Some mair news I will ask of thee,--
Of one of the chieftains that lies there,
If he has lately seen his gay lady."
(_jooked,_ bowed. _tree_, staff.)
"It is twa months, and something mair,
Since we did part 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 sleep;
His head was not so cosily,
Nor yet sae weel, as lies at my feet."
With that he threw off his strange 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 thee aince,
I'll strive to hide you, if I can:"
Then she put him down in a dark cellar
Where there lay many a new slain man.
But he hadna in the cellar been,
Not an hour but barely three,
Then hideous was the noise he heard,
When in at the gate came Violentrie.
Says, "I wish 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 foe,
Sae oft frae the field has made us flee,
Ten thousand zechins this day I'll give
That I his face could only see."
"Of that same gift would ye give me,
If I would bring him unto thee?
I fairly hold you at your word;--
Come ben, John Thomson, to my lord."
Then from the vault John Thomson came,
Wringing his hands most piteously:
"What would ye do," the Turk he cried,
"If ye had me as I hae thee?"
"If I had you as ye have me,
I'll tell ye what I'd do to thee;
I'd hang you up in good greenwood,
And cause your ain hand wale the tree.
"I meant to stick you with my knife
For kissing my beloved lady:"
"But that same weed ye've shaped for me,
It quickly shall be sewed for thee."
(_wald_, choose. _weed_, dress.)
I
Then to the wood they baith are gane;
John Thomson clomb frae tree to tree;
And aye he sighed and said, "Ochone!
Here comes the day that I must die,"
He tied a ribbon on every branch,
Put up a flag his men might see;
But little did his false foes ken
He meant them any injury.
He set his horn unto his mouth,
And he has blawn baith loud and shrill:
And then three thousand armed men
Came 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.
"O 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 castle burnt,
That stood upon yon hill so high;
John Thomson's gay lady they took
And hanged her on yon greenwood tree.
LORD DERWENTWATER
|Our King has wrote a lang letter
And sealed it ower with gold;
He sent it to my lord Dunwaters,
To read it if he could.
He has not sent it with a boy, with a boy,
Nor with any Scotch lord;
But hes sent it with the noblest knight
E er Scotland could afford.
The very first line that my lord did read,
He gave a smirkling smile;
Before he had the half of it read,
The tears from his eyes did fall.
"Come saddle to me my horse," he said,
"Come saddle to me with speed;
For I must away to fair London town,
For me there was neer more need."
Out and spoke his lady gay,
In child-bed where she lay:
"I would have you make your will, my lord
Dunwaters,
Before you go away."
"I leave to you, my eldest son,
My houses and my land;
I leave to you, my youngest son,
Ten thousand pounds in hand.
"I leave to you, my lady gay,--
You are my wedded wife,--
I leave to you, the third of my estate,
That'll keep you in a ladys life."
They had not rode a mile but one,
Till his horse fell ower a stane:
"Its a warning good enough," my lord Dunwaters said,
"Alive I'll ne'er come hame."
When they came to fair London town,
Into the courtiers' hall,
The lords and knights in fair London town
Did him a traitor call.
"A traitor! a traitor!" says my lord,
"A traitor! how can that be?
An' it was na for the keeping of five thousand men,
To fight for King Jamie.
"O all you lords and knights in fair London town,
Come out and see me die:
The Twa Magicians s'
181
O all you lords and knights in fair Londo town,
Be kind to my lady.
"Theres fifty pounds in my right pocket,
Divide it to the poor;
There's other fifty in my left pocket,
Divide it from door to door."
THE TWA MAGICIANS
|The lady stands in her bower door,
As straight as willow wand;
The blacksmith stood a little forbye,
Wi' hammer in his hand.
"Weel may ye dress ye, lady fair,
Into your robes o' red;
Before the morn at this same time,
I'll gain your maidenhead!"
