he gave Unto a valiant knighte. But fortune, that doth often frowne Where she before did smile, The kinges delighte, the ladyes joy, Full soon shee did beguile : For why, the kinges ungracious sonne, Whom he did high advance. Against his father raised warres Within the realrae of France. Franklla de). 24 V-f^ Jpair idosamonlr. 1^ But yet before our comelye king The English land forsooke, Of Rosamond, his ladye faire, His farewelle thus he tooke : ' My Rosamond, my only Rose, That pleasest best mine eye : The fairest flower in all the worlde To feed my fantasye : The flower of mine afiected heart, Whose sweetness doth excelle ; My royal Rose, a thousand times, I bid thee nowe farewelle ! For I must leave my fairest flower. My sweetest Rose, a space. And cross the seas to famous France, Proud rebelles to abase. But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt My coming shortly see. And in my heart, when hence I am. He beare my Rose with mee.' When Rosamond, that ladye brighte. Did heare the kinge saye soe. The sorrowe of her grieved heart Her outward looks did showe ; And from her cleare and crystall eyes The teares gusht out apace, Which like the silver-pearled dewe Ranne downe her comely face. Her lippes erst like the corall redde. Did waxe both wan and pale. And for the sorrowe she conceivde Her vitall spirits faile ; ,h-i^ Franklin del. "25 Wj ^ \--^ Jpair IXosamonli. ? And falling down all in a swoone Before King Henryes face, Full oft he in his princelye armes Her body did embrace ; And twentye times, with watery eyes, He kist her tender cheeke. Until he had revivde againe Her senses milde and meeke. ' Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose ? ' The king did often say. * Because,' quoth shee, ' to bloodye warres My lord must pass awaye. But sith your grace in forrayne coastes, Amonge your foes unkinde Must goe to hazarde life and limbe, Why should I staye behinde ? Nay, rather let me, like a page, Your sworde and target beare, That on my breast the blowes may lighte, Which would offend you there. Or lett mee, in your royal tent, Prepare your bed at nighte. And with sweete baths refresh your grace, At your returne from fighte. So I your presence may enjoye No toil I will refuse ; But wanting you, my life is death : Nay, death He rather choose.' * Content thy self, my dearest love ; Thy rest at home shall bee In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle ; For travell fits not thee. ch=k^ Fraaklin del. VH^ ^^h-f jpair 3£losamonti. Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres ; Sweet peace their pleasures breede, The nourisher of hearts content, Which fancy first did feede. My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke bower, With musickes sweete delight ; Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes, Against my foes do fighte. My Rose in robes of pearle and golde, With diamonds richly dight ; Shall dance the galliards of my love. Whilst I my foes do fighte. And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste To bee my love's defence ; Be careful of my gallant Rose When I am parted hence.' And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, As though his heart would breake: And Rosamond, for inward griefe. Not one plaine worde could speake. And at their parting well they mighte In heart be grieved sore : After that daye faire Rosamond The king did see no more. For when his grace had passed the seas, And into France was gone ; With envious heart, Queene Elinor, To Woodstocke came anone. And forth she calls the trustye knighte Which kept this curious bower ; Who with his clue of twined thread. Came from the famous flower. 1^ :^-^ Franklin del. 'Walmtley ac. '27 .^>j— ^ --^ ^}-e Jpair 3[^samont(. f And when that they had wounded him, The queene his thread did gette, And went where Lady Rosamond Was like an angell sette. And when the queene with stedfast eye Beheld her heavenlye face, She was amazed in her minde At her exceeding grace.* » In the old ballad, — " Rosamond's Overthrow," to which we have referred in our introductory remarks, — the interview between the enraged Queen and her hapless rival is thus described : — The angry Queen with malice fraught, Could not herself contain, Till she Fair Rosamond had brought To her sad, fatal bane. The sweet and charming precious Rose, King Henry's chief delight ! The Queen she to her bower goes, And wrought her hateful spight. But when she to the bower came. Where Lady Glifford lay. Enraged Ellinor by name, She could not iind the way. Until the silken clew of thread. Became a fatal guide Unto the Queen, who laid her dead Ere she was satisfied. Alas ! it was no small surprise To Rosamond the fair ; When death appeared before her eyes. No faithful friend was there. Who could stand up in her defence. To put the potion by ; So, by the hands of violence. Compelled she was to die. I will not pardon you, she said. So take this fatal cup ; And you may well be satisfied I'll see you drink it up. Then with her fair and milk-white hand The fatal cup she took ; Which being drank, she could not stand. But soon the world forsook. J-i^ FraakbD deL U. A. Wnianu sc. 28 ^^- VzM Mz-f jpatr l^osamonU. * Cast off from thee thy robes,' she said, ' That riche and costlye bee ; And drinke thou up this deadlye draught, Which I have brought to thee.' * But presentlye upon her knees Sweet Rosamond did falle ; And pardon of the queene she crav'd For her offences all. * Take pittie on my youthfull yeares,' Fair Rosamond did crye ; * And lett mee not with poison stronge Enforced bee to dye. I will renounce my sinfull life, And in some cloyster bide ; Or else be banisht, if you please, To range the world soe wide ; And for the fault that I have done, Though I was forc'd theretoe. Preserve my life, and punish mee As you thinke good to doe.' And with these words, her lillie handes She wrunge full often there ; And downe along her comelye face Did trickle many a teare. * In " the Lamentation of Queen Elinor," during lier " twenty-six years' " imprisonment, she is made to con- fess the crime, — The which I did with all despite. Because she was the King's delight. ' Queen Elinor's Confession," she informs the And in King,— The next vile thing that ever I did. To you I will discover ; I poysoned faire Rosamond, All in faire Woodstocke Bower. .^-^ Fraokliu del. Walms"ey sc 29 ^^-\ T-f<^ ^^-e jpair llosamonU. But nothing could this furious queene Therewith appeased bee ; The cup of deadyle poison stronge, As she knelt on her knee, Shee gave the comelye dame to drinke ; Who tooke it in her hand, And from her bended knee arose, And on her feet did stand : And casting up her eyes to heaven, Shee did for mercye calle ; And drinking up the poison stronge, Her life she lost withalle. And when that death through every e limbe Had showde his greatest spite, Her chiefest foes did there confesse Shee was a glorious wight. ch-k^ FraakliD del. Walmaley bc. n-^ HE DEMON LOVER. This ballad first appeared in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border ; " it was communi- cated to Sir Walter Scott by Mr. William Laidlaw, by whom it was "taken down from recitation." Mr. Motherwell, by whom it was reprinted in his valuable volume, " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modem," surmises that, " although it would be unfair for a moment to imagine that Sir Walter Scott made any addition to it, Mr. Laidlaw may have improved upon its naked original." That he did so, is by no means unlikely; nor is it very improbable that, in passing through the alembic of the great Magician of the North, it received additional purity, without losing aught of its intrinsic worth. Mr. Motherwell, " with all his industry, was unable to find it in a more perfect state than this," — which the reader will be interested in comparing with the appended copy from the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border: " — ' I have seven ship upon the sea Laden with the finest gold, And mariners to wait us upon — All these you may behold. And I have shoes for my love's feet. Beaten of the purest gold. And lined with the velvet soft. To keep my love's feet from the cold. O how do you love the ship,' he said, ' Or how do you love the sea ? Or how do you love. the bold mariners, That wait upon thee and me ? ' ' O I do love the ship,' she said, ' And I do love the sea ; But woe be to the dim mariners, That nowhere I can see.' They had.not sailed a mile awa', Never a mile but one, When she began to weep and mourn. And to think on her little wee son. ' O hold your tongue, my dear,' he said, ' And let all your weeping abee, For I '11 soon show to you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy.' They had not sailed a mile awa', Never a mile but two. Until she espied his cloven foot. From his gay robes sticking thro'. They had not sailed a mile awa', Never a mile but three. When dark dark grew his eerie looks. And raging grew the sea. They had not sailed a mile awa', Never a mile but four. When the little wee ship ran round about And never was seen more. If this be, in reality, the skeleton which Mr. Laidlaw clothed in sinews and flesh, he has given unquestionable proof of genius of a very rare order. There is, however, little doubt that he had actually " taken down, from recitation," a much more perfect copy, to which he gave some " finishing touches " of his own ; for the composition bears unequivocal marks of old time ; and a collateral proof of its antiquity, in a more extended form, is supplied by an authority, to which reference is made by the accomplished editor of the latest edition of the " Border Minstrelsy." Mr. Buchan, in his " Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, hitherto unpublished," prints another version of the story, under the title of " James Herries ; " with this difference, however, that here, the lover, who wreaks his vengeance on the "fause woman," is not a demon with a " cloven foot," but the ghost of a " first true love ; " the other incidents are precisely similar, and many of the lines are exactly the same ; although as a whole it is far less grand, touching, and dramatic, than the version as preserved by Sir Walter Scott Mr. Buchan gives three additional stanzas, descriptive of the misery of the betrayed husband ; they are fine and effective, and contribute strongly to impress the moral of the tale : — • O wae be to the ship, the ship. And wae be to the sea ; And wae be to the mariners Took Jeanie Douglas frae me ! O bonny, bonny was my love, A pleasure to behold ; The very hair o' my love's head Was like the threads of gold. O bonny was her cheek, her cheek. And bonny was her chin ; And bonny was the bride she was. The day she was made mine.' From Mr. Motherwell's volume we copy the air, to which the old ballad was sung : — The legend contained in the ballad is, according to Sir Walter Scott, " in various shapes current in Scotland ; " but it is by no means peculiar to that country. Similar stories are told in many of the English counties ; and in Ireland it is very common ; the moral conveying a warning against the crime of infidelity. Sir Walter says, " I remember to have heard a ballad, in which a fiend is introduced paying his addresses to a beautiful maiden ; but, disconcerted by the holy herbs she wore in her bosom, makes the following lines the burthen of his courtship : — ' Gin ye wish to be leman mine. Lay aside the St. John's wort, and the vervain.' " The same power of keeping away evil spirits is attributed to the vervain in Ireland ; where, when it is pulled by village mediciners, while the morning dew is on the ground, this verse is generally repeated : — ' Vervain, thou growest upon holy ground. In Mount Calvary thou wert found ; Thou curest all sores and all diseases. And in the name of Holy Jesus, I pull you out of the ground.' The unhappy lady whose fate is described in the accompanying ballad had no such " protection," and was without that surer safeguard, to which the great poet refers as a possession, o'er which No goblin or swart fairy of the'mlne Hath hurtful power. Xy&zi. m ^. (fH THE DEMON LOVER. ^1^ ' O "WHERE have you been my long, long love, This long seven years and mair ? ' ' O I'm come to seek my former vows, Ye granted me before.' * O hold your tongue of your former vows, For they will breed sad strife ; O hold your tongue of your former vows, For I am become a wife.' U^ ■-^ ih =^" 'Wbt IBtmon Uober. Cfie orfiilti of mu. ■■% The Child of Elle he hyed him thence, T-wis he stoode not stille, And soone he mette faire Emmelines page Come climbing up the hille. ' Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page, Nowe Christe thee save and see ! Oh, tell me how does thy ladye gaye, And what may thy tydinges bee ?' ' My lady she is all woe-begone. And the teares they falle from her eyne ; And aye she laments the deadlye feude Betweene her house and thine. And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe Bedewde with many a teare, And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her, Who loved thee so deare. And here she sends thee a ring of golde. The last boone thou mayst have. And biddes thee weare it for her sake, "Whan she is layd in grave. For, ah ! her gentle heart is broke. And in grave soone must shee bee, Sith her father hath chose her a new new love. And forbidde her to think of thee. Her father hath brought her a carlish knighte, Sir John of the north countraye. And within three dayes shee must him wedde, Or he vowes he will her slaye.' ' Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, And greet thy ladye from mee, And tell her that I, her owne true love, Will dye, or sette her free. Franklin del Williams sc. GO Cf)e ortiatj of mu. ^ Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, And let thy fair ladye know This night will I bee at her bowre wind6we, Betide me weale or woe.' The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, He neither stint ne stayd Until he came to fair Emmelines bowre. Whan kneeling downe he sayd, ' O ladye, I've been with thy own true love. And he greets thee well by mee ; This night will he be at thy bowre-wind6we, And dye or sette thee free.' Nowe day was gone and night was come, And all were fast asleepe. All save the ladye Emmeline, Who sate in her bowre to weepe : And soone shee heard her true loves voice Lowe whispering at the walle, * Awake, awake, my deare ladyfe, Tis I thy true love call. Awake, awake, my ladye deare, Come, mount this faire palfriiye. This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe. He carrye thee hence awaye.' ' Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knighte, Nowe nay, this may not bee ; For aye should I tint my maiden fame, K alone I should wend with thee.' * ladye, thou with a knighte so true Mayst safelye wend alone. To my ladye mother I will thee bringe. Where marriage shall make us one.' Franklin deL Williams sc. 61 '"^A ^ Eije ari)iiti ot mu. ' My father he is a baron bolde, Of lynage proude and hye ; And what would he saye if his daughter Awaye with a knighte should fly ? Ah ! well I wot, he never would rest, Nor his meate should do him no goode, Until he had slain thee, Child of Elle, And seene thy deare hearts bloode.' ' ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And a little space him fro, I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that he could doe. ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And Once without this walle, 1 would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that might befalle.' Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept. And aye her heart was woe : At length he seized her lilly-white hand, And downe the ladder he drewe : And thrice he clasped her to his breste. And kist her tenderlie : The teares that fell from her fair eyes Eanne like the fountayne free. Hee mounted himselfe on his stede so talle, And her on a fair palfraye. And slung his bugle about his necke. And roundlye they rode awaye. All this beheard her owne dams^lle, In her bed whereas shee ley. Quoth shee, * My lord shall knowe of this, Soe I shall have golde and fee. ^ '^A Franklin del. Williams sc. 62 ^ ci)e orijiitj of mu. ^, Awake, awake, thou baron bolde ! Awake, my noble dame ! Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle To doe the deede of shame.' The baron he woke, the baron he rose, And called his merrye men all : ' And come thou forth. Sir John the knighte, Thy ladye is carried to thrall.' Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile A mile forth of the towne. When she was aware of her fathers men Come galloping over the downe : And formost came the carlish knighte, Sir John of the north countraye : * Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure. Nor carry that ladye awaye. For she is come of hye linkage. And was of a ladye bom. And ill it beseems thee — a false churls sonne To carry her hence to scome.' * Nowe loud thou lyest. Sir John the knighte, Nowe thou doest lye of mee ; A knighte me bred, and a ladye me bore, Soe never did none by thee. But light nowe downe, my ladye faire. Light downe, and hold my steed ; While I and this discourteous knighte Doe try this arduous deede. But light nowe downe, my deare ladyfe, Light downe, and hold my horse ; While I and this discourteous knighte Doe trye our valours force.' Franklin del. Williama so. 63 Cfie (Kijilb of ©lie. ^ Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe, While twixt her love and the carlish kaighte, Past many a baneful blowe. The Child of EUe hee fought soe well, As his weapon he waved amaine. That soone he had slaine the carlish knighte, And layd him upon the plaine. And nowe the baron and all his men Full fast approached nye : Ah, what may ladye EmmeHne doe ! Twere nowe no boote to flye. Her lover he put his home to his mouth. And blew both loud and shriU, And soone he saw his owne merry men Come ryding over the hill. * Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron, I pray thee hold thy hand, Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts Fast knit in true loves band. Thy daughter I have dearly loved Full long and many a day ; But with such love as holy kirke Hath freelye said wee may. O give consent, shee may be mine. And bless a faithfull paire : My lands and livings are not small, My house and lineage faire : My mother she was an earls daughter. And a noble knighte my sire :' — The baron he frowned and tum'd away With mickle dole and ire. Franklin deL Williams so. 64 w cjt atsiu of ffiiu. g^ Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emraeline wept, And did all tremblinge stand : At length she sprang upon her knee, And held his lifted hand. ' Pardon, my lorde and father deare, This faire younge knighte and mee : Trust me, but for the carlish knighte, I never had fled from thee, Oft have you called your Emmeline Tour darling and your joye ; ! let not then your harsh resolves Tour Emmeline destroy e.' The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke, And turned his heade asyde To wipe awaye the starting teare He proudly strave to hyde. In deepe revolving thought he stoode, And mused a little space : Then raised faire Emmeline from the grounde. With many a fond embrace. In the Scottish ballads, as we have intimated, the affair lias a far less happy termination ; the lover dying of his wounds, and tlie Lady Margaret of a broken heart : — Lord William was buried in St. Maries kirk, Lady Marg'ret in Maries quire ; Out of the ladys grave grew a bonny red rose, And out of the knights a brier. And they twa met, and they twa plat, And fain they wad be near; And a' the warld might ken right wec4. They were twa lovers dear. But bye and rade the Black Douglas, And wow but he was rough ! For he pulled up the bonny brier. And flang'd in St. Maries loch. i^ ^^ht-f: anklin de:. WiUiams sc. Franklin del. "Williams sc. ,^.'tf HE TWA BROTHERS. We copy this pathetic ballad from ^^ " Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern." He \\ inclines to trace its origin to a melancholy event that fi happened in the family of the Somervilles, which is thus recorded: — "This year, 1589, in the moneth of July, ther falls out a sad accident, as a further warning that God was displeased with the familie. * * * * The servant, with his two sones, William, Master of Somervil, and John, his brother, went with the horses to ane shott of land, called the prety shott, directly opposite the front of the house, where there was some meadow ground for grassing the horses, and willowes to shaddow themselves from the heat. They had not long continued in this place, when the Master of Somervil, after some litle rest awakeing from his sleep, and finding his pistolles, that lay hard by him, wett with the dew, he began to rub and dry them, when, unhappily, one of them went off the ratch, being lying upon his knee, and the muzel turned side-ways, the ball strocke his brother John directly in the head and killed him outright, soe that his sorrowful brothernever had one word from him, albeit he begged it with many teares." In this, or some such unhappy incident, no doubt the ballad originated. A copy, different from that preserved by Mr. Motherwell, was published in the " Popular Ballads and Songs" collected by Jamieson, who states that he " took it down from the recitation of Mrs. Arrott ;" but finding the third stanza imperfect, he added to it four lines, which give a reading to the story out of harmony with truth. His added lines are — And nane was near to part the strife That raise atween them tway, Till out and Willie's drawn the sword, And did his brother slay. In Jamieson's version, it is not the mother who discovers the blood of the dead upon the brow of the living brother, but a " true love," who exclaims — ' When every lady looks for her love, I ne'er need look for mine.' And in this ballad the dying youth thus addresses his unhappy brother, who had been vainly striving to " stop his bluidy wounds :" — ' Ye'll lift me up npon your back, Tak me to Kirkland fair ; Ye'll mak my greaf baitli braid and lang And lay my body there. Ye'll lay my arrows at my head. My bent bow at my feet; My sword and buckler at my side. As I was wont to sleep. When ye gue hame to your father, He '11 speer for his son John : — Say, ye left him unto Kirkland fair. Learning the school alone. When ye gae hame to my sister. She'll speer for her brother John ; Ye'U say ye left him in Kirkland fair. The green grass growing aboon. w ^ ^ ^^^ though shee was of favor most faire, Tett seeing she was but a poor beggars heyre, Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee, Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee. Vizeteliy sc. /J J2A^ Oilbert del Vizetelly sc. Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessee did say, * Good father, and mother, let me goe away To seeke out my fortune, whereever itt bee.* The suite then they granted to pretty Bessee. Then Bessee, that was of bewtye soe bright, AH cladd in gray russett, and late m the night, From father and mother alone parted shee ; Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee. Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow ; Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe : With teares shee lamented her hard destinie, So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee. Shee kept on her journey untill it was day, And went into Eumford along the hye way ; Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee : So faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee. Shee had not been there one month to an end, But master and mistress and all was her friend : And every brave gallant, that once did her see. Was strait- way in love vdth pretty Bessee. Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold, And in their songs daylye her love waa extold ; Her bewtye was blazed in every degree ; Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee, The younge men of Rumford in her had their joy ; Shee shew'd herself curteous, but never too coye ; And at their commandment still wold she bee ; Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee. Foure suitors att once unto her did goe ; They craved her favor, but still she sayd ' Noe ; I would not wish gentles to marry with mee.' Yett ever they honored pretty Bessee. 76 Cte ItJeggat's ©augijter of ISetinaU ©reen. -^ i^ The first of them was a gallant young knight, And he came unto her disguisde in the night : The second a gentleman of good degree, Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessee. A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, Was then the third suitor, and proper withall : Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee, Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee. 'And, if thou wilt marry with mee,' quoth the knight, * He make thee a lady with joy and delight ; My heart's so inthralled by thy faire bewtie, Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee.' The gentleman sayd, ' Come, marry with mee. In silks and in velvets my Bessee shall bee : My heart lives distressed : O heare me,' quoth hee ; ' And grant me thy love, my pretty Bessee.' ' Let me be thy husband,' the merchant did say, ' Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay ; My shippes shall bring home rych jewels for thee. And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.' Then Bessee shee sighed, and thus shee did say, * My father and mother I meane to obey ; First gett theyr good will, and be faithfull to mee, And you shall enjoye your pretty Bessee.' To every one this answer shee made ; Wherefore unto her they joyfullye sayd, ' This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree ; ' But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee ?' * My father,' quoth shee, ' is plaine to be scene : The silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene, That daylye sits begging for charitie, He is the good father of pretty Bessee. Gilbert del. Vizetelly sc. C^c iSeggac's Baugtti^'^ oC 1i3etinaU ©rern. Qiltert del. Vizeteily ac. His markes and lis tokens are known full well ; He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell : A silly olde man, God knoweth, is hee, Tett hee is the father of pretty Bessee.' * Nay then,' quo' the merchant, ' thou art not for mee :' * Nor,' quo' the innholder, ' my wiffe shalt not bee :' ' I lothe,' sayd the gentle, ' a beggars degree, And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee. * "Why then,' quoth the knight, * hap better or worse, I waighe not true love by the waight of the pursse, And bewtye is bewtye in every degree ; Then welcome to me, my pretty Bessee. "With thee to thy father forthwith will I goe.' ' Nay soft,' quoth his kinsmen, ' it must not be soe ; A poor beggars daughter noe ladye sliall bee, Then take thy adewe of pretty Bessee.' But soone after this, by break of the day, The knight had from Eumford stole Bessee away. The younge men of Eumford, so sicke as may be. Rode after to fetche agaiue pretty Bessee. As swifte as the winde to ride they were scene, Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene ; And as the knight lighted most courteouslie They all fought against him for pretty Bessee. But rescew came presentlye over the plaine, Or else the knight there for his love had been slaine. This fray being ended, then strait he did see His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee. Then spake the blind beggar, * Although I bee poore, Yett rayle not against my child at my o\vn doore : Though shee be not decked in velvet and pearle, Yett will I dropp angells with you for my girle. 78 "'^A^ ^f^t 5ScQflac*0 Batigi^ter of ^ttinaU Q5xttn, ^ ^ And then, if my gold will better her birthe, And equall the gold that you lay on the earth, Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee. Butt first I will heare, and have it well knowne. The gold that you drop shall be all your owne.' With that they replyed, * Contented wee bee.' * Then here's,' quoth the beggar, ' for pretty Bessee.' "With that an angell he cast on the ground, And dropped in angells full three thousand pound ; And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine, Por the gentlemans one the beggar dropped twayne : So as the place, wherein they did sitt, With gold it was covered every whitt ; The gentleman then having dropt all his store, Sayd, ' Now, beggar, hold, for I have noe more. Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright.' ' Then marry,' quoth he, * my girle to the knighte ; And heere,' quoth he, * I will now throwe you downe A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne.' The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene, Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene : And those that were her suitors before, Their fleshe for very anger they tore. Thus was their Bessee matched to a knight, And made a ladye in others despite : A fairer ladye there never was seene. Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene. But of her sumptuous marriage and feast. What brave lords and knights thither were prest, The second fitt shall set forth to your sight With marveilous pleasure and wished delight. Gilbert del. Vizetelly so. 79 =^ m C$c lSeggar'0 Baugtter of i3rtnall d&wm. ^^ ([?^ nrr the second. Off a blind beggars daughter most fair and bright, That late was betrothed unto a younge knight ; All the discourse thereof you may see ; But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. Within a gallant palace most brave, Adorned with aU the cost they could have. This wedding was kept most sumptuouslie. And aU for the love of pretty Bessee. All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete [meete ; Were brought to their banquet, as it was thought Partridge and plover, and venison most free. Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. This wedding thro' England was spread, by report, So that a great number did thither resort Of nobles and gentles in every degree ; And all for the fame of pretty Bessee. To church then went this gallant younge knight ; His bride followed after, a ladye most bright. With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was scene As went with sweete Bessee of Bednall-greene. This marryage being solemnized then, With musicke performed by the skilfullest men. The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde, Each one beholding the beautiful bryde. But, after the sumptuous dinner was done, To talke, and to reason a number begunn : To talke of the blind beggars daughter most bright, And what with his daughter he gave to the knight. Gilbert del. Vizetelly sc. W'^ Cf)c iSeggar's IBaugfitn of ?3etmall (ISfreett. (!3 ^M^ ' Gilbert del. Vizetelly bc Then spake the nobles, ' Much marveil have wee, The jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see.' * My lords,' quoth the bride, ' my father's so base, Hee is loth with hispresence these states to disgrace.' * The prayse of a woman in questyon to bringe Before her own face were a flattering thinge ; Yett wee thinke thy fathers baseness,' quoth they, ' Might by thy bewtye bee cleane put away.' They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke. But in comes the beggar cladd in a sUke cloke : A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee ; And nowe a musicyan forsooth he would bee. Hee had a daintye lute luider his arme, Hee touched the strings, which made such a charme, Sayd, ' Please you to heare any musicke of mee, A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee.' "With that his lute hee twanged straitway. And thereon begann most sweetlye to play ; And after that lessons were playd two or three, Hee straynd out this song most delicatelie. ' A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene. Who for her bewtye might well bee a queene : A blithe bonny lasse, and daintye was shee, And many one called her pretty Bessee, Her father hee had noe goods, nor noe lands. But begged for a penny all day with his hands ; And yett for her marriage hee gave thousands three, And still hee hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. And if any one her birth doe disdaine, Hel* father is ready, with might and with maine. To proove shee is come of a noble degree : Therefore let none floute att my prettye Bessee.' 81 ■^ ([& m ^: "With that the lords and companye round "With hearty laughter were readye to swound : Att last said the lords, * Full well wee may see, The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee.' "With that the bride all blushing did rise, "With the faire water all in her brighte eyes : * Pardon my father, grave nobles,' quoth shee, ' That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee.' * If this bee thy father,' the nobles did say, ' Well may hee bee proud of this happy day ; Tett by his countenance well may wee see, His birth with his fortune did never agree ; And therefore, blind beggar, wee pray thee bewray, (And looke that the truth to us thou doe say) Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee, For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee.' ' Then give mee leave, nobles and gentles, each one, A song more to sing, and then I 'U begone, And if that I do not winn your good report, Then doe not give me a groat for my sport. Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shaU bee : Once chiefs of all the great barons was hee, Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase, Nowe loste and forgotten are hee and his race. "When the barons in armes did King Henrye oppose, Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose : A leader of courage undaunted was hee, And oft-times hee made their enemyes flee. At length in the battle on Eveshame plaine The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine : Most fataU that battel did prove unto thee, Though thou wast not borne then, my pretty Bessee ! <\ki Oilbert del. VizeteUy sc. 82 '^^i w- C^e ISeggar's )Baugi)ter of ?t5etinaU ^xnn. ■-^. (ti Along with the nobles, that fell at that tyde, His eldest sonne Heniye, who fought by his side, "Was felde by a blowe, hee receivde in the fight : A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight. Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse hee laye, Tni evening drewe on of the following daye, When by a younge ladye discovered was hee ; — And this was thy mother, my pretty Bessee. A barons faire daughter stept forth in the night. To search for her father who fell in the fight, And seeiugyoungeMontfort, where gasping hee laye, "Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye. In secrette shee nurst him, and swaged his paine, "WhUe hee through therealme wasbeleevdtobeslaine At length his faire bride shee consented to bee. And made him glad father of pretty Bessee. And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye, "Wee clothed ourselves in beggars arraye : Her jeweUes shee solde, and hither came wee : All our comfort and care was our pretty Bessee. And here have wee lived in fortunes despite. Though poore, yett contented with humble delighte : Full forty winters thus have I beene A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene. And here, noble lordes, is ended the song Of one, that once to your own ranke did belong ; And thus have you learned a secrette from mee. That ne'er had been knowne, but for pretty Bessee.' Nowe when the faire companye everye one, Hadheardthestrangetaleinthesongheehadshowne, They all were amazed, as weU they might bee, Both at the blinde beggar, and the pretty Bessee. Gilbert del. Vizetelly sc. 83 With ttat the faire bride they all did embrace, Saying, ' Sure thou art come of an honourable race, 1^ Thy father likewise is of noble degree. And thou art weU worthy a lady to bee.' Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte, A bride-groom most happy was the younge knight, In joy and felicitie long lived hee, All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee. ^. L>i V Gilbert del. Vizetelly 8C. ■^ ir SUtJingac. iMcib ' GUbert del. * Saving there came a little gray hawke, A merlin him they call, Which untill the grounde did strike the grype, That dead hee downe did faU. * Griffe I were a man, as nowe I am none, A batteU wolde I prove, To fight with that traitor Aldingar ; Att him I cast my glove. ' Bot seeing Ime able noe battell to make, My liege, grant mee a knight To fighte with that traitor Sir Aldingar, To maintaine mee in my righte.' ' Nowe forty dayes I will give thee. To seeke thee a knight therin : If thou finde not a knight in forty dayes Thy bodye it must brenn.' Then shee sent east, and shee sent west. By north and soxith bedeene ; Bot never a champion colde shee finde, Wolde fighte with that knight soe keene. Nowe twenty days were spent and gone, Noe helpe there might bee had : Many a teare shed our comelye queene And ayB her hart was sad. Then came one of the Queenes damselles. And knelt upon her knee ; — ' Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, I trust yet helpe may bee : ' And heere I -will make mine avowe, And with the same mee binde ; That never will I return to thee, Till I some helpe may finde !' dfe Folkard sc 112 ''^A m ^-- Sit ^ItJingar. -^, (fF ^. ^- Then forthe she rode on a faire palfraye O'er hill and dale about ; Bot never a champion colde shee finde, Wolde fighte with that knight so stout. And nowe the daye drewe on apace, When our good queene must dye : All woe-begone was that fair damselle, When shee found no helpe was nye. All woe-begone was that faire damsfelle, And the salt teares fell from her eye ; When lo ! as she rode by a rivers side, Shee mette Avith a tinye boye. A tinye boye shee mette, God wot. All clad in mantle of golde : Hee seemed noe more in mans likenesse. Then a childe of four yeere old. * Why grieve you, damselle faire,' hee sayd, ' And what doth cause you moan ?' The damselle scant wolde deigne a looke, Bot fast shee pricked on. ' Yet turn againe, thou faire damselle. And greete thy queene from me : When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest, Nowe helpe enoughe may bee. Bid her remember what shee dreamt In her bedd, wheras shee lay ; How when the grype and the grimlie beaat Wolde have carry ed her crowne awaye, Even then there came a little gray hawke, And saved her from his clawes ; Then bidd the Queene be merry at hart, For heaven will fende her cause.' Gilbert del. Folkard so 113 ^it aitiingar. ^ Back then rode tliat faire damselle, And her hart it lept for glee ; And "when shee told her gracious dame A gladd woman then was shee. Bot when the appointed days was come, No helpe appeared nye ; Then woeful, woeful was her hart, And the teares stood in her eye. And nowe a fyer was built of wood ; And a stake was made of tree ; And nowe Queene Elinore forthe was led, A sorrowful sight to see. Three times the herault he waved his hand. And three times spake on hye : * Giffe any good knight will fende this dame, Come forthe, or shee must dye.' No knight stood forthe, no knight there came, No helpe appeared nye ; And nowe the fyer was lighted up, Queene Elinore shee must dye. And nowe the fyer was lighted up, As hot as hot might be ; When riding upon a little white steed, The tinye boy they see. 'Away with that stake ! away with those brands ! And loose our comelye queene : I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar, And prove him a traitor keene ! ' Forthe then stoode Sir Aldingar, Bot when bee saw the chylde, Hee laughed, and scoffed, and turned his backe, And weened hee had been beguylde. ik Gilbert del fcikaid sc. 114 Sir ^lt(ingar. (fF * Nowe tume, nowe turne thee, Aldingar, And eyther fighte or flee : I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, Though I am so small to see.' The boye puUd forthe a well good sworde So gilt it dazzled the ee : — The first stroke stricken at Aldingar Smote off" his leggs by the knee. ' Stand up ! stand up ! thou false traitor, And fighte upon thy feete, For and thou thrive, as thou beginst, Of height wee shall be meete !' ' A priest ! a priest ! ' sayes Aldingar, * While I am a man alive, — A priest, a priest,' sayes Aldingar, ' Me for to houzle and shrive ! I wolde have layne by our comely queene, Bot shee wolde never consent ; Then I thought to betraye her unto our king, In a fyer to have her brent. There came a lazar to the Kings gates, A lazar both blinde and lame ; I tooke the lazar upon my backe. And on her bedd had him layne. Then ranne I to our comelye king. These tidings sore to tell. Bot ever alacke!' sayes Aldingar, ' Falsing never doth well : — Forgive ! forgive mee, Queene, madame. The short time I must live ! ' ' Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar, As freely I forgive ! ' dSl Gilbert del. Folkard sc. 115 ^. .>7 ' Here take thy queene, our King Harrye, And love her as thy life, For never had a king in Christ^ntye, A truer and fairer wife.' King Henrye ran to clasp his queene, And loosed her fuU sone ; Then tumd to look for the tinye boye ; — The boye was vanisht and gone ! But first hee had touchd the lazar man. And stroakt him with his hand : The lazar under the gallowes tree All whole and sounde did stand. The lazar under the gallowes tree Was comelye, straight and taU ; King Henrye made him his head stewarde To wayte within his hall. OT-<- Oilberi del. Folkard 8C ^ ^ •IR LANCELOT DU LAKE. We print this ballad from a J black letter copy in the folio collection at the British I Museum, where it is entitled, " The Noble Acts Newly Found of Arthur of the Table Round. To the tune of Flying Fame. Printed by and for Alex. Melbourne, in Green Arches Court, in the Little Old Bailey." Dr. Percy published it " from a printed copy, corrected in part by a fragment in his folio MS." The copy in the British Museum the learned editor could not have seen, for it is much purer than the one that occurs in the "Reliques." It is, however, mainly indebted for its celebrity to the fact that it is quoted by Shakespeare, in the second part of " Henry IV." The authorship is attributed by Ritson to Thomas Deloney. Of its remote antiquity there can be no doubt. The subject is taken from the ancient romance of " King Arthur" (commonly called " Morte d'Arthur"), " being a poetical transla- tion of chapters cviii., cix., ex., in Part I., as they stand in Edition 1634, quarto." Sir Lancelot was high in fame among the knights of King Arthur's Round Table. To this " Round Table" were attached twenty-four knights, — the chosen few of King Arthur's forces. It appears to have originated with Uther Pendragon, the father of the great monarch of romance, " for whom it had been made by the sorcerer Merlin, in token of the roundness of the world." Every knight had his appointed seat, upon which his name was inscribed in letters of gold. One of these was " the seige perillous," reserved for the most famous champion of the invincible band. High birth, great strength, activity and skill, fearless valour, and firm fidelity to their suzerain, were indispensably requisite for admission into this order. We quote from Mr. Ellis (" Specimens of early English Metrical Romances") : — " They were bound by oath to assist each other, at the hazard of their own lives; to attempt singly the most perilous adventures ; to lead, when necessary, a life of monastic soli- tude; to fly to arms at the first summons; and never to retire from battle till they had defeated the enemy, unless when night intervened, and separated the combatants." The mirror of them all was, of course. King Arthur himself; but his knights were equally renowned for courtesy and indomitable courage : each of them was " a hero," the perfection of chivalry, the love of ladies, and the terror of evil doers — especially giants. Of one giant it is particularly recorded that he wore a cloak of fur — the fur being composed of the beards of slaughtered kings ; but as there was still a little space left unoccupied, he desired to fill it by a contribution from the chin of King Arthur, and transmitted a fitting messenger with an order that it should be for- warded forthwith, " or els he wolde enter his landes and brenn and slay." — " Well," said King Arthur, " thou hast said thy message, which is the most villanous and lewdest message that ever man heard sent to a King ! " The history of Sir Lancelot is the very perfection of romance. He was the sou of " King Ban," who, having been attacked by his inveterate enemy. King Claudas, escaped with his queen and child, to solicit the aid of King Arthur, but died of grief on the way. His unhappy lady abandoned, for a moment, the care of her infant, to attend her dying husband, and, on seeking to resume her charge, found him in the arms of a nymph, who, on the mother's approach, suddenly sprang with the little Lancelot into an adjoining lake, and instantly disappeared. This nymph was the beautiful Vivian, the mistress of the enchanter Merlin. In her home beneath the waters, the future hero was educated — hence he was afterwards distinguished by the name of Lancelot du Lac. When he had attained the age of eighteen, she conveyed her pupil to the court of King Arthur, demanding his admission to the honour of knighthood, which he, of course, obtained. Through all his after life, this Lady of the Lake continued to be his guardian. And this life was full of adventure ; " cleaving down numberless giants ;" giving freedom to hosts of prisoners ; restoring, by force of arms, the reputations of bevies of fair ladies; — in short, rendering himself worthy the eloquent eulogy of his brave companion in arms. Sir Bohort, as recorded in one of the many romances to which his career has given birth; — "And now I dare say that, — Sir Lancelot, — ther thou lyist, — thou were never matched of none earthly knighte's hands. And thou were the curtiest knighte that ever bare shielde. And thou were the truest freende to thy lover that ever bestrode horse. And thou were the truest lover, of a synful man, that ever loved woman. And thou were the kindest man that ever stroke with sworde. And thou were the goodliest person that ever came among presse of knightes. And thou were the meekest man, and the gentillest, that ever eate in hal, among ladies. And thou were the sternest knighte to thy mortall foe that ever put spere in the rest !" In the chapel of Winchester Castle is preserved what is affirmed to be " King Arthur's Round Table." It consists of a stout oak board, perforated by many bullets, supposed to have been fired at it by Crom- well's soldiers, who used it for a target. Upon it is painted a royal figure seated beneath a canopy, in- tended to represent King Arthur. In the centre is painted a large rose, and around it are the words, " Thys is the rounde table of King Arthur, and of his valyant knyghtes." From the centre, radiate twenty -four spaces, each one appropriated to a knight, who seated himself in front of the one that had his name painted on it. This table was, at one time, believed to have been made and placed here by Ar- thur himself ; it is, however, now considered to be no older than, though quite as old as, the time of Stephen, in whose reign, and during the twelfth century, knights usually assembled at a table of this kind, to avoid dis- putes about precedency. From this usage the tournaments themselves obtained the name of the " Round Table," and are so called in the records of old times. The earliest mention of this table is to be found in " the Prologue " to Caxton's " Booke of the Noble Hystoryes of Kynge Arthur, and of Certej-n of bis Knyghtes " (1485), in which he declares, that "in the castle of Dover \e may see Sir Gawaine's skull, and Cradoke's mantle ; at Winchester, the Round Table ; in other places, Sir Launcelot's sword, and many other things." When the Emperor Charles V. was in England, it was exhibited to him as the veritable table of King Arthur, by Henrj' VIII. Paulus Jovius, who relates this visit, declares that many marks of its antiquity had been destroyed ; that the names of the knights were then just written afresh ; and the table with its ornaments newly repaired. 118 Ed. Corbould del. ,'^ Wliicli were of the Eound Table; Smith sc. Bmith 8C. And many justs and tumaments, Before him there were prest, "WTierein these knights did then excell And far surmount the rest ; But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, Who was approved well, Hee, in his fights and deeds of armes, AH others did excell. "When hee had rested him a while, To play, and game, and sport ; Hee thought hee wold approve himselfe In some adventurous sort. Hee arm^d rode in forrest wide, And met a damsell faire, "Who told him of adventures great, Wherto hee gave good eare. * Such wold I find,' quoth Lancelot : ' For that cause came I hither.' 