of more than sixty stanzas, composed in an abominable artificial lingo,
on the subject of this ballad, and alleged to have been taken from the
mouth of a good old peasant, who, not having heard the ballad for thirty
years, could remember no more. Thomas the Rhymer appears in the last
lines with very great distinction, but it is not clear what part he has
in the story.[323]
A copy printed in Aberdeen, 1862, and said to have been edited by the
Rev. John Burnett Pratt, of Cruden, Aberdeenshire, is made up from
Aytoun and Scott, with a number of slight changes.[324]
'The Tayl of the ȝong Tamlene' is spoken of as told among a company
of shepherds, in Vedderburn's Complaint of Scotland, 1549, p. 63 of Dr
James A. H. Murray's edition for the Early English Text Society. 'Thom
of Lyn' is mentioned as a dance of the same party, a little further on,
Murray, p. 66, and 'Young Thomlin' is the name of an air in a medley in
"Wood's MS.," inserted, as David Laing thought, between 1600 and 1620,
and printed in Forbes's Cantus, 1666: Stenhouse's ed. of The Scots
Musical Museum, 1853, IV, 440. "A ballett of Thomalyn" is licensed to
Master John Wallye and Mistress Toye in 1558: Arber, Transcript of the
Registers of the Company of Stationers, I, 22; cited by Furnivall,
Captain Cox, &c., Ballad Society, p. clxiv.
Sir Walter Scott relates a tradition of an attempt to rescue a woman
from fairydom which recalls the ill success of many of the efforts to
disenchant White Ladies in Germany: "The wife of a farmer in Lothian had
been carried off by the fairies, and, during the year of probation,
repeatedly appeared on Sunday, in the midst of her children, combing
their hair. On one of these occasions she was accosted by her husband;
when she related to him the unfortunate event which had separated them,
instructed him by what means he might win her, and exhorted him to exert
all his courage, since her temporal and eternal happiness depended on
the success of his attempt. The farmer, who ardently loved his wife, set
out at Halloween, and, in the midst of a plot of furze, waited
impatiently for the procession of the fairies. At the ringing of the
fairy bridles, and the wild, unearthly sound which accompanied the
cavalcade, his heart failed him, and he suffered the ghostly train to
pass by without interruption. When the last had rode past, the whole
troop vanished, with loud shouts of laughter and exultation, among which
he plainly discovered the voice of his wife, lamenting that he had lost
her forever." The same author proceeds to recount a real incident, which
took place at the town of North Berwick, within memory, of a man who was
prevented from undertaking, or at least meditating, a similar rescue
only by shrewd and prompt practical measures on the part of his
minister.[325]
This fine ballad stands by itself, and is not, as might have been
expected, found in possession of any people but the Scottish. Yet it has
connections, through the principal feature in the story, the
retransformation of Tam Lin, with Greek popular tradition older than
Homer.
Something of the successive changes of shape is met with in a
Scandinavian ballad: 'Nattergalen,' Grundtvig, II, 168, No 57; 'Den
förtrollade Prinsessan,' Afzelius, II, 67, No 41, Atterbom, Poetisk
Kalender, 1816, p. 44; Dybeck, Runa, 1844, p. 94, No 2; Axelson,
Vandring i Wermlands Elfdal, p. 21, No 3; Lindeman, Norske
Fjeldmelodier, Tekstbilag til 1ste Bind, p. 3, No 10.
Though many copies of this ballad have been obtained from the mouth of
the people, all that are known are derived from flying sheets, of which
there is a Danish one dated 1721 and a Swedish of the year 1738. What is
of more account, the style of the piece, as we have it, is not quite
popular. Nevertheless, the story is entirely of the popular stamp, and
so is the feature in it, which alone concerns us materially. A
nightingale relates to a knight how she had once had a lover, but a
step-mother soon upset all that, and turned her into a bird and her
brother into a wolf. The curse was not to be taken off the brother till
he drank of his step-dame's blood, and after seven years he caught her,
when she was taking a walk in a wood, tore out her heart, and regained
his human shape. The knight proposes to the bird that she shall come and
pass the winter in his bower, and go back to the wood in the summer:
this, the nightingale says, the step-mother had forbidden, as long as
she wore feathers. The knight seizes the bird by the foot, takes her
home to his bower, and fastens the windows and doors. She turns to all
the marvellous beasts one ever heard of,--to a lion, a bear, a variety
of small snakes, and at last to a loathsome lind-worm. The knight makes
a sufficient incision for blood to come, and a maid stands on the floor
as fair as a flower. He now asks after her origin, and she answers,
Egypt's king was my father, and its queen my mother; my brother was
doomed to rove the woods as a wolf. "If Egypt's king," he rejoins, "was
your father, and its queen your mother, then for sure you are my
sister's daughter, who was doomed to be a nightingale."[326]
We come much nearer, and indeed surprisingly near, to the principal
event of the Scottish ballad in a Cretan fairy-tale, cited from
Chourmouzis by Bernhard Schmidt.[327] A young peasant of the village
Sgourokepháli, who was a good player on the rote, used to be taken by
the nereids into their grotto for the sake of his music. He fell in love
with one of them, and, not knowing how to help himself, had recourse to
an old woman of his village. She gave him this advice: that just before
cock-crow he should seize his beloved by the hair, and hold on,
unterrified, till the cock crew, whatever forms she should assume. The
peasant gave good heed, and the next time he was taken into the cave
fell to playing, as usual, and the nereids to dancing. But as cock-crow
drew nigh, he put down his instrument, sprang upon the object of his
passion, and grasped her by her locks. She instantly changed shape;
became a dog, a snake, a camel, fire. But he kept his courage and held
on, and presently the cock crew, and the nereids vanished all but one.
His love returned to her proper beauty, and went with him to his home.
After the lapse of a year she bore a son, but in all this time never
uttered a word. The young husband was fain to ask counsel of the old
woman again, who told him to heat the oven hot, and say to his wife that
if she would not speak he would throw the boy into the oven. He acted
upon this prescription; the nereid cried out, Let go my child, dog! tore
the infant from his arms, and vanished.
This Cretan tale, recovered from tradition even later than our ballad,
repeats all the important circumstances of the forced marriage of Thetis
with Peleus. Chiron, like the old woman, suggested to his protégé that
he should lay hands on the nereid, and keep his hold through whatever
metamorphosis she might make. He looked out for his opportunity and
seized her; she turned to fire, water, and a wild beast, but he did not
let go till she resumed her primitive shape. Thetis, having borne a son,
wished to make him immortal; to which end she buried him in fire by
night, to burn out his human elements, and anointed him with ambrosia by
day. Peleus was not taken into counsel, but watched her, and saw the boy
gasping in the fire, which made him call out; and Thetis, thus thwarted,
abandoned the child and went back to the nereids. Apollodorus,
Bibliotheca, III, 13, 5, 6.
The Cretan tale does not differ from the one repeated by Apollodorus
from earlier writers a couple of thousand years ago more than two
versions of a story gathered from oral tradition in these days are apt
to do. Whether it has come down to our time from mouth to mouth through
twenty-five centuries or more, or whether, having died out of the
popular memory, it was reintroduced through literature, is a question
that cannot be decided with certainty; but there will be nothing
unlikely in the former supposition to those who bear in mind the
tenacity of tradition among people who have never known books.[328]
#B# 34,
First dip me in a stand of milk,
And then in a stand of water;
Haud me fast, let me na gae,
I'll be your bairnie's father,
has an occult and very important significance which has only very lately
been pointed out, and which modern reciters had completely lost
knowledge of, as appears by the disorder into which the stanzas have
fallen.[329] Immersion in a liquid, generally water, but sometimes milk,
is a process requisite for passing from a non-human shape, produced by
enchantment, back into the human, and also for returning from the human
to a non-human state, whether produced by enchantment or original. We
have seen that the serpent which Lanzelet kisses, in Ulrich's romance,
is not by that simple though essential act instantly turned into a
woman. It is still necessary that she should bathe in a spring (p. 308).
In an Albanian tale, 'Taubenliebe,' Hahn, No 102, II, 130, a dove flies
into a princess's window, and, receiving her caresses, asks, Do you love
me? The princess answering Yes, the dove says, Then have a dish of milk
ready to-morrow, and you shall see what a handsome man I am. A dish of
milk is ready the next morning; the dove flies into the window, dips
himself in the milk, drops his feathers, and steps out a beautiful
youth. When it is time to go, the youth dips in the milk, and flies off
a dove. This goes on every day for two years. A Greek tale, 'Goldgerte,'
Hahn, No 7, I, 97, has the same transformation, with water for milk. Our
#B# 34 has well-water only.[330] Perhaps the bath of milk occurred in
one earlier version of our ballad, the water-bath in another, and the
two accounts became blended in time.
The end of the mutations, in #F# 11, #G# 43, is a naked man, and a
mother-naked man in #B# 33, under the presumed right arrangement;
meaning by right arrangement, however, not the original arrangement, but
the most consistent one for the actual form of the tradition. Judging by
analogy, the naked man should issue from the bath of milk or of water;
into which he should have gone in one of his non-human shapes, a dove,
swan, or snake (for which, too, a "stand" of milk or of water is a more
practicable bath than for a man). The fragment #C# adds some slight
probability to this supposition. The last change there is into "a dove
but and a swan;" then Tam Lin bids the maiden to let go, for he'll "be a
perfect man:" this, nevertheless, he could not well become without some
further ceremony. #A# is the only version which has preserved an
essentially correct process: Tam Lin, when a burning gleed, is to be
thrown into well-water, from which he will step forth a naked
knight.[331]
At stated periods, which the ballads make to be seven years, the fiend
of hell is entitled to take his teind, tithe, or kane from the people of
fairy-land: #A# 24, #B# 23, #C# 5, #D# 15, #G# 28, #H# 15. The fiend
prefers those that are fair and fu o flesh, according to #A#, #G#; ane o
flesh and blood, #D#. #H# makes the queen fear for herself; "the koors
they hae gane round about, and I fear it will be mysel." #H# is not
discordant with popular tradition elsewhere, which attributes to fairies
the practice of abstracting young children to serve as substitutes for
themselves in this tribute: Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 220, 1802. #D# 15
says "the last here goes to hell," which would certainly not be
equitable, and #C# "we're a' dung down to hell," where "all" must be
meant only of the naturalized members of the community. Poor Alison
Pearson, who lost her life in 1586 for believing these things, testified
that the tribute was annual. Mr William Sympson, who had been taken away
by the fairies, "bidd her sign herself that she be not taken away, for
the teind of them are tane to hell everie year:" Scott, as above, p.
208. The kindly queen of the fairies[332] will not allow Thomas of
Erceldoune to be exposed to this peril, and hurries him back to earth
the day before the fiend comes for his due. Thomas is in peculiar
danger, for the reason given in #A#, #G#, #R#.
To morne of helle þe foulle fende
Amange this folke will feche his fee;
And þou art mekill man and hende;
I trowe full wele he wolde chese the.
The elf-queen, #A# 42, #B# 40, would have taken out Tam's twa gray een,
had she known he was to be borrowed, and have put in twa een of tree,
#B# 41, #D# 34, #E# 21, #H# 14; she would have taken out his heart of
flesh, and have put in, #B#, #D#, #E#, a heart of stane, #H# of tree.
The taking out of the eyes would probably be to deprive Tam of the
faculty of recognizing fairy folk thereafter. Mortals whose eyes have
been touched with fairies' salve can see them when they are to others
invisible, and such persons, upon distinguishing and saluting fairies,
have often had not simply this power but their ordinary eyesight taken
away: see Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 304,
Thiele, Danmarks Folkesagn, 1843, II, 202, IV, etc. Grimm has given
instances of witches, Slavic, German, Norse and Italian, taking out the
heart of man (which they are wont to devour), and replacing it in some
instances with straw, wood, or something of the kind; nor do the Roman
witches appear to have been behind later ones in this dealing: Deutsche
Mythologie, 904 f, and the note III, 312.
The fairy in the Lai de Lauval, v. 547, rides on a white palfrey, and
also two damsels, her harbingers, v. 471; so the fairy princess in the
English Launfal, Halliwell, Fairy Mythology, p. 30. The fairy king and
all his knights and ladies ride on white steeds in King Orfeo,
Halliwell, as above, p. 41. The queen of Elfland rides a milk-white
steed in Thomas Rymer, #A#, #C#; in #B#, and all copies of Thomas of
Erceldoune, her palfrey is dapple gray. Tam Lin, #A# 28, #B# 27, etc.,
is distinguished from all the rest of his "court" by being thus mounted;
all the other horses are black or brown.
Tam Lane was taken by the fairies, according to #G# 26, 27, while
sleeping under an apple-tree. In Sir Orfeo (ed. Zielke, v. 68) it was
the queen's sleeping under an ympe-tree that led to her being carried
off by the fairy king, and the ympe-tree we may suppose to be some kind
of fruit tree, if not exclusively the apple. Thomas of Erceldoune is
lying under a semely [derne, cumly] tree, when he sees the fairy queen.
The derivation of that poem from Ogier le Danois shows that this must
have been an apple-tree. Special trees are considered in Greece
dangerous to lie under in summer and at noon, as exposing one to be
taken by the nereids or fairies, especially plane, poplar, fig, nut, and
St John's bread: Schmidt, Volksleben der Neugriechen, p. 119. The elder
and the linden are favorites of the elves in Denmark.
The rencounter at the beginning between Tam Lin and Janet (in the wood,
#D#, #F#, #G#) is repeated between Hind Etin [Young Akin] and Margaret
in 'Hind Etin,' further on. Some Slavic ballads open in a similar way,
but there is nothing noteworthy in that: see p. 41. "First they did call
me Jack," etc., #D# 9, is a commonplace of frequent occurrence: see,
e.g., 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter.'
Some humorous verses, excellent in their way, about one Tam o Lin are
very well known: as Tam o the Linn, Chambers, Scottish Songs, p. 455,
Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 33, ed. 1870; Sharpe's Ballads, new ed.,
p. 44, p. 137, No XVI; Tommy Linn, North Country Chorister, ed. Ritson,
p. 3; Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 271, ed. 1849;
Thomas o Linn, Kinloch MSS, III, 45, V, 81; Tam o Lin, Campbell MSS.,
II, 107. (Miss Joanna Baillie tried her hand at an imitation, but the
jocosity of the real thing is not feminine.) A fool sings this stanza
from such a song in Wager's comedy, 'The longer thou livest, the more
fool thou art,' put at about 1568; see Furnivall, Captain Cox, his
Ballads and Books, p. cxxvii:
Tom a Lin and his wife, and his wiues mother,
They went ouer a bridge all three together;
The bridge was broken, and they fell in:
'The deuil go with all!' quoth Tom a Lin.
Mr Halliwell-Phillips (as above) says that "an immense variety of songs
and catches relating to Tommy Linn are known throughout the country."
Brian o Lynn seems to be popular in Ireland: Lover's Legends and Stories
of Ireland, p. 260 f. There is no connection between the song and the
ballad beyond the name: the song is no parody, no burlesque, of the
ballad, as it has been called.
"Carterhaugh is a plain at the confluence of the Ettrick with the
Yarrow, scarcely an English mile above the town of Selkirk, and on this
plain they show two or three rings on the ground, where, they say, the
stands of milk and water stood, and upon which grass never grows."
Glenriddell MS.
* * * * *
Translated, after Scott, by Schubart, p. 139, and Büsching's
Wöchentliche Nachrichten, I, 247; by Arndt, Blütenlese, p. 212; after
Aytoun, I, 7, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 8; by Knortz,
Schottische Balladen, No 17, apparently after Aytoun and Allingham. The
Danish 'Nattergalen' is translated by Prior, III, 118, No 116.
A
Johnson's Museum, p. 423, No 411. Communicated by Robert
Burns.
1
O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.
2
There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead.
3
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she's awa to Carterhaugh,
As fast as she can hie.
4
When she came to Carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.
5
She had na pu'd a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till up then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou's pu nae mae.
6
Why pu's thou the rose, Janet,
And why breaks thou the wand?
Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh
Withoutten my command?
7
'Carterhaugh, it is my ain,
My daddie gave it me;
I'll come and gang by Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave at thee.'
* * * * * * *
8
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has snooded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she is to her father's ha,
As fast as she can hie.
9
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba,
And out then cam the fair Janet,
Ance the flower amang them a'.
10
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess,
And out then cam the fair Janet,
As green as onie glass.
11
Out then spak an auld grey knight,
Lay oer the castle wa,
And says, Alas, fair Janet, for thee
But we'll be blamed a'.
12
'Haud your tongue, ye auld fac'd knight,
Some ill death may ye die!
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I'll father nane on thee.'
13
Out then spak her father dear,
And he spak meek and mild;
'And ever alas, sweet Janet,' he says,
'I think thou gaes wi child.'
14
'If that I gae wi child, father,
Mysel maun bear the blame;
There's neer a laird about your ha
Shall get the bairn's name.
15
'If my love were an earthly knight,
As he's an elfin grey,
I wad na gie my ain true-love
For nae lord that ye hae.
16
'The steed that my true-love rides on
Is lighter than the wind;
Wi siller he is shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.'
17
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has snooded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she's awa to Carterhaugh,
As fast as she can hie.
18
When she cam to Carterhaugh,
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.
19
She had na pu'd a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till up then started young Tam Lin,
Says Lady, thou pu's nae mae.
20
Why pu's thou the rose, Janet,
Amang the groves sae green,
And a' to kill the bonie babe
That we gat us between?
21
'O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,' she says,
'For's sake that died on tree,
If eer ye was in holy chapel,
Or christendom did see?'
22
'Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,
Took me with him to bide,
And ance it fell upon a day
That wae did me betide.
23
'And ance it fell upon a day,
A cauld day and a snell,
When we were frae the hunting come,
That frae my horse I fell;
The Queen o Fairies she caught me,
In yon green hill to dwell.
24
'And pleasant is the fairy land,
But, an eerie tale to tell,
Ay at the end of seven years
We pay a tiend to hell;
I am sae fair and fu o flesh,
I'm feard it be mysel.
25
'But the night is Halloween, lady,
The morn is Hallowday;
Then win me, win me, an ye will,
For weel I wat ye may.
26
'Just at the mirk and midnight hour
The fairy folk will ride,
And they that wad their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide.'
27
'But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,
Or how my true-love know,
Amang sae mony unco knights
The like I never saw?'
28
'O first let pass the black, lady,
And syne let pass the brown,
But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
Pu ye his rider down.
29
'For I'll ride on the milk-white steed,
And ay nearest the town;
Because I was an earthly knight
They gie me that renown.
30
'My right hand will be glovd, lady,
My left hand will be bare,
Cockt up shall my bonnet be,
And kaimd down shall my hair,
And thae's the takens I gie thee,
Nae doubt I will be there.
31
'They'll turn me in your arms, lady,
Into an esk and adder;
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I am your bairn's father.
32
'They'll turn me to a bear sae grim,
And then a lion bold;
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
As ye shall love your child.
33
'Again they'll turn me in your arms
To a red het gaud of airn;
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I'll do to you nae harm.
34
'And last they'll turn me in your arms
Into the burning gleed;
Then throw me into well water,
O throw me in wi speed.
35
'And then I'll be your ain true-love,
I'll turn a naked knight;
Then cover me wi your green mantle,
And cover me out o sight.'
36
Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eerie was the way,
As fair Jenny in her green mantle
To Miles Cross she did gae.
37
About the middle o the night
She heard the bridles ring;
This lady was as glad at that
As any earthly thing.
38
First she let the black pass by,
And syne she let the brown;
But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,
And pu'd the rider down.
39
Sae weel she minded whae he did say,
And young Tam Lin did win;
Syne coverd him wi her green mantle,
As blythe's a bird in spring.
40
Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
Out of a bush o broom:
'Them that has gotten young Tam Lin
Has gotten a stately groom.'
41
Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
And an angry woman was she:
'Shame betide her ill-far'd face,
And an ill death may she die,
For she's taen awa the boniest knight
In a' my companie.
42
'But had I kend, Tam Lin,' she says,
'What now this night I see,
I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een,
And put in twa een o tree.'
B
Glenriddell's MSS, vol. xi, No 17.
1
I forbid ye, maidens a',
That wear goud on your gear,
To come and gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tom Line is there.
2
There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad.
Either their things or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead.
3
But Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little above her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little above her bree,
And she has gaen for Carterhaugh,
As fast as she can hie.
4
When she came to Carterhaugh
Tom Line was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsell.
5
She hadna pu'd a double rose,
A rose but only twae,
Till up then started young Tom Line,
Says, Lady, thou's pu nae mae.
6
Why pu's thou the rose, Janet?
Why breaks thou the wand?
Why comest thou to Carterhaugh
Withouthen my command?
7
'Fair Carterhaugh it is my ain,
My daddy gave it me;
I'll come and gae by Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave at thee.'
* * * * * * *
8
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has snooded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she is on to her father's ha,
As fast as she can hie.
9
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba,
And out then came fair Janet,
The flowr amang them a'.
10
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess,
Out then came fair Janet,
As green as ony glass.
11
Out spak an auld grey-headed knight,
Lay owre the castle wa,
And says, Alas, fair Janet,
For thee we'll be blam'd a'.
12
'Had your tongue, you auld grey knight,
Some ill dead may ye die!
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I'll father nane on thee.'
13
Out then spak her father dear,
He spak baith thick and milde;
'And ever alas, sweet Janet,' he says,
'I think ye gae wi childe.'
14
'If that I gae wi child, father,
Mysell bears a' the blame;
There's not a laird about your ha
Shall get the bairnie's name.
15
'If my lord were an earthly knight,
As he's an elfish grey,
I wad na gie my ain true-love
For nae lord that ye hae.'