A<^A^ LOMDOH : Printed by A. Sfotxiswoodk, New- Stree^ Square. ?R TO HIS MAJESTY, LOUIS, KING OF BAVARIA, WHOSE MUNIFICENT PATRONAGE OF THE ARTS HAS ELEVATED THE POSITION AND CHARACTER OF HIS COUNTRY, SECURED HIS OWN IMPERISHABLE RENOWN, ADVANCED THE UNIVERSAL CAUSE OF CIVILIZATION, AND GIVEN AN EXAMPLE AND A STIMULUS TO THE OTHER SOVEREIGNS OF EUROPE, THIS VOLUME, SUGGESTED BY THE WORKS OF GERMAN ARTISTS, IS DEDICATED BY HIS HUMBLE SERVANT, THE EDITOR. 20^01 (1^ 1 N I) E X TKll (§@©K ©[? ©KaTDiKl [§AIL1LA©§. ALLD ROniN GliAY Designs by J. Fhanklin. Engravings by G. Dalziel and F. Branston. BARTHRAM'S DIUOE Designs by Fanny M*Ian. Engravings by Fked. BaANSTON. CHEW CHASE Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by W. J.Linton. T.Williams, J. Bastin, T. .Armstrong, and E. Landells. COLIN AND MCY Designs by E. M. Ward. Engravings by F. Branstun. ELFINLAND WUD Designs by J. N. Paton. Engravings by T. Armstrong. FAIR HELEN OF KIHCONNELL .... Designs l)y .1. Frankun. Engravings by 0. P. NiCHOLLS and O. Dalziel. FAIR MAROARET AND SWEET WILLIAM Designs by H. Warren. Engravings by Jackson. FAIR ROSAMOND Designs by J. Franklin. Engr.Tv!ngs by T. Williams, O. Smith, E. Evans, J. Walmslby, and Miss Williams. PAUSE FOODRAOP, Designs l>y T.M. Jov. Engravings by Miss Williams. FRENNETT HALL Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by G. Dalzibl, F. Branston, and C. P. Niciiolls. GENEVIEVE Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Armstrong and G. P. Nicholls. GIL MORRICE . Designs l)y Kenny Meadows. Engravings by Smith .nnd Linton. OLENFINLAS Designs by H.J. Tounsend. Engravings by G. P. Nicholls, F. Branston, and J. Walmslev. PArtS 4I.i 241 HENGIST AND MKY Designs Ijy F. K. PlCKERSt;il.L. Engravings by J. L. Williams. JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE Designs by T. SinsoN. Engravings by W. J. Linton. KATHERINE JANFAKIE Designs liy C. H. Weioall. Engravings by E. LandelL3. KEMPION . • Designs by W. B. Scott. Engravings by Smith and Linton. KING ARTHUR'S DEATH Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by W.J.Green, G. P. Nkholls, and T. AR.MSTR0NG. KING ESTMERE Designs by J. Tenniel. Engravings by J. Bastin. LADY ANNE BOTIIWELL'S LAMENT . Designs by J. S. Brine. Engravings by J. Bastin and T. Armstrong. LORD SOULIS Designs by It. M'Ian. Engravings by S.MITH and Linton. LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET Designs by J. U. Townsend. Engravings by W. Folkard, Fred. Branston. J. Walmsley, and J. Bastin. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER .... Designs by E. ConnoiLD. Engravings by J. W. Whimper and -S. Williams. ROBIN GOODFELLOW De-signs Iiy R, Dadd. Engravings by W.J. Green. ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF OlSBORNE Designs !)y J. Franklin. Engravings by G. P. Nicholls. Fred. Branston, ,nnd G. Dalzibl, RUDIGER Designs by E. M. Ward. Engravings by J. Walmsley. I AT. V 4M ■273 RUTH 313 Designs by \Y. B. Scorr. Engravings by W. J. Linton. SIR AGILTHORN 213 Designs by R- Redgrave, A, R. A. Engravings by Walmslev, Bastin, F. Bkanmon and H. ViZETELLY. SIR ALDINGAR 107 Designs by J. Gilbert. Engravings by Gilks and Folkabd. SIR ANDREW BARTON 357 Designs by F. W. Fairiiolt. Engravings by T. Armstrong. SIR CAULINE 297 Designs by J. Fraxklin. Engravings by G. Dalzibl. SIR JAMES THE ROSE 339 Designs by J. S. Brine. Engravings by W. S. Linton and T. Armstrong. SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE 117 Designs by E. Corbould. Engravings by Orrin S.mitii. SIR PATRICK SPENS 91 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Armstrong. THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE . . . .185 Designs by W. B. Sioit. Engravings by W. Folkard, H. Vizetelly, and T. Armstrong. THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN . 73 Designs by J. Gilbert. Engravings by H. Vizetelly. THE BONNIE BAIRNS 235 Designs by E. Corbol'ld. Engravings by J. Bastin and T. Wakefield. THE CHILD OF ELLE 57 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Williams. THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD .... 13 Designs by J. R. Herbert, A. R. A. Engravings by Green. THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O* OWSENFORD . Designs by H. C. Selous. Engravings by J. Bastin. THE CRUEL SISTER Designs by E. Corbould. Engravings by T. Armstrong. THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF ROBIN HOOD Designs by H. Warren. ■ Engraved by E. Evans. THE DEMON LOVER Designs by J. Gilbert. Engravings by Folkard and J. Bastin. THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW .... Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by Fred. Uranston and E. Evans. THE EVE OF ST. JOHN Designs by J. N. Paton. Engravings by Fred. Br&nston. THE GAY GOSS-HAWK Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Armstrong. THE HEIRE OF LINNE Designs by E. RL Ward. Kngravings by J. Bastin. THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL .... Designs by A. Crowqcill. Engravings by T. Armstrong. THE MERMAID Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by W.J. Green. Fred. Bbanston. G. P. NiCBOLLS, and T. Armstrong. THE NUT-BROWN MA YD Designs by T. Creswick, W.B.Scott, and S.Wil- liams. Engravings by S. and J. Williams. Landells, and Vizetelly. THE TWA BROTHERS Designs by W. P. Frith. Engravings by J. Bastin. THE TWA CORBIES Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by W. T. Green. CONTENTS. THE BONMK RAIRNS ........ 23.'t Designs by E. Corhopld. Engravings by J. Bastin and T. Wakbpield. GLENFIXLAS ......... 241 Designs by H.J. Townsend. Engravings by G. P. Niciiolls, F. Branston. and J. Walmsley. THE GAY GOSS-HAWK ........ 253 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. .■\rmstbong. COLIN AND LUCY ......... 2fi] Designs by E. M. Ward. Engravings by F, Bkanston. KATHERINE JANFAUTE ...,..., 267 Designs by C. 11. Weigall. Engravings by E. Landells. RUDIGER .......... 273 Designs by E. M. Ward. Engravings by J. Walmslev. THE EVE OF ST. JOHN ........ 283 Designs by J. N. Paton. Engravings by Fhkd. Branston. BARTHRAMVS DIRGE ......... 293 Designs by Fanny M'Ian. Engravings by Fred. Branston. SIR CAULINE . . . . .297 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by T. Arhsthong, J. Bastis, G. Dalzif.l, and G. P. Nicholls. RTTH ........... 313 Designs by W. B. Scott. Engravings by W. J. Linton. ROBIN HOOD AND GITY OF GISBORNE ..... ;i23 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by G. P. Nicholls, F. Branston. and G. Dalziel. THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF ROBIN HOOD . .333 Designs by H. W&rren. Engravings by E. Evans. SIR JAMES THE ROSE ....... 339 Designs by J. S. Brinc. Engravings by W. S. Linton and T. Armhtrong. THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O* OWSENFORD ...... 319 Designs by H. C. Selous. Engravings by J. Bastin. viii <1>NTKNIS. Pafi". SIR AKDRKW BARTON ........ 357 Designs by V. \V. Fairholt. Engravings by T.Armstrong. FRENNETT HALL ......... 3(59 Designs by J. Frankli.v. Engravings by G.Dalziel, F. Branston. and G. P. Nicholls. KIXG ESTMI:RE ......... 375 Designs by J. Tenniel. Engravings by J. Basfin. THE CRUEL SISTER ........ .387 Designs by E. Corbould. Engravings by T. Armstrong. FAIR HELEN .... ..... 393 Designs by J. Franklin. Engravings by G. P. Nriiolls and G. Dalziel. THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL ........ 39!J Designs by A. Cno\vyuiLL. Engravings by T. Armstrong. LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT . . . . . . 40T-*- J "•' 'he story tii slide more sin ^ V,^,v, C7^^'><5'V-- ■/' " It is seldom, indeed, that soi we take from the " Songs of Scotland, Ancient and llodern," edited by Allan Cunningham. The editor modestly states that he " has ventured to arrange and eke out these old and remarkable verses ; but," he says, " I have no ripht to claim any more merit from their appearance than wli.it arises from inducing the stream smoothly away." He adds, ■-ong has chosen so singular a theme ; but the superstition it involves is current in Scotland." The extent of the alterations to which the " old and remarkable verses" were suUjccted must now be left to conjecture; but it is probable that the original was really nothing more than the crude outline of a story referred to in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," and printed entire in Mother. well's " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modem," and in Buchan's " Ancient Ballads." If so, the ballad we here publish must be considered as, in reality, the composition of Mr. Cunningham ; for the leading incident is altosether different, :md infinitely more pathetic as well as more natural, while it is superior in style and imagery to the rough old rhymes that occur in the collections referred to. One of them, — that which Motherwell prints, — we give in a note. Ruchan, in his copy, prints other " burthens of no meaning and much childishness," ami his version differs in several respects from that of Motherwell; but the variations arc probably only those to which it had been sulijected in its transfer " from mouth to mouth. " A stanza or two of Buchan's ballad will content the reader : " She h,id tier to her father's ha', Edinbro', Edinbro', She had her to her lather's ha', Stirling for aye; She had her to her father's ha', She was the meekest maid amang them a'. So proper Saint Jotinston stands fair upon Tay. "It fell ance upon a day, Kdinbro', Ediiihro', It fell .ince upon a day, Stirling for aye ; It fell anee upon a day, She saw twa babies at their play. So proper Saint Johnston stands fair upon Tay." Both the Ballads are called " The Cruel Mother ; " but Mr. Buchan prints another, entitled " The Minister's Daughter of New York," in which, also, occurs the incident of the mother meeting the spirits of her dead bairns. Here the mother asks what sort of death she must die. In atonement for her sin ; to which the babes reply — " Yes. cruel mother, we'll tell to thee, [ " Seven years a fool in the woods, lley wi' the rose and the lindic, (). Iley wi* the rose and the llndic, O ; \Vh.it sort of death for us you maun die. I Seven years a flsh in the floods. Alone by the green burn sidle, O. Alone by the green burn sldie, ()■ ** Seven years to be a church bell, lley wi' the rose and the Undie, O ; Seven years a porter in hell. Alone by the green burn sidie, O." The ballad of " Lady Anne," referred to as contained in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," is but a fragment. The story indicated is similar to that recorded in the poems we have quoted. The following are three of the stanzas, of which only nine have been preserved : — " Out of the wood came three bonuie boys, Upon the simmer's morn, And they did sing and play at the ba*. As naked as they were born. " ' O seven lang years wad 1 sit here, Amang the frost and snaw, A' to hae but ane o' these bonnie boys, A playing at the ba'. ' " Then up and spake the eldest boy, ' Now listen thou, fair ladie, And ponder well the rede that I tell. Then make ye a choice of the three.' " In the introduction. Sir Walter states it to correspond with a fragment, containing the following verses, which he " had often heard sung in his childhood : " — " She set her back against a thorn, And there she has her young son bom ; ' O smile nae sae, my bonny babe ! An ye smile sae sweet, ye'll sraile me dead.* « • * • * An' when that lady went to the church, She spied a naked boy in the porch. " • O bonny boy, an ye were mine, I'd dead ye in the silks sae fine.' — ' O mother dear, when I was thine. To me ye were na half sae kind.' " All the ancient copies picture the bairns as consigning their wretched mother to eternal misery. Mr. Cunningham, it will be observed, gave the story a more natural and far more touching character — making the children intercede for the sinner at the throne of grace. In its present form it is an exquisite poem — one of the most beautiful and most valuable of the many relics left to us by Allan Cunningham ; and which are often so completely allied to the spirit of the old minstrels, as to leave us uncertain whether the authorship really belongs to the modem poet, or to some rhj-mer of many centuries ago. The poetical reputation of Allan Cunningham was made and is sustained by his ballads and lyrical pieces. They are exquisite in feeling and character, elegant in style, graceful in expression, and natural in conception. They seem, indeed, the mere unstudied outpourings of the heart ; yet they bear the strictest and most critical inspection of those who consider elaborate finish to be at least the second requisite of writers of song. His own country supplied him with fertile themes ; but the peculiar dialect of Scotland (in which he frequently wrote), his good taste prevented from rendering harsh or even inharmonious to southern ears. AVhen his compositions first found their way into Cromek's " Remains of Niths- dale and Galloway Song," where they were printed as ancient, they were received with an applause that at once startled and amused the writer. Dr. Percy boldly declared they were too good to be old ; and Sir Walter Scott hJis more than once said that not even Bums himself had enriched Scottish song with more beautiful eff"usions. 236 E, Corbould del. E. CorbouJd del. Wakefield sc. The tane it pull'd a red, red rose, With a hand as soft as silk ; The other, it pull'd the lily pale. With a hand mair wliite tlian milk. ' Now, why pull ye the red rose, fair bairns ? And why the white lily ? ' ' O we sue wi' them at the seat of grace, For the soul of thee, ladie ! ' ' O bide wi' me, my twa bonnie bairns ! rU cleid ye rich and fine ; And aU for the blaeberries of the wood, Yese hae white bread and wine.' She heard a voice, a sweet low voice, Say, ' Weans, ye tarry long ' — She stretch'd her hand to the youngest bairn, ' Bliss me before ye gang.' She sought to take a lily hand. And kiss a rosie cliin — ' O, nought sae pure can bide the touch Of a hand red-wet wi' sin ! ' The stars were shooting to and fro. And wild fire fill'd the air, As that lady foUow'd thae bonnie bairns For three lang hours and mair. ' ! wliere dwell ye, my ain sweet bairns ? I'm woe and weary grown ! ' ' I lady, we live where woe never is, In a land to flesh unknown.' There came a shape which seem'd to her As a rainbow 'mang the rain ; And sair these sweet babes pled for her, And they pled and pled in vain. 238 * And O ! and O ! ' said the youngest babe, ' My mother maun come in : * ' And O ! and O ! ' said the eldest babe, * Wash her twa hands frae sin.' ' And O I and O ! ' said the youngest babe, ' She nursed me on her knee : ' ' And O ! and O ! ' said the eldest babe, ' She's a mither yet to me.' * • The following is Motherwell's copy, referred to in the In- troduction, and is thus prefaced: — " A small fragment of this ballad appeared in the introductory note to the ballad of Lady Anne, printed in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. Througli the kindness of a friend we are now enahled to give the ballad in a complete state. Like many other ancient pieces of a similar debcription, it has a burden of no meaning and much childish- ness ; the repetition of which, at the end of the first and third lines of every stanza, has been omitted. The reader, how- ever, has a right to have the l)anad as we received it; and then-fore hi- may. in the first of tiie places pointed out, insert. "Three, three, and three by three;' and in the second. 'Three, three, and thirty-three;' which will give him it entire and uninutilated." She leaned her back unto a thorn. And there she had her two babes born. She took frae 'bout her riblion-helt And there she bound them hand and foot. She has ta'en out her wee pen-knife And there she ended balth their life. She has howked a hole baith deej) and wide. She has put them in baith side by side. She has cover'd them o'er wi a marble stone, Thinking she would gang maiden hame. As she was walking by her father's castle wa*, She »aw twa pretty babes playing at the ha'. '• O bonny bairns, gin ye were mine, I would dress you up in satin fine I O I would dress you In the silk And wash you ay in morning milk I " '* O cruel mother ! we were thine. And thou made us to wear the twine. O cursed mother 1 heaven Is high, .\nd that's where thou'll ne'er win nigh. E, Corbould dol. O cursed mother ! hell Is deep. And there thou'll enter step by alep. 239 ' And O ! and O ! ' said the babes baitli, ' Take her where waters rin, And white as the milk of her white breast, Wash her twa hands frae sin.' E. Cortoul i de: 5>^lt'i?^ LENFINLAS. This ballad, the composition of Sir Walter Scott, first appeared in the " Tales of Wonder," edited by M. G. Lewis*, and published in IBOl. Scott was then a young man, commencing the career in which he achieved so much gloiy, and Lewis had obtained a re- putation destined to be very short-lived. The fame of the one will endure with his land's language ; that of the other has already perished. Although, in the estimation of Lewis, " Glenfinlas was more like a protracted tale than an old ballad," it was so favourably received by the public as to originate the publication of the " Border Minstrelsy," a work of rare interest and value, second only to the "Reliques" of Dr. Percy. Upon this subject Sir Walter has the following observations in his preface to " Imititions of the Ancient Ballad : " — '* I attempted, in my own name, a collection of ballads of various kinds, both ancient and modern, to be connected by the common tic of relation to the Border districts in which I had gathrred the materials. The original preface explains my purpose, and the assistance of various kinds which I met with. The edition was curious, as being the first work printed by my friend and achoolfellow, Mr. James Ballantyne, who, at that period, was editor of a provincial newspaper, called " The Kelso Mail." When the book came out in 1802, the imprint, Kelso, was read with wonder by amateurs of typography, who had never heard of such a place, and were astonished at the example of handsome prituing which so obscure a town produced- As for the editorial part of the task, my attempt lo imitate the plan iind style of Bi&hop Percy, observing only more strict fidelity concerning my originals. was favourably received by the public, aud there was a demand within a short space for u second edition." -, '>■! i The publication of the " Minstnjlsy of the Scottish Border" forms indeed an epoch in the history of ballad lore. We rejoice to adopt the sentiment expressed in strong and eloquent language by Mr. Motherwell in the introduction to his " Minstrelsy Ancient and Modern." " Fortunate it was for the heroic and lcgendar>- song of Scot- land that this work was undertaken, and still more fortunate that its execution devolved ui)on one so well qualified in every respect to do it^ subject the most ample justice. Long will it live a noble and interesting monument of the unwearied research, cm-ious and minute learning, genius, and taste of its illustrious editor. It is truly a patriot's legacy to iwsterity ; and much as it may now be esteemed, it is only in times yet gathering in the bosom of far futurity, when the interesting traditions, the chivalrous • The criticiam of Lewis upon this ballad h-is been preserved. In a letter lo the accomplished author (dated Gth January, 1799) he acknowledged its receipt, and states th.-it he exhibited it at Brocket Ilall (Lord Melbourne's) " with great success." The observations tliat follow are curious. — " 1 must not, however, conceal from you, that nobody understood the Lady Flora of Glengyle to be a disguite^l demon till the caListrophe arrived i and that the opinion was universal, that some previous stanzas ought to be introduced descriptive of the nature and oflice of Me wayward todies qf the wood. Willi.im Lambe. too (who writes good verses himself, and, therefore, may be allowed to Judge those of other people), was decidedly for the omission of the last stanza but one. v„: V 241 and romantic legends, the wild superstitions, the tragic song of Scotland, have wholly faded from the living memory, that this gift can be duly appreciated. It is then that these volumes will be conned with feelings akin to religious enthusiasm — that their strange and mystic lore will be treasured up in the heart as the precious record of days for ever passed away — that their grand stern legends will be listened to with reveren- tial awe, as if the voice of a remote ancestor, from the depths of the tomb, had woke the thrilling strains of martial antiquity." Glenfinlas acquires additional interest from the fact that it was " the first original poem" the accomplished author "ventured to compose." It was written with a design that it should be " supposed a translation from the Gaelic." Sir Walter thus " consi- dered himself liberated from imitating the antiquated language and rude rhythm of the minstrel ballad , " and " was to pass for one who had used his best command of English to do the Gaelic model justice." The ballad was published under the title of " Glenfinlas, or Lord Ronald's Coronach " — coronach being " the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the aged of the clan ; " and it was introduced by this motto from Collins, — " For them the viewless forms of air obey. Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair ; They know what spirit brews the stormful day. And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare." Sir Walter gives the tradition upon which the ballad was founded. It is this — " While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bothy (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting), and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the siren who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut : the other remained, and. suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortimate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called the Glen of the Green Women." Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the Forest of Glen- finlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the Castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The Pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands from that town. Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery." 242 E. J. TowDBODd deV \j. V. NicbollB BO _SS£^2^ Glcnfinlas. O, sprung from great Maegillianore, The eliief that never fear'd a foe, How matchless was thy broad claymore, How deadly thine unerring bow ! "Well can the Saxon widows tell. How, on the Teith's resounding shore, The boldest Lowland warriors fell. As down from Lenny's pass you bore. But o'er his hills, in festal day, How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree, While youths and maids the light strathspey So nimbly danced with Highland glee ! Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell, E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; But now the loud lament we swell, O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more ! From distant isles a chieftain came. The joys of Ronald's halls to find. And chase with him the dark -brown game, That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 'Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle The seer's prophetic spirit found. As, with a minstrel's fire the while. He waked his harp's harmonious sound. Full many a spell to him was known, AYhich wandering spirits shrink to hear ; And many a lay of potent tone, "Was never meant for mortal ear. For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood. High converse with the dead they hold, And oft espy the fated shroud, That shall the futui-e corpse enfold. E. J- TownsdQd del. G.F. Kicbolls sc 4WaJSui.S> 244 '?vWWi?' dcnfinlas. so it fell, that on a day, To rouse the red deer from their den, Tlie Chiefs have ta'en their distant v^ay, And scour'd the deep (Jlenfinlas glen. No vassals wait their sports to aid. To watch their safety, deck their board ; Tlieir simple dress, the Highland plaid, Their trusty guard, the lligldand sword. Three summer days, through brake and dell, Their whistling shafts successful flew ; And still, wlien dewy evening fell, Tlic quarry to tlieir hut tliey drew. In grey Gleniinlas' deepest nook The solitary cabin stood. Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, ^Miieh murmurs through that lonci}' wood. Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. When three successive days had flown ; And summer mist in dewy balm Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. The moon, half-liid in silvery flakes. Afar her dubious radiance shed. Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes, And resting on Benledi's head. Now in their hut, in social guise, Tlieir silvan fare the Chiefs enjoy ; And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes. As many a pledge he quatt's to Moy. ' What lack we here to crown our bliss, While thus the pulse of joy beats high? What, but fair woman's yielding kiss, Her panting breath and melting eye ? jS =» H. J. TowDseocl clol. J. Walmale? tc ""^SjiS^" 245 =^^ rS^^ ^rUnfinlas. ' To chase the deer of yonder shades, This morning left their fother's pile The fairest of our mountain maids, The daughters of the proud Glengyle. ' Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh ; But vain the lover's wily art, Beneath a sister's watchful eye. ' But thou may'st teach that guardian fair. While far with Mary I am flown. Of other hearts to cease her care. And find it hard to guard her own. ' Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see The lovely Flora of Glengyle, Unmindful of her charge and me, Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile. • Or, if she choose a melting tale. All underneath the greenwood bough. Will good St. Oran's rule prevail, Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ? ' — ' Since Enriek's fight, since Moma's death. No more on me shall rapture rise, Responsive to the panting breath. Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. ' E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe, Wliere sunk my hopes of love and fame, I bade my harp's wild wailings flow. On me the Seer's sad spirit came. ' The last dread cm-se of angry heaven. With ghastly sights and sounds of woe. To dash each glimpse of joy was given — The gift, the future ill to know. H. J. Townsend d«l. G. P. Nicbolls ac. 246 xde ; So shall we safely wend our way.' — Ji H. J. Tonssecd del. F W. BrashU^n tic "3i>Y^a 249 ffilcnfinlas. ' O shame to knighthood, strange and foul ! Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, Wliich best befits thy suUen vow. ' Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire. Thy heart was froze to love and joy, When gaily rung thy raptured l3Te, To wanton Morna's melting eye.' Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame, And high his sable locks arose, And quick liis colour went and came, As fear and rage alternate rose. ' And thou ! when by the blazing oak I lay, to her and love resign'd. Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke. Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind ! ' Not thine a race of mortal blood. Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood, Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine.' He mutter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme, And thrice St. FiUan's * powerful prayer ; Then turn'd him to the eastern cUme, And sternly shook his coal-black hair. And, bending o'er his harp, he flung His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; And loud, and high, and strange, they rung. As many a magic change they find. ♦ In a note to Marmion, we are told that St. Fillan was a Scottish saint of some reputation, whose wells and springs are still places of pilgrimage and offering ; — •' St. FiUan's blessed well. Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel. And the crazed brain restore." ^ H.J. Townseud del. G. P. Xicholls 8C •^Jasq^^ 250 ^yAyg. Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form, Till to the roof her stature grew ; Then, mingling with the rising storm, Witli one wild yell away she flew. Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : The slender hut in fragments flew ; But not a lock of Moy's loose hair Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. Wild mingling with the howling gale. Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; High o'er the minstrel's head they sail. And die amid tlie nortliern skies. The voice of thunder shook the wood, As ceased the more than mortal yell ; And, spattering foul, a shower of blood Ui)on the hissing firebrands fell. Next dropp'd I'rom liigh a mangled arm ; The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade : And last, the life-blood streaming warm, Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. Oft o'er tlial head, in battling field, Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore ; Tliat arm the broad claymore could wield, Whi J. r'nuKlui ael T. Ajmsuoug so. 255 ' But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk, Ye can baith speak and flee ; Ye sail carry a letter to my love, Bring an answer back to me.' — ' But how sail I your true love find. Or how suld I her know ? I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake, An eye that ne'er her saw.' — ' O weel sail ye my true love ken, Sae sime as ye her see ; For, of a' the flowers of fair England, The fairest flower is she. ' The red, that's on my true love's cheek, Is like blood-drops on the snaw ; The wliite, that is on her breast bare. Like the down o' the white sea-maw. ' And even at my love's boiu'-door There grows a flowering birk ; And ye maun sit and sing thereon As she gangs to the kirk. ' And four-and-twenty fair ladyes Will to the mass repair ; But weel may ye my ladye ken. The fairest ladye there.' Lord William has written a love-letter, Put it under liis pinion gray ; And he is awa to Southern land As fiist as wings can gae. And even at the ladye's bour There grew a flowering birk ; And he sat down and sung thereon As she gaed to the kirk. J- Franklin del. T, AnDBtrong sc. 256 T. Aimitroag ic. And weel he kent that hiilye fair Amang her maidens free ; For the flower, that springs in May morning, AVas not sae sweet as slie. He lighted at the ladye's yate, And sat him on a pin ; And sang fu' sweet tlie notes o' love, Till a' was cosh within. And first he sang a low low note. And syne he sang a clear ; And aye the o'erword o' tiie sang Was — ' Your love can no win here.' — ' Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', The wine flows you amang, Willie I gang to my shot-window. And hear yon bonny bird's sang. ' Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird. The sang ye sung yestreen ; For weel I ken, by your sweet singing. Ye are frae my true love sen.' O first he sang a merry sang. And syne he sang a grave ; And syn(! he pick'd his feathers gray, To her the letter gave. ' Have there a letter from Lord AN'illiam ; He says lie's sent ye three ; He canna wait your love langer. But for yom- sake he'll die.' — ' Gae bid him bake his bridal bread. And brew his bridal ale ; And I shall meet liim at Mary's kirk, Lang, laiig ere it be stale.' 257 ®f)E CSan ffioss^l^alMfe. The lady's gane to her chamber, And a moanfu' woman was she ; As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash, And were about to die. ' A boon, a boon, my father deir, A boon I beg of thee !' — ' Ask not that paughty Scottish lord. For him you ne'er shall see. ' But, for you honest asking else, Weel granted it shall be.' — ' Then, gin I die in Southern land, In Scotland gar bury me. ' And the first kirk that ye come to, Ye's gar the mass be sung ; And the next kirk that ye come to, Te's gar the bells be rung. ' And when ye come to St. Mary's kirk, Ye's tarry there till night.' And so her father pledg'd his word, And so his promise plight. She has ta'en her to her bigly bour As fast as she could fare ; And she has drank a .sleepy draught. That she had mix'd wi' care. And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek, That was sac bright of blee. And she seem'd to be as surely dead As any one could be. Then spake her cruel step-niinnie, ' Tak ye the burning lead. And drap a drap on her bosome, To try if she be dead.' They took a drap o' boiling lead, They drapp'd it on her breast ; ^ J. Frauklin d«l. X, Anustrou^ ac. 258 T, AjTDiitTOad ic. ' Alas ! alas ! ' her father cried, ' She's dead without the priest.' She neither chattorM with her teeth, Nor shiver'd with her chin ; ' Alas! alas!' her father cried, ' There is nae breath within.' Then up arose her seven brethren, And lic'w'd to lier a bier ; They hew'd it frae the solid aik. Laid it o'er wi' silver clear. Then up and gat her seven sisters. And sewed to Iier a kcU ; And every steek that they put in Sewed to a siller beU. The first Scots kirk that they cam to. They garr'd the bells be rung ; The next Scots kirk that they cam to. They garr'd the mass be sung. But when they cam to St. Mary's kirk, There stude spearmen all on a raw ; And up iiii ^^-^^ - x 7*^-. ", >i " 1 come na here to figlit," he said, " I come na here to play ; ril but lead a dance wi' the boniiie bride, And mount, and go my way." It is a glass of the blood-red wine Was filled up them between, And aye she drank to Lauderdale, Wha her true love had been. He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand. And by the grass-green sleeve ; He's mounted her hie behind himsell. At her kinsmen speir'd na leave.* " Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar ! Now take her if you may ! But, if you take your bride again. We'll call it I)ut fuul play." There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys, A' clad in the Johnstone grey ; They said they would take the bride again. By the strong hand, if they may. Some o' them were right willing men, But they were na willing a' ; And four-and-twenty Leader lads Bid them mount and ride awa'. Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides, And swords flew frae the shea's, And red and rosy was the blood Kan down the lily braes. • [' Ono touch to her hand, and one word In her ear. When they reach "d the hall door, and the charger stood near ; So light to ttie eruiipe the fair lady he swung. So light to the saddle before her he sprung I ' She Is won I we are gone, over hank, hush, and scaur ; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochin- var." Mannion.'i C. H. Wol^all del. E. LoudoUs BC. 1Knt|)armc gjanfan'r. '. ^1. The blood ran down by Caddon bank, And ilown by Caddon brae ; And, sighing, said the bonnie bride — " O wae's me ior foul i>lay I" My blessing on your heart, sweet tiling ! Wae to your wilfu' will ! There's mony a gallant gentleman Whae's bluid ye have garr'd to spill. Now a' you lords of fair England, And that dwell by the English Border, Come never here to seek a wife, For fear of sic disorder. They'll haik ye up, and settle ye bye, Till on your wedding 3n. " I have adopted his story," writes Southey, " but not his solution, making the unknown soldier not an evil spirit, but one who had purchased happi- ness of a malevolent being, by the promised sacrifice of his first-born child." Southey has borrowed themes of other ballads from this quaint old writer ; one in particular. " Donica," who moved about the world many years after she was dead, eating and drinking, "although very sparingly." .and indicating the absence of the soul only by " a deep pale- ness on her countenance." At length a magician coming by where she was, in the company of other virgins, as soon as he beheld her he said, " Fair maids, why keep you company with this dead virgin, whom you suppose to be alive ? " » hen taking away the magic charm which was hid under her arm, the body fell down lifeless and without motion. ^ ,§ -AH^ ^ almaley sc. 278 r #. liuiJiacv. m Anil many a one from Waklhurst's walls Along tlie l)anks diil roam; lint soon the pvening wintl cami- colil. And all betook them home. Yet Rudiger in silent mood Along the banks would roam. Nor aught eould ^Margaret prevail To turn his footsteps home. " Oh turn thee, turn thee, Kudifer I The rising mists behold, The ev'ning wind is damp and chill. The Uttle babe is cold!" '' Now hush thee, hush thee, Margaret, Tlie mists will do no harm, And from the wind the little babe Lies shelter'd on my arm." " Oh turn thee, turn thee, Uudiger! Why onward wilt thou roam ? The moon is up, the night is cold, And we are far from home." He answer'd not, for now he saw A swan come sailing strong, -Vud l)y a silver chain he drew A little boat along. To siiore they came, and to the boat Fast leapt he with the child. And in leapt Margaret — breatidess now. And pale with fear and wild. With arciiing crest and swelling breast On sail'd the stately swan, And lightly down the ra|)id tide Tlic little boat went on. ^- ^^V25~* K. il. \Vi>rad«l. 279 Butiiatr. I (CD' ^.'- The full-orbM moon, that beani'd around Pale splendour through the night, Cast through the crimson canoj)y A dim disfolour'd light ; And swiftly down the hurrying stream In silence stiU they sail, And the long streamer flutt'ring fost Flapp'd to the heavy gale. And he was mute in sullen thought, And she was mute with fear ; Nor sound but of the parting tide Broke on the list'ning ear. The little babe began to cry, Then Marg'ret rais'd her head, And with a quick and hollow voice " Give me the child!" she said. " Now hush thee, hush thee, Margaret, Nor my poor heart distress! I do but pay perforce the price Of former happiness. " And hush thee, too, my little babe ! Thy cries so feeble cease : Lie still, lie still; — a little while And thou shalt be at peace." So as he spake to land they drew, And swift he stept on shore. And him behind did Margaret Close follow evermore. It was a place all desolate. Nor house nor tree was there ; And there a rocky mountain rose. Barren, and bleak, and bare. ii WftlmsWy sc. 280 ''(S/* I e=:z ^^ lUitiiacr. ^-^1' r N ^t^^ iViid at its base a cavern yawn'd, No eye its depth might view, For in tlie nioonbeana shining romid That darkness darker grew. Cold horror crept through Margaret's blood, Her heart it paus'd with fear, 'When Rudiger approach'd the cave, And cried, " Lo, I am liere ! " A deep sepulchral sound the cave Return'd, " Lo, I am here!" And black from out the cavern gloom Two giant arms appear. And Rudiger approach'd, and held Tlie little infant nigh : Then Margaret shriek'd, and gather'd then New pow'rs from agony. Aiid round the baby fast and close Her trembling arms she folds, And with a strong convulsive grasp The little infant holds.* • Several of the translated biillads of Jamieson, Lewis, and others, record incidents of a similar eliaracter. Wlien Southey borrowed the story, it was coinpariitivel}' new to tlie English reader. It would lie easy to quote many illus- trative examples. Jamiesoti publishes one — from the Danish — entitled " The Merman and Marstig's Daughter," in which occurs the following stanza, — the wedlock being followed by the drowning of the fair May. " The priest before the altar stood ; ' O what fur a good tiaight may this be?* The May leugh till herself, and said, * God gif that glide knight were lor me I' " • •«••• A translation, apparently of the same balLad, lias been made by Sir. Charles Mackay ; it is entitled " The Wild Water-man, or the Fate of the vain Maiden ;" the following' fs the " moral : " — " I wani you mtaidens, whoever you be. Beware, beware of vanity ; Maidens, 1 warn you all I cin. Beware of the wild, wild water-man." E. M. Ward del. 281 -i^AJ IJuiiiacr. " Now help me, Jesus I " loud slie cries, And loud on God she calls ; Then from the grasp of Rudiger The little infant falls. And loud he shriek'd, for now liis I'rame The huge black arms clasp'd round, And dragg'd the wretched Rudiger Adown the dark profound. £. M. Ward del. Walmsley sc. HE EVE OF ST. JOHN. This ballad— the com- position of Sir Walter Scott — was originally pub- lished in the " Tales of Wonder," edited by M. G. Lewis. The scene of the tragedy, '* Smaylhu'me, or Sinallholm Tower, is situated on the noithern boundan- of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandiknow Crags. The tower is a high s(iuare building, surrounded by an outer wall, now ruin- ous. The circuit of the outer court, being defended on three sides by a precipice and nioniss, is accessible only from the west by a steep and rocky path. The apartments, as usual in a Border keep, or fortress, arc placed one above another, and communicate by a narrow stair ; on the roof are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence or plea- sure. The inner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron gate ; the dis- tance between them being nine feet, the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the elevated situation of Smaylho'mc Tower, it is seen many miles in every direction. Among the crags by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the H'atck- foht^ and is said to have been the station of a beacon in the times of war with Eng- land. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapel. Brothcrstone is a heath, in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Tower." * When the ballad w;ia republished in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," it was accompanied by some account of the battle of ** Ancram Moor," to which reference is made in the poem, as " running red with English blood " from the fight between " keen Lord Evers " and " The Douglas true and the bold Buccleuch." — a fight that was ever famous iu the annals of Border warfare, f It took place in * This ballad derives additional interest from the fact that " the ancient fortress and its vicinity formed the seem- of the Editor's Infancy, and seemed td claim IVom liirn this attempt to celebrate tiiem in a Dorder tale." Refercnceii are made, in the introduction to the 3rd canto of " Mar- mion," tu " those crags, that mountain tower, Which charm'd my fancy's wakening liour." •* It was a barren scene, and wild, Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; But ever and anon between Lay velvet tufts of softest green ; And well the lonely infant knew Recesses where the wallHower grew.'* t In the Ut volume of" Border Minstrelsy" is printed a ballad which appears to have been written to commemorate the circumstanccof Sir Ralidi l-^vers being ennobled on account of the vigour with which he prosecuted the Border warfare : — ' And since be has kepte Berwick upon Tweed. The town wan never belter kept 1 wot ; He mafnlaln'd leal and order along the Harder, And still was ready to [irick the Scot. ' With our Qucene's brother he hath been. And rode rough-shod thro* Scotland of late ; They have burn'd the Mers and Tiviotdale, And knocked lull loud at Edinburgh gate." Lord livers was slain at Ancram Moor ; and *' was buried in Melrose Abbey, where his stone cuilin may still be seen — a little to the left of the Great Altar." 283 Kf^ 1546. Evers and his colleague, Sir Brian Latoun, having been promised by the English king a feudal grant of the countr>- they had reduced to a desert, Archibald Douglas, the seventh Earl of Angus, is said to have sworn to write the deed of investiture upon their skins with sharp pens and bloody ink, in resentment for their having de- faced the tombs of his ancestors at Melrose. He kept his word ; at the head of one thousand men, aided by the famous Norman Lesley with a body of Fife-men, and " the bold Buccleuch " with a small but chosen body of his retainers, Evers and Latoun were met, at Ancram Moor ", with an anny consisting of three thousand mercenaries, one thousand five hundred English Borderers, and seven hundred Scotchmen of " broken clans," who changed sides during the engagement, and, joining their countrymen, made a most merciless slaughter among the English fugitives. " In the battle fell Lord Evers and his son, together with Sir Brian Latoun, and eight hundred Englishmen, many of whom were persons of rank. A thousand prisoners were taken. .Among these was a patriotic alderman of London, Read by name, who, having contumaciously refused to pay his portion of a benevolence demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was sent by royal authority to serve against the Scots. These, at settling his ransom, he found still more exorbitant in their exactions than the monarch. " Concerning the ballad of " The Eve of St. John," Sir ^yalter Scott gives us no in- formation except in the notes — and they refer exclusively to the localities among which he has laid the scene of a romantic drama. He does not appear to have pointed the moral from any particular incident ; yet the lesson conveyed by the story, that *' Lawless love is guilt above," is not the less forcible because it has reference to no express local tradition. The stanzas which close the tale are full of solemn grandeur; seldom has a more impressive picture been exhibited in lines so few : — " There is a nun in Dryburgh bower. Ne'er looks upon the sun ; There is a monk in Jlelrose tower, He speaketh word to none. *' That nun, who ne'er beholds the day. That monk, wlio speaks to none — That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay. That monk the boKi Baron.** • " The spot on which the battle was fought is called Lilyard's Edge, from an .Amazonian .Scottish woman of that name, who is reported, by tradition, to have distinguished herselt" in the same manner as Squire Witherington. The old people point out her monument, now broken and defaced. The inscription is said to have been legible within this century, and to have run thus : — '* Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane. Little was her stature, but great was her fame ; Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps, .-Vnd, when her legs were cutted off. she fought upon her stumps." 284 THE EYE OF ST. JOHN. k The Baron of Siiuij'lho'me rose witli (la_v, '.Oi' lie spurrM his ctmrsfr on, Without stop or stay, (hiwn tlie rocky way. That leads to TJrotlierstone. He went not with the bold Buccknieh, His banner broad to rear ; He went not 'gainst the English yew, To lift the Seottish sjiear. J. N. Iruiou acl. K truuH.ou 8(;. ^f)e 3— '_ V-f^ -^^-^ ^it ©aulinc. The Elilriil.ire knight was inickle of might, And still'e in slower did stande, But Sir Cauline with a backward stroke He smote off his right liand ; That soone he with paine and hicke of bloud Fell downe on that lay-land. Then up Sir Cauline lift his brande All over his head so iiye : ' And here I sweare by the holy roode Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye.' Then up and came that ladye brighte, Fast wringing of her hande : ' For the mayden's love, that most you love, "Withhold that deadlye brande : ' For the mayden's love, that most you love, Now smyte no more I praye ; And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord, lie shall thy bests obaye.' ' Now sweare to mee, thou F,ldridge knighte, And here on this lay-laud, That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye, And thereto plight thy hand : ' And that thou never on Eldridge come To sporte, gamon, or playe : And that thou here give up thy amies Until thy dying daye.' Till' Eldridge knighte gave up his armes \\'ith many a sorrowfidle sighe ; And sware to obey Sir Cauline's best. Till the- tynie that he shold dye. And he tlien uj), and the Eldridge knighte Sett him in his saddle anoiie, And the Eldi-idge knighte and his ladye To theyr castle are they gone. cHW J. Franklin dtl. 3oa 'V-f.^ ^ir Ctaultju. Then lie tooke up the bloiidy hand, That was so large of bone, And on it he founde five rings of gold Of knightes that had be slone. Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, As hard as any flint ; And he tooke oif those ringes five, As bright as fyre and brent. Home then pricked Sir Cauline As light as leafe on tree : I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, Till he his ladye see. Then downe he knelt upon his knee Before that ladye gay : ' ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills ; These tokens I bring away.' ' Now welcome, welcome, Sir Cauline, Thrice welcome unto mee ; For now I perceive thou art a true knighte. Of valour bolde and free.' ' O ladye, I am thy own true knighte. Thy bests for to obaye ; And niought I hope to winne thy love!' — Ne more his tonge colde say. The ladye blushed scarlette redde. And fette a gentill sighe : ' Alas I sir knight, how may this bee. For my degree's soe liighe? ' But sith thou hast hight, thou comely To be my batchilere, [youth. He promise if thee I may not wedde I will have none other fere.' ^M^ J. Fraukhn d^L G. Dolziel sc. 304 «*i— ^ Then slice held fortlie her lilly-white hand Towai'Js that knighte so free ; ' He gave to it one gentiR kisse, — His heart was brouglit from bide to blisse. The teares sterte from his ee. ' But keep my counsayl, Sir Cauline, Ne let no man it knowe ; For and ever my father sholde it ken, I wot he wolde us sloe.' From that day forthe that ladye fayre Lovde Sir Cauline, the knighte : From that day forthe he only joyde Whan shee was in his sight. Yea, and oftentimes they mette Within a fayre arboure, Where they in love and sweet daliaunce Past manye a pleasaunt lioure. PAIIT TUE SECOND. Everye white will have its blacke, And everye sweete its sowre : This founde the Ladye Christabelle In an untimely howre. For so it befelle, as Sir Cauline Was with that ladye faire, The kinge, her father, walked forthe To take the cvenyng aire : And into the arboure as he went To rest his wearye feet, He found his daughter and Sir Cauline There sette in daliaunce sweet. c)-^ .-3 J. IVankllu dd. O. P. KlchoUa K. 305 "^F^ -d^_ c?>-- ^ix Caultnc. The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, And an angrye man was hee : ' No we, traytoure, thou shalt hange ordrawe, And rewe shall thy ladye.' Then forthe Sir Cauline he was ledde, And throwne in dungeon deepe ; And the layde into a towre so hye, There left to wayle and weepe. The queeue she was Sir Cauline's friend, And to the kinge sayd shee : ' I praye you save Sir Cauline's life, And let him banisht bee.' ' Now, dame, that traytoure shall be sent Across the salt sea fome : But here I will make thee a band, If ever he come within this land, A foule deathe is his doome.' AU woebegone was that gentil knight To parte from his ladye ; And many a time he sighed sore, And cast a wistfulle eye : ' Faire ChristabcUe, from thee to parte, Farre lever had I dye.' Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright, Was had forthe of the towre ; But ever shee droopeth in her minde. As nipt by an ungentle winde Doth some faire lillye fiowre. And ever shee doth lament and weepe To tint her lover soe : ' Sir Cauline, thou little think'st on uiee. But I will still be true.' ch-t^ J. FronUm del G. P. KichoUs 6C. 306 V-f«s 25^- Sbtr ©auline. Many a. kinge, and nianye a Juke, And lorde of" liigli degree, Did sue to that fayrc ladye of love ; But never sliee wolde them nee. Wlien manye a daye was past and gone, Ne comfort slie colde finde, The kynge prochiinied a tourneament. To cheere his (huighter's mind : And there came lords, and there came Fro mauye a farre countrye, [knights, To break a spere for theyr ladyes love Before that faire ladye. And many a ladye there was sctte In purple and in palle : But fair Ciiristahellc see woe-begone Was the fayrest of tluMii all. Then manye a knight was niiekle of might Before liis ladye gaye ; But a stranger wight, whom no uuin knewe, He wan the prize eche daye.* • Sir Caulinc is here made to act up to tiic genuine spirit of perfect chivalry. In old romances no incident is of more frequent occurrence than this, of liniglits already distinguished for feats of arms laying aside their wonted cognizances, and. under the semblance of strange knights, manfully performing right valiant deeds. How often docs the renoHUed Arthur, under such circumstances, exclaim. " O, Jcsu ! what knyte is that arrayed all in greene (or as the case may be)? He justelh myghtely I *' The Hmperor of Almaine, in like maimer, afler the timely succour afforded him by Syr (Jowhter, is anxious to learn the name of his modest but unknown de- liverer : — ' Now dere God, said the Emperor, Whence com the knyght that is so styfe and stoure. And al araide in rede. Both hitrs, armour, and his slede? A thousaiul Sarezyns he hath made bli'de. And b<-teen hem to dethe, That heder Is com to heipe me. .\nd yesterday in black was lie.' J. PnuikllD del. 0. Dalxlal k. 307 "^^ V-f<^ tftJ! ^tr CnuUnc. His acton it was all of blacke. His hewberke, and his sheelde, Ne noe man wist whence he did come, Ne noe man knewe where he did gone, IVhen they came from the feelde. And now three days were prestlye past In feates of chivalrye, When lo upon the fourth morninge A sorrowfulle sight they see. A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, AU foule of limbe and lere ; Two goggUng eyen like fire farden, A mouthe from eare to eare. Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, That waited on his knee ; And at his backe five heads he bare, All wan and pale of blee. • Sir,' quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, ' Behold that hend Soldain ! Behold these heads I beare \\'ith me ! They are kings which he hath slain. ' The Eldi'idge knight is his own cousine, Wliom a knight of thine hath shent : And hee is come to avenge his wrong, And to thee, all thy knightes among, Defiance here hath sent. ' But yette he will appease his wrath Thy daughter's love to winne ; And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd, Thy halls and towers must brenne. ' Thy head, sir king, must goe with mee, Or else thy daughter deere ; Or else Avithin these lists soe broad Thou must finde him a peere.' J 1^ J. Franklin del. G. Dalziel 6C. 308 ^p^i-H, V=M %^-e &ir Caultne. The king lie turned him round aboute, And in his heart was woe : ' Is there never a knighte of my round table This matter will undergoe? ' Is there never a knighte amongst yce all Will light for my daughter and mee 'i Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan, Right fair his meede shall bee. ' For hee shall have my broad lay-lands, And of my erowne be heyre ; And he shall winne fayre Cliristabelle To be Iiis wedded fere.' But every knighte of his round table Did stand both still and pale : For whenever they lookt on tlie grim soldan, It made their hearts to quail. All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, When she sawe no hclpe was nye : She cast her thought on her owne true-love, And the teares gusht from her eye. Up then sterte the stranger knighte, Sayd, ' Ladye, be not affrayd : He fight for thee with this grimme soldan, Thoughe he be unmacklye made. ' And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge That lyeth within thy bowre, [sworde, I trust in Christe for to slay this fieude, Thoughe he be stiffe and stowre.' ' Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,' The king he oryde, ' with speede : Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; My daughter is thy niccdc.' ^ .309 "«^^ \-^ Sir (JTaulinc. The gyaunt he stepped into the lists, And sayd, ' Awaye, awaye : I sweare, as I am the hend soldan, Thou lettest me here all daye.' Then forthe the stranger knight he came, 111 his blacke armom-e dight : The ladje sighed a gentle sighe, ' That this were my true knighte ! ' And nowe the gyaunt and knighte are mett Within the lists soe broad ; And now with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, They gan to lay on load. The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke, That made him reele asyde ; Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye. And thrice she deeply sighde. The soldan strucke a second stroke, And made tlie blonde to flowe : All pale and wan was that ladye fayre. And thrice she wept for woe. The soldan strucke a third fell stroke. Which brought the knighte on his knee : Sad sorrow pierced that ladye's heart. And she shriekt loud shriekings three. The knighte he leapt upon his feete, All recklesse of the pain : Quoth hee, ' But lieaven be now my speede, Or else I sliall be slaine.' He grasped his sworde with mayne and And spying a secrette part, [mighte. He (h-ave it into the soldan's syde. And pierced him to the heart. ^-i"^ J, Prankha daL G. Dalziel sc. 310 ^^-\ V-f^ 'eA— ir CTauIinc. Then all the people gave a shoute, Whan they sawe the soldan falle : The ladye wept, and thanked Christ, That had reskewed her I'roni thrall. And nowe the kinge with all his barons Rose uppe from oflfe his seate, Aiid downe he ste|>|)ed into the listes, That ciu'teous kiiighte to greete. But lie tor payne and lack ot' blouJe Was fallen into a swounde, And there all walteringe in his gore Lay lii'elesse on the grounde. ' Come downe, come downe, my daughter Thou art a leeche of skille ; [deare, Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes, Than this good knighte sholde spille.' Downe then stcppeth that fayre ladye, To helpe him if she maye ; But when she did !iis beavere raise, ' It is my life, my lord,' she sayes. And shriekte and swound awaye. Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes When ho heardc his ladye crye, ' O ladye, I am thine owne true love ; For thee 1 wislit to dye.' Then giving her one partinge looke, He closed his eyes in death, Ere Christabelle, that ladye niilde, Begane to drawe her breath. But when she found her comelye knighte Indeed was dead and gone. She layde her pale cold cheeke to his, And thus she made her moane : I J. Franklin del. 3U ^ir CTaulinc. ' staye, my deare and onlye lord, For mee thy faithfulle fere ; 'Tis meet that I shokl followe thee, Who hast bought my love see dearc' Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, And with a deepe-fette sighe, That bui'st her gentle hearte in twayne, Fayre Christabelle did dye. ^0^-^^'£^ ^ J. FraQKbu del. O. UuJziel 8C. IJTH. One of the few balind poems of the great Poet of the :if:e and countrj' — William Wordsworth. It is a composition of the rarest beauty, natural and true ; and conveys a strong moral in language that renders it powerfully impressive. The Poet is descended from a family of hiyh re- spectability in Cumberland. He was born at Cocker- mouth on the 7th of April, 1770 : he is, consequently, in his 74th year; and in the enjoyment of sound health and a vigorous constitution. His age " Is as a lusty winter, Frosty but kiudly." William Wordsworth was educated at Hawkesworth School, in Lancashire ; his fellow-pupil was his almost equally distinguished brother — Dr. Christopher l) Wordsworth. In 1787, Mr. Wordsworth took his degree at St. John's College, Cambridge. Early in the year 1 800, he settled in Westmoreland ; and for nearly forty-three years his home has been either at his present residence, Rydal Mount, or within two miles of it. While a student at the university, he travelled on the Continent ; and, it is understood, learned by experience, during a brief stgourn in France, the evil tendency of Itepublican Principles. Happily for society, he was a personal witness to the atrocities of the Reign of Terror ; for to this circumstance we arc no doubt indebted for some of the grandest, noblest, and most serviceable of his compositions. There is evidence in his writings that he subsequently visited the Continent ; aiid we have abundant proof that frequent excursions into Scotland, and the several counties of England, produced the glorious fruibige we find in his great works. His departures from his own fireside, however, have been only brief and occasional : his life has been retired — uniformly calm, and invariably useful. Mingling but little in " society," his career has been an almost uninterrupted con- tinuance of philosophic repose. The possession of " Health, peace, and competence," secured that tranquillity of mind and temper, out of which has proceeded the vast mine of intellectual wealth that will be exhausted only when Nature becomes untrue to herself. For many years Mr. Wordsworth held the post of " Distributor of Stanii)S " for the district in which he resides ; and on the death of his friend Southey, he was appointed "Poet Laureate" — an appointment that conferred distinction upon, and elevated, the office. He has outlived nearly all his contemporaries ; having reached a venerable age, beloved, honoured, and respected ; — still as capable of enjoying nature — and teaching others to enjoy it — as he was in the heyday of his youth. In the 74th year of his age, " The innocent brightness of a new-burn day Is lovely yet." 313 He has ever been a " Poet for Poets . " from the commencement of his career, he " fit audience found, though few. " But his popularity — in the ordinary sense of the term — was long postponed. It is only of late years that his resolute energy in working on in his own steady way — persevering almost in the teeth of despair — has received a portion of its recompence in the more general appreciation of mankind. But that he aimed at achieving a loftier purpose than temporary applause, he would long since have thrown aside the pen ; for the fact \vill be classed hereafter among the marvels of this age, that the poetry of Wordsworth scarcely paid the cost of publication. The style of Wordsworth is essentially vernacular ; — at once vigorous and simple. He is ever true to Nature ; and therefore, excepting only Shakspeare, no writer is so often quoted by writers. Passages from his Poems have become familiar as household words, and are perpetually called into use to give force and expression to the thoughts and feelings of others. This is, of itself, " an exceeding great reward " — perhaps the highest compliment a Poet can receive. With him the commonest objects, — " Bare trees and mountaiDS bare, The grass and the green fields," are things sacred : he has an alchemy of his own, by which he draws from them " a kind of quintessence " entirely and altogether pure. " He sees nothing loftier than human hopes, — nothing deeper than the human heart.*' His purpose ever is so to pictin'e NATURE, that he may succeed in '• Linking to her fair works the human soul ! *' His Poems are full of beauties peculiarly their own, — of original thoughts, of fine s>Tnpathies, and of grave yet cheerful wisdom. Virtue never had a firmer friend, or a more effective advocate. No Poet of his time has received worthier compliments from his contemporaries. One of the most impressive was paid to him by the Author of " Ion," in the House of Commons, where a shrivelled soul was sceptical con- cerning poetical "utilities." — " He has supplied the noblest antidote to the freezing effects of the scientific spirit of the age ; and, while he has done justice tu the poetry of greatness, has cast a glory around the lowest conditions of humanity, and traced out the subtle links by which they are connected with the highest" A kindred spirit — Felicia Hemans — laid this offering upon the shrine : — " True bard and holy ! Thou art even as one Who, by some secret gift of soul, or eye, In every spot beneath the smiling sun, Sees where the springs of living waters lie ! " It is indeed impossible to exaggerate in praising the most eloquent and high- souled of all our British Poets — saWng and excepting only one. His volumes will be " for ever and for ever" — the text-books of those who love and reverence Nature, Virtue, and Eternal Truth. 314 S'f ?! M'' %{£•-. When Kuth was loft half desolate, Iler Father took another Mate ; And Ruth, not seven years old, A slightrd Child, at her own will Went wandering over dale and liill, Li thoughtless freedom bold. And she had made a Pipe of straw, And from that oaten Pipe eoidd draw All sounds of winds and floods ; Had built a Bower upon the green, As if she from her birth liad been An Infant of the woods. W, B, ScoU del W, J, LlDtOD u. 315 lautf). W. B. Scott del. W. J. Liuton »c. Beneath her Father's roof alone She seein'd to live ; her thoughts her own, Herself her own delight ; Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay ; And, passing thus the livelong day. She grew to Woman's height. There came a Youth from Georgia's shore - A military Casque he wore, With splendid feathers drest ; He brought them from the Cherokees : The feathers nodded in the breeze. And made a gallant crest. From Indian blood you deem him sprung : Ah no ! he spake the English tongue. And bore a Soldier's name ; And, when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He cross the ocean came. With hues of genius on his cheek. In finest tones the Youth could speak : — Wlule he was yet a Boy, The moon, the glory of the sun. And streams that murmur as they run. Had been his dearest joy. He was a lovely Youth ! I guess The panther in the wilderness Was not so fair as he ; And, when he chose to sport and play, No dolphin ever was so gay Upon the tropic sea. Among the Indians he had fought ; And with him many tales he brought Of pleasure and of fear ; Such tales as told to any Maid By such a Youth, in the green shade, Were perilous to hear. 316 V <; i 1^^ W, J. liQtOD SG. lie told of Girls — a happy rout I Who quit their fold with dance and shout, Their pleasant Indian Town, To gather strawberries all day long ; Retiu'ning with a choral song \VTien daylight is gone down. He spake of plants divine and strange That every hour their blossoms change. Ten thousand lovely hues ! "With buddintr, fading, faded flowers, They stand the wonder of the bowers From morn to evening dews. He told of the Magnolia, spread High as a cloud, high over hea;;:^(:Ai;.i!^>^^ *K W. 13. 3cott dtil. W. J. UutOQ so. Tlie wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a tropic sky. Might well be dangerous food For him, a Youtli to whom was given So much of eartii — so much of Heaven, And such impetuous blood. Whatever in those Climes he found Irregular in sight or sound Did to liis mind impart A kindred impulse, secm'd allied To his own powers, and justified The workings of his heart. Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, The beauteous forms of nature wrought. Fair trees and lovely flowers ; The breezes their own languor lent ; The stars had feelings, which they sent Into those gorgeous bowers. Yet, in his worst pursuits, 1 ween That sometimes there did intervene Pure hopes of higli intent ; For passions link'd to forms so fair, And statelj', needs must luivc their share Of noble sentiment. But ill he lived, much evil saw. With men to whom no better law Nor better life was known; Deliberately, and imdcccived, Those wild men's vices he received, And gave them back liis own. His genius and his UKirul i'rame Were tiius impair'd, and he became The slave of low desires : A Man who without self-control Would seek what the degraded soul Unworthily admires. .319 lauti). t-- (i^<^il (if And yet he T\ath no feign'd delight Had woo'd the Maiden, day and night Had loved her, night and morn : AVTiat could he less than love a Maid Whose heart with so much nature play'd ? So kind and so forlorn! Sometimes, most earnestly, he said, ' O Ruth ! I have been worse than dead ; False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain, Encompass'd me on every side "\Mien first, in confidence and pride, I cross'd the Atlantic Main. ' It was a fresh and glorious world, A banner bright that was unfurl'd Before me suddenly : I look'd upon those hills and plains, And seem'd as if let loose from chains, To live at liberty. ' But wherefore speak of this ? For now, Sweet Ruth ! with thee, I know not how, I feel my spirit burn — Even as the east when day comes forth, And to the west, and south, and north. The morning doth return.' Full soon that purer mind was gone ; No hope, no wish remain' d, not one, — They stirr'd him now no more ; New objects did new pleasure give, And once again he wish'd to live As lawless as before. Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, They for the voyage were prepared. And went to the sea-shore ; But, when they thither came, the Youth Deserted his poor Bride, and Ruth Could never find him more. ^* W. B. Scott dol. ' God help thee, Ruth!' — Sucli pains she had, Tliat she in half a year was mad. And in a prison housed ; And there she sang tumultuous songs, By recollection of her wrongs To fearful passion roused. Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew. Nor pastimes of the May, — They all were with her in her cell ; And a wild brook with cheerful knell Did o'er the pebbles play. When Ruth three seasons thus had lain. There came a respite to her pain ; — She from her prison fled ; But of the Vagrant none took thought ; And where it liked her best she sought Her shelter and her bread. Among the fields she breathed again : The master-current of her brain Ran permanent and fi-ee ; And, coming to the banks of Tone, There did she rest, and dwell alone Under the greenwood tree. The engines of her pain, the tools That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, And airs that gently stir The vernal leaves, she loved them still. Nor ever tax'd them with the ill Wliich had been done to her. A Barn her winter bed supplies ; But, till the warmth of summer skies Anil sununer days is gone, (And all do in this tale agree) She sleeps beneath tlie greenwood tree, And other home hath none. 321 An innocent life, yet for astray ! And Euth will, long before her day, Be broken down and old : Sore aches she needs must have ! but less Of mind than body's wretchedness, From damp, and rain, and cold. If she is prest by want of food. She from her dwelling in the wood Repairs to a road-side ; And there she begs at one steep place, "Where up and down with easy pace The horsemen-travellers ride. That oaten Pipe of hers is mute. Or thrown away ; but with a flute Her loneliness she cheers : This flute, made of a hemlock stalk, At evening in his homeward walk The Quantock Woodman hears. I, too, have pass'd her on the hills Setting her little water-mills By spouts and fountains wild — Such small machinery as she turn'd Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn'd, A young and happy Child I Farewell ! and when thy days are told, Dl-fated Ruth ! in hallow'd mould Thy corpse shall buried be ; For thee a funeral bell shall ring, And all the congregation sing A Clu'istian psalm for thee. ?i:^ #^.ii:3vC^'*^ . a. W. B Scolt del. W. J. Linton sc. OBIN HOOD AND GUT OF GISBORNE. There are few, in England, who have heard nothing of Robin Hood, *' The English yeoman's pride and joy." His only history is to be found in ballads; barely sufficient is known of him to clothe him in romance : the period in which he flourished is five or six cen- turies removed, yet there is no name among the thousands sacred to British memories so completely "familiar" as a *• household word." That a courageous and courteous outlaw called Robin Hood did exist, towards the close of the twelfth century, had a numerous band of brave and daring associates, for a very long period set the law at defiance, and haunted, chiefly, the forest of merrie Selwood, in Nottinghamshire, is proved upon safe testimony : but doubts may reasonably be entertained concerning his claim to the earldom of Huntingdon, accorded to him in songs comparatively modern ; and equally as to the derivation of his surname, whether it came from his alleged an- cestors, the Normans, Fitz Odoth or Fitz-ooth, or was merely a corruption of " O' th' Wood," in allusion to the scene of his principal exploits. It would appear, on com- paring the several authorities, prosaic and poetic, that about the year 1 1 90, in the reign of the first Richard, Robin Hood was a leader of renowned thieves, who infested forests in the shires of Yorkshire, Cumberland, and Nottingham. " In Lorksli/ town, in merry Notiinghamsbire In merry sweet Locksly town, There boUl Kobin Ilond was born and w.-is bred. Bold Kobin of famous renown." He was probably outlawed, originally, for slaying the royal deer, a crime which subjected the ofi'ender to dreadful and repulsive penalties. His skill as an archer, combined with other advantages, natural and acquired, becoming famous, he was joined by many others equally impatient of restraint or reckless of character ; " Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth Thrust from the company of awful men." And it is ejisy to imagine that, in time, he succeeded in so disciplining his forces that they became a formidable band, whom, according to an early historian, " four times the number of the bolder fellows durst not attack." His mode of selecting his associates was calculated to create " a stout army ; " for " whersoever he hard of any that were of unusual strength and hardiness, he would desgyse himselfe, and, rather than fayle, golyke a beggcr to become acquaynted with them ; and, after he had tryed them with fyghting, never give them over tyl he had used means to drawe [them] to lyve after his fashion." The olyn Ilnde for to sle, .And how they myght best do that dede. His banis for to be.' ^-^ H. Warren del. i-vjins bc. 336 '^^^ IRobin l^oob's Bcatt] antf Xiuxial He then bethoiijrlit him of a casement door, Thinking for to be gone, He was so weak he could not leap, Nor he could not get down. He then bethought him of his bugle-horn, ^Hiicli hung low down to liis knee. He set his horn unto his nioutli, And blew out weak blasts three. Then Little John, when hearing him. As he sat under the tree, ' I fear my master is near dead. He blows so wearily.' Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone. As fast as he can dree ; But when he came to Kirkley-hall, He broke locks two or three : Untill he came bold Robin to, Then he fell on his knee ; ' A boon, a boon,' cries Little John, ' Master, I beg of thee.' ' What is that boon,' quoth Robin Hood, ' Little John, thou begs of me ?' ' It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall, And all their nunnery.' ' Now nay, now nay,' quoth Robin Hood, ' That boon I'll not grant tliee ; I never " hurt " woman in all my life, Nor man in woman's company. ' I never hurt fair maid in all my time, Nor at my end shall it be ; But give me my bent bow in my hand, And a broad arrow I'll let flee ; And where this arrow is taken up, There shall my grave digg'd be. 337 c',-^- ^ liobin IQooIi's Bcatf) an6 23urtal. * 'g;iP^i''^' ' Lay me a greea sod under my head, And another at my feet ; And lay my bent bow by my side, Which was my music sweet ; And make my grave of gravel and green. Which is most right and meet. ' Let me have length and breadth enough, With a green sod under my head ; That they may say, when I am dead, Here lies bold Robin Hood.' These words they readily promis'd him. Which did bold Robin please : And there they buried bold Robin Hood, Near to the fair Kirkleys. ^^^ H. Warreo del. "W^ this ballad, very little is known. Allan Cunningham, who prefaces his collection of " Scottish Songs " with brief memoirs of variotis writers, merely refers to hira as •' a young poet who, though he died in the blossom of his hope, has received some compensation by the general sympathy with which his name is regarded, and by the fame that his promise rather than his performance has obtained." He was bom at Kinnasswood, in Scotland, in 1746 ; and — according to Campbell, in his " Specimens of British Poets " — " his fi-iends being persons in low circumstances, he had to struggle with poverty, which, together with constitutional disease, gave a melancholy turn to his mind, and influenced the character of his writings." For a short time he was engaged in the occupation of a village school- master, the fatigues of which probably shortened his life. He died of consumption in 1 767. His poems were printed at Edinburgh, in 1 7 70, by the Rev. John Logan — himself a poet, whose lines on "the Cuckoo" are classed among the most beautiful compositions in the language. In the ballad written by Bruce, although the story is dramatically constructed and skilfully worked out, there is little originality. Many ancient compositions record similar incidents ; and Pinkerton and Motherwell have both preserved copies of a very eariy ballad, from which it is more than probable the ideas of Bruce were borrowed. They have the same title ; Motherwell states that his version, " given as it occurs in common stall-prints, and is to be obtained from the recitations of eUleriy people," docs not exactly correspond with that of Pinkerton, which, no doubt, received "a few conjectural emendations from his own pen." In a note to his version, Pinkerton descril)es it as given " from a modern edition, in one sheet, 1 2mo., after the old copy." Both he and Motherwell are highly wroth with the modem imitator, Bruce, and the perpetrator of a still more palpable theft, entitled " Elfrida and Sir James of Perth," printed in the fourth volume of Evans's Collection. " It might be curious," writes Motherwell, " to ascertain which of these mournful ditties is the senior, were it for nothing else than perfectly to enjoy the cool impudence with which the graceless youngster has appropriated to itself, without thanks or ac- knowledgment, all the best things which occur in the other." These battlers for the veritable antique, in their anger against the plagiarist, overtook the greater ease and elegance of the modem composition ; and especially the fact, that in changing the current of the story it is made more conformable with truth ; for the reader turns with disgust from the records of the old chronicler, who makes of the fair Matilda a foul betrayer. The following verses will sufficiently exhibit the style and character of the story : wc commence after Sir John the Graeme has made due inquiries of the lady as to what had become of Sir James the Rose, — " 'Die young heir o' Uuleighan." ^-i^^^Nte^S ^-■G^ 339 But as we speid they fade awa, She leudly cry'd behind them ; * Gia ye'Il gie me a worthy meid, I'll tell ye whar to find him.' • O tell, fair maid, and in our band Ye'se get his purse and brechan ; ' ' He's on the bank aboon the mill. Id the lawlands o' Buleighan.' Then out and spak Sir John the Graeme, \Mio had the charge a keiping, ' It's neir be said, my stalwart feres, We kiU'd him whan a sleiping.' ' Sic as ye gave sic ye shall hae, Nae grace we shaw to thee can.' ' Donald my man wait till I fa", And ye sail hae my brechan ; Ye'U get my purse, thouch fou o' gowd. To tak me to Loch Lagan.* Syne they took out his bleiding heart. And set it on a speir : Then hike it to the house o' Mar, And shaw'd it to his deir. • We cold nae gie Sir James's purse. We cold nae gie his brechan ; But ye sail hae his bleiding heart, Bot and his bleiding tartan.' They seiz'd his braid sword and his targe, And closely him surrounded ; ' O pardon, mercy, gentlemen,' He then fu' loudly sounded. ♦ • • « • Then up she raise and furth she gaes ; And, in that hour o* tein. She wander'd to the dowie glen, And never mair was seen. Our extract is made from the copy as printed by Pinkerton ; that which Mother- well publishes is manifestly inferior : take as a specimen the concluding stanzas : — Then up she rose and forth she goes, And in that fatal hour She bodily was borne away, And never was seen more. But where she went was never kent ; And so to end the matter, A traitor's end you may depend Can never be no better. Neither of the copies printed by Pinkerton and INIotherwell, however, bear so close a resemblance to Brace's ballad as to justify the severe censure of the two critics — both of whom, beyond all controversy, lived themselves in houses of glass ; and are liable to the charge of having continually and unscrupulously borrowed the thoughts and language of the old ballad-makers. The ballad of " Elfrida and Sir James of Perth " is a very inferior composition. The story is similar to that of Sir James the Rose ; and some lines are precisely the same in both. There can be little doubt that the composition of Michael Bruce was Imitated ; and there is ample evidence that the act was not perpetrated by a Scottishman. A stanza or two from " Elfrida and Sir James of Perth '* will no doubt satisfy the reader : it is a poor sample of a worthless whole : — For long he woo'd a tender lass, Elfrida of the Vale ; An equal flame the lass betray'd. And heard his amorous tale. A piercing glance her eyes did shoot j And every heart engross ; Full many a lover hopeless sigh'd. And eike Sir John of Ross. In some copies the ballad is entitled " Sir James the Ross." Mr. Pinkerton informs us that " Rose is an ancient and honourable name in Scotland. Johannes de Rose is a witness to the famous Charter of Robert the Second, testifying his marriage with Elizabeth More, as appears in the rare edition of it printed at Paris in 1695." 340 W. J. LlUlOD BC. '^WWg' ^ir 3J- ' O do not so,' the maid replies ; ' With me till morning stay; For dark and dreary is the night, And dangerous tlie way. ' All night I'll watch you in the park ; My faithful page I'll send, To run and raise the Ross's clan, Their master to defend.' Beneath a bush he laid Iiim down, And wrapped him in his plaid ; While, trembling for her lover's fate, At distance stood the maid. Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale, Till, in a lowly glen, He met the furious Sir John Graeme, With twenty of his men. ' Wliere go'st thou, little page?' he said ; ' So late who did thee send?' ' I go to raise the Ross's clan. Their master to defend : ' For he hatii slain Sir Donald Graeme; His blood is on liis sword : And far, far distant are his men. That should assist their lord.' ' And has he slain my brother dear ?' The furious Graeme replies : ' Dishonour blast my name, but he By me, ere morning, dies ! ' Tell mo where is Sir James the Rose ; I will thee well reward.' * He sleeps within Lord Buchan's park ; Matilda is his guard.' J. O. Brlna del. T. ArmitroDi lO. 345 <^^fTiC^^ ^ix ^I'lnifs tftr Hose. They spurred their steeds in furious mood, And scoured along the lee ; They reached Lord Buchan's lofty towers By dawning of the day. Matilda stood without the gate ; To whom the Graeme did say, ' Saw ye Sir James the Rose last night ? Or did he pass this way?' ' Last day, at noon,' Matilda said, ' Sir James the Rose passed by : He furious pricked his sweaty steed, And onward fast did hye. ' By this he is at Edinburgh, If horse and man hold good.' ' Your page, then, lied, who said he was Now sleeping in the wood.' She wrung her hands, and tore her hair : ' Brave Rose, thou art betrayed ; And ruined by those means,' she cried, ' From whence I hoped thine aid ! ' By this the valiant knight awoke ; The virgin's shrieks he heard ; And up he rose, and drew his sword, When the fierce band appeared. ' Your sword last night my brother slew ; His blood yet dims its shine : And, ere the setting of the sun. Your blood shall reek on mine.' ' You word it well,' the chief replied ; ' But deeds approve the man : Set by your band, and, hand to hand, We'll try what valour can. J ti enue del. ^^. J, i.ilJtOD EC ^hSLSLT^'HP 346 ^ir 3)amcs tt)c lilosc. I V ' Oft boasting hides a coward's heart ; My weighty sword you fear, Which shone in front of Flodden-field, When you kept in the rear.' With dauntless step he forward strode, And dared him to the fight : Then Graeme gave back, andfeared his arm ; For well he knew its might. Four of his men, the bravest four, Sunk down beneath his sword : But still he scorned the poor revenge, And sought their haughty lord. Beliind him basely came the Graeme, And pierced him in the side : Out spouting came the purple tide. And all his tartans dyed. But yet his sword quat not the grip. Nor dropt he to the ground, Till tlirough his enemy's lieart his steel Had forced a mortal wound. Graeme, like a tree with wind o'erthrown, Fell breatliless on the clay; And down beside him sank the Rose, And faint and dying lay. Tlie sad Matilda saw Iiim fall : ' Oh, spare his life !' she cried ; ' Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life ; Let her not be denied ! ' Ilcr well-known voice the hero heard; II<; raised his death-closed eyes. And fixed them on the weeping maid. And weakly thus replies: J. G. Grina del. W. J, LlBtoo ac. 4iAsjUi^i^ 347 ^ir Raines tl)c Wiost. <> ' In vain Matilda begs the life By death's arrest denied : My race is run — adieu, my love' — Then closed his eyes and died. The sword, yet warm, from his left side With frantic hand she drew : ' I come, Sir James the Rose,' she cried ; ' I come to follow you ! ' She leaned the hilt against the ground. And bared her snowy breast ; Then fell upon her lover's face. And sunk to endless rest. J. G. Brine del. 4iu^^ T. Armsuonft BC. I % , HE CLERK'S TWA SONS O' OWSENFORD. We copy this most exquisitely touching composition from the volume of " Scottish Balliids, collected and illustrated by Robert Chambers," by whom it i3 thus introduced : — " This singularly wild and beautiful old ballad is chiefly taken from the recibition of the Editor's grandmother, (who learned it, when a girl, nearly seventy years ago, from a Miss Anne Gray, resident at Neidpath Castle, Peebles-shire ; ) some additional stanzas, and a few various readings being adopted from a less perfect, and far less poetical copy, published in Mr. Buchan's " Ancient and Modern Ballads," and from a frag- ment in the " Border Minstrelsy," entitled, " The Wife of Usher's Well," but 1~ which is evidently the same narrative." Mr. Chambers divides the ballad into two parts — the second part beginning with the twenty-fifth stanza — " on account of the great superiority of that which follows over that which goes before, and because the latter portion is In a great measure independent of the other as far as sense is concerned." He adds, that " the first part is composed of the Peebles-shire version mingled with that of the northern editor ; the second is formed of the Peebles-shire version, mingled with the fragment called " The Wife of Dsher's Well." Here, as in almost all other cases, the south country copies greatly exceed that of the northern province in poetical merit. There arc few tales, indeed, which possess the dramatic effect and deep pathos of the second part of this ballad." This information, scanty as it is, is all that has been supplied to us concerning one of the most interesting of the ver}' ancient ballads of Scotland ; — a ballad which, as it hints at more than one cus- tom of a remote age, might have been subjected with advantage to a minute scrutiny and a detailed criticism. Sir Walter Scott introduced his fragment — " never before published" — without any reference to its probable history; and Mr. Buchan's note — informing us that " the young gentlemen were the sons of the Laird of Oxenford, who had given them a part of all the education that place of the country could boast, and afterwards sent them to Billsbury, a tovra at that time celebrated for its seminaries of learning," — amounts to nothing. Allan Cunningham, who prints the ballad, with some alterations, from Scott's version, merely offers some remarks on the popular superstition of " the dead returning to dine and dance with the living." By Buchan the scene of the tragedy is made to lie in Billsbuo' — " at that time a famous to^vn," — while the scene is laid by Mr. Chambers in Paris — " fair Parish." Mr. Buchan's version omits all reference to the subsequent appearance of the youths after death ; while the versions of Scott and Cunningham make no allusion to the oflence for which they died ; or, rather, their deaths are described as the results of accident ; the Wife of Usher's Well having sent her stout and stalwart sons " o'er the sea," from which at length they came home — the birk in their hats, — " It neitiier grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony shciich ; But at thi- gates o* Paradise, That birk grew fair eneuch." 349 Mr. Chambers has been fortunate in procuring materials for so combining both inci- dents as to produce one of the most beautiful and touching ballads in the language ; a ballad that, for natural vigour and deep pathos, has rarely been surpassed. Mr. Cham- bers admits that he has subjected it to alterations j but he has skilfully and judiciously effected his purpose — of restoration to what was probably its original form. The fol- lowing stanzas will serve as sufficient examples of the composition preserved by Buchan : — Then hes 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 ? " ■ 1 wmna gie you your sons again. For gold nor yet for fee ; But if ye'll stay a little while Ye'll see them hanged hie." 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 mavor went down to hell. For wrong justice and law." The Wife of TJsher's Well, — " a fragment never before published," — as we have inti- mated, describes *' three stout and stalwart sons " as drowned at sea. When word came to their mother, she wished the wind might never cease till her sons came home to her in earthly flesh and blood ; and " about Martinmas" they did come . — ' And she has made to them a bed, She's made it large and wide ; And she's taen her mantel her about, Sat down at the bed side. ' Up then crew the red red cock, And up and crew the gray ; The eldest to the youngest said, ' 'Tis time we were away." — ' The cock he hadoa craw'd but once, And clapp'd his wings at a', W^han the youngest to the eldest said, ' Brother, we must awa. — * The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerin' worm doth chide ; Gin we be mist out o' our place, A sair pain we maun bide. " ' Fare ye weel, my mother dear ! Fareweel to barn and byre ! And fare ye weel, the bonny lass, That kindles my mother's fire!' " A brief extract from Cunningham's version will exhibit the changes to which the old ballad was sulyected in passing through his hands : — And merrily danced the maidens a', Aneath the torches glowing ; Why smile ye not my own sweet bairns ? Ye see the red wine flowing. ' And she has made to them a bed. And spread it lang and wide, And folded her mantle bout her waist And sat down by their side. ' Sae fare ye weel, my mother dear, And fare-ye-weel my sister Jean ; And fare-ye-weel, my bonny lass. That danced wi the dead yestreen." ^S>''' " this fine old Ballad is thus prefaced : " It appears to liave been written in the reign of Eliza- beth, and has received great improvements from the Editor's folio M.S. wherein was an ancient copy, which, though very incorrect, seemed in many respects supe- rior to the common ballad ; the latter being evidently modernised and abridged from it. The following text is however in some places amended and improved by the latter (chiefly from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection), as also by conjecture." The variations may be ascertained by comparing the version as given by Dr. Percy with that which Ritson printed. They are extensive and essential. Ritson merely states, in introducing it, that "the story is to be found in most of the English Chro- nicle,», under the year 1511. But the ballad, in all probability, is nearly a century more modern." The story is this: — A certain Scottish captain, by name Barton, greatly worried the English sailors and merchants. " The Earl of Surrey could not smother his indignation, hut gallantly declared at the council board, that while he had an estate that could furnish out a ship, or a son that was capable of commanding one, the narrow seas should not be infested. Barton had the reputation of being one of the ablest sea-officei's of his time. Two ships were immediately fitted out, and put to sea with letters of marque, under the Earl's two sons. Sir Thomas and Sir Edward Howard. After encountering a great deal of foul weather. Sir Thomas came up with the Lion, which was commanded by Sir Andrew Barton in person ; and Sir Edward came up with the Union, Barton's other ship (called by Hall, the Bark of Scotland). The engagement which ensued was extremely obstinate on both sides ; but at last the fortune of the Howards prevailed. Sir Andrew w.xs killed fighting bravely, and encou- raging his men with his whistle to hold out to the last ; and the two Scotch ships, with their crews, were carried into the river Thames." [Aug. 2. 151 1.] The designs that illustrate this ballad have been made in strict accordance with ancient authitrities in all instances. The first, the embarkatioil of Henry VIII. at the Tower stairs, has been composed from the verj' curious illumination in the Poems of the Duke of Orleans, now preserved among the Royal BISS. in the British Museum, be- lieved to have been executed for Henry VIII. when Prince of Wales, and is the earliest known view of London from the Thames. The drawings that decorate the sides of the ballad are designed to furnish a progressive series of ancient ships, thus forming a pictorial history of the British Navy. The first contains represenfitions of Anglo- Saxon ships, from manuscripts of the period in the Cottonian collection ; it is sur- rounded by the arms and seals of the three Cinciue Ports, Hastings, Dover, and Hythc. The second design depicts the ship of William Duke of Normandy, in which he sailed to invade England, having at the top of the mast the banner consecrated by the Pope ; it is copied from the celebrated Bayeux tapestry. 'I'he arms of the port of London arc above, and beneath arc the arms of Roniney and Sandwich, completing those of i m!j liM^i ■^h\ M ^^^^ff'^ 1^^ the Cinque Ports. Before the reign of Uenry III. the sea-ports of Winchelsea and Rye were added to the original five by royal charter, and allowed equal privileges ; their great seals are represented at the bottom of the next design, which represents a vessel of the time of Henry VI., copied from a manuscript of that period in the Harleian col- lection. The ships in use between the Norman times and this period were of very small build, being little larger than our modern sailing boats, and having but one mast, the sail of which was regulated by the man at the helm, as we see it in the ship of %\iUiam the Conqueror. William is said to have brought over his troops in 700 vessels of considerable size, besides more than three times that number of smaller dimensions, — a proof of their inability to hold many persons. The fleet of Richard I. assembled in the harbour of Messina, to the number of thirteen large ves- sels, fifty-three armed galleys, and a hundred carricks. Ancient representations of these ships generally show them very small ; and, as a connecting link between the series engraved in the ballad, one is here given of the ti.Tie of Richard II. (Harleian MS. No. 1319.) The fourth design is of a ship of the time of Henry VI., from Harleian MS. No. 4374. Galleys and ships of the time of Edward IV. form the subject of the fifth design, and are copied from a MS. in the same collec- tion, numbered 4379 ; a peculiarity of these ancient ships being the top-castles, one of which is here engraved on a larger scale, and which generally contained archers, or javelin men ; and it appears from the ballad that here the " beames " were kept which Dr. Percy considers to have resembled the ancient dolphins of lead or iron used by the ancient Greeks, which they suspended from beams or yards fastened to the mast, and precipitately let fall on the enemy's ships, in order to sink them, by beating holes through the bottoms or otherwise damaging them. The prows of the vessels also were of singular construction, being generally shaped like a bird's head or that of some fabulous mon- ster, — a fashion which went out during the reign of Henry VII., but which had continued in vogue from the earliest times, for the most ancient delineations of ships we meet with are so decorated. The three concluding side-pieces, and the tail-piece representing Lord Howard s;iiling into the mouth of the Thames with the Scottish pirate vessel, will serve to give an idea of the Navy during the reigns of Henry VII. and VIII., as they are copied from paintings and prints of the period. The useful and interesting series of illustrations is from the pencil of Mr. F. W. Fairholt an artist, to whose industry, ability, and extensive information, we have been frequently indebted. 358 V=&^- •^A F. W. Fnirholl del. T Armau-OQg BO. ^^\ H— f^ J^fc:- ' O yee are welcome, rich merchants ; Good saylors, welcome unto mee.' They swore by the rood, they were saylors good, But rich mercluints they cold not bee : ' To France nor Flanders dare we pass : Nor Bourdeaux voyage dare we fare ; And all for a rover that lyes on the seas, WTio robbs us of our merchant ware.' King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde. And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might, ' I thought he had not beene in the world, Durst liave wrouglit England such unright.' The merchants sighed, and said, ' Alas ! ' And thus they did their answer frame, ' He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas. And Sir Andrew Barton is his name.' The king lookt over his left shoulder, And an angrye look then looked hee : ' Have I never a lorde in aU my realme, Will feitch yond traytor unto mee ? ' ' Yea, that dare I ; ' Lord Howard sayes ; ' Yea, that dare I with heart and hand ; If it please you grace to give me leave, Myselfe wil be the only man.' ' Thou art but yong ; ' the kyng replyed : ' Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.' ' Trust me, my liege. Be make him quail. Or before my prince I will never appeare.' ' Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have, And chuse them over my realme so free ; Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes, To guide the great shipp on the sea.' The first man, that Lord Howard chose. Was the ablest gunner in all the realm, Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten ; Good Peter Simon was his name. W. FairhoU del. T. Armatroug sc. 360 §^i-^ V:f<&. M: Jbii ^n&ntD i3arton. 1 ' Peter,' sais liee, ' I must to the sea, To bring home a traytor live or dead : Before all others I have chosen thee ; Of a hundred gunners to be the head.' ' If you, my lord, have chosen mee Of a hundred gunners to be the head, Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree, If I misse my marke one shilling bread.' My lord then ciiosc a boweman rare, \\'Tiose active hands had gained fame ; In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne. And William Horseley was his name. ' Horseley,' sayd he, ' I must with speede Go seeke a traytor on the sea ; And now of a hundred bowenien brave, To be the head I have chosen thee.' ' If you,' quoth hee, ' have chosen mee Of a hundred bowenien to be the head ; On your main-mast He hanged bee, If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.' With piki's and gunnes, and bowemen bold, This noble Howard is gone to the sea ; With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare, Out at Thames mouth sayled he. And days he scant had sayled three. Upon the ' voyage,' he tooke in hand. But there he mett with a noble shipp. And stoutely made itt stay and stand. ' Thou must tell me,' Lord Howard said, ' Now who thou art, and what's thy name ; And shewe nie where thy dwelling is : And whither bound, and whence thou ctunc. 'My name is Henry Hunt,' quoth hee, AVith a heavye heart, and a carcfuU mind ; ' I and my shipp doe both belong To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne.' F. W. FulrhoU del. T. j&miatroDg K. 361 SH~- v-^ -^ ' Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henry Hunt, As thou hast sayled by daye and by night. Of a Scottish rover on the seas ; Men call liim Sir Andrew Barton, knight ?' Then ever he sighed, and sayd, ' Alas ! With a grieved mind, and well away ! But over-well I knowe that wight, I was his prisoner yesterday.' ' As I was sayling upon the sea, A Burdeaux voyage for to fare ; To liis hachborde he clasped me. And robd me of all my merchant ware : And mickle debts, God wot, I owe, And every man will have his owne ; And I am nowe to London bounde. Of our gracious king to beg a boone.' ' That shall not need,' Lord Howard sais ; ' Lett me but once that robber see, For every ]icnny tane thee froe It shall be doubled shillings three.' ' Nowe God forefend,' the merchant said, That you shold seek soe far amisse ! God keepe you out of that traitor's hands ! Full litle ye wott what a man hee is. ' Hee is brasse within, and Steele without. With beames on his topcastle stronge ; And eighteen pieces of ordinance He carries on each side along : And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight, St. Andrew's crosse that is his guide ; His pinnace beareth nineseore men, And fifteen canons on each side. ' Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one ; I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall ; He wold overcome them everye one, If once his beames they doe downe fall.' p. 'W. Fftirholt del. T. Armstrong sc. 362 «^- V-f^ J0=- ^ix ^ntircto 33arton. fl ' This is cold comfort,' sais my lord, ' To Wellcome a stranger thus to the sen : Yet He bring him and liis shipp to shore, Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee.' ' Then a noble gunner you must have, And he must aim well with his ee, And sinke his i)innace into the sea. Or else hee never orecome will bee : And if you chance liis shipp to borde, This counsel I must give withall, Let no man to his topcastle goe To strive to let his beams downe fall. ' And seven pieces of ordinance, I pray your honour lend to mee, On each side of my shipp along, jVnd I will lead you on the sea. A glasse lie sett, that may be scene. Whether you sayle by day or night ; And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clocke, You shallmeet with Sir Andrew Barton, knight.' The merchant sett my lorde a glasse Soe well ajiparent in his sight, And on the morrowe, by nine of the elocke, lie shewed him Sir Andrew Barton, knight. His hacheborde it was ' gilt ' with gold, Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee : ' Nowe by my faitii,' Lord Howard sais, ' This is a gallant sight to see. ' Take in your ancyents, standards eke, So close that no man may them see : And put me i'ortli a wliite willowe wand, As merchants used to sayle the sea.' But they stirred neither to]), nor mast ; Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by. 'What Englisli eliurles are yonder,' he sayd, ' That can soe litle curtesye ? ' ch^ F. W. FalrboH del T. ArmitTODd w. 363 / f. ' Nowe by the roode, throe yeares and more I luive beene adniirall over the sea ; And never an English nor Portingall Without nij' leave can passe this way.' Then called he forth his stout pinnace ; ' Fetch backe yond pedlars nowe to mee : I sweare by the masse, yon English chui-les .Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree.' With that the pinnace itt shott off, Full well Lord Howard might it ken ; For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast, An<•>' 1'^^^^^ 'RENNET HALL. We copy this ballad from Herd's collection of "Ancient and Modern fS' Scottish Soni-'S, Heroic Bullads, &c." where it first appeared, unaccompanied, however, by note or com- ment, and leavins little room for doubt that it was the -- ' production of a modem pen, — "written belike (we quote from Motherwell) by the ingenious hand to whom we are in- debted for the Ballads of 'Duncan' and 'Kenneth,' which appear in the same work, and which, by the way, we may be pardoned for saying, arc but indifferent imitations of the Ancient Ballad style."* It was reprinted by Ritson, who considered it to have been " suggested by one composed at the time, a few stanzas of which were fortunately remem- bered by the Rev. Mr. Boyd, translator of ' Dante,' and were obliginsly communicated to the Editor by his very ingenious and valuable friend, J. C. Walker, Esq." These stanzas we have introduced in a note. The ballad of which Ritson give a fragment has, however, been since rescued entire. It is entitled the "Fire of Frendraught," and its history is thus given by Motherwell. "For the recovery of this interesting ballad, hitherto supposed to have been lost, the public .3 indebted to the industrious research of Charles Kirkpatrick .Sharpe, Esq. of Edinburgh, by whom it was obligingly communicated for insertion in the present collection. It has already appeared in a smaller volume of exceeding rarity, printed at Edinburgh in the beginning of )^2i, under the title of 'A Norih Country^ Garland,' but with the disadvantage of containing a very considerable number of slight verbal and literal in- accuracies "-which in Mother^vell's version are removed. The ballad hius a high degree of poetic merit, and probably was written at the time by an eye-witness ot the event which it records; for there is "a horrid vivacity of colouring and circumstantial minuteness in the description of the agonies of the unhappy sufferers, which none but a spectator could have given." The old ballad thus begins : " The eighteenth of Octi)l)iT. A dismat tale to hear. How good Lord John and Rothlemay Were both burnt in the Bre." The Scottish Historians detail the appalling circumstances eommem.uated in the ballad. The Viscount Aboyn, son to the Marquis of Huntley, and the young laird of . " In 1769 Mr. Herd published hi. Ancient and Modern Songs, Heroic Ballad,. &c and again. In 1776 in two ,olume., _« collection of much merit, and one therein many curious lyrical p.eces h" mil a "anctuary The principal faulu of thi. compilation consist In Us ancient and modern p ec^st g IndlscrimLteiy mingled together ; and that no reference is even made tn - an. on- Tin. fr„m which thev are derived, except what this slight announcement contains: It is divided mo Tepa s. Thefirstiscomposed'ofall the Scottish Ancient and Modern Heroic Ballads, or Fnic Tales! together with some beautiful fragu.ents of this kind. Many of these are recovered from tradition or old MSS., and never before printed. The second part consists of senttaental.pastoral. and love 'songs ; and the third Is a collection of comic, humorous, and jovial songs. - Motlar- w«ll, " Introduction to Minstrelsy. Ancient and Modem." Rothiemay, were guests in the castle of the Laird of Frendraught *' All being at rest, about midnight that dolorous tower took fire. * • • Aboyn ran up stairs to Rothiemiiy's chamber and wakened him to rise ; and as he is awakening him, the timber passage and lofting of the chamber hastily take fire, so that none of them could run down stairs again ; so they turned to a window looking to the close, where they piteously cried many times, ' Help, help, for God's cause.' The laird and lady, with their servants, all seeing and hearing the woful crj'ing, made no help or manner of helping* ; which they perceiving, cried oftentimes mercy at God's hands for their sins ; syne clasped in each others arms, and cheerfully suffered their martyrdom." The Ballad-maker thus describes the horrible catastrophe: — Aboyn is answering to his servant, who entreats him to Moup down ; ' — " O loup, O loiip, my dear master, loup and come to me ; I'll catch you in my arms two. One foot I will not flee ! " " But I cannot loup, I cannot come, 1 cannot win to thee ; My head's fast in the wire window. My feet burning from me. " My eyes are seething in my head, My flesh roasting also. My bowels are boiling with my blood. Is not that a woeful woe. *' Take here the rings from my white fingers, That are so long and small. And give them to my lady fair. Where she sits in her hall. " So I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot loup to thee — My earthly part is all consumed. My spirit but speaks to thee." The historian continues : — " Thus died this noble Viscount, of singular expectation, Rothiemay a brave youth, and the rest, by this doleful fire, never enough to be deplored, to the great grief and sorrow of their kin, parents, and haill common people, especially to the noble Marquis. No man can express the dolour of him and his lady, nor yet the grief of the Viscount's ain dear lady, when it came to her ears, which she kept to her dying day, disdaining after the company of men all her lifetime, following the love of the turtle dove." Whether Frendraught and his lady were actually guilty can now never be ascer- tained. The popular voice was against them ; yet it is more than probable that the ballad and tradition have doomed innocent people to an infiunous immortality. A gentleman named Meldrurn was executed for the burning, but on very insufficient evidence ; and he died " without any certain and real confession, as was said, anent this doleful fire.*' The fire occurred in October 1630. When the youths • A passage in the old ballad is said to have received a singular illustration in their agony called upon Lady Frendraught for mercy, she is made to reply, " The keys are casten in the deep draw well. Ye cannot get away." Mr. Finlay. after regretting that all his attempts to recover the ballad had proved unsuccessful, relates the following circumstance. " A lady, a near relation of mine, lived near the spot in her youth for some time ; and remembers having heard the old song mentioned by Ritson. but cannot repeat it. She says there was a verse which stated that the lord and lady locked the door of the tower and flung the keys into the draw well ; and that, many years ago, when the well was cleared out, this tradition was corroborated by their finding the keys — at least such was the report of the country." 370 m WmcN Frennet Castle's ivied walls Througli yellow leaves were seen ; ^Vlien birds forsook the sapless boughs, And bees tlie faded green ; ;. Franklin dol. Then Lady Frennet, vengefu' dame, Did wander frae the ha', To the wide forest's dewie gloom, Among the leaves that fa'. Her page, the swiftest of her train, Had dumb a lofty tree, Whase branches to the angry blast Were soughing mournfullie. He turn'd his een towards the path That near the castle lay, Wliere good Lord John and Rothiemay Were riding down the brae. Swift darts the eagle through the sky, When prey beneath is seen : As quickly he forgot his hold, Aiid perch'd upon the green. ' O hie thee, hie thee, lady gay, Frae this dark wood awa' ! Some visitors of gallant mein Are hasting to the ha'.' Then round she row'd her silken plaid. Her feet she did na spare, Until she left the forest's skirts A long bow-shot and mair. ' O where, O where, my good Lord John, tell me where ye ride ? Within my castle-wall this niclit 1 hope ye mean to bide. Kind nobles, will ye but alicht. In yonder bower to sta}'. Soft ease shall teach you to forget The hai'dness of the way.' J. Franklin del. 372 * Forbear entreaty, gentle dame, How can we here remain ? Full well you know your husband deir Was by our father slain : Tlie thoughts of wliich, with fell revenge. Within your bosom swell : Enraged you've sw(n*n that blood for blood Should this black passion quell.' * O fear not, fear not, ^ood Lord Jolin, That I will you betray, Or sue requital for a debt Wliich nature cannot pay.* • The following are the stanzas referred to in tlie intro- ductory remarks : — ' The reek It rose ami the flame it flew. And, oh ! the fire augmented high. Until it came to Lord John's chamber window, And to the bed wliere Lord John lay. ' " O help me, help me. Lady Frennet, I never ettled harm to thee. And if ray father slew thy lord, Forget the deed, and rescue me.'* ' He looked east, he looked west, To see if any h<'tp was nigh ; At length his little page he saw. Who to his lord aloud did cry. ' " Loup down, loup down, my master dear. What thougli the window's drelgh and hie, I'll ratch you in my arms twa, And never a foot from you I'll flee." ' " How can I lotij), you little page ? How can I leave tliis window hie ? Do you not see the blazing low. And my twa legs burnt to my knee? " ' • It was the publication of these fine and vigorous stanzas which led to a general search for the old ballad. At length, it was recovered by Kirkpatrtck Sharpe in the manner we have described. A rieli and rare addition was thus made to the ballad Lore of Scotland. It is worthy of note, that In this fragment. aUo. guilt is attributed to the Lady Frennet. J. FrUDkUn del. G. P. Kloholli sc. ING ESTMEUE. This " Old Komantic Legend" — for so it U styled by Dr. Percy — is given by him from two copies; — one in his *' folio MS.," but which contained *' very great variations." He admits, however, that "some liberties have been taken with the tale." In the introductory remarks, he speculates at some length con- cerning the age and character of the ballad. *' It would seem," he says, " to have been written while part of Si)ain was in the hands of the Saracens or Moors, whose empire there was not fully extinguished before the year 1491. The Mahometans are spoken of in v. 49., &c. just in the same tei-ms as in all other old romances. The author of the ancient ',^*='' legend of Sir Bevis represents his hero, upon all occasions, breathing out ' .Mahouml and Tcrmatjauntf ; ' * and so full of zeal for his religion as to return the following polite message to a Paynim kini,''s fair daughter, who had fallen in love with him, and sent two Saracen knights to invite him to her bower: — • Dr. Percy, in a lengthened note to the ballad, enters into a dttaiU-iI history of the use of these terms. The note, which we abridge, is curious : — *' Termagaunt Is the name given in the old romances to the goil of tlie Saracens: in which he is constantly linked with Mahound, or Mahomet. Thus in the legend of SyrGuy.the Soudan (Sultan) swears. • So helpe me Mahowne of might. And Termagaunt my God so bright.* " In order to account for Its degraded use In modern times, the Doctor surmises that, having been given by the Saxons to one of their idols, it was rejected by the ciirly Christian missionaries as profane. " Afterwards, when the irruptions of the Saracens into ICurope, and the Crusades into the East, had broufiht them acquainted with a new species of unbelievers, our ignorant ancestors, who thought all that did not receive the Christian law were necessarily pagans and iilnlaters, sup- posed the Mahometan creed was in all respects the same with that of their pagan for.-fathers. and therefore made no scruple to give the ancient name of Termagant to the God of the .Saraeens ; just In the same manner as they afterwards used the name of Sarazen to express any kind of pagan or idolater." " Another frequent character in the old pageants or interludes of our ancestors, was the sotriian, or solitan. representing a grim eastern tyrant : this appears from a curious [iassage in Stow's Annals, p. 4JH. In a stage-play, ' the people knr)w ri^bt well, that he that plaieth the sowdain is percase a sowter [shoe-maker] ; yet if one should cal him hyhisowne name, while h*- standeth in hismajestie, one of his tormentors might hap to break his head.' The sowdain or soldan, was a name given to the Sarazen king (being only a more rude pronunciation of the word sulfnn). as thesoldan of Egypt, the soudan of Persia, the sowdan of Habylon, Ac. who were generally represented as accompanied with grim Sarazens, whose buslni-ss it was to punish and torment Christians." Dr. Percy surmises that *' the French romancers, who had borrowed the word Termagant from us, and applied it as we In their old romances, corrupted it into Tervagaunte : and from them La Fontaine took It up. and has used it more than once in his tales. This may be added to the other proofs adduced in these volumes of the great intercourse that formerly subsisted between the old minstrels and legendary writers of both nations, and that they mutually borrowed each others romances," B i i W' (i 375 V " 1 wyll not ones stirre off this grounde. To speake with an heathen hounde. Unchristen houndes, I rede you fle, Of I your harte bloud shall se." Indeed they return the compliment by calling him elsewhere ' A Christen hounde.' " This was conformable to the real manners of the barbarous ages : perhaps the same excuse will hardly serve our bard ; for that the Adland should be found lolling or leaning at his gate (v. 35. ) may be thought perchance a little out of character. .\nd yet the great painter of manners. Homer, did not think it inconsistent with decorum to represent a king of the Taphians leaning at the gate of Ulysses to inquire for that monarch, when he touched at Ithaca as he was taking a voyage with a ship's cargo of iron to dispose in traffic. So little ought we to judge of ancient manners by our own." He adds, " I canntit help observing, that the reader will see, in this ballad, the cha- racter of the old Minstrels (those successors of the bards) placed in a very respectable light : here he will see one of them represented mounted on a fine horse, accompanied with an attendant to bear his harp after him, and to sing the poems of his composing. Here he will see him mixing in the company of kings without ceremony — no mean proof of the great antiquity of this poem. The farther we carry our inquiries back, the greater respect we find paid to the professors of poetry among all the Celtic and Gothic nations. Their character was deemed so sacred, that under its sanction our famous king Alfred (as we have already seen) made no scruple to enter the Danish camp, and was at once admitted to the king's head-quarters. Our poet has suggested the same expedient to the heroes of this ballad. All the histories of the North are full of the great reverence paid to this order of men. Harold Harfagre, a celebrated king of Norway, was wont to seat them at his table above all the officers of his court ; and we find another Norwegian king placing five of them by his side in a day of battle, that they might be eye-witnesses of the great exploits they were to celebrate. As to Estmere's riding into the hall while the kings were at table, this was usual in the ages of chivalry ; and even to this day we see a relic of the custom still kept up. in the Champion's riding into Westminster Hall during the Coronation dinner." It may gratify the curiosity of the reader to note some of the variations between the printed version of Dr. Percy and his "folio MS." In the latter occur the following passages, which may be compared with the changes introduced into the several stanzas. Line 10., "his brothers hall ;" line 46., " The King his Sonne of Spayn ;" line 202., " to Stable his steede." These are the only alterations of the slightest importance that Dr. Percy points out. They can scarcely be considered as the only ones to which the ballad was sulyected ; if they had been, it would not have been necessary for the Doctor to have pleaded guilty to " having taken some liberties with the tale." Our copy of the Poem is printed from the fourth edition of "the Reliques." In a note, the Editor refers to certain other " liberties" taken with the stanzas which follow the line 2b3., observing that " in this edition the language has been brought nearer to the folio MS." The variations between the first and the fourth editions are however in reality very trifling, and such as did not require to be pointed out. We allude to the remarks chiefly as illustrating the character of Dr. Percy. I 376 .Ii>i. rL^T-H:^^ ..-'— r'" .-• . I '" I' I'M r Hkarkicn t(j me, gentlemen, Come and you shall heare ; lie tell you of two of the boldest brethren That ever borne y-\vere. The tone of them was Adler younge, The tother was King Estmere ; hey were as bolde men in their deeds, As any were farr and neare. J. 'icuuieli UBt, J . uiuuu sc. r^^5^ J. TeoDiell del. J. Bastiu sc As thoy were drinking ale and wine Within King Estnieres halle ; ' Wlien will ye marry a wyfe, brother, A wyfe to glad us all ? ' Then bespake him King Estmere, And answered him hastilee : ' I know not that ladye in any land Tliat's able to marrye with niee.' ' King Adland hath a daughter, brother, Men call her bright and sheene ; If I were king here in your stead, That ladye shold be my queene.' Saies, ' Reade me, reade me, deare brother, Throughout merry England, Where we might find a messenger. Betwixt us towe to sende.' Saies, ' You shal ryde yourselfe, brother, lie beare you companye ; Manythroughefals messengers are deceived, And 1 fearc lest soe shold wee.' Thus the renisht them to ryde Of twoe good renisiit steeds, And when they came to King Adlands halle, Of redd gold shone their weeds. And when they came to King Adlands hall, Before the goodlye gate. There they found good King Adland Rearing himselfe tlieratt. ' Now Christ thee save, good King Adland ; Now Chi-ist you save and see,' Sayd, ' You be welcome. King Estmere, Right hartilye to mee.' 378 J, Tannlel del. ' You liave a Jaufthter,' said Adier younge, ' Men call her bright and sheene, My brotlier wold marrye her to his wiffe, Of Englande to be queene.' ' Yesterday was att my deere daughter Syr Breinor the Kyng of Spayue ; And then she nicked him of naye, And I doubt sheele do you the same.' ' The King of Spayne is a foule paynim, And "leeveth on Mahound ; And pitye it were tliat fayre ladye Shold marrye a heathen hound.' ' But grant to me,' sayes King Estmere, ' For my love I you praye ; That I may see your daughter deere Before I goe hence awaye.' ' Although itt is seven yeers and more Since my daughter was in halle, She shall come once downe for your sake, To glad my guestes alle.' Downe then came tliat mayden fayre. With ladyes laced in pall, And halfe a hundred of bold knightes, To bring her froni bowre to hall ; And as many gentle sciuicrs. To tend upcin tlicui iill. The talents of golde were on her head sette, Hanged low downe to her knee ; And evcrye ring on her small linger Siione of the chrystall free. Sales, ' God you save, my deere madilm ;' Sales, ' God you save and see.' Said, ' You be welcome, King Estmere, Right welcome unto mee. 379 Ittna (fstmcre. • And if you love me, as you saye, Soe well and hartilee, All that ever you are conien about Soone sped now itt shal be.' Then bespake her father deare : ' My daughter, I save naye ; Remember well the King of Spayne, What he sayd yesterdaye. ' He would pull downe my halles and castles, And reave me of my lyfe, I cannot blame him if he doe, If I reave him of his wyfe.' * Your castles and your towres, father. Are stronglye built aboute ; And therefore of the King of Spayne Wee neede not stande in doubt. ' Pliglit me your troth, nowe, King Estmere, By heaven and your righte hand. That you will niarrye me to your wyfe. And make me queene of your land.' Then King Estmere he plight his troth By heaven and liis righte hand, That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe, And make her queene of his land. And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, To goe to his owne countree, To fetche him dukes and lordes and kniffhtes. That married they might bee. They had not ridden scant a myle, A myle forthe of the towne, But in did come the King of Spayne, With kempes many a one. ::m J. Tenntsl del. 380 :?^_ ^ l^ina ©stmcrc. But in did come the King of Spayne, With manye a. I)old barone, Tone day to niarrye Kinfr Adlands daughter, Tother daye to earrye lier Iionie. Shee sent one after King Estmere In all the spede might bee, That he must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and loose his ladye. One wliyle then the page he went, Another while he ranne ; Till he had oretaken King Estmere, I wis, he never blanne. ' Tydings, tydings, King Estmere!' ' Wliat tydinges nowe, my boye?' ' O tydinges I can tell to you. That will you sore annoye. ' You had not ridden scant a mile, A mile out of tlie towne, I5ut in did come the King of Spayne With kempl's many a one : ' But in did come the King of Spayne, With manye a bolde barone, Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter, Tother daye to carry her liome. ' My ladye fayre she grcetes you well, And ever-more well by mee : You must either turne againe and fighte. Or goe home and loose your ladye.' Saics, ' Read(? me, rt^adc mo, deere brother, My reade shall rise at thee. Whether it is better to turne and fighte, Or go home and loose my ladye.' J. TsDDlel del, 381 .\ ,- i-''"^ r '(!' I' J. leuuiel del. ' Now hearken to me,' sayes Adler younge, ' And your reade must rise at me, I quicklye will devise a waye To sette thy ladye free. ' My mother was a westerne w^oman, And learned in gramarye, And when I learned at the schole, Something shee taught itt mee. ' Tliere growes an hearbe within this field, And iff it were but knowne, His color, which is whyte and redd, It will make blacke and browne : ' His color, which is browne and blacke, Itt will make redd and whyte ; That sworde is not in all Englande, Upon his coate will byte. ' And you shal be a harper, brother, Out of the north countrye ; And He be your boy, soe faine of fighte, And beare your harpe by your knee. ' And you shal be the best harper, That ever tooke harpe in hand ; And I wil be the best singer That ever sung in this lande. ' Itt shal be written in our forheads All and in gramarye, That we towe are the boldest men That are in all Christentye.' And thus they renisht them to ryde. On tow good renish steedes ; And whan they came to King Adlands hall. Of redd gold shone their weedes. Ajid whan they came to King Adlands hall, Untill the fayre hall yate. 382 Btna Gstmcrc. w35_i) J. Tenmol del. There they fdinul a proud purtcT Rearing himselfe thereatt. Saies, 'Christ thee save, thou proud porter;' Saies, ' Christ thee save and see.' ' Now you be welcome,' sayd the porter, ' Of what land soever ye bee.' * Wee beene harpers,' sayd Adler younge, ' Come out of the northe eountrye ; Wee beene come hither untill tliis place, This proud weddinge for to see.' Sayd, ' And your color were white and redd, As it is blacke and browne, I wold saye King Estmere and his brother Were comen untill this towne.' Then they pulled out a ryng of gold, Layd itt on the porters arnie : ' And ever we will thee, proud porter. Thow wilt saye us no harme.' Sore he looked on King Estmere, And sore he handled the ryng, Then opened to them the fayre hall yatcs, He lett for no kind of thyng.' King Estmere he stabled his steede See fayre att the hall bord ; The froth, that came from his brydle bitte, Light on King Breniors beard. Saies, ' Stable thy steed, thou proud harper,' Saies, ' Stable him in the stalle : It doth not beseeme a proud harper To stable him in a kings halle.' ' My ladde he is so lither,' he said, ' He will doe nought that's nieete ; And is there any man in tliis hall Were able him to beate?' 383 Wm CBstmere. z^' ^ww ' Thou speakst proud words,' sayes the King ' Thou harper, here to mee : [of Spayne, There is a man within this halle Will beate thy ladde and thee.' ' O let that man come downe,' he said, ' A sight of him wold I see ; And wlien hee hath beaten well my ladde, Then he shall beate of mee.' Downe then came the kemperye man, And looked him in the eare ; For all the gold that was under heaven, He durst not neigh him neare. ' And how nowe, kempe,' said the King of ' How nowe, what aileth thee ? ' [Spayne, He sales, ' It is writt in his forhead All and in gramarye, That for all the gold that is under heaven, I dare not neigh him nye.' Then King Estmere puUd forth his harpe. And playd a pretty thinge : The ladye upstart from the borde. And wold have gone from the kincr. ' Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper. For Gods love I pray thee. For and thou playes as thou beginns, Thou'lt till my bryde from mee.' He stroake upon his harpe againe, And playd a pretty thinge ; The ladye lough a loud laughter, As shee sate by the king. Sales, 'Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper. And thy stringes all, For as many gold nobles thou shalt have As heere bee ringes in the hall.' J. 1 cci.-.rf del. 384 ^^ Htng ffistmcK. J, Tenolel del. ' AVliat wold ye doe with my harpe,' lie sayd, ' If I did sell it yee ?' ' To playe my wiffe and me a Fitt, When abed together wee bee.' ' Now sell me,' quoth hee, 'thy bryde so gay, As shee sitts by thy knee, And as many gold nobles I will give As leaves been on a tree.' ' And what wold ye doe with my bryde Iff I did sell her thee ? ' [soe gay, ' More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye To lye by mee then thee.' Hee playd agayne both loud and shrille. And Adler he did sing, ' O ladye, this is thy owne true love ; Noe harper, but a king. ' ladye, this is thy owne true love, As playnlye thou mayest see ; And He rid thee of that foule paynim, Wiio partes thy love and thee.' The ladye looked, tlie ladye blushte, And blushte and lookt agayne, While Adler he hath drawne his brande, And hath the Sowdan slayne. Up then rose the kemperye men. And loud they gan to cryc : ' Ah ! traytors, yee have slayne our king, And therefore yee shall dye.' King Estmere threwe the harpe asyde, And swith he drew his brand ; And Kstmere he, and jVdler younge, Right stiffe in stour can stand. 385 I^tna ©stmcrc. And aye their swords soe sore can byte, Througli help of graniarye, [men, That soone they have slayne the kempery Or forst them forth to flee. King Estmere tooke that fayre ladye, And marryed her to his witfe, And brought her home to merry England, With her to leade his life. J. Tenniel ael. J. taM.;u 9C. HE CRUEL SISTER. Of this very ancient I Ballad there arc several versions under various ' names. Our copy is taltcn from the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," which differs essentially from that which has been published in many collections under the title of " Binnorie." It is " composed" by Sir Walter Scott, from a copy in Mi-s. Brown's MSS., in- termixed with a beautiful fragment of fourteen verses, mitted to the editor by J. C. Walker, Esq., the ingenious y?^^ historian of the Irish Bards. Mr. Walker, at the same time, favoured the 'in' editor with the following note: — "I am indebted to my departed friend, ^. Miss Brooke, for the foregoing pathetic fragment. Her account of it was as \^ \ follows : — This song was transcribed, several years ago, from the memory of T-' an old woman, who had no recollection of the concluding verses : probably the beginning may also be lost, as it seems to commence abruptly." The first verse and burden of the fragment ran thus : — " O sister, sister, reach thy hand ! Hey ho, my Nanny, O ; And you shall be heir of all my land. While the swan swims houny, <)." The first part of this chorus seems to be corrupted from the common burden of Hey Nonny^ Xoiiny, alluded to in the song, beginning, *' Sigh no more, lailyes." The chorus, retained in this edition, is the most common and popular ; but Mrs. Brown's copy bears a yet different burden, beginning thus : — " There were twa sisters sat in a hour, Edinburough, Edinborough ; There were twa sisters sat in a hour, Stirling for aye ; There were twa sisters sat in a hour. There cam a knight to be their wooer, Buiniy .St. Johnston stands upon Tay." It is curious to examine briefly the several versions of this ballad, of which nearly every edition of Scottish Ballads contains one. Allan Cunningham has subjected his to sundry emendations, of which the concluding stanzas will be sulBcient example : — •' He laid his harp upon a stone. And the harp began to play alone; O yonder sits my father the king. And yonder weeps my mother the queen ; llchind her stands my brother Hugh, With my love William so sweet and true ; But the curse of God and thy sister Jean, Ue thine for ever, thou false Helen [" Mr. Chambers gives some additions to Sir Walter's copy ; introducing " as usual, the best lines and stanzas of all the other copies." Mr. Buchan publishes another version ; Mr. Sharpe, in his " Ballad Book," prints another ; and another is to be found m 387 in Jamieson's " Popular Ballads and Songs." Mr. Jamieson, however, professes to give it " verbatim from tlie recitation of a lady in Fifeshire " — Mrs. Brown — to whom both he and Sir Walter Scott are " so much indebted ; " and he acknowledges to have received another copy from Mrs. Arnott of Aberbrothick, but of which he has used no portion. He introduces many interpolations (which he separates by brackets from the original text), of which the following are examples : — " But the lasten tune it play'd so sma*. Binnorie, O Binnorie, Was saft, and sadly sweet oer a'. By the bonny mill-dams, O Binnorie. The hardest heart wad bled tn hear j It maen'd wi' sic a dowie cheir. And fareweel, O fareweel to thee. The dearest youth in life to me. Sin I maun bless thy heart nae mair, May ruing Heaven mees thy care." Mr. Jamieson also reprints a parody upon the ancient song, which supplies strong proof of its great popularity. This parody is to be found in " Wit Restored," 1658, and also in " Tom D'Urfey's Pills to purge Melancholy." It is entitled " The Miller and the King's Daughter." We quote two verses as a specimen of the style -. — " What did he (the miller) with the brest bone, With a hie downe, downe, a downe a ? He made him a violl to play thereon, With a hie downe, downe, a downe a." The poet has here unquestionably exceeded his licence ; and thus originated the parody from which we have taken the two verses : — *■ What did he doe with her tongue so rough. With a hie downe, downe, a downe a ? But the violl it spoke enough. With a hie downe, downe, a downe a." He gives it " from tra- Here the spirit of the Another version of the Ballad is in Pinkerton's collection, dition." It differs essentially from all the other copies. drowned sister is made to appear to her lover, to whom she relates the story of her fate, upon which he resolves to take revenge for her death, when a page comes " run- ning in," to inform " the gallant squire " that the murderer was self- punished, having »' leaped frae aft the hichest touir," and so perished, upon which, — ** Now sleip she in peace," quoth the gallant squire ; " Her dethe was the maist that I cold require ; But I'll main for thee my Isabel deir, Binnorie, O Binnorie! Full mony a dreiry day, hot weir. By the bonnie milUdams, O Binnorie ! " There can be little doubt that the ballad may be classed among compositions which are founded upon actual occurrences. It is very beautiful and very touching ; and the incident of the harp " playing alone," although belonging to things impossible, is related so simply as to seem perfectly natural and true. Not so the means by which the harp is obtained. 388 1. Ariuvuxjug sc. E C'jrbould del. T. ArmstrODj 8C. He courted the eldest with glove and ring, But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' tiling ; He courted the eldest with broach and knife. But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life ; The eldest she was vexed sair, And sore envied her sister fair ; The eldest said to the youngest ane, [in ?' — ' WiU ye go and see our father's ships come She's ta'en her by the lily hand, And led her down to the river strand ; The youngest stude upon a stane, The eldest came and push'd her in ; She took her by the middle sma', And dash'd her bonny back to tlie jaw ; ' O sister, sister, reach your hand, And ye shall be heir of half my land.' — ' sister, I'll not reach my hand, And I'll be heir of all your land ; ' Shame fa' the hand that I should take, It's twin'd me, and my world's make.' — ' O sister, reach me but your glove, And sweet William shall be your love.' — ' Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove ! And sweet William shall better be my love ; ' Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair, Garr'd me gang maiden evermair.' — 390 tEfte GTvucl ^isicr. Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam, Until she cam to the miller's dam ; ' Oh father, father, draw your dam ! There's cither a mermaid, or a milk-white swan.'- The miller iiasted and drew his dam, And there he found a (h'own'd woman ; You could not see her yellow hair. For gowd and pearls that were so rare ; You could not see her middle sma'. Her gowden girdle was sae bra' ; A famous harper passing by, The sweet pale face he chanced to spy ; And when he look'd that lady on. He sigh'd and made a heavy moan ; He made a liarp of her breast-bone. Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone ; The strings he frani'd of lier yellow hair, Whose notes made sad the list'ning ear ; He brought it to her father's hull. And there was the court assembled all ; He laid his harp upon a stone. And straight it began to play alone ; ' Oh yonder sits my father, the king, And yonder sits my MKithcr, the queen ; ' And yonder stands my l)nitiur Hugh, And 1)V him mv William, sweet and true.' iSii-;?s*= K Cor)ii>u;j d(?! T, ArmBtr. uil f-c. 391 a;f)£ tS^niel ^istcr. L. Coiboulu Jel. ^. AimiiUQug M . m 'AIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL. We take this beautiful and deeply-touching ballad from ISr the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," where, however, it is given, " without alteration or improve- ment, from the most accurate copy which could be pro- cured." The Editor informs us that it has been " handed down by tradition in its present imperfect state." It consists ' of two parts ; but there can be little doubt that they are the productions of diflerent hands, for the second portion is mani- festly superior to the first. Sir Walter considers that the earlier stanzas formed no portion of the original poem ; but " this suspicion being unwarranted by any copy he has been enabled to obtain, he does not venture to do more than intimate his own opinion." The sad catastrophe upon which the ballad was founded is this : — A lady of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell* (for this is disputed by the two clans), daughter of the Laird ' of Kirconnell, in Dumfries-shire, and celebrated for her beauty, w:ls beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the favoured suitor was Adam Fleming of Kirkpatriek ; that of the other has escaped tradition, though it h;is been alleged that he was a Bell, of Blacket House. The addresses of the latter were, how- ever, favoured by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the churchyard of Kirconnell, a romantic spot, almost sur- rounded by the river Kirtle. During one of these private inteniews the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and levelled his carabine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. Other accounts say, that Fleming pursued his enemy to Spain, and slew him in the streets of Mailrid. Returning to Scotland, he is said to have visited the grave of his unfortunate mistress, and beside it to have died. The grave of the lovers is yet shown in the churchyard of Kirconnell. Upon the tombstone can still be read — Hic jacet Adamus Fi.EjiiNc. : a cross and sword are sculptured on the stone. The fate of Helen Irving has been sung by many modern bards : the latest, and untiuestionably the most beautiful, of the poems that commemorate the story is the composition of Mr. Wordsworth. Mr. Pinkerton produced one *' from tradition." Its poverty is very apparent. We copy the first three stanzas. " I wish I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries To bear her company ; O would that in her darksome bed My weary frame to rest were faid. From love and anguish free I • This dispute is owing to the uncertain date of the ballad ; for, altliouph the last proprietors of Kirconnell were Irvings, when deprived of their possessions liy Hubert M.ixwell in lliOO, yet Kir- connell is termed In old clironieles T/ie Bell's Tower ; and a stone, with the arm.s of that family, has been found among its ruins. 393 m hear, I hear the welcome sound Break slowly from the trembling mound That ever calls on me ; blessed virgin ! could my power Vye with my wish, this very hour I'd sleep death's sleep with thee, " A lover's sigh, a lover's tear, Attended on thy timeless bier ; What more can fate require V 1 hear. I hear the welcome sound — Yes ! I will seek the sacred ground, And on thy grave expire." Jamieson also versified the story — somewhat better, because a little closer to the original. He first reprints a copy found in Sir John Sinclair's " Statistical Account of Scotland." A single stanza may satisfy the reader : — " Curst be the hand that shot the shot. Likewise the gun that gave the crack ; Into my arms bird Helen lap And died for sake of me. O think na ye my heart was sair ! My love sunk down and spak nae mair ! There did she swoon wi' mickle care, On fair Kirconnell Lee.'* From Jamieson 's own poem we copy also a stanza. He mtroduces it by the follow- ing passage : — "It was therefore imagined, that it might not be unaccei>table to the lovers of Scottish melody and song to have an elegy in the Scottish dialect, as nearly as might be in the manner of the original (^.e. the copy frtim which the above sUmza is quoted ), and containing every line that was worth preserving in it, and as little as possible of wh.it was exceptionable." The result was a signal failure. " Calm is thy breast, O Helen chaste ! Gin I were with the*-, I were blest. Where thou liest iaigh. and art at rest, In fair Kirconnell Lee ! But rest or joy for me is nane. While far awa' I sich and mane. Till laid by thy dear side again. In fair Kirconnell Lee." Some passages from a still inferior composition are given by Ritson. as written by *• one Thomas Poynton, a pauper . " — " O Fleming I how wretched thy doom. Thy Jove to see wounded to death ; No wonder that, stretch'd on her tomb. In grief thou surrend'rest thy breath." Allan Cunningham prints the genuine old ballad, and adds to it some judicious remarks. *' So various," he says, "are the copies of this pathetic song, and of so little merit are many of the vei'ses, that it is dithcult to make a judicious selection, lest the lines that are natural and touching should suffer by the separation." He adds, that " Bums retouched one copy," but seemed little satisfied with his success. '* Perhaps there was never so much written on any sul^ect so pathetic with less honour to the Muse, 394 rd^ ^h-- J. VnnkUn del O. P. Nlcholli tc ^M L .-Jpnir l^ekn. 1 1 Yet God hath given to me a mind, The which to thee shall prove as kind As any one that thou shalt find, Of high or low degree. The shallowest water makes maist din, The deadest pool, the deepest linn ; The richest man least truth within, Though he preferred be. Yet, nevertheless, I am content. And never a whit my love repent. But think the time was a' weel spent, Though I disdained be. O ! Helen sweet, and maist complete. My captive spirit's at thy feet ! Thinks thou still fit thus for to treat Thy captive cruelly ? O ! Helen brave I but this I crave. Of thy poor slave some pity have. And do him save that's near his grave, And dies for love of thee. PAKT SECOND. I WISH I were where Helen lies, Night and day on me she cries ; O that I were where Helen lies. On fair Kirconnell Lee ! Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me ! O think na ye my heart was sair, [mair ! When my love dropt down and spak nae There did she swoon wi' meiklc care, On fair Kirconnell Lee. J. FraDkUn dai. G. P. NichoUs 8c. 396 ^'h^ jfair IL^clcn. _«5t-f t As I went down tlie water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirconnell Lee ; I lighted down my sword to draw, I hacked liim in pieces sma', 1 liacked liim in pieces sma', For her sake that died for me. O Helen fair, beyond compare ! I'll make a garland of thy hair, Sluill bind my heart for evermair. Until the day I die. O that I were wliere Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries ; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, " Haste and come to me !" — Helen lair ! O Helen chaste ! If I were with thee, I were blest, Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest. On fair Kirconnell Lee.* 1 wish my grave were growing green, A winding-siieet drawn ower my een, And I in Helen's arms lying, On fair Kirconnell Lee. * The following stanzas conclude Mr. VVortlsworth's Ballad : — " But many days, and many months. And many years ensuing, This wretrhed Knight diii vainly seek The death that he was wooing: And coming back across the wave, Without a groan on Helen's grave His body he extended. And there his sorrow ended. " Now ye, who willingly have heard The tale I have been telling, M;iy in Kirconnell churchyard view The grave of lovely Kllen : By Kllen's side the Bruce is laid ; .\nd, for the stone upon his head. May no ruented to Henry 1. by a lord of Colches er.-Otav as T rfp. 9H 1 goble, is still carefully preserved in Kden-.lall, Cumherlami, which is supposed to have been seized at a banquet of the elves by one of the ancient family ol Musgrave, o , as others Xbyo-of "■«" domestics, m the manner ahove described. The fairy tram van.shed. crying "'""''■ ~ " If this glass do break or fall, Farewell the Luck of Eden-Hall I " The goblet took a n.™e fron, the prophecy, under which it is n.entioned in the ""^''•"1"'- '"''f ■ comm..nly attributed to the Duke „f VVI.ar.on, hut in re.->l,ty composed by I.loyd, one "f «^° ll ompanlons. The Doke, after uking a draught, had nearly terminated - 1 e Luck "f ^d" "Hal. had not the butler caught the cup In a napkin as it dropped from h,s ^-C'-s > an^J^understand i. not now subjected to such risks, but the lees of wine are st.ll apparent at the bottom. " God prosper long I'runi being broke. The Luck of Eden-Hall." S99 V ratiire, with a perseverance and success which has left the lovers of literature for ever his debtor. " He was," writes a near relative, " so charmed with the sweet strains of Tasso, that he resolved, with something lilje a feeling of poetical duty, to rescue his mind's idol from what Sir Walter Scott calls, 'the frozen paws' of his prosaic translator Hoole. In this his labour of love he was encouraged by most of the poetic lights of the day, among whom may be named Scott, Southey, and Rogers." About this period His Grace the lale Dulse of Bedford offered Mr. Wiffen the appointment of Librarian at Woburn Abbey. An office so every way congenial with his taste and pursuits was entered upon with alacrity, and most ably filled up to the period of his lamented death in the year 1836. Here then, in the year 1821, he took up his abode, encircled " By mental light and luxury of thought." He addressed himself with renewed vigour to his pleasant toil, and laid before the public the fruits of his labour in a metrical version of the Fourth Book of the " Jerusalem Delivered." About this period, his taste having led him to explore the stores of Spanish Literature, he commenced a translation of the works of Garcilasso dc la Vega, surnamed " the Prince of Castilian Poets." This work, which won for him the highest literary honours of Spain, was little appreciated in England, perhaps because eclogues and pastorals, however beautiful, are only adapted for a state of society emerging into the light of letters, and not one on whom its meridian sun has long looked down. In Spain the lays of this poet are familiar as household words ; and, after a long lapse of years, his fountain still flows forth, the pride of the ancient city of Toledo. In 1 824 the first volume of the " Jerusalem Delivered " made its appearance, and, after some delay, the second; the whole impression of which perished in a fire at the office of its printer. In 1826 a second edition was called for; and in 18.36 another of a smaller size, to meet the wants of readers of more limited means. This translation, which has won for its author an enduring name, needs no eulogy at our hands ; but we cannot refrain from calling the particular attention of our readers to its charming dedication to Georgiana Duchess of Bedford, and its still more exquisite Envoi addressed to the lady who afterwards became his wife. In the year 1826 Mr. Wiffen visited Normandy, for the purpose of collecting materials for his principal prose work, "The Historical Memoirs of the House of Kussell," which, after seven years of labour and research, appeared in the year 1 833. A copy of this work, for the Library at Woburn Abbey, was illustrated by His Grace the Duke of Bedford with Historical Portraits to the amount of nearly 1000/. In the year 1836, from a life calmly lapsing away in the happy solitudes of literature, Mr. Witfen was suddenly called away, at the early age of 43 ; leaving a widow and three infant daughters to lament the loss of one equally good and gifted. His remains rest with the dead of his own people ; a cypress alone distinguishing his grave from the commoner earth. The sister of Mr. Wiffen (Mrs. A. A. Watts) is a lady of most accomplished mind ; her literary productions, although few in numl)er, possess the highest merit. The Luck of Eden-Hall was originally published in " The Literary Souvenir." 400 THE LUCK OF EDEN-IIALL, -J- N Eden's \vilnll Twelve hundred Elfln knights and more Were there, in silk and steel arrayed ; And each a ruby helmet wore, And each a diamond lance displayed. And pursuivants with wands of gold. And minstrels scarfed and laurelled fair, Heralds with blazoned flags unrolled. And trumpet-tuning dwarfs were there. Beliind, twelve hundred ladies coy, [Queen ; On milk-white steeds, brought up their Their kerchiefs of the crimson soy, Their kirtles aU of Lincoln-green. Some wore, in fanciful costume, A sapphire or a topaz crown ; And some a hern's or peacock's plume. Which their own tercel-gents struck down : And some wore masks, and some wore hoods, Some turbans rich, some ouches rare ; And some sweet woodbine from the woods, To bind their undulating hair. With all gay tints the darksome shade Grew florid as they passed along. And not a sound their bridles made But tuned itself to Elfin song. Their steeds they quit ; — the knights advance, And in quaint order, one by one. Each leads his lady forth to dance, — The timbrels sound- — the charm's begun. Where'er they trip, where'er they tread, A daisy or a bluebell springs ; And not a dew-drop shines o'erhead. But falls within their charmed rings. =^J A, Crowtjuill del. T. Arm-Krong sc. 404 :^^»7i'Vl7g' V' ' The dance lead up, the dance lead down, The dance lead round our favourite tree ; If now one lady wears a frown, A false and froward shrew is she ! ' There's not a smile we Fays let fall But swells the tide of human bliss ; And if good luck attends our call, 'Tis due on such sweet night as this. ' The dance lead up, the dance lead down. The dance lead round our favourite tree ; If now even Oberon wears a frown, A false and froward churl is lie !' Thus sing the Fays; — Lord Musgrave hears Their shrill sweet song, and eager eyes The radiant show, despite the fears That to his bounding bosom rise. But soft — the minstrelsy declines ; The morris ceases — sound the shaums! And quick, whilst many a taper shines, The heralds rank their airy swarms. Titania waves her crystal wand ; And underneath the green-wood bower, Tables, and urns, and goblets stand, ]\Ietheglin, nectar, fruit, and flower. ' To banquet, ho !' the seneselials Bid the brisk tribes, that, thick as bees At sound of cymbals, to their calls Consort beneath the leafy trees. Titania by her king, each knight Beside his ladye love ; the page Behind liis 'srutcheon'd lord, — a bright Kqui|)m('nt on a brilliant stage I A. Crowqmll del. 4fiu!j^S& 405 Lady Ann was, to use her own expression, " passionately fond of an ancient Scottish melody, called • the Bridegroom grat when the sun gaed down.' " The air wa.s sung to her by an aged person at B:ilcarres, with the old and rather free spoken words Her sister Margaret bad just married, and left Balcarres with her husband for London ; she was melancholy thereat, and sought consolation from the Muse. " I longed to sing old Sophy's air "-thus writes L:uly Barnard to Sir Walter Scott in 415 1 823 — " to different words, and give its plaintive tones some little historj' <>f virtuous distress in humble life, such as might suit it." In pursuance of her simple plan, there- fore, she proceeded to create a heroine — oppressed her with many misfortunes, sent her Jamie to sea, broke her father's arm, made her mother fall sick, and gave her Auld Robin Gray (a herd at Balcarres) for a lover. She wished then to load the unhappy maiden with a Jit'th heavy sorrow ; and while thinking over what it should be, in her closet, she called to her little sister (afterwards Lady Hardwicke), who was in another room, to help her to another misfortune. ** Steal the cow, sister Anne," said the little girl ; so the cow was lifted, and the song was finished. *' Auld Robin Gray " became immediately popular. At the flre-side of Balcarres, and among the neighbouring pea- santry, the song was " always called for. " In process of time a new air was written — by Mr. Leeves of Clevedon, near Bristol — to the words. It found its way to the stage, where it has ever since been occasionally sung ; and in no part of the world, where the English language is spoken, is the poem a stranger. " I was pleased in secret," says Lady Barnard, " with the approbation it met with ; but such was my dread of being suspected of writing any thing, perceiving the shyness it created in those who could write nothing, that I carefully kept my own secret." But the song wanted the name of an author. The words had "an undoubted air of antiquity." It was soon attri- buted to David Rizzio, the unfortunate minstrel of Mary, Queen of Scots, and was for a time looked upon as a great literary curiosity. Ere long, however, this notion was exploded, and public curiosity very strongly excited. Some inquisitive person boldly offered, through the newspapers, a sum of twenty guineas to any one who would prove the authorship past a doubt. " I was persecuted," writes Lady Barnard, " to avow whether I had written it or not, or say where I had got it." Meanwhile, an envoy from the Antiquarian Society of Edinburgh, a Mr. Jemingham, their secretary, paid the lady a visit, and endeavoured to entrap the truth from her in a way she " took amiss." Nothing was gained by this attempt: — "Had he asked the question obligingly," Lady Barnard writes, *' I should have told him the fact distinctly and confidentialiy." In July, 1823, however, her ladyship, as we have intimated, acknowledged the author- ship to Sir Walter Scott, — sending him the two "continuations," which she had written long after the song itself In these Auld Robin falls sick ; confesses he had stolen the cow himself, in order to force upon the aflBicted family another motive for the marriage ; dies, and leaves the young couple all his " warldly gear." They are of course in due time wedded ; and the melancholy close of the story is thus avoided — but certainly at the cost of its truth. Sir Walter Scott added to the Ballad the fol- lowing verse, in which it will be perceived he has borrowed an idea from the con- tinuation : — " Nae longer she wept, lier tears were a' spent. Despair it was come, and slie tliought it contt-nt ; .She thought it content, but her cheek it grew I'ale, And she liroop'd hke a lilly broke down by the hail." Such is the brief historj- of this exquisitely touching poem. Of the author far too little is known. It is not impossible, however, that hereafter her memoirs, and some unpublished compositions of hers may be given to the world. Both are, to our knowledge, in existence ; or at all events were, a very few years ago. 416 When the sheep are in the I'auld, when the cows come hame, When a' the weary warld to quiet rest are gane ; The woes of my heart ia' in sliowers frae my ee, Unkeu'd by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by nic Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought mc tor his Ijridc ; But saving ae crown piece, he'd naething else beside. C} To make tlu! crown a pound, my .lamie gaed to sea; And the crown and the pound, C) ihey were baith lor me ! J, tiauklui d.-l. G. Qalziel hc. Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day, My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away ; My mother she fell sick — my Jamie was at sea — And Auld Robin Gray, oh ! he came a-courting me. My father cou'dna work — my mother cou'dna spin ; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win ; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee, Said, 'Jenny, oh! for their sakes, will you marry me !' My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back ; But hard blew the winds, and his sliip was a wrack : His ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jamie dee ? Or, wherefore am I spar'd to cry out. Woe is me ! My father argued sair — my mother didna speak, But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break ; They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea ; And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me. I hadna been his wife, a week but only four, When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist — I cou'dna think it he, TiU he said, ' Fm come hame, my love, to marry thee ! ' sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a' ; Ae kiss we took, nae mair — I bad him gang awa. 1 wish that I were dead, but Tm no like to dee ; For 0, I am but young to cry out, Woe is me ! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin, I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin. But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be, For Auld Robin Gray, oh I he is sae kind to me. THE CONTINUATION'. The wintry days grew lang, my tears they were a' spent ; May be it was despair I fancied was content. They said my cheek was wan ; I cou'd na look to see — For, oh ! the wee bit glass, my Jamie gaed it me. J. FraaiiUu del. 418 Mj father he was sad, my mother dull and wae ; But that which griev'd me maist, it was Auld Robin Gray ; Though ne'er a word he said, his cheek said mair than a', It wasted like a brae o'er which the torrents fa'. He gaed into his bed — nae physic wad he take; And oft he moan'd and said, ' It's better, for her sake.' At length he look'd upon me, and call'd me his ' ain dear,' And beckon'd round the neighbours, as if his hour drew near. ' Tve wrong'd her sair,' he said, ' but ken't the truth o'er late ; It's grief for that alone that hastens now my date ; But a' is for the best, since doatli will shortly free A young and faithful heart that was ill mateh'd wi' me. ' I loo'd, and sought to win her for mony a lang day ; I had her parents' favour, but still she said me nay ; I knew na Jamie's luve ; and oh! it's sair to tell.^ To force iier to be mine, I steal'd her cow mysel ! ' what cared I for Crummie ! I thought of nought but thee, I thought it was the cow stood 'twixt my luve and me. Wliile she maintain'd ye a', was you not heard to say. That you would never marr}' wi' Auld Robin Gray ? ' But sickness in the house, and hunger at the door. My bairn gied me her hand, although her heart was sore. I saw her heart was sore — why did I take her hand? That was a sinfu' deed ! to blast a bonnie land. ' It was na very lang ere a' did come to light ; For Jamie he came back, and Jenny's check grew white. My spouse's cheek grew white, but true she was to me ; Jenny ! I saw it a' — and oh, I'm glad to dee ! ' Is Jamie come ?' he said ; and Jamie by us stood — ' Ye loo each other wool — oh, let me do some good ! I gie you a', young man — my houses, cattle, kine. And the dear wife hersel, that ne'er should hae been mine." J, Fnmklin do]. 419 aulB mobtn Grag We kiss'd his clay-cold hands — a smile came o'er his face ; ' He's pardon'd,' Jamie said, ' before the throne o' grace. Oh, Jenny ! see that smile — forgi'en I'm sure is he, Wha could withstand temptation when hoping to win thee ? ' The days at first were dowie ; but what was sad and sair, While tears were in my ee, I kent mysel nae mair ; For, oh I my heart was light as ony bird that flew, And, wae as a' thing was, it had a kindly hue. But sweeter shines the sun than e'er he shone before, For now I'm Jamie's wife, and what need I say more ? We hae a wee bit bairn — the auld folks by the fire — And Jamie, oh I he loo's me up to my heart's desire. .-. t rauKUu dcL Fied. bnuisu)u sc. HIS singular and very remarkable roinposition is the production of Mr. William IMothcrwell. It was written, avowedly, as an imitation of the " old style ; " and, as with most imitators, the pecu- liarities and defects of the originals have been ex- aggerated, while the simplicity and truth by which they are invariably characterised are far less faithfully copied. It will be unnecessary to pass any remarks upon the Poem ; and our space may be advantageously occupied by some particulars relative to the brief life of its author, of whom at present far too little is known. He was one of many who pass a life of industry and labour, profitable more to others than to themselves, but of whom the world know nothing until the ear is " deaf to the voice of the charmer." William Jlothcrwell was born in Glasgow (where his father was an iron- monger) on the 13th of October, 1797. The family belongs to Stirlingshire, where the elder branches have resided, for several generations, on a small pro- perty of their own, called Muirmill, in virtue of a grant originally conferred by the celebrated Marijuis of Jlontrose. Part of his early life was passed at that place and in Edinburgh. In his twelfth year he was placed under the care of an uncle in Paisley, where he was brought up to the legal profession. On the termination of his appren- ticeship he was employed for some time by Dr. Robert Watt in assisting in the com- pilation of that useful and laborious work, the " Bibliotheoa Britantiica." In 1819, while he was only in his twenty-second year, he was appointed deputy to the sheritT- clerk at Paisley. In 1828 he became proprietor and editor of the "Paisley Adver- tiser" — a journal wherein he zealously advocated Conservative principles, to which he had always been attached. In the following year he resigned his official appoint- ment, and applied himself exclusively to the management of the newspaper, and to literary pursuits. In the beginning of 1830 he was called to the exercise of more important duties, having, on the retirement of Mr. M'Quccn, the able and well-known advocate of the West India interests, been appointed editor of the " Glasgow Courier," a respectable newspaper of long standing, published thrice a week. To (ilasgow he accordingly removed ; and there he remained, conducting the Courier with great talent and intrepidity, during a period of much political strife, till his death, which happened suddenly, of apoplexy, on tile 1st of November, 1835, just after the completion of the thirty-eighth year of his age. He was interred in the Necropolis of his native city, deeply lamented by his friends, to whom he was endeared by many excellent qualities, not the least conspicuous of which were kindness of heart, quaintness of humour, and an ingenuous and chivalrous disposition. Motherwell early evinced a taste for literature, especially for that of Scotland. In 1819 ho contributed to a collection of poetical pieces, entitleil the " Harp of Renfrew- shire," an essay on the poets of that county— a theme of considerable interest, as it included the names of Wilson, the ornithologist of .\merica, and Tannabill, the admired song-writer. He subsequently became editor of a work entitled " .Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern," published in parts, and completed in 1827, illustrated by notes and an elaborate historical introduction, which exhibited his extensive acquaintance with the ballad and romantic literature of Scotland. * During the year 1 828 he conducted the " Paisley Magazine," a monthly publication, which, though it displayed much talent, and contained many articles of a rare and curious nature, did not survive beyond the year. While occupied with the compositions of others, he did not forget cultivating the Muse on his own account ; and many of his poetical effusions appeared from time to time in periodical works. At length, in 1832, he published a volume of his "Poems, Nar- rative and Lyrical," which was most favourably received, and established his reputation as one of the sweet singers of his native land. About the same time he furnished his friend, Andrew Henderson, with an interesting preface for his collection of Scottish Proverbs. He was also a frequent contributor, both in prose and verse, to " The Day," a literary paper then published at Glasgow, of which he was one of the originators. His " Memoirs of Peter Pirnie," a Paisley Bailie, formed one of the most amusing and popular articles in that journal. The last literary undertaking with which he was engaged was an edition of the works of Burns, which he superintended in conjunction with Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, and to which he contributed a large amount of notes, critical and illustrative. He was much devoted to the wild legends of the ancient northern nations, and composed a prose romance, embodying some of these, and hitherto unpublished, entitled " The Doomed Nine, or the Langbein Ritters." The distinguishing characteristics of Mothenvell's poetry are simplicity, gracefulness, purity of spirit, and depth of feeling. His poems are eminently beautiful ; and although they appear to come warm from the heart, they are highly polished. Few poets, ancient or modern, have been more entirely successful in creating a corresponding feeling in the reader. It is impossible to peruse his bolder compositions without strong excitement, his more descriptive pieces without earnest sympathy, or his more tender lyrics without tears. In the composition of the Scottish Ballad, both after the ancient and the modern style, he eminently excelled. The Ballad here printed evinces his proficiency in the former of these styles ; while some of his productions in more modern phraseologjs such as *' Jeanie Morrison," and " My held is like to rend, Willie," have attained an extensive popularity. His prose compositions are vigorous and often eloquent, mixed at times with an antiquated phraseology which appeared natural to him, and which well befitted most of the subjects of which he treated. A new and enlarged edition of his poems, with a memoir, may soon be expected from the Edinburgh press. It will be edited, we understand, by one of the earliest and most constant of his many loving friends — P. A. Ramsay, Esq- (M m 4 i I * To this vulume we have been largply indebted. There is, indeed, scarcely one of the Scottish Ballads publislied in this work the introduction to which has received no aid from the publica- tion of Mr. Motherwell. In many instances he has procured new and authentic versions; and to nearly all he has appended brief notes, that communicate considerable information in a clear, sensible, and comprehensive manner ; while the "Introduction" is a complete History of the Ballad, lore of Scotland. The general reader will find in the work nearly all the knowledge he can require concerning the various publications that have from time to time appeared in Scotland, either jiarlially or entirely devoted to the ancient ballads of the country. m 422 Erl William has inuntitliisguJegraistede, (Merrie loiiiis iminelicht on the sea,) And gniithit him in ane cumli weid. (Swii bonuilie blumis the hawthorn tree.) ' ~^^ — — --V- J. N. rstou del T, ArmBUOUEl nc. _^^fv^p_ ©IHnlanlJ mXviti. Erl William rade, Erl William ran — (Fast they ryde quha luve trewlie,) Quhyll the Elfinland wud that gude Erl wan — (Blink ower the burn, sweit may, to mee.) Elfinland wud is dern and dreir, (Merrie is the grai goukis sang,) Bot ilk ane leafis quhyt as silver cleir, (Licht makis schoirt the road swa lang.) It is undirneth ane braid aik tree, (Hey and a lo, as the leavis grow grein,) Thair is kythit ane bricht ladie, (Manic flowris blume quhilk ar nocht seen.) Ai-ound hii- slepis the quhyte miineschyne, (Meik is mayden undir kell,) Her lips bin lyke the blude reid wyne ; (The rois of flowris hes sweitest smeU.) It was al bricht quhare that ladie stude, (Fai- my luve, fure ower the sea.) Bot dern is the lave of Elfinland wud, (The knicht pruvit false that ance luvit me.) The ladle's handis were quliyte als milk, (Ringis my luve wore mair nor ane.) Her skin was safter nor the silk ; (Lilly bricht schinis my luvis halse bane.) Save you, save you, fayr ladie, (Gentil hert schawls gen til deed.) Standand alane undir this auld tree ; (Deir till knicht is nobil steid.) Burdalano, if ye dwaU here, (My hert is layed upon this land.) I wuld like to li\e your fere ; (The schippis cum sailin to the strand.) =5 J. K. Paton del. T. Annatrong sc. ^ima/iii" 424 *;^arVl7j^ CPIfinlana SmuH. & Nevir ane word that ladie sayd ; (Schortest rede hes least to mend.) Bot oil hir harp she evir playd ; (Tliare nevir was mirth that liad noeht end.) Gang ye eist, or fare ye wast, (Uka stern blinkis blythe for thee,) Or tak ye the road that ye like best, (Al trew feeris ryde in cumpanie.) Erl William loutit doun full lowe ; (Luvis first seid bin curtesie.) And swung hir owir bis saddil bow, (Ryde quha listis, ye'll link with mee.) Scho flang her harp on that auld tree, (The wynd pruvis aye ane harpir gude.) And it gave out its musie free ; (Birdis sing blythe in gay grein wud.) The harp playde on its leeful lane, (Lang is my luvis yellow hair.) QuhiU it has charmit stock and stane, (Furth by firth, deir lady fare.) Quhan scho was muntit him behynd, (Blyth be hertis quhilkis luve ilk uthir.) Awa thai flew lyke flaucht of wind ; (Kin kens kin, and bairnis thair mither.) Nevir ane word that ladie spak ; (Mim be niaydins men besyde.) Bot that stout steid did nicher and schaik ; (Smal thingis humbil hertis of pryde.) About his breist scho plet her handis ; (Luvaud be maydins quhan thai lyke.) Bot thay were cauld as yrou baudis ; (The winter bauld bindis sheuch and syke.) =» J V. Patoa del. T. Arumuoag ic. ^iuijj^'Sf 4'i.> ^■^3T"VV0 (Slfinlanti SaiuU. -?^v Your handis ar cauld, ftiyr ladie, sayd hee, (The caulder hand the trewer bairt.) I trembil als the leif on the tree ; (Licht caussis muve aid friendis to pairt.) i^'^ Lap your mantil owir your heid, (My luve was clad in the reid Scarlett,) And spredd your kirtil owir my stede ; (Thair uevir was joie that had nae lett.) The ladie seho wald nocht dispute ; (Nocht woman is scho that laikis ane tung.) But caulder hir fingeris about him cruik. (Sum sangis ar writt, bot nevir sung.) This Elfiidand Wud will neir haif end; (Hunt (juha listis, daylieht lor mee.) I wuld I culd ane Strang bow bend, (Al undirneth the grein wud tree.) Thai rade up, and they rade doun, (Wearilie wearis wan nicht away.) Erl William's heart mair cauld is grown ; (Hey, luve mine, quhan dawis the day ?) Your hand lies cauld on my briest-bane, <^ ; (Smal hand lies my ladie lair,) I My horss he can nocht stand liis lane, (For cauldness of this midnicht air.) Erl William turnit his heid about ; (The braid mune schinis in lift richt cleir.) Twa Elfin een are glentin owt, (My luvis een like twa sternis appere.) Twa brennand eyne, sua bricht and full, (Bonnilie blinkis my ladeis ee,) Flang fire flauchtis fra ane peelit .skull ; (Sum sichts ar ugsomlyk to see.) rS ', N. Patou del. . AruHiropg 8c. e^^AJli^^ 426 CBlfinlani) Wixa. Twa rawis of quhyt teeth then did say, (C'auld the boysteous windis sal blaw,) Oh, laiig and weary is our way, (And donkir yet the dew mauii fa'.) Far owir miu-e, and far owir fell, (Hark the sounding huntsmen thrang ;) Thorow dingle, and thorow dell, (Luve, come, list the merlis sang.) * •Glossary. — Mimtit, mounted. Giide, {>ood. Lemis, gleams, scintillates. Graithit, dressed. Dern, hidden, secret, dark. Swa, 50. Quha, trho. Qutiyll, vhile. Grai goiikia fi.ino, song of (he " cuckoo- ^rci/." lik ane. cack, every (me. Ilka has the same signification. Qiiliyt. white. Schoirt, lang, short, long. Braid aik tree, broad oak tree. Kyth it, dis- covered. Quhilk, nocht, v^hich, not. Kell, a woman's head- dress. The rois, the rose. Stude, stood. Fare, fared. Bot dern is the lave, but dark, or hidden, is the remainder. Als, as. Mair nor ane. more than one. Scliiiiis, halse bane, shine.s, collar bone. Hert. schawis, heart, shows. Standaiid alanu, standing alone. Till, to. Burdalanu, a term used to denote one who is the only child left in a family ; bird alone, or soli- tary. Laycd. " lay " means basis, or foundation, and the signification of " layed," here, is^jcrf. I think, or , •?<'(. Fere, a companion. Schortest rede hes least to mend, shortest counsel has least to expiate. Nocht, not. Gang, eist, wast, go. east, west. Stern, star. Loutit, stooped. Scid, bin, q^- spring, is. Soho, she. Its leeful lane, by itself alone. Fiirth by \\vl\\,furth, abroad by frith. Blyth be liertes quhilkis luve ilk ulliir, bhthe be hearts which love each other. Flaucht, gust, and ahvjiake. Bainiis, mither, children, mother. Mira, (0cctedly modest or coy, prim. Nichcr, neigh. Quhan thai yke. when they choose. Bauld. slicuch, bold, a furrow or ditch. Syke, a rill, or rivulet, usuaUy dry in suj/tmer. Hairt, heart. Aid. pairt, old, part. Nac Ictt, 710 obstruction, no hinderance. Nocht woman ts scho that laikis ane tung. she who lacks a tongue, is not a woman. Sangis, songs. Haif, have. Quhan dawis the day, when breaks the day- Braid mune, broad moon. Lift, thefirmanicnt. dentin, glancing, gleaming. Brennand. buruing. Fra ane pcelil slsuU./mm a peeled skull. Ugsonilyk, veri/ loathsome, disgusting. Hawis, rows. Boysteous. boisterous, blustering. Donkir, damper, danker. Maun fa', 7rius( fall. Thi; mciiis sang, the black- bird's song. Fludt', Jtuitd. Mndy. moody. Blude, blood. A seamless shrowd weird schaipis for inc ! a ,seamless sbroud fate, or destiny, prepares for me. 'Vo reile aright my spell, to CTplain aright my taie. Eerilii", aufully, drearily. Sal, shall. Quhill flennd Hcviii and raikaiid \U-\\, while avoiding Hcavm and ranging Hell. Ghaist. ghost. I.uvund, loving, qffec- tioni:fe. I V. Pttt«n del. T, Araastrong ac. 427 eElfinlani! OTuft. Tliorow fire, and thorow fliide, (Mudy mindis rage lyk a sea ;) Tliorow slauclitir, thorow blude, (A seamless shrewd weird schaipis for me !) j And to rede aricht my spell, Eerilie sal nicht wyndis moan, QuhiU fleand Heviu and raikand Hell, Ghaist with ghaist maun wandir on. J. M. Pa.on del. 1'. Armsuong sc. HE TWA CORBIES. Of the several versions of this singular fragment we prefer that which occurs in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." It was communi- cated to the editor hy Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, " as written down, from tradition, by a lady. " " It is a singular circumstance," he obscr\'es, that it should coincide so very nearly with the ancient dirge, calleil ^^ . • The Three Ravens,' published by Mr. Ritson, in his 'C- ^^^^j^/ ' Ancient Songs ; ' and that, at the same time, there ll^^^^^g^S^ 43.1 honest industry that independence which he at length enjoyed. His foibles were few, and those inoffensive ; his virtues many ; and his genius was very considerable. He lived without reproach, and his memor)' will be always cherished by those who were acquainted with him." Besides the two ballads to which we have made reference, he is understood to have written some others printed in the multifarious " gathering " of Mr. Evans. • Mr. Cun- ningham speaks of his having contributed " a dozen and a half" to this collection. " But," he adds, " he had no wish to own these hasty and somewhat unequal produc- tions ; and, with a desire to let them win their way as the works of the antique muse, he encumbered their language with all the idle garnishing of superfluous letters. Now, if one quote, or pretend to quote, from some old manuscript, such embarrass- ments to the reader may be defended ; but all oral or remembered things must come stript of idle letters — their presence betrays the imposture. Throughout the whole number there is a family resemblance, and they are all alike marked as the oH"spring of a tender heart : their descriptions are simple and graphic, their sentiments natural and affecting. They are all emblazoned, too, with old manners, and old customs, and old deeds, in the spirit with which a true poet will employ his antiquarian knowledge. I am glad of this opportunity of rendering back to departed genius the ornaments of which it too carelessly despoiled itself; and it may be a warning to many who imagine they can estimate their own capacity, and decide what works of theirs posterity will honour ; for, in my opinion, his hastiest effusions are his best, and in those heroic and romantic legends he breathed out a far more free and natural strain than in some of his more elaborate productions." If, however, Mickle was the author of the song " Therp's nae luck about the house," it will bestow upon him more fame than all his other productions. Mr. Cunningham is " not quite satisfied with his claims," which he considers to depend exclusively on the fact of the song, with variations, being found in his handwriting. He admits, however, that Mickle has " made out a better claim to the merit of vfriting that delightful song than any other person ; and since it is an old favourite now," he adds, " and all knowledge of its origin may be fairly reckoned to be departed, I am ready to believe that it owes to him most of those charms by which it cannot fail to captivate attention, so long as the happiest language in which truth and nature can be expressed has any sway over men's hearts." The song is not included in the col- lected edition of Mickle's Poems, and his countryman. Dr. Anderson, who appears to have taken some pains to procure information concerning the poet's life, makes no reference to his claim to the authorship of one of the most exquisite compositions in the language. * The collection of ballads published in four volumes contains, mingled with a few of a good class, a singul.^^ mass of mediocre performances. The collector — who was " an old bookseller," — did, indeed, little more than heap together all things of the kind he could procure, and transmit' them to a printer. Scarcely any of them contain explanatory notes of any sort ; yet it is known that several were here printed for the tirst time : and though of no great value, it is to he regretted that in many instances the names of their authors are lost. Into this volume of '* British Ballads " we have not been enabled to introduce any from Evans's collection. iS4 HENGIST AND MEY. In iuicieut days, when Arthur reigned, Sir Ehner hiul nc* peer ; Anil no young knight in ;ill the hind The ladies loved so dear. His sister, Mey, the fairest maid Of all the virgin train. Won every heart at Arthur's court ; But all their love was vain. F. K. Htk<;re?ill del. . U WlUlamsDC. f^cngist aviti 0[tv. ■-^. ff (cU €nr->" Li vain they loved, in vain they vowed ; Her heart they could not move : Yet, at the evening hour of prayer, Her mind was lost in love. The abbess saw — the abbess knew, And urged her to explain : ' O name the gentle youth to me. And his consent I'U gain.' Long urged, long tried, fair Mey replied, ' His name — how can I say ? An angel from the fields above Has 'rapt my heart away. ' But once, alas ! and never more, His lovely form I 'spied ; One evening, by the sounding shore. All by the green-wood side. ' His eyes to mine the love confest. That glowed with mildest grace ; His courtly mien and purple vest Bespoke his princely race. ' But when he heard my brother's horn, Fast to his ships he fled ; Yet, while I sleep, his graceful form Still hovers round my bed. ' Sometimes, all clad in armour bright. He shakes a warlike lance ; And now, in courtly garments dight. He leads the sprightly dance. ' His hair, as black as raven's wing ; His skin — as Christmas snow; His cheeks outvie the blush of morn, His lips like rose-buds glow. -^, te r R. Flckensill del. J. L. V^illiamssc. 436 ■\u IBcngist anU itlcij. ii ' His limbs, his arms, his stature shaped By nature's finest hand ; His sparkling eyes declare him horn To love, and to command.' The live-long year, fair Mey bemoaned Her hopeless, pining love : But when the balmy spring returned, And summer clothed the grove, ^\il round by pleasant Humber side, The Saxon banners flew, And to Sir Elmer's castle gates The spearmen came in view. Fair blushed the morn, when Mey looked o'er The castle walls so sheen ; And lo ! the warlike Saxon youth Were sporting on the green. There Hengist, Oifa's eldest son, Leaned on his burnished lance. And all the armed youth around Obeyed his manly glance. His locks, as black as raven's wing, Adown his shoulders flowed ; His cheeks outvied the blush of morn, His lips like rose-buds glowed. And soon, the lovely form of Mey Has caught his piercing eyes ; He gives the sign, the bands retire, While big with love he sighs. ' Oh, thou ! for whom I dared the seas. And came with j)eaci' or war ; Oh ! by that cross that veils thy breast, Relieve tliy lover's care ! U^ F. B. Picker»8ill doL 437 ' For thee, I'll quit my father's throne ; With thee, the wilds explore ; Or with thee share the British crown ; With thee, the Cross adore.' Beneath the timorous virgin blush, With love's soft warmth she glows ; So, blushing through the dews of morn. Appears the opening rose. 'Twas now tlie hour of morning prayer, When men their sins bewail, And Elmer heard King Ai'tliur's horn, Shrill sounding through the dale. The pearly tears from Mey's bright eyes. Like April dew-di-ops fell. When, with a parting, dear embrace, Her brother bade farewell. The cross with sparkling diamonds bright, That veiled the snowy breast. With prayers to Heaven her lily hands Have fixed on Elmer's vest. Now, with live hundred bowmen true. He 's marched across the plain ; Till with his gallant yeomandrie, He joined King Ai-thur's train. Full forty thousand Saxon spears Came glittering down the hill, And with their shouts and clang of arms The distant valleys fill. Old Oifa, dressed in Odin's garb, Assumed the hoary god ; And Hengist, like the warlike Thor, Before the horsemen rode. F. R PickaraiiU del. J. L, VCiUiams sc. 438 =S. ik « fe IDcngtst anlJ iticg. With dreadfiil rage the combat burns, The captains shout amain ; And Ehuer's tall victorious spear Far glances o'er the plain. To stop its course young Heugist flew, Like lightning, o'er the field ; And soon his eyes the well-known cross On Elmer's vest beheld. The slighted lover swelled his breast, His eyes shot living fire ! And all his martial heat before, To this was mild desire. On his imagined rival's front. With whirlwind speed he pressed. And glancing to the sun, his sword Resounds on Elmer's crest. The foe gave way ; — the princely youth With heedless rage pursued. Till trembling in his cloven helm Sir Elmer's javelin stood. He bowed his head — slow dropped his spear; The reins slipped thnnigli his hand ; And, stained with blood — his stately corse Lay breathless on the strand. ' O bear me off (Sir Elmer cried); Before my painful siglit The combat swims — yet Hengist's vest I claim as victor's right.' Bi-avc Hengist's fall tlic Saxons saw. And all in terror fled ; The bowmen to his castle gates The brave Sir Elmer led. F. R. Ilck^niSill del. J. L. WUUama ac. 439 ^ l^cngist nnb itlcp. #, ' 0, wash my wounds, my sister dear ; O, pull this Saxon dart, That, whizzing from young Hengist's arm, Has almost pierced my heart. ' Yet in my hall his vest shall hang ; And Britons yet unborn, Shall with the trophies of to-day Their solemn feasts adorn.' All trembling, Mey beheld the vest ; ' O, Merlin !' loud she cried ; ' Thy words are true — my slaughtered love Shall have a breathless bride ! ' Oh ! Elmer, Elmer, boast no more That low my Hengist lies ! Oh ! Hengist, cruel was thine arm ! My brother bleeds and dies ! ' She spake, — the roses left her cheeks, Ajid life's warm spirit fled : So, nipt by winter's withering blasts, The snow-drop bows its head ! Yet parting life one struggle gave, — She lifts her languid eyes ; ' Return, my Hengist ! oh, return. My slaughtered love ! ' she cries. ' Oh — still he lives — he smiles again, With all his grace he moves : I come — I come, where bow nor spear Shall more disturb our loves ! ' She spake — she died ! The Saxon dart Was drawn from Elmer's side ; And thrice he called his sister Mey, And thrice he groaned, — and died! ^ ^ ik y. R. i'lckeragill dtl. J. L. Wilhams 8C, 440 f^engist anft iftlcg. I Wljere in tlie dale a moss-grown Cross O'ershades an aged thorn, Sir Elmer's and young Ilengist's corse Were by the spearmen borne. And there, all clad in robes of white, With many a sigh and tear. The village maids to Hengist's grave Did Jley's fair body bear. And there, at dawn and fall of day. All from the neighbouring groves The turtles wail, in widowed notes. And sing their hapless loves. K. I tekisnilU dol. J. L. WiUloauKflc. Printed by A, 3pottis woods, New-Street-Square. Los Angeles DEC 3 W-i'V' - ©U'i \ UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY f»CIL[TY D 000 814 287 9