'Thou seemst,' quoth shee, ' a knight full good, And I wiU bring thee thither, Whereas a mighty knight doth dwell. That now is of great fame ; Therfore tell me what knight thou art, And what may be thy name.' ' My name is Lancelot du Lake.' Quoth shee, ' It likes me, then ; Here dwelles a knight who never was O'er-matcht of any man : Who hath in prison threescore knights And four, that hee hath bound ; Knights of King Arthurs court they bee, And of the Table Bound. 120 Sbix Hancflot tu Uafee. Shee Lrought him to a river then, And also to a tree Whereon a copper bason hung, His fellows shields to see. Hee struck soe hard, the bason broke : — When Tarquine heard the sound, Hee drove a horse before him straight, Whereon a knight was bound. ' Sir knight,' then sayd Sir Lancelot, ' Bring me that horse-load hither. And lay him downe, and let him rest ; We '11 try our force together ; For, as 1 understand, thou hast, As far as thou art able, Done great despite and shame unto The knights of tlie Eound Table.' ' If thou art of the Table Eound,' Quoth Tarquine speedilye, ' Both thee and all thy fellowship I utterly defye.' ' That 's over much,' quoth Lancelot tho, ' Defend thee by ajid by ! ' They sett their spurs unto their steeds, And each at other flie. They coucht their spears, (their horses ran, As though there had been thunder) And each struck then upon their shields, Wherewith they brake asunder. Their horses backes brake under them The knights they were astound : To avoyd their horses they made haste To fight upon the ground. They tooke them to their shields full fast, Their swords they drew out then ; Wyth mighty strokes most eagerlye One at the other ran. They wounded were, and hied full sore, For breath they both did stand ; And leaning on their swords awhile, Quoth Tarquine, ' Hold thy hand, And tell to me what I shall aske.' — ' Say on,' — quoth Lancelot tho : * Thou art,' quoth Tarquine, * the best knight That ever I did know ; And like a knight that I did hate : Soe that thou bee not he, I will deliver all the rest, And eke accord wyth thee.' * That is well said,' quoth Lancelot ; ' But sith it soe must bee, What knight is that thou hatest soe ? I pray thee show to me.' ' His name's Sir Lancelot du Lake, Hee slew my brother deere ; Him I suspect of all the rest ; I wold I had him here.' ' Thy wish thou hast, but now unknowne : I am Lancelot du Lake, Jf ow of King Arthurs Table Bound j King Hands son of Benwake j And I defye thee ; — do thy worst.* ' Ha, ha ! ' quoth Tarquine tho, ' One of us two shall end our lives Before that we do go. i Kd. Corbouid del Sinitb 8C 122 S)ix ILancelot tiu ILafee. If thou bee Lancelot du Lake, Then welcome shalt thou bee : Wherefore see thou thyself defend, For now defye I thee.' They buckled then together so, Like unto wild boares rashing ; And wyth theire swords and shields they ran At one another slashing : The ground besprinkled was wyth blood ; Tarquine began to faint ; For hee had backt and bore his shield So low, hee did repent.* * Several of the ancient ballads record similar fights between giants and the knights of King Arthur's Round Table. An "Ancient English Metrical Romance," printed by Ritson, entitled " Sir Ywaine and Sir Gawin," describes an encounter which led to a like result — tlie delivering from prison sundry " fellowes" who, by the gallantry of their brother-in-arms, were "out of bales broght." We copy a few passages : — Syr Ywaine rade into the playne And the geant cum hym ogayne ; — His levore was ful grete and lang, And himself ful mekyl and Strang. He said, ' What devil made the so balde For to come heder out of tlii haldef Wlio-so-ever the heder send Lufed the litel, so God me mend ! Of the he walde be broken fayn.' ' Do forth thi best ! ' said Sir Ywaine. • • • • • Sir Ywaine left his sper of hand, And strake obout him with his brand ; And the geant, mekil of main, Strake full fast to him ogayu. • » » • • Sethen with a stroke to him lie stert. And smate the geant unto the hert ; Ther was none other tale to tell, Bot fast unto the earth he fell, Ala it had bene a hevy tre. Then might men in the kastel se Ful mekil mirth on ilka side. The yates kest thai open wyde. Ed. Corbould del. ING ARTHUR and tlie Knights of his Round Tahle are familiar to all lovers of old romance. But to the chro- niclers in rhyme, who made their own " Histories," he is indebted not only for his fame, but, probably, for his existence ; alihougb Ritson is bitterly wroth with a " mendacious" scribbler, who presumed to doubt the actual being of this " Kyng of Englonde." The fabulous " History" of Geoffrey of Monmouth, published about the middle of the twelfth century, is the undoubted source upon which the minstrels of after ages drew so largely. If there were " romances and ballads on the iject" anterior to his time, they have not descended to us ; and evidence to support his assertion that the story was translated Pby him from a very ancient book. The general impression is, that it was a pure invention of the " historian." It is, however, romantic, exciting, and in- teresting to the highest degree ; and amply merits its renown, whether " founded on fact," or a mere fiction, Arthur was the son of Uther Pendragon, King of Britain ; and the mystery of his life commenced with his birth, his father having been intro- duced to his mother by the interposition of the famous enchanter Merlin, in the sem- blance of one whose form it was criminal to have assumed. The royal birth of the boy was kept a profound secret from himself and all others ; he was reared in com- parative obscurity, and it was not until after the death of Uther, and consequent dis- putes concerning a successor to the Crown, under a belief of " his line" being extinct, tliat Merlin thought fit to produce the legal and rightful heir to the vacant throne. The mode he selected was in itself a boon of magnitude to after romancers. He advised the rival candidates to postpone the contest until some especial manifestation of Omnipotent Will should determine their decree. The proposal having Jjeen agreed to, almost immediately a huge stone was discovered, into which was firmly fixed a naked sword — the far-famed Excalibar — indicating that whoever should draw it forth should be elected sovereign of the Britons i)y the universal voice. The feat was, of course, performed by young Arthur, who was crowned " in Cardvile that noble town.'» Thenceforward his career was one of entire conquest, either upon a huge scale, or in single combats : nothing earthly could withstand the prowess of his stalwart arm ; and against the powers of darkness he was fully armed and accoutred by his friend and counsellor, Merlin. He proceeds from victory to victory ; conquering kingdom after kingdom ; slaying giants innumerable; rescuing distressed damsels; destroying " wicked witches ;" cutting oflf whole armies of Paynims and Saracens, and making no more of dragons than greyhounds do of hares ; — sometimes killing wholesale when alone and unsupported, but, more usually, in company with the Knights of his Round Table. The death of Arthur was mysterious as his birth, and marvellous as liis life. The particulars are fully recorded in the appended ballad. Long after his passage from earth his return to it was looked for. It is " believed by tlie vulgar that he still lives, and is to come hereafter to restore the dispersed and exiled Britons to their own ;" agreeably to a prophecy of Merlin — who " sayd that his death shall be doubteous ; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have doubte, and shalle for ever more ; m V I 125 for men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede." Witness, also, this epitaph in the " monasterial church of Glasiiiberi :" " Hie jacet Arlliurus, rex quondaoi atque futunis." Selden, in his lUustrations to Drayton's " Poly-Olbion," gives a very interesting account of the discovery of Arthur's tomb. The exhumation took place in 1189 ; and Giraldus affirms, that the leg-bone of Arthur was three fingers* lengths taller than that of the tallest man present at the opening of the sepulchre. This statement he received from the abbot who superintended the search. An engraving of the cross is to be seen in " Camden's Britannia :" upon it is inscribed : — " Hie jacet sepultus iiiclitus rex Arturius, in insula Avalonia." It has also been engraved in Whitaker's " History of Manchester ;" a copy of which work, formerly in the possession of Ritson, and filled with marginal remarks, has the following on this subject by that pains-taking and accurate antiquary. He says : " to humour Henry's attachment to the memory and character of Arthur, most of the romances of the Round Table were written and composed during his reign, and at his particular instance, and many Armorican lays, relating to him, translated. The lying bards, too, set up a prophetic knowledge as to the site of his tomb, and the crafty and politic monks of Glastonbury aided and completed the deception. As the traditional actions of xVrthur were of a gigantic nature, the popular opinion had made a giant of his person ; and therefore the crafty monks, to accredit the silly forgery, made use of horses' bones. The skull reported to be Arthur's, he also seems to tliink, was adapted to the disco- very. There were marks of ten wounds in the head, and one mortal gash, intended, he says, " for the identical gash or hole that was made in it by his nephew, Mordred." The skulls remained at Glastonbury until the Reform- ation. We copy the wood-cut representation of King Arthur and his Knights, seated at their Round Table, from their "most ancient and famous History" (1534; a reprint of the edition issued from the press of our first printer, Caxton, in 1485). It is curious as displaying the idea formed by our ancestors of the Round Table, and the manner in which Arthur and his Knights were seated at it. The subjoined ballad is copied from Bishop Percy, who extracted it from his " Manuscript folio ;" giving to it " some conjectural emendations, and even a supple- ment of three or four stanzas, composed from the romance of Morte d'Arthur," — the original MS. of which exists in the Harleian Library in the British Museum. The substance of it is given by Mr. Ellis in his "Specimens of Early Metrical Romances." 126 Franklin del. Green sc. King art^ur'0 Btatf)* ' Now, as you are mine uukle dear, And as you prize your life, this day, O meet not with your foe in fight ; Put off the battayle, if ye may ; For Sir Launcelot is now in Fraunce, And with him many an hardy knight. Who will within this moneth be back. And will assist ye in the fight.' The king then called his nobles all. Before the breaking of the day ; And told them how Sir Gawalue came, And there to him these wordes did say. His nobles all this counsayle gave, That early e in the morning, he Shold send away an herauld at armes, To ask a parley fair and free. Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose, The best of all that with him were. To parley with the foe in field, And make with him agreement fair. The king he charged all his host. In readiness there for to be ; But no man shold no weapon sturre. Unless a sword drawn they shold see. And Mordi'cd on the other part. Twelve of his knights did likewise bring ; The best of all his company. To hold the parley with the king. Sir Mordred also charged his host ; In readiness there for to be ; But no man shold no weapon sturre. But if a sword drawn they shold see Jranklin del Williams sc. 128 Fop he durst not his unkle trust, Nor he his nephew, sothe to tell : Alack ! it was a woefull case, As ere in Christentye befell ! But when they were together met, And both to fair accordance brought. And a months league between them set Before the battayle shold be fought, An adder crept forth of a bush. Stung one o' th' king's knights on the knee; Alack ! it was a woefull chance. As ever was in Christentye ! When the knighfe found him wounded sore, And saw the wild- worm hanging there ; His sword he from his scabberd drew : A piteous case, as ye shall hear. For when the two hostes saw the sword, They joyned battayle instantlye ; Till of so many noble knights, On one side there were left but three ! For all were slain that durst abide. And but some few that fled away ; Ay me ! it was a bloody field As ere was fought on summers day ! Upon King Arthurs own partye, Only himself escaped there. And Lukyn Duke of Gloster jfree. And the kings butler Bedevere. And when the king beheld his knights. All dead and scattered on the mold. The teares fast trickled down his face ; That manly face in fight so bold ! Franklin del. Nicholls Bc. 129 King ^rti^ur'js Btat^, Franklin del T ArmsU'onA ec. ' Now rest ye all, brave knights,' he said, * So true and faithful to your trust : And must ye then, ye A-aliant hearts, Be left to moulder into dust ! Most loyal have ye been to me. Most true and faithful unto death : And, oh ! to rayse ye up again. How freely could I yield my breatli ! But see, the traitor's yet alive, Lo where he stalks among the dead ! Now bitterlye he shall abye ; And vengeance fall upon his head.' * O stay, my liege,' then sayd the duke ; ' O stay for love and charitie ; Semember what the vision spake, Nor meet your foe, if it may be.! ' O stay me not, thou worthy wight, This debt my loyal knights I owe : Betide me life, betide me death, I will avenge them of their foe.' Then strait he grasped his trusty spear, And on his horse then mounted he : As his butler holpe him to his horse, His bowels gushed to his knee. ' Alas ! ' then sayd the noble king, ' That I should live this sight to see ! To see this good knight here be slain. All for his love in helping me ! ' He put his spear into his rest, And to Sir Mordred loud gan cry: ' Now set thyself upon thy guard, For, traitor, now thy death is nye.' 130 iivina artf)ur'0 Beatfj. Sir Mordred lifted up his sword, And fierce to meet tlie king ran he ; The king his speare he through him thrust ; A fathom thorow his bodie. "When Mordred felt the stroke of death, And found that he was wounded so, He thrust himself upon the spear, And struck the king a deadly blow. Then grimly dyed Sir Mordred, Presently upon that tree ; And bloody streams ran from the king, Ere to the duke returned he.* Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake, ' Sir knight thou hast been faithfuU tryde, Now take my sword Excalibar, That hangs so freely by my syde : O take my sword Excalibar, And there into the river throw ; Eor here, henceforth, benethe this tree, All use of weapons I forego. * Percy liaa printed also a ballad, entitled "The Legend of King Arthur," from Iiis "ancient folio manuscript," in which the king relates his own history, describes the battle in which he fell, and mourns over liis fate. Reference is thus made to the contest with Sir Mordred : — And still I him pursued with speed Till at the last wee mctt : Whereby an appointed day of fight Was there agreed and sitt. Where we did fight, of mortal life Eche other to deprive, Till of a hundred thousand men Scarce one was left alive. There all the noble chivalrye Of Brituine tooke tlieir end, see how fickle is their state Tlmt doe on feates depend ! Franklin del Armstrong so. 131 Hing arti)ur*0 Beati). And fare thee well, thou trusty sword, A better neer had valiant knight, With thee full oft, and many a day, Have I withstood my foe in fight. With this good fauchion in my hand. Oft have I reaped the bloody feelde ; But now the fatalle hour is come. That never more I may thee weelde.' The duke to the river side he went. And there his own sword in threw he ; But he kept back Excalibar, He kept it back in privitie. For all of coleyne was the blade, And all the hilt of precious stone : * And ever alack ! ' then say d the knight, * Must such a sword away be thrown ? ' Then back he came unto the king, Who sayd, ' Sir Lukyn, wha,t did ye see?' ' Nothing, my liege, save that the wind Blew o'er the waters fair and free.' ' go again,' then said the king, ' O good Sir Lukyn, go again ; Into the river throw my sword. Nor keep me lingering here in pain.' The duke then to the river went. And the kings scabbard in threw he ; But he kept back Excalibar, And hid it undemeth a tree. Then back he came to tell the king, Who sayd, 'Sir Lukyn, saw ye ought ?' — ' Nothing, my liege, save that the wind Now with the angry waters fought.' Franklin del Nicholls sc. 132 Hlno xlrti)ur's ©catf). ' O Lukyn, Lukyn !' said the king, ' Twice hast thou dealt deceitfully : Alack, whom may we ever trust, "VVTien such a knight so false can be ? Say, wouldst thou have thy master dead, All for a sword that wins thine eye ? Now go again, and throw it in, Or here the one of us shall dye.' The duke, all shent with this rebuke, No aunswer made unto the king ; But to the river took the sword, And threw it far as he could fling. A hand and arm did meet the sword. And flourishd three times in the air ; Then sunk benethe the renning strenie. And of the duke was seen no mair.* * In the romance of " Morte D'Artlmr," as given by Mr. Ellis — "Specimens of Early English Metrical llomances" — this incident is tlius recorded : — The knight having at length thrown into the water the good sword Excalibar, — There came an hand, wiHiouten rest, Out of the water, and fair it hent. And brandished as it should bnut. And sithe, as gleam away it went. To tlic king again went lie there. And said, ' lief, sir, I saw a hand ; Out of the water it came all bare. And thrice brandished that rich brand.' ' Help me ! soon were I thore ! ' He led his lord unto the strand ; A rich ship with masts and oar, Eull of ladies there they fand. The ladies, that were fair and free, Courteously the king gan they fong ; And one that brightest w^as of blee, Weeped sore and handes wrung. ' Brother,' she said, ' woe is nie. From leeching hast thou been too long; I wot that greatly giievctli me. For thy painis are full strong.' Fraoklin del Wiliiams sc. 133 HE HEIRE OF LINNE. This ballad we copy from the " Reliques of Ancient English Poetry." Dr. Percy states that he " found it" in his folio MS. ; and that he has inserted " supplemental stanzas," necessary in con- sequence of the " breaches and defects" which existed in his fragment. " These," he adds, " it is hoped the ii^"\ y//yj(^.j^^^ reader will pardon, as, indeed, the completion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject." It is much to be lamented that the " modern r- -;.CT^^ ^^ -^ ballad" has not been more distinctly pointed out; it does not appear in any collection ; nor are we acquainted with the copy to 'US. ^'^''^^ reference is made.* Dr. Percy considers that, "from the Scottish phrases here and there, it would seem to have been originally composed beyond the 1 Tweed ;" and, he observes, " the Heir of Linne seems not to have been a Lord of Parliament, but a laird, whose title went along with the estate." Of the Scottish origin of the ballad, there can be little doubt. Mr. R. Chambers, indeed, prints three stanzas of a homely version, still current in Scotland : — Tlie boniiie heir, the weel faured heir, And the weary heir of Linne ; Yonder lie stands at his father's gate. And naebody bids liim come in : see where he stands, and see wliere he gangs, The weary heir o' Linne ! see where he stands on the canid causey, Some ane wald taen liini in. But if he liad been his father's heir. Or yet the lieir o' Linne, He wadna stand on the cauld causey, Some ane wald taen him in. * All readers of the " Reliques of Ancient English Poetry" will regret that the learned " Editor " — for so he has chosen to call himself — left us in ignorance as to the extent of the alterations to which he subjected the "fragments" he found in his " folio MS." The fault, however, is not attributable to him ; for, when attacked by Ritson with a degree of bitterness that approached ferocity, and when the existence of the original source was somewhat more than doubted, by less ungenerous commentators, the book was left for " a whole year " at the house of Mr. NichoUs, where "it was examined, with more or less attention, by many gentlemen of eminence in literature." In an advertisement to the fourth edition of the "Reliques," Dr. Percy thus describes the volume: — " Tlie MS. is a long narrow folio volume, containing 195 Sonnets, Ballads, Historical Songs and Metrical Romances, either in the whole or in part, for many of them are extremely mutilated and imperfect. The first and last leaves are wanting ; and of fifty-four pages near the beginning, half of every leaf hath been torn away, and several others are injured towards the end ; besides tliat, through a great part of the volume, the top or bottom line, and sometimes both, have been cut off in the binding. In this state is the MS. itself: and even where the leaves have suffered no injury, the transcripts, which seem to have been all made by one person (they are, at least, all in the same kind of hand), are sometimes extremely incorrect and faulty, being in such instances probably made from defective coiiies, or the imperfect recitation of illiterate singers; so that a considerable portion of the song or narrative is sometimes omitted : and miserable trash or nonsense not unfrequently introduced into pieces of considerable merit." A reprint of this singular collection might be an invaluable gift to the public, from one of the " Societies" — the object in forming which is to extend the knowledge to be derived from " scarce books," not sufficiently interesting to the "mass," to justify their republication through the ordinary channels. And if, at the same time, a selection were given from the Pepysian collection, a vast addition would be made to our national store of veritable ancient Ballads. The Pepysian volumes — five in number — omitting those that are merely political, and such as ought not to be reprinted — would, however, supply very few important additions to the wealth of wliich we are at present possessed. This fragment of the ancient ballad — probably the original out of which Percy formed his more complete work — is all that Mr. Chambers was able to obtain. But Mr. Buchan — an indefatigable collector of old ballads, from the lips of aged crones — procured a much more perfect copy of the poem, of which Mr. Chambers has given a fragment.* It consists of but fourteen stanzas; and the incidents bear only a general resemblance to those recorded by Dr. Percy ; the spendthrift youth asks and receives bread and wine from a " nourice," whom he promises to repay when he is Heir of Linne; and the straits to which he has been reduced, are indicated by his liegging charity from gentlemen at feasts, and fishermen at market. The change that takes place in his fortune is thus described : — And be got goud and money therein To pay the lands o' Linne. As Willie he gied down the town. His hose aboon his sheen ; Bat, when that he came up again Was convoyed by lords fifteen. When Willie he came to the ha". There he cried wondrous crouse; He call'd the May afore them a'. The Nourice o' the house. ' Come down, come down, Nourice,' he said, ' Ere I pay you your bread and wine : For ye wiU be paid ere the seas gang dry. For this day I'm heir of Liunc' ' Gie me twa sheaves o' your bread, Nourice, And ae glass o' your wine ; And I will pay you them back again The day I'm heir o' Linne.' ' Ye's get three sheaves o' my bread, Willie, And twa glass o' my wine. But I'll be paid when the seas gang dry. For ye '11 ne'er be heir o' linne.' • • • » As Willie was sitting ane day alaue. And nae body him wi' ; He minded on a little wee key His mither to him did gie : Bade him never open a lock wi' it Ere the greatest strait he could see. Then be did spy a little wee lock. And the key gaed linking in ; In later editions of the " Reliques," Dr. Percy restored several " ancients readings fi:om the folio MS." In the absence of more satisfactory evidence, these changes are interesting, as affording, in some degree, the means of judging as to the nature and extent of the " emendations" which occur, more or less, in every ballad printed by the accomplished prelate. The curious in such matter will, therefore, perhaps, not consider our space ill-occupied in noticing some of them. In the first edition of the " Reliques," we read, in line 59 of Part II, " stint ne stayed " for " ceasd ne blanne ;" in line 63, " at the hordes end " for " upon a rowe ;" in lines 65, 66, — 'And then bespake the Heire of Linne, To John o' the Scales then louted he.* The last verse but two does not appear in the first edition, and the ballad, in that edition, thus concludes : — 'When next I want to sell my land. Good John o' the Scales, I 'le come to thee.' » Mr. Buchan's Ballad "The Weary Heir of Linne," is not yet published; it forms one of a large and singular collection he has prepared for the Press, and which we hope will be given to the world at no very remote period. Of his printed collection — "Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, hitherto unpublished"— Sir Walter Scott has spoken in the highest terms ; describing it as " the most complete collection that has yet appeared ;" and characterising the collector as " a person of indefatigable research," — " whose industry has been crowned with the most successful results." His father was a right good lord, His mother a lady of high degree ; But they, alas ! were dead, him froe. And he lovd keeping comj^anie. To spend the daye with merry cheare. To drinke and revell every night, To card and dice from eve to morne. It was, I ween, his hearts delighte. e^ TSaA K M. Ward, del BasLin, sc. e m Ci^e i^eire of ILmite. :^ ^ #. [OJ J~^^^^ E M. Ward, do,. To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare, To alwaye spend and never spare, I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, Of golde and fee lie mote be bare. Soe fares the unthrifty Lord of Linne Till all his golde 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 he ; But John is become a gentel-man, And John has gott both golde and fee. Sayes, ' Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne, Let nought disturb thy merry cheare ; If thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad, Grood store of golde He give thee heere.' ' My golde is gone, my money is spent ; My lande now take it unto thee : Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales, And thine for aye my lande shall be.' Then John he did him to record draw, And John he cast him a gods-pennie ; But for every pounde that John agreed, The lande, I wis, was well worth three. Hee told him the golde upon the borde. He was right glad his lande to winne ; ' The golde is thine, the lande is mine, And nowe He be the Lord of Linne.' Thus he hath sold his lande 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. iki DasLin, ec. 138 ''^A For soe he to his father hight. * My soone, when I am gonne,' sayd he, ' Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad, An.d thou wUt spend thy golde so free ; But sweare me nowe upon the roode, That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; For when all the world doth frown on thee, Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.' The heire of Linne is full of golde ; ' And come with me, my friends,' sayd he, ' Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make. And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.' They ranted, drank, and merry made, TQl all his golde it waxed thinne ; And then his friendes they slunk away ; They left the unthrifty heire 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 money, ' Nowe well-a-day,' sayd the heire of Linne, ' Nowe well-a-day, and woe is me, For when I was the Lord of Linne, I never wanted golde nor fee. But many a trustye friend have I, And why shold 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 golde away ; Another calld him thriftless loone, And bade him sharpely wend his way. dS] E M. "Ward, del. Baa tin, sc. 139 '■^4 Cfjf ?^nte of Einnf. Ward. deL BasUn. bc. * Nowe well-a-day,' sayd the heire of Linne, ' Nowe well-a-day, and woe is me ! For \s-hen I had my landes soe broad, On me they Ihd right merrilee. To beg my bread from door to door, I wis, it were a brenning shame ; To rob and steal it were a sinne ; To worke my limbs I cannot frame. If owe He away to lonesome lodge, For there my father bade me Avend ; When all the world shold frown on me, I there shold find a trusty friend.' PART THE SECOND. Aw AT then hyed the heire of Linne O'er hill and holt, and moore and fenne, Untill he come to lonesome lodge That stood soe lowe in a lonely glenne. Hee looked up, he looked downe, In hope some comfort for to winne ; But bare and lothly were the walles : ' It's sorry chear,' quo' the heire of Linne. The little windowe dim and darke Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe , No shimmering sunne heere ever shone ; No halesome breeze heere ever blew. No chair, ne table he mote spye, No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed ; Nought save a rope with renning noose, That dangling hung up o'er his head. And over it, in broad letters, These words were written soe plain to see : ' Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all, And brought thyself to penurie ? 140 Ci)e ^titt of ILinne. All this my boding mind misgave, I therefore left this trustye friend : Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace, And all thy shame and sorrowes end.' Sorely shent wi' this rebuke. Sorely shent was the heire of Linne ; His heart, I wis, was near to brast "With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne. Never a word spake the heire of Linne ; Never a word spake he but three : ' This is a trustye friend indeed. And is right welcome unto me.' 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 he. Astonyed lay the heire of Linne, Ne knewe if he were live or dead : At length he looked, and sawe a bille, And in it a key of golde so redd. Hee took the bille, and lookt it on, Strait good comfort found he there : It told him of a hole in the wall. In which there stood three chests in-fere. Two were full of the beaten golde. The third was full of white money ; And over them in broad letters These words llifere written soe plaiue to see: ' Once more, my sonne, I sett thee clere ; Amend thy life and follies past ; For but thou amend thee of thy life. That rope must be thy end at last.' B. M. Ward del Basitin sc. 141 '•^4 ^^e ^titt of EiniTP. -^ ^ * And let it be,' sayd the heire of Liime, * And let it be, but if I amend ; For heere I will make mine avow, This reade shall guide me to the end.' Away then went with a merry cheare, Away then went the heire 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, Up at the speere then looked he ; There sate three lords upon a rowe Were drinking of the wiue soe free. And John himself sate at the bord-head Because nowe Lord of Liune was he, * I pray thee,' he said, ' good John o' the Scales, One forty pence for to lend me.' * Away, away, thou thriftless loone ! Away, away, this may not be ; For Christs curse on my head,' he sayd, If ever I trust thee one pennie !' Then bespake the heire 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 almes of me ! For if we shold hang any losel heere. The first we wold begione with thee.' Then bespake a good fellowe Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord : Sayd, ' Turne againe, thou heire of Linne ; Some time thou wast a well good lord : ■^ ^ E. M. Ward del. Bastin 8C. 142 ^i)f '^tixt of IBLinm, -^. W Some time a good fellowe thou hast been, And sparedst not thy golde and fee ; Therefore He lend thee forty pence, And other forty if need be. And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, To let him sit in thy companie ; For well I wott thou hadst his lande, And a good bargaine it was to thee.' Tip then spake him John o' the Scales, All wode he answerd him againe : ' Nowe Christs ciirse on my head,' he sayd, * But I did lose by that bargaine ! And heere I proffer thee, heire of Linne, Before these lordes soe faire and free. Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape By a hundred markes, thani had itof thee.' ' I drawe you to record, lords ;' — he sayd. With that he caste him a gods-pennie : ' Nowe by my fay !' sayd the heire of Linne, * And heere, good John, is thy money.' And he pulled forth three bagges of golde, And layd them down upon the bord : All woe begone was John o' the Scales, Soe shent he cold say never a word. He told him forth the good redd gold. He told it forth wi' mickle dinne. ' The golde is thine, the lande is mine. And now Ime againe the Lord of Linne,' Sayes, * Have thou heere, thou good feUowe, Forty pence thou didst lend me : Nowe I am againe the Lord of Linne, And forty pounds I wiU give thee. ik E. M Ward del, 143 ORD SOULIS. This ballad is the composition of John Ley- den ; it was first published in the " Minstrelsy of the Scot- tish Border," and subsequently, in the collected works of the estimable and accomplished writer. The hero of the story is supposed to be William Lord Soulis, who was of royal descent, and who entered, with several other noblesof rank, into a conspiracy against Robert de Bruce, the object of which was the elevation of Soulis to the Scottish throne.* " Local tradition," writes Sir Walter Scott, " more faith- ful to the popular sentiment than history, has recorded the character of the chief, and attributed to him many actions which seem to correspond with that character. His portrait is by no means flattering ; uniting every quality which could render strength formidable, and cruelty detestable. Combining prodigious bodily strength with cruelty, avarice, dissimulation, and treachery, is it surprising that a people, who attributed every event of life, in a great measure, to the interference of good or evil spirits, should have added to such a character the mystical horrors of sorcery .' Tiius, he is represented as a cruel tyrant and sorcerer ; constantly employed in oppressing his vassals, harassing his neighbours, and fortifying his Castle of Hermitage against the King of Scotland ; for which purpose he employed all means, human and infernal ; invoking the fiends by his in- cantations, and forcing his vassals to drag materials, like beasts of burden. Tradition proceeds to relate, that the Scottish King, irritated by reiterated complaints, peevishly exclaimed to the petitioners, ' Boil him if you please, but let me hear no more of him.' Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded with the utmost haste to execute the commission ; which they accomplished by boiling him alive on the Nine-stane Rig, in a cauldron, said to have been long preserved at Skelf-hill, a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. Messengers, it is said, were immediately despatched by the King, to prevent the eflfects of such a hasty declaration : but they only arrived in time to witness the conclusion of the ceremony. The Castle of Her- mitage, unable to support the load of iniquity which had been long accumulating within its walls, is supposed to have partly sunk beneath the ground ; and its ruins are still regarded by the peasants with peculiar aversion and terror. The door of the chamber, where Lord Soulis is said to have held his conferences with the evil spirits, is supposed to be opened once in seven years, by that demon to which, when he left the castle never to return, he committed the keys, by throwing them over his left shoulder, and desiring it to keep them till his return. Into this chamber, which is really the dungeon of the castle, the peasant is afraid to look ; for such is the active • C)n.: of Ills iicconii)liee8, David de Brechin, was executed. He was nephew to the king, and his niiiy crime wiis liis having concealed the treason in wliich he disdained to participate. " As the people thronged to the execution of the gallant youth, they were bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram de Umfravifle, an English or Norman knight, then a favourite follower of Robert Brace. ' Why press you,' said he, ' to see the dismal catastrophe of so generous a knight ? I have seen ye throng as eagerly around him to share his bounty, as now to beliold his death.' With these words he turned from the scene of blood, and, repairing to the king, craved leave to sell his Scottish possessions, and to retire from the country. ' My Iieart," said Umfraville, ' will not, for the wealth of the world, permit me to dwell any longer, wliere I have seen such a knight die by the hands of the executioner.' With the king's leave, he interred the body of David de Brechin, sold his lauds and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautifully told by Barbour, Book 19ih." 145 nialignity of its i'.miate, that a willow inserted at the chinks of the door, is found peeled, or stripped of its bark, when drawn back. The Nine-stane Rig, where Liml Soulis was boiled, is a declivity, about one mile in breadth and four in length, de- scending upon the Water of Hermitage, from the range of hills which separate Lid- desdale and Teviotdale. It derives its name from one of those circles of large stones, which are termed Druidical. nine of which remained to a late period. Five of these stones are still visible ; and two are particularly pointed out, as those which supported the iron bar upon which the fatal cauldron was suspended." The ruins of the Castle of Hermitage still exist ; and still, according to Stephen Oliver — " Rambles in Northumberland, and on the Scottish Border," — the neigh- bouring peasantry whisper of the evil spirit believed to be confined there, and who, after locking the door of the dungeon, had thrown the key over his shoulder into the stream. Tiie author also states that the cauldron, the muckle pot in which Soulis was reported to have been boiled, is an old kail-pi)t, of no very extraordinary size, which was purchased hy some of the rebel army in 1715. The castle is now the pro- perty of the Dukeof Buccleugh. It was, in 1546, the residence of the Earl of Bothwell; and here Queen Mary is said to have visited him, riding from Jedburg to Hermitage, and back again, in one day. The Earl was lying ill of a wound received from John Elliot of the Park, a desperate freebooter, whom he had attempted to apprehend. Sir Walter Scott considers that the idea of Lord Soulis' familiar was derived from the curious story of the " Spirit Orthone and the Lord of Corasse," which he prints in a note to the ballad, " in all its Gothic simplicity, as translated from Froissart, by the Lord of Berners." Orilmne enters the service of the knight : — " So this spyrite Orthone loved so the knyght, that oftentymes he would come and vysyte him, while he lay in his bedde aslepe, and outher pull him by the eare, or els stryke at his charabre dore or windowe. And whan the knyght awoke, than he would saye, ' Orthone lat me slepe.' • Nay,' quod Orthone, ' that I will nat do, tyll I have shewed thee such tydinges as are fallen a-late.' The ladye, the knygiites wife, wolde be sore afrayed, that her beer wald stand up, and hyde herself under the clothes. Tiian the knyght wolde saye, 'Why, what tydinges hast thou brought me?' Quod Orthone, ' I am come out of England, or out of Hungry, or some other place, and yesterday I came hens, and such things are fallen, or such other.' " The connection between them was broken by the knight unwisely desiring to see the form of the spirit, with whose voice he had become familiar. Orthone appeared before him in the semblance of " a leane and yvell favoured sow." The knight set his hounds upon it, at which the spirit took offence, and never afterwards came to the " bedde syde" of the lord. " The formation of ropes of sand, according to popular tradition, wai a work of such difficulty, that it was assigned hy Michael Scott to a num])er of spirits, for which it was necessary for him to find some interminable employment. Upon discovering the futility of their attempts to accomplish the work assigned, they petitioned their taskmaster to be allowed to mingle a few handfuls of barley-chaflf with the sand. On bis refusal, they were forced to leave untwisted the ropes which they had shaped. Such is the traditionary hypothesis of the vermicidar ridges of the sand on the shore of the sea." HorlJ Soulis. Nor forged steel, nor hempen band, Shall e'er thy limbs confine. Till threefold ropes of sifted sand Around thy body twine. If danger press fast, knock thrice on the chest, "With rusty padlocks bound ; Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise, And listen to the sound.' Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle, And Eedcap was not by ; And he called on a page, who was witty and sage To go to the barmkin high. * And look thou east, and look thou west, And quickly come tell to me, What troopers haste along the waste, And what may their livery be.' He looked over fell, and he looked o'er flat. But nothing, I wist, he saw, . Save a pyot on a turret that sat Beside a corby craw. The page he looked at the skrieh of day, But nothing, I wist, he saw, Till a horseman gray, in the royal array, Eode down the Hazel-shaw. ' Say, why do you cross o'er moor and moss ?' So loudly cried the page ; * I tidings bring, from Scotland's King, To Soulis of Hermitage. He bids me tell that bloody warden. Oppressor of low and high, If ever again his lieges complain, The cruel Soulis shall die.' K. R. M'lan del 8mith 8C. 148 Uorti SoulijJ, By traitorous sleight tliey seized the knight, Before he rode or ran, And through the key-stone of the vavdt They plunged him both horse and man. * # # « * May she came, and May she gaed, By Goranberry green ; And May she was the fairest maid That ever yet was seen. O May she came, and May she gaed, By Goranberry tower ; And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis That carried her from her bower ? He brought her to his castle gray, By Hermitage's side ; Says — ' Be content, my lovely May, For thou shalt be my bride.' "With her yellow hair, that glittered fair, She dried the trickling tear ; She sighed the name of Branxholm's heir. The youth that loved her dear. ' Now, be content, my bomiy May, And take it for your hame ; Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day You heard Yoimg Branxholm's name. O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning hour. When the lift is like lead sae blue. The smoke shall roll white on the weary night. And the flame shall shine dimly through.' Syne he 's ca'd on him Eingan Eed, A sturdy kemp was he ; From friend, or foe, in Border feid. Who never a foot would flee. R. R. M'lan del. i5DntU sc. 149 ILort 5)011118. Red Eingan sped, and tlie spearmen led Up Goranberry slack ; Ay, many a wight, unmatched in fight, "Who never more came back. And bloody set the westering sun, And bloody rose he up ; But little thought young Branxholm's heir Where he that night should sup. He shot the roebuck on the lee, The dun deer on the law ; The glamour sure was in his ee When Eingan nigh did draw. O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge, He sped till day was set ; And he thought it was his merry men true, When he the spearmen met. Far from relief, they seized the chief; His men were far away ; Through Hermitage slack they sent him bacli To Soulis' castle gray ; Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower Where all his merry-meii lay. ' Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir ! Thrice welcome,' quoth Soulis, ' to me ! Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair, My wedding guest to be ? And lovely May deserves, per fay, A bride-man such as thee ! ' And broad and bloody rose the siui, And on the barmkin shone. When the page was aware of Eed Eingan there, Who came riding all alone. R. R M'lan del Liaion sc. 150 Horti «ouU£i. '■ -•'^iSSiS*&'^: ^ iL- ■• •"'V. r^f '"i'L. To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he speeds, As he lighted at the wall, Says — 'Where did ye stable my stalwart steeds. And where do they tarry all ?' ' We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir ; We stabled them sure,' quoth he — * Before we could cross the quaking moss They all were lost but me.' He clenched hisfist,and he knockedonthe chest, And he heard a stifled groan ; And at the third knock each rusty lock Did open one by- one. He turned away his eyes as the lid did rise. And he listened silentlie ; And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs low, ' Beware of a coming tree !' In muttering sound the rest was drowned, 'No other word heard he ; But slow as it rose, the lid did close With the rusty padlocks three. * m * * * Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother The Teviot, high and low ; Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fame, For none could bend his bow. O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped The fame of his army. And that Teviotdale woiild soon assail His towers and castle gray. With clenched fist, he knocked on the chest, And again he heard a groan ; And he raised his eyes as the lid did rise, But answer heard he none. R R. M'lan del. Ijinton BC. 151 Eort S^otUt0. The charm was broke, when the spirit spoke, And it murmured sullenlie, — * Shut fast the door, and for evermore Commit to me the key. Alas ! that ever thou raisedst thine eyes, Thine eyes to look on me ! Till seven yeai*a are o'er, return no more, For here thou must not be.' Think not but Soulis was wae to yield His warlock chamber o'er ; He took the keys from the rusty lock, That never were ta'en before. He threw them o'er his left shoulder, With meikle care and pain ; And he bade it keep them fathoms deep, TiU he returned again. And still, when seven years are o'er. Is heard the jarring sound ; . When slowly opes the charmed door Of the chamber under ground. And some within the chamber door Have cast a curious eye ; But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell. The fearful sights they spy. ***** When Soulis thought on his merry men now, A woful wight was he ; Says — 'Vengeance is mine, and I wiU not repine, But Branxholm's heir shall die !' Says — ' What would you do, young Branxholm, | Gin ye had me, as I have thee !' — ' I would take you to the good greenwood And gar your ain hand wale the tree.' R R. M-Ian del. Smith 8C. 152 ' Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree, For all thy mirth and meikle pride ; And May shall choose, if my love she refuse, A scrog bush thee beside.' They carried him to the good greenwood Where the green pines grew in a row ; And they heard the cry, from the branches high, Of the hungry carrion crow. They carried him on from tree to tree. The spiry boughs below ; ' Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine To feed the hooded crow ?' ' The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall, "When the night blast stirs the tree. And it shall not be mine to die on the pine I loved in infancie.' Young Branxholm turned him and oft looked back, And aye he passed from tree to tree ; Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake, * O sic a death is no for me ! ' And next they passed the aspin gray, Its leaves were rustling moumfullie ; ' Now choose thee, choose thee, Branxholm gay ! Say, wilt thou never choose the tree ?' — ' More dear to me is the aspin gray. More dear than any other tree ; For, beneath the shade that its branches made. Have pass'd the vows of my love and me.' Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake^ Until he did his ain men see. With witches' hazel in each steel cap. In scorn of Soulis' gramarye ; Then shoulder-height for glee he lap, — ' Methinks I spye a coming tree ! ' — R R. M'lan del Smith sc. 153 R. R. M'lan deL Sxzdth so ' Ay, many may come, but few return : ' Quo' Soulis, the lord of gramarye ; ' No warrior's hand in fair Scotland Shall ever dint a wound on me !' — ' Now, by my sooth,' quo' bold Walter, ' If that be true we soon shall see.' — His bent bow he drew, and his arrow was true, But never a wound or scar had he. Then up bespake him true Thomas, He was the lord of Ersyltoun ; ' The wizard's spell no steel can quell, Till once your lances bear him down.' — They bore him down with lances bright, But never a wound or scar had he ; "With hempen bands they bound him tight. Both hands and feet, on the Nine-stane lee, That wizard accurst, the bands he burst : They mouldered at his magic spell ; And neck and heel, in the forged steel, They bound him against the charms of hell. That wizard accurst, the bands he burst : No forged steel his charms could bide ; Then up bespake him true Thomas, ' "We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide.' The black spae-book from his breast he took, Impressed with many a warlock speU, And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott, Who held in awe the fiends of hell. They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep. That mortal man might never it see ; But Thomas did save it from the grave When he returned from Faerie.' 