Till the sun was ganging down;
Syne wi' a sich his heart it brast, 135
And his saul to heaven has flown.
THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN.
_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 199.
"This edition of the ballad is composed of verses selected from
three MS. copies, and two obtained from recitation. Two of the
copies are in Herd's MS.; the third in that of Mrs. Brown of
Falkland."
Lord Gregory is represented in Scott's version, "as confined by
fairy charms in an enchanted castle situated in the sea." But
Jamieson assures us that when a boy he had frequently heard this
ballad chanted in Morayshire, and no mention was ever made of
enchantment, or "fairy charms." "Indeed," he very justly adds, "the
two stanzas on that subject [v. 41-52,] are in a style of
composition very peculiar, and different from the rest of the piece,
and strongly remind us of the interpolations in the ballad of _Gil
Morris_."
"O wha will shoe my bonny foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp
Wi' a lang, lang linen band?
"O wha will kame my yellow hair, 5
With a new-made silver kame?
And wha will father my young son,
Till Lord Gregory come hame?"--
"Thy father will shoe thy bonny foot,
Thy mother will glove thy hand, 10
Thy sister will lace thy middle jimp,
Till Lord Gregory come to land.
"Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair
With a new-made silver kame,
And God will be thy bairn's father 15
Till Lord Gregory come hame."--
"But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea;
And I will gang to Lord Gregory,
Since he canna come hame to me." 20
Syne she's gar'd build a bonny boat,
To sail the salt, salt sea;
The sails were o' the light green silk,
The tows o' taffety.
She hadna sailed but twenty leagues, 25
But twenty leagues and three,
When she met wi' a rank robber,
And a' his company.
"Now whether are ye the queen hersell,
(For so ye weel might be,) 30
Or are ye the Lass of Lochroyan,
Seekin' Lord Gregory?"--
"O I am neither the queen," she said,
"Nor sic I seem to be;
But I am the Lass of Lochroyan, 35
Seekin' Lord Gregory."--
"O see na thou yon bonny bower,
It's a' cover'd o'er wi' tin?
When thou hast sail'd it round about,
Lord Gregory is within." 40
And when she saw the stately tower
Shining sae clear and bright,
Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,
Built on a rock of height;
Says--"Row the boat, my mariners, 45
And bring me to the land!
For yonder I see my love's castle
Close by the salt-sea strand."
She sail'd it round, and sail'd it round,
And loud, loud cried she-- 50
"Now break, now break, ye fairy charms,
And set my true love free!"
She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
And to the door she's gane;
And long she knock'd, and sair she ca'd, 55
But answer got she nane.
"O open the door, Lord Gregory!
O open and let me in!
For the wind blaws through my yellow hair,
And the rain draps o'er my chin."-- 60
"Awa, awa, ye ill woman!
Ye're no come here for good!
Ye're but some witch or wil warlock,
Or mermaid o' the flood."--
"I am neither witch, nor wil warlock, 65
Nor mermaid o' the sea;
But I am Annie of Lochroyan;
O open the door to me!"--
"Gin thou be Annie of Lochroyan,
(As I trow thou binna she,) 70
Now tell me some o' the love tokens
That past between thee and me."--
"O dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory,
As we sat at the wine,
We changed the rings frae our fingers? 75
And I can show thee thine.
"O yours was gude, and gude enough,
But aye the best was mine;
For yours was o' the gude red gowd,
But mine o' the diamond fine. 80
"And has na thou mind, Lord Gregory,
As we sat on the hill,
Thou twin'd me o' my maidenheid
Right sair against my will?
"Now open the door, Lord Gregory! 85
Open the door, I pray!
For thy young son is in my arms,
And will be dead ere day."--
"If thou be the lass of Lochroyan,
(As I kenna thou be,) 90
Tell me some mair o' the love tokens
Past between me and thee."
Fair Annie turn'd her round about--
"Weel! since that it be sae,
May never a woman that has borne a son, 95
Hae a heart sae fou o' wae!
"Take down, take down, that mast o' gowd!
Set up a mast o' tree!
It disna become a forsaken lady
To sail sae royallie." 100
When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,
And the sun began to peep,
Then up and raise him Lord Gregory,
And sair, sair did he weep.
"Oh I hae dream'd a dream, mother, 105
I wish it may prove true!
That the bonny Lass of Lochroyan
Was at the yate e'en now.
"O I hae dream'd a dream, mother,
The thought o't gars me greet! 110
That fair Annie o' Lochroyan
Lay cauld dead at my feet."--
"Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan
That ye make a' this din,
She stood a' last night at your door, 115
But I true she wan na in."--
"O wae betide ye, ill woman!
An ill deid may ye die!
That wadna open the door to her,
Nor yet wad waken me." 120
O he's gane down to yon shore side
As fast as he could fare;
He saw fair Annie in the boat,
But the wind it toss'd her sair.
"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie! 125
O Annie, winna ye bide!"
But aye the mair he cried Annie,
The braider grew the tide.
"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie!
Dear Annie, speak to me!" 130
But aye the louder he cried Annie,
The louder roar'd the sea.
The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dash'd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floated through the faem, 135
But the babie rose no more.
Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
Her bonny young son was gone. 140
O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair;
But clay-cold were her rosy lips--
Nae spark o' life was there.
And first he kiss'd her cherry cheek, 145
And syne he kiss'd her chin,
And syne he kiss'd her rosy lips--
There was nae breath within.
"O wae betide my cruel mother!
An ill death may she die! 150
She turn'd my true love frae my door,
Wha came sae far to me.
"O wae betide my cruel mother!
An ill death may she die!
She turn'd fair Annie frae my door, 155
Wha died for love o' me."
THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.
_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 3.
This ballad, of which more than thirty versions have been published
in the Northern languages, is preserved in English in several forms,
all of them more or less unsatisfactory. Of these the present copy
comes nearest to the pure original, as it is found in Danish. The
next best is _The Brave Earl Brand and The King of England's
Daughter_, recently printed for the first time in Bell's _Ballads of
the Peasantry_, and given at the end of this volume. _Erlinton_
(vol. iii. 220) is much mutilated, and has a perverted conclusion,
but retains a faint trace of one characteristic trait of the ancient
ballad, which really constitutes the turning point of the story, but
which all the others lack. (See _Erlinton_.) A fragment exists in
the Percy MS., of which we can only say that if it much resembled
Percy's _Child of Elle_ (which it cannot), it might without loss be
left undisturbed forever. In the only remaining copy Robin Hood
appears as the hero. (See vol. v. p. 334.) It is of slight value,
but considerably less insipid than the _Child of Elle_. Motherwell
(_Minstrelsy_, p. 180) has given a few variations to Scott's ballad,
but they are of no importance.--Of the corresponding Danish ballad,
_Ribolt og Guldborg_, Grundtvig has collected more than twenty
versions, some of them ancient, many obtained from recitation, and
eight of the kindred _Hildebrand og Hilde_. There have also been
printed of the latter, three versions in Swedish, and of the former,
three in Icelandic, two in Norse, and seven in Swedish. (_Danmarks
Gamle Folkeviser_, ii. 308-403, 674-81.) Jamieson has translated an
inferior copy of the Danish ballad in _Illustrations of North.
Antiq._, p. 317.
"The ballad of _The Douglas Tragedy_," says Scott, "is one of the
few (?) to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality.
"The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the
scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very
ancient tower, adjacent to the farm-house, in a wild and solitary
glen, upon a torrent named Douglas burn, which joins the Yarrow,
after passing a craggy rock, called the Douglas craig.... From this
ancient tower Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her
lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighboring heights of
Blackhouse, are shown, as marking the spot where the seven brethren
were slain; and the Douglas burn is averred to have been the stream
at which the lovers stopped to drink: so minute is tradition in
ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the
rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real
event."
Were it not for Scott's concluding remark, and the obstinate
credulity of most of the English and Scotch editors, we should
hardly think it necessary to say that the locality of some of the
incidents in _Ribolt and Guldborg_, is equally well ascertained
(Grundtvig, 342, 343). "Popular tales and anecdotes of every kind,"
as Jamieson well remarks, "soon obtain locality wherever they are
told; and the intelligent and attentive traveller will not be
surprised to find the same story which he had learnt when a child,
with every appropriate circumstance of names, time, and place, in a
Glen of Morven, Lochaber, or Rannoch, equally domesticated among the
mountains of Norway, Caucasus, or Thibet." _Ill. North. Ant._ p.
317.
"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
"And put on your armour so bright;
Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.
"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, 5
And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa' the last night."--
He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey, 10
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And lightly they rode away.
Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,
To see what he could see,
And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold, 15
Come riding o'er the lee.
"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said,
"And hold my steed in your hand,
Until that against your seven brethren bold,
And your father, I make a stand."-- 20
She held his steed in her milk-white hand,
And never shed one tear,
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',
And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.
"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said, 25
"For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
True lovers I can get many a ane,
But a father I can never get mair."--
O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
It was o' the holland sae fine, 30
And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.
"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg'ret," he said,
"O whether will ye gang or bide?"--
"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said, 35
"For you have left me no other guide."--
He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away. 40
O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they came to yon wan water,
And there they lighted down.
