GLASGERION.
The two following ballads have the same subject, and perhaps had a
common original. The "Briton GLASKYRION" is honourably mentioned as
a harper by Chaucer, in company with Chiron, Orion, and Orpheus,
(_House of Fame_, B. iii. v. 118,) and with the last he is also
associated, as Mr. Finlay has pointed out, by Bishop Douglas, in the
_Palice of Honour_. "The Scottish writers," says Jamieson, "adapting
the name to their own meridian, call him GLENKINDY, GLENSKEENIE,
&c."
_Glasgerion_ is reprinted from Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 83.
Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne,
And a harper he was goode;
He harped in the kings chambere,
Where cuppe and caudle stoode,
And soe did hee in the queens chambere, 5
Till ladies waxed wood,
And then bespake the kinges daughter,
And these wordes thus shee sayd:--
"Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,
Of thy striking doe not blinne; 10
Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,
But it glads my hart withinne."
"Faire might him fall,[L13] ladye," quoth hee,
"Who taught you nowe to speake!
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere, 15
My harte I neere durst breake."
"But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,
When all men are att rest:
As I am a ladie true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest." 20
Home then came Glasgerion,
A glad man, lord! was hee:
"And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.
"For the kinges daughter of Normandye 25
Hath granted mee my boone;
And att her chambere must I bee
Beffore the cocke have crowen."
"O master, master," then quoth hee,
"Lay your head downe on this stone; 30
For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone."
But up then rose that lither ladd,
And hose and shoone did on;
A coller he cast upon his necke, 35
Hee seemed a gentleman.
And when he came to the ladyes chamber,
He thrild upon a pinn:
The lady was true of her promise,
And rose and lett him inn. 40
He did not take the lady gaye
To boulster nor to bed:
[Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,
A single word he sed.]
He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe, 45
Nor when he came, nor yode:
And sore that ladye did mistrust,
He was of some churls bloud.
But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hose and shoone; 50
And cast the coller from off his necke:
He was but a churl[e']s sonne.
"Awake, awake, my deere master,
The cock hath well-nigh crowen;
Awake, awake, my master deere, 55
I hold it time to be gone.
"For I have saddled your horsse, master,
Well bridled I have your steede,
And I have served you a good breakfast,
For thereof ye have need." 60
Up then rose good Glasgerion,
And did on hose and shoone,
And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.
And when he came to the ladyes chambere, 65
He thrilled upon the pinne;
The ladye was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him inn.
"O whether have you left with me
Your bracelet or your glove? 70
Or are you returned back againe
To know more of my love?"
Glasgerion swore a full great othe,
By oake, and ashe, and thorne;
"Ladye, I was never in your chambere, 75
Sith the time that I was borne."
"O then it was your lither[L77] foot-page,
He hath beguiled mee:"
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-kn[i']ffe,
That hanged by her knee. 80
Sayes, "there shall never noe churl[e']s blood
Within my bodye spring:
No churl[e']s blood shall e'er defile
The daughter of a kinge."
Home then went Glasgerion, 85
And woe, good lord! was hee:
Sayes, "come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.
"If I had killed a man to-night,
Jack, I would tell it thee: 90
But if I have not killed a man to-night,
Jacke, thou hast killed three."
And he puld out his bright browne sword,
And dryed it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither ladds head, 95
Who did his ladye grieve.
He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil untill a stone:
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives werne all gone. 100
13, him fall.
77, MS. litle.
GLENKINDIE.
From Jamieson's _Popular Ballads and Songs_, i. 91. The copy in the
_Thistle of Scotland_, p. 31, is the same.
Glenkindie was ance a harper gude,
He harped to the king;
And Glenkindie was ance the best harper
That ever harp'd on a string.
He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water,[L5] 5
Or water out o' a stane;
Or milk out o' a maiden's breast,
That bairn had never nane.
He's taen his harp intil his hand,
He harpit and he sang; 10
And ay as he harpit to the king,
To haud him unthought lang.
"I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindie,
A robe o' the royal pa',
Gin ye will harp i' the winter's night 15
Afore my nobles a'."
And the king but and his nobles a'[L17]
Sat birling at the wine;
And he wad hae but his ae dochter,
To wait on them at dine. 20
He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He's harpit them a' asleep,
Except it was the young countess,
That love did waukin keep.
And first he has harpit a grave tune,[L25] 25
And syne he has harpit a gay;
And mony a sich atween hands
I wat the lady gae.
Says, "Whan day is dawen, and cocks hae crawen,
And wappit their wings sae wide, 30
It's ye may come to my bower door,
And streek you by my side.
"But look that ye tell na Gib your man,
For naething that ye dee;
For, an ye tell him, Gib your man, 35
He'll beguile baith you and me."
He's taen his harp intill his hand;
He harpit and he sang;
And he is hame to Gib his man,
As fast as he could gang. 40
"O mith I tell you, Gib, my man,
Gin I a man had slain?"
"O that ye micht, my gude master,
Altho' ye had slain ten."
"Then tak ye tent now, Gib, my man, 45
My bidden for to dee;
And, but an ye wauken me in time,
Ye sall be hangit hie.
"Whan day has dawen, and cocks hae crawen,
And wappit their wings sae wide, 50
I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower,
And streek me by her side."
"Gae hame to your bed, my good master;
Ye've waukit, I fear, o'er lang;
For I'll wauken you in as good time, 55
As ony cock i' the land."
He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
Until he harpit his master asleep,
Syne fast awa did gang. 60
And he is till that lady's bower,
As fast as he could rin;
When he cam till that lady's bower,
He chappit at the chin.[L64]
"O wha is this," says that lady, 65
"That opens nae and comes in?"
"It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love,
O open and lat me in!"
She kent he was nae gentle knicht
That she had latten in; 70
For neither whan he gaed nor cam,
Kist he her cheek or chin.
He neither kist her whan he cam,
Nor clappit her when he gaed;
And in and at her bower window, 75
The moon shone like the gleed.
"O, ragged is your hose, Glenkindie,
And riven is your sheen,
And reavel'd is your yellow hair
That I saw late yestreen." 80
"The stockings they are Gib my man's,
They came first to my hand;
And this is Gib my man's shoon;
At my bed feet they stand.
I've reavell'd a' my yellow hair 85
Coming against the wind."
He's taen the harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
Until he cam to his master,
As fast as he could gang. 90
"Won up, won up, my good master;
I fear ye sleep o'er lang;
There's nae a cock in a' the land
But has wappit his wings and crawn."
Glenkindie's tane his harp in hand, 95
He harpit and he sang,
And he has reach'd the lady's bower,
Afore that e'er he blan.
When he cam to the lady's bower,
He chappit at the chin; 100
"O, wha is that at my bower door,
That opens na and comes in?"
"It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love,
And in I canna win."
* * * * *
"Forbid it, forbid it," says that lady, 105
"That ever sic shame betide;
That I should first be a wild loon's lass,
And than a young knight's bride."
There was nae pity for that lady,
For she lay cald and dead; 110
But a' was for him, Glenkindie,
In bower he must go mad.
He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water;
The water out o' a stane;
The milk out o' a maiden's breast, 115
That bairn had never nane.
He's taen his harp intill his hand;
Sae sweetly as it rang,
And wae and weary was to hear
Glenkindie's dowie sang.[L120] 120
But cald and dead was that lady,
Nor heeds for a' his maen;
An he wad harpit till domisday,
She'll never speak again.
He's taen his harp intill his hand; 125
He harpit and he sang;
And he is hame to Gib his man
As fast as he could gang.
"Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,
Till I pay you your fee; 130
Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man;
Weel payit sall ye be!"
And he has taen him, Gib, his man,
And he has hang'd him hie;
And he's hangit him o'er his ain yate, 135
As high as high could be.
5-8, These feats are all but equalled by the musician in the Swedish
and Danish _Harpans Kraft_.
"He harped the bark from every tree,
And he harped the young from folk and from fee.
"He harped the hind from the wild-wood home,
He harped the bairn from its mother's womb."
ARWIDSSON, No. 149.
"Villemand takes his harp in his hand,
He goes down by the water to stand.
"He struck the harp with his hand,
And the fish leapt out upon the strand."
GRUNDTVIG, No. 40.
17-20. This stanza is found in the opening of _Brown Robin_, which
commences thus:--
"The king but and his nobles a'
Sat birling at the wine, [_bis_]
He would hae nane but his ae daughter
To wait on them at dine.
"She served them but, she served them ben,
Intill a gown o' green;
But her e'e was ay on Brown Robin,
That stood low under the rain," &c. J.
25-28. The following stanza occurs in one of the editor's copies of
_The Gay Gosshawk_:--
"O first he sang a merry song,
And then he sang a grave;
And then he pecked his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave." J.
64, at the chin. Sic.
120. This stanza has been altered, to introduce a little variety,
and prevent the monotonous tiresomeness of repetition. J.
THE OLD BALLAD OF LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND THE LADY BARNARD.
The popularity of this ancient ballad is evinced by its being
frequently quoted in old plays. In Beaumont and Fletcher's _Knight
of the Burning Pestle_, (produced in 1611,) the fourteenth stanza is
cited, thus:
"And some they whistled and some they sung,
_Hey, down, down!_
And some did loudly say,
Ever as the lord Barnet's horn blew,
Away, Musgrave, away."
_Act V. Scene 3._
The oldest known copy of this piece is found in _Wit Restor'd_,
(1658,) p. 174, and from the reprint of that publication we have
taken it, (p. 293.) Dryden seems to have adopted it from the same
source into his _Miscellanies_, and Ritson has inserted Dryden's
version in _Ancient Songs and Ballads_, ii. 116. Percy's copy
(_Reliques_, iii. 106,) was inferior to the one here used, and was
besides somewhat altered by the editor.