154 Eort Souli0. "> r-^^ V't r '"/i ^//^ .'"'-v^*, The black spae-book from his breast he took, And turned the leaves with curious hand; No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind. But threefold ropes of sifted sand. They sifted the sand from theNine-stane bum. And shaped the ropes sae curiousUe ; But the ropes would neither twist nor twine For Thomas true and his gramarye. The black spae-book from his breast he took, And again he turn'd it with his hand ; And he bade each lad of Teviot add The barley chaff to the sifted sand. The barley chaff to the sifted sand They added still by handfuls nine : But Eedcap sly unseen was by, Andtheropeswouldneithertwistnortwine. And still beside the Nine-stane bum. Ribbed like the sand at mark of sea, The ropes that would not twist nor turn Shaped of the sifted sand you see. The black spae-book true Thomas he took, Again its magic leaves he spread ; And he found that to queU the powerful spell. The wizard must be boiled in lead.* * " The tradition concerning the death of Lord Sonlis," writes Sir Walter Scott, " ia not without a parallel in the real history of Scotland." Melville, of Glenbure, Sheriff of the Mearns, was detested by the barons of his country. Reiterated complaints of his conduct having been made to James I., the monarch answered, in a moment of unguarded impatience, " Sorrow gin the sheriff were sodden, and supped in broo I " The words were construed literally. The barons prepared a fire and a boiUng cauldron into which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. R B. M'lan dsl. South sc. 155 Eortj Soults. On a circle of stones they placed the pot, On a circle of stones but barely nine ; They heated it red and fiery hot, Till the burnished brass did glimmer and shine. They roll'd him up in a sheet of lead, A sheet of lead for a funeral paU ; They plunged him in the cauldron red, And melted him, lead, and bones, and all. At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still The men of Liddesdale can show ; And on the spot, where they boil'd the pot, The spreat and the deer-hair ne'er shall grow llt^ ORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. This ballad was first printed in the " Reliques," where it is given " with some corrections from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland." " It seems to he composed," says Dr. Percy, " not without improvements, out of two English ones, ' Lord Thomas and Fair EUinor,' and ' Fair Margaret and Sweet William.' " The latter it does not very closely resemble ; but between it and the former, there is cer- tainly a general likeness; although not sufficient to warrant the conclusion that the one was even suggested by the other. Lord Thomas and Fair EUinor is given, "with corrections," from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Library, entitled "A Tragical Story on the unfortunate Love of Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor, together with the Downfall of the Brown Girl." " In the same collection," he adds," may be seen an attempt to modernise this old story, and reduce it to a different measure ; a proof of its popularity." We print, from the original, the full title to this ballad : — " The unfortunate Forrester, or Fair Ellinor's Tragedy, shewing how Lord Thomas, once a bold Forrester, fell in love with the Fair Lady Ellinor, but his mother would not suffer him to marry her, but told him of another, that was far richer. Then, the Lord Thomas, not willing to be undutiful to his mother, appoints his wedding day, and invites Fair Ellinor to come to his wedding ; who, contrary to her mother's knowledge, came, and having seen his bride, she stabbed herself ; which Lord Thomas seeing, took the same dagger, and killed himself. — The Tune is ' Chevy Chase.' " From the black-letter ballad we select a few stanzas, which the reader may compare with the Scottish composition : — Lord Thouas he was a bold forrrestfer, And a chaser of tlie king's deere ; Faire Ellinor was a fine woman And Lord Thomas he loved her deare. ' Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' he sayd, ' And riddle us both as one ; Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellin6r, And lett the browne girl alone?' ' The browne girl she has got houses and lands, Faire Ellinor she has got none, An therefore I charge thee on my blessing, To bring me the browne girl home.' And as it befelle on a high holidaye, As many there are beside, Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellindr That should hare been his bride. And wlien he came to faire Ellinor's bower, He knocked there at the ring. And who was so ready as faire Ellin6r, To lett Lord Thomas within. ' What newes, what newes, Lord Thomas ?' she sayd; ' What newes dost thou bring to mee ?' — ' I 'm come to bid thee to my wedding, And that is bad newes for thee.' But when she came to Lord Tliomas his gate, She knocked there at the ring ; And who was so readye as Lord Thom^, To lett faire Ellinor in. ' Is this your bride?' faire Ellinor sayd; ' Methinks she looks wonderous browne ; Thou mightest have had as faire a wom&n. As ever trod on the grooade.' This browne bride had a little penknife. That was both long and sharpe, And betwixt the short ribs and the long. She prick'd faire Ellinor's harte I cS> JS>^ ^[^ For the leading incident of the poem, and the beautiful episode introduced into it, — the exchange of the children, upon which the story is made to depend — there appears to be no historical authority. At least, Sir Walter Scott has referred to none ; and if there had been any, it would not have escaped his search. Yet it is not im- probable that some such circumstance did actually occur ; the old ballad-makers were seldom mere inventors; and tragedy, with all its attendant events, maybe considered as by no means rare or uncommon to a remote age. That its age is " remote" is rendered certain, by the references to King Easter and King Wester ; who, it is surmised by Sir Walter Scott, were " petty princes of Nortliumberland and Westmore- land. From this," he adds, " it may be conjectured, with some degree of plausibility, that the independent kingdoms of the east and west coast were, at an early ])eriod, thus denominated, according to the Saxon mode of naming districts from their relative positions, as Essex, Wessex, Sussex.' In the " Complaynt of Scotland," mention is made of an ancient romance, entitled, " How the King of Estmureland married the King's daugliter of Westmureland." But Mr. Ritson is of opinion, that — " Estmure- land and Westmureland have no sort of relation to Northumberland and Westmore- land. The former was never called Eastmoreland, nor were there any kings of Westmoreland, unless we admit the authority of an old rhyme, cited by Usher; — Here tlie King Westmer Blew tlie King Botliinger. In the old metrical romance of ' Kyng Horn,' or ' Horn Child,' we find both West- nesse and Estnesse ; and it is somewhat singular, that two places, so called, actually exist in Yorkshire at this day. But ' ness,' in that quarter, is the name given to an inlet from a river. There is, however, great confusion in this poem, as ' Horn ' is called king, sometimes of one country, and sometimes of the other. In the French original, Westir is said to have been the old name of Hirland or Ireland ; which, occasionally at least, is called Westnesse, in the translation, in which Britain is named Sudene ; but here, again, it is inconsistent and confused. It is, at any rate," adds the learned antiquary, " highly probable, that the story, cited in the ' Complaynt of Scot- land,' was a romance of * King Horn,' whether prose or verse ; and, consequently, that Estmureland and M'estmureland should there mean England and Ireland ; though it is possible that no other instance can be found of these two names occurring with the same sense." Of the Scottish origin of this ballad there is internal evidence; and several of the phrases made use of, besides the titles to which we have referred, afford corroborative proof of its antiquity. The term " kevil," used in the third verse, — And they cast kevils tliem amang. And kevils them between ; And they cast kevils them amang, Wha suld gae kill the king. — ^ is thus explained by Sir Walter Scott, — " ' Kevils' — lots. Both words originally meant only a portion or share of any thing. — Leges Burgorum, cap. 59, de lot, cut, or kavil. Statua Gildce, cap. 20. Nullus emat lanam, Sfc, nisifuerit confrater Gildce, 8fc. Neque lot neque cavil habeat cum aliquo contrate nostra. In both these laws, ' lot ' and ' cavil ' signify a share in trade." Mil FAUSE FOODRAGE. KingEasteb has courted her for her lands, King Wester for her fee, King Honour for her comelye face, And for her fair hodie. They had not been four months married. As I have heard them tell. Until the nobles of the land Against them did rebel. And they cast k evils them amang, And kevils them between ; And they cast kevils them amang, Wha suld gae kiU the king. Mary Ann Williams so. r,. O some said yea, and some said nay. Their words did not agree ; Till np and got him, Pause Foodrage, And swore it suld be he. When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men bound to bed, King Honour and his gaye ladye In a hie chamber were laid. Then up and raise him, Fause Foodrage, When a' were fast asleep. And slew the porter in his lodge. That watch and ward did keep. O,^ four and twenty silver keys Hung hie upon a pin : And aye, as ae door he did unlock. He has fastened it him behind. Then up and raise him. King Honour, Says — ' What means a' this din ? Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage, Or wha has loot you in ? ' — ' O ye my errand weel sail learn Before that I depart.' — Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp. And pierced him to the heart. Then up and got the queen hersell. And fell low down on her knee ; ' O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage, For I never injured thee. O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage ! Until I lighter be ! And see gin it be lad or lass, King Honour has left wi' me.- — T. M. Joy del. Mary Aon "Williams sc. 1G8 W' dFause J^oo^iase. % -^iTf^*;??-. i. ^ ' O gin it be a lass,' he says, ' Weel nursed it sail be ; But gin it be a lad bairn, He sail be hanged hie. I winna spare for his tender age, Nor yet for his hie hie kin ; But soon as e'er he born is. He sail mount the gallows pin.' — four-and-twenty valiant knights "Were set the queen to guard : And four stood aye at her bouir door, To keep both watch and ward. But when the time drew near an end, That she suld lighter be, She cast about to find a wile. To set her body free. O she has birled these merry young men With the ale but and the wine, Until they were a' deadly drunk As any wild-wood swine. ' O narrow, narrow, is this window, And big, big, am I grown!' — Yet through the might of our Ladye, Out at it she has gone. She wandered up, she wandered down. She wandered out and in ; And, at last, into the very swine's stythe. The queen brought forth a son. Then they cast kevils them amang, Which suld gae seek the queen ; And the kevil-fell upon Wise William, And he sent his wife for him. ^ T. M. Joy del. Mary Ann Williams sc. 2C 169 m O when she saw Wise William's wife, The queen fell on her knee ; ' Win up, win up, madam ! ' she says : ' What needs this courtesie ? ' — ' out o' this I winna rise, Till a boon ye grant to me ; To change your lass for this lad bairn. King Honour left me wi'. And ye maun learn my gay goss-hawk Right weel to breast a steed ; And I sail learn your turtle dow As weel to write and read. And ye maun learn my gay goss-hawk To wield baith bow and brand ; And I sail learn your turtle dow To lay gowd wi' her hand. At kirk and market when we meet, We '11 dare make nae avowe, But — Dame, how does my gay goss-hawk ? — Madame, how does my dow?'* • " This metaphorical language," says Scott, " was cus- tomary among tlie northern nations. In 925, King Adelstein sent an embassy to Harald Harfager, King of Norway, the chief of which presented tliat prince witli a sword. As it was presented by the point, the Norwegian chief, in receiving it, unwarily laid hold of tlie hilt. The English ambassador declared, in the name of his master, that he accepted tlie act as a deed of liomage. The Norwegian prince resolving to circumvent his rival by a similar artifice, sent, next summer, an embassy to Adelstein, the chief of which pre- sented Haco.the son of Harald, to the English prince ; and, placing him on his knees, made tlie following declaration -. — ' Earaldus, Nonnanorum Rex, amice te salutat; albamque hanc avem bene institutam mittit, utque meliua deinceps erudias, postulat.' The King received young Haco on his knees, which the Norwegian accepted, in the name of his master, as a declaration of inferiority; according to the proverb, ' /* minor semper hahetvr, qtn alterius filiutn educat.' " ik T. M. Joy del. Mary Ann Willianaa 8C. TTo — '^A iFause jFooTjrage. ^ ^ Wten days were gane, and years came on, Wise William he thought lang ; And he has ta'en King Honour's son A-hunting for to gang. It s§,e fell out, at this hunting, Upon a simmer's day. That they came by a fair castell, Stood on a sunny brae. * O dinna ye see that bonny castell, Wi' halls and towers sae fair ? Gin ilka man had back his ain. Of it you suld be heir.' — ' How I suld be heir of that castell. In sooth, I canna see ; For it belangs to Fause Foodrage, And he is na kin to me.' * O gin ye suld kiU him, Fause Foodrage, You would do but what was right ; For, I wot, he killed your father dear. Or ever ye saw the light. And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, There is no man durst you blame ; For he keeps your mother a prisoner, And she dauma take ye hame.' — The boy stared wild like a grey goss-hawk, Says, — 'What may a' this mean?' * My boy, ye are King Honour's son. And your mother 's our lawful queen.' ' O gin I be King Honour's son, By our Ladye I swear. This night I will that traitor slay. And relieve my mother dear ! ' — ik T. M.Joy del Mary Ann "Williams sc. 171 J^ati0c dFootJTase He has set liis bent bow to his breast, And leaped the castell wa' ; And soon he has seized on Fanse Foodrage, Wha loud for help 'gan ea'. ' O hand your tongue, now, Fause Foodrage, Frae me ye shanna flee ;' — Syne pierced him through the fause, fause heart, And set his mother free, And he has rewarded Wise William Wi' the best half of his land ; And sae has he the turtle dow, Wi' the truth o' his right hand. ENEYIEYE. This exquisitelybeautiful ballad is the com- position of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whose rank is high among the veritable poets of our age and country, and whose poems will endure as long as the language in which they are written. It was composed at an early period of his life; and seems to be a record of some actual memory — one of those ordinary events which stir the heart and excite the imagination, and transmute common materials into pure gold. The leading senti- ment is akin to that expressed in some lines equally touching, entitled, " Recollections of Love :" — Flow u wiirni this woodlimd wild recess, Love surely liiith been breathing here; And this sweet bed of heath, my dear, Swells up, then sinks with fain cai-ess, As if to have you yet more near ! Eight springs have flown since last 1 lay On sea-ward Quantoek's heathy hills, Wliere quiet sounds from hidden rills Float here and there, like things astray, And high o'er-head the skylark shrills. As when a mother doth explore The rose-mark on lier long-last child, I met, I loved you, maiden mild ! As whom I long had luved before, — So deeply had I been beguile I ! You stood before me like a thought, A dream remembered in a dream ; But when those meek eyes first d'd seem To tell me Love within you wrought, — O, Greta, dear domestic stream ! — Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep, — Has not Love's whisper evermore Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar? Sole voice, when other voices sleep. Dear under-song in Clamour's hour! No voice as yet had made the air Be music with your name ; yet why That asking look ; that yearning sigh. That sense of promise every where? Beloved ! flew your spirit by? As there is no "history " attached to this poem, we may occupy our space with some brief memorials concerning the life and writings of the distinguished poet. Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born on the 20th of October, 1772, at Ottery St. Mary, in Devonshire. His father was a learned clergyman ; and the poet was the youngest of eleven children. In 1782, he was admitted into Christ's hospital, London, where, according to his own account, he " enjoyed the inestimable advantage of a very sen- sible, though, at the same time, a very severe master." At a premature age, even before his fifteenth year, he had " bewildered himself in metaphysical and theological controversy ;" yet he pursued his studies with so much zeal and perseverance, that, in 1791, he became Grecian, or captain of the school, which entitled him to an exhibition at the University : he was entered at Jesus College, Cambridge. Three years afterwards, " in an inauspiciotis hour, he left the friendly cloisters," without assigning any cause, and without taking his degree ; and again came to London. There without the means of support, he wandered for some days about the streets, and enlisted in the 15th Dragoons. While doing duty at Reading, he wrote, on the wall of the staole, a Latin sentence. Elieu! quam iiifortunii miserrimum est fuisse felicem. It chanced to meet the eye of one of the officers. The inquiry that followed led to his discharge. In 1794, he published a small volume of poems. Subsequently, the taint of French repuljlicanism fell upon him; and he lectured at Bristol in praise of the dajmon that had stolen in, and was for a time welcomed, in the garb of liberty. In 1795, he married; and in 1798, he visited Germany. In 1800, he returned g^^l to England ; and although he had formerly professed Unitarianism, and had "^ preached to a congregation at Taunton, he hecame a firm adherent to the doctrines of Christianity ; or, to use his own expression, found a " reconversion." Afterwards, he "wasted the prime and manhood of his intellect" as the editor of a newspaper. During the last nineteen years of his life he resided with his faithful and devoted friends, Mr. and Mrs. Gillman, at Highgate, — lecturing occasionally, writing poetry and prose, and delighting and instructing all who had the good fortune to be admitted to his society. He died on the 25th of July, 1834. The friends who knew him best, and under the shelter of whose roof-tree the latter and the happier years of his chequered life were passed, have recorded their opinion of his character on the tablet that marks his grave in the church at Highgate ; and all who enjoyed the privilege of his acquaintance will bear testimony to its truth. It tells of his profound learning and discursive genius ; his private worth ; his social and Christian virtues: and adds, that his disposition was unalterably sweet and angelic; that he was an ever-enduring, ever- loving friend; the gentlest and kindest teacher ; the most engaging home-companion : — Plulosopher contemning wealtli and death, Yet docile, cliild-like, full of life and love. Hazlitt, who knew him in his youth, describes him as rather above the middle size, inclined to corpulency ; as having a dreamy countenance, a forehead broad and high, with large projecting eye-brows, and " eyes rolling like a sea with darkened lustre." The description apphes with almost equal accuracy to the poet in age. The wonderful eloquence of his conversation is a prominent theme with all who have written or spoken of him : it was full of matter. His bookish lore, and his wide and intimate acquaintance with men and things were enlivened by a grace and sprightliness absolutely startling : his manner was singularly attractive, and the tones of his voice were perfect music. During the later years of his life, it was our own privilege occasionally to enjoy his society ; and the beneficial and gratifying hours so passed are among the most pleasant and profitable of our memories. Few have obtained greater celebrity in the world of letters ; yet few have so wasted the energies of a naturally great mind; few, in short, have done so little of the purposed and promised much. Some of the most perfect examples that our language can supply are to be found among his poetry, full of the simplest and purest nature, yet pregnant with the deepest and most subtle philosophy. His judgment and taste were sound and refined to a degree ; and when he spoke of the " little he had pub- lished," as being of " little importance," it was because his conception of excellence exceeded his power to convey it. Those who read his wildest productions — " Chris- tabel," and " The Ancient Mariner" — will readily appreciate the fertile imagination, and the prodigious strength of the writer ; and if they turn to the gentler efforts of his genius, they will find many illustrations of a passage which prefaces an edition of his " Juvenile Verses :" — " Poetry has been to me its ' exceeding great reward :' it has soothed my afflictions, it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has endeared solitude ; and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me." i All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame. All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour. When midway on the mount I lay. Beside the ruined tower. Franklin del. Armstrong sc. ''^M. W'- (Bfenebicbe. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve ; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve ! She leaned against the armed man, The statue of the armed knight ; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own. My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story — An old rude song, that suited well That ruia wild and hoary. 1 She listened with a flitting blush. With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For well she knew I could not choose. But gaze upon her face. I told her of the knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand ; And that for ten long years he wooed The Lady of the Land. I told her how he pined : and ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love. Interpreted my ovra. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; And she forgave me, that I gazed Too fondly on her face I Franklin del. Armstrong sc 176 ^- m ^cncbicbe. But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely knight, And that he crossed the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night ; That sometimes from the savage den. And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, — There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright ; And that he knew it was a fiend ; This miserable knight ! And that, unknowing what he did. He leaped amid a murderous band. And saved from outrage worse than death The Lady of the Land ; — And how she wept, and clasped his knees ; And how she tended him in vain — And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain ; — And that she nursed him in a cave ; And how his madness went away. When on the yellow forest-leaves A dying man he lay ; — His dying words — but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty. My faultering voice and pausing harp Disturbed her soul with pity ! All impulses of soul and sense Had thriDed my guileless Genevieve 5 The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve ; Franklin del. Armstrong bc SD 177 ©enebiebe. ^ w 4> IcU And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, And undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued. Subdued and cherished long ! She wept with pity and delight, She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; And, like the .murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved — she stepped aside, As conscious of my look she stept — Then suddenly, with timorous eye She fled to me and wept. She half enclosed me with her arms, She pressed me with a meek embrace ; And, bending back her head, looked up, And gazed upon my face, 'Twas partly love, and partly fear. And partly 'twas a bashful art, That I might rather feel, than see. The swelling of her heart. I calmed her fears, and she was calm. And told her love with virgin pride ; And so I won my Grenevieve, My bright and beauteous bride. ^■- Franklin del Nicholla sc JaIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. This fine and pathetic old ballad we borrow from Dr. Percy, who gives it "from a modern printed copy, picked up on a stall ;" and although its age is unquestionable, it does not appear that an earlier edition of it has yet been recovered. Its date is, perhaps, very remote ; for although the language has been modernised, it retains many tokens of antiquity ; and passages of it were quoted by Fletcher, in his play of " The Knight of the Burning 'Pestle." The full title of the ballad " picked up" by Dr. Percy, is " Fair Margaret's Misfortunes ; or Sweet William's Frightful Dreams on his Wedding Night, with the Sudden Death and Burial of those Noble Lovers." In extracting it, we have omitted the two concluding stanzas ; they * ^ are, evidently, additions of some " other hand," and by their meanness, essen- tially weaken the touching picture by which the story is terminated. It may be well, however, to introduce them here, where they will less prejudice the beautiful and pathetic composition. The lines are designed to "draw out" the fine and natural idea of the rose and brier growing out of the graves of the hapless lovers : — They grew as high as the cliurcli top, Till they could grow no liigher; And there they grew in a true lover's knot, Made all the folke admire. Then came the clerk of the parish, As you this truth shall hear. And hy misfortune cut them down. Or they had now been there. Many of the old ballad-makers have introduced a similar incident ;— the rose and brier springing from the earth that covered the graves of youths and maidens, whose loves were " pleasant," and who " in death were not divided." Thus, in " Lord Thomas and Fair Annet :" — And ay they grew, and ay they tlirew. As they wad faine he neare. And in the Douglas Tragedy, after the "twa" had "met," and the "twa" had « plat ;"— By and rade the black Douglas. And wow but he was rough ! For he pulled up the bonny brier, And flanged it in St. Maries lough. To the passage quoted by Fletcher, we are indebted for the ballad of " William and Margaret," written by David Mallet ; which Dr. Percy distinguishes as " one of the most beautiful ballads to be found in our own or any language." Mallet had never seen the poem which Dr. Percy recovered ; he expresses his belief that it was " not any where to be met with ;" and adds, that " the few lines, naked of "^i^ ornament and simple as they are, struck his fancy;" and "bringing fresh into his mind an unhappy adventure, much talked of formerly, gave birth to the composition." The air of this ballad of Mallet's we introduce : — P The ballad of "Fair Margaret and Sweet William," it is probable, originated also another poem of touching interest and high merit. It is entitled " Sweet William's Ghost," and was, we believe, first published by Allan Ramsay in the " Tea Table Miscellany." In this, the spirit of the dead lover appears to the maiden, demanding back his " faith and troth," and replying to the question of her whose heart was true : — ' There's no room at ray head, Marg'ret, There'a no room at my feet ; Tliere's no room at my side, Marg'ret, My coffin 's made so meet.' * In Jamieson's version of " Sweet William and Fair Annie," the concluding incidents of the ballad are also preserved. We question, however, if either the poem written by Mallet, or that which Ramsay prints, is equal in pathos, character, and dramatic interest, to the ballad we copy from the "Rellques" of Dr. Percy. Every line is a picture; few com- positions, even of old times, are more earnestly condensed ; so thoroughly record a long history within a very limited space ; or with so much eloquence bring before the mind the sad doom of the two lovers — the broken hearts of both. • It is this stanza that Fletcher quoted in "The Knight of the Burning Pestle," where ''Merrythought" enters repeating it; altered somewliat, however, from the version of Dr. Percy, thus : — When it was grown to dark midnight, And all were fast asleep. In came Margaret's grimly ghost. And stood at William's feet ! Part of a verse is also quoted, which does not appear in the ballad, but which it is more than probable belonged to it : — ' You are no love for me, Marg'ret, 1 am no love for you.' As the "stall copy," printed by Dr. Percy, was certainly subjected to some " ingenious alterations," the original was, perhaps, as a whole, infinitely superior even to the fine composition of which, only, we are at present possessed. It will be seen that the main incidents and the leading features are common to several ballads ; and perhaps they were all derived from one great source. FAIR MARGARET & SWEET WILLIAM. As it fell out on a long summers day, Two lovers they sat on a hill ; They sat together that long summers day, And could not talk their fiU. ' I see no harm by you, Margaret, And you see none by me ; Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock A rich wedding you shall see.' Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window. Combing her yellow hair ; There she spyed sweet William and his bride, As they were a ridiag near. Jackson sc. dFair iHargaret antr Stoeet 512aiUiam, Warren del Jackson sc. Then down she layd her ivory combe, And braided her hair in twain : — She went alive out of her bower, But ne'er came alive in 't again. When day was gone, and night was come. And all men fast asleep, Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, And stood at "Williams feet. ' Are you awake, sweet "WUliam ?' she said ; ' Or, sweet "William, are you asleep ? G-od give you joy of your gay brid6-bed, And me of my winding sheet.' When day was come, and night was gone, And all men waked from sleep. Sweet William to his ladye sayd, * My dear, I have cause to weep ; I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye. Such dreams are never good : I dreamt my bower was full of red wine. And my bride-bed full of blood.' — ' Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir. They never do prove good : To dream thy bower was full of red wiue. And thy bride-bed full of blood.' He called up his merry men all, By one, by two, and by three ; Saying, ' I '11 away to fair Marg'rets bower, By the leave of my ladye.' And when he came to fair Marg'rets bower. He knocked at the ring ; And who so ready as her seven brethren To let sweet William ia. 182 jFair iJHiargaret antJ 5toect ^Milliam. Then he turned up the covering-sheet, — ' Pray let me see the dead : Methinks she looks all pale and wan, She hath lost her cherry red. I'll do more for thee, Margaret, Than any of thy kin ; For I will kiss thy pale \7an lips, Though a smile I cannot win.' With that bespake the seven brethren. Making most piteous mone : ' Tou may go kiss your jolly brown bride, And let our sister alone.' ' If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, I do but what is right ; I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse By day, nor yet by night.* * The following are the concluding stanzas of Jamieson's ballad, " Sweet Willie and Fair Annie " : — Pale Willie grew, wae was his heart. And sair he sighed wi' teen : 'Oh Annie 1 had I kent thy worth, Ere it o'er late had been ! It 's I will kiss your bonny cheek. And I will kiss your chin ; And I will kiss your clay-cald lip 5 But I'll never kiss woman again. And that I was in love outdone. Sail ne'er be said o' me ; For as ye 've died for me, Annie, Sae will I do for thee ! The day ye deal at Annie's burial. The bread but and the wine ; Before the morn at twall o'clock. They'll deal the same at mine.' The tane was buried in Mary's kirk. The tither in Mary's quire; And out o' the tane there grew a birk. And out 0' the tither a brier. And ay they grew, and ay they drew, Untill they twa did meet ; And every one that past them by, Said, ' Thae's twa lovers sweet." "Warren del, Jackson sc. 183 :fe X^^r HE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. This ballad, copied from the "Rellques of Ancient English Poetry," Dr. Percy confesses to be " for the most part modern." He pro- ^J. bably derived some hints for the composition from his " folio MS. ;" but the greater portion of it bears evidence of being the production of his own pen. The incidents are chiefly taken from the old story-book of "The '/ Seven Champions of Christendome," which, though now "the plaything of children," was once in high repute. It was written by "one Richard Johnson, who lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James." So much doubt exists concerning the early history of this patron saint of the Order of the Garter, that his very existence has been questioned. Dr. Pettingal, in a " Dissertation on the original of the figure of St. George and the Dragon," published in 1753, discourses very learnedly on its symbolic meaning ; declaring that it anciently typified the " malignity of the air (under the form of a serpent) purified and made wholesome by the action of the sun" (symbolized by the mounted horseman). He asserts that the Egyptian gnostics used this symbol of the sun, in its propitious influences, as a device on their amulets, in expectation of victorj', and that from them it descended to the Christians. He engraves one of these antique amulets, from Montfaucon, which certainly bears a singular resemblance to St. George and the Dragon, and affirms it to be no saint, but an Arian of that name, and he thinks it unlikely that the orthodox Western world should confer any distinction upon one they must have considered as a " pestilent heretic." Constantine, he says, placed on his coins a figure of himself, mounted on horseback, and destroying a serpent, to signify his triumph over the devil, or pagan- ism. He combats the idea of charms or amulets being worn in England down to the ordination of the Garter, by an allusion to the laws which regulated trial by battle in the time of Edward III. and Richard II., when the duellists were sworn not to retain about their persons any " majicall" stone, or herb, or charm, &c., by which they might overcome their enemies. Butler, in his " Lives of the Saints," says that the Saint became the patron of the military because he had been military himself, having been " tribune or colonel in the army," under the Emperor Diocletian, who still further promoted him ; all which posts he resigned when that emperor persecuted the Christians, and for which he was beheaded. Ilis apparition appeared to encourage the Christian army under Godfrey of Bouilloigne and Richard I., in their expedition against the Saracens ; and hence he was chosen as their patron saint, from the interest thus taken in the crusades. He adds, " St. George is usually painted on horseback, and tilting at a dragon under his feet ; but this is no more than an emblematical figure, purporting, that, by faith and Christian fortitude, he conquered the devil, called the dragon in the Apocalypse. Others imagine that St. Michael destroying the dragon is the origin of this represen- tation of St. George. The story of a saint, or deity, spearing a dragon, was known in the East from the earliest periods : among the Mahometans, a person called Gergis, or George, was revered as a prophet, and was so represented. Similar emblems have been discovered among other nations of the East. Whether these nations took it from the Greeks, or 2E 185 the latter from them, cannot be ascertained; for, of the real existence of such a person as St. George, no positive proofs have ever been advanced. Chanceler, the first Englishman who discovered Russia, speaking of a dispatch sent from Ivan Vassilievitch to Queen Mary, says that it had appended to it a seal " much like the broad seal of England, having on one side the image of a man on horseback, in complete armour, fighting with a dragon ;" and this figure appears to have been in common use by the Russian princes on their coins, &c., long before the institution of the Garter, in England, which took place on St. George's Day, April 23, 1350. The representation of St. George, here copied, is from an illumination in a thick folio volume of Romanus, most splendidly ornamented, which was presented to King Henry VI. by Talbot, the great Earl of Shrews- bury, and which is now among the royal manu- scripts in the British Museum. It shows us St. George, in complete armour, spearing the dragon ; while behind stands the king's daugh- ter, who was about to be sacrificed to the monster, dressed in the costume of a lady of rank in the reign of Henry VI., and holding a lamb, typical, perhaps, of her purity, or innocence. To this circumstance reference is made in the old ballad of " St. George and the Dragon :" The king and queen, and all their train. " Farewell, my father dear," quoth she ; " And my sweet mother meek and mild. Take you no thought, nor weep for me. For you may have another child : Since for my country's good I dye. Death I receive most willinglye." With weeping eyes went then their way. And let their daughter there remain. To be the hungry dragon's prey : But as she did there weeping lye. Behold St. George came riding by. . \\ Dr. Percy, in his " Introduction" to the ballad, says, " the equestrian figure worn by the Knights of the Garter, has been understood to be an emblem of the Christian warrior, in his spiritual annour, vanquishing the old serpent." Independent of the figure of St. George and the Dragon, appended to the collar of the Order of the Garter, is the badge, worn on ordinary occasions by the knights, called "The George,", and which was constantly worn in former times by the companions of the order. It was the figure of the Saint, on horse- back, spearing the dragon, and was hung round the neck by a blue ribbon. There is an engraving, by Hollar, of the " George" worn by Charles I., and which that monarch gave to Bishop Juxon, on the scaflFold, at his execution: it was made to open by a spring, like a locket, and contained a portrait of the Queen Henrietta Maria. Our engraving is a copy from the representation of this interesting relic. 1»6 -Listen, lords iu bower and hall ! I sing the wondrous birth .^ ^ ^.,•m^-_ N\i^: 'V' W.B Scott uei H. Vizetelly sc. Cte 9Sirt!) ai St. ©r^orae. Distressed ladies to relieve He travelled many a day ; In honour of the christian faith, Which shall endure for aye. In Coventry sometime did dwell A knight of worthy fame, High steward of this nohle realme, Lord Albert was his name : He had a wife a princely dame, Whose beauty did excell, — This virtuous lady, being with child. In sudden sadness fell : For thirty nights, no sooner sleep Had closed her wakeful eyes. But, lo ! a foul and fearful dream Her fancy would surprise : — She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell Conceived within her womb. Whose mortal fangs her body rent Ere he to life could come ! All woe-begone, and sad was she. She nourisht constant woe ; Yet strove to hide it from her lord. Lest he should sorrow know. In vain she strove ; her tender lord. Who watched her slightest look. Discovered soon her secret pain. And soon that pain partook. And when to him the fearful cause She weeping did impart, With kindest speech he strove to heal The anguish of her heart. ^1 W, B. Scott del. H. Vizetelly sc. 188 ' Be comforted, my lady dear, Those pearly drops refrain ; Betide me weal, betide me woe, I'll try to ease thy pain. And for this foul and fearful dream, That causeth all thy woe, Trust me I'll travel far away, But I'U the meaning knowe.' Then giving many a fond embrace, And shedding many a teare, To the weird lady of the woods. He purposed to repaire. To the we'ird lady of the woods, Full long and many a day, Through lonely shades and thickets rough He winds his weary way. At length he reached a dreary deU, With dismal yews o'erhung ; "Where cypress spred its mournful boughs, j| And pois'noua nightshade sprung. No chearful gleams here pierced the gloom, ? He hears no chearful sound ; But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream, And serpents hissing round. The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts ^ Ean howling through his ear : A chilling horror froze his heart, Though aU unused to fear. Three times he strives to win his way, And pierce those sickly dews : Three times to bear his trembling corse His knocking knees refuse. W. B. ficcLl del FolVaid ac 189 ^ ll\ !i m K\ rr- mm \\% /n w At length upon liis beating breast He signs the holy crosse ; And, rouziag up bis wonted migbt, He treads th' unballowed mosse. Beneatb a pendant craggy cliff, All vaulted like a grave, And opening in tbe solid rock, He found the inchanted cave. An iron gate closed up the mouth, All hideous and forlorne ; And, fastened by a silver chain. Near hung a brazed borne. Then offering up a secret prayer, Three times he blowes amaine : Three times a deepe and hollow sound Did answer him agaiae. ' Sir Knight, thy lady beares a son. Who, like a dragon bright. Shall prove most deadful to his foes, And terrible ia fight. His name advanced ia future times. On banners shall be worn : But, lo ! thy lady's life must passe Before he can be bom.' All sore opprest with fear and doubt Long time Lord Albert stood ; At length he winds his doubtful way Back through the dreary wood. Eager to clasp his lovely dame, Then fast he travels back ; But when he reached his castle gate. His gate was hung with black. W. B. Scott del. FcJkaid 8C. 190 •as^tma^fSsfMSis^^^s Cte i^ittf) of St. (Sfeorse. In every court and hall he found A sullen silence reigne ; Save where, amid the lonely towers, He heard her maidens 'plaine ; And bitterly lament and weep With many a grievous grone ; Then sore his bleeding heart misgave, His lady's life was gone. With faultering step he enters in, Yet half affraid to goe ; With trembling voice asks why they grieve, Tet fears the cause to knowe. ' Three times the sun hath rose and set,' They said, then stopt to weep, * Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare In death's eternal sleep. !For, ah ! in travail sore she fell, So sore that she must dye ; Unless some shrewd and cunning leech Could ease her presentlye. But when a cunning leech was fet, Too soon declared he. She, or her babe must lose its life ; Both sav^d could not be. Now take my life, thy lady said ; My little infant save : And O ! commend me to my lord. When I am laid in grave. O ! teU him how that precious babe Cost him a tender wife ; ^^Aud teach my son to lisp her name, t^ Who died to save his life. tsiii^ H. Vizetel'.y ac. Ci^e ^ixifi oi SSt, (iReorge. Then calliiig still upon thy name, And praying still for thee, Without repining or complaint, Her gentle soul did flee.' What tongue can paint Lord Albert's woe,- The bitter tears he shed, — The bitter pangs that wrung his heart To find his lady dead ! He beat his breast, he tore his hair. And, shedding many a tear, At length he askt to see his son — The son that cost so dear. New sorrowe seized the damseUs all : At length they faultering say : ' Alas, my lord ! how shall we tell ? Thy son is stoln away. Fair as the sweetest flower of spring, Such was his infant mien : And on his little body stampt. Three wonderous marks were seen : A blood-red cross was on his arm ; A dragon on his breast ; A little garter all of gold Was round his leg exprest. Three carefull nurses we provide, Our little lord to keep ; One gave him sucke, one gave him food, And one did lull to sleep. But, lo ! all in the dead of night. We heard a fearful sound : Loud thunder clapt ; the castle shook ; And lightning flasht around. W. B. Scott del. Folkard sc. 1D2 Ci^e Mxii} of St. ©eorge W. B. Scott de] Koikard sc Dead with affright at first we lay ; But rousing up anon, We ran to see our little lord — Our little lord was gone ! But how or where we could not tell ; Por, lying on the ground, In deep and magic slumbers laid, The nurses there we found.' ' O grief on grief!' Lord Albert said : No more his tongue cou'd say. When falling in a deadly swoone. Long time he lifeless lay. At length restored to life and sense, He nourisht endless woe ; No future joy his heart could taste, No future comfort know. So withers on the mountain top A fair and stately oake, Wliose vigorous arms are torn away By some rude thunder-stroke. At length his castle irksome grew, He loathes his wonted home ; His native country he forsakes. In foreign lands to roame. There up and downe he wandered far. Clad in a palmer's gown, Till his brown locks grew white as wool, His beard as thistle down. At length, all wearied, down in death He laid his reverend head. — Meantime amid the lonely wilds His little son was bred. 193 W B. Scctt del Armstrong ec. HE MERMAID. This beautiful ballad is the com- position of Dr. John Leyden, and was originally pub- lished in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." It is founded, writes Sir Walter Scott, " upon a Gaelic traditional ballad called Macphail of Colonsayand the Mermaid of Corrivrekiu." The dangerous gulf of Corrivrekin lies between the islands of Jura and Scarl)a, and the superstition of the islanders has tenanted its shelves and eddies with all the fabulous monsters and demons of the ocean. Among these, according to a imiversal tradition, the mermaid is the most remarkable. In her dwelling, and in her appearance, the mermaid of the northern nations resembles the Y^ siren of the ancients. " Tiie Gaelic story bears, that Macphail of Colonsay was carried off by a mermaid, while passing the gulf above raentioijed : that they resided together, in a grotto beneath the sea, for several years, during which time she bore him five children : but finally, he tired of her society, and, having prevailed upon her to carry him near the shore of Colonsay, he escaped to land." Legends of the mermaid, and of their loves for mortal men, are, however, common to nearly every country of the globe — so common, indeed, that many sensible authors have reasoned upon the probabilities of their actual existence ; and some stories of their occasional appearances rest upon authorities that can scarcely be characterised as apocryphal. Sir Walter Scott himself, in a note to the ballad, has a passage which may lead to the inference that he was by no means altogether sceptical on the subji-ct. " I cannot help adding," he says, " that some late evidence has been produced, serving to shew, either that imagination played strange tricks with the witnesses, or that the existence of mermaids is no longer a matter of question. I refer to tlie letters written to Sir John Sinclair, by the spectators of such a phenomenon, in the bay of Sandside, in Caithness."