They lighted down to tak a drink 45
Of the spring that ran sae clear;
And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
And sair she 'gan to fear.
"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says,
"For I fear that you are slain!"-- 50
"'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,
That shines in the water sae plain."--
O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they cam to his mother's ha' door, 55
And there they lighted down.
"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
"Get up, and let me in!--
Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
"For this night my fair lady I've win. 60
"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
"O mak it braid and deep!
And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep."--
Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, 65
Lady Marg'ret lang ere day--
And all true lovers that go thegither,
May they have mair luck than they!
Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk,[L69]
Lady Marg'ret in Marie's quire; 70
Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o' the knight's a brier.
And they twa met, and they twa plat,
And fain they wad be near;
And a' the warld might ken right weel, 75
They were twa lovers dear.
But bye and rade the Black Douglas,
And wow but he was rough!
For he pull'd up the bonny brier,
And flang't in St. Marie's Loch. 80
69-80. This miracle is frequently witnessed over the graves of faithful
lovers.--King Mark, according to the German romance, planted a rose on
Tristan's grave, and a vine on that of Isold. The roots struck down into
the very hearts of the dead lovers, and the stems twined lovingly
together. The French account is somewhat different. An eglantine sprung
from the tomb of Tristan, and twisted itself round the monument of
Isold. It was cut down three times, but grew up every morning fresher
than before, so that it was allowed to stand. Other examples are, in
this volume, _Fair Janet_, _Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_; in the third
volume, _Prince Robert_, &c. The same phenomenon is exhibited in the
Swedish ballads of _Hertig Fr[:o]jdenborg och Fr[:o]ken Adelin_, _Lilla
Rosa_, _Hilla Lilla_, _Hertig Nils_, (_Svenska Folk-Visor_, i. 95, 116,
Arwidsson, ii. 8, 21, 24,) in the Danish ballad of _Herr Sallemand_,
(_Danske Viser_, iii. 348,) in the Breton ballad of _Lord Nann and the
Korrigan_, translated in Keightley's _Fairy Mythology_, p. 433, in a
Servian tale cited by Talvi, _Versuch_, &c., p. 139, and in the Afghan
poem of _Audam and Doorkhaunee_, described by Elphinstone, _Account of
the Kingdom of Caubul_, i. 295,--which last reference we owe to
Talvi.--In the case of the Danish ballad it is certain, and in some of
the other cases probable, that the idea was derived from the romance of
_Tristan_.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR.
The four pieces which follow have all the same subject. _Lord Thomas
and Fair Ellinor_, is given from the _Collection of Old Ballads_,
1723, vol. i. p. 249, where it is entitled, _A Tragical Ballad on
the unfortunate Love of Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor, together with
the Downfal of the Brown Girl_. The text differs but slightly from
that of Percy, (iii. 121,) and Ritson, _Ancient Songs_, ii. 89.
Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester,
And a chaser of the king's deer;
Fair Ellinor was a fine woman,
And Lord Thomas he loved her dear.
"Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," he said, 5
"And riddle us both as one;
Whether I shall marry with fair Ellinor,
And let the brown girl alone?"
"The brown girl she has got houses and land,
And fair Ellinor she has got none; 10
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
Bring me the brown girl home."
As it befell on a high holiday,
As many more did beside,
Lord Thomas he went to fair Ellinor, 15
That should have been his bride.
But when he came to fair Ellinors bower,
He knocked there at the ring;
But who was so ready as fair Ellinor,
For to let Lord Thomas in. 20
"What news, what news, Lord Thomas?" she said,
"What news hast thou brought unto me?"
"I am come to bid thee to my wedding,
And that is bad news for thee."
"O God forbid, Lord Thomas," she said, 25
"That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been thy bride my own self,
And you to have been the bridegrom."
"Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," she said,
"And riddle it all in one; 30
Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas's wedding,
Or whether I shall tarry at home?"
"There are many that are your friends, daughter,
And many that are your foe;
Therefore I charge you on my blessing, 35
To Lord Thomas's wedding don't go."
"There's many that are my friends, mother;
And if a thousand more were my foe,
Betide my life, betide my death,
To Lord Thomas's wedding I'll go." 40
She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merry men all in green;
And as they rid through every town,
They took her to be some queen.
But when she came to Lord Thomas's gate,
She knocked there at the ring; 45
But who was so ready as Lord Thomas,
To let fair Ellinor in.
"Is this your bride?" fair Ellinor said;
"Methinks she looks wonderful brown; 50
Thou might'st have had as fair a woman,
As ever trod on the ground."
"Despise her not, fair Ellin," he said,
"Despise her not unto me;
For better I love thy little finger, 55
Than all her whole body."
This brown bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharp,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
Prick'd fair Ellinor to the heart. 60
"O Christ now save thee," Lord Thomas he said,
"Methinks thou look'st wondrous wan;
Thou us'd to look with as fresh a colour,
As ever the sun shin'd on."
"O art thou blind, Lord Thomas?" she said, 65
"Or canst thou not very well see?
O dost thou not see my own heart's blood
Run trickling down my knee?"
Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;
As he walk'd about the hall, 70
He cut off his bride's head from her shoulders,
And threw it against the wall.
He set the hilt against the ground,
And the point against his heart;
There never were three lovers met, 75
That sooner did depart.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET.
From Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 290, where it was "given, with some
corrections, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland." There is a
corresponding Swedish Ballad, _Herr Peder och Liten Kerstin_, in the
_Svenska Folk-Visor_, i. 49. It is translated in _Literature and
Romance of Northern Europe_, by William and Mary Howitt, i. 258.
Lord Thomas and fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.
Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5
Fair Annet took it ill:
"A' I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends will."
"Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee:" 10
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.
"O rede, O rede, mither," he says,
"A gude rede gie to mee:
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride, 15
And let faire Annet bee?"
"The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty fair Annet has,
O it wull soon be gane." 20
And he has till his brother gane:
"Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A', sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let fair Annet bee?"
"The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25
The nut-browne bride has kye:
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast fair Annet bye."
"Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie,
And her kye into the byre, 30
And I sall hae nothing to mysell,
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre."
And he has till his sister gane:
"Now sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35
And set fair Annet free?"
"Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
What is this we brought hame!" 40
"No, I will tak my mithers counsel,
And marrie me owt o' hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride;
Fair Annet may leive the land."
Up then rose fair Annets father, 45
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower
Wherein fair Annet lay.
"Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says,
"Put on your silken sheene; 50
Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,
And see that rich weddeen."
"My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 55
See yee lay ten times mair.
"My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o' the holland fine,
The other o' needle-work." 60
The horse fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind;
Wi' siller he was shod before,
Wi' burning gowd behind.
Four and twanty siller bells 65
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o' the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
Four and twanty gay gude knichts
Rade by fair Annets side, 70
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
And whan she cam to Maries kirk,
She sat on Maries stean:
The cleading that fair Annet had on 75
It skinkled in their een.
And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmer'd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist,
Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 80
She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
Whan fair Annet she drew near.
He had a rose into his hand, 85
And he gave it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on fair Annets knee.
Up than spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi' meikle spite; 90
"And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?"
"O I did get the rose-water
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water 95
Into my mithers wame."
The bride she drew a long bodkin
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake fair Annet unto the heart,
That word she nevir spak mair. 100
Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale,
And marvelit what mote bee:
But whan he saw her dear hearts blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed hee.
He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, 105
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.
"Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed,
"Now stay, my dear," he cry'd; 110
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.
Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',
Fair Annet within the quiere;
And o' the tane thair grew a birk, 115
The other a bonny briere.
And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil,
They were twa luvers deare. 120
SWEET WILLIE AND FAIR ANNIE
Is another version of the foregoing piece, furnished by Jamieson,
_Popular Ballads_, i. 22.
"The text of _Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_," remarks Jamieson, "seems
to have been adjusted, previous to its leaving Scotland, by some one
who was more of a scholar than the reciters of ballads generally
are; and, in attempting to give it an antique cast, it has been
deprived of somewhat of that easy facility which is the
distinguished characteristic of the traditionary ballad narrative.
With the text of the following ditty, no such experiment has been
made. It is here given pure and entire, as it was taken down by the
editor, from the recitation of a lady in Aberbrothick, (Mrs. W.
Arrot.) As she had, when a child, learnt the ballad from an elderly
maid-servant, and probably had not repeated it for a dozen years
before I had the good fortune to be introduced to her, it may be
depended upon, that every line was recited to me as nearly as
possible in the exact form in which she learnt it."
Mr. Chambers, in conformity with the plan of his work, presents us
with an edition composed out of Percy's and Jamieson's, with some
amended readings and additional verses from a manuscript copy,
(_Scottish Ballads_, p. 269.)
Sweet Willie and fair Annie
Sat a' day on a hill;
And though they had sitten seven year,
They ne'er wad had their fill.
Sweet Willie said a word in haste, 5
And Annie took it ill:
"I winna wed a tocherless maid,
Against my parent's will."
"Ye're come o' the rich, Willie,
And I'm come o' the poor; 10
I'm o'er laigh to be your bride,
And I winna be your whore."
O Annie she's gane till her bower,
And Willie down the den;
And he's come till his mither's bower, 15
By the lei light o' the moon.
"O sleep ye, wake ye, mither?" he says,
"Or are ye the bower within?"