A Scottish version, furnished by Jamieson, is given in the Appendix
to this volume, and another, extending to forty-eight stanzas, in
_Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads_, Percy Society,
vol. xvii. p. 21.
Similar incidents, with a verbal coincidence in one stanza, occur in
the ballad immediately succeeding the present.
As it fell one holy-day, _hay downe_,
As manybe in the yeare,
When young men and maids together did goe,
Their mattins and masse to heare,
Little Musgrave came to the church dore, 5
The preist was at private masse;
But he had more minde of the faire women,
Then he had of our ladys[L8] grace.
The one of them was clad in green,
Another was clad in pall;[L10] 10
And then came in my lord Barnards[L11] wife,
The fairest amonst them all.
She cast an eye on little Musgrave,
As bright as the summer sun,
And then bethought this little Musgrave, 15
"This ladys heart have I woonn."
Quoth she, "I have loved thee, little Musgrave,
Full long and many a day:"
"So have I loved you, fair lady,
Yet never word durst I say." 20
"I have a bower at Buckelsfordbery,
Full daintyly it is deight;[L22]
If thou wilt wend thither, thou little Musgrave,
Thou's lig in mine armes all night."
Quoth he, "I thank yee, faire lady, 25
This kindnes thou showest to me;
But whether it be to my weal or woe,
This night I will lig[L28] with thee."
All that heard[L29] a little tinny page,
By his ladyes coach as he ran: 30
[Quoth he,] "allthough I am my ladyes foot-page,
Yet I am lord Barnards man.
"My lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Whether I sink or swimm:"[L34]
And ever where the bridges were broake, 35
He laid him downe to swimme.
"Asleepe, awake![L37] thou lord Barnard,
As thou art a man of life;
For little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery,
Abed with thy own wedded wife." 40
"If this be true, thou little tinny page,
This thing thou tellest to mee,
Then all the land in Bucklesfordbery
I freely will give to thee.
"But if it be a ly, thou little tinny page, 45
This thing thou tellest to me,
On the hyest tree in Bucklesfordbery
There hanged shalt thou be."
He called up his merry men all:--
"Come saddle me my steed; 50
This night must I to Buckellsfordbery,
For I never had greater need."
And some of them whistl'd, and some of them sung,
And some these words did say,
Ever[L55] when my lord Barnards horn blew, 55
"Away, Musgrave, away!"
"Methinks I hear the thresel-cock,
Methinks I hear the jaye;
Methinks I hear my Lord Barnard,--
And I would I were away." 60
"Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,
And huggell me from the cold;
Tis nothing but a shephards boy,
A driving his sheep to the fold.
"Is not thy hawke upon a perch? 65
Thy steed eats oats and hay,
And thou [a] fair lady in thine armes,--
And wouldst thou bee away?"
With that my lord Barnard came to the dore,
And lit a stone upon; 70
He plucked out three silver keys,
And he open'd the dores each one.
He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheet;
"How now, how now, thou little Musgrave, 75
Doest thou find my lady sweet?"
"I find her sweet," quoth little Musgrave,
"The more 'tis to my paine;
I would gladly give three hundred pounds
That I were on yonder plaine." 80
"Arise, arise, thou littell Musgrave,
And put thy cloth['e]s on;
It shal ne'er be said in my country,
I have killed a naked man.
"I have two swords in one scabberd, 85
Full deere they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse."
The first stroke that little Musgrave stroke,
He hurt Lord Barnard sore; 90
The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke,
Little Musgrave ne're struck more.
With that bespake this faire lady,
In bed whereas she lay;
"Although thou'rt dead, thou little Musgrave, 95
Yet I for thee will pray;
"And wish well to thy soule will I,
So long as I have life;
So will I not for thee, Barnard,
Although I am thy wedded wife." 100
He cut her paps from off her brest,
(Great pity it was to see,)
That some drops of this ladies heart's blood
Ran trickling downe her knee.
"Woe worth you, woe worth [you], my mery men all, 105
You were ne're borne for my good;
Why did you not offer to stay my hand,
When ye saw[L108] me wax so wood!
"For I have slaine the bravest sir knight
That ever rode on steed; 110
So have I done the fairest lady
That ever did womans deed.
"A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cryd,
"To put these lovers in;
But lay my lady on [the] upper hand, 115
For she came of the better kin."
8, lady.
10, pale.
11, Bernards.
22, geight.
28, wed.
29, With that he heard: tyne.
34, sinn.
37, or wake.
55, And ever.
108, see.
LORD RANDAL (A).
From Jamieson's _Popular Ballads and Songs_, i. 162.
"The story of this ballad very much resembles that of _Little
Musgrave and Lord Barnard_. The common title is, _The Bonny Birdy_.
The first stanza is sung thus:--
'There was a knight, on a summer's night,
Was riding o'er the lee, _diddle_;
And there he saw a bonny birdy
Was singing on a tree, _diddle_:
O wow for day, _diddle_!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away,
For I ha'ena lang time to stay.'
In the text, the burden of _diddle_ has been omitted; and the name
of Lord Randal introduced, for the sake of distinction, and to
prevent the ambiguity arising from 'the knight', which is equally
applicable to both."
The lines supplied by Jamieson have been omitted.
Allan Cunningham's "improved" version of the _Bonny Birdy_ may be
seen in his _Songs of Scotland_, ii. 130.
Lord Randal wight, on a summer's night,
Was riding o'er the lee,
And there he saw a bonny birdie
Was singin' on a tree:
"O wow for day! 5
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away,
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!
"Mak haste, mak haste, ye wicht baron;
What keeps ye here sae late? 10
Gin ye kent what was doing at hame,
I trow ye wad look blate.
"And O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day.
Gin it were day, and ye were away; 15
For ye ha'ena lang time to stay!"
"O what needs I toil day and night,
My fair body to spill,
When I ha'e knichts at my command,
And ladies at my will?" 20
"O weel is he, ye wight baron,
Has the blear drawn o'er his e'e;
But your lady has a knight in her arms twa,
That she lo'es far better nor thee.
"And O wow for day! 25
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and ye were away;
For ye ha'ena lang time to stay!"
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye bonny birdie;
How you lie upon my sweet; 30
I will tak out my bonny bow,
And in troth I will you sheet."
"But afore ye ha'e your bow weel bent,
And a' your arrows yare,
I will flee till anither tree, 35
Whare I can better fare.
"And O wow for day
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away;
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!" 40
"O whare was ye gotten, and where was ye clecked,
My bonny birdie, tell me?"
"O, I was clecked in good green wood,
Intill a holly tree;
A baron sae bald my nest herried, 45
And ga'e me to his ladie.
"Wi' good white bread, and farrow-cow milk,
He bade her feed me aft;
And ga'e her a little wee summer-dale wandie,
To ding me sindle and saft. 50
"Wi' good white bread, and farrow-cow milk,
I wat she fed me nought;
But wi' a little wee summer-dale wandie,
She dang me sair and oft:--
Gin she had done as ye her bade, 55
I wadna tell how she has wrought.
"And O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and ye were away;
For ye ha'ena lang time to stay." 60
Lord Randal rade, and the birdie flew,
The live-lang summer's night,
Till he cam till his lady's bower-door,
Then even down he did light.
The birdie sat on the crap o' a tree, 65
And I wat it sang fu' dight:
"O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away;
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!" 70
* * * * * * *
"O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and ye were away;
For ye ha'ena lang time to stay!"
"Now Christ assoile me o' my sin," 75
The fause knight he could say;
"It's nae for nought that the hawk whistles;[L77]
And I wish that I were away!
"And O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day! 80
Gin it were day, and I were away;
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!"
"What needs ye lang for day,
And wish that ye were away?
Is na your hounds in my cellar 85
Eating white meal and gray?"
"Yet, O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away,
For I ha'ena lang time to stay!" 90
"Is na your horse in my stable,
Eating good corn and hay?
Is na your hawk on my perch tree,
Just perching for his prey?
And isna yoursel in my arms twa; 95
Then how can ye lang for day?"
"Yet, O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
Gin it were day, and I were away,
For I ha'ena lang time to stay. 100
"Yet, O wow for day!
And dear gin it were day!
For he that's in bed wi' anither man's wife,
Has never lang time to stay."
* * * * * * *
Then out Lord Randal drew his brand, 105
And straiked it o'er a strae;
And through and through the fause knight's waste
He gar'd cald iron gae;
And I hope ilk ane sall sae be serv'd,
That treats an honest man sae! 110
77, This is a proverbial saying in Scotland. J.
GIL MORRICE.
"Of the many ancient ballads which have been preserved by tradition
among the peasantry of Scotland, none has excited more interest in
the world of letters than the beautiful and pathetic tale of _Gil
Morice_; and this, no less on account of its own intrinsic merits as
a piece of exquisite poetry, than of its having furnished the plot
of the justly celebrated tragedy of _Douglas_. It has likewise
supplied Mr. Langhorne with the principal materials from which he
has woven the fabric of his sweet, though prolix poem of _Owen of
Carron_. Perhaps the list could be easily increased of those who
have drawn their inspiration from this affecting strain of Olden
Minstrelsy.
"If any reliance is to be placed on the traditions of that part of
the country where the scene of the ballad is laid, we will be
enforced to believe that it is founded on facts which occurred at
some remote period of Scottish History. The 'grene wode' of the
ballad was the ancient forest of Dundaff, in Stirlingshire, and Lord
Barnard's Castle is said to have occupied a precipitous cliff,
overhanging the water of Carron, on the lands of Halbertshire. A
small burn, which joins the Carron about five miles above these
lands, is named the Earlsburn, and the hill near the source of that
stream is called the Earlshill, both deriving their appellations,
according to the unvarying traditions of the country, from the
unfortunate Erle's son who is the hero of the ballad. He, also,
according to the same respectable authority, was 'beautiful
exceedingly', and especially remarkable for the extreme length and
loveliness of his yellow hair, which shrouded him as it were a
golden mist. To these floating traditions we are, probably, indebted
for the attempts which have been made to improve and embellish the
ballad, by the introduction of various new stanzas since its first
appearance in a printed form.