"Awa', awa', ye coal-black smith,
Would ye do me the wrang,
To think to gain my maidenhead,
That I hae kept sae lang?"
(_forbye_, on one side.)
Then she has hadden up her hand,
And she sware by the mould,
"I wadna be a blacksmith's wife,
For the full o' a chest o' gold.
"I'd rather I were dead and gone,
And my body laid in grave,
Ere a rusty stock o' coal-black smith,
My maidenhead should have."
But he has hadden up his hand,
And he sware by the mass,
"I'll cause ye be my light leman,
For the half o' that and less."
O bide, lady, bide,
And aye he bade her bide,
The rusty smith your leman shall be,
For a' your muckle pride.
Then she became a turtle dow,
To fly up in the air,
And he became another dow,
And they flew pair and pair,
O bide, lady, bide, &c.
She turned hersel' into an eel,
To swim into yon burn,
And he became a speckled trout,
To gie the eel a turn.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.
(_turn_, trick.)
Then she became a duck, a duck,
To puddle in a peel,
And he became a rose-kaimed drake,
To gie the duck a dreel.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.
She turned hersel' into a hare,
To rin upon yon hill,
And he became a gude grey-hound,
And boldly he did fill.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.
Then she became a gay gray mare,
And stood in yonder slack,
And he became a gilt saddle,
And sat upon her back.
Was she wae, he held her sae,
And still he bade her bide;
The rusty smith her leman was,
For a' her muckle pride.
Then she became a hot girdle,
And he became a cake,
And a' the ways she turn'd hersel',
The blacksmith was her make.
Was she wae, &c.
She turn'd hersel' into a ship,
To sail out ower the flood;
(_peel_, pool. _dreel_, rush (?). _slack_, dell. _make_, mate.
He ca'ed a nail intill her tail,
And syne the ship she stood.
Was she wae, &c.
Then she became a silken plaid,
And stretch'd upon a bed,
And he became a green covering,
And gain'd her maidenhead.
Was she wae, &c.
BROWN ROBIN
[Illustration: 0219]
|The king but an his nobles a'
Sat birling at the wine;
He would ha' nane but his ae daughter
To wait on them at dine.
(_ca'ed_, drove. _birling_, drinking.)
She's serv'd them but, she's serv'd them ben,
Intill a gown of green,
But her ee was aye on Brown Robin
That stood low under the rain.
She's do'en her to her bigly bower,
As fast as she could gang,
An' there she's drawn her shot-window,
An' she's harped an' she's sang.
"There sits a bird i' my father's garden,
An O but she sings sweet!
I hope to live and see the day
When wi' my love I'll meet."
"O gin that ye like me as well
As your tongue tells to me,
What hour o' the night, my lady bright,
At your bower shall I be?"
"When my father and gay Gilbert
Are baith set at the wine,
O ready, ready I will be
To let my true-love in."
O she has birled her father's porter
Wi' strong beer an' wi' wine,
Until he was as beastly drunk
As ony wild-wood swine;
She's stown the keys o' her father's gates
An letten her true-love in.
(_bigly_, pleasant. _shot_, projecting.)
Whan night was gane, and day was come,
An the sun shone on their feet,
Then out it spake him Brown Robin:
"I'll be discovered yet."
Then out it spake that gay lady:
"My love, ye needna doubt;
For wi' ae wile I've got you in,
Wi' anither I'll bring you out."
She's taen her to her father's cellar,
As fast as she can fare;
She's drawn a cup o' the guid red wine,
Hung't low down by her gare;
An' she met wi' her father dear
Just coming down the stair.
"I wouldna gie that cup, daughter,
That ye hold i' your hand
For a' the wines in my cellar,
An' gauntrees where they stand."
'O wae be to your wine, father,
That ever't came o'er the sea;
'Tis putten my head in sick a steer
I' my bower I canna be."
"Gang out, gang out, my daughter dear,
Gang out an' take the air;
Gang out an' walk i' the good green wood,
An' a your marys fair."
