UC-NRLF $B 157 572 LIBRARY OF THE University of California. BOUGHT WITH FUND GIVEN BY SCOTTISH SOCIETIES OF CALIFORNIA. — > • •• "/ ! 15 ^^^^^ Wg|l|- I ^ or THr I UNIVERSITY Of TKf UHIVERS?Tv or ^ ^^ic^wKwi^^a A ^G^TTISM glElIPSIim® m©Yo The E DITE D BY ALEXANDER "WHITELi^Y/: / I h^v/o D. THE RESIDENCE OF MICHAEL SCOTT L ON D ON. BLACKIE &SON, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS. GLASGOMT 8c EDINBURGH. '^^ or THE MIVCRSITY THE BOOK OF SCOTTISH BALLADS; A COMPREHENSIVE COLLECTION OF THE MOST APPROVED BALLADS OF SCOTLAND, ANCIENT AND MODERN. WITH NOTICES HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND ANTIQUARIAN. COLLECTED AND EDITED By ALEXANDER WHITELAW, EDITOR OF "the BOOK OF SCOTTISH SONG." LONDON; BLACKIE AND SON, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.; GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH. 1875. '^^^"^ Ifierrte W Is tn ftalle to t)tar tlje ffiarpe. Ct)e iainstulles sjnge. tt)e Joflelours carpt. Davie, [circ. 1312.) PREFACE. It may be considered remarkable, that it was not till English literature had reached its highest point of refinement — it was not till the days of Addison and Pope, or, still later, of Gray and Goldsmith — that the rude ballad poetry of the people became an object of interest to the learned. In the Spectator, Addison first drew the attention of what was then called the ' polite world' to the merits of the ballad of Chevy-Chase ; but he did so in the apologetic strain of one who was fully prepared for the said world being surprised at him taking under his protection any thing so vulgar, or even humble. He introduces the ballad much in the manner that the fastidious yet generous Guy Mannering may be supposed to have introduced to his lettered friends the hearty borderer, Dandie Dinmont, with his spattered jack-boots and shaggy dreadnought : — there was no denying the rough and startling exte- rior, but many excellent qualities were to be found under it. Up to this time, the traditionary ballads of the country were held to be of so rude a character as to be scarcely amenable to the rules of literary criticism ; no his- torical value seems to have been attached to them ; and with the exception of some plodding Pepys,* who, for his own gratification, stitched and preserved his 'Penny Garlands,' no endeavour was made to rescue them from the perishable breath of oral tradition, or the fragile security of the pedlar's broadside, t Soon after Addison's day, a disposition to look after the floating * Samuel Pepys, the gossipping but delightflil Diariit of the days of Charles II. and James VII., made a collection of ballads in 5 vols., which is deposited in the Pepysian library, Mag- dalen College, Cambridge. t Before the beginning of the last century, ballads were usually printed on broadtidet, or a single square of paper : the more common way now is to print them in a small book-form of four leaves, with title page. When intended for being held in the hand and sung through the streets, they are still printed on single slips of p;iper 1 58898 iv PREFACE. poetry of the olden times began to manifest itself, and Allan Ramsay has the honourable distinction of leading the way in this movement. His ' Ever- green, being a collection of Scots poems wrote by the ingenious before 1600,' contains, as ballads, The Battle of Harlaw, Johnie Armstrong, and The Reid- squair Raid; and his ' Tea Table Miscellany,' published in 1724 and following years, contains, as ballads, Sweet William's Ghost, Bonnie Barbara Allan, The Bonnie Earl of Murray, and Johnie Faa. Some of these were obtained from tradition ; others from the Bannatyne MS. in the Advocates' Library. In the same year as the above, or rather between the years 1723 and 1725, was published at London, in 3 volumes, ' A collection of Old Ballads, from the best and most ancient extant, with Introductions, Historical, Critical or Hu- morous.' This collection, with one exception, ' Gilderoy,' is wholly taken up with English ballads. It does not mention the sources from which they are drawn, and its Introductions are meagre. These collections were but the humble harbingers of Dr. Percy's great work, ♦ Reliques of Early English Poetry, consisting of old Heroic Ballads, Songs,* &c., the first edition of which was published in the year 1755, Until the ap- pearance of this work, the ballad lore of Britain may be said to have been all but unknown and unexplored. The main source from which Dr. Percy derived his collection was a long narrow folio manuscript, in his own posses- sion, which had been written about the middle of the previous century, but which contained compositions of various ages from before the times of Chaucer downwards. So little was the literary public prepared for the contents of the collection, that the existence or fidelity of the MS. was questioned, and the Editor denounced as a literary impostor. But the existence of the MS. was proved on the most undoubted authority, it being submitted to the inspection of Shenstone, Dr. Johnson,* and afterwards of those eminent commentators on * Dr. Johnson was a personal friend of Dr. Percy, and recommended the puhlication of the 'Eellquegj'but, it is well known, he had a great contempt for ballad verses, protesting they might be manufactured by the yard, without premeditation,— thus : ' I put my hat upon my head. Or, ' The tender infant, meek and mild. And walked into the Strand, Fell down upon a stone ; And there I met another man The nurse took up the squalling child. With his hat into his hand. But still the child squall'd on. PREFACE. V Sliakspeare, Dr. Farmer, Steevens, Malone, and Reed. The MS. was mutilated in various parts, and imperfectly penned in others, so that the Editor was induced to follow his own taste in many instances, by supplying deficiencies, and altering and amending defective passages. This laid him open especially to the violent reprehension of Ritson, an acute critic, and one of the severest exactors of literal fidelity in matters antiquarian. But Percy has since been justified by eminent poets and scholars (among the rest, by Sir Walter Scott and William Motherwell, both jealous warders of the strongholds of antiquity,) on the ground, that he did not conceal having altered or amended some of the pieces, where he thought necessary, his object being not to gratify the mere ai^Ji- quary, but to attract in the first place the popular taste to the hidden and neglected treasures of ancient song. In this particular, he eminently suc- ceeded, a circumstance sufficiently indicated by the number of editions through which the * Reliques' passed,* and by the influence wliich they manifestly had on the poetical literature of the succeeding age. f The Percy ' Reliques' contained, beside the English pieces, some of our very best Scottish Ballads, which were there printed for the first time in a collected form. These are duly specified in the course of this Work. For some years before and after Percy's collection appeared, the Foulises, celebrated printers in Glasgow, issued from their press, under, we believe, the Dr. Johnson, while he thus raised the laugh over the extreme simplicity of the ballad style, probably little dreamt that his own turgid and artificial style was much more obnoxious to ridicule. * In the edition before us, (the fifth,) occurs a Dedication, which we are tempted to copy, a« me of the most beautiful and affecting whicli we have ever read : — ' To Elizabeth, lata Duchess and Countess of Northumberland, in her own right Baroness Peect, &o., who, being sole heiress to many great families of our ancient nobility, employed the princely fortune, and sustained the illustrious honours, which she derived from them, through her whole life, with the greatest dignity, generosity, and spirit ; and who for her many public and private virtues will ever be remembered as one of the first characters of her time, this mttlh work WAS ORioiNALiiY UEDICATED : — And, OS it tometimet qffbrded her amusement, and mat highly dUtinguished by her indulgent approbation, it is notv, with the utmost regard, respect, and grati- tude, consecrated to her beloved and honoured Memory.' f Sir Walter Scott has, in more than one place, recorded the Influenoe which the peruaal of Percy's 'Reliques' had on hU young mind. 'The tree,' he says, 'is still in my recollection, beneath which I lay, and first entered upon tiie enchanting perusal of Percy's Reliques of English Poetry.' superintendency of Lord Hailes, splendid copies, in small 4to size, large type, of various Scottish ballads. These, however, were all separate publications, though they may be in some instances found bound together. In 1769, Herd's collection appeared. Of this work we have spoken in the Introduction to the Book of Scottish Song. It may be enough here to say, that it contains no less than twenty ballads or fragments of ballads there first collected. In 1777, the first edition of Evans's collection of Old Ballads was published at London. These are almost altogether English, vrith a few Scottish, of which we have availed ourselves. The best edition of Evans is that of 1810, 4 vols., edited by his son. John Pinkerton, the historian, published in 1781 and 1783 collections of Scottish Ballads, several of which ballads were fabrications of his own, a crime bitterly exposed by Ritson, whose own various compilations, issued shortly after this time, were of essential service in illustrating the ballad lore both of England and Scotland. A Collection of Scottish Ballads,' in 6 thin vols., was published by the Morisons of Perth, in 1790, but it contains none not previously published elsewhere. In the beginning of the present century, the ballad literature oi the country received two of its most important additions, by the publication of Scott's 'Border Minstrelsy,' (1802,) and Jamieson's 'Popular Ballads and Songs,' (1806.) The first edition of the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border was printed at Kelso, by Ballantyne, in two volumes. A third volume was added in 1 803 ; and the work was further augmented in subsequent editions. ' Fortunate it was,' says Motherwell, ' for the heroic and legendary song of Scotland that this work was undertaken, and still more fortunate that its execution devolved upon one bo well qualified in every respect to do its subject the most ample justice. Long will it live a noble and interesting monument of the unwearied research, curious and minute learning, genius and taste of its illustrious editor. It is truly a patriotic legacy to posterity ; and much as it may now be esteemed, it is only in times yet gathering in the bosom of far futurity, when the inte- resting traditions, the chivalrous and romantic legends, the wild superstitions, the tragic song of Scotland, have wholly faded from the living memory, that this gift can be duly appreciated. It is then that these volumes will be PREFACE. VU conned with feelings akin to religious enthusiasm — that their strange and mystic lore will be treasured up in tlie heart as the precious record of days for ever passed away — that their grand stern legends will be listened to with reverential awe as if the voice of a remote ancestor, from tlie depths of tlie tomb, had woke the thrilling strains of martial antiquity.' Mr. Jamieson's work was projected and mostly collected before the Border Minstrelsy appeared ; but its publication was deferred till 1806, when it issued from the Ballantyne press in two octavo volumes, under the title of ' Popular Ballads and Songs, from tradition, manuscripts, and scarce editions, with transla- tions of similar pieces from the ancient Danish language, by Robert Jamieson ' This collection is one of great value, and is ably illustrated. Much of Mr. Jamieson's materials was obtained from the same source to which Scott was largely indebted in collecting his Border Minstrelsy, namely, Mrs. Brown of Falkland, a lady who was remarkable for the extent of her legendary lore, and the accuracy of her memory. In 1808, a small collection of ' Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads' appeared, edited by John I'inlay of Glasgow. This collection added little to our store of legendary poetry, but it is valuable for its annotations, and it also contains several successful imitations of the ancient ballad. Since the above period, the most successful collectors and able illustrators of the legendary ballads of Scotland have been, Mr. William Mothebweil, Mr. David Laing, Mr. Charles Kirkpatriok Sharpk, Mr. James Maid- ME.vT, Mr. Kinloch, and Mr. Peter Buchan. Of the lamented Motherwell, as a deeply-versed scholar in the poetical an- tiquities of his country, it would be difficult to speak too highly. From boy- hood, black-letter lore was his passion, and in particular he studied with en- thusiasm the works of the Old Scottish ' Makkaris.' A lyrical poet himself, too, of the most exquisite pathos, few were better qualified than he was, either by learning or genius, to explore the field of Ancient Historic and Romantic Scottish Song, or to pick up in untrodden ways its wild-flowers. His collection, accordingly,* is one of the most valuable of which our ballaJ ' ' Minstrelsy, ancient and modern, witli an Historical Introduction and Kotes, Glasgow, 1337,' 4to. literature can boast: — ^not that it has added largely to the stock of already collected ballads, (for in that particular it can only claim somewhere about a dozen, exclusive of different versions of known ballads,) but that its Introduc- tion and Notes are fraught with information and ingenuity, which illustrate in the pleasantest manner the subjects they treat, and whicli prove at once the research of the antiquary and the spirit of the poet. The Introduction, especially, may be recommended as a text-book to every tyro in ballad literature. The labours of Mr. David Laing, as an illustrator of the ancient lyrical muse of Scotland, and indeed of ancient Scottish literature generally, have been inesti- mable ; and although the ballad poetry of the country has only formed an in- cidental portion of his researches, still very much is due to him in that depart- ment, both as commentator and collector. Mr. C. K. Sharpe's name has been long familiar to the antiquarian world for his curious researches in all matters connected with the traditions and manners of by-gone times. In 1824, he printed a tiny volume, entitled, ' A Ballad Book,' which, though small in size, contained several ballads collected for the first time, besides giving new readings of others. Similar in size to the ' Ballad Book,' and published in the same year, was the ' North Countrie Garland,' edited, anonymously, by Mr. James Maidment. This little book contains about half-a-dozen ballads not previously collected. To the same editor, we believe, we are indebted for another small volume, en- Utled, ' A New Book of Old Ballads,' printed at Edinburgh in 1844. In this collection are given the genuine versions of several old ballads, or rather songs, which Allan Ramsay and others had copied imperfectly or materially altered. Very limited impressions of Mr. Sharpe's and Mr. Maidment's collections were thrown off. In 1827, Mr. Kinloch published, anonymously, an octavo volume, entitled, ' Ancient Scottish Ballads, recovered from tradition, and never before pub- lished, with Notes, and an Appendix, containing the Airs of several of the Ballads.' Tliis collection is edited with judgment. The recovered ballads chiefly belontr to the north of Scotland. ' Gleanings of Scotch, English, and Irish scarce Old Ballads' is the title of an humble little volume printed at Peterhead, in the far north, in the year 1825, which only claims notice as the precursor of Mr. Peter Buchan's great collec- tion, printed at Edinburgh in 1828, 2 vols. 8vo, and entitled, * Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, hitherto unpublished, with explanatory Notes.* This work presents to the public a larger array of old ballads and scraps of ballads, not to be found elsewhere, than any other collection we could name. Mr. Buchan, indeed, has been by far the most successful ballad- hunter that ever entered the field, and his success is to be attributed partly to his own unwearied researches, and partly to the district which he explored — a district (Aberdeenshire and BanfiTshire) comparatively fresh and imtrod by ballad gatherers. Sir Walter Scott characterizes Mr. Buchan's collection, not only as ' the most complete of the kind which has appeared,* but as ' decidedly and luidubitably original :' and we understand it was his intention to have given his valuable assistance and name to an improved edition of the work, had not disease overtaken him, and the finger of death hushed his worn spirit into repose. We have now adverted to the more important of our ballad collections. The object of the present Work was to give, in a single volume, the whole of our Scottish Ballads that merit attention either from intrinsic excellence, or as illustrative of the history, manners, and feelings of olden times. This has not been previously done, for notwithstanding the value of many of the above collections, none of them affect to be so comprehensive in their range, but are limited to certain districts, or to the individual researches of their respective editors. The size of the type and form of page adopted in the present little book have given the amplest scope for carrying out the design of the publica- tion, insomuch that, small as the volume is, it contains, as one of its items, thk WHOLE (with some slight exceptions) of Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, published in three octavo volumes, including his long and valuable Dissertations on the History and Manners of the Scottish Borderers, on the Fairy Mythology, and on the Great Civil Wars of the Seventeenth Century. The copyright of the Ministrelsy of the Scottish Border has ex- pired ; and in the case of the more recent collections, the publishers had the pleasure of securing the sanction of Mr. Jamieson, of Mr. Motherwell's latest publishers, and of Mr. Peter Buchan, to select from the respective works of these gentlemen what seemed most appropriate to the present publication, specifying, of course, in all cases, the source whence each ballad was drawn. and illustrating each, where necessary, by note or commentary. The Book of Scottish Ballads has thus the advantage of being the first to lay before the public, in a cheap form, the Border Minstrelsy of Scott, and the selected minstrelsy of those who preceded and followed him in his labours in this department of literature. The selection is confined to Scottish ballads, ballads on Scottish subjects, or, in one or two cases, Scottish versions of English ballads ; and this the reader is requested to keep in mind, lest he might be apt to miss some favourite piece which does not come under either of the above categories. In a book designed for popular use, it is also to be remem- bered, that a number of ballads are necessarily excluded on account of their coarseness or indelicacy ; but it is satisfactory to know, that the exclusions have been made at no great sacrifice, as ballads bearing such exceptions are generally of inferior merit otherwise. Besides the ancient minstrelsy of the country. The Book op Scottish Ballads embraces specimens of the best modern imitations of the oldeu bal- lad, so that some of the masterly productions of Sir Walter Scott, the Ettrick Shepherd, and others who have successfully cultivated this branch of litera- ture, find a place in its pages. PREFATOEY NOTE TO THIS EDITION. This edition of The Book of Scottish Ballads is a reprint of a work originally published in 1844, when it was received with much favour. It is re-issued on a larger size of paper, and at a lower price than formerly, and is uniform in size and style with its companion volume. The Book of Scottish Song, by the same Editor - Glasgow, 1874. CONTENTS, MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS. Thb Lass of Lochryan, ... 1 Fair Annie of Lochryan, imo Fertioru, 3 The Gay Goss-Hawk, ... 5 The Jolly Goss-Hawk, ... 7 Sir Patrick Spens, itvo Versions, . . 9 Lady Clare, .... 13 Earl Richard's Daughter, . . .13 The Bonnie Earl of Murray, tno Verrions, 16 Young Waters, . Sir Arthur and Lady Anne, Fair Annet, Sweet "Willie and Fair Annie, Lord Beichan, Young Bekie, May Colvin, tno Versions, The Jew's Daughter, . The Martyr, Glasgow Peggy, . The Keach i' the Creel, . The Angel Stars, The Drowned Lovers, Sir James the Eose, irvo Versions, The Mermaid of Galloway, Fause Foodrage, . Bonnie Lizie Lindsay, Lizzie Lindsay, . Sir Boland, .... Annan Water, • Lady Margaret, . . Glenlogie, tno Versions, 17 . 18 19 . 20 23 . 25 27 Glanfinlas, .... Young Peggy, Catherine Janfarie, Catherine Johnstone, . Lochinvar, .... Lady Jean, The Gardener, Clerk Saunders, tno Versions, Sweet Willie and Lady Margerie Sweet William and May Margaret, Sweet William's Ghost, William and Marjorie, Fair Margaret and Sweet William, William and Margaret, Watty and Madge, The Heir of Linne, Athol Wood, The twa Martyrs' Widows, . Christie's Will, The Master of Weemys, The Marmaiden of Clyde, Jock Johnstone the Tinkler, Bonnie Baby Livingstone, The Prophecy of Queen Emma, Polydore, The Lady and her Page, Lord John's Murder, The Duke of Athole's Nurse, The Cruel Brother, The Laird of Ochiltrie, Fasre . ^ 63 OS 64 . 06 m 100 loa 104 105 lOG 1«7 , 1 ^.. CONTENTS. P..e^ % P«?e The Laird of Logic. ... 108 Burd Helen, . . . . 178 Edom o' Gordon, . . • .HO Queen Eleanor's Confession, 181 The Dsemon-Lover, ... 112 LordLovel, 183 GilMorice, 113 LordLovat, .... 183 ChieldMoriee, . . • • "7 LadyElspat, .... 185 Cfhilde Maurice, .... 120 The Earl of Mar's Daughter, 186 Child Noryce, . . • • 123 Lady Jane, 188 Helenore, 123 The Bent sae Brown, 189 King Malcom and Sir Oolvin, . 123 Rosmer Hafmand, . 191 Young Aikin, . ... 125 Marchioness of Douglas, 193 Rose the Bed and White LiUy, two JellonGrame, .... 196 Versions, ... 127 Lady Anne, .... 197 The Wedding of Eobin Hood and Erlinton, .... 198 Little John, . . . 133 Young Benjie, 199 HyndHom, 1*1 The Curse of Moy, 201 Laird of Drum, . . • .136 Hardyknute, .... 205 The Battle of Harlaw, ... 138 The Duel of Wharton and Stuart, . 210 The King's Daughter, . • .140 LadyMakry, ... 214 EarlEichard, .... 142 Glenkindie, 216 LordWaiiam, . . -143 The Murder of Caerlaveroc, 218 Beedis dale and Wise William, . 144 The Pause Lover, 221 Thomas 0* Yonderdale, . . .146 Blancheflour and Jellyflorice, 221 Earl Crawford, .... 147 James Herries, .... 223 John Thomson and the Turk, . . 149 Oadyow Castle, 231 EarlLindsaye, .... 151 Willie's Drowned In Gamery, 229 The Orphan Maid, . . . .156 Lord Bamahy, .... 230 Through the Wood, ... 156 The Clerk's twa Sons o' Owsenford, 231 The twa Brothers, . . . .157 The Gude Wallace, tnio Versions, . 233 The twa Magicians, ... 159 LordEandal, .... 238 The Parted Lovers, . • .159 Lord Donald, .... 239 LordEonald, .... 160 Lammikin,Jfue Versions, . 211 Proud Lady Margaret, . . .161 Burning of Auchindoun, Iruo Versions, 248 1 1 | The Courteous Knight, . . 162 The Warlock of Aikwood, 249 Sir Hugh le Blond, . . . .163 Black Agnace of Dunbar, . 253 The Millar's Son, ... 167 Duncan, a Fragment, 253 Bondsey and Maisry, . . .169 Memorables of the Montgoraeries, 254 ChU Ether, .... 170 Highland Legend, 256 Lord Thomas Stuart, . . .171 The Young Johnstone, 257 Sir Maurice, .... 171 The Dowy Den, 259 The Earl of Douglas and Dame Oliphant, 175 The Cruel Sister, 260 The Laird o' Meldrum and Peggy Dou- The Queen's Marie, 261 glas, ... . 177 Mary Hamilton, 263 The Wife of TTsher's Well, . . 177^ B Andrew Lammie, . 285 1 1 CONTENTS. xiii Page '^ Page JohnieFaa, .... 268 The Broom of Cowdenknows. 288 The Fire of Frendraught, . 269 Sir Niel and Mac Van, 289 FrennetHall, .... 273 LizieBaiUie, .... 290 The Gray Brother, . 273 The Laird of "Waristoun, 2»1 The Blaeberries, . . . • 276 The Weary Coble o' OargUl, 203 Lochaber no more, . . 278 Bonnie Susie Cleland, . 2B4 Earl Richard, .... 280 Baby Lon, or the Bonnie Banks o Allan-a-Maut, tim> Fertions, . 283 Fordie, 295 John Barleycorn, 284 Prince Robert, . . . . 206 Brown Adam, . 285 Earl Robert, .... 297 LordSpynie, .... 286 Saint Finn's Pilgrim, 298 Edward, Edward, . 287 The Battle of Luncarty, 800 Son Davie, Son Davie, 287^, Sir Gilbert HamUton, SOB I I BORDER BALLADS. Pare i t Page Intsodtjotion, 805 Lord Maxwell's Goodnight, . 889 The Battle of Otterboume, . »14 The Lads of Wamphray, 392 The Outlaw Murray, 349 Barthram's Dirge, 394 Johnie Armstrang, . . 355 The Fray of Suport, . 394 Johnnie Armstrong's last Goodnight, 358 Auld Maitland, . . . . 397 Armstrong's Goodnight, 360 LordEwrie, . . . # 404 The Lochmaben Harper, . . 360 Johnie of Breadislee, 405 James Telfer of the Fair Dodhead, 362 Johnie of Braidisbank, 407 The Raid of the Eeidswlre, . 365 Archie Armstrang's Aith, 407 KinmontWiUie, . 370 Lament of the Border Widow, . 409 Dick o' the Cow, .... 874 Hughie the GrEBme, 410 Jock o* the Side, . 379 Hughie Graham, 411 Hoble Nobbie, 881 The Laird of Lairistan, or the Three Rookhope Eyde, . 384 Champions of Liddisdale, 4ia Archie of Ca'field, 387 The Tweeddale Raide, . 415 Death of Featherstonhaugh, . 389^ ? III. BALLADS CONNECTED WITH FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. Pa?P / V, P»ee Introduction, .... 419 Lyttil Pynkie, . 478 The Young Tamlane, . 449 The Witch of Fife, . 483 Tom Linn, 453 liordSoulis, . 487 The Gloamyne Buchte, . 481 TheCoutofKeeldar, 492 Alison Gross, .... 461 The Spirit of the Glen, . . 497 The Wee Wee Man, . 462 The Last Fairy, 501 Ta6 Elfin Knicht, 463 The Brownie of Feamden, . 502 The Fairy Knight, . . 464 The Tane-away, 503 Sir Oluf, and the Elf King's Daughter, 465 Water Kelpie, . . . . 503 ElferHiU, .... . 466 The Maid and Fairy, . 506 Sir Alan Mortimer, 467 May oftheMorU Glen, . . 507 Thomas the Ehymer, . 469. ^ Kilmeny, .... 5U IV. BALLADS RELATING TO THE GREAT CIVIL WARS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. Iktbobuction, The Battle of Phlliphangh, The Gallant Grahams, Battle of Pentland Hills, . The Battle of Loudon-Hill, Paee ^ Battle of Bothwell-Bridge, Bothwell Brigg, The Haughs of Cromdale^ I Auchiudoun. • . P«se. CONTENTS. APPEND Thb Raid of Glen yruin, LadyJeaD, .... Girtlee; or, the Hap of Hind Halbert, CumnorHall, The Battle of Ctorichie, . TheDukeofAthoI, . Sir Gkorge Maxwell, . Knoctcespock's Lady, Page 549 . 65: 553 ^ Pa?!?. The Greetin' Bairn, . . . Sfii) The Witch o" Pittenweem, . . 561 Bishop Thurstau, and the king of Scots, 565 The Duke of Gordon's three Daughters, 565 Gfeordie, two Versions, . . 567 Young Bandall, ... 568 Archy o* Kilspindie, . . 569 The Birtwhistle Wicht, . . .67; »* Besides the Introduction to the various Sections, very many of the separate Ballads have long and interesting Historical or Antiguarian Notices preceding or appended to them. ;^ i UNIVEkt^l } Y j ^SjoroRKifcr-^ gc^jtu^i) ^ffillSlS^. ^:55>sJ^5/'g^^-s^^o:fe^ . " But I will get a bonnie boat. ^ And I wiU sail the sea ; I And I will gang to lord Gregory, ^^e 1/100 of EiJt^irga:^. Since he canna come harae to me." Syne she's gar'd build a bonnie boat, [The beautiful and pathetic ballad called To sail the salt, salt sea : " The Lass of Lochryan," or " Fair Annie of The sails were o' the light green silk. Lochryan," was first published in an imperfect The tows o- taffety. state in Herd's Collection, and afterwards in a more complete; form in r^cott's Minstrelsy of the She hadna sailed but twenty leagues. Scottish Border. Another version of the same But twenty leagues and three. ballad was given in Jamieson's Popular Ballads When she met wi' a rank robber. and Songs, (1806). As the versions of Scott and And a' h'ls company. Jamieson differ considerably from each other. and possess respectively beauties of their own. " Now whether are ye the queen hersell. we here quote both SL-ts, placing Scotts first. It (For so ye weel might be) *ill be recollected that Dr Wolcot (the well Or are ye the lass of Lochryan, known Peter Pindar) and Burns wrote each a Seekin' lord Gregory?" song for Thomson's Collection called "Lord Gregory," founded on the subject of the pre- " I am neither the queen," she said. sent ballad. Lochryan is a fine bay or li ch, " Nor sic I seem to be; which projects from the Irish channel into Wig- But 1 am the lass of Lochryan, tonshire or Galloway.] Seekin' lord Gregory." " WHA will shoe my bonnie foot? " see na thou yon bonnie bower. And whii will glove my hand ? It's a' covered o'er wi' tin ? And wha will lace my middle jimp When thou hast sailed it round about. \Vi* a lang, lang linen band ? Lord Gregory is within." " wha will kame my yellow hair And when she saw the stately tower With a new-made silver kame? Shining sae clear and bright, And wha will father iiiy young son Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave. Till lord Gregory come harae?" Built on a. rock of height ; " Thy father will shoe thy bonnie foot. Says—" Row the boat, my mariners. Thy mother will glove thy hand. And bring me to the land ! Thy sister wiU \^ck thy middle jimp. For yonder I see my love's castle Till lord Gregory come to land. Close by the salt-sea strand." " Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair She sailed it round, and sailed it round. With a new-made silver kame. And loud, loud cried she— And God will be thy bairns father " Now break, now break, ye fairy charms. Till lord Gregory come hame." < % And set my true love free '" 2 SCOTTISH BALLADS. She's ta'en her young son in her arms, 9. And to the door she's gane ; And long she knocked, and sair she ca'd. But answer got she nane. When the cock had crawn, and the day did And the sun began to peep, [dawn. Then up and raise him lord Gregory, And sair, sair did he weep. " open the door, lord Gregory ! open, and let me in ! For the wind blaws through my yellow hair. And the rain draps o'er my chin." " Oh I ha'e dreamed a dream, mother^ I wish it may prove true ! That the bonnie lass of Lochryan Was at the yate e'en now. " Awa, awa, ye ill woman ! Ye're no come here for good ! Ye're but some witch or wil warlock, Or mermaid o' the flood." "01 ha'e dreamed a dream, mother. The thought o't gars me greet! That fair Annie o' Lochryan Lay cauld dead at my feet." •' I am neither witch, nor wU warlock, Nor mermaid o' the sea; But I am Annie of Lochryan; open the door to me 1" " Gin it be for Annie of Lochryan That ye make a' this din. She stood a' last night at your door. But I trow she wan na in." "Gin thou be Annie of Lochryan, (As 1 trow thou binna she) Kow tell me some of the love tokens That past between thee and me." " wae betide ye, ill woman ! An ill deid may ye die ! That wadna open the door to her. Nor yet wad wauken me." As we sat at the wine. We changed the rings frae our fingers. And I can show thee thine ? he's gane down to yon shore side As fast as he could fare ; He saw fair Annie in the boat. But the wind it tossed her sair. " yours was gude, and gude enough. But aye the best was mine ; For youre was o' the gude red gowd. " And hey, Annie, and how, Annk! Annie, winna ye bide '" But aye the mair he cried Annie, The braider grew the tide. " Now open the door, lord Gregory ! Open the door, 1 pray ! For thy young son is in my arms. And wQl be dead ere day." " And hey, Annie, and how, Annlol Dear Annie, speak to me!" But aye the louder he cried Annie, The louder roared the sea. *' If thou be the lass of Lochryan, (As 1 kenna thou be) Tell me some mair o' the love tokens Past between me and thee." The wind blew ioud, the sea grew rough. And dashed the boat on shore ; Fair Annie floated through the faein. But the babie raise no more. Fair Annie turned her round about— " W'cel ! since that it be sae. May never a woman, that has borne a son, Hae a heart sae f.u o" wae ! Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair. And made a heavy moan ; Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet. Uer bonnie young son was gone. " Take down, take down, that mast o' gowd ! Set up a mast o' tree ! It disna become a forsaken lady To sail sae royallie." cherry, cherry was her cheek, And gowden was her hair ; But clay-cold were her rosy lips — fi Nile spark o' life was there. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 3 And first he kissed her cherry cheek, i And syne he kissed her chin. And syne he kissed her rosy lips- There was nae breath within. ^ She hadna been o' the sea sailin' About a month or more, Till landed has she her bonnie ship Near her true-lover's door. '0 wae betide my cruel mother! An ill death may she dee ! She turned my true love frae my door, Wha came sae far to me. The nicht was dark, and the wind blew And her love was fast asleep, [cald, And the bairn that was in her twa arms, Fu" sair began to greet. " wae betide my cruel mother ' An ill death may she dee ! She turned fair Annie frae my door, Wha died for love o' me." Lang stood she at her true-love's door. And lang tirl'd at the pin ; At length up gat his fause inother. Says, " Wha's that wad be in ?" FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHRYAN. [Jamikson's version. Jlr Jamieson says, that he frequently, when a boy, heard the following set of the ballad chanted in Morayshire. J " 0, it is Annie of Lochryan, Your love, come o'er the sea, But and your young son in her arms; So open the door to me." " Awa, awa, ye ill woman. You're nae come here for gude; You're but a witch, or a vile warlock Or a mermaid 0' the flude." " WH A will shoe my fair foot. And wha will glove my han' ? And wha will lace my middle jimp Wi' a new-made London ban' ? " I'm nae a witch or vile warlock, Ormermaiden," sjiid she,— " I'm but your Annie of Lochryan; open tlie door to me !" "Or wha will kemb my yellow h^r Wi' a new-made silver kemb ? Or wha'U be father to my young bairn. Till love Gregor come hame ?" " gin ye be Annie of Lochryan, As X trust not ye be, What taiken can ye gi'e that e'er 1 kept your companie ?" " Your father'll shoe your fair foot, Your mother glove your han" ; Your sister lace your middle jimp Wi' a new-made London ban' ; " dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, " Whan we sat at the wine. How we changed the napkins frae our necks, It's nae sae lang sinsyne ? " Your brethren will kemb your yellow hair Wi' a new-»iade silver kemb ; And the King o' Heaven will fiither your Till love Gregor come hame." [bairn "And yours was gude, and gude enough. But nae sae gude as mine ; For yours was 0' the cambric clear. But mine 0' the silk sae fine. " gin I had a bonnie ship, And men to sail wi' me. It's I wad gang to my true love. Sin' he winna come to me !" " And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she " As we tw a sat at dine, [says. How we ohang'd the rings frae our fingers. And I can show thee thine: Her father 's gi'en her a bonnie ship. And sent her to the stran' ; Slie's ta'en her young son in her arms. And turn'd her back to the Ian'. i " And yours was gude, and gude enough. Yet nae sae gude as mine; For yours was 0' the gude red gold, 7 But mine 0' the diamonds fine. 4 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " 8»e open the door, now, lore Gregor, 4 i And "heigh, Annie!" and "how, Annie! And open it wi' speed ; 0, A nnie, speak to me !" Or your young son, that is in my arms. But aye the louder he cried " Annie," For cauld will soon be dead." The louder rair'd the sea. " AwB, awa, ye ill woman The wind grew loud, the sea grew rough. Gae frae my door for shame. And the ship was rent in twain ; For I ha'e gotten an'ther fair love. And soon he saw her, fair Annie, Sae ye may hie you hatne." Come floating o'er the main. " ha'e ye gotten anither fair love. He saw his yf ung son in her arms. For a" the oaths ye sware ? Baith tcB5'd aboon the tide; Then fare ye weel, now, fause Gregor, He wrang his hands, and fast he ran For me ye's never see mair !" And plung'd in the sea sae wide. 0, hooly, hooly gaed she back He catch'd her by the yellow hair. As the day began to peep ; And drew hei to the strand ; She set her foot on good ship board. But cauld and stiff was every limb, And sair, sair did she weep. Before he reach'd the land. "Tak- down, tak' down the mast o' goud. first he kiss'd her cherry cheek. Set up the mast o- tree; And syne he kiss'd her chin. 111 sets it a forsaken lady And sair he kiss'd her ruby lips; To sail sae gallantlie. But there was nae breath within. "Tak' down, tak' down the sails o* sUk, he has moum'd o'er fair Annie, Set up the sails o' skin ; Till the sun was ganging down , 111 sets the outside to be gay. Syne wi' a sich his heart it brast. Whan there's sic grief within !" And his sauI to heaven has flown. Love Gregor started frae his sleep. And to his mother did say. " 1 dreamt a dream this night, mither. That mak's my heart richt wae; FAIR AUNIE OF LOCHKYAN. " 1 dreamt that Annie of Lochryan, [In Allan Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, The flower o' a' her kin, we have thit set of " Fair Annie of Lochryan." Was standin' moumin' at my door, We quote it as curiously illustrative of the liber- But nane wad let her in." ties which " honest Allan" took with the songs and ballads of his country.] " there was a woman stood at the door. Wi' a bairn intill her arms; SwKKT Annie built a bonnie ship. But 1 wadna let her within the bower. And set her on the sea ; For fear she had done you harm." The sails were a' of the damask'd silk. The masts of silver free. quickly, quickly raise he up. The gladsome waters sung below. And fast ran to the strand ; And the sweet wind sung above- And there he saw her, fair Annie, Make way for Annie of Lochryan, Was saiUng frae the land. She conies to seek her love. • And " heigh, Annie," and " how, Annie! A gentle wind came with a sweep. O, Annie, winna ye bide ?" And stretched her silken sail. But aye the louder he cried " Annie," When up there came a reaver rude. The higher rair'd the tide. I With many a shout and haU : ■ , SCOTTISH BALLADS. 5 touch her not, my mariners a', ^ And hey Annie, and how Annie, Such loveliness goes free ; And Annie winna ye bide ? Make way for Annie of Lochryan, But aye the mair he called Annie, She seeks Lord Gregorie. The broader grew the tide. The moon look'd out with all her stars. And hey Annie, and how Annie, The ship moved merrily on. Dear Annie speak to me. Until she came to a castle high. But aye the louder he cried Annie, That all as diamonds shone : The louder roared the sea. On every tower there streamed a light. The wind waxed loud, the sea grew rough. On the middle tower shone three — The ship sunk nigh the shore. Move for that tower my mariners a'. Fair Annie floated through the foam. Jly love keeps watch for me. But the baby rose no more. She took her young son in her arms. Oh first he kiss'd her cherry cheek. And on the deck she stood— And then he kiss'd her chin. The wind rose with an angry gust. And syne he kiss'd her rosie lips, The sea wave wakened rude. But there was nae breath within. Oh open the door. Lord Gregory, love. Oh my love's love was true as light. Oh open and let me in ; As meek and sweet was she— The sea foam hangs in my yellow hair. My mother's hate was strong as death. The surge dreeps down my chin. Aad liercer than the sea. All for thy sake. Lord Gregory, love. I've sailed a perilous way, And thy fair son is 'tween my breasts. And he'll be dead ere day. The foam hangs on the topmast cliff. The fires run on the sky. And hear ye not your true love's voice. ^|)e ^uyi S00^=i^a&ife. And her sweet baby's cry ? Fair Annie turned her round about, And tears began to flow- [First published in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.] May never a baby suck a breast Wi' a heart sae fou of woe. " WALV, waly, my gay goss-hawk. Take down, take down that silver mast. Gin your ffathering be slieen !" Set up a mast of tree, " And waly, waly, my master dear, It does nae become a forsaken dame Gin ye look pale and lean ' To sail sae royallie. " have ye tint, at tournament. Oh read my dream, my mother dear— Your sword, or yet your spear ? I heard a sweet babe greet, Or mourn ye for the Southern lass. And saw fair Annie of Lochryan Whom you may not win near .■" Lie cauld dead at my feet. And loud and loud his mother laughed— " I have not tint, at tournament. Oh sight '8 mair sure than sleep. My sword, nor yet my spear ; I saw fair Annie, and heard her voice, But sair I inourn for my true love. And her baby wail and weep. Wi' mony a bitter tear. he went down to yon sea side " Buf weel's me on ye, my gay goss-nawk. As fast as he could fare. Ye can baith speak and flee ; He saw fair Annie and her sweet babe. Ye sail carry a letter to my love. But the wUd wind tossed them sair -. i > Bring an answer back to me." 6 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " But how sail I your true love find, i Or how suld 1 her know ? j 1 bear a t ngue ne'er wi' her spake, I An eye that ne'er her taw." i " Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird, The sang ye sung yestreen ; For weel 1 ken, by your sweet singing. Ye are frae my true love seen." " weel sail ye my true love ken, Sae sune as ye her see ; For, of a- the flowers of fair Englaad, The fairest flower is she. first he sang a merry sang. And syne he sang a grave; And syne he peckd his feathers gray, To her the letter gave. " The red, that's on my true love's chelk. Is like blood drops on the snaw ; The white, that is on her breast bare. Like the dt^wn o' the white sea-maw. " Have there a letter from lord William . He says he's sent ye three. He canna wait your love langer. But for your sake he'll die." " And even at my love's hour door There grows a tlowenng birk ; And ye maun sit and sing thereon As she gangs to the kirk. " 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." " And four-and-twenty fair ladyes Will to the mass repair ; But well may ye my ladye ken. The fairest ladye there." 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. Lord "William has wntten a love letter. Put it under his pinion gray ; And he is awa' to Southern land As fast as wings can gae. " A boon, a boon, my father deir, A boon I beg of thee!" " Ask not that paughty Scottish lord. For him you ne'er shall see. And even at that ladye's hour There grew a flowering birk ; And he sat down and sung thereon As she gaed to the kirk. " But, for your honest asking else Weel granted it shall be." " Then, gin 1 die in Southern land. In Scotland gar bury me. And weel he kent that ladye fair Amang her maidens free ; For the flower, that springs in May morning. Was not sae sweet as she. " 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. He lighted at the ladye's yate. And sat him on a p;n; And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love. Till a' was cosh within. " And when ye come to St Mary's kirk. Ye's tarry there till night." And so her father pledged his word. And so his promise plight. 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." She has ta'en her to her bigly bour As fast as she could fare , And she has diank a sleepy draught. That she had mix'd wi' care. " Feast on, feast on, my maidens a'. The wine flows you amang. While 1 gang to my shot-window. And htar yon bonnie bird's sang. { And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek. That was sae bright of blee, 1 And siie seemed to be as surely dead f As any one could be. SCOTTISH BALLADS Then gpak' her cruel step-minnie, " Tak' ye the burning lead, And drap a drap on her bosome. To try if she be dead." They took a drap o' boiling lead. They drapp'd on her breast ; " Alas ! alas !" her father cried, " She 's dead without the priest." She neither chatter'd with her teeth. Nor chiver'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. Laid 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. But when they cam' to St Mary's kirk. There stood spearmen all in a raw; And up and started lord William, The chieftane amang them a'. " Set down, set down the bier," he said ; " And let me look her upon :" But as soon as lord William touched her hand. Her colour began to come. She brightened like the lily flower. Till her pale colour was gone ; With rosy cheik, and ruby lip. She smiled her love upon. " A morsal of your bread, my lord. And one glass of your wine : For 1 ha'e Sisted these three lang days. All for your sake and mine. " Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld bro- Gae hame and blaw your horn ! [thers ! I trow ye wad ha'e gi'en me th« skaith. But I've gi'en you the scorn. 1? " Commend me to my grey fhther. That wish'd my saul gude rest; But wae be to my cruel step-dame, Garr'd bum me on the breast." " Ah ! woe to you, you light woman ! An ill death may you dee ! For we left father and sisters at hame Breaking their hearts for thee." THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. [Version given by Motherwell in his Min- strelsy Ancient and Modern.] " O wsLL is me my Jolly Gon-hawk, That ye can speak and flee ; For ye can carry a love letter. To my true love from me." " O how can I carry a letter to her. When her I do not know ? I bear the lips to her never spak'. And the eyes that her never saw." " The thing of my love's face that's white. Is that of dove or maw ; Tlie thing of my love's face that's red. Is like blood shed on snaw. " And when you come to the castel. Light on the bush of ash ; And sit you there and sing our loves. As she comes from the mass. "And when she gaes into the house. Sit ye upon the whin ; And sit you there and sing our loves. As she goes out and in." And when he flew to that castel. He lighted on the ash ; And there he sat and sung their loves. As she came from the mass. And when she went into the house, He flew into the whin ; And there he sat and sung their loves. As she went out and in. 1 3 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Come hitherward ray maidens all, ^ aiys— " drap the het lead on her check, | And sip red wine anon ; And drap it on her chin ; Till I go to my west window. And drap it on her rose red lips. And hear a birdie's moan." And she will speak again ; For much a lady young will do. She's gane unto her west window To her true love to win." And fainly aye it drew ; And soon into her white silk lap. They drapp'd the het lead on her cheek. So did they on her chin ; The bird the letter threw : They drapp'd it on her red rose lips. But they breathed none again. " Ye're bidden send your love a send. For he has sent you twa. Her brothers they went to a room. And tell him where he can see you. Or he cannot live ava." To make to her a bier ; The boards of it were cedar wood. And the plates on it gold so clear. " I send him the rings from my white fingers, Her sisters they went to a room. The garlands of my hair. To make to her a sai k ; I send him the heart that 's in my breast. The cloth of it was satin fine. What would my love have mair? And the steeklng silken wark. And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland, Ye'U bid hira meet me there- " But well is me my Jolly Goss-hawk, That ye can speak and flee ; She hied her to her father dear, Come show to me any love tokens. As fast as gang could she ; That you have brought to me." " An asking, an asking, my father dear. An asking ye grant me, " She sends you the rings from her fingei-E, That if I die in fair England, The garlands from her hair , In Scotland gar bury me. She sends you the heart within her breast. And what would ye have mair > " At the first kirk of fair Scotland, And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, You cause the bells be rung ; She bids you meet her there." At the second kirk of fair Scotland, You cause the mass be sung. " Come hither all my merry young men. And drink the good red wine. " At the third kirk of fair Scotland, For we must on to fair England, You deal gold for my sake. To free my love from pine " And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, i Oh : there you'll bury me at. At the first kirk of fair .Scotland, They gart the bells be rung ; 1 At tlie second kirk of fair Scotland, "And now, my tender father dear, This asking grant you me;" They gart the mass be sung. " Your asking is but small," he said. At the third kirk of fair Scotland, " Weel granted it shall be." They dealt gold for her sake; And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, [The lady asks the same boon and receives a Her true love met them at. similar answer, first from her mother, then from aer sister, and lastly from her seven brothers.] «' Set down, set down the corpse," he suid, " Till I look on the dead ; Then down as dead that lady drapp'd. The last time that £ saw her face. Beside her mother's knee ; She ruddy was and red ; Then out it spak' an auld witch wife. But now alas, and woe is me. By the fire side sat she. ^ b She 's wallowed like a weed." SCOTTISH BALLADS. £Ie rent the sheet upon her face, A little aboon her chin ; VTith lilv white cheek, and lemin' eyne. She lookt and laugh'd to him. " Give me a chive of your bread, my love, A bottle of your wine, For I have fasted for your love. These weary lang days nine ; There's not a steed in your stable. But would have been dead ere syne. **Oae hame, gae hame my seven brothers, Gae hame and blaw the horn ; For you can say in the south of England, Your sister gave you a scorn. " I came not here to fair Scotland, To lye amang the meal ; But 1 came here to fair Scotland, To wear the silks so weel. "I came not here to fair Scotland, To lye amang the dead ; But I came here to fair Scotland, To wear the gold so red." ^it 5paticicfe ^^tm, [The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spent, as Coleridge calls it in one of his Odes, is generally placed Jirtt in our ballad collections, partly on account of its intrinsic merits, but chiefly from a persuasion that it had more undoubted claims to antiquity than almost any other. The subject of it unquestionably belongs to a remote age, and until of late years no suspicion existed but that the ballad itself was also of very ancient date. Several different theories as to the pre- cise expedition which it celebrates have been ventured upon by ballad collectors. Sir Walter Scott thinks that it relates to a voyage to Nor- way made by command of Alexander III. of Scotland, when bereaved of his own children, to bring home his grand-daughter, Margaret, called the Maid qf Norway, the only offspring of Eric, king of Norway, and a daughter of Alexander's. Of this supposed voyage, however, history gives no account, but after the death of Alexander III., (1285) it is well known ambassadors were s^sent for the Maid of Norway, now Queen of Scotland, and that she most unfortunately died at Orkney on her way to her kingdom, leaving the country to all the miseries of a disputed suc- cession, and for ever blasting a scheme which had been concerted of marrying the young Queen to Edward prince of Wales, son of Ed- ward I. of England — a marriage which might ; have prevented centuries of contention and ] bloodshed. Motherwell, on the other hand, thinks that the ballad records an event some- what earlier, namely, the melancholy fate of the gallant band which followed in the suite of Mar- garet, daughter of Alexander III., when she was espoused to Eric of Norway. In this expe- dition, many nobles perished in a storm, when on their return from Norway to Scotland. John Finlay, again, in his collection, doubting the claim of the ballad to such high antiquity from its mention of hats and cork-heeled shoon, sug- gests that it may refer to the reign of James III., who married a daughter of the king of Norway. These different suppositions as to the histori- cal event upon which the ballad is founded need not be any longer insisted on, as it is now very satisfactorily established, so far as internal and circumstantial evidence can go, that the ballad itself belongs to comparatively modern times, and that it was written by the authoress of Hardyknute, Lady Wardi.avv, wife of Sir Henry Wardlaw of Pitreavie and Balmule, near Dunfermline, and daughter of Sir Charles Hal- ket of Pitferran. This lady, of whom we shall have occasion to speak further when we come to quote Hardyknute, was born in 1677, married in 1696, and died in 1727. Percy was the first to print Sir Patrick Spens in his Reliques, 1765, where he says that it is given from two MS. copies transmitted to him from Scotland. He also remarks in a note, that " an ingenious friend thinks the author of Hardyknute has borrowed several expressions and sentiments from the foregoing and other old Scottish songs in this collection." Upon this hint and also from the localities of Dunfermline and Aber- dour, in the neighbourhood of Sir Henry Ward- law's seat, being mentioned in the ballad, Mr David Laing, in his Notes to the new edition of Johnson's Museum (1839,) was led to surmise that Sir Patrick Spens might have been writ- ten by Lady Wardlaw herself, as well as Hardy- knute. A comparison of the two ballads will, I we think, persuade every reader of the accuracy JK- of this conjecture, confirmed as it is by other cir- 10 SCOTTISH BALLADS. cumstances. C'ee No. 588 of Chambers' Jour- .' > They hadna been a week, a week nal. May 6, 1843, where this point is handled at In Noroway, but twae. •ome length.) When that the lords o" Noroway The copy of Sir Patrick Spens given in the Began aloud to say— Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border is more com- plete than that of Percy's— and we here fbllow " Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud. it. We also give Mr Peter Buchan's version of And a" our queenis fee."— the ballad, which differs materially from all " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! others, and which he says was taken down from Fu- loud 1 hear ye lie; " a wight of Homer's craft." If, however. Lady Wardlaw was the author of the original ballad. " For I ha'e brought as much white monle. more reliance is to be placed on what is to be As gane my men and me. found in Percy and Scott than on what is to b« And I ha'e brought a half-fou of gude red gathered from oral tradition.] [ Out o'er the sea wi' me. [goud. Thb king sits in DunfermUne town. " Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a'! Prinking the blude-red wine; Our gude ship sails the morn."— "0 whare will I get a skeely skipper. " Now, ever alake, my master dear. To sail this new ship o' mine !"— I fear a deadly storm ! up and spake an eldern knight. "I saw the new moon, late yestreen. Sat at the kings right knee.— Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sadlor. And, if we gang to sea, master. That ever sail'd the sea."— I fear we'll come to harm." Our king has vn-itten a braid letter. They hadna sail'd a league, a league. And seal'd it with his hand. A league but barely three, [loud. And sent it to Sir Patrick Spen«, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew "Was walking on the strand. And gurly grew the sea. "To Noroway, to Noroway, The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap. To Noroway o'er the faem ; It was sic a deadly storm ; The king's daughter of Noroway, And the waves cam o'er the broken ship. •Tis thou maun bring her hame." — Till a' her sides were torn. The first word that Sir Patrick read. " O where will I get a gude sailor, Sae loud loud laughed he j To take my helm in hand. The neist word that Sir Patrick read. Till I get up to the tall top-mast. The tear blinded his e'e. To see if I car. spy land ?" " O wha is this has done this deed. " here am I. a sailor gude. And tauld the king o' me. To take the helm in hand. To send us out, at this time of the year. Till you go up to the tall top-mast; To sail upon the sea ? But 1 fear you'll ne'er spy land."— " Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it rieet. He hadna gane a step, a step. Our ship must sail the faem ; A step but barely ane. The king's daughter of Noroway, When a boult flew out of our goodljr ship. •Tis we must fetch her hame."— And the salt sea it came in They hoysed their sails on Monenday mom. "Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith. Wi' a' the speed they may ; Another o' the twine. They ha'e landed in Noroway, And wap them into our ship's side. Upon a Wodensday. \ » And let nae the sea come in."— SCOTTISH BALLADS. 11 They fetch'd a web o' the silken claith. Another o' the twine, [side. And they wapp'd them round that gude ship's But still the sea came in. O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heel 'd shoon ! But lang or a' the play was play'd. They wat their hats aboon. And mony was the feather bed. That floated on the faem ; And mony was the gude lord's son. That never mair cam hame. The ladyes wrang their fingers white. The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their true loves,— For them they'll see nae 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. With their goud kaims in their hair, A* waiting for their ain dear loves ! For them they'll see nae mair. Half owre, half owre to Aberdour, •Tis fifty fathoms deep. And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet! SIR PATRICK SPENS. [Prom Buchan's Ballads of the North.] Tub king sits in Dunfermline town, A' drinking at the wine, Says, Where will I get a good skipper Will sail the saut seas tine ? Out it speaks an eldren knight Amang the comp:.nie, — Young Patrick Spens is the best skipper That ever sail'd the sea. The king he wrote a braid letter And seal'd it wi' his ring; Says, Ye'll gi'e that to Patrick Spens, See if ye can him find. He sent this, not wi' an auld man. Nor yet a simple boy. But the best o' nobles in his train This letter did convoy. When Patrick look'd the letter upon A light laugh then ga'e he ; But ere he read it till an end. The tear blinded his e'e. Te'll eat and drink, my merry men a'. An' see ye be weell thorn ; For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind. My guid ship sails the morn. Then out it speaks a guid auld man, A guid death mat he dee, — Whatever ye do, my guid master, Tak' God your guide to bee. For late yestreen I saw the new moon. The auld moon in her arm. Ohon, alas ! says Patrick Spens, That bodes a deadly storm. But I maun sail the seas the morn. And likewise sae maun you ; To Noroway, wi' our king's daughter,— A chosen queen she's now. But I wonder who has been sae base. As tauld the king o' mee: Even though he ware my ae brither. An ill death mat he dee Now Patrick he rigg'd out his ship. And sailed o'er the faem ; But mony a dreary thought had he. While he was on the main. They hadna sail'd upon the sea A day but barely three ; Till they came in sight o' Noroway, It's there where they must be. They hadna stayed into that place A month but and a day, Till he caus'd the flip in mugs gae roun', And wine in cans sae gay ; The pipe and harp sae sweetly play'd. The trumpets loudly soun'; In every hall wherein they stay'd, Wi' their mirth did reboun'. — 12 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then out it speaks an auld skipper, 4fe It's even ower by Aberdour An inbearing dog was he,— It's fifty fathoms deep, Ye've stay'd ower lang in Noroway, And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens, Spending your king's monie. And a's men at his feet. Then out It speaks Sir Patrick Spens,— It* even ower by Aberdour, O how can a' this be ? There's mony a craig and fin. I hae a bow o' guid red gowd And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens, Into my ship wi' me. Wi' mony a guid lord's son. But betide me well, betide me wae, Lang, lang will the ladyes look This day I'se leave the shore ; Into thtir morning weed. And never spend my king's nionie Before they see young Patrick Spent •Mong Noroway dogs no more. Come sailing ower the tiood. Young Patrick he U on the sea Lang, lang wiU the ladyes look And even on the faem ; Wi' their fans in their hand. Wi' five-an -fifty Scots lords' sons. Before they see him, Patrick Spe n That langd to be at harae. Come sailing to dry land. They hadna sail'd upon the sea A day but barely three ; Till loud and boisterous grew the wind. And stormy grew the sea. l^a^g €Iau. O where will I get a little wee boy [This fine modem baUad is by Alfred Teh- Will tak' my helm in hand. KYsoN. The author says it was suggested by Till 1 gae up to my tapinast. Hiss Ferriers novel, "The lnheriUnce."J And see for some dry land ? Lord Ronald courted Lady Clare, He hadna gane to his tapmast I trow they did not part in scorn ; A step but barely three ; Lord Ronald, her cousin, courted her. Ere thro' and thro' the bonnie ship's side. And they will wed the morrow mom He saw the green haw -sea. " He does not love me for my birth. There are flve-an'-fifty feather beds Nor for my lands so broad and fair; Well packed in ae room; He loves me for my own true worth. And ye'll get as muckle guid canvas And that is weU," said lady Clare. As wrap the ship a" roun" ; In there came old Alice the nurse, Ye'll pict her well, and spare her not. Said, " Who was this that went firom And mak' her hale and soun'. " It was my cousin," said lady Clare, [thee ? " But ere he had the word well spoke " To-morrow he weds with me." The bonnie ship was down. " God be thank'd !" said Alice the nurse. laith, laith were our guid lords' sons " That all comes round so just and fair : To weet their milk-white hands ; Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands. But lang ere a' the play was ower And you are not the lady Clare. " They wat their gowden bands. " Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my laith, laith were our Scote lords' sons nurse?" To weet their coal-black shoon ; Said lady Clare, " that ye speak so wild." But lang ere a' the play was ower " As God 's above !" said Alice the nurse They wat their hats aboon. < ^ "I speak the truth : you are my c;iild. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 13 " The old EarVg daughter died at my breast ; ^ I speak the ti uth, as I live by bread ! I buried her like my own sweet child. And put my child in her stead." \ " Play me no tricks," said lord Ronald, " For I am yours in word and in deed. " Play me no tricks," said lord ilonald, " Your riddle is hard to read." " Falsely, falsely have ye done, mother," she said, " if this be true. To keep the best man under the sun So many years from his due." and proudly stood she up ! Her heart within her did not fail : She look'd into lord Ronald's eyes. And told him all her nurse's tale. " Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, " But keep the secret for your life. And all you have will be lord Ronald's, "When you are man and wife." He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn : He turn'd, and kiss'd her where she stood, " If you are not the heiress bcrn, " And I," said he, " the next in blood- - " If I'm a beggar born," she said, " I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off, the broach of gold. And fling that diamond necklace by." "If you are not the heiress born. And I," said he, " the lawful heir. We two will wed to-morrow morn. And you shall still be lady Clare." "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, " But keep the secret all ye can." She said, " Not so ■ but I will know If there be any faith in man." " Nay now, what faith ?• said Alice the nurse, " The man will cleave unto his right." '• And he sh ill have it," the lady replied, " Though 1 should die to-night." [From Buchan'g Ballads of the North.] " Yet give one kiss to your mother dear; Alad, my chii.l, I sinn'd for thee." " mother, mother, mother," she said, " So strange it seems to me. Earl Richard had but ae daughter, A maid o' birth and fame ; She loved her father's kitchen boy,— The greater was her shame. " Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear. My mother dear, if this be so. And lay your hand upon my head. And bless me, mother, ere I go." But she could ne'er her true love see. Nor with him could she talk. In towns where she had wont to go. Nor fields where she could walk. She clad herself in a russet gown. She was no longer lady Clare : She went by dale, and she went by down. With a single rose in her hair. But it fell ance upon a day. Her Cither went from home ; She's call'd upon the kitchen boy. To come and clean her room. Down stept lord Ronald from his tower; " lady Clare, you shame your worth ! Why come you diest like a village maid. That are the flower of the earth ?" " Come sit ye down by me, Willie, Come sit ye down by me ; There's nae a lord in a' the north That X can love but thee." " If I come drest like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are: I am a beggar born," she said, " And not the lady Clare." < " Let never the like be heard, la/ly, Nor let it ever be; For if your father get word o' this. 5 He will gar hang me hie." 14 SCOTTISH BALLADS. '• O ye shall ne"er be hang'd, 'Willie, Your bluJe shall ne'er be drawn ; 111 'ay my life in pledge o" thine. Your body's ne'er get wrang." " Excuse me now, my comely dame. No langer here I'll stay ; You know my time is near explr'd. And now I must away. •' The master-cook will on me call. And answered he must be ; If I am found in bower with thee. Great anger will there be." " The master-cook will on you call. But shall not answer'd be ; 111 put you in a higher place Than any cook's degree. **I have a coffor full of gold. Another of white monie; And I will build a bonnie ship. And set my love to sea. *' Silk shall be your sailing clothes. Gold yellow in your hair ; As white like milk are your twa hands, Your body neat and fair •• This lady, with her fair speeches. She made the boy grow bold ; And he began to kiss and clap. And on his love lay hold. Aijd she has built a bonnie ship, Set her love to the sea ; Seven score o' brisk young men. To bear him companie. Then she's ta'en out a gay gold ring. To him she did it gi'e : *' This will mind you on the ladie, "WllKe, That's laid her love on thee." Then he's ta'en out a piece of gold. And he brake it in two; *' All I have in the world, my dame^ For love, I give to you." Kcw he is to his bonnie ship. And merrily ta'en the sea; Tbe lady lay o'er castle wa'. The tear blinded her c'c. ^ They had not saii'd upon the sea A week but barely three, When came a prosperous gale of wlnd;- On Spain's coast landed ho. A lady lay o'er castle wa'. Beholding dale and down ; And she beheld the bonnie ship Come sailing to the town. " Come here, come here, my Marieu a'. Ye see not what I see ; For here I see the bonniest ship Tliat ever saii'd the sea. "In her there is the bravest squire That e'er my eyes did see ; All clad in silk, and rich attire. And comely, comely's he. *' O busk, busk, my Maries all, busk and make ye fine ; And we will on to yon shore side. Invite yon squire to dine. ** Will ye come up to my castle Wi' me, and take your dine ? And ye shall eat the gude white bread. And drink the claret wine." " I thank you for your bread, Lidy, 1 thank you for your wine ; I thank you for your kind offer. But now I have not time." " I would gi'e all my land," she sayf. " Your gay bride were I she; And then to live on a small portion. Contented I would be." " She's far awa' frae me, lady. She's far awa' frae me. That has my heart a-keeping fast, And my love still she'll be." " But ladies they are unconstant. When their loves go to sea ; And she'll be wed ere ye gae back. My love, pray stay wi' me." •' If she be wed ere I go back. And prove sae false to me, I shall live single ail my life, — I'll ne'er wed one but she." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 15 Then she's ta'en out a gay gold ring. And ga'e him presentlie; " 'Twill mind you on the lady, young man. That laid her love on thee." " The ring that's on my mid-finger Is far dearer to me. Though yours were o" the gude red gold. And mine the metal free." He view'd them all, baith neat and Email, As they stood on the shore ; Then hoist the mainsail to the wind. Adieu, for evermore ! He had not sail'd upon the sea A week but Karely three. Until there came a prosperous gale. In Scotland landed he. But he put paint upon his face. And oil upon his hair; Likewise a mask above his brow. Which did disguise him sair. Earl Richard lay o'er castle wa'. Beholding dale and down ; And he beheld the bonnie ship Come sailing to the town. " Come here, come here, my daughter dea?. Ye see not what I see ; For here I see the bonniest ship That ever sail'd the sea. " In her there is the bravest squire That e'er my eyes did see ; O busk, O busk, my daughter dear. Come here, come here, to me. " O busk, O busk, my daughter dear, O busk, and make ye fine ; And we will on to the shore side, Invite yon squire to dine." " He's far awa' frae me, father. He's far awa' frae me. Who has the keeping o' my heart. And I'll wed nane but he." " Whoever has your heart in hand. Yon lad's the match for thee ; And he shall come to my castle This day, and dine wi' me." " Will ye come up to my castle With me, and take your dine ? And ye shall eat the gude white bread. And drink the claret wine." " Yes, I'll come up to your castle With you, and take my dine; For 1 would give my bonnie ship Were your fair daughter mine." " I would give all my lands," he said, " That your bride she would be; Then to live on a small portion. Contented would 1 be." As they gaed up from yon sea strand. And down the bowling green. He drew the mask out o'er his face. For fear he should be seen. He's done him down from bower to bower. Likewise from bower to ha' ; And there he saw that lady gay. The flower out o'er them a". He's ta'en her in his arms twa. And hail'd her courteouslie ; "Excuse me, sir, there's n(i strange man Such freedom use with me." Her father turn'd him round about, A light laugh then gave he ; "Stay, I'll retire a little while. Perhaps you may agree." Now Willie's ta'en a gay gold rin^. And gave her presentlie; Says, " Take ye that, ye lady fair, A love token from me." " got ye't on the sea sailing ? Or got ye't on the sand r* Or got ye't on the coast of Spain, Upon a dead niau's hand f" " Fine silk it was his sailing clothes. Gold yellow was his hair; It would ha'e made a. hale heart bleed To see him lying there." " He was not dead as I passd by But no remeid cnuld he ; He gave me this token to bear Unto a fair ladie. f^' or THf ^ X I UNIVERSITY 1 ' 16 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " And by the marks he has descryvd, 4 Earle of Huntley was only the instrument of per- Vm sure that you are she; petratting this facte, to satisffle the Kinges So take this token of free will. jelosie of Murray, quhom the Queine, more rash- For him you'll never see." lie than wyslie, some few dayes before had com- mendit in the Kinges heiringe, with too many In sorrow she tore her mantle. epithetts of a proper and gallant man. The res- With care she tore her hair ; sons of these surmisses proceidit from proclama- "Now since I've lost my own true love. tione of the Kinges the 18 of Marche following. I'll ne'er love young men mair." inhibitting the younge Earle of Murray to per- sew the Earle of HunUey for his fathers slaugh- He drew the mask from off his face. ter, in respects he being wardit in the castell of The lady sweetly smiled ; Blacknesse for the same murther, was willing to *' Awa', awa', ye fause Willie, abyde his tryell; averring that he had done How have you me beguiled ?" nothing, bot by the King's nia''«» commissione : and so was neither airt nor pairt of the mur- Earl Richard he went through the ha'. ther."— ^nna/e» qf Scotland by Sir Jarnei Bal- The wine glass in his hand; four, Vol. I. Edin., 1824.] But little thought his kitchen boy Was heir o'er a' his land. Tk Highlands, and ye Law-lands, Oh ! quhair ha'e ye been ? But this she kept within her heart. They ha'e slaine the Karl of Murray, And never told to one ; And ha'e lain him on the green. Until nine months they were expir'd That her young son came home. Now wae be to thee, Huntly : And quhaii fore did you sae ? She told it to her father dear; I bade you bring him wi' you. He said, " Daughter, well won ; But forbade you him to slay. You've marri. d for love, not for gold. Your joys will ne'er be done»" He was a braw gallant. And he rid at the ring; And the bonnie Earl of Murray, Oh ! he might ha'e been a king. ®]^e ^OEnk liSatl of JMuiricsg. He was a braw gallant. And he play'd at the ba" ; And the bonnie Earl of Murray [" Jamm, Earl of Murray, the subject of this Was the flower amang them a'. ballad, was a son of Lord Downe, but acquired the title of Moray by marrying Elizabeth, eldest He was a braw gallant, daughter of the celebrated Regent Moray. He And he play'd at the gluve , was thought to be the hamisomest man of his And the bonnie Earl of Murray, time ; and it would appear from the ballad, that Oh ! he was the queenes luve. he was skilled in those chivalrie accomplishments which are so well fitted to set off a good figure to Oh !lang will his lady advantage. There is even a suspicion that he Look owre the castle Downe,* was a gallant of the queen, Anne of Denmark, Ere she see the Earl of Murray then recently brought over to Scotland ; but this Cum sounding through the towne. seems to be countenanced by little else than the ■ hallad."— CAamier#. * Doune Castle, in Menteith, now in ruins, but " The 7 of Februarij this zeire, 1592. the Ear:e still the property of the noble family of Moray. of Murray was cruelly murthered by the Earle of It may be mentioned, that Dunnibrissle, where Huntly, at his house in DunibrisstU, in Fyffe- the murder happened, was the seat of the earl's shyre, and with him Dumbar, Shriffe of Murray ; mother; and that he was only there on a visit. it [was] given out, and pubUcUy talked that the ^ ^ Chambers. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. X^ ^ ^ H'mn^ Miutn^. THE BONNIE EARL OF MUKEAT. [Supposed, like the two former ballads, to refer to the fate of the unfortunate Earl of Murray.] [Another Version.] About Zule quhen the wind blew cule. And the round tables began ; Opbn the gates, A ! there is cum to our king's court. And let him come in j Money a well-favour'd man. He is ray brother Huntly, He'll do him nae harm. The queen luikit owre the castle wa'. Beheld baith dale and down. The gates they were open't. And there she saw the young Waters, They let him come in ; 0am riding to the town. But fause traitor Huntly, He did him great harm. His footmen they did rin before. His horsemen rade behind. He's ben and ben. And mantel of the burning gowd And ben to his bed ; Did keep him frae the wind. And with a sharp rapier. He stabbed him dead. Gowden graith'd his horse before. And siller shod behind ; The lady came down the stair, The horse young Waters rade upon Wringing her hands: Was fleeter than the wind. " He has slain the Earl o' Marray, The flower o' Scotland." Out then spak' a wylie lord. Unto the queen said he: But Huntly lap on his horse; " tell me quha's the fairest face Bade to the king. Rides in the company ?•' « Ye're welcome hame, Huntly, And whare ha'e ye been ? " I've sene lord, and I've sene laird. And knights of high degree, "Whareha'eyebeen? But a fairer face than young Waters', And how ha'e ye sped ?" Mine eyne did never see." "I've killed the Earl o' Murray, Dead in his bed." Out than spak' the jealous king, (And an angry man was he) : " Foul fa' you, Huntly, " O, if he had been twice as fair, And why did ye so; You micht have excepted me.'» You might ha'e ta'tn the Earl of Murray, And saved his life too." " Your neither laird nor lord," she says, " But the king that wears the crown; " Her bread it's to bake. There's not a knight in fair Scotland, Heryill is to brew; But to thee maun bow down." My sister's a widow. And sair do I rue." For a' that she could do or say. Appeased he wadna be ; •* Her corn grows ripe. But for the words which she had said. Her meadows grow green. Young Waters he maun die. But in bonnie DirinibrisUe, 1 dareua be seen." They ha'e ta'en young Waters, and Put fetters to his feet; They ha'e ta'en young Waters, and ^ Thrown him in dungeon deep. SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Aft I have ridden through Stirling town. In the wind hot and the weit; But I ne'er rade through Stirling town \Vi' fetters at my feet. " Aft I have ridden through Stirling town. In the wind hot and the rain ; But I ne'er rode through Stirling town Ne'er to return again." They ha'e ta'en to the heiding hill. His young son in his cradle ; And they ha'e ta'en to the heiding hill. His horse hot and the saddle. They ha'e ta'en to the heiding hill. His lady fair to see ; And for the words the queen had spoke Young Waters he did die. ^ir ^rt|ur an^ Ea^g ^nm. [Modern Ballad.— Huoh Ainslie.] Bib Arthur's foot is on the sand. His boat wears in the wind. An' he's turn'd him to a fair foot-page Was standing him behind. " Gae hame, gae hame, my bonnie boy. An' glad your mither's e'e, I ha'e left anew to weep an' rue, Sae there's nane maun weep for thee. " An' take this to my father's ha'. An' tell him I maun speed; There's fifty men in chase o' me. An' a price upon my head. " An' bear this to Dunellie's towers. Where my love Annie's gane. It is a lock o' my brown hair. Girt wi' the diamond stane." " Dunellie he has dochters five. An' some o' them are fair; Sae, how will I ken thy true love Amang sae mony there ?" " Ye'll ken her by the stately step As she gaes up the ha' ; Ye'll ken her by the look o* love That peers outowre them a' ; " Ye'll ken her by the braid o' goud That spreads o'er her e'e-bree; Ye'll ken her by the red, red cheek. When ye name the name o' me. " That cheek should lain on this breast- That hame should been my ha'; [bane — Our tree is bow'd, our flow'r is dow'd — Sir Arthur's an outlaw." He sigh'd and turn'd him right about, Where the sea lay braid and wide ; It's no to see his bonnie boat. But a wat'ry cheek to hide. The page has doffd his feather'd cap. But an' his raven hair; An' out there came the yellow locks. Like swirls o' the gouden wair. Syne he's undone his doublet clasp— 'Twas o' the grass-green hue — An', like a lily frae the pod, A lady burst to view. " Tell out thy errand now. Sir Knight, Wi' thy love-tokens a"; If I e'er rin against my will. It shall be at a lover's ca'." Sir Arthur turn'd hira round E'en as the lady spak'; An' thrice he dighted his dim e'e. An' thrice he stepped back. But ae blink o' her bonnie e'e. Out spake his lady Anne ; An' he's catch'd her by the waist sae si Wi' the grip of a drowning man. " O ! Lady Anne, thy bed's been hard. When I thought it the down ; O ! Lady Anne, thy love's been deep. When I thought it was flown. " I've met my love in the green wood- My foe on the brown hill : But I ne'er met wi' aught before I liked sae weel— an' ill. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 1 9 " ! I could make a queen o' thee, 4 An- it would be my pride ; But, Lady Anne, it's no for thee To be an outlaw's bride." t And he has till his brother gane : Now, brother, rede ye mee ; A' sail I marrie the nut-browne bride. And let fair Annet bee ? " Ha-e I left kith an- kin. Sir Knight, To turn about an' rue ? Hae I shared win' an' weet wi' thee. That I maun leave thee now ? The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother. The nut-browne bride has kye ; 1 wad ha'e ye marrie the nut-browne bride, And cast fair Annet bye. " There's goud an' siller in this ban' "Will buy us mony a rigg ; There's pearlings in this other han' A stately tow'r to big. Her oxen may dye i' the house. BiUie, And her kye into the byre; And I sail ha'e nothing to my sell, Bot a fat fadge by the fyre. " Though thou'rt an outlaw frae this Ian', The warld's braid and wide."— " Make room, make room, my merry men. For young Sir Arthur's bride !" And he has till his sister gane: Now, sister, rede ye mee; sail I marrie the nut-browne bride. And set fair Annet free ? [From Percy's Collection. See the introduc- tion to the following ballad, " Sweet Willie and Fair Annie."] Ise rede ye tak' fair Annet, Thomas, And let the browne bride alane ; Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace '. What is this we brought hame? No, I will tak' my mither's counsel. And marrie me owt 0' hand ; And I will tak' the nut-browne bride Fair Annet may leive the land. Lord Thomas and fair Annet Sate a' day on a hill ; Whan night was cum, and sun was sett. They had not talkt their filL Up then rose fair Annet's father Twa hours or it wer day. And he has gane into the bower. Wherein fair Annet lay. Lord Thomas said a word in jest. Fair Annet took it ill : A'! I will never wed a wife Against my ain friends will. Kise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says. Put on your silken sheene ; Let us gae to St Marie's kirke. And see that rich weddeen. Gif ye wuU nevir wed a wife, A wife wuU neir wed yee. Sae he is hame to tell his mither. And knelt upon his knee : My maldes, gae to my dressing-roome. And dress to me my hair; Whair-eir yee laid a plait before. See yee lay ten times mair. rede, rede, mither, he says, A gude rede gi'e to mee : sail I tak' the nut-browne bride. And let fan: Annet bee ? My maides, gae to my dressing-roome. And dress to me my smock ; The one half is 0' the holland fine. The other 0' needle-work. The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear. Fair Annet she's gat nane ; And the little beauty fair Annet has, it wuU soon be gane . i The horse fair Annet rade upon. He amblit like the wind, Wi' siller he was shod before, & Wi' burning gowd behind. — 20 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^ Four-and-twanty siller bells h S Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed. Wer a' tyed till his mane. Now stay, my dear, he cry'd ; And yae tift o' the norland wind, Then strake the dagger until his heart. They tinkled ane by ane. And fell deid by her side. Four-and-twenty gay gude knichts Lord Thomas was buried without the l an end. A happy day for young Beichan ! I'll tak' you to mine ain countrie." " My hounds they all go masterless. Then whan he cam' to Glasgow town. My hawks they flee frae tree to tree. A happy, happy, man was he ; My youngest brother will heir my lands. The ladies a.' around him thrang'd. My native land 1 11 never see." To see him come fiae slaverie. " were I but the prison -keeper. His mother she had died o' sorrow. As I'm a ladie o' hie degree. And a' his brothers were dead but he ; I soon wad set this youth at large. His lands they a" were lying waste. And sond him to his ain countrie." In ruins were his castles free. She went away into her chamber. All nicht she never closed her e'e; Ka porter there stood at his yett ; Ha. human creature he could see; And when the morning begoud to dawn. Except the screeching owls and bat«. At the prison door alane was she. Had he to bear him conipanie. She gied the keeper a piece of gowd. And monie pieces o' white monie. But gowd will gar the castles grow. To tak' her through the bolts and bars. And he had gowd and jewels free ; The lord frae Scotland she lang'd to see :— And soon the pages around hini thrang'd. She saw young Beichan at the stake. To serve him on their bended knee. Which made her weep maist bitterlie. His hall was hung wi' silk and satin. " ha'e yc got onie lands," she says. His table rung wi' miith and glee. " Or castles in your ain countrie ? He soon forgot the lady fair, It's what wad ye gi'e to the ladie fair That lows'd him out o' slaverie. Wha out o' prison wad set you free ?" Lord Beichan courted a lady gay. " It's I ha'e houses, and I ha'e lands. To heir wi' him his lands sae free. Wi- monie castles fair to see. Ne'er thinking that a lady fair And I wad gi'e a' to that ladie gay. Was on her way frae grand Turkie "Wha out o' prison wad set me free." The keeper syne brak aff his chains. For Susie Pye could get nae rest. And set Lord Beichan at libertie :— - Nor day nor nicht could happy be, She fill'd his pockets baith wi' gowd. To tok' him till his ain countrie. Still thinking on the Scottish lord. Till she was sick and like to dee. She took him frae her father's prison. But she has builded a bonnie ship. And gied to him the best o' wine; Weel mann'd wi' seamen o' hie degn* ; And a brave health she drank to him,— And secretly she stept on board. " I wish, Lord Beichan, ye were mine • And bid adieu to her ain countrie. It's seven lang years I'll mak' a vow, But whan she cam' to the Scottish shoTP, And seven lang years I'll keep it true; The bells were ringing sae merrilie; If ye'U wed wi" na ither woman. j It was Lord Beichan 's wedding day. It's I will wed na man but you." ft Wi' a lady fair o' hie degree.. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 25 But slo a vessel was never seen. The very masts were tapp'd wi' gold ! Her sails were made o' the satin fine, Maist beautiful for to behold. But when the lady cam' on shore. Attended wi' her pages three. Her shoon were of the beaten gowd. And she a lady of great beautie. Then to the skipper she did say, " Can ye this answer gi'e to me — Where are Lord Beichan's lands sae braid f He surely lives in this countrie." Then up bespak' the skipper bold, (For he could speak the Turkish tongue,)- " Lord Beichan lives not far away. This is the day of his wedding." " If ye will guide me to Beichan's yetts, I will ye well reward," said she, — Then she and all her pages went, A very gallant companie. When she cam' to Lord Beichan's yetts^ She tirl'd gently at the pin, Sae ready was the proud porter To let the wedding guests come in. " Is this Lord Beichan's house," she says, " Or is that noble lord within ?" " Yes, he is gane into the hall. With his brave bride, and monie ane." " Ye'U bid him send me a piece of breads Bot and a cup of his best wine ; And bid him mind the lady's love That ance did lowse him out o' pyne." Then in and cam' the porter bold, I wat he gae three shouts and three, — " The fairest lady stands at your yetts. That ever my twa een did see." Then up bespak' the bride's mither, I wat an angry woman was she, — " You micht ha'e excepted our bonnie bride, Tho' she'd been three times as fair as she." " My dame, your daughter's fair enough. And aye the fairer mot she be! But the fairest time that e'er she was. She'll na compare wi' this ladie. 9t " She has a gowd ring on ilka finger. And on her mid-finger she has three; She has as meikle gowd upon her head. As wad buy an earldom o' land to thee. " My lord, she begs some o' your bread, Bot and a cup o' your best wine. And bids you mind the lady's love That ance did lowse ye out o' pyne." Then up and started Lord Beichan, I wat he made the table flee, — " I wad gi'e a' my yearlie rent 'Twere Susie Pye come owre the sea." Syne up bespak' the bride's mither, — She was ne'er heard to speak sae free, — " Ye'll no forsake my ae duchter. Though Susie Pye has cross'd the sea ?" " Tak' hame, tak' hame, your dochter, madam. For she is ne'er the waur o' me ; She cam' to me on horseback riding. And she sail gang hame in chariot free." He's tane Susie Pye by the milk-white hand. And led her through his halls sae hie, — " Ye're now Lord Beichan's lawful wife. And thrice ye're welcome unto me." Lord Beichan prepar'd for another wedding, Wi' baith their hearts sae fu' o' glee ;— Rays, " I'll range nae mair in foreign lands. Sin' Susie Pye has cross'd the sea. " Fy ! gar a' our cooks mak' ready ; And, fy ! gar a' our pipers play; And fy ! gar trumpets gae through the toun. That Lord Beichan's wedded twice in a day!" ¥0Eng %t\\t. [From Jamieson's Collection. See Note previous Ballad.] YouNO Beckie was as brave a knight As ever sail'd the sea; And he's doen him to the court o' France, To serve for meat and fee. 26 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He hadna been In the court o' France ^ " Ochon, alas !" sajg young Bekie, A twelvemonth nor sae lang. " I kenna what to dee ; Till he fell in love wi' the king's daughter. For I canna win to Burd Isbel, And was thrown in prison Strang. And she canna come to me." The king he had but ae daughter, it fell out upon a day Burd label was her name ; Burd Isbel fell asleep, And she has to the prison gane. And up it starts the Billy Blln, To hear the prisoner's mane. And stood at her bed feet. " gin a lady wad borrow me, " O waken, waken, Burd Isbel ; At her stirrup I wad rin ; How can ye sleep so soun' ; gin a widow wad borrow me. When this is Bekie's wedding day. I wad swear to be her son. And the marriage gaing on ? " gin a virgin wad borrow me. " Ye do ye till your mither's bower. 1 wad wed her wi' a ring ; As fast as ye can gang ; I'd gi'e her ha's, I'd gi'e her bowers. And ye tak' three o* your mither's Marys, The bonnie towers o' Linne." To baud ye unthocht lang. barefoot barefoot gaed she but. "Ye dress yoursel' i' the red scarlet. And barefoot cam' she ben ; And your Marys in dainty green ; It was na for want o' hose and shoon. And ye put girdles about your middls Nor time to put them on ; Wad buy an earldome. But a* for fear that her father " Syne ye gang down by yon sea-side. Had heard her makin' din ; And down by yon sea-strand; For she's stown the keys of the prison. And bonnie will the HoUans boats And gane the dungeon within. Come powin' till your hand. And when she saw him, young Bekie, "Te set your milk-white foot on board. Wow, but her heart was sair ! Cry, ' Hail ye, Domine !' For the mice, but and the bauld rattons. And 1 will be the steerer o't. Had eaten his yellow hair. To row you o'er the sea." She's gotten him a shaver for his beard. She's taen her till her mither's bower. A comber till his hair; As fast as she could gang; Five hundred pound in his pocket. And she's ta'en twa o' her mither's Marys, To spend, and nae to spare. To baud her unthocht lang. She's gi'en him a steed was good in need. She's drest hersel' i' the red scarlet. And a saddle o' royal bane; Her Marys i' the dainty green ; A leash o' hounds o' ae litter. And they've put girdles about their middle And Hector called ane. Would buy an earldome. Atween thir twa a vow was made. And they gaed down by yon sea-side. 'Twas made full solemlie. And down by yon sea-strand ; That or three years were come and gane. And sae bonnie as the HoUans boats Weel married they should be. Come rowin' till their hand. He hadna been in's ain countrie She set her milk-white foot on board. A twelvemonth till an end. Cried, " Hail ye, Domine I" Till he's forced to marry a duke's daughter. And the Billy Blin was the steerer o't. Or than lose a' his land. ^ 5 To row her o'er the sea. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 27 Whan she cam' to young Bekie's gate, i i " Tak- harae, tak' hame your daughter dear; She heard the music play; A blessing gang her wi' ; And her mind misga'e by a' she heard. For I maun marry my Burd Isbel, That 'twas his wedding day. That's come o'er the sea to me." She's pitten her hand in her pocket. " Is this the custome o' your house. Gi'en the porter markis three ; Or the fashion o' your land. " Hae, take ye that, ye proud porter. To marry a maid in a May morning. Bid your master speake to me." 1 And send her back a maid at e'en ?•' whan that he cam' up the stair. He fell low down on his knee : He hail'd the king, and he hail'd the queen. And he hail'd him young Bekie. "01 have been porter at your gates mm ^^Mn, This thirty years and three; But there are three ladies at them now. Their like I did never see. [Stall copies of May Colvin or Collean, under the title of " The Western Tragedy," exist of a " There's ane o' them drest in red scarlet. date at least as far back as the middle of the And twa in dainty green ; last century. From these the ballad found its And they ha'e girdles about their middles way into Herd's collection, and is reprinted by Would buy an earldome." Motherwell with some alterations from a recited version. "The ballad finds locality," says Mr Then out and spak' the bierdly bride. Chambers, " in that wild portion of the coast of Was a' goud to the chin ; Carrick, (Ayrshire,) which intervenes betwixt " Gin she be fine without," she says. Girvan and Ballantrae. Carlton Castle, about " We's be as fine within." two miles to the south of Girvan, (a tall old ruin situated on the brink of a bank which overhangs Then up it starts him, young Bekie, the sea, and which gives title to Sir John Cath- And the tear was in his e'e : cart, Bart, of Carlton,) is affirmed by the country " I'll lay my life it's Burd Isbel people, who still remember the story with great Come o'er the sea to me." freshness, to have been the residence of 'the fause Sir John;' while a tall rocky eminence. O quickly he ran down the stair; called Gamsloup, overhanging the sea about two And whan he saw 'twas she. miles stiU farther south, and over which the He kindly took her in his arms. road passes in a style terrible to all travellers, is And kist her tenderlie. pointed out as the place where he was in the habit of drowning his wives, and where he was " ha'e ye forgotten now, young Bekie, finally drowned himself. The people, who look The vow ye made to me. upon the ballad as a regular and proper record When I took you out of prison Strang, of an unquestionable fact, farther affirm that When ye was condemned to dee ? May Collean was a daughter of the family of Kennedy of Colzean, now represented by the " I ga'e you a steed was good in need. Earl of Cassilis, and that she became heir to all And a saddle o' royal bane ; the immense wealth which her husband had ac- A leash o' hounds o' ae litter; quired by his former mal -practices, and accord- And Hector called ane." ingly lived happy all the rest of her days." We give here, first, the ballad as it appears in It was well kent what the lady said. Motherwell, which differs little from Herd's That it was nae a lie ; version. We also give Mr Buchan's version. For at the first word the lady spak'. which, though similar in incident, is almost to- The hound fell at her knee. i itally different in language from the others.] _ 28 SCOTTISH BALLADS. False Sir John a wooing came, •; To a maid of beauty fair ; May Colvin was tiie lady's name. Her father's only heir. He's courted her butt, and he's courted her ben. And he s courted her into the ha'. Till once he got this lady's consent To mount and ride awa'. She's gane to her father's coffers. Where all his money lay ; And she's taken the red, and she's left the And so lightly as she tripped away, [white. She's gane down to her father's stable Where all his steeds did stand ; And she's taken the best and she's left the That was in her father's land. [warst. He rode on, and she rode on. They rode a lang simmer's day. Until they came to a broad river. An arm of a lonesome sea. " Loup off the steed," says false Sir John ; " Your bridal bed you see ; [here. For it's seven king's daughters I have drowned And the eighth I'll out make with thee. " Cast aff, cast aff your silks so fine. And lay them on a stone. For they are o'er good and o'er costly To rot in the salt sea foam. " Cast aff, cast aff your holland smock. And lay it on this stone. For it is too fine and o'er costly To rot in the salt sea foam." " turn you about, thou false Sir John, And look to the leaf o' the tree ; For it never became a gentleman A naked woman to see." He's turned himself straight round about. To look to the leaf o' the tree ; She's twined her am s about his waist. And thrown him into the sea. *' O hold a grip of me. May Colvin, For fear that I should drown ; I'll take you hame to your father's gate. And safely I'll set you down." " O lie you there, thou false Sir John, lie you there," said she, " For you lie not in a caulder bed Than the ane you intended for me.' So she went on her father's steed. As swift as she could flee ; And she came hame to her father's gates At the breaking of the day. Up then spake the pretty parrot: " May Colvin, where have you been? What has become of false Sir John, That wooed you so late yestreen?" Up then spake the pretty parrot. In the bonnie cage where it lay: " what ha'e ye done with the false Sir John, That he behind you does stay ? "He wooed you butt, he wooed you ben. He wooed you into the ha'. Until he got your own consent For to mount and gang awa'." " hold your tongue, my pretty parrot. Lay not the blame upon me ; Tour cage will be made of the beaten g old. And the spakes of ivorie." Up then spake the king himself. In the chamber where he lay: " Oh ! what ails the pretty parrot. That prattles so long ere day." " It was a cat cam' to my cage door, 1 thought 'twould have worried me And I was calling on fair May Colvin To take the cat from me." MAY COLVIN. [BucHAN's version. See Note to the pre vious ballad. Binyan's Bay, mentioned in the ver- sion, was, Mr Buchan says, at the mouth of the river Ugie, where Peterhead now stands.] Heard ye ever of a bludy knight, Lived in the west countrie ?■ For he's betray'd seven virgins fair, • And drowned them in the sea. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 29 All ladies of a gude account. As ever yet were known ; This traitor was a barren linight. They call'd him fause Sir John. Then he is gane to May Colvin, She was her father's heir; The greatest beauty o' that age, I solemnly declare. Thou art the darling of my heart, I say, fair May Colvin ; So far excells thy beauties great. That ever I ha'e seen. But I'm a knight of wealth and might, Ha'e towers, towns twenty-three ; And ye'se be lady o' them a'. If ye will gang wi' me. Excuse me then, O gude Sir John, To wed I am too young ; Without ye ha'e my parents' leave. With you I darna come. Tour parents' leave ye soon shall have. To this they will agree ; For I ha'e made a solemn vow. This night ye'se gang wi' me. Frae belovv his arm he's puU'd a charm. And stuck it in her sleeve ; And he has made her gang wi' him. Without her parents' leave. Much gowd and siller she has brought, Wi' her five hundred pound; The best an' steed her father had. She's ta'en to ride upon. Sae privately they rade away. They made nae stop nor stay; Till they came to that fatal end. That ye ca' Binyan's bay. It being in a lonely place, Nae habitation nigh ; The fiital rocks were tall and steep. And nane could hear her cry. light down, light down, fair May Colvin, Light down, and speak wi' me; For here I've drown'd eight virgins brave. And you the ninth maun be. Are these your bowers and lofty towers, Sae beautiful and gay .•> Or is it for my gold, she says. You take my life away f Cast aff, cast aff your jewels fine, Sae ccstly, rich, and rare ; For they're too costly, and too fine. To sink in the sea ware. Then aff she's ta'en her jewels fine. And thus she made her mean ; Ha'e mercy on a virgin young, I pray you, gude Sir John ! Cast aff, cast aff, fair May Colvin, Your gown and petticoat; For they're too costly, and too fine. To rot by the sea rock. Take all I have my life to save, O gude Sir John, I pray ; Let it ne'er be said you killed a maid. Before her wedding day. Strip aff, strip aff, your Holland smock. That's border'd wl' the lawn; For it's too costly, and too fine. To toss on the sea sand. O turn ye round, O gude Sir John, Your back about to me ; It is not comely for a man A naked woman to see. But, as Sir John he tum'd him round. She threw him in the sea ; Says, Lye ye there, ye fause Sir John, For ye thought to lye wi' me. O lye ye there, ye traitor fause. For ye thought to lye wi' me; Although ye stript me to the skin, Ye'se get your claise wi' thee. Then on she puts her jewels fine, Sae costly, rich, and brave ; And then wi' speed she mounts her stee Sae well's she did behave. This maiden fair being void of fear, Tlie steed was swift and free ; And she has reach'd her father's house Before the clock struck three. _ 30 SCOTTISH BALLADS. First she call'd the stable groom, ^ Ye ladies a', wherever you be. Who was her waiting man ; That read this mournful song; As soon's he heard his lady's word. I pray you mind on May Colvin, He came wi' cap in ban'. And think on fause Sir John. "Where hast thou been, felr May Colvin ? A ff they've ta'en his jewels fine. Who owes this dapple gray? To keep in memory ; It is a found ane, she replied. And sae I end my mournful sang. That I got on the way. And fiital tragedy. Then out it speaks the wylie parrot. Unto fair May Colvin ; What hast thou made o' fause Sir John, That ye went wi' yestreen ? 'mt %m'$ mm^xti. baud your tongue, my pretty parrot. And talk nae mair o' me ; [" This ballad," says Dr Percy, "is founded For when ye got ae meal a-fore. upon the supposed practice of the Jews in cruci- My parrot, ye'se ha'e three. fying or otherwise murdering Ciiristian children, out of hatred to the religion of their parents: a Then out it speaks her father dear. practicf which hath been always alleged in excuse In the chamber where he lay ; for the cruelties exercised upon that wretched What aileth thee, my pretty parrot, people, but which probably never happened in a To chat sae lang ere day > single instance. For, if we consider, on the one hand, the ignorance and superstition of the times The cat she scratch'd at my cage door, when such stories took their rise, the virulent The thief I couldna see ; prejudices of the monks who record them, and And I am calling on May Colvin, the eagerness with which they would be catched To take the cat frae me. up by the barbarous populace as a pretence for plunder ; on the pther hand, the great danger But first she tauld her father dear. incurred by the perpetrators, and the inadequate The deed that she had done ; motives they could have to excite them to a crime Likewise unto her mother dear. of so much horror ; we may reasonably conclude Concerning fause Sir John. the whole charge to be groundless and malicious. The ballad is probably built upon some Italian If that be true, fair May Colvin, Legend, and bears a great resemblance to the That ye ha'e tauld to me ; Prioresse's Tale in Chaucer: the poet seems also The morn, ere I eat or drink. to have had an eye to the known story of Hugh This fause Sir John I'll see. of Lincoln, a child said to have been there mur- dered by the Jews in the reign of Henry 111." Sae aff they went, wi' ae consent. Different readings of the ballad are given in By the dawning o' the day ; different collections, but the variations are not Until they came to Charlestown sands. material. In some copies the title is " Sir Hugh And there his corpse it lay. or the Jew's Daughter;" in others, particularly Mr Jamieson's, who accompanies his copy by a His body tall, with that great fall. long and curious introduction on the state of With waves t ; ss'd to and fro. the Jews in the middle ages, it Ls called " Hugh The diamond ring that he had on. of Lincoln." We follow here Motherwell's ver- Was broken in pieces two. i sion, as we consider it, on the whole, the best.] They ha'e taken up his corpse Yesterday was brave Hallowday, To yonder pleasant green ; And, above all days of the year. And there they buried fause Sir John, The schoolboys all got leave to play. For fear he should be seen. < j And little Sir Hugh was there. 1 I SCOTTISH BALLADS. 31 He kicked the ball with his foot, ', i When bells were rung and mass was sung. And kepped it with hia knee. And every body went hame. And evdn in at the Jew's window. Then every lady had her son. He gart the bonnie ba' flee. But lady Helen had nane. Out then came the Jew's daughter— She rolled her mantle her about, " Will ye come in and dine ?" And sore, sore did she weep ; " I winna come in and I canna come in She ran away to the Jew's castle Till 1 get that ball of mine. When all were fast asleep. •' Throw down that ball to me, maiden, She cries, " Bonnie Sir Hugh, pretty Sir Throw down the ball to me." Hugh, " I winna throw down your ball, Sir Hugh, I pray you speak to me ; Till ye come up to me." If you speak to any body in this warld, I pray you speak to me." She pu'd the apple frae the tree. It was baith red and green, " Lady Helen, If ye want your son. She trave it unto little Sir Hugh, I'll tell you where to seek ; With that his heart did win. Lady Helen, if ye want your son. He's in the well sae deep." She wiled him into ae chamber. She wiled him into twa. She ran away to the deep draw-well. She wiled him into the third chamber. And she fell down on her knee ; An-l that was waist o't a". Saying, " Bonnie Sir Hugh, pretty Sh? Hugh, She took out a little penknife. I pray ye speak to me. Hung low down by her spare. If ye speak to any body in the world. She twined this young thing o* his life. I pray ye speak to me." And a word he ne'er spak' mair. " Oh ! the lead it is wondrous heavy, mother. And first came out the thick, thick blood. The well it is wondrous deep. And syne came out the thin^ The little penknife sticks in my throat. And syne came out the bonnie heart's blood- And I downa to ye speak. There was nae mair within. " But lift me out o' this deep draw-well. She laid him on a dressing table. And bury me in yon church-yard ; She dress'd him like a swine. Put a bible at my head, he says. Says, " Lie ye there, Tny bonnie Sir Hugh, And a testament at my feet. Wi" ye're apples red and green." And pen and ink at every side. And I'll Ue stUl and sleep. She put him in a case of lead. Says " Lie you there and sleep ;" " And go to the back of Maitland town, She threw him into the deep draw-well Bring me my winding sheet; Was fifty fathoms deep. For it's at the back of Maitland town. That you and I shall meet." A schoolboy walking in the garden. Did grievously hear him moan. the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom. He ran away to the deep draw-well The broom that makes full sore. And fell down on his knee. A woman's mercy is very little. But a man's mercy is more. Says," Bonnie Sir Hugh, and pretty Sir Hugh, I pray you speak to me ; If you speak to any body in this world. I pray you speak to me." f 1 32 SCOTTISH BALLADS. [Modern Ballad.— James Hooa.] t " I sought him up, and I sought him down. And echoes return'd his name, TUl the gloffs 0- dread shot to my heart. And dirled through a' my frame. " Oh where have you been, bonnie Marley Keid, For mony a long night and day ? I have iTiiss'd ye sair, at the Wanlock-head, And the cave o' the Louther brae. " I sat me down by the Enterkin, And saw, in a fearful line, The red dragoons come up the path, Wi' prisoners eight or nine : " Our friends are waning fast away, Baith frae the cliff and the wood ; They are tearing them frae us ilka day; For there's naething will please but blood. " And one of them was my dear, dear James, The flower of a' his kin'; He was wounded behind, and wounded before. And the blood ran frae his chin. " And, bonnie Marley, I maun novir Gi'e jour heart muckle pain, For your bridegroom is a-missing too. And 'tis fear'd that he is ta'en. " He was bound upon a weary hack, Lash'd both by hough and heel. And his hands were bound behind his back, Wi- the thumbkins of steel. " We have sought the caves o" the Enterkin, And the dens o' the Ballybough, And a' the howes o' the Ganna linn ; And we wot not what to do." " I kneel'd before that soldier band. In the fervour of inward strife, And I raised to Heaven my trembling hand, And begg'd my husband's life. " Dispel your fears, good Marjory Laing, And hope all for the best. For the servants of God will find a place. Their weary heads to rest. " But all the troop laugh'd me to score. Making my grief their game ; And the captain said some words to me. Which 1 cannot tell for shame. " There are better places, that we ken o'. And seetnlier to be in. Than all the dens of the Ballybough, Or howes o' the Ganna linn. " And then he cursed our Whiggish race. With a proud and a scornful brow. And bade me look at my husband's face. And say how I liked him now. " But sit thee down, good Marjory Laing, And listen a while to me. For 1 have a tale to tell t ) you. That wiU bring you to your knee: " Oh, I like him weel, thou proud captain. Though the blcod runs to his knee. And all the better for the grievous wrongs He has suffer-d this day frae thee. " I went to seek my own dear James In the cave o' the Louther brae. For I had some things, that of a' the world. He best deserved to ha'e. " But can you feel within your heart That comely youth to slay ? For the hope you have in Heaven, captain. Let him gang wi' me away ! " I had a kebbuck in my lap, And a fadge o the flour sae sma , And a sark 1 had made for his buirdly back. As white as the new-dri'en snaw. " Then the captain swore a fearfu" oath. With loathsome jest and mock. That he thought no more of a Whiggamore's Than the life of a noisome brock. [life. *' I sought him over hill and dale. Shouting by cave and tree; But only the dell with its eiry yell. An answer return'd to me. ^ " Then my poor James to the captain call'd. And he begg'd baith hard and sair. To have one kiss of his bonnie bride, f Ere we parted for evermair. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 33 ' I'll do that for you," said the proud captain, ^ ' And save you the toil to-day, And, moreover, I'll take her little store. To support you by the way.' " He took my bountith from my lap. And I saw, with sorrow dumb. That he parted it all among his men. And gave not my love one crumb. ' Now, fare you well, my very bonnie bride,' Cried the captain with disdain ; ' When I come back to the banks of Nith, I shall kiss you sweetly then. ' Tour heartiest thanks must sure be given. For what I have done to-day, — I am taking him straight on the road to heaven; And short will be the way !' " My love he gave me a parting look. And bless'd me ferventlye. And the tears they mix'd wi' his purple blood. And ran down to his knee." " What's this I hear, bonnie Marley Keid ? How could these woes betide ? For blyther you could not look this day. Were your husband by your side. " One of two things alone is left. And dreadful the one to me ; For either your fair wits are reft. Or else your husband's free." " Allay your fears, good Marjory Laing, And hear me out the rest ; Tou little ken what a bride will do. For the youth she likes the best! " I hied me home to my father's ha'. And through a' my friends I ran, And I gather'd me up a purse o' gowil. To redeem my young goodman : " For I kenn'd the prelate lowns would weel My fair intent approve ; For they'll do far mair for the good red gowd. Than they'll do for Heaven above. " And away I ran to Edinburgh town. Of my shining treasure vain. To buy my James from the prison strong. Or there with him remain. " I sought through a' the city jails, I sought baith lang and sair ; But the guardsmen turn'd me frae their doors. And swore that he was not there. " I went away to the tyrant duke. Who was my love's judge to be. And I proffer'd him a' my yellow store, If he'd grant his life to me. " Ha counted the red gowd slowly o'er. By twenties and by tens. And said I had taken the only means To attain my hopeful ends. ' And now,' said he, ' your husband's safe ; You may take this pledge of me : And I'll tell you, fair one, where ye'll go To gain this certaintye, — * Gang west the street and down the Bow, And through the market place. And there you will meet with a gentleman. Of a tall and courteous grace ; ' He is clad in »■ livery of the green. With a plume aboon his bree. And arm'd with a halbert, glittering sheen Your love he will let you see.' " O Marjory, never flew blythsome bird. So light out through the sky. As I flew up that stately street. Weeping for very joy. " Oh never flew lamb out o'er the lea. When the sun gangs o'er the hill, Wi' lighter, blyther steps than me. Or skipp'd wi' sic goodwill j " And aye I bless'd the precious ore. My husband's life that wan ; And I even bless'd the tyrant duke. For a kind good-hearted man. " The officer I soon found out,— For he could not be mistook , But in all my life I never beheld Sic a grim and grousome look. " I ask'd him for my dear, dear James, With throbs of wild deUght, And begg'd him in his master's name, To take me to his sight. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 34 " He ask'd me for his tnie address, ^ With a voice at which I shook ; | For I saw that he was a cruel knave, By the terror of his look. " I named the name with a buoyant voice. That trembled with ecstasye ; But the savage bray'd a hideous laugh. Then turn'd and grinn'd at me. " He pointed up to the city wall: One look benumb'd my soul; For there 1 saw my husband's head Fix'd high upon a pole! " His yellow hair waved in the wind. And far behind did flee. And his right hand hang beside his cheek,— A waesome sight to see. " His chin hang down on open space. Yet comely was his brow. And his eyne were open to the breeze, — There was nane to close them now ! ' What think you of your true love now ?' The hideous porter said ; ' Is not that a comely sight to see. And sweet to a Whiggish maid?' ' Oh, haud your tongue, ye heartless slave. For I downa answer you ; He was dear, dear to my heart before. But never sae dear as now ! ' I see a sight you cannot see. Which man c:innot efface; I see a ray of heavenly love Beaming on that dear fiice. ' And weel 1 ken yon bonnie brent brow Will smile in the walks on high. And yon yellow hair, all blood -stain'd now, Slaun wave aboon the sky.' " But can ye trow me, Marjory dear ? In the might of heavenly grace. There was never a sigh burst frae my heart. Nor a tear ran o'er my face. " But I bless'd my God, who had thus seen meet j To take him from my side, I To call him home to the courts above. And leave me a virgin bride." ^ " Alack, alick, bonnie Marley Reid, That sic days we ha'e lived to see .' For aiccan a cruel and waefu' tale Was never yet heard by me. " And all this time, I have, trembling, ween'd That your dear wits were gone; For there is a joy in your countenance. Which I never saw beam thereon. " Then let us kneel with humble hearts, To the God whom we revere. Who never yet laid that burden on. Which he gave not strength to bear." [From Buchan's Ballads of the North, ■where it is called " Donald of the Isles," but the more usual title of the ballad is '' Glasgow Peggy."] A BOKNiB laddie brisk and gay, A handsome youth sae brisk and gaddie ; And he is on to Glasgow town. To steal awa' his bonnie Peggy. When he came into Glasgow town, Upon her father's green sae steady ; " Come forth, come forth, old man," he says, " For I am come for bonnie Peggy." Out it spake her father then, " Begone from me, ye Highland laddie; There's uane in a' the west country Dare steal from me my bonnie Peggy." " I've ten young men all at my back. That ance to me were baith true and steady. If ance I call, they'll soon be nigh. And bring to me my bonnie Peggy." Out it spake her mother then. Dear but she spake wond'rous saucy ; Says, " Ye may steal my cow or ewe. But I'll keep sight o' my ain lassie." " Hold your tongue, old woman," he says, " Ye think your wit it is fu' ready ; For cow nor ewe I ever stole. But I will steal your bonnie Pegio'." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 35 Then all his men they boldly came, ^ > " My father has fifty well shod horse, That was to him baith true and steady ; 1 Besides your steed and my grey naigie; And through the ha' they quickly went, | I'm Donald 0' the Isle 0' Sky, And forth they carried bonnie Peggy. | Why may not you be ca'd a lady ? Her father gae mony shout and cry, | " See ye not yon fine castle. Her mother cursed the Highland laddie ; On yonder hill that stands sae gaudie ; But he heard them as he heard them not, 1 And there we'll win this very night. But fix'd his eye on bonnie Peggy. Where ye'll enjoy your Highland laddie." He set her on his milk-white steed. And he hirasel' on his grey naigie. Still along the way they rode. And he's awa' wi' bonnie Peggy. [This genuine sample of the old humorous Says, " I wad gi'e baith cow and ewe. ballad was taken down Trom the recitation of a And sae would I this tartan plaidie. gentleman in Liddesdsde, where it has long been That I was far into the north. popular. It is here first printed, with the excep- And alang wi' me my bonnie Peggy." tion of a few copies for private distribution.] As they rode down yon pleasant glen. A FAIR young May went up the street. Tor trees and brambles were right mony, Some white fish for to buy ; There they met the Earl o" Hume, And a bonnie clerk's fa'en in love wi' her. And his young son, were riding bonnie. And he's followed her by and by— by; And he's followed her by and by. Then out it spake the young Earl Hume, Dear but he spake wondrous gaudie; " I'm wae to see s.ae fair a dame " where live ye, my bonnie la«s. Riding alang wi' a Highland laddie." I pray thee tell to me ; For gin the nicht were ever sae mu-k. " Hold your tongue, ye young Earl Hume, I wad come and visit thee- dear but ye do speak right gaudie ; thee; There's nae a lord in a' the south. I wad come and visit thee." Dare e'er compete wi' a Highland laddie." " my father he aye locks the door. Then he rade five miles through the north. My mither keeps the key; Through mony hills sae rough and scroggie, And gin ye were ever sic a wily wight. Till they came down to a low glen. Ye canna win in to me— And he lay down wi' bonnie Peggy. me; Ye canna win in to me." ' Then he enclosed her in his arms. And row'd her in his tartan plaidie; [house. But the clerk he had ae true brother. " There are blankets and sheets in my father's And a wily wight was he ; How have I lien down wi' a' Highlandladdie!" And he has made a lang ladder Was thirty steps and three — Says he, " There are sheep in my father's fiiuld. three; And every year their wool is ready i Was thirty steps and three. By the same our debts we pay. Although I be but a Highland laddie. He has made a cleek but and a creel— A creel but and a pin ; "There are fifty cows in my father's byre. And he's away to the chimley-top. That all are tyed to the stakes, and ready; And he's letten the bonnie clerk in— Five thousand pounds I ha'e ilk year. in; Although 1 be but a Highland laddie. And he's letten the bonnie clerk in. 36 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The auld wife, being not asleep, ^ " if the foul thiePs gotten ye. Heard something that was said ; i I wish he may keep his baud ; " I'll lay my life," quo' the silly auld wife. For a' the lee lang winter nicht. " There's a man i' our dochter's bed- Ye'll never lie in your bed- bed; bed; There's a man i' our dochter's bed." Ye'll never Ue in your bed." The auld man he gat owre the bed. He's towed her up, he's towed her dowo. To see if the thing was true ; He's towed her through an' through : But she's ta'en the bonnie clerk in her arms. "0 Gude, assist," quo' the silly auld wife; And cover'd him owre wi' blue- " For I'm just departin' now— blue; now; And coTer'd him owre wi' blue. For I'm just departin' now." " where are ye gaun now, father," she says. He's towed her up, he's towed her down. " And where are ye gaun sae late ? He's gi'en her a richt down fa'. Ye've disturb'd me in my evening prayers. Till every rib i' the auld wife's side And O but they were sweet- Play'd nick nack on the w^'— sweet; wa'; And but they were sweet." Play'd nick nack on the wa'. " ill betide ye, silly auld wife. the blue, the bonnie, bonnie blue; And an ill death may ye die : And I wish the blue may do weel: She has the muckle bulk in her arms. And every auld wife that's sae jealous o' hei And she's prayin' for you and me— dochter. me ; May she get a good keach i' the creel- And she's prayin- for you and me." creel; May she get a gude keach i' the creel ! The auld wife being not asleep. Then something mair was said ; " I'll lay my life," quo' the silly auld wife. " There's a man i' our dochter's bed- bed ; There's a man i' our dochter's bed." m^ ^md ^tatg. The auld wife she got owre the bed. To see if the thing was true ; But what the wrack took the auld wife's fit ? [Modern Ballad, written by Wilmam Oli- For into the creel she flew— VER, of Langraw, in Roxburghshire, and here flaw; first printed.] For into the creel she flew. There were twae lovers, lovers leal. The man that was at the chimley-top. Twae lovers leal and true ; Finding the creel was fu'. But they wha love maist earnestly. He wrappit the rape round his left shonther. Will oft the sairest rue. And fast to hun he drew— drew ; Oh sweet the time thae lovers dear And fast to him he drew. rid spend wi' ane another ; "Wherever ane o' them might be. " help, O help, hinny, now help ; There surely was the other. O help, O hinny, now; For him that ye aye wished me to. And a' was fresh, and a' was fiidr. He's carryin' me off just now— now; Oh fair baith e'en and morn ; They thought to pu' life's budding rose. He'B carryin' me off just now." ^ } And never find its thorn. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 37 A' care was lost— a' thought of woe ; Stern truth had changed his guise. O'er coloured by the glamourie That dwells in lovers' eyes. Oh passion fierce for earthly things, Whate'er these things may be, What tene and terror, want and woe. Thou gars puir mortals dree. The sun will set, the sand will run. And life will fleet away : Ane o' thir lovers curst his fate — His flower was turned to clay. The flower he cherished o'er a' things, Had withered in a day ; The maid he lo'ed 'boon earth and heaven. Fell death had borne away. He raged, and raved, and curst his fate ; Lay down and wished to dee, — " Oh who on earth has e'er been mocked— Has had a fate like me ? " Unfold, oh death, thy griesly porta; Grim thief, give back my love. Oh, is there nought, that man may do. That shall thy pity move :"' All as he spoke, a twinkling star. Far in the welkin blue. Descended with a golden train. And near and'nearer drew; And, bright'ning as it nearer came, A form disclosed to sight, Keclining on a fleecy cloud. All steeped in heavenly light. Ah, well he knew that angel face. Though now, far fairer grown ; And brighter far the yellow hair. That hung her form adown. " 'Tis she ! 'tis she ! my lost ! my love ! My life ! my heaven I my all ! Come to my arms ! I did but dream Of death, and sable pall." " Give o'er," she said, " such wicked strife ; Submit to heaven's decree; Thy impious prayr can ne'er be heard ; I come no more to thee. " But, from my lattice in the sky, 111 look on thee below. And shed the choicest dews of heaven Upon thy fevered brow. " Submit ! repent !"— On this, again To heaven she soar'd away. " Oh stay," the frantic lover cried, " Oh stay, my loved one, stay !" Again he curst with frantic rage The wierd he had to dree. Again he cried, " Whoe'er was mocked. Or had a fate like me ?" When lo ! a red and lurid star Approached to where he stood ; The shades of night were dimly lit. And tinged with hue of blood. There stood a figure palled in cloud. The wrack of thunder storm. And aye by fits the writhing mass Disclosed a half-seen form. The earth did groan. Each living thing Fled fast, and far away — " What would you gi'e to gain your love. Now tell me, child of clay i>" " I'd gi'e the world, if it were mine. Oh mair than e'er was given : I'd gi'e, to ha'e my true love back, Earth's hopes — the joys of heaven." The echo shrunk, sae drear the yell That burst into her caves. 'Twas like a sound to wake the dead. And rouse them frae their graves. The night-clad lake moved in its depth i, And heaved frae shore to shore. And rolled its flood in one wide wave. And gave one sullen roar. That dread unearthly yell has ceased. And all again la still ; Gone is the fiend, and gone the man That wouldna' bend his will. The raven croaks above yon glen. And views a mangled prey. Then soars aloft, in eager haste. And hies him fast away. 58 SCOTTISH BALLADS. •Tis there he lies, Inong jagged rocks, 4^ " The guid steed that I ride upon. That lost— misguided one. Cost me thrice thretty pound ; The mother, on whose breast he lay. And I'll put trust in his swift feet. Might faU to linow her son. To ha'e me safe to land." As he rade ower yon high, high hill. And down yon dowie den, The noise that was in Clyde's water ®|e Drotoinf^ %9hn^. Would feard five huner men. " O roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud. [From Mr Buchan's Ballads. A fragment of Your streams seem wond'rous Strang, this previously appeared in Mr Jamieson's col- Make me your wreck as I come back. lection, under the title of " Willie and May But spare me as I gang." Margaret." The catastrophe of this rude but pathetic ballad, it will be seen, is brought about Then he is on to Meggie's bower. tlirough means similar to those used in " Fair And tirled at the pin ; Annie of Lochryan"— the deception, namely, of " O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie," he said. a mother answering in the voice of a lover.] " Ye'll open, lat me come in." "Wii.LiB stands in his stable door. " O wha is this at my bower door. And clapping at his stetd ; That calls me by my name ?" And looking o'er his white fingers. " It is your first love, sweet Willie, His nose began to bleed. This night newly come hame." " Gi'e corn to my horse, mother, i " I ha'e few lovers thereout, thereout. And meat to my young man ; And I'll awa' to Meggie's bower. As few ha'e I therein ; The best an' love that ever I had. I'll win ere she lie down." Was here just late yestreen." " The warstan stable in a' your stables. "0 bide this night wi' me, Willie, For my puir steed to stand ; O bide this night wi' me ; The warstan bower in a' your bowers. The best an' cock o' a' the reest For me to lie therein : At your supper shall be." My boots are fu' o' Clyde's water, I'm shivering at the chin." "A' your cocks, and a' your reests. 1 value not a prin ; | " My barns are fu' o' corn, Willie, For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower. My stables are fu' o' hay; I'll win ere she lie down." My bowers are fu' o' gentlemen. They'll nae remove till day." " Stay this night wi' me, WUlie, O stay this night wi' me ; " fare-ye-well, my fause Meggie, The best an' sheep in a' the flock farewell, and adieu; At your supper shall be." I've gotten my mither's malison. This night coming to you." " A* your sheep, and a' your flocks, ; As he rode ower yon high, high hill. I value not a prin ; j And down yon dowie den ; For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower, i The rushing that was in Clyde's water. I'll win ere she lie down." Took WilUe's cane frae him. *' an' ye gang to Meggie's bower. He lean'd him ower his saddle bow. Sae sair against my will ; To catch his cane again ; The deepest pot in Clyde's water. The rushing that was in Clyde's water. My malison ye's feel. ^ Took WiUie's hat f'ae him. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. gg He lean'd him ower his saddle bow, ^ To catch his hat through force; The rushing that was in Clyde'* water. Took Willie frae his horse. Bn %umH tie I^^m, His brither stood upo' the bank. [Th« present copy of the original ballad oi Says, " Fye, man, will ye drown ? Sir James the Kose is given chiefly from oral re- Ye'll turn ye to your high horse head. citation, compared with Motherwell's and other And learn how to sowm." versions.—" This old north country ballad," says Motherwell, " which appears to l>e founded on *'How can I turn to my horse head. fact, is well known in almost every corner of And learn how to sowm ? Scotland. Pinkerton printed it in his Tragic I've gotten my mither's malison. Ballads, 1781, 'from,' as he says, 'a modern It's here that I maun drown !'• edition in one sheet 12rao, after the old copy.' Notwithstanding this reference to authority, the The very hour this young man sank ballad certainly received a few conjectural emen- Into the pot sae deep, dations from his own pen ; at least, the present TTp waken'd his love, Meggie, version, which is given as it occurs in early stall Out 0* her drowsy sleep. prints, and as it is to be obtained from the reel- " Come here, come here, my mither dear. respond with his. Two modern ballads have And read this dreary dream ; sprung out of this old one, namely. Sir James I dream'd my love was at our yates, the Boss, and Elfrida and Sir James of Perth. And nane wad let him in." The first of these Is said to have been written by Michael Bruce ; the later is an anonymous pro- " Lye still, lye still now, my Meggie, duction, and has found its way into Evans' Col- Lye still and tak' your rest ; lection— ride Vol. IV. Edin. 1810. It might be Sin" your true love was at our yates. curious to ascertain which of these mournful It's but twa quarters past." ditties is the senior, were it for nothing else than perfectly to enjoy the cool impudence with Nimbly, nimbly, raise she up, which the graceless youngster has appropriated And nimbly pat she on ; to itself, without thanks or acknowledgment, all And the higher that the lady cried. the best things which occur in the other."] The louder blew the win'. HKARD ye 0' Sir James the Rose, The first an' step that she stepp'd In, The young heir o' Buleichan ? She stepped to the queet; For he has killed a gallant squire. " Ohon, alas !" said that lady. "Whase friends are out to tak' him " This water's wond'rous deep." Now he's gane to the house of Mar, The next an' step that she wade in. Whar the nourice was his leman ; She wadit to the knee ; To seek his dear he did repair. Says she, " I could wade farther in. Weening she might befriend him. If I my love could see." " Whare are ye gaun. Sir James ?" she The next an' step that she wade in. said; She wadit to the chin; " Or wharawa are ye riding r>" The deepest pot in Clyde's water " Oh, I am bound to a foreign land. She got sweet "WUlie in. And now I'm under hiding " You've had a cruel mither, "Willie, " Whar sail I gae, whar sail I rin. 1 And I have had anither ; Whar sail I rin to stay me ? 1 But we shall sleep in Clyde's water, For I ha'e kill'd a gallant squire. Like sister an' Uke brither." ^ } And his friends they seek to slay me." 40 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " O gae ye down to yon ale-house ; 1 sail pay there your lawln' ; And as I am your leraan true, I'll meet you at the da win'." " I'll no go down to yon ale-house For you to pay my lawin'; There's forty Bhillings for one suppor, I'll stay in't till the dawin'." He turned him richt and round about. And rowed him In his brechan ; And laid him down to tak* a sleep. In the lawlands o' Buleichan. He has na weel gane out o' sight, Nor was he past Milstrethen, When four-and-twentj beltit knichts Cam' riding ower the Lethan. " O ha'e ye seen Sir James the Rose, The young heir o' Buleichan ? For he has killed a gallant squire. And we are sent to tak' him." " Yes, I ha'e seen Sir Janies," she said ; " He passed by here on Monday ; Gin the steed be swift that he rides on. He's past the heichts o' Lundie." But as wi' speed they rode away. She loudly cried behind them, " Gin ye'll gi'e me a worthy meed, I'll tell ye whar to find him." ■ " O tell, fair maid, and, on our band, Ye'se get his purse and brechan." " He's in the bank abune the mill. In the lands o' Buleichan. " Ye must not a-wake him out of sleep. Nor in the least affright him ; But through his heart ye'll run a dart. And through the body pierce him." They sought the bank abune the mil). In the lowlands of Buleichan, And there they found Sir James the Kose, Lyiug sleeping in his brechan. Another readiug— As they rode on man after man, Then she cried out behind them, "If you do seek Sir James the Kose, I'll tell you where you'll find him." Then out and spak" Sir John the Graeme, AVha had the charge a-keeping, " It's ne'er be said, my stiilwart feres. We killed him when a-sleeping." They seized his broadsword and his tnrge. And closely him surrounded ; And when he wakened out of sleep. His senses were confounded.f " O pardon, pardon, gentlemen — Have mercy now upon me." " Sic as ye gae, sic ye sail ha'e. And so we fall upon thee." " Donald, my man, wait till I fa'. And ye sail get my brechan : Ye'll get my purse, though fu' o' gowd. To tak' me to Loch Lagan." Syne they took out his bleeding heart, And set it on aspeir; Then took it to the house o' Mar, And show'd to his deir. " We couldna gi'e ye Sir James's purse. Nor yet could we his brechan ; But ye sail ha'e his bleeding heart. But and his bluody tartiin." " Sir James the Eose, oh, for thy sake, My heart is now a-breaking ; Cursed be the day I wrocht thy wae. Thou brave heir o' Buleiciian 1" Then up she rase, and furth she gacs; And, in that hour o' tein. She wandered to the dowie glen. And never mair was seen. But where she went was never kent; And so, to end the matter, A traitor's end you may dept nd Can never be no better. t Another reading— They seized his braidsword and hi« t&r^e. And closely him surrounded : "O mercy, mercy, gentlemen!" He then fu' loudly sounded. " Sic as ye gae, sic ye sail ha'ej On natbing less we reckon." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 41 SIR JAMES THE ROSE. [This rery popular modern ballad is said to nave been written by Michael Bbuck, (born 1746; died 1767,) whose life is so touchingly commemorated in " The Mirror."] Of all the Scottish northern chiefs. Of high and warlike name, The bravest was Sir James the Kose, A knicht of meikle fame. Hi's growth was as the tufted fir. That crowns the mountain's brow ; And, waving o'er his shoulders broad. His locks of yellow flew. The chieftain of the brave clan Boss, A firm undaunted band ; Five hundred warriors drew their sword. Beneath his high command. In bloody fight thrice bad 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 ; Ev'n Margaret on the Scottish throne Was never half so fair. Lang 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. Ae nicht they met, as they were wont. Deep in a shady wood, Where, on a bank beside a burn, 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. 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 effaced: 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 lock'd into his arms. " I spake to try thy love," she said ; " I'll ne'er wed man but thee : My grave shall be my bridal bed. Ere 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 i" They parted thus: the sun was set: Up hasty Donald flies ; And, "Turn thee, turn thee, beardless youth!" He loud insulting cries. Soon turn'd 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 from harm. 42 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Eeturning swift, his hand he reared, Frae Donald's head above. And through the brain and crashing bones His sharp-edged weapon drove. He 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 Lord Buchan's hall ; And at Matilda's window stood. And thus began to call : " Art thou asleep, Matilda dear f Awake, my love, awak&! 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'll now direct my way. Where my two brothers bide. And raise the valiant of the Isles, To combat on my side." " 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'll watch you in the park • My faithful page I'll send. To run and raise the Ross's clan. Their master to defend." Beneath a hush 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 lonely 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 intoLord Buchan's park ; Matilda is his guard." They spurred their steeds in furious mood. And scoured along the lee; They reached Lord Buchan's lofty towers. By dawning of the day. Matilda stood without the gate; To whom the Graeme did say, " Saw ye Sir James the Rose last night ? Or did he pass this way ?" " Last day, at noon," Matilda said, " Sir James the Rose passed by : He furious pricked his sweaty steed. And onward fast did hie. " 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 mme." You word it well," the chief replied ; " But deeds approve the man : Set by your band, and, hand to hand. We'll try what valour can. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 43 " 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." ®-^e Jl^eimffli^ ©f CalloJjjag. With dauntless step he forward strode. [Modern Ballad. — Allan Cunninoham.— And dared him to the fight: From Cromek's " Remains of Nithsdale and But Graeme gave back, and feared his arm ; Galloway Song," 1810.] For well he knew its might. THKRK'samaid has sat o' the green merse side. Four of his men, the bravest four. Thae ten lang years and mair; Sunk down beneath his sword : And, every first nicht o' the new mune. But still he scorned the poor revenge. She kames her yellow hair. And sought their haughty lord. And aye, while she sheds the yellow burning Behind him basely came the Graeme, gowd. And pierc'd him in the side : Fu' sweit she sings and hie ; Out spouting came the purple tide. Till the fairest bird in the green wood And all his tartons dyed. Is charmed wi" her melodic. But yet his sword quat not the grip. But wha e'er listens to that sweet sang. Nor dropt he to the ground. Or gangs the fair dame te. Till through his enemy's heart his steel Ne'er hears the sang o' the lark again. Had forced a mortal wound. Nor waukens an earthlie e'e. 1 Graeme, like a tree with wind o'erthrown. It fell in about the sweet summer month. Fell breathless on the clay ; 1' the first come o' the mune, And down beside him sank the Rose, That she sat o' the tap o' a sea-weed rock. And faint and dying lay. A-kaming her silk locks doun. The sad Matilda saw him fall : Her kame was o' the whitely pearl. " Oh, spare his life !" she cried ; Her hand like new-won milk; " Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life; Her bosom was like the snawy curd. Let her not be denied '" In a net o' sea-green silk. Her well-known voice the hero heard ; She kamedher locks ower her white shoulders, He raised his death-closed eyes. A fleece baith wide and lang ; And fixed them on the weeping maid. And, ilka ringlet she shed frae her brows. And weakly thus replies : She raised a lichtsome sang. " In vain Matilda begs the life. I' the very first lilt C that sweet sang. By death's arrest denied: The birds forhood their young. My race is run— adieu, my love"— And they flew i' the gate o' the grey howlct, Then closed his eyes and died. To listen to the sweet maiden. The sword, yet warm, from his left side I' the second lilt o' that sweet sang. With frantic hand she drew : 0' sweetness it was sae fu'. " I come. Sir James the Rose," she cried ; The tod lap up ower our fauld-dike. " I come to follow you !" And diehtit his red-wat mou'. She leaned the hilt against the ground. I' the very third lilt o' that sweet sang. And bared her snowy breast; Red lowed the new-woke moon ; Then fell upon her lover's face. The stars drappit blude on the yellow gowan And sunk to endless rest. ^ & Sax miles round that maiden. [tap. 1 44 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " I ha'e dwalt on the Nith," quoth the young " Thae twenty years and three ; [Cowehill, But the sweetest sang I ever heard Comes through the greenwood to me. " O, Is It a voice frae twa earthlie lips. That maks sic melody? It wad wyle the lark frae the morning lift. And weel may it wyle me '." " I dreamed a dreary dream, master, "VVhilk I am r«d ye rede ; I dreamed ye kissed a pair o' sweet lips. That drapped o' red heart's-blude." " Come, haud my steed, ye little foot-page. Shod wi' the red gowd roun' ; Till 1 kiss the lips whilk sing sae sweet:" And lichtlie lap he doun. " Kiss nae the singer's lips, master. Kiss nae the singer's chin ; Touch nae her hand," quoth the little foot- " If skaithless hame ye wad win. tpage, " O, wha will sit in your toom saddle, O wha will bruik your gluve ; And wha will fauld your erled bride In the kindlie clasps o" luve ?" He took aff his hat, a' gowd i" the rim. Knot wi' a siller ban' ; He seemed a' in lowe with his gowd raiment. As through the greenwood he ran. " The summer dew fk's saft, fair maid, Aneath the siller mune; But eerie is thy seat i' the rock, Washed wi' the white sea faem. " Come, wash me wi' thy lilie-white hand. Below and 'boon the knee ; And I '11 kame thae links o' yellow burning gowd, Aboon thy bounie blue e'e. " How rosie are thy parting lips. How lilie-white thy skin ; And, weel I wat, thae kissing een Wad tempt a saint to sin 1" " Tak* aff thae bars and bobs o' gowd, Wi' thy gared doublet fine; And thiaw me aff thy green mantle. Leafed wi' the siller twine. " And a' in courtesie, fair knicht, A maiden's mind to win: The gowd lacing o' thy green weed* Wad barm her lilie skin." Syne cuist he aff his green mantle. Hemmed wi' the red gowd roun'; His costly doublet cuist he aff, Wi' red gowd flowered doun. " Ifow ye maun kame my yellow hair, Doun wi' my pearlie kame; Then rowe me in thy green mantle. And tak' me maiden hame. " But first come tak* me 'neath the chin ; And, syne, come kiss my cheek ; And spread my hanks o' watery hair, I' the new-moon beam to dreep." Sae first he kissed her dimpled chin. Syne kissed her rosie cheek; And lang he wooed her willing lips. Like heather-binnie sweet ! " O if ye'll come to bonnie Cowehill, 'Mang primrose banks to woo, I'll wash thee ilk day i' the new-milked milk, And bind wi' gowd your brou, " And, a' for a drink o' the clear water, Ye'se ha'e the rosie wine ; And, a' for the water-UIie white, Ye'se ha'e thae arms o' mine!" " But what will she say, your bonnie young Busked wi' the siller fine; [bride. When the rich kisses ye keepit for her lips. Are left wi' vows on mine ?" He took his lips frae her red-rose mou'. His arm frae her waist sae sma' ; " Sweet maiden, I'm in bridal speed — It's time 1 were awa'. " O gi'e me a token o' luve, sweet may, A leil luve token true;" She crapped a lock o' her yellow hair, And knotted it round his brou. "Oh, tie it nae sae strait, sweet may. But w'i' luve's rose-knot kynde My held is fu' o' burning pain ; Oh, saft ye maun it bind." Of SCOTTISH BALLADS. 45 Fis skin turned a' o* the red-rose hue, Wi' draps o" bludie sweat; And he laid his head 'mang the water lilies " Sweet maiden, I maun sleep." She tyed ae link o' her wat yellow hair, Abune his burning bree; Amang his curling haffet locks. She knotted knurles three. She weaved ower his brow the white lilie, Wi' witch-knots mae than nine , " Gif ye were seven times bridegroom ower. This nicht ye shall be mine." O twice he turned his sinking head. And twice he lifted his e'e ; O twice he socht to lift the links Were knotted ower his bree. " Arise, sweet knicht ; your young bride waits. And doubts her ale will soure ; And wistlie looks at the lilie- white sheets, Doun-spread in ladie-bouir." And she has prinned the broidered silk About her white hause bane ; Her princely petticoat is on, Wi' gowd can stand its lane. He faintlie, slowlie turned his cheek. And faintlie lift his e'e ; And he strave to lowse the witching bands Abune his burning bree. Then took she up his green mantle. Of lowing gowd the hem ; Then took she up his silken cap, Eich wi' a siller stem ; And she threw them wi' her lilie hand Amang the white sea-faem. She took the bride-ring frae his finger. And threw it in the sea ; " That hand shall mense nae other ring But wi' the will o' me." She fiaulded him in her lilie arms. And left her pearlie kame: His fleecy locks trailed ower the sand. As she took the white sea-faem. First rase the star out ower the hill. And neist the lovelier moon ; While the beauteous bride o' Gallowa' Looked for her blythe bridegroom. Lythlie she sang, while the new mune rase, Blythe as a young bryde may. When the new mune lichts her lamp o' luve. And blinks the bryde away. " Nithsdale, thou art a gay garden, Wi' monie a winsome flouir; But the princeliest rose in that gay garden Maun blossom in my bouir. " And I will keep the drapping dew Frae my red rose's tap ; And the balmy blobs o" ilka leaf I'll keep them drap by drap. And I will wash my white bosom A* wi' this heavenly sap." And aye she sewed her silken snood. And sang a bridal sang ; But aft the tears drapt frae her e'e. Afore the grey morn cam'. The sun lowed ruddie 'mang the dew, Sae thick on bank and tree ; The plough-boy whistled at his darg. The milk -maid answered hie ; But the lovelie bryde o' Gallowa' Sat wi' a wat-shod e'e. Ilk breath o* wind 'mang the forest leaves She heard the bridegroom's tongue ; And she heard the brydal-coming lilt. In every bird that sung. She sat high on the tap tower stane ; Nae waiting may was there ; She lowsed the gowd busk frae her breist. The kame frae 'mang her hair; She wj'pit the tear-blobs frae her e'e. And lookit lang and sairl First sang to her the blythe wee bird, Frae aflf the hawthorn green ; " Lowse out the love-curls frae your hair. Ye plaited sae weel yestreen." And the speckled wood-lark, frae 'mang the O' heaven, came singing doun ; f cluds " Tak' out thae bride-knots frae your hair. And let the locks hang down." " Come, byde wi' me, ye pair o' sweet birds. Come doun and bide wi' me; Ye sail peckle o' the bread, and drinK o' the And gowd your cage sail be." [wine. 46 SCOTTISH BALLADS. She laid the bride-cake 'neath her head, And syne below her feet ; And laid her doun 'tween the lilie-white sheets. And soundly did she sleep ! It was in the mid hour o' the nicht. Her siller bell did ring ; And soun't as if nae earthlie hand Had pou'd the silken string. There was a cheek touched that ladye's, Cauld as the marble stane ; And a hand, cauld as the drifting snow, "Was laid on her breist-bane. " O, cauld is thy hand, my dear Willie, O, cauld, cauld is thy cheek ; And wring thae locks o' yellow hair, Frae which the cauld draps dreip." " 0, seek another brydegroom, Marie, On thae bosom faulds to sleep ; My bryde is the yellow water-lilie, Its leaves my bridal sheet '" [First printed in Scott's Border Minstrelsy. — " This ball.id," says Sir Walter, " has been popular in many parts of t-cotland. It is chiefly given from Mrs Brown of Falkland's MSS.— The expression, • The boy stared wild like « gray go»s h»wk,' Strongly resembles that in Hardyknute, • Norse e'en like gray goes hawk stared wild,' a circumstance which led the editor to make the strictest inquiry into the authenticity of the song. But every doubt was removed by the evi- dence of a lady of high rank, who not only recol- lected the ballad, as having amused her in in- fancy, but could repeat many of the verses : par- ticularly those beautiful stanzas from the 20th to the 25th. The editor is therefore compelled to believe, that the author of Hardyknute copied the old ballad ; if the coincidence be not altoge- ther accidental."— It is not unlikely but that the authoress of Hardyknute (Ladv Wabdlaw) also wrote Fause Foodrage. &> King Easter and king Wester, mentioned In the first verse, " were probably," says Sir Wal- ter, "petty princes of Korthumberland and Westmoreland. In the Complaynt of Scotland, an ancient romance is mentioned, under the title, ' How the king of Estmureland married the king's daughter of Westmureland,' which may possibly be the original of the beautiful le gend of King Estmere, in the Reliques of An eient English Poetry, vol. 1. p. 62. 4th edit From this it may be conjectured, with some de gree of plausibility, that the independent king doms of the east and west coast were, at an early period, thus denominated, according to the Saxon mode of naming districts from their rela- tive positions, as Essex, Wessex, Sussex. But the geography of the metrical romances sets all system at defiance ; and in some of these, as Cla- riodus and Meliades, Estmureland undoubtedly signifies the land of the Estcrlings, or the Fle- mish provinces at which vessels arrived in three days from England, and to which they are re- presented as exporting wool. — Vide Notes on the Tale of Kempion. On this subject (continues Sir Walter) I have, since publication of the first edition, been favoured with the following re- marks by Mr Ritson, in opposition to the opinion above expressed : — ' Estmureland and West- mureland have no sort of relation to Northum- berland and Westmoreland. The former was never called Eastmoreland, nor were there ever any kings of Westmoreland ; unless we admit the authority of an old rhyme, cited by Usher; — " ' There is, likewise, a " king Estmere, of Spain," in one of Percy's ballads. " ' In the old metrical romance of Kyng Horn, or Horn Child, we find both Westnesse and Est- nesse; and it is somewhat singular, that two places, so called, actually exist in Yorkshire at this day. But nets, in that quarter, is the name given to an inlet from a river. There is, how- ever, great confusion in this poem, as Horn is called king sometimes of one country, and some- times of the other. In the French original, Westir is said to have been the old name of Hirland, or Ireland; which, occasionally at least, j IS called Westnesse, in the translation, in which I Britain is named Sudene ; but here, again, it is Inconsistent and confused. I " ' It is, at any rate, highly probable, that the O^storj-, cited in the Complaynt of Scotland, was a SCOTTISH BALLADS. 4^ romance of King Horn, whether prose or verse ; ^ Then up and raise him. King Honour, and consequently, that Estmureland and West- i Says, " What means a' this din ? mureland should there mean England and Ire- Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage, land ; though it is possible that no other instance Or wha has loot you in ?" can be found of these two names occurring with the same sense."] " ye my errand weel sail learn. Before that I depart." Kino Easter has courted her for her lands. Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp. King Wester for her fee ; And pierced him to the heart. King Honour for her comely face. And for her fair bodie. Then up and got the queen hersel". And fell low down on her knee : They had not been four months married. " spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage ! As I have heard them tell. For I never injured thee. Until the nobles of the land Against them did rebel. " spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage! Until I lighter be! And they cast kevils* them amang, And see gin it be lad or lass. And kevils them between ; King Honour has left \vi' me." And they cast kevils them amang. Wha suld gae kill the king. *' gin it be a lass," he says, "Weel nursed it sail be; O some said yea, and some said nay. But gin it be a lad bairn. Their words did not agree ; He sail be hanged hie. Till up and got him Fause Foodrage And swore it suld be he. " I winna spare for his tender age. Nor yet for his hie hie kin ; When bells were rung, and mass was sung. But soon as e'er he born is. And a' men bound to bed. He shall mount the gallows pin." King Honour and his gay ladye In a hie chamber were laid. four-and-twenty valiant knights Were set the queen to guard ! Then up and rase him, Fause Foodrage, And four stood aye at her bouir door. When a' were fast asleep. To keep both watch and ward. And slew the porter in his lodge. That watch and ward did keep. But when the time drew near an end. That she suld lighter be. four-and-twenty silver keys She cast about to find a wile. Hang hie upon a pin ; To set her body free. And aye, as ae door he did unlock. He has fastened it him behind. she has birled these merry young men With the ale but and the wine. Until they were as deadly drunk * Kevils.— Lota. Both words originally meant As any wild wood swine. only a portion, or share of any thing.— Leges Burgorum, cap. 59, de lot, cut, or kavil. Statuta " narrow, narrow. Is this window. Gildse, cap. 20. Nullus emat lanam, &c. nisi And big, big, am I grown 1" fuerit confrater Gilda, &c. Neque lot neque Yet through the might of Our Ladye, cavil habeat cum aliquo confratre nostro. In Out at it she has gone. both these laws, lot and cavil signify a share in 1 trade.— .Sco«.— Motherwell says, that in an in- She wandered up, she wandered down. ventory belonging to an ancestor of his, dated She wandered out and in ; \tiO-2, the word occurs as a verb— To change your lass for this lad bairn. Gin ilka man had back his ain. King Honour left me wi". Of it you suld be heir." " And ye maun learn my gay goss hawk " How I suld be heir of that castell. Right weel to breast a steed ; In sooth I cannasee; And I sail learn your turtle dow For it belangs to Fause Foodrage. As \\-eel to write and read. And he is na kin to me." " And ye maun learn my gay gcss hawk " gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, To wield baith bow and brand ; You would do but what is right; And I sail learn your turtle dow For I wot he kiUd your father dear. To lay gowd wi' her hand. Or ever ye saw the light. " At kirk and market when we meet. " And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage We'll dare make nae avowe, There is no man durst you blame ; But—' Dame, how does my gay goss hawk ?'* For he keeps your mother a prisoner. ' Madam, how does my dow ?' " And she dauma take ye hame." The boy stared wild like a gray goss hawk. * This metaphorical language was customary among the northern nations. In 925, king Ad- Says—" What may a' this mean ?" elstein sent an embassy to Harold Harfagar, " My boy, ye are king Honour's son. king of Norway, the chief of which presented And your mother's our lawful queen." that prince with an elegant sword, ornamented with precious stones. As it was presented by " gin I be king Honour's son. the point, the Norwegian chief, in receiving it. By Our Ladye 1 swear. unwarily laid hold of the hilt. The English j This night I wUl that traitor slay, ambassador declared, in the name of hU master. And reUeve my mother dear!" that he accepted the act as a deed of homage ; for touching the hilt of a warrior's sword was re- He has set his bent bow to his breast. garded as an acknowledgment of subjection. And leaped the castell wa' ; The Norwegian prince, resolving to circumvent And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage, Wha loud for help 'gan ca'. sentment, and sent, next summer, an embassy to Adelstein, the chief of which presented Haco, " baud your tongue, now, Fause Foodrage. the son of Haruld, to the English prince ; and. Frae me ye shanna flee." placing him on his knees, made the foUowing Syne pierc'd him thro' the fause fause heart, declaration:—" Haraldus, Norraannorum rex, amice te salutat; albamque banc avem bene And set his mother free. institutam mittit,utque meUus deinceps erudias. ter, as a declaration of inferiority; according to postulat." The king received young Haco on the proverb, " Is minor semper habetur, qui al- his knees; which the Norwegian ambassador terius filium edueat."— Pontoppidani Vestigia immediately accepted, in the name of his mas-i sDanor. vol. II. p. 67.— Scott. ^ 1 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And he has rewarded Wise "William i But he's win a year to the city. Wi- the best half of his land ; If that I be a living man ; And sae has he the turtle dow, And what he can mak' o' this lady. Wi' the truth o' his right hand. We shall let him do as he can." He's stript aff his fine costly robes. And put on the single liverie; Mmnu %iiu liinUn^* With no equipage nor attendance. To Edinburgh city went he. [This is said to be a complete set of the old Now there was a ball in the city. ballad of " Lizie Lindsay." It is taken from A ball 0' great mirth and great fame • Buchan's Ballads of the North, and, like others And fa danced wi' Donald that day. in the same collection, abounds in north-country But bonnie Lizie Lindsay on the green. provincialisms, especially in the use of the/ for tvh, as /a for ivha.faer for where; also sheen for " Will ye gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizie? shoon, teener for sooner, feel for fool, &c. King- Will ye gang to the Hielands wi' ine? caussie, mentioned in the ballad, is on the south Will ye leave the south country ladies. bank of the Dee, and at one time belonged to the And gang to the Hielands wi' nie ?" family of Drum. In Jamieson's Popular Bal- lads, an imperfect version of Lizie Lindsay is The lady she turned about. given, beginning. And answered him courteouslie ; WUl ye go to the HifrhUnd.. Liiie Lindsay, " I'd like to ken faer I am gaun first. Will ye go to the Hirhlinds wi' me? An fa I am gaun to gang wi'." Will ye go to the Highlands, Lizie Lindsay, And dine on fresh cruds and green whey? " 0, Lizie, ae favour I'll ask you. But we need not quote it, as it is mostly incor- This favour I pray not deny; porated in Buchan's version. Burns sent the Ye'll tell me your place o' abode. fine old air of Lizie Lindsay to Johnson's Mu- And your nearest o' kindred do stay.' seum, and intended to have furnished words for it, but never went beyond the opening verse. A " Te'll call at the Canogate port. modern song, howej-er, has been constructed on At the Canogate port call ye ; the subject, including that verse and three I'll gi'e ye a bottle o' wine. others. See Book of Scottish Song, p. 29. In And I'll bear you my companie." Chambers' collection, the ballads of Lizie Lind- say and Lizie Baillie are incorporated into one. Syne he called at the Canogate port. but we think without sufficient authority.] At the Canogate port called he ; She ga'e him a bottle o' wine. In Edinburgh lived a lady, And she ga'e him her companie. Was ca'd Lizie Lindsay by name; Was courted by mony fine suitors. " Will ye gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizie ? And mony rich persons of fame. Will ye gang to the Hielands wi> me <> Though lords o' renown had her courted. Will ye leave the south country ladies. Yet none her favour could gain. And gang to the Hielands wi' me?" Then spake the young laird C Kingcaussie, Then out spake Lizie's auld mither. And a bonnie young boy was he; For a very auld lady was she ; " Then let me a year to the city. " If ye cast ony creed on my dochter. I'll come, and that lady wi' me." High hanged I'll cause you to be." Then spake the auld laird o' Kingcaussie, " keep hame your dochter, auld woman. A canty auld mannie was he; And latna her gang wi' mej " Whnt think ye by our little Donald, 1 can cast nae mair creed on your dochter Sae proudly and crousely cracks he ? ^ ^ Nae mair than she can on me." 50 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Now, young man, ae question I'll ask you, vfe Sin' ye mean to honour us sae ; Ye'll tell me how braid your lands lie. Your name, and faer ye ha'e to gae ?" " My father he is an auld soutter. My mither she is an auld dey ; And 1' Ti but a puir broken trooper. My kindred I winna deny. " Yet I'm nae a man o' great honour. Nor am 1 a man o' great fame ; My name it is Donald M'Donald, I'll tell it, and winna think shame. " Will ye gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizie? Will ye gang to the Hielands wi' me? Will you leave the south country ladies. And gang to the Hielands wi' me ?" " O, Donald, I'll gi'e you ten guineas. If you would but stay in my room; Unt 1 that 1 draw your fair picture. To look on it fan 1 think lang." " No ; I carena mair for your guineas, Nae mair than ye care for mine ; But if that ye lore my ain person, Gae wi' me, maid, if ye incline." Then out spake Lizie's bower woman. And a bonnie young lassie was she ; " Though I was born heir to a crown. Young Donald, I would gang him wi'." TTp raise then the bonnie young lady. And drew till her stockings and sheen; And pack'd up her claise in fine bundles. And awa' wi' young Donald she's gane. The roads they were rocky and knabby. The mountJiins were baith strait and stay; When Lizie grew wearied wi' travel. For she'd travell'd a very lang way. " turn .igain, bonnie Lizie Lindsay, O turn again," said he; " We're bat ae day's journey frae town, O turn, and 1 11 tu^n wi' thee." Out speaks the bonnie young lady. Till the saut tear blinded her e'e ; " Although I'd return to the city. There's nae person would care for me." When they cam' near the end o' their journey, To the house o' their father's milk dey • He said, " Stay still there, Lizie Lindsay, Till* I tell my mither o' thee." When he came into the shielen. She hailed him courteouslie ; Said, " Ye're welcome hame, sir Donald, There's been mony ane calling for thee." " O, ca' me nae mair. Sir Donald, But Donald M'Donald, your son; We'll carry the joke a bit farther. There's a bonnie young lady to come." When Lizie came into the shielen. She look'd as if she'd been a feel ; She sawna a seat to sit down on. But only some sunks o' green feall. " Now make us a supper, dear mither. The best o' your curds and green whey ; And make us a bed o' green rashes, And cover't wi' huddins sae gray." But Lizie being wearied wi" travel, She lay till't was up i' the day. " Ye might ha'e been up an hour seener. To milk baith the ewes and the kye." Out then spake the bonnie young lady, Whan the saut tear drapt frae her e'e ; " I wish that I had bidden at hame, I can neither milk ewes nor kye. " I wish that I had bidden at hame, The Hielands I never had seen; Although I love Donald M'Donald, The laddie wi' biythe blinking een." " Win up, win up, O bonnie Lizie. And dress in the silks sae gay ; I'll show you the yatts o' Kingcaussie, Whare I've play'd me mony a day." Up raise the bonnie young lady. And drest in the silks sae fine; And into young Donald's arms, Awa' to Kingcaussie she's gane. Forth came the auld laird o' Kingcaussie, And hailed her courteouslie ; Says, "Ye're welcome, bonnie Lizie Lindsay, Ye're welcome hame to me. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 51 " Though lords o' renown ha'e you courted. Young Donald your favour has won ; Te'se get a' the lands o' Kingcaussie, And Donald H'Donald, my son." LIZZIE LINDSAY. [This version of Lizzie Lindsay is given from the recitation of a Lady in Glasgow, and is a faithful transcript of the ballad as it used to be sung in the West of Scotland. In several points, ■we consider it superior to the North country version quoted above.] Tbbrk was a braw ball in Edinbuagh, And mony braw ladies were there. But nae ane at a' the assembly Could wi' Lizzie Lindsay compare. In cam' the young laird o' Kincassie, An' a bonnie young laddie was he — " Will ye lea" yere ain kintra, Lizzie, An' gang to the Hielands wi' me?" She turned her roun' on her heel. An' a very loud laughter gaed she — " I wad like to ken whar I was ganging. And wha I was gaun to gang wi'." " My name is young Donald K'Donald, My name I will never deny ; My father he is an auld shepherd, Sae weel as he can herd the kye ; " My father he is an auld shepherd. My mother she is an auld dame ; If ye'll gang to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, Ye's neither want curds nor cream." " If ye'll call at the Canongate port. At the Canongate port call on me, I'll give you a bottle o' sherry. And bear you companie." He ca'd at the Canongate port. At the Canongate port called he ; She drank wi' him a bottle o' sherry. And bore him guid companie. " Will ye go to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, Will ye go to the Hielands wi' me ? If ye'll go to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, Ye shall not want curds nor green whey." In there cam' her auld mifher, A jolly auld lady whs she — " I wad like to ken wnar she was gar ging. And wha she was gaun to gang wi' " " My name is young Donald M'Donald, My name I will never deny, My father he is an auld shepherd, Sae weel as he can herd the kye. " O but I would give you ten guineas To have her one hour in a room. To get her fair body a picture To keep me from thinking long." "01 value not your ten guineas. As little as you value mine ; But if that you covet my daughter. Take her with you if you do iucline." '* Pack up my silks and my satins. And pack up my hose and my shoon. And likewise my clothes in small bundles. And away wi* young Donald III gang." They pacU'd up her silks and her satins. They pack'd up her hose and her shoon. And likewise her clothes in small buiidlei. And away with young Donald she's gane When that they cam' to the Hielanls, The braes they were baith lang and stey, Bonnie Lizzie was wearied wi' ganging — She had travelld a lang summer day. " O are we near hame. Sir Donald, O are we near hame i> 1 pray." " We're no near hame, bonnie Lizzie, Nor yet the half o' the way." They cam' to a homely poor cottage. An auld man was standing by ; " Ye're welcome hame. Sir Donald, Ye've been sae lang away." " call me no more Sir Donald, But call me young Donald your son ; For I have a bonnie young lady Behind me for to come in." " Come in, come in, bonnie Lizzie, Come in, cnme in," said he, " Althougii that our cottage be little Perhaps the better we'll 'gree." 62 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " make us a supper, dear mother. And make it of curds an' green whey ; And make us a bed o' green rushes. And cover it o'er wi' green hay. " Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, Why lie ye so long in the day; Ye might ha'o been helping my mother To make the curds and green whey." " O baud your tongue. Sir Donald, baud your tongue 1 pray ; I wish 1 had ne'er left my mother, 1 can neither make curds nor whey." " Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, And pat on your satins so fine ; For we )nuun be at Kinrassie Before that the clock strikes nine." But when they came to Kincassie The porter was standing by ; — " Ye re welcome home, tiir Donald, Ye've been so long away." It's down then came his auld mither. With all the keys in her hand, Baying, " Take you these, bonnie LUzie, All under them 's at your comiuaud." [This striking fragment is from Motherwell's Collection, where it is supposed to be printed for the first time. — " It was communicated to us," says Mr Motherwell, " by an ingenious friend, who remembered having heard it sung in his youth. A good many verses at the beginning, some about the middle, and one or two at the end, seem to be wanting. More sanguine anti- quaries than we are, might, from the similarity of names, imagine that he had in this ballad dis- covered the original romance whence Shakspeare bad given this line — • ChUd Rowlaud to the dark i ;in. '• The story is of a very gloomy and supersti- tious texture. A young lady, on the eve of her marriage, invited her lover to a banquet, where she murders him in revenge for some real or fancied neglect. Alarmed for her own safety. she betakes herself to flight ; and, in the course of her journey, she sees a stranger knight riding sluwly before her, whom she at first seeks to shun, by pursuing an opposite direction ; but, on finding that wheresoever she turned, he still appeared between her and the moonlight, she resolves to overtake him. This, however, she finds in vain, till uf his own accord, he stays for her at the brink of a broad river. They agree to cross it ; and, when in the mid stream, she im- plores his help to save her from drowning — to her horror she finds her fellow-traveller to be no other than the gaunt apparition of her dead lover."] Whak he cam' to his ain luve's bouir He tirl'd at the pin. And sae ready was his fair fause luve To rise and let liim in. " O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says, " Thrice welcome thou art to me. For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir And to-morrow we'll wedded be." " This night is hallow-eve," he said, " And to-morrow is hallow-day , And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen. That has made my heart fu' wae. " I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen. And 1 wish it may cum to gude: I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound. And gied me his lappered blude." " Unbuckle your belt. Sir Roland," she said, " And set you safely down." " O your chaiiiber is very dark, fair maid. And the night is wond'rous lown." " Yes dark, dark is my secret bouir. And lown the midnight may be. For there is none waking in a' this tower. But thou, my true love, and me." She has mounted on her true love's steed. By the ae light o' the moon ; She has whipped him and spurred him. And roundly she rade frae the toun. She hadna ridden a mile o' gate, Never a mile but ane. When she was aware of a tall young man. Blow riding o'er the plain. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 53 She turned her to the right about. Then to the left turn'd she. But aye 'tween her and the wan moonlight. That tall knight did she see. And he was riding burd alane. On a horse as black as jet. But though she followed him fast and fell. No nearer could she get. " O stop ! O stop ! young man," she said, " For 1 in dule am dight; stop, and win a fair lady's luve. If you be a leal true knight." But nothing did the tall knight say. And nothing did be blin ; Still slowly rode he on before. And fast she rade behind. She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed Till his breast was all a fuam. But nearer unto that till young knight. By our ladye, she could not cume. " O if you be a gay young knight. As well 1 trow you be. Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay Till 1 come up to thee." But nothing did that tall knight say. And no whit did he blin, ITntU he reached a broad river's side. And there he drew hi^ rein. " O, is this water deep," he said, " As it is wond rous dun i> Or is it sic as a saikless maid. And a leal true kuight may swim ?" " The water it is deep," she said, " As it is wond'rous dun ; But it is sic as a saikless maid. And a leal true kuight may swim." The knight spurred on his tall Llack steed. The lady spurred on her bruwn ; And fast they rade into the fl> od. And ttist they baith swam duwn. " The water weets my tae," she said, " The water weets my knee. And hold up n y Lridle leins, sir knight, For the kake of our Ladye." " If I would help thee now," he said, " It were a deadly sin. For I've sworn neir to trust a fair may's word. Till the water weets her chin." " the water weets my waist," she said, " Sae does it weet my chin. And my aching heart rins round about- The burn mak's sic a din. " The water is waxing deeper still, Sae does it wax ipair wide. And aye the farther that we ride on. Farther off is the other side. " O help me now, thou false false knight. Have pity on my youth. For now the water jawes owre my head. And it gurgles in my mouth." The knight turned right and round about. All in the middle stream. And he stretched out his head to that lady. But loudly she did i " O this is hallow morn," he said, " And it is your bridal-day. But sad would be that gay wedding, if bridegroom and bride were away. "And ride on, ride on, proud Margaretl Till the water comes o'er your bree. For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet, SVha rides tbis ford wi" me. " Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret ! Turn ye round and look on me. Thou hast killed a true knight under trust. And iiis ghost now links on with thee." ftnwaw Wiutu* [From Scott's Minstrelsy.— " The following verses," says Sir Walter, " are the original words of the tune of ' Allan Water,' by which name the song is mentioned in Kamsay's Tea Table Miscellany. The ballad is given from tradition ; and it is said, that a bridge, over the Annan, was built in consequence of the melan- choly catastrophe which it narrates. Two verses are added in this edition, from another copy of 54 SCOTTISH BALLADS. the ballad, in which the conclusion proves for- ^ tunate. By the Gatehope Slack, is perhaps m meant the Gate Slack, a pass in Annandale. ' The Annan, and the Frith of Solway, into which it falls, are the frequent scenes of tragical accidents. The editor trusts he will be parduned for inserting the following awfully impressive account of such an event, contained in a letter from Dr Currie, of Liverpool, by whose corre- spondence, while in the course of preparing these volumes for the press, he has been alike honoured and instructed. After stating, that he had some recollection of the ballad which follows, the biographer of Burns proceeds thus : ' I once in my early days heard (for it was night, and i cou.d not see) a traveller drowning; not in the Annan itself, but in the Frith of Solway, close by the mouth of that river. The influx of the tide had unhorsed him, in the night, as he was passing the sands from Cumberland. The west wind blew a tempest, and, according to the common expression, brought in the water three fool abreait. The traveller got upon a standing net, a little way from the shore. There he lashed himself to the post, shouting for half an hour for assi:>tance — till the tide rosa over his head! In the darkness of night, and amid the pauses of the hurricane, his voice, heard at in- tervals, was exquisitely mournful. Ho one could go to his assistance — no one knew where he was — the sound seemed to proceed from the spirit of the waters. But morning rose — the tide had ebbed — and the poor traveller was found lashed to the pole of the net, and bleaching in the wind.'*" J " Annan water's wading deep. And my love Annie's wond'rous bonnie; And I am laith she suld weet her feet. Because I love her best of ony. • An incident, somewhat similar to the above, but even more awiully sinking in lu characier, is record- ed by Sir Thonia. Dick l.auder, in his Account of the Great Floods ol August, 18i«, lu the province ol Moray and adjoining districts. Edinburgh, 1S30, 8vo. The sufferer in this instance was a loU-Keeper, who, on the evening in which he met his death, had been attend- ing a merry-making, where he had danced, and dis- played unwonted hilarity, in so much that the old people thought him '• ley." On his return home, he was overtaken by the flood, and sought reiuge in a tree not far from his own house. The waters con- tinued to rise, and during the long night he was heard repeatedly to whistle on his fingers, to apprize his friends of his situation, but no assistance could be rendered him. In the morning, tree and man were gone. " Gar saddle me the bonnie black; Gar saddle sune, and make him ready: For I will down the Gatehope-slack, And all to see my bonnie ladye." He has loupen on the bonnie black. He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly. But, or he wan the Gatehope-slack, I think the steed was wae and weary. He has loupen on the bonnie gray. He rade the right gate and the ready; I trow he would neither stint nor stay. For he was seeking his bonnie ladye. he has ridden ower field and fell. Through muir and moss, and mony a mire; His spurs o' steel were sair to bide. And frae her fore-feet flew the fire. " Now, bonnie gray, now play your part ! Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary, Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye. And never spur sail make jou wearie." The gray was a mare, and a right good mare • But when she wan the Annan water. She couldna ha'e ridden a furlong mair. Had a thousand merks been wadded f on her. " O boatman, boatman, put off your boat I Put off your boat for gowdeu moniei 1 cross the drumly stream the night. Or never mair 1 see my honey." "01 was sworn sae late yestreen. And not by ae aith, but by many ; And tor a' the gowd in lair Scotland, 1 darna take ye through to Annie." The side was stey, and the bottom deep, Frae bank to brae the water pouring; And the bonnie gray mare did sweat for fear. For she heard the water kelpy roaring. O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy^ coat. The silver buttons glanced bunnie; The waistcoat bursted aff his breajst. He waj9 sae full of melancholy. t WaJrftd— Wagered. $ Qu«re— Cap-a-pee? SCOTTISH BALLADS. 55 He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail ; ^ " Now Willie, if you luve me weel. 1 wot he swam both strong and steady ; As aft you've said and sworn. But the stream was broad, and his strength did Oh wedd me in yon halie kirk fail. Before my babie's born !" And he never saw bis bonnie ladye. "Now Margarett, if you luve me weel. " O wae betide the frush saugh wand ! Urge no such thing to be, And wae betide the bush of briar- Till I returne from my father's lande. It brake into my true love's hand. That's ferr beyond the sea." When his strength did fail, and hU limbs did tire. With flowing tide, and shipp of pride. That false knicht sail'd away. "And wae betide ye, Annan Water, And many a tear his true love shedd. This night that ye are a drumlie river! I wott, that drearie day. For over thee 1 11 build a bridge. That ye never more true love may sever." Atween the sea and the air. And all to descry that stately shipp, — Ea^g J^aigaret. In lyfe she ne'er saw mair. " 1 weipe by day, I welpe by nicht. The salt tearis drown my e'e; [ Wb find the present ballad in the Edinburgh I weary for my ain sweet luve. Magazine for December, 1817. It is thus intro- But his face 1 cannot see." duced—but of course we do not insist on the reader to believe in the statement.— " The fol- When six sad months were past and gone. lowing fragments of a Scottish biillad were dis- Her cheeke wext pale and leanne; covered tied up with a number of law papers. Her golden belt was all too tight. principally dated 1590. Some lines, where it was Too short her robes of greene. deemed practicable, have been completed by conjecture ; the MS. is thus endorsed, in a male To braid her hair she didna care. hand, 'my umquhill deir sister, my lady Eu- Nor sett her golden kell J fame's sang, quhilk she would sing unto her And the tears that cam' frae her downcast lute.-] Dry'd aye just where they fell. [eyne. Lady Maroarkttk was as faire a May, She fand nae rest in the greene forest. As won in the north countrie ;— Nor yet in hall or bower. Alace ! that she luvit a pirate knicht. But she was pleased wi' the lonelie sandes. Wha wanderit o'er the sea! At the mirk and midnicht hour. They couldna meit in the greene forest. There to the wave she'd f ndly rave, Nor yet in hall or bower. And answere the sea-bird's cry ;— But they'd walk on the lone sea sandes. " I see the mast— he con es at last ;" At the mirk and midnicht hour. And they'd walk on the lonelie sandes. " 1 weipe by day, I weipe by nicht. By the wann licht o" the moon, I weipe false Willie's scorn ; Till the sun raise red o'er yonder fell. But ne'er shall I weipe the world's spite And glittered the waves abune. When my poor babie s born." Beware, beware, ye maidinnis fair. Now up and spak* her sister Anne Of ugsome kelpie sprite '— In the chamber where she lay,— But maist beware o' your ain sweet love. " I trow I heard fair Margarett cry Gin ye walk by the pale moon licht ! \ 6 On the shore, lang lang or day. 56 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " The tide came on wi • the wild wind's moan , ^ " When I was in life. Lady Margarett, An hour I oouldna sleip; 1 Such kindnesse you did n. t keip, 1 trow I heard a lady groan. The ciadle you gave was a rocking wave^ But and a babie weip." And the sea- gull to sing me asleip." " Now hold your tongue, my sist«r Anne, " Thou sleip'st nott worse beneath the brj-ne. Think no such things to be. Than I on my silken bed ; 'Twas but the seugh o' the yew-tree boughs. I cannot rest for those hands of thine In the wUd blast mournfullie." That freeze my brow to lead. It was on a nicht, and a mirk mirk nicbt. " Thou sleip'st not worse beneath the sands. That forth would Margarett fare; Than I amydd the down ; And she's gane to yon lone kirk-yard; I cannot rest for thy little feet Hir kin lay buried there. That patter my bed arouu'. Now she's gane to hir father's grave. " My days of youth are days of ruth. And touched the marble chest: I've mickle dreed o' pine ; " Oh father deir, mak" room for mee. And sorrow's cup whilk I've drunk up. 1 fain wald find some rest." Is bitterer far than bryne. " Awa', awa', thou ill woman. "Soe I will take a plunge, babie. An ill death may'st thou dee. I'll take a plunge with thee. Were my coffine all the warld wyde. We'll soundlier sleep in others' arms. There's nae room for such as thee." For all the roaringe sea." Kow she's gane to her mother's tomb. Now Willie was sailing his good shipp. And kiss'd the feet of stone; 1 wot on a simmer's day. " Oh, mother sweit, mak' room for mee,— When up there rose a cluud i' the south, My dayes on earth are done." A dark and drumlie grey. " Away, away, deir Margarett, And howdinge saftlie o'er the waves. Away, and lett mee sle'p; Between that cloud and the sea. Thou must not stretch thee at my syde. Twa snow-white birds he thought cam' on. And I downa hear thee weip." And marvel'd what they might be! Now she's gane to her brother's grave. But when they nigh'd the statlia shipp. Ance deir to him was shee ;— Pale grew the pirate band. " Is there anie room in thy coffine, brother. For there stood a lady cladd in whyte. For I fain would rest with thee." Wi' a young boy in her hand. "That shape is like my Margarett's, Save for my trustie brand. As like as like may be ; And that should strike thee to the heart. But when I look on that blue swollen face. Had I now a fleshlie hand." I canna think it she. This ladye turn'd her by the shore. " That neck is as white as Margarett's, To reach her stately tower. As lang that yellow hair; And she was aware of a babie wan But how gat ye that bloodie wound. As the water-lilie flower. Bound up with green sea-ware ?" He wore a garlande o" the green sea-weed. " Leap down, leap down, thou false traitor. And a robe o the white sea-foam,— Leap down, leap down, and see ; " Now faire befalle thee babie mine. If thou leaps't not down to me and my babe. I bidd thee welcome home." ( A We'll climb the shipp to thee." 