"In Percy's _Reliques_, it is mentioned that it had run through two
editions in Scotland, the second of which appeared at Glasgow in
1755, 8vo.; and that to both there was prefixed an advertisement,
setting forth that the preservation of the poem was owing 'to a
lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully
collected from the mouths of old women and nurses', and requesting
that 'any reader, who could render it more correct or complete,
would oblige the public with such improvements'. This was holding
out too tempting a bait not to be greedily snapped at by some of
those 'Ingenious Hands' who have corrupted the purity of legendary
song in Scotland by manifest forgeries and gross impositions.
Accordingly, sixteen additional verses soon appeared in manuscript,
which the Editor of the _Reliques_ has inserted in their proper
places, though he rightly views them in no better light than that of
an ingenious interpolation. Indeed, the whole ballad of _Gil
Morice_, as the writer of the present notice has been politely
informed by the learned and elegant Editor of the _Border
Minstrelsy_, underwent a total revisal about the period when the
tragedy of _Douglas_ was in the zenith of its popularity, and this
improved copy, it seems, embraced the ingenious interpolation above
referred to. Independent altogether of this positive information,
any one, familiar with the state in which traditionary poetry has
been transmitted to the present times, can be at no loss to detect
many more 'ingenious interpolations', as well as paraphrastic
additions, in the ballad as now printed. But, though it has been
grievously corrupted in this way, the most scrupulous inquirer into
the authenticity of ancient song can have no hesitation in admitting
that many of its verses, even as they now stand, are purely
traditionary, and fair, and genuine parcels of antiquity, unalloyed
with any base admixture of modern invention, and in nowise altered,
save in those changes of language to which all oral poetry is
unavoidably subjected, in its progress from one age to another."
MOTHERWELL.
We have given _Gil Morrice_ as it stands in the _Reliques_, (iii.
132,) degrading to the margin those stanzas which are undoubtedly
spurious, and we have added an ancient traditionary version,
obtained by Motherwell, which, if it appear short and crude, is at
least comparatively incorrupt. _Chield Morice_, taken down from
recitation, and printed in Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, (p. 269,)
nearly resembles _Gil Morrice_, as here exhibited. We have also
inserted in the Appendix _Childe Maurice_, "the very old imperfect
copy," mentioned in the _Reliques_, and first published from the
Percy MS. by Jamieson.
The sets of _Gil Morrice_ in the collections of Herd, Pinkerton,
Ritson, &c., are all taken from Percy.
Gil Morrice was an erles son,
His name it waxed wide:
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor zet his mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay[L5] 5
That liv'd on Carron side.
"Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha',
And bid his lady cum? 10
"And ze maun rin my errand, Willie,
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horseback ze sall ride."
"O no! O no! my master dear! 15
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld barons,
For to triest furth his wife."
"My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
My dear Willie," he sayd: 20
"How can ze strive against the stream?
For I sall be obeyd."
"Bot, O my master dear!" he cry'd,
"In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, 25
For fear ze should be tain."
"Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
Bid hir cum here wi' speid:
If ze refuse my heigh command,
I'll gar zour body bleid. 30
"Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,
'T is a' gowd bot the hem;
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane hot hir lain:
"And there it is, a silken sarke, 35
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave."
"Yes, I will gae zour black errand,
Though it be to zour cost; 40
Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd,
In it ze sall find frost.
"The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt;
As ze will see, before it's nicht, 45
How sma' ze hae to vaunt.
"And sen I maun zour errand rin
Sae sair against my will,
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill." 50
And quhen he came to broken brigue,[L51]
He bent his bow and swam;
And quhen he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
And quhen he came to Barnard's ha', 55
Would neither chap nor ca';
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Though he stude at the gait; 60
Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.
"Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!
My message winna waite;
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod, 65
Before that it be late.
"Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel,
'Tis a' gowd bot the hem:
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode,
Ev'n by your sel alane. 70
"And there it is, a silken sarke,
Your ain hand sewd the sleive:
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice;
Speir nae bauld barons leave."
The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 75
And winked wi' hir ee;
But a' that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.
"It's surely to my bow'r-woman;
It neir could be to me." 80
"I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;
I trow that ze be she."
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee):
"If it be cum frae Gill Morice, 85
It's deir welcum to mee."
"Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,
Sae loud I heird ze lee;
I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;
I trow ze be nae shee." 90
Then up and spack the bauld baron,
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knee,
Till siller cup and ezer[L95] dish 95
In flinders he gard flee.
"Gae bring a robe of zour cliding,
That hings upon the pin;
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,
And speik wi' zour lemman." 100
"O bide at hame, now, Lord Barnard,
I warde ze bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence,
That neir wate ze wi' nane."
Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode, 105
He whistled and he sang:
"O what mean a' the folk coming?
My mother tarries lang."
The baron came to the grene wode,[L109]
Wi' mickle dule and care; 110
And there he first spied Gill Morice
Kameing his zellow hair.
"Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,
My lady loed thee weel;
The fairest part of my bodie 115
Is blacker than thy heel.
"Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice,
For a' thy great beautie,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That head sall gae wi' me." 120
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And slait it[L122] on the strae;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's gar cauld iron gae.
And he has tain Gill Morice' head,[L125] 125
And set it on a speir:
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.
And he has tain Gill Morice up,
Laid him across his steid, 130
And brocht him to his painted bowr,
And laid him on a bed.
The lady sat on castil wa',
Beheld baith dale and doun;
And there she saw Gill Morice' head 135
Cum trailing to the toun.
"Far better I loe that bluidy head,
Bot and that zellow hair,
Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands,
As they lig here and thair." 140
And she has tain her Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin:
"I was once as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip is o' the stean.
"I got ze in my father's house, 145
Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude green wode,
Under the heavy rain.
"Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,
And fondly seen thee sleip; 150
Bot now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip."
And syne she kissd[L153] his bluidy cheik,
And syne his bluidy chin:
"O better I loe my Gill Morice 155
Than a' my kith and kin!"
"Away, away, ze il woman,[L157]
And an ill deith mait ze dee:
Gin I had ken'd he'd bin zour son,
He'd neir bin slain for mee." 160
5. The stall copies of the ballad complete the stanza thus:
_His face was fair, lang was his hair,
In the wild woods he staid_;
But his fame was for a fair lady
That lived on Carronside.
Which is no injudicious interpolation, inasmuch as it is founded
upon the traditions current among the vulgar, regarding Gil Morice's
comely face and long yellow hair. MOTHERWELL.
51-58. A familiar commonplace in ballad poetry. See _Childe Vyet_,
_Lady Maisry_, _Lord Barnaby_, &c.
95, mazer.
109
His hair was like the threeds of gold
Drawne frae Minerva's loome;
His lipps like roses drapping dew;
His breath was a' perfume.
His brow was like the mountain snae
Gilt by the morning beam;
His cheeks like living roses glow;
His een like azure stream.
The boy was clad in robes of grene,
Sweete as the infant spring;
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gart the vallies ring.
122, slaited.
125
That sweetly wavd around his face,
That face beyond compare;
He sang sae sweet, it might dispel
A' rage but fell dispair.
153. Stall copy, And _first_ she kissed.
157
"Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard!
Obraid me not for shame!
Wi' that saim speir, O pierce my heart!
And put me out o' pain.
"Since nothing bot Gill Morice' head
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life
That neir to thee did ill.
"To me nae after days nor nichts
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind."
"Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,
Seek not zour death frae me;
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.
"With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
"Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound;
Ze see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground.
"I curse the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' sik speid,
The comely zouth to kill.
"I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were mine ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day
On which the zouth was slain."
CHILD NORYCE.
From Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 282.
"By testimony of a most unexceptionable description,--but which it
would be tedious here to detail,--the Editor can distinctly trace
this ballad as existing in its present shape at least a century ago,
which carries it decidedly beyond the date of the first printed copy
of _Gil Morice_; and this with a poem which has been preserved but
by oral tradition, is no mean _positive_ antiquity."
In the Introduction to his collection, Motherwell mentions his
having found a more complete copy of this ballad under the title of
_Babe Nourice_.
Child Noryce is a clever young man,
He wavers wi' the wind;
His horse was silver shod before,
With the beaten gold behind.
He called to his little man John, 5
Saying, "You don't see what I see;
For O yonder I see the very first woman
That ever loved me.
"Here is a glove, a glove," he said,
"Lined with the silver gris; 10
You may tell her to come to the merry green wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
"Here is a ring, a ring," he says,
"It's all gold but the stane;
You may tell her to come to the merry green wood, 15
And ask the leave o' nane."
"So well do I love your errand, my master,
But far better do I love my life;
O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castel,
To betray away his wife?" 20
"O don't I give you meat," he says,
"And don't I pay you fee?
How dare you stop my errand?" he says;
"My orders you must obey."
O when he came to Lord Barnard's castel, 25
He tinkled at the ring;
Who was as ready as Lord Barnard[L27] himself
To let this little boy in?
"Here is a glove, a glove," he says,
"Lined with the silver gris; 30
You are bidden to come to the merry green wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
"Here is a ring, a ring," he says,
"It's all gold but the stane:
You are bidden to come to the merry green wood, 35
And ask the leave o' nane."