* He adds that it would be easy to quote a variety of writers concerning the supposed being of these " marine people." — " The reader may consult the ' Telliamed' of M. Maillet, who, in support of the Neptunist system of geology, has collected a variety of legends, respecting mermen and mermaids, p. 230, et sequen. Much information may also be derived from Pontopiddan's ' Natural History of Norway,' who fails not to people her seas with the amphibious race. An older authority is to be found in the " Kongs shuggsio, or Royal Mirror,' written, as it is believed, about 1170. The mermen, there mentioned, are termed hafstrambur (sea-giants), and are said to have the upper parts resembling the human race ; but the author, with becoming diflidence, declines to state, positively, whether they are equipped with a dolphin's tail. The female monster is called Mar-Gyga (sea-giantess), and is averred certainly to drag a fish's train. She appears generally in the act of devouring a fish, which she has caught. According to the apparent voracity of her appetite, the sailors pretend to guess what chance they had of saving their lives in the tempests, which always followed her appearance." • The reader may remember that some years ago, " a veritable mermaid" was exhibited in London. The cheat was discovered, however, upon close examination. The lady of the B4a had been manurac- tured in Japan, out of the upper part of an ourang outang and the tail of a tish. In Cromek's " Remains of Nitlisdale and Galloway song," was published a ballad, entitled "Tlie Mermaid of Galloway;" understood to be the production of Mr. Allan Cunningham, who received the substance of the story "from tradition;" and " tradition," lie states, "is yet rich with the fame of the bewitching mermaid. Her favourite haunts were along the shores of the Nith and Orr, and on the edge of the Solway Sea, which adjoins the mouth of those waters. Her beauty was such, that man could not behold her face, but his heart was fired by unquenchable love ; and, as usual, whenever she was seen, she was occupied in combing her " long hair of burning gold." " According to Lowland mythology," he adds, " they are a race of goddesses, corrupted with earthly passions ; their visits to the world, though few and far between, are spoken of and remembered with awe ; their affections were bestowed on men of exalted virtue and rare endowment of persons and parts. They wooed in such a strain of syren eloquence, that all hearts were fettered by the witcheries of love. When their celestial voice dropt on the ear, every other faculty was enthralled. They caught the beloved object in their embrace, and laid him on a couch, where mortal eyes might search in vain into the rites of such romantic and mysterious wedlock." The hero of this story is said to have been one of the Maxwells, of Cowe- hill : he is wiled away from the arms of his betrothed bride by a song of the syren, — "the sweetest sang ere brake frae a lip;" lulled to sleep among the water-lilies; and taken over the white " sea-faem ;" while the earthly damsel is left to mourn his loss. The mystery of his disappearance is, however, thus explained to her : — It was i' tlie mid-hour o' tlie night, Her siller bell did ring; An' souii't as if nae earthlie hand Had pou'd the silken string. There was a cheek touch'd that ladye's, Cauld as the marble stane; An' a hand csiuld as the drifting snaw, Was laid on her breast-bane. ' cauld is thy hand, my dear Willie ; O cauld, cauld is thy cheek : An' wring thae locks o' yellow hair, iVae which the cauld draps dreep.' • O seek another bridegroom, Marie, Ou tliae bosom-faulds to sleep; My bride is the yellow water-lilie, Its leaves my brydal sheet 1' Mr. Cunningham records two or three striking anecdotes relative to the popular belief, and Sir Walter Scott supplies others; the most remarkable, however, are told by Waldron, in his " History of the Isle of Man." One of them we copy : — " A very beautiful mermaid fell in love with a young shepherd, who kept his flocks beside a creek much frequently by these marine people. She frequently caressed him, and brought him presents of coral, fine pearls, and every valuable production of the ocean. Once upon a time, as she threw her arms eagerly round him, he suspected her of a design to draw him into the sea, and, struggling hard, disengaged himself from her embrace, and ran away. But the mermaid resented either the suspicion, or the disappointment, so highly, that she threw a stone after him, and flung herself into the sea, whence she never returned. The youth, though but slightly struck with the pebble, felt, from that moment, the most excruciating agony, and died at the end of seven days." In Ireland, stories of the mermaid — there called the " Merrow" — are very abundant ; we have conversed with many of the peasants who would readily depose, upon oath, to having repeatedly seen them ; and there, as well as elsewhere, they are always ^countered Combing their yellow hair. Ok Jura's heath how sweetly swell The munniirs of the mountain bee ! How softly mourns the writhed shell, Of Jura's shore, its parent sea ! But softer, floating o'er the deep, The mermaid's sweet sea-soothing lay, ,. - That charmed the dancing waves to sleep, Before the bark of Colonsay. b'ranklm del. Green bo. r Cf)e iBrrmaitJ. ^'^J'^f iK \ Aloft the purple pennons wave, As parting gay from Crinan's shore, From Morven's wars the seamen brave Their gaUant chieftain homeward bore. In youth's gay bloom, the brave Macphail StUl blamed the lingering bark's delay; For her he chid the flagging sail, The lovely Maid of Colonsay. And ' raise,' he cried, * the song of love, The maiden svmg with tearful smile, When first, o'er Jura's hills to rove, We left afar the lonely isle ! — When on this ring of ruby red Shall die,' she said, ' the crimson hue, Know that thy favourite fair is dead. Or proves to thee and love untrue.' Now, lightly poised, the rising oar Disperses wide the foamy spray, And, echoing far o'er Crinan's shore, Resounds the song of Colonsay. ' Softly blow, thou western breeze, Softly rustle through the sail ! Soothe- to rest the furrowy seas. Before my love, sweet western gale ! Where the wave is tinged with red. And the russet sea-leaves grow, Mariners, with prudent dread, Shiin the shelving reefs below. As you pass through Jura's sound, Bend your course by Scarba's shore, Shun, O shun, the gulf profound. Where Corrivrekin's surges roar ! Franklin del. Brans ton sc. lys -^ ^ Cf)e iKermaitJ. m If, from that unbottomed deep, With wrinkled form and wreathed train, O'er the verge of Scarba's steep, The sea-snake heave his snowy mane, TJnwarp, unwind his oozy coils, Sea-green sisters of the main, And, in the gulf where ocean boils. The unwieldy wallowing monster chain. Softly blow, thou western breeze. Softly rustle through the sail ! Soothe to rest the furrowed seas, Before my love, sweet western gale ! ' Thus, all to soothe the chieftain's woe, Far from the maid he loved so dear. The song arose so soft and slow. He seemed her parting sigh to hear. The lonely deck he paces o'er. Impatient for the rising day. And still, from Crinan's moonlight shore. He turns his eyes to Colonsay. The moonbeams crisp the curling surge, That streaks with foam the ocean green: While forward still the rowers urge Their course, a female form was seen. That sea-maid's form of pearly light. Was whiter than the downy spray. And round her bosom, heaving bright. Her glossy yellow ringlets play. Borne on a foamy-crested wave. She reached amain the bounding prow. Then clasping fast the chieftain brave, She, plunging, sought the deep below. Franklin del Brans ton sc. 19'J C|e iEmnaiti. Ah ! long beside thy feigned bier, The monks the prayers of death shall say, And long, for thee, the frmtless tear Shall weep the Maid of Colonsay ! But downwards, like a powerless corse, The eddying waves the chieftain bear ; He only heard the moaning hoarse Of waters, murmuring in his ear. The murmurs sink by slow degrees ; i No more the surges round him rave ; Lulled by the music of the seas, He lies within a coral cave. In dreamy mood reclines he long. Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose ; TiU, warbling wild, the sea-maid's song. Far in the crystal cavern rose ; Soft as that harp's unseen control. In morning dreams which lovers hear. Whose strains steal sweetly o'er the soul. But never reach the waking ear. As sunbeams through the tepid air, When clouds dissolve the dews imseen. Smile on the flowers that bloom more fair. And fields that glow with livelier green ; So melting soft the music fell ; It seemed to soothe the fluttering spray — ' Say, heardst thou not these wild notes swell?' * Ah ! 't is the song of Colonsay.' Like one that from a fearful dream Awakes, the morning light to view. And joys to see the purple beam, Tet fears to find the vision true, — Fr«nklin d, ^ /- On ! gentle huntsman, softly tread, And softly wind thy bugle-horn ; Nor rudely break the silence shed Around the grave of Agilthom ! Oh ! gentle huntsman, if a tear E'er dimmed for others' woe thine eyes, Thou 'It surely dew, with drops sincere, The sod where Lady Eva lies. Kedgrave A.R.A. del. WaimBley sc. ■r\ » R A ^ p* ^ OTTUt Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound Their hands and hearts beheld them plight; Long held yon towers, with ivy crowned, The beauteous dame and gallant knight. Alas ! the hour of bliss is past. For hark ! the din of discord rings : "War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast. And trembling plies his radiant wings. And must sad Eva lose her lord ? And must he seek the martial plain ? Oh ! see she brings his casque and sword ; Oh ! hark, she pours her plaintive strain ! * Blessed is the village damsel's fate. Though poor and low her station be ; Safe from the cares which haunt the great. Safe from the cares which torture me ! No doubting fear, no cruel pain, No dread suspense her breast alarms ; No tyrant honour rules her swain, Ajid tears him from her folding arms. She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks, In pleasing toil consumes the day ; And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks. Or joins her rustic lover's lay. Though hard her couch each sorrow flies The piUow which supports her head ; She sleeps, nor fears at mom her eyes Shall wake, to mourn a husband dead. Hush, impious fears ! the good and brave, Heaven's arm will guard from danger free; When death with thousands gluts the grave, His dart, my love, shall glance from thee ; RRoaftrave A.R.A. del £astdn so. 216 "While thine shall fly direct and sure, This buckler every blow repel ; This casque from wounds that face secure, Where all the loves and graces dwell. This glittering scarf, with tenderest care, My hands in happier moments wove ; Cursed be the wretch, whose sword shall tear The spell-bound work of wedded love ! Lo ! on thy falchion keen and bright, I shed a trembling consort's tears ; Oh ! when their traces meet thy sight, Remember wretched Eva's fears ! Think how thy lips she fondly pressed, Think how she wept — compelled to part ; Think, every wound which scars thy breast, Is doubly marked on Eva's heart !' — ' O thou ! my mistress, wife, and friend ! ' — Thus Agilthom with sighs began ; ' Thy fond complaints my bosom rend. Thy tears my fainting soul unman : In pity cease, my gentle dame, Such sweetness and such grief to join ! Lest I forget the voice of Eame, And only list to Love's and thine. Plow, flow, my tears, unbounded gush ! Eise, rise, my sobs, I set ye free : Bleed, bleed, my heart ! I need not blush To own that life is dear to me. The wretch whose lips have pressed the bowl. The bitter bowl of pain and woe. May careless reach his mortal goal, May boldly meet the final blow : R. Redgrave A.R.A. del Bastin sc. 21 217 His hopes destroyed, his comfort wrecked, A happier life he hopes to find ; But what can I in heaven expect, Beyond the bliss I leave behind ? Oh, no ! the joys of yonder skies. To prosperous love present no charms ; My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes, My paradise in Eva's arms. Tet mark me, sweet ! if Heaven's command Hath doomed my fall in martial strife, Oh ! let not anguish tempt thy hand To rashly break the thread of life ! No ! let our boy thy care engross, Let him thy stay, thy comfort be ; Supply his luckless father's loss, And love him for thyself and me. So may oblivion soon efface The grief which clouds this fatal mom ; And soon thy cheeks afford no trace Of tears which fall for AgUthom ! ' He said ; and couched his quivering lance : He said ; and braced his moony shield : — Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance, Then spurred his steed to Elodden Field. But Eva, of all joy bereft, Stood rooted at the castle gate. And viewed the prints his courser left, While hurrying at the call of fate. Forebodings sad her bosom told, The steed which bore him thence so light, Her longing eyes would ne'er behold Again bring home her own true knight, R RedArave A.R A. del. Fred. Branston so. 218 Sir agiltijom. While many a sigh her bosom heaves, She thus addressed her orphan page : — ' Dear youth, if e'er my love relieved The sorrows of thy infant age : If e'er I taught thy locks to play, Luxuriant round thy blooming face ; If e'er I wiped thy tears away. And bade them yield to smiles their place: Oh ! speed thee, swift as steed can bear, Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead ; And, o'er the combat, home repair, And tell me how my lord has sped. Till thou return' st each hour 's an age, An age employed in doubt and pain ; Oh ! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page, Oh ! haste and soon return again.' ' Now lady dear, thy grief assuage. Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain ; I 'U haste, I '11 haste, thy little foot-page, I '11 haste, and soon return again.' Then Osway bade his courser fly ; But still, while hapless Eva wept, Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply, So slow the tedious moments crept. And oft she kissed her baby's cheek, Who slumbered on her throbbing breast ; And now she bade the warder speak, And now she lulled her child to rest. ' Good warder, say, what meets thy sight ? What see'st from the castle tower?' ' Nought but the rocks of Elginbright, Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower.' B. Redgrave A.R.A. del 219 Bix afiiltf)orn. ,-- ■>^' -' ' Oh, pretty babe ! thy mother's joy, Pledge of the purest, fondest flame, To-morrow's sud, dear helpless boy, May see thee bear an orphan's name. Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword The life-blood of thy father drains ; Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gored, "Whose streams supplied thy little veins. O warder, from the castle tower, Now say what objects meet thy sight ?' ' None but the shades of Forest-Bower, None but the rocks of Elginbright,' ' Smil'st thou, my babe ? so smiled thy sire, When, gazing on his Eva's face, His eyes shot beams of gentle fire, And joyed such beams in mine to trace. Sleep, sleep, my babe ! of care devoid : Thy mother breathes this fervent vow — Oh, never be thy soul employed On thoughts so sad as hers are now ! Now warder, warder, speak again ! What seest thou from the turret's height?' ' Oh, lady, speeding o'er the plain. The little foot-page appears in sight ! ' Quick beat her heart, short grew her breath ; Close to her breast the babe she drew — ' Now, heaven,' she cried, ' for life or death !' And forth to meet the page she flew. ' And is thy lord from danger free ? And is the deadly combat o'er ?' — In silence Osway bent his knee, And laid a scarf her feet before. IS^£^ B. Redftrave A. R.A. del. Walmaley i 220 5tt ^0ilti)orn. The well-known scarf with blood was stained, And tears from Osway's eyeHds fell ; Too truly Eva's heart explained, What meant those silent tears to te!l. ' Come, come, my babe !' she wildly cried, ' We needs must seek the field of woe : Come, come, my babe ! cast fear aside ! To dig thy father's grave we go.' ' Stay, lady, stay ! a storm impends ; Lo ! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread ; The thunder roars, the rain descends, And lightning streaks the heavens with red. Hark, hark, the winds tempestuous rave ! Oh ! be thy dread intent resigned ! Or, if resolved the storm to brave, Be this dear infant left behind !* * No, no ! with me my baby stays ! With me he lives ; with me he dies ! Flash, lightnings, flash ! your friendly blaze Will shew me where my warrior lies.' O see she roams the bloody field, And wildly shrieks her husband's name : O see she stops and eyes a shield, A heart the symbol, wrapt in flame. His armour broke in many a place, A knight lay stretched that shield beside ; She raised his vizor, kissed his face, Then on his bosom sunk and died. Huntsman, their rustic grave behold : 'T is here, at night, the fairy king, Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold. Oft forms his light fantastic ring. jQ^J R. Redgrave A.R.A. del. Fred Branstcn sc. 221 OHNIE OF BREADISLEE. This is styled by Sir Walter Scott " an ancient Nithsdale ballad," the hero of which ap- pears to have been an outlaw and dear-stealer ; probably one of the broken men residing upon the border. It is some- times said that he possessed the old castle of Morton, in Dumfries-shire, now ruinous : — " Near to this castle there was a park, built by Sir Thomas Randolph, on the face of a very great and high hill ; so artificially, that, by the ad- vantage of the hill, all wild beasts, such as deers, 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 voluntarily leap in, or were forced to do it, it is doubted if their owners were permitted to get them out again." But the date of Johnie's history must be very remote, for the scene of his exploits has been reduced from the condition of a deer-forest to that of a cultivated domain from a time " beyond the memory of tradition."* There are several versions of the ballad ; the one we have selected is that printed by Sir Walter Scott — " from the diflferent copies." Mr. Motherwell reprints it, but gives also these fragments of a more ancient composition, entitled " Johnie of Braidisbauk :" — Johnie rose up on a May morning, Called for water to wash liis Lands; And he 's awa' to Braidisbanks, To ding the dun deer down. Johnie lookit east, and Jo)inie lookit west, And it 's lang before tlie sun ; And tliere did lie spy the dun deer lie, Beneath a bush of brume. Johnie shot, and the dun deer lap. And he 's wounded her in the side ; Out then spake his sister's son, ' And the neist will lay her pride.' They 've eaten sae mickle o' the gude venison. And they 've drunken sae muckle o' theblude; That they 've fallen into as sound a sleep. As gif that they were dead. It 's doun, and it's doun, and it 's doun, doun, And it 's doun amang tlie scroggs ; And there ye '11 espy twa bonny boys lie. Asleep amang their dogs. They 've waukened Johnie out o' his sleep. And he 's drawn to him his coat; ' My fingers five save me alive. And a stout heart fail me not !' Mr. Motherwell gives also the music to which the old ballad was sung : — m * [IS I LTLPT ^ ^;p' isij ^^ZP ^ And Mr. Motherwell suggests the introduction of the following beautiful stanza (preserved by Mr. Finlay), after the nineteenth stanza in the printed copy. It is, as * Another tradition, according to Motherwell, assigns Braid, in the neighbonrhood of Edinburgh, to have been the scene of the " woful hunting ;" — " and," writes Mr. Cunningham, " Breadeslee, near Lochmabeii, has been pointed out as the more probable residence of the hero of the song ; and the scenery in the neighbourhood, and the traditions of the country, countenance the supposition." >^ he justly remarks, " so descriptive of the languor of approaching death," that it is sur- prising Sir Walter Scott should have omitted to adopt it : — ' There 's no a bird in a' this forest Will do as mickle for me, As dip its wing in the wan water. And straik it on my e'e bree.' Another copy has been printed by Robert Chambers — Scottish Ballads — partly taken from the ballads of Scott and Motherwell, and partly from the " recitation of a lady resident at Peebles, and from a MS. copy submitted to him by Mr. Kinloch." He publishes, for the first time, no fewer than ten additional stanzas ; we select three, as indicating that the hero held a higher station than that of a mere deer-stealer : — His cheeks were like the roses red. His neck was like the snaw : He was the bonniest gentleman, My eyes they ever saw. His coat was o' the scarlet red, His vest was o' the same; His stockings were o' tlie worset lace. And buckles tied to the same. The shirt that was upon his back, Was o' the holland fine ; The doublet that was over that. Was o' the Lincoln twine. These stanzas, however, may have been a modem interpolation. Mr. Cunningham, also, prints a version, into which he has evidently introduced some improvements of his own. We copy the concluding verse : — • Oh lay my brown sword by my side, And my bent bow at my feet ; And stay the howling o' my gray dogs, That sound may be my sleep.' His dogs are dead, his bent bow broke, And his shafts that flew sae free ; And he lies dead near Durisdeer, Fair Johnie of Breadislee. The daring exploits of border outlaws are the themes of many ancient ballads ; the reckless character of their lives, their indomitable courage, and continual escapes from their enemies and the law, suggested favorable topics to the old minstrels ; several of them are singular for the adventures they describe, although few advance very high claims to poetic merit. One of the most striking is published by Ritson (" Ancient Songs"), and re-published, with " better readings," by Scott. It is entitled by Ritson " The Life and Death of Sir Hugh of the Grime ;" and by Scott, " Hughie the Graeme." The following are the introductory verses : — 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 broadsword by my side ; And if that thou canst conquer me, The matter it may soon be tryed.' ' I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief ; Although thy name be Hughie the Grteme, I 'E make thee repent thee of thy deeds. If God but grant me life and time.' 224 JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE. JoHNiE rose up in a May morning, Called for water to wash his hands — ' Gar loose to me the gude graie dogs, That are bound wi' iron bands.' When Johnie's mother gat word o' that, Her hands for dule she wrang — ' O Johnie ! for my benison, To the greenwood dinna gang ! yibson del SK Lid ton sc. Sio^nic of ^xtatii^ltt. 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 bend 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. 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 the deer sae weel, J That he's had out her liver and lungs ; And wi' these he has feasted his bluidy hounds, Linton sc. As if they had been earl's sons. They eat sae much o' the venison. And drank sae much o' the blude. That Johnie and a' his bluidy hounds, FeU asleep as they had been dead, , And by there came a siUy auld carle, An iU death mote he die ! For he's awa' to Hislinton, "Where the seven foresters did lie. ' What news, what news, ye gray headed carle, What news bring ye to me ?' ' I bring nae news,' said the grayheaded carle, ' Save what these eyes did see. As I came down by Merriemass, And dovra among the scroggs, 226 Sibson del. Linton sc. The bonniest childe 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 Hncome 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 OAver them a' — ' If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, Nae nearer will we draw.' But up and spak this sixth forester (His sister's son was he), ' If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, We soon shall gar him die !' 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 die.' 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. 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. ' O is there nae a borinie bird, Can sing as I can say ? — Could flee away to my mother's bower, And tell to fetch Johnie away ?' 227 * ^otnie of iarratiiglee. The starling flew to his mother's window stane, It whistled and it sang ; And aye the ower word o' the tune Was — ' J ohnie tarries lang ! ' They made a rod o' the hazel bush, Another o' the slae-thom tree, And mony, mony were the men At fetching o'er Johnie. Then out and spak his auld mother, And fast her tears did fa' — ' Te wad nae be warned, my son Johnie, Frae the hunting to bide awa'. Aft hae I brought to Breadislee, The less gear and the mair ; But I ne'er brought to Breadislee, What grieved my heart sae sair. But wae betyde that silly auld carle. An ill death shall he die ! 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 slaia ; And his bodie lies dead in Durrisdeer, And his hunting it is done. JV;JV^ Sibson del ■ ^ ■■1 1 WW ^ Linton sc. sAsati ^^ \f^. U.t/'>> HE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. This ballad was first published in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border ;" hut other versions of it were, previously, in circulation, and it is stated by Sir Walter Scott to have been " a very great favourite among the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest," where it is universally believed to be founded on fact. Sir Walter, indeed, " found it easy to collect a variety of copies ;" and from them he collated the present edition — avowedly for the purpose of " suiting the tastes of these more light and giddy-paced times." A copy is contained in Motherwell's " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern ;" another, in Buchan's " Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland :" it, no doubt, originated the popular composition beginning — Busk ye, busk ye, my bouny, bonny bride, by Hamilton, of Bangour, first published in Ramsay's " Tea Table Miscellany ;" and suggested the ballad " The Braes of Yarrow," by the Rev. John Logan. In Herd's collection, in Ritson's " Scottish Songs," and in the " Tea Table Miscellany," are to be found fragments of another ballad, entitled " Willie's drowned in Yarrow, of which this is the concluding stanza : — She sought him east, she sought him west. She souglit him braid and narrow; Syne in the cleaving of a craig, She found him drowned in Yarrow. Indeed, " Yarrow stream" has been a fertile source of poetry, and seems to have inspired the poets ; the very sound is seductive : and, as Mr. Buchan remarks, " all who have attempted to sing its praise, or celebrate the actions of those who have been its visitors, have almost universally succeeded in their attempts." The ballad he publishes, is entitled "The Braes of Yarrow ;" it bears a close resemblance, in its more prominent features, to that collated by Sir W^alter Scott, but is far more rugged and less poetic ; take for example the opening verse : — Ten lords sat drinking at the wine, Intill a morning early ; < There fell a combat them amang, It must be fought — nae parly. The version preserved by Mr. Motherwell was taken down " from the recitation of an old woman in Kilbarcan," and is chiefly valuable as shewing the state in which the song is preserved in the west of Scotland. It is entitled " The Dowie Downs of Yarrow." The main incidents are similar to those contained in the ballad of Scott ; but the style is, as may be expected, much inferior. The two introductory verses may suffice as a sample of the whole : — There were three lords birling at the wine. On the Dowie Downs o' Yarrow ; They made a compact them between. They would go fecht to-morrow. ' Thou took our sister to be thy wife. And thou ne'er thocht her thy marrow ; Thou stealed her frae her daddie's back. When she was the rose o' Yarrow.' 229 Another version was published by Robert Chambers, in his " Scottish Ballads," — " chiefly taken from a fragment in Herd's collection (which we have introduced in a note), a few stanzas and lines from Buchan's copy, and part of a ballad printed by Jamieson, entitled ' Lizie Lindsay,'" which Jamieson gives in an imperfect, and Buchan in an entire, shape. Mr, Chambers, however, has been " under the necessity of alter- ing several lines and verses, and re-writing others." Mr. Allen Cunningham, also, prints yet another version, principally copied from that of Sir Walter Scott, but omitting the three first verses, and reforming the remainder. Mr. Cunningham states, that " he had seen a fragment of the same song in the handwriting of Burns," — of which he has given three verses ; the first is as follows : — ' Wliere sliall I gang, my ain true love. Where shall I gang to hide me ? For weel I ken, i' yere father's bower. It wad be death to find me.' ' go you to yon tavern house. And there count o'er your lawin ; Ajid if I be a woman true, I'll meet you in the dawin.' That the several versions of the story, scattered among the people, and preserved by them in some form or other, had one common origin there can be little doubt. " Tradition," according to Sir Walter Scott, " places the event recorded in the song very early, and it is probable the ballad was composed soon afterwards, although the language has been modernised in the course of its transmission to us, through the inaccurate channel of oral tradition." " The hero of the ballad," he adds, " was a knight of great bravery, called Scott ;" and he believes it refers to a duel fought at Deucharswyre, of which Annan's Treat is a part, betwixt John Scott, of Tushielaw, and his brother-in-law, Walter Scott, third son of Robert of Thirlstane, in which the latter was slain. Annan's Treat is a low muir, on the banks of the Yarrow, lying to the west of Yarrow kirk. Two tall unhewn masses of stone are erected about eighty yards distant from each other, and the least child, that can herd a cow, will tell the passenger, that there lie " the two lords who were slain in single combat." Sir Walter also informs us that, according to tradition, the murderer was the brother of either the wife or the betrothed bride of the murdered ; and that the alleged cause of quarrel was, the lady's father having proposed to endow her with half of his property upon her marriage with a warrior of such renown. The name of the murderer is said to have been Annan, hence the place of combat is still called Annan's Treat. The music to which the ballad was sung has been given by Sir Walter Scott : — h 230 Franklm dei Fred, transton sc. C1)c Botoie Btm of ©arroto. S ' O fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! fare ye weel, my Sarah ! For I maun gae, though I ne'er return Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow.' She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, As oft she had done before, O ; She belted him with his noble brand. And he's away to Yarrow. As he gaed up the Tennies bank, 1 wot he gaed wi' sorrow, Till, down in a den, he spied nine armed men, On the dowie houms of Yarrow. ' O ! 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 ?' — ' 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 aU, ye're nine to ane. And that's an unequal marrow ; Yet will I fight while lasts my brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.' Four has he hurt, and five has slain, On the bonnie braes of Yarrow ; Till that stubborn knight came him behind. And ran his body thorough. ' Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, And tell your sister Sarah To come and lift her leafu' lord ; He's sleeping sound on Yarrow.' — FraxikliD deL Fred. Branston sc. 232 '■^Bm C^f BobJie Bnts of l^arroto. ^ ffi * Test'reen I dreamed a dolefu' dream ;* I fear there will be sorrow ! I dreamed I pu'd the heather green, 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 faireth ! * But ia the glen strive armed men ; They 've wrought me dole and sorrow ; They 've slaia — 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 slaia men. On the dowie banks of Yarrow. * Tlie following ia the fragmeut given by Mr. Herd, "to tlie tone of Leaderhangbs and Yarrow ; " — ' I dream'd a dreary dream last night : God keep us a' frae sorrow ; I dream'd I pu'd the birk sae green, Wi' my true luve on Yarrow.' ' I '11 read your dream, my sister dear, I '11 tell you a' your sorrow : You pu'd the birk wi' your true luve ; He 's kill'd, he 's kill'd, on Yarrow.' ' gentle wind, that bloweth south. To where my luve repaireth. Convey a kiss from his dear mouth. And tell me how he fareth. ' But o'er yon glen run arm^d men. Have wrought me dule and sorrow ; They 've slain, they 've slain, ta comehest swain. He bleeding lies on Yarrow.' ik Franklin del. Fred. Branston sc. 2L 233 ^ ^f^t Botote Btm of ^arroto. She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, She searched his wounds all thorough ; She kissed 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'll wed ye to a better lord Than him ye lost on Yarrow.' ' haud your tongue, my father dear ; Ye mind me but of sorrow ; A fairer rose did neyer bloom Than now lies cropped on Yarrow.' ^. Franklin de]. Evans sc. T?- HE BONNIE BAIRNS. This exquisitely touching ballad we take from the " Songs of Scotland, Ancient and Modern," edited by Allan Cunningham. The editor modestly states that he " has ventured to arrange and eke out these old and remarkable verses ; but," he says, " I have no right to claim any more merit from their appearance than what arises from inducing the stream of the story to glide more smoothly away." He adds, ^^^^/^ " It is seldom, indeed, that song has chosen so singular a theme ; but the superstition it involves is current in Scotland." The extent of the alterations to which the old " and remarkable verses" were subjected must now be left to conjecture; but it is probable that the original was really nothing more than the crude outline of a story referred to in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," and printed entire in Mother- well's " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern," and in Buchan's "Ancient Ballads." If so, the ballad we here publish must be considered as, in reality, the composition of Mr. Cunningham ; for the leading incident is altogether difFerent,and infinitely more pathetic as well as more natural, while it is superior in style and imagery to the rough old rhymes that occur in the collections referred to. One of them, — that which Motherwell prints, — we give in a note. Buchan, in his copy, prints other " burthens of no meaning and much childishness," and his version diflFers in several respects from that of Motherwell ; but the variations are probably only those to which it had been subjected in its transfer "from mouth to mouth." A stanza or two of Buchan's ballad will content the reader : — " she had her to her father's ha', Edinbro', Edinbro', She had her to her father's ha', Stirling for aye ; She had her to her father's ha'. She was the meekest maid amang them a'. So proper Saint Johnston stands fair upon Tay. " It fell ance npon a day, Edinbro', Edinbro', It fell ance upon a day, Stirling for aye ; It fell ance upon a day She saw twa babies at their play, So proper Saint Johnston stands fair upon Tay." Both the Ballads are called " The Cruel Mother ;" but Mr. Buchan prints another entitled " The Minister's Daughter of New York," in which, also, occurs the incident of the mother meeting the spirits of her dead bairns. Here the mother asks what sort of death she must die, in atonement for her sin ; to which the babes reply— " Yes, cruel mother, we 'U tell to thee, Hey wi' the rose and tbe liiidie, 0, What sort of death for us you maun die, Alone by the green bom sidie, 0. " Seven years a fool in the woods, Hey wi' the rose and the lindie, 0; Seven years a fish in tlie floods, Alone by the green burn sidie, 0. " Seven years to be a church bell. Hey wi' the rose and the lindie, ; Seven years a porter in liell. Alone by the green born sidie, 0." 2M 235 The ballad of " Lady Anne," referred to as contained in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," is but a fragment. The story indicated is similar to that recorded in the poems we have quoted. The following are three of the stanzas, of which only nine have been preserved : — " Out of the wood came three bonnie boys. Upon the simmer's morn. And they did sing and play at the ba'. As naked as they were born. " ' seven lang years wad I sit here, Amang the frost and snaw, A' to liae bnt ane o' these bonnie boys, A playing at the ba'.' " Then up and spake the eldest boy, ' Now listen thou fair ladie. And ponder well the rede that I tell, Tlien make ye a choice of the three ' " In the introduction, Sir Walter states it to correspond with a fragment, containing the following verses, which he " had often heard sung in his childhood :" — " She set her back against a thorn. And there she has her young son born : • O smile nae sae, my bonny babe ! An ye smile sae sweet, ye '11 smile me dead.' • •••*••• An' when that lady went to the church. She spied a naked boy in the porch. " ■ bonny boy, an ye were mine, I 'd dead ye in the silks sae fine.' — ' mother dear, when I was thine. To me ye were na half sae kind.' " All the ancient copies picture the bairns as consigning their wretched mother to eternal misery. Mr. Cunningham, it will be observed, gave the story a more natural aud far more touching character — making the children intercede for the sinner at the throne of grace. In its present form it is an exquisite poem — one of the most beautiful and most valuable of the many relics left to us by Allan Cunningham ; and which are often so completely allied to the spirit of the old minstrels, as to leave us uncertain whether the authorship really belongs to the modern poet, or to some rhymer of many centuries ago. The poetical reputation of Allan Cunningham was made and is sustained by his ballads and lyrical pieces. They are exquisite in feeUng and character, elegant in style, graceful in expression, and natural in conception. They seem, indeed, the mere unstudied outpourings of the heart ; yet they bear the strictest and most critical in- spection of those who consider elaborate finish to be at least the second requisite of writers of song. His own country supplied him with fertile themes ; but the peculiar dialect of Scotland (in which he frequently wrote), his good taste prevented from rendering harsh or even inharmonious to southern ears. When his compositions first found their way into Cromek's " Remains of Niths- dale and Galloway Song," where they were printed as ancient, they were received with an applause that at once startled and amused the writer. Dr. Percy boldly declared they were too good to be old ; and Sir Walter Scott has more than once said that not even Burns himself had enriched Scottish song with more beautiful effusions. a. Corbould del J. Baslin sc. • .» The tane it puU'd a red, red rose, With a hand as soft as silk ; The other, it pull'd the lily pale, With a hand mair white than milk. 'Now, why pull ye the red rose, fair bairns ? And why the white lily ? ' ' O we sue wi' them at the seat of grace, For the soul of thee, ladie ! ' ' O bide w' me, my twa bonnie bairns ! I'll cleid ye rich and fine ; And all for the blaeberries of the wood, Yese hae white bread and wine.' She heard a voice, a sweet low voice, Say, ' Weans, ye tarry lang' — She stretch' d h er hand to the youngest bairn, * Kiss me before ye gang.' u She sought to take a lily hand, And kiss a rosie chin — * 0, nought sae pure can bide the touch i) Of a hand red-wet wi' sin !' j,^ ii The stars were shooting to and fro, n And wild fire fill'd the air, J! As that lady follow' d thae bonnie bairns J! For three lang hours and mair. ^ ' O ! where dwell ye, my ain sweet bairns ? )icho]l8 ac. ©lenfinlas. O, sprung from great Macgillianore, The chief that never fear'd a foe, How matchless was thy broad claymore, How deadly thine unerring bow I Well can the Saxon 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, in festal day, How blazed Lord Eonald's beltane-tree. While youths and maids the light strathspey So nimbly danced with Highland glee ! Cheer' d by the strength of Eonald's shell. E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; But now the loud lament we swell, O ne'er to see Lord Eonald 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, 'Twas Moy ; whom in Colmnba'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 wandering 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. H. J. Townsend del G. P. NicboUs BC. 24 i i&Iettftnlas. O 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 stUl, when dewy eveniag fell. The quarry to their hut they drew. In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook The solitary cabia stood, Past 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. Now in their hut, in social guise. Their silvan fare the Chiefs enjoy ; And pleasure laughs iu Eonald's eyes. As many a pledge he quafis 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 ? H. J. Townsend del. J. Walmsley ac. 245 iBflenfinlas. % ' To chase tlie 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 may'st 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 shalt 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 Moma's death, No more on me shall rapture rise, E-esponsive to the panting breath. Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. ' 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. ' 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. ^ G. P. Nicho.la sc. 246 ' The bark thou saw'st, yon summer mom, 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 Bemnore. ' Thou only saw'st their tartans wave, As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, Heard' st 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 bidst me think of bliss. And bidst my heart awake to glee. And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — That heart, O Eonald, bleeds for thee ! ' I see the death-damps chUl 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 evU hour ! Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams. Because to-morrow's storm may lour ? ' 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. li)] H. J. Townsend del J. Waimaley sc. 247 ' E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, My Mary's buskins brush the dew.' He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell. But cali'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. Within an hour return' d each hound ; In rush'd the rousers of the deer; They howl'd iu melancholy sound. Then closely couch' d 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-fixe'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 gUmmering Ught, Close by the minstrel's side was seen An huntress maid, in beauty bright, AH 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 Grlenfinlas' moonlight glade, A lovely maid in vest of green : ^ ik H. J. Townsend del. F. W. Branston so. 248 cwe«e^<; i ATHARINE JANFARIE. Of this ballad— first published in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border"— the editor informs us that it is " given from several recited copies." It has obviously undergone some alteration ; yet much of the rugged character of the original has been retained. The scenery of the ballad is said, by tradition, to lie upon the banks of the Cadden-water, "a small rill which joins the Tweed (from the north) betwixt Inver- leithen and Clovenford." It is also traditionally stated that Katharine Janfarie "lived high up in the glen" — a beautiful and sequestered vale, connected with Traquair, situated about three miles above Traquair House. The recited copies, which it is probable Sir Walter Scott collected the verses he has \ here brought together, exist in Buchan's " Ancient Ballads and Songs," and in (y Motherwell's " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern." It derives interest and im- portance, however, less from its intrinsic merit, than from the circumstance of its having given to Scott the hint upon which he founded one of the most brilliant and spirit-stirring of his compositions — the famous and favorite ballad of Young Lochin- var. It will gratify the curious to compare the passages in the two that most nearly resemble each other. We, therefore, print the following extracts from Young Lochinvar, taken from the notes to the modern edition of the " Minstrelsy": — ' Then spoke the hride's father, liis hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) O, come ye in peace here or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?' ' I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied. Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,— And now I am come with tliis lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.' 'Tlie bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.' m. 'One touch to her liand, and one word in her ear. When they reach'd the liall door, and the charger stood near ; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; Tliey 'U have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.' Gordon of Lochinvar was, we are told, the head of a powerful branch of that name, afterwards Viscounts of Lochinvar. Motherwell's version, entitled Catherine John- CS> ^^ "W stone, was " obtained from recitation in the West of Scotland," and shows the state in which the "popular ballad" is there preserved. The "Laird o' Lamington" here figures; and it is worthy of remark, as proving a common origin, that •' the Laird of Lamington" was the title given to the ballad in the first edition of the Border Min- strelsy. A few stanzas from Motherwell's version will exhibit the variations between the two copies. The Lord of Lamington having received tidings that his lady-love was about to be wedded to an English gentleman, suddenly enters the wedding-house, where •Four and twenty belted knights Sat at a table round ;' who rose to honour and to welcome him ; the ballad thus proceeds : — O, meikle was the good red wine, In silver cups did flow ; But aye slie drank to Lamington, For with Iiim would she go. O, meikle was the good red wine, In silver cups gaed round ; At length they began to whisper words, ^^one could them understand. ' O came ye here for sport, young man. Or came ye here for play ? Or came ye for our bonny bride. On this her wedding day?' 'I came not here for sport,' he Baid, ' Neither did I for play ; But for one word o' your bonnie bride, I '11 mount and go away.' Tliey set her maids behind her, To hear what they would say ; But the first question he ask'd at her. Was always answer'd nay ; Tlie next question, he ask'd at her. Was ' Mount and come away !' It 's up the Couden bank. And down the Couden brae : And aye she made the trumpet sound. It 's a weel won play. O, meikle was the blood was shed. Upon the Couden brae ; And aye she made the trumpet sound. It 's a' fair play. Of the two versions to which we have referred, and another published by Mr. Buchan, Mr. Robert Chambers has composed a fourth. Several stanzas, however, are obviously borrowed from other sources, — Gil Morrice especially. The following passages occur towards the conclusion : — There were four and twenty bonnie boys, A' clad in Johnstone-grey ; They said they would take the bride again, By the strong hand, if they may. Some o' them were right willing men, But they were na willing a' ; And four and twenty Leader lads Bade them mount and ride awa'. Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides. And swords flew frae the sheas j And red and rosy was the blude Ban down the lilye braes. The blood ran down by Cadden bank. And down by Cadden brae ; And, sighing, said the bonnie bride, ' O, wae 's me for foul play 1' ' My blessing on your heart, sweet thing 1 Wae to your wilful will 1 There 's mony a gallant gentleman Whose blude ye hae garr'd spill.' 268 KATHARINE JANFARIE. Theee was a may, and a weel-far'd may, Lived high up in yon glen : Her name was Katharine Janfarie, She was courted by mony men. Up then came Lord Lauderdale, Up £pae the Lawland Border ; And he has come to court this may, A' mounted in good order. C. H. Wei^al del. E. Landells sc. -.4- nr itati^arinp ^anfarie. E. Landeils He told na her father, he told na her mother, And he told na ane o' her kin ; But he whisper' d the bonnie lassie hersell, And has her favour won. Bat out then came Lord Lochinvar, Out frae the English Border, All for to court this bonny may, Weel mounted, and in order. He told her father, he told her mother, And a' the lave o' her kin ; But he told na the bonny may hersell. Till on her wedding e'en. She sent to the Lord o' Lauderdale, Grin he wad come and see ; And he has sent word back again, Weel answer'd she sidd be. And he has sent a messenger Bight quickly through the land, And raised mony an armed man To be at his command. The bride looked out at a high window, Beheld baith dale and down. And she was aware of her first true love. With riders mony a one. She scofied him, and scorned him, Upon her wedding day ; And said — " It was the Fairy court To see him in array ! " O come ye here to fight, young lord, Or come ye here to play ? Or come ye here to drink good wine Upon the wedding day ?" — 270 iSatiiattne gjanfarte. " I come na here to fight," he said, " I come na here to play ; I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride, And mount, and go my way." It is a glass of the blood-red wine "Was filled up them between, And aye she drank to Lauderdale, Wha her true love had been. C. H. WeiAail del E . Landells sc. He 's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve ; He 's mounted her hie behind himsell. At her kinsmen speir'd na leave.