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 III 
 
 JIVER%
 
 THE 
 
 LEGENDARY AND ROMANTIC 
 
 BALLADS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 CHAELES MACKAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "EGERIA," "THE LUMP OF COLD," ETO. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 GRIFFIN, BOHN, & CO., STATIONERS' HALL COURT. 
 18G1.
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED BV EALLANTTNE AND COMPANY, 
 
 PAUL'S WORK.
 
 
 Over all this hazy realm is spread 
 
 A halo of sad memories of the dead; 
 
 Of mournful love-tales — of old tragedies, 
 
 Filling the heart with pity, and the eyes 
 
 With tears at bare remembrance ; and old songs 
 
 Of Love's endurance. Love's despair. Love's wrongs, 
 
 And triumphs o'er aU obstacles at last. 
 
 And all the gi-ief and passion of the past. 
 
 Voices from the Mountains. 
 
 8S7G75
 
 INTEODUCTIOK 
 
 This volume is, for the greater part, a reprint of 
 the valuable collection of Scottish Ballads pub- 
 lished by the late William Motherwell under the 
 title of " Ancient and Modern Minstrelsy." The 
 modern ballads, and all that could not fairly be 
 considered either legendary or romantic, have 
 been excluded, as inconsistent with the title 
 adopted for the republication ; and several others, 
 from Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
 and other sources, of which Motherwell neglected, 
 or did not think fit to avail himself, have been 
 added, as being essentially necessary to the com- 
 pleteness of a collection founded upon a broader 
 basis than he had laid down for himself. Mr 
 Motherwell's judicious and accurate notes have 
 been preserved, as well as the greater portion of 
 his learned and sympathetic " Essay on the Origin
 
 VI INTEODUCTION. 
 
 and History of Scottish Ballad Literature." The 
 subject is so rich and fertile that it has not been 
 possible, within the prescribed limits of one 
 volume, to include more than the very flower or 
 cream of the compositions which the early Scot- 
 tish ballad writers and singers so profusely scat- 
 tered over the land, making it musical with the 
 voice of many sorrows ; but the Editor believes 
 that the selection, limited as it is, will be fomid 
 to contain an adequate proportion of the best 
 and most popular of these rude and homely, 
 but hearty and touching lyrics — not as they 
 may have been from time to time " improved " 
 by Percy, Scott, Hogg, and others, sometimes 
 with more taste than reverence, and often with- 
 out either — but as they came from the mouths 
 of the early singers themselves, long before 
 they were committed to the press. The tempta- 
 tion to "amend" such compositions where the 
 rhythm halts, or the rhyme does not jingle, and 
 where, as in many instances, the correct reading 
 is hopelessly lost, is great and trying to the self- 
 control of most editors; but in this respect 
 Motherwell set an example of fidelity which the 
 Editor of the present volume has scrupulously
 
 INTEODUCTION, Vll 
 
 followed. The only two comparatively modern 
 ballads that have been admitted, are those upon 
 the Yarrow Tragedy by William Hamilton of 
 Bangour, and John Logan — an honour to which 
 their great popularity, and their supersedence of 
 the older versions of the story, seem fairly to en- 
 title them. Wherever, in any ballad, not included 
 in Motherwell's original collection, the Editor has 
 seen reason to believe that Sir Walter Scott, or 
 an inferior hand to his, has tampered with the 
 original version, he has not scrupled to state his 
 opinion — agreeing fully with his predecessor "that 
 such a mode of editing ancient ballads is highly 
 objectionable." 
 
 London, May 1861.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PKELrMrNABT EsSAY ON SCOTTISH BAXLAD LiTEKA 
 
 TTJKE. By William Mothek\¥:ell 
 
 Sir Patrick Spens 
 
 The Battle of Otterbourne 
 
 CMd Norice 
 
 The Young Tamlane . 
 
 Erlinton 
 
 Cospatrick . 
 
 True Thomaa 
 
 Sir Cauline . 
 
 Hynd Horn 
 
 Bonnie George Campbell 
 
 Young Benjie 
 
 The Song of the Outlaw Murray 
 
 Johnnie of Breadislee . 
 
 Sir Hugh ; or, the Jew's Daughter 
 
 The Laird o' Logic ; or, May Margaret 
 
 The Twa Brothers 
 
 Fine Flowers i' the Valley . 
 
 Son Davie ! Son Davie ! 
 
 Edward ! Edward ! . . . 
 
 37 
 
 44 
 
 48 
 
 53 
 
 62 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
 73 
 
 88 
 
 92 
 
 93 
 
 97 
 
 109 
 
 113 
 
 117 
 
 120 
 
 124 
 
 120 
 
 128
 
 X CONTENTS, 
 
 Edom o' Gordon . 
 
 The Wife of Usher's Well 
 
 Sir Roland . 
 
 Eause Foodrage . 
 
 The Twa Corbies 
 
 The Twa Corbies, second version 
 
 May Colvin ; or, False Sir John 
 
 Lady Maisry 
 
 The Bonnie Earl of Murray 
 
 The Earl o' Murray . 
 
 Young Waters 
 
 The Bonnie Banks o' Fordie 
 
 The Daemon Lover 
 
 Fair Janet . 
 
 Barbara Allan 
 
 Fair Helen of Kirconnel 
 
 Clerk Saunders . 
 
 Willie and May Margaret ; or, The Two CrU' 
 
 Mothers 
 The Marchioness of Douglas 
 Waly, Waly up the Bank, 
 Lady Mary Ann . 
 John Thomson and the Turk 
 The Cruel Mother 
 The Fire of Frendraught 
 Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet 
 The Douglas Tragedy . 
 William and Marjorie . 
 The Water o' Wearie's Well 
 The Broom blooms Bonnie and says it is Fair 
 Young Johnstone 
 Johnnie Scott
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XI 
 
 Catherine Johnstone 
 
 Gilderoy .... 
 
 The Dowie Dens o' Yarrow . 
 
 The Braes o' Yarrow . 
 
 Thy Braes were Bonnie, Yarrow Stren: 
 
 Annie o' Lochroyau 
 
 Binnorie .... 
 
 Lambert Linkin . 
 
 Eeedisdale and Wise William 
 
 Sir James the Rose 
 
 Fair Annie . . . , 
 
 Mary Hamilton . 
 
 Lord Randal 
 
 Willie, Doo 
 
 The Lament of the Border Widow 
 
 The Mermaid 
 
 Gordon of Brackley 
 
 Annan Water 
 
 The Wee, Wee Man . 
 
 Yonng Bearwell . 
 
 The Gay Goss-hawk 
 
 The Jolly Goss-hawk, . 
 
 Gypsie Davy 
 
 Willie Wallace 
 
 Sweet WUlie and Lady Margerie 
 
 Kempion .... 
 
 Kemp Owyne . . 
 
 Earl Richard 
 
 Andrew Lammie 
 
 The Weary Coble o' Cargill .
 
 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY 
 
 ON 
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITERATUEE, 
 
 By WILLIA^I MOTHERWELL. 
 
 As this compilation consists principally of Nar- 
 rative Ballads, there occurring in it no composi- 
 tions strictly called Songs, in the sense to which 
 that term is now generally confined, the slight 
 observations with which it has been thought 
 proper to introduce it, are to be understood as 
 referring exclusively to the Ancient Eomantic 
 and Historic Ballad of Scotland. 
 
 Under the head of BojrANTicv a phrase we are 
 obliged to employ for lack of something more 
 significant and precise, may be ranged a nuinei-- 
 ous and highly interesting body of short metri- 
 cal tales, chiefly of a tragic complexion, which, 
 though possessing all the features of real incident, 
 and i)robably originating in fact, cannot now, 
 after the lapse of many ages, be with certainty 
 traced to any historical source, public or private. 
 With these may also be classed that description 
 of Ancient Song which treats of incredible 
 
 A
 
 2 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 achievements, and strange adventures by flood 
 and field, — deals largely with the marvellous in 
 all its multiform aspects, — and occasionally pours 
 a brief but intense glare of supernatural light 
 over those dim and untravelled realms of doubt 
 and dread, whose every nook the giant supersti- 
 tion of elder days has colonised with a prodigal 
 profusion of mysterious and spiritual inhabitants. 
 And, in short, under this comprehensive head, Ave 
 must include every legend relating to person, 
 place, thing, or occurrence, to establish whose 
 existence it would be vain to seek for other evi- 
 dence than that which popular tradition sup- 
 plies. 
 
 The other class is much easier described. It 
 embraces all those narrative songs which derive 
 their origin from historical facts, whether of a 
 public or private nature. The subjects of these 
 are national or personal conflicts, family feuds, 
 public or domestic transactions, personal adven- 
 ture, or local incidents, which, in some shape or 
 other, have fallen under the observation of con- 
 temporary and authentic annalists. In general, 
 these compositions may be considered as coeval 
 with the events which they commemorate ; but, 
 with this class as with that which has been styled 
 the Eomantic ballad, it is not to be exjDected that, 
 in their progress to our day, they have undergone 
 no modifications of form, and these very consi- 
 derable, from that in which they were originally 
 produced and promulgated among the people. 
 
 This interesting body of popular poetr}^, part 
 of which, in point of antiquity, may fairly be 
 esteemed equal, if not superior, to the most an- 
 cient of our written monuments, has owed its
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. o 
 
 preservation principally to oral tradition. With 
 the exception of a very few pieces, which, more 
 through accident than design, appear to have 
 found their way into old MSS., or early printed 
 volumes, the ancient Ballad Poetry of Scotland 
 must literally be gathered from the lips of 
 
 " The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, 
 Who. use to chant it." 
 
 But fragile and capricious as the tenure may 
 seem by which it has held its existence for cen- 
 turies, it is worthy of remark how excellently well 
 tradition serves as a substitute for more efficient 
 and less mutable channels of communicating the 
 things of past ages to posterity. In proof of this, 
 it is only necessary to instance the well-known 
 ballad of Edom o Gordon, which is traditionally 
 preserved in Scotland, and of which there is for- 
 tunately extant a copy in an English MS., appa- 
 rently coeval with the date of the subject of the 
 ballad. The title of this copy is Captain Care. 
 "We owe its publication to the late Mr Pdtson, in 
 whose " Ancient Songs " it Avill be found, printed 
 from a IMS. in the Cottonian Library.* Between 
 the text of the traditionary version and that of 
 the MS., a slight inspection will satisfy us that 
 the variations are neither very numerous nor very 
 important. This is taking the MS. as the standard 
 of the original text, although it can scarcely be 
 considered as such, seeing it has been transcribed 
 by an English clerk, who perhaps took it down 
 from the imperfect recitation of some wandering 
 Scottish minstrel, and thereafter altered it to suit 
 
 * Ancient Songs, London, 1790, p. 137- — Dr Percy 
 mentions that a fragment of it also occurs in his folio MS.
 
 4i PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 his own ideas of poetical beauty.* Could, how- 
 ever, there be MS. copies of other of our ancient 
 ballads recovered, it certainly would be a most 
 desirable and valuable acquisition. If any such 
 exist, and shall at any time hereafter be commu- 
 nicated to the world, it is confidently anticipated 
 that they will establish the fact of tradition being, 
 in all matters relative to popular poetry, a safe 
 and almost unerring guide. 
 
 Language, which, in the written literature of 
 a country, is ever varying, suffers no material 
 changes nor corruptions among the lower and 
 uneducated classes of society, by whom it is 
 spoken as their mother tongue. With them, primi- 
 tive forms of S2:)eech, peculiar idiomatic expres- 
 sions, and antique phrases, are still in use, which 
 we would look for in vain in the literature of the 
 present day, or in its word-books, which are not 
 professedly dedicated to the " restitution of de- 
 cayed intelligence." It is not therefore with the 
 unlettered and the rude that oral song suffers 
 vital and irremediable wrong. What they have 
 received from their forefathers, they transmit in 
 the same shape to their children ; for, as the Par- 
 donere in " The Canterbury Tales " has justly 
 remarked, 
 
 ' ' Lewd peple loven talcs olcle ; 
 Swiche things can they wel report and holde." 
 
 * Ritson styles it " the undoubted original of the Scot- 
 tish ballad, and one of the few specimens now extant of 
 the proper old English ballad, as composed, not by a Grub 
 Street author for the stalls of London, but to be chanted 
 up and down the kingdom, by the wandei-ing minstrels of 
 ' the North Countrie.'" But here the critic has gratui- 
 tously assumed that the name which appeal's at the end 
 of it as the copyist is also that of the author. — W. M,
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. £) 
 
 Localities and persons may, it is true, be occa- 
 sionally shifted to answer the meridian of the 
 reciter, and obsolete terms and ej)ithets be laid 
 aside for others more generally in use ; but what 
 may be called the facts of these compositions are 
 never disturbed, nor are their individual or char- 
 acteristic features ever lost. The tear and wear 
 of three centuries will do less mischief to the text 
 of an old ballad amono; the vulgar, than one short 
 hour will effect, if in the possession of some 
 sprightly and accomplished editor of the present 
 day, who may choose to impose on himself the 
 thankless and uncalled-for labour of piecing and 
 patching up its imperfections, polishing its aspe- 
 rities, correcting its mistakes, embellishing its 
 naked details, purging it of impurities, and of 
 trimming it from top to toe with tailor-like fasti- 
 diousness and nicety, so as to be made fit for the 
 ])ress. For thus remodelling ancient song, such 
 complacent wights claim as their reward the 
 merest trifle — that of saddling antiquity Avith the 
 sin of begetting, and the shame of maintaining, 
 a few of the singularly beautiful and delicate 
 growths of their own over-productive fancy. These 
 pernicious and disingenuous practices breed a 
 sickl}'' loathing in the mind of every conscientious 
 antiquary, and would, if not cliecked and exposed, 
 in a short while lay the broad axe to the root of 
 everything like authenticity in oral song. 
 
 The almost total absence of Avritten monuments 
 to support the claims of Scotland to an inherit- 
 ance of Ancient National Minstrelsy, enforces the 
 stern necessity of not wantonly tampering with 
 tlie fleeting and precarious memorials tradition 
 has bequeathed to these latter times. Hence it
 
 6 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 has become of the first importance to collect these 
 songs with scrupulous and unshrinking fidelity. 
 If they are at all worth preserving, and no one 
 Avho has an unsophisticated and manly taste can 
 deny that they are so, it assuredly must be in the 
 very garb in which they are remembered and 
 known, and can be proved to exist amongst us. 
 It will not do to indulge in idle speculations as 
 to what tliey once may have been, and to recast 
 them in what we may fancy were their original 
 moulds. We may regret that attention was not 
 earlier bestowed on this neglected though inter- 
 esting portion of national literature, but the only 
 step we are warranted in taking to remedy what 
 Sir Thomas Browne has denominated " the supi- 
 nity of elder times," is that of preventing its 
 future dilapidation, by now carefully and accu- 
 rately gathering what of its wreclc we can yet find 
 floating around us. The time may come when 
 even these fragments will also be irretrievably 
 borne beyond our reach. 
 
 Collections of these ballads, printed as they 
 orally exist, will to those who succeed us prove a 
 source of peculiar gratification — a record of the 
 most instructive and interesting kind. They con- 
 vey to posterity, that description of song which is 
 peculiarly national and characteristic ; that body of 
 poetry which has inwoven itself with the feelings 
 and passions of the people, and which shadows 
 forth, as it were, an actual embodiment of their 
 universal mind, and of its intellectual and moral 
 tendencies. They communicate, too, another 
 favour, which we woidd be glad had been con- 
 ferred on us by any authority a century old ; that 
 is, the means of ascertaining what in our day
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEilATUKE. 7 
 
 were deemed ancient compositions, and Avliat of 
 more recent or of contemporaneous date with 
 ourselves. 
 
 Evident, however, as the importance is of thus 
 collecting our traditionary poetry purely as it is 
 to be found, it unfortunately happens that this 
 has been too often slightingly and slovenly exe- 
 cuted. With many of these ballads, liberties of 
 the most exceptionable and flagrant descrijjtion 
 have occasionally been taken by their respective 
 editors, — liberties as uncalled for as they are un- 
 pardonable in the eye of every rigid and honest 
 critic. Some of these offences against truth and 
 correct taste are of a very deej), others of a 
 lighter shade of criminality ; but be they what 
 they may in magnitude, all are alike deserving of 
 unmitigated condemnation. 
 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to mention, that of 
 every old traditionary ballad known, there exists 
 what may be called diflerent versions. In other 
 words, the same tale is told after a different 
 fashion in one district of the country, from what 
 it is remembered in another. It therefore not 
 imfrequently occurs, that no two copies obtained 
 in parts of the country distant from each other, 
 will be found completely to tally in their texts ; 
 perhaps they may not have a single stanza which 
 is mutual property, except certain commonplaces 
 which seem an integrant portion of the original 
 mechanism of all our ancient ballads, and the 
 presence of whicli forms one of their most pecu- 
 liar and distinctive characteristics, as contrasted 
 with the modern ballad. Both of these copies, 
 however, narrate the same story. In that parti- 
 cular, their identity with each other cannot be
 
 8 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 disputed ; but in many minute circumstances, as 
 well as in the way by which the same catastrophe 
 is brought out, sensible differences exist. By 
 selecting the most beautiful and striking passages 
 which present themselves in the one copy, and 
 making these cohere as they best may with simi- 
 lar extracts detached from the other copy, the 
 editor of oral poetry succeeds in producing from 
 the conflicting texts of his various authorities a 
 third version, more perfect and ornate than any 
 individual one as it originally stood. This im- 
 proved version may contain the quintessence — 
 the poetic elements of each copy consulted, but 
 in this general resemblance to all it loses its 
 particular afiinity to any one. Its individuality 
 entirely disappears, and those features by which 
 each separate copy proved its authenticity, in the 
 collated version become faint and dubious, con- 
 fused and undistinguishable. Such copies, how- 
 ever, are those which find their way readiest into 
 our every-day compilations of such things, as well 
 on account of their superior poetical merit, as 
 of the comparative distinctness and fulness of 
 their narrative ; and to readers not accustomed 
 to inquire into the nature of traditionary poetry, 
 they thus convey very inaccurate impressions of 
 the state in which these compositions are actually 
 extant among us. 
 
 This mode, then, of editing ancient ballads, by 
 subjecting them to the jirocess of refinement now 
 described, though it be more conscientious and 
 less liable to censure than another method also 
 resorted to, is nevertheless highly objectionable, 
 as eff'ectually marring the venerable simplicity of 
 early song, destroying in a gTeat measure its
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. 9 
 
 characteristic peculiarities, and as being the 
 means of introducing erroneous conceptions re- 
 garding our vernacular poetry which has been 
 recovered from tradition. 
 
 All versions of a ballad so preserved by oral 
 transmission from one age to another, are entitled 
 to be considered as of equal authenticity, and 
 coeval production, one with the other, although 
 among them wide and irreconcilable discrepancies 
 exist. Indeed, the difi'erences between some 
 copies of the same ballad are so important, that 
 their existence can be accounted for in no other 
 Avay than by supposing these diflt'erent versions 
 the productions of so many distinct minstrels, 
 each of whom obtained the story, which he versi- 
 fied from a channel foreign to that accessible by 
 his fellow-poets. Some of these diversities, it is 
 true, may be attributable to the interpolations 
 and corruptions acquired in the course of time, 
 through the ignorance of reciters. Some are 
 inaccvirately committed to memory at first, and 
 are thus in an incomplete form delivered. Others 
 are in part forgotten, and the defects of the 
 memory may be supplied by the invention of the 
 reciter, or the limb of some other similar compo- 
 sition substituted for that which is lost. But 
 allowing the utmost latitude for the many muta- 
 tions incident to this species of literature, still it 
 cannot account for all the variations we find in 
 these copies, several of which ought to be elevated 
 to the rank of distinct ballads, in place of being 
 regarded as mere variations from one original 
 text. 
 
 Under the pressure of such circumstances, 
 then, it surely is the duty of the collector and
 
 10 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY OX 
 
 editor of traditionary ballads to avoid the peril- 
 ous and frequently abortive task of uniting 
 discordant and essentially incoliesive texts, and 
 to content himself with merely selecting that one 
 of his copies which appears the most complete 
 and least vitiated, and to give it purely and simply 
 as he obtained it, without hazarding any emenda- 
 tion whatsoever. 
 
 If this comparatively innocent mode of restor- 
 ing our ancient ballads be obnoxious to censure, 
 they are still more culpable as editors who, under 
 no authority of written or recited copy, but 
 merely to gratify their own insatiate rage for 
 innovation and improvement, recklessly and in- 
 judiciously cut and carve as they list on these 
 productions, and, in some cases, entirely re-write 
 them. Where the narrative is poor in incident, 
 where it is wholly barren of imagery, there they 
 most thickly plant their own bastard inventions, 
 and strew the delicate blossoms of their own 
 precious conceit ; where the ancient song breaks 
 forth in the earnest, simple, and downright lan- 
 guage of passion and of nature, there our ballad 
 renovator must dilute it to the slip-slop sentiment 
 of his own day, and garnish it with the artificial 
 brilliancies of his own style of writing ; intro- 
 ducing throughout a current of feeling, and a 
 tissue of allusions, (poetical, very poetical, we 
 shall be charitable enough to suppose they are,) 
 wholly at issue with the cast of thought, the 
 manners, and the modes of expression peculiar 
 to the age which produced the original poem. 
 And, where the ancient minstrel, true in his 
 delineations of society and of manners to the 
 times in which he flourished, faithfullv and
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. 11 
 
 vigorously sketches, ad vivani, nor hesitates, in 
 the rush and tide of his song, to call a spade a 
 spade, the modern affects to shudder at the gross- 
 ness and vulgarity of antiquity, and diligently 
 weaves his own gossamer web of sensuality 
 around the nakedness of ancient simplicity, and 
 then gloats over his seductive handiwork with 
 the complacency of the merest voluptuary. They 
 who choose to stigmatise the muse of antiquity 
 as being rather " high-kilted," do no service 
 either to letters or to morality by apparelHng 
 her in a " trailing gown," or giving her a " side 
 tail" of their own fashioning. In truth, it is by 
 such impertinent and pernicious labours that the 
 obscenities of early writers become disgustingly 
 obtruded on the public eye. Had they been 
 allowed to pass uncommented on, they would 
 never have called a blush to the innocent cheek, 
 or in the unaffectedly pure mind have wakened 
 one unhallowed thought. For the curious and 
 important knowledge, then, which enables us to 
 detect and understand the gross witticisms and 
 licentious allusions of our ancestors, we stand 
 indebted to the tasteful emendations, the delicate 
 and minute criticism of these singularly sensitive 
 and moral editors. But in their bitter wrath, 
 and in their lachrymose exclamations against the 
 licentiousness of ancient song, and the times 
 which produced and could relish such foul dain- 
 ties, and in the pains they take to detect the 
 presence of indelicate inueiido, though never so 
 cunningly wrapped up in some dark allegory, 
 and in the skill they shew for its purification by 
 kindly paraphrasing every objectionable passage, 
 these well-meaning individuals not unfrequently
 
 12 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 manifest a lurking affection for their task, and a 
 perfect acquaintance with its subject, seldom to 
 be found in conjunction with that unspotted 
 purity and extraordinary refinement and maiden- 
 like delicacy which they profess. 
 
 There is yet another description of old-song 
 editors, whose mischievous and dishonest propen- 
 sities cannot be too severely reprobated. It con- 
 sists of those gentlemen who deem themselves 
 fully better poets than ever earlier times pro- 
 duced, but who cannot persuade the public to 
 think so, or even prevail on it to read their com- 
 positions till they have given them a slight 
 sprinkling of olden phraseology, and stoutly 
 maintained that they were genuine specimens of 
 ancient song. Some trash accounted as ancient, 
 they have by sheer impudence thus succeeded in 
 forcing down the throat of a credulous and gaping 
 public ; but sooner or later these paltry forgeries 
 are laid bare, to the shame and confusion of the 
 utterer. The attempt to poison the sources of 
 history, and to confound truth by such fabrica- 
 tions, is despicable and unprincipled. It is much 
 to be regretted, however, that some men of imde- 
 niable talents have occasionally lent themselves 
 to such ignoble ends, and bartered an honest 
 fame for a worthless and shadowy triumph. But 
 with all their ingenuity in the manufacture of 
 these antique gems, they can at best only gull the 
 rabble, — a poor and mean gratification, — while 
 on every hand they encounter the risk of being 
 roughly handled by those who know the studies 
 in which they traffic much better than themselves, 
 and who by a solitary scratch of their pen can 
 dissipate the idle fabrications thus painfully
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUKE. ] 3 
 
 reared on falsehood and imposition, and expose 
 their authors to the contemjat and derision of 
 that jDublic whose credulity and confidence they 
 have abused. 
 
 Wlien we look around us and find so volu- 
 minous a body of vernacular poetry traditionally 
 preserved among the patriotic children of an 
 ancient and heroic race, for a period of time to 
 which imagination can assign no definite limits, 
 but whose origin seems as remote, and involved 
 in as much darkness, as the early history of the 
 people themselves — a body of poetry, breathing 
 at one time of " high erected thoughts seated in 
 a heart of courtesie," and at another, overflov.'ing 
 with pathos and tenderest feelmg ; at one time 
 swelling into all the pomp of chivalric circum- 
 stance, and full of unmingled joy and triumph ; 
 at another, moment narrowing itself into the in- 
 tense interest of the deepest tragedy ; — a series of 
 comj)ositions, terse and unlaboured, but supply- 
 ing in their details satisfactory and striking 
 illustrations of the manners, habits, feelings, su- 
 perstitions, and prejudices of days deep hidden in 
 the gloom of hoar antiquity, and whose peculi- 
 arities of style so completely distinguish tliem 
 from those productions of more recent times 
 which embrace a similar range of topics : and 
 when we find this curious and interesting species 
 of national literature transmitted even to the 
 present day, with a copiousness and fidelity 
 almost rivalling the certainty and authenticity of 
 written nionunients, we are naturally led to in- 
 quire, not only into the causes which have so 
 linked it with the affections of each succeeding 
 race, but our attention is also directed to the
 
 14 PEELIMINARY ESSAY ON 
 
 times which first cherished so remarkable a class 
 of compositions, and to the poets by whom it was 
 produced. Ample though such a field of inquiry 
 be, it nevertheless is one wherein little progress 
 can be made with any degree of historical cer- 
 tainty ; and, in an investigation whose object is 
 professed to be the elucidation of truth, it would 
 be idle to substitute conjecture for facts. 
 
 To point out what truly are the most ancient 
 of these compositions cannot be attempted with 
 any success. Though tradition may faithfully 
 transmit to us the narrative uninjured and un- 
 shorn of any part of its circumstance — nay, even 
 give the sentiments of the poet unaltered, and 
 preserve the character of the piece precisely as at 
 first portrayed, yet it alters the language so 
 completely, that not a word may be preserved 
 which originally was there. The phraseology of 
 one age, as it becomes obsolete and strange, is 
 in oral literature ever supplanted by equivalent 
 terms which are better understood, or are in daily 
 use ; and these again, in their turn, at some 
 future period, yield to the same inexorable law 
 of perpetual mutation. Thus the distinguishing 
 features of diff'erent ages, so far as these are 
 indicated by language, become so thoroughly 
 blended, that to fix the antiquity of traditionary 
 song by any evidence which its diction supplies, 
 is a hopeless, and, at best, an unsatisfactory en- 
 deavour. 
 
 " There are in Scotland," says Eitson, " many 
 ballads, or legendary and romantic songs, com- 
 posed in a singular style, and preserved by tradi- 
 tion among the country people. It must, how- 
 ever, be confessed that none of these compositions
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. 15 
 
 bear satisfactory marks of the antiquity tliey 
 pretend to, while the expressions or allusions 
 occurring in some would seem to fix their origin to 
 a very modern date."* The opinions of a writer 
 of so much acuteness and information in poetic 
 archaeology as Ritsou, however hastily and in- 
 considerately delivered, are deserving of atten- 
 tion ; but in this quotation it is to be observed 
 that he only refers to the " expressions and allu- 
 sions" interspersed through the ballads he had 
 an opportunity of studying, not to their general 
 structure, and to those commonplaces and curious 
 burdens they frequently have, which serve as 
 landmarks and helps to the memory of the 
 reciter, while they secure the stream of the nar- 
 rative from being broken or interrupted by the 
 innovations of time, and the mutations of lan- 
 guage. It is granted at once that the "expressions 
 and allusions" of these compositions fluctuate, 
 and that frequently ; but these changes never 
 alter entirely the venerable aspect of the whole 
 ballad. It is like repairing gradually the weather- 
 worn face of an ancient cathedral by the inser- 
 tion here and there of a freshly-hewn stone, as 
 need may require. The outline of the building 
 and the effect of the whole remain unchanged. 
 Though tlie comparatively modern look of ballad 
 phraseology, so far as dependent on certain allu- 
 sions and expressions, is admitted to greater lati- 
 tude than what is truly the fact, it is well known 
 to those acquainted with the subject, that they still 
 retain many "aureat termes," struck in the mint 
 of the olden time, amply sufficient to vouch for 
 
 * Historical Essay prefixed to ".Soottish Song," Loiul. 
 1794, p. Ixxx.
 
 16 PEELIMINARY ESSAY ON 
 
 their remote extraction and gentle blood, even 
 were there no other evidence at hand of a less 
 questionable and suspicious Idnd. That evidence 
 is contained in the bosom of the ballads them- 
 selves. They enjoy peculiar features, which not 
 only distinguish them from the like sort of com- 
 positions produced in more recent times, but cer- 
 tain characteristics which separate them from the 
 WTitten poetry of their own day, and identify 
 them with each other as belonging to one body 
 and family of national minstrelsy. These features, 
 it will be found, are common also to the early 
 traditionary poetry of the Scandinavian provinces 
 of Europe ; and constitute, in fact, the boundary 
 line which exists between what is the oral and what 
 is the written poetry of a people, or of that poetry 
 which is equally intelligible to the unlettered as 
 to the learned. We shall endeavour partially to 
 sketch some of these distinctive and unalterable 
 features of the ancient traditionary ballad of 
 Scotland, although we feel that to do complete 
 justice to the subject is neither in our power, nor 
 is it compatible with the limits of this essay. 
 Besides, there grows up an intuitive and auxiliary 
 sense in all who are familiar with this study, 
 which enables them at once, without any laboured 
 process of induction or critical analysis, to dis- 
 criminate between what is ancient and what is 
 modern, or the imitation of the ancient ; but this 
 kind of intuitive perception cannot be communi- 
 cated by words to another ; and it is now merely 
 mentioned to obviate any appearance of dog- 
 matism, if, in the course of our observations, Ave 
 shoidd at any time call this old or that new, this 
 genuine or that a forgery, without condescending
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUKE. 17 
 
 to detail the grounds upon wliicli such brief cen- 
 sures are founded. 
 
 The first thing that solicits our notice in the 
 romantic ballad is the almost uniform dramatic 
 cast of its structure. The action of the piece 
 commences at once. It does not, like the metrical 
 romance, proceed after craving the attention of 
 lord and lady, and invoking the aid of the Virgin 
 Mary, &c., to give a sketch of the parentage, edu- 
 cation, and promising qualities of the doughty 
 knight or gentle squire who is to figure in it. 
 There is no pompous announcement of the exqui- 
 site enjoyment to be derived from the carping of 
 such noble gestes. If such particulars are at all 
 alluded to, they are noticed merely incidentally, 
 and dashed off perhaps in a single line. The 
 characters and the destinies of those who form 
 the subject of such tales are learned from their 
 actions, not by the description of the poet. They 
 generally open with some striking and natural 
 picture, pregnant with life and motion. The 
 story runs on in an arrowlike stream, with all the 
 straightforwardness of unfeigned and earnest pas- 
 sion. There is no turning back to mend what 
 has been said amiss, to render more clear that 
 which may have been dimly expressed, or slightly 
 hinted ; and there is no pause made to gather on 
 the way beautiful images or appropriate illustra- 
 tions. If these come naturally and unavoidably 
 as it were, good and well, but there is no loitering 
 and windhig about and about as if unwilling to 
 move on till tliese should suggest themselves. 
 The charm of the composition lies in the story 
 whicli it evolves. Strained and artificial feeling 
 has no place in it, and rhetorical embellishments 
 B
 
 18 PRELIMINARY ESSAY ON 
 
 are equally unknown. Descriptions of natural 
 scenery are never attempted, and sentiment is 
 almost unheard of. Much is always left for 
 imagination to fancy, and for the feelings of the 
 auditors to supply, roused, as they cannot fail to 
 be, by the scenic picture rapidly and distinctly 
 traced before the mind's eye. In his narrative, 
 the poet always appears to be acting in good faith 
 with his audience. He does not sing to another 
 what he discredits himself, nor does he appeal to 
 other testimony in support of his statements. 
 There is no reference to " as the boke tells," or 
 "as in romans I rede," for a corroboration of 
 what he affirms. He always speaks as if the 
 subject which he handles were one quite familiar 
 to those whom he addresses, and touching which 
 nothing but a perfectly honest and circumstantial 
 statement of facts could be relished. If fifteer 
 stalworth foresters are slain by one stout knight, 
 single-handed, he never steps out of his way to 
 prove the truth of such an achievement by appeal- 
 ing to the exploits of some other notable man- 
 slayer. If a mermaid should, from a love of 
 soHtude and the picturesque, haunt some lone and 
 lovely river, and there, while kembiug her yel- 
 low locks, peradventure fascinate some imhappy 
 wight, the poet never apologises for the appear- 
 ance of the water-woman, by covertly insinuating 
 how marvellous be the inhabitants of the ocean. 
 And though an elfin knight should unceremoni- 
 ously adopt for his paramour some young lady 
 whom he meets of a summer's evening, while 
 rambling through the gay greenwood, and whose 
 taste for the loveliness of nature is certainly more 
 remarkable than her prudence — he never betrays
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. 19 
 
 any surprise at the circumstance, but treats it as 
 a matter of every-day occurrence and historical 
 notoriety. Should an unhappy ghost wander 
 back to earth, the poet is perfectly master of the 
 dialogue he holds with the maid he left behind 
 him : nor is he at a loss accurately to describe 
 how the fiend can, with a single kick of his cloven 
 foot, sink a goodly bark, although reasonable 
 doubts may well be entertained how such facts 
 could have transpired, seeing none of its crew 
 ever reached the land to sing of such an " unhappy 
 voyage," more terrific by a deal than tliat per- 
 formed imder the melancholy auspices of that 
 "brisk and tall young man," hight "William Glen," 
 who was bound for, but, alas, never returned from, 
 "New Barbaric." 
 
 But be the subject of the narrative Avhat it 
 may, whether it be of real life fraught with an 
 interest deeply tragical, or one of wild superstition 
 and romantic incident, it will ever be found 
 clearly, succinctly, and impressively told. There 
 is no unnecessary waste of words — no redundancy 
 of circumstances, nor artful involution of plot — 
 and no laying of colour above colour, to give a 
 body and brilliancy to the picture. It stands out 
 in simple and severe beauty — a beauty arising not 
 from the loveliness of any one individual feature, 
 but from the perfect harmony and wholeness sub- 
 sisting among and sustaining all. 
 
 From the dramatic structure of these songs, we 
 are naturally led to infer that when the singing or 
 recitation of them was the business of minstrels, 
 they were prefaced with some account of the 
 previous history of the several individuals whom 
 they respectively commemorate ; and that many
 
 20 peelimijStary essay on 
 
 minute circumstances elucidatory of them were 
 detailed, not only for the purpose of interesting 
 their hearers, but likewise to make the abrupt 
 transitions occurring in some of these ballads 
 more easy of apprehension to such as were 
 strangers in the company. That this was the fact, 
 admits of little doubt. Traces of such a custom 
 still remain in the lowlands of Scotland, among 
 those who have stores of these songs upon their 
 memory. Eeciters frequently, when any part of 
 the narrative appears incomplete, supply the de- 
 fect in prose. Where the ballad naturally termi- 
 nates, they can tell what became of some inferior 
 or subordinate character mentioned in it, whom 
 the minstrel has passed over in silence, as inter- 
 fering with the interest which should be exclu- 
 sively concentrated around the principal person- 
 ages. Some pieces, too, are prose and rhyme 
 intermixed ; the dialogue and those parts purely 
 lyrical are in metre, while the narrative and de- 
 scriptive portions are given in such humble jjrose 
 as the reciter can furnish. 
 
 That many of these ballads had certain frames 
 in which they were set, and which, like the chorus 
 of the ancient drama, discussed the motives of 
 the characters, or entered more minutely into 
 their history than was consistent with the limits 
 and action of the metrical piece, derives corrobo- 
 ration from the fact that a few of them still 
 retain in their initial stanzas, matter of an expla- 
 natory description. And, acting upon this prin- 
 ciple, it would appear that the writers and prin- 
 ters of our modern ballads have, in the introduc- 
 tory verses of these ditties, or in the formidable 
 titles with which they are prefixed, endeavoured
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITER ATUEE. 21 
 
 to communicate to the reader that information 
 which the ancient minstrel in all probability 
 annomiced orally to his audience before he smote 
 his harp with the hand of power. 
 
 There is another feature which the ancient 
 ballads have in common with each other, and 
 which constitutes a material distinction between 
 them and those written purposely for the press. 
 They are much more licentious and incorrect in 
 their metres, according to the present standards 
 of taste in these matters : the accent not unfre- 
 quently falls on syllables at variance with our 
 present mode of pronunciation, and they have 
 throughout the marks of a composition not 
 meant for being committed to writing, but whose 
 music formed an essential part of it, and from 
 which it could not well be separated without 
 sensibly interfering with its unity and injuring 
 its effect. And indeed it is pretty evident, that 
 many of them would require both the voice and 
 instrument to be humoured, so as to conceal the 
 many irregularities of measure and rhyme, or 
 other accidental harshness into which the poet 
 had fallen. It is well observed by the father of 
 this kind of literature, in his learned " Essay on 
 the Ancient Minstrels," that, " in the more ancient 
 ballads in that collection, the reader would 
 observe a cast of style and measure very different 
 from that of contemporary poets of a higher class ; 
 many phrases and idioms which the minstrels 
 seem to have appropriated to themselves, and a 
 very remarkable licence of varying the accent of 
 words at pleasure, in order to humour tlie flow of 
 the verse, particularly in the rhyme, as 
 
 Count^i^, harper, battel, momiug, 
 Laclic, siuger, damsel, living,
 
 22 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 instead of country, lady, harper, singer, &c. This 
 liberty is but sparingly assumed by the classical 
 poets of the same age, or even by such as pro- 
 fessedly wrote for the press. For it is to be 
 observed, that so long as the minstrels subsisted, 
 they seemed never to have designed their rhymes 
 for Hterary publication, and probably never com- 
 mitted them to writing themselves ; what copies 
 are preserved of them were doubtless taken down 
 from their lips. But as the old minstrels gradu- 
 ally wore out, a new race of ballad-writers suc- 
 ceeded — an inferior sort of minor poets — who wrote 
 narrative songs merely for the press. Instances 
 *^f both may be found in the reign of Elizabeth. 
 The old minstrel ballads are in the northern 
 dialect, abound with antique phrases, are extremely 
 incorrect, and run into the utmost licence of 
 metre ; they have also a romantic wildness, and 
 are in the true spirit of chivalry. The other sort 
 are written in exacter measure, have a low or 
 subordinate correctness, sometimes bordering on 
 the insipid, yet often well adapted to the pathetic ; 
 these are generally in the southern dialect, exhibit 
 a more modern iDhraseology, and are commonly 
 descrijDtive of more modern manners."* These 
 observations, which refer to the English ballad, 
 are equally applicable to the ancient and modern 
 ballad of Scotland. Eor it need scarcely be men- 
 tioned, that in their character both resemble each 
 other so much, that it becomes impossible to say 
 to which country a great number of them belong. 
 Indeed the most of our old ballads appear to 
 have been equally well known on the south, as 
 
 * Eeliqiies of Engiisli Poetry, 5th edit. Lond. 1812.
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. 23 
 
 on the north of the Tweed ; but in the .Scottish 
 ballads there never occurs any mention of 
 " harpers of the North Countrie/' which silence, 
 taken in conjunction with the admission of the 
 English ballads, may be twdsted into something 
 like a proof that Scotland was looked on as the 
 accredited source of minstrel song. We know 
 her poets did not scruple to acknowledge their 
 obligations to Chaucer as " flour of rethoris al," 
 and even " Dan Lydgate " came in for a share of 
 their approbation, along with " moral Gower ; " 
 and had her minstrels owed anything to their 
 brethren of the south, that debt, no doubt, would 
 have been as gratefully remembered. 
 
 But one of the most striking, and we may add, 
 never-varying features of these compositions, is 
 their ever agreeing in describing certain actions 
 in one uniform way — their identity of language, 
 epithet, and expression, in numerous scenes 
 where the least resemblance of incident occurs. 
 Instances of this fact are familiar to the student 
 of old ballads as household words ; but, as it is 
 not every one who pays attention to these 
 curious relics of early poetry, it may be excus- 
 able to dwell a little on this singularity of their 
 composition. It would seem that these common- 
 places are so many ingenious devices, no doubt 
 suggested by the wisdom and experience of many 
 ages, whereby oral poetry is more firmly imprinted 
 on the memory, more readily recalled to it, when 
 partially obliterated, and, in the absence of letters, 
 the only efHcacious means of preserving and 
 transmitting it to after-times. Besides, it is in 
 them tliat we not unfrequcntly recognise tho^e 
 epithets and allusions which carry the composi-
 
 24 PEELIMINAKY ESSAY OX 
 
 tions to wliich they appertain to a remote age — 
 epithets and allusions to which the reciter of 
 modern times does not and cannot well attach 
 any distinct meaning, but which he nevertheless 
 repeats as he got them ; because he finds they 
 occur in all such songs as uniformly as its burden 
 perhaps of " derry down, down, hey deny down." 
 In no modern, or comparatively modern, ballad 
 do they ever present themselves, except in a few 
 which may be considered as framed on the ancient 
 models, or in those which immediately succeeded 
 to the ancient ones, whose features in part they 
 must have retained, in order to win their way to 
 vulgar favour. For a sudden departure from 
 those forms which use had rendered familiar, 
 and age venerable, would not be tolerated by the 
 body of the people ; but a silent and imper- 
 ceptible change might be gradually introduced 
 without exciting disgust, or openly warring with 
 the overwhelming power of ancient prepossessions 
 and long-cherished associations. The snake does 
 not cast off its slough at once, but slowly, and 
 part by part, it peals oif and wears away ; nor 
 did the ballad part all at once with the livery 
 grave antiquity had clothed it in. Thus to very 
 recent times, indeed, we can distinctly follow out 
 the traces of the ancient ballad style of writing ; 
 and it is remarkable enough that the compositions 
 which so retain the characteristics of an earlier 
 body of song, though never so faintly apparent, 
 are those which have become most extensively 
 diffused over the country, and have been most 
 perfectly committed to memory. 
 
 Shakspeare lias sung that " the course of true 
 love never did run smooth," and many of our
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. to 
 
 ancient ballads confirm the sad tale. In those 
 ballads whose interest is derived from this fruit- 
 ful source of human misery, we find a perfect 
 uniformity of expression in all cases where the 
 death of the lovers is described. The very 
 hour of this mournful event is pointed out with 
 a painful precision, that would defy the utmost 
 chronological accuracy of the minutest obituarist ; 
 and when they are interred, as always happens, 
 the one in the chancel, and the other in the quire, 
 the miracle of the rose-bush, springing from the 
 one grave, and growing and entwining itself with 
 the briar, which shoots up with a fond eagerness 
 from the other, till they reached the roof, where 
 they shape themselves into a true-love knot, 
 follows as a matter of course. This beautiful 
 and pleasing fiction casts a soft and tender light 
 over the moral history of that people whose 
 popular poetry cherishes such amiable creations ; 
 and who in their hearts believe this emblematic 
 triumph of imperishable constancy and true pas- 
 sion over death itself. The lovers in these com- 
 positions are ever found in " their lives lovely, 
 and in their death undivided." 
 
 In cases where a message is to be run, a letter 
 or token to be delivered, the same identity of 
 expression, or but slightly varied, according to 
 circumstances, obtains. The message itself is 
 delivered word for word as it was communicated, 
 and, if a letter happens to be the medium of 
 intelligence, we find it uniformly has the eficct of 
 exciting very opposite emotions in the individual 
 to whom it is addressed. Like the fatal mandate 
 delivered to .Sir Patrick Spens, the first line pro- 
 vokes a " loud lauch," but at the second, " the
 
 26 PEELIMINARY ESSAY ON 
 
 saut tear blinds his ee ;" and those ballads which 
 go the length of describing the further effects 
 produced, generally mention that of the third line, 
 " a word he could not see." 
 
 Gentle dames, who choose to undergo a volun- 
 tary penance, as a mark of their sorrow for the 
 loss of their paramours, cannot content them- 
 selves with a less period than seven years for 
 enduring privations which would shock any sen- 
 sitive lady of the present day. These privations 
 consist in denying themselves the use of coal and 
 candle — neglect to comb their hair — to glove their 
 hand — or put a shoe on their foot, or a smock on 
 their back. After enduring these hardships they 
 not unfrequently have the satisfaction, on some 
 chill moonshiny night, of meeting their lover's 
 spirit, with whom they enjoy an edifying conver- 
 sation, and to whom they then render back his 
 plighted troth, in order that he may sleep at peace 
 in his cold and narrow home. Indeed, there is 
 not an action, nor an occurrence of any sort, but 
 what has its appropriate phraseology, and to enu- 
 merate all these would, in effect, be to give the 
 principal portion of all our ancient ballads. For 
 in all cases where there is an identity of incident, 
 of circumstance, of action, each ballad varies not 
 from the established mode of clothing these in 
 language. This simplicity of narrative and unde- 
 viating recurrence of identical expressions in 
 analogous cases, is one never-failing mark of the 
 antiquity of these songs, and their absence the 
 best argument to the contrary. When a lover 
 comes to his true-love's bower, he imiformly 
 makes use of but one argument to gain admit- 
 tance : —
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEKATUEE. 27 
 
 " rise, rise, Lady Margerie, 
 rise aud let me in, 
 For the rain rains on my yellow liair, 
 And tlie dew draps on my chin." 
 
 And, milch to the credit of the tender hearts that 
 then held the world in gentle thrall, we seldom 
 find that the shivering gallant was long excluded, 
 for, as the minstrel has it, 
 
 "With her feet as white as sleet, 
 She strode her bower within, 
 And with her fingers lang and sma', 
 She loot sweet Willie in." 
 
 A combat, though never so toughly and tedi- 
 ously maintained, is very briefly handled by the 
 j)oet. There is a sort of brachigraj)hy, or short- 
 hand, used in the description, quite startling to 
 the prosing of a modern versifier. The " nut- 
 brown sword," which, at this moment, " hung low 
 down by the gair " of the one duellist, is, in the 
 next, sheathed " betwixt the short rib and the 
 lang " of the other. When swords were at every 
 one's thigh, it was of use to know how to wield 
 them effectively. And it may be remarked, that 
 the expressions of wijnng on the sleeve, drying on 
 the grass, and slaiting oture the strae, always 
 occur in such ballads as indicate a dubious and 
 protracted and somewhat equal combat ; and I 
 take it these expressions were meant to convey 
 that idea to the mind, as opposed to cases in 
 which an individual has been overpowered by 
 superior numbers, or assassinated unawares. 
 
 This um'forniity of phraseology in describing 
 incidents of a similar nature, which pervades all 
 our ancient ballads, might appear to argue a 
 poverty both of expression and invention in these
 
 28 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 minstrel poets ; but if the comiDositions were nar- 
 ratives of real facts produced on the spur of the 
 occasion, as in most cases we have ventured to 
 suppose them to be, the use of such common- 
 places becomes abundantly obvious. They not 
 only assisted the memory in an eminent degree, 
 but served as a kind of groundwork on which the 
 poem could be raised. With such commonplaces 
 indelibly fixed in his memory, the minstrel could 
 with ease to himself, and with the rapidity of 
 extemporaneous delivery, rapidly model any event 
 which came imder his cognisance into song. 
 They were like inns or baiting-places on a jour- 
 ney, from one to the other of which he could 
 speedily transport himself. They were the gene- 
 ral outlines of every class of human incident and 
 suffering then appropriated to song, and could be 
 fitted easily to receive individual interest as cir- 
 cumstances might require, and that without any 
 painful stretch of fancy or invention. Indeed the 
 original production of these commonplaces be- 
 tokens no slender ingenuity on the part of these 
 song-inditers. They were like a commodious gar- 
 ment that could be wrapped expeditiously round 
 every subject of whatever nature or dimensions. 
 Something of the same sort, though in a less 
 marked degree, may be discovered in the con- 
 struction of the longer metrical romances — aU 
 arguing that the composition of these pieces had 
 been reduced to a certain system, and subjected 
 to a peculiar mechanism necessarily arising out 
 of the circumstances under which they were pro- 
 duced — and the incessant craving of the popular 
 taste for novel incident and fresh excitement. 
 Besides these peculiar forms of expression, estab-
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. 29 
 
 lislied epithets, and variety of commonplaces, 
 another means of assisting the memory, and pre- 
 serving the character of the melody unchanged, 
 was adopted. This consisted in the burthens 
 attached to the songs, many of which certainly 
 in our day appear totally unmeaning and extra- 
 vagant. But it is not unlikely that these " stiff 
 burdouns," though abundantly curious and in- 
 comprehensible to us, had a significance, and 
 were a key to a whole family of associations and 
 feelings, of which we can form little or no con- 
 ception.* It is probable they may have been 
 fragments of still more ancient songs, to which 
 the Eamsays and Cunninghams of these times 
 had fitted new words for the nonce. This seems 
 to be the fact with regard to the Danish ballads ; 
 and it is known, that it was a common practice 
 with the old French poets to make a particular 
 line of an old song the refrain or burden of a 
 new.-f- 
 
 In ilie popular poetry of the Northern nations 
 tlie same remarkable features are all to be found. 
 Not only these, but the very subjects of some of 
 the ballads appear to be the same with those of 
 our ancient ballads. Of this interesting fact, 
 many instances will be found in those pieces 
 of traditionary poetry which Mr Jamieson has 
 translated from the Kacmpe Viser. In the work 
 
 * If we are to credit Jones, (see his " Welsh Bards, " 
 p. 128,) the common burden of "hey derry down," sig- 
 nified, "Let us hie to tlie green oak," and was the 
 burden of our old song of the JJruids, sung by the bards 
 inviting the i)eople to their rehgious assemblies in the 
 groves. 
 
 + Illustrations of Northern Antiquities. Barney's His- 
 tory of Music, vol. ii. Pinkcrtou's Tragic Ballads.
 
 80 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 where most of tliese translations appear, that in- 
 genious writer observes, " There may be remarked 
 in all the Scottish and Danish traditionary bal- 
 lads a frequent and almost unvaried recurrence 
 of certain terms, epithets, metaphors, and phrases, 
 which have obtained general currency, and seem 
 peculiarly dedicated to this kind of composi- 
 tion. The same ideas, actions, and circum- 
 stances, are almost uniformly expressed in the 
 same form of words ; and whole lines, and even 
 stanzas, are so hackneyed among the reciters of 
 popular ditties, that it is impossible to give them 
 their due appropriation, and to say to which they 
 originally iDelonged." To these peculiarities, in 
 what may be styled the mechanism of the ancient 
 ballad, and which appear to be thus common 
 to the traditionary poetry of other countries, may 
 be attributed the purity and integrity with which 
 a great body of it has been transmitted to the 
 present day, notwithstanding the many causes 
 which, for centuries, have been vigorously at 
 work to corrupt and annihilate it. " Time, which 
 antiquates antiquities, and hath an art to make 
 dust of all things, hath yet spared these minor 
 monuments." 
 
 The greater bulk of the ancient pieces with 
 which we are acquainted, neither in their names 
 nor in the incidents which they relate, contain 
 anything romantic or extravagant. Their heroines 
 have homely enough sounding names, seldom in- 
 dulging in a larger variety than what this slender 
 catalogue of Lady Margaret, Lady Marjorie, or 
 fair Janet affords. The same remark applies 
 with equal justice to the lords and knights, who 
 enact the 23arts of lovers or persecutors — Sweet
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. 81 
 
 William, Lord Thomas, Earl Richard or John, 
 are the favourite appellations. The subjects of 
 which they treat are evidently pictures drawn 
 from a state of society comparatively rude, in 
 which the distinctions of rank were few, but 
 deeply marked. The personages, however, who 
 figure in them move in the higher classes, which 
 is another proof of their antiquity, and places 
 them anterior to those circumstances that over- 
 threw the institutions of chivalry, and sapped 
 the foundations of feudal aristocracy, thereby in- 
 troducing the mixed aspect and form of society 
 now known in this country. In general they 
 present a series of domestic tragedies, which, 
 without any violation of truth, may be considered 
 as painted from actual life and every-day occur- 
 rences. The minstrel had no inducement to feign 
 a narrative calculated to awaken the dormant 
 sensibilities of his auditors, when the unsophisti- 
 cated material was ready made to his hand, and 
 that of a description, too, much more pregnant 
 with interest and variety than invention could 
 supply. Indeed, this appetite in the vulgar mind 
 for true incident is, in our time, remarkably 
 apparent in the avidity with which the miserable 
 rhymes hawked about the streets, and palmed off 
 as the poetic etfusions of notorious criminals 
 under sentence of death, are perused, and the 
 facility with which easy melodies are fitted to 
 them for the purpose of singing. And it is a 
 received proverb in our language, no doubt de- 
 derived from the times when minstrelsy was in 
 its meridian glory, that there is no geste like a 
 real geste ; in other words, that there is no tale 
 like a true tale.
 
 82 PEELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 While there is an ample store of ballads which 
 appear to be referable to real incident and matter 
 of fact, those which record what Gawin Douglas 
 has characterised as 
 
 ' ' Wilde auentotms monstouris and qnent affrayis 
 Of uncouth dangeris," 
 
 are comparatively few. But whether this class 
 of ballads be, as we have imagined them to be, 
 no more than metrical relations of certain pas- 
 sao;es occurrino- at different times in the ereat 
 drama of human life, or whether they be the 
 veriest creations of the poet and the fabulist, it 
 matters little, for whichever way the fact stands, 
 this much is certain, that their popularity has 
 arisen from, and their permanency among us 
 been owing, in no partial degree, to the received 
 and general impression that has obtained among 
 the i^eople of their original derivation from 
 historical sources. This, independently of the 
 other attractions which many of them possess, 
 as simple and effective pieces of poetic composi- 
 tion, has seated them firmly in the hearts and 
 affections of the people, and secured them for 
 centuries from being swept away by the more 
 elaborated and artificial strains, which recent and 
 succeeding times have accumulated. 
 
 It is well known by all who have personally 
 undergone the pleasant drudgery of gathering 
 our traditionary song, that the old people who 
 recite these legends attach to them the most 
 unqualified and implicit belief. To this circum- 
 stance may be ascribed the feeling and pathos 
 with which they are occasionally chanted ; the 
 audible sorrow that comes of deej) and honest 
 sympathy with the fates and fortunes of our
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITEEATUEE. 33 
 
 fellow kind. In the spirit, too, with which such 
 communications are made, in the same spirit 
 must they be received and listened to. The 
 audacious sceptic, who, in the j)lenitude of his 
 shallow worldly ■\\'isdom, dared to question their 
 being matter of incontrovertible fact, I may state, 
 for the information of those who may hereafter 
 choose to amuse themselves in the quest of olden 
 song, would eventfuUy find the lips of every 
 venerable sybil in the land most eflfectually sealed 
 to his future inquiries. Eeciters, moreover, fre- 
 quently assign special localities to the ancient 
 ballads, which they gladly indicate to the inquisi- 
 tive, and to these they appeal as a triumphant 
 refutation of every objection wliich learned scep- 
 ticism may urge to the accuracy of the facts thus 
 traditionally preserved. The wood or the water, 
 the tower or the town, the castle or the kirk, the 
 bridge or the bower, nay, even the good oak-tree 
 to which some doughty hero of elder times hath 
 leaned his back, and resolutely made good his 
 quarrel against tremendous odds, can all be 
 singled out and shewn to be in perfect accordance 
 with the history as delivered in the ballad. It 
 must be admitted, however, that these localities 
 are very accommodating, and that the evidence 
 which they afford is entitled to little or no weight. 
 For a ballad, when it has become a favourite of 
 the people in any particular district, is soon fitted 
 with localities drawn from the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood. This is more particularly the case 
 with any one which represents a class of similar 
 compositions. Thus Tomalin or Tamlane, which 
 may be looked on as the representative of the 
 whole class of ballads relative to " Faerye," and 
 C
 
 84 PRELIMINAEY ESSAY ON 
 
 which is claimed by the editor of " The Border 
 Minstrelsy" as a Selkh-kshire ballad, in which 
 district it is stated to be completely located, will 
 be found clothed with every particular of local 
 habitation and name in many other counties far 
 distant from that which has sought to attach it 
 as exclusive property. 
 
 It has been usual to ascribe the composition of 
 this large body of traditionary poetry to the 
 minstrels, — an order of professional poets and 
 musicians, whose history from various causes is 
 necessarily somewhat obscure, and which, till the 
 time of Dr Percy, had been wholly neglected. 
 The wide diffusion of our ballads over every part 
 of the country, both north and south of the 
 Tweed, and the various sets which are extant of 
 these, would (were there no intrinsic evidence 
 afforded by these compositions themselves) be 
 amply corroborative and confirmatory of such an 
 opinion. The minstrels were, as one of their 
 number informs us, accustomed to 
 
 " walkeu fer and wyde, 
 
 Hei" and titer in every syde, 
 In mony a diverse londe," 
 
 with harp in hand, and thereto singing or recit- 
 ing, not only the Romance of price, but those 
 more succinct and veracious narratives which 
 have reached to our time in the form of ballads. 
 