Lord Barnard he was standing by,
And an angry man was he:
"O little did I think there was a lord in this world
My lady loved but me!" 40
O he dressed himself in the Holland smocks,
And garments that was gay;
And he is away to the merry green wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
Child Noryce sits on yonder tree, 45
He whistles and he sings:
"O wae be to me," says Child Noryce,
"Yonder my mother comes!"
Child Noryce he came off the tree,
His mother to take off the horse: 50
"Och alace, alace," says Child Noryce,
"My mother was ne'er so gross."
Lord Barnard he had a little small sword,
That hung low down by his knee;
He cut the head off Child Noryce, 55
And put the body on a tree.
And when he came to his castel,
And to his lady's hall,
He threw the head into her lap,
Saying, "Lady, there is a ball!" 60
She turned up the bloody head,
She kissed it frae cheek to chin:
"Far better do I love this bloody head
Than all my royal kin.
"When I was in my father's castell, 65
In my virginitie,
There came a lord into the North,
Gat Child Noryce with me."
"O wae be to thee, Lady Margaret," he said,
"And an ill death may you die; 70
For if you had told me he was your son,
He had ne'er been slain by me."
27. This unquestionably should be Lady Barnard, instead of her
lord. See third stanza under. M.
CLERK SAUNDERS.
From the _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, (iii. 175,) where it
was first published. It was "taken from Mr. Herd's MSS., with
several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect copy in the
same volume, and one or two conjectural emendations in the
arrangement of the stanzas."
That that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers
is an independent story, is obvious both from internal evidence, and
from the separate existence of those concluding stanzas in a variety
of forms: as, _Sweet William's Ghost_, (_Tea-Table Miscellany_, ii.
142,) _Sweet William and May Margaret_, (Kinloch, p. 241,) _William
and Marjorie_, (Motherwell, p. 186.) Of this second part, Motherwell
observes, that it is often made the tail-piece to other ballads
where a deceased lover appears to his mistress. The two were,
however, combined by Sir Walter Scott, and the present Editor has
contented himself with indicating distinctly the close of the proper
story.
An inferior copy of _Clerk Saunders_, published by Jamieson, is
inserted in the Appendix, for the sake of a few valuable stanzas.
It resembles the Swedish ballad of _The Cruel Brother_, (_Svenska
Folk-Visor_, iii. 107,) which, however, is much shorter. The edition
of Buchan, (i. 160,) is entirely worthless. A North-Country version
of the First Part is given by Kinloch, _Ancient Scottish Ballads_,
233.
PART FIRST.
Clerk Saunders and may Margaret,
Walked ower yon garden green;
And sad and heavy was the love
That fell thir twa between.
"A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said, 5
"A bed for you and me!"--
"Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret,
"Till anes we married be;
"For in may come my seven bauld brothers,
Wi' torches burning bright; 10
They'll say--'We hae but ae sister,
And behold she's wi' a knight!'"--
"Then take the sword from my scabbard,
And slowly lift the pin;
And you may swear, and safe your aith, 15
Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.
"And take a napkin in your hand,
And tie up baith your bonny een;
And you may swear, and safe your aith,
Ye saw me na since late yestreen."[L20] 20
It was about the midnight hour,
When they asleep were laid,
When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning red.
When in and came her seven brothers, 25
Wi' torches burning bright;
They said, "We hae but ae sister,
And behold her lying with a knight!"
Then out and spake the first o' them,
"I bear the sword shall gar him die!" 30
And out and spake the second o' them,
"His father has nae mair than he!"
And out and spake the third o' them,
"I wot that they are lovers dear!"
And out and spake the fourth o' them, 35
"They hae been in love this mony a year!"
Then out and spake the fifth o' them,
"It were great sin true love to twain!"
And out and spake the sixth of them,
"It were shame to slay a sleeping man!" 40
Then up and gat the seventh o' them,
And never a word spake he;
But he has striped his bright brown brand
Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.
Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'd 45
Into his arms as asleep she lay;
And sad and silent was the night
That was atween thir twae.
And they lay still and sleeped sound,
Until the day began to daw; 50
And kindly to him she did say,
"It is time, true love, you were awa."
But he lay still, and sleeped sound,
Albeit the sun began to sheen;
She looked atween her and the wa', 55
And dull and drowsie were his een.
Then in and came her father dear,
Said--"Let a' your mourning be:
I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay,
And I'll come back and comfort thee."-- 60
"Comfort weel your seven sons,
For comforted will I never be:
I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
Was in the bower last night wi' me."--
20. In Kinloch's version of this ballad we have an additional stanza
here:--
----"Ye'll take me in your arms twa,
Ye'll carry me into your bed,
And ye may swear, and save your aith,
That in your bour floor I ne'er gae'd."
PART SECOND.
The clinking bell gaed through the town,[L1]
To carry the dead corse to the clay;
And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,
I wot, an hour before the day.
"Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says, 5
"Or are ye waking presentlie?
Give me my faith and troth again,
I wot, true love, I gied to thee."--
"Your faith and troth ye sall never get,
Nor our true love sall never twin, 10
Until ye come within my bower,
And kiss me cheik and chin."--
"My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,
It has the smell, now, of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth, 15
Thy days of life will not be lang.
"O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowls are boding day;
Give me my faith and troth again,
And let me fare me on my way."-- 20
"Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,
And our true love shall never twin,
Until ye tell what comes of women,
I wot, who die in strong traiveling."
"Their beds are made in the heavens high, 25
Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,
Weel set about wi' gillyflowers;
I wot sweet company for to see.
"O cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowl are boding day; 30
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
And I, ere now, will be miss'd away."--
Then she has ta'en a crystal[L33] wand,
And she has stroken her troth thereon;
She has given it him out at the shot-window, 35
Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.
"I thank ye, Marg'ret; I thank ye, Marg'ret;
And aye I thank ye heartilie;
Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Marg'ret, I'll come for thee."-- 40
It's hosen and shoon and gown alone,
She climb'd the wall, and follow'd him,
Until she came to the green forest,
And there she lost the sight o' him.
"Is there ony room at your head, Saunders? 45
Is there ony room at your feet?
Or ony room at your side, Saunders,
Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?"--
"There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret,
There's nae room at my feet; 50
My bed it is full lowly now:
Amang the hungry worms I sleep.
"Cauld mould is my covering now,
But and my winding-sheet;
The dew it falls nae sooner down, 55
Than my resting place is weet.
"But plait a wand o' bonny birk,[L57]
And lay it on my breast;
And shed a tear upon my grave,
And wish my saul gude rest. 60
"And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret,
And Marg'ret o' veritie,
Gin e'er ye love another man,
Ne'er love him as ye did me."--
Then up and crew the milk-white cock, 65
And up and crew the grey;
Her lover vanish'd in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.
1. The custom of the passing bell is still kept up in many villages
in Scotland. The sexton goes through the town, ringing a small bell,
and announcing the death of the departed, and the time of the
funeral. SCOTT.
33. Chrisom.
57. The custom of binding the new-laid sod of the churchyard with
osiers, or other saplings, prevailed both in England and Scotland,
and served to protect the turf from injury by cattle, or otherwise.
SCOTT.
SWEET WILLIE AND LADY MARGERIE.
From Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 370.
"This Ballad, which possesses considerable beauty and pathos, is
given from the recitation of a lady, now far advanced in years, with
whose grandmother it was a deserved favourite. It is now for the
first time printed. It bears some resemblance to _Clerk Saunders_."
Subjoined is a different copy from Buchan's _Ballads of the North of
Scotland_.
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,
And he wore a milk-white weed O;
And weel could Willie read and write,
Far better ride on steed O.
Lady Margerie was the first ladye 5
That drank to him the wine O;
And aye as the healths gaed round and round,
"Laddy, your love is mine O."
Lady Margerie was the first ladye
That drank to him the beer O; 10
And aye as the healths gaed round and round,
Laddy, ye're welcome here O.
"You must come intill my bower,
When the evening bells do ring O;
And you must come intill my bower, 15
When the evening mass doth sing O."
He's taen four-and-twenty braid arrows,
And laced them in a whang O;
And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower,
As fast as he can gang O. 20
He set his ae foot on the wa',
And the other on a stane O;
And he's kill'd a' the king's life guards,
He's kill'd them every man O.
"O open, open, Lady Margerie, 25
Open and let me in O;
The weet weets a' my yellow hair,
And the dew draps on my chin O."
With her feet as white as sleet,
She strode her bower within O; 30
And with her fingers lang and sma',
She's looten sweet Willie in O.
She's louted down unto his foot,
To lowze sweet Willie's shoon O;
The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze, 35
The blood had frozen in O.
"O Willie, O Willie, I fear that thou
Hast bred me dule and sorrow;
The deed that thou hast done this nicht
Will kythe upon the morrow." 40
In then came her father dear,
And a braid sword by his gare O;
And he's gien Willie, the widow's son,
A deep wound and a sair O.
"Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, 45
"Your sweat weets a' my side O;
Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says,
"For your sweat I downa bide O."
She turned her back unto the wa',
Her face unto the room O; 50
And there she saw her auld father,
Fast walking up and doun O.
"Woe be to you, father," she said,
"And an ill deid may you die O;
For ye've killed Willie, the widow's son, 55
And he would have married me O."
She turned her back unto the room,
Her face unto the wa' O;
And with a deep and heavy sich,
Her heart it brak in twa O. 60
WILLIE AND LADY MAISRY.
From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 155.
_The Bent sae Brown_, in the same volume, p. 30, resembles both
_Clerk Saunders_ and the present ballad, but has a different
catastrophe.
