42_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5)

And thus they renisht them to ryde,

Of tow good renisht steedes,

And when they came to King Adlands hall,

Of redd gold shone their weedes.

And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall

Untill the fayre hall-yate,

There they found a proud porter,

Rearing himselfe thereatt.

Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud porter,

Sayes, Christ thee save and see:

'Nowe you be welcome,' sayd the porter,

'Of what land soever ye bee.'

'Wee beene harpers,' sayd Adler Younge,

'Come out of the northe countrye;

Wee beene come hither untill this place

This proud weddinge for to see.'

Sayd, And your color were white and redd,

As it is blacke and browne,

I wold saye King Estmere and his brother

Were comen untill this towne.

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,

Layd itt on the porters arme:

'And ever we will thee, proud porter,

Thow wilt saye us no harme.'

Sore he looked on Kyng Estmere,

And sore he handled the ryng,

Then opened to them the fayre hall-yates,

He lett for no kind of thyng.

Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede

Soe fayre att the hall-bord;

The froth that came from his brydle bitte

Light in Kyng Bremors beard.

Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper,

Saies, Stable him in the stalle;

It doth not beseeme a proud harper

To stable his steed in a kyngs halle.

'My ladde he is so lither,' he said,

'He will doe nought that's meete;

And is there any man in this hall

Were able him to beate?'

'Thou speakst proud words,' sayes the king of Spaine,

'Thou harper, here to mee;

There is a man within this halle

Will beate thy ladd and thee.'

'O let that man come downe,' he said,

'A sight of him wold I see;

And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,

Then he shall beate of mee.'

Downe then came the kemperye man,

And looked him in the eare;

For all the gold that was under heaven,

He durst not neigh him neare.

'And how nowe, kempe,' said the kyng of Spaine,

'And how, what aileth thee?'

He saies, It is writt in his forhead,

All and in gramarye,

That for all the gold that is under heaven,

I dare not neigh him nye.

Then Kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe,

And plaid a pretty thinge;

The ladye upstart from the borde,

And wold have gone from the king.

'Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper,

For Gods love I pray thee;

For and thou playes as thou beginns,

Thou'lt till my bryde from mee.'

He stroake upon his harpe againe,

And playd a pretty thinge;

The ladye lough a loud laughter,

As shee sate by the king.

Saies, Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper,

And thy stringës all;

For as many gold nobles thou shalt have

As heere bee ringes in the hall.'

'What wold ye doe with my harpe,' he sayd,

'If I did sell itt yee?'

'To playe my wiffe and me a fitt,

When abed together wee bee.'

'Now sell me,' quoth hee, 'thy bryde soe gay,

As shee sitts by thy knee;

And as many gold nobles I will give

As leaves been on a tree.'

'And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,

Iff I did sell her thee?

More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye

To lye by mee then thee.'

Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,

And Adler he did syng,

'O ladye, this is thy owne true love,

Noe harper, but a kyng.

'O ladye, this is thy owne true love,

As playnlye thou mayest see,

And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim

Who partes thy love and thee.'

The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,

And blushte and lookt agayne,

While Adler he hath drawne his brande,

And hath the sowdan slayne.

Up then rose the kemperye men,

And loud they gan to crye:

'Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,

And therefore yee shall dye.'

Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,

And swith he drew his brand,

And Estmere he and Adler Yonge

Right stiffe in stour can stand.

And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,

Throughe help of gramarye,

That soone they have slayne the kempery men,

Or forst them forth to flee.

Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye,

And marryed her to his wiffe,

And brought her home to merry England,

With her to leade his life.

* * * * *

#a.#

_Readings of the manuscript, cited in Percy's notes, have

been restored._

1^4. _Percy prints_ y-were.

13^2. _misprinted_ 'leeve thon.

34^2. shall ryde; _so_ #b.# _Compare 35^2, where ~rise~

is said to be the reading of the MS._

42^2. On tow good renish. _Compare 8^2._

59^3, _~thou shalt have~,_

60^1, _~he sayd~, are acknowledged changes, or additions,

of Percy's._

63. "Some liberties have been taken in the following

stanzas; but wherever this edition differs from the

preceding, it hath been brought nearer to the folio MS."

_Percy's note._

68^1. can fyte.

#b.#

5^4. _Omits_ my.

6^4. Betweene us two.

8^3. they came.

9^2. yate.

10^2. thee save.

10^4. unto.

12^4. _~And~ wanting: ~I feare~._

15^1. yeare.

15^2. Syth.

15^3. downe once.

16^5. eke as.

16^6. To waite.

17^2. Hunge.

18^{1, 2}. Christ you save.

18^3. Sayes.

19^4. may bee.

21^3. And ever I feare that paynim kyng.

22^3. of that foule paynim.

26^4. many a.

27^2, 32^2. grimme barone.

28^1. Then shee sent after.

28^3. returne and.

33^1. That ladye.

34^3. Which waye we best may turne.

34^4. To save this fayre.

37^1. groweth.

42^2. On towe good renish; _so_ #a.#

46^3. Ild saye.

49^1. he light off.

49^2. Up att the fayre hall.

49^4. Light on.

50^1. Stable thou.

50^2. Goe stable.

50^4. To stable him.

51^3. And aye that I cold but find the man.

52^1. sayd the Paynim kyng.

52^4. That will.

55^3. written.

56.

Kyng Estmere then pulled forth his harpe,

And playd thereon so sweete;

Upstarte the ladye from the kynge,

As hee sate at the meate.

57.

'Nowe stay thy harpe, thou proud harper,

Now stay thy harpe, I say;

For an thou playest as thou beginnest,

Thou'lt till my bride awaye.'

58.

He strucke upon his harpe agayne,

And playd both fayre and free;

The ladye was so pleasde theratt

She laught loud laughters three.

59.

'Nowe sell me thy harpe,' sayd the kyng of Spayne,

'Thy harpe and stryngs eche one,

And as many gold nobles thou shalt have

As there be stryngs thereon.'

60^1. And what.

61.

'Now sell me,' syr kyng, 'thy bryde soe gay,

As shee sitts laced in pall,

And as many gold nobles I will give

As there be rings in the hall.'

62^2. her yee.

65^4. hath Sir Bremor slayne.

68^1. can byte.

[58] "The editor... must plead guilty to the charge of concealing his

own share in the amendments under some such general title as a Modern

Copy, or the like:" Reliques, 1794, I, xvii. See, further, 'The Rising

in the North' and 'Northumberland betrayed by Douglas,' in the same

volume, pp 288, 297.

[59] We have _paynim_ four times in the first edition, and only twice

in the fourth. _And ever I feare that paynim king_, #b# 21^3, gives

place to _I cannot blame him if he doe_. _Laught loud laughters three_,

#b# 58^4, was not (as who needs to be told?) the reading of the folio;

but was _lough a loud laughter_ the reading of the folio?

The statement that 'King Estmere' was "unfortunately torn out in

sending the... piece to the press" is far from intelligible. Since

readings were given from the manuscript in the fourth edition for

the first time, one would suppose that the original was still in the

editor's hands when that edition was prepared. But the three leaves

from the manuscript would have been much less convenient to send to

the press than the copy already three times printed in the Reliques;

and Percy himself pleads in excuse for his taking out leaves from the

manuscript, to save the trouble of transcribing, that he was very

young, and "had not then learnt to reverence it." The readings from the

manuscript, which first appear in the fourth edition, may possibly be

from notes; one would hope that Percy would not trust his memory after

the lapse of thirty years. Hales and Furnivall, I, lxxiv, II, 200; also

II, 600 ff, where the texts of the first and of the fourth edition are

printed in parallel columns.

[60] Grundtvig, No 11, #A-F#, I, 159-69, IV, 715, and Kristensen, I,

246, No 93; Swedish, #A#, Arwidsson, II, 445, #B-E#, Grundtvig, IV,

720-22; Norwegian, Landstad, No 8; Icelandic, 'Ormars rímur,' in an

abstract, Grundtvig, III, 775-77.

[61] Derived from the Färöe ballad, 'Arngríms synir,' Hammershaimb,

Færöiske Kvæder, p. 15, No 3; Hervarar saga, Örvar-Odds saga, Fornaldar

Sögur, I, 411, II, 161, 504; etc. The pertinent chapters of the

Hervarar saga are translated by Prior, I, 194, and 'Child Orm and the

Berm Giant,' in the same volume, p. 132; the ballad also in the London

Magazine, 1821, IV, 415, and by George Borrow, in Targum, or Metrical

Translations from Thirty Languages and Dialects, St Petersburg, 1835,

p. 59 (Grundtvig).

[62] I, 384; translated by Prior, I, 297.

[63] Grundtvig's Gamle Folkeviser, IV, 704-712.

[64] Esmer, or something similar, is, as Grundtvig remarks, I, 236, a

name of rather frequent occurrence. King Esmer is one of King Diderik's

champions; Grundtvig, I, 78. Esmère is a name in Le dit de Flourence

de Romme, Jubinal, Nouveau Recueil de Contes, etc., I, 93; Esmerés,

or Essmer, in the Knight of the Swan, Reiffenberg and Borgnet, Le

Chevalier au Cygne, III, 533, Grimm, Deutsche Sagen, II, 302. It may be

added, though the fact certainly appears to be of but slight moment,

that there is a King Easter, with a King Wester, in the ballad of

'Fause Foodrage,' and these are called in one version (Motherwell's

Minstrelsy, p. lix) the Eastmure King and the Westmure King. The

fifteenth tale enumerated in The Complaint of Scotland is How the King

of Estmure land married the King's daughter of Westmure land.

SIR CAWLINE

Percy MS., p. 368; Hales and Furnivall, III, 3.

The copy of this ballad in the Percy manuscript, the only one known to

exist, shows very great carelessness on the part of the transcriber, or

of some predecessor. It begins with these two stanzas, which manifestly

belong to an historical ballad, and have only a verbal connection with

what follows:

Jesus, lord mickle of might,

_Th_at dyed ffor us on the roode,

To maintaine vs in all our right[65]

_Th_at loues true English blood.

Ffor by a k_nigh_t I say my song,

Was bold and ffull hardye;

S_i_r Robert Briuse wold fforth to ffight,

In-to Ireland ouer the sea.

There is a large omission after the 125th verse (the 28th stanza as

here printed), though the writing is continuous. There are also several

difficult or unintelligible passages, even more than are usually met

with in this manuscript.

As published in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, I, 35, ed.

1765, I, 41, ed. 1794, 'Sir Cawline' is extended to nearly twice the

amount of what is found in the manuscript, and a tragical turn is

forced upon the story.

I have said that the copy of 'Sir Cawline' in the Percy manuscript

is the only one known. There are nevertheless two Scottish ballads,

one hitherto unpublished and one printed by Buchan, which narrate Sir

Colvin's winning the king's daughter by vanquishing the elritch knight.

These, I conceive, however, to be simple rifacimenti of the ballad in

Percy's Reliques. They will be given in an appendix.

'Sir Cawline' may possibly be formed upon a romance in stanzas[66]

which itself was composed from earlier ballads. There are two

adventures in the ballad, one with an elritch knight, and a second

with a five-headed giant who is at the same time a hend soldan,

and there seem to be traces of another in the now unintelligible

twenty-ninth stanza. The first adventure, though not of the same

commonplace description as the second, is still by no means unique.

We are immediately reminded of the beautiful romance of Eger, Grime

and Gray-Steel: how Gray-Steel kept a forbidden country beyond seven

days of wilderness, and how Grime slew the up to that time unmatched

Gray-Steel with the sword Erkyin [Egeking], brought from beyond the

Greekës sea, and cut off his hand, with fingers thrice a common man's

size, and on every finger a gay gold ring.[67] Gray-Steel, to be

sure, is pictured rather as a giant than an elf, but still gives the

impression of something out of the ordinary, as having perhaps lost an

elritch character in the course of tradition. The elritch knight in

our ballad haunts the moors, far from any good town, like Grendel, who

held the moors and fens, but there is only a hint of that supernatural

terror which attends the awful "march-stepper" in Beówulf. Gervase

of Tilbury has a story of an ancient entrenchment in the bishopric

of Ely, where anybody could have a passage at arms with an unearthly

warrior, by moonlight only, by simply calling out, "Come, knight,

and meet knight."[68] Scott has introduced a spectral combat of this

sort into his Marmion, Canto III, xxiii-xxv, and in a note (4) cites

a similar encounter from Heywood's Hierarchy of Blessed Angels. He

adds that a forest in the North Highlands is believed to be haunted

by a martial spirit called Lham-dearg, or Bloody Hand, who insists on

all whom he meets doing battle with him. Villemarqué has a tale like

that of Gervasius, Les Romans de la Table Ronde, etc., 1860, p. 392 f

(Liebrecht). These combatants and combats are rather shadowy compared

with Grendel, Gray-Steel, our Elritch King, and an encounter with them.

'Liden Grimmer og Hjelmer Kamp,' a ballad of the 'Orm Ungersvend'

class, Grundtvig, No 26 (I, 352, from manuscripts of the 16th and the

17th century, IV, 762, from recent tradition), has the same remote

and general resemblance to 'Sir Cawline' that 'Orm Ungersvend' has to

'King Estmere,' the points of agreement permitting the supposition of

a far-off connection, or of no connection at all.[69] In Danish #A#,

Grimmer, a young man who never went to a dance except with a drawn

sword in his hand or sat down to table out of his corselet, sails to

the heathen-king's land and asks him for his daughter. The king tells

him that he will not get the fair maid unless he fights with Hjelmer

Kamp and wins. The king's daughter, who is as favorably inclined to

Grimmer as King Adland's daughter is to Estmere (and King Ardine's

daughter to Adler), though in neither case has there been a previous

meeting, tells him that no man ever came back from a fight with

Hjelmer, and that Grimmer is far from understanding her father, who

really wishes his death. Grimmer is not at all daunted, and so the lady

gives him a sword with which he is sure to prevail. Thus equipped he

makes sail for Hjelmer Kamp, who receives him with contemptuous remarks

upon his size, but is presently cut to bits. Stopping only long enough

to make boot of Hjelmer's gold, Grimmer returns to the heathen-king's

court, and receives the princess in marriage. The resemblance of the

Danish ballad is to be found in Cawline's second adventure, that with

the giant, where the elritch sword represents the invincible weapon

bestowed by the princess. In Danish #B# a coat of mail goes with the

sword, "som icke skal suerd paa bide." This coat is like Estmere's

after Adler has brought his magic to bear, and Cawline's fight with the

giant, Estmere's with Bremor, and Hjelmer's with the kemp have all an

obvious similitude.