 But when the age of chivalry passed away, and 
 the minstrel profession declined in importance, 
 or gradually assimilated itself to other callings, 
 and at length sunk into neglect and opprobrium, 
 through the influence of causes too numerous and 
 foreign from our purpose to trace ; the lower 
 ranks of the people became, as is always the case,
 
 SCOTTISH BALLAD LITERATUEE. 35 
 
 the rightful and undisputed heirs of the cast-oflF 
 tastes and literature of the higher orders. It was 
 not to be supposed, however, that all at once they 
 could either keenly relish or appreciate the more 
 refined and elaborated productions of the minstrel 
 muse. In fact, they could not understand them. 
 At least, we have the authority of Robert de 
 Brunne for hazarding this conjecture, who men- 
 tions exjDressly that he undertook his translation 
 
 " For the liif of symple men, 
 That strange luglis cannot ken," 
 
 and that he made it 
 
 " noght for no disours, 
 
 Ne for seggours, nor hai'poui's," 
 
 whereas, had he indulged himself in the " quainte 
 Inglis " of the minstrels, who addressed their 
 productions " for pride and nobleye," 
 
 •' fele men that it herde, 
 
 Suld not witte how that it f erde ; " 
 
 and he concludes his introduction by stating that 
 
 " — men besoght me many a tyme, 
 To turne it bot in Ugld ryme ; 
 Thai scyd if I in strange ryme it turne, 
 T(j hero it many on suld skurne ; 
 For in it ere names fidle selcouthe 
 That ere not vsed now in iiioutke; 
 And therefore for the comonalte. 
 That lilitliely wild listen to me ; 
 On light lange I it began, 
 For luf of the lewed man. " 
 
 Neither could the " comonalte " spare so 
 much leisure as sufficed for the recitation of 
 pieces distinguished for prolixity, nor could their 
 circumstances enaljlc them to remunerate the 
 disour, seggour, or harpour for such prolonged
 
 36 PEELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 enjoyments. A simpler intellectual fare was 
 required for the palate of a rude audience, and 
 this the historical bahad supplied. Their stub- 
 born sensibilities covikl only be excited by narra- 
 tives of real incident, suffering, or adventure, 
 distinctly, plainly, and artlessly told. With 
 confessedly fictitious woes, or fabulous deeds, 
 however brilliantly detailed, they could not sym- 
 pathise ; and a long j^eriod elapsed after the 
 romance had ceased to be heard in the halls of 
 the great, before it found its way to the fireside of 
 the hind and the artisan. When it did hnd its 
 way, however, it lived long in their remembrance 
 — traces of which can be discovered as late as the 
 middle of last century.
 
 THE LEGENDARY AND EOMANTIC 
 BALLADS OE SCOTLAND. 
 
 Sm PATRICK SPENS. 
 
 This ballad lays claim to a high and remote antiquity. 
 It is supi)osed by Bishop Percy to be foumled on some 
 event of real history; but in what age the hero of it 
 lived, or when the fatal expedition which it records 
 happened, he confesses himself unable to determine. Sir 
 Walter Scott and Mr Finlay, in their respective collec- 
 tions, concur in assigning it a like foundation, though 
 they disagree as to the historical incident whence it has 
 origmated ; while, on the other hand, Air Ilitson asserts 
 that " no memorial of the subject of the ballad exists in 
 history." Sir Walter Scott inclines to think that the 
 ballad may record some unsuccessfid attemjjt to bring 
 home Margaret, commonly called "the Maid of Norway," 
 previous to that emljassy desjiatched for her by the 
 Regency of Scotland, after the death of her grandfather, 
 Alexander III. And, though no account of such an 
 expedition appears in history, it is nevertheless ingeniously 
 contended, that its silence cannot invalidate tradition, or 
 form any argument against the probability of such an 
 event — more especially when the meagre materials whence 
 Scottish history is derived, are taken into view. Mr
 
 33 SIE PATEICK SPENS. 
 
 Fiulay objects to giving the ballad, as it stands, so bigli 
 a claim to antiquity, but suggests that if it be referred to 
 the time of James ITT., who married Margaret, daughter 
 of the Kiug of Denmark, it would be brought a step 
 nearer probability. 
 
 To both these ojjinions, however, Ritson's observation 
 applies with overwhelming force. There is no historical 
 evidence of this disastrous shipwreck, either in the em- 
 bassy for the Maiden of Norway, or in that for the wife 
 of James TIT. And meagre as the sources of our history- 
 may be, it seems improbable that an expedition which 
 terminated so fatally, and to which so many of the choicest 
 gallants of the day, and highest nobles of the land, must 
 necessarily have been attached, should fail to be chronicled. 
 Had they fallen in the field of battle, would all memory 
 of them have been lost ? Certainly not. Tf they perished 
 on the ocean, why is history oblivious of their names ? 
 The A^ery circumstance of a national calamity hke this 
 happening by shipwreck being of more rare occiuTence 
 than one of equal magnitude in time of war, woidd, we 
 think, be a very mean of securing it a more prominent 
 place in the histories of the times. The ballad must 
 therefore be either wholly fabulous, or it must refer to 
 some other event than any yet spoken of. 
 
 Our o■w^l opinion is, that the ballad is founded on 
 authentic history, and that it records the melancholy and 
 disastrous fate of the gallant band which followed in the 
 suite of Margaret, daughter of Alexander TTT., when she 
 was espoused to Eric of Norway. According to Fordun, 
 in this expedition many distinguished nobles accompanied 
 her to Norway to grace her nuptials, several of whom 
 perished in a storm while on their return to Scotland. 
 Whoever studies the ballad attentively, and makes due 
 allowance for the transpositions, corruptions, and inter- 
 j)olations which must unavoidably have crept into its text, 
 must idtimately become a convert to the opinion we have 
 now advanced. The bitter taunt of the Norwegians to 
 Sir Patrick — 
 
 " Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd 
 And a' our quemis fee," 
 
 M-as without meaning and point formerly — its application 
 is now felt. — Mothekwell.
 
 SIE PATRICK SPENS. 39 
 
 It has been asserted that Elizabeth Halkett, Lady Ward- 
 law, who died in the eighteenth century, and is known as 
 the author of "Hardyknute," inserted in Percy's Reliques, 
 was the author of Sir Patrick Sjiens. The assertion is not 
 supi^orted by proof. 
 
 The king sits in Dunfermline town, 
 Drinking the blude-red wine : 
 
 " where will I get a skeely skijjjDer 
 To sail this ship of mine ?" 
 
 It 's up and spake an eldern knight, 
 
 Sat at the king's right knee : 
 " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor 
 
 That ever sailed the sea." 
 
 The king has written a braid letter, 
 
 And sealed it with his hand, 
 And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 
 
 Was walking on the strand. 
 
 "To Noroway, to Noroway, 
 
 To Noroway o'er the faem ; 
 The king's daughter of Noroway, 
 
 Tis thou maun bring her hanie ! " 
 
 The first word that Sir Patrick read, 
 
 Sae loud, loud laughed he ; 
 The neist word that Sir Patrick read, 
 
 The tear blinded his ee. 
 
 " O wha is this has done this deed, 
 
 And tauld the king o' me. 
 To send us out at this time of the year, 
 
 To sail upon the sea ?
 
 40 SIR PATRICK SPENS. 
 
 " Be 't wind, be 't weet, be 't hail, be 't sleet, 
 
 Our ship must sail the faera ; 
 The king's daughter of Noroway, 
 
 'Tis we must fetch her hame." 
 
 They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, 
 
 Wi' a' the speed they may ; 
 They hae landed in Noroway 
 
 Upon a Wodensday. 
 
 They hadna been a week, a week 
 
 In Noroway, but twae. 
 When that the lords o' Noroway 
 
 Began aloud to say : 
 
 " Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd 
 
 And a' our queenis fee." 
 " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! 
 
 Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! 
 
 " For I hae brought as much white monie 
 As gane* my men and me — 
 
 And I hae brought a half-fouf o' gude red 
 gowd 
 Out owre the sea wi' me. 
 
 " Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a' ! 
 
 Our gude ship sails the morn." 
 " Now, ever alake ! my master dear, 
 
 I fear a deadly storm ! 
 
 " I saw the new moon, late yestreen, 
 Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; 
 
 And if we gang to sea, master, 
 I fear we '11 come to harm/' 
 
 * "Gane :" suffice. 
 
 t "Half-fou :" the eighth part of a peck.
 
 SIR PATRICK SPENS. 41 
 
 They hadna sailed a league, a league, 
 
 A league but barely three, 
 When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew 
 loud, 
 
 And gurly grew the sea. 
 
 The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap. 
 
 It was sic a deadly storm ; 
 And the waves came o'er the broken shi]) 
 
 Till a' her sides were torn. 
 
 " where will I get a gude sailor 
 
 To take my helm in hand. 
 Till I get up to the tall topmast 
 
 To see if I can spy land ? " 
 
 " here am I, a sailor gude. 
 
 To take the helm in hand, 
 Till you go up to the tall topmast — 
 
 But I fear you 11 ne'er spy land." 
 
 He hadna gane a step, a step, 
 
 A step but barely aiie. 
 When a bout* ilew out of the goodly ship, 
 
 And the saut sea it came in. 
 
 " Gac fetch a web o' the silken claith,-!- 
 
 Another o' the twine. 
 And wap them into our ship's side, 
 
 And let na the sea come in." 
 
 * "Bout:" a bolt. 
 
 + In Finlay's collection appear two stanzas, not else- 
 where to be found, that add the befitting incident of 
 superstitious belief to the tragedy recorded. 
 
 " Then np an' cam' a mermaid, 
 W'i' a siller cup iu her hau' :
 
 42 SIR PATEICK SPENS. 
 
 They fetched a wab o' the silken claith,* 
 
 Another o' the twine, 
 And tliey wapped them roiui' that gude 
 ship's side, 
 
 But still the sea came in, 
 
 laith, laith were our gude Scots lords 
 To weet their cork-heeled shoon ! 
 
 But lang or a' the play was played 
 They wat their hats aboon. 
 
 And mony was the feather bed , 
 
 That floated on the faem ; 
 And mony was the gude lord's son 
 
 That never mair cam' hame. 
 
 The ladyes wrang their fingers white — 
 
 The maidens tore their hair ; 
 A' for the sake of their true loves — 
 
 For them they '11 see na mair. 
 
 lang, lang may the ladyes sit, 
 Wi' their fans into their hand. 
 
 Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
 Come sailing to the strand ! 
 
 ' Sail on, sail on, my gude Scotch lords, 
 For ye sune will see dry Ian'.' 
 
 ' Awa', awa', ye wild woman. 
 And let your fleeohin' be ; 
 For, sen your face we 've seen the day. 
 Dry Ian' we'll never see.'" 
 
 * In Buchan's collection of Ancient Ballads is this addi- 
 tional stanza, which appears justified by a subsequent 
 allusion : — 
 
 " There are five-and-fifty feather beds 
 Well packed in ae room. 
 And ye '11 get as muckle gude canvass 
 As wrap the sliip a' ruuu'."
 
 SIR PATEICK SPENS. 43 
 
 And lang, lang may the maidens sit, 
 Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair, 
 
 A' waiting for their ain dear loves — 
 For them they '11 see na mair. 
 
 Half Q-w-re, half owre to Aberdour,* 
 
 Tis fifty fathoms deep, 
 And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, 
 
 Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 
 
 * In Scott's "Border Minstrelsy," this line reads — 
 "O forty miles off Aberdeen;" 
 but we are inclined to favour the reading — 
 "Half owre, half owre to Aberdour." 
 For, with submission to the opinion of Sir W. Scott, 
 the meaning of this line is not that the shijjwreck took 
 place in the Frith of Forth, but midway between Aberdour 
 and Norway. And, as it would seem from the narrative 
 at the commencement of the ballad that Sir Patrick sailed 
 from the Forth, it is Ijut fair to infer that, in his disas- 
 trous voyage homeward, he would endeavour to make 
 the same port. This opinion will be corroborated if we 
 are correct in assigning the ballad to the historical event 
 mentioned in the introductory remarks. — Motherwell.
 
 44? THE BATTLE OF OTTEEBOIJENE. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF OTTEEBOURNE. 
 
 The following edition of the Battle of Otterboume is 
 essentially different from that which is published in the 
 "Reliqiies of Ancient Poetry," and is obviously of Scot- 
 tish composition. The particulars of that noted action 
 are related by Froissart, with the highest encomium upon 
 the valour of the combatants on each side. This song 
 was first pubhshed from Mr Herd's "Collection of Scot- 
 tish Songs and Ballads," 2 vols. 8vo, Edin. 1774, but two 
 recited copies have fortunately been obtained from the 
 recitation of old persons residing at the head of Ettrick 
 forest, by which the story is brought out and completed 
 in a manner much more correspondent to the true history. 
 — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 It fell about the Lammas tide, 
 
 When the muir-raen win their hay, 
 
 The doughty Earl of Douglas rode 
 Into England, to catch a prey. 
 
 He chose the Gordons and the Graemes, 
 And the Lindesays, light and gay ; 
 
 But the Jardines would not with him ride, 
 And they rue it to this day. 
 
 And he has burned the dales of Tyne, 
 And part of Bambrough shire ; 
 
 And three good towers on Roxburgh fells, 
 He left them all on fire. 
 
 "Yet I will stay at Otterbourne, 
 Where you shall welcome be ; 
 
 And, if ye come not at three days' end, 
 A fause lord 1 11 ca' thee." 
 
 " Thither will I come," proud Percy said, 
 " By the might of Our Ladye ! " 
 
 " There will I bide thee," said the Douglas, 
 " My troth I plight to thee."
 
 THE BATTLE OF OTTEEBOUENE. 45 
 
 Tliey lighted higli on Otterboiirne, 
 
 Upon the bent sae brown ; 
 They lighted high on Otterbourne, 
 
 And threw their jjallions down. 
 
 And he that had a bonnie boy, 
 
 Sent out his horse to grass ; 
 And he that had not a bonnie boy, 
 
 His ain servant he was. 
 
 But up then spake a little page, 
 
 Before the peep of dawn — 
 " waken ye, waken ye, my good lord. 
 
 For Percy's hard at hand." 
 
 " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud ! 
 
 Sae loud I hear ye lie ; 
 For Percy had not men yestreen, 
 
 To dight my men and me. 
 
 " But I hae dreamed a dreary dream, 
 
 Beyond the Isle of Sky ; 
 I saw a dead man win a fight, 
 
 And I think that man was I." 
 
 He belted on his good braid sword, 
 
 And to the field he ran ; 
 But he forgot the hehnet good. 
 
 That should have kept his brain. 
 
 When Percy wi' the Douglas met, 
 
 I wat he was fu' fain ! 
 They swakked* their swords, till sair they 
 swat. 
 
 And the blood ran down like rain. 
 
 • *' Swakked : " to throw violently ; to cross.
 
 4G THE BATTLE OF OTTEEBOUENE, 
 
 But Percy with his good broadsword, 
 That could so sharply wound, 
 
 Has wounded Douglas on the brow, 
 Till he fell to the ground. 
 
 Then he called on his little foot-page, 
 
 And said — " Eun speedilie, 
 And fetch my ain dear sister's son, 
 
 Sir Hugh Montgomery." 
 
 " My nephew good," the Douglas said, 
 " What recks the death of ane ! 
 
 Last night I dreamed a dreary dream, 
 Andl ken the day's thy ain. 
 
 " My wound is deep ; I fain would sleep ; 
 
 Take thou the foremost three, 
 And hide me by the braken bush, 
 
 That grows on yonder lee. 
 
 " bury me by the braken bush. 
 Beneath the blooming brier, 
 
 But let not living mortal ken, 
 That a kindly Scot lies here." 
 
 He lifted up that noble lord, 
 Wr the saut tear in his ee ; 
 
 He hid him in the braken bush, 
 
 That his merrie men might not see. 
 
 The moon was clear, the day drew near. 
 
 The spears in flinders flew, 
 But mony a gallant Englishman 
 
 Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
 
 THE BATTLE OF OTTEEBOUENE. 47 
 
 The Gordons good, in English blood, 
 They steeped their hose and shoou ; 
 
 The Lindsays flew like fire about. 
 Till all the fray was done. 
 
 The Percy and Montgomery met, 
 
 That either of other were fain ; 
 They swapped swords, and they twa swat. 
 
 And the blude ran down between. 
 
 " Yield thee, yield thee, Percy ! " he said, 
 
 " Or else I 'il lay thee low ! " 
 "To whom shall I yield," said Earl Percy, 
 
 " Sin' I see it must be so ? " 
 
 " Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, 
 
 Nor yet shalt yield to me ; 
 But yield thee to the braken * bush. 
 
 That grows on the lilye lee ! " 
 
 " I will not yield to a braken bush, 
 
 Nor yet will I yield to a brier ; 
 But I would yield to Earl Douglas, 
 
 Or Montgomery, if he were here." 
 
 As soon as he knew 'twas Montgomery, 
 He stuck his sword in the gronde ; 
 
 And the Montgomery was a courteous knight. 
 And quickly took him by the hondc. 
 
 This deed was done at Otterbourne, 
 
 At the breaking of the day ; 
 Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush, 
 
 And the Percy led captive away. 
 
 * "Brakeu :" fern.
 
 48 CHILD NOKYCE. 
 
 CHILD NORYCE 
 
 Of the many ancient ballads whicli have been preserved 
 by tradition among the peasantry of Scotland, none has 
 excited more interest in the world of letters than the 
 beautiful and pathetic tale of " Gil Morice ; " and this no 
 less on account of its ovm intrinsic merits as a piece of 
 exquisite poetry, than of its having furnished the plot of 
 the justly-celebrated tragedy of Douglas.* It has like- 
 wise supplied Mr Langhorne with the principal materials 
 from which he has woven the fabric of his sweet though 
 prolix poem of "Owen of Carron;" and Mr Jamieson 
 mentions that it has also been "made the subject of a 
 dramatic entertainment with songs, by Mr Rennie of 
 Aberdeen, "t Perhaps the list could be easily increased 
 of those who have drawn their insi)iration from this 
 affecting strain of olden minstrelsy. 
 
 If any reliance is to be placed on the traditions of that 
 part of the country wliere the scene of the ballad is laid, 
 we shall be enforced to believe that it is founded on facts 
 which occurred at some remote period of Scottish history. 
 The "green wood" of the baUad was the ancient forest 
 of Dundaff in Stirlingshire, and Lord Barnard's castle is 
 said to have occupied a precipitous cliff overhanging the 
 water of Carron, on the lands of Halbertshire. A small 
 burn which joins the Carron, about five mUes above these 
 lands, is named the Earlsburn, and the hill near the source 
 of that stream is called the Earlshdl, both deriving their 
 appellations, according to the unvarying traditions of the 
 country, from the unfortunate Earl's son who is the hero 
 of the ballad. He, also, according to the same respectable 
 authority, was "beautifid exceedingly," and especially 
 remarkable for the extreme length and loveliness of his yel- 
 low hair, which shrouded him as it were with a golden mist. 
 To these floating traditions we are j^robably indebted for 
 the attempts which have been made to imjjrove and em- 
 
 * "When this tragedy was originally produced at Edinburgh, in 
 1756, the title of the heroine was Lady Barnard: the alteration to 
 Lady Randolph was matie on its being transplanted to London." It 
 was ai;ted in Covent Garden in 1757. — Biogrupkia Dramatica, vol. ii. 
 p. 17.5. 
 
 t Popular Ballads and Songs, Edinburgh, ISOO, vol. i. p. 5.
 
 CHILD NOEYCE. 49 
 
 bellisli the ballad by the introduction of various new 
 stanzas since its first appearance in a printed form. 
 
 Of the early printed editions of this ballad the Editor 
 has been unable to procure any copy.* In Percy's 
 EeUques it is mentioned that it had run through two 
 editions in Scotland, the second of which appeared at 
 Glasgow in 1755, 8vo, and that to both there was pre- 
 fixed an advertisement setting forth that the preservation 
 of the poem was o'vving "to a lady who favoured the 
 printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected from 
 the mouths of old women and nurses," and requesting 
 "that any reader who coidd render it more perfect and 
 complete woidd oblige the puljlic with such improve- 
 ments." This was holding out too tempting a bait not 
 to be greedily snajjped at by some of those "ingenious 
 hands" who have corrupted the pui'ity of legendary song 
 in Scotland by manifest forgeries and gross impositions. 
 Accordingly, sixteen additional verses soon appeared ia 
 manuscript, which the editor of the Reliques has in- 
 serted in their proper places, though he rightly \new3 
 them in no better light than that of an ingenious inter- 
 polation. Indeed, the whole baUad of Gil Morice, as the 
 ■writer of the present notice has been politely informed by 
 the learned and elegant editor of ' ' The Border Minstrelsy, " 
 underwent a total revisal about the jieriod when the 
 tragedy of Douglas was in the zenith of its popularity j 
 and this improved copy, it seems, embraced the "in- 
 genious interpolation" above referred to. Independent 
 altogether of this positive information, any one famdiar 
 with the state in which traditionary poetry has been 
 transmitted to the present times, can be at no loss to 
 detect many more "ingenious interpolations" as well as 
 paraphrastic additions in the ballad as now j)rinted. But 
 though it has been grievously corru])tcd in this way, the 
 most scrupulous inquirer into the authenticity of ancient 
 
 * Since writing this he has been kindly favoured by Mr David 
 Laing of Edinburgh with .an edition wliich, though it lias neither 
 place, d ite, nor printer's name, may, from its title, be considered as 
 the first Kdinbiirgh edition, and (irinted i)robably in 1756. The title 
 is given at len«th, "Gil Morice, an ancient Scots poem. The foun- 
 dation of the tragedy called Douglas, .as it is now acted in the Con- 
 cert-hall, Canoiigate." Except some slight variations in orthography, 
 and ill its omitting the sixteen additional verses which are mentioned 
 by Bishop I'orcy .is having bceji subsequently added to the ballad, 
 there is no other materi.al difference between this edition and that 
 which is reprinted in the Reliques. 
 
 D
 
 50 CHILD NOEYCE. 
 
 song can have no hesitation in admitting that many of its 
 verses, even as they now stand, are purely traditionary, 
 and fair and genuine parcels of antiquity, unalloyed with 
 any base admixture of modern invention, and in nowise 
 altered, save in those changes of language to which all 
 oral poetry is unavoidably subjected in its progress from 
 one age to another. 
 
 With much deference to the opinion of others skilled 
 in these matters, the Editor has, in point of antiquity, to 
 challenge for Cktld Noryce a precedence far above any of 
 its fellows ; indeed, in his judgment, it has every appear- 
 ance of being the prime root from which the Gil Morice of 
 Percy, and all the variations of the ballad heretofore 
 known, have originated. That the reader may have no 
 room to doubt its genuineness, the Editor thinks it right 
 to mention, that it is given verbatim as it was taken down 
 from the singing of Widow M'Cormick, of Paisley, in 
 January 1825. — Motherwell. 
 
 Child Noeyce is a clever young man, 
 
 He wavers wi' the wind ; 
 His horse was silver shod before, 
 
 With the beaten gold behind. 
 
 He called to his little man John, 
 Saying, " You don't see what I see ; 
 
 For, oh, yonder I see the very first woman 
 That ever loved me. 
 
 " Here is a glove, a glove," he said, 
 
 " Lined with the silver grey ; 
 You may tell her to come to the merry green 
 wood, 
 
 To speak to Child Nory. 
 
 " Here is a ring, a ring," he says, 
 
 " It 's all gold but the stane ; 
 You may tell her to come to the merry green 
 wood, 
 
 And ask the leave o' nane."
 
 CHILD NOEYCE, 51 
 
 " So well do I love your errand, my master, 
 
 But far better do I love my life ; 
 would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castel, 
 
 To betray away his wife ?" 
 
 " don't I give you meat," he says, 
 
 " And don't I pay you fee ? 
 How dare you stop my errand," he says, 
 
 " My orders you must obey." 
 
 Oh, when he came to Lord Barnard's castel, 
 
 He tinkled at the ring ; 
 Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself,* 
 
 To let this little boy in. 
 
 " Here is a glove, a glove," he says, 
 
 " Lined with the silver grey ; 
 You are bidden to come to the merry green wood, 
 
 To speak to Child Nory. 
 
 " Here is a ring, a ring," he says, 
 
 " It 's all gold but the stane : 
 You are bidden to come to the merry green wood. 
 
 And ask the leave o' nane." 
 
 Lord Barnard he was standing by, 
 
 And an angry man was he : 
 " Oh, little did I think there was a lord in this 
 world 
 
 My lady loved but me ! " 
 
 * This unquestionably sliould be Lady Barnard, instead 
 of her lord — see third stanza under; but as it was so 
 recited, this obvioiis error the Editor did not conceive 
 himself warranted to correct, more especially as he has 
 found it out of his power to obtain another copy of the 
 ballad from any different quarter. — Motherwell.
 
 52 CHILD NOEYCE. 
 
 Oh, he dressed himself in the holland smocks, 
 
 And garments that was gay ; 
 And he is away to the merry green wood, 
 
 To speak to Child Nory. 
 
 Child Noryce sits on yonder tree. 
 
 He whistles and he sings ; 
 " wae be to me," says Child Noryce, 
 
 "Yonder my mother comes!" 
 
 Child Noryce he came off the tree, 
 His mother to take off the horse ; 
 
 " Och alas, alas," says Child Noryce, 
 " My mother was ne'er so gross." 
 
 Lord Barnard he had a little small sword 
 That hmig low down by his knee ; 
 
 He cut the head off Child Noryce, 
 And put the body on a tree. 
 
 And when he came to his castel, 
 
 And to his lady's hall, 
 He threw the head into her lap. 
 
 Saying, " Lady, there is a ball!" 
 
 She turned up the bloody head, 
 She kissed it frae cheek to chin ; 
 
 " Far better do I love this bloody head. 
 Than all my royal kin. 
 
 " When I was in my father's castel. 
 
 In my virginitie ; 
 There came a lord into the north, 
 
 Gat Child Noryce with me."
 
 THE YOUNG ta:mlane. 53 
 
 ' wae be to tliee, Lady Margaret," he said, 
 " And an ill death may you die ; 
 
 For if you had told me he was your son, 
 He had ne'er been slain by me." 
 
 THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 
 
 A fragment of this singiilar story appeared in Herd's 
 Collection, 1776. It was inserted complete in Scott's 
 "Minstrelsy of the Scottisli Border, ' prefaced by an ad- 
 mirable essay on tlie Fairy Mythology of Scotland. But 
 Scott either interj^olated himself, or adopted the inter- 
 polations by others, of at least a dozen stanzas — bearing 
 the £.tamp of "modern antiquity" so A-isibly and palpably 
 about them, as not only to spoil the charm of the ballad, 
 but to fail in deceiving the most careless reader. Pro- 
 fessor Aytoun, in his recent collection, presents the public 
 with a version amended by and collated with several 
 others ; but I have preferred to republish that of Sir 
 Walter Scott, with the omission of the modem stanzas, 
 that add nothing to the story, and that have the additional 
 demerit of weakening the strength and diluting the sturdy 
 beauty of the original. — C. M. 
 
 O I FORBID ye, maidens a', 
 That wear gowd on your hair, 
 
 To come or gae by Carterhaugh, 
 Eor young Tamlane is there. 
 
 There 's nane, that gaes by Carterhaugh, 
 
 But maun leave him a waud. 
 Either goud rings, or green mantles, 
 
 Or else their maidenheid.
 
 54; THE YOUNG TAMLANE, 
 
 Now, gowd rings ye may buy, maidens, 
 
 Green mantles ye may spin ; 
 But, gin ye lose your maidenheid, 
 
 You '11 ne'er get that agen. 
 
 But up then spak her fair Janet, 
 
 The fairest o' a' her kin ; 
 " I '11 cum and gang to Carterhaugh, 
 
 And ask nae leave o' him." 
 
 Janet has kilted her green kirtle,* 
 
 A little abune her knee ; 
 And she has braided her yellow hair, 
 
 A little abune her bree. 
 
 And when she came to Carterhaugh, 
 
 She gaed beside the well ; 
 And there she fand his steed standing, 
 
 But away was himsel'. 
 
 She hadna pu'd a red, red rose, 
 
 A rose but barely three ; 
 Till up and starts a wee, wee man, 
 
 At Lady Janet's knee. 
 
 gays — " Why pu' ye the rose, Janet ? 
 
 What gars ye break the tree ? 
 Or why came ye to Carterhaugh, 
 
 Withouten leave o' me ? " 
 
 " Oh I will pu' the flowers," she said, 
 
 " And I will break the tree. 
 For Carterhaugh it is mine ain ; 
 
 1 11 ask nae leave o' thee." 
 
 * The ladies are always represented, in Dunbar's poems, 
 with green mantles and yellow hair. — Maitland Poems, 
 vol. i. p. 45.
 
 THE YOUNG TAMLAKE. 55 
 
 He 's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, 
 
 Amang the leaves sae green ; 
 And what they did I cannot tell — 
 
 The green leaves were between. 
 
 He 's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, 
 
 Amang the roses red ; 
 And what they did I cannot say — 
 
 She ne'er returned a maid. 
 
 When she cam to her father's ha', 
 
 She looked pale and wan ; 
 They thought she'd dreed some sair 
 sickness, 
 
 Or been wi' some leman. 
 
 She didna comb her yellow hair, 
 
 Nor make meikle o' her held ; 
 And ilka thing that lady took 
 
 Was like to be her deid. 
 
 It 's four and twenty ladies fair 
 
 Were playing at the ba' ; 
 Janet, the wightest of them anes, 
 
 Was faintest o' them a'. 
 
 Four and twenty ladies fair 
 
 Were playing at the chess ; 
 And out there came the fair Janet, 
 
 As green as any grass. 
 
 Out and spak an auld gray-headed knight. 
 
 Lay o'er the castle wa' — 
 " And ever alas ! for thee, Janet, 
 
 But we '11 be blamed a' ! "
 
 56 THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 
 
 " Now baud your tongue, ye auld gray 
 knight, 
 
 And an ill death may ye die, 
 Father my bairn on whom I will, 
 
 I '11 father nane on thee." 
 
 Out then spak her father dear. 
 And he sj^ak meek and mild — 
 
 " And ever, alas ! my sweet Janet, 
 I fear ye gae with child." 
 
 " And if I be with child, father, 
 Mysel' maun bear the blame ; 
 
 There 's ne'er a knight about your ha' 
 Shall hae the bairnie's name. 
 
 " And if I be with child, father, 
 'Twill prove a wondrous birth ; 
 
 For well I swear I 'm not wi' bairn 
 To any man on earth. 
 
 " If my love were an earthly knight. 
 
 As he 's an elfin gray, 
 I wadna gie my ain true love 
 
 For nae lord that ye hae." 
 
 She princked hersel' and prinned hersel', 
 Ey the ae light of the moon, 
 
 And she 's away to Carterhaugh, 
 To speak wi' young Tamlane. 
 
 And when she cam' to Carterhaugh, 
 
 She gaed beside the well ; 
 And there she saw the steed standing, 
 
 But away was himsel'.
 
 THE YOUNG TAMLAJSTE. 57 
 
 She hadna pu'd a double rose, 
 
 A rose but only twae, 
 When up and started young Tamlane, 
 
 Says — Lady, thou pu's nae mae I 
 
 " Why pu' ye the red, red rose, Janet, 
 
 Within this garden green, 
 And a' to kiU the bonny babe, 
 
 That we got us between ? " 
 
 " The truth ye '11 tell to me, Tamlane ; 
 
 A word ye mauna lie ; 
 Gin e'er ye was in holy chapel. 
 
 Or sained* in Christentie." 
 
 " The truth 1 11 tell to thee, Janet, 
 
 A word I winna lie ; 
 A knight me got, and a lady me bore, 
 
 As weU as they did thee. 
 
 " Eandolph, Earl Murray, was my sii-e, 
 
 Dunbar, Earl March, is thine ; 
 We loved when we were children small, 
 
 Which yet you well may mind. 
 
 " When I was a boy just turned of nine, 
 
 ]\Iy uncle sent for me. 
 To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him, 
 
 And keep him companie. 
 
 " There came a wind out of the north, 
 
 A sharp wind and a snell ; 
 And a dead sleep came over me. 
 
 And frae my horse I fell. 
 
 * "Sained:" hallowed.
 
 68 THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 
 
 " The Queen of Fairies keppit me. 
 In yon green hill to dwell ; 
 
 And I 'm a fairy, lyth and limb ; 
 Fair lady, view me well. 
 
 " But we, that live in Fairy-land, 
 No sickness know, nor pain ; 
 
 I quit my body when I will, 
 And take to it again. 
 
 " And I would never tire, Janet, 
 
 In elfish land to dwell ; 
 But aye at every seven years, 
 
 They pay the teind to hell ; 
 And I am sae fat, and fair of flesh, 
 
 I fear 'twill be mysel'. 
 
 " This night is Hallowe'en, Janet, 
 
 The morn is Hallowday ; 
 And, gin ye dare your true love win, 
 
 Ye hae na time to stay. 
 
 •' The night it is good Hallowe'en, 
 When fairy folk will ride ; 
 
 And they that wad their true love win. 
 At Miles Cross they maun bide." 
 
 " But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane ? 
 
 Or how shall I thee knaw, 
 Amang so mony unearthly knights, 
 
 The like I never saw?" 
 
 " The first company that passes by. 
 Say na, and let them gae ; 
 
 The next company that passes by, 
 Say na, and do right sae ; 
 
 The third company that passes by. 
 Then I '11 be ane o' thae.
 
 THE YOUNG TAJELANE. 59 
 
 " First let pass the black, Janet, 
 
 And syne let pass the brown ; 
 But grip ye to the milk-white steed, 
 
 And pu' the rider down. 
 
 " For I ride on the milk-white steed, 
 
 And aye nearest the town ; 
 Because I was a christened knight, 
 
 They gave me that renown. 
 
 " My right hand will be gloved, Janet, 
 
 My left hand will be bare ; 
 And these the tokens I gie thee, 
 
 Nae doubt I will be there. 
 
 " They '11 turn me in your arms, Janet, 
 
 An adder and a snake ; 
 But baud me fast, let me not pass, 
 
 Gin ye wad be my make. 
 
 " They 11 turn me in your arms, Janet, 
 
 An adder and an ask ; 
 They '11 turn me in your arms, Janet, 
 
 A bale that bums fast. 
 
 " They '11 turn me in your arms, Janet, 
 
 A red-hot gad o' airn ; 
 But hand me fast, let me not pass, 
 
 For 1 11 do you no harm. 
 
 " First dip me in a stand o' milk, 
 And then in a stand o' water ; 
 
 But baud me fast, let me not pass — • 
 I '11 be your bairn's father.
 
 GO THE YOUNG TAMLANE. 
 
 "And, next, they'll shape me in your arms, 
 
 A tod, but and an eel ; 
 But hand me fast, nor let me gang, 
 
 As you do love me weel. 
 
 " They '11 shape me in your arms, Janet, 
 
 A dove, but and a swan ; 
 ^ And, last, they '11 shape me in your arms, 
 
 A mother-naked man : 
 Cast your green mantle over me — 
 
 I '11 be myself again." 
 
 Gloomy, gloomy, was the night. 
 
 And eiry was the way. 
 As fair Janet, in her green mantle, 
 
 To Miles Cross she did gae. 
 
 And first gaed by the black, black steed, 
 And then gaed by the brown ; 
 
 But fast she gript the milk-white steed, 
 And pu'd the rider down. 
 
 She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed. 
 
 And loot the bridle fa' ; 
 And up there raise an eldritch cry — 
 
 " He 's won among us a' ! " 
 
 They shaped him in fair Janet's arms. 
 
 An ask, but and an adder ; 
 She held him fast in every shape — 
 
 To be her bairn's father. 
 
 They shaped him in her arms at last, 
 
 A mother- naked man ; 
 She wrapt him in her green mantle. 
 
 And sae her true love wan.
 
 THE YOUNG TAMLAITE. Gl 
 
 Up then spake the Queen o' th' Fairies, 
 
 Out o' the bush o' broom — 
 " She that has borrowed young Tamlane, 
 
 Has gotten a stately groom." 
 
 Up then spake the Queen o' th' Fairies, 
 
 Out o' the bush of rye — 
 " She 's ta'en away the bonniest knight 
 
 In a,' my cumpanie. 
 
 " But had I kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, 
 
 " A lady wad borrowed thee — 
 I wad ta'en oiit thy twa gray een. 
 
 Put in twa een o' tree. 
 
 " Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, 
 
 " Before ye came frae hame — 
 I wad tane out your heart o' flesh, 
 
 Put in a heart o' stane. 
 
 " Had I but had the wit yestreen, 
 
 That I hae coft* the day — 
 I 'd hae paid my kane seven times to hell. 
 
 Ere you 'd been won away ! " 
 
 • "Coft:" bouL'lit.
 
 62 EELINTON. 
 
 ERLINTON. 
 
 This ballad is published from the collation of t'U'O 
 copies, obtained from recitation. It seems to be the rude 
 original, or perhaps a coiTupted and imperfect copy, of 
 The Child of Elle, a beautiful legendary tale, published in 
 Percy's "Eeliques of Ancient Poetry." It is siagular that 
 this charming ballad shoiUd have been translated or imi- 
 tated by the celebrated Burger, without acknowledgment 
 of the English original. As The Child of Elle avowedly 
 received corrections, we may ascribe its greatest beauties 
 to the poetical taste of the ingenious editor, — Sib Walter 
 Scott. 
 
 Eelinton had a fair daughter, 
 
 I wat he weired her in a great sin ;* 
 
 For he has built a bigiy bower, 
 An' a' to put that lady in. 
 
 An' he has warned her sisters six, 
 An' sae has he her brethren se'en. 
 
 Either to watch her a' the night. 
 Or else to seek her morn and e'en. 
 
 She hadna been i' that bigly bower. 
 
 Not a night, but barely ane. 
 Till there was Willie, her ain true love, 
 
 Chapped at the door, crying, " Peace within ! " 
 
 " whae is this at my bower door, 
 
 That chaps sae late, or kens the gin?"-f- 
 
 " it is Willie, your ain true love, 
 I pray you rise an' let me in ! " 
 
 * "Weired her in a great sin : " placed her in danger of 
 committing a great sin. — W. S. 
 
 t "Gia:" the slight or trick necessary to open the 
 door.
 
 EELINTON. 63 
 
 " But in my bower there is a wake, 
 An' at the wake there is a wane ;* 
 
 But I '11 come to the green- wood the mom, 
 Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' da^vn." 
 
 Then she 's gane to her bed again. 
 
 Where she has layen till the cock crew thrice, 
 Then she said to her sisters a', 
 
 " Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise." 
 
 She pat on her back a silken gown. 
 
 An on her breast a siller pin. 
 An' she 's tane a sister in ilka hand, 
 
 An' to the green-wood she is gane. 
 
 She hadna walked in the green-wood, 
 
 Na not a mile but barely ane, 
 Till there was Willie, her ain true love, 
 
 Whae frae her sisters has her ta'en. 
 
 He took her sisters by the hand. 
 
 He kissed them baith, an' sent them hame, 
 An he 's ta'en his true love him behind. 
 
 And through the green-wood they are gane. 
 
 They hadna ridden in the bonnie green-wood, 
 
 Na not a mile but barely ane, 
 When there came fifteen o' the boldest knights, 
 
 That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane. 
 
 The foremost was an aged knight. 
 He wore the gray hair on his chin. 
 
 Says, " Yield to me thy lady bright, 
 An' thou shalt walk the woods within." 
 
 * "Wane:" a numlier of people.
 
 64) EELINTON. 
 
 " For me to yield my lady bright 
 To such an aged knight as thee, 
 
 People wad think I war gane mad, 
 Or a' the courage flown frae me." 
 
 But up then spake the second knight, 
 I wat he spake right boustouslie, 
 
 " Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright. 
 Or here the tane of us shall die." 
 
 " My lady is my world's meed. 
 
 My life I winna yield to nane ; 
 But, if ye be men of true manhood, 
 
 Ye 11 only fight me ane by ane." 
 
 He lighted off his milk-white horse. 
 And gae 'm his lady by the head, 
 
 Saying, " See ye dinna change your cheer, 
 Until you see my body bleed." 
 
 He set his back into an aik, 
 He set his feet against a stane ; 
 
 And he has fought these fifteen men, 
 And killed them a' but barely ane ; 
 
 For he has left the aged knight. 
 But to carry the tidings hame. 
 
 When he gaed to his lady fair, 
 
 I wot he kissed her tenderlie : 
 " Thou 'rt mine ain love, I have thee bought ; 
 
 And we shall walk the green-wood free."
 
 COSPATEICK. Qo 
 
 COSPATRICK 
 
 A copy of tliis ballad, materially different from that 
 which follows, appeared in "Scottish Songs," 2 vols., 
 Edinburgh, 1792, under ihe title oi Lord Bothivell. Some 
 stanzas have been transferred from thence to the present 
 copy, which is taken down from the recitation of a lady, 
 nearly related to the Editor. Some readings have been 
 also adopted from a third copy, in Mrs Brown's MS., 
 imder the title of Child BreJiton. Cospatrick (Comes 
 Patricius) was the designation of the Earl of Dunbar in the 
 days of Wallace and Bruce. — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 Herd published, in 1775, a version of this story, imder 
 the title of Bothwell — which Professor Ayton adopts in 
 his recent collection. Another version was published, in 
 1827, by Mr P. Buchan, under the title of Lord Dingwall. 
 In Cromek's "Remains of Nithsdale and GaUoway Song," 
 is a poem — "We were sisters, sisters seven " — drawn from 
 the same source, and in some respects a finer composition 
 than Cos^Mtrlch — C. M. 
 
 CosPATEiCK has sent o'er the faem ; 
 Cosj^atrick brought his hadye hame ; 
 And fourscore ships have come her wi', 
 The ladye by the green-wood tree. 
 
 There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread, 
 And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae red, 
 And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour, 
 And twal' and twal' wi' the paramour. 
 
 Sweet Willy was a widow's son, 
 And at her stirrup he did run ; 
 And she was clad in the finest pall, 
 But aye she loot the tears down fall 
 
 " is your saddle set awrye ? 
 Or rides your steed for you owre high ? 
 Or are you mourning, in your tide. 
 That you suld be Cospatrick's bride ? " 
 E
 
 66 COSPATEICK. 
 
 " I am not mourning, at this tide. 
 That I suld be Cospatrick's bride ; 
 But I am sorrowing, in my mood. 
 That I suld leave my mother good." 
 
 " But, gentle boy, come tell to me, 
 What is the custom of thy countrie ? " 
 " The custom thereof, my dame," he says, 
 " Will ill a gentle ladye please. 
 
 " Seven king's daughters has our lord wedded, 
 And seven king's daughters has our lord 
 bedded ; 
 
 But he's cutted their breasts frae their breast- 
 bane. 
 
 And sent them mourning hame again. 
 
 " Yet, gin you 're sure that you 're a maid, 
 
 Ye mae gae safely to his bed ; ' 
 
 But gif o' that ye be na sure, 
 
 Then hire some damsel o' your hour." 
 
 The ladye's called her bour-maiden. 
 That waiting was into her train, 
 " Five thousand merks I '11 gie to thee. 
 To sleep this night with my lord for me." 
 
 When bells were rung, and mass was sayne. 
 And a' men unto bed were gane, 
 Cospatrick and the bonny maid. 
 Into ae chamber they were laid. 
 
 " Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, 
 
 bed, 
 And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web ; 
 And speak, my sword, that winna lie. 
 Is this a true maiden that lies by me ? "
 
 COSPATKICK. 67 
 
 " It is not a maid that you hae wedded, 
 But it is a maid that you hae bedded ; 
 It is a leal maiden that lies by thee, 
 But not the maiden that it should be." 
 
 wrathfully he left the bed, 
 And wrathfully his claes on did ; 
 And he has ta'en him through the ha', 
 And on his mother he did ea'. 
 
 " I am the most unhappy man, 
 That ever was in Christen land ! 
 
 1 courted a maiden, nieik and mild, 
 And I hae gotten naething but a woman 
 
 wi' child." 
 
 " stay, my son, into this ha', 
 
 And sport ye wi' your merry men a' ; 
 
 And I will to the secret bour, 
 
 To see how it fares wi' your paramour." 
 
 The carline she was stark and sture, 
 She aff the hinges dang the dure. 
 " is your bairn to laird or loun, 
 Or is it to your father's groom ? " 
 
 " hear me, mother, on my knee, 
 Till my sad story I tell to thee : 
 we were sisters, sisters seven, 
 We were the fairest under heaven. 
 
 " It fell on a summer's afternoon, 
 AVhen a' our toilsome work was done, 
 We coost the kevils us amang, 
 To see which suld to the green-wood gang.
 
 68 COSPATEICK. 
 
 " Ohon ! alas, for I was youngest, 
 And aye my weird it was the strongest ! 
 The kevil it on me did fa', 
 Whilk was the cause of a' my woe. 
 
 " For to the green-wood I maun gae, 
 To pu' the red rose and the slae ; 
 To pu' the red rose aud the thyme, 
 To deck my mother's hour and mine. 
 
 " I hadna pu'd a flower but ane, 
 When by there came a gallant hinde, 
 Wi' high colled hose and laigh colled shoon, 
 And he seemed to be some king's son, 
 
 " And be I maid, or be I nae, 
 
 He kept me there till the close o' day ; 
 
 And be I maid, or be I nane. 
 
 He kept me there till the day was done. 
 
 " He gae me a lock o' his yellow hair. 
 And bade me keep it ever mair ; 
 He gae me a carkuet * o' bonny beads. 
 And bade me keep it against my needs. 
 
 " He gae to me a gay gold ring. 
 And bade me keep it abune a' thing." 
 " What did ye wi' the tokens rare, 
 That ye gat frae that gallant there ? " 
 
 * "Carknet:" a necldace. Thus — 
 
 " She threw away her rings and carknet cleen." 
 — Harrison's translation of " Orlando Furioso," Notes on 
 book 37tk
 
 COSPATEICK. 69 
 
 " bring that cofier unto me, 
 
 And a the tokens ye sail see."' 
 
 " Now stay, daughter, your hour withiu, 
 
 While I gae parley wi' my son." 
 
 she has ta'en her thro' the ha', 
 And on her son began to ca' : 
 
 " What did ye wi' the bonny beads, 
 
 1 bade ye keep against your needs ? 
 
 " What did you wi' the gay gold ring, 
 I bade you keep abune a' thing ? " 
 " I gae them to a ladye gay, 
 I met in green-wood on a day. 
 
 " But I wad gie a' my halls and tours, 
 I had that ladye within my hours ; 
 But I wad gie my very life, 
 I had that ladye to my wife." 
 
 " Now keep, my son, your ha's and tours ; 
 Ye have that bright burd in your hours ; 
 And keep, my son, your very life ; 
 Ye have that ladye to your wife." 
 
 Now, or a month was come and gane, 
 The ladye bore a bonny son ; 
 And 'twas weel written on his breast-bane, 
 " Cospatrick is my father's name."
 
 TEUE THOMAS. 
 
 TEUE THOMAS. 
 
 True Thomas, Thomas the Ehymer, or Thomas of 
 ErcilcloTine, in the Eildon Hills, is a personage almost as 
 mythological as Merlia or King Arthur. He is supposed 
 — if he ever existed at all, which is doubtful — to have 
 flovu-islied early in the thirteenth century, and to have 
 been the author of "The Romance of Sir Tristrem." Sir 
 Walter Scott was at some pains to collect particulars about 
 Mm, and has gathered into a focus all the facts and sup- 
 positions on which he could lay hands. True Thomas is 
 beheved hx popular superstition to have come back at 
 the end of seven years, delivered his prophecies, and then 
 retiu-ned to his captivity among the fairies. — C. M. 
 
 Teue Thomas lay on Huntly bank, 
 
 A ferlie* he spied wi' his ee, 
 And there he saw a lady bright 
 
 Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 
 
 Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk. 
 
 Her mantle o' the velvet fine ; 
 At ilka tett-J- of her horse's mane 
 
 Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 
 
 True Thomas he pulled off his cap, 
 And louted low down to his knee : 
 
 " All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven, 
 For thy peer on earth I never did see \" 
 
 " no, no, Thomas," she said, 
 
 " That name does not belong to me ; 
 
 I am but the Queen of fair Elfland, 
 That am hither come to visit thee. 
 
 * "Ferhe:" something wonderful, or marvellous. 
 + "Tett:" lock.
 
 TEUE THOMAS. 71 
 
 " Harp and carp, True Thomas," slie said, 
 
 " Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
 And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 
 
 Sure of your body I will be." 
 
 "Betide me weal, betide me woe, 
 
 That weird shall never daunton me ! " 
 
 Since he has kissed her rosy lips. 
 All underneath the Eildon tree. 
 
 " Now ye maun go wi' me," she said, 
 " True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; 
 
 And ye maun serve me seven years. 
 
 Through weal or woe, as chance may be." 
 
 She mounted on her milk-white steed, 
 She 's ta'en true Thomas up behind ; 
 
 And aye, whene'er her bridle rung. 
 The steed flew swifter than the wind. 
 
 they rode on, and farther on, 
 
 The steed gaed swifter than the wind, 
 
 Until they reached a desert wide, 
 And living land was left behind. 
 
 " Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
 And lean your head uj)on my knee ; 
 
 Abide and rest a little space, 
 
 And I will show you ferlies three. 
 
 " see ye not yon narrow road, 
 
 So thick beset with thorns and briers ? 
 
 That is the path of righteousness, 
 Though after it but few enquires.
 
 72 TKUE THOMAS. 
 
 " And see ye not that braid, braid road, 
 
 That lies across that lily leven ? 
 That is the path of wickedness, 
 
 Though some call it the road to heaven. 
 
 " And see ye not that bouny road, 
 
 That wins about the fernie brae ? 
 That is the road to fair Elfland, 
 
 Where thou and I this night maun gae. 
 
 " But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 
 
 Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
 For if ye speak word in Elflyn land. 
 
 Ye '11 ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 
 
 they rode on and further on. 
 
 And they waded through rivers aboon the knee, 
 And they saw neither sim nor moon, 
 But they heard the roaring of the sea. 
 
 It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae stern 
 light, 
 
 And they waded through red blude to the knee ; 
 For a' the blude that 's shed on earth 
 
 Ems through the springs o' that countrie. 
 
 Sine they came on to a garden green. 
 And she pu'd an apple frae a tree : 
 
 " Take this for thy wages, true Thomas, 
 
 It will give thee the tongue that can never lie." 
 
 " My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said, 
 " A gudely gift ye wast gie to me ; 
 
 1 neither dought to buy nor sell, 
 
 At fair or tryst where I may be.
 
 SIR CAULINE. 73 
 
 " I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 
 Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." 
 
 " Now hold thy peace ! " the lady said, 
 " For as I say, so it must be." 
 
 He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, 
 And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 
 
 And till seven years were gone and past, 
 True Thomas on earth was never seen. 
 
 SIR CAULINE. 
 
 This ancient and beautiful romantic ballad is given from 
 Percy's Reliques, in whicli it "was first published, from 
 that folio M8. about whose existence the late Mr Ritson 
 was so sceptical. Percy confessed that he was tempted 
 to add several stanzas to the first part, and still more in 
 the second, to connect and complete the story in the man- 
 ner which appeared to him most interesting and affecting. 
 How much it owes to his taste and genius we have not the 
 means of ascertaining ; but that his interpolations and 
 additions have been very considerable, any one accpiainted 
 with ancient minstrelsy will have Httle room to doubt. 
 We suspect, too, that the original ballad had a less melan- 
 choly catastrophe, and that tlie brave Sir Cauline, after 
 his coml>at with the "hend Soldan," derived as much 
 benefit from the leechcraft of fair Christabelle, as he did 
 after winning the Eldritch sword. 
 
 Between this Ijallad and some parts of the metrical 
 romance of Sir Tristrem, the late Mr Finlay of Glasgow 
 affects to discover a resemblance, but he has not con- 
 descended to trace a pai'aUel between them. Indeed, we 
 cannot help thinking, for all he says to the contrary, that 
 his reasoning is no whit superior to Fluellin's : "There is 
 a river at Macedon, and there is also moreover a river at 
 Monmouth :" and, according to Mr Finlay, "There is an 
 Irish kmg and his daughter in Sir Cauline ; " and there is
 
 74) SIR CAULINE. 
 
 "also moreover an Irish king and liis daughter in Sir 
 
 Tristrem." The concealed love of Sir Caidine for one so 
 
 much above him in station will remind the reader of the 
 
 gentle 
 
 " Squyer of lowe degrfe 
 
 That loved the king's doughter of Hvmgre." 
 
 — Motherwell. 
 
 THE FIKST PAET. 
 
 In Ireland, ferr over the sea, 
 There dwelleth a bonnye kinge ; 
 
 And with him a yong and comlye knighte, 
 Men call him Sir Cauline. 
 
 The kinge had a iadye to his daughter, 
 In fashyon she hath no peere ; 
 
 And princely wightes that Iadye wooed, 
 To be theyr wedded feere. 
 
 Sir Cauline loveth her best of aU, 
 
 But nothing durst he saye ; 
 Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, 
 
 But deerlye he loved this may. 
 
 Till on a day it so befell 
 
 Great dool to him was dight ; 
 
 The mayden's 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 ladyes love, 
 For dole now I mun dye."
 
 SIE CAULINE. 7o 
 
 And when our parish mass was done, 
 
 Our king was bowne to dyne : 
 He says, " 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 ; 
 Goe take him doughe and the baken bread. 
 And serve him with the wyne so red ; 
 
 Lothe I were him to tine." 
 
 Fair Christabelle to his chamber goes, 
 
 Her maydens following nye ; 
 "0 well," she saitli, "how doth my lord?" 
 
 " sicke, thou fair ladye." 
 
 " Now ryse up, wightyle man, for shame, 
 
 Never lye soe cowardice, 
 For it is told in my father's halle 
 
 You dye for love of mc." 
 
 " Fayre ladye, it is for your love. 
 
 That all this dill I drye. 
 For if you wold comfort me with a kisse. 
 Then were I brouglit from bale to blisse, 
 
 No longer would I lye." 
 
 " Sir knight, my father is a kinge, 
 
 I am his onlye heire ; 
 Alas ! and well you knowe, sir knighte, 
 
 I never can be vour fere."
 
 76 SIR CAULINE. 
 
 " ladye, tliou art a kinge's daughter, 
 
 And I am not thy peere ; 
 But let me do some deeds of armes, 
 
 To be your bacheleere." 
 
 " Some deeds of armes, if thou wilt doe, 
 
 My bacheleere to be, 
 (But ever and aye my heart wold rue, 
 
 Giff harm should happe to thee.) 
 
 " Upon Eldritch hill there groweth a thorne 
 
 Upon the mores brodinge ; * 
 And dare ye, sir knight, wake there all 
 night, 
 
 Until the f ayre morning ? 
 
 " For the Eldritch knight, so mickle of 
 might, 
 
 WUl examine you beforne ; 
 And never man bare life awaye, 
 
 But he did him scaith and scorne. 
 
 " That knight he is a foul paynim. 
 
 And large of limb and bone ; 
 And but if Heaven may be thy speede. 
 
 Thy life it is but gone." 
 
 "Now on the Eldritch hill I '11 walk 
 
 For thy sake, fair ladye ; 
 And 1 11 either bring you a ready token. 
 
 Or I '11 never more you see." 
 
 * " Mores brodinge : " TMs plirase is obsciu-e. Mother- 
 well supposes that it means " a thorn broading, or spread- 
 ins on the moors."
 
 SIR CAULINE. / 7 
 
 The lady has gone to her own chaumbere, 
 
 Her maidens following bright ; 
 Sir Canline lope from care-bed soone, 
 And to the Eldritch hills is gone, 
 
 For to walk there all night. 
 
 Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, 
 
 He walked np and down ; 
 Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe 
 
 Over the bents so brown ; 
 Quoth he, "If cryance come till my heart, 
 
 I am far from any good town." 
 
 And soon he spied on the mores so broad, 
 
 A furious wight and fell ; 
 A ladye bright his brydle led, 
 
 Clad in a fayre kyrtle : 
 
 And soe faste he called on Sir Cauline, 
 
 " man I rede thee fly, 
 For but if cryance comes till thy heart, 
 
 I weene but thou mun dye." 
 
 He saith, " No cryance comes till my heart, 
 
 Nor in faith, I will not flee ; 
 For cause thou minged not Christ before. 
 
 The less me dreadeth thee." 
 
 The Eldritch knighte, he pricked his steed ; 
 
 Sir Cauline bold abode : 
 Then either shooke his trustye speare. 
 And the timber these two children bare, 
 
 Soc soone in sunder slode. 
 
 Then took they out theyr two good swordes, 
 
 And layden on full faste. 
 Till helme and howberke, mail and shield, 
 
 They all were well-nye brast.
 
 5 SIE CAULINE. 
 
 The Eldritcli 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 pain, and lacke of bloud, 
 Fell down 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 bright, 
 
 Fast wringing of her hand : 
 " For the may den's love, that most you love, 
 
 Withhold your deadlye brand. 
 
 " For the mayden's love, that most you love. 
 
 Now smite no more, I pray ; 
 And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord. 
 
 He shall thy bests obey." 
 
 " Now sweare to me, thou Eldritch 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 Eldritch come 
 
 To sport, gamon, or playe ; 
 And that thou here give up thy armes 
 
 Until thy dying daye." 
 
 The Eldritch knighte gave up his armes, 
 With many a sorrowfulle sighe ; 
 
 And sware to obey Sir Cauline's best. 
 Till the tyme that he should die. 
 
 * "Laye :" law.
 
 SIE CAULINE. 79 
 
 And he then up, and the Eldritch knighte, 
 
 Sett him in his saddle anone ; 
 And the Elchitch knight, and his ladye. 
 
 To theyr castle are they gone. 
 
 Then he tooke up the bloudy hand, 
 
 That was so large of bone, 
 And on it he fouude five ringes of gold, 
 Of knightes that had been slone. 
 
 Then he took up the Eldritch sword, 
 
 As hard as any flint ; 
 And he took off those ringes five, 
 
 As brighte as fyre and brent. 
 
 Home then pricked Sir Caulme, 
 
 As light as leafe on tree ; 
 I wis he neither stint ne blanne,* 
 
 Till he did his ladye see. 
 
 Then down he knelt upon his knee. 
 
 Before that ladye gay ; 
 "0 ladye, I have bin on Eldritch hills. 
 
 These tokens I bring away." 
 
 " Now welcome, welcome. Sir Cauline, 
 
 Thrice welcome unto mee, 
 Eor now, I perceive, thou art a true knighte. 
 
 Of valour bolde and free." 
 
 " ladye, I am thy own true knight. 
 
 Thy bests for to obey ; 
 And moiight I hope to win thy love!" — 
 
 No more his tonge colde say. 
 
 * "Blanne:" ceased.
 
 80 SIR CAULINE, 
 
 The laclye blushed scarlette red, 
 
 And f ette a gentill sigh ; 
 " Alas ! sir knight, how may this be, 
 
 For my degree's soe high ? 
 
 " But sith thou hast hight, thou comely 
 youth, 
 
 To be my batchelere, 
 I'll promise, if thee I may not wed, 
 
 I will have none other fere." 
 
 Then she held forth her lily-white hand. 
 Towards that knight so free ; 
 
 He gave to it one gentill kiss. 
 
 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 know ; 
 For and ever my father sholde it ken, 
 
 I wot he wolde us sloe,"* 
 
 From that daye forthe, that ladye fayre 
 Loved Sir Cauline the knight ; 
 
 From tliat day forth, he only joyde 
 When she was in his sight. 
 