"I sleep richt aft, I wake richt aft;[L19]
What want ye wi' me, son? 20
"Whare hae ye been a' night, Willie?
O wow! ye've tarried lang!"
"I have been courtin' fair Annie,
And she is frae me gane.
"There is twa maidens in a bower; 25
Which o' them sall I bring hame?
The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,
And fair Annie has nane."
"It's an ye wed the nut-brown maid,
I'll heap gold wi' my hand; 30
But an ye wed her, fair Annie,
I'll straik it wi' a wand.
"The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,
And fair Annie has nane;
And Willie, for my benison, 35
The nut-brown maid bring hame."
"O I sall wed the nut-brown maid,
And I sall bring her hame;
But peace nor rest between us twa,
Till death sinder's again. 40
"But, alas, alas!" says sweet Willie,
"O fair is Annie's face!"
"But what's the matter, my son Willie,
She has nae ither grace."
"Alas, alas!" says sweet Willie, 45
"But white is Annie's hand!"
"But what's the matter, my son Willie,
She hasna a fur o' land."
"Sheep will die in cots, mither,
And owsen die in byre; 50
And what's this warld's wealth to me,
An I get na my heart's desire?
"Whare will I get a bonny boy,
That wad fain win hose and shoon,
That will rin to fair Annie's bower, 55
Wi' the lei light o' the moon?
"Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin',
The morn at twal at noon;
Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin',
The heir o' Duplin town.[L60] 60
"She manna put on the black, the black,
Nor yet the dowie brown;
But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,
And her bonny locks hangin' down."
He is on to Annie's bower, 65
And tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel,
To open and let him in.
"Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin',
The morn at twal at noon; 70
Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin',
The heir of Duplin town.
"Ye manna put on the black, the black,
Nor yet the dowie brown;
But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white, 75
And your bonny locks hangin' down."
"Its I will come to Willie's weddin',
The morn at twal at noon;
Its I will come to Willie's weddin',
But I rather the mass had been mine. 80
"Maidens, to my bower come,
And lay gold on my hair;
And whare ye laid ae plait before,
Ye'll now lay ten times mair.
"Taylors, to my bower come, 85
And mak to me a weed;
And smiths unto my stable come,
And shoe to me a steed."
At every tate o' Annie's horse' mane
There hang a silver bell; 90
And there came a wind out frae the south,
Which made them a' to knell.
And whan she came to Mary-kirk,
And sat down in the deas,
The light, that came frae fair Annie, 95
Enlighten'd a' the place.
But up and stands the nut-brown bride,
Just at her father's knee;
"O wha is this, my father dear,
That blinks in Willie's e'e?" 100
"O this is Willie's first true love,
Before he loved thee."
"If that be Willie's first true love,
He might ha'e latten me be;
She has as much gold on ae finger, 105
As I'll wear till I die.
"O whare got ye that water, Annie,
That washes you sae white?"
"I got it in my mither's wambe,
Whare ye'll ne'er get the like. 110
"For ye've been wash'd in Dunny's well,
And dried on Dunny's dyke;
And a' the water in the sea
Will never wash ye white."
Willie's ta'en a rose out o' his hat, 115
Laid it in Annie's lap;
"[The bonniest to the bonniest fa's,]
Hae, wear it for my sake."
"Tak up and wear your rose, Willie,
And wear't wi' mickle care, 120
For the woman sall never bear a son,
That will mak my heart sae sair."
Whan night was come, and day was gane,
And a' man boun to bed,
Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride 125
In their chamber were laid.
They werena weel lyen down,
And scarcely fa'n asleep,
Whan up and stands she, fair Annie,
Just up at Willie's feet. 130
"Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride,
Between ye and the wa';
And sae will I o' my winding sheet,
That suits me best ava.
"Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, 135
Between ye and the stock;
And sae will I o' my black black kist,
That has neither key nor lock."
Sad Willie raise, put on his claise,
Drew till him his hose and shoon, 140
And he is on to Annie's bower,
By the lei light o' the moon.
The firsten bower that he came till,
There was right dowie wark;
Her mither and her three sisters 145
Were makin' to Annie a sark.
The nexten bower that he came till,
There was right dowie cheir;
Her father and her seven brethren
Were makin' to Annie a bier. 150
The lasten bower, that he came till,
[O heavy was his care!
The waxen lights were burning bright,]
And fair Annie streekit there.
He's lifted up the coverlet, 155
[Where she, fair Annie, lay;
Sweet was her smile, but wan her cheek;
O wan, and cald as clay!]
"It's I will kiss your bonny cheek,
And I will kiss your chin; 160
And I will kiss your clay-cald lip;
But I'll never kiss woman again.
"The day ye deal at Annie's burial
The bread but and the wine;
Before the morn at twall o'clock, 165
They'll deal the same at mine."
The tane was buried in Mary's kirk,
The tither in Mary's quire;
And out o' the tane there grew a birk,
And out o' the tither a brier. 170
And ay they grew, and ay they drew,
Untill they twa did meet;
And every ane that past them by,
Said, "Thae's been lovers sweet!"
19. That is, my slumbers are short, broken, and interrupted. J.
60. _Duplin town._ Duplin is the seat of the earl of Kinnoul, from
which he derives his title of viscount. It is in the neighborhood of
Perth. It is observable, that ballads are very frequently adapted to
the meridian of the place where they are found. J.
FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.
From Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 164.
"This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's _Knight of the
Burning Pestle_, acts ii. and iii.; although the six lines there
preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it
stands at present. The reader will not wonder at this, when he is
informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked
up on a stall. Its full title is _Fair Margaret's misfortunes; or
Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding night, with the
sudden death and burial of those noble lovers_.
"The lines preserved in the play are this distich:
"You are no love for me, Margaret,
I am no love for you." Act iii. 5.
And the following stanza:
"When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,
In came Margarets grimly ghost,
And stood at Williams feet. Act ii. 8.
"These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of
the most beautiful ballads in our own or any other language:
[Mallet's _Margaret's Ghost_.]
"Since the first edition, some improvements have been inserted,
which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she
had heard this song repeated in her infancy."
The variations in Herd's copy, (i. 145,) and in Ritson's (_Ancient
Songs_, ii. 92,) are unimportant.
In the main the same is the widely known ballad, _Der Ritter und das
M[:a]gdlein_, Erk, p. 81, Hoffmann's _Schlesische Volkslieder_, p. 9;
_Herr Malmstens Dr[:o]m, Svenska Folkvisor_, iii. 104; Arwidsson, ii.
21; _Volkslieder der Wenden_, by Haupt and Schmaler, i. 159-162
(Hoffmann); in Dutch, with a different close, Hoffmann's
_Niederl[:a]ndische Volkslieder_, p. 61: also _Lord Lovel_, _post_, p.
162.
As it fell out on a long summer's day,
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.
"I see no harm by you, Margaret, 5
And you see none by mee;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see."
Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,
Combing her yellow hair; 10
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.
Then down she layd her ivory combe,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower, 15
But ne'er came alive in't again.
When day was gone, and night was come,
And all men fast asleep,
Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,
And stood at Williams feet. 20
"Are you awake, sweet William?" shee said,[L21]
"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet."
When day was come, and night 'twas gone, 25
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,
"My dear, I have cause to weep.
"I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye,
Such dreames are never good: 30
I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood."
"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of red swine, 35
And thy bride-bed full of blood."
He called up his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
By the leave of my ladie." 40
And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethren,
To let sweet William in.
Then he turned up the covering-sheet; 45
"Pray let me see the dead;
Methinks she looks all pale and wan,
She hath lost her cherry red.
"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,
Than any of thy kin: 50
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win."
With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous mone,
"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 55
And let our sister alone."
"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
By day, nor yet by night. 60
"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine:[L62]
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."
Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 65
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel,
And William in the higher: 70
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.
They grew till they grew unto the church top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 75
Which made all the people admire.
Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there. 80
21-24.
God give you joy, you lovers true,
In bride-bed fast asleep;
Lo! I am going to my green-grass grave,
And I'm in my winding sheet. HERD'S copy.
62. Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. P.
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST
As already remarked, is often made the sequel to other ballads. (See
_Clerk Saunders_, p. 45.) It was first printed in the fourth volume
of Ramsay's _Tea Table Miscellany_, with some imperfections, and
with two spurious stanzas for a conclusion. We subjoin to Ramsay's
copy the admirable version obtained by Motherwell from recitation,
and still another variation furnished by Kinloch.
Closely similar in many respects are the Danish _F[ae]stemanden i
Graven (Aage og Else)_, Grundtvig, No. 90, and the Swedish _Sorgens
Magt_, _Svenska F. V._, i. 29, ii. 204, or Arwidsson, ii. 103. Also
_Der Todte Freier_, Erk's _Liederhort_, 24, 24 a. In the Danish and
Swedish ballads it is the uncontrolled grief of his mistress that
calls the lover from his grave: in the English, the desire to be
freed from his troth-plight.--See vol. i. p. 213, 217.
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous groan,
And ay he tirled at the pin,
But answer made she none.
"Is that my father Philip, 5
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true love Willy,
From Scotland new come home?"
"Tis not thy father Philip,
Nor yet thy brother John; 10
But 'tis thy true love Willy,
From Scotland new come home.