(_gare,_ skirt. _steer,_ stir.)
[Illustration: 0222]
Then out it spake the proud porter--
Our lady wished him shame--
"Well send the marys to the wood,
But well keep our lady at hame."
"Theres thirty marys i' my bower,
There's thirty o' them an' three;
But there's na ane among them a'
Kens what flower gains for me."
She's do'en her to her bigly bower,
As fast as she could bang,
An' she has dressed him, Brown Robin,
Like ony bower-woman.
The gown she put upon her love
Was o' the dainty green,
His hose was o' the saft, saft silk,
His shoon o' the cordwain fine.
She's putten his bow in her bosom,
His arrow in her sleeve,
His sturdy bran' her body next,
Because he was her love.
Then she is unto her bower-door,
As fast as she could gang;
But out it spake the proud porter--
Our lady wished him shame--
"Well count our marys to the wood,
An well count them back again."
(_cordwain_, leather.)
The firsten mary she sent out
Was Brown Robin by name;
Then out it spake the king himsel',
"This is a sturdy dame."
O she went out in a May morning,
In a May morning so gay,
But she came never back again,
Her auld father to see.
BLANCHEFLOUR AND JELLYFLORICE
|There was a maid, richly array'd,
In robes were rare to see;
For seven years and something mair,
She serv'd a gay lady.
But being fond o' a higher place,
In service she thought lang;
She took her mantle her about,
Her coffer by the band.
And as she walk'd by the shore side,
As blithe's a bird on tree,
Yet still she gaz'd her round about,
To see what she could see.
(_coffer_, cap.)
At last she spied a little castle,
That stood near by the sea;
She spied it far, and drew it near,
To that castle went she.
And when she came to that castle,
She tirled at the pin '
And ready stood a little wee boy
To let this fair maid in.
"O who's the owner of this place,
O porter boy, tell me?"
"This place belongs unto a queen
O' birth and high degree."
She put her hand in her pocket,
And gae him shillings three;
"O porter, bear my message well,
Unto the queen frae me."
The porter's gane before the queen,
Fell low down on his knee;
"Win up, win up, my porter boy,
What makes this courtesy?"
"I hae been porter at your yetts,
My dame, these years full three,
But see a lady at your yetts,
The fairest my eyes did see."
"Cast up my yetts baith wide and braid,
Let her come in to me;
And I'll know by her courtesy,
Lord's daughter if she be."
When she came in before the queen,
Fell low down on her knee;
"Service frae you, my dame, the queen,
I pray you grant it me."
"If that service ye now do want,
What station will ye be?
Can ye card wool, or spin, fair maid,
Or milk the cows to me?"
"No, I can neither card nor spin,
Nor cows I canna milk;
But sit into a lady's bower,
And sew the seams o' silk."
"What is your name, ye comely dame?
Pray tell this unto me:"
"O Blancheflour, that is my name,
Born in a strange country."
"O keep ye well frae Jellyflorice;
My ain dear son is he;
When other ladies get a gift,
O' that ye shall get three."
It wasna told into the bower,
Till it went thro' the ha',
That Jellyflorice and Blancheflour
Were grown ower great witha'.
When the queen's maids their visits paid,
Upo' the gude Yule day,
When other ladies got horse to ride,
She boud take foot and gae.
The queen she call'd her stable groom,
To come to her right seen;
Says, "Ye'll take out yon wild waith steed,
And bring him to the green.
"Ye'll take the bridle frae his head,
The lighters frae his e'en;
Ere she ride three times roun' the cross,
Her weel days will be dune."
Jellyflorice his true love spy'd,
As she rade roun' the cross,
And thrice he kiss'd her lovely lips,
And took her frae her horse.
"Gang to your bower, my lily flower,
For a' my mother's spite;
There's nae other amang her maids,
In whom I take delight.