 Yea, and oftentimes they met 
 
 Within a fair arboure. 
 Where they, in love, and sweet daliaunce, 
 
 Past many a pleasaunt houre. 
 
 • "Sloe:" slay.
 
 SIK CAULINE. 81 
 
 THE SECOND PAKT. 
 
 Eveiye white will have its blacke, 
 
 And everye sweet its soure : 
 This founde the ladye Christabelle 
 
 In an untimely houre. 
 
 For so it befelle, as Sir Cauline 
 
 Was with that ladye fair, 
 The kinge her father walked forthe 
 
 To take the evenyng air : 
 
 And into the arboure as he went 
 
 To rest his wearye feet, 
 He found his daughter and Sir Cauline 
 
 There sette in daliaunce sweet. 
 
 The kinge he started forthe, i-wys, 
 
 And an angTye man was he : 
 " Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hang or drawe. 
 
 And rewe shall thy ladye." 
 
 Then forthe Sir Cauline he was ledde, 
 
 And thrown in dungeon deep : 
 And the ladye into a towre so hye, 
 
 There left to wayle and weep. 
 
 The queene she was Sir CauHne's friend. 
 
 And to the kinge said she : 
 "I praye you save Sir Cauline's life, 
 
 And let him banisht be." 
 
 " Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent 
 
 Across the salt sea foam : 
 But here I will make thee a band, 
 If ever he come witliiu this land, 
 
 A foulo death is his doom."
 
 82 SIR CAULINE. 
 
 All woe-begone was that gentill knight 
 
 To part from his ladye ; 
 And many a time he sighed sore. 
 
 And cast a wistfulle eye : 
 "Fair Christabelle, from thee to part, 
 
 Far liefer had I dye." 
 
 Fair 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 lilye flowre. 
 
 And ever she doth lament and weep. 
 
 To tine* her lover soe : 
 " Sir Cauhne, thou little think' st on me, 
 
 But I will still be true." 
 
 Many a Idng, and many a duke, 
 
 And lord of high degree, 
 Did sue to that faire ladye of love ; 
 
 But never she wolde them nee.-f- 
 
 Wlien many a day was past and gone. 
 
 No comfort she could find. 
 The king proclaimed a tournament. 
 
 To cheer his daughter's mind. 
 
 And there came lords, and there came knights, 
 
 From many a far countrye, 
 To break a spear for their ladye's love. 
 
 Before that fair ladye. 
 
 * "Tine :" lose. t "Nee :" near, or come neax.
 
 SIR CAULINE. 83 
 
 And many a ladye there was sette, 
 
 In purple and in pall ; 
 But fair Christabelle, so woe-begone. 
 
 Was the fairest of them alL 
 
 Then many a knighte was mickle of might 
 
 Before his ladye gay ; 
 But a stranger knighte whom no man knew, 
 
 He wan the prize each day. 
 
 His acton it was all of black, 
 
 His hawberke and his shield ; 
 And no man wist whence he did come, 
 And no man knew whence he did gone, 
 
 When they came from the field. 
 
 And now three days were prestlye* past 
 
 In feats of chivalrye. 
 When lo, upon the fourth morninge, 
 
 A sorrowful sight they see : 
 
 A hugye giant stifFe and starke, 
 
 All foule of limbe and lere, 
 Twa goggling eyen, like fire farden, 
 
 A mouth from eare to eare. 
 
 Before him came a dwarf full low, 
 
 That waited on his knee ; 
 And at his back five heads he bore, 
 
 All wan and pale of blee. 
 
 " Sir," quoth the dwarf, and louted low, 
 
 " Behold that hend-f- Soldain ! 
 Behold these heads I bear with me ! 
 
 They are knights which he hath slain. 
 
 * "Prestlye:" quickly. f "Hcnd:" courteous.
 
 8-i SIR CAULINE. 
 
 " The Eldritch knight is his o^vn coiisine, 
 
 Whom a knight of thine hath shent ; 
 And he is to come to avenge his wrong : 
 And to thee, all thy knights among, 
 Defiance here hath sent. 
 
 " But yet he will appease his wrath, 
 
 Thy daughter's love to win ; 
 And but thou yield him that fayre mayde, 
 
 Thy halls and towers must brenne * 
 
 " Thy head, sir king, must go with me, 
 
 Or else thy daughter dear : 
 Or else within these lists soe broad, 
 
 Thou must find him a peer." 
 
 The king he turned him round about, 
 
 And in his heart was woe : 
 " Is there never a knighte of my round table 
 
 This matter will undergo ? 
 
 " Is there never a knight amongst ye all 
 Will fight for my daughter and me ? 
 
 Whoever will fight yon grim Soldau, 
 Eight fair his meede shall be. 
 
 " For he shall have my broad lay-lands. 
 
 And of my crown be heyre ; 
 And he shall win fair Christabelle 
 
 To be his wedded fere." 
 
 But every knight of his round table 
 
 Did stand both still and pale ; 
 For, whenever they look'd on the grim Soldan, 
 
 It made their hearts to quail. 
 
 * "Brenne :" burn.
 
 SIR CAULINE. 85 
 
 All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 
 When she saw no help was nigh : 
 
 She cast her thought on her own true love, 
 And the tears gusht from her eye. 
 
 Up then stert the stranger knighte, 
 
 Sayde, " Ladye, be not afraid ; 
 I '11 fight for thee with this grim Soldan, 
 
 Though he 's unmacklye * made. 
 
 " And if thou wilt lend me the Eldritch sword 
 
 That lyeth within thy bowTe, 
 I trust in Christ for to slaye this fiend. 
 
 Though he be stiff and stowre." 
 
 " Goe fetch him down the Eldritch sword," 
 The king he cried, " with speed : 
 
 Xowe, Heaven assist thee, courteous knight ; 
 My daughter is thy meed." 
 
 The giant, he stepped into the lists. 
 
 And said, " Away ! away ! 
 I sweare, as I am the hend Soldan, 
 
 Thou lettest f me here all day ! " 
 
 Then forth the stranger knight he came, 
 
 In his black armour diglit ; 
 The ladye sighed a gentle sigh, 
 
 " That this were my true knight ! " 
 
 And now tlie giant and knight be met. 
 
 Within the lists sae broad ; 
 And now, with swords soe sharp of steel, 
 
 They gan to lay on load. 
 
 ■ "Unmacklye : " misshapen. + «« Lettest : " hinderest.
 
 86 SIR CAULINK 
 
 The Soldan struck the knight a stroke 
 
 That made him reel aside ; 
 Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 
 
 And thrice she deeply sighd. 
 
 The Soldan struck a second stroke, 
 
 And made the bloude to flow ; 
 All pale and wan was that ladye fayre, 
 
 And thrice she wept for woe. 
 
 The Soldan struck a third fell stroke, 
 Which brought the knight on his knee : 
 
 Sad sorrow pierced that ladye's heart. 
 And she shriekt loud shriekings three. 
 
 The length he leapt upon his feet, 
 
 All reckless of the pain ; 
 Quoth he, " But Heaven be now my speeds. 
 
 Or else I shall be slain." 
 
 He grasped his sword with mayne and mighte. 
 
 And spying a secret part, 
 He drove it into the Soldan 's side, 
 
 And pierced him to the heart. 
 
 Then all the people gave a shout. 
 When they saw the Soldan fall ; 
 
 The ladye wept and thanked Christ, 
 That had rescued her from thrall. 
 
 And now the king, with all his barons, 
 
 Eose up from off his seat. 
 And down he stepped into the lists. 
 
 That courteous knighte to greet :
 
 SIE CAULINE. 87 
 
 But he, for pain and lacke of blonde, 
 
 Was fallen into a swound, 
 And there, all waltering in his gore, 
 
 Lay lifeless on the ground. 
 
 " Come down, come down, my daughter dear. 
 
 Thou art a leech of skill ; 
 Far liefer had I lose half my lands. 
 
 Than this good knight should spille," 
 
 Down then steppeth that fayre ladye, 
 
 To help him if she may ; 
 But when she did his beaver raise, 
 " It is my life, my lord ! " she says, 
 
 And shriekt and swound away. 
 
 Sir Cauline just lift up his eyes. 
 
 When he heard his ladye cry : 
 " ladye, I am thine own true love ; 
 
 For thee I wisht to dye." 
 
 Then giving her one parting look, 
 
 He closed his eyes in death. 
 Ere Christabelle, that ladye mild, 
 
 Began to draw her breath. 
 
 But when she found her comelye knight 
 
 Indeed was dead and gone. 
 She laid her pale, cold cheek to his, 
 
 And thus she made her moan : 
 
 " stay, my dear and only lord, 
 
 For me, thy faithfulle feere ; 
 'Tis meet that I sholdc follow thee, 
 
 Who hast bought my love soe dear ! "
 
 HYND HOEN. 
 
 Then faintinge in a deadly swoune, 
 And with a deep fetch'd sigh, 
 
 That burst her gentle heart in twain, 
 Payre Christabelle did dye. 
 
 HYND HOKN. 
 
 An imperfect copy of this very old ballad appeared in 
 "Select Scottish Songs, Ancient and Modern," edited by 
 Mr Cromek ; but that gentleman seems not to have been 
 aware of the jewel he had picked up, as it is passed over 
 without a single remark. We have been fortunate enough 
 to recover two coj^ies from recitation, which, joined to the 
 stanzas preserved by Mr Cromek, have enabled lis to pre- 
 sent it to the public in its iiresent complete state. Though 
 Hynd Horn possesses no claims upon the reader's atten- 
 tion on account of its poetry, yet it is highly valuable, as 
 illustrative of the history of Eomautic Ballad. In fact, it 
 is nothing else than a portion of the ancient Enghsh 
 metrical romance of Kyng Horn, which some benevolent 
 pen, perad venture "for luf of the lewed man," hath 
 stripped of its "quainte Inglis," and given 
 
 " In symple speche as he cotitbe, 
 That is lightest in manne's mouthe." 
 
 Of this the reader will be at once convinced, if he com- 
 pares it with the romance alluded to, or rather with the 
 fragment of the one preserved in the Auchinleck MS., 
 entitled. Home Childe and Maiden Rim.inild, both of 
 which ancient poems are to be found in Kitson's Metrical 
 Romances. 
 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to remind the reader that 
 Hend or Hynd means "courteous, kind, affable," &c., an 
 epithet which, we doubt not, the hero of the ballad was 
 fully entitled to assume. — Motherwell. 
 
 A different version, omitting altogether the alternately- 
 repeated lines, that spoil the reading, but add grace to the 
 singing of this ballad — 
 
 " With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
 And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie,"
 
 HYND HOKN. 89 
 
 appears in Buclian's Ancient Ballads, and has been re- 
 peated, with a few variations, in Professor Aytoim's col- 
 lection. 
 
 Neae Edinburgli -was a young child born, 
 With a hey lillelu ajid a how lo Ian ; 
 
 And his name it was called young Hynd Horn, 
 And the hirk and the brume blooms bonnie. 
 
 Seven lang years he served the king, 
 
 And it 's a' for the sake of his dochter Jean. 
 
 The king an angry man was he, 
 
 He sent young Hynd Horn to the sea. 
 
 " Oh, I never saw my love before. 
 Till I saw her thro' an augre bore. 
 
 " And she gave to me a gay gold ring. 
 With three shining diamonds set therein. 
 
 " And I gave to her a silver wand. 
 With three singing lavi'ocks set thereon. 
 
 " What if those diamonds lose their hue, 
 Just when my love begins for to rue ? 
 
 " For when your ring turns pale and wan, 
 Then I 'm in love with another man." 
 
 He 's left the land, and lie 's gone to the sea. 
 And he 's stayed there seven years and a day. 
 
 Seven lang years he has been on the sea. 
 
 And Hynd Horn has looked how his ring may be.
 
 90 HYND HOEN. 
 
 But when he looked this ring upon, 
 The diamonds were both pale and wan. 
 
 Oh ! the ring it was both black and blue, 
 And she 's either dead or married now. 
 
 He 's left the seas, and he 's come to the land, 
 And the first he met was an auld beggar man. 
 
 "What news, what news, my silly auld man — 
 For it 's seven years since I have seen land. 
 
 " Wliat news, what news, thou auld beggar man. 
 What news, what news, by sea or land?" 
 
 " No news at all," said the auld beggar man, 
 " But there is a wedding in the king's hall. 
 
 " There is a king's dochter in the west. 
 
 And she has been married thir nine nights past. 
 
 " Into the bride-bed she winna gang, 
 Till she hears tell of her ain Hynd Horn." 
 
 " Wilt thou give to me thy begging-coat, 
 And I '11 give to thee my scarlet cloak. 
 
 " Wilt thou give to me thy begging-staff, 
 And I '11 give to thee my good grey steed." 
 
 The auld beggar man cast off his coat, 
 And he 's ta'en up the scarlet cloak. 
 
 The auld beggar man threw down his staff, 
 And he has mounted the good grey steed. 
 
 The auld beggar man was bound for the mill, 
 But young Hynd Horn for the king's halL
 
 HYND HOEK 91 
 
 The auld beggar man was bound for to ride, 
 But young Hynd Horn was bound for the bride. 
 
 When he came to the king's gate, 
 
 He asked a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake. 
 
 These news unto the bonnie bride came, 
 That at the yett there stands an auld man. 
 
 " There stands an auld man at the king's gate, 
 He asketh a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake." 
 
 " I '11 go through nine fires so hot, 
 But I '11 give him a diink for young Hynd Horn's 
 sake." 
 
 She went to the gate where the auld man did 
 
 stand, 
 And she gave him a drink out of her own hand. 
 
 She gave him a cup out of her own hand, 
 
 He drunk out the diink, and dropt in the ring. 
 
 " Got thou it by sea, or got thou it by land, 
 Or got thou it off a dead man's hand ? " 
 
 " I got it not by sea, but I got it by land, 
 For I got it out of thine own hand." 
 
 " I '11 cast off my gowns of brown, 
 And I '11 follow thee from town to town. 
 
 " I '11 cast off my gowns of red. 
 
 And along with thee I '11 beg my bread." 
 
 " Thou need not cast off thy gowns of brown, 
 For I can make thee lady of many a town.
 
 92 BONNIE GEOEGE CAMPBELL, 
 
 " Thou need not cast off tliy gowns of red, 
 For I can maintain thee with both wine and 
 bread." 
 
 The bridegroom thought he had the bonnie bride 
 
 wed, 
 But young Hynd Horn took the bride to the bed. 
 
 BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL 
 
 Is probably a lament for one of the adherents of tbe house 
 of Argyle, who fell in the battle of Glenlivat, on Thurs- 
 day, the 3d of October 1594. Of this ballad Mr Fin- 
 lay had only recovered thiee stanzas, which he has given 
 in the preface to his "Scottish Historical and Romantic 
 Ballads," page xxxiii., introduced by the following re- 
 marks : — "There is another fragment still remaining, 
 which appears to have belonged to a ballad of adventure, 
 perhaps of real history. 1 am acqiiainted with no poem of 
 which the lines, as they stand, can be supposed to have 
 formed a part." — Motherwell. 
 
 There exists a cotemporary ballad on this battle, which 
 has been published by Graham Dalzell, in his "Scottish 
 Poems of the Sixteenth Century." It begins thus : — 
 
 "M'Callum More came from the west. 
 With many a brow and bi-and, 
 To work the Rinnes he thought it best — 
 The E;u-1 of Huntly's land." 
 
 It appears, however, higldy probable that the poem here 
 given commemorates the assassination of John Campbell 
 of Calder, which was the result of the same conspiracy 
 which effected the mmxler of the "Bonnie Earl of Murray." 
 — C. M. 
 
 Hie upon Hielands 
 
 And low upon Tay, 
 Bonnie George Campbell 
 
 Rade out on a day.
 
 YOUNG BENJIE. 93 
 
 Saddled and bridled 
 
 And booted rade he ; 
 Hanie cam' his glide horse, 
 
 But never cam' he ! 
 
 Out cam' his auld mither 
 
 Greeting fu' sair, 
 And out cam' his bonnie bride 
 
 Kivin' her hair. 
 Saddled and bridled 
 
 And booted rade he; 
 Toom hame cam' the saddle, 
 
 But never cam' he ! 
 
 ** My meadow lies green, 
 
 And my corn is imshorn ; 
 My barn is to bigg. 
 
 And my babie's unborn." 
 Saddled and bridled 
 
 And booted rade he ; 
 Toom hame cam' the saddle. 
 
 But never cam' he ! 
 
 YOUNG BENJIE. 
 
 First printed, from recitation, by Sir Walter Scott, in 
 the "Border Minstrelsy." The first two lines are almost 
 identical with the chorus of the Scottish version of Old 
 King Cole : — 
 
 "Of all the maids in fair Scotland, 
 Thcro 'a nanu to coiui^are wi' Marjorio." 
 
 Of a the maids o' fair Scotland, 
 The fairest was our Marjorie ; 
 
 And young Benjic was her ae true love, 
 And a dear true love was he.
 
 94; YOUNG BENJIE. 
 
 And wow ! but they were lovers dear, 
 And loved fu' constantlie ; 
 
 But aye the mair when they fell out, 
 The sairer was their plea. 
 
 And they hae quarrelled on a day, 
 Till Marjorie's heart grew wae, 
 
 And she said she 'd chuse another love. 
 And let young Benjie gae. 
 
 And he was stout and proud hearted. 
 And thought o 't bitterUe : 
 
 And he 's gane by the wan moonlight 
 To meet his Marjorie. 
 
 " open, open, my true love ! 
 
 open and let me in ! " 
 " I dare na open, young Benjie, 
 
 My three brothers are within." 
 
 " Ye lie, ye lie, my bonnie burd, 
 
 Sae loud 's I hear ye lie ; 
 As I came by the Lowden banks. 
 
 They bade gude e'en to me. 
 
 " But fare ye well, my ae f ause love, 
 That I have loved sae lang ; 
 
 It sets ye chuse another love. 
 And let young Benjie gang." 
 
 Then Marjorie turned her round about. 
 
 The tear blinding her ee, 
 " I dare na, dare na let thee in, 
 
 But I '11 come down to thee."
 
 YOUNG BENJIE. 95 
 
 Then saft she smiled, and said to him, 
 
 " what ill hae I dune ? " 
 He took her in his armis twa, 
 
 And threw her o'er the linn. 
 
 The stream was Strang, the maid was stout, 
 
 And laith, laith to be dang ; 
 But ere she wan the Lowden's banks 
 
 Her fair colour was wan. 
 
 Then up an' spak her eldest brother, 
 
 " see na ye what I see V 
 And out then spak her second brother, 
 
 "It's our sister Marjorie I" 
 
 Out then spak her eldest brother, 
 
 "0 how shall we her ken?" 
 And out then spak her youngest brother, 
 
 " There 's a honey-mark on her chin." 
 
 Then they 've ta'en up the comely corpse 
 
 And laid it on the ground : 
 " wha has killed our ae sister. 
 
 And how can he be found ? 
 
 " The night it is her low lykewake. 
 
 The morn her burial day, 
 And we maun watch at mirk midnight, 
 
 And hear what she will say." 
 
 Wi' doors ajar, and candle light, 
 
 And torches burning clear. 
 The streiket corpse, till still midnight. 
 
 They wake, but naething hear.
 
 96 YOUNG BENJIE. 
 
 About the middle o' the night 
 
 The cocks began to craw, 
 And at the dead hour o' the night 
 
 The corpse began to thraw. 
 
 " wha has done thee wrang, sister, 
 
 Or dared the deadly sin ? 
 "Wha was sae stout, and feared nae dout. 
 
 As throw ye o'er the linn ?" 
 
 "Young Benjie was the first ae man 
 
 I laid my love upon ; 
 He was sae stout and proud hearted 
 
 He threw me o'er the linn." 
 
 " Shall we young Benjie head, sister. 
 Shall we young Benjie hang, 
 
 Or shall we pike out his twa grey een, 
 And punish him ere he gang?" 
 
 "Ye mauna Benjie head, brothers. 
 
 Ye mauna Benjie hang, 
 But ye maun pike out his twa grey een, 
 
 And punish him ere he gang. 
 
 " Tie a green gravat about his neck, 
 
 And lead him out and in. 
 And the best ae servant about your house 
 
 To wait young Benjie on. 
 
 " And aye, at every seven years' end, 
 
 Ye '11 tak him to the linn ; 
 For that 's the penance he maun dree. 
 
 To scug* his deadly sin." 
 
 * "Scug :" expiate.
 
 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MURRAY. 97 
 
 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUERAY. 
 
 "TMs ballad appears to have been composed about the 
 reign of James V. It commemorates a transaction, sup- 
 posed to have taken place betwixt a Scottish monarch 
 and an ancestor of the ancient family of liui-ray of Philip- 
 haugh, in Selku-kshire. 
 
 ' ' The merit of this beautiful old tale, it is thought, wiU 
 be fully acknowledged. It has been, for ages, a popular 
 song in Selkirkshire. The scene is, by the common 
 people, supposed to have been the Castle of Newark iipon 
 Yarrow. This is highly improbable, because Newark 
 was always a royal fortress. Indeed, the late excellent 
 antiquarian, Mr Plummer, Sheriff-depute of Selkirkshire, 
 remembered the inshinia of the unicorns, &c., so often 
 mentioned in the ballad, in existence upon the old tower 
 in Hanginshaw, the seat of the Philiphaugh family ; 
 although, upon first perxising a copy of the ballad, he was 
 inclined to subscribe to the pojralar opinion. The tower 
 of Hargingshaw has been demolished for many years. 
 It stood in a romantic and solitary situation, on the 
 classical banks of the Yarrow. When the moimtaius 
 around Hangingshaw were covered with the wild copse 
 which constituted a Scottish forest, a more secure strong- 
 hold for an outlawed baron can hardly be imagined. 
 
 "The tradition of Ettrick Forest bears, that the Outlaw 
 was a man of prodigious strength, possessing a baton or 
 club, with which he laid he. [i.e., waste) the country for 
 many miles round ; and that he was at length slain by 
 Buccleuch, or some of his clan, at a little mount, covered 
 with fir-trees, adjoining to Newark Castle, and said to 
 have been a part of the garden. A varying tradition 
 bears the place of his death to have been near to the house 
 of the Uuke of Buccleuch's gamekeeper, l>eneath the 
 castle ; and tliat tlie fatal arrow was shot by Scott of 
 Haining, from the ruins of a cottage on the ojjposite side 
 of the Yarrow. There wei-e extant, within these twenty 
 years, some verses of a song on his death. The feud be- 
 tween the Outlaw and the Scotts may serve to exiilain the 
 asperity with which the chieftain of that clan is handled 
 in the ballad. 
 
 G
 
 98 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUERAY. 
 
 "In publishing tlie following ballad, the copy principally 
 resorted to is one apparently of considerable antiquity, 
 which was found among the papers of the late Mrs Cock- 
 bum of Edinburgh, a lady whose memory will be long 
 honoured by all who knew her. Another copy, much 
 more imperfect, is to be fomid in Glenriddel's MSS. The 
 names are in this last miserably mangled, as is always the 
 case when ballads are taken down from the recitation of 
 persons living at a distance from the scenes in which they 
 are laid. Mr Plummer also gave the editor a few addi- 
 tional verses, not contained in either copy, which are 
 thi'owai into what seemed their proper place. There is 
 yet another copy, in Mr Herd's MSS., which has been 
 occasionally made use of. Two verses are restored in the 
 present edition, from the recitation of Mr Mimgo Park, 
 whose toils, during his patient and intrepid travels in 
 Africa, have not eradicated from his recollection the 
 legendary lore of his native country. 
 
 " The arms of the Philiphaugh family are said by tradi- 
 tion to aUude to their outlawed state. They are indeed 
 those of a huntsman, and are blazoned thus : Argent, a 
 hunting horn sable, stringed and garnished gules, on a 
 chief aziu-e, three stars of the first. Crest, a Demi Fo- 
 rester, winding his horn, proper. Motto, Hlnc usque 
 superna venabor," — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 Ettpjcke Eorest is a fair forest. 
 
 In it grows many a seemly tree ; 
 There 's hart and hynd, and doe and roe, 
 
 And of a' wild beasts great plentie. 
 
 There 's a fair castelle, bigged wi' lime and stane; 
 
 ! gin it stands not pleasantlie ! 
 In the forefront o' that castelle fair, 
 
 Twa unicorns are braw to see ; 
 There's the picture of a knight, and a ladye bright, 
 
 And the grene liollin abune their bree.* 
 
 * "Bree :" brow.
 
 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUEEAY. 99 
 
 There an Outlaw keeps five hundred men ; 
 
 He keej)S a royal companie ! 
 His merrymen are a' in ae liverye clad, 
 
 0' the Linkome grene sae gay to see ; 
 He and his ladye in purple clad, 
 
 ! gin they lived not royallie ! 
 
 AVord is gane to our noble king, 
 
 In Edinburgh, where that he lay. 
 That there was an Outlaw in Ettricke Forest, 
 
 Counted him nought, nor his courtrie gay. 
 
 " I make a vow," then the gude king said, 
 " Unto the man that deir bought me, 
 
 I'se either be king of Ettricke Eorest, 
 
 Or king of Scotlande that Outlaw shall be!" 
 
 Then spake the lord, hight Hamilton, 
 
 And to the noble king said he, 
 " My sovereign prince, some counsel take. 
 
 First at your nobles, syne at me. 
 
 " I rede ye, send yon braw Outlaw till, 
 And see gif your man come will he : 
 
 Desire him come and be your man. 
 And hold of you yon Forest free. 
 
 "Gif he refuses to do that. 
 
 We'll conquer baith his lands and he! 
 Or else, we'll throw his castell down. 
 
 And make a widow o' his ladye." 
 
 The king then call'd a gentleman, 
 
 James Boyd, (the earl of Arran his brother 
 was he) 
 When James he came before the king, 
 
 He kneelit before him on his knee.
 
 100 THE SONG OP THE OUTLAW MUERAY. 
 
 " Welcome, James Boyd !" said our noble king ; 
 
 "A message ye maun gang for me ; 
 Ye maun hye to Ettricke Forest, 
 
 To yon Outlaw, where bidetli he ; 
 
 " Ask him of whom he holds his lands, 
 
 Or man, who may his master be. 
 And desire him come, and be my man. 
 
 And hold of me yon Forest free. 
 
 " To Edinburgh to come and gang, 
 
 His safe warrant I sail gie ; * 
 
 And gif he refuses to do that. 
 
 We '11 conquer baith his lands and he. 
 
 " Thou may'st vow I '11 cast his castell down, 
 
 And mak a widow o' his ladye ; 
 I'll hang his merrymen, pair by pair. 
 
 In ony frith where I may them see." 
 
 James Boyd tuik leave o' the noble king, 
 
 To Ettricke Forest fair cam he ; 
 Down Birkendale Brae when that he came 
 
 He saw the fair Forest wi' his ee. 
 
 Baith doe and roe, and hart and hinde, 
 And of a' wild beastis great plentie ; 
 
 He heard the bows that bauldly rang, 
 And arrows whidderan' him near by. 
 
 Of that fair castell he got a sight ; 
 
 The like he neir saw wi' his ee ! 
 On the forefront o' that castell fair, 
 
 Twa unicorns were gay to see ; 
 The picture of a knight, and lady bright, 
 
 And the green hollin abuue their bree.
 
 THE SOKG OF THE OUTLAW MUEEAY. 1 01 
 
 Thereat he spyed five hundred men, 
 Shooting with bows on Newark Lee ; 
 
 They were a' in ae livery clad, 
 
 0' the Lincome green sae gay to see. 
 
 His men were a' clad in the green, 
 
 The knight was armed capapie, 
 With a bended bow, on a milk-white steed ; 
 
 And I wot they ranked right bonilie. 
 
 Therby Boyd kend he was master man, 
 
 And served him in his ain degree. 
 " God mot thee save, brave Outlaw Murray ! 
 
 Thy ladye, and all thy chivalrie I" 
 " Marry, thou 's welcome, gentleman, 
 
 Some king's messenger thou seems to be." 
 
 " The king of Scotlande sent me here. 
 And, gude Outlaw, I am sent to thee ; 
 
 I wad wot of whom ye hold your lands, 
 Or man, wha may thy master be ?" 
 
 "Thir lands are mine !" the Outlaw said; 
 
 " I ken nae king in Christentie ; 
 Prae Soudron * I this Forest wan, 
 
 Whan the king nor his knightis were not to 
 see." 
 
 " He desires you '11 come to Edinburgh, 
 
 And hold of him this Forest free ; 
 And, gif ye refuse to do this. 
 
 He '11 conquer baith thy lands and thee. 
 He hath vow'd to cast thy castell down, 
 
 And mak a widow o' thy ladye ; 
 
 * "Soudron:" Southern, or English.
 
 1 02 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUEEAY. 
 
 " He 11 hang thy merrymen, pair by pair, 
 In ony frith where he may them find." 
 
 "Aye, by my troth !" the Outlaw said, 
 " Than wald I thinke me far behind. 
 
 " Ere the king my fair coimtrie get, 
 
 This land that 's nativest to me ! 
 Mony o' his nobles sail be cauld, 
 
 Their ladyes sail be right wearie." 
 
 Then spak his ladye, fair of face. 
 She said, " Without consent of me, 
 
 That an Outlaw suld come before a king ; 
 I am right rad * of treasonrie. 
 
 Bid him be gude to his lords at hame, 
 For Edinburgh my lord sail never see." 
 
 James Boyd tuik his leave o' the Outlaw keen, 
 
 To Edinburgh boun is he ; 
 When James he cam before the king. 
 
 He knelt lowlie on his knee. 
 
 " Welcome, James Boyd ! " said our noble king ; 
 
 What Forest is Ettricke Forest free ? " 
 "Ettricke Forest is the fairest forest 
 
 That ever man saw wi' his ee. 
 
 " There 's the doe, the roe, the hart, the hynde, 
 And of a' wild beasts great plentie ; 
 
 There 's a pretty castell of lyme and stane, 
 gif it stands not pleasauntlie ! 
 
 " There 's in the forefront o' that castell, 
 
 Twa unicorns, sae bra' to see ; 
 There's the picture of a knight, and a ladye bright, 
 
 Wi' the green hoUin abune their bree. 
 
 * "Ead:" afraid.
 
 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MURRAY. 103 
 
 " There the Outlaw keeps five hundred men, 
 
 He keeps a royal companie ! 
 His menymen in ae livery clad, 
 
 0' the Linkome green sae gay to see : 
 He and his ladye in purple clad ; 
 
 ! gin they live not royallie ! 
 
 " He says, yon forest is his own ; 
 
 He wan it frae the Southronie ; 
 Sae as he wan it, sae will he keep it, 
 
 Contrair all kings in Christendie." 
 
 " Gar warn nie Perthshire, and Angus baith ; 
 
 Fife up and down, and Lothians three, 
 And graith my horse ! " said our noble king, 
 
 "For to Ettricke Forest hie will I me." 
 
 Then word is gane the Outlaw till, 
 In Ettricke Forest, where dwelleth he, 
 
 That the king was coming to his cuntrie, 
 To conquer baith his lands and he. 
 
 "I mak a vow," the Outlaw said, 
 
 " I mak a vow, and that trulie, 
 AVere there but three men to tak my pairt. 
 
 Yon kinii's coming full dear suld be ! " 
 
 Then messengers he called forth, 
 
 And bade thera hie them speedilye — 
 
 " Ane of ye gae to Halliday, 
 The laird of the Corehead is he. 
 
 "He certain is my sister's son ; 
 
 Bid him come quick and succour me ! 
 The king comes on for Ettricke Forest, 
 
 And landless men we a' will be."
 
 104? THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUEEAY. 
 
 " What news ? What news ? " said Halliday, 
 
 " Man, frae thy master unto me ? " 
 " Not as ye wad ; seeking your aide ; 
 
 The king 's his mortal enemie." 
 
 " Aye, by my troth ! " said Halliday, 
 
 " Even for that it repentetli me ; 
 Eor gif he lose fair Ettricke Eorest, 
 
 He '11 tak fair Moffatdale frae me. 
 
 " 1 11 meet him wi' five hundred men, 
 
 And surely mair, if mae may be ; 
 And before he gets the Forest fair, 
 
 We a' will die on Newark Lee 1 " 
 
 The Outlaw call'd a messenger, 
 
 And bid him hie him speedilye. 
 To Andrew Murray o' Cockpool — 
 
 " That man 's a dear cousin to me ; 
 Desire him come, and mak me aid, 
 
 With a' the power that he may be." 
 
 " It stands me hard," Andrew Murray said, 
 " Judge gif it stand na hard wi' me - 
 
 To enter against a king wi' crown, 
 And set my lands in jeopardie ! 
 
 Yet if I come not on the day. 
 Surely at night he sail me see.*' 
 
 To Sir James IMurray of Traquair, 
 
 A message came right speedilye — 
 " What news ? What news ? " James Murray said, 
 
 " Man, frae thy master unto me ? " 
 
 " What needs I tell ? for weel ye ken. 
 
 The king's his mortal enemie ; 
 And now he is coming to Ettricke Forest, 
 
 And landless men ye a' will be."
 
 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUEKAY. 1 05 
 
 "And, by my troth," James Murray said, 
 " Wi' that Outlaw will I live and die ; 
 
 The king has gifted my lands lang syne — 
 It cannot be nae warse wi' me." 
 
 The king was coming thro' Caddon Eord,* 
 And full five thousand men had he ; 
 
 They saw the dark Forest them before, 
 They thought it awsome for to see. 
 
 Then spak the lord, hight Hamilton, 
 
 And to the noble king said he, 
 " My sovereign liege, some counsel take. 
 
 First at your nobles, syne at me. 
 
 "Desire him meet thee at Permanscore, 
 And bring four in his com panic. 
 
 Five earls sail gang yoursell before, 
 Gude cause that you suld honour'd be. 
 
 " And gif he refuses to do that. 
 
 We 11 conquer baith his lands and he ; 
 
 There sail never a Murray, after him, 
 Hold land in Ettricke Forest free." 
 
 Then spak the keen laird of Buckscleuth, 
 A stalworth man, and stern was he — 
 
 " For a king to gang an Outlaw till. 
 Is beneath his state and his dignitie. 
 
 "The man that wons yon Forest intill. 
 
 He lives by reif and felonie ! 
 Wherefore, brayd on, my sovereign liege I 
 
 Wi fire and sword we '11 follow thee ; 
 Or, gif your courtrie lords fa' back. 
 
 Our borderers sail the onset gie." 
 
 * A ford on the Tweed, at the mouth of tlie Caddoa 
 Burn, near Yair.
 
 108 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUEEAY. 
 
 Then out and spak the noble king, 
 And round him cast a wilie ee — 
 
 " Now had thy tongue, Sir Walter Scott, 
 Nor speak of reif nor felonie : 
 
 Por, had every honest man his ain, 
 A right puir clan thy ain wad be ! " 
 
 The king then call'd a gentleman, 
 Koyal banner-bearer there was he ; 
 
 James Hop Pringle of Torsonse, by name ; 
 He came and kneelit upon his knee. 
 
 " Welcome, James Pringle of Torsonse ! 
 
 A message ye maun gang for me ; 
 Ye maun gae to yon Outlaw Murray, 
 
 Surely where bauldly bideth he. 
 
 " Bid him mete me at Permanscore, 
 And bring four in his companie ; 
 
 Five earls soil come wi' mysel, 
 Gude reason I suld honour'd be. 
 
 " And, gif he refuses to do that, 
 Bid him look for nae good o' me ; 
 
 There sail never a Murray, after him, 
 Have land in Ettricke Forest free." 
 
 James cam before the Outlaw keen. 
 And served him in his ain degree — 
 
 " Welcome, James Pringle of Torsonse ! 
 What message frae the king to me?" 
 
 " He bids ye meet him at Permanscore, 
 And bring four in your companie ; 
 
 Five earls sail gang himsell before, 
 Nae mair in number will he be.
 
 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUREAY. 107 
 
 " And, gif you refuse to do tliat, 
 
 (I freely here upgive wi' thee) 
 He 11 cast yon bonny castle down, 
 
 And make a widow o' that gaye ladye. 
 
 " He 11 loose yon bluidhound borderers, 
 Wi' fire and sword to follow thee ; 
 
 There \vill never a Murray, after thysell, 
 Have laud in Ettricke Forest free." 
 
 " It stands me hard," the Outlaw said ; 
 
 "Judge gif it stands na hard wi' nie, 
 Wha reck not losing of mysell, 
 
 But a' my offspring after me. 
 
 " My merrymen's lives, my widow's tears — 
 There lies the pang that pinches me. 
 
 When I am straught in bluidie eard, 
 Yon castell will be right drearie. 
 
 " Auld Halliday, young Halliday, 
 
 Ye shall be twa to gang wi' me ; 
 Andrew jNIurray, and Sir James Murray, 
 
 We '11 be nae mae in companie." 
 
 When that they came before the king, 
 They fell befor him on their knee — 
 
 " Grant mercie, mercie, noble king ! 
 E'en for His sake that died on trie." 
 
 " Siccan like mercie sail ye have ; 
 
 On gallows ye sail hangit be ! " 
 " Our God forebode," quoth the Outlaw then, 
 
 " I hope your grace will better be ! 
 Else, ere you come to Edinburgh port, 
 
 I trow thin guarded sail ye be :
 
 1 08 THE SONG OF THE OUTLAW MUREAY. 
 
 " Thir lands of Efctricke Forest fair, 
 
 I wan them from the enemie ; 
 Like as I wan them, sae will I keep them, 
 
 Contrair a' kings in Christendie." 
 
 All the nobles the king abont, 
 
 Said i^itie it were to see him die — 
 
 " Yet grant me mercie, sovereign prince ! 
 Extend your favour unto me ! 
 
 " I '11 give thee the keys of my castell, 
 Wi' the blessing o' my gay ladye, 
 
 Gin thou It make me sherifie of this Forest, 
 And a' my offspring after me." 
 
 " Wilt thou give me the keys of thy castell, 
 Wi' the blessing of thy gaye ladye ? 
 
 I'se make thee sheritfe of Ettricke Forest, 
 Surely while upward grows the tree ; 
 
 If you be not traitour to the king, 
 Forf anted sail thou never be." 
 
 " But, prince, what sail come o' my men ? 
 
 When I gae back, traitour they 11 ca' me. 
 I had rather lose my life and land, 
 
 Ere my merry men rebuked me." 
 
 " Will your merrymen amend their lives ? 
 
 And a' their pardons T grant thee — 
 Now, name thy landis where'er they lie, 
 
 And here I render them to thee." 
 
 " Fair Philiphaugh is mine by right, 
 And Lewinshope still mine shall be ; 
 
 Newark, Foulshiells, and Tinnies baith. 
 My bow and arrow purchased me.
 
 JOHNNIE OF BEEADISLEE. 109 
 
 " And I have native steads to me, 
 The Newark Lee and Hangingshaw ; 
 
 I have mony steads in the Eorest shaw, 
 But them by name I dinna knaw." 
 
 The keys o' the castell he gave the king, 
 Wi' the blessing o' his fair hxdye ; 
 
 He was made sherifFe of Ettricke Forest, 
 Surely while upward grows the tree ; 
 
 And if he was na traitour to the king, 
 Forfauted he suld never be. 
 
 Wha ever heard, in ony times, 
 
 Siccan an Outlaw in his degree, 
 Sic favour get before a king. 
 
 As the Outlaw Mukeay of the Forest 
 free? 
 
 JOHNNIE OF BREADISLEE. 
 
 History is silent with regard to this young Nimrod. 
 "He apjiears," says the Editor of the Border Minstrelsy, 
 "to have been au outlaw and deer-stealer, — jjrobably one 
 of the broken men residing ujiou the border. It is some- 
 times said that this outlaw possessed the old castle of 
 Morton, in Dumfriesshire, now ruinous." Another tradi- 
 tion assigns Braid, in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, to 
 have been the scene of his "woefid hunting." — Mother- 
 well. 
 
 Another version of this ballad, under the title of Johnnie 
 o' Coclcle-iinuir, has been rejjrinted in " Scottish Ancient 
 Traditional Ballads," by the Percy Society ; but it is of 
 inferior merit. — C. M. 
 
 Johnnie 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."
 
 1 1 JOHNNIE OF BKEADISLEE. 
 
 When Johnnie's mother gat word o' that, 
 Her hands for dule she wrang — 
 
 " Johnnie ! for my benison, 
 To the grenewood dinna a;ang ! 
 
 " Eneugh ye hae o' the gude wheat bread, 
 And enengh o' the bhide-red wine ; 
 
 And therefore, for nae venison, Johnnie, 
 I pray ye, stir frae hame/' 
 
 But Johnnie's busk't uj? 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.* 
 
 Johnnie 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 Johnnie has bryttled-f- the deer sae weel. 
 That he 's had out her liver and lungs ; 
 
 And wi' these he has feasted his bludy hounds, 
 As if they had been earl's sons. 
 
 They eat sae much o' the venison. 
 And drank sae much o' the blude, 
 
 That Johnnie and a' his bludy hounds 
 Fell asleep, as they had been dead. 
 
 * "Ling :" heatli. 
 
 + "Bryttled :" to cut iip venison.
 
 JOHNNIE OF BEEADISLEE. Ill 
 
 And by tliere came a silly auld carle. 
 
 An ill death mote he die ! 
 For he 's aAvay to Hislinton, 
 
 Where the Seven Foresters did lie. 
 
 " "What news, what news, ye gray-headed carle, 
 
 What news brinp; ye to me ? " 
 " I bring nae news," said the gray-headed carle, 
 
 Save what these eyes did see. 
 
 " As I came down by Merriemass, 
 
 And down amang the scroggs,* 
 The bonniest childe that ever I saw 
 
 Lay sleeping amang his dogs. 
 
 "The shirt that was npon his back 
 
 Was o' the Holland fine ; 
 The doublet which was over that 
 
 Was o' the lincome-f- 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 held man ower them a' — 
 " If this be Johnnie o' Breadislee, 
 
 Nae nearer will we draw." 
 
 But up and spak the Sixth Forester, 
 
 (His sister's son was he) 
 " If this be Johnnie o' Breadislee, 
 
 We soon shall gar him die ! " 
 
 * "Scroggs :" stunted trees. f "Liiicome :" Lincoln.
 
 112 JvOHNNIE OF BEEADISLEE. 
 
 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." 
 
 Johnnie'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. 
 
 " is there na a bonnie bird, 
 
 Can sing as I can say ; 
 Could flee away to my mother's bower. 
 
 And tell to fetch Johnnie away?" " 
 
 * 
 
 The starling flew to his mother's window-stane, 
 
 It whistled and it sang ; 
 And aye the ower word o' the tune 
 
 Was — " Johnnie tarries lang ! " 
 
 They made a rod o' the hazel bush, 
 
 Another o' the slae-thorn tree, 
 And mony, mony were the men 
 
 At fetching our Johnnie. 
 
 * Perhaps, after tliis stanza shoiild be inserted the 
 beautifid one preserved by Mr Fiulay, so descriptive, as 
 be justly remarks, of the languor of approaching death : — 
 
 "There's no a bird in a' this forest 
 Will do as meikle for ine. 
 As dip its wing in tlie wan water, 
 And straik it on luy ee bree "
 
 SIEHUGH; OK, THE JEW'S DAUGHTEE. 113 
 
 Then out and spak his auld mother, 
 
 And fast her tears did fa' — 
 " Ye wad nae be warned, my son Johnnie, 
 
 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 Johnnie's gude bend bow is broke. 
 And his gude graie dogs are slain ; 
 
 And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer, 
 And his hunting it is done. 
 
 SIR HUGH ; OR, THE JEW'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Two copies of this ballad appeared in Herd's Collection, 
 Edin. ,1776, under the above title ; a third is printed in Dr 
 Percy's Reliqucs ; and Mr Jamieson has given another copy 
 of the same ballad, taken down from recitation. To this 
 last, which differs in a few particidars from those already 
 published, its learned Editor has prefixed some interesting 
 notices, which may be consultcMl with advantage. The 
 present edition is likewise given as taken down from the 
 recitation of a lady ; and as it contains some additional 
 circumstances not to be found in any of the copies men- 
 tioned above, it has been deemed proper to publish it as it 
 stands, without attempting to incorporate it with any 
 other version. — Mothekwell. 
 H
 
 114 SIE HUGH; OE, THE JEW'S DAUGHTEK. 
 
 Yesteeday was brave Hcillowday, 
 And, above all days of the year, 
 
 The schoolboys all got leave to play, 
 And little Sir Hugh was there. 
 
 He kicked the ball with his foot, 
 And kepped it with his knee, 
 
 And even in at the Jew's window 
 He gart the bonnie ba' flee. 
 
 Out then came the Jew's daughter — 
 "Will ye come in and dine?" 
 
 " I winna come in, and I canna come in, 
 Till I get that ball of mine. 
 
 " Throw down that ball to me, maiden. 
 Throw down the ball to me." 
 
 " I winna throw down your ball, Sir Hugh, 
 Till ye come up to me." 
 
 She pu'd the apple frae the tree. 
 
 It was baith red and green. 
 She gave it nnto little Sir Hugh, 
 
 With that his heart did wm. 
 
 She wiled him into ae chamber. 
 
 She wiled him into twa, 
 She wiled him into the third chamber, 
 
 And that was warst o 't a'. 
 
 She took out a little penknife. 
 Hung low down by her spare, 
 
 She twined this young thing o' his life, 
 And a word he ne'er spak mair.
 
 SIE HUGH; OR, THE JEW's DAUGHTER. 11. 5 
 
 And jSrst came out the thick, tliick blood. 
 
 And syne came out the thin, 
 And syne came out the bonnie heart's blood — 
 
 There was nae mair within. 
 
 She laid him on a dressing-table, 
 
 She dressed him like a swine,* 
 Says, " Lie ye there, my bonnie Sir Hugh, 
 
 Wi' ye're apples red and green." 
 
 She put him in a case of lead, 
 
 Says, " Lie ye there and sleep ;" 
 She threw him into the deep draw-well 
 
 AVas fifty fathom deej). 
 
 A schoolboy walking in the garden, 
 
 Did grievously hear him meen. 
 He ran away to the deep draw-well 
 
 And fell down on his knee, 
 
 Says, " Bonnie Sir Hugh, and pretty Sir Hugh, 
 
 I pray you speak to me ; 
 If you speak to any body in this world, 
 
 I pray you speak to me." 
 
 When bells were rung and mass was sung, 
 
 And every body went hame, 
 Then every lady had her son. 
 
 But Lady Helen had nane. 
 
 * "She drcsHed him like a 'Swan'" was the reading 
 we got ; but, in deference to former editions, we have 
 substituted "Swine," though it is questionable how far a 
 Jewess could be skilled in the cookery of au animal abo- 
 minated by her peoiAe. — W. M.
 
 116 SIR HUGH; OR, THE JEW'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 She rolled her mantle her about, 
 
 And sore, sore did she weep ; 
 She ran away to the Jew's castle 
 
 When all were fast asleep. 
 
 She cries, " Bonnie Sir Hugh, pretty Sir 
 Hugh, 
 
 I pray you speak to me ; 
 If you speak to any body in this world, 
 
 I pray you speak to me." 
 
 " Lady Helen, if ye want your son, 
 
 I '11 tell ye where to seek ; 
 Lady Helen, if ye want your son, 
 
 He 's in the well sae deep." 
 
 She ran away to the deep draw-well. 
 
 And she fell down on her knee. 
 Saying, " Bonnie Sir Hugh, pretty Su- Hugh, 
 
 I pray ye speak to me. 
 If ye speak to any body in the world, 
 
 I pray ye speak to me." 
 
 " Oh ! the lead it is wondrous heavy, mother. 
 
 The well it is wondrous deep, 
 The little penknife sticks in my throat. 
 
 And I clowna to ye speak. 
 
 " But lift me out o' this deep draw-well,- 
 And bury me in yon churchyard ; 
 
 Put a Bible at my head," he says, 
 " And a Testament at my feet, 
 
 And pen and ink at every side. 
 And I '11 lie still and sleep.
 
 THE LAIED O' LOGIE. 117 
 
 " And go to the back of Maitland town, 
 
 Bring me my winding sheet ; 
 For it 's at the back of Maitland town 
 
 That you and I shall meet." 
 
 the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, 
 The broom that makes full sore \ 
 
 A woman's mercy is very little, 
 But a man's mercy is more.* 
 
 THE LAIKD 0' LOGIE; 
 
 OR, MAY MAEGAEET, 
 
 Appears to he founded on an incident whicli is detailed at 
 some length in Spottiswoode's History of the Churcli of 
 Scotland, see ed. Lond. 1668, b. vi. p. 389 ; and also in 
 "The Ilistorie of King James the Sext," quoted by the 
 editor of "The Border Minstrelsy." The common 
 printed edition of this ballad goes under the title of The 
 Laird of Ochiltree, but the copy here followed is that 
 recovered by Sir Walter Scott, which is preferable to the 
 other, as agreeing more closely, both in the name and in 
 the circumstance, with the real fact. The third stanza 
 in the i)resent copy was obtained from recitation ; and, as 
 it describes very naturally tlie agitated behaviour of a 
 person who, like May Margaret, had high interests at 
 stake, it was considered worthy of being preserved. — 
 Motherwell. 
 
 I WILL sing, if ye will hearken, 
 
 If ye will hearken unto me ; 
 The king has ta'en a poor prisoner, 
 
 The wanton laird o' young Logie. 
 
 * This stanza, though meant for a moral, seems to have 
 little Vjusiness here, and we are at a loss to make sense of 
 the second line. — W. M.
 
 118 THE LAIRD LOGIE. 
 
 Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel, 
 Carmichael 's the keeper o' the key ; 
 
 And ]\Iay Margaret's lamenting sair, 
 A' for the love of young Logie, 
 
 May Margaret sits in the Queen's bower, 
 Kinking her fingers ane by ane, 
 
 Cursing the day that she ere was born, 
 Or that she ere heard o' Logie's name. 
 
 " Lament, lament na, May ]\Iargaret, 
 And of your weeping let me be. 
 
 For ye maun to the king himsel, 
 To seek the life o' young Logie." 
 
 May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding, 
 And she has curl'd back her yellow hair— 
 
 " If I canna get young Logie's life, 
 Farewell to Scotland for evermair." 
 
 When she came before the king, 
 She kneelit lowly on her knee. 
 
 "0 what 's the matter, May Margaret? 
 And what needs a' this courtesie ? " 
 
 " A boon, a boon, my noble liege, 
 A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee ! 
 
 And the first boon that I come to crave, 
 Is to grant me the life o' young Logie." 
 
 " na, na, May Iklargaret, 
 Forsooth, and so it manna be ; 
 
 For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland 
 
 Shall not save the life o' young Logie."
 
 THE LAIRD O' LOGIE. 119 
 
 But she has stown the king's redding kaira, 
 Likemse the queen her wedding knife ; 
 
 And sent the tokens to Carmichael, 
 To cause young Logie get his life. 
 
 She sent him a purse o' the red gowd, 
 
 Another o' the white monie ; 
 She sent him a pistol for each hand, 
 
 And bade him shoot when he gat free. 
 
 When he came to the Tolbooth stair. 
 
 There he let his volley flee ; 
 It made the king in his chamber start, 
 
 E'en in the bed where he might be. 
 
 " Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a*, 
 And bid Carmichael come speak to me, 
 
 For I '11 lay my life the pledge o' that, 
 That yon 's the shot o' young Logie," 
 
 When Carmichael came before the king, 
 He fell low down upon his knee ; 
 
 The very first word that the king spake. 
 
 Was — " Where 's the laird of young Logie ? " 
 
 Carmichael turn'd him round about, 
 
 (I wat the tear blinded his eye,) 
 " There came a token f rae your grace, 
 
 Has ta'en away the laird frac me." 
 
 " Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael ? 
 
 And has thou play'd me that ? " quoth he ; 
 " Tiie morn the Justice Court 's to stand, 
 
 And Logic's place ye maun snpplie."
 
 ] 20 THE TWA BEOTHERS. 
 
 Carmichael 's awa to Margaret's bower, 
 E'en as fast as he may drie — 
 
 " if young Logie be within, 
 
 Tell him to come and speak with me ! ' 
 
 ]\Iay Margaret tnrn'd her round about, 
 (I wat a loud laugh laughed she,) 
 
 " The egg is chipped, the bird is flown. 
 Ye 11 see nae mair of young Logie." 
 
 The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith, 
 The tother at the Queen's Ferrie ; 
 
 And she 's gotten a father to her bairn, 
 The wanton laird of young Logie. 
 
 THE TWA BEOTHERS. 
 
 The domestic tragedy wliicli this affecting ballad com- 
 memorates is not without a precedent in real history; 
 nay, we are almost inclined to believe that it originated 
 in the following melancholy event : — 
 
 "This year, 1589, in the moneth of July, ther falls 
 out a sad accident, as a further warneing that God was 
 displeased with the famUie. The Lord Sommervill have- 
 ing come from Cowthally, earlie in the morning, in regaird 
 the weather was hott, he had ridden hard to be at the 
 Drum be ten a clock, which haveing done, he laid him 
 down to rest. The servant, with his two sones, William 
 Master of Sommervill, 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 Somervill 
 efter 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
 
 THE TWA BKOTHEES. 121 
 
 went off tlie ratch, being lying upon his knee, and the 
 muzel turned syde-ways, the ball strocke his brother 
 John directly in the head, and killed him outright, soe 
 that his sorrowful brother never had one word from him, 
 albeit he begged it with many teares." — Meniorie of the 
 Somervilles, vol. i. p. 467. — W. M. 
 
 Theee were twa brothers at the scule. 
 
 And when they got avva' — 
 " It 's will ye play at the stane-chucking ? 
 
 Or will ye play at the ba'? 
 Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, 
 
 And there we'll warsle a fa'?" 
 
 " I winna play at the stane-chucking, 
 
 Nor will I play at the ba', 
 But I '11 gae up to yon bonnie green hill, 
 
 And there we '11 warsle a fa'." 
 
 They warsled up, they warsled down. 
 
 Till John fell to the ground ; 
 A dirk fell out of William's pouch, 
 
 And gave John a deadly wound. 
 
 " lift me, lift me on your back, 
 
 Take me to yon well so fair ; 
 And wash my bloody wounds o'er and o'er. 
 
 And they '11 ne'er bleed ony mair." 
 
 He 's lifted his brother upon his back, 
 
 Ta'en him to yon well so fair ; 
 He 's wash'd his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er ; 
 
 But aye they bleed an' mair and mair. 
 
 " Tak ye afF my Holland sark, 
 
 And rive it gair by gair, 
 And row it in my bluidy wounds. 
 
 And they '11 ne'er bleed ony mair."
 
 122 THE TWA BKOTHEES. 
 
 He 's taken afF his Holland sark, 
 
 And torn it gair by gair ; 
 He 's rowit it in his bluidy wounds, 
 
 But aye they bleed an' mair and mair. 
 
 " Tak now aff my green cleiding, 
 
 And row me saftly in ; 
 And tak me ujd to yon kirk style, 
 
 Whare the grass grows fair and green.' 
 
 He 's taken afF the green cleiding, 
 
 And rowed him saftly in ; 
 He 's laid him down by yon kirk style, 
 
 Whare the grass grows fair and green. 
 
 " What will ye say to your father dear, 
 When ye gae hame at e'en ? " 
 
 " I '11 say ye 're lying at yon kirk style, 
 Whare the grass grows fair and green.'' 
 
 " no, no, my brother dear, 
 
 you must not say so ; 
 But say that I 'm gane to a foreign land, 
 
 Whare nae man does me know." 
 
 When he sat in his father's chair 
 He grew baith pale and wan. 
 
 " what blude 's that upon your brow ? 
 dear son, tell to me." 
 
 " It is the blude o' my gude gray steed ; 
 He wadna ride wi' me." 
 
 " thy steed's blude was ne'er sae red, 
 
 Nor e'er sae dear to me : 
 what blude 's this upon your cheek ? 
 
 dear son, tell to me." 
 " It is the blude of my greyhound ; 
 
 He wadna hunt for me."
 
 THE TVTA BEOTHEES. 123 
 
 " tliy hound's blude was ne'er sae red, 
 
 Nor e'er sae dear to me : 
 what bhide 's this upon your hand ? 
 
 dear son, tell to me." 
 " It is the blude of my gay goss hawk ; 
 
 He wadna flee for me." 
 
 " thy hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red. 
 
 Nor e'er sae dear to me : 
 what blude 's this upon your dirk ? 
 
 Dear Willie, tell to me." 
 " It is the blude of my ae brother ; 
 
 dule and wae is me." 
 
 " what will ye say to your father ? 
 
 Dear Willie, tell to me." 
 " I '11 saddle my steed, and awa I '11 ride, 
 
 To dwell in some far countrie." 
 
 " when will ye come hame again ? 
 
 Dear Willie, tell to me." 
 " When sun and mune leap on yon hill, 
 
 And that will never be." 
 
 She turn'd liersel' right round about. 
 
 And her heart burst into three : 
 " My ae best son is deid and gane, 
 
 And my tother ane I'll ne'er see !"
 
 124 FINE PLOWEES l' THE VALLEY. 
 
 FINE FLOWEES T THE VALLEY. 
 
 This favourite ballad — wMcli exists in a variety of 
 forms, both in Scotland and England — first appeared in 
 Herd's Collection. Jamieson, who calls it The Cruel 
 Brother, printed it with the burden chorus — 
 
 "With a heigho and a lily gay, 
 And the piimrose blooms sae sweetly," 
 
 instead of the burden more commonly used— 
 
 "Fine flowers in the valley, 
 The red, the green, and the yellow." 
 
 The following is taken from Gilchrist's Collection. 
 
 There were three ladies in a ha', 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley, 
 There came three lords amang them a'. 
 
 The red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 The first o' them was clad in red, 
 " ! lady fair, will ye be my bride?" 
 
 The second o' them was clad in green, 
 " ! lady fair, wiU ye be my queen V 
 
 The third o' them was clad in yellow, 
 "0 ! lady fair, will ye be my marrow?" 
 
 " ! ye maun ask my father dear. 
 Likewise the mother that did me bear ; 
 
 " And ye maun ask my sister Ann, 
 And not forget my brother John," 
 
 " ! I have asked thy father dear, 
 Likewise the mother that did thee bear;
 
 FINE FLOWERS l' THE VALLEY. 125 
 
 " And I have asked thy sister Ann ; 
 But I forgot thy brother John." 
 
 Now when the wedding day was come, 
 
 The knight would take his bonny bride home. 
 
 And mony a lord, and niony a knight, 
 Cam' to behold that lady bright. 
 