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. g^ [This old ballad is given in the fourth volume of " The Scottish Minstrel, a selection from the vocal melodies of Scotland, ancient and modern, arranged for the Piano-forte by R. A. Smith," a worlv which extendei to six volumes in all, the last of which was published in 1824. Another version of Glenlogij is given in Mr Charles Kilpatrick Sharpe's Ballad Book, which the reader will find quoted in the next page. It differs in diction considerably from the present, and is inferior in poetical merit. We n ay mention that tlie title of the ballad is sometimes printed Glenogie, not Glenlogie, bat we adopt the latter reading.] Thbkescorb o' nobles rade up the king's ha' But Bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a" ; Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnle black e'e, " Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me." " O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he ;" " O say nae sae, mither, for that canna be, Though Drumlij is richer, and greater than he, Yet if 1 maun tak' him, I'll certainly dee. " Where will T get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon. Will gae to Glenlogie, and cum shun again ?" " 0, here am 1, a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon. Will gae to Glenlogie, and cum shun again." When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas wash and go dine ; •Twas wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine ; " 'twas ne'er my father's fashit n, and it ne'er shall be mine. To gar a lady's hasty errand wait till I dine. " But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee;" The first line that he read, a low smile ga'e he The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e; But the last line that he read, he gart the table flee. " Gar saddle the black horse, gae saddle the brown ; Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town ;" But lang ere the horse was drawn, and brought to the green, O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane. When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, little mirth was there, Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair; " Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome!" said she ; " Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see." Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben; But red and rosy grew she whene'er he sat down ; She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e; " O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee." 58 SCOTTISH BALLADS. GLENLOGIE, [From Mr Sharpe's Ballad Book, Edinburgh, 1824.] FouR-AND-TWBNTY nobles sit In the king's ha'; But bonnie Glenlogie Is the flower amang them a'. In cam* Lady Jean, Skipping on the floor. And she has chosen Glenlogie Amang a' that was there. She fumed to his footman. And thus she did say: " Oh, what is his name. And where does he stay :"• " His name is Glenlogie, When he is from home ; He is of the gay Gordons, His name it is John." " Glenlogie, Glenlogie, An you will prove kind. My love is laid on you : I'm telling my mind." He turned about lichtly. As the Gordons does a' ; " I thank you. Lady Jean, My love's promised awa'." She called on her maidens. Her bed for to make ; Her rings and her jewels All from her to take. In cam' Jeanie's father, A wae man was he ; Says, " I'll wed you to Drumfendrich ; He has mair gold than he." Her father's own chaplin. Being a man of great skill. He wrote him a letter — Indited it well. The first line he looked at, A licht lauch lauched he ; But, ere he read through it. The tears blinded his e'e. Oh, pale and wan looked she When Glenlogie cam' in ; But even rosy grew she When Glenlogie sat doun, " Turn round, Jeanie Melville, Turn round to this side. And I'll be the bridegroom. And you'll be the bride. ^' Oh, it was a merry wedding. And the portion doun told. Of bonnie Jeanie Melville, Who was scarce sixteen years old ' •©leTOinla^, [Sir Wai-tkr Scott.— Modern Ballad.— The simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus : While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bathy (a hut built for the purpose vf hunting,) and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttereii, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, en- ter the hut, dancing and singing. Une of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who attacheil herself particularly to him, to leave the hut : the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair sedu- cers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jews harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length c.ime, and the temptrpss vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called the Glen of the Green Women. GlenQnlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Cul- lender, in Menteith. It was formerly a ro\al forest, and now belongs to the earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inha- bited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in ithe same district, and at no g;reat distance fi-om SCOTTISH BALLADS. 59 Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callenderand ^ 'Twas Moy ; whom in Columba'a the castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery. This balLid first appeared in the Tales of "Wonder.— JMi»w^re/*^ of the Scottish Border.] O HONK a rie' ! O hone a rie' !* The pride of Albin's line is o'er. And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree; We ne'er shall see lord Ronald more I O, sprung from great Macgillianore, The chief that never feared a foe. How matchless was thy broad claymore. How deadly thine unerring bow * "Well can the Saxon widows tell.f How, on the 'I'eith's resounding shore. The boldest Lowland warriors fell. As down from Lenny's pass you bore. But o'er his hills, on festal day. How blazed lord Ronald's beltane-tree ;t "While youths and maids the light strathspey So nimbly danced with Highland glee. Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell. E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; But now the loud lament we swell, O ne'er to see lord Ronald more ! From distant isles a chieftian came. The j(iys of Ronald's halls to find. And chase with him the dark-brown game. That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. * O hone a rie' signifies—" Alas for the prince, or chief.— iicotf. f The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by the Highlanders to their low-country neigh- bours. — Scutt. i The fires lighted by the Highlanders on the first of May, in eoTnpliance with a custom de- rived from the Pagan times, are termed. The Beltane-Tree. It is a festival celebrated with various superstitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and in Wales.— Seo«. I The seer's prophetic spirit found,§ I 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, 'tis said, in mystic mood. High converse with the dead they hold, A nd oft espy the fated shroud. That shall the future corpse enfold. 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 scour'd the deep Glenfinlas' glen. Ko vassals wait their sports to aid. To watch their safety, deck their board ; Their simple dress, the Highland pluid, 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. In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook The solitary cabin stood, Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, Which murmurs through that lonely wood. Soft fell the night, the sVy was calm, "When three successive days had flown ; And summer mist in dewy balm Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. § I can only describe the second sight, by adopting Dr Johnson's definition, who calls it " An impression, either by the mind upon the eye, or by the eye upon the mind, by w'hich things distant and future are perceived and seen as if they were present." To which 1 would only add, that the spectral appearance, thus present- ed, usually presaees misfortune; that the faculty is painful to those who suppose they possess it; and that they usually acquire it, while themselves under the pressure of melancholy. — Scott. — The author himself, in his romantic legend of M^ nt- rose, gives % beautiful illustration of this subject, in the character of Allan M'Aulay. 60 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes. Afar her dubious radiance shed, Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes. And resting on Benledi's head. Now in their hut, in social guise. Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy; And pleasure laughs in Eonald'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 ? " 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. " Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart. And dropp'd the tear and heav'd the sigh ; But vain the lover's wily art. Beneath a sister's watchful eye. " But thou may'st teach that guardian fair, AVhile far with Mary I am flown. Of other hearts to ease 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 chuse a melting t:ile. All underneath the greenwood bough. Will good St Oran's rule prevail,* Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ?" — * St Oran was a friend and follower of St Co- lumUa, and was buried in Icolmkill. His pre- tensions to be a saint were rather dubious. Ac- cording to the legend, he consented to be buried alive, in order to propitiate certain demons of the soil, who i bstructed the attempts of Colum- ba to build a chapel. Columba caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three days had elapsed ; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the assistants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, nor a future state '. He had no time to make furtlier discoverits, for Colum- ba caused the earth once more to be shovelled over him with the utmost dispatch. The chapel. — " Since Enrick's fight, since Moma's death No mote on me shall rapture rise, Besponsive 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 wailing's 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 iU to know. " 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. Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power As marching 'gainst the lord of Bowne, He left the skirts of huge Benraore. " Thou only saw'st their tartans wave. As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, Heard'st thou the pibroch, answering brave To many a target clanking round. " I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, 1 saw the wound his bosom bore. When on the serried Saxon spears He pour'd his clan's resistless roar. " And thou, who bid'st me think of bliss. And bid'st my heart awake to glee. And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — That heart, O Bonald, 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 dreai7 dreams. Sad prophet of the evil hour! Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams. Because to-morrow's storm may lour f however, and the cemetry, was called Reilig Ouran; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be buried, in that place. This is the rule alluded ^ to in the poem. — Scott. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 61 *' 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. " 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 rouzers of the deer; They howl'd in melancholy sound. Then closely couch beside the seer. No Ronald yet ; though midnight came. And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams. As, bending o'er the dying flame. He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams Sadden 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. TTntfiuch'd, the harp began to ring, As softly, slowly, ope'", 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 beauty bright. All dropping wet her robes of green. All dropping wet her garments seem ; . Chill'd was her cheek, her b>isom bare. As bending o'er the dying gleam. She wrung the moisture from her hair With maiden blush she softly said, " gentle huntsman, hast thou seen. In deep Glenfinlas' n)ooii-Iight glade, A lovely maid in vest of green : "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 Loch Katrine pour* her «de. 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. Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost. " 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 mortals sleep." " 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 reed ; So shall we safely wind our way." " 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 raptur'd lyre. To wanton Morna'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 1 lay, to her and love resign d. Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke. Or sailed ye on the midnight wind ! " Not thine a race of mortal blooil. Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood, Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." 62 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He mutter'd thrice St Oran's rhyme. And thrice St Fillan's powerful prayer;* Then turn'd him to the eastern clime. And sternly shook his coal-black hair. * St Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c. in Scotland. He was, ac- cording to Cainerarius, an abbot of Pittenweem, in Fife; from which situation he retired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A. D. 649. While engaged in transcribing tiie Scrip- tures, his left hand was observed to send forth such a splendour, as to afford light to that with which be wrote ; a miracle which saved many candles to the convent, as St Fillan used to spend whole nights in that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave his name to Kilflllan, in Renfrew, and St Phil- | lans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7., tells us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fil- lan's miraculous and luminous arm, which he inclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the battle of Uannockburn, theking'schaplain,aman of little faith, abstracted the relique, and deposited it in some place of security, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, loi while Robert was addiessing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed to o; en and shut suddenly ; and, on inspection, the saint was found to have him- self dep" And seal'd it with her hand; And sent it to lord Lamington, It's up the Couden bank. To let him understand. And doun the Couden brae; And aye she made the trumpet sound. The first line o' the letter he read. It's a weel won play. He was baith glad and fain. But or he read the letter o'er. meikle was the blood was shed. He was baith pale and wan. Upon the Couden brae ; And aye she made the trumpet sound. Then he has sent a messenger. Its a' fair play.; And out through all his land; And four-and-twenty armed men. Come a' ye English gentlemen. Were all at his command. That is of England born ; Come na doun to Scotland, But he h.is left his merry men all ; For fear ye get the scorn. Left them on the lee ; And he's awa' to the wedding house. They'll feed ye up wi" flattering words. To see what he could see. And that's fuul play; And they'll dress you frogs instead of fish But when he came to the wedding house. Just on your wedding day. As 1 do understand; ^ Sat at a table round. i SCOTTISH BALLADS. LOCHINVAE. [SiK Walter Scott. — See the two previous ballads.] O ! TOUNO Lochinvar has come out of the west. Through all the wide border his steed was the best; And, save his good broadsword he weapons had none. He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. There never was knight i;ke the young Lochinvar. He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone. He swam the Esk river where ford there was none ; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate. The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. Was to wed the fair Helen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall. Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and aJl; Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) "■Q come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar ?" " I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you deny'd;— Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — And now 1 am come, with this lost love of mine. To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far. That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar. The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up. He quafTd off the wine, and he threw down the cup She loik'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh. With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, e'er her mother could barr — " Now tread me a measure '." said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face. That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bride-maidens whisper'd 'twere better by far To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar. 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 croup the fair lady he SNvung, So light to tne s ddle before her he spiung ! She is won ; we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar ■There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fen wicks, and Musgraves, they roile and they ran : There was racing and chacing, on Cannobie lee. But the lost bride of Netherby neer did they see, So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. Have ye e'er heard of gallant like joung Lochinvar ? SCOTTISH BALLADS. C7 4 i " He kens though oft he sued for love. Upon his bended knee. Ealg ^tun. Ae tender word— ae kindly look. He never gat frae me. [Modern Ballad.— Robert Whxtb,— Origi- nally printed in the legendary department of a "And he has gained my mother's ear,— Jly father's stern command ; Yet this fond heart can ne'er be his. work entitled, "The Local Historians Table Book for Northumberland and Durham," New- Although he claim my hand. castle, 1842.— The scenery of this ballad is in Northumberland. Bothal Castle is beautful y situated on the Wansbeck, a few miles b low Morpeth. At Otterburne stool a tower or castle which was long in possession of the Umphrevilles, " Ellen, softly list to me ! I still may 'scape the snare. When morning raise owre Otterburne, The tidings would be there. a distinguished family ; and the place has ac- quired great celeb; ity in Border history and song, from the batUe fought there in 1388 between the " And hurrying on comes Umphreville,— His spur is sharp at need. There's nane in a' Northumberland, heroes, Douglas and Percy.] Can mount a fleeter steed. By Bothal Tower, sweet Wansbeck's stream " Ah ! weel I ken his heart is true- Bins bickerin' to the sea; He will— he must be here: Aloft, within the breeze o* morn. Aboon the garden wa' he'll wave The banner's wavin' free. The pennon o' his spear."- There's joy in Bothal's bonnie bowers; " Par is the gate, the burns are deep. There's mirth within the ha' ; The broken muirs are wide ; But owre the cheeks o' Lady Jean, Fair ladv, ere your true love come. The tricklin' tear-draps fa'. Ye 11 be lord Dacre's bride. She sits within her chamber hiph— "Wi' stately, solemn step the priest Her cousin by her side ; Climbs up the chapel stair: Yet sweer is she to don the dress Alas! alas ! for Umphreville; That's fitting for a bride. His heart may weel be sair ! " haste ! lord Dacre's on his way ; " Keep back ! keep back ! lord Dacre's steed— Ye ha'e nae time to spare : Ye maunna trot but gang: Come let me clasp that girdle jimp. And haste ye ! haste ye ! Umphreville ! And braid your glossy hair. Your lady thinks ye lang."— "Ofa- the ladies i' the land. 1 In velvet sheen she wadna dress : Ye'se be surpassd by nane ; Nae pearls owre her shone ; The lace that's on your velvet robe, Nor broidered necklace, sparkling bright, \Vi' goud 'iU stand its lane. Would lady Jean put on. " This jewelled chaplet ye'U put on— Up raise she frae her cushion'd seat. That broidered necklace gay ; And tottered like to fa' ; For we maun ha'e ye buskit weel Her cheek grew like the rose, and then On tliis— your bridal day."— Turned whiter than the sna'. " ! Ellen, ye would think it hard " Ellen, thraw the casement up; To wed against your will ! Let in the air to me: I never loo'd lord Dacre yet; Look down within the castle-yard. . 1 dinna like him stiU. J ^ And tell me what ye see."- eg SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Your father's atanin- on the steps— ^ " You shall not live without man kind : Your mother's at the door; But you shall marry me • Out through the i ostern comes the train- And, among the Houirs in my garden, Lord Dacre rides before. I'U shape a weed for thee. " Fu- yauld an'gracefu- lichts he down. " The lilye flouir to be your smock; Sae does his gallant band ; It btconies your bodie best. And low he doffs his bonnet plume. Your held sail be busket wi' the gellye And shakes your father's hand. flouir; The primrose in your breist. "List! lady, list a bugle note! It sounds not laud but clear;— " Your goun sail be o' the sweet william ; Up ! up! I see aboon the wa', Your coat o' the cammovine ; Your true love's peiinou'd spear !"— Your apron o' the seel o' downs : Come, smile, sweetheart o' mine ! An- up fu' quick gat lady Jean;— Nae ailment had she mair : " Your gloves sail be o' the green clover. Blythe was her look, an' firm her step. All glitttrin' to your hand; As she ran down the stair. Weil spread ower wi' the blue blawort. That grows among corn -land. An' through amang the apple trees. An' up the walk she flew: " Your stockings shall be o' the cabbage leaf, Until she reached her true love's side. That is baith braid and lang ; Her breath she scarcely drew. Kariow, narrow, at the kute. And braid, braid, at the branne. Lord Dacre fain would see the bride: He sought her bower alane ; " Your shoon shall be o" the gude rue red ; But dowfan' blunkit grew his look. 1 hope it bodes n.-ie ill ; "When lady Jean was gane. The buckles o' the marygold : Come, smile, sweetheart, your fill:" Sair did her father stamp an' rage— t-air did her mother mourn ; " Young man, yeve shapit a weed for me. She's up an' ofT wi' Vn phieville. Amang the simmer flouirs; To bonnie Otterburne. Now I will shape anither for you, Amang the winter shouirs.* ^^e €&ai£^ejw. " The snow bo white shall be your shirt ; It becomes your bodie best: [From Messrs Kinloch and Buchan's coUections.] The cold east wind sail wrap your held. And the cold lain on your breist. A MAIDEN stude In her bouir door. As jimp ivs a willow-wand ; " The steed that you shall ride upon. When by there came a gardener lad. Shall be the weather snell; Wi' a primrose in his hand. Weil bridled wi' the northern wind. And cold sharp shouirs o' hail. " 0, ladye, are ye single yet. Or will ye marry me ? The hat you on your heid sail \rear. Ye'se get a' the flouirs in my garden. Sail be o' the wtather grey; To be a weed for thee." And, aye when ye come into my sight, I'll wish ye were away." " I love your flouirs," the ladye said ; " But I winna marry thee: For 1 can live without i. an kind. • A verse resembling thi» is sung by Davie And without man-kind I'll dee.' * Gcllatley in Waverley, — — 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 69 [There are at least four different versions of this affecting ballad extant. The first published, and by far the best, is that given in the Min- strelsy of the Scottish Border. The other ver- sions successively appeared in the collections of Messrs Jannieson,KinIoch, and Buchan. Mdther- well says that he has heard a version called The Seven Bluidy Brothers, but he does not quote it. We can maliai-niea a whole volume of " Nor to the table to dine ; ♦ bad poetf)' against the ravages of time ; in Mr But I'll go to a bed, that's weel down spread Scott's volumes they shine but like pearls among And sleep when we get time." diamonds. They were not weel leyn down, And no weel faen asleep, When up and stood May Margaret's bre- ' Cletk Saunders he started, and Marg'ret she tum'd luto Uia aj-mn, as asleep she lay ; And sad and silent was the night That was atweeu thir twae. Just up at their bed feet. [thren. Until the day began tc daw; •• O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And kindly tu hiin she did s ly. And dinna to us len,* " It's time, true love, yuu were awa'." wha is aught yon noble steed. That stands yuur stable in?" 'But he lay still and Bleeped sound. Albeit t..e .un be-aii to sheen; She lookit aiween htr and the wa'. And dull aud drowsie were his een.' " The steed is mine, and it may be thine. The following copy was transmitted by Mrs To ride wlian ye ride on hie— Arrott of Aberbrothick. The stanzas, where the seven brothers are introduced, have been enlarged fro.ii two fragments, which, alth ugh " But awa', awa', my bauld brethren. very defective in themselvts, furnish lines which. Awa', and mak' nae din ; when incorporated with the text, seemed to im- For 1 am as sick a lady the nicht As e'er lay a bower within." prove it. Stanzas 21 and 22 were written by the editor; the idea of the rose being suggested by " tell us, tell us. May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is aught yon noble hawk. the gentleman who recited, but who could not recollect the language in which it was ex- pressed."] That stands your kitchen in ?" Cj.ebk Saundkrs was an earl's son. He lived upon sea-sand ; " The hawk is mine, and it may be thine. May Margaret was a king's daughter. To hawk whan ye hawk in hie— She lived in upper land. Clerk Saunders was an earl's son. " But awa', awa', my bald brethren ! Weel learn'd at the scheel ; Awa' and mak' nae din ; Hay Margaret was a king's daughter;— For I'm ane o' the sickest ladies this nicht They baith lo'ed ither weel. That e'er lay bower within." He's throw the dark, and throw the mark. " tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And throw the leaves o' green ; And dinna to us len. Till he came to May Margaret's door. wha is that. May Margaret, Aud tirled at the pin. You and tiie wa' between f " sleep ye, wake ye, May Margaret, "O, it is my bower-maiden," she says. Or are ye the bower within ?'■ " As sick as sick can be ; " wha is that at my bower door, 0, it is my bower-maiden," she says. Sae wtel my name does ken ?" " And she's thrice as sick as me." "It's I, Clerk Saunders, your true love. You'll open and let me in." * The term len, in this sense, is, so far as I know, now obsolete in Scotland. It here means " will ye to the cards, Margaret, to ttop or hetitati, and is used in the same sense Or to the table to dine? by Browne, in his " Britannia's Pastorals." It Or to the bed, that's weel down spread 1 seems to be the same with the old English and And sleep when we get time." f J Scottish bUn, to cease, or atop.— Jamietm. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Ij^ " We ha'e been east, and we've been west, 3^ "0 wae be to you, my fause brethren. And low beneath the moon ; And an ill death mat ye die ! But a" the bower-women e'er we saw Ye mith slain Clerk Saunders in open field, Hadna goud buckles in their shoon." And no in the bed wi' me." Then up and spak' her eldest brither. When seven years were come and gane. Aye in ill time spak- he; Lady Margaret she thought lang; " It is Clerk Saunders, your true love, . And she is up to the hichest tower. And never mat 1 thee. By the lee licht o" the moon. But for this scorn that he has done. This moment he sail die." She was lookin' o'er her castle high. To see what she might fa' ; But up and spak' her youngest brother; And there she saw a grieved ghost Aye in good time spak' he- Comin' waukin' o'er the wa'. " 0, but they are a gudelie pair !— True lovers an ye be. " 0, are ye a man of mean," she says. The sword that hangs at my sword-belt Seekin' ony o' my meat? Shall never sinder ye !" Or are you a rank robber, Come in my bower to break?" Syne up and spak' her nexten brother. And the tear stood in his e'e. " 0, I'm Clerk Saunders, your true love ; "Youve lo'ed her lang, and loed her Behold, Margaret, and see, weel. And mind, for a' your meikle pride. And pity it wad be. Sae will become of thee." The sword that hangs at my sword-belt Shoud ever sinder ye !" " Gin ye be Clerk Saunders, my true love. This meikle marvels me — But up and spak' her fiften brother. wherein is your bonnie arms " Sleep on your sleep for me ; That wont to embrace ine ?" But we baith sail never sleep again. For the tane of us sail die !" " By worms they're eaten ; in mools they're Behold, Margaret, and see ; [rotten ; But up and spak" her midmaist brother; And mind, for a' your micklu pride. And an angry laugh leuch he; Sae will become o' thee !" "The thorn that dabs 111 cut it down. Though fair the rose may be. bonnie, bonnie sang the bird. Sat on the coil o' hay; " The flower that smell'd sae sweet yestreen But dowie dowie was the maid. Has lost its bloom wi' thee; That follow'd the corpse o' clay And though Im wae it should be sae. Clerk Saunders, ye maun die." " Is there ony room at your head, Saunders, Is there ony room at your feet? And up and spak' her thirden brother. Is there ony ruotn at your twa sides Aye in ill time spak- he; For a lady to lie and sleep ?" "Curse on his love and comeliness'— Dishonoured as ye be. " There is nae room at my head, Margaret ; The sword that hangs at my sword-belt As little at my feet; Sail quickly sinder ye !" There is nae room at my twa sides For a lady to lie and sleep. Her eldest brother has drawn his sword ; Her second has drawn anither; " But gae hame, gae hame, now. May Maiga- Between Clerk Saunders' hause and collar Gae hame and sew your seam ; [ret; bane | For if je were laid in your weel-made bed. The cald iron met thegither. ^ Your days will nae be lang," . 1 74 SCOTTISH BAILADS. 4 She's louted down unto his foot. To lowze sweet Willie s shoon, ; ^tofct Wiillu mti BlBiBij) The buckles were sae stiff thiy wadna lowxe. The blood had frozen in, 0. #Jargjdc, " Willie, Willie, I fear that thou Hast bred me dule and sorrow ; [From Motherwell's collection. "This bnl- The deed that thou hast done this nitht. lad," says Mr Motherwell, " which possesses WiU kythe upon the morrow." considerable beauty and pathos, is given from the recitation of a lady now far advanced in In then came her father dear. jears, with whose grandmother it wasa deserved And a braid sword by his gare, ; favourite. It is now for the first time printed. And he's gi'en Willie, the widow's son. It tears some resemblance to Clerk Saunders."] A deep wound and a sair, SwEKT "WiM.iB was a widow's son. " Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says. And he wore a m:lk-white weed, ; " Your sweat weets a' my side, O ; And weel could Willie read and write, Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she sjiys, Far better ride on steed, 0. " For your sweat I downa bide, 0." Lady Marserie was the first ladye. She turned her back unto the wa'. That drank to him the wine, O ; Her face unto the room, ; And aye as the healths g.ied round and round. And there she saw her auld father. " Laddy, your love is mine, 0." Fast walking up and doun, 0. Lady Margrrie was the first ladye. " Woe be to you, father," she said. That drank to him th* beer, O; " And ap ill deid may you die, ; And aye as the healths gaed round and round. For ye've kill'd Willie, the widows son. "Laddy, ye're welcome here, 0." And he would have married me, O." " You must come intill my bower. She turned her back unto the room. When the evening bells do ring, O; Her face unto the wa', O ; And you must come intill my bower. And with a deep and heavy s'.ch. When the evening mass doth sing, 0." Her heart it brake in twa, 0. He's ta'en four-and-twenty braid arrows. And laced them m a whang, ; And he's awa' to lady Margerie's bower. As fast as he can gang, 0. ^Uut mnihm an^ Pis^ He set his ae foot on the wa'. And the other on a stane, 0; And he's kill'd a' the kings life guards. jmaigaret. He's kill'd them every man, 0. [From Mr Ktnloch's collection.—" Though "Oh open, open, lady Margerie, this." says Mr Kinlooh, "is evidently a distinct Open and let me in, ; ballad from ' Clerk Saunders," yet the editor of The wect weets a' my yellow hair. the Border Minstrelsy has incorpi rated it with And the dew draps on my chin, 0." that ballad ; notwithstanding it apixjars that he was informed by the reciter, that it was usual to With her feet as white as sleet. separate from the rest, that part . f the ballad She strod her bower within, 0; which follows the death of the lovers, as belong- And with her finders lang and sma'. ing to another story. ' For this, however,' says She's looten sweet Willie in, O. \ , he, • there seems uo necessity, as other authori- SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^5 ties give the whole as a complete tale.'— Vol. II. i page 405. The editor has < btained two copies of this ballad, as quite unconnected with ' Clerk Saunders," and founded upon a different story. Another version of it, in the present form, under the title of ' Sweet Williams Ghost," will be found in Ramsays Tea-Table Miscellany, and a similar one in the ' Minstrelsy Ancient and Modern,' entitled William and Marjorie."J t " should I come within your bouer, I am na earthly man ; If I should kiss your red, red lips. Your days wad na be lang. "My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard. It's far ayont the sea ; And it is my spirit, Margaret, That's speaking unto thee." As May Marg'ret sat in her bouerie. In her bouer all alone, At the very parting o* midnicht. She heard a mournfu' moan. " Your faith and troth ye sanna get. Nor will I twin we thee. Till ye tell me the pleasures o' heaven. And pains of hell how they be." "0 is it my father, is it my mother ? Or is it my brother John ? Or is it sweet William, my ain true love. To Scotland new come homei"' " The pleasures of heaven I wat not of. But the pains of hell I dree; There some are hi;- hang'd for huring. And some for adulterie." " It is na your father, it is na your mother. It is na your bmther John : But it is sweet William, your aln true-love. To Scotland new come home."— Then Marg'ret took her milk-white hand. And smooth'd it on his breast;- " Tak' your faith and troth, William, God send your soul good rest." " Ha'e ye brought me onie fine things, Onie new thing for to wear? Or ha'e ye brought me a braid o' lace. To snood up my gowden hair ?" ^iueet limilUam*^ ®|50^t. "I've brought ye na Cne things at all, Nor onie new thing to wear, Nor ha'e I brought ye a braid of lace. To snood up your gowden hair. [From the fourth volume of Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany. Ritson says, " The two last stanzas were probably added by Ramsay: they are evidently spurious."] " But Margaret ! dear Margaret ! I pray ye speak to me ; gi'e me back my faith and troth. As dear as I gied it thee." Thbrb came a ghost to Marg'ret's door. With many a grievous groan; And aye he tirled at the pin, But answer made she none. " Tour faith and troth ye sanna get, Nor will I wi' ye twin. Till je come within my bouer. And kiss me cheek and chin." "Is that my father Philip? Or is't my brother John ? Or is't my true love Willie, From Scotland new come home ?' "0 Margaret! dear Margaret.' I pray ye speak to me; gi'e me back my faith and troth. As dear as I gitd it thee." " 'TIS not thy father Philip, Nor yet thy brother John ; But 'tis thy true love Willie, From Scotland new come home. "Your faith and troth ye sanna get. Nor will I wi' ye twin. Till ye tak' me to yonder kirk. And wed me wi' a ring." • O sweet Marg'ret ! dear Marg'ret ' I pray thee speak to n e ; Give me my faith and troth, Marg'ret. ■f As I gave it to thee." 7(3 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Thy faith and troth thou's never get, ^ "0 stay, my only true love, stay," Nor yet will 1 thee lend. The constant Marg'ret cry'd ; Till that thou come within my bower, Wan grew her cheeks, she clus'd her een. And kiss my cheek and chin." Stretch'd her soft Umbs and dy'd. " If I should come within thy bower. I am no earthly man ; And should I kiss thy rosy lips. Thy days will not be lang. " sweet Marg'ret ! dear HargTet! HEilliam um JEarfOTk* I pray thee speak to me ; Give me my faith and troth, Marg'ret, [From Motherwell's Collection.] As I gave it to thee." LADf Marjorfb, lady Marjorie, " Thy faith and troth thou's never get. Sat sewing her silken seam. Nor yet will I thee lend, And by her came a pale, pale ghost Till you take me to yon kirk -yard. Wi' mony a sigh and mane. And wed me with a ring." "Are ye my father the king," she says. " My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard. " Or are ye my blither John ? Afar beyond the sea; Or are ye my true love sweet William, And it is but my spirit, Marg'ret, From England newly come?" That's now speaking to thee." " I'm not your father the king," he says. She stretch'd out her lilly-white hand. " No, no, nor your brither John ; And for to do her best, But I'm your true love sweet William, " Hae, there's your faith and troth, WiUie, From England that's newly come." God send your soul good rest." " Have ye brought me any scarlet sae red. Now she has kilted her robes of green. Or any of the silks sae fine ; A piece below her knee. Or have ye brought me any precious things And a' the live-lang winter night. That merchants have for sale." The dead corp followed she. "I have not brought you any scarlets sae " Is there any room at your head, WilUe ? red. Or any room at your feet? No, no, nor the silks sae fine ; Or any nom at your side, Willie, But I have brought you my winding-sheet Wherein that 1 may creep .3" Ower many a rock and hill. " There's no room at my head, Marg'ret, "Lady Marjorie, lady Marjorie! There's no room at my feet ; For faith an' charitie. There's no room at my side, Marg'ret, Will ye gi'e to me my faith and troth My coffin 's made so meet." That I gave once to thee ?" Then up and crew the red red cock, " your faith and troth I'll not gi'e to thee. And up then crew the gray: No, no, that will not I, " 'Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Marg'ret, Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips. That you were going away." And in my arms you lye." No more the ghost to Marg'ret said. " My lips they are sae bitter," he says— But with a grievous groan. " My breath it is sae str.vng ; Evanish'd in a cloud of mist. If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips, And left her all alone. ^ f Your days will not be lang. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^J^J " The cocks are crawinR, Maijorie," he says— ^ The lines preserved in the play are this distich : " The cocks are crawing again ; ' You are no love lor me, Margaret, Ifs time the dead should part frae the quicli— 1 am no love lor you.' Marjorie, 1 must be gane." And the following stanza. She followed him high— she followed him low. ' When it was erown to dark ml Inight, Till she came to yon churchyard green ; And all were' fast asleep. And there the deep grave opened up. In came Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet.' And young William he lay down. These lines have acquired an importance by " What three things are these, sweet WUliam," giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads she says, in our own or any other language,"— (alluding to " That stands here at your head ?" the ballad of " WUliam and Margaret," given "0 ifs three maidens, Marjorie," he says. afterwards.)] " That 1 promised once to wed." As it fell out on a long summer's day " What three things are these, sweet William," Two lovers they sat on a hill ; she says. They sat together that long summer's day. "That stand close at your side?" And could not talk their fill. " ifs three babes, Marjorie," he says. "That these three maidens had." I see no harm by you, Margaret, And you see none hy mee ; " What three things are these, sweet William," Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock she says, A rich wedding you shall see. " That lye close at your feet ?" " O it 3 three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says. Pair Margaret sat in her bower-window. " That's waiting my soul to keep." Combing her yellow hair; There she spyed sweet William and his bride, she took up her white, white hand. As they were a riding near. And she struck him on the breast ; Saying—" Have there again your faith and Then down she layd her ivory combe. troth, And braided her hair in twain: And 1 wish your saul gude rest." 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. §Siix Pim^zxtt m^ ^Uu\ Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, And stood at William's feet. HIEillliam* "Are you awake, sweet William .'" she said j " Or, sweet William, are you asleep ? [From Percy's collection .—"This seems," says God give you joy of y ur gay bride-bed. Dr Percy, " to be the old song quoted in Flet- chers ' Knight of the Buining Pestle,' Acts 2d and 3d ; although the six lines there preserved When day was come, and night was gone. are somewhat different from those in the ballad. And all men wak'd from sleep. as it stands at present. The reader will not Sweet William to his lady said. wonder at this, when he is informed that this is " My dear, I have cause to weep. only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. lU full title is, ' Fair Mar- " I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye. garef s Misfortunes ; or Sweet William's fright- Such dreames are never g(X)d : ful dreams on his wedding night, with the sud- I dreamt my bower was full of red ' wine,* den death and burial of those noble lovers.'— & A nd my bride-bed full of blood." 18 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Such dreams, such dreams, my honour'd sir, gi They never do prove good ; To dream thy bower was full of red ' wine,' And thy bride-bed full of blood." He called up Ks merry men all. By one, by two, and by three ; Saying, " I'll away to fair Marg'refs bower. By the leave of my ladie." And when he came to fair Marg'refs bower. He knocked at the ring; And who so ready as her seven brethren To let sweet William in. Then he turned up the covering-sheet, " Pray let me see the dead ; Methinks she looks all pale and wan. She hath lost her cherry red. " I'll do more for thee, Marg'ret, Than any of thy kin ; For I will kiss tliy pale wan lips. Though a smile 1 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 ki 8 my jolly brf>wn bride, 1 do but what is right; I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse By day, nor yet by night. " 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-ir.orrow at mine." Fair Jlarg'ret dyed to-day, to-day. Sweet William dyed to-morrow : Fair Marg'ret dyed for pure true love. Sweet William dyed for sorrow. Jaarg'ret was buryed in the lower chancel. And William in the higher: Out of her brtast there sprang a rose. And out of his a briar. They grew till they grew unto the church top. And then thay could grow no higher; And there tliey tyed in a true loves' knot. Which made all the people admire. Then came the clerk of the parish. As you the truth shall hear, And by misfortune cut them down. Or they had now been there. SEilliam an^ JIHiIargaxet. [" This ballad, which apreared in some of the public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mai i.kt, who in the edi- tion of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested by the stanza (quoted in the introductii n to the previous ballad. Fair Margaret and Sweet William), which he suppos- ed to be the b'ginning oi' some ballad now lost. ' These lines,' says he, ' naked of ornament and simple as they are, struck my fancy ; and bring- ing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the fol- lowing poem, which was written many years ago." The two introductory lines, and one or two others elsewhere, had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz. ' When all was wrapt in dark midnight, And all were fa.t . seep." J; c. "In a publication entitled The Friends, &c. Lond. 1773, 2 vols. 12mo, (in the first volume) is inserted a copy of the ballad, with very great variations, which the editor of that work con- tends was the original ; and that Mallet adopted it for his own, and altered it as here given. — But the superior beauty and simplicity of the present copy gives it so much more the air of an original, that it will rather be believed that some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and adapted the lines to his own taste ; than which nothing is more common in popular songs and ballads."— Dr Percy. It was in the Plain Dealer, a periodical paper published in 1721, that William and Margaret first appeared. Mallet w.is then a very young man, having b: en born about the beginning of the century. He died in 17f)5. He was a native of Crieffin Perthshire, and for some time tutor in the Montrose family, through whose influence he first got introduced into public life. Malluch was his original name, but after he took up his resi- dence in London, he changed it to Mallet, find- ing probably the ocA too much for Cockney utterance. William and Margaret has been ex- SCOTTISH BALLADS. 79 travagantly praised by some. Even the caustic ^ " Bethink thee, "WiUiain, of thy fault. Ritson culls it one of the finest ballads that was Thy pledge and broken oath : ever written. On the other hand. Sir Walter And give me back my maiden vow. Scott says, '• The ballad, though the best of Mal- And give me back my troth. let's writing, is certainly inferior to ite original. which 1 presume to be the very fine and even " Why did you promise love to me. terrific old Scottish tale, beginning. And not that promise keep i> • There caiiie a gliost to Margaret'* door.' " Why did you swear mine eyes were bright. Yet leave those eyes to weep f In the Harp of Renfrewshire, pp. 122-128, an elaborate but unsuccessful attempt is made to " How could you say my face was fair deprive Mallet of the authorship of the ballad. And yet that face forsake ? In an edition, also, of Andrew Marvell's Works, How could you win n.y virgin heart. London 1776, the editor claims the ballad for Yet leave that heart to break ? Marvell, on the ground of an old MS. volume. in Marvell's own hand ; but Mr David Laing says " Why did you say my lip was sweet. the volume contains a numb.-r of piecesevidently And made the scarlet pale ? transcribed forty years subsequent to Marvell's And why did 1, young witless maid. death.] Believe the flattering tale ? •TwAs at the silent solemn hour. " That face, alas ! no more is fair ; When night and miming meet; These lips no longer red . In glided Margaret's grimly ghost. Dark are my eyes, now clus'd in death. And stood at William's feet. And every charm is fled. Her face was like an April morn. " The hungry wrrm my sister is ; Clad in a wintry cloud : This winding-sheet i wear: And clay-cold was her lily hand. And cold and weary lasts our night. That held her sable shrowd. Till that last morn appear. So shall the fairest face appear. " But hark I the cock has warn'd me hence ! When youth and years are flown: A long and last adieu '. Such is the robe that kings must wear. Come see, false man, how low she lies. When death has reft their crown. Who died for love of you." Hei bloom was like the springing flov^er. 1 The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'd That aips the silver dew ; With beams of rosy red : The rose was budded in her check. Pale William shook in ev'iy limb. Just opening to the view. And raving left his bed. But love had, like the canker-worm. He hied him to the fatal place Consumd her early prime: Where Margaret's b..dy lay: The rose grew pale, and lelt her cheek; And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf. She died before her time. That wrapt her breathless clay : " Awake V she cried, " thy true love calls. And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name. Come from her n\;dnight grave; And thrice he wept full s.^re: Now let thy pity hear the maid Then laid his cheek t. her cold grave. Thy love refus;;d to save. And word spake never more. " This is the dark and drearj- hour When injur'd ghosts complain; . Now yawning graves give up their dead. To hauat the faithless swain. { ^ 80 SCOTTISH BALLADS. [Tnis parody on the foregoing ballad we find m the third volume of Famsays Tea Table Mis- cellany. It is also given in Herds Collection, but has been little, if at all, quoted in later col- lections, so that it must be new to most of our readers. We do not insert it here from any admiration of its smartness, (though it is not without merit,) but simply as illustrative of the reputation of the ballad of William and Mar- garet; for no better evidence of the popularity of a piece can be adduced, than that it has been made the subject of imitation or parody. In the compass i^f 12 pages, beginning with Clerk Saunders, p. CJ, and ending with the present production, the reader has now before him a collection of ballads all related more or less to each other, and on which he is thus enabled to form a judgment, as it were, at one view.] 'TwAs at the shining mid -day hour When all began to gaunt. That hunger rugij'd at Watty's breast. And the poor lad grew faint. His face was like a bacon ham That lang in reek had hung. And horn-hard was his tawny hand That held his hazel-rung. So wad the saftest face appear Of the maist dressy spai k. And such the hands that lords wad ha'e. Were they kept close at wark. His head was like a heathery bush Beneath his bonnet blue. On his braid checks, frae lug to lug. His balrdy bristles grew. But hunger, like a gnawing worm, Gade rumbling through his kyte. And nothing now but solid gear Could give his heart delyte. He to the kitchen ran with speed. To his loved Madge he ran. Sunk down into the chimney-nook With visage sour and wan. • " Get up," he cries, " my crieshy love. Support my sinking sauI With something that is fit to chew, Be't either het or caul. " This is the how and hungry hour. When the best cures for grief Are cogue-fu's of the lythy kail. And a good junt of beef." " Oh Watty, Watty," Madge replies, " 1 but o'er justly trowd Your love was thowless, and that ye For cake and pudding woo'd. " Bethink thee, Watty, on that night. When all vi'ere fast asleep. How ye kiss'd me frae chetk to cheek, Now leave these cheeks to dreep, " How could ye ca' my hurdies fat. And comfort of your sight f How could ye roose my din pled band, Now all my dimples slight ? " Why did you promise me a snood. To bind my locks sae brown ? Why did you me fine garters heght. Yet let my hose fa" down ? " O faithless Watty, think how aft I nient your sarks and hose ! For you how mony bannocks stown. How many cogues of brose. "But hark ! — the kail-bell rings, and I Maun gae link aff the pot; Come see, ye hash, how sair I sweat. To stegh your guts, ye sot." The grace was said, the master serv'd. Fat Madge return'd again, Blythe Watty raise and rax'd himsel'. And fidg'd he was sae fain. He hied him to the savoury bench. Where a warm hajrgies stood. And gart his gooly through the bag. Let cut its fat heart's blood. And thrice he cried, " Comeeat, dear Madge, Of tills delicious fare;" Syne claWd it aff most cleverly. Till he could eat nae mair. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 81 ®^e i^eit of %inM, [This most instructive ballad was first pub- lished in Percy's collection, (1755,) fr, m the old folio MS. in the editor's possession, to which he was so largely indebted in compiling his work, and the existence of which Ritson continued to doubt, notwithstanding the most satisfactory evidence to the contrary, in the testimony of many learned men who had seen and examined it. The present copy is from the fifth edition of the " Reliques," where the ancient readings are restored. IMshop Percy says, " The original of this ballad is f und in the editor's folio MS. the b; caches and defects in which render the inser- tion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon, as indeed the compU'tion of the story was suggested by a mo- dern ballad on a similar subject. From the Scottish phrases here and there discernible in this poem, it should seem to have been original- ly composed beyond the Tweed. The Heir of Linne appears not to have been a lord of parlia- ment, but a laird, whose title went along with his estate." Motherwell says, "The traditionary version in Scotland begins thus: " The bonnie heir, the weel-faured heir. Anil the weane heir o' Liiine; Yonder he stand- at his father's gate. And naehody bids him come in. O, see where he stands, and see where he gangs, The weary heir o' Linne; O, see wheie he stands on the cauld caiisey, Some ane wald ta'en liim in. Bnt if he had heen his father's heir. We find i. version.] no collection a continuation of this Part thb First. LiTHB and listen, gentlemen. To sing a song I will beginne: It is of a lord of (aire Scotland, Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne. His fathe- was a right good lord. His mother a lady of high degree; But they, alas I were dead, him froc. And he loved keeping companie. < To spend the daye with merry cheare. To drinke and revell every night. To card and dice from eve to morne. It was, I ween, his heart's delighte. To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare. To always spend and never spare, 1 wott, an' it were the king himselfe. Of gold and fee he mote be bare. Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne Till all his gold 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 bee: But John is become a gentel-man. And John has gott both gold and fee. Sayes, " Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, Let nought disturb thy merry cheere ; IfTthou wilt sell thy landes soe broad. Good store of gold He give thee heere." " My gold is gone, my money is spent; My lande nowe take it unto thee : Give nie the golde, good John o' the Scales, And thine for aye my lande shall bee." Then John he did him to record draw. And John he cast him agod's-pennie;* But for every pounde that John agreed. The lande, I wis, was well worth three He told him the gnld upon the borde. He was right glad his land to winne; " The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now lie be the lord of Linoe." Thus he hath sold his land 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. * i. e. earnest money ; from the French Denier I a Dleu. At this day, when application is made I to the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle to accept I an exchange of the tenant under one of their i leases, a piece of silver is presented by the new i tenant, which is still called a " God's-penny." i Percy. 82 SCOTTISH BALLADS. For soe he to his father hight : k " My Sonne, when 1 am gonne," sayd hee, " Then thou w ilt spend thy lande so broad, And thou wilt spend thy gold so free : " But sweare me nowe upon the roode. That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; For when all the world doth frown on thee. Thou there shalt find a faithful friend." The heir of Linne is full of golde: And "come with me, my friends," sayd hee, " Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make. And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee." Part thb Second. Away then hyed the heir of Linne O'er hill and holt, and moor and fenne. Until he came to lonesome lodge. That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne. He looked up, he looked downe. In hope some comfort for to winne : But bare and lothly were the walles. " Here's sorry cheare," quoth the heir of Linne. They ranted, drank, and merry made, Till all his gild it waxed thinne; And then his I'riendes they slunk away; They left the unthrifty heir of Linne. The little windowe dim and darke Was hung with ivy. brere, and yewe; No shimmering sunn here ever shone; No halesome breeze here ever blew. He had never a penny left in his purse. Never a penny left tut three. And one was brass, another was lead. And another it was white monie. No chair, ne table he mote spye, No cheerful hearth, ne welcome bed. Nought save a rope with renning noose. That dangling hung up o'er his head. " Nowe well-a-day," sayd the heir of Linne, " Nowe well-aday, and woe is mee. For when 1 was the lord of Linne, I never wanted gold nor fee. And over it in broad letters. These words were written so plain to see : " Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thino all. And brought thyselfe to penurie ? " But many a trustye friend have I, And why shold I feel dole or care ? lie borrow of them all by turnes, Soe need X not be never bare." " All this my boding mind misgave, I therefore left this trusty friend: Let it now shoeld thy foule disgrace. And all thy shame and sorrows end." But one, I wis, was not at home; Another had payd his gold away; Another call'd him thriftless loone. And bade him sharpely wend his way. Sorely shent wi' this rebuke. Sorely shent was the heir of Linne; His heart, I wis, was near to burst With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne "Now well-a-day," sayed the heir of Linne, " Now well-a-day, and woe is me; For when 1 had my landes so broad. On me they lived right merrilee. Never a word spake the heir of Linne, Never a word he spake but three " This is a trusty friend indeed. And is right welcome unto mee." " To beg my bread from door to door I wis, it were a brenning shame : To rob and steal it were a sinne : To work my limbs I cannot frame. Then round his necke the corde he drewc. And sprang aloft with his bodie : When lo ! the ceiling burst in twaine, And to the ground came tumbling hee. "Now He be away to my lonesome lodge. For there my father bade me wend ; When all the world should frown on mee I there shold find a trusty friend." Astonyed lay the heir of Linne, Ne knewe if he were live or dead : At length he looked, and sawe a billc, ^ And in it a key of gold so redd. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 83 He took the bill, and lookt it on. Strait good comfort found he there: Itt 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 so plaine to see : " Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere ; Amend thy life and fullies past; For but thou amend thee of thy life. That rope must be thy end at last." " And let it bee," sayd the heir of Linne ; " And let it bee, but if I amend :t For here I will make mine avow. This reade i shall guide me to the end." Away then went with a merry cheare. Away then went the heir of Linne ; 1 wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne. Till John o' the Scales house he did winne. And when he came to John o' the Scales, Upp at the 8peere§ then looked hee ; There sat three lords upon a rowe. Were drinking of the wine so free. And John himself sate at the board -head. Because now lord of Linne was hee. "I pray thee," he said, "good John o' the Scales, " One forty penc^ for to lend mec." " Away, away, thou thriftless loone ; Away, away, this may not bee : For Christ's curse on my head," he sayd, " If ever I trust thee one pennie." Then bcspake the heir of Linne, To John o' the Scales wife then spake he : " Madame, some almes on me bestowe, I pray for sweet saint Charitie." * In-Jere, i. e. together. f f . e. unless I amend, i i. e. advice, counsel. § Perhaps the hole in the door or window, by which it was tpeered, i. e. sparred, fastened, or shut.— In Bale's 2d Part of the Acts of Eng. Votaries, we have this phrase, (fol. 38.) " The dore ther(^'oft tymes opened and speared agayne." Percy. ^ " Away, away, thou thriftless loone, I swear thou gettest no almes of mee; For if we shold hang any losel heere. The first we wold begin with thee." Then bespake a good fellowe, Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord; Sayd, " Turn againe, thou heir of Linne ; Some time thou wast a well good lord : " Some time a good fellow thou hast been. And sparedst not thy gold and fee ; Therefore lie lend thee forty pence. And other forty if need bee. " And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, To let him sit in thy com panic. For well I wot thou hadst his land. And a good bargain it was to thee." Up then spake him John o' the Scales, All wood he answer'd him againe : " Now Christ's curse on my head," he sayd, " But 1 did lose by that bargaine. " And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, Before these lords so faire and free. Thou Shalt have it backe again better cheape. By a hundred markes, than 1 had it of thee. " I drawe you to record, lords," he said. With that he cast him a God's-fcnnie: " Now by my fay," said the heir of Linne, " And here good John is thy monie." And he puU'd forth three bagges of gold. 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 red gold. He told it forth with micUle dinne. " The gold is thine, the land is mine. And now Ime againe the lord of Linne." Sayes, " Have thou here, thou good fellowe. Forty pence thou diJst lend mee: Now I am againe the lord of Linne, And forty pounds I will give thee. " I!e make thee keeper of my forest. Both of the wild deere and the tame; For but 1 reward thy bounteous heart, I wis, good fellowe, 1 were to blame." nV^^A ?SITY I UNIVERS 1 34 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Now well-a-day !" sayth Joan o' the Scales : ^ ! there's mony a leaf in Athol wood. " Now weU-a-flay ! and woe is my life ! An' mony a bird in its breast; Yesterday I was lady of Linne, An' mony a rain, maun the heart sustain. Now Irae but John o' the Scales hU wife." Kreitsabitsel'torcst! " Now fare-thee well," sayd the heir of Linne ; " Farewell now, John o- the Scales," said hee: " Christ's curse light on me, if ever again W^t toa JMartgr^* IH^i^ofo^. I bring my lands in jeopardy." j [Written by Robert Ai,ian of Kilbarchan, in Renfrewshire, the author of a number of lyri- cal pieces. In 1841, Robert Allan was induced to emigrate to America, but was not many days mM mm^. landed at New York, when he was carried off by a bilious fever, at the age of 67.J [MoDERH Ballad.— Mrs Johnstone.— From Sit down, sit down by thy martyr's side. the novel of " Clan Albyn."] And Tse sit down by mine; And I shall speak o' him to my Gude, I'M weary o' your ha's, auld lord. And thou may speak o' thine. I m weary o' your towers. The hours of grandeur unendear'd. It's wae to thee, and it's wae wi' me. but they're lanely hours. For our day o' peace is gane. And we naun sit wi' a tearfu' e'e. My fingers shine wi" mony a ring. In our bouroch-ha' alane. An' wi' jewels they deck my hair; But the lichtsome glance o' leal young love O Scotland ! Scotland, it's wae to thee. Will never bliss me mair. When thy lichts are ta'en awa' ; And its wae, its wae to a siufu' Ian'. I mind thee still thou A thol wood. When the richteous sae maun fe'. i And him on I,ynedoch lea; Wha pu'd my snood frae the scented birk. It was a halie covenant aith An' my beads frae the reddan tree. We made wi' our Gude to keep; And it's for the halie covenant vow. merrily sang the bonnie blackbird That we maun sit and weep. Abcon our haiel screen ; An' ilka leaf was stirrd wi' joy. wha will gang to yon hill-side. An' the blue lift danc'd between. To sing the psalm. at e'en ? And wha will speak o' the luve o' our Gude? I mind thee still, thou fairy eve. For the cov'nant reft hath been. Whan this flichterin' he.irt was tint. An" how saft the sang o' the mavis rang. The gerse may grow on yon bonnie hill-tap. Whan he tauld what its flichterin' meant. And the heather sweetly blume; But there nae mair we sal) sit at e'en. A witless bride ye bocht, auld lord. For our hearts are in the tomb. An' he didna frown or fret; But a breakin' heart was in his e'e. The hectic glow is upo' my cheek. An' that looks before me yet ! And the lily hue on thine; Thou sune win lie by thy martyr's side, I'm lanely, lanely a' the day. And sune I sail sleep by mine. But the nicht is waur to bide. For the dream that brings n.e Athol brae. Wauks me by my auld lord's side ! { f 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 85 ®^xMc'^ mm [This is a modern Imitation of the ancient biillads by Sir Walter Scott. The author thus introduces it in the Minstrelsy of the Scot- tisii Border. — In the reign of Charles 1., when tlie moss-trooping practices were not entirely discontinued, the tower of Gilnockie, in the parish of Cannoby, was occupied hy William Armstrong, called, for distinction sake, Chrittie'a Will, a lineal descendant of the famous John Armstrong, of Gilnockie, executed by James V. The hereditary love of plunder had descended to this person with the family mansion; and, upon some marauding party, he was seized, and imprisoned in the tolbooth of Jedburgh. The earl of Traquair, lord high treasurer, happening to visit Jedburgh, and knowing Christie's Will, inquired the cause of his confinement. Will re- plied, he was imprisoned for stealing two tethers (halters;) but, upon being more closely interro- gated, acknowledged that there were two deli- cate colls at the end of them. The joke, su.ch as it was, amused the earl, who exerted his interest, and succeeded in releasing Christie's Will from bondage. Some time afterwards, a law-suit, of importance to lord Traquair, was to be decided in the Court of Session ; and there was every reason to believe that the judgment would turn upon the voice of the presiding judge, who had a casting vote, in case of an equal division among his brethren. The opinion of the president was unfavourable to lord Traquair; and the point was, therefore, to keep him out of the way, when the question should be tried. In this dilemma, the earl had recourse to Christie's Will, who, at once, offered his service to kidnap the president. Upon due scrutiny, he found it was the judge's practice frequently to take the air, on horseback, on the sands of Leith, without an attendant. In one of these excursions, Christie's Will, who had .long watched his opportunity, ventured to accost the president, and engaged him in conversation. His address and language were so amusing, that he decoyed the president into an unfrequented and furze common, called the Frigate Whins, where, riding suddenly up to him, he pulled him from his horse, muffled him in a large cloak, which he had provided, and rode oft, with the luckless judge trussed up behind him. Will ^ paths only known to persons of his description, : and deposited his weary and terrified burden in I an old castle, in Annandale, called the tower of I Craham. The judge's horse being found, it was concluded he had thrown his rider into the sea; his friends went into mourning, and a successor was appointed to his office. Meanwhile, the poor president spent a heavy time in the vault of the castle. He was imprisoned and solitary ; re- ceiving his food through an aperture in the wall, and never hearing the sound of a human voice, save when a shepherd called his dog, by the name of Batty, and when a female domestic called upon Maudge, the cat. These, he con- cluded, were invocations of spirits; for he held himself to be in the dungeon of a sorcerer. At length, after three months had elapsed, the law- suit was decided in favour of lord Traquair ; and Will was directed to set the president at liberty. Accordingly, he entered the vault, at dead of night, seized the president, muffled him once more in the cloak, without speaking a single word, and, using the same mode of trans- portation, conveyed him to Leith sands, and set down the astonished judge on the very spot where he had taken him up. The joy of his friends, and the less agreeable surprise of his suc- cessor, may be easily conceived, when he appear- ed in court, to reclaim his office and honours. AH embraced his own persuasion, that he had been spirited away by witchcraft ; nor could he himself be convinced to the contrary, until, many years afterwards, happening to travel in Annan- dale, his ears were saluted, once more, with the sounds of Maudge and Batty — the only notes which had solaced his long confinement. This led to a discovery of the whole story; but, in these disorderly times, it was only laughed at, as a fair ruse de guerre. Wild and strange as this tradition may seem, there is little doubt of its foundation in fact. The judge, upon whose person this extraordi- nary stratagem was practised, was Sir Alexan- der Gibson, lord Burie, collector of the reports, well known in the Scottish law, under the title of " Durie's Decisions." He was advanced to the station of an ordinary lord of session, 10th July 16'21, and died, at his own house of Durie, July 1646. Betwixt these periods this whimsical adventure must have happened ; a date which corresponds with that of the tradition. " We may frame," says Forbes, " a rational conjecture of his great learning and parts, not crossed the country with great expedition, by '^ only from his collection of the deci«ions of tha 86 SCOTTISH BALLADS. session, from July 1621, till July 1643, but also from the following circumstance: 1. In a tract of more than twenty years, he was frequently chosen vice-president, and no other lord in that time. 2. 'Tis commonly reported, that some party, in a considerable action before the session, finding that the lord Durie could not be persuad- ed to think his plea good, fell upon a stratagem to prevent the influence and weight which his lordship might have to his prejudice, by causing some strong masked n.en kidnap him, in the links of Leith, at his diversion on a Saturday afternoon, and transport him to some blind and obscure room in the country, where he was de- tained captive, without the benefit of day-light, a matter of three months (though otherwise civilly and well entertained;) during which time his lady and children went in mourning for him, as dead. But after the cause aforesaid was decided, the lord Durie was carried back by in- cognitos, and dropt in the same placp where he had been taken up." — Forbes's Journal of the Session, ¥Al\n. 1714, preface, page 28. Tradition ascribes to Christie's Will another memorable feat, which seems worthy of being recorded. It is well known, that, during the troubles of Charles I., the earl of Traquair con- tinued unalterably fixed in his attachment to his unfortunate master, in whose service he hazard- ed his person, and impoverished his estate. It was of consequence, it is said, to the king's ser- vice, that a certain packet, containing papers of importance, should be transmitted to him from Scotland. But the task was a difiicult one, as the parliamentary leaders used their utmost en- deavours to prevent any communication betwixt the king and his Scottish friends. Traquair, in this strait, again had recourse to the services of Christie's Will ; who un.lertook the commission, conveyed the papers safely to his majesty, and received an answer, to be delivered to lord Tra- quair. But, in the meantime, his embassy had taken air, and Cromwell had despatched orders to intercept him at Carlisle. Christie's Will, unconscious of his danger, halted in the town to refresh his horse, and then pursue his journey. But, as soon as he began to pass the long, high, and narrow bridge, which crosses the Eden at Carlisle, either end of the pass was occupied by a party of parliamentary soldiers, who were lying in wait for him. The borderer disdained to re- sign his enterprise, even in these desperate cir- cumstances ; and at once forming his resolution, spurred his horse over the parapet. The river was in high flood. "Will sunk— the soldiers shouted — he emerged again, and guiding his horse to a steep bank, called the Stanners, or Stanhouse, endeavoured to land, but ineffec- tually, owing to his heavy horseman's cloak, now drenched in water. Will cut the loop, and the horse, feeling himself disembarrassed, made a desperate exertion, and succeeded in gaining the bank. Our hero set off, at full speed, pur- sued by the troopers, who had for a time stood motionless and in astonishment at his temerity. Will, however, was well mounted; and, having got the start, he kept it, menacing, with his pistols, any pursuer who seemed likely to gain on him — an artifice which succeeded, although the arms were wet and useless. He was chased to the river Eske, which he swam without hesita- tion ; and, finding himself on Scottish ground, and in the neighbourhood of his friends, he turned on the northern bank, and, in the true spirit of a border rider, invited his followers to come through, and drink with him. After this taunt, he proceeded on his journey, and faith- fully accomplished his mission. Such were the exploits of the very last border freebooter of any note. The reader is not to regard the ballad as of genuine and unmixed antiquity, though some stanzas are current upon the border, in a cor- rupted state. They have been eked and joined together, in the rude and ludicrous manner of the original ; but as it is to be considered as a modern ballad, it is transferred to this depart- ment of the work. — MinstreUy qf the Scottith Border, Vol. III.] Traquair has ridden up Chapelhope, And sae has he down by the Gray Mare's Tail;* He never stinted the light gallop. Until he speer'd for Christie's Will. Now Christie's Will peep'd frae the tower. And out at the shot-hole keeked he ; " And ever unlucky," quo' he, " is the hour, . That the warden comes to speer for me !" " Good Christie's Will, now, have na fear! Nae harm, good Will, shall hap to thee : I saved thy life at the Jeddart air. At the Jeddart air frae the justice tree. * Gray Mare's Tail— A. cataract above Moffi»t, ^j 80 called. I SCOTTISH BALLADS. $7 "Bethink how ye aware by the salt and the ^ " The feirest lady in Teviotdale bread. Has sent, maist reverent sir, for thee; By the lightning, the wind, and the rain. She pleas at the session for her land, a' haill. That if ever of Christie's Will I bad need, And fain she wad plead her cause to thee." He would pay me my service again." " But how can I to that lady ride. ♦' Gramercy, my lord," quoth Christie's Will, With saving of my dignitie ?" " Gramercy, my lord, for your grace to me '. " a curch and mantle ye may wear. When I turn my cheek, and claw my neck. And in my cloak ye shall muffled be." I think of Traquair, and the Jeddart tree." Wi' curch on head, and cloak ower face. And he has opened the fair tower yate. He mounted the judge on a palfrey fyne ; To Traquair and a' his companie; He rode away, a right round pace. The spule o' the deer on the board he has set. And Christie's Will held the bridle reyn. The fattest that ran on the Hutton Lee. The Lothian Edge they were not o'er. " Now wherefore sit ye sad, my lord ? When they heard bugles bauldly ring. And wherefore sit ye mournfuUie ? And, hunting over Middleton Moor, And why eat ye not of the venison I shot. They met, I ween, our noble king. At the dead of night on Hutton Lee ?" When Willie look'd upon our king. " O weel may I stint of feast and sport. I wot a frighted man was he ! And in my mind be vexed sair ! But ever auld Durie was startled mair. A vote of the canker'd Session Court, For tyning of his dignitie. Ofland and living will make me bare. The king he cross'd himself, 1 wis. " But if auld Durie to heaven were flown. When as the pair came riding bye — Or if auld Durie to hell were gane, " An uglier crone, and a sturdier lown. Or ... if he could be but ten days stoun .... I think, were never seen with eye '." My bonnie braid lands would still be my ain." Willie has hied to the tower of Graeme, He took auld Durie on his back. " mony a time, my lord," he said. He shot him down to the dungeon deep, " I've stown the horse frae the sleeping loun ; Which garr'd his auld banes gi'e mony a But for you I'll steal a beast as braid. crack. For I'll steal lord Durie frae Edinburgh town. j 1 For nineteen days, and nineteen nights. Of sun, or moon, or midnight stem. "0 mony a time, my lord," he said. Auld Durie never saw a blink. " Iv'e stown a kiss frae a sleeping wench ; The lodging was sae dark and dern. But for you 111 do as kittle a deed. For I'll steal an auld lurdane aff the He thought the warlocks o" the rosy cross* bench." And Christie's Will js to Edinburgh gane; Had ang'd him in their nets sae fast; At the Borough Muir then entered he; * " As for the rencounter betwixt Mr Wil- And as he pass d the gallow-stane, liamson, schoolmaster at Cowper (who has He cross'd his brow, and he bent his knee. wrote agrammar,) and the Rosicrucians, I never trusted it, till I heard it from his own son. He lighted at lord Durie's door. that a stranger came to Cowper and called And there he knocked most manfullie; who is present minister of Kiikaldy. He tells. And up and spake lord Durie sae stour. for him : after they had drank a little, and the " What tidings, thou stalward groom, to reckoning came to be paid, he whistled for me ?•* ^ ^spirits; one, in the shape of a boy, came and 88 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Or that the gypsies' glamour'd gang* Had lair'd his learning at the last. gave him gold in abundance; no servant wag seen riding with him to the town, nor enter with him into the inn. He caused his spirits, against next day, bring him noble Greek wine, from the Tope's cellar, and tell the freshest news then at Eome; then trysted Mr Williamson at London, who met the same man, in a coach, near to Lon- don bridge, and who called on him by his name ; he marvelled to see any know him there ; at last he found it was his Rosicrucian. He pointed to a tavern, and desired Mr Williamson to do him the favour to dine with him at that house; whether he came at twelve o'clock, and found him, and many others of good fashion there, and a most splendid and magnificent table, furnished with all the varieties of delicate meats, where they are all served by spirits. At dinner, they debated upon the excellency of being attended by spirits; and, after dinner, they proposed to him to assume him into their society, and make him participant of their happy life; but, among the other conditions and qualifications requisite, this was one, that they demanded his abstracting his spirit from all materiality, and renouncing his | baptismal engagements. Being amazed at this j pnjposal, he falls a praying; whereat they all disappear, and leave him alone. Then he began | to forethink what would become of him, if he I were left to pay that vast reckoning ; not having as much on him as would defray it. He calls the boy, and asks, what was become of these gentle- I men, and what was to pay ? He answered, there | was nothing to pay, for they had done it, and ! were gone about their affairs in the city." — i Fountainhall's Decisions, Vol. I. p. 15. With 1 great deference to the learned reporter, this story has all the appearance of a joke upon the 1 poor schoolmaster, calculated at once to operate i upon his credulity, and upon his fears of being | left in pawn for the reckoning. — Scott, i * Besides the prophetic powers, ascribed to the j gypsies in most European countries, the Scottish | peasants believe them possessed of the power of ! throwing upon by-standers a spell, to fascinate j their eyes, and cause them to see the thing that i is not. Thus,.in the old ballad of Johnnie Faa, the elopement of the countess of Cassillis, with a | ^'vpsey leader, is imputed to fascination : As *une as they saw her weel-far'd face, They cast their glamour ower her. j Saxo Gramraaticus mentions a particular sect of 35 " Hey ! Batty, lad ! far yaud ! far yaud .'"f These were the morning sounds heard he; And ever " Alack !" auld Durie cried, " The deil is hounding his tykes on me !" Mathematicians, as he is pleased to call them, who " per summam ludificandorura oculorum peritiam, proprios alienosque vultus, variis re- rum imaginibus, aduinbrare callebant; illicibus- que forniis veros obscurare conspectus." Merlin, the son of Ambrose, was particularly skilled in this art, and displays it often in the old metrical romance of Arthour and Merlin. The jongleuri were also great professors of this mystery, which has in some degree de- scended, with their name, on the modern jug- glers. But durst Breslaw, the Sieur Boaz, or Katterf^lto himself, have encountered, in a magical sleight, the tragetoures of father Chau- cer?— See the Frankeleene's Tale in Chaucer. Our modern professors of the magic natural would likewise have been sorely put down by the Jogulourt and Enckantours of the Crete Chan ; " for they niaken to come in the air the sone and the mone, beseminge to every man nes sight; and aftre, they maken the nyght so darke, that no man may se no thing; and aftre, they maken the day to come agen, fair and pksant, with bright sone to every mannes sight; and than, they bringin in daunces of the fairest damyselles of the world, and richest arrayed; and after, they maken to comen in other damyselles, bring- ing coupes of gold, fuUe of mylke of divers bestes; and geven drinke tolordesand toladyes ; and than they maken knyghtes to justen in armies fuUe lustyly ; and they rennen togidre a gret randoun, and they frusschen togidre full fiercely, and they broken ther speres so rudely, that the trenchounsfien in sprotis and pieces alle about the halle ; and than they make to come in hunting for the hert and for the boor, with houndes renning with open mouthe: and many other things they dow of her enchantements, that it is marveyle for to se." — Sir John Mande- ville's Travels, p. 285. I question much, also, if the most artful illuminalis of Germany could have matched the prodigies exhibited by Patolet and Adramain, recorded in L'Historie des Va- lentin et Orson, a Rouen, 1631. The receipt, to prevent the operation of these deceptions, was, t Par j/aud— The signal made by a shepherd to his dog, when he is to drive away some sheep nt a distance. From Toden, to. An. Sax.— Scott. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 89 And whiles a voice on Itaudrons cried. With sound uncouth, and sharp and hie ; " 1 have tar-barrell'd mony a witch,* But now, 1 think, they'll clear scores wi' me!" The king has caused a bill be wrote. And he has set it on the Tron, — " He that will bring lord Durie back. Shall have five hundred marks and one." Traquair has written a private letter. And he has seal'd it wi' his seal, — " Ye may let the auld brock out o' the poke ; The land's my ain, and a's gane weel." O Will has mounted his bonnie black. And to the tower of Graeme did trudge. And once again, on his sturdy back. Has he hente up the weary judge. He brought him to the council stairs. And there full loudly shouted he, " Gi'e me my guerdon, my sovereign liege. And take ye back your auld Durie !" to use a sprig of four-leaved clover. I remember to have heard (certainly very long ago, for, at that time, I believed the legend,) that agypsey exercised his ^'/aj/iour over a number of people at Haddington, to whom he exhibited a common dung hill cock, tiailing^ what appeared to the spectators, a massy oaken trunk. An old n an passed with a cart of clover; he stopped, and picked out a four-leaved blade ; the eyes of the spectators were opened, and the oaken trunk appeared to be a bulrush. — Scott. * Human nature shrinks from the brutal scenes produced by the belief in witchcraft. Under the idea, that the devil imprinted upon the body of his miserable vassals a mark, which was insensible to pain, persons were employed to run needles into the bodies of the old women who were suspected of witchcraft. In the dawn- ing of common sense upon this subject, a com- plaint wag made before the Privy Council of Scotland, 11th September, 1678, by Catherine Liddell, a poor woman, against the baron-bailie of Preston-Grange, and David Cowan (a pro- fessed pricker,) for having imprisoned, and most cruelly tortured her. They answered, 1st, She was searched by her own consent, et volenti nan fit injuria ; 2d, The pricker had learned his trade from Kincaid, a famed pricker; 3d, He never [Modern Ballad. — Wm. Motherwei.l.] Thk Master of Weemyss has biggit a ship. To saile upon the sea; And four-and-twenty bauld marlneres, , Doe beare him companie. They have hoistit sayle and left the land. They have saylit mylis three ; When up there lap the bonnie raermayd. All in the Norland sea. " O whare saile ye," quo' the bonnie mermayd, " Upon the saut sea faem ?" " It's we are bounde until Norroway, God send us skaithless hame !" " Oh Norroway is a gay gay strande. And a merrie land 1 trowe ; But nevir nane sail see Norroway Gin the mermaid keeps her vowe '." Down doukit then, the mermayden. Deep intil the middil sea; And merrie leuch that master bauld. With his jollie companie. They saylit awa', and they saylit awa'. They have saylit leagues ten ; When lo ! uplap by the gude ship's side The self-same mermayden. acted, but when called upon by magistrates or clergymen, so what he did was auctore pratoi 4th, His trade was lawful ; 5th, Perkins, Delrio, and all divines and lawyers, who treat of witch craft, assert the existence of the marks, or stig tnata sagarum ; and, 6thly, Were it otherwise. Error communit facit Jui. — Answered, 1st, De nies consent; 2d, Nobody can validly consent to their own torture; for. Nemo eat dirminus mem- brnrum tvorum ; 3d, The pricker was a common cheat. The last arguments prevailed ; and it was found, that inferior "judges might not use any torture, by pricking, or by withholding them from sleep;" the council reserving a.I that to them- selves, the justices, and those acting by commis- sion from them. But lord Durie, a lord of ses- sion, could have no share in such inflictions. f Scott. 90 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Shee held a glass intil her richt hande, • In the uthir shee held a karne. And shee kembit her haire, and aye she sang As shee flotterit on the faem. And shee gliskit round and round about. Upon the waters wan ; O nevir againe on land or sea Shall be seen sik a faire woman. And shee shed her haire off her milk-white bree Wi' her fingers sae sma' and lang ; And fast as sajlit that gude ship on, Sae louder was aje her sang. And aye shee sang, and aye shee sang As shee rade upon the sea ; " If ye bee men of Christian moulde Throwe the master out to mee. " Throwe out to mee the master bauld Jf ye bee Christian men; But an ye faile, though fast ye sayle Ye'll nevir see land agen ! " Sayle on, sayle on, sayle on," said shee^ " Sayle on and nevir blinne. The winde at will your saylis may fill. But the land ye shall never win !" Its never word spak' that mas*»r bauld. But a loud laugh leuch the crewe; And in the deep then the mermayden Doun drappit frae their viewe. But ilk ane kythit her bonnie face. How dark dark grew its lire ; And ilk ane saw her bricht bricht eyne Leming like coals o' fire. And ilk ane saw her lang bricht hair Gae Hashing through the tide. And the sparkles o' the glass shee brake Upon that gude ship's side. " Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld. The wind blaws unco hie;" " O there's not a Sterne in a' the lift To guide us through the sea 1" " Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld. The storm is coming fast;" " Then up, then up my bonnie boy Unto the topmost mast. " Creep up into the tallest vast, Gae up my ae best man ; Climb up until the tall top-n)ast And spy gin ye see land." " Oh all is mirk towards the eist. And all is mirk be west; Alas there is not a spot of light Where any eye can rest !" " Looke oute, looke oute try bauldest man, Looke oute unto the storme. And if ye cannot get sicht o' land. Do you see the dawin o' morn ?" " Oh alaee, alace my master deare," Spak' then that ae best man ; " Nor licht, nor land, nor living thing. Do I spy on any hand." " Looke yet agen, my ae best man. And tell me what ye do see :" " O Lord ! I spy the false mermayden Fast sayling out owre the sea !" " How can ye spy the fause mermayden Fast sayling on the mirk sea. For there's neither mune nor momin' licht— In troth it can nevir bee." " O there is neither mune nor momin' licbt^ Nor ae star's blink on the sea; But as I am a Christian man. That witch woman 1 see 1 " Good Lord ! there is a scaud o' fire Fast coming out owre the sea ; And fast therein the grim mermayden Is sayling on to thee ! " Shee hailes our ship wi" a shrill shrill cry — Shee is coming, alace, more near:" " Ah woe is me now," said the master bauld, " For I both do see and hear ! " Come doun, come doun my ae best man. For an ill weird I maun drie ; Yet, I reck not for my sinful self. But thou my trew com panic!" SCOTTISH BALLADS. 91 ®^e JHikOTai^eE ©f Clg^e. [From the Edinburgh Magazine for May, 1820. "The Carlin-stane is a huge rock standing in the middle of the river Clyde, about half a mile below the Stonebyres-lin. It has ever been re- puted a favourite haunt of mermen and mer- maids. The Gaun Weel is a deep whirlpool at a little distance from the Carlin stane, concern- ing which many strange stories are told. In former times it was the chosen horvf of a most malevolent water kelpie, who dragged many a youth to the bottom when bathing, till atlength a sturdy peasant called Aiken Kent, from a huge oaken club which he always carried, re- s.lved to encounter this dreadful fiend. He went one summer evening to the Clyde, tirlit aff his claes, as the country narrators express it, I grippit his aiken kent an' ploungit into the j Weel. He swam round and round, dived to the i bottom, but the kelpie, wha, it seems, was awar o' the character o' the douker, was nae whar to be seen. Fatigued at length, Aiken Kent cam' out o* the water, pat on himsel' an' sat doun to rest, whsn he fill soun' asleep. He was suddenly wakenit by something pu'-pu'an' at his kent, which he had laid aneth his head, an' liftan' his een saw through the gloamin' an austrous appearance clad in mist, with a grousome beard bristling about his mou", an' his twa een shinin' with a dowie streamerlike licht. Richtlie judg- ing this to be the kelpie, Aiken Kent bangit fell upon the puir fiend wi' his club in sic a fury, that he sunne garit him cry out, 'O Aiken Kent ha'e dune, I'll never inair come here, Te may clr.uk yoursel* baith late an' sune. An' o' Kelpie ha'e nae Tear.' Kver since the Gaun Weel, except that it is dangerous to inexperienced bathers from its depth and swirling, is as safe as any other pool iA Clyde."J Thb marmaid sat on the Carlin-stane, A caiman her yellow hair. Was never maid in braid Clydesdale Was ever half sae fair. She caim't it up, an' she caim't it doun. An' she caim't it to her knee ; An' she snudit it roun' her haffits white. An' curl't it ower her eebree. • An' the tnamnaid'g goun waa green as grass. In the cauld wall-ee that grows ; An' the eroun on her brow was the sunny rain- Ower Stanebyres lin that glows. [bow. The marmaid sat on the Carlin-stane, Sae sweetly as she sang. While through aiken wud an' birken shaw The winsome echos rang. O sweetly sings the mavis mild. An' the Tnerl on the thorn ; Mare swe " Siccan fighters I did never see !" L_ . 1 96 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He slit one of their bridal reins,— i what disgrace the conquer'd feels. And he slielpit the squires with that good tawse. Till the blood ran off at baith their heels. •t " But I thought meet to stay behind , And try your lordship to waylay. Resolved to breed some noble sport. By leading you so far astray. The Douglas he was forced to laugh. Till di,v/x\ his cheek the salt tear ran: " I think the deevil be come here In the likeness of a tinkler man !" " Judging it better some lives to spare,— Which fancy takes me now and then,— And settle our quarrel hand to hand. Than each with our ten thousand men. Then he has to Lord Douglas gone. And he raised him kindly by the hand. And he sat him on his gallant steed. And bore him away to Henderland: " God send you soon, my Lord Douglass, To Border foray sound and haill ! But never strike a tinkler again. If he be a Johnstone of Annandale." " Be not cast down, my Lord Douglas, Nor writhe beneath a broken bane. For the leach's art will mend the part, And your honour lost will spring again. 3®0ntEie ^alig Elbiig^toK. " 'Tis true, Jock Johnstone is my name, I'm a right good tinkler as you see; For I can crack a casque betimes. Or clout one, as my need may be. [This ballad is given in Mr Jamieson's eollee- tion, where it is said to be taken from Mrs Brown of Falkland's recitation.] "Jock Johnstone is my name, 'tis true,— But noblf hearts are allied to me. For I am the Lord of Annandale, And a knight and earl as well as thee." O BONNIE Baby Livingstone Gaed out to view the hay ; And by it cam' him Glenlyon, Staw bonnie Baby away. Then Douglnss strain'd the hero's hand. And took from it his sword ngani ; Since thou art the lord of Annandale, Thou hast eased my heart of mciklo pain. And first he's ta'en her silken coat. And neist her satten gown ; Synt row'd her in his tartan plaid, And happ'd her round and roun'. " I might have known thy noble form. In that disguise thou'rt pleased to wear; All Scotland knows thy matchless arm. And Kngland by expcriLnce dear. He's mounted her upon a steed. And roun'lly rade away ; Anil ni'cr loot her look back again The ke-laiig simmer day. " We have been foes as well as friends. And jealous of c.ich other's sway ; But little can I comprehend Thy motive fur these pranks to-day ?" He's c.irried her o'er yon hich hieh hill, Iiitila Iliirlilandglen, And there he met his brother John Wi' twenty armed men. " Sooth, my good lord, the truth to tell, 'Twas I that stole your love away. And gave her to the lord of Ross An hour before the break of day : And there were cows, and there were ewes, And there were kids sae fair ; But sad and wae was bonnie Baby; Her heart was fu' o' care. « For the lord of Ross is my brother. By all the laws of chivalrye; And I brought with me a thousand men To guiud him to my own countrye. \ He's ta'en her in his arms twa. And kist her cheek and chin ; " I wad gi'e a' my flocks and herds ^ Ae sniUe frae thee to win !" SCOTTISH BALLADS. 97 •* A smile frae me ye'se never win ; I'll ne'er look kind on thee ; Ye've stown me awa' frae a' my kin', Frae a' that s dear to me. " Dundee, kind sir, Dundee, kind sir, Tak' me to bonnie Dundee; For ye sail ne'er my favour win Till it ance mair 1 see." " Dundee, Baby ! Dundee, Baby ! Dundee ye ne'er shall see; But I will carry you to Glenlyon, Where you my bride shall be. " Or will ye stay at Achingour, And eat sweet milk and cheese; Or gang wi' me to Glenlyon, And there we'll Uve at our ease ?" " I winna stay at Achingour ; I care neither for milk nor cheese; Nor gang wi' thee to Glenlyon ; For there I'll ne'er find ease.-"' Then out it spak' his brother John,— " If 1 were in your place, I'd send that la'ly hame again. For a' her bonnie face. " Commend me to the lass that 's kind. Though nae sae gently born; And, gin her heart I couldna win. To take her hand I'd scorn." " O baud your tongue, my brother John, Ye wisna what ye say ; For I ha'e lued that bonnie face This mony a year and day. " I've lued her lang, and lued her weel. But her love 1 ne'er could win;* And what X canna fairly gain. To steal I think nae sin." * This is said in the true spirit of a Highland Cath-er, ''freebooter;" literally, soldier, or man qf battle, and, considering the manners of the times, is much less discreditable to the name of Glenlyon, than is another more notorious trans- action of a much later date; 1 mean the mas- sacre of Glenco. — Ja AVhan they cam' to Glenlyon castle. They lighted at the yett ; And out they cam', his three sisters. Their brother for to greet. And they have ta'en her, bonnie Baby, And led her o'er the green; And ilka lady spak' a word, But bonnie Baby spak' naue. Then out it spak' her, bonnie Jane, The youngest o' the three : " O lady, why look ye sae sad ? Come tell your grief to me.' " O wharefore should I tell my grief. Since lax I canna find ? I'm far frae a' my kin and friends. And my love I left behind. " But had I paper, pen, and ink. Afore that it were day, I yet might get a letter wrate. And sent to Johnnie Hay. " And gin I had a bonnie boy. To help me in my need, That he might rin to bonnie Dundee, And come again wi' speed." And they ha'e gotten a bonnie boy. Their errand for to gang ; And bade him run to bonnie Dundee, And nae to tarry lang. The boy he ran o'er muir and dale As fast as he could flee ; And e'er the sun was twa hours hight. The boy was at Dundee. Whan Johnnie lookit the letter on, A hearty laugh leuch he ; But ere he read it till an end. The tear blinded his e'e. " O wha is this, or what is that. Has stown my love frae me .•■ Althrugh he were my ae brither. An ill dead sail he dee. " Gae, saddle to ime the black," he says ; " Gae, saddle to me the brown ; Gae, saddle to me the swiftest steed. That ever rade frae the town." 1 98 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He's call'd upon his merry men a", i To follow him to the glen; And he's voWd he'd neither eat nor sleep Till he got his love again. 'i " Awa' Glenlyon ! fy for shame ! Gae hide you in some den ; You've latten your bride be stown frae you, Por a' your armed men." He's mounted him on a milk-white steed. And fast he rade away ; And he's come to Glenlyon's yett. About the close o' day. ^|e iProp^ng of ^mm As Baby at her window stood, And the west-wind saft did blaw. She heard her Johnnie's well kent voice Aneath the castle wa*. " Baby, haste, the window loup ; I'll kep you in my arm ; My merry men are at the yett To rescue you frae harm." [Ballad of the last century, attributed to William Julius Micklk, the translator of the Lusiad, and reputed author of the popular Scoteh song, "There's nae luck about the house.'] She to the window fix'd her sheets. And slipped safely down ; And Johnnie c'atch'd her in his arms, Ne'er loot her touch the groun'. O'BR the hills of Cheviot beaming, Eose the silver dawn of May ; Hostile spears, and helmets gleaming, Swell'd along the mountains gray. Glenlyon and his brother John Were birling in the ha'. When they heard Johnnie's bridle ring As fast he rade awa'. Edwin's warlike horn resounded Through the winding dales below, And the echoing hUls rebounded The defiance of the foe. "Rise Jock ; gang out and meet the priest, I hear hU bridle ring; My Baby now shall be my wife. Before the laverock sing." O'er the downs, like torrents pouring, Edwin's horsemen rush'd along; From the hills like tempests lowering. Slowly march'd stern Edgar's throng. "0 brither, this is nae the priest; I fear he'll come o'er late ; For armed men wi' shining brands Stond at the castle yett." Spear to spear was now portended. And the yew boughs half were drawn. When the female scream ascended. Shrilling o'er the crowded lawn. "Haste, Donald, Duncan, Dugald, Hugh, Haste, tak' your sword and spear; We'll gar these traytors rue the hour That e'er they ventured here." While her virgins round her weeping, Wav'd aloft their snowy hands. From the wood queen Emma shrieking. Ban between the dreadful bands. The Highlandmen drew their clajTWores, And ga'e a warlike shout; But Johnnie's merry men kept the yett, Nae ane durst venture out. "Oh, my sons, what rage infernal Bids you grasp the unhallow'd spear; Heaven detests the war fraternal; Oh, the impious strife forbear! The lovers rade the lee-lang night. And safe got on their way ; And bonnie Baby Livingstone Has gotten Johnny Hay. ^ " Ah, how mild and sweetly tender FloWd your peaceful early days ! Each was then of each defender, f Each of each the pride and praise SCOTTISH BALLADS. 99 " my first-born Edwin, soften, { Nor invade thy brother's rigiit ; O, my Edgar, think how often Edwin dar'd for thee the fight. ^ " Ah, my sons, how impious, coverd With each other's blood," she cried: While the eagles round her hover'd. And wild scream for scream replied— " Edgar, shall thy impious fury Dare thy guardian to the field ! 0, my sons, let peace allure ye ; Thy stern claims, O Edwin, yield. " From that blood around you streaming. Turn, my sons, your vengeful eyes; See what horrors o'er you streaming, Muster round th' offended skies. Sullen Edgar, clouds thy rear! Bring'st thou Denmark's banners, braving Thy insulted brother's spear ? " See what burning spears portended, Couch'd by fire-ey'd spectres glare. Circling round you both, suspended On the trembling threads of air! " Ah, bethink how through thy regions Midnight horror fearful howl'd ; "When, like wolves, the Danish legions Through thy trembling forests prowl 'd. " O'er you both heaven's lightning vollies, Wither'd is your strength ev'n now; Idly weeping o'er your follies. Soon your heads shall lowly bow. " When, unable of resistance, Denmark's lance thy bosom gor'd— And shall Edwin's brave assistance Be repaid with Denmark's sword ! " Soon the Dane, the Scot, and Norman O'er your dales shall havoc pour. Every hold and city storming, Every herd and field devour. " "With that sword shalt thou assail him. From -whose point he set thee free, "While his warlike sinews fail him. Weak with loss of blood for thee 1 " Ha, what signal new arising Through the dreadful group prevails ! •Tis the hand of justice poising High aloft the eternal scales. " Oh, my Edwin, timely hearken. And thy stern resolves forbear ! Shall revenge thy councils darken. Oh, my Edgar, drop the spear ! " Loaded with thy base alliance. Rage and rancour all extreme. Faith and honour's foul defiance. Thine, O Edgar, kicks the beam ! " Wisdom tells, and justice offers. How each wound may yet be balm'd , 0, revere these holy proffers. Let the storms of heU be calm'd. " Opening mild and blue, reversing O'er thy brother's wasted hills. See the murky clouds dispersing. And the fertile show'r distils. " Oh, my sons"— hut all her sorrows Fir'd their impious rage the more : From the bow-strings sprung the arrows ; Soon the valleys reek'd with gore. " But o'er thy devoted valleys Blacker spreads the angry sky ; Through the gloom pale lightning sallies. Distant thunders groan and die. Shrieking wild, with horror shivering. Fled the queen all stain'd with blood. In her purpled bosom quivering. Deep a feather'd arrow stood. " O'er thy proudest castles waving. Fed by hell and magic power, Denmark tow'rs on high her raven, Hatch'd in freedom's mortal hour. Up the mountain she ascended. Fierce as mounts the flame in air ; And her hands, to heaven extended, Scatter'd her uprooted hair. { " ' Cursed be the day detested. Cursed be the fraud profound. When on Denmark's spear we rested,' 9 Ttirough thy streets sliall loud resound. L 100 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " To thy brother sad imploring. Now X see thee turn thine eyes — Hah, in settled darkness louring, JSow no more the visions rise ! " But thy ranc'rous soul descending To thy s 1118 from ag« to age. Province then from province rending. War on war sliall bleed and rage. " This thy freedi m proudly boasted. Hapless Edgar, ' loud she cried — With her wounds and woes exnausted, Down on earth she sunk and died. ^alg^oie. [From the Edinburgh Annual Register for ISlO.j On Rimside Moor a tempest-cloud Us dreary shadows cast At midnight, and the desert flat Re-echoed to the blast; When a poor child of guilt came there AV ith frantic step to range. For blood was sprinkled on the garb He dared not stay to change. " My God ! oh whither shall I turn ? The horsemen press behind. Their hollo' and their hoises tramp Come louder on the wind ; " But there 's a sight on yonder heath 1 dare not, cannot face. Though 'twere to save me from those hounds. And gain my spirit grace. " Why did I seek those hated haunts Long shunn'd so fearfully ; Was there not room on other hills To hide and shelter me f " Here's blood on every stone I meet. Bones in each glen so dim. And comrade Gregory that's dead '. — But I'll not thiuk of iiiiii. " I'll seek that hut where 1 was wont To dwell on a former day. Nor terrors vain, nor things long past, Shall scare me thence away. " That cavern from the law's pursuit Has saved me oft before. And fear constrains to visit haunts I hoped to see no nioie." Through well-known paths, though long un- The robber took his way, [trod. Until before his eyes the cave All dark and desert lay. There he, when safe beneath its roof. Began to think the crowd Had left pursuit, so wild the paths. The tempest was so loud. The bolts had still retain'd their place. He barred the massy door. And laid him down and heard the blast Careering o'er the moor. Terror and guilt united strove To chasj sweet sleep ;iway ; But slee.; with toil prevaild at last. And seized him where he lay. A knock comes thundering to the door. The robbers heart leaps high— "Now open quick, remeniber'st not Thy comrade Gregory?" — " Whoe'er thou art, with smother'd voice Strive not to cheat mine ear. My comrade Gregory is dead. His bones are hanging near!" " Now ope thy door nor parley more. Be sure I'm Gregory ! An 'twere not for the gibbet rope. My voice were clear and free. •• The wind is high, the wind is loud. It bends the old elm tree; The blast has toss d my bones about This night most wearily. " The elm was dropping on my hair. The shackles gali'd my feet; To hang in chains is a bitter liiir And oh a bed is sweet 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 1 Q 1 ♦* For many a night I'v|! borne my lot, i Nor yet disturbed thee here. Then sure a pillow thou wilt give Unto thy old compeer ?" i " But come thou forth, we'll visit now The elm of the witherd rind ; For though.thy door was barrd to me. Yet I will be more kind. "Tempt me no more," the robber cried. And struggled with his fear, Were this a night to ope my door. Thy taunt should cost thee dear."— " That is my home, the ravens there Are all my company; And they and I will both rqoice In such a guest as thee. " Ah, comrade, jou did not disown. Nor bid me brave the cold. The door was open'd soon, when I Brought murder'd Mansell's gold. " The wind is loud, but clasp my arm- Why, fool, dost thou delay J You did not fear to clasp that arm When my life was sold away." " "When for a bribe you gave me up. To the cruel gallows tree. You made my bed with readiness. And stirr'd the fire for me. The midnight blast sung wild and loud Round trembling Polydore, As by his dead companion led He struggled o'er the moor. But I have sworn to visit thee. Then cease to bid me go, And open— or thy bolts and bars Shall burst beneath my blow." Soon had they reach'd a wilderness By human foot unpress'd, The wind grew cold, the heather sigh'd. As conscious of their guest. Oh sick at heart grew Polydore, And wish'd the dawn of day ; That voice had quell'd his haughtiness. He knew not what to say. Alone amid the dreary waste The wither'd elm reclined. Where a halter with a ready noose Hung dancing in the wind. For now the one that stood without An entrance craved once more, And when no answer was return'd. He struck— and burst the door. Then turning round, his ghastly face Was twisted with a smile— " Now living things are far remote. Well rest us here awhUe. Some words he mutter'd o'er the latch. They were no words of good. And by the embers of the hearth. All in his shackles stood. " Brothers we were, false Polydore, We robb'd in company ; Brothers in life, and we in death Shall also brothers be. A wreath of rusted iron bound His grim unhallowed head; A dse:i.on's spark was in his eye — Its mortal light was dead. " Behold the elm, behold the ro^e Which 1 prepared before- Art rale ? 'tis but a struggle, man. And soon that struggle 's o'er. " Why shrink'st thou thus, good comrade. With such a wilder'd gare, [now. Dost fear my rusted shackles' clank. Dost fear my wither'd face f Tremble no more, but freely come, And like a brother be; I'll hold the rope, and in my arms I'll help you up the tree." " But for the gallows rope, my face Had ne'er thus startled thee ; And the galliws rope, was't not the fruit Ofthy foul treachery:* ^ The eyes of Polydore grew dim. He ruused himself to pray, But a heavy weight sat on his breast f And took all voice away. 102 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The rope is tied— then from his lips ^" For, as legends teH. an unseen spell A cry of anguish broke— Doth screen him from mortal wound ; Too powerful for the bands of sleep. Unless the steel be dipp'd in a well And Polydore awoke. That holy wall doth bound." All vanish'd now the cursed elm. Sad was her heart when she saw her page part. His dead companion gone. And she fear'd she would see him no more ; With troubled joy he found himself For, in secret, long her soul was wrung In darkness and alone. With a love that ne'er trembled before. But still the wind with hollow gusts " Oh, what is that sound seems to come from Fought ravening oer the moor. the ground. And checkd his transports, while it shook And now sweeps along on the air !" The barricaded door. She dared not look, for with terror she shook. And she tremblingly murmur'd a prayer. And o'er the dun heath a balmy breath Stole like roses and violets sweet ; ®^e Ea^g an^ f)tx ipiage. And the lavender blue, all dropping with dew, Strew'd the ground at the lady's feet. [From the Scots Magazine for 1817.] " Fair maiden come to our twilUng home. Where we'll sport so merrily ; It was a sweet and gentle hour, The glow-worm by night shall lend us a light. 'Twas the night of a summer day. As we dance round the grey ash tree ; When a lady bright, on her palfrey white. Paced across the moorland grey. "Or, with unwet wings, we'll sport in the springs And oft she check'd her palfrey's rein. That roll far beneath the sea; As if she heard footsteps behind, Or to the bright moon we'll Hy as soon. •Twas her heart of fear that deceived her ear. If my love thou wilt deign to be." And she heard but the passing wind. Askance she gaz'd— and her eye she raisd. There trips a page that lady beside. A youth stood timidly nigh. To guide the silken rein. And, of a truth, 'twas a lovely youth And he holds up those, with duteous care. As ever met raaiden's eye. Her foot-cloth's sweeping train : His tresses brown, the same mantling down. And that page was a knight, who in menial Seem'd his snowy neck to veil; plight, And with chrysolite eyes, his wings crimson For love of that stately dame. dyes. Long serv'd at her board, though a high bom lord Were stain'd like the peacock's tail. And a foe to her father's name. His eye was bright, as the northern streamer's 1 light. Across the haze there streamed a pale blaxe. But his cheek vras sad and pale And the pages cheek blaneh'd with fear^- And as the lines of care that were written there. " Oh, see, lady, see ! at the foot of yon tree, A spirit might read and wail : The blue fire tliat burns sae clear! But his sky-tinctur'd vest to his eye-lids wasprest 'Tis the prince of the night, 'tis the elfin sprite. And his heart seem'd bursting with woe. With his ghostly revelry : And the white, white rose, that wreath'd his Sweet lady,stand with this cross in thine hand. brows. Or thou and 1 must die! ^ f Seem'd pale, and paler to glow. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. jQg " I've watch'd thee late and early, i ! But who is he that flies with his soul in his eyes. I've watch'd thee night and day ; Wide waving a faulchion of steel ? I've loved thee, lady, dearly. But the flush on her cheek, ere a word she could With love that can never decay: A nursling babe might teU. [speak. " I've heard thy sleeping sigh, lady. 'Twas an urchin sprite, in the guise of her I've heard thy waking prayer; 'Twas a wile of the elfin king ; [knight. No mortal foot was nigh, lady. And the vision so quaint, in form and in teint. But I was weeping there. Her soul to her cheek did bring. " With an eye that no thought can deceive. " Hush'd, hush'd be your fear, for your true lady. knight is near. I've seen love sweetly stealing on thee ; With the brand that his patron swnt gave. I know that young bosom can heave, lady. No elfin wight may dare its might. And shall it not heave for me .•"' For 'tis dipp'd in St Angelo's wave : The lady stood— and her unchill'd blood " And the cowl'd friar, and convent quire. Gave her lip its warmest hue ; Are waiting our nuptials to say; But the cross to her breast was fervently Haste, lady, haste, for the night's fading fast. press'd. And the eastern cloud is grey. And still her heart was true. " But give me the cross that's hid in thy breast. "Yet rest thee here, oh, lady, dear. And ^ve me the rosary too ; And my minstrel spirits gay. And I'll lead thee o'er the perilous moor. With harp and lute, and fairy flute. On the faith of a knight so true." Shall play thee a roundelay." Oh, she gave up the cross that was laid in her All was hush'd and stiU on the elfin hill. breast. All was hush'd in the evening vale ; And she gave up the rosary too — Not a whisper was heard, not a footstep stirr'd. Ashegrasp'd them, he frown'd, and he smote Not an aspen-leaf shook in the gale. the ground. And out rush'd the elfin crew. Then soft and slow a note of woe Came far on the breathless air; And the goblin rout gave a maddening shout. 'Twas wild as the strain of a mermaid train And danc'd round them in many a wild ring. When they're combing their yellow hair ; And the slender waist of that lady chaste Was clasp'd by the elfin king. 'Twas wild as the dirge that floats o'er the surge. The mariner's lonely grave. All loose was her hair, and her bosom was bare. All— while mortals sleep, they sing and they And his eye it glar'd fierce and bold. weep. And her wan lip he press'd, and her shuddering And they glide on the moonlight wave. breast. And he grasped her locks of gold. Then it rose rich and high, like the chaunt of joy But instant a blow made the caitiff forego That breathes round the hermit bower; His grasp of that victim fair. When cherubim bright leave their mansions of And deadly he groan'd, as he shrunk from the light. wound. To soothe his dying hour. And the phantom crew vanish'd in air. Oh, how the heart beat of the lady sweet. " I've sav'd thee, my love ! by help from above. But her heart did not beat with fear ; I've sav'd thee from mortal harms !" The train so wild her senses had guil'd. And no word she spoke, but she gave him a look. And she loved, though she trembled to bear, j; ^ And sunk in her true knight's arms. 104 SCOTTISH BALLADS. [From Buchan's Ancient BaJlads.— " A frag- ment of this pathetic ballad," says Mr Buchan, win be found in the Edinburgh Collection of 1776, Vol. I. p. 165 ; but it is deficient in narra- tive, and imperfect in the tragical detail of what it ct>ntains. For some real or imaginary cause, the hero of the ballad murders his lover's only brother, for which he intends leaving the place of his rendezvous, but is prevented by the lady, who promises to secrete him in a place of her own bower. She proved faithful to her pro- mise; for when nine armed men came in pursuit of him, she kept him secure ; and to keep up the deception, and prevent suspicion, she entertain- ed them all with bread and wine,— a proof that love is stronger than death. He having heard the men in converse with the lady, naturally supposed, from a guilty conscience, that they were his foes, and admitted into the house by the lady for his detection ; so that, when she entered his apartment in a friendly manner, to inform him of the departure of his enemies, he drew his sword and gave her a mortal viound, think- ing it was one of the men come to appre- hend and secure him. On the discovery of his fata.1 mistake, the lady advised him to fly for his life, but he declined it, thinking himself worthy of death for her sake.] Lord John stands in his stable door. Says he, I will gae ride ; His lady, in her bigly bower. Desired him to bide. " How can I bide, how can I bide ? How shall I bide wi' thee ? When 1 ha'e ki.ld your ae br ther. You ha'e nae mair but he." " If ye ha'e kill'd my ae brotiier, Alas ' and wae is me ; If ye be well yoursel', my love. The less matter will it be ! " Ye'll do you to yon bigly bower. And take a silent sleep. And I'll watch in my highest tower, Ynur fair body to keep." She has shut her bigly bower. All wi' a silver pin ; And done her to the highest tower. To watch that nane come in. But as she looked round about, To see what she coul i see, There she saw nine armed knights Come riding o'er the lea. " God make you safe and free, lady, God make yuu safe and free ! Did you see a bludy knight Come riding o'er the lea?" " O, what like was his hawk, his hawk ' And what Ike was his hound:" If his steed has ridden well, He's-pass'd fair Scotland's strand. "Come in, come in, gude gentlemen. And take white bread and wme ; And aye the better ye'll pursue. The lighter that ye dine." " We thank you for your bread, lady. We thank you for the wino ; And I would gi'e my lands sae broad. Your fair body were mine." She has gane to her bigly bower, Her ain gude lord to meet ; A trusty brand he quickly drew, Ga'e her a wound sae deep. " What harm., my lord, provokes thine ire. To wreak itself on me, When thus I strove to save thy life. Yet served for sic a fee .•"' " Ohon, alas ! my lady gay. To come so hastilie ; 1 thought it was n)y deadly foe. Ye had trysted into me. " O live, O live, my gay iady. The space o' ae half hour. And nae a leech in a' the land But I'se bring to your bower." " How can I live, how shall I live ? How can I live for thee .■" Ye see my lilude rins on the ground, My hearts blude by your knee- ' SCOTTISH BALLADS. 105 •■ O take to flight, and flee, my love, U take to flight, and flee! 1 woaldna wish your fair body For to get harm for me." " Ae foot I winna flee, lady, Ae fo(,t 1 winna flee ; I've dune the crime worthy o* death. It's right that I should die. " O deal ye well at my love's lyke. The beer, but an' the wine ; For, ere the morn, at this same time. Yell deal the same at mine. [From Buchan's Ballads.] As I gaed in yon greenwood side, 1 heard a fiair maid singing ; Her voice was sweet, she sang sae complete, That all the woods were ringing. " O, I'm the duke o" Athole's nurse. My post is well becoming; But I would gie a' my half-year's fee, For ae sight o' my leman." " Ye say, ye're the duke o' Athole's nurse. Your post is well becoming; Keep well, keep well your half-year's fee, Ye'se ha'e twa sights o' your leman.-' He lean'd him ower his saddle bow. And cannilie kiss'd his dearie; " Ohon, and alake ! anitlier has my heart. And I darena mair come near thee !" " Ohon, and alake ! if anither ha'e your heart. These words ha'e faiily undone me; But let us set a time, tryst to meet again. Then in gude friends you will twine me. " Ye will do you down to yon tavern house. And drink till the day be dawing; And, as sure as 1 ance had a love for you, 111 eonie there and clear your lawiny. 4k" Ye'Il spare not the wine, although it be fine, Nae Malago, though it be rarely ; But ye'll aye drink the bonnie lassie's health That's to clear your lawing fairly." Then he's done him down to yon tavern house. And drank till day was dawing; And aye he drank the bonnie lassie's health That was coming to clear his lawing. And aye as he birled, and aye as he drank. The gude beer and the brandy ; He spar'd not the wine, although it was fine. The sack nor the sugar candy. " It's a wonder to me," the knight he did say, " My bonnie lassie's say delaying; She promts d, as sure as she loved me ance. She would be here by the dawing." He's done him to a shott window, A little before the dawing; And there he spied her nine brothers bauld. Were coming to betray him. " Where shall I rin, where shall I gang. Or where shall I gang hide me ? She that was to meet me in friendship this day. Has sent nine men to slay me !" He's gane to the landlady o' the house. Says, "O can you supply me :* For she that was to meet me in friendship this day. Has sent nine men to slay me !" She ga'e him a suit o' her ain female claise, A nd set him to the baking ; The bird never sang mair sweet on the bush. Nor the knight sung at the baking. As they came in at the ha' door, Sae loudly as they rappit ; And when they came upon the floor, Sae loudly as they chappit. " O, had ye a stranger here last night. Who drank till the day was dawing ? Come, show us the chamber where he lyes in. We'll shortly clear his lawing." " I had nae stranger here last night, That drank till the day was dawing; But ane that took a pint, and paid it e'er he went, ' And there's uaething to clear o' his lasving." IQQ SCOTTISH BALLADS. A lad amang the rest, being o' a merry mood, ^ " 0, lady fair, give me your hand. To the young knight fell a-talking ; With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; The wife took her foot, and ga'e him a kick. And I'll mak- you lady of a' my land. Says, " Be busy, ye jilt, at your baking." As the primrose spreads so sweetly." They stabbed the house, baith but and ben. " Sir knight, ere you my favour win. The curtains they spared nae riving ; With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; And for a' that they did search and ca'. Ye maun get consent frae a' my kin'. For a kiss o' the knight they were striving. As the primrose spreads so sweetly." He has got consent fi ae her parents dear. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; And likewise frae her sisters fair, ®|e €xml ^rot^er. As the primrose spreads so sweetly. He has got consent frae her kin' each one. With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay ; [From Jamieson's Collection, given on the But furgot to spear at her brotiier John, authority of Mrs Brown of Falkland.— Mr As the primrose spreads so sweetly. Jamieson says, " The ballad is very popular in Scotland; and an edition of it, differing mate- Now, when the wedding-day was come. rially from that here given, has appeared in the With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; Edinburgh Collection, in two volumes."] The knight would take his bonnie bride home. As the primrose spreads so sweetly. Thebk was three ladies play'd at the ba'. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; And many a lord and many a knight. There came a knight, and play'd o'er them a'. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; As the primrose spreads so sweetly. Came to behold that lady bright. As the primrose spreads so sweetly. The eldest was baith tall and fair. With a heigh-ho : and a lily gay ; And there was nae man that did her see. But the younsjest was beyond compare. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; As the primrose spreads so sweetly. But wished himself bridegroom to be, As the primrose spreads so sweetly. The midmost had a gracefu' mien. / With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; Her father dear led her down the stair. But the youngest lookd like beauty's queen. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; As the primrose spreads so sweetly. And her sisters twain they kissd her there. As the primrose spreads so sweetly. The knight bow'd low to a' the three. With a heigh-ho : and a lily gay ; Her mother dear led her through the close. But to the youngest he bent his knee. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; As the primrose spreads so sweetly. And her brother John set her on the horse. As the primrose spreads so sweetly. The lady turned her head aside, With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay; She lean'd her o'er the sadJle-bow, The knight he woo'd her to be his bride. With a heigh-ho: and a lily giy ; As the primrose spreads so sweetly. To give him a kiss ere she did gj, As the primrose spreads so sweetly. The lady blush'd a rosy red, With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay. He has ta'en a knife, baith lang and sharp. And said, "Sir knight, I'm o'er young to With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay ; wed. And stabb d the bonnie bride to the heart As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 1 ^ As the primrose spreads so sweetly. I_ SCOTTISH BALL AD& 107 She hadna ridden half through the town, { With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay. ' ®|e Eah^ Of #cMItne. Until her heart's blood stained her gown. As the primrose spreads so sweetly. [This ballad is given in Herd's Collection, and is founded on a circumstiince which took place in " Ride saftly on," said the best young man. 1593, and which is thus related by Spotswood. " With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay ; " At the same time, John Weymis, younger of For I think our bonnie bride looks pale and wan. Bogie, gentleman of his majesty's chamber, and As the primrose spreads so sweetly." in great favour both with the king and queen, was discovered to have the like dealing with " 0, lead me gently up yon hill. Bothwell ; and, being committed to the keeping With a heigh-ho \ and a lily gay ; of the guard, escaped by the policy of one of the And I U there sit down, and make my will, Dutch maids, with whom he entertained a secret As the primrose spreads so sweetly." love. The gentlewoman, named Mistress Mar- garet Twinslace, coming one night, whilst the " 0, what will you leave to your father dear, king and queen were in bed, to his keepers. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" showed that the king called for the prisoner, to " The silver shod steed that brought me here. ask of him some question. The keepers, suspect- As the primrose spreads so sweetly." ing nothing, for they knew her to be the principal maid in the chamber, conveighed him to the " What will you leave to your mother dear. door of the bed-chamber ; and, making a stay With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" without as they were commanded, the gentle- " My velvet pall and silken gear. woman did let him down at a window, by a cord As the primrose spreads so sweetly." that she had prepared. The keepers, waiting upon his return, stayed there till the morning. " And what will you leave to your sister Ann, and then found themselves deceived. This, with With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay V the manner of the escape, ministered great occa- "My silken scarf and my golden fan, sion of laughter ; and, not many days after, the As the primrose spreads so sweetly." king being pacified by the queen's means, he was pardoned, and took to wife the gentlewoman " What will you leave to your sister Grace, who had, in this sort, hazarded her credit for With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" his safety."— How the name of the hero Bogie " My bloody cloaths to wash and dress. happened to be changed to Ochiltrie, as in the As the primrose spreads so sweetly." present ballad, is not known.] " What will ye leave to your brother John, LISTEN gude people to my tale. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" Listen to what I tell to thee. " The gallows-tree to hang him on. The king has taiken a poor prisoner. As the primrose spreads so sweetly." The wanton laird of OchUtrie. " What will ye leave to your brother John's wife. When news came to our guidly queen. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" She sicht, and said richt mournfuUie, " The wilderness to end her life. " O what will cum of lady Margaret, As the primrose spreads so sweetly." Wha bears sic luve to Ochiltrie ?" This fair lady in her grave was laid. Lady Margaret tore hir yellow hair With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; When as the queen told hir the salm : And a mass was o'er her said. "I wis that I had neir been born. As the primrose spreads so sweetly. Nor neir had known Ochiltrie's name." Rut it would have made your heart right sair. " Fy na," quo' the queen, " that maunnabe. With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay; Fy na, that maunna be ; To see the bridegroom rive his hair. I'll find ye out a better way As the primrose spreads so sweetly. K 6 To saif the lyfe of Ochiltrie." 108 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The queen she trippet up the ttalr. And lowly knie'.t upon her knie : " The first boon which I cum to craive Is the Ijfe of gentel Ochiltrie." " if you had ask'd me eastels and towlrs, I wad ha'e gin them twa or thrie; But a' the monie in fair Scotland Winna buy the lyfe of Ochiltrie." The queen she trippet doun the stair. And down she gade richt irournfulUe , " Its a" the monie in fair Scotland, Winna buy the lyfe of Ochiltrie." Lady Margaret tore her yellow hair, When as the queen told hir the same ; " I'll tak' a knife and end my lyfe. And be in the grave as soon as him." " Ah ! na, fie ! na," quoth the queen, " Fie ! na, fie ! na, this maunna be ; I'll set ye yet on a better way To loose and set Ochiltrie frie." The queen she slippet up the stair. And she gade up richt pnvatlie, And she has stoun the prison-keys. And gane and set Ochiltrie I'rie. And she's gi'en him a purse of gowd. And another of white rnonie; She's gi'en him twa pistols bys side, Saymg to him, " Shute when ye win frie." And when he cam' to the queen's window, Whaten a joyfu' shute ga'e he! " Peace be to uur royal queen. And peace be in her companie." " O whaten a voice is that ?" quoth the king, " Whaten a voice is t.iat J" quoth he, " Whaten a voice Is that?" quoth the king, " 1 think it's the voice of Ochiltrie. " Call to me a' my gaolours. Call them by thirtle and by thrie, Wharefor the morn at twelve o'clock It's hangit shall they ilk aue be." " didna ye send your keys to us .■> Ye sent them by thirtie and by thrie : And wi' them sent a strait coi niand. To get at large young Uulultrie." "Ah ! na, fie ! na," quoth the queen, " Fie, my dear luve! this maunna be; And if ye're gawn to hang them a'. Indeed ye maun begin wi' me." The tane was shippit at the pier of Leith, The ither at the Queensferie ; And now the lady has gott«n hir luve. The winsom laird of Ocliiltrie. THE LAIRD OF LOGIE, [From the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. — " An edition of this ballad," says Sir Walter, " is current, under the title of ' The Laird of Ochiltrie;' but the editor has been fortunate enough to recover the following more correct and ancient copy, as recited by a gentleman residing near Biggar. It agrees mure nearly, both in the name and in the circumstances, with the real fact, than the printed ballad of Ochiltrie, In the year 1592, Francis Stuart, earl of Both- well, was agitating his frantic and ill-concerted attempt* against the person of James VI., whom he endeavoured to surprise in the palace of Falkland. Through the emulation and pri- vate rancour of the courtiers, he found adherents even about the king's person ; aruong whom, it seems, was the hero of our ballad, whose history is thus narrated in that curious and valuable chronicle, of which the first part has been pi*b- lished under the title of The Historie of King James the Sext. — ' In this close tyme it fortunit, that a gentleman, callit Wtymis of Logye, being also in credence at coui-t, was delatit as a traffek- ker with Frances erle Bothweil ; and he being examint before king and counsall, confessit his accusation to be of veritie, that sundrie tymes he had gpokin with him, expresslieaganis the king's inhibitii'un proclamit in the contrare, whilii confession he subscryvit with his hand; and be- cause the event of this mater had sik a success, it sail also be praysit be my pen, as a worthie turne, proceiding from honest chest loove and charitie, whilk suld on na wayis be obscurit from the posteritie, for the gude example ; and there- fore 1 have thought gude to insert the same for a perpetual memorie. Queene Anne, our noble princess, was servit with dyverss gentilwemen vjj of hir awin cuntrie, and nayuielie with ane callit SCOTTISH BALLADS. 109 Jlres Margaret Twynstoun,* to whome this gentilman, AVeymeg (jf Logye, bure greathonest affection, tending to the godlie bund of marriage, the whilk was honesilie requytet be the said gen- tilwoman, yea evin in his greatest mister ; for howsone she understude the said gentilman to be in distress, and apperantlie be his confession to be puneist to the death, and she having preve- lege to ly in the queynis chalmer that same verie night of his accusation, whare the king was also reposing that same night, she came furth of the dure prevelie, bayth the prencis being then at quyet rest, and past to the chal- mer, whare the said gentilman was put in custo- die to certayne And hast thou play'd me that?' quoth he; The morn the Justice court's to stand. And Logie's place ye maun supply." CarmichaeVs awa' to Margaret's bower. Even as fast as he may drie — "O if young Logie be within. Tell him to c^me and speak with me !" no SCOTTISH BALLADS. May Margaret turned her round about, (I wot a loud laugh laughed she) " The egg is chipped, the bird is flown, Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie." The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith, The tother at the Queen's Ferrie: And she's gotten a father to her bairn, The wanton laird of young Logie. [" This ballad is founded upon a real event, which took place in the north of Scotland, in the year 1571, during the struggles between the party which held out for the imprisoned Queen Mary, and that which endeavoured to maintain the authority of her infant son James VI. The person here designated Edom o' Gordon, was Adam Gordon of Auchindown, brother of the marquis of Huntly, and, his deputy as lieutenant of the north of Scotland for the queen. This gentleman committed many acts of oppression on the clan Forbes, under colour of the Queen's authority; and, in one collision with that family, killed Arthur, brother to lord Forbes. He after- wards sent a party, under one captain Car, or Ker, to reduce the house of Towie, one of the chief seats of the name of Forbes. The proprie- tor of this mansion being from home, his lady, who was pregnant at the time, confiding too much in her sex and condition, not only refused to surrender, but gave Car some very oppro- brious language over the walls ; which irritated him so much, that he set fire to the house, and burnt the whole inmates, amounting in all to thirty-seven persons. As Gordon never cashiered Car for this inhuman action, he was held by the public voice to be equally guilty ; and accordingly we here find a ballad in which he is represented as the principal actor himself. Gordon, in his History of the Family of Gordon, informs us that, in the right old spirit of Scottish family feud, the Forbescs afterwards attempted to assassinate Gordon on the streets of Paris. ' Forbes,' he says, ' with these desperate fellows, lay in wait, in the street through which he was to return to his lodgings from the palace of the Archbishop of Glasgow, then ambassador in France. They discharged their pistols upon Auchindown, as he passed by them, and wound- ed him in the thigh. His servants pursued, biit could not catch them ; they only found by good chance, Forbes's hat,in which was a paper with the name of the place where they were to meet. John Gordon, lord of Glenluce and Longormes, son to Alexander Gordon, bishop of Galloway, lord of the bedchamber to the king of France, getting instantly notice of this, immediately acquainted the king, who forthwith despatched U grand prevost de Vhotel, or the great provost of the palace, with his guards in company with John Gordon, and Sir Adam's servants, to the place of their meeting to apprehend them. When they were arrived at the place. Sir Adam's ser- vants, being impatient, rushed violently into the house, and killed Forbes; but his associates were all apprehended, and broke upon the wheel.' This dreadful incident would surely have made an excellent second part to the ballad." — Chambers. Edom of Gordon was firet published by Lord Hailes, from the recitation of a lady, at Glasgow, 1755, 12 pages, 4to. It was afterwards given by Percy in his Reliques, with some alterations from his old MS. Percy's copy is here followed.] It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld. Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, " We maun draw to a hauld. " And whatna hauld sail we draw to. My merrie-men and me ? We will gae to the house o" Rhodes, [Rothe^ j To see that fair ladye." She had nae sooner buskit hersel'. Nor putten on her goun, Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were round about the toun. They had nae sooner sitten doun. Nor suner said the grace. Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were closed about the place. The ladye ran to her touir heid. As fast as she could drie. To see if, by her fair speeches, She could with him agree. As Bune as he saw the ladye fair. And hir yetts all lockit fast. He fell into a rage of wrath. And his heart was aghast. SCOTTISH BALLADS. Ill '• Come down to me, ye ladye fair. Come down to me, let's see ; This nicht ye'se lie by my ain side. The morn my bride sail be," " I winna come doun, ye fauge Gordon ; I winna come doun to thee; I winna forsake my ain deir lord, That is sae far ftrae me." " Gi'e up your house, ye fair ladye, Gi'e up your house to me ; Or I will burn yoursel' therein. But and your babies thrie." " I winna gi'e 't up, thou fause Gordon, To nae sic traitor as thee ; Though thou suld burn myseV therein. But and my babies thrie. " And ein wae worth you, Jock, my man ! I paid ye well your fee ; Why pou ye out my grund-wa-stane. Lets in the reek to me ? " And ein wae worth ye, Jock, my man I I paid ye well your hyre ; Why pou ye out my grund-wa-stane. To me lets in the fyre ?" " Te paid me well my hire, lady. Ye paid me well my fee ; But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man. Maun either do or die." O then bespake her youngest son. Sat on the nurse's knee, " Dear mother, gi'e ower your house," he says, " For the reek it worries me." " I winna gi'e up my house, my dear. To nae sic traitor as he ; Come weel, come wae, my jewel fair. Ye maun tak' share wi' me." O then bespake her daughter deir ; She was baith jimp and sma' ; "O row me in a pair o' sheets. And tow me ower the wa'." They rowed her in a pair o' sheets. And towed her ower the wa' ; But on the point o' Edom's speir She gat a deidly fa'. ^ O bonnie, bonnie, was her mouth. And cherry were her cheiks ; And cleir, cleir, was her yellow hair. Whereon the reid blade dreips. Then wi' his speir he turned her ower, gin her face was wan ! He said, " You are the first that eir 1 wist alyve again." He turned her ower and ower again, O gin her skin was whjte ! He said, " I micht ha'e spared thy lyfe. To been some man's delyte. " Backe and boun, my merrie-men all. For ill dooms 1 do guess ; I canna lulk on that bonnie face. As it lies on the grass !" " Them luiks to freits, my master deir. Then freits will follow them ; Let it ne'er be said brave Kdom o' Gordon Was dauntit by a dame." O then he spied her ain deir lord. As he came o'er the lea ; He saw his castle in a fyre. As far as be could see. " Put on, put on, my michtie men. As fast as ye can drie ; For he that 's hindmost o' my men. Sail ne'er get gude o' me." And some they rade, and some they ran, Fu' fast out ower the plain ; But lang, lang, ere he could get up. They a' were deid and slain. But mony were the mudie men. Lay gasping on the grene ; For o' fifty men that Edom brought. There were but fyve gaed hame. And mony were the mudie men. Lay gasping on the grene ; And mony were the fair ladyes. Lay lemanless at hame. And round and round the wa's he went. Their ashes for to view ; At last into the flames he ran. And bade the world adieu. —' 112 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^^j D2emon=!0l3!fT. ^ K She has taken up her t^vo little babes, Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin; t" This ballad, which contains some verses of "0 fair ye weel, my ain two babes. merit, was taken down from recitation by Mr For I'll never see you again." William Laidlaw, tenant in Traquair-knowe. It contains a legend, which, in various shapes, is She set her foot upon the ship. current in Scotland. I remember to have heard No mariners could she behold ; a ballad, in which a fiend is introduced paying But the Siiils were o' the tiiffetie. his addresses to a beautiful maiden ; but discon- And the raasti o' the beaten gold. certed b.s the holy herbs which she wore in her bi>som, makes the following lines the burden of She had not sailed a league, a league. his courUhip : A league but barely three. ' Ciiu ye wi^h to be layman mine, When dismal grew his countenance. I.RV a>i6. The title is given at length, " Gill Morice an Ancient Scots Poem. The foundatiim of the Tragedy, called Douglas, as it is now acted in the Concert- hall, Cannngate." Except some slight variations in orthography, and in its omitting the 16 additional verses which are men- tioned by bishop Percy as having been suosequently added to the ballad, there is no other material ditTe- rence between this edition and that which is reprint- ed in the Reliques. 114 SCOTTISH BALLADS. was owing "to a lady who favoured the printers Willi a copy, as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses," and re- questing " that any reader who could render it more perfect and complete, would oblige the public with such improvements." This was holding out too tempting a bait not to be greedi- ly snapped at by some of those " ingenious hands" who have con upted the purity of legen- dary song 'n Scotland, by manifest forgeries and gross impositions. Accordmgly, sixteen addi- tional verses soon appeared in manuscript, which the editor of the Reliques has inserted in their proper places, though he rightly views them in no better light than that of an ingenious inter- polation. Indeed, the whole ballad of " Gil Morice," as the writer of the present notice has been politely informed by the learned and ele- gant edit r of the Border Minstrelsy, underwent a total revisal, abdut the period when the trage- dy of Douglas was in the zenith of its popularity, and this improved copy, it seems, embraced the ingenious interpolation above referred to. In- dependent altogether of this positive informa- tion, any one familiar with the state in which traditionary poetry has been transmitted to the present times, can be at no loss to detect many more " ingenious interpolations,"' as well as para- phrastic additions in the ballad as now printed. But though it has iieen grievously corrupted in this way, the most scrujulons inquirer into the authenticity of ancient song can have no hesitation in admitting, that uiany of its verses, even as they now stand, are purely traditionary, and fair, and genuine parcels of antiquity, un- alloyed with any base admixture of modern in- vention, and in no wise altered, save in those changes of language, to which all oral poetry is unavoidably subjected in its pre gress from one age to another. For the gratification of the general reader, and for the apter illustration of the more ancient and less vitiated sets of the ballad which follow, an accurate reprint of the copy which occurs in " Percy's Eeliques" is now given. GIL MOKICE.* Git MoRiCE was an erle's son. His name it waxed wide; * The acknowledged interpolated portions of this set are distinguished by being enclosed in brackets. It was nae for his great riches. Nor zet his mickle pride ; Hot it was for a lady gay,t That liv'd on Carron side. "Quhair sail I get a bonnie boy. That will win hose and shoen ; That will gae to lord Barnard's ha'. And bid his lady cum ? " And re maun rin my errand, Willie, And ze may rin wi' pride ; Quhen other boys gae on their foot, On horseback ze sail ride." " O no ! O no ! my master dear ! 1 dare nae for my life ; I'll no gae to the bauld barons. For to triest furth his wife." " My bird Willie, my boy Willie, My dear Willie," he say'd i " How can ze strive against the stream ? Fqr 1 sail be obeyed." " Bot, O my master dear I" he cry'd, " In grene wod ze're your lain ; Gi owre sic thochts, I wald ze rede, For fear ze should be tain." " Haste, haste, I say gae to the ha'. Bid hir cum here wi' speid ; If ze refuse my heigh command, I'll gar zour body bleid. " Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, ■Tis a' gowd bot the hem ; Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode. And bring nane bot hir lain; " And there it is, a silken sarke, Hir ain hand sewd the sleive ; And bid hir cum to Gil Morice, Speir nae bauld barons leave. t The stall copies of the ballad comj^Jete the stanza thus: His face was fair, lang was his hair, III the wild woods he ^taid ; But his fame was for a fair lady That lived on Canouside. Which is no injudicious interpolation, inasmuch I as it is founded upon the traditions current I among the vulgar, regarding Gil Jklorice's comely \j^'face and long yellow hair. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. X15 " Yes I will gae your blaclt errand, ^ The lady stamped wi- hir foot. Though it be to lour cost; And winked wi' hir e'e ; Sen ze liy me will nae be warn'd, Bot a' that she coud say or do. In it ze sail find frost. Forbidden he wad nae bee. " The baron he is a man of might, " Its surely to my bowT-woman, He reir could bide to taunt; It neir could be to me." As ze will see before its nieht. " I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady. How sma' ze ha'e to vaunt. I trow that ze be she." •• And sen I maun zour errand rin. Then up and spack the wylie nurse. Sae sair against my will ; (The bairn upon hir knee;) Ise niak' a vow and keip it trow. " If it be cum frae Gil Morice, It sail be done for ill." It's deir welcum to mee." And quhen he came to broken brigue. " Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse. He bent his bow and swam; Saeloudlheirdzelee; And quhen he came to grass growing. I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady, Set down his feet and ran. 1 trow ze be nae shee." And quhen he came to Barnard's ha'. Then up and spack the bauld baron. Would neither chap nor ca'; An angry man was hee ; Bot set his bent bow to his breist,* He's tain the table wi' his foot. And Uchtly lap the wa'. Sae has he wi' his knee ; Till siller cup and niazerf dish. He wauld nae tell the man his errand. In flinders he gard flee. Though he stude at the gait ; Bot straight into the ha' he cam'. " Gae bring a robe of zour eliding. Quhair they were set at melt. That hings upon the pin ; And I'll gae to the gude grene wode. " Hail ! hail ! my gentle sire and dame ! And speik wi* zuur lemman." My message winna waite ; Dame ze ii:aun to the gude grene wod. " bide at hame, now lord Barnard, Before that it be late. I warde ze hide at hame ; Neir wyte a man for violence. "Ze're bidden tak' this gay mantel. That neir wate ze wi' nane." 'TJs a* gowd bot the hem ; i Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode. Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode, Ev'n by yoursel' alane. He whistled and he sung: "0 what means a' the folk coming. " And there it is a silken sarke. My mother tirries lang." Your ain hand sewd the sleive ; Ze maun gae speik to Gil Morice, [His hair was like the threeds of gold Speir nae bauld barons leave." Drawne frae Minerva's loome; His lipps like rcses drapping dew, Uis breath was a' perlume. '*' This line, the stall copies give thus : " But bent his bow to his white breast," His brow was like the mountain sna. Gilt by the morning beam ; A reading very expressive of the action meant to His cheeks like living roses glow: be described, and which, if correct, would render His een hke azure stieam. nugatory all Mr Jamieson's arguments upon a similar passage, in another ballad, to prove that. f t. e. A drinking cup of maple; other edit instead of beni, we should substitute brent. ' < ^ read ezar.— Percy. 116 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The boy was clad in robes of greene, Sweete as the infant spring; And lilie the mavis on the bush. He gart the vallies ring.] The baron came to the gren« wode, Wi' iiiickle dule and care; And there he first spied Gil Morice, Kameing his zellow hair : [That sweetly wav'd around his face. That face beyond compare ; He sang sae sweet, it might dispel A' rage, but fell dispair.] "Nae wonder, nae won ler, Gil Morioe, My lady loved thee weel ; The fairest part of my bodie. Is blacker than thy heel. " Zet neir the less now Gil Morice, For a' thy great beautie, Zes rew the day z-i eir was born. That head sail gae wi' me." Now he has drawn his trasty brand. And slaited on the straj ;* And thrush Gil Morice fair body. He's gar cauld iron gae. And be has tain Gil Morice bead. And set it on a speir; The meanest man in a' his train Has gotten that head tu bear. And he has tain Gil Morice ap. Laid him across his steid. And brocht him to his paiuted bcrwr. And laid him on a bed. The lady sat on the castil wa'. Beheld baith dale and down ; And there she saw Gil Alorice head. Cum trailing to the town. " Far better I love that bluidy head, Bot, and that lellow hair. Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands. As they lig here and thair." 4 * This line, to get at its meaning, should be printed, " And slait it on the strae." Mr Pin- kertun has a most ridiculous gloss on this pas- sage in his " Tragic Ballads." And she has tain her Gil Murice, And kissed baith mouth and chin; I was once as fou of Gil Murice, As the hip is o' the stean. " I got ze in my father's house, Wi' mickle sin and sliame ; I brocht thee up in gude green wode. Under the heavy rain. "Oft have I by thy cradle sitten. And fondly seen thee sleep ; Bot now I gae about thy grave. The saut tears for to weep." And syne she kissed his bluidy cheik. And syne his bluidy chin : 'O better I lo'e my Gil Morice, Than a' my kith and kin '." " Away, away, le ill woman. And an ill death mait ze dee; Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son. He'd neir bin slain for tnee." " Obraid me not, my lord Barnard ! Obraid me not for shame ! Wi' that same ■•peir, pierce my heart! And put me out o' pain. " Since nothing bot Gil Morice head. Thy jealous rage could quell ; Let that 8.iim hand now tak' hir life. That neir to thee did ill. " To me nae after days nor nichts, WUl ere be saft or kind ; I'll fill the air with heavy sighs. And greet till I am blind." " Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt. Seek not zour death frae mee ; I rather .ouid it had been niysel'. Than eather hm\ obtain from their lips, in this lay, any duplicate of the " master dear I love you weel. present copy which could, by unexceptionable And 1 love you as my life; evidence, be traced to a period anterior to the But X will not gae to lor.l Barnard's ha'. date of the first edition. The scene of wire- For to tryst forth his wife. drawn recrimination between lord Barnard and his lady, which is quite out of keeping with the " For the baron he's a man of might, character of the " bold barun," is of itself quite He ne'er could bide a taunt; enough to convince any one versant in this And ye shall see or it be late, species of literature, that it has come through How meikle ye'il hae to vaunt." the refining hands of a modern ballad wright. In this opinion, the present writer does not " you must rin my errand, Willie, stand singular, for both Mr Ritson and Mr And you maun rin wi' speed ; Jamieson agr«e in rejecting as spurious, the And if you don't oley my hie command. stanzas which follow alter the one beginning I'U gar your body bleed. " Awa', awa' ye ill woman." " And here it is a gay manteel. And the opinion of these critics in such a ques- Its a' gowd bot the hem ; tion, is certainly entitled to much deference. Bid her come speak to Chield Morice, But, fortunately for those desirous of fixing Bring nae body but her lane. the genuineness of traditionary poetry, the opin- ion now expressed does not rest for its accuracy " And here it Is a Holland smock. on mere conjecture. In the course of his inqui- Her ain hand sewed the sleeve ; ries on this subject, the editor received from the Bid her come speak to Chitld Morice, recitation of an old woman, a copy, which, while Ask not the baron's leave." it confirms that opinion, and affords a fair speci- men of what the sets of the ballad probably f This was the title given by the old woman herself. She is now 70 years of age, and the bal- * It may be proper to mention, that other lad ia question she learned in her infancy from copies read the 2nd line of stanza 27 thus. her grandmother. She mentions that at a later Shot frae the golden sun. period of her life she also committed to memory "Gil Morice," which began with young lasses AnA in stanza 28, as follows. 1 like her to be a greater favourite, and more fash- Hi» een Uke azure sheeue.— Percy. i fe ionable than the set which her grandmother and 118 SCOTTISH BALLADS. « Since I must rin this errand for yon, 4 "Go bring me one of thy cleidiiig Sae sair against my will ; That hings upon the pin, I've made a vow, and I'll keep it true. And I'll awa' to the gude green wood. It shall be done for ill." And crack wi' your leman." For he did not ask the porter's leave. "I would have you stay at hame, lord B::r. Though he stood at the gate ; nard, But straight he ran to the big hall. I would have you stay at hame ; Where great folk sat at meat. Never wyte a man for violence done That never thocht you w rang." " Good hallow gentle sir and dame. My errand canna wait; And when he to the green wood went. 1 Nobody saw he there. Before it be too late. But Chield Morice on a milk-white stted. Combing down his yeUow hair. "And here it is a gay manteel. Its a' gowd b( t the hem ; Chield Morice sat in the gay green wood. Ye must come speak to Chield Jlorice, He whistled and he sang ; Bring nae body but your lane. " O what means a' thir folk coming ? My mother tarries lang." " And here it is a Holland smock. Your a:n hand sewed the sleeve; "No wonder, no wonder, Chield Morice," You must come speak to Chield Morice— he said. Ask not the baron's leave." " My hidy loved thee weel. For the whitest bit of my body Oh aye she stamped wi' her foot. Is blacker than thy heel. And winked wi' her e'e. But for a' that she c uld say or do. " But nevertheless now, Chield Morice, Forbidden he wadna be. For a' thy gay beautie ; Oh nevertheless now, Chield Morice, " It's surely to my boulr-woman. Thy head shall go with me." It canna be to me." " 1 brocht it to lord Barnard's lady. He had a rapier by his side, And 1 trow that thou art she." Hung low down by his kneej He struck Chield Morice on the neck. Out then spak' the wylie nurse. Till aff his head did flee. Wi' the bairn just on her knee. " If this be come from Chield iloriee. Then he's ta'en up that bluidy head. It's dear welcome tu me." And stuck it ou a spear. And the n)eanest man in a' his train " Thou lies, thou lies, thou wylie nurse. Gat Chield Morice head to bear. Sae loud's I hear thee lie, I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady. The lady look'd owre the castle wa'. And I trow thou binna she." Wi' muekle dule and down,* And there she saw Chield Morice head. Then up and rose him the bold baron. Coming traiUng to the town. And an angry man was he ; He took the table wi' his foot. And ke[ pd it wi' his knee. Till silver cup and ezar dish • So recited, the word donm must here be con* In flinders they did flee. sidered as signifying a presentiment of coming evil. 9u" child Maurice and grete thou doe y ladye well & heere he sends you a ring of gold ever so well ffroe mee a ring of precyous stone he prayes you to come to the silver wood and as it fliills out many times let for no kind of mao as any harte can thinke as schoole masters are in any schoole house now peace, now peace, thou litle fotpago writting with pen and inke ffor Christe's sake I pray thee ffor if my Lo heare one of those word.s ffor if I might as well as shee may thou must be hanged hye this night 1 wold w'" her speake John Steward stood under the castle wall & heere I send a mantle of greene & he wrote the words every one as greene as any grasse and bid her come to the silver woodf to hunt w • Childe Maurioe. 1 & he called unto his horsse keeper 1 make ready you my steede 1 and soe he did to his Chambcrlaine * Silven, sic in MS. + Silver wood, sic in MS. ; ;, make reads e then my weed SCOTTISH BALLADS. 121 & he cast a lease upon his backe & he rode to the silver wood & there he sought all about about the silver wood >c there he found him Child Maurice sitting vpon a blocke w'h a silver combe in hiif hand kembiiig his yellow locke he sayeK how now how now Child Maurice alacke how may this bee but then stood by him Child Maurice & sayd these words trulye I do not know your ladye he said if that I do her see fifor thou hast sent her love tokens more now then 2 or 3 for thou hast sent her a mantle of grcene as greene as any grasse & bade her come to the silver wood to hunt w'h Childe Maurice and by my faith now Childe Maurice the tane of us shall dye now by my troth sayd Childe Maurice & that shall not be 1 but he pulled out a bright browne sword & dryed it on the grasse & soe fast he smote at John Steward I wis he never test then hee pulled forth his bright browne sword & dryed itt on his sleeve & the ffirst good stroke John Steward stroke Child Maurice head he did cleeve & he pricked it on his sword's poynt went singing there beside and he rode till he came to the ladye fiaire whereas his ladye lyed ar 1 sayes dr st thou know Child Maurice head Iff that thou dost it see and Hap it sott, and kisse itt rfiFt ffor thou lovedst him better than mee but when shee looked on Childe Maurice head ■hee never spake words but three I never beare noe childe but one and you have slain him trulye ^ ^(S sayes wicked be my merry men all 1 gave meate drink and clothe but cold they not have holden me when X was in all that wrath ffor I have slaine one of the courteousest knights that ever betrode a stet de soe have I done one of the fairest ladyes that ever were womans weede What has gone before, forms a fit introduc- tion to the very ancient traditionary ballad on tlie same subject, which is now for the first time printed. With much deference to the opinion of others skilled in these matters, the editor has •to challenge for it in point of antiquity, a prece- dence far above any of its fellows: indeed, in his judgment, it has every appearance of being the prime root, from which all the variations of the ballad heretofore known have originated. In this place, it may be remarked too, that it obviously preserves the true title of the ballad, " Moriee" and " Maurice" being evident corrup- tions of " Norice," a nursling, or foster, corrup- tions which from similarity of sound in the enun- ciation, can easily be conceived as likeiy ones Into which reciters, who learn by the ear, are ex- ceedingly apt to fall ; and corruptions of which the experience of every one who has attempted to collect these interesting munuments of early song, can furnish ample parallels. Again, its clear, straight-forward, rapid and succinct nar- rative — its extreme simplicity o?' style and utter dettitution of all ornament, argue most power- fully in behalf of the primitiveness and authen- ticity of its text. It is, in fact the very anatomy ofa perfect ballad, wanting notning that it should have, and having nothing that it shuuld want. By testimony ofa most unexceptionabie descrip- tion — but which it would be tedious here to de- tail—the editor can distinctly trace this ballad as existing in its present shape, at least a century ago, which carries it decidedly beyond the date of the first printed copy of Gil Moriee; and this with a poem which has been preserved but by oral tradition, is no mean putilive antiquity. If we imagine it a more ancient version than that contained in Vr Percy's MS., our sole means of arriving at a satisfactory conclusion must bi de- rived from such internal evidence as the balUid itself affords; and, both versions being now be- fore the reader, he is enabled to judge deliberate- ly for himself, and to form his own opinion, on that which many will, ere this, 1 suspect, hav* deemed a very unimportant subject. — 122 SCOTTIriH BALLADS. In conclusion, it may be mentioned, that the ■^ " don't I give you meat," he says. ballad is (xcecdingly rare ; and, so far as the edi- "And don't I pay you fee? tor has been able t < learn, it has escaped the no- How dare you stop my ernmd," he say». tice of our most eminent collectors of traditionary " My orders you must obey." poetry. This may be ascribed to the refined and ornate paraphrase of Gil Morice, having sup- Oh when he came to Lord Barnard's castel. planted it in the affections of the vulgar, in the He tinkled at the ring; same way as the poem of " Sir James the Rose," Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself,! attributed to the pen of Michael Bruce, hath ab- To let this little boy in. sorbed, almost entirely, the memory of the old ballad on which it is founded. " Here is a glove, a glove," he says, " Lined with the silver grey ; You are bidden to come to tlie merry green To speak to Child Nory. [wood. CHILD NOEYCE.* "Here is a ring, a ring," he says, " Its all gold but the stone : You are bidden to come to the meri7 green Chim) Noryce is a clever young man. wood. He wavers wi' the wind; And ask the leave o' nane." His horse was silver shod before. With the beaten gold behind. Lord Barnard he was standing by. And an angry man was he : He called to his little man John, " Oh, little did 1 think there was a lord in thi« Saying, " You don't see what I »eo; world. For oh yonder 1 see the very first woman. My lady loved but me 1" That ever loved me. Oh he dressed himself in the holland smocks. " Here is a glove, a glove," he said. And garments that was gay ;t " Lined with the silver grey; And he is away to the merry green wood. You may tell her to come to the merry green To speak to ChUd JSfory. wood, To speak to child Nory. Child Noryce site on yonder tree He whistles and he sings; " Here is a ring, a ring, " he says. •' wae be to me," says Child Noryce, "lU all gold but the stane; " Yonder my motlier comes I" You may tell her to come to the merry green wood. Child Noryce he came off the tree. And ask the leave o' nane." His mother to toke off the horse; " Och, alace, alace," says Child Noryce, " So well do 1 love your errand, my master. My mother was ne'er so gross." But far better do 1 love my life ; would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castel. t This unquestionably should be Lady Bar- To betray away h:* wife ?" nard, instead of her Lord, see 3d stanza under; but as it was so recited, this obvious error the editor did not conceive himself warranted to cor- * That the reader may have no room to doubt rect, more especially as he has found it out of his the genuineness of a ballad for which a very high power to obuin another copy of the ballad from antiquity is claimed, the editor thinks it right to any different quarter. mention, that it is given verbatim as it was i This ballad more distinctly than either Gil taken down from the singing of widow M'Cor- Morice or Chield Morice, announces the disguise mick, who, at this date, (January, 1825,) resides resorted to by Lord Barnard, in order to surprise in Westbrae Street of Paisley. ^ , hi» supposed rival. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 123 Lord Baniard he had a little small sword. That hung low down by his knee ; He cut the head off Child Noryce, And put the body on a tree. And when he came to his castel. And to his lady's hall, He threw the head int.i her lap, Suying, " lady, there ia a bail !" She turned up the bloody head. She kissed it frae cheek to chin ; " Far better dc I love this bloody heai). Than all my royal kin. " When I was in my fether's castell. In my virginitie; There came a lord into the north. Gat Child Noryce with me." " O wae be to thee, lady Margarpt," he said, " And an ill death may jou die; For if you had told me he was your son. He had ne'er been slain by me." ?€kiote. [A rRAOMXNT, in imitation of the old Scottish Ballad.— By Eichard Gall.] Ak' wlel they baitht her bluidy face. An' syne her bosom bare ; • But O, her saft an' bonnie skin Bespak' sum lady faire. Her blinkand e'e was schut in dethe, (Quhilk anes was fu' o' glie,) An' clay-cauld war her rosie lips, (Quhi.k spak' sae tenderlie.) An' mony ane cam' thair, I trow, Quha did the tithings heir; An' aye as thty luiket on her bonnie face, Wi' sorro' drapt a teir. " heavin ! it brekes my very hairt, A face sae sweit to see ! Bat sure, sith nane a meith doth lina, O' fremit bluid she be." i Sir Kenneth, knycht o' meikle fame. Luikt owre his castle wa' ; An' downe anethe the hingand heugh The gatheri thrang he sa' : An' lang he ferlit at the sicht. An' sair he raxit his ein ; Syne haster.it fra his castle hie. An' to the howe bedein. " Quhat meins this thrang ? Quhat melns this mane Amang baith yung an' aid ?" Syne he luikit at the deid lady. Lay on the yird sa cald. The warrior shuke — sair he shuke !— Furth sprang the glitterand teir: '• O Chryste ! Chryste ! it is Uelenore ' It is my dochter deir !" %m^ JMalcom k^ix ^&Mn. [FsoM Buchan's Northern Ballads.] Thbrk ance liv'd a king in ta.\T Scotland, King Malcolm called by name; Whom ancient history gives record. For valour, worth, and fanie. And it fell ance upon a day. The king sat down to dine ; And then he miss'd a favourite knight. Whose name was Sir Colvin. But out it speaks another knight, Ane o' Sir Colvin's kin ; " He's lyin' in bed right sick in love. All for your daughter Jean." " O waes me," said the royal king, " I'm sorry for the same; She maun take bread and wine sae red. Give it to Sir Colvin." Then gently did she bear the bread. Her page did cany the wine j And set a table at his bed,— " Sir Colvin, rise and diue." 1 124 SCOTTISH BALLADS. •' well love I the wine, lady, ^ The first an' stroke tbc knigtt. he strake. Come frae your lovely hand ; Ga'e Co'v'n a slight wound ; But better love 1 your fair body. The next an' stroke Lord Colvin strake. Thau all fair Scotland's strand.' Droughts foe uux the ground. " hold your tongue now. Sir Colvin, " I yield, I yiel.1," the ItnijfLt he said. Let all your folly be ; " 1 fairly yield to tiiee ; My love must be by honour won. a&e ane cair.e e'^r to Kiriok-hiU Or naue shall eiyoy me. E'er gain'd such victorie. " But on the head o' Elrick's hill. " I and my forbears here did haunt Near by yon sharp hawthorn. Tnree bunC.red years and more; Where never a man with life e'tr ciime I'm safe to swear a soieinn oath. siin' our sweet Christ was born ; We were never beat before. ' " ye'll gang there and walk a' night. " An asking," said ihe lady gay. And boldly blaw your horn ; "An asking ye".l grant me." With honour that ye do return. " Ask on, ask on," said sir Colvin, Ye'll marry me the morn." " What may your asking be f" Then up it raise him. Sir Colvin, " Ye'll gi'e nie hame my wounded knight. And dress 'd in armour keen; Let me fare on my way ; And he is on to Elrick's hill. And I'se ne er be seen on Elrick'b hill. Without light o' the meen. By night, nor yet by day. And to this place we'll come nae mair. At midnight mark the meen upstarts. Could we win safe away. The knight walk'd up and down ; While loudest cracks o' thunder roar'd. Out ower the bent sae brown. "To trouble any Christian one Lives in the righteous law ; Weii come nae mair unto this place Then by the twinkling of an e'e, Could we win safe awa'." He spied an armed knight ; " O ye'se get hame your wounded knight. A fair lady bearing his biand. Ye shall not gang alane ; Wi' torches burning bright. But 1 maun hae a word o him. Before that we twa twine." Then he cried high as he came nigh. " Coward, thief, I bid you flee I | Sir Colvin being a book-learn'd man. There is not ane comes to tbid hill. Sae gude in fencing tee ; But must engage wi' me. He's drawn a stroke behind his hand. And foUowed in speedilie. " Ye'll best take road before I come. And best take foot and flee ; .Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colvin's drawn. Here is a sword baith sharp and broad, W ill quai ter you in three." And followed jn speedilie; The knight's brand, and bword hand. In the air he gar'd them Uee. Sir Colvin said, " I'm not afraid It flew sae high into the sky, Of any here I see; And lighted on the ground ; You ha'e not ta'en your God before. The rings that were on these lingers. Less dread ha'e 1 o' thee." Were worth five hundred pound. Sir Colvin then he drew bis sword. Up he has ta'en th.-it bluidy hand. His foe he drew his brand ; Set it before the king; And thpy fought there on Klrick's hill '' And the morn it was Wednesday, TiU they wtre bluidy men. <; 1 ': When he n.arried his daugliur Jian. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 126 '. % "I'll ask leave at nae living man. Nor yet will lat thee; Wmn% ^Mn. My father is king o'er a' this realm. This wood belongs to me." [From Buehan's Ancient Ballads and Songs. She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut. Nor broken a bianch but three. — " In some late publications," says Mr Buchan, Till by it came him young Akin, And gar'd her let them be. " 1 have seen fragments of this beautiful ballad under various names.— It is now for the first time given in a complete state. The ballad is, to all appearance, very old ; and agrees with the romantic history and times of FeVgus 11. It will The highest tree in Elmond's-wood, He's pu'd it by the reet ; And he has built for her a bower be consideied by all lovers of Scottish song, as a Near by a haUow seat. gieat acquisition to their store of traditionary poetry. The heroine lady Margaret, a king's He's built a bower, made it secure daujrhter, was stolen by her father's cup-bearer. Wi' carbuncle and stane ; wh., built for her a bower, in which she was so artfully confined, that no one could have dis- covered the place of her residence. In this Though travellers were never sae nigh Appearance it had nane. bower, she bare to her adopted husband seven He's kept her there in Elmond's-wood, $:in3, the oldest of whom was the means of re- leasing her from her dreary abode. On his arrival For six lang years and one ; Till six pretty sons to him she bear. »t the court of his grandfather, whither he had And the seventh she's brought home. gor.c to reconnitre, the old monarch at once per- ceived such a family likeness in the face of this It fell ance upon a day. woodland boy, as made him inquire after Oie fate of his long lost daughter. She, with the This guid lord went from home; And he is to the hunting gane, rest of her sons, arrived at her father's palace ; Took wi' him his eldest son. and, like the prodigal, or long lost son, was welcomed with joy and gladness. The ballad And when they were on a guid way. concludes with the pardon of Young Akin,— his Wi' slowly pace did walk ; reception at the king's court, and the baptism of The boy's heart being something wae. the children."] He thus began to talk :— LAnv Margaret sits in her bower door " A question I would ask, father. Sewing at her silken seam ; Gin ye wouldna angry be." She heard a note in IClmond's-wood, " Say on, say on, my bonnie boy. And wish'd she there had been. Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by nie." She loot the seam fa' frae her side. " I see my mother's cheeks aye wect. And the needle tohertae; 1 never can see them dry ; And she is on to Elmond's-wood And I wonder what aileth my mother As fast as she could gae. To mourn continually." She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, " Your mother was a king's daughter. Nor broken a branch but ane. Sprung frae a high degree; Till by it came a young hind chiel. And she might ha'e wed some worthy prince. Says, " Lady lat alane. Had she not been stown by me ; " why pu' ye the nnt, the nut. " I was her father's cup-bearer. Or why brake ye the tree; Just at that fatal time; For 1 am forester o' this wood, I catch 'd heron a misty night, i Ye should spier leave at me ?" y 4 Whan summer was in prime ; 126 SCOTTISH BALLADS, " My luve to her was most sincere, ^ Her luve was great for rne. But when she hardships doth endure. Her folly she does see." i He ga'e the first to the proud porter. And he open'd an' let him in ; He ga'e the next to the butler boy. And he has shown him ben ; " I'll shoot the buntin' o' the bush. The linnet o' the tree. And bring them to my dear mither. See if she'll merrier be." He ga'e the third to the minstrel That play'd before the king ; And he play'd success to the bonnie ioy Came through the wood him lane. It fell UFO' another day. This guid lurd he th^ ught lang. And he is to the hunting gane. Took wi' him his dog and gun ; Now when he came before the king. Fell low down on his knee; The king he turned round about. And the saut tear blinded his e'e. Wi' bow and arrow by his side. He's aff, single, alane ; And left his seven children to stay Wi' their mither at hame. ' Win up, win up, my bonnie boy. Gang frae my companie; Ye look sae like my dear daughter. My heart wUl birst in three." "01 will tell to you, mither. Gin ye wadna angry be." " Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy, Ye'se nae be quarreU'd by me." "If I look like your dear daughter, A wonder it is none ; If I look like your dear daughter,— I am her eldest son." "As we came frae the hynd hunting. We heard fine music ring," " My blessings on you, my bonnie boy, I wish I'd been there my lane." *' Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy. Where may my Margaret be ?" " She's just now standing at your yates, And my six brothers her wi'." He's ta'en his mither by the hand. His six brothers also. And they are on through Elmond's-wood, As fast as they could go; "0 where are all my porter boys That I pay meat and Ifee, To open my yates baith wide and braid ? Let her come in to nie.' They wistna weel where they were gaen, Wi' the stratlins o' their feet; They wistna weel where they were gaen Till at her father's yate. When she came in before the king. Fell low down on her knee ; " Win up, w in up, my daughter dear. This day ye'll dine wi' me." *' I ha'e nae money in my pocket. But royal rings ha'e three ; I'll gi'e them you, my little young son, And ye'U walk there for me ; " Ae bit I eanno' eat, father. Nor ae drop can I drink. Till I see my mither and sister dear. For lang for them I think." " Ye'll gi'e the first to the proud porter. And he will let you in; Ye'll gi'e the next to the butler boy. And he will show you ben ; ; When she came before the queen. Fell low down on her knee : •' Win up, win up, my daughter dear, This day ye'se dine wi' me." "Ye'll gi'e the third to the minstrel That plays before the king; He'll play success to the bonnie boy. Came through the wood him lane." v " Ae bit I canno" eat, mither. Nor ae drop can 1 drink. Until I see my dear sister, f For lang for her I think." 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 127 When that these two sisters met, ^ " We ha'e lived in guid green wood She hail d her courteouslie : This seven jears and ane; " Come ben, come ben, my sister dear, But a' this time since e'er 1 mind. This day ye'se dine wi' me." Was never a church within." '* Ae bit 1 canno* eat, sister. " Your asking's nae sae great, my boy. Nor ae drop can 1 drink. But granted it shall be ; Until I see iny dear husband. This day to guid church ye shall gang. For lang for him I think." And your mither shall gang you wi'." When into the guid church she came. That I pay meat and fee. She at the door did stan' ; To search the forest far an' wide. She was sae sair sunk down wi' shame. To bring Akin tome.*" She couldna come farer ben. Out it speaks the little wee l)oy,— Then out it speaks the parish priest. " Na, na, this maunna be ; And a sweet smile ga'e he ;— Without ye grunt a free pardon. "Come ben, come ben, my lily flower. I hope yell nae him see." Present your babes to ine." " O here I grant a free pardon. Charles, Vincent, Sam, and Dick, Well seald by my own han '; And likewise James and John ; Ye may make search for young Akin, They call d the eldest Young Akin, As soon as ever you can." Which was his father's name. They search'd the country wide and braid. Then they staid in the royal court. Thy forest far and near ; And liv'd wi' mirth and glee; And found him into Elmond's-wood, And when her father was deceas'd, Tearing his yellow hair. Heir of the crown was she. " Win up, win up, now young Akin, Win up and boun wi" me ; We're messengers come fi orn the court. The king wants you to see." mm t^e Mc^ m^ muu " let him take frae me my head. Etlls, Or hang me on a tree ; For since I've last my dear lady. Life's no pleasure to me." [First published in the Minstrelsy of the " Your head will nae be touch'd. Akin, Scottish Border.—" This legendary tale," says Nor hang'd upon a tree; Sir Walter, " is given chiefly from Mrs Brown's Your lady's in her father's court. MS. Accordingly many of the rh\mes arise And all he wants is thee." from the northern mode of pronunciation ; as die for i/o, and the like.— Perhaps the ballad When he came in before the king. may have originally relat> d to the history of the Fell low down on his knee. celebrated Robin Hood, as mention is made of " Win up, win up, now joung Akin, Barnisdale, his favourite abode."] This day yese dine wi' me." Ros-^ the Red, and White Lilly, But as they were at dinner set. Their m. ther dear was dead : The boy nsked a boun ; And their father has married an ill wo- " I wish we were in the good church. man, Fcr to get Christendoun ; ^ } Wished them twa Uttle guid. 1 128 SCOTTISH BALLADS. But she had twa as gallant sons As ever brake man's bread ; And the tane o' them lo ed her, "White Lilly, And the tother Kose the Red. O bigged ha'e they a bigly hour. Fast by the roaring strand ; And there was niair mirth in the ladyes' Uor in a' their father's land. [bour. But out and spak' their step-mother, As she stood a little forebye — " I hope to live and play the prank, Sail gar your loud sang lie." She's call'd upon her eldest son j " Cum here, my son, to me: It fears me sair, my bauld Arthur, That ye maun sail the sea." " Gin sae it rraun b?, my deir mother. Your bidding 1 maun dee; But, be never waur to Rose the Red, Than ye ha'e been to me." She's called upon her youngest sou j " Cum here, my son, to me : It fears me s:iir, my Brown Robin, That ye maun sail the sea." " Gin it fear ye sair, my mother deir. Your bidding 1 sail dee; But, be never waur to White Lilly, Than ye ha'e been to me." " Now baud your tongues, ye foolish boys! for small sail be their part ; They ne'er again sail see your face. Gin their very hearts suld break." Sae bauld Arthur's gane to our lung's court. His h!e cha berlain to be ; But Urown Robin, he has slain a knight. And to grene-wuod he did flee. "When Rose the Red, and "White Lilly, Saw their twa loves were gane, Sune di i they drop the luud loud sang, T(-ok up the still mourning. And out then spake her "White Lilly j " My sister, well be gane: "Why suld we staj in Uarnisdale, To mourn our bour within ?" O cutted ha'e they their green cloathing, A little abuiie their knee ; And sae ha'e they their yellow hair, A little abune their bree. And left ha'e they that bonnie bour. To cross the raging sea ; And they ha'e ta'en to a holy chapel, "Was christened by Our Ladye. And they ha'e changed their twa names, Sae far frae ony toun ; And the tane o' them's hight Sweet Willie, And the totber's Rouge the Rounde. Between the twa a promise is. And tl;ey ha'e sworn it to fulfil ; Whenever the tane blew a bugle-horn. The tother suld cum her till. Sweet Willie's gane to the king's court. Her true love for to see ; And Rouge the Rounde to gude greue-wood, Urown Robin's man to be. O it fell anes, upon a time. They putted at the stane ; And seven foot ayont them a'. Brown Robin's gar'd it gang. She lifted the heavy putting-staiie. And gave a sad " O hon !" Then out besi;ake him. Brown Rubin, " But that's a woman's moau !" " O kent ye by my rosy lips ? Or by my yellow hair; Or kent ye by my milk-white breast. Ye never yet saw bare/" "I kent na by your rosy lips. Nor by your yellow hair ; But, cum to your bour whaever likes. They'll find a ladye there." " gin ye come my hour within. Through fraud, deceit, or guile, Wi' this Siime brand, that's in my hand, I vow 1 will thee kill." " Yet durst I cum into your bour. And ask nae leave," quoth he ; "And wi' this sa i.e brand, that s in my hand, W Wave danger back on thee." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 229 About the dead hour o' the night. The ladye's hour was broken ; And, about the first hour o' the day. The fair knave bairn was gotten. ( " And that all for the knightly vow I swore by Our Ladye; But mair for the sake o' ae fair maid. Whose name is White LUly." When days were gane and months were The ladye was sad and wan ; [come. And aye she cried for a hour woman. For to wait her upon. Then out and spake her, Rouge the Rounde, And leugh right heartilie, " She has been wi' ye this year and mair. Though ye wistna it was she." Then up and spake him. Brown Robin, " And what needs this :•"' quoth he; " Or what can woman do for you, That canna be done by me?" Now word has gane through all the land. Before a month was gane. That a forester's page in gude grene-wood, Had born a bonnie son. " 'Twas never my mother's fashion," she said, " Nor shali it e'er be mine. That belted knights should e'er remain While ladyes dree'd their pain. The marvel gaed to the king's court, Andtothekinghimsel'; " Now, by my fae," the king did say, " The like was never heard telll" " But gin ye taite that bngle-horn. And wind a blast =ae shrill, I ha'e a brother in yonder court Will come me quickly tiU." Then out then spake him, Bauld Arthur, And laugh'd right loud and hie— "I trow some may has play'd the lown. And fled her ain countrie." " O gin ye ha'e a brother on earth. That ye loe mair than me, Ye may blow the horn yoursel'," he says, " For a blast I winna gi'e." " Bring me my steid !" the king gan say ; My bow and arrows keen ; And I'll gae hunt in yonder wood. And see what's to be seen." She's ta'en the bugle in her hand. And blawn baith loud and shrill ; Sweet WUliam started at the sound. And came her quickly till. " Gin it please your grace," quoth Bauld Ar- " My liege I'll gang you wi', [thur. And see gin I can meet a bonnie page. That's stray'd awa' frae me." up and starts him, Brown Robin, And swore by Our Ladye, " No man shall come into this hour. But first maun fight wi' me." And they ha'e chased in gude grene-wood. The buck but and the rae, Till they drew near Brown Robin's bour, ; About the close o' day. they ha'e fought the wood within. Till the sun was going down ; And drops o' blood, frae Rose the Red, Came pouring to the ground. Then out and spake the king himseV, Says—" Arthur, look and see, Gin yon be not your favourite page. That leans against yon tree." She leant her back against an aik. Said,—" Robin, let me be : For it is a ladye, bred and born. That has fought this day wi' thee." Arthur's ta'en a bugle-horn. And blawn a blast sae shrill; Sweet Willie started to her feet. And ran him quickly till. seven foot he started back. Cried—" Alas and woe is me '. For I wished never, in all my life, A woman's bluid to see : • " wanted ye your meat, Willie, Or wanted ye your fee t> Or gat ye e'er an angry word, > That ye ran awa' frae roe ?" I 130 SCOTTISH BALLADS. "I wanted nought, my master dear; i To me ye aye was good : , I cam' to see my ae brother. That wons in this grene-wood." f Then in and came him. Brown Robin, Frae hunting o' the king's deer. But when he saw tlie king himsel'. He started back for fear. Then out bespake the king again,— " My boy, now tell to me, "Who dwells into yon bigly hour. Beneath yon green aik tree ?" The king has ta'en Robin by the hand. And bade him nothing dread. But quit for aye the gude grene-wood. And come to the court wi' speed. " pardon me," said Sweet Willie, " Jly liege, I darena tell; And gang nae near yon outlaw's hour For tear they suld ye kiU." The king has ta'en White Lilly's son, And set him on his knee ; Bays, " Gin ye live to wield a brand. My bowman thou sail be." " baud your tongue, my bonnie boy ! For I winna be said nay ; But I will gang yon hour within. Betide me weal or wae." Then they have ta'en them to the holy chapelle. And there had ftiir wedding; And when they cam' to the king's court, For joy the bells did ring. TheyhavelightedfraetheirmUk-whitesteids, And saftlie entered in ; And there they saw her, White LUly, Kursing her bonnie young son. ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILLIE. " Now, by the mass," the king he said, "This is a comely sight; I trow, instead of a forester's man. This is a Udy bright!" [Thb following version of " Rose the Red and White Lilly" is from Buchan's Ballads of the North. It differs materially from the one given in Scott's Minstrelsy.] O out and spake her, Rose the Red, And fell low on her knee :— " pardon us, my gracious liege. And our story I'll tell thee- Now word is gane through a' the land, Gude seal that it sae spread! To Rose the Red and White LUlie, Their mither dear >vas dead. " Our father is a wealthy lord. Lives into Barnisdale; But we had a wicked step-mother. That wrought us meikle bale. Their father's married a bauld woman, And brought her ower the sea; Twa sprightly youths, her ain young sou, Intill her companie. " Yet had she twa as fu' fair sons. As e'er the sun did see; And the tane o' them loed my sister deir. And the tother said he lo'ed me." They fix'd their eyes on those ladies. On shipboard as they stood. And sware, if ever they wan to land. These ladies they would wed. Then out and cried him, Bauld Arthur, As by the king he stood,— " Kow, by the faith of my body. This suld be Rose the Red !" But there was nae a quarter past, A quarter past but three. Till these young luvers a' were fond 0' others companie. The king has sent for robes o' green. And girdles o' shining gold ; And sae sune have the ladyes busked them- Bae glorious to behold. [selves, :; The knights they harped i' their bower. The ladies siw'd and sang ; There was mair mirth in that chameP ;. Than a' their father's Ian'. _ SCOTTISH BALLADS. 131 Then out it Bpak' their step mither, 4 At the stair-foot stood she ; " I'm plagued wi' your troublesome noise. What makes your melodie ? 1 " But we will change our own fu' names. And we 11 gang frae the town ; Frae Rose the Red and White LilUe, To Nicholas and Roger Brown. " Rose the Red, ye sing too loud, While Lillie your voice is Strang ; But gin I live and brooli my life, I'ae gar you change your sang." ! " And we will cut our green claithing A little aboon our knee ; And we will on to gude greenwood, Twa bauld bowmen to be." " We maunna change our loud, loud song. For nae duke's son yell bear; We winna change our loud, loud song. But aye we'll sing the niair. "Ohon, alas !" said White Lillie, " My fingers are but sma'; And though my hands would wield the bow, They winna yield at a'." " We never sung the sang, mither. But we'll sing ower again ; We'll take our harps into our hands, And we'll harp, and we'll sing." " had your tongue now. White T.illip, And let these fears a' be ; There's naething that ye're awkward in. But I will learn thee." She's call'd upon her twa young sons. Says, " Boun' ye for the sea ; Let Rose the Red, and White Lillie, Stay in their bower wi* me." Then they are on to gude greenwood As fast as gang could they ; then they spied him, Robin Hood, Below a green aik tree. •' God forbid," said her eldest son, " Nor lat it ever be. Unless ye were as kind to our luves As gin we were them wi'." " Gude day, gude day, kind sir," they said, " God make you safe and free." " Gude day, gude day," said Robin Hood, " What is your wills wi' me?" " Yet never the less, my pretty sons, Ye'll boun' you for the faem ; Let Rose the Red, and W hite LilUe, Stay in their bowers at hame." " Lo here we are, twa banish'd knightu. Come frae our native hame ; We're come to crave o' thee service. Our king will gie us nane." " when wi' you we came alang. We felt the stormy sea; And where we go, ye ne'er shall know. Nor shall be known by thee." " If ye be twa young banish'd knights. Tell me frae what countrie;" *' Frae Anster town into Fifeshire, Ye know it as well as we." Then wi' her harsh and boisterous word. She fore'd these lads away ; While Rose the Red and White LiUie Still in their bowers did stay. '* If a' be true that ye ha'e said. And tauld just now to me ; Ye're welcome, welcome, every one. Your master 1 will be. But there was not a quarter past, A quarter past but ane ; Til! Rose the Red in rags she gaed. White LilUe'8 claithing grew Uiin. " Now ye shall eat as I do eat. And lye as I do lye; Ye salna wear nae waur claithing Nor my young men and I." Wi' bitter usage every day, Thi ladies they thought lang; " Ohjn, alas ' said Rose the Red, She's gar'd us change our sans. \ Then they went to a ruinous house, And there they enter'd in ; And Nicholas fed wi' Robin Hoodj And E. ger wi' UtUe John 132 SCOTTISH BALLADS. But it fell ance upon a day. i* They were at the putting-gtane , When Rose the Red she view d them a'. As they stood on the green. Her luver looks her in the fhce. And thus to her said he; " 1 think your cheeks are pale and wan. Pray, what gaes warst wi' thee ? She hit the stane then wi' her foot. And kep'd it wi' her knee; And spaces three aboon them a", I wyte she gar'd it flee. " O want ye roses to your breast. Or ribbons to your sheen ? Or want ye as muckle o* dear bought luve As your heart can conteen ?" She set her back then to a tree. And ga e a loud Ohon ! A lad spak' in the companie, " 1 hear a woman's moan." " I want nae roses to my breast. Nae ribbons to my sheen ; Nor want I as muckle dear b.ught luve As my heart can conteen. " How know you that, young man," she said, " How know you that o' me ? Did e'er ye ste me in that place, A'e foot my ground to flee ? "I'd rather ha'e a fire behynd, Anither me before; A gude midwife at my right side. Till my young babe be bore." " Or know ye by my cherry cheeks. Or by my yellow hair? Or by the paps on my breast bane. Ye never saw them bare." " I'll kindle a fire wi- a flint stane. Bring wine in a horn green ; I'll be midwife at your right side, Till your young babe be born." " I know not by your cherry cheeks. Nor by your yellow hair ; But I know by your milk-white chin. On it there grows nae hair. "That was ne'er my mither's custom, Forbid that it be minel A knight Stan' by a lady bright, Whan she drees a' her pine. " I never saw you in that cause A'e foot your ground to flee; I've seen you gtan' wi' sword in han' •Mang men's blood to the knee. " There is a knight in gude greenwood. If that he kent o' me ; Thn ugh stock and stane, and the hawthorr Sae soon's he would come me tee." " But if I come your bower within. By night, or yet by day ; I shall know, before I go. If ye be man or may." " If there be a knight in gude greenwood Ye like better than me ; If ance he come your bower within, Ane o' us twa shall dee." " if you come my bower within. By night, or yet by day; As soon 8 1 draw my trusty brand, Kae lang ye'll wi' me stay." She set a horn to her mouth. And she blew load and shrill ; Thr ugh stock and stane. and the hawthorn. Brave Roger came her till. But he is haunted to her bower. Her bigly bower o' stane. Till he has got hei big wi' bairn. And near sax months she's gane. " Wha's here sae bauld," the youth replied, " Thus to encroach on me ?" " O here am 1," the knight replied, " Ha'e as much right as thee." When three mair months were come and They gae'd to hunt the hynde ; tgane. She wont to be the foremost ane. But DOW stay'd far bebynd. { Then they fought up the gude greenwood, Sae did they down the plain ; They niddart ithcr wi' lang biaid swords, j Till they were Weedy men. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 133 Then out it spak' the sick woman. Sat under the greenwood tree ; " O had your han", young man," she said, " She's a woman as well as nie." Then out it speaks anither youth, Amang the companie ; " Gin I had kent what I ken now, •Tis for her I would dee." " O wae mat worth you. Rose the Eed, An ill death mat ye dee 1 Although ye tauld upo' yoursel', Ye might ha'e heal'd on me." *' O for her sake I was content. For to gae ower the sea; For her I left my mither's ha*. Though she proves fause to me." But whan these lovers were made known. They sung right joyfullie; Nae blyther was the nightingale, Kor bird that sat on tree. Now they ha'e married these ladies, Brought them to bower an Ha*, And now a happy life they lea ^. She gave him a cup out of her own hand. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, He drunk out the drink, and dropt in the ring. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. " Got thou it by sea, or got thou it by land ? With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, Or got thou it off a dead man's band ? And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." " I got it not by sea, but I got it by land. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, For I got it out of thine own hand. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnte." " I'll cast off my gowns of brown. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, And I'll follow thee from town to town. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. " I'll cast off my gowns of red. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, And along with thee I'll beg my bread. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." "Thou need not cast off thy gowns of brown, With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, For I can make thee lady of many a town. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. " Thou need not cast off thy gowns of red. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, Forlcan maintain thee with both wine and bread, And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." The bridegroom thought he had the bonnie bride wed. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; But young Hynd Horn took the bride to the bed. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. Eaii^ of Miram. [From Mr Kinloch's Collection.—" Drum, the property of the ancient and once powerful family of Irwin or Irvine, is situated in the parish of Drumoak, in Aberdeenshire. This ballad was composfd on the marriage of Alex- ander Irvine of Drum to his second wife, Mar- ,« garet Coutts, a woman of inferior birth and SCOTTISH BALLADS. I37 manners, which step gave great offence to his '*■ "But wha will bake my bridal bread. relations. He had previously, in 1643, married Or brew my bridal ale, O ; i Wary, fourth daughter of George, second Mar- And wha will welcome my bonnie bride. 1 quis of Huntly."] Is mair than 1 can tell, 0." Thf Laird o' Drum is a-wooing gane. Drum is to the hielands gane. It was on a morning eaily. For to mak' a' ready. And he has fawn in wi' a bonnie may And a' the gentry round about. A-shearing at her barley. Cried, " Yonder's Drum and his lady! "My bonnie may, my weel-feur'd may. " Peggy Coutts is a very bonnie bride, will you fancy me, O ; And Drum is a wealthy laddie. And gae and be the lady 0' Drum, But he micht ha'e chosen a hier match. And lat your shearing abee, 0." Than onie shepherd's lassie." " It's I canna fancy thee, kind sir. Then up bespak' his brither John, I winna fancy thee, O, Says, " Ye've deen us meikle wrang, 0, I winna gae and be lady o' Drum, Ye've married een below our degree. And lat my shearing abee, 0. Alake to a' our kin', 0." " But set your love on anither, kind sir. " Hold your tongue, my brither John, Set it not on me, O, I have deen you na wrang, 0, For 1 am not fit to be your bride. For I've married een to wirk and win. And your hure I'll never be, 0. And ye've married een to spend, 0. " My father he is a shepherd mean. " The first time that I had a wife, Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O, She was far abeen my degree, O ; And ye may gae and speir at him. I durst na come in her presence. For 1 am at his will 0." But wi' my hat upo' my knee, 0. Drum is to her father gane. " The first wife that I did wed. Keeping his sheep in yon hill, Oj She was far abeen my degree, O, And he has gotten his consent She wadna ha'e walk'd to the jetts 0' Drum That the may was at his will, O. But the pearU abeen her bree, O. " But my dochter can neither read nor write. " But an she wiis ador'd for as much gold «he was ne'er brought up at scheel, O , As Peggy's for beautie, 0, But weel can she milk cow and ewe. She micht walk to the yetts 0' Drum And mak- a kebbuck weel, 0. Amang gueed companie, O." " She'll win in your bam at bear-seed time. There war four-and-twenty gentlemen Cast out your muck at Yule, 0, Stood at the yetts 0' Drum, O, She'll saddle your steed in time C need. There was na ane amang them a* And draw aff your boots hersel'. 0." That welcom'd his lady in, O. " Have not I no clergymen ? He has tane her by the milk-white hand. Pay I no clergy fee, O ? And led her in himsel', O, i I'll scheel her as I think fit. Andin through has,andin through bouers,— And as I think weel to be, 0. " And je re welcon.e, lady o' Drum, O." " I'll learn your lassie to read and write. Thrice he kissed her cherry cheek. And 111 put her to the scheel, , And thrice her cherry chin, ; 1 fToc'll neither need to saddle my stted. And twenty times her comely mou',— Nor draw aff my boots herkel', U. { ^ " And ye're welcome, lady 0' Drum, 0. 1 1 i 138 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Ye sail be cook in my kitchen, Butler in my ha", O ; Ye sail be lady in my command. Whan 1 ride far awa', 0." " But I told ye afore we war wed, I was owre low for thee, O ; But now we are wed, and in ae bed laid. And ye maun be content wi' me, O : " For an I war dead, and ye war dead. And baith in ae grave laid, O, And ye and I war tane up again, [O ?" Wha could distan your mouls frae mine. ^|e mmh of i|>aflafe» [Tms ballad relates very faithfully and cir- cumstantially the cause and issue of this battle, fought m 1411, between Donald of the Isles and the Earl of Marr, nephew to the Duke of Al- bany, Regent of Scotland during the captivity of James 1. — In the " Complaynt of Scotland," published in 1549, a ballad, with this title, is mentioned as being then popular, but the pre- sent was first published by Allan Kamsay, and in all likelihood written by hin..] Frae Bunideir as I cam' throuch, Diun by the hill of Banochie, Allangst the lands of Garioch, Grit pitie was to heir and se, The noys and dulesum hermonie. That evir that dreiry day did daw, Cryand the corynoch on hie, " Alas, alas, for the Harlaw." I marvlit what the matter meint. All fulks war in a fiery fairy, I wist nocht quha was fae or friend, Zit quietly I did me carrie ; But sen the days of auld king Harrie, Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene ; And thair I had nae tyme to tairy. For bissiness in Aberdene. Thus as I walkit on the way. To inverury as 1 went, I met a man, and bad him stay, Requesting him to mak' me 'quaint Of the beginning and the event. That happenit thair ift the Harlaw; Then he entreated me tak' tent, And he the truth sould to me schaw.— " Grit Donald of the Yles did claim Unto the lands of Russ sum ncht, And to the governour he came. Them for to haif gif that he micht ; Quha saw his interest was but sliclit. And thairfore answerit with disdain ; He hastit hame baith day and nicht. And sent nae bod word back again. " But Donald, rieht impatient Of that answer duke Robert gaif. He vowed to God omnipotent. All the hale lands of Ross to haif; Or ells, he graithed in his graif. He wald not quat his richt for nocht. Nor be abusit lyk a slaif. That bargain sould be deirly bochu " Then haistylie he did command. That all his weir-men should convene Ilk ane well harnisit frae hand. To meit, and heir quhat he did mein ; He waxit wrath, and vowit tein, Sweirand he wald surpryse the north, Subdew the brugh of Aberdene, Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe, to Forth, " Thus with the weir-men of the Yles, Quha war ay at his bidding boun'. With money maid, with furss and wyls, Richt far and near, baith up and down : Throw mount and muir, frae town to tows, Allangst the land of Ross he roars. And all obeyed at his bandoun, Evin trae the north to suthren shoars. " Then all the cuntrie men did zield. For nae resistaus durst they mak'. Nor offer battill in the field, Be forss of arms to beir him bak ; Syne they resolvit all and spak". That best it was for their behoif, Thej sould him for tliair chiftain tek'. Believing well he did them luve. " Then he a proclamation m^d, All men to meet at Inverness, Throw Murray land to mak" a raid, Frae Arthursyre unto Speynes-j SCOTTISH BALLADS. 139 And, furthermair, he lent express 4^ Panmuir with all his men did cum ; To schaw his collours and ensenzie. The provost of braif Aberdene, To all and sindry, mair and less, With trumpets, and with tuick of drum, Throchout the boundis of Boyn and Enzie. Came shortly in their armour schene. " And then throw fair Strathbogie land. " These with the erle of Mar came on. His purpose was for to pursew. In the reir-ward richt orderlie. And quhasoevir durst gainstand. Their enemies to set upon That race they should full sairly rew; In awful manner har'dily ; Then he bad all his men be trew. Togither vowit to live and die. And him defend by forss and slicht. Since they had marchit mony tnyles. And promist them rewardis anew. For to suppress the tyrannie And mak' them men of meikle micht. Of douted Donald of the Yles. " Without resistans," as he said. " But he in number ten to ane. " Throw all these parts he stoutly past. Richt subtilie alang did ride. Quhair sum war wae, and sum war glaid. With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean, But Garioch was all agast; With all thair power at thair syde ; Throw all these fields he sped him fast. Presumeand on thair strenth and pryde. For sic a sicht was never sene. Without all feir or ony aw. And then, forsuith, he langd at last. Richt bauldlie battill did abyde. To ae the bruch of Aberdene. Hard by the town of fair Harlaw. " To hinder this prowd enterprise. "The armies mot the trumpet sounds. The stout and niichty erle of Mar, The dandring drums alloud did touk. With all his men in arms did ryse. Baith armies byding on the bounds. Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar ; Till ane of them the feild sould bruik; And down the syde of Don richt far. Nae help was thairfor, nane wad jouk. Angus and Mearns did all convene Ferss was the fecht on ilka side. To fecht, or Donald came fae nar And on the ground lay mony a bouk. 1 The ryall bruch of Aberdene. Of them that thair did battill byd. " And thus the martial erle of Mar " With doutsum victorie they dealt. Marcht with his men in richt array. The bludy battill lastit lang; Uefoire the eneiriie was aware. Each man his nibours foiss thair felt. His banner bauldly did display; The weakest aft-times gat the wrang ; For well enewch they kend the way. Thair was nae mowia thair them amang, And all their semblance weil they saw. Naething was heard but heavy knocks. Without all dangir or delay. That echo maid a dulefuU sang. Came hastily to the Harlaw. Thairto resounding frae the rocks. " With him the braif lord Ogilvy, " But Donald's men at last gaif back. Of Angus sheriff-principall; For they war all out of array ; The constabill of gude Dui.de, The erle of Maris men throw them brak, The vanguard led before them all ; Pursewing shairply in thair way. Suppose in number they war small. Their enemys to tak' or slay, Thay first richt baulUlie did pursew. Be dyat of forss to gar them yield ; And maid their faes befoir them fall. Quha war richt blyth to win away. Quha then that race did sairly rew. And sae for feirdness tint the field. " And then the worthy lord Saltoun, "Then Donald fled, and that full fiist. The strung undoubted laird of Drum, To mountains hieh for all hU micht 3 The stalwart laird of Lawriestone, For he and his war all airast. With ilk thair forces all and sum ; i ^ And i-an tiU they war out of aioht ; 140 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And sae of Ross he lost W« richt, ^ A Taliant man of chevalrie. Thoch tnony men with him he brocht ; Quhas predecessors wa»i that pla«e Towards the Yles fled day and nicht. At .Spey, with gude king William 'f With all thair succour and relief. In Scotland sene, as ilk man savs. War dulefuUy dung to the deid ; Quhair mony liklie lost thair lyfe; And now we are freid of thair feid. Quhllk maid divorce twene man and wyfe, And will not lang to come again ; And mony children fatherless. Thousands with them without remeid. Quhilk in this realme has bene full ryfe : On Donald syd, that day war slain. Lord, help these lands, our wrangs redres, — " And on the uther s)de war lost. " In July, on Saint James his even. Into the feild that dismal day, That four-and-twenty dismall day. Cheif men of worth (of mekle cost) Twelve hundred, ten score, and eleven. To be lamentit sair f.ir ay ; Of leirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say; The lord Saltoun of Rothemay, Men will remember as they may. A man of micht and mekle main. Quhen thus the veritie they know; Grit dolour was for his decay. And mony a ane may mum for ay. That sae unhappylie waa slain. The brim battU of the Harlaw." " Of the best men amang them was The gracious gude lord Ojcilvy, The sherifif-principal of Angus, Renownit for truth and equitie. For faith and magnanimitie; He had few follows in the feild, mt miBg»0 Daughter. Zit fell by fatal destinie, For he nae ways wad grant to zield. [MoDBRN Ballad.— Hknby Glassford Bru..] " Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht. It was a lord and a gentle maid Grit constabili of fair Dunde, Sat in a greenwood bower. Uito the dulefull deith was dicht ; And thus the brave Sir Alfred said The kingis chief banner -man wa» he, i 5 To the greenwood's fairest flower :— SCOTTISH BALLADS. 141 " I have loved thee well, sweet Rosalie, — "With thee I could live and die ; But thou art a maid of low degree, And of princely race am I. " I have loved thee well, sweet Rosalie, I have loved a year and a day ; But a different fete is in store for me. And I must no longer stay. " Thou art a cottage maiden, love. And know not thy own pedigree; And I must marry the king's daughter. For she is betrothed to me." There was a smile on Rosalie's lip. But a tear in her blue eye shone; The smile was all for her lover's &te. The tear perchance for her own. And down fell her ringlets of chestnut hair, Down in a shower of gold; And she hid her face in her lover's arms, With feelings best left untold. Tlien slowly rose she in her bower, With something of pride and scorn. And she look'd like a tall and dewy flower That lifts up its head to the morn. She flung her golden ringlets aside. And a deep blush crimson °d her cheek, — "Heaven bless thee, Alfred, and thy young bride. Heaven give you the joy you seek ! " Thou wert not born for a cottage, love, Nor yet for a maiden of low degree ; Thou wilt find thy mate in the king's daughter — Forget and forgive thy Rosalie." Sir Alfred has flung him upon his steed. But he rides at a laggard pace ; Of the road he is travelling he takes no heed. And a deadly paleness is on his face. Sir Alfred has crme to the king's palace, And slowly Sir Alfred has lighted down ; He sigh'd when he thought of the king's daughter — He sigh'd when he thought of her father's crown . *• Oh ! that my home were the greenwood bower. Under the shelter of the greenwood tree! Oh ! that my strength had been all my dower. All my possessions Rosalie I" Sir Alfred has entered the royal hall 'Midst a thousand nobles in rich array ; But he who was once more gay than all. Has never, I ween, one word to say. The king sat high on his royal throne. Though his hairs were gray, his arm was strong, " Good cousin," he said, in a jocund tone, " Is it thou or thy steed that has stay'd so long ? " But it boots not now — Bring forth the bride ! Thou hast never yet my daughter seen ; A woeful fate it is thine to bide. For her hair is red and her eyes are green 1" The bride came forth in a costly veil. And nought of her face could Alfred see; But his cheek grew yet more deadly pale. And he fell down faltering upon his knee: " Pardon ! pardon ! my liege, my king ! And let me speak while I yet am free ; But were she fair as the flowers of spring. To your daughter I never can husband be." Lightning flash'd from the king's fierce eye. And thunder spoke in his angry tone, — " Then the death of a traitor thou shalt die. And thy marriage peal shall be torture's moan t" "I never fear'd to die. Sir King, But my plighted faith I fear to break ; I never fear'd the grave's deep rest. But the pangs of conscience 1 fear to wake." Out then spoke the king's daughter. And haughtily spoke she, — " If Sir Alfred is vow'd to another love. He shall never be claim'd by me; — " If Sir Alfred is vow'd to another love. Why, let the knight go free; Let him give his hand to his other love. There are hundreds as good as he 1" With a careless touch she threw back her veil. As if it by chance might be ; And who do you think was the king's daughter '— His own — his long-loved Rosalie 1 First he stood like a marble stone, And she like a lily sweet. Then a sunny smile o'er his features fshOttP, And then he was at her feef. 1 142 SCOTTISH BALLADS. lEad mklait. ^ " Come down, come down, my bonnte bird. And sit upon my hand ; And thou shalt ha'e a cage C gowd. [FnoM the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Where thou hast but the wand." — " There are two ballads," says Sir Walter, "in Mr Herds MSS. upon the following story, in " Awa' ! awa' ! ye ill woman ! one of which the unfortunate knight is termed Nae cage o' gowd for me ; Young Huntin. A fragment, containing, from As ye ha'e dune to Erl Richard, the sixth to the tenth verse, has been repeatedly Sae wad ye do to me." published. The best verses are here selected from both copies, and some trivial alterations have She hadna crossd a rigg o' land. been adopted from tradition."] A rigg, but barely ane. When she met wi' his auld father. " LADY, rock never your young son young. Came riding all alane. One hour langer for me ; For 1 have a sweetheart in Garlioch WeUs, " Where ha'e ye been now, ladye fair? I love far better than thee. Where ha'e ye bten site late?" " We ha'e been seeking Erl Richard, " The very sole o' that lady's foot But him we canna get." Than thy face is far mair white."— " But nevertheless, now, Erl Richard, " Erl Richard kens a' the fords in Clyde, Ye wiU bide in my bower a' night:"' He'll ride them ane by ana. And though the night was ne'er sae mirk. She birled him with the ale and wine. Erl Richard will be hame." Asthey satdown tosup: A living man he laid him down. it fell anes, upon a day. But 1 wot he ne'er rose up. The ising was boun' to ride; And he has mist him, Erl Richard, Then up and spake the popinjay. Shuuld ha'e ridden on his right side. That flew aboun her head ; " Lady ! keep weel your green oleiding The ladye turn'd her round about. Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid." Wi' meikle mournfu din— " It fears me sair o Clyde water. " better I'll keep my green cleiding That he is drown'd therein." Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid. Than thou canst keep thy clattering toung. " Gar douk, gar douk," the king he cried. That trattles in thy head." " Gar douk for gold and fee ; wha wiU douk for Erl Richard's sake. She has call'd upon her bower maidens. Or wha will douk for me ?■• She has call'd them ane by ane ; " There lies a dead man in my bower: They douked in at ae weil-head. I wish that he were gane !" And out aye at the other; " We can douk nae mair for Erl RicDard, They ha'e booted him, and spurred him. Although he were our brother." As he was wont to ride ;— A hunting-horn tied round his waist. It fell that in that ladye's castle. A sharpe swurd by his side ; The king was boun' to bed ; And they ha'e had him to the wan water. And up and spake the popinjay. For a' men call it Clyde. That flew abune his head. Then up and spoke the popinjay. "Leave off your douking on the day. That sat upon the tree— And douk upon the night; ■What ha'e ye done wi' Krl Richard ? And where that siickless knight lies slain. Ye were his gay ladye." ^ . The candles will burn brigftt." I SCOTTISH BALLADS. 143 " O there's a bird within thi« bower. That sings baith sad and sweet; O there's a bird within your b.wer. Keeps me frae my night's sleep." They left the douking on the day, And doulied upon the night; And, where that sackless knieht lay slain. The caudles burned bright.* The deepest pot in a' the linn,| Thej fiii.d Erl Richard in ; A grene turf tyed across his breast. To keep that gude lord down. Then up and spake the king himsel', Wh. n lie saw the deadly wound — "O wha has slain my nght-hand man. That held my hawk and hound .3" Then up and spake the popinjay. Says — " What needs a' this din P " It was his light lenian took bis life. And hided him in the linn." She swore her by the grass sae grene, Sae did she by the corn. She had na' seen him, Erl Eichard, Since Moninday at mi.rn. * These are unquestionably the corpse lights, called in Wales Canhrvyllan Cyrph, which are Eoini times seen to illuminate the spot where a dead body is concealed. The editor is informed, that, some years ago, the corpse of a man, druwned in tlie Ettrick, bulow .Selkirk, was dis- covered by means of these candles. Such lights are common in church-yards, and are prubably of a phosphoric nature. liut rustic superstition derives them from supernatural agency, and supposes, that, as soon as life has departed, a pale flame appears at the window of the house, in which the person had died, and glides towards the churcii-yard, tracing through every winding the rout of the future funeral, and pausing where the bier is to rest. This and other opinions, re- lating to the " tomb-fires' livid gleam," seem to be of Runic extraction. — Scott. \ The deep holes, scooped In the rock by the eddits of a r ver, are called pu<* ; the nn tion of the water haying there some resemblance to a boiling cauldron. — Linn, means the pool beneath a cataract- — Scutt, i " Put na the wite on me," she said ; " It was my may Catherine." Then they ha'e cut baith fern and thorn. To burn that maiden in. It wadna take upon her cheik. Nor yet upon her chin ; Nor yet upon her yellow hair. To cleanse the deadly sin. The maiden touched the olay-cauld corpse, Adrapitneverbled;^ The ladye laid her hand on him. And soon the ground was red. Out they ha'e ta'en her, may Catherine, And put her mistress in : The flame tuik fast upon her cheik, Tuik fast upon her chin ; Tuik fast upon her faire bied. In a dreary dream drea;i.ed he. That Maisry stood l,y his bedside. Upbraiding him for's incuustancie. He's call'd upon his little boy. Says, " Bring me candle, that I see; And ye maun gang this night, boy, Wi' a letter to a gay ladie." " It is my duty you to serve. And bring you cal anil candle light. And I would rin your tiraiid, master. If' t were to lady ilaisry bright. SCOTTISH BALLADS. J^/^ "Though my legs were sair I eouldna gang, • Tho' the night were dark I eouldna see. Though I should creep on hands and ftet, I would gae to Lady Maisry." > Then in ft came her Lady JIaisry, And aye as she trips in the fleer j " What is your will, Thomas," she said, " This day, ye know, ye call'd me here?" " Win up, win up, my bonnie boy. And at my bidding for to be ; For ye maun quickly my errand rin. For it is to Lady Maisry. " Come hither by me, ye lily flower. Come hither, and set ye down by me; For ye're the ane I've call'd upon, And ye my wedded wife maun be." " Ye'll bid her dress in the gowns o' silk. Likewise in the coats o' cramasie ; Ye'll bid her come alang wi' you. True Thomas's wedding for to see. Then in it came true Thomas's bride. And aye as she tripp'd on the stane; " What is your will, Thomas," she said, " This day, ye know, ye call'd me hame ?* '• Ye'll bid her shoe her steed before. And a' gowd graithing him behind ; On ilka tip o'her horse mane, Twa bonnie bells to loudly ring. " Ye ha'e come on hired horseback. But ye'se gae hame in coach sae free. For here's the flower into my bower, I mean my wedded wife shall be." " And on the tor C her saddle, A courtly bird to sweetly sing. Her bridle reins o' silver fine. And stirrups by her side to hing." " ye will break your lands, Thomas, And part them in divisions three; Gi'e twa o' them to your ae brother. And cause your brother marry me." She dress'd her in the finest silk. Her coau were o' the cramasie ; And she's awa' to unco land. True Thomas's wedding for to see. " I winna break my lands," he said, " For ony woman that I see ; JJy brother's a knight o' wealth and might, HeU wed nane but he wiU for me." At ilka tippet o' her horse mane, Twa bonnie bells did loudly ring ; And on the tor o' her saddle, A courtly bird did sweetly sing. ?gad @s;ai©fotc^. The bells they rang, the bird he sang. As they rode in yon pleasant plain ; Then soon she met true Thomas's bride, Wi' a' her maidens and young men. The bride she gamed round about, " 1 wonder," said she, " who thismaj be? It surely is our Scottish queen. Come here our wedding for to see." [FnoM Buchan'8 Ballads of the North. ] " O WK were seven bonnie sisters. As fair women as fair could be. And some got lairds, and some got lords. And some got knights o' high degree; When I was married to Earl Crawford, This was the fate that befeU to me. Out it speaks true Thomas's boy, " She maunna lift her head sae hie; But it's true Thomas's first love. Come here your wedding for to see." " When we had been married for some time, We walked in our garden green; And aye he clapp'd his young son's head. And aye he made sae much o' him. Then out bespake true Thomas's bride, I wyte the tear did blind her e'e ; " If this be Thomas's first true love, I'm sair afraid he'U ne'er ha'e roe." ) " I turn'd me right and round about. And aye the blythe blink in my e'e; Ye think as much o' your young son ; As ye do o' my fair body. 148 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " What need ye clap your young son's head. What need je make so much o' him .■> What need ye clap your young son's head ? I'm sure ye gotna him your lane." " O If I gotna him my lane, Show h.re.the man that helped me ; And lor tnese words your ain mouth spoke. Heir o' my land lie ne'er shall be." He call'd upon his stable groom, To come t ■ him right speedilie ; " Gae saddle a steed to Lady Crawford, Be sure ye do it hastilie. " His bridle gilt wi' gude red gowd. That it may glitter in her e'e; And sand her on to bonnie Stobha', All her relations for to see." Her mother lay o'er the castle wa', And she behtld baith dale and down And she beheld her, Lady Crawford, As she came riding to the town, "Come here, come here, my husband dear. This day ye see not what I see ; For here thire comes her. Lady Crawford, Biding alanc upon the lee." When she came to her fathe"s yates. She tirled geiitly at the pin ; " If )e sleep, awake, my mother dear, Ye'U rise lat Lady Crawford in." " What news, what news, ye Lady Crawford, That ye come here so hastilie i" " Bad news, bad news, my mother dear, For my gude lord's forsaken me." • • O waes me for you. Lady Crawford, This is a dowie tale to me; Alas ' you were too young married. To thole sic cross and misery." " O had your tongue, my mother dear. And ye'll lat a' your folly 'oe; It was a word my merry mouth spake. That sinder'd my gude lord and me." Out it spake her brither then. Aye as he slept ben the floor ; " My sister Lillie was but eighteen years When Earl Crawford wroug'd her sore. " But had your tongue, my sister dear. And ye'll lat a' your mourning bee; I'll wed you to as fine a knight. That is nine times as rich as hee." " O baud your tongue, my brither dear. And ye 11 lat a' your folly bee ; I'd rather yae kiss o' Crawford's mouth Than a' his gowd and white monie. " But saddle to me my riding steed. And see him saddled speedilie ; And 1 will on to Earl Crawford's, And see if he wiU pity me." Earl Crawford lay o'er caatle wa'. And he beheld baith dale and down; And he beheld her, lady Crawford, As she came riding to the town. He called ane o" his livery men To come to him right speedilie ; " Gae shut my yates, gae steek my doors. Keep Lady Crawford out frae me." When she came to Earl Crawford's yates. She tirled gently at the pin ; " O sleep ye, wake ye. Earl Crawford, Ye'U open, lat Lady Crawford in. •• Come down, come down, O Earl Crawford, And speak some comfort unto me; And if ye winna come yoursei', Ye'U send your gentleman to me." " Indeed, I winna come myse!', Nor send my gentleman to thee; For I tauld you when we did part Nae mair my spouse ye'd eyer Lee.' She laid her mouth then to the yates, And aye the tears drapt frae her e'e; Says, " Fare-ye-well, Earl Crawford's yates You, again, I'll nae mair see." Earl Crawford call'd on his stable groom To come to him right speedUie ; And sae did he his waiting man, That did attend his fair bodie. " Ye will gae saddle for me my steed. And see and saddle him speedilie; And I'll gang to the Lady Crawford, And see if she wiU pity me." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 149 tody Crawford lay o'er castle wa', And she beheld baith dale and down ; And she beheld him, Karl Crawford, As he came riding to the town. Then she has call'd ane o' her maids To come to her right speedilie ; '•■ Gae shut my yates, gae steek my doori. Keep Earl Crawford out frae me." When he came to Lady Crawford's yates. He tirled gently at the pin ; " Sleep ye, wake ye. Lady Crawford, Te'll rise and lat Earl Crawford in. " Come down, come down, O Lady Crawford, Come down, come down, and speak wi' me; And gin ye winna come yoursel', Ye'U send your waiting-maid t» me." " Indeed I winna come mysel'. Nor send my waiting-maid to thee ; Sae take your ain words haine again At Crawford castle ye tauld me. "O mother dear gae make my bed. And ye will make it saft and souu'. And turn my face unto the west. That I nae niair may see the san." Her mother she did make her bed. And she did make it saft and soun'; True were the words fair Lillie spake. Her lovely eyes ne'er saw the sun. The Earl Crawford mounted his steed, Wi' sorrows great he did ride hame ; But ere the morning sun appear'd. This fine lord was dead and gane. Then on ae night this couple died. And baith were buried in a'e tomb ; Let this a warning be to all. Their pride may not bring them low down. IJo^n ^l^om^on ^ ti^e ^mk* [" This curious ballad is of respectable anti- quity. Dunbar has written a piece entitled 'Prayer that the King war John Thomsoun'si^ man,' the 4th line of each stanza being ' God gif ye war John Thomsoun, man !' In his note on this poem, Mr Pinkerton says- 'This is a pro- verbial expression, meaning a hen-pecked hus- band. I have little doubt but the original pro- verb was Joan Thomson's man ; man, in Scot- land, signifies either husband or tervant,' Pin- kerton was ignorant of the existence of the bal- lad : had he been acquainted with it, he would have saved himself the trouble of writing a fuol • ish conjecture. Colville in his Whig's Supplica- tion, or the Scotch Hudibras, alludes twice to John Thomson : • We read in greatest warriors' lives, Ttiey olt were ruled by tlieir wives, &c. And so tlie imperious Roxalan Made the great Turk Joliue Thomson's j • And these we ken. Have ever been John Thomson's men. That is still ruled by their wives.' " Pennicuiclc, in his Linton address to the Prince of Orange, also alludes to the proveibial expr«s«ion~ • Our Lintoun wives shall blaw the coal, And women here, as wecl we ken, Would have us all John Thomson's men.' •' Two or three stanzas of the ballad were known to Dr Leyden when he published hit addition of the Complaynt of Scotland. These he has given in the glossary appended to that work. " In Kelly's proverbs, London, 1721, there is this notice of the proverb — ' Better be John Thon.son's man than Ringan Dinn's or John Knox's,' and Kelly gives this gloss, ' John Thomson's man is he that is complaisant to his wife's humours, Ringan Dinns is he whom his wife scolds, John Knox's is he whom his wife beats.' In the west country, my friend, Mr A. Ciawford, informs me that when a company are sitting together, sociably, and a neighbour drops in, it is usual to welcome him thus : — ' Come awa', we're a' John Tamson's bairns.' " There is a song about John Tamson's wal- let, but whether this was the Palmer's scrip, which the hero of the ballad must have borne, I know not. All that I have heard concerning the wallet is contained in these two verses: ' John Tamson's wallet frae end to end, John Tamson's wallet frae end to endj And what was in't ye fain would ken, Whigmaieenes for women and men. 150 SCOTTISH BALLADS. About his wallet there was a Uispute, Some said it was made o' the akin o' a brute, But I believe its made o' the best o' bend, John Tamson's wallet's frae end to end.' There is a nursery ryme which runs thui; * John Tamson and his man To the town ran ; They bought and they sold And the penny down told. The kirk was ane. The quire was twa ; They gied a skelp. And cam' awa'.' And this exliausts all I know respecting this worthy warrior." — Jaotherrvell.] John Thomson fought against the Turks Three years, intill a far countrie; And all that time and something malr. Was absent from his gay ladie. But it fell ance upon a time. As this young chieftain sat alane. He spied his lady in rich array. As she walk'd ower a rural plain. " What brought ye here, my lady gay, So far awa' from your ain countrie :• I've thought lang, and very lang. And all for your fair face to see." For some days she did with him stay. Till it fell ance upon a day, " Fareweel, for a time," she said, " For now I must bouu hame away." He's gi'en to her a jewel fine. Was set with pearl and precious stane ; Says, " My love beware of these savages bold. That's in your way as ye gang hame. " Ye'll tak' the road, my lady fair. That leads you fair across the lea: That keeps you from wild Hind Soldan, And likewise from base Violentrie." Wi' heavy heart thir twa did pairt, .She mintet as she wuld gae hame ; Kind Soldan by the Greeks was slain. But to base Violentrie she's gane. When a twelvemonth had expired, John Thomson he thought wond'rous lang. And he has written a braid letter. And sealed it weel wi' his ain hand. < He sent it with a small vessel That there was quickly gaun to sea ; And sent it on to fair Scotland, To see about his gay ladie. But the answer he received again— The lines did grieve his heart right sair: Nane of her friends there had her seen. For a twelvemonth and something mair. Then he put on a palmer's weed, And took a pike-staff in his hand ; To Violentrie's castell he hied, But slowly slowly he did gang. When within the hall he came, He jooked and couch'd out ower his tree— " If ye be lady of this hall. Some of your good bountith gi'e me." " What news, what news, palmer," she said, " And from what countrie cam' ye !>" " I'm lately come from Grecian plains. Where lies some of the Scots armie." " If ye be come from Grecian plains, Some mair news I will ask of thee— Of one of the chieftains that lies there. If he has lately seen his gay ladie." " It is twa mionths and something mair. Since we did | airt on yonder plain ; And now this knight has began to fear One of his foes he has her taen." "He has not ta'en me by force nor slight. It was a' by my ain free wUl ; He may tarry into the fight. For here 1 mean to tarry still. " And if John Thomson ye do sec. Tell him I wish him silent sletp ; His head was not so coziely. Nor yet sae weel as lies at my feet." With that he threw aff his strange disguise, Laid by the mask that he had on ; Said, " Hide me now, my lady fair. For Violentrie will soon be hame." " For the love I bore thee ance, I'll strive to hide you if I can." Then she put him down in a dark cellar. Where there lay many a new-slain man. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 151 Bat he hudna in the cellar been. Not an hour but barely three. Then hideous wa* the noise he heard, When in at the gate cam' "Violentrie. Says, " I wish you well, my lady fair. Its time for us to sit to dine; Come, serve me with the good white bread. And likewise with the claret wine. " That Scots chieftain, our mortal fae, Sae aft frae field has made us flee. Ten thousand zecbins this day I'll give That I his face could only see." " Of that same gift wuld you give me. If I wuld bring him unto theei> 1 fairly hold you at your word— 0->me ben John Thomson to my lord." Then trom the vault John Thomson came. Wringing his hands most piteouslie, " What would ye do," the Turk he cried, " If ye had me as I ha'e thee ?" " If I had you as ye have me, I'll tell ye what I'd do to thee ; I'd hang you up in good green wood. And cause your ain hand wale the tree. "I meant to stick you with my knii'e For kissing my beloved ladie" — " But that same weed ye've shaped for me. It quickly shall be sewed for thee." Then to the wood they baith are gane ; John Thomson clamb frae tree to tree ; And aye he sighed and said, " och hone. Here comes the day that I must die." He tied a ribbon on every branch, Put up a flag his men might Bee; But little did his fause faes ken He meant them any injurie. He set his horn unto his mouth. And he has blawn baith loud and schill: And then three thousand armed men Cam' tripping all out ower the hill. " Deliver us, our chief," they all did cry, " Its by our hand that ye must die ;" " Here is your chief," the Turk replied. With that fell on his bended knee. " O mercy, mercy, good fellows all, Mercy, I pray you'll grant to me ;" " Such mercy as ye meant to give, Such mercy we shall give to thee." This Turk they in his castel burnt. That stood upon yon hill so hie ; John Thomson's gay ladie they took And hang'd her on yon greenwood tree ! [Modern Ballad.— By John Nkvay.— It U well known in the north, that a deadly feud existed between the Lindsays and Ogilvies. The story in the present ballad is an episode in the history of the rival houses.] Whkn, in yon dark-red mouldering towers. By Lemla's muddy bourne. The fierce Lindsaye, with feudal sway. Made many a vassal mourn. Behind Phinaven's flr-crown'd hill A shepherd's shieling stood ; And with him wonn'd his shepherdess. His Marion, fair and good. To sing the lovely maiden's charms Foil'd every minstrel's skill ; And legend says — there ne'er was lass Like Marion of the hiU ! No marvel then that she should be Her father's joy and pride; And though he wish'd, yet much he fear'd To see his child a bride. Blythe tended she her happy flock On yon green sunny brae; Blythe walk'd in harvest on yon hill To pull the berries blae. Oft by the fount, that from the rook Still trickles cool and clear. She sat and sang till echoes rang. Which she much liked to hear. Earl Lindsaye, there, oft saw the fair As he rode hunting by ; And he would leave the knights and 'squires, ^ With i>assion in his eye — 162 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " O, by the rood ! I hare not seen, ^ Amang our damselg bright, j | Buch eyne as these, so formed to please, ' And give an earl delight!" The maiden blushed, and fixed her ejes On the young gowan's flower: Her heart was innocent as it. And fear'd no earthly power. The earl rode on, and to the chase, Still he on Marion thought; But dark his soul, ns were his looks. He set that soul to plot. He loved no one upon the earth. And no one e'er loved him ; Even his own children, when they durst. Would shun his presence grim ! None on the earth he fear'd but one— The widow of the den ! He thought she was a midnight witch To weird the Ijate of men. Sh3 was a spinster of the sun. And 'rose with morning wan; Fine, as the gossamer, the threads Her bonnie fingers span. As the earl rode by the hovel door To hunt the love-eyed stag, A feigned smile trembled in his eye To the supposed hag. With fear he mark'd her small grey eyne ; And if their look was bland, He rode; and many an antler bright That day lay on the land ! But should his black steed halt and snort. His hounds howl as they pass'd. Back to his gloomy towers he sped. Lest he, by cantrip-cast. Might o'er yon dizzy craig be flung. Mangled among the gorse! Nor vain his fears— old Janet hud For him a secret curse. Young Duncan was the widow's son ; He loved the shepherd's child ; And he was blest as blest could be When Marion on him smiled. To win the simple maiden's heart No artful wiles had he ; His love for her was warm and true As sunshine to the tree. And he would chase the fox and wolf That took her lambs away ; And on the hill the adder kill That in her flower-path lay. And he would tear the eagle from His eyry on the rock, And lay him stretch'd before his love. Beside her bleating flock. From infancy he was inured To sun-heat, and to storm ; A muscular and stalwart youth. Firm as the oak his form. His arm was strength, his foot was speed. His heart truth's purest glow; Unoap'd he went; and on the bent He oft outran the roe ! Yea, by the antlers he would take The irritated stag; And from his keep, in forest deep. The desert's idol drag ! Yet, though in strength a Hercules, He, as the kid, was meek,— Knew not to boast, — good-natured still. And helper of the weak. His dam, with a peculiar love, Loved her gallant boy ; In him she saw his father's strength. His kindness, and his joy. She knew he was her champion To avenge the wrongs of three— Himself, his mother— father too. Who died on gallows-tree. Earl Lindsaye plotted day and night. In tower, and forest wild. How he could enare, to his foul lair, The shepherd's lovely child. At last his heart devised an art, A witching scheme, and rare : He had a harper of such power. It joy gave to despair! SCOTTISH BALLADS. 153 Young Jrarion loved the lark's love-song, 4 Loved all the woodland quire; But Rhe had never heard the harp Whose strains the soul inspire ! i Soon in the castle's gayest bower. And on the softest couch. The sleeping shepherdess was laid ; But no rude hand dare touch,— •Tveixt Catluw and his brother-alp Shone eves mild-raying sun ; And there was a soft golden light On vale and mountain dun. For, over sacred innocence May guardian angel be ; While guilt in his own snare is caught. His own Ul destiny. Penn'd was the flock— her care and joy; And, with her cwn fair lamb, Adown the footpath midst the broom. When all things breathed of balm. The shepherd's daughter-child is lost; And well might be surmise. That she is in Earl Liiidsaye's power. The maiden took her vesper walk ; The breeze was lull'd to sleep. And even the aspen rustled not ; With soft and silvery sweep Nov should he dare his plaint to make. The pit, the axe, and bl :ck,— The dungeon-cell, and gibbet-tree. His misery would mock J The Esk was scarcely heard to flow ; While, on her raptured ear. Fell strain so sweet, so bland, so pure. It seem'd from heavenly sphere ! He left his shieling,— left hU flock On the green hills to stray : His faithful dog tended the sheep For two nights and a day. She paused— she listened ; it was gone ! And she resumed her walk: "0, could 1 hear that stram again I" Was Marion's mental talk. Meanwhile, young Duncan deam'd the wood, And den and cave search'd he ; Ah! he but found his Marion's lamb Under the greenwood tree. Of fays and fairies she had heard, Of their music sweet and bland ; It, haply, might be them, she thought. From happy fairy-land. He claspt it in his arms, and took The silent mourner home : " 0, now my mother ! feed this lamb. For I again must roam!" •Twas playd again— and sweeter sUll The fascinating air! •Twas in the wood, not distant far. And Marion entered there. " My boy," she said, " I gang wi' thee; We'll seek the tint thegither; She is thy love, she eke is mine. An' she loved me as a mither." The summer sun, with setting beam. On the green trees shone bright ; Her S.Ivan path was green and gold. And music gave delight. Away, between the light and dark. The son and mother went; And long ere yet the sun was in The mist-veiled firmament. The damsel laid her down to rest. So charmd, she almost wept ! The siren harp play'd on and on— Her heart oerpower'd, she slept! By Lemla's sluggish stream they stood, Benfath the fatal tree. Whereon the husband -father died. But not for felony. For this the tyrant's vassal -slaves Prepared had duly been :— On eider-couch they bore her through The forests deep serene. i " Look up, my boy ! there is the tower That choked thy father's breath '. Hew down that branch ! for it maun belp f To do a deed of death! 164 SCOTTISH BAUjAD'^. " By dawn o morn, Karl Lindsaye took Tour father frae my side. Because I wadna sair his lust Whan I was a young bride. " He hangit your father un that tree, Wi' this same widdie-raip ; The bloody Earl stood by the while. An' leugh at his death-gaip ! " Thy heart is bald, thy arm is Strang To wield this rung o' aik ; Beneath this tree, then, swear to me. Earl Lindsaye's life to take." An uncouth laugh burst from his heart. Then he his mother kiss'd : " That 1 will do, my mother dear. Or may 1 ne'er be blest!" The curse was out ! the murderer's days Were numbered on the spot. The son and mother went their way To their secluded cot. The mist-cloud, floating o'er the vale. Seemed an aerial lake ; While on the dark blue hills afiir The sun was seen to breuk. Up 'rose the kernes ; anon ths reek From many a hut 'gan curl ; The strong and lusty steers were yoked By the bare-headed churl. Far west the hill a horn was blown. Till strath and mountain rang; Another from Phinaven's towers Answer'd with sullen twang. Earl Lindsaye heard, and curl'd his lip- He knew the distant horn; And there were din and hurry in Phinaven's towers that morn : The clasping of maily armour on. And girding of glaive and sword; The waiders trode, the Lindsayes rode O'er dyke, and ditch, and ford. First on the green, in his clotted mail. Earl Lindsaye stood, with his black blood- He cursed the groom for a lazy loon, [hound; And fell'd the caitiff to the ground ! He chid the gun as his rising ray Play'd on bis visage dark. He fix'd his steel cap on his brow. And cursed the cheerful lark ! The Lindsayes gather'd fast and strong On the smooth bowling-park: Their life was feud, and they joy'd in blood— Their hearts and homes were dark. In breathless haste came from the west A simple peasant man : " Earl Airly is on Phinaven's bill, Wi' his brave hielan' clan." A cloud came o'er Earl Lindsaye's brow That struck the kerne with dread: " Now give the coward loon a groat, — But see you take his headi " Loud from the western bartizan. The warder blew his horn ; Answered another from the hill. Bold sounding scorn for scum. With Airly and his merry knights The good old shepherd stoud ; He had sought their aid to retrieve the maid — His Marion fair and good. Many and oft have sought the iud Of the noble Ogilvie, Nor sought in v;iiii— if gold or steel The applicant can frte. Young Duncan 's out, the mother, too. Her silvan hovel leaves . " Revenge ! revenge !" she cried, and fired The dark hut's broomy eaves. Quick spread the flame ! the rafters crack'd The wind burst from its cloud; It caught tlie blaze and fired the trees; — The widow laugh'd aloud ! Thick from the den the adders sprang Across the beaten path ; Up rode the Lindsaye-clan, and saw The weird-hag in her wrath ; Her snakes twined round the black blood- And stung him to the death < [hound, " Next Lindsaye dies !" the widow cries, "Follow me to the heath!" SCOTTISH BALLADS. 155 But, a stern Scot, his heart quail'd not : " Come on, brave knights ! with nae; I have the will, but cannot kill That hag of devilry !" The chase was o'er : twa stags had bled. And red were horse and man ; Rode up the good and valiant knights. With Airly in the van. Arrayed they stood in bitter feud. And burning clan view'd elan ; While Airly spoke: " Lord Lindsayel dost Thou ken this good old man ? " Know'st thou of his lost daughter fair ? If sHe be in thy power, Eestore her to her Either s heart Within this very hour '." " Ha ! ha ! 'tis easy so to Taunt ! 1 love the peasant-girl. Proud Ogilvie ! be thine the pica Of the old craven churl." " Lord Lindsaye I nor hate nor fear; Justice and God our word. Come on with me, my chivalry ! A good cause whets the sword." Quick as the red bolt from the cloud Flash'd glaive and sword from sheath ! Whi.e mid the host the weird crone rushed. And gave a pause to death. " Yet hear my prayer, thou murderer I My curse be on thy head ! Thou Shalt not die but by his hand Wham thou an orphan madel" As bounds the lion from the copse. Young Duncan forward rushed ! Thus challenged by a peasant youth. Blood-red the Lindsaye blushed. Now Airly's kinsmen laugh'd outright The unequal match to see; Which blew the Are of Lindsaye's ire Against the Ogilvie. "Comedown, Earl Lindsaye!" Duncan cried, "An' shake a paw wi' me ! Oich ! gin ye winna wi* gude will, I'U help my lord a wee." By hoof and fetlock Duncan grasp'd Earl Lindsaye's foaming steed — Down horse and rider came ! The knights All mute beheld the deed. "Now draw the Tiger-Earl's braid sword Against mine aiken rung! Ken ye this twig, ye murderer ? On it my dad ye hung. " On thee will I avenge his death. His wraith now gi'es me strength!" He struck Earl Lindsaye's flashing blade — A yard fell from its length. " Fling owre the craig that broken thing. As I toss my staff o' aik ; Now you or 1 maun follow it For my murdered father's sake !' And now they grappled stiff and stern— They knew 'twas life or death ; Hut Duncan's hand was like a vice. His foot strong on the heath. Like friends they hug, like fiends they tug, And still, as bull-dogs, mute ; Till on the precipice is placed Earl Lindsaye's treiiibhng foot! Now bend they o'er the fearful crag — Full forty fathoms deep ! As if from hell the witch did yell. And sprang toward the steep i One o'er the brink is toppled down. The crash sounds horridly ! A shiver thrills the stoutest heart; The Lindsayes turn and flee. The widow howl'd an eldritch laugh. Then wept for very joy ; She thanked God ; she claspt her son. And call'd him gallant boy. " Now will your father's spirit rest; Now we ha'e won his love; Nae mair he'll haunt the den unblest, Hut fly in his cloud above!" In durance-bower the shepherd's flower Lone drooping shetls the tear ; The lover-youth, through ways uncouth Runs quick as hunted deer. 156 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The Lindsayes sly, in ambush lie : { " He comes !" they softly cried Bix arrows stuck round Duncan's heart ! He jump'd-he fell-and died. ^ NovBMBBB's hail-cloud drifts away, Kovernber's sunbeam wan Looks coldly on the castle grey. When forth comes lady Anne. Earl Airly, with his gallant knights. Stands by the castle-wall : By noble deed the maid is freed,- She saw the Lindsayes fall. The orphan by the oak was set. Her arms, her feet, were bare, The hall-drops had not melted yet. Amid her raven hair. Airly, the grateful blushing maid. To her glad father pave ; He on his knee blest the Ogilvie, The generous and the brave. " And, dame," she said, " by all the ties That child and mother know. Aid one who never knew these joys, Kelieve an orphan's woe." *' Now drive your flocks to Airly's hills. And tend them there in peace ; And from this hour may tyrant power For aye in Scotland cease." The lady said, "An orphan's state Is hard and sad to bear, Yet worse the widow'd mother's fate. Who mourns both lord and heir. •• Haste ! burn that clog and bloody axe. And shut that hell of death ! That block no more shall drink man's gore. That dark pond drown his breath !" " Twelve times the rolling year has sped. Since when from vengeance wild Of fierce Strathallan's chief 1 fled, Forth's eddies whelm'd my chUd." So Airly spoke ; then turned his steed From many a horrid sight. The battle won, o'er vale and dun Rode he with squire and knight. " Twelve times the year its course has bora," The wandering maid replied, " Since fishers on St Bridgets morn Brew nets on Campsie side. From war's alarms to love's soft charms Lady Airly hail'd her lord ; And with her fair hand wreathed green bays Around the chieftain's sword. "St Bridget sent no scaly spoil;— An infant, wellnigh dead. They saved, and rear'd in want and toil. To beg from you her bread." In Airly-s halls, in wassail glee. Is held the festal night; Along the hills the pibroch trills. The Highland chiefs delight. That orphan maid the lady kiss'd— " My husband's looks you bear; St Bridget and her morn be bless'dl You are his widow's heir." And in the hall the festival Is cheer'd by many a string ; " In social life forget the strife," The wine-joy'd minstrels sing. They've robed that maid, so poor and pale. In silk and sandals rare; And pearls, for drops of frozen hail Are glistening in her hair. mt #5r#an JMai^. ©j^rougl t|)e WB.m^, [From "A Legend of Montrose," where it is said to be a translation from the Gaelic, with, perhaps, about the same truth as Ossian is a translation.] ^ ^ [MoDKRN Ballad.— William Anderson.] Tkbouoh the wood, through the wood. i Warbles the merle ■ SCOTTISH BALLADS. Through the wood, through the wood. Gallops the earl ! Yet he heads not its sonj? As it sinks on his ear. For he lists to a voice Than its music more dear. Through the wood, through the wood. Once and away. The castle is gain'd. And the lady is gay . When her smile waxes sad. And her eyes become dim; Her bosom is glad. If she gazes on him < Through the wood, through the wood. Over the wold. Rides onward a band Of true warriors bold • They stop not for forest. They halt not for water ; Their chieftain in sorrow Is seeking his daughter. Through the wood, through the wood. Warbles the merle ; Through the wood, through the wood. Prances the earl; And on a gay palfrey Comes pacing his bride; While an old man sits smiling, Injoy, by her side. Die ma Umf^tx^, [" Thb dome«tlc tragedy which this affecting ballad commemorates is not without a precedent in real history; nay, we are almost inclined to believe that it originated in the following melan- choly event. — " ' This year, 1589, in the moneth of July, ther falls out a sad accident, as a further warneing that God was displeased with the familie. The Lord Somniervill haveing come from Cowthally, earlie in the morning, in regaiid the weather w;i8 hott, he had ridden hard to be at the Drum be ten a clock, which having done, he laid tiim ^ 151 ^down to rest. The servant, with his two sones, William Master of SonimerviU, and John his brother, went with the horses to ane Shott of land, called the Prety Shott, directly opposite the front of the house where there was some meadow ground for grassing the horses, and willowes to shadow themselves from the heat. They had not long continued in this place, when the Master of Somervill efter some litle rest awakeing from his sleep and finding his pistoUes that lay hard by him wett with the dew he began to rub and dry them, when unhappily one of them went off the ratch, being lying upon his knee, and the muzel turned side-ways, the ball strocke his brother John directly in the head, and killed him outright, soe tliat his sorrowful brother never had one word from him, albeit he begged it with many teares.' — Memorie of the Somervilles, Vol. 1. p. 467. " The reader will find in the first volume of 'Popular Ballads and Songs' another edition of this ballad, which, in point of merit, is perhaps superior to the present copy. The third stanza of that edition was however imperfect, and the ingenious editor, Mr Jamieson, has supplied four lines to render it complete. Excellent though his interpolations generally are, it will be seen that, in this instance, he has quite misconceived the scope and tendency of the piece on which he was working, and in consequence has supplied a reading with which the rest of his own copy is at complete variance, and which at same time sweeps away the deep impression this simple ballad would otherwise have made upon the feelings ; for it is almost unnecessary to mention that its touching interest is made to centre in the boundless sorrow, and cureless remorse, of him who had been the unintentional cause of his brother's death — and in the solicitude which that high-minded and generous spirit expresses, even in the last agonies of nature, fur the safety and fortunes of the truly wretched and unhappy survivor. Mr Jamieson's addition is given below.'^ — By that addition this ballad has been altered in one of its most distinctive and essen- * " The addition to the itanza in question is inclosed by crotcheu. Tliey warstled up, they wamtled down. The Jee lang simmer's di" referred to, though it might have derived con- " I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk style. siderable improvements in other farticulars Whare the grass grows fair and grmi." from the one given by Mr Jamieson, has, on the whole, been preferred."— Jfo f For e'ening's gloom begins to fa' : — — 1 160 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " I'll take you to my father's ha', i And shield you from the wintry air. For, wand'ring through the drifting snaw, I fear ye'U sink to rise nae mair." ^ " Lord Ronald, stay till the early oock Sail flap his siller wing • An' saftly ye maun ope the gate. An' loose the silken string." " Ah ! gentle lady, airt my way Across this langsome, lonely moor, For he wha's dearest to my he'art, Kow waits me on the western shore. " Ellenore, my IKirest fiiir ' Ellenore, my bride' How can ye fear, when my merry men a' Are on the mountain side ?•' " With morn he spreads his outward sail. This night 1 vow'd to meet him there. To take ae secret fond fareweel. We maybe part to meet nae malr." The moon was hid, the night was gane. But Ellenore s heart was wae : She heard the cock flap his siller wing. An' ghe watch d the morning ray. " Dear lassie, turn— 'twill be your dead ! The dreary waste lies far and wide ; Abide till morn, and then ye'U ha'e My father's herd-boy for your guide." " Rise up, rise up. Lord Ronald, dear 1 The morning opes its e'e; speed thee to thy father's tower, An' safe, safe may thou be !" " No, lady,— no ! I maun na turn. Impatient love now chides my stay. Yon rising moon, with kindly beam. Will light me on my weary way." But there was a page, a little Ciuse page. Lord Ronald did tspy. An' he has told his baron all Where the hind and hart did lye. " Ah » Donald, wherefore bounds thy hearti Why beams with joy thy wishful e'e? Ton's but thy true luves fleeting form. Thy true love mair thoult never see. "It isna for thee, but thine, Lord Ronald— Thy father's deeds o' weir ! But since the hind has come to my fauld, Hia blood ghaU dim my spear." " Deep in the hollow glen she lies, Amang the snaw, beneath the tree. She soundly sleeps in death's cauld arms, A victim to her love for thee." Lord Ronald kissd fair Ellenore, An' press'd her lily hand ; Sic a stately knight an' comely dame Ne'er met in wedlock's band: Eor^ MonaI^» But the baron watch 'd as he rals'd the latch An' kissd again his bride. An' with his spear, in deadly ire. Ha pierc'd Lord Ronald's side. [MoDKRN Ballad. — EoBBBT ALtAif of Sai- barchan.] Lord Ronald cam' to his lady's bower. When the moon was in her wane; Lord Ronald cam' at a late, late hour. An" to her bower is gane He saftly stept in his sandal shoon. An' »aftl> laid him down: "Its late, it's late, quoth EUenore— Syne >e uiaun wauken soon t • The life-blood fled frae fair Ellenore-sclieek She look'd all wan an' 'ghast; She lean'd her down by Lord Ronald's side, An' the blood was rinnin' fast: She clasped his hand an' she kisa'd his lip. As she sigh'd her last adieu ; For never, O never did lady love Her lord with a heart so true ! f SCOTTISH BALLADS. |31 ^ " But whafa the little coin," she said. 1 ?^tm^ Ea^H iMaifgaret. " Wald buy my castle bound ? And what's the little boat," she said, " Can sail the world aU round ?•• [Fkom Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— "This Ballad," says Sir Walter, "was com- " hey, how mony small pennies municated to the editor by Mr Hamilton, music- Make thrice three thousand pound ? seller, Edinburgh, with whose mother it had Or hey, how mony small fishes been a favourite. Two verses and one line were Swim a' the salt sea round <"' wanting, which are here supplied from a diffe- rent Ballad, having a plot somewhat similar. " I think ye maun be my match," she Kud. These verses are the 6th and 9th."] " My match, and something malr. You are the first e'er got the grant •TwAs on a night, an evening bright. Of love frae my father's heir. When the dew began to fa'. Lady Margaret was walking up and down. " My father was lord of nine castles. Looking o'er her castle vva'. My mother lady of three; My father was lord of nine castles. She looked east, and she looked west. And there's nane to heir but me. To see what she could spy. When a gallant knight came in her sight. "And round about a' thae castles. And to the gate drew nigh. You may baith plow and saw. And on the fifteenth day of May, " You seem to be no gentleman. The meadows they will maw." You wear your boots so wide ; But you seem to be some cunning hunter. " hald your tongue, lady Marg'ret," he You wear the horn so syde." For loud I hear you lie ! [said. Your father was lord of nine castles. "I am no cunnmg hunter," he said. Your mother was lady of three ; " Nor ne'er intend to be; Your father was lord of nine castles. But I am come to this castle But ye tn' heir to but three. To seek the love of thee; And if you do not grant me love. "And round about a' thae castles. This night for thee I'U die." You may baith plow and saw. But on the fifteenth day of May " If you should die for me, sir knight. The meadows will not maw. There's few for you will mane. For mony a better has died for me. « I am your brother WUlie," he said. Whose graves are growing green. " I trow ye ken na me ; I came to humble your haughty heart " But ye maun read my riddle," she said. Has gar'd sae monie die." " And answer my questions three; And but ye read them right," she said, " Gae stretch ye out and die.— "If ye be my brother Willie," she saiu, " As I trow weel ye be. This night I'll neither eat nor drink. "Now what is the flower, the ae first flower. But gae alang wi' thee." Springs either on moor or dale ? " hald your tongue, lady Marg'ret," he And w hat is the bird, the bonnie bonnie bird. " Again 1 hear you lie ; [said. Sings on the evening gale f" For ye've unwashen hands, and ye've un- To gae to clay wi' me. [washen feet,* 'The primrose is the ae first flower. Springs either on moor or dale ; * Vnmashen hands and unrvashenfeel—M\ad. And the thistlecock is the bonniest bird. ing to tlie custom of washing and dressing dead S'ugs on the evening gale." ^ . bodies.— Scott. I. '__ 1 IQ2 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " For the wee worms are my oed-feUows, ^ " Indeed I am a courteous knight. And caulU clay is my sheets ; And of great pedigree; And when the stormy winds do blow. Nae knight did mair for a lady bright My body lies and sleeps." Than 1 will do for thee. " 0, I'll put smiths in your smithy. To shoe for you a. steed; And 111 put tailors in your bower. ®^e €mxUm^ mnigfjt. To make for you a weed. " I will put cooks in your kitchen. [This Ballad, simUar in incident to the pre- And butlers in your ha' ; ceding, but more complete in narrative, U given And on the tap o' your father's castle. in Mr Buchan's CoUecUon.J I'll big gude corn and saw." There was a knight, in a summer's night. "If ye be a courteous knight. Appeard in a lady's haU, As I trust not ye be ; As she was walking up and down. Ye'll answer some o' the sma' questions Looking o'er her casUe wall. That I will ask at thee. " God make you safe and free, fair maid. " What is the fairest flower, tell me. God make you safe and free !" That grows in mire or dale ? " sae fa" you, ye courteous knight. Likewise, which is tiie sweetest bird What are your wUls wi* me ?■' Sings next the nightingale ? Or what's the finest tiling," she gays. "My wills wi' you are not sma', lady. "That king or (iueen can walei>" My wills wi' you nae sma' ; And since there's nane your bower within. " The primrose is the fairest flower. Ye'se ha'e my secrets a". That grows in mire or dale ; The mavis is the sweet st bird " For here am I a courtier. Next to the nightingale; A courtier come to thee ; And yellow gowd's the finest thing And if ye winna grant your love, That king or queeu can wale. All for your sake I'U dee." " Ye ha'e asked many questions, lady. " If that ye dee for me, sir knight. I've yuu as many told ; Few for you will make nieen ; But, how many pennies round For mony gude lord's done the same. Make a hundred pounds in gold ? Their graves are growing green." •'0 winna ye pity me, fair maid, " How many of the small fishes Do swim the salt seas round ? O winna ye pity me ? winna ye pity a courteous knight. Whose love is laid on thee ?" Or, what's the seemliest sight you'll see Into a May morning i"' " Te say ye are a courteous knight. " Berry-brown ale and a birken speal, But I think ye are nane ; And wine in a horn green ; I think ye're but a miller bred. A milk-white lace in a fair maid's dress. By the colour o" your claithing. Looks gay in a May morning." "You seem to be some false young man. " Mony's the questions I've ask'd at thee. You wear your hat sae wide ; And ye've answer'd them a'; You seem to be some false young man. Ye are mine, and I am thine, f Amo' the sheets sae sma'. You wear your boots sae side." " You may be my match. Wnd sir. You may be my match and more ; There ne'er was ane came sic a length, Wi' my father's heir before. " My father's lord o' nine castles. My mother she's lady ower three. And there is nane to heir them all. No never a ane but me ; Unless it be "Willie, my ae brother. But he's far ayont the sea.' "If your father's laird o' nine castles. Your mother lady ower three ; I am Willie your ae brother. Was far beyond the sea." " If ye be Willie, my ae brother. As X doubt sair ye be; But if it's true ye tell me now. This night I'll gang wi' thee." " Ye've ower ill wasben feet, Jaoet, And ower ill washen hands. And ower coarse robes on your body, Alang wi' me to gang. " The worms they are my bed-fellows. And the cauld clay my sheet ; And the higher that the wind does blaw. The sounder I do sleep. " My body's buried in Dumfermline, And far beyond the sea ; But day nor night, nae rest could get. All for the pride o' thee. " leave aff your pride, jelly Janet, " he says, " Use it not ony mair ; Or when ye come where I ha'e been You will repent it sair. " Cast aff, cast aff, sister," he says, " The gowd lace frae your crown ; For if ye gang where I ha'e been, Ye'll wear it laigher down. " When ye're in the gude church set. The gowd pins in your hair; Ye take mair delight in your feckless dress. Than ye do in your morning prayer. " And when ye walk in the church yard. And in your dress are seen. There is nae lady that sees your face But wishes your grave were greeo. SCOTTISH BALLADS. A 163 "You're straight and tall, handsome withall. But your pride owergroes your wit ; But if ye do not your ways refrain. In Pirie 8 chair ye'll sit. " In Pirie's chair you'll sit, I say. The lowest seat o' hell ; If ye do not amend your ways, It's there that ye must dwell." Wi' that he vanish'd frae her sight, Wi' the twinkling o' an eye; Naething mair the lady saw, But the gloomy clouds and sky. dt i^iig':^ U Mmh, [From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— " This ballad," says Sir Walter, " is a northern composition, and seems to have been the original of the legend called Sir Aldingar, which is print- ed in the Reliques of Antient Poetry. The inci- dents are nearly the same in both ballads, ex- cepting that, in Aldingar, an angel combats for the queen, instead of a mortal champion. The names of Aldingar and Rodingham approach near to each other in sound, though not in or- thography, and the one might, by reciters, be easily substituted for the other. 1 think 1 have seen both the name and the story in an ancient prose chronicle, but am unable to make any re- ference in support of my belief. The tradition, upon which the ballad is founded, is universally current in the Mearns; and the editor is inform- ed, that, till very lately, the sword, with which Sir Hugh le Blond was believed to have defended the life and honour of the queen, was carefully preserved by his descendants, the viscounts of Arbuthnot. That Sir Hugh of Arbuthnot lived in the thirteenth century, is proved by his hav- ing, in 1282, bestowed the patronage of the church of Garvoch upon the monks of Aber- brothwiek, for the safety of his soul. — Register of Aberbrothwick, quoted by Crawford in Peerage. But I find no instance in history, in which the honour of a queen of Scotland was committed to the chance of a duel. It is true, that Mary, wife of Alexander II., was, about 1242, somewhat implicated in a dark story, concerning the mur- der of Patrick, earl of Athole, burned in his lodging at Haddington, where he had gone to 164 SCOTTISH BALLADS. attend a great tonrnament. The relations of^ the deceased baron accused of the murder Sir 1 "William Bisat, a powerful nobleman, who ap- | pears to have been in such high favour with the i young queen, that she offered her oath, as a compurgator, to prove his innocence. Bisat himself stood upon his defence, and proffered the combat to his accusers ; but he was obliged to give way to the tide, and was banished from Scotland. This affair interested all the northern barons ; and it is not impossible, that some share, taken in it by this Sir Hugh de Arbuth- not, may have given a slight foundation fur the tradition of the country. — Wintoun, book vii. ch. 9. Or, if we suppose Sir Hugh le Blond to be a predecessor of the Sir Hugh who flourished in the thirteenth century, he may have been the victor in a duel, shortly noticed as having oc- curred in 1151, when one Arthur, accused of treason, was unsuccessful in his appeal to the judgment of God. Arthurus regem Malcolm proditurus duello periit. Chron. Sanctse Crueis, ap. Anglia Sacra, vol. 1. p. 161. " But, true or false, the incident, narrated in the ballad, is in the genuine style of chivalrj-. Romances abound with similar instances, nor are they wanting in real history. The most solemn part of a knight's oath was to defend 'all widows, orphelines, and maidens of gude fame.'* — Lindsay's Heraldry, MS. The luve of arms was a real passion of itself, which blazed yet more fiercely when united with the enthusi- astic admiration of the fair sex. The knight of Chaucer exclaims, with chivalrous energy, ' To fight for a lady ! a benedicite ! It were a lii»ty sight for to see." It was an argument, seriously urged by Sir John of Heinault, for making war upon Edward II., in behalf of his banished wife, Isabella, that knights were bound to aid, to their uttermost power, all distressed damsels, living without council or comfort. " An apt illustration of the ballad would have been the combat, undertaken by three Spanish • Such an oath is still taken by the Knights of the Bath ; but, I believe, few of that honourable brother- hond will now consider it quite »o obligatory as the conscientious Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who gravely alleges it as a sufficient reason for having challenged divers cavaliers, that they had either snatched from a lady her bouquet, or ribband, or, by some discourtesy of similar importance, placed her, as his lordship conceived, in the predicament of a distressed damo- tell.— Scott. ^ champions against three Moors of Granada, in defence of the honour of the queen of Granada, I wife to Mohammed Chiquito, the last monarch I of that kingdom. But 1 have not at hand Las Guerras Civiles de Granada, in which that achievement is recorded. Raymond Berengcr, count of Barcelona, is also said to have defended, in single combat, the life and honour of the empress Matilda, wife of the emperor Henry V., and mother to Henry II. of England.— See An- tonio Ulloa, del vero Honore Militare, Venice, 1569. " A less apocryphal example is the duel, fought in 1387, betwixt Jaque^ le Grys and John de Carogne, before the king of France. These warriors were retainers of the earl of Alengon, and originally sworn brothers. John de Carogne went over the sea for the advancen ent of his fame, leaving in his castle a beautiful wife, where she lived soberly and sagely. But the devil entered into the heart of Jaques le Grys, and he rode, one morning, from the earl's house to the castle of his friend, where he was hospita- bly received by the unsuspicious lady. He re- quested her to show him the donjon, or keep of the castle, and in that remote and inaccessible tower forcibly violated her chastity. He then mounted his horse, and returned to the earl of Alenfion within so short a space, that his absence had not been perceived. The lady abode within the donjon, weeping bitterly, and exclaiming, 'Ah Jaqus! it was not well done thus to shame me '. but on you shall the shame rest, if God send my husband s Or will we B indsey hang ? Or will we set him at our bow end, lat arrows at him gang ?" " Ye winna Bondsey head, brothers. Nor will ye Bondsey hang ; But ye'U take out his twa grey e'en. Make Boudsey blind to gang. " Ye'll rut to the gate a chain o' gold, A rose garland gar make; And ye'll put that in Bondsey's head A' for your sister's sake." mil letter. [From Buchan's Collection.] Chil Etiikr and lady Maisry Were baith born at ae birth ; They lov'd each other tenderlie, 'Boon every thing on earth. The ley likes na the summer shower. Nor girse the rnornin' dew. Better, dear lady Maisry, Than Chil Ether loves you. The bonnie doo likes na its mate. Nor bate, at breast, its mither, Better, my dearest Chil Ether, Than Maisry loves her brither. But he needs gae to gain renown, Into some far countrie ; — And Chil Ether has gaen abroad. To fight in Payuimie. And he has been in Paynlmie A twalmonth and a day ; But never nae tidings did there come. Of his welfare to say. Then she's ta'en ship, awa' to sail. Out ower the roaring faem ; A' for to find him, Chil Ether, And for to bring hiia hame. She hadna sail'd the sea a month, A month but barely three ; Until she laudit un Ciper's shore. By the moon-licht sae lie. Lady Maisry did on her green mantle. Took her purse in her band ; And call'd to her, her mariners. Syne walk'd up through the land. She walked up, sae did she down. Till she came till castell high ; There she sat down, on the door stane And weepit bitterlie. Then out it spake a sweet, sweet voice. Out ower the castell wa'; — " Now isna that lady Maisry That makes sic a dolefu' fa' ? " But gin that be lady Maisry, Lat her make mirth and glee , For I'm her brother, Chil Ether, That loves her tenderlie. " But gin that be lady Maisry, Lat her take purse in hand ; And gang to yonder castell wa'. They call it Gorinand . " Speir for the lord o' that castell, Gie'm dollars thirty-three , Tell him to ransom Chil Ether, That loves you tenderlie." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 171 She's It had been gude for my wife, father. To me she'd borne a son. He would have got my lands and rents. Where they lie out and in. %iixh ®|©ma^ ^tiart. " It had been gude for my wife, father. To me she'd borne an heir ; He would have got my lands and rents Where they lie fine and fair." [From " A North Countrie Garland," (Edin- burgh, 1823 ) where the Editor says he is unac- quainted with the circumstances that gave rise to the ballad.] The steeds they strave into their stables. The boys could not get them bound. The hounds lay howling on the beach, •Cause their master was behind. Thomas Stuart was a lord, Alordofmickleland; He used to wear a coat of gold. But now his grave is green. " I dream'd a dream since late yestreen, I wish it may be good, That our chamber was full of swine. An' our bed fuU of blood. Now he has wooed the young Countess, The Countess of Balquhin, And given her for a morning gift, Strathbogie and Aboyne. " I saw a woman come from the west. Full sore wringing her hands, A nd aye she cried, Ohon, alas ! My good lord's broken bands. But woman's wit is aye wilful, Alas ! that ever it was sae. She long'd to see the morning gift. That her good lord to her ga'e. " As she came by my gude lord's bower Saw mony black steeds and brown,— I'm feared it be mony unco lords Having my love from town. When steeds were saddled and weel bridled. An' ready for to ride, There came a pain on that gude lord. His back likewise his side. " As she came by my gude lord's bower. Saw mony black steeds and grey,— I'm fear'd it's mony unco lords Havin' my love to the clay." He said, "Ride on, my lady fair. May goodness be your guide. For I am so sick and weary that No farther can 1 ride." Now ben did come his father dear. Wearing a golden band. Says, " Is there na leech in Edinburgh . Can cure my son from wrang ?" [Modern Ballad.— Joanna Baili.ib.] leech is come and leech is gane. Yet, father, I'm aye waur; There's not a leech in Edinbro' Can dtath from me debar. Sir Maurick was a wealthy lord, He lived in the north countrie. Well would he cope with foe-man's sword Or the glance of a lady's e'e. But be a friend to my wife, father. Restore to her her own. Restore to her her morning gift, Strathbogie and Aboyne. Now all his armed vassals wait, A staunch and burly band. Before his stately castle gate, e Bound for the Holy Land. 1 1 72 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Above the spearmen's lengthen 'd file, < Are flgur'd ensigns flying; Strok'd by their keeper's hand the while. Are harness'd chargers neighing. i These latter words right eagerly. From a slender stripling broke. Who stood the ancient warrior by. And trembled as he spoke. And looks of woe, and looks of cheer. And looks the two between. On many a warlike face appear. Where tears have lately been. Sir Maurice started at the sound, And all from top to toe The stripling scann'd, who to the ground His blushing face bent low. For all they love is left behind ; Hope beckons them before : Their parting sails spread to the wind. Blown from tlieir native shore. "Is this thy kinsman, seneschal? Thine own 0t thy sister's son f A gentler page, in tent or hall. Mine eyes ne'er look'd upon.— Then through the crowded portal pass'd Six goodly knights and tall; Sir Maurice himself, who came the last, WasgoodUestofthenialU " To thine own home return, fair youth ! To thine own home return. Give ear to likely sober truth. Nor prudent counsel spurn. And proudly roved his hasty eye O'er all the warlike train ;— " Save ye, brave comrades ! proap'ronsly. Heaven send us o er the main ! " War suits thee not. If boy thou art ; And if a sweeter name Befit thee, do not lightly part With maiden's honour'd fame." " But see I right ? an armed band From Moorham's lordlesa hall ; And he who bears the high command. Its ancient seneschal ! He tum'd him from his liegennen all. Who round their chieftain press'd ; His very shadow on the wall His troubled mind express'd. " Return ; your stately keep defend ; Defend your lady's bower. Lest rude and lawless hands should rend. That lone and lovely flower."— As sometimes slow and sometimes fast, He paced to and fro. His plumy crest now upward cast In air, now drooping low. " God will defend our l.^dy dear. And we will cross the sea. From slav'ry's chain, his lot severe. Our noble lord to free." — Sometimes like one in frantic mood. Short words of sound he utter'd. And sometimes, stopping short, he stood. As to himself he mutter'd. "Nay, nay! some wand'ring minstrel's Hath fram'd a story vain ; [tongue. Thy lord, his liegemen brave among, Near Acre's wall was slain."— " A daughter's love, a maiden's pride ! And may they not agree ? _Could man desire a lovelier bride, A truer friend than she ? " Nay, good my lord ! for had his life Been lost on battle-ground. When ceas'd that fell and fatal strife. His body had been found."— " Down, cursed thought ! a boy's garb Betrays not wanton will. Yet, sharper than an arrow's barb, That fear might haunt me still." " No faith to such delusions give ; His mortal term is past."— " Not so ! not so ! he is alive. And wUl be found at last !" i He mutter'd long, then to the gate. Return 'd and look'd around, But the seneschal and his stripling mate, 8 Were no where to be found. SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^/j-g With outward cheer and inward smart, ^ In warlike fair array. Did Maurice with his bands depart. And shoreward bent his way. ! And when again day's blessed light Did on his vision fall, There stood by his side— a wond'rous sight ! The ancient seneschal. Their stately ship rode near the port. The warriors to receive. And there, with blessings kind but short. Did friends of friends take leave. He strove, but could no«i utter word. His misty senses fled : Again he woke, and Moorham's lord Was bending o'er his bed. And soon they saw the crowded strand Wear din\]y from their view. And soon tliey saw the distant land, A line of hazy blue. A third time sank he, as if dead. And then, his eye-lids raising. He saw a chief with turban'd head. Intently on him gazing. The whit^-saiVd ship with fav'ring breeze. In all her gallant pride, Mov'd like the mistress of the seas. That rippled far and wide. " The prophet's zealous servant I ; His battles I've fought and won Christians I scorn, their creeds deny. But honour Mary's son. O'er wave and surge careering. Sometimes with sidelong mast she bent. Her wings the sea-foam sheering. "And I have wedded an English dame. And set her parent free ; And none, who wears an English name. Shall e'er be thrall'd by me. Sometimes, with poles and rigging bare. She scudded before the blast. But safely by the Syrian shore. Her anchor dropt at last " For her dear sake I can endure All wrong, all hatred smother; Whate'er I feel, thou art secure, As though thou wert my brother."— What martial honours Maurice won, Join'd with the brave and great. From the fierce, faithless Saracen, I may not here relate. " And thou hast wedded an English dame '." Sir Maurice said no more. For o'er his heart soft weakness came. He sigh'd and wept full sore. With boldest band on ridge or moat. With champion on the plain, . I' th- breach with clusfring foes he fought, Chok'd up with grizly slain. And many a dreary day and night With the Moslem chief stay'd he, But ne'er could catch, to bless his sight, One glimpse of the feir lady. Most valiant by the valiant styl'd. Their praise his deeds proclaim'd. And oft his liegemen proudly smil'd To hear their leader nam'd. Oft gaz'd he on her lattice high As he paced the court below. And tum'd his listn'ing ear to try If word or accent low But fate will quell the hero's strength. And dim the loftiest brow. And thus, our noble chief, at length Was in the dust laid low. Might haply reach him there ; and oft Traversed the garden green. Wotting her footsteps small and soft Might on the turf be se^n. He lay the heaps of dead beneath. As sunk life's flick'ring flame, A.nd thought it was the trance of death. That o'er his senses came. And oft to Moorham's lord he gave His list'ning ear who told. How he became a wretched slave Within that Syrian hold ; 1 IH SCOTTISH BALLADS. What time from liegemen parted far. Upon tlie battle field. By stern and adverse fate of wax He was obliged to yield : And how his daughter did by stealth So boldly cross the sea With secret store of gather'd wealth. To set her father free • And how into the foemen's hands She and her people fell ; And how (herself in captive bauds) She sought him in his cell ; And hut a captive boy appear'd. Till grief ber sex betray'd, And the fierce Saracen, so fear'd! Spoke gently to the maid . How for her plighted hand sued he. And solemn promise gave. Her noble father should be free With ev'ry Christian slave; (For many there, in bondage kept. Felt the stern rule of vice ;) How, long she ponder'd, sorely wept. Then paid the fearful price.— A tale which made his bosom thrill. His faded eyes to weep ; He, waking, thought upon it still. And saw it in his sleep. But harness rings, and the trumpet's bray Again to battle calls; And Christian pow'rs, in grand array Are near those Moslem walls. Sir Maurice heard ; untoward fate '. Sad to be thought upon : But the castle 8 lord unlock'd its gate. And bade his guest be gone. " Fight thou for faith by thee ador'd ; By thee so well inaintain'd! But never may this trusty sword With blood of thine be stain'd !"— Sir Maurice took him by the hand, " God bless thee too," — he cried ; Then to the nearest Christian band With mingled feelings hied. The battle join'd, with dauntless pride 'Gainst foemen, foemen stood; And soon the fatal field was dyed With many a brave man's blood. At length gave way the Moslem force ; Their valiant chief was slain ; Maurice protected his lifeless corse. And bore it from the plain. There's mourning in the Moslem halls, A dull and dismal sound : The lady left its "leagur'd walls. And safe protection found. When months were past, the widow'd dam^ Look'd calm and cheerfully ; Then Maurice to her presence came. And bent him on his knee. What words of penitence or suit He utter'd, pass we by; The lady wept, awhile was mute. Then gave this firm reply: " That thou didst doubt my maiden pride (A thought that rose and vanish'd So fleetingly) I will not chide ; 'Tis from remembrance banish'd. " But thy fair fame, earn'd by that sword. Still spotless shall it be : I was the bride of a Moslem lord. And will never be bride to thee. So firm, though gentle, was her look, Hopa i' the instant fled : A solemn, dear farewell he took, And from her presence sped. And she a plighted nun became, God serving day and night; And he of blest Jerusalem A brave and zealous knight. But that their lot was one of woe, AVot ye because of this Their sep'rate single state ? if so. In sooth ye judge amiss. She tends the helpless stranger's bed. For alms her wealth is stor'd ; On her meek worth God's grace is shed, Man's grateful blessings pour'd. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 1Y5 He still in warlike mail doth stalk, $ As "Willie stood in his chamber door. In arms his prowess prove ; And as he thought it good ; And oft of siege or battle talk. There he beheld dame Oliphant, And sometimes of his love. As she came through the wood. She was the fairest of the fair. He's toen his bow his arm ower. The gentlest of the kind ; His sword into his hand ; Search ye the world wide every where, And he is on to gude greenwood. Her like ye shaU not find. As fast as he could gang. She was the fairest, is the best. And there he found dame Oliphant Too good for a monarch's bride ; Was lying sound asleep ; I would not give her in her nun's coif dress'd And aye the sounder she did sleep. For all her sex beside. The nearer he did creep. But when she waken'd frae her sleep. An angry maid was she ; Crying, " Had awa' frae me, young man. ®|e lEad ©f Suugla^ an^ Had far awa' frae me. For I fear ye are the Scottish knight Wmu 0U^^mt That beguiles young ladies free." " I am not the Scottish knight. [This Ballad is from Mr Buchan's Collection. Nor ever thinks to be ; It bears the mark of considerable antiquity. I am but Willie o' Douglas-dale, though here and there betraying the interpola- That serves for meat and fee." tions or imperfections of modern reciters.] " If ye be "Willie o' Douglas dale. WiLLiK was an earl's ae son. Ye're dearly welcome to me ; And an earl's son was he ; For aft in my sleep ha'e I thought on But he thought his father lack to sair. You and your merry winking e'e." And his mother of low degree. But the cocks they crew, and the horns blew But he is on to fair England, And the lions to Ere he dream'd that fair dame Oliphant " 0, are ye asleep now, squire W^iUie, Gied him a red rose flower. Well fcet about wi' white lilies. Like to the paramour. 0, are ye asleep ?" said she ; "0 w.iken, waken, squire Willie, waken and speak to me. It fell ance upon a day. " The gowns that were ower wide, Willie, Dame Oliphant thought lang; They winna meet on me ; And she gaed on to gude greenwood. And the coate that were ower side, WilUe, As fast as she could gang. { They winna come to my knee ; 176 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And if the knights of my father's court get ^ He's got a bush o> rodding till her. word. That grow on yonder thorn ; I'm sure they'll gar you dee." Likewise a drink o' Marywell-water, Out 0' his grass-green horn. " Dame Oliphant, dame Oliphant, A king's daughter are ye; But would ye leave your father and mother. And gang awa' wi' me ?' He carried the match in his pocket. That kindled to her the fire; Well set about wi' oaken spails. " 0, I would leave my father and mother. That leam'd ower Lincolnshire. And the ni arest that e'er betide ; And 1 would nae be fear'd to gang. And he has bought to his lady. Gin ye war by my side." The white bread and the wine And the milk he milked frae the goats. But she's ta'en a web o' the scarlet. He fed his young son on. And tare it fine and sma'; And even into Willie's arms Till it fell ance upon a day. She lept the castle wa'; Dame Oliphant thought lang ; And Willie was wight and well able. " gin ye ha'e a being, Willie, And he keepit her frae a fa'. I pray you ha'e me haine." But the cocks they crew, and the horns He's ta'en his young son in his arms. blew. His lady by the hand ; And the lions took the hill; And they are down through guid green- And Willie's lady followed him. wood. And the tears did trinkle stUI. As fkst as they could gang; " want ye ribbons to your hair. Or roses to your shoon ? Or v.nnt ye chains about you- neck, Ye'se get mair ere that be done." Tin they came to a shepherd may. Was feeding her flocks alone ; Said, " Will ye gang alang wi' me, And carry my bonnie young son ? " I want not ribbons to my feet, Nor roses to my shoon ; "The gowns that were shapen for my back. And there are mair chains about my neck They shall be sewed for thine ; Tlian ever 1-11 see done: And likewise I'll gar squire Willie But 1 hae as much dear bought love Gi'e you a braw Scots man." As my heart can contain." When they came on to Willie's bower yetts. " Will ye gae to the cards or dice ? And far beyond the sea ; Or to the table play ? She was hail'd the lady o' Douglas-dale, Or to a bed sae well down spread. And Willie an earl to be. And sleep tiU it be day ?" Likewise the maid they brought awa". She got a braw Scots man. " I've mair need o' the roddins, WilUe, 1 That kTow on yonder thorn ; And lang and happy did they live. Likewise a drink o' M-arywell-water, But now their d.ays are done ; Out 0' your grass-green horn. And in the kirk o' sweet Saint Bride Their graves are growing green. " I've mair need o' a fire, WUlie, To baud me frac the cauld ; Likewise a glshs o' your red wine. Ere i bring my son to the fauld." j f SCOTTISH BALLADS 1^7 ^ When he had her up to yon stairhead. She was but a servant woman ; ^^t EaiicD 0* JEe!^icum aw^ But lang, lang ere she came down again. She was getUng baith mistress and madam. fifggg Douglas, " Yestreen I sat by Meldrum's kitchen fire, Aniang the rest o' his servant lasses ; But the night 1 will lye in his arms twa. [From Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs.] And I'U wear the ribbons and laces." My father he left me twa ploughs and a miU, It was to begin my dowrie ; And what care I for ony o' them a'. If I be not brave Meldrum's ladie. m^ Wife of »^ei'0 mdl Meldrum, it stands on the head o' yon hill. [A FRAOMKNT first published in the Minstrelsy And dear but it stands bonnie; of the Scottish Border.] But what care 1 f >r tliis, if I had himsel'. For to me he's the dearest o' ony. Thebk Uved a wife at Usher's well. And a wealthy wife was she ; But how can 1 be the lady o* Argye, She had three stout and stalwart sons. The lady o' Pitlays, or Pitloggan ? And sent them o'er the sea. How can I expect to enjoy these estates. And I but a servant woman ? They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane. In cUmbing the tree it is too high for me. "When word came to the carline wife. And seeking the fruit that's nae growing; That her three sons were gane. I'm seeking het water beneath cauld ice. And against the stream I am rowing. They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely three. But Meldrum he stands on his ain stair head. When word came to the carline wife. And hearing his bonnie lassie mourning; That her sons she'd never see. Says, " Cheer up your heart, my ain proper pink. Though ye be but a servant woman. " I wish the wind may never cease,* Nor fishes in the flood. "TeTe nae cUmbing a tree that's too high for TUl my three sons come hame to me. thee. In earthly flesh and blood !" Nor seeking tlie fruit that's nae growing; Nor seeking het water beneath cauld ice. It fell about the Martinmas, It's wi' the stream that ye are rowing." ! When nights are lang and mirk. The carUne wife's three sons came hame. " They ca" me Peggy Douglass the butt," she says, j " They ca' me Peggy Douglass the ben, sir; And their hats were o' the birk.f And although I were your wedded wife. * The sense of this verse is obscure, owing. They would ca' me Peggy Douglass again, j probably, to corruption by reciters. It would sir." i appear that the mother had sinned in the same degree with the celebrated Lenore.— Scott. " They ca' you Peggy Douglass the butt," he \ The notion, that the souls of the blessed says, wear garlands, seems to be of Jewish origin. " They ca' you Peggy Douglass the lien, may; At least in the Maase-book, ttiere is a Ritbbinical But the best that's in a' my father's ha*. tradition to the foUowhig effect:— " It fell out. Darena ca' you Peggy Douglass again. that a Jew, whose name was Ponim, an ancient ma,." ^ 5 man, whose business was altogether about 1 178 SCOTTISH BALLADS. It neither grew in syke nor ditch. Nor yet in ony sheugh ; But at the gates o" Paradise, That birk grew fair eneugh. " Blow up the fire, my maidens ! Bring water from the well ! For a' my house shall feast this night. Since my three sons are well." dead, coming to the door of the school, saw one standing there, who had a garland upon his head. Then was Eabbi Ponim afraid, imagin- ing it was a spirit. Whereupon he, whom the Babbi saw, called out to him, saying, ' Be not afraid, but pass forward. Dost thou not know me ?• Then said Rabbi Ponim, ' Art not thou he whom I buried yesterday ?' And he was an- swered, ' Yea, 1 am he.' Upon which Rabbi Ponim said, ' Why comest thou hither ? How fareth it with thee in the other world t>' And the apparition made answer, 'It goeth well with me, and I am in high esteem in paradise.' Then said the Babbi, ' Thou wert but looked upon in the world as an insignificant Jew. What good work didst thou do, that thou art thus esteemed i" The apparition answered, ' I wUl tell thee : the reason of the esteem 1 am in, is, that I rose every morning early, and with fervency uttered my prayer, and offered the grace from the bottom of my heart; fir which reason I now pronounce grace in paradise, and am well respected. If thou doubtest whether I am the person, I will show thee a token that will convince thee of it. Yesterday, when thou didst clothe me in my funeral attire, thou didst tear my sleeve.' Then asked Rabbi Ponim, ' What is the meaning of that garland i>' The appari- tion answered, ' I wear it, to the end the wind of the world mtay not have power over me ; for it consists of excellent herbs of paradise.' Then did Rabbi I'onim mend the sleeve of the de- ceased ; f r the deceased had said, that if it was not mended, he should be ashamed to be seen amongst others, whose apparel was whole. And then the apparition vanished. Wherefore, let every one utter his prayer with fervency; for then it shall go well with him in the other world. And let care be taken that no rent, nor tearing, be left in the apparel in which the de- ceased are interred."— Jewish Traditions, abridg- ed from Buxtorf, London, 1732, Vol. II. p. 19. Scotl. And she has made to them a bed. She's made it large and wide ; And she's ta'en her mantle her about. Sat down at the bed-side. Vp then crew the red red cock. And up and crew the gray ; The eldest to the youngest said, " 'Tis time we were away." The cock he hadna craw-d but once. And clapp'd his wings at a'. Whan the youngest to the eldest said, " Brother, we must awa'. " The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerin'* worm doth chide* Gin we be mist out o' our place, A sair pain we maun bide. " Fare ye weel, my mother dear ! Fareweel to barn and byre ! And fare ye weel, the bonnie lass. That kindles my mother's fire." MntU Wdm, [" This beautiful tale of woman's love," says Mr Robert Chambers, " beautiful in the pathos of its simple and touching narrative, and equally beautiful in the pathos of its simple and touch- ing language — was first published, by Percy, as an English ballad, under the title of 'Childe Waters.' Mr Jamieson long afterwards pub- lished a Scottish version, under the title of ' Burd Ellen,' from the recitation of a lady of the name of Brown ; adding some fragments of ano- ther copy, which he had taken down from the singing of Mrs Arrot of Aberbiothwick. Mr Kinloch has more lately given, under the title of ' Lady Margaret,' an imperfect copy, superior in some points to that of Mr Jamieson ; and, more recently still, Mr Buchan, in his 'Ancient Bal- lads and Songs,' has presented a very complete one, which he entitles ' Burd Helen.' " The pre- sent copy is compiled by Mr Chambers from the difi'erent imperfect versions above enumerated.] C/wnnerin'— Fretting. SCOTTISH BALLADS. | ^9 Lord John stood in his stable door, ik And he was ne'er sae lack* a knicht. Said he was boune to ride : As ance wad bid her ride ; Bard Helen stood in her bouir door. And she was ne'er sae mean a May, Said she'd run by his side. As ance wad bid him bide. " The corn is turning ripe. Lord John ; The nuts are growing fu' : And ye are boune for your ain countrie ; Fain wad I go with you." Lord John he rade, Burd Helen ran, A live-lang summer day ; Until they cam' to Clyde-water, Was filled frae bank to brae. " Wi' me, Helen ! wi' me, Helen ! What wad ye do wi' me ? I've mair need o' a little foot-page. Than of the like 0' thee." " Seest thou yon water, Helen," said he, " That flows from bank to brim ?" " I trust to &od. Lord John," she said, " You ne'er will see me swim !" 1 "01 will be your little foot-boy. To wait upon your steed ; And I will be your little foot-page. Your leish of hounds to lead." But he was ne'er sae lack a knicht. As ance wad bid her ride ; Kor did he sae much as reach his hand. To help her ower the tide. " But my hounds will eat the bretd o' wheat. And ye the dust and bran ; Then will ye sit and sigh, Helen, That e'er ye lo'ed a man." The firsten step that she waidef in. She wadittotheknee; " Ochone, alas," quo' that ladye fair, " This water's no for me !" " your dogs may eat the gude wheat-breid. And I the dust and bran ; Yet will I sing and say, weel's me, That e'er 1 loed a man ]" The second step that she waide in. She ste, pit to tlie middle : Then, sighing, said that fair ladye, " I've wet luy gowden girdle." " better ye'd stay at hame, Helen, And sew your silver seam ; For my house is in the far Hielands, And ye'll ha'e puir welcome hame." The thirden step that she waide in. She steppit to the neck; When that the bairn that she was wi'. For cauld began to quake. " I winna stay. Lord John," she said, " To sew my silver seam ; Though your house is in the far Hielands, And I'll ha'e puir welcome hame." " Lie still, my babe ; lie still, my babe ;" Lie still as lang's ye may : Your father, tliat i ides on horseback high. Cares UtUe for us twae." " Then if you'll be my foot-page, Helen, As you teU unto me. Then you must cut your gown of green An inch abune your knee. " So you must cut your yellow locks An inch abune your e'e ; You must tell no man what is my name : My foot-page then you'U be." Then he has luppen on his white steed. And straight awa' did ride ; Burd Helen, dresa'd in men's array. She Tan last by bis side. And when she cam' to the other side. She sat down on a sUne ; Says, " Them that made me, help me now; For 1 am far trae hame : " Oh, tell me thte, now, good Lord John ; In pity tell tome; How far i8 it to your lodging. Where we this nicht maun be ?" • In another version, "courteous." . t A preterite of wade, peculiar to Scotland. 180 SCOTTISH BALLADS " O dinoA ye Me yon castle, Helen, Standg on yon sunny lea ? There ye'se get ane o" my mother's men ; Ye'ge get nae niair o" me." " O weel see I your bonnie castell, Standg on yon sunny lea ; But I'se ha'e nane o" your mother's men. Though 1 never get mair o' thee." " But there is in yon castle, Helen, That stands on yonder lea ; There is a lady in yon castle. Will Binder you and me." "I wish nae ill to that ladye , She comes na in my thocht : But I wish the maid maist o' your love. That dearest has you bocht." When he cam' to the porter's yett. He tirled at the pin ; And wha sae ready as the bauld porter. To open and let him in ? Mony a lord and lady bright Met Lord John in the closs; But the bonniest lady amang them a' Was hauding Lord John's horse. Fonr and twenty gay ladyes Led him through bouir and ha' ; But the fairest lady that was there. Led his horse to the sta'. Then up bespak' Lord John's sister ; These were the words spak' she : " You have the prettiest foot-page, brother. My eyes did ever see — " But that his middle is sae thick. His girdle sae wond'rous hie : I/et him, 1 pray thee, good Lord John, To chamber go with me." " It is not &t for a little foot-page, That has run through moss and mire. To go into chamber with any ladye That wears so rich attire. It were more meet for a little foot-page. That has run through moss and mire. To take his supper upon his knee. And sit douu by the kitchen fire." When bells were rung, and mass was sung. And a' men boune to meat, Burd Helen was, at the bye-table, Amang the pages set. " O eat and drink my bonnie by. The white breid and the beer. " " The never a bit can I eat-or drink ; My heart's sae fu' o' fear." " O eat and drink, my bonnie boy. The white breid and the wine." " O the never a bit can I eat or drink • My heart's sae fu' o' pyne." But out and spak' Lord John his mother. And a skeely' woman wag she: " Where met ye, my son, wi' tliat bonnie boy, That looks sae sad on thee ? " Sometimes his cheek is rosy red. And sometimes deidly wan : He's liker a woman grit wi' child. Than a young lord's serving man." " O it raaks me laugh, my mother dear. Sic words to hear frae thee ; He is a squire's ae dearest son. That for love has followed me. " Else up, rise up, my bonnie boy ; Gi'e my horse corn and hay." " O that I will, my master deir. As quickly as 1 may." She took the hay aneath her arm. The corn in till her hand; But atween the stable-door and the sea' Burd Helen made a stand. " O room ye round, my bonnie broun steids ; room ye near the wa'; For the pain that strikes through my twa 1 fear, will gar me ia'." [sides. She lean'd her back again' the wa' ; Strong travail came her on ; And, e'en auiong the great horse' feet. She has brought forth her son. • SkUfiU—cr rather expressing that property in old women which makes them far-seen in matters connected with the ph^^ics of human nature. — Buchan. ^ ' OF J Ht ^ f UNIVERSITY j SCOTTISH BALLADS. 181 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, jft And a' men boune for bed. Lord John's mother and sister gay In ae bouir they were laid. Lord John hadna weel got aff his claes. Nor was he weel laid doun. Till his mother heard a bairn greet, And a woman's heavy moan " Win up, win up. Lord John," she said ; " Seek neither stockings nor shoen s For I ha'e heard a bairn loud greet. And a woman's heavy moan !" Richt hastilie he rase him up, Socht neither h se nor shoen ; ,\nd he's doen him to the stable door. By the lee licht o' the mune. " open the door, Burd Helen," he said, " O open and let nie in ; I want to see if my steed be fed. Or my greyhounds fit to rin." " O lullaby, my own deir child ! Lullaby, deir child, deir! I wold thy father were a king. Thy muther laid on a beir!" " O open the door, Burd Helen," he says, ' ' O open the iloor to me ; Or, as my sword hangs by my gair, I'll gar it gang in three \" " Tliat never was my mother's custome. And I hope it's ne'er be mine; A knicht into her companie. When she dries a' her pyne." He hit the door then wi' his foot, Sae did he wi' his knee ; Till door o' deal, and locks o' steel, lu splinders he fart flee. " An askin', an askin'. Lord John," she says, " An askia' ye'U grant me; The meanest maid about your house, To bring a drink to me " An askin', an askin', my dear Lord John, An askin' ye'U grant me; The warsten bouir in a' your touirs, i'or thy young son and me !" " I grant, I grant your askins, Helen, An' that and mair frae me; The very best bouir in a' my touirs. For my young son and thee. " have thou comfort, fair Helen Be of good cheer, 1 pray ; And your bridal and your kirking baith Shall stand upon ae day.' And he has ta'en her Burd Helen, And rowed her in the silk ; And he has ta'en his ain young son. And wash'd him in the milk. And there was ne'er a gayer bridegroom, Nor yet a blyther bride. As they. Lord John, and Lady Helen, Neist day to kirk did ride. (^ueeKlSkauGUf*^ Ccuafc^^iow, [This is originally an English ballad, but the following Scottish version is given in M r Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads. — " Henry 11. of Eng- land," says Mr Kinloch, "while Duke of Nor- mandy, married, at the age of nineteen, ' the fam'd Eleanor Duchess of Guienne and Aqui- tain, who had lately been divorced from Lewis king of France, for consanguinity and suspicion of adultery, after she had born him two daugh- ters.' — Kchard, b. ii. c. 1. The great disparity in age, and the moral taint which attached to her, would lead us to suspect that Henry was directed in his choice, more by the allurement of several rich provinces in France, than by affec- tion for the lady. This may account for his no- torious infidelity to her bed, particularly with ' Fair Bosainond,' whom, it is said, Eleanor, in a fit of, jealousy, caused to be poisoned. Whilst our historians charge Eleanor with instigating her sons to rebel against their father, to which she was incited by jealousy and ill usage, they do not breathe the slightest suspicion against her conjugal honour while queen of England. It would, therefore, appear that the ballad has no foundation in truth, other than it may allude to her conduct whilst the wife of Louis VU."| 1 182 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Thb queen fell sick, and very, verj- sick, ^ " Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? She was sick and like to dee ; But I hope it will pardon'd be." And she sent for a friar cure frae France, " Amen 1 Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, Her confessour to be. And a very fear't heart had he. '' down i- the forest, in a bower. King Henry when he heard o' that. An angry nmn was he ; Beyond yon dark oak-tree. And he sent to the earl Marshall, I drew a penknife frae my pocket. Attendance for to gi'e. To kill king Henerie. "The queen is sick," king Henry cried. " Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? " And wants to be beshriven ; But 1 hope it will pardon'd be." She has sent for a firiar oure frae France, " Amen ! Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, By the rude' he were better in heaven. And a very fear't heart had he. " But tak* you now a friar's guise. The voice and gesture feign. And when she has the pardon craVd, Respond to her. Amen ! " do you see yon pretty little boy. That's playing at the ba' ? , He U the earl Marshall's only son. And 1 loved him best of a'. " Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? "And I will be a prelate old. But I hope it will pardon'd be." And sit in a corner dark, " Amen 1 Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, To hear the adventures of my spouse. And a very fear't heart had he. My spouse, and her haly spark." " And do you see yon pretty litUe girl " My liege ! my liege ! how can I betray That's a' beclad in green ? My mistress and my queen ! She's a friar's daughter oure in France, swear by the rude that no damage And I hop'd to see her a queen. For this shall be gutten or be gi'en." " Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? " I swear by the rude," quoth king Henry, But 1 hope it will pardon'd be." " Mo damage shall be gotten or gi'en; " Amen 1 Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, Come, let us spare no cure nor care. And a fear't heart stUl had he. For the conscience of the queen." " do you see yon other little boy. " fathers ! fathers ! I'm very, very sick, I'm sick and like to dee; Some ghostly comfort to my poor soul. That's playing at the ba'? He is king Henrys only son. And 1 like him warst of a'. O tell if ye can gi'e ;" " He's headed like a buck," she said, " And backed like a bear :"— " Confess ! confess !" earl Marshall cried. " Amen !" quoth the king, in the king's ain " And you shall pardon'd be;" voice. " Confess ! confess !" the king replied. " He shall be my only heir!" " And we shaU comfort gi'e." The king look'd over his left shoulder. " how shall I tell the sorry, sorry tale ? An angry man was he :— How can the tale be told ! " An it werna for the oath I sware. I play'd the harlot wj' the earl Marshall, Earl Marshall, thou should'st dee." Beneath jon cloth of gold. ^ * Rudt—ihe Cross. i SCOTTISH BALLADS. 183 Eoif^ %nhth [From Kinloch'8 Ancient Scottish Ballads,— Taken down from the recitation of a lady of Kozburghshire. Lovele is the name of one of the heroes of Otterbum : " Sir Jorg the worthy Lovele A knyght of great renowen, Sir Raff the lyche Rugbe With dynus wear beaten dowene."] Lonn LoTBi. stands at his stable door. Mounted upon a grey steed : And bye came Ladie Manciebel, And wish'd Lord Lovel much speed. " O whare are ye going. Lord Lovel, My dearest tell to me ?" " O I am going a far journey. Some strange countrie to see ; " But I'll return in seven long years. Lady Nanciebel to see." "O ! seven, seven, seven long years. They are much too long for me." He was gane a year away, A year but barely ane, When a strange fancy cam' into his head. That fair Nanciebel was gane. It's then he rade, and better rade. Until he cam' to the toun. And there he heard a dismal noise, For the church bells a' did soun'. He asked what the bells rang for. They said, " It's for Nanciebel: She died for a discourteous squire. And his name is Lord Lovel." The lid o' the coffin he opened up. The linens he faulded Uoun ; And aye he kiss'd her pale, pale lips. And the tears cam' trinlding doun. •• "Weill may I kiss those pale, pale lips. For they will never kiss me ; — I'll niak' a vow, and keep it true. That they'll ne'er kis8 ane but thee." Lady Nancie died on Tuesday's nicht. Lord Lovel upon the neist day ; Lady Nancie died for pure, pure love. Lord Lovel, for deep sorray. Eor^ Hobat. [Fbom a small volume, entitled, mamock Annual for 1835."] Lord Lovat left the wars. Beneath the halie cross, To seek the weel-kent braes and scaurs. And the bonnie woods o' Boss. He gaed when time vi-as sleeping In springlight on his brow; But dim and douie age was creeping Oot-owre its brentness noo. Oh ! many an eerie sight Has prood Lord Lovat seen ; — The wild war flashing day and night. Unsparing men between :— The desert and the sun, Bicht owre the blistering head ; The fearsome loch that gathered on The wrack o' cities dead. Lord Lovat's step was first When Ascalon was won ; Lord Lovafs lance, the foremost burst Jerusalem's was upon. What has he got ?— Thae wars Are no for pelf I trow ; But his boardlie breast is seamed with scars, And gashed his sunburnt brow. What has he got ?— The praise O' warl ringing fame. In minstrelsy a lordly place. And knighthoud's proudest name ! But he wad gi'e them a' — Them a', and muckle mair, For ae hour in his lather's ha-, Wi' the Leddy Maisrey there ! 184 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Ae hour of auld langsyne, And langsyne'g bonnie dreams ; Ae daunder where the roses shine, Oot-owre the laughing streams. On— on Lord Lovat rode, Through wild and rocky glen. Through the quiet blackness of the wood;— On — on with spur and rein. The sun was haflins down — The drumly winter sun. And the auld firs waved like shadows, round. And the Utt grew mirk abune. His brave and bonnie black "Was worn and wearied sair; They had travelled on since momin' brak. For three score miles and mair. " Anither step or twa, — Haud on my bonnie black ; — Ae ither stretch, and hearth and ha" Welcomes the lang lost back !" At every step they rade Lord Lovat kent a frien'. In the wee burn brattlin', as it gaed The waving saughs between : — The rowan tree that broke The refted craig oot-through ;— The grey eairn and the mossy rock, Wi' the wild whins on its brow. On— on, the sun was down. And the skie was dim in cloud, When the keep he looked for gloomed abune The shadows of the wood. — Waes me ! The weeds waved out Upon the broken wa' ; The grass was growin' in the mo&t Nae licht was in the ha'; Nae sound was in the yard, Whare spur and bridle rang ; And the warder's challenge word was neard The midnight glens amang And the cauld twilight streamed O'er a' in eerie gleams : — Was this the palace hame that seemed Sae bonnie in his dreams i' Lord Lovat's blood, I trow. Was freezing round his heart. And the cauld sweat brake in ice draps ttaro'- Upon his forehead swart. — He reached the castle ha'. In ruin, like the rest; He only raised the hoodie craw. And the sparrow from its nest ! There was an auld grey man. Stood in the yard beluw. And four score years had crossed the span Of wrinkles on his brow : — " Come here thou auncient carle 1 And tell me where they be — The line of Ross— the proud auld earle. But and his dochters three?— " And bonnier than them a". May Maisrey whare is she i*" — The auld man turned his head awa'. To hide his heavy e'e. " A' dead !" the auld man said— " A' dead ! and ane by ane. The bonniest flowers in sicotland braid. In their bonniest time were ta'en ! " There was first the leddy Jean, Wi' her licht laugh to the last ; And then, and sune, the burd Ailleen, In the deadly wasting past I — " In sax short years the wail For the last and best was said ; And oh ! no lang was Boss himsel To follow where they gaed :— " And, in the east, a£ar. Lord Lovat but to be" — — " Hush, vassal '. hush, and tell me whare May Maisrey— whaxe is she 1" " Oh she de'ed — the bonnie bride. When the wild news of the war"— " Awa' — awa' " — Lord Lovat cried, " I douna harken mair!" — He prest his gauntlet haun' Hard on his burnin' brow ; — " Screech-owl of death ! — awa' auld man And leave me— leave me now."— SCOTTISH BALLADS. 185 The grey haired vassel bent ITpon his knee, at anee ; Bat fierce and fast Lord Lovat went. With a broken spirit thence.— " It could be nane but he, I kenned his stately mak' ; I kenned him by his father's e'e — The princely and the black '" —The vassal said—" This nicht. O'er a' the lands of Ross, Shall bale and beacon fling their licht And speed the fterie cross." That nicht a cry was heard In hut and barons ha' — It was an ancient gathering word, Amaist forgot by a' : That night the winter stars Looked doun on mustering crests ; On the banners charge of golden bars. And the mail on gallant breasts.— The day broke, clear and cold. On a sea of shimmering spears,— On blazoned arms, and hearings old. Of Scotland's daring peers.— But nae Lord Lovat cam'. Though twice the gathering cry From thousands rose the hills amang. In thunder to the sky. — " "What keeps Lord Lovat now ?" Said auld Balfour, at last; And to the gate with clouded brow. The stalwart baron past:— On through the halls— nae breath— Nae sound was in the air — On to the chapel — fixed in death. Was the crusader there. — Stretched on the altar steps, below The cross, as if to pray. And white, upon his sunburnt brow. The drifted cranreuch lay 1 Ea^g ^I^pat. [From Mr Jamieson's Collection, where it is said to be given from the recitation of Mrs Brown.] " How brent's your brow, my lady Elspat ? How gouden yellow is your hair i> O' a' the m^ds o' feir Scotland, There's nane like lady Elspat fair ' " Perform your vows, sweet William," she says " The vows which ye ha' ma ie to me ; And at the back o' my mither's castell. This night 111 surely meet wi' thee." But wae be to her brother's page. That heard the words thir twa did say ; He's tald them to her lady mither, Wha wrought sweet William mickle wae. For she has ta'en him, sweet William, And she's gar'd bind him wi' his bow string Till the red bluid o' his fair body Frae Uka nail o' his hand did spring. O, it fell ance upon a time. That the Lord-justice came to town ; Out has she ta'en him, sweet William, Brought him before the Lord-justice boun*. " And what Is the crime now, lady," he says, " That has by this young man been dane :" " O he has broken my bonnie castell. That was weel biggit wi' lime and stane ; " And he has broken my bonnie coffers, That was weel bandit wi' aiken ban ; And he has stown my rich jewels; I wot he has stown them every ane." Then out it spak* her Lady Elspat, As she sat by Lord-justice' knee; " Now ye ha'e told your tale, mither, I pray. Lord-justice, ye'll now hear me. " He hasna broken her bonnie castell. That was weel biggit wi' \im6 and stane ; ^ Nor has he stown her rich jewels, V For I wat she has them every ane. 186 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " But though he wag my first true love, ^ And though I had sworn to be his bride, 'Cause he hadna a great estate. She would this way our loves divide." Syne out and spak' the Lord-justice, I wat the tear was in his e'e ; " I see nae faut in this young man ; Sae loose his bands, and set him free; " And tak' your love, now. Lady Elspat; And my best blessin" you baith upon; For gin he be your first true love. He is my eldest sister's son. " There stands a steed in my stable. Cost me baith gold and white raony; Ye's get as rnickle o* my free land As he'll ride about in a summer's day." ©lie ^ml of JEat'0 [From Mr Buchan's CoUection.] It was intill a pleasant time. Upon a sirr.mer's day. The noble earl of Mar's daughtei Went forth to sport and play. As thus she did amuse hersel'. Below a green aik tree. There she saw a sprighMy doo Set on a tower sae hie. " O eow-me-doo, my love sae true. If ye'll come down to me, Ye'se ha'e a cage o" guid red gowd Instead o' simple tree: " I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage. And siller roun" your wa' ; I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a'." But she hadnae these words well spoke. Nor yet these words well said. Till cow-me-doo flew frae the tower. And lighted on her bead. Then she has bronglit this pretty bird Hame to her bowers and ha' ; And made him shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a'. When day was gane and night was come. About the evening tide; This lady spied a sprightly youth Stand straight up by her side. " From whence came ye, young man ?" she " That does surprise me sair ; [said. My door was bolted right secure ; What way ha'e ye come here r"' " O had your tongue, ye lady fair, Lat a' your folly be ; Mind ye not on your turtle doo Last day ye brought wi' thee ?" " O tell me mair, young man," she said. " This does surprise me now ; What country ha'e ye come frae ? What pedigree are you ?" " My mither lives on foreign isles. She has nae mair but me ; She is a queen o' wealth and state. And birth and high degree. " Likewise well skill'd in magic spells. As ye may plainly see; And she transform'd me to yon shape. To charm such maids as thee. " I am a doo the live lang day, A sprightly youth at night ; This aye gars me appear mair fair In a fair maiden's sight. " And it was but this verra day That I came ower the sea ; Your lovely face did roe enchant, — I'll live and dee wi' thee." " O cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, Nae mair frae me ye'se gae." " That's never my intent, my luve. As ye said, it shaU be sae." Then he has staid in bower wi' her For sax lang years and ane, Till sax young sons to him she bare. And the seventh she's brought hame. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 187 Bat aye as erer a child was born, 4 He carried them away ; And brought them to his mither's care, Ab fast as they could fly. " Instead of dancers to dance, mither. Or minstrells for to play ; Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men Like storks, in feathers gray ; Thus he has staid in bower wi' her For twenty years and three ; There came a lord o' high renown To court this fair ladle. "My seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to tlee ; And I, mysel", a gay gos-hawk, A bird C high degree." But still his profer she refuseil. And a' his presents too ; Says, " I'm content to live alane Wi' my bird, coo-me-doo." Then sichin, said the queen hersel', "That thing's too high for me ;" But she applied to an auld woman. Who had mair skiU than she. Her father sware a solemn oath Amang the nobles all, " The morn, or ere I eat or drink. This bird 1 wUl gar kill." Instead o' dancers to dance a dance, Or minstrells for to play ; Four-and-twenty wall-wight men Turn'd birds o' feathers gray; The bird was sitting in his cage. And heard what they did say ; And when he found they were dismist. Says, " Waes me for this day. Her seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee; And he, himsel', a gay gos-hawk, A bird C high degree. " Before that I do langer stay. And thus t- be forlorn. I'll gang unto my mither's bower. Where 1 was bred and born." This flock o' birds took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea; And landed near the earl Mar's castle^ Took shelter in every tree. Then cow me-doo took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea; And lighted near hU mither's castle On a tower o' gowd sae hie. They were a flock o' pretty birds Eight comely to be seen ; The people vieWd them wi' surprise As they danced on the green. As his mither was wauking out. To see what she could see ; And there she saw her litUe son Set on the tower sae hie. These birds ascended frae the tree. And lighted on the ha'; And at the last wi' force did flee Amang the nobles a'. " CSet dancers here to dance," she said, " And minstrells for to play ; For here's my young son, Florentine, Ck)me here wi' me to stay." The storks there seized some o' the men. They c uld neither fight nor flee; The swans they bound the bride's b.st man, Below a green aik tree. " Get nae dancers to dance, mither. Nor minstrells for to play ; For the mither o' my seven sons. The morn's her wedding-day." They lighted next on maidens fWr, Then on the bride's own head; And wi' the twinkling o* an e'e. The bride and them were fled. " O tell me, tell me, Florentine, Tell me, and tell me true ; Tell me thU day without a flaw. What I wiU do for you." i There's ancient men at weddings been, For sixty years or more ; But sic a curious wedding-day ■ 1 188 SCOTTISH BALLADS. For naething could the companie do. Nor naething could they say; But they saw a flock o' pretty birds That took their bride away. When that the earl Mar, he came to know. Where his dochter did stay; He sign'd a bond o' unity. And visits now they pay. Ea^g %unt. [GivKN in Mr Jamieson's Collection, from the recitation of Mrs Brown.] " O WHA will bake my bridal bread. And brew my bridal ale ? And wha will welcome my bright bride. That 1 bring o'er the dale ?" "01 will bake your bridal bread. And brew your bridal a'e ; And 1 will welcome your bright bride. That you bring o'er the dale." " O she that welcomes my bright bride. Maun gung like maiden £air; She maun lace her in her green clothing. And braid her yellow hair." " O how can I gang maiden-like. When maiden I am nane ; When I ha'e bom you seven sons. And am wi' bairn again?" The lady stood in her bower door. And looked o'er the land. And there she saw her ain good lord Leading his bride by the hand. She's drest her sons i' the scarlet red, Hersel' i' the dainty green ; And though her cheek look'd pale and wan. She well might ha'e been a queen. She call'd upon her eldest son, " Look yonder what you see ; For yonder comes your father dear. Your step-mother him wi'. — " O you're welcome hame, my ain good lord. To your halls but and your bowers ; You are welcome hame, my ain good lord. To your castles and your towers; Sae is your bright bride you beside ; — She's fairer than the flowers." " O whatten a lady's that," she says, "That welcomes you and me? If I'm lang lady about this place. Some good I will her dee ; She is sae like my sister Jane, Was stown i' the bower frae me." O she has served the lang tables Wi' the white-bread and the wine ; But ay she drank the wan water. To keep her colour fine.* And she gaed by the first table. And leugh amang them a' ; But ere she reach'd the second table. She loot the tears down £a'. She's ta'en a napkin lang and white. And hung't upon a pin : — It was to dry her watery eyes As she gaed out and in. When bells were rung, and mass was sung. And a' man boun' to bed. The bride bui, and the bonnie bridegroom In ae chamber were laid. She's ta'en her harp intill her hand. To harp this twa asleep ; And ay as she harped and she sang. Full sorely did she weep. " O seven full fair sons I have born. To the good lord o' this place ; And I wish that they were seven hares. To run the castle race. And I mysel' a good grey hound. And I wad gi'e them chase. " O seven full fair sons I have bom. To the good lord o' this ha". * To keep her colour Jine— To preserve her complexion ; to keep her from betraying the 1 secret emotions of her heart by changing coun ^ tenance. — Jamieton. SCOTTISH BALLADS. |8y And I wish that they were seven rations, < To run the castle wa'. And I mysel* a good grey cat. And I wad worry them a'. i Then o' his coat he's made a boat. And o* his sark a sail; And o' his cane a gude tapmast. Dry land till he came tUl. " The earl o' Richmond was my &ther. And the lady was my mither ; And a' the bairns beside mysel' Was a sister and a brither." Be is on to Annie's bower door. And tirled at the pin ;— " sleep ye, wake ye, my love Annie, Ye'U rise lat me come in." " Sing on, sing on, ye sad lady ; 1 wat ye ha'e sung in time ; Gin the earl o" Richmond was your fether I wat sae was he mine." Sae well that kens my name ?•' " It is your true love, sweet Willie, For you I've cross'd the fi»em." " Rise up, rise up, my bierly bride, I think my beds but cald: I wadna hear my lady lament For your tocher ten times tald." " I am deeply sworn, Willie, By father and by mother; At kirk or market where we meet. We darena own each other. " seven ships did bring you here. And ane sail tak' you hame; The lave I'll keep to your sister Jane, For tocher she gat nane." "And I am deeply sworn, Willie, By my bauld brothers thr^e ; At kirk or market where we meet, I darena speak to thee." " Te take your red fan in your hand. Your white fan ower your een , And ye may swear, and save your oath, Te saw nae me come in. [This old and once popular ballad we give, with some slight alterations, from Mr Buchan's Collection. The character of " sister Ann," as here depicted, and her indifference about her slain brothers, would scarcely meet the approval of modem tunes.] She's ta'en her red fan in her hand. The white fkn ower her een ; It was to swear and save her oath. She saw nae liim come in. They hadna kiss'd nor love clapped. As lovers do when they meet; Till up it waukens her mother. Out o* her drowsy sleep. Thbrk are sixteen lang miles I'm sure. Between my love and me ; There are eight o' tiiem in gude dry land. And other eight by sea " Win up, win up, my three bauld sons. Win up and make ye boun' ; Tour sister's lover's in her bower. And he's but new come in." Betide me life, betide me death. My love I'll gang and see; Although her friends they do me hate. Her love is great for me. Then up it raise her three bauld sons. And girt to them their brand; And they are to their sister's bower As fast as they could gang. Of my coat I'll make a boat. And o' my sark a sail ; And o' my cane a gude tapmast. Dry Und bll I come till. { When they came to their sister's bower. They sought it up and down ; But there was neither man nor boy, i f In her bower to be foun'. 190 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then out it speaks the first o' them, " We'll gang and iHt her be ; For there is neither man nor boy Intill her com, anie." Then out it speaks the second son, " Our travel's a' in vain ; But mother dear, nor father dear. Shall break our rest again." Then out it speaks the third o' them, (An ill death mat tie die !) " We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown. That Willie we may sec- He stood behind his love's curtains. His goud rings show'd him light And by this ye may a' weel guess. He was a renowned knight. He's done him to his love's stable. Took out his berry-brown steed ; His love stood in her bower door. Her heart was like to bleed. " O mourn ye for my coming, love ? Or for my short staying ? Or mourn ye for our safe sind'ring. Case we never meet again <"' " I mourn nae for your here coming, Nor for your stiiyiiig lang ; Kor mourn 1 fur our safe sind'ring, — I hope we'll meet again. " I wish ye may won safe away, And safely frae the town ; For ken you not my brothers three Are 'mang the bent sae brown." " If I were on my berry-brown steed. And three miles frae the town, I wiuldna fear your three bauld brothen^ Amang the bent sae brown." He leint him ower his saddle bow. And kissd her lips sae sweet; The tears that fell between these twa. They wat his great steed's feet. But he wasna on his l>erry-brown steed. Nor twa miles frae the town. Till up it starts these three fierce men, Amang the bent sae biown. Then up they came like three fierce men, Wi' mony shout and cry ; " Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth. What makes jou haste away P " For I must know before you go. Tell me, and make nae lie ; — If ye've been in my sisters bower. My hands shall gar ye die." " Though I've been in your sister's bower, 1 have nae fear o' thee ; I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight. And shall gain victorie." "Now I entreat you for to stay. Unto us gi'e a wad ; If ye our words do not obey, I'se gar your body bleed." " I have nae wad," says sweet Willie, " Unless it be my brand ; And that shall guard my fair body. Till I win frae your hand." Then twa o' them stept in behind. All in a furious meed ; The third o' them came him before. And seiz'd his berry-brown steed. O then he drew his trusty brand. That hang down by his gare; And he has slain these three fierce men. And left them sprawling there. Then word has gane to her mother. In bed where she slept soun'. That Willie had kiUd her three bauld sons, Amang the bent sae brown. Then she has cut the locks that hung Sae low down by her e'e ; Sae lias she kiltit her green claithing A little aboon her knee. And she has on to the king's court. As fast as gang could she ; "When fair Annie got word o' that. Was there as soon as she. Her mother went before the king. Fell low down on her knee: " Win up, win up, my dame," he saki, " What is your will wi' me '" SCOTTISH BALLADS. 191 " My wills they are not sma", my liege. The truth I'll tell to thee t There is ane o' your courtly knights Last night ha'e robbed me." " And has he broke your bigly bowers. Or has he stole your fee ? There is nae knight into my court Last night has been frae me ; " Unless 'twas Willie o* Lauderdale, Forbid that it be he!" " And by my sooth," says the auld woman, " That very man is he. " For he has broke my bigly bowers. And he has stole my fee ; And made my daughter, Ann, his love, And an ill woman is she. " That was not all he did to me. Ere he went frae the town ; My sons sae true he fiercely slew, Amang the bent sae brown." Then out it spake her daughter Ann, She stood by the king's knee ; " Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear, Sae loud's I hear you lie. " He has not broke your bigly bowers. Nor has he stole jour fee ; Nor made your daughter, Ann, his love, A good woman I'U be. " Although he slew your three bauld sons. He weel might be forgi'en ; They were well clad in armour bright. Whan my love was him lane." " Well spoke, well spoke," the king replied, " This tauking pleases me ; For ae kiss o" your lovely mouth, I'll set your true love firee." She's ta'en the king in her arms, And kiss'd him cheek and chin ; He then set her behind her love. And they went singing hame. [This is a translation by Mr Jamieson from the Danish.] TnERB dwalls a lady in Danmarck, Lady Hillers lyle men her ca' ; And she's gard bigg a new castell. That shines o'er Danmarck a'. Her dochter was stown awa' frae her; She sought for her wide-whare ; But the mair she sought, and the less she fana,- That wirks her sorrow and care. And she's gar'd bigg a new ship, Wi* vanes o' flaming goud, Wi' mony a knight and mariner, Sae stark in need bestow'd. She's followed her sons down to the strand. That chaste and noble fre ; And wuU and waif for eight lang years They sail'd upon the sea. And eight years wuU and waif they sail'd, O' months that seea.'d sae lang; Syne they sail'd afore a high castell. And to the land can gang. And the young lady Svane lyle. In the bower that was the best. Says, " Wharfrae cam thir frem swains Wi* us this night to guest ?"* Then up and spak' her youngest brither Sae wisely aye spak* he ; " We are a widow's three poor sons, Lang wilder'd on the sea. * Srvairu — In this, and the other translations from the Danish, the term $wain is used in its original and proper sense, to signify a ^uu>i^ man. The term lyle (little), so often annexed, to ex- press endearment, to the names of ladies in the Danish ballads, is :>till in use in Cuinbei land and as the northern counties of England. — Jamieton. 192 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " In Danmarck were we bom and bred. Lady Hillers lyle was our mither; Our sister frae us waa stown awa'. We flndna whare or whither." "In Danmarck were ye bom and bred ? Waa lady Hillers your mither ? I can nae langer heal frae thee. Thou art my youngest brither. " And hear ye this, my youngest brither. Why bade na ye at hame ? Had ye a bunder and thousand lives, Te canna brook ane o' them.' She's set him in the weiest nook She in the house can meet ; She's bidden him for the high God's sake Nouther to laugh ne greet. Rosmer hame frae Zealand came. And he took on to bann ; " I smell fu' weel, by my right hand. That here is a Christian man." " There flew a bird out o'er the house, Wi' a man's bane in his mouth ; He coost it in, and 1 cast it out. As fast as e'er I couth." But wilyly she can Rosmer win ; And clapping him tenderly, " It's here is come my sister-son ;— Gin 1 lose him, I'U die. " It's here is come my sister-son, Frae baith our lathers' land ; And I ha'e pledged him faith and troth. That ye will not him bann." " And is he come thy sister-son, Frae thy father's land to thee ? Then 1 will swear my highest aith. He's dree nae skaith frae me." 'Twas then the high king Rosmer, He cad on younkers twae : " Ye bid proud Svane lyle's sister-son To the chalmer afore me gae." It was Svane lyle's sister-son. Whan afore Rosmer he wan. His heart it quook, and his body shook, 6ae fley'd, he scarce dow stand. Sae Rosmer took her sister-son. Set him upon his knee ; He clappit him sae luifsomely. He turned baith blue and blae.* And up and spak' she, Svane lyle ; " Sir Rosmer, ye're nae to learo. That your ten fingers arena sma". To clap sae little a bairn." There was he till, the fifthen year. He green'd for hame and land: " Help me now, sister Svane lyle, To be set on the white sand." It was proud lady Svane lyle. Afore Rosmer can stand : " This younker sae lang iu the sea has been. He greens for hame and land." " Gin the younker sae lang in the sea has beea And greens for hame and land. Then 111 gi'e him a kist wi' goud, Sae fitUng tiU his hand." " And will ye gi'e him a kist wi' goud, Sae fitting till his hand ? Then hear ye, my noble heartis dear. Ye bear them baith to land." Then wrought proud lady Svane lyle What Rosmer little wist; For she's tane out the goud sae red. And laid hersel' i' the kist. He's ta'en the man upon his back; The kist in hU mouth ti^ok he ; And he has gane the lang way up Frae the bottom o' the sea.f " if ow I ha'e borne thee to the land ; Thou seest baith sun and moon ; Namena lady Svane for thy highest G^Jd, 1 beg thee as a boon." * Blut and blae. — In England they say, "black and blue;" but the Danish has it, "yellow and gray." — Jamieson. t This Rosmer Longshanks, as he is called in another of the ballads, must have been of the most Gargantuan dimensions, not to have been sensible, when he put the chest in his mouth, of the difference of weight between Svane lyle and a chts^ful of gold. — Jamieton, SCOTTISH BALLADS. 193 Kosmer sprang i' the sant sea out, 4^ And jawp'd it up i' the sky; j But whan he cam' till the castell in, | Nae Svane lyle could he spy. Whan he cam' till the castell in. His dearest awa' was gane , Like wood he sprang the castell about. On the ruck o' the black ilLntstane. Glad they were in proud Killers Ijle's house, Wi' welcoii.e joy and glee; Hame to their friends her bairns were come. That had lang been in the sea. JMawMowf^^ of Mi0ugla0. [The circumstances in real life, which gave rise to this ballad, aie thus detailed by Mr Chambers, from wh< se collection the ballad Is taken. — " James second marquis of Douglas, when aged twenty-Jour, married, at Edinburgh, on the 7th of tjepteniber, 1670, Lady Barbara Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth earl of Mar. This lady is said to have been previously wooed, without success, by a gentleman of the name of Lowrie, who, on account of his after- wards marrying Mariotte Weir, heiress of Black- wood, in Lanarkshire, was conmionly called, according to the custom of Scotland, the Tutor, and sometimes the Laird, of Blackwood. Lowrie, who seems to have been considerably advanced in life at the time, was chaml>erlain or factor to the Marquis of Douglas ; a circumstance which gave him peculiar lacilities for executing an atrocious scheme of vengeance he had projected against the lady. Hy a train of proceedings somewhat similar to those of lago, and in parti- cular, by pretending to have discovered a pair of men's shoes underneath the Marchioness's bed, he completely succeeded in breaking up the affec- tion of tbe unfortunate couple. Lord Douglas, who, though a man of prutligate conduct, had hitherto treated his wife with some degree of politeness, now tendered her life so miserable, that she was obliged to seek refuge with her father. The Karl came with a large retinue, to carry her off, when, according to the ballad, as well as the tradition of the country, a most affecting scene took place. The Marquis him- self was so much overcome by the parting of his wife and child — for she had now borne a son — that he expressed, even in that last hour, a desire of being reconciled to her. But the traitorous Lowrie succeeded in preventing him from doing so, by a well-aimed sarcasm at his weakness. Begarding the ultimate fate of the Marchioness I am altogether ignorant. It is, however, very improbable that any reconciliation ever took place between her and her husband, such as is related in the ballad. Her son was afterwards a personage of some historical note. When only eighteen years of age, he raised the 20th, or Cameronian regiment; a band originally asso- ciated in 1689 for the purpose of protecting the Convention of Estates at Edinbur.4h, while the measure of the Revolution was in agitation, but which he afterwards led abroad to Hght in King William's Erench wars. He was k.Ued, wlien in the act of leading on the legimenc, at the battle of Steinkirk, in 1692, when only twenty- one years of age. The Marquis of DuugUis mar- ried a second wife, who bore to him the noted Archibald duke of Douglas, Lady Jane Douglas, and other children ; and thus, what is a very strange circumstance, the venerable Lord Dou- glas, who died in 1S27, was but grandson to the 'fause love' who sent the heroine of ' VValy, waly,' to take up her couch on Arthur's Seat, and slake her thirst at St Anton's Well, in the decade of 1670. Lowrie distinguished himself in the religious troubles of the reign of Charles II. He had been accessory to the insurrection of 1666, and was condemned to death for his con- cern in the affair of Bothwell-bridge, but was pardoned. Fountainhall describes him as a man disliked by people of every party and every condition."] Pabt Fibst. " O WALY, waly, up yon bank. And waly, waly, doun yon brae. And waly, waly, by yon burn-side. Where 1 and my love wont to gae '. "Hey, nonnie, nonnie, but love is bonnie, A little while, when it is new ; But when it's auld, it waxes cauld. And fades away like morning dew.* • The stania runs thus in the copy which Mr MotherweU has extracted from the Pepysian 194 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " I leant my back unto an aik ; I thought it was a trusty tree ; But first it bowed, and syne it brak. And sae did my fause love to me. " My mother tauld me, when I was young. That young man's love was ill to trow ; But UDtill her I wald give nae ear. And, alace, my ain wand dings roe now ■ "O had I wUt, before I kist. That love had been sae ill to win, I had locked my heart with a key o' gowd, And pinned it wi' a siller pin. " O wherefore should I busk my head, O wherefore should I kaim my hair. Since my true-love has me forsook. And says he'll never love me mair ? " As we came in by Glasgow toun, We were a comely sicht to see ; My love was clad in blaok velvet. And 1 mysel' in cramasie. " Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me, St Anton's WeU shall be my drink, Since my true-love has forsaken me. " Library. In the ordinary versions, it begins, " O waly, waly, but love be bonnie ;" and Allan Ramsay gives this line as the title of the song, only substituting the word " gin" [if] for " but." A tiiird variation is quoted, in Ley den's Intro- duction to the " Complayntof Scotland," from a manuscript Cantus, or Collection of Songs, dated in the latter part of the seventeenth century : — " Hey troly, loiy ! love i» joly, A whyle, whill it is new; But when it's old, it grows full cold, Wue worth the love untrue!" During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, both " nonnie, nonnie," and " Troly, loly !" were common burdens of songs. A song under the title of " Trolee, lolee," is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland, 1548, and also in Lane- ham's Account of the reception of Queen Eliza- beth at Kenilworth, 1575. Perhaps, the elegant modem burden, beginning, " Tol do rol, lol de rul," may be a genuine descendant of the " Troly, loly," of the two centuries before the last. Chambert. * Arthur's seat is a well-known hill near £din- " Oh, Martlmas wind, when wilt thou blaw. And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? Oh, gentle death, when wilt thou come. And take a life that wearies me ? " It's not the frost that freezes fell. Nor driftin' snaw's ioclemencie; It's not sic cauld that makes me cry. But my loves heart's grown cauld to me. " And oh, an my young babe was born, And set upon the nurse's knee. And I mysei' were deid and gane. And the green grass growing over me ! " When lords and lairds cam' to this toun. And gentlemen o' high degree, I took my auld son in my arms, And went to my ctiamber pleasantlie. " But when lords and lairds come neist to the And gentlemen o' high degree, [toun, " O, I maun sit in the dark, alane, Wi' my young son on the nurse's knee ' O, I maun sit in the dark, alane. And ne'er a ane to comfort me I" Part Second. " When I lay sick, and very sick. When X lay sick, and like to die, \ gentleman of good account Came from the west to visit me ; But Blackwood whisper'd in my lord's ear. He was ower lang in the chamber wi' me. " When I was sick, and very sick. When I was sick, and like to die. As I drew near to my stair-head, I heard my ain lord lichtlie me. burgh, and St Anton's, or St Anthony's WeU, a fountain which springs from its side, near to the ruins of a small chapel and hermitage, the ten- ant of which it must have supplied with water. The explanation here given of the occasion of the ballad is countenanced by local circumstances. The forlorn countess, in alluding to the period when she was an honoured wife, speaks of a visit to Glasgow, a city near to her husbands residence and estates : in alluding to her present degraded condition, when residing witli her father at Edinburgh, she introduces Arthur's Seat and St Anthony's Well, two objects of note in the Im- mediate vicinity of the capital.— CAanii*r«. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 195 " Gae, little page, and tell your lord. Gin he'll come doun and dine wi' me, I'll set him on a chair o' gowd. And serve him on my bended knee." The little page gaed up the stair : " Lord Douglas, dine wi' your ladye ; She'll set ye on a chair o' gowd. And serve ye on her bended knee." " When cockle shells turn silver bells. When wine dreips red frae ilka tree. When frost and snaw will warm us a". Then I'll come doun and dine wi' thee." " What ails you at your youngest son. That sits upon the nurse's knee ? I'm sure that he has done nae harm. Unless to his ain nurse and me. " If I had kent what I ken now. That love it was so ill to win, I should ne'er ha' wet my cherry cheek. For ony man or mother's sun. " But when my father got word o' this, what au angry man was he ' He sent fourscore o' his archers bauld. To bring me safe to his ain countrie. " When I rose up, then, in the mom. My goodly palace for to lea', I knocked at my lord's cliamber door. But ne'er a word wad he speak to m" " 'Tis I wad dead thee in silk and gowd. And nourice thee on my knee." " O mither ! mither ! when I was thine. Sic kindness 1 couldna see. " Beneath the turf, where now 1 stand. The fause nurse buried nie ; The cruel penknife sticks still in my heart. And I come not back to thee." ^icImtoM. [From the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— "This ballad," says Sir Walter, " is published from the collation of two copies, obtained from recitiition. It seems to be the rude original, or perhaps a corrupted and imperfect coi^y, of The Child of EUe, a beautiful legendary tale, pub- lished in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry. U is singular, that this charming ballad should have been translated, or imitated, bj the celebrated Burger, without acknowledgment of the English original. As The Child of Kile avowedly received corrections, we may ascribe its greatest beauties to the poetical taste of the ingenious editor. They are in the true style of Gothic embellish- ment. We may compare, for example, the fol- lowing beautiful verse, with the same idea in au old romance : — The baron stroked his dark-browu cheek, And turned his face aside. To wipe away the starting tear He pruudiy strove to hide ! Child of Xlle. The heathen Soldan, or Amiral, when about to slay two lovers, relents in a similar manner- Weeping, he turned his heued awai. And lus swerde hit fel to grounde. Florice and Blauueheflour.] • Propitie — TJsually gift, but here the power of giving or bestowing. — Scott, SCOTTISH BALLADS . J 9 9 Erlikton had a fair daughter, ^ They hadna ridden in the bonnit green-wood. I vat he weird her in a great sin,* Na not a mile but barely ane. For he has built a bigly bower. When there came fifteen 0' the boldest knights. An- a' to put that lady in. That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane. An' he has wam'd her sisters six, The foremost was an aged knight. An* sae has he her brethren se'en. He wore the grey hair on his chin. Outher to watch her a' the night. Says, "Yield to me thy lady bright. Or else to seek her morn an' e'en. An' thou Shalt walk the woods within." She hadna been i* that bigly bower. " For me to yield my lady bright Na not a night, but barely ane. To such an aged knight as thee, Till there was Willie, her ain true love. People wad think I war gane mad. Chapp'd at the door, cryin', " Peace Or a* the courage flown frae me." within •" But up then spake the second knight, ' ' whae is this at my bower door. I wat he spake right boustfiuslie. That chaps sae late, or kens the gin ?"| " Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright. " it is WUUe, your ain true love. Or here the tane of us shall die." I pray you rise an' let me in !" " My lady is my warld's meed : " But in ray bower there is a wake. My life 1 winna yield to nane; An' at the wake there is a wane ; ^ But if ye be men of your manhead. But I'll come to the green-wood the mom. Ye'U only fight me ane by ane." Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' dawn." He lighted aff his milk-white steed. Then she's gane to her bed again. An- gae his lady him by the head. "Where she has layen tUl the cock crew Say'n, " See ye dinna change your cheer. thrice. UntiU ye see my body bleed." Then she said to her sisters a'. "Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise." He set his back unto an aik. He set his feet against a stane. She pat on her back a silken gown. An' he has fought these fifteen men. An' on her breast a siller pin. An' kill'd them a' but barely ane; An' she's tane a sister in ilka hand. For he has left that aged knight. An' to the green-wood she is gane. An' a' to carry the tidings hame. She hadna walk'd in the green-wood. When he gaed to his lady fair. Na not a mile but barely ane. I wat he kiss'd her t.nderlie ; Till there was Willie, her ain true love. " Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought; Whae frae her sisters has her ta'en. Now we shall walk the green-wood free." He took her sisters by the hand. He kiss'd them baith, an' sent them hame. An' he's ta'en his true love him behind. And through the green-wood they are ¥TOig meu\it. gane. [First published in the Border Minstrelsy.— "In this ballad," says Sir Walter, "the reader * Weird her in a great iin— Placed her in dan- will find traces of a singular superstition, not ger of committing a great sin.— Scott. yet altogether discredited in the wilder parts of t Gin— The slight or trick necessary to open Scotland. The lykewake, or watching a dead the door; from engine.— Scott. body, in itself a melancholy office, is rendered, in i fVane—A number of people —ScotL ^ the idea of the assistants, more dismaUy awful. 1 200 SCOTTISH BALLADS. by the mysterious horrors of superstition. In the ^ Interval betwixt the death and interment, the disembodied spirit is supposed to hover around its mortal habitation, and, if invoked by certain rites, retains the power of communicating, through its organs, the cause of its dissolution. Such inquiries, however, are always dangerous, and never to be resorted to, unless the deceased is suspected to have suffered foul play, as it is called. It is the more unsafe to tamper with this charm in an unauthorizi^d manner, because the inhabitants of the infernal regions are, at such periods, peculiarly active. One of the most po- tent ceremonies in the charm, for causing the dead body to speak, is, setting the door ajar, or half open. On this account, the peasants of Scotland sedulously avoid leaving the door ajar, while a corpse lies in the house. The door must either be left wide open, or quite shut; but the first is always preferred, on account of the exer- cise of hospitality usual on such occasions. The attendants must be likewise careful never to leave the corpse for a moment alone, or if it is left alone, to avoid, with a degree of superstitious horror, the first sight of it. The following story, which is frequently related by the peasants of Scotland, will illustrate the imaginary danger of leaving the door ajar. In former times, a man and his wife lived in a solitary cottage, on one of the extensive border fells. One v^y the husband died suddenly; and his wife, who was equally afraid of staying alone by the corpse, or leaving the dead body by itself, repeatedly went to the door, and looked anxiously over the lonely moor for the sight of some person approaching. In her confusion and alarm, siie accidentally left the door ajar, when the corpse suddenly started up, and sat in the bed, frowning and grinning at her frightfully. She sat alone, crying bitterly, unable to avoid the fascination of the dead man's eye, and too much terrified to break the sullen silence, till a catholic priest, passing over the wild, entered the cottage. He first set the door quite open, then put his little finger in his mouth, and said the paternoster backwards; when the horrid look of the c rpse relaxed, it fell back on the bed, and behaved itself as a dead man ought to do. " Th • ballad is given from tradition. I have been informed by a lady of the highest literary eminence, that she has heard a ballad on the same subject, in which the scene was laid upon the banks of the rivcr Clyde. The chorus was ^ ' O Bothwell biinlcg bloom bonnie,' and the watching of the dead corpse was said to have taken place in Bothwell church."] Of a' the maids o' fair Scotland, The fairest was Maijorie ; And young Benjie was her ae true love. And a dear true love was he. And wow ! but they were lovers dear. And loved fu" constantlie; But ay the raair when they fell out. The sairer was their plea.* And they ha'e quarrelled on a day. Till Maijorie's heart grew wae; And she said she'd chuse another luve. And let young Benjie gae. And he was 8tout,t and proud-hearted. And thought o't bitterlie; And he's gane by the wan moon-light. To meet bis Maijorie. " O open, open, my true love, O open, and let me in !" " I darena open, young Benjie, My three brothers are witiiin." " Ye lied, ye lied, ye bonnie burd, Sae loud's 1 hear ye lie ; As I came by the Lowden banks, They bade gude e'en to me. " But fare ye weel, my ae fouse love. That I have loved sae lang ! It sets ye chuse another love. And let young Benjie gang." Then Marjorie turned her round about, The tear blinding her e'e, — " 1 darena, darena, let thee in. But I'll come down to thee.' Then saft she smiled, and said to him, " O what ill ha'e I done ?" He took her in his ar;i.is twa. And threw her o'er the linn. « Plea — Used obliquely for dispute. — tSeott. t Stou/— Through this whule ballad, (unless in in one instance,) signifies haughty. — Hcott, SCOTTISH BALLADS. 201 The stream was Strang, the maid was stout. fe " Tie a green gravat round his neck. And laith laith to be dang, And lead him out and in. But, ere she wan the Lowden banks. And the best ae servant about your house Her feir colour was wan. To wait young Benjie on. Then up bespak' her eldest brother, " And aye, at every seven years' end. " see na ye what I see ?" Ye'll Uk' him to the linn ; And out then spak' her second brother. For that's the penance he maun drie. " It's our sister Marjorie !" To scug* his deadly sin." Out then spak" her eldest brother. " O how shall we her ken ?" And out then spak' her youngest brother. " There's a honey mark on her chin." ^^e <^mm of 0h^. Then they've ta'en up the comely corpse. And laid it on the ground— [This was a contribution of J. B. Morritt to " wha has killed our ae sister. the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Mr Mor- And how can he be found ? ritt of Eokeby in Yorkshire, was one of Sir Walter Scott's most valued friends. He died in " The night it is her low lykewake. 1843.—" The Castle of Moy is the ancient resi- The morn her burial day. dence of Mackintosh, the chief of the Clan-Chat- And we maun watch at mirk midnight. tan. It is situated among the mountains of And hear what she wUl say." Inverness-shire, not far from the military road that leads to Inverness. It stands in the hollow Wl- doors ^ar, and candle light. of a mountain, on the edge of a small gloomy And torches burning clear; lake, called Loch Moy, surrounded by a black The streikit corpse, till still midnight. wood of Scotch fir, which extends round the lake, and terminates in wild heaths, which are unbroken by any other object, as far as the eye About the middle o' the night. can reach. The tale is founded on an ancient The cocks began to craw ; Highland tradition i that originated in a feud And at the dead hour o' the night. between the clans of Chatten and Grant. A The corpse began to thraw. small rocky island in Loch Moy is still shown, where stood the dungeon in which prisoners " whae has done the wrang, sister. were confined, by the former chiefs of Moy."] Or dared the deadly sin P Whae was sae stout, and feared nae dout. Loud in the gloomy towers of Moy, As thraw ye o'er the linn ?" The ChatUn clan their carol raise,f And far th' ascending flame of joy " Toung Benjie was the first ae man Shoots o'er the loch its trembling blaze. I laid my love upon ; He was sae stout, and proud-hearted, For long within her secret bower. He threw me o'er the linn.' In child-bed lay the lady fair. But now is come th' api ointed hour. " Sail we young Benjie head, sister. And vassals shout. " An heir ' an heir " Sail we young Benjie hang. Or sail we pike out his twa gray een. And punish him ere he gang J ' • Scag^— shelter or expiate.— Scort t The Chattan clan is a federal clan, consistmg " Te mauna Benjie head, brothers of the families of Macintosh, Macpherson, and Ye mauna Benjie hang. some others of less consequence. The chief is the But ye maun pike out his twa gray een. laird of Macintosh ; the Chattan country is in tlia And punish him ere he gang. ^ ? inland part of Inverness-shire.- Sco«. 202 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And round the fire with many a tale, The well-spiced bowl the dames prolong. Save when the chieftains' shouts prevail. Or war's wild chorus swells the song. Loud sound the pipes, the dancer's heel Bounds nimbly from the floor of pine. When in the light and mazy reel Young maids and active soldiers join. Late waned the night, the blazing brand More feebly glimmered in the hall. Less loudly shout the jovial band, Less lively sounds the pibroch's call.* When from the corner of the hearth, A figure crept, of all the train Host alien from a scene of mirth. And muttering sigh'd, " 'Tis vain, 'tis vain !" Soon ceased the shout, a general thrill Seiz'd every heart; th' ill omen'd voice Seem'd e'en the warrior's breast to chill. Nor dared the trembling sire rqoice. He saw a pale and shiv'ring form. By age and frenzy haggard made; Her eyes, still wild with passion's storm. Belied the snuws that shruud her head. Long had she wander'd on the heath. Or begg'd the lonely trav ler's aid. And gossips swear that sudden death Still follow where her footsteps tread. Her hut on Badenoch's wildest height, Full well the mountain hunter knew. Nor paused to take a narrower sight. But cursed the witch and quick with- drew. Slowly she crawld before the throng, Fix'd on the chief her haggard eyes, Check'd with a look the minstrel's song, " 2io more," she cried, " Ho more rgoice ! • The pibroch is a wild music, played by the piper at the assembling of a clan, in marches, &c. Every clan hail its own particular tune, which was played most scrupulously and indefatigably on all great and signal occasions. — Scott, ^th. "To you that o'er your midnight ale Have listened to the tales of glee, I come to tell a gossip's tale ; lU-omen'd chieftain ! list to me.'' Thk Witch's Talk. " Full sixty fatal years have roU'd, Since clamour shook these gloomy towers ; When Moy's black chief, with Urquhart old,f Led Grant's and Chattan's mingled powers. " Like you their followers shouted brave. Like yours the minstrels answer'd loud. Like you they 'gan the dance to weave. And round and round the goblet flow'd " In solemn guise the chieftains came. To solemn league the chieftains swore ; To quench the death-feud's fatiil flame. And dye the heath with blood no more. " Fair rose the morn, and XJrquhart's pow'ra To Moray's hostile border flew,| But ling'ring in the Chattan tow rs. The aged chief the last withdi ew. " Homewards he turned, some younger arm Shall lead the war on the banks of cipey ; But sharp was the sleet, and cold the storm. That whistled at eve in his locks so gray. " With him went Alva's heir, who stay'd,§ The chieftain's weal or woe to share; f Grant, the laird of Urquhart, was the chief of the clan of Grant; his castle of Urquhart, now in ruins, covers one of the most beautiful of the craggy promontories that adorn Loch Ness. The delightful vale of Glen Urquhart is embo- somed in the mountains behind it. The posses- sions of the clan in the southern part of Inver- ness-shire, border on th se of the clan Chattan, with whom, of course, they were continually at variance. — Scott, t The Lowland district of Moray, or Elgin- shire, along the banks of the Spey, being com- paratively fertile and civilized, and in the imme- diate vicinity of the Grampi;ins, was long expos- ed to the ravages and inroads of the Highland clans, who possessed the mouutaius on the border, and the upper part of Strathspey. — Scott. § Alva is an ancient possession of a chieftain of ,e family of Grant.— Sco«. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 203 So Urquhart's trembling daughter pray'd, ^ " Beneath his darken'd brow, the smile So Alra vow'd, who loved her dear. Of pleas'd revenge with hatred strove. And he thought of the hours, perchance, the " But drear was Badenoch's wintry waste. while And mirk the night that round them fell. When she slighted his threats, and scorn'd As over their heads the night-raven past, his love. And they enter'd Glen Iral's darkling dell.* " And thus he spoke, with trait'rous voice. " The raven seream'd, and a slogan yell • Oh ! not in vain can Margaret plead ; Burst from Glen Iral's sable wood. One life I spare— be her's the choice. They heard in the gale a bugle swell. And one for my clan and my kin shall bleed. They saw in the shade a man of blood. " ' Oh will she not a lover save. " Grimly he points, and a hundred hands But dash his hopes of mutual joy. And doom the brave to the silent grave. Unarm'd, defenceless, Urquhart stands. To ransom a sire from the sword of Moy ? But Alva has drawn his broad claymore. " ' Or will she not a father spare. " ' Stand fast, Oralg-Ellachie,' he cried,t But here his List spark of life ax^g]feHute. [Thk author of this celebrated ballad was Lady Wakdt.a w, second daughter of Sir Charles Halket of Pitfirrane, a gentleman of Fife, in Scotland. She was born in 1677, and in 1696 was married to Sir Henry Wardlaw, of Balum- lie, or Pitrlvie, also in Fife. She died about the year 1727. This lady, who must be allowed to have possessed poetical talents of no conmion order, considering that she lived at so dark a period in the literary history of Scotland, attempted at first to pass off Hardyknute as a genuine fragment of ancient ballad. She caused her brother-in-law. Sir John Bruce of Kinross, to communicate the MS. to Lord Binning, (son of the poetical Earl of Haddington, and himself a poet, ) w ith the following account : " In perfor- mance of m> promise, 1 send you a true copy of the manuscript I found, a few weeks ago, in an old vault at Dunfermline. It is written on vel- lum, in a fair Gothic character, but so much de- faced by time, as you will find, that the tenth part is not legible." The ballad was first pub- lished in 1719, by some literary gentlemen, who , believed it to be what the authoress pretended; I and it was afterwards admitted by Ramsay into j the Kvergi-een, as a composition of the antique | nature proper to that collection. For many i years, it was generiiUy received as a genuine old ballad ; nor does any one ever seem to have | questioned its pretensions to that character. | Dr I'ei-oy at length, in his Reliques, published iit j 17o5, disclosed ti.e real fact of its authorship, j which has latterly been confirmed beyond a doubt by other writers. Mr Hepburn of Keith, j a gentleman well known in the early part of the j last century for high honour and probity of cha- racter oftei. declared that he was in the house witli Lady WardUiw at the time she wrote the s ballad ; and Mrs "Wedderburn of Gosford, Lady Wardlaw's daughter, and Mrs Menzies of "Woodend, her sister-in-law, used to be equally positive as to the fact. See Chalmers' edition of Ramsay's Works, London, 1800.— Chamhers. The historical events upon which the ballad is founded are the following. — In 1263, Haco, king of Norway or Denmark, under pretence that Arran and the islands adjacent fonned part of the Western Isles, then subject to him, fitted out a large armament, with which he overran Kintire and the islands in dispute. Elated with success, he determined on pursuing his predatory enterprise still farther, and with this view came to anchor with his Heet at the Cumbras, whence he sent a detachment up the Clyde, which plundered the islands in Loch Lomond, at that time very populous. But before he had sufficient time to carry his other plans into effect, a storm arose in which several of his ships were driven on shoi-e near Largs, where the Scotch army had collected, and was watching his motions. Those vessels which ran aground were immediately attacked by the Scots, and obstinately defended by the Norwe- gians, who being successively reinforced from their fleet, remained onshore all night; next morning (2d October) Haco landed with a nume- rous body of troops,— was again attacked by the Scots, and, after a desperate conflict, finally routed and driven to his ships, with the loss of sixteen thousand men, according to Buchanan and other Scotch writers, but of only about six hundred according to an ancient manuscript account of the expedition in the library of the king of Denmark.— That the loss on the part of the Norwegians is greatly under-rated in this account, is evident from the course which Haco found it necessary to follow a few days after the battle, for, notwithsfcinding his having been joined by the detachment from Loch Lomond, he withdrew with his fleet to Arran, which with the other islands that he had pillaged, he shortly after abandoned.] Statki.y stept he east the wa'. And stately stept he west ; Full seventy yiers he now had sene. With skerss seven yiers of rest. He livit quhen Britons breach of faith Wr ught Scotland meikle wae; And ay his sword tauld, to their cost. He was their deadly foe. 206 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Hie on a hill his castle stude, i With halls and tuwirs a-hicht. And guidly chambers fair to see, Quhair he lodgit mony a knichU ^ The little page flew swift as dart Flung by his master's arm, " Cum down, cum down. Lord Hardyknute, And red your king frae harm." His dame sae pierless anes and fair. For chast and bewtie deimt, Nae marrow had in all the land, SaifElenorthequene. Then reid, reld grew his dark-brown chieks, Sae did his dark-brown brow ; His luiks grew kene as they were wont In dangers great to do. Full thirtein sons to him scho bare. All men of valour stout. In bluidy ficht. with sword in hand, >'yne lost their lives hot doubt; He hes tane a horn as grene as grass, And gi'en five sounds sae shrill. That trees in grene-wood schuke thereat, Sae loud rang ilka hUl. Four yit remain, lang may they live To stand by liege and land ; Hie was their feme, hie was their micht. And hie was their command. His sons, in manly sport and glie. Had past that summers morn, Quhen low doun in a grassy dale. They heard their fatheris horn. Great luve they bare to Fairly fair. Their sister saft and deir ; Her girdle shaw'd her middle jimp. And gowden glist her hair. " That horn," quod they, " neir sounds in We haif other sport to byde;" [peace, And sune they heyd them up the hill. And sune were at his syde. Quhat waefou wae her bewtie bred! Waefou to young and auld ; Waefou, 1 ti-ou, to kyth and kin. As story ever tauld. " Late, late yestrene, I weind in peace To end my lengthened lyfe, Jly age micht well excuse my arm Frae manly feats of stryfe- The king of Norse, In summer tyde, Puft up with powir and micht, Landeil in fair Scotland the yle With mony a hardy knicht. " But now that Norse dois proudly boast Fair Scotland to inthrall. Its neir be said of Hardyknute, He feired to ficht or fall. The tydings to our gude Scots king Came as he siit at dyne. With noble chiefs in braif aray, Drinking tlie blude-reid wyne. " Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow. Thy arrows schute sae leii. That mony a comely countenance They've turned to deidly pale. " To horse, to horse, my royal liege. Your files stand on the strand ; Full twenty thousand glittering spears The king of Nurse commands." " Brade Thomas, tak' ye but yout lance. Ye neid nae weapons mair, Gif ye ficht wit as ye did anes 'Gainst Westmoreland's ferss heir. " Bring me my steed. Mage, dapple gray," Our gude king raise and crjd; A trustier beast in all the land, A Scots king never sejd " Malcom, licht of foot as stag That runs in forest wyld. Get me my thousands thrie of men. Well bred to sword and schield : " Go, little page, tell Hardyknute, That lives, on hill so hie. To draw his sword, the dried of faes. And baste and follow me." " Bring me my horse and harnisine, :My blade of mettal cleir;" If faes kend but the hand it bare, B They sune had fled for feir. ■ I SCOTTISH BALLAra 207 " Fareweil, my dame, sae peirless gude," &i And tuke her by the hand, i " Fairer to me in age you seim. Than maids for bewtie fam'd : " My youngest son sail here remain. To guard these stately towirs. And shut the silver bolt that keips Sae iast your painted bowirs." And first scho wet her comely chieks, And then hir bodice grene ; Her silken cords of twirtle twist Weil plett with silver schene; And apron set with mony a dice Of neidle-wark sae rare. Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, Saif that of Fau-ly Mr. And he has ridden owre muir and moss, Owi-e hills and mony a glen, Quhen he cam' to a wounded knicht, Making a heavy mane : — " Here maun I lye, here maun I die. By treachery's CUse gyles ; Witless I was that eir gaif faith To wicked woman's smyles." " Sir knicht, gin ye were in my bow!r. To lean on silken seat. My lady is kyndlie care you'd prove, Quha neir kend deidly hate : " Hir self wald watch ye all the day, Hir maids at deid of nicht ; And Fairly fair your heart wald cheir. As scho stands in your sicht. " A rise, young knicht, and mount your steid. Full town's the schynand day; Cheis frae my menyie quhom ye pleis. To leid ye on the way." With smyless lake, and visage wan. The wounded knicht replyd, " Kind chiftain, your intent pursue. For here I maun abyde. " Tt) me nae after day nor nicht Can eir be sweit or fair. But sune beneath sum draping trie Cauld death sail end my care.' With him na« plelding micht prevail ; Braif Hardyknute to gain. With fairest words and reason Strang, Straif courteously in vain. 3(yne he has gaiie far hynd attowre Lord thattan's land sae wyde; That lord a worthy wicht was ay, Quhen Ikes his courage seyd : Of Pictish race, by mother's syde ; Quhen Picts ruled Caledon, Lord Chattan claim 'd the princely maid Quhen he saift Pictish crown. Now with his ferss and stalwart train He reicht a rysing heicht, Quhair, braid encampit on the dale, Norse menyie lay in sicht : " Yonder, my valiant sons, and feris. Our raging revers wait. On the uncouquerit Scotish swaird. To try with us thair fete. " Mak' orisons to Him that saift Our sauls upon the rude;* Syne braifly schaw your veins are fill'd With Caledonian blude." Then furth he drew his trusty glaive, Quhyle thousands all around. Drawn frae their sheaths glanst in the sun. And loud the bougills sound. To join his king, adoun the hill In haste his march he made, Quhyle playand pibrochs ininstralls meit Afore him stately strade. " Thryse welcum, valyiant stoup of weir. Thy nation's scheild and pryde. Thy king nae reason has to feir, Quhen thou art be his syde." Quhen bows were bent and darts were thrawn. For thraug scarce could they flie. The darts cl ve arrows as they met. The arrows dart the trie. Riule — the Cross. ■ 208 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Lang did they rage, and fecht full ferss, ^ " Take, Norse, that gift frae me, find bid With little skaith to man ; Him "venge the blude it beirs , But bludy, bludy was the field Say, if he face my bended bow Or that lang day was done ! He sure nae weapon feirs." The king of Scots that sindle* bruik'd Proud Norse with giant body tall. The war that lukit lyke play. Braid shoulder, and arms strung. Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow. Cry'd, " Quhair is Hardyknute sae fam'd. Sen bows semit but delay. And feird at Britain's throne .■» Quoth noble Rothsay, " Myne I'll keip. ♦' Though Britons tremble at his name. 1 wate its bleid a skore." I sune sail mak' him wail, " Haste up my merry men," cry'd the king. That eir my sword was made sae sharp. As he rade on before. Sae saft his coat of maU." The king of Norse he socht to find. With him to mense the faueht;t That brag his stout heart couldna byde. It lent him youthfou micht: But on his forehead there did licht " I'm HarJyknute. This day," he cry'd. A sharp unsonsie shaft; " To Scotland's king I hecht§ As he his hand put up to find The wound, an arrow kene, " To lay thee law as horse's hufe. waefou chance ! there pinn'd his hand In midst betwene his een. My word I mean to keep." Syne with the first strake eir he strak He garr'd his body bleid. " Revenge ! revenge '." cried Eothsay's heir. " Your mail-coat sail nocht byde Norse ene lyke gray gosehauk's staird wyld. The strength and shai pness of my dart," He sicht with shame and spyte; Then sent it through his svde. " Disgrac'd is now my far»fani'd arm That left thee power to stryke." Another arrow weil he mark'd. It persit his neck in twa; Then gaif his head a blaw sae fell. His hands then quat the silver reins. It made him doun to stoup. He law as eard uid fa". As law as he to ladies usit. In courtly gyse to lout. " Sair bleids my liege ! sair, sair he bleids !" Again with micht he drew. Full sune he rais'd his bent body ; And gesture dreid, his sturdy bow ; His bow he marvell'd sair. Fast the braid arrow flew : Sen Llaws till then on him but darr'd As touch of Fairly fair. Wae to the knicht he ettled at ; Lament now quene Elgreid ; Norse ferlietH too as sair as he. Hie dames to wail your darling's fell. To see his stately luke ; His youth and comely meid. Sae sune as eir he strake a ftie, Sae sune his lyfe he tuke. " Take aff, take aft his costly jupe," t (Of gold weil was it twyn d. Quhau:, lyke a fyre to hether set. Knit like the fowler's net, thruuch quhilk Bauld Thomas did advance. His steily harnes shynd.) %\. sturdy fae, with luke enrag'd. Up towards him did prauce : • Seldom. f Try the fight. t Military vest. , { 6 5 Promised. y Wondered. i SCOTTISH BALLADS. 209 He spur'd his steid throw thickest ranks ^ Ceise, Emma, ceise to hope in vain. The hardy youth to quell. Thy lord lyis in the clay ; Quha stude unmuvit at his approach. The valyiant Scots nae revers tholef His furie to repell. To carry lyfe away "That schort brown shaft, sae meanly There on a lie, quhair stands a cross trim'd. tJet up for monument. Lukis lyke poor Scotland's geir; Thousands full fierce, that summer's day. But dreidfull seinis the rusty poynt !" Fill'd kene waris black intent. And loud he leuch in jeir. Let Scots, quhyle Scots, praise Hardyknute, " Aft Britons blude has dim'd its shyne. Let Norse the name aye dried ; This poynt cut short their vaunt;" Syne piere'd the boisteris bairdei cheik. Ay how he faucht, aft how he spaird. Sal latest ages reid. Nae tyme he tuke to taunt. Full loud and chill blew westlin' wind. Schort (juhyle he in his sadill swang; Sair beat the heavy showir. His stirrip was nae stay. Mirk grew the nicht eir Hardyknute Sae feible hang his unbent knie. Wan neir his stately towir; Sure taken he was fey. Swith on the harden'd clay he fell, Eicht far was heard the thud. His towir that us'd with torches bleise To shyne sae far at nicht. But Thomas luikt not as he lay All waltering in his blude. Seim'd now as black as mourning weid ; Nae marvel sair he sich'd. With cairles gesture, mind unmuvit. " Thair's nae licht in my lady's bowir. On raid he north the plain. Thair's nae licht in my hall ; He seimt in thrang of Bercest stryfe. Nae blink shynes round my Fairly fair. Quhen winner ay the same. Nor ward stands on my wall. Nor yit his heart dames* dimpelit cheik " Quhat bodes it ? Robert, Thomas, say !" Coud meise* safe luve to bruik; Nae answer fits their dreid. Till vengeful Ann returned his scorn. " Stand back my sons, 111 be your gyde;" Then languid grew his luke. But by they past with speid. In thrawis of death, with wallowit cheik. " As fast I've sped owre Scotland's faes"— All panting on the plain. There ceist his brag of weir. The fainting corps of warriours lay. Sair schamit to mynd ocht but his dame. Neir to aryse again : And maiden Fairly fair. Neir to return to native land ; Black feir he felt, but quhat to feir. Nae mair with blythsom sounds He wist not yit with dreid: To boist the glories of the day. Sair schuke his body, sair his limbs. And schaw their shyning wounds. On Norway's coast the widowit dame And all the warrior fled. May wash the rocks with teirs. t Suffer. May lang luke owre the schiples seis Bet'uir hir mate appeirs. ' • Soften. i 210 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ®^e W\xd of Wi'l^uxtou an^ [From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— "Duels," says Sir Walter Scott, "are derived from the times of chivaliy. They succieded to the combat at outrance, about the end of the six- teenth century ; and, though they were no longer countenanced by the laws, nor considered a solemn appeal to the Deity, nor honoured by the presence uf applauding nionarchs and multi- tudes, yet they were authorised by the manners of the age, and by the applause of tl)e fair.' They long continued, they even yet continue, to be appealed to, as the test of truth ; since, by the code of honour, every gentleman is still bound to rej: el a charge of falsehood with the point of his sword, and at the peril of his life. This peculiarity of manners, which would have surprised an ancient Roman, is obviously de- duced from the Gothic ordeal of trial by combat. Nevertheless, the custom of duelling was consi- dered, at its first introduction, as an innovation upon the law of arms ; and a book, in two huge volumes, entituled, Le vrai Theatre d' Honneur et de la Chivalerie, was written by a French nobleman, to support the venerable institutions • "All things being ready for the b»ll, and every one being iu their place, and 1 myself being next to the queen (of France) eipecling when the Jancert would come iu, one knockt at the door somewhat louder than became, as I thought, a very civil person. When he came in, I remember there was a sudden whisper among the ladies, saying, 'C'est Monsieur Balagny,' or, 'tis Monsieur Balagny; whereupon, also, 1 saw the ladies and gentlewomen, one after another, invite him to sit near them ; and, which is mure, when one lady had his company a while, another would say, 'you have enjoyed hiui long enough ; 1 must have him now ;' at which bold civility oC theirs, though 1 were astonished, yet it added unto my wonder, that his person could not be thought, at most, but oidinary handsome ; his hair, which was cut very short, half grey, his doublet but of sackcloth, cut to his shirt, and his breeches only uf plain grey cloth. Informing my- self of some standers-hy who he was, 1 was told he was one of the gallautest men in the world, as having killed eight or nine men in single tight: and that, for this reason, the l.-idies made so much of him : it being the manner of all French women to cherish gallant meu, as thinking they could not make so much of any one else, with the safety of their honour.'— Life of Lord Herbert of Cherbury , p. 70. How near the char- ^of chivalry against this unceremonious mode of I combat. He has chosen for his frontispiece two I figures; the first represents a conquering knight, I trampling his enemy under foot in the lists, ] crowned by Justice with laurel, and preceded by j Fame, sounding his praises. The other figure presents a duellist, in his shirt, as was then the I fashion, (see the following ballad,) with his I bloody rapier in his hand : the slaughtered com- batant is seen in the distance, and the victor is pursued by the Furies. Kevtrtheless, the wise will makest>me scruple, whether, if the warriors I were to change equipments, they might nut also I exchange their emblematic attendants. The I modern mode of duel without defensive armour, , began about the reign of Henry 111. of France, when the gentlemen of that nation, as we learn I from Davila, began to lay aside the cumbrous lance and cuirass, even in war. The increase of danger being supposed to contribute to the in- crease of honour, the national ardour of the , French gallants led then early to distinguish themselves by neglect of every thing that could contribute to their personal safety. Hence, duels ' began to be fought by the combatants in their shirts, and with the rapier only. To this custom contributed also the art of fencing, then culti- vated as a new study in Italy and Spain, by which the sword became, at once, an ofiTensive and defensive weapon. The reader will see the new ' science of defence," as it was called, ridi- culed by ijhakspeaie, in Rmneo and Juliet, and acter of the dueilist, originally, approached to that of the knight-ei rant, appears from a transaction, which took place at the siege of Juliers, betwixt this Balagny and lord Herbert. As these two noted duellists stood together in the trenches, the Frenchman addressed lord Herbeit: ' Monsieur, on dit que vous etes un des plus braves de votre nation, etje suis Balagny. allons voir qui fera le mieux.' With these woiUs, Balagny jumped over the treuch, and Herbert as speedily t'ol- Ijwing, both ran sword in hand towards the defences of the besieged town, which welcomed their approach with a storm of musquetry and artillery. Balagny then observed, this was liot service; but Herbert swore, he would not turn back tirst: so the French- man was finally fain to set him the example of retreat. Nuiwithstanding the advantage which he had gained I over Balagny, iu this 'jeopaniy of war,' lord Herbert seems stiU to have grudged that gentleman's astonish- ing reputation ; for he endeavoured to pick a quarrel with hini, on the romantic score of the worth of their mistresses; and, receiving a ludicrous answer, told mm, with disdain, that he spoke more like a palliart'. than a cavalier. From such instances, the reader may judge, whether the age ol chivalry did not endure somewhat longer than is generally su^iposed." — t^ Scott. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 211 by Don Quevedo, in wme of his novels. But tlie more ancient customs continued for some time to niiiintain theirground. Tiie sieur Colombiere mentions two gentlemen, who fought with equal advantage for a whole day, in all the panoply of chivalry, and, the next day, had recourse to the modern mode of combat. By a still more extra- ordinary mixtureofancientand modern fashions, two combatants on horseback ran a tilt at each other with lances, without any covering but their shirts. When armour was laid aside, the consequence was, that the first duels were very sanguinary, terminating frequently in the death of one, and sometimes, as in the ballad, of both persons en- gaged. Nor was this all : The seconds, who had nothing to do with the quarrel, fought stoutly, pour le desennuyer, and often sealed with their blood their friendship for their principal. A desperate combat, fought between Messrs Kn- traguet and Caylus, is said to have been the first in which this fashion of promiscuous fight was introduced. It proved fatal to two of Henry the Third's minions, and extracted from that sor- rowing monarch an edict against duelling, which was as fi-equently as fruitlessly renewed by his successors. The use of rapier and poniard to- gether, * was another cause of the mortal slaugh- ter in these duels, which were supposed, in the reign of Henry IV., to have cost France at least as many of her nobles as had fallen in the civil wars. With these double weapons, frequent instances occurred, in which a duellist, mortally wounded, threw himself within his antagonist's guard, and plunged his poniard into his heart. Nay, sometimes the sword was altogether aban- doned for the more sure and murderous dagger. A quarrel having arisen betwixt the vicompte d'Allemagne and the sieur de la Roque, the former, alleging the youth and dexterity of his antagonist, insisted upon fighting the duel in their shirts, and with their poniards only; a desperate mode of conflict, which proved fatal to both. Others refined even upon this horrible struggle, by choosing for the scene a small room, a large hogshead, or, finally, a hole dug in the earth, into which the duellists descended, as into • It appears from a line in the black-letter copy of the following ballad, that 'Whartoa and Stuart fought with rapier and dagger : With that stout Wharton was the first Took rapier and poniard there that day. Ancient Songs, 1792, p. 204.— Scott. •' a certain grave. Must I add, that even women 1 caught the phrenzy, and that duels were fought, ! not only by those whose rank and character ren- j dered it little surprising, but by modest and well-born maidens ! — Audiguier Traite de Duel. I Theatre d'Honneur, vol. i. f We learn, from every authority, that duels became nearly as common in England, after the accession of James VI., as they had ever been in France. The point of honour, so fatal to the gallants of the age, was no where carried more highly than at the court of the pacific Solomon of Britain. Instead of the feudal combats, upon the Hie-gate if Edinburgh, which had often dis- turbed his repose at Holy-rood, his levees, at \\ Theobald's, were occupied with listening to the I detail of more polished, but n "t less sanguinary, I contests. I rather suppose, that James never j was himself disposed to pay particular attention to the laws of the duello; but they were defined with a quaintness and pedantry, which, bating his dislike to the subject, must have deeply in- terested him. The point of honour was a science, which a grown gentleman might study under suitable professors, as well as dancing, or any other modish accomplishment. Nay, it would appear, th.at the ingenuity of the tword-men, (so these militarj' casuists were termed) might often accommodate a bashful combatant with an hon- ourable excuse for declining the combat : — Understand'st thou well nice points of duel? Art born of gentle biood and pure descent? Were none of all thy lineage hang'd or cuckold? liastard or bastinadoed? Is thy pedigree As long, as wide as mine? For otherwise Thou wert most unworthy ; and 'twere loss of honour In me to fight. More : I have drawn five teeth— If thine stand sound, the terms are much unequal; And, by strict laws of duel, I am excused To fight on disadvantage. — Albumazar, Act IV. Sc. 7. In Beaumont and Fletcher's admirable play of A King and no King, there is some excellent mirth at the expense of the professors of the point of honour. t This folly ran to such a pitch, that no one was thought worthy to be reckoned a gentleman, who had not tried his valour in at leai-tone duel ; of which lord Herbert gives the following instance : A young gentle- man, desiring to marry a niece of Monsieur Disancour, ecuyer to the duke de Montmorenci, received this answer : " Friend, it is not yet time to marry ; if you will be a brave man, you must first kill, in single com- bat, two or three men ; then marry, and get two or three children ; otherwise the world will neither have ' gained or lost by you." — Herbert's Life, p. 64. — Scott. 212 SCOTTISH BALLADS. But, tboai^h such shifts might occasionally be * honour (being intimate friends,) tool; the field. resorted to by the faint-hearted, yet the fiery cavaliers of the English court were but little apt to profit by them ; though their vengeance for insulted honour sometimes vented itself through fouler channels than that of fair combat. It happened, for example, that lord Sanquhar, a Scottish nobleman, in fencing with a master of the noble science of defence, lost his eye by an unlucky thrust. The accident was provoking, but without remedy; nor did lord Sanquhar think of it, unless with regret, until some years after, when he chanced to be in the French court. Henry the Great casually asked him. How he lost his eye ? ' By the thrust of a sword,' answered lord Sanquhar, not caring toenter into particulars. The king, supposing the accident the consequence of a duel, imir.ediately inquired, ' Does the man yet live r>' These few words set the blood of the Scottish nobleman on fire ; nor did he rest till he had taken the base vengeance of assassinating, by hired ruflBans, the unfortu- nate fencing master. The mutual animosity, betwixt the English and .Scottish nations, had already occasioned much bloodshed among the gentry, by single combat, and James now found himself under the necessity of making a striking example of one of his Scottish nobles, to avoid the imputation of the grossest partiality. Lord Sanquhar was condemned to be hanged, and suffered that ignominious punishment accord- ingly. By a circuitous route, we are now arrived at the subject of our ballad ; for to the tragical duel of Stuart and Wharton, and to other instances of bloody combats and brawls betwixt the two nations, is imputed James's firmness in the case of lord Sanquhar. ' For Ramsay, one of the king's servants, not long before Sanquhar's trial, had switched the earl of Montgomery, who was the king's first favourite, happily because he took it so. Max- well, another of them, had bitten Hawley, a gentleman of the Temple, by the ear, which en- raged the Templars (in those times riotous, Bulyect to tumults,) and brought it almost to a national quarrel, till the king slept in, and took it up himself. The lord Bruce had summoned Sir Edward Sackville (afterward earl of Dorset,) into France, with a fatal compliment to take death from his hand. And the much-lamented Sir James Stuart, one of the king's blood, and George Wharton, the prime branch of that and fell together by each other's hand.'— Wil- son's Life of James VI. p. 60. The sufferers in this melancholy affair were both men of high birth, the heirs apparent of two noble families, and youths of the most pro- mising expectation. Sir James Stuart was a Knight of the Bath, and eldest son of Walter, first lord Blantyre, by Nicolas, daughter of Sir James Somervile, of Cambusnethan. Sir George Wharton was also a Knight of the Bath, and eldest son of Philip, lord Wharton, by Frances, daughter of Henry Clifford, earl of Cumberland. He married Anne, daughter of the earl of Rut- land, but left no issue. The circumstances of the quarrel and combat are accurately detailed in the ballad, of which there exists a black-letter copy in the Pearson Collection, now in the library of the late John duke of Roxburghe, entitled, " A Lamentable Ballad, of a Combate, lately fought near Lon- don, between Sir James Stewarde, and Sir George Wharton, knights, who were both shiin at that time. — ' To the tune of, Down Plumplon Park, Sec.' A copy of this ballad has been published in Mr Ritson's Ancient Songs, and, upon com- parison, appears very little different from that which has been preserved by tradition in Ettrick Forest. Two verses have been added, and one considerably improved, from Mr Ritson's edition. These three stanxas are the fifth and ninth of Part First, and the penult verse of Part Second. I am thus particular, that the reader may be able, if he pleases, to compare the traditional ballad with the original edition. It furnishes striking evidence, that, ' without characters, fame lives long.' The difference, chiefly to be remarked betwixt the copies, lies in the dialect, and in some modifieations applicable to Scot- land ; as, using the words ' Our Scottish KnigM.' The black-letter ballad, in like manner, terms Wharton 'Our English Knight.' My corre- spondent, James Hogg, adds the following note to this ballad : ' I have heard this song sung by several old people ; but all of them with this tradition, that Wharton bribed Stuart's second, and actually fought in armour. I acknowledge, that, from some dark hints in the sonj, this appears not impossible ; but that you may not judge too rashly, 1 must remind you, that the old people, inhabiting the head-lands (high ground) here-abouts, although possessed of many original songs, traditions, and anecdotes, are noble Cimily, for little worthless punctilios of ^ most unreasonably partial when the valour or SCOTTISH BALLADS. 213 honour of a Scotsman is called in question.' I ^ Tetain this note, because it is characteristic ; but I agree with my correspondent, there can be no i foundation for tiie tradition, except in national | partiality." " i Part First. , It grieveth me to tell you o* j Near London late what did befell, 'Twixt two young gallant gentlemen ; j It grieveth me, and ever shall. One of them was Sir George Wharton, My good lord Wharton's son and heir ; The other, James Stuart, a Scottish knight. One that a valiant heart did bear. When first to court these nobles came. One night, a gaming, fell to words ; f And in their fury grew so hot. That they did both try their keen swords. No manner of treating, nor advice. Could hold from striking in that place ; For, in the height and heat of blood, James struck Greorge Wharton on the face. • Since the publication of the first edition of the Minstrelsy, I have seen cause to tltiuk tliat this in- sinuation was not introduced by Scottish reciters, but really founded upon the opinion formed by Stuart's friends. Sir James Stuart married the lady Dorothy Hastings; and, in a letter from the late venerable countess of Moira and Hastings, he is described, from family tradition, as the most accomplished person of the age he lived in, and, in talents and abilities, almost equal to whst is recorded of the admirable Creichton. Sir George Wharton is, on the other hand, aliirmed to have been a man of a fierce and brutal temper, and to have provoked the quarrel, by wanton and intolera- ble reflections ou the Scottish national character. " In the duel," her ladyship concludes, " family tradi- tion does not allow Sir James to have been killed fairly." From an anecdote respecting Sir George ■Wharton'* conduct in a quarrel with the earl of Pem- broke, there is room to suppose the imputations on his temper were not without loundaton. See Lodge's Illustrations of English History, vol. iii. p. 350. Lady Moira concludes, that she had seen a copy of the bal- lad different from any one hitherto printed, in which the cliarge of foul play was directly stated against Wharton.— Scott. t Sir George Wharton was quarrelsome at cards, a temper which he exhibited so disagreeably when play- ing with the earl of Pembroke, that the earl told him, "Sir George, I have loved you long; but, by your manner in pl.iying, you lay it upon me either to leave to love you, or to leave to play with you; wherefore, clioosing to love you still, I will never play with you any m Uut, that I take it at thy hands. The tongue of man shall ne'er report I" " But do thy worst, then," said Sir James, " Now do thy worst, arpoint a day ! There's not a lord in England breathes Shall gar me give an inch of way.' " Ye brag right weel," George Wharton said; " Let our brave lords at large alane. And speak of me, that am thy foe ; For you shall find enough o' ane ! " I'll alterchange my glove wi' thine ; I'll shew it on the bed o' death ; I mean the place where we shall fight ; There ane or both maun lose life and breath !" " We'll meet near Waltham," said Sir James : " To-morrow, that shall be the day. We'll either take a single man. And try who bears the bell away." Then down together hands they shook. Without any envious sign ; Then went to Ludgate, where they lay, And each man drank his pint of wine. No kind of envy could be seen. No kind of malice they did betray ; But a' was clear and calm as death. Whatever in their bosoms lay, Till parting time ; and then, indeed. They shew'd some rancour in their heart ; " Next time we meet," says George Wharton, Not half sae soundly we shall part !" So they have parted, firmly bent Their valiant minds equal to try ; The second part shall clearly show, Both how they meet, and how tliey dye. Part Second. Georgb Wharton was the first ae man. Came to the appointed place that day. Where he espyed our Scots lord coming. As fast as he could post away. • 214 SCOTTISH BALLADS. They met, shook hands ; their cheeks were pale; ^ " No more of that," James Stuart said ; Then to George Wharton James did say. " Speak not of curing wounds to me i " I dinna like your doublet, George, For one of us must yield our breath. It stands sae wecl on you this day. Ere off the field one foot we flee." " Say, have you got no armour on ? They looked oure their shoulders hoth. Have yiu no under robe of steel ? To see what company was there ; I never saw an Englishman They both had grievous marks of death, Become his doublet half sae weel." But frae the other nane wad steer. " Fy no ! fy no !" George Wharton said. George Wharton was the first that fell ; " For that's the thing that mauna be. Our Scotch lord fell immediately : That I should come wi' armour on. They both did cry to Him above. To save their souU, for they boud die. " Our men shall search our doublets, George, And see if one of us do lie ; Then will we prove wi' weapons sharp. Ourselves true gallanU for to be." Effl^g JHikf^cg. Then they threw off their doublets both. [This ballad, which Is said by Motherwell to And stood up in their sarks o' lawn ; be popular in many parts of ScotUnd, is given " Now take my counsel," said Sir James, from Mr Jamieson's collection.] " Wharton, to thee I'll make it knawn: Thk young lords o' the north country " So as we stand, so will we fight ; Have all a-wooing gane. Thus naked in our sarks," said he; To win the love of lady Maisry; " Fy no ! fy no !" George Wharton says ; But o' them she would ha'e nane. " That is the thing that must not be. 0, thae ha'e sought her, lady Maisry, •' We're neither drinkers, quarrellers. Wi- broaches, and wi' rings. Nor men that cares na for oursel ; And they ha'e courted her, lady Maisry, Nor minds na what we'ere gaun about. Wi' a' kin kind of thmgs. Or if we're gaun to heaVn or hell. And they ha'e sought her, lady Maisry, " Let us to God bequeath our souls. Frae father and frae mither ; Our bodies to the dust and clay !" And they ha'e sought her, lady Mtusry, With that he drew his deadly sword. Frae sister and frae brither. The first was drawn on field that day. And they ha'e foUow'd her, lady Maisry, Se'en bouts and turns these heroes had. Through chamber, and through ha' ; Or e'er a drop o' hlovd was drawn ; But a' that they could say to her. Our Scotch lord, wond'ring, quickly cry'd. Her answer still was" Na." "Stout Wharton! thou still hmiiisthyawn!" " 0, baud your tongues, young men," she The first stroke that George Wharton gae. said. He struck him thro' the shoulder-bane; " And think nae mair on me ; The neist was thro' the thick o' the thigh ; For I've gi'en my love to an English lord. He thought our Scotch lord had been slain. Sae think nae mair on me." "Oh! ever alack I" George Wharton cry'd. Her father's kitchey-boy heard that. " Art thou a living man, tell me ? (An ill death mot he dee!) If there's a surgeon living can. And he is in to her brother. He's cure thy wounds right speedily." ;■, As last as gang could he. _ ^ 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 215 " 0, ia my father and my mother weel, 4^ "0 whare wiU I get a bonnie boy. But, and my brothers three ? To help me in my need. Gin my sUter lady Maisry be weel. To rin wi' haste to Lord William. There's naething can all me." And bid him come wi' speed ?" " Your father and your mother Is weel. out it spak' a bonnie boy. But and your brothers three ; Stood by her brother's side; Your sister, lady Maisry's weel ; " It's I wad rin your errand, lady. Sae big wi' bairn is she." O'er a' the warld wide. " A malison light on the tongue. " Aft ha'e I run your errands, lady. Sic tidings tells to me !— When blawin' baith wind and weet; But gin it be a lie you tell. But now I'll rin your errand, lady. You saU be hanged hie." With saut tears on my cheek." He's doen him to his sister's bower. whan he came to broken briggs. Wi' mickle dool and care ; He bent his bow and swam ; And there he saw her, lady Maisry, And whan he came to the green grass Kembing her yeUow hair. growin'. He slack'd his shoon and ran. " 0, wha is aucht that bairn," he says. " That ye sae big are wi' ? And whan he came to Lord WUliam's And gin ye winna own the truth. yeats. This moment ye sail dee." He badena to chap or ca* ; But set his bent bow to his breast. She's turned her richt and round about. AndlighUylapthewa'; And the kembe fell frae her han'; And, or the porter was at the yeat. A trembling seized her fair bodie. The boy was in the ha'. And her rosy cheek grew wan. " is my biggins broken, boy ? " pardon me, my brother dear. Or is my towers won ? And the truth I'll tell to thee; Or is my lady lighter yet. My bairn it is to Lord William, 0' a dear daughter or son ?" And he is betrothed to me." " Your biggin isna broken, sir. " couldna ye gotten dukes, or lords. Nor is your towers won ; Intill your ain countrie. But the fairest lady in a' the land That ye drew up wi' an English dog, This day for you maun burn." To bring this shame on me ? " But ye maan gi'e up your English lord. Whan your young babe is born ; For gin ye keep him an hour langer. Your life shaU be forlorn." " saddle to me the black, the black. Or saddle to me the brown ; Or saddle to me the swiftest steed That ever rade iirae a town." " I will gi'e up this English lord, Or he was near a mile awa'. Till my young babe be born ; She heard his weir-horse sneeze. But the never a day nor hour langer. " Mend up the fire, rny fause brother. Though my life should be forlorn." It's nae come to my knees." " O whare is a' my merry young men. O, whan he lighted at the yeat. Wham I gi e meat and fee. She heard his bridle ring: To pu' the bracken and the thorn. " Mend up the fire, my fause brother To burn this harlot wi' ?" ! h It's far yet frae my chin. , 1 216 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Mend np the fire to me, brother, 4 Glkkkindik* was anee a harper Kude. Mend up the fire to me ; r He harped to the king ; for 1 see him comin' hard and fast, j And Glenkindie was ance the best harper WiU soon nien't up for thee. That ever harp'd on a string. " gin my hands had been loose, Willy, He'd harpit a fish out o* saut water. Sae hard as they are boun'. Or water out o' a stane ; I wadd ha'e turn'd me frae the gleed. Or milk out o' a maiden's breast. And casten out your young son." That bairn had never nane. " I'll gar burn for you, MiUsry, He's ta'en his harp intil hU hand. Tour father and your mother; He harpit and he sang; And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, And aye as he harpit to the king. Tour sister and your brother ; To baud him unthought laug. " And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, " I'll gi'e you a robe, Glenkindie, The chief o' a' your kin; A robe o' the royal pa'. And the last bonfire that I come to. Gin ye will harp i' the winter-s night Mysel- 1 will cast in." Afore my nobles a'." And the king but and his nobles a' Satbirlingatthe winei And he wad ha'e but his ae dochter, To wait on them at dine.f mmUnUt, He's ta'en his haip intill his hand. He's harpit them a' asleep, [From Jamieson'g Collection.— " The hero of Except it was the young countess. thU tale," says Mr Jamieson, "seems to be the That love did waukin keep. celebrated Welsh bard, Glaskirion, or Kirion the Sallow, of whom some notice will be found in And first he has harpit a grave tune, Owen's 'Cambrian Biography.' In Chaucer's And syne he has harpit a gay; ' House of Fame,' he is classed with Orpheus, And mouy a sich atween hands Arion, and Chiron : — ' There herde I play on a harpe, I wat the lady gae.if That sowned both weU and aharpe, » Glenkindie (qu. Glenkennedyt) is a beauti- Hym Orpheus full craftily: And on thi>. i>ide la«t by Sate the harper Orion, fiill valley, watered by the river Don, in the neighbourhood of Glen bucket, and belongs to the And Kacides Chiriou, Earl of Fife.— JamJMon. And the Briton Glaakyrion.' t This stanza is found in the opening of " Brown Eobin," which commences thus ; — The Scottish writers, adapting the name to their " The king but and his nobles a' Sat birling at the wine, [bis] own meridian, call him Gleiikindy, Glenskeenie, &c. The copy here given was taken firom He would ha'e nane but his ae daughter the recitation of an old woman, by Professor To wait on them at dine. Scott of Aberdeen, and has been somewhat im ! " She served them but, she served them ben. proved by a fragment communicated by the Eev. 1 Intill a gown o' green: William Gray of Lincoln. Still it must be con- But her e'e was ay on Brown Robin, fessed, that the garb of this ' harper gude, that That stood low under the rain," &c.—Jamiesou, harped to the king,' seems very unworthy > f % The following stanza occurs in one of the the rank he once deservedly held. For another copies of "The Gay Gosshawk:" ballad on this sulyect, see the ' BeUques of An- cient English Poetry,' edit. 4. vol. iu. p. 43."] ( 1 1 " O first he sang a meiry song. If And then he sang a grave : 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 217 Says, " Whan day is dawen, and cocks ha'e ^ She kent he was nae gentle knicht era wen. That she had latten in ; And wappit their wings sae wide. For neither whan he gaed nor cam'. It's ye may come to my bower door. Kist he her cheek or chin. And streek you by my side. He neither kist her whan he cam'. " But look that ye tell na Gib your man. Nor clappit her when he gaed ; For naething that ye dee ; And in at her bower window, For, an ye tell him, Gib your man. The moon shone like the gleed. He'll beguile baith you and me." " 0, ragged is your hose, Glenkindie, He's ta'en his harp in till his hand ; And riven is your sheen. He harpit and he sang; And reavel'd is your yellow hair And he is hame to Gib his man. That 1 saw late yestreen." As fast as he could gang. " The stockings they are Gib my mans. " mith I tell you, Gib, my man. They came first to my iiand ; Gin 1 a man had slain ?" And this is Gib tny man's shoon ; " that ye miclit, my gude master. At my bed feet they stand. Although ye had slain ten." I've reavel'd a' my yellow hair Coming against the wind." " Then tak' ye tent now, Gib, my man. My bidden for to dee; He's ta'en the harp intill his hand. And, but an ye wauken me in time. He harpit and he sang. Yesallbehangithie. Until he cam' to his master. As fast as he could gang. " Whan day has dawen, and cocks ha'e crawn. " Won up, won up, my good master ; And wappit their wings sae wide, I fear ye sleep o'er lang ; I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower. There's nae a cock in a' the land And streek me by her side." But has wappit his wings and crawn." " Gae hame to your bed, my good master; Glenkindie's tane hU harp in hand ; Ye've waukit, 1 fear, o'er lang ; He harpit and he sang. For I'll wauken you in as good time. And he has reaoh'd the lady's bower. As ony cock i' the land." Afore that e'er he blan. He's ta'en his harp intill his hand. When he cam' to the lady's bower. He harpit and he sang. He chappit at the chin ; f Until he harpit his master asleep. " 0, wha is that at at my bower door. Syne last awa' did gang. That opens na and comes in ?" " It's 1, Glenkindie, jour aiu true Uwi, And he is till that lady's bower. And in I canna win." As fast as he could rin ; When he cam' till that lady's bower. " Forbid it, forbid it," says that lady. He chappit at the chin. " That ever sic shame betide ; That I should first be a wild loon's lass. " wha is this," says that lady, And then a young knight's bride." " That opens nae and comes in ?" " It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love, There was nae pity for that lady. O, open and lat me in !" For she lay cald and dead ; And then he pecked his feathers gray, To her the letUr gave."— Jamieaon. '• ^ f " At the chin," eic.—Jamieaoiu ■ 1 218 SCOTTISH BALLADS. But a' was for him Glenkindie, In bower he must go mad. He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water ; The water out o" a stane ; The milk out o' a maiden's breast, That bairn had never nane. He's ta'en his harp intill hb hand ; Sae sweetly as it rang. And wae and wear; was to hear Glenlundie's dowie sang.'"' But cauld and dead was that lady, Nor heeds for a' his maen ; An' he wad harpit till dumisday. She'll never speak again. He's ta'en his harp intill his hand ; He harpit and he sang ; And he is hame to Gib his man As fast as he could gang. " Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man; Till 1 pay you your fee ; Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man ; Weel payit sail ye be I" And he has ta'en him, Gib, his man. And he has hang'd him hie; And he's hangit him o'er his ain yate. As high as high could be. %f)t §^m^u of ^anUbtxot. [Modern Ballad.— By Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe. First published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. — " Tlie tragical event," says the editor of that work, " which preceded, or perhaps gave rise to, the successful insurrection of Robert Bruce, against the tyranny of Edward 1., is well known. In the year 1304, Bruce ab- ruptly left the court of England, and held an interview, in the Dominical church of Dumfries, with John, surnamed, from the colour of his 4^ hair, the Red Cuming, a powerful chieftain, who had formerly held the regency of Scotland. It Is said, by the Scottish historians, that he upbraided Cuming with having betrayed to the English monarch a scheme, formed betwi.xt them, for asserting the independence of Scotland. The English writers maintain, that Bruce proposed such a plan to Cuming, which he rejected with scorn, as inconsistent with the fealty he had sworn to Edward. The dispute, however it be- gan, soon waxed high betwixt two fierce and independent barons. At length, standing before the high altar of the church, Cuming gave Bruce the lie, and Bruce retaliated by a stroke of his poniard. Full of confusion and remorse, for a homicide committed in a sanctuary, the future monarch of Scotland rushed out of the church, with the bloody poniard in his hand. Kirk- I Patrick and Lindsay, two barons, who faithfully ■ adhered to him, were waiting at the gate. To , their earnest and anxious inquiries into the cause of his emotion, Bruce answered, "I doubt I have slain the Red Cuming."—" Doubtest thou ?" exclaimed Kirkpatrick, " I make sure ;"| Ac- cordingly, with Lindsay and a few followers, he rushed into the church, and dispatched the wounded Cuming. A homicide, in such a place, and such an age, could hardly escape embellishment from the fer- tile genius of the churchmen, whose interest was so closely connected with the inviolability of a divine sanctuary. Accordingly Bowmaker in- forms us, that the body of the slau;^htered baron was watched, during the night, by the Domini- cans, with the usual rites of the church. But, at midnight, the whole assistants fell into a dead sleep, with the exception of one aged father, who heard, with terror and surprise, a voice, like that of a wailing infant, exclaim, " How long, O Lord, shall vengeance be deferred ?" it was answered, in an awful tone, " Endure with patience, until the anniversary of this day shall retu n for the fifty-second time." In the year 1357, fifty-two years after Cuming's death, James of Lindsay was hospitably feasted in the castle of Caerlaveroc, in Dumfiies-shire, belonging to Roger Kirk- patrick. They were the sons of the muiderers of the regent. In the dead of night, for bome unknown cause, Lindsay arose, and poniarded in • This stanza has been altered, to introduce a little variety, and prevent the monotonous tire- someness of repetition. — Jamieion. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 219 his bed his unsujpecting host He then mounted h " Now, haste ye, master, to the ha' ! bi8 horse to fly ; but guilt and fear had so bewil- The guests are drinking there ; dered his senses, that, after riding all night, he Kirkpatrick's pride sail be but sma". was taken, at break of day, not three miles from For a' his lady fair." the castle, and was afterwards executed by order of King David II. In came the merry minstrelsy; The story of the murder is thus told by the Shrill harps wi' tinkling string. prior of Lochlevin :— And bag-pipes, lilting melody. Made proud Caerlaveroc ring. Thatilkyhereinourkynryk Hoge was alayne of Kilpatnk Be 8Chyr Jakki» the Lyndessay In-tilKarlaveroCi and away There gallant knights, and ladies bright. Did move to measures fine. For til have bene with all his mycht Like frolic fairies, jimp and light. Thi» Lyndyssay pressyt all a nycht Forth on horn rjcht fast rydand. Wha dance in pale moonshine. Nevyrtheless yliit thai him fand Nocht thre myle fra that ilk place; There tane and broucht agane he was Til Karlaveroc, be thai men The ladies glided through the ha'. Wi' footing swifl and sure— That freudis war till Kirkpatrik then; Kirkpatrick's dame outdid them a'. Thare was he kepyd rycht straytly. Whan she stood on the floor. His wyf • passyd till the king Uawy, And prayid him nf hia realte. Of Lauche that acho mycht serwyd be. The kyng Dawy tlian also fast Till Dumfres with his curt he past. And some had tyres of gold sae rare. And pendants f eight or nine ; At Lawc.ie wa d. Q ihat was thare mare? And she, wi' but her gowden hair. This Lyndecsay to ueth he gert do thare. Did a' the rest outehine. Wintownis Cronykill, b.viii. c. 44."— Scott.] " Now, come to me, my little page. And some, wi' costly diamonds sheen. Did warriors' hea ts assail — Of wit sae wond'rous sly ! Ne'er under flower o' youthfu" age, Did mair destruction lie. But she, wi' her twa sparkling een, Pierc'd through the thickest mail. " I'll dance and rerel wi' the rest, KJrkpatrick led her by the hand. Within this castle rare ; With gay and courteous air: Tet he shall rue the drearie feast. No stately castle in the land Bot and his lady fair. Could shew sae bright a pair. " For ye maun drug Kirkpatrick's wine. he was young— and clear the day Wi' juice 0' poppy flowers ; Of life to youth appears ! Nae mair he'll see the morning shine Alas ! how soon his setting ray Frac proud Caerlaveroc's towers. Was dimm'd wi' show'ring tears ! " For he has twln'd my lore and roe. FeU Lindsay sicken'd at the sight. The maid of niickle scorn— And sallow grew his cheek; She'll welcome, wi' a tearfu' e'e. He tried wi' smiles to hide his spite. Her widowhood the morn. But word he cou'dna speak. " And saddle weel my milk-white steed. Prepare my harness bright ! The gorgeous banquet was brought up. On silver and on gold : Giff I can mak' my rival bleed, I'U ride awa- this night." The page chose out a crystal cup, The sleepy juice to hold. • That ia, Kirkpatrick's wUe. 5 f t Pendant*— JeweU on the forehead. — 220 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And whan Kirkpatrick call'd for wine, i This page the drink wou'd bear ; Nor did the knight or dame divine Sic black deceit was near. t Sair, sair, and meikle, did he bleed : His lady slept till day. Bat dream't the Firth • flow'd o'er her head. In bride -bed as she lay. Then every lady sung a sang ; Some gay— some sad and sweet- Like tunefu' birds the woods amang, TJU a' began to greet. The murderer hasted down the stair. And back'd his courser fleet : Then did the thunder 'gin to rair. Then show'r'd the rain and sleet. E'en cruel Lindsay shed a tear, Forletting malice deep — As mermaids, wi their warbles clear, Can sing the waves to sleep. Ae fire-flaught darted through the rain, Whare a' was mirk before. And glinted o'er the raging main. That shook the sandy shore. And now to bed they all are dight, Hoyt steek they ilka door : There's nought but stillness o' the night, Whare was sic din before. But mirk and mirker grew the night. And heavier beat the rain ; And quicker Lindsay urged his flight. Some ha' or beild to gain. Fell Lindsay puts his harness on. His steed doth ready stand ; And up the stair-case is he gone, Wi' poniard in his hand. rang did he ride o'er hill and dale. Nor mu* nor flood he feai'd; I trow his courage 'gan to fail When morning light appear'd. The sweat did on his forehead break, He shook wi' guilty fear ; In air he heard a joyfu" shriek- Bed Cumin's ghaist was near. For having hied, the live-lang night. Through hail andTieavy showers, He fand hiinsel'. at peep o' light. Hard by Caerlaveroc's tower». Now to the chamber doth he creep— A lamp, of glimmering ray, Bhow'd young Kirkpatrick fast asleep. In arms of lady gay. The castle bell was ringing out. The ha' was all asteer ; And mony & scriech and waefu' shout Appall d the murderer's ear. He lay wi' bare unguarded breast. By sleepy juice beguil'd; And sometimes sigh'd, by dreams opprest. And sometimes sweetly smiled. Now they ha'e bound this traitor Strang, Wi' curses and wi' blows. And high in air they did him hang. To feed the carrion crows. TJnclosed her mouth o' rosy hue, Whence issued fragrant air. That gently, in soft moUon, blew Stray ringlets o' her hair. " To sweet Lincluden's f haly cella Fou dowie I'll repair ; There peace wi' gentle patience dwells, Nae deadly feuds are there. " Sleep on, sleep on, ye luvers dear! The dame may wake to weep- But that day's sun maun shine fou clear. That spills this warrior's sleep." He louted down— her lips he prest— ! kiss, foreboding woe ! Then struck on young Kirkpatrick's breast A deep and deadly blow. \ " In tears I'll wither ilka charm. Like draps o' balefu' yew ; And wail the beauty that cou'd harm A knight, sae brave and true." * Caerlaverock stands near Solway Firth, t Lincluden Abbey is situated near Dumfries, ^ on the banks of the river Cluden. It was founded SCOTTISH BALLADS. 221 ^ The first an' town that they came till. He bought her brooch and ring ; ^|e §m^t %Qbsx. But aye he bade her turn again. And gang nae farder wi' him. [From Buehan's Collection.-Eight lines of " But again, dear love, and again, dear love. thU are to be found in Herd's Collection.] Will ye never love me again ? Alas! for loving you sae well. A FAIR maid sat in her bower door. And you, nae me again." Wringing her Uly hands; And by it came a sprightly youth. The neist an' town that they came till. Fast tripping o'er the strands. His heart it grew mair fain ; And he was deep in love wi' her. " Where gang ye, young John," she says. As she was ower again. "Sae early in the day? It gars me think, by your fast trip. The neist an' town that they came till. Your journey's far away. " He bought her wedding gown ; And made her lady o' ha's and bowers. He turn'd about wi' surly look. In bonnie Berwick town. And said, " What's that to thee ? I'm gaen to see a lovely maid. Mair fairer far than ye." — " Now ha'e ye play'd me this, feuse love. In simmer, 'mid the flowers ? I sail repay ye back again. ^^knclieSIuur k Idljjionte In winter, "mid the showers. [Fkoic Mr Buehan's Collection.] " But again, dear love, and again, dear love. 1 Will ye not turn again ? For as ye look to ither women. Tberb was a maid richly array'd. ShaU I to ither men." In robes were rare to see; For seven years and something mair. " Make your choose o' whom you please. She serv'd a gay ladie. For I my choice will have ; I've chosen a maid mair fair than thee. But being fond o' a higher place. I never wiU deceive." In service she thought lang ; She took her mantle her about. But she's kilt up her claithing fine. Her coffer by the band. And after him gaed she; But aye he said, " Ye'U turn back. And as she walk'd by the shore side. Nae ferder gang wi' me." As blythe's a bird on tree ; Tet still she gazd her round about. " But again, dear love, and again, dear love. To see what she could see. Will ye never love me again ? Alas ! for Irving you sae well, At last she spied a little castle, And you, nae me again." That stood near by the sea ; She spied it far, and drew it near, To that castle went she. and filled with Benedictine nuns. In the time of Malcolm IV., by Uthred, father to Roland, lord And when she came to that castle. of Galloway— these were expelled by Archibald She tirled at the pin ; the Grim, earl of Douglas.— Vide Pennant.— And ready stood a little wee boy. Scott. { ^ To lat this fair maid in. ■ ' 1 1 222 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " who's the owner of this place, 4 When the queen's maids their visiu paid. porter boy tell me ?" Upo' the gude Yule day ; " This place belongs unto a queen When other ladies got horse to ride. 0' birth and high degree " She boud take foot and gae. She put her hand in her pocket, The queen she call'd her stable groom. And ga'e him shillings three ; To come to her right soon , " porter bear my message well. Says, " Ye'll take out yon wild waith ste.d. Unto the queen frae me." And bring him to the green. The porter's gane before the queen. " Ye'll take the bridle frae his head. Fell low down on his knee ; The lighters frae his e'en ; " Win up, win up, my porter boy. Ere she ride three times roun' the cross. Wliat makes this courlesie ?" Her weel days will be dune." " I ha'e been porter at your yetts. Jellyflorice his true love spyd. My dame, these years full three ; As she rade roun' the cross ; But see a ladie at your yetts. And thrice he kissd her lovely lips. The fairest my eyes did see." And took her frae her horse. " Cast up my yetts baith wide and braid. " Gang to your bower, my lily flower. Lat her come into me ; For a' my mother's spite ; And 1 11 know by her courtesie. Lord's daughter if she be." In whom 1 take delight. When she came in before the queen. " Ye are my jewel, and only ane. Fell I w down on her knee; Kane's do you injury ; " Service frae you, my dame, the queen. For ere this day-month come and gang. I pray you grant it me." My wedded wife ye'se be!" " If that service ye now do want. What station will ye be ? Can ye card wool, or spin, fiur maid. Or milk the cows to me ■>" "No, 1 can neither card nor spin. iame0 ^exxUa. >or cows 1 can no' milk ; But sit into a lady's bower. [This yery singular old ballad is here given And sew the seams o' silk." in a complete form from Wr Buchan's Collec- tion. Fragments of it are to be found in the " What is your name, ye comely dame. Border Minstrelsy and Motherwell's Collection, Pray tell this unto me ?•' under the name of the Demon Lover.J " Blancheflour, that is my name. Born in a strange countrie !" " ARE ye my father, or are ye my mother ? Or are ye my brother John ? " keep ye well frae Jellyflorice, Or are ye James Herries, my first true love. My ain dear son is he; Come back to ;^cotland again .->" When other ladies get a gift. O' that ye shall get three." " I am not your father, I am not your mother. It wasna tald into the bower. Nor am 1 your brother John ; Till it went through the ha'. But I'm James Herries, your first tnje That JellyHoric. and Blancheflour love. Were grown owtr great witha*. \ ■f Come back to Scotland again." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 223 " Awa', awa', ye former lovers, 4 Had far awa' frae me ; For now I am another man's wife, Ye-11 ne'er see joy o' me." ^ She hadna sailed uptn the sea A league but barely three. Till she minded on her dear husband. Her little young son tae. •• Had I kent that ere I came here, I ne'er had come to thee ; For 1 might ha'e married the king's daugh- Sae fain she would had me. [ter. " gin I were at land again. At land where 1 would be, The woman ne'er should bear the son Should gar me sail the sea." " I despised the crown o' gold. The yellow silk also ; And 1 am come to my true love. But with me she'll not go." " hold your tongue, my sprightly flower. Let a' your mourning be ; I'll show you how the lilies grow On the banks o' Italy." " My husband he is a carpenter. Makes his bread on dry land. And I ha-e born him a young son.— Wi' you I wUl not gang." She hadna sailed on the sea A day but barely ane, Till the thoughts o' grief came in her mind. And (he lang'd for to be hame. " You must forsake your dear husband. Your little young son also, Wi' me to s;iil the raging seas. Where the stormy winds do Wow." " gentle death, come cut my breath, I may be dead ere morn ; I may be buried in Scottish ground. Where I was bred and born." " O what ha'e you to keep me wi'. If I should with you go ? If I'd forsake my dear husband. My little young son also ?" " O hold your tongue, my lily leesome thing. Let a* your mourning be ; But for a while well stay at Rose Isle, Then see a far countrie. " See ye not yon seven pretty ships. The eighth brought me to land ; With merchandize and mariners. And wealth in every hand f" " Ye'se ne'er be buried in Scottish ground. Nor land ye'se nae mair see ; I brought you away to punish you. For the breaking your vows to me. She turn'd her round upon the shore. Her love's ships to behold ; Their topmasts and their mainyards Were cover'd o'er wi' gold. " I said ye should see the lilies grow. On the banks o' Italy; But I'll let you see the fishes swim. In the bottom o' the sea " Then she's gane to her little young son. And kiss'd him cheek and chin ; Sae has> she to her sleeping husband. And duue the same to him. He reach'd his hand to the topmast. Made a' the sails gae down ; And in the twinkling o- an e'e, Baith ship and crew did drown. *' O sleep ye, wake ye, my husband, I wish ye wake in time ; I wouldna for ten thousand pounds. This night ye knew my mind." The fatal flight o' this wretched maid Did reach her ain countrie ; Her husband then distracted ran. And this lament made he : — She's drawn the slippers on her feet. Were cover'd o'er wi' gold ; Well lined within wi' velvet ane. To had her frae the cold. ^ " wae be to the ship, the ship. And wae be to the sea, And wae be to the mariners, b Took Jeanie Douglas frae me ! 224 SCOTTISH KALLADS. " O bonnie, bonnie was my love, A pleasure to behold The very hair o' my love's head, Was like the threads o' gold. " O bonnie was her cheek, her cheek. And bonnie vrag her chin; And bonnie was the bride she was. The day she was made mine 1" [This beautiful ballad b one of Sib Walter Scott's early productions. It appears in the Border Minstrelsy, addressed to the Right Hon. Lady Anne Hamilton. — "The ruins of Cadyovv, or Cadzow Castle," says the author, " the ancient baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous bai.ks of the river Kvan, about two miles above its junction with the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclusion of the civil wars, during the iei;^n of the unfor- tunate Mary, to whose cause the house of Hamil- ton devoted themselves with a generous zeal, which occasioned their temporary obscurity, and, very nearly, their total ruin. The situation of the ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawl- ing torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. In the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the remains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the south of Scotland, from the eastern to the At- lantic Octan. Some of these trees measure twenty five feet, and upwards, in circumference ; and tiie state of decay, in which they now appear, shows, that they may have witnessed the rites of the Uruids. The whole scenery is included in the magnificent and extensive park of the duke of Hamilton. There was long preserved in this forest the breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity occasioned their being extirpated, about forty years ago. Their appearance was beautiful, being milk-white, with black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described by ancient authors as having white manes; but those of latter days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed.* ^ In detailing the death of the regent Murray, which is made the subject of the following ballad, it would be injustice to my reader to use other words than those of Dr Robertson, whose account of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece of historical painting. " Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person who committed this barbarous action. He had been condemned to death soon after the battle of Langside, as we have already related, and owed his life to the regent's clemency. But part of his estate had been bestowed upon one of the j regent's favourites, f who seized his house, and I turned out his wife, naked, in a cold night, into I the open fields, where, before next morning, she [ became furiously mad. This injury made a j deeper impression on him than the benefit he ; had received, and from that moment he vowed j tobe revenged of the regent. Party rage strength- ■ ened and inflamed his private resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded the enter- [ prize. The maxims of that age justified the most I desperate course he could take to obtain ven- t geance. He followed the regent f.r some time, I and watched for an opportunity to strike the j blow. He resolved, at last, to wait till his enemy ; should arrive at Linlithgow, through which he [ was to pass, in his way from Stirling to Edin- [ burgh. He took his stand in a wooden galkry,^ ! which had a window towards the street ; spread j a feather-bed on the floor, to hinder the noise of i his feet from being heard ; hung up a black cloth I behind him, that his shadow might not be ob- served from without; and, after all this prepa- j ration, calmly expected the regent's approach, ! who had lodged, during the night, in a house i not far distant. Some indistinct information of j the danger which threatened him had been con- 1 veyed to the regent, and he paid so muc'i regard I to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate j through which he had entered, and to fetch a I compass round the town. But, as the crowd i about the gate was great, and he himself uuac- ! quainted with fear, he proceeded directly along ! the street ; and the throng of people obliging t ; t This was Sir James Ballenden, lord justice-clerk, whose shameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the I Catastrophe in tlie text.— Spottiiwoude.— Scott. I ' X This projecting gallery is still shown. Tlie house, \ j to which it was attached, was the property of the I I arclibishop of St Andrews, n natural brother to the — I duke of Chatelherault, and uncle to Bothwellhaugh. • They were formerly kept in the park at Drumlan- I This, among many other circumstances, seems to rig, and are still to be seen at ChiUingham Castle, in M evince the aid which Bothwellhaugh received from his Northumberland.— Scott. •^ clau in effecting his purpoae.— Scott. SOOTTISH BALL^^DS. him to move very slowly, gave the assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with a single bullet, through the lower part of his belly, and killed the horse of a gentleman who rode on his other side. His followers instantly endeavoured to break into the house, whence the blow had come ; but they found the door strongly barricaded, and, before it could be forced open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse,* which stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got far beyond their reach. The regent died the same night of his wound.' — History qf Scotland, book V. " Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, ■where he was received in triumph ; for the ashes of the houses in Clydesdale, which had been burned by Murray's army, were yet smoking; and party prejudice, the habits of the age, and the enormity of the provocation, seemed, to his kinsmen, to justify his deed. After a short abode at Hamiltin, this fierce and determined man left (Scotland, and served in France, under the pa- tronage of the family of Guise, to whom he w;is doubtless recommended by having avenged the cause of their niece. Queen Mary, upon her un- grateful brother. De Thou has recorded, that an attempt was made to engage him to assassinate G;ispar de Coligni, the famous admiral of France, and the buckler of the Huguenot cause. But the character of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary trader in blood, and rejected the offer with contempt and indignation. He had no authority, he said, from Scotland, to commit murders in France; he had avenged hi8 own just quarrel, but he would neither, for price nor prayer, avenge that of another man. — Thu- anus, cap. 46. " The regent's death happened 23d January, 1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, by contem- porary historians, according to their religious or party prejudices. The triumph of Blackwood is unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh, 'who,' he obseives, 'satisfied, with a single ounce of lead, him, whose sacrile- gious avarice had stripi)ed the metropolitan church of St Andrews of its covering :' but he ascibes it to immediate divine inspiration, and the escape of Hamilton to little less than the miraculous interference of the Deity. — Jebb, vol. ii. p. 263. With equal injustice, it was, by others. *made the ground of a general national reflection ; ]j for, when Mather urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and quoted the examples of Poltrot and Bothwellhaugh, the other conspirator an- ! swered, 'that neyther Poltrot nor Hambleton j did attempt their enterpryse, without some rea- I son or consideration to lead them to it : as the I one, by hyre, and promise of preferment or re- j warde ; the other, upon desperate mind of I revenge, for a lytle wrong done unto him, as I the report goethe, accordinge to the vyle trayterous dysposysyon of the hoole natyon of the scottes.' "— Jlfurdin'* State Papers, vol. i. p. 197.] Whkn princely Hamilton's abode Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, The song went round, the goblet flowed. And revel sped the laughing hours. Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound. So sweetly rung each vaulted wall. And echoed light the dancer's bound. As mirth and music cheer'd the hall. But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid. And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er. Thrill to the music of the shade. Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. You bid me tell a minstrel tale. And tune my harp, of Border frame. On the wild banks of Evandale. For thou, from scenes of courtly pride. From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn. To draw oblivion's pall aside. And mark the long-forgotten urn. Then, noble maid I at thy command. Again the crumbled hails shall rise ; Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand. The past returns — the present flies. — Where, with the rock's wood-cover'd side. Were blended late the ruins green. Rise turrets in fantastic piide. And feudal banners flaunt between: Where the rude torrent's brawling course Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe The ashler buttress braves its force, And ramparts frown in battled row. 226 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Tig night— the shade of keep and spire Obscurely dance on Evan's stream. And on the wave the warder's fire Is chequering the moon -light beam. Fades slow their light ; the east is grey ; The weary warder leaves his tower ; Steeds snort; uncoupled stag-hounds bay. And merry hunters quit the bower. The draw-bridge fells — they hurry out — Clatters each plank and swinging chain. As, dashing o'er, the jovial route Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. First of his troop, the chief rode on ; * His shouting merry-men throng behind; The steed of princely Hamilton Was fleeter than the mountain wind. From the thick copse the roe-bucks bound. The startling red-deer scuds the plain. For the hoarse bugle's warrior sound Has roused their mountain haunts again. Through the huge oaks of Evandale, Whose limbs a thousand years have worn. What sullen roar comes down the gale. And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ' Mightiest of all the beasts of chace. That roam in woody Caledon, Crashing the forest in his race, The Mountain Bull conies thundering on. Fierce, on the hunters' quiver'd band. He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow. Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand. And tosses high his mane of snow. Aim'd well, the chieftain's lance has flown ; Struggling in blood the savage lies ; His roar is sunk in hollow groan — Sound, merry huntsmen ! sound tixePryse! f * The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was James, earl of Arran, duke of Chatel- herault, in France, and first pei,<- of the Scottish realm. In 1569, he was appointed by Queen Mary her lieutenant-general in !tablischt all thing in this lart. To Liddisdaiil agane he did r^^o t, Throw Ewisdail, Eskdail, and a 1 the dailU rode he. And aUo lay three nights iu Caiina lie, Whair na prince lay thir Imndied yeiris before. Nae thief durst stir, they did iiiin feir so sair; And, that thay «uld na mair thair thift allege, Tureescore and twelf he brocht of them in pledge, Syue wardit thame, whilk maid the rest keep ordonr, Than mycht the rasch-biig keep ky on the bnrrtour." Scottish Poems, 16th century, p. 232.— Scott. § Hackbut lent— dan cock'd. jl The carbine, with which the regent was shot, is preserved at Hamilton palace. It is a brass piece, of a middling length, very small in the bore, and, what is rather extraordinary, appears to have been rifled or indented In the barrel. It had a match-lock, for which a modern fire-lock has been injudiciously substituted. — Scoit. ^ Of this noted person, it is enough to gay, that he was active in the murder of David Rizzio, and at least privy to that of Darnley.— Sco«. *• This clan of Lennox Highlanders were at- 228 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " OlcnoUni and (tout P»rkbe«d were ni(h, ' Obfequioiu at their rcgeot'a rein, And haggard Liodetajr'a Iron «7e. That law (Ur Mary weep In vain, f 'Mid pennon'd ipeara, a steely giore, Frond Murray '■ plumage floated high ; tacfaed tothe regent Marrar. Holinehed, epeak- Ing of the battle of Langiyde, lay*, "in tht« batayle the valiancle of an belland gentleman, nan.ed MadkrUne, etood the regeot'i part in great etecde ; for, in the hottest bninte of the flghte, be came up with two hundred of bit friendee and cuttntiymen, and to manfully gave in upon the flankes of the qneen'i people, that he wa* a great caoae of the dieordering of them. This Macfarlane had been lately before, a* I have heard, condemned to die, for eonie outrage by him committed, and obtaining pardon through ■uyte of the eour.teat of Murray, he recompcnoed that clemencie by this piece of lenrice now at this batayle." Oahlerwood'eaooountitleaibvoaiable to the Maofkrlanee. He states that Maclkriane, with his highlandmen, fled from the wing where they were set. The lord Lindsay, who stood nearest to them in the regent's battle, said, ' Let them go I I shall All their plaee better :' and so, stepping forward, with a oompaoy of a«th men, charged the enemy, wboee spears were now spent, with long weapons, so that they were driven back by foroe, being befoie almost over- thrown by the araunt-guard and harquebusiers, and s<> were tamed to flight."— Co/rfermoprf'* MS. mpud Ktith, p. 4S0. Melville mcnUuns the flight of the vangu.^rd, but states it to liave been com- manded by Morton, and composed chiefly of commoners of the barony of Benf^w. — Salt. * The earl f.f Olencalrn was a steady adherent of the regent George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the earl of Morton, whose horse was killed by the same baU by which Mur- ray kll.— Scott. t Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the moet ftrooious and brutal of the regent s (iMstioo, and, as such, watemployed to extort Mary's signature to the deed of resignation presented to her in Lochlevln castle. Hedischarged his commission with the most savage rigour: and it is even said, that when the weeping captive, in the act of signing, averted her eyes froi. the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his iron glove. A Boaroe could hb trampUni; charger move. So close the minions crowded nigh. | " From the raised visor's shade, hie eye. Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along. And his steel tnincheon, waved on high, Seem'd marshalling tlM iron throng. " But yet his sadden 'd brow condMa'd A paMiog shade of doubt and awe ; Some Bend was whispering in his breast, ' Beware of iivjured Bothwellhaugh 1' " The death-shot parts — the charger springe— Wild rises tumult's startling roari And Murray's plumy helmet rings — — Bings on the ground, to rise no more. " What Joy the raptured youth can ffeel. To hear her love the loved one tell. Or be, who broaches on his steel The wolf, by whom bis Infiint fell 1 " But dearer, to my injured eye, To see In dust proud Murray roll ; And mine was ten times trebled Juy, To hear him groan his felon soul. " My Margaret's spectre glided nesr ; With pride her bleeding victim saw ; And shrieked in his death-deafen'd ear, * Bemember injured Buthwellhaugh !' " Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! Spread to the wind thy bannered tree ! Each warrior bend bis Clydeedale bow !— Murray is fallen, and Scotland free." Vanlta every warrior to his steed ; Loud buglet Join their wild acclaim— " Murray is fkllen, and Scotland freed ! Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame !" \ Not only had the regent notice of the in- tended attempt upon his life, but even of the very house from which it was threatened. With that Infatuation, at which men wonder, after such events have happened, he deemed it would be a sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous spot. But even this was prevented by the crowd : so that Bothwellhaugh had time to take a deliberate ^m.—SpottUnoode, p. 833. Buchanan.— ScoU. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 229 I'D!, Me ! the mineM vi«!on flUl.- 4 " 0, ye'M get James, or ye'M get George, The glimmering tpeart are Men no more ; Or ye-M get bonnie Johnnie ; The shout! of wwr die on the gmlee. Ye'M get the flower o' a' my sons, Or >ink in Erant lonely row. Gin ye'U tbrmSu my WUUe.- For the loud bugle, pealing high, " O, what eare I for James or George, The blackbird whUUee down the rale. Or yet for bonnie Peter? And sunk in Wied ruins lie I dinna value their love a leek. The baaner'd towers of Krandale. An' I getna Willie the writer. For cbieft, intent on bloody deed. •• 0, WlUle has a bonnie hand. And Vengeanoe, shouting o'er the slain. And dear but It U bonnie : Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed, He ha* nae malr for a' bis land. Or graceful guide* the sUken rein. What woa'd ye do wl' Willie?" And long may Peaoe and Plearare own •<0, WlUle ha* a bonnie (hoe, The maids, who list the mlMtrel's tale ; And dear but it is bonnio ; Nor e'er a ruder gueet be known But Willie ha* nae other graoe. On the Oir banks of Evandole ! What wou-d ye do wi' Willte ? "WUlto's fair, and Willie's rare. And Willie's wondrous bonnie ; There's nane wl' him that can ooropare. mnWi SitoSoneD in I love him best of ony." ([&amerg. On WednMday. that fiital day. The people were convening j Beeide* all this, thraewsore and ten. To gang to the bnde*tool wl' bim. [ FaoM Bochans Ballads of the North. Frag. menu of this are to be found in some song oollec- " Ride on, ride on, my merry men a'. tions. but here we ha»e It oomplet.'.— " The I've forgot something behind me ; uiifurtumito hero of this ballad," says Mr Bacban, I've forgot to get my moUier's bleMing. " was a Ikctor to the laird of Kinmundy. As To gae to the brideetool wl' me." the young woman to whom he was to be united in connubial wedlock resided in Oamery. a small " Your Peggy *he'* but bare flfeteen, fishing town on the east coast of the Murray And ye are *car«ely twenty ; Frith, the marriage was to be solemniaed In the The water o' Gamery i* wide and braid. church of that parish, to whiuh he was on hia My heavy curM gang wi' thee !" way, when overUken by some of the heary breaker* which overflow a part of the road be Then they rode on. and further on. had to pan, and dash, with Impetuous ftiry. Till they came on to Gamery ; against the lofty and adamantine rocks with The wind wa* loud, the *tream wa* proud which it is skirted. The young danuel, in her And wi' the stream gaed WlUie. fifteenth year, also met with a watery grare. being the wagem of her mother's malison. This Then they rode on, and further on. ballad will remind the reader of the Drowned Till they came to the kirk o' Gamery j Lo»ers, who shared the same fUte in the river And every one on high horM sat. Clyde."] But Willie's hOTM rade tuomly. " WiiLia U (Mr, and Willie U rare. When they were Mttled at that place. And Willie U wond'rous bonnie; The people fell a mourning ; And WlUle say* heUI marry me. I And a council held amo' thiin a'. k But sair, sair wept IClnmundy. Gin ever he marry ony." 230 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then ont it speaks the bride hersel'. Says, " What means a' this mourning ? Where is the man amo' them a', That should gi'e me fair wedding ?" Then out it speaks his brother John, Says, " Meg, 111 tell you plainly. The stream was strong, the clerk rade wrong. And Willie's drown'd in Gamery." She put her hand up to her head. Where were the ribbons many ; She rave them a", let them down fa'. And straightway ran to Gamery. She sought it up, she sought it down. Till she was wet and weary; And in the middle part o' it. There she got her deary. Then she stroak'd back his yellow hair. And kiss'd his mou' sae comely ; " My mother's heart's be as wae as thine, We'se baith sleep in the water o' Gamery." f Thk story of this ballad is the same with that of " Little Musgrave and Lord Barnard," in Dr Percy's Beliques, here altered by reciterg to the meridian of Angus-shire.] " I HAVE a tiwer in Dalisberry, Which now is dearly dight. And 1 will gi'e it to young Musgrave To lodge wi' me a* night." " To lodge wi' thee a' night, fair lady. Wad breed baith sorrow and strife , For I see by the rings on your fingers. You're good Lord Barnaby's wife." " Lord Barnaby's wife although I be. Yet what is that to thee f For we'll beguile him for this ae night- He's on to fair Dundee. " Oome here, come here, my little foot-page. This gold I will give to thee. If ye will keep thir secrets close 'Tween young Musgrave and me. " But here I have a little penknife. Hangs low down by my gare ; Gin ye wmna keep thir secrets close, Ye'U find it wonder sair." Then she's ta'en him to her chamber. And down in her arms lay he : — The boy coost aff his hose and shoon. And ran to fair Dundee. When he cam' to the wan water. He slack'd his bow and swam ; And when he cam' to growin' grass. Set down his feet and ran. And when he cam' to fair Dundee, Wad neither chap nor ca' ; But set his brent bow to his breast. And merrily jump'd the wa'. " O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord. Waken, and come away !" " What ails, what ails my wee foot-page. He cries sae lang ere day. "O is my bowers brent, my boy ? Or is my castle won ? Or has the lady that 1 lo'e best Brought me a daughter or son ?" " Your ha's are safe, your bowers are safe. And free frae all alarms; But, oh ! the lady that ye lo'e best Lies sound in Musgrave's arms." " Gae saddle to me the black," he cried, " Gae saddle to me the gray ; Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed. To hie me on my way."— " O lady, I heard a wee horn toot. And it blew wonder clear ; And ay the turning o' the note. Was ' Barnaby will be here !' " I thought I heard a wee horn blaw. And it blew loud and high ; And ay at ilka turn it said, * Away, M usgrave, away !' " " Lie still, my dear ; lie still, my dear ; Ye keep me frae the cold ; For it is but my father's shepherds Driving their flocks to the fold." ■I SCOTTISH BALLADS. 231 Up they lookit, and down they lay, 4i And they're fa'en sound asleep ; Till up stood good Lord Barnaby, Just close at their bed feet. •' How do you like my bed, Musgrave ? And how like ye my sheets ." And how like ye my fair lady. [This affecting and highly poetical ballad is Lies in your arms and sleeps ?" given in Mr Chambers' Collection, chiefly from the recitation of his grandmother, assisted by a " Weel like I your bed, my lord. fragment in the Border Minstrelsy, called " The Andweellikelyoursheeta; Wife of Usher's WeU," and Mr Buchan's ver- But ill like I your fair lady. sion of the ballad.] Lies in my arms and sleeps." Part First. " You got your wale o' se'en sisters. And I got mine o' five; I vriix sing to you a sang. Sae tak' ye mine, and I's tak' thine. Will grieve your heart full sair; And we nae mair sail strive." How the Clerk's twa sons o' Owsenford Have to learn some unco lear. " 0, my woman's the best woman That ever brak' worlds bread ; They hadna been in fair Parish,* And your woman's the warst woman A twelvemonth and a day, That ever drew coat o'er head." Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in love, Wi' the Mayor's dauchters twae. " I ha'e twa swords in ae seabbert. They are baith sharp and clear : And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote. Tak' ye the best, and I the warst. The ladies sewed and sang ; And we'll end the matter here. There was mair mirth in that chamber. Than in a' fair Ferrol's land. " But up, and arm thee, young Musgrave, We'Utryithan'tohan'; But word's gane to the michty Mayor, It's neer be said o' Lord Barnaby, As he sailed on the sea. He strack at a naked man." That the Clerk's twa sons made licht lemans O' his fair dauchters twae. The first straik that young Musgrave got. It was baith deep and sair; " If they ha'e wranged my twa dauchters, And down he fell at Barnaby's feet. Janet and Maijorie, And a word spak' never mair. The morn, ere I taste meat or drink. Hie hangit they shall be." " A grave, a grave !" Lord Barnaby cried. " A grave to lay them in ; And word's gane to the Clerk himself. My lady shall lie on the sunny side. As he was drinking wine. Because of her noble kin." That his twa sons at fair ParUh Were bound in prison Strang. But oh, how sorry was that good lord. For a' his angry mood. Then up and spak- the Clerk's ladye. Whan he beheld his ain young son And she spak' tenderlie: All welfring in his blood • " tak* wi' ye a purse o' gowd. Or even tak' ye three ; And if ye canna get William, ^ Bring Henry hame to me." •Pari*. 232 SCOTTISH BALLADS. O eneeOj sang the nightingale, 4 He's ta-en a whip into his hand. As she sat on the wand ; And lash'd them wond'rous sair: But sair, sair mourned Owsenford, " Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmeis, As he gaed in the strand. Te'se never see them ma'T." When he came to their prison Strang, Then out it speaks auld Owsenford; He rade it round about. A sorry man was he : And at a little shot-window. " Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs ; His SODS were looliing out. For a' this maunna be." " lie ye there, my sons," he said. Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry : " For owsen or for kye ? " Come here, Janet, to me ; Or what is it that ye Ue for. Will ye gi'e me my faith and troth. 6ae sair bound as ye Ue ?" And love, as I ga'e thee ?" " We He not here for owsen, father; " Ye sail ha'e your faith and troth. Nor yet do we for kye ; Wi' God's blessing and mine." But it's for a little o' dear-boucht love. And twenty tiines she kissed his mouth. £ae sair bound as we lie. Her father looking on. " Oh, borrow us, borrow us,* lather," they said, Then out it speaks him gay William, "Come here, sweet Marjorie; " For the luve we bear to thee !" Will ye gi'e me my faith and troth. " O never fear, my pretty sons. And love, as 1 ga'e thee .■»" Weel borrowed ye saU be." " Tes, ye sail ha'e your faith and troth. Then he's gane to the miehty Mayor, And he spak' courteouslle ; " Will ye grant my twa sons' lives. Wi' God's blessing and mine." And twenty times she kissed his mouth. Her father looking on. Either fur gold or fee ? " O ye'll tak' aff your twa black hats. Or will ye be sae gude a man. As grant them baith to me ?" Lay them down on a stone. That nane may ken that ye are clerks. Till ye are putten doun."f " I'll no grant ye your twa sons' Uves, neither fur gold nor fee; The bonnie clerks they died that mom ; Nor will I be sae gude a man. Their loves died lang ere noon ; As gi'e them baith to thee; And the waefu' Clerk o' Owsenford But before the morn at twal o'clock. To his lady has gane haiiie. Ye'U see them hangit hie!" Part Second. Ben it came the Mayor's dauchters. Wi'kirtle coat alone; His lady sat on her castle wa'. Their eyes did sparkle like the gold. Beholding dale and doun ; As they tripped on the stone. And there she saw her ain gude lord Come walking to the tuun. " Will ye gi'e us our loves, fether ? For gold or yet fur fee f " Ye're welcome, yere welcome, my ain gude Or will ye take our own sweet Uves, Ye re welcome hame to me ; [lord. And let our true loves be ? But whereaway are my t»a sons? Ye suld ha'e brought lHem wi' ye." * Bansom. i } t rut to death. • . 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 233 '* they are putten to a deeper lear, ^ it's they've ta'en up their mother's mantil. And to a higher scule : And they've hung it on a pin : Your ain twa sons will no he hame " lang may ye hing, my mothers mantil. Till the hallow days C Yule." Ere ye hap us again." • " 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" !" ^^e €&i^c Mulluz. The hallow days o' Yule were come. And the nights were lang and mirk. When in and cam' her ain twa sons, [A FRAGMENT of thls Originally appeared in And their hate made o' the birk. . Johnson's Museum. It is here extended from two copies given by Mr Buchan. The subject of It neither grew in syke nor ditch. the ballad will be found in the 5th book of Nor yet in ony sheuoh ; Henry the Minstrel's Wallace.] But at the gates o' Paradise That birk grew fair eneuch. Wallacb wicht, upon a nicht. Cam' riding ower a linn ; " Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine, And he is to his leman's bouir. Bring water from the well ; And tirl'd at the pin. For a' my house shall feast this night. Since my twa sons are well. " sleep ye, or wake ye, lady ?'• he cried ; " Ye'll rise and let me in." " eat and drink, my merry-men a'. " wha is this at my bouir door. The better shall ye fare; That knocks and knows my name ■"' For my twa sons they are come hame " My name is William Wallace; To me for evermair." Ye may my errand ken." And she has gane and made their bed. " The truth to you I will rehearse— She's made it saft and fine ; The secret I'll unfauld ; And she's happit them wi' her gay mantil. Into your enemies' hands, this nicht. Because they were her ain.* I fairly ha'e you sauld." But the young cock crew in the merry Lin- " If that be true ye tell to me. And the wild fowl chirped for day ; Lkum, Do ye repent it sair?" And the aulder to the younger said. " Oh, that I do," she said, " dear Wallace, " Brother, we maun away. And will do evermair ! "The cock doth craw, the day doth daw. " The English did surround my house. The channerin worm doth chide ; And forcit me theretill ; Gin we be missed out o' our place. But for your sake, my dear Wallace, A sair pain we maun bide." I cuuld burn on a hill." " Lie still, lie still a little wee while. Then he ga'e her a loving kiss; Lie still but if we may ; The teir drapt frae his e'e ; Gin ray mother should miss us when she Says, " Fare ye weel for evermair; She'll gae mad ere it be day." [wakes. Your face nae mair I'll see." She dress'd him in her ain claithing. * Variation in the Border Minstrelsy : And she has made to them a bed. She's made it large and wide ; And she's ta'en her mantel her about. And frae her house he came; Which made the Englishmen admire Sat down at the bed side. > f To see sic a stalwart darnel 234 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Now Wallace to the Hielands went, i Where nae meat nor drink had he ; Said, "Fa" me life, or fa' me death. To softie toun I maun drie." ^ Now he's gane to the West-muir wood. And pulled a trustie trie ; And then he's on to the hostler gone. Asking there for charitie. He steppit ower the river Tay— On the North Inch* steppit he; And there he saw a weel-faured May, Was washing aneath a tree. Doun the stair the captain comes. The puir man for to see : " If ye be captain as gude as ye look. You'll give me some supplie." " What news, what news, ye weel-faured What news ha'e ye to me ? [May ? What news, what news, ye weel-faured May, What news in the south countrie ?" " Where were ye born, ye cruikit carle ? Where, and in what countrie J" " In fair Scotland, sir, was I bom, Cruikit carle as ye ca' me." " see ye, sir, yon hostler-houw That stands on yonder plain? This very day have landit in it FuU fifteen Englishmen, "01 wad give you fifty pounds Of gold and white monie ; I wad give you fifty pounds. If Wallace ye would let me see." " In search of Wallace, our champion, Intending he should dee !" "Then, by my sooth," says Wallace wicht, " These Englishmen I'se see. " Tell doun your money," quo* the cruikit " Tell doun your money good ; [carle, I'm sure I have it in my pouir. And never had a better bode." " If I had but in my pocket The worth of a single pennie, I wad gang to the hostler-house. These gentlemen to see." The money was told upon the table. Of silver pounds fiftie: " Now here I stend 1" quo' the gude Wallace, And his cloke frae him gar'd flie. She put her hand in her pocket. And pulPd out half-a-croun. Says, " Tak- ye that, ye beltit knicht. And pay your lawin doun." As he went frae the weel-faured May, He slew the captain where he stood ; The rest they did quake and rair : He slew the rest around the room ; Syne ask'd if there were ony mair. A beggar bold met he. Was cover'd wi' a clouted cloke. In his band a trustie tree. "What news, what news, ye silly auld " Get up, get up, gudewife," he says, " And get me some dinner in haste * For it soon wiU be three lang days time. Sin' a bit o' meat 1 did taste !" mani> What news ha'e ye to gie ?" " No news, no news, ye beltit knicht. No news hae 1 to thee. But fifteen lords in the hostler-house The dinner was na well readie. Nor yet on the table set. When other fifteen Englishmen Were lichtit at the yett. Waiting Wallace for to see." " Ye'll lend to me your clouted cloke. That kivers ye frae held to shie; And I'll go to the hostler-house. To ask for some supplie." " Come out, come out, thou traitor, Wallace This is the day ye maun dee 1" " I lippen nae sae little to God," he says, " Although I be but iU wordie." The gudewife had an auld gmleman; By gude Wallace he stifily stude. Till ten o' the fifteen Englishmen Lay before the door in their blade. the Tay, near Fentu—Chambfr*. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 235 The other five he took alive. To the greenwood as they ran ; And he has hanged them, hot mercie. Up hich upon a grain. Now he is on to the North Inch gone. Where the May was washing tenderlie. " Now, by my sooth," said the gude Wallace, " It's been a sair day's wark to me." He's put his hand in bis pocket. And pulled out twenty pounds ; Says, " Tak' ye that, ye weel-faured May, For the gude luck o' your half-croun." Full five-and-twenty men he slew, Five hanged upon a grain ; On the morn he sat, wi' his merry-men a'. In Lochmaben toun at dine. THE GUDE WALLACE. [Tnis is a modern extension by Mr Jamiesos, of a fragment given in Johnson's Museum. The fragment, along with the melody, was taken down by Burns from oral communication, and transmitted to the Museum. The heroic Wal» lace was doubtless the subject of many ballads and songs which have been lost in the lapse of ages.] ^ The Wallace wicht, wi' his merry men a', Frae Striveling is southward gane ; And he's got word that the Earl Percy Was out wi' sax thousand Englishmen. His menyie he's left i' the gude green wood. To rest frae the heat by the greenwood tree ; His menyie he's left wi' the trusty Graham, And he's gane to scout in the south countrie. The Wallace out over yon river he lap. And fast he hied him over yon lee. Till, at a well washin' her claes. He was aware of a fair ladie. And ay as she wush, she sabbit sair. And her cheeks the saut tear ay did weet : " What tidins, what tidins, fair ladie ?" he said; " Or what aUs thee to gar thee greet ? " Mair meet it were in princely bower, Wi' noblest feres thy youth should won ; It rewis my heart, a flower sae meek Misaunteris bub should blaw upon ! " Thir cheeks should rosy dimples wear, Thir een should shine wi' love and glee"— " Och lang," the lady sich'd and said, " Has joy been strange in this countrie. "My father they kill'd, they kill'd my bri- ther. They herryit our fald, and brent our ha' ; Me they've — ochon ! my heart will brak ! — My true love to England's reft awa". " Yet hope, gin Wallace had thriven, I had. That I my lemman yet mat see. Revenge on Cressingham to wrack. For a' the wrangs he's gart me dree. " But Pierey, wi' the fause earl Warren, And Cressingham (ill mat he speed .') Are dackerin' wi' sax thousand mair, Frae Coupar to Berwick upon Tweed. " And down in yon wee ostler house Now ligs full fyfteen English Strang, And they are seekin' the gude Wallace, Its him to tak', and him to hang." " There's nought in my purse," quo' gude Wallace, " Sma' spulyie ha'e they to get frae me ; But I will down to yon wee ostler house, Thir fifteen Englishmen to see. " I've but this brand; wi' whilk, God will, I'll mak' them sic cheer as I dow" — " Sae God thee speed," said the ladie fair, " And send us ten thousand sic as you !" And whan he cam' to yon wee ostler house. He bade benedicite be there ; The gude-wife said, " Ye're welcome, c me ben, Mair welcome, I wat, nor twa 'r three w air.' The gude-man syne came in frae the hill, A braw fat gimmer upon his back ; He ferlied to see that strange menzie. Sic cheer and mows at his ingle mak' 23 G SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Te're hamelie fallow*, to be sae frem ! A He hat the proud captain alang the chaft blade, I breWd nae browst for kettrin like ye ; That never a bit o' meal he ate mair; God send the days puir Scotland has seen. He stiekit the laive at the buird whare they sat. And a bitter browst to you 'twiU be !" And he left tiiem a' lyin' sprawlin' there. " Welcome, auld carl !" said the captain; " Sae God me shield," said the gude Wallace, " Auld cruikit carl, wi' your fat yow ; " Though hard bested, I've done wi' tiiae; It weel will saur wi' the icude brown yill ; Sae God me shield," said the gude Wallace, And the four spawls o't I wat we's cow." " And send me as mony sothroun mae." " The spawU o' it gin ye should cow. Bumbaied the gude-man glowr'd a wee. 111 will 1 thole to brook the wrang. Syne hent the Wallace by the han' ; But gin 1 had ye in gude Brae Murray, " lU he ! it can be nane but he !" I'd gar ye sing anither sang. The gude-wife on her knees had faun. " There Edderfs glaive and Edderfs goud " Hale be your hearts, ye couthie tvva. Ha'e ettled at thirldome in vain ; I'm he, I'm Wallace, as ye trow ; And aair will England some day rue But faut and mister ha'e done mair. The wrangs we've a' frae Eddert ta'en. Nor e'er could thae my head to bow. " God red our Wallace wicht frae harm. " Get up, gude-wife, gin Christ ye luve. And send our gude earl Robert here ; Some meltith fess to me in haste ; For cowart art and lawless rief, For it will soon be three lang days We'll soon our score wi' Eddert clear.' Sin' I a bit o' meat did taste." " whare was ye born, auld cruikit carl ? I wat the gude-wife wasna sla; Your leed saurs na o' thU countrie"— But hardly on the buird 'twas set. " A true Murray Scott I'm born and bred, Till ither fyfteen Englishmen And an auld cruikit carl just sic as ye Were a' lichted about the yett. 1 " Come out, come out, thou fause Wallace, " I'll gie fyfteen shiUins to thee, cruikit For weel we wat that here ye be ; carl, i Come out, come out, thou traitor Wallace ; For a friend to him ye kythe to me. Its oer late now to flinch or fiee. Gin ye'll tak' me to the wicht Wallace ; For up-sides wi'm I mean to be." " The tod is ta'en in his hole, Wallace ; This is the day that thou maun die." ^ " I'm but an auld cruikit carl, God wot. " I lippen na sae little to God," he 8;vys, Stiff and onfeirie to wliat I've been ; " Althoch that I be ill wordie." My glaive lang syne was hung o" the knag. And three score and five thir haffets ha'e The gudeman lap to his braid claymore, seen. That hang on the knag aside the speir ; A lance the wife hent down frae the bauk, " But leal my heart beats yet, and warm ; That aft had shane fu' sharp in weir. Thoch auld onfeirie and lyart I'm now; Were wicht Wallace here, wi' nane but His burly brand the Wallace drew, mysel'. And out he braided at the do t . For a' Edderfs kingdom I wadna be you!" His stalwart back he turn'd to tlie wa'. And firmly set his foot before. A rung the Wallace had intill his han'. A burly kent as well mat be. His trusty-true twa-hannit glaive That ance afore redd him frae skaith, Afore him swang he manfullie. Whan tellin' his beads by the greenwood While anger lucken'd his dark brows. tree. » And Uke a wood-wolf glanst his e'e. _ SCOTTISH BALLADS. 237 " Art thou that bousteous bellaniy," Bowden wi' rage, said the captain ; *• That fblloun traitor, that sae feil O douohty Englishmen h&a slain ? " Mat God assoile me, but it glads My hart this tyde to meet thee sae ! My ae brither by the Earn lies dead ; But in thy heart's bluid I'll verack my wae," " I weird thee, to let me be were best ; Nocht do I grein thy bluid to spill ; Fierce as thy brither was, and fell. Southron, he was thy brither still ; " And laith were I," quoth the gude Wal- lace, Lowerin' his glaive in mylder muid, " To skaith the rueful heart that yearns But to revenge a brither's bluid. " Then force na this hand to wirk thy bale. But tak' my rede, and lat me gang." " Tyke, by the rude thou 'scapes nat sae !" And fierce at him the butler sprang. A thud wi' his keen swerd he loot. To cleave the Wallace to the chin ; But his bonnet, thoch o' the claith without. Was o' the trusty steel within. " Ya, wilt thou ?" said Wallace, " then tak' thee that !" And derfly strak a dynt sae dour. That through the craig and shouther blade At ance the trenchand weapon shure.'' * This stroke of the might Wallace is nothing to the following : — " One Sir David de Anand, a right valiant knight, chanced to be wounded by one of the enemies, by reason whereof he was so kindled in wrathful desire to be revenged, that with an axe which he had in his hande, he raughte bis adversaria, that had hurt him, suche a blow on the shoulder, that he clove hym togi- ther with his horse, and the axe stayed not till it light upon the verie harde pavement, so as the print of the violente stroke remained to be sene along tyme after in one of the stones of the same pavement."— HoUnshed's History of Scotland, F. 343,1. Agast the sothroun stood a stound : Syne hamphis'd him, pele-mele, ane and a'. And vapourin' wi' burnist swerds, gan shout, "Revenge, revenge! fy, tak' and slai" The auld gude«man had the auld man's grip, Thoch nae sae feirie as he had been ; Sae steevely he by the Wallace stood. Were few that to meet his glaive mat grein. And bauld and bardaoh the gude-wife Sae derf couth wield her gude brown spear ; To fecht for her country and gude-man. Could Scotswoman own a woman's fear ? The first that strak at the gude Wallace, The auld gude-man shure his craig in twa. *• Weel doon, my fere !" said the Wallace then ; " Wi' thee 'twere a shame to tak" to the Syne grippit his brand wi' micht and ire. And forward throw the press he flang; Sic thuds on ilka side he dealt. That down to the dead the frieks he dang. "Wi* deadly dynts the baldest ten 0' the sothroun, that the starkest stuid. The wicht Wallace and thir trusty twa Ha'e laid o' the green dicht In their bluid. The tither five to the green-wood ran ; On a grain they hav git them but ransoun ; And neist day wi' Wallace' merry men a'. They sat at dine in Lochmaben town. This sword of the good Sir David seems to have been little inferior to the enchanted glaiv- mor of Fingal, so famous in the tales of the Highlanders, that would by mere dint of its ov/n innate viitue, cut through anything that was struck with it, and could not be stopt till it came to the ground. This unlucky propensity in the sword to go farther than was intended, often occasioned sad mistakes and accidents, many of which make the ground-work of tales which are still repeated by the winter's evening fire-side. Jamieson. V 238 SCOTTISH BALLADS. [In Johnson's Museum, a fragment of this ballad is given, under the title of " Lord Bonald my Son." This fragment was furnished by Burns to that worli, along with the air to which it is sung. Burns sajs that the air is a favourite one in Ayrshire, and supposes that it is the original of LorJia- Ler. In the Border Minstrelsy, the following more complete version of the ballad is given under the head of '' Lord Randal." Scott says, " The hero is more generally termed Lord Ronald ; but I willingly follow the authority of an Ettrick Forest copy for calling him Randal; because, though the circumstances are so very different, I think it not impossible, that the ballad may have originally regarded the death of Thomas Randolph, or Randal, earl of Murray, nephew to Robert Bruce, and governor of Scotland. This great warrior died at Musselburgh, 1332, at the moment when his services were most necessary to his country, already threatened by an English army. For this sole reason, perhaps, our historians obstinately impute his death to poison. See The Bruce, book XX. Fordun repeats, and Boece echoes, this story, both of whom charge the murder on Ed- ward III. But it is combated successfully by Lord Uailes, in his Remarks on the History of Scot- land. The substitution of some venomous reptile for food, or putting it into liquor, was anciently supposed to be a conimon mode of administering poison." He adds, " there is a very similar song, which, apparently to excite greater interest in the nursery, the handsome young hunter is ex- changed for a little child, poisoned by a false step-mother." The nursery song to which Sir Walter refers runs as follows. It is called " The Croodlin' Doo, " (Cooing Pigeon.) " Ch, whaur ha'e ye been a' the day, my bonnie wee croodlin' doo ?" " Oil, I've been at my grandmother's (step-mothers), mak' my bed mammie, dog I" " Oh, what gat ye at your grandmother's, my little wee croodlin' doo?" " I got a buiinie wee tishie, mak' my bed, mammie, noo!" "Oh whaur did she catch the fishie, my bonnie wee croodlin' doo?" " She catch'd it in the gutter-hole, mak' my bed, mammie, noo '." "And what did she do wi' the fish, my little wee croodlin' doo?" " She bulled it in a brass pan, oh, mak' my bed, mammie, noo." " And what did ye do wi' the banes o't, my bonnie wee croodlin' doo?" " 1 gied them to my little dog, mak' my bed, mammie, noo." In Buchan's Ballads of the North a rhyme very similar to the above is given under the name of " Willy Doo," The subject of the ballad seems to be universally popular in one shape or other. In Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, Mr Jamieson gives the commencement of a Suffolk ver- sion: " Where have you been to-day, Billy my son ? Where have you been to-day, my only man?" '* I've been a wooing motlier, make my bed soon ; For I'm kick at the heart, and fain would lie down." " What have you ate to day, Billy, my son ? What have you ate to-day, iny only man ?" " I've ate an eel -pie, mother, make my bed soon ; For I'm sick at the heart, and shall die before noon." Hr Jamieson also translates, as follows, a German popular ditty, entitled Grossmntter Soblaa- genkoechin, i. e. Grandmother Adder-cook. " Maria, what room have you been in— Maria, my only child?" ** I've been with my grandmother — alas, lady mother, what pain "* " Wliat hat she given thee to eat— Maria," &c. " She has given me fried fishes— a!a»," &c. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 239 « Where did she catch the little fishes— Maria," &« " Sue caught them in tlie kitcheu garden — alas," &c. " With what did she catch the little fishes— Maria," &c. ■* She caught them with rods and little stick*— alas," &c. " What did she do with the rest of the fishes— Maria," &c. •• She gave it to her little dark-brown dog— alas," &c. " And what became of the dark-brown dog— Maria," &c. " It burst into a thousand pieces— alas," fcc. " Maria, where shall I make thy bed — Maria, my only child?" " In the churchyard shalt thou make my bed— alas, lady mother, what pain !'' *' O WHKRK ha'e ye been. Lord Randal, my son ? O where ha'e ye been, my handsome young man ?" " I ha'e been to the wild wood ; mother, make my bed soon. For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." ** "Where gat ye your dinner. Lord Randal, my son ? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man ?" " I din'd wi' my true-love ; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and £ain wald lie down." " What gat ye to your dinner. Lord R;indal, my son ? What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man ?" " I gat eels boil'd in broo' ; mother, make my bed soon. For I'm weary wi' hunting, and Clin wald lie down." " What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son ? Wliat became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man ?" " O they swell'd and they died ; mother, make my Ited soon. For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down. ' " O I fear ye are poison'd. Lord Randal, my son ! O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man !" " O yes I 1 am poison'd ; mother, make my bed soon. For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.' LORD DONALD. [This fuller version of " Lord Randal" is given in Mr Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, Lon- don, 1827. It was procured in the North. "It would seem," says Mr Kinloch, "that Lord Donald had been poisoned by eating toads prepared as a dish of Bshes. Though the frog is in some countries considered a delicacy, the toad has always been viewed as a venomous animal. Might not the Scots proverbial phrase, " To gi'e one frogs instead of fish,'- as meaning to substitute what Is bad or disagreeable, for expected good, be viewed as allied to the idea of the venomous quaUty of the toad .■'" " O WHAKK ha'e ye been a' day. Lord Donald, my son ? O whare ha'e ye been a' day, my jollie young man ?" " I've been awa' courtin' ; mither, mak' my bed sune. For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doua." 240 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " What wad ye ha'e for your supper, Lord Donald, my son? What wad ye ha'e for your supper, my jollie young man '" " I've gotten my supper; mither, mak' my bed aune. For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." " What did ye get for your supper. Lord Donald, my son f What did ye get for your supper, my jollie young man ?" " A dish of sma' fishes ; mither, mak' my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and 1 fain wad lie doun." " Whare gat ye the fishes. Lord Donald, my son ? Whare gat ye the fishes, my jollie young man ?" " In my father's black ditches ; mither, mak' my bed sune. For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." " What like were your fishes. Lord Donald, my son ? What like were your fishes, my jollie young man ?" "Black backs and spreckl'd bellies; mither, mak' my bed sune. For I'm sick at the heart, and X fain wad lie doun." " O I fear ye are poison 'd. Lord Donald, my son ! O I fear ye are poison'd, my jollie young man I" " O yes! I am poison'd ; mither, mak' my bed sane. For I'm sick at the heart, and I fiiin wad lie doun." " What will ye leave to your father. Lord Donald, my son ? What will ye leave to your father, my jollie young man :"' "Baith my houses and land; mither, mak' my bed sune. For I'm sick at the heart, and I £Eun wad lie doun." *' What will ye leave to your brither. Lord Donald, my son? What will ye leave to your brither, my jollie young man i" " My horse and the saddle ; mither, mak' my bed sune. For I'm sick at the heart, and I Cain wad lie doun." " What will ye leave to your sister, Lord Donald, my son ? What will ye leave to your sister, my jollie young man ?" " Baith my gold box and rings ; mither, mak' my bed sune. For I'm sick at the heart, and 1 fain wad lie doun." " What will ye leave to your true-love. Lord Donald, my son? What will ye leave to your true-love, my jollie young man?" " The tow and the halter, for to hang on yon tree. And lat her hang there for the poysooing o' me." 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 241 ^ " Tae night, yae night, I dreamt this bower O red red blutle was fu' ; %&mmiMn* Gin ye gang to this black hunUng, 1 sail ha'e cause to rue." [TfTtt baDad generally called "LairiMikln" " Wha looks to dreams, my winsome dame ? •was at one time a popular one throughout Scot- Nae cause ha'e ye to fear;" land, and a number of different versions of it And syne he kindly kissed her cheek. exist, in which both the names of the hero and And syne the starting tear.— the locality celebrated vary. In the versions be- fore us, the hero figures under the different Now to the gude green-wood he's gane. names of " Lammiliin," " Lamkin," " Balcan- She to her painted bower. qual," " Lambert Linkin," and " Bold Rankin," But first she closed the windows and doors while the localities are also changed more or less. Of the castle, ha', and tower. " Lammikin" is supposed to be an ironical de- signation of the blood-thirsty mason. The earliest They steeked doors, they steeked yetts. printed copy of the ballad that can be traced is Close to the cheek and chin ; * that in Herd's collection, 1776; a more complete They steeked them a' but a wee wicket. and better copy is given in Jamieson's collection. And Lammikin crap in. 1806; another version by Finlay, in 1808; and another by Motherwell in 1827. All these we " Where are the lads C thU castle ?" reprint in the order in which we have specified Says the Lammikin ; them, and also add a version derived from oral tradition, which has not before been printed.] The false nouriee did sing. I. " Where are the lasses o* this casOe ?" Says the Lammikin ; [Hkkd's copy, with additional verses by Tinlay.] " They are a' out at the washing," The false nouriee did sing. Lammikin was as gude a mason " But Where's the lady o' this house.'" As ever hewed a stane ; Says the Lammikin ; He biggit Lord Weire's castle. " She is in her bower sewing," But payment gat he nane. The fklse nouriee did sing. " Sen ye winna gi'e me my guerdon, lord. " Is this the bairn o' this house ?" Sen ye winna gi'e me my hire. Says the Lammikin ; This gude castle, sae stately built. " The only bairn Lord Weire aughts," 1 sail gar rock wi' fire. The false nouriee did sing. " Sen ye winna gi'e me my wages, lord. Ye sail ha'e cause to rue." And syne he brewed a black revenge. And syne he vowed a vow.— Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe. While loud false nouriee sings ; Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, TiU high the red blude springs. The Lammikin sair wroth, sair wroth. Returned again to Downe ; " Still my bairn, nouriee. But or he gaed, he vow'd and vow'd. still him if ye can." The castle should sweep the ground.— " He will not still, madam, For a' his father's Ian'." " byde at hame, my gude Lord Weire, I weird ye byde at hame ; Gang na to this day's hunting. » Cheek and chin,— A proverbial phrase signi- To leave me a' alane. ^ ,■ fying completely. 242 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " 0, gentle nourice, still my bairn, * "I wanted for nae meat, ladle. Ostillhimwi' the keys;" I wanted for nae fee; " He will not stiU, fair lady. But I wanted for a hantle Let me do what I please." A fair lady could gi'e." " still my bairn, kind nourice. Then Lammikin drew his red red sword. O still him wi' the ring." And sharped it on a stane, " He will not still, my lady. And through and through this fair ladie. Let me do any thing." The cauld cauld steel is gane. " still my bairn, gude nourice. Nor lang was't after this foul deed. still him wi' the knife." Till Lord Weire cumin hame. " He will not still, dear mistress mine. Thocht he saw his sweet bairn's bluid Gin I'd lay down my life." Sprinkled on a stane. " Sweet nourice, loud loud cries my bairn. " I wish a' may be weel," he says. still him wi- the bell." " Wi' my ladie at hame ; " He will not still, dear lady. For the rings upon my fingers XUl ye cum down yoursel'. Are bursting in twain." The first step she stepped. But mair he look'd, and dule saw he. She stepped on a stane. On the door at the trance. The next step she stepped. Spots o' his dear lady's bluid She met the Lammikin. Shining like a lance. — And when she saw the red red blude. " There's bluid in my nursery. A loud skriech skrieched she,— There's bluid in my ha'. " monster, monster, spare my chUd, There's bluid in my fair lady's bower. Who never skaithed thee ! An' that's warst of a'." sweet sweet sang the birdie " spare, if in your bluidy breast Upon the bough sae hie. Abides not heart of stane ! But litUe cared false noriee for that. spare, an' ye sail ha'e o' gold For it was her gallows tree. That ye can carry hanie !" Then out he set, and his braw men " I carena for your gold," he said. Eode a' the country rouu'. " 1 carena for your fee. Ere lang they fand the Lammikin I ha'e been wranged by your lord. Had sheltered near to Downe. Black vengeance ye sail drie. They carried him a' airts o' wind. " Here are nae serfs to guard your ha's. And mickle pain had he. Kae trusty spearmen here ; At last before Lord Weire's gate In yon green wood they sound the horn, They hanged him on the tree. And chace the doe and deer. " Though merry sounds the gude green-wood Wi* huntsmen, hounds, and horn. 11 Your lord sail rue ere sets yon sun [Jamieson's version, who received it from He has done me skaith and scorn." Mrs Brown of Falkland.] " nourice, wanted ye your meat, It's Lamkin was a mason good. Or wanted ye your fee. As ever built wi' stane ; Or wanted ye for any thing He built lord Wearie's castle. A fair lady could gi'e ?" , But payment got he nane. _ aCOTTISH BALLADS. 243 " O pay me, lord Wearie ; Come, pay me my fee." "I canna pay you, Lamkin, For I maun gang o'er the sea." " O pay me now. Lord "Wearie ; Come, pay me out o' hand." " I canna pay you, Lamkin,* Unless I sell my land." " gin ye winna pay me, I here sail mak' a vow. Before that ye come hame again, Ye sail ha'e cause to rue." Lord AVearie got a bonnie ship. To sail the saut sea faem ; Bade his lady weel the castle keep. Ay till he should come hame. But the nourice was a fause limmer As e'er hung on a tree ; She laid a plot wi* Lamkin, When her lord was o'er the sea. She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, When the servants were awa' ; Loot him in at a little shot window. And brought him to the ha'. " O whare's a' the men o' this house. That ca' me Lamkin f" " They're at the barnwell thrashing, •Twill be lang ere they come in." " And whare's the women o* this house. That ca' me Lamkin ?" " They're at the far well washing ; •Twill be lang ere they come in." " And whare's the bairns o' this house. That ca' me Lamkin ?" " They're at the school reading; 'Twill be night or they come hame." " O, whare's the lady o' this house. That ca's me Lamkin ?" " She's up in her bower sewing. But we soon can bring her down," Then Lamkin's tine a sharp knife. That hang down by his gaire. And he has gi'en the bonnie babe A deep wound and a sair. ^ Then Lamkin he rocked. And the fause nourice sang, Till frae ilkae bore o' the cradle The red blood out sprang. Then out it spak* the lady As she stood on the stair, " What ails my bairn, nourice. That he's greeting sae sair ? " O still my bairn, nourice; O still him wi' the pap !" " He winna still, lady, For this, nor for that." " O, still my bairn, nourice ; O, still him wi' the wand !" " He winna still, lady. For a" his father's land." " O, still my bairn, nourice ; O, still him wi' the bell !" " He winna still, lady. Till ye come down yoursel'.'^ O, the firsten step she steppit. She steppit on a stane ; But the neisten step she steppit. She met him, Lamkin. " O mercy, mercy, Lamkin ! Ha'e mercy upon me ! Though you've ta'en my young son's 1 Ye may let mysel' be.^^ " O, saU I kill her nourice ? Or sail i lat her be ?" " O, kill her, kill her, Lamkin, For she ne'er was good to me." " O scour the bason, nourice. And mak' it fair and clean. For to keep this lady's heart's blood. For she's come o' noble kin." " There need nae bason, Lamkin, Lat it run through the floor; What better is the heart's blood O" the rich than o' the poor." But ere three months were at an end Lord VVeare came again ; But dowie dowie was his heart When first be came hame. 1 244 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " O, wha's blood is this," he says, i " That lies in the chamer?" "It is your lady's heart's blood; •lis as clear as the lamer." \ "0 please the bairn, nourice. And please him wi' the keys." "He'll no be pleased, madam. For a' that he sees." " And wha's blood is this," he says, " That Ues in my ha' ?" " It is your young son's heart's blood ; 'Tis the clearest ava." And Balcanqual ay rocked. While fause nourice sang. And throuA a' the cradle The baby's.blood ran. 0, sweetly sang the black-bird That sat upon the tree ; But sairer grat Lamkin, When he was condemn'd to die. -Please the bairn, nourice. And please him wi' the knife." "He'll no be pleased, madam. Though I'd gie my life." And bonnie sang the mavis Out o' the thorny brake ; But sairer grat the nourice. When she was tied to the stake. And Balcanqual still rooked. And fause nourioe sang, While through a' the cradle The baby's blood ran. III. " Now please the bairn, nourice» And please him wi' the bell." " He'll no be pleased, madam. Till ye come yoursel'."— [FiMLAY's copy, who gives it from a manu- script written by an old lady.] Down came this fair lady. Tripping down the stair. To see her sick bairn. But returned never mair.— When Balwaarie and his train Gaed to hunt the wild boar. He gar'd bar up his castle Behind and before. " Now scour the bason, Jenny, And scour't very clean. To haad this lady's blood. For she's of noble kin." And he bade his fair lady Guard weel her young son. For wicked Balcanqual Great mischief had done. She's lifted her baby. And kissed cheek and chin. And his ance rosy lips. But nae breath was within.— So she closed a' the windows Without and within. But forgot the wee wicket. And Balcanqual crap in. " Fare weel, my sweet baby, Ye've leftmealane; But I see my death coming, I needna make mane." Then up spak' fause nourice, " Haste up to the tower. Somebody knocks at the gate Bauldly and dowr." They've ta'en this fair lady. And tied her wi' bands. And in her sweet heart's blood They've dipped their hands. Syne Balcanqual he rocked. And fause nourice sang. Till through a' the cradle The baby's blood sprang. For Balcanqual and nourice Had vowd her to slae. Because their ill deeds k Made Balwearie their fae. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 245 Balwearie and his trmn ^ The gates they were bolted Cam' hame weary at e'en. Baith outside and in; Kae voice gied them welcome. And at the sma' peep of a window Nae light could be seen. Belinkin crap in. " Open, dear lady. " Gude morrow, gude morrow," My castle tome;" Said Lambert Linkin ; Nae voice gied an answer. " Gude morrow to yoursel', sir," Nae voice was to gi'e. isaid the fause nurse to him. " whare is your gude lord ?" Said Lambert Linkin ; " He's awa' to New England, IV. To meet with his king." [MoTHBR wELi/s vcrsion. — "The present copy," " O where is his auld son ?•' says Mr Motherwell, " is given from recitation. Said Lambert Linkin ; and though it could have received additions, and " He's awa' to buy pearlings perhaps improvements, from another copy, ob- Gin our lady ly in." tained from a similar source, and of equal au- thenticity, in his possession, the editor did not " Then she'll never wear them," like to use the liberty which is liable to much Said Lambert Linkin; abuse. To some, the present set of the ballad " And that is nae pity," may be valuable, as handing down both name Said the fause nurse to him. and nickname of the revengeful builder of Prime Castle; for there can be little doubt that the " where is your lady ?" epithet Linkin, Mr Lambert acquired from the Said Lambert Linkin ; secrecy and address with which he insinuated " She's in her bouir sleepin'," himself into that notable strength. Indeed all Said the fause nurse to Mm. the names of Lammerlinkin, Lammikin, Lam- kin, Lankin, Linkin, Belinkin, can easily be " How can we get at her ?" traced out as abbreviations of Lambert Linkin. Said Lambert Linkin ; In the present set of the ballad, Lambert Linkin " Stab the babe to the heart and Belinkin are used indifferently, as the mea- Wi' a silver bo'kin." sure of the verse may require ; in the other re- cited copy, to which reference has been made, it " That wud be a pity," is Lammerlinkin, and Lamkin ; and the noble- Said Lambert Linkin ; man for whom he * built a house,' is stated to " Nae pity, nae pity," be ' Lord Arran.' No allusion, however, is made Said the feuse nurse to him. here to the name of ihe owner of Prime Castle. Antiquaries, peradventure, may find it as. diffl- Belinkin he rocked. nult to settle the precise locality of this fortalice. And the fause nurse she sang. Till a' the tores* o' the cradle. as they have found it to fix the topography of Troy."] Wi' the red blude down ran. Belinkin was as gude a mason As e'er pickt a stane ; He built up Prime Castle, • Tore*.— The projections or knobs at the cor- But payment gat nane. ners of old-fashioned cradles, and the ornamen- tal balls commonly found surmounting the The lord said to his lady. backs of old chairs. Dr Jamieson does not seem When he was going abroad. to have had a precise notion of this word. Vide " beware of Belinkin, IV. Vol. of his Dictionary, twee Tore. For he lies in the wood." \ } MothtnveU. 1 246 SCOTTISH bAJLiiADS. " still my babe, nurice, ^ The lord sat in England still him wi' the knife;" A-drinking the wine: " He'll no be still, lady. " I wish a' may be weel Though 1 lay down my life." Wi' my lady at hame ; For the rings o' my fingers "0 still my babe, nurice. They're now burst iu twain I- still him wi' the kame; " "He'll no be still, lady, He saddled his horse. Till his daddy come hame." And he cam' riding doun j "0 still my babe, nurice, But as soon as he viewed. still him wi' the bell;" Belinkin was in. " He'll no be still, lady, Till ye come down yoursel'." He hadna weel stepped Twa steps up the stair. "Its how can I come doun , Till he saw his pretty young son This cauld frosty iiicht. Lying dead on the floor. Without e'er a coal 1 Or a clear candle licht?" He hadna weel stepped Other twa up the stair. " There's twa smocks in your cofifor. Till he saw his pretty lady As white as a swan. Put ane o' them about you. Lying dead in despair. It will show you Ucht doun." He hanged Belinkin She took ane C them about her. Out over the gate ; And came tripping doun ; But as soon as she viewed. And he burnt the fause nurice Being under the grate. Belinkin was in. " Gude morrow, gude morrow," Said Lambert Linkln ; T. " Gude morrow to yoursel', sir," Said the lady to him. [From a MS. in the possession of W. H. Logan, Esq., Edinburgh, derived from oral tra- | " Oh save my life, Belinkin, dition.] Till my husband come back. And I'll gi'e ye as much red gold Said the lord to the lady— As ye'li baud in your hat." " Beware of Rankin, For I'm going to England " I'll no save your life, lady. To wait on the king." Till your husband come back. Tho'you wud gi'e me as much red gold " No fears, no fears," As 1 could baud in a sack. Said the lady, said she, " For the doors shall be bolted. " Will I kill her ?•• quo' Belinkin, And the windows pindee. " WUl 1 kill her, or let her be?" " You may kill her," said the fause nurse. " Go bar all the windows " She was ne'er gude to me; Both outside and in. And ye'U be laird o' the castle. Don't leave a window open. And I'll be ladye." To let bold Kankin in." Then he cut aff her head She has barred up the windows, Frae her lily breast bane. All outside and in. And he hung't up in the kitchen. But she left ane of them open It made a' the ha' shine. ^ ^ To let bold Eankln in. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 247 " Oh ! where is the master of this house ?" i Said bold Rankin, " He's up in old England," Said the false nurse to him. \ " What eare I for as many guineas As seeds into a sack. When I cannot keep my hands Off your lily-white neck?" "Oh! where is the mistress of this house?" Said bold Ranliin, " She's up in her chamber sleeping," Said the false nurse to him. " Oh ! will I kill her, nursey, Orletherabee?" " Oh! kill her," said the false nurse, " She was never good to me." " Oh ! how shall we get her down ?" Said bold Rankin, " By piercing the baby," Said the false nurse to him. " Go scour the bason, lady. Both outside and in. To hold your mother's heart's blood. Sprung from a nobler king."* " Go please the baby, nursey oh ! Go please it with a bell ;" " It will not be pleased, madam. Till ye come down yoursel'." " To hold my mother's heart's blood. Would make my heart full woe. Oh ! rather kill me, Rankin, And let my mother go." " How can I come down stairs. So late into the night. Without coal and caudle To show me the light ? " Go scour the bason, servants. Both outside and in ; To hold your lady's heart's blood, Sprung from a nobler king." " There is a silver bolt lies On the closet head. Give it to the baby. Give it sweet milk and bread." " To hold my lady's heart's blood. Would make my heart full woe. Oh ! rather kill me, Rankin, And let my lady go." She rammed the silver bolt All up the baby's nose. Till the blood it came trickling down The baby's fine clothes. " Go scour the bason, nursey. Both outside and in. To hold your lady's heart's blood. Sprung from a nobler king." " Go please the baby, nursey. Go please it with the bell." It will not 1 lease, madam. Till you come down yoursel'." " To hold my lady's heart's blood. Would make my heart full glad, Ram in the knife, bold Rankin, And gar the blood to shed. " It will neither please with breast-milk. Nor yet with pap. But 1 pray, loving lady. Come and roll it in your lap." " She's none of my comrades. She's none of my kin'.f Ram in the knife, bold Rankin, And gar the bluid rin." The first step she stepped. She stepped on a stane. And the next step she stepped. She met bold Rankin. "Oh! Rankin, oh! Rankin, Spare me till twelve o'clock, And I will give you as many guineas. As you can carry on your back." { " Oh ! will I kill her, nursey, Orletherabee?" " Oh ! kill her," said the false nurse, " She was never good to me." « Sprung from a noble kin' ? t Equivalent to the Nigger adage, " Hit him j. hard, him got no friends here." 1 24:8 SCOTTISH BALLADS. May be all well at hame; this baronial residence are still to be seen on the For the silver buttons of iny coat banks of the river Fiddach in Bamfshire."j They will not stay on." " Turn, Willie Mackintosh, A8 Mary was looking Turn, turn, 1 bid you; O'er her window so high. If you burn Auchindoun, She saw her dear father Huntly wUl head you." Come riding by. " Head me or hang me. " Oh ! father, dear father ! That winna fley me. Don't put the blame on me. I'll burn Auchindoun, It was false nurse and Rankin, Ere the life lea' me." That killed your ladie." Coming owre Cairn-croome,* Oh ! wasn't that an awful sight. And looking down, man; When he came to the stair. I saw Willie Mackintosh To see hU fairest lady Burn Auchindoun, man. Lie bleeding there !> Light was the mirk hour The false nurse was burnt At the day dawing. On the mountain hill head. For Auchindoun was in flames And Eankin was boiled Ere the cock crawing. In a pot full of lead. 5^MEittg ©f ilMMw^OI^^* BUENING OF AUCHINDOUN. [This fragment, with the following note pre- [Modern Version.— Albxandkr Laino.] fixed to it, was first printed in an Aberdeen newspaper about thirty years ago.—" In 1592 the " Turn again, my gallant chief. Mackintoshes, or clan Chattan, having offended Turn again, I bid you— Gordon of JHuntly and fctiathbogie, to whom If you burn Auchindoun, they were vassals, the latter vowed vengeance. The Gordon will behead you." which the former fearing, requested their chief " The Gordon may behead me— of their offended superior, and sue for peace. I will think of turning On his arrival there, Gordon was unfortunately When his haughty lady weeps— from home : he was however introduced to his When Auchindoun is burning!" lady, to whom he told on what errand he had come, and pleaded for her intercession ; but she The shepherd now had left the hill. told him that she was sure her loi d would nut be The stormy wind was howling; satisfied until the head of the chief of the clan And on the brow of Cairn-croome, Chattan was fixed on the castle gate. The chief The cloud of night was scowling ; despising her threat, and bowing scornfully low before he should depart, she snatched a sword While on the deep and distant glen. from the wall, and severed his head from his The Fiddach, wildly wailing body. His clan, on hearing of the ' horrid deed," Of foes upon its woody banks— assembled under his son and successor, and Of coming wae was telling 1 marched to Auchindoun Castle in the dead of night, which they plundered and set on fire. The lady made her escape, but several of the ^ 'A hill near Auchindoun. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 249 Anon was seen along the sky A beam so bright approaching. That on the middle hour of night The day-l.ght seem'd encroaching. Then faintly on the stormy heath Was heard the voce of mourning — And then appeared the bursting flames— Auchinduun was burning ! ®|e OTaxkcfe 0' ^itooo^* [Modern Ballad.— (See Vignette to the pre- sent volume.)— The tradition upon which the p esent ballad is founded is thus narrated by Sir Walter Scott in the notes to the Lay of the Last Mmstrel.— Sir Michael Scott " was chosen, it is said, to go upon an embassy, to obtain from the king of Fiance satisfaction for certain piracies committed by his subjects upon those of Sc(jt- land. Instead of preparing a new equipage and splendid retinue, the ambassador retreated to his study, opened his book, and evoked a fiend in the shape of a huge black horse, mounted upon his back, and forced him to fly through the air towards Fiance. As they crossed the sea, the devil insidiously asked his rider, what it was that the old woi I en of Scotland m uttered at bed-time ? A less experienced wizard might have answered, that it was the Pater Noster, which would have licensed the devil to precipitate hira from his back. But Michael sternly replied, ' What is that to thee ^ Mount, Diabolus, and fly !' When he arrived at Paris, he tied his horse to the gate of the palace, entered, and boldly delivered his message. An ambassador, with so little of the pomp and circumstance of diplomacy, was net re- ceived with much respect; and the king was about to return a contemptuous refusal to his demand, when Michael besought him to sus- pend his resolution till he had seen his horse stamp three times. The first stamp shook evei-y steeple in Paris, and caused all the bells to ring; the second threw down three of the towers of the palace ; and the infernal steed had lifted his hoof to give the third stamp, when the king rather chose to dismiss Michael with the most ample concessions, than to stand to the probable con- sequences. " Sir Michael Scott," according to the same I high authority, " flourished during the 13th century, and was one of the ambassadors sent to bring the Maid of Norway to Scotland, upon the death of Alexander III. He was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in foreign coun- tries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, printed at Venice in 1496; and several treatises upon natural philosophy, from which he appears to have been addicted to the abstruse studies of judicial astrology, alchymy, physiognomy, and chiromancy. Hence he passed among his con- temporaries for a skilful magician. Dempster informs us, that he remembers to have heard in his youth, that the magic books of Michael Scott were still in existence, but could not be opened without danger, on account of the fiends who were thereby invoked. — Deinpsteri Historia Eo- clesiastica, 1627, lib. xii. p. 495. Lesly charac- terises Michael Scott as 'singulari philosophiae, astronomiae, acmedicinaelaude prsestans; diceba- tur penitissimos magiss recessus indagasse.' A personage, thus spoken of by biographers and historians, loses little of his mystical fame in vulgar tradition. Accordingly, the memory of Sir Michael Scott survives in many a legend; and in the south of Scotland, any work of great labour and antiquity is ascribed, either to the agency of Auld Michael, of Sir William Wallace, or of the devil."] Ak gloamin, as the sinking sun Gaed owre the wastlin' braes. And shed on Aikwood's haunted towers His bright but fading rays ; Auld Michael sat his leafu' lane Down by the streamlet's side. Beneath a spreading hazel bush. And watched the passing tide. Wi' mennons wee, that loup'd for joy. The water seemed a fry. And cross the stream, frae stane to stane. The trout gaed glancin' by. The sportive maukin frae his form Cam" dancing o'er the lea. And cocked his lugs, and wagged his fud, Sune '« Michael caught his ee. The paitricks whirring nearer flew, — But, hark ! what is't I hear ? The horse's tramp and trumpet's note ; To Aikwood drawing near ;' 250 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Auld Michael raised his stately form. And slowiy haineward hied, — Eight weel he ken'd wh;)t knight and horse And trumpet did betide. " Our gracious king, to whom the Lord Grant aye a happy lot, This packet to his kinsman sends— The leal Sir Michael Scott. " And ye maun hie as fast as horse Will bear you owre the lea. To Frenchman's land, and to the king This packet ye maun gi'e. " An answer frae the Frenchman ye Maun seek for clean aff hand. Then hie thee to our sov'reign lord — Such is the king s command." So spak' the knight, and Michael bovv'd ! " The king's hests I'll obey, The fleetest steed 1 shall pre: are. And start ere break o' day." Auld Michael to his closet gaed. But lang he baid na there. He donn'd a cleuck baith auld and queer. And hunting cap C hair. Frae a phial sma', a drap he pour'd. That sune rose till a flame, A gruesome low, whar elfins wee Jigg'd roun' wi' might and main. The low he toss'd up in the air. The sky grew black as coal. Some words he spak' that nae man ken'd. And thunders gan to roll. The lightnings flash 'd, the loud winds blew Till Aikwood trembling stood. And tall trees bent their stately forms Like eels in playfu' mood. Midst war o" winds and thunder's crash. The bravest weel might fear; The warlock wav'd his little wand. And through the storm did peer. His count'nance glow'd, for see he comes Borne on the blast along, A tall black steed, with eyes of flame. And thews and sinews strong '. " Now woe betide thee," Michael said, " If once thou slack'st thy speed. And bear'st me not by morrow's dawn To France without remede." By this the storm had gone to rest. The moon shone clear and bright, And sma' white clouds were sailing roun', Ting'd by the pale orb's light. The warlock and his steed flew on. Nought stay'd their headlong way. The highest peak, the lowest glen. Were spang'd as 'twere but play. They bounded on, and night owls screeched. As pass'd this fremit pair. And in their beds the sleepers gran'd And row'd as in nightmare. On, on they sped like wintry blast. And long ere first cock-crow The sea was cross'd, and Paris tov.'rs Were seen far far below. The palace porters trembling scan'd The great, black horse with fear; The courtiers eke confounded look'd, But 'gan to mock and jeer At Michael's dress ; but soon with voice That made their dull ears ring. He names his errand, and demands An audience of the king. " What ! ye refuse, ye cringing pack, A messenger so mean ? Then stamp, my steed, and let them feel We're better than we seem !" The black horse stamp'd ; and lo ' the bells Through all the town did sound. The steeple towers shook to their base As heav'd up from the ground. " What ! do ye still my suit refuse ? Then stamp, my steed, once morel" The courtiers shook for very fear. And cross'd themselves right sore. Clash went the hoof, and sounds of woe Were heard on ev'ry side. The thunders roU'd, the lightnings glar'd. And through the air did ride SCOTTISH BALLAD3. 251 Unearthly forms, with hoop and ho ! '. That spewed forth smoke and fire. " Alack -a-day !" quoth the courtiers all, " That e'er we rais'd his ire." The muckle bell in Notre Dame* Play'd jow, and burst in twain. And lofty tow'rs and pinnacles Came tumbling down amain. Thft bell-man on a gargoyle's t back vVas shot out owre the Seine, His boy upon a wooden saint Went splash into the stream. The palace shook like saughen bush When wav'd by wastlin winds. Or like the corn ears in the sheaf. That harvest reaper binds. The king frae regal seat was toss'd, And piteously did roar. For a vulgar part o' his bodie Came thud upon the floor. " Alack -a-day !" his kingship moan'd, " Wha wrought a' this deray Maun e'en be mair than mortal man — O dule's me on the day " He e'er cam' to our palace yett !" But Michael now nae langer M'ad wait. " Ye poltroon knaves, tak' tent ! The third stamp shall be stranger." " Stop ! stop !" they cried, " thy mighty Nae mair we can withstand, [pow'r, A third stamp of thy fell black horse Wad ruin a' our land." An answer in hot haste was giv'n. And e'er you could say, whew i The warlock had bestrode his steed. And through the air they flew. * Notre Dame, the principal cathedral in Paris, stands upon an island in the middle of the river Seine, which intersects the city. t Qargoyle—X projecting water spout, com- mon to different stvlesofarchitecture, and fre- quently sculptured into the shape of an open- mouthed monster. And as they pass'd o'er Dover straits, The horse to speak began, A pawky beast, and, as he pleas'd. Was horse, or de'il, or man. "Come tell to me, O master mine ! What do the auld wives say In Scotland when the sun gaes down. Ere to their beds they gae ?" But Michael was ow're slee e'en for The cunning o' the de'il — " What's that to thee, Diabolus ? Mount, or my wand thou'lt feel. " But if indeed thou fain wadst ken What's by the auld wives said. Then darn thysel' at e'enin's fa' Close by some cottage bed ; " And when the sun has left the lift, And stars begin to peer Out thriugh the blue, and sounds o' toil Nae mair fa' on the ear "Then wilt thou see auld Scotia's dames Kneel down to ane above. And name with reverence the name Of Him that's truth and love. " A name, Diabolus ! more dread To thee and all thy fry Than is thy hideous native form To untaught mortal eye." By this time they had England cross'd. And eke the Cheviots high ; The Pentlands had been left behind. And Holyrood was nigh. Here Michael parting frae his steed Straight to the palace went. In haste before his sov'reign lord Himself there to present. " What ho ! Sir Michael, art thou here ? Hast dar'd to disobey My orders, that ambassador To France thou'dst haste away ?" " Wilt please my sov'reign to receive This packet from my hand ? With right good will I have obey'd My monarch's just command." 1 252 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The king transfix'd wi' wonder stood, ^ " An' we will ride to London town, And scarce believ'd his e"en. Eicht welcome to our English king ; And all aghast the courtiers cow'r'd. And you sail be Dame Montagow, As spell-bound they had been. For I'll gi'e you a weddin' ring. Lang ere their senses had return 'd " An you sail ha'e baith lords an' knichts. Sir Michael aff had gane, An' little pages twenty-three; And sped him back to Aikwood grav In haste his leafu' lane ! An' hawks, an' hounds, an' horses baith. As ne'er a dame in Christendee." W. G. B. " Your rings o' gold I carena by. Nor care 1 for your falcons free ; I carena for your horse nor hounds. miu^ flgwace of liumlar. Nor for your pages twenty-three. " But tak' your pages bauld an' young. An' gi'e ilk ane a sword an' spear, [John Talbot.— Black Agnes of Dunbar was An' set them on your horses good. daughter of Thomas earl of Randolph, and wife An' mak' them michty men o' weir. of Patrick, 9th earl of Dunbar and March. She held the Castle of Dunbar nineteen weeks against " An* ye may tak* your lordings brave. the English, and at last compelled lord Montague An' deck them wi' your claith o' gold ; to raise the siege. This took place in January, For while my ain gude lords awa'. 1337-8.] My yetts fast lock'd I mean to hold." Some sing o' lords an' some o' knichts. Now he has ta'en his mangonells. An' some o* michty men o' war. His warwolves an' his swine sae Strang, But 1 sing 0' a leddy br.cht, An' thunder'd at the castle yett. The Black Agnace o' Dunnebar. Wi' sturdy straiks fu' loud and lang. Lord March rade to the Burgh Muir, He gard the cross-bow strings to tirl. Wi' him his vassals true an' bauld, The quarrels fast an' thick they flew ; An' left his wife an' her bouir-mayis He gard his archers gude tn stand To bide at hame an' keep the hauld. An' stoutly ben' tlie trusty yew. Then up and spak' Lord Montagow ; The mangonells play'd fast an' free. An ill deid may he dee therefore ! Brought down big stanes frae aff the vva'; "^ow busk an' boune, ye merrymen a'. Black Agnace wi' her napkin fine. To see this leddy in her bouir." Leueh loud an' dicht the stoor awa'. " leddy March ! leddy fair ! Then Montagow he swore an aith. Do up your yetts an' speak to me. That he wad tame that leddy's pride. An' I'll gi'e you sic gold an' pearls, An' moved his swine again tl)e was. As ne'er a dame in Christendee." Wi- fifty men Uk ane inside. • " Your perlins fine I carena by. Upon the castle wa' she stood. As little care I for your gold ; The yirl o' March's sturdy marrow. An' while my lord is gane frae hame, An' leuch an' spak', " Lord Montagow, The yetts fast lock'd I mean to hold." 1 trow thy swine are fiiin to furrow.' " leddy bricht I leddy fair ! Then lat she fa' a weigthy stane. Do up your yetts an' speak till me. Upon the Eng ish captain's swine; An' I'll gie you sic cloth o' gold The English lang may rue the day. As ne'er a dame frae Tweed to Dee. * ^ That they sic fifty men did tine ! 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 253 Then Montajcow grew deidly pale, Wi' tremblin' voice then out spak' he " Th'ir Scottish queans are devil's gets. Sic women did I never see. " I wat we've bidden here owre lang, But busl4, my merrymen a', an' ride :" They didna need the bidden twice, I wat they werena brush to bide. Now sing wha lists o' lords an' knichts. An' sing wha lists o' men o' war; But let me sing this leddy bright. The Black Agnace o' Dunnebar. [MonKRN Ballad by HKifRY Hackxkzib, au- thor of The Man of Feeling.] "Saw ye the Thane o' meikle pride, Eed anger in his eye ?" " I saw him not, nor care," he cried; " Ked anger frights na me. " For I have stuid whar honour bade. Though death trod on his heel : Mean is the crest that stoops to fear ; Nae sic may Duncan feel. " Hark ! hark ! or was it but the wind That through the ha' did sing ? Hark ! hark ! agen : a warlike shout The black woods round do ring. " 'Tis na for nought," bold Duncan cried, "Sic shoutings on the wind;" Syne up he started frae his seat, A thrang o' spears behind. "Haste, haste, my valiant hearts," he said, " Anes mare to follow me ; We'll meet yon shouters by the burn ; I guess wha they may be. " But wha is he that speeds sae fast, Frae the slaw marching thrang? Sae frae the mirk cloud shuot< a beai The sky's blue lace alang. ^ " Some messenger it is, mayhap :" " Then not of peace, I trow :" " My master, Duncan, bade me rin. And say these words to you. " Restore agen that bluiming rose. Your rude hand pluck'd awa' ; Restore again his Mary fair. Or you shaU rue the fa'." Three strides the gallant Duncan tuik, And shuik his forward spear: " Gae tell thy master, beardless youth. We are na wont to fear. " He comes na' on a wassal rout. Of revel, sport, and play; Our swords gart fame proclaim us men Lang ere this ruefu' day. " The rose I pluck'd, of right is mine ; Our hearts together grew Like twa sweet roses on ae sta'k— Frae hate to love she flew." Swift as a winged shaft he sped: Bold Durcan said, in jeer, " Gae tell thy master, beardless youth. We are na wont to fear. " He comes na on a wassel rout. Of revel, sport, and play ; Our swords gart fame proclaim us men Lang ere this ruefu' day. " The rose I pluck'd, of right is mine ; Oiir hearts together grew Like twa sweet roses on ae sta'k— Frae liate to love he flew." He stamp'd his foot upo' the ground. And thus in wrath did say : " God strik' my saul if frae this field We baith in life shall gae." He wav'd his hand ; the pipes they play'd. The targets clatter'd round. And now between the meeting faes Was little space of ground. But wha is she that rins sae fast ? Her feet aae stap they find : Sae swiftly rides the milky cloud Upon the simmer's wind. 254 Her fece, a mantle screen'd afore. She show'd of lily hue : Sae frae the gray mist breaks the sun To drink the morning-dew. " Alake, my friends ! what sight is this ? Oh, stap your rage," she cried : " Whar love with honey'd lip should be, Mak' not a breach sae wide. " Can then my uncle draw his swonl. My husband's breast to bleid ? Or can my sweet lord do to him tiic foul and ruthless deid ? " Bethink ye, uncle, of the time My gray-hair'd father died : Frae whar your shrill horn shuik the wood. He sent for you wi' speed : " ' My brother, gard my bam,' he said : ' She has nae father soon : Eegard her, Donald, as your ain : I'll ask nae ither boon.' " Would then my uncle force my love, Whar love it could na be. Or wed me to the man I hate ? Was this his care of me f " Can these brave men, who but of late Together chas'd the deer, Against their comrades bend their bows. In bluidy bunting here?" Bhe spake, while trickling ran the tearg Her blushing cheek alan/; And silence, like a heavy cloud, O'er a' the warriors hang. Syne stapt the red-hair'd Malcom furth. Threescore his years and three ; Yet a' the strength of strongest youth In sic an eild had he ■ Kae pity was there in his breaat. For war alane he lo'd ; His gray een sparkled at the sight Of plunder, death, and bluid. " What ! shall our hearts of steel," he said, " Bend to a woman's sang ? Or can her words our honi^ur quit For sic dishonest wrang? SCOTTISH BALLADS. " For this did a' these warriors come. To hear an idle tale ; And o'er our death-accustom'd arms Sliall silly tears prevail ?" They gied a shout, their bows they tuik. They clash'd their steely swords Like the luud waves of Bara's shore ; There was nae room for words. A cry the weeping Mary gied : " O uncle 1 hear my prayer; Heed na that man of bluidy look ;— ■• She had nae time for mair ; For in the midst anon there came A blind, unweeting dart. That glanc'd frae off her Duncan's targe. And struck her to the heart. A while she stagger'd, syne she fell. And Duncan see'd her fa' ; Astound he stuod, for in his limbs There was nae power at a'. The spear he meant at fues to fling. Stood fix'd within his hand; His lips, half open, couldna speak ; His life was at a stand. Sae the black stump of some auld aik. With arms in triumph dight, See:ns to the traveller like a man. [Reprinted from a pamphlet published In 4to. at Glasgow, 1770, by Robert and Andrew Foulis, and there said to be printod from the only copy known to remain, which had been preserved above sixty years by the care of Hugh Mont- gomerie, senior, at Eaglesham, long one of the factors of the family of Kglintoun. J A NOBLB Roman was the root From which MontKonieries came. Who brought his legion from the war, And settled the game 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 256 Vpon a hill 'twixt Kome and Spain, Gomericug* by name ; From which he and his off spring do Their sir-name still reUin. b Earl Rodgerf then the greatest m;ai. Next to the king was thought; And nothing that he could desire. But it to him was brought. From this into the wars of Franco Their valour did them bring, That they great instruments might be To save the GalUc king: Montgomery town, Montgomery shire And earl of Shresburie, And Arundale do show this man Of grandeur full to be. Here, with great splendor and renown, Six centuries they spends At length for England they set sail; Ambition hath no end. Thus did he live all this king's reign For works of piety. He built an abbacie, and then Prepar'd himself to die. On British ground they land at length : Eodger must general be, A cousin of the conqueror's. And fittest to supplie At last king William yields to fiite; And then his sec nd son Mounts on the throne, which had almoet The kingdom quite undone : The greatest post; into the field The army then leads he. Into a camp, Hastings by name. In Sussex, where you'll see Some for the eldest son stand up, As Rodger's sons did all : But the usurper keeps the throne. Which did begin their fall. The marks of camps unto this day ; And where you'll hear it told. The English king did them attack Most like a captain bold. Then Philip into Scotland came. Unable to endure. That they who earldoms had possest. Of nought should be secure. But soon, alas ! he found it Tain, With Rodger arms to try; This warry officer prepares. His projects to defy. The king of Scots well knew the worth Of men of noble race. Who, in no times of ages past. Their worth did once defiice. The strong attacks he then observes. Which made him thence to dread. That England's king might be among Those who charged with such speed. He in the Merse gives Philip lands. Which afterwards he soon With the black Douglass did exchange For Eastwood and Ponoon, The life-guards straight he ordered. Their fury to defend ; Where Harold, England's king, at once Hia crown and life did end. Where many ages they did live. By king and country lov'd; As men of valour and renown. Who were with honour mov'd Whence to the conqueror did come The English sceptre great. And William, England's king declar'd. To London came in state. To shun no hazard when they could To either sirvice do: Thus did they live, thus did they spend Their blood and money too. ' Mons Gomericus. 4 . tl>«»8 He courted the eldest with broach and knife; Binnorie, Binnorie; mt ^tm\ U^Xti. But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life ; By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. [This ballad differs essentially from that which The eldest she was vexed sair; bas been published in various collections, under Binnorie, O Binnorie; the tiUe of Binnorie. It is compiled from a copy And sore envied her sister fair; in Mrs Brown's MSS., intermixed with a beauti- By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. ful fragment, of fourteen verses, transmitted to the editor by J. C. Walker. Esq. the ingenious hUto- The eldest said to the younge.st ane. rian of the Irish bards. Mr Walker, at the same Binnorie, Binnorie; time, favoured the editor with the following note : " Will ye go and see our father's ships come in? ' "I am indebted to my departed friend. Miss Brook, By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. for the foregoing pathetic fragment. Her account Of it H as as follows : This song was transcribed. She's ta'en her by the lilly hand. several years ago, from the memory of an old Binnorie, Bmnorie ; woman, who had no recollection of the conclud- And led her down to the river strand ; ing versL«; probably the beginning may also be By the bonnie milldams of Bmnorie. lost, as it seems to commence abruptly." The first verse and Ijurden of the fragment run thus: The youngest stude upon a stane, Binnorie, O Binnorie , O >ii^ter. Bister, reach thy hand! And the eldest came and pushed her in ; Hey ho, uiy Nanny, O; And you shall be heir of all my land, By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. \V iiile the swan swims bounie, O. She took her by the middle sma'. The first part of this chorus seems to be cor- Binnorie, Binnorie; rupted fiom the common burden of Hey, Noany, And dashed her bonnie back to the jaw. Nonny, alluding to the song, beginning, " Sit;h By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. no more, ladyei." The chorus, retained in this edition, is the most common and popular; but " sister, sister, reach your hand," Mrs Brown's copy bears a yet different burden. Binnorie, Binnorie; beginning thus : " And ye shall be heir of half my land." By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. There were twa sisters sat in a hour. Kdinborough, Edinborough; There were twa sisters sat in a hour. " sister, I'll not reach my hand," Siirling lor aye; Binnorie, Binnorie; There were twa sisters sat in a hour, "And I'll be heir of all your land;" There cam' a knight to be their wooer, Bonnie St Johnstoun stands upon Tay. By the bonnie millda...B of Binnorie. The ballad, being probably very popular, was " Shame fa' the hand that I should take," the subject of a parody, which is to be found in Binnorie, Binnorie ; D'Urfey's " PUU to purge Melancholy."— Jttin- " It's twin'd me, and my world's make." ttreliy qfthe ScottUh Border.] By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. TaBBB were twa sisters sat in a hour ; " sister, reach me but your glove," Binnorie, O Binnorie ; Binnorie, Binnarie; ' There came a knight to be their wooer; " And sweet Williain shall be your love." By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. He courted the eldest with glove and ring; " Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove !" Binnorie, O Binnorie ; Binnorie, Binnorie; But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing; " And sweet Willia.n simll better te my love." By the bonnie milldama of Binnorie. .« R By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 261 " Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair," 4 He laid hia harp upon a stone, | Binnorie, Binnorie ; 1 Binnorie, Binnorie ; " Garr'd me gang maiden evermair." 1 And straight it began to play alone ; By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. 1 By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam. " yonder sits my father, the king," Binnorie, Binnorie ; Binnorie, Binnorie ; Until she cam' to the miller's dam. " And yonder sits my mother, the queen ;" By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. " O father, father, draw your dam !" " And yonder stands my brother Hugh," Binnorie, O Binnorie ; |swan." Binnorie, Binnorie ; " There's either a mermaid, or a milk-white j " And by him my William sweet and true." By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. I By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. The miller hasted and drew his dam. But the last tune that the harp play'd then. Binnorie, Binnorie; Binnorie. O Binnore; And there ho found a drowned woman. 1 Was—" Woe to my sister, false Helen !" By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. You could not see her yellow hair. Binnorie, Binnorie ; For gowd and pearls that were sae rare. By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. ®^e (Sic«e'^ JMaxie. You could na see her middle sina'. ! Binnorie, Binnorif ; [Fkom the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Her gowden girdle was sae bra' ; — " In the very time of the General Assembly, By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. there comes to public knowledge a haynous mur- ther, committed in the court; yea, not far from A famous harper passing by. the queen's lap; for a French woman, that Binnorie, O Binnorie; served in the queen's chamber, had played the The sweet pale face he chanced to spy ; whore with the queen's own apothecary.— The By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. woman conceived and bare a childe, whom, with common consent, the father and motl>er And when he looked that lady on. murthered; yet were the cries of a new-borne Binnorie, Binnorie ; childe hearde, searche was made, the childe and He sighed, and made a heavy moan ; By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. the man and the woman condemned to be i hanged in the publicke street of Edinburgh. The Be made a harp of her breast-bone. punishment was suitable, because the crime was Binnorie, Binnorie ; haynous. But yet was not the court purged of Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone ; whores and whoredoms, which was the foun- By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. taine of such enormities ; for it was well known that shame hasted marriage betwixt Jolm Sem- The strings he framed of her yellow hair. i pill, called the Dancer, and Mary Levingston, Binnorie, O Binnorie; j Birnamed the Lusty. What bruit the Maries, Whose notes made sad the listening ear; 1 and the rest of the dancers of the court had, the By the bonnie milldams of Binnorie. ballads of that age do witnesse, which we, for 1 modestie's sake, omit ; but this was the common He brought it to her father's hall ; complaint of all godly and wise men, that, if Binnorie, Binnorie; ; they thought such a court could long continue. And there was the court assembled all ; ' and if they looked for no better life to come, they By the bonnie miUdams of Binnorie. ^ ■ — 2G3 SCOTTISH BALLADS. rather to have been brought up with fiddlers 4^ She hadna been about the king's court | and dancers, and to have been exercised with A month, but barely one. flinging upon a floore, and in the rest that Till she was beloved by a' the king's court. thereof followes, than to have been exercised in And the king the only man. the company of the godly, and exercised in vir- tue, which in that court was hated, and fllthe- She hadna been about the king's court nesse not only maintained, but also rewarded; A month, but barely three. witnesse the abbey of Abercorne, the barony of Till frae the king's court Marie Hamilton, Auchvennuchtie, and divers others, pertaining Marie Hamilton durst na be. to the patrimony of the crown, given in heritage to skippers and dancers, anddalliers with dames. The king is to the Abbey gane. This was the beginning of the regiment of Mary, To pu' the Abbey tree. queen of Scots, and these were the fruits that | To scale the babe frae Marie's heart ; she brought forth of France.— Lord ! look on our But the thing it wadna be. miseries '. and deliver us from the wickednesse of this corrupt court!"— Knox's History of the Ke- she has row'd it in her apron. formation, p. 373-4.* And set it on the sea,— Such seems to be the subject of the following " Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonnie babe. ballad, as narrated by the stern apostle of pres- Ye's get na mair o' me." bytery. It will readily strike the reader, that the tale haa suffered great alterations, as handed Word is to the kitchen gane. down by tradition ; the French waiting-woman And word is to the ha'. being changed into Mary Hamilton, and the And word is to the noble room. queen's apothecary into Henry Darnley. Yet Amang the ladyes a'. this is less surprising, when we recollect, that That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed. one of the heaviest of the queen's complaints And the bonnie babe's mist and awa'. against her ill-fated husband, was his infidelity. and that even with her personal attendants. I Scarcely had she lain down again. have been enabled to publish the following com- And scarcely fa'n asleep. plete edition of the ballad, by copies from various When up then started our gude queen. quarters; that principally used was communi- Just at her bed-feet ; cated to me, in the most polite manner, by Mr Saying—" Marie Hamilton, where's your Kirkpatricke Sharpe, of Hoddom, to whom I am babe? indebted for many similar favours.— Sco them to Scotland is gane '. " I will not put on my rohps of black, The queen's Mary to be. Nor yet my robes of brown ; And for a' that they could say or do But I will put on my yellow gold stuilV Forbidden she wouldna be. To shine through Edinburgh town." The prince's bed it was sae saft. As she went up the Parliament Close, The spices they were sae fine. A riding on her horsp, That out of it she could not lye There she saw many a Burgess' lady While she was scarce fifteen. Sit greeting at the cross. She's gane to the garden gay " what means a' this greeting. To pu' of the Savin tree. I'm sure its nae for me, But for a' that she could say or do For I'm come this day to Edinburgh to-Ao The babie it would not dee. Weel wedded for to be." She's rowed it in her handkerchief. "When she gade up the Parliament stair. She threw it in the sea. She gied loud lauchters three; Says,—" Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnle babe. But ere that she had come down again, For ye'll get nae mair of me." She was condemned to dee. Queen Mary came tripping down the stair. « little did my mother think Wi' the gold strings in her hair ; The day she prinned my gown, "0 whare's the little babie," she says. That 1 was to come sae far frae hame " That I heard greet sae sair }" To be hanged in Edinburgh town. "0 hald your tongue. Queen Mary, my dame, Let all those words go free ; It was mysel- wi' a fit o' the sair colic, I was sick just like to dee." "0 what'U my poor father think. As he comes through the town. To see the face of his Molly fair Hanging on the gallows pin. " Here's a health to the mariners " hald your tongue, Mary HamUton, That plough the raging main ; Let all those words go free; Let neither my mother nor father l;en where is the little babie But I'm coming hame again. That I heard weep by thee ?" " Here's a health to the sailors " I rowed it in my handkerchief, That sail upon the sea ; And thrt w it in the sea ; Let neither my mother nor father keu I bade it sink, I bade it swim, That I came here to dee. It would get nae mair o" me." " Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, " wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton, And an ill deid may you dee ; For if you had saved the babie'g life. This night she'll ha'e but three; There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton. And Mary Carmichael, and me." It might ha'e been an honour to thee. " hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, i Lei all those words go free ; " Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton, ; This night ere ye be hanged. O busk ye to be a bride; Ye shall gang hame wi' me." For I am going to Edinburgh town Your gay wedding to bide. " hald your tongue. Queen Mary, my dame, Let all those words go free, " Ye must not put on your robes of black. Since I have come to Edinburgh town. Nor yet your robes of brown ; Its hanged I shall be ; But you must put on your yeUow gold stuffs. For it shall ne'er be said that in your court To shine through Edinburgh town." , 1 was condemned to di e.' SCOTTISH BALLADS. 265 ^H^ieto Eammie. [ Although the persons who figure in this ballad belong to a very humble class of society, it is not easy for the most fastidious reader to withhold his sympathies from it. It is said to be founded on real circumstances : the daughter ctfthe Miller of Tifty, near Fyvie, in Aberdeen- shire, fell in love with the trumpeter of the Laird of Fyvie, and being prevented from mar- rying him, by her father, who esteemed the match beneath his> dignity, died in consequence of a broken heart. Both parties are said to have been remarkable for good looks. Annie's death, according to her grave-stone In Fyvie church- yard, took place in 1631. Andrew, however, did not die, as related in the ballad. There is a tradition in " the Lawland leas of Fyvie," that, some years afterwards, the melancholy fate of Tifty'g Annie being mentioned, and the ballad sung in a company in Edinburgh where he was present, he remained silent and motionless, till at length he was discovered by a groan suddenly bursting from him, and several of the buttons flying from his waistcoat. This will remind the reader of King Lear calling to his attendants to unbutton him, and also of a circumstance which occurs in the beautiful ballad of " the Marchio- ness of Douglas." It would appear that, in jMlan Ramsay's day, " Bonnie Andrew Lam- niie" was a person of traditional celebrity. In the beginning of that poet's third canto of " Christ's Kirk on the Green," a good old free- spoken cummer, as the best evidence of the power of her youthful charms, says— " I'se warrant ye have a' heard tell O' bonnie Andrew Lammie ; Stiffly in love wi* me he fell. As soon as e'er he saw me— That was a day !"— Chambers.] At Mill o' Tifty liVd a man. In the neighbourhood of Fyvie; He had a lovely daughter fair. Was called bonnie Annie. Her bloom was like the springing flower, That salutes the rosy morning ; With innocence, and graceful mien. Her beauteous form adorning. Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter. Whose name was Andrew Lammie ; He had the art to gain the heart Of Mill o* Tlftie's Annie. Proper he was, both young and gay, His like was not in Fyvie; No one was there that could compaie With this same Andrew Lammie. Lord Fyvie he rode by the door. Where lived Tiftie's Annie ; His trumpeter rode him before. Even this same Andrew Lammie, Her mother call'd her to the door, " Come here to me, my Annie ; Did your ever see a prettier man. Than this trumpeter of Fyvie ?" She sighed sore but said no more, Alas I for bonnie Annie ; She durst not own her heart was won By the trumpeter of Fyvie. At night when they went to their beds All slept full sound but Annie; Love so opprest her tender breast. Thinking on Andrew Lammie. " Love comes in at my bed side. And love lies down beyond me ; Love has possessed my tender breast. And love will waste my body. " The first time I and my love met. Was in the woods of Fyvie ; His lovely form and speech so sweet. Soon gain'd the heart of Annie. " He call'd me mistress, I said. No, I'm Tiftie's bonnie Annie; With apples sweet, he did me treat. And kisses soft and many. " Its up and down in Tiftie's den, Where the burn rins clear and bonnii I've often gone to meet my love. My bonnie Andrew Lammie." But now, alas ! her father heard. That the trumpeter of Fyvie Had had the art to gain the heart Of Tiftie's bonnie Annie. 266 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Her father soon a letter wrote, i And sent it on to Fyvie, To tell his daughter was l«witch'd By his servant Andrew Lamniie. i " I'll buy to thee a bridal gown , My love I'll buy it bonnie;" " But I'll be dead ere ye come back To see your bonnie Annie." When Lord Fyvie had this letter read, dear ! but he was sorry ; The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land Is bewitched by Andrew Lamniie. " If you'll be true and constant too. As my name's Andrew Lammie; I shall thee wed when I come back To see the lands of Fyvie." Then up the stair his trumpeter He called soon and shortly ; " Pray tell me soon, What's this you've done, ' To Tiftie's bonnie Annie ?" ; " I will be true and constant too, To thee my Andrew Lammie, But my bridal bed will ere then be made In the green church-yard of Fyvie." " In wicked art I had no part, Nor therein am I canny ; True love alone the heart has won. Of Tiftie's bonnie Annie. " Our time is gone and now comes on. My dear, that I must leave thee ; If longer here 1 should appear, MUl o' Tiftie he would see me." " Woe betide Mill C Tiftie's pride, For it has ruin'd many; He'll no ha'e't said that she should wed The trumpeter of Fyvie. " I now for ever bid adieu To thee my Andrew Lammie; Ere ye come back, I will be laid In the green church-yard of Fyvie." " Where will I find a boy so kind. That '11 carry a letter canny. Who will run on to Tifties town, Give it to my love Annie ?" . He hied him to the head of the house. To the hi.use top of Fyvie; He blew his trumpet loud and schill, 'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie. " Here you shall find a boy so kind. Who 'U carry a letter canny ; Who will run on to Tiftie's town. And gi'e't to thy love Annie." Her father lock'd the door at night. Laid by the keys fu' canny ; And when he heard the trumpet sound. Said, " Your cow is lowing, Annie." " Its TiftJe he has daughters three. Who all are wond'rous bonnie; But ye'U ken her o'er a' the lave, Gie that to bonnie Annie." " My father dear, I pray forbear. And reproach no more your Annie; For I'd rather hear that cow to low. Than ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie. " Its up and down in Tiftie's den. Where the burn runs clear and bonnie ; There wilt thou come and meet thy love. Thy bonnie Andrew Lammie. " I would not for my braw new gown. And a' your gifU so many. That it were told in Fyvie's land. How cruel you are to Annie. " When wilt thou come, and I'U attend, My love 1 long to see thee?" " Thou may'st come to the Bridge of Sleugh, And there I'U come and meet thee. " But if ye strike me I will cry. And gentlemen will hear me; Lord Fyvie wUl be riding by. And he 11 come in and see me." " My love, I go to Edinbro', And for a while must leave thee ;" She sighed sore, and said no more, " But I wUh that I were wi' thee." i At the same time, the lord came in. He said, " What ails thee Annie?" " 'TU all for love now I must die, f For bonnie Andrew Lammie." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 207 ' Pray Mill o* Tifty gi'e consent. And let your daughter marry." ' It will be with some higher match. Than the trumpeter of Fyvie." " If she were come of as high a kind. As she's adorned with beauty ; I would take her unto myself. And make her mine own lady." " Its Fyvie's lands are fair and wide. And they are rich and bonnie ; I would not leave my own true love. For all the lands of Fyvie." Her father struck her wond'rous sore. As also did her mother ; Her sisters always did her scorn ; But woe be to her brother. Her brother struck her wond'rous sore. With cruel strokes and many ; He brake her back in the hall door. For liking Andrew Lauimie. " Alas ! my father and mother dear. Why so ci-uel to your Annie i> My heart was broken first by love. My brother has broken my body. " O mother dear make ye my bed. And lay my fiice to Fyvie ; Thus will I ly, and thus will die. For my love Andrew Lamniie ! " Ye neighbours hear both far and near. Ye pity Tiftie's Annie ; Who dies for love of one poor lad. For bonnie Andrew Lammie. "No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life. Nor hurt my virgin honour ; My youthful heart was won by love. But death will me exoner." Her mother then she made her bed. And laid her face to Fyvie ; Her tender heart it soon did break. And ne'er saw Andrew Lanimie. But the word soon went up and down. Through all the lands of Fyvie; That she was dead and buried. Even Tifties bonnie Annie. Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands. Said, " Alas! for Tiftie s Annie, The fairest flower's cut down by love, That e'er sprung up in Fyvie." " O woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride. He might have let them marry : I should have given them both to live. Into the lands of Fyvie." Her father sorely now laments The loss of his dear Annie, And wishes he had gi'en consent. To wed with Andrew Lamniie. Her mother grieves both air and late. Her sisters cause they scorn'd her; Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve. For the cruel usage he'd given her. But now, alas ! it was too late. For they could not recall her ; Through life, unhappy is their fate. Because they did controul her. When Andrew hame from Edinburgh cai.'ie^ With meikle grief and sorrow ; " My love has died for me to-day, I'll die for her to-morrow. " Now I will on to Tiftie's den. Where the burn rins clear and bonnie; With tears I'll view the bridge of Sleugh,* Where I parted last with Annie. " Then will I speed to the church-y.ard. To the green church-yaid of Fyvie ; With tears I'll water my love's grave, TiU 1 foUow Tiftie's Annie." Ye parents grave, who children liave. In crushing them be canny ; Lest when too late you do repent. Remember Tiftie's Annie. * Inone printed copy, this is "Sheugh,"and in a recited copy, it was called " Skew ;" which is the right reading, the editor, from his ignorance of the topography of the lands of Fyvie, is unable to say. It is a received superstition in Scotland, that when friends or lovers part at a bridge, they shall never again meet. — MothermeU. 268 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Jolrnie Jfaa, [This ballad was first printed in an imperfect state in the Tea Table Miscellany. Mr Finlay in his collection gave a more complete version, which we here follow. In Mr Chambers's Pic- ture of Scotland, we have this account of the circumstances on which the ballad was founded. — " John, the sixth Earl of Cassilis, a stern cove- nanter, and of whom it is recorded by Bishop Burnet, that he never would permit his language to be understood but in its direct sense, obtained to wife Lady Jean Hamilton, a daughter ot Tho- mas, first Earl of Haddington, a man of singular genius, who had raised himself from the Scottish bar to a peerage and the best fortune of his time. The match, as is probable from the character of the parties, seems to have been one dicUted by policy; for Lord Haddington was anxious to connect himself with the older peers, and Lord Cassilis might have some such anxiety to be | i allied to his father-in-law's good estates; the ! religion and politics of the parties, moreover, i were the same. It is therefore not very likely ' I that Lady Jean herself had much to say in the I bargain. On the contrary, says leport, her affec- | t tions were shamefully violated. She had been I previously beloved by a gallant young knight, a Sir John Faa of Dunbar, who had perhaps seen her at her father's seat of Tynningham, which is not more than three miles from that town. When several years were spent and gone, and Lady Cassilis had brought her husband thi-ee children, this passion led to a dreadful catastro- phe. Her youthful lover, seizing an opportunity when the Earl was attending the Assembly of Divines at Westminster, came to Cassilis Castle, a massive old tower on the banks of the Doon, four miles from Maybole, then the principal residence of the family, and which is still to be seen in its original state. He was disguised as a gypsy, and attended by a band of these desperate 1 1 outcasts. In the words of the ballad, j ' Tliey , ; the glaumourye ower her.* But love has a glamourye for the eyes much more powerful than that supposed of old to be practised by wandering gypsies, and which must have been the only magic used on this occasion. . The Countess condescended to elope with her lover. Most unfortunately, ere they had pro- ceeded very far, the Earl came home, and, learn- ing the fact, immediat,ely set out in pursuit. Accompanied by a band which put resistance out of the question, he overtook them, and cap- tured the whole party, at a ford over the Doon, still called the Gypsies' Steps, a few miles from the castle. He brought tliem back to Cassilis, and there hanged all the Gypsies, including the hapless Sir John, upon ' the Dule Tree,' a splendid and most umbrageous plane, which yet flourishes upon a mound in front of the castle gate, and which was his gallows-in-ordinary, as the name testifies. As for the Countess, whose indiscretion occasioned all this waste of human life, she was taken by her husband to a window In front of the castle, and there, by a refinement of cruelty, compelled to survey the dreadful scene— to see, one after another, fifteen gallant men put to death, and at last to witness the dying agonies of him who had first been dear to her, and who had i erilled all that men esteem in her behalf. The particular room in the stately old house where the unhappy lady endured this horrible torture, is still called ' the Countess's Room,' After undergoing a short confinement in that apartment, the bouse belonging to the family at Maybole was fitted for her reception, by the addition of a fine projecting stab-case, upon which were carved heads representing those of her lover and his band ; and she was re- moved thither and confined for the rest of her life — the Earl in the meantime marrying another wife. One of her daughters, Lady Margaret, was afterwards married to the celebrated Gilbert Burnet. While confined in Maybole Castle, she is said to have wrought a prodigious quantity of tapestry, so as to have completely covered the walls of her prison ; but no vestige of it is now to be seen, the house having been repaired, {othern/ise ruined,) a few years ago, when size- paint had become a more fashionable thing in Maybole than tapestry. The efiigies of the gypsies are very minute, being subservient to the decoration of a fine triple window at the top of the stair-case, and stuck upon the tops and bottoms of a series of little pilasters, which adorn that part of the building. The head of Johnie Faa himself is distinct from the rest, larger, and more lachrymose in the expression of the features. Some windows in the upper flat of Cassilis Castle are similarly adorned ; but regard- ing them tradition is silent."] SCOTTISH BALLADS. 2G9 Tae gypsies cam' to our gude lord's yett. And O but they sang sweetly ; They sang sae sweet and sae very complete. That doun cam' our fair lady. And she cam' tripping down the stair. And all her maids before her ; As sune as they saw her weel-fa'ured face. They ouist the glaumourye ■ ower her. " O come with me," says Johnie Faa ; " come with me, my dearie ; For 1 vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword, That your lord shall nae maircome near ye !" Then she gied them the gude wheit breid. And they ga'e her the ginger; But she gied them a tar better thing. The gowd ring afif her finger. " Gae tak' frae me thi* gay niantil. And bring to me a plaidie ; For if kith and kin and a' had sworn, I'll follow the gipsey laddie. " Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, Wi' my gude lord beside me ; This night I'll lie in a tenant's barn, Whatever shall betide me." " Come to your bed," says Johnie Faa ; " Come to your bed, my dearie ; For I vow and 1 swear by the hilt o' my sword. That your lord shall nae mair come near ye." " I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faa; I'll go to bed to my dearie ; For 1 vow and 1 swear by the fan in my hand. That n:y lord shall nae mair come near me. " I'll mak' a hap to my Johnie Faa; I'll mak' a hap to my dearie ; And he's get a' the sash gats round, And my lord sliall nae mair come near me." And when our lord cam' hame at e'en. And speired for his fair lady. The tane she cried, and the other replied, " She's away wi* the gipsy laddie." A species of magical illusion, which the gypsies were formerly believed to exercise. Chancier*. " Gae saddle to me the black black steed Gae saddle and mak' him ready ; Before that I either eat or sleep, I'll gae seek my fair lady." And we were fifteen weel-made men. Although we were na bonnie ; And we were a put down for ane, A fair young wanton lady. [This ballad first appeared in a complete shape in Mr Sharp's "North Country Garland." The story on which it is founded is thus narrated by Mr Chambers. — " A mortal feud having arisen betwixt the Laird of Frendraught and the Laird of Kothiemay, both gentlemen of Banffshire, a rencontre took place, at which the retiiiners of both were present, on the 1st of January, 1630; when Rothiemay was killed, and several persons hurt on both sides. To staunch this bloody quarrel, the Marquis of Huntly, who was chief to both parties, and who had therefore a right to act as arbiter between them, ordered Frend- raught to pay fifty thousand merks to Eothie- may's widow. In the ensuing September, Frend- raught fell into another quarrel, in the course of which James Lesly, son to Lesly of Pitcaple, was shot thruugh the arm. Soon after the last inci- dent, Frendraught having paid a visit to the Marquis of Huntly at the Bog of Gight, the Laird of Pitcaple came up with thirty aimed men to demand atonement for the wound of his son. Huntly acted in this case with great discretion. Without permitting the two lairds to come to a conference, he endeavoured to persuade the com- plaining party that Frendraught was in reality innocent of his son's wound ; and, as Pitcaple went away vowing vengeance, he sent Frend- raught home under a strong escort, which was commanded by his son the Viscount Aboyne, and by the young Laird of Rothiemay, son to him whom Frendraught had killed some months before. The party reached Frendraught Castle without being attacked by Pitcaple ; when, Aboyne and Rothiemay offering to take leave of Frendraught and his lady, in order to return home, they were earnestly entreated by these in- dividuals to remain a night, and postpone their 270 SCOTTISH BALLADS, return till to-morrow. Being with difficulty ^ ward. No man can express the dolour of him prevailed upon, the young Viscount and Bothie- may were well entertained, and after supper went cheerfully to bed. To continue the narra- tive in the words of Spalding—' The Viscount was laid in an bed in the Old Tower going off the hall, and standing upon a vault, wherein there was ane round hole, devised of old, just under Aboyne's bed. Robert Gordon, his servitor, and English Will, his page, were both laid in the Siinie chamber. The Laird of Rothiemay, with some servants beside him, was laid in another chamber just above Aboyne's chamber; and in another room, above that chamber, were laid George Chalmers of Noth, and George Gordon, anottier of the Viscount's servants; with them also was laid Captain RoUoch, then in Frend- raught's own company. All being thus at rest, about midnight that dolorous tower took fire in so sudden and furious a manner, yea, and in ane clap, that the noble Viscount, the Laird of Ro- thiemay, English Will, Colonel Wat, another of Aboyne's servants, and other two, being six in nuu.ber, were cruelly burnt and tormented to the death, without help or relief; the Laird of Erendraught, his lady, and haill household look- ing on, without moving or stirring to deliver them from the fury of this fearful fire, as was re- ported. Robert Gordon, called Sutherland Gor- don, being in the Viscount's chamber, escaped this fire with the life. George Chalmers and Captain RoUoch, being in the third room, escaped this fire also, and, as was said, Aboyne might have saved himself also if he would have gone out of doors, which he would not do, but sud- denly ran up stairs to Rothiemay 's chamber, and wakened him to rise ; and as he was awakening him, the timber passage and lofting of the cham- ber hastily takes fire, so that none of them could win down stairs again ; so they turned to a win- dow looking to the close, where they piteously cried many times, " Help I help! for God's cause !" The Laird and Lady, with their ser- vants, all seeing and hearing the woeful crying, | made no help or manner of helping; which ! they perceiving, cried oftentimes mercy at God's I hands for their sins ; syne clasped in each other's ! arms, and cheerfully suffered their martyrdom. I Thus died this noble Viscount of singular expec- I tation, Rothiemay, a brave youth, and the rest, by this doleful fire, never enough to be deplored, to the great grief and sorrow of their kin, pa- - rents, and hail common people, especially to the I nobie Marquis, who for his good will got this re. and his lady, nor yet the grief of the Viscount's own dear lady, when it came to her ears, which she kept to her dying day, disdaining after the company of men all her life-time, following the love of the turtle-dove. " ' It is reported that upon the morn after this woeful fire, the Lady Frendraught, daughter to the Earl of Sutherland, and near cousin to the Marquis, backed in a white plaid, and riding on a small nag, having a boy leading her horse, without any more in her company, in this pitiful manner she came weeping and mourning to the Bog, desiring entry to speak with my lord ; but this was refused ; so she returned back to her own house, the same gate she came, comfort- less.'— Spalding's History of the Troubles in Scotland. " Suspicion formed two theories regarding the cause of the fire of Frendraught. The first was, that the Laird had wilfully set fire to the tower, for the purpose of destroying the youn^ Laird of Rothiemay. The other was, that it originated in the revengeful feelings of tiie Laird of Pit- caple. In the first theory there is extremely lit- tle probability. First, it could not have been premeditated; because the circumstance of Frendraught being accompanied home that day by Aboyne and Rothiemay, Wiis entirely acci- dental. In the second place, there was no rea- son for Frendraught being inclined to murder Rothiemay, except that he grudged the pay- ment of the fifty thousand merks to his mother, while there was every reason for his being inclined rather to befriend a youth whom he had already injured by occasioning the death of his father. In the third place, all Frendraught's family papers, with much gold and silver, both in money and plate, were consumed in the fire. And, in the fourth place, it is extremely impro- bable that any man of his rank should commit so deliberate and so atrocious an act of villainy. On tlie other hand, it seems by no means impro- bable that Pitcaple should have caused fire to he set to his enemy's house ; a mode of reprisal, which had been practised in the s.aine district of country, as we have already seen, by a gen- tleman of only the preceding age. Fitcaple's men, moreover, had been heard to declare .an intention of attempting some such enterprise against Frendraught; as was proved on the trial of a gentleman of the name of Meldrum, who was apprehended, condemned, and executed for ^ his alleged accession to their conspiracy."' SCOTTISH BALLADS. 271 Thk eighteenth of October, ^ Cried. " Mercy, mercy ! Lady FrenJi-aught ! A dismal tale to hear, i Will ye not sink with sin ? How good Lord John and Eothiemay 1 For first your husband kill'd my lather. Were both burnt in the fire. And now you burn his son !" When steeds were saddled, and weel bridled. O then out spoke her. Lady Frendraught, And ready for to ride. And loudly did she cry. Then out can.e she and fause Frendraught, " It were great pitie for good Lord John, Inviting them tu bide. But none for Eothiemay. But the keys are casten in the deep draw- Said, " Stay this nicht until ye sup. well— The morn until ye dine; Ye cannot get awayl"t Twill be a token of gude greement 'Twixt your good lord and mine." The reek it rose, and the flame it flew. The fire augmented high. " We'll turn again," said good Lord John. Until it came to Lord John's chamber window. But, " No," said Rothiemay ; And the bed wherein he lay. " My steeds trapann'd ; my bridle's broken ; I fear this day I'm fey.'" He lookit east, he lookit west. To see if any help was nigh; When mass was sung, and beUs were rung. At length his little page he saw. And all men bound for bed. Who to his lord did loudly cry. Then good Lord John and Eothiemay In one chamber were laid. " Oh, loup ! oh, loup ! my dear master; Oh, loup ! and come to me : They had not long cast off their clothes. I'll catch you in my armis two; And were but new asleep. One foot I will not flee. When the weary smoke began to rise. Likewise the scorching heat. " Oh, loup, oh, loup ! ray dear master. Though the window's dreigh and high; " waken, waken, Eothiemay, , I'll catch you in my armis two; waken, brother dear ; 1 But Eothiemay may lie 1" And turn >e to our Saviour; There is strong treason here !" " The fi=h shall swim the flood nae mair, Kor the corn grow through the clay. When they were dressed In their clothes. £re the fiercest fire that ever was kindled And ready for to boune. Twin me and Eothiemay. i The doors and windows were all secured. The roof-tree burning down. " But I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot win to thee ; He did him to the wire window. Uy heid-s fast in the wire-window. As fast as he could gang ; And my feet's burning frae mel Says, " Wae to the hands put in the stan- cheons. For out we'll never win!" t In corroboraUon of the truth of this part of When he stood at the wire window, the ballad, opposed as it is to probability, Mr Finlay mentions, as a fact of which he was in- Most doleful tu be seen. formed by a person residing near Frendraught, He did espy her. Lady Frendraught, that many years ago, when the well ot the castle Who stood upon the green. was cleared out, a bunch of keys was found at the bottom.— CAamier*. i So altered firom the original, which ran • Predestinated, or ordained to death. i .thus;— — _ ■• 272 SCOTTISH BALLADS. •' My eye* are seething In my head, ^ My flesh roasting alao ; i My bowels are boiling with my blood ; I'm sinking in the low ! * KRENNET HALL. " Take here the rings frae n y wliite finj;ers. [This is a modern ballad founded on the same That are sae lon^ and small ; | subject as the preceding. It first appeared in And give them to my lady fair, I Herd's CoUection.] "Where she siu in her hall. " I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot loup to thee; My earthly part is all consumed. My spirit but »p«iks thee !' When Frennet Castle's ivied walla Through yellow leaves were seen. When birds forsook the sapless boughs. And bees the faded green ; Wringing her hands, tearing her hair. His lady she was seen; Then Lady Frennet, vengefu' dame, Did wander frae the ha'. Who thus address'd his servant Gordon, To the wide forest's dewie gloom. As he stude on the green. Among the leaves that fa'. " wae be to you, George Gordon \ Her page, the svriftest of her train , An ill death may you dee ! Had dumb a lofty tree. Sae safe and sound as ye stand there. Whaae branches to the angry blast And my lord bereaved from me 1" Were soughing mournfullie. " I bade him loup, I bade him come. He turn'd his een towards the path 1 bade him loup to me ; That near the castle lay, I'd catch him in my armis two. Where good Lord John and Eothjemay A foot 1 should not flee. Were riding down the brae. " He threw me the rings from his white Swift darts the eagle through the sky. fingers. When prey beneath is seen : Which were sae long and small. As quickly he forgot his hold. To give to you his lady fair. And perch'd upon the green. Where you sit in your hall." " hie thee, hie thee, lady gay. Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay, Frae this dark wood awa' ! O bonnie Sophia was her name ; Some visitors of gallant mein Her waiting maid put on her clothes; Are hasting to the ha'." But I wat she tore them off again. Then round she row'd her silken plaid. And aft she cried, " Alas ! alas ! Her teet she did na spare. A sair heart's ill to win ; Until she left the forest's skirts I wan a sair heart when 1 married him ; A long bow-shot and mair. And this day its weel return d again \" " O where, where, my good Lord John, tell me where ye ride P Within my castle-wall this nicht " The fish shall never swim tlie flood, Nor corn grow through the clay. I hope ye mean to bide. Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindled, Twin me and Uothiemay."— Chambers. " Kind nobles, wUl ye but aliclit. • In the original,— In yonder bower to stay. Soft ease shaU teach you to forget •• Is not that a woeful woe !"— Chambers ^ •f The hardness of the way." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 273 " Forbear entreaty, gentle dame. How can we here remain ? 1- uU well you know your husband deir Was by my 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 iiicht shall prove the sacred cord. That knits your faith and mine." The lady slie, with honey'd words, Enticed thir youths to stay ; But the morning sun ne'er shone upon Lord John and Kothiemay. [MoDHRN Ballad. — Sib Wax-teb Scott.— "The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, regards a house, upon the barony of tiilmerton, near Laswade, in Mid-Lothian. This building, now called Gilmerton Grange, was or.giiuiUy named Burndale, from the fullowing tragic ad- venture. The barony of Gihneiton belonged, of yore, to a gentleman, named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by the abbot of Newbottle, a richly en- dowed abbey, upon the banks of the S..uth Esk, now a seat of the Marquis of L. thian. Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned also, that the lovers carrie 1 on ttieir guilty intercourse by the connivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this h use of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, or by the stronger claims of natural affection. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, when the ol jects of his vengeance were engaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns, and other combustibles, which he had caused to be piled against the house, and reduced to apile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all its in- mates. " The scene, with which the ballad opens, was suggested by the following curious passage, ex- tracted from the life of Alexander Peden, one of the wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles II. and his successor, James. This person wau supposed by his followers, and, perhaps, really believed himself, to be possessed of sup<:rnatural gifts; for the wild scenes which they frequented, and the constant dangers, which were incurred through their proscription, deepened upon their minds the gloom of superstition, so general ia that age. " ' About the same time he (Peden) came to Andrew Normaud'a house, in the parish of AUo- way, in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at night in his barn. After he came in, he halted a little, leaning upon a chair-back, with his face covered; when he lifted up his head, he said, " There are in this house tliat 1 have not one word of salva- tion unto;" he halted a little again, saying, " This is strange, that the devil will not go out, that we may begin our work !" Then there was a woman went out, ill-looked upon almost all her life, and to her dying hour, for a witch, with many presumptions of the same, it escaped me, in the former passages, that John Muirhead (whom I have often mentioned) told me, that when he came from Ireland to Galloway, he wai at family-worship, and giving some notes upon the Scripture, when a very ill-looking man came, and sat down within the door, at the back of the kalian (partition of the cottage:) immediate- ly he lialted, and said, " There is some unhappy body just now come into this house. 1 charge him to go out, and not stop my mouth !" The person went out and he intUted (went on) yet he saw him neither come in nor go out.' — The Life and Piophecies of Mr Alexander Peden, late Minister of the Gospel at New Glenluce, in Gal- loway, Part II. § 26."] Thb pope he was saying the high, high mass. All on saint Peter's day. With the power to him given, by the saints in To wash men's sins away. [heaven. The pope he was saying the blessed mass. And the people kneel'd around. And from each man's soul his sins did pass, > As he ki&s'd the holy ground. 274 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And all, among the crowded throng, 46 And boldly for his country, still. Was still, both limb and tongue. In battle he had stood. , While through vaulted roof, and aisles aloof, Aye, even when, on the banks of Till, The holy accents rung. Her noblest pour'd their blood. At the holiest word, he quiver'd for fear, Sweet are the paths, passing sweet '. And faultei-d in the sound— By Kske's fair streams that run. And, when he would the chalice rear, O'er airy steep, through copeswood deep. He dropp'd it on the ground. Impervious to the sun. •• The breath of one of evil deed There the rapt poet's step may rove, Pollutes our sacred day ; And yield the muse the day; He has no portion in our creed. There beauty, led by timid love. No part in what 1 say. May shun the tell-tale ray ; " A being whom no blessed word From that fair dome, where suit is paid. To ghostly peace can bring ; By blast of bugle free,^ A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd. To Auchendinny's hazel glade.f Kecoils each holy thing. And haunted Woodhouselee. t " TJp ! up ! unhappy ! haste, arise ! "Who knows not Melville's beeohy grove, § My adjuration fjar! And Eoslin's rocky glen, j| 1 charge thee not to stop my voice, Nor longer tarry here !" » The barony of Pennycuick, the prftperty of Sir Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd. George Clerk, Bart., is held by a singular tenure ; In gown of sackcloth gray; tue proprietor being bound to sit upon a large rocky f"ar journeying from his native field. fragment, called the Bucksfcine, and wind three He first saw Home that day. blasts of a horn, when the king shall come to hunt on the Borough Muir, near Edinburgh. For fortj- days and nights, so drear, 1 wet n he had not spoke. 1 a demi-forester proper, winding a horn, with the And, save with bread and water clear. motto, " Free for a Blast." The beautiful man- His fast he ne'er had broke. sion-house of Pennycuick is much admired, both on account of the architecture and surrounding - Amid the penitential flock. scenery.— Sco«. Seem'd none n ore bent to pray; i Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below But, when the holy father spoke. Pennycuick, the present residence of the inge- He rose and went his way. nious H. Mackenzie, Esq. author of " The Man of Feeling," Sic.— Scott. Again unto his native land. :t For the traditionsoonnected with this ruinous His weary course he drew. mansion, see the ballad of " Oadyow Castle." To Lothian's fair and fertile strand. Scott. And Pentland's mountains blue. § Melville Castle, the seat of the right honour- able Lord Melville, to whom it gives the tiUe of His unblcst feet his native seat. viscount, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ; near Lasswade.— ico«. Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet II The ruins of RosUu Castle, the baronial resi- Soils to the eastern main. dence of the ancient family of St Clair; the Gothic chapel, which is still in beautiful preser- And lords to meet the pilgrim came. vation, with the romantic and woody dell in And vassals bent the knee; which they are situated, belong to the right For all mid Scotland's chiefs of fame. honourable the Earl of Rosslyn, the representa- Was none more iamed than he. tive of the former lords of Roslin.— Sco«. _ SCOTTISH BALLADS. 2^5 Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, * i ^ The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, And classic Hawthornden ? t Came slowly down the wind. And on the pilgrim's ear they fell. Yet never a path, from day to day, As his wonted path he did find. The pilgrim's footsteps range. Save but the solitary way Deep sunk in thought, I ween he was. To Burndale's ruin'd grange. Nor ever rais'd his eye. Until he came to that dreary place. A woeful place was that, I ween. "Which did all in ruins lie. As sorrow could desire ; For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling He gated on the walls, so scathed with fire. wall. With many a bitter groan— * And the roof was scathed with fire. And there was aware of a Gray Friar, Resting him on a stone. It fell upon a summer's eve. While on Carnethy's head. " Now, Christ thee save !" said the gray brother; The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams " Soi e pilgrim thou seemest to be." Had streak'd the gray with red ; But in sore amare did Lord Albert gaie. Nor answer again made he. And the convent-bell did vespers tell, Newbottle's oaks among. And mingled with the solemn knell " come ye from east, or come ye from west, Or bring reliques from over the sea, Or come ye from the shrine of St James the Our Ladye's evening song : divine. Or St John of Beverly ?" * The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged. " X come not from the shrine of St James the of old, to the famous Earl of Morton, but is now divine. the residence of the noble family of Buccleuch. Nor bring reliques from over the sea; The park extends along the Eske, which is there I bring but a curse from our father the pope. joined by its sister stream, of the same name. Which for ever will cling to me." Scott. t Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Drummond. A house, of more modern date, is inclosed, as it were, by the ruins of the ancient castle, and overhangs a tremendous precipice, " Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so 1 But kneel thee down by me. And shrive tliee so clean of thy deadly sin. That absolved thou niay'st be." upon the banks of the Eske, perforated by wind- ing caves, which in former times formed a re- fuge to the oppressed patriots of Scotland. Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who " And who art thou, thou gray brother. That 1 should shrive to thee. When he, to whom are given the keys of earth and heaven. Has no power to pardon me ?" journied from London, on foot, in order to visit him. The beauty of this striking scene has been much injured, of late years, by the indiscrimi- " O 1 am sent from a distant clime. nate use of the axe. The traveller now looks in Five thouEand miles away. vain for the leafy bower. And all to absolve a foul, foul crime. •' Where Jonson sate in Drummond'g «ocial shade." Done here 'tvvixt night and day.- Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand. source, till it joins the sea at Musselburgh, no And thus began his saye — stream in Scotland can boast such a varied suc- When on his neck an ice-cold hand cession of the most interesting objects, as well as Did that gray brother >aye. of the most romantic and beautiful scenery. 1 ScoU. ^ 276 SCOTTISH BALLADS. [MoDXRic Version of an old Ballad.] •* 'Will you gae to the Hielands, my jewel, wi' me ? Will ye gae with your true love the mountains to see ? It is healthy, dear lassie, to breathe the sweet air ; An' to pu' the blaeberries in the forest »ae fair !" " Wi' thee to the Hielands, lore, I daurna ganjr ; The mountains are dreary, the journey is lang: I love this fair valley, an' sweet corn field, Mair than a' the blaeberries your wild forests yield." " ! the Hielands are bonnie, when the heather's in bloom | An' ilk strath, where you wander, smells sweet wi' perfamti You may gather blaeberries ere summer be gone. And produce them at table when December comes on." Then out spake her father, a haughty auld man ;— " Gae seek ye a mistress amang your ain clan ; We lo'e na the proffer, 'niang wild Hieland fells, O' your walth o' blaeberries, and blue heather bells I " Come kilt up your plaidie, an' off owre the hill ; The sight o' your Hieland face does me much ill ! I'll marry my daughter, and spare pennies too. On anlther mair gentle an' likely than you." " My plaidie is broad, and has colours anew ; Gudeman, for your kindness. I'll leave it with yott ' The cauld days o' winter are harmless to me. When I get blinks o' love frae your sweet daughter's e'fc " My flocks are but scanty, my lodgings but bare ; And you that ha'e plenty, the mair ye can spare: Te'U no send your lassie — your darling awa', A wife to the Hielands, wi' naething ava .'" Then off drew the father wi' her to advise — " If ye think o' gaun wi' him you're surely not wise I He's a rude Hieland fellow, as puir as a craw ; And the likest a cateran that ever I saw. " But if you determine his mistress to be, Ye'se get nought that 1 or your mither can gi'e ; Frae a' our possessions we bar you for aye. If affto the Hielands wi' him you'll away." " Then keep, honoured father, whateer you possess; For all you say of him, I love him not less ; 1 value not riches, though tempting they be. If the wild Hieland hills are between him and one I" SCOTTISH BALLADS. Awa' she'* gane wi' him, in spite o' them a'— Awa' to a country her een never saw; Owre broad moss an" mountain, on foot did she gang; And aye he said, " Lassie, thinlc no' the road lang." The warm sun was shining, 'twas now afternoon; The lassie grew weary, and fain wad sit down ; But he said, " Sweetest jewel, step onward wi' me. Ere saft fa's the gloaming at hame we maun be.' " I'm fit-sair an' weary, my shoes are all rent ; Bae far ha'e we travell'd, I'm ready to faint; And were it not, dearest, for your company, Amang the lang heather I'd lie down an' dee." " O ! were there an out-house, a barn or a byre. And we lodged In either, it's a' I desire" — " Cheer up, my sweet lassie, we'll no tarry here ; Our ain woods an' steading we're now drawing near." As onward they wander'd they came to a grove. Where sheep out o" number a-feeding did rove; And Allan stood musing his hirsels to see. But to her, his dear lassie, nae joy could they gi'e. A sprightly young laddie wi' green tartan trews. And twa' bonnie lassies were buchting his ewes; They said, " Honoured master, fu' blessed may you be; Baith you an* your leddy we lang lookd to see." " Bucht in the ewes, lassies, and gang your way hame; I've brought ye a mistress — a gentle young dame; Although amang strangers she's bashfu' an' shy, Tet in my best chamber this night sail she lie." •Midst warmest o' welcome, she entered the ha'. And sic a fine mansion she scarce ever saw ; Wi' ale an' gude whisky they drank her health roun". And they made her a bra' bed o' heather an' down. He led her neist mom to the hay field near by. And bade her look round her, far as she could spy — " These lands and possessions are yours, love, for aye; And ye winna gang round them in a lang simmer day.' " O Allan ! O, Allan ! why came ye to me ? Sure, I am unworthy your mistress to be !" " Look up, winsome lassie, ye needna think shame; And call me not Allan, for isaiidy's my name! 277 278 scorrisu ballads. "O, don't you remember at echool long ago, Your haid-hea: ted father was ever my foe ? And most of my comrades dealt harshly w'th mo Yet was I respected and loved by thee. " Are you then m/ Sandy, whom I loved dear > Why heard 1 not from you for many a year ? O, oft, faithfu' Sandy, wi' thinking on thee! When others were sleeping, 1 ne'er slosed an e'e." " Alas ' both my parents I lost when a child. And far from these valleys was I then exiled ; But years came, and plenty was showered upon me So I wish, dearest jewel! to share it with thee. " We loved other dearly, with love let us end. While in inaocent pleasure our days will we spend; And again to your father together we'll go : It will ease the old farmer of trouble and woe." With man and maid-servants, to wait them upon, Away to the Lowlands again are they gone ; They drove to the win. low before they wad stand ; While down came the father wi' bonnet in hand. " Come keep on your bonnet, and don't let It fa' ; It sets not the peacock to bow to the craw 1" " Forbear, gentle Sandy, an' dinna taunt me: My Jeau'g undeserving your leddy to be." There's mirth i' the kitchen, delight on the green ; Sae pleased was the mother, tears blinded her e'en ; To make ilk ane happy, nae siller w.is spared ; An* now the auld farmer's a douce looking laird Eo:l)aiber no more. [WjiiTTBK on hearing the following traditional accoT my weel ; When I came to a deep water. He caught her by the milk-white hand. I can swim through hke ony eel." And by the grass-green sleeve; And there has taken his will of her. " Turn back, turn back, you lady fair. Wholly without her leave. You know not what I see; There is a lady in that castle. The lady frowned and sadly blushed. That will burn you and me." And oh ! but she thought shame; " Betide me weal, betide me wae. Says, " If you are a knight at all. That lady wiU I see." You surely will tell me your name." She took a ring from her finger, " In some places they call me Jack, And gave't tiie porter for his fee; In other some they call me John ; Says, " Tak' you that, my good porter. But when into the queen's court. And bid the queen speak to me." Oh then Lithcock it is my name." And when she came before the queen. " Lithcock ! Lithcock !" the lady said. There she fell low down on her knee ; And oft she spelt it over again ; Says, " There is a knight into your court, " Lithcock ! it's Latin," the lady said. This day has robbed me." "Richard's the English of that name." " Oh, has he robbed you of your gold. The knight he rode, the lady ran. Or has he robbed you of your fee ?" A live long summer's day ; " He has not robbed me of my gold. Till they came to the wan water. He has not robbed me of my fee ; That all men do call Tay. He has robbed me of my maidenhead. The fairest flower of my bodie." He*set his horse head to the water. Just through it for to ride; " There is no knight in all my court. And the lady was as ready at him. That thus has robbed thee ; The waters for to wade. { ; But you'ir have the truth of his right hand. Or else for your sake he'll dee ; 1 1 282 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Though it were Earl Kichard my own brother, i Aud oh ! forbi.J that it he ;•• Then, si^hinR, said .'.he laJy fair, " 1 wot the samen man is he," i "And she would meal you with millering. That she gather.* at the mill ; , And mak' you thick as any daigli, And when the pan was brimful The queen called on her merr/ men. Even fifty men and three ; Earl Kiehard u3«d to be the hrst man. But now the hindmost was he. " Would mess you up in scuttle dishes. Syne bid us sup till we were fou, Lay down her head upon a p.)ke. Then sleep and snore like any sow." He's taken cut one hundred pounds. And told it in his glove; Bays, '■ Tak- jou that, my lady fair. And seek another love." " Away ! away ! you bad woman. For all your vile words grieveth me. When ye heed so little for yourself, I'm sure ye'll heed far less for me " Oh no, oh no," the lady cried, " That's what shall never be ; Ml have the truth of your right hand. The queen it gave to me." " I wish I had drunk your water, sister. When that I did dripk of your wine ; Since for a carle's fair daughter. It aye gars me dree all this pine." " I wish I had drunk of your water, sister. When 1 did drink your wine ; That for a carle's fair dau 'hter. It does gar me dree all this pine." " May be 1 am a carle's daughter, Aud may be never nane ; When ye met me in the good green wood. Why did you not let me alane f " May be I am a carles daughter. And may be never nane ; When ye met me in the green wcod. Why did you not let me alane ?" " Gude e'en, gude e'en, ye heather berries. As ye're growing on yon hill ; If the auld carle and his bags were here, I wot he would get meat his fill. " Will you wear the short clothes. Or will you wear the side. Or will you walk to your wedding. Or wUl you UU it ride ?" " Late, late, at night I knit our pokes. With even four-and-twenty knots ; And in the morn at breakfast time, I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks. " I will not wear the short clothes. But I will wear the side ; I will not walk to my wedding. But I to it will ride." " Late, late, at night I knit our pokes. With even four-and-twenty strings; And if you look to my white fingers. They have as many gay gold rings." When he was s t upon the horse. The lady him behind ; Then cauld and eerie were the words. The tv\a had them between. " Away ! away ! ye ill woman. And s .re your vile words grieveth me ; When you heed so little for yourself, I'm sure ye'll heed far less for me. She said, " Good een, ye nettles tall. Just there where ^e grow at the dike, If the auld carlin my mother was here, Ba« weel's she would your pates pike. "But if you are a carle's daughter. As I take you to be ; How did you get the gay clothing. In greenwood ye had on thee ?" " How she would stap you in her poke, I wot at that she wadna fail; And boil ye in her auld brass pan. And of ye mak' right gude kail. \ " My mother she's a poor woman. She nursed earl's children three; And I get them from a foster sister, ^ i'or to biguile such sparks as thee." ~ SCOTTISH BALLADS. 283 " But if you be a carle's daughter, A His fostlr faider fure of the toun, As 1 believe you be ; To vissy Allane he maid him boun ; How did you learn the good Latin, He saw him lyane, allace ! in swruu In green wood ye spoke to uie ?" For fait of help, and lyk to de ;— Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? " My mother she's a mean woman, ahe nursed earl's children three ; Thay saw his held begin to ryfe ; I learned it frym their chapelain. Syne for ane nureiss thay send belyfe. To beguile such sparks as ye." Quha brocht with hir fyfty-and-fyve Of men of war full prevely ; — When mass was sung, and bells were rung. Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? And all men boune for bed ; Then Earl Richard and thU Ladye, Thay ruschit furt lyk hellis rukis, In ane bed they were laid. And every ane of yarae had hukis ; They caut him shortly in your olukis. He turned his face to the stock. Syne band him in ane creddill of tre ;— And she hers to the stane; Quhy sowld not Allan honorit be :* And cauld and dreary was the luve. That was thir twa between. Thay brot him invart in the land. Syne every freynd maid him his band. Great was the mirth in the kitchen. Quhill they might owdir gang or stand. Likewise intill the ha'; Never ane fute fra him to fle ;— But in his bed lay Earl Richard, Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? Wiping the tears awa'. The grittest cowart in this land. He wept till he fell fast asleep. Ffra he with Allane enter in band. Then slept till licht was come; Thot he may nowdir gang nor stand. Then he did hear Uie gentlemen Zet fourty sail not gar him fle ;— That Ulked in the room. Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? Said, " Saw ye ever a fitter match. Sir Allanis hewmond is ane cop. Betwixt the ane and ither ; With an sege feddir in his top ; The king o' Scotland's fair dochter. Fra hand to hand so dois he hop, And the queen of England's brither." Quhill sum may nowdir speik nor se;— Quhy sowld nut Allane honorit be ? " And is she the king of Scotland's feir dochter ? This day, oh, weel is me ! For seven times has my steed been saddled. To come to court with thee ; And with this witty lady fair. In xule, quhen ilk man singis his can-ell, Gude Allane lyis in to ane barrell ; Quhen he is thair, he dowtis ne paiiell To cum on him be land or se ; — How happy must I be!" Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? Zet wes yair nevir sa gay ane gallane, Mhn=a=§^mt Fra he melt with our niaister Sir Allane, Bot gif he hald him by ye hallane. [From the Bannatyne MS., in the Advocates- Bak wart on tiie flure fallis he ;— Library, Edinburgh.] Quhy sowld not AUane honorit be ? QuHKN he wes zung, and cled in grene. My maistir Allane grew so stark. Haifand his air about his ene, Quhill he maid mony cunning clerk ; Baith men and wemen did him mene. XJpoun yair faisis he settis his mark. Quhen he grew on ion hiUis he;— A blud reid nois besyd ye e ;— [This ballad was published by Dr Percy, from And what will ye leave to your bairns and a manuscript which was transmitted to him. your wife. from Scotland, by Sir David Balrymple (Lord When ye gang ower the sea, ?" Hailes). From the source whence it proceeded. " The warld's room : let them beg through life. it wiis in all probability written by Ladv Wabd- Mother, mother ; LAW.] The warld's room : let them beg through life; For them never mair will I see, 0." " Why does your brand sae drap wi" blade. Edward, Edward > " And what will you leave to your ain mother Why does your brand sae drap wi' blude, Edward, Edward," [de:;r. And why sae sad gang je, ?" And what will you leave to your ain mother dear ^ " 0, 1 ha'e killed my hawk sae gude, My dear son, now tell me, 0." Mother, mother; •■ The curse of hell frae me ye sail beir. 0, 1 ha'e killed my hawk sae gude ; Mother, mother ; And 1 ha'e nae mair but he, O." The curse of hell frae me ye sail beir; Sic counsels ye gave to me, !" " Your hawk's blude was never sae red. Edward, Edward ; Your hawk's bluile was never sae red. My dear son, I tell tliee, 0." " O, I ha'e kilkd my red-roan steed. SON DAVIE, SON DATIE. Mother, mother ; 0, 1 ha'e killed my red-roan steed. That was sae fair and free, O.' 1 [From Motherwell's Collection, where it is said to be given from the recitation of an old " Your steed was auld, and ye ha'e gat mair. woman.] Edward, Edward ; Your steed was auld, and ye ha'e gat mair; " What bluid's that on thy coat lap ? Some otlier dule ye drie, 0." Son Davie ! son Davie ! "01 ha'e killed my father dear. What bluid's that on thy coat lap ? Mother, mother; And the truth come tell to me, 0." 0, 1 ha'e killed my father dear, Alas! and woe is me, !" " It is the bluid of my great hawk. Mother lady ! mother lady ! " And whatten penance will ye drie for that. It is the bluid of my great hawk, Edward, Edward ? And the truth 1 ha'e tald to tnee, 0." And whatten penance will ye drie for thati* My dear son, now tell me, 0." " Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red. " I'll set my feet in yonder boat. Son Davie ! son Davie ! Mother, mother; Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red. I'll set my feet in yonder boat. And the truth come tell to me, 0." And I'll fareover the sea, 0." " It is the bluid o' my grey hound. " And what will ye do wi'your touirs and your Mother lady ! mother lady ! Edward, Edward ? [ha'. It is the bluid o' my grey hound. And what will ye do wi' your touirs and your And it wudna rin for me, 0." That were sae fair to see, f" [ha'. "I'll let them stand till they doun fa'. " Hound's bluid was ne'er sac red. Mother, mother ; Son Davie ! son Davie ! I'll let them sUnd till they doun fa' ; Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red. For here never mair maun I be, 0." « \ And the truth come tell to me, 0." 1 283 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " It is the bluid o' my brother John, { ^ THK broom, and the bonnie bonnie broom. Mother lady ! mother lady ! | And the broom of the Cowdenknows ! It is the bluid o' my brother John, And aye sae sweet as the lassie sang. And the truth I ha'e Uld to thee, 0." 1- the bought, milking the ewes. 1 " What about did the plea begiu ? The hills were high on ilka side. Son Davie ! son Davie !" ; An' the bought i' the lirk o' the hill. " It began about the cutting o- a willow And aye, as she sang, her voice it rang. wand. Out o'er the head o" yon hill. That would never ha'e been a tree, 0." There was a troop o" gentlemen " What death dost thou desire to die f Came riding merrilie by. Son Davie ! son Davie ! And one of them has rode out of the way. What death dust thou desire to die ? To the bought to the bonnie may. And the truth come tell to me, O," "Weel may ye save an' see, bonnie lass. " I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship. An' weel may ye save an' see." Mother lady < mother lady ! "An' sae wi' you, ye weel-bred knight. I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship. And what's your will wi' me ?' And yell never see mair o' me, O." " The night is misty and mirk, fair may. " What will't thou leave to thy poor wife ? And I have ridden astray. Son Davie ! son Davie !" And will you be so kind, fair may. " Grief and sorrow all her life. As come out and point my way ?•' And she'll never get mair frae me, 0." " Ride out, ride out, ye ramp rider .' " What willt thou leave to thy auld son ? Your steed's baith stout and Strang ; Son Davie! son Davie 1" For out of the bought I darna come. " The weary warld to wander up and down. For fear 'at ye do me wrang." And he'll never get mair o' me, 0." " winna ye pity me, bonnie lass. " What will't thou leave to thy mother dear ? O winna ye pity me ? Son Davie! son Davie!" An' winna ye pity my poor steed. " A fire 0' coals to burn her wi' hearty Stands trembUng at yon tree<>" cheer. And she'll never get mair o' me, 0." "I wadna pity your poor steed, Though it were tied to a thorn ; For if ye wad gain my love the night. Ye wad slight me ere the morn. " For I ken you by your weel-busked hat. ^^e ^xmm o! ^DoWewiknoio^. And your merrie twinkling e'e, That ye're the laird o' the Oakland hills. An' ye may weel seem for to be." [" Thh beautiful air of Cowdenknows is well known and popular. In Ettrick Forest the fol- " But 1 am not the laird o' the Oakland hills. . lowing words are uniformly adapted to the Ye're iar mistii'en o' me; tune, and seem to be the original ballad. An But I'm ane o' the men about his house. edition of this pastoral tale, differing considera- An' right aft in hU companie." bly from the preent copy, was published by Mr Herd, in 1772. Cowdenknows is situated upon He's ta'en her by the middle jimp. the river Leader, about four miles from Melrose, And by the grass-green sleeve ; and is now the property of Dr Uame."—Min- He's lifted her over the fauld dyka. itrelty qfthe Scottith BurJer.] \ } And speer'd at her sma' leave. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 289 he's ta'en out a purse o' gowd, { And streek'd her yellow hair, " Now, take ye that, my bonnie may. Of me till you hear mair." i " Ye lied, ye lied, my very bonnie may, Sae loud as I hear you lie ; For dinna ye mind that misty nigh't I was i' the bought wi' thee ? An- soon he's o'erta'en his men ; And ane and a' cried out to him, " master, ye've tarry'd long !" " I ken you by your middle sae jimp. An' your merry twinkling ee. That ye're the bonnie lass i' the Cowdenknows, And ye may weel seem for to be." "01 ha'e been eaat, and I ha'e been west. An' I ha'e been Cir o'er the know. But the bonniest lass that ever I saw Is i' the bought milking the ewes." Then he's leapt off his berry-brown steed. An' he's set that fair may on— " Ca' out your kye, gude father, yoursel'. For she's never ca' them out again. She set the cog upon her head. An' she's gane singing hame— " where ha'e ye been, my ae daughter ■> Ye ha'e na been your lane." " I am the laird of the Oakland hills, I ha'e thirty plows and three ; An' I ha'e gotten the bonniest lass That's in a' the south country." " nae body was wi' me, father, nae body has been wi' me ; The night is misty and mirk, father. Ye may gang to the door and see. . " But wae be to your ewe-herd, father. And an ill deed may he dee ; He bug the bought at the back o* the know. And a tod has frighted me. [From Buchan's Collection.] " There came a tod to the bought-door. The like I never saw; And ere he had tane the lamb he did, I had lourd he had ta'en tliem a'." Far In yon Isles beyond Arg.vle, Where flocks and herds were plenty, Liv'd a rich heir, whose sister fair Was flower ower a' that country. whan fifteen weeks was come and gane. Fifteen weeks and three. That lassie began to look thin and pale. An' to long for his merry twinkling e'e. A knight. Sir Niel, had woo'd her lang. Intending for to marry ; But when she saw the young Gleugyle, He wan her heart entirely. It fell on a day, on a het simmer day. She was ca'ing out her father's kye. By came a troop o' gentlemen, A* merriUe riding bye. Then tidings to her brother came, Sir Niel had boasted proudly. In favours of his sister fair. This made him to swear roudly. " Weel may ye save an* see, bonnie may, Weel may ye save and see ! Weel I wat, ye be a very bonnie may. But whae's aught that babe ye are wi' ?" Swearing for all the friendship past. If ance he saw the morning, This knight by him should breathe his last, Or make him rue his scorning. Never a word could that lassie say. For never a ane could she blame. An' never a word could the lassie say. But, " I have a good man at hame." i Down on yon shore where wild waves roar A challenge he did send him ; Before the sun, these two men met, R Nae seconds to attend them. 1 290 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " What ails, what ails my dearest friend ? Why want you to destroy rae ?" •' I want nae flattery from Sir Niel, Unsheath your sword and try me." " I will not fight with you, Mac Van, You never me offended ; And if I aught to you have done, I'll own my fault, and mend it." " Does this become so brave a knight ? Does blood sae much surprise you ? And if you do refuse to fight, I'll like a dog cliastise you." " O, foolish man don't tempt your fate. Nor don't presume to strike me; Remember nane in fair Scotland Can wield the broad-sword like me." " The sword, you say, can handle well. And boasteth very boldly ; Your boasting is set off with skill. Your actions seem but cowardly." He being mad at this abuse, A furious stroke he darted, Into the breast of bold Mao Van, Who with a groan departed. " Curse on my skill, what have I done ? Bash man, but you would have it. To force a friend to take thy life. Who would lose blood to save it ' " Now, woe is me, for this I die. And now it cannot be mended ; That happiness that was sae nigh, By one rash stroke is ended. " But I'll exile to some foreign isle. To fly I know not whither; I darena face my bonnie Ann, When I ha'e slain her brither." Then casting round a mournful eye. To see that nane was nigh him ; There he saw the young Glengyle, Who like the wind came flying. " I've come too late to stop the strife, But since you've been victorious. Upon your life I'll be reveng'd. My honour bids me do this." Then with Glengyle he did enclose. Not meaning for to harm him ; And thrice with wounds he did him pierce. Yet he could scarce discern them. " Yield up your sword to me, Glengyle, Our quarrel's honour founded ; I could ha'e pierc'd thy dauntless breast. Three times I have you wounded." Then saying so, he quit his ground, Glengyle with this advanced. And pierc'd the heart of brave Sir Niel TUl the spear behind him glanced. Then falling down, he cried, " I'm slain^ Adieu to all things earthly ! Farewell, Glengyle, the day's your ain. But ye ha'e won it basely." When tidings came to Lady Ann, Times after times she fainted ; She ran and kiss'd their clay-cold lips. And thus her case lamented : — " O thou the guardian of my youth. My young, my only brother, Alas ! for thy untimely end, I'll mourn till life is over ! " And thou, my love, why wast thou slain, AU in thy youthful blossom ; Nae mair I'll love that treach'rous man. That pierc'd thy manly bosom. " Thou tenderhearted wast and true. Thy honour's been abused ; A braver man ne'er faced a foe. Had you been fairly used. " For you a maid I'll live and die, Glengyle shall ne'er espouse me; Till seven years are come and gane. The dowie black shall clothe me." %iiu ^ailMe. " A Ballad under this name, and somewhat similar, was printed by Wotherspoon, in the second volume of his Collection : there are, how- ever, some breaches in tliat one, which are now 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 291 happfly made up in this one. There is also a ffc "I winna gang alang wi' yon. difference between them in the manner of de- Indeed I maun confess; tail. The Duncan Graeme mentioned in the I can neither milk cow nor ewe. ballad is only actitious, to prevent the real name JSor yet can I speak Earse." being known. " Lizie Baillie was a daughter of the Reverend " never fear, Lizie," he said. Mr Baillie's, and lady's maid to the Countess of " If ye will gang wi' me ; Saltoun, to whose son, Alexander, master of All that is into my place. Saltoun, she bare a child. The young man Can speak as gude Scotch as thee. wished to legitimatise the offspring of his unlaw- ful love, by marrying the mother of his child. " But for a time, we now maun part. but was prevented by Lord and Lady Sal- I hinna time to terry ; toun, his father and mother, as being below his Next when we twa meet again. degree; when he retorted by saying,— 'She was Will be in CasUecary." a minister's daughter, and he was but a minis- ter's grandson.' He, on the mother's side, hav- When Lizie tarried out her time. ing descended from Dr James Sharpe, Arch- Unto her father's came; bishop of St Andrews, who was assassinated in The very first night she arrived. 1679. The young nobleman's mother's name Wha comes but Duncan Graeme. was Margaret Sharpe, who married William, second Lord Saltoun, and he was the only issue. Says, " Bonny Lizie Baillie, After having continued a considerable length of A gude deed mat ye dee ; time a bachelor, he married Lady Mary Gordon, Although to me ye brake your tryst. daughter of George Earl of Aberdeen, and Lizie Now I am come for thee." Baillie was then forgotten. The late Mr Fraser, minister of Tyrie, was a grandson to Lizie Baillie, " stay at hame, her father said," «.nd great grandson to Alexander Fraser, third Your mither cannot want thee; Lord Saltoun."— BucAan'i Ballads qfthe North.] And gin ye gang awa' this night. We'll ha'e a KUlycrankie." It fell about the Lammas time. When flowers were fresh and green ; " My bonnie Lizie Baillie, Lizie Baillie to Gartartan went. come to me without delay; To see her sister Jean. would ye ha'e sae little wit. As mind what odd folks wad say ?" She meant to go unto that place. To sUy a little while; She wouldna ha'e the Lowlandman, But mark what fortune her befell. That wears the coat sae blue ; When she went to the isle. But she would ha'e the Highlandman, That wears the plaid and trews. It fell out upon a day. Sheep-shearing at an end ; Lizie BaUlie she walk'd out. To see a distent friend. Out it spake her mother then, A sorry heart had she ; Says, " Wae be to his Highland face. That's te'en my lass frae me !" But going down In a low glen. She met wi' Duncan Graeme, Who courted her along the way. Likewise conveyed her harae. m^ ^ait^ 0f eUaiff^toiw. " My bonnie Lizie Baillie, I'll row you in my plaidie ; ["John Kincaid, Laird of Waristoun, (an estate If ye'll gang ower the hills wi' me. situated between the city of Edinburgh and the And be a Highland ladle." ;; «sea, towards Leith,) was murdtred, on the 2nd 292 SCOTTISH BALLADS. of July 1600, by a man named Eolert Weir, ,ii "■Weirmadeaniminediateescapefromjustice, who wa3 employed to do so by his wife, Jean Livingstone, daughter of the Laird of Dunipace. The unfortunate woman, who thus became im- plicated in a crime so revolting to humanity, was only twenty -one years of age at the time. It is probable from some circumstances, that her husband was considerably older than herself, and also that their marriage was any thing but one of love. It is only alleged, however, that she was instigated to seek his death by resentment for some bad treatmenton his part, and, in jparti- cular, for a bite which he had inflicted on her arm. There was something extraordinary in the deli- beration with which this wretched woman ap- proached the awful gulf of crime. Having re- solved on the means to be employed in the mur- der, she sent for a quondam servant of her father, Robert Weir, who lived in the neighbouring city. He came to the place of Waristouu, to see her; but, for some unexplained reason, was not ad- mitted. She again sent for him, and he again went. Again he was not admitted. At length, on his being called a third time, he was intro- duced to her presence. Before this time she had found an accon^plice in the nurse of her child. It was then arranged, that Weir should be con- cealed in a cellar till the dead of night, when he should come forth and proceed to destroy the laird as he lay in his chamber. The bloody tra- gedy was acted precisely in accordance with this plan. Weir was brought up, at midnight, from the cellar to the hall by the lady herself, and afterwards went forward alone to the laird's bed- room. As he proceeded to his bloody work, she retired to her bed, to wait the intelligence of her husband's murder. When Weir entered the chamber, Waristoun awoiie with the noise, and leant inquiringly over the side of the bed. The murderer then leapt upon him; the unhappy man uttered a great cry ; Weir gave him several dreadful blows on vital parts, particularly one on the flank vein. But as the laird was still able to cry out, he at length saw fit to take more effective n.easures : he seized him by the throat with both hands, and, compressing that part with all his force, succeeded, after a few minutes, in depriving him of life. When the lady heard her husband's first death-shout, she leapt out of bed, in an agony of mingled horror and repent- ance, and descended to the hall ; but she made no effort to countermand her mission of destruc- tion. She waited patiently till Weir came down to inform her that all was over. i but Lady Waristoun and the nurse were appre- j hended before the deed was half a day old. Being caught, as the Scottish law terms it, red-hand — I that is, while still bearing unequivocal marks of guilt, they were immediately tried by the magis- trates of Edinburgh, and sentenced to be stran- gled and burnt at a sUke. The lailys lather, the Laird of Dunipace, was a favourite of King James TI., and he made all the interest he could with his majesty to procure a pardon ; but all that he could obtain from the king, was an order that the unhappy lady should be execute i by decapitation, and that at such an early hour in the morning as to make the affair as little of a spectacle as possible. " The space intervening between her sentence and her execution was only thirty-seven hours; yet in that little time. Lady Waristoun contrived to become converted from a blood-stained and un- relenting murderess into a perfect saint on earth. One of the then ministers of Edinburgh has left an account of her conversion, which was lately published, and would be extremely amusing, were it not for the disgust which seizes the mind on beholding such an in»t;ince of perverted reli- gion. She went to the scaffold with a demeanour which would have graced a martyr. Her lips were incessant in the utterance of pious excla- mations. She professed herself confident of everlasting happiness. She even grudged every moment which she spent in this world, as so much taken from that sum of eternal felicity which she was to enjoy in the next. The people who came to witness the last scene, instead of having their minds inspired with a salutary hor- ror for her crime, were engrossed with admira- tion of her saintly behaviour, and greedily ga- thered up every devout word which fell from her tongue. It would almost appear from the nar- rative of the clergyman, that her fate was rather a matter of envy than of any other feeling. Her execution took place at four in the morning tf the 6th of July, at the Watergate, near Holy- ruodhouse ; and at the same hour her nurse was burnt on the castle-hill. It is some gratification to know, that the actual murderer. Weir, was eventually seized and executed, though not till four years after." — Chamhtrs.} DouN by yon bonnie garden green, Sae merrily as she gaes ! She has, I wis, twa weel-made feet. And she trips upon her taes. ' SCOTTISH BALLADS. 293 8ne has twa weel-made feet, I trow ; i Far better Is her hand ; She is as jimp in the middle sae flue, As ony willow wand. In it came her mother dear ; A sorry woman was she : " I wad gi'e my white money and gowd. It was at dinner as they sat. And when they drank the wine. How happy were the laird and lady Of bonnie Waristoun ! " Borrow me, mother ! borrow me borrowed sail I never be ; For I garr'd kill my ain gude lord. And life's nae pleasure to me." But he has spoken a word in jest ; Her answer was not good ; And he has thrown a plate at her. Made her moutli gush out o' blude. Then in it came her fether dear ; A sorry man was he : " Ochon, alas, my bonnie Jean ! If I had you at hame wi' me ! She wasna fi-ae her chamber door A step, but barely three. When up and at her richt hand There stood Man's Enemie ! " Seven daughters I ha'e left at liame. As fair as fair can be ; But I would gi'e them a', ane by ane, Jean, to borrow thee." " Gif ye will do my bidding, Udy, At my bidding for to be, I'll learn you a richt skeely wile. Avenged for to be. " borrow me, father ! borrow me 1 Borrowed s.iU I never be ; I that is worthy o' the death It's richt that I suld dee. " At evening, when ye sit and sup. And when ye drink the wine. See that ye fill the glass weel up To the L^rd o' Waristoun." " Warristoun, I was your wiffe These nine years, running ten , And I never lo'ed ye half sae weel As now when ye're lying slain ! The Foul Thief he has kuist the knot; She lift hU head on hie ; And the fause nourice drew the knot. That Waristoun garr'd die. "Cause tak' me out at nicht, at nicht; Let the sun not on me shine : And on yon heiding hill strike aff This dowie held of mine. Then word has gane to Leith, to Leith, And up to Ediubro toun. That the lady she has slain the laird. The laird of WarUtoun. " But first tak' aff my gowd brocade ; Let only n,y petticoat be; And tie my mantle ower my head ; For my death I daurna see." And they've ta'en her and the fause nourice. And in prison hae them boun' ; The nourice she was hard of heart. But the lady fell iu a swoom. Sae they've U'en her to the heiding hUl, At morn, afore the sun ; And wi' mournfu' sighs they've to'en her life. For the death o' Waristoun. In it came her brother dear ; A sorry man was he : " I wad gi'e a' the lands I ha'e, Bonnie Jean, to borrow thee. ®^^e mut^ €Mt 0* ® aigill " O borrow me, brother ! borrow me ! borrowed sail I never be ; For I garr'd kill my ain gude lord. And life is nae pleasure to me." [" This local ballad, which commemorates some real event, is given from the recitation of an old woman, residing in the neighbourhood of r Cambus Micha«l, Perthshire. It possesseb the SCOTTISH BALLADS. 294 elements of good poetry, and, had it fallen into ^ the hands of those who make no scruple of inter- polating and corrupting the text of oral song, it might have been made, with little trouble, a yery interesting and pathetic composition. " Kercock and Balathy are two small villages on the banks of the Tay ; the latter is nearly op- posite Stobhall. According to tradition, the ill- fated hero of the ballad had a leman in each of these places, and it was on the occasion of his paying a visit to his Kercock love, that the I jealous dame in Balathy Toun, from a revengefu' feeling, scuttled the boat in which he was to re cross the Tay to StobhalW— Motherwell.'] David Dkummond's destinie, Gude man o' appearance o' Cargill ; I wat his blude rins in the flude, Sae sair against his parents' will. She was the lass o' Balathy toun. And he the butler o' Stobhall ; And mony a time she wauked late^ To bore the coble o' Cargill. His bed was made in Kercock ha'. Of gude clean sheets and of the hay ; He wudna rest ae nicht therein. But on the proud waters he wud gae. His bed was made in Balathy toun. Of the clean sheets and of the strae; But I wat it was far better made. Into the bottom o' bonnie Tay. She bored the coble in seven pairts, 1 wat her heart might ha'e been sae sair. For there she got the bonnie lad lost, Wi' the curly locks and the yellow hair. He put his foot into the boat. He little thocht o* ony ill : But before that he was mid waters. The weary coble began to fill. " Woe be to the lass o' Balathy toun, I wat an ill death may she dee ; For she bored the coble in seven pairts. And let the waters perish me ! " O help ! O help ! I can get nane, Nae help o' man can to me come 1" This was about his dying words. When he was choaked up to the chin. " Gae tell my father and ray motiier. It was naebody did me this ill ; I was a-going my ain errands. Lost at the coble o' bonnie Cargill." She bored the boat In seven pairts, I wat she bored it wi' gude will ; And there they got the bonnie lad's corpse. In the kirk shot o' bonnie Cargill. Oh a' the keys o' bonnie Stobha', I wat they at his belt did hing ; But a' the keys of bonnie Stobha', They now ly low into the stream. A braver page Into his jige. Ne'er set a foot upon the plain , His father to his mother said, " Oh sae sune as we've wanted him • " I wat they had raair luve than this. When they were young and at the scule ; But for his sake she wauked late. And bored the coble o' bonnie Cargill. " There's ne'er a clean sark gae on my back. Nor yet a kame gae in my hair ; There's neither coal nor candle licht, Shall shine in my bower for ever mair. " At kirk nor market I'se ne'er be at. Nor yet a blythe bhnk in my e'e ; There's ne'era ane shall say to anither. That's the lassie garr'd the young man dee. Between the yetts o' bonnie Stobha', I And the Kirkstyle o' bonnie Cargill ; There is mony a man and mother's son. That was at my luve's burial. ^oBEie Bu0fe ©kki^. [First published by Motherwell.] TniBK lived a lady in Scotland, Hey my love and ho my joy ; There lived a l.idy in Scotland, Who dearly lov^d me ; There lived a lady in Scotland, And she's fa'n in love wi' an Englishman, ^ And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt in Dundeesi SCOTTISH BALLADS. 235 The father unto the daughter came, 4^ Give to him this little pen-knife. Hey m) love, &c. Tell him to get another wife. The father unto the daughter came. For bonnie, &o. Who dearly, &o. The father unto the daughter came. " Give to him this gay gold ring. Saying, "Will you forsake that Englisnman," Hey my love, &o. And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt in Give to him this gay gold ring. Dundee! Who dearly loves, &o. Give to him this gay gold ring. " If you wiU not that EngUshman forsake. TeU him I'm going to my burning. Hey my love, &c. And bonnie," &c. If you will not that Englishman forsake. Who dearly, &c. Her father he ca'd up the stake. If you will not that Englishman forsake. Hey my love, &c. O I will bum you at a stake. Her father he ca'd up the stake. And bonnie," &c. Who dearly, &c. Her father he ca'd up the stake. " I wiU not that Englishman forsake. Her brother he the fire did make. H«;y my lovs, &c. And bonnie Susie Cleland was burnt in Dundee. I wUl not that EnglUhman forsake. Who dearly, &c. I will not that Englishman forsake. Though you should burn me at a stake. And bonnie, &c. Mnl^ aim, m i|e " where will I get a pretty little boy. Hey my love, &c. [From Motherwell's collection, where it is where will I get a pretty little boy. said to be popular in the southern parishes of Who dearly, &c. Perthshire.] where will I get a pretty little boy. Who will carry tidings to my joy. Thbrb were three ladies lived in a bower. And bonnie," &c. Eh vow bonnie. And they went out to pull a flower. " Here am I a pretty little boy. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. Hey my love, &c. Here am I a pretty little boy. They hadna pu'ed a flower but ane. Who dearly loves thee ; Here am I a pretty little boy, Who wUl carry tidings to thy joy. Eh vow bonnie. When up started to them a banisht man. On the bonuie banks o' Fordie. And bonnie," &c. He's ta'en the first sister by her hand. Eh vow bonnie. " Give to him this right hand glove. And he's turned her round and made her stand. Hey my love, &c. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. Give to him this right hand glove. Who dearly loved me; " It's whether wiU ye be a rank robber's wife. Give to him this right hand glove. Eh vow bonnie. Tell him to get another love. Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife. For bonnie, &o. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie ■"' " Give to him this little pen-knife. " It's I'll not be a rank robber's wife. Hey my love, &c. Eh vow bonnie. Give to him this little pen-knife. But I'll rather die by your wee pen-knife. Who dearly, &c. ^ On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." ~ 296 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He's killed this may and he'g laid her by, ^ " since I've done this evU deed. Elj vow bonnie. Eh vow bonnie. For to bear the red rose company. Good sail never be seen o' me. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." He's taken the second ane by the hand. He's taken out his wee pen-knitfc. Eh vow bonnie. Eh vow bonnie. And he's turned her round and made her stand. And he's twyned himsel' o' his aln sweet life. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. " It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife. Eh vow bonnie. Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie ?" '^xmu Mrteict. "I'll not be a rank robber's wife. [From the Border Minstrelsy, where it is given Eh vow bonnie. from the recitation of a Lady.] But I'll rather die by your wee pen-knife. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." Pbincb Kobbrt has wedded a gay ladye. He has wedded her with a ring; He's killed this may and he's laid her by. Eh vow bonnie. Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye. But he darna bring her hame. For to bear the red rose company. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. " Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dearl Your blessing now grant to me !" He's taken the youngest ane by the hand. Eh vow bonnie, "Instead of a blessing ye sail have my curse. And you'll get nae blessing frae me." And he's turned her round and made her stand. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. She has called upon her waiting maid. To fill a glass of wine ; Says, " Will ye be a rank robber's wife. She has called upon her false steward. Eh vow bonnie. To put rank poison in. Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife. On the bonnie banks o* Fordie." She has put it to her roudes lip, * And to her roudes chin ; " I'll not be a rank robber's wife. She has put it to her iause fause mouth. Eh vow bonnie. But the never a drap gaed in. Nor wiU I die by your wee ken-knife. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. He has put it to his bonnie mouth. And to his bonnie chin. " For I ha'e a brother in this wood. He's put it to his cherry lip. Eh vow bonnie. And sae fast the rank poison ran in. And gin ye kiU me. it's he'll kill thee. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." " ye ha'e poisoned your ae son, mother. Your ae son and your heir; " What's thy brother's name, come tell to me ? Eh vow bonnie." ye ha'e poisoned your ae son, mother. And sons you'll never ha'e mair. My brother's name U Baby Lon, On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." " where will I get a little boy. That will win hose and shoon, " sister, sUter, what have I done. Eh vow bonnie, have I done this ill to thee. To run sae fast to Darlinton, And bid fair Eleanor come?" On the bonnie banks o' Fordie i \ \ • iJourfei— haggard. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 297 Then up and spake a little boy, . That wad win hose and shoon,— " O I'll away to Dariinton, And bid fait Eleanor come." O he has run to Dariinton, And tirled at the pin ; And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's seV To let the bonnie boy in f " Your gude-mother has made ye a rare dinour. She's made it baith gude and fine ; Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour. And ye maun cum till her and dine." It's twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town. The langest that ever were gane ; But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light. And she cam' linkin' in. But when she cam' to Sillertoun town. And into Sillertoun ha'. The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning. And they were weeping a'. " where is now my wedded lord. And where now can he be ? O where is now my wedded lord ? For him I eanna see." " Your wedded lord is dead," she says, " And just gane to be laid in the clay ; Your wedded lord is dead," she says, " And just gane to be buried the day. " Ye'se get nane o' his gowd, ye'se get nane o' his gear, Ye'se get nae thing frae me; Ye'se no get an inch o' his gude braid land. Though your heart suld burst in three." " I want nane o' his gowd, I want nane o' his gear, I want nae land frae thee ; But I'll ha'e the rings that's on his finger. For them he did promise to me." " Ye'se no get the rings that's on his finger, Ye'se no get them frae me ; Ye'se no get the rings that's on his finger. An' your heart suld burst in three." fe She's turned her back unto the wa', j And her face unto a rock ; And there, before the mother's face, I Her very heart it broke. I The tane was buried in Mary's kirk, j The tother in Mary's quair ; And out o' the tane there sprang a birk, I And out o' the tother a brier. And thae twa met, and thae twa plat. The birk but and the brier ; And by that ye may very weei ken They were twa lovers dear.* EABL ROBERT. [From Motherwell's collection, where it is said to be given from the recitation of an old woman, a native of Bonhill, in Dumbarton- shire.] It's fifty miles to Sittangen's rocks. As ever was ridden or gane ; And Earl Robert has wedded a wife. But he darna bring her hame. And Earl Robert has wedded a wife, &c His mother she call'd to her waiting maid : " O bring me a pint of wine. For 1 dinna weel ken what hour of this day That my son Earl Robert shall dine." She's put it to her fause, fause cheek. But an' her fause, fause chin ; She's put it to her fause, fause lips. But never a drap went in. But he's put it to his bonnie cheek. Aye and his bonnie chin ; He's put it to his red rosy lips. And the poison went merrily down. " O where will I get a bonnie boy. That will win hose and shoon — That will gang quickly to Sittengen's rock. And bid my lady come .'" * The last two verses are common to many ballads, and are probably derived from some old ^^ metrical romance, since we find the idea ouut •H->n; or THf UNIVERSITY or 298 SCOTTISH BALLADS. It's out then speaks a bonnie boy, 4k And thir twa grew, and thir twa threw. To Earl Robert was something a kin ; | Till this twa craps drew near ; *' Many a time here I run thy errand, | So all the world may plainly see But this day with the tears I'll rin." That they lov'd each other dear. when he cam' to Sittengen's rocks, 1 To the middle of a- the ha'. \ There were bells a ringing and music playing, i And lodies dancing a'. Bml m\\m*$ ipiilsirfOT. " What news, what news, my bonnie boy. [Thk following ballad, which is founded on a What news have ye to me ; Highland tradition, and now given in a revised l8 Earl Robert in very good health. state, appeared first in the Newcastle Magazine And the ladies of your countrie f for May, 1827. Its scene, Glenelchaig, in Kin- tail, Ross-shire, is, with the exception perhaps of " Earl Robert is in very good health. Glencoe, the most rugged locality in the West And as weel as a man can be ; Highlands. The author of the Ballad is >Ir But hU mother this night has a drink to be James Tki.fer, Teacher, parish of Castleton, druken. Langholm.] And at it ye must be." " Remain with us, thou gentle guest. She called to her waiting maid. Remain with us, till morning stay ; To bring her a riding weed ; The daylight's dying in the west. And she called to her stable groom. And long and lonesome is the way To saddle her mUkwhite steed. " My sons to wake the deer are gone But when she came to Earl Robert's bouir. In far Glen Afifric's wild wood glade; To the middle of a" the ha'. Flora and I are left alone. There were bells a ringing and sheets down Give us thy company, dear maid. hinging. And the ladies murning a'. "Think not that covert guile doth lie Disguised in garb of Mr goodwill. " I've come for none of his gold," she said. The name of hospitality " Nor none of his white monie ; Is sacred on the Highland hill. Excepting a ring of his smallest finger. If that you will grant me ?" " Wert thou the daughter of my foe, As thouTt the Saxon stranger's child. "Thoull no get none of his gold," she said. I would not, could not let thee go " Kor none of his white monie ; To be benighted in the wild. Thou'll no get a ring of his smallest finger. Though thy heart should break in thre«.» " Flora, my darUng, cheer prepare. And bid the maid our welcome prove , She set her foot unto a stone. Old Kenneth of the snowy hair. Her back unto a tree ; Is young to see his daughter's love." She set her foot unto a stone. And her heart it brak in three ! " Entreat me not, thou good old man," With falt'ring tongue the maid replied. The one was buried in Mary's kirk. "I must pursue my wayward plan,— The other in Mary's quier ; I may not, cannot here abide." Out of the one there grew a bush. From the other a bonnie brier. " Ah ! maiden wayward sure thou art. And if thou must, thou must be gone. Yet was it never Kenneth's part In the conclusion of the voluminous history of Sir Tristrem.-Scott. \ ^ To send the helpless forth alone. 1 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 299 *' AU-Wighting Time hath me subdued. ^ And loader heard the howl and bark. Mine eyes are glazed and dim of ken. With scream, and hiss, and shriek, and The way is rugged, waste and rude— groan. Glenelchaig* is a dreary glen. She came beneath that fktal rock " Yet Flora wfll her father aid. Where horror lower'd in tenfold wrath— So speaks that bright expressive eye — A hamlet here,^— the mountain broke. Shall we desert the stranger maid. And life was overwhelmed in death. When other aid none else is nigh !" She deem'd she heard the bursting crash. "0 kind old man," the maiden spoke. The agonized and stifled shriek; " All human aid I must forego. Her senses reel, her ear-drums dash. My sacred vow must not be broke— Her eye-balls strain well nigh to break. The vow the living must not know. Yet sped she on, her heart beat high. " Farewell !— entreat not, O ! farewell." So loud it did itself alarm ; So said, she sped away in haste ; She crossed at length the Altondye, Deep, deep the gloom of evening fell. Then lighter grew her thoughte of harm. And heaven and earth were all a waste. Still sped she on by rock and bush, " Abate thy grief, thou white-hair'd man, Her tender limbs much grievance found ; And lovely Flora cease to weep ; She heard the streams of Fahda rush. For Heaven the heart can truly scan. And hollow tongues were whispering round. And doth of love remembrance keep. Kilullin§ met her sight at length- •• For He who is our trust and might. Corpse candles burnt with livid flame- And who is with his own alway. Now Heaven assist the maiden's strength. As nigh us is in shades of night. 'Tis much to bear for mortal firame. As in the brightest beams of day. As near'd she to the camp of death. " His presence shield the maiden's soul !"— The lights danced in the yawning blast. The gloom now dark and darker hung. And sheeted spectres crossed her path. With wild continuous fearful howl. All gibbering ghastly as they pass'd. Each glen, each cliff, each cavern rung. Yet high resolve could nothing harm. Yet held she on— a vaunt, dismay ! — Sped on the maiden free of scathe ; O'er sparry ledge and rolling stone ; Night's clammy dews fell thick and warm. Eude, dark, and toilsome was the way. The sulph'ry air was hot to breathe. And all untrod, yet held she on. She reached at length Saint Ullin's Stone, Yet held she on, by hill and stream. Composed in effort thereon sate ; Thro' tearing brakes and sinking swamps. Thou Power that yet hast led her on. While savage eyes around her gleam. Fnstrengthen her the end to wait ! Like half-extinguished cavern lamps. She heard the Glomah.t ever dark. supposed by late tourists to be the highest in Like wakening thunder deeply moan ; Britain. i There is a pass in Glenelchaig nearly blocked up with detached pieces of rock. Here, says .... tradition, was once a village, and the rock above • Glenelchaig, in Kintail, Eoss-shire, is about giving way in the night buried it and all its in- 10 miles in length, and inconceivably rugged. habitants. t The Glomah is a water-fall from the moun- § KilulUn, literally the burying place of tains on the southern side of Glenelchaig. It U ^ r UUan, 1 300 SCOTTISH BALLADS. She knelt her by the slumbering saint, i Viper and toad around her crawl ; Yet swerVd she not— her soul grew faint. In prayer her lips did move— 'twas all. ^ " 'Twas seen your souls asunder rent Each to its better being lost ; 1 In pity was a vision sent— You both are proved, and laith shaU boast. A languor chilled the living stream. She sunk upon the mould of death ; Say did she sleep as those who dream. Or sleep as those who slept beneath ? " Cease not to love while life shall last. And smooth your path shall love divine; And when your mortal time is past. This visioned blissful land is thine."— Her sleep was not that mortal night In which the spirit leaves the clay ; Twas wak'ning to a vision bright Of light and everlasting day. He ceased,- the maiden raised her eye, HU radiant form she could not mark ; She heard the music fall and die— The vision pass'd, confused and dark. 'Twas wak'ning in another sphere, A fairer, purer, holier, higher ; Where all is eye, where all is ear. Where all is gratified desire. She felt her heart give fitful thrill- She felt the life stream slowly play- She thought she heard the lark sing shriU- She thought she saw the breaking day. Burst on her sight that world of bliss. Where woe and death may never come j She heard the hymns of Paradise, Where not a tuneful breeze is dumb. She felt impressed a glowing kiss, She heard the well-known accents move- She started round— powers of bliss ! 'Tis Allan Samradh— he, her love J She saw Life's river flowing wide With Love and Mercy on the brim, Compared unto its crystal tide The splendour of our sun was dim. Can fleeting visions sense enslave ? No, these are past, she doth not sleep ; 'Tis he for whom she death could brave,— For whom her eyes in heaven could weep And on that tide were floating isles. With bowers of ever-verdant green. Where sate beneath th' Eternal's smUes Those who on earth had faithful been. The sun above the mountains bright Streamed liquid gold o'er land and sea ; Earth, ocean, sky did float in Ught, And Nature raised her hymns of glee. She heard the hallelujahs rise From those who stood before the throne ; She turned aside her mortal eyes From what they might not look upon. Our lovers saw not sea nor sun. They heard not Nature's matin hymn ; Their souls were pour'd from one to one- Each other's eyes, all else was dim. Her lovely face she strove to hide, It was, as angel's, mild and fair ; She felt a tear spontaneous glide. She thought of one she saw not there. ®|)e Seattle of Euaartg.. A shining seraph to her came. In melody his accents moved, — " Fair virgin of the mortal frame. Thy steadfast faith is well approved. " 'Twas seen thy soul devoid of stain— •Twas seen thy earthly passion pure— Thou deem'dst thy love in battle slain— 'Twas seen what virtue can endure. ^ [Modern Ballad, by David Vbddeb.-" In the year 980, when the Danes had invaded Scot- land, and prevailed in the battle of Luncarty, near Perth, the Scots « ere worsted and gave way -, and in their flight through a narrow pass, were stopped by a countryman and his two sons, whn encouraged them to rally and renew the fight ; } telling them that it was more honourable to die 1 . 1 SCOTTISH BAHADS. 3OI in the field fighting for their king and country, '^ Their swords are out— and fair Strathmore than to fly and be afterwards killed by the mer- Is one promiscuous grave ; ciless Danes; and upbraided those who would fly like cowards, when all was at stake. The The Esk, the Brotheck, Tmnan, Tay, more timorous stood still, and many of the stout Run ruddy to the sea; men, who fled more by the desertion of their While altar, temple, tower, and town. companions than want of courage, joined with Are levelled with the lea! the old man and his sons to stop the rest, till there was a good number together. The hut, the cottage, and the grange. The countrymen, who were armed with only Are blazing up to heaven ; ■what their ploughs furnished, leading them on. Decrepit eld, and babes alike. and returning upon the Danes, made a furious Are to this carnage given ; onset, crying alou i, " Help is at hand!" The Danes, believing a fresh army was falling on And beauteous maids and matrons fair them, the Scots thereby totally defeated them. Leap from the dizzy steep and freed their own country from servitude. And perish— pure as snow from heaven The battle being over, the old man, afterwards Upon the oeean deep. known by the name of Hay, was brought to the king, who, assembling a parliament at Scone, The spoilers move exultinglv. gave to the said Hay and his sons, as a just re- O'er Cowrie's fertile fields. ward for their valour, so much land on the river Their deadly spears a forest seemed. Tay, in the district of Gowrie, as a falcon from a A solid wall their shields; man's hand flew over till it settled ; which, being six miles in length, was afterwards called Errol. Like locuste in their mortal flight And the king being willing to promote the said Upon the orient wind. Hay and his sons from the rank of plebeians to A paradise before them lay. the order of nobility, he assigned them a coat-of- A blighted waste behind. arms, which was— argent, three escutcheons. gules— to intimate that the father and two sons Bathed in the setting light of heaven. had been the three fortunate shields of Scotland." Imperial Bertha * shone. Scottitk Peerage, Art. Hay.] Like some empurpled orient queen Upon her emerald throne. The beacon lights are blazing bright. The slogan's on the blast ; The waving woods, her gorgeous train. The clansmen muster rapidly. Seemed paying homage meet ; The fiery cross flies fast; And Tay, emitting silver sounds, Lay crouching at her feet. Chiefs hurry from their towers of strength. And vassals from their shiels ; " Now, by the sacred mead that flows For Albyn's strand's polluted by In Odin's palace high— An hundred hostile keels. And by the blessed light that beams From Thor's immortal eye. Oh ! vermil cheeks shall pallid grow. And sunny eyes shall weep; " If there's a recreant in my host," The giant Sweno cries, From indignation deep ; " His craven corse shall flesh my hounds— His odious memory dies. To see these Scandinavian wolves. A wild unhallowed band. "See, mountain, meadow, strath, and Like demons 0. destruction come Behold the glorious prize, [stream— To wiuste our father-land. The bright Valhalla of my dreams When sleep had seale-l mme eyes; The robber hordes are all debarked— Their raven-banners wave— ^ 1 * The classical name of Perth. ■ 1 302 SCOTTISH BALLADS. There lies the land of my desire— The home of all my love ; And there the Danish diadem Shall shine all crowns above." Ten thousand voices burst at once In one loud chorus swell ; Whilst echo from her mountain caves. Prolonged the savage yell ; Ten thousand brands on brazen shields In dire collision clashed — Ten thousand darts were hurled in air. Or in the sod were dashed. But hark ! a shout has answered theirs. Like mountain torrents loud — A marshalled host comes moving on Dense as a thunder cloud — And like that cloud, surcharged with death, And rolling rapidly : — That thunder-cloud is Scotland's King, And Scotland's chivalry. In flery haste the Scots advance. And with the invaders close — Like tigers of their cubs bereaved. They spring upon their foes. And thousands Cill no more to rise. Gashed o'er with many a wound ; And shrieks, and shouts, and groans are blent. And Ufe-blood stains the ground. The Scottish monarch marked his track Along the gory plain; His beacons in that sea of blood Were pyramids of slain. He spurred his foaming charger on Along the embattled line. And with his ponderous battle-axe Clove Sweno to the chine. Kow clan with clan, and son with sire. And chief with chieftain vied. To pierce the Danish phalanx through. And turn the battle's tide. For vassal, knight, and thane, alike Their blood ran hot and high ; Death glared from every falchion's edge. And vengeance from each eye. What boots it now how well they fought. For ah ! they fought in vain ; Their squadrons reel — their ranks are broke— They fly before the Dane. The banner of the silver cross Lies trampled in tlie clay. And for the glorious battle-cry, 'Tis, " Save himself who may." See how they flee o'er moor and dale. Like fugitives forlorn ; Where is thine honour, Scotland, now ? 'Tis like thy banners — torn. Yes, there is honour — there it hope — For by this blessed light. Three gallant men have left their teams. And check'd the shameful flight. And now they rally, form, and charge. And gory gaps they hewed ; With tenfold fury in their souls. The battle was renewed. 'Twas hand to hand, and brand to brand. And dirk and dagger met — And flane and flane alternately In red heart-blood were wet. On, on, ye glorious peasants three. The bloody die is cast ; The Danes are routed— See ; they fly Like snow-flakes on the blast. On, on, ye peasant heroes, on. And win your deathless meed— The gory die at length is cast. And Scotland's soil is freed. There's mirth and kingly revelry In Scoone's imperial hall ; And squire and knight, and lord and thane, Grace that high festival; And royalty, in robes of state. And beauty's bright display; But every eye in homage turned Upon the patriots Hay. There's mimic warfare on the lawn. Beneath the royal eye ; There's lances shivered — knights unhorsed— The flower of chivalry ; SCOTTISH BALLADS. 303 And high-born dames, lit up with smiles Bright as the milky way— But O ! their smiles beamed brightest on The italwart peasants Hay. Then royal Kenneth left his throne. And laid his crown aside — "Are you the glorious peasants three That turned the battle's tide ? " Your patent of nobility Heaven gave you at your birth. Alas ! a King can only add The splendours of the earth. " Such as we have we give. Be lords Of Errol's fertile fields ; And be your scutcheon blazoned with Three blood-stained Scottish shields ; " And may your fame, your glory, last For ever and for aye. For Scotland, to the end of time. Shall bless the name of Hay." ^ix €&ili&cict i^amiltOH, [MoDSK.v Ballad.— Robert White.— Here first printed.] It fell upon a summer day, beyond the noontide hour. Amidst all England's chivalry, in Windsor's royal tower, That stem and high debate arose, for thus the question ran :— Throughout the bounds of Christendom, who was the bravest man ? Bemarked Sir Gilbert Hamilton, a young and dauntless knight, " 1 place King Kobert Bruce before each other martial wight : He hath been England's deadliest foe, as Bannockburn can tell ; But in battle shock or listed field, no arm can his excel."— De Spenser spoke : — " It ill becomes a knight in England bom To throw upon her chivalry such rude contempt and scorn; But if Sir Gilbert Hamilton be not in jesting mood. Perhaps, within his veins may run some trace of Scottish blood."— "My mother was most virtuous, and that my lance shall prove Upon your helm when next we meet ; meantime, there lies my glove." And as he spoke his gauntlet rang in centre of the hall : De Spenser took the hostile pledge before the warriors all. Oh ! eyes were strained, and hearts aroused upon the battle day. When both the champions mounted came in proud and stern array Short was the struggle, courses three in dreadful ire were run ; De Spenser grovelled on the dust, his foe the honours won. But few around the victor came his fair renown to grace ; The man who fell beneath his lance was of a potent race : And threatening looks and sullen brows he met with every wher« ; He must away— he must be gone, if he his life would spare. 304 SCOTTISH BALLADS. AH anned in mail of burnished steel full gaily rode he forth ; The broad and open way he kept that led him to the north : Six suns upon his left had set — the seventh was shining bright. When Scotland's lovely hills and dales lay stretched before his sight. Through sounding rill and copsewood wild, on, on he held his way, Until the banks and sweeping stream of Clyde before him lay : Anon, the hunter's horn and bay of hounds came on his ear. And from a grove of dark green pines leaped forth a panting deer. Swift on its track in open view, advanced the mingling foe, And soon amid the moss and fern they lay its antlers low : Bold was the foremost horseman's look, majestic was his air, Most firmly knit his frame and limbs, and sable dark his hair. He gazed upon the stranger, " Sir knight, why comest thou here. In coat of mail, with battle sword, to chase the flying deerP" — " From England's treacherous courtiers 1 come, my life to save. And refuge seek from Bruce your king, the bravest of the brave. " My name is Gilbert Hamilton ; — it chanced in Windsor Hall, That lofty words and strife arose amongst our barons all. And this the subject: — through each land where Christian banners wave. Who was in battle's stern turmoil most chivalrous and brave } " TJnfearing to disclose the truth, I testimony bore To Bruce's fame, and gave him place all other knights before,' De Spenser mocked me bitterly ; but down my gage I threw : We met within the battle lists, — the parasite 1 slew." — " Enough, enough. Sir Gilbert ; we give thee welcome here ; Look round thee, and where'er thine eye traverses far or near. These acres broad shall be thine own, whilst thou that sword shall bring To aid fair Scotland's cause and mine, for I am Bruce, the lung !" BOEDEE BALLADS. [Hkprintbd from the fifth Edition of Sir Walter Scott' B Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- der.] From the remote period, when the Roman pro- vince was contracted by the ramparts of Severus, until the union of the kingdoms, the borders of Scotland formed the stage, upon which were pre- sented the most memorable conflicts of two gal- lant nations. The inhabitants, at the com- mencement of this sera, formed the first wave of the torrent, which assaulted, and finally over- whelmed, the barriers of the Roman power in Britain. The subsequent events, in which they were engaged, tended little to diminish their military hardihood, or to reconcile them to a more civilized state of society. We have no occasion to trace the state of the borders during the long and obscure period of Scottish history, which preceded the accession of the Stuart family. To illustrate a few ballads, the earliest of which is hardly coeval with James V., such an inquiry would be equally diflBcult and vain. If we may trust the Welch bards, in their account ofthe wars betwixt the Saxons and Danes of Deira and the Cumraig, imagination can hardly from any idea of conflicts more desperate, than were maintained, on the borders, between the ancient British and their Teutonic invaders. Thus, the Gododin describes A. D. the waste and devastation of mutual havoc, in colours so glowing, as strongly to recall the words of Tacitus; " Et ttbi solitiidinem faciunt, pacem appellant.''^ At a later period, the Saxon families, who fled from the exterminating sword of the Conqueror, with many of the Normans themselves, whom discontent and intestine feuds had driven into exile, began to rise into eminence upon the Scottish borders. They brought with them arts, both of peace and of war, unknown in Scotland ; and, among their descendants, we soon number the most powerful border chiefs. Such, during tha reign of the last Alexander, were Patrick, earl of March, and Lord Soulis, renowned in tradition ; and such were also the powerful Corayns, who early acquired the principal sway upon the Scottish marches. In the civil wars betwixt Bruce and Baliol, all those powerful chieftains espoused the unsuccessful party. They were for- feited and exiled ; and upon their ruins was founded the formidable house of Douglas. The borders, from sea to sea, were now at the devo- tion of a succession of mighty chiefs, whose exorbitant power threatened to place a new t In the spirited translation of this poem, by Jones, the follovrtng verses are highly descrip- tive of the exhausted state of the victor army :— At Madoc's tent the clarion sound;, "With rapid c'an^our hurried far: Each echoing dell the note resounds — But when returns the sons of war! Thou, born of stern necessity, Dull peace ! the desert yields to thee, Aud owns thy melancholy sway. A. D. 1429. A. D. 1300. 306 BOEDER BALLADS, A. D. 1453. dynasty upon the Scottish throne. It is noti my intention to trace the dazzling career of this race of heroes, whose exploits were alike for- midable to the English and to their sovereign. The sun of Douglas set in blood. The mur- ders of the sixth earl, and his brother, in the castle of Edinburgh, were followed by that of their successor, poignarded at Stirling by the hand of his prince. His brother, Earl James, appears neither to have possessed the abilities nor the ambition of his ancestors. He drew, indeed, against his prince, the formidable sword of Douglas, but with a timid and hesitating hand. Procrastination ruined his cause; and he was deserted, at Abercorn, by the knight of Cadyow, chief of the Hamiltons, and by his most active adherents, after they had ineffectually exhorted him to commit his fate to the issue of a battle. The border ;hie6, who longed for independence, showed little inclination to follow the de- clining fortunes of Douglas. On the contrary, the most powerful clans engaged and defeated him, at Arkinholme, in Annan- dale, when, after a short residence in England, he again endeavoured to gain a footing in his native country, f The spoils of Douglas were f At the battle of Arkinholme, the Earl of Angus, a near kinsman of Douglas, commanded the royal forces ; and the difference of their com- plexion occasioned the saying, " that the Black Douglas had put down the Red." The Max- wells, the Johnstones, and the Seotts, com- posed his army. Archibald, Earl of Murray, brother to Douglas, was slain in the action ; and Hugh, Earl of Ormond, his second brother, was taken and executed. His captors. Lord Carlisle, and the Baron of Johnstone, were rewarded with a grant of i he lands of Pittinane, upon OyAe.—Godscroft, vol. i. p. 375 —Balfour's its. in the Advocate's Library, Edinburgh. — Abercrombie's Achievements, vol. ii. p. 361. folio Ed. — The other chiefs were also distinguished by royal favour. By a charter, upon record, dated 25th February, 1548, the king grants to Walter Scott' of Kirkurd, ancestor of the house of Buc- eleuch, the lands of Abingtown, Phareholm, A. D. 1457. A. D. 1483. liberally distributed among his conquerors, and royal grants of his forfeited domains effectually interested them in excluding his return. An attempt on the east borders by " the Percy and the Douglas, both together," was equally unsuccessful. The earl, grown old in exile, longed once more to see his native country, and vowed, that, upon Saint Magdalen's day, he would deposit his offering on the high altar at Lochmaben. — Accompanied by the banished earl of Albany, with his usual ill fortune, he entered Scotland.— The borderers assembled to oppose him, and he suffered a final defeat at and Glentonan craig, in Lanarkshire, " Pro sua Jideli servitio nobis impenso et pro quod interfuit in conjlictu de Arkinholme in occisione et captione noitrorum rebellium quondam Archil>aldi et Hu- gonis de Douglas olim comitum Moravice el de Ormond et aliorum rebellium nostrorum in eorum comitivia exiiten : ibidem captorum et interfec- torum." Similar grants of land were made to Finnart and Arran, the two branches of the house of Hamilton ; to the chiefs of the Batti- sons ; but above all, to the Earl of Angus, who obtained from royal favour a donation of the Lordship of Douglas, and many other lands, now held by Lord Douglas, as his representa- tive. There appears, however, to be some doubt, whether, in this division, the Earl of Angus received more than his natural right. Our his- torians, indeed, say, that William I. Earl of Douglas, had three sons; 1. James, the 2d. Earl, who died in the field of Otterburn; 2, Archibald the Grim, 3d. Earl; and 3. George, in right of his mother, Earl of Angus. Whe- ther, however, this Archibald was actually the son of William seems very doubtful ; and Sir David Dalrymple has strenuously maintained the contrary. Now, if Archibald the Grim intruded into the earldom of Douglas, without being a son of that family, it follows that the house of Angus, being kept out of their just rights for more than a century, were only restored to them after the battle of Arkinholme. Perhaps this may help to account for the eager interest taken by the Earl of Angus against his kinsman. — Remarks on History d*cr(?/l, vol. ii. p. 175. be prevented the house of Angus, mighty as it^ was, from rising to the height, whence the elder branch of their femily had been hurled. Nor did James fail in affording hU subjects on the marches marks of his royal justice and pro- tection. The clan of TumbuU •^' ■ having been guilty of unbounded excesses, the king came suddenly to Jedburgh, by a night march, and executed the most rigid justice upon the astonished offenders. Their submission was made with singular solemnity. Two hundred of the tribe met the king, at the water of Rule, holding in their hands the naked swords, with which they had perpetrated their crimes, and having each around his neck the halter which he had well merited, A few were capitally punished, many imprisoned, and the rest dUmissed, after they had given hostages for their future peaceable demeanour.— Ho/in*A«d'* Chionicle, Letly. The hopes of Scotland, excited by the prudent and spirited conduct of James, were doomed to a sudden and fatal reverse. Why should we recapitulate the painful tale of the defeat and death of a high-spirited prince? Prudence, policy, the prodigies of superstition, and the advice of his most experienced counsellors, were alike unable to subdue in James the blazing zeal of romantic chivalry. The monarch, and the aower of his nobles, precipitately rushed to the fatal field of Flodden, whence they A. D 1513. were never to return. The minority of James V. presents a melan- choly scene. Scotland, through all its extent. felt the truth of the adage, " that the country is hapless, whose prince is a child." But the bor- der counties, exposed from their situation to the incursions of the English, deprived of many of their most gallant chiefs, and harassed by the intestine struggles of the survivors, were re- duced to a wilderness, inhabited only by the beasts of the field, and by a few more brutal war- riors. Lord Home, the chamberlain and favourite of James IV., leagued with the Earl of Angus, who married the widow of his sove- reign, held, for a time, the chief sway upon the east border. Albany, the regent of the kingdom, bred in the French court, and more accustomed to wield the pen than the sword, feebly endea- voured to control a lawless nobility, to whom his manners appeared strange, and his person despicable. It was in vain that ^^^ ^ p i gjg inveigled the Lord Home to Edin- burgh, where he was tried and executed. This example of justice, or severity, only irritated the kinsmen and followers of the deceased baron : for though, in other respects, not more sanguin- ary than the rest of a barbarous nation, the borderers never dismissed from their memory a deadly feud, till blood for blood had been exacted to the uttermost drachm. f Of this, the fate of Anthony d'Arcey, Seigneur de la Bastie, affords a melancholy example. This gallant French cavalier was appointed warden of the east mar- ches by Albany, at his first disgraceful retreat to France. Though De la Bastie was an able statesman, and a true son of chivalry, the choice of the regent was nevertheless unhappy. The new warden was a foreigner, plaeed in the office f The statute 1594, cap. 231, ascribes the dis- orders on the border in a great measure to the " counselles, directions, receipt, and partaking, of chieftains principalles of the branches, and househalders of the saides surnames, and clannes. quhilkis bears quarrrel, and seeks revenge for the least hurting or slauchter of ony ane of their unhappy race, although it were ordour of justice, or in rescuing and following of trew mens geares stoUen or reft." BORDER BALLADS 309 of Lord Home, as the delegate of 4^ The return of the regent was followed by the A. D. 1517. ^j^g ^^^ j^^jj ^jjj, jjg^^ brought that baron to the scaffold. A stratagem, con- trived by Home of Wedderburn, who burned to avenge the death of his chief, drew De la Bastie towards Langton in the Merse. Here he found himself surrounded by his enemies. In attempt- ing, by the speed of his horse, to gain the castle of Dunbar, the warden plunged into a morass, where he was overtaken, and cruelly butchered. Wedderburn himself cut off his head; and, in savage triumph, knitted it to his saddle-bow by the long flowing hair, which had been admired by the dames of France.— Pitscoitie, Edit. 1728, p. 130. Pinkerton's History qf Scotland, vol. ii. p. 169.t The earl of Arran, head of the house of Hamil- ton, was appointed to succeed De la Bastie in his perilous office. But the Douglasses, the Homes, and the Kerrs, proved too strong for him upon the border. He was routed by these clans, at Kelso, and afterwards A. D. 1520. .^ ^ ^j^^^p skirmish, fought betwixt his faction and that of Angus, in the high-street of the metropolis, j: f This tragedy, or, perhaps, the preceding execution of Lord Home, must have been the subject of a song, the first two lines of which are preserved in the Complaynt qf Scotland ; God sen' t!ie Due hed byddin in France, And de la Bate had never coir.e bame. P. 100. Edin. 1801. % The particulars of this encounter are inter- esting. The Hamiltons were the most numer- ous party, drawn chiefly from the western coun- ties. Their leaders met in the palace of Arch- bishop Beaton, and resolved to apprehend Angus, who was come to the city to attend the convention of estates. Gawin Douglas, bishop of Dunkeld, a near relation of Angus, in vain endeavoured to mediate betwixt the factions. He appealed to Beaton, and invoked his assist- ance to prevent bloodshed. "On my con- science," answered the archbishop, " I cannot help what is to happen." As he laid his hand upon his breast, at this solemn declaration, the hauberk, concealed by his rocket, was heard to A. D. banishment of Angus, and by a desultory war- fare with England, carried on with mutual in- cursions. Two gallant armies, levied by Albany, were dismissed without any exploit worthy notice, while Surrey, at the head of ten thou- sand cavalry, burned Jedburgh, and laid waste all Tiviotdale. This general pays a splendid tribute to the gallantry of the border chiefs. He terms them, "the boldest men, and the hottest, that ever I saw any nation,"! clatter: "Ah! my lord!" retorted Douglas, "your conscience sounds hollow." He then expostulated with the secular leaders, and Sir Patrick Hamilton, brother to Arran, was con- vinced by his remonstrances; but Sir James, the natural son of the earl, upbraided his uncle with reluctance to fight. "False bastard!" answered Sir Patrick, " 1 will fight to-day where thou darest not be seen." With these words they rushed tumultuously towards the high- street, where Angus, with the prior of Colding- hame, and the redoubted Wedderburn, waited their assault, at the head of four-hundred spear- men, the flower of the east marches, who, hav- ing broke down the gate of the Netherbow, had arrived just in time to the earl's assistance. The advantage of the ground, and the disorder of the Hamiltons, soon gave the day to Angus. Sir Patrick Hamilton, and the master of Mont- gomery, were slain. Arran, and Sir James Hamilton, escaped with difficulty; and with no less difficulty was the military prelate of Glasgow rescued from the ferocious borderers, by the generous interposition of Gawin Douglas. The skirmish was long remembered in Edin- burgh, by the name of " Cleanse the Causeway." —Pinkerton's History, \o\. ii. p.lSl.—Pittcottie, Edit. 1728, p. 120.— Life qf Gawin Douglas, pre- fixed to his Virgil. § Letter from the kari of surrey, to henrv viii. givino an account ok the storm OE jEDBUBOH. Cott. MSS. Calig. B. 111. fol. 29. " Pleisith it your grace to be advertised, thai upon Fridaye, et x a clok at nyght, I retourned to this towne and all the garnysons to theii places assigned, the bushopricke men, my lorde of Westmoreland, and my lorde Dacre, in like- 310 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Disgraced and detested, Albany bade adieu to ^ earl of Arran for some time swayed the king- Scotland for ever. The queen-mother and the dom. But their power was despised on the bor- wise, evry man home with their companys, without loss of any men, thanked be God , saving Viii or X slayne, and dyvers hurt, at skyrmyshis and saults of the towne of Gedwurth, and the fortereiasis ; which towne is soo suerly brent, that no garnysons ner none other shal bee lodged there, unto the tyme it bee newe buylded ; the brennyng whereof I comytted to twoo sure men. Sir William Bulmer, and Thomas Tem- peste. The towne was much bettir then I went (i. e. ween'd) it had been, for there was twoo tymys moo houses therein then in Berwicke, and well buylded, with many honest and fair houses therein, sufficiente to have lodged M horsemen in gamyson.and six good towres therein ; which towne and towres be clenely destroyed, brent, and throwen downe. Undoubtedly there was noo journey made into Scotland, in noo manys day leving, with soo fewe a nombre, that is recownted to be soo high an enterprice as this bothe with theis contremen, and Scottishmen, nor of truthe soo much hurte doon. But in th' ende a great mysfortune ded fal, onely by foly, that such ordere, as was commanded by me to be kepte, was not observed, the manner whereof hereaftir shall ensue. Bifore myn entre into Scotland, I appointed sir William Bulmer and sir William Kvers to be marshallis of th' army ; sir AVilliam Bulmer for the vanguard, and sir William Evers for the reregard. In the van- guard I appointed my lorde of Westmoreland, as chief, with all the bushopricke, sir William Bulmer, sir William Evers, my lorde Dacre, with all his company; and with me remayned all the rest of the garnysons, and the Northum- berland men. I was of counsaill with the mar- shallis at th' ordering of our lodgingg, and our campe was soo well envirowned with ordynance, carts, and dikes, that hard it was to entre or issue but at certain places appointed for that purpos, and assigned the mooste commodious pl.nee of the said campe for my lord Dacre com- pany, next the water, and next my lord of Westmoreland. And at suche tyme as my lord Dacre came into the falde, 1 being at the sault of th' abby, which contynued unto twoo houres within nyght, my seid lord Dacre wolde in no- wise bee contente to ly within the campe, whiche was made right sure, but lodged himself with- out, wherewith, at my returne, I was not con- tente, but then it was too late to remove ; the ^ next day I sente my seid lorde Dacre to a strong hold, called Fernherst, the lord whereof was his mortal enemy; and with hym, sir Arthur Darcy, sir Marmaduke Constable, with viii c of their men, one cortoute, and dyvers other good peces of ordynance for the feld (the seid Fern- herste stode marvelous strongly, within a grete wooile) ; the seid twoo knights with the most part of their men, and Strickland, your grace servaunte, with my Kendall men, went into the woode on fote, with th' ordynance, where the said Kendall men were so handled, that they found hardy men, that went noo foote back for tlieym ; the other two knightes were also soo sharply assayled, that they were enforced to call for moo of their men ; and yet could not bring the ordynance to the fortress, unto the tyme my lord Dacre, with part of his horsemen, lighted on fote ; and marvelously hardly handled himself, and fynally, with long skimiyshing, and moche difficultie, gat forthe th' ordynance within the howse and threwe down the same. At which skyrmyshe, my seid lord Dacre, and his brother, sir Cristofer, sir Arthure, and sir Marmaduke, and many other gentilmen, did marvellously hardly ; and found the best resistance that hath been seen with my comying to their parties, and above xxxii Scottis sleyne, and not passing iiy Englishmen, but above Ix hurt. Aftir that, my said lord retournyng to the camp, wold in no wise bee lodged in the same, but where he lay the furst nyght. And he being with me at souper, about viij a clok, the horses of his com- pany brak lowse, and sodenly ran out of his feld, in such nombre, that it caused a marvellouse alarome in our feld ; and our standing watche being set, the horses cam ronnyng along the campe, at whom were shot above one hundred shief of arrowes, and dyvere gonnys, thinking they had been Scots, that wold have saulted the campe; fynally, the horses were so madde, that they ran like wild dere into the feld; above xv c at the least, in dyvere companys, and, in one place, above 1 felle downe a grete rok, and slewe theymself, and above y c ran into the towne being on fire, and by the women taken, and carried awaye right evill brent, and many were taken agayne. But, finally, by that I ean esteme by the nombre of theym that I saw goo on foote the next daye, 1 think there is lost above viij c horses, and all with foly for lak of BORDER BALLADS. 311 ders, where Angus, though banished, had many friends. Scott of Buocleuch even appropriated to himself domains belonging to the queen, worth 400 merks yearly; being probably the castle of Newark, and her jointure lands in Ettrick forest, t— This chief, with Kerr of Cess- ford, was committed to ward, from which they escaped, to join the party of the exiled Angus. Leagued with these and other border chiefs, Angus effected his re- turn to Scotland, where he shortly after acquired possession of the supreme power, and of the person of the youthful king. "The ancient not lying within the camp. I dare not write the wondres that my lord Dacre, and all his company, doo saye they sawe that nyght, vj tyms of spirits end fereful sights. And unyver- gally all their company saye playnly, the devil was that nyght among theym vi tymys ; which mysfortune hath blemyshed the best journey that was made in Scotland many yeres. 1 assure your grace I found the Scottes, at this tyme, the boldest men, and the hotest, that ever 1 sawe any nation, and all the journey, upon all parts of th' armye, kepte us with soo contynuall skyrmyshe, that I never saw the like. If they might assemble xl M as good men as I nowe sawe, XV c or ij M, it would bee a hard encoun- tre to mete theym. Pitie it is of my lord Dacres losse of the horses of his company: he brought with hym above iiij M. men, and came and lodged one night in Scotland, in his moost mortal enemy's contre. There is noo herdyer, ner bettir knyght, but often tyme he doth not use the most sure order, which he hath nowe payd derely for. Written at Berwike the xxvij of September. Your most bownden, T. SURREY, t In a letter to the Duke of Norfolk, October 1534, Queen Margaret says, " Sen that the Lard of Sessford and the Lanl of Baclw vaa put in the castell of Edinbrouh, the Erl of Lenness hath past hyz vay vythout lycyens, and in despyt; and thynkyth to make the brek that he may, and to solyst other lordis to tak hyz part ; for the said laird of Bavklw vas hyz man, and dyd the gretyst ewelyz that myght be dwn, and twk part playnly vyth the%z as is well known."' — Cet. JUiS. Calig. U. I. power of the Douglasses," says the accurate his- torian, whom I have so often referred to, "seem- ed to have revived ; and, after a slumber of near a century, again to threaten destruction to the Scottish monarchy." — Pinkerton, vol. ii. p; 277. In fact, the time now returned, when no one durst strive with a Douglas, or with his fol- lower. For, although Angus used the outward pageant of conducting the king around the country, for punishing thieves and traitors, " yet," says Pitscottie, " none were found greater than were in his own company." The high spirit of the young king was galled by the igno- minious restraint under which he found him- self; and, in a progress to the border, for re- pressing the Armstrongs, he probably gave such signs of dissatisfaction, as excited the laird of Buccleuch to attempt his rescue. This powerful baron was the chief of a hardy clan, inhabiting Ettrick forest, Eskdale, Ewsdale, the higher part of Tiviotdale, and a portion of Liddesdale. In this warlike district he easily levied a thou- sand horse, comprehending a large body of Elliots, Armstrongs, and other broken clans, over whom the laird of Buccleuch exercised an extensive authority; being termed, by Lord Dacre, "chief maintainor of all misguided men on the borders of Scotland."— ie demand his pur- % Near Darnick. By a corruption from Skir- mish field, the spot is still called the Skinners- field. Two lino of an old Lallad on the sultject are still preserved: — 312 SCOTTISH BJILLAD3, pose, and to charge him to retire. To the first .^ point he answered, that be came to show hU clan to the king, according to the custom of the borders ; to the second, that he knew the king's mind better than Angus.— When this haughty answer was reported to the earl, " Sir," said he to the king, "yonder is Buccleuch, with the thieves of Annandale and Liddesdale, to bar your grace's passage. I vow to God they shall either fight or flee. Your grace shall tarry on this hillock with my brother George; and I will either clear your road of yonder banditti, ur die in the attempt." The earl, with these words, alighted, and hastened to the charge; while the earl of Ijennox (at whose instigation Buccleuch made the attempt,) remained with the king, an Inactive spectator. Buccleuch and his followers likewise dismounted, and received the assailants with a dreadful shout, and a shower of lances. The encounter was fierce and obstinate; but the Homes and Kerrs, returning at the noise of battle, bore down and dispersed the left wing of Buccleuch's little army. The hired banditti fled on all sides; but the chief himself, surrounded by his clan, fought desperately In the retreat. The Uurd of CJessford, chief of the Roxburgh Kerrs, pursued the chase fiercely ; till, at the bottom of a steep path, Elliot of Stobs, a fol- lower of Buccleuch, turned, and slew him with a stroke of his lance. When Cessford fell, the pursuit ceased. But his death, with those of Buccleuch's friends, who fell in the action, to the number of eighty, occasioned a deadly feud betwixt the names of Scott and Kerr, which cost much blood upon the marches.) — See Pitscottie, Letly, and Godtcr(ifl. t Buccleuch contrived to escape forfeiture, a doom pronounced against those nobles, who assisted the earl of Lennox in a subsequent attempt to deliver the king, by force of arms. " The laird of Bukcleugh has a respecte, and is not forfeited ; and will get his pece, and was in Lethquo, both Sondaye, Mondaye, and Tewis- day last, which is grete displeasure to the Carres." — Letter from Sir C. Dacre to Lord Daere, 2d Decemher, 1526 Stratagem at length effected ^ what force had been unable to ac- ^^"^ complish; and the king, emancipated from the iron tutelage of Angus, made the first use of his authority, by banishing from the kingdom his late lieutenant, and the whole race of Douglas. This command was not enforced without difiS- culty; for the power of Angus was strongly rooted in the east border, where he possessed the castle of Tantallon, and the hearts of the Homes and Kerrs. The former, whose strength was proverbial.t defied a royal army ; and the latter, at the Pass of Pease, baflled the earl of Argyle's attempts to enter the Merse, as lieu- tenant of his sovereign. On this occasion, the borderers regarded with wonder and contempt the barbarous array and rude equipage of their northern countrymen. Godscroft has preserved the beginning of a scoffing rhyme, made upon this occasion : — The Earl of Argyle is bound to ride From the border of Edgebucklin brae ;§ And all his habergeons him beside. Each man upon a sonk of strae. They made their vow that they would slay— * « » » » Gcdtcrqft, v. u. p. 104. Ed. 1743. The pertinacious opposition of Angus to his doom irritated to the extreme the fiery temper of James, and he swore, in his wrath, that s Douglas should never serve him ; an oath which he ke; t in circumstances, under which the spirit of chivalry, which he worshipped, || should have taught him other feelings. ^ " To ding down Tantallon, and make a bridge to the Bass," was an adage expressive of impossibility. The shattered ruins of this cele- brated fortress still overhang a tremendous rock on the coast of East Lothian. § Edgebucklin, near Musselburgh. II I allude to the affecting story of Dougl.is of Kilspindie, uncle to the earl of Angus. This gentleman had been placed by Angus about the Idug's person, who, when a boy, loved him much BORDER BALLADS 313 While these transactions, by which the fate of ! Scotland was Influenced, were passing upon the eastern border, the Lord Maxwell seems to have exercised a most uncontrolled domination in Dumfries-shire. Even the power of the earl of Angus was exerted in vain against the banditti of Liddesdale, protected and bucklered by this mighty chief. Repeated complaints are made by the English residents, of the devastation occa- sioned by the depredations of the Elliots, Scots, and Armstrongs, connived at and encouraged by Maxwell, Buecleuch, and Fairnihirst. At a convention of border commissioners, it was agreed that the king of England, in case the excesses of the Liddesdale freebooters were not duly redressed, should be at liberty to issue let- on account of his singular activity of body, and was wont to call him his Graysteil, after a champion of chivalry, in the romance of Sir Eger and Sir Grime. He shared, however, the fate of his chief, and, for many years, served in France. Weary at length of exile, the aged warrior, recollecting the king's personal attach- ment to him, resolved to throw himself on his clemency. As James returned from hunting in the park at Stirling, he saw a person at a dis- tance, and, turning to his nobles, exclaimed, " Yonder is my Graysteil, Archibald of Kilspin- die ! " As he approached, Douglas threw him- self on his knees, and implored permission to lead an obscure life in his native land. But the name of Douglas was an amulet, which steeled the king's heart against the influence of com- passion and juvenile recollection. He passed the suppliant without an answer and rode briskly up the steep hill towards the castle. ] Kilspindie, though loaded with a hauberk under , his clothes, kept pace with the horse, in vain j endeavouring to catch a glance from the impla- j cable monarch. He sat down at the gate, weary and exhausted, and asked for a draught of water. Even this was refused by the royal attendants, j The king afterwards blamed their discourtesy : | but Kilspindie was obliged to return to France, where he died of a broken heart ; the same dis- 1 case which afterwards brought to the grave his unrelenting sovereign. Even the stern Henry VIII. blamed his nephew's conduct, quoting the generous saying, " A king's face should give grace."— GoJ«cr«^, vol. ii. p. 107. ters of reprisal to his injured subjects, granting " power to invade the said inhabitants of Lid- desdale, to their slaughters, burning, heirships, robbing, reifing, despoiling, and destruction, and so to continue the same at his grace's plea- sure," till the attempts of the inhabitants were fully atoned for. This impolite expedient, by which the Scottish prince, unable to execute justice on his turbulent subjects, committed to a rival sovereign the Power of unlimited chas- tisement, was a principal cause of the savage state of the borders. For the inhabitants, find- ing that the sword of revenge was substituted for that of justice, were loosened from their attachment to Scotland, and boldly threatened to carry on their depredations, in spite of the efforts of both kingdoms. James V., however, was not b.ickward in using more honourable expedients to quell the banditti on the borders. The im- ^ ^ ^^^ prisonment of their chiefs, and a noted expedition, in which many of the princi- pal thieves were executed (see introduction to the ballad, called Joknie Amutrong,) produced such good effects, that, according to an ancient picturesque history, " thereafter there was great peace and rest a long time, where through the king had great profit; for he had ten thousand sheep going in the Ettrick forest, in keeping by Andrew Bell, who made the king so irood c^mnt of them, as they had gone in the bounds of Fife. " Pitscottie, p. 153. A breach with England interrupted the tran- quillity of the borders. The earl ^^ ^ ^.^a of Northumberland, a formidable name to Scotland, ravaged the middle marches, and burned Branxholm, the abode of Buecleuch, the hereditary enemy of the English name. Buecleuch, with the barons of Cessford and Fairnihirst, retaliated by a raid into England, where they acquired much spoil. ^ ^^.^ On the east march, Fowbery was destroyed by the Scots, and Dunglass cattle by ? D'Arcy, and the banished Angus. 3U SCOTTISH BALLADS. A short peace was quickly followed by another ■war which proved fatal to Scotland, and to her king. In the battle of Haddenrig, the English, and the exiled Douglasses, were defeated by the lords Huntly and Home; but this was a tran- sient gleam of success. Kelso was burned, and . the borders ravaged, by the duke of Norfolk; and finally, the rout of Solway moss, in which ten thousand men, the flower of the Scottish army, were dispersed and defeated by a band of five hundred English ca- Talry, or rather by their own dissensions, broke the proud heart of James; a death more pain- ful a hundred-fold than was met by his father in the field of Flodden. When the strength of the Scottish army had •unk, without wounds, and without renown, the principal chiefs were led captive into England. — Among these was the lord Maxwell, who w!is compelled, by the menaces of Henry, to swear allegiance to the English monarch. There is ■till in existence the spirited instrument of vin- dication, by which he renounces his connection with England, and the honours and estates which had been proffered him, as the price of treason to his infant sovereign. From various bonds of manrent, it appears that all the wes- tern marches were swayed by this powerful chieftain. With Maxwell, and the other captives, returned to Scot- land the banished earl of Angus, and his bro- ther. Sir George Douglas, after a banishment of fifteen years. This powerful family regained at least a part of their influence upon the borders; and, grateful to the kingdom which had afforded them protection during their exile, became chiefs of the English faction in Scotland, whose object it was to urge a contract of marriage betwixt the young queen and the heir apparent of England. The impetuosity of Henry, the ancient hatred betwixt the nations, and the wavering temper of the governor, Arran, pre- vented the success of the measure. The wrath of the disappointed monarch discharged itself in A. D. 15i3. A. D. 1545. a wide-wasting and furious invasion of the east marches, conducted by the earl of Hertford. .Seton, Home, and Buccleuch, hanging on the mountains of Lammermoor, saw, with ineffec- tual regret, the fertile plains of Merse and Lo- thian, and the metropolis itself, reduced to a smoking desert. Hertford had scarcely retreated with the main army, when Evers and Latoun laid waste the whole vale of Tiviot, with a fero- city of dev.istation hitherto unheard of.f The same " lion mode of wooing," being pursued during the minority of Edward VI., totally alienated the affection even of those Scots who were most attached to the English interest. The earl of Angus, in particular, united himself to the governor, and gave the English a sharp defeat at Ancram moor, a particu- lar account of which action is sub- joined to the bal ad, entitled, " The Ere (if St John." Even the fatal defeat at Pinkey, which at once renewed the carnage of Flodden, and the disgrace of Solway, served to prejudice the cause of the victors. The borders saw, with dread and detestation, the ruinous fortress of Roxburgh once more receive an English garri- son, and the widow of Lord Home driven from his baronial castle, to make ruora for the "Southern Reivers." Many of the barons n.ade a reluctant submission to Somerset; but those of the higher pait of the marches remained among their mountains, meditating revenge. A similar incursion was made on the west borders by Lord Wharton, f In Hayne's State Papers, from p. 43 to p. 64, is an account of these destructive forays. One listof the places burned and destroyed enu- meratts — Monasteries and Freehouses, Castles, towers, and piles, . Market towns. Villages, .... Mylnes, Spytells and hospitals. A. D. 1547. 7 . 16 5 . 243 13 3 See also officia) accounte of those exped.tions, in Dalyell'a Fragmentt, BORDEE BALLADS. 315 who, with five thousand men, raraged and i> cesses of the English. One by one, the fortresses overrun Annand.ale, Nithsdale, and Galloway, compelling the inhabitants to receive the yoke of England. f The arrival of French auxiliaries, and of French gold, rendered vain the splendid suc- t Patten gives us a list of those east border chiefs who did homage to the duke of Somerset, on the 24th of September, 1547 ; namely, the lairds of Cessforth, Fernyherst, Grenehead, Hunthill, Hundely, Makerstone, Bymerside, Bounjedworth, Ormeston, Mellestaines, War- mesay, Synton, Egerston, Merton, Movve, Ry- dell, Beamerside. Of gentlemen, he enumerates George Tromboul, Jhon Haliburton, Robert Car, Robert Car of Greyden, Adam Kirton, Andrew Mether, Saunders Purvose of Erleston, Mark Car of Littledean, George Car of Faldenside, Alexander Mackdowal, Charles Rutherford, ThomasCarof the Yere, Jhon Carof Meynthorn (Nenthorn), "Walter Holiburton, Richard Han- gansyde, Andrew Car, James Douglas of Cavers, James Car of Mersington, George Hoppringle, William Ormeston of Emerden, John Grym- slowe. — Patten, in DalyeWs Fragments, p. 87. On the west border, the following barons and clans submitted and g.ave pledges to Lord Whar- ton, that they would serve the king of England, with the numl>er of followers annexed to their names : — AKNKIIDAI.B. Laird of Kirkmighel, . . . .222 Rose, 165 Ilempsfield, . . . .163 Home Ends, ... 162 Wamfrey, . . . .102 Dunwoddy, .... 44 • Newby and Gratney, . . 122 Tinnel, (Tinwald), . . 103 Patrick Murray, 203 Christie Urwin, (Irving), of Coveshawe, 102 Cuthbert Urwen of Robbgill, ... 34 XJrwens of Sennersack, . . 40 Wat Urwen, ... .20 Jeffrey Urwen 93 T. Johnston of Crackburn, . . . 64 James Johnston of Coites, . . . 162 Johnstons of Crag -'yland, . . .37 Johnstons of Driesdell, . . 46 Johnstons of Malinshaw, . . .65 Qawen Johnston, .... 31 Will Johnston, the laird's brother, . 110 which they occupied were recovered by force, or by stratagem; and the vindictive cruelty of the Scottish borderers made dreadful retaliation for the injuries they had sustained. An idea may be conceived of this horrible warfare, from Robin Johnstx>n of Lochmaben, . 67 LikirdofGillersbie, . 30 Moffits, 24 Bells of Tostints . 142 Bells of Tindills, 223 Sir John Lawson, . 32 Town of Annan, 33 Rooms of Tordephe, . 32 ■NITHSDAI.E Mr. Maxwell and more. Laird of Closeburn, . Lag, Cransfleld, . Mr. Ed. Creighton, Laird of Cowhill, 1000 403 203 27 10 91 Maxwells of Brackenside, and vicar of Carla- verick 310 Annbrdai.k and Galway. Lord Carlisle, 101 AnNSKDALB and C1.IOSDAI.E. Laird of Applegirth, .... 242 LiDDESDALB AND DkBATBABI,B LaND. Armstrongs, ..... 300 Elwoods, (Elliots), .... 74 Nixons, 32 Galloway. Laird of Dawbaylle, . Orcherton, .... Carlisle, Loughenwar, .... Tutor of Bombie, Abbot of Newabbey, . Town of Dumfries, . . Town of Kircubrie, .... 36 TlVIDAI.E. Laird of Drumlire, .... 364 Caruthers, 71 Trumbells, 12 ESKDALB. Battisong and Thomsons, . . . 166 Total, 7008 men under English assurance. Nicolson, from Bell'* MS. Introduction tu Hit- WJ- tory of Cumberland, p. 65. 41 111 206 45 140 141 201 316 SCOTTISH liALLADS. the memoirs of Beauge, a French oflBcer, serving ^ in Scotland. | The castle of Fairnihint, situated about three miles above Jedburgh, had been taken and gar- i risoned by the English. The commander and '' his followers are accused of such excesses of lust i and cruelty, "as would," says Beauge, "have made to tremble the most savage Moor in Africa." A band of Frenchmen, with the laird A "n TUQ of Fairnihirst, and his borderers, assaulted this fortress. The Eng- lish archers showered their arrows down the steep ascent leading to the castle, and from the outer wall by which it was surrounded. A vigorous escalade, however, gained the base court, and the sharp fire of the French arque- busiers drove the bowmen into the square keep, or dungeon, of the fortress. Here the English defended themselves, till a breach in the wall was made by mining. Through this hole the jommandant creeped forth ; and, surrendering himself to De la Mothe-rouge, implored protec- tion from the vengeance of the borderers. But a Scottish marchman, eyeing in the captive the ravisher of his wife, approached him ere the French oflHcer could guess his intention, and, at one blow, carried his head four paces from the trunk. Above a hundred Scots rushed to wash their hands in the blood of their oppressor, ban- died about the severed head, and expressed their joy in such shouts, as if they had stormed the city of London. The prisoners, who fell into their merciless hands, were put to death, after their eyes had been torn out ; the victors contending who should display the greatest address in sever- ing their legs and arms, before inflicting a mor- tal wound. "When their own prisoners were slain, the Scottish, with an unextinguishable thirst for blood, purchased those of the French ; parting willingly with their very arms, in ex- change for an English captive. "I myself," says Beauge, with military sans-froid, " 1 my- self sold them a prisoner for a small horse. They laid him down upon the ground, g.illoped ^ over him with their lances in rest, and wounded him as they i assed. When slain, they cut his body in pieces, and bore the mangled gobbets, in triumph, on the points of their spears. I can- not greatly praise the Scottish for this practice. But the truth is, that the English tyrannized over the borders in a most barbarous manner; and I think it was but fair to repay them, according to the proverb, in their own coin." — Campagnea de Beauge^ A peace, in 1551, put an end to this war; the most destructive which, for a length of time, had ravaged Scotland. Some attention was paid by the governor and queen-mother, to the administration of justice on the border; and the chieftains, who had distinguished themselves during the late troubles, received the honour of knighthood, f At this time, also, the DebateableLand, a trac of country, situated betwixt the Esk and Sarke, claimed by both kingdoms, was divided by royal commissioners, appointed by the two crowns. — By their award, this land of contention was separated by a line, drawn from east to west, betwixt the rivers. The upper lialf was adjudged to Scotland, and the more eastern part to England. Yet the Debateable Land continued long after to be the residence of the thieves and banditti, to whom its dubious state had afforded a desirable refuge, i In 1557, a new war broke out, in which ren counters on the borders were, as usual, numer A. D. 1522. f These were the lairds of Buccleuch, Cessford and Fairnihirst, Littletlen.Grenehed, and Cold ingknows. Buccleuch, whose gallant exploits we have noticed, did not long enjoy his newhon^ ours. He was murdered, in the streets of Edin^ burgh, by his hereditary enemies, the Kerrs, anno 1552. % The jest of James "VI. is well known, who, wlien a favourite cow had found her way from London, back to her native country of Fife observed, "that nothing surprised him so much as her passing uninterrupted through the De Liteable Land < " ons, and with raried success. In some of these, the too femous Bothwell is said to have given proofs of his courage, which was at other times very questionable.f About this time the Scot- tish borderers seem to have acquired some ascendency over their southern neighbours. — Strype, vol. iii. p. 437.— In 1559, peace was again restored. The flame of reformation, long stifled in Scot, land, now burst forth, with the violence of a volcanic eruption. The siege of leith was com- menced, by the combined forces of the Congre- gation and of England. The borderers cared little about speculative points of religion; but they showed themselves much interested in the treasures which passed through their coun- try, for payment of the English forces at Edin- burgh. Much alarm was excited, lest the march- ers should intercept these weighty Protestant arguments; and it was, probably, by volun- tarily imparting a share in them to Lord Home, that he became a sudden convert to the new faith.t Upon the arrival of the ill -feted Mary in her native country, she found the borders in a state t He was lord of Liddesdale, and keeper of the Hermitage castle. But he had little effective power over that country, and was twice defeated by the Armstrongs, its lawless inhabitants. — Border History, p. 584. Yet the unfortunate Mary, in her famous Apology, says, "that in the weiris against Ingland, he gaif proof of his valyentes, courage, and gude conduct;" and praises him especially for subjugating " the rebellious subjectis inhabiting the cuntreis lying ewest the marches of Ingland." — Keith, p. 388. He appears actually to have defeated Sir Henry Percy, in a skirmish, called the Eaid of Halt- wellswire. % This nobleman had, shortly before, threa- tened to spoil the English east march; "but,'' says the duke of Norfolk, " we have provided such sauce for him, that I think he will not deal in such matter; but, if he do fire but one hay-goff, he shall not go to Home again without torch-light, and, peradventure, may find a lan- thom at his own house." BOEDER BALLADS. 3 "[ ^ 9i of great disorder. The exertions of her natural brother (afterwards the femous regent Murray) j were necessary to restore some degree of tran- quillity. He marched to Jedburgh, executed twenty or thirty of the transgressors, burned ; many houses, and brought a number of prison- ! ers to Edinburgh. The chieftains of the princi- ! pal clans vwre also obliged to grant pledges for I their future obedience A noted convention I (for the particulars of which, see Border Lawt, p. 84,) adopted various regulations, which were attended with great advantage to the marches.! The unhappy match betwixt Henry Damley and his sovereign led to new dissensions on the borders. The Homes, Kerrs, and other east marchers, hastened to support the queen, against Murray, Chatelherault, and other nobles, whom her marriage had offended. For the same pur- pose, the Johnstones, Jardines, and clans cf Annandale, entered into bonds of confederacy. But Liddesdale was under the influence of England ; in so much, that Randolph, the Eng- lish minister, proposed to hire a band of Strap- ping Elliott, to find Home business at home, in looking after his corn and cattle.— Keith, p. 265. App. 133. This storm was hardly overblown, when Both- well received the commission of lieutenant upon the borders; but, as void of parts as of princi- ple, he could not even recover to the queen's allegiance his own domains in Liddesdale. — Keith, App. 165. The queen herself advanced to the borders, to remedy this evil, and to hold courts at Jedburgh. Bothwell was already in Liddesdale, where he had been severely wounded, in an attempt to seize John Elliot, of the Parke, a desperate freebooter ; and happy had it been for Mary, had the dagger of the mosstrooper struck more home. Bothwell, being transported § The commissioners on the English side were, the elder Lord Scroope of Bolton, Sir John Fos- ter, Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Dr. Rookby. On the Scottish side appeared. Sir John Maxwell of ^ Teireagles, and Sir John Bellendcn. 318 SCOTTISH BALLADS, to his castle of Hermitage, the queen, upon hear- < infi the tidings, hastened thither. A dangerous morass, still called the QMen's Mire,^ is pointed out by tradition as the spot where the lovely Mary, and her white palfrey, were in danger of perishing. The distance betwixt Hermitage and Jedburgh, by the way of Hawick, is nearly twenty-four English miles. The queen went and returned the same day. Whether she visited a wounded subject, or a lover in danger, has been warmly disputed in our latter days. To the death of Henry Darnley, it is said, some of the border lords were privy. But the subse- quent marriage betwixt the queen and Both- well, alienated from her the affections of the chiertains of the marches, most of whom aided the association of the insurgent barons. A few gentlemen of the Merse, however, joined the army which Mary brought to Carberry-hill. But no one was willing to fight for the detested Bothwell, nor did Bothwell himself show any inclination to put his person in jeopardy. The result to Mary was a rigorous captivity in Loch- leven castle ; and the name of Bothwell scarcely again pollutes the page of Scottish history. The distress of a beautiful and afflicted prin- cess softened the hearts of hers ubjects; and,when ■he escaped from her severe captivity, the most powerful barons in Scotland crowded around her standard. Among these were many of the west border men, under the lords Maxwell and f The Queen's Mire is still a pass of danger, exhibiting in many places the bones of the horses which have been entangled in it. For what reason the queen chose to enter Liddes- dale by the circuitous route of Hawick, does not appear. There are two other passes from Jed- burgh to Hermitage castle ; the one by the Note of the Gate, the other over the mountain called AVinburgh. Either of these, but especially the latter, is several miles shorter than that by Ha- wick and the Queen's Mire. But, by the cir- cuitous way of Hawick, the queen could traverse the districts of more friendly clans, than by go- ing directly into the disorderly province of Lid- dc-sdale. Herries.f But the defeat at Langside was a death-blow to her interest in Scotland. Not long afterwards occurred that period of general confusion on the borders, when tho in- surrection of the Catholic earls of Northum- berland and Westmoreland took place upon the borders of England. Their tumultuary forces were soon dispersed, and the earls themselves, with their principal followers, sought refuge upon the Scottish marches. Northumberland was betrayed into the hands of the regent ; but Westmoreland, with his followers, took refuge in the castle of Farnihirst, where he was pro- tected by its powerful owner. The regent him- self came to Jedburgh, to obtain possession of these important pledges; but as he marched towards the castle of Farnihirst, his men shrunk from him by degrees, till he was left with a small body of his own personal dependants, in- adequate to the task for which he had undertaken the expedition. Westmoreland afterwards es- caped to Flanders by sea, Eobert Constable, a spy sent by Sir Ralph Sadler into Scotland, gives a lively account of the state of the borders at this time.f i The followers of these barons are said to have stolen the horses of their friends, while they were engaged in the battle. § He was guided by one Pyle of Mi'Iheuch, (upon Oxnam water,) and gives the following account of his conversation with him on the state of the country, and the power of his mas- ter, the fcaron of Farnihirst: — " By the way as we rode, I tould my cste that the lord of Farne- herst, his master, had taken such an enterprise in band as not a subject in England durst do the like, to kepe any mann openly as he did the earle of Westmorland, against the will of the chief in aucthoritie. He said that his master cared not so much for the regent as the regent cared for him, for he was well able to raise iij thousand men within his own rule, beside that his first wief, by whom he hed goodly children, was daughter to the lord Grange, captaine of Edenborowe castell, and provost of Edenborowe. This wief that he married lately is sister to the ! lord of Bucclewghe, a man of greater power then ^ his master; also my lord Hume, and almost all BURDKR BALLADS. 319 The death of the regent Murray, in 1569, • excited the party of Mary to hope and to exer- tion. It seems, that the design of Bothwell- hau^h, who slew him, was well known upon the borders ; for, the very day on which the slaugh- ter happened, Buccleueh and Faimihirst, with th6ir clans, broke into England, and spread devastation along the frontiers, with unusual ferocity. It is probable they well knew that the controlling hand of the regent was that day palsied by death. Buchanan exclaims loudly against this breach of truce with Elizabeth.charg- ing queen Mary's party with having " houndit furth proude and uncircumspecte young men, to hery, burne, and slay, and tak prisoners, in lier realine, and use all misordour and crueltie, not only usit in weir, but detestabil to all barbar and wild Tartaris, in slaying of prisoneris, and eontrair to all humanitie and justice, keeping na promeis to miserabil captives resavit anis to thair mercy." — Admonitioun to the Irerv Lordis, SIriveling, 1571. He numbers, among these insurgents, highlanders as well as borderers, Buccleueh and Faimihirst, the Johnstons and Armstrongs, the Grants, and the clan Chattan. the gentlemen in Tevydale, the Marsh, and Lowdyan, were knitt together in such friend- ship that they are agreed all to take one part ; and that the lord Grange was offended with the lord Hume and the lord Farneherst, because they toke not the earle of Northumberland from my lord regent at Gedworthe, and sent plane word to the lord Farneherst, that if the lord regent came any more to seeke him in Tevydale, he should lose all his buUes, both the duke, the lord Herris, the secretary, and others, he should sett them all at libertye that would come with all their power, with good will, to take his part; and by as much as 1 hear since, the Tevydale meiin pretends to do the anoyances that they can to England, so sone as this storme is past, and meanes not to answer to any day of truce." Another passage presents a lively picture of the inside of the outlaw's cabin—" I left Farne- herst, and went to my ostes house, where I found many gcsts of dyvers factions, some out- lawes of Ingland, some of Scotland, some neigh- Besides these powerful clans, Mary numl)ere(l among her adherents the Maxwells, and almost all the west border leaders, excepting Drum- lanrig, and Jardine of Applegirth. On the eastern border, the faction of the infant king was more powerful; for, although deserted by lord Home, the greater part of his clan, under the influence of Wedderburn, remained attached to that party. The laird of Cessford wished them well, and the earl of Angus naturally fol- lowed the steps of his uncle Morton, A sharp and bloody invasion of the middle march, under the command of the earl of Sussex, avenged with interest the raids of Buccleueh and Faimi- hirst. The domains of these chiefs were laid waste, their castles burned and destroyed. The narrow vales of Beaumont and Kale, belonging to Buccleueh, were treated with peculiar seve- rity ; and the forays of Hertford were equalled by that of Sussex. In vain did the chiefs request assistance from the government to defend their fortresses. Through the predominating interest of Elir-abeth in the Scottish councils, this was refused to all but Home, whnse castle, neverthe- less, again received an English garrison; while bors therabout, at cards ; some for ale, some for plake and hardhedds; and after that 1 had diligently learned and enquired that there «as none of any surname that had nie in deadly fude, nor none that knew me, 1 sat downe, and plaid for harhedds eniongs them, where I hard, vox populi, that the lord regent would not, for his own honor, nor for thonor of his countery, deliver the carles, if he had them bothe, unlest it were to have there quene delivered to him, and if he wold agre to make that change, the borderers wold stert up in his contrary, and reave both the quen<» and the lords from him, for the like shame was never done in Scotland ; and that he durst better eate his owne luggs then come again to seke Farneherst; if he did, he should be fought >»ith ere he came over Sowtrey edge. Hector of Tharlowes hedd was wislie.l to have been eaen among us at supper.'' — Sad- ler's State Papers, Edin. 1809, vol. ii. pp. 384, ^ 320 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Buccleuch and Fairnihirst complained bitterly that those, who had instigated their invasion, durst not even come so far as Lauder, to show countenance to their defence against the Eng- lish. The bickerings, which followed, distracted the whole kingdom. One celebrated exploit may be selected, aa an illustration of the border fashion of war. The earl of Lennox, who had succeeded Mur- ray in the regency, held a parliament at Stir- ling, in 1571. The young king was exhibited to the great council of his nation. He had been tutored to repeat a set speech, composed for the occasion; but obseiving that the roof of the building was a little decayed, he interrupted his recitation, and exclaimed, with childish levity, " that there was a hole in the parliament," — words which, in these days, were held to pre- sage the deadly breach shortly to be made in that body, by the death of him in whose name it was convoked. Amid the most undisturbed security of con- fidence, the lords, who composed this parlia- ment, were roused at day- break by the shouts of their enemies in the heart uf the town. God and the Queen J resounded from every quarter, and, in a few minutes, the regent, with the astonished nobles of his party, were prisoners to a band of two hundred border cavalry, led by Scott of Buccleuch, and to the Lord Claud Hamilton, at the head of three hundred infan- try. These enterprising chiefs, by a rapid and well-concerted manoeuvre, had reached Stirling in a night march from Edinburgh, and, without so much as being bayed at by a watch-dog, had seized the principal street of the town. The fortunate obstinacy of Morton saved his party. Stubborn and undaunted, he defended his house tiU the assailants set it in flames, and then yielded wth reluctance to his kinsman, Buc- cleuch. But the time which he had gained effectually served his cause. The borderers had dispersed to plunder the stables of the nobility; the infantry thronged tumultuously together on ^ the main street, when the earl of Mar, l«suing j from the castle, placed one or two small pieces of ordnance in his own half-huilt house,! which commands the market place. Hardly had the artillery begun to scour the street, when the assailants, surprised in their turn, fled with pre- cipitation. Their alarm was increased by the townsmen thronging to arms. Those who had been so lately triumphant, were now, in many instances, asking the protection of their own pri- soners. In all probability, not a man would have escaped death, or captivity, but for the charac- teristic rapacity of Buccleuch's marauders, who, having seized and carried off all the horses in the town, left the victors no means of following the chase. The regent was slain by an officer, named Caulder, in order to prevent his being rescued. Spens of Ormiston, to whom he had surrendered, lost his life in a generous attempt to protect him.^ Hardly does our history pre- f This building still remains in the unfinished state which it then presented. t Birrel says, that " the legent was shot by an unhappy fellow, while sitting on horseback be- hind the laird of Buccleuch." — The following curious account of the whole transaction, is extracted from a journal of principal events in the years 1570, 1571, 1572, and part of 1673, kept by Richard Bannatyne, amanuensis to John Knox. " The fourt of September, they of Kdin- burgh, horsemen and futmen (and, as was reported, the most part of Clidisdiiiil, that per- tenit to the Hamiltons), coine to Striveling, the number of iii or iiii c men, on hors bak, guydit be ane George Bell, their hacbutteris being all horsed, enterit in Striveling, be fyve houris in the morning (whair thair was never one to mak watche), crying this slogene, 'God and the queen I ane Hamiltoune ! think on the bishop of bt. Androis, all is owres ; ' and so a certaine come to everie grit manis ludgane, and appre- hendit the lordis Mortoun and Glencarne, but Mortounis hous they set on fyre, wha randerit him to the loird of Balcleuch. Wdrmestoun being appointed to the regentes hous, desyred him to cum furth, which he had no will to doe, yet, be perswasione of Garleys and otheris, with him, tho't It best to come in will, nor to byde BORDER BALLADS. 321 Bent another enterprize, so well planned, so happily cotnmenced, and so strangely discon- certed. To the licence of the marchmen the failure was attributed; but the same cause ensured a safe retreat. — SpottUrvoode, GodscroJI, Robertson, Melville. The wily earl of Morton, who, after the short intervening regency of Mar, succeeded to the supreme authority, contrived, by force or arti- fice, to render the party of the king every where superior. Even on the middle borders, he had the address to engage in his cause the powerful, though savage and licentious, clans of Ruther- ford and TurnbuU, as well as the citizens of Jed- burgh. He was tl.us enabled to counterpoise his powerftil opponents, Buccleuch and Fairni- hirst, in their own cnuntry ; and, after an un- successful attempt to surprise Jedburgh, even these warm adherents of Mary relinquished her cause in despair. While Mo; ton swayed the state, his attach- ment to Elizabe h, and the humiliation which many of the border chiefs had undergone, con- tributed to maintain good order on the marches, till James VI. himself assumed the reins of government.— The intervening skirmish of the the extremitie, becaus they supposed there was no resistance, and swa the regent come furth, and wiis raiidered to VVormcstoune, under pro- meis to save his Ijfe. Captane Crawfurde, being in the t >wn, gat sum men out of the castell, and uther gentlemen being in the town, come as they my't test to the geat, chased them out of the tf)\vn The regent was shut by ane Captain Cader, who confessed that he did it at commando of George Bell, wha was comandit so to die be the lord Huntlie and Claud Hamil- ton. Some sayis, that Wormestoun was schot by the same schot that slew the regent, but alwayis he was slane, notwithstanding the regent cryed to save him, but it culd not be, the furie was so grit of the persewaris, who following sa fast, the lord of Mortone said to Balcleuch, ' 1 Siill save you as you savit me," and so he was tane Parleys, and sindrie otheris, war slane at the port, in the persute ot thanie. Thair war ten or twelve gentlemen slane of the king's folk, . ^ Reldswire, (see the ballad under that title) was but a sudden explosion of the rivalry and sup- pressed hatred of the borderers of both king- doms. In truth, the st^rn rule of Mo ton, and of his delegates, men unconnected with the bor» ders by birth, maintained in that country more strict discipline than had ever been there exer- cised. Perhaps this hastened his fall. The unpopularity of Morton, acquired partly hy the strict administration of justice, and partly by avarice and severity, forced him from the regency. In 1578, he retired, apparently, from state a£birs, to his castle of Dalkeith ; which the populace, emphatically expressing their awe and dread of his person, termed the Lion's Den. But Morton Ci;uld not live in retirembnt; and, early in the same year, the aged lion again rushed from his cavern. By a mixture of policy and violence, he possessed himself of the fortress of Stirling, and of the person of James. His nephew, Angus, hastened to his assistance. Against him appeared his follower Cessford, with many of the Homes, and the citizens of Edinburgh. Alluding to the restraint of the king's person, they bore his effigy on their ban- ners, with a rude rhyme, demanding liberty or and als mony of theiris, or mea, as was said, and a dozen or xvi tane. Twa especial! servantis of the lord Argyle's were slane also. This Cader, that schot the regent, was once turned biik off the toune, and was send again (as is said), be the lord Huntlie, to cause Wormistouu retire; but, before he come agane, he was dispatched, and had gottin deid]s woundis. The regent being sehot (as said is), was brought to the castel, whar he callit for ane pliisitione, one for his soule, ane uther for his bi pected moderation, only stipulated for remission of his forfeiture, and did not even ii sist on remaining at court, whence his party was shortly expelled, by the return of the lord Home, and his other enemies. Incensed at this reverse, Bothwell levied a body of four hundred cavalry, and attacked the king's guard in broad day, upon the Borough Moor near Edinburgh.— The ready succour of the citizens saved James from falling once more into the hands of his turbu- lent subject.f On a subsequent day, Bothwell met the laird of Cessford, riding near Edin- burgh, with whom he fought a single combat, which lasted for two hours, i But his credit was now fallen ; he retreated to England, whence he was driven by Elizabeth, and then wandered to Spain and Italy, where he subsisted, in indi- gence and obscurity, on the bread which he earned by apostatizing to the faith of Rome. So fell this agitator of domestic broils, whose name passed into a proverb, denoting a power- ful and turbulent demagogue.§ t Spottiswoode says, the king awaited this charge with firmness ; but Birrel avers, that he fled upon the gallop. The same author, instead of the firm deportment of James, when seized by Bothwell, describes " the king's majestic as flying down the back stair, with his breeches in his hand, in great fear." — Birrelt, apud Dalyell, p. 30. Such is the difference betwixt the narra- tive of the courtly archbishop, and that of the Presbyterian burgess of Edinburgh. % This rencounter took place at Humbie, in East Lothian. Bothwell was attended by a s-irvant, called Gibson, and Cessford by one of the Rutherfords, who was hurt in the cheek. , The combatants parted from pure fatigue; for the defensive armour of the times was so com- pletely impenetrable, that the wearer seldom sustained much damage by actual wounds. § Sir Walter Raleigh, in writing of Essex, then in prison, says, " Let the queen hold Both- rvell while she hath him." — Murdin, vol. ii. p. 812. It appears from Creichton's Memoirt, tha*? • said James, with royal dignity— «6 Bothwell's grandson, though so nearly related 324 SCOTTISH BALLADS. While these scenes were passing in the metro- -. polig, the borders were furiously agitated by civil discord. The families of Cessford and Faiini- hirst disputed their right to the wardenry of the middle marches, and to the provostry of Jed- burgh; and William Kerr of Ancram, a fol- lower of the latter, was murdered by the young chief of Ccssfoi d, at the instigation of his mother. Spottitwoode, p. 383. But this was trifling, com- pared to the civil war waged on the western frontier, between the Johnstons and Maxwells, of which there is a minute account in the intro- duction to the ballad entitled " Maxwell't Good- night," Prefixed to that termed " Kinmont Willie," the reader will find an account of the last warden raids performed upon the border. My sketch of border history now draws to a close. The accession of James to the English crown c nverted the extremity into the centre of his kingdom. The east marches of Scotland were, at this mo- mentous period, in a state of oomparative civi- lizaticin. The rich soil of Berwickshire soon invited the inhabitants to the arts of agriculture. —Even in the days of Lesley, the nobles and barons of the Merse differed in manners from the other borderers, administered justice with regularity, and abstained from plunder and depredation. De JUoribus Scotorutn, p. 7. Hut on the middle and western marches, the inha- bitants were unrestrained moss-troopers and cattle-drivers, knowing no measure of law, says Camden, but the length of their swords. The sterilit) of the mountainous country, which they inhabited, offered little encouragement to in- dustiy; and, for the long series of centuries which we have hastily reviewed, the hands of rapine were never there folded in inactivity, nor the sword of violence returned to the scabbard. Various proclamations were in vain issued, for to the royal family, actually rode a private in the Scottish horse guards, in tne reign of Cbarl( s 11. — Edinburgh, XTil, p. 42. interdicting the use of horses and arms upon the west border of England and i^-cotland.f The evil was found to require the radical cure of extirpation. Buccleuch collected under his ban- ners the most desperate of the border warriors, of whom he formed a legion, for the service of the states of Holland, who had as much reason to rejoice on their arrival up'.nthe continent, as Britain to cong atulate herself upon their de- parture. It may be presumed, that few of this corps ever returned to their native country. The clan of Grame, a hardy and feroci us set of free- booters, inhabiting chiefly the Debateable Land, by a very summary exertion of authority, was transported to Ireland, and their return prohi- bited under pain of death. A gainst other offen- ders, measures, equally arbitrary, were without hesitation pursued. Numbe:8 of border riders were executed, without even the formality of a trial , and it is even said, that in mockery of justice, assizes were held upon them after they had suffered. For these acts of tyranny, see Johnston, p. 374, 414, 39, 93. The memory of Dunbar's legal proceedings at Jedburgh, are preserved in the proverbial phrase, Jeddart JuS' iice, which signifies, trial aft«r execution. :f By f " Proclamation shall b? made, that all inha- biting with Tynedale and Riddesdale, in Nor- thuii.berland, Bewcastledale, Willgavey, the noith part of Gilsland, Esk,and Leven, in Cum- berland i east and west Tividale, Liddesdale, Eskdale, Ewsdale, and Annerdale, in Scotland (saving noblemen and gentlemen unsuspected of felony and theft, and not being cf broken clans, and their household servants, dwelling within those several places before recited,) shall put away all armour and weapons, as well offensive as defensive, as jacks, spears, lances, swords, daggers, and steel-caps, hack-buts, pistols, plate sleeves, and such like, and dhall not keep any horse, gelding, or mare, above the value of fifty shillings sterling, or thirty pounds "^cots, upon the like pain of imprisonment." — Proceedings of the liorder Commissioners, \fj05 — Introduction to History nf Cumberland, p. 127. ^ A similar proverb in England of the same ^ luterpretation is Lydford Law, derived from BORDER BALLADS. 325 this rigour, though sternly and unconscien- tiously exercised, the border marauders were, in the course of years, either reclaimed or exter- minated; though nearly a century elapsed ere their manners were altogether assimilated to those of their countrymen. f In these hasty sketches of border history, I have endeavoured to select such incidents, as may introduce to the reader the character of the Lydford, a corporation in Devonshire, where it seems the same irregular udminis ration of jus- tice prevailed. A burlesque copy of verses on this town begins, I oft have heard of Lvdford Law, How in the morn t ley hang and draw, And Bit in jii.l-'""'!'' "'ipv See WestcnW* History C(f Devonshire. t See the acts 18 Cha. IT. ch. 3. and 30 Cha. II. ch. 2. against the border moss-troopers, to which we may add the following curious extracts from Mercurius Politicus, a newspaper pub- lished during the usurpation. " Thursday, November 11, 1662. Edinburgh.— The Scotts and moss-troopers have again revived their old custom of robbing and murthering the English, whether soldiers or other, upon all opportunities, within these three weeks. We have had notice of several robberies and murders committed by thtm. Among the rest, a lieutenant, and one other of col. Overton's regiment, returning from Eng- land, were robbtd not far from Dunbarr. A lieutenant, lately master of the customs at Kirkcudbright, was killed about twenty miles from this place; and four foot soldiers of colonel Overton's were killed, going to their quarters, by some mossers, who, after they had given them quarter, tied their hands beh.nd them, and threw them down a steep hill, or rock, as it was related by a Scotchman, who was with them, but escaped." Ibidem—'' October 13, 1663.— The Parliament, October 12, past an act, declaring, any person that shall discover any felon, or felons (com- monly called, or known by the name of moss- troopers), residing upon the borders of England and Scotland, shall have a reward often pounds upon their conviction." marchmen, more briefly and better than a for mal essay upon their manners. If I have been successful in the attempt, he is already acquainted with the mixture of courage and rapacity by which they were distinguished; and has re- viewed some of the scenes in which they acted a principal part. It is, therefore, only necessary to notice, more minutely, some of their pecu- liar customs and modes of life. Their morality was of a singular kind. The rapine by which they subsisted, tliey accounted lawful and honourable. Ever liable to lose their whole substance, by an incursion of the English on a sudden breach of truce, they cared little to waste their time in cultivating crops, to be reaped by their foes. Their cattle was, there- f. re, their chief property ; and these were nightly ex; osed to the southern borderers, as rapacious and active as themselves. Hence robb: ry as- sumed the appearance of fair reprisal. The fatal privilege of pursuing the marauders into their own country, for recovery of stolen goods, led to continual skirmishes. The warden also, himself frequently the chieftain of a border horde, when redress was not instantly granted by the oppo- site officer, fur depredations sustained by his dis- trict, was entitled to retaliate upon England by a warden raid. In such cases, the moss-troopers, who crowded to his standard, found themselves pursuing their craft under legal authority, and became the favourites and followers of the mili- tary magistrate, whose ordinary duty it was to check and suppress them. Equally unable and unwilling to make nice distinctions, they were not to be convinced, that what was to-day fair booty, was to-morrow a subject of theft. National animosity usually gave an additional stimulus to their rapacity ; although it must be owned that their depredations ex- tended also to the more cultivated parts of their own country i ^ The armorial bearings, adopted by many of ^l the border tribes, show how little they were 326 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Satchells, who lived when the old border ideas of meum and tuum were still in some force, endeavours to draw a very nice distinction be- twixt a freebooter and a thief ; and thus sings he of the Armstrongs: — On that border was the Armstrongs, able men ; Somewhat unruly, and very ill to tame. 1 would have none think that I call them thieves, Fop, if I did, it would be arrant lies. Neap a bopdep frontier, in the time of war. There's ne'er a man but he's a freebooter. Because to all men it may appear. The freebooter he is a volunteer ; In the muster-rolls he has no desire to stay ; He lives by purchase, he gets no pay. It's most clear, a freebooter doth live in hazard's train ; A freebooter'sa cavalier that ventures life forgain: But, since king James the VI. to England went. There has been no cause of grief ; And he that hath transgress. 'd since then, la no Freebooter, but a TAia1iuaD3. assembly against the perjured criminal, that he was often slain by his own clan, to wipe out the disgrace he had brought on them. In the same spirit of confidence, it was not unusual to toehold the victors, after an engagement, dismiss their prisoners upon parole, who never failed either to transmit the stipulawd ransom, or to surrender themselves to bondage, if unable to do so. But the virtues of a barbarous people, being founded not upon moral principle, but upon the dreams of superstition, or the capricious dictates of an- cient custom, can seldom be uniformly relied on. We must not, therefore, be surprised to find these very men, so true to their word in general, using, upon other occasions, various resources of cunning and chicane, against which the bor- der laws were in vain directed. The immediate ruUrs of the borders were the chiefs of the different clans, who exercised over their respective septs a dominion partly patri- archal, and partly feudal. The latter bond of adherence was, however, the more slender; for, in the acts regulating the borders, we find repeated mention of "Clannes having captaines and chieftaines, whom on they depend, oft-times against the willes of their landeslordes. "—S/a<. 1587, c. 95, and the Roll thereto annexed. Of course, these laws louked less to the feudal su- perior, than to the chieftain of the name, for the restraint of the disorderly tribes; and it is repeatedly enacted, that the head of the clan should be first called upon to deliver those of his sept, who should commit any trespass, and that, on his failure to do so, he should be liable to the injured party in full redress. Ibidem, and Stat. 1574, c. 231. By the same statutes, the chieftains and landlords, presiding over border clans, were obliged to find cau tion , and to gran t hostiges, that they would subject themselves to the due course of law. Such clans, as had no chieftain of sufii- cient note to enter bail for their quiet conduct, became broken men, outlawed to both, nations. From these enactments, the power of the bor- dep chieftains may be conceived ; for it had been hard and useless to have punished them for the trespasses of their tribes, unless they possessed over them unlimited authority. The abode of these petty princes by no means corresponded to the extent of their power. We do not find, on the Scottish borders, the splendid and extensive baronial castles which graced and defended the opposite frontier. The gothic grandeur of Aln- wick, of Eaby, and of Naworth, marks the weal- thier and more secure state of the English nobles. The Scottish chieftain, however extensive his domains, derived no advantage, save from such parts as he could himself cultivate or occupy. Payment of rent was hardly known on the bor- ders, till after the union.f AU that the land- lord could gain, from those residing upon his estate, was their personal service in battle, their assistance in labouring the land retained in his natural possession, some petty quit rents, of a nature resembling the feudal casualties, and per- haps a share in the spoil which they acquired by rapine.j: This, with his herds of cattle and f Stowe, in detailing the happy consequences of the union of the crowns, observes, " that the northerne borders became as safe, and peac able, as any p.art of the entire kingdome, so as in the fourthe year of the king's reigne, as well gentle- men and others, inhabiting the places aforesayde, finding the auncient wast ground to be vt ry good and fruitefull, began to contende in lawe about their bounds, challenging then, that for their hereditarie right, which formerly the y disavowed, only to avoyde charge of common defence." t "As for the humours of the [ eople {i.e. of Tiviotdale), they were both strong and war- like, as being inured to war, and daily incur- sions, and the most part of the heritors of the country gave out all their lands to their terauts, for military attendance, upon rentals, and re- served only some few manses for their own sus- tenance, which were laboured by their tenants, besides their service. They paid an entry, a herauld, and a small rental-duty ; for there were no rents raised here that were considera- ble, till king James went into England; yea. all along the border." — Account of Roxburgh- shire, by Sir William Scott of Harden, and Kerr qJ'Sunlarvt, apud Macfarlane's MSS. BORDER BALLADS, 331 of sheep, and with the black-mail, which he exacted from his neighbours, constituted the revenue of the chieftain ; and, from funds so precarious, he could rarely spare sums to expend in strengthening or decorating his habitation. Another reason is found in the Scottish mode of warfare. It was early discovered, that the English surpass their neighbours in the arts of assaulting or defending fortified places. The policy of the Scottish, therefore, deterred them from erecting upon the bordei-s buildings of such extent and strength, as, being once taken by the foe, would have been capable of receiving a per- manent garrison. f To themselves, the woods and hills of their country were pointed out by the great Bruce, as their safest bulwarks ; and the maxim of the Douglasses, that "it was better to hear the lark sing, than the mouse cheep," was adopted by every border chief. For these combined reasons, the residence of the chieftain was commonly a large square battle- men ted i tower, called a keep, or peel; placed on a precipice, or on the banks of a torrent, and. t The royal castles of Roxburgh, Hermitage, Lochmaben, &c,, form a class of exceptions to this rule, being extensive and well fortified. Perhaps we ought also to except the baronial castle of Home. Yet, in 1455, the following petty garrisons were thought sufficient for the protection of the border; two hundred spear- men, and as many archers, upon the east and middle marches; and one hundred spears, with a like number of bowmen, upon the western marches. But then the same statute provides, 1 " That they are neare hand the bordoure, are j ordained to have gud holisehaldes, and abulzied men as effeiris : and to be redJie at their princi- pal place, and to pass, with the wardanes, quhen and quhair they sail be charged."— ^rfi of James \ It,, cap. 55, Of garriiom to be laid upon the bor- ders. — Hence Buchanan has justly described, as an attribute of the Scottish nation. ' Ntc fotsi* nee i r patriam, sed Marte tusri." if the ground would permit, surrounded by a moat. In short, the situation of a border house, surrounded by woods, and rendered almost inac- cessible by torrents, by rocks, or by morasses, sufficiently indicated the pufsuits and appre- hensions of its inhabitants." — " Locus horroris el vast V solitudinis, aptus ad preedam, habilis ad rapinam, habitatoribus suis lapis erat qffensionis et petra scandali, utpote qui stipendiis suis miuime contenti, totutn de alieno, parum de sua, posside- bant — totius provincijB spolium." No wonder, therefore, that James "V., on approaching the castle of Lochwood, the ancient seat of the Johnstones, Is said to have exclaimed, " that he who built it must have been a knave in his heart." An outer wall, with some slight forti- fications, served as a protection for the castle at night. The walls of these fortresses were of an immense thickness, and they could easily be defended against any small force ; more espe- cially, as, the rooms being vaulted, each story formed a separate lodgement, capable of being held out for a considerable time. On such occa- sions, the usual mode adopted by the assailants, was to expel the defenders, by setting fire to wet straw in the lower apartments. But the border chieftains seldom chose to abide in person a siege of this nature ; and I have not observed a single instance of a distinguished baron made prisoner in his own house. § Patten's Expedition, p. 35. The common people resided in paltry huts, about the safety of which they were little an- xious, as they contained nothing of value. On the approach of a superior force, they unthatched them, to prevent their being burned, and then abandoned them to the foe. — Stonie's Chronicle, machicoules, betwixt the parapet and the wall, through which stones or darts might be hurled upon the assailants. This kind of fortification is less common on the south border. i 1 have observed a difference in architecture § I ought to except the famous Dand Ker, who betwixt the English and Scottish towers. The j was made prisoner in his castle of Fairnihirst latter usually have upon the top a projecting ' ' after defending it bravely against lord iJucr^a, battlement, with interstices, anciently called ^ 24th September, 1523. 