(_boud_, was bound (?). _seen_, soon. _waith_, wandering. _lighters_, blinkers.)
"Ye are my jewel, and only ane,
Nane's do you injury;
For ere this-day-month come and gang,
My wedded wife ye'se be."
THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER
|It was intill a pleasant time,
Upon a simmer's day;
The noble Earl of Mar's daughter
Went forth to sport and play.
As thus she did amuse hersel',
Below a green aik tree,
There she saw a sprightly doo
Set on a tower sae high.
"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,
If ye'll come down to me,
Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowd
Instead o' simple tree:
"I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage,
And siller roun' your wa';
I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird
As ony o' them a'."
(_tree_, wood. _hingers_, hangings.)
But she had na these words well spoke,
Nor yet these words well said,
Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower,
And lighted on her head.
Then she has brought this pretty bird
Hame to her bowers and ha';
And made him shine as fair a bird
As ony o' them a.
When day was gane, and night was come,
About the evening tide,
This lady spied a sprightly youth
Stand straight up by her side.
"From whence came ye, young man?"
she said,
"That does surprise me sair;
My door was bolted right secure;
What way hae ye come here?"
"O hold your tongue, ye lady fair,
Let a' your folly be;
Mind ye not on your turtle doo
Last day ye brought wi' thee?"
"O tell me mair, young man," she said,
"This does surprise me now;
What country hae ye come frae?
What pedigree are you?"
"My mither lives on foreign isles,
She has nae mair but me;
She is a queen o' wealth and state,
And birth and high degree;
"Likewise well skill'd in magic spells,
As ye may plainly see;
And she transform'd me to yon shape,
To charm such maids as thee.
"l ma doo the live lang day,
A sprightly youth at night;
This aye gars me appear mair fair
In a fair maiden's sight.
"And it was but this verra day
That I came ower the sea;
Your lovely face did me enchant,--
I'll live and die wi' thee."
"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,
Nae mair frae me ye'se gae."
"That's never my intent, my love,
As ye said, it shall be sae."
"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,
It's time to gae to bed."
"Wi' a' my heart, my dear marrow,
It's be as ye hae said."
Then he has staid in bower wi' her
For sax lang years and ane,
Till sax young sons to him she bare,
And the seventh she's brought hame.
But aye as ever a child was born,
He carried them away,
And brought them to his mither's care,
As fast as he could fly.
Thus he has staid in bower wi' her
For twenty years and three;
There came a lord o' high renown
To court this fair lady.
But still his proffer she refused,
And a' his presents too;
Says, "Im content to live alane
Wi' my bird, Cow-me-doo."
Her father sware a solemn oath
Amang the nobles all,
"The morn, or ere I eat or drink,
This bird I will gar kill."
The bird was sitting in his cage,
And heard what they did say;
And when he found they were dismissed,
Says, "Wae's me for this day!
"Before that I do langer stay,
And thus to be forlorn,
I'll gang unto my mither's bower,
Where I was bred and born."
Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew
Beyond the raging sea;
And lighted near his mither's castle
On a tower o' gowd sae high.
As his mither was walking out,
To see what she could see,
And there she saw her little son
Set on the tower sae high.
"Get dancers here to dance," she said,
"And minstrels for to play;
For here's my young son, Florentine,
Come here wi' me to stay."
"Get nae dancers to dance, mither,
Nor minstrels for to play;
For the mither o' my seven sons,
The morn's her wedding-day."
"O tell me, tell me, Florentine,
Tell me, tell me true,
Tell me this day without a flaw,
What I will do for you."
"Instead of dancers to dance, mither,
Or minstrels for to play,
Turn four-and-twenty well-wight men,
Like storks, in feathers gray;
"My seven sons in seven swans,
Aboon their heads to flee;
And I, mysel', a gay gos-hawk,
A bird o' high degree."
Then sighin' said the queen hersel',
"That thing's too high for me;"
But she applied to an auld woman,
Who had mair skill than she.