 There was nae man that did her see, 
 But wished himsel bridegroom to be. 
 
 Her father led her through the ha', 
 Her mother danced before them a'. 
 
 Her sister Anne led her through the close. 
 Her brother John put her on her horse. 
 
 " You are high, and I am low, 
 Give me a kiss before you go." 
 
 She was louting down to kiss him sweet. 
 When wi' his penknife he wounded her deep. 
 
 " Eide up, ride up," said the foremost man, 
 " I think our bride looks pale and wan." 
 
 " lead me over into yon stile, 
 That I may stop and breathe awhile. 
 
 " lead me over into yon stair, 
 
 For there I '11 lie and bleed nae mair." 
 
 " ! what will you leave to your mother dear ?" 
 "The silken gown that I did wear." 
 
 " What will you leave to your father dear ? " 
 "The milk-white steed that brought me here."
 
 126 SON DAVIE ! SON DAVIE ! 
 
 " "What will you leave to your sister Ann ? " 
 " My silken snood and golden fan." 
 
 " What will you leave to your brother John?" 
 " The highest gallows to hang him on." 
 
 "And what will you leave to your brother 
 
 John's wife?" 
 " Grief and sorrow to end her life." 
 
 "And what will you leave to your brother 
 
 John's bairns ?" 
 " The world wide for them to rano-e." 
 
 SON DAVIE! SON DAVIE! 
 
 The following, wliicli is given from the recitation of an 
 old woman, will strike the reader as resembling the ballad 
 of The Twa Brothers. But it resembles more the ballad 
 given in Percy's Eeliques, beginning — 
 
 " Why dues zour brand sae drap wi' blood ? 
 Edward ! Edward ! " 
 
 and which was communicated by Lord Hailes. Indeed, 
 there is reason to believe that his lordship made a few 
 slight verbal improvements on the copy he transmitted, 
 and altered the hero's name to Edward ; a name which, 
 by the by, never occurs in a Scottish ballad, excejjt where 
 allusion is made to an English king. This, then, may be 
 looked upon as the genuine traditionary version. — MoTHEB- 
 
 WELL. 
 
 " What bluid 's that on thy coat lap ? 
 
 Son Davie ! son Davie ! 
 What bluid 's that on thy coat lap ? 
 
 And the truth come tell to me, 0."
 
 SON DAVIE ! SON DAVIE ! 127 
 
 " It is the bluid of my great liawk, 
 
 Mother lady ! mother lady ! 
 It is the bluid of my great hawk, 
 
 And the truth I hae tald to thee, 0." 
 
 " Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red. 
 
 Son Davie ! son Davie ! 
 Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red, 
 
 And the truth come tell to me, 0." 
 
 "It is the bluid of my grey hound. 
 
 Mother lady ! mother lady ! 
 It is the bluid of my grey hound. 
 
 And it wudna rin for me, 0." 
 
 " Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red. 
 
 Son Davie ! son Davie ! 
 Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red, 
 
 And the truth come tell to me, 0." 
 
 " It is the bluid o' my brother John, 
 
 Mother lady ! mother lady ' 
 It is the bluid o' my brother John, 
 
 And the truth I hae tald to thee, 0." 
 
 " "What about did the plea begin ? 
 
 Son Davie ! son Davie ! " 
 " It began about the cutting o' a willow w^and, 
 
 That would never hae been a tree, 0." 
 
 " What death dost thou desire to die ? 
 
 Son Davie ! son Davie ! 
 What death dost thou desire to die ? 
 
 And the truth come tell to me, 0."
 
 128 EDWAED ! EDWAED ! 
 
 " I '11 set my foot iu a bottomless ship, 
 
 Mother lady ! mother lady ! 
 I '11 set my foot in a bottomless ship, 
 
 And ye '11 never see mair o' me, 0." 
 
 " What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife ? 
 
 Son Davie ! son Davie ! " 
 " Grief and sorrow all her life. 
 
 And she '11 never get mair frae me, 0." 
 
 " What wilt thou leave to thy young son ? 
 
 Son Davie ! son Davie ! " 
 " The weary warld to wander up and down. 
 
 And he 'll never get mair o' me, 0." 
 
 "What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear? 
 
 Son Davie ! son Davie ! " 
 " A fire o' coals to burn her wi' hearty cheer, 
 
 And she'll never get mair o' me, 0." 
 
 EDWARD! EDWARD! 
 
 This has been well called a "terrible ballad." It is 
 here reprinted from Percy's Eeliques — somewhat modern- 
 ised in the spelling, but not otherwise altered from the 
 form in which it was communicated by Lord Hailes, its 
 supposed adapter. 
 
 " Why does your brand sae drap wi' blude ? 
 
 Edward ! Edward ! 
 Why does your brand sae drap wi' blude, 
 And why sae sad gang ye, ?"
 
 EDWAED ! EDWAED ! 129 
 
 " ! I hae killed my hawk sae gude, 
 
 JMither ! mitlier ! 
 ! I hae killed my hawk sae gude 
 And I hae nae mair but he, 0." 
 
 " Your hawk's blude was never so red, 
 
 Edward! Edward! 
 Your hawk's blude was never so red, 
 My dear son, I tell thee, 0." 
 
 " ! I hae killed my red roan steed, 
 
 Mither! mither! 
 ! I hae killed my red roan steed. 
 That erst was fair and free, 0." 
 
 " Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair, 
 Edward ! Edward ! 
 Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair, 
 Some other dule ye drie, 0." 
 
 " ! I hae killed my father dear, 
 
 Mither ! mither ! 
 
 ! I hae killed my father dear, 
 Alas, and wae is me, 0." 
 
 " And whatten penance will ye drie for that ? 
 Edward ! Edward ! 
 And whatten penance will ye drie for that ? 
 My dear son, now tell me, 0." 
 
 " I '11 set my feet in yonder boat, 
 
 Mither! mither! 
 
 1 '11 set my feet in yonder boat. 
 And I '11 fare over the sea, 0." 
 
 I
 
 130 EDWAED ! EDWARD! 
 
 " And what will ye do wi' your towers and your 
 ha'? 
 
 Edward! Edward! 
 And what will ye do wi' your towers and your ha', 
 That were sae fair to see, 0?" 
 
 " I '11 let them stand till they doun fa', 
 
 Mither ! mither ! 
 I '11 let them stand till they doun fa', 
 For here never mair maun I be, 0." 
 
 " And what will ye leave to your bairns and your 
 
 wife? 
 
 Edward ! Edward ! 
 And what will ye leave to your bairns and your 
 
 wife. 
 When ye gang over the sea, ? " 
 
 " The warld's room, let them beg through life, 
 
 Mither ! mither ! 
 The warld's room, let them beg through life. 
 For them never mair will I see, 0." 
 
 " And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear ? 
 
 Edward! Edward! 
 And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear. 
 My dear son, now tell me, ?" 
 
 " The curse of hell frae me shall ye bear, 
 
 Mither! mither! 
 The curse of hell frae me shall ye bear, 
 Sic counsels ye gave to me, ! "
 
 EDOM O' GORDON. 131 
 
 EDOM 0' GORDON. 
 
 The stronghold of the Gordons was in Berwickshii-e ; 
 and Edom or Adam Gordon, deputy for bis brother the 
 Earl of Huntly, in one of his ravaging forays, killed 
 Arthur Forbes, brother to Lord Forbes. Not long after- 
 wards he "summoned" the house of Rodes, near Dimse, 
 in Berwickshire, which belonged to Alexander Forbes, 
 then absent from home. The lady refiised to svirrender, 
 without the sanction of her husband ; upon which Adam 
 Gordon set fire to the castle. The lady, together with 
 her children and servants, twentj'-seven persons in all, 
 perished in the flames. The facts are related by Spottis- 
 woode in his "History of the Church of Scotland." 
 
 It fell about the Martinmas, 
 
 When the wind blew shrill and cauld, 
 Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, 
 
 "We maun draw till a hauld.* 
 
 " And what a hauld sail we draw till, 
 
 My merry men and me ? 
 We wuU gae to the house o' the Eodes, 
 
 To see that fair ladie." 
 
 The lady stood on her castle wa', 
 Beheld baith dale and down : 
 
 There she was 'ware of a host of men 
 Came riding to the toun. 
 
 " see ye not, my merry men a' ? 
 
 see ye not what I see ? 
 Methuiks I see a host of men : 
 
 1 marvel wha they be." 
 
 * "Hauld:" hold.
 
 1 32 EDOM O' GORDON. 
 
 She weened it had been her kively lord, 
 
 As he cam ridino; hame ; 
 It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon, 
 
 Wha reekt nae sin nor shame. 
 
 She had nae sooner buskit hirsel, 
 
 And putten on her goim, 
 But Edom o' Gordon and his men 
 
 Were round about the toun. 
 
 They had nae sooner supper set, 
 
 Nae sooner said the grace, 
 Than Edom o' Gordon and his men 
 
 Were light about the place. 
 
 The lady ran up to her tower head, 
 
 So fast as she coidd hie, 
 To see if by her fair speeches 
 
 She could wi' him agree. 
 
 But whan he saw this lady safe 
 And her gates all locked fast. 
 
 He fell into a rage of wrath. 
 And his look was all aghast. 
 
 " Come down to me, ye lady gay, 
 Come down, come doAvn to me ; 
 
 This night sail ye lig within mine arms, 
 To-morrow my bride sail be." 
 
 " I winna come down, ye false Gordon, 
 I winna come down to thee ; 
 
 I winna forsake my ain dear lord, 
 That is sae far frae me."
 
 EDOM O' GOEDON. 133 
 
 " Give owre your house, ye lady fair, 
 
 Give owre your house to me. 
 Or I sail bren yoursel therein, 
 
 Bot and your babies three." 
 
 "I wiuna give owre, ye false Gordon, 
 
 To nae sik traitor as ye ; 
 And if ye bren my ain dear babes, 
 
 My lord sail make ye drie. 
 
 " But reach my j)istol, Glaud, my man, 
 
 And charge ye well my gun ; 
 Eor, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, 
 
 My babes we been undone." 
 
 She stood upon her castle wa', 
 
 And let twa bullets flee ; 
 She mist that bluidy butcher's heart, 
 
 And only razed his knee. 
 
 " Set fire to the house ! " quo' false Gordon, 
 
 All \A'ud* wi' dule and ire ; 
 " False lady, ye sail rue this deed. 
 
 As ye bren in the fire." 
 
 " Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man, 
 
 I paid ye weil your fee ; 
 Why pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane, 
 
 Lets in the reek to me ? 
 
 " And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man, 
 
 I paid ye weil your hire ; 
 Why pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane, 
 
 To me lets in the fire ? " 
 
 * "Wud:" furious, raacL
 
 134 EDOM O' GOKDON. 
 
 " Ye paid me well my hire, lady ; 
 
 Ye paid me weil my fee : 
 But now I 'm Edom o' Gordon's man, 
 
 Maun either do or die." 
 
 0, then outspake her little son, 
 
 Sate on the nurse's knee : 
 Says, " Mither dear, gi' owre this house, 
 
 For the reek it smither's me/' 
 
 " I wad gie a' my gowd, my child, 
 
 Sae wad I a' my fee. 
 For ane blast o' the western wind, 
 
 To blaw the reek frae thee." 
 
 0, than outspake her dochter dear. 
 
 She was baith jimp and sma' : 
 " 0, row me in a pair of sheets, 
 And tow me owre the wa'." 
 
 They rowd her in a pair of sheets. 
 And towd her owre the wa' ; 
 
 But on the point of Gordon's spear. 
 She gat a deadly fa'. 
 
 0, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth. 
 And cherry were her cheeks, 
 
 And clear, clear was her yellow hair. 
 Whereon the red bluid dreips. 
 
 Then wi' his spear he turned her owre, 
 
 0, gin her face was wan ! 
 He said, "Ye are the first that ere 
 
 I wished alive again."
 
 EDOM O'. GOEDON. 135 
 
 He turned her owre and owre again, 
 
 0, gin her skin was white ! 
 " I might ha' spared that bonnie face 
 
 To hae been some man's dehght ! 
 
 " Busk and boun, my merry men a', 
 
 For ill dooms I do guess ; 
 I canna luik in that bonnie face, 
 
 As it lies on the grass." 
 
 " Who luiks to f reits,* my master-dear. 
 
 Then freits will follow them : 
 Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon 
 
 Was daunted by a dame." 
 
 But when the lady saw the fire 
 
 Come flaming owre her head, 
 She wept and kist her children twain. 
 
 Said, " Bairns, we been but dead." 
 
 The Gordon then his bugle blew, 
 
 And said, " Awa', awa' ! 
 This house o' the Rodes is a' in flame, 
 
 I hauld it time to ga'." 
 
 0, then bespyed her ain dear lord, 
 
 As he cam owre the lee ; 
 He saw his castle all in a blaze, 
 
 Sae far as he could see. 
 
 Then sair, sair, his mind misgave, 
 
 And all his heart was wae ; 
 " Put on, put on, my wighty men, 
 
 So fast as ye can gae. 
 
 * "Freits:" ill omens.
 
 136 THE WIFE OF USHEE'S WELL. 
 
 " Put on, put on, ]ny wighty men. 
 
 So fast as ye can drie ; 
 For he that is hindraost of the throng 
 
 Sail ne'er get guid o' me." 
 
 Then some they rode, and some they ran, 
 
 FvL fast out owre the bent ; 
 But ere the foremost could get up, 
 
 Baith lady and babes were brent. 
 
 He wrang his hands, he rent his hair. 
 
 And wept in teenfu' mood : 
 " traitors ! for this cruel deed 
 
 Ye sail weep tears o' bluid." 
 
 And after the Gordon he is gane, 
 
 Sae fast as he might drie : 
 And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's bluid 
 
 He 's wroken his dear lady. 
 
 THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL. 
 
 This ballad first appeared as a fragment in the "Min- 
 strelsy of the Scottish Border." Mr Robert Chambers 
 recovered two additional stanzas, from recitation, in 
 Peeblesshire, -which are here inserted within brackets. 
 
 Theee lived a wife at Usher's well, 
 
 And a wealthy wife was she : 
 She had three stout and stalwart sons. 
 
 And sent them o'er the sea. 
 
 They hadna been a week from her, 
 
 A week but barely ane. 
 When word came to the carline wife 
 
 That her three sons were gane.
 
 THE WIFE OF USHEE'S WELL. 137 
 
 They hadiia been a week from lier, 
 
 A week but barely three, 
 When word came to the carlme wife, 
 
 That her sons she 'd never see. 
 
 " I wish the wind may never cease, 
 
 Nor fishes in the flood, 
 Till my three sons come hame to me 
 
 In earthly flesh and blood ! " 
 
 It fell abont the Martinmas, 
 
 When nights are lang and mirk, 
 
 The carline wife's three sons came hame. 
 And their hats were o' the birk. 
 
 It neither grew in syke nor ditch, 
 
 Nor yet in any sheugh ; 
 But at the gates o' Paradise, 
 
 That birk grew fair eneugh.* 
 
 " Blow up the fire, my maidens, 
 Bring water from the well, 
 
 Por a' my house shall feast this night. 
 Since my three sons are well." 
 
 And she has made to them a bed, 
 She 's made it large and wide : 
 
 And she 's ta'en her mantle her about, 
 Set down at the bed-side. 
 
 * The notiou that the souls of the blessed wear garlands 
 seems to be of Jewish origin. — Sir Walter Scott.
 
 138 THE WIFE OF USHEE'S WELL. 
 
 Up then crew the red, red cock, 
 
 And Tip and crew the gray ; 
 The eldest to the youngest said, 
 
 " 'Tis time we were away." 
 
 The cock he hadna era wed 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 channerin' * worm doth chide ; 
 
 Gin we be mist out o' our place 
 A sair pain we maun bide." 
 
 [" Lie still, lie still, but a little wee while, 
 
 Lie still but if we may, 
 Gin our mother should raiss us when she 
 wakes, 
 
 She will be mad ere day." 
 
 An' it 's they hae ta'en up their mother's 
 mantle, 
 And hung it on a pin, 
 "Oh, lang may ye hang, our mother's 
 mantle, 
 Ere ye hap us again.] 
 
 " Eare ye well, our mother dear ! 
 
 Fareweel to barn and byre ! 
 And fare ye weel, the bonny lass, 
 
 That kindles our mother's fire." 
 
 ***** 
 * "Channerin':" fretting.
 
 SIK EOLAND. 139 
 
 SIE KOLAND. 
 
 This fragment, wMcli some recent commentators with- 
 out sufficient evidence have pronoimced to be modem, 
 ■wa-s first printed in Motherwell's Collection. It was com- 
 municated to him, he says, " by an ingenious friend, who 
 remembered having heard it sung in his youth. A good 
 many verses at the beginning, some about the middle, and 
 one or two at the end, seem to be wanting. More san- 
 guine antiquaries than we are might, from the similarity 
 of names, imagine they had in this ballad discovered the 
 original romance whence Shakspeare had given this line — 
 
 ' Child Rowland to the dark tower came.' 
 
 King Lear, Act III. 
 
 "The story is of a very gloomy and superstitious tex- 
 ture. A yoimg lady, on the eve of her marriage, ui\ated 
 her lover to a banquet, where she murders him in revenge 
 for some real or fancied neglect. Alarmed for her own 
 safety, she betakes herself to flight ; and in the course of 
 her journey she sees a stranger knight riding slowly be- 
 fore her, whom she at first seeks to shun, by piu'suing an 
 opposite direction ; but on finding that wheresoever she 
 tirmed he still apiieared between her and the moonlight, 
 she resolves to overtake him. This, however, she finds 
 in vain, till, of his own accord, he stays for her at the 
 brink of a broad river. They agree to cross it ; and when 
 in the mid stream she implores liis help to save her from 
 drowning, to her horror she finds her fellow-traveller to 
 be no other than the gaunt apparition of her dead lover." 
 
 Whan he cam to his ain luve's bowir 
 
 Ho tirl'd at the pin. 
 And sae ready was his fair fanse hive 
 
 To rise and let him in. 
 
 " welcome, welcome, Sir Eoland," she says, 
 
 " Thrice welcome thou 9,rt to me, 
 For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bowir. 
 
 And to-morrow we'll wedded be."
 
 140 SIE EOLAND. 
 
 " This niglit is hallow-eve," he said, 
 " And to-morrow is hallow-day ; 
 
 And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, 
 That has made my heart fu' wae. 
 
 " I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, 
 And I wish it may come to gnde : 
 
 I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound, 
 And gied me his lappered blude." 
 
 " Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland," she said, 
 
 "And set you safely down." 
 " your chamber is very dark, fair maid, 
 
 And the night is wondrous lown." 
 
 " Yes, dark, dark is my secret bowir, 
 And lown the midnight may be, 
 
 For there is none waking in a' this tower, 
 But thou, my true-love, and me." 
 
 She has mounted on her true love's steed, 
 
 By the ae light o' the moon ; 
 She has whipped him and spurred him, 
 
 And roundly she rade frae the toun. 
 
 She hadna ridden a mile o' gate. 
 
 Never a mile but ane. 
 Whan she was aware of a tall young man, 
 
 Slow riding o'er the plain. 
 
 She turned her to the right about. 
 
 Then to the left turned she. 
 But aye, 'tween her and the wan moonlight. 
 
 That tall knight did she see.
 
 SIR EOLAXD. 141 
 
 And he was riding burd alane, 
 
 On a horse as black as jet. 
 But tho' she followed him fast and fell. 
 
 No nearer could she get. 
 
 " stop ! stop ! young man," she said, 
 
 " For I in dule am dight ; 
 stop, and win a fair lady's luve. 
 
 If you be a leal true knight." 
 
 But nothing did the tall knight say, 
 
 And nothing did he blin ; 
 Still slowly rode he on before, 
 
 And fast she rade behind. 
 
 She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed, 
 
 Till his breast was all a foam. 
 But nearer unto that tall young knight, 
 
 By our ladye, she could not come. 
 
 " if you be a gay young knight, 
 
 As well I trow you be, 
 Pull tiglit your bridle reins, and stay 
 
 Till I come up to thee." 
 
 But nothing did that tall knight say. 
 
 And no whit did he blin, 
 Until he reached a broad river's side, 
 
 And there he drew his rein. 
 
 " 0, is this water deep," he said, 
 
 " As it is wondrous dun ? 
 Or is it sic as a saikless maid 
 
 And a leal true knight may swim ? "
 
 142 SIR EOLAND. 
 
 " The water it is deep," she said, 
 
 " As it is wondrous dun ; 
 But it is sic as a saikless maid 
 
 And a leal true knight may swim." 
 
 The knight spurred on his tall black steed. 
 The lady spurred on her brown ; 
 
 And fast they rade unto the flood, 
 And fast they baith swam down. 
 
 " The water weets my tae," she said, 
 
 " The water weets my knee, 
 And hold up my bridle reins, "sir knight, 
 
 For the sake of Our Ladye." 
 
 " If I would help thee now," he said, 
 
 " It were a deadly sin, 
 For I 've sworn neir to trust a fair may's word. 
 
 Till the water weets her chin." 
 
 " 0, the water weets my waist," she said, 
 
 " Sae does it weet my skin, 
 And my aching heart rins round about, 
 
 The burn maks sic a din. 
 
 " The water is waxing deeper still, 
 
 Sae does it wax mair wide, 
 And aye the farther that we ride on 
 
 Farther off is the other side. 
 
 " help me now, thou false, false knight. 
 
 Have pity on my youth. 
 For now the water jawes owre my head, 
 
 And it gurgles in my mouth."
 
 FAUSE FOODEAGE. 143 
 
 The knii^ht turned right and round about, 
 
 All in the middle stream, 
 And he stretched out his head to that lady, 
 
 But loudly she did scream. 
 
 "0, this is hallow-morn," he said, 
 
 " And it is your bridle day, 
 But sad would be that gay wedding 
 
 If bridegroom and bride were away. 
 
 "And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret ! 
 
 Till the water comes o'er your bree, 
 For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet, 
 
 Wha rides this ford wi' me. 
 
 " Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret ! 
 
 Turn ye round and look on me. 
 Thou hast killed a true knight under trust 
 
 And his ghost now links on with thee." 
 
 FAUSE FOODEAGE 
 
 Was first piiblished in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
 Border," where it is stated to be given chiefly from Mrs 
 Brown of Falkland's MSS. The ballad is popular in 
 Scotland, and there can be no reasonable doubt of its 
 authenticity. Like others, however, it has lost none of 
 its beauties by being distilled through the alembic estab- 
 lished at Abbotsford for the purification of ancient song. 
 
 MOTHEKWELL. 
 
 Ejng Easter has courted her for her lands, 
 
 King Wester for her fee ; 
 King Honour for her comely face, 
 
 And for her fair bodie.
 
 144 FAUSE FOODEAGE, 
 
 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 kevils * them amang, 
 
 And kevils them between ; 
 And they cast kevils them amang, 
 
 Wha suld gne kill the king. 
 
 0, some said yea, and some said nay, 
 
 Their words did not agree ; 
 Till up and got him Fause 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 gay ladye 
 
 In a hie chamber were laid. 
 
 Then up and raise him, Pause Foodrage, 
 
 When a' were fast asleep. 
 And slew the porter in his lodge, 
 
 That watch and ward did keep. 
 
 0, 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 ? " 
 
 * "Kevils:" lots.
 
 FAUSE FOODEAGE. 145 
 
 " ye my errand weel sail learn, 
 
 Before tliat I depart." 
 Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp, 
 
 And pierced him to the heart. 
 
 Tlien up and got the queen hersell, 
 And fell low down on her knee : 
 
 " spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage ! 
 For I never injured thee. 
 
 " spare ray life, now, Fause Foodrage ! 
 
 Until I lighter be ! 
 And see gin it be lad or lass, 
 
 King Honour has left wi' me." 
 
 " 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 bowir 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. 
 K
 
 146 FAUSE FOODKAGE. 
 
 she has birled these merry young men, 
 With the ale but and the wine, 
 
 Until they were as deadly drunk 
 As any wild-wood swine. 
 
 " 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 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. 
 
 when she saw Wise William's wife, 
 The queen fell on her knee ; 
 
 " Win up, win up, madam 1 " 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.
 
 FAFSE FOODKAGE. 1 47 
 
 " And ye maun learn my gay goss hawk 
 To wield baith bow and brand ; 
 
 And I sail learn your turtle dow 
 To lay gowd with her hand. 
 
 " At kirk and market when we meet, 
 
 We '11 dare mak nae avowe, 
 But — ' Dame, how does my gay goss hawk ? * 
 
 ' Madame, how does my dow ? ' " 
 
 When days were gane, and years come on, 
 Wise William he thouo;ht lanoj • 
 
 And he 's ta'en king Honour's son 
 A hunting for to fransr. 
 
 It sae fell out, at this hunting, 
 
 Upon a simmer's day, 
 That they came by a fair castell, 
 
 Stood on a sunny brae. 
 
 " dinna ye sec 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 belongs to Pause Foodrage, 
 
 And he is na kin to me." 
 
 " gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
 You would do but what was right ; 
 
 For, I wot, he killed your father dear. 
 Or ever ye saw the light.
 
 lis FAUSE FOODEAGE. 
 
 " And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
 There is no man durst you blame ; 
 
 For he keeps your mother a prisoner, 
 And she daurna take ye hame." 
 
 The boy stared wild, like a gray goss hawk : 
 Says — " What may a' this mean ? " 
 
 " My boy, ye are king Honour's son. 
 And your mother 's our lawful queen." 
 
 " gin I be king Honour's son. 
 
 By Our Ladye, I swear, 
 This night I will that traitor slay, 
 
 And relieve my mother dear ! " 
 
 He has set his bent bow to his breast. 
 
 And leaped the castell wa' ; 
 And soon he has seized Fause Foodrage, 
 
 Wha loud for help 'gan ca'. 
 
 " baud 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 troth o' his right hand
 
 THE TWA COEBIES. 149 
 
 THE TWA CORBIES. 
 
 This poem was communicated to Sir Walter Scott by 
 LIr Kirkpatrick Sharpe, as wi-itten down, from tradition, 
 by a lady. "It is a singular circumstance," says Sir 
 Walter, "tbat it should coincide so very nearly with 
 the ancient dirge, called The Three Ravens, published 
 by Mr E,itson ia his ' Ancient Songs ; ' and that, at the 
 same time, there should exist siich a difference as to 
 make the one appear rather a counterpart than copy of 
 the other. In order to enable the cui'ious reader to 
 contrast these two singular poems, and to form a judg- 
 ment which may be the original, I take the liberty of 
 copying the English ballad from Mr Eitson's Collection. 
 The learned Editor states it to be given from ' Ravens - 
 croft's MeHsmata. Musical Phansies, fitting the Cittie 
 and Country Humours, to 3, 4, and 5 Voyces, London, 
 IGll, 4to."' 
 
 In this version, the chorus of — • 
 
 "Down, down — bey deny down," 
 after every line, is omitted. 
 
 There were three ravens sat on a tre, 
 They were as blacke as they might be : 
 
 The one of them said to his mate, 
 "Where shall we our breakfast take?" 
 
 "Downe in yonder grene field. 
 
 There lies a knight slain under his shield ; 
 
 "His hounds they lie down at his feete, 
 So weU do they their master keepe ; 
 
 ' ' His haukes they flie so eagerly, 
 There 's no f owle dare come him nie. 
 
 "Down there comes a fallow doe, 
 
 As great with young as she might goe. 
 
 "She lift up his bloudy hed, 
 
 And kist his wounds that were so red. 
 
 "She got him up upon her backe. 
 And carried him to earthen lake.
 
 150 THE TWA COEBIES. 
 
 "She buried him before the prime, 
 
 She was dead her selfe ere euen song time. 
 
 "God send eueiy gentleman, 
 
 Such haukes, such hoiindes, and such a leman. " 
 
 As I was walking all alane, 
 
 I heard twa corbies making a mane ; 
 
 The tane unto the other 'gan say, 
 
 " Where sail we gang and dine to-day?" 
 
 "In behint 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 his lady fair. 
 
 " His hound is to the hunting gane, 
 His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, 
 His lady 's ta'en another mate. 
 So we may make our dinner sweet. 
 
 " Ye sail sit on his white hause bane, 
 And I '11 pike out his bonny blue een : 
 Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair, 
 We '11 theekf our nest when it grows bare. 
 
 " Mony a ane for him makes mane. 
 But nane sail ken whare he is gane : 
 O'er his white banes, when they are bare. 
 The wind sail blaw for evermair." 
 
 * "Fail:" turf. t "Theek:" thatch.
 
 THE TWA COKBIES. 151 
 
 THE TWA CORBIES. 
 
 SECOND VEKSION. 
 
 From Motherwell's Collection, but evideutly much mo- 
 demised. 
 
 There were twa corbies sat on a tree, 
 
 Large and black as black might be, 
 
 And one until the other 'gan say, 
 
 " Where shall we go and dine to-day ? 
 
 Shall we dine by the wild salt sea ? 
 
 Shall we 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, 
 The ship sunk, and I heard a shriek : 
 There they lie, one, two, and three — 
 I shall dine by the wild salt sea." 
 
 " Come, I will shew ye a sweeter sight, 
 
 A lonesome glen, and a new-slain knight ; 
 
 His blood yet on the grass is hot, 
 
 His sword half drawn, his shafts unshot, — 
 
 And no one knows 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 shall make our dinner sweet ; 
 Our dinner 's sure, our feasting free. 
 Come, and dine by the greenwood tree.
 
 152 MAY COLVIN; OE, FALSE SIE JOHN. 
 
 " Ye shall sit on his white hanse-bane, 
 I will pick out his bonny blue een ; 
 Ye '11 take a tress of his yellow hair, 
 To theak your nest when it grows bare ; 
 The gowden down on his young chin 
 AVill do to rowe my young ones in. 
 
 " 0, cauld and bare his bed will be, 
 When 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." 
 
 MAY COLVIN ; OR, FALSE SIE JOHN. 
 
 This ballad was published by MotherweU, from a copy 
 obtained from recitation, collated from another copy to be 
 found in Herd's collection, 1776. It is sometimes called 
 May Collean. 
 
 False Sir John a-wooing came, 
 
 To a maid of beauty rare ; 
 May Colvin was the lady's name, 
 
 Her father's only heir. 
 
 He's courted her butt, and he's courted her ben, 
 
 And he's courted her into the ha', 
 Till once he got this lady's consent 
 
 To mount and ride awa'. 
 
 She 's gane to her father's coffers, 
 
 Where aU his money lay ; 
 And she 's taken the red, and she 's left the white, 
 
 And lightly she tripped away.
 
 MAY COLVIX; OE, FALSE SIE JOHN. 153 
 
 She 's gane down to her father's stable, 
 
 Where all his steeds did stand ; 
 And she 's taken the best, and left the warst. 
 
 That was in her father's land. 
 
 He rode on, and she rode on, 
 
 They rode a lang simmer's day. 
 Until they came to a broad river, 
 
 An arm of a lonesome sea. 
 
 " Loup off the steed," says false Sir John ; 
 
 "Your bridal bed you see ; 
 For its seven king's daughters I have di'owned here. 
 
 And the eighth I '11 out make with thee. 
 
 " Cast off, cast off your silks so fine. 
 
 And lay them on a stone. 
 For they are o'er good and o'er costly 
 
 To rot in the salt sea foam. 
 
 " Cast off, cast off your holland smock, 
 
 And lay it on this atone, 
 For its too fine and o'er costly 
 
 To rot in the salt sea foam." 
 
 " turn you about, thou false Sir John, 
 
 And look to the leaf o' the tree ; 
 For it never became a gentleman 
 
 A naked woman to see." 
 
 He 's turned himself straight round about, 
 
 To look to the leaf o' the tree ; 
 She's twined her arms about his waist. 
 
 And thrown him into the sea.
 
 15t MAY COLVIN; OE, FALSE SIR JOIIX 
 
 " hold a grip of me, May Colvin, 
 
 For fear that I should drown ; 
 1 11 take you hame to your father's gates, 
 
 And safely I 'U set you down." 
 
 " lie you there, thou false Sir John, 
 
 lie you there," said she, 
 " For you lie not in a caulder bed 
 
 Then the ane you intended for me." 
 
 So she went on her father's steed, 
 
 As swift as she could flee ; 
 And she came hame to her father's gates 
 
 At the breaking of the day. 
 
 Up then spake the pretty parrot : 
 " May Colvin, where have you been ? 
 
 What has become of false Sir John, 
 That wooed you so late yestreen?" 
 
 Up then spake the pretty parrot, 
 In the bonnie cage where it lay : 
 
 " what hae ye done with the false Sir John, 
 That he behind you does stay ? 
 
 " He wooed you butt, he wooed you ben, 
 
 He wooed you into the ha'. 
 Until he got your own consent 
 
 For to mount and gang awa'. " 
 
 " hold your tongue, my pretty parrot, 
 
 Lay not the blame upon me ; 
 Your cage will be made of the beaten gold 
 
 And the spakes of ivorie."
 
 LADY MAISEY. 155 
 
 Up then spake the king himself, 
 
 In the chamber where he lay : 
 " Oh ! what ails the pretty parrot, 
 
 That prattles so long ere day ? " 
 
 " It was a cat cam to my cage door ; 
 
 I thought 'twould have worried me ; 
 And I was calling on May Colvin 
 
 To take the cat from me." 
 
 LADY MAISRY. 
 
 This excellent old ballad, wliicli is very poi^ular in many 
 parts of Scotland, is given from Mr Jamieson's Collection. 
 — Motherwell. 
 
 Tee young lords o' the north country 
 
 Have all a-wooing gane, 
 To win the love o' Lady Maisry ; 
 
 But o' them she wou'd hae nane. 
 
 0, thae hae sought her. Lady Maisry, 
 
 Wi' broaches and wi' rings ; 
 And they hae courted her, Lady INIaisry, 
 
 Wi' a' kin kind of things ; 
 
 And they hae souglit her, Lady Maisry, 
 
 Frae father and frae mither ; 
 And they hae souglit her, Lady Maisry, 
 
 Frae sister and frae brither. 
 
 And they hae followed her. Lady Maisry, 
 Through chamber and through ha' ; 
 
 But a' tliat they could say to her, 
 Her answer still was " Na."
 
 156 LADY MAISEY, 
 
 " haud your tongues, young men," she said, 
 " And think nae mair on me ; 
 
 For I 've gi'en my love to an English lord, 
 Sae think nae mair on me." 
 
 Her father's kitchen boy heard that 
 
 (An ill death mot he die !) 
 And he is in to her brother, 
 
 As fast as o;ang cou'd he. 
 
 " 0, is my father and my mother weel, 
 
 Bot and my brothers three ? 
 Gin my sister Lady Maisry be weel, 
 
 There 's naething can ail me." 
 
 "Your father and your mother is weel, 
 Bot and your brothers three ; 
 
 Your sister, Lady Maisry 's weel ; 
 Sae big wi' bairn is she." 
 
 " A malison light on the tongue, 
 
 Sic tidings tells to me ! 
 But gin it be a lie you tell. 
 
 You shall be hanged hie." 
 
 He 's doen him to his sister's bower, 
 
 Wi' mickle dool and care ; 
 And there he saw her, Lady Maisry, 
 
 Combing her yellow hair. 
 
 " 0, wha is aucht that bairn," he says, 
 
 " That ye sae big are wi ? 
 And gin ye winna own the truth. 
 
 This moment ye shall die."
 
 LADY MAISEY. 157 
 
 She 's turned her richt and round about. 
 And the kembe fell frae her hau' ; 
 
 A trembling seized her fair bodie, 
 And her rosy cheek grew wan, 
 
 " pardon me, my brother dear, 
 And the truth I '11 tell to thee ; 
 
 My bairn is to Lord William, 
 And he is betrothed to me." 
 
 " cou'dna ye gotten dukes, or lords, 
 
 Intil your ain countrie, 
 That ye drew up wi' an English dog, 
 
 To bring this shame on me ? 
 
 " But ye maun gi'e up your English lord, 
 Whan your young babe is born ; 
 
 For, gin ye keep by him an hour langer, 
 Your life shall be forlorn." 
 
 " I will gi'e up this English lord, 
 
 Till my young babe is born ; 
 Lut the never a day nor hour langer, 
 
 Though my life should be forlorn." 
 
 " where is a' my merry young men 
 
 Wham I gi'e meat and fee. 
 To pu' the bracken and the thorn, 
 
 To burn this vile whore wi'." 
 
 " whare will I get a bonny boy 
 
 To help me in my need, 
 To rin wi' haste to Lord William, 
 
 And bid him come wi' speed i "
 
 158 LADY MAISEY. 
 
 out it spak a bonny boy, 
 
 Stood by her brother's side ; 
 " It 's I wad rin your errand, lady. 
 
 O'er a' the warld wide. 
 
 " Aft lia'e I run your errands, lady, 
 When blawin baith wind and weet ; 
 
 But now I '11 rin your errand, lady, 
 Wi' saut tears on my cheek." 
 
 whan he came to broken briggs, 
 
 He bent his bow and swam ; 
 And whan he came to grass growin'. 
 
 He slack'd his shoon and ran. 
 
 And whan he came to Lord William's yetts, 
 
 He badena to chap or ca' ; 
 But set his bent bow to his breast. 
 
 And lightly lap the wa' ; 
 And, or the porter was at the yett, 
 
 The boy was in the ha'. 
 
 " is my biggins broken, boy ? 
 
 Or is my towers won ? 
 Or is my lady lighter yet, 
 
 0' a dear daughter or son ? " 
 
 " Your biggin isna broken, sir, 
 
 Nor is your towers won ; 
 But the fairest lady in a' the land 
 
 This day for you maun burn." 
 
 " saddle to me the black, the black, 
 
 Or saddle to me the brown ; 
 Or saddle to me the swiftest steed 
 
 That ever rade frae a town."
 
 LADY MAISEY. 159 
 
 Or he was near a mile awa', 
 
 She heard his weir-horse sneeze ; 
 
 " Mend up the fire, my fause brother. 
 It 's nae come to my knees." 
 
 0, whan he lighted at the yett, 
 
 She heard his bridle ring : 
 " Mend up the fire, my fause brother ; 
 
 It 's far yet frae my chin. 
 
 "Mend up the fire to me, brother. 
 
 Mend up the fire to me ; 
 For I see him comin' hard and fast 
 
 Will soon men't up for thee. 
 
 " gin my hands had been loose, Willy, 
 
 Sae hard as they are boun', 
 I wad hae turned me frae the gleed. 
 
 And casten out your young son." 
 
 " 0, I '11 gar burn for you, Maisry, 
 
 Your father and your mother ; 
 And I '11 gar burn for you, Maisry, 
 
 Your sister and your brother ; 
 
 " And I '11 gar burn for you, Maisry, 
 
 The chief o' a' your kin ; 
 And the last bonfire that I come to, 
 
 Mysel' I will cast in."
 
 160 THE BONNIE EAEL OF MURRAY. 
 
 THE BONNIE EARL OE MURRAY. 
 
 "The 7 of Februarij tliis zeire, 1592, the Earle of Mur- 
 ray was cruelly miirthered by the Earle of Hiintly, at his 
 house in DunibrisseU, in Fyffeshyre, and with him Dum- 
 bar, Shriffe of Murray ; it [was] given out, and publickly 
 talked that the Earle of Huntly was only the instrument 
 of perpetratting this facte, to satisfSe the Kinges jelosie of 
 Murray, quhom the Queine, more rashlie than wyslie, 
 some few dayes before had commendit in the Kinges 
 heiringe, with too many epithetts of a proper and gallant 
 man. The ressons of these surmisses proceidit from pro- 
 clamatione of the Kinges the 18 of Marche following, inhi- 
 bitting the yoiinge Earle of Murray to persew the Earle of 
 Huntly for his father's slaughter, in respecte he being, 
 wardit in the casteU of Blacknesse for the same murther, 
 was willing to abyde his tryeU ; averring that he had done 
 nothing, bot by the King's ma'"' commissione : and so was 
 neither airt nor pairt of the murther." — Annales of Scot- 
 laud by Sir James Balfour, vol. i., Edin. 1824. For other 
 accounts of this transaction, see Spottiswood, Moyse's 
 Memoires, Calderwood's History of the Church, and Gor- 
 don's Genealogical History of the Earldom of Sutherland. 
 
 MOTHEKWELL. 
 
 Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands, 
 
 Oh ! where hae ye been ? 
 They hae slaine the Earl of Murray, 
 
 And hae lain him on the green. 
 
 Now wae be to thee, Huntly ! 
 
 And wherefore did you say ? 
 I bade you bring him wi' you. 
 
 But forbade you him to slay. 
 
 He was a braw gallant, 
 
 And he rid at the ring ; 
 And the bonnie Earl of Murray, 
 
 Oh ! he might hae been a king.
 
 THE EAEL O' MUEEAY. 161 
 
 He was a braw gallant, 
 
 And he play'd at the ba' ; 
 And the bonnie Earl of Murray 
 
 Was the flower amang them a'. 
 
 He was a braw gallant, 
 
 And he play'd at the gluve ; 
 And the bonnie Earl of Murray, 
 
 Oh ! he was the Queenes luve. 
 
 Oh ! lang wiU his lady 
 
 Look owre the castle Downe, 
 
 Ere she see the Earl of Mim'ay, 
 Come sounding thro' the towne. 
 
 THE EARL 0' MUREAY. 
 
 This ballad, on the same subject as the preceding, re- 
 f sembles in its structure of verse the fragment of Bonnie 
 George Campbell. Several of the phrases employed are all 
 but identical 
 
 Open the gates. 
 
 And let him come in ; 
 He is my brother Huntly, 
 
 He '11 do him nae harm. 
 
 He 's ben and ben. 
 
 And ben to his bed ; 
 And with a sharp rapier 
 
 He stabbed him dead. 
 
 The lady came down the stair, 
 
 Wringing her hands : 
 " He has slain the Earl o' Murray, 
 
 The flower o' Scotland." 
 L
 
 162 THE EAEL O' MUEEAY. 
 
 But Huntly lap on his horse ; 
 
 Rade to the king, 
 " Ye 're welcome hame, Huntly ; 
 
 And whare hae ye been ? 
 
 " Whare hae ye been ? 
 
 And how hae ye sped?" 
 " I 've killed the Earl o' Murray, 
 
 Dead in his bed." 
 
 " Foul fa' you, Huntly ; 
 
 And why did ye so ? 
 You might hae taen the Earl of Murray, 
 
 And saved his life too." 
 
 " Her bread it 's to bake. 
 
 Her yill is to brew ; 
 My sister 's a widow, 
 
 And sair do I rue." 
 
 " Her corn grows ripe, 
 
 Her meadows grow green ; 
 
 But in bonnie Dinnibristle 
 I darena be seen."
 
 YOUNG WATEES. 163 
 
 YOUNG WATERS. 
 
 This ballad, like the two former, lias been supposed to 
 refer to the fate of the imfortunate Earl of Murray ; but 
 this is a mere guess. The allusion to the " Eound Table" 
 would seem to throw it back to the fabulous antiquity of 
 the days of King Arthur. There is a longer, and in some 
 respects better version in Buchan's Ancient Ballads ; but 
 the version here given is the one commonly accepted. 
 
 About Yule, when the wind blew cool, 
 
 And the round table began ; 
 Ah ! there is come to our king's court 
 
 Mony a well-favor'd man. 
 
 The queen luikit owre the castle wa', 
 
 Beheld baith dale and down, 
 And there she saw young Waters, 
 
 Come riding to the town. 
 
 His footmen they did rin before, 
 
 His horsemen rode behind. 
 And his mantle of the burning gowd 
 
 Did keep him frae the wind. 
 
 Gowden graith'd his horse before, 
 
 And siller shod behind ; 
 The horse young Waters rade upon 
 
 Was fleeter than the wind. 
 
 Out then spak a wylie lord, 
 
 And to the queen said he : 
 " tell me wha 's the fairest face 
 
 Rides in the company ? " 
 
 " I 've seen lords, and I Ve seen lairds. 
 
 And knights of high degree. 
 But a fairer face than young Waters', 
 
 Mine eyne did never see."
 
 164- YOUNG WATEES. 
 
 Out then spak the jealous king, 
 (And an angry man was he) : 
 
 " An', if he had been twice as fair, 
 You might have excepted me." 
 
 " You 're neither laird nor lord," she says, 
 " But the king that wears the crown ; 
 
 There 's not a knight in fair Scotland, 
 But to thee maun bow down." 
 
 For a' that she could do or say. 
 
 Appeased he wadna be ; 
 But for the words which she had said, 
 
 Young Waters he maun die. 
 
 Syne they hae ta'en young Waters, 
 
 Put fetters to his feet ; 
 Syne they hae ta'en young Waters, 
 
 An' thrown in dungeon deep. 
 
 " Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town. 
 In the wind bot and the weit ; 
 
 But I ne'er rade through Stirling town 
 Wi' fetters at my feet. 
 
 " Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town, 
 In the wind bot and the rain ; 
 
 But I ne'er rode thro' Stirling town 
 Ne'er to return again." 
 
 They hae ta'en him to the headin' hill, 
 That knight sae fair to see ; 
 
 And for the words the queen had spak. 
 Young Waters he did die.
 
 THE BONNIE BANKS O' FOEDIE. 165 
 
 THE BONNIE BANKS 0' FORDIE 
 
 Is given from two copies obtained from recitation, wMcli 
 differ but little from each otber. Indeed, the only varia- 
 tion is in the verse where the outlawed brother unweet- 
 ingly slays his sister. One reading is — 
 
 " He's talven out his wee penknife, 
 Hey how bonnie ; 
 And he 's twined her o' her ain sweet life, 
 On the bonnie banks o' Pordie." 
 
 The other reading is that adopted in the text. This bal- 
 lad is popidar in the southern parishes of Perthshire, where 
 it is called The DiiJce of Perth'' s Three Daughters ; but 
 where the scene is laid the Editor has not ascertained. — 
 Motherwell. 
 
 Professor Aytoun suggests that Baby Lon, which 
 Motherwell calls the "fantastic name"' of the hero, is a 
 misprint for "Burd-alane," or a solitary person; and lays 
 the scene at the Burn of Fordie, six miles to the east of 
 Dunkeld. A similar legend is currnt in Denmark. 
 
 There were three ladies lived in a bower. 
 
 Eh vow bonnie, 
 And they went out to pull a flower, 
 
 On the honnie hanks o' Fordie. 
 
 They hadna pu'ed a flower but ane, 
 When uj) started to them a banisht man. 
 
 He 's ta'en the first sister by her hand, 
 
 And he 's turned her round and made her stand. 
 
 " Its whether will ye be a rank robber's wife, 
 Or will ye die by my wee penknife ?" 
 
 " Its 1 11 not be a rank robber's wife, 
 But I '11 rather die by your wee penknife." 
 
 He 's killed this May and he 's laid her by, 
 For to bear the red rose company.
 
 166 THE BONNIE BANKS O' FOEDIE. 
 
 He 's taken the second ane by the hand, 
 
 And he 's tvirned her round and made her stand. 
 
 " Its whether will ye be a rank robber's wife, 
 Or will ye die by my wee penknife ?" 
 
 " 1 11 not be a rank robber's wife, 
 
 But I '11 rather die by your wee penknife." 
 
 He 's killed this May and he 's laid her by, 
 Por to bear the red rose company. 
 
 He 's taken the youngest ane by the hand, 
 And he 's turned her round and made her stand. 
 
 Says, " Will ye be a rank robber's wife, 
 Or will ye die by my wee penknife?" 
 
 " I '11 not be a rank robber's wife. 
 Nor will I die by your wee penknife ; 
 
 " For I hae a brother in this wood, 
 And gin ye kill me, it 's he '11 kill thee." 
 
 "What's thy brother's name, come tell to me?" 
 "My brother's name is Baby Lon."* 
 
 " sister, sister, what have I done, 
 have I done this ill to thee ? 
 
 " since I 've done this evil deed. 
 Good sail never be seen o' me." 
 
 He 's taken out his wee penknife, 
 
 And he 's twyned himsel o' his ain sweet life. 
 
 * "Baby Lon:" Biird-alane.
 
 THE D^MON LOVER. 167 
 
 THE D^MON LOVER. 
 
 "This ballad, wMcli contains some verses of merit, was 
 taken down from recitation by llr William Laidlaw, 
 tenant in Traquair-knowe. It contains a legend, wbicli, 
 in various shapes, is current in Scotland. 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 which she wore in her bosom, makes the 
 following lines the burden of his courtship : — 
 
 ' Gin ye wish to be leman mine, 
 Lay aside the St John's wort and the vervain.' 
 
 "The heroine of the following tale was unfortimately 
 without any similar protection." — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 Mr Motherwell was of opinion that Mr Laidlaw had 
 "improved" the original ballad to its detriment. 
 
 " WHEEE have you been my long, long love, 
 This long seven years and mair ? " 
 
 "0 I 'm come to seek my former vows, 
 Ye granted me before." 
 
 " hold your tongue of your former vows. 
 For they will breed sad strife ; 
 
 hold your tongue of your former vows. 
 For I am become a wife." 
 
 He turned him right and round about, 
 
 And the tear blinded his ee ; 
 " I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground, 
 
 If it had not been for thee. 
 
 " I might have had a king's daughter, 
 Far, far beyond the sea ; 
 
 1 might have had a king's daughter, 
 
 Had it not been for love o' thee."
 
 168 THE D^MON LOVEE. 
 
 " If ye might have had a king's daughter, 
 
 Yersel ye had to blame ; 
 Ye might have taken the king's daughter, 
 
 For ye kend that I was nane." 
 
 " false are the vows o' womankind. 
 But fair is their false bodie ; 
 
 I never wad hae trodden on Irish ground. 
 Had it not been for love o' thee," 
 
 " If I was to leave my husband dear, 
 
 And my two babes also, 
 what have you to take me to. 
 
 If with you I should go ? " 
 
 " I have seven ships upon the sea, 
 The eighth brought me to land ; 
 
 With four-and-twenty bold mariners, 
 And music on e\'ery hand." 
 
 She has taken up her two little babes. 
 Kissed them baith cheek and chin : 
 
 " fare ye weel, my ain twa babes, 
 For 1 11 never see you again." 
 
 She set her foot upon the ship, 
 No mariners could she behold ; 
 
 But the sails were o' the taffetie. 
 And the masts o' the beaten gold. 
 
 She had not sailed a league, a league, 
 
 A league, but barely three, 
 When dismal grew his countenance. 
 
 And drumlie grew his ee.
 
 THE D^MON LOVEE. 1G9 
 
 The masts that were like the beaten gold, 
 
 Bent not on the heaving seas ; 
 But the sails, that were o' the tafFetie, 
 
 Pilled not in the eastland breeze. 
 
 They had not sailed a league, a league, 
 
 A league, but barely three, 
 Until she espied his cloven foot. 
 
 And she wept right bitterlie. 
 
 " hold your tongue of your weeping," says he, 
 " Of youi* weeping now let me be ; 
 
 I will shew you how the lilies grow 
 On the banks of Italy." 
 
 " what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, 
 That the sun shines sweetly on ? " 
 
 " yon are the hills of heaven," he said, 
 " Where you will never win." 
 
 " whaten a mountain is yon," she said, 
 " All so dreary wi' frost and snow ? " 
 
 " yon is the mountain of hell," he cried, 
 " Where you and I will go." 
 
 And aye when she turned her round about, 
 
 Aye taller he seemed to be ; 
 Until that the tops o' the gallant ship 
 
 Nae taller were than he. 
 
 [Tlie clouds grew dark and the wind grew 
 loud, 
 
 And the levin filled her ee ; 
 And waesorae wailed the snow-white sprites, 
 
 Upon the gurlie sea.]* 
 
 * Professor Aytoun believes this staiiza to be an inter- 
 polation.
 
 170 FAIR JANET. 
 
 He strack the tapmast wi' his hand, 
 
 The foremast wi' his knee ; 
 And he brake that gallant ship in twain, 
 
 And sank her in the sea. 
 
 FAIR JANET. 
 
 This is by far the most complete, and apparently 
 genuine, copy that we have yet met with, of the ballad 
 which is nsnally printed imder the title of Willie and 
 Aiinet, or of that improved version of the same ballad, 
 pubhshed by Mr Finlay, imder the title of Sweet Willie. 
 It is taken from the "Ballad Book" of Mr Charles Kirk- 
 patrick Sharpe. 
 
 To Fair Janet Mr Sharpe has prefixed the following 
 notice: — "This ballad, the subject of which appears to 
 have been very popular, is printed as it was sung by an 
 old woman in Perthshire. The air is extremely beautiful." 
 From the ballads of Willie and Annet and Sweet Willie we 
 have taken three stanzas, and inserted them in this copy ; 
 but these are enclosed by brackets, so as to preserve the 
 purity and integrity of Mr Sharpe's text tmdisturbed. — 
 
 MOTHEKWELL. 
 
 " Ye maun gang to your father, Janet, 
 
 Ye maun gang to him soon ; 
 Ye maun gang to your father, Janet, 
 
 In case that his days are dune ! " 
 
 Janet 's awa' to her father, 
 
 As fast as she could hie ; 
 " 0, what 's your will wi' me, father ? 
 
 0, what 's your will wi' me ? " 
 
 " My will wi' you, Fair Janet," he said, 
 
 " It is both bed and board ; 
 Some say that ye lo'e Sweet Willie, 
 
 But ye maun wed a French Lord,"
 
 FAIR JANET. 171 
 
 " A Prencli Lord maun I wed, father ? 
 
 A French Lord maun I wed ? 
 Then, by my sooth," quo' Fair Janet, 
 
 " He 's ne'er enter my bed." 
 
 Janet 's awa' to her chamber. 
 
 As fast as she could go ; 
 ■\Yha 's the first ane that tapped there, 
 
 But Sweet Willie, her jo ! 
 
 « 0, we maun part this love, Willie, 
 
 That has been lang between ; 
 There 's a French Lord coming o'er the sea 
 
 To wed me wi' a ring ; 
 There 's a French Lord coming o'er the sea 
 
 To wed and tak me hame." 
 
 " If we maun part this love, Janet, 
 
 It causeth mickle woe ; 
 If we maun part this love, Janet, 
 
 It makes me into mournmg go." 
 
 " But ye maun gang to your three sisters, 
 
 Meg, Marion, and Jean : 
 Tell them to come to Fair Janet, 
 
 In case that her days are dime." 
 
 Willie 's awa' to his three sisters, 
 
 Meg, Marion, and Jean : 
 " 0, haste, and gang to Fair Janet ; 
 
 I fear that her days are dune." 
 
 They drew to them their silken hose, 
 They drew to them their shoon. 
 
 They drew to them their silk manteils, 
 Their coverings to put on ; 
 
 And they 're awa' to Fair Janet, 
 By the ae light o' the moon.
 
 172 FAIE JAlfET. 
 
 " 0, I have born this babe, Willie, 
 
 Wi' mickle toil and pain : 
 Take hame, take hame, your babe, Willie, 
 
 For nurse I dare be nane/' 
 
 He 's tane his young son in his arms, 
 And kist him cheek and chin — 
 
 And he 's awa' to his mother's bower, 
 By the ae light o' the moon. 
 
 " 0, open, open, mother," he says, 
 
 " 0, open, and let me in ; 
 The rain rains on my yellow hair, 
 
 And the dew drops o'er my chin — 
 And I hae my young son in my arms, 
 
 I fear that his days are dune," 
 
 With her fingers lang and sma' 
 
 She lifted up the pin ; 
 And with her arms lang and sma' 
 
 Received the baby in. 
 
 " Gae back, gae back, now Sweet Willie, 
 And comfort your fair lady ; 
 
 Eor where ye had but ae nourice 
 Your young son shall hae three." 
 
 Willie he was scarce awa'. 
 
 And the lady put to bed, 
 When in and came her father dear, 
 
 " Make haste, and busk the bride."
 
 FAIR JANET. 17^ 
 
 " There 's a sair pain in my head, father, 
 There 's a sair pain in my side ; 
 
 And ill, ill, am I, father. 
 This day for to be a bride." 
 
 " ye maun busk this bonnie bride, 
 
 And put a gay mantle on ; 
 For she shall wed this auld French Lord, 
 
 Gin she should die the morn." 
 
 Some put on the gay green robes, 
 
 And some put on the brown, 
 But Janet put on the scarlet robes, 
 
 To shine foremost through the town. 
 
 And some they mounted the black steed, 
 And some mounted the brown, 
 
 But Janet mounted the milk-white steed, 
 To ride foremost through the town. 
 
 " 0, wha will guide your horse, Janet ? 
 
 0, wha will guide him best ?" 
 " 0, wha but Willie, my true love ? 
 
 He kens I lo'e him best ! " 
 
 And when they cam to IMarie's kirk. 
 
 To speak the holy name, 
 Fair Janet's cheek looked pale and wan, 
 
 And her colour gaed and came. 
 
 When dinner it was past and done. 
 
 And dancing to begin ; 
 " 0, we '11 go take the bride's maidens, 
 
 And we '11 go fill the ring."
 
 174 FAIR JANET. 
 
 ben tlien cam the auld FrencTi Lord, 
 Saying, "Bride, will ye dance with me?" 
 
 " Awa', awa', ye auld French Lord, 
 Yonr face I downa see." 
 
 ben then came now Sweet Willie, 
 
 He came with ane advance ; 
 " 0, I '11 go tak the bride's maidens, 
 
 And we '11 go tak a dance." 
 
 " I Ve seen ither days wi' you, Willie, 
 
 And so has mony mae ; 
 Ye would hae danced wi' me mysel. 
 
 Let a' my maidens gae." 
 
 ben then came now Sweet Willie, 
 Saying, " Bride, will ye dance wi' me ?" 
 
 " Ay, by my sooth, and that I will. 
 Gin my back should break in three." 
 
 [And she 's ta'en Willie by the hand ; 
 
 The tear blinded her ee ; 
 "0,1 wad dance wi' my true love, 
 
 Tho' burst my heart in three ! "] 
 
 She hadna turned her through the dance, 
 Through the dance but thrice. 
 
 When she fell down at Willie's feet, 
 And up did never rise ! 
 
 [She 's ta'en her bracelet f rae her arm, 
 
 Her garter frae her knee ; 
 " Gie that, gie that to my young son, 
 
 He '11 ne'er his mother see."]
 
 BAEBAEA ALLAN. 175 
 
 Willie 's ta'en the key of his coffer, 
 
 And gi'en it to his man, 
 " Gae hame and tell my mother dear, 
 
 My horse he has me slain ; 
 Bid her be kind to my young son, 
 
 For father he has nane." 
 
 [" Gar deal, gar deal the bread," he cried, 
 
 " Gar deal, gar deal the wine, 
 This day has seen my true love's death. 
 
 This night shall witness mine."] 
 