"O sweet Margaret! O dear Margaret!
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margaret, 15
As I gave it to thee."
"Thy faith and troth thou's never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin." 20
"If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man:
And should I kiss thy rosy lips,
Thy days will not be lang.
"O sweet Margaret, O dear Margaret, 25
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,
As I gave it to thee."
"Thy faith and troth thou's never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend, 30
Till you take me to yon kirk-yard,
And wed me with a ring."
"My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my spirit, Margaret, 35
That's now speaking to thee."
She stretched out her lily-white hand,
And for to do her best;
"Hae there[L39] your faith and troth, Willy,
God send your soul good rest." 40
Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee,
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed she.
"Is there any room at your head, Willy, 45
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willy,
Wherein that I may creep?"
"There's no room at my head, Margaret,
There's no room at my feet; 50
There's no room at my side, Margaret,
My coffin's made so meet."
Then up and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
"Tis time, tis time, my dear Margaret, 55
That you were going away."
No more the ghost to Margaret said,
But, with a grievous groan,
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone. 60
"O stay, my only true love, stay,"
The constant Margaret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her een,
Stretch'd her soft limbs, and died.
39. ther's.
WILLIAM AND MARJORIE.
Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 186.
Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,
Sat sewing her silken seam,
And by her came a pale, pale ghost,
Wi' mony a sigh and mane.
"Are ye my father the king?" she says, 5
"Or are ye my brither John?
Or are ye my true love, sweet William,
From England newly come?"
"I'm not your father the king," he says,
"No, no, nor your brither John; 10
But I'm your true love, sweet William,
From England that's newly come."
"Have ye brought me any scarlets sae red,
Or any of the silks sae fine;
Or have ye brought me any precious things, 15
That merchants have for sale?"
"I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,
No, no, nor the silks sae fine;
But I have brought you my winding-sheet
Ower many a rock and hill. 20
"Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,
For faith and charitie,
Will ye gie to me my faith and troth,
That I gave once to thee?"
"O your faith and troth I'll not gie to thee, 25
No, no, that will not I,
Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips,
And in my arms you lye."
"My lips they are sae bitter," he says,
"My breath it is sae strang, 30
If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be lang.
"The cocks are crawing, Marjorie," he says,--
"The cocks are crawing again;
It's time the dead should part the quick,-- 35
Marjorie, I must be gane."
She followed him high, she followed him low,
Till she came to yon churchyard green;
And there the deep grave opened up,
And young William he lay down. 40
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,
"That stand here at your head?"
"O it's three maidens, Marjorie," he says,
"That I promised once to wed."
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says, 45
"That stand close at your side?"
"O it's three babes, Marjorie," he says,
"That these three maidens had."
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,
"That lye close at your feet?" 50
"O it's three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says,
"That's waiting my soul to keep."
O she took up her white, white hand,
And she struck him on the breast,
Saying,--"Have there again your faith and troth, 55
And I wish your saul gude rest."
SWEET WILLIAM AND MAY MARGARET.
Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 241.
As May Marg'ret sat in her bouerie,
In her bouer all alone,
At the very parting o' midnicht,
She heard a mournfu' moan.
"O is it my father, O is it my mother, 5
Or is it my brother John?
Or is it sweet William, my ain true love,
To Scotland new come home?"
"It is na your father, it is na your mother,
It is na your brother John; 10
But it is sweet William, your ain true love,
To Scotland new come home."--
"Hae ye brought me onie fine things,
Onie new thing for to wear?
Or hae ye brought me a braid o' lace, 15
To snood up my gowden hair?"
"I've brought ye na fine things at all,
Nor onie new thing to wear,
Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace,
To snood up your gowden hair. 20
"But Margaret, dear Margaret,
I pray ye speak to me;
O gie me back my faith and troth,
As dear as I gied it thee!"
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get, 25
Nor will I wi' ye twin,
Till ye come within my bower,
And kiss me, cheek and chin."
"O Margaret, dear Margaret,
I pray ye speak to me; 30
O gie me back my faith and troth,
As dear as I gied it thee."
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get,
Nor will I wi' ye twin,
Till ye tak me to yonder kirk, 35
And wed me wi' a ring."
"O should I come within your bouer,
I am na earthly man:
If I should kiss your red, red lips,
Your days wad na be lang. 40
"My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard,
It's far ayont the sea;
And it is my spirit, Margaret,
That's speaking unto thee."
"Your faith and troth ye sanna get, 45
Nor will I twin wi' thee,
Tell ye tell me the pleasures o' Heaven,
And pains of hell how they be."
"The pleasures of heaven I wat not of,
But the pains of hell I dree; 50
There some are hie hang'd for huring,
And some for adulterie."
Then Marg'ret took her milk-white hand,
And smooth'd it on his breast;--
"Tak your faith and troth, William, 55
God send your soul good rest!"
BONNY BARBARA ALLAN
Was first published in Ramsay's _Tea-Table Miscellany_, (ii. 171,)
from which it is transferred verbatim into Herd's _Scottish Songs_,
Johnson's _Museum_, Ritson's _Scottish Songs_, &c. Percy printed it,
"with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy,"
_Reliques_, iii. 175, together with another version, which follows
the present. Mr. G. F. Graham, _Songs of Scotland_, ii. 157, has
pointed out an allusion to the "little Scotch Song of _Barbary
Allen_," in Pepys's _Diary_, 2 Jan. 1665-6.
It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the green leaves were a falling,
That Sir John Graeme in the west country
Fell in love with Barbara Allan.
He sent his man down through the town, 5
To the place where she was dwelling;
"O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan."
O hooly, hooly rose she up,
To the place where he was lying, 10
And when she drew the curtain by,
"Young man, I think you're dying."
"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:"
"O the better for me ye's never be, 15
Tho' your heart's blood were a spilling.
"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,
"When ye was in the tavern a drinking,
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan." 20
He turn'd his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing;
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan."
And slowly, slowly raise she up, 25
And slowly, slowly left him;
And sighing said, she cou'd not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead-bell ringing, 30
And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
It cry'd "Woe to Barbara Allan!"
"O mother, mother, make my bed,
O make it saft and narrow;
Since my love died for me today, 35
I'll die for him tomorrow."
BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.
From Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 169.
"Given, with some corrections, from an old blackletter copy,
entitled, _Barbara Allen's Cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy_."
In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merrye month of May, 5
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the towne where shee was dwellin; 10
"You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
"For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him, 15
O lovelye Barbara Allen."
"Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee
For bonny Barbara Allen." 20
So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
"Yong man, I think y'are dying."
He turned his face unto her strait, 25
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
"O lovely maid, come pity mee,
I'me on my death-bed lying."
"If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin? 30
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell," sayd Barbara Allen.
He turnd his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
"Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all, 35
Adieu to Barbara Allen!"
As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
"Unworthy Barbara Allen!" 40
She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:
"Laye down, laye down the corps," she sayd,
"That I may look upon him."
With scornful eye she looked downe, 45
Her cheeke with laughter swellin,
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
"Unworthye Barbara Allen!"
When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe; 50
"O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to-morrowe.
"Hard-harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him, 55
When he was alive and neare me!"
She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him. 60
"Farewell," she sayd, "ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen."
LORD LOVEL.
"This ballad, taken down from the recitation of a lady in
Roxburghshire, appears to claim affinity to Border Song; and the
title of the 'discourteous squire', would incline one to suppose
that it has derived its origin from some circumstance connected with
the county of Northumberland, where Lovel was anciently a well-known
name." Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 31.
A version from a recent broadside is printed in _Ancient Poems,
Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England_, Percy Society, vol.
xvii. p. 78.
A fragment of a similar story, the relations of the parties being
reversed, is _Lady Alice_, given in Bell's Ballads of the Peasantry,
p. 127, and _Notes and Queries_, 2d S, i. 418.--Compare also _Fair
Margaret_, &c. p. 140.
Lord Lovel stands at his stable door,
Mounted upon a grey steed;
And bye came Ladie Nanciebel,
And wish'd Lord Lovel much speed.
"O whare are ye going, Lord Lovel, 5
My dearest tell to me?"
"O I am going a far journey,
Some strange countrie to see;
"But I'll return in seven long years,
Lady Nanciebel to see." 10
"O seven, seven, seven long years,
They are much too long for me."
* * * * * * *
He was gane a year away,
A year but barely ane,
When a strange fancy cam into his head, 15
That fair Nanciebel was gane.
It's then he rade, and better rade,
Until he cam to the toun,
And then he heard a dismal noise,
For the church bells a' did soun'. 20
He asked what the bells rang for;
They said, "It's for Nanciebel;
She died for a discourteous squire,
And his name is Lord Lovel."
The lid o' the coffin he opened up, 25
The linens he faulded doun;
And ae he kiss'd her pale, pale lips,
And the tears cam trinkling doun.
"Weill may I kiss those pale, pale lips,
For they will never kiss me;-- 30
I'll mak a vow, and keep it true,
That they'll ne'er kiss ane but thee."
Lady Nancie died on Tuesday's nicht,
Lord Lovel upon the niest day;
Lady Nancie died for pure, pure love, 35
Lord Lovel, for deep sorray.
LORD SALTON AND AUCHANACHIE.