Sweet Willie was a widow's son,
And milk-white was his weed;
It sets him weel to bridle a horse,
And better to saddle a steed, my dear,
And better to saddle a steed. 5
But he is on to Maisry's bower door,
And tirled at the pin;
"Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry,
Ye'll open, let me come in, my dear,
Ye'll open, let me come in." 10
"O who is this at my bower door,
Sae well that knows my name?"
"It is your ain true love, Willie,
If ye love me, lat me in, my dear,
If ye love me, lat me in." 15
Then huly, huly raise she up,
For fear o' making din;
Then in her arms lang and bent,
She caught sweet Willie in, my dear,
She caught sweet Willie in. 20
She lean'd her low down to her toe,
To loose her true love's sheen;
But cauld, cauld were the draps o' bleed,
Fell fae his trusty brand, my dear,
Fell fae his trusty brand. 25
"What frightfu' sight is that, my love?
A frightfu' sight to see;
What bluid is this on your sharp brand,
O may ye not tell me, my dear?
O may ye not tell me?" 30
"As I came thro' the woods this night,
The wolf maist worried me;
O shou'd I slain the wolf, Maisry?
Or shou'd the wolf slain me, my dear?
Or shou'd the wolf slain me?" 35
They hadna kiss'd nor love clapped,
As lovers when they meet,
Till up it starts her auld father,
Out o' his drowsy sleep, my dear,
Out o' his drowsy sleep. 40
"O what's become o' my house cock
Sae crouse at ane did craw?
I wonder as much at my bold watch,
That's nae shootin ower the wa', my dear,
That's nae shooting ower the wa'. 45
"My gude house cock, my only son,
Heir ower my land sae free;
If ony ruffian hae him slain,
High hanged shall he be, my dear,
High hanged shall he be." 50
Then he's on to Maisry's bower door,
And tirled at the pin;
"Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry,
Ye'll open, lat me come in, my dear,
Ye'll open, lat me come in." 55
Between the curtains and the wa',
She row'd her true love then;
And huly went she to the door,
And let her father in, my dear,
And let her father in. 60
"What's become o' your maries, Maisry,
Your bower it looks sae teem?
What's become o' your green claithing?
Your beds they are sae thin, my dear,
Your beds they are sae thin." 65
"Gude forgie you, father," she said,
"I wish ye be't for sin;
Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me,
But never found me wrang, my dear,
But never found me wrang." 70
He turn'd him right and round about,
As he'd been gaun awa';
But sae nimbly as he slippet in,
Behind a screen sae sma', my dear,
Behind a screen sae sma'. 75
Maisry thinking a' dangers past,
She to her love did say;
"Come, love, and take your silent rest,
My auld father's away, my dear,
My auld father's away!" 80
Then baith lock'd in each other's arms,
They fell full fast asleep;
When up it starts her auld father,
And stood at their bed feet, my dear,
And stood at their bed feet. 85
"I think I hae the villain now,
That my dear son did slay;
But I shall be reveng'd on him,
Before I see the day, my dear,
Before I see the day." 90
Then he's drawn out a trusty brand,
And stroak'd it o'er a stray;
And thro' and thro' sweet Willie's middle
He's gart cauld iron gae, my dear,
He's gart cauld iron gae. 95
Then up it waken'd Lady Maisry,
Out o' her drowsy sleep;
And when she saw her true love slain,
She straight began to weep, my dear,
She straight began to weep. 100
"O gude forgie you now, father," she said,
"I wish ye be't for sin;
For I never lov'd a love but ane,
In my arms ye've him slain, my dear,
In my arms ye've him slain." 105
"This night he's slain my gude bold watch,
Thirty stout men and twa;
Likewise he's slain your ae brother,
To me was worth them a', my dear,
To me was worth them a'." 110
"If he has slain my ae brither,
Himsell had a' the blame;
For mony a day he plots contriv'd,
To hae sweet Willie slain, my dear,
To hae sweet Willie slain. 115
"And tho' he's slain your gude bold watch,
He might hae been forgien;
They came on him in armour bright,
When he was but alane, my dear,
When he was but alane." 120
Nae meen was made for this young knight,
In bower where he lay slain;
But a' was for sweet Maisry bright,
In fields where she ran brain, my dear,
In fields where she ran brain. 125
THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O' OWSENFORD.
"This singularly wild and beautiful old ballad," says Chambers,
(_Scottish Ballads_, p. 345,) "is chiefly taken from the recitation
of the editor's grandmother, who learned it, when a girl, nearly
seventy years ago, from a Miss Anne Gray, resident at Neidpath
Castle, Peeblesshire; some additional stanzas, and a few various
readings, being adopted from a less perfect, and far less poetical
copy, published in Mr. Buchan's [_Ancient Ballads and Songs of the
North of Scotland_, i. 281,] and from a fragment in the _Border
Minstrelsy_, entitled _The Wife of Usher's Well_, [vol. i. p. 214,
of this collection,] but which is evidently the same narrative."[A]
[A] There is to a certain extent a resemblance between this ballad
and the German ballad _Das Schloss in Oesterreich_, found in most of
the German collections, and in Swedish and Danish.
"The editor has been induced to divide this ballad into two parts,
on account of the _great superiority of what follows over what goes
before, and because the latter portion is in a great measure
independent of the other_, so far as sense is concerned. The first
part is composed of the Peeblesshire version, mingled with that of
the northern editor: the second is formed of the Peeblesshire
version, mingled with the fragment called _The Wife of Usher's
Well_."
The natural desire of men to hear more of characters in whom they
have become strongly interested, has frequently stimulated the
attempt to continue successful fictions, and such supplements are
proverbially unfortunate. A ballad-singer would have powerful
inducements to gratify this passion of his audience, and he could
most economically effect the object by stringing two ballads
together. When a tale ended tragically, the sequel must of necessity
be a ghost-story, and we have already had, in _Clerk Saunders_, an
instance of this combination. Mr. Chambers has furnished the best
possible reasons for believing that the same process has taken place
in the case of the present ballad, and that the two parts, (which
occur separately,) having originally had no connection, were
arbitrarily united, to suit the purposes of some unscrupulous
rhapsodist.
PART FIRST.
O I will sing to you a sang,
Will grieve your heart full sair;
How the Clerk's twa sons o' Owsenford
Have to learn some unco lear.
They hadna been in fair Parish 5
A twelvemonth and a day,
Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in love
Wi' the Mayor's dauchters twae.
And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote,
The ladies sewed and sang; 10
There was mair mirth in that chamber,
Than in a' fair Ferrol's land.
But word's gane to the michty Mayor,
As he sailed on the sea,
That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans 15
O' his fair dauchters twae.
"If they hae wranged my twa dauchters,
Janet and Marjorie,
The morn, ere I taste meat or drink,
Hie hangit they shall be." 20
And word's gane to the clerk himsell,
As he was drinking wine,
That his twa sons at fair Parish
Were bound in prison strang.
Then up and spak the Clerk's ladye, 25
And she spak tenderlie:
"O tak wi' ye a purse o' gowd,
Or even tak ye three;
And if ye canna get William,
Bring Henry hame to me." 30
O sweetly sang the nightingale,
As she sat on the wand;
But sair, sair mourned Owsenford,
As he gaed in the strand.
When he came to their prison strang, 35
He rade it round about,
And at a little shot-window,
His sons were looking out.
"O lie ye there, my sons," he said,
"For owsen or for kye? 40
Or what is it that ye lie for,
Sae sair bound as ye lie?"
"We lie not here for owsen, father;
Nor yet do we for kye;
But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love, 45
Sae sair bound as we lie.
"O borrow us, borrow us, father," they said,
"For the luve we bear to thee!"
"O never fear, my pretty sons,
Weel borrowed ye sall be." 50
Then he's gane to the michty Mayor,
And he spak courteouslie:
"Will ye grant my twa sons' lives,
Either for gold or fee?
Or will ye be sae gude a man, 55
As grant them baith to me?"
"I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives,
Neither for gold nor fee;
Nor will I be sae gude a man,
As gie them baith to thee; 60
But before the morn at twal o'clock,
Ye'll see them hangit hie!"
Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters,
Wi' kirtle coat alone;
Their eyes did sparkle like the gold, 65
As they tripped on the stone.
"Will ye gie us our loves, father,
For gold, or yet for fee?
Or will ye take our own sweet lives,
And let our true loves be?" 70
He's taen a whip into his hand,
And lashed them wondrous sair;
"Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers;
Ye'se never see them mair."
Then out it speaks auld Owsenford; 75
A sorry man was he:
"Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs;
For a' this maunna be."
Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry:
"Come here, Janet, to me; 80
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?"
"Ye sall hae your faith and troth,
Wi' God's blessing and mine:"
And twenty times she kissed his mouth, 85
Her father looking on.
Then out it speaks him gay William:
"Come here, sweet Marjorie;
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?" 90
"Yes, ye sall hae your faith and troth,
Wi' God's blessing and mine:"
And twenty times she kissed his mouth,
Her father looking on.
* * * * *
"O ye'll tak aff your twa black hats, 95
Lay them down on a stone,
That nane may ken that ye are clerks,
Till ye are putten doun."
The bonnie clerks they died that morn;
Their loves died lang ere noon; 100
And the waefu' Clerk o' Owsenford
To his lady has gane hame.
PART SECOND.
His lady sat on her castle wa',
Beholding dale and doun;
And there she saw her ain gude lord
Come walking to the toun.
"Ye're welcome, ye're welcome, my ain gude lord, 5
Ye're welcome hame to me;
But where-away are my twa sons?
Ye suld hae brought them wi' ye."
"O they are putten to a deeper lear,
And to a higher scule: 10
Your ain twa sons will no be hame
Till the hallow days o' Yule."
"O sorrow, sorrow, come mak my bed;
And, dule, come lay me doun;
For I will neither eat nor drink, 15
Nor set a fit on groun'!"