 The tane was buried in Marie's kii-k, 
 And the tither in Marie's quier. 
 
 Out of the tane there grew a birk, 
 And the tither a bonnie brier.* 
 
 BAEBAEA ALLAN. 
 
 From Allan Eamsay's " Tea-Table Miscellany." A 
 longer though inferior version appeared in Percy's KeHques. 
 
 It was in and about the Martinmas time. 
 When the green leaves they Avcrc fallen. 
 
 That Sir John Graem, in the west country. 
 Fell iu love with Barbara Allan. 
 
 He sent his man down through the town, 
 To the place where she was dwellijig ; 
 
 " haste and come to my master dear. 
 Gin you be Barbara Allan." 
 
 * This verse is the common property of all tlie ballad- 
 makers — a despised stage-decoratiou that does duty when- 
 ever and wherever it is wanted.
 
 176 BAEBAEA ALLAN. 
 
 hooly, hooly rose she up, 
 
 To the place where he was lying, 
 
 And when she drew the curtain, said, 
 " Young man, I think you 're dying." 
 
 " I am sick and very sick, 
 And it 's aU for Barbara Allan." 
 
 " the better for me ye 's never be, 
 Tho' your heart's blood were a-spillin'. 
 
 " dinna ye mind, young man," said she, 
 " When the red wine ye were fillin', 
 
 That ye made the healths gae round and round, 
 And shghted Barbara Allan?" 
 
 He turned his face unto the wall. 
 And death was with him dealing ; 
 
 " Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all. 
 Be kind to Barbara Allan." 
 
 Slowly, slowly rose she up, 
 
 And slowly, slowly left him. 
 And sighing, said, she could not stay, 
 
 Since death of life had left him. 
 
 She had not gone a mile but twa, 
 
 When she heard the dead-bell knellin', 
 
 And every jow that the dead-bell gied, 
 Cried, "Woe to Barbara Allan!" 
 
 " mother, mother, make my bed, 
 
 make it fast and narrow ; 
 Since my love died for me to-day, 
 
 1 11 die for him to-morrow.''
 
 FAIE HELEN OF KIKCONNEL. 177 
 
 FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNEL. 
 
 The following very popular ballad lias been handed 
 down by tradition in its present imperfect state. The 
 affecting incident on which it is founded is well known. 
 A lady, of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell, (for this is 
 disputed by the two clans,) daughter of the laird of Kir- 
 connel, in Dumfriesshii-e, and celebrated for her beauty, 
 was beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The 
 name of the favoiired suitor was Adam Fleming, of Kirk- 
 patrick ; that of the other has escaj^ed tradition, though it 
 has been alleged that he was a Bell, of Blacket House. 
 The addresses of the latter were, however, favoured by 
 the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore ob- 
 liged to meet in secret, and by night, in the chiirchyard 
 of Kirconnel, a romantic spot, surrounded by the i-iver 
 Kirtle. Dirring one of these private interviews, the jea- 
 lous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite 
 bank of the stream, and levelled his carbine at the breast 
 of his rival. Helen tlu'ew herself before her lover, received 
 in her bosom the bidlet, and died in his arms. A desjie- 
 rate and mortal combat ensued between Flemmg and the 
 murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. Other 
 accounts say that Fleming pursued his enemy to Spain, 
 and slew him in the streets of Madrid. — Sir W. Scott. 
 
 I WISH I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 that I were where Helen lies, 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee ! 
 
 Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
 And curst the hand that fired the shot. 
 When in my arms burd* Helen drojat, 
 And died to succour me ! 
 
 think na ye my heart was sair, 
 When my love dropt down and spak nae mair ! 
 There did she swoon wi' meikle care, 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee. 
 
 * "Burd :" maid. 
 
 M
 
 178 FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNEL. 
 
 As I went down the water side, 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 None but my foe to be my guide 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee ; 
 
 I lighted down, my sword did draw, 
 I hacked him in pieces sma', 
 I hacked him in pieces sma', 
 Tor her sake that died for me. 
 
 Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
 1 11 make a garland of thy hair. 
 Shall bind my heart for evermair. 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 that I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 Out of my bed she bids me rise, 
 Says, " Haste, and come to me ! " 
 
 Helen fair ! Helen chaste ! 
 If I were with thee, I were blest, 
 Where thou Hes low, and takes thy rest, 
 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee. 
 
 1 wish my grave were growing green, 
 A winding sheet drawn ower my een, 
 And I in Helen's arms lying. 
 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 And I am weary of the skies, 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
 Tliis ballad has often been imitated, bnt never im- 
 proved. The reader who remembers Tennyson's Oriatia 
 may see at what fire the modern poet lighted his torch in 
 that beautiful composition.
 
 CLERK SAUNDEES. 179 
 
 CLERK SAUNDERS. 
 
 "This ballad is taken from Mr Herd's MSS., with 
 several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect 
 copy, in the same volume, and one or two conjectural 
 emendations in the arrangement of the stanzas. The 
 resemblance of the conclusion to the ballad beginning, 
 ' There came a ghost to Margaret's door, ' will strike every 
 reader. The tale is uncommonly wild and beautiful, and 
 apparently very correct. The custom of the passing bell 
 is stni kept up in many villages in Scotland. The sexton 
 goes through the towTi ringing a small bell, and announcing 
 the death of the departed, and the time of the funeral. 
 The three concluding verses have been recovered since the 
 first edition of this work ; and I am informed by the 
 reciter, that it was usual to separate from the rest that 
 part of the ballad which foUows the death of the lovers, as 
 belonging to another story. For this, however, there 
 seems no necessity, as other authorities give the whole as 
 a complete tale." — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 Two different copies of this ballad have been published ; 
 the one by Sir Walter Scott, in "The Minstrelsy of tlie 
 Scottish Border," which is followed here, and the other 
 by Mr Jamieson, which, though of inferior beauty, is not 
 the less valuable, as illustrating the transmutations to 
 which traditionary song is ine\ntably subjected. To the 
 copy we have adopted, we were almost inclined to prefix 
 the following verses, which begin the copy preserved by 
 Mr Jamieson : — 
 
 " Clerk Saunders was an earl's son. 
 He lived upon sea sand ; 
 May Margaret was a king's daughter. 
 She lived in upper land. 
 
 " Clerk Saunders was an earl's son, 
 Weel learned at the schce) ; 
 May M:irfraret was a king's daughter, 
 They baith lo'ed ither weel." 
 
 Because they supply information as to the rank in society 
 respectively held by these ill-fated lovers, and by hinting 
 at the scholastic acquirements of Clerk Saunders, they 
 prepare us for the casuistry by which he seeks to recon- 
 cile May Margaret's conscience to a most Jesuitical oath. 
 — Motherwell.
 
 180 CLERK SAUNDEES. 
 
 Cleek Saundees and May Margaret, 
 Walked over yon garden green ; 
 
 And sad and heavy was the love 
 That fell thir twa between. 
 
 "A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said, 
 
 "A bed for you and me !" 
 "Fye, na, fye, na," said May Margaret, 
 
 " Till anes we married be. 
 
 " For in may come ray seven bauld brothers, 
 
 Wi' torches burning bright ; 
 They '11 say — ' We hae but ae sister, 
 
 And behold she's wi' a knight !'" 
 
 " Then take the sword frae my scabbard, 
 
 And slowly lift the pin ; 
 And you may swear, and save your aith, 
 
 Ye ne'er let Clerk Saunders in. 
 
 " And take a napkin in your hand, 
 
 And tie up baith your een ; 
 And ye may swear, and safe your aith. 
 
 Ye saw me na since late yestreen." 
 
 It was about the midnight hour, 
 
 When they asleep were laid, 
 When iu and cam her seven brothers, 
 
 Wi' torches burning red. 
 
 When in and cam her seven brothers, 
 
 Wi' torches shining bright ; 
 They said — " We hae but ae sister. 
 
 And behold her wi' a knight !"
 
 CLEEK SAUKDEES. 181 
 
 Then out and spake the first o' them, 
 
 " My sword shall gar him die !" 
 And out and spake the second o' them, 
 
 " His father has nae mair than he ! " 
 
 And out and spake the third o' them, 
 
 " I wot they 're lovers dear ! " 
 And out and spake the fourth o' them, 
 
 " They hae been in love this mony a year !" 
 
 Then out and spake the fifth o' them, 
 "'Twere sin true love to twain I" 
 
 And out and spake the sixth o' them, 
 "It were shame to slay a sleeping man!" 
 
 Then up and gat the seventh o' them. 
 
 And never a word spake he ; 
 But he has striped his bright brown brand. 
 
 Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye. 
 
 Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she 
 turned 
 
 Into his arms as asleep she lay ; 
 And sad and silent was the night 
 
 That was atween thir twae. 
 
 And they lay still and sleeped sound, 
 
 Till the day began to daw. 
 And kindly to him she did say, 
 
 " Its time, true love, you were awa." 
 
 But he lay still and sleeped sound, 
 Though the sun began to sheen ; 
 
 She looked atween her and the wa', 
 And dull and drowsie were his een.
 
 182 CLERK SATJNDEES. 
 
 Then in and came her father dear, 
 Said — " Let a' your mourning be ; 
 
 I '11 carry the dead corpse to the clay, 
 And I '11 come back and comfort thee." 
 
 " Comfort weel your seven sons, 
 
 For comforted will I never be ; 
 I ween 'twas neither knave nor lown 
 
 Was in the bower last night wi' me." 
 
 The clinking bell gaed through the town, 
 To carry the dead corpse to the clay ; 
 
 And Clerk Saunders stood at May Margaret's 
 window, 
 I wot, an hour before the day. 
 
 "Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says, 
 " Or are ye wauking presently ? 
 
 Give me my faith and troth again, 
 I wot, true love, I gave to thee." 
 
 " Your faith and troth ye sail never get. 
 Nor our true love sail never twin. 
 
 Until ye come within my bower, 
 And kiss me cheek and chin." 
 
 "My mouth it is full cold, Margaret, 
 It has the smell now of the ground ; 
 
 And if I kiss thy comely mouth. 
 Thy days of life will not be lang. 
 
 " cocks are crowing a merry midnight, 
 I wot, the wild-fowls are boding day ; 
 
 Give me my faith and troth again. 
 And let me fare u^'on my way."
 
 CLEEK SAUNDEES. 183 
 
 " Thy faith and troth thou sail na get, 
 And our true love sail never twin, 
 
 Until ye tell what comes of women, 
 I wat, who die in strong traiveUing." 
 
 " Their beds are made in the heavens high, 
 Down at the feet of our good Lord's knee, 
 
 Weel set about wi' gillyflowers, 
 I wot, sweet company for to see. 
 
 " cocks are crowing a merry midnight, 
 I wot, the wild-fowls are boding day ; 
 
 The psalms of heaven will soon be simg. 
 And I ere now will be missed away." 
 
 Then she has ta'en a crystal wand, 
 
 And she has stroken her troth thereon ; 
 
 She has given it him out at the shot window, 
 Wi' mony a sigh and heavy groan. 
 
 " I thank ye, Marg'ret ; I thank ye, Marg'ret ; 
 
 And aye I thank ye heartilie ; 
 Gin ever the dead come for the quick. 
 
 Be sure, Marg'ret, I '11 come for thee." 
 
 It 's hosen and shoon, and gown alone, 
 She climbed the wall and followed him. 
 
 Until she came to the green forest. 
 And there she lost the sight o' him. 
 
 " Is there ony room at your head, Saunders ? 
 
 Is there ony room at your feet ? 
 Or ony room at your side, Saunders, 
 
 Where fain, fain I would sleep?"
 
 184! WILLIE AND MAY MAEGAEET. 
 
 "There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret, 
 There 's nae room at my feet ; 
 
 My bed it is full lowly now : 
 
 Amang the hungry worms I sleep. 
 
 " Cauld mould is my covering now, 
 
 But and my winding sheet : 
 The dew it falls nae sooner down. 
 
 Than my resting place is weet. 
 
 " But plait a wand o' bonnie birk. 
 
 And lay it on my breast ; 
 And shed a tear upon my grave, 
 
 And wish my saul gude rest. 
 
 " And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret, 
 
 And Marg'ret o' veritie, 
 Gin ere ye love another man, 
 
 Ne'er love him as ye did me." 
 
 Then up and crew the milk-white cock. 
 
 And up and crew the gray ; 
 Her lover vanished in the air, 
 
 And she gaed weeping away. 
 
 WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET; 
 
 OE, THE TWO CEUEL MOTHEES. 
 
 Publislied in a complete state by Motlierwell, as pro- 
 cured by Mr Jamieson from Mrs Brown of Falkland, — a 
 lady to whom mucli of tbe traditionary jjoetry of Scotland 
 is indebted for preservation. Motherwell added several 
 stanzas in the appendix to his volume, and completed the 
 story ; which has since been adopted by Mr K. Chambers, 
 Mr P. Buchan, and Professor Aytoun. The additions, 
 with the exception of the opening stanza, have been pre-
 
 WILLIE AND MAY MAEGAEET. 185 
 
 sei^-^ed in the following ; though, as a work of art, the 
 fragment was more beautiful than the entire ballad. 
 
 " GiE corn to my horse, mither, 
 
 Gie meat unto my man ; 
 For I mami gang to Margaret's bower 
 
 Before the nicht comes on." 
 
 " 0, stay at hame, my son Willie ! 
 
 The wind blaws calcl and dour ; 
 The nicht will be baitli mirk and late 
 
 Before ye reach her bower." 
 
 "0, though the night were never sae dark, 
 Or the wind blew never sae cauld, 
 
 I will be in May Margaret's bower 
 Before twa hours be tauld." 
 
 " 0, gin ye gang to May IMargaret, 
 
 Without the leave of me, 
 Clyde's water 's wide and deep enough ; — 
 
 My malison drown thee ! " 
 
 He mounted on his coal-black steed, 
 
 And fast he rade awa' ; 
 But, ere he came to Clyde water, 
 
 Fu' loud the wind did blaw. 
 
 As he rode o'er yon high, high hill, 
 
 And down yon dowie den, 
 There was a roar in Clyde's water 
 
 Wad fear'd a hunder men. 
 
 His heart was warm, his pride was up ; 
 
 Sweet Willie kentna fear ; 
 But yet his mother's malison 
 
 Aye sounded in his ear.
 
 18G WILLIE AND MAY MAEGAEET. 
 
 0, he has swam through Clyde water 
 Though it was wide and deep ; 
 
 And he came to May Margaret's door 
 When a were fast asleep. 
 
 0, he 's gane round and round about, 
 
 And tirled at the piQ ; 
 But doors were steek'd, and windows barr'd, 
 
 And nane wad let him in. 
 
 " 0, open the door to me, Margaret — 
 
 0, open and let me in ! 
 For my boots are full o' Clyde's water, 
 
 And frozen to the brim." 
 
 " I darena open the door to you, 
 
 Nor darena let you in ; 
 For my mither she is fast asleep. 
 
 And I darena mak a din." 
 
 " 0, gin ye winna open the door. 
 
 Nor yet be kind to me, 
 Now tell me o' some out-chamber 
 
 Where I this nicht may be." 
 
 " Ye canna win in this nicht, WOlie, 
 
 Nor here ye canna be ; 
 For I Ve nae chambers out nor in, 
 
 Nae ane but barely three : 
 
 " The ta'en o' them is fu' o' corn, 
 
 The tither is fu' o' hay — 
 The tither is fu' o' merry young men ; 
 
 They winna remove till day."
 
 WILLIE AND MAY MAKGAEET. 187 
 
 " 0, fare ye weel, then, May Margaret, 
 
 Sin' better maunna be ; 
 I 've won my mother's malison. 
 
 Coming this nicht to thee." 
 
 He 's mounted on his coal-black steed — 
 
 0, but his heart was wae ! 
 But ere he came to Clyde water, 
 
 'Twas half up o'er the brae. 
 
 When he came to Clyde's water, 
 
 'Twas flowing ower the brim ; 
 The rushing that was in Clyde's water 
 
 Took Willie's cane frae him. 
 
 He leaned him ower his saddle bow. 
 
 To catch his cane again ; 
 The rushing that was in Clyde's water 
 
 Took Willie's hat frae him. 
 
 He leaned him ower his saddle bow, 
 
 To catch his hat by force ; 
 The rushing that was in Clyde's water 
 
 Took Willie frae his horse. 
 
 His brother stood upon the bank, 
 Says, " Fye, man, will ye drown ? 
 
 Ye '11 turn ye to your high horse head, 
 And learn ye how to soom." 
 
 " How can I turn to my high horse head, 
 
 And learn me how to soom ? 
 I 've gotten my mother's malison, 
 
 It 's here that I maun droon."
 
 188 WILLIE AND MAY MARGAEET. 
 
 The very hour the young man sank 
 
 Into the pot sae deep, 
 Up it waken'd her, May Marg'ret, 
 
 Out of her drowsy sleep. 
 
 " Come here, come hear, my mother dear. 
 And read this dreary dream ; 
 
 I dreamed my love was at our yetts, 
 And nane wuld let him in." 
 
 " Lye still, lye still now, May Marg'ret, 
 Lye still, and tak your rest, 
 
 Syn your true love was at your yetts, 
 Its but twa quarters past." 
 
 Nimbly, nimbly raise she up. 
 
 And nimbly put she on ; 
 And the higher that the lady cried, 
 
 The louder blew the win'. 
 
 The firsten step that she stepped. 
 
 She stepped to the cuit — * 
 " Ohon ! alas I" said that ladie, 
 
 " This water 's wondrous deep." 
 
 The neister step that she wade in 
 
 She waded till the knee, 
 Says she, " I would wade further in, 
 
 Gin I my love could see." 
 
 The neister step that she wade in 
 
 She waded to the chin ; 
 The deepest pot-f- in Clyde water 
 
 She got Sweet Willie in. 
 
 * "Cuit:" ankle. + "Pot:" hole.
 
 THE MAECHIONESS OF DOUGLAS. 189 
 
 " You 've had a cruel mother, Willie, 
 
 And I have had another ; 
 But we shall sleep in Clyde water. 
 
 Like sister and like brother." 
 
 THE MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS. 
 
 This ballad, evidently veiy imperfect and corrupt, was 
 inserted in the Appendix to Motherwell's volume, ^lnder 
 the title of Lord James Doufjlas. Mr Robert Chambers 
 calls it more appropriately The Marchioness of Douglas; 
 but his version differs considerably from that preserved 
 by Motherwell. Professor Aytoun has published a third 
 reading, from collation with ballads supplied to him in the 
 MS. collection of Mr Kinloch. Several of the stanzas, it 
 will be observed, are identical, or nearly so, with the 
 beautiful baUad of Wahj! Waly! published in Allan 
 RamLay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," — a ballad considered 
 the very flower and gem of Scottish traditionary and 
 popular poetry. It is extremely difficult to decide which 
 of the two is the original, and whether Walij ! Waly ! is 
 an abbreviation of The Marcldowss of Dow/las, or The 
 Marchioness of Douglas an expansion of Waly! Waly! 
 The story narrated in all these poems is that of Lady 
 Barbara Erskine, daughter of John, the ninth Earl of 
 Mar, and wife of James, second Marquis of Douglas. 
 "This lady," says Mr Robert Chambers, "was divorced, 
 or at least expelled from the society of her husband, iu 
 consequence of some malignant scandals which a former 
 and disappointed lover, Lowrie of Blackwood, was so base 
 as to insinuate into the ear of her husband. Wliat added 
 greatly to the distress of the case was, that she was con- 
 fined in childbed at the time when the i>lot t(Jok effect 
 against her. Her father, on hearing what had taken 
 place, came and conveyed her away. ... It must be 
 allowed to add greatly to the i)athetic interest of the 
 ballad that it refers, not, as hitherto supposed, to an 
 unfortunate amour, but to the more meritorious distresses
 
 190 THE MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS. 
 
 of wedded love." It is not recorded in history or bio- 
 graphy that the marquis and marchioness ever met again 
 after their separation ; and there is no warrant whatever 
 for the fate of the traitor Blackwood, recorded in the 
 ballad. 
 
 WALY, waly up the bank, 
 And waly, waly down the brae 
 
 And waly, waly by yon burn side, 
 Where me and my lord wont to gae. 
 
 Hey nonny, nonnie ! but love is bonnie, 
 A little while when it is new ; 
 
 But when it 's auld it grows mair cauld. 
 And fades away like the morning dew. 
 
 1 lean'd my back against an aik, 
 
 And thocht it was a trustie tree. 
 But first it bowed and syne it break. 
 
 And sae did my fause luve to me. 
 My mother tauld me when I was young, 
 
 That young man's love was iU to trow, 
 But until her I would give nae ear, 
 
 And alas ! my ain wand dings me now ! 
 
 wherefore need I busk my head ? 
 
 Or wherefore should I kaim my hair ? 
 For my good lord has me forsook, 
 
 And says he '11 never love me mair. 
 Gin I had wist or I had kist, 
 
 That love had been sae ill to win, 
 
 1 would hae lockt my heart wi' a key o' gowd, 
 
 And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. 
 
 An I had kent what I ken now, 
 I 'd never crost the water o' Tay, 
 
 But stayed still at Athole's gates. 
 
 He would have made me his lady gay.
 
 THE MAECHIONESS OF DOUGLAS. ]91 
 
 When lords and lairds cam to this toun, 
 
 And gentlemen o' high degree, 
 I took my yonng son in my arms, 
 
 And went to my chamber pleasantlie. 
 
 But when lords and lairds come through this 
 toun. 
 
 And gentlemen o' high degree, 
 I must sit alane intil the dark, 
 
 And the babie on the nurse's knee. 
 Awa, awa, thou fause Blackwood, 
 
 Aye, and an ill death may thou die ; 
 Thou wert the first and occasion last 
 
 Of partmg my gude lord and me. 
 
 When I lay sick, and very sick, 
 
 Sick I was and like to die, 
 A gentleman, a friend of mine, 
 
 He came on purpose to visit me ; 
 But Blackwood whispered in my lord's ear 
 
 He was ower lang in chamber with me, 
 When I was sick and very sick. 
 
 Sick I was and like to die. 
 
 I drew mc near to my stairhead, 
 
 And I heard my ain lord liclitly me ; 
 
 Come down, come down, Jamie Douglas, 
 And drink the orange wine with me, 
 
 I '11 set thee on a chair of gold, 
 And daut tliee kindly on my knee. 
 
 When sea and sand turn far inland, 
 
 And mussels grow on ilka tree ; 
 When cockle sliells turn siller bells, 
 
 I '11 drink the oran^je wine wi' thee.
 
 192 THE MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS, 
 
 What ails you at our youngest son, 
 That sits upon the nurse's knee ? 
 
 I 'ra sure he 's never done any harm. 
 An it 's not to his ain nurse and me. 
 
 ^Yhen my father came to hear 
 
 That my gay lord had forsaken me, 
 He sent five score of his soldiers bright 
 
 To take me safe to my ain countrie. 
 Up in the mornin' when I arose, 
 
 My bonnie palace for to lea', 
 I whispered in at my lord's window, 
 
 But the never a word he would answer me. 
 
 Fare ye weel, then, Jamie Douglas, 
 
 I need care as little as ye for me ; 
 The Earl of Mar is my father dear, 
 
 And I soon will see my ain countria 
 Ye thought that I was like yoursel, 
 
 And loving ilk ane I did see ; 
 But here I swear by the heavens clear, 
 
 I never loved a man but thee. 
 
 Slowly, slowly rose I up, 
 
 And slowly, slowly I cam down ; 
 And when he saw me sit in my coach, 
 
 He made his drums and trumpets sound. 
 When I into my coach was set, 
 
 My tenants all were with me tane ; 
 They set them down upon their knees, 
 
 And beoo-'d me to come back ag-ain. 
 
 or> 
 
 It 's fare ye weel, my bonnie palace. 
 And fare ye weel, my children three ; 
 
 God grant your father may get mair grace, 
 And love thee better than he has done me.
 
 THE MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS. 193 
 
 It 's fare ye weel, my servants all, 
 
 And you, my bonnie children three, 
 God grant your father grace to be kmd 
 
 Till I see you safe in my ain countrie. 
 But wae be to you, fause Blackwood, 
 
 Aye, and ill death may you die ; 
 Ye are the first, and I hope the last, 
 
 That put strife between my good lord and 
 me. 
 
 When I came in through Edinburgh town, 
 My loving father came to meet me. 
 
 With trumpets sounding on eveiy side ; 
 But it was no comfort at all to me. 
 
 For no mirth nor music sounds in my ear, 
 Since the Earl of Mar has forsaken me. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, my daughter dear, 
 
 And of your Aveeping, pray let be ; 
 For I '11 send to him a bill of divorce, 
 
 And I '11 get as good a lord to thee." 
 " Hold your tongue, my father dear. 
 
 And of yom- scoffing, pray let be ; 
 I would rather hae a kiss o' my ain lord's 
 mouth 
 
 Than all the lords in the north countrie." 
 
 When she came to her father's land, 
 
 The tenants a' cam out to see ; 
 Never a word she could speak to them, 
 
 But the buttons aff" her clothes did flee. 
 "The linnet is a bonnie bird, 
 
 And aften flees far frae its nest ; 
 So all the world may plainly see 
 
 They 're far awa that I love best ! " 
 N
 
 1 94 WALY, WALY, UP THE BANK. 
 
 She looked out at her father's window, 
 
 To take a view of the countrie ; 
 Wha did she see but Jamie Douglas, 
 
 And along with him her children 
 three. 
 There came a soldier to the gate. 
 
 And he did knock right hastilie : 
 " If Lady Douglas be withm, 
 
 Bid her come down and speak to me. 
 
 " come away, my lady fair, 
 
 Come away, now, alang with me ; 
 
 For I have hanged fause Blackwood 
 At the very place where he told the 
 lie." 
 
 WALY, WALY, UP THE BANK. 
 
 This ballad is f oimded upon, and mainly extracted from 
 the preceding. It bears upon it the marks of a master- 
 hand in popular poetry, and first appeared in Allan Ram- 
 say's "Tea-Table Miscellany" with the signature of "Z," 
 shewing that it was of an antiquity unknown to the 
 Editor. 
 
 0, WALY, waly up the bank, 
 
 And waly, waly down the brae. 
 And waly, waly you burnside. 
 
 Where I and my love wont to gae. 
 I leaned my back unto an aik, 
 
 An' thocht it was a trusty tree, 
 But first it bowed, and syne it brak, 
 
 Sae my true love did lichtly me.
 
 WALY, WALY, UP THE BANK. 195 
 
 waly, waly, but love is bonnie 
 
 A little time while it is new, 
 But when it 's auld it waxes cauld, 
 
 And fades away like morning dew. 
 wherefore should I busk my head, 
 
 Or wherefore should I kame my hail', 
 For my true love has me forsook, 
 
 And says he '11 never love me mair. 
 
 Now Arthur's Seat * shall be my bed, 
 
 The sheets shall ne'er be pressed f by 
 me, 
 St Anton's well shall be my drink. 
 
 Since my true love has forsaken me. 
 INIartinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw. 
 
 And shake the green leaves oflf the tree ! 
 gentle Death, when wilt thou come, 
 
 For of my life I am wearie ! 
 
 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 
 
 Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie, 
 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, 
 
 But my love's heart's grown cauld to 
 me. 
 When we came in by Glasgow toun 
 
 We were a comely sicht to see ; 
 My love was clad in the black velvet, 
 
 And I mysel in cramasie. 
 
 * Arthur's Seat, the iiicturesque and romantic hill 
 that overlooks Edinburgh, and forms part of the chase or 
 park which suiTounds the ancient palace of Holyrood. 
 St Antliony's well is a s-mall spring on the side of the hill, 
 which takes its name from a hermitage that it formerly 
 supplied with water. 
 
 f "Pressed:" filed or defiled in the original
 
 196 LADY MAEY ANN. 
 
 But had I wist before I kist 
 
 That love had been sae ill to win, 
 I 'd locked my heart in a case of gold, 
 
 And pinned it wi' a siller pin. 
 Oh, oh ! if my young babe were born, 
 
 And set upon the nurse's knee, 
 And I myself were dead and gane. 
 
 And the green grass growing over me !* 
 
 LADY MAEY ANN. 
 
 " I have extracted these beautiful stanzas from Johnson's 
 'Poetical Museum.' They are worthy of being better 
 known — a circumstance which may lead to a discovery of 
 the persons whom they celebrate." — Scottish Historical 
 and Romantic Ballads, vol. i. Edin. 1808. The stanza 
 are certainly beautiful, and it is probable they may refer 
 to some of the Dundonald family. The thrifty habits of 
 one lady of that noble house, at least, have already been 
 commemorated in some wretched stiiff, stiU preserved by 
 tradition in Paisley : — 
 
 " My lady Dundonald sits singing and spinniug, 
 Drawing a thread frae her tow rock ; 
 And it weel sets me for to wear a gude cloak. 
 And I span ilka thread o't mysel, so I did." 
 
 — Motherwell. 
 
 Lady Maey Ann looks o'er the castle wa', 
 She saw three bonnie boys playing at the ba', 
 The youngest he was the flower among them a'; 
 My bonnie laddie 's young, but he 's growin' yet. 
 
 * "For a maid again I'll never be : " 
 is the reading in AUan Eamsay's version ; but one less 
 pathetic, less beautifid, and less delicate than the line as 
 amended from the recitation of an " old nurse," and which 
 is now most commonly, and very properly, adopted.
 
 LADY MAEY ANN. 197 
 
 father, father, an' ye think it fit, 
 We '11 send him a year to the college yet ; 
 We '11 sew a green ribbon round about his hat, 
 And that will let them ken he 's to marry yet. 
 
 Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew, 
 Sweet was its smell, and bonnie was its hue. 
 And the langer it blossomed, the sweeter it grew ; 
 For the lily in the bud will be bonnier yet. 
 
 Young Charlie Cochran was the sprout of an aik, 
 Bonnie and blooming and straight was its make. 
 The sun took delight to shine for its sake ; 
 And it will be the brag o' the forest yet. 
 
 The summer is gane when the leaves they were 
 
 green, 
 And the days are awa' that we hae seen, 
 But far better days I trust will come again ; 
 For my bonnie laddie 's young, but he 's growin' 
 yet.
 
 198 JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK. 
 
 JOHN THOMSON AND THE TUEK. 
 
 Tliis curious ballad is of respectable antiquity. Dunbar 
 lias wi'itten a piece, entitled, Prayer that the King ivar 
 John Thomsoun^s man, the fourth line of eacli stanza 
 being, "God gif ye war Jobn Thomsoun, man !" In his 
 note on this poem, Mr Pinkerton says: "This is a pro- 
 verbial expression, meaning a henpecked husband. I 
 have little doubt but the original proverb was Joan Thom- 
 son's man ; man, in Scotland, signifies either husband or 
 servant." Pinkerton was ignorant of the existence of the 
 ballad : had he been acquainted with it, he would have 
 saved himself the trouble of writing a foolish conjecture. 
 Colville, in his Whigs' Supijlication, or the Scotch Hudibras, 
 alludes twice to John Thomson : — 
 
 "We read in gi-eatest warriors' lives, 
 They oft were ruled by tiieir wives, &c. 
 And 60 the imperious Roxalan 
 Made the great Turk Johne Thomson's man." 
 
 Affain — 
 
 " And these we ken, 
 
 Have ever been John Thomson's men, 
 That is still ruled by their wives." 
 
 Pennicuik, in his Linton Address to the Prince of Orange, 
 also alludes to the proverbial expression — 
 
 " Our Lintoun wives shall blaw the coal, 
 And women here, as weel we ken, 
 Would have us all John Thomson's men." 
 
 Two or three stanzas of the ballad were known to Dr 
 Leyden when he published his edition of the Complaynt of 
 Scotland. These he has given in the glossary appended 
 to that work. 
 
 In Kelly's Proverbs, London, 1721, there is this notice 
 of the pi-overb : "Better be John Thomson's man than 
 Ringan Dinn's or John Knox's ; " and Kelly gives this 
 gloss : "John Thomson's man is he that is complaisant 
 to his wife's humours ; Eingan Dinn's is he whom his 
 wife scolds ; John Knox's is he whom his vrde beats." In 
 the West Country, my friend, Mr A. Crawford, informs
 
 JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK. 109 
 
 me that wlien a company are sitting together sociably, and 
 a neighbour drops in, it is usual to welcome him thus — 
 "Come awa, we're a' John Tamson's bairns." — Mothee- 
 ■vnt;ll. 
 
 John Thomson fouoht ag-ainst the Tiu-ks 
 Three years, intil a far countrie ; 
 
 And all that time, and something mair, 
 Was absent from his gay ladie. 
 
 But it fell ance upon a time, 
 
 As this young chieftain sat alane, 
 
 He spied his lady in rich array. 
 As she walk'd ower a rural j)lain. 
 
 " What brought ye here, my lady gay, 
 So far awa from your ain countrie ? 
 
 T 've thought lang, and very lang, 
 And all for your fair face to see." 
 
 For some days she did with him bide. 
 
 Till it fell ance upon a day, 
 "Fareweel, for a time," she said, 
 
 " For now I must boun hame away." 
 
 He 's gi'en to her a jewel fine, 
 
 Was set wth j^earl and precious stane ; 
 Says, " My love, beware of these savages bold 
 
 That 's in your way as ye gang hame. 
 
 " Ye '11 tak the road, my lady fair, 
 That leads you fair across the lea : 
 
 That keeps you from wild Hind Soldan, 
 And likewise from base Violeutrie."
 
 200 JOHN THOMSON AND THE TUEK. 
 
 Wi' heavy heart thir twa did pairt, 
 She mintet as she wuld gae hame ; 
 
 Hind Soldan by the Greeks was slaiu, 
 But to base Violeutrie she 's gane. 
 
 When a twelvemonth had expired, 
 
 John Thomson he thought wondrous lang. 
 
 And he has written a braid letter, 
 And sealed it weel wi' his ain hand. 
 
 He sent it with a small vessel 
 
 That there was quickly gaun to sea ; 
 
 And sent it on to fair Scotland, 
 To see about his gay ladie. 
 
 But the answer he received again — 
 
 The lines did grieve his heart right sair : 
 
 Nane of her friends there had her seen, 
 For a twelvemonth and something mair. 
 
 Tlien he put on a Palmer's weed, 
 And took a pike-stafF in his hand ; 
 
 To Violentrie's castel he hied, 
 But slowly, slowly he did gang. 
 
 When witliin the hall he came, 
 
 He jooked and couch'd out ower his tree ; 
 " If ye be lady of this hall, 
 
 Some of your good bountith gie me." 
 
 "What news, what news. Palmer?" she said, 
 "And from what far countrie cam ye?" 
 
 " I 'm lately come from Grecian plains, 
 Where lies some of the Scots armie."
 
 JOHN THOMSON AND THE TUEK. 201 
 
 " If ye be come from Grecian plains, 
 Some mair news I will ask of thee — 
 
 Of one of the chieftains that lies there. 
 If he has lately seen his gay ladie." 
 
 " It is twa months and something mair. 
 Since we did pairt on yonder plain ; 
 
 And now this knight has began to fear 
 One of his foes he has her ta'en." 
 
 " He has not ta'en me by force nor slight, 
 
 It was a' by my ain free will ; 
 He may tarry into the fight, 
 
 For here I mean to tarry still. 
 
 " And if John Thomson ye do see. 
 Tell him I wish him silent sleej) ; 
 
 His head was not so coziely, 
 
 Nor yet sa weel as lies at my feet." 
 
 With that he threw aff his disguise. 
 Laid by the mask that he had on ; 
 
 Said, " Hide me now, my lady fair, 
 For Violentrie will soon be hame/' 
 
 " For the love I bore tliee ance, 
 
 I '11 strive to hide thee if I can." 
 Then she put him down in a dark cellar 
 
 Where there lay many a new-slahi man. 
 
 But he hadna in the cellar been. 
 
 Not an hour but barely three, 
 Than hideous was tlie noise he heard. 
 
 When in at the gate cam Violentrie.
 
 202 JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK. 
 
 Says, " I wisli you well, my lady fair, 
 It 's time for us to sit to dine ; 
 
 Come, serve me with the good white bread, 
 And likewise with the claret wine. 
 
 " That Scots chieftain, our mortal fae, 
 Sae aft frae field has made us flee. 
 
 Ten thousand zechins this day I '11 give 
 That I his face could only see." 
 
 " Of that same gift wuld ye give me — 
 I fairly hold you at your word — 
 
 If I wuld bring him unto thee ? 
 
 Come ben, John Thomson, to my lord." 
 
 Then from the vault John Thomson came, 
 Wringing his hands most piteouslie, 
 
 " What would ye do," the Turk he cried, 
 " If ye had me as I hae thee V 
 
 " If I had you as ye have me, 
 1 11 tell you what I 'd do to thee ; 
 
 I 'd hang you uj) in good green wood. 
 And cause your ain hand wale the tree. 
 
 " I meant to stick you with my knife 
 For kissing my beloved ladie." 
 
 " But that same weed ye 've shaped for me. 
 It quickly shall be sewed for thee." 
 
 Then to the wood they baith are gane ; 
 
 John Thomson clamb frae tree to tree ; 
 And aye he sighed and said, " Och hone. 
 
 Here comes the day that I must die."
 
 JOHN THOMSON AND THE TUEK. 203 
 
 He tied a ribbon on every branch, 
 Put up a flag his men might see ; 
 
 But little did his false faes ken 
 He meant them any injuiie. 
 
 He set Ms horn unto his mouth, 
 
 And he has blawn baith loud and shrUl : 
 
 And then three thousand armed men 
 Cam tripping all out ower the hill. 
 
 "Deliver us our chief," they all did cry; 
 
 " It 's by our hand that ye must die." 
 " Here is your chief," the Turk replied, 
 
 With that fell on his bended knee. 
 
 " mercy, mercy, good fellows all, 
 Mercy, I pray you'll grant to me ;" 
 
 " Such mercy as ye meant to give, 
 Such mercy we shall give to thee." 
 
 This Turk they in his castel burnt, 
 That stood upon yon hill so hie ; 
 
 John Thomson's gay ladie they took 
 And hanged her on the gi'eenwood tree !
 
 204 THE CEUEL MOTHEE. 
 
 THE CEUEL MOTHER 
 
 A small fragment of tMs ballad appeared in tlie intro- 
 ductory note to the ballad of Lady A nne, printed in ' ' The 
 Border Minstrelsj^, " vol. ii. Through the kindness of a 
 friend we are now enabled to give the ballad in a comjjlete 
 state. Like many other ancient pieces of a similar de- 
 scription, it has a burden of no meaning and much child- 
 ishness, the repetition of which, at the end of the first and 
 third lines of every stanza, has been omitted. The reader, 
 however, has a right to have the ballad as we received it, 
 and therefore he may, in the first of the places pointed 
 out, insert — 
 
 "Three, tbree, and three by three;" 
 
 and in the second — 
 
 " Three, three, and thirty-three ; " 
 which will give him it entire and unmutUated. — ^MoTHER- 
 
 She leaned her back unto a thorn, 
 And there she has her two babes born. 
 
 She took frae 'bout her ribbon-belt, 
 
 And there she bound them hand and foot. 
 
 She has ta'en out her wee penknife, 
 And there she ended baith their life. 
 
 She has howked a hole baith deep and wide, 
 She has put them in baith side by side. 
 
 She has covered them o'er wi' a marble stane. 
 Thinking she would gang maiden hame. 
 
 As she was walking by her father's castle wa', 
 She saw twa pretty babes playing at the ba'. 
 
 " bonnie babes, gin ye were mine, 
 I would dress you up in satin fine !
 
 THE FIEE OF FEENDEAUGHT. 205 
 
 " 0, I would dress you in the silk, 
 And wash you aye iu morning milk ! " 
 
 " cruel mother, we were thine, 
 And thou made us to wear the twine. 
 
 " cursed mother ! heaven 's high. 
 
 And that 's where thou will ne'er win nigh. 
 
 " cursed mother ! hell is deep. 
 And there thou '11 enter step by step." 
 
 THE FIRE OF FEENDEAUGHT, 
 
 For the recovery of tliis interesting ballad, hitherto 
 supposed to have been lost, the pubhc is indebted to the 
 industrious research of Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq., 
 of Edinburgh. It has already appeared in a small volume 
 of exceeding rarity, privately printed at Edinburgh, in 
 the beginning of 1824, under the title of A North C'oun- 
 trie Garland; but with the disadvantage of containing 
 a very considerable number of slight verbal and literal 
 inaccuracies, which in the present copy arc carefidly cor- 
 rected by collation with Mr Sharj)e's MS. The ballad 
 itself has a high degi-ee of poetic merit, and probably was 
 written at the time by an eye-witness of the event which 
 it records ; for there is a horrid vivacity of colouring and 
 circumstantial minuteness in the description of the agonies 
 of the unhappy sufferers which none but a spectator could 
 have given. 
 
 The giult or innocence of Frendraught and his Lady 
 has been, and, perhaps, will always be, problematical ; it 
 were but a fruitless waste of words now to seek to prove 
 the one or to establish the other. 
 
 Spalding, whom Gordon, in his "History of the Illus- 
 trious Family of Gordon," says, "lived not far from the 
 place, and had his account from ej'e-witncsses," minutely 
 details the circumstances on which the Ijallad is foxuided.
 
 206 THE FIEE OF FRENDEAUGHT. 
 
 The eighteentli of October, 
 
 A dismal tale to hear, 
 How good Lord John and Eothiemay 
 
 Were both burnt in the fire. 
 
 When steeds was saddled and well bridled, 
 
 And ready for to ride, 
 Then out came her and false Frendraught, 
 
 Inviting them to bide. 
 
 Said — " Stay this night until we sup. 
 
 The morn until we dine ; 
 'Twill be a token of good greement 
 
 "Twist your good Lord and mine." 
 
 "Well turn again," said good Lord John— 
 
 ""But no," said Eothiemay — 
 " My steed 's trapann'd, my bridle 's broke, 
 
 I fear the day I 'm fey." 
 
 When mass was sung, and bells was rung. 
 
 And all men bound for bed, 
 Then good Lord John and Eothiemay 
 
 In one chamber were laid. 
 
 They had not long cast oflF their cloaths. 
 
 And were but now asleep — 
 When the weary smoke began to rise, 
 
 Likewise the scorching heat. 
 
 " waken, waken, Eothiemay, 
 
 waken, brother dear, 
 And turn you to our Saviour — 
 
 There is strong treason here."
 
 THE FIEE OF FEENDEAUGHT. 207 
 
 When they were dressed in their cloatht. 
 
 And ready for to bonn ; 
 The doors and windows was all secured 
 
 The roof-tree burning down. 
 
 He did him to the wire-window 
 
 As fast as he could gang — 
 Says — " Wae to the hands put in the stancheons, 
 
 For out we '11 never win." 
 
 When he stood at the wire-window, 
 
 Most doleful to be seen, 
 He did esjDy her, Lady Frendraught, 
 
 Who stood upon the green. 
 
 Cried — " Mercy, mercy. Lady Frendraught, 
 
 Will ye not sink with sin ? 
 For first your husband killed my father, 
 
 And now you burn his son." 
 
 then out spoke her. Lady Frendraught, 
 
 And loudly did she cry — 
 "It were great ])ity for good Lord John, 
 
 But none for Eothiemay. 
 But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well, 
 
 Ye cannot get away."* 
 
 * Mr Finlay, after regretting that all his attempts to 
 recover this liallacl have proved uiisiicce.ssful, gives, in the 
 words of a correspondent, the following particulars re- 
 garding it, which we subjoin as illnstrative of the lines 
 ahove cited: — "A lady, a near relation of mine, lived 
 near the spot in her youth for some time, and remembers 
 liavin^' heard the old song mentioned by Ritson, l>nt can- 
 not rc'peat it. .She says there was a verse which stated, 
 that the lord and lady locked the door of the tower, and 
 Hung the keys into the draw-well, and that, many years 
 ago, when the well was cleared out, this tradition was
 
 208 THE FIEE OF FEENDEAUGHT. 
 
 While he stood in this dreadful plight, 
 
 Most piteous to be seen, 
 There called out his servant Gordon, 
 
 As he had frantic been. 
 
 " loup, loup, my dear master, 
 
 loup and come to me ; 
 I '11 catch you in my arms two, 
 
 One foot I will not flee. 
 
 " loup, loup, my dear master, 
 
 loup and come away, 
 
 I '11 catch you in my arms two, 
 But Eothiemay may lie. 
 
 " The fish shall never swim in the flood. 
 Nor corn grow through the clay, 
 
 Nor the fiercest fire that was ever kindled 
 Twin me and Eothiemay." 
 
 " 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. 
 
 corroborated by their finding the keys — at least such was 
 the report of the country."— Pre/ace to Scottish His- 
 torical and Romantic Ballads, p. xxi.
 
 THE FIEE OF FEENDKAIJGHT. 209 
 
 " So I cannot loup, I cannot come, 
 
 I cannot loup to thee — 
 My earthly part is all consumed, 
 
 My spirit but speaks to thee." 
 
 Wringing her hands, tearing her hair, 
 
 His Lady she was seen, 
 And thus addressed his servant Gordon, 
 
 Where he stood on the green : 
 
 " wae be to you, George Gordon, 
 
 An ill death may you die, 
 So safe and sound as you stand there, 
 
 And my Lord bereaved from me." 
 
 " I bade him loup, I bade him come, 
 
 I bade him loup to me, 
 I 'd catch him in my arms two, 
 
 A foot I should not flee. 
 
 " He threw me the rings from his white fingers, 
 
 Which were so long and small, 
 To give to you his Lady fair. 
 
 Where you sat in your halL" 
 
 Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay, 
 
 bonnie Soj)hia was her name — 
 
 Her waiting maids put on her clothes, 
 But I wat she tore them off again. 
 
 And aft she cried, " Ohon ! alas ! 
 
 A sair heart 's ill to win ; 
 I wan a sair heart when I married liim, 
 
 And the day it 's well returu'd again." 
 o
 
 210 LORD INGRAM AND CHIEL WYET. 
 
 LORD INGRAM AND CHIEL WYET. 
 
 This beautiful ballad, which ajjpeared in the "North 
 Countrie Garland " before referred to, was kindly commu- 
 nicated to us by the same gentleman, who, from the cir- 
 cumstance of its retaining the word "bonheur," conjec- 
 tures that it may probably have had a French original. 
 A ballad on a similar subject, and indeed nothing else than 
 a diSerent copy of the present, has been published by Mr 
 Jamieson, in the second volume of his ballads, from Mr 
 Herd's MSS. Mr Jamieson's copy, however, wants the 
 catastrophe, — a deficiency supplied by the present copy. 
 — Motherwell. 
 
 Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet 
 Were baith born in one bower ; 
 
 Laid baith their hearts on one Lady, 
 The less was their bonheur. 
 
 Chiel Wyet and Lord Ingram 
 
 Were baith born in one hall ; 
 Laid baith their hearts on one Lady, 
 
 The Avorse did them befall. 
 
 Lord Ingram woo'd her, Lady Maisry, 
 Erom father and from mother ; 
 
 Lord Ingram woo'd her, Lady Maisry, 
 Erom sister and from brother. 
 
 Lord Ingram woo'd her, Lady Maisry, 
 
 With leave of a' her kin ; 
 And every one gave full consent. 
 
 But she said No to him. 
 
 Lord Ingram woo'd her, Lady Maisry, 
 
 Into her father's ha' ; 
 Chiel Wyet woo'd her, Lady Maisry, 
 
 Amang the sheets so sma'.
 
 LOED INGEAJNI AND CHIEL "ftTET. 211 
 
 Now it fell out upon a day, 
 
 She was dressing her head, 
 That ben did come her father dear, 
 
 Wearing the gold so red. 
 
 He said — " Get up now, Lady Maisry, 
 
 Put on your wedding gown — 
 For Lord Ingram he will be here, 
 
 Your wedding must be done." 
 
 " I 'd rather be Chiel Wyet's wife. 
 
 The white fish for to kill, 
 Before I were Lord Ingram's wife, 
 
 To wear the sUk so well 
 
 " I 'd rather be Chiel Wyet's wife. 
 
 With him to beg ray bread. 
 Before I were Lord Ingram's wife. 
 
 To wear the gold so red. 
 
 " Where will I get a bonnie boy. 
 
 Will win gold to his fee, 
 And will run unto Chiel Wyet's 
 
 With this letter from me ? " 
 
 " here I am," the boy says, 
 " And will win gold to my fee. 
 
 And carry away any letter 
 To Chiel Wyet from thee." 
 
 And when he found the bridges broke. 
 
 He bent his bow and swam ; 
 And when he found the grass growing, 
 
 He hastened and he ran. 
 
 And when he came to Chiel Wyet's castle, 
 He did not knock nor call,
 
 212 LORD INGRAM AND CHIEL W YET. 
 
 But set his bent bow to his breast, 
 
 And lightly leaped the wall ; 
 And ere the porter open'd the gate, 
 
 The boy was in the hall. 
 
 The first line that he looked on, 
 
 A grieved man was he — 
 The next line that he looked on, 
 
 The tear blinded his ee — 
 Says — " I wonder what ails my one brother, 
 
 He '11 not let my love be ! 
 
 " But I '11 send to my brother's bridal, 
 
 The reckon shall be mine. 
 Pull four and twenty buck and roe, 
 
 And ten tun of the wine, 
 And bid my love be blythe and glad. 
 
 And I will foUow syne." 
 
 There was not a groom about that castle. 
 
 But got a coat of green, 
 And all was blythe, and all was glad, 
 
 But Lady Maisry she was neen. 
 
 There was no cook about that kitchen. 
 
 But got a gown of gray ; 
 And all was blythe and all was glad. 
 
 But Lady Maisry was wae. 
 
 Between Mary kirk and that castle 
 Was all spread ower vsath garl,* 
 
 To keep Lady Maisry and her maidens 
 From tramping on the marl. 
 
 * "Garl:" so -written in Mr Sharpe's MS. , and probably 
 an abbreviated mode of pronouncing tlie word "gravel."
 
 LOED INGEAM AND CHIEL WYET. 21 3 
 
 Between Mary kirk and that castle 
 
 Was spread a cloth of gold, 
 To keep Lady Maisry and her maidens 
 
 From treading on the mould. 
 
 When mass was sung and bells were rung, 
 
 And all men bound for bed ; 
 Then Lord Ligram and Lady Maisry 
 
 In one bed they were laid. 
 
 When they were laid into their bed, 
 
 It was baith saft and warm ; 
 He laid his hand over her side, 
 
 Says — " I think you are with bairn ! " 
 
 " I told you once, so did I twice. 
 When ye came me to be my wooer, 
 
 That Chiel Wyet, your only brother, 
 One night lay in my bower. 
 
 " I told you twice, I told you thrice, 
 
 Ere ye came me to wed, 
 That Chiel Wyet, your one brother. 
 
 One night lay in my bed." 
 
 " will you father your bairn on me, 
 
 And on no other man ? 
 And I '11 give him to his dowry 
 
 Full fifty ploughs of land." 
 
 " I will not father my bairn on you, 
 
 Nor on no wrongous man. 
 Though ye would give him to his dowry 
 
 Five thousand ploughs of land''
 
 214 LORD INGEAM AND CHIEL WYET. 
 
 Then up did stand hiin Chiel Wyet, 
 
 Shed by his yellow hair, 
 And gave Lord Ingram to the heart 
 
 A deep wound and a sair. 
 
 Then up did start him Lord Ingram, 
 
 Shed up his yellow hair, 
 And gave Chiel Wyet to the heart, 
 
 A deep wound and a sair. 
 
 There was no pity for thae twa lords. 
 Where they were lying slain ; 
 
 But all was for her. Lady Maisry, 
 In that bower she gaed brain.* 
 
 There was no pity for thae twa lords. 
 When they were lying dead ; 
 
 But all was for her, Lady Maisry, 
 In that bower she went mad. 
 
 Said — " Get to me a cloak of cloth, 
 
 A staff of good hard tree ; 
 If I have been an evil woman, 
 
 I shall beg till I dee. 
 
 " For a bit I '11 beg for Chiel Wyet, 
 For Lord Ingram 1 11 beg three ; 
 
 All for the good and honourable marriage 
 At Mary kirk he gave me." 
 
 * "Brain:" frantic
 
 THE DOUGLAS TEAGEDY. 21; 
 
 THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. 
 
 " The ballad of The Douglas Tragedy is one of the few 
 to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality. 
 The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have 
 been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the 
 remains of a veiy ancient tower, adjacent to the farm- 
 house, in a wUd solitary glen, upon a torrent named 
 Douglas Bum, which joins the Yarrow after passing a 
 craggy rock called the Douglas Craig. From this ancient 
 tower Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her 
 lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighbouring 
 heights of Blackhouse, are shewn as marking the spot 
 where the seven brothers were slain ; and the Douglas 
 Burn is averred to have been the stream at which the 
 lovers stopped to drink : so minute is tradition in ascer- 
 taining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the 
 rude state of former times, had probably foundation in 
 some real event." — Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. 
 
 The copy here followed is that given in the work from 
 which the above extract has been taken. Any recited 
 copy that we have heard has been incomplete, wanting 
 not only the circumstance of the lovers halting at the 
 stream, but likewise that of their death and burial. Our 
 copy supplies these unimportant variations. 
 
 He has lookit over his left shoulder, 
 
 And through his bonnie bridle rein, 
 And he spy'd her father and her seven bold brethren, 
 
 Come riding down the glen. 
 
 "0 hold my horse. Lady Marg'ret," he said, 
 " hold my horse by the bonnie bridle rein, 
 
 TiU I fight your father and seven bold brethren, 
 As they come riding down the glen." 
 
 Some time she rade, and some time she gaed. 
 
 Till she that place did near ; 
 And there she spy'd her seven bold bretlu-en slain, 
 
 And her father who loved her so dear. 
 
 "0 hold your hand, sweet William," she said, 
 "Your bull baits are wondrous sair ; 
 
 Sweethearts I may get many a one, 
 But a father I will never get mair."
 
 216 THE DOUGLAS TEAGEDY, 
 
 She has taken a napkin from off her neck, 
 
 That was of the cambrick so fine, 
 And aye as she wiped her father's bloody wounds, 
 
 The blood ran red as the wine. 
 
 Two stanzas are here omitted, in which Lord William 
 offers her the choice of returning to her mother, or of 
 accompanying him ; and the ballad concludes with this 
 stanza, which is twice repeated in singing : — 
 
 He set her upon the milk-white steed, 
 
 Himself upon the brown ; 
 He took a horn out of his pocket. 
 
 And they both went weeping along. 
 — Motherwell. 
 
 " EiSE np, rise up, now, Lord Dou,2;las/' she says, 
 " And put on your armour so bright ; 
 
 Let it never be said that a daughter of thine 
 Was married to a lord under night. 
 
 " Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, 
 And put on your armour so bright ; 
 
 And take better care of your youngest sister, 
 For your eldest 's awa' the last night." 
 
 He 's mounted her on a milk-white steed, 
 
 And himself on a dapple gray. 
 With a bugelet horn hung down by his side. 
 
 And lightly they rode away. 
 
 Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder, 
 
 To see what he could see ; 
 
 And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold, 
 
 Come riding over the lee. 
 
 « 
 
 " Light down, light down. Lady Marg ret," he said, 
 " And hold my steed in your hand. 
 
 Until that against your seven brethren bold 
 And your father I make a stand."
 
 THE DOUGLAS TEAGEDY, 237 
 
 She held his steed in her milk-white hand, 
 
 And never shed one tear, 
 Until that she saw her seven brethren fa', 
 
 And her father hard fighting, who loved her so 
 dear. 
 
 " hold your hand, Lord William !" she said, 
 " For your strokes they are wondrous sair ; 
 
 True lovers I can get many a ane, 
 But a father I can never get mair/' 
 
 she 's ta'en out her handkerchief. 
 
 It was o' the holland sae fine. 
 And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds. 
 
 That were redder than the wine. 
 
 " chuse, chuse. Lady Marg'ret," he said, 
 " whether will ye gang or bide ?" 
 
 " I '11 gang, I '11 gang. Lord William," she said, 
 " For ye have left me no other guide." 
 
 lie 's lifted her on a milk-white steed. 
 
 And himself on a dapple gray, 
 With a bugelet horn hung down by his side. 
 
 And slowly they baith rade away. 
 
 they rade on, and on they rade. 
 
 And a' by the light of the moon, 
 Until they came to yon wan water. 
 
 And there they lighted down. 
 
 They lighted down to tak a drink 
 
 Of the spring that ran so clear ; 
 And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood, 
 
 And sair she 'gan to fear.
 
 218 THE DOUGLAS TEAGEDY. 
 
 " Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says, 
 
 "For I fear that you are slain !" 
 " 'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, 
 
 That shines in the water sae plain." 
 
 they rade on, and on they rade, 
 
 And a' by the light of the moon, 
 Until they came to his mother's ha' door, 
 
 And there they lighted down. 
 
 " Get up, get up, Lady Mother," he says, 
 
 " Get up and let me in ! — 
 Get up, get up. Lady Mother," he says, 
 
 " For this night my fair Lady I 've win. 
 
 " mak my bed. Lady Mother," he says, 
 
 " mak it braid and deep ! 
 And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back, 
 
 And the sounder I will sleep." 
 
 Lord William was dead lang ere midnight. 
 
 Lady Marg'ret lang ere day — 
 And all true lovers that go thegither, 
 
 May they have mair luck than they ! 
 
 Lord William was buried in St Marie's kirk,* 
 
 Lady Marg'ret in Marie's quire ; 
 Out o' the Lady's grave grew a bonnie red rose. 
 
 And out o' the Knight's a brier. 
 
 * This passage has been imitated in the well-known 
 English baUad of Lord Lovel : — 
 
 ' ' Lady Nancy was laid in St Pancras' church. 
 Lord Lovel was laid in the choir; 
 And out of her bosom there grew a red rose, 
 And out of her lover's a brier, brier. 
 And out of her lover's a brier. 
 
 " They grew, and they grew, to the church steeple, too. 
 And then they could grow no higher; 
 So there they entwined in a true lover's knot. 
 For all lovers true to admire-mire, 
 For all lovers true to admire."
 
 WILLIAM AND MAEJOEIE. 219 
 
 And they twa met, and they twa plat, 
 
 And fain they wad be near ; 
 And a' the warld might ken right wee] 
 
 They were twa lovers dear. 
 
 But by and rade the Black Douglas, 
 
 And wow but he was rough ! 
 Por he pulled up the bonnie brier, 
 
 And flanjr 't in St Marie's Loch. 
 
 WILLIAM AND MAEJOEIE. 
 
 This ballad appears in Motherwell's Collection, without 
 note or comment ; and is quoted, but not annotated, by 
 more recent editors. 
 