Instead o' dancers to dance a dance,
Or minstrels for to play,
Four-and-twenty well-wight men
Turn'd birds o' feathers gray;
Her seven sons in seven swans,
Aboon their heads to flee;
And he, himsel', a gay gos-hawk,
A bird o' high degree.
This flock o' birds took flight and flew
Beyond the raging sea;
And landed near the Earl Mar's castle,
Took shelter in every tree.
(_well-wight_, picked.)
They were a flock o' pretty birds,
Right comely to be seen;
The people view'd them wi' surprise,
As they danc'd on the green.
These birds ascended frae the tree,
And lighted on the ha';
And at the last wi' force did flee
Amang the nobles a'.
The storks, there seized some o' the men,
They could neither fight nor flee;
The swans they bound the bride's best man
Below a green aik tree.
They lighted next on maidens fair,
Then on the bride's own head;
And wi' the twinkling o' an eye,
The bride and them were fled.
There's ancient men at weddings been
For sixty years or more;
But sic a curious wedding-day
They never saw before.
For naething could the company do,
Nor naething could they say;
But they saw a flock o' pretty birds
That took their bride away.
When that Earl Mar he came to know
Where his dochter did stay,
He sign'd a bond o' unity
And visits now they pay.
The Fause Lover
A fair maid sat in her bower door,
Wringing her lily hands;
And by it came a sprightly youth,
Fast tripping oer the strands.
"Where gang ye, young John," she says,
"Sae early in the day?
It gars me think, by your fast trip,
Your journey's far away."
He turn'd about wi' surly look,
And said, "What's that to thee?
I'm ga'en to see a lovely maid,
Mair fairer far than ye."
"Now hae ye play'd me this, fause love,
In simmer, mid the flowers?
I shall repay ye back again,
In winter, 'mid the showers.
[Illustration: 0237]
"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,
Will ye not turn again?
For as ye look to ither women,
I shall to other men."
"Make your choice o' whom you please,
For I my choice will have;
I've chosen a maid more fair than thee,
I never will deceive."
But she's kilt up her claithing fine,
And after him gaed she;
But aye he said, "Ye'll turn again,
Nae farder gae wi' me."
"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,
Will ye never love me again?
Alas! for loving you sae well,
And you na me again."
The firstan' town that they come till,
He bought her brooch and ring;
But aye he bade her turn again,
And gang nae farder wi' him.
"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,'' &c.
The nextan' town that they came till,
He bought her muff and gloves;
But aye he bade her turn again,
And choose some other loves.
"But again, dear love, and again, dear love," &c.
The nextan' town that they came till,
His heart it grew mair fain;
And he was deep in love wi' her,
As she was ower again.
The nextan' town that they came till,
He bought her wedding gown;
And made her lady o' ha's and bowers,
In sweet Berwick town.
[Illustration: 0238]
THE UNQUIET GRAVE.
[Illustration: 0239]
|The wind doth blow to-day, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.
I'll do as much for my true-love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.
The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead began to speak:
"Oh, who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?"
"'Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,
And will not let you sleep;
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek."
"You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
But my breath smells earthy strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.
"'Tis down in yonder garden green,
Love, where we used to walk;
The finest flower that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.
"The stalk is withered,dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God call you away!"
PEASANT BALLADS
THE BROKEN TOKEN
|One summer evening, a maiden fair
Was walking forth in the balmy air,
She met a sailor upon the way;
"Maiden stay," he whispered,
"Maiden stay," he whispered,
"O pretty maiden stay.
"Why art thou walking abroad alone?
The stars are shining, the day is done."
O then her tears they began to flow,
For a dark-eyed sailor,
For a dark-eyed sailor,
Had filled her heart with woe.
"Three years are passed since he left this land,
A ring of gold he took off my hand,
He broke the token, a half to keep;
Half he bade me treasure,
Half he bade me treasure,
Then crossed the briny deep."