The hallow days o' Yule were come,
And the nights were lang and mirk,
When in and cam her ain twa sons,
And their hats made o' the birk. 20
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheuch;
But at the gates o' Paradise
That birk grew fair eneuch.
"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine, 25
Bring water from the well;
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my twa sons are well.
"O eat and drink, my merry-men a',
The better shall ye fare; 30
For my two sons they are come hame
To me for evermair."
And she has gane and made their bed,
She's made it saft and fine;
And she's happit them wi' her gay mantil, 35
Because they were her ain.
But the young cock crew in the merry Linkum,
And the wild fowl chirped for day;
And the aulder to the younger said,
"Brother, we maun away. 40
"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin worm doth chide;
Gin we be missed out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide."
"Lie still, lie still a little wee while, 45
Lie still but if we may;
Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,
She'll gae mad ere it be day."
* * * * *
O it's they've taen up their mother's mantil,
And they've hung it on a pin: 50
"O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantil,
Ere ye hap us again."
CHILDE VYET.
First printed in a complete form in Maidment's _North Countrie
Garland_, p. 24. The same editor contributed a slightly different
copy to Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, (p. 173.) An inferior version is
furnished by Buchan, i. 234, and Jamieson has published a fragment
on the same story, here given in the Appendix.
Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet,
Were both born in ane bower,
Had both their loves on one Lady,
The less was their honour.[L4]
Childe Vyet and Lord Ingram, 5
Were both born in one hall,
Had both their loves on one Lady
The worse did them befall.
Lord Ingram woo'd the Lady Maiserey,
From father and from mother; 10
Lord Ingram woo'd the Lady Maiserey,
From sister and from brother.
Lord Ingram wooed the Lady Maiserey,
With leave of all her kin;
And every one gave full consent, 15
But she said no, to him.
Lord Ingram wooed the Lady Maiserey,
Into her father's ha';
Childe Vyet wooed the Lady Maiserey,
Among the sheets so sma'. 20
Now it fell out upon a day,
She was dressing her head,
That ben did come her father dear,
Wearing the gold so red.
"Get up now, Lady Maiserey, 25
Put on your wedding gown,
For Lord Ingram will be here,
Your wedding must be done!"
"I'd rather be Childe Vyet's wife,
The white fish for to sell, 30
Before I were Lord Ingram's wife,
To wear the silk so well!
"I'd rather be Childe Vyet's wife,
With him to beg my bread,
Before I'd be Lord Ingram's wife, 35
To wear the gold so red.
"Where will I get a bonny boy,
Will win gold to his fee,
Will run unto Childe Vyet's ha',
With this letter from me?" 40
"O here, I am the boy," says one,
"Will win gold to my fee,
And carry away any letter,
To Childe Vyet from thee."
And when he found the bridges broke, 45
He bent his bow and swam;
And when he found the grass growing,
He hasten'd and he ran.
And when he came to Vyet's castle,
He did not knock nor call, 50
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly leaped the wall;
And ere the porter open'd the gate,
The boy was in the hall.
The first line that Childe Vyet read, 55
A grieved man was he;
The next line that he looked on,
A tear blinded his e'e.
"What ails my own brother," he says,
"He'll not let my love be; 60
But I'll send to my brother's bridal;
The woman shall be free.
"Take four and twenty bucks and ewes,
And ten tun of the wine,
And bid my love be blythe and glad, 65
And I will follow syne."
There was not a groom about that castle,
But got a gown of green;
And a' was blythe, and a' was glad,
But Lady Maiserey was wi' wean.[L70] 70
There was no cook about the kitchen,
But got a gown of gray;
And a' was blythe, and a' was glad,
But Lady Maiserey was wae.
'Tween Mary Kirk and that castle, 75
Was all spread o'er with garl,[L76]
To keep the lady and her maidens,
From tramping on the marl.[L78]
From Mary Kirk to that castle,
Was spread a cloth of gold, 80
To keep the lady and her maidens,
From treading on the mould.
When mass was sung, and bells were rung,
And all men bound for bed,
Then Lord Ingram and Lady Maiserey, 85
In one bed they were laid.
When they were laid upon their bed,
It was baith soft and warm,
He laid his hand over her side,
Says he, "you are with bairn." 90
"I told you once, so did I twice,
When ye came as my wooer,
That Childe Vyet, your one brother,
One night lay in my bower.
"I told you twice, so did I thrice, 95
Ere ye came me to wed,
That Childe Vyet, your one brother,
One night lay in my bed!"
"O will you father your bairn on me,
And on no other man? 100
And I'll gie him to his dowry,
Full fifty ploughs of land."
"I will not father my bairn on you,
Nor on no wrongous man,
Tho' you'd gie him to his dowry, 105
Five thousand ploughs of land."
Then up did start him Childe Vyet,
Shed by his yellow hair,
And gave Lord Ingram to the heart,
A deep wound and a sair. 110
Then up did start him Lord Ingram,
Shed by his yellow hair,
And gave Childe Vyet to the heart,
A deep wound and a sair.
There was no pity for the two lords, 115
Where they were lying slain,
All was for Lady Maiserey:
In that bower she gaed brain!
There was no pity for the two lords,
When they were lying dead, 120
All was for Lady Maiserey:
In that bower she went mad!
"O get to me a cloak of cloth,
A staff of good hard tree;
If I have been an evil woman, 125
I shall beg till I die.
"For ae bit I'll beg for Childe Vyet,
For Lord Ingram I'll beg three,
All for the honourable marriage, that
At Mary Kirk he gave me!" 130
4. The less was their bonheur. MOTHERWELL.
70, she was neen. Motherwell.
76, gold.
78, mould. N. C. G.
LADY MAISRY.
This ballad, said to be very popular in Scotland, was taken down
from recitation by Jamieson, and is extracted from his collection,
vol. i. p. 73. A different copy, from Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p.
234, is given in the Appendix. Another, styled _Young Prince James_,
may be seen in Buchan's _Ballads_, vol. i. 103. _Bonnie Susie
Cleland_, Motherwell, p. 221, is still another version.
In _Lady Maisry_ we seem to have the English form of a tragic story
which, starting from Denmark, has spread over almost all the north
of Europe, that of _King Waldemar and his Sister_. Grundtvig's
collection gives seven copies of the Danish ballad upon this subject
(_Kong Valdemar og hans S[:o]ster_, No. 126), the oldest from a
manuscript of the beginning of the 17th century. Five Icelandic
versions are known, one Norse, one Faroish, five Swedish (four of
them in Arwidsson, No. 53, _Liten Kerstin och Fru Sofia_), and
several in German, as _Graf Hans von Holstein und seine Schwester
Annchristine_, Erk, _Liederhort_, p. 155; _Der Grausame Bruder_,
Erk, p. 153, and Hoffmann, _Schlesische Volkslieder_, No. 27; _Der
Grobe Bruder_, _Wunderhorn_, ii. 272; _Der Pfalzgraf am Rhein_,
_id._ i. 259, etc.; also a fragment in Wendish. The relationship of
the English ballad to the rest of the cycle can perhaps be easiest
shown by comparison with the simplified and corrupted German
versions.
The story appears to be founded on facts which occurred during the
reign and in the family of the Danish king, Waldemar the First,
sometime between 1157 and 1167. Waldemar is described as being, with
all his greatness, of a relentless and cruel disposition (_in ira
pertinax_; _in suos tantum plus justo crudelior_). Tradition,
however, has imputed to him a brutal ferocity beyond belief. In the
ballad before us, Lady Maisry suffers for her weakness by being
burned at the stake, but in the Danish, Swedish, and German ballads,
the king's sister is beaten to death with leathern whips, by her
brother's own hand.
"Er schlug sie so sehre, er schlug sie so lang,
Bis Lung und Leber aus dem Leib ihr sprang!"
The Icelandic and Faroe ballads have nothing of this horrible
ferocity, but contain a story which is much nearer to probability,
if not to historical truth. While King Waldemar is absent on an
expedition against the Wends, his sister Krist['i]n is drawn into a
_liaison_ with her second-cousin, the result of which is the birth
of two children. Sof['i]a, the Queen, maliciously makes the state of
things known to the king the moment he returns (which is on the very
day of Krist['i]n's lying in, according to the Danish ballad), but he
will not believe the story,--all the more because the accused
parties are within prohibited degrees of consanguinity. Krist['i]n is
summoned to come instantly to her brother, and obeys the message,
though she is weak with childbirth, and knows that the journey will
cost her her life. She goes to the court on horseback (in the Danish
ballads falling from the saddle once or twice on the way), and on
her arrival is put to various tests to ascertain her condition,
concluding with a long dance with the king, to which, having held
out for a considerable time, she at last succumbs, and falls dead in
her brother's arms.
The incidents of the journey on horseback, and the cruel probation
by the dance, are found in the ballad which follows the present
(_Fair Janet_), and these coincidences Grundtvig considers
sufficient to establish its derivation from the Danish. The
_general_ similarity of _Lady Maisry_ to _King Waldemar and his
Sister_ is, however, much more striking. For our part, we are
inclined to believe that _both_ the English ballads had this origin,
but the difference in their actual form is so great, that,
notwithstanding this conviction, we have not felt warranted in
putting them together.
The young lords o' the north country
Have all a-wooing gane,
To win the love of lady Maisry,
But o' them she wou'd hae nane.
O thae hae sought her, lady Maisry, 5
Wi' broaches, and wi' rings;
And they hae courted her, lady Maisry,
Wi' a' kin kind of things.
And they hae sought her, lady Maisry,
Frae father and frae mither; 10
And they hae sought her, lady Maisry,
Frae sister and frae brither.