The following fragment was first published in Maidment's _North
Countrie Garland_, p. 10; shortly after, in Buchan's _Gleanings_, p.
161. A more complete copy, from Buchan's larger collection, is
annexed.
* * * * * *
Ben came her father,
Skipping on the floor,
Said, "Jeanie, you're trying
The tricks of a whore.
"You're caring for him 5
That cares not for thee,
And I pray you take Salton,
Let Auchanachie be."
"I will not have Salton,
It lies low by the sea; 10
He is bowed in the back,
He's thrawen in the knee;
And I'll die if I get not
My brave Auchanachie."
"I am bowed in the back, 15
Lassie as ye see,
But the bonny lands of Salton
Are no crooked tee."
And when she was married
She would not lie down, 20
But they took out a knife,
And cuttit her gown;
Likewise of her stays
The lacing in three,
And now she lies dead 25
For her Auchanachie.
Out comes her bower-woman,
Wringing her hands,
Says, "Alas for the staying
So long on the sands! 30
"Alas for the staying
So long on the flood!
For Jeanie was married,
And now she is dead."
LORD SALTON AND AUCHANACHIE.
From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 133.
"Auchanachie Gordon is bonny and braw,
He would tempt any woman that ever he saw;
He would tempt any woman, so has he tempted me,
And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie."
In came her father, tripping on the floor, 5
Says, "Jeanie, ye're trying the tricks o' a whore;
Ye're caring for them that cares little for thee,
Ye must marry Salton, leave Auchanachie.
"Auchanachie Gordon, he is but a man,
Altho' he be pretty, where lies his free land? 10
Salton's lands they lie broad, his towers they stand hie,
Ye must marry Salton, leave Auchanachie.
"Salton will gar you wear silk gowns fring'd to thy knee,
But ye'll never wear that wi' your love Auchanachie."
"Wi' Auchanachie Gordon I would beg my bread, 15
Before that wi' Salton I'd wear gowd on my head;
"Wear gowd on my head, or gowns fring'd to the knee,
And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie;
O Salton's valley lies low by the sea,
He's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee." 20
"O Salton's a valley lies low by the sea;
Though he's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee,
Though he's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee,
The bonny rigs of Salton they're nae thrawin tee."
"O you that are my parents to church may me bring, 25
But unto young Salton I'll never bear a son;
For son, or for daughter, I'll ne'er bow my knee,
And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie."
When Jeanie was married, from church was brought hame,
When she wi' her maidens sae merry shou'd hae been, 30
When she wi' her maidens sae merry shou'd hae been,
She's called for a chamber to weep there her lane.
"Come to your bed, Jeanie, my honey and my sweet,
For to stile you mistress I do not think it meet."
"Mistress, or Jeanie, it is a' ane to me, 35
It's in your bed, Salton, I never will be."
Then out spake her father, he spake wi' renown,
"Some of you that are maidens, ye'll loose aff her gown;
Some of you that are maidens, ye'll loose aff her gown,
And I'll mend the marriage wi' ten thousand crowns." 40
Then ane of her maidens they loosed aff her gown,
But bonny Jeanie Gordon, she fell in a swoon;
She fell in a swoon low down by their knee;
Says, "Look on, I die for my love Auchanachie!"
That very same day Miss Jeanie did die, 45
And hame came Auchanachie, hame frae the sea;
Her father and mither welcom'd him at the gate;
He said, "Where's Miss Jeanie, that she's nae here yet?"
Then forth came her maidens, all wringing their hands,
Saying, "Alas! for your staying sae lang frae the land: 50
Sae lang frae the land, and sae lang fra the fleed,
They've wedded your Jeanie, and now she is dead!"
"Some of you, her maidens, take me by the hand,
And show me the chamber Miss Jeanie died in;"
He kiss'd her cold lips, which were colder than stane, 55
And he died in the chamber that Jeanie died in.
WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET.
A fragment obtained by Jamieson from the recitation of Mrs. Brown,
of Falkland. _Popular Ballads_, i. 135. In connection with this we
give the complete story from Buchan. Aytoun has changed the title to
_The Mother's Malison_. An Italian ballad, containing a story
similar to that of this ballad and the two following (but of
independent origin), is _La Maledizione Materna_, in Marcoaldi's
_Canti Popolari_, p. 170.
"Gie corn to my horse, mither;
Gie meat unto my man;
For I maun gang to Margaret's bower,
Before the nicht comes on."
"O stay at hame now, my son Willie! 5
The wind blaws cald and sour;
The nicht will be baith mirk and late,
Before ye reach her bower."
"O tho' the nicht were ever sae dark,
Or the wind blew never sae cald, 10
I will be in my Margaret's bower
Before twa hours be tald."
"O gin ye gang to May Margaret,
Without the leave of me,
Clyde's water's wide and deep enough;-- 15
My malison drown thee!"
He mounted on his coal-black steed,
And fast he rade awa';
But, ere he came to Clyde's water,
Fu' loud the wind did blaw. 20
As he rode o'er yon hich, hich hill,
And down yon dowie den,
There was a roar in Clyde's water
Wad fear'd a hunder men.
His heart was warm, his pride was up; 25
Sweet Willie kentna fear;
But yet his mither's malison
Ay sounded in his ear.
O he has swam through Clyde's water,
Tho' it was wide and deep; 30
And he came to May Margaret's door,
When a' were fast asleep.
O he's gane round and round about,
And tirled at the pin;
But doors were steek'd, and window's bar'd, 35
And nane wad let him in.
"O open the door to me, Margaret,--
O open and lat me in!
For my boots are full o' Clyde's water,
And frozen to the brim." 40
"I darena open the door to you,
Nor darena lat you in;
For my mither she is fast asleep,
And I darena mak nae din."
"O gin ye winna open the door, 45
Nor yet be kind to me,
Now tell me o' some out-chamber,
Where I this nicht may be."
"Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie,
Nor here ye canna be; 50
For I've nae chambers out nor in,
Nae ane but barely three:
"The tane o' them is fu' o' corn,
The tither is fu' o' hay;
The tither is fu' o' merry young men;-- 55
They winna remove till day."
"O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret,
Sin better manna be;
I've win my mither's malison,
Coming this nicht to thee." 60
He's mounted on his coal-black steed,--
O but his heart was wae!
But, ere he came to Clyde's water,
'Twas half up o'er the brae.
* * * * * * *
---- he plunged in,
But never raise again.
THE DROWNED LOVERS.
From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 140. The copy
in the Appendix to Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. iii., is nearly the
same.
Willie stands in his stable door,
And clapping at his steed;
And looking o'er his white fingers,
His nose began to bleed.
"Gie corn to my horse, mother; 5
And meat to my young man;
And I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,
I'll win ere she lie down."
"O bide this night wi' me, Willie,
O bide this night wi' me; 10
The best an' cock o' a' the reest,
At your supper shall be.
"A' your cocks, and a' your reests,
I value not a prin;
For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower, 15
I'll win ere she lie down."
"Stay this night wi' me, Willie,
O stay this night wi' me;
The best an' sheep in a' the flock
At your supper shall be." 20
"A' your sheep, and a' your flocks,
I value not a prin;
For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,
I'll win ere she lie down."
"O an' ye gang to Meggie's bower, 25
Sae sair against my will,
The deepest pot in Clyde's water,
My malison ye's feel."
"The guid steed that I ride upon
Cost me thrice thretty pound; 30
And I'll put trust in his swift feet,
To hae me safe to land."
As he rade ower yon high, high hill,
And down yon dowie den,
The noise that was in Clyde's water 35
Wou'd fear'd five huner men.
"O roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud,
Your streams seem wond'rous strang;
Make me your wreck as I come back,[L39]
But spare me as I gang." 40
Then he is on to Meggie's bower,
And tirled at the pin;
"O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie," he said,
"Ye'll open, lat me come in."
"O wha is this at my bower door, 45
That calls me by my name?"
"It is your first love, sweet Willie,
This night newly come hame."
"I hae few lovers thereout, thereout,
As few hae I therein; 50
The best an' love that ever I had,
Was here just late yestreen."
"The warstan stable in a' your stables,
For my puir steed to stand;
The warstan bower in a' your bowers, 55
For me to lie therein:
My boots are fu' o' Clyde's water,
I'm shivering at the chin."
"My barns are fu' o' corn, Willie,
My stables are fu' o' hay; 60
My bowers are fu' o' gentlemen;--
They'll nae remove till day."
"O fare-ye-well, my fause Meggie,
O farewell, and adieu;
I've gotten my mither's malison, 65
This night coming to you."
As he rode ower yon high, high hill,
And down yon dowie den;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's cane frae him. 70
He lean'd him ower his saddle bow,
To catch his cane again;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie's hat frae him.
He lean'd him ower his saddle bow, 75
To catch his hat thro' force;
The rushing that was in Clyde's water
Took Willie frae his horse.
His brither stood upo' the bank,
Says, "Fye, man, will ye drown? 80
Ye'll turn ye to your high horse head,
And learn how to sowm."
"How can I turn to my horse head,
And learn how to sowm?
I've gotten my mither's malison, 85
Its here that I maun drown!"
