r«vir4 iff 9t^ SwfbM i:i..n the widtr VOL. I. A VI the breach, and the deeper the stream the smoother the current. — Such was the case regarding poetical refine- ment ; and such was the happiness of man, when the first rays of light broke through the dark and almost impenetrable clouds of ignorance and superstition. Po- etical sublimity has paved the way to the cultivation of man's taste, and the refinement of his manners and morals. Previous to the art or discovery of writing and printing, the religion, the laws, and the histories of times, families, and particular events, were preserved and handed down from one generation to another, by a race of people called Druids, Bards, Scalds, Senachies, Minstrels, &c. who were wont to sing their themes of religion, love, friendship, war, or history. They were in great esteem both amongst the Gauls and Britons. Their function and name doth yet remain among all those nations which use the old British tongue : and so much honour was given to them in many places, that their persons were accounted sacred, and their houses sanctuaries : nay, in the height of their enmities, when they managed the cruellest wars one against another, and used their victories as severely, yet these Bards and their retinue had free liberty to pass and repass at their pleasure. The nobles, when they came to them, received them honourably, and dismissed them with gifts. They made cantos, and these not inelegant, which the rhapso- dists recited, either to the better sort, or else to the vul- gar, who were very desirous to hear them ; and some- times they sung to musical instruments. They were of- ten maintained by the chief of the ancient clans, and by some wealthy men, kept on purpose to commemorate their ancestors, and first of their families, in genea- Vll Jo-^ies which they got by lieart. In this cose, many fly to the Bards and Senachies, as the preservers of ancient records. Tacitus says, that the songs of the German Bards were their only annals. And Joannes Magnus, Archbishop of Upsal, acknowledges, that in compiling the History of the Ancient Goths, he had no other records but the songs of the Bards. As these songs made an illustrious figure at every festival, they were conveyed in every family by parents to their chil- dren, and in that manner were kept alive before writ- ing was known. It is to this vanity alone, that we owe the preservation and the remains of ancient poesy. The Bards made an early appearance in Scotland ; for, " beneath the moss-covered rock of Lona, near his own loud stream, gray in his locks of age, dwells Clou- mal, king of harps," They delivered their mysterious doctrines in verses entrusted entirely to memory, which, as a part of their education, their pupils were taught to repeat. They were the oracles, prophets, priests, philosophers, poets, lawgivers, judges, physicians, and teachers of the Gauls ; as their Bards, like the Ger- man Scalds, were, more especially, their poets, histo- rians or annalists, and musicians : those communicated their knowledge and precepts also in verse ; and these " sung the battles of heroes, and the heaving bosoms of love." The first traditional records and compositions of all nations were poetical ; and that verse, from cus- tom, was continued, as most impressive and memora- ble, on subjects thought worthy of preservation. Ame- rica has ; Asia, Greece, and Italy had their Bards, as well as Gaul ; and the Scalds of the North were equally honoured and famous in Germany. And till of late^ VIU there were itinerant Bards, or strolling Minstrels, who- performed upon harps, and sung and recited heroic and other ballads. To these rural Minstrels, I am con- vinced, we are indebted for the preservation of many of our fine old ballads and songs ; many of which will be found to enrich this Collection, culled with the greatest industry and care from among the sons and daughters of the North. Poetry has been long and justly esteemed as the no- blest ebullition of the human soul. Its uses are as various as its power is unbounded ; and let not the vulgar mind ridicule and abuse its votaries as trouble- some and useless members of society. But I speak not to those whose faculties are contracted within the nar- row sphere of sordid gain ; but to those whose ideas are extended, whose minds are refined, and who can cultivate a taste for polite literature amid the more weighty concerns of business. In the first ages, poetry was generally used to perpetuate the memory of some great event, to sing the praises of heroes, and to honour the remains of those who fell in battle. Some nations (as the Arabians do at present) distinguished the various genealogies of their tribes and families in verse, which was conveyed from father to child as a sort of patrimony. The ideas of the ancient Bards were generally simple and sublime, and expressed in lan- guage at once natural, nervous and fiery ; every sen- timent sprung from real feeling, and every word (such was their conciseness) seemed indispensably necessary to the harmony of the whole. And, although many of these bards, or minstrels, were both untutored and. unlettered, their songs are the language of the heart. and speak the sentiments of the soul, in familiar verse. It becomes us then, as the advocates of a national concern, not to weary in this honoured labour of love ; but to strain every nerve, to preserve from the fast de- caying hand of time, a remnant of those wild flowers which have garnished the antique halls of an ancient race of warriors, now long forgotten except in the sweet voice of magic song. And, although much has been done, still much remains undone, in collecting those mutilated fragments of our early ancestors ; — those graphic relics of antiquity, which delineate men and manners, kings and heroes, things natural and super- natural, not as they exist now, but as they were once believed to be. It must therefore be gratifying to every liberal-minded man of taste, and every lover of his country, to find there are still labourers who de- light to glean in the vineyard of traditionary song, and snatch from the beds of oblivion, what have at one time contributed to the greatness of kings, the pleasures of the commons, the inspiration of heroes, and been the wonder and delight of ages. Even to the man of letters, as well as the literary antiquary, they become interesting. No one has yet conceived, nor has it entered the mind of man, what patience, perseverance, and general knowledge are necessary for an editor of a Collection of Ancient Ballads ; nor what mountains of difficul- ties he has to overcome ; what hosts of enemies he has to encounter ; and what myriads of little-minded quib- blers he has to silence. The writing of explanatory jiote« is lik« no other speciei of literature. History throws little light upon their origin, or the cause which gave rise to their composition. He has to grope ., his way in the dark ; like Bunyan's pilgrim, on crossing the valley of the shadow of death, he hears sounds and ..noises, but cannot, to a certainty, tell from whence they „come, nor to what place they proceed. The one time, he has to treat of fabulous ballads in the most roman- tic shape ; the next legendary, with all its exploded, obsolete, and forgotten superstitions ; also history, tra- gedy, comedy, love, war, and so on ; all, perhaps, within the narrow compass of a few hours, — so varied must his genius and talents be. The Ballads themselves are faithfully and honestly transcribed, and given as taken down from the mouths of the reciters : they have suffered no change since they fortunately were consigned to me by their foster parents. There are many of them, however, much like those already published, but under different names: of these I have been careful to advise my reader ; also, when and where I have found such like- ness. From such proceedings, it will then be seen that I have acted as candid and upright a part as within the compass of the power of any one situated under simi- .^ lar circumstances. I have spared neither money nor trouble, in procuring the most genuine and best authenticated copies of all the Ancient Ballads in the fullowin"- pages, and flatter myself I have succeeded be- yond any of my cotemporarics. I have also been able to complete many of the very best pieces hitherto only foui^id in mutilated fragments, even in popular and es- teemed collections ; and trust they will form a valuable acquinition to the libraries of all those interested in the XI history of Scottish literature. But, as perfection has not yet been the lot of man, no one will expect that such a work as this can be altogether free of faults, and that it is impossible to please every reader : as this is the case, my great ambition is to gratify those of a kindred spirit, whose ears are ever open to the recital of the tales of other years ; of their country and its inhabitants, their loves and wars, joys and woes, as de- picted by worthies, who once, like themselves, filled an honourable situation in life; who shared in the fes- tivities of their day ; but who are now, unless in the songs of their mirth and sadness, exploded from the me- mories of a forgetful world. Yet a remnant shall be saved ; the lovers of Ancient Minstrelsy will find many of those ditties that gladdened the hearts of their an- cestors, and cheered the warlike halls of their an- cient and noble possessors, to enrich the work now be- fore them. Altliough the labourers in this field of tra- ditionary Song have, of late, proved abundant, and their gleanings made with pious care, their works will show how thin their harvest has been. And, I may add, every year is making it more and more so, by the demise of some worthy matron, or hoary-headed sire, who is silently sliding away at the command of ruth- less death, to where the sons of the morning sing to- gether in endless concert. There are still, though now few, some beautiful and sweet morsels of the olden times, to be found among the aged and venerated people of the North, that have escaped the most diligent researches of these modern reapers. As much of our traditionary history, particularly local, is blended with the family exploits of the times, as recorded in the olden balUds, xu their preservation becomes necessary, and a profitable source of useful information and delight, not only to the antiquary, but to every one who feels an interest in the decayed memories of their forefathers — who wish to cherish a national spirit, and who are anxious to support the time-worn structure, and falling towers of Ancient Scottish National Song. Let them then rouse each latent feeling-, and encourage those who make such studies their delight, and who take pleasure in preserving them. As man has a thinking principle within him, he is conscious that nothing in this world can perfect his happiness, so that he flies from one object to another, wilh a view of lessening his misery, or increasing his pleasure ; and, as times and ages change, so do his manners, feeling, and dispositions ; what was his joy to- day, may become his sorrow to-morrow. He has at length discovered, that, in recovering the vestiges of the olden times, he anticipates a mental satisfaction rare- ly arising from the pursuits of vice. The literature of past ages has engrossed the study and attention of al- most every civilized and learned man. He can judge from the works of imagination, the state of the minds of his ancestors, and the manners and characters of a rude, or an enlightened people, in their native colour and dress. And, as of late years, there has been more than an ordinary enquiry after the poetical reliques of our early history, much has been preserved from the wreck of ages — old things have become new, and a re- novation of our Scottish literature seems to have taken place in all the plenitude of its strength and beauty. The darksome ages that gave birth to the mental at- chievements of our forefathers, are now forgot ; and that spirit only which lay sleeping in the tomb of for- getfulncss, arises with the vigour it was wont to show in its chivalric deeds : And, although the age of knight- errantry and chivalry have passed entirely away, those emotions of heroic feeling are still alive in the breasts of many. The human heart still retains the same sen- timents of honour, and the lofty magnanimity of the glory of past ages. To these kindred spirits, do I then offer the pride of my toils ; — the only legitimate history of the super- stitions and times in which they were conceived. In them, the lives and actions of kings, nobles, and com- mons, will be found delineated with the artless and unassuming pen of nature : their ancestors pourtrayed in their true colours, and a display of those deeds which gave rise to their first ambition and greatness. Should, then, the following volumes meet with that encourage- ment which I anticipate, I will not eat the bread of idleness, but still persevere in culling and garnering lip for the sons of Scotsmen yet unborn, those sweetly variegated blossoms which Lloom in the straw-covered cot, among the silvery-headed monumenis of living antiquity, in the North of my native Isle. Long, and perhaps tiresome, as this Introduction has been to many of my readers, I must still add a few words more, partly by way of showing my fervent gratitude, and partly by way of explanation of what follows. — In the first place, it is necessary to say by what means I became possessed of so many valuable reliques as adorn the following pages, as some of laj XIV •sceptical readers may think them forgeries ; but as it .^.tis impossible for me to satisfy every person, I must '•adopt the shortest method, by saying, that the greater part of them was taken down by myself during the last ten or twelve years, from the singing and recitation of old men and women, in various parts of Scotland, but chiefly in Aberdeenshire : others were sent me by la- dies and gentlemen of the highest respectability, on wliose words, as to their authenticity, I could safely depend ; but as it would be too tedious to name them all, although to all my thanks are due, I shall on- ly particularize Hugh Irvine, Esq. Drum ; Mal- viNA, a young lady in Aberdeen ; and Mr James Ni- coL, Strichen. I must also mention that I was much indebted to the recitation of James Rankin, an old man, blind from his birth, with a most retentive me- mory, and who is at this moment gathering for me what can be gleaned within the circle of a large and extensive acquaintance ; as it is my most earnest wish, and greatest pleasure, to preserve every fragment and literary monument of our early ancestors, that can illustrate the history and times in which they had their existence on this terrestrial ball, however much and unjustly I may be reprobated, as of late I have been, by ignorant persons, under a false show of modesty and grace. And, although this is the first attempt of the kind that was ever made in the North, I trust it will not be the last ; for among our heath-clad hills the roses as well as the thistles grow — in the glens, sprigs of the willow are to be found, and the harp of Apollo often heard ! XV ' My best acknowledgments are not less due to John HiCHARDSON, Esq. of Pitfour, Pitfour Castle, Perth- shire, for the loan of a curious and interesting old, MS. ''^Volume of Poems. On the first page of this MS. is written — " This Buick perteens to a verie honourable ■ womane, Margarat Robertsoune, relict of vmquhile Alexander Stcuart of Bonskeid, Anno Domini l630." I am informed she belonged to the Lude family, and the Poems are those referred to by General Stewart of Garth, in his Sketches of the Highlands, as containing proofs of the advanced state of literature in the Hig-h- lands in the 1 7th century. Of this collection I in- tended to have given freely ; but on arriving at Edin- burgh, I found the work so far advanced in the print- ing as to prevent me from giving more than two pieces as a specimen, which will be found at the end of this In- troduction. However, in a forthcoming volume, which has already been called for, as my Ballad-store is not yet exhausted, I will then avail myself of its contents, and draw upon it largely. I shall now close this Introduction by observing, that, among the many gentlemen of rank and respec- tability, who have interested themselves not a little in the success of this publication, am I indebted to Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esquire, Edinburgh, and to whom I beg to offer, with every sense of respect and esteem, my most sincere thanks for the trouble he has taken in revising the proof-sheets of the Ballads as they emanated from the press, as my living at such a distance from Edinburgh prevented my own correc- tions. No one, however, that knows the refined taste and superior judgment of this gentleman, in every thing XVI connected with Ancient Scottish Literature, will re- gret my absence. The Introduction and Notes are as they came from my pen. A tribute of grateful respect is also due to all those who have encouraged the work by their friendly patronage, as without patrons all ray labours would have been lost. To avoid the imputation of vanity, I am anxious to state, that the Portrait prefixed to this volume has been given at the special request of some of my friends in Edinburgh, who have taken an interest in the publi- cation. PETER BUCHAN. Feteruead, October 1828. xvu ITS A VONDER TO SEE HOW THIS VORLD DOES GOE. Sumtyme have I sein whein the vorld hes bein mirrie, ' ' Accepted with melanchoUy, hot now its grown sad : Suintyme have I sein whein the vorld not bein wearic, What toyll, or vhat travcll, vhat cross we have had. Now sighing for singing, our mynd is confused, Now laughing for louing, wc loath that we loued ; Rejoycing. reposing, nothing hot in woe, Its a vonder to sie how this vorld docs goe. The planets ar changed tliair contrary cours. And he that vas heighcst is lowest broght down ; And he who was vorthiest now is grown vorst. Marc Venus and JNIercurie zeild to the Mone. The Heavins had a hermon, bot now is grown heirs. In mouing thair mover, and chainging ther vers ; Such chainges, too strainges, as Neptune doc, Its a vonder to sie how yis vorld does goe. Now Fortoun turns mad, and Venus a wich. Blind Cupid, that fondling, knows not quhair he flies; Ther is noe man respectit, bot he that (is) riche, True waillour and vertue ar sucken in the skyes. The gallants ar gayest tliat gritest can glut, The fellow is fynest that veirs the Frence hat ;. Goe fatlands for hatbands, and shaikcrs also, Its a vonder to sie how this vorld doth goe. The sillie puir pcddleris that liuis on ther packs, Ar loupen to lordscliipes, and lives on ther rent ; Now gallants and greit men ar all gone aback, Thay clap al in cationrie for skiprigs yai spent. Now he (is) ane lord that lait was ane cloun, And she is ane l.idey that lait was a loun ; Cum hurly, cum burly, the vsurer so. Its a voundcr to sie how tills vorld doth goe. xvm JAMES HERUIE. My love band me with a kisse, Yat I sould no langer stay ; Quhen I felt so sweit a blisse, I had les pouer to pairt away ; AUace yat woman doth not know, Kisses mak men loth to goe ! Zes, she knawes it bot too weil, For I hard when Venus doue, In her eares did softlie tell, Yat kisses wer the sealles of loue ; Och much not then though it be so. Kisses mak men loth to go ! Wherfor did she thus inflame. My dcsyres heats my blood ; Instantlye to quenche the same, And sterue whom she had given foode ; I, I, ye comming sence can sho, Kisses mak men loth to goe ! ^^ Had she bid me goe at first. It wald neer haue greud my hairt ; Hoop delayd had bein worst, Bot och to kisse, and then to pairt ; How deip it strock, speak, gods, you kno. Kisses mak men loth to go f CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. X Ballads. Notet. Sir Patrick Spens ... Page 1 289 Young Akin .... 6 290 Young Waters ... 15 2S1 The Gowans sae Gay 22 ib. 'The Twa Magicians 24 292 Childe Owlet - 27 293 The Bent sae Brown 30 ib. Leesome Brand . - - 38 294 Clerk 'I'amas ... 43 ib. The Queen of Scotland 46 ib. The Earl of JNIar's Daughter "^ - 49 295 Death of Lord Waniston 66 296 Earl Crawford ... 61 297 Rose the Red and White Lillie 67 ib. Burd Isbel and Sir Patrick 76 298 Charlie M'Pherson 85 ib. Charles Graeme 89 299 The Courteous Knight 91 ib. Sweet Willie and Fair IMaisry 97 309 Young Prince James 103 ib. Brown Robyn's Confession 110 ib. The Three Brothers III 301 The Maid and Fairy 117 ib. Young Hunting 118 302 Blancheflour and Jellyflorice 125 303 Lady Isabel ... 129 304 Gight's Lady ... 133 ib. The Drowned Lovers 140 305 Earl Richard's Daughter 145 306 Willie and Lady Maisry 155 ib. XX Clerk Sandy Willie and Fair Burd Anne The Enchanted Ring . . - Broom o' the Cowdenknowes Proud Maitland ... Lord Darlington ... Blue Flowers and Yellow Jean o' Bethelnie's Love for Sir G. Gordon The Holy Nunnery The New Slain Knight The White Fisher Lord Dingwall ... James Herries . - - Barbara Blair ... Thomas o' Yonderdale The Knight's Ghost >' The Trooper and Fair Maid Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet Castle Ha's Daughter Willie's Drowned in Gamery Lang Johnny INIoir . - . Cuttie's Wedding ... Miss Gordon of Gight - - • The Man to the Green, Joe Auld Scour Abeen ... The Wee Bridalie The Little Man The Poor Auld Maidens The Guise of Tyrie ... The Fause Lover ... Our John is Dowing ... Bonny Saint John .... Robyn's Tesment . . . - Richard's INIary . . . . . The Cunning Clerk ... The Clerks of Oxenford Ballads. Notet. Page ICO 307 167 ib. 169 ib. 172 308 179 309 183 ib. 185 310 188 ib. 193 311 197 ib. 200 ib. 204 312 214 ib. 218 313 221 ib. 227 314 230 ib. 234 315 - 241 ib. 245 ib. 248 316 257 ib. 258 317 259 _— 261 _ 262 _ 263 317 264 ib. 266 ib. 268 318 271 — 272 — 273 318 275 ib. 278 319 281 ib. ANCIENT BALLADS AND SONGS OF THE NORTH OF SCOTLAND. ^it Patrick ^pens. The King sits in Dunfermline town, A' drinking at the wine ; Says, Where will I get a good skipper Will sail the saut seas fine ? Out it speaks an eldren knight Amang the companie, — Young Patrick Spens is the best skipper That ever sail'd the sea. The king he wrote a braid letter, And seal'd it wi' his rinsr: Says, Ye'U gi'e that to Patrick Spens, See if ye can him find. VOL. I. B 2 He sent this, not w^ an auld man, Nor yet a simple boy, But the best o"" nobles in his train This letter did convoy. When Patrick look'd the letter upon A light laugh then ga'e he ; But ere he read it till an end, The tear blinded his e''e. Ye'll eat and drink, my merry men a'*, An"' see ye be weell thorn ; For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind, My guid ship sails the morn. Then out it speaks a guid auld man, A guid death mat he dee,— Whatever ye do, my guid master, Tak' God your guide to bee. For late yestreen I saw the new moon. The auld moon in her arm. Ohon, alas ! says Patrick Spens, That bodes a deadly storm. But I maun sail the seas the morn. And likewise sae maun you ; To Noroway, wi' our king's daughter,- A chosen queen she's now. 3 l3ut I wonder who has been sae base, As tauld the king o' mee : Even the' hec ware my ae brithcr, An ill death mat he dee. Now Patrick he rigg'd out his ship, And sailed ower the faem ; But mony a dreary thought had hee, While liee was on the main. They hadna saiPd upon the sea A day but barely three ; Till they came in sight o' Noroway, It's there where they must bee. They hadna stayed into that place A month but and a day, Till he causVl the flip in mugs gae roun\ And wine in cans sae gay ; The pipe and harp sae sweetly play'd, The trumpets loudly soun"" ; In every hall where in they stay'd, Wi' their mirth did reboun.' Then out it speaks an auld skipper. An inbearing dog was hee,— Ye've stay'd ower lang in Noroway, Spending your king's monie. Then out it speaks Sir Patrick Spens,^ O how can a' this bee ? I ha'e a bow o' guid red gowd Into my ship wi' mee. But betide me well, betide me wae, This day I'se leave the shore ; And never spend my king's monie 'Mong Noroway dogs no more. Young Patrick hee is on the sea, And even on the faem ; Wi' five-an-fifty Scots lords' sons, That lang'd to bee at hame. They hadna sail'd upon the sea A day but barely three ; Till loud and boistrous grew the wind, And stormy grew the sea. O where will I get a little wee boy Will tak' my helm in hand, Till I gae up to my tapmast, And see lor some dry land ? He hadna gane to his tapmast A step but barely three ; Ere thro' and thro' the bonny ship's side. He saw the green haw-sea. There are five-an-fifty feather beds Well packed in ae room ; And ye'U get as niuckle guid canvas As wrap the ship a' roun"' ; Ye"'ll pict her well, and spare her not, And mak' her hale and soun\ But ere lie had the word well spoke The bonny ship was down. O laith, laith were our guid lords' sons To weet their milk-white hands ; But lang ere a** the play was ower They wat their gowdcn bands. O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sons To weet their coal-black shoon ; But lang ere a' the play was ower They wat their hats aboon. It's even ower by Abcrdour It's fifty fathoms deep. And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spcns, And a's men at his feet. It's even ower by Abcrdour, There's mony a craig and fin, And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spcn>>, Wi' mony a guid lord's son. Liing-, lung will the ladycs look Into their morning weed, Before they see young Patriek Spcns Come sailing ower the flced. Lang, lang will the ladyes look Wi"" their fans in their hand. Before they see him, Patrick Spens, Come sailing to dry land. Lady Margaret sits in her bower door Sewing at her silken seam ; She heard a note in Elmond's-wood, And wish'd she there had been. She loot the seam fa"* frac her side, And the needle to her tac ; And she is on to Elmond's-wood As fast as she cou'd gae. She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but anc, Till by it came a young hind chiel, Says, Lady lat alane. O why pu' ye the nut, the nut, Or why brake ye the tree ; For I am forester o' this wood, Ye shou'd spier leave at me ? I'Jl ask leave at no living man, Nor yet will I at thee ; My father is king o'er a' this realm. This wood belongs to me. She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but three. Till by it came him young Akin, And gar'd her lat them be. The highest tree in Elmond's-wood, He's pu'd it by the reet ; And he has built for her a bower Near by a hallow seat. He's built a bower, made it secure Wi' carbuncle and stane ; Tho' travellers were never sae nigh Appearance it had nane. He's kept her there in Elmond's-wood, For six lang years and one ; Till six pretty sons to him she bear. And the seventh she's brought home. s It fell ance upon a day, This guid lord went from home ; And he is to the huntine; ffane. Took wi' him his eldest son. And when they were on a guid way, Wi' slowly pace did walk ; The boy's heart being something wae, He thus began to talk :— A question I wou'd ask, father, Gin ye wou'dna angry be. Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye'se nae be quarrelPd by me. I see my mither's cheeks aye weet, I never can see them dry ; And I wonder what aileth my mither To mourn continually. Your mither was a king's daughter. Sprung frae a high degree ; And she might ha'e wed some worthy prince, Had she nae been stown by me ; I was her father's cup-bearer. Just at that fatal time ; I catch'd her on a misty night, Whan summer was in prime ; 9 IMy luve to her was most sincere, Her luve was great for me ; But when she hardships doth endure, Her folly she does see. I'll shoot the buntin"* o"" the bush. The linnet o' the tree, And bring them to my dear mither, See if she'll merrier be. It fell upo' another day, This guid lord he thought lang, And he is to the hunting gane, Took wi' him his dog and gun ; Wi' bow and arrow by his side, He's aff, single, alane ; And left his seven children to stay Wi' their mither at hame. O, I will tell to you, mither, Gin ye wadna angry be. Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy, Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me. As we came frae the hynd hunting, We heard fine music ring. My blessings on you, my bonny boy, I wish I'd been there my lane. 10 He''s taVn his mither by the hand, His six brithers also, And they are on thro' Elmond's-wood, As fast as they cou'd go ; They wistna weel where they were gaen, Wi' the stratHns o' their feet ; They wistna weel where they were gaen Till at her father's yate. I hae nae money in my pocket, But royal rings hae three ; I'll gie them you, my little young son. And ye'll walk there for me ; Ye'Il gi'e the first to the proud porter, And he will lat you in ; Yc'li gi'e the next to the butler boy. And he will show you ben ; Ye'U gi'e the third to the minstrel That plays before the king ; He'll play success to the bonny boy, Came thro' the wood him lane. He ga'e the first to the proud porter, And he open'd an' let him in ; He ga'e the next to the butler boy. And he has shown him ben ; 11 He ga'e the third to the minstrel Tliat playM before the king ; And he play'd success to the bonny boy Came thro' tlie wood him lane. Now when he came before the king, Fell low down on his knee ; The king he turned round about, And the saut tear blinded his ee. Win up, win up, my bonny boy, Gang f rae my companie ; Ye look sae like my dear daughter. My heart will birst in three. If I look like your dear daughter, A wonder it is none ; If I look like your dear daughter,— I am her eldest son. Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy, Where may my Margaret be ? She's just now standing at your yates. And my six brithers her wi\ O where are all my porter boys That I pay meat and fee, To open my yates baith wide and braid ? Let her come in to me. IS When she came in before the king, Fell low down on her knee : Win up, win up, my daughter dear, This day ye '11 dine wi' me. Ae bit I canno' eat, father, Nor ac drop can I drink. Till I see my mither and sister dear For lang for them I think. When she came before the queen, Fell low down on her knee : Win up, win up, my daughter dear, This day ye'se dine wi' me. Ae bit I canno' eat, mither. Nor ae drop can I drink. Until I see my dear sister, ' For lang for her I think. When that these two sisters met, She haifd her courteouslie : Come ben, come ben, my sister dean, This day yc'se dine wi' me. Ac bit I canno' eat, sister. Nor ac drop can 1 drink. Until I see my dear husband, For lang for him I think. 13 O where arc all my rangers bold, That I pay meat and fee, To search the forest far an' wide, And bring Akin to me ? Out it speaks the little wee boy, — Na, na, this maunna be ; Without ye grant a free pardon, I hope ye'll nae him see. O here I grant a free pardon. Well seard by my own han' ; Ye may make search for young Akin, As soon as ever you can. They searched the country wide and braid, The forests far and near ; And found him into Elmond's-wood, Tearing his yellow hair. Win up, win up, now young Akin, Win up and boun wi' me ; We're messengers come from the court, The king wants you to see. O lat him take frae me my head, Or hang me on a tree ; For since IVe lost my dear lady, Life's no pleasure to me. 14 Your head will nae be touched, Akin, Nor hang\l upon a tree ; Your lady''s in her father's court, And all he wants is thee. When he came in before the king, Fell low down on his knee. Win up, win up, now young Akin, This day ye'se dine wi' me. But as they were at dinner set, The boy asked a boun ; I wish we were in the good church, For to get Christendoun ; We ha'e lived in guid green wood This seven years and ane ; But a' this time since e"*er I mind, Was never a church within. Your asking's nae sae great, my boy, But granted it shall be ; This day to guid church ye shall gang, And your ipaither $hall gang you wi.' When unto the guid church she came. She at the door did stan' ; She was sae sair sunk down wi' shame. She cou'dna come farer ben. 15 Then out it speaks the parish priest, And a sweet smile gae he ; — Come ben, come ben, my hly flower, Present your babes to me. Charles, Vincent, Sara, and Dick, And likewise James and Jolm ; They call'd the eldest Young Akin, Which was his father's name. Then they staid in the royal court, And liv'd wi' mirth and glee ; And when her father was deceas'd, Heir of the crown was she. goun0 Maters. It fell about the gude Yule time When caps and stoups gaed roun' ; Down it came him young Waters, To welcome James, our king. The great, the great, rade a' together ; The sma'* came a' behin'; But wi' young Waters, that brave knight, There came a gay gatherin\ 16 The horse young Waters rade upon, It cost him hunders nine ; For he was siller shod before, And gowd graith had behin'; At ilka tippit o' his horse mane There hang a siller bell ; The wind was loud, the steed was proud, And they gae a sindry knell. The king he lay ower's castle wa'. Beheld baith dale and down ; And he beheld him, young Waters, Come riding to the town. He turn'd him right and round about, And to the queen said he,— Who is the bravest man, my dame. That ever your een did see ? I've seen lairds, and I've seen lords, And knights o' high degree ; But a braver man than young Waters My e'en did never see. He turn'd him right and roun' about. And ane angry man was he ; O wae to you, my dame, the queen, Ye might ha'e excepted me ! 17 Ye are nae laird, ye are nae lord, Ye are the king that wears the crown ; There's nae a lord in lair Scotland, But unto you maun a' bow down. O, lady, for your love choicing, Ye shall win to your will ; The morn, or I eat or drink, Young Waters I'll gar kill. And nevertheless, the king cou'd say. Ye might ha'e excepted me ; Yea for yea, the king cou'd say, Young Waters he shall die. Likewise for your ill-wyled words. Ye sail ha''e cause to mourn ; Gin ye hadna been sae big wi' child, Ye on a hill su'd burn. Young Waters came before the king, Fell low down on his knee ; Win up, win up, young Waters, What's this I hear o' thee ? What ails the king at me, he said, What ails the king at me ? It is tauld me the day, sir knight, Ye've done me treasonie. VOL. I. C 18 Liars will lie on fell gude men, Sae will they do on me ; I wudna wish to be the man That liars on wudna lie. Nevertheless, the king cou'd say, In prison Strang gang ye ; O yea for yea, the king cou'd say. Young Waters ye shall die. Syne they ha'e ta'en him, young Waters, Laid him in prison Strang ; And left him there wi' fetters boun". Making a heavy mane. Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town. Thro' heavy wind and weet ; But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town Wi' fetters on my feet. Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town. Thro' heavy wina and rain ; But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town, But thought to ridden't again. They brought him to the heading hill. His horye, bot and his saddle ; And they brought to the heading hill, His young son in his cradle. 19 And they brought to the heading hill, His hounds intili a Icish; And they brought till the heading hill. His gos-hawk in a jess. King James he then rade up the hill, And mony a man him wi"" ; And called on his trusty page. To come right speedilie. Ye'U do' ye to the Earl o' M«ir, For he sits on yon hill ; Bid him loose the brand frae his bodie, Young Waters for to kill. O gude forbid, the Earl he said. The like su'd e'er fa' me ; My bodie e'er su'd wear the brand. That gars young Waters die. Then he has loos'd his trusty brand. And casten't in the sea ; Says, Never lat them get a brand, Till it come back to me. The scaffold it prepared was. And he did mount it hie ; And a* spectators that were there, The laut tears blint their e'e. 20 O liad your tongues, my brethren dear. And mourn nae mair lor me ; Ye're seeking grace frae a graceless face, For there is nane to gie. Ye'll tak'' a bit o^ canvas claith, And pit it ower my ee ; And Jack, my man, ye'll be at hand. The hour that I su'd die. Syne afF ye'll tak' my bluidy sark, Gie it fair Margaret Grahame ; For she may curse the dowie dell That brought King James, him hame. Ye'll bid her mak' her bed narrow, And mak' it naeways wide ; For a brawer man than young Waters Will ne'er streek by her side. Bid her do weel to my young son. And gie him nurses three ; For gin he live to be a man, King James will gar him die. He call'd upon the headsman, then, A purse o' gowd him gae ; Says, Do your office, headsman, boy. And mak' nae mair delay. 21 O head mc soon, O head me clean, And pit nie out o' pine ; For it is by the king's command, — Gang head me till his min\ Tho' by him I'm condemned to die, I'm lieve to his ain kin ; And for the truth, I'll plainly tell, I am his sister's son. Gin ye're my sister's son, he said, It is unkent to me ; O mindna ye on your sister, Bess, That lives in the French countrie. Gin Bess then be your mither dear, As I trust well she be ; G^e hame, gae hame, young Waters, Ye'se ne'er be slain by me. But he lay by his napkin fine. Was saft as ony silk ; And on the block he laid his neck, Was whiter than the milk. Says, Strike the blow, ye headsman boy. And that right spcedilic ; It's never be said here gaos a knight, Was ance condcnm'd to die. 22 The head was ta'en frae young Waters, And mony tears for him shed ; But niair did mourn for fair Margaret, As raving, she lyes mad. Fair lady Isabel sits in her bower sewing, Aye as the gowans grow gay ; There she heard an elf-knight blawing his horn. The first morning in May. If I had yon horn that I hear blawing. Aye as the gowans grow gay ; And yon elf-knight to sleep in my bosom. The first morning in May. This maiden had scarcely these words spoken, Aye as the gowans grow gay ; Till in at her window the elf-knight has luppen. The first morning in May. Its a very strange matter, fair maiden, said he. Aye as the gowans grow gay, I canna' blaw my horn, but ye call on me, The first morning in May. 2S But will ye go to yon greenwood side. Aye as the gowans grow gay ? If ye canna' gang, I will cause you to ride. The first morning in May. He leapt on a horse, and she on another, Aye as the gowans grow gay ; And they rode on to the greenwood together. The first morning in May. Light down, light down, lady Isabel, said he. Aye as the gowans grow gay ; We are come to the place where ye are to die. The first morning in May. Ha"'e mercy, ha''e mercy, kind sir, on me, Aye as the gowans grow gay ; Till ance my dear father and mother I see, The first morning in May. Seven kings' daughters here hae I slain. Aye as the gowans grow gay ; And ye shall be the eight o' them. The first morning in May. O sit down a while, lay your head oa my knee, Aye as the gowans grow gay ; That we may hae some rest before that I die. The first momiDg in May. 24 She stroak'd him sae fast, the nearer he did creep, Aye as the gowans grow gay ; Wr a sma' charm she lull'd him fast asleep, The first morning in May. Wi' his ain sword belt sae fast as she ban' him, Aye as the gowans grow gay ; Wi' his ain dag-durk sae sair as she dang him, The first morning in May. If seven kings' daughters here ye ha'e slain, Aye as the gowans grow gay, Lye ye here, a husband to them a', The first morning in May. Cl)e f tea iBac^imm. The lady stands in her bower door. As straight as willow wand ; The blacksmith stood a little forebye, Wi' hammer in his hand. Weel may ye dress ye, lady fair, Into your robes o' red, Before the morn at this same time, I'll gain your maidenhead. 25 Awa', awa', ye coal-black-smith, Wou'd ye do me the wrang, To think to gain my maidenhead. That I hac kept sac lang. Then she has hadden up her hand, And she sware by the mold, I wu'dna be a blacksmith's wife. For the full o' a chest o"" gold. I'd rather I were dead and gone. And my body laid in grave, Ere a rusty stock o' coal-black-smith, My maidenhead shou'd have. But he has hadden up his hand. And he sware by the mass, I'll cause ye be my light leman, For the hauf o' that and less. Chorus. — O bide, lady, bide, And aye he bade her bide ; The rusty smith your leman shall be. For a' your muckle pride. Then she became a turtle dow. To fly up in the air ; And he became another dow, And they flew pair and pair. O bide, lady, bide, &c. 26 She turri'd hersell into an eel, To swim into yon burn ; And he became a speckled trout, To gie the eel a turn. O bide, lady, bide, &c. Then she became a duck, a duck, To puddle in a peel ; And he became a rose-kaim'd drake, To gie the duck a dreel. O bide, lady, bide, &c. She turn'd hersell into a hare, To rin upon yon hill ; And he became a gude grey hound, And boldly he did fill. O bide, lady, bide. Sec. Then she became a gay grey mare. And stood in yonder slack ; And he became a gilt saddle. And sat upon her back. Chorus. — Was she wae, he held her sae. And still he bade her bide ; The rusty-smith her leman was, For a' her muckle pride. Then she became a het girdle, And he became a cake ; 27 And a' the ways she turn'd hersell, The blacksmith was her make. Was she wae, &c. She turn'd hersell into a'ship, To sail out ower the flood ; He ca'ed a iiiti! iiitiil her tail. And syne the ship she stood. Was she wae, &c. Then she became a silken plaid, And stretched upon a bed ; And he became a green covering, And gain'd her maiden-head. Chorus.^Was she wae, he held her sae, And still he bade her bide ; The rusty -smith her leman was, For a' her muckle pride. CtiJtie ^bkt. Lady Erskine sits in her chamber, Sewing at her silken seam, A chain of gold for Childe Owlet, As he goes out and in. 28 But it fell ancc upon a day, She unto him did say ; Ye must cuckold Lord Rontild, For a"' his lands and ley. O cease, forbid, Madam, he says, That this shou'd e'er be done ; How would I cuckold Lord Ronald, And me his sister's son ? Then she's ta'cn out a little penknife, That lay below her bed ; Put it below her green stay's cord, Which made her body bleed. Then in it came him, Lord Konald, Hearing his lady's moan ; What blood is this, my deal', he says, That sparks on the fire stone ? Young Childe Owlet, your sister's son. Is now gane frae my bower ; If I hadna been a good woman, I'd been Childe Owlet's whore. Then he has ta'en him, Childe Owlet, Laid him in prison strong ; And all his men a council held, How they wou'd work him wrong. 29 Some said, they wou'd Childe Owlet hang; Some said they wou'd him burn ; Some said they wou'd have Childe Owlet Between wild horses torn. There are horses in your stables stand. Can run right speedilie ; And ye will to your stable go. And wile out four for me. They put a foal to ilka foot, And ane to ilka hand ; And sent them down to Darling muir, As fast as they cou"'d gang. There was not a kow in Darling muir. Nor ae piece o' a rind, But drappit o' Childe Owlet's blude. And pieces o' his skin. There was not a kow in Darling muir. Nor ae piece o'' a rash ; But drappit o' Childe Owlet's blude, And pieces o' his flesh. so ?rt)e Bent sae Btoiim> There are sixteen lang miles Fm sure, Between my love and me ; There are eight o' them in gude dry land, And other eight by sea. Betide me life, betide me death, My love I''ll gang and see ; Altho"" her friends they do me hate, Her love is great for me. Of my coat I'll make a boat. And o' my sark a sail ; And o' ray cane a gude tapmast. Dry land till I come tilL Then o' his coat he's made a boat, And o' his sark a sail ; And o' his cane a gude tapmast. Dry land till he came till. He is on to Annie's bower door, And tirled at the pin ;— O sleep ye, wake ye, my love, Annie, Ye'U rise lat me come in. 31 who is this at my bower door, Sae well that kens my name ? It is your true love, sweet Willie, For you I've cross'd the faem. 1 am deeply sworn, Willie, By father and by mother ; At kirk or market where we meet. We dar'na own each othtr. And I am deeply sworn, Willie, By my bauld brothers three; At kirk or market where we meet, I dar'na speak to thee. Ye take your red fan in your hand. Your white fan ower your een ; And ye may swear, and save your oath. Ye saw'na me come in. Ye take me in your arms twa. And carry me to your bed ; And ye may swear, and save your oath, Your bower I never tread. She's ta'en her red fan in her hand. The white fan ower her een ; It was to swear and save her oath. She saw'na him come in. 32 She's ta'en him in her arms twa, And carried him to her bed ; It was to swear and save her oath. Her bower he never tread. They hadna kiss'd nor love clapped. As lovers do when they meet ; Till up it waukens her mother. Out o"* her drowsy sleep. Win up, win up, my three bauld sons, Win up and make ye boun"* ; Your sister's lover''s in her bower. And he's but new come in. Then up it raise her three bauld sons, And girt to them their brand ; And they are to their sister''s bower As fast as they cou'd gang. When they came to their sister's bower, They sought it up and down ; But there was neither man nor boy, In her bower to be foun\ Then out it speaks the first o' them, We'll gang and lat her be ; For there is neither man nor boy Intill her companie. 33 Tlien out it speaks the second son, Our travel's a' in vain ; But mother dear, nor father dear, bhall break our rest again. Then out it speaks the third o' them, (An ill death mat he die !) We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown, That Willie we may see. He stood behind his love's curtains. His goud rings show'd him light ; And by this ye may a"" weell guess, He was a renowned knight. o' He's done him to his love's stable. Took out his berry-brown steed ; His love stood in her bower door. Her heart was like to bleed. mourn ye for my coming, love ? Or for my short staying ? Or mourn ye for our safe sind'rino-. Case we never meet again ? 1 mourn nae for your here coming, Nor for your staying lang ; Nor mourn I for our safe sind'ring,- I hope we'll meet again. VOL. I. D 34 I wish ye may won safe away, And safely frae the town ; For ken you not my brothers three Are 'mang the bent sae brown. If I were on my berry-brown steed, And three miles frae the town, I woudna fear your three bauld brothers, Amang the bent sae brown. He leint him ower his saddle bow. And kiss'd her lips sae sweet; Thi' tears that fell between these twa. They wat his great steed's feet. But he wasna on his berry-brown steed. Nor twa miles frae the town. Till up it starts these three fierce men, Aniano- the bent sae brown. 'O Then up they came like three fierce men, Wi' mony shout and cry ; Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth. What makes your haste away ? For I must know before you go, Tell me, and make nae lie ;— • If ye've been in my sister's bower. My hands shall gar ye die. S5 Tho* I've been in your sister's bower, I have nae fear o' thee ; I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight. And shall gain victorie. Now I entreat you for to stay. Unto us gie a wad ; If ye our words do not obey, I'se gar your body bleed. I have nae wad, says sweet Willie, Unless it be my brand ; And that shall guard my fair body, Till I win frae your hand. Then twa o' them stept in behind, All in a furious meed ; The third o' them came him before. And seiz'd his berry-brown steed. O then he drew his trusty brand, That hang down- by his gare; And he has slain these three fierce men. And left them sprawling there. Then word has gane to her mother, In bed where she slept soun' : That Willie had kill'd her three bauld sons, Amang the bent sae brown. 36 Tlien she has cut the locks that hung Sa» low down by her ee ; Sae has she kiltit her green claithing A little aboon her knee. And she has on to the king''s court. As fast as gang cou'd she ; When fair Annie got word o' that,^ Was there as soon as she. Her mother when before the king, Fell low down on her knee: Win up, win up, my dame, he said, What is your will wi' rneP My wills they are not sma"", my liege, The tnnh ''!l tell to thee: There is &De o' your courtly knights i^ast niffht hae robbed me. *o And has he broke your bigly bowers, Or has he stole your fee .'' There is nae knight into my court Last night has been frae me ; Unless 'twas Willie o' Lauderdale, Forbid that it be he ! And by my sooth, says the auld woman. That very man is he. - 37 For he has broke my bigly bowers,' And he has stole my fee ; And made my daughter, Ann, a whore, And an ill woman is she. That was not all he did to me. Ere he went frae the town ; My sons sae true he fiercely slew, Amang the bent sae brown. Then out it spake her daughter Ann, She stood by the king's knee ; Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear, Sae loud's I hear you lie. He has not broke your bigly bowers, Nor has he stole your fee ; Nor made your daughter, Ann, a whore, A good woman I'll be. Altho' he slew your three bauld soiia, He weel might be forgien ; They were well clad in armour bright. Whan my love was him lane. Well spoke, well spoke, the king replied. This tanking pleases me ; For ae kiss o' your lovely mouth, ril set your true love free. ;Oiiiu:i 38 She's taen the king in her arms, And kissM him cheek and chin ; He then set her behind her love, And they went singing hame. My boy was scarcely ten years auld. Whan he went to an unco land, Where wind never blew, nor cocks ever crew, Ohon ! for my son, Leesome Brand. Awa' to that king's court he went. It was to serve for meat an"' fee ; Gude red gowd it was liis h i*c. And lang in that king"'s court stay'd he. He hadna been in that unco land. But only twailmonths t.wa or three ; Till by the glancing o' his ee. He gain'd the love o' a gay ladye. This ladye was scarce eleven years auld. When on her love she was right bauld; She was scarce up to my right knee. When ot't in bed wi' men I'm tauld. 