And they hae follow'd her, lady Maisry,
Thro' chamber, and through ha';
But a' that they could say to her, 15
Her answer still was "Na."
"O haud your tongues, young men," she said,
"And think nae mair on me;
For I've gi'en my love to an English lord,
Sae think nae mair on me." 20
Her father's kitchey-boy heard that,
(An ill death mot he die!)
And he is in to her brother,
As fast as gang cou'd he.
"O is my father and my mother weel, 25
But and my brothers three?
Gin my sister lady Maisry be weel,
There's naething can ail me."
"Your father and your mother is weel,
But and your brothers three; 30
Your sister, lady Maisry's, weel,
Sae big wi' bairn is she."
"A malison light on the tongue,
Sic tidings tells to me!--
But gin it be a lie you tell, 35
You shall be hanged hie."
He's doen him to his sister's bower,
Wi' mickle dool and care;
And there he saw her, lady Maisry,
Kembing her yellow hair. 40
"O wha is aucht that bairn," he says,[L41]
"That ye sae big are wi'?
And gin ye winna own the truth,
This moment ye sall die."
She's turned her richt and round about, 45
And the kembe fell frae her han';
A trembling seized her fair bodie,
And her rosy cheek grew wan.
"O pardon me, my brother dear,
And the truth I'll tell to thee; 50
My bairn it is to Lord William,
And he is betrothed to me."
"O cou'dna ye gotten dukes, or lords,
Intill your ain countrie,
That ye drew up wi' an English dog, 55
To bring this shame on me?
"But ye maun gi'e up your English lord,
Whan your young babe is born;
For, gin ye keep by him an hour langer,
Your life shall be forlorn." 60
"I will gi'e up this English lord,
Till my young babe be born;
But the never a day nor hour langer,
Though my life should be forlorn."
"O whare is a' my merry young men, 65
Wham I gi'e meat and fee,
To pu' the bracken and the thorn,
To burn this vile whore wi'?"
"O whare will I get a bonny boy,
To help me in my need, 70
To rin wi' haste to Lord William,
And bid him come wi' speed?"
O out it spak a bonny boy,
Stood by her brother's side;
"It's I wad rin your errand, lady, 75
O'er a' the warld wide.
"Aft ha'e I run your errands, lady,
When blawin baith wind and weet;
But now I'll rin your errand, lady,
With saut tears on my cheek." 80
O whan he came to broken briggs,
He bent his bow and swam;
And whan he came to the green grass growin',
He slack'd his shoon and ran.
And when he came to Lord William's yeats, 85
He badena to chap or ca';
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly lap the wa';
And, or the porter was at the yeat,
The boy was in the ha'. 90
"O is my biggins broken, boy?
Or is my towers won?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
O' a dear daughter or son?"
"Your biggin isna broken, sir, 95
Nor is your towers won;
But the fairest lady in a' the land
This day for you maun burn."
"O saddle to me the black, the black,
Or saddle to me the brown; 100
Or saddle to me the swiftest steed
That ever rade frae a town."
Or he was near a mile awa',
She heard his weir-horse sneeze;
"Mend up the fire, my fause brother, 105
It's nae come to my knees."
O whan he lighted at the yeat,
She heard his bridle ring:
"Mend up the fire, my fause brother;
It's far yet frae my chin. 110
"Mend up the fire to me, brother,
Mend up the fire to me;
For I see him comin' hard and fast,
Will soon men't up for thee.
"O gin my hands had been loose, Willy, 115
Sae hard as they are boun',
I wadd hae turn'd me frae the gleed,
And casten out your young son."
"O I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your father and your mother; 120
And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your sister and your brother;
"And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
The chief o' a' your kin;
And the last bonfire that I come to, 125
Mysell I will cast in."
v. 41. See preface to _Clerk Saunders_, p. 319.
FAIR JANET.
From Sharpe's _Ballad Book_, p. 1.
"This ballad, the subject of which appears to have been very
popular, is printed as it was sung by an old woman in Perthshire.
The air is extremely beautiful."
Herd gave an imperfect version of this ballad under the title of
_Willie and Annet_, in his _Scottish Songs_, i. 219; repeated after
him in Ritson's _Scottish Songs_, and in Johnson's _Museum_.
Finlay's copy, improved, but made up of fragments, follows the
present, and in the Appendix is _Sweet Willie and Fair Maisry_, from
Buchan's collection. We have followed Motherwell by inserting (in
brackets) three stanzas from _Willie and Annet_ and _Sweet Willie_,
which contribute slightly to complete Sharpe's copy. None of these
ballads is satisfactory, though Sharpe's is the best. Touching the
relation of _Fair Janet_ to the Danish ballad of _King Waldemar and
his Sister_, the reader will please look at the preface to the
preceding ballad.
"Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
Ye maun gang to him soon;
Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
In case that his days are dune!"
Janet's awa' to her father, 5
As fast as she could hie;
"O what's your will wi' me, father?
O what's your will wi' me?"
"My will wi' you, Fair Janet," he said,
"It is both bed and board; 10
Some say that ye lo'e Sweet Willie,
But ye maun wed a French lord."
"A French lord maun I wed, father?
A French lord maun I wed?
Then, by my sooth," quo' Fair Janet, 15
"He's ne'er enter my bed."
Janet's awa' to her chamber,
As fast as she could go;
Wha's the first ane that tapped there,
But Sweet Willie her jo! 20
"O we maun part this love, Willie,
That has been lang between;
There's a French lord coming o'er the sea
To wed me wi' a ring;
There 's a French lord coming o'er the sea, 25
To wed and tak me hame."
"If we maun part this love, Janet,
It causeth mickle woe;
If we maun part this love, Janet,
It makes me into mourning go." 30
"But ye maun gang to your three sisters,
Meg, Marion, and Jean;
Tell them to come to Fair Janet,
In case that her days are dune."
Willie's awa' to his three sisters, 35
Meg, Marion, and Jean;
"O haste, and gang to Fair Janet,
I fear that her days are dune."
Some drew to them their silken hose,
Some drew to them their shoon, 40
Some drew to them their silk manteils,
Their coverings to put on;
And they're awa' to Fair Janet,
By the hie light o' the moon.
* * * * * * *
"O I have born this babe, Willie, 45
Wi' mickle toil and pain;
Take hame, take hame, your babe, Willie,
For nurse I dare be nane."
He's tane his young son in his arms,
And kist him cheek and chin,-- 50
And he's awa' to his mother's bower,
By the hie light o' the moon.
"O open, open, mother," he says,
"O open, and let me in;
The rain rains on my yellow hair, 55
And the dew drops o'er my chin,--
And I hae my young son in my arms,
I fear that his days are dune."
With her fingers lang and sma'
She lifted up the pin; 60
And with her arms lang and sma'
Received the baby in.
"Gae back, gae back now, Sweet Willie,
And comfort your fair lady;
For where ye had but ae nourice, 65
Your young son shall hae three."
Willie he was scarce awa',
And the lady put to bed,
When in and came her father dear:
"Make haste, and busk the bride." 70
"There's a sair pain in my head, father,
There's a sair pain in my side;
And ill, O ill, am I, father,
This day for to be a bride."
"O ye maun busk this bonny bride, 75
And put a gay mantle on;
For she shall wed this auld French lord,
Gin she should die the morn."
Some put on the gay green robes,
And some put on the brown; 80
But Janet put on the scarlet robes,
To shine foremost through the town.
And some they mounted the black steed,
And some mounted the brown;
But Janet mounted the milk-white steed, 85
To ride foremost through the town.
"O wha will guide your horse, Janet?
O wha will guide him best?"
"O wha but Willie, my true love,
He kens I lo'e him best!" 90
And when they cam to Marie's kirk,
To tye the haly ban,
Fair Janet's cheek looked pale and wan,
And her colour gaed and cam.
When dinner it was past and done, 95
And dancing to begin,
"O we'll go take the bride's maidens,
And we'll go fill the ring."
O ben than cam the auld French lord,
Saying, "Bride, will ye dance with me?"
"Awa', awa', ye auld French Lord, 100
Your face I downa see."
O ben than cam now Sweet Willie,
He cam with ane advance:
"O I'll go tak the bride's maidens, 105
And we'll go tak a dance."
"I've seen ither days wi' you, Willie,
And so has mony mae;
Ye would hae danced wi' me mysel',
Let a' my maidens gae." 110
O ben than cam now Sweet Willie,
Saying, "Bride, will ye dance wi' me?"
"Aye, by my sooth, and that I will,
Gin my back should break in three."
[And she's ta'en Willie by the hand, 115
The tear blinded her e'e;
"O I wad dance wi' my true love,
Tho' bursts my heart in three!"]
She hadna turned her throw the dance,
Throw the dance but thrice, 120
Whan she fell doun at Willie's feet,
And up did never rise!
[She's ta'en her bracelet frae her arm,
Her garter frae her knee:
"Gie that, gie that, to my young son; 125
He'll ne'er his mother see."]
Willie's ta'en the key of his coffer,
And gi'en it to his man;
"Gae hame, and tell my mother dear,
My horse he has me slain; 130
Bid her be kind to my young son,
For father he has nane."
["Gar deal, gar deal the bread," he cried,
"Gar deal, gar deal the wine;
This day has seen my true love's death, 135
This night shall witness mine."]
The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,
And the tither in Marie's quire:
Out of the tane there grew a birk,
And the tither a bonny brier. 140
SWEET WILLIE.
"This ballad has had the misfortune, in common with many others, of
being much mutilated by reciters. I have endeavoured, by the
assistance of some fragments, to make it as complete as possible;
and have even taken the liberty of altering the arrangement of some
of the stanzas of a lately-procured copy, that they might the better
cohere with those already printed." FINLAY'S _Scottish Ballads_, ii.