The very hour this young man sank
Into the pot sae deep,
Up it waken'd his love, Meggie,
Out o' her drowsy sleep. 90
"Come here, come here, my mither dear,
And read this dreary dream;
I dream'd my love was at our gates,
And nane wad let him in."
"Lye still, lye still now, my Meggie. 95
Lye still and tak your rest;
Sin' your true love was at your yates,
It's but twa quarters past."
Nimbly, nimbly raise she up,
And nimbly pat she on; 100
And the higher that the lady cried,
The louder blew the win'.
The first an' step that she stepp'd in,
She stepped to the queet;
"Ohon, alas!" said that lady, 105
"This water's wond'rous deep."
The next an' step that she wade in,
She wadit to the knee;
Says she, "I cou'd wide farther in,
If I my love cou'd see." 110
The next an' step that she wade in,
She wadit to the chin;
The deepest pot in Clyde's water
She got sweet Willie in.
"You've had a cruel mither, Willie, 115
And I have had anither;
But we shall sleep in Clyde's water,
Like sister an' like brither."
39, 40. Found also in _Leander on the Bay_, and taken from the
epigram of Martial:
"Clamabat tumidis audax Leander in undis,
Mergite me fluctus, cum rediturus ero."
WILLIE'S DROWNED IN GAMERY.
From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 245. A
fragment, exhibiting some differences, is among those ballads of
Buchan which are published in the Percy Society's volumes, xvii. 66.
Four stanzas, of a superior cast, upon the same story, are printed
in the _Tea-Table Miscellany_, (ii. 141.)
_Rare Willy drown'd in Yarrow._
"Willy's rare, and Willy's fair,
And Willy's wond'rous bonny;
And Willy heght to marry me,
Gin e'er he married ony.
"Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,
This night I'll make it narrow;
For a' the livelang winter night
I ly twin'd of my marrow.
"O came you by yon water-side?
Pou'd you the rose or lilly?
Or came you by yon meadow green?
Or saw you my sweet Willy?"
She sought him east, she sought him west,
She sought him braid and narrow;
Syne in the cleaving of a craig,
She found him drown'd in Yarrow.
These stanzas furnished the theme to Logan's _Braes of Yarrow_.
"O Willie is fair, and Willie is rare,
And Willie is wond'rous bonny;
And Willie says he'll marry me,
Gin ever he marry ony."
"O ye'se get James, or ye'se get George, 5
Or ye's get bonny Johnnie;
Ye'se get the flower o' a' my sons,
Gin ye'll forsake my Willie."
"O what care I for James or George,
Or yet for bonny Peter? 10
I dinna value their love a leek,
An' I getna Willie the writer."
"O Willie has a bonny hand,
And dear but it is bonny;"
"He has nae mair for a' his land; 15
What wou'd ye do wi' Willie?"
"O Willie has a bonny face,
And dear but it is bonny;"
"But Willie has nae other grace;
What wou'd ye do wi' Willie?" 20
"Willie's fair, and Willie's rare,
And Willie's wond'rous bonny;
There's nane wi' him that can compare,
I love him best of ony."
On Wednesday, that fatal day, 25
The people were convening;
Besides all this, threescore and ten,
To gang to the bridesteel wi' him.
"Ride on, ride on, my merry men a',
I've forgot something behind me; 30
I've forgot to get my mother's blessing,
To gae to the bridesteel wi' me."
"Your Peggy she's but bare fifteen,
And ye are scarcely twenty;
The water o' Gamery is wide and braid, 35
My heavy curse gang wi' thee!"
Then they rode on, and further on,
Till they came on to Gamery;
The wind was loud, the stream was proud,
And wi' the stream gaed Willie. 40
Then they rode on, and further on,
Till they came to the kirk o' Gamery;
And every one on high horse sat,
But Willie's horse rade toomly.
When they were settled at that place, 45
The people fell a mourning;
And a council held amo' them a',
But sair, sair wept Kinmundy.
Then out it speaks the bride hersell,
Says, "What means a' this mourning? 50
Where is the man amo' them a',
That shou'd gie me fair wedding?"
Then out it speaks his brother John,
Says, "Meg, I'll tell you plainly;
The stream was strong, the clerk rade wrong, 55
And Willie's drown'd in Gamery."
She put her hand up to her head,
Where were the ribbons many;
She rave them a', let them down fa',
And straightway ran to Gamery. 60
She sought it up, she sought it down,
Till she was wet and weary;
And in the middle part o' it,
There she got her deary.
Then she stroak'd back his yellow hair, 65
And kiss'd his mou' sae comely;
"My mother's heart's be as wae as thine;
We'se baith asleep in the water o' Gamery."
ANNAN WATER.
_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 282.
"The following verses are the original words of the tune of _Allan
Water_, by which name the song is mentioned in Ramsay's _Tea-Table
Miscellany_. The ballad is given from tradition; and it is said that
a bridge over the Annan, was built in consequence of the melancholy
catastrophe which it narrates. Two verses are added in this edition,
from another copy of the ballad, in which the conclusion proves
fortunate. By the _Gatehope-Slack_, is perhaps meant the
_Gate-Slack_, a pass in Annandale. The Annan, and the Frith of
Solway, into which it falls, are the frequent scenes of tragical
accidents. The Editor trusts he will be pardoned for inserting the
following awfully impressive account of such an event, contained in
a letter from Dr. Currie, of Liverpool, by whose correspondence,
while in the course of preparing these volumes for the press, he has
been alike honoured and instructed. After stating that he had some
recollection of the ballad which follows, the biographer of Burns
proceeds thus:--'I once in my early days heard (for it was night,
and I could not see) a traveller drowning; not in the Annan itself,
but in the Frith of Solway, close by the mouth of that river. The
influx of the tide had unhorsed him, in the night, as he was passing
the sands from Cumberland. The west wind blew a tempest, and,
according to the common expression, brought in the water _three foot
a-breast_. The traveller got upon a standing net, a little way from
the shore. There he lashed himself to the post, shouting for half an
hour for assistance--till the tide rose over his head! In the
darkness of the night, and amid the pauses of the hurricane, his
voice, heard at intervals, was exquisitely mournful. No one could go
to his assistance--no one knew where he was--the sound seemed to
proceed from the spirit of the waters. But morning rose--the tide
had ebbed--and the poor traveller was found lashed to the pole of
the net, and bleaching in the wind.'"
SCOTT.
"Annan water's wading deep,
And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony.
"Gar saddle me the bonny black, 5
Gar saddle sune, and make him ready;
For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
And all to see my bonny ladye."--
He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly; 10
But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.
He has loupen on the bonny grey,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay, 15
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
O he has ridden o'er field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and mony a mire:
His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
And fra her fore-feet flew the fire. 20
"Now, bonny grey, now play your part!
Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
And never spur sall make you wearie."--
The grey was a mare, and a right good mare; 25
But when she wan the Annan water,
She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,
Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
Put off your boat for gowden money! 30
I cross the drumly stream the night,
Or never mair I see my honey."--
"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
And not by ae aith, but by many;
And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland, 35
I dare na take ye through to Annie."
The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,
For she heard the water-kelpy roaring. 40
O he has pou'd aff his dapperby coat,
The silver buttons glanced bonny;
The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
He was sae full of melancholy.
He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail; 45
I wot he swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny ladye!
"O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
And wae betide the bush of brier! 50
It brake into my true love's hand,
When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
"And wae betide ye, Annan Water,
This night that ye are a drumlie river!
For over thee I'll build a bridge, 55
That ye never more true love may sever."--
ANDREW LAMMIE.
"From a stall copy published at Glasgow several years ago, collated
with a recited copy, which has furnished one or two verbal
improvements." Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 239.
Mr. Jamieson has published two other sets of this simple, but
touching ditty, (i. 126, ii. 382,) one of which is placed after the
present. Motherwell's text is almost verbatim that of Buchan's
_Gleanings_, p. 98. The _Thistle of Scotland_ copies Buchan and
Jamieson without acknowledgment.
The story has been made the foundation of a rude drama in the North
of Scotland. For a description of similar entertainments, see
Cunningham's Introduction to his _Songs of Scotland_, i. 148.
The unfortunate maiden's name, according to Buchan, (_Gleanings_, p.
197,) "was Annie, or Agnes, (which are synonymous in some parts of
Scotland,) Smith, who died of a broken heart on the 9th of January,
1631, as is to be found on a roughly cut stone, broken in many
pieces, in the green churchyard of Fyvie." "What afterwards became
of Bonny Andrew Lammie," says Jamieson, "we have not been able to
learn; but the current tradition of the 'Lawland leas of Fyvie',
says, that some years subsequent to the melancholy fate of poor
Tifty's Nanny, her sad story being mentioned, and the ballad sung in
a company in Edinburgh when he was present, he remained silent and
motionless, till he was discovered by a groan suddenly bursting from
him, and _several of the buttons flying from his waistcoat_."
At Mill o' Tifty liv'd a man,
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie;
He had a lovely daughter fair,
Was called bonny Annie.
Her bloom was like the springing flower 5
That salutes the rosy morning;
With innocence and graceful mien
Her beauteous form adorning.
Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
Whose name was Andrew Lammie; 10
He had the art to gain the heart
Of Mill o' Tiftie's Annie.