* " Now take your bride. Lord Lochinvar ! Now take her if you may ! But, if you take your bride again, We'U caU it but foul play." There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys, A' clad in the Johnstone grey ; They said they would take the bride again, By the strong hand, if they may. Some o' them were right willing men, But they were na willing a' : And four-and-twenty Leader lads Bid them mount and ride awa'. Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides. And swords flew frae the shea's, And red and rosy was the blood Ran down the lily braes. • [" One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, Wlien they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood near ; So lig}it to the croupe the fair lady lie swung. So hght to the saddle before her he sprung I ' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur : They '11 have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar.' Marmion'] 2R Maf^mnt 3ianfan>, The blood ran down by Caddon bank, And down by Caddon brae ; And, sighing, said the bonnie bride — " O wae's me for foul play !" My blessing on yoiu* heart, sweet thing ! "Wae to your wilfu' will ! There's mony a gallant gentleman "Whae's bluid ye have garr'd to spill. Now a' you lords of fair England, And that dwell by the English Border, Come never here to seek a wife, For fear of sic disorder. They'U haik ye up, and settle ye bye, Tm on your wedding day ; Then gie ye frogs instead of fish. And play ye foul, foul play. C H. Weigall del. £. Landells sc. (UDIGER.— The introduction of Southey's ballad of " Rudiger" into a collection of British Ballads would seem to require some explanation ; for " British" it assuredly is not, either in character, construction, or reference to the scene in which it is laid. It is, however, an essential part of our plan to give, as far as possible, an example of each of our leading British poets ; and this of Southey's appearing to be best suited to our purpose, we have adopted it. It was written so far back as the year 1796, — the year that to other ballads, fruits of the same powerful and fertile were originally printed among the " Tales of \\'onder," collected and edited by M. G. Lewis. The poet thus prefaced this striking composition of " Rudiger :" — Li^iS^ "Divfirs princes and noblemen being assembled in a beautiful and fair palace, which was situate upon the river Rhine, they beheld a boat, or small barge, make towards the shore, diawu by a swan with a silver chain, the one end fastened about her neck, the otlver to the vessel^ and in it an unknown soldier, a man of a comely personage and graceful presence, who stept upon the shore; whicli done, the boat, guided by tie swan, left him, and floated down the river. This man fell afterward in league with a fair gentlewoman, married her, and by her had many children. After some years the same swan came with tlie same barge into the same place; — the soldier entering into it, was carried thence the way he came, left wife, children, and family, and was never seen amongst them after." The few ballad productions of Southey were written when he was very young; and give no strong indications of the genius that subsequently placed him among the foremost men of his age and country. Robert Southey was born in Bristol, on the 12th of August, 1774, and died at Kes- wick on the 21st of March, 1843. Having given early promise of ability, his friends resolved that the advantages of a liberal education should be added to those which nature had bestowed upon him, and sent him, in 1787, to Westminster School. In 1792 he was entered at Baliol College, Oxford. During his residence in the Uni- versity he became infected with Jacobinical principles: but if some of his earlier pro- ductions contributed to disseminate pernicious doctrines, he amply compensated man- kind by the labours of a long life in the cause of virtue. In 1796, his first great poem, "Joan of Arc," appeared ; and his fame was completely established, when, in 1803, the romance of "Thalaha" issued from the press. Subsequently, until within a few years of his death, he was continually before the world; and there is scarcely a branch of literature to which he has not contributed. In 1813 lie accepted the office of Poet Laureate, on the death of Pye : — for nearly the first time, during at least a century, the office, instead of conferring, received dignity ; and in his successor we have an ample guarantee that it will not be again so used as to discredit the sacred calling of the Bard. In person, Southey was tall and handsome, with a clear and noble forehead, an aquiline nose, a profusion of hair, and uncommonly bright eyes : his voice was musical, full of gentleness and persuasion, and his smile was as winning as it was sweet : 573 his hair, once a curling and glossy black, retained the curls, but became as white as snow ; but his eyes were as bright, and his smile as winning, as they had been in his youth, when, some ten or twelve years ago, he was seen, for a brief space, in the Metropolis. His appearance in the great world, of late, became very rare. His distaste to the turmoils of life induced him to decline the offer of a seat in the House of Com- mons, to which he had been elected : apart from the bustle and feverish excitement of a city, he pursued his gentle and useful course from year to year ; " And to his mountains and his forests rude Chaunted in melody his classic song." He led the life of a scholar with as much steadiness of purpose and devotion as if he had bound himself to his books by a religious vow. His works are suflScient to form a library ; they are proofs of his amazing industry, no less than of his vast and compre- hensive learning. His wonderful genius may excite our admiration ; but the extent of his " profitable labour" is, indeed, prodigious. His character is as unspotted as that of any public man, living or dead. The world is aware that he had some enemies : no one ever deserved them less. His Mends were numerous, devoted, and firm : no one ever earned them better, or merited them more : — " We soon live down E\t1 or good report, if undeser\-ed." His political opponents have tendered evidence to the estimable character of both his head and heart. For many years he was one of the leading critics of the age ; and although there is abundant proof of his generous zeal in aiding young talent, there has never attached to him the suspicion of depressing it. The career of Southey supplies, indeed, the best answer to the absurd, but too generally received opinion, that a critic is of necessity acrimonious or unjust. For a considerable period before his death he had "quitted the society of the muses." His prose was very generally preferred to his poetry. It rarely happens that there is a preference with- out a disparagement. No poet of the past or present century has produced three such poems as " Thalaba," " Kehama," and " Roderick." Many have more excelled in delineating what they perceive in actual life, but none have given such astonishing proofs of power in creating. He has been called diffuse, by those who consider concen- tration the highest quality of a writer, — because there is a spaciousness and amplitude about his poetry. He lays all his thoughts before us ; but they never rush forth tumul- tuously : there are none that we can imagine the author afterwards anxious to recall. He excels in unity of design and congruity of character : and never did poet more nobly or more adequately express heroic fortitude and generous affections. In brief, the legacy bequeathed to posterity by one of the most virtuous of men, conscientious of critics, eloquent of poets, and most essentially English of all English prose-writers who have drunk from " the pure well," is a legacy wonderful for its magnitude, and of as rare value as if every tithe of it had been the produce of a long, active, and honest life. Up to the present time, little or nothing has been done to honour his memory, — literally nothing by the country that owes to him a large debt. RUDIGER. ^i^w f *" ' Bright on the mountain's heathy slope The day's last splendours shine, And, rich with many a radiant hue, Gleam gaily on the Rhine. K. M. Ward del WaJmeley sc- -^ i^u"biger. ^ And many a one from "Waldhurst's walls Along the river stroll' d, As ruffling o'er the pleasant stream The ev'ning gales came cold. So as they stray' d a swan they saw San stately up and strong, And by a silver chain he drew A little boat along, — Whose streamer to the gentle breeze Long floating flutter'd light, Beneath whose crimson canopy There lay reclin'd a knight. With arching crest and swelling breast On sail'd the stately swan, And lightly up the parting tide The little boat came on. And onward to the shore they drew, Where having left the knight. The little boat adown the stream Fell soon beyond the sight. Was never a knight in Waldhurst's walls Could with this stranger vie ; Was never a youth at aught esteem' d When Eudiger was by. Was never a maid in Waldhurst's walls Might match with Margaret ; Her cheek was fair, her eyes were dark. Her silken locks like jet. And many a rich and noble youth Had strove to Avin the fair ; But never a rich and noble youth Could rival Eudiger. K. M Ward deL WaimBley sc. 276 Kutiiger. =^. At every tilt and tourney he Still bore away the prize ; For knightly feats superior still, And knightly courtesies. His gallant feats, his looks, his love, Soon won the willing fair ; And soon did Margaret become The wife of Rudiger. Like morning dreams of happiness Fast roll'd the months away ; For he was kind and she was kind, And who so blest as they ? Yet Eudiger would sometimes sit Absorb' d in silent thought. And his dark downward eye woidd seem With anxious meaning fraught : But soon he rais'd his looks again, And smil'd his cares away. And mid the hall of gaiety Was none like him so gay. And onward roll'd the waning months — The hour appointed came. And Margaret her Eudiger Hail'd with a father's name. But silently did Eudiger The little infant see ; And darkly on the babe he gaz'd, — A gloomy man was he. And when to bless the little babe The holy Father came. To cleanse the stains of sin away In Christ's redeeming name, (fF ^^ dfe E. M.Ward del. Walmsley sc. 277 ^- m i^iitJiger. -^ (fF m ^A^ Then did the cheek of Eudiger Assume a death-pale hue, And on his clammy forehead stood The cold convulsive dew ; And falt'ring in his speech he bade The Priest the rites delay, Till he could, to right health restor'd, Enjoy the festive day. When o'er the many-tinted sky He saw the day decline, He called upon his Margaret To walk beside the Rhine ; " And we wiU take the little babe. For soft the breeze that blows, And the wild murmurs of the stream Will lull him to repose." * And so together forth they went ; The ev'ning breeze was mild, And Eudiger upon his arm PiUow'd the little child. * " Now who can judge this to be other than one of those spirits that are named incubi?" says Thomas lleywood, in liis " Notes to the Hierarchies of tlie Blessed Angels," a poem printed by Adam Islip in 1635. " I have adopted his story," writes Southey, "but not his solution, making the unknown soldier not an evil spirit, but one who liad purchased happi- ness of a malevolent being, by the promised sacrifice of liis first-born child." Southey has borrowed themes of other ballads from this quaint old writer; one in particular, " Donica," who moved about the world many years after she was dead, eating and diinking, "although very sparingly," and indicating the absence of the soul only by " a deep pale- ness on her countenance." At length a magician coming by where she was, in the company of other virgins, as soon as he beheld her he said, " Fair maids, why keep you company with this dead virgin, wliom you suppose to be alive ? " when taking away the magic charm which was bid iindt-r her arm, the body fell down lifeless and without motion. E. M.Ward del. Walmsley sc. 278 ^ dSl — **v~ :. And many a one from "Waldhurst's walls Along the banks did roam ; But soon the evening wind came cold, And all betook them home. Yet Rudiger in silent mood Along the banks would roam, Nor aught could Margaret prevail To turn his footsteps home. " Oh turn thee, turn thee, Rudiger ! The rising mists behold. The ev'ning wind is damp and chill, The little babe is cold!" " Now hush thee, hush thee, Margaret, The mists will do no harm. And from the wind the little babe Lies shelter' d on my arm." " Oh turn thee, turn thee, Eudiger ! Why onward wilt thou roam ? The moon is up, the night is cold, And we are far from home." He answer' d not, for now he saw A swan come sailing strong, And by a silver chain he drew A little boat along. To shore they came, and to the boat Fast leapt he with the child, And in leapt Margaret — breathless now, And pale with fear and wild. With arching crest and swelling breast On sail'd the stately swan, And lightly down the rapid tide The little boat went on. LD D. M. Ward del Warmsley sc. 28 279 3itutJifier. The full-orb'd moon, that beam'd around Pale splendour through the night, Cast through the crimson canopy A dim discolour' d light ; And swiftly down the hurrying stream In silence still they sail, And the long streamer flutt'ring fast Flapp'd to the heavy gale. And he was mute ia sullen thought, And she was mute with fear ; Nor sound but of the parting tide Broke on the list'ning ear. The little babe began to cry, Then Marg'ret rais'd her head, And with a quick and hollow voice " Give me the child!" she said. " Now hush thee, hush thee, Margaret, Nor my poor heart distress ! I do but pay perforce the price Of former happiness. " And hush thee, too, my little babe ! Thy cries so feeble cease : Lie still, lie still ; — a little while And thou shalt be at peace." So as he spake to land they drew, And swift he stept on shore, And him behind did Margaret Close follow evermore. It was a place all desolate, Nor house nor tree was there ; And there a rocky mountain rose. Barren, and bleak, and bare. l^ fi.M. "Ward del Walmsley sc. '^o^) '^A e^ iRiittget. ;p/.;;ii!;iiii;r.., i [iJ), And at its base a cavern yawn'd, No eye its depth might view, For in the moonbeam shining round That darkness darker grew. Cold horror crept through Margaret's blood, Her heart it paus'd with fear, "When Eudiger approach' d the cave, And cried, " Lo, I am here !" A deep sepulchral sound the cave Eeturn'd " Lo, I am here !" And black from out the cavern gloom Two giant arms appear. And Eudiger approach' d, and held The little infant nigh : Then Margaret shriek' d, and gather' d then New pow'rs from agony. And round the baby fast and close Her trembling arms she folds. And with a strong convulsive grasp The Uttle infant holds.* * Several of the translated bullads of Janiieson, Lewis, and otliers, record incidents of a similar character. When Southey borrowed the story, it was comparatively new to the English reader. It would be easy to quote many illustrative examples. Jamieson publishes one — from the Danish— entitled "The Merman and Marstig's Daughter," in which occurs the following stanza, — the wedlock being followed by the drowning of the fair May. "Tlie priest before the altar stood; ' what for a good naight may this be ? ' The Miiy leugli till herself, and said, ' God gif that gude knight were for me !' " A translation, apparently of the same ballad, lias been made by Mr. Charles Mackay ; it is entitled " The Wild Water-man, or the I'ate of the vain Maiden ;" the following is the "moral :" " I warn you maidens, whoever you be. Beware, beware of vanity ; Maidens, I warn you all I can, Beware of the wild, wild Mater-man." ^ B. M. Ward del. Walmsley sc. 281 j^::^./ (•■■;ir.r.M\..i i^utiiger. "Now help me, Jesus!" loud she cries, And loud on God she calls ; Then from the grasp of Rudiger The little infant falls. And loud he shriek' d, for now his frame The huge black arms clasp' d round, And dragg'd the wretched Rudiger Adown the dark profound. E. M. Ward del HE EVE OF ST. JOHN, This ballad— the composition of Sir Walter Scott — was originally published in the " Tales of Wonder," edited by M. G. Lewis. The scene of the tragedy, " Smaylho'me, or Smallholm Tower, is situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandiknow 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 usual in a Border keep, or fortress, are placed one above another, and com- municate 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 situation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many miles in every direction. Among the crags by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the WatcJifold, 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."* When the ballad was republished in the" Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," it was accompanied by some account of the battle of " Ancram Moor," to which reference is made in the poem, as " running red with English blood" from the fight between " keen Lord Evers" and " The Douglas true and the bold Buccleuch," — a fight that was ever famous in the annals of Border warfare.f It took place in * This Ballad derives additional interest from the fact that " the ancient fortress and its vicinity formed the scene of the Editor's infancy, and seemed to claim from him this attempt to celebrate them in a Border tale." References are made, in the introduction to the 3rd canto of " Mannion," to " those crags, that mountain tower. Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour." " It was a barren scene, and wild, Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; But ever and anon between Lay velvet tufts of softest green ; And well the lonely infant knew Recesses where the wallflower grew." + In the 1st volume of "Border Minstrelsy" is printed a ballad which appears to have been written to commemorate the circumstance of Sir Ralph Evers being ennobled on account of the vigour with which he prosecuted the Border warfare : — ' And since he has kepte Berwick upon Tweed, The town was never better kept I wot ; lie maintain'd leal and order along the Border, And stiU was ready to prick the Scot. " With our Queen's brother he hath been. And rode rough-shod tliro' Scotland of late; They have burn'd the Mers and Tiviotdale, And knocked full loud at Edinburgh gate." Lord Evers was slain at Ancram Moor; and " wbs buried in Mekose Abbey, where his stone coffin may still be seen — a little to the left of the Great Altar." 283 1546. Evers and his colleague, Sir Brian Latoun, having heen promised by the English king a feudal grant of the country they had reduced to a desert, Archibald Douglas, the seventh Earl of Angus, is said to have sworn to wTitethe deed of inves- titure upon their skins with sharp pens and bloody ink, in resentment for their having defaced the tombs of his ancestors at Melrose. He kept his word; at the head of one thousand men, aided by the famous Norman Lesley with a body of Fife-men, and " the bold Buccleuch" with a small but chosen body of his retainers, Evers and Latoun were met, at Ancram Moor,* with an army consisting of three thousand mercenaries, one thousand five hundred English Borderers, and seven hundred Scotchmen of " broken clans," who changed sides during the engagement, and, joining their countrymen, made a most merciless slaughter among the English fugitives. " In the battle fell Lord Evers and his son, together with Sir Brian Latoun, and eight hundred Englishmen, many of whom were persons of rank. A thousand prisoners were taken. Among these was a patriotic alderman of London, Read by name, who, having contumaciously refused to pay his portion of a benevolence demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was sent by royal authority to serve against the Scots. These, at settling his ransom, he found still more exorbitant in theu: exactions than the monarch," Concerning the ballad of " The Eve of St. John," Sir Walter Scott gives us no in- formation except in the notes — and they refer exclusively to the localities among which he has laid the scene of a romantic drama. He does not appear to have pointed the moral from any particular incident ; yet the lesson conveyed by the story, that " Lawless love is guilt above," is not the less forcible because it has reference to no express local tradition. The stanzas which close the tale are full of solemn grandeur ; seldom has a more impressive picture been exhibited in lines so few : — " There is a nun in Drybui^h bower. Ne'er looks upon the sun ; There is a monk in Melrose tower. He speaketh word to none. "The nun, who ne'er beholds the day. That monk, who speaks to none — That nun was Smajlho'me's Lady gay. That monk the bold Baron." * The spot on which the battle was fought is called Lilyaid's Edge, from an Amazonian Scottish woman of that name, who is reported, by tradition, to have distinguished herself in the same manner as Squire Witherington. The old people point out her monument, now broken and defaced. The inscription is said to have been legible within this century, and to have run thus : — " Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane. Little was her stature, but great was her fame; Upon the English buns she laid mony thumps. And when her 1^ were cutted off, she fought upon her stomps." «> J. N. Paton del. THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 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. F. Brans ton sc. Tet his plate-jackwas brac'd,bis helmet was Lic'd, And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, Full ten pound weight and more. 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 Ean red with English blood ; Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 'Grainst keen Lord Evers stood. Tet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, His acton pierced and tore, HiH axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, — But it was not English gore. He lighted at the ChapeUage, He held him close and stiU ;' 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 ; Though thou art young, and tender of age, I think thou art true to me. " Come, tell me aU 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 bums on the wUd Watchfold ; For, from height to height, the beacons bright Of the English foemen told. -^i^ J. N. Paton del F. BraQston sc. 28; 1^^^ ^t^ ©be of Si>t SJoi^n. " 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. "I watch' d her steps, and silent came Where she sat her on a stone ; — No watchman stood by the dreary flame. It burned aU alone. " 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, 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'll undo to her knight so 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.' — ^.1 J. N. Paton del F. £raiiston ac. 2T 287 €^t (Jlrbe of «t goi^n. J. N. Pac3ii eel Branstsn bc. " ' Now, out on thee, faint-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'U chain the blood-hound. And the warder shaU not sound, And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair; So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John, I conjure thee, my love, to be there ! ' — " ' Though the blood-hound be mute, And the rush beneath my footj And the warder his bugle should not blow, There sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east. And my footstep he would know.' — " * O 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 tum'd him round, and grimly he frown' d ; Then he laugh' d right scornfully — 'He who says mass-rite for the soul of that knight, May as well say mass for me : " ' At the 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 hast For, by Mary, he shall die !" — [seen. 288 €i)e OBbc of %t go^n. " His arms shone 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." — " Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! For I heard her name his name ; And that lady bright she called the knight Sir Eichard 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 singj For Sir Richard of Coldinghame I" He pass'd the court-gate. And he oped the tower gate. And he mounted the narrow stair, To the bartizan seat. Where with maids that on her wait, He found his lady fair. J. N. Paton del, F. Branston so. 289 C^e (i^\it of ^t. SJoi^n. 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 Ancram fight ? What news from the bold Buccleuch ?" — " The Ancram Moor is red with gore, For many a southern fell ; And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore, To watch our beacons well." — 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 And so did her moody lord. [fair, 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. J .iN . i'aton del. h'. Brans ton bc. 290 Cte a^^t of St. foijn. " By Eildon tree, for long nighta 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 power to come to thy bower, Hadst thou not conjured me so." — Love master' d fear — ^her brow she cross' d ; " How, Eichard, hast thou sped ? And art thou saved, or art thou lost ?" The vision shook his head I " 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.* * The circumstance of the " nun wlio never saw tlie day" is not entirely imaginary. Neither is the incident of tlie lady wearing a covering on the wrist to conceal "the sable score of fingers four." Sir Walter says it is "founded on an Irish tradition" The circumstance referred to is not of a remote date. We have ourselves seen the bracelet said to have been thus used — and worn until death betrayed the secret of the wearer. l_^fi^^ J. N Paton del. f Branston sc 291 J. H. I'atondel. F. Brans ton sc. ,,[^3^^i^. ARTHRAM'S DIRGE. This beautiful and most touching fragment was originally published in the '• Border Minstrelsy ;" we know far too little con- cerning it to satisfy the interest it excites. Ac- cording to Sir Walter Scott, it was "taken down by Mr. Surtees (the historian of Durham county) from the recitation of Anne Douglas, an old woman who weeded in his garden." Her memory, how- ever, was defective, and she was enabled to preserve only snatches of the old song — the breaks thus left were filled up by Mr. Surtees ; so that the appended copy is in reality made complete, — even so far as it exists, — by the aid of a modern pen. " The hero of the ditty," says Sir Walter, " if the reciter be correct, was shot to death by nine brothers, whose sister he had se- duced, but was afterwards buried, at her request, near their usual place of meet- ing; which may account for his being laid, not in holy ground, but beside the burn. The name of Barthram, or Bertram, would argue a Northumbrian origin ; and there is, or was, a Headless Cross, among many so named, near Elsdonin Northumberland. But the mention of the Nine-Stane Burn, and Nine-Stane Rig, seems to refer to those places in the vicinity of Hermitage Castle (the scene of the Ballad of Lord Soulis), which is countenanced by the mentioning our Lady's'Chapel. Perhaps the hero may have been an Englishman, and the lady a native of Scotland, which renders the catastrophe even more probable. The style of the ballad is rather Scottish than Nor- thumbrian. They certainly did bury in former days near the Nine-Stane Burn ; for the Editor remembers finding a small monumental cross, with initials, lying among the heather. It was so small that, with the assistance of another gentleman, he easily placed it upright." Upon one passage — " A friar sliall sing for Barthram's soul, While the headless cross shall bide" — Mr. Surtees observes, that in the return made by the Commissioners on the Dissolu- tion of Newminster Abbey, there is an item of a chauntery for one priest to sing daily ad crucem lapideam. Probably many of these crosses had the like expiatory solemnities for persons slain there. The ballad is, no doubt, founded upon some actual occurrence ; for the incident it relates must have been common enough in the old days of Border warfare — when to national animosity was frequently added the stimulus of personal wrong. Of the hapless Barthram, however, and the lady who " tore her ling long yellow hair," and " Plaited a garland for his breast. And a garland for his hair," we know nothing, even from tradition. But the composition carries with it a conviction that its foundation was in truth. The picture is at once so striking, so touching, and so impressive, as to leave no doubt that Barthram was left " Lying in liis blood, Upon the moor and moss," 293 and that the hand of a loving but unhappy woman "Cover'd liim o'er wilh the heather flower, The moss and the lady-fern." The fragment is classed by Sir Walter among Historical Border Ballads — the ballads that relate events which we either know " actually to have taken place, or which, at least, making due allowance for the exaggerations of poetical traditions, we may readily conceive to have had some foundation in history," — such ballads as were current on the Border, and which, although now existing but in " scraps," were once universally chaunted, — " Young wemen, whan thai will play, Syng it among thuim ilk day." " Who will not regret," exclaims Sir Walter Scott, " that compositions of such in- terest and antiquity should be now irrecoverable ? But it is the nature of popular poetry, as of popular applause, perpetually to shift with the objects of the time ; and it is the frail chance of recovering some old manuscript, which can alone gratify our curiosity regarding the earlier efforts of the Border Muse. Some of her later strains, composed during the sixteenth century, have survived even to the present day ; but the recollection of them has, of late years, become like that of a ' tale which was told.' " As to the mode in which some of these " old and antique songs" have been preserved, we have a few striking notes in the " Border Minstrelsy." — " Whether they were originally the composition of minstrels professing the joint arts of poetry and music, or whether they were the occasional effusions of some self-taught bard, is a question into which I do not mean to inquire. But it is certain that, till a very late period, the pipers, of whom there was one attached to each Border town of note, and whose office was often hereditary, were the great depositaries of oral, and particularly of poetical, tradition. About spring time, and after harvest, it was the custom of these musicians to make a progress through a particular district of the country. The music and the tale repaid their lodging, and they were usually gratified with a donation of seed corn. By means of these men much traditional poetry was preserved, which must otherwise have perished. Other itinerants, not professed musicians, found their welcome to their night's quarters readily ensured by their knowledge in legendary lore. The shepherds also, and aged persons, in the recesses of the Border mountains, fre- quently remember and repeat the warlike songs of their fathers. This is more espe- cially the case in what are called the South Highlands, where, in many instances, the same families have occupied the same possessions for centuries." It was from the latter source that Sir Walter chiefly drew the materials for his work ; — they were, he states, " collected during his early youth ;" and among the notes to the latest edition of the *' Minstrelsy" is the following : — " There is in the library at Abbotsford a collection of ballads, partly printed broadsides, partly in MS., in six small volumes, which, from the handwriting, must have been formed by Sir Walter Scott while he was attending the earlier classes of Edinburgh College." Buchan's collection was gathered directly as they fell from the lips of old people. We rejoice to learn that his rugged, but primitive and interesting volumes, are about to be reprinted "by subscription" — they have been long out of print. 294 Fanny M'lan del. i- ^ While the Headless Cross shall bide, q ^ Fanny M' Ian del. Fred. Branstcn so. m IR CAULINE.— This beautiful, toucbing, and interesting ballad is extracted from tbe "RELiauEs"of Dr, Percy, wlio thus introduces it to the reader:— "The old romantic tale was preserved in the editor's folio MS., but in so very defective and mutilated a condition, (not from any chasm in the MS., but from great omission in the transcript, probably copied from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel,) and the whole appeared so far short of the perfection it seemed to deserve, that the Editor was tempted to add several stanzas in the first part, and still more in the second, to connect and complete the story in tbe manner which appeared to him most interesting and affecting." Of the extent of Dr. Percy's additions we have no evidence. The poem, as here presented, is, no doubt, a recasting, rather than a re- storation, of the ancient composition, the rude fragments of which, rent asunder by many a hiatus valde deflendus, lay scattered among the pages of the old folio manuscript. We are, liowever, entitled to assume, from what Percy intimates, that at least the course of the story has been adhered to, and even the expression preserved where it was not cor- rupted by " some illiterate minstrel " — excepting only that the mere rust and soil of antiquity have been rubbed off. No " original " English ballad, of which Sir Cauline may be accepted as an altered copy, has been ever published ; but M r. B uchan, in his " Ancient Ballads and Songs," prints, under the title of " King Malcolm and Sir Colvin," a curious version of the story as preserved by oral tradition in the north of Scotland. It bears a marked resemblance to the ballad in the " Reliques," — with this diflference, however, that such alterations as may have been made by "illiterate minstrels" are all faithfully preserved by Mr. Buchan, while Dr. Percy has introduced, in lieu of them, the pro- duce of his own elegant mind and refined taste. Here is the commencement of Mr. Buchan's ballad : " There once liv'd a king in fair Scotland, King Malcolm call'd by name ; Whom ancient history gives record. For valour, worth, and fame. " And it fell once npon a day, The king sat down to dine ; And then he miss'd a favourite knight. Whose name was Sir Colvin. " But out it speeks another knight, Ane o' Sir Colvin's kin ; ' He's lyiu' in bed right sick in love. All for your daughter Jean.' " ' 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.' " The similarity of the story to that in the " Reliques," (except in the catastrophe, which is altogether different,) is singularly close. The knight, having declared his love to the king's daughter, is sent to walk at night, " On the head o' Elrick's hill. Near by yon sharp hawthorn ;" r^^ lines in which we have the Eldridge Hill, and the "broding" or pricking thorn of Percy's ballad. Another verse of the text will be recognised in the following : "At midnight mark the meen upstarts, The knight walked up and doun ; While loudest cracks o' thunder roar'd Out ower the bent sae broun." The appearance of the armed knight, and the attendant lady " bearing his brand," and the cause and issue of the combat, aie precisely similar; so also is the incident which terminates the fight, — the " backward" stroke, by which "the Eldridge Knight " loses his right hand, covered with rings of gold— ;/?re rings in the one case, and " worth five hundred pounds" in the other. Buchan's ballad thus concludes : •■ Sir Colviu being a book-learu'd man, Sae gude in fencing tee ; He 's drawn a stroke behind liis hand. And followed in speedilie. ' Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colviu 's drawn. And followed 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 mom it was Wednesday, When he married his daughter Jean ' It is worthy of remark, also, that one of the verses in Buchan's ballad consists of six lines. To the second part of Sir Cauline there is, however, no resemblance in the composition furnished by Mr. Buchan. Percy's ballad was reprinted, with the addition of a few notes by Finlay, in his " Historical and Romantic Ballads," and by Motherwell, in his " Minstrelsy Ancient and Modern." The former affects to discover a resemblance between it and the metrical romance of " Sir Tristrem ;" but the likeness, if there be any, is so very small, as to remind one of the reasoning of Fluellen, " There is a river at Macedon ; and there is also, moreover, a river at Monmouth." The opening passage of Dr. Percy's ballad is very remarkable : " In IsELAKD far over the sea." Now the superstition on which the ballad is constructed — the Eldridge Knight — is un- known in Ireland ; and in fact not one of the incidents or allusions bear the remotest affinity to Irish customs — ancient or modern. The concealed love of Sir Cauline for the Lady Christabelle will remind the reader of the gentle " Squyer of lowe degrfe That lov'd the king's daughter of Hnngr6." But the progress of the story, and its ultimate issue, are altogether different. There are, indeed, many instances among old romances of daring deeds achieved by cavaliers to win lady-love by gaining fame ; (" And be advis'd when thou shall fight. Look that ye stand aye in the right.") But to none of them can be traced the origin of this fine and beautiful production — which must, therefore, be recorded as the composition of Dr. Percy, — based upon a " defective and mutilated" copy of a very ancient poem. ■1 21J?pAWHME C In Ireland, ferr over the sea, There dwelleth a bonnye kinge ; And with him ayong andcomlye knighte, Men call him Sir Cauline. The kiage had a ladye to his daughter In fashyon she hath no peere ; And princely wightes that ladye wooed To be theyr wedded feere. J. Franklin deJ. T. Armetrong sc. Sit Qtmlint. Sir Caiiline loveth her best of all, But nothing durst he saye ; Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, But deerlye he lovde this may. Till on a daye it so beffell, Great dill to him was dight ; The maydens love removde his mynd. To care-bed went the knighte. One while he spred his armes him fro, One while he spred them nye : And aye, * But I winne that ladye's love, For dole now I mun dye.' And whan our parish-masse was done, Our kinge was bowne to dyne : He sayes, ' Where is Sir Cauline, That is wont to serve the wyne ?' Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, And fast his handes gan wringe : * Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye "Without a good leechinge.' * Fetche me downe my daughter deere, She is a leeche fulle fine : Groe take him doughe, and the baken bread, And serve him with the wyne soe red ; Lothe I were him to tine,' Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes, Her maydens followyng nye : * well,' she sayth, ' how doth my lord ?' ' O sicke, thou fayr ladye.' ' Nowe ryse up wightlye, man for shame, Never lye soe cowardice ; For it is told in my father's haUe, Tou dye for love of mee.' J. Franklin del. J. Bastin sc. 300 J Bastin so. ' Fayre ladye, it is for your love That aU this dill I drye : For if you wold comfort me with a kisse, Then were I brought from bale to blisse, No lenger wold I lye.' ' Sir knighte, my father is a kinge, I am his onlye heire ; Alas ! and weU you knowe, syr knighte, I never can be youre fere.' ' ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, And I am not thy peere. But let me doe some deedes of armes To be your bacheleere.' ' Some deedes of arms if thou wilt doe. My bacheleere to bee. But ever and aye my heart wold rue, Giff harm shold happe to thee. ' UponEldridge hill there groweth athome. Upon the mores brodinge ; [nighte. And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all Untill the fayre mominge ? * For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of Will examine you beforne : [mighte, And never man bare life awaye. But he did him scath and scorne. ' That knighte he is a fond paynim. And large of limb and bone ; i And but if heaven may be thy speede, Thy life it is but gone.' * Nowe on the Eldridge hilles He walke, For thy sake, faire ladye ; And He either bring you a ready token, Or He never more you see.' 3U1 S^ir atauline. The lady is gone to her own chambere, Her maydens following bright : Sir CauKne lope from care-bed soone, And to the Eldridge hills is gone, For to wake there all night. Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, He walked up and downe : Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe Over the bents soe browne ; Quoth bee, ' If cryance come till my heart, I am far from any good towne.' And soone he spyde on the mores so broad, A furyous wight and fell ; A ladye bright his brydle led. Clad in a fayre kyrtell ; And soe fast he called on Sir Cauline, ' O man, I rede thee flye. For ' but' if cryance comes till my heart, I weene but thou mun dye.' He sayth, ' No cryance comes tiU my heart, Nor in fayth, I wj'll not flee ; For, cause thou minged not Christ before. The less me dreadeth thee.' The Eldridge knighte he pricked his steed ; Sir Cauline bold abode : Then either shooke his trustye speare. And the timber these two children bare Soe soone in sunder slode. Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes. And layden on full faste. Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, They all were well-nye brast. J. Franklin del. G. P. Nicholls 8C. 302 The Eldridge knight was mickle of might, And stiffe in stower did stande, But Sir Cauline with a backward stroke He smote off his right hand ; That soone he with paine and lacke of bloud Fell downe on that lay-land. Then up Sir Cauline lift his brande All over his head so hye : ' And here I sweare by the holy roode Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye.' Then up and came that ladye brighte, Fast wringing of her hande : ' For the mayden's love, that most you love, "Withhold that deadlye brande : ' For the mayden's love, that most you love, Now smyte no more I praye ; And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord, He shall thy bests obaye.' ' Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte. And here on this lay-land, That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye. And thereto plight thy hand : ' And that thou never on Eldridge come To sporte, gamon, or playe ; And that thou here give up thy armes Until thy dying daye.' The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes With many a sorrowfulle sighe ; And sware to obey Sir Cauline' s best, Till the tyme that he shold dye. And he then up, and the Eldridge knighte Sett him in his saddle anone, And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye To theyr castle are they gone. J. Franklin del G. Dalziel sc. 2X 303 Sir Otauline* Then lie tooke up the bloudy hand. That was so large of bone, And on it he founde five rings of gold Of knightes that had be slone. Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, As hard as any flint ; And he tooke off" those ringes five, As bright as fyre and brent. Home then pricked Sir Cauline As light as leafe on tree : I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, Till he his ladye see. Then downe he knelt upon his knee Before that ladye gay : ' ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills ; These tokens I bring away. ' ' Now welcome, welcome. Sir Cauline, Thrice welcome unto mee ; For now I perceive thou art a true knighte, Of valour bolde and free.' * O ladye, I am thy own true knighte, Thy bests for to obaye ; Ajid mought I hope to winne thy love !' — Ne more his tonge colde say. The ladye blushed scarlette redde, And fette a gentill sighe ; ' Alas ! sir knight, how may this bee, For my degree's soe highe ? 'But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth, To be my batchilere. He promise if thee I may not wedde I will have none other fere.' J< Franklin del. Q. Dalzielsc. 304 S^it (ftmlm* Then sliee held forthe her lilly-white hand Towards that knighte so free ; He gave to it one gentill kisse, — His heart was brought from bale to bliss, The teares sterte from his ee. * But keep my counsayl, Sir Cauline, Ne let no man it knowe ; Tor and ever my father sholde it ken, I wot he wolde us sloe.' !Prom that day forthe that ladye fayre Lovde Sir Cauline, the knighte : From that day forthe he only joyde When shee was in his sight. Tea, and oftentimes they mette Within a fayre arboure, Where they in love and sweet daliaunce Past manye a pleasaunt houre. PAET THE SECOND. Everye white will have its blacke. And everye sweete its sowre : This founde the Ladye Christabelle In an untimely howre. For so it befelle, as Sir Cauline Was with that ladye faire, The kinge, her father, walked forthe To take the evenyng aire : And into the arboure as he went To rest his wearye feet, He found his daughter and Sir Cauline There sette in daliaunce sweet. J. Franklin del. P. NichoUs 8C. 305 The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, And an angrye man was hee : ' Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe, And rewe shall thy ladye.' Then forthe Sir Cauline he was ledde, And throwne in dungeon deepe ; And the ladye into a towre so hye, There left to wayle and weepe. The queene she was Sir Cauline's friend, And to the kinge sayd shee : ' I praye you save Sir Cauline's life, And let him banisht bee.' ' Now, dame, that traytoure shall be sent Across the salt sea fome : But here I will make thee a band, If ever he come within this land, A foule deathe is his doome.' All woebegone was that gentil knight To parte from his ladye : And many a time he sighed sore, And cast a wistfulle eye : ' Paire Christabelle, from thee to parte, Farre lever had I dye.' Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright, Was had forthe of the towre ; But ever shee droopeth in her minde, As nipt by an ungentle winde Doth some faire lillye flowre. And ever shee doth lament and weepe To tint her lover soe : * Sir Cauline, thou little think' at on mee, But I will still be true.' J. Franklin del G. P. NichoUs sc. 306 Sit (Jtaulme. Many a kinge, and manye a diike, And lorde of high degree, Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ; But never shee wolde them nee. "When manye a daye was past and gone, Ne comfort she colde finde. The kynge proclaimed a tourneament, To cheere his daughter's mind : And there came lords, and there came Fro manye a farre country e, [knights To break a spere for theyr ladyes love Before that faire ladye. And many a ladye there vras sette In purple and in paUe : But fair ChristabeUe soe woe-begone "Was the fayrest of them all. Then manye a knight vras mickle of might Before his ladye gaye ; But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, He wan the prize eche daye.* * Sir Canline is here made to act np to the geunine spirit of perfect chivalry. In old romances no incident is of more frequent occurrence than this, of knights already distinguished for feats of arms laying aside their wonted cognizances, and under the semblance of strange knights, manfully performing right valiant deeds. How often does the renowned Arthur, under such circumstances, exclaim, " O, Jesu I what knyte is that arrayed all in greene (.or as the case may be) ? He justeth myghtely!" The Emperor of Almaine, in like manner, after the timely succour afforded him by Syr Gowhter, is anxious to learn the name of his modest but unknown de- liverer:^ — • Now dere God, said the Emperor, Whence com the knyght that is so styfe and stoore, And al araide in red, Both hors, armour, and his stede? A thousand Sarezyns he hath made blede. And beteen hem to detlie, That heder is com to helpe me. And yesterday in black was he.' J . Franklin del. O. Dalziel sc. ST 307 Sir (Kauline. His acton it was all of blacke, His hewberke, and his sheelde, Ne noe man wist whence he did come, Ne noe man knewe where he did gone, When they came from the feelde. And now three days were prestlye past In feates of chivalrye, When lo upon the fourth mominge A sorrowfulle sight they see. A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, All foule of limbe and lere ; Two goggling eyen like fire farden, A mouthe from eare to eare. Before him came a dwarfe fuU lowe, That waited on his knee ; And at his backe five heads he bare, All wan and pale of blee. * Sir,' quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, ' Behold that hend Soldain ! Behold these heads I beare with me ! They are kings which he hath slain. ' The Eldridge knight is his own cousine, Whom a knight of thine hath shent : And hee is come to avenge his •\^Tong, And to thee, all thy kuightes among. Defiance here hath sent. * But yette he will appease his wrath Thy daughter's love to winne ; And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd. Thy halls and towers must brenne. ' Thy head, sir king, must goe with mee, Or else thy daughter deere ; Or else within these lists soe broad Thou must finde him a peere.' J. Franklin del G Dalziel sc. 308 Sit (Uauline. The king he turned him round aboute, And in his heart was woe : ' Is there never a knighte of my round table This matter will undergoe ? * Is there never a knighte amongst yee aU Will fight for my daughter and mee ? Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan, Eight fair his meede shall bee. * For hee shall have my broad lay -lands, And of my crowne be heyre ; And he shall winne fayre Christabelle To be his wedded fere.' But every knighte of his round table Did stand both still and pale : For whenever they lookt on the grim soldan, It made their hearts to quail. AU woe-begone was that fayre ladye. When she sawe no helpe was nye : She cast her thought on her owne true-love. And the teares gusht from her eye. Up then sterte the stranger knighte, Sayd, ' Ladye, be not affrayd : He fighte for thee with this grimme soldan, Thoughe he be unmacklye made. * And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge That lyeth within thy bowre, [sworde I trust in Christe for to slay this fiende, Though he be stiSe and stowre.' ' Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,' The king he cryde, * with speede : Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte; My daughter is thy meede.' ffw J. Franklin del. Q. Dalziel sc. 309 Sbit (Staulint, The gyaunt lie stepped into the lists, And sayd, ' Awaye, awaye : I sweare, as I am the hend soldan, Thou lettest me here all daye.' Then forthe the stranger knight he came, In his blacke armoure dight : The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, * That this were my true knighte ! ' And nowe the gyaimt and knighte are mett "Within the lists soe broad ; And now with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, They gau to lay on load. The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke, That made him reele asyde ; Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye, And thrice she deeply sighde. The soldan strucke a second stroke, And made the blonde to flowe : All pale and wan was that ladye fayre. And thrice she wept for woe. The soldan strucke a third fell stroke. Which brought the knighte on his knee: Sad sorrow pierced that ladye' s heart, And she shriekt loud shriekings three. The knighte he leapt upon his feete. All recklesse of the pain : Quoth hee, ' But heaven be now my speede. Or else I shall be slaine.' He grasped his sworde with mayne and And spying a secrette part, [mighte. He drave it into the soldan's syde. And pierced him to the heart. J. Franklin del. G-. Dalziel sc. 310 Then all the people gave a shoute, Whan they sawe the soldan falle : The ladye wept, and thanked Christ, That had reskewed her from thrall. And nowe the kinge with all his barons Rose uppe from offe his seate, And downe he stepped into the listes, That curteous knighte to greete. But he for payne and lack of blonde "Was fallen iato a swounde, And there all walteringe in his gore Lay lifelesse on the grounde. * Come downe, come downe, my daughter Thou art a leeche of skille ; [deare, Tarre leyer had I lose halfe my landes, Than this good knighte sholde spille.' Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye, To helpe him if she maye ; But when she did his beavere raise, * It is my life, my lord,' she sayes, And shriekte and swound awaye. Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes When he hearde his ladye crye, * O ladye, I am thine owne true love ; For thee I wisht to dye.' Then giving her one partinge looke, He closed his eyes in death, Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, Begane to draw her breath. But when she found her comelye knighte Indeed was dead and gone, She layde her pale cold cheeke to his, And thus she made her moane : J. Franklin del. Q. Dalziel sa 311 Sir Otatiline, ' O staye, my deare and onlye lord, For mee thy faithfulle fere ; 'Tis meet that I shold folio we thee, Who hast bought my love soe deare.' Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, And with a deepe-fette sighe, That burst her gentle hearte in twayne, Fayre Christabelle did dye. J. Franklin del. G. Dalziel so. \ UTH. One of the few ballad poems of the great Poet of his age and country — William Wordsworth. It is a composition of the rarest beauty, natural and true ; and conveys a strung moral in language that renders it powerfully impressive. The Poet descended from a family of high re- spectability in Cumberland. lie was born at Cocker- mouth, on the 7th of April, 1770; he died April 23, 1850, in the eighty-first year of his age — the anniver- sary of Shakspeare's birth. William Wordsworth was educated at Hawkesworth School, in Lancashire; his fellow-pupil was his almost equally distinguished brother — Dr. Christopher Wordsworth. In 1787, he took his degree at St. John's College^ Cambridge. Early in the year 1800, he settled in Westmoreland ; and for nearly forty-three years his home was either at his residence, Rydal Mount, or within two miles of it, "\Miile a student at the university, he travelled on the Continent ; and, it is understood, learned by experience, during a brief sojourn in France, the evil tendency of Republican Principles. Happily for society, he was a personal witness to the atrocities of the Reign of Terror ; for to this circumstance we are no doubt indebted for some of the grandest, noblest, and most serviceable of his compositions. There is evidence in his writings that he subsequently visited the Continent ; and we have abundant proof that frequent excursions into Scotland, and the several counties of England, produced the glorious fruitage we find in his great works. His departures from his own fireside, however, were only brief and occa- sional : his lifo was retired — uniformly calm, and invariably useful. Mingling but little in "society," his career was an almost uninterrupted continuance of philosophic repose. The possession of " Health, peace, and competence," secured that tranquillity of mind and temper, out of which has proceeded the vast mine of intellectual wealth that will be exhausted only when Nature becomes untrue to herself. For many years Mr. Wordsworth held the post of" Distributor of Stamps" for the district in which he resided ; and on the death of his friend Southey, he was appointed " Poet Laureate" — an appointment that conferred distinction upon, and elevated, the office. He outlived nearly all his contemporaries ; having reached a venerable age, beloved, honoured, and respected ; — still as capable of enjoying nature — and teaching others to enjoy it — as he was in the heyday of his youth. Though some of his admirers have perhaps carried their idolatry too far, there can be no doubt of the high position which Wordsworth must always hold among British poets. His style is simple, unaffected, and vigorous — his blank verse manly and idiomatic — his sentiments both noble and pathetic, — and his images poetic and appropriate. His Sonnets are among the finest in the language. I 313 He has ever been a " Poet for Poets :" from the commencement of his career, be " fit audience found, though few." But his popularity — ^in the ordinary sense of the term — was long postponed. It is only of late years that his resolute energy in working on his own steady way — persevering almost in the teeth of despair — has received a portion of its recompense in the more general appeciation of mankind. But that he aimed at achieving a loftier purpose than temporary applause, he would long since have thrown aside the pen ; for the fact will be classed hereafter among the marvels of this age, that the poetry of Wordsworth scarcely paid the cost of publication. The style of Wordsworth is essentially vernacular ; — at once vigorous and simple. He is ever true to Nature ; and therefore, excepting only Shakespeare, no writer is so often quoted by writers. Passages from his Poems have become familiar as household words, and are perpetually called into use to give force and expression to the thoughts and feelings of others. This is, of itself, " an exceeding great reward " — perhaps the highest compliment a Poet can receive. With him the commonest objects, — " Bare trees and mountains bare. The grass and the green fields," are things sacred : he has an alchemy of his own, by which he draws from them " a kind of quintessence" entirely and altogether pure. " He sees nothing loftier than human hopes, — nothing deeper than the human heart." His purpose ever is so to picture nature, that he may succeed in " Linking to her fair works the human soul !" His Poems are full of beauties peculiarly their own, — of original thoughts, of fine sympathies, and of grave yet cheerful wisdom. Virtue never had a firmer friend, or a more effective advocate. No Poet of his time has received worthier compliments from his contemporaries. One of the most impressive was paid to him by the Author of " Ion," in the House of Commons, where a shrivelled soul was sceptical con- cerning poetical " utilities." — " He has supplied the noblest antidote to the freezing effects of the scientific spirit of the age ; and, while he has done justice to the poetry of greatness, has cast a glory around the lowest conditions of humanity, and traced out the subtle links by which they are connected with the highest." A kindred spirit — Fehcia Hemans — laid this offering upon the shrine : — " True bard and holy ! Thou art even as one Who, by some secret gift of soul, or eye. In every spot beneath the smiling sun, Sees where the springs of living waters lie !" It is indeed impossible to exaggerate in praising the most eloquent and high- souled of all our British Poets — saving and excepting only one. His volumes will be — " for ever and for ever" — the text-books of those who love and reverence Nature, Virtue, and Eternal Truth. 314 When Euth was left half desolate, Her Father took another Mate ; And Euth, not seven years old, A slighted Cliild, at her own wiU Went wandering over dale and hill, In thoughtless freedom bold. And she had made a Pipe of straw. And from that oaten Pipe could draw All sounds of winds and floods ; Had built a Bower upon the green. As if she from her birth had been An Infant of the woods. W B. Bcott del. W. J. LiDtcn sc. Sl.'i ilutf). ^ & Beneath her Father's roof alone She seem'd to live ; her thoughts her own, Herself her own delight ; Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay ; And, passing thus the livelong day, She grew to Woman's height. There came a Youth from Georgia's shore — A military Casque he wore, With splendid feathers drest ; He brought them from the Cherokees : The feathers nodded in the hreeze, And made a gallant crest. From Indian blood you deem him sprung : Ah no ! he spake the English tongue, And bore a Soldier's name ; And, when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He cross the ocean came. With hues of genius on his cheek, In finest tones the Youth could speak : — While he was yet a Boy, The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run, Had been his dearest joy. He was a lovely Youth ! I guess The panther in the wilderness Was not so fair as he ; And, when he chose to sport and play. No dolphin ever was so gay Upon the tropic sea. Among the Indians he had fought ; And with him many tales he brought Of pleasure and of fear ; Such tales as told to any Maid By such a Youth, in the green shade. Were perilous to hear. 'rjd ^ W. B. Scott del, W. J . Linton sc. 316 ^■ m jtiin). ^. (fF He told of Girls — a happy rout ! Who quit their fold with dance and shout, Their pleasant Indian Town, To gather strawberries aU day long ; Returning with a choral song When daylight is gone down. He spake of plants divine and strange That every hour their blossoms change, Ten thousand lovely hues ! With budding, fading, faded flowers. They stand the wonder of the bowers From mom to evening dews. He told of the Magnolia, spread High as a cloud, high over head ! The Cypress and her spire ; — Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire. The Youth of green savannahs spake, And many an endless, endless lake. With all its fairy crowds Of islands, that together lie As quietly as spots of sky Among the evening clouds. And then he said, ' How sweet it were A fisher or a hunter there, A gardener in the shade Still wandering with an easy mind, To build a household fire, and find A home in every glade ! ' What days, and what sweet years ! Ah me ! Our life were life indeed, with thee So pass'd in quiet bliss ; And all the while,' said he, ' to know That we were in a world of woe, On such an earth as this !' (Si W. B. Scott del. W. J. Linton sc. 317 ^ And then he sometimes interwove Fond thoughts about a Father's love : * For there,' said he, ' are spun Around the heart such tender ties, That our own children to our eyes Are dearer than the sun. ' Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me, My helpmate in the woods to be, Our shed at night to rear ; Or run, my own adopted Bride, A sylvan Huntress at my side. And drive the flying deer ! * Beloved Ruth ! ' — No more he said. The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed A solitary tear : She thought again — and did agree With him to sail across the sea, And drive the flying deer. ' And now, as fitting is and right, We in the Church our faith will plight, A Husband and a Wife.' Even so they did ; and I may say That to sweet Ruth that happy day Was more than human life. Through dream and vision did she sink, Delighted all the while to think That on those lonesome floods, And green savaimahs, she should share His board with lawful joy, and bear His name in the wild woods. But, as you have before been told, This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold, And with his dancing crest So beautiful, through savage lands Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands Of Indians in the West. ik W. B. bcott del. W.J. Linton 8C. 318 Mutf). The wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a tropic sky. Might well be dangerous food !Por him, a Youth to whom was given So much of earth — so much of Heaven, And such impetuous blood. Whatever in those Climes he found Irregular in sight or sound Did to his mind impart A kindred impulse, seem'd allied To his own powers, and justified The workings of his heart. Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, The beauteous forms of nature wrought. Fair trees and lovely flowers ; The breezes their own languor lent ; The stars had feelings, which they sent Into those gorgeous bowers. Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween That sometimes there did intervene Pure hopes of high intent ; For passions Hnk'd to forms so fair. And stately, needs must have their share Of noble sentiment. But ill he lived, much evil saw, "With men to whom no better law Nor better life was known ; Deliberately, and undeceived, Those wild men's vices he received. And gave them back his own. His genius and his moral frame Were thus impar'd, and he became The slave of low desires : A Man who without self-control Would seek what the degraded soul Unworthily admires. ^ dS] W. B. 8cott del Liintou 8c. 319 ^ ^ i^Utt). <& And yet he with no feign' d delight, Had woo'd the Maiden, day and night, Had loved her night and mom : What could he less than love a Maid "Whose heart with so much nature play'd ? So kind and so forlorn. Sometimes, most earnestly, he said, ' O Euth, I have been worse than dead : False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain, Encompassed me on every side When first, in confidence and pride, I crossed the Atlantic Main. ' It was a fresh and glorious world, A banner bright that was unfurl' d Before me suddenly : I look'd upon those hills and plains. And seem'd as if let loose from chains, To live at liberty. * But wherefore speak of this ? For now, Sweet Euth! with thee, I know not how, I feel my spirit burn — Even as the east when day comes forth. And to the west, and south, and north. The morning doth return.' Full soon that purer mind was gone ; No hope, no wish remained, not one, — They stirr'd him now no more ; New objects did new pleasure give, And once again he wish'd to live As lawless as before. Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, They for the voyage were prepared. And went to the sea-shore ; But, when they thither came, the Youth Deserted his poor Bride, and Euth Could never find him more. W. B. bcott del W. J. Lmton sc. 320 # ^ * God help thee, Euth!' — Such pains she That she in half a year was mad, [had. And in a prison housed ; And there she sang tumultuous songs, By recollection of her wrongs To fearful passion roused. Yet sometimes milder hours she knew. Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, Nor pastimes of the May, — They all were with her in her cell ; And a wUd hrook with cheerful kneU Did o'er the pebbles play. When Euth three seasons thus had lain, There came a respite to her pain ; — She from her prison fled ; But of the Vagrant none took thought ; And where it Uked her best she sought Her shelter and her bread. Among the fields she breathed again -. The master-current of her brain Ean permanent and free ; And, comiag to the banks of Tone, There did she rest, and dwell alone Under the greenwood tree. The engines of her pain, the tools That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, And airs that gently stir The vernal leaves, she loved them stm, Nor ever tax'd them with the ill Which had been done to her. A Bam her winter bed supplies ; But, till the warmth of summer skies And summer days is gone, (And all do in this tale agree) She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, And other home hath none. ,4& W. B. Soott del. W. J. Ldnton sc. 321 An innocent life, yet far astray ! And Ruth will, long before her day, Be broken down and old : Sore aches she needs must have ! but less Of mind than body's wretchedness, From damp, and raiu, and cold. If slie is prest by want of food. She from her dwelling iu the wood Repairs to a road-side ; And there she begs at one steep place. Where up and down with easy pace The horsemen-travellers ride. That oaten Pipe of hers is mute. Or thrown away ; but with a flute Her loneHness she cheers : This flute, made of a hemlock stalk, At evening in his homeward walk The Quantock "Woodman hears. I, too, have pass'd her on the hills Setting her little water-mills By spouts and fountains wild — Such small machinery as she tum'd Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn' d, A young and happy Child ! Farewell ! and when thy days are told, Ill-fated Euth ! in hallow' d mould Thy corpse shall buried be ; For thee a funeral bell shall ring. And all the congregation sing A Christian psalm for thee. W. B. Scott del. 322 W. J. Linton tc. llOBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. There are few, in England, who have heard nothing of Robin Hood, " The English yeoman's pride and joy." His only history is to be found in ballads ; barely sufficient is known of him to clothe him in romance : the period in which he flourished is five or six cen- turies removed, yet there is no name among the thousands sacred to British memories so completely ' familiar" as a " household word." That a courageous and courteous outlaw called Robin Hood did exist, towards the close of the twelfth century, had a numerous band of brave and daring associates, for a very long period set the law at defiance, and haunted, chiefly, the forest of merrie Selwood, in Nottinghamshire, is proved upon safe testimony : but doubts may reasonably be entertained concerning his claim to the earldom of Huntingdon, accorded to him in songs comparatively modern ; and equally as to the derivation of his surname, whether it came from his alleged an- cestors, the Normans, Fitz Odoth or Fitz-ooth, or was merely a corruption of " 0' th' Wood," in allusion to the scene of his principal exploits. It would appear, on com- paring the several authorities, prosaic and poetic, that about the year 1190, in the reign of the first Richard, Robin Hood was a leader of renowned thieves, who infested forests in the shires of York, Cumberland, and Nottingham. "In Loclcsly town, in merry Nottinghamshire In merry sweet Locksly town. There bold Robin Hood was horn and was bred, Bold Eobin of famous renown." He was probably outlawed, originally, for slaying the royal deer, a crime which subjected the offender to dreadful and repulsive penalties. His skill as an archer, combined with other advantages, natural and acquired, becoming famous, he was joined by many others equally impatient of restraint or reckless of character ; " Such as the fuiy of ungovern'd youth Thrust from the company of lawful men." And it is easy to imagine that, in time, he succeeded in so disciplining his forces that they became a formidable band, whom, according to an early historian, " four times the number of the bolder fellows durst not attack." His mode of selecting his associates was calculated to create " a stout army ;" for " whersoever he hard of any that were of unusual strength and hardiness, he would desgyse himselfe,and, rather than fayle, go lyke a beggar to become acquaynted with them ; and, after he had tryed them with fyghting, never give them over tyl he had used means to drawe [them] to lyve after his fashion." The old ballads are full of these trials of strength ; experiments to prove the mettle of the neophyte ; and although Robin is described, in nearly all of them, as roundly and soundly beaten, he is always made to take a drubbing in good part. The generosity of Robin is, indeed, an essential part of his character ; we read in Stow that "he suffered no woman to be oppressed or otherwise molested; poore men's goods he spared ; abundantlie relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys and the houses of rich carles." The historian Major pronounces him to have been " of all theeves the most gentle theefe ;" even Fuller describes him as a merry rather than a mischievous rogue ; and he is termed by Camden " praedonem mitissimum :" opinions echoed by the poet Drayton — " From wealthy abbots, cheats, and churls, abundant store. What oftentimes lie took, he shared amongst the poor." Thus he lived a merrie life, at least among his " Mates, who made their wills their law, Spending his dayes as pleasantlie as a king-a. In joyous skipping up and down the wodde." And, in good truth, " The merry pranks he play'd would ask an age to tell." To his death, which forms the subject of another ballad, we shall refer presently. The ballads which commemorate the career and adventures of the hero of the forests are very numerous ; the indefatigable Ritson collected them into two volumes. The longest is "A lyttell Geste of Robyn Hode and his Meyne and of the proude Sheryfe of Nottingham." Others record his adventures with the Pinder of Wake- field, the Bishop, the Butcher, the Tanner, the Tinker, the Shepherd, the Friar, and so forth ; persons on whom he either levied highway rates, or with whom he fought as a way of testing their prowess. In one of the stories he is made to meet a couple of priests, and on receiving their assurances that they had no money, he bade them go to prayer forthwith ; and they did pray for a supply, " with mournful chear," so effectually, that Robin found in their pockets five hundred pieces of gold. The ballad which follows is extracted from the " Reliques" of Dr. Percy, by whom it was coined from the folio MS. The Doctor acknowledges that he had " taken some liberties with it ;" and that in the edition (the fourth) from which we print it, he had " brought it nearer" to the original. Although the changes are immaterial, the admission excited the ire of Ritson, who characterises them as " wanton," " arbitrary," and " even injudicious ;" and asserts that to justify such a procedure is " beyond the conception of a person not habituated to liberties of this nature, nor destitute of all manner of regard to truth or probity." The daring deeds and courteous gallantry of the famous outlaw have been a fertile theme with poets in all ages since he flourished. Thus sayeth Michael Drayton : — " In this our spacious isle I think there is not one. But he of ' Robin Hood liath heard' and Little John; And to the end of time the tales shall ne'er be done Of Scarlock, George a Green, and Much the miller's son ; Of Tuck, the merry friar, which many a sermou made. In praise of Robin Hood, his out-laws, and their trade." 324 ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF m .1^ I. GISBORNE. Whek shaws beene sheene, and shradds full And leaves both large and longe, [fayre, Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrcst To heare the small birdes songe. The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, Sitting upon the spraje, Soe lowde, he awakened Eobin Hood, In the greenwood where he lay. 'Now by my faye,' said joDye Eobln, 'A sweaven I had this night ; I dreamt me of two wighty yemen, That fast with me can fight. 'Methought they did mee beate and binde. And tooke my bow mee froe ; If I be Eobin alive in this lande, He be wroken on them towe.' m.\ It J z J -'-7^ Lr^^ J. Franklin del. G. P. Nioholls ac. l^ofiin l^ooti anti (Sfug cf ©isfiotn?. ' Sweavens are swift, master,' quoth Jolin, ' As the wind that blowes ore a hOl ; For if itt be never so loude this night, To morrow itt may be still.' ' Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, And John shall goe with mee, For lie goe seeke yond wight yoemen. In greenwood where the bee.' Then the cast on their gownes of grene, And tooke theyr bowes each one ; And they away to the greene forrest A shooting forth are gone. Until they came to the merry greenwood, Where they had gladdest bee, There were the ware of a wight yoeman, His body leaned to a tree. A sword and a dagger he wore by his side, Of manye a man the bane ; And he was clad in his capull hyde Topp and tayU and mayne. 'Stand you still, master,' quoth Little John, ' Under this tree so grene ; And I will go to yond wight yoeman To know what he doth meane.' * Ah ! John, by me thou settest noe store, And that I farley finde : How offt send I my men beffore, And tarry my selfe behinde ? ' It is no cunning a knave to ken. And a man but heare him speake ; And itt were not for bursting of my bowe, John, I thy head would breake.' As often wordes they breeden bale. So they parted Eobia and John ; iJ^^ J. Frankhn del. G. Dalzieisc. 326 i^obin ?^oob anti ©ug of ©rigborne. And Jolin is gone to Bamesdale : The gates he knoweth eche one. But when he came to Bamesdale, Great heaviness there hee hadd, For he found tow of his owne fellow^s Were slaine both in a slade. And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote Fast over stocke and stone, For the sheriffe with seven score men Fast after him is gone. * One shoote now I will shoote,' quoth John, With Christ his might and mayne ; * lie make yond fellow that flyes soe fast, To stopp he shall be fayne.' Then John bent up his long bende-bow. And fetteled him to shoote : The bow was made of a tender boughe, And fell downe to his foote. ' Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, That ere thou grew on a tree ; For now this day thou art my bale, My boote when thou shold bee.' His shoote it was but loosely shott, Yet flewe not the arrowe in value ; For itt mett one of the sheriffes men. Good William a Trent was slaine. It had bene better of William a Trent To have bene abed with sorrowe, Than to be that day in the green wood slade To meet with Little John's arrowe. But as it is said, when men be mett, Fyve can doe more than three, The sheriffe hath taken Little John, And bound him fast to a tree. J. Franklin del G. P. NichoUa sc. 327 iSoiin ^otHi an"t» ©fug of ©risiorne. ' Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, And hanged hye on a hill,' [John, ' But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose,' quoth 'Kitt be Christ his wiU.' Let us leave talking of Little John, And thinke of Eobin Hood, How he is gone to the vsdght yeoman, Where under the leaves he stood. [fayre, ' Good morrowe, good fellowe,' said Eobin so ' Grood morrowe, good fellowe,' quoth he : * Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy A good archere thou sholdst bee.' [hande * I am wnfull of my waye,' quo' the yeman, * And of my morning tyde.' * He lead thee through the wood,' sayd Robin; * Good feUow, He be thy guide.' ' I seeke an outlawe,' the straunger sayd, * Men call him Eobin Hood ; Eather Hd meet with that proud outlawe Than fortye pound soe good.' * Now come with me thou wighty yeman, And Eobin thou soone shalt see : But first let us some pastime find tinder the greenwood tree. * Eirst let us some masterye make Among the woods so even. Wee may chance to meet with Eobin Hood Here att some unsett steven.' They cutt them downe two summer shroggs, That grew both under a breere. And sett them threescore rood in twaine To shoot the prickes y-fere. ' Leade on, good fellowe,' quoth Eobin Hood, ' Leade on, I doe bidd thee.' Fred. Branston sc 328 iftottn l^oati mti (Srus of Sistorne. ' Nay by my faith, good fellowe,' hee sayd, * My leader thou shalt bee.' The first time Eobin shot at the pricke, He mist but an inch it froe : The yoeman he was an archer good, But he cold never shoote soe. The second shoote had the wightye yeman, He shote within the garlknde : But Eobin he shott far better than hee, Por he clave the good pricke wande, ' A blessing upon thy heart,' he sayd ; ' Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode ! Por an thy hart be as good as thy hand, Thou wert better then Eobin Hoode.' ' Now tell me thy name, good feUowe,' sayd ' Under the leaves of lyne.' [he, ' Nay by my faith,' quoth bolde Eobin, ' Till thou have told me thine.' ' I dweU by dale and downe,' quoth hee, ' And Eobin to take Ime sworne ; And when I am called by my right name I am Guye of good Grisbome.' ' My dwelling is in this wood,' sayes Eobin, ' By thee I set right nought : I am Eobin Hood of Barn^sdale, Whom thou so long hast sought.' He that had neither beene kithe nor kin. Might have scene a fuU fayre sight. To see how together these yeomen went With blades both browne and bright. To see how these yeomen together they Twohowres of a summers day: [fought Tett neither Eobin Hood nor Sir Guy Them fettled to flye away. J. Franklin del Fred Branaton sc. 329 I^otiitt l^oot antf ©fug oi (Srisfiorne. Eobin was reachles on a roote, And stumbled at that tyde ; And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, And hitt him ore the left side. * Ah, deare lady,' sayd Eobin Hood, ' " thou That art both mother and may," I think it was never mans destinye To dye before his day.' E/obin thought on our ladye deere. And soone leapt up againe, And strait he came with a backward stroke. And he Sir Gruy hath slayne. He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre, And sticked itt on his bowes end : ' Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe, "Which thing must have an ende.' Eobin pulled forth an Irish kniffe. And nicked Sir Guy in the face, That he was never on woman bom, Cold tell whose head it was. Saies, ' Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye, And with me be not wrothe ; [hand, If thou have had the worse strokes at my Thou shalt have the better clothe.' Eobin did off his gowne of greene, And on Sir Guy did it throwe, And hee put on that capull hyde, That cladd him topp to toe. ' The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home. Now with me I will beare ; For I will away to Bamesdale, To see how my men doe fare.' Eobin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth. And a loud blast in it did blow, Fr«d. Branston ac 330 ittofiin iit^oo^ antj ffiug of ©isfiovne. That bebeard tbe sberiffe of Nottingbam, As he leaned under a lowe. * Hearken, hearken,' sayd the sberiffe, * I heare nowe tydings good, For yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe. And be hath slaine Eobin Hoode. * Yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe, Itt blowes soe well in tyde, And yonder comes that wigbtye yoeman, Cladd in bis capuU byde. ' Come bytber, come bytber, thou good Sir Aske what thou wilt of mee.' [Guy, ' O, I will none of thy gold,' sayd Eobin, ' Nor I will none of thy fee : ' But now I've slaine the master,' he sayes, ' Let me goe strike tbe knave ; This is all tbe rewarde I aske ; Nor noe other will I have.' ' Thou art a madman,' said tbe sberiffe, ' Thou sboldest have bad a knight's fee : But seeing thy asking bath beene soe bad, "Well granted it shale be.' When Litle John beard his master speake, Well knewe he it was bis steven : ' Now shall I be looset,' quoth Litle John, ' With Christ bis might in heaven.' Fast Eobin bee hyed him to Little John, He thought to loose him belive ; The sberiffe and all bis companye Fast after bim did drive. ' Stand abacke, stand abacke,' sayd Robin ; ' Why draw you mee soe neere ? Itt was never the use in our country^. One's shrift another shold heere,' J. Franklin del. O. Da'ziel sc 3B 331 Hoiin ?^ooti antr (Sfug oC (Sfisftorne. But Robin ptilled forth an Irysli kniffe, And loosed John hand and foote, And gave him Sir Gruye's bow into his hand, And bade it be his boote. Then John he took Gruye's bow in his hand, His boltes and arrowes eche one ; "When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow, He fettled him to be gone. Towards his house in Nottingham towne He fled full fast away ; And soe did all his companye : Not one behind wold stay. J. Frajiklin del. Fred. Branston sc. HE DEATH AND BURIAL OF ROBIN HOOD. We copy this ballad from Ritson's " Collection of all the Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballads, now extant, relative to that celebrated English Outlaw, Robin Hood." A brief outline of his life we have already given ; the notes we here introduce concern exclusively his *' Death and Burial :" for the " facts" concerning which we are in- debted to the indefatigable collector, who seems to have gathered together, by immense labour, every item of in- formation that exists upon the subject. The old chronicles are somewhat circumstantial touching the final exit of the hero. " Tl»e king att last," says the Harleian MS., " sett furth a proclamation to have him apprehended," &c. Grafton, after having told us that he" practised robberyes &c.," adds, " The which beyng certefyed to the king, and he, beyng greatly offended therewith, caused his proclamation to be made that whosoever would bryng him quicke or dead, the king would geve him a great summe of money, as by the recordes in the Excheijuer is to be scene : But of this promise no man enjoyed any benefite ;" for as long as he had his " bent bow in his hand," it was scarcely safe to meddle with the " archer good." Time, however, subdued his strength and spirit. Finding the infirmities of old age increase upon him, and being "troubled with a sicknesse," according to Grafton, he " came to a certain nonry in Yorkshire called Bircklies [Kircklies], where desiryng to be let blood, he was betrayed and bled to death." The Sloane MS. says, that " [being] dystempered with cowld and age, he had great payne in his lymraes, his bloud being corrupted ; therefore, to be eased of his payne by letting blood, he repayred to the priores of Kyrkesly, which some say was bis aunt, a woman very skylful in physique & surgery ; who, perceyving him to be Robyn Hood, & waying howe fel an enimy he was to religions persons, toke reveng of him for her owne bowse and all others by letting him bleed to death. It is also sayd that one sir Roger of Doncaster, bearing grudge to Robya for some injury, incyted the priores, with whome he was very familiar, in such a maner to dispatch him." The Harleian MS., after mentioning the proclamation " set furth to have him apprehended," adds, " at which time it happened he fell sick at a nunnery in Yorkshire called Birkleys [Kirkleys] ; & desiring there to be let blood, hee was beytrayed & made bleed to death." According to the Sloane MS. the prioress, after "letting him bleed to death, buryed him under a great stone by the hywayes syde :" which is agreeable to the account in Grafton's Chronicle, where it is said that after his death, " the prioresse of the same place caused him to be buryed by the highway side, where he had used to rob and spoyle those that passed that way. And vpon his grave the sayde prioresse did lay a very fayre stone, wherein the names of Robert Hood, William of Goldesboroitgh, and others were graven. And the cause why she buryed him there was, for that the common passengers and travailers, knowyng and seeyng him there buryed, n)ight .«t LJ 333 morely safely and without feare take their jorneys that way, which they durst not do in the life of the sayd outiawes. And at eyther ende of the sayd tombe was erected a crosse of stone, which is to he seene there at this present." " Amongst the papers of the learned Dr. Gale, late Dean of York, was found this epitaph of Robin Hood : — ^ear unlftnuatf "bfjl laftl jiteaii lai^ vabtvt carl of ^unting-tim near arctr ber a^ i)tc «ia geuti an ptpl feaul^J irn vohin iftuO Sick utlab)^ a^ i)i an t^ men fail cnglanti ntbr &i atjen. ol)itt 24 [r. 14] feal tJcfeembrig 1247." There appears to he reasonable ground for the belief that Robin Hood was thus treacherously dealt with. The circumstance is distinctly referred to in the ballad entitled "A Lytell Geste of Robine Hode," — a long metrical narration, consisting of eight fyttes or cantos, and containing no fewer than four hundred and fifty stanzas. It bears conclusive evidence of antiquity, and may be considered at least as old as the time of Chaucer. The ballad — " Robin Hood's Death and Burial" — although its style is com- paratively modern, is clearly based upon one much older : — it contains passages of too "genuine" a character to have been the production of an age much later than that in which flourished the hero of the grene-wode. The reader will, no doubt, desire to know something concerning the career of Robin's famous lieutenant, " Little John." " There standeth," as Stanihurst relates, " in Ostmantowne greene (now in the centre of the city of Dublin), an hillocke, named Little John his Shot. The occasion," he says, " proceeded of this. In the yeere one thousand one hundred foure score and nine, there ranged three robbers and outlaws in England, among which Robert Hood and Little John weere cheefeteins, of all theeves doubtlesse the most courteous. Robert Hood being betrayed at a nunrie in Scotland called Bricklies, the remnant of the crue was scattered, and everie man forced to shift for himselfe. Whereupon Little John was faine to flee the realme by sailing into Ireland, where he sojourned for a few dales at Dublin. The citizens being doone to understand the wandering outcast to be an excellent archer, requested him hartilie to trie how far he could shoot at random ; who yeelding to their behest, stood on the bridge of Dublin, and shot to that mole hill, leaving behind him a monument, rather byhisposteritie to be vvoondered, than possiblie by anie man living to be counterscored. But as the re- paire of so notorious a champion to anie countrie would soone he published, so his abode could not be long concealed : and therefore to eschew the danger of [the] lawes, he fled into Scotland, where he died at a towne or village called Moravie." 334 ^M^Bm-t. ^'^i . ,j\vj- '■('- • '^''t-./t^ I H. Warren del. Evans so. i^ofiin ft^ootj's Beatf) anti 13urta(. ^ ^ Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone, As fast as he can win ; But before he came there, as we do hear, He was taken very ill. And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall, He knock' d all at the ring. But none was so ready as his cousin herself For to let bold Eobin in. * Will you please to sit down, Cousin Bobin,' she * And drink some beer with me ?' [said, * No, I will neither eat nor drink. Till I am blooded by thee.' ' Well, I have a room, cousin Robin,' she said. Which you did never see. And if you please to walk therein, You blooded by me shall be.' She took him by the lilly-white hand. And let him to a private room. And there she blooded bold Robin Hood, Whilst one drop of blood would run. She blooded him in the vein of the arm. And locked him up in the room ; There did he bleed all the live-long day, Until the next day at noon.* * The following stanzas are from the poem referred to in the In- troduction — " A Lytell Geste of Bobyn Hode :" — ' Yet he was beguiled, I wys, Through a wycked wonikn, The pryoresse of Kyrkesly, Tliat nye was of liis kynne. ' They toke togyder theyr connsell Robyn Hode for to sle. And how they myght best do tliat dede, His banis for to be.' ih H. Warren del. Kvans sc. 336 l^oliin |l?oot>*0 Beatf) antt t^urial; ■^ He then bethought him of a casement door, Thinking for to be gone, He was so weak he could not leap, Nor he could not get down. He then bethought him of his bugle-hom, Which hung low down to his knee, He set his horn unto his mouth, And blew out weak blasts three. Then Little John, when hearing him, As he sat under the tree, * I fear my master is near dead, He blows so wearily.' Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone. As fast as he can dree ; But when he came to Kirkley-hall, He broke locks two or three : UntiU he came bold Eobin to. Then he fell on his knee ; ' A boon, a boon,' cries Little John, Master, I beg of thee.' ' What is that boon,' quoth Eobin Hood, ' Little John, thou begs of me ? ' ' It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall, And all their nunnery.' * Now nay, now nay,' quoth Eobin Hood, * That boon I'U not grant thee ; I never " hurt" woman in all my life, Nor man in woman's company. ' I never hurt fair maid in all my time, Nor at my end shall it be ; But give me my bent bow in my hand, And a broad arrow I'll let flee ; And where this arrow is taken up, There shall my grave digg'd be. -^ ^ H. Warren del Evans sc. 337 i^ofitn il^oolj'g Btatff ant> i3urial. * Lay me a green sod under my head, And another at my feet ; And lay my hent bow by my side, Which was my music sweet ; And make my grave of gravel and green, Which is most right and meet. * Let me have length and breadth enough, With a green sod under my head ; That they may say, when I am dead, Here lies bold Eobin Hood.' These words they readily promis'd him, Which did bold Eobin please : And there they buried bold Eobin Hood, Near to the fair Kirkleys. H. Warren del. iilvans sc. JR JAMES THE ROSE. Of Michael Bruce, the author of this ballad, very little is known. Allan Cunningham, who prefaces his collection of "Scottish Songs" with brief memoirs of various writers, merely refers to him as " a young poet who, though he died in the blossom of his hope, has received some compensation by the general sympathy with which his name is regarded, and by the fame that his promise rather than his performance has obtained." He was bom at Kinnasiwood, in Scotland, in 1746; and — according to Campbell, in his " Specimens of British Poets" — "his friends being persons in low circumstances, he had to struggle with poverty, which, together with constitutional disease, gave a melancholy turn to his mind, and influenced the character of his writings." For a short time he was engaged in the occupation of a village school- master, the fatigues of which probably shortened his life. He died of consumption in 1767. His poems were printed at Edinburgh, in 1770, by the Rev. John Logan — himself a poet, whose lines on "the Cuckoo" are classed among the most beautiful compositions in the language. In the ballad written by Bruce, although the stoi-y is dramatically constructed and skilfully worked out, there is little originality. Many ancient compositions record similar incidents; and Pinkerton and Motherwell have both preserved copies of a very early ballad, from which it is more than probable the ideas of Bruce were borrowed. They have the same title ; Motherwell states that his version, "given as it occurs in common stall-prints, and is to be obtained from the recitations of elderly people," does not exactly correspond with that of Pinkerton, which, no doubt, received "a few conjectural emendations from his own pen." In a note to his version Pinkerton describes it as given " from a modem edition, in one sheet, 12mo., after the old copy." Both he and Motherwell are highly wroth with the modern imitator, Bruce, and the perpetrator of a still more palpable theft, entitled "Elfrida and Sir James of Perth," printed in the fourth volume of Evans's Collection. " It might be curious," writes Motherwell, " to ascertain which of these moumful ditties is the senior, were it for nothing else than perfectly to enjoy the cool impudence with which the graceless youngster has appropriated to itself, without thanks or ac- knowledgment, all the best things which occur in the other." These battlers for the veritable antique, in their anger against the plagiarist, overlook the greater ease and elegance of the modern composition ; and especially the fact, that in changing the current of the story it is made more conformable with truth ; for the reader turns with disgust from the records of the old chronicler, who makes of the fair Matilda a foul betrayer. The following verses will sufficiently exhibit the style and character of the storj' : we commence after Sir John the Graeme has made due inquiries of the lady as to what had become of Sir James the Rose, — " The young heir o' Buleighan." n 339 ' But as we speid they rade awa, She leudly cry'd behind them ; ' Gin ye '11 gie me a worthy maid, I '11 tell ye whar to find him.' ' O tell, fair maid, and in our band Ye 'se get his purse and brechan ; ' ' He's on the bank, aboon the mill. In the lawlands o' Buleighan.' Then out and spak Sir John the Graeme, Who had the charge a keiping, It 's neir be said, my stalwart feres. We kill'd him whan a sleiping. They seiz'd his braid sword and his targe, And closely him surrounded ; ' O pardon, mercy, gentlemen,' He then fu' loudly sounded. ' Sic as ye gave sic ye shall hae, Nae grace we shaw to thee can.' ' Donald my man wait till I fa'. And ye sail hae my brechan ; Ye '11 get my purse, thouch fou o' gowd, To tak me to Loch Lagan.' Syne they took out his bleeding heart, And set it on a speir ; Then hike it to the house o' Mar, And shaw'd it to his deir. ' We cold nae gie Sir James's purse, We cold nae gie his brechan ; But ye sail hae his bleiding heart, Bot and his bleiding tartan.' Then up she raise and furth she gaes ; And, in that hour o' tein. She wander'd to the dowie glen. And never mair was seen. Our extract is made from the copy as printed by Pinkerton ; that which Mother- well publishes is manifestly inferior : take as a specimen the concluding stanzas : — But where she went was never kent ; And so to end the matter, A traitor's end you may depend Can never be no better. Then up she rose and forth she goes. And in that fatal hour She bodily was borne away. And never was seen more. Neither of the copies printed by Pinkerton and Motherwell, however, bear so close a resemblance to Bruce's ballad as to justify the severe censure of the two critics — both of whom, beyond all controversy, lived themselves in houses of glass ; and are liable to the charge of having continually and unscrupulously borrowed the thoughts and language of the old ballad-makers. The ballad of "Elfrida and Sir James of Perth" is a very inferior composition. The story is similar to that of Sir James the Rose ; and «ome lines are precisely the same in both. There can be little doubt that the composition of Michael Bruce was imitated; and there is ample evidence that the act was not perpetrated by a Scottishman. A stanza or two from "Elfrida and Sir James of Perth" will no doubt satisfy the reader : it is a poor sample of a worthless whole : — For long he woo'd a tender lass, Elfrida of the Vale; An equal flame the lass betray'd. And heard his amorous tale. A piercing glance her eyes did shoot ; And every heart engross ; Full many a lover hopeless sigh'd, And eike Sir John of Ross. In some copies the ballad is entitled " Sir James the Ross." Mr. Pinkerton informs us that " Rose is an ancient and honourable name in Scotland. Johannes de Rose is a witness to the famous Charter of Robert the Second, testifying his marriage with Elizabeth More, as appears in the rare edition of it printed at Paris in 1695." 