39 But when nine months were come and gane, This ladye's face turn'd pale and wane, To Leesome Brand she then did say, In this place I can nae mair stay. Ye do you to my father'^s stable, Where steeds do stand baith wight and able ; Strike ane o' them upo"" the back, The swiftest will gie his head a wap. Ye take liim out upo"* the green, And get him saddled and bridled seen ; Get ane for you, anither for me, And lat us ride out ower the lee. Ye do you to my mother's coffer, And out of it ye'll take my tocher ; Therein are sixty thousand pounds, Which all to me by right belongs. He's done him to her father's stable. Where steeds stood baith wicht and able; Then he strake ane upon the back. The swiftest gae his head a wap. He's ta'en him out upo' the green. And got him saddled and bridled seen; Ane for liim, and another for her, To carry them baith wi' might and \4rr. 40 He's done him to her mother's coffer, And there he's taen his lover's tocher ; Wherein were sixty thousand pound, Which all to her by right belonged. When they had ridden about six mile, His true love then began to fail ; wae's me, said that gay ladye, 1 fear my back will gang in three ! O gin I had but a gude midwife, Here this day to save my life ; And ease me o' my misery, O dear how happy I wou'd be ! My love, we're far frae ony town, There is nae midwife to be foun' ; But if ye'll be content wi' me, I'll do for you what man can dee. For no, for no, this maunna be, Wi' a sigh, replied this gay ladye; When I endure my grief and pain. My companie ye maun refrain. Ye'll take your arrow and your bow, And ye will hunt the deer and roe ; Be sure ye touch not the white hynde, For she is o' the woman kind. 41 He took sic pleasure in deer and roe, Till he forgot his gay ladye ; Till by it came that milk-white hynde, And then he mind on his ladye syne. He hasted him to yon greenwood tree, For to relieve his gay ladye ; But found his ladye lying dead, Likeways her young son at her head. His mother lay ower her castle wa'. And she beheld baith dale and down ; And she beheld young Leesome Brand, As he came riding to the town. Get minstrels for to play, she said, And dancers to dance in my room ; For here comes my son, Leesome Brand, And he comes merrilie to the town. Seek nae minstrels to play, mother, Nor dancers to dance in your room ; But tho' your son comes, Leesome Brand, Yet he comes sorry to the town. I hae lost my gowden knife, 1 rather had lost my ain sweet life ; And I hae lost a better thing, The gilded sheath that it was in. 42 Are there nae gowdsmiths here in Fife, Can make to you anither knife ? Are there nae sheath-makers in the land, Can make a sheath to Leesome Brand ? There are nae gowdsmiths here in Fife, Can make me sic a gowden knife ; Nor nae sheath-makers in the land, Can make to me a sheath again. There ne'er was man in Scotland born, Ordanrd to be so much forlorn ; I've lost my ladye 1 lov'd sae dear, Likeways the son she did me bear. Put in your hand at my bed head, There ye'll find a gude grey horn ; In it three draps o' Saint Paul's ain blude, That hae been there sin' he was born. Drap twa o' them o"* your ladye. And ane upo' your little young son ; Then as lively they will be As the first night ye brought them hame. He put his hand at her bed head, And there he found a gude grey horn ; Wi"* three draps o' Saint Paufs ain blude, That had been there sin' he was born. 4S Then he drapp'd twa on his ladye, And ane o^ them on his young son ; And now they do as Uvely be, As the first day he brought them hame. Clerk ^aittiis. Clerk Tamas lov'd her, fair Annie, As well as Mary lovVi her son ; But new he hates her, fair Annie, And hates the lands that she lives in. Ohon, alas ! said fair Annie, Alasl this day 1 fear Til die; But I will on to sweet Tamas, And see gin he will pity me. As Tamas lay ower his shott window. Just as the sun was gien down, There he beheld her, fair Annie, As she came walking to the town. O where are a' my well-wight men, I wat, that I pay meat and fee. For to lat a' my hounds gang loose. To hunt this vile whore to the sea. 44 The hounds they knew the lady well, And nane o' them they wou'd her bite ; Save ane that is ca'd Gaudy-where, I wat he did the lady smite. wae mat worth ye, Gaudy-where, An ill reward this is to me. For ae bit that I gae the lave, I'm very sure I've gi'en you three. For me, alas ! there*'s nae remeid. Here comes the day that I maun die ; 1 ken ye lov"'d your master well, And sae, alas ! for me, did I ! A captain lay ower his ship window. Just as the sun was gaen down ; There he beheld her, fair Annie, As she was hunted frae the town. Gin ye"'ll forsake father and mither. And sae will ye your friends and kin. Gin ye''ll forsake your lands sae broad. Then come and I will take you in. Yes, I'll forsake baith father and mither. And sae will I my friends and kin, Yes, I'll forsake my lands sae broad. And come, gin ye will take me in. 45 Then a' thing gaed frae fause Tamas, And there was nacthing byde him wi' ; Then he thought lang for Arrandella, It was fair Annie for to see. How do ye now, ye sweet Tamas ? And how gaes a' in your countrie ? I'll do better to you than ever I've done. Fair Annie, gin ye'll come an' see. O Guid forbid, said fair Annie, That e'er the like fa' in my hand ; Wou'd I forsake my ain gude lord. And follow you, a gae-through-land ? Yet never-the-less, now sweet Tamas, Ye'U drink a cup o' wine wi' me ; And nine times in the live lang day, Yoar fair claithing shall changed be. Fair Annie pat it till her cheek, Sae did she till her milk-white chin, Sae did she till her flattering lips, But never a drap o' wine gaed in. Tamas pat it till his cheek, Sae did he till his dimpled chin ; He pat it till his rosy lips. And then the well o' wine gaed in. 46 These pains, said he, are ill to bide i Here is the day that I maun die ; take this cup frae me, Annie, For o' the same I am weary. And sae was T, o"" you, Tamas, When I was hunted to the sea; But Tse gar bury you in state, "Which is mair than ye'd done to me. Srte (EJueen of ©cotUnti. O Troy Muir, my lily flower. An asking I'll ask thee ; Will ye come to my bigley bower. And drink the wine wi' me ? My dame, this is too much honour You have conferred on me ; Vm sure it's mair than I've deserved Frae sic a one as thee. In Reekie's towers I ha'e a bower, And pictures round it set ; There is a bed that is well made. Where you and I shall sleep. 47 O God forbid, this youth then said. That ever I drie sic blame ; As ever to touch the queen's bodie, Altho"' the king's frae hame. When that he had these words spoken. She secretly did say ;— Some evil I shall work this man, Before that it be day. Wlian a' her maids were gane to bed. And knights were gane frae hame; She caird upon young Troy Muir, To put fire in her room. An asking, asking, Troy Muir, An asking ye'll grant me; O, if it be a lawful thing. My dame it's granted be. There is a stane in yon garden, Nae ane lifts it for me ; But if that ye wou'd lift the same, A brave man I'll ca' thee. Under yon stane there is a pit. Most dreary for to see ; And in it there's as much red gowd As buy a dukedom to thee. 48 if I had ae sleep in bed, And saw the morning sun ; As soon's I rise and see the skies, Your will it shall be done. When birds did sing, and sun did rise, And sweetly sang the lark ; Troj Muir to the garden went, To work this dreary wark. He's ta'en the stane then by a ring. And lifted manfullie ; A serpent that lang wanted meat, Round Troy Muir's middle did flee. How shall I get rid o* this foul beast, . Ifs by it I must dee ; 1 never thought the queen, my friend, Wou'd work this mischief to me. But by there came a weelfair'd may, As Troy Muir did tauk ; The serpent's furious rage to lay, Cut aff her fair white pap. As soon as she the same had done. Young Troy Muir wai set free ; And in ane hour the wound was heal'd That nae mair pain had she. 49 Says Troy Muir, My lily flower, Yc ha'e released me ; J3ut before I see another day, My wedded wife ye'se be. He married her on that same day, Brought her to his ain hame ; A lovely son to him she bare. When full nine months were eane. &" As heaven was pleased, in a short time, To ease her first sad pain ; Sac was it pleas'd, when she'd a son, To ha'e a pap again. ^t}e €arl of fHar'o lDmQ\)Ux* It T^as intill a pleasant time, Upon a simmer's day, The noble Earl of Mar's daughter Went forth to sport and play. As thus she did amuse hersell. Below a green aik tree. There she saw a sprightly doo Set on a tower sae hie. VOL. I. E 50 O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true, If yc'll come down to me, Ye'se ha'e a cage o' guid red gowd Instead o"" simple tree : I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage, And siller roun"" your wa' ; I''ll gar ye shine as fair a bird As ony o^ them a\ But she hadnae these words well spoke. Nor yet these words well said. Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower, And lighted on her head. Then she has brought this pretty bird Hame to her bowers and ha' ; And made him shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a*. When day was gane, and night was come, About the evening tide ; This lady spied a sprightly youth Stand straight up by her side. From whence came ye, young man ? she said. That does surprise mc sair ; My door was bolted right secure ; What way ha'e yc come here ? 51 O had your tongue, ye lady fair, Lat a' your folly be; Mind ye not on your turtle doo Last day yc brought wi' thee ? tell me mair, young man, she said. This does surprise me now ; What country ha'e ye come frae ? What pedigree are you ? My mither lives on foreign isles, She has nae mair but me ; She is a queen o' wealth and state, And birth and high degree. Likewise well skill'd in magic spells. As ye may plainly see ; And she transform'd me to yon shape, To charm such maids as thee. 1 am a doo the live lang day, A sprightly youth at night ; This aye gars me appear mair fair In a fair maiden's sight. And it was but this verra day That I came ower the sea ; Your lovely face did me enchant,— I'll live and dee wi' thee^ 52 O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, Nae raair frae me ye'se gae. That's never my intent, my luve. As ye said, it shall be sae. O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, It's time to gae to bed. Wi' a' my heart, my dear marrow, It's be as ye ha'e said. Then he has staid in bower wi' her For sax lang years and ane, Till sax young sons to him she bare, And the seventh she's brought hame. But aye as ever a child was born> He carried them away ; And brought them to his mither''s care, As fast as he cou'd fly. Thus he has staid in bower wi' her For twenty years and three ; There came a lord o"* high renown To court this fair ladie. But still his proffer she refused, And a' his presents too; Says, I'm content to live alane Wi' my bird, Cow-rac-doo. 53 Her father swarc a solemn oath Amang the nobles all, The morn, or ere I eat or drink, This bird I will gar kill. The bird was sitting in his cage, And heard what they did say ; And when he found they were dismist. Says, Waes mc for this day. Before that I do langer stay, And thus to be forlorn, I'll gang unto my mither"'s bower, Where I was bred and born. Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea ; nd lighted near his mithe On a tower o' crowd sae hie. And lighted near his mither''s castle J3"- As his mither was wauking out, To see what she couM see ; And there she saw her little son Set on the tower sae hie. Get dancers here to dance, she said, And minstrclls for to play ; For hwe's my young son, Florentine, Come here wi* «ic to stav. 54 Get nae dancers to dance, mither, Nor minstrclls for to play ; For the mither o' my seven sons. The morn's her wedding-day. O tell me, tell me, Florentine, Tell me, and tell me true ; Tell me this day without a flaw. What I will do for you. Instead of dancers to dance, mither. Or minstrells for to play ; Turn four-and-twenty wall- wight men Like storks, in feathers gray ; My seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee ; And I, mysell, a gay gos-hawk, A bird o' high degree. Then sichin" said the queen hersell. That thing''s too high for me ; But she applied to an auld woman. Who had mair skill than she. Instead o' dancers to dance a dance, Or minstrclls for to play ; Four-and-twenty wall-wight men Turn'd birds o' feathers gray ; 55 Her seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee ; And he, hiniscll, a gay gos-hawk, A bird o' high degree. This flock o' birds took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea ; And landed near the Earl Mar's castle^ Took shelter in every tree. They were a flock o' pretty birds Right comely to be seen ; The people view'd them wi"" surprise As they danc'd on the green. These birds ascended frac the tree, And lighted on the ha' ; And at the last wi' force did flee Amang the nobles a'. The storks there seized some o' the men. They cou'd neither fight nor flee ; The swans they bound the bride's best man Below a green aik tree. They lighted next on maidens fair, Then on the bride's own head ; And wi* the twinklin^^ o' an c'c, The bride and tli.cm were fled. 56 There's ancient men at weddings been, For sixty years or more ; But sic a curious wedding-day They never saw before. For naething cou'd the companie do, Nor naething cou'd they say ; But they saw a flock o' pretty birds That took their bride away. When that Earl Mar, he came to know, Where his dochter did stay ; He sign'd a bond o' unity, And visits now they pay. Oeatlj of Hotti WXaxxi^toxu My mother was an ill woman, In fifteen years she married mc ; I hadna wit to guide a man, Alas 1 ill counsel guided me. Warriston, O Warriston, I wish that ye may sink for sin ; 1 was but bare fifteen years auld, Whan first I entered your yates within. 57 I hadna been a month married, Till my gude lord went to the sea ; I bare a bairn ere he came hame. And set it on the nourice knee. But it fell ance upon a day, That my gude lord rcturn'd from sea ; Then I did dress in the best array, As blythe as ony bird on tree. I took my young son in my arms, Likewise my nourice mc forebye ; And I went down to yon shore side. My gude lord's vessel I might spy. My lord he stood upon the deck, I wyte he hail'd me courteouslie ; Ye are thrice welcome, my lady gay, Whase aught that bairn on your knee ? She turn'd her right and round about. Says, Why take ye sic dreads o' me ? Alas ! I was too young married, To love anodier man but thee. Now hold your tongue, my lady gay, Nae mair falsehoods ye'U tell to mc ; This bonny bairn is not mine, You've loved another while I was on sea. 58 In discontent, then hame she went. And aye the tear did bUn' her e'e ; Says, Of this wretch I'll be revenged, For these harsh words he's said to me. She's counselled wi' her father's steward, What way she cou'd revenged be ; Bad was the counsel then he gave,— It was to gar her gude lord dee. The nourice took the deed in hand, I wat she was well paid her fee ; She kiest the knot, and the loop she ran, Which soon did gar this young lord dee. His brother lay in a room hard by, Alas ! that night he slept too soun' ; But then he waken'd wi' a cry, I fear my brother's putten down. O get me coal and candle light, And get me some gude companie ; But before the hght was brought, Warriston he was gart dee. They've ta'en the lady and fause nourice, In prison strong they ha'e them boun' ; The nourice she was hard o' heart. But the bonny lady fell in swoon. 59 In it came her brother dear, And aye a sorry man was he ; I wou'd gie a"" the lands I heir, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee. borrow me brother, borrow me,— borrowed shall I never be ; For I gart kill my ain gude lord, And hfe is nae pleasure to me. In it came her mother dear, 1 wyte a sorry woman was she ; 1 wou'd gie my white monie and gowd, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee. Borrow me mother, borrow me,— borrow'd shall I never be ; For I gart kill my ain gude lord. And life's now nae pleasure to me. Then in it came her father dear, 1 wyte a sorry man was he ; Says, Ohon ! alas ! my bonny Jean, If I had you at hame wi' me. Seyen daughters I ha'c left at hame, As fair women as fair can be ; But I wou'd gi'c them ane by ane, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee. 60 borrow mc father, borrow mc,— O borrowed shall I never be ; 1 that is worthy o' the death, It is but right that I shou'd dee. Then out it speaks the king himsell, And aye as he steps in tlie fleer ; Says, I grant you yowr life, lady. Because you are of tender year. A boon, a boon, my liege the king, The boon I ask, ye'll grant to mc. Ask on, ask on, my bonny Jean, Whate'er ye ask it's granted be. Cause take me out at night, at nighty Lat not the sun upon me shine ; And take me to yon heading hill. Strike afi" this dowie head o'' mine. Ye'll take me out at night, at night. When there are nane to gaze and see ; And ha'e me to yon heading hill. And ye'll gar head me speedilic. They've ta'en her out at nine at night, Loot not the sun upon her shine ; And had her to yon heading hill. And headed her baith neat and fine. 61 Then out it speaks the king himsell, I wy te a sorry man was he ; I've travcird cast, I've travell'd west, And sailed far beyond the sea, But I never saw a woman's face I was sac sorry to see dee. But Warriston was sair to blame, For slighting o' his lady so ; He had the wyte o' his ain death, And bonny lady's overthrow. O we were seven bonny sisters. As fair women as fair could be. And some got lairds, and some got lords, And some got knights o' high degree ; When I was married to Earl Crawford, This was the fate befell to me. When we had been married for some time, We walked in our garden green ; And aye he clapp'd his young son's head. And aye he made sae much o' him. 62 I turn'd me right and round about, And aye the blythe blink in my e'e ; Ye think as much o' your young son As ye do o"" my fair body. What need ye clap your young son's head, What need ye make so much o' him ? What need ye clap your young son's head ? I'm sure ye gotna him your lane. O if I gotna him my lane, Show here the man that helped me ; And for these words your ain mouth spoke. Heir o' my land he ne'er shall be. He call'd upon his stable groom. To come to him right speedilie ; Gae saddle a steed to Lady Crawford, Be sure ye do it hastilie. His bridle gilt wi' gude red gowd. That it may glitter in her e'e ; And send her on to bonny Stobha', All her relations for to see. Her mother lay o'er the castle wa'. And she beheld baith dale and down ; And she beheld her. Lady Crawford, As she came riding to the town. 63 Conic here, come here, my husband dear. This day ye see not what I see ; For here there comes her, Lady Crawford, Riding alane upon the lee. When she came to her father's yates, She tirled gently at the pin ; If ye sleep, awake, my mother dear, Ye'il rise lat Lady Crawford in. What news, what news, ye Lady Crawford, That ye come here so hastilie ? Bad news, bad news, my mother dear, For my gude lord's forsaken me. O wae*s me for you. Lady Crawford, This is a dowie tale to me ; Alas ! you were too young married. To thole sic cross and misery. O had your tongue, my mother dear. And ye'll lat a' your folly be ; It was a word my merry mouth spake, That sinder''d my gude lord and me. Out it spake her brither then, Aye as he stcpt ben the floor ; My sister Lillie was but eighteen years When Earl Crawford ca'ed her a whore. 64 But had your tongue, my sister dear, And ye'll lat a' your mourning bee ; I'll wed you to as fine a knight, That is nine times as rich as hee. O had your tongue, my brither dear, And ye'll lat a' your folly bee ; I'd rather yae kiss o' Crawford's mouth Than a' his gowd and white monie. But saddle to me my riding steed, And see him saddled speedilie ; And I will on to Earl Crawford's, And see if he will pity me. Earl Crawford lay o'er castle wa'. And he beheld baith dale and down ; And he beheld her, Lady Crawford, As she came riding to the town. He called ane o' his livery men To come to him right speedilie ; Gae shut my yates, gae steek my doors. Keep Lady Crawford out frae me. When she came to Earl Crawford's yates, She tirled gently at the pin ; O sleep ye, wake ye, Earl Crawford, Yc'U open, lat Lady Crawford in. 65 Come down, come down, Earl Crawford, And speak some comfort unto me ; And if ye winna come yourscll, Ye'll send your gentleman to me. Indeed, I winna come mysell, Nor send my gentleman to thee ; For I tauld you when we did part Nae mair my spouse ye'd ever bee. She laid her mouth then to the yates, And aye the tears drapt frae her e'e ; Says, Fare-ye-well, Earl Crawford's yates, You, again, I'll nae mair see. Earl Crawfoid calfd on his stable groom To come to him right speedilie ; And sae did he his waiting man. That did attend his fair bodie. Ye will gae saddle for me my steed, And see and saddle him speedilie ; And I'll gang to the Lady Crawford, And see if she will pity me. Lady Crawford lay o'er castle wa', And she beheld baith dale and down ; And she beheld him, Earl Crawford, As he came riding to the town. VOL. I. F 66 Then she has call'd ane o' her maids To come to her right speedilie ; Gae shut my yates, gae steek my doors. Keep Earl Crawford out frae me. When he came to Lady Crawford's yates. He tirled gently at the pin ; Sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Crawford, Yell rise and lat Earl Crawford in. Gome down, come down, O Lady Crawford, Come down, come down, and speak wi' me ; And gin ye winna come yoursell, Ye'll send your waiting-maid to me. Indeed I winna come mysell. Nor send my waiting-maid to thee ; Sae take your ain words hame again At Crawford castle ye tauld me. O mother dear gae make my bed. And ye will make it saft and soun', And turn my face unto the west, That I nae mair may see the sun. Her mother she did make her bed. And she did make it saft and soun' ; True were the words f Mljite Millie. Now word is gane thro' a' the land, Gude seal that it sae spread ! To Rose the Red and White Lillie, Their mither dear was dead. Their father's married a bauld woman, And brought her ower the sea ; Twa sprightly youths, her ain young sons, Intill her companie. They fix'd their eyes on those ladies. On shipboard as they stood, And swai'e, if ever they wan to land, These ladies they wou'd wed. 68 But there was nae a quarter past, A quarter past but three, Till these young iuvers a' were fond O' others companie. The knights they harped i' their bower, The ladies sew d and sang ; There was mair mirth in that chamer Than a' their father's Ian'. Then out it spak their step-mither, At the stair-foot stood she ; I'm plagued wi' your troublesome noise, What makes your melodie ? O Rose the Red, ye sing too loud. While Lillie your voice is Strang ; But gin I live and brook ray life, I'se gar you change your sang. We maunna change our loud, loud song. For nae Duke's son ye'll bear ; We winna change our loud, loud song, But aye we'll sing the mair. We never sung the sang, mither. But we'll sing ower again ; We''ll take our harps into our hands, And we'll harp, and we'll sing. 69 She's call'd upon her twa young sons, Says, Boun' ye for the sea ; Let Rose the Red, and White Lillie, Stay in their bower wi' me. O God forbid, said her eldest son. Nor lat it ever be. Unless ye were as kind to our luves As gin we were them wi.' Yet never the less, my pretty sons, Ye'll boun' you for the faem ; Let Rose the Red, and White Lillie, Stay in their bowers at hame. O when wi' you we came alang, Wc felt the stormy sea ; And where we go, yc ne'er shall know, Nor shall be known by thee. Then wi' lier harsh and boisterous word. She forc'd these lads away ; While Rose the Red and White Lillie Still in their bowers did stay. But there was not a quarter past, A quarter past but anc ; Till Rose tlic Red in rags she gaed, White Lillic's claithing grew thin. 70 Wi* bitter usage every day. The ladies they thought lang ; Ohon, alas ! said Rose the Red, She's gar'd us change our sang. But we will change our own fu"" names. And we'll gang frae the town ; Frae Rose the Red and White Lillie, To Nicholas and Roger Brown. And we will cut our green claithing A little aboon our knee ; And we will on to gude greenwood, Twa bauld bowmen to be. Ohon, alas ! said White Lillie, My fingers are but sma' ; And tho' my hands wou'd wield the bow They winna yield at a'. O had your tongue now, White Lillie, And lat these fears a' be ; There's naething that ye're awkward in. But I will learn thee. Then they are on to gude greenwood As fast as gang cou'd they ; O then they spied him, Robin Hood, Below a green aik tree. > 71 ■Crude day, gudc day, kind sir, they said, God make you safe and free. Gude day, gude day, said Robin Hood, What is your wills wi' me ? 'Lo here we are, twa banish'd knights. Come frae our native hame ; WeVe come to crave o' thee service. Our king will gie us nane. If ye be twa young banish'd knights, Tell me frae what countrie ; Frae Anster town into Fifeshire, Ye know it as well as we. If a' be true that ye ha'e said. And tauld just now to me ; Ye're welcome, welcome, every one, Your master I will be. Now yc shall eat as I do cat, And lye as I do lye ; Yc salna wear nac waur clailhing Nor my young men and I, Then they went to a ruinous house. And there they enter'd in ; And Nicholas fed wi' Robin Hood, And Roger wi' little John. 72 But it i'ell ance upon a day, They were at the putting-stauc ; Wban Rose the Red she view'd thcni aV As they stood on the green. She hit the stane then wi' her foot. And kep'd it wi' her knee ; And spaces three aboon them a', I wyte she garM it flee. She set her back then to a tree, And ga"'e a loud Ohon ! A lad spak in the companic, I hear a woman's moan. How know you that, young man, she said. How know you that o"" me ? Did e''er ye see me in that place, A'e foot my ground to flee ? Or know ye by my cherry cheeks, Or by my yellow hair ? Or by the paps on my breast bane, Ye never saw them bare. I know not by your cherry cheeks, Nor by your yellow hair ; But I know by your milk-white chin, On it there grows nac hair. 73 I never saw you in that cause A''e foot your ground to flee ; IVe seen you stan' wi"" sword in han' 'Mang men"'s blood to the knee. But if I come your bower within, By night, or yet by day ; I shall know, before I go. If ye be man or may. O if you come my bower within. By night, or yet by day. As soon''s I draw my trusty brand, Nac lang yc*'ll wi"* me stay. But he is haunted to her bower. Her bigly bower o"" stane, Till he has got her big wi' bairn, And near sax months she's gane. Whan three mair months were come and gane, They gae''d to hunt the hynde ; She wont to be the foremost anc. But now stay'd far behynd. Her luvcr looks her in the face, And thus to her said he ; I think your cheeks are pale and wan, Pray, what gaes warst wi' thcc ? 74 want ye roses to your breast , Or ribbons to your sheen ? Or want ye as muckle o' dear bought luve As your heart can conteen ? 1 want nae roses to my breast, Nae ribbons to my sheen ; Nor want I as muckle dear bought luve As my heart can conteen. I'd rather ha"'e a fire behynd, Anithcr me before ; A gudc midwife at my right side. Till my young babe be bore. I'll kindle a fire wi' a flint stane, Bring wine in a horn green ; I'll be midwife at your right side. Till your young babe be born. That was ne'er my mither's custom, Forbid that it be mine ! A knight stan' by a lady bright, Whan she drees a' her pine. There is a knight in gude greenwood, If that he kcnt o' me ; Thro' stock and stane, and the hawthorn, Sae soon's he wou'd come nic tec. 75 If there be a knight in gude greenwood Ye like better than me; If ance he come your bower within, Ane 0"* us twa shall dee. She set a horn to her mouth, And she blew loud and shrill ; Thro' stock and stane, and the hawthorn, Brave Roger came her till. Wha's here sae bauld, the youth replied. Thus to encroach on me ? O here am I, the knight replied, Ha'e as much right as thee. Then they fought up the gude greenwood, Sae did they down the plain ; They niddart ither wi' lang braid swords, Till they were bleedy men. Then out it spak the sick woman, Sat under the greenwood tree ; O had your han', young man, she said, She's a woman as well as me. Then out it speaks anithcr youth, Amang the companic ; Gin I had kcnt what I ken now, 'Tis for her I wou'd dec. 76 O wac mat worth you, Rose the Red, An ill death mat ye dee ! Altho' ye tauld upo' yoursell, Ye might ha'e heaPd on me. O for her sake I was content For to gae ower the sea ; For her I left my mither's ha\ Tho"* she proves fause to me. But whan these luvers were made known, They sung right joy fu Hie; Nae blyther was the nightingale, Nor bird that sat on tree. Now they ha'e married these ladies, Brought them to bower and ha\ And now a happy life they lead, I wish sae may we a'. aBurti 3^hei anb ^it Patrick. Take warning a"" ye young women, Of low station or hie ; Lay never your love upon a man Above your ain degree. 