 Lady Maejoeie, Lady Marjorie 
 
 Sat sewing her silken seam, 
 And by her came a pale, pale ghost 
 
 Wi' mony a sigh and mane. 
 
 "Arc ye my father the king?" she says, 
 
 " Or ye my brither John ? 
 Or are ye my true love, sweet William, 
 
 From England newly come ? " 
 
 " I 'm not your father the king," he says, 
 " No, no, nor your brither John ; 
 
 But I 'm your true love, sweet William, 
 From England that 's newly come." 
 
 " Have ye brought me any scarlets sae red ? 
 
 Or any of the silks sae fine ? 
 Or have ye brought me any precious things 
 
 That merchants have to tine?"
 
 220 WILLIAM AND MAEJOEIE. 
 
 " I have not brought you any scarlets sae red, 
 
 No, no, nor the silks sae fine ; 
 But I have brought you my winding-sheet 
 
 Ower many a rock and hill, 
 
 " Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie ! 
 
 For faith and charitie, 
 Will ye gie to me my faith and troth 
 
 That I gave once to thee ? " 
 
 " your faith and troth I '11 not gie to thee. 
 
 No, no, that will not I, 
 Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips, 
 
 And in my arms you lye." 
 
 " My lips they are sae bitter," he says — 
 
 " My breath it is sae Strang ; 
 If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips, 
 
 Your days will not be lang. 
 
 " The cocks are crawing, Marjorie," he says — 
 
 " The cocks are crawing again ; 
 It 's time the Dead should part the Quick — 
 
 Marjorie, I must be gane." 
 
 She followed him high, — she followed him low, 
 Till she came to yon churchyard green ; 
 
 And there the deep grave opened up. 
 And young WiUiam he lay down. 
 
 " What three things are these, sweet William," 
 she says, 
 
 " That stand here at your head ? " 
 '' it 's three maidens, Marjorie," he says, 
 
 " That I promised once to wed,"
 
 THE WATEE O' WEAEIE'S WELL. 221 
 
 " What three things are these, sweet William," 
 she says, 
 
 " That stand close at your side ? " 
 " it 's three babes, Marjorie," he says, 
 
 " That these three maidens had." 
 
 "What three things are these, sweet William," 
 she says, 
 
 " That lye close at your feet ? " 
 " it 's three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says, 
 
 " That 's waiting my soul to keep." 
 
 she took up her white, white hand. 
 And she struck him on the breast ; 
 
 Saying — " Have there again your faith and troth, 
 And I wish your saul gude rest." 
 
 THE WATER 0' WEAPJE'S WELL. 
 
 A similar story is narrated in the English ballad of T/ie 
 Outlandish Kniqht, in May C'olvin, or False Sir John; and 
 in several Danish and Gorman ballads, with variations of 
 the catastrophe. Carlton Castle, on the coast of Carrick, 
 in Ayrshire, is pointed out as the residence of the false 
 knight, and Gameslouji, a high rock overlooking the sea, 
 "as the place where he was in the habit of dro^vning his 
 wives." The heroine of the ballad is said to have been a 
 member of the family of Kennedy, Earls of Cassilis. Mr 
 Dixon, in his Scottish Ballads, published for the Percy So- 
 ciety, transfers the scene to Balwearie Castle, in Fifeshire. 
 
 There cam' a bird out o' a bush. 
 
 On water for to dine ; 
 An' siching saif, says the king's dochter, 
 
 " wae 's this heart o' mine."
 
 222 THE WATER O' WEARIE S WELL. 
 
 He 's ta'en a harp into his hand, 
 He 's harpit them a' asleep ; 
 
 Except it was the king's dochter, 
 Wha ae wink couldua get. 
 
 He 's loupen on his berry-brown steed, 
 
 Ta'en her behin' himsel ; 
 Then baith rade doun to that water 
 
 That they ca' Wearie's Well. 
 
 " Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair. 
 No harm shall thee befall ; 
 
 Oft times hae I watered my steed 
 Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well." 
 
 The first step that she steppit in. 
 
 She steppit to the knee ; 
 And, sichin', says this ladye fair, 
 
 " This water 's nae for me." 
 
 " Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair. 
 No harm shall thee befall ; 
 
 Oft times hae I watered my steed 
 Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well." 
 
 The next step that she steppit in, 
 She steppit to the middle ; 
 
 0, sichin', says this ladye fair, 
 " I 've wat my gowden girdle." 
 
 " Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair, 
 No harm shall thee befall ; 
 
 Oft times hae I watered ray steed 
 Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."
 
 THE WATER O' WEAEIE's "WELL. 223 
 
 The next step that she steppit in, 
 
 She steppit to the chin ; 
 0, sichin', says this ladye fair, 
 
 " They sud gar twa luves twin." 
 
 " Seven king's dochters I 've drouned there, 
 
 r the water o' Wearie's Well ; 
 An' 1 11 mak ye the eighth o' them, 
 
 An' ring the common bell." 
 
 " Sin' I am standin' here," she says, 
 
 " This dowie death to dee ; 
 One kiss o' your comelie mouth 
 
 I'm sure would comfort me." 
 
 He louted him o'er his saddle bow, 
 
 To kiss her cheek an' chin ; 
 She 's ta'en him in her arms twa, 
 
 An' thrown him headlong in. 
 
 " Sin' seven king's daughters ye 've drounfed 
 there, 
 
 I' the water o' Wearie's Well, 
 I '11 mak ye the bridegroom to them a', 
 
 An' ring the bell mysel." 
 
 An' aye she warsled, and aye she swam, 
 
 An' she swam to dry Ian' ; 
 An' thankit God most cheerfullie, 
 
 For the dangers she o'ercam.
 
 224 THE BKOOM BLOOMS BONNIE. 
 
 THE BEOOM BLOOMS BONNIE AND 
 SAYS IT IS EAIE. 
 
 The revolting nature of the subject of this ballad might, 
 in the opinion of many readers, have been a sufficient 
 reason for withholding its publication ; but as tales of this 
 kind abound in the traditionary poetry of Scotland, a 
 collection like the present woidd have been incomplete 
 without at least one solitary specimen. In its details, too, 
 the Editor conceives it to be less abhorrent than either the 
 baUad of Lizie Wan,* or that of Tlie Bonmj Hyndjf he 
 also preferred it to the fracimeut of another ballad, on a 
 similar subject, which, like the present, he obtained from 
 recitation. The fragment begins thus : — 
 
 ' ' Lady Margaret sits in her bo w window, 
 
 Sewing her silken seam; 
 She dropt her thimble at her toe. 
 
 Her scissars at her heel. 
 And she 's awa to the merry green wood. 
 
 To see the leaves grow green ; " 
 
 and in its principal features bear a strong resemblance to 
 The Bonny Hynd. 
 
 With the exception of three verses, which appeared in 
 Johnson's "Musical Museum," vol. v. p. 474, under the 
 title of The broom blooms boymy, the broom blooms fair, 
 the present baUad is for the first time printed. It is evi- 
 dently a composition of considerable antiquity ; and, in 
 poetical merit, it may stand a comparison with either of 
 the ballads above referred to. The alternate lines — 
 
 The broom blooms bonnie and sai/s it is fair. 
 
 And we'll never gang down to the broom onie mair. 
 
 are repeated in each stanza. — Motherwell. 
 
 It is talked, it is talked, the warld all over, 
 
 The hroom blooms bonnie and says it is fair, 
 That the king's dochter gaes wi' child to her 
 brother, 
 And we 'II never gang doivn to the broom onie 
 mair. 
 
 * Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, 
 &c., Edin. 1770, vol. i. p. 98. 
 
 t Border Minstrelsy, fifth edition, vol. iii. p. 102.
 
 THE BEOOM BLOOMS BONNIE. 225 
 
 He 's ta'en his sister down to her father's deer 
 
 park, 
 Wi' his yew tree bow and arrows fast shmg at 
 
 his back 
 
 " when that ye hear me gie a loud, loud cry. 
 Shoot an arrow frae thy bow, and there let me lye. 
 
 " And when that ye see I am lying cauld and 
 
 dead. 
 Then ye 11 put me in a grave wi' a tuif at my 
 
 head." 
 
 Xow when he heard her gie a loud, loud cry, 
 His silver arrow frae his bow he suddenly let fly. 
 
 He has houkit a grave that was laug and was 
 
 deep. 
 And he has buried his sister wi' her baby at her 
 
 feet. 
 
 And when he came hame to his father's court ha', 
 There was music and minstrels and dancing 
 'mang them a'. 
 
 " WilKe ! Willie ! what makes thee in pain ?" 
 " I have lost a sheath and knife that I '11 never 
 see again." 
 
 " There are ships o' your father's sailing on the sea, 
 Tliat will bring as good a sheath and a kuife unto 
 thee." 
 
 " There are ships o' my father's sailing on the sea, 
 But sic a sheath and knife they can never bring- 
 to me ! " 
 
 P
 
 226 YOUNG JOHNSTONE. 
 
 YOUNG JOHNSTONE. 
 
 For the first complete copy of tliis ballad the public is 
 indebted to Mr Finlay of Glasgow, in whose collection it 
 appeared, prefaced with the follomng notice : — "A frag- 
 ment of this fine old ballad has been repeatedly published, 
 under the title of The Gruel Knight. The present edition 
 has been completed from two recited copies. Young 
 Johnstone's reason for being ' sae late a coming in ' has 
 been suppressed, as well as a concluding stanza of inferior 
 merit, in which the catastrophe is described in a manner 
 quite satisfactory, but not very poetical." 
 
 The i^resent copy of this excellent ballad was obtained 
 from recitation ; for a few verbal emendations recourse 
 has been had to Mr Finlay's cojjy ; but those parts which 
 that gentleman's taste led him to reject, the Editor of this 
 compilation did not conceive himself warranted to sup- 
 press. Refinement in matters of taste may- be carried to 
 a pernicious extreme ; and, in an editor of ancient poetry, 
 too much dehcacy in this respect may oftentimes be a 
 very questionable virtue. 
 
 The reciters of old ballads frequently supply the best 
 commentaries upon them, when any obscurity or want of 
 connexion appears in the poetical narrative. This ballad, 
 as it stands, throws no light on young Johnstone's motive 
 for stabbing his lady ; but the person from whose lips it 
 was taken down alleged that the barbarous act was com- 
 mitted unwittingly, through yoixng Johnstone's suddenly 
 waking from sleep, and in that moment of confusion and 
 alarm vmhappdy mistaking his mistress for one of his 
 pursuers. It is not improbable but the ballad may have 
 had at one time a stanza to the above effect, the substance 
 of which is still remembered, though the words in which 
 it was couched have been forgotten. At all events, it is 
 a more likely inference than that which Mr Gilchi-ist has 
 chosen to draw from the premises. See a "Collection of 
 Ancient and Modern Scottish Ballads, Tales, and Songs, 
 Avith Explanatory Notes and ObserA'ations, by John Gil- 
 christ," vol. i, p. 185, Edm. 1S15. — Mothekwell.
 
 YOUNG JOHNSTONE. 227 
 
 Young Johnstone and the young Col'nel 
 
 Sat drinking at the wine ; 
 " gin ye wad marry my sister, 
 
 It 's I wad marry thine." 
 
 " I wadna marry your sister, 
 
 For a' your houses and land ; 
 But I '11 keep her for my leman, 
 
 When I come o'er the strand. 
 
 " I wadna marry your sister, 
 
 For a' your gowd and fee ; 
 But I '11 keep her for my leman, 
 
 When I come o'er the sea." 
 
 Young Johnstone had a nut-brown sword, 
 
 Hung low down by his gair, 
 And he ritted* it through the young Col'nel, 
 
 That word he ne'er sjmk mair. 
 
 But he 's awa' to his sister's bower, 
 
 He 's tirlcd at the pin ; 
 " Wliare hae ye been, my dear brither, 
 
 Sae late a coming in ? 
 
 " I 've dreamed a dream this night," she says, 
 
 " I wish it may be for good ; 
 They were seeking you with hawks and hounds, 
 
 And the young Cornel was dead." 
 
 * "Ritted:" tlirust violently. In Sir TrMre.m it ia 
 iisecl simply to cut. Vide Fytte I. Stanza xliv. In the 
 copy obtained by the Editor, the word "ritted" did not 
 occur; instead of which the word "stabljcd" was used. 
 The "nut-brown sword" was also changed into "a little 
 small sword."
 
 228 YOUNG JOHNSTONE, 
 
 " Hawks and hounds they may seek me, 
 
 As I trow well they be ; 
 For I have killed the young Col'nel, 
 
 And thy true love w^as he." 
 
 " If ye hae killed the young Col'nel, 
 
 dule and wae is me ; 
 But I wish ye may be hanged on a hie 
 gallows, 
 
 Aiid hae nae power to flee." 
 
 And he 's awa' to his true love's bower, 
 
 He 's tirled at the pin ; 
 " Whar hae ye been, my dear Johnstone, 
 
 Sae late a coming in ? 
 
 " I have dreamed a dreary dream," she says, 
 
 " I wish it may be for good ; 
 They were seeking you with hawks and hounds, 
 
 And the young Cornel was dead." 
 
 " Hawks and hounds they may seek me, 
 
 As I trow well they be ; 
 For I hae killed the young Col'nel, 
 
 And thy ae brother was he." 
 
 " If ye hae killed the young Col'nel, 
 
 dule and wae is me ; 
 But I care the less for the young Col'nel, 
 
 If thy ain body be free. 
 
 " Come in, come in, my dear Johnstone, 
 
 Come in and take a sleep ; 
 And I will go to my casement, 
 
 And carefully 1 11 thee keep."
 
 YOUNG JOHNSTONE, 229 
 
 He hadna weel got up the stair, 
 
 And entered in her bower, 
 WTien four and twenty belted knights 
 
 Came riding to the door. 
 
 " did you see a bloody squire, 
 
 A bloody squire was he ; 
 did you see a bloody squire 
 
 Come riding o'er the lea 1 " 
 
 " What colour were his hawks ? " she says, 
 
 " What colour were his hounds ? 
 What colour was the gallant steed 
 
 That bore him from the bounds ? " 
 
 " Bloody, bloody were his hawks. 
 
 And bloody were his hounds ; 
 And milk-white was the gallant steed 
 
 That bore him from the bounds." 
 
 " Yes, bloody, bloody were his hawks. 
 
 And bloody were his hounds ; 
 And milk-white was the gallant steed 
 
 That bore him from the bounds. 
 
 " But light ye down now, gentlemen. 
 And take some bread and wine ; 
 
 An the steed be good he rides upon. 
 He 's past the brig o' Lyne." 
 
 "We thank you for your bread. Lady, 
 
 We thank you for your wine ; 
 But I wad gie thrice tliree thousand pound, 
 
 That bloody knight was ta'cn."
 
 230 YOUNG JOHNSTONE. 
 
 " Lie still, lie still, my dear Johnstone, 
 
 Lie still and take a sleep ; 
 For thy enemies are past and gone, 
 
 And carefully I will thee keep." * 
 
 But young Johnstone had a little wee sword, 
 
 Hung low down by his gair, 
 And he stabbed it in fair Annet's breast, 
 
 A deep wound and a sair. 
 
 " What aileth thee now, dear Johnstone ? 
 
 What aileth thee at me ? 
 Hast thou not got my father's gold 
 
 Bot and my mither's fee?" 
 
 " Now live, now live, my dear Ladye, 
 
 Now live but half an hour ; 
 And there 's no a leech in a' Scotland 
 
 But shall be in thy bower." 
 
 " How can I live, how shall I live ? 
 
 Young Johnstone, do not you see 
 The red, red drops o' my bonnie heart's blood 
 
 Rin trickling down my knee ? 
 
 " But take thy harp into thy hand. 
 
 And harp out owre yon plain. 
 And ne'er think mair on thy true love, 
 
 Than if she had never been." 
 
 He hadna weel been out o' the stable, 
 
 And on his saddle set. 
 Till four and twenty broad arrows 
 
 Were thrilling in his heart. 
 
 * One version ends liere. The concluding stanzas seem 
 to have been added by another hand.
 
 JOHNNIE SCOT. 231 
 
 JOHNNIE SCOT. 
 
 In preparing this ballad for the press, three recited 
 copies, all obtained from people considerably advanced in 
 years, have been used. The ballad itself is popular in the 
 shires of Renfrew, Dumbarton, and Stirling ; and though 
 the Editor has obtained no copy of it from the south of 
 Scotland, yet he has been assured that it is also well 
 knowTi there ; a fact of wliich there can be no doubt, as 
 the Border names of Scot and Percy sufficiently identify 
 it with that part of the country. 
 
 Whether the glory of the high achievement recorded in 
 the ballad should of right belong to the name of Scot or 
 to that of M'Nauchton, is a question very hard of solution. 
 Scot, of Satchels, in that strangest of all literary curiosi- 
 ties, his metrical "History of the Right Honoui-able Name 
 of Scot," is dumb on the subject; and Buchanan, in his 
 account of Scottish Surnames, is as profoundly silent 
 regarding any one belonging to the ancient family of 
 M'Nauchton, to whom the honour of this notable duel 
 can with any degree of likelihood be attributed. For his 
 own part, the Editor has been somewhat gi-avelled to 
 make up his mind on this momentous point ; but at length 
 he has been inclined to concede the adventure perilous, 
 even to Johnnie Scot, whoever he was, not only on the 
 account that two copies of the ballad, and these by far the 
 most perfect in their narrative, are quite unanimous on this 
 head, but that these likewise retain the word " Tadliant," 
 which, in tlie corresponding part of the third copy, is 
 changed into "Champion." This word Tailli ant he has 
 never before met with in any Ijallad ; but it is an evident 
 dei-ivative from the French verb Taillader.* — Mother- 
 
 Johnnie Scot 's to the hunting gane, 
 
 Unto the woods sae wild ; 
 And Earl Percy's ae daughter 
 
 To him goes big wi' child. 
 
 * Quere — Is it not a misprint for Valiant or Valiant 
 Man — i.e., Champion?
 
 232 JOHNNIE SCOT. 
 
 word is to the kitchen gane. 
 And word is to the ha' ; 
 
 And word is to the highest towers. 
 Among the nobles a'. 
 
 " If she be wi' child," her father said, 
 " As woe forbid it be ! 
 
 1 '11 put her into a prison Strang, 
 
 And try the veritie." 
 
 " But if she be wi' child," her mother said, 
 
 " As woe forbid it be ! 
 I '11 put her intil a dungeon dark, 
 
 And hunger her till she die." 
 
 Johnnie 's called his waiting man. 
 
 His name was Germanic ;* 
 " It 's thou must to fair England gae. 
 
 Bring me that gay ladie. 
 
 "And here it is a silken sark ; 
 
 Her ain hand sewed the sleeve ; 
 Bid her come to the merry green wood. 
 
 To Johnnie her true love." 
 
 He rode till he came to Earl Percy's gate. 
 
 He tirled at the pin ; 
 " wha is there ? " said the proud porter, 
 
 " But I daurna let thee in." 
 
 * All the copies wliicli mention Johnnie's waiting-man 
 concur in giving this name, which is probably descriptive 
 of his country. In one copy, he, in place of Johnnie's 
 uncle, is the person who heroically offers wager of battle. 
 But in another copy the whole words and actions ascribed 
 to Johnnie's uncle, who "spak so bitterlie," are trans- 
 ferred to "Guid Kine; James."
 
 JOHNNIE SCOT. : 
 
 It 's lie rode up, and lie rode down, 
 
 He rode the castle about, 
 Until he spied a fair ladie, 
 
 At the window looking out. 
 
 " Here is a silken sark," he said, 
 " Thine ain hand sewed the sleeve ; 
 
 And ye must gae to the merry green wood, 
 To Johnnie Scot, thy love." 
 
 " The castle it is high, my boy, 
 
 And walled round about ; 
 My feet are in the fetters strong, 
 
 And how can I win out ? 
 
 " My garters are o' the gude black iron, 
 
 And oh ! but they be cold ; 
 My breastplate 's o' the sturdy steel, 
 
 Instead of beaten gold. 
 
 "But liad I paper, pen, and ink, 
 
 Wi' candle at my command. 
 It 's I would write a long letter 
 
 To Johnnie in fair Scotland." 
 
 Then she has written a braid letter, 
 
 And'sealed it wi' her hand ; 
 And sent it to the merry green wood, 
 
 Wi' her ain boy at command. 
 
 The first line o' tlie letter Johnnie read, 
 
 A loud, loud lauch lench lie ; 
 But he had not read ae line but twa. 
 
 Till the saut tears did blind his ee.
 
 234 JOHNNIE SCOT, 
 
 " Oh, I must up to England go, 
 
 Whatever me betide ; 
 For to relieve mine own fair ladie, 
 
 That lay last by my side." 
 
 Then up and spak Johnnie's auld mither, 
 
 A weel spoken woman was she : 
 " If you do go to England, Johnnie, 
 
 I may take fareweel o' thee." 
 
 And out and spak his father then. 
 
 And he spak well in time : 
 " If thou unto fair England go, 
 
 I fear ye 11 ne'er come hame." 
 
 But out and spak his uncle then, 
 
 And he spak bitterlie : 
 "Five hundred of my good life-guards 
 
 ShaU bear him companie." 
 
 When they were all on saddle set, 
 
 They were comely to behold ; 
 The hair that hung o\\Te Johnnie's neck shined 
 
 Like the links o' yellow gold. 
 
 When they were all marching away. 
 
 Most pleasant for to see. 
 There was not so much as a married man. 
 
 In Johnnie's companie. 
 
 Johnnie Scott himsel was the foremast man. 
 
 In the company that did ride ; 
 His uncle was the second man, 
 
 Wi' his rapier by his side.
 
 JOHNNIE SCOT. 235 
 
 The first gude town that Johnnie came to, 
 
 He made the bells be rung ; 
 And when he rode the town all owre, 
 
 He made the psalms be sung. 
 
 The next gude town that Johnnie came to, 
 He made the drums beat roimd ; 
 
 And the thiixl gude town that he came to, 
 He made the trumpets sound, 
 
 Till King Henry and all his merry men 
 A-marveUed at the sound. 
 
 And when they came to Earl Percy's yetts. 
 
 They rode them round about ; 
 And who saw he but his own true love, 
 
 At a window looking out ! 
 
 " Oh ! the doors are bolted with iron and steel, 
 
 So are the windows about ; 
 And my feet they are in fetters strong ; 
 
 And how can I win out ? 
 
 " My garters they are of the lead. 
 
 And oh ! but they be cold ; 
 My breastplate 's of the hard, hard steel, 
 
 Instead of beaten gold." 
 
 But when they came to Earl Percy's yett, 
 
 Tliey tirled at the pin ; 
 None was so ready as Earl Percy himsel 
 
 To open and let them in. 
 
 "Art thou the King of Aulsberry ?* 
 
 Or art thou the King of Spain ? 
 Or art thou one of our gay Scots lords, 
 
 M'Nachton to thy name ? " 
 
 * It may puzzle the historian to give any account of
 
 236 JOHNNIE SCOT. 
 
 " I 'm not the King of Aulsberry, 
 
 Nor yet the King of Spain ; 
 But I am one of our gay Scots lords, 
 
 Johnnie Scot I am called by name." 
 
 this king's reign, or to fix tlie limits of his dominions ; 
 being associated, however, with the King of Spain, this 
 circumstance may afford some cue for obtaining informa- 
 tion on these important points. One copy of the ballad has, 
 "Art thou the Duke of Midberry," another, "Art thou 
 the Duke of York ;" but, for the sake of heraldic justice, 
 the present reading was j)referred. This stanza, and that 
 which precedes it, we give now as they occur in the three 
 different copies of the ballad recovered by the Editor, so 
 that the reader may have it in his power to choose the 
 reading which hits his fancy. 
 
 JOHNNIE SOOT. 
 
 "Are you the Duke of York ?" he said, 
 
 "Or James our Scottish King? 
 Or are you one of our Scottish Lords, 
 
 From hunting new come home?" 
 
 "I'm not the Duke of York," he said, 
 
 " Nor James your Scottish King ; 
 But I 'm one of the Scottish Lords, 
 
 Earl Hector is my name." 
 
 JOHNNIE SCOT. 
 
 " Art thou the King of Aulsberry ? 
 
 Or art thou the King of Spain? 
 Or art thou one of our gay Scots Lords ? 
 
 M'Nachton to thy name?" 
 
 " I 'm not the King of Aulsberry, 
 
 Nor yet the King of Spain ; 
 But I am one of our gay Scots Lords, 
 
 Johnnie Scot I am called by name." 
 
 JOHNNIE M'NACHTON. 
 
 " Are you the Duke of Mulberry ? 
 
 Or James our Scottish King? 
 Are you the Duke of Mulberry, 
 
 From Scotland new come home?" 
 
 " I 'm not the Duke of Mulberry, 
 
 Nor James our Scottish King ; 
 But I am a true Scottishman, 
 
 M'Nachton is my name." 
 
 — Motherwell.
 
 JOHNNIE SCOT. 237 
 
 When Johnnie came before the king, 
 
 He fell low down on his knee : 
 "If Johnnie Scot he thy name," he said, 
 
 " As I trow weel it be ; 
 Then the brawest lady in a' my court, 
 
 Gaes big wi' child to thee." 
 
 " If she be with child," fair Johnnie said, 
 
 "As I trow weel she be ; 
 1 11 make it heir owre a' my land. 
 
 And her my gay ladie." 
 
 " But if she be wi' child," her father said, 
 
 " As I trow weel she be ; 
 To morrow again eight o'clock. 
 
 High hanged thou shalt be." 
 
 Out and spoke Johnnie's uncle then. 
 
 And he spak bitterlie : 
 " Bsfore that we see fair Johnnie hanged, 
 
 We '11 a' fight till we die." 
 
 " But is there ever a Tailliant about your court 
 
 That will fight duels three ? 
 For before that I be hanged," Johnnie said, 
 
 " On the TailHant's sword I '11 die." 
 
 " Say on, say on," said then the king, 
 
 " It is weel s|)f)kGn of thee ; 
 For there is a Tailliant in my court 
 
 Shall fight you three by three." 
 
 some is to tlie good green wood, 
 
 And some is to the plain ; 
 The Queen with all her ladies fair, 
 
 The King with his merry men, 
 Either to see fair Johnnie flee, 
 
 Or else to see him slain.
 
 238 JOHNNIE SCOT. 
 
 They fought on, and Johnnie fought on, 
 
 Wi' swords o' temper'd steel, 
 Until the draps o' red, red blood 
 
 Ran trinkliug down the field. 
 
 They fought on, and Johnnie fought on. 
 
 They fought right manfuUie, 
 Till they left not alive in a' the King's court 
 
 A man only but three. 
 
 And they begoud at eight of the morn, 
 And they fought on till three ; 
 
 When the Tailliant, like the swallow swift, 
 Owre Johnnie's head did flee : 
 
 But Johnnie being a clever young boy. 
 He wheeled him round about ; 
 
 And on the point of Johnnie's broadsword, 
 The Tailliant he slew out. 
 
 " A priest, a priest," fair Johnnie cried, 
 
 " To wed my love and me ! " 
 " A clerk, a clerk," her father cried, 
 
 " To sum her tocher free." 
 
 " I '11 hae none of your gold," fair Johnnie 
 cried, 
 
 " Nor none of your other gear ; 
 But I will have my own fair bride, 
 
 Tor this day I 've won her dear." 
 
 He 's ta'en his true love by the hand. 
 
 He led her up the plain : 
 " Have you any more of your English dogs, 
 
 You want for to have slain 1 "
 
 CATHERINE JOHNSTONE. 239 
 
 He put a little horn to his mouth, 
 He blew 't baith loud and shrill ; 
 
 And Honour is into Scotland gone. 
 In spite of England's Skill. 
 
 He put his little horn to his mouth. 
 
 He blew it owre again ; 
 And aye the sound the good horn cryed. 
 
 Was " Johnnie and his men ! " 
 
 CATHERINE JOHNSTONE. 
 
 Of this ballad two versions have already been published, 
 one in the Border Minstrelsy, the other in "A North 
 Countrie Garland." The present copy was obtained from 
 recitation, in the West of Scotland, and is now given as 
 exhibiting the state in which this popidar ballad is there 
 preserved. The tenth stanza seems to contain an allusion 
 to the KLnights of the Round Table. — Mothekwell. 
 
 There was a lass, as I heard say, 
 
 Lived low doun in a glen ; 
 Her name was Catherine Johnstone,. 
 
 Weel known to many men. 
 
 Doun came the Laird o' Lamington, 
 Doun from the south countrie ; 
 
 And he is for this bonnie lass, 
 Her bridegroom for to be. 
 
 He 's ask'd her father and mother. 
 
 The chief of a' her kin ; 
 And then he ask'd the bonnie lass, 
 
 And did her favour win.
 
 240 CATHERINE JOHNSTONE. 
 
 Doun came an Enolish gentleman, 
 Doun from the English border ; 
 
 He is for this bonnie lass, 
 To keej) his house in order. 
 
 He ask'd her father and mother, 
 
 As I do hear them say ; 
 But he never asked the lass hersel, 
 
 Till on her wedding-day. 
 
 But she has wrote a long letter, 
 And sealed it with her hand ; 
 
 And sent it to Lord Lamington, 
 To let him understand. 
 
 The first line o' the letter he read. 
 
 He was baith glad and fain, 
 But ere he read the letter o'er, 
 
 He was baith pale and wan. 
 
 Then he has sent a messenger, 
 
 And out through all his land ; 
 And four-and-twenty armed men 
 
 Were all at his command. 
 » 
 But he has left his merry men all ; 
 
 He 's left them on the lee ; 
 And he 's awa to the wedding-house, 
 
 To see what he could see. 
 
 But when he came to the wedding-house. 
 
 As I do understand ; 
 There were four-and-twenty belted knights 
 
 Sat at a table round.
 
 CATHEEINE JOHNSTONE. 241 
 
 They rose all to honour him, 
 
 For he was of high renown ; 
 They rose all for to welcome him, 
 
 And bade him to sit down. 
 
 meikle was the good red wine. 
 
 In silver cups did flow ; 
 But aye she drank to Lamington, 
 
 For with him would she go. 
 
 meikle was the good red wine. 
 
 In silver cups gaed round ; 
 At length they began to whisper words, 
 
 None could them understand. 
 
 " came ye here for sport, young man ? 
 
 Or came ye here for play ? 
 Or came ye for our bonnie bride. 
 
 On this her wedding-day?" 
 
 " I came not here for sport," he said, 
 
 " Neither did I for play ; 
 But for one word o' your bonnie bride, 
 
 I '11 mount and go away." 
 
 They set her maids behind her. 
 
 To hear what they would say ; 
 But the first question he ask'd at her 
 
 Was always answered, Nay ; 
 The next question lie ask'd at her 
 
 Was, " Mount, and come away." 
 
 It 's up and to the Couden bank. 
 
 And doun the Couden brae ; 
 And aye she made the trumpet sound, 
 
 " It 's a weel won play." 
 Q
 
 242 GILDEROY. 
 
 meikle was the blood was shed, 
 
 Upon the Couden brae ; 
 And aye she made the trumpet sound, 
 
 " It 's a' fair play. 
 
 " Come a' ye English gentlemen, 
 
 That is of England born ; ^ 
 
 Come na doun to Scotland, 
 For fear ye get the scorn. 
 
 " They '11 feed ye up wi' flattering words, 
 
 And that 's foul play ; 
 And they 11 dress you frogs instead of fish. 
 
 Just on your wedding-day." 
 
 GILDEROY. 
 
 This very popular ballad appears to have been adapted 
 from a much older one by Sir Alexander Halket, brother 
 of Elizabeth Halket, Lady Wardlaw, authoress of " Hardy- 
 knute," and of many other imitations of ancient minstrelsy. 
 The hero was one Patrick MacGregor, a noted Highland 
 cateran, who was executed, with five of his gang, in Edin- 
 burgh, in 1638. He was usually called Gillie Roy — or the 
 Ked Boy — from the colour of his hair. Hence the desig- 
 nation of Gilderoy, by which he is known to jjosterity 
 with almost as much romance thrown about his story as 
 that which has enveloped the exploits of Rob Roy, Claude 
 Duval, or Robin Hood. But almost every country has its 
 model thief ; and Scottish romance possesses two in Rob 
 Roy and Gillie Roy. 
 
 GiLDEEOY was a bonnie boy, 
 
 Had roses till his shoon ; 
 His stockings were of silken soy, 
 
 Wi' garters hanging doou.
 
 GBLDEEOY. 243 
 
 It was, I ween, a comelie sight 
 
 To see sae trim a boy ; 
 He was my joy, and heart's delight. 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy. 
 
 twa sic charming een he had, 
 
 Breath sweet as any rose ; 
 He never wore a Highland plaid, 
 
 But costly silken clothes. 
 He gain'd the luve of ladies gay, 
 
 Nane e'er to him was coy ; 
 Ah ! wae is me, I mourn the day 
 
 For my dear Gilderoy. 
 
 My Gilderoy and I were born 
 
 Baith in a town together ; 
 We scant were seven years beforn 
 
 We 'gan to luve ilk ither. 
 Our daddies and our mammies they 
 
 Were fill'd wi' mickle joy, 
 To think upon the bridal day 
 
 Of me and Gilderoy. 
 
 For Gilderoy, that luve of mine, 
 
 Gude faith, I freely bought 
 A wedding sark of Holland fine, 
 
 Wi' dainty ruffles wrought ; 
 And he gied me a wedding ring, 
 
 Which I received wi' joy. 
 Nac lad nor lassie e'er could sing 
 
 Like me and Gilderoy. 
 
 Wi' mickle joy wc spent our prime, 
 
 Till we were baith sixteen ; 
 And aft we past the langsome time 
 
 Amang the leaves sae green.
 
 244 GILDEEOT. 
 
 Aft on the banks we 'd sit us there 
 
 And sweetly kiss and toy, 
 While he wi' garlands deck'd my hair, 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy. 
 
 Oh, that he still had been content 
 
 Wi' me to lead his life ! 
 But, ah, his manfu' heart was bent 
 
 To stir in deeds of strife ! 
 And he in many a vent'rous deed 
 
 His courage bauld wad try ; 
 And now this gars my heart to bleed 
 
 For my dear Gilderoy. 
 
 And when of me his leave he tuik, 
 
 The tears they wat mine ee ; 
 I gied him sic a parting luik ; — 
 
 " My benison gang wi' thee. 
 God speed thee well, mine ain dear heart, 
 
 Far gane is all my joy ; 
 My heart is rent, sith we maun part. 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy." 
 
 The Queen of Scots possessed nought 
 
 That my love let me want ; 
 For cow and sow he to me brought, 
 
 And e'en when they were strant, 
 All these did honestly possess ; 
 
 He never did annoy 
 Wlio never failed to pay their less 
 
 To my love, Gilderoy. 
 
 My Gilderoy, baith far and near. 
 
 Was fear'd in every town ; 
 And bauldly bore away the gear 
 
 Of mony a lowland loun.
 
 GILDEEOY. 24)5 
 
 Por man to man durst meet him nane 
 
 He was sae brave a boy ; 
 At length wi' numbers he was ta'en, 
 
 My winsome Gilderoy. 
 
 "Wae worth the louns that made the laws, 
 
 To hang a man for gear ; 
 To reave of Ufe for sic a cause 
 
 As stealing horse or mare. 
 Had not their laws been made sae strict, 
 
 I ne'er had lost my joy, 
 Wi' sorrow ne'er had wet my cheek 
 
 For my dear Gilderoy. 
 
 Gif Gilderoy had done amiss, 
 
 He maught hae banisht been ; 
 Ah ! what sair cruelty is this 
 
 To hang such handsome men ! 
 To hang the flower of Scottish land, 
 
 Sae sweet and fair a boy ! 
 Nae lady had sae white a hand 
 
 As thee, my Gilderoy. 
 
 Of Gilderoy sae fear'd they were, 
 
 Wi' irons his limbs they strung ; 
 To Edinborow led him there. 
 
 And on a gallows huno-- 
 They hung him high aboon the rest, 
 
 He was sae bauld a boy ; 
 There died the youth whom I lued best, 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy. 
 
 Sune as he yielded up his breath, 
 
 I bore his corpse away ; 
 Wi' tears that trickled for his death 
 
 I wash'd his comelie clay.
 
 246 THE DOWIE DENS O' YAEEOW, 
 
 And sicker in a grave right deep 
 I laid the dear-lued boy ; 
 
 And now for ever I maun weep 
 My winsome Gilderoy, 
 
 THE DOWIE DENS 0' YAEEOW. 
 
 Of this ballad, "a collated edition," selected from va- 
 rious copies, professedly for the pxirpose of suiting the 
 taste of "these more light and giddy-paced times," first 
 appeared in "The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," 
 under the title of The Dowie Dens of Yarrow. The pre- 
 sent version, taken from the recitation of an old woman 
 in Kilbarchan, though containing some additional inci- 
 dents, not to be found in the copy published in the Border 
 Minstrelsy, is chiefly valuable as shewing the state in 
 which the song is preserved in the West of Scotland. — 
 Motherwell. 
 
 There were three lords birling at the wine, 
 
 On the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow, 
 They made a compact them between 
 
 They would go fecht to-morrow. 
 
 " Thou took our sister to be thy wife, 
 And ne'er thocht her thy marrow, 
 
 Thou stealed her frae her daddy's back, 
 When she was the Eose o' Yarrow." 
 
 " Yes, I took your sister to be my wife. 
 And I made her my marrow ; 
 
 I stealed her frae her daddy's back. 
 And she 's still the Eose o' Yarrow."
 
 THE DOWIE DENS O' YAEEOW, 247 
 
 He is hame to Ms lady gane, 
 
 As he had done before, ; 
 Says, " Madam, I must go and fecht 
 
 On the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow." 
 
 " Stay at hame, my lord," she said, 
 " For that will breed much sorrow ; 
 
 For my three brethren will slay thee 
 On the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, my lady fair, 
 
 For what needs a' this sorrow ? 
 For I '11 be hame gin the clock strikes nine, 
 
 From the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow." 
 
 He wush his face, and she combed his hair, 
 
 As she had done before, ; 
 She dressed him up in his armour clear. 
 
 Sent him forth to fecht on Yarrow. 
 
 "Come ye here to hawk or hound? 
 
 Or drink the wine that 's sae clear, ? 
 Or come ye here to eat in your words. 
 
 That you're not the Rose o' Yarrow?" 
 
 " I came not here to hawk or hound. 
 
 Nor to drink the wine that's sae clear, ; 
 
 Nor cam' I here to eat in my words. 
 For I 'm still the Rose o' Yarrow." 
 
 Then they all begoud to fecht, 
 
 I wad they focht richt sore, ; 
 Till a cowardly man cam' behind his back. 
 
 And pierced his body thorough.
 
 248 THE DOWIE DENS o' YAREOW. 
 
 " Gae liame, gae hame, it 's my man, John, 
 
 As ye have done before, ; 
 And tell it to my gay ladye, 
 
 That I soundly sleep on Yarrow." 
 
 His man, John, he has gane hame, 
 
 As he had done before, ; 
 And told it to his gay ladye, 
 
 That he soundly slept on Yarrow. 
 
 "I dream'd a dream now since yestreen, — 
 
 God keep us a' frae sorrow, — 
 That my lord and I pu'd the heather green, 
 
 From the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow." 
 
 Sometimes she rade, sometimes she gade. 
 
 As she had done before, ; 
 And aye between she fell in a swoon, 
 
 Lang or she cam' to Yarrow. 
 
 Her hair it was five quarters lang, 
 
 'Twas like the gold for yellow ; 
 She twisted it round his milk-white hand, 
 
 And she 's drawn him hame frae Yarrow. 
 
 Out and spak her father dear, 
 
 Says, " What needs a' this sorrow ? 
 
 For I '11 get you a far better lord 
 Than ever died on Yarrow." 
 
 " hold your tongue, father," she said, 
 " For you 've bred a' my sorrow ; 
 
 For that Kose '11 ne'er spring so sweet in May, 
 As that Rose I lost on Yarrow ! "
 
 THE BEAES O' YAEEOW. 249 
 
 THE BEAES 0' YAEEOW. 
 
 ThougLi not strictly an ancient ballad, but only a com- 
 paratively modern imitation of the ancient manner, by 
 William Hamilton of Bangour, the friend of Allan Ramsay, 
 it has been thought inadvisable to exclude it from this 
 collection. The ballad has consecrated the banks of Yar- 
 row to all the lovers of poetry and song ; and is the 
 finest of many fine conij)Ositions which have made that 
 stream as truly classic as Helicon or Meander, 
 
 A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, 
 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ; 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, 
 And think nae mair on the braes o' Yarrow. 
 
 B. Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride. 
 
 Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? 
 
 A. I gat her where I daurna weel be seen, 
 
 Puin' the birks on the braes o' Yarrow. 
 
 Weep not ! weep not ! my bonnie, bonnie bride ; 
 
 Weep not ! weep not, my winsome marrow, 
 Nor let thy heart lament to leave 
 
 Puin' the birks on the braes o' Yarrow. 
 
 B. Why does she Aveep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride ? 
 
 Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ? 
 And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen 
 Puin' the birks on the braes o' Yarrow ? 
 
 A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she weep, 
 Lang maun she weep wi' dule and sorrow, 
 And lung maun I ne'er weel be seen 
 Puin' the biiks on the braes o' Yarrow.
 
 250 THE BEAES O' YAEEOW. 
 
 For she has tint her lover, lover dear, 
 Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow ; 
 
 And I hae slain the comeliest swain 
 
 That e'er pu'd birks on the braes o' Yarrow ! 
 
 Why runs thy stream, Yarrow, Yarrow, red ? 
 
 Why on thy braes is the voice of sorrow ? 
 And why do ye, ye melancholy weeds, 
 
 Hang on the bonnie birks o' Yarrow 1 
 
 What yonder floats on the ruefu', ruefu' flude, 
 What yonder floats ? dule and sorrow ! 
 
 'Tis he the comely swain I slew 
 Upo' the dulefu' braes o' Yarrow ! 
 
 Wash, oh wash, his wounds, his wounds in 
 tears. 
 
 His wounds in tears o' dule and sorrow, 
 And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, 
 
 And lay him on the braes o' Yarrow. 
 
 Then build, then build ye sisters, sisters sad, 
 Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi' sorrow, 
 
 And weep around in woeful wise 
 
 His hapless fate on the braes o' Yarrow ! 
 
 Curse ye, curse ye his useless, useless shield, 
 My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, 
 
 The fatal spear that pierced his breast. 
 
 His comely breast, on the braes o' Yarrow ! 
 
 Sweet smells the birk — green grows, green 
 grows the grass, 
 
 Yellow on Yarrow's banks the gowan, 
 Fair hangs the apple frae the rock ; 
 
 Sweet "the wave o' Yarrow flowin'.
 
 THE BEAES O' YAEEOW. 251 
 
 Flows Yarrow sweet ? as sweet, as sweet flows 
 Tweed ! 
 
 As green its grass, its gowans as yellow, 
 As sweet smells on its braes the birk, 
 
 The apple frae the rock as mellow. 
 
 Fair was thy love — fair, fair indeed thy love, 
 In flowery bands thou didst him fetter ; 
 
 Tliough he was fair and weel-beloved again, 
 Than me he never loved thee better. 
 
 Then bnsk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnic 
 bride, 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ; 
 Come and love me on the banks o' Tweed, 
 And think nae mair on the braes o' Yarrow. 
 
 She. How can I busk a bonnie, bonnie bride ? 
 How can I busk a winsome marrow ? 
 And how love him on the banks o' Tweed 
 That slew my love on the braes o' Yarrow ? 
 
 Yarrow fields ! may never, never rain. 
 Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover ; 
 
 For there was basely slain my love, 
 As though he hadna been a lover. 
 
 The boy put on his robes, his robes of green. 
 His purple vest was my own sewin' ; 
 
 viTetched me, I little, little kenn'd 
 He was in them to meet his ruin ! 
 
 The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white 
 • steed, 
 
 TJnheedful of my dule and sorrow ; 
 But e'er the to-fall of the night, 
 
 He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow,
 
 252 THE BRAES O' YAEEOW. 
 
 Much I rejoiced that waeful, waeful day, 
 I sang — my voice the woods returning ; 
 
 But lang e'er night the spear was flown 
 That slew my love, and left me mournin'. 
 
 Wliat can my barbarous, barbarous father do, 
 But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 
 
 My lover's blood is on thy spear, 
 
 How canst thou, barbarous man, then 
 woo me ? 
 
 My happy sisters may be, may be proud ; 
 
 With cruel and ungentle scoffing. 
 May bid me seek on Yarrow braes 
 
 My lover nailed in his coffin, 
 
 ]My brother Douglas may upbraid, 
 
 And strive in threatening words to move me. 
 
 My lover's blood is on thy spear. 
 
 How canst thou ever bid me love thee ? 
 
 Yes ! yes ! prepare the bed, the bed of love. 
 With bridal sheets my body cover ; 
 
 Unbar, ye bridle maids, the door. 
 Let in the expected husband-lover ! 
 
 But who the expected husband, husband is ? 
 
 His hands methinks are bathed in slaughter ; 
 Ah me ! what ghastly spectre 's yon, 
 
 Comes in his pale shroud bleeding after ? 
 
 Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, 
 lay his cold head on my pillow ; 
 
 Take otf, take oif these bridal weeds. 
 And crown my waefu' head wi' willow.
 
 THY BEAES WERE BONNIE. 253 
 
 Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beloved, 
 could my warmth to life restore thee! 
 
 Yet lie all nioht between my breasts, 
 Nae youth lay ever there before ye ! 
 
 Pale, pale indeed, lovely, lovely youth, 
 Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter ; 
 
 And lie all night between my breasts, 
 No youth shall ever lie there after. 
 
 He. Return, return, mournfu', mournfu' bride, 
 Return, and dry thy useless sorrow; 
 Thy lover heeds not of thy sighs. 
 
 He lies stone-dead on the braes of Yari'ow. 
 
 THY BRAES WERE BONNIE, YARROW 
 STREAM. 
 
 Another modem, but beautiful ballad, by John Logan 
 —lending a new grace to Yarrow. 
 
 Thy braes were bonnie. Yarrow stream, 
 When first on them I met my lover ; 
 
 Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream. 
 When now thy waves his body cover ! 
 
 For ever now, Yarrow stream, 
 Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; 
 
 For never on thy banks sliall I 
 
 Behold my love — the flower o' Yarrow !
 
 254 THY BEAES WERE BONNIE. 
 
 He promised me a milk-white horse, 
 To bear me to his father's bowers ; 
 
 He promised me a little page, 
 
 To squire me to his father's towers. 
 
 He promised me a wedding-ring. 
 
 The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ; 
 
 Now he is wedded to his grave, 
 Alas ! a watery grave in Yarrow ! 
 
 Sweet were his words when last we met, 
 My passion as I freely told him ; 
 
 Clasped in his arras, I little thought 
 That I should never mair behold him. 
 
 Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghaist — 
 It vanish'd wi' a shriek o' sorrow ; 
 
 Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, 
 
 And give a doleful groan thro' Yarrow ! 
 
 His mother from the window look'd. 
 With all the longing of a mother ; 
 
 His little sister, weeping, walk'd 
 
 The greenwood path to meet her brother. 
 
 They sought him east, they sought him west, 
 They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
 
 They only saw the clouds o' night — 
 They only heard the roar o' Yarrow ! 
 
 No longer from thy window look — 
 Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 
 
 No longer walk, thou lovely maid — 
 Alas ! thou hast no more a brother !
 
 ANNIE O' LOCHEOYAN. 255 
 
 No longer seek him east or west, 
 
 No longer search the forest thorough. 
 
 For, murder'd in the night so dark, 
 He lies a Hfeless corpse in Yarrow ! 
 
 The tears shall never leave my cheek. 
 No other youth shall be my marrow ; 
 
 I 'U seek thy body in the stream, 
 
 And then with thee I '11 sleep in Yarrow ! 
 
 The tear did never leave her cheek, 
 No other youth became her marrow ; 
 
 She found his body in the stream, 
 
 And wi' him now she sleeps in Yarrow ! 
 
 ANNIE 0' LOCHEOYAN. 
 
 First published in Jamieson's collection, and strangely 
 overlooked by Motherwell, wlio makes no mention of it. 
 A version, possibly touched up by the hand of Sir Walter 
 Scott, appeared in the Border Minstrelsy. Willie and 
 May Margaret is a similar story, except that the treachery, 
 as represented in Buchan's version, followed by that of 
 Chambers, is represented as having been played off by the 
 mother of the young woman, and not of the young man. 
 
 " 0, WHA will shoe my fair foot ? 
 
 And wha will glove my han' ? 
 And wha will lace my middle jimp 
 
 Wi' a new-made London ban' ? * 
 
 " 0, wha will comb my yellow hair 
 
 Wi' a new-made silver kaim ? 
 Or wha '11 be father to my bairn. 
 
 Till Love Gregor comes hame?" 
 
 * Later versions read — 
 
 *' Wi' a lang, lang linen ban'."
 
 256 ANNIE O' LOCHEOYAN. 
 
 " Your father '11 shoe your fair foot. 
 Your mother glove your han', 
 
 Your sister lace your middle jimp, 
 Wi' a new-made London ban'. 
 
 " Your brother '11 comb your yellow hair, 
 Wi' a new-made silver kaim, 
 
 And God will father your poor bairn. 
 Till Love Gregor comes hame." 
 
 " 0, gin I had a bonnie ship. 
 
 And men to sail wi' me, 
 It 's I wad gang to my true love, 
 
 Sin' he winna come to me ! " 
 
 Her father 's gi'en her a bonnie ship, 
 
 And sent her to the stran' ; 
 She 's ta'en her bairnie in her arms, 
 
 And turned her back to Ian'. 
 
 She hadna been i' the sea sailin' 
 
 About a month or more, 
 Till she landed her bonnie ship 
 
 Near her true lover's door. 
 
 The nicht was dark, the vrind blew cauld. 
 And her love was fast asleep, 
 
 And the wee, wee bairnie in her arms 
 Fu' sair began to weep. 
 
 Lang stood she at her true love's door, 
 
 And lang tirled at the pin, 
 At length up gat his fause mother, 
 
 Sayin', " Wha's that wad be in?"
 
 ANNIE LOCHEOYAN. 2o7 
 
 " it is Annie o' Locliroyan, 
 
 Your love, come o'er the sea, 
 I 've got your baii'nie in my arms. 
 
 So open the door to me." 
 
 " Awa', awa', ye ill woman, 
 Ye 're nae come here for gude ; 
 
 Ye 're but a witch or vile warlock, 
 Or mermaid o' the flood." 
 
 " I 'm nae a witch, or vile warlock, 
 
 Or mermaiden," said she ; 
 " I 'm your Annie o' Lochroyan, 
 
 So open the door to me." 
 
 " gin ye 're Annie o' Lochroyan, 
 
 As I trust not ye be. 
 What token can ye gie that e'er 
 
 I kept your compauie !" 
 
 "0 dinna ye mind, Love Gregor," she says, 
 
 " When we sat at the wine, 
 How we changed the napkins frae our 
 necks ? — 
 
 It 's nae sae lang sinsyne. 
 
 " And yours was gude and gude eneuch. 
 
 But nae sae gude as mine. 
 For yours was o' the cambric clear. 
 
 But mine o' silk sae fine. 
 
 " And dinna ye mind, Love Gregor," she says, 
 
 " As we twa sat at dine, 
 How we changed the rings frae our fingers, 
 
 And I can shew thee mine. 
 K
 
 258 ANNIE O' LOCHEOYAN. 
 
 " And yours was gude and gude eneucli, 
 
 But nae sae gude as mine, 
 For yours was o' the gude red gold, 
 
 But mine o' diamond fine. 
 
 " So open the door now, Love Gregor, 
 
 And open it wi' speed. 
 Or your young son that 's in my arms 
 
 For cauld will soon be dead." 
 
 " Awa', awa', ye ill woman, 
 Gae frae my door for shame, 
 
 For I hae gotten another love, 
 Sae ye may hie ye hame." 
 
 " hae ye gotten another love, 
 For a' the oaths ye sware ? 
 
 Then fare ye well now, fause Gregor, 
 Ye 'se never see me mair." 
 
 hooly, hooly gaed she baclr. 
 
 As the day began to peep. 
 She set her foot on good ship-board, 
 
 And sair, sair did she weep. 
 
 " Tak doun, tak doun that mast o' goud, 
 
 Set up the mast o' tree ; 
 111 sets it a forsaken ladie 
 
 To sail so gallantlie. 
 
 " Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk. 
 
 Set up the sails o' skin ; 
 111 sets the outside to be gay 
 
 When there 's sic grief within."
 
 ANNIE O' LOCHROYAN. 259 
 
 Love Gregor started frae his sleep, 
 
 And to his mother did say, 
 " I dreamt a dream this night, mither. 
 
 That makes my heart right wae. 
 
 " I dreamt that Annie o' Lochroyan, 
 
 The flower of a' her kin, 
 Was standing monrnin' at my door, 
 
 And nane wad let her in/' 
 
 " There was a woman at the door, 
 
 Wi' a bairnie in her arm. 
 But I wadna let her ben the house 
 
 For fear she 'd do thee harm." 
 
 quickly, quickly raise he up. 
 And fast, fast ran to the stran', 
 
 And there he saw his fair Annie 
 Fast sailin' from the Ian'. 
 
 And " Heigh, Annie," and " Ho, Annie, 
 
 Annie, winna ye bide?" 
 But aye the louder he cried "Annie" 
 
 The louder roared the tide. 
 
 And "Heigh, Annie," and "Ho, Annie, 
 
 Annie, speak to me ;" 
 But aye the louder he cried " Annie," 
 
 The louder roared the sea. 
 
 The wind grew loud, the sea grew rough, 
 
 The ship was rent in twain, 
 And soon he saw her, fair Annie, 
 
 Come floatinff o'er the main.
 
 260 BINNOEIE. 
 
 He saw his young son in her arms, 
 Baith tossed above the tide, 
 
 He wrung his hands, and fast he ran, 
 And plunged in the sea sae wide. 
 
 He caught her by the yellow hair. 
 And drew her to the strand, 
 
 But cauld and stiff was every limb 
 Before he reached the land. 
 
 Oh ! first he kissed her bonnie cheek. 
 And syne he kissed her chin. 
 
 And sair he kissed her bonnie lips. 
 But there was nae breath within. 
 
 Oh, he has mourned for fair Annie 
 Till the sun again went down. 
 
 Syne wi' a sich his heart it brast. 
 And his soul to heaven has flown. 
 
 BINNORIE. 
 
 Publislied in Jamieson's Collection, and in Scott's Bor- 
 der Minstrelsy. Scott seems to have touched without 
 improving Jamieson's version. Such lines as — 
 
 "A famous harper, passing by. 
 The sweet fair face chanced to espy," 
 
 are not to be compared in vigour to the original min- 
 strel's 
 
 " By there cam' a harper fine. 
 That harped to the king at dine;" 
 
 and the phrase in which the iirst author says of the weird 
 harp — ■ 
 
 "The harp untouched to the windes rang, 
 And sad and doleful was the sang," 
 
 are infinitely preferable to such a bald modernism as — 
 
 "The strings he formed of her yellow hair, 
 Whose notes made sad the listening ear."
 
 BES^NOEIE. 2G1 
 
 There were twa sisters lived in a bower, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 There came a knicht to be tlieir wooer 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 But he loved the youngest aboon a' thing. 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 He courted the eldest wi' broach and knife ; 
 
 Binnorie, Biymorie ! 
 But he loved the youngest as his life. 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 The eldest she was vexed sair, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie ! 
 And sair envied her sister fair, 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 Intil her bower she couldna rest, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 Wi' grief and spite she maistly brast. 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 Upon a momin' fair and clear, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 She cried upon her sister dear 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 sister ! come to the sea-strand, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 And see our father's ships come to land, 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams 6 Binnorie.
 
 262 BINNOEIE. 
 
 She 's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 And led her down to yon sea-strand 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 The youngest stood upon a stane, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 The eldest cam and threw her in, 
 
 By the honnie inill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 She took her by the middle snia', 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 And dashed her bonnie back to ja* 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 " sister, sister, tak my hand, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 And I 'se niak ye heir to a' my land. 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 " sister, sister, save my life, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 And I '11 swear I 'se never be nae man's wife. 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o Binnorie." 
 
 " Foul fa' the hand that I should tak, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 It twined me o' my warld's mak, 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o Binnorie. 
 
 " Your cherry cheek aiKl yellow hair, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 Gar me gang maiden for evermair. 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o Binnorie."
 
 BINNOKIE, 263 
 
 Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam ; 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 Till she cam to the mouth o' yon mill-dam, 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o Binnorie. 
 
 Oh, out it came the miller's son, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 And saw the fair maid soumin in, 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 " father, father, draw your dam, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 There 's either a mermaid or a swan 
 
 In the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie." 
 
 The miller quickly drew the dam, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 And there he found a drowned woman 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 " Sair will they be, whae'er they be, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 Tliir hearts that live to weep for thee. 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o Binnorie. 
 
 " And sair and lang may their teen last, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 That wrought thee sic a dowie cast," 
 
 By the Jjonnie mill-dams o Binnorie. 
 
 You couldna see her yellow hair, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 For goud and pearl that were so rare 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie!
 
 264 BINNOEIE. 
 
 You coiildna see her middle sraa', 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 For her gouden girdle sae braw, 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o Binnorie ! 
 
 You couldna see her fingers white, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 For gouden rings that were sae bright, 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o Binnorie. 
 
 By there cam a harper fine, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 That harped to the king at dine, 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams a' Binnorie ! 
 
 " wha sail tell to thy father dear, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 The sad and waef u' sight that 's here, 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o Binnorie? 
 
 " And wha to thy mother sail tell, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 The weird her dearest bairn befell 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie? 
 
 " And wha to thy lover sail speak, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 The news will gar his heart to break, 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie." 
 
 He 's ta'en three locks of her yellow hair, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnoi^ie! 
 And wi' them strung his harp sae fair. 
 
 By the bonnie mill-dams o Binnorie.
 
 BINNOKIE. 265 
 
 And the harp untouched to the wiudis rang, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 An' sad an' dolefu' was the sang, 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 The first tune it did play and sing, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 "Was " Farewell to my father the king," 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 The nexten tune it played then 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 Was " Farewell to my mither the queen," 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 The thirden tune it played then, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 Was " Wae to my sister fair Ellen ! " 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 But the hasten time it played sae sma, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 Was saft and sadly sweet o'er a', 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 The hardest heart would hae bled to hear, 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 It moaned wi' sic a dowy cheer, 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 And fareweel, fareweel to thee 
 
 Binnorie, Binnorie! 
 The dearest youth o' life to me, 
 
 By the honnie mill-dams o Binnorie.
 