61.
"Will you marry the southland lord,
A queen o' fair England to be?
Or will you mourn for sweet Willie,
The morn upon yon lea?"
"I will marry the southland lord, 5
Father, sen it is your will;
But I'd rather it were my burial day,
For my grave I'm going till.
"O go, O go now my bower wife,
O go now hastilie, 10
O go now to sweet Willie's bower,
And bid him cum speak to me.--
"Now, Willie, gif ye love me weel,
As sae it seems to me,
Gar build, gar build a bonny ship, 15
Gar build it speedilie!
"And we will sail the sea sae green
Unto some far countrie;
Or we'll sail to some bonny isle,
Stands lanely midst the sea." 20
But lang or e'er the ship was built,
Or deck'd or rigged out,
Cam sic a pain in Annet's back,
That down she cou'dna lout.
"Now, Willie, gin ye love me weel, 25
As sae it seems to me,
O haste, haste, bring me to my bower,
And my bower maidens three."
He's ta'en her in his arms twa,
And kiss'd her cheek and chin, 30
He's brocht her to her ain sweet bower,
But nae bower maid was in.
"Now leave my bower, Willie," she said,
"Now leave me to my lane;
Was never man in a lady's bower 35
When she was travailing."
He's stepped three steps down the stair,
Upon the marble stane,
Sae loud's he heard his young son greet,
But and his lady mane. 40
"Now come, now come, Willie," she said,
"Tak your young son frae me,
And hie him to your mother's bower,
With speed and privacie."
And he is to his mother's bower, 45
As fast as he could rin;
"Open, open, my mother dear,
Open, and let me in;
"For the rain rains on my yellow hair,
The dew stands on my chin, 50
And I have something in my lap,
And I wad fain be in."
"O go, O go now, sweet Willie,
And make your lady blithe,
For wherever you had ae nourice, 55
Your young son shall hae five."--
Out spak Annet's mother dear,
An' she spak a word o' pride;
Says, "Whare is a' our bride's maidens,
They're no busking the bride?" 60
"O haud your tongue, my mother dear,
Your speaking let it be,
For I'm sae fair and full o' flesh,
Little busking will serve me."
Out an' spak the bride's maidens, 65
They spak a word o' pride;
Says, "Whare is a' the fine cleiding?
Its we maun busk the bride."
"Deal hooly wi' my head, maidens,
Deal hooly wi' my hair, 70
For it was washen late yestreen,
And it is wonder sair.
"My maidens, easy wi' my back,
And easy wi' my side;
O set my saddle saft, Willie, 75
I am a tender bride."
O up then spak the southland lord,
And blinkit wi' his ee;
"I trow this lady's born a bairn,"
Then laucht loud lauchters three. 80
"Ye hae gi'en me the gowk, Annet,
But I'll gie you the scorn;
For there's no a bell in a' the town
Shall ring for you the morn."
Out and spak then sweet Willie, 85
"Sae loud's I hear you lie,
There's no a bell in a' the town
But shall ring for Annet and me."
And Willie swore a great great oath,
And he swore by the thorn, 90
That she was as free o' a child that night,
As the night that she was born.
O up an' spak the brisk bridegroom,[L93]
And he spak up wi' pride,
"Gin I should lay my gloves in pawn, 95
I will dance wi' the bride."
"Now haud your tongue, my lord," she said,[L97]
"Wi' dancing let me be,
I am sae thin in flesh and blude,
Sma' dancing will serve me." 100
But she's ta'en Willie by the hand,
The tear blinded her ee;
"But I wad dance wi' my true love,
But bursts my heart in three."
She's ta'en her bracelet frae her arm, 105
Her garter frae her knee,
"Gie that, gie that, to my young son;
He'll ne'er his mother see."
93. _Sic_ Herd. Finlay, then sweet Willie.
97. _Sic_ Herd. Finlay, Willie, she said.
FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN.
Of this beautiful piece a complete copy was first published by
Scott, another afterwards by Jamieson. Both are here given, the
latter, as in some respects preferable, having the precedence. The
ballad is found almost entire in Herd's _Scottish Songs_, i. 206, a
short fragment in Johnson's _Museum_, p. 5, and a more considerable
one, called _Love Gregory_, in Buchan's collection, ii. 199. This
last has been unnecessarily repeated in a very indifferent
publication of the Percy Society, vol. xvii. Dr. Wolcot, Burns, and
Jamieson have written songs on the story of Fair Annie, and
Cunningham has modernized Sir Walter Scott's version, after his
fashion, in the _Songs of Scotland_, i. 298.
Of his text, Jamieson remarks, "it is given _verbatim_ from the
large MS. collection, transmitted from Aberdeen, by my zealous and
industrious friend, Professor Robert Scott of that university. I
have every reason to believe, that no liberty whatever has been
taken with the text, which is certainly more uniform than any copy
heretofore published. It was first written down many years ago, with
no view towards being committed to the press; and is now given from
the copy then taken, with the addition only of stanzas twenty-two
and twenty-three, which the editor has inserted from memory."
_Popular Ballads_, i. 36.
"Lochryan is a beautiful, though somewhat wild and secluded bay,
which projects from the Irish Channel into Wigtonshire, having the
little seaport of Stranraer situated at its bottom. Along its coast,
which is in some places high and rocky, there are many ruins of such
castles as that described in the ballad." CHAMBERS.
"O wha will shoe my fair foot,
And wha will glove my han'?
And wha will lace my middle jimp
Wi' a new-made London ban'?
"Or wha will kemb my yellow hair 5
Wi' a new-made silver kemb?
Or wha'll be father to my young bairn,
Till love Gregor come hame?"
"Your father'll shoe your fair foot,
Your mother glove your han'; 10
Your sister lace your middle jimp
Wi' a new-made London ban';
"Your brethren will kemb your yellow hair
Wi' a new-made silver kemb;
And the king o' Heaven will father your bairn, 15
Till love Gregor come hame."
"O gin I had a bonny ship,
And men to sail wi' me,
It's I wad gang to my true love,
Sin he winna come to me!" 20
Her father's gien her a bonny ship,
And sent her to the stran';
She's taen her young son in her arms,
And turn'd her back to the lan'.
She hadna been o' the sea sailin' 25
About a month or more,
Till landed has she her bonny ship
Near her true-love's door.
The nicht was dark, and the wind blew cald,
And her love was fast asleep, 30
And the bairn that was in her twa arms
Fu' sair began to greet.
Lang stood she at her true love's door,
And lang tirl'd at the pin;
At length up gat his fause mother, 35
Says, "Wha's that wad be in?"
"O it is Annie of Lochroyan,
Your love, come o'er the sea,
But and your young son in her arms;
So open the door to me." 40
"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
You're nae come here for gude;
You're but a witch, or a vile warlock,
Or mermaid o' the flude."
"I'm nae a witch or vile warlock, 45
Or mermaiden," said she;--
"I'm but your Annie of Lochroyan;--
O open the door to me!"
"O gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,
As I trust not ye be, 50
What taiken can ye gie that e'er
I kept your companie?"
"O dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says,
"Whan we sat at the wine,
How we changed the napkins frae our necks? 55
It's nae sae lang sinsyne.
"And yours was gude, and gude enough,
But nae sae gude as mine;
For yours was o' the cambrick clear,
But mine o' the silk sae fine. 60
"And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says,
"As we twa sat at dine,
How we chang'd the rings frae our fingers,
And I can shew thee thine:
"And yours was gude, and gude enough, 65
Yet nae sae gude as mine;
For yours was o' the gude red gold,
But mine o' the diamonds fine.
"Sae open the door, now, love Gregor,
And open it wi' speed; 70
Or your young son, that is in my arms,
For cald will soon be dead."
"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
Gae frae my door for shame;
For I hae gotten anither fair love, 75
Sae ye may hie you hame."
"O hae ye gotten anither fair love,
For a' the oaths ye sware?
Then fare ye weel, now, fause Gregor;
For me ye's never see mair!" 80
O hooly, hooly gaed she back,
As the day began to peep;
She set her foot on good ship board,
And sair, sair did she weep.
"Tak down, tak down the mast o' goud; 85
Set up the mast o' tree;
Ill sets it a forsaken lady
To sail sae gallantlie.
"Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk;
Set up the sails o' skin; 90
Ill sets the outside to be gay,
Whan there's sic grief within!"
Love Gregor started frae his sleep,
And to his mother did say,
"I dreamt a dream this night, mither, 95
That maks my heart richt wae;
"I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan,
The flower o' a' her kin,
Was standin' mournin' at my door,
But nane wad lat her in." 100
"O there was a woman stood at the door,
Wi' a bairn intill her arms;
But I wadna let her within the bower,
For fear she had done you harm."
O quickly, quickly raise he up, 105
And fast ran to the strand;
And there he saw her, fair Annie,
Was sailing frae the land.
And "heigh, Annie!" and "how, Annie!
O, Annie, winna ye bide?" 110
But ay the louder that he cried "Annie,"
The higher rair'd the tide.
And "heigh, Annie!" and "how, Annie!
O, Annie, speak to me!"
But ay the louder that he cried "Annie," 115
The louder rair'd the sea.
The wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough,
And the ship was rent in twain;
And soon he saw her, fair Annie,
Come floating o'er the main. 120
He saw his young son in her arms,
Baith toss'd aboon the tide;
He wrang his hands, and fast he ran,
And plunged in the sea sae wide.
He catch'd her by the yellow hair, 125
And drew her to the strand;
But cald and stiff was every limb,
Before he reach'd the land.
O first he kist her cherry cheek,
And syne he kist her chin; 130
And sair he kist her ruby lips,
But there was nae breath within.