Two verbal peculiarities in this ballad will not fail to be remarked:

a superfluous _and_, 7^4, without and a good leedginge, 8^3, and take

you doe and the baken bread, 27^1, and hee tooke then vp and that

eldryge sword, 39^1, but take you doo and your lands broad, and again

26^1(?); _for_ used, apparently, in the sense of _but_ (as in "for and

a shrouding sheet"), 11^3, ffor if you wold comfort me with a kisse,

13^3, ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe, 22^5, ffor they tooke

and two good swords; in this last we have the superfluous _and_ again.

These were, perhaps, only tricks of some ballad-singer, eking out his

measure with half-articulated syllables.[70]

* * * * *

Percy's ballad is translated by Bodmer, I, 134, and by Bothe, p. 25;

Buchan's by Gerhard, p. 32.

* * * * * * *

And in _tha_t land dwells a king

W_hi_ch does beare the bell ouer all,

And w_i_th him there dwelled a curteous k_nigh_t,

S_i_r Cawline men him call.

And he hath a ladye to his daughter,

Of ffashyon shee hath noe peere;

K_night_s and lordes they woed her both,

Trusted to haue beene her feere.

S_i_r Cawline loues her best of onë,

But nothing durst hee say

To discreeue his councell to noe man,

But deerlye loued this may.

Till itt beffell vpon a day,

Great dill to him was dight;

The maydens loue remoued his mind,

To care-bed went the knight.

And one while he spread his armes him ffroe,

And cryed soe pittyouslye:

'Ffor the maydens loue _tha_t I haue most minde

This day may comfort mee,

Or else ere noone I shalbe dead!'

Thus can S_i_r Cawline say.

When our p_ar_ish masse _tha_t itt was done,

And our king was bowne to dine,

He sayes, Where is S_i_r Cawline,

_Tha_t was wont to serue me with ale and wine?

But then answered a curteous k_nigh_t,

Ffast his hands wringinge:

'S_ir_ Cawline's sicke, and like to be dead

W_i_thout and a good leedginge.'

'Ffeitch yee downe my daughter deere,

Shee is a leeche ffull ffine;

I, and take you doe and the baken bread,

And drinke he on the wine soe red,

And looke no daynti is ffor him to deare,

For ffull loth I wold him tine.'

This ladye is gone to his chamber,

Her maydens ffollowing nye;

'O well,' shee sayth, 'how doth my lord?'

'O sicke!' againe saith hee.

'I, but rise vp wightlye, man, for shame!

Neuer lye here soe cowardlye!

Itt is told in my ffathers hall,

Ffor my loue you will dye.'

'Itt is ffor yo_u_r loue, ffayre ladye,

_Tha_t all this dill I drye;

Ffor if you wold comfort me w_i_th a kisse,

Then were I brought ffrom bale to blisse,

Noe longer here wold I lye.'

'Alas! soe well you know, S_i_r k_nigh_t,'

. . . . . . .

I cannott bee yo_u_r peere:

'Ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe,

To be yo_u_r bacheeleere.'

'Vpon Eldrige Hill there growes a thorne,

Vpon the mores brodinge;

And wold you, s_i_r knight, wake there all night

To day of the other morninge?

'Ffor the eldrige k_ing_, _tha_t is mickle of might,

Will examine you beforne;

And there was neuer man _tha_t bare his liffe away

Since the day _tha_t I was borne.'

'But I will ffor yo_u_r sake, ffaire ladye,

Walke on the bents [soe] browne,

And Ile either bring you a readye token,

Or Ile neuer come to you againe.'

But this ladye is gone to her chamber,

Her maydens ffollowing bright,

And S_i_r Cawlin's gone to the mores soe broad,

Ffor to wake there all night.

Vnto midnight [that] the moone did rise,

He walked vp and downe,

And a lightsome bugle then heard he blow.

Ouer the bents soe browne;

Saies hee, And if cryance come vntill my hart,

I am ffarr ffrom any good towne.

And he spyed, ene a litle him by,

A ffuryous king and a ffell,

And a ladye bright his brydle led,

_Tha_t seemlye itt was to see.

And soe fast hee called vpon S_i_r Cawline,

Oh man, I redd the fflye!

Ffor if cryance come vntill thy hart,

I am a-feard least thou mun dye.

He sayes, [No] cryance comes to my hart,

Nor ifaith I ffeare not thee;

Ffor because thou minged not Christ before,

Thee lesse me dreadeth thee.

But S_i_r Cawline he shooke a speare;

The k_ing_ was bold, and abode;

And the timber these two children bore

Soe soone in sunder slode;

Ffor they tooke and two good swords,

And they layden on good loade.

But the elridge k_ing_ was mickle of might,

And stiffly to the ground did stand;

But S_i_r Cawline, with an aukeward stroke,

He brought ffrom him his hand,

I, and fflying ouer his head soe hye,

[It] ffell downe of that lay land.

And his lady stood a litle thereby,

Ffast ringing her hands:

'For the maydens loue _tha_t you haue most minde,

Smyte you my lo_r_d no more.

'And hees neu_er_ come vpon Eldrige [Hill],

Him to sport, gamon, or play,

And to meete noe man of middle-earth

And _tha_t liues on Christs his lay.'

But he then vp and _tha_t eldryge k_ing_,

Sett him in his sadle againe,

And _tha_t eldryge k_ing_ and his ladye

To their castle are they gone.

And hee tooke then vp and _tha_t eldryge sword,

As hard as any fflynt,

And soe he did those ringes fiue,

Harder then ffyer, and brent.

Ffirst he p_re_sented to the k_ing_s daughter

The hand, and then the sword,

. . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

'But a serre buffett you haue him giuen,

The k_ing_ and the crowne,' shee sayd:

'I, but four and _th_irty stripes

Comen beside the rood.'

And a gyant that was both stiffe [and] strong,

He lope now them amonge,

And vpon his squier fiue heads he bare,

Vnmackley made was hee.

And he dranke then on the k_ing_s wine,

And hee put the cup in his sleeue,

And all thé trembled and were wan,

Ffor feare he shold them greeffe.

'Ile tell thee mine arrand, k_ing_,' he sayes,

'Mine errand what I doe heere;

Ffor I will bren thy temples hye,

Or Ile haue thy daughter deere;

I, or else vpon yond more soe brood

Thou shalt ffind mee a ppeare.'

The k_ing_ he turned him round about,

Lo_rd_, in his heart he was woe!

Says, Is there noe k_nigh_t of the Round Table

This matter will vndergoe?

'I, and hee shall haue my broad lands,

And keepe them well his liue;

I, and soe hee shall my daughter deere,

To be his weded wiffe.'

And then stood vp S_i_r Cawline,

His owne errand ffor to say:

'Ifaith, I wold to God, S_i_r,' sayd S_i_r Cawline,

'_Tha_t soldan I will assay.

'Goe ffeitch me downe my eldrige sword,

Ffor I woone itt att ffray:'

'But away, away!' sayd the hend soldan,

'Thou tarryest mee here all day!'

But the hend soldan and S_i_r Cawline

Thé ffought a sum_m_ers day;

Now has hee slaine _tha_t hend soldan,

And brought his fiue heads away.

And the k_ing_ has betaken him his broade lands,

And all his venison;

. . . . . . .

'But take you doo and yo_u_r lands [soe] broad,

And brooke them well yo_u_r liffe;

Ffor you p_ro_mised mee yo_u_r daughter deere,

To be my weded wiffe.'

'Now by my ffaith,' then sayes our k_ing_,

'Ffor _tha_t wee will not striffe,

Ffor thou shalt haue my daughter dere,

To be thy weded wiffe.'

The other morninge S_i_r Cawline rose

By the dawning of the day,

And vntill a garden did he goe

His mattins ffor to say;

And _tha_t bespyed a ffalse steward,

A shames death _tha_t he might dye!

And he lett a lyon out of a bande,

S_i_r Cawline ffor to teare;

And he had noe wepon him vpon,

Nor noe wepon did weare.

But hee tooke then his mantle of greene,

Into the lyons mouth itt thrust;

He held the lyon soe sore to the wall

Till the lyons hart did burst.

And the watchmen cryed vpon the walls

And sayd, 'S_i_r Cawline's slaine!

And with a beast is not ffull litle,

A lyon of mickle mayne:'

Then the k_ing_s daughter shee ffell downe,

'For peerlesse is my payne!'

'O peace, my lady!' sayes S_i_r Cawline,

'I haue bought thy loue ffull deere;

O peace, my lady!' sayes S_i_r Cawline,

'Peace, lady, ffor I am heere!'

Then he did marry this k_ing_s daughter,

W_i_th gold and siluer bright,

And fiftene sonnes this ladye beere

To S_i_r Cawline the knight.

* * * * *

_The first two stanzas of the MS. have been omitted, as

belonging to another ballad._

1^2. ouer all does beare the bell.

1^4. men call him S_i_r Cawline.

2^4. her peere.

3^4. this mayd.

5^5. _Only half the second ~n~ of ~noone~ in the MS.

Furnivall._

7^2. wringinge his hands.

8^4. and eene on: _MS. ~edne~? Furnivall. I feel no

confidence in the emendation._

8^5. no daytinesse.

8^6. teene.

10^2. lye soe cowardlye here.

11^5. _MS. ~now~? Furnivall._

12^1, 13^{2, 3, 4} _make a stanza in the MS._

18^1. they Moone.

22^{3, 5}. 2.

23^4. him ffrom.

23^6. _There may be a bold ellipsis of_ It.

24^8. for they... most meed: _cf._ 5^3.

25^1. heest.

27^3. 5.

28^2. they hand... they sword.

29^1. serrett buffett.

29^3. 34.

30^3. 5.

32^6. in or.

32^6. mee appeare.

37^4. 5.

39^1. you too.

46^3. 15.

APPENDIX

The first of the following pieces is described as having been learned

by Mrs Harris, in Perthshire, about 1790, transmitted by recitation to

her daughter, and written down from recollection in 1859. No account

is given of the derivation of the other. Both make the princess marry

Sir Colvin after his victory on the elritch hill, rejecting Percy's

pathetic conclusion. Neither retains much of the phraseology of Percy's

manuscript, and neither shows those traces of Percy's phraseology

which would demonstrate its parentage. The first, though the style is

stale enough, has not the decidedly stall-copy stamp of the other. It

undoubtedly has passed through a succession of mouths (as is shown by

the change of leech to match in 3^2), but we may doubt whether the

other was ever sung or said. 8^4, in the Harris version,

Sin the first nicht that I was born,

is close to the Percy manuscript, 17^4,

Since the day that I was borne,

where Percy's Reliques has,

But he did him scath and scorne.

In the old manuscript, when Sir Cawline cuts off the elritch knight's

hand, the hand flies over the knight's head and falls down on that lay

land; in Buchan, 25, 26, the hand also flies into the sky and lights

on the ground; but Percy says merely that the knight fell on that lay

land. So that there is one case in each of agreement with the Percy

manuscript where the Reliques depart from it. It may also he urged that

Buchan, 22^{1, 2},

To trouble any Christian one

Lives in the righteous law,

is nearer to what we find in the manuscript, st. 25,

And to meete noe man of middle-earth

And that liues (=='lieves) on Christs his lay,

than Percy's,

That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,

And thereto plight thy hand;

And that thou never on Eldridge come.

Were there anything characteristic or otherwise remarkable in the

passages where there is agreement with the Percy manuscript and

divergence from the Reliques, even one case of such agreement could

not be lightly set aside.[71] But such agreements as these are not

significant enough to offset the general character of the Scottish

ballads, which is not that of a traditional waif, but of a fabrication

of recent times. It is most likely that the Harris ballad was put

together by some one who was imperfectly acquainted with the copy in

the Reliques. Whether Buchan's ballad was formed upon some copy of the

Harris version it is not worth the while to ask.

SIR COLIN

Harris MS., fol. 5b.

The king luikit owre his castle wa,

To his nobles ane an a';

Says, Whare it is him Sir Colin,

I dinna see him amang you a'?

Up it spak an eldern knicht,

Aye an even up spak he:

'Sir Colin's sick for your dochter Janet,

He's very sick, an like to dee.'

'Win up, win up, my dochter Janet,

I wat ye are a match most fine;

Tak the baken bread an wine sae ried,

An to Sir Colin ye maun gieng.'

Up she rase, that fair Janet,

An I wat weel she was na sweer,

An up they rase, her merrie maries,

An they said a' they wad gae wi her.

'No, no,' said fair Janet,

'No, no such thing can be;

For a thrang to gae to a sick man's bour,

I think it wald be great folie.

'How is my knicht, all last nicht?'

'Very sick an like to dee;

But if I had a kiss o your sweet lips,

I wald lie nae langer here.'

She leant her doon on his bed-side,

I wat she gae him kisses three;

But wi sighen said that fair Janet,

'As for your bride, I daurna be.

'Unless you watch the Orlange hill,

An at that hill there grows a thorn;

There neer cam a liven man frae it,

Sin the first nicht that I was born.'

'Oh I will watch the Orlange hill,

Though I waur thinkin to be slain;

But I will gie you some love tokens,

In case we never meet again.'

He gae her rings to her fingers,

Sae did he ribbons to her hair;

He gae her a broach to her briest-bane,

For fear that they sud neer meet mair.

She put her hand in her pocket,

An she took out a lang, lang wand;

'As lang's ony man this wand sall keep,

There sall not a drap o his blude be drawn.'

Whan een was come, an een-bells rung,

An a' man boun for bed,

There beheld him Sir Colin,

Fast to the Orlange hill he rade.

The wind blew trees oot at the rutes,

Sae did it auld castles doon;

'T was eneuch to fricht ony Christian knicht,

To be sae far frae ony toon.

He rade up, sae did he doon,

He rade even through the loan,

Till he spied a knicht, wi a ladie bricht,

Wi a bent bow intil his han.

She cried afar, ere she cam naur,

I warn ye, kind sir, I rede ye flee;

That for the love you bear to me,

I warn ye, kind sir, that ye flee.

They faucht up, sae did they doon,

They faucht even through the loan,

Till he cut aff the king's richt han,

Was set aboot wi chains a' goud.

'Haud your hand now, Sir Colin,

I wat you've dung my love richt sair;

Noo for the love ye bear to me,

See that ye ding my love nae mair.'