3-tO W.J. Linioa .-)C. ■^•^=nsVi£7^ ^ir gjameg tj^e Hose. f- i The chieftain of the brave clan Ross, A firm undaunted band ; Five hundred warriors drew the 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. Lang had he wooed, lang she refused. With seeming scorn and pride ; Yet aft her eyes confessed the love Her fearful words denied. At last she blessed his well-tried faith, Allowed his tender claim : She vowed to him her virgin heart, And owned 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. At nicht they met, as they were wont, Deep in a shady wood. Where, on a bank beside the burn, A blooming saugh-tree stood. Concealed among the underwood, The crafty Donald lay. The brother of Sir John the Graeme, To hear what they would say. T. ikimbtrou^sc «5*!l-aj!A> ii= 342 -t^ Sit f ameg ti^e l^ose. "When thus the maid began : ' My sire Tour passion disapproves, And bids me wed Sir John the Graeme ; So here must end our loves. ' My father's will must be obeyed ; Nocht boots 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 ? ' His sword shall sooner pierce my heart Than reave me of thy charms ! ' Then clasped her to his beating breast. Past locked into his arms. ' I spake to try thy love,' she said ; ' I'U 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 waa set : Up hasty Donald flies ; [youth ! ' And, ' Turn thee, turn thee, beardless He loud insulting cries. ^ '^A J. G Brine del W. J. Linton sc. 3D 343 Sit harness ti)e ^om. :^ ^ Soon turned 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 frae harm. Returning swift, his hand he reared Frae Donald's head above, And through the brain and crashing bones His sharp-edged weapon drove. He staggering reeled, then tumbled down, A lump of breathless clay : ' So fall my foes ! ' quoth valiant E-ose, And stately strode away. Through the green-wood he quickly hied, Unto Lord Buchan's hall ; And at Matilda's window stood, And thus began to call : ' 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'll now direct my way, Where my two brothers bide. And raise the valiant of the Isles, To combat on my side.' J. G. Brine del. T Armstron;^ sc. •Mi '-^A ^-- Siit 3(antc0 tt)e i^ose. ^ i^'n^V>^v cU ' do not so,' the maid replies ; * "Witli 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 wrapped 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 lowly glen, He met the furious Sir John Graeme, With twenty of his men. * Wliere 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.' ' And has he slain my brother dear ?' The furious Graeme replies : * Dishonour blast my name, but he By me, ere morning, dies I * Tell me where is Sir James the Rose ; I will thee well reward.' * He sleeps within Lord Buchan's park ; Matilda is his guard.' J. Q. Brine del. T. Aimstrong so. 345 ^^ (& S^ix IJamess t^e i^oge. They spurred their steeds in furious mood, And scoured along the lee ; They reached 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 Eose passed by : He furious pricked his sweaty steed, And onward fast did hye. ' By this he is at Edinburgh, If horse and man hold good.' ' Tour page, then, lied, who said he was Now sleeping in the wood.' She wrung her hands, and tore her hair : * Brave Eose, thou art betrayed ; And ruined 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 appeared. * Your sword last night my brother slew ; His blood yet dims its shine : And, ere the setting of the sun, Tour blood shall reek on mine.' j ' You word it well,' the chief replied ; * But deeds approve the man : Set by your band, and, hand to hand. We '11 try what valour can. J. G. Brine del W. J. bin ton so. 34tj * 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 : Then Graeme gave back, and feared his arm ; For well he knew its might. Four of his men, the bravest four, Sunk down beneath his sword : But still he scorned the poor revenge, And sought their haughty lord. Behind him basely came the Grraeme, And pierced him in the side : Out spurting came the purple tide, And aU his tartans dyed. But yet his sword quat not the grip, Nor dropt 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 Eose, 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 fixed them on the weeping maid. And weakly thus replies : ^ ''^A. J. G. Brine del. W. J Linton sc. 347 Sbix 3amt» t^t ^o&t. ' 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 leaned the hilt against the ground. And bared her snowy breast ; Then fell upon her lover's face, And sunk to endless rest. J. Q. Brine del. T. Armatrong sc. ^X3:^>-^^ HE CLERK'S TWA SONS 0' OWSENFORD. We copy this most exquisitely touching composition from the volume of " Scottish Ballads, collected and illustrated by Robert Chambers," by whom it is thus introduced : — " This singularly wild and beautiful old ballad is chiefly taken from the recitation of the Editor's grandmother, (who learned it, when a girl, nearly seventy years ago, from a Miss Anne Gray, resident at Neidpath Castle, Peebles-shire) ; some additional stanzas, and a few various readings being adopted from a less perfect, and far less poetical copy, published in Mr. Buchan's ' Ancient and Modern Ballads,' and from a fragment in the ' Border Minstrelsy,' entitled, ' The Wife of Usher's Well,' but which is evidently the same narrative." Mr. Chambers divides the ballad into two parts — the second part begin- ning with the twenty -fifth stanza — " on account of the great superiority of that which follows over that which goes before, and because the latter portion is in a great measure independent of the other as far as sense is concerned." He adds, that " the first part is composed of the Peebles-shire version mingled with that of the northern editor ; the second is formed of the Peebles-shire version, mingled with the fragment called ' The Wife of Usher's Well.' Here, as in almost all other cases, the south country copies greatly exceed that of the northern province in poetical merit. There are few tales, indeed, which possess the dramatic effect and deep pathos of the second part of this ballad." This information, scanty as it is, is all that has been supplied to us con. cerning one of the most interesting of the very ancient ballads of Scotland ; — a ballad which, as it hints at more than one custom of a remote age, might have been subjected with advantage to a minute scrutiny and a detailed criticism. Sir Walter Scott in- troduced his fragment — " never before published" — without any reference to its probable history ; and Mr. Buchan's note — informing us that " the young gentlemen were the sons of the Laird of Oxenford, who had given them a part of all the education that place of the country could boast, and afterwards sent them to Billsbury, a town at that time celebrated for its seminaries of learning," — amounts to nothing. Allan Cunningham, who prints the ballad, with some alterations, from Scott's version, merely offers some remarks on the popular superstition of " the dead returning to dine and dance with the living." By Biichan the scene of the tragedy is made to lie in Billsbury — " at that time a famous town," — while the scene is laid by Mr. Chambers in Paris — " fair Parish." Mr. Buchan's version omits all reference to the subsequent appear- ance of the youths after death ; while the versions of Scott and Cunningham make no allusion to the offence for which they died ; or, rather, their deaths are described as the results of accident; the Wife of Usher's Well having sent her stout and stalwart sons " o'er the sea," from which at length they came home— the birk in their hats, — " It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheuch; But at the gates o' Paradise, That birk grew fair eneuch." m 349 Mr. Chambers has been fortunate in procuring materials for so combining botli dents as to produce one of the most beautiful and touching ballads in the language ; a ballad that, for natural vigour and deep pathos, has rarely been surpassed. Mr. Cham- bers admits that he has subjected it to alterations ; but he has skilfully and judiciously eft'ected his purpose — of restoration to what was probably its original form. The fol- lowing stanzas will serve as sufficient examples of the composition preserved by Buchan : — ' Then hes gane to the wicked Mayor, And hailed him courteouslie ; Good day, good day, oh Billsbury, God make you safe and free ; Come, sit you down, brave Oxenford, What are i our wills with me ? " ' Will ye gie me my sons again. For gold nor yet for fee ? Will ye gie me my sons again, For 'b sake that died on tree ? " ' I winna gie you your sons again. For gold nor yet for fee ; But if ye '11 stay a little while Ye '11 see them hanged hie." The bonny clerks they died that morn, Their loves died lang ere noon ; Their father and mother for sorrow died,- They all died very soon. " These six souls went up to heaven, (I wish sae may we a' !) The mighty mayor went down to hell, For wrong justice and law." The "Wife of Usher's Well, — " a fragment never before published," — as we have in- timated, describes " three stout and stalwart sons" as drowned at sea. When word came to their mother, she wished the wind might never cease till her sons came home to her in earthly flesh and blood ; and " about Martinmas" they did come : — " And she has made to them a bed. She 's made it large and wide ; And she 's taeii her mantel her about. Sat down at the bed side. ' Up then crew the red red cock, And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said, ' 'Tis time we were away.' The cock he hadna craw'd but once. And clapp'd his wings at a'. Whan the youngest to the eldest said, •Brother, we must awa. — The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The chanuerin' worm doth chide ; Gin we be mist out o' our place, A sair pain we maun bide. " ' Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear 1 Fareweel to barn and byre ! And fare-ye-weel, the bonny lass. That kindles my mother's fire I' ' A brief extract from Cunningham's version will exhibit the changes to which the old ballad was subjected in passing through his hands : — " And she has made to them a bed. And spread it lang and wide. And folded her mantle bout her waist And sat down by their side. w 350 O I WILL sing to you a sang, Will grieve your heart full sair ; How the Clerk's twa sons o' Owsenford Have to learn some unco lear. They hadna been in fair Parish A twelvemonth and a day, Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in love iffJUflFli Wi' the Mayor's dauchters twae. H. C. Selous del. 3£ J. Bastin ec. Ciie (ftlttk'e Sbia Sone o' (StaKtnditti. -^ dF S. ^ And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote, The ladies sewed and sang ; There was mair mirth in that chamber, Than ia a' fair Ferrol's land. But word 's gane to the michty Mayor, As he saUed on the sea, That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans O' his fair dauchters twae. * If they hae wranged my twa dauchters, Janet and Marjorie, The mom, ere I taste meat or drink, Hie hangit they shall be.' And word 's gane to the Clerk himself. As he was drinking wine. That his twa sons at fair Parish "Were bound in prison Strang. Then up and spak the Clerk's ladye. And she spak tenderlie : ' O tak wi' ye a purse o' gowd, Or even tak ye three ; And if ye canna get "William, Briug Henry hame to me.' sweetly sang the nightiugale. As she sat on the wand ; But sair, sair mourned Owsenford, As he gaed ia the strand. "When he came to their prison Strang, He rade it round about, And at a little shot-window, His sons were looking out, * O lie ye there, my sons,' he said, ' For owsen or for kye ? Or what is it that ye lie for, Sae sail* bound as ye lie ?' H. C. SelouB del. J. Bastin bc. 352 C^e onerft's €:h)a Sons o' ©tosenfortr. ^ m ^. ' We lie not here for owsen, father ; Nor yet do we for kye ; But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love, Sae sair bound as we lie. * Oh, borrow us, borrow us, father,' they said, ' For the luve we bear to thee ! ' ' O never fear, my pretty sons, Weel borrowed ye sail be.' Then he 's gane to the michty Mayor, And he spak courteouslie : ' Will ye grant my twa sons' lives, Either for gold or fee ? Or will ye be sae gude a man. As grant them baith to me ? ' I 'U no grant ye your twa sons' Hves, Neither for gold nor fee ; Nor will I be sae gude a man. As gie them baith to thee ; But before the morn at twal o'clock. Ye 'U see them hangit hie ! ' Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters, Wi' kirtle coat, alone ; Their eyes did sparkle like the gold. As they tripped on the stone. ' Will ye gie us our loves, fatlier, For gold, or yet for fee ? Or will ye take our own sweet lives. And let our true loves be ? ' He's taen a whip into his hand. And lashed them wondrous sair : ' Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers ; Ye 'se never see them mair.' ^- ^ ^^^ H. C. Selous del. J. Bastin ac. 353 W'- Kfit QtUxV^ ^b)a Sons o' (©tosenfortj. ^^. m ^■- Then out it speaks auld Owsenford, A sorry man was he : ' Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs ; Por a' this maunna be.' Then out it speaks him Hynde Eenry : ' Come here, Janet, to me ; "Will ye gie me my faith and troth, And love, as I gae thee ?' ' Ye sail hae your faith and troth, Wi' God's blessing and mine.' And twenty times she kissed his mouth, Her father looking on. Then out it speaks him gay William : ' Come here, sweet Marjorie ; "Will ye gie me my faith and troth, And love, as I gae thee ? ' ' Tes, ye sail hae your faith and troth, Wi' God's blessing and mine.' And twenty times she kissed his mouth, Her father looking on. ' O ye '11 tak aif your twa black hats. Lay them down on a stone. That nane may ken that ye are clerks, TiU ye are putten doun.' The bonnie clerks they died that mom : Their loves died lang ere noon ; And the waefu' Clerk o' Owsenford To his lady has gane hame. His lady sat on her castle wa', Beholding dale and doun ; And there she saw her ain gude lord Come walking to the toim. ^^ (& H. C. SelouB del. J . Bastin sc. 354 ' Te 're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, Te 're welcome hame to mee ; But where-away are my twa sons ? Te suld hae brought them wi' ye.' * they are putten to a deeper lear, And to a higher scule : Tour ain twa sons will no be hame Till the hallow days o' Tula.' ' Oh sorrow, sorrow, come mak my bed ; And, dule, come lay me doim ; Por I will neither eat nor drink, Nor set a fit on groun' I' The haUow days o' Tule were come. And the nights were lang and mirk. When in and cam her ain twa sons. And their hats made o' the birk. It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheuch ; But at the gates o' Paradise That birk grew fair eneuch. ' Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine, Bring water from the well ; For a' my house shall feast this night. Since my twa sons are well. ' O eat and drink, my merry-men a', The better shall ye fare ; For my two sons they are come hame To me for evermair.' And she has gane and made their bed. She's made it saft and fine ; And she's happit them wi' her gay mantil. Because they were her ain. m H. C. Selous del. J. Baatin sc. 355 '"^4 €i^e (Klerk's Ctoa Sons o' (©tosenforti. But the young cock crew in merry Linkum, And the wild foul chirped for day ; And the aulder to the younger said, ' Brother, we maun away. * The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerin worm doth chide ! Gin we be missed out o' our place, A sair pain we maim bide.' * Lie still, lie stiU a little wee while. Lie stiU but if we may ; Gin my mother miss us when she wakes. She '11 gae mad ere it be day.' O it's they've taen up their mother's mantil, And they've himg it on a pin : * lang may ye hing, my mother's mantil. Ere ye hap us again.' H. C. SelouB del. J. Bastiu 8C. IR ANDREW BARTON. In the " Reliques of Ancient English Poetry" this fine old Ballad is thus prefaced : " It appears to have been written in the reign of Eliza- beth, and has received great improvements from the Editor's folio MS. wherein vyas an ancient copy, which, though very incorrect, seemed in many respects supe- rior to the common ballad ; the latter being evidently modernised and abridged from it. The following text is, however, in some places amended and improved by the latter (chiefly from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection), as also by conjecture." The variations may be ascertained by comparing the version as given by Dr. Percy with that which Ritson printed. They are extensive and essential. Ritson merely states, in introducing it, that " the story is to be found in most of the English Chro- nicles, under the year 1511. But the ballad, in all probability, is nearly a century more modern." The story is this : — A certain Scottish captain, by name Barton, greatly worried the English sailors and merchants. " The Earl of Surrey could not smother his indignation, but gallantly declared at the council board, that while he had an estate that could furnish out a ship, or a son that was capable of commanding one, the narrow seas should not be infested. Barton had the reputation of being one of the ablest sea officers of his time. Two ships were immediately fitted out and put to sea with letters of marque, under the Earl's two sons, Sir Thomas and Sir Edward Howard. After encountering a great deal of foul weather. Sir Thomas came up with the Lion, which was commanded by Sir Andrew Barton in person ; and Sir Edward came up with the Union, Barton's other ship (called by Hall, the Bark of Scotland). The engagement which ensued was extremely obstinate on both sides ; but at last the fortune of the Howards prevailed. Sir Andrew was killed fighting bravely and encou- raging his men with his whistle to hold out to the last ; and the two Scotch ships, with their crews, were carried into the river Thames." [Aug. 2, 1511.] The designs that illustrate this ballad have been made in strict accordance with ancient authorities in all instances. The first, the embarkation of Henry VIII. at the Tower stairs, has been composed from the very curious illumination in the Poems of the Duke of Orleans, now preserved among the Royal MSS. in the British Museum, be- lieved to have been executed for Henry VIII. when Prince of Wales, and is the earliest known view of London from the Thames. The drawings that decorate the sides of the ballad are designed to furnish a progressive series of ancient ships, thus forming a pictorial history of the British Navy. The first contains representations of Anglo- Saxon ships, from manuscripts of the period in the Cottonian collection ; it is sur- rounded by the arms and seals of the three Cinque Ports, Hastings, Dover, and Ilythe. The second design depicts the ship of William Duke of Normandy, in which he sailed to invade England, having at the top of the mast the banner consecrated by the Pope ; it is copied from the celebrated Bayeux tapestry. The arms of the port of London are above, and beneath are the arms of Romney and Sandwich, completing those of the Cinque Ports. Before the reign of Henry HI. the sea-ports of Winchelsea and Rye were added to the original five by royal charter, and allowed equal privileges ; their great seals are represented at the bottom of the next design, which represents a vessel of the time of Henry VI., copied from a manuscript of that period in the Harleian col- lection. The ships in use between the Norman times and this period were of very small build, being little lai'ger than our modern sailing boats, and having but one mast, the sail of which was regulated by the man at the helm, as we see it in the ship of William the Conqueror. William is said to have brought over his troops in 700 vessels of considerable size, besides more than three times that number of smaller dimensions — a proof of their inability to hold many persons. The fleet of Richard I. assembled in the harbour of Messina, to the number of thirteen large ves- sels, fifty-three armed galleys, and a hundred carricks. Ancient representations of these ships generally show them very small ; and, as a connecting link between the series engraved in the ballad, one is here given of the time of Richard II. (Harleian MS. No. 1319.) The fourth design is of a ship of the time of Henry VI., from Harleian MS. No. 4374. Galleys and ships of the time of Edward IV. form the subject of the fifth design, and are copied from a MS. in the same collec- tion, numbered 4379 ; a peculiarity of these ancient ships being the top-castles, one of which is here engraved on a larger scale, and which generally contained archers, or javelin men; and it appears from the ballad that here the " beames" were kept which Dr. Percy considers to have resembled the ancient dolphins of lead or iron used by the ancient Greeks, which they suspended from beams or yards fastened to the mast, and precipitately let fall on the enemy's ships, in order to sink them, (f^ A by beating holes through the bottoms or otherwise damaging them, ^n The prows of the vessels also were of singular construction, being « generally shaped like a bird's head or that of some fabulous mon- ster, — a fashion which went out during the reign of Henry VII., but which had continued in vogue from the earliest times, for the most ancient delineations of ships we meet with are so decorated. The three concluding side-pieces, and the tail-piece representing Lord Howard sailing into the mouth of the Thames with the Scottish pirate vessel, will serve to give an idea of the Navy during the reigns of Henry VII. and VIII., as they are copied from paintings and prints of the period. The useful and interesting series of illustrations is from the pencil of Mr. F. W. Fairholt — an artist, to whose industry, ability, and extensive information, we have been frequently indebted. 358 F. W. Fairholt del. 3F T. Armstrong so. * O yee are welcome, rich mercbiants ; Good saylors, welcome unto mee.' They swore by the rood, they were saylors good, But rich merchants they cold not bee : ' To France nor Planders dare we pass ; Nor Bordeaux voyage dare we fare ; And all for a rover that lyes on the seas, Who robbs us of our merchant ware.' King Henrye frownd, and turned him roiinde. And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might, ' I thought he had not beene in the world, Durst have wrought England such unright.' The merchants sighed, and said, ' Alas ! ' And thus they did their answer frame, * He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas, And Sir Andrew Barton is his name.' The king lookt over his left shoulder, And an angrye look then looked hee : * Have I never a lorde in all my realme. Will feitch yond traytor unto mee ?' * Tea, that dare I ;' Lord Howard sayes ; * Yea, that dare I with heart and hand ; If it please you grace to give me leave, Myselfe wil be the only man.' ' Thou art but yong ;' the kyng replyed : ' Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.' * Trust me, my liege, lie make him quaU, Or before my prince I will never appeare.' ' Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have, And chuse them over my realme so free ; Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes, To guide the great shipp on the sea.' The first man, that Lord Howard chose, Was the ablest gunner in all the realm, Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten ; Good Peter Simon was his name. '-^ k F. W. Fairholt del, T. Armsta:orig eo. 360 Sit amiteto ISatton. (m ' Peter,' sais hee,' * I must to the sea, To bring home a traytor live or dead : Before all others I have chosen thee ; Of a hundred gunners to be the head.' ' If you, my lord, have chosen mee Of a hundred gunners to be the head. Then hang me up on jovi maine-mast tree, If I misse my marke one shilling bread.' My lord then chose a boweman rare. Whose active hands had gained fame ; In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne, And William Horseley was his name. ' Horseley,' sayd he, * I must with speede Go seeke a traytor on the sea ; And now of a hundred bowemen brave. To be the head I have chosen thee.' ' If you,' quoth hee, * have chosen mee Of a hundred bowemen to be the head ; On your main-m£lst He hanged bee, If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.' With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold, This noble Howard is gone to the sea ; With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare, Out at Thames mouth sayled he. And days he scant had sayled three, Upon the * voyage,' he tooke in hand, But there he mett with a noble shipp. And stoutely made itt stay and stand. ' Thou must tell me,' Lord Howard said, * 'Now who thou art, and what's thy name; And shewe me where thy dwelling is : And whither bound, and whence thou came.' ' My name is Henry Hunt,' quoth hee. With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind ; * I and my shipp doe both belong To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne.' ^ Rothiemay, were guests in the castle of the Laird of Frendraught. " All being at rest, about midnight that dolorous tower took fire. * * * Aboyn ran up stairs to Rothiemay's chamber and wakened him to rise ; and as he is awakening him, the timber passage and lofting of the chamber hastily take fire, so that none of them could run down stairs again ; so they turned to a window looking to the close, where they piteously cried many times, ' Help, help, for God's cause. The laird and lady, with their servants, all seeing and hearing the woful crying, made no help or manner of helping*; which they perceiving, cried oftentimes mercy at God's hands for their sins; syne clasped in each others arms, and cheerfully suffered their martyrdom." The Ballad-maker thus describes tlie horrible catastrophe : — Aboyn is answering to his servant, who entreats him to ' loup down ;' — ' loup, loup, my dear master, loup and come to me ; I '11 catch you in my arms two. One foot I will not flee I" ' But I cannot loup, I cannot come, 1 cannot win to thee; My head 's fast in the wire window, My feet burning from me. " My eyes are seething in my head. My flesh roasting also. My bowels are boiling with my blood. Is not that a woeful woe. " Take here the rings from my white fingers, That are so long and small, And give them to my lady fair. Where she sits in her hall. " So I cannot loup, I cannot come, 1 cannot loup to thee — My earthly part is all consumed. My spirit but speaks to thee." The historian continues : — " Thus died this noble Viscount, of singular expectation, Rothiemay a brave youth, and the rest, by this doleful fire, never enough to be deplored, to the great grief and sorrow of their kin, parents, and haill common people, especially to the noble Marquis. No man can express the dolour of him and his lady, nor yet the grief of the Viscount's ain dear lady, when it came to her ears, which she kept to her dying day, disdaining after the company of men all her lifetime, following the love of the turtle dove." Whether Frendraught and his lady were actually guilty can now never be ascer- tained. The popular voice was against them ; yet it is more than probable that the ballad and tradition have doomed innocent people to an infamous immortality. A gentleman named Meldnim was executed for the burning, but on very insufficient evidence ; and he died " without any certain and real confession, as was said, anent this doleful fire." The fire occurred in October 1630. * A passage in the old ballad is said to have received a singular illustration. When the youths in their agony called upon Lady Frendraught for mercy, she is made to reply, " The keys are casten in the deep draw well, Ye cannot get away." Mr. Finley, after regretting that all his attempts to recover the ballad had proved unsuccessful, relates the following circumstance. "A lady, a near relation of mine, lived near the spot in her youth for some time ; and remembers having heard the old song mentioned by Ritson, but cannot repeat it. She says there was a verse which stated that the lord and lady locked the door of the tower and flung the keys into the draw well; and that, many years ago, when the well was cleared out, this tradition was corroborated by their finding the keys — at least such was the report of the country." 370 J. 1'ruQk.ixD doi G. Dalziel so. J^xtnntt l^aU, Then Lady Frennet, vengefu' dame, Did wander frae tlie ha', To the wide forest's dewie gloom. Among the leaves that fa'. Her page, the swiftest of her train. Had dumb a lofty tree, Whase branches to the angry blast Were soughing moumfuUie. He tum'd his een towards the path That near the castle lay. Where good Lord John and Eothiemay Were riding down the brae. Swift darts the eagle through the sky, When prey beneath is seen : As quickly he forgot his hold. And perch' d upon the green. ' O hie thee, hie thee, lady gay, Frae this dark wood awa' ! Some visitors of gallant mein Are hasting to the ha'.' Then round she row'd her silken plaid. Her feet she did na spare. Until she left the forest's skirts A long bow- shot and mair. ' O where, O where, my good Lord John, i'9i^;;<^"^ ^^^^ ^^ EDEN-HALL. This ballad— the compo- sition of Mr. J. H. Wiffen — is founded on a popular superstition, and a family tradition, in Cumberland. Eden-Hall is a small village on the western side of the river Eden. The mansion and estates are the property of the Musgraves — heroes of innumerable ballads — who have held property there since the time of Henry VL, and were distinguished during the reign of William the Conqueror, with whom they came over from Normandy. In the mansion, an old drinking glass, enamelled in colours, called The Luck of Eden-Hall, is preserved with the greatest care. The letters L H. S. on the top point out the sacred use from which it has been perverted ; but tradition affirms it to have been seized from a company of fairies who were sporting near a spring in a garden called St. Cuthbert's Well ; and, after an ineflfectual struggle to recover it, vanished into thin air, saying, — " If that glass do break or fall, Farewell the Luck of Eden-Hall."* In presenting to our readers the beautiful modern ballad of " the Luck of Eden- Hall," a few particulars of the literary life of its accomplished author will, we think, be a fitter accompaniment than any elaborate analysis of its merits. Mr. Wiffen, a member of the Society of Friends, came before the public as an author in the vear 1812, in conjunction with Dr. Brown of the Inner Temple, and Dr. Raffles of Liverpool, in a little work entitled "Poems by Three Friends." This volume, which contained promise of better things, was succeeded, in 1819, by a volume entitled "Aonian Hours," the principal descriptive poem of which, "Aspley Wood," is perhaps the most finished of all Mr. Wiffen's original works. This work was again succeeded by a Roman story, entitled " Julia Alpinula." From this period our author appears to have turned his attention almost exclusively to foreign lite- • The subject is thus referred to in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border:"— The martial spirit of our ancestors led them to defy these aerial warriors ; and it is still currently believed that he who has courage to rush upon a fairy festival, and snatch from them their drinking cup or horn, shall find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune, if he can bear it in safety across a running stream. Such a horn is said to have been presented to Henry I. by a lord of Colchester.— Gkrvas TiLB. p. 980. A goblet is still carefully preserved in Eden-Hall, Cumberland, which is supposed to have been seized at a banquet of the elves by one of the ancient family of Musgrave, or, as others say, by one of their domestics, in the manuer above described. The fairy train vanished, crying aloud, — " If this glass do break or fall, Farewell the Luck of Eden-Hall!" The goblet took a name from the prophecy, under which it is mentioned in the burlesque ballad, commonly attributed to the Duke of Wharton, but in reality composed by Lloyd, one of liis jovial companions. The Duke, after taking a draught, had nearly terminated " the Luck of Eden-Hall," liad not the butler caught the cup in a napkin as it dropped from his Grace's hand. I understand it is not now subjected to such risks, but the lees of wine are still apparent at the bottom. " God prosper long from being broke, The Luck of Eden-Hall." 399 i^^. rature, with a perseverance and success which has left the lovers of literature for ever his debtor. " He was," writes a near relative, " so charmed with the sweet strains of Tasso, that he resolved, with something like a feeling of poetical duty, to rescue his mind's idol from what Sir Walter Scott calls, ' the frozen paws' of his prosaic translator Hoole. In this his labour of love he was encouraged by most of the poetic lights of the day, among whom may be named Scott, Southey, and Rogers." About this period His Grace the late Duke of Bedford offered Mr. Wiffen the appointment of Librarian at Woburn Abbey. An office so every way congenial with his taste and pursuits was entered upon with alacrity, and most ably filled up to the period of his lamented death in the year 1836. Here then, in the year 1821, he took up his abode, encircled " By mental light and luxury of thought." He addressed himself with renewed vigour to his pleasant toil, and laid before the public the fruits of his labour in a metrical version of the fourth Book of the " Jerusalem Delivered." About this period, his taste having led him to explore the stores of Spanish Literature, he commenced a translation of the works of Garcilasso de la Vega, sumamed " the Prince of Castilian Poets." This work, which won for him the highest literary honours of Spain, was little appreciated in England, perhaps because eclogues and pastorals, however beautiful, are only adapted for a state of society emerging into the light of letters, and not one on whom its meridian sun has long looked down. In Spain the lays of this poet are familiar as household words ; and, after a long lapse of years, his fountain still flows forth, the pride of the ancient city of Toledo. In 1824 the first volume of the " Jerusalem Delivered" made its appearance, and, after some delay, the second ; the whole impression of which perished in a fire at the office of its printer. In 1826 a second edition was called for; and in 1836 another of a smaller size, to meet the wants of readers of more limited means. This translation, which has won for its author an enduring name, needs no eulogy at our hands ; but we cannot refrain from calling the particular attention of our readers to its charming dedication to Georgiana Duchess of Bedford, and its still more exquisite Envoi addressed to the lady who afterwards became his wife. In the year 1826 Mr. Wiffen visited Normandy, for the purpose of collecting materials for his principal prose work, " The Historical Memoirs of the House of Russell," which, after seven years of labour and research, appeared in the year 1833. A copy of this work, for the Library at Woburn Abbey, was illustrated by His Grace the Duke of Bedford with Historical Portraits to the amount of nearly 1000/. In the year 1836, from a life calmly lapsing away in the happy solitudes of literature, Mr. Wiffen was suddenly called away, at the early age of 43 ; leaving a widow and three infant daughters to lament the loss of one equally good and gifted. His remains rest with the dead of his own people ; a crypress alone distinguishing his grave from the commoner earth. The sister of Mr. Wiffen (Mrs. A. A. Watts) is a lady of most accomplished mind ; her literary productions, although few in number, possess the highest merit. The Luck of Eden-Hall was originally published in " The Literary Souvenir." ca> 400 ^ THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL K Eden's wild romantic bowers, The summer moonbeams sweetly fall, And tint with yellow light the towers — The stately towers of Eden-Hall, A Ci-owquili del T. Armstrong so. There, lonely in the deepening night, A lady at her lattice sits, And trims her taper's wavering light, And tunes her idle lute by fits. But little can her idle lute Beguile the weary moments now ; And little seems the lay to suit Her wistful eye and anxious brow. For, as the chord her finger sweeps. Oft-times she checks her simple song, To chide the forward chance that keeps Lord Musgrave from her arms so long. And listens, as the yvind sweeps by, His steed's familiar step to hear— Peace, beating heart ! 'twas but the cry And foot-faU of the distant deer. In, lady, to thy bower ; fast weep The chill dews on thy cheek so pale ; Thy cherished hero lies asleep — Asleep in distant B-ussendale ! The noon was sultry, long the chase — And when the wUd stag stood at bay, BuEBEK reflected from its face The purple lights of dying day. Through many a dale must Musgrave hie- Up many a hill his courser strain, Ere he behold, with gladsome eye. His verdant bowers and halls again. But twilight deepens — o'er the wolds The yellow moonbeam rising plays, And now the haunted forest holds The wanderer in its bosky maze. iki A. Crcwquiil del, T. ArmstroD^ sc 402 No ready vassal rides in sight ; He blows his hugle, but the call Roused Echo mocks : farewell, to-night, The homefelt joys of Eden-HaU ! His steed he to an alder ties, His limbs he on the greensward fliags ; And, tired and languid, to his eyes "Woos sorceress slumber's balmy wings. A prayer — a sigh, in murmurs faint. He whispers to the passing air ; The Ave to his patron saint — The sigh was to his lady fair. 'Twas weU that ia that Elfin wood He breathed the supplicating charm. Which binds the G-uardians of the good To shield from all unearthly harm. Scarce had the night's pale Lady staid Her chariot o'er th' accustomed oak. Than murmurs in the mystic shade The slumberer from his trance awoke. Stiff stood his courser's mane with dread — His crouching greyhound whined with fear; And quaked the wild-fem rovmd his head. As though some passing ghost were near. Tet calmly shone the moonshine pale On glade and hillock, flower and tree ; And sweet the gurgling nightingale Poured forth her music, wild and free. Sudden her notes fall hushed, and near Flutes breathe, horns warble, bridles ring; And, in gay cavalcade, appear The Fairies round their Fairy King. m A. Cro-wquill del T. Armstiong 8C. 3M 403 C^e %VLtk of (Btitn^^SLlh Twelve hundred "Rlfin koights and more "Were there in silk and steel arrayed ; And each a ruby helmet wore, And each a diamond lance displayed. And pursuivants with wands of gold, And miastrels scarfed and laurelled fair, Heralds with blazoned flags unroUed, And trumpet-tuning dwarfs were there. Behind, twelve hundred ladies coy, [Queen ; On milk-white steeds, brought up their Their kerchiefs of the crimson soy. Their kirtles all of Lincoln-green. Some wore, in fenciful costume, A sapphire or a topaz crown ; And some a hem's or peacock's plume. Which their own tercel-gents struck down: And some wore masks, and some wore hoods. Some turbans rich, some ouches rare ; And some sweet woodbine from the woods, To bind their undulating hair. With all gay tints the darksome shade Grew florid as they passed along. And not a sound their bridles made But tuned itself to Elfin song. Their steeds they quit ; — ^the knights advance, And ia quaiut order, one by one, Each leads his lady forth to dance, — The timbrels sound — the charm's begun. Where'er they trip, where'er they tread, A daisy or a bluebell spriogs ; And not a dew-drop shiaes o'erhead. But falls withia their charmed rings. A. CrowquiU del T Armstrong sc. 404 '^A. Ci)e Hucfe oe mm^}i}aU^ % ' The dance lead up, the dance lead down, The dance lead round our favourite tree ; If now one lady wears a frown, A false and froward shrew is she ! ' There 's not a smile we Fays let Ml But swells the tide of human bUss ; And if good luck attends our call, 'Tis due on such sweet night as this. ' The dance lead up, the dance lead down, The dance lead round our favourite tree ; If now even Oberon wears a frown, A false and froward churl is he ! ' Thus sing the Pays ; — Lord Musgrave hears Their shrill sweet song, and eager eyes The radiant show, despite the fears That to his bounding bosom rise. But soft — the minstrelsy declines ; The morris ceases — sound the shaums ! And quick, whilst many a taper shines. The heralds rank their airy swarms. Titania waves her crystal wand ; And underneath the green-wood bower. Tables, and urns, and goblets stand, Metheglin, nectar, fruit, and flower. * To banquet, ho ! ' the seneschals Bid the brisk tribes, that, thick as bees At sound of cymbals, to their calls Consort beneath the leafy trees. Titania by her king, each knight Beside his ladye love ; the page Behind his ' scutcheon' d lord, — a bright Equipment on a brilliant stage ! .4 A Crcwquiil del T. Armstrong so. 405 Cf)e Huffe of (Stfn=?l^aU. ^^ ^ The monarcli sits ; — all helms are doifed, Plumes, scarfs, and mantles cast aside ; And, to the sound of music soft, They ply their cups with mickle pride. Or sparkling mead, or spangling dew, Or livelier hyppocras they sip ; And strawberries red, and mulberries blue, Eefresh each elf a luxurious lip. With ' nod, and beck, and wreathed smile,' They heap their jewelled patines high ; Nor want there mirthful airs the while To crown the festive revelry. A minstrel dwarf", in silk arrayed. Lay on a mossy bank o'er which The wild thyme wove its fragrant braid. The violet spread its perfume rich ; And whilst a page at Oberon's knee Presented high the waissail-cup. This lay the little bard with glee Prom harp of ivory offered up : ' Health to our sovereign ! — fill, brave boy. Ton glorious goblet to the brim ! There 's joy — in every drop there 's joy That laughs within its chiirmed rim ! ' 'Twas wrought within a wizard's mould. When signs and speUshad happiest power;— ' Health to our King by wood and wold ! Health to our Queen in haU and bower !' They rise — the myriads rise, and shrill The wild-wood echoes to their brawl, — * Health to our King by wold and rill ! Health to our Queen in bower and hall ! ' A. Crowquill del T. ArmatroDg sc. 406 JCflf autit of «mensJ6all. ^^. (fB A sudden thought fires Musgrave's brain, — So help him all the Powers of Light, — He rushes to the festal train, And snatches up that goblet bright ! With three brave bounds the lawn he crossed, The fourth it seats him on his steed ; * Now, Courser ! or thy lord is lost — Stretch to the stream withlightning speed! ' Tis uproar all around, behind, — Leaps to his selle each screaming Fay, ' The charmed cup is fairly tined, Stretch to the strife, — away ! away ! ' As in a whirlwind forth they swept. The green turf trembling as they passed ; But forward still good Musgrave kept, — The shallow stream approaching fast. A thousand quivers round him rained Their shafts or ere he reached the shore ; But when the farther bank was gained. This song the passing whirlwind bore : ' Joy to thy banner, bold Sir Knight ! But if yon goblet break or fall, Farewell thy vantage in the fight ! — FareweU the luck of Eden-Hall!' The forest cleared, he winds his horn, — Eock, wood, and wave return the din ; And soon, as though by Echo borne, His gallant Squires come pricking in; 'Tis dusk of day ; — in Eden's towers A mother o'er her infant bends. And lists, amid the whispering bowers. The sound that from the stream ascends. ■-^ ^ A. C'rowquill del T. Armstrong sc. 407 Kf^t Eucfe of ©ticn^l^aU. It comes in murmurs up tte staira, — A low, a sweet, a mellow voice, — And charms away the lady's cares. And bids the mother's heart rejoice. * Sleep sweetly, babe !' 'twas heard to say ; * But if the goblet break or fall. Farewell thy vantage in the fi^y ! — FareweU the luck of Eden-HaU ! ' ^ A. CrowquUl del. T. Armstrong sc. ADY ANNE BOTH WELL'S LAMENT. Our copy of this beautiful and long popular ballad is given from the volume of " Scottish Ballads," edited by Robert Chambers. By him it is " composed out of that which appeared in Watson's collection, with some stanzas and various readings from a version altogether diflferent, which was published by Dr. Percy." Dr. Percy's ballad contains only seven stanzas ; and these seven vary in no essential particulars from the version we here print. In the " Reliques of Ancient English Poetry" it was thus introduced: — "The subject of this pathetic ballad the editor once thought might pos- sibly relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his wife Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots : but this opinion he now believes to be groundless ; indeed Earl Bothwell's age, who was upwards of sixty at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a passion as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed that it entirely refers to a private story. A young lady of the name of Bothwell, or rather Boswell, having been, together with her child, deserted by her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines herself; which are here given from a copy in the editor's folio MS., corrected by another in Allan Ramsay's Miscellany." Allan Cunningham considers the Scottish song to have a " deeper pathos than the fragment which Percy found in his folio ;" but thinks that it has been modernised " by a skilful and a tender hand." " It is," he states, " very old, and was in existence as early as the reign of Queen Mary ;" and he adds, " I have often thought that the song of ' Bothwell Bank, thou bloomest fair !' which a traveller, before the year 1605, heard a Scottish lady sing in Palestine, was a variation, or a portion, of this pathetic Lament." Pinkerton publishes also a fragment of the ballad from which one passage (although but one) might have been taken with advantage ; it occurs in the con- cluding verse : — " Be still, my sad one ; spare those tears, To weip when thou hast wit and years." His fragment is, however, of little value — the simple nature of the composition having been completely sacrificed. Mr. Chambers, in a note to his copy of the ballad, considers that, " by the assistance of a valued antiquarian friend," he is enabled to lay before the public a true and certain history of the heroine. " Lady Anne Bothwell," he says, " was no other than the Honourable Anne Bothwell, daughter of Bothwell, bishop of Orkney at the Reforma- tion, but who was afterwards raised to a temporal peerage, under the title of Lord Holyroodhouse. (He married Queen Mary to the Earl of Bothwell, after the form of the Catholic church.) This young lady, who is said to have possessed great beauty, was betrayed into a disgraceful connexion by the Honourable Sir Alexander Erskine, third son of John, seventh Earl of Mar, (by his Lordship's second wife. Lady Maria Stewart, daughter of Esme, Duke of Lennox). As Miss Bothwell's father died in 1595, and as Sir Alexander had a letter of provision of the abbacy of Cambuskenneth in CB> 409 1608, there arises a presumption, considering the age of the parties, that the unhappy circumstance which occasioned the Lament took place early in the seventeenth cen- tury. This, indeed, is set almost beyond a question by the occurrence of a poem, apparently the first edition of Miss Bothwell's Lament, in a publication of the year 1606, " The Northern Lass ; or the Nest of Fools." "Peace, wayward bairn ! O cease thy mone; Thy far more wayward daddy's gone. And never will recalled be. By cries of either thee or me : For should we cry Until we die. We could not 'scant his cruelty. Ballow, ballow, &c. " He needs might in himself foresee What thou successively might'st be ; ' And could he then, though me forego. His infant leave, ere he did know How like the dad Would be the lad In time, to make fond maidens glad. Ballow, ballow, &c." " Sir Alexander Erskine was considered to be the handsomest man of his age ; and his goods looks are to this day testified by a portrait of him, by Jamieson, now in the possession of James Erskine of Cambus, Esq. He is there represented in military dress, with a cuirass and scarf; but the splendour of his warlike attire is evidently unnecessary to set off the extreme beauty of his countenance. In addition to a pair of dark blue eyes, mustaches, and a set of fine ringlets— all of which were, no doubt, most eflfective auxiliaries to the ' sugared words' and ' feignings false' which moved Miss Bothwell to love — his visage is characterised by a peculiar vivacity of expres- sion, which in the living man, it is easy to conceive, must have been to the last degree fascinating. " As to the ultimate fate of Miss Bothwell, it is unfortunately out of the editor's power to say anything. That of her faithless lover happens to be better known. He entered into the French service, and became a colonel. When the religious troubles broke out in Scotland, Sir Alexander, disloyal in politics as in love, was pre- vailed upon by the Covenanters to undertake the command of one of their regiments. There is, in Lord Hailes' collection of letters, one written in 1640, by the chief men in that interest to a person unknown in France, desiring him to intercede with the cardinal Richelieu and the king of France for leave of absence for Sir Alexander till the end of the campaign then in hand. Ten days after the date of that letter the colonel was blown up, along with the Earl of Haddington, and about eighty other persons of distinction, in the castle of Dunglass, Berwickshire, the powder-magazine having been ignited by a menial boy, out of revenge against his master. It was the general senti- ment of the time, and long a traditionary notion in the family, that he came to this dreadful end on account of his treatment of the unhappy lady who indites ' the Lament ;' she having probably died before that time of a broken heart." 