77 Thus I speak by Burd Isbcl, She was a maid sae fair ; She laid lier love on Sir Patrick, She"*!! rue it for evermair. And hkewise a' ye sprightly youths Of low station or hie ; Lay never your love upon a maid Below your ain degree. And thus I speak by Sir Patrick, Who was a knight sae rare ; He's laid his love on Burd Isbel, He'll rue it for evermair. Burd Isbel was but ten years auld. To service she has gane ; And Burd Isbel was but fifeteen Whan her young son came hame. It fell ance upon a day. Strong travellhig took she ; None there was her bower within. But Sir Patrick and she. This is a wark now. Sir Patrick, That we twa ne'er will end ; Ye'U do you to the outer court, And call some women in. 78 He's done him to the outer court, And stately there did stand ; Eleven ladies he's call'd in Wi' ac shake o' his hand. Be favourable to Burd Isbel, Deal favourable if ye may ; Her kirking and her fair wedding, Shall baith stand on ae day. Deal favourable to Burd Isbel, Whom I love as my life ; Ere this day month be come and gane. She's be my wedded wife. Then he is on to his father, Fell low down on his knee ; Says, Will I marry Burd Isbel ? She's born a son to me. O marry, marry Burd Isbel, Or use her as ye like ; Ye'll gar her wear the silks sae red. And sae may ye the white. O wou'd ye marry Burd Isbel, Make her your heart's delight ? You want not lands, nor rents, Patrick, You know your fortune's free ; 'J 79 But ere you'd marry Burd Isbel, rd rather bury thee. Ye'U build a bower for Burd Isbel, And set it round wi' sand ; Make as much mirth in Isbel's bower As ony in a' the land. Then he is to his mother gane. Fell low down on his knee ; O shall I marry Burd Isbel ? She's born a son to me. O marry, marry Burd Isbel, Or use her as ye like ; YeUl gar her wear the silks sae red. And sae may ye the white ; O would ye marry Burd Isbel, Make her wi' me alike ? You want not lands and rents, Patrick, You know your fortune's free ; But ere you marry Burd Isbel, I'd rather bury thee. Ye'll build a bower to Burd Isbel, And set it round wi' glass ; Make as much mirth in Isbel's bower As ony in a' the place. 80 He's done him down thro' ha', thro' ha, Sae has he in Un-o' bower ; The tears ran f'rae his twa grey e^^es, And loot them fast down pour. My father and my mother baith To age are coming on ; When they are dead and bm'ied baith, Burd Isbel I'll bring home. The words that pass'd atween these twa, Ought never to be spoken ; The vows that pass'd atween these twa Ought never to be broken. Says he, If I another court. Or wed another wife, May eleven devils me attend At the end-day o' my life. But his father he soon did die, His mother nae lang behind ; But Sir Patrick of Burd Isbel He now had little mind. It fell ance upon a day, As she went out to walk; And there she saw him, Sir Patrick, Going wi' his hound and hawk. 81 Stay still, stay still, now Sir Patrick, stay a little wee, And think upon the fair promise Last year ye made to me. Now your father's dead, kind sir. And your mother the same ; Yet nevertheless, now Sir Patrick, Ye*re nae bringing me hame. If the morn be a pleasant day, 1 mean to sail the sea ; To spend my time in fair England, All for a month, or three. He hadna been in fair England A month but barely ane. Till he forgot her, Burd Isbel, The mother of his son. Some time he spent in fair England, And when returned again, He laid his love on a Duke's daughter, And he has brought her hame. Now he's forgot his first true love He ance iov'd ower them a' ; But now the devil did begm To work between them twa. VOL. I. G 82 When Sir Patrick he was wed, And all set down to dine, Upon his first love, Burd Isbel, A thought ran in his mind. He caird upon his gude grand aunt. To come right speedilie ; Says, Ye'll gae on to Burd Isbel, Bring my young son to me. She's ta'en her mantle her about, Wi' gowd gloves on her hand ; And she is on to Burd Isbel, As fast as she cou'd gang She haird her high, she haiPd her low, With stile in great degree ; busk, O busk your little young son, For he maun gang wi' me. 1 wou'd fain see the one, she said, O' low station or hie, Wou'd take the bairn frae my foot. For him I bowed my knee. I wou'd fain see the one, she said, O' low station or mean, Wou'd take the bairn frae my foot Whom I own to be mine. 8S Then she has done hei- liame again, As fast as gang cou'd she, Present, said he, my Uttle young son. For him I wish to sec. Burd Isbel's a bauld woman, she said, As e'er I yet spake wi', But sighing, said liim. Sir Patrick, She ne'er was bauld to me. But he"'s dress'd in his best array, His gowd rod in his hand ; And he is to Burd IsbePs boAver, As fast as lie couVl gang. bow is this, Burd Isbel, he said, So ill ye^'e used me ? What gart you anger my gude grand aunt. That I did send to thee ? If I haV angerd your gude grand aunt, O then sae lat it be ; 1 said iiaething to your gude grand aunt But what I'll say to thee. I wou'd fain see the one, I said, O' low station or hie, Wha wou'd take this bairn frae my foot- For him I bowed the knee. 84 I wou'd fain see the one, I said, O" low station or mean, Wou'd take this bairn frae my foot Whom I own to be mine. if I had some counsellers here, And clerks to seal the band, 1 wou'd infeft your son, this day. In third part o"* my land. I ha'e two couzins, Scottish clerks, Wi' bills into their hand, An' ye'll infeft my son, this day, In third part o' your land. Then he call'd in her Scottish clerks, Wi' bills into their hand ; And he's infeft his son that day The third part o' his land. To ane o' these young clerks she spoke, Clerk John it was his name ; Says, Of my son I gi'e you charge Till I return again. Ye'll take here my son, clerk John, Learn him to dance and sing ; And I will to some unco land. Drive love out of my mind. 85 And yc'll take here my son, clerk John, Learn him to hunt the roe ; And I will to some unco land, — Now lat Sir Patrick go. But I'll cause this knight at church-door stand, For a' his noble train ; For selling o' his precious soul, Dare never come farther ben. Charlie M'Pherson, That brisk Highland laddie ; At Valentine even. He came to Kinadie ; To court her, Burd Helen, Baith waking and sleeping ; Joy be wi" them That has her a-keeping. Auldtown and Muirtown, Likewise Billy Beg ; All gaed wi' Charlie, For to be his guide. 86 Jamie M'Robbic, Likewise Wattie Nairn, All ga'ed wi"* Charlie For to be his warran\ When they came to Kinadie, They knocked at the door; When nae ane wou'd answer, They ga'ed a loud roar. Ye'll open the door, mistress, And lat us come in ; For tidings weVe brought Frae your appearant guid son. For to defend them, She was not able ; They bang'd up the stair. Sat down at the table. Ye'll eat and drink, gentlemen, And eat at your leisure ; Nae thing's disturb you. Take what's your pleasure. O madam, said he, I'm come for your daughter ; Lang ha'e I come to Kinadie, And there sought her. ST' Now she's gae wi' me For raony a mile. Before that I return Unto the West Isle. My daughter's not at home. She is gone abroad ; Ye darcna now steal her. Her tocher is guid. My daughter's in Whitehouse, Wi' Mistress Dalgairn ; Joy be wi' them. That waits on my bairn ! The swords an the targe, That hang about Charlie ; They had sic a glitter. And set him sae rarelie ; They had sic a glitter, And kiest sic a glamour ; They showed mair light. Than they had in the chamour. To Whitehousc he went ; And when he came there. Right sair was his heart, When he went up the stair ; 88 Burd Helen was sitting By Thomas"' bed-side ; And all in the house Were addressing her, Bride, O farewell now, Helen, I'll bid you adieu ; Is this a"* the comfort I'm getting frae you ? It was never my intention Ye shou'd be the waur ; My heavy heart light on Whitehouse o' Cromar ! For you I ha'e travelled Full mony lang mile ; Awa' to Kinadie, Far frae the West Isle. But now ye are married. And I am the waur ; My heavy heart light on Whitehouse o' Cromar I 89 Charles! (Graeme. Cauld, cauld blaws the winter night, Sair beatB the heavy rain ; Young Charles Graeme's the lad I love, In greenwood he lies slain. But I will do for Charles Graeme What other maidens may ; I'll sit and harp upon his grave A twelvemonth and a day. She harped a' the live lang night, The saut tears she did weep ; Till at the hour o"* one ©""clock His ghost began to peep. Pale and deadly was his cheek, And pale, pale was his chin ; And how and hollow were his e'en, No light appeared therein. Why sit ye here, ye maiden fair. To mourn sac sair for me ? I am sae sick, and very love sick, Aye foot I cannot jec. 90 Sae well's I loved young Charles Graeme, I kent he loved me ; My very heart's now like to break For his sweet companie. Will ye hae an apple, lady. And I will sheave it sma' ? I am sae sick, and very love sick, I cannot cat at a\ Will ye hae the wine, lady. And I will drain it sma' ? I am sae sick, and very love sick, I cannot drink at a'. See ye not my father's castle, Well covered ower wi' tin ? There's nane has sic an anxious wish As I hae to be in. O hamc, fair maid, ye'se quickly won, But this request grant me. When ye are safe in downbed laid, That I may sleep wi' thee. If hame again, sir, I could win, I'll this request grant thee ; When I am safe in downbed laid. This night ye'sc sleep wi' me. 91 Then he pou'd up a birken bow, Pat it in her right han' ; And they are to yon castle fair As fast as they cou'd gang. When they came to yon castle fair, It was piled round about ; She slipped in and bolted the yetts, Says, Ghaists may stand thereout. Then he vanished frae her sight. In the twinkhng o' an e'e ; Says, Let never ane a woman trust Sae much as I've done thee. Ct)e Coxitteousi Iini0t)t* There was a knight, in a summer's night, Appear'd in a lady's hall. As she was walking up and down. Looking o'er her castle wall. God make you safe and free, fair maid, God make you safe and free ! O sae fa' you, ye courteous knight, What are your wills wi' me ? 92 My wills wi' you are not sma', lady, My wills wi' you nae sma' ; And since there's nane your bower within, Ye'se ha'e my secrets a'. For here am I a courtier, A courtier come to thee ; And if ye winna grant your love, All for your sake I'll dee. If that ye dee for me, sir knight. Few for you will make meen ; For mony gude lord's done the same. Their graves are growing green. O winna ye pity me, fair maid, O winna ye pity me ? winna ye pity a courteous knight, Whose love is laid on thee ? Ye say ye arc a courteous knight. But I think ye are nane ; 1 think ye're but a miliar bred, By the colour o' your claithing. You seem to be some false young man, You wear your hat sae wide ; You seem to be some false young man. You wear your boots sae side. 9S Indeed I am a courteous knight, And of great pedigree ; Nae knight did mair for a lady bright Than I will do for thee. O, I'll put smiths in your smithy, To shoe for you a steed ; And I'll put tailors in your bower, To make for you a weed. I will put cooks in your kitchen, And butlers in your ha' ; And on the tap o' your father's castle, I'll big gude corn and saw. If ye be a courteous knight, As I trust not ye be ; Ye"'ll answer some o' the sma' questions That I will ask at thee. What is the fairest flower, tell me. That grows in mire or dale ? Likewise, which is the sweetest bird Sings next the nightingale ? Or what's the finest thing, she says. That king or queen can wile ? The primrose is the fairest flower. That grows in mire or dale ; 94 The mavis is the sweetest bird Next to the nightingale ; And yellow gowd''s the finest thing That king or queen can wale. Ye haV asked many questions, lady, IVe you as many told ; But, how many pennies round Make a hundred pounds in gold ? How many of the small fishes Do swim the salt seas round ? Or, what's the seemliest sight you'll see Into a May morning ? Berry-brown ale and a birken speal. And wine in a horn green ; A milk-white lace in a fair maid's dress, Looks gay in a May morning. Mony's the questions I've ask'd at thee, And ye've answer'd them a' ; Ye are mine, and I am thine, Amo' the sheets sae sma'. You may be my match, kind sir, You may be my match and more ; There ne'er was ane came sic a length, Wi' my father's heir before. 95 My fatlier"'s lord o' nine castles, My mother she's lady ower three, And there is nane to heir them all, No never a ane but me ; Unless it be Willie, my ae brother. But he''s far ayont the sea. If your father's laird o"* nine castles. Your mother lady ower three ; I am Willie your ae brother, Was far beyond the sea. If ye be WiUie, my ae brother, As I doubt sair ye be ; But if it's true ye tell me now. This night I'll gang wi' thee. YeVe ower ill washen feet, Janet, And ower ill washen hands. And ower coarse robes on your body, Alang wi' me to gang. The worms they are my bed-fellows. And the cauld clay my sheet ; And the higher that the wind does blaw, The sounder I do sleep. My body's buried in Dumfermline, And far beyond the sea ; 96 But day nor night, nae rest cou\l get, All for the pride o' thee. Leave aff" your pride, jelly Janet, he says. Use it not ony niair ; Or when ye come where I hae been, You will repent it sair. Cast aff, cast aflp, sister, he says, The gowd lace frae your crown ; For if ye gang where I ha'e been, Ye''ll wear it laigher down. When yeVe in the gude church set. The gowd pins in your hair ; Ye take mair delight in your feckless dress Than ye do in your morning prayer. And when ye walk in the church-yard, And in your dress are seen. There is nae lady that sees your face But wishes your grave were green. You're straight and tall, handsome withall. But your pride owergoes your wit ; But if ye do not your ways refrain, In Pirie's chair ye'U sit. In Pirie's chair you"*!! sit, I say, The lowest seat o' hell ; 97 It' ye do not amend your ways, It's there that yc must dwell. Wi' that he vanished frae her sight, Wi' the twinkhng o' an eye ; Naething mah' the lady saw, But the gloomy clouds and sky. S>lDect MliUic ant) fair f^mx^. Hey love Willie, and how love Willie, And Willie my love shall be ; TheyVe thinking to sinder our lang love, WilUe, Ifs mair than man can dee. Ye'll mount me quickly on a steed, A milk-white steed or gray ; And carry me on to gude greenwood Before that it be day. He mounted her upon a steed, He chose a steed o' gray ; He had her on to gude greenwood Before that it was day. O will ye gang to the cards, Meggie ? Or will ye gang wi' me ? VOL. I. H 9S Or will ye haV a bower woman, To stay ere it be day ? I winna gang to the cards, she said, Nor will I gae wi' thee. Nor will I hac a bower woman. To spoil my raodestie. Ye'll gie me a lady at my back. An' a lady me beforn ; An' a midwife at my twa sides Till your young son be born. Ye'll do me up, and further up. To the top o' yon greenwood tree ; For every pain myself shall ha'e, The same pain ye maun drie. The first pain that did strike sweet Willie, It was into the side ; Then sighing sair, said sweet Willie; These pains are ill to bide. The nextan pain that strake sweet Wilhe, It was into the back ; Then sighing sair, said sweet Willie, These pains are women's wreck. The nextan pain that strake sweet Willie, It was into the head ; 99 Then sighing sair, said sweet AVillie, I fear my lady''s dead. Then he's gane on, and further on, At the foot o' yon greenwood tree ; There he got his lady hghter, Wi' his young son on her knee. Tlien he's ta'en up his little young son. And kiss'd him cheek and chin ; And he is on to his mother. As fast as he could gang. Ye will take in my son, mother, Gi'e him to nurses nine ; Three to wauk, and three to sleep, And three to gang between. Then he has left his mother's house. And frae her he has gane ; And he is back to his lady. And safely brought her hame. Then in it came her father dear. Was belted in a brand ; It's nae time for brides to lye in bed, When the bridegroom's sends' in town. '»• There are four-and -twenty noble lords A' lighted on the green ; 100 The fairest knight amang them a"*^. He must be your bridegroom. wha will shoe my foot, my foot > And wha will glove my hand ? And wha will prin my sma' middle, Wi"" the short prin and the lang ? Now out it speaks him, sweet Williej Who knew her troubles best ; It is my duty for to serve, As I'm come here as guest. Now I will shoe your foot, Maisry, And I will glove your hand. And I will prin your sma' middle, Wi' the sma' prin and the lang. Wha will saddle my steed, she says. And gar my bridle ring ? And wha will ha'e me to gude church-door. This day Fm ill abound ? 1 will saddle your steed, Maisry, And gar your bridle ring ; And I'll hae you to gude church-door. And safely set you down. O healy, healy take me up, And healy set me down ; 101 And set my back until a wa'. My foot to yird-fast stane. He hcaly took her frae her horse, And healy set her down ; And set her back until a wa". Her foot to yird-fast stane. When they had eaten and well drunken, And a' had thorn^d fine ; The bride's father he took the cup, For to serve out the wine. Out it speaks the bridegroom's brother, Ah ill death mat he die ! I fear our bride she's born a bairn, Or else has it a dee. She's ta'cn out a Bible braid, And deeply has she sworn ; If I ha'e born a bairn, she says, Sin' yesterday at morn ; Or if I've born a bairn, she says, Sin' yesterday at noon ; There's nae a lady amang you a' That wou'd been here sac soon. Then out it spake the bridegroom'? man. Mischance come ower his heel ! 102 AVin up, win up, now bride, he says, And dance a shamefu' reel.* Then out it speaks the bride hersell, And a sorry heart had she ; Is there nae ane amang you a' Will dance this dance for me ? Then out it speaks him, sweet Willie, And he spake aye thro' pride ; O draw my boots for me, bridegroom, Or I dance for your bride. Then out it spake the bride hersell, O na, this maunna be ; For I will dance this dance mysell, Tho' my back shou'd gang in three. She hadna well gane thro' the reel. Nor yet well on the green. Till she fell down at Willie's feet As cauld as ony stane. He's ta'en her in his arms twa. And ha'ed her up the stair ; Then up it came her jolly bridegroom, Says, What's your business there ? " The first reel that is danced with the bride, her maiden, and two joung men, and is called the Shame Spring, or Reel, as the bride chooses the tunc that is to be played. 103 Then Willie lifted up his foot, And dang him down the stair ; And brake three ribs o' the bridegroom's side, And a word he spake nae mair. Nae meen was made for that lady, When she was lying dead ; But a"" was for him, sweet Willie, On the fields, for he ran mad. goun0 pxince Jmm^. There stands a stane in wan water, It's lang ere it grew green ; Lady Maisry sits in her bower door. Sewing at her silken seam. Word's ganc to her mother's kitchen. And to her father's ha' ; That Lady Maisry is big wi' bairn, And lier true love's far awa.' When her brother got word of this, Then fiercely looked he ; Betide me life, betide me death. At Maisvv's bower I'se be. 104 Gae saddle to me the black, the black, Gae saddle to me the brown ; Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed. To hfCe me to the town. When he came to Maisry's bower, He turn'd him round about ; And at a little shott window, He saw her peeping out. Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry, God make you safe and free ! Gude morrow, gude morroAv, my brother dear, What are your wills wi' me ? W^hat's come o' a* your green claithing Was ance for you too side ? And what's become o* your lang stays Was ance for you too wide ? O he that made my claithing short, I hope he'll make them side ; And he that made my stays narrow, I hope he'll make them wide. O is it to a lord o' might. Or baron o' high degree ? Or is it to any o' your father's boys Rides in the chase him wi' ? 105 It's no to any Scottish lord, Nor baron o' high degree ; But English James, that little prince, That has beguiled me. O was there not a Scots baron That could ha'e fitted thee, That thus you've lov'd an Englishman, And has affronted me ? She turnM her right and round about. The tear blinded her e''e ; What is the wrang I've done, brother, Ye look sae fierce at me ? Will ye forsake that English blude. When your young babe is born ? I'll nae do that, my brother dear, The' I shou'd be forlorn. I'se cause a man put up the fire, Anither ca' in the st^ke ; And on the head o' yon high hill I'll burn you for his sake. O where are all my wall- wight men. That I pay meat and fee ? For to hew down baith thistle and thorn To burn that lady wi'. 106 Then he has ta'en her, Lady Maisry, And fast he has her bound ; And he caus'd the fiercest o^ his men Drag her frae town to town. Then he has caused ane of his men Hew down baith thistle and thorn ; She carried the peats in her petticoat lap, Her ainsell for to burn. Then ane pat up this big bauld fire, Anither ca''d in the stake ; It was to burn her, Lady Maisry, All for her true love's sake. But it fell ance upon a day, Prince James he thought full lang ; He minded on the lady gay He left in fair Scotland. O where will I get a little wee boy Will win gowd to his fee ? That will rin on to Adam's high tower. Bring tidings back to mc ? O here am I, a little wee boy, Will win gowd to my fee ; That will rin on to Adam's high tower, Bring tidings back to thee. 107 Then he is on to Adam's high tower As fast as gang cou'd he ; And he but only wan in time, The fatal sight to see. He sat his bent bow to his breast. And ran right speedilie ; And he is back to his master, As fast as gang cou'd he. What news, what news, ray Httle wee boy ? What news ha'e ye to me ? Bad news, bad news, my master dear, Bad news, as ye will see. Are ony o' my biggins brunt, my boy ? Or ony o' my towers won ? Or is my lady lighter yet O' dear daughter or son ? There's nane o' your biggins brunt, master, Nor nane o"* your towers won, Nor is your lady lighter yet, O' dear daughter nor son. There's an has been a big bauld fire, Anither ca'd in the stake ; And on the head o' yon high hill. They're to burn her for your sake. 108 Gae saddk to me the black, the black, Gae saddle to me the brown ; Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed, To ha'e me to the town. Ere he was three miles near the town, She heard his horse-foot patt ; Mend up the fire, my fause brother, It scarce comes to my pap. Ere he was twa miles near the town, She heard his bridle ring ; Mend up the fire, my fause brother, It scarce comes to my chin. But look about, my fause brother. Ye sec not what I see ; I see them coming here, or lang Will mend the fire for thee. Then up it comes him, little Prince James, And fiercely looked he ; I'se make my love's words very true She said concerning me. O wha has been sae bauld, he said. As put this bonfire on ? And wha has been sae bauld, he said. As put that lady in ? 109 Then out it spake her brother then, He spoke right furiousUe ; Says, I'm the man that put her in, Wha dare hinder rae ? If my hands had been loose, she said. As they are fastly bound ; I wou'd ha'e looted me to the ground, Gi'en you up your bonny young sou. I will burn for my love's sake, Her father and her mother ; And I will burn for my love's sake. Her sister and her brother. And I will burn for my love's sake, The whole o' a' her kin ; And I will burn for my love's sake. Thro' Linkum and thro' Lin. And mony a bed will I make toom, And bower will I make thin ; And mony a babe shall thole the fire. For I may enter in. Great meen was made for Lady Maisry, On that hill whare she was slain ; But mair was for her ain true love. On the fields, for he ran brain. 110 It fell upon a Wodensday, Brown Robyn's men went to sea ; But they saw neither moon nor sun, Nor star-light wi' their e'e. We'll cast kevels us amang, See wha the unhappy man may be ; The kevel fell on Brown Robyn, The master man was hee. It is nae wonder, said Brown Robyn, Altho' I dinna thrive ; For wi' my mither I had twa bairns, And wi' my sister five. But tie me to a plank o' wude. And throw me in the sea ; And if I sink, ye may bid me sink. But if I sink just lat me bee. They've tyed him to a plank o' wude, And thrown him in the sea ; He didna sink, tho' they bade him sink. He swim'd, and they bade lat him bee. Ill He hadna been into the sea An' hour but barely three ; Till by it came our blessed lady, Her dear young son her wi*. Will ye gang to your men again ? Or, will ye gang wi' me ? Will ye gang to the high heavens, Wi' my dear son and me ? I winna gang to my men again, For they wou'd be fear'd at mee ; But I wou'd gang to the high heavens, Wi' thy dear son and thee. It's for nae honour ye did to me. Brown Robyn, It's for nae guid ye did to mee ; But a' is for your fair confession. You've made upon the sea. As I walked on a pleasant green,. %mu Willie cou'd neither read nor write, Annie couM neither card nor spin ; But he is on to Edinburgh town, To learn to be a gay merchant. A hundred pounds o' pennies round, • His love rowed up in servet sma' ; Says, Take ye that, my love, Willie, It will begin your pack witha\ When ye are gane to Edinburgh town. And has your trade in your right hand, O come ye back some misty night, And steal awa'-your ain burd Ann. When Willie had gane to Edinburgh town. And had his trade in his right han"* ; Then he came back in a misty night, And stole awa' his ain burd Ann. When they were got on gude ship board, As they lay there a while wind-bound ; Annie minded on a glove she left, And Willie on a gude grey hound. 168 But now to have liis grey hound fetched, Wilhe jumped upon the land; The wind blew fair, the ship did sail,— They had awa' his dear burd Ann. Annie stood upon the deck, And waved her fan into her han' ; Return, return, sweet Willie, she said, They^re taking awa' your ain burd Ann. Ye've lost the thing ye'll never get, Ye've lost the thing ye'll never find ; Ye*ve lost the thing ye'll never get. Your true love for a grey bitch hound. Willie stood upon the shore, And waved his hat into his han' ; Stay still, stay still, ye bold mariners, Do not hae awa' my dear burd Ann. Seven days Ann sailed the sea. And seven Willie ga'ed by Ian', But a true woman Ann was aye, And a true woman her he fan'. 169 dTljc (EncIjAutct) Biujg. In Lauderdale I chanc'd to walk, And heard a lady's moan, Lamenting for her dearest dear, And aye she cried, Ohon ! Sure never a maid that e'er drew breath Had harder fate than me ; I'd never a lad but one on earth, They fore'd him to the sea. The ale shall ne'er be brewin o' malt. Neither by sea nor land, That ever mair shall cross my hause, Till my love comes to hand. A handsome lad wi' shoulders broad, Gold yellow was his hair ; None of our Scottish youths on earth That with him could compare. She thought her love was gone to sea. And landed in Bahome ; But he was in a quiet chamber. Hearing his lady's moan. 170 Why make ye all this moan, lady ? Why make ye all this moan ? For Fm deep sworn on a book, I must go to Bahome. Traitors false lor to subdue, O'er seas I'll make me boun' ; That have trepan'd our kind Scotchmen, Like dogs to ding them down. Weell take this ring, this royal thing, Whose virtue is unknown ; As lang's this ring's your body on. Your blood shall ne'er be drawn. But if this ring shall fade or stain, Or change to other hue, Come never mair to fair Scotland If ye're a lover true. Then this couple they did part With a sad heavy moan ; The wind was fair, the ship was rare, They landed in Bahome. But in that place they had not been A month but barely one. Till they look'd on his gay gold ring, And rivon was the stone. 171 Time after this was not expii'd A month but scarcely three, Till black and ugly was the ring, And stone was burst in three. Fight on, fight on, you merry men all. With you I'll fight no more; I will gang to some holy place, Pray to the King of Glore. Then to the chapel he is gone, And knelt most pitcouslie ; For seven days, and seven nights, Till blood ran frae his knee. Ye'll take my jewels that's in Bahome, And deal them liberallie, To young that cannot, and old that mannot, The blind that does not see. Give maist to women in child-bed laid. Can neither fecht nor flee ; I hope she's in the heavens high, That died for love of me. The knights they wrang their white fingers, The ladies tore their hair ; The women that ne'er had children born. In swoon they down fell there. 172 But in what way the knight cxpir'd, No tongue will eV^r declare ; So this doth end mv mournful sonar. From me ye'll get nae mair. 'Twas on a misty day, a fair maiden gay, Went out to the Cowdenknowes ; Lang, lang she thought ere her ewes wou'd bught, Wi' her pail for to milk the ewes. Chorus. — 0, the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, The broom o' the Cowdenknowes ; And aye sae sweet as the lassie sang. In the ewe-bught milking her ewes. And aye as she sang, the greenwoods rang, Her voice was sae loud and shrill ; They heard the voice o' this well-farM maid, At the other side o"* the hill. O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, &c. My mother she is an ill woman. And an ill woman is she ; Or than she might have got some other maid To milk her ewes without me. O the broom, &c. 17* My father was ance a landed laird. As mony malr have been ; But he held on the gambling trade Till a's free lands were dune. O the broom, &c. My father drank the brandy and beer. My mother the wine sae red ; Gars me, poor girl, gang maiden lang. For the lack o" tocher guid. O the broom, &c. There was a troop o' merry gentlemen Came riding alang the way ; And one o' them drew the ewe-bushts unto* At the voice o' this lovely may. O the broom, &c. O well may you sing, my well-far'd maid. And well may you sing, I say ; For this is a mirk and a misty night. And I've ridden out o' my way. O the broom, &c. Ride on, ride on, young man, she said, Ride on the way ye ken ; But keep frae the streams o' the Rock-river, For they run proud and vain. O the broom, &c. 174 Ye winna want boys for meat, kind sir. And ye winna want men for fee ; It sets not us, that are young women. To show young men the way. O the broom, &c. O winna ye pity me, fair maid ? O winna ye pity me ? O winna ye pity my poor steed, Stands trembUng at yon tree ? O the broom, &c. Ride on, ride on, ye rank rider. Your steed's baith stout and Strang ; For out o"" the ewe-bught I winna come. For fear that ye do me wrang. O the broom, &c. For well ken I by your high-coll'd hat, And by your gay gowd ring. That ye are the Earl o' Rock-rivers, That beguiles a' our young women. O the broom, &c. '3 O I'm not the Earl o' the Rock-rivers Nor ever thinks to be ; But I am ane o' his finest knights, Rides aft in his companie. O the broom, &c. 175 I know you well by your lamar beads, And by your merry winking e'c, That ye are the maid o' the Cowdenknowes, And may very well seem to be. O the broom, &c. He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand. And by the grass-green sleeve ; He's laid her down by the cwe-bught wa', At her he spiered nae leave. O the broom, &c. When he had got his wills o' her. And his wills he had ta'en ; He lifted her up by the middle sae sma**, Says, Fair maid, rise up again. O the broom, &c. Then he has ta'en out a siller kaim, Kaim'd down her yellow hair ; Says, Fair maid take that, keep it for my sake. Case frae me ye never get mair. O the broom, &c. Then he put his hand in his pocket, And gi'en her guineas three ; Says, Take that, fair maiden, till I return, 'Twill pay the nurse's fee. O the broom, &c. 176 Then he lap on his milk-white steecl^, And he rade after his men ; And a' that they did say to him, Dear master, ye've tarried lang. O the broom, &c. I've ridden east, I've ridden west, And over the Cowdenknowes ; But the bonniest lass that e'er I did see. Was i' the ewe-bught milking her ewes» O the broom, &c. She*s ta'en her milk-pail on her head. And she gaed singing hame ; But a' that her auld father did say, Daughter, ye've tarried lang. Chorus. — O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom. The broom o' the Cowdenknowes, Aye sae sair's I may rue the day. In the ewe-bughts milking my ewes. O this is a mirk and a misty night, father, as ye may see ; The ewes they ran skipping over the knowes, And they woudna bught in for me. O the broom, &c. Before that he'd ta'en the lamb that he took, 1 rather he'd ta'en other three ; 177 When twenty weeks were come and gane, And twenty weeks and three, The lassie's colour grew pale and wan, And she longed this knight to see. O the br(X)m, &c. Says, Wae to the fox came amo' our flock, I wish he had ta'en them a', IJefore that he'd ta'en frae me what he took ; It's occasion''d my downfa\ O the broom, &c. It fell ance upon a time. She was ca'ing hame her kye, There came a troop o'* merry gentlemen, And they wyled the bonny lassie by. O the broom, &c. But one o' them spake as he rode past. Says, Who owes the bairn ye are wi' ? A Uttle she spake, but thought wi' hersell, Perhaps to ane as gude as thee. O the broom, &c. O then she did blush as he did pass by, And dear but she thought sliame ; And all that she did say to him, Sir, I have a husband at harac. O the broom, &c. VOL. I. N 178 Ye lie, ye lie, ye well-far'd maid, Sae loud as I hear you lie ; For dinna ye mind yon misty night, Ye were in the bught wi' me ? O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom. The broom o"" the Cowdenknowes ; Aye say sweet as I heard you sing, In the ewe-bughts milking your ewes. well do I mind, kind sir, she said. As ye rode over the hill. Ye took frae me my maidenhead. Fell sair against my will. O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, The broom o' the Cowdenknowes ; And aye sae sair as I rue the day, I met you milking my ewes. And aye as ye spake, ye lifted your hat. Ye had a merry winking e'e ; 1 ken you well to be the man, Then kind sir, O pity me. O the broom, &c. Win up, win up, fair maiden, he said, Nae langer here ye'U stay ; This night ye'se be my wedded wife, Without any more delay. O the broom, &c. 179 He ]i Now he has hunted her till her bower, Baith late at night, and the mid day ; But when he stole her virgin rose, Nae mair this maid he would come nigh. But it fell ance upon a time, Thomas, her bower he walked by ; There he saw her. Lady Maisry, Nursing her young son on her knee. O seal on you, my bonny babe, And lang may ye my comfort be ; Your father passes by our bower. And now minds neither you nor me. Now when Thomas heard her speak, The saut tear trinkled frae his e'e ; To Lady Maisry's bower he went. Says, Now I As Annie sat into her bower, A thought came in her head, That she would gang to gude greenwood, Across the flowery mead. She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower, Nor broken a branch but twa ; Till by it came a gentle squire, Says, Lady come awa\ VOL. I. R 242 TIiere<5 nane that comes to gude greenwood But pays to me a tein ; And I maun hae your maidenhead^ Or than your mantle green. My mantle's o' the finest silk, Anither I can spin ; But gin you take my maidenhead, The like I'll never fin'. He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand. And by the grass-green sleeve. There laid her low in gude greenwood. And at her spier'd nae leave. When he had got his wills o' her, His wills as he had ta'en ; She said, if you rightly knew my birth, Ye*d better letten alane. Is your father a lord o* might ? Or baron o' high degree ? Or what race are ye sprung frae. That I should lat ye be ? O, I am Castle Ha's daughter, O' birth and high degree ; And if he knows what yc hae done. He'll hang you on a tree. i^43 If ye be Castle Has daugliter, This day I am undone ; If ye be Castle Ha's daughter, I am his only son. Ye lie, ye lie, ye jelly hind squire, Sae loud as I hear you lie ; Castle Ha', he has but ae dear son. And he is far beyond the sea. I am Castle Ha's dear son, A word I dinna lie ; Yes ! I am Castle Ha's dear son, And new come o'er the sea. 'Twas yesterday, that fatal day, That I did cross the faem ; 1 wish my bonny ship had sunk, And I had ne'er come hame. Then dowie, dowie, raise she up, And dowie came site hame. And stripped aff her silk mantle, And then to bed she's gane. Then in it came her mother dear, Ajid she steps in the fleer ; Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here ? 2U This morning fair as I went out, Near by yon castle wa', Great and heavy was the stane That on my foot did fa\ Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers ? Towers, or mony a town ? Will not these cure your bonny foot. Gar you gae hale and soun' ? Ye hae ha's and ye hae bowers, And towers, and mony a town ; But nought will cure my bonny foot. Gar me gang hale and soun'. Then in it came her father dear, And he trips in the fleer ; Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here ? This morning fair, as I went out, Near by yon castle wa\ Great and heavy was the stane That on my foot did fa'. Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers. And towers, and mony a town ? Will not these cure your bonny foot. Gar you gang hale and soun' ? 245 O, ye hae ha's, and ye hac bowers, And towers, and mony a town ; But nought will cure my bonny foot, Gar me gang hale and soun'. Then in it came her sister Grace, As she steps in the fleer ; Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here ? Win up, and see your ae brother, That's new come ower the sea ; Ohon, alas ! says fair Annie, He spake ower soon wi' me. To her room lier brother's gane, Stroked back her yellow hair ; To her lips his ain did press, But words spake never mair. Wllijllie'0 Drotuuet) in (Sameri). O Willie is fair, and Willie is rare. And Willie is wond'rous bonnv ; And Willie says he'll marry me. Gin ever he marry ony. 246 Oj ye'se get James, or ye'se get George, Or ye"'se 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 ? 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, 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 ? 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. The people were convening ; Besides all this, threescore and ten. To gang to the bridesteel wi' him. 247 Ride on, ride on, my merry men a\ I've forgot something behind me; I've forgot to get my mother's blessing. To gae to the bridesteel wi' me. Your Peggy she's but bare fifeteen, And ye are scarcely twenty ; The water o' Gamery is wide and braid, 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. Then they rode on, and farther 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, 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 ? Where is the man amo' them a', That chou'd gie me fair m cdding ? 248 Then oat it speaks his brother John, Says, Meg, I'll tell you plainly, The stream was strong, the clerk rade wrong, 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. 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. And kiss'd his mou' sae comely ; My mother's heart's be as wae as thine, We'se baitli sleep in the water o' Gamery. There lives a man in Kynie's land, Anither in Auchindore ; The bravest lad amo"* them a"*. Was lang Johnny Moir. 249 Young Johnny was an airy blade, Fu"" sturdy, stout, and Strang; The sword that hang by Johnny"*s side, Was just full ten feet lang. Young Johnny was a clever youth, Fu' sturdy, stout, and wight ; Just full three yards around the waist, And fourteen feet in hight. '&" But if a' be true they tell me now, And a' be true I hear ; Young Johnny's on to Lundan gane, The king's banner to bear. He hadna been in fair Lundan But twalmonths twa or three. Till the fairest lady in a' Lundan Fell in love wi' young Johnny. This news did sound thro' Lundan town, Till it came to the king. That the muckle Scot had fa'in in love Wi' his daughter, Lady Jean. Whan the king got word o' that, A solemn oath sware he ; This weighty Scot sail strait a rope, And hanged he shall be. 250 When Johnny heard the sentence past, A light laugh then gae he ; While I hae strength to wield my blade, Ye darena a' hang me. The English dogs were cunning rogues. About him they did creep, And ga''e him draps o' lodomy That laid bini fast asleep. Whan Johnny waken'd frae his sleep, A sorry heart had he ; His jaws and hands in iron bands. His feet in fetters three. O whar will I get a little wee boy Will work for meat and fee ; That will rin on to my uncle, At the foot of Benachie ? Here am I, a little wee boy, Will work for meat and fee ; That will rin on to your uncle. At the foot of Benachie. Whan ye come whar grass grows green, Slack your shoes and rin ; And whan ye come whar water's strong, Ye'll bend your bow and swim. 251 And whan ye come to Benachic, Ye'll neither chap nor ca' ; Sae well's ye'll ken auld Johnny there, Three feet abeen them a\ Ye'll gie to him this braid letter, SeaPd wi' my faith and troth ; And ye'll bid him bring alang wi' him The body, Jock o' Noth. Whan he came whar grass grew green, He slack't his shoes and ran ; And whan he came whar water's strong. He bent his bow and swam. And whan he came to Benachie, Did neither chap nor ca' ; Sae well's he kent auld Johnny there, Three feet abeen them a'. What news, what news, my little wee boy ? Ye never were here before ; Nae news, nae news, but a letter from Your nephew, Johnny Moir. Ye'll take here this braid letter, Seal'd wi' his faith and troth ; And ye're bidden bring alang wi' you, The body, Jock o' Noth. 252 Benachie lyes very low. The tap o' Noth lyes high ; For a' the distance that's between, He heard auld Johnny cry. Whan on the plain these champions met, Twa grizly ghosts to see ; There were three feet between their brows, And shoulders were yards three. These men they ran ower hills and dales. And ower mountains high ; Till they came on to Lundan town, At the dawn o' the third day. And whan they came to Lundan town. The yetts were lockit wi' bands ; And wha were there but a trumpeter, Wi' trumpet in his hands. What is the matter, ye keepers all ? Or what's the matter within, That the drums do beat, and bells do ring, And make sic dolefu' din ? There's naething the matter, the keeper said, There's naething the matter to thee ; But a weighty Scot to strait the rope. And the morn he maun die. 253 O open the yetts, ye proud keepers, Ye'll open without delay ; The trembUng keeper, smiling, said, — O I hae not the key. Ye'll open the yetts, ye proud keepers, Ye'll open without delay ; Or here is a body at my back, Frae Scotland hae brought the key. Ye'll open the yetts, says Jock o' Noth, Ye'll open them at my call ; Then wi' his foot he has drove in Three yards braid o"" the waU. As they gaed in by Drury-lane, And down by the town's hall ; And there they saw young Johnny Moir, Stand on their English wall. Ye're welcome here, ray uncle dear, Ye're welcome unto me ; Ye'll loose the knot, and slack the rope, And set me frae the tree. Is it for murder, or for theft ? Or is it for robberie ? If it is for ony heinous crime, There's nae remeid for thee. 254 It's nae for murder, nor for theft, Nor yet for robberie ; A** is for the loving a gay lady, They're gaun to gar me die. whar's thy sword, says Jock o"" Noth,, Ye brought frae Scotland wi' thee ? 1 never saw a Scotsman yet. But cou'd wield a sword or tree. A pox upo' their lodomy, On me had sic a sway ; Four o' their men, the bravest four, They bore my blade away. Bring back his blade, says Jock o' Notb, And freely to him it gie ; Or I hae sworn a black Scot's oath, I'll gar five million die. Now whar's the lady, says Jock o' Noth, Sae fain I wou'd her see ? She's lock'd up in her ain chamber, The king he keeps the key. So they hae gane before the king, With courage bauld and free ; Their armour bright cast sic a light, That almost dim'd his e'e. 255 O whar's the lady, says Jock o' Noth, Sae fain as I wou'd her see ? For we are come to her wedding, Frae the foot o' Benachie. take the lady, said the king. Ye welcome are for me ; 1 never thought to see sic men Frae the foot o' Benachie. If I had ken'd, said Jock o' Noth, Ye'd wonder'd sae muckle at me, I wou'd hae brought ane larger far By sizes three times three. Likewise if I had thought I'd been Sic a great fright to thee, I'd brought Sir John o' Erskine park. He's thretty feet and three. Wae to the little boy, said the king, Brought tidings unto thee ; Let all England say what they will, High hanged shall he be. O if ye hang the little wee boy Brought tidings unto me ; We shall attend his burial. And rewarded ye shall be. 256 take the lady, said the king, And tlie boy shall be free : A priest, a priest, then Johnny cried. To join my love and me. A clerk, a clerk, the king replied, To seal her tocher wi' thee. Out it speaks auld Johnny then. These words pronounced he : — 1 wantnae lands and rents at hame, I'll ask nae gowd frae thee ; I am possessed o"* riches great, Hae fifty ploughs and three ; Likewise fa's heir to ane estate At the foot ©■* Benachie. Hae ye ony masons in this place. Or ony at your call. That ye may now send some o' them, To build your broken wall ? Yes, there are masons in this place. And plenty at my call ; But ye may gang frae whence ye came. Never mind my broken wall. They've ta'en the lady by the hand, And set her prison free ; 257 Wi' drums beating, and fifes playing, They spent the night wi' glee. Now, auld Johnny Moir, and young Johnny Moif, And Jock o' Noth, a' three, The English lady, and little wee boy, Went a' to Benachie ! Cuttle's MebtiiUij. Busk and go, busk and go. Busk and go to Cuttie's wedding ; Wha wou'd be the lass or lad That wudna gang, an' they waur biddin ? Cuttie, he's a lang man, O, he'll get a Httle wifie ; But he'll tak"" on to the town loan. Fan she takes on her fickie fickie. Busk and go, &c. Cuttie he came here yestreen, Cuttie he fell ower the midden ; He wat his hose, and tint his sheen. Courting at a canker'd maiden. Busk and go, &c. VOL. I. S 258 He set him down upo'' the green. The lass cam"' till him wi"" ae bidden ; He says, Gin ye ware mine, my dame, Mony ane's be at our wedding. Busk and go, busk and go, Busk and go to Cuttie"'s wedding ; Wha wou'd be the lass or lad That wudna gang, an"' they waur biddin ? IBisifil CottJOtt of Ct0l)t O whare are ye gaeing, bonny Miss Gordon ? O whare are ye gaeing, sae bonny and braw ? Ve've married wi' Johnny Byron, To squander the lands o' Gight awa*. This youth is a rake, frae England is come. The Scots dinna ken his extraction ava ; He keeps up his misses, his landlords he duns. That's fast drawn the lands o' Gight awa\ O whare are ye gaeing, &c. The shooting o' guns, and rattling o' drums. The bugle in woods, the pipes in the ha' ; The beagles a howling, the hounds a growling. These soundings will soon gar Gight gang awa\ O whare are ye gaeing, &c. I 259 trije ftim to tbe (Bxcm Joe^ Early in the morning, the cat she crew day, Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; Tlie cock saddlcd''s steed, and fast he rade away, Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. He saddled the spur, and he bridled the mane, Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; And he rade on the rumple, wi' the tail in his hand, Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. As he rade by the mill, the mass it was singing. Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; When he came by the kirk, the corn it was grinding, Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. The gudcman o' the mill, they ca'd him Gibbie Reid, Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; Wi' his bonnet on his feet, and his breeks on his head, Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. Forth came the maiden, the auld millar's mither. Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to tlie joe ; Riddling at her green cheese and winnowing at her butter, Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. 260 There were four an' twenty headless men playing at the ba\ Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; But by came footless, and took her frae them a\ Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. Up starts Mouless, and merrily he leuch, Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; And up starts Tongueless, and tauld's tale teuch. Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. Four an' twenty Hilandmen chasing at a snail, Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; O, says the hindmast, weel take her by the tail, Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. The snail set up her horns like ony humle cow. Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; Fye, says the foremost, we're a' sticket now, Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. Ower Benachie I saw a skate flee. Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; And four an' twenty little anes fleeing her wi'. Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. Four an' twenty skate's birds in a drake's nest. Quo' the man to the joe, quo' the man to the joe ; And they turn'd them about wi' their heads to the west, Quo' the merry, merry man to the green, joe. 261 Scour abeen, bonny lass, And dinna wrang my pan ; The puddings now they maun be made, Wi' a' die haste ye can. The day I hae a gude fat cow, That's to be kill'd riglit seen ; Wc''s hae a hearty Christmass, Said auld Scour Abeen. 'Tis for the puddings o' my cow, As I may hve and die, I will declare upo' my word, I scarcely had but three. My housekeeper, and a' her bairns, They ate them ane by ane ; O seven podducks in her wyme. And ane, quo' Scour Abeen. Whan the puds war sodden. And weel hung up to dry. Our little couzin Jockie, there, Took down a pud to try ; 262 But O it had been telling him, That he had been in Rome ; For whan he saw the black belt Weel kent he then his doom. There was a little wee bridal, A bridal in Auchendown ; And there was but a little gude meat, And as few folk did come. A black sheep's head in the pot, A sheep's head wanting the tongue ; And O, said the silly bridegroom, Our meat will soon be done. A wee sup ale in an anker, A wee sup ale in a tun ; And O, said the silly bridegroom, I pray you leave me some. When they had eaten and drunken. The pipes began to bum ; And O, said the silly bridegroom, I kent this day wou'd cum. 263 When they were serv'd wi' mirth, The bride to bed was boon ; And O, said the silly bridegroom, There"'s nane see me iy down ; There's nane see me ly down, Amo' the sheets sae sma' ; The bride she's ly at the bed-stock, And I'll ly niest the wa'. As I gaed out to tak' the air. Between Midmar and bonny Craigha"" ; There I met a little wee man. The less o' him I never saw. His legs were but a finger lang. And thick and nimle was his knee ; Between his brows there was a span, Between his shoulders ells three. He lifted a stane sax feet in hight. He lifted it up till his right knee ; And fifty yards and mair, I'm sure, I wyte he made the stanc to flee. 264 little wee man, but ye be wight, Tell me whar your dwelling be ; 1 hae a bower, compactly built, Madam, gin ye'll cum and see. Sae on we lap, and awa' we rade, Till we come to yon little ha*" ; The kipples ware o"" the gude red gowd, The reef was o' the proseyla\ Pipers were playing, ladies dancing, The ladies dancing jimp and sma'; At ilka turning o' the spring, The little man was wearin's wa\ Out gat the lights, on cam' the mist. Ladies nor mannie mair cou'd see ; I turii'd about, and gae a look. Just at the foot o' Benachie. t^\jc Poor ^uJti fHaitJeus. There are three score and ten o' us, Puir auld maidens ; There are three score and ten o' us, Puir auld maidens ; 265 There are three score and ten o^ us, And nae ae penny in our purse ; Lame, blin', and comfortless, Puir auld maidens. It's very hard we canno' get wed, • Puir auld maidens ; It's very hard we canno' get wed, Puir auld maidens ; It's very hard we canno' get wed. At night fan we gang till our bed, Naething can be dune or said. To comfort auld maidens. O we are o' a willing min', Puir auld maidens ; O we are o' a willing min\ Puir auld maidens ; O we are o' a willing min'. Gin ony man wou'd be sae kin'. As pity us that's lame an' blin', Puir auld maidens. It's very hard we canno* get men, Puir auld maidens ; It's very hard we canno' get men, Puir auld maidens ; It's very hard we canno get men, To satisfy a willing min' ; 266 And pity us that's lame and blin', Puir auld maidens. But O gin we cou'd hae our wish, Puir auld maidens ; But O gin we cou'd hae our wish, Puir auld maidens ; But O gin we cou''d hae our wish, We'd sing as blythe as ony thrush ; For something maun be dune for us, Puir auld maidens. But we'll apply to James the third, Puir auld maidens; But we'll apply to James the third, Puir auld maidens ; But we'll apply to James the third. And our petition maun be heard. And for ilk dame a man secured. To puir auld maidens. ^\)e (Bnm of ^^xie* O wat ye how the guise began. The guise began, the guise began, O wat ye how the guise began, The guise began at Tyrie. 267 The lady Tyrio and laird o' Glack, Wha lived baith into the Slack, Between them twa there was a pack, To enter bobbing Andrew. The muirland wives they're a' gin wud, They're a' gin wud, they're a' gin wud, The muirland wives they're a' gin wud. For entering bobbing Andrew. They met the lady in the wauk, And they began to gie'r ill tauk, And they began to gie'r ill tauk. For entering bobbing Andrew. They said her husband was in hell, And she was following fast hersell. And she was following fast hersell. For entering bobbing Andrew% The muirland wives, &c. They tare her veil out ower her tail. Out ower her tail, out ower her tail. They tare her veil out ower her tail. For entering bobbing Andrew. The muirland wives, &c. Geordy Burnett wi"" the gley. He lay upon Coburty's lay, 268 He lay upon Cobiirty's lay. And beheld the guise o' Tyrie. The muirland wives, &c. Gibbie Morrice lay ower the dyke, And he stirr'd neither man nor tyke. And he stirr'd neither man nor tyke, But beheld the guise o' Tyrie. The muirland wives, &c. But Ritchie Gibb, the lady's guard, He gat a clock for his reward, He gat a clock for his reward. For backing bobbing Andrew. Then wat ye how the guise began. The guise began, the guise began. Then wat ye how the guise began, The guise began at Tyrie. A fair maid sat in her bower door, Wringing her lily hands ; And by it came a sprightly youth, Fast tripping o'er the strands. 269 AVhcrc gang yc, young John, she says, Sae early in the day ? It gars mc think, by your fast trip, Your journey's far away. He turn'd about wi' surly look, And said, What's that to thee ? I'm gaen to see a lovely maid, Mair fairer far than ye. Now hac ye play'd me this, fause love, In simmer, mid the flowers ? I sail repay ye back again, In winter, 'mid the showers. But again, dear love, and again, dear love, Will ye not turn again ? For as ye look to ither women, Shall I to ither men. Make your choose o* whom you please, For I my choice will have ; I've chosen a maid mair fair than thee, I never will deceive. But she's kilt up lier claithing fine. And after him gacd she ; But aye he said, ye'll turn back, Nac fardcr gang wi' me. 270 But again, dear love, and again, dear love. Will ye never love me again ? Alas ! for loving you sae well, And you, nae me again. The first an' town that they came till, He bought her brooch and ring ; But aye he bade her turn again, And gang nae farder wi' him. But again, dear love, and again, dear love, Will ye never love me again ? Alas ! for loving you sae well. And you, nae me again. The niest an' town that they came till. His heart it grew m.air fain ; And he was deep in love wi' her. As she was ower again. The niest an"" town that they came till, He bought her wedding gown ; And made her lady o"* ha's and bowers. In bonny Berwick town. 271 Our Jo\)n tfii DoiDing* I wish that my auld man was dead, I think my cradle comes nae speed, I'll get a ranting roving blade. To had my cradle rowing. Our John is dowing, Our John is dowing, I'll get a lusty Highlandman To had the cradle rowing. Our Johnny's ta'en the pet. And aye he's spuing up his meat, Wi' rauckle hoasts and lang spit. And he is aye do^ving. Our John is dowing, &c. I feird my yellow fitted cock, And stov'd him well into the pot, And bade him drink the bree o' that, But he is aye dowing. Our John is dowing, &c. I gae him skink and fowlie bree. And ithcr cordials, twa or three ; 272 But a' these dainties wudna dee, For he is aye dowing. Our John is dowing, Our John is dowing, We'll drive him on the gate he's gaen. He's better dead than dowing. 33onnp &aint J^^fttt- Faer hae ye been, my bonny Saint John, Ye've bidden sae lang, ye've bidden sae lang ? Faer hae yc been, my bonny Saint John, Ye've bidden sae lang, ye've bidden sae lang ? Up in yon hill, and down in yon glen, And I cou'dna win hame, and I cou'dna win hame ; Now fat will ye gie me unto my supper. Now fan I'm come hame, now fan I'm come hame ? A clean dish for you, and a clean spoon. For byding sae lang, for byding sae lang ; A clean dish for you, and a clean spoon. For byding sae lang, for byding sae lang. 273 Botixn's! f^csment* Robin rais'd him frae the earth, And mounted on a tree ; for a clerk to write mv will, Some time afore I die ! I've'biggit on'yon bonny burn bank Mair than three thousand yearie ; And fain wou'd I my tesment make, If my lanlord wou'd hear me. Say on, say on, my bonny bird. An' see what ye will lea** me ; For sic a bird as you, Robin, Sat neverron the brierie. 1 lea' to you my bonny cap, That sits upo' my head ; I'll lea' it to yoursell, my lord, To drink your wine sae red. I'll lea' to you my harnpan, It is baith lang and sma' ; I'll lea' it to yoursell, my lord, To drink your wine witha'. VOL. I. T 274 I'll lea' to you my bonny nib, That used to stue the corn ; I'll lea' it to yoursell, my lord, To be a touting horn. I'll lea' to you my guid twa cen. That are like crystal stane ; They will shaw light in a lady's bower, When the light o' the day is dane. I'll lea' to you my twa ribs, Which are baith lang and sma'; I'll lea' them to yoursell, my lord. For kipples to your ha'. I'll lea' to you my tee leg, Upo' the water o' Wearie ; It will be posts and pillars to you. And last this hunner yearie. I'll lea' to you my tither leg, Upo"" the water o' Tay ; It will be posts and pillars to you. And last for ever and aye. Ye'll yoke five score o* owsen wanes, And hae me to the hill ; And see ye deal my inmates well. And gie the poor their fill. 275 Poor Robin lias his tesnicnt made, Upon a stack o^ hay ; But by it came the greedy glade, Pu'd Robin quite away. Then forth it came the weary wren. Making a heavy moan ; Says, Every lady has her lord, But my gude lord is gone. Chorus. — Sing, Father, link ye, hink ye, dink, Sing, Father, linkum dearie ; Sic a bird as you, Robin, Sat never on the brierie. Btc!)artJ's; <¥tar|n First whan I came to the north, Wi' bonnet blue and belted plaidie, First I courted a gentleman's oy, But now I'm come to Richard's Mary. First when I came my lassie to woo. She was in bed and breakfast ready ; But up she raise, put on her claise. And said she'd been abroad wi'er daddy. 276 Will ye gie me your daughter, Richard ? Will ye gie me your daughter Mary ? My daughter's a young and tender thing. And ye're but a ranting Highland laddie. The next time I came my lassie to woo. She was in bed, her breakfast ready ; Then up she raise, put on her claise, ,, And blinket blythe on her Highland laddie. Ye'll call your daughter to the door, And ye will speak wi' words fu' gadie ; And see if she is willing to wed, Wi' me, that's a brisk young Highland laddie. He's caird his daughter to the door. And he's spake wi' her words fu' gadie ; Come tell to me in secret now. Gin ye respect yon Highland laddie ? Tho' I had nought but my coat and smock, My tartan gown, and Glasgow plaidie ; I wou'd brake my bonny tartan gown. And make trowsers o't to my Highland laddie. The bridal it came seen about, It wasna lang o' making ready ; When she was on her high horse set. She looked just like ony lady. 277 When she was in her saddle set, And riding in the leys sae bonny ; Nae pipe nor fiddle gae sic delight As she had wi' her ain dear honey. fare ye well, Lord Huntly''s lands, For mony sodger I hae seen ; But yet I've kept my maidenhead. And waured it on my Highland laddie. As they came by Coberty's yetts, Then forth it came her Meg M'^Candy ; Says, Sorrow gang wi' you, ye jolly bridegroom, Ye might hae taen me to Gardenstown wi' you ! 1 wyte I lent you twenty punds, O** that I lacked not ae penny ; But I shall hae it a' again, If ye shou'dna hae but Richard's Mary. O bide ye still, the bride replied. Till winter I get my sma' webs ready ; And ye shall hae it a' again, If he shou'dna hae but Richard's Mary. The bridegroom spake, she's hae as soon, O' that she shall not lack ae penny ; For she shall hae it a' again, I*ve got thrice as muckle wi' you, my Mary. 278 When they came unto Gardenstown, Sae merrily they drank beer and brandy ; And merrily birled the claret wine, The sweet sack, and sugar candy. He wou'dna let her draw her gloves, To milk a cow, tho' they had mony ; But took her in his arms twa. Says, They'se a'' gang yiel' for you, my Mary. f l)e €unntn0 Clerk. As I gaed down to CoUistown, Some white fish for to buy, buy. The cunning clerk he followed me, And he followed me speedily, ly. And he followed me speedily. Says, Faur ye gaun, my dearest dear .? O faur ye gaun, my dow, dow .'' There's nacbody comes to my bedside, And nacbody wins to you, you. And naebody wins to you. 279 Your brother is a gallant square wright, A gallant square wright is he, he ; Ye'll gar him make a lang ladder, Wi' thirty steps and three, three, Wi"* thirty steps and three. And gar him big a deep, deep creel, A deep creel and a string, string ; And ye'll come up to my bedside. And come bonnily linken in, in, And come bonnily linken in. The auld gudeman and auld gudewife. To bed they went to sleep, sleep ; But wae mat worth the auld gudewife, A wink she coudna get, get, A wink she coudna get. I dream'd a dreary dream this night, I wish it binna true, true. That the rottens had come thro' the wa"". And cutted the coverin' blue, blue, And cutted the coverin'' blue. Then up it raise the auld gudeman. To see gin it was true, true ; And he's ganc to his daughter dear, Says, What are ye doing, my dow, dow ? Says, What are ye doing, my dow ? 280 What are ye doing, my daughter dear ? What are ye doing, my dow, dow ? The prayer book''s in my hand, father, Praying for my auld minnie and you, you, Praying for my auld minnie and you. The auld gudeman and auld gudewife. To bed they went to sleep, sleep^; But wae mat worth the auld gudewife. But aye she waken'd yet, yet. But aye she waken'd yet. 1 dream'd a dreary dream this night, T wish it binna true, true. That the cunning clerk and your ae daughter Were aneath the coverin' blue, blue. Were aneath the coverin' blue. O rise yoursell, gudewife, he says. The diel may had you fast, fast ; Atween you and your ae daughter I canno' get ae night's rest, rest, I canno' get ae night's rest. Up then raise the auld gudewife, To see gin it was true, true ; And she fell arselins in the creel, And up the string they drew, drew, And up the string they drew. 281 Win up, win up, gudeman, she says, Win up, and help me now, now ; For he that ye gae me to last night, I think he's catchM me now, now, I think he's catch'd me now. Gin auld Nick he has catch'd you now, I wish he may had you fast, fast ; As for you and your ae daughter, I never get kindly rest, rest, I never get kindly rest. They howded her, and they showded her, Till the auld wife gat a fa"", fa' ; And three ribs o"* the auld wife's side Gaed knip, knap, ower in twa, twa, Gaed knip, knap, ower in twa. ^\}C Ckritsi of Oxenfotti. I'll tell you a tale, or I'll sing you a song, Will grieve your heart full sair ; How the twa bonny clerks o' Oxenford Went aff to leai*n their Icar. 282 Their father lovM them very weel, Their mother muckle mair ; And sent them on to Billsbury, To learn deeper lear. Then out it spake their mother dear, Do weel, my sons, do weel ; And haunt not wi' the young women, Wi' them to play the fiel. Their father sware them on their souls, Their mother on their life, Never to lie wi' the auld mayor'^s daughters. Nor kiss the young mayor's wife. But they hadna been in Billsbury A twallmonth and a day, Till the twa bonny clerks o' Oxenford With the mayor''s twa daughters lay. As these twa clerks they sat and wrote, The ladies sewed and sang ; There was mair mirth in that chamber Than all fair FerroPs land. But word's gane to the wicked mayor, As he sat at the wine. That the twa bonny clerks o' Oxenford With his twa daughters had lyne. 283 have they lain with my daughters dear, Heirs out ower a' my land ? The morn, ere I eat or drink, I'll hang them with my hand. Then he has ta'en the twa bonny clerks, Bound them frae tap to tae, Till the reddest blood in their body Out oAvcr their nails did gae. Whare will I get a little wee boy Will win gowd to his fee ; That will rin on to Oxenford, And that right spcedilie ? Then up it starts a bonny boy, Gold yellow was his hair ; 1 wish his father and mother joy. His true love muckle mair. Says, Here am I, a little wee boy, Will win gowd to my fee, That will rin on to Oxenford, And that right spcedilie. Where ye find the grass green growing, Set down your heel and rin ; And where ye find the brigs broken, Ye'll bend your bow and swim. 284 But when ye come to Oxenford, Bide neither to chap nor ca' ; But set your bent bow to your breast, And hghtly loup the wa\ Where he found the grass green growing, He slack't his shoes and ran ; And where he found the brigs broken. He bent his bow and swam. And when he came to Oxenford, Did neither chap nor ca' ; But set his bent bow to his breast, And hghtly leapt the wa\ What news, what news, my little wee boy ? What news hae ye to me ? How are my sons in Billsbury, Since they went far frae me ? Your sons are well, and learning well. But at a higher school ; And ye'll never see your sons again. On the holy days o' Yule. Wi' sorrow now gae make my bed, Wi** care and caution lay me down ; That man on earth shall ne'er be born. Shall see me mair gang on the groun'. 285 Take twenty pounds in your pocket. And ten and ten to tell them wi' ; And gin ye getna liynde Henry, Bring ye gay Gilbert hame to me. Out it speaks old Oxenford, A sorry, sorry man, was he ; Your strange wish does me surprise. They are baith there alike to me. Wi' sorrow now I'll saddle my horse, And I will gar my bridle ring ; And I shall be at Billsbury, Before the small birds sweetly sing. Then sweetly sang the nightingale As she sat on the wand ; But sair, sair, mourn'd Oxenford, As he gaed in the strand. When he came to Billsbury, He rade it round about ; And at a little shott window His sons were looking out. O lye ye there, my sons, he said. For oxen, or for kye ? Or, is it for a little o' deep dear love, Sae sair bound as ye lye ? 286 We lye not here, father, they said, For oxen, nor for kye ; It's all for a little o' deep dear love, Sae sair bound as we lye. O borrow's, borrow's, father, they said, For the love we bear to thee ! O never fear, my pretty sons, Well borrowed ye shall be. Then he's gane to the wicked mayor, And hailed him courteouslie ; Good day, good day, oh Billsbury, God make you safe and free ! — Come sit you down, brave Oxenford, What are your wills with me ? Will ye gie me my sons again, For gold, or yet for fee ? Will ye gie me my sons again, For's sake that died on tree ? I winna gie you your sons again, For gold nor yet for fee ; But if ye'll stay a little while, Ye'se see them hanged hie. Ben it came the mayor's daughters, Wi' kirtle, coat alone ; 287 Their eyes did sparkle like the gold, As they tript on the stone. Will ye gie us our loves, father. For gold, or yet for fee ? Or will ye take our own sweet life, And let our true loves be ? He*s ta'en a whip into his hand, And lash'd them wondVous sair ; Gae to your bowers, ye vile rank whores, Ye'se never see them mair. Then out it speaks old Oxenford, A sorry man was he ; Gang to your bowers, ye lily flowers, For a' this maunna be. Out it speaks him hynde Henry, Come here, Janet, to me ; Will ye gie me my faith and troth. And love, as I gae thee ? Ye shall hae your faith and troth, Wi"* God's blessing and mine ; And twenty times she kiss'd his mouth. Her father looking on. Then out it speaks him gay Gilbert, Come here, Margaret, to me ; 288 Will ye gie me my faith and troth, And love, as I gae thee ? Yes, ye shall get your faith and troth, Wr God's blessing and mine ; And twenty times she kiss'd his mouth, Her father looking on. Ye'll take aff your twa black hats, Lay them down on a stone. That nane may ken that ye are clerks Till ye are putten down. The bonny clerks they died that morn. Their loves died lang ere noon ; Their father and mother for sorrow died,- They all died very soon. These six souls went up to heaven, (I wish sae may we a' !) The mighty mayor went down to hell,. For wrong justice and law. NOTES. SIR PATRICK SPENS. Page 1. This old jind justlj' esteemed ballad has given rise to much anti- (juarian conjecture, and critical research. It appears to have been first published by Dr Percy, in his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, in 1757, as a Scottish Ballad ; and in this imperfect state it has been republished in almost every subsequent collection of ancient ballnds, occasionally with variations and additions. Sir Walter Scott, who has also given an edition of it in the INIinstrelsy of the Border, admits it to be but a fragment. A complete copy was therefore a great desideratum in the literary world, at least to that part of it who have made it their study to rescue from the de- vouring hand of time those graphic reliques of our early ances- tors. History has been silent on the particular event which gave rise to its composition, if we except a few indirect hints by some of the old chroniclers, which have made almost every editor have a difTerent opinion of its origin. The present version, therefore, may supply a (IrsidciatKm in the annals of Scottish Song, which has liitherto been so often attempted by the ingenious and the learned in vain. It was taken down from the recitation of " a wight of Homer's craft ;" who, as a wandering minstrel, blind from his in- fancy, has been travelling in the North as a mendicant for these last fifty years. He learned it in his youth from a very old person, and the words are exactly as recited, free from those emendations which have ruined so many of our best Scottish Ballads. The subject on which the ballad is founded is thus related by Hector Boece, in his Ciironiclcs of Scotland : — " And for the mair coboration of perseuerand amite and kyndness betuix Scottis ond Danisintymescuniyug, ^Margaret, Kyng Alcxandcrisdouchtcr, VOL. 1. i; 290 hauand bot ane zeir in age sal be giuin in marriage to Haningo ye son of kyng Magnus quhen scho is cumyn to perfite age." This marriage took place betwixt the king of Scotland's daughter, Margaret, and the king of Norway's son, Haningo, about the year 1270. The current report is, that Sir Patrick was sent on an embassy to Norway to bring home Margaret, grand-daughter of Alexander III. king of Scotland, which appears to me to be in- consistent with the tenor and narrative of the ballad. From the following verse, I am more inclined to believe that Sir Patrick, accompanied with five-and-fifty Scots lords' sons, were destined to carry to the court of Norway its chosen queen, and not to bring from that court a queen fjii-ScotlaH^T" " '"^^"■""n, '"°But I maun sail the seas the morn, \ An' likewise sae maun you ; — I To Noroway, wi' our kin.g's daughter, — / A chosen queen she's now. _^^^,,-/-^ Tt would also appear, from the first line of this verse, that the ship had been in readiness for the voyage, as she was to sail on the day after the orders had arrived, and not that she had been prohibited by an act of parliament to sail during the winter months. How- ever, the season of the year is not specified here. YOUNG AKIN. Page 6. In some late publications, I have seen fragments of this beauti- ful ballad under various names. — It is now for the first time given in a complete state. The ballad is, to all appearance, very old ; and agrees with the romantic history and times of Fergus II. It will be considered by all lovers of Scottish Song, as a great acquisition to their store of traditionary poetry. The heroine, Lady Margaret, a king's daughter, was stolen by her father's cup-bearer, who built for her a bower, in which she was so artfully confined, that no one could have discovered the place of her residence. In this bower, she bare to her adopted husband seven sons, the oldest of whom was the means of releasing her from her dreary abode. On his arrival at the court of his grandfather, whither he had gone to recon- noitre, the old monarch at once perceived such a famUy likeness 291 in the face of this woodland boy, as made liim enquire after the fate of his long lost daughter. She, with the rest of her sons, arrived at her father's palace ; and, like the j)rodigal, or long lost son, was welcomed witli joy and gladness. The ballad concludes with the pardon of Young Akin, — his reception at the king's court, and the baptism of the children. YOUNG WATERS. Page 15. A mutilated edition of this beautiful old ballad was first pub- lished by I^ady Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume, while residing in Glasgow. It has been copied into a great many Col- lections of Ancient IJallads since. The version which is here given to the public, is the only complete one with which I have ever met. It contains a history of tlie whole transaction, although, in one case, under a fictitious name. I am, however, inclined to think, that the Young "Waters was David Graham of Fintray, who was found guilty and beheaded the Itith February 1592, for being concerned in a Popish plot : — the particulars of which are to be found recorded in Spotswood's History, page 391. THE GOWANS SAE GAY. Page 22. A ballad somewhat similar in fancy, was published by Allan Ramsay in his Tea Table IMiscellany ; but it difT'ers widely in ro- mantic fiction and narrative from the present, whose hero is an Elfin-knight, with whom the heroine falls in lore on hearing the sound of his horn. Great deeds are said to be done on the first morning of INIay, such as gathering dew before the sun arise ; which is an infallible cosmetic for the ladies. The two following verses, on the virtue of Alay-dew, are from tlie ballad alluded to. O lady fair, what do you here ? There go wans are gay. Gathering the dew, what need ye spier ? The first morning of I\Iay. The dew, quoth I, what can tliai mean ? There gowans are gay. Quoth she, to wash my mistrcs?: dean. The first morning of ^lav. 292 The lady seems to have been a match for the fairy ; for, by her syren song, like Judith with Holoferness, she lulled him asleep in her lap, and afterwards cut ofThis head with his own weapon. THE TWA MAGICIANS. Page 24. There is a novelty in this legendary ballad very amusing, and it must be very old. — I never saiK, any thing in print which had the smallest resemblance to it. /The singular metamorphoses, and curious transformations of the hero and heroine of the ballad by the ait of magic, are truly novel. Magic can accomplish great things, either by natural or supernatural means. Magic is divided into Natural, Artificial, and Diabolical. Na- tural magic produces extraordinary and marvellous effects, by the mere force of natural means. Artificial magic produces also ex- traordinary and marvellous effects, by human industry and wit : as, the glass sphere of Archimedes ; the wooden pigeon of Archi- tas ; the golden birds of the Emperor of Leo, which sung ; Boe- tius's brazen ones, which did both sing and fly, and serpents of the same metal, which did hiss ; and Albert le Grand's speaking head, &c. Diabolical magic, or the black art, hath surprising ef- fects, surpassing those of art or nature, by the help of Demons : as Pharaoh's magicians, who did imitate the true miracles of God. And in the last age there was a magician, who made the dead corps of a famous harper at Bologne walk and play, as if he had been alive, by a charm which he put under one of its arm-pits. ' Gasparus Peucerus, the physician, who mentions this, says, that another magician, who discovered the cause of this, did take out the charm with great dexterity ; so that the corps fell to the ground, and remained immoveable. Isidore, bishop of Seville, says, that the magicians did move the elements ; kill men by their very charms, without poison ; and raise the devil, from whom they learnt how to annoy their enemies. Natural and artificial magic have no harm in them, if people take care not to awaken a spirit of curiosity, and press too far into futurities and superstitious en- quiries : but as for the Klack art, 'tis always unlawful, as employ- ing a correspondence with evil spirits. There are some people, who either disbelieve, or pretend to do so, that there is any such 293 thing as witches ; but this is a truth, to say notiiing more, whick no man, who believes any thing in revealed religion, can call in question ; for the Holy Scriptures, in several places, forbids us to have recourse to magicians ; and mentions those made use of by Pharaoh and JIanasses ; of the witch of Endor, consulted by Saul ; of Simon and Bar-Jesu, magicians ; and of a woman who had a familiar spirit dispossessed by Saint Paul ; all mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles. The councUs likewise excommunicate magicians, and the Holy Fathers mention them upon occasion : neither is the civil law wanting in penal provisions against them : there is likewise a statute in the beginning of the reign of King James I. which makes witchcraft felony. — Thier^s Treatise of Superstitions. CHILDE OWLET. Page 27. Lady Erskine appears to have been a daughter of one of the Earls of Marr, who disdained to take the title of her husband, as being below her degree. Although he is here called a Lord, it does not always prove that those were Lords of Parliament, or noblemen, who were caUed so, but merely given as a title of cour- tesy. It is quite a common thing for a lady who wishes to ho- nour her husband, to call him lord. Sarah called Abraham lord, and was accounted a worthy woman for so doing. Childe Owlet was an illegitimate son of Lord Ronald's sister, who had bien brought up in the housp of his uncle, under a fictitious name ; but, like another Joseph, chose rather to suffer death than be ungrate- ful to his guardian, or dishonour his preserver's bed. THE BENT SAE BROWN. Page 30. Love, says the preacher, is as strong as death. Our old poesy is fraught with tales of wonder, as well as delight. The love which is displayed by the lady in this ballad is passing human compre- hension. It is the strongest passion, and one which betrays reason and reflection, and to whose shrine almost all have been made to bow. A few centuries ago, love signified an invincible inclina- tion, as may b« seen by the present ballad. It has, however, in 294 the pfescnt case, another meaning. What lady in this enlightened age of refinement and morals, would sacrifice the life of three bro- thers, and incur the deadly hate of a fond father and an indul- gent mother, for the gratification of saving the life of a nightly gallant, as here depicted ? The stratagem which the old woman falls upon for the punishment of the young knight, proves abor- tive. The king, to whom she made her complaint, was much better pleased with the artless simplicity of the daughter's state- ment of the murder, who had also gone te the king to crave par- don for her lover's manslaughter, as it may be termed, being in .elf-defence. From her familiarity with the sovereign, I am led to suppose she had been a woman of high degree ; for we are in- formed, she took him in her arms, and kissed him cheek and chin. LEESOME BTIAND. Page 38. I am quite unprepared to say where that land is " where winds never blow, nor cocks ever crow," unless I make it Fairyland. In fact, the tenor of the whole ballad authorizes me to think it so. It would also seem that liCesome Brand's mother had been an old enchantress ; for, by three drops of Saint Paul's blood, which she had kept in a gray horn, beneath her head, she restored to life his wife and cliild. CLERK TAMAS. Page 43. This ballad bears all the characteristics of antiquity. It seems rather of a romantic kind, although in many places allegorical. THE QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. Page 4 . Whether this ballad alludes to 3Iary queen of Scotland's illicit amoiu's, which were so notorious, I leave my readers to judge. It is evident, however, hke the wife of Potiphar, she contrived the death of this chaste young man, who acted a more honourable part than defile the bed of his royal master. The young woman, by whose instrumentality his life had been prolonged, he married, as 295 a proof of his gratitude : and Providence, willing to encourage such virtuous actions, healed the wound the serpent had made. THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER. Page 49. In the oriental courts of the ancients, magic was a favourite study, and formed part of the education of their nobles, which they brought to great perfection ; I mean to such perfection as this science is capable of being brought by human means. Till within these few years past, a belief in magic and witchcraft was cherished, not only by the ignorant but the learned in our own country. In Toledo, Seville, and Salamanca, and in various parts of Italy, there were public schools, where magic was taughu At one period, it was customary for the noblemen and gentlemen of Scotland to finish their education by making what was called the tour of Eu- rope, and attending for a short period one of those eastern semi- naries of darkness. Transformations were common in the days of (Jvid ; men were metamorphosed into birds, beasts, fishes, woods and water. The Arabian, Tartarian, Eastern, and Fairy Tales, furnish us with abundance of instances of this kind, charms having been used for the purpose. Scotland, till of late, had her witches, her warlocks, her fairies, her brownies, and a hundred more super- natural and midnight visitors, who were capable of riding through the air on broomsticks, or crossing the raging ocean in egg-shells. or sieves, as happens, which may be seen at full length in Satar/s Invisible World Discovered. The Earl of Gowrie was said to be a staunch advocate for charms, amulets, and Homerical medi- cines, as mentioned in the Gowrie Conspiracy. " When he, i. e- Earl Gowrie, wont to I'adua, there he studied Necromancy : his own pedagogue master Rhind testifies, that he had these characters aye upon him, which he loved so, that if he had forgot to put them in his breeches, he would run up and down like a madman, and he had them upon him when be was slain ; and as they testify that saw it, he coald not bleed to long as they were upon him." Many are tlie instances, even to this day, of charms practised among the vulgar, especially in the Highlands, attended with forms of prayer. (. ■. ■. This ballad has the highest claim to nntiquity. The learnrd 296 r.ord Iluilei say*, the title of Alarr is one of the earldoms whose origin is lost in itb antiquity : it would therefore be vain for me to ascribe the date of the ballad to any precise period. THE DEATH OF LORD WARRISTON. Page 50. In another note, I have endeavoured to shew, that the title of lord is sometimes conferred on the proprietor of a small estate. In the present case, I have seen two difl'erent ballads, one published by ]\Ir Jamieson, vol. i. p. 109 of his Popular Ballads ; another by Mr Kinloch, p. 49 of his Ancient Scottish Ballads; — in both he is called the Laird of Warieston. The copy given here is the coniplctest of the three, and changes the cause of the melancholy catastrophe altogether. The ballad, as most of our ancient Scottish ballads are, is founded on fact, and is very old, as may be seen by consulting Birrel's Diary, pages 49 and 61, from which the fol- lowing extracts are given : — " IGOO, July 2 — The same 2 day, John Kinkaid of Waris- ton murderet be his awin wyfF and servant man, and her nurische being also upon the conspiracy. The said gentilwoman being ap- prehendit, scho was tane to the Girth crosse upon the 5 day of JuUi, and her heid struck fra her bodie at the Cannagait fit, quha diet verie patiently. Her nurische was brunt at the same time, at 4 houris in the morneing, the 5 of Julii. " The 16 of Junii (1603) Robert Weir broken on ane cart wheel with ane coidter of ane pleuche, in the hand of the hangman, for murdering the gudeman of VVarriston, quhilk he did 2 Julii 1600." I also give the following excerpt from an old MS. of curious Trials of the Court of Justiciary, as it differs somewhat from the account given of this diabolical murder in Birrel's Diary, as stated above. " 1604, June 20 — William Weir delaytet of art and part of the cruel murder of John Kincaid of Warrieston, in anno 1000. The part of this barbarous murder is this : — Jean Liuingston, spouse to the said John Kincaid, having conceived a deadly hatred towards her husband for alledged maletreatment, did send .Janet Muido, her nurse, to the said William ^^'^eir, and implored him 297 10 murder her husband ; who accordingly was brotight to Warrie- ston, and about midnight they came into the room where he was lying in bed, and being wakened with the noice, called to him, whereupon the said Weir running to him, and with a serere stroke with his hand, struck him on the wein organ, and thereby he fell out of his bed on the floor, whereupon Weir struck him on the belly with his feet, and thereafter gripped him by the throat, and held him till he strangled him to death. " It does not appear how proved, nor if the lady and nurse were tried, but the Jury having found him guilty, he was sentenced to be broken alive on the row, or wheel, and be exposed thereon for twenty-four hours ; and thereafter the said row, with the body on it, to be placed between Leith and Warrieston, till orders be given to burn the body." EARL CRAWFORD. Page CI. Lindsay, one of the Earls of Crawford, having married a daughter of of Stobhall in Aberdeenshire, unwittingly took as an aft'ront, a jesting word this lady said regarding her son. The story of the lady's fatality, is told by herself, in very pathetic strains. The ballad concludes with the death of both. Those of the surname of Lindsay, at one period, were very nimierous in Scotland, having spread into numerous branches. The name was derived from the manor of Lindsay in Essex, and consequently of English origin. ROSE THE RED AND AVHITE LILLIE. J*age (J7. A ballad of this name, but considerably different from the pre- sent, appeared in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 444. The edi- tor of that esteemed work, thinks it may have originally related to the history of the celebrated Robin Hood. The hero of this piece is of Scottish extraction, and consequently not the same personage. The place from whence these ladies made their escape, as narrated in the ballad, was Anster town, in the county of Fife. 298 BURD ISBEL AND Slli PATRICK. Page l\j. It is not an uncommon thing, even in the present day, to find a person who will mis-swear himself to half-a-dozen of young wo- men in a year ; particularly to those whom they consider in a state incapable of retaliating, as was the case with Eurd label. None but those destitute of every sense of honour would be guilty of such injustice to a young and unprotected female, who rather merits their kindest sympathy. The last verse of this ballad would cause the reader to think the forsaken maid had the power of anathema- tizing her mis-sworn knight, for the selling of his precious soul. CHARLIE M'PHERSON. Page 85. Under the feudal law, a Highland chieftain was invested with more power and authority than many democratic king, and made use of it according to the strength of his clan, and his own arbitrary or tyrannical disposition. To rob and despoil parents of their only daughter, on whom they looked for comfort in their declining years, and carry her off, they knew not whither, was not one of the worst actions of which some of them were guilty ; but, Uke the Ro- mish Inquisition, no one durst say it was wrong which they had done, unless their strength and power were such as to be able to overcome them in battle. Charles ]\I'Pherson was one of that Highland clan, commonly called the Clan-Cattan, famed for antiquity and valour. They draw their original from the Chatti, or Catti, the ancient inhabi- tants of Hessia and Thuringia in Germany, whence they were ex- pelled by the Hermondures, witli the assistance of the Romans, in the reign of the Emperor Tiberius. Cattorum Castellum, one of the Landgrave of Hesse's palaces, and Cattorum Melibaeci, or Catzenellebogen, which is one of the family's titles, do still pre- serve the memory of the ancient Catti ; who being forced to leave their country, came lower down upon the Rhine into Battavia, now Holland, where Catwick still bears their name ; thence a colony of them came into Scotland, and landing in the north of that king- dom, were kindly received by the king of Scots, who gave them that part of the country where they landed, which from them was 299 called Caithness, i. c. the Cattie's corner : being settled here, they did many eminent services against the Picts, and other enemies of the Scots, till the time of King Alphinus, when the chief of the Catti, called Gilly Cattan Jloir, i. c. the Great, for his extraordi- nary conduct and valour, being married to a sister of lirudus, king of the Picts, he was in a strait how to behave himself betwixt both kings, who, in a little time after, fell out, and as the expedient, resolves upon a neutrality. In the reign of Kennethus II. who also had war wilh the Picts, this Gilly Cattan Moir, amongst others of the Scotch nobility, was summoned to attend the king's standard, he excused himself, by reason of his age ; but to evidence his loy- alty, though allied to the Picts, he sent one of his sons, with half of his clan, to join the Scots, which did not a little contribute to that fatal blow, which issued in the utter ruin of the Picts. Most of the Clan Chattan, with their valiant leader, falling in the bat- tle, the old man died of grief, and the remaining part were, by the advice of their enemies, prosecuted as favourers of the Picts, expelled Caithness, and, with much ado, obtained leave to settle in Liochaber, where they remain to this day. There arc many otlier Highland families, whose name begins with M*^ or M*^iMac, which signifies the son of such a man, who being eminent for some great thing, his posterity chose his name, or surname, as the M*L.eans, M'Intoshes, &c. CHARLES GRiEME. Page 89. There seems to be a very great inconsistency manifested through- out the whole of this ballad in the lady's behaviour towards the ghost of her departed lover. Perhaps she wished to sit and sigh alone, undisturbed with visits from the inhabitants of the grave. On her first outset, she was to sit and harp on his grave a twelve- month and a day ; but after the first night, we hear no more of her harping. THE COURTEOUS KNIGHT. Page 91. A ballad similar in incident, but greatly deficient in narrative, 300 under the title of " Proud I^ady Margaret," is printed in the 2d ■vol. p. 2'>0. of the Border Minstrelsy. SWEET WILLIE AND FAIR MAISilY. Page 97. Mr Finlay, in the note to " Sweet Willie," a mutilated copy, ■in his Collection, vol. ii. p. 61, says, — " This ballad has had the misfortune, in conamon with many others, of being much mutilated by reciters. I have endeavoured, by the assistance of some frag- ments, to make it as complete as possible." Mr Finlay has, how- ever, for all his painful industry, come far short of completing or perfecting the ballad, as may be seen by comparing it with this copy, which, I think, is the only genuine one yet pubhshed. In the 139th page of the " iNlinstrelsy Ancient and Modern," edited by my worthy friend, William Motherwell, Esq. I find another version of this ballad, considerably different from this one, under the title of " Fair Janet ;" taken, as he says, from a " Ballad Book," edited by Mr Charles Kirkpatrick Sliarpe, and enlarged by three stanzas from the ballads of " Willie and Annet" and " Sweet Willie." The copy I have here given is, like all the others in this Collection, indebted to no printed copy whatever. YOUNG PRINCE JAMES. Page 103. An imperfect ballad, under the name of " Lady Maisry," is given in Mr Jamieson's Collection, vol. 1. p. 73, without note or comment, and has subsequently appeared in Gilchrist's Collection, and the Minstrelsy Ancient anil Modern, in the same state. The catastrophe is somewhat similar to that of Young Prince James. Instead of Lord William, as in Mr Jamieson's copy, we are in- formed, the hero of the piece was young Prince James ; and may have been James Stewart, afterwards king of Scotland, who was at that time a prisoner in England, but had come to Scotland in the disguise of an English Baron. BROWN ROBYN'S CONFESSION. Page 110. This ballad has probably been written by one of the Benedic- 301 tine Monfts, who settled in England in the year 59fi, in the daric ages of Roman Catliolic superstition, to enforce upon his silly- minded hearers tlie real, or pretended advantages arising from au- ricular confession. Surely none of my readers are so grossly igno- rant as to be made to believe, that the mere confession of a crime, particularly that of incest, and of such hideous magnitude as the one here narrated, would entitle any one to a pardon of the same. THE THREE BUOTHERS. Page 111. In my weary, though pleasant researches among the inhabitants of the straw-thatched cottages that abound in Aberdeenshire, I have found two different copies of this ballad, both of which differ from the two given by Sir Walter Scott, under the titles of " Archie of Ca'field, and Jock o' the Side." One of the two recovered by me, I sent to the editor of the Minstrelsy Ancient and ]\rodern, v/here it was printed, under the title of " liillie Archie," in the :{."..">th page of that very valuable werk. There is a quaintness, a cunning, a bravery, and a degree of honour displayed in this bal- lad, which the reader will admire. The cowardice of little Dick, and the spirited manliness of Johnny Ha, at the swimming of Annan water, arc finely contrasted. We may suppose this ballad to have been written about the year 1597, as at that time Johnny Ha, alias John Hall of Newbigging, is mentioned in the list «f clans who infested the Border. THE MAID AND FAIRY. Page 117- This is one of tlie many beautiful legendary chants that are to be found in the nursery, which are said and sung to amuse fretfid children. The Genii, or Spirit, that presides over the " Wells sae Weary," is often introduced by the ancients in their tales and songs of wonder and delight. It was with wells, as it was with churches, in the darkened ages of superstition ; every well had its name and tutelar deity, to which it was dedicated, and offerings made, as it was supposed such gave the waters those balsamic and healing quahties for which many of them were so much renowned. These wells were held in the greatest veneration by those who 302 frequented them, and often the place where lovers met to plalge their faith and troth. This charming little piece is undoubtedly very old, as a stanza of one of a similar aspect appears in the Complaynt of Scotland, p. 234. The subject Ls as follows : — An old woman and her daughter lived in a remote part of the country, far from the haunts of busy men ; when, it so happened, one wintery night, that the maid was sent to the " Well sae Weary" for two jars of water. With much reluctance she went, having, as she said, gone frequently before, and found nothing but mud in a puddle. The old woman, however, was not to be put off with such silly excuses, but, in a harsher tone of voice, and more peremptorily, commanded her daughter to go at that instant. The order was imperative, so she complied with reluctance. When at the well, mumbling some anathematizing language against her mother, the Spirit of the Well appeared, who proffered his assist- ance in finding pure water for her, provided she would admit him into her dwelling when night was farer advanced. She did so, came home with her water, and met with a gruff reception frontr her mother. Shortly after appeared the Genii at the door, sing- ing the first four lines of the song, and was admitted. In the second four lines, he craves, as his due, the castick, or stem, hav- ing had coleworts for their supper, a dish common to the peasan- try of Scotland. In the third four lines, he asks his brose, (oat- meal, and the decoction of the coleworts stirred together ;) in the fourth four lines, he requests the kale ; and in the fifth four lines, he petitions the maid to lay him down in a bed, putting her in mind, at the same time, of the favour he had done her at the Well sae Weary. The old woman, who, ere now, had been a silent spectator to aU that was passing, got enraged, and commanded her daughter to throw him out of the house, which was instantly done. The sixth and last four lines conclude the piece with his prayers or malison for her woe, and an opportunity of having her again in his power at the Wei's sae Weary. YOUNG HUNTING. Page 118. Fragments of this enchanting ballad have been printed in va- rious collections, under a variety of title:. In Wotherspoon's Col- 303 lection, vol. i. p. 14R, arc to be found seven mutilated verse?*; and in I^awrie and Symington's Collection, vol. i. p. 184, are five verses, all of which make the hero of the piece Earl Ilichard. Sir Walter Scott has also given two ballads in the 2d volume of the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, under the titles of " Lord William," and " Earl Richard," which are much like Young Hunting in detail. Sir Walter supposes the one to have been derived from the other. In his note to Earl Ilichard, he says, " There are two ballads in Mr Herd's MSS. upon the following story, in one of which the unfortunate kni^^ht is termed " Young Huntin." In Mr Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, is one under the name of " Younf; Bedin ;" but he is of opinion that it differs es- sentially, both in incident and detail, from either TiOrd William, or Earl Bichard. I am, however, inclined to think, its author has been indebted to Young Hunting for his plot. Young Hunt- ing, though last on the stage of public criticism, is not the least in poetical merit ; — it is superior to all those which have preceded it, and now for the first time printed in a complete and perfect state, with beauties that are not to be foimd in any of the other firag- ments. BLANCHEFLOUIl AND JELLYFLOBICE. Page 125. There is a very old romance of this name, from which I sus- pect some less inspired poetaster tlian its real author, has taken the present ballad, modelled it in his old mould, and modernized it to suit the climate of his own times. A young woman who had wearied in the employment of her former mistress, goes to better her fortune, in pursuit of new adventures ; when she ar- rived at the palace of a queen, where she was admitted, but warn- ed to beware of the queen's son. She, however, soon forgot lier mis- tress's advice, and grew fond of the young prince, and admitted him to make love, and pay his addresses to her, which gave great offence to the queen, who ordered her to undergo a severe punish- ment : but from this she was soon released, and married by the prince. 304 LADY ISABEL. Page 12f). Some stepmothers prove the bane of bitterness to their husband's former offspring, when they have it in their power. Every trifling thing is an excuse for their cruelty. The gowns which were sent to Lady Isabel from her lover beyond seas, were made a plea for her stepmother to wreak her vengeance upon. In short, every thing militates against the young and the fair ; and she gave her poison to drink, imder the mask of friendship, although not un- known to the young lady. From the circumstance of Lady Isa- bel's mother appearing to her in the quire of Mary's Kirk, we may suppose the ancients had an idea that the souls of the departed knew, and were conversant with the affairs of the world which they had left. Indeed, almost all their writings sanction this belief. GIGHT'S LADY. Page 133. Like many of our best ballads, " Gight's Lady," or, as in another edition of it, — " Geordie," it has suffered greatly in the hands of ballad collectors. In fact, all the other editions of this ballad I have met with, have been deprived of their original beauty and catastrophe, by the too officious, and sacrilegious hands of our wise-headed modern reciters and interpolaters. It came first througli the hands of Burns, who sent it to " Johnston's Museum," where it first appeared in an incomplete state. Quali- fied as Burns was to make new ones, he has, in many instances, been very unsuccessful in mending old ; and I much fear this one has not been nftuch improved : for, as the link-boy said to Pope the poet, who was a crooked mis-shapen creature, when he prayed to God to mend him, that it would be much easier for God to make two new ones, than to mend him. This ballad, which is now for the first time published complete, is quite at variance with all its printed predecessors. Mr Cunningham says, — " The genuine old song relates to some forgotten fued between the powerful Gordons and Hays." This is quite incorrect ; as 3Ir C. could never have seen the genuine old song of which he speaks, or he would at once have perceived it had no reference or connection whatever with the feud that once existed between the ilarls of 305 Huntly and Errol, as mentioned at full lengili by Gordon, in liis History of the Gordons. The genuine old ballad was composed upon quite another incident, and recounts an afiair which actually took place in the reign, or rather minority of King James VI. Sir George Gordon of Gight, had become too familiar with the laird of Bignet's lady, for which the former was imprisoned, and likely to lose his life ; but for the timely interference of Lady Anne, his lawful spouse, who came to Edinburgh to plead his cause, which she did with success, — gained his life, and was rewarded with the loss of her own, by the hand of her ungrateful husband. William Gordon, who writes the history of his own name, in order to pal- liate as much as possible every act of the Gordons, says, that Sir George Gordon of Gight went over to France, either for recrea- tion, or to eschew the exorbitant authority of the regent, who wa* a violent enemy, not only to him, but to all the name of Gordon." This seems to be a very plausible way of warding oft the disgrace of a murder, but it will not do — He fled to save his life for the murder of his lady. Any one will see what puerile and indefinite reasons Gordon gives for liis client's going abroad. In fact, he i» not certain of the cause himself ; for it will be observed, he says, — " either for recreation, or tu eschew the exorbitant authority of the regent," &c. Mr llitson gives a version of this ballad, different from all the others, composed in 1010. THE DROWNED LOVERS. Page 140. A fragment of this ballad, under the name of " AVillie and May Margaret," appeared in Mr Jamieson's Collection, vol. i. p. 135, where he says, ■•' it was taken from the recitation of Mrs Brown of Falkland." I have now, for the first time, given it in a complete state, which exhibits those tragical ends, which are so consistent with tlie wradi and malice of an enraged mother. The unfortunate visit was fatal to both lovers ; for, like I^ord Gregory's mother, the maid's mother betrayed botli, which ended in their being consigned to a watery grave. — The piece, on tlie whole, ii» beautifully pathetic. VOL. I. X S06 EARL RICHARD'S DAUGHTER. Page 145. This ballad I have never seen before in any shape or dress. It narrates the daughter of a wealthy Eari falling in love with her kitchen boy, whom she sent to sea in a ship of her own contriving. From his being closely besieged by a Spanish lady of rank and forttine, to tender his love to her, we may reasonably suppose he possessed that enchanting air and mien which are so often the in- roads to a female heart. He, however, kept his integrity and vows inviolate, till he arrived in his own country, where he was hailed by Earl Richard as a personage of rank, and introduced as such to his daughter ; when, under a mask, he delivered unto her the ring that he had received at their parting. A.fter having witnessed the tender emotions which filled her heart, and a few fits of that mania which love engenders, he pulled off the mask, and made himself known. He was afterwards married to the lady, and nine months after brought him a son and heir — The Earl Richard, the lady's father, is said to have been one of the Earls of Wemyss. There is such a striking and visible coincidence between this ballad and Hynd Horn, that I am apt to think they are coeval. WILLIE AND LADY MAISRY. Page 155. This beautifully pathetic ballad will pave the way for the recep- tion of Clerk Sandy, to which it bears a great resemblance. It is indeed one of that class of ballads which glistens the eyes of a ner- vous reader on its perusal. Although Willie had been made to perform one of those deeds which would stagger the belief even of the most ancient and enthusiastic admirers of chivalry ; he is kept free from that disgusting ribaldry of nonsense which is often made to accompany valorous actions in some of our old ballads. His fate every one will deplore ; for, although he had killed his lover's brother, and thirty-two of her father's guards, it was only in self- defence. An imperfect copy of s ballad, on a similar subject, is to be found in the Minstrelsy Ancient and INIodern, p. 370, taken down, as the editor says, ** from the recitation of a lady far advanced in years." 307 CLEIIK SANDY. Page IGO. This ballad is one of the many that have undergone a transmu- tation, from its being handed down by oral tradition. As language and manners change, so does the voice of song ; every reciter con- sidcring himself warranted to substitute that which he knows to be no part of the work, to supply deficiencies. In many cases, that romantic sige of chivalry is gone. The young knight docs not now go in search of perilous adventures at tilts and tournaments, to make himself acceptable to his fair enslaver. Honour, at one time, was the watch-word, but now seduction. Oh ! how are the mighty fallen ! — Sir 'Walter Scott and INIr Jamicson have each pre- served a copy in tlicir several Collections, but both differ from this one. Sir Walter's copy concludes with the five last verses of " William's Ghost," published by Wotherspoon, vol. i. p. JC. Mr Jamieson'.s copy is still more antiquated, but also composed of shreds and patches. In I\lr J.'s copy, the hero is called an Earl's son ; the heroine, a king's daughter. WILLIE AND FAIR BURD ANN. Page 1C7. This ballad recounts tlie love that existed between a faithful pair ; — what the lady gave her lover to begin his fortune ; — how he icturned to the house of her parents after he had traded, and likely gained another hundred pounds, and stole away his betrothed bride in a misty night ; of their disappointments at shipping, and faith- fulness to each other during their separation. THE ENCHANTED RING. Page Itii). This ballad, like many of its predecessors, is founded on the vi- sionary belief of a supernatural agency in a piece of gold and pebble. Such an opinion had long presided over tlie mijids of the ancients, not only of the ignorant, but of the learned. Reginald Scot, in his Discovery of Witchcraft, gives a catalogue of " the vcrtues and qualities of sundrie pretious stones," &c. of which the following is a part : — " The excellent vertues and qualities of stones found, conceived. 308 and tried by this art, is wonderfull. Howbeit inariy things most false and fabulous are added \Tito their true effects, wherewith I thought good in part to trie the readers patience and cunning withal. Aggat (they saie) hath vertue against the bitting of scorpions or serpents. It is written that it maketh a man eloquent, and pro- cureth the fauour of princes ; yea, that the fume thereof dooth ttirae awaie tempests. Alectorius is a stone about the bignesse of a beane, as cleere as the christall, taken out of a cocks bellie which hath beene gelt or made a capon foure yearcs. If it be held in ones mouth, it asswageth thirst, it maketh the husband to loue the wife, and the bearer inuincible : for heereby Alilo was said to ouercome his enemies. A crawpocke deliuereth from prison. Chelidonius is a stone taken out of a swallowe, which cureth melancholic : how- beit, some authors saie, it is the hearbe whereby the swallowes re- couer the sight of their yoong, even if their eies be picked out with an instrument. Geranities is taken out of a crane, and draconites out of a dragon. But it is to be noted, that such stones must be taken out of the bellies of the serpents, beasts, or birds, (wherein they are) whiles they live ; otherwise, they vanish awaie with the life, and so they reteine the vertues of those starres vnder which they are. Amethysus maketh a droonken man sober, and re- freshed the wit. The coral preserueth such as beare it from faci- nation or bewitching, and in this respect they are hanged about childrens necks." He goes on to enumerate, I know not how many more, which would but weary the patience of a sceptical reader, and cause him think his time but mis-spent in the perusal of such jargon. ^ BROOM O' THE COWDENKNOVVES. Page 172. This beautiful old pastoral has been repeatedly published in mu- tilated parts ; every editor giving his copy of it as the original. The very ashes of the dead, and all those who have gone before, have been harrowed up, and the spirits of departed antiquarians conjured from their rest by the poetical magician, to supply imaginary breaches. I have also contributed my mite to gratify the lovers of ancient song, by an edition, which, though last in publication, I hope k not least in poetical merit, among those that have already pleased 309 so much. Like the hero of many of the other ballads, this one hai been localized by different reciters, to suit their caprice or vanity, in ascribing to liiui the sovereignty of the places where they reside, as every person wishes to immoruli/.e the place of his nativity or residence. r^- TROUD MAITLAND. Page 170. Whether this great personage be meant for Sir Richard Maitland of Lethington, a descendant of Auld Maitland's, of which so much has been said and sung ; or Chancellor Maitland, who made so much noise in the time of King James VI. I am not quite cer- tain. " We have already seen one instance," says Sir Walter Scott, in his note to " Auld Maitland ;" " ami in an elegant copy of verses in the Maitland ]MSS., in praise of Sir Richard's seat of Lethington, which he had built, or greatly improved, this obvious topic of iattery does not escape tlie poet. From tlie terms of his panegyric we learn, that the exploits of Auld Sir Richard with the grey beard, and of his three sons, were ' sung in many far countrie, albeit in rural rhyme ;' from which we may infer, that tlieyiwere narrated rather in the shape of a popular ballad, than a roimiwe of price. If this be the case, the song now pubUshed may have undergone Uttle variation since the date of the Mait- land MSS. ; for, divesting the poem, in praise of Lethington, of its antique speUing, it would run as smoothly, and appear as mo- dern, as any verse in the following ballad. The lines alluded to, are addressed to the castle of Lethington." This is the first and only time I have ever seen this ballad, eidier MS. or printed. LORD DARLINGTON. Page 183. In Joseph Ritson's Nortliumbrian Ballads, there is one called *< Fair Mabel of Wallington," which has some similarity to the piesent. The young ladies, according to Calvin's doctrine, had been pre- destinated ere they were born to die in cliild-bed, and that no- thing could have saved them, as th« decree had once gone forth. 310 The unfortunate lady, the last of the sisters, was of the house of S«atoii, Aberdeensloire. BLUE FLOWEllS AND YELLOW. Page 185. It may be said of Willie, as was said of Sir James the Rose, that, — " Lang had he woo'd, lang she refused. In seeming scorn and pride ; Yet aft her eyes confess'd the love, Her fearful words deny'd ;" till his father, a wylie old churl, proposed a novel stratagem to prove her love, and to get her entangled in a snare prepared for her. It was no less successful than curious ; it had the desired effect, and Willie gained his heart's desire. JEAN O' BETHELNIES LOVE FOR SIR GEORGE GORDON. Page 188. When the intestine troubles and broils of the North disturbed the public peace so much, in 1562, the Queen's presence was thought necessary to put a stop to some of them ; and for that purpose she appeared in the North among her friends and foes. Jean, daughter of Baron Meldnnn, and Laird of Bethelnie, in Aberdeenshire, was one of Queen IMary's favourites, with whom she occasionally dined at the house of Fetternear, where the Queen resided for a few days ; and having chanced to espy Sir George Gordon of Glenlogie, as he rode through the village of Banchory, fell desperately in love with him ; and, that he might know her case, she dispatched a letter to him for the purpose ; but he, for a while, made light of the same, which came to the lady's cars, and threw her into a violent fever. Her father's chaplain, no doubt bred at the court of Cupid, undertook the correspond- ence, and was more successful. She was shortly afterward mar- ried to Sir George, the object of her wishes, in her fifteenth year. 311 THE HOLY NUNNERY. Page 193. A nunnery is a sort of religious house, er receptacle for virgins who have bound themselves by a vow to live a single and chaste life, celibacy being accounted honourable. There are few, I presume, but have read the unfortunate fate of Abclard and Eloise : how they were disappointed in their early loves, and spent their latter days in a monastery. Such was the case with the unfortu- nate pair in this ballad ; for, at one time, nunneries were common in Scotland, endowed with extraordinary privileges. jNIany fabu- lous but amusing stories, and lively anecdotes, have been told of the nuns who have taken the veil, &c. In the Island of lona, or Icolmkill, the dilapidated ruins of an Augustinian nunnery are still to be seen. The church is 58 feet by 20 on the floor, and contains the tomb of the last prioress, though now considerably defaced. The figure is carved, praying to the Virgin ]\Iary, with the address under her feet : Saucia Maria, ora pro me, and with this inscription round the ledge, in old British characters : Hie jacet Doviina Anna Donaldi Ferleti Jilia, quondam prioressa de lona, quce oUit, anno MDXI. citjus an'imam (altisdmo) cotnmcn- damns. At the first establishment of the monastery, the nuns resided on a small isle near /, still called the Isle of Nuns. Co- lumba, at length; relented so far, as to allow them this establish, ment on the island, where they wore a white gown, and over it a rocket of white linen. THE NEW SLAIN KNIGHT. ' Page 197. It was, at one time, quite a common thing for two lovers to make trial of each other's affections unknown (o one another; which, if they found to vibrate according to the notes of their own heart and feelings, they were rewarded accordingly. Under the mask of a stranger, did the hero of this ballad try his lady's love, and found it sincere. THE WHITE FISHER. Tage 200, Thoie who have r«ad the livei of tbe Pope* ; the hiitory of th« 312 inquisition, ami of the inferior orders of the clergy of the Romish church, will be nowise surprised that the ghostly confessor should, instead of administering spiritual consolation to the lady in her husband's absence, rob her of her chastity ; and betray, like an unprincipled villain, the trust reposed in him. The wicked lives and ungrateful conduct of most of the friars, monks, and priests, need no comment. It would appear from the indulgence given to the lady by her husband, that he was conscious of the priest's treachery, and of her own innocence, in as far as she was betrayed. LORD DINGWALL. Page 204. This ballad has all the insignia of antiquity stamped upon it ; and records one of those romantic fashions said to exist in the Highlands of Scotland some hundred years ago. I am not in- clined to think that the hero of the piece was any of the Lords Dingwall, although its name would imply as much ; but rather a Highland chieftain, or Laird of Dingwall, a royal borough in Ross-shire ; if such be the real name of the ballad ; of which I am dubious, for Sir Richard Preston was created Lord Dingwall by King James, in 1(J07, by patent, to the heirs of his body. His only daughter and heir, I^ady Elizabeth, married James, the great Duke of Ormond. His grandson, James, second and last Duke, claimed, in 1710, the Scotch honour of Dingwall ; for which he was allowed to vote at the election of the sixteen peers the same year. This title was forfeited by his attainder, in 1713. From this we may see, that none of the I^ords of Dingwall resided in the Highlands, but most part in England, which confirms my opinion. In an imperfect copy of a ballad somewhat similar in incident to this one, the hero of the piece is called "• Lord Both well ;" but which of the two is the true title, I am not determined to say. JAMES HERRIES. Page 214, Sir Walter Scott has given a ballad under the designation of the " Da;mon Lover," vol. ii. p. 427, of the Border Minstrelsy, which he says was taken down from recitation by Mr Wilham S13 Laidlaw. In this ballad, a few of the incidents are narrated ; but it wants all the particulars which render it either perfect, or com- plete. In the Minstrelsy Ancient and jVIodern, is a fragment given, all that could be procured hy the indefatigable editor of that work. I am therefore happy to say, I have it now in my power to convince my esteemed friend, tliere is still a perfect copy of this curious and scarce legend in existence, which is now, for tlie first time, given to the public. In this ballad, it is not a demon or fiend, that betrays Jeannie Douglas, but the spirit of her own first true love, James Herries, who had died abroad, but now come to punish her for perjury, infidelity, and to recover from her the pledges of her broken vows. .James Herries was a branch of the Anglo-Norman family of Heriz, who came into Scotland during the age of David. Jt is more than probable, that tlie same AVilliam de Heriz, who ap- pears to have attached himself to David I., and his son Henry, may have settled in Scotland. Tlie representative of all those Herizes, Sir Herbct, obtained the title of I^ord Herries of Terre- glcs in 1493. From this stock are sprung the several families of Herris in Scotland. — Caledonia. BARBARA BLAIR. Page 218. Barbara Blair is the young woman's name who had fallen in love with a sea captain, to whom siie was with child, and was ardently attached, much against her mother's inclination, who wished him drowned in the sea. The captain, however, proved a man of honour, and repaired the breach which he had made in the young woman's character, by his speedily marrying her, which made the old woman change her song. THOMAS O' YONDERDALE. Page 221. This beautiful ballad I do not recollect of having seen any where else. Thomas makes love to liady jMaisry, and gains what had been often attempted in vain by many rich and noble suitors the heart of the young lady. He had, however, no sooner de- prived her of her innocence, than he left her and her helpless off- 314 tpring, in a hopeless and forlorn condition. He went to England ; continued in that country for some time, and wooed another bride for to bring home, but was chid for his inconstancy by Lady jVlaisry, who stood by his bed-side one night in a dream. This pricked him to the heart, and caused him return with all the haste he may, to the land which he had left, and marry the first object of his love, and leave his Enghsh betrothed bride to go maiden home. THE KNIGHT'S GHOST. Page 227. Dunfermline has the honour of being celebrated in many of our old Scottish songs ; and was once the scene of much mirth and merriment : at other times, bustle and strife. It was here where many of the Scottish kings spent much of their time, and administered justice to their subjects. It was here where the re- mains of the valiant and renowned Robert Bruce were deposited ; and it was here where the good lady lost her husband, surrounded by his faithful band of mariners, fighting for his life to their knees in blood. If we take it, from the authority of this ballad, that the souls of the departed are privy to all that is passing in this lower world, we are not only informed of the past, but also made to believe they have a prescience, or foreknowledge of what will follow. This ghost was a generous and liberal one in many re- spects. THE TIlOOrER AND FAIR MAID. Page 230. This is not the first " bonny lass that has lien in a barrack, fol- lowed a sodger, and carried his wallet." In this ballad will be found the identical lines which gave so much room for critical acumen among the poetical antiquaries of the last century, regard- ing " Waly, Waly up the bank," in which some mistaken editors have maintained that they should have been inserted, as belonging to that song. The Trooper and Fair Maid was written prior to 'SV^aly, Waly up the bank. 315 LOBD INGRAM AND CIIILDE VYET. Page 234. A ballad somewhat similar to this one appeared in J\Ir Jamie- eon's Popular Ballads, vol. ii. p. 2(j5, as taken from Herd's MSS. ; but it is deficient in many respects, when compared with the pre- sent complete copy ; particularly in that which gives it the patlios and sublimity. I have also seen another copy, but still it had its defects. The ballad records the fate of two brothers who had made love to one lady ; their tragic end, with the lady's peni- tence. CASTLE HA'S DAUGHTER. Page 241. Another ballad of a similar description, called Bold Burnett's Daughter, I took down about the same time as the present one, from a different person ; but as it is so much alike in manner and incident, I have, for the present, withheld it. There are various ballads to be met with of the same nature, which rather than please, shock humanity. Every thing of a preposterous and ab- surd imagination served as food for the Doric muse, and inspired it with antetliluvian vigour. AVILLIE'S DROWNED IN GA^IERY. Page 245. The unfortunate hero of this ballad, was a factor to the laird of Kinmundy. As the young woman to whom he was to be united in connubial wedlock resided in Gamery, a small fishing town on the east coast of the Murray Frith, the marriage was to be solem- nized in the church of that parish, to which he was on his way, when overtaken by some of the heavy breakers which overflow a part of the road he had to pass, and dash, with impetuous fury, against the lofty and adamantine 'rocks with which it is skirted. The young damsel, in her fifteenth year, also met with a watery grave, being the wages of her mother's malison. This ballad will remind the reader of the Drowned Lovers, who shared the same fate in the river Clyde. 316 LANG JOHNNY MOIR Page 248. This ballad I never saw any where else, in one shape nor ano- tlier ; but am informed it is very old, having been written about tlie time of King I'obert Bruce, as the characters that are intro- duced into it, assisted at the siege of Carlisle. It is undoubtedly of a political nature. The gigantic statures of Johnny and his re- lations are such as would stagger the belief even of those enthusi- asts who are well acquainttd with the traditions and fairy fictions of Benachie, the place to which Johnny belonged, in Aberdeen- shire. Such fabulous relations of men and things, often embel- lish the ballads of the ancients, partly from conviction, and partly from ignorance. The place where Johnny resided was at Harts- hill, and his uncle at a place called the Beech. John o' Noth was proprietor of Noth, a great hill, from its high conical summit, commonly called the top of Noth ; on which, overlooking an im- mense tract of country, are the remains of an ancient fortress, for- merly thought to have been the mouth of a volcano, but now known to be one of those forts constructed of stones vitiified by the force of fire, of which kind many have been lately discovered in Scotland. In the parish of Auchindoir, to which Johnny belonged, a little be- low Craig, stood the Castrum Auchindores, mentioned by Bu- chanan, under the reign of James II. the remains of which are still visible. CUTTIE'S WEDDING. Page 257. The music and words of this song were composed by a j\Ir Sm^th, who followed, as a musician, the variegated fortunes of the late pretender, Prince Charles Edward Stewart, at Culloden, and many other places. He at length settled in Peterhead as a violin player, upon which instrument he excelled. The wedding took place at a small ale-house in a fishing village called Drum Lithe, parish of St Fergus, about sixty years ago ; being what was called a siller or penny wedding. Cuttie was the nickname of the bride- groom, who was a fisherman; and, to this day, a small rivulet that passed his house retains the name of " Cuttle's Burn" — his name and family, in other respects, are extinct. I have heard of 317 an old woman called " Cuddie," who has also been immorta'- lized by some kind poet in four lines, which run thus : — There was an auld wife, they ca'd her Cuddie, And a' body said she wou'd gang to the wuddie ; IJut yet she dic't wi' a better commend, For she danc'd hcrscll dead at her ain hous end ! MISS GORDON OF GIGHT. Page 258. I need not say, the following song has been written by a Scottish bard, who bad been dissatisfied with the marriage of IVIiss Gordon of Gight to John Uyron, son of Admiral Byron. They were fa- ther and mother of the late nflich lamented but immortal Lord Byron. THE LITTLE MAN. Page 2G3. A ballad somewhat similar in name and circumstances, is to be found in some old Collections of Ballads ; but this is the only genuine copy with which I ever met The scene of the meeting is in the Garioch, at the foot of Benachie, a high mountain in Aberdeenshire ; a place long and justly celebrated for the nocturnal visits of the Elfin train, to which this romantic ballad seems to relate. THE POOR AULD MAIDENS. Page 2(;4. This curious ditty was written during the sovereignty of James the Third, King of Scotland, and consequently nearly four hun- dred years old. THE GUISE OF TYRIE. Page 2C6. The hero of this curious song was the Reverend INIr Andrew Cant, a character much celebrated in the history of the troubles of Scotland in the seventeenth century. His inductment to the pastoral charge of the parish of Tyrie, of which he was the first Pro- testant minister, having given great offence to the rabble, one of 318 them composed the Guise of Tyrie. Mr Cant being an avowed enemy to all, and every thing that savoured of Popery, being board- ed in the house of jNlr Forbes, the proprietor of Boyndlie, who was a Papist, in his bed-room were hung a great many of the Saints' pictures. Having an aversion to these, he requested that they might be taken down. The laird, to please his guest, took down St Peter, and hung up the picture of Mr Cant, with these lines written underneath : Come down, St Peter, Ye superstitious saint. And let up your better — Mr Andrew Cant. • THE FAUSE LOVER. Page 2C,8. In all the printed Collections of Old Ballads I have as yet con- sulted I have found great deficiences, such as giving mutilated frag- ments for complete copies, which I have endeavoured, as much as possible, to avoid. The only eight hnes of this ballad I have eves met with in print were published by Mr Herd. ROBYN'S TESMENT. Page 273. This little piece, I am convinced, is very old, as its stile and language, although modernized, will testify. I have every reason to think it has been composed under the cloud of disguise, upon some great family, and on some particular event, though now un- known ; as was the ballad of the " Wren,'' composed on Lord Len- nox's love to a daughter of Lord Blantyre's." RICHARD'S MARY. Page 275. Mary IVIortimer was the name of this lady, who was a stauncli Papist in tlie Enzie. AVhen her husband died, she spent all her living on priests in praying him out of purgatory, whence his spi- rit had gone for the puriGcation of his soul. 319 THE CUNNING CLERK. Page 278. This humorous ballad is local, but very old. CoUieston, where the scene is laid, is a small fishing town on the east coast of Aber- deenshire, once so justly famed as being the rendezvous of Dutch and Flushing smugglers. That spirit with which tlie ballad com- mences is kept up through the whole with great naivete and eclat. It belongs to a class rarely to be met with. I never saw any one in print bear the smallest resemblance to it. jMy worthy friend in Paisley was kind enough as to send me a copy of one somewhat similar in incident, as taken down from the recitation of an old woman in that quarter. Clerks are often introduced t« the notice of the public, by the old rhymesters, in their antiquated ballads : but we are not now to suppose them to be journeymen shop-keepers, accountants, law- yers' assistants, alius scribes, nor book-keepers, but journejTiien priests, who were wont to do the drudgery of the higher orders of the Romish church, and were a class of men well skilled in the art of debauchery, &c THE CLERKS OF OXENFORD, Page 281. These young gentlemen, were the sons of the I^aird of Oxcnford, who had given them a part of all the education that that place of the country could boast, and afterwards were sent to Billsbury, a fa- mous town at that time celebrated for its seminaries of learning. Here the young men, although particularly warned of the danger, and advised not to come too near the persons of the mayor's dau"h- ters, forgot their parents' injunction at parting, and became ena- moured of the young women, which reached the mayor's eiirs, and proved their destiny. Although their lives had been requested by their father, and also by their lovers, the mayor's daughters, he caused them both to be hanged. — This must have been in the time of the feudal law. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. W. AITKEN, PRINTER. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below m 1 5 '°^^ OCT 1 1 193(1 "iV 2 8 1936 Mi 1 7 193b .^ c 5 '^45' Form L-9-15m-2,'36 WAV 2 5 1962 „W MftRZ 1970 DlSCHftRGE-URl ;. oiSCHWIGE-Ufir JUL 1 8 1978 MAR 2 6 1980 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNl AT LOS AInGELES LIBRARY \IA nFinn,nJ,fl^,^Ii,f?f.°JO^'*l- LIBRARY FACILITY il||IM|H||;ii||M.||i| iiiiiiiilliiillili ii|i||l|l!lf||Ni|)Nr AA 000 558 129 3 ■ JTt^. -J-t.-g »- -JL/T- I ■■-