He wooed, he wooed that fair Janet,

He wooed her and he brocht her hame;

He wooed, he wooed that fair Janet,

An ca'd her Dear-Coft till her name.

KING MALCOLM AND SIR COLVIN

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 6;

Motherwell's MS., p. 581.

There ance livd a king in fair Scotland,

King Malcolm called by name,

Whom ancient history gives record

For valour, worth, and fame.

And it fell ance upon a day,

The king sat down to dine,

And then he missd a favourite knight,

Whose name was Sir Colvin.

But out it speaks another knight,

Ane o Sir Colvin's kin:

'He's lyin in bed, right sick in love,

All for your daughter Jean.'

'O wae's me,' said the royal king,

'I'm sorry for the same;

She maun take bread and wine sae red,

Give it to Sir Colvin.'

Then gently did she bear the bread,

Her page did carry the wine,

And set a table at his bed:

'Sir Colvin, rise and dine.'

'O well love I the wine, lady,

Come frae your lovely hand,

But better love I your fair body,

Than all fair Scotland's strand.'

'O hold your tongue now, Sir Colvin,

Let all your folly be;

My love must be by honour won,

Or nane shall enjoy me.

'But on the head o Elrick's hill,

Near by yon sharp hawthorn,

Where never a man with life eer came,

Sin our sweet Christ was born;

'O ye'll gang there and walk a' night,

And boldly blaw your horn;

With honour that ye do return,

Ye'll marry me the morn.'

Then up it raise him Sir Colvin,

And dressd in armour keen,

And he is on to Elrick's hill,

Without light of the meen.

At midnight mark the meen upstarts;

The knight walkd up and down,

While loudest cracks o thunder roard

Out ower the bent sae brown.

Then by the twinkling of an ee

He spied an armed knight,

A fair lady bearing his brand,

Wi torches burning bright.

Then he cried high, as he came nigh,

'Coward thief, I bid you flee!

There is not ane comes to this hill,

But must engage wi me.

'Ye'll best take road before I come,

And best take foot and flee;

Here is a sword, baith sharp and broad

Will quarter you in three.'

Sir Colvin said, I'm not afraid

Of any here I see;

You hae not taen your God before;

Less dread hae I o thee.

Sir Colvin then he drew his sword,

His foe he drew his brand,

And they fought there on Elrick's hill

Till they were bluidy men.

The first an stroke the knight he strake,

Gae Colvin a slight wound;

The next an stroke Lord Colvin strake,

Brought's foe unto the ground.

'I yield, I yield,' the knight he said,

'I fairly yield to thee;

Nae ane came eer to Elrick-hill

Eer gaind such victorie.

'I and my forbears here did haunt

Three hundred years and more;

I'm safe to swear a solemn oath

We were never beat before.'

'An asking,' said the lady gay,

'An asking ye'll grant me;'

'Ask on, ask on,' said Sir Colvin,

'What may your asking be?'

'Ye'll gie me hame my wounded knight,

Let me fare on my way;

And I'se neer be seen on Elrick's hill,

By night, nor yet by day;

And to this place we'll come nae mair,

Coud we win safe away.

'To trouble any Christian one,

Lives in the righteous law,

We'll come nae mair unto this place,

Coud we win safe awa.'

'O yese get hame your wounded knight,

Ye shall not gang alane;

But I maun hae a wad o him,

Before that we twa twine.'

Sir Colvin being a book-learnd man,

Sae gude in fencing tee,

He's drawn a stroke behind his hand,

And followed in speedilie.

Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colvin's drawn,

And followed in speedilie,

The knight's brand and sword hand

In the air he gard them flee.

It flew sae high into the sky,

And lighted on the ground;

The rings that were on these fingers

Were worth five hundred pound.

Up he has taen that bluidy hand,

Set it before the king,

And the morn it was Wednesday,

When he married his daughter Jean.

Motherwell, who cites a manuscript of Buchan, prints the first three

stanzas and the last with some variations: Introduction, p. lxvi, note

**. The ballad is not in Buchan's two manuscript volumes.

[65] So maintaine vs all in our right?

[66] To this suggestion the actual form of stanzas 8, 11 lends a faint

plausibility.

[67] Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, I, 367, 372 f, 389, 391. For the

name of the sword see Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 500.

[68] Cited by Scott, Minstrelsy, II, 273, ed. 1833; Otia Imperialia,

ed. Liebrecht, LIX, p. 26.

[69] Grundtvig's #A#, #B# are translated by Dr Prior, I, 276. The

story is found also in Icelandic rímur of the 15th century printed in

Björner's Kämpedater, 1737. Björner was acquainted with an old Swedish

ballad on the subject, but this ballad has not been found. The story

of these rímur is given by Mallet, Histoire de Dannemarc, II, 312, ed.

1787, and in Percy's translation, Northern Antiquities, II, 248.

[70] So, as to _and_, the German 'Ulinger,' Mittler, p. 68, sts 21, 22,

23; den ersten schrey _und_ den sie thet, etc.

[71] The Percy manuscript was inspected by many persons near the time

of the first publication of the Reliques, and again while the fourth

edition was going through the press, but it is not for a moment to be

suggested or supposed that anything in the Scottish 'Sir Colvin' is to

be accounted for in that way.

FAIR ANNIE

#A.# 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annie,' Minstrelsy of the

Scottish Border, II, 102, 1802; 31 stanzas.

#B.# 'Burd Helen,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 376;

26 stanzas.

#C.# 'Fair Annie,' Motherwell's MS., p. 351; 33 stanzas.

#D.# Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p.

307; 8 stanzas.

#E.# 'Lady Jane,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 20, Jamieson's

Popular Ballads, II, 371; 20 stanzas.

#F.# 'Fair Annie,' Motherwell's MS., p. 385, Motherwell's

Minstrelsy, p. 327; 32 stanzas.

#G.# Communicated by Miss Reburn; 5 stanzas.

#H.# Communicated by Dr Thomas Davidson; 2 stanzas.

#I.# 'Fair Annie,' Kinloch MSS, I, 155; 45 stanzas.

#J.# 'The Fause Lord,' Buchan's MSS, I, 66; 65 stanzas.

The fragment #D#, printed in 1769, antedates the committing to writing

of any of the other versions. #E# was taken down as early as 1783.

#A# and #B# are from the beginning of this century. #A# was obtained

"chiefly from the recitation of an old woman," but we are not informed

who supplied the rest. Herd's fragment, #D#, furnished stanzas 2-6, 12,

17, 19. A doubt may be hazarded whether stanzas 8-10 came from the old

woman. #I# is a combination of three recited versions, and #J#, perhaps

a transcript of a stall-copy, is, like many of Buchan's ballads,

extended to twice the length of genuine versions by tedious, sometimes

nauseous, amplification and interpolation.

'Lady Jane,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 73, is a combination

of #B# and #E#, with a good many bad verses of Jamieson's own. A

version in Motherwell's MS., p. 477, "from the recitation of an old

maid-servant of Mr Alexander, of Southbar," was, as would be inferred

from a memorandum at the end of the transcript, derived from a printed

book, and is in fact an imperfect recollection of this compounded

ballad of Jamieson's.

Grundtvig has attempted a reconstitution of the ballad from versions

#A#, #B#, #D#, #E#, #F#, Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, 42.

Annie [Helen, #B#, Ellen, #G#, Jane, #E#] was stolen from home in her

childhood, #A# 15, #B# 23, #C# 31, #E# 9, #F# 25, #I# 38, #J# 50, 51,

by a knight from over sea, to whom she has borne seven sons, out of

wedlock. Her consort bids her prepare to welcome a bride, with whom

he shall get gowd and gear; with her he got none. But she must look

like a maid, comb down her yellow locks, braid her hair.[72] Annie

meekly assents, for love, she says, in #C# 12; in #I# 4, #J# 15, the

welcoming goes against her heart; in #F# 9 she is told that she is to

do it; in #H# 2 she says the welcome will have to come from him. Annie

receives the bride and her train and serves the tables, suppressing her

tears and drinking water to keep her cheek from paling. She passes for

servant or housekeeper, and in #I# 23, #J# 25, uses the word 'master,'

not to anger the bride; in #C# 17 she calls her lord brother, and the

knight calls her sister in #C# 18 and (inconsistently) in #J# 38. What

'n a lady's that? asks the bride, #E# 9, #J# 37, and what means all

these bonny boys that follow at her heel? #J# 37.

When the married pair have gone to their bed-chamber, Annie, in a room

near by, bewails her sad lot in song; to the harp or her virginals,

#E#, #F#, #J#, #I#. The bride hears the lament: it is that of a woman

who will go mad ere day, #B# 20, #C# 26, #J# 44, 48. The bride goes to

Fair Annie's chamber, #A#, #C#? to see what gars her greet, inquires

her parentage, and discovers that they are sisters; or learns this fact

from the song itself, #B#, #E#; or recognizes her sister's voice, #F#,

#I#, #J#. King Henry was their father, #B#, #F#, #I#; King Easter,

#C#;[73] the Earl of Wemyss, of Richmond, #A#, #E#. Queen Easter was

their mother, #F#; Queen Catherine, Elinor [Orvis], #B#, #I#. The

bride, who had come with many well-loaded ships, gives all or most of

them to her sister, #A#, #B#, #C#, #F#, #I#, and goes virgin home, #A#,

#B#, #F#, #I#, #J#; expecting, as #B#, #J# add, to encounter derision

for going away wife and coming back maid.

In #C# 27 the bride suspects that the woman who wails so madly is a

leman, and urges her husband to get up and pack her down the stairs,

though the woods were ne'er so wild. He refuses. A similar scene is

elsewhere put earlier, during the bridal entertainment, #I# 29, 30, #J#

40: see also #G# 2, 3, which are partly explained by these passages,

and partly by #J# 36.

There are other variations in the story, and some additional

particulars in one or another version: none of these, however, seem to

belong to the original ballad. The bride, as soon as she sees Annie, is

struck with the resemblance to her lost sister, #A# 14, #E# 9, #J# 29.

The bridegroom repents, and rejects the woman he has married, #E# 19,

#F# 30, #J# 49. The bridegroom confiscates without ceremony, as tocher

for Annie, six of the seven ships which the bride had brought with her,

#E#, #J#.[74]

The name Lord Thomas in #A# was probably suggested by 'Lord Thomas and

Fair Annet.'

* * * * *

A Danish ballad of Fair Annie has been known to the English for

fourscore years through Jamieson's translation. The Scandinavian

versions are the following.

#Danish.#'Skjön Anna,' Grundtvig, No 258, V, 13, eight versions: #A#,

39 four-line stanzas, #B#, 34 sts, #C#, 45 sts, from manuscripts of

the sixteenth century; #D#, 48 sts, #E#, 41 sts, #G#, 32 sts, from

seventeenth-century manuscripts; #F#, 41 sts, from broadsides or

stall-copies, the earliest dated 1648, from Peder Syv, 1695, and from

copies lately taken down which were derived from printed texts; #H#, 43

sts, a version recently obtained from tradition in Norway. Of these,

#A#, #B#, #C#, #G# are independent texts; #D#, #E#, #F# are derived

from some copy of #C#, or from a version closely akin to #C#; #H# is

essentially the broadside copy #F#, but has one stanza of its own.

#F#, Syv, No 17, Danske Viser, IV, 59, No 177, the form through which

the Danish ballad has been made known by English translations, is

unfortunately an impure and sophisticated text.

#Swedish.# #A#, 'Skön Anna,' 19 sts, Arwidsson, I, 291, No 42; #B#,

Afzelius, I, 24, No 5, 32 sts; #C#, Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 57, No

28, 37 sts. #C# follows in the main Danish #F#, but with a variation

in st. 31 which is of much importance if traditional. A translation of

Danish #F# has long circulated in Sweden as a broadside: see, besides

Grundtvig, Bergström's Afzelius, II, 30.

The Scandinavian story will, for more brevity, be collected principally

from Danish #A#, #B#, #C#, and some variations of the other copies be

added.

Fair Annie [Anneck, Annecke, #A#], a king's daughter, is stolen in

her early years, and sold to a man of rank, who is in fact heir to a

crown. They have seven sons in eight [seven] years, and he then becomes

king. Fair Annie begs the queen-mother to intercede with her son now

to make her a lawful wife and legitimate his children. The mother

loves Annie, and heartily desires that he may. The son refuses; she

has great virtues, but he does not know Annie's friends [her forbears,

lineage, Danish #F#, Swedish #C#]. He makes suit for a king's daughter

in a distant land. Annie's heart all but breaks when the bride comes.

The young king asks the bride what gift she will give his _amie_, #A#.

I will give her my old shoes, she says, #B#, #D#, #F#. She must give

something else if she would get his good will. Then she will give

Annie seven mills that lie far over the Rhine and grind nought but

cinnamon, #B#, #D#, #F#. Annie is now asked what gift she will make the

bride. I will give her _you_, whom I can so ill spare, answers Annie.

No, that is not enough; she must give another gift to win the bride's

good will. I will give her the seven sons I have borne, says Annie.

Neither is that enough; she must give the bride her gold brooch. This

Annie will not surrender, for it was his morning-gift. Annie now asks

her lord to let her go into the bride-house [hall] and see the bride.

He refuses emphatically, but his kind mother says, Yes; she will even

go with Annie, though it should cost her her life. Annie goes to the

bride-house, preceded by her seven sons, who wear her father's color.

She pours wine for the bride, with many tears, #A#, #C#. The bride asks

who this fair woman is that weeps so sore. And who are these that wear

her father's color?[75] It is the king's sister's daughter, from a

foreign land, #C-F#, #H#; his sister, Danish #A#, Swedish #A#, #B#. "It

is not your sister's daughter," says the bride; "that I plainly see. I

fear it is your leman," #C# 34, #D#, #E#. The king now avows the truth.

It is Fair Annie, my leman, Danish #A# 33, Swedish #A# 16 (which adds,

"Her father I never knew"); she was stolen from a foreign land in her

young days, and has been with me seven years, Danish #B# 31; she was

sold to me from a foreign land; these are her seven sons, they will

be bastards now, and that is the cause of her grief, #C# 35, 36, #D#,

#E#; these are my seven sons, Fair Annie is their mother, Swedish #B#

27. I had a sister, says the bride; she was stolen from my father's

land; Fair Annie was her name, this must be she,[76] she shall keep her

husband. The king sends the new-come bride home with due ceremony, and

keeps Fair Annie for his heart's delight, #C# 37-44, #D#, #E#.