Proper he was, both young and gay,
His like was not in Fyvie;
No one was there that could compare 15
With this same Andrew Lammie.
Lord Fyvie he rode by the door,
Where lived Tiftie's Annie;
His trumpeter rode him before,
Even this same Andrew Lammie. 20
Her mother call'd her to the door:
"Come here to me, my Annie;
Did you ever see a prettier man
Than this Trumpeter of Fyvie?"
She sighed sore, but said no more, 25
Alas, for bonny Annie!
She durst not own her heart was won
By the Trumpeter of Fyvie.
At night when they went to their beds,
All slept full sound but Annie; 30
Love so opprest her tender breast,
Thinking on Andrew Lammie.
"Love comes in at my bed side,
And love lies down beyond me;
Love has possess'd my tender breast, 35
And love will waste my body.
"The first time I and my love met
Was in the woods of Fyvie;
His lovely form and speech so sweet
Soon gain'd the heart of Annie. 40
"He called me mistress; I said, No,
I'm Tiftie's bonny Annie;
With apples sweet he did me treat,
And kisses soft and many.
"It's up and down in Tiftie's den, 45
Where the burn runs clear and bonny,
I've often gone to meet my love,
My bonny Andrew Lammie."
But now, alas! her father heard
That the Trumpeter of Fyvie 50
Had had the art to gain the heart
Of Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Her father soon a letter wrote,
And sent it on to Fyvie,
To tell his daughter was bewitch'd 55
By his servant Andrew Lammie.
When Lord Fyvie had this letter read,
O dear! but he was sorry;
The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land
Is bewitched by Andrew Lammie. 60
Then up the stair his trumpeter
He called soon and shortly:
"Pray tell me soon, what's this you've done
To Tiftie's bonny Annie?"
"In wicked art I had no part, 65
Nor therein am I canny;
True love alone the heart has won
Of Tiftie's bonny Annie.
"Woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride,
For it has ruin'd many; 70
He'll no ha'e 't said that she should wed
The Trumpeter of Fyvie.
"Where will I find a boy so kind,
That'll carry a letter canny,
Who will run on to Tiftie's town, 75
Give it to my love Annie?"
"Here you shall find a boy so kind,
Who'll carry a letter canny,
Who will run on to Tiftie's town,
And gi'e 't to thy love Annie." 80
"It's Tiftie he has daughters three,
Who all are wondrous bonny;
But ye'll ken her o'er a' the lave,
Gi'e that to bonny Annie."
"It's up and down in Tiftie's den, 85
Where the burn runs clear and bonny;
There wilt thou come and meet thy love,
Thy bonny Andrew Lammie.
"When wilt thou come, and I'll attend?
My love, I long to see thee." 90
"Thou may'st come to the bridge of Sleugh,
And there I'll come and meet thee."
"My love, I go to Edinbro',
And for a while must leave thee;"
She sighed sore, and said no more 95
But "I wish that I were wi' thee."
"I'll buy to thee a bridal gown,
My love, I'll buy it bonny;"
"But I'll be dead, ere ye come back
To see your bonnie Annie." 100
"If you'll be true and constant too,
As my name's Andrew Lammie,
I shall thee wed, when I come back
To see the lands of Fyvie."
"I will be true, and constant too, 105
To thee, my Andrew Lammie;
But my bridal bed will ere then be made,
In the green churchyard of Fyvie."
"Our time is gone, and now comes on,
My dear, that I must leave thee; 110
If longer here I should appear,
Mill o' Tiftie he would see me."
"I now for ever bid adieu
To thee, my Andrew Lammie;
Ere ye come back, I will be laid 115
In the green churchyard of Fyvie."
He hied him to the head of the house,
To the house top of Fyvie;
He blew his trumpet loud and schill;
'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie. 120
Her father lock'd the door at night,
Laid by the keys fu' canny;
And when he heard the trumpet sound,
Said, "Your cow is lowing, Annie."
"My father dear, I pray forbear, 125
And reproach no more your Annie;
For I'd rather hear that cow to low,
Than ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie.
"I would not, for my braw new gown,
And a' your gifts sae many, 130
That it were told in Fyvie's land
How cruel you are to Annie.
"But if ye strike me, I will cry,
And gentlemen will hear me;
Lord Fyvie will be riding by, 135
And he'll come in and see me."
At the same time, the Lord came in;
He said, "What ails thee, Annie?"
"'Tis all for love now I must die,
For bonny Andrew Lammie." 140
"Pray, Mill o' Tifty, gi'e consent,
And let your daughter marry."
"It will be with some higher match
Than the Trumpeter of Fyvie."
"If she were come of as high a kind 145
As she's adorned with beauty,
I would take her unto myself,
And make her mine own lady."
"It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide,
And they are rich and bonny; 150
I would not leave my own true love,
For all the lands of Fyvie."
Her father struck her wondrous sore,
And also did her mother;
Her sisters always did her scorn; 155
But woe be to her brother!
Her brother struck her wondrous sore,
With cruel strokes and many;
He brake her back in the hall door,
For liking Andrew Lammie. 160
"Alas! my father and mother dear,
Why so cruel to your Annie?
My heart was broken first by love,
My brother has broken my body.
"O mother dear, make ye my bed, 165
And lay my face to Fyvie;
Thus will I ly, and thus will die,
For my love, Andrew Lammie!
"Ye neighbours, hear, both far and near;
Ye pity Tiftie's Annie, 170
Who dies for love of one poor lad,
For bonny Andrew Lammie.
"No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life,
Nor hurt my virgin honour;
My youthful heart was won by love, 175
But death will me exoner."
Her mother then she made her bed,
And laid her face to Fyvie;
Her tender heart it soon did break,
And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie. 180
But the word soon went up and down,
Through all the lands of Fyvie,
That she was dead and buried,
Even Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands, 185
Said, "Alas, for Tiftie's Annie!
The fairest flower's cut down by love,
That e'er sprung up in Fyvie.
"O woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride!
He might have let them marry; 190
I should have giv'n them both to live
Into the lands of Fyvie."
Her father sorely now laments
The loss of his dear Annie,
And wishes he had gi'en consent 195
To wed with Andrew Lammie.
Her mother grieves both air and late;
Her sisters, 'cause they scorn'd her;
Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve,
For the cruel usage he'd giv'n her. 200
But now, alas! it was too late,
For they could not recal her;
Through life, unhappy is their fate,
Because they did controul her.
When Andrew hame from Edinburgh came, 205
With meikle grief and sorrow,
"My love has died for me to-day,
I'll die for her to-morrow.
"Now I will on to Tiftie's den,
Where the burn runs clear and bonny; 210
With tears I'll view the bridge of Sleugh,[L211]
Where I parted last with Annie.
"Then will I speed to the churchyard,
To the green churchyard of Fyvie;
With tears I'll water my love's grave, 215
Till I follow Tiftie's Annie."
Ye parents grave, who children have,
In crushing them be canny,
Lest when too late you do repent;
Remember Tiftie's Annie. 220
211. "In one printed copy this is 'Sheugh', and in a recited copy
it was called 'Skew'; which is the right reading, the editor, from
his ignorance of the topography of the lands of Fyvie, is unable to
say. It is a received superstition in Scotland, that, when friends
or lovers part at a bridge, they shall never again meet."
MOTHERWELL.
THE TRUMPETER OF FYVIE.
"The ballad was taken down by Dr. Leyden from the recitation of a
young lady (Miss Robson) of Edinburgh, who learned it in Teviotdale.
It was current in the Border counties within these few years, as it
still is in the northeast of Scotland, where the scene is laid."
Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_, i. 129.
At Fyvie's yetts there grows a flower,
It grows baith braid and bonny;
There's a daisie in the midst o' it,
And it's ca'd by Andrew Lammie.
"O gin that flower war in my breast, 5
For the love I bear the laddie;
I wad kiss it, and I wad clap it,
And daut it for Andrew Lammie.
"The first time me and my love met,
Was in the woods of Fyvie; 10
He kissed my lips five thousand times,
And ay he ca'd me bonny;
And a' the answer he gat frae me,
Was, My bonny Andrew Lammie!"
"'Love, I maun gang to Edinburgh; 15
Love, I maun gang and leave thee;'
I sighed right sair, and said nae mair,
But, O gin I were wi' ye!"
"But true and trusty will I be,
As I am Andrew Lammie; 20
I'll never kiss a woman's mouth,
Till I come back and see thee."
"And true and trusty will I be,
As I am Tiftie's Annie;
I'll never kiss a man again, 25
Till ye come back and see me."
Syne he's come back frae Edinburgh,
To the bonny hows o' Fyvie;
And ay his face to the nor-east,
To look for Tiftie's Annie. 30
"I ha'e a love in Edinburgh,
Sae ha'e I intill Leith, man;
I hae a love intill Montrose,
Sae ha'e I in Dalkeith, man.
"And east and west, where'er I go, 35
My love she's always wi' me;
For east and west, where'er I go,
My love she dwells in Fyvie.
"My love possesses a' my heart,
Nae pen can e'er indite her; 40
She's ay sae stately as she goes,
That I see nae mae like her.
"But Tiftie winna gi'e consent
His dochter me to marry,
Because she has five thousand marks, 45
And I have not a penny.