 266 LAMBEET LINKIN. 
 
 LAMBEET LINKIN. 
 
 Of tliis very popular ballad various editions have been 
 published. The first, in point of time, we believe, is that 
 which appeared in Mr Herd's Collection, Edmburgh, 1776, 
 entitled LammiUn; the next, that which occurs in Mr 
 Jamieson's Collection, Edmbiirgh, ISOG, under the title of 
 Lamhln. Two different versions of it will also be found 
 in Mr Finlay's Collection, Edinburgh, 1808, under the title 
 of LammiUn, the first of which is a reprint of Mr Herd's 
 copy, interlaced with a number of additional verses, while 
 the latter professes to be given wholly from a manuscript, 
 corrected from a recited copy. Of aU these copies, that 
 given by Mr Jamieson is unquestionably the best, as weU 
 as apparently the most authentic ; the second copy, given 
 by Mr Tinlay, is also genuine, but an abridged form of 
 the original ballad. On the contrary, the copy in Mr 
 Herd's work is out of all sight the worst, inasmuch as it 
 contains sundry injudicious interpolations and rhetorical 
 embellishments by a modern hand. 
 
 The present copy is given from recitation ; and though 
 it coidd have received additions, and perhaps improve- 
 ments, from another copy, obtained from a similar source, 
 and of equal authenticity, in his possession, the Editor did 
 not like to use a liberty which is hable to much abuse. 
 To some, the present set of the ballad may be valuable, as 
 handing down both name and nickname of the revengeful 
 builder of Prime Castle ; for there can be little doubt that 
 the epithet "Linkin," Mr Lambert acquired from the 
 secrecy and address with which he insinuated himself into 
 that notable strength. Indeed, aU the names of Lammer- 
 liukin, Lammikin, Lamkin, Lankin, Linkin, Belinkin, 
 can easily be traced out as abbreviations of Lambert 
 Linkin. In the present set of the baUad, Lambert Linkin 
 and Belinkin are used indifferently, as the measure of the 
 verse may require ; in the other recited copy, to which 
 reference has been made, it is Lammerlinkin and Lamkin, 
 and the nobleman for whom he "buUt a house" is stated 
 to be "Lord Arran." No aUusion, however, is made here 
 to the name of the owner of Prime Castle. Antiquai'ies, 
 peradventure, may find it as difficult to settle the precise
 
 LAMBEET LENKIN, 267 
 
 locality of this fortalice, as they have found it to fix the 
 topography of Troy. — Motherwell. 
 
 Mr Whitelaw, in his Collection (Blackie & Son), jirints 
 no less than five versions of this ballad ; one version, first 
 published by Jamieson, and reproduced by Chambers and 
 Professor Aytoiin, supplies many obvious gaps in the story. 
 Instead of Prime Castle — not a very Scottish designation — 
 the castle is called Lord Wearie's Castle ; and Professor 
 Aytoun states that the bloodthirsty hero is known in 
 Scottish nurseries, of which he is the terror, under the 
 names of Lammikin, Belinkin, Lamkin, Linkin, Bold 
 Rankin, and Balcanqual. A few of the stanzas rejected 
 by Motherwell are inserted withm brackets. 
 
 Belinkin was as ,^ude a mason 
 
 As e'er pickt a stane ; 
 He built up Prime Castle, 
 
 But payment gat nane. 
 
 [" pay me now, Lord Wearie, 
 
 pay me now my fee V 
 " I canna pay you, Lammikin, 
 
 For I maun sail the sea." 
 
 " pay me now, Lord Wearie, 
 
 pay me out of hand ! " 
 " I canna pay you, Lammikin, 
 
 Unless I sell my land." 
 
 " gin ye winna pay me. 
 
 It 's here I mak a vow, 
 Before that ye come hame again 
 
 Ye shall hae cause to rue."J 
 
 The lord said to his lady. 
 When he was going a})road, 
 
 " Oh, beware of Belinkin, 
 For he lies in the wood."
 
 268 LAMBEET LINKIN. 
 
 [But the nourrice was a fause limmer, 
 
 As ever hung on tree, 
 She laid a plot wi' Lammikin, . 
 
 When her lord was o'er the sea.] 
 
 The gates they were bolted 
 
 Baith outside and in ; 
 At the sma' peep of a window 
 
 Belinkin crap in. 
 
 " Gude morrow, gude morrow," 
 
 Said Lambert Linldn ; 
 " Gude morrow to yourseU, sir," 
 
 Said the fause nurse to him. 
 
 " wliare is your gude lord ? " 
 
 Said Lambert Linkin ; 
 " He 's awa to New England, 
 
 To meet with his king." 
 
 " where is his auld son ? " 
 
 Said Lambert Linkin ; 
 " He 's awa to buy pearlings 
 
 Gin oiir lady lie in." 
 
 "Then she'll never wear them," 
 
 Said Lambert Linkin ; 
 " And that is nae pity," 
 
 Said the fause nurse to him. 
 
 "0 where is your lady?" 
 
 Said Lambert Linkin ; 
 " She 's in her bouir sleepin'," 
 
 Said the fause nurse to him.
 
 LA3IBEET LINKIN. 269 
 
 "How can we get at her?" 
 
 Said Lambert Linkin ; 
 " Stab the babe to the heart 
 
 Wi' a silver bodkin." 
 
 " That wud be a pity," 
 
 Said Lambert Linkin ; 
 " Nae pity, nae pity," 
 
 Said the fause nurse to him. 
 
 Belinkin he rocked, 
 
 And the fause nurse she sang. 
 Till a' the tores * o' the cradle 
 
 Wi' the red blude down ran. 
 
 " still my babe, nurice, 
 
 still him wi' the knife ;" 
 " He '11 no be still, lady, 
 
 Tho' I lay down my life." 
 
 " still my babe, nurice, 
 
 still him wi' the knife ;" 
 " He '11 no be still, lady, 
 
 Tho' I lay down my life." 
 
 " still my babe, nurice, 
 still him wi' the kame ; " 
 
 " He '11 no be still, lady. 
 Till his daddy come hame." 
 
 * "Tores :" tlie projections or knolis at the comers of 
 old-fa.sliioned cradles, aud the ornamental Ixdls commonly 
 found siirmountmg the backs of old chairs. l)r .lamieson 
 does not seem to have had a precise notion of this word. 
 Vide vol. iv. of his Dictionary, voce Tore. — Motuekwell.
 
 270 LAMBEKT LINKIN. 
 
 " still my babe, nurice, 
 
 still him wi' the bell ; " 
 " He 11 no be still, lady, 
 
 Till ye come down yoursell." 
 
 " It 's how can I come doun 
 
 This cauld, frosty nicht, 
 Without e'er a coal. 
 
 Or a clear candle-licht?" 
 
 " There 's twa smocks in your coffer, 
 
 As white as a swan. 
 Put ane o' them about you, 
 
 It will shew you licht doun." 
 
 She took ane o' them about her. 
 And came tripping doun ; 
 
 But as soon as she viewed, 
 Belinkin was in. 
 
 " Gude morrow, gude morrow," 
 
 Said Lambert Liidvin ; 
 " Gude morrow to yoursell, sir," 
 
 Said the lady to him. 
 
 " Oh, save my life, Belinkin, 
 Till my husband come back, 
 
 And I '11 gie ye as much red gold 
 As ye '11 baud in your hat." 
 
 " I '11 not save your life, lady, 
 Till your husband come back, 
 
 Tho' you wud gie me as nmcli red gold 
 As I could baud in a sack.
 
 LAMBERT LINKIN. 271 
 
 " Will I kill her ? " quo Belinkin, 
 " Will I kill her, or let her be ? " 
 
 " You may kill her," said the fause nurse, 
 " She was ne'er gude to me ; 
 
 And ye '11 be laird o' the Castle, 
 Andl'llbeladye." 
 
 Then he cut aff her head 
 
 Fra her lily breast-bane. 
 And he hung 't up in the kitchen, 
 
 It made a' the ha' shine. 
 
 The lord sat in England 
 
 A-drinking the wine : 
 " I wish a' may be weel 
 
 Wi' my lady at hame ; 
 For the rings o' my fingers 
 
 They 're now burst in twain ! " 
 
 He saddled his horse. 
 
 And he cam riding doun ; 
 But as soon as he viewed, 
 
 Belinkin was in. 
 
 He hadna weU stepped 
 
 Twa steps up the stair. 
 Till he saw his pretty young son 
 
 Lying dead on the floor. 
 
 He hadna weel stepped 
 
 Other twa up the stair, 
 Till he saw his pretty lady 
 
 Lying dead in despair. 
 
 He hanged Belinkin 
 
 Out over the gate ; 
 And he burnt the fause nurice 
 
 Being under the grate.
 
 272 KEEDISDALE AND WISE WILLIAM. 
 
 EEEDISDALE AND WISE WILLIAM. 
 
 This excellent ballad is from the recitation of Mr 
 Nicol, Strichen, and was commimicated by Mr P. Buchan 
 of Peterhead. — Motherwell. 
 
 When Eeedisdale and Wise William 
 
 Were drinking at the wine, 
 There fell a roosing them amang, 
 
 On one unruly time. 
 
 For some of them hae roosed their hawks, 
 
 And other some their hounds ; 
 And other some their ladies fair, 
 
 And their bow'rs where they walked in. 
 
 When out it spak him Eeedisdale, 
 
 And a rash word spak he : 
 Says, " There is not a lady fan-. 
 
 In bower wherever she be, 
 But I could aye her favour win 
 
 With one blink of my ee," 
 
 Then out it spak him Wise William, 
 
 And a rash word spak he : 
 Says, " I have a sister of my own. 
 
 In bower wherever she be, 
 And ye will not her favour win, 
 
 With three blinks of your ee." 
 
 " What will you wager, Wise William ? 
 
 My lands I '11 wad with thee ; " 
 " I '11 wad my head against your land, 
 
 Tni I get more monie."
 
 EEEDISDALE AND WISE WILLIAM. 273 
 
 Then Eeedisdale took Wise William — 
 
 Laid him in prison Strang ; 
 That he might neither gang nor ride, 
 
 Nor no word to her send. 
 
 But he has written a braid letter, 
 
 Between the night and day. 
 And sent it to his own sister, 
 
 By dun feather and gray. 
 
 When she had read Wise William's letter, 
 
 She smiled and she leuch ; 
 Said, " Very weel, my dear brother, 
 
 Of this I have eneuch." 
 
 She looked out at her west window, 
 
 To see what she coidd see. 
 And there she spied him Eeedisdale 
 
 Come riding o'er the lea. 
 
 Says, " Come to me, my maidens all, 
 
 Come hitherward to me ; 
 For here it comes him Eeedisdale, 
 
 Who comes a-courting me." 
 
 " Come down, come down, my lady fair, 
 
 A sight of you give me." 
 " Go from my yetts noAV, Eeedisdale, 
 
 For me you will not see." 
 
 " Come doTr\Ti, come dovm, my lady fair, 
 
 A sight of you give me ; 
 And bonnie is the gowns of silk 
 
 That I will give to thee." 
 s
 
 274 REEDISDALE AND WISE WILLIAM. 
 
 " If you have bonnie gowns of silk, 
 
 mine is bonny tee ; 
 
 Go from my yetts now Keedisdale, 
 For me you shall not see." 
 
 " Come down, come down, my lady fair, 
 
 A sight of you 1 11 see ; 
 And bonnie jewels, broaches, rings, 
 
 1 will give unto thee." 
 
 " If you have bonnie broaches, rings, 
 
 mine are bonny tee ; 
 Go from my yetts now, Eeedisdale, 
 
 For me you shall not see." 
 
 " Come down, come down, my lady fair. 
 
 One sight of you 1 11 see ; 
 And bonnie are the halls and bowers 
 
 That I will give to thee." 
 
 " If you have bonny halls and bowers, 
 
 mine are bonny tee ; 
 Go from my yetts now, Keedisdale, 
 
 For me you shall not see." 
 
 " Come down, come down, my lady fair, 
 
 A sight of you 1 11 see ; 
 And bonnie are my lands so broad 
 
 That I will give to thee." 
 
 " If you have bonny lands so broad, 
 
 mine are bonny tee ; 
 Go from my yetts now, Keedisdale, 
 
 For me you will not see."
 
 REEDISDALE AND WISE WILLIAM. 275 
 
 " Come down, come down, my lady fair, 
 
 A sight of you I '11 see ; 
 And bonnie are the bags of gold 
 
 That I will give to thee." 
 
 " If you have bonnie bags of gold, 
 
 I have bags of the same ; 
 Go from my yetts now, Eeedisdale, 
 
 For down I will not come." 
 
 " Come down, come down, my lady fair, 
 
 One sight of you I '11 see. 
 Or else I '11 set your house on fire, 
 
 If better cannot be." 
 
 Then he has set the house on fire, 
 
 And all the rest it took ; 
 He turned his wight horse head about, 
 
 Said, " Alas ! they '11 ne'er get out." 
 
 " Look out, look out, my maidens fair, 
 
 And see what I do see ; 
 How Reedisdale has fired our house, 
 
 And now rides o'er the lea. 
 
 " Come hitherward, my maidens fair 
 
 Come hither unto me ; 
 For througli this reek and through this smeek 
 
 through it we must be." 
 
 They took wet mantles them about, 
 
 Their coffers by the band ; 
 And through the reek and through the flame, 
 
 Alive they all have wan.
 
 276 SIR JAMES THE ROSE. 
 
 When they had got out through the fire, 
 
 And able all to stand, 
 She sent a maid to Wise William, 
 
 To bruik Reedisdale's land. 
 
 " Your lands are mine, now, Eeedisdale, 
 
 For I have won them free." 
 " If there is a good woman in the world. 
 
 Your one sister is she." 
 
 SIR JAMES THE ROSE. 
 
 This old north country ballad, whicli appears to be 
 founded on fact, is well kno\vn in almost every corner of 
 Scotland. Piukerton printed it in his Tragic Ballads, 
 1781, "from," as he says, "a modern edition iq one 
 sheet 12mo, after the old copy." Notwithstanding this 
 reference to authority, the ballad certainly received a few 
 conjectiu-al emendations from his own pen ; at least, the 
 present version, which is given as it occurs in early stall 
 prints, and as it is to be obtained from the recitations of 
 elderly people, does not exactly correspond with his. 
 
 Two modern ballads have sjjrung out of this old one, 
 namely. Sir James the Ross, and Elfrida and Sir James 
 of Perth. The first of these is said to have been written 
 by Michael Bruce ; the latter is an anonymous production, 
 and has found its way into Evans' Collection — vide vol. 
 iv. Edin. 1810. It might be curious to ascei'tain which 
 of these mournf id 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 acknowledgment, all the best things 
 which occur in the other. — Motherwell. 
 
 HEARD ye of Sir James the Rose, 
 The young heir of Buleighan ? 
 
 For he has killed a gallant squire. 
 And his friends are out to take him.
 
 SIK JAMES THE EOSE, 277 
 
 Now he 's gone to the house of Marr, 
 Where the Nourice was his leman ; 
 
 To seek his dear he did repair, 
 Thinking she would befriend him. 
 
 " Where are you going, Sir James ? " she says, 
 " Or where now are you riding ? " 
 
 " Oh, I am bound to a foreign land, 
 For now I 'm under hiding. 
 
 " Where shall I go ? wliere shall I run ? 
 
 Where shall I go to hide me ? 
 For I have killed a gallant squire, 
 
 And they 're seeking to slay me." 
 
 " go ye down to yon ale-house, 
 
 And I '11 there pay your lawin' ; 
 And if I be a maiden true, 
 
 I '11 meet you in the dawin'," 
 
 " I '11 no go down to yon ale-house, 
 
 For you to pay my lawin' ; 
 There's forty shillings for one supj^er, 
 
 1 11 stay in 't till the dawin'." 
 
 He 's turned him richt and round about, 
 
 And rowed him in his brechan ; 
 And he has gone to take his sleep, 
 
 In the lowlands of Bideighan. 
 
 He had not weel gone out o' sicht. 
 
 Nor was he past Millstrethen, 
 Till four-and-twenty belted knights, 
 
 Came riding owre the Lcthan.
 
 278 SIR JAMES THE KOSE. 
 
 " have ye seen Sir James the Eose, 
 
 The young heir of Buleighan ? 
 Por he has killed a gallant squire, 
 
 And we 're sent out to take him." 
 
 "01 have seen Sir James," she says, 
 " Eor he passed here on Monday ; 
 
 If the steed be swift that he rides on, 
 He 's past the gates o' London." * 
 
 As they rode on man after man, 
 Then she cried out behind them, 
 
 " If you do seek Sir James the Eose, 
 I '11 tell you where you 11 find him." 
 
 " Seek ye the bank abune the mill, 
 
 In the lowlands of Buleighan ; 
 And there you '11 find Sir James the Eose, 
 
 Lying sleeping in his brechan. 
 
 "You must not wake him out of sleep, 
 
 Nor yet must you affright him, 
 Till you drive a dart quite through his heart, 
 
 And through his body pierce him." 
 
 They sought the bank abune the mill. 
 
 In the lowlands of Buleighan, 
 And there they found Sir James the Eose, 
 
 Lying sleeping in his brechan. 
 
 Up then spake Sir John the Graeme, 
 
 Who had the charge a-keeping, 
 " It shall ne'er be said, dear gentlemen. 
 
 We killed a man when sleeping." 
 
 * "He's past the hichts o' Limdie," (Plnkerton,) which 
 is probably the correct reading.
 
 SIR JAMES THE EOSE. 279 
 
 They seized his broad sword and his targe, 
 
 And closely him surrounded ; 
 And when he waked out of his sleep, 
 
 His senses were confounded. 
 
 " pardon, pardon, gentlemen. 
 
 Have mercy now upon me." 
 " Such as you gave, such you shall have. 
 
 And so we fall upon thee." 
 
 " Donald, my man, wait me upon, 
 
 And I '11 gie you my brechan ; 
 And if you stay here till I die. 
 
 You '11 get my trews of tartan. 
 
 "There is fifty pounds in my pocket. 
 
 Besides my trews and brechan, 
 Ye '11 get my watch and diamond ring, 
 
 And take me to Loch-Largan." 
 
 Now they 've ta'en out his bleeding heart, 
 
 And stuck it on a spear. 
 Then took it to the House of Marr, 
 
 And gave it to his dear. 
 
 But when she saw his bleeding heart. 
 
 She was like one distracted. 
 She wrung her hands and tore her hair. 
 
 Crying — " Oh ! what have I acted. 
 
 "vlt 's for your sake, Sir James the Rose, 
 That my poor heart's a-breaking; 
 
 Cursed be the day I did thee betray, 
 Thou brave knight o' Buleighan."
 
 280 FAIR ANNIE. 
 
 Then up she rose, and forth she goes, 
 
 And in that fatal hour 
 She bodily was borne away, 
 
 And never was seen more. 
 
 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. 
 
 FAIR ANNIE. 
 
 A fragment of tliis beautiful ballad first appeared In 
 the Collection of David Herd, 1781.* A complete copy 
 of it, obtained from recitation, was afterwards given in 
 "The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," under the title 
 of Lord Thomas and Fair Annie. Two other copies, 
 obtained from a similar source, appeared in the Appen- 
 dix of Mr Jamieson's Collection, entitled Lady Jane and 
 Burd Helen, from which he formed the ballad of Lady 
 Jane received into the body of the work. The same 
 gentleman has, in the work referred to, translated from 
 the Ksempe Viser a Dauish ballad entitled Sk(£n Annie, 
 the story of which is the same with the present. To this 
 he has subjoined some valuable and ciirious remarks on 
 the striking resemblance which exists between Scottish 
 and Scandinavian traditionary songs. His views on this 
 interesting subject are given much more extended in the 
 second part of that very valuable volume, "Northern 
 Antiquities." + 
 
 This ballad. Sir Walter Scott observes, is, in its subject, 
 similar to the Breton Romance of Lai le Frain, or the 
 Lay of the Ash ; and, it is probable, as the same writer 
 suggests, that many others of our popular ballads may be 
 
 * Mr Jamieson has fallen into a mistake in saying that the ballad 
 first appeared in Pinkeiton's Ballads, not reflecting that Mr P. de- 
 serves little credit for his industry in collecting vniedited ballads, how- 
 ever much he may be entitled to for his pains in inventirig some. — 
 W. M. 
 
 t Illustrations of Northern Antiquities. Ediu. 1S14. 4to.
 
 FAIR ANNIE. 281 
 
 likewise traced to a romance original. In confirmation 
 of this opinion, it may be noticed here, that, in one of the 
 commonest of our stall ballads, namely, The Factor's 
 Garland, in four parts, (a deserved favourite with the 
 vulgar,) its principal, and certainly the most interesting, 
 incident will be found in the curious romance of Sir 
 Amadas. — Motherwell. 
 
 " Leaen to mak your bed, Annie, 
 
 And learn to lie your lane, 
 For I maun o"\vre the salt seas gang, 
 
 A brisk bride to bring hame. 
 
 " Bind up, bind up your yellow hair, 
 
 And tie it in your neck ; 
 And see you look as maiden like 
 
 As the day that we first met." 
 
 "0 how can I look maiden-like. 
 
 When maiden I '11 ne'er be ; 
 When seven brave sons I 've born to thee, 
 
 And the eighth is in my bodie ? 
 
 " The eldest of your sons, my lord, 
 Wi' red gold shines his weed ; 
 
 The second of your sons, my lord, 
 Kides on a milk-white steed : 
 
 " And the third of your sons, my lord, 
 He draws your beer and wine ; 
 
 And the fourth of your sons, my lord. 
 Can serve you when you dine. 
 
 " And the fifth of your sons, my lord, 
 
 He can both read and write ; 
 And tlio sixth of your sons, my lord. 
 
 Can do it most perfytc :
 
 282 FAIR ANNIE. 
 
 " And the seventh of your sons, my lord, 
 
 Sits on the nurse's knee ; 
 And how can I look maiden-like, 
 
 When a maid I '11 never be ? 
 
 "But wha will bake your wedding bread, 
 
 And brew your bridal ale ; 
 Or wha will welcome your brisk bride 
 
 That you bring owre the dale ?" 
 
 " 1 11 put cooks in my kitchen, 
 
 And stewards in my hall, 
 And I '11 have bakers for my bread. 
 
 And brewers for my ale ; 
 But you 're to welcome my brisk bride 
 
 That I bring owre the dale." 
 
 He set his feet into his ship. 
 
 And his cock-boat on the main ; 
 
 He swore it would be a year and day 
 Or he returned again. 
 
 When a year and day was past and gane, 
 Fair Annie she thocht lang, 
 
 And she is up to her bower head 
 To behold both sea and land, 
 
 " Come up, come up, my eldest son, 
 And see now what you see ; 
 
 Oh, yonder comes your father dear, 
 Aiid your stepmother to be." 
 
 " Cast off your gown of black, mother. 
 Put on your gown of brown. 
 
 And I '11 put off my mourning weeds. 
 And we '11 welcome him home."
 
 FAIK ANNIE. 283 
 
 She 's taken wine into her hand, 
 
 And she has taken bread, 
 And she is down to the water side 
 
 To welcome them indeed. 
 
 " You 're welcome, my lord, you 're welcome, 
 my lord. 
 
 Your welcome home to me. 
 So is every lord and gentleman 
 
 That is in your companie. 
 
 " You 're welcome, my lady, you 're welcome, 
 my lady, 
 
 You 're welcome home to me. 
 So is every lady and gentleman 
 
 That 's in your companie." 
 
 "I thank you, my girl, I thank you, my gii-1, 
 
 I thank you heartily ; 
 If I live seven years about this house, 
 
 Rewarded you shall be." 
 
 She served them up, she served them down, 
 With the wheat bread and the wine, 
 
 But aye she drank the cauld water. 
 To keep her colour fine. 
 
 She served them up, she served them down. 
 With the wheat bread and the beer. 
 
 But aye she drank the cauld water 
 To keep her colour clear. 
 
 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 
 
 And all were boune for rest. 
 Fair Annie laid her sons in bed, 
 
 And a sorrowfu' woman she was.
 
 284 FAIR ANNIE. 
 
 " Will I go to the salt, salt seas. 
 
 And see the fishes swim ? 
 Or will I go to the gay green wood. 
 
 And hear the small birds sing ?" 
 
 Out an spoke an aged man, 
 
 That stood behind the door, 
 " Ye will not go to the salt, salt seas 
 
 To see the fishes swim. 
 Nor will ye go to the gay green wood 
 
 To hear the small birds sing ; 
 
 " But ye '11 take a harp into your hand. 
 
 Go to their chamber door. 
 And aye ye 11 harp, and aye ye 11 mourn, 
 
 With the salt tears falliig o'er." 
 
 She 's ta'en a harp into her hand. 
 Went to their chamber door, 
 
 And aye she harped, and aye she mourned. 
 With the salt tears falling o'er. 
 
 Out and spak the brisk, young bride, 
 
 In bride-bed where she lay, 
 " I think I hear my sister Aimie, 
 
 And I wish weel it may ; 
 Tor a Scottish lord staw her awa', 
 
 And an ill death may he die." 
 
 " Wha was your father, my girl ?" she says, 
 
 " Or wha was your mother ? 
 Or had you ever a sister dear. 
 
 Or had you ever a brother ?" 
 
 " King Henry was my father dear, 
 Queen Esther was my mother, 
 
 Prince Henry was my brother dear. 
 And Fanny Flower my sister."
 
 MAEY HAMILTON, 285 
 
 " If King Henry was your father dear, 
 And Queen Esther was your mother, 
 
 If Prince Henry was your brother dear, 
 Then surely I 'm your sister." 
 
 " Come to your bed, my sister dear. 
 
 It ne'er was wranged for me, 
 Bot an ae kiss of his meriy mouth, 
 
 As we cam owre the sea." 
 
 " Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride, 
 
 Awa, awa frae me ; 
 I wudna hear my Annie greet, 
 
 For a' the gold I got wi' thee." 
 
 " There were five ships of gay red gold 
 
 Cam owre the seas with me. 
 It's twa o' them will tak me hame. 
 
 And three I '11 leave wi' thee. 
 
 " Seven ships o' white monie 
 
 Came owre the seas wi' me, 
 Five o' them I 'U leave wi' thee, 
 
 And twa will take me hame ; 
 And my mother will make my portion up 
 
 When I return agian." 
 
 MARY HAMILTON. 
 
 Of this ballad two complete, but somewhat differing 
 copies have already been published, one in the Border Min- 
 strelsy, and the other in Mr Sharpe's Ballad^ liook ; the 
 fragment of a third version is extant in "A North Coiin- 
 trie Garland," and this has subsequently apjteared in 
 " Gleanings of Old liallads," by P. Buchan. The present 
 copy differs from all these, and as it shews the state in
 
 286 MAEY HAMILTON. 
 
 which it is frequently to be met with as preserved by 
 tradition in the west of Scotland, no apology is deemed 
 necessary for again presenting this interesting ballad to 
 the notice of those who are curious in matters of this 
 sort. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott inclines to ascribe the ballad to the 
 following incident mentioned by Knox. " In the very 
 time of the General Assembly there comes to public 
 notice a haynous murther committed in the Court ; yea, 
 not far from the Queen's lap; for a Frenchwoman that 
 served in the Queen's chamber had played the whore with 
 the Queen's own apothecary. The woman conceived and 
 bare a childe, whom, with common consent, the father 
 and mother murthered ; yet were the cries of a new-borne 
 childe hearde ; searche was made, the childe and the 
 mother were both apprehended, and so were the man and 
 the woman condemned to be hanged in the publicke 
 street in Edinburgh. The punishment was suitable, 
 because the crime was haynous. But yet was not the 
 Court purged of whores and whoredoms, which was the 
 fountain of such enormities ; for it was well knowne that 
 shame hasted marriage betwixt John SempiU, called the 
 Dancer,* and Mary Levingston, sirnamed the Lusty, 
 What bruit the Maries and the rest of the dancers of the 
 Court had, the ballads of that age do witness, which we, 
 for modestie's sake, omit." — History of the Eeformation, 
 p. 373. For these modest sciiiples in omitting the bal- 
 lads of the age, the historian, it is believed, wiU receive 
 but slender thanks at the hands of the poetic antiquary. 
 — Motherwell. 
 
 Theee lives a knight into the north, 
 
 And he had daughters three ; 
 The ane of them was a barber's wife, 
 
 The other a gay ladie ; 
 
 And the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane, 
 
 The Queen's Mary to be, 
 And for a' that they could say or do 
 
 Forbidden she wouldna be. 
 
 * This was the ancestor of Sir James Sempill of Belltrees.
 
 MAEY HAMILTON. 287 
 
 The prince's bed it was sae saft, 
 
 The spices they were sae fine, 
 That out of it she could not lye 
 
 While she was scarce fifteen. 
 
 She 's gane to the garden gay 
 
 To pu' of the Savin tree, 
 But for a' that she could say or do 
 
 The babie it would not die. 
 
 She 's rowed it in her handkerchief, 
 
 She threw it in the sea, 
 Says — " Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe, 
 
 For ye '11 get nae mair of me." 
 
 Queen Mary came tripping down the stair, 
 Wi' the gold strings in her hair ; 
 
 "Oh, Where's the little babie," she says, 
 "That I heard greet sae sair?" 
 
 " hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame. 
 
 Let all those words go free ; 
 It was mysel wi' a fit o' the sair colic, 
 
 I was sick just hke to die." 
 
 " hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, 
 Let all those words go free ; 
 
 where is the little bal>ie 
 That I heard weep by thee?" 
 
 " I rowed it in my handkerchief, 
 And threw it in tlie sea ; 
 
 1 bade it sink, I bade it swim, 
 
 It would liet nae mair o' me."
 
 288 MAEY HAMILTON. 
 
 " wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton, 
 
 And an ill death may you die, 
 For if you had saved the babie's life, 
 
 It might hae been an honour to thee, 
 
 " Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton, 
 
 busk ye to be a bride ; 
 
 For I am going to Edinburgh town 
 Your gay wedding to bide. 
 
 " You must not put on your robes of black. 
 
 Nor yet your robes of brown ; 
 But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs, 
 
 To shiue thro' Edmburgh town." 
 
 " I will not put on ray robes of black, 
 
 Nor yet my robes of brown, 
 But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs, 
 
 To shiue thro' Edinburgh town." 
 
 As she went up the Parliament Close, 
 
 A-riding on her horse. 
 There she saw many a burgess' lady 
 
 Sit greetino; at the cross. 
 
 " what means a' this greeting, 
 
 1 'm sure it 's nae for me, 
 
 For I 'm come this day to Edinburgh town 
 Weel wedded for to be." 
 
 When she gaed up the Parliament stair. 
 
 She gied loud lauchters three ; 
 But ere that she had come down again, 
 
 She was condemned to die.
 
 MAEY HAMILTON. 289 
 
 " little did my mother think, 
 
 The day she primied my gown, 
 That I was to come sae far frae hame 
 
 To be hanged in Edinburgh town. 
 
 " what '11 my poor father think, 
 
 As he comes through the town, 
 To see the face of his Molly fair 
 
 Hanging on the gallows pin. 
 
 " Here 's a health to the mariners 
 
 That plough the raging main ; 
 Let neither my mother nor father ken 
 
 But I 'm coming hame again. 
 
 " Here 's a health to the sailors 
 
 That sail upon the sea ; 
 Let neither my mother nor father ken 
 
 That I came here to die. 
 
 " Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, 
 
 This night she '11 hae but three ; 
 There was Mary Beaton, and ]\Iaiy Seaton, 
 
 And Mary Carmichael, and me." 
 
 " hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, 
 
 Let all those words go free ; 
 This night, ere ye be hanged. 
 
 Ye shall gang hame wi' me." 
 
 " hald your tongue. Queen Mary, my dame, 
 
 Let all those words go free, 
 Since I have come to Edinburgh town, 
 
 It 's hanged I shall be ; 
 For it shall ne'er be said that in your court 
 
 I was condemned to die." 
 T
 
 290 LOED EANDAL. 
 
 LOED RANDAL. 
 
 From Scott's Border Minstrelsy. The story narrateil 
 appears, with many variations, in the popular ballads of 
 Scandinavia and Germany ; and two, if not three versions 
 are current in Scotland and England ; in one of which a, 
 stepmother, and in another a rival, are the poisoners. 
 
 " Wheee liae ye been hunting, 
 
 Lord Randal, my son ? 
 Where hae ye been hunting, 
 
 My handsome young man ? " 
 " In yon wild-wood, mither ! 
 
 So make my bed soon, 
 For I 'm wae and I 'm weary, 
 
 And fain would lie domi." 
 
 " Where got ye your dinner, 
 
 Lord Randal, my son ? 
 Where got ye your dinner, 
 
 My handsome young man?" 
 " ! I dined wi' my true love 
 
 So make my bed soon, 
 Eor I 'm wae and I 'm weary, 
 
 And fain would lie down." 
 
 '• what was your dinner, 
 
 Lord Randal, my son ? 
 what was your dinner, 
 
 My handsome young man ?" 
 "Eels boiled in broo, mither. 
 
 So make my bed soon, 
 For I 'm wae and I 'm weary, 
 
 And fain would lie doun."
 
 WILLIE, DOO. 291 
 
 " where did she find them, 
 Lord Eandal, my son, 
 
 where did she catch them, 
 My handsome young man?" 
 
 " 'Neath the busli of brown brechan, 
 
 So make my bed soon. 
 For I 'm wae and I 'm weary. 
 
 An' fain woidd lie doun." 
 
 " And where are your blood-hounds. 
 
 Lord Eandal, my son, 
 What came of your blood-hounds, 
 
 My handsome young man ? " 
 " They swelled and they died, mithcr, 
 
 And sae maun I soon, 
 
 1 am wae, I am weary, 
 
 And fain would lie down." 
 
 " I fear you are poisoned, 
 
 Lord Randal, my son, 
 I fear you are poisoned. 
 
 My handsome young man ! " 
 " yes I am poisoned. 
 
 So inake my bed soon, 
 I am sick, sick at heart. 
 
 An' 1 fain would lie doun." 
 
 WILLIE, DOO. 
 
 From "Ballads of the North of Scotland," collected l)y V. 
 Buchan. This appears to be an earher, as well as a ruder 
 version of the story of Lord Ronald or Lord Iiundul. 
 
 "Wheiie hae ye l)een a' the day? 
 
 Willie, doo ! Willie, doo ! 
 Wliere hae ye been a' the day, 
 
 Willie, my doo?"
 
 292 WILLIE, DOO. 
 
 " I 've been to my stepmother, 
 Mak my bed, lay me domi ; 
 
 I 've been to my stepmother, 
 Die shall I soon." 
 
 " What got ye frae your stepmother ? 
 
 Willie, doo ! Willie, doo ! 
 What got ye frae your stepmother ? 
 
 Willie, my doo." 
 
 " She gae me a speckled trout, 
 Mak my bed, lay me doun ; 
 
 She gae me a speckled trout, 
 Die shall I soon." 
 
 "Where got she the speckled trout, 
 Willie, doo, Willie, doo ? " 
 
 " She got it 'raong the heather hills, 
 Die shall I now." 
 
 " What did she boil it in, 
 Willie, doo, Willie, doo ? " 
 
 " She boiled it in the billy-pot, 
 Die shall I now." 
 
 " What gaed she you for to drink, 
 Willie, doo ! Willie, doo ! 
 
 What gaed she you for to drink, 
 Willie, my doo ? " 
 
 " She gaed me hemlock stocks, 
 Mak my bed, lay me doun ; 
 
 Made in the brewing-pot, 
 Die shall I soon."
 
 THE LAMENT OF THE BOEDEE WIDOW. 293 
 
 They made his bed, laid him doun, 
 
 AYillie, doo ! Willie, doo ! 
 He turned his face to the wa', 
 
 Dead is he now ! 
 
 THE LAIMENT OE THE BOEDER WIDOW. 
 
 A well-known and beautiful fragment, said by Sir 
 Walter Scott to have been obtained from recitation in 
 the Forest of Ettrick, and to relate to the execution of 
 Cockbume of Henderland, a Border freebooter, hanged 
 over the gate of his own tower, by James V. , in the course 
 of that memorable expedition in 1529, which was fatal to 
 Johnnie Armstrong, Adam Scott of Tushielaw, and many 
 other marauders. Cockburne, says tradition, was surprised 
 by the king while he was sitting at dinner. Some vestiges 
 of the castle of Henderland still remain at the mouth of 
 the river Meggat, which falls into the lake of St Mary in 
 Selkirkshire. A mountain torrent rushes impetuously 
 through a rocky chasm, called the Dow-glen, and passes 
 near the site of the tower. The wife of Cockburne is said 
 to have fled to the recesses of the glen during the execu- 
 tion of her husband, hoping to drowaa the ci-ies of the sol- 
 diery in the roar of the cataract. The solitary spot is 
 called the Lady's Seat. A large stone, broken in tliree 
 parts, marks the place where both husband and wife were 
 buried, in the old graveyard of the chapel. The follow- 
 ing inscription is visible, on its surface: "Here lyes 
 Perys of Cokburne and his wyfe ALarjory." The ballad 
 bears traces of a finer hand than that of any ancient min- 
 strel ; and Mr Motherwell was of ojiiuion that it was an 
 adaptation from the old English balJad of T/ie Lady turned 
 Hfrviii'i Man, in Percy's Reliqucs. Tlie tirst tliree stanzas 
 shew evident signs of this origin, rcrliaps the Ettrick 
 Shepherd, or Sir Walter Scott himself, m\'j}ii have rightly 
 claimed, had he chosen, the merit of the adaptation ; but 
 the story as it stands is both simj)l<! and beautiful, and 
 has so entwined itself in the alFcctions of the lovers of
 
 294 THE LAMENT OF THE BOEDER "WIDOW. 
 
 Scottish poetry and romance, as to force its way into all 
 collections of the legendary poetry of Scotland. 
 
 My love lie built me a bonnie bower, 
 And clad it a' wi' lilye flower ; 
 A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, 
 Than my true love he built for me. 
 
 There came a man, by middle day, 
 He spied his sport and went away. 
 And brought the king that very night. 
 Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. 
 
 He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; 
 He slew my knight, and poined his gear ; 
 My servants all for life did flee. 
 And left me in extremitie. 
 
 I sewed his sheet, making my mane ; 
 I watched the corpse, myself alane ; 
 I watched his body, night and day ; 
 No living creature came that Avay. 
 
 I took his body on my back, 
 And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ; 
 I digged a grave, and laid him in. 
 And happed him with the sod so green. 
 
 But think na ye my heart was sair, 
 When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair ; 
 Think nae ye my heart was wae. 
 When I turned about, away to gae ? 
 
 Nae living man I '11 love again. 
 Since that my lovely knight is slain ; 
 Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair 
 I '11 bind my heart for evermair.
 
 THE MEEMAID. 295 
 
 THE MERMAID. 
 
 From Mr Fialay's Collection of Scottish Ballads, pub- 
 lished in 1808. "This beautifid piece of poetry," says 
 Mr Finlay, " was recovered from the recitation of a ladj^, 
 who heard it sung by the servants in her father's family, 
 above fifty years ago." 
 
 To yon fause stream that, near the sea, 
 Hides mony an elf and plum,* 
 
 And rives wi' fearful din the stanes, 
 A witless knicht did come. 
 
 The day shines clear — far in he 's gane 
 
 Whar shells are silver bright, 
 Fishes war loupin' a' aroun', 
 
 And sparklin' to the light. 
 
 Whan, as he laved, sounds cam sae sweet 
 
 Frae ilka rock an' tree ; 
 The brief was out, 'twas him it doomed 
 
 The mermaid's face to see. 
 
 Frae 'neath a rock, sune, sune she rose, 
 
 And stately on she swam. 
 Stopped 1' the midst, and becked and sang 
 
 To him to stretch his han'. 
 
 Gowden glist the yellow links 
 
 That round her neck she 'd twine ; 
 
 Her een war o' the skyie blue, 
 Her lips did mock the wine ; 
 
 The smile upon her bonnic cheek 
 
 Was sweeter than the bee ; 
 Her voice excelled the birdie's sang 
 
 Upon the birchen tree. 
 
 * "Plum :" a deep hole in a river's bed.
 
 296 GORDON OF BEACKLEY. 
 
 Sae couthie, couthie did she look, 
 And meikle had she fleeched;* 
 
 Out shot his hand — alas ! alas ! 
 Fast in the swirl he screeched. 
 
 The mermaid leuch, her brief was gane, 
 And kelpie's blast was blawin', 
 
 Fu' low she dooked, ne'er raise again, 
 For deep, deep was the fawin'. 
 
 Aboon the stream his wraith was seen. 
 Warlocks tirled lang at gloamin' ; 
 
 That e'en was coarse, the blast blew hoarse, 
 Ere lane; the waves were foamin'. 
 
 GORDON OF BRACKLEY. 
 
 A version of this story appeared in Jamieson's Collection, 
 1806. Mr R. Chambers, in reproducing it, in 1829, in his 
 Scottish Ballads, states that it records a real incident 
 which took place, on tlie 1 6th of September 1666, between 
 John Gordon of Brackley, in Aberdeenshire, and Far- 
 qiiharson of Invercauld, a noted freebooter on Deeside. 
 
 Down Deeside cam Inveraye 
 
 Whistlin' and playing, 
 An' called loud at Brackley gate 
 
 Ere the day dawing — 
 " Come, Gordon of Brackley, 
 
 Proud Gordon, come down, 
 There 's a sword at your threshold 
 
 Mair sharp than your own/' 
 
 * "Fleeched:" flattered, or beseeched.
 
 GORDON OF BEACKLEY. 297 
 
 "Arise now, gay Gordon/' 
 
 His lady 'gan cry, 
 " Look, here is bold Inveraye 
 
 Driving your kye." 
 " How can I go, lady, 
 
 An' win them again, 
 When I have but ae sword, 
 
 And Inveraye ten 1 " 
 
 " Arise uj), my maidens, 
 
 Wi' roke and wi' fan, 
 How blest had I been 
 
 Had I married a man ! 
 Arise up, my maidens, 
 
 Tak' spear and tak' sword. 
 Go milk the ewes, Gordon, 
 
 An' I will be lord." 
 
 The Gordon sprung up 
 
 Wi' his helm on his head, 
 Laid his hand on his sword, 
 
 An' his thigh on his steed. 
 An' he stooped low, and said. 
 
 As he kissed his young dame, 
 " There 's a Gordon rides out 
 
 That will never ride hame." 
 
 There rode with fierce Inveraye 
 
 Thirty and three. 
 But wi' Brackley were nane 
 
 But liis brother and he ; 
 Twa gallanter Gordons 
 
 Did never blade draw, 
 But against three and thirty, 
 
 Wae 's me ! what are twa ?
 
 298 GOEDON OF BEACKLEY. 
 
 Wi' sword and wi' dagger 
 
 They rushed on him rude ; 
 The twa gahant Gordons 
 
 Lie bathed in their blude. 
 Frae the springs o' the Dee 
 
 To the mouth o' the Tay, 
 The Gordons mourn for him, 
 
 And curse Inveraye. 
 
 " were ye at Brackley ? 
 
 An' what saw ye there ? 
 Was his young widow weeping. 
 
 An' tearing her hair?" 
 " I looked in at Brackley, 
 
 I looked in, and oh ! 
 There was mirth, there was feasting, 
 
 But naething o' woe. 
 
 "As a rose bloomed the lady. 
 
 An' blithe as a bride, 
 As a bridegroom bold Inveraye 
 
 Smiled by her side. 
 Oh ! she feasted him there 
 
 As she ne'er feasted lord. 
 While the blood of her husband 
 
 Was moist on his sword. 
 
 " In her chamber she kept him 
 
 Till morning grew gray, 
 Thro' the dark woods of Brackley 
 
 She shewed him the way. 
 * Yon wild hill,' she said, 
 
 ' Where the sun 's shining on. 
 Is the hill of Glentanner ; — 
 
 One kiss, and begone ! ' "
 
 ANNAN TYATEH. 299 
 
 There 's grief in the cottage, 
 
 There 's grief in the ha', 
 For the e'ude, oaUant Gordon 
 
 That 's dead an' awa'. 
 To the bush comes the bud, 
 
 An' the flower to the plain, 
 But the gude and the brave 
 
 They come never again. 
 
 ANNAN WATEE. 
 
 First published in Scott's "Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
 Border," and there said to be the original words of the 
 time of Allan Water; mentioned in "The Tea-Table Mis- 
 cellany." "It is said," adds Sir Walter Scott, "that a 
 bridge over the Annan was built in consequence of the 
 melancholy catastrophe which it narrates." It is difBcidt 
 to av'iid a suspicion that either Scott or the Ettrick Shep- 
 herd had some hand in the composition of the ballad, 
 which is alleged to have been taken from "tradition." 
 Scott mentions another version of the ballad, but does not 
 print it. 
 
 ! Annan water 's wide an' deep. 
 
 An' my love Annie 's wondrous bonnie ; 
 Shall I be loth to weet my feet 
 
 For lier whom I love best of ony ? 
 Gar saddle me my bonnie black. 
 
 Gar saddle soon an' mak him read}''. 
 For I will down the Gatehope Slack, 
 
 And a' to sec my boiniie lady. 
 
 He 's loupcn on his bonnie black. 
 
 He 's stirred him wi' tlie spur fu' sairly, 
 
 An' e'er he won the Gateliope Slack, 
 I wot the steed was wae and weary.
 
 300 ANNAN WATER. 
 
 He 's loupen on his bonnie gray, 
 
 He rode the right gate an' the ready ; 
 
 nought could make him stint or stay, 
 For thinkin' o' his bonnie lady ! 
 
 He 's ridden over field and fell. 
 
 Thro' moss and stream, an' moor and mire, 
 His spurs of steel were sair to bide, 
 
 An' frae her fore feet flew the fire. 
 " Now, bonnie gray ! now play your part ! 
 
 An' gin ye bear me to my dearie, 
 On corn an' hay ye'se feed for aye, 
 
 An' never spur shall make ye weary ! " 
 
 She was a mare, a right good mare, 
 But when she wan to Annan water, 
 
 She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair. 
 
 Had a thousand merks been wadded at her ! 
 
 " boatman, haste ! Put off your boat, 
 Put off your boat for gouden money ; 
 
 1 cross the drumlie stream to-night, 
 
 Or never more I meet my honey ! " 
 
 " ! I was sworn late, late yestreen, 
 
 An' not by ae oath but by many ; 
 For a' the gowd in broad Scotland 
 
 I maunna tak ye through to Annie." 
 The side was steep, the bottom deep, 
 
 Frae bank to bank the water pouring, 
 An' the bonnie gray did shake for fear. 
 
 She heard the water-kelpie roaring. 
 
 ! he 's pu'd aff his dapper coat, 
 Wi' silver buttons glancin' bonnie ; 
 
 The waistcoat bursted afl" his breast, 
 His heart leaped sae wi' melancholy.
 
 THE WEE, WEE MAN. SOI 
 
 He 's ta'en the ford at the stream tail, 
 I wat he swam baith stout and steady ; 
 
 The stream was broad — his strength did fail — 
 He never saw his bonnie lady. 
 
 wae betide the fresh saiigh wand. 
 
 An' wae betide the bush o' brier, 
 They broke into my true love's hand, 
 
 When strength did fail, and limbs did tire. 
 An' wae betide thee, Annan stream ! 
 
 Thou art a deep and deadly river; 
 But over thee I '11 build a bridge. 
 
 That ye nae mair true love may sever ! 
 
 THE WEE, WEE MAN. 
 
 The principal object in giving the present traditionary 
 version of this well-known and singular Ijallad, is to restore 
 to the mysterious little master whom it commemorates 
 that marvellous hreadth of shoulders which truly belongs 
 to him, and of which, it will be seen, by comparison witli 
 the common jirinted copies, that he has been most imcere- 
 moniously and injudiciously deprived. The vast latitude 
 of his chest, and formidable l)iguess of his head, contrasted 
 with the tiny measurement of his limits, add wondrously 
 to the grotesfjueness of his figure, and form too important 
 a feature in the curious picture to be heedlessly omitted. 
 There is an old poem in the Cotton MiS8., wliich IJitson 
 supposes to be of the time of Edward T. or 11., which 
 begins — 
 
 " Als Y Yod on ay Mounday," 
 
 and of which the present ballad appears to be a })ortion. 
 This poem is printed in Mr Finlay's Collection, accompa- 
 nied with some sensible remarks. — MoTUEiiWKLL.
 
 302 THE WEE, WEE MAN. 
 
 As I was walking mine alane, 
 
 Betwixt the water and the wa' ; 
 There I espied a wee, wee man, 
 
 He was the least ane that e'er I saw. 
 
 His leg was scarce a shaf tmont * lang, 
 Both thick and nimble was his knee ; ^ 
 
 Between his een there was a span, 
 
 Betwixt his shoulders there were ells three. 
 
 This wee, wee man pulled up a stane, 
 
 He flang't as far as I could see ; 
 Though I had been as Wallace Strang, 
 
 I wadna gotten it to my knee. 
 
 I said, " Wee man, oh ! but you 're Strang, 
 
 Where is your dwelling, an' where may 't be ? " 
 
 " My dwelling 's at yon bonnie green, 
 Fair lady, will ye go and see ? " 
 
 On we lap and awa' we rade, 
 
 Until we cam to yonder green ; 
 We lighted down to rest our steed, 
 
 And there came out a lady sheen, 
 
 Wi' four and twenty at her back, 
 
 And they were a' weel clad in green ; 
 
 Although he had been the king of Scotland, 
 The warst o' them might hae been his queen. 
 
 * " Shaf tmont : " This word, of which the derivation 
 has long been a puzzle, is supposed to mean, "As long as 
 the fist with the thumb turned out," or about six inches. 
 
 t Variation — 
 
 " His legs they were na a glide inch lang, 
 Aud thick and nimble was his thie."
 
 YOUNG BEAKWELL. 3U3 
 
 So on we lap and awa' we rade, 
 
 Till we came to yon bonnie hall ; 
 The rafters were o' the beaten gold, 
 
 And silver wire were the kebars all. 
 
 There were jjipers playing in every nenk, 
 And ladies dancing jimp and sma' ; 
 
 And aye the owreword o' their tune, 
 
 Was — " Our wee, wee man has been lang awa' ! * 
 
 YOUNG BEARWELL 
 
 Is a fragment, and now printed in tlie liope that the 
 remainder of it may hereafter be recovered. From cir- 
 cumstances, one would almost be inclined to trace it to a 
 Danish source ; or it may be an episode of some forgotten 
 metrical romance, but this cannot satisfactorily be ascer- 
 tained from its catastrophe being unfortunately wanting. 
 
 }.IOfUERWELL. 
 
 When two lovers love each other Aveel, 
 Great sin it were them to twinn ; 
 
 And this I speak from young Bearwell, 
 He loved a lady ying. 
 
 The Mayor's daughter of Birktoun-brae, 
 That lovely liesome thing. 
 
 One day when slie was looking out. 
 Washing her milk-white hands, 
 
 Then she beheld him young Bearwell, 
 As he came in the sands. 
 
 * Tlie two last lines of the printed copies difTer from 
 these ; but I never have found their reading sanctioned 
 by a recited copy of any auticpiity : — 
 
 "Jiut in tlic twinkling of ,in ce 
 My wte, wee man was clc.m uwa' 1 " 
 
 — Motherwell.
 
 804 YOUNG EEAEWELL. 
 
 Says — " Wae's me for you, young Bearwell, 
 
 Such tales of you are taulcl ; 
 They 11 cause you sail the salt sea so far, 
 
 As beyond Yorkisfauld." 
 
 " Oh ! shall I bide in good green wood, 
 Or stay in bower with thee ? " 
 
 " The leaves are thick in good green wood, 
 Would hold you from the rain ; 
 
 And if you stay in bower with me, 
 You Avill be taken and slain. 
 
 " But I caused build a ship for you, 
 
 Ul^on Saint Innocent's day ; 
 I '11 bid Saint Innocent be your guide, 
 
 And our Lady that meikle may. 
 You are a lady's first true love, 
 
 God carry you weel away ! " 
 
 Then he sailed east and he sailed west. 
 
 By many a comely strand ; 
 At length a pufif of northern wind 
 
 Did blow him to the land. 
 
 When he did see the king and court. 
 
 Were ijlaying at the ba' ; 
 Gave him a harp into his hand, 
 
 Says — " Stay, Bearwell, and play." 
 
 He had not been in the king's court 
 
 A twelvemonth and a day, 
 Till there came lords and lairds enew, 
 
 To court that lady gay. 
 
 They wooed her with broach and ring, 
 They nothing could keep back. 
 
 The very charters of their lands 
 Into her hands they pat.
 
 YOUNG BEAEWELL, 305 
 
 She 's done her down to Heyvalin, 
 
 With the light of the mune ; 
 Says — " Will ye do this deed for me, 
 
 And will ye do it sune ? 
 
 " Will ye go seek him, young Bearwell, 
 
 On seas wherever he be ? 
 And if I live and bruik* my life, 
 
 Ke warded ye shall be." 
 
 " Alas, I am too yoimg a skipjoer. 
 
 So far to sail the faem ; 
 But if I live and bruik my life, 
 
 I '11 strive to bring him hame." 
 
 So he has sailed east and then sailed west, 
 
 By many a comely strand ; 
 rill there came a blast of northern wind, 
 
 And blew him to the land. 
 
 And there the king and all his court> 
 
 Were playing at the ba', 
 Gave him a harp into his hand, 
 
 Says — " Stay, Heyvalin, and play." 
 
 He has tane up the harp in hand. 
 
 And unto play went he ; 
 And young Bearwell was the first man 
 
 In all that companie. 
 
 • "Bruik:" endure or enjoy. 
 
 U
 
 306 THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 
 
 THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott first published in the Border Min- 
 strelsy the ballad of the Gay Goss-Hawk, partly made 
 up, he iuformed the reader, from a version in Mrs Brown's 
 collection, and partly from "a MS. of some antiquity," in 
 his own. Mr Motherwell also published a shorter and 
 less complete version, under the title of the Jolly Goss- 
 Hawh, which Mr Peter Buchan sent to him ; and, at a 
 later period, Mr Buchan published in his "Ancient Bal- 
 lads of the North of Scotland," a version different from 
 both, entitled The ScoUish Squire, which he took down 
 from recitation, and in which the messenger-bird is a 
 parrot instead of a goss-hawk. Mr Buchan was of opinion 
 that both Sir Walter Scott's version and Motherwell's 
 were inferior to his own ' ' in delineation of character and 
 detail of incident." It has, no doubt, merits of its own, 
 and not only seems to have been less tampered with by 
 scholars than that of Sir Walter Scott, which is avowedly 
 composite, bitt to have the veritable smack of the street 
 ballad. Mr Buchan is further of opinion that the "par- 
 rot " is a better bird for the piirposes of the story than 
 the goss-hawk ; — an opinion with which few will, we 
 think, be foimd to coincide. 
 
 " WALY, waly, ray gay goss-hawk, 
 Gin your feathering be sheen ! " 
 
 "And waly, waly, my master dear, 
 Gin ye look pale and lean ! 
 
 " have ye tint, at tournament, 
 Your sword, or yet your spear ! 
 
 Or mourn ye for the Southern lass, 
 Whom you may not win near?" 
 
 *' I have not tint at tournament, 
 
 My sword, nor yet my spear ; 
 But sair I mourn for my true love, 
 
 AVi' mony a bitter tear.
 
 THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 307 
 
 " But weel 's me on ye, my gay goss-liawk, 
 
 Ye can baitli speak and flee ; 
 Ye sail carry a letter to my love, 
 
 Brino: an answer back to me." 
 
 " But how sail I your true love find, 
 
 Or how suld I her know ? 
 I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake, 
 
 An eye that ne'er her saw." 
 
 " weel sail ye my true love ken, 
 
 Sae sune as ye her see ; 
 For of a' the flowers of fair England, 
 
 The fairest flower is she. 
 
 "The red that's on my true love's cheek 
 Is like blood-drops on the snaw ; 
 
 The white that is on her breast bare 
 Like the down o' the white sea-maw.* 
 
 "And even at my love's bower door 
 
 You'll find a bowing birk ; 
 And ye maun sit and sing thereon 
 
 As she gangs to the kirk. 
 
 "And four-and-twenty fair ladyes 
 
 Will to the mass repair. 
 But weel may yo my ladye ken, 
 
 The fairest lady there." 
 
 • Mr Buchan's version has these lines more pithily : — 
 
 " what is red of her is rod 
 
 As bjudc drapped on the snaw, 
 
 And what is wliite of her is whita 
 
 Aa milk, or the wild eea-niaw."
 
 308 THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 
 
 Lord AVilliara has written a love letter, 
 
 Put it under his pinion gray ; 
 And he is awa' to Southern land 
 
 As fast as wings can gae. 
 
 And even at that lady's bower 
 
 There grew a flowering birk ; 
 And he sat down and sung thereon 
 
 As she gaed to the kirk. 
 
 And weel he kent that ladye fair, 
 
 Amang her maidens free, 
 For the flower that springs in May morning 
 
 Was not sae sweet as she. 
 
 He lighted at the ladye's yate, 
 
 And sat him on a pin,* 
 And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love, 
 
 Till a' was cosh-f- within. 
 
 And first he sang a low, low note, 
 
 And syne he sang a clear ; 
 And aye the o'erword o' the sang 
 
 Was — "Your love can no Aviu here." 
 
 " Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', 
 
 The wine flows you amang, 
 While I gang to my shot-Avindow, 
 
 And hear yon bounie bird's sang. 
 
 " Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird, 
 
 The sang ye sung yestreen ; 
 For weel I ken by your sweet singing 
 
 Ye are frae my true love sen." 
 
 * "Pin:" Mr Motherwell's version reads "whin," or 
 whin-bush, which seems a more appropriate resting-place 
 for a bird than a pin ; i. e., a door-pin, 
 
 + "Cosh :" quiet.
 
 THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 309 
 
 Oh, first he sang a merry sang, 
 
 And syiie he sang a grave ; 
 And syne he peck'd his feathers gray. 
 
 To her the letter gave. 
 
 " Have there a letter from Lord William ; 
 
 He says he 's sent ye three ; 
 He canna wait your love langer, 
 
 But for your sake he '11 die." 
 
 " Gae bid him bake his bridal bread, 
 
 And brew his bridal ale, 
 And I shall meet him at ]\Iary's kirk, 
 
 Lang, lang ere it be stale." 
 
 The lady 's gane to her chamber, 
 And a moaufu' woman was she ; 
 
 As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash,* 
 And were about to die. 
 