In Danish #G# 7, the king gives as a reason for not espousing Fair

Annie that she has no fortune, ingen rente, which is the objection to

her in English #A# 1, #C# 2, etc. The oldest [youngest] son of Fair

Annie attends his mother's sister to her father's land in Swedish #C#,

Danish #F#, #K#, as in English #J# 54. The king promises his brother

to Annie's sister in Danish #A# 39 (compare also Swedish #B# 33). In

English #I# 26, #J# 30, the bride thinks _her_ brother would be a good

match for Annie.

Swedish #C#, though in itself of little authority, has an advantage

over the Danish copies and Swedish #B# in making Annie refuse to part

with the gold brooch, not because it was a morning-gift, but because

she had had it ever since she was a child and was kidnapped from her

father's court; and again in making this brooch the means of her

recognition as sister by the bride.

The Scandinavian ballad is regarded by Grundtvig as transmitted from

Low German. The rhymes are frequently not after the Danish manner (see

Grundtvig, V, 46, 7), and the heroine's name has a Low German look.

Dutch and German versions, all ill enough preserved, are:

#Dutch.# #A.# 'Schön Adelheid,' 22 four-line stanzas, Hoffmann,

Niederländische Volkslieder, 2d ed., 1856, p. 46, No 11, 'Mooi Aeltje

en Koning Alewijn,' Willems, p. 177, No 70; from Den Italiaenschen

Quacksalver, Amsterdam, 1708. #B.# 'Madel,' 15 stanzas, Snellaert, Oude

en nieuwe Liedjes, p. 70, No 65, 2d ed., 1864.

#German.# #A.# Longard, Altrheinländische Mährlein und Liedlein, 1843,

p. 23, No 12; Wilhelm von Zuccalmaglio, Deutsche Volkslieder, 1840,

p. 74, No 32,==Mittler, No 333: 21 four-line stanzas. #B.# Montanus

(Vincenz von Zuccalmaglio), Die deutschen Volksfeste, 1854, p. 46, 17

stanzas, apparently rewritten.

According to Dutch #A# Aaltje, Ethel, Adeline, a king's daughter, is

stolen, and sold for a great sum to King Alewijn. She asks the king's

mother, who is quite disposed to have her for a daughter, when her son

will marry her, and the mother asks her son how long Maid Aaltje is to

live under disgrace. The king objects that Aaltje is a _vondeling_, a

waif-woman (English #C# 2, #I# 2); Heaven only knows her friends and

kin. He adds that he was over the Rhine yesterday, and that Aaltje

will break her heart with sorrow. The young woman asks the mother's

permission to go to the bride's house, and is told to go in good style,

her seven sons before her and fourteen ladies-in-waiting behind. The

king meets Aaltje half-way, and says, If you are going to the bride's

house, what gift do you mean to make the bride? The bride will have

enough, she replies; I will give her my old stockings and shoes. She

must give something better to gain her friendship. Then Aaltje will

give her "seven sons of yours and mine" to serve her. She will have

your seven sons, says the king, but you must give her your brooch.[77]

No, that you will not get, says Aaltje. There were two at my father's

court; my sister and I each had one. Are you then of royal birth? says

the king. Had you told me that, I would have married _you_. When Aaltje

appears at the bride's house, they offer her to drink, and many a tear

she drops in the cup. Who is this woman that weeps so piteously? asks

the bride. These are some of our nieces and nephews, who have come from

foreign parts to bring you presents, is the king's answer. Nieces and

nephews! says the bride; it is Maid Aaltje, my youngest sister. She

takes the crown from her head: Take it, Aaltje, and keep your husband.

Saddle my horse. I came in honor, I must go back in shame. (Cf. English

#B# 26, #I# 45.)

#B.# Madel (M'Adel), the oldest of a king's two daughters, is stolen

by a king's son to be his leman, and taken to a far country. They have

seven sons, and he forsakes her and betroths himself to her sister. He

asks his mother what present she will make his bride; she has seven

mills which she will give her. Madel, asked in like manner, replies, My

old stockings and shoes. Madel asks the queen-mother if she may go to

the bridal, for the king is to marry, and is answered as in #A#. When

she comes to the bride-loft they pour wine for her, and she drops tears

in the cup. The bride asks who this is, and the king replies, One of my

nieces from a far country, who came to do me honor, but only puts me to

shame. You are not telling me the truth, says the bride. The king owns

that it is Madel, his leman, with her seven sons. The bride recognizes

a brooch[78] stiff with gold and silk. "There are but two such in all

Flanders; I and my sister each had one." She tears the crown from her

own head and puts it on her sister, saying, King, marry her in my

place. The brooch is distinctly made the means of identification, which

it by all likelihood was originally in all the Scandinavian ballads,

though only Swedish #C# has retained (or restored) this feature.

The #German# ballad resembles Dutch #A# closely. The queen-mother gives

Adelheid permission to go to the wedding, and her seven sons must walk

before her. At the feast the king offers her to drink; she cannot drink

for the grief he has caused her. The bride sees her weeping, and orders

food and drink to be offered her (cf. English #J# 36), but she cannot

touch them. The king pretends that she is one of his nieces who has

lived with him seven years [is fatigued by her journey, #B#]. The bride

exclaims, I see the fore-span (by your fore-span, #A#), you are driving

a pair! In #A# she asks the fair woman's name and country. Her country

is over the Rhine, and thence she had been stolen. "Then you must be my

sister," declares the bride somewhat hastily, gives up her seat and the

crown, puts her ring on Adelheid's finger, and bids the news be sent to

father and mother.

The lyric beauty of the Scottish version of this ballad, especially

conspicuous in #A#, #C#, #E#, has been appreciatingly remarked by

Grundtvig.

But Fair Annie's fortunes have not only been charmingly sung, as here;

they have also been exquisitely _told_ in a favorite lay of Marie de

France, 'Le Lai del Freisne.' This tale, of Breton origin, is three

hundred years older than any manuscript of the ballad. Comparison will,

however, quickly show that it is not the source either of the English

or of the Low German and Scandinavian ballad. The tale and the ballads

have a common source, which lies further back, and too far for us to

find.

The story of the lay is this.[79] There were two knights in Brittany,

living on contiguous estates, and both married. The lady of one of the

two gave birth to two boys, and the father sent information of the

event to his neighbor and friend. His friend's wife was a scoffing,

envious woman, "judging always for the worse," and said,

I marvel much, thou messenger,

Who was thy lordës counsellor,

That did advise him not to spare

This shame to publish everywhere,

That his wife hath _two_ children bore:

Well may each man know therefore

Two men have been with her in bower,[80]

Which is to both but small honour.

In the course of the same year the woman that had made this hateful

insinuation was brought to bed of twin girls. To save her reputation

she was ready even to put one of them to death, but a favorite damsel

in her house suggested a better way out of her perplexity, and that

was to leave one of the children at the door of a convent. The child,

wrapped in a rich pall that had been brought from Constantinople,

with a jewelled ring bound to its arm to show that it was well born,

was taken away in the night to a considerable distance, and was laid

between the branches of a great ash-tree in front of a nunnery. In the

morning it was discovered by the porter, who told his adventure to

the abbess; and the abbess, having inspected the foundling, resolved

to bring it up under the style of her niece. The girl, who received

the name La Freisne from the tree in which she had been found, turned

out a marvel of beauty and of all good qualities. A gentleman of the

vicinity fell in love with her, and made large gifts to the monastery

to constitute himself a lay-brother, and so have access to her without

exciting suspicion. He obtained her love, and in the end induced her to

fly with him to his château. This she did with sufficient deliberation

to take with her the robe and ring which were the tokens of her birth;

for the abbess had told her how she had been found in the ash, and

had committed these objects to her care. She lived a good while with

the knight as his mistress, and made herself loved by everybody; but

his retainers had repeatedly remonstrated with him for not providing

himself with a lawful successor, and at last forced him to marry the

daughter and heiress of a gentleman near by. On the day of the nuptials

La Freisne let no sign of grief or anger escape her, but devoted

herself to the bride so amiably as even to win over the mother, who had

accompanied her daughter, and had at first felt much uneasiness at the

presence of a possible rival. Finding the marriage bed not decked with

sufficient elegance, La Freisne took from a trunk the precious pall

from Constantinople, and threw it on for a coverlet. When the bride's

mother was about to put her daughter to bed, this robe was of course

the first object that met her eyes. Her heart quaked. She sent for

the chamberlain, and asked where the cloth came from. The chamberlain

explained that "the damsel" had put it on to improve the appearance of

the bed. The damsel was summoned, and told what she knew: the abbess

who brought her up had given her the robe, and with it a ring, and

charged her to take good care of them. A sight of the ring was asked;

the lady cried, You are my daughter, and fainted. When she recovered

she sent for her husband and confessed everything. The husband was

only too happy to find that the damsel tant pruz è sage è bele was his

daughter. The story was repeated to La Freisne, and then to the knight

and to the archbishop who had performed the marriage ceremony. The

marriage was dissolved the next day, and La Freisne formally espoused

by the knight, who received with her half her father's heritage. The

sister went home and made a rich marriage.

The common ground-work of the ballads and the lay is, that a man

who has formed an irregular union with a woman whose family he

does not know undertakes matrimony with another person, who is

discovered on the day of the nuptials to be sister to his leman. A

jewel in the possession of the latter, by itself or together with

another token, reveals and proves the kinship in the lay and in

the Scandinavian-German ballad, but there is no trace of such an

instrumentality in the Scottish.

Single features, or even several features, of the story of Fair Annie

or of La Freisne occur in many other ballads and tales, but there is

no occasion to go into these resemblances here. A Norse ballad has

almost every point in 'Fair Annie' but the sisterly relation of leman

and bride: see 'Slegfred og Brud,' Grundtvig, No 255, and 'Thomas o

Yonderdale,' an apocryphal ballad of Buchan's, further on. Bare mention

may be made of the beautiful Spanish romance 'Las dos Hermanas,' found

also in Portuguese, in which the queen of a Moor or Turk discovers her

sister in a slave who has been presented to her, or captured at her

request.[81]

* * * * *

Translated after #A# by Schubart, p. 115; mainly after #E#, with

stanzas from #A# and #C#, by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser,

No 28; after #E# by Wolff, Hausschatz, p. 209, Halle der Völker, I, 3;

after #D# by Gerhard, p. 77; by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, No 3,

after Allingham.

* * * * *

Danish #F# by Jamieson, Popular Ballads, II, 103; by Prior, III, 300,

No 148. Dutch #A# by Prior, III, 484.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 102, 1802, chiefly

from the recitation of an old woman residing near

Kirkhill, in West Lothian.

'It's narrow, narrow, make your bed,

And learn to lie your lane;

For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie,

A braw bride to bring hame.

Wi her I will get gowd and gear;

Wi you I neer got nane.

'But wha will bake my bridal bread,

Or brew my bridal ale?

And wha will welcome my brisk bride,

That I bring oer the dale?'

'It's I will bake your bridal bread,

And brew your bridal ale,

And I will welcome your brisk bride,

That you bring oer the dale.'

'But she that welcomes my brisk bride

Maun gang like maiden fair;

She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,

And braid her yellow hair.'

'But how can I gang maiden-like,

When maiden I am nane?

Have I not born seven sons to thee,

And am with child again?'

She's taen her young son in her arms,

Another in her hand,

And she's up to the highest tower,

To see him come to land.

'Come up, come up, my eldest son,

And look oer yon sea-strand,

And see your father's new-come bride,

Before she come to land.'

'Come down, come down, my mother dear,

Come frae the castle wa!

I fear, if langer ye stand there,

Ye'll let yoursell down fa.'

And she gaed down, and farther down,

Her love's ship for to see,

And the topmast and the mainmast

Shone like the silver free.

And she's gane down, and farther down,

The bride's ship to behold,

And the topmast and the mainmast

They shone just like the gold.

She's taen her seven sons in her hand,

I wot she didna fail;

She met Lord Thomas and his bride,

As they came oer the dale.

'You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas,

You're welcome to your land;

You're welcome with your fair ladye,

That you lead by the hand.

'You're welcome to your ha's, ladye,

Your welcome to your bowers;

You're welcome to your hame, ladye,

For a' that's here is yours.'

'I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie,

Sae dearly as I thank thee;

You're the likest to my sister Annie,

That ever I did see.

'There came a knight out oer the sea,

And steald my sister away;

The shame scoup in his company,

And land whereer he gae!'

She hang ae napkin at the door,

Another in the ha,

And a' to wipe the trickling tears,

Sae fast as they did fa.

And aye she served the lang tables,

With white bread and with wine,

And aye she drank the wan water,

To had her colour fine.

And aye she served the lang tables,

With white bread and with brown;

And ay she turned her round about,

Sae fast the tears fell down.

And he's taen down the silk napkin,

Hung on a silver pin,

And aye he wipes the tear trickling

A' down her cheek and chin.

And aye he turn'd him round about,

And smiled amang his men;

Says, Like ye best the old ladye,

Or her that's new come hame?

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,

And a' men bound to bed,

Lord Thomas and his new-come bride

To their chamber they were gaed.

Annie made her bed a little forbye,

To hear what they might say;

'And ever alas!' Fair Annie cried,

'That I should see this day!

'Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,

Running on the castle wa,

And I were a grey cat mysell,

I soon would worry them a'.

'Gin my seven sons were seven young hares,

Running oer yon lilly lee,

And I were a grew hound mysell,

Soon worried they a' should be.'

And wae and sad Fair Annie sat,

And drearie was her sang,

And ever, as she sobbd and grat,

'Wae to the man that did the wrang!'

'My gown is on,' said the new-come bride,

'My shoes are on my feet,

And I will to Fair Annie's chamber,

And see what gars her greet.

'What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,

That ye make sic a moan?

Has your wine barrels cast the girds,

Or is your white bread gone?

'O wha was't was your father, Annie,

Or wha was't was your mother?

And had ye ony sister, Annie,

Or had ye ony brother?'

'The Earl of Wemyss was my father,

The Countess of Wemyss my mother;

And a' the folk about the house

To me were sister and brother.'

'If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,

I wot sae was he mine;

And it shall not be for lack o gowd

That ye your love sall tyne.

'For I have seven ships o mine ain,

A' loaded to the brim,

And I will gie them a' to thee,

Wi four to thine eldest son:

But thanks to a' the powers in heaven

That I gae maiden hame!'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 376, from the recitation

of Mrs Arrot, of Aberbrothick.

There livd a lord on yon sea-side,

And he thought on a wile,

How he would go over the saut sea

A lady to beguile.

'O learn to mak your bed, Helen,

And learn to ly your lane,

For I'm gaun over the saut seas

A bright bride to bring hame.'

'How can I mak my bed,' she says,

'Unless I mak it wide,

Whan I have seven o your sons

To lie down by my side?

'And the first o your seven sons,

He rides a milk-white steed;

The second o your seven sons

He wears a milk-white weed.

'The third ane o your seven sons,

He draws baith ale and wine;

The fourth ane o your seven sons,

He serves you when you dine.

'The fifth ane o your seven sons,

He can baith read and write;

And the sixth ane o your seven sons,

He is a' your heart's delight.

'And the youngest o your seven sons,

He sleeps on my breast-bane;

Whan him and I ly down at night,

For him rest get I nane.'

'O wha will bake my bridal bread,

And brew my bridal ale?

And wha will welcome my gae lady,

That I bring oer the dale?

'And sin ye've taen the turn in hand,

See that ye do it right,

And ilka chimly o the house,

That they be dearly dight.'

O a' the day she washd and wrang,

And a' the night she buik,

And she's awa to her chamber,

To gie her young son suck.

'Come here, come here, my eldest son,

And see what ye may see;

For yonder comes your father dear,

Your mother-in-law side be.'

She's taen a cake o the best bread,

A bottle o the best wine,

And a' the keys upon her arm,

And to the yates she's gaen.

'Ye are welcome hame, gay lady,' she said,

'And ay ye are welcome hame;

And sae is a' the gentlewomen

That's wi you ridden and gane.

'You are welcome hame, gay lord' she said,

'And ay ye are welcome hame;

And sae is a' the gentlemen

That's wi you ridden and gane.'

She saird them up, she saird them down,

She saird them till and frae;

But when she went behind their backs,

The tear did blind her ee.

Whan day was gane, and night was come,

And a' man boun to bed,

The bridegroom and the bonny bride

In their chamber was laid.

Burd Helen and her seven sons

Lay in a bower near by;

. . . . . . .

'If my seven sons were seven grey ratts,

To rin frae wa to wa,

And I mysel a good grey cat,

I would bite their back a-twa.

'If my seven sons were seven grey hares,

And them to rin a race,

And I mysel a good greyhound,

I would gie them a chace.'

Up and spak the bonny bride,

In chamber where she lay:

'There is a lady in this bower,

She will gae mad or day.'

'Lye still, lye still, my bonny bride,

Lye still and tak a sleep;

It's but ane o my wine puncheons;

Nae langer wad it keep.'

'King Henry was my father dear,

Queen Catherine was my mother,

Lady Anne she was my sister dear,

And Frederick was my brother.

'And whan I was six years of age,

They ca'd me Mary Mild;

I was stown frae my father's yate,

Whan I was but a child.'

Then up and spak the bonny bride,

By her lord as she lay:

'Lye down, lye down, my dear sister,

There's nae ill done for me.

'O seven ships conveyd me here,

And seven came oer the main;

And four o them shall stay wi you,

And three convey me hame.

'But when I gae hame to my father's house,

They will laugh me to scorn,

To come awa a wedded wife,

Gae hame a maid the morn.'

Motherwell's manuscript, p. 351, from the recitation of

Janet Holmes, an old woman in Kilbarchan, who derived the

ballad from her mother; July 18, 1825.

'Learn to mak your bed, honey,

And learn to lye your lane,

For I'm gaun owre the salt seas,

A fair lady to bring hame.

'And with her I'll get gold and gear,

With thee I neer got nane;

I took you as a waaf woman,

I leave you as the same.'

'What aileth thee at me, my lord,

What aileth thee at me,

When seven bonnie sons I have born,

All of your fair bodie?

'The eldest of your seven sons,

He can both read and write;

The second of your sons, my lord,

Can do it more perfyte.

'The third one of your sons, my lord,

He waters your milk-white steed;

The fourth one of your sons, my lord,

With red gold shines his weed.

'The fifth one of your sons, my lord,

He serves you when you dine;

The sixth one now you do behold,

How he walks out and in.

'The seventh one of your sons, my lord,

Sucks hard at my breast-bane;

When a' the house they are at rest,

For him I can get nane.

'And if you leave me thus forlorn,

A wainless wife I'll be,

For anybody's gold or gear

That is beyond the sea.'

'O wha will bake my bridal bread,

Or wha will brew my ale?

Or wha will cook my kitchen neat,

Or give my men their meal?'

'For love I'll bake your bridal bread,

To brew your ale I'm fain,

To cook your kitchen, as I have done,

Till you return again.'

'O wha will bake my bridal bread,

Or wha will brew my ale?

Or wha will welcome my braw bride,

That I bring owre the dale?'

'For love I'll bake your bridal bread,

For love I'll brew your ale,

And I will welcome your braw bride

That you bring owre the dale.'

Her mind she keeped, but sair she weepd

The time that he was gane

. . . . . . .

'Go up, go up, my eldest son,

Go to the upmost ha,

And see if you see your father coming,

With your mother-to-be-in-law.'

'Put on, put on, O mother dear,

Put on your gouns so braw,

For yonder is my father coming,

With my mother-to-be-in-law.'

She's taen the wheat-bread in one hand,

The red wines, which plenty were,

And she's gane to the outmost gate,

And bid them welcome there.

'You're welcome here, my brother dear,

Ye're welcome, brother John;

Ye're welcome a' my brethern dear,

That has this journey gone.'

'I thank you, sister Annie,' he says,

'And I thank you heartilie,

And as you've welcomed home myself,

You'll welcome my fair ladye.'

'If I had roses to my feet,

And ribbons to my gown,

And as leal a maid as your braw bride,

I would speak without a frown.'

He's given her roses to her feet,

And ribbons to her gown,

And she has welcomed his braw bride,

But weel that was her own!

'I thank you, sister Annie,' she says,

'I thank you heartilie,

And if I be seven years about this place,

Rewarded you shall be.'

She served them up, she served them down,

And she served all their cries,

And aye as she came down the stair

The tears fell from her eyes.

When mass was sung, and all bells rung,

And all men boune for bed,

The good lord and his fair lady

Were in their chamber laid.

But poor Annie and her seven sons

Was in a room hard by,

And as she lay she sighed and wept,

And thus began to cry:

'O were my sons transformed to cats,

To speel this castle wa,

And I mysell a red blood-hound

That I might worry them a'!'

The bride she overhearing all,

And sair she rued her fate:

'Awauk, awauk, my lord,' she said,

'Awauk, for well you may;

For there's a woman in this gate

That will go mad ere day.

'I fear she is a leman of thine,

And a leman meek and mild;

Get up and pack her down the stairs,

Tho the woods were neer sae wild.'

'O yes, she is a leman of mine,

And a leman meek and kind,

And I will not pack her down the stairs,

For a' the gear that's thine.'

'O wha's your father, Ann?' she says,

'Or wha's your mother dear?

Or wha's your sister, Ann?' she says,

'Or brother? let me hear.'

'King Easter he's my father dear,

The Queen my mother was;

John Armstrang, in the west-airt lands,

My eldest brother is.'

'Then I'm your sister, Ann,' she says,

'And I'm a full sister to thee;

You were stolen awa when very young,

By the same lord's treacherie.

'I've seven ships upon the sea,

All loaded to the brim,

And five of them I'll give to thee,

And twa shall carry me hame.

'My mother shall mak my tocher up,

When I tell her how you thrive;

For we never knew where you was gone,

Or if you was alive.'

Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 307.

'Wha will bake my bridal bread,

And brew my bridal ale?

And wha will welcome my brisk bride,

That I bring oer the dale?'

'I will bake your bridal bread,

And brew your bridal ale,

And I will welcome your brisk bride,

That you bring oer the dale.'

'But she that welcomes my brisk bride

Maun gang like maiden fair;

She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,

And braid her yellow hair.'

'But how can I gang maiden-like,

When maiden I am nane?

Have I not born seven sons to thee,

And am with child agen?'

She's taen her young son in her arms,

Another in her hand,

And she's up to the highest tower,

To see him come to land.

'You're welcome to your house, master,

You're welcome to your land;

You're welcome with your fair lady,

That you lead by the hand.'

* * * * * * *

And ay she servd the lang tables,

With white bread and with wine,

And ay she drank the wan water,

To had her colour fine.

Now he's taen down a silk napkin,

Hung on the silver pin,

And ay he wipes the tears trickling

Adown her cheek and chin.

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 20; Jamieson's Popular Ballads,

II, 371.

'O wha will bake my bridal bread,

And brew my bridal ale?

Wha will welcome my bright bride,

That I bring oer the dale?'

'O I will bake your bridal bread,

An brew your bridal ale;

An I will welcome your bright bride,

That you bring oer the dale.

'O she that welcomes my bright bride

Maun gang like maiden fair;

She maun lace her in her green cloathin,

An braid her yallow hair.'

'O how can I gang maiden like,

Whan maiden I am nane?

Whan I ha born you seven sons,

An am wi bairn again?'

The lady stood in her bowr door

An lookit oer the lan,

An there she saw her ain good lord,

Leadin his bride by the han.

She's dressd her sons i the scarlet red,

Hersel i the dainty green,

An tho her cheek lookd pale and wan,

She well might ha been a queen.

She calld upon her eldest son:

'Look yonder what you see;

For yonder comes your father dear,

Your step-mother him wi.

'O you'r welcome hame, my ain good lord,

To your ha's but an your bowrs;

You'r welcome hame, my ain good lord,

To your castles an your towrs:

Sae is your bright bride you beside,

She's fairer nor the flowers.'

'O whatn a lady's that?' she says,

'That welcoms you an me?

If I'm lang lady about this place,

Some good I will her dee.

She looks sae like my sister Jane,

Was stoln i the bowr frae me.'

O she has servd the lang tables,

Wi the white bread an the wine;

But ay she drank the wan water,

To keep her colour fine.

An she gid by the first table,

An leugh amo them a';

But ere she reachd the second table,

She let the tears down fa.

She's taen a napkin lang an white,

An hung't upon a pin;

It was to dry her watry eyes,

As she went out and in.

Whan bells were rung, an mass was sung,

An a' man boun to bed,

The bride but an the bonny bridegroom

In ae chamber was laid.

She's taen her harp intill her han,

To harp this twa asleep;

An ay as she harped an she sang,

Full sorely did she weep.

'O seven fu fair sons I have born

To the good lord o this place,

An I wish that they were seven hares,

To run the castle race,

An I mysel a good gray houn,

An I woud gi them chase.

'O seven fu fair sons I have born

To the good lord o this ha;

I wish that they were seven rottons,

To rin the castle wa,

An I mysell a good gray cat,

I wot I woud worry them a'

'The earle o Richmond was my father,

An the lady was my mother,

An a' the bairns bisides mysel

Was a sister an a brother.'

'Sing on, sing on, ye gay lady,

I wot ye hae sung in time;

Gin the earle o Richmond was your father,

I wot sae was he mine.'

'Rise up, rise up, my bierly bride;

I think my bed's but caul;

I woudna hear my lady lament

For your tocher ten times taul.

'O seven ships did bring you here,

An an sal tak you hame;

The leve I'll keep to your sister Jane,

For tocher she gat nane.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 385; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p.

327. From the recitation of Mrs Rule, Paisley, August 16,

1825.

'Learn to mak your bed, Annie,

And learn to lie your lane,

For I maun owre the salt seas gang,

A brisk bride to bring hame.

'Bind up, bind up your yellow hair,

And tye it in your neck,

And see you look as maiden-like

As the first day that we met.'

'O how can I look maiden-like,

When a maid I'll never 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,

Rides 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 fift of your sons, my lord,

He can both read and write,

And the sixth of your sons, my lord,

Can do it maist perfyte.

'And the sevent of your sons, my lord,

Sits on the nurse's knee;

And how can I look maiden-like,

When a maid I'll 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?'

'I'll put cooks in my kitchen,

And stewards in my hall,

And I'll 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 fut into his ship,

And his cock-boat on the main;

He swore it would be year and day

Or he returned again.

When 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;

O yonder comes your father dear,

And your stepmother-to-be.'

'Cast off your gown of black, mother,

Put on your gown of brown,

And I'll put off my mourning weeds,

And we'll welcome him home.'

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,

You're 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 companye.'

'I thank you, my girl, I thank you, my girl,

I thank you heartilie;

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 cold water,

To keep her colour fine.

She servd them up, she servd 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 sorrowful woman she was.

'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 and 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'll tak a harp, into your hand,

Go to their chamber door,

And aye ye'll harp, and aye ye'll murn,

With the salt tears falling oer.'

She's tane a harp into her hand,

Went to their chamber door,

And aye she harpd, and aye she murnd,

With the salt tears falling oer.

Out and spak the brisk young bride,

In bride-bed where she lay:

'I think I hear my sister Annie,

And I wish weel it may;

For a Scotish 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 Easter was my mother,

Prince Henry was my brother dear,

And Fanny Flower my sister.'

'If King Henry was your father dear,

And Queen Easter was your mother,

And Prince Henry was your brother dear,

Then surely I'm your sister.

'Come to your bed, my sister dear,

It neer was wrangd for me,

But an ae kiss of his merry 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 was five ships of gay red gold

Came owre the seas with me;

It's twa o them will take me hame,

And three I'll leave wi thee.

'Seven ships o white money

Came owre the seas wi me;

Five o them I'll leave wi thee,

And twa'll tak me hame,

And my mother will mak my portion up,

When I return again.'

Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as current in

County Meath, Ireland, 1860-70.

She served them up, she served them down,

She served them up with wine,

But still she drank the clear spring water,

To keep her color fine.

'I must get up, she must sit down,

She must sit in my place,

Or else be torn by wild horses

And thrown over the gates.'

'You wont get up, she wont sit down,

She wont sit in your place,

Nor yet be torn by wild horses.

Nor thrown over the gates.'

She called up her seven sons,

By one, by two, by three:

'I wish you were all seven gray-hounds,

This night to worry me.'

'What ails you, fair Ellen? what ails you, fair?

Or why do you sigh and moan?'

'The hoops are off my wine hogsheads,

And my wine is overflown.'

From Dr Thomas Davidson. Aberdeenshire.

'But wha will bake my bridal bread,

An brew my bridal ale,

And wha will welcome my bride hame,

Is mair than I can tell.'

'It's I will bake your bridal bread,

And brew your bridal ale,

But wha will welcome your bride hame,

It'll need tae be yersel.'

An she's hung up a silken towel

Upon a golden pin,

... tae wipe her een,

As she gaed but and ben.

Kinloch MSS, I, 155, May, 1827. "Composed of three

recited versions obtained in the west of Scotland."

'Learn to mak your bed, Annie,

And learn to lie your lane;

For I am gaing oure the saut seas,

A brisk bride to bring hame.

'Wi her I will get gowd and gear;

Wi thee I neer gat nane;

I got thee as a waif woman,

I'll leave thee as the same.

'O wha will bake my bridal bread,

Or brew my bridal ale?

Or wha welcome my brisk bride,

That I'll bring oure the dale?'

'O I will bake your bridal bread,

And brew your bridal ale;

But I downa welcam your brisk bride

That ye'll bring frae the dale.'

'She that welcomes my brisk bride,

She maun look maiden-like;

She maun kaim doun her yellow locks,

And lay them in her neck.'

'O how can I look maiden-like,

Whan maiden I am nane?

For seven sons I hae born to thee,

And the eighth lies in my wame.

'But what aileth thee at me, my lord,

What aileth thee at me,

Whan seven braw sons I've born to thee,

Out of my fair bodie?

'The first ane of your sons, my lord,

Can baith read and write;

And the second of your sons, my lord,

Can do it maist perfyte.

'The third ane o your sons, my lord,

Can water your grey steed;

And the fourth ane o your sons, my lord,

Can bake your bridal bread.

'The fifth ane o your sons, my lord,

Can serve ye whan ye dine;

And the sixth ane o your sons, my lord,

Can brew your bridal wine.

'The seventh ane o your sons, my lord,

Lies close at my breist-bane;

Whan a' the lave are fast asleep,

It's rest I can get nane.'

He set his foot into the stirrup,

His hand upon the mane;

Says, It will be year and day, ladie,

Ere ye see me again.

Whan he had ae foot on the sea,

The ither on dry lan,

'It will be year and day, ladie,

Till I come back again.'

Whan year and day war past and gane,

Fair Annie she thought lang;

And she went up to her hie tower,

Wi a silk seam in her hand.

She lookit east, she lookit west,

And south, below the sun,

And there she spied her ain gude lord,

Coming sailing to the lan.

She called up her seven braw sons,

By ane, twa, and by three:

'See, yonder comes your father,

And your mother-for-to-be.'

And she called up her servants a':

'O come, behold and see!

O yonder comes your master dear,

And a new mistress brings he.

'Gae doun, gae doun, my eldest son,

Into the outmost ha,

And if ye welcome ane o them,

Be sure to welcome a'.'

Some ran east, and some ran west,

And some ran to the sea;

There was na ane in a' his house

To welcome his new ladie.

But Annie's to her coffer gane,

Tane out a silver kaim,

And she's kaimd doun her yellow hair,

As she a maid had been.

And Annie has kaimd her lang yellow locks,

And laid them in her neck;

And she's awa to the saut, saut sea,

To welcome his lady aff deck.

She durst na ca him her ain gude lord,

For angering o the bride;

But she did ca him master dear,

And I wat he was richt glad.

'You're welcome, you're welcome, master,' she said,

'To your halls bot an your bouers;

And sae are a' thir merry young men

That come alang with you.

'You're welcome, you're welcome, fair ladie,

To your halls but an your bouers;

And sae are a' thir gay ladies;

For a' that's here is yours.'

'I thank ye, I thank ye, fair maiden,

I thank ye kindlie;

If I be lang about this house,

Rewarded ye sall be.

'I have a brither o mine ain;

He's newly come frae sea;

I think it wad be a richt gude match

To marry him and thee.'

'I thank ye, I thank ye, fair ladie;

Gie your brither to whom like ye;

But there's never ane in this warld

My wedding day sall see:

But one word o my master dear

In private wad I be.'

* * * * * * *

The first dish that fair Annie set doun,

She lookit baith pale and wan;

The neist dish that fair Annie set doun,

She was scarce able to stan.

'O is this your mistress, good lord,' she says,

'Although she looks modest and mild?

Then we will hunt her frae our house

Wi dogs and hawks sae wild.'

'She's na my mistress, dear lady,' he says,

'Altho she looks modest and mild;

Nor will we hunt her frae our house

Wi dogs and hawks sae wild.'

Whan bells war rung, and mass was sung,

And a' men boun for bed,

The bonnie bride and the bridegroom

In bride's bed they were laid.

Whan dinner was past, and supper was by,

And a' were boun for bed,

Fair Annie and her seven sons

In a puir bye-chamber war laid.

Fair Annie took out her virginals,

And sadly did she play;

. . . . . . .

'O gin my sons were yon grey rats,

That climb the castle-wa,

And I mysel a bloody grey cat,

I'd rise and worry them a'.'

Then out and spak the bonny bride,

In bride's bed whare she lay:

'I think this is like my sister Anne,

That doth sae sadly play.'

'Lie still, lie still, my gay ladie,

Lie still and sleep a wee;

It's nathing but an auld servant,

That waileth sae for me.'

'O gin my seven sons were seven young hares,

That rin round the castle wa,

And I mysel a bluidy grewhund,

I wad rise and worry them a'.'

The new bride waukenit in the nicht,

And blew upon her horn:

'I think I hear my sister's voice,

That was stown frae us a bairn.'

'Sleep on, sleep on, dear lady,' he says,

'It's yon maiden in her dream,

. . . . . . .

'O wha was eer thy father, fair maid,

Or wha was eer thy mither?

Or wha was eer thy ae sister,

Or wha was eer thy brither?'

'King Henry was my father,' she said,

'Queen Elinore was my mither;

Fair Marion was my ae sister,

Earl Robert was my brither.'

'Sin King Henry was your father, fair maid,

And Queen Elinore your mither,

O I am een your ae sister,

And ye are just the ither.

'Come to your bed, fair Annie,' she said,

'Come to your bed full sune;

I may weel say, I daur weel say,

There is na evil dune.

'Seven ships of gold did bring me here,

But ane shall tak me hame;

Six I will leave to my sister Anne,

To bring up her children young.

'But whan I gang to my father's ha,

And tirl on the pin,

The meanest in a' my father's house

Will ca me a forsaken ane.'

Buchan's MSS, I, 66.

'Learn, O learn, Fair Annie,' he said,

'O learn to lie your lane;

For I am going ower the sea,

To woo and to bring hame

'A brighter and a fairer dame

Than ever ye hae been;

For I am going ower the sea,

To chuse and bring her hame.'

'What aileth thee, my ain gude lord,

What aileth thee at me?

For seven braw sons hae I born

Unto your fair bodie.

'The eldest o your sons, my lord,

Is heir o a' your land;

The second o your braw young sons

He rises at your right hand.

'The third o your braw young sons

He serves you when you dine;

The fourth o your braw sons, my lord,

He brings to you the wine.

'The fifth o your braw young sons

Right well can use the pen;

The sixth o your braw young sons,

He's travelling but and ben.

'The seventh o your braw young sons,

He lies on my breast-bane,

The fairest flower amo them a',

That lay my sides between.'

'But I am going ower the sea,

To woo and to bring hame

A lady wi some gowd and gear;

Wi you I never got nane.'

'Ye staw me awa in twall years auld,

Ye sought nae gowd wi me;

Ye put me to the schools o Ayr

For fully years three.

'But wha'll be cook in your kitchen,

And butler in your ha?

And wha will govern your merry young men,

When ye are far awa?'

'O ye'll be cook in my kitchen,

And butler in my ha,

And ye'll wait on my merry young men,

And serve them ane and a'.'

'But wha will bake your bridal bread,

And wha will brew your ale?

And wha will welcome that lady

That ye bring ower the dale?

'O ye will bake my bridal bread,

And ye will brew my ale,

And ye will welcome that lady

That I bring ower the dale.

'Ye'll bake bread, and ye'll brew ale,

For three score knights and ten;

That day month I gang awa,

The same day I'll come again.'

'O I will bake your bridal bread,

And I will brew your ale;

But oh, to welcome another woman

My heart will nae be hale.'

'Ye will put roses in your hair,

And ribbons in your sheen,

And ye will look fair maiden like,

Though maiden ye be nane.'

'O I'll put roses in my hair,

And ribbons in my sheen,

And may be look as maiden-like

As the bride ye bring hame.'

Two of his sons he sent before,

And two rade by his side,

And three he left at hame wi her,

She was the brightest bride.

As she was gazing her around,

To view the rural plain,

And there she saw the bridal folk,

Merrily coming hame.

'Come here, come here, my boys a',

Ye see not what I see;

For here I see your fair father,

And a step-mother to thee.

'O shall I call him honey, Sandy,

Husband, or my gude lord?

Or shall I call him my gude master,

Let well or woe betide?'

'Ye winna call him honey, mother,

For angering o the bride;

But ye'll call him your gude master,

Let well or woe betide.'

She buskd her bonny boys in black,

Herself in simple green,

A kaim o gowd upon her hair,

As maiden she had been.

She's taen the white bread in her lap,

The wine glass in her hand,

And she's gane out upo the green,

To welcome the bride hame.

She woudna ca him her ain gude lord,

For angering o the bride:

'Ye're welcome hame, my gude master,

Your lands lie braid and wide.'

'O fair mat fa you, Fair Annie,

Sae well's ye've welcomd me;

Ye might hae welcomd my new bride;

Some gift to you she'll gie.'

'Ye're welcome hame, ye new-come bride,

To your ha's and your bowers;

Ye're welcome hame, my lady gay,

Ye're whiter than the flowers.'

'O wha is this,' the bride did say,

'Sae well that welcomes me?

If I'm lang lady o this place

Some gift to her I'll gie.

'She's likest to my dear sister

That eer my eyes did see;

A landit lord staw her awa,

An ill death mat he die!

'I hae a brother here this day,

Fairer ye neer did see;

And I woud think nae ill a match

Unto this fair ladie.'

'Ye'll wed your brother on a stock,

Sae do ye on a stane;

I'll wed me to the kingdom of heaven,

For I'll neer wed a man.'

She servd the footmen o the beer,

The nobles o the wine;

But nane did cross her pale, pale lips,

For changing o her min.

When she came in unto the room

She leuch amo them a',

But when she turnd her back about

She loot the saut tears fa.

She hanged up a silken cloath

Upon a siller pin;

It was to dry her twa blue eyes,

As she went out and in.

Her heart wi sorrow sair was filld,

Her breast wi milk ran out;

She aft went to a quiet chamber,

And let her young son suck.

'There is a woman in this house

This day has served me;

But I'll rise up, let her sit down,

She's ate, that I may see.

'O wha is this,' the bride coud say,

'That serves this day sae well?

And what means a' this bonny boys,

That follow at her heel?'

'This is my sister, Fair Annie,

That serves this day sae well,

And these are a' her bauld brothers,

That follow at her heel.'

Then out it speaks the new-come bride,

Was full o jealousie:

'I fear there's something new, my lord,

Ye mean to hide frae me.

'But if she be your light leman

Has me sae sair beguild,

She shall gae out at my window,

And range the woods sae wild.'

When day was dane, and night drew on,

And a' man bound for bed,

The bridegroom and the new-come bride

In ae chamber were laid.

The lady being left alone,

Nursing her fair young son,

She has taen up her gude lord's harp,

She harped and she sung.

'Seven braw sons hae I born

To the lord o this place;

I wish they were seven hares

To run the castle race,

And I mysel a gude greyhound,

To gie them a' a chace.'

'Lie near, lie near, my ain gude lord,

Lie near and speak wi me;

There is a woman in the house,

She will be wild ere day.'

'Lie still, lie still, my new-come bride,

Lie still and take your rest;

The pale's out o my wine-puncheon,

And lang it winna rest.'

She held the harp still in her hand,

To harp them baith asleep,

And aye she harped and she sang,

And saut tears she did weep.

'Seven braw sons hae I born

To the gude lord o this ha;

I wish that they were seven brown rats,

To climb the castle wa,

And I mysel a gude grey cat,

To take them ane and a'.'

'Lie near, lie near, my ain gude lord,

Lie near and speak wi me;

There is a woman in this house,

She will be wild ere day.'

'Lie yond, lie yond, my new-come bride,

My sheets are wonderous cauld;

I woudna hear my love's lament

For your gowd ten thousand fauld.'

'O wae be to you, ye fause lord,

Some ill death mat ye die!

For that's the voice o my sister Ann,

Was stown frae yont the sea.'

'Fair mat fa ye, ye buirdly bride,

A gude death mat ye die!

For that's the voice o your sister Ann,

Was stown frae yont the sea;

I came seeking Annie's tocher,

I was not seeking thee.'

'Seven gude ships I hae brought here,

In seven I'se gae hame;

And a' the gowd that I brought here,

It's a' gang back again.'

'Seven ships they brought you here,

But ye'll gang hame in ane;

Ye'll leave the rest to tocher Ann,

For wi her I got nane.'

'Seven ships they brought me here,

But I'll gang hame in ane;

I'll get my sister's eldest son

To hae me maiden hame.

'My father wants not gowd nor gear,

He will get me a man;

And happy, happy will he be

To hear o his daughter Ann.

'I hae my sheen upon my feet,

My gloves upon my hand,

And ye'll come to your bed, Annie,

For I've dane you nae wrang.'

* * * * *

#C.#

'Fair Annie' I took this day from the recitation of

Janet Holmes, an old woman in Kilbarchan. It was, as she

described it, a "lang rane" of her mother's. July 18,

1825. _Motherwell._

1^1. honey _is probably a corruption of_ Annie.

5^4. his wig.

19^3. I _must be understood_, I as leal, _but does not

require to be inserted_.

20^4. _Possibly not correct._ To all _would, no doubt, be

an easy reading, but the abrupt exclamation is more like

nature_.

29^1. Oh.

#E.#

11^2. laugh.

14^3. harpd.

20^1. you hame.

#F.#

12^3. Oh.

22^3. Ye wilt.

#I.#

28^1. sat.

45^2. tirls.

41 ff. _In one of the Kinloch versions thus:_

'King Henry is my father,' she says,

'Queen Orvis is my mither,

And a' the bairns about the house

Are just my sister and brither.'

'O if ye be ane o thae, Fair Anne,

Sure I'm ane o' the same,

And come to your gude lord, Anne,

And be ye blythe again.