"Love pines away, love dwines away,
Love, love, decays the body;
For love o' thee, oh I must die;
Adieu, my bonny Annie!" 50
Her mither raise out o' her bed,
And ca'd on baith her women:
"What ails ye, Annie, my dochter dear?
O Annie, was ye dreamin'?
"What dule disturb'd my dochter's sleep? 55
O tell to me, my Annie!"
She sighed right sair, and said nae mair,
But, "O for Andrew Lammie!"
Her father beat her cruellie,
Sae also did her mother; 60
Her sisters sair did scoff at her;
But wae betide her brother!
Her brother beat her cruellie,
Till his straiks they werena canny;
He brak her back, and he beat her sides, 65
For the sake o' Andrew Lammie.
"O fie, O fie, my brother dear,
The gentlemen 'll shame ye;
The laird o' Fyvie he's gaun by,
And he'll come in and see me. 70
And he'll kiss me, and he'll clap me,
And he will speer what ails me;
And I will answer him again,
It's a' for Andrew Lammie."
Her sisters they stood in the door, 75
Sair griev'd her wi' their folly;
"O sister dear, come to the door,
Your cow is lowin on you."
"O fie, O fie, my sister dear,
Grieve me not wi' your folly; 80
I'd rather hear the trumpet sound,
Than a' the kye o' Fyvie.
"Love pines away, love dwines away,
Love, love decays the body;
For love o' thee now I maun die-- 85
Adieu to Andrew Lammie!"
But Tiftie's wrote a braid letter,
And sent it into Fyvie,
Saying, his daughter was bewitch'd
By bonny Andrew Lammie. 90
"Now, Tiftie, ye maun gi'e consent,
And lat the lassie marry."
"I'll never, never gi'e consent
To the Trumpeter of Fyvie."
When Fyvie looked the letter on, 95
He was baith sad and sorry:
Says--"The bonniest lass o' the country-side
Has died for Andrew Lammie."
O Andrew's gane to the house-top
O' the bonny house o' Fyvie; 100
He's blawn his horn baith loud and shill
O'er the lawland leas o' Fyvie.
"Mony a time ha'e I walk'd a' night,
And never yet was weary;
But now I may walk wae my lane, 105
For I'll never see my deary.
"Love pines away, love dwines away,
Love, love, decays the body:
For the love o' thee, now I maun die--
I come, my bonny Annie!" 110
FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL.
"The following very popular ballad has been handed down by tradition
in its present imperfect state. The affecting incident on which it
is founded is well known. A lady, of the name of Helen Irving, or
Bell, (for this is disputed by the two clans,) daughter of the Laird
of Kirconnell, in Dumfries-shire, and celebrated for her beauty, was
beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the
favoured suitor was Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick; that of the other
has escaped tradition: though it has been alleged that he was a
Bell, of Blacket House. The addresses of the latter were, however,
favoured by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore
obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the churchyard of
Kirconnell, a romantic spot, almost surrounded by the river Kirtle.
During one of these private interviews, the jealous and despised
lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and
levelled his carabine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw
herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died
in his arms. A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming
and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. Other
accounts say, that Fleming pursued his enemy to Spain, and slew him
in the streets of Madrid.
"The ballad, as now published, consists of two parts. The first
seems to be an address, either by Fleming or his rival, to the lady;
if, indeed, it constituted any portion of the original poem. For the
Editor cannot help suspecting, that these verses have been the
production of a different and inferior bard, and only adapted to the
original measure and tune. But this suspicion being unwarranted by
any copy he has been able to procure, he does not venture to do more
than intimate his own opinion. The second part, by far the most
beautiful, and which is unquestionably original, forms the lament of
Fleming over the grave of fair Helen.
"The ballad is here given, without alteration or improvement, from
the most accurate copy which could be recovered. The fate of Helen
has not, however, remained unsung by modern bards. A lament, of
great poetical merit, by the learned historian, Mr. Pinkerton, with
several other poems on this subject, have been printed in various
forms.[B]
"The grave of the lovers is yet shown in the churchyard of
Kirconnell, near Springkell. Upon the tombstone can still be
read--_Hic jacet Adamus Fleming_; a cross and sword are sculptured
on the stone. The former is called by the country people, the gun
with which Helen was murdered; and the latter the avenging sword of
her lover. _Sit illis terra levis!_ A heap of stones is raised on
the spot where the murder was committed; a token of abhorrence
common to most nations." _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii.
98.
[B] For Pinkerton's elegy, see his _Select Scottish Ballads_, i.
109; for Mayne's, the _Gentleman's Magazine_, vol. 86, Part ii. 64.
Jamieson has enfeebled the story in _Popular Ballads_, i. 205, and
Wordsworth's _Ellen Irwin_ hardly deserves more praise. ED.
Versions of the Second Part, (which alone deserves notice,) nearly
agreeing with Scott's, are given in the Illustrations to the new
edition of Johnson's _Museum_, p. 143, by Mr. Stenhouse, p. 210, by
Mr. Sharpe. Inferior and fragmentary ones in Herd's _Scottish
Songs_, i. 257; Johnson's _Museum_, 163; Ritson's _Scottish Song_,
i. 145; Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_, i. 203.
FAIR HELEN.
PART FIRST.
O! sweetest sweet, and fairest fair,
Of birth and worth beyond compare,
Thou art the causer of my care,
Since first I loved thee.
Yet God hath given to me a mind, 5
The which to thee shall prove as kind
As any one that thou shalt find,
Of high or low degree.
The shallowest water makes maist din,
The deadest pool the deepest linn; 10
The richest man least truth within,
Though he preferred be.
Yet, nevertheless, I am content,
And never a whit my love repent,
But think the time was a' weel spent, 15
Though I disdained be.
O! Helen sweet, and maist complete,
My captive spirit's at thy feet!
Thinks thou still fit thus for to treat
Thy captive cruelly? 20
O! Helen brave! but this I crave,
Of thy poor slave some pity have,
And do him save that's near his grave,
And dies for love of thee.
FAIR HELEN.
PART SECOND.
I wish I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirconnell Lee!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 5
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
And died to succour me!
O think na ye my heart was sair,
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair! 10
There did she swoon wi' meikle care,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
As I went down the water side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide, 15
On fair Kirconnell Lee;
I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
I hacked him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me. 20
O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair,
Shall bind my heart for evermair,
Until the day I die.
O that I were where Helen lies! 25
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, "Haste and come to me!"--
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest, 30
Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying, 35
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
For her sake that died for me. 40
THE LOWLANDS OF HOLLAND.
Mr. Stenhouse was informed that this ballad was composed, about the
beginning of the last century, by a young widow in Galloway, whose
husband was drowned on a voyage to Holland. (_Musical Museum_, ed.
1853, iv. 115.) But some of the verses appear to be old, and one
stanza will be remarked to be of common occurrence in ballad poetry.
A fragment of this piece was published in Herd's collection, (ii.
49.) Our copy is from Johnson's _Museum_, p. 118, with the omission,
however, of one spurious and absurd stanza, while another, not
printed by Johnson, is supplied from the note above cited to the new
edition. Cunningham makes sense of the interpolated verses and
retains them; otherwise his version is nearly the same as the
present. (_Songs of Scotland_, ii. 181.)
"The love that I have chosen,
I'll therewith be content,
The saut sea shall be frozen
Before that I repent;
Repent it shall I never, 5
Until the day I die,
But the lowlands of Holland
Hae twinn'd my love and me.
"My love lies in the saut sea,
And I am on the side, 10
Enough to break a young thing's heart,
Wha lately was a bride;
Wha lately was a bonnie bride,
And pleasure in her e'e,
But the lowlands of Holland 15
Hae twinn'd my love and me.
"My love he built a bonnie ship,
And set her to the sea,
Wi' seven score brave mariners
To bear her companie; 20
Threescore gaed to the bottom,
And threescore died at sea,
And the lowlands of Holland
Hae twinn'd my love and me.
"My love has built another ship 25
And set her to the main;
He had but twenty mariners,
And all to bring her hame;
The stormy winds did roar again,
The raging waves did rout, 30
And my love and his bonnie ship
Turn'd widdershins about.
"There shall nae mantle cross my back,[L33]
Nor kame gae in my hair,
Neither shall coal nor candle light 35
Shine in my bower mair;
Nor shall I chuse anither love,
Until the day I die,
Since the lowlands of Holland
Hae twinn'd my love and me." 40
"O haud your tongue, my daughter dear,
Be still, and be content;
There are mair lads in Galloway,
Ye need nae sair lament."
"O there is nane in Galloway,[L45] 45
There's nane at a' for me;
For I never loved a lad but ane,
And he's drowned in the sea."
33-36, 45-48. With the conclusion of this piece may be compared a
passage from _Bonny Bee-Ho'm_, vol. iii. p. 57.
"Ohon, alas! what shall I do,
Tormented night and day!
I never loved a love but ane,
And now he's gone away.
"But I will do for my true love
What ladies would think sair;
For seven years shall come and gae,
Ere a kaime gae in my hair.
"There shall neither a shoe gae on my foot,
Nor a kaime gae in my hair,
Nor ever a coal or candle light
Shine in my bower nae mair."
See also _The Weary Coble o' Cargill_.