 " A boon, a boon, my father dear, 
 
 A boon I beg of tliee ! " 
 " Ask not tliat paughty Scottish lord, 
 
 For him you ne'er shall see. 
 
 " But for your honest asking else, 
 
 Weel granted it shall be." 
 " Then, gin I die in Southern land, 
 
 In Scotland gar bury me. 
 
 " And the first kirk that ye come to 
 
 Ye 's gar the mass be sung, 
 And the next kirk that ye come to 
 
 Ye 's gar the bells be rung. 
 
 * "Brash:" sickness.
 
 :] 1 THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 
 
 " And when ye come to St INIary's kirk, 
 Ye 's tarry there till night." 
 
 And so her father pledged his word, 
 And so his promise plight. 
 
 She has ta'en her to her bigly bower 
 As fast as she could fare ; 
 
 And she has drank a sleepy draught 
 That she had niix'd wi' care. 
 
 And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek. 
 That was sae bright of blee, 
 
 And she seem'd to be as surely dead 
 As any one could be. 
 
 Then spak her cruel step-minnie, 
 " Tak ye the burning lead, 
 
 And drap a drap on her bosome, 
 To try if she be dead." 
 
 They took a drap o' boiling lead. 
 They drapp'd it on her breast ; 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " her father cried, 
 " She 's dead without the priest." 
 
 She neither chatter'd with her teeth, 
 Nor shiver'd with her chin ; 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " her father cried, 
 " There is nae breath within." 
 
 Then up arose her seven brethren. 
 And hew'd to her a bier ; 
 
 They hew'd it frae the solid aik, 
 Laid it o'er wi' silver clear.
 
 THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 31] 
 
 Then up and gat her seven sisters, 
 
 And sewed to her a kell ; 
 And every steek that they put in 
 
 Sewed to a siller belL 
 
 The first Scots kirk that they cam to, 
 They garr'd the bells be rung ; 
 
 The next Scots kirk that they cam to, 
 They garr'd the mass be sung. 
 
 But when they cam to St IMary's kirk, 
 There stude spearmen all on a raw ; 
 
 And up and started Lord William, 
 The chieftane amang them a'. 
 
 " Set do\^^^, set down the bier," he said ; 
 
 " Let me look her upon :" 
 But as soon as Lord William touched her 
 hand. 
 
 Her colour began to come. 
 
 She brightened like the lily flower, 
 
 Till her pale colour was gone ; 
 With rosy cheek, and ruby lip. 
 
 She smiled her love upon. 
 
 " A morsel of your bread, my lord, 
 
 And one glass of your wine : 
 For I hae fasted these three lang days. 
 
 All for your sake and mine. 
 
 " Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld 
 brothers ! 
 
 Gae hame and Ijlaw your horn ! 
 I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith, 
 
 But I 've gi'en you the .scorn.
 
 »12 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. 
 
 " Commend me to my gray father, 
 That wish'd my saul gude rest ; 
 
 But wae be to my cruel step-dame, 
 Gar'd burn me on the breast." 
 
 " Ah ! woe to you, you light woman ! 
 
 An ill death may you die ! 
 For we left father and sisters at hame 
 
 Breakino- their hearts for thee." 
 
 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. 
 
 Motherwell's version. 
 
 " Oh, well is me, my jolly goss-hawk. 
 
 That ye can speak and flee ; 
 For ye can carry a love letter 
 
 To my true love from me." 
 
 " Oh, how can I carry a letter to her, 
 
 When her I do not know ; 
 I bear the lips to her never spak, 
 
 And the eyes that her never saw." 
 
 " The thing of my love's face that 's white, 
 
 Is that of dove or maw ; 
 The thing of my love's face that 's red. 
 
 Is like blood shed on snaw. 
 
 "And when you come to the castel. 
 
 Light on the bush of ash ; 
 And sit you there and sing our loves, 
 
 As she comes from the mass.
 
 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. 813 
 
 " And when she gaes into the house, 
 
 Sit ye upon the whin ; 
 And sit you there and sing our loves, 
 
 As she goes out and in/' 
 
 And when he flew to that castel, 
 
 He lighted on the ash ; 
 And there he sat and sung their loves. 
 
 As she came from the mass. 
 
 And when she went into the house, 
 
 He flew unto the whin ; 
 And there he sat and sung their loves, 
 
 As she went out and in. 
 
 " Come hitherward, my maidens all. 
 
 And sip red wine anon ; 
 Till I go to my west window, 
 
 And hear a birdie's moan." 
 
 She 's gane unto her west window, 
 
 And fainly aye it drew ; 
 And soon into her white silk lap. 
 
 The bird the letter threw. 
 
 " Yere bidden send your love a send, 
 
 For he has sent you twa ; 
 And tell him wlicre he can see you. 
 
 Or he cainiot live ava." 
 
 " I send him the rings from my white fingers, 
 
 Tlie garlands off my hair ; 
 I send him the heart that 's in my breast. 
 
 What would my love have mair ; 
 And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland, 
 
 Ye '11 bid him meet me there."
 
 S 1 4 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK, 
 
 She hied her to her father dear, 
 As fast as gang could she ; 
 
 " An asking, an asking, my father dear, 
 An asking ye grant me, 
 
 That if I die in fair England, 
 In Scotland gar bury me.* 
 
 " At the first kirk of fair Scotland, 
 You cause the bells be rung ; 
 
 At the second kirk of fair Scotland, 
 You cause the mass be sung. 
 
 " At the third kirk of fair Scotland, 
 
 You deal gold for my sake. 
 And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland. 
 
 Oh ! there you '11 bury me at. 
 
 " And now, my tender father dear, 
 
 This asking grant you me ; " 
 " Your askiiig is but small," he said, 
 
 " Weel granted it shall be." 
 
 * Mr Buchan's version supplies an obvious gap in the 
 story at this passage : — 
 
 " Ask what you will, my dear daughter, 
 And I will gi-ant it thee ; 
 Unless to marry yon Scottish squire, 
 That 's what shall never be." 
 
 " Oh that's the asking, father," she said, 
 " That I '11 ne'er ask of thee, 
 But if I die in Soxith England, 
 In Scotland ye '11 bury me." 
 
 *• The asking's nae sae great, daughter, 
 But granted it shall be ; 
 And though ye die in South England, 
 In Scotland we 11 bury thee."
 
 THE JOLLY GOSS-HATVK. 315 
 
 [The lady asks tlie same boon, and receives a similar 
 answer, first from her mother, then from her sister, and 
 lastly from her seven brothers.] * 
 
 Then down as dead that lady drapj^'d, 
 
 Beside her mother's knee ; 
 Then out it spak an auld witch wife, 
 
 By the fire side sat she ; 
 
 Says — " Drap the het lead on her cheek, 
 
 And drap it on her chin ; 
 And drap it on her rose-red lips, 
 
 And she will speak again ; 
 For much a lady young will do. 
 
 To her true love to Avin." 
 
 They drapp'd the het lead on her cheek, 
 
 So did they on her chin ; 
 They drapp'd it on her red rose lips, 
 
 But they breathed none again. 
 
 Her brothers they went to a room. 
 
 To make to her a bier ; 
 The boards of it were cedar wood, 
 
 And the plates on it gold so clear, 
 
 * Buchan supplies a part of this hiatus : — 
 
 And she has gano to her stepmother, 
 Full lov/ down on her knee ; 
 " An asking, an asking, mf)thcr dear, 
 1 pray you grant it me." 
 
 " Ask what you please, my lily-white dove. 
 
 And granted it Khali lie.'' 
 " If I do (lie in South Kngland, 
 
 In Scotland bury me." 
 
 " O had the.sc words been spoken again, 
 I 'd not have granted thee ; 
 you hae a love in fair Scotland, 
 Wi' him you fain would be." 
 
 She (scarce was to her chamber ganc, 
 
 Nfir yet was well set doun. 
 Till, on the sofa where she tat. 
 
 She fell in deadly swoon.
 
 316 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. 
 
 Her sisters they went to a room, 
 
 To make to her a sark ; 
 The cloth of it was satin fine, 
 
 And the steeking silken wark. 
 
 "But well is me my jolly goss-hawk, 
 
 That ye can speak and flee ; 
 Come shew to me any love tokens 
 
 That you have brought to me." 
 
 " She sends you the rings from her fingers. 
 
 The garlands from her hair ; 
 She sends you tlie heart within her breast. 
 
 And what would you have mair ? 
 And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, 
 
 She bids you meet her there." 
 
 " Come hither all my merry young men, 
 And drink the good red wine ; 
 
 Por we must on to fair England, 
 To free my love from pine." 
 
 At the first kirk of fair Scotland, 
 
 They gart the bells be rung ; 
 At the second kirk of fair Scotland, 
 
 They gart the mass be sung. 
 
 At the third kirk of fair Scotland, 
 They dealt gold for her sake ; 
 
 And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, 
 Her true love met them at. 
 
 •' Set down, set down the corpse," he said, 
 
 " Till I look on the dead ; 
 The last time that I saw her face. 
 
 She ruddy was and red ;
 
 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK, 317 
 
 But now alas, and woe is me, 
 She 's wallowed like a weed." 
 
 He rent the sheet upon her face, 
 
 A little aboon her chin ; 
 With lily white cheek and leniin' eyne, 
 
 She lookt and laugh'd to him. 
 
 " Give me a chive of your bread, my love, 
 
 A bottle of your wuie ; 
 For I have fasted for your love, 
 
 These weary lang days nine ; 
 There 's not a steed in your stable. 
 
 But would have been dead ere syne. 
 
 " Gae hame, gae hame my seven brothers, 
 
 Gae hame and blaw the horn ; 
 For you can say in the south of England, 
 
 Your sister gave you the scorn. 
 
 " I came not here to fair Scotland, 
 
 To lye amang the meal ; 
 But I came here to fair Scotland, 
 
 To wear the silks so weel. 
 
 "I came not here to fair Scotland, 
 
 To lye amang the dead ; 
 But I came here to fair Scotland, 
 
 To wear the gold so red."
 
 818 GYPSIE DAVY. 
 
 GYPSIE DAVY. 
 
 This copy of the popular ballad, whicli generally goes 
 under the title of Johnie Faa, or the Gypsie Laddie, 
 was obtained from the recitation of an old woman, and, 
 as it contaias some additional particidars not to be found 
 in any copy hitherto printed, so far as known to the 
 Editor, it has found a place in this collection. Mr Finlay 
 lias been at some pains in gathering the notices which 
 tradition has preserved of this fair lady's delinquency, 
 and of her dreary penance in the tower of May bole. — 
 
 MOTHEKWELL. 
 
 There came singers to Earl Cassillis' gates, 
 
 And oh but they sang bonnie ; 
 They sang sae sweet and sae complete, 
 
 Till down came the Earl's lady. 
 
 She came tripping down the stair. 
 
 And all her maids before her ; 
 As soon as they saw her weel-faur'd face 
 
 They coost their giamourye ower her. 
 
 They gave her o' the gude sweet-meats, 
 
 The nutmeg and the ginger ; 
 And she gi'ed them a' far better things, 
 
 Ten gowd rings aff her finger. 
 
 " Come with me, my bonnie Jeanie Faa, 
 
 come with me, my dearie ; 
 For I do swear by the head o' my spear, 
 
 Thy gude lord '11 nae mair come near thee." 
 
 " Tak from me my silken cloak. 
 And bring me down my plaidie ; 
 
 For it is good and good eneuch. 
 To follow a Gypsie Davy,
 
 GYPSIE DAVY. 81 D 
 
 "Yestreen I rode this water deep, 
 
 And my gude lord beside me ; 
 But this night I maun set in my pretty fit and 
 wade, 
 
 A wheen blackguards wading wi' me. 
 
 "Yestreen I lay in a fine feather bed. 
 
 And my gude lord beyond me, 
 But this night I maun lie in some cauld ten- 
 ant's barn, 
 
 A wheen blackguards waiting on me." 
 
 " Come to thy bed, my bonnie Jeanie Faa, 
 
 Come to thy bed, my dearie ; 
 For I do swear by the head o' my spear, 
 
 Thy gude lord '11 nae mair come near thee." 
 
 " I '11 go to bed," the lady she said, 
 
 ' I '11 go to bed to my dearie ; 
 For I do swear by the fan in my hand, 
 
 That my lord shall nae mair come near me. 
 
 " I '11 mak a ha])," the lady she said, 
 
 " I '11 mak a hap to my dearie ; 
 And he 's get a' this petticoat gacs round. 
 
 And my lord shall nae mair come near me." 
 
 When her gude lord came hame at night. 
 
 He was asking for his lady; 
 One spake slow, and another whispered low, 
 
 " She 's awa' wi' Gypsie Davy." 
 
 "Come saddle to me my horse," he said ; 
 
 "Come saddle and make him ready; 
 For I'll neither sleep, eat, nor drink, 
 
 Till I find out my lady."
 
 320 GYPSIE DAVY. 
 
 They sought her up, they sought her down, 
 They sought her through nations many ; 
 
 Till at length they found her out in bonnie 
 Abbaydale, 
 Drinking wi' Gypsie Davy. 
 
 " Eise, oh, rise ! my bonny Jeanie Faa ; 
 
 Oh, rise, and do not tarry : 
 Is this the thing that ye promised to me. 
 
 When at first I did thee marry ?" 
 
 They drunk her cloak, so did they her gown. 
 They drunk her stockings and her shoon, 
 
 And they drunk the coat that was neist to her 
 smock, 
 And they pawned her pearled apron. 
 
 They were sixteen clever men. 
 
 Suppose they were nae bonnie ; 
 They are to be a' hanged on ae day, 
 
 For the stealing o' Earl Cassillis lady. 
 
 " We are sixteen clever men. 
 One woman was a' our mother ; 
 
 We are a' to be hanged on ae day, 
 For the stealing of a wanton lady."
 
 WILLIE ^YALLACE. 321 
 
 WILLIE WALLACE. 
 
 This version of a popular ballad, wMcli has been suc- 
 cessively printed in Johnson's ^Museum, Jamieson's Old 
 Ballads, and Fhullay's Ballads, is taken from Buchan's 
 "Gleanings of Scarce Old Ballads," Peterhead, 1825. 
 The Editor of that work states it to be given from the 
 recitation of an itinerant tinker and gypsy. We prefer 
 it to the copy preserved in the iltiseum. The reader wdl 
 find the subject of the ballad in the Fifth Book of Henry 
 the Minstrel's "iletrical Life of Walays." 
 
 Wallace in the high higlilans. 
 
 Neither meat nor drink got he, 
 Said — " Pa' me life, or fa' me death, 
 
 Now to some town I maun be." 
 
 He 's put on his short claiding, 
 And on his sliort claiding put he. 
 
 Says — " Fa' me life, or fa' me death, 
 ITow to Perth-town I maun be." 
 
 He stepp'd o'er the river Tay, 
 
 I wat he stepped on dry land ; 
 He wasna aware of a weU-faured maid 
 
 Was washing there her Hlie hands. 
 
 " What news, what news, ye well-faured maid ] 
 What news hae ye this day to me ? " 
 
 " No news, no news, ye gentle knight, 
 No news hae I this day to thee, 
 
 But fifteen lords in the hostage-house 
 Waiting AVallace for to see." 
 
 " If I had but in my pocket 
 
 The worth of one single pennie, 
 I would go to the hostage-house. 
 
 And there the gentlemen to see." 
 X
 
 322 WILLIE WALLACE. 
 
 She put her hand in her pocket, 
 
 And she has pull'd out half-a-crown, 
 
 Says — " Take ye that, ye belted knight, 
 'Twill pay your way till ye come down." 
 
 As he went from the well-faured maid, 
 
 A beggar bold I wat met he. 
 Was covered wi' a clouted cloak. 
 
 And in his hand a trusty tree. 
 
 " What news, what news, ye silly auld man, 
 What news hae ye this day to gie ? " 
 
 " No news, no news, ye belted knight, 
 No news hae I this day to thee. 
 
 But fifteen lords in the hostage-house 
 Waiting Wallace for to see." 
 
 " You '11 lend me your clouted cloak 
 That covers you frae head to shie, 
 
 And I '11 go to the hostage-house. 
 Asking there for some supplie. 
 
 Now he 's gone to the West-muir wood, 
 And there he pull'd a trusty tree, 
 
 And then he 's on to the hostage gone, 
 Asking there for charitie. 
 
 Down the stair the captain comes, 
 
 Aye the poor man for to see ; 
 " If ye be a captain as good as ye look. 
 
 Ye '11 give a poor man some supplie ; 
 If ye be a captain as good as ye look, 
 
 A guinea, this day, ye '11 gie to me." 
 
 " Where were ye born, ye crooked carle ? 
 
 Where were ye born, in what countrie ? " 
 " In fair Scotland I was born. 
 
 Crooked carle that I be."
 
 WILLIE WALLACE, 823 
 
 " I would give you fifty pounds 
 
 Of gold and white monie ; 
 I would give you fifty pounds, 
 
 If the traitor Wallace ye 'd let me see." 
 
 "TeU down your money," said Willie Wallace, 
 " Tell down your money, if it be good ; 
 
 I 'm sure I have it in my power, 
 And never had a better bode. 
 
 "Tell down your money, if it be good, 
 
 And let me see if it be fine, 
 I 'm sure I have it in my power 
 
 To brino; the traitor Wallace in." 
 
 The money was told on the table. 
 
 Silver bright of pounds fiftie ; 
 " Now here I stand," said Willie Wallace, 
 
 " And what hae ye to say to me ? " 
 
 He slew the captain where he stood, 
 The rest they did quake an' roar ; 
 
 He slew the rest around the room. 
 And ask'd if there were any more. 
 
 " Come, cover the table," said Willie Wallace, 
 " Come, cover the table now, make haste. 
 
 For it will soon be three lang days 
 Sin I a bit o' meat did taste," 
 
 The table was not well covered, 
 Nor yet had he set down to dine. 
 
 Till fifteen more of the English lords 
 Surrounded the house where he was in.
 
 324 SWEET WILLIE AND LADY MAEGEKIE. 
 
 The guidwife she ran but the floor, 
 Aiid aye the guidman he ran ben ; 
 
 From eight o'clock till four at noon, 
 He has killed full thirty men. 
 
 He put the house in sic a swither. 
 That five o' them he sticket dead ; 
 
 Five o' them he drown'd in the river, 
 And five hung in the West-muir wood. 
 
 Now he is on to the North-Inch gone, 
 Where the maid was washing tenderlie ; 
 
 " Now by my sooth," said Willie Wallace, 
 " It 's been a sair day's wark to me." 
 
 He 's put his hand in his pocket, 
 
 And he has pulled out twenty pounds, 
 
 Says, " Tak ye that, ye weel-faured maid, 
 For the gude luck of your half-crown." 
 
 SWEET WILLIE AND LADY MAKGEEIE. 
 
 Tills ballad was taken down by Mr MotlierweU, in 
 1825, from the recitation of a lady then far advanced in 
 years, with whose grandmother it was a favourite. It bears 
 some resemblance to Clerk Saunders. 
 
 Sweet Willie was a widow's son. 
 And he wore a milk-white weed ; 
 
 And weel could Willie read and write, 
 Far better ride on steed 0. 
 
 Lady Margerie was the first ladye 
 That drank to him the wine ; 
 
 And aye as the healths gaed round and round, 
 " Laddie, your love is mine 0."
 
 SWEET WILLIE AND LADY MAEGEEIE. S2o 
 
 Lady Margerie was the first ladye 
 
 That drank to him the beer ; 
 And aye as the healths gaed round and round, 
 
 " Laddie, ye 're welcome here 0. 
 
 " You must come intil my bower 
 "WTien the evening bells do ring ; 
 
 And you must come intil my bower 
 When the evening mass doth sing 0." 
 
 He 's taen four-and-twenty braid arrows, 
 
 And laced them in a whang ; 
 And he 's awa' to Lady JNIargerie's bower, 
 
 As fast as he can gang 0. 
 
 He set his ae foot on the wa'. 
 
 And the other on a stane ; 
 And he 's kill'd a' the king's life-guards, 
 
 He 's kill'd them every man 0. 
 
 " Oh, open, open, Lady Margerie, 
 
 Open and let me in ; 
 The weet weets a' my yellow hair. 
 
 And the dew draps on my chin 0." 
 
 With her feet as white as sleet 
 She strode her bower within ; 
 
 And with her fingers lang and sma' 
 She 's looten sweet Willie in 0. 
 
 She 's louted down unto his foot, 
 To louzc sweet Willie's shoon ; 
 
 The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze. 
 The blood had frozen in 0.
 
 826 SWEET WILLIE A^D LADY MAEGEKTE. 
 
 " Willie, Willie, I fear that thou 
 Hast bred me dule and sorrow ; 
 
 The deed that thou hast done this nicht 
 Will kythe upon the morrow." 
 
 In then came her father dear, 
 
 And a braid sword by his gare ; 
 
 And he 's gien Willie, the widow's son, 
 A dee]) wound and a sair 0. 
 
 " Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, 
 " Your sweat weets a' my side ; 
 
 Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, 
 "For your sweat I downa bide 0." 
 
 She turned her back unto the wa', 
 
 Her face unto the room ; 
 And there she saw her auld father 
 
 Fast walking up and doun 0. 
 
 *' Woe be to you, father," she said, 
 " And an ill death may you die ; 
 
 For ye Ve killed Willie, the widow's son, 
 And he would have married me 0." 
 
 She turned her back unto the room. 
 
 Her face unto the wa' ; 
 And with a deep and heavy sich. 
 
 Her heart it brak in twa 0.
 
 KEMPION. 327 
 
 KEMPION. 
 
 The tale of Kempio7i seems, from the names of the 
 personages and the nature of the adventm-e, to have been 
 an old metrical romance, degraded into a ballad by the 
 lapse of time, and the corruption of reciters. The change 
 in the structure of the last verses from the common 
 ballad stanza to that which is i^roper to the metrical 
 romance, adds force to this conjecture. 
 
 Such transformations as the song narrates are common 
 in the annals of chivalry. In the 25th and 26th cantos 
 of the second book of the Orlando Inamorato, the paladin, 
 Brandimarle, after surmounting many obstacles, pene- 
 trates into the recesses of an enchanted palace. Here he 
 finds a fair damsel seated upon a tomb, who amiouuces 
 to him that, in order to achieve her deliverance, he must 
 raise the lid of the sepulchre, and kiss whatever being 
 should issue forth. The knight, having pledged his faith, 
 proceeds to oi)en the tomb, out of which a monstrous 
 snake issues forth with a tremendous hiss. Brandimarte, 
 with much reluctance, fidfils the hlzurre conditions of the 
 adventure, and the monster is instantly changed into a 
 beautiful fairy, who loads her dehvercr with benefits. 
 
 There is a ballad somewhat resembling Kempion, called 
 The Laidlfjj Worm of Spindltston-lieugh, which is very 
 I)opular ui)on the borders. The most common version 
 was either entirely composed, or re-written by the Keve- 
 rend Mr Lamb, of Norham. — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 " Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely feed, 
 And lay your head low on my knee ; 
 
 The heaviest weird I will you read 
 That ever was read to f^ay ladye. 
 
 " meikle dolour sail ye dree. 
 
 And aye the salt seas o'er ye'sc swim ; 
 
 And far mair dolour sail ye dree. 
 
 On Estmere crag.s, when ye them climb.
 
 328 KEMPION. 
 
 " I weird ye to a fiery beast. 
 And relieved sail ye never be, 
 
 Till Kempion, the kingis son, 
 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee." 
 
 meikle dolour did she dree. 
 
 And aye the salt seas o'er she swam ; 
 
 And far niair dolour did she dree 
 
 On Estmere crags, ere she them clamb. 
 
 And aye she cried for Kempion, 
 
 Gin he would but come to her hand : 
 
 Now word has gane to Kempion, 
 That sicken a beast was in his land. 
 
 " Now, by my sooth," said Kempion, 
 " This fiery beast I '11 gang and see." 
 
 "And, by my sooth," said Segramour, 
 " My ae brother, I '11 gang wi' thee." 
 
 Then bigged hae they a bonnie boat, 
 And they hae set her to the sea ; 
 
 But a mile before they reached the shore, 
 Around them she gart the red fire flee. 
 
 " Segramour, keep the boat afloat, 
 And lat her na the land owre near ; 
 
 For this wicked beast will sure gae wud, 
 And set fire to a' the land and mair." 
 
 Syne has he bent an arblast bow, 
 And aim'd an arroAV at her head ; 
 
 And swore if she didna quit the land, 
 Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.
 
 KEMPION. 329 
 
 " out of my stythe I winna rise, 
 (And it is not for the awe o' thee,) 
 
 Till Kempion, the kingis son, 
 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." 
 
 He has louted him o'er the dizzy crag. 
 And gi'en the monster kisses ane ; 
 
 Awa she gaed, and again she cam. 
 The fieriest beast that ever was seen, 
 
 " out o' my stythe I winna rise, 
 (And not for a' thy bow nor thee,) 
 
 Till Kempion, the kingis son. 
 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." 
 
 He 's louted him o'er the Estmere crags. 
 Aid he has gi'en her kisses twa ; 
 
 Awa she gaed, and again she cam, 
 The fieriest beast that ever you saw. 
 
 " out of my den I winna rise, 
 
 Nor flee it for the fear o' thee. 
 Till Kempion, that courteous knight, 
 
 Come to the crag, and thrice kiss me." 
 
 He 's louted him o'er the lofty crag, 
 And he has gi'en her kisses three : 
 
 Awa she gaed, and again she cam, 
 The loveliest ladye e'er could be. 
 
 " And by my sooth," says Kempion, 
 " My ain true love, (for this is she,) 
 
 They surely had a heart o' stane. 
 Could put thee to such miseiy.
 
 830 KEMP OWYNE, 
 
 " was it werewolf in the wood 
 Or was it mermaid in the sea? 
 
 Or was it man, or vile woman, 
 
 My ain true love, that misshaped thee ? " 
 
 " It was na werewolf in the wood, 
 Nor was it mermaid in the sea ; 
 
 But it was my wicked stepmother. 
 And wae and weary may she be ! " 
 
 " a heavier weird shall light her on 
 
 Than ever fell on vile woman ; 
 
 Her hair shall grow rough, and her teeth 
 
 grow lang, 
 And on her four feet shall she gang. 
 
 " None shall take pity her upon ; 
 In Wormeswood she aye shall won ; 
 And relieved shall she never be. 
 Till St Mungo come over the sea." 
 And sighing said that weary wight, 
 " I doubt that day I '11 never see !" 
 
 KEMP OWYNE. 
 
 The subject of this bcallad is the same as that of the 
 preceding, but is very differently treated. The jiresent 
 version is from recitation. From the air to which it is 
 sung being similar to that of the ludicrous song of Kempy 
 Kay, or Kempy Kane, one woidd be inclined to believe 
 that the latter was a burlesque of the serious ballad. Ring- 
 ing these merry changes on sad metres was no uncommon 
 visage among the Northern Minstrels ; of this Mr Jamieson 
 has produced several instances, in his interesting transla- 
 tions from the Danish ballads. — Motherwell.
 
 KEMP OWYNE. 331 
 
 Hee mother died when she was young, 
 
 Which gave her cause to make great moan ; 
 
 Her father married the warst woman • 
 That ever lived in Christendom. 
 
 She served her with foot and hand, 
 In every thing that she could dee ; 
 
 Till once, in an unlucky time. 
 
 She threw her ower in Craigy's sea. 
 
 Says, " Lie you there, dove Isabel, 
 And all my sorrows lie with thee ; 
 
 Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea. 
 And borrow you with kisses three. 
 
 Let all the warld do what they will. 
 Or borrowed shall you never be." 
 
 Her breath grew Strang, her hair grew lang, 
 And twisted thrice about the tree. 
 
 And all the people far and near 
 
 Thought that a savage beast was she ; 
 
 Thir news did come to Kemp Owyne, 
 Where he lived far beyond the sea. 
 
 He hasted him to Craigy's sea. 
 
 And on the savage beast look'd he ; 
 
 Her breath Avas Strang, her hair was lang. 
 And twisted was about the tree ; 
 
 And with a swing, she came about, 
 
 " Come to Craigy's sea and kiss with me. 
 
 " Here is a royal belt," she cried, 
 " That I have found in the green sea, 
 
 And while your body it is on. 
 
 Drawn shall your blood never be ; 
 
 But if you touch me tail or fin, 
 
 I vow my belt your death shall be."
 
 )32 KEMP OWYNE. 
 
 He stepped in, gave her a kiss, 
 
 The royal belt he brought him wi'. 
 
 Her breath was Strang, her hair was lang, 
 And twisted twice about the tree ; 
 
 And with a swing she came about, 
 
 " Come to Craigy's sea and kiss with me. 
 
 " Here is a royal ring," she said, 
 
 " That I have found in the green sea ; 
 
 And while your finger it is on. 
 Drawn shall your blood never be ; 
 
 But if you touch me tail or fin, 
 
 I swear my ring your death shall be." 
 
 He stepped in, gave her a kiss, 
 
 The royal ring he brought him wi' ; 
 
 Her breath was Strang, her hair was lang. 
 And twisted ance around the tree ; 
 
 And with a swing she came about, 
 
 " Come to Craigy's sea and kiss with me. 
 
 ** Here is a royal brand," she said, 
 " That I have found in the green sea ; 
 
 And while your body it is on. 
 
 Drawn shall your blood never be ; 
 
 But if you touch me tail or fin, 
 
 I swear my brand your death shall be." 
 
 He stepped in gave her a kiss, 
 
 The royal brand he brought him wi', 
 
 Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short, 
 And twisted nane about the tree ; 
 
 And smilingly she came about, 
 As fair a woman as fair could be.
 
 EAEL EICHAED. S3' 
 
 EARL EICHAED. 
 
 Tlie locality of this baUad — Barnisdale — Avill Ijring to 
 the remembrance of the reader tales of Robin Hood and 
 Little John, who, according to the testimony of Andrew 
 of Wyntown, 
 
 " In Tngilwode and Barnysdalo, 
 Their oysed all this tyme thara travaile." 
 
 Whether the ballad is originally the production of an 
 English or of a Scotch minstrel, admits of question ; cer- 
 tain, however, it is, that it has been received into both 
 countries at a pretty early period. Hearne, in his preface to 
 "Gill. Neubrigicnsis Historia," Oxon. 1719, vol. i. p. Ixx., 
 mentions that The Knifjht and Shepherd's Daughter was 
 well known in the time of Queen Elizabeth. In Fletcher's 
 "Pilgrim," Act IV., Scene 2, a stanza of the same baUad 
 is quoted. The English version of this ballad is given in 
 the "Reliques of English Poetry," vol. iii. There are 
 various copies of it current in Scotland. The j^resent 
 version, obtained from recitation in one of the northern 
 counties, is out of sight the most circumstantial and ela- 
 borated that has yet been printed. It possesses no small 
 portion of humour, and appears to be of greater antiquity 
 than the copy published in the Relicpies. In one of the 
 recited copies of this ballad, Earl Richard endeavours to 
 shake the lady's conviction of his identity by using the 
 same means as the Gaberlunzie man, who sang — 
 
 " I '11 bow my leg, and crook my knee, 
 And draw a black clout owro my ee, 
 A crii)ple or blind they will ca' me." 
 
 But the eyes of love were too sharp to be deceived by 
 such witty devices, for, as the baUad has it, when 
 
 " Ho camo hirplin' on a stick, 
 And leanin' on a tree," 
 
 the lady, with a hasty voice, in the face of all the court, 
 immediately cries out — 
 
 " Bo he cripple, or bo ho blind, 
 Tlic name man is lie ! 
 
 With my low silver co." 
 
 Earl Richard's unbridegroonilikc behaviour on his wed- 
 ding night, and his agreeable discovery on tlie morrow, 
 will remind the ballad reader of the gentle Sir Gawaine,
 
 334) EAEL EICHAED. 
 
 wlio, when reluctantly turning round to caress his loatlily 
 bride, much to his joy and contentment foimd her trans- 
 formed into a most lovesome lady. — Motherwell. 
 
 Eael Richaed once upon a day, 
 And all his valiant men so wight ; 
 
 He hied him down to Barnisdale, 
 Where all the land is fair and light. 
 
 He was aware of a damosel, 
 
 I wot fast on she did her bound, 
 
 With towers of gold upon her head, 
 As fair a woman as could be found. 
 
 He said, " Busk you, busk you ! fair ladye, 
 The white Howers and the red ; 
 
 For I would give my bonnie ship, 
 To get your maidenhead." 
 
 " I wish your ship might rent and rive, 
 
 And drown you in the sea ; 
 For all this would not mend the miss, 
 
 That you would do to me." 
 '• The miss is not so great ladye, 
 
 Soon mended it might be. 
 
 " I have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland 
 
 Stand on the water Tay ; 
 You '11 have them and as much good flour 
 
 As they '11 grind in a day." 
 
 " I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive. 
 
 And drown you in the sea ; 
 For all that would not mend the miss, 
 
 That you would do for me." 
 " The miss is not so great ladye, 
 
 Soon mended it will be.
 
 EAKL EICHAED. 835 
 
 " I have four-and-twenty milk-white cows, 
 
 All calved in a day ; 
 You '11 have them and as much hained grass 
 
 As they all on can gae." 
 
 " I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive, 
 
 And droTSTi you in the sea ; 
 For aU that would not mend the miss. 
 
 That you would do to me." 
 " The miss is not so great ladye. 
 
 Soon mended it might be. 
 
 " I have four-and-twenty milk-white steeds 
 
 All foaled in one year ; 
 You '11 have them and as much red gold 
 
 As all their backs can bear." 
 
 She turned her right and round about, 
 
 A.nd she swore by the mold, 
 " I would not bo your love," said she, 
 
 "For that church full of gold." 
 
 He turned him right and round about, 
 
 And he swore by the mass. 
 Says, — " Lady, ye my love shall be, 
 
 And gold ye shall have less." 
 
 She turned her right and round about. 
 
 And she swore by the moon, 
 " I would not be your love," says she, 
 
 " For all the gold in Rome." 
 
 He turned him right and round about. 
 
 And he swore by the moon, 
 Says, — " Lady, ye my love shall be, 
 
 And gold yc shall have none."
 
 336 EAKL EICHARD. 
 
 He caught her by the milk-white hand, 
 And by the grass-green sleeve ; 
 
 And there has taken his will of her, 
 Wholly without her leave. 
 
 The lady fro^vned and sadly blushed, 
 And oh ! but she thought shame ; 
 
 Says — " If you are a knight at all, 
 You'll surely tell your name." 
 
 " In some places they call me Jack, 
 In others they call me John ; 
 
 But when into the Queen's Court, 
 Then Lithcock it is my name." 
 
 "Lithcock ! Lithcock !" the lady said, 
 
 And spelt it ower again ; 
 " Lithcock ! it 's Latin," the lady said, 
 
 " Kichard 's the English of that name." 
 
 The knight he rode, the lady ran, 
 
 A live long summer's day ; 
 Till they came to the wan water. 
 
 That all men do call Tay. 
 
 He set his horse head to the water, 
 
 Just thro' it for to ride ; 
 And the lady was as ready as him. 
 
 The waters for to wade. 
 
 For he had never been as kind-hearted, 
 
 As to bid the lady ride ; 
 And she had never been so low-hearted 
 
 As for to bid him bide.
 
 EAEL EICHAED. S 
 
 But deep into tlie wan water 
 There stands a great big stone ; 
 
 He turned his wight horse head about, 
 Said — "Lady fair, will ye loup on?" 
 
 She 's taken the wand was in her hand, 
 
 And struck it on the foam, 
 And before he got the middle stream, 
 
 The lady was on dry land. 
 " By help of God and our Lady, 
 
 My help lies not in your hand. 
 
 " I learned it from my mother dear. 
 Few is there that has learned better ; 
 
 When I come to a deep water, 
 I can swim thro' like ony otter. 
 
 " I learned it from my mother dear, 
 I find I learned it for my weel ; 
 
 When I come to a deep water, 
 I can swim thro' like ony eel." 
 
 "Turn back, turn back, you lady fair, 
 
 You know not wliat I see ; 
 There is a lady in that castle. 
 
 That will burn you and me." 
 " Betide mc weal, betide me woe. 
 
 That lady will I see." 
 
 She took a ring from her finger, 
 And gave 't the porter for his fee ; 
 
 Says, " Tak you that, my good porter. 
 And bid the queen speak to me." 
 
 And when she came before the queen. 
 There she fell low down on her knee ; 
 
 Says, " There is a knight into your court, 
 Tills day has rol)bed me." 
 Y
 
 3:j8 EAKL rjCHAED. 
 
 " Oh, has he robbed you of your gold, 
 Or has he robbed you of your fee ?" 
 
 " He has not robbed me of my gold, 
 He has not robbed me of my fee ; 
 
 He has robbed me of my maidenhead. 
 The fairest flower of my bodie." 
 
 " There is no knight in all my court 
 
 That thus has robbed thee ; 
 But you '11 have the truth of his right hand, 
 
 Or else for your sake he '11 die ; 
 Tho' it were Earl Pdchard, my owti brother, 
 
 And oh ! forbid that it be !" 
 Then, sighing, said the lady fair, 
 
 " I wot the same man is he." 
 
 The queen called on her merry men, 
 
 Even fifty men and three ; 
 Earl Richard used to be the first man, 
 
 But now the hindmost was he. 
 He 's taken out one hundred pounds. 
 
 And told it in his glove ; 
 Says, " Tak you that, my lady fair, 
 
 And seek another love." 
 
 " Oh no, oh no," the lady cried, 
 " That 's what shall never be ; 
 
 I '11 have the troth of your right hand. 
 The queen she gave it me." 
 
 " I wish I had drunk of your water, sister. 
 When I did drink your Avine ; 
 
 That for a carle's fair daughter. 
 It gars me dree this pine."
 
 EARL EICHARD. 339 
 
 " May be I am a carle's daugtter, 
 
 And may be never nane ; 
 When ye met me in the green wood, 
 
 Why did ye not let me alane ?" 
 
 " Will you wear the short clothes, 
 
 Or will you wear the side, 
 Or will you walk to your wedding, 
 
 Or will you till it ride V 
 
 " I will not wear the short clothes. 
 
 But I will wear the side ; 
 I will not walk to my wedding, 
 
 But I to it will ride/' 
 
 When he was set upon the horse. 
 
 The lady him behin' ; 
 Then cauld and eerie were the words, 
 
 The twa had them between. 
 
 She said, " Good e'en, ye nettles tall, 
 Just there where ye grow at the dike, 
 
 If the auld carline my mother was here, 
 Sae weel 's she would you pike. 
 
 " How she would stap you in her poke, 
 
 I wot at that she wadna fail ; 
 And boil ye in her auld brass pan, 
 
 And of ye she wad mak gude kail. 
 
 " And she would meal you with millering, 
 
 That she gathers at the mill ; 
 And mak you thick as any daigh. 
 
 And when the pan was brimful
 
 340 EARL EICHAKD. 
 
 " Would mess you up in scuttle dishes, 
 Syne bid us sup till we were fu', 
 
 Lay down her head upon a poke, 
 Then sleep and snore like any sow." 
 
 " Away ! away ! you bad woman. 
 For all your vile words grieveth me ; 
 
 When ye heed so little for yourself, 
 I 'm sure ye 11 heed far less for me. 
 
 " I wish I had drunk your water, sister. 
 When that I did drink of your wine ; 
 
 Since for a carle's fair daughter. 
 It aye gars me dree all this pine." 
 
 " May be I am a carle's daughter, 
 
 And may be never nane ; 
 When ye met me in the good greenwood, 
 
 Why did you not let me alane ? 
 
 " Gude e'en, gude e'en, ye heather berries, 
 As ye 're growing on the hill ; 
 
 If the auld carle and his bags were here, 
 I wot he would get meat his fill. 
 
 " Late, late at night I knit our pokes, 
 With even four-and- twenty knots ; 
 
 And in the morn at breakfast time, 
 I '11 carry the keys of an earl's locks. 
 
 " Late, late at night I knit our pokes, 
 With even four-and-twenty strings ; 
 
 And if you look to my white fingers, 
 They have as many gay gold rhigs."
 
 EARL RICHAED. 3 4; I 
 
 " Away ! away ! ye ill woman, 
 
 And sore your vile words grievetli me ; 
 When you heed so little for yourself, 
 
 I 'm sure ye '11 heed far less for me. 
 
 " But if you are a carle's daughter, 
 
 As weel I take you for to be, 
 How did you get the gay clothing, 
 
 In greenwood that ye had on ye ? " 
 
 " My mother she 's a poor woman, 
 She nursed an earl's children three ; 
 
 And I got them from a foster-sister. 
 For to beguile such sparks as thee." 
 
 " But if you be a carle's daughter, 
 
 As weel that I believe you be. 
 How did ye learn the good Latin, 
 
 In greenwood that ye spoke to me ? " 
 
 " My mother she 's a mean woman, 
 She nursed an earl's children three ; 
 
 I leam'd it from their chapelain. 
 To beguUe such sparks as ye." 
 
 When mass was sung, and bells were rung, 
 
 And all men boune for bed, 
 Then Earl Eichard and this lady 
 
 In ane bed they were laid. 
 
 He turned his face to the stock. 
 
 And she hers to the stane, 
 And cauld and dreary was the luve 
 
 That was thir twa between.
 
 3'12 ANDEEW LAMMIE, 
 
 Great was the mirth in the kitchen, 
 
 Likewise intil the ha', 
 But in his bed lay Earl Eichard 
 
 Wiping the tears awa'. 
 
 He wept till he fell fast asleep. 
 Then slept till licht was come, 
 
 Then he did hear the gentlemen 
 That talked in the room 
 
 Said — " Saw ye ever a fitter match. 
 
 Betwixt the ane and ither ; 
 The king o' Scotland's fair dochter, 
 
 And the queen of England's brither." 
 
 " And is she the king o' Scotland's fair 
 dochter ? 
 
 This day, oh, weel is me ! 
 For seven times has my steed been saddled. 
 
 To come to court with thee ; 
 And with this witty lady fair 
 
 How happy must I be !" 
 
 ANDREW LAMMIE. 
 
 The ill-starred loves of Ti/tie's honnie Annie and the 
 Trumpeter of Fyvie have already been made familiar to 
 the readers of ballad poetry, by Mr Jamieson, who has 
 published in his collection two diflferent sets of this sim- 
 ple, but not vmpathetic ditty.* Neither of these sets, 
 however, is so complete as the present version, which is 
 a reprint from a stall copy, published in Glasgow several 
 
 * Vide " Popular Ballads and Songs," Edinburgh, 1806, vol. i. p. 129, 
 and vol. ii. p. 382.
 
 ANDREW LAiMMIE. S4;3 
 
 years ago, collated with a recited copy, which has fiir- 
 iiished one or two verbal improvements. 
 
 "The beauty, gallantry, and amiable qualities of 'Bonnie 
 Andrew Lammie' seem," says Mr Jamieson, " to have 
 been proverbial wherever he went ; and the good old 
 ' cummer ' in Allan Ramsay, as the best evidence of the 
 power of her own youthful charms, and the best apology 
 for her having 'cast a leggen girth hersel,' says — 
 
 ' I 'se warrant ye have a' heard tell, 
 Of bonnie Andrew Lammie? 
 Stiffly in luve wi' me he fell, 
 As soon as e'er he saw me — 
 That was a day ! ' 
 
 "Tn this instance, as in most others in the same piece, it 
 seems most probable that Allan Ramsay forgot that he 
 was wi'iting of the days of the original author of ' Christis 
 Kirk on the Green,' and copied only the manners and tra- 
 ditions of his o^vn times. If a woman who could boast 
 of having had an intrigue ^'itli the 'Trumpeter of Fyvie,' 
 was bale and hearty at the time when Allan wrote, we 
 may reasonably suppose poor 'Tifty's Nanny' to have died 
 sometime about the year 1670." This conjecture as to 
 the }^>eriod when 
 
 " Tlie fairest flower was cut down by love, 
 That e'er sprung up in Fyvio," 
 
 is very near the truth, if the notice contained in the title 
 of the stall copy referred to can be admitted as evidence 
 on the point. It is this — "Andrew Lammie ; or, Mill o' 
 Tiftie's Annie. This tragedy was acted in the year 1674." 
 
 It has been remarked by Mr Jamieson, that "this 
 ballad is almost entirely without rhymes ; as cadence in 
 the measure is aU that seems aimed at, and the few in- 
 stances of rhyme that occur ai)poar to be ratlier casual 
 than intentional." Though the present set is not so faidty 
 in this respect as in the copies wliich came under Mr 
 Jaraieson's observation, it, as well as the otliers, has an- 
 other pecidiarity deserving attention — namely, the studied 
 recurrence of rhyme in the middle of the first and third 
 lines of a great many of the stanzas. 
 
 Tt may be stated, that the present sot of the ba]la<l 
 .agrees with any recited copy which the Editor has hitlierto 
 met with in the West Country. — Motueiuvell.
 
 S-iJi ANDREW LAMMIE. 
 
 At Mill o' Tifty lived a man, 
 In the neighbourhood of Fyvie ; 
 
 He had a lovely daughter fair, 
 Was called bonnie Annie. 
 
 Her bloom was like the springing flower, 
 That salutes the rosy morning ; 
 
 With innocence, and graceful mien, 
 Her beauteous form adorning. 
 
 Lord Fyvie had a Trumpeter, 
 
 Whose name was Andrew Lammie ; 
 
 He had the art to gain the heart 
 Of Mill o' Tiftie's Annie. 
 
 Proper he was, both young and gay. 
 
 His like was not in Fyvie ; 
 No one was there that could compare 
 
 With this same Andrew Lammie. 
 
 Lord Fyvie he rode by the door 
 Where lived Tiftie's Annie ; 
 
 His Trumpeter rode him before, 
 Ev'n this same Andrew Lammie. 
 
 Her mother call'd her to the door, 
 " Come here to me, my Annie ; 
 
 Did you ever see a prettier man 
 Than the Trumpeter of Fyvie?" 
 
 She sighed sore, but said no more ; 
 
 Alas for bonnie Annie ! 
 She durst not own her heart was won 
 
 By the Trumpeter of Fyvie.
 
 ^ 
 
 AKDKEW LAMMIE. S4iO 
 
 At niglit when they went to their beds, 
 All slept fuU sound but Annie ; 
 
 Love so ojjprest her tender breast, 
 Thinking on Andrew Lammie. 
 
 " Love comes in at my bed-side, 
 And love lies down beyond me ; 
 
 Love has possess'd my tender breast, 
 And love will waste my body. 
 
 " The first time I and my love met 
 
 Was in the woods of Fyvie ; 
 His lovely form and speech so sweet 
 
 Soon gain'd the heart of Annie. 
 
 " He call'd me mistress ; I said. No, 
 
 I 'm Tiftie's bonnie Annie ; 
 "With apples sweet he did me treat. 
 
 And kisses soft and many. 
 
 "It 's up and down in Tiftie's den, 
 
 Where the burn runs clear and bonnie, 
 
 I 've often gone to meet my love. 
 My bonnie Andrew Lammie." 
 
 But now, alas ! her father heard, 
 
 That the Trumpeter of Fyvie 
 Had had the art to gain the heart 
 
 Of Tiftie's bomiie Annie. 
 
 Her father soon a letter vrrote, 
 
 And sent it on to Fyvie, 
 To tell his daughter was bewitch'd 
 
 By his servant, Andrew Lammie.
 
 346 ANDEEW LAMMIE. 
 
 When Lord Fyvie had this letter read, 
 dear ! but he was sorry ; 
 
 The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land 
 Is bewitch'd by Andrew Lamniie. 
 
 Then up the stair his Trumpeter 
 He called soon and shortly ; 
 
 " Pray, tell me soon, what 's this you 've 
 done 
 To Tif tie's bonnie Annie?" 
 
 " In wicked art I had no part, 
 
 Nor therein am I canny ; 
 True love alone the heart has won 
 
 Of Tiftie's bonnie Annie. 
 
 " Woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride, 
 
 For it has ruin'd many ; 
 He '11 no hae 't said that she should wed 
 
 The Trumpeter of Fyvie. 
 
 " Where will I find a boy so kind, 
 That '11 carry a letter cannie, 
 
 Who will run on to Tiftie's town. 
 Give it to my love Annie?'' 
 
 " Here you shall find a boy so kind. 
 Who 11 carry a letter canny. 
 
 Who will run on to Tiftie's town. 
 And gie 't to thy love Annie." 
 
 " It 's Tiftie he has daughters three, 
 Who all are wondrous bonnie ; 
 
 But ye 'U ken her o'er a' the lave, 
 Gie that to bonnie Annie."
 
 AKDEEW LAMMIE. 34-7 
 
 " It 's up and down in Tif tie's den, 
 
 Where the burn rins clear and bonnie, 
 
 There wilt thou come and meet thy love, 
 Thy bonnie Andrew Lammie. 
 
 " When wilt thou come, and I '11 attend, 
 
 My love I long to see thee?" 
 " Thou may'st come to the Bridge of Sleugh, 
 
 And there I '11 come and meet thee." 
 
 "My love, I go to Edinbro', 
 
 And for a while must leave thee ;" 
 
 She sighed sore, and said no more, 
 "But I wish that I were wi' thee." 
 
 " I 'W buy to thee a bridal gown. 
 
 My love, I'll buy it bonnie ;" 
 " But I '11 be dead ere ye come back 
 
 To see your bonnie Annie." 
 
 " If you '11 be true, and constant too, 
 As my name 's Andrew Lammie, 
 
 I shall thee wed when I come back 
 To see the lands of Fyvie." 
 
 " I will be true, and constant too, 
 
 To thee, my Andrew Lammie ; 
 But my bridal-bed will ere then be made 
 
 In the green kirkyard of Eyvie." 
 
 " Our time is gone and now comes on. 
 My dear, that I must leave tliee ; 
 
 If longer here I should appear. 
 Mill o' Tiftie he would see me."
 
 848 ANDEEW LAMMIE. 
 
 " I now for ever bid adieu 
 
 To thee, my Andrew Lammie ; 
 
 Ere ye come back, I will be laid 
 In the green kirkyard of Fyvie." 
 
 He hied him to the head of the house, 
 To the house-top of Fyvie ; 
 
 He blew his trumpet loud and shrill, 
 'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie. 
 
 Her father lock'd tlie door at night. 
 Laid by the keys fu' canny ; 
 
 And when he heard the trumpet sound, 
 Said, "Your cow is lowing, Annie." 
 
 "My father dear, I pray forbear, 
 And reproach no more your Annie ; 
 
 For I 'd rather hear that cow to low 
 Than hae a,' the kine in Fyvie. 
 
 " I would not for my braw new gown. 
 And a' your gifts sae many, 
 
 That it were told in Fyvie's land, 
 How cruel you are to Annie. 
 
 "But if ye strike me, I will cry. 
 And gentlemen Avill hear me ; 
 
 Lord Fyvie will be riding by. 
 And he '11 come in and see me." 
 
 At the same time, the Lord came in. 
 He said, "What ails thee, Annie?" 
 
 " 'Tis all for love now I must die, 
 For bonnie Andrew Lammie."
 
 ANDEEW LAiOIIE. 349 
 
 " Pray, Mill o' Tiftie, gie consent, 
 And let your daughter marry." 
 
 " It will be with some higher match 
 Than the Trumpeter of Fyvie." 
 
 " If she were come of as high a kind 
 
 As she 's adorn'd with beauty, 
 I would take her unto myself. 
 
 And make her mine ovm lady." 
 
 "It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide. 
 And they are rich and bonnie ; 
 
 I would not leave my own true love 
 For all the lands of Fyvie." 
 
 Her father struck her wondrous sore, 
 
 As also did her mother ; 
 Her sisters always did her scorn ; 
 
 But woe be to her brother. 
 
 Her brother struck her wondrous sore, 
 
 With cruel strokes and many ; 
 He brake her back in the haU door, 
 
 For liking Andrew Lammie. 
 
 "Alas ! my father and mother dear. 
 
 Why so cruel to your Annie ? 
 My heart was broken first by love, 
 
 My brother has broken my l)ody." 
 
 " motlier dear, make ye my bed. 
 
 And lay my face to Fyvie ; 
 Thus will I lie, and thus will die 
 
 For my love, Andrew Lammie !
 
 350 ANDEEW LAMMIE. 
 
 " Ye neighbours hear, both far and near, 
 
 Ye pity Tiftie's Annie ; 
 Who dies for love of one poor lad, 
 
 For bonnie Andrew Lammie. 
 
 " No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life. 
 Nor hurt my virgin honour ; 
 
 ]My youthful heart was won by love, 
 But death will me exoner." 
 
 Her mother then she made her bed, 
 And laid her face to Fyvie ; 
 
 Her tender heart it soon did break, 
 And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie. 
 
 But the word soon went up and down. 
 Through all the lands of Fyvie, 
 
 That she was dead and buried. 
 Even Tiftie's bonnie Annie. 
 
 Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands, 
 Said, " Alas for Tiftie's Annie ! 
 
 The fairest flower 's cut down by love, 
 That e'er sprung up in Fyvie. 
 
 " woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride, 
 He might have let them marry ; 
 
 I should have gi'en them both to live 
 Into the lands of Fyvie." 
 
 Her father sorely now laments 
 The loss of his dear Annie, 
 
 And wishes he had gi'en consent 
 To wed with Andrew Lammie.
 
 AKDKEW LAMMIE. 351 
 
 Her mother grieves both air and late, 
 Her sisters, 'cause they scorn'd her ; 
 
 Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve, 
 For the cruel usage he 'd given her. 
 
 But now, alas ! it was too late, 
 For they could not recall her ; 
 
 Through life, unhappy is their fate, 
 Because they did control her. 
 
 When Andrew hame from Edinbro' came, 
 With meikle grief and sorrow : 
 
 " My love has died for me to-day, 
 I '11 die for her to-morrow. 
 
 " Now I will on to Tiftie's den. 
 
 Where the burn runs clear and bonnio ; 
 
 With tears 1 '11 view the Bridge of Sleugh,* 
 Where I parted last with Annie. 
 
 " Then will I speed to the churcliyard. 
 To the green churcliyard of Fy vie ; 
 
 With tears I '11 water my love's grave, 
 Till I follow Tiftie's Aimie." 
 
 Ye parents grave, who children have, 
 
 In crushing them be canny, 
 Lest when too late you do r(,^pent — 
 
 Remember Tiftie's Annie. 
 
 * "Sleugli :" in one i)rintc(l copy tliia is " Shougli," and 
 in a recited cojjy it was called " Skew ;" bnt which is the 
 right reading, the editor, from liis ignorance of tlic tojio- 
 graphy of the lands of Fyvie, is unable to say. It is a re- 
 ceived su])crstitii)n in Scotland, that when friends or lovers 
 part at a bridge, they shall never again meet. — W. M.
 
 352 THE WEAEY COBLE O' CAEGILL. 
 
 THE WEARY COBLE 0' CAEGILL. 
 
 This local ballad, whicli commemorates some real event, 
 is given from the recitation of an old woman, residing in 
 the neighboiu-hood of Cambusmichael, Perthshire. It 
 possesses the elements of good poetry, and, had it fallen 
 into the hands of those who make no scruple of interpolat- 
 ing and corrupting the text of oral song, it might have 
 been made, with little trouble, a very interesting and 
 pathetic composition. 
 
 Kercock and Balathy are two smaU villages on the 
 banks of the Tay ; the latter is nearly opposite StobhaU. 
 According to tradition, the ill-fated hero of the ballad had 
 a leman in each of these places, and it was on the occasion 
 of his paying a visit to his Kercock love that the jealous 
 dame in "Balathy toun," from a revengeful feeling, sciittled 
 the boat in which he was to re-cross the Tay to Stobhall. 
 — Motherwell. 
 
 David Deummond's destinie, 
 
 Glide man o' appearance o' Cargill ; 
 
 I wat his bliide rins in the flude, 
 Sae sair against his parents' Avill. 
 
 She was the lass o' Balathy toun, 
 And he the butler o' Stobhall ; 
 
 And mony a time she wanked late, 
 To bore the coble o' Cargill. 
 
 His bed was made in Kercock ha', 
 Of glide clean sheets and of the hay ; 
 
 He wiidna rest ae nicht therein, 
 
 But on the prude waters he wud gae. 
 
 His bed was made in Balathy touu. 
 Of the clean sheets and of the strae ; 
 
 But I wat it was far better made, 
 Into the bottom o' bonnie Tay.
 
 THE WEARY COBLE O' CAKGILL. 353 
 
 She bored the coble in seven pairts, 
 
 I wat her heart might hae been sae sair ; 
 
 For there she got the bonnie lad lost, 
 Wi' the ciu'ly locks and the yellow hair. 
 
 He put his foot into the boat, 
 
 He little thocht o' ony ill : 
 But before that he was mid waters, 
 
 The weary coble began to fill, 
 
 " Woe be to the lass o' Balathy toun, 
 I wat an iU death may she die ; 
 
 For she bored the coble in seven pairts, 
 And let the waters perish me ! 
 
 " help ! help ! I can get nane, 
 Nae help o' man can to me come !" 
 
 This was about his dying words, 
 
 When he was choked up to the chin. 
 
 " Gae tell my father and my mother. 
 It was naebody did me this ill ; 
 
 I was, a-going my ain errands. 
 
 Lost at the coble o' bonnie CargilL" 
 
 She bored the boat in seven pairts, 
 I wat she bored it wi' gude will ; 
 
 And there they got the bonnie lad's corpse, 
 In the kirk-shot o' bonnie Cargill. 
 
 Oh, a' the keys o' bonnie Stobha, 
 I wat they at his belt did hing ; 
 
 But a' the keys of bonnie Stobha', 
 They now lie low into the stream. 
 z
 
 354 THE WEARY COBLE O' CAEGILL. 
 
 A braver page into his age 
 
 Ne'er set a foot upon the plain ; 
 
 His father to his mother said — 
 " Oh sae sune as we've wanted him ! 
 
 " I wat they had mair luve than this 
 When they were young and at the scule ; 
 
 But for his sake she wauked late, 
 
 And bored the coble o' bonnie Cargill, 
 
 " There 's ne'er a clean sark gae on my back, 
 Nor yet a kame gae in my hair ; 
 
 There 's neither coal nor candle licht. 
 Shall shine in my bower for ever mair. 
 
 " At kirk nor market I'se ne'er be at, 
 Nor yet a blithe blink in my ee ; 
 
 There 's ne'er a ane shall say to anither, 
 " That 's the lassie gart the young man 
 die.'" 
 
 Between the yetts o' bonnie Stobha', 
 And the kirk-style o' bonnie Cargill, 
 
 There is mony a man and mother's son 
 That was at my luve's burial 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BALLANTYNE AKD COMPANT, PRINTERS, EDrNBUttaH.
 
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