"O drive him, damsel, from out your mind,
For men are changeful as is the wind,
And love inconstant will quickly grow
Cold as winter morning,
Cold as winter morning,
When lands are white with snow."
"Above the snow is the holly seen,
In bitter blast it abideth green,
And blood-red drops it as berries bears;
So my aching bosom,
So my aching bosom,
Its truth and sorrow wears."
Then half the ring did the sailor show:
"Away with weeping and sorrow now!
In bands of marriage united we,
Like the Broken Token,
Like the Broken Token,
In one shall welded be."
YOUNG ROGER OF THE VALLEY
|Young Roger of the mill
One morning very soon,
Put on his best apparel,
New hose and clouted shoon;
And he a-wooing came
To bonny, buxom Nell.
"Adzooks!" cried he, "couldst fancy me?
For I like thee wondrous well.
"My horses I have dress'd,
And gi en them corn and hay,
Put on my best apparel;
And having come this way,
Let's sit and chat a while,
With thee, my bonny Nell;
Dear lass," cries he, "couldst fancy me?
I'se like thy person well."
"Young Roger, you re mistaken,"
The damsel then reply'd,
"I'm not in such a haste
To be a ploughman's bride;
Know I then live in hopes
To marry a farmer's son;"
"If it be so," says Hodge, "I'll go,
Sweet mistress, I have done."
"Your horses you have dress'd,
Good Hodge, I heard you say,
Put on your best apparel;
And being come this way,
Come sit and chat awhile."
"O no, indeed, not I,
I'll neither wait, nor sit, nor prate,
I've other fish to fry."
"Go, take your farmer's son,
With all my honest heart;
What tho' my name be Roger,
That goes at plough and cart?
I need not tarry long,
I soon may gain a wife:
There's buxom Joan, it is well known,
She loves me as her life."
"Pray, what of buxom Joan?
Can't I please you as well?
For she has ne'er a penny,
And I am buxom Nell;
And I have fifty shillings"
(The money made him smile):
"O then, my dear, I'll draw a chair,
And chat with thee a while."
Within the space of half-an-hour
This couple a bargain struck,
Hoping that with their money
They both would have good luck;
"To your fifty I've forty,
With which a cow we'll buy;
We'll join our hands in wedlock bands,
Then who but you and I?"
THE GOLDEN GLOVE
|A wealthy young squire of Tam worth, we hear,
He courted a noblemans daughter so fair;
And for to marry her it was his intent,
All friends and relations gave their consent.
The time was appointed for the wedding-day,
A young farmer chosen to give her away;
As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy,
He inflamed her heart; "O, my heart!" she
did cry.
She turned from the squire, but nothing she said,
Instead of being married she took to her bed;
The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind,
A way for to have him she quickly did find.
Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on,
And a hunting she went with her dog and her
gun;
She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell,
Because in her heart she did love him full well:
She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed,
At length the young farmer came into the field;
And to discourse with him it was her intent,
With her dog and her gun to meet him she went.
"I thought you had been at the wedding," she cried,
"To wait on the squire, and give him his bride."
"No, sir," said the farmer, "if the truth I may tell,
I'll not give her away, for I love her too well."
"Suppose that the lady should grant you her love,
You know that the squire your rival will prove.''
"Why, then," says the farmer, "I'll take sword
in hand,
By honour I'll gain her when she shall command.''
It pleased the lady to find him so bold;
She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold,
And told him she found it when coming along,
As she was a hunting with her dog and gun.
The lady went home with a heart full of love,
And gave out a notice that she'd lost a glove;
And said, "Who has found it, and brings it to
me,
Whoever he is, he my husband shall be."
The farmer was pleased when he heard of the
news,
With heart full of joy to the lady he goes:
"Dear, honoured lady, I've picked up your glove,
And hope you'll be pleased to grant me your love."
Sir Arthur s'
215