'For he never wed me for his love,

But for my tocher fee,

And I am as free o him this day

As the bairn on the nurse's knee.'

#J.#

36^2. hae served.

_The following more obvious and entirely superfluous

interpolations have been omitted from the text._

_After 9:_

But ye were feard the Duke of York

Should come and bide wi me,

As he showed kindness and respect,

Which greatly grieved thee.

_After 18:_

But it fell ance upon a day,

'T was aye day by it lane,

Fair Annie was washing her fingers,

Above a marble stane.

_After 28:_

O he that staw my ae sister

Did leave my bower full bare;

I wish a sharp sword at his breast,

Cauld iron be his share!

He looked ower his right shoulder,

A light laugh then gie he;

Said, Hear na ye my new-come bride,

Sae sair as she brands me?

The bride she patted wi her lips,

She winked wi her ee,

Yet never thought by the words he spake

'T was her sister, Annie.

_After 35:_

When they had eaten and well drunken,

And all had fared fine,

The knight he called his butlers all,

For to serve out the wine.

_After 38:_

Then out it speaks an English lord,

A smart young lord was he:

'O if she be a maiden fair,

Wi her I'se wedded be.'

The bridegroom gae a laugh at that

Amang his merry young men;

Says, There's a hynd chiel in the house

Runs far nearer her mind.

_After 53:_

O if this be my sister dear,

It's welcome news to me;

I woud hae gien her thrice as much

Her lovely face to see.

[72] #F# 2 reads, "Bind up your hair, and tie it in your neck," which

is deceptive. It was an imperative custom, as is well known, that the

married woman should bind up her hair or wear it under a cap, while a

maid wore it loose or in a braid; a yard long, like Chaucer's Emily, if

she had as much. See #D# 3, #E# 3, #I# 5, and Prior's Danish Ballads,

II, 180 f.

[73] And John Armstrang her eldest brother, #C# 30: so the Scottish

king was right when he weened Johnie was a king as well as he.

[74] "The tradition which commonly accompanies this tale," says

Jamieson, Popular Ballads, II, 83, "says that he was aware of his

bride's being the sister of his mistress, and that he had courted her,

not with a view of retaining her as his wife, but of securing from her

father a portion for Lady Jane, whom he intended to marry:" a canny

project adopted into the degenerate and interpolated #J# (st. 53), but

rather too sharp practice for an old ballad.

[75] The boys are all dressed in scarlet red in Danish #E# 24, #F# 27,

#H# 21; so in English #E# 6, but in #J# 23 in black.

[76]

And the young bride throws down a half gold-ring,

Fair Annie she throws down the other,

And a pair of loving sisters were they,

And the rings they ran together.

Swedish #B# 32.

[77] Vorige span, sts 14,15, for which Hoffmann reads voorgespan,

meaning a fore-span. A span of horses is as absurd here as possible,

but is adopted in the German version, and made to point a gibe at the

king. It would seem that the Dutch _voorspan_, brooch or clasp, German

spange (see Hexham's Dictionary, 1658), must have been for some time

obsolete. In Richthofen's Altfriesisches Wörterbuch we find simply

_span, spon_: "verstanden ist darunter ein goldener Schmuck den die

friesischen Weiber _vor_ der Brust trugen." Stanza 15 is interpreted

accordingly.

[78] "Voorgespan" again.

[79] Roquefort, Poésies de Marie de France, I, 138. There is a highly

felicitous old English translation, unfortunately somewhat defective:

Weber, Metrical Romances, I, 357, Ellis's Specimens, III, 282, what is

missing being supplied in each case from the French.

[80] For this idea see Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, p. 456 of the 2d ed.,

and Deutsche Sagen, 515, 534, 571; the English romance of Octavian,

Weber, III, 162, vv 127-132, the French, in Conybeare's abridgment,

p. 3, reprint of the Aungervyle Society, p. 23; the volksbuch Kaiser

Octavianus, Simrock, II, 244; the Spanish ballad 'Espinelo,' Duran,

I, 177, No 323, and again a 16th century ballad of Timoneda, II, 392,

No 1346. This last may be the foundation of a broadside in the Pepys

collection, I, 40, No 18: "The Lamenting Lady, who, for wrongs done by

her to a poor woman for having two children at one burthen, was by the

hand of God most strangely punished by sending her as many children at

one birth as there are days in the year." But we have the same miracle

in Grimm's Deutsche Sagen, No 578. Further, Grundtvig, V, 386, 'Grevens

Datter af Vendel,' No 258, #E# 1; Li Reali di Francia, l. II, c. 42, p

180 of the edition of Venice, 1821. (Grundtvig.)

[81] 'Las dos Hermanas,' Catalan, Castilian, Asturian. Milá,

Observaciones, p. 117, No 19,==Briz, II, 159; p. 124, No

24,==Primavera, II, 38, No 130; Briz, II, 161. Milá, Romancerillo, p.

214, No 242, #A-E#, p. 216, No 242. Amador de los Rios, Historia de la

Lit. Esp., VII, 455 f. Portuguese. 'Rainha e Captiva,' Almeida-Garrett,

II, 193, No 11, 2d ed.; 'Romance de Branca-Flor,' Braga, Romanceiro

Geral, p. 103, No 38; Romanceiro da Madeira, p. 211; Roméro e Braga,

Cantos populares do Brazil, I, 41 ff, Nos 22, 23, II, 203. In some

of these the queen identifies the captive by overhearing, while she

lies in bed, words said or sung by her sister. In Chodzko, Chants de

l'Ukraine, p. 88, No 17, the captive sister is replaced by a (Polish)

mother in slavery among the Turks.

CHILD WATERS

#A.# 'Childe Waters,' Percy MS., p. 274; Hales and

Furnival, II, 269.

#B. a.# 'Burd Ellen,' Jamieson's Brown MS., fol. 22. #b.#

'Lord John and Bird Ellen,' A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS.,

No 9.

#C.# 'Lady Margaret,' Kinloch's annotated copy of his

Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 180.

#D.# Kinloch MSS, VII, 325.

#E.# 'Fair Margaret,' Harris MS., No 8, p. 12 b.

#F.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 114, from Mrs Arrot

of Arberbrothick.

#G.# 'Cruel William,' Buchan's MSS, II, 129.

#H.# 'Burd Alone,' Motherwell's MS., p. 277.

#I.# Communicated by Dr Davidson, derived from Old Deer,

Aberdeenshire.

#J.# 'Burd Helen,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of

Scotland, II, 30.

#A# was printed in Percy's Reliques, III, 58, ed. 1765, with

comparatively few changes. #B a# was published by Jamieson, from Mrs

Brown's manuscript, in his Popular Ballads, I, 113, with some slight

variation from the text, many acknowledged interpolations, and the

addition of three sentimental stanzas to make Burd Ellen die just

as her enduring all things is to be rewarded. In this tragic close,

Jamieson was anticipated by Mrs Hampden Pye, in her 'Earl Walter,'

1771, Evans's Old Ballads, II, 208, 1777. #C# is given as it appears

in Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads, where ten

stanzas are inserted to enlarge and complete the copy published in

1827. This enlarged copy was communicated to Chambers, and seven of

the supplementary stanzas were introduced into his compilation, The

Scottish Ballads, p. 193. These supplementary stanzas, some of them

certainly, and we may suppose all, belonged to a copy of which only

the concluding portion, here given as #D#, is elsewhere preserved.

The variations in the several versions of this charming ballad, which

has perhaps no superior in English, and if not in English perhaps

nowhere,[82] are not material, and the story may therefore be given as

it runs in #A#, the oldest copy. Fair Ellen comes to Child Waters, and

tells him that her gown, which was too wide, is now too narrow. He bids

her be content and take two shires of land; she would rather have one

kiss from his mouth than Cheshire and Lancashire both. He must ride

far into the North the next day; she asks to be his foot-page. This

she may be if she will shorten her gown and clip her locks, so as not

to be known for a woman. He rides hard all day, and she keeps up with

him barefoot. They come to a broad piece of salt water; he lets her get

through as she can, but Our Lady bears up her chin. Then he points out

a splendid hall, where are four and twenty ladies, and the fairest is

his love and wife. God give both good! is all she says. Arrived there,

Ellen takes his horse to the stable. At bed-time he sends her to the

town, to bring him the fairest lady that can be found, to sleep in his

arms, and to bring this lady in _her_ arms, for filing of her feet.

Ellen lies at the foot of the bed, for want of other place, and before

dawn is roused by Child Waters to feed his horse. The pains of travail

come on her in the stable; Child Waters' mother hears her moans, and

bids him get up. He stands at the stable-door and listens. Ellen sings:

Lullaby, dear child, dear!

I would thy father were a king,

Thy mother laid on a bier!

This moves even his sturdy heart; he tells Ellen to be of good cheer,

for the bridal and the churching shall both be on one day.

In #B#, #C#, #E#, #G#, #I#, #J# the man relents so far as, when they

are in the water, to ask her to ride. She will not, #C#, #E#, #I#; he

takes her on at a stone which stands in the middle of the stream, #B#,

#G#, #J#. The stream is Clyde in #B#, #C#, #E#, #G#, #J#; the Tay in

#I#. In #C#, #E#, #F#, #H# he tells her after they have passed the

water, that it is three and thirty miles to his house; a (poetically)

superfluous and meddling parrot says it is but three. In #C#, #G# he

tells her that she will have a serving-man for a husband, and in #H#

that he has already wife and bairns.

One stroke in #A#, the sending of Ellen to fetch a woman from the town,

is wanting in the other versions, decidedly to their advantage. This

exaggeration of insult, submitting to which only degrades the woman,

is paralleled, though not quite reached, by the paramour in the forest

in the otherwise exquisitely refined tale of The Nut-Brown Maid. As

for the ballad, the disagreeable passage may be an insertion of some

unlucky singer, and the perfect truth to nature and remarkably high

taste of The Nut-Brown Maid, in every other particular, would almost

drive us to assume an interpolation in this case too.

#E# 1, 2, 16, #F# 2, 3 show contact with the ballad of 'Lizzie

Lindsay;' the passing of the water, particularly in #E# 8-12, with 'The

Knight and Shepherd's Daughter;' and again, #H# 21.

An exceedingly popular Scandinavian ballad is manifestly of the same

source, though the story is told in a very different way, the cruel

trials to which the woman's love is put being entirely lacking:

#Danish#, 'Jomfru og Stalddreng,' Grundtvig, V, 171, No 267, #A-A#.

#Swedish#, #A#, 'Liten Kerstin Stalldräng,' Afzelius, II, 15, No 33;

#B#, 'Stolts Botelid Stalldräng,' Afzelius, II, 20, No 34; #C-E#,

'Liten Kerstin Stalldräng,' Arwidsson, II, 179, No 109, Hofberg's

Nerikes gamla Minnen, p. 254, Öberg in Aminson, I, 28; #F-I#, from

Cavallius and Stephens's manuscript collection, Grundtvig, V, 217

f; #J#, 'Liten Kerstin och Dane-Peter,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, #I#,

66, No 32. #Norwegian#, #A#, 'Liti Kersti som stalldreng,' Landstad,

p. 605, No 78; #B-E#, Grundtvig, V, 218-20; #F#, Landstad, p. 605,

note. (Several of these are only a verse or two.) Danish #A-F# are

from manuscripts of the sixteenth or seventeenth century; #G# was

printed at the end of the seventeenth; the other copies are from recent

tradition, but nevertheless point to a higher antiquity than those

which were taken down earlier. There is naturally much variation in

details among so many copies, and it will be sufficient to indicate

the general character of the story. A young woman, who may be called

Kirstin, clips her hair and puts on man's clothes, seeks service at

court, and is taken as stable-boy, at the instance of a man (often the

king's son, or of other high rank) who may be called Peter, with whom

she, in some copies, seems to have had a previous connection. Peter, as

an accommodation, lets the stable-boy sleep with him. In the course of

time Kirstin cannot do duty any more, cannot buckle on spurs, is ill

and requires woman's assistance, which the queen renders. She gives

birth to twins in the stable (among the horses' legs, as in English, #B#

30, #J# 30). A merry wedding follows.[83]

Another Scandinavian ballad has a limited resemblance to 'Child

Waters:' #Danish#, 'Den trofaste Jomfru,' Grundtvig, IV, 494, No

249, #A-I#; 'Den fredløse,' Kristensen, II, 191, No 57 (A-C), #J-L#.

#Swedish#, #A#, 'De Sju Gullbergen,' Afzelius, III, 71, No 79; #B#,

#C#, from Cavallius and Stephens's collection, Grundtvig, IV, 507f.

#Norwegian#, #A#, 'Herre Per og stolt Margit,' Landstad, p. 590, No 74;

#B#, Herr' Nikelus, Landstad, p. 594, No 75. The ballad begins like

Danish 'Ribold og Guldborg' and 'Kvindemorderen.' A knight carries off

a maid, making her fine promises, among which gold castles commonly

figure. He takes her over a very wide piece of water, an arm of the

sea, on his horse in most versions; in Danish #B#, #K# they swim it.

When they come to land, she asks Where are the promised castles? Danish

#C#, #D#, #J#, #K#, #L#, Norwegian #A#, #B#. He tells her that he is

a penniless outlaw (wanting in Swedish #A#, #C#); she offers the gold

she has brought with her to buy him his peace (wanting in Swedish #A#,

#C#, Norwegian #B#). He tells her he has another love; she is willing

to be their servant (wanting in Danish #A#, #B#, #C#, #I#, Norwegian

#B#). Here he ceases his trial of her; he is a royal, or very opulent,

person, she is to have a troop of servants, the castles are not in the

air, and all ends happily.

* * * * *

Percy's edition of #A# is translated (freely) by Bürger, 'Graf Walter,'

and Bürger's version is revised, to bring it slightly nearer the

original, by Bothe, Volkslieder, p. 199. Percy is translated by Bodmer,

I, 41. #I# is translated by Gerhard, p. 117, and Aytoun's compilation,

I, 239, by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, p. 11. The Danish ballad is

translated by Prior, III, 25, after Danske Viser, IV, 116, Syv, Fourth

Part, No 31, Grundtvig's #G c#.

Percy MS., p. 274; Hales and Furnivall, II, 269.

Childe Watters in his stable stoode,

And stroaket his milke-white steede;

To him came a ffaire young ladye

As ere did weare womans wee[de].

Saies, Christ you saue, good Chyld Waters!

Sayes, Christ you saue and see!

My girdle of gold, _whi_ch was too longe,

Is now to short ffor mee.

'And all is with one chyld of yours,

I ffeele sturre att my side;

My gowne of greene, it is to strayght;

Before it was to wide.'

'If the child be mine, Faire Ellen,' he sayd,

'Be mine, as you tell mee,

Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,

Take them yo_u_r owne to bee.

'If the child be mine, Ffaire Ellen,' he said,

'Be mine, as you doe sweare,

Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,

And make _tha_t child yo_u_r heyre.'

Shee saies, I had rather haue one kisse,

Child Waters, of thy mouth,

Then I wold haue Cheshire and Lancashire both,

_Tha_t lyes by north and south.

'And I had rather haue a twinkling,

Child Waters, of yo_u_r eye,

Then I wold haue Cheshire and Lancashire both,

To take them mine oune to bee.'

'To-morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde

Soe ffarr into the north countrye;

The ffairest lady _tha_t I can ffind,

Ellen, must goe w_i_th mee.'

'And euer I pray you, Child Watters,

Yo_u_r ffootpage let me bee!'

'If you will my ffootpage be, Ellen,

As you doe tell itt mee,

Then you must cutt your gownne of greene

An inche aboue yo_u_r knee.

'Soe must you doe yo_u_r yellow lockes,

Another inch aboue yo_u_r eye;

You must tell noe man what is my name;

My ffootpage then you shall bee.'

All this long day Child Waters rode,

Shee ran bare ffoote by his side;

Yett was he neu_er_ soe curteous a k_nigh_t

To say, Ellen, will you ryde?

But all this day Child Waters rode,

Shee ran barffoote thorow the broome;

Yett he was neu_er_ soe curteous a k_nigh_t

As to say, Put on yo_u_r shoone.

'Ride softlye,' shee said, 'Child Watters;

Why doe you ryde soe ffast?

The child w_hi_ch is no mans but yours

My bodye itt will burst.'

He sayes, Sees thou yonder water, Ellen,

_Tha_t fflowes from banke to brim?

'I trust to god, Child Waters,' shee said,

'You will neuer see mee swime.'

But when shee came to the waters side,

Shee sayled to the chinne:

'Except the lo_rd_ of heauen be my speed,

Now must I learne to swime.'

The salt waters bare vp Ellens clothes,

Our Ladye bare vpp he[r] chinne,

And Child Waters was a woe man, good Lo_rd_,

To ssee Faire Ellen swime.

And when shee ouer the water was,

Shee then came to his knee:

He said, Come hither, Ffaire Ellen,

Loe yonder what I see!

'Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?

Of redd gold shine the yates;

There's four and twenty ffayre ladyes,

The ffairest is my wordlye make.

'Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?

Of redd gold shineth the tower;

There is four and twenty ffaire ladyes,

The fairest is my paramoure.'

'I doe see the hall now, Child Waters,

_Tha_t of redd gold shineth the yates;

God giue good then of yo_u_r selfe,

And of yo_u_r wordlye make!

'I doe see the hall now, Child Waters,

_Tha_t of redd gold shineth the tower;

God giue good then of yo_u_r selfe,

And of yo_u_r paramoure!'

There were four and twenty ladyes,

Were playing att the ball,

And Ellen, was the ffairest ladye,

Must bring his steed to the stall.

There were four and twenty faire ladyes

Was playing att the chesse;

And Ellen, shee was the ffairest ladye,

Must bring his horsse to grasse.

And then bespake Child Waters sister,

And these were the words said shee:

You haue the prettyest ffootpage, brother,

_Tha_t euer I saw w_i_th mine eye;

'But _tha_t his belly it is soe bigg,

His girdle goes wonderous hye;

And eu_er_ I pray you, Child Waters,

Let him goe into the chamber w_i_th mee.'

'It is more meete for a little ffootpage,

_Tha_t has run through mosse and mire,

To take his supper vpon his knee

And sitt downe by the kitchin fyer,

Then to goe into the chamber w_i_th any ladye

That weares soe [rich] attyre.'

But when thé had supped euery one,

To bedd they took the way;

He sayd, Come hither, my little footpage,

Harken what I doe say.

And goe thee downe into yonder towne,

And low into the street;

The ffairest ladye _that_ thou can find,

Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe,

And take her vp in thine armes two,

For filinge of her ffeete.

Ellen is gone into the towne,

And low into the streete;

The fairest ladye _tha_t shee cold find

Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe,

And tooke her in her armes two,

For filing of her ffeete.

'I pray you now, good Child Waters,

_That_ I may creepe in att yo_u_r bedds feete;

For there is noe place about this house

Where I may say a sleepe.'

This [night] and itt droue on affterward

Till itt was neere the day:

He sayd, Rise vp, my litle ffoote-page,

And giue my steed corne and hay;

And soe doe thou the good blacke oates,

_Tha_t he may carry me the better away.

And vp then rose Ffaire Ellen,

And gaue his steed corne and hay,

And soe shee did and the good blacke oates,

_Tha_t he might carry him the better away.

Shee layned her backe to the manger side,

And greiuouslye did groane;

And _tha_t beheard his mother deere,

And heard her make her moane.

Shee said, Rise vp, thou Child Waters,

I thinke thou art a cursed man;

For yonder is a ghost in thy stable,

_Tha_t greiuouslye doth groane,

Or else some woman laboures of child,

Shee is soe woe begone.

But vp then rose Child Waters,

And did on his shirt of silke;

Then he put on his other clothes

On his body as white as milke.

And when he came to the stable-dore,

Full still _tha_t hee did stand,

_Tha_t hee might heare now Faire Ellen,

How shee made her monand.

Shee said, Lullabye, my owne deere child!

Lullabye, deere child, deere!

I wold thy father were a king,

Thy mother layd on a beere!

'Peace now,' he said, 'good Faire Ellen,

And be of good cheere, I thee pray,

And the bridall and the churching both,

They shall bee vpon one day.'

#a.# Jamieson's Brown MS., fol. 22, taken down from Mrs

Brown's recitation before 1783. #b.# A. Fraser Tytler's

Brown MS., No 9, as recited by Mrs Brown in 1800.

'I warn ye all, ye gay ladies,

That wear scarlet an brown,

That ye dinna leave your father's house,

To follow young men frae town.'

'O here am I, a lady gay,

That wears scarlet an brown,

Yet I will leave my father's house,

An follow Lord John frae the town.'

Lord John stood in his stable-door,

Said he was bound to ride;

Burd Ellen stood in her bowr-door,

Said she'd rin by his side.

He's pitten on his cork-heeld shoone,

An fast awa rade he;

She's clade hersel in page array,

An after him ran she.

Till they came till a wan water,

An folks do ca it Clyde;

Then he's lookit oer his left shoulder,

Says, Lady, can ye wide?

'O I learnt it i my father house,

An I learnt it for my weal,

Wenneer I came to a wan water,

To swim like ony eel.'

But the firstin stap the lady stappit,

The water came til her knee;

'Ohon, alas!' said the lady,

'This water's oer deep for me.'

The nextin stap the lady stappit,

The water came till her middle;

An sighin says that gay lady,

I've wat my gouden girdle

The nextin stap the lady stappit,

The water came till her pap;

An the bairn that was in her twa sides

For caul begane to quake.

'Lye still, lye still, my ain dear babe,

Ye work your mither wae;

Your father rides on high horse-back,

Cares little for us twae.'

O about the midst o Clyden water

There was a yeard-fast stane;

He lightly turnd his horse about,

An took her on him behin.

'O tell me this now, good Lord John,

An a word ye dinna lee,

How far it is to your lodgin,

Whare we this night maun be?'

'O see you nae yon castle, Ellen,

That shines sae fair to see?

There is a lady in it, Ellen,

Will sunder you an me.

'There is a lady in that castle

Will sunder you and I:'

'Betide me well, betide me wae,

I sal go there an try.'

'O my dogs sal eat the good white bread,

An ye sal eat the bran;

Then will ye sigh, an say, alas!

That ever I was a man!'

'O I sal eat the good white bread,

An your dogs sal eat the bran;

An I hope to live an bless the day,

That ever ye was a man.'

'O my horse sal eat the good white meal,

An ye sal eat the corn;

Then will ye curse the heavy hour

That ever your love was born.'

'O I sal eat the good white meal,

An your horse sal eat the corn;

An I ay sall bless the happy hour

That ever my love was born.'

O four an twenty gay ladies

Welcomd Lord John to the ha,

But a fairer lady then them a'

Led his horse to the stable sta.

An four an twenty gay ladies

Welcomd Lord John to the green,

But a fairer lady than them a'

At the manger stood alane.

Whan bells were rung, an mass was sung,

An a' men boun to meat,

Burd Ellen at a bye-table

Amo the foot-men was set.

'O eat an drink, my bonny boy,

The white bread an the beer:'

'The never a bit can I eat or drink,

My heart's sae full of fear.'

'O eat an drink, my bonny boy,

The white bread an the wine:'

'O I canna eat nor drink, master,

My heart's sae full of pine.'

But out it spake Lord John's mother,

An a wise woman was she:

'Whare met ye wi that bonny boy,

That looks sae sad on thee?

'Sometimes his cheek is rosy red,

An sometimes deadly wan;

He's liker a woman big wi bairn,

Than a young lord's serving man.'

'O it makes me laugh, my mother dear,

Sic words to hear frae thee;

He is a squire's ae dearest son,

That for love has followd me.

'Rise up, rise up, my bonny boy,

Gi my horse corn an hay:'

'O that I will, my master dear,

As quickly as I may.'

She's taen the hay under her arm,

The corn intill her han,

An she's gane to the great stable,

As fast as eer she can.

'O room ye roun, my bonny broun steeds,

O room ye near the wa;

For the pain that strikes me thro my sides

Full soon will gar me fa.'

She's leand her back against the wa;

Strong travail seizd her on;

An even amo the great horse feet

Burd Ellen brought forth her son.

Lord John'[s] mither intill her bowr

Was sitting all alone,

Whan, i the silence o the night,

She heard fair Ellen's moan.

'Won up, won up, my son,' she says,

'Go se how a' does fare;

For I think I hear a woman's groans,

An a bairn greeting sair.'

O hastily he gat him up,

Stayd neither for hose nor shoone,

An he's doen him to the stable-door,

Wi the clear light o the moon.

He strack the door hard wi his foot,

An sae has he wi his knee,

An iron locks an iron bars

Into the floor flung he:

'Be not afraid, Burd Ellen,' he says,

'Ther's nane come in but me.'

Up he has taen his bonny young son,

An gard wash him wi the milk;

An up has he taen his fair lady,

Gard row her in the silk.

'Cheer up your heart, Burd Ellen,' he says,

'Look nae mair sad nor wae;

For your marriage an your kirkin too

Sal baith be in ae day.'

Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads,

Kinloch MSS, IV, 180.

'The corn is turning ripe, Lord John,

The nuts are growing fu,

And ye are bound for your ain countrie,

Fain wad I go wi you.'

'Wi me, Margret, wi me, Margret,

What wad ye do wi me?

I've mair need o a pretty little boy,

To wait upon my steed.'

'It's I will be your pretty little boy,

To wait upon your steed;

And ilka town that we come to,

A pack of hounds I'll lead.'

'My hounds will eat o the bread o wheat,

And ye of the bread of bran;

And then you will sit and sigh,

That eer ye loed a man.'

The first water that they cam to,

I think they call it Clyde,

He saftly unto her did say,

Lady Margret, will ye ride?

The first step that she steppit in,

She steppit to the knee;

Says, Wae be to ye, waefu water,

For through ye I maun be.

The second step that she steppit in,

She steppit to the middle,

And sighd, and said, Lady Margaret,

'I've staind my gowden girdle.'

The third step that she steppit in,

She steppit to the neck;

The pretty babe within her sides,

The cauld it garrd it squake.

'Lie still my babe, lie still my babe,

Lie still as lang's ye may,

For your father rides on horseback high,

Cares little for us twae.'

It's whan she cam to the other side,

She sat doun on a stane;

Says, Them that made me, help me now,

For I am far frae hame.

'How far is it frae your mither's bouer,

Gude Lord John tell to me?'

'It's therty miles, Lady Margaret,

It's therty miles and three:

And yese be wed to ane o her serving men,

For yese get na mair o me.'

Then up bespak the wylie parrot,

As it sat on the tree,

'Ye lee, ye lee, Lord John,' it said,

'Sae loud as I hear ye lee.

'Ye say it's therty miles frae your mither's bouer,

Whan it's but barely three;

And she'll neer be wed to a serving man,

For she'll be your ain ladie.'

['O dinna ye see yon bonnie castle,

Lies on yon sunny lea?

And yese get ane o my mither's men,

For yese get na mair o me.']

['Well see I yon bonnie castle,

Lies on yon sunny lea,

But Ise neer hae nane o your mither's men,

Tho I never gat mair o thee.']

[Whan he cam to the porter's yett

He tirled at the pin,

And wha sae ready as the bauld porter

To open and lat him in.]

Monie a lord and fair ladie

Met Lord John in the closs,

But the bonniest face amang them a'

Was hauding Lord John's horse.

[Monie a lord and lady bricht

Met Lord John on the green,

But the bonniest boy amang them a'

Was standing by, him leen.]

Monie a lord and gay ladie

Sat dining in the ha,

But the bonniest face that was there

Was waiting on them a'.

O up bespak Lord John's sister,

A sweet young maid was she:

'My brither has brought a bonnie young page,

His like I neer did see;

But the red flits fast frae his cheek,

And the tear stands in his ee.'

But up bespak Lord John's mither,

She spak wi meikle scorn:

'He's liker a woman gret wi bairn,

Than onie waiting-man.'

'It's ye'll rise up, my bonnie boy,

And gie my steed the hay:'

'O that I will, my dear master,

As fast as I can gae.'

She took the hay aneath her arm,

The corn intil her hand,

But atween the stable-door and the staw,

Lady Margret made a stand.

[Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung,

And a' men boun for bed,

Lord John, mither, and sister gay

In ae bour they were laid.]

[Lord John had na weel gat aff his claise,

Nor was he weel laid doun,

Till his mither heard a bairn greet,

And a woman's heavy moan.]

['Win up, win up, Lord John,' she said,

'Seek neither hose nor shoon;

For I've heard a bairn loud greet,

And a woman's heavy moan.']

[Lord John raise, put on his claise,

Sought neither hose nor shoon,

Atween the ha and the stable-door

He made na a step but ane.]