410 J. S.B line del. 3 N J. Bastin sc. Ua^B ^mt iSoti^bocirs Uatnent "WTien lie began to court my luve, And with his sugred words to muve, His feignings false and flattering cheir To me that time did not appeir : But now I see most cruel he Cares neither for his babe nor me. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see the weip. Lie still, my darling ; sleip awhile, And, when thou wakest, sweetlie smile : But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids : nay, God forbid ! But yet I feir, thou wilt gae neir Thy father's heart and face to heir. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. Farewell, farewell, thou falsest youth, That ever kist a woman's mouth ! Let nevir any, after me, Submit unto thy courtesie ; For, if they do. Oh, cruel thou Wilt her abuse, and care not how. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. I was too credulous at first. To yield thee all a maiden durst. Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchanged, unchanged thy love ; But, quick as thought, the change is wrought. Thy love's no more, thy promise noucht. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. Balow, my boy ; weep not for me, Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee ; Nor pity her deserved smart, Who can blame none but her fond heart. . J. £). Brine del. T. Armstroni^ sc. 412 f ^HatJB anne ii3oti)b)eir0 Eament. J. S. Brine del. J. BclSLlD 8C. The too soon trusting, latest finds, "With fairest tongues are falsest minds. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! Ifc grieves me sair to heir thee weip. Oh, do not, do not, prettie mine, To feignings false thy heart iaeliae. Be loyal to thy lover true. And never change her for a new : If good or fair, of her have care ; Por women's banning' s wondrous sair. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. Balow, my boy ; thy father 's fled, "When he the thriftless son has play'd. Of vows and oaths forgetful, he Prefers the wars to thee and me. But now, perhaps, thy curse and miae Make him eat acorns with the swine. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! it grieves me sair to heir thee weip. Yet I can't chuse, but ever will Be loving to thy father still : Where'er he gae, where'er he ride, My luve -with him doth still abide : In weel or wae, where'er he gae. My heart can ne'er depart him frae. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to heir thee weip. Then cm'se him not : perhaps now he. Stung with remorse, is blessing thee : Perhaps at death ; for who can tell, "Whether the judge of heaven or hell. By some proud foe, has struck the blow, And laid the dear deceiver low. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to heir thee weip. 413 Hatig Enne li>otf)b3eirs Uament I wish I were into the bounds Where he lies smothered in his wounds — Eepeating, as he pants for air, My name, whom once he called his fair. No woman 's yet so fiercely set, But she '11 forgive, though not forget. Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. Balow, my boy ! I'U weip for thee ; Too soon, alas, thou 'It weip for me : Thy griefs are growing to a sum — God grant thee patience when they come ; Bom to sustain thy mother's shame, A hapless fate, an outcast's name ! Balow, my boy ; He still and sleip ! It grieves me sair to see thee weip. J. B. Brine del. T Armstrong ec. m , HE merit of this most touching ballad has been uni- versally acknowledged. It is unquestionably one of the most pathetic and affecting compositions that has ever been penned. It exhibits a perfect picture : the characters of the drama — for such it is — seem ac- tually before us as we read ; our sympathy is power- fully excited; we feel assured that fiction has had nothing to do with the work ; Truth seems to speak in every line. Few poems have obtained such universal celebrity ; yet, as far as we know, it is the only one its author ever printed. Its popularity is confined to no class : it is one of those pure transcripts of nature felt and appreciated alike by high and low, the ignorant and the refined. Sir Walter Scott describes it as " that real pastoral which is worth all the dialogues that Corydon and Phillis have had together, from the days of Theocritus downwards." Mr. Hazlitt says, " The effect of reading this old ballad is as if all our hopes and fears hung upon the last fibre of the heart, and we felt that giving way. What silence, what loneliness, what leisure for grief and despair ! ' My father pressed me sair, my mother didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break.' The irksomeness of the situations, the sense of painful dependence, is excessive ; and yet the sentiment of deep-rooted, patient affection, triumphs over all, and is the only impression that remains." It is indeed received into all collections as one of the chiefest gems of the language — a production unsurpassed in natural pathos and simple truth. Yet there can be no question that it owes very little to those artificial graces to which — generally, but erroneously — Poetry is supposed to be mainly indebted for its influence and effects. The history of the author and the poem may be briefly told. Lady Ann Lindsay, the eldest daughter of James fifth Earl of Balcarres, was born on the 8th of December, 1750, and died on the 27th of October, 1825 ; having married (in 1793) Sir Andrew Barnard, librarian to King George III, to whom Dr. Johnson addressed his celebrated letter on the formation of a Library. She survived her husband eighteen years, and left no issue. The mystery connected with the poetical production that makes her name immortal was cleared up by Sir Walter Scott, who printed — as a contribution to the Bannatine Club — the ballad, with a letter acknowledging the authorship, and two "continuations," one of vvhich we shall print, although very inferior to the ori- ginal. The story of its production is simply thus : — It was written about the year 1772. Lady Ann was, to use her own expression, "passionately fond of an ancient Scottish melody, called ' the Bridegroom grat when the sun gaed down.' " The air was sung to her by an aged person at Balcarres, with the old and rather free spoken words. Her sister Margaret had just married, and left Balcarres with her husband for London ; she was melancholy thereat, and sought consolation from the Muse. " I longed to sing old Sophy's air" — thus writes Lady Barnard to Sir Walter Scott in 1823 — " to diflferent words, and give its plaintive tones some little history of virtuous distress in humble life, such as might suit it." In pursuance of her simple plan, there- fore, she proceeded to create a heroine — oppressed her with many misfortunes, sent her Jamie to sea, broke her father's arm, made her mother fall sick, and gave her Auld Robin Gray (a herd at Balcarres) for a lover. She wished then to load the unhappy maiden with a fifth heavy sorrow ; and while thinking over what it should be, in her closet, she called to her little sister (afterwards Lady Hardwicke), who was in another room, to help her to another misfortune. " Steal the cow, sister Anne," said the little girl ; so the cow was lifted, and the song was finished. "Auld Robin Gray" became immediately popular. At the fire-side of Balcarres, and among the neighbouring pea- santry, the song was " always called for." In process of time a new air was written — by Mr. Leeves of Clevedon, near Bristol — to the words. It found its way to the stage, where it has ever since been occasionally sung ; and in no part of the world, where the English language is spoken, is the poem a stranger. " I was pleased in secret," says Lady Barnard, " with the approbation it met with ; but such was my dread of being suspected of writing any thing, perceiving the shyness it created in those who could write nothing, that I carefully kept my own secret." But the song wanted the name of an author. The words had " an undoubted air of antiquity." It was soon attri- buted to David Rizzio, the unfortunate minstrel of Mary, Queen of Scots, and was for a time looked upon as a great literary curiosity. Ere long, however, this notion was exploded, and public curiosity very strongly excited. Some inquisitive person boldly offered, through the newspapers, a sum of twenty guineas to any one who would prove the authorship past a doubt. " I was persecuted," writes Lady Barnard, " to avow whether I had written it or not, or say where I had got it." Meanwhile, an envoy from the Antiquarian Society of Edinburgh, a Mr. Jerningham, their secretary, paid the lady a visit, and endeavoured to entrap the truth from her in away she " took amiss." Nothing was gained by this attempt : — " Had he asked the question obligingly," Lady Barnard writes, " I should have told him the fact distinctly and confidentially." In July, 1823, however, her ladyship, as we have intimated, acknowledged the author- ship to Sir Walter Scott, — sending him the two " continuations," which she had written long after the song itself. In these Auld Robin falls sick ; confesses he had stolen the cow himself, in order to force upon the afilicted family another motive for the marriage ; dies, and leaves the young couple all his " warldly gear." They are of course in due time wedded ; and the melancholy close of the story is thus avoided — but certainly at the cost of its truth. Sir Walter Scott added to the Ballad the fol- lowing verse, in which it will be perceived he has borrowed an idea from the con- tinuation : — " Nae longer she wept, her tears were a' spent, Despair it was come, and she thought it content ; She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale. And she droop'd like a lily broke down by the hail." Such is the brief history of this exquisitely touching poem. Of the author far too little is known. It is not impossible, however, that hereafter her memoirs, and some unpublished compositions of hers, may be given to the world. Both are, to our knowledge, in existence ; or at all events were, a very few years ago. 416 J. Franklin del. "When the sheep are in the fauld,when the cows come hame, When a' the weary warld to quiet rest are gane ; The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, Unken'd by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by me. Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his bride ; But saving ae crown piece, he 'd naething else beside. To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea ; And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for me ! G. Dalaie] sc. EuItJ i^oiin ©rag. '^ ^-4!^ ^ 7^ ^^. /^ Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day, My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away ; My mother she fell sck — my Jamie was at sea — And Auld Eobia Gray, oh ! he came a-courting me. *^-^t*Sssi^ & My father cou'dna work — ^my mother cou'dna spin ; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win ; Auld Rob maintain' d them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee. Said, ' Jenny, oh ! for their sakes, will you marry me ! ' My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back ; But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack : His ship it was a wrack ! "Why didna Jamie dee ? Or, wherefore am I spar'd to cry out, Woe is me ! My father argued sair — my mother didna speak. But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea ; And so Auld Eobin Gray, he was gudeman to me. I hadna been his wife, a week but only four, When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist — I cou'dna think it he, TiU he said, • I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee !' ,t:;Jln 111 O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a' ; Ae kiss we took, nae mair — I bad him gang awa. I wish that I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee ; For O, I am but young to cry out. Woe is me ! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin, I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin. But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be. For Auld Eobin Gray, oh ! he is sae kind to me. THE CONTINUATION. The wintry days grew lang, my tears they were a' spent : May be it was despair I fancied was content. They said my cheek was wan ; I cou'dna look to see — For, oh ! the wee bit glass, my Jamie gaed it me. J. Franklin del. F. Branston sc. 418 My father he was sad, my mother dull and wae ; But that which griev'd me maist, it was Auld Eohin Gray ; Though ne'er a word he said, his cheek said mair than a', It wasted Hke a brae o'er which the torrents fa'. He gaed into his bed — nae physic wad he take ; And oft he moan'd and said, * It 's better, for her sake.' At length he look'd upon me, and call'd me his * ain dear,' And beckon'd round the neighbours, as if his hour drew near. * I 've wrong'd her sair,' he said, 'but ken't the truth o'er late; It 's grief for that alone that hastens now my date ; But a' is for the best, since death will shortly free A young and faithful heart that was ill matched wi' me. * I loo'd, and sought to win her for mony a lang day ; I had her parents' favour, but still she said me nay ; I knew na Jamie's luve ; and oh ! it 's sair to tell — To force her to be mine, I steal'd her cow mysel ! * what cared I for Crummie ! I thought of nought but thee, I thought it was the cow stood 'twist my luve and me. While she maintain' d ye a', was you not heard to say, That you would never marry wi' Auld Eobin Gray ? * But sickness in the house, and hunger at the door, My bairn gied me her hand, although her heart was sore. I saw her heart was sore — why did I take her hand ? That was a sinfu' deed ! to blast a bonnie land. ' It was na very lang ere a' did come to light ; Por Jamie he came back, and Jenny's cheek grew white. My spouse's cheek grew white, but true she was to me ; Jenny ! I saw it a' — and oh, I 'm glad to dee ! ' Is Jamie come ?' he said ; and Jamie by us stood — ' Te loo each other weel — oh, let me do some good ! I gie you a', young man — my houses, cattle, kine, And the dear wife hersel, that ne'er should hae been mine.' J. Franklin del. G. Dalziel so. 30 419 aulli tfvolJin ©rag. We kiss'd his clay-cold hands — a smile came o'er his face ; * He 's pardon' d,' Jamie said, ' before the throne o' grace. Oh, Jenny ! see that smile — forgi'en I 'm sure is he, Wha could withstand temptation when hoping to win thee ? ' The days at first were dowie ; but what was sad and sair, While tears were in my ee, I kent mysel nae mair ; Tor, oh ! my heart was light as ony bird that flew, And, wae as a' thing was, it had a kindly hue. But sweeter shines the sim than e'er he shone before, For now I 'm Jamie's wife, and what need I say more ? We hae a wee bit bairn — the auld folks by the fire — And Jamie, oh ! he loo's me up to my heart's desire. #i^-^**N> J Franklin del. Fred. Branston bo. HIS singular and very remarkable composition is the pro- duction of Mr. William Motherwell. It was written, avowedly, as an imitation of tlie "old style;" and, as with most imitators, the peculiarities and defects of the originals have been exaggerated, while the simplicity and truth by which they are invariably characterised are far less faithfully copied. It will be unnecessary to pass any ^ _ _ ^ remarks upon the Poem ; and our space may be advan- VlJ^^^^^^^^^^^i^i^i:^-^ tageously occupied by some particulars relative to the brief life of its author, of whom at present far too little is known. He was one of many who pass a life of industry and labour, profitable more to others than to them- selves, but of whom the world know nothing until the ear is " deaf to the voice of the charmer." William Motherwell was born in Glasgow (where his father was an ironmonger) on the 13th of October, 1797. The family belongs to Stirlingshire, where the elder branches have resided, for several generations, on a small property of their own, called Muirmill, in virtue of a grant originally conferred by the celebrated Marquis of Montrose. Part of his early life was passed at that place and in Edinburgh. In his twelfth year he was placed under the care of an uncle in Paisley, where he was brought up to the legal profession. On the termination of his apprenticeship he was employed for some time by Dr. Robert Watt in assisting in the compilation of that useful and laborious work, the " Bibliotheca Britannica." In 1819, while he was only in his twenty-second year, he was appointed deputy to the sheriff-clerk at Paisley. In 1S28 he became proprietor and editor of the " Paisley Advertiser" — a journal wherein he zealously advocated Conservative principles, to which he had always been attached. In the following year he resigned his official appointment, and applied himself exclusively to the management of the newspaper, and to lite- rary pursuits. In the beginning of 1830 he was called to the exercise of more im- portant duties, having, on the retirement of Mr. M'Queen, the able and well-known advocate of the West India interests, been appointed editor of the " Glasgow Courier," a respectable newspaper of long standing, published thrice a week. To Glasgow he accordingly removed ; and there he remained, conducting the Courier with great talent and intrepidity, during a period of much political strife, till his death, which happened suddenly, of apoplexy, on the 1st of November, 1835, just after the completion of the thirty-eighth year of his age. He was interred in the Necropolis of his native city, deeply lamented by his friends, to whom he was endeared by many excellent qualities, not the least conspicuous of which were kindness of heart, quaintness of humour, and an ingenious and chivalrous disposition. Motherwell early evinced a taste for literature, especially for that of Scotland. In 1819 he contributed to a collection of poetical pieces, entitled the " Harp of Renfrew- shire," an essay on the poets of that county — a theme of considerable interest, as it included the names of Wilson, the ornithologist of America, and Tannahill, the admired song- writer. He subsequently became editor of a work entitled " Minstrelsy, Ancient 421 and Modern," published in parts, and completed in 1827, illustrated by notes and an elaborate historical introduction, whicii exhibited his extensive acquaintance with the ballad and romantic literature of Scotland.* During the year 1828 he conducted the " Paisley Magazine,"a monthly publication, which, though it displayed much talent, and contained many articles of a rare and curious nature, did not survive beyond the year. While occupied with the compositions of others, he did not forget cultivating the Muse on his own account; and many of his poetical effusions appeared from time to time in periodical works. At length, in 1832, he published a volume of his " Poems, Nar- rative and Lyrical," which was most favorably received, and established his reputation as one of the sweet singers of his native land. About the same time he furnished his friend, Andiew Henderson, with an interesting preface for his collection of Scottish Proverbs. He was also a frequent contributor, both in prose and verse, to "The Day," aliterary paper then published at Glasgow, of which he was one of the originators; and his " Memoirs of Peter Pirnie," a Paisley Bailie, formed one of the most amusing and popular articles in that journal. The last literary undertaking with which he was connected was an edition of the works of Burns, which he superintended in conjunction with Hogg, the Etrick Stepherd, and to which he contributed a large amount of notes, critical and illustrative. He was much devoted to the wild legends of the ancient northern nations, and composed a prose romance, embodying some of the^e, and hitherto unpublished, entitled " The Doomed Nine, or the Langbein Ritters." The distinguishing characteristics of Motherwell's poetry are simplicity, gracefulness, purity of spirit, and depth of feeling. His poems are eminently beautifid ; and although they appear to come warm from the heart, are highly polished. Few poets, ancient or modern, have been more entirely successful in creating a corresponding feeling in the reader. It is impossible to peruse his bolder compositions without strong excitement, his more descriptive pieces without earnest sympathy, or his more tender lyrics without tears. In the composition of the Scottish Ballad, both after the ancient and the modem style, he eminently excelled. The Ballad here printed evinces his proficiency in the former of these styles ; while some of his productions in more modem phraseology, such as " Jeanie Morrison," and " My held is like to rend, Willie," have attained an extensive popularity. His prose compositions are vigorous and often eloquent, mixed at times with an antiquated phraseology which appeared natural to him, and which well befitted most of the subjects of which he treated. • To this volume we have been largely indebted. There is, indeed, scarcely one of the Scottish Ballads pubUshed in this work the introduction to which has received no aid from the publication of Mr. Motherwell. In many instances he has procured new and authentic versions ; and to nearly all he has appended brief notes, that communicate considerable information in a clear, sensible, and comprehensive manner ; while the " Introduction" is a complete History of the Ballad lore of Scotland. The general reader will find in the work nearly all the knowledge he can require concerning the various publications that have from time to time appeared in Scotland, either partially or entirely devoted to the ancient ballads of the country. L/ I '"^ki cs> 422 EsLWiLLiAMhas muntit his gudegrai stedo, (Merrie lemis munelicht on the sea,) And graithit him in ane cumli weid. ^^ " (S wa bonmlieblumis the hawthorn tree.) J.m. Paton del. 1' ArnaatxoDi; so ©mnlatttj 51Hu^. Erl William rade, Eri William ran — (Fast they ryde quha luve trewlie,) QuhyU the Elfinland wud that gude Erl wan — (Blink ower the burn, sweit may, to mee.) Elfinland wud is dem and dreir, (Merrie is the grai goukis sang,) Bot ilk ane leafis quhyt as silver cleir, (Licht makis schoirt the road swa lang.) It is undirneth ane braid aik tree, (Hey and a lo, as the leavis grow grein,) Thair is kythit ane bricht ladie, (Manie flowris blume quhilk ar nocht seen.) Around hir slepis the quhyte muneschyne, (Meik is mayden undir kell,) Her lips bin lyke the blude reid Avyne ; (The rois of flowris hes sweitest smeU.) It was al bricht quhare that ladie stude, (Far my luve, fure ower the sea.) Bot dem is the lave of Elfinland wud, (The knicht pruvit false that ance luvit me.) The ladie's handis were quhyte als milk, (Hingis my luve wore mair nor ane.) Her skin was safter nor the silk ; (Lniy bricht schinis my luvis halse bane.) Save you, save you, fayr ladie, (Gentil hert schawls gentil deed.) Standand alane undir this auld tree ; (Deir till knicht is nobil steid.) Burdalane, if ye dwaU here, (My hert is layed upon this land.) I- wuld like to live your fere ; (The schippis cum sailin to the strand.) T. Armstivng so 424 m^\ (IIBlfinlan^ SlHuti. <-^-: / 1^ m/P Nevir ane word that ladie sayd ; (Schortest rede hes least to mend.) Bot on hir harp she evir playd ; (Thare nevir was mirth that had nocht end.) Gang ye eist, or fare ye wast, (Ilka stern blinkis blythe for thee,) Or tak ye the road that ye like best, (AI trew feeris ryde in cumpanie.) Erl William loutit doun full lowe ; (Luvis first seid bin curtesie.) And swung hir owir his saddil bow, (Eyde quha listis, ye '11 link with mee.) Scho flang her harp on that auld tree, (The wynd pruvis aye ane harpir gude.) And it gave out its music free ; (Birdis sing blythe in gay grein wud.) The harp playde on its leeful lane, (Lang is my luvis yellow hair.) Quhill it has charmit stock and stane, (Furth by firth, deir lady fare.) Quban scho was muntit him behynd, (Blyth be hertis quhilkis luve ilk uthir.) Awa thai flew lyke flaucht of wind ; (Kin kens kin, and bairnis thair mither.) Nevir ane word that ladie spak ; (Mim be maydins men besyde.) Bot that stout steid did nicher and schaik ; (Smal thingis humbil hertis of pryde.) About his breist scho plet her handis ; (Luvand be maydins quhan thai lyke.) Bot thay were cauld as yron bandis ; (The winter bauld biadis sheuch and syke.) J.N. Paton del. T Armstrong ac. 425 Tour handis ar cauld, feyr ladie, sayd hee, (The caulder hand the trewer hairt.) **• I trembil als the leif on the tree ; (Licht caussis mure aid friendis to pairt.) Lap your mantil owir your heid, (My luve was clad in the reid Scarlett,) And spredd your kirtil owir my stede ; (Thair nevir was joie that had nae lett.) The ladie scho wald nocht dispute ; (Nocht woman is scho that laikis ane tung.) But caiilder hir fingeris about him cruik. (Sum sangis ar writt, hot ne^ir sung.) J This Elfinland Wud will neir half end ; (Hunt quha listis, daylicht for mee.) I wuld I culd ane Strang bow bend, (Al undimeth the grein wud tree.) Thai rade up, and they rade doun, ("Wearilie wearis wan nicht away.) Erl William's heart mair cauld is grown ; (Hey, luve mine, quhan dawia the day ? Your hand lies cauld on my briest-bane, (Smal hand hes my ladie fair,) My horss he can nocht stand his lane, (For cauldness of this midnicht air.) Erl WiUiam tumit his heid about ; (The braid mune schinis in lift richt cleir.) Twa "Rifin een are glentia owt, (My luvia een like twa stemis appere.) Twa brennand eyne, sua bricht and full, (Bonnilie blinkis my ladeis ee,) Flang fire flauchtis fra ane peelit skull ; (Sum sichts ar ugsomlyk to see.) J. N. Paton del T. Armstrong sc. 426 (i^lfinlanti WBnH, Twa rawis of quhyt teeth then did say, (Caidd the boysteoiis windis sal blaw,) Oh, lang and weary is our way, (And donkir yet the dew maun fa'.) Par owir mure, and far owir fell (Hark the sounding huntsmen thrang;) Thorow dingle, and thorow dell, (Luve, come, list the merlis sang.) * * Glossakt. — Muntit, mounted. Gude, good. Lemis, gleams, scintillates. Graithit, dressed. Dern, hidden, secret, dark. Swa, so. Qoha, who. Quhyll, while. Grai goukis sang, song of the " cuckoo-grey." Ilk ane, each, every one. Ilka has the same signification. Quhyt, white. Schoirt, lang, short, long. Braid aik tree, hroad oak tree. Eythit, discovered. Quhilk, nocbt, which, not. Kell, a woman's head-dress. The loia, the rose. Staie, stood. "Fuie, fared. Bot dern is the lave, tut dark, or hidden, is the remainder. Als, as. Mair nor ane, more than one. Schinis, halse bane, shines, collar bone. Hert, schawls, heart, shows. Standand alane, standing alone. Till, to. Burdalane, a term used to denote one who is the only child left in a family ; bird alone, or solitary. Layed, " lay" means basis, 01 foundation, and the signification of "layed," here, it fixed, I think, or set. Fere, a companion. Schortest rede hes least to mend, shortest counsel has least to expiate. Nocht, not. Gang, eist, wast, go, east, west. Stem, star. Loutit, stooped. Seid, bin, offspring, is. Scho, she. Its leeful lane, by itself alone. Turth by tii'h, forth, abroad by frith. Blyth be hertes quhilkis nve ilk utiiir, blithe be hearts which love each other. Ilaucht, gust, and also fiake. Baimis, mither, children, mother. Mim, affectedly modest or coy, prim. Nicher, neigh. Quhau thai lyke, when they choose. Bauld, sheuch, bold, a furrow or ditch. Syke, a rill, or rivulet, usually dry in summer. Hairt, heart. Aid, pairt, old, part. Nae lett, no obstruction, no hinderance. Kocht woman is scho that laikis ane tung, she who lacks a tongue, is not a woman. Sangis, songs. Half, have. Quban dawis the day, when breaks the day. Braid muue, broad moon. Lift, the firmament. Glentin, glancing, gleaming. Brennand, burning. 'Fra.d:nt^et\\ii)s.M\\, from a peeled skull. Ugsomlyk, very loathsome, disgusting Bawis, rows. Boysteous, boisterous, blustering. Doukir, damper, danker. Maun fa', must fall. The merlis sang, the blackbird's song. T\uie, flood. Mudy, moody. Blude, blood. A seamless shrowd weird schaipis for me ! a seamleSf^hroudfate, or destiny, prepares for me. To rede aright my spell, to explain aright my tale. Eerilie, awfully, drearily. Sal, shall. Quhill fleand Hevin and r-iikand Hell, while avoidjfu Heaven and ranging Hell. Ghaist, ghost. Luvand, loving, affectionate. J. N. Paton del T. Armalrond sc. 3P 427 ©Ifinlanti SlHuti. Thorow fire, and thorow flude, (Mudy mindis rage lyk a sea ;) Thorow slauchtir, thorow blude, (A seamless shrowd weird schaipis for me!) And to rede aricht my spell, Eerilie sal nicht wyndis moan, Quhill fleand Hevin and raikand Hell, Ghaist with ghaist maun wandir on. J. N. Patn del. T. Armstroiig sc. HE TWA CORBIES. Of the several versions of this singular fragment we prefer that which occurs in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." It was communi- cated to the editor by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, "as written down, from tradition, l»y a lady." " It is a singular circumstance," he observes, " that it should coincide so very nearly with the ancient dirge, called ' The Three Ravens,' published by Mr. Ritson, in his ' Ancient Songs ;' and that, at the same time, there should exist such a difference as to make the one appear rather a counterpart than co))y of the other. In order to enable the curious reader to contrast these two singular poems, and to form a judgment which may be the original, I take the liberty of copying the English ballad from Mr. Ritson's collection, omitting only the burden and repetition of the first line." The learned editor states it to be given " From Ravenscroft's ' Melismata.' Musical Phansies, fitting theCittie and Country Humours, to 3, 4, and 5 Voyces," London, IG 11, 4to. " It will be ol)V!Ous," continues Mr. Ritson, " that this bullad is much older, not only than the date of the book, but most of the other pieces contained in it. " There were three rnuens sat on a tre, Tliey were as blacke as they might be : " Tlie one of tlicm said to liis mate, ' Wliere shall we our hreakefast take V — " ' Downie in yonder greene field. There lies a knight slain under liis shield ; " ' His bounds they lie downe at his feete. So well they their master keepe; " • His haiikes tliey fly so eagerlie. There's no fowle dare come him lue. " • Down there cornea a fallow doe. As great with yong as she might goe. " ' She lift up bis bloudy bed, And kist Lis wounds that were so red. " ' She got him up upon her backe. And carried biiu to earthen lake. " ' She buried him before the prime. She was dead her selfe ere cuen song time. " ' God send euery gentleman, Such haukes, such hounds, and such a leman.' " The moral of the two stories, it will be perceived, is very opposite. In the one, the dead knight is deserted by " his hawk, his hounds, and his lady fair ;" in the other, they are described as constant and true, such as the poet prays may be sent to " every gentleman." Mr. Motherwell states that he has " met with several copies almost the same as in Ritson." His own version, however, is very different from either of those 429 printed by Ritson and Scott. It is, however, nearly the same as the one given by Allan Cunningham, and vrhich is avowedly " made up from various readings and recitations." Nevertheless, it is a very touching and beautiful composition, although neither so powerful nor so effective as the less polished fragment given by Sir Walter Scott. "We copy it entire : — There were two ravens sat on a tree. Large and black as black may be. And one unto the other gan say, ' Where shall we go and dine to-day ? Shall we go dine by the wild salt sea? Shall we go dine 'neath the greenwood tree? ' As I sat on the deep sea sand, I saw a fair ship nigh at land ; I waved my wings, I bent my beak, Tlie ship sank, and 1 heard a shriek; There lie the sailors, one, two, three ; I shall dine by the wild salt sea.' ' Come, I will show ye a sweeter sight, A lonesome glen and a new-slain knight; His bleed yet on the grass is hot. His sword half drawn, his shafts unshot. And no one kens that he lies there. But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. • His hound is to the hunting gane. His hawk to fetch the wild fowl hame. His lady 's away with another mate. So we sliall make our dinner sweet: Our dinner 's sure, our feasting free. Come, and dine by the greenwood tree, " • Ye shall sit on his white hanse-baue, I will pick out his bonny blue een ; Ye '11 take a tress of his yellow hair, To theak yere nest wlien it grows bare ; The gowden down on his young chin Will do to rowe my young ones in. " 'O, cauld and bare will his bed be Wlien winter storms sing in the tree; At his head a turf, at his feet a stone, He will sleep nor hear the maiden's moan; O'er his white bones the birds shall fly. The wild deer bound and foxes cry.' " James Hogg attempted an imitation of it, which he introduces by the following remarks, in allusion to Scott's version of the ballad. " It appears as if the bard had found his power of description inadequate to a detail of the circumstances attending the fatal catastrophe, without suffering the interest already roused to subside, and had artfully consigned it over to the fancy of every reader to paint it what way he chose ; or else that he lamented the untimely fate of a knight, whose base treatment be durst not otherwise make known than in that short parabolical dialogue." 430 . Id As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane ; ^ The tane imto the t'other say, f' * "Where sail we gang and dine to-day ?' — ^ 'vfe^^^^^^ ' •'■^ behiut yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain knight ; And naebody kens that he lies there, || But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. J. FrankUn del. W. T. Green so. J. Franklin del. W. T. Green sc HE ballad of HENGIST AND MEY is the production of William Julius Mickle. Its merits are not of a high order ; but it supplies an example of a class, popular for a time, wliich "came in" between the rugged Nature of ll the old and the over-refinement of the new. It pro- fesses to be an imitation of the ancient ballad ; of the character of which, however, it partakes but little. The incident upon which it is founded is presumed to have grown out of the wars between the Britons and the Saxons ; and the " Saxon story" supplied the author with the ground-work of another " heroic ballad," entitled " The Sorceress," — these two being the principal compositions of the kind produced by the author. He was born in 1734, at Lang- holm in Dumfries-shire, where his father was minister. He was early "bound prentice to the Muse;" for although he entered into business as a brewer in Edinburgh, and " paid more duty to the excise than any other member of the trade," he had " written two tragedies and half an epic poem before he was eighteen," and was, of course, unsuccessful in his attempts to "gather gear." Having passed through various vicis- situdes, he was at length patronised by a Governor Johnstone, who being appointed to the command of the Romney ship of war, named the poet as his secretary : in this capacity he visited Lisbon, where he obtained the lucrative post of prize-agent, and amassed a considerable sum of money. He died at Wheatley, in Oxfordshire, in 1789. The poems of Mickle consist chiefly of short pieces, the longest being an imitation of Spenser. He is indebted for his fame, however, to his translation of" The Lusiad" of Camoens, the first part of which he published in 1771,* — a work of no inconsiderable value, which continues to maintain some hold on the public mind. " Of the Lusiad," writes Dr. Anderson, " Mickle was not only the able translator, but a spirited advo- cate. He has very judiciously prefaced his translation with a copious and satisfactory introduction to the history of the Poem, and accompanied it with notes that were ne- cessary to give it proper elucidation. The narrative is liberal and elegant, inter- spersed with many sensil)Ie observations and just political reflections." " His cha- racter as a poet," according to the same authority, " ranks very high among his coun- trymen. His versification is undoubtedly very vigorous and manly ; but certainly not equally remarkable for correctness." Of his personal character a contemporary writer in the European Magazine thus speaks : — " He was, in every point of view, a man of the utmost integrity, warm in his friendship, and indignant only against vice, irreligion, or meanness. During the greatest part of his life he endured the pressure of a narrow fortune without repining, never relaxing his exertions to acquire by • A writer, who printed in the European Magazine some account of the life of Mickle, relates a curious anecdote concerning the dedication of this work. Mickle selected as his patron the Duke of Buccleuch, wlio took no notice whatsoever of the compliment paid to him ; received the copy with- out condescending to give any reply ; and some months afterwards a friend of the author's ascertained that it had never been read by his Grace, — " to whom it had been represented not to have the merit it was at first said to possess." ^r^^^ honest industry that independence which he at length enjoyed. His foibles were few, and those inoflfensive ; his virtues many; and his genius was very considerable. He lived without reproach, and his memory will be always cherished by those who were acquainted with him." Besides the two ballads to which we have made reference, he is understood to have written some others printed in the multifarious •' gathering " of Mr. Evans.* Mr. Cun- ningham speaks of his having contributed " a dozen and a half " to this collection. " But," he adds, " he had no wish to own these hasty and somewhat unequal produc- tions ; and, with a desire to let them vrin their way as the works of the antique muse, he encumbered their language with all the idle garnishing of superfluous letters. Now, if one quote, or pretend to quote, from some old manuscript, such embarrass- ments to the reader may be defended ; but all oral or remembered things must come stript of idle letters — their presence betrays the imposture. Throughout the whole number there is a family resemblance, and they are all alike marked as the offspring of a tender heart : their descriptions are simple and graphic, their sentiments natural and afiFecting. They are all emblazoned, too, with old manners, and old customs, and old deeds, in the spirit with which a true poet will employ his antiquarian knowledge. I am glad of this opportunity of rendering back to departed genius the ornaments of which it too carelessly despoiled itself ; and it may be a warning to many who imagine they can estimate their own capacity, and decide what works of theirs posterity will honour ; for, in my opinion, his hastiest effusions are his best, and in those heroic and romantic legends he breathed out a far more free and natural strain than in some of his more elaborate productions." If, however, Mickle was the author of the song "There's nae luck about the house," it will bestow upon him more fame than all his other productions. Mr. Cunningham is " not quite satisfied with the claims," which he considers to depend exclusively on the fact of the song, with variations, being found in his handwriting. He admits, however, that Mickle has " made out a better claim to the merit of writing that delightful song than any other person ; and since it is an old favourite now," he adds, " and all knowledge of its origin may be fairly reckoned to be departed, I am ready to believe that it owes to him most of those charms by which it cannot fail to captivate attention, so long as the happiest language in which truth and nature can be expressed has any sway over men's hearts." The song is not included in the col- lected edition of Mickle's Poems, and his countryman. Dr. Anderson, who appears to have taken some pains to procure information concerning the poet's hfe, makes no reference to his claim to the authorship of one of the most exquisite compositions in the language. * The collection of ballads published in four volumes contains, miugled with a few of a good class, a singular mass of mediocre performances. The collector — who was " an old bookseller,"— did, indeed, little more than heap together all tilings of the kind he could procure, and transmit them to a priater. Scarcely any of them contain explanatory notes of any sort; yet it is known that several were here printed for the first time : and though of no great value, it is to be regretted that in many instances the names of their authors are lost. Into this volume of " British Ballads," we have not been enabled to introduce any from Evans's collection. "1 L_. In ancient days, when Arthur reigned, Sir Elmer had no peer ; And no young knight ia all the land The ladies loved so dear. His sister, Mey, the fairest maid Of all the virgia train, "Won every heart at Arthur's court ; But all their love was vain, F. R. Pickersgill del. 3 Q J. L. Williams sc. f^engist anti Mtu* In vain they loved, in vain they vowed; Her heart they could not move : Tet, at the evening hour of prayer, Her mind was lost in love. The abbess saw — the abbess knew, And urged her to explain : * O name the gentle youth to me, And his consent I 'U gain.' Long urged, long tried, fair Mey replied, 'His name — how can I say? An angel from the fields above Has 'rapt my heart away. * But once, alas ! and never more. His lovely form I 'spied ; One evening, by the sounding shore, All by the green-wood side. ' His eyes to mine the love confest. That glowed with mildest gtace ; His courtly mien and purple vest Bespoke his princely race. ' But when he heard my brother's horn, Fast to his ships he fled ; Tet, while I sleep, his graceful form Still hovers round my bed. ' Sometimes, aU clad in armour bright. He shakes a warlike lance ; And now, in courtly garments dight. He leads the sprightly dance. * His hair, as black as raven's wing ; His skin — as Christmas snow ; His cheeks outvie the blush of mom, His lips like rose-buds glow. IJ^<^ F B. Kokeregm del. J. L. WiUiama 436 * His limbs, his arms, his stature shaped By nature's finest hand ; His sparkling eyes declare him born To love, and to command.' The live-long year, fair Mey bemoaned Her hopeless, pining love : But when the balmy spring returned, And summer clothed the grove, All round by pleasant Humber side. The Saxon banners flew. And to Sir Elmer's castle gates The spearmen came in view. Fair blushed the mom, when Mey looked o'er The castle walls so sheen ; And lo ! the warlike Saxon youth Were sporting on the green. There Hengist, Offa's eldest son, Leaned on his burnished lance, And all the armed youth around Obeyed his manly glance. His locks, as black as raven's wing, Adown his shoulders flowed ; His cheeks outvied the blush of mom, His lips like rose-buds glowed. And soon, the lovely form of Mey Has caught his piercing eyes ; He gives the sign, the bands retire, While big with love he sighs. * Oh, thou ! for whom I dared the seas, And came with peace or war ; Oh ! by that cross that veils thy breast. Believe thy lover's care ! F. R, Pickeragill dsl, J. L. Williams sc. 437 * For thee, I '11 quit my father's throne ; With thee, the wilds explore ; Or with thee share the British crown ; With thee, the Cross adore.' Beneath the timorous virgin blush, With love's soft warmth she glows ; So, blushing through the dews of mom, Appears the opening rose. 'Twas now the hour of morning prayer. When men their sins bewail, And Elmer heard King Arthur's horn, Shrill sounding through the dale. The pearly tears from Mey's bright eyes, Like April dew-drops fell, When, with a parting, dear embrace. Her brother bade farewell. The cross with sparkling diamonds bright. That veiled the snowy breast. With prayers to Heaven her lily hands Have fixed on Elmer's vest. Now, with five hundred bowmen true, He 's marched across the plain ; Till with his gallant yeomandrie. He joined King Arthur's train. Full forty thousand Saxon spears Came glittering down the hill. And with their shouts and clang of arms The distant valleys fill. Old Offa, dressed in Odin's garb, Assumed the hoary god ; And Hengist, like the warlike Thor, Before the horsemen rode. F. R. Pickeraftill deL J. L. Wiliiams 8C. 438 Jfc^ngist anti ifSeg. With dreadful rage the combat bums, The captains shout amain ; And Elmer's taU victorious spear Par glances o'er the plain. To stop its course young Hengist flew, Like lightning, o'er the field ; And soon his eyes the well-known cross On Elmer's vest beheld. The slighted lover swelled his breast, His eyes shot living fire ! And all his martial heat before. To this was mild desire. On his imagined rival's front. With whirlwind speed he pressed. And glancing to the sun, his sword Resounds on Elmer's crest. The foe gave way ; — ^the princely youth With heedless rage pursued, TiU trembling in his cloven hehn Sir Elmer's javelin stood. He bowed his head — slow dropped his spear; The reins slipped through his hand ; And, stained with blood — his stately corse Lay breathless on the strand. * O bear me oflf (Sir Elmer cried) ; Before my painful sight The combat swims — yet Hengist's vest I claim as victor's right.' Brave Hengist's fall the Saxons saw. And all in terror fled ; The bowmen to his castle gates The brave Sir Elmer led. iJ^^^ F. R. Pickera^ill dsl. J. L. "Williams sc 439 * O, wash my wounds, my sister dear ; O, pull this Saxon dart, That, whizzing from young Hengist's arm. Has almost pierced my heart, * Tet in my haU his vest shall hang ; And Britons yet unborn. Shall with the trophies of to-day Their solemn feasts adorn.' All trembling, Mey beheld the vest ; * 0, Merlin !' loud she cried ; * Thy words are true — my slaughtered love Shall have a breathless bride ! ' Oh ! Elmer, Elmer, boast no more That low my Hengist lies ! Oh ! Hengist, cruel was thine arm ! My brother bleeds and dies!' She spake, — ^the roses left her cheeks, And life's warm spirit fled : So, nipt by winter's withering blasts. The snow-drop bows its head ! Tet parting life one struggle gave, — She lifts her languid eyes ; ' Eeturn, my Hengist ! oh, return, My slaughtered love !' she cries. ' Oh — still he lives — he smiles again. With all his grace he moves ; I come — I come, where bow nor spear Shall more disturb our loves !' She spake — she died ! The Saxon dart "Was drawn from Elmer's side ; And thrice he called his sister Mey, And thrice he groaned, — and died ! F. R. Pickersgill del J. L. Williams sc. 440 i^engist anti iHeg. Where in the dale a moss-grown Cross O'ershades an aged thorn, Sir Elmer's and young Hengist's corse Were by the spearmen borne. And there, all clad in robes of white. With many a sigh and tear. The "village maids to Hengist's grave Did Mey's fair body bear. And there, at dawn and fall of day, All from the neighbouring groves The turtles waU, in widowed notes. And sing their hapless loves. F. R. Pickaregill del. J. L. Williams sc. lONDOIf : PKINTKD BY J. K. ADLAED, BABTHOf.OMEW CLOSS. OVERDUE. '■''^ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY