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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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NUGGBT.— "A diminutive mass of precious metal. 
 
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THE BOOK 
 
 British Ballads 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 S. C. HALL 
 
 WITH HLUSTRATIONS 
 
 AFTER DESIGNS BY QRESWICK, GILBERT, AND OTHERS 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 Ube TRnicfterbocftcr ipress 
 
 1888 
 
Press of 
 P. Putnam's Sons 
 New York 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Mr, S. C. Hall, the editor of this collection of British Ballads, gave 
 a two-page introduction to each selection. These introductions have 
 been abridged for the present edition. The source, both immediate 
 and remote, of the poems, approximate date of their composition, 
 historical foundation, if any were to be found, and the names of the 
 authors, when known, have been given. Comparisons with more 
 or less kindred ballads, and all historical or legendary matter 
 merely suggested by, but not vital to, the subject of the poem, have 
 been omitted. 
 
 The first person in England who called attention to ballad litera- 
 ture and who published an important modem collection was 
 Thomas Percy, Bishop of Dromore (1728 — 181 1), An old MS. of bal- 
 lads came into his possession, which he published in addition to 
 some others found in the libraries of Cambridge, Oxford, and the 
 British Museum. This volume, " Reliques of Ancient Romance 
 Poetry," has been the main fountain-head for all subsequent collec- 
 tions. Besides this, Mr. Hall is mainly indebted to Sir Walter 
 Scott's " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," and Wm. Motherwell's 
 "Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern." Scott published in his book 
 many songs which had been handed down by word of mouth. 
 Many valuable and interesting ballads, never before printed, were 
 obtained from a Mrs. Brown of Falkland. Her aunt, Mrs. Farquhar, 
 had spent the best part of her life in Braemar, near the source of the 
 Dee, among flocks and herds. She possessed a most retentive 
 
fntro&uction 
 
 memory, and remembered all the songs and tales she had heard in 
 that sequestered part of the country. :Mrs. Brown, the child of Mr, 
 Gordon, never forgot these tales thus related to her in childhood, 
 and her nephew, Professor Scott, of Aberdeen, took down many 
 banads from her recitation. I^ter the editor of "Border Min- 
 strelsy " took down many more. 
 
 In all poems of this class much is left to be inferred. The tale 
 nearly always begins in medias res. To explain this it must be 
 remembered that they were composed essentially for recitation, and 
 the minstrels were in the habit of making long introductions and in- 
 terpolations between the verses, which described in detail all that the 
 poet had not fully explained. The different versions are not always 
 due to variance in relation, but sometimes to the fact that one event 
 was narrated by several bards. Certain phrases or couplets occur 
 again and again in ballads composed at long intervals of time. The 
 old bards had no scruples about plagiarizing, and if they remem- 
 bered some lines descriptive of an event similar to the subject in 
 hand, they adopted them without change. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Introduction iii 
 
 Chevy-Chasej J 
 
 tHEi CHII.DREN IN THE) WoOD . . . .II 
 
 Fair Rosamond j^ 
 
 The Demon Lover 25 
 
 The Nut-Brown Maid 29 
 
 Kempion ^j 
 
 The Chii,d of E1.1.E 45 
 
 The Twa Brothers 53 
 
 The Beggar's Daughter 57 
 
 Robin Goodeei,i.ow yc 
 
 Sir Patrick Spens 70 
 
 Gii, MoRRicE . . . . . . . .8^ 
 
 Sir Ai^dingar oj 
 
 Sir IvAncei<ot du Lake 99 
 
 King Arthur's Death ...... 105 
 
 The Heire of Linne . . . . . .113 
 
 Lord Souws j2i 
 
Contents 
 
 "W11.LIAM 
 
 Lord Thomas and Fair Annet 
 
 Fause Foodrage 
 
 Genevieve 
 
 Fair Margaret and Sweet 
 
 The Birth of St. George 
 
 The Mermaid . 
 
 Lord Ui,i,in's Daughter 
 
 Sir AG11.THORN 
 
 Johnie of Breadislee . 
 
 The Dowie Dens of Yarrow 
 
 The Bonnie Bairns 
 
 Gl,ENFINI,AS 
 
 The Gay Goss-Hawk 
 Colin and Lucy 
 Katharine Janfarie 
 
 RUDIGER . 
 
 The Eve of St. John 
 
 Barthram's Dirge 
 
 Sir Caui,ine 
 
 Ruth .... 
 
 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne 
 
 Robin Hood's Death and Buriai, 
 
 Sir James the Rose 
 
 The Clerk's Twa Sons 
 
 Sir Andrew Barton 
 
 Frennet Hall 
 
 King Estmere 
 
 The Cruel Sister 
 
 Fair Helen 
 
Contentg 
 
 Thej Luck of Eden Hai^i, 316 
 
 Lady Anne Bothwei.i.'s Lament . . .324 
 
 AUI.D Robin Gray 328 
 
 B1.FINI.AND WuD 334 
 
 The Twa Corbies 34o 
 
 Hengist and May 342 
 
 Appendix 349 
 
 Gi^ossARY 367 
 
tTNIVERSlTY 
 
 • See Appendix. 
 
Gbcv^*Cbace 
 
 'm-r^^' 
 
 The stout Erie of Northumberland 
 
 A vow to God did make, 
 His pleasure in the Scottish woods 
 
 Three summer days to take ; 
 
 The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace 
 To kill and beare away. 
 '^,>. These tydings to Erie Douglas came, 
 ' " In Scottland where he lay : 
 
 "Who sent Erie Percy present word, 
 
 He wold prevent his sport. 
 The English Erie, not fearing that, 
 
 Did to the woods resort. 
 
 With fifteen hundred bow-men bold : 
 
 All chosen men of might, 
 Who knew fuU well in time of neede 
 
 To ayme their shafts arright. 
 
 The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran, 
 
 To chase the fallow deere : 
 On Munday they began to hunt, 
 
 When day-light did appeare ; 
 
 And long before high noone they had 
 An hundred fat buckes slaine ; 
 
 Then having dined, the drovyers went 
 To rouze the deere againe. 
 
 The bow-men mustered on the hills. 
 
 Well able to endure ; 
 And all their reare, with speciall care. 
 
 That day was guarded sure. 
 
 The hounds ran swiftly through the woo 
 
 The nimble deere to take. 
 That with their cryes the hills and dales 
 
 An eccho shrill did make. 
 
Cbevi5*Cbace 
 
 I^ord Percy to the quarry went. 
 To view the slaughter'd deere ; 
 
 Quoth he, " Erie Douglas promised 
 This day to meet me heere : 
 
 " But if I thought he wold not come, 
 
 Noe longer wold I stay." 
 With that, a brave younge gentleman 
 
 Thus to the Erie did say : 
 
 "I<oe, yonder doth Erie Douglas come, 
 
 His men in armour bright ; 
 Full twenty hundred Scottish speres 
 
 All marching in our sight ; 
 
 "All men of pleasant Tivydale, 
 Fast by the river Tweede " : [said, 
 
 "Then cease your sports," Erie Percy 
 "And take yourbowes with speede : 
 
 " And now with me, my countrymen, 
 Your courage forth advance ; 
 
 For never was there champion yett. 
 In Scottland or in France, 
 
 "That ever did on horsebacke come. 
 
 But if my hap it were, 
 I durst encounter man for man, 
 
 With him to break a spere." 
 
 Erie Douglas on his milke-.white steede, 
 
 Most like a baron bold. 
 Rode foremost of his company. 
 
 Whose armour shone like gold. 
 
 " Show me," sayd hee, "whose men you 
 That hunt soe boldly heere, [bee, 
 
 That, without my consent, do chase 
 And kill my fallow-deere.' 
 
(IbcP5«Cbacc 
 
 The first man that did answer make 
 Was noble Percy hee • ' 
 
 And thus m rage did say : ' 
 
 "^re thus I will out-braved bee. 
 One of us two shall dye • 
 
 I know thee well, an erle thou art. 
 I^rdPer,:y,soeaml. ' 
 
 "But trust me. Percy, pitty^ it were 
 And great offence to kill ' 
 
 Anyoftheseourguiltlessemen. 
 For they have done no ill. 
 
 "I^tthouandlthebatteUtrye, 
 And set our men aside" 
 
 Accux^t bee he.'-:erle Percy sayd. 
 Bywhomethisisdenyed.'' 
 
 Withenngton was his name 
 ToSn;:''"°J'^°^^--^t'toId 
 io Henry our king for shame. 
 
 You two bee erl^^ » . U, 
 ^.la I have power to stand' 
 
Cbev^sCbacc 
 
 Our English archers bent their bowes, 
 Their hearts were good and trew ; 
 
 Att the first flight of arrowes sent, 
 Full four-score Scots they slew. 
 
 Yet bides Erie Douglas on the bent, 
 As chieftain stout and good ; 
 
 As valiant captain, all unmov'd 
 The shock he firmly stood. 
 
 His host he parted had in three. 
 As leader ware and try'd ; 
 
 And soon his spearmen on their foes 
 Bare down on every side. 
 
 Throughout the English archery 
 They dealt full many a wound : 
 
 But still our valiant Englishmen 
 All firmly kept their ground : 
 
 And throwing strait their bowes away. 
 They grasp 'd their swords so bright : 
 
 And now sharp blows, a heavy shower. 
 On shields and helmets light.* 
 
 They closed full fast on everye side, 
 Noe slacknes there was found ; 
 
 And many a gallant gentleman 
 I^ay gasping on the ground. 
 
 * The four preceding stanzas, taken chiefly from the old ballad, were introduced by 
 Dr. Percy, in lieu of the following stanza :— 
 
 " To drive the deere with hounde and home, 
 Douglas bade on the bent ; 
 Two captaines moved with mickle might, 
 Their speres to shivers went." 
 These lines are, as Dr. Percy states, "confused and obscure,"— and seriously inter- 
 rupt the progress of the story. Tlie black-letter copies, in the British Museum and 
 the Pepysian Library, instead of " twp captaines," have "a captain: " and "the 
 Spere," in lieu of "their speres," r . ^ .v 
 
GbcvB*Cbacc 
 
 Christ ! it was a griefe to see. 
 How each one chose his spere, 
 
 And how the blood out of their brests 
 Did gush like water cleere. 
 
 At last these two stout erles did meet, 
 Like captaines of great might : 
 
 Like lyons wode, they layd on lode, 
 And made a cruell fight : 
 
 They fought untill they both did sweat, 
 "With swords of tempered Steele ; 
 
 Until the blood, like drops of rain, 
 They trickling downe did feele. 
 
 :') " Yeeld thee, Lord Percy," Douglas sayd ; 
 "In faith I will thee bringe. 
 Where thou shalt high advanced bee 
 By James our Scottish king : 
 
 " Thy ransome I will freely give, 
 
 And this rejwrt of thee. 
 Thou art the most couragious knight, 
 
 That ever I did see." 
 
 '■ Noe, Douglas," quoth Erie Percy then, 
 " Thy proffer I doe scome ; 
 
 1 will not yeelde to anj- Scott, 
 That ever yett was borne." 
 
 With that, there came an arrow keene 
 
 Out of an English bow, 
 Which struck Erie Douglas to the heart, 
 
 A deepe and deadlye blow : 
 
 Who never spake more words than these, 
 " Fight on, my merry men all ; 
 
 For why, my life is at an end ; 
 Lord Percy sees my felL" 
 
Cbcvi2*Cbace 
 
 Then leaving life, Erie Percy tooke 
 
 The dead man by the hand ; 
 And said : " Erie Douglas for thy life 
 
 Wold I had lost my land. 
 
 " o Christ 1 my verry heart doth bleed 
 
 With sorrow for thy sake ; 
 For sure a more redoubted knight 
 
 Mischance did never take. 
 
 A knight amongst the Scotts there was, 
 
 Which saw Erie Douglas dye, 
 Who streight in wrath did vow revenge 
 
 upon the Erie Percy : 
 Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd, 
 
 Who, with a spere full bright 
 well-mounted on a gallant steed, 
 Ran fiercely through the fight ; 
 
 And past the English archers all. 
 
 Without a dread or feare; 
 And through Erie Percy's body then 
 
 He thrust his hatefuU spere ; 
 With such vehement force and might 
 
 He did his body gore, 
 The staff ran through the other side 
 
 A large cloth-yard, and more. 
 So thus did both these nobles dye, 
 
 Whose courage none could staine : 
 An English archer then perceiv'd 
 
 The noble erle was slame ; 
 
 He had a bow bent in his hand, 
 
 Made of a trusty tree; 
 An arrow of a cloth-yard long 
 
 To the hard head haled he ; 
 
Cberi?*Cbacc 
 
 Against Sir Hugh Mountgomery 
 
 So right the shaft he sett ; 
 The grey goose wing that was thereon 
 
 In his heart's bloode was wett. 
 
 This fight did last from breake of day, 
 
 Till setting of the sunne ; 
 For when they rung the evening-bell, 
 
 The battel scarce was done. 
 
 With stout Erie Percy, there was slaine 
 
 Sir John of Egerton, 
 Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, 
 
 Sir James, that bold barr6n. 
 
 And with Sir George and stout Sir James, 
 Both knights of good account. 
 
 Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine. 
 Whose prowesse did surmount. 
 
 For Withering^on my heart is woe, 
 
 That ever he slaine shold be : 
 For when his legs were hewn in two 
 
 He knelt and fought en his knee.* 
 
 And with Erie Douglas, there was slaine 
 
 Sir Hugh Mountgomery. 
 Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld 
 
 One foote wold never flee. 
 
 Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too. 
 
 His sister's sonne was hee ; 
 Sir David I,amb, so well esteem'd, 
 
 But saved he cold not bee. 
 
 , J'^'^*^"^V^'"K°*'"'^"' '™"' *'•* °^^ ballad— in accordance with the sugeestior 
 of Dr. Percy ; for although the death of Witherington, as described in the ancient 
 wy. IS exquisitely touching, in the modera version it "never fails to exciw 
 
Cbevi?*Cbace 
 
 And the IvOrd Maxwell in like case 
 
 Did with Erie Douglas dye : 
 Of twenty hundred Scottish speres, 
 
 Scarce fifty-five did flye. 
 
 Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, 
 
 Went home but fifty-three ; 
 The rest in Chevy-Chace were slaine, 
 
 Under the greene woode tree. 
 
 Next day did many widdowes come, 
 
 Their husbands to bewayle ; 
 They washt their wounds in brinish teares. 
 
 But all wold not prevayle. 
 
 Their bodyes, bathed in purple blood, 
 \J They bore with them away : 
 
 They kist them dead a thousand times, 
 Ere they were cladd in clay. 
 
 The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, 
 Where Scottland's king did raigne, 
 
 That brave Erie Douglas suddenlye 
 Was with an arrow slaine : 
 
 "O heavy newes," King James did say, 
 
 " Scottland can witnesse bee, 
 I have not any captaine more 
 
 Of such account as hee." 
 
 Ivike tydings to King Henry came, 
 
 Within as short a space, 
 That Percy of Northumberland 
 
 Was slaine in Chevy-Chace : 
 
 " Now God be with him," said our king, 
 
 " Sith 't will noe better bee ; 
 I trust I have, within my realme. 
 
 Five hundred as good as hee ; 
 
<Ibcvi2*Cbace 
 
 " Yett shall not Scotts nor Scottland say, 
 
 But I will vengeance take : 
 I '11 be revenged on them all, 
 
 For brave Erie Percy's sake." 
 
 This vow full well the king perform 'd 
 
 After, at Humbledowne : 
 In one day, fifty knights were slayne, 
 
 With lords of high renowne : 
 
 And of the rest, of small account, 
 
 Did many hundreds dj'e. 
 Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace, 
 
 Made by the Erie Percy. 
 
 God save the king, and bless this land 
 With plentye, joy, and peace ; 
 
 And grant, henceforth, that foule debate 
 'Twixt noblemen may cease. 
 
^fec CbilDcen in tbe WooD 
 
 rr 
 
 
 ! 
 
 L 
 
 Now ponder well, you parents deare, 
 
 These wordes which I shall write ; 
 A doleful story you shall heare, 
 
 In time brought forth to light. 
 A gentleman of good account 
 
 In Norfolke dwelt of late, 
 Whose wealth and riches did surmount 
 
 Most men of his estate. 
 
 See A^^3eiRitx. 
 
1.2 
 
 Zbe CbilDren In tbc limooD 
 
 Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, 
 
 No helpe his life could save ; 
 His wife by him as sicke did lye, 
 
 And both possest one g^ave. 
 No love between these two was lost, 
 
 Each was to other kinde, 
 In love they lived, in love they dyed, 
 
 And left two babes behinde : 
 The one a fine and pretty boy. 
 
 Not passing three yeares olde ; 
 The other a girl more young than he, 
 
 And made in beautyes molde. 
 The father left his little son, 
 
 As plainly e doth appeare. 
 When he to perfect age should come, 
 
 Three hundred poundes a yeare. 
 And to his little daughter Jane, 
 
 Two hundred poundes in gold, 
 To be paid downe on marriage-day, 
 
 Which might not be controll'd : 
 But if the children chance to dye, 
 
 Ere they to age should come. 
 Their uncle should possesse their wealth : 
 
 For so the wille did run. 
 " Now, brother," said the dying man, 
 
 •' IvOok to my children deare ; 
 Be good unto my boy and girl, 
 
 No friendes else have they here : 
 To God and you I do commend 
 
 My children night and day ; 
 A little while be sure we have 
 
 Within this world to staye. 
 " You must be father and mother both. 
 
 And uncle all in one ; 
 God knowes what will become of them, 
 
 When I am dead and gone," 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 XTbe CbllDren in tbc MooD ^N2L£lttlf OR^ 
 
 With that bespake their mother deare, 
 " O brother kinde," quoth shee, 
 
 " You are the man must bring my babes 
 To wealth or miserie : 
 
 " If you do keep them carefully, 
 
 Then God will you reward ; 
 If otherwise you seem to deal, 
 
 God will your deedes regard." 
 With lippes as cold as any stone, 
 
 They kist the children small : 
 "God bless you both, my children deare ! " 
 
 With that the teares did fall. 
 These speeches then their brother spoke 
 
 To this sicke couple there : 
 " The keeping of your children deare 
 
 Sweet sister, do not feare : 
 God never prosper me nor mine, 
 
 Nor aught else that I have, 
 If I do wrong your children deare, 
 
 When you are layd in grave. " 
 Their parents being dead and gone. 
 
 The children home he takes. 
 And brings them both unto his house. 
 
 Where much of them he makes. 
 He had not kept these pretty babes 
 
 A twelvemonth and a daye, 
 But, for their wealth, he did devise 
 
 To make them both awaye. 
 He bargain 'd with two ruffians rude, 
 
 Which were of furious mood, 
 That they should take the children young, 
 
 And slay them in a wood. 
 He told his wife, and all he had. 
 
 He would the children send 
 To be brought up in faire I,onddn, 
 
 With one that was his friend. 
 
14 
 
 XLbc Cbllbrcn in tbe '(ICloo5 
 
 r^- 
 
 Away then went the pretty babes, 
 
 Rejoycing at that tide, 
 Rejoycing with a merry minde, 
 
 They should on cock-horse ride. 
 They prate and prattle pleasantly, 
 
 As they rode on the waye, 
 To those that should their butchers be, 
 
 And work their lives' decaye : 
 So that the pretty speeche they had. 
 
 Made murtherers heart relent : 
 And they that tooke the deed to do, 
 
 Full sore they did repent. 
 Yet one of them, more hard of heart. 
 
 Did vowe to do his charge. 
 Because the wretch that hired him 
 
 Had paid him very large. 
 The other would not agree thereto. 
 
 So here they fell at strife ; 
 With one another they did fight, 
 
 About the childrens life : 
 And he that was of mildest mood. 
 
 Did slaye the other there, 
 Within an unfrequented wood ; 
 
 Where babes did quake for feare ! 
 He took the children by the hand. 
 
 When teares stood in their eye, 
 And bade them come and go with him, 
 
 And look they did not crj-e : 
 And two long miles he ledd them thus. 
 
 While they for bread complaine : 
 "Stay here," quoth he, "I '11 bring ye bread. 
 
 When I do come againe." 
 These pretty babes, with hand in hand, 
 
 Went wandering up and downe ; 
 But never more they sawe the man 
 
 Approaching from the towne ; 
 
XLbc CbilOren in tbe Wioob 
 
 15 
 
 Their prettye lippes with blackberries, 
 
 Were all besmear'd and dyed, 
 And when they sawe the darksome night, 
 
 They sat them downe and cryed. 
 Thus wandered these two pretty babes, 
 
 Till deathe did end their grief, 
 And in one anothers armes they dyed, 
 
 As babes wanting relief : 
 No burial these pretty babes 
 
 Of any man receives, 
 Till robin-red-breast painfully 
 
 Did cover them with leaves; 
 And now the heavy wrathe of God 
 
 Upon their uncle fell ; 
 Yea, fearfuU fiends did haunt his house. 
 
 His conscience felt an hell : 
 His barnes were fired, his goods consum'd. 
 
 His landes were barren made, 
 His cattle dyed within the field. 
 
 And nothing with him stayd. 
 And in the voyage of Portugal 
 
 Two of his sonnes did dye ; 
 And to conclude, himself was brought 
 
 Unto much miserye : 
 He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land 
 
 ^re seven years came about. 
 And now at length this wicked act 
 
 Did by this meanes come out : 
 The fellowe, that did take in hand 
 
 These children for to kill, 
 Was for a robbery judg'i to dye, 
 
 As was God's blessed will : 
 Who did confess the very truth, 
 
 The which is here exprest ; 
 Their uncle dyed while he for debt 
 
 Did long in prison rest. 
 
I6 
 
 ^be CbilOren in tbe TIDlooD 
 
jfaic IRoeamonO 
 
 17 
 
 • See Appendix. 
 
i8 
 
 ^air IRosamont) 
 
 The blood within her chrystal cheekes 
 
 Did such a colour drive, 
 As though the lillye and the rose 
 
 For mastership did strive. 
 
 Yea Rosamond, fair Rosamond, 
 
 Her name was called so, 
 To whom our queene, dame Elinor, 
 
 Was known a deadlye foe. 
 
 The king, therefore, for her defence, 
 
 Against the furious queene. 
 At Woodstocke builded such a bower, 
 
 The like was never scene. 
 
 Most curiously that bower was built 
 
 Of stone and timber strong, 
 An hundred and fifty doors 
 
 Did to this bower belong : 
 
 And they so cunninglye contriv'd, 
 With turnings round about, 
 
 That none but with a clue of thread 
 Could enter in or out. 
 
 And for his love and ladyes sake. 
 That was so faire and brighte. 
 
 The keeping of this bower he gave 
 Unto a valiant knighte. 
 
 But fortune, that doth often frowne 
 Where she before did smile. 
 
 The kinges delighte, the ladyes joy. 
 Full soon shee did beguile ; 
 
 For why, the kinges ungracious sonne, 
 Whom he did high advance. 
 
 Against his father raised warres 
 Within the realme of France. 
 
3Fafr 1Ro6amont> 
 
 19 
 
 But yet before our comelye king 
 The English land forsooke, 
 
 Of Rosamond, his ladye faire, 
 His farewelle thus he tooke : 
 
 " My Rosamond, my only Rose, 
 That pleasest best mine eye ; 
 
 The fairest flower in all the worlde 
 To feed my fantasye : 
 
 "The flower of mine affected heart, 
 Whose sweetness doth excelle ; 
 
 My royal Rose, a thousand times, 
 I bid thee nowe farewelle ! 
 
 " For I must leave my fairest flower. 
 My sweetest Rose, a space, 
 
 And cross the seas to famous France, 
 Proud rebelles to abase. 
 
 " But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt 
 
 My coming- shortly see, 
 And in my heart, when hence I am. 
 
 He beare my Rose with mee." 
 
 When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, 
 Did heare the kinge saye soe, 
 
 The sorrowe of her grieved heart 
 Her outward looks did show ; 
 
 And from her cleare and crystall eyes 
 The teares gusht out apace, 
 
 Which like the silver-pearled dewe 
 Ranne downe her comely face. 
 
 Her lippes erst like the corall redde, 
 Did waxe both wan and pale, 
 
 And for the sorrowe she conceivde 
 Her vitall spirits faile : 
 
 \B R A oT^ 
 
20 
 
 yair ■RosamonD 
 
 And falling down all in a swcKjne 
 
 Before King Henryes face, 
 Full oft he in his princelye armes 
 
 Her body did embrace ; 
 
 And twentye times, with watery eyes, 
 
 He kist her tender cheeke, 
 Until he had revivde againe 
 
 Her senses mUde and meeke. 
 
 ' ' Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose ? ' ' 
 
 The king did often say. 
 "Because," quoth shee, "to bloodye warres 
 
 My lord must pass awaye. 
 
 *' But sith your grace in forraj-ne coastes, 
 
 Amonge your foes unkinde 
 Must goe to hazarde life and limbe. 
 
 Why should I staye behinde ? 
 
 " Nay, rather let me, like a page. 
 
 Your sworde and target beare. 
 That on my breast the blowes may lighte, 
 
 Which would offend you there. 
 
 " Or lett mee, in your royal tent, 
 
 Prepare your bed at nighte, 
 And with sweete baths refresh your grace, 
 
 At your retume ft-om fighte. 
 
 " So I your presence may enjoye 
 
 No toil I will refuse ; 
 But wanting you, my life is death : 
 
 Nay, death He rather choose." 
 
 " Content thy self, mj' dearest love ; 
 
 Thy rest at home shall bee 
 In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle ; 
 
 For travell fits not thee. 
 
3f air IRosamonC) 
 
 21 
 
 " Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres ; 
 
 Sweet peace their pleasures breede, 
 The nourisher of hearts content, 
 
 Which fancy first did feede. 
 
 " My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke bower, 
 With musickes sweete delight ; 
 
 Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes. 
 Against my foes do fighte. 
 
 " My Rose in robes of pearle and golde, 
 
 With diamonds richly dight ; 
 Shall dance the galliards of my love, 
 
 Whilst I my foes do fighte. 
 
 J " And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trust 
 3 To be my love's defence ; 
 
 Be careful of my gallant Rose 
 When I am parted hence." 
 
 And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 
 As though his heart would breake : 
 
 And Rosamond, for inward griefe, 
 Not one plaine worde could speake. 
 
 And at their parting well they mighte 
 
 In heart be grieved sore : 
 After that daye faire Rosamond 
 
 The king did see no more. 
 
 For when his grace had passed the seas, 
 
 And into France was gone ; 
 With envious heart, Queene Flinor, 
 
 To Woodstocke came anone. 
 
 And forth she calls the trustye knighte 
 Which kept this curious bower ; 
 
 Who with his clue of twined thread. 
 Came from the famous flower. 
 
22 
 
 3f air 'KosamonO 
 
 And when that they had wounded him, 
 The queene his thread did gette, 
 
 And went where Lady Rosamond 
 Was like an angell sette. 
 
 And when the queene with stedfast eye 
 
 Beheld her heavenlye face, 
 She was amazed in her minde 
 
 At her exceeding grace.* 
 
 « In the old ballad,—" Rosamond's Overthrow," 
 to which we have referred in our introductory remarks, 
 —the interview between the enraged queen and her 
 hapless rival is thus described :— 
 
 The angry Queen with malice fraught. 
 
 Could not herself contain. 
 Till she Fair Rosamond had brought 
 
 To her sad, fatal bane. 
 The sweet and charming precious Rose, 
 
 King Henry's chief delight ! 
 The Queen she to her bower goes. 
 
 And wrought her hateful spight. 
 
 But when she to the bower came. 
 
 Where Lady Clifford lay. 
 Enraged Ellinor by name. 
 
 She could not find the way. 
 Until the silken clew of thread, 
 
 Became a fatal guide 
 Unto the Queen, who laid her dead 
 
 Ere she was satisfied. 
 
 Alas ! it was no small surprise 
 
 To Rosamond the fair; 
 When death appeared before her eyes. 
 
 No faithful friend was there. 
 Who could stand up in her defence. 
 
 To put the potion by ; 
 So, by the hands of violence. 
 
 Compelled she was to die. 
 
 " I will not pardon you," she said, 
 
 ' ' So take this fatal cup ; 
 And you may well be satisfied 
 
 I '11 see you drink it up." 
 Then with her fair and milk-white hand 
 
 The fatal cup she took ; 
 Which being drank, she could not stand. 
 
 And soon the world forsook. 
 
IPair IRosamonC) 
 
 23 
 
 " Cast off from thee thy robes," she said, 
 " That riche and costlye bee ; 
 
 And drinke thou up this deadlye draught, 
 Which I have brought to thee. ' ' * 
 
 But presentlye upon her knees 
 Sweet Rosamond did falle ; 
 
 And pardon of the queene she crav'd 
 For her offences all. 
 
 " Take pittie on my youthfull yeares," 
 Fair Rosamond did crye ; 
 
 " And lett mee not with poison stronge 
 Enforced bee to dye. 
 
 "I will renounce my sinfull life. 
 And in some cloyster bide ; 
 
 Or else be banisht, if you please, 
 To range the world soe wide ; 
 
 "And for the fault that I have done, 
 Though I was forc'd theretoe. 
 
 Preserve my life, and punish mee 
 As you thinke good to doe." 
 
 And with these words, her lillie handes 
 She wrunge full often there ; 
 
 And downe along her comelye face 
 Did trickle many a teare. 
 
 * In " The Lamentation of Queen Elinor," during her " twenty-six years' " im- 
 prisonment, she is made to confess the crime : 
 
 "The which I did with all despite, 
 Because she was the King's delight." 
 And in " Queen Elinor's Confession," she informs the king : 
 " The next vile thing that ever I did. 
 To you I will discover ; 
 I poysoned faire Rosamond, 
 All in faire Woodstocke Bower." 
 
 
24 
 
 3falr IRosamonD 
 
 But iiothino^ could this furious queene 
 
 Therewith appeased bee ; 
 The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 
 
 As she knelt on her knee, 
 
 Shee gave the comelye dame to drinke ; 
 
 T/ho toolze it in her hcnd, 
 And from her bended knee arose, 
 
 And on her feet did stand ; 
 
 And easting up her eyes to heaven, 
 
 Shee did for mercye calle ; 
 And drinking up the poison stronge, 
 
 Her life she lost withalle. 
 
 And when that death through everye limbe 
 
 Had showde his greatest spite, 
 Her chiefcst foes did there confesse 
 
 Shee was a glorious wight. 
 
 Her body then they did entombe. 
 
 When life was fled away, 
 At Godstowe, neere to Oxford towne, 
 
 As may be scene this day. 
 
^be Demon Xovcr 
 
 THE DEMON LOVER.* 
 
 " O where have you been my long, long love, 
 This long seven jcars and mair? " 
 
 " O I 'm come to seek my former vows, 
 Ye granted nie before." 
 
 " O hold your tongue of your former vows. 
 
 For they will breed sad strife ; 
 O hold your tongue of your former vows, 
 
 For I am become a wife." 
 
 ■ See Appendix. 
 
26 ^be ©cmon %ovcv 
 
 He turned him right and round about, 
 
 And the tear blinded his e'e ; 
 " I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground, 
 
 If it had not been for thee. 
 
 " I might have had a king's daughter, 
 
 Far far beyond the sea ; 
 I might have had a king's daughter. 
 
 // .^^ N Had it not been for love o' thee." 
 
 " ''' '■ -•^"' ■ ,-_ !': "If ye might have had a king's daughter, 
 
 
 H- 
 
 Yersell ye had to blame ; 
 Ye might have taken the king's daughter, 
 For ye kend that I was nane." 
 
 ^. „ - " O faulse are the vows o' womankind, 
 
 j%.: -^^ But fair is their faulse bodie ; 
 
 '-''"' '.. ' I never would hae trodden on Irish ground, 
 
 Had it not been for love o' thee.'* 
 
 " If I was to leave my husband dear, 
 
 And my two babes also, 
 O what have you to take me too. 
 
 If with you I should go ? " 
 
 "I have seven ships upon the sea, 
 The eighth brought me to land ; 
 
 With four-and-twenty bold mariners, 
 And music on every hand." 
 
 She has taken up her two little babes, 
 Kissed them baith cheek and chin : 
 
 " O fare ye weel, my ain two babes, 
 For I '11 never see you again." 
 
 She set her foot upon the ship, 
 No mariners could she behold ; 
 
 But the sails were o' the taffetie, 
 And the masts o' the beaten gold. 
 
Zbc H)cmon Xovec 
 
 She had not sailed a league, a league 
 A league but barely three, 
 
 When dismal grew his countenance, 
 And drumlie grew his e'e. 
 
 The masts that were like the beaten gold, 
 Bent not on the heaving seas ; 
 
 And the sails that were o' the taflfetie, 
 Filled not in the eastland breeze. 
 
 They had not sailed a league, a league, 
 A league but barely three. 
 
 Until she espied his cloven foot, 
 And she wept right bitterlie.* 
 
 "O hold your tongue of your weeping," says 
 ■1 " Of your weeping now let me be ; [he, 
 ' I will show you how the lilies grow 
 On the banks of Italy." 
 
 " O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, 
 That the sun shines sweetly on ? " 
 
 " O yon are the hills of heaven," he said, 
 " Where you will never win." 
 
 " O whaten a mountain is yon," she said, 
 " All so dreary wi' frost and snow ? " 
 '^' " O yon is the mountain of hell, ' ' he cried, 
 
 " Where you and I will go." 
 
 * In Mr. Buchan's ballad, remorse is made to visit the heroine, not by the sight 
 of the ** cloven foot," but by a feeling more natural and more worthy : — 
 She minded on her dear hushand, 
 Her little son tee. 
 And at the same time, — 
 
 The thoughts o' grief came in her mind. 
 And she langed for to be hame ; 
 While the miserable woman thus prays : — 
 
 " I may be buried in Scottish ground, 
 Where I was bred andborn." 
 
28 
 
 XLbe Demon Xovcr 
 
 And aye "when slie turned her round about 
 
 Aye taller he seemed to be ; 
 Until that the tops o' the gallant ship 
 
 Nae taller were than he. 
 
 [loud, 
 The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew 
 
 And the levin filled her e'e ; [sprites, 
 And waesome wailed the snow-white 
 
 Upon the gnrlie sea. 
 
 He struck the topmast wi' his hand. 
 
 The foremast wi' his knee ; 
 And he brake that gallant ship in twain. 
 
 And sank her in the sea. 
 
Zbc 1Kluts:©rown ^a^^ 
 
 29 
 
 Be It right or wrong, these men among 
 
 On women do coniplayne 
 AfTcrmyng this, how that it is 
 
 A labour spent in vayne, 
 To love them wele ; for never a dele 
 
 Tliey love a man agayne : 
 For lete a man do what he can, 
 
 Theyr favour to attayne. 
 Yet, yf a newe do them pursue, 
 
 Theyr first true lover than 
 Laboureth for nought: and from her thought 
 
 He is a banyshed man. 
 
 See Appendix. 
 
30 
 
 XLbc 1ftut*:®rown /Ra^O 
 
 I say not nay, but that all day 
 
 It is bothe writ and sayde 
 That womans faith is, as who saj^th. 
 
 All utterly decayde ; 
 But, neverthelesse, rj^ght good wytn^se 
 
 In this case might be layd. 
 That they love trewe, and contynew : 
 
 Recorde the Nut-brown Mayd : 
 Which, from her love (when her to prove. 
 
 He cam to make his mone), 
 Wolde not depart ; for in her herte 
 
 She loved but hym alone. 
 Than, betweine us, lete us discusse 
 
 What was all the manere 
 Betwene them two : we wyll also 
 
 Tell all the payne, and fere. 
 That she was in. Nowlbegyn, 
 
 So that ye me answdre ; 
 Wherfore, ye, that present be, 
 
 I pray you, gy\'e an eare 
 I am the knyght ; I come by nyght, 
 
 As secret as I can : 
 Sajange, "Alas ! thus standeth the case, 
 
 I am a banyshed man." 
 " And I your wj^l for to fulfyll 
 
 In this wyll not refuse ; 
 Trustyinge to shewe, in wordfe few. 
 
 That men have an ille use 
 (To theyr own shame) women to blame. 
 
 And causelesse them accuse ; 
 Therfore to you I answere nowe, 
 
 All women to excuse, — 
 My owne hart dere, with you what chere i 
 
 I pray you, tell anone ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 
^be 'UuUMvovcn /IRa^D 
 
 31 
 
 " It stondeth so ; a dede is do 
 
 Whereof moche harme shall growe : 
 My destiny is for to dy 
 
 A shamefuU deth, I trowe ; 
 Or ell^s to flee : the one must bee. 
 
 None other way I knowe, 
 But to withdrawe as an outlawe, 
 
 And take me to my bowe. 
 Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true ! 
 
 None other rede I can ; 
 For I must to the grene wode go, 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man." 
 " O I,ord, what is thys worldys blysse 
 
 That changeth as the mone ! 
 My somers day in lusty may 
 
 Is derked before the none. 
 I here you say, farewell : nay, nay, 
 
 We depart not so sone. 
 Why say y€ so? wheder will ye go ? 
 
 Alas ! what have ye done ? 
 All my welfare to sorrowe and care 
 
 Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 " I can beleve, it shall you greve, 
 
 And somewhat you dystrayne ; 
 But, aflyrwarde, your paynes harde 
 
 Within a day or twayne 
 Shall sone aslake ; and ye shall take 
 
 Comfort to you agayne. [thought, 
 
 Why sholde ye nought? for, to make 
 
 Your labour were in vayne. 
 And thus I do ; and pray you to. 
 
 As hartely, as I can ; 
 For I must to the grene wode go, 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man." 
 
32 
 
 Zbc IftutsJSrown ^agJ) 
 
 " Now, S3i;h that ye have shewed to me 
 
 The secret of your tnjTide, 
 I shall be playne to you agayne, 
 
 I,yke as ye shall me fynde. 
 Sith it is so, that ye wyll go, 
 
 I wolle not leve behynde ; 
 Shall never be sayd, the Nut-brown Mayd 
 
 Was to her love unkjmde : 
 Make you redj-, for so am I, 
 
 Allthough it were anone ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 "Yet I you rede to take good hede 
 
 What men wyll thynke, and say : 
 Of yonge and olde it shall be tolde, 
 
 That ye be gone away, 
 Your wanton wyll for to fulfill, 
 
 In grene wode you to play ; 
 And that ye mygUt from your delyght 
 
 No lenger make delay. 
 Rather than ye sholde thus for me 
 
 Be called an yll wom^, 
 Yet wolde I to the grene wode go 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man." 
 "Though it be songe of old and yonge. 
 
 That I sholde be to blame, 
 Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large 
 
 In hurtynge of my name : 
 For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love 
 
 It is devoyd of shame ; 
 In your dystresse, and hevynesse, 
 
 To part with you the same : 
 And sure all tho, that do not so, 
 
 True lovers are they none ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankjmde, 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 
^be flut*:fi3rown ^a»C) 
 
 33 
 
 I 
 
 "I councelye you, remember howe, 
 
 It IS no maydens lawe, 
 Nothynge to dout, but to renne out 
 
 To wode with an outUwe • 
 For ye must there in your hand bere 
 
 A bowe, redy to drawe ; 
 And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve 
 
 Kver in drede and awe • 
 
 ^TZTrT ^"T ^"""^ '^y^'^' ^°-- ■ 
 
 yet had I lever than, 
 That I had to the grene wode go, 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man.'* 
 " I thinke not nay, but asE^esay/' 
 
 It IS no maydens lore : 
 But love may make me for your sake 
 
 As ye have sayd before 
 To come on fote, to hunt, and shote 
 
 To gete us mete in store ; 
 For so that I your company 
 
 May have, I aske no more • 
 From which to part, it maketh my hart 
 
 As colde as ony stone ; 
 For in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone. ' ' 
 " For an outlawe this is the lawe 
 That men hym take and bynde ; 
 Without pytee, hanged to be. 
 And waver with the wynde 
 If I had nede, (as God forbede !) 
 What rescous coude ye fynde > 
 Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe 
 
 For fere wolde drawe behynde • 
 And no mervayle ; for lytell avayle 
 
 Were in your counceyle than • 
 Wherfore I to the wode will go, 
 Alone, a banyshed man. ' ' 
 
34 
 
 Zhc Hut^JBrown Aast> 
 
 " Right wele knowe ye, that women be 
 
 Ful feble fox to fyght ; 
 No womanhede is it indede 
 
 To be bolde as a knyght : 
 Yet, in such fere j'f that ye were 
 
 With enemyes day and nyght, 
 I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande, 
 
 To greve them as I myght, 
 And you to save ; as w^omen have 
 
 From deth saved many one : 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankjmde 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 " Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede 
 
 That ye coude not sustayne 
 The thomie wayes, the depe valeies, 
 
 The snowe, the frost, the rayne. 
 The colde, the hete : for dry or wete. 
 
 We must lodge on the playne ; 
 And, us above, none other rofe 
 
 Bnt a brake bush, or twayne ; 
 Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve ; 
 
 And ye wolde gladly than 
 That I had to the grene wode go, 
 
 Alone, a banj-shed man." 
 " Syth I have here bene partynere 
 
 With j^ou of joy and blysse, 
 I must also parte of your wo 
 
 Endure, as reson is : 
 Yet am I sure of one plesure ; 
 
 And, shortely, it is this : 
 That, where ye be, me semeth, perdS, 
 
 I coude not fare amysse. 
 Without more speche, I you beseche 
 
 That we were sone agone ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankj^de 
 I love but you alone." 
 
OF THB 
 
 TJNIVERSITY 
 
 tCbe mut^JBrown ilftai2oV£L£ikiI2^ 
 
 " If ye go thiyder, ye must consyder, 
 
 Whan ye have lust to dyne, 
 There shall no mete be for to gete, 
 
 Nor drinke, here, ale, ne wyne. 
 No shet^s clene, to lye betwene. 
 
 Made of threde and twyne ; 
 None other house, but leves and bowes, 
 
 To cover your hed and myne. 
 O myne harte swete, this evyll dySte 
 
 Sholde make you pale and wan ; 
 "Wherefore I to the wode will go, 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man." 
 ' ' Amonge the wylde dere, such an arch&res, 
 
 As men say that ye be, 
 Ne may not fayle of good vitayle. 
 
 Where is so grete plenty : 
 And water clere of the ryv6re 
 
 Shall be full swete to me ; 
 With which in hele I shall ryght wele 
 
 Endure, as ye shall see ; 
 And, er we go, a bedde or two 
 
 I can provyde anone ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 " 1,0 yet, before, ye must do more, 
 
 Yf ye wyll go with me : 
 As cut your here up by your ere ; 
 
 Your kyrtel by the knee ; 
 With bowe in hande, for to withstande 
 
 Your enemy es yf nede be : 
 And this same nyght before day-lyght, 
 
 To wode-warde wyll I fle. 
 Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill, 
 
 Do it shortely as ye can : 
 Els wyll I to the grene wode go, 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man." 
 
Zbc •Wut*:©rown Ifba^b 
 
 ■<i&l,i..JU: 
 
 '*/A.; 
 
 " I shall as nowe do more for you 
 
 Than longeth to womanhede ; 
 To short my here, a bowe to here, 
 
 To shote in t jTne of nede. 
 O my sweet mother, before all other 
 
 For you I have most drede : 
 But nowe, adue ! I must ensue, 
 
 Wher fortune doth me lede. 
 All this make ye : now let us fie ; 
 
 The day cometh fast upon ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mank^oide 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 " Nay, naj', not so ; ye shall not go, 
 
 And I shall tell ye why, — 
 Your appetj^ght is to be lyght 
 
 Of love, I wele espy : 
 For, lyke as ye have sayed to i«|j 
 
 In lyke wyse hardely '• 
 
 Ye wolde answ^e whosoever it were, 
 
 In way of company. 
 It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde ; 
 
 And so is a woman. 
 WTierfore I to the wode wj-U go. 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man." 
 " Yf ye take hede, yett is no nede 
 
 Such wordes to say by me ; 
 For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, 
 
 Or I you loved, perdS : 
 And though that I of auncestry 
 
 A barons daughter be. 
 Yet have you proved how I you loved, 
 
 A squyer of lowe degre ; 
 And ever shall, whatso befall ; 
 
 To y€ therfore anone ; 
 For, in my mj-nde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 
XTbe 1Plut=:©rown /IBai25 
 
 37 
 
 " A barons chylde to be begylde ! 
 
 It were a cursed dede ; 
 To be fel^we with an outlawe ! 
 
 Almighty God forbede ! 
 Yet better were, the pore squy^e 
 
 Alone to forest yede, 
 Than ye sholde say another day, 
 
 That, by my wicked dede, 
 Ye were betrayd : wherfore, good mayd, 
 
 The best rede that I can, 
 Is, that I to the grene wode go. 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man." 
 " "Whatever befall, I never shall 
 
 Of this thyng you upbrayd : 
 But yf ye go, and leve me so, 
 
 Than have ye me betrayd. 
 Remember wele, howe that ye dele ; 
 
 For, yf ye, as ye sayd, 
 Be so unkynde, to leve behynde, 
 
 Your love, the Nut-brown Mayd, 
 Trust me truly, that I shall dy 
 
 Sone after ye be gone ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 " Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent ; 
 
 For in the forest nowe 
 I have purvayed me of a mayd, 
 
 Whom I love more than you ; 
 Another fasrr^re, than ever ye were, 
 
 I dare it wele avowe ; 
 And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe 
 
 With other, as I trowe : 
 It were myne ese, to lyve in pese ; 
 
 So wyll I, yf I can ; 
 Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man." 
 
38 
 
 ^be •ftutssJBrown Aa^D 
 
 *' Though in the wode I iindyrstode 
 
 Ye had a paramour, 
 All this may nought remove my thought. 
 
 But that I wyll be your : 
 And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde 
 
 And courteys every hour ; 
 Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll 
 
 Commaunde me to my power : 
 For had ye, lo, an hundred mo, 
 
 Of them I wolde be one ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone." 
 " aiyne owne dere love, I see the prove 
 
 That ye be kjTide and true ; 
 Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, 
 
 The best that ever I knewe. 
 Be mer>' and glad, be no more sad, 
 
 The case is chaunged newe ; 
 For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe, 
 
 Ye sholde have cause to rewe. 
 Be not dismayed ; whatsoever I sayd 
 
 To j-ou, whan I began ; 
 I w>'ll not to the grene wode go ; 
 
 I am no banyshed man." 
 " These tydingB be more gladd to me, 
 
 Than to be made a queue. 
 Yf I were sure they sholde endure : 
 
 But it is often sene 
 Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke 
 
 The word^s on the splene. 
 Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, 
 
 And stele from me, I wene : 
 Than were the case worse than it was, 
 
 And I more wo-begone : 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone," 
 
XLbc 1Flut:=:©rown /Iftai^O 
 
 39 
 
 6:^* ri -' - 
 
 " Ye shall not nede farther to drede ; 
 
 I wyll not dyspard.ge 
 You, (God defend !) syth ye descend 
 
 Of so grete a lyn^e. 
 Nowe undyrstande ; to Westmarlande, 
 
 Which is myne herytage, 
 I wyll youibrynge ; and with a rynge 
 
 By way of maryage 
 I wyll you take, and lady make. 
 
 As shortely as I can : 
 Thus have you won an erlys son 
 
 And not a banyshed man." 
 
 The reader may be interested in comparing some 
 readings of the old ballad, as printed in Arnold's 
 Chronicle, with those that occur m the " folio MS." 
 of Dr. Percy. In — 
 
 Line 9, Arnold's Chron., to them ; Percy, do them. 
 
 28 they peyne ; . the payne. 
 
 " so, nioche ; . . . grate. 
 
 " 79 ought; . . . nought. 
 
 " 8r, loo; . . . '. to. 
 
 "98 whan; . . . what. 
 
 " 126, to here and; . ready to. 
 
 " 136 ye; I. 
 
 " 137, and; . . . . m. 
 
 •' 158 ful ; .... but. 
 
 ■' 159 ful; .... ryght. 
 
 " 162 , . and; .... or. 
 
 These examples will suffice to shew that very few 
 changes were introduced in the " Reliques." The most 
 important occurs in lines 21 and 22, which Percy prints : 
 
 Which, when her love came, her to prove. 
 To her to make his mone. 
 
 We retain the reading as we find it in Arnold. In the 
 several editions of Arnold, there are also some varia- 
 tions, but none of them are of much importance; they 
 are all given in a small reprint of the ballad, published 
 in 1836, by Mr. Pickering: From one of them, Percy 
 appears to have copied the two lines inserted above. In 
 this reprint, the text is copied from the earliest edition 
 of Arnold, "supposed" to have been printed about 
 1502 ; the variations are, chiefly, from the edition of 
 1521. The orthography varies with the various edi- 
 tions ; we have, generally, followed Percy. As an ex- 
 ample, we may observe, that in Arnold, the word which 
 pccurs so frequently is spelt "bannisshed." 
 
40 
 
 ^be "Huts^JSrown Aa^D 
 
 Here may ye se, that women be 
 
 In love, meke, kynde, and stable : 
 I^ate never man reprove them than, 
 
 Or call them variable ; 
 But, rather, pray God that we may 
 
 To them be comfortable ; 
 Which sometyme proveth such as loveth, 
 
 Yf they be charytable. 
 For syth men wolde that women sholde 
 
 Be meke to them each one, 
 IVIoche more ought they to God obey. 
 
 And serve but hym alone. 
 
Ikempion 
 
 41 
 
 KEMPION.* 
 
 "Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely fee'd. 
 And lay your head low ou my knee ; 
 
 The heaviest weird I will you read. 
 That ever was read to gay ladye. 
 
 "O meikle dolour sail ye dree, 
 And aye the salt seas o'er ye 'se swim ; 
 
 And far mair dolour sail ye dree 
 On Estmere crags, when ye them climb, 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
42 
 
 Icempfon 
 
 " I weird ye to a fiery beast, 
 And relieved sail ye never be, 
 
 Till Kempion, the kingis son. 
 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee."— 
 
 O meikle dolour did she dree, 
 And aye the salt seas o'er she swam ; 
 
 And far mair dolour did she dree 
 On Bstmere crags, when she them clamb : 
 
 And aye she cried for Kempion, 
 Gin he would but come to her hand. 
 
 Now word has gane to Kempion, 
 That sicken a beast was in his land. 
 
 " Now, by my sooth," said Kempion, 
 " This fierj' beast I '11 gang and see." 
 
 " And by my sooth," said Segramour, 
 "My ae brother, I '11 gang wi' thee." 
 
 Then bigged hae they a bonny boat, 
 And they hae set her to the sea ; 
 
 But a mile before they reached the shore. 
 Around them she gared the red fire flee. 
 
 ■' O Segramour, !;eep the boat afloat. 
 And let her na the land o'er near ; 
 
 For this wicked beast will sure gae mad, 
 And set fire to a' the land and mair." — 
 
 Syne has he bent an arblast bow. 
 And aimed an arrow at her head ; 
 ^v-^' And swore if she didna quit the land, 
 "y Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead. 
 
 " O out of my stythe I winna rise, 
 (And it is not for the awe o' thee,) 
 
 Till Kempion, the kingis son, 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me.''— 
 
ftempfon 
 
 43 
 
 He has louted him o'er the dizzy crag, 
 And gien the monster kisses ane ; 
 
 Awa she gaed, and again she cam, 
 The fieryest beast that ever was seen. 
 
 " O out o' my stythe I winna rise, 
 (And not for a' thy bow nor thee,) 
 
 Till Kempion, the kingis son. 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." — 
 
 He 's louted him o'er the Estmere crag. 
 And he has gi'en her kisses twa : 
 
 Awa she gaed, and again she cain. 
 The fieryest beast that ever you saw. 
 
 " O out of my den I winna rise. 
 Nor flee it for the fear o' thee. 
 
 Till Kempion, that courteous knight, 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." 
 
 He 's louted him o'er the lofty crag. 
 And he has gi'en her kisses three : 
 
 Awa she gaed, and again she cam, 
 The loveliest ladye e'er could be ! 
 
 "And by my sooth," says Kempion, 
 " My ain true love, (for this is she,) 
 
 They surely had a heart o' stane. 
 Could put thee to such misery. 
 
 " O was it warwolf* in the wood? 
 
 Or was it mermaid in the sea? 
 Or was it man or vile woman, 
 
 My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee ? ' ' — 
 
 • Warwolf signifies a magician, possessing the power of transforming himself into 
 a wolf, for the purpose of ravage and destruction, 
 
44 
 
 Ikempfon 
 
 " It wasna warwolf in the wood, 
 
 Nor was it mermaid in the sea ; 
 But it was my wicked step-mother, 
 And wae and weary may she be ! " — 
 
 " O, a heavier wierd shall light her on. 
 Than ever fell on vile woman ; 
 
 Her hair shall grow rough, 
 And her teeth grow lang, 
 And on her four feet shall she gang. 
 
 " None shall take pity her upon ; 
 
 In Wormeswood she aye shall wan ; 
 And relieved shall she never be. 
 
 Till St. Mungo come over the sea."— 
 And sighing, said that weary wight, 
 
 " I doubt that day I '11 never see !" 
 
XLbc CbllD of iSUc 
 
 45 
 
 • See Appendix 
 
46 
 
 XLbe CbllD of Bile 
 
 The ChUd of EUe he hyed him thence, 
 
 Y-wis he stoode not stille, 
 And soone he mette faire Emmelines page 
 
 Come climbing up the hille. 
 
 "Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot- 
 Nowe Christe thee save and see ! [page, 
 
 Oh, tell me how does thy ladye gaye, 
 And what may thy tydinges bee ? ' ' 
 
 My lady she is all woe-begone. 
 And the teares they falle from her eyne ; 
 And aye she laments the deadlye feude 
 Betweene her house and thine. 
 
 " And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe 
 
 Bedewde with many a teare. 
 And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her. 
 
 Who loved tliee so deare. 
 
 "And here shee sends thee a ring of golde 
 The last boone thou mayst have, 
 
 And biddes thee weare it for her sake, 
 "Whan she is layd in grave. 
 
 ' For, ah ! her gentle heart is broke, 
 
 And in grave soone must shee bee. [love, 
 Sith her father hath chose her a new new 
 And forbidde her to think of thee 
 
 "Her father hath brought her a carlish 
 Sir John of the north countr^ye, [knighte, 
 
 And within three days shee must him 
 Or he vowes he will her slaye. ' ' [wedde, 
 
 "Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot- 
 And greet thy ladye from mte, [page, 
 
 And tell her that I, her owne true love, 
 Will dye, or sette her free. 
 
Ube Cbilt) of :6Uc 
 
 47 
 
 " Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, 
 
 And let thy fair ladye know 
 This night will I bee at her bowre windowe, 
 
 Betide me weale or woe." 
 
 The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne. 
 
 He neither stint ne stayd 
 Until he came to fair Kmmelines bowre, 
 
 Whan kneeling downe he sayd : 
 
 " O ladye, I 'vc been with thy own true love. 
 And he greets thee well by mee ; 
 
 This night will he be at thy bowre-wind6we, 
 And dye or sette thee free." 
 
 Nowe day was gone and night was come, 
 
 And all were fast asleepe, 
 All save the ladye Emmeline, 
 
 "Who sate in her bowre to weepe ; 
 
 And soone shee heard her true loves voice 
 I^owe whispering at the walle : 
 
 "Awake, awake, my deare lady^, 
 Tis I thy true love call. 
 
 " Awake, awake, my ladye deare, 
 Come, mount this faire palfr^ye ; 
 
 This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, 
 He carrye thee hence awaye." 
 
 Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knightc 
 Nowe nay, this may not bee ; 
 For aye should I tint my maiden fame, 
 If alone I should wend with thee." 
 
 " O ladye, thou with a knighte so true 
 
 Mayst safelye wend alone. 
 To my ladye mother I will thee bringe, 
 
 Where marriage shall make us one." 
 
48 
 
 ^be CbilD of Bile 
 
 " My father he is a baron bolde, 
 
 Of l5aiage proude and hye ; 
 And what would he saye if his daughter 
 
 Awaye with a knighte should fly ? 
 
 " Ah ! well I wot, he never would rest, 
 Nor his meate should do him no goode, 
 
 Until he had slain thee, Child of KUe, 
 And scene thy deare hearts bloode." 
 
 " O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 
 
 And a little space him fro, 
 I would not care for thy cruel father, 
 
 Nor the worst that he could doe. 
 
 " O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 
 
 And once without this walle, 
 I would not care for thy cruel father, 
 
 Nor the worst that might befalle." 
 
 Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Hmmeline wept, 
 
 And aye her heart was woe : 
 At length he seized her liHy-white hand, 
 
 And downe the ladder he drewe : 
 
 And thrice he clasped her to his breste, 
 
 And kist her tenderlie : 
 The teares that fell from her fair eyes 
 
 Ranne like the fountayne free. 
 
 Hee mounted himselfe on his stede so talle. 
 
 And her on a fair palfr^ye, 
 And slung his bugle about his necke. 
 
 And roundlye they rode away. 
 
 All this beheard her owne dams^le, 
 
 In her bed whereas shee ley, 
 Quoth shee : " My lord shall knowe of this, 
 
 Soe I shall have golde and fee. 
 
^be CbilD of IBlic 
 
 49 
 
 " Awake, awake, thou baron bolde ! 
 
 Awake, my noble dame ! [E)lle 
 
 Your daughter is fledde with the Child of 
 
 To doe the deede of shame." 
 
 The baron he woke, the baron he rose, 
 And called his merrye men all : 
 
 "And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte, 
 Thy ladye is carried to thrall." 
 
 Faire Knimeline scant had ridden a mile 
 
 A mile forth of the towne, 
 When she was aware of her fathers men 
 
 Come galloping over the downe : 
 
 And formost came the carlish knighte. 
 Sir John of the north countraye : 
 
 " Nowestop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure, 
 Nor carry that ladye awaye. 
 
 " For she is come of hye linage. 
 
 And was of a ladye bom, 
 And ill it beseems thee — a false churls Sonne 
 
 To carry her hence to scome." 
 
 " Nowe loud thou lyest. Sir John the knighte, 
 
 Nowe thou doest lye of mee ; 
 A knighte me bred, and a ladye me bore, 
 
 Soe never did none by thee. 
 
 " But light nowe downe, my ladye faire, 
 lyight downe, and hold my steed ; 
 
 While I and this discourteous knighte 
 Doe try this arduous deede. 
 
 " But light nowe downe, my deare ladyS, 
 lyight downe, and hold my horse ; 
 
 While I and this discourteous knighte 
 Doe trye our valours force." 
 
50 
 
 trbe Cbm of :ieae 
 
 Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, 
 
 And aye her heart was woe, 
 While twixt her love and the carlish knighte 
 
 Past many a baneful blowe. 
 
 The Child of EUe hee fought soe well. 
 As his weapon he -nraved amaine, 
 
 That soone he had slaine the carlish knighte, 
 And layd him upon the plaine. 
 
 And nowe the baron and all his men 
 
 FuU fast approached nye : 
 Ah, what may ladye Emmeline doe ! 
 
 Twere nowe no boote to flye. 
 
 Her lover he put his home to his mouth, 
 
 And blew both loud and shrill, 
 And soone he saw his owne merry men 
 
 Come ryding over the hiU. 
 
 " Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron, 
 
 I pray thee hold thy hand. 
 Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts 
 
 Fast knit in true loves band. 
 
 " Thy daughter I have dearly loved 
 
 Full long and many a da}- ; 
 But with such love as holy kirke 
 
 Hath freelye said wee may. 
 
 " O give consent, shee may be mine, 
 
 And bless a faithfull paire : 
 My lands and livings are not small, 
 
 My house and lineage faire : 
 
 " My mother she was an earls daught^, 
 And a noble knighte my sire : ' "— 
 
 The baron he frowned and tum'd away 
 With mickle dole and ire. 
 
^be Cbil& of Bile 
 
 51 
 
 Fair i^mmeline sighed, faire Binmeline wept. 
 
 And did all tremblinge stand : 
 At length she sprang upon her knee, 
 
 And held his lifted hand. 
 
 " Pardon, my lorde and father deare, 
 This faire younge knighte and me : 
 
 Trust mc, but for the carlish knighte, 
 I never had fled from thee. 
 
 '' Oft have you called your ^mmeline 
 
 Your darling and your joye ; 
 O ! let not then your harsh resolves 
 
 Your Ktnmeline destroy e." 
 
 The baron he stroakthis dark-brown cheeke, 
 
 And turned his heade asyde 
 To wipe awaye the starting teare 
 
 He proudly strave to hyde. 
 
 In deepe revolving thought he stoode, 
 And mused a little space : [grounde, 
 
 Then raised faire Emmeline from the 
 "With many a fond embrace.* 
 
 * In the Scottish ballads, as we have intiniatetl, the 
 affair has a far less happy termination ; the lover dying- 
 of his wounds, and the Lady Margaret of a broken 
 heart : 
 
 Lord William was buried in St. Maries kirk, 
 
 Lady Marg'ret in Maries quire ; 
 Out of'^the ladys sfrave grew a bonny red rose, 
 
 And out of the knights a brier. 
 
 And they twa met, and they twa plat. 
 And fain they wad be near ; 
 
 And a' the warld might ken right weel, 
 They v/ere twa lovers dear. 
 
 But bye and rade the black Douglas, 
 And wow but he was rough ! 
 
 For he pulled up the bonny brier. 
 And flang'd in St. Maries loch. 
 
Zbc CbilO of Bile 
 
 • Here take her, Child of EHe,"— he sayd, 
 And gave her lillye white hand ; — 
 
 " Here take my deare and only child, 
 And with her half my land : 
 
 ' ' Thy father once mine honour wronged 
 
 In days of youthful pride- 
 Do thou the injurye repayre 
 
 In fondness for thy bride ; 
 
 " And as thou love her, and hold her dear^ 
 Heaven prosper thee and thine ! 
 
 And nowe mj' blessing wend wi' thee. 
 My lovelye Emmeline ! " 
 
Zbc ^wa :fiSrotbec0 
 
 53 
 
 /f'J 
 
 ii^. 
 
 ^f^ 
 
 ■'v^--i 
 
 ^^;^ 
 
 -^zi^ 
 
 THE TWA BROTHERS.* 
 
 There were twa brothers at the scule. 
 
 And when they got awa' — 
 It 's " Will ye play at the stane-chucking, 
 
 Or will ye play at the ba', 
 Or will ye gae up to yon hill head? 
 
 And there we '11 warsell a fa'." 
 
 " I winna play at the stane-chucking. 
 
 Nor will I play at the ba'. 
 Rut I '11 gae up to yon bonnie green hill. 
 
 And there we '11 warsell a fa'." 
 
 See Appendix, 
 
54 
 
 Q:be ^wa JSrotbere 
 
 They warsled up, they warsled down, 
 
 Till John fell to the ground ; 
 A dirk fell out of Williams pouch, 
 And gave John a deadly wound. 
 
 " O lift me up upon your back, 
 
 Tak me to yon well fair ; 
 And wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er. 
 
 And they '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." 
 
 He 's lifted his brother upon his back, 
 Ta'en him to yon well fair ; [o'er, 
 
 He 'swashed his bluidy wounds o'er and 
 But they bleed ay mair and mair. 
 
 " Tak ye aff my Holland sark, 
 
 And rive it gair by gair, 
 And row it in my bluidy wounds. 
 
 And they '11 ne'er bleed nae mair." 
 
 He 's taken aflf his Holland sark. 
 
 And torn it gair by gair ; 
 He 's row it in his bluidy wounds. 
 
 But they bleed ay mair and mair. 
 
 " Tak now aflFmy green sleiding, 
 
 And row me saftly in ; 
 And tak me up to yon kirk style, 
 
 Whare the grass grows fair and green." 
 
 He 's taken aflf the green sleiding. 
 
 And rowed him softly in ; 
 He 's laid him down by yon kirk style, 
 
 Whare the grass grows fair and green. 
 
Zbc tTwa :©rotber6 
 
 55 
 
 " What will ye say to your father dear, 
 When ye gae hame at e'en ? " 
 
 " I '11 say ye 're lying at yon kirk style, 
 Whare the grass grows fair and green.' 
 
 " O no, O no, my brother dear, 
 
 O you must not say so ; 
 But say, that I 'm gane to a foreign land, 
 
 Whare nae man does me know." 
 
 When he sat in his fathers chair 
 He grew baith pale and wan. 
 
 " O what blude 's that upon your brow? 
 O dear son, tell to me." 
 
 It is the blude o' my gude gray steed- 
 He wadna ride wi' me." 
 ' O thy steeds blude was ne'er sae red. 
 Nor e'er sae dear to me. 
 
 ' O what blude 's that upon your cheek? 
 
 O dear son, tell to me." 
 ' It is the blude of my greyhound. 
 
 He wadna hunt for me." 
 
 " O thy hounds blude was ne'er sae red. 
 
 Nor e'er sae dear to me ; 
 O what blude 's this upon your hand? 
 
 O dear son, tell to me." 
 
 " It is the blude of my gay goss hawk 
 
 He wadna flee for me." 
 " O thy hawks blude was ne'er sae red, 
 
 Nor e'er sae dear to me : 
 
56 
 
 ^be ^wa asrotbcrs 
 
 ' O what blude 's this upon your dirk ? 
 
 Dear Willie, tell to me." 
 ■ It is the blude of my ae brother, 
 
 O, dule and wae is me ! " 
 
 " O what will ye say to your father ? 
 
 Dear Willie, tell to me." 
 "I '11 saddle my steed, and aw^a I '11 ride. 
 
 To dwell in some far countrie." 
 
 ' ' O when will ye come hame again ? 
 
 Dear Willie, tell to me." 
 " When sun and mune leap on yon hill, 
 
 And that will never be." 
 
 She turned hersel' right round about, 
 And her heart burst into three : 
 
 " My ae best son is deid and gane, 
 And my tother ane I '11 ne'er see." 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Xtbc aBesaar*6 ©augbtcr >s£LcAii[^\A\t. 
 
 THE BEGGAR S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL 
 GREEV * 
 
 FITT THE FIRST 
 
 Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight, 
 ,V He had a faire daughter most pleasint and bright : 
 And many a gallant bra\e suitor 1 ad shee. 
 Tor none was soe comel>e as pretty Bessee. 
 
 And though shee was of favor most faire, 
 Yett seeing she was but a poor beggars heyre 
 Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee. 
 Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee. 
 
 • See Appendi 
 
S8 
 
 XTbe JScagar*6 2)augbtcr 
 
V^bc 3BCQQ^x'6 DauQbtcc 39 
 
 Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessee did say, 
 " Good father, and mother, let me goe away 
 To seeke out m.y fortune, whereever itt bee." 
 The suite then they granted to pretty Bessee. 
 
 Then Bessee, that was of bewtye soe bright, 
 All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night, 
 From father and mother alone parted shee ; 
 Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee. 
 
 Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow ; 
 Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe 
 With teares shee lamented her hard destinie, 
 So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee. 
 
 Shee kept on her journey untill it was day, 
 And went unto Rumford along the hye way ; 
 Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee : 
 So faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee. 
 
 Shee had not been there one month to an end, 
 But master and mistress and all was her friend: 
 And every brave gallant, that once did her see, 
 Was strait-way in love with pretty Bessee. 
 
 Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold. 
 And in their songs daylye her love was extold ; 
 Her bewtye was blazed in every degree ; 
 Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee. 
 
 The younge men of Rumford in her had their joy ; 
 Shee shew'd herself curteous, but never too coye ; 
 And at their commandment still wold she bee ; 
 Soe f^yre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee. 
 
 Foure suitors att once unto her did goe ; 
 They craved her favor, but still she sayd " Noe ; 
 I would not wish gentles to marry with mee." 
 Yett ever they honored pretty Bessee. 
 
6o 
 
 Cbe asc^gar's Daugbter 
 
 s^SS' 
 
Zbc 3BcQQnv*6 Baugbter 6i 
 
 The first of them was a gallant young knight, 
 And he came unto her disguisde in the night : 
 The second a gentleman of good degree, 
 Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessee. 
 
 A merchant of I<ondon, whose wealth was not small, 
 Was then the third suitor, and proper withall : 
 Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee, 
 Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee. 
 
 "And, if thou wilt marry with mee," quoth the knight, 
 " He make thee a lady with joy and delight ; 
 My heart's so inthralled by thy faire bewtie. 
 Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee." 
 
 The gentleman sayd, "Come, marry with mee. 
 In silks and in velvets my Bessee shall bee : 
 My heart lives distressed : O heare me, ' ' quoth hee ; 
 " And grant me thy love, my pretty Bessee." 
 
 " I^et me be thy husband," the merchant did say, 
 " Thou Shalt live in lyondon both gallant and gay ; 
 My shippes shall bring home rych jewels for thee. 
 And I will for ever love pretty Bessee." 
 
 Then Bessee shee sighed, and thus shee did say, 
 " My father and mother I meane to obey ; 
 First gett theyr good will, and be faithfull to mee. 
 And you shall enjoye your pretty Bessee." 
 
 To every one this answer shee made ; 
 
 Wherefore unto her they joyfullye sayd, 
 
 " This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree ; 
 
 But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee ? " 
 
 " My father," quoth shee, " is plaine to be scene : 
 The silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene, 
 That daylye sits begg^ing for charitie. 
 He is the good father of pretty Bessee. 
 
62 
 
 ^be :©eggar'6 Bau^bter 
 
^be JBcQQ^v'0 Daugbtcr 63 
 
 " His markes and his tokens are known full well ; 
 He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell: 
 A silly olde man, God knoweth, is hee, 
 Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee." 
 
 " Nay then," quo' the merchant, " thou art not for mee ; 
 " Nor," quo' the innholder, " my wiffe shalt not bee : " 
 " I lothe," sayd the gentle, " a beggars degree, 
 And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee ! " 
 
 " "Why then," quoth the knight, "hap better or worse, 
 I waighe not true love by the waight of the pursse, 
 And bewtye is bewtye in every degree ; 
 Then welcome to me, my pretty Bessee. 
 
 "With thee to thy father forthwith will I goe." 
 "Nay soft," quoth his kinsmen, " it must not be soe ; 
 A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shall bee, 
 Then take thy adewe of pretty Bessee." 
 
 But soone after this, by break of the day, 
 The knight had from Rumford stole Bessee away. 
 The younge men of Rumford, so sicke as may be, 
 Rode after to fetche againe pretty Bessee. 
 
 As swifte as the winde to ride they were scene, 
 Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene ; 
 And as the knight lighted most courteouslie 
 They all fought against him for pretty Bessee. 
 
 But rescew came presentlye over the plaine. 
 
 Or else the knight there for his love had been slaine. 
 
 This fray being ended, then strait he did see 
 
 His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee. 
 
 Then spake the blind beggar, " Although I bee poore, 
 Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore : 
 Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle, 
 Yett will I dropp angells with^ou for my girle. 
 
64 
 
 ^bc :©eaaar's Bau^btcc 
 
 :v^r^^u}^< 
 
 ^ 
 
 
XLbc :J8cggar'6 Dau^bter 65 
 
 " And then, if my gold will better her birthe, 
 And equall the gold that you lay on the earth, 
 Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see 
 The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee. 
 
 '* Butt first I will heare, and have it well knowne, 
 The gold that you drop shall be all your owne." 
 With that they replyed, " Contented wee bee." 
 " Then here 's," quoth the beggar, " for pretty Bessee." 
 
 With that an angell he cast on the ground, 
 
 And dropped in angells full three thousand pound ; 
 
 And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine, 
 
 For the gentlemans one the beggar dropt twayne : 
 
 So as the place, wherein they did sitt. 
 
 With gold it was covered every whitt ; 
 
 The gentleman then having dropt all his store, 
 
 Sayd, " Now, beggar, hold, for I have noe more. 
 
 "Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright." 
 " Then marry," quoth he, " my girle to the knight ; 
 And heere," quoth he, "I will now thro we you downe 
 A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne." 
 
 The gentlemen all, that this treasure had scene. 
 Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene ; 
 And those that were her suitors before. 
 Their fleshe for very anger they tore. 
 
 Thus was their Bessee matched to a knight, 
 
 And made a ladye in others despite : 
 
 A fairer ladye there never was scene. 
 
 Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene, 
 
 But of her sumptuous marriage and feast, 
 What brave lords and knights thither were prest. 
 The second fitt shall set forth to your sight 
 With marvellous pleasure and wished delight. 
 
66 
 
 Ebc :S6cgQSLV*s DauQbter 
 
CTbc :fBcgQaf6 Daugbter 67 
 
 FITT THE SECOND. 
 
 Off a blind beggars daughter most fair and bright, 
 That late was betrothed unto a younge knight ; 
 All the discourse thereof you may see ; 
 But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. 
 
 Within a gallant palace most brave, 
 Adorned with all the cost they could have, 
 This wedding was kept most sumptuouslie. 
 And all for the love of pretty Bessee. 
 
 All kinds of dainties, and delicates sweete 
 Were brought to their banquet, as it was thought meete : 
 Partridge, and plover, and venison most free, 
 Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. 
 
 This wedding thro' England was spread, by report, 
 So that a great number did thither resort 
 Of nobles and gentles in every degree ; 
 And all for the fame of pretty Bessee. 
 
 To church then went this gallant younge knight ; 
 His bride followed after, a ladye most bright, 
 With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was scene 
 As went with sweete Bessee of Bednall-greene. 
 
 This marryage being solemnized then. 
 With musicke performed by the skilfuUest men, 
 The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde, 
 E)ach one beholding the beautiful bryde. 
 
 But, after the sumptuous dinner was done, 
 
 To talke, and to reason a number begunn : 
 
 To talke of the blind beggars daughter most bright, 
 
 And what with his daughter he gave to the knight. 
 
68 
 
 Cbe 3BcQQSLV's Daugbtcr 
 
trbe 3Be^gar'0 5)augbtcr 69 
 
 Then spake the nobles, "Much marveil have wee, 
 The jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see." 
 " My lords," quoth the bride, "my father 's so base, 
 Hee is loth with his presence these states to disgrace." 
 
 " The prayse of a woman in questyon to bringe 
 Before her own face were a flattering thinge ; 
 Yett wee thinke thy fathers baseness," quoth they, 
 " Might by thy bewtye bee cleane put away." 
 
 They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke. 
 But in comes the beggar cladd in a silke cloke : 
 A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee : 
 And nowe a musicyan forsooth he would bee. 
 
 Hee had a daintye lute under his arme, 
 Hee touched the strings, which made such a charme, 
 Sayd, " Please you to heare any musicke of mee, 
 A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee." 
 
 With that his lute hee twanged straitway, 
 And thereon begann most sweetlye to play ; 
 And after that lessons were playd two or three, 
 Hee straynd out this song most delicatelie. 
 
 " A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene, 
 Who for her bewtye might well bee a queene : 
 A blithe bonny lasse, and daintye was shee, 
 And many one called her pretty Bessee. 
 
 " Her father hee had noe goods, nor noe lands. 
 But begged for a penny all day with his hands ; 
 And yett for her marriage hee gave thousands three. 
 And still hee hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. 
 
 " And if any one her birth doe disdaine. 
 Her father is ready, with might and with maine, 
 To proove shee is come of a noble degree : 
 Therefore let none floute att my prettye Bessee." 
 
70 
 
 ^be JSc9aar*6 Baugbtcr 
 
XLbc 3Beggar'6 ©augbtcr 71 
 
 with that the lords and companye round 
 With hearty laughter were readye to swound : 
 Att last said the lords, " Full well wee may see, 
 The bride and the beggar 's behoulden to thee." 
 
 With that the bride all blushing did rise, 
 
 With the faire water all in her brighte eyes : 
 
 " Pardon my father, grave nobles," quoth shee, 
 
 " That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee." 
 
 " If this bee thy father," the nobles did say, 
 " Well may hee bee proud of this happy day ; 
 Yett by his countenance well may wee see. 
 His birth with his fortune did never agree ; 
 
 " And therefore, blind beggar, wee pray thee bewray, 
 (And looke that the truth to us thou doe say) 
 Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee, 
 For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee." 
 
 "Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one, 
 A song more to sing, and then I '11 begone, 
 And if that I do not winn your good report, 
 Then doe not give me a groat for my sport. 
 
 " Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shall bee : 
 Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee, 
 Yett fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase, 
 Nowe loste and forgotten are hee and his race. 
 
 " When the barons in armes did King Henrye oppose. 
 Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose : 
 A leader of courage undaunted was hee, 
 And oft-times hee made their enemyes flee. 
 
 " At length in the battle on Kveshame plaine 
 The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine : 
 Most fatall that battel did prove unto thee, 
 Though thou wast not borne then, my pretty Bessee ! 
 
72 
 
 Ebe 3Begaar*6 Daugbter 
 
Zbc 3BcQQ^v'B DauQbter 73 
 
 " Along with the nobles, that fell at that tyde, 
 His eldest Sonne Henrye, who fought by his side, 
 Was felde by a blowe, hee receivde in the fight : 
 A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight. 
 
 " Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse hee laye. 
 Till evening drewe on of the following daye, 
 When by a younge ladye discovered was hee ; — 
 And this was thy mother, my pretty Bessee. 
 
 " A barons faire daughter stept forth in the night. 
 To search for her father, who fell in the fight, 
 And seeing younge Montfort, where gasping hee laye, 
 Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye. 
 
 " In secrette shee nurst him, and swaged his paine, 
 While hee through the realme was beleevd to be slaine : 
 At length his faire bride shee consented to bee. 
 And made him glad father of pretty Bessee. 
 
 " And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye, 
 Wee clothed ourselves in beggars arraye : 
 Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee : 
 All our comfort and care was our pretty Bessee. 
 
 " And here have wee lived in fortunes despite. 
 Though poore, yett contented with humble delighte : 
 Full forty winters thus have I beene 
 A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene. 
 
 " And here, noble lordes, is ended the song 
 Of one, that once to your owne ranke did belong ; 
 And thus have you learned a secrette from mee, 
 That ne'er had been knowne, but for pretty Bessee." 
 
 Now when the faire companye every one, 
 
 Had heard the strange tale in the song hee had showne, 
 
 They all were amazed, as well they might bee, 
 
 Both at the blinde beggar, and the pretty Bessee. 
 
74 
 
 Zbc Mcggav^s ©augbter 
 
 With that the faire bride they all did embrace, 
 Sajdng, " Sure thou art come of an honourable 
 Thy father likewise is of noble degree, [race, 
 
 And thou art well worthy a lady to bee." 
 
 Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte, 
 A bridegroome most happy was the younge 
 In joy and felicitie long lived hee, [knighte, 
 
 All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee. 
 
IRobln (SooDsjfcllow 
 
 75 
 
 From Oberon in fairye land, 
 
 The king cf ghosts and shadowes there, . 
 Mad Robin I, at his command, 
 Am sent to viewe the night-sports here. 
 What revell route 
 Is kept about, 
 In every corner where I go, 
 
 I will o'ersee, and merry bee, 
 And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 More swift than lightening can I flye 
 
 About this aery welkin soone. 
 And, in a minutes space, descrye 
 Each thing that 's done belowe the moone, 
 There 's not a hag 
 Or ghost shall wag, 
 Or cry, ware Goblins ! where I go ; 
 But Robin I their feates will spy, 
 And send them home, with ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 See Appendix, 
 
76 
 
 IRobin <5ooD*ycllow 
 
 Whene'er such wanderers I meete, 
 
 As from their night-sports they trudge 
 With counterfeiting voice I greete, [home ; 
 And call them on, with me to roam 
 Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 
 Thro' bogs, thro' brakes ; 
 Or else, unseene, with them I go, 
 
 All in the nicke, to play some tricke 
 And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho ! 
 Sometimes I meete them like a man ; 
 
 Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound ; 
 And to a horse I turn me can ; 
 To trip and trot about them round. 
 But if, to ride. 
 My backe they stride. 
 More swift than winde away I go. 
 
 Ore hedge and lands, thro' pools and 
 I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! [ponds 
 When lads and lasses merry be, 
 
 With possets and with juncates fine, 
 Unseene of all the companj', 
 I eat their cakes and sip their wine ; 
 And to make sport, 
 I snore and snort ; 
 And out the candles I do blow : 
 
 The maids I kiss ; they shrieke — Who 's 
 I answer naught, but ho, ho, ho ! [this ? 
 Yet now and then, the maids to please, 
 
 At midnight I card up their wool ; 
 And while they sleepe and take their ease, 
 With wheel, to threads, their flax I pull. 
 I gfrind at mill 
 Their malt up still ; 
 I dress their hemp, I spin their tow ; 
 If any 'wake, and would me take, 
 I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
IRobln (5oo&=3felIow 
 
 77 
 
 When house or harth doth sluttish lye, 
 I pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
 The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I 
 And lay them naked all to view. 
 'Twixt sleepe and wake, 
 I do them take. 
 And on the key-cold floor them throw. 
 
 If out they cry, then forth I fly, 
 And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho ! 
 When any need to borrowe aught. 
 
 We lend them what they do require ; 
 And for the use demand we nought ; 
 Our owne is all we do desire. 
 If to repay, 
 They do delay. 
 Abroad amongst them then I go. 
 
 And night by night, I them affright 
 With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho ! 
 When lazie queans have nought to do. 
 
 But study how to cog and lye ; 
 
 To make debate and mischief too, 
 
 'Twixt one another secretlye : 
 
 I marke their gloze. 
 
 And it disclose, 
 
 To them whom they have wronged so ; 
 
 When I have done, I get me gone. 
 And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho ! 
 When men do traps and engins set 
 
 In loope holes were the vermine creepe. 
 Who from their foldes and houses, get 
 Their duckes and geese, their lambes and 
 I spy the gin, [sheepe : 
 
 And enter in, 
 And seeme a vermine taken so : 
 
 But when they there approach me neare, 
 I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
78 
 
 •Robin (3oods#eUow 
 
 By wells and rills, in meadowes greene, 
 We "nightly dance our hey-day guise ; 
 And to our fairye king and queene 
 We chant our moon-light minstrelsies. 
 When larks gin sing, 
 Away we fling, 
 And babes new borne steale as we go, 
 
 And elfe in bed we leave instead, 
 And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 
 
 Thus nightly revelled to and fro ; 
 
 And for my pranks men call me by 
 
 The name of Robin Good-fellow. 
 
 Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 
 
 Who haunt the nights. 
 
 The hags and goblins do me know ; 
 
 And beldames old my feates have told ; 
 So Vale, Vale ; ho, ho, ho ! 
 
Sir ipatdcft Spcns 
 
 79 
 
 The king sits in Dunfermline town, 
 Drinking the blude-red wine : 
 
 "O where will I get a skeely skipper 
 To sail this new ship of mine ? " 
 
 O up and spake an eldern knight. 
 Sat at the kings right knee : 
 
 *' Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor 
 That ever sailed the sea." 
 
 Our king has written a braid letter, 
 And sealed it with his hand, 
 
 And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 
 Was walking on the strand. 
 
 See Appendix. 
 
8o 
 
 Sir Patrick Spens 
 
 "To Noroway, to Noroway, 
 
 To Noroway, o'er the faem ; 
 The kings daughter of Xoroway , 
 
 'T is thou maun bring her hame ! " 
 
 The first word that Sir Patrick read, 
 
 Sae loud loud laughed he ; 
 The neist word that Sir Patrick read. 
 
 The tear blindit his e'e. 
 
 " O wha is this has done this deed, 
 
 And tauld the king o' me, 
 To send us out at this time o' the year, 
 
 To sail upon the sea? 
 
 " Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, 
 
 Our ship must sail the faem ; 
 The kings daughter of Xoroway 
 
 'T is we must fetch her hame." 
 
 They hoysed their sails on Monenday mom, 
 
 Wi' a' the speed they may : 
 They hae landed in Noroway 
 
 Upon a Wodensday. 
 They hadna been a week, a week 
 
 In Noroway, but twae. 
 When that the lords o' Noroway 
 
 Began aloud to say : 
 
 " Ye Scottishmen spend a' our kings gowd 
 
 And a' our queenis fee. ' ' — 
 " Ye lie, ye lie ye liars loud ! 
 
 Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! 
 " For I hae brought as much white monie 
 
 As gane my men and me, [gowd 
 
 And I hae brought a half-fou o' gude red 
 
 Out owre the sea wi' me. 
 "Make ready, make ready, my merrymen 
 
 Our gude ship sails the morn."— [a' ! 
 
Sir Patrick Spcns 
 
 ^ 
 
 i>*^5;ai-. 
 
 " Now, ever alake ! my master dear, 
 
 I fear a deadly storm. 
 " I saw the new m^oon, late yestreen, 
 
 Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; 
 And if we gang to sea, master, 
 
 I fear we '11 come to harm." 
 
 They hadna sailed a league, a league, 
 A league but barely three, [loud, 
 
 When the lift grew dark, and the wiiid blew 
 And gurly grew the sea. 
 
 The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, 
 
 It was sic ^ deadly storm ; 
 And the waves came o'er the broken ship 
 
 Till a' her sides were torn. 
 " O where.will I get a gude sailor 
 
 To take my helm in hand, 
 Till I get up to the tall topmast 
 
 To see if I can spy land ? " 
 
 " O here am I, a sailor gude, 
 
 To take the helm in hand, 
 Till you go up to the tall topmast — 
 
 But I fear you '11 ne'er spy land." 
 
 He hadna gane a step, a step, 
 
 A step, but barely ane, 
 When a boult flew out of our goodly ship. 
 
 And the salt sea it came in. 
 
 " Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith. 
 
 Another o' the twine, 
 And wap them into our ships side. 
 
 And letna the sea come in." 
 They fetched a web o' the silken claith, 
 
 Another o' the twine, [side ; 
 
 And they wapped them roun' the gude ships 
 
 But still the sea came in. 
 
82 
 
 Sir |>atrich Spen6 
 
 O laith laith were our gude Scots lords 
 
 To weet their cork-heeled shoon, 
 But lang or a' the play was played 
 
 They wat their hats aboon ! 
 And mony was the feather bed 
 
 That floated on the faem ; 
 And mony was the gude lords son 
 
 That never mair came hame ! 
 The ladyes wrang their fingers white — 
 
 The maidens tore their hair ; 
 A' for the sake of their true loves— 
 
 For them they 11 see na mair. 
 O lang lang may the ladyes sit, 
 
 Wi' their fans into their hand, 
 Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
 
 Come sailing to the strand ! 
 And lang lang may the maidens sit, 
 
 Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair, 
 A' waiting for their ain dear loves — 
 
 For them they '11 see na mair ! 
 O forty miles oflF Aberdeen 
 
 'T is fifty fathoms deep, 
 And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens 
 
 Wi' the Scots lords at his feet ! 
 
0H /IBorrlcc 
 
 83 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
84 
 
 <3U Aorrice 
 
 " Whar sail I get a bonny boy, 
 That will win hose and shoen, 
 
 That will gae to I^ord Bamards ha', 
 And bid his lady come ? 
 
 " And ye maun rin my errand, Willie, 
 
 And ye maun rin wi' speid ; 
 When ither boys gang on their feet, 
 
 Ye sail ha' prancing steid." 
 
 " O, no ! O, no ! my master deir, 
 
 I dar na for my life ; 
 I '11 no gae to the bauld barons. 
 
 For to triest furth his wife." 
 
 "My bird Willie, my boy Willie, 
 
 My deir Willie ! " he said, 
 " How can ye strive against the streim? 
 
 For I sail be obeyd." 
 
 "Bot O my master deir," he cryd, 
 " In grene wode ye 're j-our lane ; 
 
 Gi' owr sic thochts I wold ye red, 
 For feir ye sold be tane." 
 
 "Haste ! haste ! I say, gae to the ha', 
 Bid her come here wi' speid : 
 
 If ye refuse my hie command, 
 I '11 gar your body bleid. 
 
 " Gae bid her tak this gay mantel, 
 
 'T is a' gowd but the hem ; 
 Bid her come to the gfude grene wode, 
 
 Ein by hersel alane ; 
 
 " And there it is, a silken sarke. 
 Her ain hand sewd the sleeve ; 
 
 And bid her come to Gil Morrice, 
 Speir nae bauld barons leive." 
 
(5il /IRorrice 
 
 85 
 
 " Yes ! I will gae your black errand, 
 
 Thoch it be to your cost : 
 Sen ye by me will nae be wamd, 
 
 In it ye sail find frost. 
 
 " The baron he is a man o' micht, 
 
 He neir cold bide to taunt ; 
 And ye will see, before its nicht, 
 
 Sma' cause ye ha' to vaunt. 
 
 " And sen I maun your errand rin, 
 
 Sae sair against my will, 
 I 'se mak a vow, and keep it trow, 
 
 It sail be done for ill ! " 
 
 When he cam to the broken brig, 
 He bent his bow and swam ; 
 
 And when he cam to grass growing, 
 Set down his feet and ran. 
 
 And when he cam to Barnards yeat, 
 
 Wold neither chap nor ca', 
 Bot set his bent bow to his breist, 
 
 And lichtly lap the wa'. 
 
 He wold na tell the man his errand, 
 
 Thoch he stude at the yeat ; 
 Bot streight into the ha' he cam, 
 
 Whar they were set at meat. 
 
 " Hail ! hail ! my gentle sire and dame I 
 
 My message winna wait, — 
 Dame, ye maun to the grene wode gae. 
 
 Afore that it be late. 
 
 "Ye 're bidden tak this gay mantel, 
 
 'T is a' gowd bot the hem ; 
 Ye maun haste to the gude grene wode 
 
 Ein by yoursell alane. 
 
86 
 
 (3il Aocrice 
 
 " And there it is, a silken saxk, 
 
 Your ain hand sewd the sleive : 
 Ye maun gae speik to Gil Morrice, 
 
 Speir nae bauld barons leive." 
 The lady stamped wi' her foot, 
 
 And winked wi' her eie ; 
 Bot a' that shee cold say or do, 
 
 Forbidden he wold nae be. 
 " It 's surely to my bower- woman, 
 
 It neir cold be to me." — 
 " I brocht it to I^ord Barnards lady, 
 
 I trow that ye be shee. " 
 Then up and spak the vrylie nurse 
 
 (The bairn upon her knee), 
 " If it be come from GU Morrice, 
 
 It 's deir welcum to me." 
 " Ye lie, ye lie, ye filthy nurse, 
 
 Sae loud I heir ye lie ; 
 I brocht it to lyord Barnards lady, 
 
 I trow ye be nae shee." 
 Then up and spake the bauld baron, 
 
 An angry man was he : 
 He has tane the table wi' his foot, 
 
 Sae has he wi' his knee, 
 Till siller cup and mazer dish 
 
 In flinders he gard flie. 
 " Gae bring a robe of 5'our cleiding, 
 
 Wi a' the haste ye can ; 
 And I '11 gae to the gude grene wode. 
 
 And speik wi your lemman." 
 
 " O bide at hame now, Ix)rd Barnard ! 
 
 I warde ye bide at hame ; 
 Neir wyte a man for violence, 
 
 Wha neir w>'te ye wi' nane ! " 
 
<5fl /IBorrfce 
 
 87 
 
 Gil Morrice sat in the grene wode 
 
 He whistled and he sang : 
 " O, what meins a' the folk coming? 
 
 My mother tarries long." * 
 
 The baron to the grene wode cam, 
 
 Wi' meikle dule and care ; 
 And there he first spyed Gil Morrice 
 
 Kaming his yellow hair. 
 
 " Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gil Morrice, 
 
 My lady loes thee weil ; 
 The fairest part of my body 
 
 Is blacker than thy heil. 
 
 " Yet neir the less now, Gil Morrice, 
 
 For a' thy great bewtie. 
 Ye '11 rew the day ye eir was bom ; 
 
 That heid shall gae wi' me ! " 
 
 * The following are the stanzas alluded to in the 
 Introductory Remarks. They are, obviously, emen- 
 dations by " a modern hand " : 
 
 His hair was like the threeds of gold, 
 
 Drawn frae Minervas loome : 
 His lippes like roses drapping dew; 
 
 His breath was a' perfume. 
 
 His brow was like the mountain snae 
 
 Gilt by the morning beam : 
 His cheeks like living roses glow: 
 
 His een like azure stream. 
 
 The boy was clad in robes of grene, 
 
 Sweete as the infant spring : 
 And like the mavis on the bush, 
 
 He gart the vallies ring. 
 
 The following verse occurs after the line " Kaming 
 his yellow hair " : 
 
 That sweetly wavd around his face. 
 
 That face beyond compare : 
 He sang sae sweet it might dispel 
 
 A' rage but fell despair. 
 
88 
 
 0fl flborrfce 
 
 
 Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 
 And slaided owr the strae ; 
 
 And throuch Gil Morrice fair body 
 He gard the cauld iron gae. 
 
 And he has tane Gil Morrice heid, 
 
 And set it on a speir ; 
 The meinest man in a' his train, 
 
 Has gotten that heid to beir. 
 
 And he has taen Gil Morrice up, 
 I^d him across his steid ; 
 
 The meinest man in a' his train, 
 Has gotten that steid to lede. 
 
 The lady on the castle wa' 
 Beheld baith dale and down ; 
 
 And there she saw Gil Morrice heid 
 Cum trailing to the toun. 
 
 " Better I loe that bluidy heid, 
 
 Bot and that yellow hair, 
 Than I^rd Barnard and a' his lands, 
 
 As they lie here and there." 
 
 And she has taen her Gil Morrice, 
 
 And kissed baith cheik and chin ; 
 • I was ance as fou o' Gil Morrice, 
 As the hip is o' the stane. 
 
 " I bore ye in my fathers house, 
 Wi' meikle sin and shame ; 
 
 I brocht ye up in the grene wode, 
 Under the heavy rain. 
 
 " Oft have I by thy craddle sitten, 
 And fondly seen thee sleip ; 
 
 But now I maun gae 'bout thy grave 
 A mothers teirs to weep ! " 
 
(3n /IRordce 
 
 89 
 
 Again she kissd his bluidy cheik, 
 
 Ag^ain his bluidy chin ; 
 " O better I loed my son Morrice, 
 
 Than a' my kyth and kin ! " 
 
 " Awa, awa, ye ill woman, 
 
 An ill dethe may ye die ! 
 Gin I had kend he was your son, 
 
 He had neir been slayne by me ! " 
 
 " Obraid me not, my lord Barnard, 
 
 Obraid me not for shame ! 
 Wi' that same speir, O perce my heart, 
 
 And save me frae my pain ! 
 
 " Since naething but Gil Morrice head 
 
 Thy jealous rage cold quell, 
 I,et that same hand now tak her lyfe, 
 
 That neir to thee did ill. 
 
 " To me nae after days nor nichts 
 
 Will eir be saft or kind ; 
 I '11 fill the air wi' heavy sichs, 
 
 And greit till I be blind." 
 
 " EJneuch of bluid by me 's been spilt, 
 Seek not your dethe frae me ; 
 
 I 'd rather far it had been mysel, 
 Than either him or thee. 
 
 " Wi' hopeless wae I hear your plaint, 
 
 Sair, sair, I rue the deed — 
 That eir this cursed hand of mine 
 
 Sold gar his body bleid ! 
 
 " Dry up your teirs, my winsome dame, 
 They neir can heal the wound ; 
 
 Ye see his heid upon the spier. 
 His hearts bluid on the ground. 
 
go 
 
 (5il flborrfce 
 
 J 
 
 " I curse the hand that did the deid, 
 The heart that thocht the ill, 
 
 The feet that bare me wi' sic speid, 
 The comlie youth to kill. 
 
 " I '11 aye lament for Gil Morrice, 
 
 As gin he was my ain ; 
 I '11 neir forget the dreiry day 
 
 On which the youth was slain." 
 
 
Sir Bl&ingar 
 
 91 
 
 SIR AIvDINGAR.* 
 
 Our king hee kept a false stew^rde, 
 
 Sir Aldingar they him call : 
 A falser stewarde than hee was one, 
 
 Servde not in bower nor hall. 
 
 Hee wolde have layne by our comelye queene, 
 Her d-eere worshippe to betraye : 
 
 Our queene shee was a good woni3,n, 
 And evermore said him naye. 
 
 Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind, 
 "With her hee was never content, 
 
 Till traiterous meanes hee colde devyse, 
 In a fyer to have her brent. 
 
 • See Appendix. 
 
92 
 
 Sir aiOfngar 
 
 ill f^i 
 
 J 
 
 There came a lazar to the Kings gate, 
 
 A lazar both blinde and lame : 
 Hee tooke the lazar upon his backe, 
 
 Him on the Queenes bedd has layne. 
 
 " I^ye still, lazar, wheras thou lyest, 
 I<ook thou goe not hence away ; 
 
 He make thee a whole man and a sound 
 In two howers of the day." 
 
 Then went him forth Sir Aldingar, 
 
 And hyed him to our king : — 
 " If I might have grace, as I have space, 
 
 Sad tydings I could bring." 
 
 " Say on, say on. Sir Aldingar, 
 
 Say on the soothe to mee." 
 " Our queene hath chosen a newe, newelove, 
 
 And shee will have none of thee ! 
 
 " If shee had chosen a right good knight. 
 The lesse had beene her shame ; 
 
 But shee hath chose her a lazar man, 
 A lazar both blinde and lame." 
 
 " If this bee true, thou Aldingar, 
 
 The tyding thou tellest to mee. 
 Then will I make thee a rich rich knight,! 
 
 Rich both of golde and fee. 
 
 "But if it be false. Sir Aldingar, 
 
 As God no we grant it bee ! 
 Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood, 
 
 Shall hang on the gallowes tree." 
 
 Hee brought our king to the Queenes cham- 
 And opend to him the dore. [h&r, 
 
 " A lordly e love," King Harry says, 
 " For our queene dame Elinore ! 
 
sir Bl&tngar 
 
 ■■■-^ X V xjx\oxa. X 
 
 ^ALIFOR^ 
 
 " If thou were a man, as thou art none, 
 Heere on my sword thou 'st dye ; 
 
 But a payre of new gallowes shall bee built, 
 And there shalt thou hang on hye." 
 
 Forthe then hyed our king, I wysse, 
 
 And an angry man was hee ; 
 And soon hee found Queene Elinore, 
 
 That bride so bright of blee. 
 
 " Nowe God you save, our queene, madame, 
 
 And Christ you save and see ! 
 Heere you have chosen a newe newe love, 
 
 And you will have none of mee ! 
 
 " If you had chosen a right good knight, 
 The lesse had been your shame ; 
 
 But you have chose you a lazar man, 
 A lazar both blinde and lame ; 
 
 " Therfore a fyer there shall bee built. 
 
 And brent all shalt thou bee ! " 
 Nowe out alacke ! " sayd our com elye queene, 
 
 " Sir Aldingar 's false to mee." 
 
 "Nowe out alacke !" sayd our comelye queene, 
 " My hart with g^efe will brast : 
 
 I had thought swevens had never been true ; 
 I have proved them true at last. 
 
 " I dreamt in my sweven on Thursday eve. 
 
 In my bed wheras I laye. 
 I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast 
 
 Had carry ed my crown e awaye : 
 
 " My gorgett and my kirtle of golde, 
 
 And all my faire head geere ; 
 And hee wolde worrye me with his tush 
 
 And to his nest y-beare. 
 
94 
 
 Sir BIDingar 
 
 " Saving there came a little gray hawke, 
 
 A merlin him they call, 
 Which untill the grounde did strike the grype, 
 
 That dead hee downe did fall. 
 
 " Giffe I were a man, as nowe I am none, 
 
 A battell wolde I prove. 
 To fight with that traitor Aldingar ; 
 
 Att him I cast my glove. 
 
 " Bot seeing Ime able noe battell to make, 
 
 ^ly liege, grant mee a knight 
 To fighte with that traitor Sir Aldingar, 
 
 To maintaine mee in my righte." 
 
 " Nowe forty dayes I will give thee. 
 To seeke thee a knight therin : 
 
 If thou finde not a knight in forty dayes 
 Thy bodye it must brenn." 
 
 Then shee sent east, and shee sent west, 
 
 By north and south bedeene ; 
 Bot never a champion colde shee finde, 
 
 Wolde fighte with that knight soe keene. 
 
 Nowe twenty dayes were spent and gone, 
 Noe helpe there might bee had : 
 
 Many a teare shed our comelye queene 
 And aye her hart was sad. 
 
 Then came one of the Queenes dams&Ues, 
 
 And knelt upon her knee ; — 
 " Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, 
 
 I trust yet helpe may bee : 
 
 " And heere I will make mine avowe, 
 And with the same mee binde ; 
 
 That never will I return to thee, 
 Till I some helpe may finde ! " 
 
Sir ^Ibingar 
 
 ^5 
 
 Then forthe she rode on a faire palfriye 
 
 O'er hill and dale about ; 
 Bot never a champion colde shee finde, 
 
 Wolde fighte with that knight so stout. 
 
 And nowe the daye drewe on apace, 
 When our good queene must dye : 
 
 All woe-begone was that faire dams^lle, 
 When she found no helpe was nye. 
 
 All woe-begone was that faire dams^lle, 
 And the salt teares fell from her eye ; 
 
 When lo ! as shee rode by a rivers side, 
 She mette with a tinye boye. 
 
 A tinye boye shee mette, God wot, 
 
 All clad in mantle of golde : 
 Hee seemed noe more in mans liken^sse. 
 
 Then a childe of four yeere old. 
 
 " Why grieve you, damselle faire," he sayd, 
 "And what doth cause you moane ? ' ' 
 
 The damselle scant wolde deigne a looke, 
 Bot fast shee pricked on. 
 
 "Yet turn againe, thou faire damselle. 
 And greete thy queene from mee : 
 
 When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest, 
 Nowe helpe enoughe may bee. 
 
 "Bid her remember what shee dreamt 
 
 In her bcdd, wheras shee lay ; 
 How when the grype and the grimlie beast 
 
 Wolde have carryed her crowne awaye. 
 
 " Even then there came a little gray hawke. 
 And saved her from his clawes ; 
 
 Then bidd the Queene be merry at hart, 
 For heaven will fende her cause." 
 
96 
 
 Sir Bl&ingar 
 
 Back then rode that faire dams^e. 
 
 And her hart it lept for glee ; 
 And when shee told her gracious dame 
 
 A gladd woman then was shee. 
 
 Bot when the appointed daye was come, 
 
 No helpe appeared nye ; 
 Then woeful, woeful was her hart, 
 
 And the teares stood in her eye. 
 
 And no we a fyer was built of wood ; 
 
 And a stake was made of tree ; 
 And nowe Queene Elinore forth e was led, 
 
 A sorrowful sight to see. 
 
 Three times the herault he waved his hand, 
 
 And three times spake on hj- e : 
 " Giffe any good knight will fende this dame. 
 
 Come forthe, or shee must dye." 
 
 No knight stood forthe, no knight there came, 
 
 No helpe appeared nj^e : 
 And nowe the fyer was lighted up, 
 
 Queene Elinore shee must dye. 
 
 And nowe the fyer was lighted up, 
 
 As hot as hot might be ; 
 When riding upon a little white steed. 
 
 The tinye boy they see. 
 
 " Away with that stake ! away with those 
 And loose our comelye queene : [brands ! 
 
 I am come to fighte with Sir Aldingar, 
 And prove him a traitor keene ! " 
 
 Forthe then stoode Sir Aldingar, 
 Bot when hee saw the chylde, [backe, 
 
 Hee laughed, and scoffed, and turned his 
 And weened hee had been beguylde. 
 
Sfr BlDlngar 
 
 97 
 
 " Nowe tume, nowe turn thee, Aldingar, 
 
 And eyther fighte or flee : 
 I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, 
 
 Though I am so small to see." 
 
 The boye puUd forthe a well good sworde 
 
 So gilt it dazzled the ee :— 
 The first stroke stricken at Aldingar 
 
 Smote off his leggs by the knee. 
 
 " Stand up ! stand up ! thou false trait6r, 
 
 And fighte upon thy feete, 
 For and thou thrive, as thou beginst, 
 
 Of height wee shall be meete ! " 
 
 " A priest I a priest ! " sayes Aldingar, 
 
 " While I am a man alive,— ^ 
 A priest, a priest," sayes Aldingar, 
 
 " Me for to houzle and shrive ! 
 
 " I wolde have layne by our comelye queene, 
 
 Bot shee wolde never consent ; 
 Then I thought to betraye her unto our king. 
 
 In a fyer to have her brent. 
 
 " There came a lazar to the Kings gates, 
 
 A lazar both blinde and lame ; 
 I tooke the lazar upon my backe, 
 
 And on her bedd had him layne. 
 
 ' ' Then ranne I to our comelye king, 
 
 These tidings sore to tell. 
 Bot ever alacke ! ' ' sayes Aldingar, 
 
 " Falsing never doth well :— 
 
 "Forgive ! forgive mee, Queene, madame, 
 
 The short time I must live ! " 
 " Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar, 
 
 As freely I forgive ! ' ' 
 
98 
 
 Sir BlDingar 
 
 " Here take thy queene, our King Harrye, 
 
 And love her as thy life, 
 For never had a king in Christentye, 
 A truer and fairer wife. ' ' 
 
 King Henrye ran to clasp his queene, 
 
 And loosed her full sone ; 
 Then tumd to look for the tinye boye ; 
 
 — The boye was vanisht and gone ! 
 
 But first hee had touchd the lazar man, 
 And stroakt him with his hand : 
 
 The lazar under the gallowes tree 
 All whole and sounde did stand. 
 
 The lazar under the gaUowes tree 
 "Was comelye, straight and tall ; 
 
 King Henrye made him his head stew^de 
 To wayte within his hall. 
 
 *-^ 
 
Sir Xancelot M Xaftc 
 
 99 
 
 SIR I AN'CrLOT DU LAKE.* 
 
 When Arthur first in court began, 
 
 And was approved king, 
 By force of armes great victorys won. 
 
 And conquest home did bring. 
 
 Then into Britain straight hee came. 
 
 Where fifty good and able 
 Knights, then repaired unto him, 
 
 Which were of the Round Table: 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
loo 
 
 Sic Xancelot &u Xaftc 
 
 And many justs and tumaments, 
 
 Before him there were prest, 
 AVherein these knights did then excell 
 
 And far surmount the rest ; 
 
 But one Sir I^ncelot du I,ake, 
 
 Who was approved well, 
 Hee, in his fights and deeds of armes, 
 
 All others did excell. 
 
 When hee had rested him a while, 
 
 To play, and game, and sport ; 
 Hee thought hee wold approve himselfe 
 
 In some adventurous sort. 
 
 Hee arm&d rode in forrest wide, 
 
 And met a damsell faire, 
 Who told him of adventures great, 
 
 Wherto he gave good eare. 
 
 " Such wold I find," quoth l^ancelot : 
 " For that cause came I hither." 
 
 "Thou seemst," quoth shee, " a knight full 
 And I will bring thee thither, [good, 
 
 "Whereas a mighty knight doth dwell, 
 
 That now is of great fame ; 
 Therfore tell me what knight thou art, 
 
 And what may bee thy name." 
 
 " My name is I,ancelot du Lake." 
 Quoth shee, "it likes me, then ; 
 
 Here dwelles a knight who never was 
 O'er-matcht of any man : 
 
 " Who hath in prison threescore knights 
 And four, that hee hath b«und ; 
 
 Knights of King Arthurs court they bee. 
 And of the Table Round." 
 
Sir ^Lancelot &u Xaftc 
 
 Shee brought him to a river then, 
 
 And also to a tree 
 Whereon a copper bason hung, 
 
 His fellows shields to see. 
 
 , Hee struck soe hard, the bason broke :— 
 
 When Tarquine heard the sound, 
 j Hee drove a horse before him straight, 
 f' Whereon a knight was bound. 
 
 ' ' ' Sir knight, "then sayd Sir Lancelot, 
 " Bring me that horse-load hither. 
 And lay him downe, and let him rest ; 
 We '11 try our force together ; 
 
 " For, as I understand, thou hast, 
 ■f^^ As far as thou art able, 
 ^ Uone great despite and shame unto 
 The knights of the Round Table." 
 
 " If thou art of the Table Round." 
 
 Quoth Tarquine speedily e, 
 "Both thee and all thy fellowship 
 
 I utterly defye." 
 
 "That 's over much," quoth Lancelot tho, 
 
 " Defend thee by and by ! " 
 They sett their spurs unto their steeds. 
 
 And each at other flie. 
 
 They coucht their speares (their horses ran. 
 As though there had been thunder), 
 
 And each struck then upon their shields. 
 Wherewith they brake asunder. 
 
 Their horses backes brake under them ; 
 
 The knights they were astound : 
 To avoyd their horses they made haste 
 
 To fight upon the ground. 
 
sir Xancelot Cu lafte 
 
 
 :f^ 
 
 They tooke them to their shields full fast, 
 Their swords they drew out then ; 
 
 Wj-th mighty strokes most eagerlye 
 One at the other ran. 
 
 Thej'^ wounded were, and bled full sore, 
 For breath they both did stand ; 
 
 And leaning on their swords awhile, 
 Quoth Tarquine, " Hold thy hand, 
 
 " And tell to me what I shall aske."— 
 " Say on," — quoth I,ancelot tho : 
 
 "Thou art," quoth Tarquine, "the best 
 That ever I did know ; [knight 
 
 " And like a knight that I did hate : 
 
 Soe that thou bee not hee, 
 I will deliver all the rest. 
 
 And eke accord wyth thee." 
 
 "That is well said," quoth I^ancelot ; 
 
 " But sith it soe must bee. 
 What knight is that thou hatest so ? 
 
 I pray thee show to me." 
 
 " His name 's Sir I,ancelot du I^ake, 
 
 Hee slew my brother deere ; 
 Him I suspect of all the rest : 
 
 I wold I had him here." 
 
 " Thy wish thou hast, but now unknowne ; 
 
 I am Irancelot du Lake, 
 Now of King Arthurs Table Round ; 
 
 King Hands son of Benwake ; 
 
 " And I defye thee ;— do thy worst." 
 " Ha, ha ! " quoth Tarquine tho, 
 
 " One of us two shall end our lives 
 Before that we do go. 
 
Sir Lancelot Du Xafte 
 
 103 
 
 •q*,,.^^,^ -V .-— ?»-N V 
 
 "If thou bee lyancelot du I,ake, 
 
 Then welcome shalt thou bee : 
 Wherfore see thou thyself defend, 
 
 For now defye I thee." 
 
 They buckled then together so, 
 I,ike unto wild boares rashing ; 
 
 And wyth theire swords and shields they ran 
 At one another slashing : 
 
 The gfround besprinkled was wyth blood : 
 
 Tarquine began to faint ; 
 For hee had backt and bore his shield 
 
 So low, hee did repent.* 
 
 * Several of the ancient ballads record similar fights 
 between giants and the knights of King Arthur's Round 
 Table. An " Ancient English Metrical Romance," 
 printed by Ritson, entitled "Sir Ywaine and Sir Ga- 
 win," describes an encounter which led to a like result, 
 — the delivering from prison sundry " fellowes " who, 
 by the gallantry of their brother-in-arms, were "out of 
 bales broght." We copy a few passages ; 
 
 Syr Ywaine rade into the playne. 
 
 And the geant cum hyin ogayne : — 
 
 His levore was ful grete and lang. 
 
 And himself ful mekyl and Strang. 
 
 He said : " What devil made the so balde 
 
 For to cum heder out of thi halde? 
 
 Who-so-ever the heder send 
 
 Lufed the litel, so God me mend ! 
 
 Of the he wald be wroken fayn." 
 
 " Do forth thi best ! " said Sir Ywaine. 
 
 ***** 
 Sir Ywaine left his sper of hand. 
 And strake obout him with his brand ; 
 And the geant, mekil of main, 
 Strake ful fast to him ogayn. 
 
 ***** 
 Sethen with a stroke to him he stert, 
 And smate the geant unto the hert ; 
 Ther was none other tale to tell, 
 Bot fast unto the earth he fell, 
 Als it had bene a hevy tre. 
 Then might men in the kastel se 
 Ful mekd mirth on ilka side, 
 The yates kest thai open wyde. 
 
 f # » » » 
 
I04 
 
 Sir Xancclot &u Xahc 
 
 This soon espyde Sir Lancelot 
 
 Hee leapt upon him then, 
 Hee puUd him downe upon his knee. 
 
 And, rushing off his helm, 
 
 Forthwith hee strucke his necke in two ; 
 
 And, when hee had soe done, 
 From prison threescore knights and four 
 
 Delivered everje one. 
 
fiing Brtbur's 2)eatb 
 
 105 
 
 KING ARTHUR S DEATH.* 
 On Trinity MoncHy in the morn, 
 
 Th s S( I e 1 att i> le ^'. is doomed to be. 
 Where miny a 1 night cr>ed ' Well-away I 
 
 A'ack, It was the more pitie ' 
 Ere the first crowing of the cock. 
 
 When IS the king in his bed lay, 
 He thought Sir Giwaine to him came, 
 
 And there to hiin these wordes did say : 
 
 i* See Appendix, 
 
io6 
 
 •ftinQ Brtbur's 2>eatb 
 
 " Now, as you are mine unkle dear, 
 And as you prize your life, this day, 
 
 O meet not with your foe in fight ; 
 Put off the battayle, if ye may ; 
 
 " For Sir I^auncelot is now in Fraunce, 
 And with him many an hardy knight, 
 
 "Wlio will within this moneth be back, 
 And will assist ye in the fight." 
 
 The king then called his nobles all, 
 Before the breaking of the day : 
 
 And told them how Sir Gawaine came, 
 And there to him these wordes did say. 
 
 His nobles all this counsayle gave. 
 
 That earlye in the morning, he 
 Shold send away an herauld at armes. 
 
 To ask a parley fair and free. 
 
 [chose, 
 Then twelve good knightes King Arthur 
 
 The best of all that with him were. 
 To parley with the foe in field. 
 
 And make with him agreement fair. 
 
 The king he charged all his host. 
 
 In readiness there for to be ; 
 But no man shold no weapon sturre. 
 
 Unless a sword drawn they shold see. 
 
 And Mordred on the other part. 
 Twelve of his knights did likewise bring ; 
 
 The best of all his company, 
 To hold the parley with the king. 
 
 Sir Mordred also charged his host, 
 
 In readiness there for to be ; 
 But no man shold no weapon sturre. 
 
 But if a sword drawn they shold see. 
 
fkinQ Brtbur'0 Deatb 
 
 107 
 
 For he durst not his unkle trust, 
 Nor he his nephew, sothe to tell : 
 
 Alack ! it was a woefull case. 
 As ere in Christentye befell ! 
 
 But when they were together met. 
 And both to fair accordance brought, 
 
 And a months league between them set 
 Before the battayle shold be fought. 
 
 An adder crept forth of a bush, [knee ; 
 
 Stung one o' th' king's knights on the 
 Alack ! it was a woefull chance, 
 
 As ever was in Christentye ! 
 
 When the knight found him wounded sore, 
 And saw the wild-worm hanging there ; 
 
 His sword he from his scabberd drew : 
 A piteous case, as ye shall hear. 
 
 For when the two hostes saw the sword, 
 They joyned battayle instanlye ; 
 
 Till of so many noble knights. 
 On cne side there were left but three ! 
 
 For all were slain that durst abide, 
 And but some few that fled away : 
 
 Ay me ! it was a bloody field 
 As ere was fought on summers day ! 
 
 Upon King Arthurs own partye, 
 
 Only himself escaped there. 
 And Ivukyn Duke of Gloster free. 
 
 And the kings butler Bedevere. 
 
 And when the king beheld his knights, 
 All dead and scattered on the mold, 
 
 The teares fast trickled down his face ; 
 That manly face in fight so bold ! 
 
io8 
 
 Iking artbu^s Deatb 
 
 " Now rest ye all, brave knights," he said, 
 " So true and faithful to your trust : 
 
 And must ye then, ye valiant hearts, 
 Be left to moulder into dust ! 
 
 " Most loyal have ye been to me, 
 Most true and faithful unto death : 
 
 And, oh ! to raj-se ye up again. 
 How freely could I yield my breath ! 
 
 " But see, the traitor 's yet alive, 
 1/3 where he stalks among the dead ! 
 
 Now bitterlye he shall abye ; 
 And vengeance fall upon his head." 
 
 " O stay, my liege," then sayd the duke ; 
 
 " O stay for love and charitie ; 
 Remember what the vision spake. 
 
 Nor meet your foe, if it may be." 
 
 '' O stay me not, thou worthy wight, 
 This debt my loyal knights I owe : 
 
 Betide me life, betide me death, 
 I will avenge them of their foe." 
 
 Then strait he grasped his trusty spear, 
 And on his horse then mounted he : 
 
 As his butler holpe him to his horse, 
 His bowels gnshed to his knee. 
 
 " Alas !" then sayd the noble king, 
 " That I should live this sight to see ! 
 
 To see this good knight here be slain, 
 All for his love in helping me ! " 
 
 He put his spear into his rest. 
 And to Sir :Mordred loud gan cry : 
 
 " Now set thyself upon thy gnard, 
 For, traitor, now thy death is nye." 
 
Iftfng Brtbur'0 Dcatb 
 
 109 
 
 Sir Mordred lifted up his sword, 
 And fierce to meet the king ran he ; 
 
 The king his spear he through him thrust 
 A fathom thorow his bodie. 
 
 When Mordred felt the stroke of death, 
 And found that he was wounded so, 
 
 He thrust himself upon the spear, 
 And struck the king a deadly blow. 
 
 Then grimly dyed Sir Mordred, 
 
 Presently upon that tree ; 
 And bloody streams ran from the king, 
 
 Kre to the duke returned he.* 
 
 Sir I^ukyn then he thus bespake, 
 ' ' Sir knight thou hast been faithfull tryde. 
 
 Now take my sword Excalibar, 
 That hangs so freely by my syde : 
 
 " O take my sword Excalibar, 
 And there into the river throw ; 
 
 For here, henceforth, benethe this tree. 
 All use of weapons I forego. 
 
 * Percy has printed also a ballad, entitled "The 
 Legend of King Arthur," from his " ancient folio manu- 
 script," in which the king relates his own history, de- 
 scribes the battle in which he fell, and mourns over his 
 late. Reference is thus made to the contest with Sir 
 Mordred : 
 
 And still I him pursued with speed 
 
 Till at the last wee mett : 
 Whereby an appointed day of fight 
 
 Was there agreed and sett. 
 
 Where we did fight, of mortal life 
 
 Eche other to deprive. 
 Till of a hundred thousand men 
 
 Scarce one was left alive. 
 
 There all the noble chivalrye 
 Of Brittaine tooke their end. 
 
 O see how fickle is their state 
 That doe on feates depend I 
 
 \^f<A /Ty* 
 
110 
 
 tiirxQ Brtbur^ Dcatb 
 
 " And fare thee well, thou trusty sword, 
 A better neer had valiant knight. 
 
 With thee full oft, and many a day. 
 Have I withstood my foe in fight. 
 
 "With this good fauchion in my hand, 
 Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde ; 
 
 Bnt now the fatalle hour is come, 
 That never more I may thee weelde." 
 
 The dtike to the river side he went, 
 And there his own sword in threw he ; 
 
 But he kept back Excalibar, 
 He kept it back in privitie. 
 
 For all of coleyne was the blade, 
 And all the hilt of precious stone . 
 And ever alack ! " then sayd the knight, 
 "Must such a sword away be thrown? " 
 
 Then back he came unto the king. 
 
 Who sayd, ' ' Sir lyUkj-n, what did ye see ? ' 
 
 " Nothing, my liege, save that the wind 
 Blew o'er the waters fair and free." 
 
 O go again," then said the king, 
 " O good Sir I,ukj-n, go again ; 
 Into the river throw my sword. 
 Nor keep me lingering here in pain." 
 
 The duke then to the river went, 
 And the kings scabberd in threw he ; 
 at he kept back Excalibar, 
 And hid it undemeth a tree. 
 
 Then back he came to tell the king. 
 Who sayd, ' ' Sir Lukjm, saw ye ought ? ' ' — 
 
 '' Nothing, my liege, save that the wind 
 Now with the angrj' waters fought." 
 
Iking Brtbur'0 2)eatb 
 
 
 
 " O I^ukyn, lyukyn ! " said the king, 
 " Twice hast thou dealt deceitfully : 
 
 Alack, whom may we ever trust. 
 When such a knight so false can be ? 
 
 " Say, wouldst thou have thy master dead, 
 All for a sword that wins thine eye ? 
 
 Now go again, and throw it in, 
 Or here the one of us shall dye." 
 
 The duke, all shent with this rebuke. 
 No aunswer made unto the king ; 
 
 But to the river took the sword, 
 And threw it far as he could fling. 
 
 A hand and arm did meet the sword. 
 And flourished three times in the air ; 
 
 Then sunk benethe the renning streme, 
 And of the duke was seen no mair.* 
 
 as given by 
 "Specimens of Early English Metrical 
 
 * In the romance of " Morte D'Arthi 
 Mr. Ellis- 
 
 Romances,'" — this incident is thus recorded : The knight 
 having at length thrown into the water the good sword 
 Excalibar,— 
 
 There came an hand, withouten rest, 
 Out of the water, and fair it hent, 
 
 And brandished as it should brast. 
 And sithe, as gleam away it went. 
 
 To the king again went he there. 
 And said, " lief, sir, I saw a hand ; 
 
 Out of the water it came all bare. 
 And thrice brandished that rich brand." 
 
 " Help me ! soon were I thore ! " 
 He led his lord unto the strand ; 
 
 A rich ship with masts and oar. 
 Full of ladies there they fand. 
 
 The ladies that were fair and free. 
 Courteously the king gan they fong ; 
 
 And one that brightest was of blee, 
 Weeped sore and handes wrung. 
 
 •' Brother," she said, " woe is me, 
 From leeching hast thou been too long; 
 
 I wot that greatly grieveth me. 
 For thy paiuis are full strong." 
 
"Ring Brtbur's Deatb 
 
 f"~ *' 
 
 ^- 
 
 All sore astonied stood the duke ; 
 
 He stood as still as still mote be ; 
 
 Then hastend back to tell the king, 
 
 ;iii f But he was gone from under the tfee. 
 
 But to what place he cold not tell, 
 For ne\er after he did him spy ; 
 
 Hut he saw a barge go from the land, 
 And he heard ladyes howl and cr5\ 
 
 Vnd whether the king were there, or not, 
 He never knew, nor ever cold ; 
 
 But from that sad and direfull day. 
 He never more was scene on mold. 
 
 ---11. -^-S: 
 
Xlbc Ibcivc of %innc 
 
 113 
 
 THE HEIRE OF LINNE.* 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 Lithe and listen, gentlemen, 
 
 To sing a song I will beginne; 
 It is of a lord of faire Scotland, [Linne. 
 
 Which was the unthrifty heire of 
 His father was a right good lord, 
 
 His mother a lady of high degree: 
 But they, alas 1 were dead, him froe. 
 
 And he lovd keeping companie. 
 To spend the daye with merry cheare. 
 
 To drinke and revell every niglit. 
 To card and dice from eve to morne. 
 
 It was, I ween, his hearts delighte. 
 
 • See Appendix. 
 
114 
 
 Zbc fbeixc ot Xinnc 
 
 "^-oi^V 
 
 To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare, 
 To alwaye spend and never spare, 
 
 I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 
 Of golde and fee he mote be bare. 
 
 Soe fares the unthrifty Lord of Linne 
 Till all his golde is gone and spent ; 
 
 And he maun sell his landes so broad. 
 His house, and landes, and all his rent. 
 
 His father had a keen stewarde. 
 And John o' the Scales was called he ; 
 
 But John is become a gentel-man, 
 And John has gott both golde and fee. 
 
 Sayes, "Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne, 
 Let nought disturb thy merry cheare ; 
 
 If thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad, 
 Good store of golde He give thee heere." 
 
 • :My golde is gone, my money is spent ; 
 
 My lande nowe take it unto thee : 
 Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales, 
 
 And thine for aj'e my lande shall be." 
 
 Then John he did him to record draw, 
 And John he cast him a gods-pennie ; 
 
 But for every pounde that John agreed, 
 The lande, I wis, was well worth three. 
 
 Hee told him the golde upon the borde. 
 He was right glad his lande to winne : 
 
 " The golde is thine, the lande is mine, 
 And nowe He be the Lord of Linne." 
 
 Thus he hath sold his lande soe broad. 
 Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne, 
 
 All but a poore and lonesome lodge. 
 That stood far off in a lonely glenne. 
 
XLbc Ibeire of Xinne 
 
 '5 
 
 For soe he to his father hight. 
 
 "My Sonne, when I am gonne," sayd he, 
 " Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad, 
 
 And thou wilt spend thy golde so free ; 
 
 " But sweare me nowe upon the roode, 
 That lonesome lodge thou 'It never spend ; 
 
 For when all the world doth frown on thee. 
 Thou there shalt find a faithful friend." 
 
 The heire of I^inne is full of golde ; 
 
 ' ' And come with me, my friends, ' ' sayd he, 
 " I,et 's drinke, and rant, and merry make. 
 
 And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee." 
 
 They ranted, drank, and merry made, 
 Till all his golde it waxed thinne : 
 
 And then his friendes they slunk away ; 
 They left the unthrifty heire of I,inne. 
 
 He had never a penny left in his purse. 
 
 Never a penny left but three, 
 And one was brass, another was lead, 
 
 And another it was white money. 
 
 " Nowe, well-a-day, ' ' sayd the heire of lyinne, 
 " Nowe well-a-day, and woe is me. 
 
 For when I was the Lord of I,inne, 
 I never wanted golde nor fee. 
 
 " But many a trustye friend have I, 
 And why shold I feel dole or care ? 
 
 lie borrow of them all by tumes, 
 Soe need I not be never bare. 
 
 But one, I wis, was not at home ; 
 
 Another had payd his golde away ; 
 Another calld him thriftless loone, 
 
 And bade him sharpely wend his way. 
 
Ii6 
 
 Zbc fjeirc ot Xinne 
 
 " Nowe well-a-day, ' ' sayd the heire of I/inne, 
 
 " Nowe well-a-day, and w^oe is me ! 
 For when I had my landes soe broad, 
 
 On me they livd right merrilee. 
 ' ' To beg my bread from door to door 
 
 I wis, it were a brenning shame ; 
 To rob and steal it were a sinne ; 
 
 To worke my limbs I cannot frame. 
 ' ' Nowe He away to lonesome lodge. 
 
 For there my father bade me wend ; 
 When all the world shold frown on me, 
 
 I there shold find a trusty friend." 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 Away then hyed the heire of Linne 
 
 O'er hill and holt, and moore and fenne, 
 Untill he came to lonesome lodge 
 
 That stood soe lowe in a lonely glenne. 
 Hee looked up, hee looked downe, 
 
 In hope some comfort for to winne ; 
 But bare and lothly were the walles : 
 
 " It 's sorrj'chear," quo' the heire of Linne 
 
 ' . e little windowe dim and darke 
 
 Was hung with ivj', brere, and yewe ; 
 Xo shimmering sunne heere ever shone ; 
 
 No halesome breeze heere ever blew. 
 No chair, ne table he mote spye, 
 
 No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed ; 
 Nought save a rope with renning noose. 
 
 That dangling hung up o'er his head. 
 And over it, in broad letters. 
 
 These words were written soe plain to see : 
 ' ' Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all. 
 
 And brought thyself to penurie? 
 
Zbc Ibclre ot Xinne 
 
 117 
 
 " All this my boding mind misgave, 
 I therefore left this trustye friend : 
 
 I,et it now sheeld thy foule disgrace, 
 And all thy shame and sorrowes end." 
 
 Sorely shent wi' this rebuke. 
 Sorely shent was the heire of lyinne ; 
 
 His heart, I wis, was near to brast 
 With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinn 1 
 
 Never a word spake the heire of lyinne. 
 Never a word he spake but three : 
 
 " This is a trustye friend indeed, 
 And is right welcome unto me." 
 
 Then round his necke the corde he drewe, 
 And sprang aloft with his bodie ; 
 
 When lo ! the ceiling burst in twaine, 
 And to the ground came tumbling he. 
 
 Astonyed lay the heire of I^inne, 
 Ne knewe if he were live or dead : 
 
 At length he looked, and sawe a bille. 
 And in it a key of golde so redd. 
 
 Hee took the bille, and lookt it on, 
 Strait good comfort found he there : 
 
 It told him of a hole in the wall, 
 In which there stood three chests in-fere. 
 
 Two were full of the beaten golde, 
 The third was full of white money, 
 
 And over them in broad letters 
 These words were written soe plain to see 
 
 " Once more, my Sonne, I sett thee clere ; 
 
 Amend thy life and follies past ; 
 For but thou amend thee of thy life. 
 
 That rope must be thy end at last." 
 
ii8 
 
 Zbc "fccirc of Xinne 
 
 "And let it be," sayd the heire of I,mne, 
 
 " And let it be, but if I amend ; 
 For heere I will make mine avow, 
 This reade shall guide me to the end." 
 
 Away then went with a merry cheare, 
 Away then went the heire of I,inne ; 
 
 I wis he neither ceasd ne blanne 
 Till John o' the Scales house he did winne. 
 
 And when he came to John o' the Scales, 
 Up at the speere then looked he ; 
 
 There sate three lords upon a rowe 
 Were drinking of the wine soe free. 
 
 And John himself sate at the bord-head 
 Because nowe I^rd of I^inne was he. 
 
 "I pray thee," he said, "good John o' the 
 One forty pence for to lend me. ' ' [Scales, 
 
 Away, away, thou thriftless loone ! 
 -Vwaj', away, this may not be ; 
 >r Christs curse on mj^ head," he sayd, 
 " If ever I trust thee one pennie ! " 
 
 lien bespake the heire of lyinne. 
 To John o' the Scales wife then spake he : 
 3Iadame, some almes on me bestow^e, 
 I pray for sweet Saint Charitie." 
 
 •' Away, away, thou thriftless loone ! 
 
 I swear thou gettest no aknes of me ; 
 For if we shold hang any losel heere. 
 
 The first we wold beginne with thee." 
 
 Then bespake a good fellowe 
 
 Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord ; 
 Sayd, " Tume againe, thou heire of I^inne; 
 
 Some time thou wast a well good lord : 
 
Zbc fbcixc of Xinne 
 
 119 
 
 " Some time a good fellowe thou hast been, 
 And sparedst not thy golde and fee ; 
 
 Therefore lie lend thee forty pence, 
 And other forty if need be. 
 
 " And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, 
 To let him sit in thy companie ; 
 
 For well I wott thou hadst his lande. 
 And a good bargaine it was to thee." 
 
 Up then spake him John o' the Scales, 
 All wode he answerd him againe : 
 
 " Nowe Christs curse on my head, ' ' he sayd. 
 But I did lose by that bargaine ! 
 
 " And heere I proffer thee, heire of I^inne, 
 Before these lordes soe faire and free, 
 
 Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape 
 By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee.' 
 
 " I drawe you to record, lords," he sayd. 
 With that he cast him a gods-pennie : 
 " Nowe by my fay ! " saydthe heire of I^inne, 
 . "And heere, good John, is thy money." 
 
 And he pulled forth three bagges of golde. 
 And layd them down upon the bord : 
 
 All woe begone was John o' the Scales, 
 Soe shent he cold say never a word. 
 
 He told him forth the good redd golde, 
 He told it forth wi' mickle dinne. 
 
 " The golde is thine, the lande is mine. 
 And now Ime againe the I,ord of I^inne," 
 
 Sayes, " Have thou heere, thou good fellowe, 
 Forty pence thou didst lend me : 
 
 Nowe I am againe the Ivord of Ivinne, 
 And forty pounds I will give thee. 
 
I20 
 
 Zbc fbcixc ot Xinne 
 
 "He make thee keeper of my forrest, 
 
 Both of the wild deere and the tame ; 
 For but I reward thy bounteous heart, 
 I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame." 
 
 "Nowe well-a-day!" sayth Joan o' the 
 Scales ; 
 
 " Nowe well-a-day ! and woe is my life ! 
 Yesterday I was I<ady of I<inne, 
 
 Nowe Ime but John o' the Scales his wife. " 
 
 "Nowe fare thee well," sayd the heire of 
 lyinne : 
 "Farewell nowe, John o' the Scales," sayd 
 he: 
 " Christs curse light on me, if ever again 
 I bring mj landes in jeopardie ! " 
 
 lili-% 
 
 
Xort) Soulis 
 
 LORD SOULIS ' 
 
 Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitijjc Castle, 
 
 And beside him Old Redcap sly ,— 
 " Now, tell me, thou sprite, who art ineikle of might. 
 
 The death that I must die 
 
 While thou Shalt bear a ch-irnu d life, 
 \.nd hold that life of nit, 
 'lainst lance and arrow, swonl iiid knife, 
 I shall thy warrant he 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
122 
 
 XorD Soulis 
 
 " Nor forged steel, nor hempen band, 
 
 Shall e'er thy limbs confine. 
 Till threefold ropes of sifted sand 
 Around thy body twine. 
 
 " If danger press fast, knock thrice on the 
 With rusty padlocks bound ; [chest. 
 
 Turn away j-our eyes, when the lid shall rise, 
 And listen to the sound." 
 
 lyord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle, 
 And Redcap was not by ; [sage, 
 
 And he called on a page, who was witty and 
 To go to the barmkin high. 
 
 " And look thou east, and look thou west, 
 
 And quickly come tell to me, 
 What troopers haste along the waste, 
 
 And what may their livery be." 
 
 He looked over fell, and he looked o'er flat, 
 
 But nothing, I wist, lie saw. 
 Save a pyot on a turret that sat 
 
 Beside a corby craw. 
 
 The page he looked at the skrieh of day. 
 
 But nothing, I wist, he saw, 
 Till a horseman gray, in the royal array. 
 
 Rode down the Hazel-shaw. 
 
 "Say, why do you cross o'er moor and 
 So loudly cried the page ; [moss? ' ' 
 
 " I tidings bring, from Scotland's King, 
 To Soulis of Hermitage. 
 
 " He bids me tell that bloody warden. 
 
 Oppressor of low and high. 
 If ever again his lieges complain. 
 
 The cruel Soulis shall die." 
 
%ox^ SouUs 
 
 123 
 
 ::',:J|»^ 
 
 By traitorous sleight they seized the knight, 
 
 Before he rode or ran, 
 And through the key-stone of the vault 
 
 They plunged him, both horse and man. 
 ***** 
 O May she came, and May she gaed, 
 
 By Goranberry green ; 
 And May she was the fairest maid 
 
 That ever yet was seen. 
 
 O May she came, and May she gaed, 
 
 By Goranberry tower ; 
 And who was it but cruel I^ord Soulis 
 
 That carried her from her bower? 
 
 He brought her to his castle gray. 
 
 By Hermitage's side ; 
 Says — " Be content, my lovely May, 
 
 For thou Shalt be my bride." 
 With her yellow hair, that glittered fair, 
 
 She dried the trickling tear ; 
 She sighed the name of Branxholm's heir. 
 
 The youth that loved her dear, 
 
 " Now, be content, my bonny May, 
 
 And take it for your hame ; 
 Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day 
 
 You heard Young Branxholm's name. 
 " O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning 
 hour. 
 
 When the lift is like lead sae blue, [night, 
 The smoke shall roll white on the weary 
 
 And the flame shall shine dimly through. " 
 Syne he 's ca'd on him Ringan Red, 
 
 A sturdy kemp was he ; 
 From friend, or foe, in Border feid, 
 
 Who never a foot would flee. 
 
124 
 
 XorD SouUs 
 
 Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led 
 
 Up G cranberry slack ; 
 Ay, many a wight, unmatched in fight, 
 
 "Who never more came back. 
 
 And bloody set the westering sun, 
 
 And bloody rose he up ; 
 But little thought young Branxholm's heir 
 
 Where he that night should sup. 
 
 He shot the roebuck on the lee, 
 
 The dun deer on the law ; 
 The glamour sure was in his ee 
 
 When Ringan nigh did draw. 
 
 O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge, 
 
 He sped till day was set ; 
 And he thought it was his merry-men true. 
 
 When he the spearmen met. 
 
 Far from relief, they seized the chief; 
 
 His men were far away ; [back 
 
 Through Hermitage slack they sent him 
 
 To Soulis' castle gray ; 
 Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower 
 
 Where all his merry-men lay. 
 
 "Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir ! 
 
 Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis, "to me ! 
 Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair. 
 
 My wedding gnest to be ? 
 And lovely May deserves, per fay, 
 
 A bride-man such as thee ! ' ' 
 
 And broad and bloody rose the sun, 
 And on the barmkin shone, [there. 
 
 When the page was aware of Red Ringan 
 Who came riding all alone 
 
Xot^ Qonlie 
 
 125 
 
 To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he 
 As he lighted at the wall, [speeds ; 
 
 Says, "Where did ye stable my stalwart 
 And where do they tarry all ? " [steeds, 
 
 " We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir ; 
 
 We stabled them sure," quoth he— 
 "Before we could cross the quaking moss 
 
 They all were lost but me." 
 
 He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the 
 And he heard a stifled groan ; [chest. 
 
 And at the third knock each rusty lock 
 Did open one by one. 
 
 He turned away his eyes as the lid did rise, 
 And he listened silentlie ; [low, 
 
 A.nd he heard breathed slow, in murmurs 
 "Beware of a coming tree ! " 
 
 '^n muttering sound the rest was drowned. 
 
 No other word heard he ; 
 Jut slow as it rose, the lid did close 
 
 With the rusty padlocks three. 
 * * * * 
 
 ^ Vow rose with Branxholm's ae brothei 
 J The Teviot, high and low ; 
 Bauld "Walter by name, of meikle fame, 
 For none could bend his bow. 
 
 O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped 
 
 The fame of his array. 
 And that Teviotdale would soon assail 
 
 His towers and castle gray. 
 
 With clenchM fist, he knocked on the chest. 
 
 And again he heard a groan ; 
 And he raised his eyes as the lid did rise, 
 
 But»answer heard he none. 
 
126 
 
 %ovt> Soulis 
 
 The charm, was broke, when the spirit spoke, 
 
 And it murmured suUenlie,— 
 " Shut fast the door, and for evermore 
 
 Commit to me the key. 
 
 "Alas ! that ever thou raisedst thine eyes, 
 
 Thine eyes to look on me ! 
 Till seven years are o'er, return no more, 
 
 For here thou must not be ' ' 
 
 Think not but Soulis was wae to yield 
 
 His warlock chamber o'er ; 
 He took the keys frcm the rusty lock, 
 
 That never were ta'en before. 
 
 He threw them o'er his left shoulder, 
 
 With meikle care and pain ; 
 And he bade it keep them fathoms deep. 
 
 Till he returned again. 
 
 And still, when seven years are o'er, 
 
 Is heard the jarring sound ; 
 When slowly opes the charmed door 
 
 Of the chamber under ground. 
 
 And some within the chamber door 
 
 Have cast a curious eye ; 
 But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell. 
 
 The fearful sights they spy. 
 
 ***** 
 
 When Soulis thought on his merrj^-men now, 
 A woful wight was he ; [pine, 
 
 Says, "Vengeance is mine, and I will not re- 
 But Branxholm's heir shall die ! " 
 
 Says, " What would you do, young Branxholm, 
 Gin j-e had me, as 1 have thee ? " — 
 
 ■ ' I would take you to the good greenwood 
 And gar your ain hand wale the tree." 
 
XorD Soulia 
 
 127 
 
 aMlla!is*», 
 
 " Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree, 
 
 For all thy mirth and meik!e pride ; 
 And May shall choose, if my love she refuse, 
 
 A scrog bush thee beside." 
 They carried him to the good greenwood 
 "Where the green pines grew in a row ; 
 And they heard the cry, from the branches 
 Of the hungry carrion crow. [high, 
 
 They carried him on from tree to tree. 
 
 The spiry boughs below ; 
 " Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine 
 
 To feed the hooded crow? " 
 " The fir-tops fall by Rranxholm wall 
 When the night blast stirs the tree, 
 And it shall not be mine to die on the pine 
 
 I loved in infancie." 
 Young Branxholm turned him and oft looked 
 And aye he passed from tree to tree ; [back, 
 I Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake, 
 " O sic a death is no for me ! " 
 And next they passed the aspin gray. 
 
 Its leaves were rustling mournfullie ; [gay ! 
 " Now choose thee, choose thee, Branxholm 
 
 Say, wilt thou never choose the tree ? " — 
 "More dear to me is the aspin gray. 
 
 More dear than any other tree ; [made, 
 
 For, beneath the shade that its branches 
 
 Have pass'd the vows of my love and me." 
 
 Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake, 
 
 Until he did his ain men see. 
 With witches' hazel in each steel cap. 
 
 In scorn of Soulis' gramarye ; 
 Then shoulder-height for glee he lap,— 
 
 " Methinks I spye a coming tree ! " — 
 
[28 
 
 XorD SouUs 
 
 " Ay, many may come, but few return," 
 Quo' Soulis, the lord of gramarye ; 
 
 " No warrior's hand in fair Scotland 
 Shall ever dint a wound on me ! ' ' — 
 
 " Now, bj' my sooth," quo' bold Walter, 
 " If that be true we soon shall see." — 
 
 His bent bow he drew, and his arrow was 
 But never a wound or scar had he. [true, 
 
 ^^^^.i Then up bespake him true Thomas, 
 ■* He was the lord of Ersyltoun ; 
 
 " The wizard "s spell no steel can quell 
 
 Till once your lances bear him down."— 
 They bore him down with lances bright. 
 
 But never a wound or scar had he ; 
 With hempen bands they bound him tight, 
 Both hands and feet, on the Nine-stane lee. 
 
 >'! That wizard accurst, the bands he burst : 
 They mouldered at his magic spell ; 
 >i .\nd neck and heel, in the forged steel, 
 Theyboundhim against thecharms of hell. 
 
 That wizard accurst, the bands he burst : 
 
 No forged steel his charms could bide ; 
 Then up bespake him true Thomas, 
 
 " We '11 bind him yet, whate'er betide." 
 The black spae-book from his breast hetook, 
 
 Impressed with many a warlock spell ; 
 .\nd the book it was wrote by Michael Scott 
 
 WTio held in awe the fiends of hell. 
 
 They buried it deep, where his bones thej- 
 sleep. 
 
 That mortal man might never it see ; 
 But Thomas did save it from the grave 
 
 WTien he returned from Faerie. 
 
%Ott> S0Ulf6 
 
 129 
 
 f"~^ 
 
 The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
 And turned the leaves with curious hand ; 
 
 No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind 
 But threefold ropes of sifted sand. 
 
 They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane 
 burn. 
 
 And shaped the ropes sae curiouslie ; 
 But the ropes would neither twist nor twine 
 
 For Thomas true and his gramarye. 
 
 The black spae-book from his breast he took. 
 And again he turn'd it with his hand ; 
 
 And he bade each lad of Teviot add - 
 The barley chaff" to the sifted sand. 
 
 The barley chaff to the sifted sand 
 They added still by handfuls nine : 
 
 But Redcap sly unseen was by. 
 And the ropes would neither twist nor 
 twine. 
 
 And still beside the Nine-stane bum, 
 ; Ribbed like the sand at mark of sea, 
 3 The ropes that would not twist nor turn, 
 Shaped of the sifted sand you see. 
 
 The black spae-book true Thomas he took. 
 Again its magic leaves he spread ; [spell. 
 
 And he found that to quell the powerful 
 The wizard must be boiled in lead.* 
 
 * " The tradition concerning the death of Lord SouHs," writes Sir Walter Scott," is 
 not without a parallel in the real history of Scotland." Melville, of Glenbure, Sheriff 
 of the Mearns, was detested by the barons of his country. Reiterated complaints of 
 his conduct having been made to James I., the monarch answered, in a moment of 
 unguarded impatience, " Sorrow gin the sheriff were sodden, and supped in broo! " 
 The words were construed literally. The barons prepared a fire and a boiling caul- 
 dron into which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. 
 
ISO 
 
 XotD SouU6 
 
 On a circle of stones they placed the pot, 
 On a circle of stones but barelj' nine ; 
 
 They heated it red and fiery hot, 
 Till the burnished brass did glimmer and 
 shine. 
 
 They roll'd him up in a sheet of lead, 
 "-^^^^ A sheet of lead for a funeral pall; 
 
 -'^^^'^f^^^ They plunged him in the cauldron red. 
 
 And melted him, lead, and bones, and all. 
 
 At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still 
 The men of I,iddesdale can show ; 
 
 And on the spot, where they boil'd the pot. 
 The spreat and the deer-hair ne'er shall 
 grow. 
 
 ^■^~ii^j^r:itesS5i 
 
XorD ^bomas anD ifair Bnnet 
 
 l-?! 
 
 LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNEX.* 
 
 Lord Thomas and fair Annet 
 
 Sate a' daj on a hill ; 
 Uhan night was cum, and sun was sett, 
 
 They had not talkt their fill. 
 
 Lord Thomas said i word in jest, 
 
 rair Annet toolv it ill : 
 "A ' I will ne\ir wed a wife 
 
 Against m> am friends' will." 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
132 
 
 Xor& C:bomas an& ^air Bnnct 
 
 " Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, 
 
 A wife wull neir wed ye." 
 Sae he is hame to tell his taither, 
 
 And knelt upon his knee : 
 
 " O rede, O rede, mither." he says, 
 " A g-ude rede gie to me , 
 
 sail I tak the nut-browne bride, 
 And let faire Annet be ? '" 
 
 " The nut-browne bride has gowd and gear, 
 
 Fair Annet she has gat nane ; 
 And the little beauty fair Annet has, 
 
 O it wull soon be gane ! ' ' 
 
 And he has till his brother gane : 
 
 " Now, brother, rede ye me ; 
 A' sail I marrie the nut-browne bride. 
 
 And let fair Annet be ? " 
 
 " The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother. 
 The nut-browne bride has kye ; 
 
 1 wadhae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, 
 And cast fair Annet bye." 
 
 *' Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billie. 
 
 And her kye into the byre ; 
 And I sail hae nothing to my sell, 
 
 Bot a fat fadge bye the fyre." 
 
 And he has till his sister gane : 
 
 "Now, sister, rede j-e me ; 
 O sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 
 
 And set fair Annet free ? ' ' 
 
 " Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas. 
 
 And let the browne bride alane, 
 Lest j'ou should sigh, and sa3-, Alace ! 
 
 What is this we brought hame ? " 
 
XorD ^bomae anD J^afc Bnnct 133 
 
 " No, I will take my mithers counsel. 
 
 And marrie me owt o' hand ; 
 And I will tak the nut-browne bride : 
 
 Fair Annet may leive the land." 
 
 Up then rose fair Annets father 
 
 Twa hours or it wer day, 
 And he is gane into the bower, 
 
 Wherein fair Annet lay. 
 
 " Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says, 
 " Put on your silken sheene ; 
 
 I,et us gae to St. Maries kirke, 
 And see that rich weddeen." — 
 
 " My maides gae to my dressing-roome, 
 
 And dress to me my hair ; 
 Whair-eir ye laid a plait before. 
 
 See ye lay ten times mair. 
 
 " My maids, gae to my dressing-room. 
 And dress to me my smock ; 
 
 The one half is o' the hoUand fine. 
 The other o' needle-work." 
 
 The horse fair Annet rade upon 
 
 He amblit like the wind, 
 Wi' siller he was shod before, 
 
 Wi' burning gowd behind. 
 
 Four and twantye siller bells 
 
 "Wer a' tyed till his mane, 
 And yae tift o' the norland wind. 
 
 They tinkled ane by ane. 
 
 Four and twantye gay gude knichts 
 
 Rade by fair Annets side, 
 And four and twantye fair ladies, 
 
 As gin she had bin a bride. 
 
134 
 
 Xor& ^bomas anD jpair annet 
 
 And whan she cam to Maries kirk, 
 
 She sat on Maries stean : 
 The cleading that fair Annet hap on 
 
 It skinkled in their een. 
 
 And whan she cam into the kirk, 
 
 She shimmerd like the sun ; 
 The belt that was about her waist. 
 
 Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 
 
 She sat her by the nut-browne bride. 
 And her een they wer sae clear, 
 
 I,ord Thomas he clean forgat the bride 
 When fair Annet she drew near. 
 
 He had a rose into his hand, 
 
 And he gave it kisses three, 
 And reaching by the nut-browne bride, 
 
 Laid it on fair Annets knee. 
 
 Up than spak the nut-browne bride, 
 
 She spak wi' meikle spite : 
 " And whair gat ye that rose-water, 
 
 That does mak ye sae white ? " 
 
 " O I did get the rose-water 
 
 Whair ye wull neir get nane. 
 For I did get that very rose-water 
 
 Into my mithers wame." 
 
 The bride she drew a long bodkin 
 
 Frae out her gay head-gear, 
 And strake fair Annet unto the heart, 
 
 That word she nevir spak mair. 
 
 I^rd Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale, 
 
 And marvelit what mote be : 
 But whan he saw her dear hearts blude, 
 
 A' wode-wroth wexed he. 
 
XorD XTbomas anO jfalr Bnnet 
 
 135 
 
 He drew his dagger that was sae sharp, 
 
 That was sae sharp and meet, 
 And drave it into the nut-browne bride, 
 
 That fell deid at his feit. 
 " Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed, 
 
 " Now stay, my dear !" he cryd, — 
 Then strake the dagger untill his heart. 
 
 And fell deid by her side.* 
 lyord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa ; 
 
 Fair Annet within the quiere ; 
 And o' the tane thair grew a birk. 
 
 The other a bonne briere. 
 
 * In Jamieson's ballad of "Sweet Willie and Fair 
 Annie," the spirit of the lady, who dies of a broken 
 heart, is made to visit the bridal bed of her betrayer: 
 
 When night was come, and day was gone. 
 
 And a' men boun to bed. 
 Sweet Willie and the nut-brownc bride 
 
 In their chamber were laid, 
 
 They werena weel lyen down. 
 
 And scarcely fa'n asleep. 
 Whan up and stands she. Fair Annie, 
 
 Just up at Willie's feet. 
 
 " Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, 
 
 Between ye and the wa' ; 
 And sae will I o' my winding sheet. 
 
 That suits me best ava'. 
 
 " Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride. 
 
 Between ye and the stock ; 
 And sae will I o' my black black kist, 
 
 That has neither key nor lock. 
 
 " Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, 
 
 And o' your bridal bed ; 
 And sae will I o* the cald cald mools. 
 
 That soon will hap my head." 
 
 Sae Willie raise, put on his claes. 
 
 Drew till him his hose and shoon. 
 And he is on to Annie's bower. 
 
 By the lei light o' the moon. 
 
 The lasten bower that he came till, 
 
 O heavy was his care ! 
 The waxen lights were burning bright. 
 
 And Fair Annie streeket there. 
 
136 
 
 XorO ^bomas anD jfair annet 
 
 *S^e Appendix. 
 
jfause 3fooC>raac 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CTNIVERSITY 
 
 faijse; foodrage.* 
 
 King Faster has courted her for her 
 King Wester for her fee, [lands, 
 
 King Honour for her comelye face, 
 And for her fair bodie. 
 
 They had not been four months mar- 
 As I have heard them tell, [ried. 
 
 Until the nobles of the land 
 Against them did rebel. 
 
 And they cast kevils them amang, 
 And kevils them between ; 
 
 And they cast kevils them amang, 
 Wha suld gae kill the king. 
 
 * See Append i 
 
138 
 
 funsc 3fooC»rage 
 
 #^#?V^ 
 
 O some said yea, and some said nay, 
 
 Their words did not agree ; 
 Till up and got him, Pause Foodrage, 
 
 And swore it suld be he. 
 
 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 
 
 And a' men bound to bed, 
 King Honour and his gay ladye 
 
 In a hie chamber were laid. 
 
 Then up and raise him, Pause Poodrage, 
 
 When a' were fast asleep, 
 And slew the porter in his lodge. 
 
 That watch and ward did keep. 
 
 O four and twenty silver keys 
 
 Hung hie upon a pin ; 
 And aye, as ae door he did unlock, 
 
 He has fastened it him behind. 
 
 Then up and raise him. King Honour, 
 Saj-s— " What means a' this din? 
 
 Or what 's the matter. Pause Foodrage, 
 Or wha has loot you in ? " — 
 
 " O ye my errand weel sail learn, 
 
 Before that I depart." — 
 Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp. 
 
 And pierced him to the heart. 
 
 Then up and got the queen hersell. 
 And fell low down on her knee : 
 
 " O spare my life, now, Pause Poodrage ! 
 For I never injured thee. 
 
 " O spare my life, now. Pause Foodrage ! 
 
 Until I lighter be ! 
 And see gin it be lad or lass. 
 
 King Honour has left wi' me," 
 
jfauee jfooDrage 
 
 139 
 
 ^^:^2 
 
 " O gin it be a lass," he says, 
 
 " Weel nursed it sail be ; 
 But gin it be a lad bairn, 
 
 He sail be hangM hie. 
 
 " I winna spare for his tender age 
 
 Nor yet for his hie hie kin ; 
 But soon as e'er he born is. 
 
 He sail mount the gallovrs pin." — 
 
 O four-and-twenty valiant knights 
 Were set the queen to guard ; 
 
 And four stood aye at her bouir door, 
 To keep both watch and ward. 
 
 But when the time drew near an end. 
 
 That she suld lighter be, 
 She cast about to find a wile, 
 
 To set her body free. 
 
 O she has birled these merry young men 
 With the ale but and the wine. 
 
 Until they were a' deadly drunk 
 As any wild-wood swine. 
 
 " O narrow, narrow, is this window, 
 And big, big, am I grown ! " — 
 
 Yet through the might of our I^adye, 
 Out at it she has gone. 
 
 She wandered up, she wandered down, 
 
 She wandered out and in ; 
 And, at last, into the very swine's stythe, 
 
 The queen brought forth a son. 
 
 Then they cast kevils them amang. 
 Which suld gae seek the queen ; 
 
 And the kevil fell upon Wise William, 
 And he sent his wife for him, 
 
140 
 
 jfause jfooDragc 
 
 O when she saw Wise William's wife, 
 The queen fell on her knee : 
 
 " Win up, win up, madam ! ' ' she says : 
 " What needs this courtesie ? "— 
 
 " O out o' this I winna ris 
 
 Till a boon ye grant to me ; 
 To change your lass for this lad bairn, 
 
 King Honour left me wi'. 
 
 And ye maun leam my gay goss-hawk 
 
 Right weel to breast a steed ; 
 And I sail leam your turtle dow 
 
 As weel to write and read. 
 
 "And ye maun leam my gay goss-hawk 
 To wield baith bow and brand ; 
 
 And I sail leam your turtle dow 
 To lay gowd wi' her hand. 
 
 ' At kirk and market when we meet, 
 
 We '11 dare make nae avowe. 
 But — Dame, how does my gay goss-hawk? 
 
 — Madame, how does my dow ? " * 
 
 • "This metaphorical language," says Scott, "was 
 customary among- the northern nations. In 925, King 
 Adelstein sent an embassy to Harald Harfager, King of 
 Norway, the chief of which presented that prince with 
 a sword. As it was presented by the point, the Nor- 
 wegian chief, in receiving it, unwarily laid hold of the 
 hilt. The English ambassador declared, in the name 
 of his master, that he accepted the act as a deed ot 
 homage. The Norwegian prince, resolving to circum- 
 vent his rival by a similar artifice, sent, next summer, 
 an embassy to .Kdelstein, the chief of which presented 
 Haco, the son of Harald, to the English prince; and, 
 placing him on his knees, made the following declara- 
 tion: — " Haraldus, Nornianorum Rex, amice te sal- 
 utat : albamque hanc avem bene institutam tnittit, 
 utque melius deinceps erudias , posttilat ." The king 
 received young Haco on his knees, which the Norwegian 
 accepted, in the name of his master, as a declaration of 
 inferiority; according to the proverb, " Is tninor sem- 
 fer habetur, qui alterius Jilium educat." 
 
3fau6e 3foo&ra^e 
 
 141 
 
 =ii^=^ 
 
 When days were gane, and years came on, 
 Wise William he thought lang ; 
 
 And he has ta'en King Honour's son 
 A-hunting for to gang. 
 
 It sae fell out, at this hunting, 
 
 Upon a simmer's day, 
 That they came by a fair castell, 
 
 Stood on a sunny brae. 
 
 " O dinna ye see that bonny castell, 
 
 Wi' halls and towers sae fair ? 
 Gin ilka man had back his ain, 
 
 Of it you suld be heir." — 
 
 ' ' How I suld be heir of that castell, 
 
 In sooth, I canna see ; 
 For it belangs to Pause Foodrage, 
 
 And he is na kin to me."— 
 
 '■ O gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
 You would do but what was right ; 
 
 For, I wot, he killed your father dear, 
 Or ever ye saw the light. 
 
 "And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
 There is no man durst you blame ; 
 
 For he keeps your mother a prisoner, 
 A.nd she dauma take ye hame."— 
 
 The boy stared wild like a grey goss hawk, 
 Says,— " What may a' this mean ? " 
 
 " My boy, ye are King Honour's son. 
 And your mother 's our lawful queen." 
 
 " O gin I be King Honour's son, 
 
 By our I^adye I swear, 
 This night I will that traitor slay, 
 
 And relieve my mother dear ! ' ' 
 
142 
 
 f^nee jfoodrage 
 
 He has set his bent bow to his breast, 
 
 And leaped the castell wa' ; 
 And soon he has seized on Pause Foodrage, 
 
 Wha loud for help 'gan ca'. 
 
 " Ohaud your tongue, now, Pause Poodrage, 
 
 Frae me ye shanna flee ; " — 
 Syne pierced him through the fause, fause 
 heart, 
 
 And set his mother free. 
 
 And he has rewarded Wise William, 
 
 Wi' the best half of his land ; 
 And sae has he the turtle dow, 
 
 Wi' the truth o' his right hand. 
 
(Genevieve 
 
 143 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights. 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
 All are but ministers of Love, 
 And feed his sacred flame. 
 
 Oft in my waking dreams do I 
 Live o'er again that happy hour. 
 When midway on the mount I lay, 
 Beside the ruined tower. 
 
 * See Append! 
 
144 
 
 (Bencpieve 
 
 The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, 
 Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
 And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
 My own dear Genevieve ! 
 
 She leaned against the armed man, 
 The statue of the armed knight; 
 She stood and listened to my lay, 
 Amid the lingering light. 
 
 Few sorrows hath she of her own, 
 My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
 She loves me best whene'er I sing 
 
 The songs that make her grieve. 
 
 I played a soft and doleful air, 
 I sang an old and moving story — 
 An old rude song, that suited well 
 That ruin wild and hoary. 
 
 She listened with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
 For well she knew I could not choose, 
 But gaze upon her face. 
 
 I told her of the knight that wore 
 Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
 And that for ten long years he wooed 
 The lyady of the I^nd. 
 
 I told her how he pined : and ah ! 
 The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 S— With which I sang another's love. 
 Interpreted my own. 
 
 She listened with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; 
 And she forgave me, that I gazed 
 Too fondly on her face ! 
 
(Benevicve 
 
 Us 
 
 But when I told the cruel scorn 
 That crazed that bold and lovely knight. 
 And that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
 Nor rested day nor night ; 
 
 That sometimes from the savage den, 
 And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
 And sometimes starting up at once 
 In green and sunny glade, — 
 
 There came and looked him in the face 
 An angel beautiful and bright ; 
 And that he knew it was a fiend ; 
 This miserable knight ! 
 
 And that, unknowing what he did. 
 He leaped amid a murderous band. 
 And saved from outrage worse than death 
 The I^dy of the I,and ;— 
 
 And how she wept, and clasped his knees ; 
 And how she tended him in vain — 
 And ever strove to expiate 
 
 The scorn that crazed his brain ;— 
 
 And that she nursed him in a cave ; 
 And how his madness went away. 
 When on the yellow forest-leaves 
 A dying man he lay ; — 
 
 His dying words— but when I reached 
 ^ That tenderest strain ofall the ditty, 
 r^. My faltering voice and pausing harp 
 Disturbed her soul with pity ! 
 
 All impulses of soul and sense 
 Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; 
 The music and the doleful tale, 
 The rich and balmy eve ; 
 
146 
 
 Ocncvicvc 
 
 
 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope. 
 An undistinguishable throng, 
 And gentle wishes long subdued. 
 Subdued and cherished long ! 
 
 She wept with pity and delight, 
 She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; 
 And, like the murmur of a dream, 
 I heard her breathe mj^ name. 
 
 Her bosom heaved — she stepped aside. 
 As conscious of my look she stept — 
 Then suddenly, with timorous eye 
 She fled to me and wept. 
 
 She half enclosed me with her arms, 
 She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 
 \nd, bending back her head, looked up, 
 And gazed upon my face. 
 
 'T was partly love, and partly fear, 
 \nd partlj' 't was a bashful art. 
 That I might rather feel, than see, 
 The swelling of her heart. 
 
 I calmed her fears, and she was calm, 
 And told her love with virgin pride ; 
 And so I won my Genevieve, 
 
 My bright and beauteous bride. 
 
3fafr Margaret mb Sweet limuiiam 147 
 
 FAIR MARGAR:eT AND SWI^EJT WII,I,IAM.* 
 
 As it fell out on a long summer's day, 
 
 Two lovers they sat on a hill ; 
 They sat together that long summer's day, 
 
 And could not talk their fill. 
 
 " I see no harm by you, Margaret, 
 
 And you see none by me ; 
 Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock 
 
 A rich wedding you shall see." 
 
 Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window. 
 
 Combing her yellow hair ; 
 There she spyed sweet William and his bride, 
 
 As they were a riding near. 
 
 » See Appendix. 
 
148 3fair /DSargarct anO Sweet IKauiiam 
 
 -'/ 
 
 Ij-yj^ 
 
 Then down she layd her ivory combe, 
 And braided her hair in twain : — 
 
 She went alive out of her bower, 
 But ne'er came alive in 't again. 
 
 When day was gone, and night was come, 
 
 And all men fast asleep, 
 Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, 
 
 And stood at William's feet. 
 
 ' ' Are you awake, sweet William ? " she said ; 
 
 " Or, sweet William, are you asleep ? 
 God give j-ou joy of your gay bride-bed. 
 
 And me of my winding, sheet. ' ' 
 
 When day was come, and night was gone. 
 
 And all men waked from sleep, 
 Sweet William to his ladye sayd, 
 
 " My dear, I have cause to weep ; 
 
 " I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye, 
 
 Such dreams are never good : 
 I dreamt my bower was full of red wine. 
 
 And my bride-bed full of blood."— 
 
 ' ' Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir, 
 
 They never do prove good : 
 To dream thy bower was full of red wine. 
 
 And thy bride-bed full of blood." 
 
 He called up his merry men all. 
 
 By one, by two, and bj" three ; 
 Saying, " I '11 away to fair Marg'ret's bower. 
 
 By the leave of my ladye." 
 
 And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower, 
 
 He knocked at the ring ; 
 And who so ready as her seven brethren 
 
 To let sweet William in. 
 
3fair Margaret anO Sweet TKIlilUam 149 
 
 Then he turned up the covering-sheet, — 
 
 " Pray let me see the dead : 
 Methinks she looks all pale and wan, 
 
 She hath lost her cherry red. 
 " I '11 do more for thee, Margaret, 
 
 Than any of thy kin ; 
 For I will kiss thy pale wan lips. 
 
 Though a smile I cannot win." 
 With that bespake the seven brethren, 
 
 Making most piteous mone ; 
 " You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 
 
 And let our sister alone." 
 "If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, 
 
 I do but what is right ; 
 I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse 
 
 By day, nor yet by night.* 
 
 * The following are the concluding stanzas of Jamie- 
 son's ballad, " Sweet Willie and Fair'Annie ' : 
 
 Pale Willie grew, wae was his heart, 
 
 And sair he sighed wi' teen : 
 " Oh Annie ! had I kent thy worth. 
 
 Ere it o'er late had been I 
 
 " It 's I will kiss your bonny cheek. 
 
 And I will kiss your chin ; 
 And I will kiss your clay caUl lip; 
 
 But I '11 never kiss woman again. 
 
 " And that I was in love outdone. 
 
 Sail ne'er be said o' me ; 
 For as ye 've died for nie, Annie, 
 
 Sae will I do for thee ! 
 
 " The day ye deal at Annie's burial, 
 
 The bread but and the wine ; 
 Before the morn at twall o'clock, 
 
 They '11 deal the same at mine." 
 
 The tane was buried in Mary's kirk. 
 
 The tither in Mary's quire ; 
 And out o' the tane there grew a birk, 
 
 And out o' the tither a brier. 
 
 And ay they grew, and ay they drew, 
 
 Untill they twa did meet ; 
 And every one that past them by. 
 
 Said, " Thae 's twa lovers sweet." 
 
50 jpair /Rar^arct anO Sweet TIClilUam 
 
 " Deal on, deal on, my merry men all, 
 Deal on your cake and your wine ; 
 
 For -whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day 
 Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine." 
 
 Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day. 
 Sweet William dyed the morrow : 
 
 Fair INIargaret dyed for pure true love, 
 Sweet William dj'ed for sorrow. 
 
 Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel. 
 
 And William in the higher : 
 Out of her brest there sprang a rose. 
 
 And out of his a briar. 
 
Zbc JSirtb of St. (3eorge 
 
 151 
 
 ^ 
 
 .,...._ 
 
 
 m 
 
 ^^ 
 
 M^~ 
 
 See Appendix. 
 
152 
 
 ^t)C J5irtb of St. George 
 
 
 Distressed ladies to relieve 
 
 He travelled many a day ; 
 In honour of the christian faith, 
 
 Which shall endure for aye. 
 
 In Coventry sometime did dwell 
 
 A knight of worthy fame, 
 High steward of this noble realme, 
 
 Ix>rd Albert was his name : 
 
 He had to wife a princely dame, 
 Whose beauty did excell, — 
 
 This virtuous lady, being with child, 
 In sudden sadness fell : 
 
 For thirty nights, no sooner sleep 
 Had closed her wakeful eyes, 
 
 But, lo ! a foul and fearful dream 
 Her fancy would surprise : — 
 
 She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell 
 Conceived within her womb, 
 
 Whose mortal fangs her body rent 
 ^re he to life could come ! 
 
 All woe-begone, and sad was she. 
 She nourisht constant woe ; 
 
 Yet strove to hide it from her lord, 
 I^st he should sorrow know. 
 
 In vain she strove ; her tender lord, 
 Who watched her slightest look. 
 
 Discovered soon her secret pain. 
 And soon that pain partook. 
 
 And when to him the fearful cause 
 
 She weeping did impart, 
 With kindest speech he strove to heal 
 
 The anguish of her heart. 
 
^be mxth ot St. George 
 
 153 
 
 " Be comforted, my lady dear, 
 
 Those pearly drops refrain ; 
 Betide me weal, betide me woe, 
 
 I '11 try to ease thy pain. 
 
 " And for this foul and fearful dream, 
 
 That causeth all thy woe, 
 Trust me I '11 travel far away, 
 
 But I '11 the meaning knowe." 
 
 Then giving many a fond embrace, 
 
 And shedding many a teare. 
 To the weird lady of the woods, 
 
 He purposed to repaire. 
 
 To the weird lady of the woods, 
 
 Full long and many a day. 
 Through lonely shades and thickets rough 
 
 He winds his weary way. 
 
 At length he reached a dreary dell 
 \ With dismal yews o'erhung ; 
 ■' Where cypress spred its mournful boughs, 
 And pois'nous nightshade sprung. 
 
 No chearful gleams here pierced the gloom, 
 
 He hears no chearful sound ; 
 But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream. 
 
 And serpents hissing round. 
 
 The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts 
 
 Ran howling through his ear : 
 A chilling horror froze his heart. 
 
 Though all unused to fear. 
 
 Three times he strives to win his way, 
 
 And pierce those sickly dews : 
 Three times to bear his trembling corse 
 
 His knocking knees refuse. 
 
54 
 
 XLbc JBirtb ot St. (3coxqc 
 
 At length upon his beating breast 
 
 He signs the holy crosse ; 
 And, rouzing up his wonted might, 
 
 He treads th' unhallowed mosse. 
 
 Beneath a pendant craggy cliff, 
 
 All vaulted like a grave, 
 And opening in the solid rock, 
 
 He found the inchanted cave. 
 
 An iron gate closed up the mouth. 
 
 All hideous and forlome ; 
 And, fastened by a silver chain, 
 
 Near hung a brazed home. 
 
 Then offering up a secret prayer. 
 Three times he blowes amaine : 
 
 Three times a deepe and hollow sound 
 Did answer him. againe. 
 
 " Sir Knight, thy lady beares a son, 
 
 Who, like a dragon bright, 
 Shall prove most dreadful to his foes. 
 
 And terrible in fight. 
 
 "His name, advanced in future times, 
 
 On banners shall be worn : 
 But, lo ! thy lady's life must passe 
 
 Before he can be bom." 
 
 All sore opprest with fear and doubt 
 I,ong time I,ord Albert stood ; 
 
 At length he winds his doubtful way 
 Back through the dreary wood. 
 
 Eager to clasp his lovely dame. 
 
 Then fast he travels back ; 
 But when he reached his castle gate, 
 
 His gate was hung with black. 
 
^be :fiSfrtb of St (Beorge 
 
 155 
 
 In every court and hall he found, 
 
 A sullen silence reigne ; 
 Save where, amid the lonely towers, 
 
 He heard her maidens 'plaine ; 
 
 And bitterly lament and weep, 
 
 With many a grievous grone : 
 Then sore his bleeding heart misgave, 
 
 His lady's life was gone. 
 
 With faultering step he enters in, 
 
 Yet half affraid to goe ; 
 With trembling voice asks why they grieve, 
 
 Yet fears the cause to knowe. 
 
 "Three times the sun hath rose and set," 
 
 They said, then stopt to weep, 
 " Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare 
 
 In death's eternal sleep. 
 
 " For, ah ! in travail sore she fell, 
 
 So sore that she must dye ; 
 Unless some shrewd and cunning leech 
 
 Could ease her presentlye. 
 
 "But when a cunning leech was fet, 
 
 Too soon declarM he. 
 She, or her babe must lose its life ; 
 
 Both savM could not be. 
 
 " ' Now take my life,' thy lady said ; 
 
 ' My little infant save : 
 And O ! commend me to my lord, 
 
 When I am laid in grave. 
 
 " ' O ! tell him how that precious babe 
 
 Cost him a tender wife ; 
 And teach my son to lisp her name, 
 
 Who died to save his life. ' 
 
156 
 
 ^be JBirtb of St. George 
 
 " Then calling still upon thy name, 
 
 And praying still for thee, 
 Without repining or complaint, 
 
 Her gentle soul did flee." 
 
 What tongue can paint I^ord Albert's woe, 
 
 The bitter tears he shed,— 
 The bitter pangs that wrung his heart, 
 
 To find his lady dead ! 
 
 He beat his breast, he tore his hair. 
 
 And, shedding many a tear, 
 At length he askt to see his son — 
 
 The son that cost so dear. 
 
 New sorrowe seized the damsells all : 
 At length they faultering say : — 
 
 ' ' Alas, my lord ! how shall we tell ? 
 Thy son is stoln away. 
 
 " Fair as the sweetest flower of spring. 
 
 Such was his infant mien : 
 And on his little body stampt. 
 
 Three wonderous marks were seen : 
 
 ' ' A blood-red cross was on his arm ; 
 
 A dragon on his breast ; 
 A little garter all of gold 
 
 Was round his leg exprest. 
 
 " Three carefull nurses we provide, 
 
 Our little lord to keep : 
 One gave him sucke, one gave him food, 
 
 And one did lull to sleep. 
 
 " But, lo ! all in the dead of night. 
 
 We heard a fearful sound ; 
 IX)ud thunder clapt ; the castle shook ; 
 
 And lightning flasht around. 
 
Xtbe JBfrtb of St. (Beorse 
 
 157 
 
 " Dead with aflfright at first we lay ; 
 
 But rousing up anon, 
 We ran to see our little lord — 
 
 Our little lord was gone ! 
 
 " But how or where we could not tell ; 
 
 For, lying on the ground, 
 In deep and magic slumbers laid, 
 
 The nurses there we found." 
 
 " O grief on grief! " I/>rd Albert said : 
 No more his tongue cou'd say, 
 
 When falling in a deadly swoone. 
 Long time he lifeless lay. 
 
 At length restored to life and sense. 
 
 He nourisht endless woe ; 
 No future joy his heart could taste. 
 
 No future comfort know. 
 
 So withers on the mountain top 
 
 A fair and stately oake, 
 Whose vigorous arms are torn away 
 
 By some rude thunder-stroke. 
 
 At length his castle irksome grew. 
 He loathes his wonted home ; 
 
 His native country he forsakes, 
 In foreign lands to roame. 
 
 There up and downe he wandered far. 
 
 Clad in a palmer's gown. 
 Till his brown locks grew white as wool, 
 
 His beard as thistle down. 
 
 At length, all wearied, down in death 
 
 He laid his reverend head. — 
 Meantime amid the lonely wilds 
 
 His little son was bred. 
 
158 
 
 Ubc JBirtb of St. George 
 
 There the weird lady of the woods 
 Had borne him far awaj- ; 
 1^,5^ And trained him up in feates of amies, 
 And every martial play. 
 
XLbc ^crmalO 
 
 159 
 
 f'^'^M^^'-: 
 
 THE MERMAID.* 
 
 On Jura s heath how sweetly swell 
 The murmurs of the mountain bee ! 
 
 How softly mourns the writhed shell, 
 Of Jura's shore, its parent sea ! 
 
 But softer, floating o'er the deep, 
 The mermaid's sweet sea-soothing lay. 
 
 That charmed the dancing waves to sleep. 
 Before the bark of Colonsay. 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
i6o 
 
 TIbe /IBermaiD 
 
 
 Aloft the purple pennons wave, 
 As parting gay from Crinan's shore, 
 
 From Morven's wars the seamen brave 
 Their gallant chieftain homeward bore. 
 
 In youth's gay bloom, the brave Macphail 
 Still blamed the lingering bark's delay ; 
 
 For her he chid the flagging sail, 
 The lovely Maid of Colonsay. 
 
 And "raise," he cried, "the song of love. 
 The maiden sung with tearful smile, 
 
 When first, o'er Jura's hills to rove. 
 We left afar the lonely isle !— 
 
 " When on this ring of ruby red 
 Shall die," she said, " the crimson hue, 
 
 Know that thy favourite fair is dead, 
 Or proves to thee and love untrue." 
 
 Now, lightly poised, the rising oar 
 Disperses wide the foamy spray. 
 
 And, echoing far o'er Crinan's shore, 
 Resounds the song of Colonsay. 
 
 " Softly blow, thou western breeze. 
 Softly rustle through the sail : 
 "n;^ Soothe to rest the furrowy seas. 
 
 Before my love, sweet western gale ! 
 
 " Where the wave is tinged with red, 
 And the russet sea-leaves grow, 
 
 Mariners, with prudent dread, 
 Shun the shelving reefs below. 
 
 " As you pass through Jura's sound. 
 Bend your course by Scarba's shore. 
 
 Shun, O shun, the gulf profound. 
 Where Corrivrekin's surges roar ! 
 
^be /Hbcrmai^ 
 
 i6i 
 
 " If, from that unbottotned deep, 
 With wrinkled form and wreathed train, 
 
 O'er the verge of Scarba's steep. 
 The sea-snake heave his snowy mane, 
 
 " Unwarp, unwind his oozy coils, 
 Sea-g^reen sisters of the main, 
 
 And, in the gulf where ocean boils, 
 The unwieldy, wallowing monster chain. 
 
 ^ J\ " Softly blow, thou western breeze, 
 Softly rustle through the sail ! 
 Soothe to rest the furrowed seas, 
 Before my love, sweet witstern gale ! " 
 
 r. Thus all to soothe the chieftain's woe, 
 Far from the maid he loved so dear. 
 The song arose so soft and slow, 
 ^ He seemed her parting sigh to hear, 
 
 ^ The lonely deck he paces o'er, 
 Impatient for the rising day. 
 And still from Crinan's moonlight shore. 
 He turns his eyes to Colonsay. 
 
 The moonbeams crisp the curling surge. 
 That streaks with foam the ocean green : 
 
 While forward still the rowers urge 
 Their course, a female form was seen. 
 
 That sea-maid's form, of pearly light, 
 Was whiter than the downy spray, 
 
 And round her bosom, heaving bright. 
 Her glossy yellow ringlets play. 
 
 Borne on a foamy-crested wave. 
 She reached amain the bounding prow. 
 
 Then clasping fast the chieftain brave. 
 She. plunging, sought the deep below. 
 
l62 
 
 Cbe flbermaiD 
 
 Ah ! long beside thy feigti^ bier, 
 The monks the prayers of death shall say, 
 
 And long, for thee, the fruitless tear, 
 Shall weep the Maid of Colonsay ! 
 
 But downwards, like a powerless corse, 
 The eddying waves the chieftain bear ; 
 
 He only heard the moaning hoarse 
 Of waters, murmuring in his ear. 
 
 The murmurs sink by slow degrees ; 
 
 No more the surges round him rave ; 
 IvUUed by the music of the seas, 
 
 He lies within a coral cave. 
 
 In dreamy mood reclines he long. 
 Nor dares his trancM eyes unclose ; 
 
 Till, warbling wild, the sea-maid's song, 
 Far in the crystal cavern rose : 
 
 Soft as that harp's unseen control. 
 In morning dreams which lovers hear. 
 
 Whose strains steal sweetly o'er the soul, 
 But never reach the waking ear. 
 
 As sunbeams through the tepid air, 
 When clouds dissolve the dews unseen. 
 
 Smile on the flowers that bloom more fair. 
 And fields that glow with livelier green ; 
 
 So melting soft the music fell ; 
 
 It seemed to soothe the fluttering spray— 
 "Say, heardst thou not these wild notes 
 
 Ah ! 't is the song of Colonsay. ' ' [swell ? 
 
 Irike one that from a fearful dream 
 Awakes, the morning light to view. 
 
 And joys to see the purple beam, 
 Yet fears to find the vision true,— 
 
^be /IBermaiD 
 
 163 
 
 He heard that strain, so wildly sweet, 
 "Which bade his torpid languor fly ; 
 
 He feared some spell had bound his feet, 
 And hardly dared his limbs to try. 
 
 "This yellow sand, this sparry cave, 
 Shall bend thy soul to beauty's sway ; 
 
 Canst thou the maiden of the wave 
 Compare to her of Colonsay ? " 
 
 Roused by that voice of silver sound. 
 From the paved floor he lightly sprung. 
 
 And glancing wild his eyes around, 
 Where the fair nymph her tresses wrung, 
 
 No form he saw of mortal mould ; 
 
 It shone like ocean's snowy foam ; 
 Her ringlets waved in living gold, 
 
 Her mirror crystal, pearl her comb. 
 
 Her pearly comb the siren took. 
 And careless bound her tresses wild ; 
 
 Still o'er the mirror stole her look, 
 As on the wondering youth she smiled. 
 
 lyike music from the greenwood tree. 
 Again she raised the melting lay :— 
 ^ " Fair warrior, wilt thou dwell with me, 
 ^^^1 And leave the Maid of Colonsay? 
 
 " Fair is the crystal hall for me. 
 With rubies and with emeralds set ; 
 
 And sweet the music of the sea 
 Shall sing, when we for love are met. 
 
 " How sweet to dance with gliding feet. 
 Along the level tide so green ; 
 
 Responsive to the cadence sweet. 
 That breathes along the moonlight scene ! 
 
1 64 
 
 ^be ^crmaiD 
 
 " And soft the music of the main 
 Rings from the motley tortoise-shell ; 
 
 While moonbeams, o'er the watery plain, 
 Seem trembling in its fitful swell. 
 
 " How sweet, when billows heave their head, 
 And shake their snowy crests on high, 
 
 Serene in Ocean's sapphire-bed, 
 Beneath the tumbling surge to lie ; 
 
 "To trace, with tranquil step, the deep. 
 Where pearly drops of frozen dew. 
 
 In concave shells, unconscious, sleep, 
 Or shine with lustre, silvery blue ! 
 
 . ; "Then shall the summer sun, from far, 
 „ . V Pour through the wave a softer ray ; 
 __ While diamonds, in a bower of spar, 
 At eve shall shed a brighter day. 
 
 " Nor stormy wind, nor wintry gale, 
 That o'er the angry ocean sweep, 
 
 Shall e'er our coral groves assail, 
 Calm in the bosom of the deep. 
 
 " Through the green meads beneath the sea, 
 Enamoured, we shall fondly stray ; 
 
 Then, gentle warrior, dwell with me. 
 And leave the Maid of Colonsay ! " 
 
 "Though bright thy locks of glistering 
 Z7air maiden of the foamy main ! [gold. 
 
 Thy life-blood is the water cold. 
 While mine beats high in every vein. 
 
 " If I beneath thy sparry cave. 
 Should in thy snovry arms recline. 
 
 Inconstant as the restless wave. 
 My heart would grow as cold as thine." 
 
^be /iRcrmal^ 
 
 165 
 
 % 
 
 -V 
 
 As cygnet down, proud swelled her breast, 
 Her eye confessed the pearly tear ; 
 
 His hand she to her bosom pressed— 
 " Is there no heart for rapture here ? 
 
 '' These limbs, sprung from the lucid sea. 
 Does no warm blood their currents fill ; 
 
 No heart-pulse riot, wild and free. 
 To joy, to love's delirious thrill ? " 
 
 "Though all the splendour of the sea 
 Around thy faultless beauty shine. 
 
 That heart that riots wild and free. 
 Can hold no sympathy with mine. 
 
 " These sparkling eyes, so wild and gay, 
 They swim not in the light of love : 
 
 The beauteous Maid of Colonsay , 
 Her eyes are milder than the dove ! . 
 
 " Even now, within the lonely isle. 
 Her eyes are dim with tears for me ; 
 
 And canst thou think that siren smile 
 Can lure my soul to dwell with thee? " 
 
 An oozy film her limbs o'erspread ; 
 
 Unfolds in length her scaly train : 
 She tossed, in proud disdain, her head, 
 
 And lashed, with webbed fin, the main. 
 
 "Dwell here alone ! " the mermaid cried, 
 " And view far off the sea-nymphs play ; 
 
 Thy prison wall, the azure tide, 
 Shall bar thy steps from Colonsay. 
 
 " Whene'er, like Ocean's scaly brood, 
 I cleave with rapid fin, the wave. 
 
 Far from the daughter of the flood. 
 Conceal thee in this coral cave. 
 
[66 
 
 Zbe flbermaiO 
 
 " I feel my former soul return ; 
 
 It kindles at thy cold disdain : 
 And has a mortal dared to spurn 
 
 A daughter of the foamy main ? " 
 
 She fled ; around the crystal cave 
 The rolling waves resume their road ; 
 
 On the broad portal idly rave, 
 But enter not the nymph's abode. 
 
 And many a weary night went by, 
 
 As in the lonely cave he lay ; 
 And taany a sun rolled through the sky. 
 
 And poured its beams on Colonsay. 
 
 And oft, beneath the silver moon, 
 He heard afar the mermaid sing, 
 
 And oft, to many a melting tune. 
 The shell-formed lyres of ocean ring. 
 
 And when the moon went down the sky, 
 Still rose, in dreams, his native plain. 
 
 And oft he thought his love was by. 
 And charmed him with some tender strain. 
 
 And heart-sick oft he waked to weep. 
 When ceased that voice of silver sound ; 
 
 And thought to plunge him in the deep, 
 That walled his crystal cavern round. 
 
 But still the ring of ruby red. 
 Retained its vivid crimson hue ; 
 
 And each despairing accent fled. 
 To find his gentle love so true. 
 
 When seven long lonely months were gone, 
 The mermaid to his cavern came ; 
 
 No more mis-shapen from the zone, 
 But like a maid of mortal frame. 
 
XLbc /IRermafD 
 
 167 
 
 " O give to me that ruby ring, 
 That on thy finger glances gay, 
 
 And thou shalt hear the mermaid sing 
 The song thou lov'st of Colonsay." 
 
 " This ruby ring, of crimson grain. 
 Shall on thy finger glitter gay, 
 
 If thou wilt bear me through the main, 
 Again to visit Colonsay." 
 
 " Except thou quit thy former love. 
 Content to dwell for aye with me. 
 
 Thy scorn my finny frame might move, 
 To tear thy limbs amid the sea." 
 
 " Then bear me swift along the main, 
 
 The lonely isle again to see ; 
 And when I here return again, 
 
 I plight my faith to dwell with thee." 
 
 An oozy film her limbs o'erspread, 
 While slow unfolds her scaly train, 
 
 With gluey fangs her hands were clad, 
 She lashed, with webbed fin, the main. 
 
 He grasps the mermaid's scaly sides, 
 As, with broad fin, she oars her way ; 
 
 Beneath the silent moon she glides. 
 That sweetly sleeps on Colonsay. 
 
 Proud swells her heart ! she deems, at last, 
 To lure him with her silver tongue. 
 
 And, as the shelving rocks she passed. 
 She raised her voice, and sweetly sung. 
 
 In softer sweeter strains she sung. 
 Slow gliding o'er the moonlight bay. 
 
 When light to land the chieftain sprung, 
 To hail the Maid of Colonsay. 
 
I68 
 
 Zbc /R>ermai& 
 
 O sad the mermaid's gay notes fell, 
 And sadly sink remote at sea ! 
 
 So sadly mourns the writhed shell 
 Of Jura's shore, its parent sea. 
 
 And ever, as the year returns. 
 
 The charm-bound sailors know the day ; 
 For sadly still the mermaid mourns 
 
 The lovely Chief of Colonsay. 
 
%ovtf Wlin'0 DauQbter 
 
 169 
 
 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.* 
 
 A chieftain, to the Highlands bound, 
 Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry 1 
 
 And I '11 give thee a silver pound 
 To row us o'er the ferry." — 
 
 " Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle, 
 This dark and stormy water? " 
 
 " O, I 'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, 
 And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 
 
 * See Appendijj. 
 
I70 
 
 Xor& 'ClUin's 5)augbtcr 
 
 " And fast before her father's men, 
 Three days we 've fled together ; 
 
 For should he find us in the glen, 
 My blood would stain the heather. 
 
 " His horsemen hard behind us ride ; 
 
 Should they our steps discover, 
 Then who will cheer my bonny bride, 
 
 When they have slain her lover? " 
 
 Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
 "I '11 go, my chief^I 'm ready : — 
 
 It is not for your silver bright. 
 But for your winsome lady : 
 
 "And, by mj' word ! the bonny bird 
 
 In danger shall not tarrj' ; 
 So, though the waves are raging white, 
 
 I '11 row 5'ou o'er the ferry." 
 
 By this the storm grew loud apace. 
 The water-wraith was shrieking ; 
 
 And in the scowl of heaven each face 
 Grew dark as they were speaking. 
 
 But still as wilder blew the wind. 
 And as the night grew drearer, 
 
 Adown the glen rode armed men ; 
 Their trampling sounded nearer. 
 
 " O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, 
 " Though tempests round us gather ; 
 
 I '11 meet the raging of the skies. 
 But not an angry father." 
 
 The boat has left a stormy land, 
 
 A stormy sea before her,— 
 When, Oh ! too strong for human hand 
 
 The tempest gather'd o'er her. 
 
XorD 'Ginin'6 2)augbtcr 171 
 
 And still they row'd amidst the roar 
 
 Of waters fast prevailing : 
 l,OTd Ullin reached that fatal shore, 
 
 His wrath was changed to wailing. 
 
 For sore dismay'd, through storm and 
 His child he did discover ; [shade, 
 
 One lovely hand she stretch 'd for aid, 
 And one was round her lover. 
 
 "Come back ! come back ! " he cried in 
 " Across this stormy water ; [grief, 
 
 And I '11 forgive your Highland chief. 
 My daughter ! Oh ! my daughter ! "— * 
 
 » In a ballad, entitled " Duncan," printed hy Herd, 
 are some vigorous and beautiful stanzas, which de- 
 ■| scribe the meeting of tlie lover and the uncle of a lady 
 who has been taken from her " old home " : 
 
 " The rose I pluckt o" right is mine. 
 
 Our hearts togetlier grew 
 Like twa sweet roses on ae stalk ; 
 
 Frae hate to love they flew." 
 
 He stampt his foot upo' the ground. 
 
 And thus in wrath did say, 
 "God strike my saul, if frae this field, 
 
 We baith in life shall gae." 
 
 He wav'd his hand, the pipers play'd. 
 
 The targets clatter'd round ; 
 And now between the meeting faes 
 
 Was little space of ground. 
 
 But wha is she that runs sae fast? 
 
 Her feet nae stap they find ; 
 Sae swiftly rides the milky cloud, 
 
 Upo' the summer's wind. 
 
 Her face a mantle screen'd afore. 
 
 She show'd of lily hue ; 
 Sae frae the grey mist breaks the sun. 
 
 To drink the morning dew. 
 
 "Alack! my friends; what sight is this? 
 
 O stap your rage," she cry'd ; 
 " Whar love with honey'd lips should be, 
 
 Mak not a breach sae wide." 
 
172 
 
 XorD 'dllin'B Daugbter 
 
Sir BQiltborn 
 
 173 
 
 ;^ Oh ' gentle huntsman, softly tread, 
 And softly wind thy bugle-horn ; 
 Nor rudely break the silence shed 
 Around the grave of Agilthom ! 
 
 Oh ! gentle huntsman, if a tear 
 E'er dimmed for others' woe thine eyes, 
 
 Thou 'It surely dew, with drops sincere, 
 The sod where I^ady Eva lies. 
 
 • Sec Appendix. 
 
t74 
 
 Sir aglltborn 
 
 Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound 
 Their hands and hearts beheld them plight ; 
 
 IvOng held yon towers, with ivy crowned, 
 The beauteous dame and gallant knight. 
 
 Alas ! the hour of bliss is past. 
 For hark ! the din of discord rings ; 
 
 War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast, 
 And trembling plies his radiant wings. 
 
 And must sad Eva lose her lord ? 
 
 And must he seek the martial plain ? 
 Oh ! see she brings his casque and sword ! 
 
 Oh ! hark, she pours her plaintive strain ! 
 
 " Blessed is the village damsel's fate. 
 Though poor and low her station be ; 
 
 Safe from the cares which haunt the great, 
 Safe from the cares which torture me ! 
 
 " No doubting fear, no cruel pain, 
 No dread suspense her breast alarms ; 
 
 No tyrant honour rules her swain. 
 And tears him from her folding arms. 
 
 " She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks, 
 In pleasing toil consumes the day ; 
 
 And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks. 
 Or joins her rustic lover's lay. 
 
 " Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies 
 The pillow which supports her head ; 
 
 She sleeps, nor fears at mom her eyes 
 Shall wake, to mourn a husband dead. 
 
 '* Hush, impious fears ! the good and brave, 
 Heaven's arm will guard from danger free ; 
 
 When death with thousands gluts the grave, 
 His dart, my love, shall glance from thee ; 
 
Sfr Bgiltborn 
 
 175 
 
 " While thine shall fly direct and sure, 
 This buckler every blow repel ; 
 
 This casque from wounds that face secure, 
 Where all the loves and graces dwell. 
 
 " This glittering scarf, with tenderest care, 
 My hands in happier moments wove ; 
 
 Cursedbe the wretch, whose sword shall tear 
 The spell-bound work of wedded love ! 
 
 " 1,0 ! on thy falchion keen and bright, 
 [ shed a trembling consort's tears ; 
 
 Oh ! when their traces meet thy sight, 
 Remember wretched Eva's fears ! 
 
 Think how thy lips she fondly pressed, 
 Think how she wept— compelled to part ; 
 Think, every wound which scars thy breast. 
 Is doubly marked on Eva's heart ! " — 
 
 O thou ! my mistress, wife, and friend ! " — 
 Thus Agilthorn with sighs began ; 
 ' Thy fond complaints my bosom rend, 
 Thy tears my fainting soul unman : 
 
 " In pity cease, my gentle dame, 
 Such sweetness and such grief to join ! 
 
 Lest I forget the voice of Fame, 
 And only list to Love's and thine. 
 
 " Flow, flow, my tears, unbounded gush ! 
 ^^ Rise, rise, my sobs, I set ye free : 
 
 Bleed, bleed, my heart ! I need not blush 
 To own that life is dear to me. 
 
 " The wretch whose lips have pressed the 
 The bitter bowl of pain and woe, [bowl. 
 
 May careless reach his mortal goal. 
 May boldly meet the final blow : 
 
176 
 
 Sir Bailtborn 
 
 " His hopes destroyed, his comfort wrecked, 
 A happier life he hopes to find ; 
 
 But what can I in heaven expect. 
 Beyond the bliss I leave behind ? 
 
 " Oh, no ! the joys of yonder skies. 
 To prosperous love present no charms ; 
 
 My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes, 
 My paradise in Eva's arms. 
 
 " Yet mark me, sweet ! if Heaven's command 
 Hath doomed mj* fall in martial strife, 
 ^ Oh ! let not anguish tempt thy hand 
 To rashly break the thread of life ! 
 
 " No ! let our boy thy care engross, 
 I^t him thy stay, thy comfort be ; 
 
 Supply his luckless father's loss, 
 And love him for thyself and me. 
 
 ' ' So may oblivion soon efface 
 The grief which clouds this fatal mom ; 
 
 And soon thy cheeks afford no trace 
 Of tears which fall for Agilthorn ! " 
 
 He said ; and couched his quivering lance : 
 He said ; and braced his moony shield : — 
 
 Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance, 
 Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field. 
 
 But Eva, of all joy bereft. 
 Stood rooted at the castle gate, 
 
 And viewed the prints his courser left. 
 While hurr>-ing at the call of fate. 
 
 Forebodings sad her bosom told, 
 The steed which bore him thence so light, 
 
 Her longing ej-es would ne'er behold 
 Again bring home her own true knight. 
 
Sir Bgiltborn 
 
 177 
 
 While many a sigh her bosom heaves, 
 She thus addressed her orphan page : — 
 
 " Dear youth, if e'er my love relieved 
 The sorrows of thy infant age : 
 
 " If e'er I taught thy locks to play, 
 I^uxuriant round thy blooming face ; 
 
 If e'er I wiped thy tears away. 
 And bade them yield to smiles their place : 
 
 " Oh ! speed thee, swift as steed can bear, 
 Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead ; 
 
 And o'er the combat, home repair. 
 And tell me how my lord has sped. 
 
 " Till thou return'st each hour 's an age. 
 An age employed in doubt and pain ; 
 
 Oh ! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page, 
 Oh ! haste and soon return again." 
 
 " Now lady dear, thy grief assuage, 
 * Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain ; 
 11 '11 haste, I '11 haste, thy little foot-page, 
 I '11 haste, and soon return again." 
 
 Then Osway bade his courser fly ; 
 But still, while hapless Eva wept, 
 . ;?.s;|*Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply, 
 ^^ So slow the tedious moments crept. 
 
 And oft she kissed her baby's cheek, 
 Who slumbered on her throbbing breast ; 
 
 And now she bade the warder speak. 
 And now she lulled her child to rest. 
 
 " Good warder, say, what meets thy sight? 
 
 What se'st from the castle tower? " 
 " Nought but the rocks of Elginbright, 
 
 Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower." 
 
178 
 
 Sir Bailtborn 
 
 " Oh, pretty babe ! thy mother's joy, 
 Pledge of the purest, fondest flame. 
 
 To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy, 
 May see thee bear an orphan's name. 
 
 " Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword 
 The life-blood of thy father drains ; 
 
 Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gored, 
 Whose streams supplied thy little veins. 
 
 " O warder, from the castle tower, 
 Now say what objects meet thy sight ? " 
 
 " None but the shades of Forest-Bower, 
 None but the rocks of Elginbright." 
 
 " Smil'st thou, my babe ? so smiled thy sire. 
 When gazing on his Eva's face ; 
 
 His eyes shot beams of gentle fire. 
 And joyed such beams in mine to trace. 
 
 "Sleep, sleep, my babe ! of care devoid : 
 Thy mother breathes this fervent vow — 
 
 Oh, never be thy soul employed 
 On thoughts so sad as hers are now ! 
 
 "Now warder, warder, speak again ! 
 
 What se'st thou from the turret's height ? " 
 " Oh, lady, speeding o'er the plain. 
 
 The little foot-page appears in sight ! ' ' 
 
 Quick beat her heart, short grew her breath ; 
 
 Close to her breast the babe she drew — 
 " Now, Heayen," shecried," for lifeor death ! ' 
 
 And forth to meet the page she flew. 
 
 " And is thy lord from danger free ? 
 
 And is the deadly combat o'er? "— 
 In silence Osway bent his knee, 
 
 And laid a scarf her feet before. 
 
Sir Bgiltborn 
 
 179 
 
 The well-known scarf with blood was stained, 
 And tears from Osway's eyelids fell ; 
 
 Too truly Bva's heart explained, 
 What meant those silent tears to tell. 
 
 " Come, come, my babe ! " she wildly cried, 
 " We needs must seek the field of woe : 
 
 Come, come, ray babe ! cast fear aside ! 
 To dig thy father's gave we go." 
 
 " Stay, lady, stay ! a storm impends ; 
 
 Lo ! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread ; 
 The thunder roars, the rain descends. 
 
 And lightning streaks the heavens with red. 
 
 " Hark, hark ! the winds tempestuous rave ! 
 
 Oh ! be thy dread intent resigned ! 
 Or, if resolved the storm to brave. 
 
 Be this dear infant left behind ! " 
 
 " No, no ! with me the baby stays ! 
 With me he lives ; with me he dies ! 
 lash, lightnings, flash ! your friendly blaze 
 Will shew me where my warrior lies." 
 
 O see she roams the bloody field, 
 And wildly shrieks her husband's name : 
 -^ O see she stops and eyes a shield, 
 A heart the symbol, wrapt in flame. 
 
 His armour broke in many a place, 
 A knight lay stretched that shield beside ; 
 
 She raised his vizor, kissed his face. 
 Then on his bosom sunk and died. 
 
 Huntsman, their rustic grave behold : 
 'T is here, at night, the fairy king. 
 
 Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold, 
 Oft forms his light fantastic ring. 
 
i8o 
 
 Sir Bgfltborn 
 
 'T is here, at eve, each village youth 
 With freshest flowers the turf adorns ; 
 
 'T is here he swears eternal truth, 
 By Eva's faith and Agilthom's. 
 
 And here the \drgins sadly tell, 
 Each seated by her shepherd's side, 
 
 How brave the gallant warrior fell, 
 How true his lovely lady died. 
 
 Ah ! gentle huntsman, pitying hear. 
 And mourn the gentle lovers' doom ! 
 
 Oh ! gentle huntsman, drop a tear, 
 And dew the turf of Eva's tomb. 
 
 So ne'er may fate thj' hopes oppose ; 
 
 So ne'er may grief to thee be known : 
 They who can weep for others' -^ro--^, 
 
 Should ne'er have cause to '■^'^en their 
 own. 
 
S^obnie ot :fi3rcaDi6lee 
 
 i8i 
 
 JOHNIJS OF BREADISIvEE.* 
 
 Johnie rose up in a May morning, . 
 
 Called for water to wash his hands— 
 "Gar loose to me the gude graie dogs, 
 
 That are bound wi' iron bands." 
 
 When Johnie's mother gat word o' that, 
 Her hands for dule she wrang — 
 
 " O Johnie ! for my benison, 
 To the greenwood dinna gang ! 
 
 » See Appendix. 
 
l82 
 
 5obnfe ot JBreaMslee 
 
 " Eneugh ye hae o' gude wheat bread, 
 
 And eneugh o' the blude-red wine ; 
 And, therefore, for nae venison, Johnie, 
 
 I pray thee, stir frae hame." 
 But Johnie 's busk't up his gude bend bow, 
 
 His arrows, ane by ane ; 
 And he has gane to Durrisdeer, 
 
 To hunt the dun deer down. 
 As he came down by Merriemass, 
 
 And in by the benty line, 
 There has he espied a deer lying 
 
 Aneath a bush of ling. 
 Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap. 
 
 And he wounded her on the side ; 
 But, atween the water and the brae, 
 
 His hounds they laid her pride. 
 And Johnie has br\i;tled the deer sae weel. 
 
 That he 's had out her liver and lungs ; 
 And wi' these he has feasted his bluidy 
 
 As if thej' had been earl's sons, [hounds, 
 ,- They eat sae much o' the venison, 
 
 And drank sae much o* the blude, 
 That Johnie and a' his bluidy hounds. 
 
 Fell asleep as they had been dead. 
 And by there came a sillj' auld carle, 
 
 An ill death mote he die ! 
 For he 's awa to Hislinton, 
 
 Where the seven foresters did lie. 
 "What news, what news, ye gray headed 
 
 What news bring ye to me ? ' ' [carle, 
 
 " I bring nae news," said the gray headed 
 
 " Save what these eyes did see. [carle, 
 " As I came down by Merriemass, 
 
 And down among the scroggs, 
 
5obuie of JBrea&islec 
 
 183 
 
 -.i^S^CSB^* 
 
 The bonniest childe that ever I saw, 
 
 Ivay sleeping amang his dogs. 
 " The shirt that was upon his back 
 
 Was o' the holland fine ; 
 The doublet which was over that 
 
 Was o' the lincome twine. 
 "The buttons that were on his sleeve 
 
 Were o' the goud sae gude : 
 The gude graie hounds he lay amang, 
 
 Their mouths were dyed wi' blude." 
 Then out and spak the first forester, 
 
 The heid man ower them a' — 
 " If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, 
 
 Nae nearer will we draw." 
 But up and spak the sixth forester 
 
 (His sister's son was he), 
 " If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, 
 
 We soon shall gar him die ! ' ' 
 The first flight of arrows the foresters shot. 
 
 They wounded him on the knee ; 
 And out and spak the seventh forester, 
 
 "The next will gar him die." 
 Johnie 's set his back against an aik, 
 
 His fute against a stane ; 
 And he has slain the seven foresters. 
 
 He has slain them a' but ane. 
 He has broke three ribs in that ane's side. 
 
 But and his collar bane ; 
 He 's laid him twa-fald ower his steed. 
 
 Bade him carry the tidings hame. 
 " O is there nae a bonnie bird. 
 
 Can sing as I can say ? — 
 Could flee away to my mother's bower, 
 
 And tell to fetch Johnie away ? " 
 
1 84 
 
 5obnic of JSrca&islee 
 
 The starling flew to his mother's window 
 It whistled and it sang ; [stane. 
 
 And aye the ower word o' the tune 
 Was — " Johnie tarries lang ! " 
 
 They made a rod o' the hazel bush, 
 Another o' the slae-thorn tree, 
 
 And mony, mony were the men 
 At fetching o'er Johnie. 
 
 Then out and spak his auld mother. 
 And fast her tears did fa' — 
 Ye wad nae be warned, my son Johnie, 
 Frae the hunting to bide awa'. 
 
 "/'"Aft hae I brought to Breadislee, 
 The less gear and the mair ; 
 But I ne'er brought to Breadislee, 
 What grieved my heart sae sair. 
 
 " But wae betide that silly auld carle, 
 
 An ill death shall he die ! 
 For the highest tree in ^lerriemass 
 
 Shall be his morning's fee." 
 
 Now Johnie's gude bend bow is broke, 
 And his gude graie dogs are slain ; 
 
 And his bodie lies dead in Durrisdeer, 
 And his hunting it is done. 
 
XLbc Bowie 5)en6 ot farrow 
 
 185 
 
 » See Appendix. 
 
i86 
 
 Jlhe Dowie 2)cn5 of l^arrow 
 
 " O fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! 
 
 fare ye weel, my Sarah ! 
 
 For I maun gae, though I ne'er return 
 Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." 
 
 She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair. 
 
 As oft she had done before, O ; 
 She belted him with his noble brand, 
 
 And he 's away to Yarrow. 
 
 As he gaed up the Tennies bank, 
 
 1 wot he gaed -wi' sorrow, [men. 
 Till, down in a den, he spied nine armed 
 
 On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 
 
 '' O ! come ye here to part your land. 
 
 The bonnie forest thorough ? 
 Or come ye here to wield j-our brand, 
 
 On the dowie houms of Yarrow ? ' ' — 
 
 " I come not here to part my land. 
 And neither to beg nor borrow ; 
 
 I come to wield my noble brand, 
 On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." 
 
 " If I see all, ye 're nine to ane. 
 And that 's an unequal marrow ; 
 
 Yet will I fight while lasts my brand, 
 On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." 
 
 Four has he hurt, and five has slain, 
 On the bonnie braes of Yarrow ; 
 
 Till that stubborn knight came him behind, 
 And ran his body thorough. 
 
 " Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, 
 
 And tell your sister Sarah 
 To come and lift her leafu' lord ; 
 
 He 's sleeping sound on Yarrow." — 
 
^be Dowte Bens of l^arrow 187 
 
 " Yest'reen I dreamed a dolefu' dream ; * 
 
 I fear there will be sorrow ! 
 I dream.ed I pu'd the heather green, 
 
 Wi' my true love, on Yarrow. 
 
 " O gentle wind, that bloweth south, 
 From where my love repaireth, 
 
 Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, 
 And tell me how he fareth ! 
 
 " But in the glen strive arm^d men ; 
 
 They 've wrought me dole and sorrow ; 
 They 've slain — the comeliest knight 
 they 've slain, 
 
 He bleeding lies on Yarrow." 
 
 As she sped down yon high high hill. 
 She gaed wi' dole and sorrow ; 
 
 And in the den spied ten slain men. 
 On the dowie banks of Yarrow. 
 
 » The following is the fragment given by Mr. Herd, 
 'to the tune of Leaderhaughs and Yarrow " : 
 
 " I dream'd a dreary dream last night; 
 God keep us a' frae sorrow ; 
 I dream'd I pu'd the birk sae green, 
 Wi' my true luve on Yarrow." 
 
 "1 '11 read your dream, my sister dear, 
 I '11 tell you a' your sorrow ; 
 You pu'd thf- birk wi' your true love ; 
 He 's kill'd, he 's kill'd, on Yarrow." 
 
 ' O gentle wind, that bloweth south. 
 
 To where my luve repaireth, 
 Convey a kiss from his dear mouth. 
 And tell me how he fareth. 
 
 ' But o'er yon glen run armSd men. 
 
 Have wrought me dule and sorrow ; 
 They 've slain, they 've slain, ta comeliest swain, 
 He bleeding lies on Yarrow." 
 
i88 
 
 Zbc Bowie Deng of l^arrow 
 
 She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, 
 She searched his wounds all thorough ; 
 
 She kissed them till her lips grew red, 
 On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 
 
 " Now haud j-our tongue, mj' daughter 
 dear ! 
 
 For a' this breeds but sorrow ; 
 I '11 wed thee to a better lord 
 
 Than him ye lost on Yarrow." 
 
 " O haud j'our tongue, my father dear ; 
 
 Ye mind me but of sorrow ; 
 A fairer rose did never bloom 
 
 Than now lies cropped on Yarrow." 
 
UNIVERSITY 
 
 * See Appendix 
 
igo 
 
 Ebc JBonuie JSairng 
 
 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 white than mUk. 
 
 " 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 ! 
 
 I '11 cleid ye rich and fine ; 
 And all for the blaeberries of the wood, 
 )[ Yese hae white bread and wine." 
 
 She heard a voice, a sweet low voice, 
 Saj-, " Weans, j'e tarry long- " — [bairn, 
 
 -he stretch 'd her hand to the youngest 
 " Kiss me before ye gang." 
 
 She sought to take a lily hand, 
 
 And kiss a rosie chin — 
 " 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, 
 5 As that lady followed thae bonnie bairns 
 i For three lang hours and mair. 
 
 ' O ! where dwell ye, my ain sweet bairns? 
 
 I 'm woe and weary grown ! " 
 " O ! lady, we live w^here 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. 
 
Ube 3Bonnie :JiSairn0 191 
 
 " 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 ! 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 Introduction, and is thus prefaced :— " A small frag- 
 ment of this ballad appeared in the introductory note to 
 the ballad of Lady Anne, printed in the Border Min- 
 strelsy, vol. ii. Through the kindness of a friend we 
 are now enabled to give the ballad in a complete state. 
 Like many other ancient pieces of a similar description, 
 it has a burden of no meaning and much cliildishness ; 
 the repetition of which, at the end of the first and third 
 lines of every stanza, has been omitted. The reader, 
 however, has a right to have the ballad as we received 
 it; and therefore he may, in the first of the 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 unmutilated." 
 
 She leaned her back unto a thorn' 
 And there she had her two babes born. 
 
 She took frae 'bout her ribbon-belt 
 
 And there she bound them hand and foot. 
 
 She has ta'en out her wee pen-knife 
 And there she ended baith their life. 
 
 She has howked a hole baith deep and wide. 
 She has put them in baith side by side. 
 
 She has cover'd them o'er -with a marble stone. 
 Thinking she would gang maiden hame. 
 
 As she was walking by her father's castle wa'. 
 She saw twa pretty babes playing at the ba'. 
 
 " O bonny bairns, gin ye were mine, 
 I would dress you up in satin fine ! 
 
 " O I would dress you in the silk 
 And wash you ay in morning milk ! " 
 
 " O cruel mother I we were thine. 
 And thou made us to wear the twine. 
 
 *0 cursed mother 1 heaven is high. 
 And that 's where thou '11 ne'er win nigh 
 
 " O cursed mother ! hell is deep. 
 And there ihon 'U enter step by step." 
 
192 
 
 trbc JSonnfc JBairn^ 
 
 " And O ! and O ! " said the babes baith, 
 
 " Take her where waters rin, 
 And white as the milk of her white breast, 
 
 Wash her twa hands frae sin." 
 
©lentinlag 
 
 193 
 
 And fairn Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 
 We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! 
 
 ' See Appendix. 
 
194 
 
 0lentinla6 
 
 O, sprung from great Macgillianore, 
 The chief 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 Teitb's resounding shore. 
 
 The boldest lowland warriors fell, 
 As down from Lenny's pass j'ou bore. 
 
 But o'er his hills, in festal day. 
 
 How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree, 
 While j'ouths and maids the light strathspey 
 
 So nimbly danced with Highland glee ! 
 
 "-.eer'd by the strengfth of Ronald's shell, 
 Wen age forgot his tresses hoar ; 
 But now the loud lament we swell, 
 O ne'er to see I^rd Ronald more ! 
 
 From distant isles a chieftain came, 
 The joj-s 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, 
 "Which wandering spirits shrink to hear ; 
 
 And many a lay of potent tone. 
 Was never meant for mortal ear. 
 
 For there, 't is said, in mystic mood, 
 High converse with the dead they hold, 
 
 And oft espy the fated shroud. 
 That shall the future corpse enfold. 
 
(5lentinla6 
 
 195 
 
 - ^-^ri 
 
 O so it fell, that on a day, 
 
 To rouse the red deer from their den, 
 The Chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 
 
 And scoured the deep Glenfinlas glen. 
 
 No vassals wait their sports to aid. 
 To watch their safety, deck their board ; 
 
 Their simple dress, the Highland plaid, 
 Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. 
 
 Three summer days, through brake and dell, 
 Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 
 
 And still, when dewy evening fell, 
 The quarry to their hut they drew. 
 
 f In g^rey Glenfinlas' deepest nook 
 
 ^ The solitary cabin stood, 
 
 J Fast by Moneira's sullen brook. 
 
 Which murmurs through that lonely wood. 
 
 Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. 
 When three successive days had flown ; 
 
 Vnd summer mist in dewy balm 
 Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone 
 
 1 The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes, 
 / Afar her dubious radiance shed, 
 \ Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes. 
 And resting on Benledi's head. 
 
 M Now in their hut, in social guise. 
 Their silvan fare the Chiefs enjoy ; 
 ': -^'^'^''^^ -^^d pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, 
 — -^''^'^ As many a pledge he quaffs 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 ? 
 
196 
 
 (31enfinla£$ 
 
 .^^^ 
 
 "To chase the deer of yonder shades, 
 This morning left their father's pile 
 
 The fairest of our mountain maids, 
 The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 
 
 " Ix>ng have I sought sweet Mary's heart. 
 And dropp'dthe 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. Oman's rule prevail, 
 Stern huntsman of the rigid brow? " — 
 
 ' Since Enrick's fight, since INIoma'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, 
 Where 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 curse 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. 
 
(Blenfinlas 
 
 197 
 
 " The bark thou saw'st, yon summer mom, 
 
 So gaily part from Oban's bay, 
 My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, 
 
 Far on the rocky Colonsay. 
 
 " Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son, [power. 
 Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's 
 
 As marching 'gainst the lyord of Downe, 
 He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 
 
 " Thou only saw'st their tartans wave. 
 As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, 
 
 Heard'st but the pibroch, answering brave 
 To many a target clanking round. 
 
 " I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, 
 I saw the wound his bosom bore. 
 
 When on the serried Saxon spears 
 He pour'd his clan's resistless roar. 
 
 " And thou, who bidst me think of bliss, 
 And bidst my heart awake to glee. 
 
 And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — 
 That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee ! 
 
 " I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; 
 
 I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; [now . . . 
 The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and 
 
 No more is given to gifted eye ! ' ' — 
 
 " Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams. 
 
 Sad prophet of the evil hour ! 
 Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams. 
 
 Because to-morrow's storm may lour ? 
 
 " Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
 Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall fear ; 
 
 His blood shall bound at rapture's glow, 
 Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear. 
 
igS 
 
 (3lenf!nla0 
 
 " E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, 
 My Mary's buskins brush the dew." 
 
 He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell, 
 But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. 
 
 Within an hour return 'd each hound ; 
 
 In rush'd the rousers of the deer ; 
 Thej' howl'd in melancholy sound. 
 
 Then closely couch 'd beside the seer. 
 
 No Ronald yet ; though midnight came. 
 And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams. 
 
 As, bending o'er the dying fiame, 
 He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. 
 
 Sudden the hounds erect their ears. 
 And sudden cease their moaning howl ; 
 
 Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears 
 By shivering limbs, and stifled growl. 
 
 Untouch'd, the harp began to ring, 
 As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 
 
 And shook responsive every string, 
 As light a footstep press'd the floor. 
 
 And by the watch-fire's glimmering light, 
 Close by the minstrel's side was seen 
 
 An huntress maid, in beautN^ bright. 
 All dropping wet her robes of green. 
 
 = All dropping wet her garments seem ; 
 Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare, 
 g^ As, bending o'er the dying gleam, 
 ^ She wrung the moisture from her hair. 
 
 "With maiden blush she softly said, 
 " O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen, 
 
 In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade, 
 A lovely maid in vest of gfreen : 
 
6Ientin[a6 
 
 199 
 
 ' ' With her a Chief in Highland pride ; 
 
 His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 
 The mountain dirk adorns his side, 
 
 Far on the wind his tartans flow? " — 
 
 " And who art thou ? and who are they ? " 
 All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 
 
 '' And why, beneath the moon's pale ray. 
 Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ? " — 
 
 "Where wild I^och Katrine pours her tide. 
 Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle, 
 
 Our father's towers o'erhang her side, 
 The castle of the bold Glengyle. 
 
 "To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer. 
 
 Our woodland course this morn we bore, 
 And haply met, while wandering here, 
 \ The son of great Macgillianore. 
 
 " O aid me, then, to seek the pair, 
 Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; 
 
 Alone, I dare not venture there, [ghost." — 
 Where walks, they say, the shrieking 
 
 ' ' Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there ; 
 
 Then first, my own sad vow to keep, 
 Here will I pour my midnight prayer, 
 
 Which still must rise when mortalssleep. ' '— 
 
 " O first, for pity's gentle sake, 
 Guide a lone wanderer on her way ! 
 
 For I must cross the haunted brake. 
 And reach my father's towers ere day."— 
 
 " First, three times tell each Ave-bead, 
 
 And thrice a Pater-noster say ; 
 Then kiss with me the holy rede ; 
 
 go shall we safely wend our way."-^ 
 
200 
 
 Glcntlnlas 
 
 " O shame to knighthood, strange and foul ! 
 
 Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, 
 And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, 
 
 "Which best befits thy sullen vow. 
 
 }. " Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 
 Thy heart was froze to love and joy. 
 When gaily rung thy raptured lyre. 
 To wanton Moma's melting eye." 
 
 Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame. 
 And high his sable locks arose, 
 
 And quick his 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 1 
 
 " Not thine a race of mortal blood, 
 Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; 
 
 Thy dame, the I,ady of the Flood, 
 Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." 
 
 He mutter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme. 
 And thrice St. Fillan's* powerful prayer ; 
 
 Then tum'd him to the eastern clime. 
 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 Mannion, 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. Fillan's blessed well, 
 Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 
 And the crazed brain restore." 
 
(Blenfinlad 
 
 Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form, 
 Till to the roof her stature grew ; 
 
 Then, mingling with the rising storm, 
 With 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, 
 lyoud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; 
 
 High o'er the minstrel's head they sail, 
 And die amid the northern skies. 
 
 The voice of thunder shook the wood, 
 
 As ceased the more than mortal yell ; 
 \nd, spattering foul, a shower of blood 
 Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 
 
 Next dropp'd from high 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 that head, in battling field, 
 Stream'dtheproud crest of high Benmore ; 
 
 That arm the broad claymore could wield, 
 Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. 
 
 Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! 
 
 Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! 
 There never son of Albin's hills 
 
 Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen ! 
 
 E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 
 At noon shall shun that sheltering den, 
 
 I^est, journeying in their rage, he meet 
 The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 
 
6lcnt!nlas 
 
 And we— behind the Chieftain's shield, 
 No more shall we in safety dwell ; 
 
 None leads the people to the field— 
 And we the loud lament must swell. 
 
 O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! 
 The pride of Albin's line is o'er ! 
 ^And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 
 We ne'er shall see I^rd Ronald more ! 
 
^be 0ai2 (3o06:=l)awk 
 
 203 
 
 goss-hawk, 
 Gin your feathering be sheen ! ' ' — 
 " And waly, waly, my master dear, 
 Gin ye look pale and lean ! 
 
 " O have ye tint, at tournament, 
 Your sword, or yet your spear? 
 
 Or mourn ye for the Southern lass, 
 r^r^^ Whom ye may not win near? " — 
 
 " I have not tint, at tournament. 
 My sword, nor yet my spear ; 
 
 But sair I mourn for my true love, 
 Wi' mony a bitter tear. 
 
 3ee Appendix 
 
204 
 
 XLbc 0ai5 0O66*l)awk 
 
 " But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk. 
 
 Ye can baith speak and flee ; 
 Ve sail carry a letter to my love, 
 
 Bring an answer back to me." — 
 
 ' But how sail I j'our 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 sune 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 white, that is on her breast bare, 
 
 I^ike the down o' the white sea-maw. 
 
 "And even at my love's bour-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." 
 
 Ix>rd William has written a love-letter, 
 
 Put it under his pinion gray ; 
 And he is awa to Southern land 
 
 As fast as wings can gae. 
 
 And even at the ladye's hour 
 There grew a flowering birk ; 
 
 And he sat down and sung thereon 
 As she gaed to the kirk. 
 
Zhc 0ai2 (5o06s1bawk 
 
 205 
 
 And weel he kent that ladye fair 
 Amang her maidens free ; [^^S> 
 
 For the flower, that springs in May mom- 
 Was not sae sweet as she. 
 
 He lighted at the ladye 's yate, 
 
 And sat him on a pin ; 
 And sang fu' sweet the 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' the sang 
 
 Was — "Your love can no win here." — 
 
 ^ " Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', 
 The wine flows you amang. 
 While 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 syne he pick'd his feathers gray. 
 
 To her the letter gave. 
 
 " Have there a letter from I^ord William ; 
 
 He says he 's sent ye three ; 
 He canna wait your love langer. 
 
 But for your sake he '11 die." — 
 
 " Gae bid him bake his bridal bread. 
 
 And brew his bridal ale ; 
 And I shall meet him at Mary's kirk, 
 
 Lang, lang ere it be stale." 
 
2o6 
 
 tTbc ©as (506s«f)awft 
 
 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 haughty Scottish lord, 
 
 For him you ne'er shall see. 
 
 " But, for your honest asking else, 
 
 Weel granted it shall be.' — 
 " Then, gin I die in Southern land, 
 
 la 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, 
 
 Ye 's gar the bells be rung. 
 
 " And when ye come to St. Mary's kirk, 
 Ye 's tarry there till night." 
 
 .\nd so her father pledg'd his word, 
 And so his promise plight. 
 
 She has ta'en her to her bigly hour 
 
 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 sae bright of blee, 
 And she seem'd to be as surely dead 
 
 As any one could be. 
 
 Then spake her cruel step-minnie, 
 
 " Tak ye the burning lead, 
 And drap a drap on her bosome. 
 
 To try if she be dead." 
 
tibe 6a^ (Bo60*1bawfe 207 
 
 They took a drap o' boiling lead, 
 They drapp'd it on her breast ; 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " her father cried, 
 " She 's dead without the priest." 
 
 She neither chatter'd 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 hew'd to her a bier ; 
 They hew'd it frae the solid aik, 
 
 I^aid it o'er wi' silver clear. 
 
 Then up and gat her seven sisters. 
 And sewed to her a kell ; 
 - And every steek that they put in 
 Sewed to a siller bell. 
 
 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. 
 
 Tr But when they cam to St. Mary's kirk, 
 ^r There stude spearmen all on a raw ; 
 And up and started I^ord William, 
 The chieftane amang the a'. 
 
 " Set down, set down the bier," he said ; 
 
 " I^et me look her upon ' ' : [hand. 
 
 But as soon as lyord William touch 'd her 
 
 Her colour began to come. 
 
 She brightened like the lily flower, 
 Till her pale colour was gone 
 
 With rosy cheek, and ruby lip. 
 She smiled her love upon. 
 
2o8 
 
 XLbc 0ai2 ©osssftawft 
 
 " A morsel of j-our bread, my lord, 
 And one glass of your wine ; 
 
 For I hae fasted these three lang days, 
 All for your sake and mine. — 
 
 "Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld 
 brothers ! 
 
 Gae hame and blaw your horn ! 
 I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith, 
 
 But I 've gi'en you the scorn. 
 
 " Commend me to my grey father, 
 That wished my saul gude rest ; 
 But wae be to my cruel step-dame, 
 ^>i &-^ Garr'd bum me on the breast," — 
 
 ^ m 
 
 ^* ' " Ah ! woe to you, you light woman ! 
 An ill death may ye die ! 
 For we left father and sisters at hame 
 Breaking their hearts for thee." 
 
Colin ant) Xuc^ 
 
 20q 
 
 COI.IN AND IvUCY.* 
 
 Of lyCinster, fam'd for maidens fair, 
 Bright lyucy was the grace ; 
 
 Nor e'er did I^iffy's limpid stream 
 Reflect so fair a face. 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
2IO 
 
 Colin an& %\xc^ 
 
 Till luckless love and pining care 
 
 Impair'd her rosy hue, 
 Her coral lip, and damask cheek, 
 
 And eyes of glossy blue. 
 
 Oh ! have you seen a lily pale, 
 When beating rains descend? 
 
 So droop 'd the slow-consuming maid ; 
 Her life nove near its end. 
 
 By I^ucy wam'd, of flattering swains 
 
 Take heed, ye easy fair : 
 Of vengeance due to broken vows, 
 
 Ye perjured swains beware. 
 
 Three times, all in the dead of night, 
 
 A bell was heard to ring ; 
 And at her window, shrieking thrice. 
 
 The raven flapp'd his wing. 
 
 Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 
 The solemn boding sound ; 
 
 And thus, in dying words, bespoke 
 The virgins weeping round. 
 
 " I hear a voice you cannot hear. 
 Which says, I must not stay : 
 
 I see a hand you cannot see. 
 Which beckons me away. 
 
 " By a false heart, and broken vows. 
 
 In early youth I die. 
 Am I to blame, because his bride 
 
 Is thrice as rich as I? 
 
 " Ah Colin ! give not her thy vows ; 
 
 Vows due to me alone ; 
 Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 
 
 Nor think him all thy own. 
 
Cotln atiD Xuci? 
 
 " To-morrow in the church to wed, 
 
 Impatient, both prepare ; 
 But know, fond maid, and know, false man, 
 
 That Ivucy will be there. 
 
 "Then, bear my corse, ye comrades, bear, 
 The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
 
 He in his wedding-trim so gay, 
 I in my winding-sheet." 
 
 She spoke, she died ;— her corse was borne. 
 The bridegroom blithe to meet 
 
 He in his wedding-trim so gay. 
 She in her winding-sheet. 
 
 Then what were perjured Colin 's thoughts? 
 
 How were those nuptials kept ? 
 The bride-men flock'd round I,ucy dead. 
 
 And all the village wept. 
 
 Confusion, shame, remorse, despair. 
 
 At once his bosom swell : 
 The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 
 
 He shook, he groan'd, he fell. 
 
 From the vain bride (ah, bride no more !) 
 
 The varying crimson fled. 
 When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, 
 
 She saw her husband dead. 
 
 Then to his IvUcy's new-made grave, 
 Convey'd by trembling swains, 
 
 One mould with her, beneath one sod, 
 For ever he remains. 
 
 Oft. at their grave the constant hind 
 
 And plighted maid are seen ; 
 With garlands gay, and true-love knots, 
 
 They deck the sacred g^een. 
 
212 
 
 Colin anO %\xc^ 
 
 But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, 
 
 This hallow'd spot forbear ; 
 Remember Colin 's dreadful fate, 
 K*jjT Si And fear to meet him there. 
 
Ikatbariue 5anfarfe 
 
 213 
 
 KATHARINE JANFARIK.* 
 
 There was a may, and a weel-far'd may, 
 
 I^ived high up in yon glen : 
 Her name was Katharine Janfaric, 
 
 She was courted by mony men. 
 
 Up then came I^ord I,auderdale, 
 Up frae the I^awland Border ; 
 
 And he has come to court this may, 
 A' mounted in good order. 
 
 See Appendix. 
 
214 
 
 •Ratbarine 5antarfe 
 
 He told na her father, he told na her mother, 
 And he told na ane o' her kin ; 
 
 But he whisper 'd the bonnie lassie hersell. 
 And has her favour won. 
 
 But out then came Lord I^ochinvar, 
 
 Out frae the English Border, 
 All for to court this bonny may, 
 
 Weel mounted, and in order. 
 
 He told her father, he told her mother, 
 
 And a' the lave o' her kin ; 
 But he told na the bonny maj^ hersell, 
 
 Till on her wedding e'en. 
 
 She sent to the I^ord o' I^auderdale, 
 
 Gin he wad come and see ; 
 And he has sent word back again, 
 
 "Weel answer'd she suld be. 
 
 And he has sent a messenger 
 '^^ Right quickly through the land, 
 ^-^ And raised mony an armed man 
 
 To be at his command. 
 # 
 The bride looked out at a high window. 
 Beheld baith dale and down, 
 i. And she was aware of her first true love, 
 ^ With riders mony a one. 
 
 She scoffed him, and scorned him, 
 
 UpHDn her wedding day ; 
 And said—" It was the Fairy court 
 
 To see him in array ! 
 
 " O come ye here to fight, young lord, 
 
 Or come ye here to play ? 
 Or come ye here to drink good wine 
 
 Upon the wedding day ? " — 
 
IRatbarine ^anfarie 
 
 215 
 
 " I come na here to fight," he said, 
 
 " I come na here to play ; 
 I '11 but lead a dance wi' the bonnie 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 I^auderdale, 
 
 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, lyord I^ochinvar ! 
 
 Now take her if you may ! 
 But, if you take your bride again, 
 
 We '11 call it but foul play." 
 
 There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys, 
 
 A' clad in 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 I^eader 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 
 Ran down the lily braes. 
 
 [" One 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 the croupe the fair lady he swung. 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
 • She is won I we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 
 They '11 have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar." 
 
 Marfnton.'\ 
 
2l6 
 
 l^atbarine 5anfarie 
 
 The blood ran down by Caddon bank, 
 
 And down by Caddon brae ; 
 And, sighing, said the bonny bride — 
 
 " O wae 's me for foul play ! ' ' 
 
 My blessing on j'our heart, sweet thing ! 
 
 Wae to your wilfu' wiU ! 
 There 's mony a gallant gentleman 
 
 Whae's bluid j-e 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 '11 haik ye up, and settle ye bye. 
 
 Till on your wedding day ; 
 Then gie ye frogs instead offish, 
 
 And play ye foul, foul play. 
 
•RuDiser 
 
 217 
 
 * See Appendix, 
 
 RUDIGER.* 
 
 Bright on the mountain's healthy slope 
 The day's last splendours shine, 
 
 And, rich with many a radiant hue, 
 Gleam gaily on the Rhine. 
 
2l8 
 
 •RuDiger 
 
 And many a one from Waldhurst's walls 
 
 Along the river stroll'd, 
 As ruffling o'er the pleasant stream 
 
 The ev'ning gales came cold. 
 
 So as they stray'd a swan they saw 
 
 Sail stately up and strong, 
 And by a silver chain he drew 
 
 A little boat along, — 
 
 Whose streamer to the gentle breeze 
 
 I,ong floating flutter'd light, 
 Beneath whose crimson canopy 
 
 There lay reclin'd a knight. 
 
 With arching crest and swelling breast 
 
 On sail'd the stately swan, 
 And lightly up the parting tide 
 
 The little boat came on. 
 
 And onward to the shore they drew, 
 Where having left the knight, 
 
 The little boat adown the stream 
 Fell soon beyond the sight. 
 
 W^as never a knight in Waldhurst's walls 
 Could with this stranger vie ; 
 
 Was never a youth at aught esteem'd 
 When Rudiger was by. 
 
 Was never a maid in Waldhurst's walls 
 Might match with Margaret ; 
 
 Her cheek was fair, her eyes were dark. 
 Her silken locks like jet. 
 
 And many a rich and noble youth 
 
 Had strove to win the fair ; 
 But never a rich and noble youth 
 
 Could rival Rudiger. 
 
IRu&iQer 
 
 219 
 
 At every tilt and tourney he 
 
 Still bore away the prize ; 
 For knightly feats superior still, 
 
 And knightly courtesies. 
 
 His gallant feats, his looks, his love, 
 
 Soon won the willing fair ; 
 And soon did Margaret become 
 
 The wife of Rudiger. 
 
 lyike morning dreams of happiness 
 Fast roll'd the months away ; 
 
 For he was kind and she was kind. 
 And who so blest as they ? 
 
 Yet Rudiger would sometimes sit 
 
 Absorb'd in silent thought, 
 And his dark downward eye would seem 
 
 With anxious meaning fraught : 
 
 But soon he rais'd his looks again, 
 
 And smil'd his cares away, 
 And mid the hall of gaiety 
 
 •Was none like him so gay. 
 
 And onward roll'd the waning months — 
 
 The hour appointed came. 
 And Margaret her Rudiger 
 
 Hail'd with a father's name. 
 
 But silently did Rudiger 
 
 The little infant see ; 
 And darkly on the babe he gaz'd, — 
 
 A gloomy man was he. 
 
 And when to bless the little babe 
 
 The holy Father came, 
 To cleanse the stains of sin away 
 
 In Christ's redeeming name, 
 
•RuDigcr 
 
 Then did the cheek of Rudiger 
 
 Assume a death-pale hue, 
 And on his clammy forehead stood 
 
 The cold convulsive dew ; 
 
 And falt'ring in his speech he bade 
 
 The Priest the rites delay, 
 Till he could, to right health restor'd, 
 
 Enjoy the festive day. 
 
 When o'er the many-tinted sky 
 
 He saw the day decline, 
 He called upon his Margaret 
 
 To walk beside the Rhine ; 
 
 •' And we will take the little babe, 
 For soft the breeze that blows. 
 
 And the mild murmurs of the stream 
 Will lull him to repose." * 
 
 And so together forth they went ; 
 
 The ev'ning breeze was mild, 
 And Rudiger upon his arm 
 
 Pillow'd the little child. 
 
 » " Now who can judge this to be other than one of 
 those spirits that are named Incubi?" says Thomas 
 Heywood, in his "Notes to the Hierarchies of the 
 BlessedAngels,"apoem printed by Adam Islipin 1635. 
 "I have adopted his story," writes Southey, "but not 
 his solution, making the unknown soldier not an evil 
 spirit, but one who had purchjised happiness of a malev- 
 olent being, by the promised sacrifice of his first-born 
 child." Southey has borrowed themes of other balla'ls 
 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 
 paleness on her countenance." At length a magician 
 coming by where she was, in the comjjany 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 ? " when taking away the magic 
 charm which was hid under her arm, the body fell down 
 lifeless and without motion. 
 
IRu&tQcr 
 
 221 
 
 And many a one from Waldhurst's walls 
 
 Along the banks did roam ; 
 But soon the evening wind came cold, 
 
 And all betook them home. 
 
 Yet Rudiger in silent mood 
 Along the banks would roam, 
 
 Nor aught could Margaret prevail 
 To turn his footsteps home. 
 
 ' ' Oh turn thee, turn thee, Rudiger ! 
 
 The rising mists behold, 
 The ev'ning wind is damp and chill, 
 
 The little babe is cold ! ' 
 
 " Now hush thee, hush thee, Margaret, 
 
 The mists will do no harm, 
 And from the wind the little babe 
 
 Ivies shelter 'd on my arm." 
 
 " Oh turn thee, turn thee, Rudiger ! 
 
 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, 
 And by a silver chain he drew 
 
 A little boat along. 
 
 To shore they came, and to the boat 
 
 Fast leapt he with the child, 
 And in leapt Margaret— breathless now. 
 
 And pale with fear and wild. 
 
 With arching crest and swelling breast 
 
 On sail'd the stately swan. 
 And lightly down the rapid tide 
 
 The little boat went on. 
 
222 
 
 •RuDiacr 
 
 i^^g^ 
 
 The full-orb 'd moon, that beam'd around 
 Pale splendour through the night, 
 
 Cast through the crimson canopy 
 A dim discolour'd light ; 
 
 And swiftly down the hurrying stream 
 
 In silence still they sail, 
 And the long streamer flutt'ring fast 
 
 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 crj-, 
 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 : 
 t,ie 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. 
 
IRuDiger 
 
 223 
 
 And at its base a cavern yawn'd, 
 
 No eye its depth might view, 
 For in the moonbeam shining round 
 
 That darkness darker g^rew. 
 Cold horror crept through Margaret's t^od, 
 
 Her heart it paus'd with fear, 
 When Rudiger approach'd the cave, 
 
 And cried, " 1,0, I am here ! " 
 A deep sepulchral sound the cave 
 
 Retum'd, " IvO, I am here ! " 
 And black from out the cavern gloom 
 
 Two giant arms appear. 
 And Rudiger approach'd, and held 
 
 The little infant nigh : 
 Then Margaret shriek'd, and gather'd then 
 
 New pow'rs from agony. 
 And 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 ballads of Jamieson, Lewis, 
 and others, record incidents of a similar character. 
 When Southey borrowed the story, it was comparatively 
 new to the English reader. It would be easy to quote 
 
 many illustrative examples. Jamieson publishes one— 
 from the Danish— entitled " The Merman and Marstig's 
 Daughter," in which occurs the following stanza,— the 
 
 H^ 
 
 wedlock being followed by the drowning of the fair 
 May: 
 
 " The priest before the altar stood ; 
 
 ' O what for a good naight may this be ? ' 
 The May leugh till herself, and said, 
 
 ' God gif that gude knight were for me ! ' " 
 
 A translation, apparently of the same ballad, has been 
 made by Mr. Charles Mackay ; it is entitled " The Wild 
 Water-man, or the Fate of the Vain Maiden " ; the fol- 
 lowing is the "moral ": 
 
 " I warn you maidens, whoever you be. 
 Beware, beware of vanity ; 
 Maidens, I warn you all I can, 
 Beware of the wild, wild water-man." 
 
224 
 
 'Kudidct 
 
 " Now help me, Jesus ! " loud she cries, 
 
 And loud on God she calls ; 
 Then from the grasp of Rudiger 
 
 The little infant falls. 
 
 And loud he shriek'd, for now his ftame. 
 The huge black arms clasp 'd round, 
 
 And dragg'd the wretched Rudiger 
 Adown the dark profound. 
 
Zhc iBvc of St. 5obn 
 
 225 
 
 th:E :Evb of st. john.* 
 
 The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 
 
 He spurr'd his courser on, 
 Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, 
 
 That leads to Brotherstone. 
 
 He went not with the bold Buccleuch, 
 
 His banr^er broad to rear ; 
 He went not 'gainst the E;nglish yew, 
 
 To lift the Scottish spear. 
 
 • See Appendix. 
 
226 
 
 XL\)C JBvc of St. 5obn 
 
 Yet his plate-jack was brac'd, his helmet was 
 lac'd, 
 
 And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 
 At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, 
 
 Full ten pound weight and more. 
 The baron return'd in three days' space, 
 
 And his looks were sad and sour ; 
 And weary was his courser's pace, 
 
 As he reach 'd his rocky tower. 
 
 He came not from where Ancram Moor 
 
 Ran red with English blood ; [cleuch, 
 
 ^\'here the Douglas true, and the bold Buc- 
 
 ' Gainst keen I^rd Evers stood. 
 Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd. 
 
 His acton pierced and tore. 
 His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, — 
 
 But it was not English gore. 
 
 V;^ He lighted at the Chapellage, 
 ' ' He held him close and still ; 
 
 And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, 
 His name was English Will. 
 
 " Come thou hither, my little foot-page, 
 
 Come hither to my knee ; 
 Though thou art young, and tender of age, 
 
 I think thou art true to me. 
 
 " Come, tell me all that thou has seen, 
 
 And look thou tell me true ! 
 Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been. 
 
 What did thy lady do ? '— 
 
 " My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, 
 That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 
 
 For, from height to height, the beacons bright 
 Of the English foemen told. 
 
trbe iBvc of St. 5obn 
 
 227 
 
 " The bittern clamour'd from the moss, 
 
 The wind blew loud and shrill ; 
 Yet the craggy pathway she did cross, 
 
 To the eiry Beacon Hill. 
 
 " I watch 'd her steps, and silent came 
 
 Where she sat her on a stone ; — 
 No watchman stood by the dreary flame 
 
 It burned all alone. 
 
 " The second night I kept her in sight, 
 
 Till to the fire she came, 
 And, by Mary's might ! an armed knight 
 
 Stood by the lonely flame. 
 
 And many a word that warlike lord 
 Did speak to my lady there ; 
 Hut the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast. 
 And I heard not what they were. 
 
 " The third night there the sky was fair. 
 And the mountain blast was still, 
 
 As again I watch 'd the secret pair, 
 On the lonesome Beacon Hill. 
 
 " And I heard her name the midnight hour. 
 
 And name this holy eve ; 
 \nd say : * Come this night to thy lady's bower ; 
 
 Ask no bold baron's leave. 
 
 " ' He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; 
 
 His lady is all alone ; 
 The door she '11 undo to her knight so true, 
 
 On the eve of good St. John.'— 
 
 " ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 
 
 I dare not come to thee ; 
 On the eve of St. John I must wander alone ; 
 
 In thy bower I may not be.'— 
 
228 
 
 tTbe JEvc of St. 5obn 
 
 '* ' Now, out on thee, faint-liearted knight I 
 
 Thou shouldst not say me nay ; 
 For the eve is sweet, and, when lovers meet, 
 . Is worth the whole summer's day. 
 
 " ' And I '11 chain the blood-hound. 
 And the warder shall not sound. 
 
 And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair ; 
 So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. 
 John, 
 
 I conjure thee, my love, to be there ! ' — 
 
 ITiough the blood-hound may be mute, 
 And the rush beneath my foot, 
 
 And the warder his bugle should not blow. 
 There sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the 
 
 And my footstep he would know. '— [east, 
 
 " ' O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the 
 FortoDrj-burghthewayhehasta'en ; [east! 
 
 And there to say mass, till three days do pass. 
 For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' — 
 
 'He tum'd him around, and grimly he 
 
 Then he laugh'd right scornfully — [frown'd 
 
 ■ He who says mass-rite for the soul of that 
 
 May as well say mass for me : [knight, 
 
 " 'At the midnight hour, 
 When bad spirits have power, 
 
 In thy chamber will I be.' — 
 With that he was gone, and my lady left alone. 
 
 And no more did I see. ' ' 
 
 Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's 
 From the dark to theblood-red high— [brow, 
 
 " Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou 
 hast seen. 
 For, by Mary, he shall die ! " — 
 
Zhc iBvc of St 5obn 
 
 229 
 
 " His arms shone bright, in the beacon's red 
 His plume it was scarlet and blue ; [light ! 
 
 On his shield was a hound, 
 
 In a silver leash bound, 
 And his crest was a branch of the yew." — 
 
 "Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 
 
 IvOud dost thou lie to me ! 
 For that knight is cold, 
 And low laid in the mould, 
 
 All under the iEildon-tree." — 
 "Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! 
 
 For I heard her name his name ; 
 And that lady bright she called the knight 
 Sir Richard of Coldinghame."— 
 ^ The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, 
 •s From high blood-red to pale — 
 Z " The grave is deep and dark — 
 4 And the corpse is stiff and stark — 
 ili So I may not trust thy tale. 
 
 "Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, 
 
 And Eildon slopes to the plain. 
 Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, 
 
 That gay gallant was slain. 
 
 " The varying light deceived thy sight, 
 
 And the wild winds drown 'd the name ; 
 For the Dryburgh bells ring. 
 And the white monks do sing. 
 
 For Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! " 
 He pass'd the court-gate, 
 And he oped the tower-gate, 
 
 And he mounted the narrow stair. 
 To the bartizan seat. 
 Where, with maids that on her wait, 
 
 He found his lady fair. 
 
 '\7\ B H A ^ y^ 
 
 OF THK 
 
230 
 
 ^bc Bve ot St. 5obn 
 
 -^ 
 
 That lady sat in mournful mood • 
 
 Ivook'd over hill and vale ; 
 Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood, 
 
 And all down Teviotdale. 
 " Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright ! " — 
 
 " Now hail, thou Baron true ! 
 What news, what news, from Ancrara fight? 
 
 What news from the bold Buccleuch ? " — 
 " The Ancram Moor is red with gore, 
 
 For many a southern fell ; 
 And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore, 
 
 To watch our beacons well." — 
 rhe lady blush 'd red, but nothing she said : 
 
 Nor added the Baron a word : [ber fair, 
 
 Then she stepp'd down the stair to her cham- 
 I. And so did her moody lord. 
 I In sleep the lady moum'd, 
 J'; And the Baron toss'd and tum'd, 
 j And oft to himself he said, — 
 i " The worms around him creep, 
 And his bloody grave is deep . . . 
 It cannot give up the dead ! ' ' — 
 
 It was near the ringing of matin-bell, 
 
 The night was well nigh done. 
 When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, 
 
 On the eve of good St. John. 
 The lady look'd through the chamber fair, 
 
 By the light of a dying flame ; 
 And she was aware of a knight stood there — 
 
 Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 
 " Alas ! away, away ! " she cried, 
 
 " For the holy Virgin's sake ! " — 
 " I/ady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 
 
 Put, lady, he will not awake. 
 
Zbc Bx>e of St 5obn 
 
 231 
 
 " By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, 
 In bloody grave have I lain ; [me, 
 
 The mass and the death-prayer are said for 
 But, lady, they are said in vain. 
 
 "By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair 
 Most foully slain, I fell ; [strand, 
 
 And my restless sprite on the beacon's 
 For a space is doomed to dwell, [height, 
 
 " At our trysting-place, for a certain space, 
 I must wander to and fro ; [bower, 
 
 But I had not had power to come to thy 
 Hadst thou not conjured me so." — 
 
 L,ove master'd fear — ^her brow she cross'd ; 
 
 " How, Richard, hast thou sped ? 
 And art thou saved, or art thou lost?" — 
 
 The vision shook his head ! 
 
 " Who spilleth life shall forfeit life ; 
 
 So bid thy lord believe : 
 That lawless love is guilt above. 
 
 This awful sign receive." 
 
 He laid his left palm on an oaken beam. 
 
 His right upon her hand ; 
 The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, 
 
 For it scorch 'd like a fiery brand. 
 
 The sable score of fingers four 
 Remains on that board impress 'd ; 
 
 And for evermore that lady wore 
 A covering on her wrist.* 
 
 * The circumstance of the ' ' nun who never saw the day " is not entirely imaginary. 
 Neither is the incident of the lady wearing- a covering on the wrist to conceal the 
 "sable score of fingers four." Sir Walter says it is "founded on an Irish tradition." 
 The circumstance referred to is not of a remote date. We have ourselves seen the 
 bracelet said to have been thus used — ^nd worn until death betrayed the secret of the 
 nearer, 
 
232 
 
 Ubc jevc ot St. 5obn 
 
3Bartbram*0 Dirge 
 
 233 
 
 They shot him (lend nt the Nine Stone Rig, 
 
 Beside the Ilcidleso Cross 
 And tlicy left hiin l>in^ in his bhxj 1, 
 
 Upon the moor and moss. 
 
 They made a bier of the broken bough, 
 The sauch and the aspin gray. 
 
 And they bore him to the Lady Chapel, 
 And waked him there all day. 
 
 A lady came to that lonely bower. 
 
 And threw her robes aside ; 
 She tore her ling long yellow hair, 
 ji\^ •> And knelt at Barthram's sid^. 
 
 * See Appendi3(. 
 
=34 
 
 :JSartbram*s Dfrae 
 
 She bathed him in the Lady-Well. 
 
 H is wounds so deep and sair ; 
 Anil she plaited a jrarland for his breast. 
 
 And a garland for bis bair. 
 
 They rowed him in a lily-sheet 
 
 And bare him to his earth ; 
 And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's 
 
 As they passd the Chapel Garth. 
 
 They buried him at the mirk midnigt, 
 W hen the dew fell cold and still. 
 
 They dug his grave but a bare foot deep. 
 By the edge of the Nine-Stone Bum, 
 
 An<l they covered him o'er with the heather-flower. 
 The moss and the lady fern. 
 
 A Gray Friar staid upon the grave. 
 
 And sang till the morning tide ; 
 And a fi-iar shall sing for Barthram's soul, 
 
 ■While the Headless Cross shall bide. 
 
Sic Cauline 
 
 235 
 
 In Ireland ferr over the s<»-i, 
 There dwelleth 1 honn>e kiiitje ; 
 
 And with him a younjj and conilye knighte, 
 Men call him bwr Cauiine. 
 
 ?®> The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 
 / In fashyon she hath no peere ; 
 ;■ And princely wig'htes that ladye wooed 
 To be theyr wedded feere. 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
236 
 
 Sir CauUnc 
 
 £mi*^^ 
 
 Sir Cauline loveth her best of all, 
 
 But nothing durst he saye ; 
 Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, 
 
 But deerlye he lovde this may. 
 Till on a daye it so beffell. 
 
 Great dill to him was dight ; 
 The maydens love removde his mynd, 
 
 To care-bed went the knighte, 
 One while he spred his armes him fro, 
 
 One while he spred them nye : 
 And aye, " But I winne that ladye's love 
 
 For dole now I mun dye." 
 And whan our parish-masse was done, 
 
 Our kinge was bowne to dyne : 
 He saves, " Where is Sir Cauline, 
 
 That is wont to serve the wy-ne ? " 
 
 Then aunswerde him a courteous 
 knighte. 
 
 And fast his handes gan wringe : 
 " Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye 
 
 Without a good leechinge." 
 " Fetche me downe my daughter deere, 
 
 She is a leeche fulle fine : [bread, 
 
 Goe take him doughe, and the baken 
 And ser\-e him with the wyne soe red ; 
 
 Lothe I were him to tine." 
 Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes. 
 
 Her maydens foUowyng nj^e : [lord ? ' ' 
 "O well,"' she sayth, "how doth my 
 
 " O sicke, thou fayr ladye." 
 " Noweryse up wightlye, man for shame. 
 
 Never lye soe cowardice ; 
 For it is told in my father's halle, 
 
 You dve for love of mee," 
 
Sir Cauline 
 
 237 
 
 " Fayre ladye, it is for your love 
 
 That all this dill I drye : 
 For if you wold comfort me with a kisse. 
 Then were I brought from bale to blisse, 
 
 No lenger wold I lye. ' ' 
 
 " Sir knighte, my father is a kinga, 
 
 I am his only heire ; 
 Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte, 
 
 I never can be youre fere." 
 
 " O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, 
 
 And I am not thy peere ; 
 But let me doe some deedes of armes 
 
 To be your bacheleere." 
 
 ' Some deedes of arms if thou wilt doe. 
 
 My bacheleere to bee, 
 But ever and aye my heart wold rue 
 Giflf harm shold happe to thee. 
 
 " Upon FJldridge hill there groweth a 
 
 Upon the mores brodinge ; [thorne 
 
 ' And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all 
 
 Untill the fayre morninge ? [nighte, 
 
 " For the F)ldridge knighte, so mickle of 
 
 Will examine you beforne ; [mighte, 
 And never man bare life awaye. 
 
 But he did him scath and scorne. 
 " That knighte he is a fond paynim, 
 
 And large of limb and bone ; 
 And but if heaven may be thy speede. 
 
 Thy life it is but gone." 
 " Nowe on the Flldridge hilles He walke, 
 
 For thy sake, faire ladye ; 
 And He either bring you a ready token, 
 
 Or He never more you see." 
 
238 
 
 Sir CauUne 
 
 The lady is gone to her own chambere, 
 
 Her maydens following- bright : 
 Sir Cauline lope from care-bed soone, 
 And to the Eldridge hills is gone, 
 For to wake there all night. 
 
 Unto midnight, that the moone did rise 
 He walked up and downe : 
 
 Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe, 
 ■::>,^ Over the bents soe browne ; 
 Quoth hee, " If cryance come till my heart, 
 ^ I am far from any good towne." 
 
 And soone he spyde on the mores so broad, 
 
 A furyous wight and fell ; 
 A ladye bright his brj'dle led. 
 
 Clad in a fayre kyrtell ; 
 
 And soe fast he called on Sir Cauline, 
 
 " O man, I rede thee flj'e. 
 For ' but ' if crj'ance comes till my heart, 
 
 I weene but thou mun dye. ' ' 
 
 He saj-th, " No cryance comes till my heart, 
 Nor in fayth, I wj-ll not flee ; 
 '' For, cause thou minged not Christ before. 
 The less me dreaded thee." 
 
 The Eldridge knighte he pricked his steed ; 
 
 Sir Cauline bold abode : 
 Then either shooke his trustj' speare. 
 And the timber these two children bare 
 
 Soe soone in sunder slode. 
 
 Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes, 
 
 And laj^den on full faste, 
 Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, 
 
 They all were well-nye brast. 
 
Bit Cauline 
 
 239 
 
 The EJldridge knight was mickle of might, 
 
 And stifFe in stower did stande, 
 But Sir Cauline with a backward stroke, 
 
 He smote off his right hand ; 
 That soone he with paine and lacke of bloud 
 
 Fell downe on that lay-land. 
 Then up Sir Cauline lift his brande 
 
 All over his head so hye : 
 " 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 deadly brande : 
 
 ' * For the mayden's love, that most you love, 
 
 Now smyte no more I praye ; 
 And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord. 
 
 He shall thy hests obaye." 
 ' Now sweare tomee, thou Fldridgeknighte, 
 
 And here on this lay-land, 
 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 armes 
 
 Until thy dying daye." 
 The Fldridge knighte gave up his armes 
 
 With many a sorrowfulle sighe ; 
 And sware to obey Sir Cauline's hest, 
 
 Till the tyme that he shold dye. 
 And he then up, and the Fldridge knighte 
 
 Sett him in his saddle anone, 
 And the Kldridge knighte and his ladye 
 
 To theyr castle are they gone. 
 
240 
 
 Sir Cauline 
 
 Then he tooke up the bloudy hand, 
 
 That -was so large of bone, 
 And on it he founde five rings of gold 
 
 Of knightes that had he slone. 
 
 Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, 
 
 As hard as any flint ; 
 And he tooke off 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 ; 
 " O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills ; 
 
 These tokens I bring away." 
 
 ' No-w 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, 
 (^|--^ Tliy hests for to obaye ; 
 
 i¥^ And mought I hope to winne thj' love ! " 
 Ne more his tonge colde say. 
 
 The lady blushed scarlette redde, 
 
 And fette a gentill sighe : 
 " Alas ! sir knighte, how may this bee, 
 
 For my degree's soe highe ? 
 
 " But sith thou hast hight, thou comely 
 To be my bacheleere, [youth, 
 
 lie promise if thee I may not wedde, 
 I will have none other fere." 
 
Sir CauHne 
 
 241 
 
 Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand 
 
 Towards that knighte so free ; 
 He gave to it one gentill kisse, — 
 His heart was brought from bale 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 
 I/Ovde 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 houre. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 I :^verye white will have its blacke, 
 And everye sweete its sowre : 
 This founde the I^adye Christabelle 
 In an untimely howre. 
 
 Far so it befelle, as Sir Cauline 
 
 Was with that ladye faire. 
 The kinge, her father, walked forthe 
 
 To take the evenyng aire : 
 
 And into the arboure as he went 
 
 To rest his weary e feet, 
 He found his daughter and Sir Cauline 
 
 There sette in daliaunce sweet. 
 
24- 
 
 Sit Cauline 
 
 The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, 
 
 And an angrye man was hee : 
 " iSTowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or 
 drawe, 
 
 And rewe shall thy ladye." 
 
 Then forthe Sir Cauline he was ledde, 
 And throwne in dungeon deepe ; 
 
 And the ladye into a towre so hye, 
 There left to wayle and weepe. 
 
 The queene she was Sir Cauline's fi-iend, 
 
 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." 
 
 All woebegone was that gentil knight 
 
 To parte from his ladj-e ; 
 -iid many a time he sighed sore, 
 
 And cast a wistfulle e^'e : 
 " Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte, 
 
 Farre lever had I dj^e." 
 
 Fair ChristabeUe, that ladye bright, 
 
 Was had forthe of the towre ; 
 But ever shee droopetji in her minde, 
 As nipt by an ungentle winde 
 
 Doth some faire lillye flowre. 
 
 And ever shee doth lament and weepe 
 
 To tint her lover soe : 
 " Sir Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, 
 
 But I will still be true," 
 
Sir Cauline 
 
 243 
 
 Manye a kinge, and manye a duke, 
 And lorde of high degree, 
 
 Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ; 
 But never shee wolde them nee. 
 
 When manye a daye was past and gone, 
 
 Ne comfort she colde finde. 
 The kynge proclaimed a toumeament, 
 
 To cheere his daughter's mind : 
 
 A.nd there came lords, and there came knights, 
 
 Fro manye a farre countrye. 
 To break a spere for theyr ladyes love 
 
 Before that faire ladye. 
 
 And manye a ladye there vras sette 
 
 In purple and in palle : 
 But fair Christabelle soe woe-begone 
 
 Was the fayrest of them all. 
 
 Then manye a knight vras mickle of might 
 
 Before his ladye gaye ; 
 But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, 
 
 He wan the prize eche daye.* 
 
 * Sir Cauline is here made to act up to the genuine 
 spirit of perfect chivalry. In old romances no incident is 
 of more frequent occurrence than this, of kniffhts 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 
 does the renowned Arthur, under such circumstances, ex- 
 claim, " O, Jesu I what knyte is that arrayed all in greene 
 (or as the case maybe)? He justeth myghtely!" The 
 Emperor of Almaine, in like manner, after the timely 
 succour afforded him by Syr Gowhter, is anxious to learn 
 the name of his modest but unknown deliverer: 
 
 " Now dere God," said the Emperor, 
 
 " Whence com the knyght that is so styfe and stoure, 
 
 And al araide in rede. 
 
 Both hors, armour, and his stede? 
 
 A thousand Sarezyns he hath made blede. 
 
 And beteen hem to dethe. 
 
 That heder is com to helpe me. 
 
 And yesterday in black was he." 
 
244 
 
 Sir Caulfne 
 
 His acton it was all of blacke, 
 
 His hewberke, and his sheelde, 
 Xe noe man wist whence he did come, 
 Ne noe man knewe where he did gone, 
 
 When they came from the feelde. 
 And now three days were prestlye past 
 
 In feates of chivalrye, 
 When lo upon the fourth mornings 
 
 A sorrowfulle sight they see. 
 A hugye giaunt stiflFe and starke, 
 
 All foule of limbe and lere ; 
 Two goggling 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 with me ! 
 
 They are kings which he hath slain. 
 " The Eldridge knight is his own cousine, 
 
 Whom 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 j-eelde him that fajTe mayd. 
 
 Thj- halls and towers must brenne. 
 " Thy head, sir king, must goe with mee, 
 
 Or else thy daughter deere ; 
 Or else within these lists soe broad 
 
 Thou must finde him a peere. " 
 
Sir Caulfne 
 
 245 
 
 The king he 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 yee al! 
 
 Will fight for my daughter and mee ? 
 Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan, 
 
 Right fair his meede shall bee. 
 
 " For hee shall have my broad lay-lands, 
 
 And of my crowne be heyre ; 
 And he shall winne fayre Christabelle 
 
 To be his wedded fere." 
 
 But every knighte of his round table 
 
 Did stand both still and pale : 
 For whenever they lookt on the grim soldan, 
 j It made their hearts to quail. 
 
 All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 
 When she sawe no helpe 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 : " I^adye, be not afirayd ; 
 
 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 fiende, 
 Thoughe he be stiffe and stowre." 
 
 "Goe fetch him downe the FJldridge sworde," 
 The king he cryde, " with speede : 
 
 Noweheaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; 
 My daughter is thy meede." 
 
246 
 
 Sir Caullne 
 
 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, 
 
 In his blacke armoure dight : 
 The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, 
 
 " That this were my true knighte ! " 
 
 And nowe the gyaunt and knighte are mett 
 
 Within the lists soe broad ; 
 And nowwith swordes soe sharpe of Steele, 
 
 Thej' 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 the bloude 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 heaven be now my speede. 
 
 Or else I shall be slaine." 
 
 He grasped his sworde with mayne and 
 And spying a secrette part, [mighte, 
 
 He drave it into the soldan's syde. 
 And pierced him to the heart. 
 
sir CauUne 
 
 247 
 
 Then all the people gave a shoute, 
 Whan they sawe the soldan falle : 
 
 The ladye wept, and thankM Christ, 
 That had reskewed her from thrall. 
 
 And nowe the kinge with all his barons 
 
 Rose uppe from, offe his seate, 
 And downe he stepped into the listes, 
 
 That curteous knighte to greete. 
 
 But he for payne and lack of bloude 
 
 Was fallen into a swounde. 
 And there all walteringe in his gore 
 
 I^ay lifelesse 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 steppeth that fayre ladye, 
 
 To helpe him if she maye ; 
 But when she did his beavere raise, 
 " It is my life, my lord," she sayes. 
 
 And shriekte and swound awaye. 
 Sir Cauline juste lifle up his eyes 
 
 When he hearde his ladye crye, 
 " O ladye, I am thine owne true love ; 
 
 For thee I wisht to dye. ' ' 
 
 Then giving her one partinge looke, 
 
 He closed his eyes in death, 
 Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 
 
 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 ; 
 
248 
 
 Sir Cauline 
 
 " O staye, my deare and onlye lord, 
 For mee thy faithfuUe fere ; 
 f^/Ti^^ 'T is meet that I shold followe thee, 
 ^» Whohastbought my love soe deare.' 
 
 Then fayntinge in a dead lye swoune. 
 And with a deepe-fette sighe, 
 
 That burst her gentle hearte in twayne, 
 Fayre Christabelle did dye. 
 
IRutb 
 
 249 
 
 
 
 r^r 
 
 .hS;> 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
 RUTH.* 
 
 When Ruth was left half desolate, 
 Her Father took another Mate ; 
 And Ruth, not seven years old, 
 A slighted Child, at her own will 
 Went wandering over dale and hill, 
 In thoughtless freedom bold. 
 And she had made a Pipe of straw. 
 And from that oaten Pipe could draw 
 All sounds of winds and floods ; 
 Had built a Eower upon the green, 
 As if she from her birth had been 
 An Infant of the woods. 
 
•Rutb 
 
 Beneath her Father's roof alone 
 
 She seem'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 Georg^ia'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 njime ; 
 
 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 : 
 
 — While 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 manj' 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. 
 
IRutb 
 
 251 
 
 He told of Girls — a happy rout ! 
 Who quit their fold with dance and shout, 
 Their pleasant Indian Town, 
 To gather strawberries all day long ; 
 Returning with a choral song 
 When daylight is gone down. 
 He spake of plants divine and strange 
 That every hour their blossoms change. 
 Ten thousand lovely hues ! 
 With budding, fading, faded flowers 
 They stand the wonder of the bowers 
 From mom to evening dews. 
 He told of the Magnolia, spread 
 High as a cloud, high over head ! 
 The Cypress and her spire ; 
 ' — Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam 
 Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 
 To set the hills on fire. 
 The Youth of green savannahs spake. 
 And many an endless, endless lake, 
 With all its fairy crowds 
 Of islands, that together lie 
 As quietly as spots of sky 
 Among the evening clouds. 
 And then he said : ' ' How sweet it were 
 A fisher or a hunter there, 
 A gardener in the shade 
 Still wandering with an easy mind. 
 To build a household fire, and find 
 A home in every glade ! 
 " What days, and what sweet years ! Ah me ! 
 Our life were life indeed, with thee 
 So pass'd in quiet bliss ; 
 And all the while," said he, " to know 
 That we were in a world of woe, 
 On such an earth as this ! " 
 
252 
 
 IRutb 
 
 And then lie sometimes interwove 
 
 Fond thoughts about a Father's love : 
 
 ' ' For there, ' ' said he, " are spun 
 
 Around the heart such tender ties, 
 
 That our own children to our eyes 
 
 Are dearer than the sun, 
 
 " Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me, 
 
 My helpmate in the woods to be, 
 
 Our shed at night to rear ; 
 
 Or run, my own adopted Bride, 
 
 A sj'lvan Huntress at my side, 
 
 And drive the flying deer ! 
 
 " Beloved Ruth ! " — No more he said. 
 
 The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed 
 
 A solitary tear : 
 
 She thought again — and did agree 
 
 With him to sail across the sea, 
 
 And drive the flying deer. 
 
 " And now, as fitting is and right. 
 
 We in the Church our faith will plight, 
 
 A Husband and a Wife." 
 
 Even so they did ; and I may say 
 
 That to sweet Ruth that happy day 
 
 Was more than human life. 
 
 Through dream and vision did she sink, 
 
 Delighted all the while to think, 
 
 That on those lonesome floods, 
 
 And green savannahs, she should share 
 
 His board with lawful joy, and bear 
 
 His name in the wild woods. 
 
 But, as you have before been told, 
 
 This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold, 
 
 And with his dancing crest 
 
 So beautiful, through savage lands 
 
 Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands 
 
 Of Indians in the West. 
 
IRutb 
 
 253 
 
 The wind, the tempest roaring high 
 The tumult of a tropic sky, 
 Might well be dangerous food 
 For him, a Youth to whom was given 
 So much of earth — so much of Heaven, 
 And such impetuous blood. 
 Whatever in those Climes he found 
 Irregular in sight or sound 
 Did to his mind impart 
 A kindred impulse, seem'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, I ween 
 That sometimes there did intervene 
 Pure hopes of high intent ; 
 For passions link'd to forms so fair 
 \nd stately, needs must have 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 undeceived. 
 Those wild men's vices he received, 
 And gave them back his own. 
 His genius and his moral frame 
 Were thus impair'd, and he became 
 The slave of low desires : 
 A Man who without self-control 
 Would seek what the degraded soul 
 Unworthily admires. 
 
254 
 
 IRutb 
 
 And yet he with no feign 'd delight 
 Had woo'd the Maiden, day and night 
 Had loved her, night and mom : 
 What 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 
 When 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 bum— 
 ]^en as the east when day comes forth, 
 And to the west, and south, and north, 
 f> 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 Youtn 
 Deserted his poor Bride, and Ruth 
 Could never find him more. 
 
IRutb 
 
 255 
 
 " God help thee, Ruth ! " — Such pains she 
 
 That she in half a year was mad, [had, 
 
 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 free ; 
 
 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 
 
 Which had been done to her. 
 
 A Barn her winter bed supplies ; 
 
 But, till the warmth of summer skies 
 
 And summer days is gone 
 
 (And all do in this tale agree). 
 
 She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree. 
 
 And other home hath none. 
 
256 
 
 •Rutb 
 
 An innocent life, j'et far astray ! 
 And Ruth 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 tum'd 
 Ere she had wept, ere she had moum'd, 
 A young and happy Child ! 
 Farewell ! and when thy days are told, 
 Ill-fated Ruth ! in hallow'd mould 
 Thy corpse shall buried be ; 
 For thee a funeral bell shall ring, 
 And all the congregation sing 
 Christian psalm for thee. 
 
 *s>. 
 
IRobln fboo^ anD (5ui? of (3i0borne 
 
 257 
 
 ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.* 
 
 When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayrc 
 
 And leaves both large and longe, 
 Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forr^t 
 
 To heare the small birdes songe. 
 
 The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, 
 
 Sitting upon the spraye, 
 Soe lowde, he awakened Robin Hood, 
 
 In the greenwood where he lay. 
 
 " Now by my faye," said jolly Robin, 
 
 " A sweaven I had this night ; 
 I dreamt me of two wighty yemen, 
 
 That fast with me can fight. 
 
 " Methought they did me beate and binde. 
 
 And took my bow mee froe ; 
 If I be Robin alive in this lande, 
 
 He be wroken on them towe." 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
258 
 
 *Kol)in fboob ant> (5ub of (Bfsborne 
 
 "Sweavens are swift, master," quoth John, 
 
 " As the wind that blowes ore a hill ; 
 For if itt be never so loude this night, 
 
 To morrow itt may be still." 
 " Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, 
 
 And John shall goe with mee, 
 For He goe seeke yond wight yeomen, 
 
 In greenwood where the bee." 
 Then the cast on their gownes of grene, 
 ,^ . y And tooke theyr bowes each one ; 
 %■ <Y And they away to the greene forr&t 
 |< A shooting forth are gone. 
 ,' Until they came to the merry greenwood, 
 Where they had gladdest bee, 
 There were the ware of a wight yeomka, 
 ' His body leaned to a tree. 
 
 A sword and a dagger he wore by his side, 
 
 Of man ye a man the bane ; 
 And he was clad in his capull hyde 
 
 Topp and tayll and mayne. 
 "Stand you still, master," quoth I^ittle 
 
 " Under this tree so grene ; [John. 
 
 And I will go to yond wight yeoman 
 
 To know what he doth meane." 
 " Ah ! John, by me thou settest noe store, 
 
 And that I farley finde : 
 How oSt send I my men beffore. 
 
 And tarry my selfe behinde ? 
 " It is no cunning a knave to ken. 
 
 And a man but heare him speake ; 
 And itt were not for bursting of my bowe, 
 
 John, I thy head would breake." 
 As often wordes they breeden bale. 
 
 So they parted Robin and John ; 
 
"Kobin IbooD an& (Bui? of ©iaborne 
 
 259 
 
 And John is gone to Barnesdale : 
 
 The gates he knoweth eche one. 
 But when he came to Barnesdale, 
 
 Great heaviness there hee hadd, 
 For he found tow of his owne fellow&s 
 
 Were slaine both in a slade. 
 And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote 
 
 Fast over stocke and stone, 
 For the sheriffe with seven score men 
 
 Fast after him is gone. 
 ' ' One shoote now I will shoote, ' ' quoth John , 
 
 " With Christ his might and mayne ; 
 He make yond fellow that flyes soe fast, 
 
 To stopp he shall be fayne." 
 Then John bent up his long bende-bow, 
 
 And fetteled him to shoote : 
 The bow was made of a tender boughe. 
 
 And fell downe to his foote. 
 
 " Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood. 
 
 That ere thou grew on a tree ; 
 For now this day thou art my bale, 
 
 My boote when thou shold bee." 
 His shoote it was but loosely shott. 
 
 Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine ; 
 $»= For itt mett one of the sheriffes men, 
 
 Good William a Trent was slaine. 
 It had bene better of William a Trent 
 
 To have bene abed with sorrowe. 
 Than to be that day in the green wood slade 
 
 To meet with lyittle John's arrowe. 
 But as it is said, when men be mett, 
 
 Tyve can doe more than three, 
 The sheriffe hath taken lyittle John, 
 
 And bound him /ast to a tree. 
 
26o IRobin "fcooD an& (5ui? of ©isborne 
 
 " Thou Shalt be drawen by dale and downe. 
 
 And hanged hye on a hill." 
 "But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose," 
 
 " If itt be Christ his will." [quoth John, 
 I^et us leave talking of Little John, 
 
 And thinke of Robin Hood, 
 How he is gone to the wight yeomlln, 
 
 Where under the leaves he stood. 
 
 " Good morrowe, good fellowe," said Robin 
 so fayre, 
 
 "Good morrowe, good fellowe," quoth he : 
 " Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy 
 
 A good archere thou sholdst bee." [hande 
 
 IfQ "I am wilfull of my waye, ' ' quo the yeman, 
 " "And of my morning tyde." [Robin; 
 
 "lie lead thee through the wood," sayd 
 " Good fellow, He be thy guide." 
 
 "I seeke an outl^we," the straunger sayd, 
 
 " Men call him Robin Hood ; 
 Rather He meet with that proud outl^we 
 
 Than fortye pound soe good,"' 
 
 " Now come with me thou wighty yeman. 
 And Robin thou soone shalt see : 
 
 But first let us some pastime find 
 Under the greenwood tree. 
 
 " First let us some masterj^e make 
 
 Among the woods so even. 
 Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood 
 
 Here att some unsett steven." 
 
 They cutt them downe two summer shroggs, 
 That grew both under a breere. 
 
 And sett them threescore rood in twaine 
 To shoot the prickes y-fere. 
 
IRobtn IbooD anC) (5us ot ©feborne 
 
 261 
 
 " I^eade on, good fellowe," quoth. Robin 
 
 " I,eade on, I doe bidd thee." [Hood, 
 
 " Nay by my faith, good fellowe," he sayd, 
 
 " My leader thou shalt bee." 
 The first time Robin shot at the pricke. 
 
 He mist but an inch it froe : 
 The yeoman he was an archer good. 
 
 But he cold never shoote soe. 
 The second shoote had the wightye yeoman, 
 
 He shote within the garlS,nde : 
 But Robin he shot far better than he. 
 
 For he clave the good pricke wande. 
 " A blessing upon thy heart," he sayd ; 
 
 " Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode ; 
 For an thy hart be as good as thy hand. 
 
 Thou wert better than Robin Hoode." 
 
 "Now tell me thy name, good fellowe," 
 ' ' Under the leaves of lyne. ' ' [sayd he, 
 
 " Nay by my faith," quoth bolde Robin, 
 " Till thou have told me thine." 
 
 " I dwell by dale and downe," quoth he, 
 
 " And Robin to take Ime sworn ; 
 And when I am called by my right name 
 
 I am Guye of good Gisbdrne." 
 " My dwelling is in this wood," sayes Robin, 
 
 " By thee I set right nought : 
 I am Robin Hoode of Barnfedale, 
 
 Whom thou so long hast sought." 
 He that had neither beene kithe nor kin, 
 
 Might have seen a full fayre sight. 
 To see how together these yeomen went 
 
 With blades both browne and bright. 
 To see how these yeomen together they 
 
 Two howres of a summers day : [fought 
 
262 
 
 IRoWn 1boot) anD (5ui2 of ©tsborne 
 
 Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy 
 
 Them fettled to flye away. 
 Robin was reachles on a roote, 
 
 And stumbled at that tyde ; 
 And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, 
 
 And hitt him ore the left side. 
 • ' Ah, deare lady, ' ' sayd Robin Hood, ' ' ' thou 
 
 That art both mother and may,' 
 I think it was never mans destinye 
 
 To dye before his day." 
 Robin thought on our ladye deere, 
 
 And soone leapt up againe, 
 And strait he came with a backward stroke, 
 
 And he Sir Guy hath slayne. 
 He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre, 
 
 And sticked itt on his bowes end : 
 ' ' Thou hast been a traytor all thy liflfe, 
 
 Which thing must have an ende." 
 
 Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, 
 
 And nicked Sir Guy in the face, 
 That he was never of woman bom. 
 
 Cold tell whose head it was. 
 ^- <^ Saies " Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye, 
 <-'- "\ If " \ And with me be not wrothe ; [hand, 
 
 ^ ^ If thou have had the worse strokes at my 
 
 Thou shalt have the better clothe." 
 Robin did off his gowne of greene. 
 
 And on Sir Guy did it throwe ; 
 And he put on that capull hyde, 
 
 That cladd him topp to toe. 
 "The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home, 
 
 Now with me I will beare ; 
 For I will away to Bamfedale, 
 
 To see how my men doe fare." 
 
IRobin moot) anO (5n^ ot (5(sborne 
 
 263 
 
 Robin Hood sett Guy's home to his mouth, 
 
 And a loud blast in it did blow, 
 That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham, 
 
 As he leaned under a lowe. 
 "Hearken, hearken," sayd the sheriflfe, 
 
 "I heare nowe tydings good, 
 For yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe. 
 
 And he hath slaine Robin Hoode. 
 "Yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe, 
 
 Itt blowes soe well in tyde, 
 And yonder comes that wightye yeoman, 
 
 Cladd in his capull hyde. 
 " Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir 
 
 Aske what thou wilt of mee." [Guye, 
 
 " O, I will none of thy gold," sayd Robin, 
 
 " Nor I will none of thy fee : 
 " But now I 've slaine the master," he sayes, 
 
 " I^et me goe strike the knave ; 
 This is all the rewarde I aske ; 
 
 Nor noe other will I have." 
 
 "Thou art a madman," said the sheriffe, 
 
 " Thou sholdest have had a knight's fee : 
 But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad, 
 
 Well granted it shale be." 
 When lyitle John heard his master speake, 
 
 Well knewe he it was his steven : 
 " Now shall I be looset," quoth I,itle John, 
 
 " With Christ his might in heaven." 
 Fast Robin he hyed him to I^itle John, 
 
 He thought to loose him belive ; 
 The sheriffe and all his companye 
 
 Fast after him did drive. 
 " Stand abacke, stand abacke," sayd Robin ; 
 
 ' ' Why draw you mee soe neere ? 
 
264 
 
 "Robfn "fcooD anD 6u^ of (5i6bovne 
 
 Itt was never the use in our country^ 
 One's shrift another shold heere." 
 
 But Robin pulled forth an Irish knifie, 
 And loosed John hand and foote. 
 
 And gave him Sir Guy's bow into his hand 
 And bade it be his boote. 
 
 Then John he tooke Guy's bow in his hand^ 
 His boltes and arrowes eche one : [bow- 
 When the sheriffe saw Litle John bend his 
 He fettled him to be gone. 
 
 Towards his house in Nottingham towne 
 
 He fled full fast away ; 
 And soe did all his companye : 
 
 Not one behind wold stay. 
 
 But he cold neither runne soe fast, 
 
 Nor away soe fast cold ryde, 
 But I,itle John with an arrowe so broad 
 
 He shott him into the syde. 
 
IJ XN X V XjX\fc3X J- J- 
 
 tRoUn lbooD'0 Dcatb ant) 36\xvm 
 
 £f"CALIEORHV^ 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^lwk;- n.ii,„^ 
 
 ROBIV HOOD S DEATH 
 AND BURIAL * 
 When Robin Hood ind Little John, 
 
 Went o er yon bank of broom, 
 S-iid Robin Hood to Little John, 
 
 "We have shot for many a pound ; 
 "But I am not able to shoot one shot more, 
 
 My arrows will not flee ; 
 But I have a cousin lives down below. 
 
 Please God she will bleed me." 
 
 • See Appendi 
 
266 
 
 "Robin 1boo&'8 Deatb anD :©urial 
 
 Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone, 
 
 As fast as he can win ; 
 But before he came there, as we do hear, 
 
 He was taken very ill. 
 
 And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall, 
 
 He knock'd all at the ring, 
 But none was so ready as his cousin herself 
 
 For to let bold Robin in. 
 
 Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," 
 
 she said, 
 •' And drink some beer with me ? " 
 Xo, I will neither eat nor drink, 
 Till I am blooded by thee." 
 
 " Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she 
 said, 
 
 " Which you did never see. 
 And if you please to walk therein. 
 
 You blooded by me shall be. ' ' 
 
 She took him by the lilly-white hand. 
 
 And led him to a private room, 
 And there she blooded bold Robin Hood, 
 
 Whilst one drop of blood would run. 
 
 She blooded him in the vein of the arm, 
 And locked him up in the room ; 
 
 There did he bleed all the live-long day, 
 Untill the next day at noon. 
 
 He then bethought him of a casement door, 
 
 Thinking for to be gone. 
 He was so weak he could not leap, 
 
 Nor he could not get down, 
 
IRoMn IbooD's Deatb anD 3Burlal 267 
 
 He then bethought him of his bugle-horn, 
 
 Which hung low down to his knee, 
 He set his horn unto his mouth, 
 
 And blew out weak blasts three. 
 Then I^ittle John, when hearing him, 
 
 As he sat under the tree, 
 " I fear my master is near dead, 
 
 He blows so wearily." 
 Then Ivittle 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 I^ittle John, 
 
 " Master, I beg of thee." 
 
 " What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood, 
 " I,ittle 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 '11 not grant thee ; 
 never ' hurt ' woman in all my life, 
 Nor man in woman's company. 
 
 — ^ ^T?^^ J^ ' I never hurt fair maid in all my time, 
 **- .^^^jisiw^ *^-' ' Nor at my end shall it be ; 
 
 But give me my bent bow in my hand, 
 
 And a broad arrow I '11 let flee ; 
 
 And where this arrow is taken up. 
 
 There shall my grave digg'd be. 
 
 " Lay me a green sod under my head, 
 
 And another at my feet ; 
 And lay my bent bow by my side, 
 
 
 ^^tr" 
 
26S 
 
 TRobin f)oo&'s Bcatb an& JBurial 
 
 Which was my music sweet ; 
 And make my gTa%-e of gravel and green. 
 Which is most right and meet. 
 
 " I^t 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 ; 
 ^^.\.-i^r^ ^^jid there they buried bold Robin Hood, 
 Near to the fair Kirkl^s. • 
 
Sir 5amc0 tbc IRose 
 
 2G9 
 
 Of nil the Scottish northern chiefs, 
 
 Of hi^h nn i warlike name. 
 The br nest was. Sir James the Rose, 
 A knii,ht of nieikle fame. 
 His jjrowth vas as the tufted fir, 
 
 1 hit crowns the mountain's brow; 
 And wavin}j o'er his shoulders broad, 
 His locks of yellow flow. 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
270 
 
 Sir 5amcs tbe "Rose 
 
 The chieftain of the brave clan Ross, 
 
 A firm undaunted band ; 
 Five hundred warriors drew the sword, 
 
 Beneath his high command. 
 
 In bloody fight thrice had he stood, 
 
 Against the English keen, 
 Ere two and twenty opening springs 
 
 This blooming youth had seen. 
 
 The fair Matilda dear he loved, 
 
 A maid of beauty rare ; 
 I-.v'u Margaret on the Scottish throne 
 
 Was never half so fair. 
 
 I^ang had he wooed, lang she refused. 
 With seeming scorn and pride ; 
 
 Yet aft her eyes confessed the love 
 Her fearful words denied. 
 
 At last she blessed his well-tried faith. 
 
 Allowed his tender claim : 
 She vowed to him her virgin heart, 
 
 And owned an equal flame. 
 
 Her father, Buchan's cruel lord, 
 
 Their passion disapproved ; 
 And bade her wed Sir John the Graeme, 
 
 And leave the youth she loved. 
 
 At nicht they m.et, as they were wont. 
 
 Deep in a shady wood, 
 Where, on a bank beside the bum, 
 
 A blooming saugh-tree stood. 
 
 Concealed among the underwood, 
 
 The crafty Donald lay. 
 The brother of Sir John the Graeme, 
 
 To hear what they would say. 
 
Sir 5ames tbe TRose 
 
 271 
 
 When thus the maid began : " My sire 
 
 Your passion disapproves, 
 And bids me wed Sir John the Graeme ; 
 
 So here must end our loves. 
 
 " My father's will must be obeyed ; 
 
 Nocht boots me to withstand ; 
 Some fairer maid, in beauty's bloom, 
 
 Must bless thee with her hand. 
 
 " Matilda soon shall be forgot, 
 
 And from thy mind eflfaced : 
 But may that happiness be thine, 
 
 Which I can never taste." 
 
 " What do I hear ? Is this thy vow ? " 
 
 Sir James the Rose replied : 
 "And will Matilda wed the Graeme, 
 
 Though sworn to be my bride ? 
 
 " His sword shall sooner pierce my heart 
 Than reave me of thy charms ! " 
 
 Then clasped her to his beating breast. 
 Fast locked into his arms. 
 
 " I spake to try thy love," she said : 
 " I '11 ne'er wed man but thee : 
 
 My grave shall be my bridal bed, 
 E)re Graeme my husband be. 
 
 "Take then, dear youth, this faithful kiss. 
 
 In witness of my troth ; 
 And every plague become my lot, 
 
 That day I break my oath ! " 
 
 They parted thus : the sun was set : 
 Up hasty Donald flies ; [youth ! " 
 
 And " Turn thee, turn thee, beardless 
 He loud insulting cries. 
 
272 
 
 Sir 5ames tbe "Kose 
 
 Soon turned about the fearless chief, 
 
 And soon his sword he drew ; 
 For Donald's blade, before his breast, 
 
 Had pierced his tartans through. 
 
 " This for my brother's slighted love ; 
 
 His wrongs sit on my arm." 
 Three paces back the youth retired, 
 
 And saved himself frae harm. 
 
 Returning swift, his hand he reared 
 
 Frae Donald's head above. 
 And through the brain and crashing bones 
 
 His sharp-edged weapon drove. 
 
 ! le staggering reeled, then tumbled down, 
 A lump of breathless clay : 
 So fall my foes ! " quoth valiant Rose, 
 And stately strode away. 
 
 Through the green-wood he quickly hied, 
 
 Unto IvOrd Buchan's hall ; 
 And at Matilda's window stood. 
 
 And thus began to call : 
 
 " Art thou asleep, Matilda dear ? 
 
 Awake, my love, awake ! 
 Thy luckless lover on thee calls, 
 
 A long farewell to take. 
 
 " For I have slain fierce Donald Graeme ; 
 
 His blood is on my sword : 
 And distant are my faithful men, 
 
 Nor can assist their lord. 
 
 " To Skye I '11 now direct my way. 
 
 Where my two brothers bide. 
 And raise the valiant of the Isles 
 
 To combat on my side.' 
 
Sir 5ame0 tbe IRose 
 
 273 
 
 " O do not so," the maid replies ; 
 
 " With me till morning stay ; 
 For dark and dreary is the night, 
 
 And dangerous the way. 
 
 " All night I '11 watch you in the park ; 
 
 My faithful page I '11 send, 
 To run and raise the Ross's clan, 
 
 Their master to defend." 
 
 Beneath a bush he laid him 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. 
 
 " Where 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 hath slain Sir Donald Graeme ; 
 
 His blood is on his 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 me where is Sir James the Rose ; 
 I will thee well reward." 
 He sleeps within I^ord Buchan's park ; 
 Matilda is his guard." 
 
274 
 
 Sir 5ames tbe "Kose 
 
 They spurred their steeds in furious mood, 
 
 And scoured along the lee ; 
 They reached I^rd 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 ? " 
 
 " I,ast 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 '11 try what valour can. 
 
Sir 5amc0 tbe TRose 
 
 275 
 
 " 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 and feared 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. 
 
 Behind 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 through his enemy's heart his steel 
 
 Had forced a mortal wound. 
 
 Graeme, like a tree with wind o'erthrown, 
 
 Fell breathless on the clay ; 
 And down beside him sank the Rose, 
 
 And faint and dying lay. 
 
 The sad Matilda saw him fall : 
 " Oh, spare his life ! " she cried ; 
 
 " I^rd Buchan's daughter begs his life ; 
 I^et her not be denied ! " 
 
 Her well-known voice the hero heard ; 
 
 He raised his death-closed eyes. 
 And fixed them on the weeping maid, 
 
 And weakly thus replies ; 
 
276 
 
 Sir 5amc0 tbe "Roac 
 
 " In vain Matilda begfs the life 
 
 By death's arrest denied : 
 My race is run — adieu, my love " — 
 
 Then closed his eyes and died. 
 
 The sword, yet warm, fix)m 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. 
 
tibe Clerft'0 ZTwa Sons 
 
 277 
 
 TH^ CI^ERK'S TWA SONS 
 
 o' owse:nford.* 
 
 O I will sing to you a sang, 
 Will grieve your heart full sair ; 
 
 How the Clerk's twa sons o" Owsenford 
 Have to learn some unco lear. 
 
 They hadna been in fair Parish 
 
 A twelvemonth and a day, 
 Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in love 
 
 Wi' the Mayor's dauchters twae. 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
278 
 
 Cbe ClcvWs XTwa Sons 
 
 And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote, 
 
 The ladies sewed and sang ; 
 There was mair mirth in that chamber, 
 
 Than in a' fair Ferrol's land. 
 But word 's gane to the michty Mayor, 
 
 As he sailed on the sea, 
 That the Clerk's twa sons made lichtlemans 
 
 O' his fair dauchters twae. 
 ' ' If they hae wranged my twa dauchters, 
 
 Janet and Marjorie, 
 The mom, ere I taste meat or drink. 
 
 Hie hangfit they shall be." 
 And word 's gane to the Clerk himself. 
 
 As he was drinking wine. 
 That his twa sons at fair Parish 
 
 Were bound in prison Strang. 
 
 Then up and spak the Clerk's ladye, 
 
 And she spak tenderlie : 
 " O tak wi' ye a purse o' gowd, 
 
 Or even tak j'e three ; 
 And if ye canna get "William, 
 
 Bring Henry hame to me." 
 O sweetly sang the nightingale, 
 
 As she sat on the wand ; 
 But sair, sair mourned Owsenford, 
 
 As he gaed in the strand. 
 When he came to their prison Strang, 
 
 He rade it round about. 
 And at a little shot-window, 
 
 His sons were looking out. 
 " O lie ye there, my sons," he said, 
 
 " For owsen or for kye ? 
 Or what is it that ye lie for, 
 
 Sae sair bound as ye lie? " 
 
XLbc ClctWs XLvo^ Sons 
 
 279 
 
 " We lie not here for owsen, father ; 
 
 Nor yet do we for kye ; 
 But it 's for a little o' dear-boucht love, 
 
 Sae sair bound as we lie. 
 
 "Oh, borrow us, borrow us, father," they 
 " For the luve we bear to thee ! " [said, 
 
 " O never fear, my pretty sons, 
 Weel borrowed ye sail be." 
 
 Then he 's gane to the michty Mayor, 
 
 And he spak courteouslie : 
 " Will ye grant my twa sons' lives, 
 
 Either for gold or fee ? 
 Or will ye be sae gude a man, 
 
 As grant them baith to me ? ' ' 
 
 " I '11 no grant ye your twa sons' lives, 
 
 Neither for gold nor fee ; 
 Nor will I be sae gude a man. 
 
 As gie them baith to thee ; 
 But before the mom at twal o'clock. 
 
 Ye '11 see them hangit hie ! ' ' 
 
 Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters, 
 
 Wi' kirtle coat, alone ; 
 Their eyes did sparkle like the gold. 
 
 As they tripped on the stone. 
 
 " Will ye gie us our loves, father. 
 
 For gold, or yet for fee ? 
 Or will ye take our own sweet lives 
 
 And let our true loves be ? " 
 
 He 's taen a whip into his hand. 
 And lashed them wondrous sair : 
 
 " Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers ; 
 Ye 'se never see them mair." 
 
28o 
 
 Zbc ClcvWs tTwa Sons 
 
 Then out it speaks auld Owsenford, 
 
 A sorry man was he : 
 " Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs ; 
 
 For a' this maunna be." 
 
 Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry : 
 
 " Come here, Janet, to me ; 
 "Will ye gie me my faith and troth, 
 
 And love, as I gae thee ? ' ' 
 
 " Ye sail hae your faith and troth, 
 Wi' God's blessing and mine." 
 
 And twenty times she kissed his mouth, 
 Her father'looking on. 
 
 Then out it speaks him gay William : 
 
 " Come here, sweet Marjorie ; 
 Will ye gie me my faith and troth, 
 And love, as I gae thee ? " 
 
 "Yes, ye sail hae your faith and troth, 
 Wi' God's blessing and mine." 
 
 And twenty times she kissed his mouth, 
 Her father looking on. 
 
 " O ye '11 take afFyour twa black hats, 
 
 I^ay them down on a stone. 
 That nane may ken that ye are clerks. 
 
 Till j^e are putten doun." 
 
 The bonnie clerks they died that mom ; 
 
 Their loves died lang ere noon ; 
 And the waefu' Clerk o' Owsenford 
 
 To his lady has gane hame. 
 
 His lady sat on her castle wa', 
 
 Beholding dale and doun ; 
 And there she saw her ain glide lord 
 
 Come walking to the toun. 
 
Zbc ClcvWe tTwa Sons 
 
 281 
 
 " Ye 're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, 
 
 Ye 're welcome hame to me ; 
 But where-away are my twa sons ? 
 
 Ye suld hae brought them wi' ye." 
 
 " O they are putten to a deeper lear, 
 
 And to a higher scule : 
 Your ain twa sons will no be hame 
 
 Till the hallow days o' Yule." 
 
 " Oh sorrow, sorrow, come mak my bed ; 
 
 And, dule, come lay me doun ; 
 For I will neither eat nor drink, 
 
 Nor set a fit on groun' ! " 
 
 The hallow days o' Yule were come. 
 And the nights were lang and mirk, 
 
 When in and cam her ain twa sons. 
 And their hats made o' the birk. 
 
 It neither grew in syke nor ditch. 
 
 Nor yet in ony sheuch ; 
 But at the gates o' Paradise 
 
 That birk grew fair eneuch. 
 
 "Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine. 
 
 Bring water from the well ; 
 For a' my house shall feast this night, 
 
 Since my twa sons are well. 
 
 " O eat and drink, my merry-men a'. 
 
 The better shall ye fare ; 
 For my two sons they are come hame 
 
 To me for evermair." 
 
 And she has gane and made their bed, 
 
 She 's made it saft and fine ; 
 And she 's happit them wi' her gay mantil. 
 
 Because they were her ain. 
 
282 
 
 Xihc Glerfe's ^wa Sons 
 
 But the 5'oung cock crew in merry I,inkum, 
 And the wild fowl chirped for day ; 
 
 And the aulder to the younger said, 
 "Brother, we maun away. 
 
 "The cock doth craw, the day doth daw. 
 The channerin worm doth chide ; 
 
 Gin we be missed out o' our place, 
 A sair pain we maun bide.'' 
 
 " I,ie still, lie still a little wee while, 
 
 I,ie still but if we may ; 
 Gin my mother miss us when she wakes, 
 
 She '11 gae mad ere it be day." 
 
 O it 's they 've taen up their mother's mantil. 
 
 And they 've hung it on a pin : 
 " O lang may ye hing, mj' mother's mantil, 
 
 Ere ye hap us again.'' 
 
Sir BnDrew :©arton 
 
 283 
 
 When Flora with her fragrant 
 flowers 
 Bedecktthe earth so trim and 
 Raye, 
 And Neptune with his daintye 
 showers, 
 Came to present the monthe 
 of Maye ; 
 King Henrye rode to take the 
 ayre. 
 Over the river of Thames past 
 hee ; 
 When eighty merchants of Lon- 
 don came. 
 And downe they knelt upon 
 their knee. 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
284 
 
 Sir anDrcw JBarton 
 
 " O yee are welcome, rich merch^ts ; 
 
 Good saylors, welcome unto mee." [good, 
 They swore by the rood, they were saylors 
 
 But rich merch^ts 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, 
 
 Who robbs us of our merchant ware." 
 
 King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde, 
 
 And swore by the I^ord, that was mickle of 
 might, 
 "I thought he had not bcene in the world, 
 
 Durst have wrought 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 should^, 
 And an angrye look then looked hee : 
 Have I never a lorde in all 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 your grace to give me leave, 
 Myselfe wil be the only man." 
 
 " Thou art but yong " ; the kyng replyed : 
 
 ' ' Yond Scott hath numbred many e a yeare. * ' 
 " Trust me, my liege. He 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." 
 
Sir anOrcw JSarton 
 
 285 
 
 The first man, that I^rd Howard chose, 
 
 Was the ablest gunner in all the realm, 
 Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten ; 
 
 Good Peter Simon was his name. 
 " Peter," sais hee, " 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 chose a boweman rare, 
 
 Whose 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 bowemen brave. 
 
 To be the head I have chosen thee." 
 " If you," quoth hee, " have chosen mee 
 
 Of a hundred bowemen to be the head ; 
 On your main-mist He hanged bee, 
 
 If I miss twelvescore one penny bread." 
 
 With pikes 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," I,ord Howard said, 
 ' ' Now who thou art, and what 's thy name ; 
 
 OF THK 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
286 
 
 Sir Bn&rcw JBarton 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^-. 
 
 r 
 
 And shewe me where thy dwelling is : 
 And whither bound, and whence thou came.' 
 
 " My name is Henry Hunt," quoth hee, 
 With a heavj'e heart, and a carefull mind ; 
 
 " I and my shipp doe both belong 
 To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne.' 
 
 " 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 him 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 say ling upon the sea, 
 
 A Burdeaux voyage for to fare ; 
 To his 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 I^ondon bounde. 
 
 Of our gracious king to beg a boone." 
 
 " That shall not need," I^ord Howard sais ; 
 
 "I<ett me but once that robber see, 
 For every penny 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 : 
 
Sir Bn^rew JSarton 287 
 
 And lie hath a pinnace deerlye dight, 
 St. Andrew's crosse that is his guide ; 
 
 His pinnace beareth ninescore 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." 
 " This is cold comfort," sais my lord, 
 
 " To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea : 
 Yet He bring him and his 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 pinnace into the sea. 
 Or else hee never orecome will bee : 
 .nd if you chance his 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. 
 
 And I will lead you on the sea. 
 A glasse He sett, that may be scene, 
 
 Whether you sayle by day or night : 
 And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the 
 clocke. 
 
 You shall meet with Sir Andrew Barton, 
 knight." 
 
 The merchant sett my lorde a glasse 
 
 Soe well apparent in his sight. 
 And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke, 
 
 He shewed him Sir Andrew Barton, knight. 
 
288 
 
 Sir Bn&rew JSarton 
 
 His hacheborde it was "gilt " with gold, 
 Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee : 
 
 " Nowe by my faith," I^ord Howard sais, 
 " This is a gallant sight to see. 
 
 " Take in your ancyents, standards eke, 
 _-=v ^^ So close that no man may them see ; 
 
 " ' '^'^^^ -^^^^ P"t me forth a white willowe wand, 
 
 As merchants used to sayle the sea." 
 But they stirred neither top, nor mast ; 
 
 Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by. 
 ' ' What English churles are yonder, ' '" he sayd, 
 " That can soe litle curtesye ? " 
 
 " Nowe by the roode, three yeares and more 
 
 I have beene admirall over the sea ; 
 And never an English nor Portingall 
 
 Without my 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 churls 
 
 Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree." 
 
 With that the pinnace itt shott oflF, 
 
 Full well IfOrd Howard might it ken ; 
 For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast, 
 
 And killed fourteen of his men. 
 "Come hither, Simon," sayes my lord. 
 
 " I,ooke that thy word be true, thou said ; 
 For at my maine-mast thou shalt hang, 
 
 If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread. " 
 
 Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold. 
 
 His ordinance he laid right lowe ; 
 He put in chaine full nine yardes long. 
 
 With other great shott lesse and moe ; 
 And he lette goe his great gunnes shott : 
 
 Soe well he settled it with his ee. 
 
Sir BnDrcw :©arton 
 
 289 
 
 The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe, 
 
 He see his pinnace sunke in the sea. 
 And when he saw his pinnace sunke, 
 
 lyOrd, how his heart with rage did swell ! 
 " Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon ; 
 
 He fetch yond pedlars backe mysell." 
 When my I,ord sawe Sir Andrew loose, 
 
 Within his heart hee was full faine : 
 " Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up 
 drummes, 
 
 Sound all your trumpetts out amaine." 
 
 " Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sais, 
 
 " Weale howsoever this g-eere will sway ; 
 Itt is my lord admirall of E;ngl3.nd, 
 
 Is come to seek mee on the sea." 
 Simon had a sonne, who shott right well, 
 
 That did Sir Andrew mickle scare ; 
 In att his decke he gave a shott. 
 
 Killed threescore of his men of warre. 
 
 Then Henry Hunt with rigour hott 
 
 Came bravely on the other side, 
 Soone he drove down his fore-mast tree, 
 
 And killed fourscore men beside. 
 " Nowe, out alas ! " Sir Andrew cryed, 
 
 " What may a man now thinke, or say? 
 Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee, 
 
 He was my prisoner yesterday. 
 " Come hither to me, thou Gordon good. 
 
 That aye wast readye att my call ; 
 I will give thee three hundred markes, 
 
 If thou wilt let my beames downe fall." 
 lyord Howard hee then calld in haste, 
 
 " Horseley, see thou be true in stead ; 
 For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang. 
 
 If thou misse twelvescore one penny bre^d." 
 
290 
 
 Sic Bn^rew JSarton 
 
 r-,-^^ 
 
 Then Gordon swarved the maine-mast tree. 
 
 He swarved it with might and maine ; 
 But Horseley with a bearing arrowe, 
 
 Stroke the Gordon through the braine ; 
 And he fell unto the haches again, 
 
 And sore his deadlye wounde did bleede : 
 Then word went through Sir Andrew's 
 men, 
 
 How that the Gordon hee was dead, 
 
 " Come hither to mee, James Hambilton, 
 
 Thou art my only sister's Sonne, 
 If thou wilt let my beames downe fall, 
 
 Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne." 
 With that he swarved the maine-mast tree, 
 
 He swarved it with nimble art ; 
 But Horseley with a broad arr6we 
 
 Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart : 
 
 And downe he fell upon the deck. 
 
 That with his blood did streame amaine : 
 Then every Scott cryed, " WeU-away ! 
 
 Alas, a comelye youth is slaine ! " 
 All woe begone was Sir Andrew then. 
 
 With griefe and rage his heart did swell : 
 " Go fetch me forth my armour of proofe, 
 
 For I will to the topcastle mysell. 
 
 " Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe ; 
 
 That gilded is with gold soe cleare : 
 God be with my brother John of Barton ! 
 
 Against the Portingalls hee it ware ; 
 And when he had on this armour of proofe, 
 
 He was a gallant sight to see : 
 Ah ! nere didst thou meet with living wight, 
 
 My deere brother, could cope with thee." 
 
Sir Bn^rew JBarton 
 
 2gi 
 
 " Come hither, Horseley," sayes my lord, 
 
 " And looke your shaft that itt goe right, 
 Shoot a good shoote in time of need, 
 
 And for it thou shalt be made a knight." 
 " He shoot my best," quoth Horseley then, 
 
 "Your honour shall see, with might and 
 maine : 
 But if I were hanged at your maine-mast, 
 
 I have now left but arrowes twaine." 
 
 Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree, 
 
 With right good will he swarved then : 
 Upon his breast did Horseley hitt. 
 
 But the arrow bounded back agen. 
 Then Horseley spyed a privye place 
 // With a perfect eye in a secrette part ; 
 ^> Under the spole of his right arme 
 /^ He smote Sir Andrew to the heart. 
 
 ~ " Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sayes, 
 
 " A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine ; 
 He but lye downe and bleede a while, 
 
 And then He rise and fight againe. 
 Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sayes, 
 
 " And never flinche before the foe ; 
 And stand fast by St. Andrew's crosse 
 
 Untill you heare my whistle blowe." 
 
 They never heard his whistle blow. 
 
 Which made their hearts waxe sore ad read . 
 Then Horseley said, " Aboard, my lord. 
 
 For well I wott Sir Andrew 's dead." 
 They boarded then his noble shipp, 
 
 They boarded it with might and maine ; 
 Eighteen score Scotts alive they found, 
 
 The rest were either maim'd or slaine. 
 
 '^^^^y^r 
 
292 Sir Bn&rcw 3Barton 
 
 I/jrd Howard tooke a sword in hand, 
 
 And oflf he smote Sir Andrew's head, 
 " I must have left England many a daye, 
 
 If thou wert alive as thou art dead." 
 He caused his body to be cast 
 
 Over the hatchbord into the sea, 
 And about his middle three hundred crownes : 
 
 " Wherever thou land this will bury thee." 
 
 Thus from the warres Lord Howard came, 
 
 And backe he sayled ore the maine, 
 With mickle joy and triumphing 
 
 Into Thames mouth he came againe. 
 I/)rd Howard then a letter wrote, 
 
 And sealed it with scale and ring ; 
 " Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace 
 
 As never did subject to a king : 
 
 " Sir Andrew's shipp I bring with mee ; 
 
 A braver shipp was never none : 
 Nowe hath your grace two shipps of warr, 
 
 Before in England was but one." 
 King Henryes grace with royall cheere 
 
 Welcomed the noble Howard home, 
 •'And where," said he, " is the rover stout. 
 
 That I myselfe may give the doome? " 
 
 " The rover, he is safe, my leige, 
 
 Full many a fadom in the sea ; 
 If he were alive as he is dead, 
 
 I must have left England many a day : 
 And your grace may thank four men i' the ship 
 
 For the victory wee have wonne, 
 These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt, 
 
 And Peter Simon, and his Sonne." 
 
Sir BnDrcw JSarton 
 
 293 
 
 To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd, 
 
 " In lieu of what was from thee tane, 
 A noble a day now thou shalt have, 
 
 Sir Andrew's jewels and his chayne. 
 And Horseley thou shalt be a knight, 
 
 And lands and livings shalt have store ; 
 Howard shall be Erie Surrye hight, 
 
 As Howards erst have beene before. 
 
 " Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old, 
 
 I will maintaine thee and thy sonne : 
 And the men shall have five hundred markes 
 
 For the good service they have done." 
 Then in came the queene with ladyes fair 
 
 To see Sir Andrew Barton, knight ; 
 They weend that hee were brought on shore, 
 
 And thought to have seen a gallant sight. 
 
 But when they see his deadlye face, 
 
 And eyes soe hollow in his head, 
 " I wold give," quoth the king, "a thousand 
 markes, 
 
 This man were alive as hee is dead : 
 Yett for the manfull part hee playd, 
 
 Which fought soe well with heart and hand, 
 His men shall have twelvepence a day. 
 
 Till they come to my brother kings high 
 land," 
 
294 
 
 3f rennet l)aU 
 
 FR^NNKT HAI,!, * 
 
 -^ When Frennet's Castle ivied walls 
 Through yellow leaves were seen ; 
 When birds forsook the sapless boughs, 
 And bees the faded sreen ; 
 
 See Appendix. 
 
Ifrennct Iball 
 
 295 
 
 Then X,ady 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, 
 "Where good I^ord 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. 
 And 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 I^ord John, 
 O tell me where ye ride ? 
 
296 
 
 yrcnnet f)aU 
 
 Within my castle- wall this nicht 
 I hope ye mean to bide. 
 
 W^L/// 
 
 " Kind nobles, will ye but alicht, 
 In yonder bower to stay, 
 
 Soft ease shall teach you to forget 
 The hardness of the way." 
 
 " Forbear entreaty, gentle dame, 
 
 How can we here remain ? 
 Full well you know your husband deir 
 
 Was by our father slain : 
 
 " The thoughts of which with fell revenge, 
 
 Within your bosom swell : 
 Knraged you 've sworn that blood for blood 
 
 Should this black passion quell." 
 
 " O fear not, fear not, good Lord John, 
 
 That I will you betray, 
 Or sue requital for a debt 
 
 Which Nature cannot pay. 
 
 " Bear witness a' ye powers on high ! 
 
 Ye lichts that 'gin to shine ! 
 This nicht shall prove the sacred cord 
 
 That knits your faith and mine." 
 
 The lady slie, with honey d words. 
 Enticed the youths to stay ; 
 
 But morning sun ne'er shone upon 
 Ivord John and Rothiemay. 
 
jfrennct 1balL 
 
 297 
 
298 
 
 tiing Bstmere 
 
 KING ESTMERE.* 
 
 Hearken to me, gentlemen, 
 
 Come and you shall heare ; 
 He tell you of two of the boldest brethren 
 
 That ever borne y-were. 
 
 The tone of them was Adler younge, 
 The tother was King Estmere ; 
 
 They were as bolde men in their deeds, 
 As any were farr and neare. 
 
ftfng Bstmere 
 
 299 
 
 As they were drinking ale and wine 
 
 "Within King Bstmeres halle ; 
 " When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, 
 
 A wyfe to glad us all? " 
 
 Then bespake him King E)stmere, 
 
 And answered him hastilee : 
 " I know not that ladye in any land 
 
 That 's able to marrye with mee." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 Sales, " 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, broths. 
 
 He beare you companye ; 
 Many throughe fals messengers are deceived, 
 
 And I feare lest soe shold wee." 
 
 Thus the renisht them to ryde 
 
 Of twoe good renisht 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 Adia,nd 
 
 Rearing himselfe thereatt. 
 
 " Now Christ thee save, good King Adldnd; 
 
 Now Christ you save and see," 
 Sayd, "You be welcome. King i^stmere, 
 
 Right hartilye to mee." 
 
300 
 
 •Ring Estmcre 
 
 " You have a daughter," said Ad'Jer younge, 
 " Men call her bright and sheene, 
 
 My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe, 
 Of Englande to be queene." 
 
 " Yesterday was att my deere daughter 
 
 Syr Bremor the Kyng of Spayne ; 
 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 that fayre ladyS 
 
 Shold marrye a heathen hound. 
 " But grant to me," sayes King Estmere, 
 
 " For mj' 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 g^estfe alle." 
 Downe then came that mayden fa3Te, . 
 
 With ladyes laced in pall, 
 And halfe a hundred of bold knightes. 
 
 To bring her from bowre to hall ; 
 And as many gentle squiers. 
 
 To tend upon them all. 
 The talents of golde were on her head sette, 
 
 Hanged low downe to her knee ; 
 And everye ring on her small finger 
 
 Shone of the chrystall free. 
 Saies, " God you save, my deere mad^m " ; 
 
 Saies, " God you save and see." 
 Said, " Y'ou be welcome. King Estmere, 
 
 Kight welcome unto mee. 
 
fkuxQ jBetmcxc 
 
 301 
 
 " And if you love me as you saye, 
 
 Soe well and hartilee, 
 All that ever you are comen about 
 
 Soone sped now itt shal be." 
 
 Then bespake her father deare : 
 
 " My daughter, I saye naye ; 
 Remember well the King of Spayne, 
 
 What he sayd yesterdaye. 
 
 " He would pull downe my halles and 
 And reave me of my lyfe, [castles, 
 
 I cannot blame him if he doe, 
 If I reave him of his wyfe." 
 
 II "'Your castles and your towres, father, 
 v\;| Are stronglye built aboute ; 
 
 And therefore of the King of Spayne 
 Wee neede not stande in doubt. 
 
 " Plightme your troth, nowe, KingEstra^re, 
 By heaven and your righte hand. 
 
 That you will marrye me to your wyfe, 
 And make me queene of your land." 
 
 Then King Estmere he plight his troth 
 By heaven and his 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 andlordes and knightes. 
 
 That married the'y 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. 
 
302 
 
 •fting ;e0tmere 
 
 But in did come the Kinff of Spayne, 
 
 With manye a bold barone, 
 Tone day to marrye King Adlands daughter, 
 
 Tother daye to carrye her home. 
 
 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 ladyS. 
 
 One whyle then the page he went, 
 
 Another while he ranne ; 
 Till he had oretaken King Estmere, 
 
 I wis, he never blanne. 
 
 " Tydings, tydings, King Estmere ! " 
 " What 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 the towne, 
 But in did come the King of Spayne 
 
 With kempfe many a one : 
 
 •'But in did come the King of Spayne, 
 
 With manye a bolde barone, 
 Ton 2 daye to marrye King Adlands daughter, 
 
 Tother daye to carry her home. 
 
 " My ladye fay re she greetes you well, 
 
 And ever-more well by mee : 
 You must either turne againe and fighte, 
 
 Or goe home and loose your lady^." 
 
 Saies, " Reade me, reade mc, deere brother, 
 
 My reade shall rise at thee. 
 Whether it is better to turne and fighte, 
 
 Or go home and loose my ladye." 
 
fkim Bstmere 
 
 303 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " Sly mother was a westerne woman, 
 
 And learned in gramary^, 
 And when I learned at the schole, 
 
 Something shee taught itt mee. 
 
 " There growes an hearbe within this field, 
 
 And iflfit 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 v/il be the best singer 
 *#f That ever sung in this lande. 
 
 " Itt shal be written in our forheads 
 
 All and in gramaryS, 
 That we towe are the boldest men 
 
 That are in all Christentyd." 
 
 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. 
 
304 
 
 Ikitid £6tmere 
 
 And whan they came to King Adlands hall, 
 
 Untill the fayre hall yate, 
 There they found a proud port^ 
 
 Rearing himselfe thereatt 
 
 Sales, " Christ thee save, thou proud port^ " ; 
 
 Sales, " 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 countrj-e ; 
 
 Wee beene come hither untill this 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, 
 
 lyayd itt on the porters arme : 
 ' * And ever we -will thee, proud porter, 
 
 Thow wilt saye us no harme." 
 
 Sore he looked on King Estm^e, 
 
 And sore he handled the rj-ng. 
 Then opened to them the fa5Te hall yates. 
 
 He lett for no kind of thjmg. 
 
 King Estmere he stabled his steede 
 
 Soe feyre att the hall bord ; 
 The froth, that came from his brydle bitte. 
 
 I,ight on King Bremors beard. 
 
 Sales, " Stable thy steed, thou proud harp^," 
 Sales, " Stable him In the stalle : 
 
 It doth not beseeme a proud harp^ 
 To stable him in a kings halle." 
 
Iking Bstmere 
 
 305 
 
 " My ladde he is so lither," he said, 
 " He will doe nought that 's meete ; 
 
 And is there any man in this hall 
 Were able him to beate? " 
 
 *' 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 when 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 saies, " It is writt in his forhead 
 
 All and in gramary^. 
 That for all the gold that is under heaven, 
 
 I dare not neigh him nye." 
 Then King Estmere pulld forth his harpe, 
 
 And playd a pretty thinge : 
 The ladye upstart from the borde, 
 
 And wold have gone from the king. 
 " Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper, 
 
 For Gods love I pray thee. 
 For and thou playes as thou beginns, 
 
 Thou 'It 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. 
 
^o6 
 
 IkirxQ :e0tmere 
 
 Saies, " Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper, 
 
 And thy string^ all, 
 For as many gold nobles thou shalt have 
 
 As heere bee ringes in the hall." 
 
 " What wold ye doe with my harpe," he 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 br^'de 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 mybrjde soe 
 Iflf I did sell her thee ? " [gay, 
 
 " More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye 
 To lye bj' 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. 
 
 " O ladye, this is thy owne true love, 
 
 As playnlye thou mayest see ; 
 And He rid thee of that foule paynim, 
 
 WTio partes thy love and thee." 
 
 The ladye looked, the 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 crye : 
 " Ah ! traytors, yee have slayne our king, 
 
 And therefore yee shall dye." 
 
IRtna Bstmere 
 
 King :Estmere threwe the harpe asyde, 
 
 And swith he drew his brand ; 
 And Estmere he, and Adler younge, 
 
 Right stiflfe in stour can stand. 
 
 And aye their swords soe sore can byte, 
 Through help of gramary^, [men, 
 
 That soone they have slayne the kempery 
 Or forst them forth to flee. 
 
 King Kstmere tooke that fayre lady^, 
 
 And marryed her to his wiffe, 
 And brought her home to merry Engird, 
 
 With her to leade his life. 
 
3o8 
 
 ^be Gruel Sister 
 
 • fiee Appendix. 
 
Q^be Cruel Sister 
 
 309 
 
 He courted the eldest with glove and ring, 
 But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing ; 
 
 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, 
 " Will ye go and see our father's ships come 
 in?"— 
 
 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', 
 V Aad dash'd her bonny back to the jaw ; 
 
 'I " O sister, sister, reach your hand, 
 
 ^ And ye shall be heir of half my land." — 
 
 ) 
 jjt " O sister, I '11 not reach my hand, 
 
 And I '11 be heir of all your land ; 
 
 Shame fa' the hand that I should take, 
 U 's twin'n me, and my world's make." — 
 
 S, " 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."— 
 
5 TO 
 
 trbe Cruel Sister 
 
 Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she 
 
 swam, 
 Until she cam. to the miller's dam : 
 
 " Oh father, father, draw your datn ! 
 There 's either a mermaid, or a milk-white 
 swan,"— 
 
 The miller hasted and drew his dam, 
 And there he found a drown'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 hea\-y moan ; 
 
 He made a harp of her breast-bone, 
 Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone ; 
 
 The strings he fram'd of her yellow hair, 
 Whose notes made sad the list'ning ear ; 
 
 He brought it to her father's hall, 
 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 mother the queen ; 
 
 •■'And yonder stands my brother Hugh, 
 And by him my William, cweet and true."'— 
 
Zbc Cruel Sister 
 
 3" 
 
 I But the last tune that the harp play'd then, 
 
 Binnorie, O Binnorie ; 
 Was — " Woe to my sister, false Helen ! "— 
 B3' the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie. 
 
312 
 
 jpair l)elen 
 
 O I sweetest sweet, and fairest fair. 
 Of birth and worth beyond compare. 
 Thou art the causer of my care, 
 Since first I loved thee. 
 
 See Appendix. 
 
jfair fbclcn 
 
 313 
 
 Yet God hath gpiven 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 ? 
 
 ! Helen brave ! but this I crave, 
 Of thy poor slave some pity have, 
 And do him save that 's near his grave. 
 
 And dies for love of thee. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 1 wish I were where Helen lies. 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 O that I were where Helen lies, 
 
 On fair Kirconnell L,ee ! 
 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' meikle care, 
 
 On fair Kirconnell I^ee. 
 
314 
 
 fMv l>elen 
 
 As I went down the water side, 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 On fair Kirconnell L,ee ; 
 
 I lighted down my sword to draw, 
 I hacked him in pieces sma', 
 I hacked him in pieces sma'. 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
 Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
 
 1 '11 make a garland of thy hair, 
 Shall bind my heart for evermair, 
 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 O that I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 Out of my bed she bids me rise, 
 Says, " Haste and come to me ! " — 
 
 O Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! 
 If I were with thee, I were blest, 
 Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest, 
 On fair Kirconnell Lee. 
 
 I w^ish my g^ave were growing green, 
 A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
 And I in Helen's arms lying. 
 On fair Kirconnell L,ee. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 And I am weary of the skies, 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
jfaic Ibelcn 
 
 315 
 
3i6 
 
 Crbe Xuck of Bi)en*l)aH 
 
 THE I^UCK OF EDEN-HAI.I..* 
 
 On Eden's wild romantic bowers, 
 The summer moonbeams sweetly fall, 
 
 And tin j with yellow light the towers — 
 The stately towers of Eden-Hall. 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
XLbc Xuck of }6C)en*1baU 
 
 317 
 
 There, lonely in the deepening night, 
 
 A lady at her lattice sits, 
 And trims her taper's wavering light, 
 
 And tunes her idle lute by fits. 
 
 But little can her idle lute, 
 Beguyle the weary moments now ; 
 
 And little seems the lay to suit 
 Her wistful eye and anxious brow. 
 
 For, as the chord her finger sweeps. 
 Oft-times she checks her simple song, 
 
 To chide the forward chance that keeps 
 lyord Musgrave from her arms so long. 
 
 And listens, as the wind sweeps by. 
 His steed's familiar step to hear— 
 
 Peace, beating heart ! 't was but the cry 
 And foot-fall of the distant deer. 
 
 In, lady, to thy bower ; fast weep 
 The chill dews on thy cheek so pale ; 
 
 Thy cherished hero lies asleep — 
 Asleep in distant Russendale ! 
 
 The noon was sultry, long the chase — 
 And when the wild stag stood at bay, 
 
 BURBEK reflected from its face 
 The purple lights of dying day. 
 
 Through many a dale must Musgrave hie — 
 Up many a hill his courser strain, 
 
 Ere he behold, with gladsome eye, 
 His verdant bowers and halls again. 
 
 But twilight deepens— o'er the wolds 
 The yellow moonbeam rising plays. 
 
 And now the haunted forest holds 
 The wanderer in its bosky maze. 
 
'MS 
 
 trbe Xucft of BDcn*l)aU 
 
 No ready vassal rides in sight ; 
 
 He blows his bugle, but the call 
 Roused Echo mocks : farewell, to-night, 
 
 The homefelt joys of Eden-Hall ! 
 
 His steed he to an alder ties, 
 
 His limbs he on the greensward flings • 
 And, tired and languid, to his eyes 
 
 Woos sorceress slumber's balmy wings. 
 A prayer — a sigh, in murmurs faint, 
 
 He whispers to the passing air ; 
 The Ave to his patron saint — 
 
 The sigh was to his lady fair. 
 
 'T was well that in that Elfin wood 
 He breathed the supplicating charm, 
 
 Which binds the Guardians of the good 
 To shield from all unearthly harm. 
 
 Scarce had the night's pale I^ady staid 
 Her chariot o'er th' accustomed oak. 
 
 Than murmurs in the mystic shade 
 The slumberer from his trance awoke. 
 
 Stiff stood his courser's mane with dread — 
 
 His crouching greyhound whined with 
 fear; 
 And quaked the wild-fern round his head, 
 
 As though some passing ghost were near. 
 Yet calmly shone the moonshine pale 
 
 On glade and hillock, flower and tree ; 
 And sweet the gurgling nightingale 
 
 Poured forth her music, wild and free. 
 
 Sudden her notes fall hushed, and near 
 Flutes breathe, horns warble, bridles ring : 
 
 And, in gay cavalcade, appear 
 The Fairies round their Fairy King. 
 
Zbc Xucft of B0cn*1baH 
 
 319 
 
 Twelve hundred Klfin 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. 
 
 Behind, twelve hundred ladies coy, [Queen ; 
 
 On milk-white steeds, brought up their 
 Their kerchiefs of the crimson soy. 
 
 Their kirtles all of lyincoln-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 Klfin song. 
 
 Their steeds they quit ;— the knights ad- 
 And in quaint order, one by one, [vance. 
 
 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. 
 
320 
 
 XLbc Xuck ot jBt>cn^tyan 
 
 " 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, 
 'T is due on such sweet night as this. 
 
 " The dance lead up, the dance lead down, 
 The dance lead round our favourite tree ; 
 
 I f now even Oberon wears a frown, 
 A false and froward churl is he ! " 
 
 Thus sing the Fays ; — I,ord ^lusgrave hears 
 Their shrill sweet song, and eager eyes 
 he radiant show, despite the fears 
 That to his bounding bosom rise. 
 
 ; ut soft — the minstrelsy declines ; 
 
 The morris ceases — sound the shaums ! 
 And quick, whilst many a taper shines. 
 
 The heralds rank their airj' swarms. 
 
 Titania waves her crj-stal wand : 
 And underneath the green-wood bower. 
 
 Tables, and urns, and goblets stand, 
 Metheglin, nectar, fruit, and flower. 
 
 " To banquet, ho ! " the seneschals 
 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 his 'scutcheon'd lord, — a bright 
 Equipment on a brilliant stage ! 
 
XLbc %\xck of Bt)en*1baU 
 
 321 
 
 The monarch sits ; — all helms are doffed, 
 Plumes, scarfs, and mantles cast aside ; 
 
 And, to the sound of music soft. 
 They ply their cups with mickle pride. 
 
 Or sparkling mead, or spangling dew. 
 Or livelier hyppocras they sip ; 
 
 And strawberries red, and mulberries blue. 
 Refresh each elf s luxurious lip. 
 
 With " nod, and beck, and wreathed smile," 
 
 They heap their jewelled patines high ; 
 Nor want their mirthful airs the while 
 
 To crown the festive revelry. 
 A minstrel dwarf, in silk arrayed, 
 
 I^ay on a mossy bank, o'er which 
 The wild thyme wove its fragrant braid. 
 
 The violet spread its perfume rich ; 
 
 \nd whilst a page at Oberon's knee 
 Presented high the wassail-cup, 
 
 This lay the little bard with glee 
 From harp of ivory offered up : 
 Health to our sovereign ! — fill, brave boy, 
 Yon glorious goblet to the brim ! 
 
 There 'sjoy — in every drop there 's joy 
 That laughs within its charmed rim ! 
 
 " 'T was wrought within a wizard's mould. 
 When signs and spells had happiest 
 power ; — 
 
 Health to our King by wood and wold ! 
 Health to our Queen in hall and bower ! " 
 
 They rise — the myriads rise, and shrill 
 The wild-wood echoes to their brawl, — 
 
 "Health to our King by wold and rill ! 
 Health to our Queen in bower and hall 1 '• 
 
322 
 
 ^be Xuck ot J6&en*l)all 
 
 A sudden thought fires Musgrave's brain, — 
 So help him all the Powers of lyight, — 
 
 He rushes to the festal train, 
 And snatches up that goblet bright ! 
 
 With three brave bounds the lawn he crossed. 
 
 The fourth it seats him on his steed ; 
 " Now, Courser ! or thy lord is lost- 
 Stretch to the stream with lightning speed ! ' 
 
 'T is uproar all around, behind, — 
 I^aps to his selle each screaming Fay, 
 
 "The charmed cup is fairly tined. 
 Stretch to the strife,— away ! away ! " 
 
 As in a whirlwind forth they swept. 
 
 The green turf trembling as they passed ; 
 But forward still good Musgrave kept, — 
 ^ The shallow stream approaching fast. 
 
 A thousand quivers round him rained 
 Their shafts or ere he reached the shore ; 
 
 But when the farther bank was gained, 
 This song the passing whirlwind bore : 
 
 " Joy to thy banner, bold Sir Knight ! 
 
 But if yon goblet break or fall, 
 Farewell thy vantage in the fight !— 
 
 Farewell the luck of Eden-Hall ! " 
 
 The forest cleared, he winds his horn, — 
 Rock, wood, and wave return the din ; 
 
 And soon, as though by Echo borne. 
 His gallant Squires come pricking in. 
 
 'T is dusk of day ;— in Eden's towers 
 A mother o'er her infant bends. 
 
 And lists, amid the whispering bowers, 
 The sound that from the stream ascends. 
 
^be Xucft of BDenslball 
 
 323 
 
 It comes in murmurs up the stairs,— 
 A low, a sweet, a mellov/ voice, — 
 
 And charms away the lady's cares, 
 And bids the mother's heart rejoice. 
 
 " Sleep sweetly, habe ! " 't was heard to say ; 
 
 " But if the goblet break or fall. 
 Farewell thy vantage in the fray ! — 
 
 Farewell the luck of Kden-Hall ! " 
 
 Though years on years have taken flight. 
 Good-fortune 's still the Musgrave's thrall ; 
 
 Hail to his vantage in the fight ! 
 All hail the I^uck of Eden-Hall ! 
 
324 
 
 XaDg Bnnc JSotbweirs Xamcnt 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleipl 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weip : 
 If thou 'se be silent, I'se be glad ; 
 Thy maining make my heart full sad. 
 Balow, my boy, thy mother'sjoy ; 
 Thy father breidy me great annoy. 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip 1 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weip. 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
XaD^ Bnne :fi3otbweir0 Xament 
 
 325 
 
 When he began to court my luve, 
 And with his sugred words to muve, 
 His feignings false and flattering cheir 
 To me that time did not appeir : 
 But now I see, most cruel he 
 Cares neither for his babe nor me. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weip. 
 I,ie still, my darling ; sleip awhile, 
 And, when thou wakest, sweetlie smile : 
 But smile not as thy father did, 
 To cozen maids : nay, God forbid ! 
 But yet I feir, thou wilt gae neir 
 Thy father's heart and face to beir. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 I It grieves me sair to see thee weip. 
 " Farewell, farewell, thou falsest youth, 
 That ever kist a woman's mouth ! 
 I^et nevir any, after me, 
 Submit unto thy courtesie ; 
 For, if they do. Oh, cruel thou 
 Wilt her abuse, and care not how. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weip. 
 I was too credulous at first. 
 To yield thee all a maiden durst. 
 Thou swore for ever true to prove. 
 Thy faith unchanged, unchanged thy love ; 
 But, quick as thought, the change is wrought, 
 Thy love 's no more, thy promise noucht. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weip. 
 Balow, my boy ; weep not for me, 
 Whose gieatest grief 's for wronging thee ; 
 )Tor pity her deserved smart, 
 Whp can blame none but her fond heart. 
 
326 
 
 XaDi^ Bnne :JBotbweir8 Xament 
 
 >tN 
 
 The too soon trusting, latest finds, 
 With fairest tongues are falsest minds. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to heir thee weip. 
 Oh, do not, do not, prettie mine, 
 To feinings false thy heart incline. 
 Be loyal to thy lover trus, 
 And never change her for a new : 
 If good or fair, of her have care ; 
 For women's banning 's wondrous sair. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weip. 
 Balow, my boy ; thy father 's fled. 
 When he the thriftless son has play'd. 
 Of vows and oaths forgetful, he 
 Prefers the wars to thee and me. 
 But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine 
 Make him eat acorns with the swine. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to heir thee weip. 
 ^ Yet I can't chuse, but ever will 
 
 I'.c loving to thy father still : 
 ^., Where'er he gae, where'er he ride, 
 My luve with him doth still abide : 
 In weel or wae, where'er he gae. 
 My heart can ne'er depart him frae. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to heir thee weip. 
 Then curse him not : perhaps now he. 
 Stung with remorse, is blessing thee : 
 Perhaps at death ; for who can tell. 
 Whether the judge of heaven or hell, 
 By some proud foe has struck the blow, 
 And laid the dear deceiver low. 
 
 Balow, my bo^' ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 I* grieves me sair to heir thee weip. 
 
XaDs Bnnc JSotbweirs Xamcnt 
 
 327 
 
 I wish I were into the bounds 
 Where he lies smothered in his wounds- 
 Repeating, as he pants for air, 
 My name, whom once he called his fair. 
 No woman 's yet so fiercely set, 
 But she '11 forgive, though not forget. 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weip. 
 
 Balow, my boy ! I '11 weip for thee ; 
 Too soon, alas, thou 'It weip for me : 
 Thy griefs are growing to a sum — 
 God grant thee patience when they come ; 
 Born to sustain thy mother's shame, 
 A hapless fate, an outcast's name ! 
 
 Balow, my boy ; lie still and sleip ! 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weip. 
 
328 
 
 BulD •Robin 0ras 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame. 
 When a' the weary warld to quiet rest are gane ; 
 The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, 
 Unken'd by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by me. 
 
 Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his bride ; 
 But saving ae crown piece, he 'd naething else beside. 
 To make the crown a pMJund, my Jamie gaed to sea ; 
 And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for me ! 
 
 • See Appendix. 
 
BulD IRobin ©rai? 
 
 329 
 
330 SulD "Robin <5rai? 
 
 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, wiU you marry me ! " 
 
 My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back ; 
 
 But hard blew the winds, and his ship 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, 
 
 Till he said, " I 'm 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 I 'm no like to dee ; 
 For O, I am but young to crj' 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 aj-e to be, 
 For Auld Robin Gray, oh ! 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'dna look to see — 
 For, oh ! the wee bit glass, my Jamie gaed it me. 
 
BulD "Kobtn ©rag 
 
 331 
 
 m^ 
 
332 BulD IRobin (5rai? 
 
 My father he was sad, my mother dull and wae ; 
 But that which grieved 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. 
 
 " I 've 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 death will shortly free 
 
 A young and faithful heart that was ill match'd w' me. 
 
 " I lood, 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 her to be mine, I steal'd her cow mysel ! 
 
 " O what cared I for Crummie ! I thought of nought but thee, 
 I thought it was the cow stood 'twixt my luve and me. 
 While she maintain'd ye a', was you not heard to say, 
 That you would never marry 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 bonny land. 
 
 " It was na very lang ere a' did come to light ; 
 For Jamie he came back, and Jenny's cheek 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 weel — oh, let me do some good ! 
 
 I gie you a', young man — my houses, cattle, kine, 
 
 And the dear wife bersel, that ne'er should hae been mine." 
 
BulO IRobin (3raB 
 
 333 
 
 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 ! 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 lamie, oh ' he loo s me up to my heart's desire. 
 
334 
 
 jeifinlanO lnauD 
 
 ELFINI,AND WUD.* 
 
 Erl William tiasmuntit his gude grai stede, 
 (Merrie lemis munelicht on the sea ) 
 
 And graithit him in ane cumli weid. 
 (Swa bonnilie blumis the hawthorn tree.) 
 
 » See Appendix. 
 
lElfinlanD limuD 
 
 335 
 
 T^ "-^ 
 
 Erl William rade, EIrl William fan— 
 (Fast they ryde quha luve trewlie,) 
 
 Quhyll the E;ifinland wud that gude Eri 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, 
 (I^icht 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, 
 (Manie flowris blume quhilk ar nocht seen.) 
 
 Around hir slepis the quhyte muneschyne, 
 
 (Meik is mayden undir kell,) 
 Her lips bin lyke the blude reid wyne ; 
 
 (The rois of flowris hes sweitest smell.) 
 
 It was al bricht quhare that ladie stude, 
 (Far 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 quhyte als milk, 
 (Ringis my luve wore mair nor ane.) 
 
 Her skin was safter nor the silk ; 
 (Ivilly bricht schinis my luvis halse bane.) 
 
 Save you, save you, fayr ladie, 
 (Gentil hert schawls gentil deed.) 
 
 Standand alane undir this auld tree ; 
 (Deir till knicht is nobil steid.) 
 
 Burdalane, if ye dwall here, 
 (My hert is layed upon this land.) 
 
 I wuld like to live j'our fere ; 
 (The shippis cum sailin to the strand.) 
 
336 
 
 BlfinlanD mu^ 
 
 Nevir ane word that ladie sayd ; 
 
 (Schortest rede hes least to mend.) 
 Bot on hir harp she evir plaj'd ; 
 (Thare nevir was mirth that had nocht end.) 
 
 Gang ye eist, or fare ye wast, 
 
 (Ilka stem blinkis blythe for thee,) 
 Or tak ye the road that ye like best, 
 f^ (Al trew feeris ryde in cumpanie.) 
 
 ~-^/ 
 
 Brl William loutit doun full lowe ; 
 
 (lyuvis first seid bin curtesie.) 
 And swung hir owir his saddil bow, 
 
 (Ryde quha listis, ye '11 link with mee.) 
 
 Scho flang her harp on that auld tree, 
 (The wj-nd pruvis aye ane harpir gude.) 
 
 And it gave out its music free ; 
 (Birdis sing blj'the in gay grein wud.) 
 
 The harp playde on its leeful lane, 
 
 (I<ang is my luvis yellow hair.) 
 Quhill it has charmit stock and stane, 
 
 (Furth by firth, deir lady fare.) 
 
 Quhan sho was muntit him behynd, 
 (Blyth be hertis quhilkis luve ilk uthir.) 
 
 Awa thai flew Ij-ke flaucht of wind ; 
 
 (Kin kens kin, and baimis thair mither.) 
 
 Nevir ane word that ladie spak ; 
 
 (Mim be maydins men besyde.) 
 Bot that stout steid did nicher and schaik ; 
 
 (Smal thingis humbil hertis of pryde.) 
 
 About his breist scho plet her handis ; 
 
 (I,uvand be maydins quhan thai lyke.) 
 Bot thay were cauld as jTon bandis ; 
 
 (The winter bauldbindissheuch and syke.) 
 
;6ltiinlan& 'Mntf 
 
 337 
 
 '^S 
 
 m\ 
 
 Your handis ar cauld, fayr ladie, sayd hee, 
 (The caulder hand the trewer hairt.) 
 
 I tretnbil als the leif on the tree ; 
 (Licht caussis muve aid friendis to pairt.) 
 
 I^ap your mantil owir your heid, 
 (My luve was clad in the reid Scarlett,) 
 
 And spredd your kirtil owir my stede ; 
 (Thair nevir was joie that had nae lett.) 
 
 The ladie sho wald nocht dispute ; 
 
 (Nocht woman is scho that laikis ane tung.) 
 liut caulder hir fingeris about him cruik. 
 
 (Sum sangis ar wnt, hot nevir sung.) 
 
 This Klfinland Wud will neir haif end ; 
 
 (Hunt quha listis, daylicht for mee.) 
 I wuld I culd ane Strang bow bend, 
 
 (Al undimeth the grein wud tree.) 
 
 Thai rad'e up, and they rade doun, 
 V, rs\ (Wearilie wearis wan nicht away.) 
 ^^Krl William's heart mair cauld is grown ; 
 (Hey, luve mine, quhan dawis the day?) 
 
 Your hand lies cauld on my briest-bane, 
 (Smal hand hes my ladie fair,) 
 
 My horss he can nocht stand his lane, 
 (For cauldness of this midnicht air.) 
 
 Krl William tumit his heid about ; 
 
 (The braid mune schinis in lift richt cleir.) 
 Twa Klfin een are glentin owt, 
 
 (My luvis een like twa sternis appere.) 
 
 Twa brennand eyen, sua bricht and full 
 (Bonnilie blinkis my ladies ee.) 
 
 Flang fire flauchtis fra ane peelit skull ; 
 (Sum sichts ar ugsomlyk to see.) 
 
338 
 
 jElfinland Wi\xt> 
 
 Twa rawis of quhyt teeth then did say, 
 (Cauld the boysteous windis sal blaw.) 
 
 Oh, lang and wear>' is our way, 
 (And donkir yet the dew maun fa'.) 
 
 ' I 
 
 Far owir mure, and far owir fell, 
 (Hark the sounding huntsmen thrang ;) 
 
 Thorow dingle, and thorow dell, 
 (Luve, come, list the merlis sang )* 
 
 * Glossary —Muntit, w/fM7i/^rf. Cudcir^oi/. Lcniis, 
 gleami, iitutiiiates. GxA\\.\\it,clresieii. Derii, /tia'rf^w, 
 secret, dari. Swa, jo. Qaha.,ioho. Quhyll, Tt'AiVf. Grai 
 goukis sang, song of the " tut^uo-gray. ' Ilk ane, raih, 
 ezeryouc. llkahasthesaniesignihcatiou. Quliyi, TtAi/f. 
 Schoirt, lang, shvrt, Iuiij:. Braid aik tree. Or uad oak tree. 
 Kylhit, rfjiftrz/rrfrt'. Qunilk.nocht, zt'/rjV//, >/f/. Kcll, a 
 -voman's head-dress. 'W\^\o\%, the ruse. S\.\xClC, stood. 
 ¥uT&, fared. Botdern is the lave, but dark, vr hidden, 
 is the remainder. Als.ffj. Mair nor A-actnore than 
 one'. Schiius, halse bane, shines, tollar bone. Hert 
 sthawis. heart sho^vs. Standandalane, standing alone. 
 Till, to. Burdalane, a term used to denote one who is the 
 only child left in a family ; btrd alone, or 5o/j/«rv. Layed, 
 ■• lay " means basis, axfoundatiou, and the signifiiaiion 
 of •• layed, ' here, \% fixed, 1 think, or set. Fere, a cum- 
 panion. Sthortest rede has least to mend, shortest 
 (ounsel has least to expiate. Nocht, «o/. Gang,eist, 
 v,^sx, go, east, -west. Stern, i/<ir. \^o\jA\\., stooped. Seid 
 bin, oj/sprui^ is. Scho, she. Its leeful lane, by itself 
 alone. Funhby firlYt.for/h, abroad by frith. Blyth be 
 hertes quhilkis luve ilk utliir, blithe be hearts -whuh love 
 earh other. Flaucht, gust, and also flake. Bairnis, 
 niither, children, mother. Mini, ajfettedly vtodest or 
 toy, prim. Hkhi^r, neigh. Qulian thai lykc, wAf// ///<>' 
 ( hoose. Bauld, slicuth, bold, a furrow or ditih. Syke, 
 a rill, or mulet, usually dry in summer. Hairt, heart. 
 AM, pairt, old, part. Nae lelt, 710 oimruction, no hiu- 
 derance, Nocht woman is sthotliat laikisaiie tuiig, she 
 -aho lacks a toni;ue, is not a -uotnan. Sangis, songs. 
 Haif, haze. Quhan daw is the day, -uhen breaks the day, 
 'BxA\hxn\ine, broad moon. "LxW, the firmament. Glentin, 
 glancing, gleaming. Brennand, burning. Fia ane 
 peelitskull,yrj>>« a peeled skull. Vz^^omXyV, very loath- 
 some, disgusting. Kawis, rt-ji^j. Boysteous, /^t^f/rroMj, 
 blustering. Donkir, damper, danker. Maun fa', must 
 fall. The merlis sang, the blackbird's song. Flude, 
 flood. l<\u<.\y, moody. B\\ii\c, blood. A seamless shrowd 
 weird schaipis for me I a seamless shroud fate, or des- 
 tiny, prepares for me. To rede aright my spell, to ex- 
 plain aright my tale. 'EenUcaTtfully, drearily. Sal, 
 shall. Quhill fleand Hevin and raikand Hell, -while 
 avoiding Heaven and ranging Hell, Ghaist, ghost. 
 Luvand, loving, ajfee tionatt. 
 
BltlnlanO TIDlu& 
 
 339 
 
 Thorow fire, and thorow flude, 
 
 (Mudy mindis rage lyk a sea ;) 
 Thorow slauchtir, thorow blude, 
 
 (A seamless shrowd weird schaipis for me !) 
 
 And to rede aricht my spell, 
 
 Eerilie sal nicht wyndis moan, 
 Quhill fleand Hevin and raikand Hell, 
 
 Ghaist with ghaist maun wandir on. 
 
340 
 
 tTbe trwa Qotbice 
 
 See Appendix. 
 
 As I was walking all alane, 
 
 I heard twa corbies making a mane ; 
 
 if^^f^^^^^to the t'other say, 
 
 ^^ Where sail we gang and dine to-day ? ' 
 
 "In behint yon aiild fail dyke 
 
 I wot there lies a new-slain knight • 
 
 Buth":?°'j^^"^*^^*^^^-tLr;. 
 But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair 
 
XLbc ^wa Corbies 
 
 341 
 
 ^^^^, 
 
 "His hound is to the hunting: gane, 
 His hawk to fetch the -wild-fowl hame, . 
 His lady 's ta'en another mate, 
 So we may make our dinner sweet. 
 
 " Ye '11 sit on his white hause-bane. 
 And I '11 pick out his bonny blue een : 
 Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair, 
 We '11 theek our nest when it grows bare. 
 
 O'er his white banes, when they are bare. 
 The wind sail blaw for evermair." 
 
342 
 
 f)endi6t and Ose^ 
 
 h^ 
 
 HENGIST AND MEY.* 
 
 In ancient days, when Arthur reigned, 
 
 Sir Elmer had no peer ; 
 And no young knight in all the land 
 
 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. 
 
 • Sec Appendix, 
 
Dcngist anD /Des 
 
 343 
 
 / 
 
 \ 
 
 
 k 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 In 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 '11 gain." 
 
 I,ong 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. 
 
344 
 
 l)cngi6t anD ^eg 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 r/\ ''t^^^^ 
 
 
 Q 
 
 
 mt 
 
 ^ 
 
 \^m 
 
 f 
 
 ^1 
 
 \ 
 
 ■ ^J 
 
 1 ■ ~n 
 
 " His limbs, his arms, his stature shaped 
 
 By nature's finest hand ; 
 His sparkling eyes declare him bom 
 
 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, 
 
 All 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 
 The castle walls so sheen ; [o'er 
 
 And lo ! the warlike Saxon youth 
 Were sporting on the green. 
 
 There Hengist, Offa's eldest son, 
 I,eaned 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 mom, 
 
 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 peace or war ; 
 Oh ! by that cross that veils thy breast, 
 
 Relieve thy lover's care ! 
 
Ibcngiet anD iReg 
 
 345 
 
 " For thee, I '11 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 mom. 
 Appears the opening rose. 
 
 'T was now the hour of morning prayer, 
 
 When men their sins bewail, 
 And :Elmer heard King Arthur's horn. 
 
 Shrill sounding through the dale. 
 
 The pearly tears from Mey's bright eyes, 
 
 I^ike April dew-drops 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 five hundred bowmen true. 
 He 's marched across the plain ; 
 
 Till with his gallant yeomandrie, 
 He joined King Arthur'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 Offa, dressed in Odin's garb, 
 
 Assumed the hoary god ; 
 And Hengist, like the warlike Thor, 
 
 Before the horsemen rode. 
 
346 
 
 'tocrxQiet anO /Ibcg 
 
 With dreadful rage the combat bums, 
 
 The captains shout amain ; 
 And Elmer's tall victorious spear 
 
 Far glances o'er the plain. 
 
 To stop its course young Hengist flew, 
 
 Like lightning o'er the field ; 
 And soon his ej-es 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 through his hand ; 
 And, stained with blood — his stately corse 
 
 Lay breathless on the strand. 
 
 " O bear me off (Sir Elmer cried) ; 
 
 Before my painful sight 
 The combat swims— yet Hengist 's vest 
 
 I claim as victor's right." 
 
 Brave Hengist's fall the Saxons saw, 
 
 And all in terror fled ; 
 The bowmen to his castle gates 
 
 The brave Sir Elmer led. 
 
fbcmist anO /Hbcs 347 
 
 " O, 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, 
 
 And 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 ! 
 
348 
 
 Ibcngiet an& flScs 
 
 Where in the dale a moss-grown Cross 
 
 O'ershades an aged thorn, 
 Sir Elmer's and young Hengist'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 Mey'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. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 CHEVY CHACE. 
 
 There are two versions of this ballad, the more modern of which 
 is here given, as it is more intelligible to the general reader. 
 The earlier one, which was first published by Percy, is more vigor- 
 ous, if also rugged and uncouth. Nothing authentic can fix the pre- 
 cise date of the poem, which is known to have been popular in the 
 time of Elizabeth. The mention of the battle of Humbledoun 
 (September, 1402) proves that the action took place prior to that 
 date. An Earl of Douglas is known to have been slain by a Percy 
 in the battle of Otterbourne (1388), and it may be that that was the 
 foundation of this ballad, although there are several others which 
 have that battle as their theme. 
 
 Douglas had captured the pennon of Percy during an incursion of 
 the Scots into the English marches, and the fight at Otterbourne 
 was the result of an attempt to regain this. 
 
 THE CHII.DREN IN THE WOOD. 
 
 Ritson says that this ballad appears to have been written in 1595, 
 as it was entered in that year on the Stationers' books, but there is 
 some doubt as to the date of its original composition. Dr. Percy 
 credits it to an old play, the scene of which is laid in Padua. It is, 
 however, too English to make an Italian source probable, and the 
 ballad may be regarded as a model of the pure old English style. 
 It was very popular, and was sung to the tune oi Rogero. 
 
350 BppcnDij 
 
 FAIR ROSAMUND. 
 
 The fate of Fair Rosamund was a favorite theme with the early 
 minstrels, and historians have not disdained to preserve the mem- 
 ory of her beauty and sad stor5^ 
 
 According to Stowe, who follows Higden, the monk of Chester, 
 she was the daughter of Walter, I^rd CliflTord, and became the 
 favorite of Henry II., and mother of two sons, William Longsword, 
 Earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey, Bishop of Lincoln. Her royal lover 
 made her a house at Woodstock, so cunningly hidden in a labyrinth 
 that none could come to it. Queen Fleanor, prompted by jealousy, 
 discovered the secret, penetrated to her rival, and so "dealt with 
 her that she lived not long." This was in 1177 A. D. It was be- 
 lieved that she was poisoned, but the fact is not proven. Rosamund 
 was buried at Godstow, " in a house of nunnes besides Oxford." 
 
 This version of the ballad appears to have been published in 1612. 
 Percy gives another called " Queen Eleanor's Confession, ' 'and there 
 were several others current varying only in details. 
 
 THE DEMON LOVER. 
 
 This ballad first appeared in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
 Border." Sir Walter Scott received it from Sir William Laidlaw, by 
 whom it was "taken down in recitation." 
 
 Sir W^alter Scott saj^s the legend here given is "in various shapes 
 current in Scotland," and mentions another song in which a fiend 
 is disconcerted by holy herbs in the bosom of a maiden. Here, un- 
 luckily, the lady had no such protection. 
 
 The same power of keeping away evil spirits is attributed to the 
 vervain in Ireland. 
 
 The NUT-BROWN MAYD. 
 
 The remote antiquity of this beautiful composition is unquestion- 
 able. There are, indeed, good reasons for placing it as early as 
 1400. In the sixteenth century it was so popular that it was paro- 
 died, and Prior wrote a poem, " Henry and Emma," taking it as a 
 model. 
 
BppenOfj 351 
 
 KEMPION. 
 
 This ballad is taken from the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," 
 where it is given " chiefly " from Mrs. Brown's MS., "with correc- 
 tions from a recited frag~ment." The date of composition is un- 
 known. Sir Walter Scott says it was probably an old metrical 
 romance degraded into a ballad by the lapse of time and the corrup- 
 tion of reciters. 
 
 Many tales of fabulous snakes being slain by brave knights are 
 current throughout the British Isles and Denmark, whence they 
 may have been exported by the sea-kings. 
 
 THE CHII,D OF ^hX,H. 
 
 Percy was the first to publish this ballad, which he probably 
 emended greatly from the MS. in his possession. It is unquestion- 
 ably Scotch in origin, as many other Scotch poems relate a similar 
 incident. 
 
 " Child" is used for knight. 
 
 the; TWA BROTHERS. 
 
 This ballad is copied from Motherwell's " Minstrelsy, Ancient and 
 Modern." The editor is inclined to trace it to an event which 
 occurred in the family of the Somervilles in 1589 A. D. The master 
 of Somerville and John, his brother, were lying on the grass where 
 their horses were grazing. The master, after sleeping, found that 
 one of his pistols was wet with dew. In rubbing this to dry it, it 
 went off accidentally, and John was killed without having a chance 
 to speak again. In this, or some similar incident, the ballad origi- 
 nated undoubtedly. Other versions are also in existence. 
 
 THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNAI,!, GREEN. 
 
 The ballad, as given here, is Percy's version. Percy places its 
 composition in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, because there is men- 
 tion of "the Queene's Armes," and also because of the "tune's 
 being' quoted in other old pieces written in her time." 
 
352 BppenMr 
 
 History informs us that at the decisive battle of Eversham (August 
 4, 1265), when Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was 
 slain at the head of his barons, his eldest son Henry fell by his side, 
 and the whole family perished forever, their possessions being be- 
 stowed upon Edmund, Earl of I^ancaster, second son of the king. 
 There is no date from which to tell whether the story of the blind 
 beggar is pure fiction or founded on fact. 
 
 The " angell " mentioned was a gold coin, value about ten shil- 
 lings. It bore a figure of St. Michael on one side, a ship on the 
 other, and was first coined by Edward IV. in 1466. 
 
 ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
 
 This is printed from a black-letter copy in the British Museum. 
 Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, was a " shrewd and knavish sprite.'' 
 and his tricks and pranks were described by many of the old poets. 
 He has been traced back to the thirteenth centurj', and maj' have 
 existed earlier. He is never represented as malicious. Though he 
 leads people into trouble, he gets them out again, and is alwaj-s 
 generous to those who please him. 
 
 The Puck or Chooka of Ireland is a more evil-minded imp, and 
 many stories are related by the peasantry of his merciless cruelties 
 and malicious pranks. 
 
 This version of the ballad is attributed to Ben Jonson (1574-1637), 
 probably without suflBcient authoritj', as it is not included in his 
 works. Undoubtedly it was written for some masque in which the 
 character of Robin Goodfellow was assumed by an actor, who de- 
 scribes himself to the audience as being sent by Oberon to 
 " See the night-sport here." 
 
 SIR PATRICK SPENS. 
 
 This ballad, in several versions, lays claim to a "high and remote 
 antiquity." It was tindoubtedly founded on some actual occur- 
 rence, but the earlier annotators were unable to establish the fact. 
 
 Mr. Motherwell, from whose collection this is taken, hovever, con- 
 
Bppent)fx 353 
 
 siders that it records the fate of the band who escorted Margaret, 
 daughter of Alexander III. of Scotland (1249), when she espoused the 
 Fife of Norway, as many of her escort are said to have perished on 
 their return trip. Sir Walter Scott thinks that the expedition was de- 
 spatched to bring home Margaret's infant daughter, when she 
 became heir to the Scotch throne on the death (or the approaching 
 death) of Alexander III. 
 
 The objection of the " skeely " skipper to sail at " this time of the 
 year " is thus accounted for : It was deemed imprudent to navigate 
 in winter. Two hundred years after the date assigned to this poem, 
 an act of Parliament forbade navigation " frae the feast of St, Simon 
 and St. Jude to Candlemas." 
 
 GII, MORRIC^. 
 
 This is taken, in part, from Percy, but it had already been printed 
 —communicated, it is said, to the printers by a lady who took it 
 down from "the mouths of old women and nurses." 
 
 The word " Gil " is now considered to be a corruption of " child," 
 which is so frequently used as " knight." 
 
 There can be no doubt of the antiquity of the poem, but it has 
 probably undergone many modern improvements. Many of the 
 places referred to can be localized. 
 
 The "majer dish " mentioned with the "siller cup " is probably 
 the dish on which the cup stood, 
 
 SIR AI^DINGAR, 
 
 This ballad is taken from Percy, The only information given iz 
 that the author seems to have had in his eye the story of Gunhilda, 
 sometimes called Eleanor, married to the Emperor Henry. Sir 
 Walter Scott says the tradition upon which it is founded is " uni- 
 versally current among the Mearns," and he was informed that 
 "until very lately the sword with which Sir Hugh le Blond was be- 
 lieved to have defended the honor of the queen was carefully pre- 
 served by his descendants, the Viscounts cf Arbuthnot." This Sir 
 
354 BppenMj 
 
 Hugh lived in the thirteenth century, but there is no instance in 
 history in which the good name of a queen of Scotland was com- 
 mitted to the chance of a duel. 
 
 SIR I.ANCEI.OT DU I.AKE. 
 
 Printed from a black-letter copy in the British Museum, purer 
 than Percy's version. It is mainly indebted to its celebrity from the 
 fact that Shakespeare mentions it. 
 
 The subject is taken from the ancient romance of Morte d' Arthur. 
 Sir I,ancelot was one of the most renowned among the twenty-four 
 knights cf Arthur's Round Table. This famed table originated 
 with Uther Pendragon, Arthur's father, for whom it was made in 
 token cf the roundness of the world. The knights were bound by 
 oath to assist each other and help the distressed. The mirror of all 
 was Arthur. I,ancelot's history is the perfection of romance. His 
 father, "King Ban," attacked by his enemy. King Claudas, escaped 
 with queen and child to solicit aid of Arthur, but died of grief on the 
 way. His queen left the infant a moment to attend to her dying 
 husband, and when she returned she found the child in the arms of 
 a njTnph, who sprang with him into a lake. She was "Vivian, mis- 
 tress of the enchanter, Merlin, and she brought up the boy in her 
 home beneath the water. When he was eighteen she took him to 
 Arthur's court and obtained knighthood for him. Throughout 
 I^ancelot's after-life this lady of the lake continued to be his guardian. 
 In the chapel of Winchester Castle is preserved what is affirmed to 
 be the original round table. It is, however, not considered earlier 
 than the time of Stephen. 
 
 KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 
 
 King Arthur and the knights of his round table are familiar to all 
 readers of old romance. The fabulous ' ' History of Geoffrey of Mon- 
 mouth," published about the middle of the twelfth century, is the 
 undoubted source upon which the minstrels drew so largely. He 
 claims that he translated the story from a very ancient book, but the 
 
BppenMj 355 
 
 general opinion on the matter is that it was a pure invention of the 
 "historian." Arthur was the son of Uther Pendragon, King of 
 Britain. The mystery of his life commenced with his birth, his 
 father having been introduced by Merlin, the enchanter, to his 
 mother in the semblance of one whose form it was criminal to as- 
 sume. Arthur's lineage was kept secret, and he was reared in 
 obscurity by Merlin until his father's death. Then the wizard pro- 
 posed that the rival competitors to the throne should test their 
 strength by drawing a sword — the far-famed Kxcalibur— «out of a 
 stone. Arthur was, of course, successful, and was crowned in Card- 
 vile, that noble town. 
 
 Thenceforth his career was one of conquest, either upon a large 
 scale, surrounded by all his knights, or in single combat. Arthur's 
 death was as mysterious as his birth, and is described in the follow- 
 ing ballad. I,ong after its occurrence his return to life was looked 
 for. It is "believed by the vulgar that he still lives and is to come 
 to restore the Britons to their own." This epitaph is in the "mo- 
 nastic church of Glasinberi " : 
 
 " Hie jacet Arthurus, rex quondam atque futurus." 
 
 the; heir of IvINNE. 
 
 This is copied from Percy, who emended it from a fragment in his 
 possession. He considers that it was originally Scotch, and ob- 
 serves : "The Heir of l^inne seems not to have been a lyord of 
 Parliament, but a laird whose title went along with his land." 
 
 I.ORD SOUIvIS. 
 
 This is the composition of John I,eyden (b. 1775). The hero is 
 supposed to be William, I^ord Soulis, who was of royal descent and 
 aspired to the Scottish throne with aid of Robert de Bruce (d. 1329). 
 In local tradition, according to Sir Walter Scott, he is represented 
 as a cruel tyrant and sorcerer, using all means, human and infernal, 
 to attain his ends. Tradition relates that the Scottish king, wearied 
 of reiterated complaints, peevishly exclaimed: "Boil him, if you 
 
356 BppenMr 
 
 please, but let me hear no more of him." Satisfied with this an- 
 swer, they hastened to execute the commission. The cauldron 
 which they used for this purpose on the Nine-Stane Rig is said to 
 have been long preser\-ed at Shelf-Hill, a hamlet betwixt Hawick 
 and the Hermitage which was Lord Soulis' castle. The Nine-Stane 
 Rig derives its name from a circle of so-called Druidical stones, five 
 of which are still visible. The king, it is said, sent tnessengers to 
 prevent the effect of his hasty declaration, but they did not arrive 
 till all -v^jas over. The idea of I^rd Soulis' familiar, connection with 
 whom was broken by his looking at him, was derived, according to 
 Scott, from " Spirit Orthone and the Lord of Corasse." The forma- 
 tion of ropes of sand was assigned as an interminable task by 
 Michael Scott to a number of spirits for whom he wished to find 
 employment. 
 
 LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 
 
 This is taken from Percy, who copied it from a Scotch MS. He 
 thinks that it is composed from two English ballads, "Lord Thomas 
 and Fair Ellin or," and " Fair Margaret and Sweet William." 
 
 PAUSE FOODRAGE. 
 
 First published in " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," where it 
 was "chiefly given from the MS. of Mrs. Brown of Falkland." 
 There appears to be no historical authority for the leading incident 
 of the poem, the exchange of the children. It is not improbable 
 that some such incident did occur, as the old ballad-makers were 
 seldom inventors. That its age is remote is certain by the reference 
 to King Easter and King Wester, although the former kingdom 
 cannot be positively located. There is internal evidence of its 
 Scottish origin. 
 
 GENEVIEVE. 
 
 This is the comix>sition of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and is given 
 as a specimen of his ballad verse. 
 
BppenMj: 357 
 
 FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WII.I.IAM, 
 
 Percy took this from a printed copy picked up at a stall. Al- 
 though the language is modernized, it retains many tokens of 
 antiquity. 
 
 THE MERMAID. 
 
 "This ballad," writes Sir "Walter Scott, "was founded upon a 
 Gaelic traditional ballad called ' Macphail of Colonsay and the Mer- 
 maid of Corrivrekin.' The dangerous gulf of Corrivrekin lies 
 between the islands of Jura and Scarba, and the superstition of the 
 islanders has peopled it with all kinds of fabulous monsters, of 
 which the mermaid, who somewhat resembles the siren of the 
 ancients, is the most remarkable." According to the Gaelic story, 
 Macphail of Colonsay was carried off by a mermaid, and passed 
 several years beneath the sea with her. Finally he tired of her 
 society, and prevailed on her to carry him to Colonsay, where he 
 escaped. Such stories are common in the islands, and in Ireland 
 peasants are still to be found who have seen them "combing their 
 yellow hair." 
 
 I,ORD UI.I.IN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Thomas Campbell (1777-1843), the author of this ballad, does not 
 mention whether it was pure invention. Probably neither lyord 
 Ullin nor the Chief of Ulva's Isle are altogether fictitious. lyoch 
 Gyle or Goil is an arm of I,och Long, a salt-water loch fed by the 
 Frith of Clyde. Being near the counties of the chief Scottish fami- 
 lies, it has been the site of many a clan feud. 
 
 SIR AGII.THORN. 
 
 This is the production of Matthew Gregory Incurs (1773-1818), who 
 was the first to introduce a German element into English fiction. 
 He had some influence on English taste, but most of his composi- 
 tions have already perished. 
 
358 HppcnMs 
 
 JOHNrE OF BRADISIyEE. 
 
 From " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." Scott styles it "an 
 ancient Nithsdale ballad," the hero of which appears to have been 
 an outlaw and deer-stealer. It is said he possessed the old castle of 
 Dumfriesshire, now ruinous. The date of Johnie's histor3' must be 
 verj- remote, for the scene of his exploits has been cultivated domain 
 " beyond the memory of tradition." There are several versions. 
 
 THE DOWTE DENS OF YARROW. 
 
 This was first published in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 
 der." Sir Walter Scott collected this form from the several versions 
 in circulation. He says : " Tradition places the event recorded very 
 earh", and the ballad was probably composed soon afterwards, 
 though the language has been modernized in the course of oral 
 tradition." He believes that the hero was a knight called Scott, 
 and that the action refers to a duel fought at Deucharswj-re, of 
 which Annan's Treat is a part, between John Scott, of Tushielaw, 
 and his brother-in-law Walter Scott, in which the latter was slain. 
 Annan's Treat is a low muir on the banks of the Yarrow. " There 
 are two tall, unhewn masses of stone erected about eighty feet 
 distant from each other, and the least child that can herd a cow 
 will tell you that there lie the two lords who were slain in single 
 combat. 
 
 THE BONNIE BAIRNS. 
 
 Allan Cunningham "arranged and eked out these old and re- 
 markable verses." It is probable that the original was nothing 
 more than a crude outline. The superstition involved is current in 
 Scotland. 
 
 GI^ENFINI^AS. 
 
 This is the composition of Sir Walter Scott. The tradition upon 
 which it is founded is briefly as follows : Two Highland hunters 
 were passing the night in a solitary- bothy (hunting hut) and making 
 
BppentXj 359 
 
 merry, when they expressed a wish that they had some lassies to 
 bear them company. Their words were scarcely uttered, when two 
 beautiful young women entered. One of the hunters was induced 
 to leave the hut with one of these sirens, but tne other, suspicious, 
 played a sacred strain upon a jews-harp until day came and the 
 damsel vanished. He searched for his friend, and found nothing 
 but his bones. He had been devoured by the fiend. The place was 
 henceforth called the Glen of the Green Women. Glenfinlas is a 
 tract of forest land lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far 
 from Callander in Menteith. 
 
 the: gay GOSS-HAWK. 
 
 This was first published in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 
 der." Sir "Walter Scott says it was taken partly from one in Mrs. 
 Brown's collection, and partly from a MS. The leading incident, 
 conveyance of a letter under a goss-hawk's wing, is common 
 enough. There are several other versions. 
 
 COWN AND I^UCY. 
 
 This is the composition of Tickell (d. 1740), the friend of Addin, 
 and seems to have been written in Ireland, though it is not Irish. 
 
 KATHARINE JANFARIE). 
 
 Sir Walter Scott published this first— combined from several re- 
 cited copies. The scene of the ballad is said to lie upon the banks 
 of the " Cadden-water," a small rill which joins the Tweed, betwixt 
 Inverleithen and Cloverford. 
 
 rudige;r. 
 
 A German poem translated by Robert Southey (1774-1843), and 
 given here only as a specimen of his ballad verse, even though it is 
 expended on an essentially German theme. 
 
36o appen^ij 
 
 THK BV^ OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Composition of Sir Walter Scott. The scene of the tragedy, 
 Smaylhome or Smallholme Tower, is on the northern boundary of 
 Roxburghshire. It lies so high that it is seen for "many a myle." 
 The battle of Ancram Moor (1546) was ever famous in the annals of 
 border warfare. 
 
 BARTHRAM'S DIRGE. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott says that Mr. Surtees (the historian of Durham 
 County) took this down from the recitation of Anne Douglas, who 
 weeded in his garden. Her memory was defective, and she could 
 only recall snatches of the song which he filled in. Scott adds that 
 if the reciter be correct, the hero of this ditty was shot to death by 
 nine brothers, to avenge the wrongs of their sister, the lady with 
 the "ling long yellow hair." According to her wish, he was laid 
 near their trysting place instead of in holy ground. The name 
 Barthram would argue a Northumberland origin, but the mention 
 of the Nine-Stane Bam and the Nine-Stane Rig seems to refer to the 
 vicinity of the Hermitage (scene of the Ballad of Lord Soulis). The 
 style is decidedly Scottish rather than Northumbrian. 
 
 SIR CAUIvINE. 
 
 Percy emended this ballad from a defective MS. in his possession. 
 
 There is a curious version of the same story preserved by oral tra^ 
 dition in the north of Scotland. Percy begins with "In Ireland fai 
 over the sea." But the superstition of the Kldridge Knight is un- 
 known in Ireland, and not one of the incidents or allusions bear the 
 remotest affinity to Irish customs, ancient or modem. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 This is given as a specimen of Wordsworth's ballad poetry. 
 
 ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNF. 
 
 This is taken from Percy who acknowledges that he took some 
 liberties with it. There are a gfreat many ballads and songs about 
 
BppenMj 361 
 
 Robin Hood, as he continued a favorite subject for several centuries. 
 It would appear on consulting the several authorities that, about 
 the year 1120, in the reign of Richard II., Robin Hood vv^as the leader 
 of a famous band of thieves who infested the forests of Yorkshire, 
 Cumberland, and Nottingham. He was probably outlawed for 
 slaying royal deer. His mode of selecting his associates was well 
 calculated to create a stout army. "Whersoever he heard of any 
 that were of unusual streng^th and hardiness he would disguise 
 himself, and rather than fayle, go lyke a beggar to become ac- 
 quainted 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 historion Major pronounces him to have 
 been " of all theeves the most gentle theefe." Ritson has collected 
 two volumes of ballads about his various exploits. 
 
 the; de^ath and buriai. of robin hood. 
 
 The old chronicles are somewhat circumstantial in their accounts 
 of Robin Hood. One says: "Being distempered with cowld and 
 age, he had great payne in his lymmes, his bloud being corrupted ; 
 therefor to be eased of his payne by letting bloud he repaired to the 
 priores of Kyrkesly, which some say was his aunt, a woman very 
 skylful in physique and surgery ; who perceyving him to be Robin 
 Hood, and waying how fel an enemy he was to religious persons, 
 toke revenge of him for her owne house and all others by letting him 
 bleed to death." 
 
 SIR JAMES THE ROSE. 
 
 Of Michael Bruce, the author of this ballad, very little is known. 
 He was born in Kinnassword, Scotland, struggled his life long with 
 poverty, and died of consumption in 1767 The ballad is only 
 worked out, not original. Rose is an ancient and honorable name 
 in Scotland. Johannes de Rose was a witness to the famous charter 
 of Robert II. 
 
 THE CIvERKE'S TWA SONS O' OWSENFORD. 
 This ballad is copied from the collection of Robert Chambers by 
 whom it is thus introduced, "This singularly wild old ballad is 
 
362 SppenMj 
 
 chiefly taken from the recitation of the editor's grandmother, -^ho 
 learned it in her girlhood from a iMiss Gray, resident at Neidpath, 
 Peebleshire. Some additional stanzas and a few variations are 
 borrowed from a less perfect copy and from a fragment called 
 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' which is evidently the same narrative." 
 
 SIR ANDREW BARTON. 
 
 Percy says this ballad appears to have been written in Elizabeth's 
 time. The story on which this is founded is briefly this : A certain 
 Scottish captain. Barton by name, greatly worried the English 
 sailors and merchants. The Earl of Surrj' could not smother his 
 indignation but . . . declared that while he had an estate that 
 could furnish out a ship, or a son capable of commanding one, the 
 narrow seas should not be infested. Barton had the reputation of 
 being one of the ablest sea-captains of his time in addition to being 
 a pirate. The earl's two sons, Sir Thomas and Sir Edward Howard, 
 put to sea in command of two ships. After much rough weather. 
 Sir Thomas came up with the Lion, commanded by Barton in per- 
 son, and Sir Edward came up with the Union, Barton's other ship. 
 The engagement that followed was obstinate on both sides but the 
 Howards finally prevailed. Barton was slain fighting and his two 
 Scotch ships were taken into the Thames (Aug. 2,1511). The story is 
 to be found in most of the English chronicles later than 1511, but the 
 ballad is nearly a century later. The designs illustrating it have 
 been made in strict accordance with ancient authorities. 
 
 FRENNET HALL. 
 
 This is copied from Herd's "Collection of Ancient and Modem 
 Scottish Songs." It was unaccompanied by note or comment and 
 was probably the work of a modem pen founded on an older ballad 
 called " The Fire of Frendraught." 
 
 KING ESTMERE. 
 
 Percy emended this from the MS. He says the original would 
 seem to have been written while part of Spain was in the bands of 
 
Bppen^fj 363 
 
 the Moors, whose empire was not fully extinguished before 1491, 
 He adds that the treatment of the minstrels showed the high posi- 
 tion they held on their wanderings, that is, they were allowed to 
 mix in the company of kings. All histories of the North are full of 
 the reverence paid to this order of men. As to Estmere's riding 
 into the banquet hall, this was not unusual in the days of chivalry, 
 and even to this day we see a relic of the custom still kept up in the 
 Champion's riding into Westminister Hall during the coronation 
 dinner. 
 
 the; crue:i, sister. 
 
 There are several versions of this ballad, some one of which is to 
 be found in every edition of Scotch ballads. This was composed by 
 Sir Walter Scott from a copy in Mrs. Brown's MS. intermixed with 
 a fragment. There can be little doubt that this ballad may be 
 classed among the compositions founded upon actual occurrences. 
 
 FAIR he;le;n of KIRCONN^I^I,. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott gives this from the most accurate copy that he 
 could find. The sad catastrophe (date uncertain) upon which this 
 ballad is founded is briefly this : A lady by the name of Helen 
 Irving or Bell (it is a disputed point between two clans), beautiful 
 daughter of the l^aird of Kirconnell, in Dumfriesshire, was wooed 
 by two gentlemen. The favored lover was Adam Fleming of Kirk- 
 patrick. The name of the second is lost, though it has been alleged 
 that he was a Bell of Blacket House. The latter was encouraged by 
 the family, and the lovers were obliged to meet secretly in the 
 churchyard of Kirconnell, which is nearly surrounded by the river 
 Kirtle. During one of these interviews the other suitor appeared 
 on the opposite bank of the river and aimed his carbine at the breast 
 of his favored rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received 
 the bullet and died. A combat ensued in which the murderer was 
 slain. Another account makes Fleming pursue the other to Spain, 
 where he killed him, and then returned to Helen's grave where he 
 died. Their grave is still pointed out in Kirconnell churchyard. 
 " Hie jacet Adamus Fleming." 
 
364 SppcnDij 
 
 THE I.UCK 01? EDEN HAXI.. 
 
 This ballad, the composition of Mr. J. H. Niffen, is founded on a 
 superstition in Cumberland. There is a small village there, Eden 
 Hall, situated on the Eden River. The mansion and estates belong 
 to the Iklusgraves, who have held property there since the time of 
 Henry VI. and -were distinguished in the reign of William the 
 Conqueror, with whom they came over from Xonnandy. 
 
 In the mansion an old drinking-cup, enamelled in colors, is pre- 
 served with the greatest care. It is called " The Luck of Eden Hall " 
 and bears the letters I. H. S. on the side, which mark its origin, 
 but tradition aflBrms it was seized from a company of fairies who 
 were spxorting near a spring called St. Cuthbert's well. They made 
 an ineffectual struggle to recover it, and then vanished into thin air, 
 sajdng: 
 
 " If that glass do break or fall 
 Farewell the luck of Eden Hall." 
 
 IvADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. 
 
 This is taken from "Scottish Ballads," edited by Chambers. 
 Percy gives a shorter version and says that he once thought the 
 subject of this pathetic ballad might relate to the Earl of Bothwell, 
 and the desertion of his wife. Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for 
 his marriage with Mary ; but he now believes this opinion to be 
 groundless. A young lady by the name of Bothwell, having been, 
 together with her child, deserted by her husband or lover, composed 
 these lines herself. 
 
 AULD ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 The history of the author and poem is briefly as follows : Lady 
 Ann Lindsay (1750-1825) was the daughter of the Earl of Balcarres 
 and became the wife of Sir Andrew Barton, librarian to George III. 
 The song was written before her marriage. She was verj' fond of 
 an ancient Scotch melody called "The bridegroom grat when the 
 sun gaed down." The air was sung to her by an aged person, with 
 old, rather free-spoken words. At a time when Lady Ann was feeling 
 
Bppen&ij 365 
 
 rather melancholy after the marriage of a sister, she sought to amuse 
 herself with poetry. "I longed to sing old Sophy's air," as she 
 afterwards wrote to Sir Walter Scott, " to different words and give 
 its plaintive tones some little history of virtuous distress in humble 
 life, such as might suit it." So she created a heroine, 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 to load the poor maiden with a fifth sorrow and called 
 to her little sister to help her. " Steal the cow, sister Ann," which 
 was done and the story finished. 
 
 The song became popular immediately. Its authorship was 
 attributed to ever so many people, from David Rizzio down. In 
 process of time a new air was written, by a Mr. I,eeves, to the words. 
 It found its way to the stage, where it has been occasionally sung ever 
 since. Finally, in 1S23, t,ady Ann acknowledged to Sir Walter Scott 
 that she was the author and sent him the two continuations which 
 she had written long after the song itself. 
 
 EI.FINI,AND WUD. 
 
 This is the composition of Mr. William Motherwell, written in 
 imitation of the old style. 
 
 THE TWA CORBIES. 
 
 Of the several versions of this singular fragment the one from 
 "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border " is here given. It was communi- 
 cated to the Editor by C. K. Sharpe, " as written down from tradition 
 by a lady." 
 
 THE BAI.I,AD OF HENGIST AND MEY. 
 
 This is given by William Julian Mickle. It professes to be an imi- 
 tation of the ancient ballad, the character of which, however, it 
 partakes but little. The author was born, 1734, at Langholme, in 
 Dumfriesshire, and died in 1782 in Oxfordshire. It is conjectured 
 that he was the author of " There 's nae luck about the house." 
 
 The incident on which this ballad is founded is presumed to have 
 grown out of the wars between the Britons and the Saxons. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 ActoUj a leather jacket, strongly 
 
 stuffed, worn under a coat of 
 
 mail. 
 Arblast, a cross-bow. 
 Barmkin, a rampart. 
 Bartizan, a battlement. 
 Bewray, to reveal. 
 Bigged, built. 
 Bigly, pleasant, delightful. 
 Birk, .s. birch ; v. to give a tart 
 
 reply. 
 Bowne, a. ready ; v. to make 
 
 ready. 
 Brae, brow or side of a hill. 
 Brand, sword. 
 Bryttled, made brittle. 
 Busk, to dress, to make ready. 
 Capull, a horse or mare. 
 Carle, a man (churl). 
 Cryance, belief. 
 Dill, to still, to calm. 
 Dowie, dull, mournful. 
 Dule, grief. 
 
 Farden, fared, flashed. 
 Feid, enmity. 
 Felawe, companion. 
 Fere, fear, companion. 
 Fet, fetched. 
 
 Fetteled, tied up, put in order. 
 Fitt, diversion of a song. 
 Gair^ geer, dress. 
 Galliards, a dance. 
 
 Gared, made, caused. 
 
 Giffe, if. 
 
 Gil, child, knight. 
 
 Gin, if. 
 
 Gorgett, neck-dress. 
 
 Greit, greet, cry. 
 
 Grype, griffin. 
 
 Gurley, bleak, stormy. 
 
 Hachborde, hatch-board. 
 
 Hartely, heartily. 
 
 Hewberke, a shirt of mail. 
 
 Holt, groves, woods, hills. 
 
 Hone, delay. 
 
 Kouzle, to administer the sacra- 
 ment. 
 
 In-fere, in company, together. 
 
 Kell, hinder part of a woman's 
 cap. 
 
 Kemp, soldier. 
 
 Keniperye, soldier. 
 
 Kempion, champion. 
 
 Kend, known 
 
 Kevils, lots. 
 
 I<ap, leapt. 
 
 I^ave, remainder. 
 
 Learj .y. liar ; a. rather, liefer. 
 
 lycmis, gleams, scintillates. 
 
 Lincome, of I^incoln (as Mncoln 
 cloth). 
 
 I^ing, .y. a species of grass ; s. a 
 line ; v. to move with long 
 steps. 
 
 367 
 
 OF THK 
 
368 
 
 <5lO06ari2 
 
 I/X)t, pret. of v. to let. 
 
 Ix>sel, a worthless fellow. 
 
 Louted, bowed. 
 
 Marrow, a companion, one of a 
 
 pair, an equal. 
 May. maid. 
 Mazer dish, saucer under a 
 
 cup (?) 
 Merkle, much. 
 Paynim, pagan. 
 Pibroch, a Highland air. 
 Quat, what. 
 
 Rede, .y. remedy ; v. advdse. 
 Renisht, perhaps a derivative 
 
 from renitio, to shine. 
 Shent, disgraced. 
 Sichs, sighs. 
 Skaith, harm. 
 Skeely, skilful, intelligent. 
 
 Skrieh, peep, dawn. 
 
 Spae-book, a book of necro- 
 mancy. 
 
 Speir, ask, inquire. 
 
 Soldan, sultan. 
 
 Steven, voice, time. 
 
 Stint, stayed, stopped. 
 
 Strathspey, a dance. 
 
 St5i:he, .s. place, station ; a. firm, 
 steady, 
 
 Sweven, dream. 
 
 Tercel-gents, trained falcons. 
 
 Tint, lost. 
 
 Triest furth, draw forth. 
 
 Warwolf, half man and half 
 wolf. 
 
 Waesome, woful. 
 
 Weet, know, understand. 
 
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