332 SCOTTISH BALLADS. p. 665. Their only treasures were, a fleet and active horse, with the ornaments which their rapine liad procured for the females of their family, of whose gay appearance the borderers were vain. Some rude monuments occur upon the bor- ders, the memorial of ancient valour. Such is the cross at Milholm, on the banks of the Lid- del, said to have teen erected in memory of the chief of the Armstrongs, murdered treacher- ously by lord Soulis, while feasting in Hermi- tage castle. Such also, a rude stune, now bro- ken, and very much defaced, placed upon a mount on the lands of Haugh-head, near the junction of the Kale and Teviot. The inscrip- tion records the defence made by Hobbie Hall, a man of great strength and courage, against an attempt of the powerful family of Ker, to possess themselves c.f his small estate. f The same simplicity marked their dress and arms. Patten observes, that in battle the laird could not be distinguished from the serf: all wearing the same coat-armour, called a jack, and the baron being only distinguished by his sleeves of mail and his head-piece. The bor- derers, in general, acted as light cavalry, riding horses of a small size, but astonishingly nimble, and trained to move, by short bounds, through the morasses with which Scotland abounds. Their offensive weapons were a lance of uncom- f The rude strains of the inscription little cor- respond with the gallantry of a village Hampflen, who, with dauntless breast. The little tyrant of his fields withstood. It is in these words- Here Hdhbie Hall boldly maintained his right, 'Gainst t-eif, plain force, armed wi' awle-s might. Fi.ll thirty pleiisfhs. Iiarne»'d in all their gear. Could not his v.Uiant noble heart make fear! But wi' his sword he cot the foremost's soam In two; aud drove baith p|pn''h8 and pleughmen home, 16i0. Soam means the iron links which fasten a yoke of oxen to the plough. ^ mon length ; a sword, either two-handed, or of I the modem light size ; sometimes a species of battle-axe, called a Jedburgh staff; and, lat- terly, dags, or pistols. Although so much accus- I tomed to act on horseback, that they held it j even mean to appear otherwise, the marchmen i occasionally acttd as infantry; nor were they I inferior to the rest of Scotland in forming that impenetrable phalanx of spears, wherei f it is said, by an English historian, that "sooner shall a bare finger pierce through the skin of an angry hedge-hog, than any one encounter the brunt of their pikes." At the battle of Melrose, for example, Buccleuch's army fought upon foot. But the habits of the bord-erers fitted them particularly to distinguish themselves as light cavalry; and hence the name of |)ricfc<;r» aud hohylers, so frequently applied to them. At the blaze of their beacon fires, they were wont to assemble ten thousand horsemen in the course of a single day. Thus rapid in their war- like preparations, they were alike ready for attack and defence. Each individual carried his own provisions, consisting of a small bag of oat- meal, and trusted to plunder, or the chace, for ekeing out his precarious meal. Beauge re- marks, that nothing surprised the Scottish cavalry so much as to see their French auxili- aries encumbered with baggage- waggons, and attended by commissaries. Before joining bat- tle, it seems to have been the Scottish practice to set fire to the litter of their camp, while, under cover of the smoke, the hohylers, or bor- der cavalry, executed tKeir manoeuvres. — There is a curious account of the battle of Mitton, fought in the year 1319, in a valuable MS. Chronicle of England, in the collection of the marquis of Douglas, from which this stratagem seems to have decided the engagement, " In meyn time, while the wer thus lastyd, the kynge went agane into Skotlonde, that hitte was wonder for to wette, and bysechd the towne of Barwicl: ; but the Skottes went over the ug intermixed with those of the laity, any attempts rigidly to enforce the claims of the church were usually attended by the most scan- dalous disputes. A petty warfare was carried on for years, betwixt James, abbot of Dry burgh, and the family of Halliburton of Mertoun, or Newmains, who held some lands from that abbey. These possessions were, under various t These vassals resembled, in some degree, the Vidames in France, and the Vogten, or Vize- domen, of the German abbeys; but the system was never carried regularly into effect in Bri- tain, and this circumstance facilitated the dis- solution of the religious houses. ,*; pretexts, seized and laid waste by both parties ; and some bloodshed took place in the contest, betwixt the lay vassals and their spiritual supe- rior. The matter was, at length, thought of Buflacient importance to be terminated by a re- ference to his majesty; whose decree arbitral, dated at Stirling, the 8th of May, 1535, proceeds thus : " Whereas we, having been advised and knowing the said gentlemen, the Halliburtons, to be leal and true honest men, long servants unto the saide abbeye, fbr tlie saide landis, stout men at armes, and goode borderers against Ingland ; and doe therefore decree and ordain, that they sail be repossessed, and bruik and en- joy the landis and steedings they had of the said abbeye, paying the use and wonte : and that they sail be goode servants to the said venerabil father, like as they and their pre- decessours were to the said venerabil father, and his predecessours, and he a good master to them." + It is unnecessary to detain the reader with other instances of the discord, which prevailed anciently upon the borders, be- twixt the spiritual shepherd and his untractable flock. The reformation was late of finding its way into the border wilds ; for, while the religious ^ This decree was followed by a marriage be- twixt the abbot's daughter, Elizabeth Stewart, and Walter Halliburton, one of the family of Newmains. But even this alliance did not secure peace between the venerable father and his vassals. The offspring of the marriage was an only daughter, named Elizabeth Halliburton. As this young lady was her father's heir, the Halliburtons resolved that she should marry one of her cousins, to keep her property in the clan. But as this did not suit the views of the abbot, he carried off by force the intended bride, and married her, at Stirling, to Alexander Erskine, a brother of the laird of Balgony, a relation and follower of his own. From this marriage sprung the Erskines of Shielfield. This exploit of the abbot revived the feud betwixt him and the Halliburtons, which only ended with the disso- lution of the abbey.— AfS. Hittory <(f Halliburton Family, penes editorem. BORDER BALLADS. 335 and civil dissensions were at the height in 1568, Brury writes to Cecil,— "Our trusty neighbours of Teviotdale are holden occupied only to attend to the pleasure and calling of their own heads, to make some diversion in this matter." The influence of the reformed preachers, among the borders, seems also to have been but small; for, upon all occasions of dispute with the kirk, James VI. was wont to call in their assistance. — Calderwood, p. 129. We learn from a curious passage in the life of Richard Cameron, a fanatical preacher during the time of what is called the "persecution," that some of the borderers retained to a late period their indifference about religious matters. After having been licensed at Haughhead, in Teviotdale, he was, according to his biographer, sent first to preach in Annandale. " He said, ' How can I go there? I know what sort of peo- ple they are.' ' But," Mr. Welch said, 'go your way, Ritchie, and set the fire of hell to their tails.'" He went; and, the first day, he preached upon that text, How thall I put thee among the children, <)rc. In the application, he said, ' Put you among the children ' the off- spring cf thieves and robbers ! we have all heard of Annandale thieves,' Some of them got a merciful cast that day, and told afterwards, that it was the first field-meeting they ever attended, and that they went out of mere curiosity, to see * minister preach in a tent, and people sit on the ground." — Life qf Richard Cameron.^ Cleland, an enthusiastic Cameronian, lieuten- ant-colonel of the regiment levied after the revolution from among that wild and fanatical sect, claims to the wandering preachers of his t This man was chaplain in the family of Sir Walter Scott of Harden, who attended the meetings of the indulged presbyterians ; but Cameron, coiisideiing this conduct as a com- promise with the foul fiend Episcopacy, was dismissed from the family. He was slain in a skirmish at Airdsmoss, bequeathing his name I to the sect of fanatics still called Canieronians. < i tribe the merit of converting the borderers. He introduces a cavalier haranguing the Highland- ers, and ironically thus guarding them against the fanatic divines: " If their doctrine there get rooting. Then, farewell theift, the best of booting. And this ye see is very clear, Dayly experience makes it appear ; For instance, lately on the borders. Where there was nought but theft and murders. Rapine, cheating, and resetting. Slight of hand, and fortunes getting. Their designation, as ye ken. Was all along the Tacking Men. Now, rebels more prevails with words. Than drawgoons does with guns and swords, So that their bare preaching now Makes the rush-bush keep the cow; Better than Scots or English kings Could do by kilting them with strings. Yea, those that were the greatest rogues. Follows them over hills and bogues, Crying for mercy and for preaching. For they'll now hear no others teaching." Cleland's Poems, 1697, p. 30. The poet of the Whigs might exaggerate the success of their teachers; yet it must be owned, that the doctrine of insubordination, joined to their vagrant and lawless habits, was calculated strongly to conciliate their border hearers. But, though the church, in the border coun- ties, attracted little veneration, no part of Scot- land teemed with superstitious fears and obser- vances more than they did. " The Dalesmen,"^ says Lesley, " never count their beads with such % An epithet bestowed upon the borderers, from the names of the various districts; as Ti- viotdale, Liddesdale, Eskdale, Ewsdale, Annan- dale, &c. Hence, an old ballad distinguiahes the north as the country, "Where every river gives name to a daU." Ex-ale-taiiun (ffAlt. 336 SCOTTISH BALLAPS. earncstnen as when they set out upon a preda- ^ neighbourhood, who showed me a book of spells. tory expedition." Penances, the composition betwixt guilt and conscience, were also frequent upon the borders. Of this we have a record in many bequests to the church, and in some more lasting monuments, such as the Tower of Re- pentance, in Sumfries-ghire, and, according to vulgar tradition, the church of Linton, f in Roxburghshire. Instances exist of leagues, or treaties of peace betwixt two hostile clans, by which the heads of each became bound to make the four pilgrimages of Scotland, for the be- nefit of the souls of those of the opposite clan, who had fallen in the feud. These were super- | stitions, flowing immediately from the nature of the Catholic religion : but there was, upon the border, no lack of others of a more gene- ral nature, .^uch was the universal belief in spells, of which some traces n.ay yet remain in the wild parts of the country. These were i common in the time of the learned bishop j Nicolson, who derives them from the time of the Pagan Danes. " This conceit was the more heightened, by reflecting upon the natural superstition of our borderers at this day, who were much better acquainted with and do more firmly believe, their old legendary stories, of fairies and witches, than the articles of their creed. And to convince me, yet farther, that they are not utter strangers to the black art of their forefathers, I met with a gentleman in the f This small church is founded upon a little hill of sand, in which no stone of the siie of an egg is said to have been found, although the neighbouring soil is sharp and gravelly. Tra- dition accounts for this, by informing us, that the foundresses were two sisters, u,on whose account much blood had lieen spilt in thatspot; and that the penance imposed on the fair causers of the slaughter, was an order from the pope to sift the sand of the hill, upon which their chuich was to be erected. This story may, perhaps, have some foundation ; for, in the church-yard was discovered a single grave, co'itaiiiing no fewer than fifty skulls, most of which bore the marks of having been cleft by violence. and magical receipts, taken, two or three days before, in the pocket of one of our moss-tixwpein; wherein, among many other conjuring feaU, was prescribed a certain remedy for an ague, by applying a few barbarous characters to the bjdy of the party distempered. These, niethought, were very near akin to Wormiuss Ram Runer, which, he says, diflered wholly in figure and shape from the common runai. For, though he tells us that these Ram Runer were si called, j Eo quod molestiaa, dolores, mi>rt>c$qtie hisce ii{fli- ] gere, inimici* aoliti sunt magi ; yet his great friend, Arng. Jonas, more to our purpose, says I that — His etiam uti aunt ad ben^aciendam, Ju- [ vandum, medicandum tarn animi quam corporis I morb's ; atgue ad ipsos cacod letnnnes pellendus et I fugandos. 1 shall not trouble you with a draught I of this spell, because I have not yet had an op- portunity of learning whether it may not be an ordinary one, and to be met with, among others of the same nature, in Paracelsus, or Coi nelius Agrippa."— L««er from Bish„p yicohon to Mr, Walker ; vide Camden's Britannia, Cumberland. Even in the editor's younger days, he can re- member the currency of certain spells for cur- ing sprains, burns, or dislocations, to which popular credulity ascribed unfailing efiicacy. | Charms, however, against spiritual enemies, were yet moie common than those intended to cure corporal complaints. This is not surpris- ing, as a fantastic remedy well suited an ima- ginary disease. There were, upon the borders, many consecra- ted wells, for i-esorting to which the people's credulity is severely censured by a worthy phy- I Among these may be reckoneil the supposed influence of Irish earth, in curing the poison of adders, or other venomous reptiles. — This virtue is extended by popular credulity to the natives, and even to the animals, of Uibernia. A gen- tleman, bitten by some reptile, so as to occasion a great swelling, seriously as-ured the ciiltur, that he ascribed his cure to puiting the aflected ^ hnger into the mouth of an Irish mare > BORDER BALLADS. sieiin of the seventeenth century, who himself helieved in a shower of living herrings having fellen near Dumfries. " Many run supersti- tiously to other wells, and there obtain, as they imagine, health and advantage ; and there they offer bread and cheese, or money, by throwing them into the well." In another part of the MS. occurs the following passage: "In the bounds of the lands of Eccles, belonging to a 'yneage of the name of Maitland, there is a loch called the Dowloch, of old resorttd to with much Buperstition,as medicinal both for men and beasts, and that with such ceremonies, as are shretvdly suspectea to have been begun with witchcraft, and inoieased afterward by magical directions: For, burying of a cloth, or somewhat that did relate to the bodies of men and women, and a shackle, or teather, belonging to cow or horse, and these being cast into the loch, if they did float, it was taken for a good omen of recovery, and a part of the water carried to the patient, though to re- mote places, without saluting or speaking to any they met by the way; but, if they did sink, the recovery of the party was hopeless. This custom was of late much curbed and restrained; but since the discovery of many medicinal fountains near to the place, the vulgar, holding that it may be as medicinal as these are, at this time begin to re-assume their former practice." — Accouiit qf Presbytery q/' Penpont, in MaqJ'arlane't MSS. The idea, that the spirits of the deceased re- turn to haunt the place, where on earth they have suffered, or have rejoiced, is, as Dr. John- son has observed, common to the popular creed of all nations. The just and noble sentiment. 337 ^ implanted in our bosoms by the Deity, teaches us that we shall not slumber for ever, as the beasts that perish. — Human vanity, or credu- lity, chequers, with its own inferior and base colours, the noble prospect, which, is alike held out to us by philosophy and by religion. We feel, according to the ardent expression of the poet, that we shall not wholly die; but from hence we vainly and weakly argue, that the same scenes, the same passions, shall delight I and actuate the disembodied spirit, which ] affected it while in its tenement of clay. Hence the popular belief, that the soul haunts the spot ' where the murdered body is interred ; that its I appearances are directed to bring down ven- I geance on its murderers ; or that, having left I its terrestrial form in a distant clime, it glides before its former friends, a pale spectre, to warn them of its decease. Such tales, the foundation of which is an argument from our present feel- ings to those of the spiritual world, form the broad and universal basis of the popular super- stition regarding departed spirits ; against which, reason has striven in vain, and universal experi- ence has offered a disregarded testimony. These legends are peculiarly acceptable to barbarous tribes; and, on the borders, they were received with most unbounded faith. It is true, that these supernatural adversaries were no longer opposed by the sword and battle-axe, as among the unconverted Scandinavians. Preyers, spells, and exorcisms, particularly in the Greek and Hebrew languages, were the weapons of the bor- derers, or rather of their priests and cunning men, against their aerial enemy, f The belief f One of the most noted apparitions is sup- posed to haunt Spedlin's castle ntar Lochma- ben, the ancient baronial residence of the Jar- dines of Applegirth. It is said, that, in exercise of his territorial jurisdiction, one of the ancient lairds had imprisoned, in the Mauif More, or dungeon of the castle, a person named Porteous. Being called suddenly to Edinburgh, the laird discovered, as he entered the West Port, that he had brought along with him the key of the dungeon. Struck with the utmost horror, he sent back his servant to relieve the prisoner; but it was too late. The wretched being was found lying upon the steps descending from the door of the vault starved to death. In the agonies of hunger, he had gnawed the flesh from one of his arms. That his spectre should haunt the castle, was a natural consequence of such a tragedy. Indeed its visits became so frequent, that a clergyman of eminence was employed to 338 SCOTTISH BALLADS. in ghosts, which has been well termed the last • lingering phantom of superstition, still main- tains its ground upon the borders. It is unnecessary to mention the superstitious belief in witchcraft, which gave rise to so much cruelty and persecution during the seventeenth century. There were several executions upon the borders for this imaginary crime, which was tjsually tried not by the ordinary judges, but by exorcise it. After a contest of twenty -four hours, the man of art prevailed so far as to confine the goblin to the Massy More of the castle, where its shrieks and, cries are still heard. A part, at least, of the spell, depends upon the preserva- tion of the ancient black-lettered bible, em- ployed by the exorcist. It was some years ago thought necessary to have this bible re-bound ; but, as soon as it was removed from the castle, the spectre commenced his nocturnal orgies, with ten-fold noise; and itis verily believed that he would have burst from his confinement, had not the sacred volume been speedily replaced. A Mass John Scott, minister of Peebles, is reported to have been the last renowned exor- ciser, and to have lost his life in a contest with an obstinate spirit. This was owing to the con- ceited rashness of a young clergyman, who com- menced the ceremony of laying the ghost before the arrival of Mass John. It is the nature, it seems, of spirits disembodied, as well as em- bodied, to increase in strength and presump- tion, in proportion to the advantages which they may gain over the opponent. The young clergy- man losing courage, the horrors of the scene were increased to such a degree, that, as Mass John approached the house in which it passed, he beheld the slates and tiles flying from the roof, as it dispersed with a whirlwind. At his entry, he perceived all the wax-tapers (the most essential instruments of conjuration) extin- guished, except one, which already burned blue in the socket. The arrival of the experienced sage changed the scene : he brought the spirit to reason; but unfortunately, while addressing a word of advice or censure to his rash brother, he permitted the ghost to obtain the last word; a circumstance which, in all colloquies of this nature, is strictly to be guarded against. This fatal oversight occasioned his falling into a lin- gering disorder, of which he never recovered. a set of country gentlemen, acting under oom- misslon fr-om the privy council. f Besides these grand articles of superstitious belief, the creed of the borderers admitted tlie existence of sundry classes of subordinate spirits, I to whom were assigned peculiar employments. i The chief of these were the Fairies, concerning I whom the reader will find a long dissertation in Volume Second of the Alinstrelsy [reprinted in the present work, as an Introduction to the i Fairy Ballads.] The Brownie formed a class of beings, distinct in habit and disposition from the freakish and mischievous elves. He was meagre, shaggy, and wild in his appearance. Thus Cleland, in his satire against the Highland- ers, compares them to " Faunes, or Brownies, if ye will. Or satyres come from Atlas Hill." In the day time, he lurked in remote reces- ses of the old houses which he delighted to haunt; and, in the night, sedulously employed himself in discharging any laborious task which he thought might be acceptable to the family, to whose service he had devoted himself. His name is probably derived from the Portuni, whom Gervase of Tilbury describes thus : " £cce enim in Anglia doemones quosdam habent, damto- nes, inquam, nescio dixerim, an tecretce el ignoia generationis effigies, quos GaV.i Neptunos, Angli Poriunos nominant. Istis insitum est quod sim- plicitatem fortunatorum colonorum amplectunfur, et cum nocturnas propter domesticas operas agunt vigilias, subilo elausis Januis ad ignem calejiunt, et ranunculos ex sinu prqjectos, prunis impositot concedunt, senili vultu, facie corrugata, statura pusilli, dimidium pollicis tion habenles. Panni- culis consertis induuntnr, et si quid geslandum in domofuerit, aut onerosi operis agendum, ad oper- andum se junguni, citiiis humana facilitate expt- f I have seen, penes Hugh Scott, Esq. of Har- den, the record of the trial of a witch, who was burned at Ducove. She was tried in the man- ^ ner above mentioned. BORDER BALLADS. 339 Jiunt. Id illU imitum est, ut obtequi fosiint et obeste non posstn/."— Otia Imp. p. 980. In every respect, saving only the feeding upon frogs, which was probably an attribute of the Gallic spirits alone, the above description corresponds with that of the Scottish Brownie. But the matter, although, like Milton's lubbar fiend, he joves to stretch himself by the fire,t does not drudge from the hope of recompense. On the contrary, so delicate is his attachment, that the offer of reward, but particularly of food, infalli- bly occasions his disappearance for ever, if We f how the drudging goblin swet, To earn the cream-bowl, duly set: "When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, Hi« shadowy flail had threshed the corn, That ten day-lab'rers could not end : Then lies him down the lubbar fiend. And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy «trens:th : And, crop-full, out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his mattin rings. L'AlUgro, When the menials in a Scottish family pro- tracted their vigils around the kitchen fire. Brownie, weary of being excluded from the mid- night hearth, sometimes appeared at the door, seemed to watch their departure, and thus ad- monished them, — " Gang a' to your beds, sirs, and dinna put out the wee grieshoch (embers.)" ^ It is told of a. Brownie, who haunted a bor- der family, now extinct, that the lady h.'iving fallen unexpectedly in labour, and the servant, who was ordered to ride to Jedburgh for the iage femme, showing no great alertness in s. t- ting out, the familiar spirit slipt on the great- coat of the lingering domestic, rode to the town on the laird's best horse, and returned with tiie midwife en croupe. During the short space of his absence, the Tweed, which they must neces- sarily ford, rose to a dangerous height. Brownie, who transported his ch.arge with all the rapidity of the ghostly lover of Lenore, was not to be stopped by this obstacle. He plunged in with the terrified old lady, and landed her in safety where her services were wanted. Having rut the horse into the stable (where it was after- wards found in a woeful plight), he proceeded to the room of the servant, whose duty he had dis- charged; and, finding him just in the act of drawing on his boots, he administered to him a most merciless drubbing with hia own horsa- ^ learn from Olaus Magnus, that spirits, somewhat 1 similar in their operations to the Brownie, were I supposed to haunt the Swedish mines. The j passage, in the translation of 1658, runs thus: I " This is collected in briefe, that in northerne I kingdomes, there are great arm.ies of devils, that have their services, which they ptrform with the inhabitants of these countries: but they are most frequently in rocks and mines, where they break, cleave, and make them hollow : which also thrust in pitchers and buckets, and care- fully fit wheels and screws, whereby they are drawn upwards; and they shew themselves to the labourers, when they list, like phantasms and ghosts." It seems no improbable conjec- ture, that the Brownie is a legitimate descend- ant of the Lar Familiaris of the ancients. A being, totally distinct from those hitherto mentioned, is the Bogle, or Goblin ; a freakish spirit, who delights rather to perplex and frighten mankind, than either to serve, or seri- ously to hurt them. This is the Esprit Follet of the French; and Puck, or Robin Goodfellorv, though enlisted by Shakespeare among the fairy band of Oberon, properly belongs to this class of phantoms. Shellycoat, a spirit who resides in the waters, and has given his name to many a rock and stone upon the Scottish coast, belongs whip. Such an important service excited the gratitude of the laird j who, understanding that Brownie had been heard to express a wish to have a green coat, ordered a vestment of that colour to be made and left in his haunts. Brownie took away the green coat, but was never seen more. We may suppose, that, tired of his domestic drudgery, he went in his new livery to join the fairies. The last Brownie, known in Ettrick forest* resided in Budsbeck, a wild and solitary spot, where he exercised his functions undisturbed, till the scrupulous devotion of an old lady in- duced her to Aire him away, as it was termed, by placing in his haunt a porringer of milk and a piece of money. After receiving this hint to depart, he was heard the whole night to howl I and cry, " Farewell to bonny Bodsbeck '. " which ^ he was compelled to abandon for ever. 340 SCOTTISH BALLADS. also to the cIms of bogles, f When he appeared, he seemed to be decked with marine produc- tions, and, in particular, with shells, whose clattering announced his approach. From this circumstance he derived his name. He may, perhaps, be identified with the goblin of the northern English, which, in the towns and cities, Durham and Newcastle for example, had the name of Bargtiett;% but, in the country villages, was more frequently termed Brag. He usually ended his mischievous frolics with a horse-laugh. She/lycoaf must not be confounded with Kelpy, a water spirit also, but of a much more power- ful and malignant nature. His attributes have been the subject of a poem in Lowland Scot- tish, by the learned Dr Jamieson of Edinburgh, [given in the present collection.] Of Kelpy, therefore, it Is unnecessary to say anything at present. Of all these classes of spirits it may be, in f One of his pranks is thus narrated: Two men, in a very dark night, approaching the banks of the Ettrick, heard a doleful voice from its waves repeatedly exclaim : — " Lost ! Lost ! " rhey followed the sound, which seemed to be the foice of a drowning person, and, to their infinite astonishment, they found that it ascended the river. Still they continued, during a long and tempestuous night, to follow the cry of the mali- cious sprite; and arriving, before morning's dawn, at the very sources of the river, the voice was now heard descending the opposite side of the mountiiin in which they arise. The fatigued and deluded travellers now relinquished the pur- suit; and had no sooner done so, than they heard Shellycoat applauding, in loud bursts of laughter, his successful roguery. The spirit was supposed particularly to haunt the old house of Gorinberry, situated on the river Hermitage, in Liddesdale. i This is a sort of spirit peculiar to those towns. He has made his appearance in this very year (1809) in that of York, if the vulgar may be cre- dited. His name is derived by Grose, from his appearing near bars or stiles, but seems rather to come from the German Bahr-Geist, or spirit of the Bier. 4v general, observed, that their attachment was supposed to be local, and not personal. They haunted the rock, the stream, the ruined castle, without regard to the persons or families to whom the property belonged. Hence they dif- fered entirely from that species of spirits, to whom, in the Highlands, is ascribed the guar- dianship, or superintendence of a particular clan, or family of distinction ; and who, perhaps yet more than the Brownie, resemble the classic household gods. Thus, in a MS. history of Mo- ray, we are informed, that the family of Gurlin- beg is haunted by a spirit, called Garlin Boda- cher ; that of the baron of Kinchardin, by Lamh- dearg,^ or Red-hand, a spectre, one of whose hands is as red as blood ; that of TuUochgorm, by May Moulach, a female figure, whose left hand and arm were covered with hair, who ia also mentioned in Aubrey's Miscellanies, pp. 211, 212, asa familiar attendant upon the clan Grant. These superstitions were so ingrafted in the po- pular creed, that the clerical synods and presby- teries were wont to take cognizance of them.] "Various other superstitions, regarding magi- cians, spells, prophecies, &c., will claim our attention in the progress of this work. For the § The following notice of Lamhdearg occurs in another account of Strathspey, apud Macfarlane's iMSS. : — " There is much tjilke of a spirit called Ly-erg, who frequents the Glenmore. He ap- ptars with a red-hand, in the habit of a souldier, and challenges men to fight with him; as lately as 1669, he fought with three brothers, one after another, who immediately died thereafter." II There is current, in some parts of Germany, a fanciful superstition concerning the Stille Vnlke, or silent people. These they suppose to be at- taclied to houses of eminence, and to consist of a numijer, corresponding to that of the mortal family, each person of which has tiius his repre- sentative ami ngst these domesticspirits. When the lady of the family has a child, the queen oJ the silent people is delivered in the same moipent. They endeavour to give warning when danger approaches the family, assist in warding it ofif, and are sometimes seen to weep and wring their %/ hands before inevitable calamity. BORDER BALLADS. 341 present, therefore, taking the advice of an old Scottish rhymer, let us "Leave bogles, brownies, gyre carlinges, and gha!8t8."t Flyting qf Polrvart and Montgomery. The domestic economy of the borderers next engages our attention. That the revenue of the chieftain should be expanded in rude hospitality was the natural result of his situation. His ■wealth consisted chiefly in herds of cattle, which ■were consumed by the kinsmen, vassals, and fol- lowers, who aided him to acquire and to protect them.^ We learn from Lesley, that the bor- derers were temperate in their use of intoxicat- t So generally ■wese those tales of diablerie believed, that one Williiim Lithgow, a bon vivant, who appears to have been a native, or occasional inhabitant, of Melrose, is celebrated by the pot-companion who composed his elegy, because He was good company Rt jeists. And wanton when lie came to leicts. He tcurn'd the converse of ireai beut«. O'er a sheepN hcail: Kb laooh'd at stokiks abhut gmaists: BUth \v.iie-», must resign. And all that cowards have is mine. Hybrias (ap. Athenmum.) 342 SCOTTISH BALLADS, the sixteenth century, when its beams became ^ heightened, and its tone l)ecomes peculiarly de more widely diffused, they were far from pene- trating the recesses of the border mountains. The tales of tradition, the song, with the pipe or harp of the minstrel, were probably the sole resources against ennut, during the short inter- vals of repose from military adventure. This brings us to the more immediate subject of the present publication. Lesley, who dedicates to the description of border manners a chapter, which we hare al- ready often quoted, notices particularly the taste of the marohmen lor mu&ic and ballad poetry. " Placenl admodum sibi sua miuica, et rythmicia suit cantionibut, quas de majorum tuo- nnn gestii, atit ingeniotU prcedandi precandive ttratagematis ipsi eonfingunl." — Leslseus, in ca- pitulo de morhis eorum, qui Scotia limitet Ang- Itam vertiu incolunt. The more rude and wild the state of society, the more general and vio- lent is the impulse received from poetry and music. The muse, whose effusions are the amusement of a very small part of a polished nation, records, in the lays of inspiration, the history, the laws, the very religion, of savages. — Where the pen and the press are wanting, the flow of numbers impresses upon the memory of posterity the deeds and sentiments of their fore- fathers. "Verse is naturally connected with music; and, among a rude people, the union is seldom broken. By this natural alliance, the lays, " steeped in the stream of harmony," are more easily retained by the reciter, and produce upon his audience a more impressive effect. Hence, there has hardly been found to ex st a nation so brutishly rude, as not to listen with enthusiasm to the songs of their bards, recount- ing the exploits of their forefathers, recording their laws and moral precepts, or hymning the praises of their deities. But, where the feelings are frequently stretched to the highest pitch, by the vicissitudes of a life of danger and military adventure, thii predisposition of a savage people. termined. It is not the peaceful Hindu at his loom, it is not the timid Ksquimaux in his canoe, whom we must expect to glow at the war-song of Tyrtffius. The music and the poetry of each country must keep pace with their usual tone of mind, as well as with the state of society. The morality of their compositions is deter- mined by the same circumstances. Those themes are necessarily chosen by the bard, w hieh regard the favourite exploits of the hearers; and he celebrates only those virtues which frc-m infancy he has been taught to admire. Hence, as re- marked by Lesley, the masic and songs of the borders were of a military nature, and celebrated the valour and success of their predatory expe- ditions. Razing, like Shakespeare's pirate, the eighth commandment from the decalogue, the minstrels praised their chieftains for the very exploits, against which the laws of the country denounced a capital doc-m.— An outlawed free- booter was to them a more interesting person than the King of Scotland exertinqr his power ttj punish his depredations; and, when the char- acters are contrasted, the latter is always repre- sented as a ruthless and sanguinary tyrant. — Spenser's descrij tion of the bards of Ireland ap- plies, in some degree, to our ancient border poets. j " There is, among the Irish, a certain kinde of I people called bardes, which are to them instead I of poets; whose profession is to set forth the j praises or dispraises of men, in their poems or j rhyir^es; the which are had in such high regard or esteem amongst them, that none dare dis- please them, for fear of running into reproach through their offence, and to be made infamous in the mouths of all men ; for their verses are taken up with a general applause, and usually sung at all feasts and meetings, by certain other persons, whose proper function that is, who also receive, for the same, great rewards and reputa- tion amongst them." Spenser, having bestowed due praise upon the poets, who sung the praises to admire their own rude poetry and music, is sjf. of the good and virtuous, informs us, that the BORDEE BALLADS. 343 bards, on the contrary, "seldom use to chuse unto themselves the doings of good men for the arguments of their poems; but whomsoever theyfinde to be most licentious of life, most bold and lawless in his doings, most dangerous and desperate in all parts of disobedience, and rebel- lious disposition, him they set up and glorify in their rhythmes ; him they praise to the people, and to young men make an example to follow." —Eudoxm. " I marvail what kind of speeches they can find, or what faces they can put on, to praise such bad persons, as live so lawlessly and licentiously upon stealths and spoyles, as most of them do ; or how they can think that any good mind will applaud or approve the same." In answer to this question, Irenceus, after re- marking the giddy and restless disposition of the ill-educated youth of Ireland, which made them prompt to receive evil counsel, adds, that such a person, " if he shall find any to praise him, and to give him any encouragement, as those bards and rhythmers do, for little reward, or share of a stolen cow, f then waxeth he most insolent, and half-mad, with the love of himself and his own lewd deeds. And as for words to set forth such lewdness, it is not hard for them to give a goodly and painted show thereunto, borrowed even from the praises which are proper to vir- tue itself. As of a most notorious thief, and wicked outlaw, which had lived all his life-time of spoils and robberies, one of their bardes, in his praise, will say, " that he was none of the idle milk-sops that was brought up by their fireside, but that most of his days he spent in arms, and valiant enterprises ; that he never did eat his meat before he had won it with his sword ; that he lay not all night slugging in his t The reward of the "Welsh bards, and perhaps of those upon the border, was very similar. It was enacted by Howel Dha, that if the king's bard played before a body of warriors, upon a predatory excursion, he should receive, in recom- pence, the best cow which the party carried off. —Leges WalUte, 1. 1. cap. 19. cabin under his mantle, but used commonly to keep others waking to defend their lives, and did light his candle at the flames of their houses to lead him in the darkness ; that the day was his night, and the night his day ; that he loved not to be long wooing of wenches to yield to him ; but, where he came, he took by force the spoil of other men's love, and left but lamenta- tions to their lovers; that his music was not the harp, nor lays of love, but the cries of people, and clashing of armour; and finally, that he died, not bewailed of many, but made many wail when he died, that dearly bought his drath. Do not you think, Eudoxus, that many of these praises might be applied to men of best deserts ? Yet are they all yielded to a most notable traitor, and amongst some of the Irish not smally accounted of."— State nf Ireland. The same concurrence of circumstances, so well pointed out by Spenser, as dictating the topics of the Irish bards, tuned the border harps to the praise of an outlawed Armstrong, or Murray. For similar reasons, flowing from the state of society, the reader must not expect to find, in the border ballads, refined sentiment, and, far less, elegant expression ; although the style of such compositions has, in modern hands, been found highly susceptible of both. But passages might be pointed out, in which the rude mins- tiel has melted in natural pathos, or risen into rude energy. Even where these graces are to- tally wanting, the interest of the stories them- selves, and the curious picture of manners which they frequently present, authorise them to claim some respect from the public ^ 344 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 1^|e M&UU of (®tte5:l)ou?Ee. THE SCOTTISH EDITION. l" The following edition of the Battle of Otter- bourne," says Sir Walter Scott, "being essen- tially different from that which is published in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. i., and being obviously of Scottish composition, claims a place in the present collection, [Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.] The particulars of that noted action are related by Froissart, with the highest encomium upon the valour of the combatants on each side. James, earl of Doug- las, with his brother, the earl of Murray, in 1387 invaded Northumberland, at the head of 3000 men ; while the earls of Fife and Strathem, sons to the king of Scotland, ravaged the west- ern borders of England, with a still more nume- rous army. Douglas penetrated as far as New- castle, where the renowned Hotspur lay in gar- rison. In a skirmish before the walls, Percy's lance, with the pennon, or guidon, attached to it, was taken by Douglas, as most authors affirm, in a personal encounter betwixt the two heroes. The earl shook the pennon aloft, and swore he would carry it as his spoil into Scotland, and plant it upon his castle of Dalkeith. ' That," answered Percy, ' shalt thou never ! '—Accord- ingly, having collected the forces of the marches, to a number equal, or (according to the Scot- tish historians) much superior, to the army of Douglas, Hotspur made a night attack upon the Scottish camp, at Otterbourne, about thirty-two miles from Newcastle. An action took place, fought by moon-light, with uncommon gallan- try and desperation . At length, Douglas, armed with an iron mace, which few but he could wield, rushed into the thickest of the EngUsh battalions, followed only by his chaplain, and two squires of his body, f Before his followers could come up, their brave leader was stretched on the ground, with three mortal wounds: his squires lay dead by his side; the priest alone, armed with a lance, was protecting his master from farther injury. ' I die like my forefathers,' said the expiring hero, ' in a field of battle, and t Their names were Robert Hait and Simon Glen- dinning. The chaplain wag Richard Lundie, afcer- wardK archdean of Aberdeen. — Godscroft. Hart, according to Wintoun, was a k ' ' «ay«, no one knew how Duugla not on a bed of sickness. Conceal my death, j defend my standard, \ and avenge my fell ! it is I an old prophecy, that a dead man shall gain a i field, § and I hope it will be accomplished this ' night.' — Godscroji. — With these words he ex- pired ; and the fight was renewed with double obstinacy around his body. When morning ap- peared, however, victory began to incline to tha Scottish side. Ralph Percy, brother to Hotspur, was made prisoner by the earl Marischal, and shortly after, Harry Percy || himself was taken by lord Montgomery. The number of captives, according to Wintoun, nearly equalled that of the victors. Up; n this the English retired, and left the Scots masters of the dear-bought hon- ours of the field. But the bishop of Durham approaching, at the head of a body of fresh for- ces, not only checked the pursuit of the victors, but made prisoners of some of the stragglers, who had urged the chase too (ar. The battle was not, however, renewed, as the bishop of Durham did not venture to attempt the rescue of Percy. The field was fought 15th August, ViSS.—Fordun, Froissart, Hollinshed, Godscrnft. " The ground on which this memorable engage- ment took place, is now [edition of the Mins- trelsy, 1812,] the property of John Davidson, Esq. of Newcastle, and still ret.iins the name of Battle Cross. A cross, erroneously termed Percy'* Cross, has been erected upon the spot where the gallant earl of Douglas is supposed to liave fallen. The castle of Otterbourne, which was besieged by Douglas, with its demesne lands, is now [edit, ut supra] the property of James Ellis, Esq. who is also proprietorof a neighbouringemineuce called Fawdoun-hill, on which may yet be discerned the vestiges of the Scottish camp, agreeing with the description of the ballad, ' They lighted high on Otterbourne.' Earl's Meadows, containing a fine spring called Percy's well, are a part of the same gentleman's grounds, and probably derive their name from the battle. The can.p on Faw- doun-hill is a mile distant from Battle Crofts, J The bnnner of Douglas, upon this memorable oc- casiOQ, was borne by his natural son, Archibald Doug- las, ancestor of the family of Cavers, hereditary shenSs of Teviotdale. amongst whose archives this glorious relique is still preserved. The earl, at his onset, is said to have charged his son to defend it to the last drop of his blood. § This prophecy occurs in the ballad as an omi- nous dream. I Hotspur, for his ransom, built the castle of Pe- noon, in Ayrshire, belonging to the family of Uout- gomery, now eajls of EgUntouu, BORDER BALLADS. 345 but it must be remembered that the various < changes of position and of fortune during so long and fierce an engagement between two considerable armies, must have extended the conflict over all the vicinity. " Thd ballad, published in theReliques, is avow- edly an English production ; and the author, with a natural pai tiality, leans to the side uf his countrymen ; yet that ballad, or some one simi- lar, modified probably by national prtyudice, must have been current in Scotland during the reign of James VI.: for Godseroft, in treating of this battle, mentions its having been the sub- ject of popular song, and proceeds thus: 'But that which is commonly sung of the Hunting of Cheviot, seenieth indeed poetical, and a mere fiction, perhaps to stir up virtue ; yet a fiction whereoi there is no mention, either in the Scot- tish or English Chronicle. Neither are the songs that are made of them, both one, for the Hcuts Song made of Otterbourne, telleth the time, about Lammas ; and also the occasion, to take preys out of England; also the dividing the armies betwixt the earls of File and Douglas, and their several journies, almost as in the authentic history. It beginneth thus : ' it fell about the Lammas tide, Wheu yeomen win their hay, The doclity Douglas 'gau to uUe, III England to take a prey.' GODSCROFT, ed. Edin. 174.1. vol. i. p. 195. 1 cannot venture to assert, that the stanzas, here published, belong to the ballad alluded t) by Godseroft; but they come much nearer to his description than the copy published in the first edition, which represented Douglas as falling by the poniard of a faithless page. Yet we learn from the same author, that the story of the ass- assination was not without foundation in tradi- tion. — ' There are that say, that he (Duuglas) was not slain ly the enemy, but by one of his own men, a groom of his chamber, whom he had struck the day before witli a truncheon, in ordering of the battle, because he saw him make somewhat slowly to. And they name this man John Bickerton of Lufifness, who left a part of nis armour behind unfastened, and when he was in tiie greatest conflict, this servant of his came behind his back, and slew him thereat.' — Ooda- crqjl, ut lupra.—' But this narrat.on,' adds tlie historian, ' is not so probable.' j- Indeed it seems to have no foundation, but the common desire of assigning son.e remote and extraor- dinary cause for the death of a great man. The following ballad is also inaccunite in many other particulars, and is much shorter, and more in- distinct, than that printed in the Reliijues, al- though many verses are alniost the same. Hots- pur, for instance, is called Earl Percy, a title he never enjojed. Neither was Douglas buried on the field of battle, but in Jleliose Abbey, where his toMib is still shown. '• This song was first published frcm Mr Herd's Collection q/ Hcottisli Songf and Ballads, Eilin. 1774, 2 vols, octavo ; but two lecited copies have fortunately been obtained from the recitation of old persons residing at the head of Ettrick For- est, by which th& story is brought out, and com- pleted in a iijanner much more conespouUent to the true history. " 1 cannot dismiss the subject of the battle of Otterbourne, without stating (with all the de- ference due to the father of this species of litera- ture) some doubts which have oecu red to an ingenious corresjjondent, and an excellent anti- quary, concerning the remarks on the names sulyomed to the ballads of Chevy Chase and Utte. bourne in the Reliijues i\j Ancient Poetry. "• Jol.nde Lovele, shcr.fl'of Northun.bei land, 34th Hen. VII.,' is evidently a mistake, as Henry Vli. did not reign quite twenty -four years; but the person meant w^.s probai ly John de Lavale, knight, of Delavale castle, who was sheiiflf, :Uth Henry VIII. There seems little doubt that the person cabled in the ballad '* the gentil Lovel,' sir Raff the lich Rugbe, was pro- bably sir Ralph Seville of Ra y castle, son of the first earl of Westmoreland, and cousin ger- nian to Hotspur. In the more modern edition of the ballad, he is. expressly called sir Ralph Rabby, i. e. ot Raby. " With respect to the march of Douglas, as described in the ballad, it appears ti.at he entered Northumberland from the westward. Rcdesdale, Rothely -crags, and Green Leifchtou, are a few mileseastwaid of Otterb ui ne. Otter- bcope-hill lies south-west f-om Green Leightou. •The erle Jamya was sa be»y, for til orUitiie his company; And on liis lays tor to pas, Tuat leckles he of his armyng was : The erle ot Mwrrnwys basseiiel, Tiiai sayd, at thot tyuie wa» leiiyhe Book Via. t;i 346 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " The celebrated Hotspur, son of the first earl of Northumberland, was, in 1385, governor of Ber- wick, and warden of the east marches ; in which last capacity it was his duty to repel the invasion of Douglas. " Sir Henry Fitzhugh, mentioned in the ballad, was one of the earl of Northumberland's com- manders at the battle of Homeldown. " As to the local situation of Otterbourne, it is thirty statute miles from Newcastle, though Buchanan has diminished the distance to eight miles only. " The account given of Sir John of Agurstone seems also liable to some doubt. This personage is there supposed to have been one of the Hager- stones of Hagerston, a Northumbrian family, who, according to the fate of war, were some- times subjects of Scotland. I cannot, however, think, that at this period, while the English were in possession both of Berwick and Rox- burgh, with the intermediate fortresses of Wark, Cornhill, and Norham, the Scots possessed any part of Northumberland, much less a manor which lay within that strong chain of castles. I should presume the person alluded to rather to have been one of the Eutherfords, barons of Edgerstane, or Edgerston, a warlike family, which has long flourished on the Scottish bor- ders, and who were, at this very period, retain- ers of the house of Douglas. The same notes contain an account of the other Scottish war- riors of distinction, who were present at the battle. These were, the earls of Jlonteith, Buchan, and Huntly; the barons of Maxwell and Johnston; Swinton of that ilk, an ancient family, which about that period produced several distinguished warriors; Sir David (or rather, as the learned editior well remarks. Sir Walter) Scott of Buccleuch, Stewart of Garlics, and Murray of t'ockpool. Regibus et legihus Scotici constantes, Vos cLypeis el g'a liis pro patria pugnantes, Vestra est victoria, vestra est et gloria, lu caotu et his o.ia, perpes est memoria! "] It fell about the Lammas tide. When the muir-men win their hay. The doughty earl of Douglas rode Into England, to catch a prey. He chose the Gordons and the Grsemps, With them the Lindesays, light and gay ; But the Jardines wald not with him ride. And they rue it to this day.f And he has bum'd the dales of Tyne, And part of Bambrough shire ; And three good towers on Roxburgh fells, He left them all on fire. f The Gordons, Griemes, Lindesays, Jardines. — The illustrious family of Gordon was originally settled upon the lands of Gordon and Huntly, in the shire of Berwick, and are, therefore, of bor- der extraction. The steps by which they re- moved from thence to the shires of Aiierdeen and Inverness, are worthy notice. In 1300, Adam de Gordon was warden of the marches. — Rymer, vol. ii. p. 870. He obtained, from Robert the Bruce, a grant of the forfeited estate of David de Strathbolgie, Earl of Athol ; but no possession followed, the earl having returned to his alle- giance. — John de Gordon, his great-grandson, obtained, from Robert II., a new charter (.f the lands of Strathbolgie, which had been once more and finally forfeited, by David, Earl of Athol, slain in the battle of Kilblane. Tiiis grant is dated 13th July, 1376. John de Gor- don, who was destined to transfer, from the bor- ders of England to those of the Highlands, a powerful and martial race, was himself a re- doubted warrior, and many of his exploits occur in the annals of that turbulent period. In 1371-2, the English borderers invaded and plun- dered the lands of Gordon, on the Scottish east march. Sir John of Gordon retaliated, by an incursion on Northumberland, where he col- lected much spoil. But, as he returned with his booty, he was attacked at unawares, by Sir John Lillburne, a Northumbrian, who, with a superior force, lay near Carham in ambush, lo intercept him. Gordon harangued and cheered his followers, charged the English gallantly, and, after having himself been five times in great peril, gained a complete victory ; slaying many southerns, and taking their leader an.l his brother captive. According to the prior of Lochlevin, he was desperately wounded; but ' There rays a we!le grete renowne, And gretiy prysyd we» gud Gordown." Shortly after this exploit. Sir John of Gordon encountered and routed Sir Thomas Musgrave, a renowned English marchman, whom he made prisoner. The lord of Johnstone had, about the same time, gained a great advantage on the ^' west bonier ; and hence, says Wyntoun, ^- BOEDER BALLADS. 347 And he march'd up to Newcastle, And rode it round about ; " wha's the lord of this castle. Or wha's the lady o't ? " He and the Lord of Gordowne Had a goverane gud renown, Of ony that war of thare degre, For fall thai war of gret bouute. Upon another occasion, John of Gordon is said to have partially succeeded in the surprisal of the town of Berwick, although the superio- rity of the garrison obliged him to relinquish his enterprise. The ballad is accurate, in introducing this warrior, with his clan, into the host of Douglas at Otterbourne. Perhaps, as he was in posses- sion of his extensive northern domains, he brought to the field the noithern broad-swords, as well as the lances of his eastern borderers. With his gallant leader, he lost his life in the deadl.v conflict. The English ballad comme- morates his valour and prudence ; " The Eile of Huntly, cawte and kene." But the title is a premature designation. The earldom of Huntly was first conferred on Alex- ander Seaton, who married the grand-daughter of the hero of Otterbourne, and assumed his title from Huntly, in the north. Besides his eldest son Adam, who carried on the line of the family. Sir John de Gordon left two sons, known in tradition by the familiar names of Jock and Tarn. The f rmer was the ancestor of the Gor- dons of Pitlurg ; the latter of those of Lesmoir, and of (-'raig-Gordon. This last family is now represented by James Gordon, Esq. of Craig, being the eleventh, in direct descent, from Sir John de Gordon. The clan of Grseme, always numerous and powerful upon the border, were of Scottish ori- gin, and deduce the descent of their chieftain, Graeme of Netherby, (rom iohw nitli the bright swuril, a son of Malice Graeme, Earl of Menteith, who nourished in the fourteenth century. Lat- terly, they beca-me Englishmen, as the phrase went, and settled upon the Debateable Land, whenci- they were transported to Ireland, by Ja ts VI., with the exception of a very few res- pectable families; " because," said his majesty m a proclamation, "they do all (but especially the Grsemes) confess themselves to be no meet e in purple clad, O ! gin they lived nut royallie ! Word is gane to our nobil king. In Edinburgh, where that he lay. That there was an Outlaw in Ettricke Foreste, Counted him nought, nor a' his courtrie gay. ' I make a vowe," then the gude king said, " Unto the man that deir bought me, I'se either be king of Ettricke Foreste, Or king of Scotlonde that Outlaw sail be ! " t Brow. Then spak the lord, hight Hamilton,* And to the nobil king said he, " My sovereign prince, sum counsell taka. First at your nobilis, syne at me. " I redd ye, send yon braw Outlaw till. And see gif your man cum will he: Desyre him cum and be your man. And hald of you yon Foreste frie. "Gif he refuse to do that. We'll conquess baith his landis and he 1 Or else, we'll throw his castell down. And make a widowe o' his gay ladye." The king then call'd a gentleman, [was he) § James Boyde, (the earl of Arran his brother When James he cam before the king. He knelit befor hiin on his kne. " Wellcum, James Boyd ' " said our nobil king; " A message ye maun gang for me ; Ye maun hye to Ettricke Foreste, To yon Outlaw, where bydeth he; " Ask him of whom he haldis his landis. Or man, wha may his master be. And desyre him cum, and be my man. And hald of me yon Foreste frie. " To Edinburgh to cum and gang. His safe warrant I sail gie; And gif he refuses to do that. We'll conquess baith his landis and he. " Thou may'st vow I'll cast his castell down, And mak a widowe o' his gay ladye ; I'll hang his merryemen, payr by payr. In ony frith where I may them see." i This is, in most copies, the earl hight Hamil- ton, which must be a mistake of the reciters, as the family did not enjoy th:vt title till 1503. § Thomas Boyd, earl of Arran, was forfeited, with his father and uncle, in 1469, for.an attempt on the person of James III, He had a son, James, who was restored, and in favour witli James IV. about 1482. If this be the person hire meant, we should read, "The Earl of Ar- ran his son was he." Glenriddel's copy reads, "a highland laiid I'm sure was he." Reciters sometimes call the i. essenger the laird of akene. 1 352 SCOTTISH BALLADS. James Boyd tuik his leave o' the nobil king. ' " He desyres you'l cum to Edinburgh, To Ettricke Foreste feir cam he : And hauld of him this Foreste frie; Down Birkendale Brae when that he cam f And, gif ye refuse to do this. He saw the feir Foreste wi' his ee. He'll conquess baith thy landis und thee. He hath vow'd to cast thy castell down. Baith dae and rae, and hart and hinde. And mak a widowe o' thy gaye ladye ; And of a' wilde beastis great plentie; He heard the bows that »)au\dly ring, And arrows whidderan' hym near bi. In ony frith where he may them finde." " Aye, by my troth ! " the Outlaw said. Of that feir castell he got a sight; " Than wald I thinke me far behind.-. The like he neir saw wi' his e'e! On the fore front o' that castell feir. " Ere the king my feir countrie get, Twa unicorns were gaye to see ; This land that's nativest to me! The picture of a knight, and lady bright. Mony 0' his nobliis sail be cauld, And the grene hollin abune their brie. Their ladyes sail be right wearie." Thereat he spyed five hundred men. Then spak his ladye, feir efface. Shuting with bows on Newark Lee ; She seyd. " Without consent of me. They were a' in ae livery clad, That an Outlaw suld cum befor a king ; 0' the Lincome grene sae gaye to see 1 am right rad § of treasonrie. Bid him 1 e gude to his lordis at hame. His men were a' clad in the grene. For Edinburgh my lord sail nevir see." The knight was armed capapie. With a bended bow, on a milk-white steed ; James Boyd tuik his leave o' the Outlaw kene. And I wot they ranked right bonnilie. To Edinburgh boun is he ; When James he cam before the king. Therby Boyd kend he was master man. He knelit lowlie on his kne. And serVd him in his ain d gre. " God mot thee save, braw Outlaw Murray ! " Welcum, James Boyd ! " seyd our nobil king ; Thy ladye, and all thy chjvalrie !" " What Foreste is Ettricke Foreste frie } " "Marry, thou's wellouin, gentleman, " Ettricke Foreste is the feirest foreste Some king s messenger thuu seeiiiis to be." That evir man saw wi' his e'e. "The king of Scotlonde sent me here. " There's the dae, the rae, the hart, the hynde. And, gude Outlaw, 1 am sent to thee ; And of a' wild beastis grete plentie; I wad wot of whom ye haM your laiidis. There's a pretty castell of lyme and stane. Or man, wha may thy master be <> " gif it sUndis not pleasauntlie ! " Thir landis are mink ! " the Outlaw said ; " There's in the forefront o' that casteU, " I ken nae king m Christentie; Twa unicorns, sae bra' to see ; Frae Soudron + I this Foreste wan. There's the picture of a kn ight, and a Ladye bright. Whan the king nor his knightis were not to see." Wi' the grene hollin abune their brie. " There the Outlaw keepis five hundred men. f Birkendale Brae, now commonly called Bir- kendailly, is a steep descent on the south side of He keepis a royalle cumpanie ! Minch-moor, which separates Twteddale from His merryinen in ae livery clad. Ettrick Forest; and from the top of which you 0' the Linkome grene sae gaye to see : have the first view of the woods of Hanging- He and his ladye in purple clad ; shaw, the castle of Newark, and the romantic ! gin they live not royallie ! dale of Yarrow. % Southern, or English. ^ ■? § Afraid. 1 1 BORDER BALLADS. 353 " He says, yon Foreste is his awin ; i i Desyre him cum, and mak me ayd. He wan it frae the Southronie ; With a' the power that he may be." Sae as he wan it, sae will he keep it. Contrair all kingis in Christentie." " It stands me hard," Andrew Murray said, " Judge gif it stand na hard wi' me ; " Gar warn me Perthshire, and Angus baith ; To enter against a king wi* crown. Fife up and downe, and Louthians three. And set my landis in jeopardie ! And graith my horse ! " said our nobil king. Yet, if I cum not on the day. " For to Ettricke Foreste hie will I me." Surely at night he sail me see." Then word is gane the Outlaw till. In Ettricke Foreste, where dwelleth he. To Sir James Murray of Traquair,§ A message cam right speedilye — That the king was cuming to his countrie. " What news? What news?" James Murrav said. To conquess baith his landis and he. " Man, frae thy master unto me ? " " I mak a vow," the Outlaw said. " I mak a vow, and that trulie. " What neids I teU ? for weell ye ken. Were there but three men to tak my pairt. The king's his mortal enemie ; Yon king's cuming full deir suld be ! " And now he is coming to Ettricke Foreste, And Undless men ye a' will be." Then messengers he called forth. And bade them hie them speedilye— " And, by my trothe," James Murray said. " Ane of ye gae to Halliday, " Wi' that Outlaw will 1 live and die ; The laird of the Corebead \ is he. The king has gifted my landis lang syne— It cannot be nae warse wi' me." " He certain is my sister's son ; Bid him cum quick and succour me ! The king cums on for Ettricke Foreste, sentative, in the time of James IV. was WiUiam, And landless men we a' will be." not Andrew. Glenriddel's MS. reads, "the country-keeper." " What news ? "What news ? " said Halliday, § Before the barony of Traquair became the " Man, frae thy master unto me ? " property of the Stewarts, it belonged to a family " Not as ye wad ; seeking your aide; of Murrays, afterwards Murrays of Black -barony. The king's his mortal enemie." and ancestors of lord Elibank. The old castle was situated on the Tweed. The lands of Tra- " Aye, by my troth ! " said Halliday, quair were forfeited by Willielmus de Moravia, " Even for that it repenteth me ; previous to 1464; for, in that year, a charter. For gif he lose f..ir Ettricke Foreste, proceeding upon his forfeiture, was granted by He'll tak feir Moflatdale frae me. the crown " Willielmo Douglas de Cluny." Sir James was, perhaps, the heir of William Mur- " I'll meet him wi' five hundred men. ray. It would farther seem, that the grant in And surely mair, if mae may be ; 1464 was not made effectual by Douglas ; for. And before he gets the Foreste feir. another charter from the crown, dated the 3d We a* will die on Newark Lee! " February, 1478, conveys the estate of Traquair to James Stewart, earl of Buchan, son to the The Outlaw call'd a messenger. black knight of Lome, and maternal uncle to And bid him hie him speedilye. James III., from whom is descended the present To Andrew Murray of Cockpool— t earl of Traquair. The first royal grant not " That man's a deir cousin to me ; being followed by possession, it is very possible that the Murrays may have continued to occupy t This is a place at the head of Moffat-water, Traquair long after the date of that charter. possessed of old by the family of Halliday. Hence, Sir James might have reason to say, as in i This family were ancestors of the Murrays, the ballad, "The king has gifted my lands lang earls of Annandale ; but the name of the repre- ^ } syne." 1 354 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The king was cuming through Caddon Ford,* i ^ " WeUcum, James Pringle of Torsonse ! And full five thousand men was he ; 1 A message ye maun gang for me ; They saw the derke foreste them before. Ye maun gae to yon Outlaw Murray, They thought it awsome for to see. Surely where bauldly bideth he. Then spak- the lord, hight Hamilton, " Bid him mete me at Permanscore, And to the nobil king said he. And bring four in his cumpanie; " My sovereign liege, sum oouncil tak'. Five erles sail cum wi' mysel'. First at your nobilis, syne at me. Gude reason 1 suld honour'd be. " Desyre him mete thee at Permanscore, "And, gif he refuses to do that. And bring four in his cumpanie ; Bid him luke for nae good o' me ! Five erles sail gang yoursel' befor. There sail nevur a Murray, after him. Gude cause that you suld honour'd be. Have land in Ettricke Foreste frie." " And, gif he refuses to do that. James cam' before the Outlaw kene. We'll conquess baitii his landis and he; And serv'd him in his ain degree— There sail nevir a Murray, after him. " Welcum, James Pringle of Torsonse! Hald land in Ettricke Foreste trie." What message frae the king to me?" Then spak- the kene laird of Buckscleuth, " He bids ye mete him at Pei-manscore.J A stalworthye man, and sterne was he— And bring four in your cumpanie; " For a king to gang an outlaw till. Five erles sail gang himsel' befor. Is beneath his stote and his dignitie. Uae mair in number will he be. " The man that wens yon foreste intiU, "And, gif you refuse to do that. Helivesbyreifandfelonie; (I freely here upgive wi' thee) Wherfore, brayd on, my sovereign liege ! He'll cast yon bonnie castle down. Wi- fire and sword we'll follow thee; And make a widovve o' that gay layde. Or, gif your courtrie lords fa' back. Our borderers sail the onset gi'e." " He'll loose yon bluidhound borderers, Then out and spak' the nobU king. And round him cast a wilie e'e — Wi' fire and sword to follow thee; There will nevir a Murray, after thysel'. "Now had thy tongue, Sir Walter Scott, Have land in Ettricke Foreste frie." Nor speik of reif nor felonie : " It stands me hard," the Outlaw said; For, had everye honeste man his awin kye. "Judge gif it stands na hard wi' me; A right pure clan thy name wad be !" Wha reck not losing of mysel'. The king then call'd a gentleman. But a' my offspring after me. Eoyal banner-bearer there was he ; " Sly merryemen's lives, my widowe's teirs— James Hop Pringle of Torsonse, by name; f There lies the pang that pinches me ; He cam' and knelit upon his knee. When I am straught in bluidle eard. Yon castell will be right dreirie. * A ford on the Tweed, at the mouth of the Caddon Burn, near Yair.— Sco«. , " Auld Halliday, young Halliday, t The honourable name of Pringle, or Hop- Ye sail be twa to gang wi' me ; pringle, is of great antiquity in Roxburghshire Andrew Murray, and Sir James Murray, and Selkirkshire. The old tower of Torsonse is We'll be nae mae in cumpanie." situated upon the banks of the Gala. I believe the Pringles of Torsonse are now represented by ; i Permanscore is a very remarkable hollow on Sir John Pringle of Stitchell. There are three the top of a high ridge of hills, dividing the vales other ancient and distinguished families of this of Tweed and Yarrow, a little to the eastward of name; those of Whitebank, Clifton, and Tor- Minch-moor. It is the outermost point of the woodlee.— Scott. ^ ^ lands of Broadmeadows.— icott. BOKDEE BALLADS. 355 When that they cam' before the king. They fell befor him on tlieir knee— " Grant mercie, mercie, nobil king '. E'en for his sake that dyed on trie." " Sicken like mercie sail ye have ; On gallows ye sail hangit be !" " Over God's forbode," quo' the Outlaw then, " I hope your grace will bettir be ! Else, ere you come to Edinburgh port, I trow thin guarded sail ye be : " Thir landis of Ettricke Foreste feir, 1 wan them from the enemie ; Like as I wan them, sae will I keep them, Contrair a' kingis in Christentie " All the nobilis the king about. Said pitie it were to see him dee — " Yet graunt me mercie, sovereign prince ! Extend your favour unto me! "I'll give thee the keys of my castell, Wi' the blessing o' my gaye ladye. Gin thou'It make me sberiffe of this foreste. And a' my offspring after me." " Wilt thou give me the keys of thy castell, Wi' the blessing of thy gaye ladye f 1 se make thee sberiffe of Ettricke Foreste, Surely while upward grows the trie; If you be not traitour to the king, Forfaulted sail thou nevir be." " But, prince, what sail cum o' my men ? When I gae back, traitour they'll ca' me; I had rather lose my life and land. Ere my merryemen rebuked me." " Will your merryemen amend their lives ? And a' their pardons I grant thee — Now, name thy landis where'er they lie. And here I render them to thee." " Fair Philjphaugh* is mine by right. And Lewinshope still mine shall be ; Newark, Foulshiells, and Tinnies baith. My bow and arrow purchased me. « In this and the following verse, the cere- mony of feudal investiture is supposed to be gone through, by the outlaw resigning his possessions into the hands of the king, and receiving them back to be held of him as superior. The lands of v Buccleuch. — Scott. " And I have native steads to me. The Newark Lee and Hangingshaw ; I have mony steads in the foreste shaw. But them by name I dinna knaw." The keys o' the castell he gave the king, Wi' the blessing o' his feir ladye ; He was made sberiffe of Ettricke Foreste, Surely while upward grows the trie ; And if he was na traitour to the king, Forfaulted he suld nevir be. Wha ever heard, in ony times. Sicken an outlaw in his degree. Sic favour get befor a king. As did the outlaw Hurray of the foreste frie ? ["The Ariristrongs appear to have been at an early period in possession of great part of Lid- desdale, and of the Debateable Land. Their immediate neighbourhood to England rendered 1 them the most lawless of the border depreda- j tors; and, as much of the country possessed by them was claimed by both kingdoms, the inhabi- tants, protected from justice by the one nation, in opposition to the other, securely preyed upon both. The chief was Armstrong ol Mangertoun; but, at a Later period, they are declared a broken clan, i. e. one which had no lawful head, to become surety for their good behaviour. The rapacity of this clan, and of their allies, the Elliots, occasioned the popular saying, ' Elliots and Armstrongs ride thieves all." But to what border family of note, in former days, would not j such an adage have been equally applicable ? I All along the river Liddel may still be discovered I the ruins of towers, possessed by this numerous I clan. They did not, however, entirely trust to j these fastnesses ; but, when attacked by a supe- rior force, abandoned entirely their dwellings, ! and retired into morasses, accessible by paths 1 known to themselves alone. One of their most j noted places of refuge was the Tarras Moss, a ! desolate and horrible marsh, through which a i small river takes its course. Upon its banks I Philiphaugh are still possessed by the outlaw's I representative. Hangingshaw and Lewinshope i were sold of late years. Newark, Foulshiels, and Tinnies, have long belonged to the family of SCOTTISH BALLADS. 356 are fbnnd gome dry spots, which were occupied by these outlaws, and their families, in cases of emergency. The stream runs furiously among huge rocks, which has occasioned a popular saying- Was ne'er ane drown'd in Tarras, nor yet in doubt. For e'er the head can win down, the hams j (brains) are out. j The morass itself is so deep, that, according to an old historian, two spears tied together would not reach the bottom. "Johnnie Armstrong, of Gilnockie, the hero of the following ballad, is a noted personage, both in history and tradition. He was, it would seem from the ballad, a brother of the laird of Mangertoun, chief of the name. His place of residence (now a roofless tower) was at the Hal- lows, a few miles from Langholm, where its ruins still serve to adorn a scene, which, in na- tural beauty, has few equals in Scotland. At the head of a desperate band of free -hooters, this Armstrong is said to have spread the terror of his name almost as far as Newcastle, and to have levied black mail, or protection and forbear- ' ance money, for many miles round. James V., of whom it was long remembered by his grateful people that he made the ' rush-bush keep the cow,' about 1529, undertook an expedition through the border counties, to suppress the turbulent spirit of the marchmen. But, before setting out upon his journey, he took the pre- caution of imprisoning the different border chieftains, who were the chief protectors of the marauders. The earl of Both well was forfeited, and confined in Edinburgh castle. The 1. rds of Home and Maxwell, the lairds of Buccleuch, Fairniherst, and Johnston, with many others, were also committed to ward. Cockburn of Henderland, and Adam Scott of Tushielaw, called the King of the Border, were publicly exe- cuted.— i.«/ej/, p. 430. The king then march- ed rapidly forward, at the head of a flying army of ten thousand men, through Ettrick forest and Ewsdale. The evil genius of our Johnnie Armstrong, or, as others say, the private advice of some courtiers, prompted him to present himself before James, at the head of thirty-six hor8e,arrayed in all the pomp of border chivalry . Pitscottie uses nearly the words of the ballad in describing the splendour of his equipment, and his high expectations of favour from the king. ♦But James, looking upon him sternly, said to his attendants. What wants that knave that a king should have ? and ordered him and his fol- lowers to instant execution.' — ' But John Arm- strong," continues this minute historian, ' made great offers to the king. That he should sustain himself, with forty gentlemen, ever ready at his service, on their own cost, without wronging any Scotchman : .Secondly, that there was not a subject in England, duke, earl, or baron, but, within a certain day, he should bring him to his majesty, either quick or dead. At length he, seeing no hope of favour, said very proudly, " It is folly to seek grace at a graceless face : but," said he, " had 1 known this, I should have lived upon the border in despite of king Harry and you both ; for I know king Harry would donin-meigh my best horse with gold, to know that I were con- demned to die this day."' — Pitscottie's History, p. 145. Johnnie, with all his retinue, was accord- ingly hanged upon growing trees, at a place called Carlenrig chapel, above ten miles above Hawick, on the high road to Langholm. The country people believe, that, to manifest the in- justice of the execution , the trees withered away. Armstrong and his followers were buried in a deserted church -yard, where their graves are still shown. As this border hero was a person of great note in his way, he is frequently alluded to by the writers of the time. Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, in the curious play published by Mr Pinkerton, from the Bannatyne MS., intro- duces a pardoner, or knavish dealer in reUques, who produces, among his holy rarities— ' The cordis, baith grit and lang, Quhilt hangit Johnie Armistrang, Of gude hemp, soft and sound. Gude haly pepill, I stand ford, Wha'evir beis hangit in this cord, Neidis never to be drowned !' PinkertonS Scottish Poems, vol. II. p. 69. In The Complaynt of Scotland, John Arml- strangis' dance, mentioned as a popular tune, has probably some reference to our hero. The common people of the high parts of Tiviotdale, Liddesdale, and the country adjacent, hold the memory of Johnnie Armstrong in very high re- spect. They affirm also, that one of his atten- dants br -ke through the king's guard, and car- ried to Gilnockie Tower the news of the bloody catastrophe. " This song was first published by Allan Ram- say, in his Evergreen, whosays, he copied it from ,the mouth of a gentleman, called Armstrong, BOEDER BALLADS. 357 who was in the sixth generation from tiiia John. 'A The reciter assured him, that this was the I genuine old ballad, the common one false." — | Scott's Minstrelay.} | SoMK speikis of lords, some speikia of lairds. And sick lyke men of hie degrie ; Of a gentleman I sing a sang, Sum tyme called laird of Gilnockie. The king he wrytes a luving letter. With his ain hand sae tenderly. And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang, To cum and speik with him speedily. The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene ; They were a gallant cumpanie — " We'll ride and meit our lawful king. And bring him safe to Gilnockie." " Make kinnen and capon ready then. And venison in great plentie; We'll welcum here our royal king; 1 hope he'll dine at Gilnockie !" They ran their horse on the Langholme howm. And brak their spears wi' muckle main ; The ladies lukit frae their loft windows — " God bring our men weel back agen !" When Johnnie cam* before the king, Wi' a' his men sae brave to see, The king he movit his bonnet to him ; He ween'd he was a king as well as he. " May I find grace, my sovereign liege, Grace for my loyal men and ine ? For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang, And subject of your's, my liege," said he. "Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life. And now I'll not begin with thee." " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee — Full four-and-twenty milk-white steids. Were a* foaled in ae year to me. " I'll gi'e thee a" these milk-white steids. That prance and nicker at a speir ; And as mickle gude Inglish gilt. As four o' their braid backs dow bear." " Away, away, thtm traitor Strang ! Out o' my sight soon may'st thou be! I grantit nevir a traitor's life. And now I'll not begin wi' thee !" " Grant me my life, my liege, my king! And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee — Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills. That gang through a' the yeir to me. " These four-and-twenty mills complete. Sail gang for thee through a" the yeir; And as mickle of gude reid wheit. As a' their happers dow to bear." " Away, away, tliou traitor Strang I Out o' mysight soon may'st thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life. And now I'll not begin wi' thee." " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a great gift I'll gie to thee — Bauld four-and-twenty sister's sons, Sail for thee fecht, though a' should flee !" " Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! Out o' my sight soon may'st thou be! I grantit nevir a traitor's life. And now I'll not begin wi' thee." " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a brave gift I'll gi'e to thee— All between heir and Newcastle town Sail pay their yeirly rent to thee." " Away, away, thou traitor Strang ! Out o' my sight toon may'st thou be ! I grantit nevir a traitor's life. And now I'll not begin with thee." " Ye lied, ye lied, now, king," he says, " Although a king and prince ye be ! For I've luved naething in my life, I weel dare say, but honesty — " Save a fet horse, and a &ir woman, Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deir ; But England suld have found me meal and Gif I had lived this hundred yeir ! [mault, " Sche suld have found me meal and mault. And beef and mutton in a plentie ; But nevir a Scots wyfe could have said. That e'er I skaithed her a pure flee. 358 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " To seik het water beneith cauld ice. ^ Because they saved their country deir Surely it is a greit folie— Frae Englishmen ! Nane were sae bauld I have asked grace at a graceless face. "WhUe Johnie lived on the border syde. But there is nane for my men and me ! Nane of them durst cum neir his hauld. " But had I kenn'd ere I cam' frae hame. How thou unkind wadst been to me ! I wad have keepit the border side. In spite of all thy force and thee. JOHNNIE ARMSTEONG'S LAST GOOD- "Wist England's king that I was ta'en. NIGHT. gin a blythe man he wad be ! For anes I slew his sister's son. [This is what Eamsay calls the "common- And on his breist bane brak a trie." ballad of Johnnie Armstrong. (See close of in- troduction to previous ballad ) MotherweU says John wore a girdle about his middle. that he never heard the above set of Johnnie Imbroidered ower wi" burning gold. Armstrong sung or recited among the common Bespangled wi' the same metal ; people, but that he had often heard the present Maist beautiful was to behold- one. in old broadsides, the title of this ballad runs thus: "Johnnie Armstrong's last good- There hang nine targets at Johnnie's hat. night, showing how John Armstrong with his And ilk ane worth three hundred pound— eight-score men fought a bloody battle with the " "What wants that knave that a king suld have. Scotch king at Edenborough." In English col- But the sword of honour and the crown ! lections, there is another ballad wherein a Sir John Armstrong figures as the hero. This latter " whar got thou these targeU, Johnnie, IS entitled, " A pleasant Ballad, showing how That blink sae brawly abune thy brie ?" two valiant knights. Sir John Armstrong and '■ r gat them in the field fechting. Sir Michael Musgrave, fell in love with the beau- "Where, cruel king, thou durst not be. tiful daughter of the Lady Dacres in the North, and of the great strife that happened between " Had I my horse, and harness gude. them for her, and how they wrought the death of And riding as I wont to be. one hundred men. "J It suld have been tauld this hundred yeir. The meeting of my king and me ! Is there ever a man in aU Scotland, From the highest estate to the lowest de- " God be with thee, Kirsty, my brother ! gree. Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun ! That can show himself before our king. Lang may'st thou live on the border syde. Scotland is so full of treachery ? Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down ! Yes, there is a man in "Westmoreland, " And God be with thee, Kirsty, my son. And Johnny Armstrong they do him call. "Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee ! He has no lands or rents coming in. But and thou live this hundred yeir. Yet he keeps eight-score men within hit Thy father's better thou'lt nevir be. haU. " Farewell ! my bonnie Gilnock hall. He has horses and harness for them all. "Where on Esk side thou standest stout! And goodly steeds that be milk-white. Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair. With their goodly belts about their necks. I wad ha'e gUt thee round about." With hate and feathers aU aUke. John murdered was at Carlinrigg, The king he writes a loving letter. And all his gallant companie ; And with his own hand so tenderly. But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae. And hath sent it unto Johnny Armstrong, To see sae mony brave men dee— ^ To come and speak with hun speedUy. " BORDER BALLADS. 359 When John he look'd this letter upon, 5^ Come, follow me, my merry men all, He look'd as blythe as a bird in a tree. 1 We will scorn one foot for to flee, 1 was never before a king in my life. It shall never be said we were hang'd like dogs. My father, my grandfather, nor none of ua We wUl fight it out most manfully. three. Then they fought on like champions bold. But seeing we must go before the king, For their hearts were sturdy, stout and Lord we will go most gallantly. i free. Ye shall every one have a velvet coat. Till they had kill'd all the king's good guard ; Laid down with golden laces three. There were none left alive but one, two, or three. And every one shall have a scarlet cloak. Laid down with silver laces five. But then rose up all Edenborough, With your golden belts about your necks. They rose up by thousands three. With hats and feathers all alike. A cowardly Scot came John behind. And run him through the fkir body. But when Johnny went from Giltnock-hall, The wind it blew hard, and full fast it did Said John, Fight on, my merry men all. rain. I am little wounded but am not slain. Now fere thee well, thou Giltnock-hall, I will lay me down and bleed a-while. I fear I shall never see thee again. Then I'U rise and fight again. Now Johnny he is to Edenborough gone. Then they fought on like mad men all. With his eightscore men so gallantly. Till many a man lay dead on the plain. And every one of them on a milk-white steed. For they were resolved before they would yield. With their bucklers and swords hanging to That every man would there be slain. their knee. So there they fought courageously. But when John came the king before. 'Till most of them lay dead there and slain. With his eightscore men so gallant to see. But little Musgrave, that was his foot-page. The king he mov'd his bonnet to him. With his bonnie grissel got away unta'en. He thought he had been a king as well as he. But when he came to Giltnock-hall, pardon, pardon, my sovereign liege. What news, what news, thou little foot-page. Pardon for my eightscore men and me ; What news from thy master and his com- For my name it is Johnny Armstrong, pany ? And subject of your's, my liege, said he. My news is bad, lady, he said. Away with thee, thou false traitor. Which I do bring, as you may see ; No pardon will I grant to thee. My master Johnny Armstrong is slain. But to-morrow morning by eight of the clock. And all his gallant company. I will hang up thy eightscore men and thee. Yet thou art welcome home, my bonnie grissel. Then Johnny look'd over his left shoulder. Full oft hast thou been fed with corn anj And to his merry men thus said he. hay. 1 have ask'd grace of a graceless face. But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine, No pardon there is for you and me. And thy sides shall be spurr'd no more, I Then John pull'd out his good broad sword. say. That was made of the mettle so free. then bespoke his little son. Had not the king moved his foot as he did. As he sat on his nurse's knee. John had taken his head from his fair If ever I live to be a man. body. ^ ^ My fether's death reveng'd shall be. _ 360 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ARMSTRONG'S GOODNIGHT. [Thb following verses are said to have been composed by one of the Akmstronos, executed for the murder of Sir John Carmichael of Edrom, warden of the middle marches. The tune is po- pular in Scotland ; but whether these are the original words, will admit of a doubt. Scott's Minttrelsy.'] This night is my departing night, For here nae langer must 1 stay ; There's neither friend nor foe o' mine. But wishes me away. What I have done through lack of wit, I never, never can recall ; 1 hope ye're a' my friends as yet; Groodnight and joy be with you all ! [This ballad (which, as Sir Walter Scott re- marks, seems to be the most modern in which the harp, as a border instrument of music, is found to occur) was first published in the Min- strelsy of the Scottish Border.— The castle of Lochmaben was formerly a noble building, situ- iited upon a peninsula, projecting into one of the four lakes which are in the neighbourhood of the royal burgh, and is said to have been the resi- dence of Robert Bruce, while lord of Annandale. Accordingly it was always held to be a royal fortress, the keeping of which, according to the custom of the times, was granted to some power- ful lord, with an allotment of lands and fishings, for the defence and maintenance of the place. There is extant a grant, dated 16th March, 1511, to Robert Lauder of the Bass, of the office of captain and keeper of Lochmaben castle, for seven years, with many perquisites. Among others, the " land, stolen frae the king," is be- stowed on the captain, as his proper lands. What shall we say of a country, where the very ground was the subject of theft ? An extraordi- nary and anomalous class of landed proprietors dwell in the neighbourhood of Lochmaben. These are the inhabitants of four small villages, near the ancient castle, called the Four Towns of Lochmaben. They themselves are termed the King's Rentallers, or kindly tenants ; under which denomination each of them has a right, of an allodial nature, to a small piece of ground. It is said, that these people are the descendants of Robert Bruce's menials, to whom he assigned, in reward of their faithful service, these portions of land burdened only with the payment of certain quit-rents, and grassums, or fines, upon the entry of a new tenant. The right of the rental- lers is, in essence, a right of propei ty, but, in form, only a right of lease ; of which they appeal for the foundation to the rent-rolls of the lord of the castle and manor. This possession, by rental, or by simple entry upon the rent-roll, was an- ciently a common, and peculiarly sacred, species of property, granted by a chief to hia faithful fol- lowers ; the connection of landlord and tenant being esteemed of a nature too formal to be necessary, where there was honour on the one side, and gratitude upon the other. But, in the case of subjects granting a right of this kind, it was held to expire with the life of the granter, unless his heir chose to renew it ; and also upon the death of the rentaller himself, unless espe- cially granted to his heirs, by which term only his first heir was understood. Hence, in modern days, the kindly tenants have entirely disappear- ed from the land. Fortunately for the inhabi- tants of the Four Towns of Lochmaben, the maxim, that the king can never die, prevents their right of property from reverting to the crown. The Viscount of Stormonth, as royal keeper of the castle, did, indeed, about the beginning of last century, make an attempt to remove the rentallers from their possessions, or at least to procure judgment, finding them ob- liged to take out feudal investitures, and subject themselves to the casualties thereto annexed. But the rentallers united in their common de- fence : and, having stated their immemorial pos- session, together with some favourable clauses in certain old acta of parliament, enacting, that the king's poor kindly tenants of Lochmaben should not be hurt, they finally prevailed in an action before the Court of Session. From the peculiar state of their right of property, it fol- lows, that there is no occasion for feudal inves- titures, or the formal entry of an heir; and, of course, when they choose to convey their lands, it is done by a simple deed of conveyance, without charter or sasine. The kindly tenants of Lochmaben live (or at BOEDER BALLADS. 361 least till lately) much sequestered from their < neighbours, marry among themselves, and are distinguished from each other by soubriquets, according to the ancient border custom, re- peatedly noticed. You meet among their writ- ings, with such names as John Out-bye, Will In-bye, White-fish, Red-fish, &c. They are tenaciously obstinate in defence of their privile- ges of commonty, &c. which are numerous. Their lands are, in general, neatly inclosed, and well cultivated, and they form a contented and industrious little community. Many of these particulars are extracted from the MSS. of Mr Syme, writer to the signet. Those wlio are desirous of more information, may consult Craig de Feudis, Lib. 11. dig. 9. sec. 24. It is hoped the reader will excuse this digression, though somewhat professional ; especially as there can be little doubt that this diminutive republic must soon share the fate of mightier states ; for, in consequence of the in- crease of commerce, lands possessed under this singular tenure, being now often brought to sale, »nd purchased by the neighbouring proprietors, will, in process of time, be included in their in- vestitures, and the right of rentallage be entirely forgotten.— Scott.] O HEARD ye na o' the silly blind Harper, How lang he lived in Lochmaben town ? And how he wad gang to fair England, To steal the Lord Warden's Wanton Brown! But first he gaed to his gude wyfe, Wi' a' the haste that he could thole — " This wark," quo' he, " will ne'er gae weel. Without a mare that has a foal." Quo' she — " Thou hast a gude gray mare. That can baith lance o'er laigh and hie ; Sae set thee on the gray mare's back. And leave the foal at hame wi' me." So he is up to England gane. And even as fast as he may drie; And whan he cam' to Carlisle gate, O wha was there but the warden, he ? " Come into my hall, thou silly blind harper. And of thy harping let me hear !" " O by my sooth,' quo' the silly blind harper, " 1 wad rather ha'e stabling for my mare." The warden look'd ower his left shoulder. And said unto his stable groom — " Gae take the silly blind harper's mare. And tie her beside my Wanton Brown." Then aye he harped, and aye he carped. Till a" the lordlings tOotvd the floor; But an' the nmsic was sae sweet. The groom had nae mind o' the stable door And aye he harped, and aye he carped. Till a' the nobles were fast asleep ; Then quickly he took aff his shoon. And saftly down the stair did creep. Syne to the stable door he hied, Wi' tread as^ light as light could be ; And when he opened and gaed in, There he fand thirty steeds and three. He took a cowt-halter frae his hose, And o' his purpose he didua fail; He slipt it ower the Wanton's nose. And tied it to his gray mare's tail. He turned them loose at the castle gate, Ower muir and moss and ilka dale ; And she ne'er let the Wanton bail. But kept him a-galloping hame to her foal. The mare she was right swift o' foot, She didna fail to find the way ; For she was at Lochmaben gate, A lang three hours before the day. When she cam' to the harper's door. There she gave niony a nicker and sneer — " Rise up," quo' the wife, " thou lazy lass ; Let in thy master and his mare." Then up she rose, put on her clothes. And keekit thi ough at the lock-hole — " O ! by n)y sooth," then cried the luss, " Our mare has gotten a braw brown foal !" " Come, haud thy tongue, thou silly wench ! The morn's but glancing in your e'e." — " I'll wad my hail fee against a groat. He's bigger than e'er our foal will be." Now all this while in merry Carlisle, The harper harped to hie and law ; And the fiend dought they do but listen him to Until that the day began to daw. 363 SCOTTISH BALLADS. But on the morn, at fair day-light, ^ The first ae guide that they met wi'. When they had ended a' their cheer. It was high up in Hardhaughswire ;* Behold the Wanton Brown was gane. The second guide that we met wi'. And eke the poor blind Harpers mare! It was laigh down in Borthwick water, f "Allace! allace!" quoth the cunning auld " What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide? Harper, " Nae tidings, nae tidings, I ha'e to thee ; And ever allace that I cam- here; But gin ye'U gae to the fair Dodhead.t In Scotland I lost a braw cowt foal. Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see." In England they've stown my gude gray mare'" And whan they cam' to the fair Dodhead, Eight hastily they clam the peel ; "Come: cease thy allacing, thou silly bUnd They loosed the kye out, ane and a'. Harper, And ranshackled the house right weel. And again of thy harping let us hear ; And weel payd sail thy cowt- foal be. Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,§ And thou sail have a far better mare." The tear aye rowing in his e'e ; He pled wi' the captain to ha'e his gear. Then aye he harped, and aye he carped ; Or else revenged he wad be. Sae sweet were the harpings he let them hear! The captain turned him round and leugh ; He was paid for the foal he had never lost. Said—" Man, there's naething in thy house. And three times ower for the gude gray mare. But ae auld sword without a sheath, That hardly now wad fell a mouse !" The sun wasna up, but the moon was down. It was the gryming|| of a new-fa'n snaw. IJameg '^din of $|e ^aix Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-foot. Between the Dodhsad and the Stob's Ha'.«f m^'^^tm. And whan he cam' to the fair tower yate. He shouted loud, and cried weel hie. TiU out bespak' auld Gibby Elliot— [From the Border Minstrelsy.-" There U " Whae's this that brings the fraye to me ?• another ballad," says Sir Walter, " under the same title as the following, in which nearly the same incidents are narrated, with little diffe- rence, except that the honour of rescuing the cattle is attributed to the Liddesdale Elliots, headed by a chief, there called Martin Elliot of , " It's I, Jamie Telfer o* the fair Dodhead, And a harried man 1 think I be ! There's naething left at the fair Dodhead, But a waefu' wife and bairnies three." * Hardhaughswire is the pass from Liddesdale the Preakin Tower, whose son, Simon, is said to to the head of Tiviotdale.— Scott. have fallen in the action. It is very possible. t Borthwick water is a stream, which falls that both the Tiviotdale Scotts, and the Elliots, into tlie Tiviot three miles above Hawick.— Scott. were engaged in the affair, and that each claim- i The Dodhead, in Selkirkshire, near Singlee, ed the honour of the victory."— Sir Walter pre- where there are still the vestiges of an old tower. sumes, that the Willie Scott, here mentioned. Scott. must have been a natural son of the laird of § There is still a family of Telfers, residing near Buccleuch.] Langholm, who pretend to derive their descent from the Telfers of the Dodhead.— Scott. It fell about the Martinmas tyde. II Grj/m,-«^_Sprinkling. When our border steeds get com and hay. ■f Stobs Hall, upon Slitterick. Jamie Telfer The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to made his first .ipplication here, because he seems ryde. to have paid the proprietor of that castle black- And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey. ^ mall, or protection money.— Scott. BORDER BALLADS. 363 " Gar seek your succour at Branksome Ha',* For succour ye'se get nane frae me ! Gae seek jour succour where ye paid black mail. For, man ! ye ne'er paid money to me." Jamie has turned him round about, I wat the tear blinded his e'e — " I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again, And the fair Dodhead I'll never see ! " My hounds may a' rin masterless. My hawks may fly frae tree to tree. My lord may grip my vassal lands. For there again maun I never be!" He has turned him to the Tiviot side. E'en as fast as he could drie. Till he cam' to the Coultart Cleugh.f And there he shouted baith loud and hie. Then up bespak' him auld Jock Grieve — " Whae's this that brings the fraye to me ?" " It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, A harried man I trow I be. " There's naething left in the fair Dodhead, But a greeting wife and bairnies three. And sax poor ca's stand in the sta", A' routing loud for their minnie." " Alack a wae !" quo' auld Jock Grieve, Alack ! my heart is sair for thee ! For I was married on the elder sister. And you on the youngest of a' the three." Then he has ta'en out a bonnie black. Was right weel fed wi' corn and hay. And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back. To the Catslockhill to tak' the fray. And whan he cam' to the Catslockhill, He shouted loud and cried weel hie. Till out and spak' him "William's Wat — " O whae's this brings the fraye to me .-"' " It's I, Jamie Telfer of the fair Dodhead, A harried man I think I be ! The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear ; For God's sake rise and succour me !" • The ancient family seat of the lairds of Buccleuch, near Hawick. — Scoit. i The Coultart Cleugh is nearly opposite to *' Alas for wae !" quo' William's Wat, " Alack, for thee my heart is sair 1 1 never cam' by the fair Dodhead, That ever I fand thy basket bare." He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds, Himsel' upon a freckled gray. And they are on wi Jamie Telfer, To Branksome Ha' to tak' the fray. And whan they cam' to Branksome Ha', They shouted a' baith loud and hie. Till up and spak' him auld Buccleuch, Said— •' Whae's this brings the fraye to me.'" " It's I, Jamie Telfer o" the fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be ! There's nought left in the fair Dodhead, But a greeting wife and bairnies three." " Alack for wae !" quoth the gude auld lord. And ever my heart is wae for thee ! But fye gar cry on Willie, my son. And see that he come to me speedilie ! " Gar warn the water, braid and wide,t Gar warn it sune and bastilie ! They that winna ride for Telfer's kye. Let them never look in the face o' me ! " Warn Wat o' Harden, and his sons.t Wi' them will Borthwick water ride ; Warn Gaudilands, and AUanhaugh, And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside. " Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,§ And warn the Currors o' the Lee ; As ye cum down the Hermitage Slack, Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinberry." Carlinrig, on the road between Hawick and Mosspaul.— Sco«. + The water, in the mountainous districts of Scotland, is often used to express the banks of the river, which are the only inhabitable parts of the country. To raise the water, therefore, was to alarm those who lived along its side. Snott. % The estates, mentioned in this verse, be- longed to families of the name of Scott, resid- ing upon the waters of Borthwick and Tiviot, near the castle of their chief.— ScoK. < ^ § The pursuers seem to have taken the road 364 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran, Sae starkly and sae steadilie ! And aye the ower-word o' the thrang Was — "Else for Branksome readilie!" The gear was driven the Frostylee up, * Frae the Frostylee unto the plain. Whan Willie has looked his men before, And saw the kye right fast driving. " Whae drives thir kye ?" can Willie say, " To mak' an outspecklej o' me ?" " It's I, the captain o' Bewcastle, Willie ; I winna layne my name for thee." " O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back. Or will ye do aught for regard o' me ? Or, by the faith of my body," quo' Willie Scott, " I'se ware my dame's cauf s skin on thee I" " I winna let the kye gae back, Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear ; But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye. In spite of every Scot that's here." " Set on them, lads !" quo' Willie than ; " Fye, lads, set on them cruellie ! For ere they win to the Ritterford, Mony a toom saddle there sail be!" Then till't they gaed, wi' heart and hand ; The blows fell thick as bickering hail ; And mony a horse ran masterless, And mony a comely cheek was pale ! But Willie was stricken ower the head. And thro' the knapscap ^ the sword has gane ; And Harden grat for very rage, § Whan Willie on the grund lay slane. through the hills of Liddesdale, in order to col- lect forces, and intercept the forayers at the passage of the Liddel, on their return to Bew- caste. The Ritterfcrd and Kershope-ford, after- mentioned, are noted fords on the river Liddel. * The Frostylee is a brook, which joins the Tiviot, near Mosspaul. — Scott. j Outspeckle — Laughing-stock. ^ Knapscap — Headpiece. § Of this border laird, commonly called Auld Wat of Harden, tradition has presen-ed many anecdotes. He was married to Mary Scott, cele- brated in song by the title of the Flower of Yar- row. By their marriage-contract, the father-in- ^ But he's tane aflf his gude steel cap. And thrice he's wav'd it in the air — The Dinlay || snaw was ne'er mair white. Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair. " Revenge! revenge!" auld Wat can cry ; " Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie ! We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again. Or Willie's death revenged sail be." O mony a horse ran masterless. The splintered lances flew on hie ; Bat or they wan to the Kershope ford. The Scots had gotten the victory. John o' Brigham there was slane, ^ And John o' Barlow, &s I hear say ; And thirty mae o' the captain's men. Lay bleeding on the grund that day. law, Philip Scott of Bryhope, was to find Harden in horse meat, and man's meat, at his tower of Dryhope, for a year and a day ; but five barons pledge themselves, that at the expiry of that period, the son-in-law should remove, without attempting to continue in possession by force ! A notary-public signed for all the parties to the deed, none of whom could write their names. The original is still in the charter-room of the present Mr Scott of Harden. By the Flower of Yarrow the laird of Harden had six song ; five of whom survived him, and founded the families of Harden (now extinct,) Highehesters (now repre- senting Harden,) Beaburn, Wool, and Synton. The sixth son was slain at a fray, in a hunting- match, by the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh. His brothers flew to arms ; but the old laird secured them in the dungeon of his tower, hurried to Edinburgh, stated the crime, and obtained a gift of the lands of the ofienders from the crown. He returned to Harden with equal speed, released his sons, and showed them the charter. " To horse, lads !" cried the savage warrior, "and let us take possession ! the lands of Gilmanscleuth are well worth a dead son." The property thug obtained continued in the family till the begin- ning of last century, when it was sold, by John Scott of Harden, to Ann, duchess of Buccleuch. A beautiful ballad, founded on this tradition, occurs in the Forest Minstrel, a collection of legendary poetry, by Mr James Hogg.— Sco«. II The Dinlay — is a mountain in Liddesdale. «f Perhaps one of the ancient family of Brougham, in Cumberland. The editor has used BOBBEB BALLADS. 365 The captain was run thro' the thick of the thigh, And broken was his right leg bane ; If he had lived this hundred year. He bad never been loved by woman again. "Hae back thy kye !" the captain said , " Dear kye, I trow, to some they be ; For gin I suld live a hundred years, There will ne'er fair lady smile on me." Then word is gane to the captain's bride. Even in the bower where that she lay. That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land. Since into Tividaie he had led the way. " I wad lourd * have had a winding-sheet. And helped to put it ower his head. Ere he had been disgraced by the border Scot, Whan he ower Liddel his men did lead 1" There was a wild gallant amang us a'. His name was Watty wi' the Wudspurs, f Cried—" On for his house in Stanegirthside, i If ony man will ride with us !" When they cam' to the Stanegirthside, They dang wi' trees, and burst the door ; They loosed out a' the captains kye. And set them forth our lads before. There was an auld wyfe ayont the fire, A wee bit o' the captain's kin — " Whae dar loose out the captain's kye. Or answer to him and his men ?" some freedom with the original in the subsequent verse. The account of the captain's disaster {teste lieva vulnerata) is rather too naive for literal publication. — Scott. • ioui-rf— Rather. t Wudipurs—HoXa^ViT, or Madspur. % A house belonging to the Foresters, situated on the English side of the Liddel. An article in the list of attempts upon England, fouled by the commissioners at Berwick, in the year 1587, may relate to the subject of the fore- going ballad. October, 1582. Thomas Mus- f Walter Scott, "J 200 kine grave, deputy of) laird of Buck- (and oxen, Beweastle.andthe^ luth, and his | 300 gait tenants, against (^complices ; for j and sheep. — Introduction to the History qf Wettmoreland and CutnJxrland, p. 31.— Scott. "It's I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye 1 I winna layne my name frae thee ! And I will loose out the captain's kye. In scorn of a' his men and he." 'Whan they cam' to the Fair Dodhead, They were a wellcum sight to see ! For instead of his ain ten milk kye, Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three. And he has paid the rescue shot, Baitb wi' goud, and white monie ; And at the burial o' Willie Scott, I wat was mony a weeping e'e. ^|e M^uih of tie Mei^^lsjiife, [From the Border Minstrelsy, where it is pub- lished from a copy in the Bannatyne MS. in the hand-writing of the Hon. Mr Carmichael, advo- cate. It first appeared inaccurately in Allan Ramsay'i Evergreen. — "The skirmish of the Reidswire," says Sir Walter, "happened upon the 7th of June, 1575, at one of the meetings, held by the wardens of the marches, for arrange- ments necessary upon the border. Sir John Car- michael, ancestor of the present earl of Hyndford, was the Scottish warden, and Sir John Forster held that office on the English middle march. In the course of the day, which was employed, as usual, in redressing wrongs, a bill, or indictment, at the instance of a Scottish complainer, was found (i. e. found a true bill) against one Farn- stein, a notorious English freebooter. Forster alleged that he had fled from justice: Carmi- chael, considering this as a pretext to avoid making compensation for the felony, bade him ' play fair !' to which the haughty English war- den retorted, by some injurious expressions re- specting Carmichael'sfaniily, and gave other open signs of resentment. His retinue, chiefly men of Bedesdale and Tynedale, the most ferocious of the English borderers, glad of any pretext for a quarrel, discharged a flight of arrows among the Scots. A warm conflict ensued, in which, Car- michael being beat down and made prisoner, success seemed at first to incline to the English side, till the Tynedale men, throwing themselves too greedily upon the plunder, fell into disorder ; anl a body of Jedburgh citizens arriving at that instant, the skirmish terminated in a complete ( UNIVCRSITY 366 SCOTTISH BALLADS. victory on the part of the Scots, who took pri- ^ And the Laird'g Wat, that worthie man, § soners the English warden, James Ogle, Cuth bert CoUingwood, Francis Russell, son to the earl of Bedford, and son-in-law to Forster, some of tlie Fenwicks, and several other border chiefs. They were sent to the earl of Morton, then regent, who detained them at Dalkeith for some days, till the heat of their resentment was abated; which prudent precaution prevented a war be- twixt the two kingdoms. He then dismissed tliem with great expressions of regard ; and, to satisfy queen Elizabeth,* sent up Carmichael to York, whence he was soon after honourably dis- missed. The field of battle, called the Reidswire, Brought in that simame weil beseen : || arbitrary practices, Morton meant to strengthen his authority on the borders ; instead of which, he hastened his fall, by giving disgust to his kinsman, theearl of Angus, and his other friends, who had been established in the country forages. —Godicrqft, vol. ii. pp. 238, 246. Sir John Car- michael, the warden, was murdered 16th June, 1600, by a party of borderers, at a place called Eaesknows, near Lochmaben, whither he was going to hold a court of justice. Two of the ringleaders in the slaughter, Thomas Armstrong, part of the Carter Mountain, about ten miles ji called Ringan's Tarn, and Adam Scott, called from Jedburgh, — See, for these particulars, Gods- \\ the Pecket, were tried at Edinburgh, at the in- croft, Spottisrvoode, and Johnstone't History. [| stance of Carmichael of Edrom. They were '■ The modern spelling of the word Reidswire is i condemned to have their right hands struck off. adopted, to prevent the mistake in pronunciation which might be occasioned by the use of the Scot- tish qu for »». The MS. reads Reidsquair. Srvair, or Swire, signifies the descent of a hill ; and the epithet Red is derived from the colour of the heath, or, perhaps, from the Eeid-water, which rises at no great distance."] The seventh of July, the suith to say. At the Reidswire the tryst was set ; Our wardens they afiixed the day. And, as they promised, so they met. Alas ! that day I'll ne'er forgett ! AVas sure sae fear'd, and then sae faine — They came theare justice for to gett, "Will never green f to come again. Carmichael was our warden then, \ He caused the country to conveen; * Her ambassador at Edinburgh refused to lie in a bed of state wliich had been provided for him, till this "odious fact " had been inquired into. — ilurdin's State Papers, vol. ii. p. 282.— Sco«. t Green — Long. ^: Sir John Carmichael was a favourite of the regent Morton, by whom he was appointed warden of the middle marches, in preference to the border chieftains. With the like policy, the regent married Archibald Carmichael, the war- thereafter to be hanged, and their bodies gib- betted on the Borough Moor; which sentence was executed 14th November, 1601. "This Pecket, (saith Birrel in his Diary,) was " ane of the maist notalrie thieffes that ever raid ;" he calls his name Steill, which appears, from the record, to be a mistake. Four years afterwards, an Armstrong, called Sandy qf Ronanburn, and several others of that tribe, were executed for this and other excesses. — Books of Adjournal of these dates. — Scott. § The chief who led out the sirname of Scott upon this occasion, was (saith Satchells) Walter Scott of Ancriim, a natural son of Walter of Buccleuch. The lain! of Buccleuch was then a minor. The ballad seems to have been popular in Satchells' days, for he quotes it literally. He must, however, have been mistaken in this par- ticular ; for the family of Scott of Ancrum, in all our books of gtnealogy, deduce their descent from the Scotts of Balwearie, in Fife, whom they represent. The first of this family, settled in Roxburghshire, is stated in Douglas' Baronage to have been Patrick Scott, who purchased the lands of Ancrum in the reign of James VI. He therefore could not be the Laird's Wat of the ballad ; indeed, from the list of border families in 1597, Kerr appears to have been proprietor of Ancrum at the date of the ballad. It is plainly written in the MS. the Lairds Wat, i. e. the den's brother, to the heiress of Edrom, in the ij Laird's son Wat; notwithstanding which, it has Jlerse, much contrary to the inclination of the j always hitherto been printed the Laird Wat. If lady and her friends. In like manner, he com- | Douglas be accurate in his genealogy, the person j.elled another heiress, Jane Sleigh, of Cumlege, ; i meant must be the young laird of Buccleuch, jO marry Archibald, brother to Auchinleck of i i afterwards distinguished for his surprise of Car- 4.uchinleck, one of his dependants. By such SJ- lisle Castle. — See Kinmont Willie, lam the more BORDER BALLADS. 367 The Armestranges, that aye ha'e been * A hardie house, but not a hail, The Elliots' honours to maintaine. Brought down the lave o' Liddesdale. Then Tividale came to wi' speid ; The sheriffe brought the Douglas down.f Wi' Cranstane, Gladstain, good at need, ^ Baith Rewle water, and Hawick town. Beanjeddart bauldly made him boun, Wi' a' the Tiumbills, stronge and stout ; The Rutherfoords, with grit renown, § Convoyed the town of Jedbrugh out. confirmed in this opinion, because Kerr of An- crum was at this time a fugitive, for slaying one of the Rutherfords, and the tower of Ancrum given in keeping to the Turnbulls, his hereditary enemies. His mother, however, a daughter of Home of Wedderburn, contrived to turn out the Turnbulls, and possess herself of the place by surprise. — Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 250. — Scott. II Weil ie»ecn— Well appointed. The word occurs in Morte Arthur: "And when Sir Per- oival saw this, he hied them thither, and found the ship covered with silke, more blacker than any beare ; and therein was a gentlewoman, of great beautie, and she was richly beseene, that none might be better." — Scott. ' This clan are here mentioned as not being hail, or whole, because they were outlawed or broken men. Indeed, many of them had become Englishmen, as the phrase then went. Accord- ingly, we find, from Paton, that forty of them, under the laird of Mangertoun, joined Somerset upon his expedition into Scotland. — Paton in Dalyell't Fragments, p. 1. There was an old alliance betwixt the Elliots and Armstrongs, here alluded to. For the enterprizes of the Arm- strongs, against their native country, when under English assurance, see Murdin's State Papers, Vol. i. p. 43. From which it appears, that, by command of Sir Ralph Evers, this clan ravaged almost the whole west border of Scotland. — Scott. t Douglas of Cavers, hereditary sheriff of Te- viotdale, descended from Black Archibald, who carried the standard of his father, the earl of 3)ouglas, at the battle of Otterbourne. — See the lia/lad (if that name.— Scott. if Cranstoun of that ilk, ancestor to lord Crans- toiiii ; and Gladstain of Gladstains.— Scott. § These were ancient and powerful border clans, residing chiefly upon the river Jed. Hence, aS Of other clans I cannot tell. Because our warning was not wide. — Be this our folks ha'e ta'en the fell, And planted down palliones || there to bide. We looked down the other side. And saw come breasting ower the brae, Wi' Sir John Forster for their guyde, T Full fifteen hundred men and mae. It grieved him sair that day, I trow, Wi* Sir George Hearoune of Schipsyde. Because we were not men enow, [house : * They counted us not worth a louse. Sir George was gentle, meek and douse. But he was hail and het as fire ; And yet, for all his cracking crouse, f f He rewd the raid o' the Reidswire. To deal with proud men is but pain ; For either must ye fight or flee. Or else no answer make again. But play the beast, and let them be. It was na wonder he was hie, Had Tindaill, Reedsdaill, at his hand,it Wi' Cukdaill, Gladsdaill on the lee. And Hebsrime, and Northumberland. they naturally convoyed the town of Jedburgh out. Although notorious freebooters, they were specially patronised by Morton, who, by their means, endeavoured to counterpoise the power of Buccleuch and Ferniherst, during the civil wars attached to the queen's faction. The following fragment of an old ballad is quoted in a letter from an aged gentleman of this name, residing at New- York, to a friend in Scotland : " Bauld Rutherfurd, he was few stout, ■Wi* a' his nine sons him round about i He led the town o' Jedburgh out. All bravely fought that day." n PaWonei— Tents. «[ This gentleman is called, erroneously, in some copies of this ballad. Sir George. He was warden of the mid-marches of England. — Scott. *"■ Sir George Heron of Chipchase-house, whose character is contrasted with that of the English warden. — Scott. ft Cracking crotMe— Talking big. li These are districts, or dales, on the English border. I-Iebsrime seems to be an error in the MS. for Hebbum upon the TUl.— Sco«. 368 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Tett was onr meeting meek enough. Begun wi' merriment and mowes. And at tlie brae, aboon the heugh, The Clark sat down to call the rowes. * • And some for kyne, and some for ewes, Callfd in ol Dandrie, Hob, and Jock— We saw, come marching ower the knows. Five hundred Fennicks in a flock. f With jack and speir, and bows all bent. And warlike weapons at their will : ■ Although we were na well content. Yet, by my trouth, we feared no ill. Pome gaed to drink, and some stude still. And some to cards and dice them sped ; Till on ane Farnstein they fyled a bill. And he was fugitive and fled. Carmicbacl bade them speik out plainlle. And cloke no cause for ill nor good; The other, answering him as vainlie, Be.i;an to reckon kin and blood : He raise, and raxed J him where he stood. And bade him match hi.n with his marrows; Then Tindaill heard them reasun rude. And they loot off a flight of arrows. Then was there nought but bow and speir. And every man pulled out a brand , "A .Schaftan and a P'enwick'- thare : Gude Symington was slain frae hand. The Scotsmen cried on other to stand, Frae time they saw J. hii Robsnn slain — What should they cry i> the kings command Could cause no cowards turn again. TJp rose the laird to red the cumber. Which would not be for all his boast;— What could we due with sic a number ? Fy ve thousand men into a host, Then Henry Purdie proved his cost. And very narrowlie had mischiefed him, And there we had our warden lost, Wer't not the grit God he relieved him. Another throw the breiks him bair, Whill flatlies to the ground he fell : Then thought 1 weel we had lost him there. Into my stomack it struck a knell. * Rotvet — Uolls. f The Fenwicks; a powerful and numerous Northumberland clan. — Scott. i Raxed him — Stretched himself up. ^ Yet up he raise the treuth to tell ye. And laid about him dints full dour ; His horsemen they raid sturdily. And stude about him in the stoure. Then raise the Slogan with ane shout — § " Fy, Tindaill, to it! Jedbrugh's here:" I trow he was not half sae stout, But anis his stomach was asteir. § The gathering word, peculiar to a certain name, or set of people, was termed slogan or slughorn, and was always repeated at an onset, as well as on many other occasions, as appears from the following passage of an old author, whom this custom seems to have oflfended — for he con plains, " That whereas alweys, both in al tounes of war, and in al campes of armies, quietnes and stilnes without nois is principally in the night, after the watch is set, observed (1 need not reason why.) Yet, our northern prikkers, the border- ers, notwithstanding, with great enormitie, (as thought me) and not unlyke (to be playn) unto a • masterless hounde houyling in a hie wey, when he hath lost him he wayted upon, sum hoopying, sum whistelyng, and most with crying, a Ber- rvyke! A Bertvyke! aFenrvyke! a Fenrvyke! a Dulmer ! a Bulmer ! or so otherwise as theyr cap- tein's names wear, never linnde those tioublous and daungerous noyses all the night long. They siiyd they did it to fynd out their captein and fellowes ; but if the soldiours of our oother coun- tries and sheres had used the same manner, in that case we shoold have oftymes had the state of our campe more lyke the outrage of a dissolute huntyng, than the quiet of a wel onlred army.' — Patten's Account of Somerset's Expedition, p. 76. — Apud DalyeU's Fragments. Honest Patten proceeds, with great prolixity, to prove, that this was a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance ; and, like Fluellen, declares, " that such idle pribble prab- bles were contrary to all the good customs and disciplines of war." Nevertheless, the custom of crying the slogan, or ensenzie, is often alluded to in all our ancient histories and poems. It wag usually the name of the clan, or place of rendez- vous, or leader. In 1335, the English, led by Thomas of Rosslyne, and William Mcubray, as- saulted Aberdeen. The former was mortally wounded in the onset ; and, as his followers were pressing forward, shouting Rosslyne! Rosslyne! ^ "Cry Moubray," said the expiring chieftain; BORDER BALLADS. 369 "With gun and genzie, * bow and spier. Men might see mony a cracked crown ! But up amang the merchant geir. They were as busy as we were down. The swallow tail frae tackles flew, f Five hundreth flain if into a flight, But we had pestelets anow. And shot among them as we might. With help of God the game gaed right, Frae time the foremost of them fell ; Then ower the know without goodnight. They ran with mony a shout and yell. But after they had turned backs. Yet Tindaill men they turned again ; And had not been the merchant packs, § There had been mae of Scotland slain. But, Jesu ! if the flks were fain To put the bussing on their thies ; And so they fled, wi' a* their main, Down ower the brae, like clogged bees. Sir Francis Russel ta'en was there, H And hurt, as we hear men rehearse : 4 " Rosilyne is gone !" The Highland clans had also their appropriate slogans. The Macdonalds cried Frich, (heather ;) the Macphersons, Craig- Ubh; theGr&ntaCraig-ElacMe; and the Macfar- lanes Loch Sloy. — Scott. • Genzie — Engine of war. f The Scots, on this occasion, seem to have had chiefly fire-arms ; the English retaining still their partiality for their ancient weapon, the long-bow. It also appears, by a letter from the Duke of Norfolk to Cecil, that the English bor- derers were unskilful in fire-arms, or, as he says, " our cijuntrynien be not so commyng with shots as I woolde wishe."— bee MurdiiVt State Papers, vol. i. p. 319.— ico«. % Flain — Arrows ; hitherto absurdly printed tlain. § The ballad-maker here ascribes the victory to the real cause ; for the English borderers, dis- persing to plunder the merchandise, gave the opposite party time to recover from their surprise. It seems to have been usual for travelling mer- chants to attend border meetings, although one would have thought the kind of company, usually assembled there, might have deterred them.— Scott. y This gentleman was son to the earl of Bed- ford. He was afterwards kUled in a fray of a» Proud Wallinton was wounded sair, ^ Albeit he be a Fennick fierce. But if ye wald a souldier search. Among them a' were ta'en that night. Was nane sae wordie to put in verse. As CoUingwood, that courteous knight. ' Toung Henry Schafton, ft he is hurt ; A souldier shot him wi' a bow : Scotland has cause to mak' great start. For laiming of the laird of Mow. i^ The Laird's Wat did weel, indeed ; His friends stood stoutlie by himsel'. With little Gladstain, gude in need. For Gretein kend na gude be ill. f § The Sheriflfe wanted not gude will, Howbeit he might not fight so fast ; Beanjeddart, Hundlie,and HunthUl,i||| Three, ou they laid weel at the last. similar nature, at a border-meeting between the same Sir John Forster (father-in-law to Russell), and Thomas Kerr of Fairnihurst, A. D. 15S5.— Scott. % Fenwick of Wallington, a powerful North • umbrian chief.— Sco«. ** Sir Cuthbert CoUingwood. Besides these gentlemen, James Ogle, and many other North ■ umbrians of note, were noade prisoners. Sit George Heron, of Chipchase and Ford, was slain, to the great regret of both parties, being a man highly esteemed by the Scots as well as the Eng- lish. When the prisoners were brought to Mor- ton, at Dalkeith, and, among other presents, received from him some Scottish falcons, one of his train observed, that the English were nobly treated, since they got live hanikt for dead heron*. —Godtcrqfl.— Scott, \\ The name of this gentleman does notappear in the MS. in the Advocates' Library, but is re- stored from a copy in single sheet, printed early in the last century. — Scott. a An ancient family on the borders. The lands of Mowe are situated upon the river Bow- mont, in Roxburghshire. The family is now represented by William MoUe, Esq. of Mains, who has restored the ancient spelling of the name The laird of Mowe, here mentioned, was the only gentleman of note killed in the skirmish on the Scottish side.— Sco«. §§ Graden, a femily of Kerrs. illl Douglas of Beanjeddart, an ancient branch 2a 870 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Except the horsemen of the guard. If 1 could put men to availe, None stoutlier stood out for their laird. Nor did the lads of Liddisdail. But little harness had we there ; But auld Badreule had on a jack, * And did right weel, I you declare. With all his Trumbills at his back. Gude Edderstane was not to lack, f Nor Kirktoun, Newton, noble men ! i of the house of Cavers, possessing property near the junction of the Jed and Teviot. Hu7m/««.— Rutherford of Hundlie, or Hundalee, situated on the Jed above Jedburgh. Hunthill — The old tower of Hunthill was situ- ated about a mile above Jedburgh. It was the patrimony of an ancient tamily of Rutherfords, I suppose the person, here meant, to be the same who is renowned in tradition by the name of the Cock qf Hunthill. His sons were executed for march-treason, or border-theft, along with the lairds of Corbet, Greenhead, and Overton, A. D. ISSS.—Johnaton-s History , p. 129.— Sco«. * Sir Andrew TurnbuU of Bedrule, upon Rule Water. This old laird was so notorious a thief, that the principal gentlemen of the elans of Hume and Kerr refused to sign a bond of alliance, to which he, with the TurnbuUs and Rutherfords, was a party ; alleging that their proposed allies had stolen Hume of Wedderburn's cattle. The authority of Morton, however, compelled them to digest the affront. The debate (and a curious one it is) may be seen at length in Godacrqft, vol. i. p. 221. The Rutherfords became more lawless after having been deprived of the countenance of the court, for slaying the nephew of Forman, archbishop of St Andrews, who had attempted to carry ofif the heiress of Rutherford. This lady was afterwards married to James Stuart of Tra- quair, son to James, earl of Buchan, according to a papal bull, dated 9th November, 1504. By this lady a great estate in Tiviotdale fell to the family of Traquair, which was sold by James, earl of Traquair, lord -high-treasurer of Scotland, in consequence of the pecuniary difficulties to which he was reduced, by his loyal exertions in favour of Charles I. — Scolt. t An ancient family of Rutherfords ; I believe, indeed, the most ancient now extant. The family is represented by John Rutherford, Esq. of Edgerstane. His seat is about three miles distant from the field of battle.— Sco«. Thirs all the specials I of speake. By others that I could not ken. Who did invent that day of play. We need not fear to find him soon ; For Sir John Forster, I dare well say. Made us this noisome afternoon. Not that 1 speak preceislie out. That he supposed it would be perril ; But pride, and breaking out of feuid, Garr'd Tindaill lads begin the quarrel. mimmoOTt Hilillie, [In the year 1596, William Armstrong of Kin- mont, a noted border trooper, was taken prisoner by the warden of the western marches of England, and lodged in Carlisle castle. This was in defi- ance of a truce which then existed between the wardens of the borders. The lord of Buccleugh, who had the charge of Liddesdale, after in vam demanding that Kinmont Willie should be set at liberty, gallantly took the castle of Carlisle by surprise one night with a body of 200 men, and effected the prisoner's delivery. The consequences of the enterprize are thus mentioned by Spottis- wood :— " This fell out the 13th of April, 1596. The queen of England, having notice sent her of what was done, stormed not a little. One of her chief castles surprised, a prisoner taken forth of the hands of the warden, and carried away, so far within England, she esteemed a great affront. The lieger, Mr Bowes, in a frequent convention kept at Edinburgh, the 22d of May, did, as he was charged, in a long oration, aggravate the heinousness of the fact, concluding that peace could not longer continue betwixt the two realms, unless Bacleuch were delivered in England, to be punished at the queen's pleasure. Bacleuch com- pearing, and charged with the fact, made answer — ' That he went not into England with intention to assault any of the queen's houses, or to do \ The parish of Kirktoun belonged, I believe, about this time, to a branch of the Cavers family ; but Kirkton of Stewartfield is mentioned in the list of border clans in 1597. Newton. — This is probably Grinyslaw of Little Newton, mentioned in the said roll of border clans. — Scott. BORDER BALLADS. 3^1 wrong to any of her subjects, but only to relieve ^(ancestor of the duke of Roxburgh,) appear to a subject of Scotland unlawfully taken, and more j have struggled hard against complying with this regulation; so much so, that it required all James's authority to bring to order these two powerful chiefs. When at length they appeared, for the purpose of delivering themselves up to be warded at Berwick, an incident took place, which nearly occasioned a revival of the deadly feud which formerly subsisted between the Scots and the Kers. Buccleuch had chosen, for his guardian, during his residence in England, Sir William Selby, master of the ordnance at Berwick, and accordingly gave himself into his hands. Sip Robert Ker was about to do the same, when a pistol was discharged by one of his retinue, and the cry of treason was raised. Had not the earl of Home been present, with a party of Jlerse men, to preserve order, a dreadful tumult would pro- bably have ensued. As it was, the English com- missioners returned in dismay to Berwick, much disposed to wreak their displeasure on Buccleuch j and he, on his side, mortally offended with Cess- ford, by whose means, as he conceived, he had been placed in circumstances of so much danger. Sir Robert Ker, however, appeased all parties, by delivering himself up to ward in England ; on which occasion, he magnanimously chose for his guardian Sir Robert Carey, deputy- warden of the east marches, notwithstanding various causes of animosity which existed betwixt them. The hospitality of Carey equalled the generous confi- dence of Cessford, and a firm friendship was the consequence. Buccleuch appears to have re- mained in England from October, 1597, till Feb- ruary, 1598. According to ancient family tradi- tion, Buccleuch was presented to Elizabeth, who, with her usual rough and peremptory address, demanded of him, ' how he dared to undertake an enterprize so desperate and presumptuous.' ' What is it,' answered the undaunted chieftain, * What is it that a man dares not do?' Eliza- beth, struck with the reply, turned to a lord in waiting ; ' With ten thousand such men,' said she, 'our brother of Scotland might shake the ; firmest throne of Europe.' Luckily, perhaps, for i the murtheress of queen Mary, James's talents 1 did not lie that way. " The articles, settled by the commissioners at j Berwick, were highly favourable to the peace of the border. By article sixth, all wardens and keepers are discharged from seeking reparation of injuries, in the ancient hostile mode of riding, op causing to ride, in warlike manner against the unlawfully detained ; that, in the time of a gen- eral assurance, in a day of truce, he was taken prisoner against all order, neither did he attempt his relief till redress was refused ; and that he had carried the business in such a moderate manner, i as no hostility was ccmmitted, nor the least j wrong offered to any within the castle ; yet was he content, according to the ancient treaties ob- served betwixt the two realms, when as mutual injuries were alleged, to be tried by the commis- sioners that it should please their majesties to appoint, and submit himself to that which they should decern.' — The convention, esteeming the answer reasonable, did acquaint the ambassador therewith, and offered to send commissioners to the borders, with all diligence, to treat with such as the queen should be pleased to appoint for her part." "This aSair of Kinraont Willie," says Sir Walter Scott, " was not the only occasion upon which the undaunted keeper of Liddesdale gave offence to the haughty Elizabeth. For, even be- fore this business was settled, certain of the English borderers having invaded Liddesdale, and wasted the country, the laird of Buccleuch retaliated the injury by a raid into England, in which he not only brought off much spoil, but apprehended thirty-six of the Tynedale thieves, all of whom he put to death. How highly the queen of England's resentment blazed on this occasion, may be judged from the preface to her letter to Bowes, then her ambassador in Scotland. ' I wonder how base-minded that king thinks me, that, with patience, I can digest this dis- honourable Let him know, therefore, that I will have satisfaction, or else . • These broken words of ire are inserted betwixt the subscription and the address of the letter. Indeed, so deadly was the resentment of the English, on account of the affronts put upon them by this formidable chief- tain, that there seems at one time to have been a plan formed (not, as was alleged, without Elizabeth's privity,) to assassinate Buccleuch. The matter was at length arranged by the com- missioners of both nations in Berwick, by whom it was agreed that delinquents should be delivered up on both sides, and that the chiefs themselves should enter into ward in the opposite countries till these were given up, and pledges granted for the future maintenance of the quiet of the bor- ders. BuccIeuch,andSirRobert Ker of Cessford ^opposite march; and that under the highest 372 SCOTTISH BALLADS. penalty, unless authorized by a warrant under ^ Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper, the hand of their sovereign . The mention of the In Branksome Ha', where that he lay, word keeper, alludes obviously to the above-men- That Lord Scroop has ta'en the Kinmont tioned reprisals, made by Buccleuch, in the Willie, capacity of lieeper of Liddesdale. Between the hours of night and day. " This ballad is preserved, by tradition, on the west borders, but much mangled by reciters : so He haa ta'en the table wi' his hand. that some conjectural emendations have been He garr'd the red wine spring on hie- absolutely necessary to render it intelligible. In " Now Christ's curse on my head," he said. particular, the Eden has been substituted for the "But avenged of Lord Scroop I'll be-! Eike, the latter name being inconsistent with geography."] " is my basnet a widow's curch ? Or my lance a wand of the willow tree ? HAVB ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde ? Or my arm a ladye's lilye hand. have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroop ? That an English lord should lightly me ! How they ha' ta'en bauld Kinmont Willie, On Hairibee to hang him up ?* " And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, Against the truce of border tide ? Had "Willie had but twenty men. And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch But twenty men as stout as he. Is Keeper here on the Scottish side ? Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en. Wi' eight score in his cumpanie. "And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, They band his legs beneath the steed. Withouten either dread or fear? They tied his hands behind his back ; And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch They guarded him, fivesome on each side. Can back a steed, or shake a spear ? And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.f " were there war between the lands. They led him thro' the Liddel-rack, As well I wot that there is none. And also thro' the Carlisle sands ; I would slight Carlisle castell high. They brought him to Carlisle casteU, Tho' it were builded of marble stone. To be at my Lord Scroop's commands. "I would set that castell in a low. " My hands are tied, but my tongue is free. And sloken it with English blood ! And whae will dare this deed avow ? There's nevir a man in Cumberland, Or answer by the border law ? Should ken where Carlisle castell stood. Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch I" " But since nae war's between the lands. " Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver ! And there is peace, and peace should be ; There's never a Scot shall set ye free : I'll neither harm English lad or lass. Before ye cross my castle yate. And yet the Kinmont freed shall be '.'• I trow ye shall take farewell o' me." He haa call'd him forty marchmen bauld. "Fear na ye that, my lord," quo' WUlie : I trow they were of his ain name. " By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroop," he Except Sir Gilbert Elliot caU'd, said. The laird of Stobs, 1 mean the same. " I never yet lodged in a hostelrie. But I pwd my lawing before I gaed." He has call'd him forty marchmen bauld. Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch ; With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, % • Hairibee is the place of execution at Carlisle. And gleuves of green, and feathers blue. —Seolt. t The Liddel rack is a ford on the Liddel.— Seott. \ s \ Splent on jpauW— Armour on shoulder. BORDER BALLADS. 3^3 There were five and five before them a", 6 ( " Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads. Wi' hunting horns and bugles bright ; Wi- a' your ladders, lang and hie ?" And fire and five came wi' Buccleuch, " We gang to herry a corbie's nest. Like warden's men, arrayed for fight : That wons not far frae Woodhouselee." A.nd five and five, like a mason gang. " Where be ye gaun, ye broken men ?" That carried the ladders lang and hie ; Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me 1' And five and five, like broken men ; Now Dickie of Drjhope led that band. And so they reached the Woodhouselee. * And the never a word o' lear had he. And as we cross'd the Bateable Land, " Why trespass ye on the English side ? When to the English side we held. Bow-footed outlaws, stand !" quo' he; The first o' men that we met wi'. The never a word had Dickie to say. Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde ? Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodle. " Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen ?" Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me !" Then on we held for Carlisle toun. " We go to hunt an English stag, And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we Has trespassed on the Soots countrie." cross'd ; The water was great and meikle of spait. " Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men ?" But the nevir a horse nor man we lost. Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell me true !" " We go to catch a rank reiver. And when we reached the Staneshaw-bank, Has broken faith wi' the Bauld Buccleuch." The wind was rising loud and hie ; And there the laird garr'd leave our steeds. ♦ Woodhouselee ; a house on the border, be- For fear that they should stamp and nie. longing to Buccleuch. The SalkelUes, or Sakeldes, were a powerful And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, family in Cumberland, possessing, among other The wind began full loud to blaw ; manors, that of Corby, before it came into the But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet. possession of the Howards, in the beginning of When we came beneath the castle wa'. the seventeenth century. A strange stratagem was practised by an outlaw, called Jock Grame We crept on knees, and held our breath. of the Peartree, upon Mr Salkelde, sheriff of Till we placed the ladders against the wa' ; Cumberland ; who is probably the person alluded And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell to in the ballad, as the fact is stated to have hap- To mount the first, before us a'. pened late in Elizabeth's time. The brother of this free-booter was lying in Carlisle jail for exe- He has ta'en the watchman by the throat. cution, when Jock of the Peartree came riding He flung him down upon the lead— past the gate of Corby castle. A child of the " Had there not been peace between our land. sheriff was playing before the door, to whom the Upon the other side thou hadst gaed 1— outlaw gave an apple, saying, " Master, will you ride?" The boy willingly consenting, Grame " Now sound out, trumpets !" quo" Buccleuch ; took him up before him, carried him into Scot- " Let's waken Lord Scroop, right merrihe 1" land, and would never part with him, till he had Then loud the warden's trumpet blew— his brother safe from the gallows. There is no " O wha dare meddle wi' me ?" historical ground for supposing, either that Sal- kelde, or any one else, lost his life in the raid of Then speedilie to work we gaed. Carlisle. And raised the slogan ane and a'. In the Ust of Border clans, 1597, Will of Kin- And cut a hole thro' a sheet of lead. month, with Kyrstie Armestrange, and John And so we wan to the castle ha'. fekynbank, are mentioned as leaders of a band of Armstrongs called Sandies Barnes, inhabiting the Debateable Land— Scott. j^ • The name of a border tune. 374 SCOTTISH BALLADS. They thought King James and a' his men Had won the bouse wi' bow and spear ; It was but twenty Scots and ten. That put a thousand in sic a stear ! Wi' coulters, and wi' fore-hammers, We garr'd the bars bang merrilie. Until we cam' to the inner prison. Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie. And when we cam' to the lower prison. Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie— " O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, Upon the morn that thou's to die ?" "01 sleep saft, and I wake aft ; It's lang since sleeping was fleyed frae me ! Gle my service back to my wife and bairns. And a' gude fellows that spier for me." Then Red Rowan has hente him up. The starkest man in Teviotdale — " Abide, abide now. Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroop I take farewell. " Farewell, farewf 11, my gude Lord Scroope ! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell '." he cried- " I'll pay you for my lodging maill. When first we meet on the border side." Then shoulder high, with shnut and cry. We bore him down the ladder lang ; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang ! " O mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, " I have ridden horse baith wild and wood ; But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode. " And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, " I've pricked a horse out oure the furs ; But since the day I backed a steed, I never wore sic cumbrous spurs !" We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, When a' the Carlisle bells were rung. And a thousand men, in horse and foot. Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along. Buccleuch has turned to Eden water. Even where it flowed frae bank to brim. And he has plunged in wi' a' his band. And safely swam them thro' the stream. ^ He turned him on the other side. And at Lord Scroope his glove flung h& " If ye like na my visit in merry England. In &ir Scotland come visit me I" All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, He stood as still as rock of stane ; He scarcely dared to trew his eyes. When thro' the water they had gane. " He is either himsell a devil {me hell. Or else his mother a witch maun be ; I wad na have ridden that wan water. For a' the gowd in Christentie.'' )kk i' t|e ear to have been composed I y the same author. The actors seem to have flourished while Thomas lord Scroope, of Bolton, was warden of the west marches of England, and governor of Carlisle castle ; which offices he acquired upon the death of his father, about 1590, and retained tiU the union of the crowns. Dick of the Cow, from the privileged insolence which he assumes, seems to have been lord Scroope's jester. In the prelimi- nary dissertation, the reader will find the border custom of assuming nommet de guerre particu- larly noticed. It is exemplified in the following ballad, where one Armstrong is called the Laird'8 Jock (>. e. the laird's son Jock), another Fair Johnie, a third Billie Willie (brother WUlie), &c. The Laird's Jock, son to the laird of Mangerton, appears, as one of the men of name in Liddesdale, In the list of border clans, 1597. Dick of the Cow is erroneously supposed to have been the same with one Ricardus Coldall, de Plumpton, a knight and celebrated warrior, who died in 1462, as ap- pears from his epitaph in the church of Penrith. — Nicholson's History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, vol. ii. p. 408. This ballad is very 1 BORDER BALLADS. 375 popular 5n Liddesdale ; and the reciter always ^ V Then on the mom when the day was light, adds, at the conclusion, that poor Dickie's cau- The shouts and cries rase loud and hie : tious removal to Burgh under Stanemore did not " haud thy tongue, my wife," he says, save him from the clutches of the Armstrongs ; " And 0' thy crying let me be 1 for that, having fallen into their power several years after this exploit, he was put to an inhuman " 0, had thy tongue, my wife," he says. death. The ballad was well known in England " And 0' thy crying let me be ; so early as 1596. An allusion to it likewise occurs And ay where thou hast lost ae cow. in Parrot's Laquei Eidiculosi, or Springes for In gude suith I shall bring thee three." Woodcocks; London. 1613. Now Dickie's gane to the gude lord Scroope, Owenus wondreth since he came to Wales, And I wat a dreirie fule was he ; What the description of this isle should be. That nere had seen but mountains, hills, and dales. Yet would he boast, and stand on pedigree. " Now haud thy tongue, my fule," he says, " For I may not stand to jest wi' thee." From Rice ap Richard, sprang from Dick a Cow, Be cod, was right gud gentleman, look ye now ! "Shame fa' your jesting, my lord I" quo- Border Minstreliy.'^ Dickie, " For nae sic jesting grees wi' me ; Kow Liddesdale has layen lang in. Liddesdale's been in my house last night. There is na ryding there at a' ; And they ha'e awa' my three kye frae me. They downa stir out 0' the sta'. " But I may nae langer in Cumberland dwell. To be your puir fule and your leal. Fair Johnie Armstrang to Willie did say- Unless you gi'e me leave, my lord " Billy, a riding we will gae ; To gae to Liddesdale and steal." England and us have been lang at feid ; AbUns we'U light on some boo tie." " I gi'e thee leave, my fule i" he says ; " Thou speakest against my honour and me. Then they are come on to Hutton Ha' ; Unless thou gi'e me thy trowth and thy hand. They rade that proper place about ; Thou'lt steal frae nane but whae sta' frae But the laird he was the wiser man. thee." For he had left nae gear without. " There is my trowth, and my right hand 1 For he had left nae gear to steal. My head shall hang on Hairibee ; Except sax sheep upon a lee : I'll ne'er cross Carlisle sands again. Quo* Johnie—" I'd rather in England die. If I steal frae a man but whae sta' frae me." Ere thir sax sheep gae to Liddesdale wi' me. Dickie's ta'en leave o' lord and master ; " But how ca' they the man we last met. I wat a merry fule was he ! Billie, as we cam owre the know ?" He's bought a bridle and a pair 0' new spurs. "That same he is an innocent fule. And packed them up in his breek thie. And men they call him Dick 0' the Cow." Then Dickie's come on to Pudding-burn " That fule has three as good kye o' his ain. house, * As there are in a' Cumberland, billie," quo' E'en as fast as he might drie ; he: Then Dickie's come on to Pudding-bum, "Betide me life, betide me death. Where there were thirty Arrastrangs and These kye shall go to Liddesdale wi' me." Then they have come on to the pure fule's house. three. And they ha'e broken his wa's sae wide ; * This was a house of strength, held by the They have loosed out Dick 0' the Cow's three A rmstrongs. The ruin s at presen t form a sheep- kye. fold, on the farm of Reidsmoss, belonging to the And ta'en three co'erlets frae his wife's bed. ^ } Duke of Buccleuch.— Scw«. 1 376 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " what! this come o' me now ?" quo' Dickie ; ^ He has tied them a' wi' St Mary's knot, f " What mickle wae is this ?" quo' he ; A' these horses but barely three ; " For here is but ae innocent fule. 1 He's loupen on ane, ta'en another in hand. And there are thirty Armstrangs and three !" 1 And away as fast as he can hie. Yet he has come up to the fair ha' board. 1 But on the morn, when the day grew light. Sae weil he's become his courtesie ; The shouts and cries raise loud and hie— " Weil may ye be, my gude Laird's Jock ! "Ah! whae has done this?" quo" the gude But the de'U bless a' your cumpanie. 1 Laird's Jock, 1 " Tell me the truth and the verity "• " I'm come to 'plain o' your man, feir Johnie Armstrang, "Whae has done this deed?" quo' the gude And syne o' his billie Willie," quo' he ! j Laird's Jock ; " How they've been in my house last night. ' " See that to me ye dinna lie !" And they ha'e ta'en my three kye firae me." " Dickie has been in the stable last night. And has ta'en my brother's horse and mine " Ha '" quo' fair Johnie Armstrang, " we will frae me." him hang." "Na," quo' WUlie, "we'll him slae." " Ye wad ne'er be tald," quo' the gude Laird's Then up and spak' another young Armstrang, Have ye not found my tales fu' leil ? [Jock ; " We'll gae him his batts, ■ and let him gae." Ye ne'er wad out o' England bide. Till crooked, and blind, and a' would steal." But up and spak' the gude Laird's Jock, The best falla in a' the cumpanie : " But lend me thy bay," fair Johnie can say ; " Sit down thy ways a litUe while, Dickie, [ye.» " There's nae horse loose in the stable save And a piece o' thy ain cow's hough I'll gi'e he; And I'U either fetch Dick o' the Cow again, But Dickie's heart it grew sae grit. Or the day is come that he shall die." That the ne'er a bit o't he dought to eat- Then he was aware of an auld peat-house. " To lend thee my bay I" the Laird's JocK can Where a' the night he thought for to sleep. say, " He's baith worth gowd and gude monie ; Then Dickie was aware of an auld peat-house. Dick 0' the Cow has awa' twa horse ; Where a' the night he thought for to lye— I wish na thou may make him three." And a' the prayers the pure fule prayed Were, " X wish I had amends for my gude He has ta'en the laird's jack on his back. three kye !" A twa-handed sword to hang by his thie ; He has ta'en a steil cap on his head. It was then the use of Pudding-burn house. And gallopped on to follow Dickie. And the house of Mangerton, all hail. Them that cam' na at the first ca'. Dickie was na a mile frae aff the town. Gat nae mair meat till the neist meal. The lads, that hungry and weary were. I wat a mile but barely three. Abune the door-head they threw the key r t Hamstrin^g a horse is termed, in the bor- Dickie he took gude notice o' that. der dialect, tying him with St M.ary's knot. Says—" There wUl be a bootie for me." Dickie used this cruel expedient to prevent a pursuit. It appears from the narration, that Then Dickie has in to the stable gane. the horses, left unhurt, belonged to fair Johnie Where there stood thirty horses and three ; Armstrang, his brother WUlie, and the Laird'e He has tied them a wi' St Mary's knot. Jock, of which Dickie carried off two, and left A' these horses but barely three. that of the Laird's Jock, probably out of grati- tude for the protection he had afforded him on *■ Gi'«Ai»iAi«6a««— Dismisshimwithabeating. jhis arrival.— Seo«. _ BORDER BALLADS. 3^7 When he was o'erta'en by fair Johnie Arm-' i^ When Johnie wakened out 0' his dream. Strang, I wat a dreirie man was he : Hand for hand, on Cannobie lee.* " And is thou gane ? Now, Dickie, than The shame and dule is left wi' me. "Abide, abide, thou traitour thief! The day is come that thou maun die." " And is thou gane ? Now, Dickie, than Then Dickie look't owre his left shoulder. The de'il gae in thy cumpanie ! Said—" Johnie, hast thou nae mae in cum- For if I should live these hundred years. panie ? 1 ne'er shall fight wi' a fule after thee."— " There is a preacher in our chapell. Then Dickie's come hame to the gude Lord And a' the live lang day teaches he : Bcroope, When (iay is gane and night is come. E'en as fast as he might hie ; There's ne'er ae word 1 mark but three. " Now, Dickie, I'll neither eat nor drink, TUl hie hanged thou shalt be." " The first and second is— Faith and Conscience ; The third— Ne'er let a traitour free : "The shame speed the liars, my lord!" quo' But, Johnie, what faith and conscience was Dickie; thine, This was na the promise ye made to me J When thou took awa* my three kye frae me ? For I'd ne'er gane to Liddesdale to steal. Had 1 not got my leave frae thee." " And when thou had ta'en awa' my three kye. Thou thought in thy heart thou wast not "But what garr'd thee steal the Laird's Jock's weil sped. horse? Till thou sent thy billie Willie ower the know. And, limmer, what garr'd ye steal him ?" To tak' ttarie coverlets off my wife's bed !" quo' he ; For lang thou mightst in Cumberland dwelt. Then Johnie let a speir fa' laigh by his thie. Ere the Laird's Jock had stown frae thee."t Thought weil to ha'e slain the innocent, I trow; But the powers above were mair than he. t The commendation of the Laird's Jock's hon- For he ran but the pure fule's jerkin through. esty seems but indifferently founded ; for, in July 1586, a bUl was fouled against him, Dick of Dry- Together they ran, or ever they blan ; up, and others, by the deputy of Bewcastle, at a This was Dickie the fule and he ! warden-meeting, for 400 head of cattle taken in Dickie could na win at him wi' the blade 0' the open forray from the Drysike in Bewcastle : and sword. in September 1587, another complaint appears at But feU'd him wi' the plummet under the e'e. the instance of one Andrew Rutledge of the Nook, against the Laird's Jock, and his accomplices. Thus Dickie has fell'd fair Johnie Armstrang, for 50 kine and oxen, besides furniture, to the The prettiest man in the south country— amount of 100 merks sterling. See Bell's MSS., " Gramercy !" then can Dickie say. as quoted in the History of Cumberland and " I had but ttva horse, thou hast made me Westmoreland. In Sir Richard Maitland's poem thrie !" against the thieves of Liddesdale, ho thus com- memorates the Lau^i's Jock: He's ta'en the steil jack aff Johnie's back. The twa-handed sword that hang low by his They spuUye puir men of thair paki«, They leif them nocht ou bed nor bakis; thie; Baith hen and cok. He's ta'en the steil cap aff his head— With rea and rok, a'he Lairdis Jock " Johnie, I'll tell my master I met wi' thee." All with him takis. Those, who plundered Dick, had been bred up • A rising-ground on Cannobie, on the borders under an expert teacher. of Liddesdale.— Sco«. ^ Tradition reports, that the Laird's Jock sur- '__ 373 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Indeed I wat ye lied, my lord ! And e'en sae loud as I hear ye lie ! I wan the horse frae fair JoVinie Armstrang, Hand to hand, on Cannobie lee. " There is the jack was on his back ; This twa-handed sword hang laigh by his thie. And there's the steil cap was on his head ; I brought a' these tokens to let thee see." *' If that be true thou to me tells, (And I think thou dares na tell a lie,) I'll gi'e thee fifteen punds for the horse, Weil tald on thy cloak lap shall be. " I'll gi'e thee ane o' my best milk kye. To maintain thy wife and children thrie ; And that may be as gude, I think. As ony twa o' thine wad be." "The shame speed the liars, my lord!" quo' Dickie ; " Trow ye aye to make a fule o' me ? I'll either ha'e twenty punds for the gude horse. Or he's gae to Mortan fair wi' me." He's gl'en him twenty punds for the gude horse, A' in goud and gude monie ; He's gi'en him ane o' his best milk kye. To mainbiin his wife and children thrie. vived to extreme old age, when he died in the following extraordinary manner. A challenge had been given by an Englishman, named For- ster, to any Sci>ttish borderer, to fight him at a place called Kershope-foot, exactly upon the borders. The Laird's Jock's only son accepted the defiance, and was armed by his father with his own two-handed sword. The rid champion himself, though bed ridden, insisted upon being present at the battle. He was borne to the place appointed, wrapped, it is said, in blankets, and placed upon a very high stone to witness the conflict. In the duel his son fell, treacherously •lain, as the Scotch tradition affirms. The old man gave a loud yell of terror and despair when he saw his son slain and his noble weapon won by an Englishman, and died as they bore him home. A venerable border poet (though of these later days) has composed a poem on this roman- tic incident. The stone on which the Laird's Jock sat to behold the duel, was in existence till wantonly destroyed a year or two since. It was always called " The Laird's Jock's Stone."— Sco/<. ^ Then Dickie's come down thro' Carlisle toun, I E'en as fast as he could drie ; The first o' men that he met wi'. Was my lord's brother, bailiff Glozenburrie. " Weil be ye met, my gude Ralph Seroope !" " Welcome, my brother's fule !" quo' he : " Where didst thou get feir Johnie Armstrang's horse ?" " Where did I get him ? but steal him, quo' he. "But wilt thou sell me the bonnie horse ? And, billie, wilt thou sell him to me ?" quo' he: [lap: " Ay ; if thou'lt tell me the monie on my cloak For there's never ae penny I'll trust thee." "I'll gi'e thee ten punds for the gude horse, Weil tald on thy cloak lap they shall be ; And I'll gi'e thee ane o' the best milk kye, To maintain thy wife and children thrie." " The shame speid the liars, my lord !" quo' Trow ye aye to mak' a fule o' me ! [Dickie ; I'll either ha'e twenty punds for the gude horse. Or he's gae to Mortan fair wi' me." He's gi'en him twenty punds for the gude horse, Baith in goud and gude monie ; He's gi'en him ane o' his best milk kye. To maintain his wife and children thrie. Then Dickie lap a loup fu' hie. And I wat a loud laugh laughed he— "I wish the neck o' the third horse were broken. If ony of the twa were better than he !" Then Dickie's come hame to his wife again ; Judge ye how the poor fule had sped ! He has gi'en her twa score English punds. For the thrie auld coverlets ta'en aff her bed. " And tak' thee these twa as gude kye, I trow, as a' thy thrie might be ; And yet here is a white-footed nagie, I trow he'll carry baith thee and me. " But I may nae langer in Cumberland bide ; The Armstrongs they would hang me hie." So Dickie's ta'en leave at lord and master. And at Burgh under Stanmuir there dwell* he. BOEDER BALLADS. 379 [" Thb subject of this ballad," says Sir Walter Scott," being a common event in those trouble- some and disorderly times, became a favourite theme of the ballad-makers. Jock o' the Side seems to have been nephew to the laird of Man- gertoun, cousin to the Laird's Jock, one of his deliverers, and probably brother to Chrystie of the Syde, mentioned in the list of border clans, 1597. Like the Laird's Jock, he also is com- memorated by Sir Richard Maitland.— See the Introduction. He is weilkend, .Tohne of the Syde, A greater thief did never ryde ; He never tyns, For to brek byri", Our muir and myris Ouir gude ane guide. Jock o* the Side appears to have assisted the earl of Westmoreland in his escape after his un- fortunate insurrection with the earl of Northum- berland, in the twelfth year of Elizabeth. " The two rebellious rebels went into Liddesdale in Scotland, yesternight, where Martin EUwood (Elliot) and others, that have given pledges to the regent of Scotland, did raise their forces against them ; being conducted by black Ormes- ton, an outlaw of Scotland, that was a principal murtherer of the king of Scots, where the fight was offered, and both parties alighted from their horses; and, in the end. Ell wood said to Ormes- ton, he would be sorry to enter deadly feud with him by bloodshed ; but he would charge him and the rest before the regent for keeping of the rebels ; and if he did not put them out of the country, the next day, he would doe his worst again them; whereupon, the two earls were driven to leave Liddesdale, and to fly to one of the Armstrongs, a Scot upon the batable (de- bateable land) on the borders between Liddes- dale and England. The same day the Liddesdale men stole the horses of the countess of North- umberland, and of her two women, and ten others of their company; so as, th« earls being gone, the lady of Northumberland was left there on foot, at John of the Side's house, a cottage not to be compared to many a dog-kennel in England. At their departing from her, they went not above fifty horse, and the earl of West- moreland, to be the more unknown, changed his coat of plate and sword with John of the Side, and departed like a Scottish borderer." — Adver- tisements from Hexham, 22d December, 1569, in the Cabala, p. 160. The land-seijeant, mentioned in this ballad, and also that of Hobbie Noble, was an officer under the warden, to whom was committed the apprehending of delinquents, and the care of the public peace."] Now Liddesdale has ridden a raid, But I wat they had better ha'e staid at hame ; For Michael o' Winfleld he is dead. And Jock o' the Side is prisoner ta'en. For Mangerton house Lady Downie has gane. Her coats she has kilted up to her knee ; And down the water wi' speed she rins. While tears in spaits fa' fast frae her e'e. Then up and spoke our gude auld lord — " What news, what news, sister Downie, to me ?" " Bad news, bad news, my Lord Mangerton ; Michael is killed, and they ha'e ta'en my son Johnie." " Ne'er fear, sister Downie," quo' Mangerton ; " I have yokes of ousen, eighty and three ; My barns, my byres, and my faulds a' well fiU'd, I'll part wi' them a' ere Johnie shall die, " Three men I'll send to set him free, A' hameist wi' the best o' steil ; The English louns may hear, and drie The weight o' their braid-swords to feel. " The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa, O Hobbie Noble, thou ane maun be 1 Thy coat is blue, thou hast been true, Since England banish'd thee to me." Now Hobbie was an English man, I In Bewcastle dale was bred and born ; But his misdeeds they ' They banish'd him r ) sae great, to return. Lord Mangerton them orders gave, " Your horses the wrang way maun b« shod; Like gentlemen ye mauna seim, But look hke corn-caugers ga'en the road. — 380 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Your amiour gude ye mauna shaw, ^ " Full fifteen Btane o' Spanish iron , Nor yet appear like men o' weir ; They ha'e laid a' right sair on me ; As country lads be a' aixay'd. Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound Wi' branks and breeham on each mare." Into this dungeon dark and dreirie." " Fear ye na' that," quo' the Laird's Jock And Hobbie has mounted his grey sae fine ; "A faint heart ne'er wan a fair ladie ; Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse 1 Work thou within, we'll work without. behind. i And I'll be sworn we'll set thee free." And on they rode for the water of Tyne. 1 The first strong door that they cam' at. At the Cholerford they all light down, [moon. They loosed it without a key ; And there, wi' the help of the light o' the The next chain'd door that they cam' at. A tree they cut, wi' fifteen nogs on each side. They garr'd it a' to flinders flee. To climb up the wa' of Newcastle toun. The prisoner now upon his back, But when they came to Newcastle toun. The Laird's Jock has gotten up fu' hie; And were alighted at the wa'. And down the stairs, him, aims and a' They fand their tree three ells ower laigh, Wi' nae sma' speid and joy, brings he. They fand their stick baith short and sma'. " Now, Jock, my man," quo' Hobbie Noble, Then up and spak' the Laird's ain Jock ; " Some o' his weight ye may lay on me. " There's naething for't; the gates we maun "I wat well no!" quo' the Laird's ain Jock, But when they cam' the gate untill, [furee." "1 count him lighter than a flee." A proud porter withstood baith men and horse. Sae out at the gates they a' are gane. The prisoner's set on horseback hie ; His neck in twa the Armstrangs wrang ; And now wi' speid they've ta'en the gate. Wi' fute or hand he ne'er play'd pa! While Uk ane jokes fu' wantonlie : His life and his keys at anes they hae ta'en. And cast the body ahind the wa". " Jock • sae winsomely's ye ride, Wi' baith your feet upon ae side ; Now sune they reach Newcastle jail. Sae weel ye're harniest, and sae trig. In troth ye sit like ony bride!" And to the prisoner thus they call ; " Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side, Or art thou weary of thy thrall :■"' The right, tho' wat, they did na mind. But hied them on fu' merrille, Jock answers thus, wi' dulefu' tone ; " Aft, aft, I wake — 1 seldom sleep : But whae's this kens my name sae well, Until they cam' to Cholerford brae,* Where the water ran like mountains hie. And thus to mese * my waes does seik ?" But when they cam' to Cholerford, Then out and spak' the gude Lairds Jock, There they met with an auld man ; " Now fear ye na, my billie," quo' he; Says—" Honest man, will the water ride ? "For here are the Laurd's Jock, the Laird's Tell us in haste, if that ye can." Wat, And Hobbie Noble, come to set thee free." "I wat weel no," quo' the gude auld man ; " 1 ha'e lived here thretty years and thrie. "Now haud thy tongue, my gude Laird's Jock, And 1 ne'er yet saw the Tyne sae big, For ever, alas ! this canna be ; Nor running anes sae like a sea." For if a' Liddesdale were here the night. The morn's the day that I maun die. * Cholerford brae— A ford upon the Tyne, above <" Mese— Soothe. a Hexham, BOEDER BALLADS. 381 Then out and spoke the Laird's saft Wat, ( The greatest coward in the cumpanie ; " Now halt, now halt ! we need na try't ; The day is come we a' maun die '" 'Puir faint-hearted thief!" cried the Laird's aln Jock, " There'l nae man die but hira that's fie ;* I'll guide ye a' right safely thro' ; Lift ye the pris'ner on ahint me." Wi' that the water they ha'e ta'en. By ane's and twa's they a' swam thro' ; " Here are we a' safe," quo' the Laird's Jock, " And, puir faint Wat, what think ye now ?" They scarce the other brae had won. When twenty men they saw pursue ; Frae Newcastle toun they had been sent, A' English lads baith stout and true. But when the land-serjeant the water saw, " It winna ride, my lads," says he ; Then cried aloud— "The prisoner take. But leave the fetters, I pray, to me." " I wat well no," quo' the Laird's Jock ; " I'll keep them a' ; shoon to my mare they'll be. My gude bay mare— for I am sure, She has bought them a' right dear frae thee." Sae now they are on to Liddesdale, E'en as fast as they could them hie ; The prisoner is brought to's ain flre-side. And there o's aims they mak' him free. " Now, Jock, my billie," quo' a' the three, " The day is com'd thou was to die ; But thou's as well at thy ain ingle side. Now sitting, I think, 'twixt thee and me." [" Wb have seen," says Sir Walter," the hero of this ballad act a distinguished part in the deliverance of Jock o' the Side, and are now to learn the ungrateful return which the Arm- • i^"!*— Predestined. strongs made him for his faithful services, f Halbert, or Hobbie Noble, appears to have bten one of those numerous English outlaws, who, being forced to fly their own country, had estab- lished themselves on the Scottish borders. As Hobbie continued his depredations upon the English, they bribed some of his hosts, the Arm- strongs, to decoy him into England, under pre- tence of a predatory expedition. He was there delivered, by his treacherous companions, into the hands of the officers of justice, by whom he was conducted to Carlisle, and executed next morning. The laird of Mangerton, with whoni Hobbie was in high favour, is said to have taken a severe revenge upon the traitors who betrayed him. The principal contriver of the scheme, called here Sim o' the Maynes, fled into England from the resentment of his chief; but experi- enced there the common fate of a traitor, being himself executed at Carlisle, about two months after Hobble's death. Such is, at least, the tra- dition of Liddesdale. Sim o' the Maynes appears among the Armstrongs of Whitauch, in Liddes- dale, in the list of clans so often alluded to. Kershope-burn, where Hobbie met his trea- t The original editor of the Beliques of Ancient Poetry has noticed the perfidy of this clan in another instance ; the delivery of the banished earl of North- umberland into the hands of the Scottish regent, by Hector of Harelaw, an Armttrong, with whom he had taken refuse.— Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. i. p. 283.— This Hector of Harelaw seems to have been an Englishman, or under Enghsh assurance; for he is one of those against whom bills were exhibited by the Scottish commissioners, to the lord-bishop of Carlisle. —Introduction to the History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, p. 81. In tlie Ust of borderers, 1597, Hector of Harelaw, with the Griefs and Cuts of Hare- law, also figures as an inhabitant of the Uebateable Land. It would appear, ftom a spirited invective lu the Maitland MS. against the regent, and those who delivered up the unfortunate earl to Elizabeth, that Hector had been guilty of this treachery, to redeem the pledge which had been exacted from him for his peaceable demeanour. The poet says, tliat the perfidy of Morton and Lochlevin was worse than even that of— — the traitour Eckie of Harelaw, That says he sould him to redeem his pledge ; Your deed is war, as all the world does know— You nothing can but covatice alledge. Pinkerton's Maitland Poems, vol. i. p. 290. Eckie is the contraction of Hector among tho x'hese little memoranda may serve still farther to illustrate the beautiful ballads, upon that subject, published iu the Reliques. 382 SCOTTISH BALLADS. cherous companions, falls into the Liddel, from ^ the Eaglish side, at a place called Turnersholm, J where, according to tradition, tourneys and games of chivalry were often solemnized. The Mains was anciently a border-keep, near Castle- toun, on the north side of the Liddel, but is now totally demolished. Askerton is an old castle, now ruinous, situated in the wilds of Cumberland, about seventeen miles north-east of Carlisle, amidst that moun- tainous and desolate tract of country bordering upon Liddesdale, emphatically termed the Waste i ofBewcastle. Conscouthart Green, and Roderic- ' haugh, and the Foulbogshiel, are the names of ; places in the same wilds, through which the 1 Scottish plunderers generally made their raids upon England ; as appears from the following passage in a letter from "William, lord Dacre, to cardinal Wolsey, 18th July, 1528 ; Appendix to Pinkerton's Scotland, v. 12, No. xix. " Like it | also your grace, seeing the disordour within , Scotlaund, and that all the mysguyded men, j borderers of the same, inhabiting within Eskdale, Ewsdale, Walghopedale, Liddesdale, and a part | of Tividale, foranempt Bewcastelldale, and a j part of the middle marches of this the king's i bordours, entres not this west and middle ! marches, to do any attemptate to the king our said soveraine's subjects : but thaye come thorow Bewcastelldale, and retornes, for the most part, j the same waye agayne." Willeva and Speir Edom are small districts in Bewcastledale, through which also the Hartlie- burn takes its course. Of the castle of Mangertoune, so often men- tioned in these ballads, there are very few ves- tiges. It was situated on the banks of the ! Liddel, below Casteltoun. In the waU of a i neighbouring mill, which has been entirely built ! from the ruins of the tower, there is a remarka- j ble stone, bearing the arms of the lairds of Mangertoun, and a long broad-sword, with the figures 1683 ; probably the date of Luilding, or j repairing, the castle. On each side of the shield \ are the letters S. A. and E. E., standing proba- bly for Simon Armstrong, and Elizabeth Elliot. Such is the only memorial of the laird of Man- gertoun, except those rude ballads, which the editor now offers to the public] Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in ! That Liddesdale may safely say : For in it there was baith meat and drink. And corn unto our geldings gay. And we were a' stout-hearted men. As England she might often say ; But now we may turn our backs and flee. Since brave Noble is sold away. Now Hobble was an English man. And born into Bewcastle dale ; But his misdeeds they were so great. They banish'd him to Liddesdale. At Kershope foot the tryst was set, Kershope of the lilye lee ; And there was traitor Sim o' the Mains, And with him a private companie. Then Hobble has graithed his body fair Baith wi' the iron and wi' the steil ; And he has ta'en out his fringed grey. And there, brave Hobbie, he ra le him weel. Then Hobbie is down the water gane. E'en as fast as he could hie ; [heartSj Tho' a' should ha'e bursten and broken their Frae that riding trjst he wad na be. " Weel be ye met, my feres * five ! And now, what is your will wi' me ?" Then they cried a", wi' ae consent, " Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me. " Wilt thou with us into England ride. And thy safe warrand we will be ? If we get a horse, worth a hundred pound. Upon his back thou sune sail be." •' I dare not by day into England ride ; The land-serjeant has me at feid : And I know not what evil may betide, For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead. " And Anton Shiel he loves not me. For 1 gat twa drifts o' his sheep ; The great earl of Whitfield f loves me not. For nae geer frae me he e'er could keep. " But will ye stay till the day gae down, Untill the night come o'er the grund. And I'll be a guide worth ony twa. That may in Liddesdale be found ? * Feres — Companions. t Earl of Whitfield— The editor does not know who is here meant. It should perhaps be Ealph Whitfield.— Sco«. 1 BORDER BALLADS. 383 " Though the night be black as pick and tar, 4^ Then Hobbie Noble has dreimit a dre:m. I'll guide ye o'er yon hill sae hie In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay ; And bring ye a' in safety back. He dreimit his horse was aneith him shot. If ye'U be true, and follow me." And he himself got hard away. He has guided them o'er moss and muir. The cocks could craw, the day could daw, O'er hill and hope, and mony a down ; And 1 wot sae even fell down the rain ; Until they came to the Foulbogshiel, Had Hobbie na wakened at that time. And there, brave Noble, he lighted down. In the Foulbogshiel he had been ta'en or slain. But word is gane to the land-seijeant. In Askerton where that he lay— " Awake, awake, my feres five ! " The deer, that ye ha'e hunted sae lang. I true here makes a fu' ill day ; Is seen into the "Waste this day." Yet the worst cloak o' this company, I hope, shall cross the Waste this day." " Then Hobbie Noble is that deer ! I wat he carries the style fu' hie ; Now Hobbie thought the gates were clear Aft has he driven our bluidhounds back,* But, ever alas ! it was na sae : And set ourselves at little lee. They were beset by cruel men and keen. That away brave Hobbie might na gae. " Gar warn the bows of Hartlie burn ; See they sharp their arrows on the wa' • " Yet follow me, my feres five. Warn Willeva and Speir Edom, And see ye keip of me guid ray ;, And see the morn they meet me a" And the worst cloak o' this company Even yet may cross the Waste this day." " Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh, And see it be by break o' day ; But the land-seijeant's men came Hobbie And we will on to Conscouthart-green, before. For there, I think, we'll get our prey." The traitor Sim came Hobbie behin'. So had Noble been wight as Wallace was. Away, alas ! he might na win. • " The russet bloodhound, wont, near Annand's Then Hobbie had but a laddie's sword ; stream. To trace the sly thief with avenging foot. Close as an evil conscience still at hand." But he did mair than a laddie's deed ; For that sword had cleared Conscouthart green. Had it not broke o'er Jerswigham's head. Our ancient statutes inform us, that the blood- hound, or sluith -hound (so called from its quality Then they ha'e te'en brave Hobbie Noble, of tracing the slot, or track, of men and animals). Wi's ain bowstring they band him sae ; was early used in the pursuit and detection of But his gentle heart was ne'er sae sair. marauders. Nulliuperturbet, aut impedial canem As when his ain five bound him on the brae. trassantem, aut homines traasantes cum ipso, ad sequendum latrones.—Regia.xn Majestatem, lib. They ha'e ta'en him on for west Carlisle ; 4tus, cap. 32. And, so late as 1616, there was an They asked him, if he kend the way ? order from the king's commissioners of the Tho' much he thought, yet little he said ; northern counties, that a certain number of He knew the gate as weel as they. slough-hounds should be maintained in every district of Cumberland, bordering upon Scotland. They ha'e U'en him up the Ricker-gate ; f They were of great value, being sometimes sold The wives they cast their windows wide j for a hundred crowns.— Exposition of Bleau's And every wife to another can say, Atlas, voce Nithadale. The breed of this saga- " That's the man loosed Jock o' the Bide r tious animal, which could trace the human foot- step with the most unerring accuracy, is now nearly extinct.— Sco«. ^ t A street in Carlisle. 384 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Fy on ye, women : why ca' ye me man ? For it's nae man that I'm used like ; I am but like a forfoughen * hound. Has been fighting in a dirty syke." f They ha'e had him up thro' Carlisle town. And set him by the chimney fire ; They gave brare Noble a loaf to eat. And that was little his desire. They gave him a wheaten loaf to eat. And after that a can of beer ; And they a' cried, with one consent, " Eat, brave Noble, and make gude chair ! " Confess my lord's horse. Hobble," they said, " And to-morrow in Carlisle thou'a iia die." " How can I confess them," Hobbie says, " When I never saw them with my e'e ?" Then Hobbie has sworn a fu' great aith, Bi the day that he was gotten and born. He never had ony thing o' my lord's. That either eat him grass or corn. " Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton ! For I think again I'll ne'er thee see : I wad ha'e betrayed nae lad alive. For a' the gowd o' Cbristentie. " And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale I Baith the hie land and the law; Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains ! For goud and gear he'll sell ye a'. " Tet wad I rather be ea'd Hobbie Noble, In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fau't. Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains, That eats and drinks o' the meal and maut." ^ Bookhope is the name of a valley about five miles in length ; at the termination of which, Rookhope-burn empties itself in to the river Wear: the dale lies in the north part of the parish of Stanhope, in Weardale. Rookhope-head is the top of the vale. The ballad derives some addi- tional interest, from the date of the event being so precisely ascertained to be the 6th December, 1573, when the Tynedale robbers, taking advan- tage of the public confusion occasioned by the rebellion of Westmoreland and Northumberland, and which particularly affected the bishoprick of Durham, determined to make this foray into Weardale. The late eminent antiquary, Joseph Ritson, took down this ballad from the mouth of , the reciter, and printed it as part of an intended collection of border ballads, which was never I published. His nephew, Mr Frank, was so good j as to favour me with the copy from which it is I here given. To the illustration of Mr Ritson, I have been enabled to add those of my friend Mr I Surtees.— Sco/<.] 1 RooKHOPB stands in a pleasant place, 1 If the false thieves wad let it be, But away they steal our goods apace, j And ever an ill death may they dee ! And so is the man of Thirlwall and Willie- haver, :}: And all their companies thereabout. That is minded to do mischief, I And at their stealing stands not out. [This is a bishoprick border song, composed in 1569, taken down from the chanting of George Colllngwood the elder, late of Boltsburn, in the neighbourhood of Byhope, who was interred at Stanhope, the 16th December, 1785. • Forfoughen— (^ajte fatigued. I St/Are— Ditch. I Thirlwall, or Thirlitwall, is said by Fordun, the Scottish historian, to be a name given to the Picts' or Roman wall, fiom its having been thirled, or perforated, in ancient times, by the i^cots and Picts. Wyntown also, who most pro- bably copied Fordun, calls it Thirlwall. Thirl- wall-castle, though in a very ruinous condition, is still standing by the site of this famous wall, upon the river Tippal. It gave name to the ancient family, De Thirlwall. Willie-haver, or Willeva, is a small district or township in the parish of Lanercoat, near Bewcastledale, in Cum- berland, mentioned in the preceding ballad of Hobbie Noble ; ^ •' Gar warn the bows of Hartilie-bum, See they sharp their arrows ou the wa' j Warn Willeva, and Spear Edom, And see the morn they meet me a'." BOEDER BALLADS. 385 But yet we will not slander them all. For there is of them good enough ; It is a sore consumed tree That on it bears not one fresh bough. Lord God ! is not this a pitiful case, That men dare not drive their goods to the fell. But limmer thieves drives them away. That fears neither heaven nor hell. Lord, send us peace into the realm. That every man may live on his own ! I trust to God, if it be his will. That Weardale men may never be over- thrown. For great troubles they've had in hand. With borderers pricking hither and thither. But the greatest fray that e'er they had. Was with the men of Thirlwall and Willie- haver. They gather'd together so royally. The stoutest men and the best in gear ; And he that rade not on a horse, I wat he rade on a weil-fed mear. So in the morning, before they came out. So weel I wot they broke their fast ; In the forenoon they came unto a bye fell. Where some of them did eat their last. * When they had eaten aye and done. They say 'd, some captains here needs must be : Then they choosed forth Harry Corbyl, And " Symon Fell," and Martin Ridley. Then o'er the moss, where as they came. With many a brank and whew. One of them could to another say, " I thick this day we are men enew. " For Weardale-men have a journey ta'en. They are so far out o'er yon fell. That some of them's with the two earls, f And others fast in Bernard castell. « This would be about eleven o'clock, the usual dinner-hour in that period.— Sco«. t The two earls were Thomas Percy, earl of Northumberland, and Charles Nevil, earl of Westmoreland, who, on the Idth of November, ^ "There we shall get gear enough. For there is nane but women at hame ; The sorrowful fend that they can make. Is loudly cries ^ as they were slain." Then in at Rookhope-head they came. And there they thought tul a' had their prey. But they were spy'd coming over the Dry-rig, Soon upon Saint Nicholas' day. § Then in at Rookhope-head they came. They ran the forest but a mile ; They gather'd together in four hours Six hundred sheep within a while. And horses 1 trow they gat. But either ane or twa. And they gat them all but ane That belanged to great Rowley. That Rowley was the first man that did them 8py. With that he raised a mighty cry ; The cry it came down Rookhope-burn, And spread through Weardale hasteyly. Then word came to the bailirs house At the East-gate, where he did dwell ; || 1569, at the head of their tenantry and others, took arms for the purpose of liberating Mary, queen of Scots, and restoring the old religion. They besieged Bernard-castle, which was, for eleven days, stoutly defended by Sir George Bowes, who, afterward, bting appointed the queen's marshal, hanged the poor constables and peasantry by dozens in a day, to the amount of 800. The earl of Northumberland, betrayed by the Scots, with whom he had taken refuge, was beheaded at York, on the 22d of August, 1572 ; and the earl of Westmoreland, deprived of the ancient and noble patrimony of the Nevils, and reduced to beggary, escaped over sea, into Flan- ders, and died in misery and disgrace, being the last of his family. See two ballads on this sub- ject, in Percy's Collection, (i. 271, 281), and con- sider whether they be genuine. — Ritson. — Scutl. i This is still the phraseology of Westmoreland: a poorly man, a sqftly day, and the like. — Scott, § The 6th of December. II Now a straggling village so called ; originally^ it would seem, the fate-house, or ranger's lodge, at the east entrance of Stanhope-park. At some 2b . 1 386 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He was walk'd out to the Smale-burns, i His brother was hurt three days before. Which stands above the Hanging-well.* With limmer thieves that did him prick Nineteen bloodv wounds lay him upon. His wife was wae when she heard tell. What ferly was't that he lay sick ? So well she wist her husband wanted gear ; She gar'd saddle him his horse in haste. But yet the bailif shrinked nought. And neither forget sword, jack, f nor spear. But fast after them he did hye. And so did all his neighbours near. The bailif got wit before his gear came. That went to bear him company. That such news was in the land. He was sore troubled in his heart, But when the bailif was gathered. That on no earth that he could stand. And all his company. They were number'd to never a man But forty under fifty. distance from this place is West-gate, so called for a similar reason.— «i7*on. The thieves was numbered a hundred men. " The mention of the bailirs house at the East- I wat thoy were not of the worst ; gate is (were such a proof wanting) strongly That could be choosed out of Thirlwall and indicative of the authenticity of the ballad. The WUlie-haver family of Emerson of East-gath, a fief, if I may I trow they were the very first, t 80 call it, held under the bishop, long exercised the office of bailiff of Wolsingham, the chief town But all that was in Rookhope-head, and borough of Weardale, and of Forster, &c.. And all that was i' Nuketon-cleugh, under successive prelates; and the present bi- Where Weardale-men o'ertook the thieves. shop's gamekeeper and ranger within Weardale, And there they gave them fighting eneugh. may be said to claim his office by maternal descent, being Emerson Muschamp (another So sore they made them fain to flee. ancient name) and, though somewhat shorn of As many was a' out of hand. his beams, the lineal heir of the old bailiffs of And, for tul have been at home again. Weardale. They would have been in h-on bands. " Rob. Emerson Parcarius de StanhopplS Aug. 7 Rob. NevUl Epi. And for the space of long seven years "Cuthb. Emerson de Eastgat sub Forestar. As sore they mighten a' had their lives. Parci de Stanhopp 1 Wolsey. But there was never one of them " Lease of the East-gate to Mr George Emerson That ever thought to have seen their wives. for 30 years, 10/. p. ann. 4. Ed. C. Bp. Tunstall. " Rob. Emerson de Eastgat. sede vacante p. About the time the fray began, depriv. Tunstall parcar. Dne Regine. 1 trow it lasted but an hour. "Geo. et Ric. Emerson Ballivi de Wolsingham Till many a man lay weaponless. p. palens. 12 Sept. 1616, sieut Geo. RoUi vel And was sore wounded in that stour. Rollands Emerson ollm tenuere."— Sur/ee*.— ScoU. Also before that hour was done. * A place in the neighbourhood of East-gate, Four of the thieves were slain. known at present, as well as the Dry-rig, or Besides all those that wounded were. Smale-burns ; being the property of Mr Robert And eleven prisoners there was ta'en. Richardson, by inheritance, since before 1583.— Ritson.— Scott. George Carrick, and his brother Edie, t A jacket, or short coat, plated or instiched Them two, I wot, they were both slain; with small pieces of iron, and usually worn by Harry Corbyl, and Lennie Carrick, the peasantry of the border in their journeys Bore them company in their pain. from place to place, as well as in their occasional skirmishes with the moss-troopers, who were i The reciter, from his advanced age, could most probably equipped with the same sort of not recollect the original line thus imperfectly h^iness.— Ritson.— Scott. ^ } supplied.— Ri<«on.—i>co«. 1 BORDER BALLADS. 387 One of our Weardale-men was slain, Rowland Emerson his name hight ; I trust to God his soul is well. Because he fought unto the right. But thus they say'd, "We'll not depart While we have one :— Speed hack again ! And when they came amongst the dead men. There they found George Carrick slain. And when they found George Carrick slain, I wot it went well near their heart ; lord let them never make a better end. That comes to play them sicken a part. I trust to God, no more they shall. Except it be one for a great chance ; For God will punish all those With a great heavy pestilence. Thir limmer thieves, they have good hearts. They never think to be o'erthrown ; Three banners against Wear-dale men they bare, As if the world had been all their own. Thir Weardale-men, they have good hearts. They are as stiff as any tree ; For, if they'd every one been slain. Never a foot back man would flee. And such a storm amongst them fell. As I think you never heard the like ; For he that bears his head so high. He oft-times falls into the dyke. And now I do entreat you all. As many as are present here. To pray for the singer of this song. For he sings to make blithe your cheer. [Ca'field, or Calfield, is a place in Wauchopdale, belonging of old to the Armstrongs. In theaccount betwixt the English and Scottish marches, Jock and Geordie of Ca'field, there called Calfhill, are repeatedly marked as delinquents.— i/Won/ of TVestmoreland and Cumberland ,^(A. i. Introduction, p. 33. " Mettled John Hall , from the laigh Tiviot- dale," is perhaps John HallofNewbigging, men- tioned in the list of border clans, as one of the chief men of name residing on the middle marches in 1597.— Scoft.] As I was a walking mine alane. It was by the dawning of the day, I heard twa brithers make their mane. And I listened weel to what they did say. The youngest to the elder said, "Blythe and merrie how can webe ? There were three brithren of us bom. And ane of us is condemned to die." " An' ye wad be merrie, an' ye wad be sad. What the better wad billie Archie be ? Unless I had thirty men to mysell. And a' to ride in my cumpanie. " Ten to hald the horses' heads. And other ten the watch to be. And ten to break up the strong prison. Where billy Archie ' he does lie." Then up and spak' him mettled John Hall, (The luve of Teviotdale aye was he) "An" I had eleven men to mysell. It's aye the twalt man I wad be." Then up bespak' him coarse Ca'field, (I wot and little gude worth was he) " Thirty men is few anew. And a' to ride in our cumpanie." There was horsing, horsing in haste. And there was marching on the lee ; Until they cam' to Murraywhate, And they lighted there right speedilie. "A smith ! a smith !" Dickie he cries, " A smith, a smith, right speedilie. To turn back the caukers of our horses' shoon I For it's unkensome f we wad be." " There lives a smith on the water side. Will shoe my little black mare for me; And I've a crown in my pocket. And every groat of it 1 wad gi'e." •* The night is mirk, and it's very mirk. And by candle light I canna weel see ; The night is mirk, and it's very pit mirk. And there will never a nail ca' right for me." * Billy — Brother. f Unkensome — Unknown. SCOTTISH BALLABS. 388 " Shame fa' you and your trade baith, A Canna beet f a gude fellow by your mystery! ^ But leeze me on thee, my little black mare, Thou's worth thy weight in gold to me." There was horsing, horsing in haste, And there was marching upon the lee ; Until they cam' to Dumfries port. And they lighted there right speedilie.- " There's fire of us will hold the horse. And other five will watchmen be : But wha's the man, amang ye a'. Will gae to the Tolbooth door wi' me ?" up then spak' him mettled John Hall, (Frae the laigh Tiviotdale was he) "If it should cost my life this very night, I'll gae to the Tolbooth door wi' thee." " Be of gude cheir, now, Archie, lad I Be of gude cheir, now, dear billie ! Work thou within, and we without. And the morn thou'se dine at Ca'field wi' me." Jockie Hall stepped to the door. And he bended low back his knee ; And he made the bolts, the door bang on, Loup frae the wa' right wantonlie. He took the prisoner on his back. And down the Tolbooth stair cam' hej The black mare stood ready at the door, 1 wot a foot ne'er stirred she. They laid the links out ower her neck. And that was her gold twist to be ; § And they cam' down thro' Dumfries toun. And wow but they cam' speedilie. The live lang night these twelve men rade. And aye till they were right wearie, TJntil they came to the Murraywhate, And they lighted there right sx>eedilie. "A smith ! a smith !" then Dickie he cries, "A smith, a smith, right speedilie. To file the irons frae my dear brither ! For forward, forward we wad be." f Bert— Abet, aid. i Mystery — Trade. — See Shakespeare. § The Gold Ttvist means the small gilded They had na filed a shackle of iron, A shackle of iron but barely thrie. When out and spak' young Simon brave, " O dinna ye see what I do see ? "Lo! yonder comes Lieutenant Gordon, Wi' a hundred men in his cumpanie ; This night will be our lyke-wake night. The morn the day we a' maun die." O there was mounting, mounting in haste. And there was marching upon the lee ; Until they cam' to Annan water. And it was flowing like the sea. "My mare is young and very skeigh, | And in o' the well •^ she will drown me; But ye'll take mine, and 111 take thine. And sune through the water we sail be." Then up and spak' him, coarse Ca'field, (I wot and little gude worth was he) " We had better lose ane than lose a* the lave ; We'll lose the prisoner, we'll gae free." "Shame fa' you and your lands baith I Wadyee'en-" your lands to your born billy? But hey! bear up, my bonnie black mare. And yet thro' the water we sail be." Now they did swim that wan water. And wow but they swam bonnilie! Until they cam' to the other side, [drunkily. And they wrang their cloathes right "* Come thro', come thro'. Lieutenant Gordon ! Come thro' and drink some wine wi' me ! For there is an ale-house here hard by. And it shall not cost thee ae penny." " Throw me my irons," quo' Lieutenant Gor- " I wot they cost me dear aneugh." [don ; " The shame a ma," quo' mettled John Ha", " They'U be gude shackles to my pleugh." " Come thro', come thro'. Lieutenant Gordon ! Come thro' and drink some wine wi' me ! Yestreen I was your prisoner. But now this morning am I free." chains drawn across the chest of a war-horse, as a part of his caparison. — Scott- II Skeigh— &hy. ^ W«/— Eddy. •* E'en — Even, put into comparison. BOEDER BALLADS. 389 [Obioinallt printed in the notes to " Mar- mion." — " It was taken down," says Sir Walter, " from the recitation of a woman eighty years of age, mother of one of the miners in Alston-Moor, by the agent of the lead mines there, who com- municated it to my friend and correspondent, R. Surtees, Esq. of Mainsforth. She had not, she said, heartl it for many years ; but, when she wa» a girl, it used to be sung at merry-makings, "till the roof rung again." To preserve this curious, though rude rhyme, it is here inserted. The ludicrous turn given to the slaughter, marks that wild and disorderly state of society, in which a murder was not merely a casual circumstance, but, in some cases, an exceedingly good jest. The structure of the ballad resembles the " Fray of Suport," having the same irregular stanza and wild chorus."] Hoot awa', lads, hoot awa", [and a'. Ha' ye heard how the Ridleys, and Thirl walls, Ha' set upon Albany *Featherstonhaugh, And taken his life at the Deadmanshaugh : There was Williraoteswick, And Hardriding Dick, And Hughie of Uawdon, and Will of the Wa'. I cannot tell a', I cannot tell a'. And mony a mair that the de'il may knaw. The auld man went down, but Nicol, his son. Ran away afore the fight was begun ; And he run, and he run. And afore they were done. There was many a Featherston gat sic a stun, As never was seen since the world begun. I canna tell a", I canna tell a' ; Some gat a skelp, and some gat a claw ; But they gar'd the Featherstons baud their Nicol, and Alick, and a'. [jaw,— Some gat a hurt, and some gat nana ; Some had harness, and some gat sta'en. Ane gat a twist o' the craig ; Ane gat a bunch o' the wame ; Symy Haw gat lamed of a leg. And syne ran wallowing bame. \ * Pronounced Arvbony, t Walloming — Bellowing. Hoot, hoot, the auld man's slain outright ! Lay him now wi' his face down : — he's a sorrow- Janet, thou donot, [ful sight. I'll lay my best bonnet. Thou gets a new gude-man afore it be night. Hoo away, lads, hoo away, Wi's a' be hangid if we stay. [the bigging . Tak' up the dead man, and lay him anent Here's the Bailey o' Haltwhistle, Wi' his great bull's pizzle, [pigKin. That supp'd up the broo', and syne— in the [First printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.—" This beautiful ballad," says Scott, " is published from a copy in Glenriddell's MSS., with some slight variations from tradi- tion. It alludes to one of the most remarkable feuds upon the west-marches. In 1585, John, lord Maxwell, or as he styled himself, earl of Morton, having quarrelled with the earl of Arran, reigning favourite of James VI., and fal- len, of course, under the displeasure of the court, waa denounced a rebel. A commission was also given to the laird of Johnstone, then warden of the west-marches, to pursue and apprehend the ancient rival and enemy of his house. Two bands of mercenaries, commanded by captains Cranstoun and Lammie, who were sent from Edinburgh to support Johnstone, were attacked and cut to pieces at Crawford-muir, by Robert Maxwell, natural brother to the chieftain ;* who, following up his advantage, burned Johnstone's castle of Lochwood, observing with savage glee, that he would give lady Johnstone light enough by which to "set her hood." In a subsequent conflict, Johnstone himself was defeated, and made prisoner, and is said to have died of grief at the disgrace which he sustained.— See Spot- tiswoode and Johnstone's Histories, and Moyse's Memoirs, ad annum 1585. • " It is devoutly to be wished, that this Lammie (who was killed in the skirmish) may have been the game miscreant, who, in the days of queen Mary's distresses, 'hes ensigne being of quhyt taffitae, had painted on it ye crueU murtUer of king Henry, and fayed down before her majestie, at quhat time she pre- sented herself as prisoner to ye lordis.'— Birrel's Diary, June 15, 1567. It would be some satisfaction to know, that the grey hairs of this worthy personage did not go down to the grave in peace." 390 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " By one of the revolutions common in those i days. Maxwell was soon after restored to the king's favour, in his turn, and obtained the wardenry of the west-marches. A bond of alli- ance was subscribed by him, and by Sir James Johnstone, and for some time the two clans lived in harmony. In the year 1593, however, the hereditary feud was revived, on the follow- ing occasion : A band of marauders, of the clan Johnstone, drove a prey of cattle from the lands belonging to the lairds of Crichton, Sanquhar, and Drumlanrig; and defeated, with slaughter, the pursuers, who attempted to rescue their pro- perty. The injured parties, being apprehensive that Maxwell would not cordially embrace their cause, on account of his late reconciliation with the Johnstones, endeavoured to overcome his reluctance, by offering to enter into bonds of manrent, and so to become his followers and liegemen; he, on the other hand, granting to them a bond of maintenance, or protection, by which he bound himself, in usual form, to main- tain their quarrel against all mortals, saving his loyalty. Thus, the most powerful and respecta- ble families in Duinfries-shire became, for a time, the vassals of lord Maxwell. This secret alliance was discovered to Sir James Johnstone by the laird of Cummertrees, one of his own clan, though a retainer to Maxwell. Cummertrees even contrived to possess himself of the bonds of manrent, which he delivered to his chief. The petty warfare betwixt the rival barons was in- stantly renewed. Buccleuch, a near relation of Johnstone, came to his assistance with his clan, ' the most renowned freebooters," says a histo- rian, ' the fiercest and bravest warriors among the border tribes.' With Buccleuch also came the Elliots, Armstrongs, and Grames. Thus reinforced, Johnstone surprised and cut to pieces a party of the Maxwells, stationed at Lochma- ben. On the other hand, lord Maxwell, armed ■with the royal authority, and numbering among his followers all the barons of Nithesdale, dis- played his banner as the king's lieutenant, and invaded Annandale at the head of 2000 men. In those days, however, the royal auspices seem to have carried as little good fortune as effective strength with them. A desperate conflict, still renowned in tradition, took place at the Dryffe Sands, not far from Lockerby, in which John- stone, although inferior in numbers, partly by his own conduct, partly by the valour of his allies, gained a decisive victory. Lord Maxwell, a tall man, and heavily armed, was struck from his horse in the flight, and cruelly slain, after the hand, which he had stretched out for quar- ter, had been severed from his body. Many of his followers were slain in the battle, and many cruelly wounded, especially by slashes in the face, which wound was thence termed a 'Lockerby lick.' The barons of Lag, Closebum, and Drum- lanrig, escaped by the fleetness of their horses; a circumstance alluded to in the following ballad. This fatal battle was followed by a long feud, at- tended with all the circumstances of honor, pro- per to a barbarous age. " John, lord Maxwell, with whose Gooilnight the reader is here presented, was son to him who fell at the battle of Drjffe Sands, and is said to have early avowed the deepest revenge for his father's death. Such, indeed, was the fiery and untameable spirit of the man, that neither the threats nor entreaties of the king himself could make him lay aside his vindictive purpose ; al- though Johnstone, the object of his resentment, had not only reconciled himself to the court, but even obtained the wardenry of the middle- marches, in room of Sir John Carmichael, mur- dered by the Armstrongs. Lord Maxwell was therefore prohibited to approach the border counties; and having, in contempt of that mandate, excited new disturbances, he was con- fined in the castle of Edinburgh. From this fortress, however, he contrived to make his escape; and, having repaired to Dumfries- shire, he sought an amicable interview with Johnstone, under pretence of a wish to accommo- date their differences. Sir Eobert Maxwell, of Orchardstane (mentioned in the ballad, ver. 1.,) who was married to a sister of Sir James John- stone, persuaded his brother-in-law to accede to Maxwell's proposal. The following relation of what followed is taken from an article in Shaw- field's MS.—' The simple treuth and cause of the treasonable murther of umquhile Sir James Johnstone of Dunskellie, knight, was as efter followes. To wit, John lord Maxwell having dealt and useit his best means with some noble- men and barrones within the cuntrey, and like- wayes with sundrie of the name of Maxwell, being refuised of them all to be partakers of so foull ane deed ; till at last he unhappily persuad- ed one Charles Maxwell, one of the brether of Kirkhouse, to be with him, and having made him assuired to be pairtner in that treasonable plott; therefore, taking advantage of the weak- ness and unabilitie of umquhill Sir Eobert Max- ; well of Orchyardtoun, knight, presuming that BORDEE BALLADS. 391 he had power of the said Sir James, being bre- ther-in-law to uthers, to bring him toanye pairt he pleased ; Maxwell pretending he had speciall business to doe with Sir James, hearing he was going from the court of England, so gave out by reasoun he was the king's rebell for the time, for breaking waird out of the castle of Edinburgh, that he had no other houpes to obtaine the king's favour but be his meanes. So upon this pretence, the said Sir James was moved to meet with him at Auchnamhill, near by Arthorstane, without the house of Bent, upon the 6th of Aprile 1608, with one man onlie with him as was with the uther, therselves two onlie and the forsaid Sir Robert Maxwell with them, and their servants being a little off. The forsaid Charles falls out with opprobrious and malicious speeches to Sir James his servant, William Johnstoune of Gun- menlie, and before he was aware shott him with ane pistoll. Sir James hearing the shott and his man's words, turning about to see what was past, immediatlie Maxwell shott him behind his back with ane pistoll chairgit with two poysonit bullets, at which shott the said Sir James fell from his horse. Maxwell not being content therewith, raid about him ane lang tyme, and persued him farder, vowing to use him more cruelly and treacherouslie than he had done, for which it is known sufficiently what followed.' • A fact,' saith Spottiswoode, ' detested by all honest men, and the gentleman's misfortune severely lamented, for he was a man full of wis- dom and courage.' " Lord Maxwell, the murderer, made his escape to France ; but, having ventured to return to Scotland, he was apprehended lurking in the wilds of Caithness, and brought to trial at Edin- burgh. The royal authority was now much strengthened by the union of the crowns, and James employed it in staunching the feuds of the nobility, with a firmness which was no attribute of his general character. But in the best actions of that monarch, there seems to have been an unfortunate tincture of that meanness, so visible on the present occasion. Lord Maxwell was in- dicted for the murder of Johnstone; but this was combined with a charge of Jire-raising, which, according to the ancient Scottish law, if perpetrated by a landed man, constituted a spe- cies of treason, and inferred forfeiture. Thus the noble purpose of public justice was sullied by be- ing united with that of enriching some needy favourite. John, lord Maxwell, was condemned, and beheaded, 21st May, 1613. Sir Gideon Mur- 3^ ray, treasurer-depute, had a great share of his forfeiture ; but the attainder was afterwards re- versed, and the honours and the estate were conferred upon the brother of the deceased. — > \ Laing's History of Scotland, vol. I. p, 62, John- stoni Historia, p, 493. " The lady, mentioned in the ballad, was sis- ter to the marquis of Hamilton, and, according to Johnstone the historian, had little reason to regret being separated from her husband, whose I harsh treatment finally occasioned her death. But Johnstone appears not to be altogether un- , tinctured with the prejudices of his clan, and is probably, in this instance, guilty of exaggeration ; j as the active share, taken by the marquis of Hamilton in favour of Maxwell, is a circumstance I inconsistent with such a report. " Thus was finally ended, by a salutary exam- j pie of severity, the ' foul debate' betwixt the I Maxwells and Johnstones, in the course of which I each family lost two chieftains : one dying of a broken heart, one in the field of battle, one by ' ' assassination, and one by the sword of the exe- cutioner. " It seems reasonable to believe, that the fol- lowing ballad must have been vmtten before the death of lord Maxwell, in 1613; otherwise there would have been some allusion to that event. It must therefore have been composed betwixt j 1608 and that period."] " Adieu, madame, my mother dear. But and my sisters three ! Adieu, fair Robert of Orchardstane ! My heart is wae for thee. Adieu, the lily and the rose. The primrose fair to see : Adieu, my ladye, and only joy ! For I may not stay with thee. " Though I ha'e slain the Lord Johnstone, What care I for their feid ? My noble mind their wrath disdains : He was my father's deid. Both night and day I laboured oft Of him avenged to be ; But now I've got what lang I sought. And I may not stay with thee. *' Adieu ! Drumlanrig, false wert aye. And Closeburn in a band ! The laird of Lag, frae my father that fled. When the Johnstone struck aff his hand. 392 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Tney were three brethren in a band- Joy may they never see ! Their treacherous art, and cowardly heart. Has twin'd my love and me. " Adieu ! Dumfries, my proper place. But and Carlaverock fair ! Adieu ! my castle of the Thrieve, Wi' a' my buildings there: " Adieu ! Lochmaben's gates sae fair. The Langholm-holm, where blrks there be; Adieu! my ladye, and only joy. For, trust me, I may not stay wi' thee. " Adieu ! fair Eskdale up and down. Where my puir friends do dwell ; The bangister will ding them down. And will them sair compell. But I'll avenge their feid mysel'. When I come o'er the sea ; Adieu ! my ladye, and only joy. For I may not stay wi' thee." " Lord of the land I" — that ladye said, " O wad ye go wi* me, Unto my brother's stately tower. Where safest ye may be ! There Hamiltons and Douglas baith, Shall rise to succour thee." " Thanks for thy kindness, fair my dame. But 1 may not stay wi' thee." Then he tuik aff a gay gold ring, Thereat hang signets three ; " Hae, tak' thee that, mine ain dear thing. And still ha'e mind o' me : But, if thou take another lord. Ere I come ower the sea — His life is but a three days' lease. Though I may not stay wi' thee." The wind was fair, the ship was clear. The good lord went away ; And most part of his friends were there. To give him a fair convey. They drank the wine, they did na spair. Even in that gude lord's sight — Sae now he's o'er the floods sae gray. And Lord Maxwell has ta'en his Good- night. ^f)2 Ea^ss of OTam^licag. [" The reader will find, prefixed to the fore- going ballad, an account of the noted feud be- twixt the families of Maxwell and Johnstone. The following song celebrates the skirmish, in 1593, betwixt the Johnstones and Crichtons, which led to the revival of the ancient quarrel betwixt Johnstone and Maxwell, and finally to the battle of Dryffe Sands, in which the latter lost his life. Wamphray is the name of a parish in Annandale. Lethenhall was the abode tf Johnstone of Wamphray, and continued to be so till of late years. William Johnstone of Wamphray, called the Galliard, was a noteii freebooter. A place, near the head of Tiviot- dale, retains the name of the Galliard's Faulds, (folds,) being a valley where he used to secrete and divide his spoil, with his Liddesdale and Eskdale associates. His nom de gutrre seems to have been derived from the dance called the Galliard. The word is still used in Scotland, to express an active, gay, dissipated character.* Willie of the Kirkhill, nephew to the Galliard, and his aven- ger, was also a noted border robber. Previous to the battle of Dryffe Sands, so often mention- ed, tradition reports, that Maxwell had offered a ten-pound-land to any of his party, who should bring him the head or hand of the laird of John- stone. This being reported to his antagonist, he answered, he had not a ten-pound-land to offer, but would give a five-merk-land to the man who should that day cut off the head or hand of lord Maxwell. Willie of Kirkhill, mounted upon a young grey horse, rushed upon the enemy, and earned the reward, by striking down the unfor- tunate chieftian, and cutting off his right hand. " Leverhay, Stefenbiggin, Girth-head, &c., are all situated in the parish of Wamphray. The Biddes-burn, where the skirmish took place be- twixt the Johnstones and their pursuers, is a ' rivulet which takes its course an.ong the moun- ' tains on the confines of Nithsdale and Annan- ' dale. The Wellpath is a pass by which the I Johnstones were retreating to their fastnesses in • Cleveland applies the phrase in a very different manner, in treating of tlie assembly of Divines at Westminster, 1644 : And Selden is a Galliard by himself, And wel might be; there's more divines in him, Than in all this their Jewish Sanhedrim. Skelton, in his railing poem against James IV.* ^ terms him Sir Skyr Galyerd. BORDER BALLADS. ggg Annandale. Eicklaw-holm is a p.ace upon the V " Simmy, Simmy, now let me gang, Evan water, which falls into the Annan, below And I'll ne'er mair do a Crichton wrang ! Moflfat. Wamphray-gate was in those days an O Simmy, Simmy, now let me be. ale-house. With these local explanations, it is And a peck C gowd I'll give to thee ! hoped the following ballad will be easily under- stood. " Simmy, Simmy, now let me gang. " From a pedigree in the appeal case of Sir And my wife shall heap it with her hand." James Johnstone of "Westeraw, claiming the But the Crichtons wad na let the GalUard be. honours and titles of Annandale, it appears But they hanged him hie upon a tree. that the Johnstones of Wamphray were descend- ed from James, sixth son of the sixth baron of 1 think then Willie he was right wae. Johnstonei The male became extinct in 1657."— When he saw his uncle guided sae ; Scott's mnstreliy.2 " But if ever I live Wamphray to see. My uncle's death avenged shall be !" •TwixT Girth-head and the Langwood end. Lived the Galliard, and the Galliard's men; Back to Wamphray he is gane. But and the lads of Leverhay, ^ And riders has raised mony a ane ; That drove the Orichton's gear away. Saying—" My lads, if ye'll be true. Ye shall a' be clad in the noble blue." ItistheladsofLethenha', The greatest rogues amang them a': Back to Nithsdale they have gane. But and the lads of Stefenbiggin, And awa' the Crichtons' nowt ha'e ta'en ; They broke the house in at the rigging. But when they cam' to the Wellpath-head, The Crichtons bade them 'light and lead. The lads of Eingland, and Helbeck-hill, They were never for good, but aye for ill; And when they cam' to the Biddcs burn. •Twixt the Staywood bush and Langside-hill, The Crichtons bade them stand and turn ; They stealed the bracked cow and the branded And when they cam' to the Biddes strand. bull. The Crichtons they were hard at hand. It is the lads of the Girth-head, But when they cam' to the Biddes law. The deU's in them for pride and greed ; The Johnstons bade them stand and draw ; For the Galliard, and the gay Galliard's men. " We've done nae ill, we'll thole nae wrang. They ne'er saw a horse but they made it their ain. But back to Wamphray we will gang." The Galliard to Nithsdale is gane. And out spoke Willie of the Kirkhill, To steal Sim Crichton's winsome dun ; " Of fighting, lads, ye'se ha'e your fill." The Galliard is unto the stable gane. And from his horse Willie he lap, But instead of the dun, the blind he has ta'en. And a burnished brand in his hand he gat. " Now Simmy, Simmy of the Side, Out through the Crichtons Willie he ran, Come out and see a Johnstone ride ! And dang them down baith horse and man ; Here's the bonniest horse in a' Nithside, O but the Johnstones were wondrous rude, And a gentle Johnstone aboon his hide." When the Biddes burn ran three days blood. Simmy Crichton's mounted then. " Now, sirs, we have done a noble deed ; And Crichton has raised mony a ane; We have revenged the Galliard's bleiJ: The Galliard trowed his horse had been wight. For every finger of the Galliard's hand. But the Crichtons beat him out o* sight. I vow this day I've killed a man." As soon as the Galliard the Crichton saw. As they cam' in at Evan-head, Behind the saugh-bush he did draw ; At Rick -law holm they spread abread; And there the Crichtons the Galliard hae ta'en. " Drive on, my lads ! it will be late ; And nane wi' him but Willie alane. -, ^ We'U ha'e a pint at Wamphray gate. 394 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " For where'er I gang or e'er I ride. The lads of Wamphry are on my side; And of a' the lads that I do ken, A Wamphray lad 's the king of men." [Thc following beautiful fragment was taken down by Mr Surtees, from the recitation of Anne Douglas, an old woman, who weeded in his gar- den. It is imperfect, and the words within brackets were inserted by my correspondent, to supply such stanzas as the chauntress's memory left defective. The hero of the ditty, if the reci- ter be correct, was shot to death by nine bro- thers, whose sister he had seduced, but was afterwards buried at her request, near their usual place of meeting ; which may account for his being laid not in holy ground, but beside the Durn. The name of Barthram, or Bertram, would argue a Northumbrian origin, and there is, or was, a Headless Cross, among many so named, near Elsdon in Northumberland. But the mention of the Nine-Stane Burn, and Nine- Stane Rig, seems to refer to those places in the vicinity of Hermitage Castle, which is counte- nanced by the mentioning our Lady's Chapel. Perhaps the hero may have been an English- man, and the lady a native of Scotland, which renders the catastrophe even more probable. The style of the ballad is rather Scottish than Northumbrian. They certainly did bury in for- mer days near the Klne-Stane Bum ; for the edi- tor remembers finding a small monumental cross, with initials, lying among the heather. It was so small, that, with the assistance of another gen- tleman, he easily placed it upright.— itfinrfre/st/ qfth« Seottith Border.] Thby shot him dead at the Nine-Stane Eig, Beside the Headless Cross, And they left him lying in his blood. 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. And knelt at Barthram's side. She bath'd him in the Lady-Well His wounds so deep and sair. And she plaited a garland for his breast, And a garland for his hair. They rowed him in a lily -sheet. And bare him to his earth, [And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's mass. As they pass'd the Chapel Garth.] They buried him at [the mirk] midnight [When the dew fell cold and still. When the aspin gray forgot to play. And the mist clung to the hill.] They dug his grave but a bare foot deep. By the edge of the Nine-stane Burn, And the covered him [o'er with the heather- flower] The moss and the (Lady) fern. A Graj Friar staid upon the grave. And sang till the morning tide. And a Friar shall sing for Bartram's soul. While the Headless Cross shall bide.* ®|ie ^ra|5 of ^upsirt. [0» all the border ditties," says Sir Walter Scott, " which have fallen into my hands, this is by far the most uncouth and savage. It is usually chaunted in a sort of wild recitative, except the burden, which swells into a long and varied howl, not unlike to a view hollo'. The words, and the veiy great irregularity of the • Mr Surtees observes, on this passage, tliat, in the return made by the commissioners, on the dissolution of Newminster Abbey, there is an item of a Chauntry, for one priest to sing daily ad cntcem lapideam. Probably many of these crosses had the like expiatory solemnities for persons slain there. — Scott, BORDER BALLADS. 395 stanza fif it deserves the name), sufiSciently^ But Peenye, my gude son, is out at the Hag point out ite intention and origin. An English but-head. woman, residing in Suport, near the foot of the His e'en glittering for anger like a fiery Kershope, having been plundered in the night gleed; by a band of Scottish moss-troopers, is supposed Crying—" Mak' sure the nooks to convoke her servants and friends for the pur- Of Maky's-muir crooks ; iuit, or Hot Trod ; upbraiding them, at the same For the wily Scot tokes by nooks, hooks, and time, in homely phrase, for their negligence and crooks. security. The Hot Trod was followed by the Crin we meet a" together in a head the morn. persons who had lost goods, with blood-hounds We'll be merry men." and horns, to raise the country to help. They Fylads! shout a' a' a' a' a'. also used to carry a burning wisp of straw at a My gear's a' gane. spear head, and to raise a cry, similar to the Indian war-whoop. It appears, from articles There's doughty Cuddy in the Heugh-head, made by the wardens of the English marches. Thou was aye gude at a need : September 12th, in 6th of Edward VI. that all. With thy brock-skin bag at thy belt. on this cry being raised, were obliged to follow Aye ready to mak" a puir man help. the fray, or chace, underpain of death. With these Thou maun awa' out to the cauf-craigs. explanations, the general purport of the ballad (Where anes ye lost your ain twa naigs) may be easily discovered, though particular pas- And there toom thy brock-skin bag. * sages have become inexplicable, probably through Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a'. corruptions introduced by reciters. The present My gear's a ta'en. copy is corrected from four copies, which diflfered widely from each other."] Doughty Dan o' the Houlet Hirst, Thou was aye gude at 3 birst : Sleep'ry Sim of the Lamb-hill, Gude wi' a bow, and better wi' a speir. And snoring Jock of Suport-niill, The bauldest march-man that e'er followed Ye are baith right het and fou' ;— gear; But my wae wakens na you. Come thou here. Last night I saw a sorry sight- Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a'. Nought left me, 0' four-and-twenty gude My gear's a' gane. ousen and kye. My weel-ridden gelding, and a white quey. Rise, ye carle coopers, frae maKlug o' kirns But a toom byre and a wide. and tubs. And the twelve nogs* on ilka side. In the Nicol forest woods. )■ Ey lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a'. Your craft has na left the value of an oak My gear's a' gane. rod. But if you had had ony fear 0' God, Weel may ye ken. Last night ye had na slept sae sound. Last night 1 was right scarce 0' men : And let my gear be a' ta'en. But Toppet Hob o' the Mains had guesten'd Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a'. in my house by chance ; My gear's a' U'en. I set him to wear the fore-door wi' the speir. while I kept the back door wi' the lance ; Ah ! lads, we'll fang them a' in a net! But they ha'e run him through the thick o* For I ha'e a' the fords 0' Liddel set ; t the thie, and broke his knee-pan. And the merghf 0' his shin bane has run down on his spur leather whang : * The badger-skin pouch was used for carrying He's lame while he Uves, and where'er he ammunition.— Sco«. may gang. Fy lads I shout a' a' a' a' a'. t A wood in Cumberland, in which Suport is My gear's a' gane. situated.- Seo«. 1 Watching fords was a ready mode of inter- « i\rog-«— Stakes. t arer^A-Marrow. i ^ cepting the marauders ; the names of the most _ 396 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The Dunkin and the Boor-loup, The WiUie-ford, and the Water-Slack, The Black-rack and the Trout-dub of Lid- del ; There stands John Forster wi" five men at his back, Wi' buft coat and cap of steil : Boo ! ca' at them e'en, Jock ; That ford's sicker, I wat well. Fy lads i shout a' a' a' a' a'. My gear's a' ta'en. Hoo! hoo! gare raise the Reid Souter, and Eingan's Wat, Wi' a broad elshin and a wicker ; I wat weil they'll mak' a ford sicker. Sae whether they be Elliots or Armstrangs, Or rough riding Scots, or rude Johnstones, Or whether they be frae the Tarras or Ews- dale. They maun turn and fight, or try the deeps o' Liddel. Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a'. My gear's a' ta'en. " Ah ! but they will play you another jigg. For they will out at the big rig. And through at Fargy Grame's gap."* But I ha'e anither wile for that: For 1 ha'e little Will, and Stalwart Wat, And lang Aicky, in the Souter Moor, Wi' his sleuth dog sits in his watch right sure; f noted fords upon the Liddel are recited in this Terse. — Scott. * Fergus Grame of Sowport, as one of the chief men of that clan, became security to Lord Scroope for the good behaviour of his friends and dependants, 8th January, 1662. — Introduc- tion to History of Westmoreland and Cumber- land, p. 111.— Scotf. f The sentinels, who, by the march laws, were planted upon the border each night, had usually sleuth-dog, or blood-hounds, along with them. — See Nicholson's Border Laws, and Lord Wharton's Eegulations, in the 6th of Edward VI. Of the blood-hound we have said something in tne notes oh Hobbie Noble ; but we may, in ad- dition, refer to the following poetical description of the qunlities and uses of that siogular ani- mal ; — Should the dog gi'e a bark. He'll be out in his sark. And die or won. Fy lads ! shout a" a' a' a' a'. My gear's a' ta'en. Ha ! boys — I see a party appearing — wha'g yon? Methinks it's the captain of Bewcastle, and Jephtha's John, i Upon the banks Of Tweed, slow winding tiirougli the vale, the seat Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew The sweets of peace, or Anna's dread commands To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awei), There dwelt a pilfering race, well train'd and skill'd In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil Their only substance, feuds and war their sport. Not more expert in every framiful art The arch felon was of old, who by the tail Drew back his lowing prize : in vain his wiles. In vain the shelter of the covering rock. In vain the sooty cloud and ruddy flames, That issued from his mouth, for soon he paid His forfeit life : a debt now justly due To wronged Alcides, and avenging Heaven! Veil'd in the shades of night, the ford the Then, prowling far and near, whate'er they seire Becomes their prey : nor flocks nor herds are safe. Nor Stalls protect the steer, nor strong barr'd doors Secure the favourite hor»e. Soon as the morn Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan The piunder'd owner stands, and from his lips A thousand thronging curses burst their way. He calls his stout alUes, and in a line His faithful hounds he leads ; then with a voice That utters loud his rage, attentive cheers. Soon the sagacious brute, his curling tail Flourish'd in air, low bending, plies around His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuff's Inquisitive, nor leaves one turf untried: Tilt, conscious of the recent stains, his heart Beats quick, his snuffling nose, his active tail. Attest his joy; then, with deep-opening mouth That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims The audacious felon! foot by foot he marks His winding-way, while all the listening crowd Applaud his reasonings. O'er the watery ford. Pry sandy heaths, and stony barren hills. O'er beaten tracks, with men and beast distain'd. Unerring he pursues: till, at the cot Arrived, and seizing by his guilty throat The caitifl'vile, redeems the captive prey: So exquisitely delicate his sense '. Somerville's Chase. t According to the late Glenriddell's notes on this ballad, the office of captain of Bewcastle was held by the chief of the Nixons. Catlowdie is a small village in Cumberland, near the junction of the Esk and Liddel. — Scott. BORDER BALLADS. 39^ Coming down by the foul steps of Catlowdie's jfe in possession of his estate about 1250; so that, as loan: They'll make a* sicker, come which way they will. Ha lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a'. My gear's a' ta'en. Captain Musgrave, and a' his band, * Are coming down by the Siller-strand, And the muckle toun-bell o' Carlisle is rung ; My gear was a* weel won. And before it's carried o'er the border, mony a man's gae down. Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', Mygear'sa'gane. fclJi JEsUIan^, [First published in the Ministrelsy of the Scottish Border " This ballad," says Sir Wal- ter Scott, " has a claim to very high antiquity. It has been preserved by tradition ; and is, per- haps, the most authentic instance of a long and very old poem, exclusively thus preserved. It is only known to a few old people upon the seques- tered banks of the Ettrick ; and is published, as written down from the recitation of the mother of Mr James Hogg. She learned the ballad from a blind man, who died at the advanced age of ninety, and is said to have been possessed of much traditionary knowledge. Although the language of this poem is much modernized, yet many words, which the reciters have retained without understanding them, still preserve traces of its antiquity. Such are the words springals (corruptedly pronounced springrvalU,) sorvies, portcullize, and many other appropriate terms of war and chivalry, which could never have been introduced by a modern ballad-maker. The in- cidents are striking and well-managed : and they are in strict conformity with the manners of the age in which they are placed. " The date of the ballad cannot be ascertained with any degree of accuracy. Sir Richard Mait- land, the hero of the poem, seems to have been * This was probably the famous captain Jack Musgrave, who had charge of the watch along the Cryssop, or Kershope, as appears from the order of the watches appointed by Lord Whar- ton, when deputy-warden-general, in the 6th Edward Yl.— Scott. he survived the commencement of the wars be- twixt England and Scotland, in 1296, his prowess against the English, in defence of his castle of Lauder or Thirlstane, must have been exerted during his extreme old age. He seems to have been distinguished for devotion as well as valour ; for, A. D. 1'249, Dominus Ricardus de Mautlant gave to the abbey of Dry burgh, " Terras suas de Haubentside, in territorio suo de Thirlestane, pro salute animae suse, et sponsse suae, antecesso- rum suorum et sucoessorum suorum, in perpe- tuum." He also gave, to the same convent, " Omnes terras, quas Walterus de Giling tenuit in feodo suo de Thirlestane, et pastura incom- muni de Thirlestane, ad quadraginta oves, sexa- ginta vaccas, et ad viginti equos." — Cartulary of Dryburgh Abbey, in the Advocates' Library. " From the following ballad, and from the family traditions referred to in the Maitland MS3., Auld Maitland appears to have had three sons ; but we learn, from the latter authority, that only one survived him, who was thence surnamed Burd alane, which signifies either un- equalled, or solitary. A Consolation, addressed to Sir Richard Maitland of Lethington, a poet and scholar who flourished about the middle of the sixteenth century, and who gives name to the Maitland MSS., draws a parallel betwixt his do- mestic misfortunes and those of the first Sir Richard, his great ancestor. " Sir William Mautlant, or Maitland, the eldest and sole surviving son of Sir Richard, ratified and confirmed, to the Monks of Dry- burgh, " Omnes terras quas Dominus Ricardus de Mautlant pater suus fecit dictis monachis in territorio suo de Thirlestane." Sir William is supposed to have died about 1315.— Crawford's Peerage. "Such were the heroes of the ballad. The castle of Thirlestane is situated upon the Leader, near the town of Lauder. Whether the present building, which was erected by Chancellor Mait- land, and improved by the Duke of Lauderdale, occupies the site of the ancient castle, I do not know ; but it still merits the epithet of a dark- sotne house. I find no notice of the siege in his- tory: but there is nothing improbable in suppos- ing, that the castle, during the stormy period of the Baliol wars, may have held out against the English. The creation of a nephew of Edward I, for the pleasure of slaying him by the hand of young Maitland, is a poetical license ; and may A induce us to place the date of the composition 398 SCOTTISH BALLADS. about the reign of David II., or of his successor, ^ when the real exploits of Maitland, and his sons, were in some degree obscured, as well as magni- fied, by the lapse of time. The inveterate hatred against the English, founded upon the usurpa- tion of Edward I., glows in every line of the ballad. " Auld Maitland is placed, by Gawin Douglas, bishop of Dunkeld, among the popular heroes of romance, in his allegorical Palioe of Honour."] Therb lived a king in southern land. King Edward hight bis name ; TJnwordily he wore the crown. Till fifty years were gane. He had a sister's son o's ain. Was large of blood and bane ; And afterward, when he came up. Young Edward hight his name.* One day he came tKsfore the king. And kneel'd low on his knee— " A boon, a boon, my good uncle, I crave to ask of thee ! " At our lang wars, in fair Scotland, I fain ha'e wished to be ; If fifteen hundred waled wight men You'll grant to ride wi' me." *' Thou sail ha'e thae, thou sail ha'e mae ; I say it sickerlie ; And I mysel', an auld gray man. Array 'd your host sail see." King Edward rade, king Edward ran — I wish him dool and pyne ! Till he had fifteen hundred men Assembled on the Tyne. And thrice as many at Berwicke Were all for battle bound. Who marching forth with false Dunbar, Axeady welcome found, f • Were it possible to find an authority for call- ing this personage Edmund, we should be a step nearer history; for a brother, though not a nephew of Edward I., so named, died in Gascony during an unsuccessful campaign against the French.— Knighton, Lib. III. cap. B.—ScoH. t These two lines are modem, and inserted They lighted on the banks of Tweed, And blew their coals sae het. And fired the Merse and Teviotdale, All in an evening late. As they fared up o'er Lammermore, They burned baith up and down, Untill they came to a darksome house ! Some call it Leader-Town. " Wha bauds this house ?" young Edward cry'd, " Or wha gi'es't ower to me ?" A gray-hair'd knight set up his head. And crackit right crousely : " Of Scotland's king I baud my house ; He pays me meat and fee ; And I will keep ray gude auld house. While my house will keep me." They laid their sowies to the wall,t Wi' mony a heavy peal ; But he threw ower to them agen Baith pitch and tar barrel. to complete the verse. Dunbar, the fortress of Patrick, Earl of March, was too often opened to the English, by the treachery of that baron, dur- ing the reign of Edward I.— Scott. ■^ In this and the following verse, the attack and defence of a fortress, during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, is described accurately and concisely. The sow was a military engine, resembling the Boman testudo. It was framed of wood, covered with hides, and mounted on wheels, so that, being rolled forward to the foot of the besieged wall, it served as a shed, or cover, to defend the miners, or those who wrought the battering-ram, from the stones and arrows of the garrison. In the course of the famous defence made by Black Agnes, Countess of March, of her husband's castle of Dunbar, Montague, Earl of Salisbury, who commanded the besiegers, caused one of these engines to be wheeled up to the wall. The countess, who, with her damsels, kept her station on the battlements, and affected to wipe off with her handkerchief the dust raised by the stones hurled from the English machines, await- ed the approach of this new engine of assault. " Beware, Montague," she exclaimed, while the fragment of a rock was discharged from the wall — " Beware, Montague ! for farrow shall thy BORDER BALLADS. 399 "With springaldg, stanes, and gacU of airn. Among them fast he threw ; Till mony of the Englishmen About the wall he slew. BOW !'' Their coyer being dashed to pieces, the as- sailants, with great loss and difficulty, scrambled back to their trenches. " By the regard of suche a lady," would Froissart have said, " and by her comforting, a man ought to be worth two men, at need." The sow was called by the French truie.—See Hailes' Annals, Vol. II. p. 89. "Wyn- town's Cronykil, Book VIII. William of Malmes- bury. Lib. IV. The memory of the »om Is preserved in Scot- laiid by two trifling circumstances. The name given to an oblong hay-stack, is a hay-som ; and this may give us a good idea of the form of the machine. Children also play at a game with cherry-stones, placing a small heap on the ground, which they term a sorvie, endeavouring to hit it, by throwing single cherry-stones, as the sow was formerly battered from the walls of the besieged fortress. My companions, at the High School of Edinburgh, will remember what was meant by herrying a towie. It is strange to find traces of military antiquities in the occupa- j tion of the husbandman and the sports of chil- dren. The pitch and tar-barrels of Maitland were in- tended to consume the formidable machines of the English. The springalds, used in defence of the castle of Lauder, were haliaiai, or large cross-bows wrought by machinery, and capable of throwing stones, beams, and huge darts. They were numbered among the heavy artillery of the age ; " Than the kynge made all his navy to draw along, by the cost of the Downes, every ship well garnished with bombardes, cros-bowes, archers, ipringatlt, and other artillarie."— Froissart. Goads, or sharpened bars of iron, were an ob- vious and formidable missile weapon. Thus, at the assault of Rochemiglion, " They within cast out great barres of iron, and pots with lyme, wherewith they hurt divers Englishmen, such as adventured themselves too far." —Froissart, vol. I. cap. 108. From what Has been noticed, the attack and defence of Lauder castle will be found strictly conformable to the manners of the age; a cir- cumstance of great importance, in judging of the antiquity of the ballad. There is no mention of Full fifteen days that braid host lay. Sieging Auld Maitland keen. Syne they ha'e left him, hail and fair. Within his strength of stane. Then fifteen barks, all gaily good. Met them upon a day. Which they did lade with as much spoil As they could bear away. "England's our ain by heritage; And what can us withstand. Now we ha'e conquer'd fair Scotland, With buckler, bow, and brand ?" Then they are on to the land o' France, Where auld king Edward lay. Burning baith castle, tower, and town, That he met in his way. ITntill he came unto that town. Which some call Billop-Grace;* There were Auld Maitland's sons, a' three. Learning at school, alas ! The eldest to the youngest said, " O see ye what I see ? Gin a' be trew yon standard says, f We're latherlesse a' three. " For Scotland's conquer'd, up and down ; Landmen we'll never be : guns, though these became so common in the latter part of the reign of Edward III., that at the siege of St Maloes, " the English had well a four hondred gonnes, who shot day and night into the fortresse, and agaynst it."— Froissart, vol. I. cap. 336. Barbour informs us, that guns, or " crakis of wer," as he calls them, and crests for helmets, were first seen by the Scottish, in their skirmishes with Edward the Third's host, in Northumberland, A. D. 1327.— Sco«. » If this be a Flemish, or Scottish, corruption for Ville de Grace, in Normandy, that town was never besieged by Edward I., whose wars in France were confined to the province of Gas- cony. The rapid change of scene, from Scotland to France, excites a suspicion that some verses may have been lost in this place. — Scott. t Edward had quartered the arms of Scotland with his own. — Scott, 400 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 'Sow, will ye go, my brethren two, afe And try some jeopardy ?"* Then they ha'e saddled twa black liorse, Twa black horse, and a Rrey ; And they are on to king Edward's host. Before the dawn of day. When they arriv'd before the host. They hover'd on the lay — " Wilt thou lend me our king's standard. To bear a little way? "t • The romantic custom of achieving, or at- tempting, some desperate and perilous adventure, without either necessity or cause, was a peculiar, and perhaps the most prominent, feature of chivalry. It was not merely the duty, but the pride and delight, of a true knight, to perform such exploits, as no one but a madman would have undertaken. 1 think it is in the old French romance of Erec and Eneide, that an adventure, the access to which lay through an avenue of stakes, garnished with the bloody heads of the knights who had attempted and failed to achieve it, is called by the inviting title of Lajoie de la Cour. To be first in advancing, or last in retreating; to strike upon the gate of a certain fortress of the enemy ; to fight blindfold, or with one arm tied up; to carry off a banner, or to defend one; were often the subjects of a particular vow among the sons of chivalry. Until some dis- tinguishing exploit of this nature, a young knight was not said to have won hi* spun; and, upon some occasions, he was obliged to bear, as a mark of thraldom a chain upon his arm, which was removed, with great ceremony, when his merit became conspicuous. These chains are noticed in the romance of JeAan de S/i/n/re. In the language of German chivalry, they were called Ketten ilei Gelubde* (fetters of duty). Lord Herbert of Cherbury informs us, that the knights of the Bath were obliged to wear certain strings, of silk and gold, upon their left arm, until they had achieved some noble deed of arms. When Edward III. commenced his French wars, many of the young bachelors of England bound up one of their eyes with a silk ribband, and swore, before the peacock and the ladies, that they would not see with both eyes until they had accomplished certain deeds of arms in France. — Frois art, cap. 28. f In all ages, and in almost all countries, the military standards have been objects of respect to ^ Where was thou bred? where was thou bom? Where, or in what country ?" the soldiery, whose duty it is to range beneath them, and, if necessarj-, to die in their defence. In the ages of chivalry, these ensigns were dis- tinguished by their shape, and by the various names of banners, pennons, penoncelles, &c., according to the number of men who were to fight under them. They were displayed, on the day of battle, with 8in;.'ular 80;emnity, and consigned to the charge only of such as were thought willing and able to defend them to the uttermost. When the army of Edward, the Black Prince, was drawn up against that of Henry the Bastard, king of Castile, "Than Sir Johan Chandos brought his baner, rolled up togyder, to the prince, and said, ' Sir, behold, here is my baner. I requyre you display it abrode, and give me leave this daye, to raise it ; for. Sir, I thanke God and you, I have land and heritage suffyciente to maynteyne it withal.' Than the prince, and King Bampeter (Don Pedro,) toke the baner betwene their handes, and spred it abrode, the which was of sylver, a sharp pjle gaules, and delyvered it to hym, and said, ' Sir Johan, behold here youre baner ; God sende you joye and honour thereof!' Than Sir Johan Chandos bare his baner to his owne com- panye, and sayde, • Sirs, beholde here my baner, andyoures; kepe it as your owne.' And they toke it, and were right joyful therof, and sayd, that by the pleasure of God, and Saint George, they wold kepe and defend it to the best of their powers. And so the baner abode in the handea of a good English i squyer, called William Alery, who bare it that day, and acquajtted himself right nobly."— Froissart, vol. I. ch. 237. The loss of a banner was not only great dishonour, but an infinite disadvantage. At the battle of Cocherel, in Normandy, the flower of the com- batants, on each side, were engaged in the attack and defence of the banner of the captall of Buche, the English leader. It was planted amid a bush of thorns, and guarded by sixty men at arms, who defended it gallantly. " There were many rescues, and many a one hurt and cast to the earth, and many feats of armes done, and many gret strokes given, with good axes of steel, that it was wonder to behold." The battle did not cease untill the captall's standard was taken and torn to pieces. I50RDER BALLADS. •101 " In north of England I was born :" (It needed him to lie.) ' " A knight me gat, a lady bore, I'm a squire of high renown ; I well may bear't to any king. That ever yet wore crowue." " He ne'er came of an Englishman, Had sic an e'e or bree But thou art the likest Auld Maitland, That ever I did see. " But sic a gloom on ae brow-head. Grant I ne'er see agane ! For mony of our men he slew. And mony put to pain." When Maitland heard his father's name. An angry man was he 1 Then, lifting up a gilt dagger. Hung low down by his knee. He stabb'd the knight, the standard bore. He stabb'd him cruellie; Then caught the standard by the neuk. And fast away rode he. " Now, is't na time, brothers," he cried, " Now, is't na time to flee ?" "Ay, by my sooth !" they baith replied, " "We'll bear you company." The youngest turn'd him In a path. And drew a burnished brand. And fifteen of the foremost slew, TUl back the lave did stand. "We learn, from the following passage in Btowe'8 Chronicle, that the standard of Edward I. was a golden dragon. " The king entred "Wales with an ai-my, appointing the footmen to occupie the enemies in fight, whiles his horse- men, in a wing, set on the rere battell: himselfe, with a power, kept his place, where he pight his golden dragon, unto whiche, as to a castle, the wounded and wearied might repair." — Scott. * Stratagems such as that of Maitland, were frequently practised with success, in consequence of the complete armour worn by the knights of j the middle ages.— ScoM. ^ ■ H • spurr'd the grey into the path. Hill baith his sides they bled— "Grey! thou maun carry me away. Or my life lies in wad." Tib captain lookit ower the wa', About the break o' day ; There he beheld the three Scots lads. Pursuing along the way. " Pull up portcuUize ! down draw-brigg ! My nephews are at hand ; And they sail lodge wi' me to-night. In spite of all England." "WTiene'er they came within the yatc. They thrust their horse them frae, f And took three lang spears in their hands. Saying, " Here sail come nae mac !" And they shot out, and they shot in. Till it was fairly day ; "When mony of the Englishmen About the draw brigg lay. Then they ha'e yoked carts and wains. To ca' their dead away. And shot auld dykes abune the lave. In gutters where they lay. The king, at his pavilion door, "Was heard aloud to say, " Last night, three o' the lads o' Prance My standard stole away. " "Wi* a fause tale, disguised, they came, And wi' a fauser trayne ; And to regain my gave standard. These men were a' down slayne." " It ill befits," the youngest said, " A crowned king to lie ; But, or that I taste meat and drink, Beproved sail he be." t " The lord of Hangest (pursued by the En- glish) came so to the barryrs (of "Vandonne) that were open, as his happe was, and so entred in therat, and than toke his speare, and turned him to defence, right valiantly." — Proissart, vol. I. chap. 307.— ScoH. So _ 402 SCOTTISH BALLABS. He went before king Edward strait, -^ But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear And kneel'd low on his knee; Had many battles seen ; " I wad ha'e leave, my lord," he said. He set the youngest wonder sair. " To speak a word wi" thee." TiU the eldest he grew keen- The king he turn'd him round about, " I .am nae king, nor nae sic thing And wistna what to say- My word it shanna stand !^: Quo' he, "Man, thou'a ha'e leave to speak. For Ethert sail a buffet bide. Though thou should speak a' day." Come he beneath my brand." •• Ve said, that three young lads C France He clankit Ethert ower the head. Your standard stole away. A deep wound and a sair. Wi' a fause tale, and fauser trayne. TUl the best blood of his bodie And mony men did slay : Cam' rinning ower his hair. " But we are nane the lads o" France, " Now I've slayne twa ; slaye ye the ane ; Nor e'er pretend to be ; Is na that gude companye ? We are three lads o' fair Scotland, And though the ane suld slay ye baith. Auld Maitland's sons are we; Ye'se get na help o' me." " Nor is there men, in a' your host. The twa-some they ha'e slayne the ane ; Daur fight us three to three." They maul'd him cruellie; § " Now by my sooth," young Edward said, Then hung them over the draw-brigg. That all the host might see. " Weel fitted ye sail be ! " Piercy sail with the eldest fight. And Ethert Lunn with thee : Little French Lawyer turns entirely upon this WUliam of Lancaster the third. circumstance ; and it may be remarked through- And briug your fourth to me. out the roems of Boiardo and Ariosto: particu- larly in the combat of three Christian and three " Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot '■ Pagan champions, in th« 42d canto of Orlando Has cow'rd beneath thy hand : Furioso. But doubtless a g-iJlant knight wa« For every drap of Maitland blood. often unwilling, like young Maitland, to avail I'll gi'e a rig of land." himself of this advantage. Something of this kind seems to have happened in the celebrated He clanked Piercy ower the head. combat, fought in the presence of James II. at A deep wound and a sair. Stirling, 1419, between three French, or Flemish, Till the best blood o' his bodie warriors, and three noble Scottishmen, two of 0am' rinning down his hair. whom were of the house of Douglas. The reader will find a literal translation of Oliver de la " Now I've slayne ane; slay ye the twa; Marche's account of this celebrated tourney, in And that's gude companye; Pinkerton's History, vol. I. p. 428.-Sco«. And if the twa suld slay ye baith. + Maitland's apology for retracting his pro- Ye'se get na help frae me." f mise to stand neuter, is as curious as his doing to is natural. The unfortunate John of France was wont to say, that, if truth and faith were * The two first lines are modem, to supply an banished flrom all the rest of the universe, they imperfect stanza.— Sco«. should still reside in the breast and the mouth of t According to the laws of chivalry, laws which kings.— Scirft. were also for a long time observed in duels, when § This U a vulgar sound, but is actually a two or more persons were engaged on each side. phrase of romance. Tant frappant et maillent he, who first conquered his immediate antago- lex deux veuiaux I'un tur I'autre, jue leuri nUt, was at liberty, if he pleased, to come to the heaumet, et hurt hauberts, tout tout ctutex et > assistance of his companions. The play of the , ^rompuz.— La, fleur des Battailea.— Sco«. BOUDER BALLADS. 403 They rade their horse, they ran their horse. Then hovered on the lee ; * " We be three lads C fair Scotland, That £un would fighting see." Ihia boasting when young Edward heard. An angry man Was he ! " I'll tak' yon lad, I'U bind yon lad. And bring him bound to thee I" " Now, God forbid," King Edward said, " That ever thou suld try ! Three worthy leaders we ha'e lost. And thou the fourth wad lie. " If thou should'st hang on yon draw-brigg, Blythe wad I never be !" But, with the poll-axe in his hand. Upon the brigg sprang he. f '■ The sieges, during the middle ages, fre- quently afforded opportunity for single combat, of which the scene was usually the draw-bridge, or barriers, of the town. The former, as the more desperate place of battle, was frequently chosen by knights, who chose to break a lance for honour, and their ladies' love. In 1387, Sir William Douglas, lord of Nlthisdale, upon the draw-bridge of the town of Carlisle, consisting of two beams, hardly two feet in breadth, encount- ered and slew, first, a single champion of Eng- land, and afterwards two, who attacked him together. — Forduni Scotichronicon, Lib. XIV. chap. 61. These combats at the barriers, or palisades, which formed the outer fortification of a town, were so frequent, that the mode of attack and defence was early taught to the future knight, and continued long to be practised in the games of chivalry. The custom, therefore, of defying the inhabitants of a besieged town to this sort of contest, was highly fashionable in the middle ages; and an army could hardly appear before a place, without giving rise to a variety of com- bats at the barriers, which were, in general, con- ducted without any unfair advantage being taken on either part.— Sco«. t The battle-axe, of which there are many kinds, was a knightly weapon, much used in tiie middle ages, as well in single combat as in tattle. " And also there was a younge bache- lor, called Bertrande of Glesguyne, who, duryng the seige, fought wyth an Englyshman called Sir M The first stroke that young Edward ga'e. He struck wi' might and mayn ; He clove the Haitian's helmet stout. And bit right nigh the brayn. When Maitland saw his ain blood fa'; An angry man was he \% He let his weapon frae him fa' ; And at his throat did flee. And thrice about he did him swing. Till on the grund he light. Where he has halden young Edward, Though he was great in might. Nycholas Dageme: and that batayle was takene thre courses wyth a speare, thre strokes wyth an axe, and thre wyth a dagger. And eche of these knyghtes bare themselves so valyantly, that they departed fro the felde wythout any damage, and they were well regarded, bothe of theyme wythyn, and they wythout." This happened at the siege of Eennes, by the Duke of Lancaster, in 1357. — Froissart, vol. I. cap. 175. With the same wea- pon Godfrey of Harcourt long defended himself, when surprised and defeated by the French. " And Sir Godfraye's men kepto no good array, nor dyd nat as they had promysed ; moost part of theyme fledde ; whan Sir Godfraye sawe that, he sayde to hymselfe, how he had rather there be slayne than be taken by the Frenchmen ; there he toke hys axe in hys handes, and set fast the one legge before the other, to stonde the more surely; for hys one legge was a lytell crooked, but he was strong in the armes. Ther he fought valyantly and long: none durste well abyde hys strokes ; than two Frenchmen mounted ontheyr horses, and ranne both with their speares at ones at hyni, and so bare him to the yerth : than other, that were a-fote, came wyth theyrswerdes, and strake hym Into the body, under his barneys, so that ther he was slayne." — Ibid. chap. 17S2. The historian throws Sir Godfrey into a striking attitude of desperation. — Scvtt. % There is a saying, that a Scottishman fights best after seeing his own blood. Camerarius has contrived to hitch this foolish proverb into a national compliment ; for he quotes it as an in stance of the persevering gallantry of his couii trymen. " Si in pugna proprium effundi sanpu - nem vidisgent, non statim prostrate animo con. cedebant, sed irato potius in hostes velut furvn- tes omnibus viribus incurrebant."— Sco«, 404 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Now let him up," King Edward cried, " And let him come to nie * And for the deed that thou hast done. Thou Shalt ha'e erldomes three !" " Its ne'er be said in Prance, nor e'er In Scotland, when I'm hame. That Edward once lay under me. And e'er gat up again '." He pierced him thro* and thro' the heart; He maul'd him cruellie ; Then hung him ower the draw-brigg. Beside the other three. " Now, take frae me that feather-bed ! Make me a bed o' strae ! I wish I hadna lived this day. To mak' my heart sae wae. " If I were ance at London tower. Where I was wont to lie, I never mair suld gang frae hame. Till borne on a bier-tree." * Some reciters repeat it thus : "That Englislunan lay under me," which is In the true spirit of Blind Harry, who makes Wallace say, " I like belter to see the Boutheron die. Than gold or land, that they can gi'e to me." In slaying Edward, Maitland acts pitilessiy, but not contrary to the laws of arms, which did not enjoin a knight to show mercy to his anta* gonist, until he yielded him, " rescue or no rescue." Thus, the seigneur de Languerant came before the walls of an English garrison, in Gascony, and defied any of the defenders to run a course with a spear: his challenge being ac- cepted by Bertrand Courant, the governor of the place, they couched their spears, like good knights, and dashed on their horses. Their ■pears were broke to pieces, and Languerant was overthrown, and lost his helmet amongst the horses' feet. His attendants were coming up ; but Bertrand drew his dagger and said, " Sir, yield ye my prisor.er, rescue or no rescue ; els ye are but dead." The dismounted champion spoke not a word ; on which, Bertrand, entering into fervent ire, dashed his dagger into his skull. Besides, the battle was not always finished by one warrior obtaining this advantage over the EoriD HSforie. ["Sir K^ii.pH Etrb, or Ewrie, or Evers, commemorated in the following lines, was one the bravest men of a military race. He was son of the first, and father of the second LordEwne; and was himself created a lord of parliament during his father's lifetime, in the 3Sth year of Henry VIII. The ballad is apparently a strain of gratulation upon that event. The poet, or moru probably the reciter, has made some confiision in the lineage, by declaring that his hero was " married upon a Willoughbe." His mother, however, was of that family, and he was " kin to the Nevil and to the Percy." He was ennobled by Henry, on account of the vigour with which he prosecuted the border warfare. But after " harrying the Mers and Tiviotdale, and knock- ing at Edinburgh gate," Lord Ewrie was slain in the battle of Ancram moor, fought between him and the Earl of Angus, in 1546. " This song was written down by my obliging friend Richard Surtees, Esq. of Mainsforth, from the recitation of Eose Smith, of Bishop Middle- ham, a woman aged upwards of ninety-one, whose husband's father and two brothers were killed in the affair of 1715."— Scotft Minstrelsy tf tht Scottish Border.^ Lord Ewbik was as brave a man. As ever stood in his degree ; The king has sent him a broad letter. All for his courage and loyalty, f Lord Ewrie is of a gen till blode, A knighte's son sooth to say; He is kin to the Nevill and to the Percy, And is married upon a Willowbe. other. In the battle of N^ara, the famous Sir John Chandos was overthrown, and held down, by a gigantic Spanish cavalier, named Martino Fernandez. " Then Sir John Chandos remem" bred of a knyfe, that he had in his bosome, and drew it out, and struck this Martyne so in th« backe, and in the sydes, that he wounded him to dethe, as he laye upon hym." The dagger, which the knights employed in these close and desperate struggles, was called the poniard qfmtrcy. Snitt. t Patent letters of nobility. BORDER BALLADS. 405 A noble knight him trained upp, Sir Rafti Bulmer is the man 1 mean ; ' At Flodden field, as men do say. No better capten there was seen. He led the men of Bishopricke, When Thomas Ruthal bore the sway ; Tho' the Scottish Habsf were stout and true. The English bowmen wan that day. And since he has kepte Berwick upon Tweed, The town was never better kept, I wot; He maintained leal and order along the border. And still was ready to prick the Scot. The country then lay in great peace. And grain and grass was sown and won ; Then plenty filled the market crosse, "When Lord Ewrie kept Berwick town. With our queen's brother he hath been, ^ And rode rough shod through Scotland of late; They have burned the Mers and Tiviotdale, And knock full loud at Edinburgh gate. Kow the king hath sent him a broad letter, A lord of parliament to be; It were well if every nobleman Stood like Lord Ewrie in his degree. * Sir William Bulmer of Brunspeth castle, who is here said to have commanded the troops raised in the Bishopricke, in the battle of Flod- denfield, was descended from an ancient, and, at one period, noble family. The last who was summoned to parliament as a peer of the realm, was Ralph, from 1st till 23d Edward III. Sir William routed the Borderers, who, under the toinmand of lord Home, made an excursion into Northumberland, previous to the battle of Flod- den. He is mentioned in the Metrical History of the battle, v. 105, &c. In the present ballad, he is erroneously denominated Sir Ralph Bulmer. Seotl. t Hoi*— contracted for Halbert, or Hobble, once a common name in Scotland.— ScoW. t The earl of Hartford, afterwards duke of Somerset, and brother of queen Jane Seymour, made a furious incursion into Scotland, in 1545. Scott. [" Thk hero of this ballad appears to have been an outlaw and deer-stealer — probably one of the I broken men residing upon the border. There j are several different copies, in one of which the principal personage is called Johnie of Cockielaw. I The stanzas of greatest merit have been selected I fronj each copy. It is sometimes said, that this j outlaw possessed the old castle of Morton, in I Dumfriesshire, now ruinous : — ' Near to this I castle there was a park, built by Sir Thomas i Randolph, on the face of a very great and high i hill ; so artificially, that, by the advantage of the I hill, all wild beasts, such as deers, harts, and I roes, and hares, did easily leap in, but could not I get out again; and if any other cattle, such as j cows, sheep, or goats, did voluntarily leap in, or I were forced to do it, it U doubted if their owners I were permitted to get them out again. '—Account of Presbytery of Penpont, apud Macfarlane's j MSS. Such a park would form a convenient ; domain to an outlaw's castle, and the mention i of Durrisdeer, a neighbouring parish, adds weight i to the tradition. I have seen, on a mountain j near Callendar, a sort of pinfold, composed of immense rocks, piled upon each other, which, I ! was told, was anciently constructed for the I above-mentioned purpose. The mountain is . thence called Uah var, or the Cove of the Giant." j Border Mirutrelty.] JoHNiR rose up in a May morning. Called for water to wash his hands — " Gar loose to me the gude graie dugs 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 ! " Eneugh ye ha'e o' gude -wheat bread. And eneugh o' the blude-red wine ; And, therefore, for nae venison, Johnie, I pray ye, stir frae hame." But Johnie's busk't up his gude bend bow His arrows, ane by ane ; And he has gane to Durriideer To hunt the dun deer down. 406 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 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 bryttled f the deer sae weel. That he's had out her liver and lungs ; And wi' these he has feasted his bludy hounds. As if they had been erl's sons. They eat sae much o' the venison, And drank sae much o' the blude. That Johnie and a' his bludy hounds Fell asleep as they had been dead. And by there came a silly 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-beaded What news bring ye to me .•'" [carle, "I bring nae news," said the gray -headed " Save wliat these eyes did see. [carle, " As I came down by Merriemass, And down amang the scroggs,^ The bonniest childe that ever I saw Lay 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 Lincoine 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." • Ling — ^heath. t Bryttled— to cut up venison. See the ancient ballad of Chevy Chace, v. 8. t Scroggt — stunted trees. But up and spak' the sixth forester, (His sister's son was he) " If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, We soon shall gar him dee 1" 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 dee." 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 na a bonnie bird. Can sing as 1 can say; Could flee away to my mother's bower. And tell to fetch Johnie away ?"j The starling flew to his mother's window stane It whistled and it sang; 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 inony mony were the men At fetching our Johnie. Then out and spak' his auld mother. And fast her tears did fa' — " Ye wadna be warned, my son Johnie, Frae the hunting to bide awa". " Aft ha'e I brought to Breadislee The less gear|| and the mair. But I ne'er brought to Breadislee, What grieved my heart sae sair ! § Mr Finlay has preserved the following addi- tional stanza, which is beautifully illustrative of the languor of approaching death — There's no a bird in a' this forest Will do as mickle for me. As dip its wing in the wan water, And Btraik it on my e'e bree. «5 B Gear— usually signifies goods, but here spoil. 1 BOEDER BALLADS. 40 T •♦ But waebetyde that silly auld carle I .^ An Ul death shall he dee ! ror the highest tree in Merriemasa ShaU be his morning's fee." ^wj^ie ^tm^tiraKg*^ ^It^. Now Johnie's gude bend bow Is broke. [This is a contribution by the Eev. John Mar- And his gude graie dogs are slain ; riott, A. M., to the Border Minstrelsy.—" The And his bodie Uea dead in Durrisdeer, hero of this ballad," says Sir Walter, " was a And his hunting it is done. native of Eskdale. and contributed not a little towards the raising his clan to that pre-emi- nence which it long maintained among the Border thieves, and which none indeed but the Elliots JOHNIE OF BRAIDISBANK. could dispute. He lived at the Stubholm , imme- diately below the junction of the VVauchope and [The foUowing fragments are given by Mother- the Eske; and there distinguished himself so much well. They appear to belong to an older copy of by zeal and assiduity in his professional duties. the preceding ballad.] that at length he found it expedient to emigrate, his neighbours not having learned from Sir John JoHNiB rose up in a May morning. Falstaff, ' that it is no sin for a man to labour in CaUed for water to wash his hands hands; his vocation.' He afterwards became a celebrat- And he is awa' to Braidisbanks, ed jester in the English court. In more modern To ding the dun deer down down. times, he might have found a court in which his To ding the dun deer down. virtues would have entitled him to a higher station. He was dismissed in disgrace in the Johnie lookit east and Johnie lookit west. year 1637, fur his insolent wit, of which the fol- And its lang before the sun sun ; lowing may serve as a specimen. One day, when And there did he spy the dun deer lie. archbishop Laud was just about to say grace Beneath a bush of brume brume. before dinner, Archie begged permission of the Beneath a bush o' brume. king to perform that ofiice in his ttead ; and having received it, said, ' All praise to God, and Johnie shot, and the dun deer lap. Lttle Laud to the deil.' The exploit detailed in And he-s woundither in the side side; this ballad has been preserved, with many others Out then spake his sister's son. of the same kind, by tradition, and is at thU time " And the neist will lay her pride pride. current in Eskdale.'] And the neist wUl lay her pride." As Archik passed the Brockwood leys. Tliey're eaten sae meikle o" the gude Tenison, He cursed the blinkan moon. And they've drunken sae muckle o' the For shouts were borne upo' the breeze blude blude. Frae a' the hills aboou. That they've fallen into as sound a sleep A. gif that they were dead dead. A herd had marked hU lingering pace. Aa gif that they were dead. That e'enin' near the fauld. And warned his fellows to the chace. " Its doun, and its doun, and its doun doun. For he kenn'd him stout and bauld. And its doun amang the scrogs scrogs ; And there ye'U espy twa bonnie boys lie. A light shone frae Gilnockie tower; Asleep amang their dogs dogs. He thought, as he ran past,— Asleep amang then: dogs." " Johnie ance was stiff in stuur. But hangit at the last !"— They waukened Johnie out o' his sleep. And he's drawn to him his coat coat ; His load was heavy, and the way " My fingers five save me alive. Was rough, and ill to find ; And a stout heart faU me not not. And a stout heart faU me not i" ^ But ere he reached the Stubholm brae } His foes were &r behind. 408 ROoxTisn ballads. He clamb the fcrae, and frae his brow i The draps fell fast and free ; And when he heard a loud halloy, A waefu' man waa he. ^ " Aft ha'e ye thinned our master's heras. And elsewhere aist the blame; Kow ye may spare your wilie words. For we have traced ye hanie." — O'er his left shouther, towards the mulr. An anxious e'e he cast; Apd oh ! when he stepped o'er the door. His wife she looked aghast. " Your sheep for warlds I wadua take ; DeU ha'e me if I am lying ; But baud your tongues for mercie's sake. The bairn's just at the dying. " Ah wherefore, Archie, wad ye slight Ilk word o' timely warning ? I trow ye will be ta'en the night. And hangit i" the morning."— " If e'er I did sae fause a feat. As thin my neebor's faulda. May I be doomed the flesh to eat This vera cradle hiUdsl "Now baud your tongue, ye prating wife. And help me as ye dow ; I wad be laith to lose my life For ae poor silly yowe."— " But gin ye reck na what I swear. Go search the biggm thorow. And if ye find ae trotter there. Then hang me up the morrow."— They stript awa' the skin aff hand, Wi' a' the woo' aboon. There's ne'er a flesher i' the land Had done it half sae soon. They thought to find the stolen gear. They searched baith but and ben ; But a' was clean, and a' was clear. And naething could they ken. They took the haggis-bag and heart, The heart but and the liver ; Alake, that siccan a noble part Should win intull the river 1 And what to think they couldna tell. They glowred at ane anither ,— " iSure, Patie, 'twas the deU himsel' That ye saw rinning hither. But Archie he has ta'en them a'. And wrapt them i' the skin ; And he has thrown them o'er the wa'. And gicht whan they feU in. " Or aibUns Maggie's ta'en the yowe,* And thus beguiled your e'e." — " Hey, Robbie, man, and like enowe. For I ha'e nae rowan tree."— The cradle stan's by the ingle toom. The bairn wi' auntie stays; They clapt the cjircase in its room. And smoored it wi' the daes. Awa' they went wi' m uckle haste. Convinced 'twas Maggie Brown ; And Maggie, ere eight days were past. Got mair nor ae new gown. And down sat Archie daintiUo, And rocked it wi' his hand; Siccan a rough nourice as he Was not in a' the land. And saftlie he began to croon, " Hush, hushabye, my dear."— He hadna sang to sic a tune, I trow, for mony a year. Now frae the hills they cam* in haste, A' rinning out o' breath.— "Ah, Archie, we ha'e got ye fast. And ye maun die the death 1 « Then Archie turned him on his heel. And gamesomelie did say,— " I didna think that half sae weel The nourice I could play," * There is no district wherein witches seem to have maintained a more extensive, or more re- cent influence than in Eakdale. It is not long since the system of bribery, alluded to in the next stanza, was carried on in that part of the country. The rowan-tree, or mountain-ash, is well known to be a sure preservative against the ^ power of witchcraft.— Sci;«. BOEDEK BALLADS. 409 And ArcWe didna breat his a5th. He ate the cradled sheep ; I trow he wasna very laith Siccan a vow to keep. And aft sinsyne to England's king The story he has told ; And aye when he 'gan rock and sing, Charlie his sides wad bold. [" This firagment, obtained from recitation in the Forest of Ettrick, is said to relate to the ex- ecution of Cockburne of Henderland, a border freebooter, hanged over the gate of his own tower, by James v., in the course of that memo- rable expedition, in 1529, which was fatal to Johnie Armstrang, Adam Scott of Tushielaw, and many other marauders. The vestiges of the castle of Henderland are still to be traced upon the farm of that name, belonging to Mr Murray of Henderland. They are situated near the mouth of the river Meggat, which falls into the lake of 6t Mary, in Selkirkshire. The adjacent country, which now hardly bears a single tree, is cele- brated by Lesly, as, in his time, affording shelter to the largest stags in Scotland. A mountain torrent, called Henderland Burn, rushes impe- tuously from the hills, through a rocky chasm, named the Dow-glen, and passes near the site of the tower. To the recesses of this glen, the wife of Cockburne is said to have retreated, during the execution of her husband; and a place, called the Lady's Seat, is still shown, where she is said to have striven to drown, amid the roar of a foaming cataract, the tumultuous noise, which announced the close of his existence. In a deserted burial-place, which once surrounded the chapel of the castle, the monument of Cock- burne and his lady Is still shown. It is a large stone, broken in three parts; but some armorial bearings may yet be traced, and the following inscription is still legible, though defaced : ' Hess ltbs Perys of Cokburne and his wyki marjory.' " Tradition says, that Cockburne was surprised by the king,, while'iitting at dinner. After the execution, James marched rapidly forward, to surprise Adam Scott of Tushielaw, called theW; King of the Border, and sometimes the King of Thieves. A path through the mountains, which separate the vale of Ettrick from the head of Yarrow, is still called the King's Road, and seems to have been the route which he followed. The remains of the tower of Tushielaw are yet visible, overhanging the wild banks of the Ettrick ; and are an object of terror to the be- nighted peasant, from an idea of their being haunted by spectres. From these heights, and through the adjacent county of Peebles, passes a wild path, called still the Thi^s Road, from having been used chiefly by the marauders of the border."— ScoW* Minstrelsy. '[ My love he built me a bonnie bower. And clad it a' wi' lilye flour, A brawer bower ye ne'er did see. Than my true love he built for me. There came a man, by middle day. He spied his sport, and went away ; And brought the king that very night. Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear ; My servants all for life did flee. And left me in extremitie. I sew'd his sheet, making my mane ; I watched the corpse, myself alane ; I watched his body, night and day ; Ko living creature came that way. I took his body on my back. And whiles 1 gaed, and wiiiles I sat ; I digg'd a grave, and laid him in. And happ'd him with the sod sae green. But think na ye my heart was sair. When 1 laid the moul' on his yellow hair O think na ye my heart was wae. When I turn'd about, away to gae ? Nae living man I'll love again. Since that my lively knight is slain* Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair I'll diaia my heart for evermair. 410 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^uglie tie (©laeme. ."The Grtemes were a powerful and nume- rous clan, who chiefly inhabited the Debate- able Land. They were said to be of Scottish ex- traction, and their chief claimed his descent from Malice, earl of Struthirne. In militar>- service, they were more attached to England than to Scotland, but, in their depredations on both countries, they appear to have been very impartial ; for, in the year 1600, the gentlemen of Cumberland alleged to Lord Scroope, 'that the Graemes, and their clans, with their children, tenants, and servants, were the chiefest actors in the spoil and decay of the country.' Accordingly, they were, at that time, obliged to give a bond of surety fur each other's I>eaceable demeanour; from which bond, their numbers appear to have exceeded four hundred men. — See Introduction to Nieolson's History of Cumberland, p. cviii. " Richard Graeme, of the family of Netherbye, was one of the attendants upon Charles I., when prince of Wales, and accompf^nied him upon his romantic journey through France and Spain. The following little anecdote, which then oc- curred, will show, that the memory of the Graemes' border exploits was at that time still preserved. " ' They were now entered into the deep time of Lent, and could get no flesh in their inns. Whereupon fell out a pleasant passage, if I may insert it, by the way, among more serious. There was, near Bayonne, a herd of goats, with their young ones ; upon the sight whereof. Sir Kichard Graham tells the marquis (of Buckinj^- ham), that he would snap one of the kids, and make some shift to carry him snug to their lodg- ing. Which the prince overhearing, " Why, Kichard," says he, " do you think you may prac- tise here your old tricks upon the borders?" Upon which words, they, in the first place, gave the goat-herd good contentment; and then, while the marquis and Richard, being both on foot, were chasing the kid about the stack, the prince, from horse-back, killed him in the head, with a Scottish pistol. — Which circumstance, though trifling, may yet serve to show how his Royal Highness, even in such slight and sportful damage, had a noble sense of just dealing.' — Sir H. Wotton's Life of the Duke of Buckingham. 4» "1 find no traces of this particular Hnghio Grseme, of the ballad ; but, from the mention of the Bishop, I suspect he may have been one, of about four hundred borderers, against whom bills of complaint were exhibited to Robert Ald- ridge, lord bishop of Carlisle, about 1553, for divers incursions, burnings, murders, mutila- tions, and spoils, by them committed.— Nicol- son's History, Introduction, Ixxxi. There appear a number of Graemes, in the specimen which we have of that list of delinquents. " There occur, in particular, « lUtchie Grame of Bailie, Will's Jock Grame, Fargue's Willie Grame, Muckle Willie Grame, Will Grame of Roseiieet, Ritchie Grame, younger, of Netherby, Wat Grame, called Flaughtail, Will Grame, Nimble Willie, Will Grahamc, Mickle Willie,' with many others. " In Mr Ritson's curious and valuable collection of legendary poetry, entitled Ancient Songs, he has published this Border ditty, from a collation of two old black-letter copies, one in the collec- tion of the late John duke of Roxburghe, and another in the hands of John B.i}ne, Esq.— The Icirned editor mentions another copy, beginning, ' Good Lord John has a-hunting gone.' The present edition was procured for me by my friend Mr WillLam Laidlaw, in Blackhouse, and has been long current in Selkirkshire. Mr Ritson's copy has occasionally been resorted to for better readings." — Scott't Mimlrelsy.} GuDK Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane. He has ridden o'er moss and muir; And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme, For stealing o' the bishop's mare. " Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be ! Here hangs a broad sword by my side ; And if that thou canst conquer me. The matter it may soon be tryed." " I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief; Although thy name be Hughie the Gneme, I 11 make thee repent thee of thy deeds. If God but grant me life and time." " Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope, And deal your blows as hard as you uan; I I shall be tried within an hour. Which of us two is the better man." 1 BOKDER BALLADS. 411 But as they were dealing their blows so free, ^ " Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife . And both so bloody at the time. The last time we came ower the muir. Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall. "I'was thou bereft me of my life. AU for to take brave Hughie the Graeme. And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore. ^ Then they ha'e grippit Hughie the Graeme, " Here, Johnie Armstrang, take thou my swor i And brought him up through Carlisle town ; That is made o' the metal sae fine ; The lasses and lads stood on the walls. And when thou comest to the English side.f Crying, " Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er Remember the death of Hughie the Graeme.' gaedown!" Then ha'e they chosen a jury of men. The best tliat were in Carlisle* town; And twelve of them cried out at once. HUGHIE GRAHAM. " Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae down !" [Thb following version of Hughie Graham, Then up bespak* him gude Lord Hume, f As he sat by the judge's knee, — Burns transmitted to Johnsons Museum. He says he obtained it from oral tradition in Ayr- shire. In this version it will be seen that Stir- "Twenty white owsen, my gude lord, if you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." ling, not CarlUle, is made the locality of the song.] " no, no, my gude lord Hume ! Forsooth and sae it mauna be ; OuB lords are to the mountains gane. For were there but three Graemes of the name. A-hunting o' the fallow deer. They suld be hanged a' for me." And they ha'e grippit Hughie Graham For stealing o' the bishop's mare. Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume, As she sat by the judge's knee,— And they ha'e tied him hand and foot. " A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge. And led him up through Stirling town ; If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." The lads and lasses met him tiiere. Cried, " Hughie Graham thou art a " no, no, my gude Lady Hume '. loun." Forsooth and so it mustna be ; 1 Were he but the one Graeme of the name. " O lowse my right hand free," he says. He suld be hanged high for nie." 1 " And put my braid sword in the same ; He's no in Stirling town this day. " If 1 be guilty," said Hughie the Graeme, Bare tell the tale to Hughie Graham." " Of me my friends shall have small talk;" And he has louped fifteen feet and three. Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, Tho- his hands they were tied behind his back. As he sat by the bishop's knee, " Five hundred white stots I'll gi'e you. He looked over his left shoulder. If ye'U let Hughie Graham gae free." And for to see what he might see ; ' There was he aware of his auld father. 1 Came tearing his hair most piteously. 1 t Of the morality of Robert Aldrige, bishop of Carlisle, we know but little; but his political " hald your tongue, my father," he says. and religious faith were of a stretching and ac- " And see that ye dinna weep for me '. commodating texture. Anthony a Wood ob- For they may ravish me o' my life. serves, that there were many changes in his But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie. . time, both in church and state ; but that the worthy prelate retained his oflBces and prefer- 1 ments during them a'.l.— Scu«. ■» Garlarct-Xms. Songs, f Bo/M-Anc. Songs. ^ ^ § Border— A.ac. Songs. I 412 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " O baud your tongue," the bishop says, " And wi' your pleading let me be ; For though ten Grahams were in his coat, Hughie Graham this day shall dee." Up then begpake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the bishop's knee ; " Five hundred white pence I'll gi'e you. If ye'll gi'e Hughie Graham to me." " O baud your tongue now lady fair. And wi' your pleading let it be. Although ten Grahams were in his coat. Its for my honour be maun dee." They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe. He looked to the gallows tree. Yet never colour left his cheek. Nor ever did he blin' his e'e. At length he looked round about. To see whatever he could spy ; And there he saw his auld father. And he was weeping bitterly. " baud your tongue, my father dear. And wi' your weeping let it be ; Thy weeping 's sairer on my heart. Than a' that they can do to me. " And ye may gi'e my brother John My sword that's bent in the middle clear. And let him come at twelve o' clock. And see me pay the bishop's mare. " And ye may gi'e my brother James My sword that's tent in the middle brown. And bid him come at four o" clock, , And see his brother Hugh cut down. " Remember me to Maggy my wife. The neist time ye gang o'er the moor. Tell her she staw the bishop's mare. Tell her she was the bisho^j's whore. " And ye may tell my kith and kin, I never did disgrace their blood ; And when they meet the bishop's cloak To mak' it shorter by the hood." OR TBB THREE CHAMPIONS OF LIDDISDALE [From "The Mountain Bard," by James Hooo. — " The scene of this ballad," says the Shepherd, "is laid in the upper parts of Liddisdale, in which district the several residences of the three champions are situated, as is also the old castle of Hermitage, with the farm-houses of Saughen- tree and Roughley. As to the authenticity of the story, all that I can say of it is, that I used to hear it told when I was a boy, by William Scott, a joiner of that country, and was much taken with some of the circumstances. Were I to relate it verbatim, it would only be anticipat- ing a great share of the poem.— One verse is ancient, beginning, ' O wae be to thee,' &c."J "O Dickie, 'tis light, and the moon shines bright. Will ye gang and watch the deer wi" me ?" " Ay, by my sooth, at the turn o' the night. We'll drive the holm of the Saughentree." The moon had turned the roof of heaven ; The ground lay deep in drifted snaw ; The Hermitage bell had rung eleven. And our yeomen watched behind the ha' I The deer was skight, and the snaw was light. And never a blood-drap could they draw, " Now by my sooth," cried Dickie then, " There's something yonder will fear us a.' " Right owre the knowe where Liddel lies, — Nae wonder that it derkens my e'e. See jonder's a thing of fearsome size, And its moving this way hastilye. " Say, what is yon, my brother John ? The Lord preserve baith you and me I But our hearts are the same, and sure our aim. And be that comes near these bullets shall prie." " baud your tongue, my brother dear. Let us survey't wi' steady e'e ; I 'Tis a dead man they are carrying here, ^ And 'tis flt that the family warned should be." BOEDER BALLADS. 413 They ran to the ha', and they wakened them a'. But none were at home but maidens three ; Then close in the shade of the wall they staid. To watch what the issue of this would be. And there they saw a dismal sight, A sight had nearly freezed their blood ; One lost her sight in the fiiir moon-light, And one of them f^nted where they stood. Four stalwart men, on arms so bright. Came bearing a corpse with many a wound j His habit bespoke him a lord or knight ; And bis Cair ringlets swept the ground. They heard one to another say — " A place to leave him will not be found ; The door la locked, and the key away. In the byre will we lay him down." Then into the byre the corpse they bore. And away tiiey fled right speedilye ; The rest took shelter behind the door. In wild amazement as well might be. And into the byre no ane durst gang. No, not for the life of his bodye ; But the blood on the snaw was trailed alang. And they kend a' wasna as it should be. Next morning all the dalesmen ran. For soon the word was far and wide ; And there lay the Laird of Lairistan, The bravest knight on the Border side ! He was wounded behind, and wounded before. And cloven through the left cheek-bone ; And clad in the habit he daily wore ; But his sword, and his belt, and his bonnet were gone. Then east and west the word has gane. And soon to Branxholm ha' it flew. That Elliot of Lairistan he was slain, Abd how or why no living knew. Bucdeuch has mounted his milk-white steed, With fifty knights in his company ; To Hermitage castle they rode with speed, Where all the dale was summoned to be. And soon they came, a numerous host. And they swore and touched the fair bodye > But Jocky o' Millburn he was lost. And could not be found in the halecountrye. " Now wae be to thee, Armstrong o' Millburn And an Ul death may'st thou dee ! Thou hast put down brave Lairistan, But his equal thou wilt never be. " The Bewcastle men may ramp and rave. And drive away the Liddisdale kye : For now is our guardian laid in his grave. And Branxholm and Thirlestane distant lye,' The dalesmen thus his loss deplore. And every one his virtues tell : His hounds lay howling at the door. His hawks flew idle o'er the fell. When three long years were come and gone. Two shepherds sat on Roughley hill ; And aye they sighed and made their moan. O'er the present times that looked so ilL '* Our young king lives at London town, Buccleuch must bear him eompanye ; And Thirlestane's all to flinders gone. And who shall our protector be ? " And jealous of the Stuart race, The English lords begin to thraw ; The land is in a piteous case. When subjects rise against the law. " Our grief and ruin are forespoke. The nation has reoeired a stain — A stain like that on Sundup's cloak. That never will wash out again." Amazement kythed in the shepherd's face. His mouth to open wide began ; He stared and looked from place to place. As things across his mem'ry ran. The broldered cloak of gaudy green. Which Sundup wore, and was sae gay. For three lang years had ne'er been seen. At chapel, raid, nor holiday. Once on a night he overheard. From two old dames of southron land. A tale the which he greatly feared. But ne'er could thoroughly understand. " Now tell me, neighbour, tell me true ; Your sim'lie bodes us little good ; I fear the cloak you mentioned now, — 1 fear 'tis stained with noble blood '." 4U SCOTTISH BALLADS. "Indeed, my friend, you've guessed aright ; i never meant to tell to man That tale ; but crimes will come to light. Let human wits do what they can. " But He, who ruleth wise and well. Hath ordered from his seat on high. That aye since valiant Elliot fell. That mantle bears the purple dye. " And all the waters in Liddi«lale, And all that lash the British shore. Can ne'er wash out the wond'rous maele ! It still seems fresh with purple gore." Then east and west the word is gane. And soon to Branxholm ha' it flew; And Halbert o' Sundup he was ta'en. And brought before the proud Buccleuch. The cloak was hung in open hall. Where ladies and lords of high degree. And many a one, both great and small, Were struck with awe the same to see. " Now tell me, Sundup," said Buccleuch, " Is this the judgment of God on high ? If that be Elliot's blood we view, False Sundup ! thou shalt surely die I" Then Halbert turned him where he stood. And wiped the round tear frae his e'e ; " That blood, my lord, is Elliot's blood ; I winna keep In the truth frae thee." " O ever-alack !" said good Buccleuch, " If that be true thou tell'st to me. On the highest tree in Branxholm-heuch, tStout Sundup, thou must hangit be." " lis Elliot's blood, my lord, 'tis true ; And Elliot's death was wrought by me ; And were the deed again to do, I'd do't in spite of hell and thee. " My sister, brave Jock Armstrong's bride. The fairest flower of Liddisdale, By Lairistan foully was betrayed. And roundly has he payed the mail. " We watched him in her secret bower, And found her to his bosom prest : He begged to have his broad claymore. And dared us both to do our best. ^" Perhaps, my lord, yell truly say. In rage from laws of arms we swerved . Though Lairistan got double play, 'Twas fairer play than he deserved. " We might have killed him In the dark. When in the lady's arms lay he ; We might have killed him in his sark. Yet gave him room to fight or flee. " ' Come on then,' gallant Millbum cried, ' My single arm shall do the deed ; Or heavenly justice is denied. Or that false heart of thine shall bleed.' " Then to't they fell, both sharp and snell. With steady hand and watchful een. From both the trickling blood-drops fell. And the words of death were said between. " The first stroke Millbum to him gave. He ript his bosom to the bone ; Though Armstrong was a yeoman brave. Like Elliot living there was none. " His growth was like the border oak ; His strength the bison's strength outvied; His courage like the mountain rock; For skill his man he never tried. " Oft had we three on border fray. Made chiefs and armies stand in awe; And little weened to see the day On other deadly thus to draw. " The first wound that brave Millburn got. The tear of rage rowed in his e'e ; The next stroke that brave Millburn got. The blood ran dreeping to his knee. " My sword I gripped into my hand. And fast to his assistance ran ; — What could I do i* I could not stand And see the base deceiver win. " ' Now turn,' I cried, ' Thou limmer loun ! Turn round and change a blow with me, Or by the righteous Powers aboon, I'll hew the arm from thy bodye.' " He turned with many a haughty word. And lounged and passed most furiouslye ; But, with one slap of my broad sword, i fe I brought the traitor to his knee. BORDER BALLADS. 415 " ' Now take thou that,' stout Armstrong cried, ' For all the pain thou'st gi'en to me ;' (Though then he shortly would have died) And ran him through the fair bodye." Buccleuch's stern look began to change. To tine a warrior loth was he ; The crime was called a brave revenge, And Halbert of Sundup was set free. Then every man for Millburn mourned. And wished him to enjoy his own j But Millburn never more returned. Till ten long years were come and gone. Then loud alarms through England ring, And deeds of death and dool began ; The commons rose against the king. And friends to diffrent parties ran. The nobles join the royal train. And soon his ranks with grandeur fill ; They sought their foes with might and main, And found them lying on Edgehill. The trumpets blew, the bullets flew. And long and bloody was the fray ; At length o'erpowered, the rebel crew Before the royal troops gave way. " Who was the man," Lord Lindsey cried, " That fought so well through all the fray ? Whose coat of rags, together tied. Seems to have seen a better day. " Such bravery in so poor array, I never in my life did see ; His valour three times turned the day. When we were on the point to flee." Then up there spoke a man of note. Who stood beside his raajestye, " My liege, the man's a Border Scot, Who volunteered to fight for thee, " He says you're kind, but counselled ill, And sit unstable on your throne. But had he power unto his will. He swears he'd kill the dogs each one." The king he smiled, and said aloud, " Go bring the valiant Scot to me ; When we have all our foes subdued. The lord of Liddel he shaU be." The king gave him his gay gold ring. And made him there a belted knight. But Millburn bled to save his king. The king to save his royal right. ^^^ ^toei^'^ale iEai^e. [" This ballad," says the Ettrick Shepherd, " was written by my nephew, Robert Hogg, stu- dent in the College of Edinburgh, on purpose for insertion in the Edinburgh Annual Register, He brought it to me, and I went over it with him, and was so delighted with the humour of the piece, that I advised him to send it with his name. The editor, however, declined inserting it ; and it is here published, word for word, as sent to him. A natural inclination to admire youthful efforts may make me judge partially; but, I think, if it is not a good imitation of the old Border ballad, I never saw one. The old castle of Hawkshaw was situated in a wild dell, a little to the westward of the farm-house of that name, which stands in the glen of Fruid in Tweedsmuir. It was built, and inhabited long, by the Porteouses, an ancient family of that dis- trict. A knight of the name of Sir Patrick Por- teous of Hawkshaw was living in a. d. ICOO. His eldest daughter Janet was married to Scott of Thirlstane. All the places mentioned are in the direct line from Hawkshaw to Tarras, a wild and romantic little river between the Ewes and Liddel. The names of the warriors inserted, are those of families proven to be residing in the district at the same period of time with Patrick Porteous. 1 cannot find that the ballad is founded on any fact or traditionary tale, save that Porteous once, having twenty English prisoners, of whom he was tired, took them out to the top of a hill called the Fala Moss, and caused his men fell them one by one with a ma.l, and fling them into a large hole for burial. Whilst they were busy with some of the hind- most, one of those previously felled started vli> from the pit and ran ofif. He was pursued for a long way, and at last, being hard pressed, lie threw himself over a linn in Glen-Craigie, an I killed himself. As the pit in which they wer* buried was in a moss, some of their bones weru distinguishable by the shepherds, who digged for them, only a few years ago."] 416 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Path Portroos sat in Hawkshaw tower. An' O right douf an" dour was he ; Nae voice of joy was i' the ha', Nae sound o' mirth or revelry. His brow was hung wi' frowaid scowl. His e'e was dark as dark could be ; An' aye he strade across the ha'. An' thus he spoke right boisterouslye : " Yestreen, on Hawkshaw hills o* green. My flocks in peace an' safety strayed; To-day, nor ewe, nor steer, is seen On a' my baronie sae braid : " But I will won, an haud my ain, Wi' ony wight on Border side ; Make ready then, my merry men a'. Make ready, swiftly we maun ride. " Gae saddle me my coal-black steed, Gae saddle me my bonnle gray. An' warder, sound the rising note. For we ha'e far to ride or day." The slogan jar was heard afar. An' »oon owre hill, owre holt, an' brae. His meriy men came riding in. All armed an' mounted for the fray. As they fared oure the saddle-yoke. The moon rase owre the Merk-side bree ; " Welcome, auld dame," Pate Porteous cried, " Aft ha'e ye proved a friend to me. " Gin thou keep on, but clud or mist. Until Glendarig steps we won, I'll let you see as brave a chace As ever down the Esk was run." As they rade down by Bangecleuch ford, They met Tarn Bold o' Kirkhope town ; " Now wbar gang ye, thou rank reaver. Beneath the ae light o' the moon r"' " When ye were last at Hawkshaw ha", Tam Bold, I bad a stock right guid ; Now 1 ha'e neither cow nor ewe On a' the bunnie braes o' Fruid." " O ever alak !" quo' auld Tam Bold, "Now, Pate, for thee my heart is wae; I saw your flocks gang owre the muir O' Wingate by the skreigh o' day. .^ " Pate, ye maun ride for Liddel side. An' tarry at the Tarras lair ; Gin they get owre the Border line, ■ Your ewes an' kye you'll see nae mair." As they rade owre by Sorbie-swire, The day-light glimmered oa the lea; " O, lak-a-day I my bonnie gray, I find ye plaittin' at the knee. " Streek gin ye dow to Tarras flow. On you depends your master's a'. An' ye's be fed wi' bread an' wine. When ye gang hame to Hawkshaw ha". They spurred owre moss, ovpre muir au' fell. Till mony a naig he sv/arfd away ; At length they wan the Tarras moss. An' llghtit at the skreigh o' dav. The stots came rowtin' up the bent, Tossin' their white horns to the sun; "Now, by my sooth !" Pate Porteous cried, " My owsen will be hard to won." Up came the captain o' the gang, I wat a stalwart lad was he ; " What lowns are ye," he bauldly cried, " That dare to stop my kye an' me ?" " Light down, light down, thou fause Southron, An' sey a skelp or twa wi' me. For ye ha'e reaved my flocks an' kye, I An', by my sooth, reveng'd I'll be. "It's ne'er be said a Tweeddale knight Was tamely harried o' his gear. That Pate o' Hawkshaw e'er was cowed. Or braved by Southron arm in weir." Then up an* spak' the English chief, A dauntless blade I wat was he, " Now wha are ye, ye saucy lowu. That speaks thus haughtilye to me ?" " My name it is Pate Porteous hight. Light down an' try your hand wi' me. For by my sooth, or thou shalt yield. Or one of us this day shall die." |! I The Southron turned him round .about. An' lightly on the ground lap he ; 1 1 "I rede thee, Scot, thou meet'st thy death ^ If thou dai'st cross a sword wi" me ; BOEDER BALLADS. 417 " Have ye ne'er heard i' reife or raide, ^ " Now, fjr lay on !" quo' Ringan's I?*b, O' Ringan's Rab C Thorlbcrrye :« " Lay on them, lads o' English blude. If ye ha'e not, ye ha'e excuse The Scottish brand i' dalesmen's hand For cracking here sae crabbedlye. 'Gainst Southland weapon never stuoe." " But I can tell thee, muirland Pate, " Lay on them, lads," cried Hawkshaw Pule Wi' hingin' mou' an' blirtit e'e. " Our horses lack baith hay an' corn ; Ye'll tell your wife an' bairns at hame, An' we maun a' ha'e English naigs How Ringan's Kobin yerkit thee. ' Out owre the Penraw Cross the morn." Pate Porteous was a buirdly wight. The Tweedies gart their noddles crack. An arm o' strength an' might had h-^. Like auld pot-metal, yank for yank; He brooked nae fear, but made his bragg Montgomery, wi' his spearmen guid. In deeds o' desperate devUrye. He bored them trimly i' the flank. " Have done," he cried, " Thou stalwart An' Sandy Welsh, he fought an' swore. An' swore an' fought fu' desperately e ; Thou Southron thief o' gallows fame. But Jockie o' Talla got a skelp I only ken that I am wranged, That cluve him to the left e'e-bree. An' thou Shalt answer for the same." The Hurrays fought like dalesmen true. They tied their horses to the birk. An' stude I' reid blude owre the shoon ; An' drew their swords o' mettle keen ; The Johnstons, an' the Frazers too. But sic a fray, as chanced that day. Made doughty wark or a' was done. On Border-side was never seen. The Tods an' Kerrs gaed hand an' gluve. Pate Porteous was the first ae man An' bathed i' blude their weapons true ; That shawed the red blude to the e'e. An' Jamie o' Carterhope was there. Out o' the Southron's brawny thigh An' Harstane stout, an' young Badlewe. He carved a slice right dextrouslye. Brave Norman Hunter o' Polmood, " Now tak' thou that, fause Ringan's Uab, He stood upon the knowe sae hie. An' muckle good may't do to thee, An', wi' his braid-bow in his hand, 'Twill learn ye how to slice the hams He bUndit mony a Southron e'e. O' my guid kye at Thorlberrye." The blude ran down the Tarras bank. " It's but a scart," quo' Ringan's Rab. An' reddened a' the Tarras burn ; " The stang o' a wasp is waur to bide " Now, by my sooth," said Hawkshaw Pate, But, or that we twa part again. I never stood sae hard a turn. I'll pay it on thy ain backside." " I never saw the Southrons stand " Now, fy lay on !" quo' Hawkshaw Pate, An' brave the braids word half so weel." " Now, fy lay on, an' dinna spare, " DeU tak' the dogs !" cried Sandy Welsh, If true a Southron e'er I flinch. " 1 trow their hides are made o' steel. I'Sf never wield a weapon mair." They fought it lang, they fought it sair. But scarcely doubtfu' was the day. When Southrons round their captain closed. An' shouted for the gen'ral fray. " My sword is worn unto the back. An' jagged and nickit like a thorn . It ne'er will ser' another turn. But sawin' through an auld toop-hom.' Clash went the swords along the van ; They beat them up the Tarras bank. It was a gallant sight to see : An' down the back o' Birkhope brae ; " Lay on them, lads," cried Hawkshaw Pate, Had it not been the Tarras flow. " Or, faith, we'll sup but sparinglye." < e Nae Englishman liad 'scaped that day. '' 2d 418 SCOTTISH BALLADS. There were three an thirty Englishmen Lay gasping on the Tarras moss. An' three and thirty mae were ta'en, An' led out owre the Fenraw Cross. The Tweeddale lads gat horse an" kye, An' ransom gowd, an" gear their fill. An' aye sin' syne they bless the day They fought sae weel on Tarras hill. ^ Pate Porteous drave his ewes an' kye Back to their native hills again ; He hadna lost a man but four. An' Jockie o' Talla be was ane. Stout Ringau's Rab gat hame wi' life, O he was yetherit an' yerkit sair ; But he came owre the Penraw Cross To herry Tweeddale glens uae mair. BALLADS CONNECTED WITH FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. ON THE PAIEIES POPULAR SUPERSTITION. Bit Sib WALTKE SCOTT. [From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.] " Of airy elves, by moonlight shadows seen, The silver token, and the circled green."— Pope. In a -work, avowedly dedicated to the preserva- tion of the poetry and traditions of the " olden time," it would be unpardonable to omit this opportunity of making some observations upon eo interesting an article of the popular creed, as that concerning the Elves, or Fairies. The gen- eral Idea of spirits, of a limited power, and sub- ordinate nature, dwelling among the woods and mountains, is, perhaps, common to all nations. ! But the intermixture of tribes, of languages, and j religion, which haa occurred in Europe, renders it difficult to trace the origin of the names which j have been bestowed upon such spirits, and the primary ideas which were entertained concerning | their manners and habits. The word e^, which seems to have been the original name of the beings, afterwards denomi- nated fairies, is of Gothic origin, and probably signified, simply, a spirit of a lower order. Thus, the Saxons had not only dun-elf en, herg-elfen, and munt-elfen, spirits of the downs, hills, and moun- tains ; but also feld-elfen, rvudu-elfen, lae-elfen, and mccler-elfen ; spirits of the fields, of the woods, of the sea, and of the waters. In Low German, the same latitude of expression occurs ; for night hags are termed aluinnen and aluen, which is sometimes Latinized eliue. But the prototype of the English elf is to be sought chiefly in the berg- tlftn, or duergar, of the Scandinavians. From the most early of the Icelandic Sagas, as well a» from the Edda itself, we learn the belief of the northern nations in a race of dwarfish spirits, inhabiting the rocky mountains, and approach- ing, in some respects, to the human nature. Their attributes, amongst which we recognize the features of the modem Fairy, were, supernatural wisdom and prescience, and skill in the mechani- cal arts, especially in the fabrication of arms. They are farther described, as capricious, vindic- tive, and easily irritated. The story of the elfin sword, Tyrfing, may be the most pleasing illus- tration of this position. Suafurlami, a Scandi- navian monarch, returning from hunting, be- wildered himself among the mountains. About sun-set he beheld a large rock, and two dwarfs sitting before the mouth of a cavern. The king drew his sword, and intercepted their retreat, by springing betwixt them and theur recess, and imposed upon them the following condition of safety ;— that they should make for him a faul- chion, with a baldric and scabbard of pure gold. 420 SCOTTISH BALLADS. and a blade which should divide stones and iron ■ as a garment, and which should render the wielder ever victorious in battle. The elves com- plied with the requisition, and Suafurlami pur- sued his way home. Returning at the time appointed, the dwarfs delivered to him the fam- ous sword Tyrfing; then, standing in the en- trance of the cavern, spoke thus — " This sword, O king, shall destroy a man every time it is brandished ; but it shall perform three atrocious deeds, and it shall be thy bane." The king rushed forward with the charmed sword, and buried both its edges in the rock ; but the dwarfs escaped Into their recesses.* This enchanted sword emitted rays like the sun, dazzling all against whom it was brandished ; it divided steel like water, and was never unsheathed without slaying a man. — Hervarar Saga, p. 9. Similar to this was the enchanted sword, Skqffhung, which was taken by a pirate out of the tomb of a Nor- wegian monarch. Many such tales are narrated in the Sagas ; but the most distinct account of the duergar, or elves, and their attributes, is to be found in a preface of Torifeus to the history of Hrolf Kralia, who cites a dissertation by Einar Gudmund, a learned native of Iceland. " I am firmly of opinion," says the Icelander, "that these beings are creatures of God, consisting, like human beings, of a body and rational soul ; that they are of different sexes, and capable of pro- ducing children, and sutject to all human affec- « Perhaps in this, and similar tales, we may recognize something of real history. That the Fins, or ancient natives of Scandinavia, were driven into the mountains, by the invasion of Odin and his Asiatics, is sufficiently probable ; and there is reason to believe, that the aboriginal Inhabitants understood, better than the intrud- ers, how to manufacture the produce of their own mines. It is therefore possible, that, in process of time, the oppressed Fins may have been trans- formed into the supernatural rfuerg-ar. A similar transformation has taken place among the vulgar in Scotland, regarding the Picts, or Pechs, to whom they ascribe various supernatural attri- butes. tions, as sleeping and waking, laughing and crying, poverty and wealth ; and that they pos- sess cattle, and other effects, and are obnoxious to death, like other mortals." He proceeds to state, that the females of this race are capable of procreating with mankind ; and gives an account of one who bore a child to an inhabitant of Ice- land, for whom she claimed the privilege of bap- tism ; depositing the infant, for that purpose, at the gate of the church-yard, together with a goblet of gold, as an oSer'mg.—Hisforia Hro(fi Krakcc, a Torfaeo. Similar to the traditions of the Icelanders, are those current among the Laplanders of Finland, concerning a subterranean people, gifted with supernatural qualities, and inhabiting the recesses of the earth. Resembling men in their general appearance, the manner of their ezistence and their habits of life, they far excel the miserable Laplanders in perfection of nature, felicity of situation, and skill in mechanical arts. From all these advantages, however, after the partial conversion of the Laplanders, the subterranean people have derived no farther credit, than to be confounded with the devils and magicians of thtt dark ages of Christianity ; a degradation which, as will shortly be demonstrated, has been also suffered by the harmless fairies of Albion, and indeed by the whole host of deities of learned Greece and mighty Rome. The ancient opinions are yet so firmly rooted, that the Laps of Finland, at this day, boast of an intercourse with these beings, in banquets, dances, and magical cere- monies, and even in the more intimate commerce of gallantry. They talk, with triumph, of the feasts which they have shared in tiie elfin caverns, where wine and tobacco, the productions of the Fairy region, went round in abundance, and whence the mortal guest, after receiving the kindest treatment, and the most salutary conn- sel, has been conducted to his tent under an escort of his supernatural entertainers.— Je»«en», de Lapponibus. ■f The superstitions of the islands of Feroe, con* FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 421 eerning their Froddenskenun, or under-ground ( people, are derived from the duergar of Scandi- navia. These beings are supposed to inhabit tlie interior recesses of mountains, which they enter by invisible passages. Lilva the Fairies, they are supposed to steal human beings, " Ithappened," says Debes, p. 354, " a good while since, when the burghers of Bergen had the commerce of Feroe, that there was a man in Servaade, called Jonas Soideman, who was kept by spirits in a mountain, during the space of seven years, and at length came out; but lived afterwards in great distress and fear, lest they should again take him away; wherefore people were obliged to watch him in the night." The same author mentions another young man who had been car- ried away, and, after his return, was removed a second time upon the eve of his marriage. He returned in a short time, and narrated, that the spirit that had carried him away was in the Ehape of a most beautiful woman, who pressed him to forsake his bride, and remain with her ; urging her own superior beauty, and splendid appearance. He added, that he saw the men who were employed to search for him, and heard them call ; but that they could not see him, nor could he answer them, till, upon his determined refusal to listen to the spirit's persuasions, the spell ceased to operate. The kidney-shaped West Indian bean, which is sometimes driven upon j [ the shore of the Feroes, is termed, by the natives, ' " the Fairie's kidney." i In these traditions of the Gothic and Finnish || tribes, we may recognize, with certainty, the li rudiments of elfin superstition; but we must I look to various other causes for the modifications which it lias undergone. These are to be sought, 1st, in the traditions of the east j 2d, in the wreck and confusion of the Gothic mythology; 3d, in the tales of chivalry ; 4th, in the fables of classical antiquity; 5th, in the influence of the Christian religion ; 6th, and finally, in the crea- tive imagination of the sixteenth century. It may be proper to notice the effect of these various causes, before stating the popular belief of our own time, regarding the Fairies. I. To the traditions of the east, the Fairies of Britain owe, I think, little more than the appel- lation, by which they have been distinguished since the days of the crusade. The term " Fairy," occurs not only in Chaucer, and in yet older English authors, but also, and more frequently, in the romance language ; from which they seem to have adopted it. Ducange cites the following passage from Gul. Guiart, in Historia Francica, MS. Plusiers parlent de Guenart, Du Lou, de L'Asne, de Renart, De Faeries «t de Songes, l>e phantosmeg et. de mensonges. The ZMy le Frain, enumerating the subjects of the Breton Lays, informs us expressly. Many ther beth of faery. By some etymologists of that learned class, who not only know whence words come, but also whither they are going, the term Fairy, or Faerie, is derived from Fae, which is again derived from Nympha, It is more probable the term is of oriental origin, and is derived from the Persic, through the medium of the Arabic. In Persic, the term Peri expresses a species of imaginary being which resembles the Fairy in some of its qualities, and is one of the fairest creatures of romantic fancy. This superstition must have been known to the Arabs, among whom the Persian tales, or romances, even as early as the time of Mahomet, were so popular, that it re- quired the most terrible denunciations of that legislator to proscribe them. Now, in the enun- ciation of the Arabs, the term Peri would sound Fairy, the letter p not occurring in the alphabet of that nation ; and, as the chief intercourse of the early crusaders was with the Arabs, or Sara- cens, it is probable they would adopt the term according to their pronunciation. Neither will it be considered as an objection to this opinion, that in Hesychius, the Ionian term Phereat, or P/ieres, denotes the satyrs of classical antiquity. 422 SCOTTISH BALIiADS. If the number of words of oriental origin in that .' lexicographer be recollected. Of the Persian i Peris, Ouseley, in his "Persian Miscellanies," has described some characteristic traits, with all | the luxuriance of a fancy impregnated with the [ oriental association of ideas. However vaguely their nature and appearance is described, they are uniformly represented as gentle, amiable . females, to whose character beneficence and | beauty are essential. None of them are mis- ' chievous or malignant: none of them are de- i formed or diminutive, like the Gothic fairy. Though they correspond in beauty wifh our ideas of angels, their employments are dissimilar ; and, as they have no place in heaven, their abode is different. Neither do they resemble those intel- ligences, whom, on account of their wisdom, the Platonists denominated Daemons j nor do they correspond either to the guardian Genii of the , Komans, or the celestial virgins of paradise, j whom the Arabs denominate Houri. But the I Peris hover in the balmy clouds, live in the colours of the rainbow, and, as the exquisite ] purity of their nature rejects all nourishment i grosser than the odours of flowers, they subsist j by inhaling the fragrance of the jessamine and I rose. Though their existence is not commen- j surate with the bounds of human life, they are t not exempted from the common fate of mortals. { —With the Peris, in Persian mythology, are I contrasted the Dives, a race of beings, who differ | from them in sex, appearance, and disposition. ; These are represented as of the male sex, cruel, | wicked, and of the most hideous aspect ; or, as ■ they are described by Mr Finch, " with ugly shapes, long horns, staring eyes, shaggy hair, j great fangs, ugly paws, long tails, with such hor- ; rible dififormity and deformity, that I wonder the j poor women are not frightened therewith." | Though they live very long,their lives are limited, ' and they are obnoxious to the blows of a human foe. From the malignancy of their nature, they not only wage war with mankind, but persecute the Peris with unremitting ferocity. Such are aj the brilliant and fanciful colours with which the imaginations of the Persian poets have depicted the charming race of the Peris ; and, if we con- sider the romantic gallantry of the knights of chivalry, and of the crusaders, it will not appear improbable, that their charms might occasionally fascinate the fervid imagination of an amorous troubadour. But, further; the intercourse of France and Italy with the Moors of Spain, and the prevalence of the Arabic, as the language of science in the dark ages, facilitated the introduc- tion of their mythology amongst the nations of the west. Hence, the romances of France, of Spain, and of Italy, unite in describing the Fairy as an inferior spirit, in a beautiful female form, possessing many of the amiable qualities of the eastern Peri. Nay, it seems sufficiently clear, that the romancers borrowed from the Arabs, not merely the general idea concerning those spi: its, but even the names of individuals amongst them. The Peri Mergian Banou, (see Herbelot, ap. Peri,) celebrated in the ancient Persian po- etry, figures in the European romances, under the various names of lUourgue La Faye, sister to King Arthur; Urgande La Deconnue, protectress of Amadii de Gaul ; and the Fata Morgana of Boiardo and Ariosto. The description of these nymphs, by the troubadours and minstrels, is in no respect inferior to those of the Peris. In the tale of Sir Launfal, in Way's Fabliaux, as well as in that of Sir Gruelan, in the same interesting collection, the reader will find the fairy of Nor- mandy, or Bretagne, adorned with all the splen- dour of eastern description. The tuiry Metusina, also, who married Guy de Lusignan, count of Poictou, under condition that he should never attempt to intrude upon her privacy, was of this latter class. She bore the count many children, and erected for him a magnificent castle by her magical art. Their harmony was uninterrupted, until the prying husband broke the conditions of their union, by concealing himself, to behold his wife make use of her enchanted bath. Hardly had Meltuina discovered the indiscreet intruder. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 423 than, translbrming herself into a dragon, she ^ departed with a loud yell of lamentation, and was never again visible to mortal eyes ; although, even in the days of Brantome, she was supposed to be the protectress of her descendants, and was heard wailing, as she sailed upon the blast round the turrets of the castle of Lusignan, the night before it was demolished. For the full story, the reader may consult the Bibliotheque des Roniam.* — Gervase of Tilbury (pp. 895 and 989,) assures us, that, in his days, the lovers of the Fadse, or Fairies, were numerous ; and describes the rules of their intercourse with as much accuracy, as if he had himself been engaged in such an afiair. Sir David Lindsay also informs us, that a leopard is the proper armorial bearing of those who spring from such intercourse, because that beast is generated by adultery of the pard and lioness. He adds, that Merlin, the prophet, was the first who adopted this cognizance, because he was " borne of faarie in adultre, and right sua the first duk of Guyenne was born of a fee ; and, therefoir, the arms of Guyenne are a leopard." — jaS. on Heraldry, Advocates' Library, w. 4. 13. While, however, the Fairy of warmer climes was | thus held up as an object of desire and of affec- * Upon this, or some similar tradition, was founded the notion, which the inveteracy of national prejudice so easily diffused in Scotland, that the ancestor of the English monarchs, Geoffrey Plantagenet, had actually married a daemon. Bowmaker, in order to explain the cruelty and ambition of Edward I., dedicates a chapter to show " how the kings of England are descended from the devil, by the mother's side." — Fordun, Chron. lib. 9, cap. 6. The lord of a certain castle, called Espervel, was unfortunate enough to have a wife of the same class. Having observed, for several years, that she always left the chapel before the mass was concluded, the baron, in a fit of obstinacy or curiosity, ordered his guard to detain her by force ; of which the consequence was, that, unable to support the elevation of the host, she retreated through the air, carrying with her one side of the chapel, and several of the congregation. tion, those of Britain, and more especially those of Scotland, were far from being so fortunate i but, retaining the unamiable qualities, and di- minutive size of the Gothic elves, they only exchanged that term for the more popular appel- lation of Fairies. II. Indeed so singularly unlucky were the British Fairies, that, as has already been hinted, amid the wreck of the Gothic mythology, conse- quent upon the introduction of Christianity, they seem to have preserved, with difficulty, their own distinct characteristics, while, at the same time, they engrossed the mischievous attributes of several other classes of suborJinate spirits, ac- knowledged by the nations of the north. The abstraction of children, for example, the well- known practice of the modern Fairy, seems, by the ancient Gothic nations, to have rather b^en ascribed to a species of night-mare, or hag, than to the berg-e(fin, or duergar. In the ancient legend of St Margaret, of which there is a Saxo- Norman copy in Hickes' Themurus Linguar. Septen. and one, more modem, in the Auchinleck MSS., that lady encounters a fiend, whose pro- fession it was, among other malicious tricks, to injure new-born children and their mothers; a practice afterwards imputed to the Fairies. Ger- vase of Tilbury, in the Otia Imperialia, mentions certain hags, or Lamia, who entered into houses in the night-time, to oppress the inhabitants, while asleep, injure their persons and property, and carry off their children. He likewise men- tions the DraciB, a sort of water spirits, who in- veigle women and children into the recesses which they inhabit, beneath lakes and rivers, by floating past them, on the surface of the water, in the shape of gold rings, or cups. The women, thus seized, are employed as nurses, and, after seven years, are permitted to revisit earth. Ger- vase mentions one woman, in particular, who had been allured by observing a wooden dish, or cup, float by her, while washing clothes in a river. Being seized as soon as she reached the depths, she was conducted into one of these subteiTnnean 424 SCOTTISH BALLADS. recesses, which she described as very magnificent, ^ and employed as nurse to one of the brood of the hag who had allured her. During her residence In this capacity, having accidentally touched one of her eyes with an ointment of serpent's grease, she perceived, at her return to the world, that she had acquired the faculty of seeing the dracce, when they intermingle themselves with men. Of this power she was, however, deprived by the touch of her ghostly mistress, whom she had one day incautiously addressed. It is a curious fact^ that this story, in almost all its parts, is current in both the Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland, with no other variation than the substitution of Fairies for dracas, and the cavern of a hill for that of a river, • These water fiends are thus charac- teriied by Hcywood, in the Hierarchie — " Spirits, that have o'er water gouvemement, Are to mankind alike malevolent; They trouble seas, floods, rivers, brookes, and wels, Meres, lakes, and love to euhabit watry cells; Hence noisome and pestiferous vapours raise; Besides, they men encounter divers ways. • Indeed, many of the vulgar account it ex- tremely dangerous to touch any thing, which they may happen to find, witliout saining (bless- ing) it, the snares of the enemy being notorious and well attested. A poor woman of Tiviotdale, having been fortunate enough, as she thought herself, to find a wooden beetle, at the very time when she needed such an implement, seized it without pronouncing the proper blessing, and, carrying it home, laid it above her bed, to be ready for employment in the morning. At mid- night, the window of her cottage opened, and a loud voice was heard, calling upon some one within, by a strange and uncouth name, which I have forgotten. The terrified cottager ejaculated a prayer, which, we may suppose, insured her personal safety; while the enchanted implement of housewifery, tumbling from the bedstead, de- parted by the window with no small noise and precipitation. In a humorous fugitive tract, the late Dr Johnson is introduced as disputing the authenticity of an apparition, merely because the spirit assumed the shape of a tea-pot, and of a shoulder of mutton. No doubt, a case so much in point, as that we have now quoted, would have removed his incredulity. Ready to cramp their joints that swim for sport; One kind of these, the Italians fatse name, Fee the French, we sybils, and the same ; Others white nymphs, and those that have them seen. Night ladies some, of which Habundia queeu. Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p. 507. The following Frisian superstition, related by Schott, in his " Physica Curiosa," p 362, on the authority of Cornelius a Kempen, coincides more accurately with the popular opinions concerning the Fairies, than even the dracoc of Gervase, or the water-spirits of Thomas Heywood. — " In the time of the emperor Lotharius, in 830," says he, " many spectres infested Frieslaad, particularly the white nymphs of the ancients, which the mo- derns denominate rvilte miven, who inhabited a subterraneous cavern, formed in a wonderful manner, without human art, en the top of a lofty mountain. These were accustomed to surprise benighted travellers, shepherds watching their herds and flocks, and women newly delivered, with their children ; and convey them into their caverns, from which subterranean murmurs, the cries of children, the groans and lamentations of men, and sometimes imperfect words, and all kinds of musical sounds, were heard to proceed." The same superstition is detailed by Bekker, in his "World Bewitch -d," p. 196, of the English translation. As the different classes of spirits were gradually confounded, the abstraction of children seems to have been chiefly ascribed to the elves, or Fairies ; yet not so entirely as to ex- clude hags and witches from the occasional exer- tion of their ancient privilege. In Germany, the same confusion of classes has not taken place. In the beautiful ballads of the "Erl King," the " Water King," and the " Mer-Maid," we still recognize the ancient traditions of the Goths, concerning the tvald-elven, and the draca. A similar superstition, concerning abstraction by daemons, seems, in the time of Gervase of Til- bury, to have pervaded the greatest part of Eu- rope. " In Catalonia," says the autlior, " there is a lofty mountain, named Cavagum, at the foot of which runs a river with golden sands, in the FAIRT MYTHOLOGY. 425 vicinity of which there are likewise mines of sil- 'M lead to the subterranean habitations of the Fairies. Thus Gervase relates, (p. 975.) "that he was informed the swine-herd of William Peverell, an English baron, having lost a brood- sow, descended through a deep abyss, in the mid- dle of an ancient ruinous castle, situated on the top of a hill, called Bech, in search of it. Though a violent wind commonly issued from this pit, he found it calm ; and pursued his way, till he arrived at a subterraneous region, pleasant and cultivated, with reapers cutting down com, though the snow remained on the surface of the ground above. Among the ears of corn he dis- I covered his sow, and was permitted to ascend with her, and the pigs which she had farrowed." Though the author seems to think that the inha- bitants of this cave might be antipodes, yet, as many such stories are related of the Fairies, it is probable that this narration is of the same kind. Of a similar nature seems to be another supersti- tion, mentioned by the same author, concerning the ringing of invisible bells, at the hour of one, in a field in the vicinity of Carleol, which, as he relates, was denominated Laikibraine, or Lai ki brail. From all these tales, we may perhaps be justified in supposing, that the faculties and habits ascribed to the Fairies, by the superstition of latter days, comprehend several, originally attributed to other classes of inferior spirits. III. The notions, arising from the spirit of chivalry, combined to add to the Fairies certain qualities, less atrocious indeed, but equally for- midable, with those which they derived from the last-mentioned source, and alike inconsistent with the powers of the duergar, whom we may j term their primitive prototype. From an early 1 period, the daring temper of the northern tribes I urged them to defy even the supernatural powers, j In the days of Caesar, the Suevi were described, I by their countrymen, as a people with whom the I immortal gods dared not venture to contend. ! At a later period, the historians of Scandinavia I paint their heroes and champions, not as bend- ver. This mountain is steep, and almost mac- cessible. On its top, which is always covered with ice and snow, is a black and bottomless lake, into which if a stone be thrown, a tempest sud- denly rises : and near this lake, though invisible to men, is the porch of the palace of daemons. In a town adjacent to this mountain, named Junchera, lived one Peter de Cabinam. " Being one day teazed with the fretfulness of his young daughter, he, in his impatience, suddenly wished that the devil might take her; when she was immediately borne away by the spirits. About seven years afterwards, an inhabitant of the same city, passing by the mountain, met a man, who complained bitterly of the burthen he was con- stantly forced to bear. Upon inquiring the cause of his complaining, as he did not seem to carry any load, the man related, that he had been un- warily devoted to the spirits by an execration, and that they now employed him constantly as a vehicle of burthen. As a proof of his assertion, he added, that the daughter of his fellow-citizen was detained by the spirits, but that they were willing to restore her, if her father would come and demand her on the mountain. Peter de Cabinam, on tieing informed of this, ascended the mountain to the lake, and, in the name of God, demanded his daughter; when a tall, thin, withered figure, with wandering eyes, and almost bereft of understanding, was wafted to him in a blast of wind. After some time, the person, who had been employed as the vehicle of the spirits, also returned, when he related where the palace of the spirits was situated ; but added, that none were permitted to enter but those who devoted themselves entirely to the spirits; those, who had been rashly committed to the devil by others, being only permitted, during their probation, to enter the porch." It may be proper to observe, that the superstitious idea, concerning the lake on the top of the mountain, is common to almost every high hill in Scotland. Wells, or pits, on the top of high hills, were likewise supposed to ^ ing at the altar of their deities, but wandering 42() SCOTTISH TiALLADS. Into remote forests and the recesses of the tomb, and extorting boons, alike from gods and dsemons, by dint of the sword and battle-axe. I will not detain the reader by quoting instances in which heaven is thus described as having been literally attempted by storm. He may consult Saxo, Olaus Worm- ius, Olaus Magnus, TorfjBus, Bartholin, and other northern antiquaries. With such ideas of superior beings, the Normans, Saxons, and other Gothic tribes, brought their ardent courage to ferment yet more highly in the genial climes of the south, and under the blaze of romantic chivalry. Hence, during the dark ages, the in- visible world was modelled after the material ; and the saints, to the protection of whom the knights-errant were accustomed to recommend themselves, were accoutred like preux chevaliers, by the ardent imaginations of their votaries. With such ideas concerning the inhabitants of the celestial regions, we ought not to be surprised to find the inferior spirits, of a more dubious nature and origin, equipped in the same disguise. Gervase of Tilbury {Otia Imperial, ap. Script, rer. Brunsvic, vol. i. p. 797,) relates the followinj< jKjpular story concerninK a Fairy Knight. " Os- bert, a bold and powerful baron, visited a noble fkmily in the vicinity of Wandelbury, in the bishopric of Ely. Among other stories related in the social circle of his friends, who, according to custom, amused each other by repeating an- cient tales and traditions, he was informed, that if any knight, unattended, entered an adjacent plain by moon-light, and challenged an adversary to appear, he would be immediately encountered by a spirit in the form of a knight. Osbert re- solved to make the experiment, and set out, attended by a single squire, whom he ordered to remain without the limits of the plain, which was surrounded by an ancient entrenchment. On repeating the challenge, he was instantly assailed by an adversary, whom he quickly un- horsed, and seized the reins of his steed. Curing , descending into ^and, darting his spear, like a javelin, at Osberx, wounded him in the thigh. Osbert returned in triumph with the horse, which he committed to the care of his servants. The horse was of a sable colour, as well as his whole accoutrements, and apparently of great beauty and vigour. He re- mained with his keeper till cock-crowing, when, with eyes flashing fire, he reared, spurned the ground, and vanished. On disarming himself, Ostiert perceived that he was wounded, and that one of his steel boots was full of blood. Gervase adds, that as long as he lived, the scar of his wound opened afresh on the anniversary of the eve on which he encountered the spirit." * Less fortunate was the gallant Bohemian knight, who, travelling by night with a single companion, came in sight of a fairy host, arrayed under dis- played banners. Despising the remonstrances of his friend, the knight pricked forward to break a lance with a champion who advanced from the ranks, apparently in defiance. His companion beheld the Bohemian overthrown, horse and man, by his aerial adversary ; and, returning to the spot next morning, he found the mangleU corpse of the knight and steed. — Hierarchic ev«r tasted. The Fairies always appeared to her In even numbers ; never less than two, nor more than eight, at a time. She had always a sufficien t stock of salves and medicines, and yet neither made, nor purchased any ; nor did she ever appear to be in want of money. She, one day, gave a silver cup, containing about a quart, to the daughter of her mistress, a girl about four years old, to carry to her mother, who refused to receive it. The narrator adds, that he had seen her dancing in the orchard among the trees, and that she informed him she was then dancing with the Fairies. The report of the strange cures wnich she performed, soon attracted the attention of both ministers and magistrates. The ministers endeavoured to persuade her, that the Fairies, by which she was haunted, were evil spirits, and that she was under the delusion of the devil. After they had left her, she was visited by the Fairies, while in great perplexity, who desired her to cause those who termed them evil spirits, to read that place of scripture, First Epistle of John, chap. iv. v. 1,— Dearly beloved, believe nut tvery spirit, but try the spirits, whether they are qf God, S^c. Though Anne Jefferies could not read, she produced a Bible folded down at this pas- sage. By the magistrates she was confined three months, without food, in Bodmin jail, and after- | wards for some time in the house of justice Treg- | eagle. Before the constable appeared to appre- hend her, she was visited by the Fairies, who informed her what was intended, and advised her to go with him. When this account wjis given, on May 1, 1696, she was still alive ; but refused to relate any particulars of her connection with the Fairies, or the occasion on which they deserted her, lest she should again fall under the cognizance of the magistrates. Anne Jefferies' Fairies were not altogether singular in maintaining their good character, in opposition to the received opinion of the church. Aubrey and Lily, unquestionably judges in such matters, had a high opinion of these beings, if we :y} may judge from the following succinct and busi- ness-like memorandum of a ghost-seer. "Anno 1670. Not far from Cirencester was an appari- tion. Being demanded whether a good spirit or a bad, returned no answer, but disappeared with a curious perfume, and most melodious twang. BI. W. Lily believes it was a fairie. So Proper- tius, ■■ ' Omnia finierat ; tenties secesait In auras, Manait odor, poaaia scire fui»ae Ueam ! ' " Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. 80. Webster gives an account of a person who cured diseases by means of a white powder. " To this I shall only add thus much, that the man was accused for invoking and calling upon evil spirits, and was a very simple and illiterate per- son to any man's judgment, and had formerly been very poor, but had gotten some pretty little means to maintain himself, his wife, and diverse small children, by his cures done with his white powder, of which there were sufficient proofs ; and the judge asking him how he came by the powder, he told a story to this effect ; That one night, before day was gone, as he was going home from his labour, being very sad and full of heavy thoughts, not knowing how to get meat and drink for his wife and children, he meta fair woman in fine deaths, who asked him why he was so sad, and he told her that it was by reason of his poverty, to which she said, that if he would follow her counsel, she would help him to that which would serve to get him a good living ; to which he said he would consent with all his heart, so it were not by unlawful ways ; she told him that it should not be by any such ways, but by doing good, and curing of sick people ; and so warning him strictly to meet her there the next night, at the same time, she departed from him, and he went home. And the next night, at the time appointed, he duly waited, and she (accord- ing to promise) came, and told him that it was well that he came so duly, otherwise he had missed that benefit that she intended to do unto him, and so bade him follow her, and not be FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 437 afraid. Thereupon she led him to a little hill, $1 and she knocked three times, and the hill opened, and they went in, and came to a fair hall, whereia was a queen sitting in great state, and many people about her, and the gentlewoman that brought him presented him to the queen, and she said he was welcome, and bid the gen- tlewoman give him some of the white powder, and teach him how to use it, which she did, and gave him a little wood box full of the white pow- der, and bade him give two or three grains of it to any that were sick, and it would heal them ; and so she brought him forth of the hill, and so tliey parted. And, being asked by the judge, whether the ilace within the hill, which he called a hall, were light or dark, he said, indifferent, as it is with us in the twilight ; and being asked how he got more powder, he said, when he wanted, he went to«that hill, and knocked three times, and said every time, 1 am coming, I am coming, whereupon it opened, and he, going in, was conducted by the aforesaid woman to the queen, and so had more powder given him. This was the plain and simple story (however it may be judged of) that he told before the judge, the whole court, and the jury ; and there being no proofs, but what cures he had done to very many, the jury did acquit him : and 1 remember the judge said, when all the evidence was heard, that if he were to assign his punishment, he should be whipped from thence to Fairy -hall; and did seem to judge it to be a delusion, or an impos- ture." — Webster's Displaying qf supposed fVitch- craft, p. 301. A rustic, also, whom Jackson taxed with magical practices, about 1620, obstinately denied * Robin Goodfellow, or Hobgoblin, possesses the frolicksome qualities of the French Lutin For his full character, the reader is referred to the "Reliques of Ancient Poetry." The proper livery of this sylvan Momus is to be found in an old play. " Enter Robin Goodfellow, in a suit of leather, close to his body, his hands and face coloured russet colour, with a flail." — Grim the Collier of Croydon, Act 4, Scene 1. At other times, that the good king of the Fairies had any con- I i however, he is presented in the vernal livery of owed his prophetic visions to their interven- tion. VI. There remains yet another cause to be noticed, which seems to have induced a consi- derable alteration into the popular creed of Eng- land, respecting Fairies. Many poets of the sixteenth century, and, above all, our immortal Shakspeare, deserting the hackneyed Actions of Greece and Rome, sought for machinery in the superstitions of their native country. " The fays, which nightly dance upon the wold," were an interesting subject ; and the creative imagination of the bard, improving upon the vulgar belief, assigned to them many of those fanciful attributes and occupations, which posterity have since asso- ciated with the name of Fairy. In such employ- ments, as rearing the drooping flower, and arranging the disordered chamber, the Fairies of South Britain gradually lost the harsher charac- ter of the dwarfs, or elves. Their choral dances were enlivened by the introduction of the merry goblin Puck, ' for whose freakish pranks they exchanged their original mischievous propensi- ties. The Fairies of Shakspeare, Drayton, and Mennis, therefore, at first exquisite fancy por* traits, may be considered as having finally ope- rated a change in the original which gave them birth, t nection with the devil ; and some of the Highkvnd seers, even in our day, have boasted of their inti- macy with the elves, as an innocent and advan- tageous connection. One Macoan, in Appin, the last person eminently gifted with the second sight, professed to my learned and excellent friend, Mr Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, that he { the elves, his associates Ti By"a To my Father' . " I have made speeciies. Sir, in verse, which have been spoke ;re'en Robin Goodfellow, from Cheapside con- company." The City Match, Act 1, Scene 6. t The Fairy land, and Fairies of Spenser, have 433 SCOTTISH BALLADS, While the fays of South Britain received such < various employments of men. The brook of Beaumont, for example, which passes, in its course, by numerous linns and caverns, is noto« rious for being haunted by the Fairies; and th« perforated and rounded stones, which are formei by trituration in its channel, are termed, by the Hook i. Canto 10. ^ vulgar, fairy cups and dishes. A beautiful reason I oNiVERSITY 1 FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 439 Is assigned by Fletcher for the fays frequenting ^ blreiims and fountains : He tells us of A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds. By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes Their stolen children, so to make them free From dying flesh and dull mortality. Faithful Shepherdess It is sometimes accounted unlucky to pass such places, without performing some ceremony to avert the displeasure of the elves. There is, upon the top of Minchmuir, a mountain in Peebles-shire, a spring, called the Cheese Well, bpcause, anciently, those who passed that way were wont to throw into it a piece of cheese, as an offering to the Fairies, to whom it was con- secrated. Like the feld elfen of the Saxons, the usual dress of the Fairies is green; though, on the moors, they have been sometimes observed in heath-brown, or in weeds dyed with the stoneraw, or lichen. " They often ride in invisible proces- sion, when their presence is discovered by the shrill ringing of their bridles. On these occa- sions, they sometimes borrow mortal steeds ; and when such are found at morning, panting and fatigued in their stalls, with their manes and tails dishevelled and entangled, the grooms, I presume, often find this a convenient excuse for their situation ; as the common belief of the elves quaffing the choicest liquors in the cellars of the rich (see the story of Lord Duffus, below,) might occasionally cloak the delinquencies of an unfaith- ful butler. The Fairies, beside their equestrian processions, are addicted, it would seem, to the pleasures of the chace. A young sailor, travelling by night from Douglas, in the Isle of Man, to visit his sister, residing in Kirk Merlugh, heard the noise of horses, the holla of a huntsman, and the sound of a horn. Immediately afterwards, thir- teen horsemen, dressed in green, and gallantly • Henoe the hero of the ballad is termed an " elfln grey." mounted, swept past him. Jack was so much delighted with the sport, that he followed them, and enjoyed the sound of the horn for some miles ; and it was not till he arrived at his sister's house that he learned the danger which he had incur- red. I roust not omit to mention, that these little personages are expert jockeys, and scorn to ride the little Mauks ponies, though apparently well suited to their size. The exercise, there- fore, falls heavily upon the English and Irish horses brought into the Isle of Man. Mr Wal- dron was assured byagentleman of Ballafletcher, that he had lost three or four capital hunters by these nocturnal excursions. — Waldron's Works, p. 132. From the same author we learn, that the Fairies sometimes take more legitimate moclet, of procuring horses. A person of the utmost in- tegrity informed him, that, having occasion to sell a horse, he was accosted among the moun- tains by a little gentleman plainly dressed, who priced his horse, cheapened him, and, after some chaffering, finally purcha-^d him. No sooner had the buyer mountetl, and paid the price, than he sunk through the earth, horse and man, to the astonishment and terror of the seller ; who experienced, however, no inconvenience from dealing with so extraordinary a purchaser. — Ibid. p. 135. It is hoped the reader will receive, with due re- spect, these, and similar stories, told by Mr Wal- dron ; for he himself, a scholar and a gentleman, informs us, "as to circles in grass, and the im- pression of small feet among the snow, 1 cannot deny but 1 have seen them frequently, and once thought I heard a whistle, as though in my ear, when nobody that could make it was near me." In this passage there is a curious picture of the contagious effects of a superstitious atmosphere. Waldron had lived so long among the Manks, that he was almost persuaded to believe their legends. The worthy captain George Burton communk cated to Richard Bovet, gent., author of the interesting work, entitled, " Pandaemonium, or 440 SCOTTISH BALLADS. the Devil's Cloister Opened," the following sin- -^ night, and return again, and whilst we are gular account of a lad called the Fairy Boy of Leith, who, it seems, acted as a drumtner to the elves, who weekly held rendezvous in the Calton Hill, near Edinburgh. "About fifteen years since, having business that detained me for some time at Leith, which is near Edinburgh, in the kingdom of Scotland, I often met some of my acquaintance at a certain house there, where we used to drink a glass of wine for our refection ; the woman which kept the house was of honest reputation among the neighbours, which made me give the more atten- tion to what she told me one day about a fairy boy (as they called him,) who lived about that town. She had given me so strange an account of him, that I desired her I might see him the first opportunity, which she promised ; and not long after, passing that way, she told me there was the fairy boy ; but a little before I came by, and, casting her eye into the street, said, ' Look you. Sir, yonder he is at play with those other boys,' and designing him to me, I went, and, by smooth words, and a piece of money, got him to come into the house with me; where, in the presence of divers people, I demanded of him several astrological questions, which he answered with great subtilty ; and, through all his dis- course, carried it with a cunning much above his years, which seemed not to exceed ten or eleven. " He seemed to make a motion like drumming upon the table with his fingers, upon which I asked him. Whether he could beat a drum ? To which he replied. Yes, Sir, as well as any man in Scotland ; for every Thursday night I beat all points to a sort of people that used to meet under yonder hill, (pointing to the great hill between Edenborough and Leith.) How, boy? quoth I, What company have you there ? There are. Sir, (said he) a great company both of men and wo- there, we enjoy all the pleasures the country doth afford. 1 demanded of him, how they got under that hill ? To which he replied, that there were a great pair of gates that opened to them, though they were invisible to others ; and that within there were brave large rooms, as well accommodated as most in Scotland. — I then asked him, How I should know what he said to be trae ? Upon which he told me he would read my fortune, saying, I should have two wives, and that he saw the forms of them sitting on my shoulders ; that both would be very handsome women. As he was thus speaking, a woman of the neighbourhood coming into the room, de- manded of him. What her fortune should be ? He told her that she had two bastards before she was married, which put her in such a rage, that she desired not to hear the rest. " The woman of the house told me, that all the people in Scotland could not keep him from the rendezvous on Thursday night ; upon which, by promising him some more money, I got a promise of him to meet me at the same place, in the after- noon, the Thursday following, and so dismist him at that time. The boy came again, at the place and time apnointed, and I had prevailed with some friends to continue with me (if possible) to prevent his moving that night. He was placed between us, and answered many questions, until, about eleven of the clock, he was got away un- perceived of the company, but I, suddenly missing him, hasted to the door, and took hold of him, and so returned him into the same room ; we all watched him, and, on a sudden, he was again got out of doors ; I followed him close, and he made a noise in the street, as if he had been set upon ; but from that time I could never see him. " George Burton." Pandcemonium, or the Devil's Cloyaler. By men, and they are entertained with many sorts ■ I Richard Bovet, Gent. Lond. 16S4, p. 172. of musick, besides my drum ; they have, besides, | From the " History of the Irish Bards," by Mr plenty of variety of meats and wine, and many 1 1 Walker, and from the glossary subjoined to the times we are carrie|ii into France or Holland in a^ lively and ingenious Tale of " Castle Rackrent," FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 441 we learn, that the same ideas, concerning Fairies, ; are cuirent among the vulgar in that country. The latter authority mentions their inhabiting the ancient tumuli, called Barrotva, and their abstracting mortals. They are termed " the good people ;" and when an eddy of wind raises loose dust and sand, the vulgar believe that it announces a Fairy procession, and bid God speed their journey. The Scottish Fairies, In like manner, some- times reside in subterranean abodes, in the vicin- ity of human habitations, or, according to the popular phrase, under the " door-stane," or threshold; in which situation, they sometimes establish an Intercourse with men, by borrowing and lending, and other kindly offices. In this capacity they are termed "the good neighbours," * from supplying privately the wants of their friends, and assisting them in all their transac- tions, while their favours are concealed. Of this * Perhaps this epithet is only one example, among many, of the extreme civility which the vulgar in Scotland use towards spirits of a dubi- ous, or even a determinedly mischievous, nature. The archfiend himself is often distinguished by the softened title of the "good-man." This epithet, so applied, must sound strange to a southern ear; but, as the phrase bears various interpretations, according to the places where it is used, so, in the Scottish dialect, the goodman of such a place signifies the tenant, or life-renter, in opposition to the laird, or proprietor. Hence, tlie devil is termed the good-man, or tenant, of the infernal regions. In the buok of the Univer- 8al Kirk, 13th May, 1594, mention is made of *' the horrible superstitioune usit in Garioch,and dyvers parts of the countrie, in not Labouring a parcel of ground dedicated to the devil, under the title of the Guid Man's Cnxft." Lord Hailes conjectured this to have been the tenenos adjoin- ing to some ancient Pagan temple. The una- vowed, but obvious purpose of this practice, was to avert the destructive rage of Satan from the neighbouring possessions. It required various fulminations of the General Assembly of the Knk to abolish a practice bordering so nearly upon the doctrine of the Magi. the traditionary story of Sir Godfrey MaccuUoch forms a curious example. As this Gallovidian gentleman was taking the air on horseback, near his own house, he was sud- denly accosted by a little old man, arrayed in green, and mounted upon a white palfrey. After mutual salutation, the old man gave Sir Godfrey to understand, that he resided under his habita- tion, and that he had great reason to complain of the direction of a drain, or common sewer, which emptied itself directly into his chamber of dais, f Sir Godfrey MacuUoch was a good deal startled at this extraordinary complaint ; but, guessing the nature of the being he had to deal with, he assured the old man, with great cour- tesy, that the direction of the drain should be altered; and caused it to be done accordingly. Many years afterwards. Sir Godfrey had the mis- fortune to kill, in a fray, a gentleman of the neighbourhood. He was apprehended, tried, and condemned. ^ The scaffold, upon which his head was to be struck i.ff, was erected on the Castle-hill of Edinburgh; but hardly had he reached the fatal spot, when the old man, upon his white palfrey, pressed through the crowd, with the rapidity of lightning. Sir Godfrey, at his command, sprung on behind him ; the " good neighbour" spurred his horse down the steep bank, and neither he nor the criminal were ever again seen. The most formidable attribute of the elves, wag their practice of carrying away and exchanging children, and that of stealing human souls from their bodies. " A persuasion prevails among the ignorant," says the author of a MS. history of t The best chamber was thus currently deno- minated in .Scotland, from the French dais, sig- nifying that part of the ancient halls which was elevated above the rest, and covered with a ca- nopy. The turf-seats, which occupy the sunny side of a cottage wall, are also termed the dais. i In this particular, tradition coincides with the real fact; the trial took place in 1697. 442 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Moray, "that, in a consumptive disease, the ^he was, as I may so speali, swaddled ; but, if T Fairies steal away the soul, and put the soul of a Fairy in the room of it." This laelief prevails chiefly along the eastern coast of Scotland, where a practice, apparently of druidical origin, is used to avert the danger. In the increase of the March moon, withies of oak and ivy are cut, and twisted into wreaths or circles, which they pre- serve till next March. After that period, when persons are consumptive, or children hectic, they cause them to pass thrice through these circles. In other cases the cure was more rough, and at least as dangerous as the disease, as will appear from the following extract : " There is one thing remarkable in this parish of Suddie (in Inverness-shire,) which I think proper to mention. There is a small hill N. W. from the church, commonly called Therdy Hill, or Hill of Therdie, as some term it; on the top of which there is a well, which 1 had the curi- osity to view, because of the several reports con- cerning it. When children happen to be sick, and languish long in their malady, so that they almost turned skeletons, the common people imagine they are taken away (at least the sub- stance) by spirits, called Fairies, and the shadow left with them; so, at a particular season in summer, they leave them all night themselves, watching at a distance, near this well, and this they imagine will either end or mend them ; they say many more do recover than do not. Yea, an honest tenant who lives hard by it, and whom I had the curiosity to discourse about it, told nie it has recovered some, who were about eight or nine years of age, and to his certain knowledge, they bring adult persons to it; for, as he was passing one dark night, he heard groanings, and, coming to the well, he found a man, who had been long sick, wrapped in a plaid, so that he could scarcely move, a stake being fixed in the earth, with a rope, or tedder, that was about the plaid ; he had no sooner inquired what he was. right remember, he signified, he did not recover." Account of the Parish qf Suddie, apud Maqfar- lane's MSS. According to the earlier doctrine, concerning the original corruption of human nature, the power of daemons over infants had been long reckoned considerable, in the period intervening between birth and baptism. During this period, therefore, children were believed to be particu- larly liable to abstraction by the fairies, and mothers chiefiy dreaded the substitution of changelings in the place of their own offspring. Various monstrous charms existed in Scotland, for procuring the restoration of a child which had been thus stolen ; but the most efficacious of them was supposed to be, the roasting of the supposititious child upon the live embers, when it was believed it would vanish, and the true child appear in the place, whence it had been originally abstracted. * It may be questioned if this expe- riment could now be made without the animad- version of the law. Even that which is prescribed in the following legend is rather too hazardous for modern use. " A certain woman having put out her child to nurse in the country, found, when she came to take it home, that its form was so much al- tered, that she scarce knew it ; nevertheless, not knowing what time might do, took it home for her own. But when, after some years, it could neither speak nor go, the poor woman was fain to carry it, with much trouble, in her arms ; and one day, a poor man coming to the door, ' God bless you, mistress,' said he, 'and your poor * Less perilous recipes were sometimes useil. The editor is possessed of a small relique, termed by tradition a toad-stone, the influence of which was supposed to preserve pregnant women from the power of daemons, and other dangers inci- dental to their situation. It h.is been carefully preserved for several generations, was often but he conjured him to loose him, and out of j pledged for considerable sums of money, and sympathy he was pleased to slacken that wherein •;, uniformly redeemed from a belief in its efficacy. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. child ; be pleased to bestow something on a poor man.' 'Ahl this child," replied she, is the cause of all my sorrow,' and related what had happened, adding, moreover, that she thought it changed, and none of her child. The old man, whom years had rendered more prudent in such matters, told her, to find out the truth, she should malie a clear fire, sweep the hearth very clean, and place the child fast in his chair, that he might not fall before it, and brealt a dozen eggs, and place the four-and-twenty half-shells before it ; then go out, and listen at the door : for, if the child spolte, it was certainly a change- ling ; and then she should carry it out, and leave it on the dunghill to cry, and not to pity it, till she heard its voice no more. Tlie woman, hav- ing done all things according to these words, heard the child say, ' Seven years old was I before 1 came to the nurse, and four years have I lived since, and never saw so many milk pans before, t^o the woman took it up, and left it upon the dunghill to cry, and not to be pitied, till at last she thought the voice went up into the air ; and coming, found there her own natural and well- favoured child."— Grose'* Provincial Glossary, quoted from "A Flesant Treatise on Witch- craft." The most minute and authenticated account of an exchanged child is to be found in Waldron's " l.-le of Man," a book from which I have de- rived much legendary infornation. "1 was prevailed upon myself," says that author, "to go and see a child, who, they told me, was one of tliese changelings, and, indeed, must own, was not a little surprised, as well as shocked, at the sight. Nothing under heaven could have a more beautiful face; but, though between five and six years old, and seemingly healthy, he was so far from being able to walk or stand, that he could not so much as move any one joint; his limbs were vastly long for his age, but smaller than any infant's of six months ; his complexion was per- fectly delicate, and he had the finest hair in the world. He never spoke nor cried, ate scarce any 443 4ft thing, and was very seldom seen to smile ; but if I any one called him a fairy-elf , he would frown, I and fix his eyes so earnestly on those who said it, I as if he would look them through. His mother, I or at least his supposed mother, being very poor, I frequently went out a chareing, and left him a i whole day together. The neighbours, out of I curiosity, have often looked in at the window, to see how he behaved while alone ; which, when- I ever they did, they were sure to find him laugh- ing, and in the utmost delight. This made them 1 judge that he was not without company, more I pleasing to him than any mortals could be ; and what made this conjecture seem the more reason- able, was, that if he were left ever so dirty, the woman, at her return, saw him with a clean £ice, and his hair combed with the utmist exact- ness and nicety." — P. 1'28. Waldron gives another account of a poor wo- man, to whose offspring, it would seem, the Fairies had taken a special fancy. A few nights after she was delivered of her first child, the j family were alarmed by a dreadful cry of " Fire !' All fiew to the door, while the mother lay trem- bling in bed, unable to protect her infant, which was snatched from the bed by an invisible hand. Fortunately, the return of the gossips, after the causeless alarm, distui bed the Fairies, who drop- ped the child, which was found sprawling and shrieking upon the threshold. At the good woman's second accouchement, a tumult was heard in the cow-house, which drew thither the whole assistants. They returned, when they found that all was quiet among the cattle, and lo ! the second child had been carried from the bed, and dropped in the middle of the lane. But, upon the third occurrence of the same kind, the company were again decoyed out of the sick wo- man's chamber by a false alarm, leaving only a nurse, who was detained by the bonds of sleep. On this last occasion, the mother plainly saw her child removed, though the means were invisible. She screamed for assistance to the nurse ; but the ^ old lady had partaken too deeply of the cordials 444 SCOTTISH BALLADS. which circulate upon such joyful occasions, to be ^ easily awakened. In short, the child was this time fairly carried off, and a withered, deformed creature Kft in its stead, quite naked, with the clothes of the abstracted infant, rolled in a bun- dle, by its side. This creature lived nine years, ate nothing but a few herbs, and neither spoke, stuod, walked, nor peifornied any other func- tions of mortality ; resembling, in all respects, the changeling already mentioned. — Waldron'i Works, ibid. But the power of the Fairies was not confined to unchristened children alone; it was supposed frequently to extend to full-grown persons, espe- cially such as, in an unlucky hour, were devoted to the devil by the execration of parents and of masters ; * or those who were found asleep under a rock, or on a green hill, belonging to the Fairies, after sun-set, or, finally, to those who unwarily joined their orgies. A tradition existed, during the seventeenth century, concerning an ancestor of the noble family of Duffus, who, " walking abroad in the fields, near to his own house, was suddenly carried away, and found the next day at Paris, in the French king's cellar, with a silver cup in his hand. Being brought into the king's presence, and questioned by him who he was, and how he came thither, he told his name, his country, and the place of his resi- dence ; and that, on such a day of the month, ■which proved to be the day immediately preced- ing, being in the fields, he heard the noise of a * This idea is not peculiar to the Gothic tribes, but extends to those of Sclavic origin. Tooke {History qf Russia, vol. i. p. 100,) relates, that the Russian peasants believe the nocturnal dae- mon, Kikimora, to have been a child, whom the devil stole out of the womb of its mother, because she had cursed it. They also assert, that if an execration against a child te spoken in an evil hour, the child is carried off by the devil. The beings, so stolen, are neither fiends nor men ; they are invisible, and afraid of the cross and holy water ; but, on the other hand, in their nature and dispositions they resemble mankind, whom they love, and rarely injure. whirlwind, and of voices, cr/;ng, ' Horse and Hattock >' (this is the word which the Fairies are said to use when they remove from any place,) whereupon he cried, ' Horse and Hattock ' also, and was immediately caught up, and transported through the air, by the Fairies, to that place, where, after he had drunk heartily, he fell asleep, and before he woke, the rest of the company were gone, and had left him in the posture wherein he was found. It is said the king gave him the cup, which was found in his hand, and dismissed him." The narrator affirms, " that the cup was still preserved, and known by the name of the Fairy cup." He adds, that Mr Steward, tutor to the then lord Duffus, had informed him, that, " when a boy, at the school of Forres, he, and his school-fellows, were upon a time whip- ping their tops in the church-yard, before the door of the church, when, though the day was calm, they heard a noise of a w ind, and at some distance saw the small dust begin to rise and turn round, which motion continued advancing till it came to the place where they were, whereupon they began to bless themselves ; but one of their number being, it seems, a little more bold and confident than his companions, said, ' Horse and Hattock with my top,' and immediately they all saw the top lifted up from the ground, but could not see which way it was carried, by reason of a cloud of dust which was raised at the same time. They sought for the top all about the place where it was taken up, but in vain ; and it was found afterwards in the church-yard, on the other side of the church." — This puerile legend is contained in a letter from a learned gentleman in Scotland, to Mr Aubrey, dated loth March, 1695, published in Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. 158. Notwithstanding the special example of lord Duffus, and of the top, it is the common opinion, that persons, falling under the power of the Fairies, were only allowed to revisit the haunts of men, after seven years had expired. At the end of seven years more, they again disappearea after which they were seldom seen among mor . FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 445 tals. The accounts they gave of their situation ^ The cataatrophe of Tamlane terminated more differ in some particulars. Sometimes they were represented as leading a life of constant restless- ness, and wandering by moon -light. According to others, they inhabited a pleasant region, where, however, their situation was rendered horrible, by the sacrifice of one or more individ- uals to the devil every seventh year. This cir- cumstance is mentioned in Alison Pearson's indictment, and in the Tiile of the Young Tam- lane, where it is termed, " the paying the kane to hell," or, according to some recitations, " the teind," or tenth. This is the popular reason assigned for the desire of the Fairies to abstract young children, as substitutes for themselves in this dreadful tribute. Concerning the mode of winning, or recovering, persons abstracted by the Fairies, tradition differs; but the popular opinion, contrary to what may be inferred from the following tale, supposes, that the recovery must be effected within a year and a day, to be held legal in the Fairy court. This feat, which •was reckoned an enterprise of equal difficulty and danger, could only be accomplished on Hal- lowe'en, at the great annual procession of the Fairy court. * Of this procession the following description is found in Montgomery's Flyting against Polnart, apud Watson's Collection qf Scots Poems, 1709, Part iii. p. 12. In the hinder end of harvest, on All-hallowe'en, When our good neighbuura dois ride, U 1 read right. Some buckled on a bunewand, and some on a been, Ay trottand in troups from the twilight ; Some saidled a she-ape, all grathed into green, Some hobland on a hemp-stalk, hovand to the hight; The ling of Pharie and his court, with the Elf queen, With many elfish incubus was ridand that night. There an elf on an ape, an unsel begat. Into a pot by Pomathorne; That biatchaft in a busse was born ; They fand a monster on the morn, War faced nor a cat. See the inimitable poem of Hallowe'en :— " Upon that night, when Fairies light On Cassilis Downan dance; Or o'er the leas, in splendid blaze, On stately coursers prance," &c. — Burns. ^ successfully than that of other attempts, which tradition still records. The wife of a farmer in Lothian had been carried off by the Fairies, and, during the yearof probation, repeatedly appeared on Sunday, in the midst of her children, combing their hair. On one of these occasions she was accosted by her husband ; when she related to him the unfortunate event which had separated them, instructed him by what means he might win her, and exhorted him to exert all his cour- age, since her temporal and eternal happiness depended on the success of his attempt. The farmer, who ardently loved his wife, set out on Hallowe'en, and, in the midst of a plot of furze, waited impatiently for the procession of the Fairies. A t the ringin g of the Fairy bridles, and the wild unearthly sound which accompanied the cavalcade, his heart failed hifti, and he suffered the ghostly train to pass by without interruption. When the last had rode past, the whole troop vanished, with loud shouts of laughter and ex- ultation ; among which he plainly discovered the voice of his wife, lamenting that he had lost her for ever A similar, but real incident, took place at the town of North Berwick, within the memory of man. The wife of a man, above the lowest class of society, being left alone in the house, a few days after delivery, was attacked and carried off by one of those convulsion fits, incident to her situation. Upon the return of the family, who had been engaged in hay-making, or harvest, they found the corpse much disfigured. This circumstance, the natural consequence of her disease, led some of the spectators to think that she had been carried off by the Fairies, and that the body before them was some elfin deception. The husband, probably, paid little attention to this opinion at the time. The body was interred, and after a decent time had elapsed, finding his domestic affairs absolutely required female super- intendence, the widower paid his addresses to a young woman in the neighloourhood. The re- 410 SCOTTISH BALLADS. oollection, however, of his former wife, whom he * had tenderly loved, haunted his slumbers ; and, one morning, he came to the clergyman of the parish in the utmost dismay, declaring that she had appeared to him the preceding night, in- formed him that she was a captive in Fairy Land, and conjured him to attempt her deliverance. She directed him to bring the minister, and cer- tain other persons, whom she named, to her grave at midnight. Her body was then to be dug up, and certain prayers recited ; after which the corpse was to become animated, and fly from them. One of the assistants, the swiftest runner in the parish, was to pursue the body ; and. If he was able to seize it, before it had thrice encircled the church, the rest were to come to his assist- ance, and detain it, in spite of the struggles it should use, and the various shapes into which it might be transformed. The redemption of the abstracted person was then to become complete. The minister, a sensible man, argued with his parishioner upon the indecency and absurdity oi what was proposed, and dismissed him. Next Sunday, the banns being for the first time pro» claimed betwixt the widower and his new bride, his former wife, very naturally, took the oppor- tunity of the following night to make him another visit, yet more terrific than the former. She upbraided him with his incredulity, his fickle- ness, and his want of affection ; and, to convince him that her appearance was no aerial illusion, she gave suck, in his presence, to her youngest child. The man, under the greatest horror of mind, had again recourse to the pastor; and his ghostly counsellor fell upon an admirable expe- dient to console him. This was nothing less than dispensing with the former solemnity of banns, and marrying him, without an hour's delay, to the young woman to whom he was affianced ; after which no spectre again disturbed his repose.* * To these I have now to add the following Instance of redemption from Fairy Land. The Itgend is printed from a broadside still popular in Ireland ; — " Near the town of Aberdeen, In Scotland, lived James Campbell, who had one daushter named Mary, who was married to John Nelson, a young man of that neighbourhood. Shortly after their marriage, they being a young couple, they went to live in the town of Aberdeen, where he followed his trade, being a goldsmith ; they lived loving and agreeable together until the time of her lying in, when there was female at- tendants prepared suitable to her situation ; when near the hour of twelve at night they were alarmed with a dreadful noise, at which of a sudden the candles went out, which drove the attendants in the utmost confusion ; soon as the women regained their half-lost senses, they called in the neighbours, who, after striking up lights, and looking towards the lying-in woman, found her a corpse, which caused great confusion in the j j family. There was no grief could exceed that of i her husband, who, next morning, prepared or- I i naments for her funeral; people of all sects came h to her wake, amongst others came the reverend i Mr Dodd, who, at first sight of the corpse, said, I ' it's not the body of any Chi;istian, but that Mrs ^ Nelson was taken away by the Fairies, and what they took for her was only some substance left in her place. He was not believed, so he refused attending her funeral ; they kept her in the fol- lowing night, and next day she was interred. "Her husband, one evening after sunset, being riding in his own field, heard a most pleasant concert of music, and soon after espied a woman coming towards him drest in white ; she being veiled he could not observe her face, yet he rode near her, and asked her very friendly who she was that chose to walk alone so late in the evening ? at which she unveiled her face, and burst into tears, saying, I am not permitted to tell you who I am. He knowing her to be his wife, iisked her, in the name of God, what disturbed her, or occa- sioned her to appear at that hour ? She said her appearing at any hour was of no consequence ; for though you believe me to be dead and buried, I am not, tmt was taken away by the Fairies the night of my delivery; you only buried a piece of wood in my place ; I can be recovered if you take proper means ; as for my child, it has three nurses to attend it, but I fear it cannot be brought home; the greatest dependence I have on any person is my brother Robert, who is a captiiin of a merchant ship, and will be home in ten days hence. Her husband ask d her what means he FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 4.J.7 Having concluded these general observations aV uninteresting, I proceed to the more particular upon the Fairy superstition, which, although minute, may not, I hope, be deemed altogether should take to win her ? She told him he should find a letter, the Sunday morning following, on the desk in his own room, directed to her brother, wherein there would be directions for winning her. Since my being taken from you I have had the attendance of a queen or empress, and if you look over my right shoulder you will see several of my companions ; he then did as she desired, when, at a small distance, he saw a king and queen sitting, beside a moat, on a throne in splendour. " .She then desired him to look to right and left, which he did, and observed other kings on each side of the king and queen, well guarded. He said, I fear it is an impossibility to win you from such a place ; no, says she, were my brother Robert here in your place, he would bring me home; but let it not encourage you to attempt the like, for that would occasion the loss of me for ever : there is now severe punishment threat- ened to me for speaking to vou ; but, to prevent that, do you ride up to the moat, where (suppose you will see no person), all you now see will be near you, and do you threaten to burn all the old thorns and brambles that is round the moat, if you do not get a firiii promise that I shall get nil punishment, I shall be forgiven; which he promised. She then disappeared, and he lost sight of all he had seen ; he then rode very reso- lutely up to the moat, and went round it, vowing j he would burn all about it if he wuuld not get a ^ | promise that his wife should get no hurt ; a j voice desired him to cast away a book was in his ' pocket, and then demand his request ; he an- | ' Bwered he would not part his book, but grant his ! request, or they should find the effect of his rage ; ' ' the voice answered, that upon honour she should j ' be forgave that fault, but for him to suffer no ^ prejudice to come to the moat, which he pro- i ' niised to fulfil, at which he heard a most pleasant ' music. He then returned home, and sent for the 1 1 reverend Air Dodd, and related to him what he had seen ; Mr Dodd staid with him till Sunday morning following, when, as Mr Nelson looked on the desk in his room, he espied a letter, which he took up, it being directed to her brother, who in a few days came home; on his receiving the letter ., he opened it, wherein he found the following : ^ illustrations, relating to " The Tale of the Young Taralane." 'Dear Brother,— My husband can relate to you my present circumstances. I request that you will (the first night after you see this) come to the moat where I parted my husband ; let nothing daunt you, but stand in the centre of the moat at the hour of twelve at night, and call me, when I with several others will surround you ; I shall have on the whitest dress of any in company, then take hold of me, and do not forsake me; all the Irightful methods they shall use let it not sur- prize you, but keep your hold, suppose they con- tinue till cock-crow, when they shall vanish all of a sudden, and I shall be safe, when I will re- turn home and live with my husband. If you succeed in your attempt, you will gain applause from all your friends, and have the blessing of your ever-loving and affectionate sister, Mary Nelson. " No sooner had he read the letter than he vowed to win his sister and her child, or perish in the attempt; he returned to his ship, and re- lated to his sailors the consequence of the letter; he delayed till ten at night, when his loyal sailors offered to go with him, which he refused, think- ing it best to go alone. As he left his ship a frightful lion came roaring towards him ; he drew his sword and struck at the lion, which he observed was of no substance, it being only the appearance of one to terrify him in his attempt ; it only encouraged him, so that he proceeded to the moat, in the centre of which he observed a white handkerchief spread ; on which he was surrounded by a number of women, the cries of whom were the most frightful he ever heard; his sister being in the whitestdressof any round him, he seized her by the right hand, and said, "With the help of God, I will preserve you from all in- fernal imps; when, ofa sudden, the moat seemed to be on fire round him. He likewise heard the most dreadful thunder could be imagined; fright- ful birds and beasts seemed to make towards him out of the fire, which he knew was not real; nothing daunted his courage ; he kept hold of his sister fjr the space of an hour and three quarters, when the cocks began to crow ; then the fire disappeared, and all the frightful imps vanished. He held her in his arms, and fell on his knees and gave God thanks for his proceed- 448 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The following ballad, still popular in Ettriek <^ Forest, where the scene is laid, is certainly of much greater antiquity than its phraseology, gradually modernized as transmitted by tradition. Would seem to denote. The " Tale of the Young Tamlane " is mentioned in the " Complaynt of Scotland ;" and the air, to which it was chaunt- ed, seems to have been accommodated to a par- ticularilance ; for the dance of" Thorn of Lynn," another variation of " Thomalin," likewise occurs in the same performance. Like eveiy popular subject, it seems to have been frequently paro- died; and a burlesque ballad, beginning, " Tom o' the Linu was a Scot»man born," is still well known. In a medley, contained in a curious and an- cient MS. cantus, penes J. G. Dalyell, Esq., there is an allusion to our ballad : — merry, be merry, and In " Scottish Songs," 1774, a part of the origi- nal tale was published under the title of " Kerti n Ha';" a corruption of Carterhaagh ; and, in the same collection, there is a fragment, containing two or three additional verses, beginning, " I'll wager, I'll wager, I'U wager with y.m," &c. In Johnston's "Musical Museum, a more complete copy occurs, under the title of " Thorn Linn," which, with some alterations, was re- printed In the " Tales of Wonder." The present edition is the most perfect which ings that night ; he believing her cloathingtT be light, he put his outside coat on her; she then embraced him, saying, she was now sale, as he put any of his '•loathing on her; he then brought her home to her husband, which occasioned great rejoicing. Her husband and he began to conclude to destroy the moat in revenge of the child they had away, when instantly thpy heard a voice, which said, you shall have your son safe and well on condition that you will not till the ground within three perches of the moat, nut has yet appeared ; being prepared from a colla- tion of the printed copies with a very accurate one in Glenriddell's MSS., and with several re- citals from tradition. Some verses are omitted in this edition, being ascertained to belong to a separate ballad, which will be found in a subse- quent part of the work. In one recital only, the well-known fragment of the " Wee, wee Man," was introduced, in the same measure with the rest of the poem. It was retained in the fii-st edition, but is now omitted ; as the editor has been fevoui-ed, by the learned Mr Ritson, with a copy of the original poem, of which it is a de- tached fragment. The editor has been enabled to add several verses of beauty and interest to this edition of " Tamlane," in consequence of a copy, obtained from a gentleman residing near Langholm, which is said to be very ancient, though the diction is somewhat of a modern cast. The manners of the Fairies are detailed at consi- derable length, and in poetry of no common merit. Carterhaugh is a plain, at the conflux of the Ettriek and Yarrow in Selkirkshire, about a mile above Selkirk, and two miles below Newark Castle; a romantic ruin, which overhangs the Yarrow, and which is said to have been the habi- tation of our heroine's father, though others place his residence in the tower of Oakwood. The peasants point out, upon the plain, those electrical rings, wh"ch vulgar credulity supposes to be traces of the Tairy revels. Here, they say, were placed the stands of milk, and of water, in damage bushes or brambles round that place, which they agreed to, when, in a few minutes, the child was left on his mother's knee, which caused them to kneel and return thanks to G"d. "The circumstance of this terrifying affair wai occasioned by leaving Mrs Nelson, the night of her lying-in, in the care of women who were mostly intoxicated with liquor. It is requested both sexes will take notice of the above, and not leave women in distress, but with people w1k> at such times mind their duty to God." 1 FAIRY MTTHOLOGY. 440 which " Tamlane " was dipped, in order to eflfect ^ terhaugh, had tired of his labour, and laid him j the disenchantment; and upon these spots, ac- down to sleep upon a Fairy ring. When he cording to their mode of expressing themselves, awakened, he was amazed to find himself in the the grass will never grow. Miles Cross (perhaps midst of a populous city, to which, as weU as to a corruption of Mary's Cross,) where feir Janet the means of his transportation, he was an utter awaited the arrival of the Fairy train. Is said to stranger. His coat was left upon the Peatlaw ; have stood near the duke of Buccleuch's seat of and his bonnet, which had fallen off in the course Bowhill, about half a mile from Carterhaugh. of his aerial journey, was afterwards found hang- In no part of Scotland, indeed, has the belief in ing upon the steeple of the church of Lanark. Fairies maintained its ground with more perti- The distress of the poor man was, in some degree. jacity than in Selkirkshire. The most sceptical relieved, by meeting a carrier, whom he had among the lower ranks only venture to assert. formerly known, and who conducted him back that their appearances, and mischievous exploits. to Selkirk, by a slower conveyance than had have ceased, or at least become infrequent, since whirled him to Glasgow.— That he had been the light of the Gospel was diffused in its purity. carried off by the Fairies was implicitly believed One of their frolics is said to have happened late by all, who did not reflect, that a man may have in the last century. The victim of elfln sport private reasons for leaving his own country. was a poor man, who, being employed in pulling and for disguising his having intentionally heather upon Peatlaw, a hill not far from Car-^ done 80. ^ Janet has kilted her green Urtle, * A little abune her knee ; And she has braided her yellovf hair, A litUe abune her bree. I forbid ye, maidens a'. That wear gowd on your hair. To come or gae by Carterhaugh For young Tamlane is there. And when she came to Carterhangb, She gaed beside the well ; And there she fand his steed sUnding, But away was himsell. There's nane, that gaes by Carterhaugh, But maun leave him a wad. Either goud rings, or green mantles. Or else their maidenheid. She hadna pu'd a red red rose, A rose but barely three ; Till up and starts a wee wee man. At Lady Janet's knee. Now, gowd rings ye may buy, maidens. Green mantles ye may spin ; But, gin ye lose your maidenheid, Ye'U ne'er get that agen. But up then spak her, fair Janet, The fairest o' a' her kin ; " I'll cum and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o' him." ^ Says—" Why pu' ye the rose, Janet ? What gars ye break the tree ? Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, Withouten leave o' me ?" » The ladies are always represented, in Dun- bar's Poems, with green mantles and yellow hair ; —Mailland Poerm, vol. i. p. 45. 2v 1 450 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Says—" Carterhaugh it is mine ain ; My daddie gave it me ; I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o' thee." He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, Amang the leaves sae green ; And what they did I cannot tell — The green leaves were between. He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, Amang the roses red ; And what they did I cannot say — She ne'er returned a maid. When she cam' to her father's ha'. She looked pale and wan ; They thought she'd dried some sair sickness. Or been wi' some leman. She didna comb her yellow hair, Kor make meikle o' her held ; And ilka thing that lady took. Was like to be her deid. It's four and twenty ladies iair Were playing at the ba' ; Janet, the wightest of them anes. Was faintest o' them a'. Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the chess ; And out there came the Mr Janet, As green as any grass. Out and spak' an auld gray-headed knight. Lay o'er the castle wa'— "And ever alas ! for thee, Janet, But we'll be blamed a' !" "Now haud your tongue, ye auld gray knight! And an ill deid may ye die. Father my bairn on whom I will, I'll father nane on thee," Out then spak' her father dear, AnJ he spak' meik and mild^ "And ever, alas ! my sweet Janet, I fear ye gae with child." "And, if I be with child, father, Mysell maun bear the blatr.e ; There's neer a knight about your lia' Shall ha'e the bairnie's name. " And, if I be with child, father, 'Twill prove a wondrous birth ; For well I swear I'm not wi' bairn To any man on earth. " If my love were an earthly knight. As he's an elfin grey, I wadna gi'e my ain true love For nae lord that ye ha'e." She princked hersell and prinn'd hersell. By the ae light of the moon. And she's away to Carterhaugh, To speak wi' young Tamlane. And when she cam' to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well ; And there she saw the steed standing, But away was himsell. She hadna pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twae, When up and started young Tamlane, Sajs — " Lady, thou pu's nae mae I " Why pu' ye the rose, Janet, Within this garden grene. And a' to kill the bonnie babe. That we got us between ?" " The truth ye '11 tell to me, Tamlane j A word ye mauna lie ; Gin e'er ye was in haly uhapel. Or sained * in Christeotie." "The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet, A word I winna lie; A knight me gut, and a lady me bore. As well as they did thee. " Randolph, earl Murray, was my sire, Dunbar, earl March, is thine; f We loved when we were children small. Which yet you well may mind. « Sained — Hallowed. f Both these mighty chiefs were connected with Ettrick Forest and its vicinity. Their memory, therefore, lived in the traditions of the country. Randolph, earl of Murray, the renowned nephew of Robert Bruce, had a castle at Ha' Guards, in Annandale, and another in Peebles-shire, on the borders of the forest, the site of which is stUi FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 451 " When I was a boy just turned of nine, 4 ^ " Then I would never tire, Janet, My uncle sent for me. In elfish land to dwell; To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him, But aye at every seven years. And keep him cumpanie. They pay the teind to hell ; And I am sae fat, and fair of flesh. " There came a wind out of the north. 1 fear 'tvvUl be mysell. A sharp wind and a snell ; And a dead sleep came over me. " This night is Halloween, Janet, And frae my horse I fell. The morn is Hallowday ; And, gin ye dare your true love win. " The Queen of Fairies keppit me. Ye ha'e na time to stay. In yon green hUl to dweU ; And I'm a fairy, lyth and Umb ; " The night it is good Hallowe'en, Fair lady, view me well. When fairy folk will ride ; And they, that wad their true love win. " But we, that live in Fairy-land, At Miles Cross they maun bide." No sickness know, nor pain ; 1 quit my body when I will. " But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane ? And take to it again. Or how shall 1 thee kn:iw, Amang so many unearthly knights. *' I quit my body when I please. The like 1 never saw i " Or unto it repair ; We can inhabit, at our ease. In either earth or air. host confessed, that, although he practised aU the unconscionable tricks of his trade, he was still miserably poor. The monk shook his head, and To either large or small ; asked to see his buttery, or larder. As they An old nut-shell's the same to us. looked into it, he rendered visible to the aston- As is the lofty hall. ished host an immense goblin, whose paunch, and whole appearance, bespoke his being gorged •' We sleep in rose-buds, soft and sweet. with food, and who, nevertheless, was gorman- We revel in the stream ; dizing at the innkeeper's expense, emptying We wanton lightly ou the wiud^ whole shelves of food, and washing it down with Or glide on a sun-beam. entire hogsheads of liquor. " To the depredation of this visitor will thy viands be exposed," quoth "And all our wants are well supplied. the uncle, " until thou slmlt abandon fraud, and From every rich man's store. false reckonings." The monk returned in a year. Who thankless sins the gifte he gets, * The host having turned over a new leaf, and given And vainly grasps for more. Christian measure to his customers, was now a thriving man. When they again inspected tha larder, they saw the same spirit, but wofully re- called Randall's Walls. Patrick of Bunbar, earl duced in size, and in vain .ittempting to reach of March, is said, by Henry the Minstrel, to have at the full plates and bottles, which stood around retreated to Kttrick Forest, after being defeated him ; starving, in short, like Tantalus, in the by Wallace.— Sco«. midst of plenty. Honest Hey wood sums up the • To sin cur giflt or merciet, means, ungrate- tale thus :— fully to hold them in slight esteem. The idea. that the possessions of the wicked are most ob- In this dincourse, far be it we ghould mean noxious to the depredations of evil spirits, may Spirits by meat are Jailed made, or lean ; be illustrated by the following tale of a Buttery Yet certain 'tis, by God'» pe.misaiou, they Spirit, extracted from Thomas Hey wood : — May, over goods extorted, uear like sway. An ancient and virtuous monk came to visit All such as study fraud, and practise evil, his nephew, an innkeeper, and, after other dis- Do only stane themselves to plumpe the devill. course, enquired into his circumstaucea. Mine { Hierarchic of the Blessed AngeU. p. 577. — 452 SCOTTISH BAILAD3. " The first company, that passes by, ^ Cast your green mantle oyer me — Say na, and let them gae ; I'll be myself again." The next company, that passes by. Say na, and do right sae ; Gloomy, gloomy, was the night. The third ccjmpany, that passes by. And eiry f was the way. Than I'll be ane o' thae. As fair Janet, in her green mantle. To MUes Cross she did gae. " First let pass the black, Janet, And syne let pass the brown ; The heavens were black, the night was But grip ye to the milk-white steed. dark. And pu* the rider down. And dreary was the place ; But Janet stood, with eager wish. " For I ride on the milk-white steed. Her lover to embrace. And aye nearest the town ; Because I was a christened knight. Betwixt the hours of twelve and one. They gave me that renown. A north wind tore the bent; And straight she heard strange ehritch "My right hand will be gloved. Janet, sounds My left hand will be bare ; Upon that wind which went. And these the tokens 1 gi'e thee. Nae doubt 1 will be there. About the dead hour o' the night, tihe heard the bridles ring; "They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, And Janet was as glad o' that. An adder and a snake ; As any earthly thing ! But had me fast, let me not pass. Gin ye wad be my maike. Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill. The hemlock small bl w clear ; " Theyll turn me in your arms, Janet, And louder notes from hemlock large. An adder and an ask ; And bog -reed struck the ear; They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, But solenm sounds, or sober thoughts. A bale * that burns fast. The Fairies cannot bear. " They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, They sing. Inspired with love and joy. A red-hot gad o' aim ; Like fky-larks in the air ; But had me fast, let me not pass. Of soUd sense, or thought that's grave. For I'll do you no liarm. Tou'll find no traces there. " First dip me in a stand o' milk. Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoyed. And then in a stand o' water ; The dreary heath upon ; But had me fast, let me not pass— And louder, louder wax'd the sound. I'll be your bairn's father. As they came riding on. "And, next, they 11 shape me in your arms. Will o' Wisp before them went. A tod, but and an eel ,- Sent forth a twinkling light ; But had me fast, nor let me gang, And soon she saw the Fairy bands As you do lore me weel. All riding in her sight. "They'll shape me in your arms, Janet, And first gaed by the black black steed A dove, but and a swan j And then gaed by the brown ; And, last, tht-y'll shape me in your arms. But fast she gript the milk-white steed. A mother-naked man : And pu'd the rider donn. • Ball— A. Ikggot. i « t fii>y— Producing superstiaous dread. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 453 She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed. And loot the bridle fa' ; And up there raise an erlish * cry — " He's won amang us a' J" They shaped him in fair Janet's arms, An esk, f but and an adder ; She held him fast in every shape — To be her bairn's father. They shaped him in her arms at last, A mother-naked man ; She wrapt him in her green mantle. And sae her true love wan. Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, Out o' bush o' broom — " She that has borrowed young Tamlane, Has gotten a stately groom." Vp then spake th« Queen of Fairies, Out 0' a bush of rye — " She's ta'en awa' the bonniest knight In a' my cunipanie. " But had I kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, " A lady wad borrowed thee — I wad ta'en out thy twa gray een. Put in twa een o' tree. "Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, " Before ye came frae hame — I wad tane out your heart o' flesh, Put in a heart C stane. " Had I hut had the wit yestreen. That I ha'e coft i the day— I'd paid my kane seven times to hell. Ere you'd been won away !" [This fragment is from " A New Book of Old Ballads," Edinburgh, 1844. It differs consider- ably from the preceding.] O ! ALL you ladies young and gay, "Who are so sweet and fair ; Do not go into Chaster's wood. For Tomlin will be there. * Sr/wA— Elritch, ghastly. t £Mk— Newt. i Cqft— Bought. ^ Fair Margaret sat in her bonny bower. Sewing her silken seam ; And wished to be in Chaster's wood. Among the leaves so green. ' She let the seam fall to her foot. The needle to her toe ; And she has gone to Chaster's wood. As fast as she could go. When she began to pull the flower*. She pull'd both red and green ; Then by did come, and by did go. Said, " Fair maid let abene. " O ! why pluck you the flo;wers, lady. Or why climb you the tree ; Or why come ye to Chaster's wood Without the leave of me ?" "Oil will pull the flowers," she said, " Or I will break the tree. For Chaster's wood it is my own ; I'll ask no leave at thee." He took her by the milk white hand. And by the grass-green sleeve; And laid her down upon the flowers. At her he ask'd no leave. The lady blush'd and sourly frown'd. And she did think great shame ; Says, "If you are a gentleman. You will tell me your name." " First they did call me Jack," he said, " And then they call'd me John ; But since I liv'd in the fairy court, Tomlin has always been my name. " So do not pluck that flower, lady, That has these pnnples gray ; They would destroy the bonny babe That we've gotten in our play." "O ! tell to me, Tomlin," she said, " And tell it to me soon ; Was you ever at a good church door. Or got you Christendom ?" " O ! I have been at good church door. And oft her yetts within ; I was the laird of Fuulis's son. The heir of all his land. 454 SCOTTISH BALLADS. "But it fell once upon a day, 4 But hoM me fast, let me not ro. As hunting 1 did ride; Or from ,your goupen break. As I rode east and west yon hill. Tiiere woe did me betide. " I'll grow into your arms two. Like iron in strong fire ; " ! drowsy, drowsy as I was. But hold ine fast, let me not go. Dead sleep upon me fell ; Then you'll have your desire." The Queen of fairies she was there. And took me to hersel. And its next night into Miles Moss, Pair Margaret has gone ; "The mom at even is Hallowe'en, When 1.) she stands beside Rides Cross, Our fairy court will ride Between twelve hours and one. Through England and Scotland both. Through all the world wide ; There's holy water in her hand. And if that ye would me borrow. She casts a compass round; At Rides Cross ye may bide. And presently a fairy band Comes riding o'ar the mound. "Tou may go into the Miles Moss, Between twelve hours and one ; Take holy water in your hand. And cast a compass round. "The first court that comes along. ^|e Skamgie ^M^te, You'll let them all pass by; The next court that comes along. [A Bailad by Jamks Tklfer, with an Intro- Salute them reverently. duction by Robert White, of Newcastle-upon- Tyne ; printed in the legendary portion of " The Local Historian's Table Book for Northumber- Is clad in robes of green ; land and Durham, 1843." The ballad itself ori- And it's the head court of them all. ginally appeared in a small volume, published at For in it rides the Queen. Jedburgh in 1824.] " And I upon a milk white steed. [Although the light of knowledge has, to a With a gold star in my crown ; considerable degree, dispersed innumerable sha- Because I am an earthly man. dows which the vivid imagination of our ances- I'm next the Queen in renown. tors invested with the attributes of reality, a belief in Fairy Mythology still lingers with those " Then seiio upon me with a spring. who reside in the unfrequented recesses of the Then to the ground I'll fa' j Border Hills. Simple, pious men, attending And then you'll hear a rueful cry. their hirseU, and occasionally carrying the bible That Tomlin is awa". in their plaid neuks, will, on going their rounds, pointoutsomegreen knoll orlevelhaugh bounded "Then I'll grow in your arms two. by a slender brook, where the "good neighbours" Like to a savage wild ; | were, in former times, wont to hold their joyous But hold me fast, let me not go. revelry. Not one may acknowledge he ever saw I'm lather of your child. a fairy; but many will admit that such beings have been seen : and, rather than yield up this " I'll grow into your arms two point of credence, some would even be more ready Like an adder, or a snake ; to swerve from faith in matters of infinitely higher But hold me fast, let me not go. importance. Much light, I am aware, has been I'll be your earthly maik. thrown on this department of superstition by the pens of far abler commentators ; yet as I intend "I'll grow into your arms two. Like ice on frozen lake ^ -way of Ulustrating both the following ballad and 1 FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 455 similar pieces of fiction, I shall endeavour to confine myself to those opinions of the subject which prevailed on the boundaries of England and Scotland, handling them, if possible, in a way that may possess some slight interest to the generality of readers. Without either searching from whence the word fairy was derived, or noticing the splendid illusions which have been made to the elves by nearly all our old masters of British poetry, I may say they were considered to be little wee, slightly formed beings, beautifully proportioned in limb and stature, having fine flaxen or yellow hair waving over their shoulders ; and they chiefly wore green mantles, although the robes of those who haunted moory districts, assumed a brown- ish hue, so as to be nearly uniform with the appearance of these upland places. They were of different sexes, and the dress of the females, like that of mortals, varied in shape from male apparel, yet it retained almost the same colour. In their raids or journeys, which took place to- wards and after night-fall, they mounted little, dapper, cream-coloured horses, neatly saddled and bridled, with small bells attached either to the reins or mane, the shrill tinkling sound of which, as the procession hastened onward, reached the human ear at a great distance. Neither bank, furze, w.ill nor stream stayed them, nor could the slightest trace of the horse's foot-prints be seen ; even their own tiny feet in the course of their gambollings left no mark whatever, save in the meadow rings in which they danced roundels to their wild music, under the mellow moonlight. The times, when they were most likely to be seen, were either in the gray gloaming, or in the paly light at break uf day. On the evening preceding the first of May, they were supposed to possess the power of in- flicting evil in various ways on those luckless wights from whom they had sustained injury, or who had treated or spoken of them disrespect- fully ; and on Hallowe'en, or the night before Roodsmass, a kind of anniversary or general meeting of the whole fraternity usually took place, after which it was no uncommon circum- stance if they mounted on horseback, and tra- versed a very large tract of country in a marvel- lously short space of time. They resided chiefly in small green hills, slop- ing gently to the south ; the openings to their places of abode were undistinguishable by mor- tals, and a soft mild light without the aid of lamp, moon, or sun was shed continually thi ough- ^out their halls and chambers, which, in point of I decoration, outvied the gorgeous magnificence of I Eastern palaces. Sometimes they preferred to ] live near, and indeed almost under human habi- tations ; but they were more at home when at a I distance from mankind, and they held their I meetings of merry revelry always in wild unfre- ! quented places. Beautiful and romantic spots, I such as a smooth opening in a forest, a piece of I level sward with a hoary hawthorn iu the centre, the vicinity of a gushing spring surrounded by verdant banks, a wild sequestered linn, or the I side of a burn whose mimic waves, twittering j over rock and channel, produced everlasting mu- I sic, were with them all favourite haunts. Even in our own day, many places are pointed out as having formerly been the chief resorts of the elfin people. A small stream called the Elwin or Al- lan which falls into the Tweed from the north, a little above Melrose, was a noted locality ; so also was Beaumont water on the north of Cheviot, and the gravelly beds of both are remarkable for a kind of small stones of a rounded or spiral form, as if produced from the action of a lathe, called "Fairy cups" and "dishes." The chief haunt in Liddesdale was a stream which empties itself into the Liddell from the south, called, Harden burn. On the north side of the village of Gunnerton in Northumberland is a small bum in the rocky channel of which are many curious perforations, called by the country people " Fairy kirns:" similar indentations are likewise observ- able in the course of the Hart near Rothley. In Rcdesdale also, as our beloved and venerable Bard sings, * the " train " were accustomed to dance at the Howestane-mouth, near Rochester, and at the Dow-craig top, a solitary spot about a mile north of Otterburne. In the county of Durham there is a large hill near Billingham and a hillock near Bishopton, both of which places were noted formerly as being haunted by fairies. Several places, likewise, derive their names from the circumstance of having been repeatedly the scenes of fairy-pastime. According to Rit- son, " Ferry-hill," a stage between Durham and Darlington, is a corruption of Fairy-hill." In Northumberland, the Dancing Hall near Calla- ley, the Dancing Green at Debdon in Rothbury forest, and the Elf Hills near Cambo, point out See " Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel by Robt ^Roiby. Newcantie, 1809." 450 SCOTTISH BALLAliS. how firmly amongst our fathers the belief in fairy mythology was established. Even in the present day, there are many wells into which, especially if water be drawn therefrom, a pin or trifling article is usually dropped, as an oblation either to the elves, or the invisible guardians of the spot. So far the fairy folks may be considered as a class of beings entirely distinct from and alto- gether free of the slightest taint of human na- ture; but superstition has attributed to them several properties, which are indeed nothing more than detached links of the great chain which circumscribes mortality. Possessing the power of becoming visible at pleasure, many instances are on record to show that they kept up more or less a continual intercourse with human beings; and were even so very correct in their dealings, particularly in a domestic point of view, that they acquired the general designa- tion of the " good neighbours." They sometimes came even to houses, and asked for employment ^for flax to spin or other work of a similar de- scription ; and on obtaining it, they never failed to perform their engagements both speedily, and so as to afford the employer the utmost satisfac- tion. They were also much addicted to borrow such articles as are chiefly required about a house — meal, for instance, kitchen utensils, &c., and always observed the greatest punctuality in mak- ing honourable restitution. It seldom occurred that, in any request of this kind, they met with a refusal ; and indeed if they did, ample ven- geance was sure to descend on whoever mani- fested such churlish conduct. They had also their feasts. A story is told of a person coming upon them when they were about to partake of one : they invited him to stay, and his welcome was most cordial. The viands were excellent, but had a singular flavour about them, such as he never before experienced, and which he could not possibly describe. Hence it will be seen that their processions on horseback, their amuse- ments, their meetings at stated periods, their places of abode, their difference of sexes and procreation of children, their wants, manners, dress and appearance — all bore a collateral re- semblance to, and were closely in imitation of what is practised by the human race. Indeed they seem to have possessed a continual desire to change their own offspring for those of mortals ; and, therefore, the chief fears entertained anent them arose from the belief that they stole away unchristened means, substituting at the same time ^ their own tiny, sickly children : hence, mothero and nurses wers accustomed to be particularly careful of new-born infants. When the attempt to carry away a scion of the human stock was successful, the elves were, however, so liberal as to tend it with great kindness, and, by degrees, they brought it to partake almost of their own qualities: it was invisible, and as it grew up, they initiated it into their mysteries — iu short it lived and was treated as one of themselves. On the other hand, the changeling was a wearisome, discontented, yammering creature : the mother who reared it had neither " night's rest nor day's ease ;" and when it had lain years in the cradle, it was merely a cunning, ricketty, stunted, sem- blance of humanity. * If the mother came to know that it belonged to the invisible world, tricks and spells were practised to get quit of the thing, and receive back her own child ; but aa these varied considerably, it is perhaps unneces- sary here to bring them before the reader. Salves, seeds and herbs of various kinds were likewise supposed to be eflicacious in enabling the pos- sessor both to discover the fairy people, and to ward off their offensive designs ; yet as an enu- meration of these, and the modes of their appli- cation would lead us beyond the limits we intend to occupy, they must also, for the present, be passed over. Tradition likewise ascribes to the fairy folk the charge of not only falling in love with the finest and fairest specimens of the sons and daughtei-s of men, but of carrying them away to their own regions, and detaining them there fur an inde- • At Byerholm, near Newcastleton in Liddesdale, within the last twenty years, a dwarf called Robert Elliot, but more frequently "Little Hobbie o' the Castleton " was alive, and reputed to be a fairy change- ling. He was a most irascible creature; and wbea insulted, as he frequently was, by boys and others, he never hesitated a moment to draw his gully or dirk for the purpose of sacrificing them ; but as he was woefully short legged, they generally escaped by flight. He was revengeful, and by uo means deficient in courage. On hearing that a neighbour, William Scott of Kirndean, an able, stout, brave borderer, who stood 61t. Sin. high, had been spreading reports CHlculated to injure his reputation, the little man invited him to his house — took him up stairs to a room in which were a brace of pistols, with two swords, and, point- ing to the weapons, promptly demanded satisfaction for the offence, Scott adroitly backed to the door — got it open and hastily retreated, much to the disap- pointmeut of his host. He confessed afterwards that powerful as he was, his heart nearly failed liim when tlie deformed being so suddenly disclosed his plan of gentlemanly adjustment. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 457 finite length of time. A strong desire to sleep ^ would overtake the young man or young woman; and if he or she lay down and slumbered withhi tlie bounds of certain charmed rings, either Would, on awaking, discover they had been con- veyed to fairy land. If any friend or relation volunteered to win them back, the feat, accord- ing to current opinion, had to be performed on tiie evening before Holy-rood {14th September) within a year and day from the time when they were taken away ; and to be successful, extraor- dinary coolness and address were requisite. If no attempt at recovery was made, the settlers in fairy land were, after the expiration of seven years, allowed to return occasionally to the world^ during a similar period of time ; after whicn, they very rarely quitted their adopted country. Still, however pleasing and agreeable its verdant lawns, shady groves, and delightful valleys may have been, together with the soothing, unaifected courtesy of its inhabitants, those who were thus changed in nature are said to have retained the consciousness that they were not merely beyond the pale of salvation, but were liable, at certain periods, to be delivered up as a sacrifice to the arch-fiend himself: and this is assigned as one of the causes why the elves, to save their own num- bers, were desirous to retain amongst them vari- ous members of the human family. Instances, however, of adults being taken away were rare ; and the elves were scarcely ever dreaded on that accuunt. Yet such a point in the popular creed deserves to be noticed, from its beautiful adapta- tion to the purposes of fiction, and the way in which authors have employed it in the construc- tion of some of the finest machinery in the whole range of romantic literature. The number and exertions of the clergy, and the general dissemination of the Scriptures, were, it is said, the leading causes which tended to the banishment of the Curies from this country. Whenever a divine stationed himself on a fine green knoll, or within some sylvan boundary, and put up prayers to heaven, amidst his hearers, for the downfall of Satan and his emissaries, the little invisible people, however they might be attached to such localities, henceforth bade them adieu for ever. To the spread of the gospel, may also be added the circulation of knowledge, and the advancement of mathematical learning which so admirably qualifies the intellect, by inductive reasoning, to investigate and distinguish between error and truth. Many people also dip slightly into the fountain of knowledge, instead of drink- ^ ing deeply of its wave ; and this too often engen- ders a species of doubt and denial of all essences or things which cannot be distinctly either felt or seen. These, with probably other causes, drove from amongst us the light-footed, aerial elves, who for many ages inhabited our pastoral soli- tudes, and which tradition says they quitted with the utmost regret. On the night when the chief number were supposed to take their departure, the air was filled from " dusky eve " till " dewy morn " with wailing and lamentation. After tiie general dispersion of the fairies, a few would seem to have remained here even until a comparatively recent date. Having already entered upon this subject at considerable length, '' may be justified in bringing together some no- tices chiefly illustrative either of them, or what they were supposed to perfortn, which have been attested by veritable people, the greater number of whom were living within the memory of man. 1 know that modern examples of this kind lie under the disadvantage of having to be placed, like a picture or cartoon, nearer to the spectator than the distance at which they are best seen, and must therefore be more palpable than could be wished ; yet the reader will, it is hoped, be liberal enough to make sufficient allowance for the experiment. They are the last, faint glimpses caught of a system, which to me, at least, is not without attraction ; and they seem like the re- maining broken and lonely columns of a ruined temple, observed when day has departed, and immediately before they are shrouded in the shadow of night. On a fine summer evening as a clergyman, a resident of Redesdale in Northumberland, was returning on horseback from the Whitelee, and had advanced nearly half way between that place and Lumsden, he saw, at a short distance to the right before him, a party of the fairies forming a ring and about to commence the tripping of a gentle roundel. Music accompanied them, and its strains were delightfully mingled with the babbling of the brook which lapsed away beyond them, within a good bow-shot from the road. He turned his horse's head, and r()de towards the place ; but in advancing, he obs rved the objects of his curiosity betake themselves to flight over a slight bank which intervened between him and the stream, and on arriving at a spot from which the whole plot of ground could be distinguished, they were no whvre to be seen. No reasoning or argument afterwards could shake the reverend gentleman's opinion that '" there are more things 458 SCOTTISH BALLADS. in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in our <^ An old shepherd who lived at a solitary spot philosophy, Tosson water corn-mill, a little above Roth- bury, was occupied some time before the close of the last century, by a person of the name of Sproat. His wife, Tibby, who lived to a great age, often related the following incidents, espe- cially if the existence of fairies came to be dis- cussed in her presence ; and those who knew her upright disposition, would at any time, vouch for her strict adherence to what she conceived to be truth. " Ney, hinnies !" she would say, "AWU nit believe but there's fairies, though they dinuit kythe to e'en like ours. Aw mind nicely o' what happent, yin bonnie Spring gloamin', when we hed Tosson mill. The gude- nian set off the waitur, seest tu, an' just cam' in to get femily wurship : weel, ney seunur hed he ta'en the beuk, than the mill was set a gannin. He leukt at me as if he knaw'd the maitur ; but nevur stoppt wuv what he had i' hand, till we raise frev prayer. By this time the mill was stannin again, an'eftur waitin for hauf an hour, or sey, he went in, an' faund a' reet as he hed left it, except that the nioutar dish was nearly fouiv a' kinds iv grain butyits. He pat it through the mill : Aw beayk't a cake wuv the meal ; an' we a' ate on't, except a dog 'at belang'd yin o' the lads. It leukt up i' wur faces, an' wadnt touch a bit; and, whithur elf shot or no', nit yin could tell, but the yamphiu thing dee't the neist day. " Anithur time the gudeman was plewin out at yin iv the hie fields ; and when the gadsman cam' tiv the landin', what suud he see but the greatur pairt iv a cake iv brede, lyin' just where the owsen turnt! He teukt up ; it leukt clean like: the gudeman an' him baith tasted it, an' gae the onsen pairt tey. Od, but yin o' them turnt away its heart, an' wad hev nane, for a' they could dey. Weel, that neet, seest tu, the animal grew bad, and dee't withiu twey days, — a wairnin' tiv us a' that neythur body nor beast soud be owre positive i' their ain way. Nevur doubt, hinnies, iv tbeye things: doutia' leads aylways to muckle ill, an' ney geud '." Thus it will be seen how readily any event or circumstance, which was difficult to reconcile with natural causes, might be ascribed to fairy agency ; and had the following inexplicable oc- currence caught the ear of any other person than one of strong mind and strict veracity, what excellent scope it would have i'uruished towards called the SwjTefoot on Hyndlee farm in Rule water, Roxburgshire, had, on a time, the charge of a hirsel of new-speaned lambs. He arose from his bed one fine summer night, and went to the end of the house which stood on the brink of a linn, to listen if the lambs were rising, which, by their bleating, he could easily ascertain. All was still and quiet in the direction where they lay ; " but," said he, " I heard a great plitch- platching as it were o' some hundreds o' little feet i' the stream aboon the house. At first I was inclined to think it was the lambs ; but then the gray light o' a simmer's night loot me see the waiter clearly that nae lambs were there— indeed I could see naething ava. I stayed, an' stood listenin' an' lookin', no kennin' what to make o't, when a' at yince the plitch-platching' ga'e owre, an' then there was sic a queer eiry nieher, as o' some hundreds o' creatures laughin', cam' frae the upper linn, as left me i' nae doubt that if fairies were still i' the land, they were at the Swyre-foot that night." 1 come now to the last illustration of this sub- ject, and I account it not the less important, since it affords proof that the ground work of the following ballad is in strict keeping with popular superstition in the upper parts of Roxburghshire. 1 give it in the words of another old shepherd, Robert Oliver, by name, who lived at Southdean in Jed-water, and died about a dozen years ago. "speakin' o' Fairies," said Robie, "I can tell you about the vera last fairy that ever was seen hereaway. When my faither, Peter Oliver, was a young man, he lived at Hyndleee and herdit the Brockalaw. Weel, it was the custom to milk yowes i' thae d.iys, and my faither was buchtin' the Brockalaw yowes to twae young, lish, clever hizzles ae night after sunset. Nae little ' daffln ' and gabbin,' as the sang sings, gaed on amang the threesome, Ise warrant ye, till at laat, just a; it begoud to get faughish derk, my faither chanced to look alang the lea at the head o' the bucht, and what does he see but a little wee creaturie, a' clad i' green, and wi' lang hair, yellow as gowd, hingin' round its shoulders, comin' straight for him, whyles gi'en a whink of a greet, and aje atween hands raisin' a queer, unyirth y cry— ' Ha' ye seen Hewie MiUburn ? O ha' ye seen Hewie MiUburn ?' Instead o' making the crea- turie ony answer, my faither sprang ower the bucht flake to be near the lasses : he could only say ' Bless us too, what's that ?' ' Ha, ha, Patie the shadowing forth of supernatural existence I if lad!' quo' Bessie Elliot, a free-spoken Liddesdale FAIET MYTHOLOGY. hempy, ' there's a wife com'd for ye the night, a^ Patie lad.' ' A wife,' said my faither, ' may the Lord keep me frae sic a wife as that;' — and, as he confessed till his deein' day, he was at the time in sic a fear that he fand every hair on his head riie hl£e the birses of a hurcheon. * Weel, there was nae mair said, and the creaturie — it was nae bigger than a three year auld lassie, but feat and tight, lith and limb, as ony grown wo- man, and its Cice was the doonright perfection o' beauty; only there was something wild and unyerthly in its e'en — they could na be lookit at, and lees be describit — weel as I was sayin', it didna molest them farther than it taiglet on about the buchte, ay now and then repeatin' its cry, ' Ha' ye seen Hewie Millburn ?' and they could come to nae other conclusion, than that it had tint its companion. When they left the buchte, my faither and the lasses, it followed them hame even into Hyndlee kitchen, where the kitchen-woman offered it yowe brose, but it wadna takeonything, and at last a near-do-weel cowherd callant made as if he wad grip it by the nose wi' a pair o' reid het tangs, and it appeared to be oflFendit, for it left the house and gaed away down the burn side, crying its auld cry, eeryer and waesomer than ever, till it came to a bush o'seggsf where it sauntit an' never was mair seen." It is now necessary that these observations be brought to a close. They occupy more space than was at first intended; and still, I confess I leave them with regret. The will clings instinctively to whatever in former days characterized the land of our birth; and what was told us in our boyhood, and formed food for thoughts which Fancy moulded at will, seem, now that the nar- rators are no more, like memorials " thrice hal- lowed," for the sake of those who bequeathed them. Indeed, so far am I swayed with this feeling, that 1 would willingly exchange a few of the dry, hard outlines of reality, which distin- guish the present age, for some of the soft, rich, mellow shades which a brilliant fancy threw so enchantingly around the ideal objects of bygone times. In the presentday, the salutary influence of imagination over human existence would ap- pear to have almost lost its charm ; and what else, except religion, can be more redolent of in- tellectual enjoyment ? Amongst our forefathers, it was like the breath of Spring to nature, quickening into life not only " mute," but im- Hedgehog. t Sedges. ^ 459 material "things ; " and if the leafle«» tree and barren rock preserved then, as now, their ap- pearance unchanged, they gave relief to tha lur.uriance around them, rendering the green blade and blossoming bough still more beautiful and attractive.] Tick sun was reid as a fUmaee mouthe. As he sank on the Ettricke hyll ; And gloamyne gatherit from the easte. The dowye world to fill. When bonnye Jeanye Eoole she milket the I' the buchte aboon the lynne ; [yowes And they were wilde and ill to weare, But the hindmost buchtfu' was inne. O milk them weil, my bonnye Jeanye Roole, The wylye shepherd could say. And sing to me " The Kcache i' the Creel," To put the tyme away. It's fer owre late at e'en, shepherd, Replyed the maiden fair ; The fairies wad hear, quo' bonny Jeanj-e Roole, And wi* louting luy back is salr. He's ta'en her round the middel sae sma'. While the yowes ran bye between. And out o' the buchte he's layd her down. And all on the dewye green. The star o' love i' the eastern lifto Was the only e'e they saw ; — The only tongue that they might hear Was the lynne's deep murmuring f.i". O who can tell of youthfu' love ! O who can sing or say ! It is a theme for minstrel meete. And yet transcends his lay. It is a thraldome, well I weene. To hold the heart in sylke ; It is a draught to craze the braine, Yet mylder than the mylke. sing me the sang, my bonnye Jeanye Roole Now, dearest, sing to me ! The angels will listen at yon little holes. And witness my vowes to the«. 1 mayna refuse, quo' bonnye Jeanye Roole, Sae weel ye can me winne 1 4C0 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And she satte in his armia, and sweetly she sang, '^ And round the boddome o' the lifte. And her voice rang frae the lynne. It rang the worild through. And boomed against the milkye waye. The liUings o' that sylver voice Afore it closed its mou'. Might weel the wits beguile ; They clearer were than shepherd's pipe Then neiste it raised its note and sang Heard o'er the hylls a mUe. Sae witchinglye and sweete. The moudies powtelit out o' the yirth. The liltings o' that sylver voice. And kyssed the synger's feete. That rose an' fell so free. They s jfter were than lover's lute The waizle dimne frae the auld grey cairn, Heard o'er a sleeping sea. The thelffe foulmart came nighe ; The hurcheon raxed his scory chafts. The liltings o' that sylver voice And gepit wi' girning joye. Were melody sae true ; They sprang up-through the welkin wide To the heaven's key-stane blue. The todde he came frae the Screthy holes. And courit fou cunning'ye ; The stinkan brocke wi' his lang lank lyske, Shotte up his gruntle to see. Sing on, sing on, my bonnye Jeanye Boole, Sing on your sang sae sweet;— The kidde and martyne ranne a race Now Chryste me save ! quo' the bonnye lass. Amang the dewye feme ; Whence comes that waesome greete? The mawkin gogglet i' the synger's face, Th' enchaunting notes to learne. They turned their gaze to the Mourning Cleuch, Where the greeting seemed to be. The pert little eskis they curlit their tails. And there beheld a little greene bairne And danced a myrthsome reele ; Come o'er the darksome lea. The tade held up her auld dunne lufes. She lykit the sang sae weele. And aye it raised a waesome greete. Butte and an eiry crye. The herone came frae the Witch-pule tree. Untille it came to the buchte fauld ende. The houlet frae Deadwood-howe ; Where the wynsome payr did lye. The auld gray corbie hoverit aboone, While tears downe his cheeks did flowe. It lookit around with its snail-cap eyne. That made their hearts to grou. The yowes they lap out owre the buchte. Then turned upright its grass-green face, And opened its goblyne mou' ; And skippit up and downe ; And bonnye Jeanye Roole, i' the shepherd's Fell back-out-owre in a swoone. [armis. Then raised a youle, sae loude and lange— Sae yerlish and sae shrlUe, It might be glamourye or not. In sooth I cannot say. It was the witching time of night— As dirled up throwe the twinkling holes The second lifte untille. The hour o' gloamyne gray, And she that lay in her loveris armis I tell the tale as tolde to me. I wis was a weel-faured Maye. I swear S) by my faye ; And whether or not of glamourye. Her pulses all were beatinge trewe. In soothe I cannot say. Her heart was loupinge lighte. Unto that wondrous melody— That youling yowte sae yerlish was, | That simple song of mighte. Butte and sae lang and loude, | And holed ahint a cloude. «| ? 1 FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. 4C1 The Songk. k where is tinye Hewe ? mhm &^xn^. where is little Lenne? And where is bonny Lu? rFROM Mr Jamieson'8 collection, where it is And Menie o- the glenne ? said to be given from the recitation of Mrs And Where's the place o' rest ? Bbown.] The ever changing hame — Is it the go wan '8 breast. ALISON Gross, that lives in yon tower. Or 'neath the bell o' faem ? The ugliest witch in the north countrie. Chorus— Ay lu Ian, Ian dil y'u, &c. Has trysted me ae day up till her bower. And mony fhir speech she made to me. The fairest rose you flnde. May have a taint withinne ; She straiked my head, and she kembed my hair. The flower o' womankinde. And she set me down saftly on her knee. May ope her breast to sinne.— Says,—" Gin ye will be iny lemman sae true. The f x-glove cuppe you'll bring. Sae mony braw things as 1 would you gi'e." The taile of shootinge Sterne, And at the grassy ring. She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet. We'U pledge the pith o' feme. Wi' gouden flowers and fringes fine. Chor.— Ay lu Ian, Ian dil y'u, &c. Says, " Gin ye will be my lemman sae true. This goodly gift it saU be thine." And when the blushing moone Glides down the western sliye. "Awa", awa', ye ugly witch. By streamer's wing we soon Haud far awa', and lat me be ; Upon her top will lye ;— I never will be your lemman sae true. Her hichest horn well ride. And I wish I were out of your company." And quaffe her yellowe dewe ; And frae her skaddowye side. She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk. The burning daye we'll viewe. Weel wrought wi' pearls about the band ; Chor.— Ay lu Ian, Ian dil y'u, &c. Says,—" Gin ye will be my ain true love. This goodly gift ye sail command." She shaw'd me a cup o' the good red gond The straine raise high, the straine fell low. Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see ; Then fainted atfuUye; Says,—" Gin ye will be my lemman sae true. And bonnye Jeanye Roole she lookit up. This goodly gift I will you gie." To see what she might see. "Awa', awa', ye ugly witch ! She lookit hiche to the bodynge hille. Haud far awa", and lat me be ; And iaighe to the darklynge deane ;— For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth She heard the soundis still ringin' i' the lifte. For a' the gifts that ye cou'd gie." But naethinge could be seene. She's turned her richt and round about, She held her breathe with anxious eare. And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn ; And thought it all a drcame ; — And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon. But an eiry nicher she heard i' the linne. That she'd gar me rue the day I was born. And a plitch-platch in the streime. Then out has she ta'en a silver wand, [round; Never a word said bonnye Jeanye Roole, And she's turned her three times round and Butte, shepherd, lette us gange ; She's mutter'd sic words, that my strength it And never mair, at a Gloamyne Buchte, fail'd. Wald she singe another sange. ^ And I fell down senseless on the ground. ■■■ ■■ 1 462 SCOTTISH BALLADS. She's turn'd me into an ugly worm, • ^ HU legs were scarce a shathmonfs length, i And gar'd me toddle about the tree ; And thick and thimber was his thigh ; And ay, on ilka Saturday's night. Between his brows there was a span. My sister Maisry came to me. And between his shoulders there was three. § Wi- silver baaon, and silver kemb. He took up a meikle stane. To kemb my headie upon her knee ; And he flang't as far as I could see ; But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth. Though I had been a Wallace wight. I'd rather ha'e toddled about the tree. I coudna liften't to my knee. But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en, " 0, wee wee man, but thou be Strang ! When the Sbelv Court f was ridin' by. tell me where thy dwelling be?" The queen lighted down on a gowan bank. " My dwelling's down by yon bonnie bower. Nae Sax frae the tree whare I wont to lye. O will you go with me and see ?" She took me up in her milk-white hand, [knee ; On we lap, and awa' we rade. And she straiked me three times o'er her Till we came to yun bounie green ; She changed me again to my ain proper shape. We lighted down to bate our horse, And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree. And out there came a lady sheen. Four-and-twenty at her back. And they were a' clad out in green : ^fje Wiu mu il^an. Though the king of Scotland had been there. The warst o' them might ha'e been his queen. [This fragment was published by David Herd On we lap, and awa' we rade. In the first edition of his collection, 1709. It was Till we came to yon bonnie ha'. also given in Jolmson's Museum, along with the Where the roof was o' the beaten gouie. old melody to which it is sung, from which work And the floor was o' the crystal a'. || it was copied by Riuon, words and nmsic. Rit- Bun supposes the ballad to be a portion of an old When we came to the stair foot. poem of the time of Edward I. or II. in the Ladieg were dancing jimp and sma' ; Cotton Mas., beginning. But in the twinkling of an e'e. " Ala y jod on ay Mounday." My wee wee man was clean awa'. % This poem will be found in Finlay's collection (Edinburgh, 1808, vol. ii.) with a commentary and glossary.] i Shalhnumt, in old Scottish, means the fist closed, with the thumb extended, and may be As I was walking all alane considered a measure of about six inches. Between the water and the wa'. § VariaUon in MotherweU's copy :— There I spyed a wee wee man, And he was the least that e'er I saw. His leg was scarce a shathmont laug, Both thick and nimble was his kneej Between his e'eu there was a span. ' • The term worm formerly signified, like ter. Betwixt his shoulders there were ells three. pent, " a reptile of any kind that made its way without legs." Here, it signifies a tnake. Piers II Variation in MotherweU :— Plowman, using it in the same sense, lor a ser- The rafters were o' the beaten gold, pent, speaks of " Wyld rvormes in woodes," &c. Aud silver wire were the kebars all. ed. 1561. F. 0. iii. 1. t Seelx, Court, 1. e. " pleasant or happy court," IT Variation in SlotherweU's copy:— or " court of the pleasant and happy people." There were pipers playing in every neuk, This agrees with the ancient and more legitimate idea of Fairies. , And ladies dancing jimp and sma', And aye the owertuin o' their tune r" Was, Our wee wee man has been lang awa . FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 463 ^flJ Mia ^inicp. [In the collection in the Pepysean library, Cambridge, may be found a ditty with the fol- lowing title, " A Proper New Ballad, entituled, The Wind hath blown my Plaid away, or A dis- course betwixt a Young Maid and the Elphin- Knight. To be sung with its own pleasant tune." It is just a diflerent version of the following bal- lad, which is given in Mr Kinloch's collection, from the recitation of a native of Mearns-shire.] Therk stands a knicht at the tap o' yon hill, * Oure the hills and far awa'— He has blawn his horn loud and shill. The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa. " If I had the horn that I hear blawn, Oure the hills and far awa' — And tlie knicht that blaws that horn,"— The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. » Elf is commonly used as synonymous with fairy, though it also signifies a spirit or fiend, possessing qualities of a more evil nature than the " Gude neebours." — The " Elfin Knicht " comes under the latter description, and in truth, may be viewed as the same person as the devil, who, in the annals of tradition, is a well known tempter of the fair sex. He was once known to have paid his addresses to a fair maiden near the hill of Bennochie, in Aberdeenshire, in the form and dress of a handsome young man ; and so far gained her affections as to get her consent to be- come his wile. It happened, however, on the day appointed for the nuptials, which were to be celebrated i n a distan t part of the coun try, where the devil said he resided, that she accidentally discovered his cloven feet, (of which distinguish- ing mark he has not the power to divest himself), and was horror-struck to find that her ardent lover was no other than the devil ! Knowing that her promise was binding, and believing the tradition that she would be freed from her en- gagement if the day wtre allowed to elapse before he exacted her promise, she dissembled her ter- ror, and entered into conversation with him on various topics, particularly about their approach- ing nuptials, in order to pass over the day. But the devil was not so easily deceived; and per She had na sooner thae words said,— Oure the hills and far awa' — Than the elfin knicht cam' to her side,— The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " Are na ye oure young a may,— Oure the hills and far awa' — Wi' onie young man doun to lie,"— The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa". " I have a sister younger than I,— Oure the hills and far awa'— And she was married yesterday," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa*. " Married wl' me, ye sail ne'er be nane,— Oure the hills and far awa' — Till ye mak* to me a sark but f a seam," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa' " And ye maun shape it, knife, sheerless, ^ Oure the hills and far awa' — And ye maun sew it, needle, threedless," ^ The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. emptorily insisted on her going with him. At last, every delay and excuse being exhausted, she, as a last resource, told him she would volun- tarily fulfil her pron.ise, provided he would make a causey or road from the foot to the top of Ben- nochie, before she finished baking a quantity of bread, at which she was then engaged. The devil consented, and immediately commenced his labour ; while the maid went as quickly to work. But just as she was baking the last cake, the devil, who had concluded his task, appeared, and claimed her according to bargain. Being unwilling to comply, she resisted with all her might ; but he caiTied her off by force : and in passing Bennochie, the struggle between them became so great, that the devil, enraged at her obduracy, and in order to punish her falsehood, transformed her, with her girdle and tpartle (the baking implements, which she had taken with her in the hurry) into three grey stones, which, with the road he formed upon the hill,are pointed out to this day, to show the wonderful power of the devil, and the inevitable fate of those who have connection with the evil one ; — thus verify- ing the proverb, " They wha deal wi' the de'il will aye get a dear pennyworth." — Kinloch. t Bu<— without. % i, e. "Without > knife, or scissors, needle, or thread. ] 461 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " And ye maun wash it in yon cistran,- 4 " AnU whan that your wark is weUl deen. J- Oure the hills and Jar awa — Oure the hills and far awa'— Whare water never stood nor ran,"— Ve'se get your sark without a seam,"- The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa' "And ye maun dry it on yon hawthorn,— Cure the hills and far awa'— Whare the sun ne'er shon sin man was born," •— The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. THE FAIRY KNIGHT. " Gin that court«sie I do for thee,— Oure the hills and far awa'— [Tnis is another version of" The Elfin Knicht " Ye maun do this for me,"— taken from Mr Buchan's collection.] The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa*. Thk Elfin knight stands on yon hill. " Te'U get an acre o' gude red-land, *— Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! Oure the hills and far awa',— Blawing his horn loud and shrill. Atween the saut sea and the «sand ,•— And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " If I had yon horn in my kist. " I want that land for to be com,— Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw! Oure the hills and far awa'— And the bonnie laddie here that I luve best,"- And ye maun aer f it wi' your horn,"— And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. The cauld wind's blawn njy plaid awa*. " 1 ha'e a sbter eleven years auld. " And ye maun saw it without a seed,— Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! Oure the hills and far awa'— And she to the young men's bed has made And ye maun harrow it wi" a threed,"— bauld," - The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. "And ye maun shear it wi' your knife,— " And I mysell am only nine. Oure the hills and far awa — Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! And na tyne a pickle o'tfor your life,"— And oh ! sae fain, luve, as 1 wou'd be thine,"— The cauld wind's blawn my pUid awa'. And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun moue i it in yon mouse-hole,— " Te maun make me a fine Holland sark. Oure the bills and far awa'— Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! And ye maun thrash it in your shoe-sole,"— Without ony stitching, or needle wark,"— The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun fen it wl' your luves, |— " And ye maun wash it in yonder well. Oure the hills and fiu- awa'- Blaw, blaw, b!aw winds, bkiw ! And ye maun sack it in your gloves,"— Where the dew never wat, nor the rain erer The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. feU,"- And the wind has blawn my plaid awa*. " And ye roaun bring it oure the sea,- Oure the hills and far awa'— " And ye maun dry it upon a thorn. Fair and clean, and dry to me,"— Blaw, bluw, blaw winds, blaw ! The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa". That never budded sin Adam was bom," — And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.* * Red /and— tilled land. f -^er—tm. i Moue— pat it up in ricks. § Fun it mi' j/our /upe*— winnow it with your P Weill de^n— well done ; the pronunciation of palms. .^ ^ the North. 1 FAIRY MYTHOLOGY, 465 " Now sin' ye've ask'd gome things o' me, A Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! Ifs right I asli as mony o' thee,"— m^ ^M, And the wind has blawn my plaid awa.' un^ t|? mt mm%*^mBn%Un. " My father he ask'd me an acre o' land. Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! [Translated by Mr Jamieson from the Dan- Between the saut sea and the strand,"— ish, and published in his collection, Edinburgh, And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 1806.J "And ye maun plow't wl' yourblawing horn. Sir Om7» the hend has ridden sae wide. Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! All unto his bridal feast to bid. And ye maun saWt wi" pepper corn,"- And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. And lightly the elves, sae feat and tree. They dance all under the greenwood tree ' • "And ye maun harroWt wi' a single tyne. Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! [bane,"— And there danced four, and there danced Are; And ye maun shear't wi' a sheep's shank The Elf-King's daughter she reekit bilive. And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. Her hand to Sir Oluf sae feir and free : " And ye maun big it in the sea. " welcome, Sir Oluf, come dance wi' me! Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw! And bring the stathle dry to me,"— " welcome. Sir Oluf! now lat thy love gay. And the wind has blawn my plaid awa*. And tread wi' me in the dance sae gay." " And ye maun barn't in yon mouse hole. " To dance wl' thee ne dare I, ne may ; Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw J The morn it is my bridal day." And ye maun thrash't in your shee sole," — And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " come, Sir Oluf, and dance wl' me ; Twa buckskin boots I'll give to thee ; "And ye maun sack it in your gluve, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! " Twa buckskin boots, that sit sae fair. And ye maun winno't in your leuve,"— Wi' gilded spurs sae rich and rare. And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. "And hear ye. Sir Oluf! come dance wi' me; " And ye maun dry't without candle or coal. And a silken sark I'll give to thee ; Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! And grind it without quirn or mill,"— "A silken sark sae white and fine. And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. « Ye'll big a cart o' stane and lime. That my mother bleached in the moonshine." Biaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! « In the original this burden seems to have be- Gar Robin Redbreast trail it syne,"— longed to some elder ballad, which was sung to And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. the same tune ; but as it makes something like a connection between the first and second couplet. " "When ye've dune and finish'd your wark. I have introduced it as characteristically as I Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw 1 could. The greater part of the ballads in the Te'U come to me, luve, and get your sark,"— " K. Viser," as well as many of the traditionary And the wind ha« blawn my pljud awa'." Scottish ones, have burdens of this kind, which have no relation to the sense of the stanzas to which they are annexed ; although they are such as may be supposed to have continued the sense, as well as the sound, in the pieces to which they • 6 originally belonged.— Jamieion. ' 2o 1 1 468 SCOTTISH BALLADS. "Idareoa, I maunna come dance wi' thee; w For the morn my bridal day maun be." mikt mn. " hear ye. Sir Oluf ! come dance wi' me. [This is another translation by Mr Jamieson And a helmet o* goud I'll give to thee." from the Danish, and pubUshed in his collection, Edinburgh, 1806.] " A helmet o" goud I well may ha'e ; But dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may." I LAID my haffet on Elfer Hill ; Saft Blooming clos'd my e'e ; " And winna thou dance, Sir Oluf, wi' me ? And there twa selcouth * ladies oame. Then sickness and pain shall follow thee I " Sae fain to speak to me. She's smitten Sir Oluf— it strak to his heart; Ane clappit me then, wi' cheek sae whive. He never before had kent sic a smart; Ane rown'd intill mine ear- "Rise up, fair youth, and join our dance ; Then lifted him up on his ambler red ; Else up, but doubt or fear ! " And now. Sir Oluf, ride hame to thy bride." " Wake up, fair youth, and join the dance. And whan he came UIl the castell yett. And we will tread the ring. His mither she stood and leant thereat. While mair nor eardly melody My ladies for thee sing." " hear ye. Sir Oluf, my ain dear son. Whareto is your lire sae blae and wan ?" Syne ane, the fairest may on mold, Sae sweet a sang began ; " O well may my lire be wan and blae. The hurting stream was stiU'd therewi'. For 1 ha'e been in the elf- women's play." Sae fast afore that ran. "0 hear ye, S'r Oluf, my son, my pride. The striving stream was still'd therewi'. And what shall 1 gay to thy young bride?" Sae fast that wont to rin ; The sma' fish, in the flood that swam. " Ye'U say, that I've ridden but into the wood. Amo' their faes now blin.' To prieve gin my horse and hounds are good." The fishes a* in flood that were. Ear on the morn, whan night was gane. Lay still, baith fin and tail; The bride she cam' wi' the bridal train. The sma' fowls in the shaw began To whitterf in the dale. They skinked the mead, and they skinked the " whare is Sir Oluf, bridegroom mine?" [wine: " hear, thou fair, thou young awaia. And thou wi' us will dwell ; " Sir Oluf has ridden but into the wood. Then will we teach thee book and rune. To prieve gin his horse and hounds are good." To read and write sae well. And she took up the scariet red. " I'll lear thee how the bear to bind. And there lay Sir Oluf, and he was dead ! And fasten to the aik tree ; The dragon, that liggs on mickle goud. Ear on the morn, whan it was day. Three Ukes were ta'en frae the oastle away ; Afore thee fiist shall flee." « Selcouth, i. e. seld-couth, seldom known. Sir Oluf the leal, and his bride sae feir. strange, uncommon.— Jam:e«on. And his mither, that died wi' sorrow and care. 1 t To rvhitter, i. e. to warble in a low voice, as singing birds always do at first, when they set And lightly the tlves sae feat and free. about imitating any sweet music, which partiou- They dance aU under the greenwood tree ! « 1 ; larly attracts theh: attenUon.-,/^omiewn. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 467 They danced out, and they Janced in. In the Elfer ring sae green ; All silent sat the fair young swain. And on his sword did lean. " Now hear, thou fair, thou young swain. But and thou till us speak, Then shall on sword and sharp knife Thy dearest heart-blood reek." Had God nae made my luck sae gude. That the cock did wap his wing, I boot ha'e bidden on Elfer Hill, In the Elf-ladies' ring. " I rede the Danish young swains. That to the court will ride. That they ne'er ride to Elfer Hill, Nor sleep upon its side." ^ix %Un JEortimer, [MoDKBN ballad, by David Veddkr.— Sir Alan Mortimer was a potent chieftain, of Nor- man descent, whose lands lay in the vicinity of Aberdijur in Fifeshire. Haughty and irascible, he lived at feud with many of the neighbouring Thanes, but more especially with the Abbot of a wealthy Augustine monastery, situate on the small island of Inch Colin, about a mile distant from his castle. In order to reconcile her father to the Church, Emma Mortimer entered into collusion with the venerable Abbot, and enabled him to perform a feat, which in those days passed for a miracle. So powerfully was the old baron impressed with the whole operation of restoring his daughter, that in the fulness of his heart, he gave the western part of the parish of Aberdour to the monastery on the island, for the privilege of being interred in the Church.] Thk morning's e'e saw mirth an' glee I' the hoary feudal tower O' bauld Sir Alan Mortimer, The lord o' Aberdour. But dool was there, an' mickle care. When the moon began to gleam ; For Elve an' Fay held hoUday Beneath her siller beam. Sir Alan's peerless daughter was His darling fVae infaiieie ; She bloomed in her bower a lily flower. Beneath the light o' his e'e j She equalled Eve's majestic form. Saint Mary's matchless grace ; An' the heavenly hues o' paraJi8«* O'erspread her beauteous face. The diamond grew dim compared wi' her e'e, The gowd, compared wi' her hair, — Wi' the magic o' her bewitching smile There was naething on earth to compare An* the dulcet music o' her voice Excelled the harmonic Which Elve an' Fay sae deftly play When balding high jubilee ! The woodbine an' the jessamine Their tendrils had entwined ; A bower was furnied, an' Emma aft At twilight there reclined. She thought of her knight in Palestine; And sometimes she would sigh, — For love was a guest in her spotless breast. In heavenly purity! The setting sun had ceased t' gild Saint Columb's haly tower. An' the vesper star began to glow. Ere Emma left her bower ; An' the fairy court had begun their sport Upon the daisied Ua, While the gossamer strings o' their virginali Wi' fairy melodic. [rang That night the king had convoked his court Upon the enamelled green, To pick an' wale thro' his beauties a' For a bluudn' fairy queen j An* ere ever he wist, he spied a form That rivalled his beauties a' ; 'Twas Emma— air Alan Mortimer's pride- Coming hame to her father's ha'. Quick as the vivid lightning gleams Amidst a thunder storm. As rapidly the elve assumed Lord Bethune's manly form t iQS SCOTTISH BALLAU3. A» flies the cushat to her mate, So, to meet his embrace she flew ; — Like a feathered shaft fiae a yeoman's bow She vanished frae human view! The abbey bell, on the sacred isle. Had told the vesper hour ; No footsteps are heard, no Erama appeared. Sir Alan rushed from his tower j — The warders they ha'e left their posts. An' ta'en them to the bent; The porters they ha'e left the yetts — The sleuth-hounds are on the scent* The vassals a' ha'e left their cots. An' sought thro' the brake an* wold ; But the good sleuth-hounds they a* lay down On the purple heath, an' yowled 1 Sir Alan was aye the foremost man In dingle, brake and brier ; But when he heard his sleuth-hounds yowl. He tore hia thin grey hair. An' aye he cheered his vassals on. Though hit heart was like to break ; But when he saw his hounds lie down, Tu' mournfully thus he cpake : " Unearthlie sounds affright my hounds, TJnearthlie sights they see ; They quiver an' shake on the heather brake Like the leaves o' the aspen tree. " My blude has almost ceased to flow. An' my soul is chilled wi' fear. Lest the elfin or the demon race Should ha'e stown my daughter dear. " Haste, haste, to the haly abbot wha dwells On Saint Columb's sacred shores ; An' tell him a son o' haly kirk His ghostUe aid implores. "Let him buckle sic spiritual armour on As m proof against glamourie ; Lest the fiends o' hell ha'e power to prevail Against baith him an' me." The rowers ha'e dashed across the stream An' knocked at the chapel door ; The abbot was chauntin' his midnight hymn. Saint Columb's shrine liefore ; His Saint-like mien, his radiant een. An' his tresses o' siller grey. Might ha'e driven to flight the demons o' night. But rood or rosarie 1 The messenger dropt upon his knee. An' humbly this he said ; — " My master, a faithfu' son o" the kirk. Implores your ghustlie aid ; "An' ye're bidden to put sic armour on As is proo against glamourie. Lest the fiends o' hell ha e power to prevail Against baith him an' thee." The abbot leaped lightlie in the boat. An' pushed her frae the strand ; An' pantin' for breath, 'tween life an' death. The vassals rowed to land ; He graspit the mournfu* Baron's hand— "Ha'e patience, my son," says he^ " For I sail expel the fiends o' hell Frae your castle an' baronie." "Restore my daughter," Sir Alan cries, " To her father's fond embrace. An' the half o' my gold, this very night. Saint Columb's shrine shall grace ; " Tes, if thou'lt restore my darling child. That's from me foully been riven. The half of my lands, ere morning's prime. To thine abbey siiall be given." The abbot replied, with priestly pride, " Ha'e patience under your loss ; ■ There never was fiend withstood me yet. When I brandished the haly cross " Forego your fear, and be of good cheer— I hereby j ledge my word That, by Marie's might, ere I sleep this night. Your daughter shall be restored." The abbot had made a pilgrimage. Barefoot to Palestine ; Had slept i' the haly sepulchre. An' visions he had seen ; His girdle had been seven times laved In Siloam's sacred stream. An' haly Saint Bride a rosarie hung Aruund his neck, in a dream 1 FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 469 A bead was strung on this rosarie That had cured ten men bawitched ; An* a relic o' the real cross His pastoral staff enriched ; He carried a chalice in his hand, Brimfu' o' water clear. For his ain behoof, that had oozed frae the roof O' the haly sepulchre ! He sprinkled bauld Sir Alan's lands Wi' draps o' this heaveiilie dew; An' the gruesome elves betook themselves To the distant Grampians blue : Anon he shook his rosarie. An' invoked Saint Marie's name. An' Emma's lute-like voice was heard Ciiauntin' our Lady's hymn 2 But when he brandished the haly rood. An' raised it to the. sky, — Like a beam of light she burst on their sight Id vestal purity I ®1^0ma0 '^lie W>^^mn, IN THREE PARTS Part First. [From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— " Few personages," sajs Sir Walter !:-cott, " are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercel- doune, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. Uniting, or supposed to unite, in his person, the powers of poetical compc sition, and of vaticina- tion, his memory, even after the lapse of five hundred years, is regarded with veneration by his countrymen. To give any thing like a certain history of this remarkable man. Would be indeed difficult ; but the curious may derive some satis- faction from the particulars here brought to- gether. " It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, and probably the birth-place, of this ancient bard, was Erceldoune, a village situated upon the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The ruins of an ancient tower are etill pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. The ^ uniform tradition bears, that his strname waa I Lermont, or Learmont ; and thut the appellation of The Rhymer was conferred on him in conse- quence of his poetical compositions. There re- mains, nevertheless, some doubt upon this sub- ject. In a charter, the son of our poet designed himself 'Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of Thomas Rymour of Ercildoun," which seems to imply, that the father did not bear the hereditary name of Learmont ; or, at least, was better known and distinguished by the e|iithet, which he had acquired by his personal accomplishments. I must however remark, that, down to a very late period, the practice of distinguishing the parties, even in for . al writings, by the epithets which had been bestowed on them from personal cir- cumstances, instead of the proper sirnames of their families, was cc mmun, and indeed neces- sary, among the border clans. So early as the end of the thirteenth century, when s^names were hardly introduced in Scotland, this custom must have been universiJ. There is, tlienfore, nothing inconsistent in supi^csing our poet's name to have been actually Learmont, although, in this charter, he is distinguished by the popular appellation of The Rhymer. " We are better able to ascertain the period at which Tuomas of Ercildoun lived, being the latter end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined to place his death a little farther back than Mr Pin- kerton, who supposes that he was alive in 1300; (Lut (j/Sco«i.A Poeta ;) which is hardly, 1 think, consistent with the charter already quoted, by which his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, conveys to the convent of the Trinity of Soltre, the tenement which he possessed by inheritiinco {hereililarie) in Ercildoun, with all claim which he, or his predecessors, could pretend thereto. From this we may infer, that the Rhymer was now dead, since we find his son disposing of the family property. Still, however, the argument of the learned historian will remain unimpeached as to the time of the poet's birth. For if, as we learn from Barbour, his prophecies were held in reputation f as early as 1306, when Bruce slew the Red Cummin, the sanctity, and (let me add to Mr Pinkerton's words) the uncertainty of an- tiquity, must have already involved his character t The Unes alluded to are these :— r hope that Thomas's propheaie. Of Erceliioun, shall truly be. In lum, &c. 470 SCOTTISH BALLADS. and writings. In a charter of Peter de Haga de i Bemersyde, which unfortunately wants a date, the Rhymer, a near neighbour, and, if we may trust tradition, a friend of the family, appears as u witness. — Cartulary of Melrose. " It cannot be doubted, that Thomas of Ercil- doun was a remarkable and important person in his own time, since, very shortly after his death, we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. Whether he himself made any pretensions to the first of these characters, or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the credulity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may believe Mackenzie, Learrnont only versified tlje prophecies delivered by Eliza, an inspii-ed nun, of a convent at Haddington, liut of this there seems not to be the most distant proof. On the contrary, all ancient authors, who quote the Ehymer'3 prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been emitted by himself. Thus, in Win- town's Chronicle — Of this fjcht quilum spak' Thomas Of Brsyldoune, that sayd in derne, Thare suld ineic stalwartly, starke and Sterne. He ftayd it in hia prophecy i But huw he wist it wan ferly. Book viii. chap. 32 There could have been no ferlt/ (marvel), in Wintown's eyes at least, how Thomas came by his knowledge of future events, had he ever heard of the inspired nun of Haddington, which, itcannot be doubted, would have been a solution of the mystery, much to the taste of the prior of Lochleven. ' " Whatever doubts, however, the learned might have, as to the source of the Ehymer's prophetic skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the whole to the intercourse between the bard and the queen of Faery. The pojjular tale bears, that Thomas was carried ofif, at an early age, to the Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge. • Henry the Minstrel, who introduces Thomas into the history of Wallace, expresses the same doubt aa to the source of his propiietic knowledge : — Thomas Rhymer into the faile was than With the minister, which was a worthy man. He used oft to that religious place; The people deemed of wit he meikle can, And so he told, though tliat they bless or ban, Which happened sooth in many divers case ; I cannot say by wrong or righteousness. In rule of war whether they tint or wan ; It may be deemed by division of grace, &c. History of Wallace, Book ii. ^ which made him afterwards so famous. After seven years residence, he was permitted to return to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his coun- trymen by his prophetic powers ; still, however, remaining bound to return to his royal mistress, when she should intimate her phasure. Ac- cordingly, while Thomas was making merry with his f»iends in the tower of Ercildoun, a person came running in, and told, with maiks of fear and astonishment, that a hart and hind had left the neighbouring forest, and were, composedly and slowly, parading the street of the village, t The prophet insUntly arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he was never seen to return. According to the popular belief, he still 'drees his weird' in Fairy Land, and is one day expected to revisit earth. In the meanwhile, his memory is held in the most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, from beneath the shade of which he delivered his prophecies, now no longer exists ; but the spot is marked by a large stone, called Eildon Tree Stone. A neighbouring rivulet takes the name of the Bogle Burn (Goblin Brook) from the Rhymer's supernatural visitants. The venera- tion paid to his dwelling place, even attached itself in some degree to a person, who, within the memory of man, chose to set up his residence in the ruins of Learmont's tower. The name of this man was Murray, a kind of herbalist ; who, by dint of some knowledge in simples, the pos- session of a musical clock, an electrical machine, and a stufifcd alligator, added to a supposed com- munication with Thomas the Rhymer, lived for many years in very good credit as a wizard."] True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e ; And there he saw a ladye bright. Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk. Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; At ilka tett of her horse's mane. Hang fifty siller beils and nine. True Thomas, he puU'd aff his cap. And louted low down to his knee, " All hail, thou mighty queen of heav'n ! For thy peer on earth 1 never did see." t There is a singular resemblance betivixt this tradi- 1, and an incident occurring iu the life of MerliK Caieuonius. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 471 " no, no, Thomas," she said ; 4 " But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue. " That name does not belang to me ; | Whatever ye may hear or see ; I am but the queen of fair Elfland, For, if you speak word in Elflyn land. That am hither come to visit thee. Ye'U ne'er get back to your ain countrie." " Harp and carp, Thomas," she said ; they rade on, and farther on. " Harp and carp along wi' me ; And they waded through rivers aboon the And if ye dare to kiss my lips. knee. Sure of your bodie I will be." And they saw neither sun nor moon. But they heard the roaring of the sea. " Betide me weal, betide me woe. That weird » shall never danton me." It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae Syne he has kissed her rosy lips. stern Ught, AU underneath the Eildon Tree. And they waded through red blude to the knee; For a' the blude, that's shed on earth. •' Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; " True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me; Bins through the springs o' that countrie. And ye maun serve me seven years. Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." Syne they came on to a garden green. And she pu'd an apple frae a treef— She mounted on her milk-white steed ; "Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; She's ta'en true Thomas up behind : It will give thee the tongue that can never And aye, whene'er her bridle runj. lie." The steed flew swifter than the wind. " My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said ; O they rade on, and farther on ; " A gudely gift ye wad gi'e to me ! The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; I neither dought to buy nor sell. Until they reached a desart wide. At Cair or tryst where I may be. And living land was left behind. " I dought neither speak to prince or peer. "Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." And lean your head upon my knee : " Now hold thy peace !" the lady said. Abide and rest a little space. " For as I say, so must it be." And I will show you ferlies three. He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. " O see you not yon narrow road. And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; So thick beset with thorns and briers .' And, till seven years were gane and past. That is the path of righteousness. True Thomas on earth was never seen. J Though after it but few enquires. " And see not ye that braid braid road. + The traditional commentary upon this bal- That lies across that lily leven ? lad informs us, that the apple was the produce That is the path of wickedness. of the fatal Tree of Knowledge, and that the Though some call it the road to heaven. garden was the terrestrial paradise. The repug- nance of Thomas to be debarred the use of false- " And see not ye that bonnie road. hood, when he might And it convenient, has a comic efifeet.— Sco«. That winds about the fernie brae i That is the road to fair Elfland, t The above ballad is given in the Border Min- Where thou and X thU night maun gae. strelsy from a copy obtained from a lady, residing not far from Ercildoun, corrected and enlarged by one in Mrs Brown's MS3. In Mr Jamieson's collection of Popular Ballads and Sonps, the ori- * That weird, &c.— That desUny shall never ginal old romance upon which this Lallad is frighten me.— Scow. { ^founded is given from a MS. said to be of the 472 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Pabt Skcomd. AI-TRRBD »ROM ANCIKNT PROPHECIES. ["Thb prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Er- cildoune, have been the principal means of securing to him remembrance ' amongst the sons of his people.' The author of 'Sir Tristrem' would long ago have joined, in the vale of obli- vion, ' Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventure of Schir Gawain," if, by good hap, the same cur- rent of ideas respecting antiquity, which causes Virgil to be regarded as a magician by the Laza- roni of Naples, had not exalted the bard of Er- cildoune to the prophetic character. Perhaps, indeed, he himself affected it during his life. We know at least, for certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge was current soun after his death. His propliecies are alluded to by Barbour, by Wintoun, and by Henry the Min- strel, or Blind Harry, as he is usually termed. None of these authors, however, give the words of any of the Rhymer's vaticinations, but merely narrate, historically, his having predicted the events of which they speak. " Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous his- torian, seems to have been a firm believer in the authenticity of the prophetic wares, vended in the name of Thomas of Ercildoun. ' The pro- j phecies, yet extant in Scottish rhymes, where- ] upon he was commonly called Thomas the : /iAi/mer, may justly be admired; having foretold, so many ages before, the union of England and I fifteenth century, in the public library at Cam- bridge, collated with a MS. in the library of the cathedral of Lincoln, and another MS. in the Cotton Library. Sir Walter, in an appendix to the present ballad, also quotes a portion of the original romance. " The same incidents are narrated," he says, "even the expression is often the same ; yet the poems are as different in ap- pearance, as if the older tale had been regularly and systematically modernized by a poet of the present day." — The copy, as given by Mr Jamie- son, is divided into three " Fyttes," or cantos, the second and third being devoted mainly to " prophecies." The length of the production, and its antiquated diction, not to speak of other | objections which certam details in the narrative j tnight call forth, make us refrain from quoting it a& Scotland in the ninth degree of the Bruce's l.lood, with the succession of Bruce himself to the crown, being yet a child, and other divers particulars, which the event hath ratified and made good. Boethius, in his story, relateth his prediction of King Alexander's death, and that he did foretel the same to the earl of March, the day before it fell out; saying, That before the next day at noon, such a tempest should blow, as Scotland had not felt for many years before. The next morning, the day being clear, and no change appearing in the air, the nobleman did challenge Thomas of his saying, calling him an impostor. He replied, that noon was not yet passed. About which time, a post came to advertise the earl of the king his sudden death. Then, said Thomas, this is the tempest I foretold ; and so it shall prove to Scotland. Whence, or how, he had this knowledge, can hardly be affirmed ; but sure it is, that he did divine and answer truly of many things to come.'—SpolthTVoode, p. 47. Besides that notable voucher, master Hector Boece, the good archbishop might, had he been so minded, have referred to Fordun for the prophecy of King Alexander's death. That historian calls our bard ' ruralit ille vales.' — Fordun, lib. x. cap. 40 " What Spottiswoode calls ' the prophecies ex- tant in Scottish rhyme,' are the metrical produc- tions ascribed to the prophet of Ercildoun, w hich, with many other compositions of the siime na- ture, bearing the names of Bede, Merlin, Gildas, and other approved soothsayers, are contained in one small volume, published by Andro Hart, at Edinburgh, 1615. Nisbet the herald (who claims the prophet of Ercildoune as a brother-professor of his art, founding upon the various allegorical and emblematical allusions to heraldry) intimates the existence of some earher copy of his prophe- cies than that of Andro Hart, which, however, he does not pretend to have seen. The late ex- cellent lord Hailes made these compositions the subject of a dissertation, published in his ' Re- marks on the History of Scotland.' His atten- tion is chiefly directed to the celebrated prophecy of our bard, mentioned by bishop Spottiswoode, bearing, tiiat the crowns of England and Scot- land should be united in the person of a king, son of a French queen, and related to Bruce in the ninth degree. Lord Hailes plainly proves, that this prophecy is perverted fio o its original pur- pose, in order to apply it to the succession of James VI. The ground work of the forgery is to be found in tlie prophecies of Berlingtoii, con- tained in the same collection, and runs thus: — FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 473 Of Bnice'» left side shall spring; out a leafe, As lite e as the ninth degree , And tliall be fleemed oflaire Scotland, In France farre beyond tVie sea. And then shall come againe ryding, With eyes that many men may see. At Abeiladie he shall light. With hempen helteres and horse of tre. 1 1 owever it happen for to fall, The lyon shall he lord of all; The French queu shall bearre the sonne, Shal rule all Britainue to the sea; Aue from the Brace's blood shal come aUo, As neere as the ninth degree. Yet shal there come a keene knight over the salt sea, A keene man of courage and bold man of aruiea , A duke' I- sou donbled (i. e. dubbed,) a borne man in France, That shall our mirths augment, and mend all our harmes AfUr the date of our Lord, 1513, and thrice three thereafter ; Which shall brooke all the broad isle to himself. Between 13 and thrice three the threip shal be ended. The Siixons shall uever recover after. " There cannot be any doubt that this pro- phecy was intended to excite the confldence of the Scottish nation In the duke of Albany, regent of :?cotIand, who arrived fr.im Prance in 1515, two years after the death of James IV. in the fetal field of Flodden . The regent was descended of Bruce by the left, i. e. by the female side, within the ninth degree. His mother was daughter of the earl of Boulogne, his father ban- ished from his country — ' fleemit of fair Scotland.' His arrival must necessarily be by sea, and his landing was expected at Abeilady, in the Frith of Forth. He was a duke's son, dubbed knight ; and nine years, from 1513, are allowed him, by the pretended prophet, for the accomplishment of the salvation of his country, and the exaltation of Scotland over her sister and rival. All this was a pious fraud, to excite the confidence and spirit of the country. " The prophecy, put in the name of our Thomas the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, refers to a later period. The narrator meets the Rhymer upon a land beside a lee, who shows him many emblematical visions, described in no mean strain of poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Fludden and Pinkie, to the national distress which followed these defeats, and to future halcyon days, which are promised to Scot- land One quotation or two will be sufficient to estiiblish this fully :— Our Scottish king sal come ful keeue, The nd lyon beareth Ue ; A feddered arrow sharp, I weene, iShall make him winke a!id warre to see. Out of the field he shail be led, When he is biudie and woe for blood; Yet to his men shail he say, ' For God's luve, turn you againe, And give yon sutherne folk a frcy ! M'hy should I lo>e the right i» mine? My date is not to die tlii- day.' " Who can doubt, for a moment, that this re- fers to the battle of Flodden, and to the popular reports concerning the doubtful fate of James IV. ? Allusion is immediately afterwards made to the death of George Douglas, heir apparent of Angus, who fought and fell with his sovereign : " The well-known arms of the Douglas family are the heart and three stars. In another place, the battle of Pinkie is expressly meationed by name;— At Finken Cluch there shall be spilt Much gentle blood that day ; There shail lUe bear lose the guilt. And the eugUl bear it away. " To the end of all this allegorical and mystical rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by Andro Hart, anew edition of Berlington's verses, before quoted, altered and manufactured so as to bear reference to the accession of James VI., which had just then taken place. The insertion is made with a pecul ar degree of awkwardness, betwixt a questi n, put by the narrator, con- cerning the name and abode of the person who showed him these strange matters, and the answer of the prophet to that question : ' Then to the Beirne could I say. Where dwells thou, or in what countrie? [Or who »hall rule the isle of Briiane, From the north to the south eey ? A French queeiie shal beare me sonne, Shall rule all Britaine lo the !.ea , Which of the B iice'« blood shail come. As neere as the nint degree ■ 1 framed last what wag his name. Where that he came, fioin what country.] In Erslingtouii I dwell ^it hanie, Thomas Kymoar men cals me.' *' There is surely no one, who will not conclude, with lord Hailes, that the eight lines, inclosid in brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, borrowed fiorn Herlington, with such alterations as might vender the supposed prophecy applicable to the ^ union of the crowns. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 474 " While we are on this subject, it may be pro- ^ per briefly to notice the scope of some of the other predictions, in Hart's Collection. As the prophecy of Berlington was intended to raise the spirits of the nation, during the reg^^ncy of Al- bany, so those of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to that of the earl of Arran, afterwards duke of Chatelh*ault, during the minority of Mary, a period of similar calamity. This is obvious from the following verses : — Take a thousand in calculation, And the imj^at of tlie lyim, Four crescents under one crowne, Wiih Saint Andrew's croce thriae. Then threescore and thrive three : Take tent to Merling truely, Then shall the wa res ended be, And ne\ er againe rise. In that yere there shall a king, A duke, and no crowned king; Becaas the prince shall be yong. And tender of yearea. " The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549, ■when the Scottish regent, by means of some suc- cours derived from France, was endeavouring to repair the consequences of the fatal battle of Pinkie. Allusion is made to the supply given to the " Moldwarte (England) by the fained hart," (the earl of Angus ) The regent is described by his bearing the antelope ; large supplies are pro- mised from France, and complete conquest pre- dicted to Scotland and her allies. Thus was the same hackneyed stratagem repeated, whenever the interest of the rulers appeared to stand in need of it. The regent was not, indeed, till after this period, creat"d tluke of Chatelherault ; but that honour was the object of his hopes and ex- pectations. " The style of all the prophecies, published by Hart, is very much the same. The measure is alliterative, and somewhat similar to that of •Pierce Plowman's Visions;' a circumstance which might entitle us ti asc ibe to some of them an earlier date than the reign of James V., did ■we not know that ' Sir Galloran of Galloway,' and ' Gawaine and Gologras,' two romances ren- dered almost unintelligible by the extremity of affected alliteration, are perhaps not prior to that period. Indeed, although we may allow, that, during much earlier times, prophecies, under the names of those celebrated soothsayers, have been current in Scotland, yet those published by Hart have obviously been so often vamped and re- vamped, to serve the political purposes of differ- ent periods, that it may be slirevi'dly suspected,^ that, as in the case of Sir John Cutler's transmi- grated stockings, very little of the original mate- rials now remains. " If there still remain, therefore, among these predictions, any verses having a claim to real antiquity, it seems now impossible to discover them from th;se which are comparatively modern. Nevertheless, as there are to be found, in these compositions, some uncommonly wild and mas- culine expressions, the editor has been induced to throw a few passages together, into the sort of ballad to which this disquisition is prefixed. It would, indeed, have been no difiicult matter for him, by a judicious selection, to have excited, in favour of Thomas of Erceldoune, a share of the admiration, bestowed by sundry wise persons upon Mass Robert Fleming. For example : — ' But then the lilye shall be loused when they least think; Then clear king's blood thai quake for fear of death ; For churls shal chop off heads of their chief beims. And carfe of the crowns that Christ hath appointed. Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal arise ; The barges of clear barons down shal be sunken ; Seculars shall sit in spiritual seats. Occupying offices auoiuted as they were.' " Taking the lilye for the emblem of France, can there be a more plain prophecy of the mur- der of her monarch, the destruction of her nobi- lity, and the desolation of her hierarchy ? But, without looking farther into the signs of the times, the editor, though the least of all the pro- phets, cannot help thinking, that every true Briton will approve of his application of the last prophecy quoted in the ballad. " Hart's collection of prophecies was frequently reprinted during the last century, probably to favour the pretensions of the unfortunate family of Stuart. " Before leaving the subject of Thomas's predic- tions, it may be noticed, that sundry rhymes, passing for his prophetic effusions, are still cur- rent among the vulgar. Thus, he is said to hav6 prophesied of the very ancient family of Haig 6 Bemerside, The grandfather of the present [1812] proprie- tor of Bemerside had twelve daughters, bef re his lady brought him a male heir. The common people trembled for the credit of their favourite soothsayer The late Jlr Haig was at leujith FAIET MYTHOIOGY. iO bom, and their belief in the prophecy confirmed beyond a shadow of doubt. " Another memorable prophecy bore, that the Old Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the ruins of the abbey, should ' fall when at the fullest.' At a very crowded sermon, about thirty years ago, a piece of lime fell from the roof of the church. The alarm, for the fulfilment of the words of the seer, became universal ; and happy were they, who were nearest the door of the pre- destined edifice. The church was in consequence deserted, and has never since had an opportunity of tumbling upon a full congregation. I hope, for the sake of a beautiful specimen of Saxo- Gothio architecture, that the accomplishment of this prophecy is far distant. "Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, seems to have been founded on that sort of insight into futurity, possessed by most men of a sound and combining judgment. It runs thus ; At Eildon Tree if you shall be, A brigg ower Tweed you ihere may see. " The spot in question commands an extensive prospect of the course of the river ; and it was easy to foresee, that when the country should become in the least degree improved, a bridge would be somewhere thrown over the stream. In fact, you now see no less than three bridges from that elevated situation. " Corspatrick (Comes Patrick,) Earl of March, but more commonly taking his title from his castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during the •wars of Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Erceldoune is said to have delivered to him his famous prophecy of King Alexander's death, the editor has chosen to introduce him into the fol- lowing ballad. AH the prophetic verses are selected from Hart's publication."— JtftJM f hooped together. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 477 In numbers high, the witching tale The prophet pour'd along ; No after bard might e'er avail Those numbers to prolong. Yet fragments of the lofty strain Float down the tide of years, As buoyant on the stormy main, , A parted wreck appears. He sung King Arthur's Table Round : The Warrior of the Lake ; How courteous Gawaine met the wound. And bled for ladies' sake. * But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise, f The notes melodious swell ; Was none excell'd, in Arthur's days. The knight of Lionelle. For Marks, his cowardly uncle's right, A venomed wound he bore ; When fierce Morholde he slew In fight. Upon the Irish sliore. No art the poison might withstand ; No medicine could be found. Till lovely Isolde's lily hand Had probed the rankling wound. With gentle hand and soothing tongue She bore the leech's part ; And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung. He paid her with his heart. O fatal was the gift, I ween * For, doom'd in evil tide. The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen. His cowardly uncle's bride. * See, in the Fubliatue of Monsieur le Grand, elegantly translated by the late Gregory Way, Esq. the tale of the " Knight and the Sword."— Scott. j Thomas the Rhymer is tht reputed author of the celebrated romance of " Sir Tristrem," the earliest specimen of Scottish poetry extant, an edition of which was published by Sir Walter Scott, in 1804, from a MS. copy in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, with a copious historical and critical Introduction, and also a very happy imitative continuation of the romance, by the editor. Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard In fairy tissue wove ; Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright. In gay confusion strove. The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale. High rear'd its glittering head ; And Avalon's enchanted vale In all its wonders spread. Brangwain was there, and Segramore, And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye; Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, O who could sing but he ? Through many a maze the winning song In changeful passion led, Till bent at length the listening throng O'er Tristrem's dying bed. His ancient wounds their scars expand. With agony his heart is wrung : O where is Isolde's lilye hand. And where her soothing tongue ? She comes I she comes ! — ^like flash of flame Can lovers' footsteps fly : She comes ! she comes '. — she only came To see her Tristrem die. She saw him die ; her latest sigh Joined in a kiss his parting breath : The gentlest pair that Britain bare. United are in death. There paused the harp : its lingering sound Died slowly on the ear ; The silent guests still bent around. For still they seem'd to hear. Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak ; Nor ladies heav'd alone the sigh ; But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek Did many a gauntlet dry. On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower, The mists of evening close ; In camp, in castle, or in bower. Each warrior sought repose. Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent. Dream 'd o'er the woeful talo ; When footsteps light, across the bent. The warrior's ears assail. 478 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He start*, he wakes ;— " What, Eichard, ho ! Arise, my page, arise ! What venturous wight, at dead of night. Dare step where Douglas lies !" Then forth they rush'd : by Leader's tide, A selcouth sight they see — A hart and hind pace side by side. As white as snow on Fairnalie. f Beneath the moon, with gesture proud. They stately move and slow ; Nor scare they at the gathering crowd. Who marvel as they go. To Learmont's tower a message sped. As fast as page might run ; And Thomas started from his bed. And soon his cluaths did on. First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; Never a word he spake but three; " My sand is run ; my thread is spun ; This sign regardeth me." The elfin harp his neck around. In minstrel guise, he hung ; And on the wind, in doleful sound. Its dying accents rung. Then forth he went ; yet turned him oft To view his ancient hall j On the grey tower, in lustre soft. The autumn moon-beams G^. And Leader's wavei, like silver sheen. Danced shimmering in the ray; In deepening mass, at distance seen. Broad rioltra's mL,uutaiu8 lay. " Farewell, my father's ancient tower ! A long farewell," said he: " The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power, Tbuu never more shalt be. • Selantth — Wondrous, t An ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirk- shire. In a popular edition of the first part of Thomas the Rhymer, the Fairy Queen thus ad- 4 dresses him: " Gin ye wad meet vri' me again. Gang to tUe bunuie banks of Faij Fairnalie." — Scott. " To Learmont's name no foot of earth Shall here again belong. And, on thy hospitable hearth. The hare shall leave her young " Adieu ! adieu !" again he cried. All as he turned him roun'— " Farewell to Leader's silver tide! Farewen to Ercildoune '" The hart and hind approach'd the place. As lingering yet he stood ; And there, before Lord Douglas' face. With them he cross'd the flood. Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown sfc And spurr'd him the Leader o'er; But, though he rode with lightning speed. He never saw them more. Some sayd to hill, and some to glen. Their wondrous course had been ; But ne'er in haunts of living men Again was Thomas seen. Egtai fignWe. [MoDKBN Ballad.— James Hooo.] Ltttil Ptnkib cairae to Kilbogye yett. It wals on ane hallow-day; And the ladye babyis with her mette. To heirre quhat sho wolde say. For Pynkie wals the lyttilest bairne. That ever dancit on the greinne ; And Pynkie wals the bonnyest thynge That evir on yirthe wals seinne. Hir jaice wals caste in beautye's molde. And owre hir browe abone Hir hayre wals lyke the streemys of golde That tinssillis from the mone. The smyle that playit upon hir &ioe Wals comeiy to be scene. And the bonnye blue that dyit the hevin Wals nevir lyke Pynkie's eeyne. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. Thre spannis from heele to heidde »ho stode, ^ But all 80 meitte to ae. No mayden in hir mylde8t mode Ane lovelier forme oolde bee. Quhaevir lokit at hir ane spaice, Colde nevir calle to mynde That she possessit not fraime and graice Of stateliest womankynde. The Baronne eaime forth to the greene. And hee toke hir be the hande : " Lyttil Pynkie, you are welcome heirre. The flower of fayre Scotlande. " You are welcome to myne bowris, Pynkie, And to myne hallis so gaye. And you shaJle be myne lammie deirre, And I'll fondle you nychte and daye." " Och, no ! och, no ! myne owne gode lorde, For that wolde bee ane synne; For if you toye or melle with me. To hevin you'll nevlr wynne." " But I will taike myne chaunce, Pynkie, For lofe is sore to thole ; The joie of maydenis leifu' charmiB Can nevir stayne the soule." " Better to thole than wynne the goale, Quhare pryze is nonne before ; The man quha wynnis myne lofe and mee. Will nevir knowe mayden more. " But I will syng ane gang to you. And daunce ane fklrye quheille, |l Till you and all youre bonnie may bairnU 1 1 Can daunce it wonder weille." i Were I to telle Lyttil Pynkie's sang. It mighte doo nmckle ill ; For it wals not framit of yirthly wordis. Though it soundit sweitte and shrill. But aye the owerworde of the sang. Which ladyis lernit to syng, Wals, " Rounde and rounde, and sevin tymis The elfynis fiiirye ryng !" [rounde. The flrste moove that Lyttil Pynkie maide, Wals gentil, softe, and sweitte; But the seconde rounde Lyttil Pynkie maide, j Theye colde not kenne hir feitte. « The thrydde rounde that Lyttil Pynkio maide, Sho shymmerit als lycht and gaye Als dauncyng of the wiry lychtis On warme and sonnye daye. And aye sho sang, with twyrle and spang, A rounde them on thf playne, Quhille hir feitte theye shymmerit abone theyre hedis, Then kyssit the swairde agayne. Then the Baronne hee begoude to bobbe. No longer colde hee stande. And his lyttil maydenis in ane ryng Theye joynit him hande to hande. And rounde and rounde, and faster rounde. The fairye ryng theye flewe; And aye the langer that theye daunsit. The madder on foune theye grewe. And Lyttil Pynkie in the mid(U« Bobbyt lyke ane flee in Maye, And everilk spryng Lyttil Pynkie gaif, The Baronne he cryit, " Hurraye !" And rounde and rounde the fairye ryng They lyltit and they gang, And rounde and rounde the fairye ryng They caiperit and they flang ; Quhille the Baronne hee begoude to gaspe. And his eeyne sette in his heidde; Hee colde not dragg ane oder lymbe. So neirlye he wals deidde, And downe he felle upon the playne. Prone lyke ane forme of leidde. But aye quhan Pynkie made ane spryng Betwelnne him and the daye, Hee maide a pauUe with handis and feitte. And gaif ane faynte " Hurraye !" Hee Btreikit out his lymbis m detbe, Unpytied and uubleste ; But " Hurraye !" it wals the ae last sounde That gurglit in his breste. The maydis theye daunsit and caiperit on In madnesse and in blaime ; For lofe or stryflTe, or dethe or Ij-ffe, To them wals all the saime. 480 SCOTTISH BALLADS. But rounde and rounde the ryng theye flewe, -■^wyfte als sevin burdis on wyng ; Begairdyiig the deidde man no more Than any yirthly thyng. The menialis gadderit rounde and sawe In terrour and disniaye. Them dauncying rounde theyre deidde fader. And Pynkie waU awaye. " Och-on, och-on," the Chaiplyng cryit, " There's some enchaunttnente heirre; Haiste, haiste awaye, myne maydinis gaye. This shaiinefuUe course forbeirre." The maidinis lefte the fairye ryng, And ceissit theyre lycht&ome fonne, But they colde not eoiiipreheiide one thyng Of all that had beinne donne. The Chaiplyng ranne into the ryng To lifte his maJsteris heidde, And callit on six young burdlye wychtis. To beirre awaye the deidde ; Quhan Lyttil Pynkie in the myddis Stude lofelye als the s nne ; She sang ane staife, and dauiicit it rounde. And all theyre grieffe wals donne. The Chaiplyng hee begoude to bobbe. And Wiigg his heede amayne. For the lyttil kymnieris lythlye lyrabis Had veirlye turnit his brayne. And rounde, and rounde, the deidde Baronne, With caiperand with squealle, The Chaiplyng and h s six y. ung menne Wente lyke ane spynnyng quheille. And ay they sang Ljttil Pynkie's sang, Als loudde als they colde braye ; But saife the burden of that sang. The wordis 1 daurua saye. But ay quhan Pynkie made ane ryse. With fitfulle fairye flyng; " Agayne, agayne '" tlie Chaiplyng cryit, " Weiile profen, myne bounye thyng! " Agayne, agayne ! Agayne, agayne !" In maddenyiig screimme cryit hee, " Och, let mee se that spryiig agayne. That I of lofe uiaye de !" ) And rounde and rounde the deidde Baronne They flapperit and they flewe ; And rounde and rounde the deidde Baronne They bumpyt and theye blewe. Quhill the Chaiplyng hee begoude to gaspe And quhizle in the throtte. And downe hee felle upon the greinne Lyke ane greate mardel stotte. He streikit out his laithlye lymbis. His eeyne sette in his heidde. But "Agayne, agayne !" caime with ane ryfte, QuhiU after hee wals deidde. Then all the lande togedder ranne To prieste and holy fryer. And there wals prayeris in every kirke. And hymnis in every quire ; For Lyttil Pynkie helde hir plaice At lordlye Kilbogye, And of everilk chamber in the housse Lyttil Pynkie keepit the ke. So wordis gone eiste and wordis gone weste. From Solwaye unto the Clyde, And wordis gone to the greate Mass John That Uvit on Cloudan syde. So he is awaye to Kilbogye halle These lordlys maidis to saive. And conjure that wylde thyng away Into the Reidd Sea's wave. ! caime to Kilbogye yette He tirlit at the pynne. And quha wals so readdye als Lyttil Pynkii To ryse and let him in. " Bairne, I haif wordis to say to you On matter most sincere ; Quhare is the countreye you caime frome. And quha wals it sente you heirre ?" " I caime from ane countreye farre awaye, A regioune caulme and sweitte, For all the sternis of the milky waye "Were farre benethe our feitt. " But I haif remit this yirthlye sphere Some vyrgin soulis to wynne, Since maydis were born the slaives of love. Of sorrowe, and of synne. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 481 "By nychte and daye and glomyng graye, ^ "And you shall se the richte and wrong. By grofe and greinwode tree; With soule of dredde withynne; Oh if you kennit quhat I half donne Quhat habitantis you dwelle amang. To keippe them layre and free ! Quhat worlde you SQJourne in." " I haif satte upon theyre waifyng lockis Sho touchit hia eye, sho touchit his eirre. Als daunceyng on the greinne. With unguent of the skye. And watchit the blushes of the cheeks Distillit from flowiis of hevinlye boweris. And glances oi the eeyne. That nevir uevir die. " I have whysperit dremys into thejTe Mass John hee turnit him rounde aboute. eirris. To se quhat hee colde se ; Ofall the8nairi8oflofe; " Quhafs this ! quhafs this !" cryit goode Ma s And coolit theyre yong and hopyng brestis " Quhat hath befallen mee ! [J obn. With dewis distyUit abofe." " For outhir I am sounde asleippe. "But thou wylde and wycked thyng. And in ane feirsome dreime ; Thynk of this virgyn bande. Or else I'm deidd, and gane to heyin. Thou'st taiken theyre fader from theyre heid, Theyre pastor from theyre hand." Which raither wolde beseime. " For spyritis come and spyritis go. Of eviiy shaipe and shaide. " That fader wals ane man so wylde. With ghostis and demonis not ane few. Uisgraice of human fraime; Sothe I am sore afrayde! Hee kepit sevin lemanU in his halle. And maide it house of shaime ; " Quhare is— quhare is Lyttil Pynkie gone ? And his fat Chaiplyng— worste of alle. 1 cannot brooke this payne ; — Oh J talk this oyntment off mj ne eeyne. " Before ane of those maydis had blomit In lofely laidyhode. " How can I live, or moove, or thynk Each wold haif loste hir quhite eleethyng. With spiritis to congree ; But and hir sylken snode. I no acquaintance haif of them, And they haif nonne of mee 1" "Then blaime me not now, good Mass John, But Lyttil Pynkie she wals gane For workyng of thU skalthe; Awaye by daille and glenne. It wals the mennis beaettyng synne To guarde the vyrginis of the lande That tested them to dethe. From wylis of wycked menne. " But now. Mass John, I know you are And goode Mass John is lefte alone A gude man and ane true ; 'Mang spyritis of everilk hue; Therefore I yield my vyrgin chairge There were spyritis blacke, and spyritis quhyte. With plesure up to you. And spyritis greene and blue. " For O there is nioche for me to doo And theye were moovyng tco and fro 'Mong maydenis mylde and meike ; 'Mang thyngis of mortal bii the. Men are so wycked heire belowe. Als thicke ala burdis upon the bough. And wemyug are so weake. Or human thingis on jirth. " But I will baithe your eeyne. Mass John, Eache vyrgin had ane guai-dian fere. With unguent of the skye ; Als fayre as fiowir of Maye; And you shall heirre with Oder eirre. And hee himself ane great blacke dougge And se with oder eye. \ That wolde uot pass awaye. 'f 2h 482 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And some had devilis to bee theyre maitis, ^ And some had two or thre, That playit aoche prankis with maidis and Sanctis, As wals ane shaime to se. And then the dougge— the great blacke dougge, Kept lokyng in his fkice. With many a dark and meanyng scowlle, And many a sly grimaice. It wals ane lyffe hee colde not brooke. He wals so hard bestedde ; He colde not preiehe, hee colde not praye — He colde not sleippe in bedde. For evin within the haly kirke, By that amaizyng spelle. He saw some scenis before his faice Als I can hardlye telle. Soche als ane spyrit spreddyng clothe Before ane tailoris eeyne ; And hee wals steillyng in his herte, Trowing hee wals not seene. And some wolde shaikr ane mychtie purse Before the courtieris sychte, Quha solde his countrye for the saime With very greate delychte. And some were throwyng cairdls and dysse To many a drowsye wychte, Quha playit and cursit, and cursit and playit. Before theyre pastoris sychte. And some were wooyng maydinis dynke With sylkis and satynis fyne. And some with vowis and wycked teris, Ane very deirre propyne. And some were tj-ckelling maydinis oulde With thoughtis of manlye youth; Yea, half the scenis the kirke withynne Were synnfulle and uncouthe. Mass John aft tryit to close his eeyne And shutte them from his sychte ; For there were prankis so very droUe, Theye maide him laugh outrychte. There wals no thoughtis vrithynne the herli*. Though secrete and untolde. But theye were acted in his sychte By spyritis manifolde. He wyshed for dethe, and colde not He Suche strange enchantment under. Thus wanderyng with a spyritia eye Amid a worlde of wonder. For manne most be ane mortyl thyng. With ane immortyl mynde. Or passe the dore of dethe, and leive Mortalitye behynde. So goode Mass John longit ferventlya That lyffe with him were donne. To mix with spiritis or with menne. But only with the onne. And then the dougge, the greate blacke dougge, Wals ever in his plaice ; Evin at the altar there it stode. And stairit him in the faico. Mass John wente home and layit him downe. And soon wals with the deidde. And the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye A.re lefte withoute ane heidde. Quhan sevin long yeris had come and passit. With blynke and showir awaye. Then Lyttil Pynkie sho caime backe ITpon ane hallow-daye. But the straynis that Lyttil Pynkie sung At settying of the sonne. Were nevir forgotte by old or young, Quhill lyffe with them wals done. Quhat then wals sayit, or qubat was donne. No mynstrelle evir knewe ; But the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye With beauty blomit anewe. Some demyt that theye wolde pass awaye To Oder lande than this ; But they lyvit the lyvis that wemyng lofe. Of sociale yirthlie blisse. But many a taille in westlande daille, Quainte rhyme and fairye laye. There yet remaynis of Pynkie's straynis, ^ Upon the hajlow-daye. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 483 ■^ " And aye we raide, and se merrily we raide. Throw the merkist gloffls of the night ; ®|e mMj of §iU. And we swam the floode, and we darnit the woode, TUl we cam' to the Lommond height. [From " The Queen's Wake," by James Hooo.] " And quhan we cam' to the Lommond " Quhare haif ye been, ye ill womyne. height. These three lang nightis fra hame Se lythlye we lychtid doune ; Quhat garris the swelt drap fra yer brow, And we drank fra the hornU that never grew. Like clotis of the saut sea faem ? The beer that was never browin. " It fearis me muckil ye haif seen " Then up there raise ane wee wee man. Quhat guid man never knew; Fra nethe the moss-gray stane ; It fearis me muckil ye haif been His fece was wan like the coUifloure, Quhare the gray cock never crew. For he nouthir had blude nor bane. " But the spell may crack, and the brydel " He set ane reid-pipe tU hU muthe. breck. And he playit se bonnilye, Then sherpe yer werde will be ; Till the gray curlew and the black-cock flew Ye had better sleippe in yer bed at hame. To listen his melodye. Wi- yer deire littil bairnis and me."— "It rang se »weit through the grein Lom- " Sit doune, sit doune, my leil auld man. mond, Sit doune, and listen to me ; That the nycht-winde lowner blew ; I'll gar the hayre stand on yer crown. And it soupit alang the Loch Leven, And the cauld sweit blind yer e'e. And wakinit the white sea-mew. " But tell nae wordis, my guid auld man. " It rang se sweit through the grein Lommond, Tell never word again ; Se sweitly butt and se shill. Or deire shall be yer courtisye. That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy And driche and sair yer pain. holis. And dancit on the mydnycht hiU. " The first leet night, quhan the new moon set. " The oorby craw cam' gledgin' near. Quhan all was douffe and mirk. The ern ged veeryng bye ; We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern And the troutis laup out of the Leven Loch, leif. Charmit with the melodye. And rode fi:a KUmerrin kirk. "And aye we dancit on the grein Lommond, " Some horses ware of the brume-cow framit. Till the dawn on the ocean grew : And some of the greine bay tree ; Ne wonder I was a weary wycht But mine was made of ane humloke schaw. Quhan I cam' hame to you." And a stout stallion was he. "Quhat guid, quhat guid, my weird weird " We raide the tod doune on the hill. wyfe. The martin on the law ; Quhat guid was that to thee ? And we huntyd the hoolet out of brethe. Ye w aid better haif bein in yer bed at hame. And forcit him doune to fa'."— Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me." " Quhat guid was that, ye ill womyne ? " The second nyoht, quhan the new moon set. Quhat guid was that to thee ? O'er the roaryng sea we flew ; Ye wald better haif been in yer bed at hame. The cockle-shell our trusty bark. Wi' yer deire littU bairnU and ine."— ^ ; Our sailis of the grein sea-rue. 1 484 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " And the bauld windis blew, and the fire- 4 " And they washit us all with the witch-water. flauchtis flew. Distillit fra the muirland dew. And the sea ran to the skie ; Quhill our beauty blumit like the Lapland rose. And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs That wylde in the foreste grew."— howlit, As we gaed scouryng bye. " Ye lee, ye lee, ye ill womyne, Se loud as I heir ye lee '. " And aye we mountit the sea-grein hillis. For the warst-faurd wyfe on the shoris of Fyfe QuhUl we brushit through the cludis of the Is cumlye comparit wi' thee."— hevin; Than sousit dounrlght like the stern -shot light. "Then the mermaidis sang and the woodlandia Fra the liflU blue casement driven. Se sweitly swellit the quire ; [rang. On every cliff a herpe they hang. " But our taickil stood, and our bark was good. On every tree a lyre. And se pang was our pearily prowe ; Quhan we culdna speil the brow of the wavis. " And aye the sang, and the woodlandis rang. We needilit them throu' belowe. And we drank, and we drank se deip ; Then saft in the armis of the warlock men. " As fast as the hail, as fast as the gale. We laid us doun to sleip."— As fast as the mydnycht leme. We borit the breiste of the burstyng swale. "Away, away, ye ill womyne. Or fluflat i' the flotyng faem. An ill deide met ye dee 1 Quhan ye ha'e pruvit se false to yer God, " And quhan to the Norraway shore we wan. Ye can never pruve true to me."— We muntyd our steedis of the wynde. And we splashit the floode, and we damit the " And there we leamit Tra, the fairy foke. woode. And fra our master true. And we left the shouk behynde. The wordis that can beire us throu' the air. And lokkis and barris undo. " Fleit is the roe on the grein Lommond, And swift is the couryng grew. " Last nycht we met at Maisry's cot; The rein-deir dun can eithly run. Richt well the wordis we knew ; Quhan the houndis and the homls pursue. And we set a foot on the black cruik-shell. And out at the lum we flew. " But nowther the roe, nor the rein-deir dun. The hinde nor the couryng grew. " And we flew owr hill, and we flew owr dale. Culde fly owr inontaine, inuir, and dale. And we flew owr firth and sea. As our braw steedis they flew. Until we cam' to merry Carlisle, Quhare we Ughtit on the lea. " The dales war deep, and the Doflrinis steep. And we raise to the skyis ee-bree ; " We gaed to the vault beyound the towir. Quhare we enterit free as ayr; trode. And we drank, and we drank of the bUhopis Owr the snawis of eternity I Quhill we culde drynk ne mair."— [wine "And quhan we cam' to the Lapland lone. " Gin that be true, my guid auld wyfe. The fairies war all in array ; WhUk thou hast tauld to me. For all the genii of the north Betide my death, betide my lyfe. War keipyng their holeday. I'll beire thee companye. " The warlock men and the weird wemyng. " Neist tyme ye gaung to merry Carlisle And the fays of the wood and the stcip. To drynk of the blude-reid wyne. And the phantom hunteris all war there, Beshrew my heart, I'll fly with thee. And the mermaidis of the deip. i 6 If the deU should fly behynde." FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 485 " Ah ! little do ye ken, my rilly auld man, 4^ Ane nycht he darnlt In Malsry 's cot ; The daingeris we maun dree ; The fearless haggs cam' in ; Last nychte we drank of the bishopis wyne. And he heard the word of awsome weird, Quhill near near ta'en war we. And he saw their deidis of synn. "Afore we wan to the Sandy Ford, Then ane by ane they said that word. The gor-cockis nichering flew; As fast to the fire they drew ; The lofty crest of Ettrick Pen Then set a foot on the black cruik-shell. Was wavit about with blue. And out at the lum they flew. And, flichtering throu' the ayr, we fand The chill chill mornyng dew. The auld guidman cam' fra his hole With feire and muckil dreide. " As we flew ower the hillis of Braid, But yet he culdna think to rue. The sun raise fair and cleir; For the wyne cam* in his head. There gurly James, and his baronis braw. War out to hunt the deir. He set hU foot in the black cruik-shell, With ane fixit and ane wawlying e'e ; " Their bowls they drew, their arrowis flew. And he said the word that I darena say. And piercit the ayr with speide. And out at the lura flew he. Quhill purpil fell the mornyng dew Wi' witch-blude rank and reide. The witches skalit the moon-beam pale ; Deep groanit the trembling wynde ; " Littil do ye ken, my silly auld man. But they never wist till our auld guidman The daingeris we maun dree ; Was hoveryng them behynde. Ne wonder I am a weary wycht Quhan I come hame to thee." — They flew to the vaultis of merry Carlisle, Quhare they entei it free as ayr ; " But tell me the word, my guid auld wyfe. And they drank and they drank of the bishopis Come tell it speedilye: Quhill they culde drynk ne mair. [wyuc For I lang to drynk of the guid reide wyne. And to wyng the ayr with thee. The auld guidman he grew se crouse. He dauncit on the mouldy ground. " Yer hellish horse I wilna ryde. And he sang the bonniest sangs of Fyfe, Nor sail the seas in the wynde; And he tuzzlit the kerlyngs round. But I can flee as weil as thee. And I'U drynk quhUl ye be blynd."— And aye he piercit the tither butt. And he suckit, and he suckit sae lang. " fy ! fy I my leil auld man. That word I darena tell; Quhill his een they closit, and his voice grew And his tongue wald hardly gang. [low. It wald turn this warld all upside down. And make it warse than heU. The kerlyngs drank of the bishopis wyne Quhill they scentit the morning wynde ; " For aU the lasses in the land Then clove again the yielding ayr. And left the auld man behynde. Wald munt the wynde and fly ; And the men wald doff their doublets syde. And aye he sleipit on the damp damp floor. And after them wald ply." — He sleipit and he snorit amain ; He never dreamit he was far fra hame. But the auld guidman was ane cunnyng auld Or that the auld wyvis war gane. And ane cunnyng auld man was he ; And aye he sleipit on the damp damp floo". And he watchit, and he watchit for mony a QuhUl past the mia-day hightc. nycht-.. Quhan wakenit by five rough Euglishmea The witches' flychte to see. ^ • ihat trailjt him to the lychte. 1 486 SCOTTISH BALLADS. *' Now quha are ye, ye silly auld man, '^^ Scho put ane reide cap on his heide, | That sleipis se sound and se weil ? And the auld guidman lookit fain. Or how gat ye into the bishopis vault Then whisperit ane word intil his lug. Throu- lokkis and barris of steel ?" And tovit to the ayr again. The auld guidman he tryit to speak. The auld guidman he ga'e ane bob. But ane word he culdna fynde ; I' the mids o' the burnyng lowe ; He tryit to think, but his head whirlit round. And the sheklis that band him to the ring. And ane thing he culdna mynde :— They fell fi-a his armis like towe. " I cam' fra Fyfe," the auld man cryit. " And I cam* on the mydnicht wynde." He drew his breath, and he said the word. And he said it with muckil glee. They nickit the auld man, and they prickit the Then set his fit on the burnyng pUe, auld man. And away to the ayr flew he. And they yerkit his limbis with twine. Quhill the reide blude ran in his hose and shoon. TUl aince he cleirit the swirlyng reike. But some cryit it was wyne. He lukit beth ferit and sad ; But whan he wan to the lyeht blue ayr. They lickit the auld man, and they prickit the He lauchit as he'd been mad. auld man. And they tyit him till ane stone ; His armis war spred, and his heid was And they set ane bele-fire him about. hiche. To burn him skin and bone. And his feite stack out behynde ; And the laibies of the auld manU cote " wae to me !" said the puir auld man. War waufflng in the wynde. " That ever I saw the day ! And wae be to all the ill wemyng And aye he neicherit, and aye he flew. That lead puir men astray 1 For he thochte the ploy se raire ; It was like the voice of the gander blue. " Let nevir ane auld man after this Quhan he flees throu' the ayr. To lawless greide inclyne ; Let nevir ane auld man after this He iukit back to the Carlisle men Bin post to the deil for wyne." As he borit the norian sky; He noddit his heide, and ga'e ane gim. The reike flew up in the auld manis face. But he nevir said guid-bye. And choukit him bitterlye; And the lowe cam' up with ane angry bleae. They vanisht far i' the liftis blue wale. And it syngit his auld breek-knee. Ke mair the English saw, But the auld nianis lauche cam' on the He lukit to the land fra whence he cam'. gale. For lukis he culde get ne mae ; With a lang and a loud gafia. And he thochte of his deire little baimis at hame. May evlr like man in the land of Fyfe And the auld man was wae ! Read what the drinkeris dree ; And nevir curse his puir auld wife. But they turnit their facis to the sun. Bychte wicked altho' scho be. With gloffe and wonderous glair. For they saw ane thing beth lairge and dun. Comin' swaipin down the ayr. That burd it cam' fra the landis o' Fyffe, And it cam' rjcht tymeouslye, For quha was it but the auld manis wife. J '.ist comit his dethe to see. ^ r FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. %m^ ^owlt0. [Modern Ballad. — John Leyden. — From the Border Minstrelsy. " The hero of this bal- lad was William, lord Soulis, who appears to have possessed the whole district of Liddesdale, with Westerkirk and Kirkandrews, in Dumfries- shire, the lands of Gilmertoun, near Edinburgh, and the rich baronies of Nisbet, Longnewton, Caverton, Maxtoun, and Mertoun, in Roxburgh- shire. He was of royal descent, being the grand- son of Nicholas de Soulis, who claimed the crown of Scotland, in right of his grandmother, daugh- ter to Alexander II.; and who, could her legiti- macy have been ascertained, must have excluded the other competitors. The elder brother of Wil- liam, was John de Soulis, a gallant warrior, warmly attached to the interests of his country, who, with fifty borderers, defeated and made prisoner Sir Andrew Harclay, at the head of three hundred Englishmen ; and was himself slain fighting in the cause of Edward the Bruce, at the battle of Dundalk, in Ireland, 1318. He had been joint-warden of the kingdom with John Cummin, after the abdication of the im- mortal Wallace, in 1300; in which character he was recognised by John Baliol, who, in a charter granted after his dethronement, and dated at Butherglen, in the ninth year of his reign (1302,) styles him ' Gustos regni nostri.' The treason of William, his successor, occiisioned the downfall of the family. This powerful baron entered into a conspiracy against Robert the Bruce, in which many persons of rank were engaged. The ob- ject, according to Barbour, was to elevate Lord Soulis to the Scottish throne. The plot was dis- covered by the countess of Strathern. Lord Soulis was seized at Berwick, although he was attended, says Barbour, by three hundred and sixty squires, besides many gallant knights. Having confessed his guilt, in full parliament, his life was spared by the king ; but his domains were forfeited, and he himself confined in the castle of Dumbarton, where he died. Many of his accomplices were executed; among others, the gallant David de Brechin, nephew to the king, whose sole crime was having concealed the treason, in which he disdained to participate.* 487 ^The parliament, in which so much noble blood was shed, was long remembered by the name of the ' Black Parliament.' It was held in the year 1320. " From this period, the family of Soulis makes no figure in our annals. Local tradition, how- ever, more faithful to the popular sentiment than history, has recorded the character of their chief, and attributed to him many actions which seem to correspond with that character. His portrait is by no means flattering ; uniting every quality which could render strength formidable, and cruelty detestable. Combining prodigious bodily strength with cruelty, avarice, dissimula- tion, and treachery, is it surprising that a people, who attributed every event of life, in a great mea- sure, to the interference of good or evil spirits, should have added to such a character the mysti- tical horrors of sorcery? Thus, he is represented as a cruel tyrant and sorcerer; constantly employed in oppressing his vassals, harassing his neighbours, and fortifying his castle of Hermitage against the king of Scotland ; for which purpose he employ- ed all means, human and infernal ; invoking the fiends, by his incantations, and forcing his vas- sals to drag materials, like beasts of burden. Tradition proceeds to relate, that the Scottish king, irritated by reiterated complaints, peevish- ly exclaimed to the petitioners, " Boil him if I you please, but let me hear no more of him.' Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded with the utmost haste to execute the commission; which they accomplished, by boiling him alive on the JNine-stane Rig, in a cauldron, said to have been long preserved at Skelf-hill, a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. Messen- gers, it is said, were immediately dispatched by the king, to prevent the effects of such a hasty declaration; but they only arrived in time to * A» the people thronged to the execution of the gallant youth, they were bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram de Umfraville, an English or Norman kuight, then a favourite follower of Kobert Bruce. "Why press you," said he, " to see the dismal catastrophe of so gene- rous a knight? I have seen ye throng as eagerly around him to share his bounty, as now to behold his death." With these words he turned from the scene of blood, and repairing to the king, craved leave to sell his Scottish possessions, and to retire from the country. " My heart," said Umfraville, " will not, for the wealth of the world, permit me to dwell any longer, where I have seen such a knight die by the hands of the executioner." With the king's leave, he interred the body of David de Brechin, sold his lands, and left Scotland for ever. The story ia beautifully told by Barbour, bock 19tlu— Scott. 488 SCOTTISH BALLADS. witness the conclusion of the ceremony. The 4^ castle of Hermitage, unable to support the load of iniquity, which had long been accumulating within its walls, is supposed to have partly sunlc beneath the ground ; and its ruins are still re- garded by the peasants with peculiar aversion and terror. The door of the chamber, where I Lord Siiulis is said to have held his conferences with evil spirits, is supposed to be opened once in seven years, by that daemon, to which, when he left the castle, never to return, he committed the Iteys, by throwing them over his left shoulder, and desiring it to keep them till his return. Into this chamber, which is really the dungeon of the castle, the peasant is afraid to look ; for such is the active malignity of its inmate, that a willow inserted at the chinks of the door, is found peeled, or stripped of its bark, when drawn back. The Nine-stane Rig, where Lord Soulis was boiled, is a declivity about one mile in breadth, and four in length, descending upon the water of Hermitage, from the range of hills which separate Liddesdale and Teviotdale. It derives its name from one of those circles of large stones, which are termed Druidical, nine of which remained to a late period. Five of these stones are still visible ; and two are parti- cularly pointed out, as those which supported the iron bar, upon which the tatal cauldron was suspended. " The formation of ropes of sand, according to popular tradition, was a work of such diflSculty, that it was assigned by Mickiael Scot to a num- ber of spirits, for which it was necessary for him to find some interminable employment. Upon discovering the futility of their attempts to ac- complish the work assigned, they petitioned their task-master to be allowed to mingle a few handfuls of barley-chaff with the sand. On his refusal, they were forced to leave untwisted the ropes which they had shaped. Such is the tradi- tionary hypothesis of the vermicular ridges of the sand on the shore of the sea. " Redcap is a popular appellation of that class of spirits which haunt old castles. Every ruined tower in the south of Scotland is supposed to have an inhabitant of this species." — Border Uinttrehy. Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle. And i>eside him Old Redcap sly ; — " Now, tell me, thou sprite, who art meilile of might, I The death that I must die ?" " While thou shalt bear a charmed life, And hold that life of me, 'Gainst lance and arrow, sword and knife, I shall thy warrant be. " Nor forged steel, nor hempen band. Shall e'er thy limbs confine. Till threefold i-opes of sifted sand Around thy body twine. "If danger press fast, knock thrice on the chest. With rusty padloclts bound ; Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise. And listen to the sound." Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle. And B«dcap was not by ; And he called on a page, who was witty and sage. To go to the barmkin high. " And look thou east, and look thou west. And quickly come tfcU to me. What troopers haste along the waste. And what may their livery he." He looked o'er fell, and he looked o'er flat. But nothing, I wist, he saw, Save a pyot on a turret that sat Beside a corby craw. The page he look'd at the skrieh * of day. But nothing, 1 wist, he saw. Till a horseman gray, in the royal array, Bude down the Uazel-shaw. " Say, why why do you cross o'er muir and moss ?" So loudly cried the page ; " 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." By traitorous sleight they seized the knight. Before he rode or ran. And through the key -stone of the vault. They plunged him, horse and man. Skrieh— Feep. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 489 May she came, and May she gaed, 4^ O'er heathy edge, through rustiing sedga. By Goranberry green ; He sped till day was set; And May she was the fairest maid. And he thought it was his merry men true. That ever yet was seen. When he the spearmen met. O May she came, and May she gaed. Far from relief, they seized the chief; By Goranberry tower; His men were lar away ; And who was it but cruel Lord Souiis, Thro' Hermitage Slack, they sent him back. That carried her from her bower To Souiis* castle gray; Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower. He brought her to his castle gray. Where all his merry men lay. By Hermitage's side ; Says—" Be content, my lovely May, " Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir! For thou Shalt be my bride." Thrice welcome," quoth Souiis to me ! " Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair. With her yellow hair, that glittered fair. My wedding guest to be .» She dried the trickling tear; And lovely May deserves, per Cay, She sighed the name of Branxholm's heir. A brideman such as theei" The youth that loved her dear. And broad and bloody rose the sun. " Now, be content, my bonnie May, And on the barmkin shone ; And take it for your hame ; When the page was aware of Eed Eingan Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day. Who came riding all alone. Lthere, You htard young Branxholm's name. To the gate of the tower Lord Souiis he speeds. " O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning As he lighted at the wall. hour. Says—" Where did ye stable my stalwart When the Uft is like lead so blue, steeds. The su.oke shaU roll white on the weary And where do they tarry all ?" night. And the flame shine dimly through." " We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir; We stabled them sure," quoth he : Syne he's ca'd on him Eingan Bed, " Before we could cross that quaking moss. A sturdy kemp was he ; They all were lost but me." From friend or foe, in border feid. Who never a foot would flee. He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the And he heard a stifled groan ; [chest. Ked Eingan sped, and the spearmen led. And at the third knock, each rusty lock Up Goranberry Slack ; Did open one by one. Aye, many a wight, unmatched in fight. Who never more came back. He turned away his eyes, as the Ud did rise. And he listened silentlie ; And bloody set the westering sun. And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs low. And bloody rose he up; " Beware of a coming tree 1" But little thought young Branxholm's heir. Where he that night should sup. In muttering sound the rest was drowned; No other word heard he; He shot the roe-buck on the lee. But slow as it rose, the Ud did close. The dun deer on the law; With the rusty padlocks three. The glamour ' sure was in his e'e. When Eingan nigh did draw. Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother. The Teviot, high and low ; Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fiime. • G/amour— magical delusion. ^ ; For none could bend bis bow. 490 SCOTTISH BALLADS, 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 clenched 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. The charm was broke, when the spirit spoke. And it murmur'd sullenlie, — " Shut fast the door, and for evermore. Commit to me the key. " Alas ! that ever thou raised'st 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 from the rusty lock. That never was ta'eu before. He threw them o'er his left shoulder. With meikle care and pain ;f And he bade it keep them fathoms deep, Till he returned again. * The idea of Lord Soulis' familiar seems to be derived from the curious story of the spirit Orthone and the Lord of Corasse, in Froissart. Scott. f The circumstance of Lord Soulis having thrown the key over his left shoulder, and bid the fiend keep it till his return, is noted in the introduction, as a part of his traditionary his- tory. In the course of this autumn (1806,) the Earl of Dalkeith being encamped near the Her- mitage Castle for the amusement of shooting, directed some workmen to clear away the rub- bish from the door of the dungeon, in order to ascertain its ancient dimensions and architec- ture. To the great astonishment of the labourers, and of the country people who were watching their proceedings, a rusty iron key, of considera- ble size, was found among the ruins, a little way from the dungeon door. The well-known tradi- tion instantly passed from one to another ; and it was generally agreed, that the malevolent dffi- mon, who had so long retained possession of the key of the castle, now found himself obliged to resign it to the heir-apparent of the domain. In^; : K 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 meny men now, A woeful wight was he ; Says,—" Vengeance is mine, and I will not repine ! But Branxholm's heir shall die." Says— "What would you do, young Branx- holm. Gin ye had me, as I have thee !" " I would take you to the good greenwood. And gar your ain hand wale | the tree." *' Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree. For all thy mirth and meikle pride ; And May shall chuse, 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 high. Of the hungry carrion crow. the course of their researches, a large iron ladle, somewhat resembling that used by plumbers, was also discovered ; and both the reliques are now in Lord Dalkeith's possession. In the summer of 1805, another discovery was made in the haunted ruins of Hermitage. In a recess of the wall of the castle, intended appa- rently for receiving the end of a beam or joist, a boy, seeking for birds' nests, found a very curious antique silver ring, embossed with hearts, the well-known cognisance of the Douglas family, placed interchangeably with quatre-lbils all round the circle. The workmanship has an un- commonly rude and ancient appearance, and warrants our believing that it may have belong- ed to one of the earls of Angus, who carried the heart and quatre-foils in their arms. They part- ed with the castle and lordship of Liddesdale, in exchange for that of Bothwell, in the beginning of the 16th century.— Sco«. ^ Ji'a/e— choose. 1 FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 49 1 They carried him on from tree to tree, i ^ That wizard accurst, the bands he burst ; The spiry boughs below; They mouldered at his magic spell ; " Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine. And neck and heel, in the forged steel, To feed the hooded crow ?" They bound him against the charms of hell. " The fir-tops fell by Branxholm wall. That wizard accurst, the bands he burst; When the night blast stirs the tree. No forged steel his charms could bide; And it shall not be mine to die on the pine. Then up bespake him true Thomas, 1 loved in infencie." " We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide." Young Branxholm turned him, and oft looked The black spae-book from his breast he took. back. Impressed with many a warlock spell : And aye he passed from tree to tree ; And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott, Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly ' spake. Who held in awe the fiends of hell. " sic a death is no for mel" They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep. And next they passed the aspin gray. That mortal man might never it see : Its leaves were rustling mournfullie : But Thomas did save it from the grave. " Now, chuse thee, chuse thee, Branxholm When he returned from Faerie. Say, wilt thou never chuse the tree ?" [gay ! The black spae-book from his breast he took, " More dear to me is the aspln gray. And turned the leaves with curious hand; More dear than any other tree ; No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind. For beneath the shade, that its branches made. But threefold ropes of sifted sand. Have past the vows of my love and me." They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane burn. Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly spake. And shaped the ropes so curiouslie ; Until he did his ain men see. But the ropes would neither twist nor twine. "With witches' hazel in each steel cap. For Thomas true and his gramarye. In scorn of Soulis' gramarye ; Then shoulder height for glee he lap, The black spae-book from his breast he took. " Methinks I spye a coming tree 1" And again he turned it with his hand; And he bade each lad of Teviot add " Aye, many may come, but few return," The barley chaflf to the sifted sand. Quo* Soulis, the lord of gramarye; " No warrior's hand in fair Scotland The barley chaff to the sifted sand Shall ever dint a wound on me !" They added still by handfulls nine ; But Redcap sly unseen was by. " Now, by my sooth," quo- bauld Walter, And the ropes would neither twist nor twine. " If that be true we soon shall see." His bent bow he drew, and the arrow was true. And still beside the Nine-stane burn, But never a wound or scar had he. Ribbed like the sand at mark of sea The ropes, that would not twist nor turn. Then up bespake him true Thomas, Shaped of the sifted sand you see. He was the lord of Ersyltoun : " The wizard's spell no steel can quell. The black spae-book true Thomas he took; Till once your lances bear him down." Again its magic leaves he spread ; And he found that to quell the powerful spell. They bore him down with lances bright. The wizard must be boiled in lead. But never a wound or scar had he ; With hempen bands they bound him tight. On a circle of stones they placed the pot. Both hands and feet on the Nine-stane lee. On a circle of stones but barely nine ; They heated it red and fiery hot, [shine. • Putr/.;— softly. ^ i TUl the burnished brass did glimmer and 492 SCOTTISH BALLADS. They rolled him up in a sheet of lead, A sheet of lead for a funeral pall ; Ihey plunged him in the cauldron red, And melted him, lead, and bones, and all.* ^ At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still The men of Liddesdale can show; And on the spot, where they boiled the pot. The spreatt and the deer-hair J ne'er shall grow « The tradition, regarding the death of Lord Soulis, however singular, is not without a paral- lel in the real history of Scotland. The same extraordinary mode of cookery was actually prac- tised {horresco rtferens) upon the body of a sheriff of the Mearns. This person, whose name was Melville of Glenbervie, bore his faculties so harshly, that he became detested by the barons of the country. Reiterated complaints of his conduct having been made to James I. (or, as others say, to the duke of Albany,) the monarch answered, in a moment of unguarded impa- tience, " Borrow gin the sheriff were sodden, and supped in broo 1" The complainers retired, perfectly satisfied. Shortly after, the lairds of Arbuthnot, Mather, Laureston, and Pittaraw, decoyed Melville to the top of the hill of Gar- vock, above Lawrencekirk, under pretence of a grand hunting party. Upon this place (still called the SherijgTs Pol,) the barons had pre- pared a fire and a boiling cauldron, into which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. After he was sodden (as the king termed it,) for a sufficient time, the savages, that they might literally ob- serve the royal mandate, concluded the scene of abomination by actually partaking of the hell- broth. The three lairds were outlawed for this offence ; and Barclay, one of their number, to screen himself from justice, erected the kaim (i. e. the camp, or fortress) of Mathers, which standi upon a rocky and almost inaccessible penin- sula, overhanging the German ocean. The laird of Arbuthnot is said to have eluded the royal vengeance, by claiming the benefit of the law oi' clan Macduff. A pardon, or perhaps a deed of replegiation, founded upon that law, is said to be still extant among the records of the viscount of Arbuthnot. Pellow narrates a similar instance of atrocity, perpetrated after the death of Muley Ismael, emperor of Morocco, in 1727, when the inhabi- tants of Old Fez, throwing of all allegiance to his successor, slew "Alchyde Boel le Kosea, their old governor, boiling his flesh, and many, through spite, eating thereof, and throwing what they could not eat of it to the dogs." — See Fellow's Travels in South Barbary. And we may add. ®|ie ®owt of l^e^l^aif* [Modern Ballad.-^. Lbydbk.— " The tradi- tion," says Sir Walter, " on which the following ballad is founded derives considerable illustra- tion from the argument of the preceding. It is necessary to add, that the most redoubted adver- sary of Lord Soulis was the chief of Keeldar, a Northumbrian district, adj.icent to Cumberland, who perished in a sudden encounter on the banks of the Hermitage. Being arrayed in armour of proof, he sustained no hurt in the combat ; but stumbling in retreating across the river, the hostile party held him down below water with their lances tiU he died; and the eddy, in which he perished, is still called the Cout of Keeldar's Pool. His grave, of gigantic size, is pointed out on the banks of the Hermi- tage, at the western corner of a wall, surround- ing the burial-ground of a ruined chapel. As an enemy of Lord Soulis, his memory is revered; and the popular epithet of Cout, i. e. Colt, is ex- pressive of his strength, stature, and activity. Tradition likewise relates, that the young chief of Mangerton, to whose protection Lord Soulis had, in some eminent jeopardy, been indebted for his life, was decoyed by that faithless tyrant to such tales, the oriental tyranny of Zenghia Khan, who immersed seventy Tartar Kiians in as many boiling cauldrons. The punishment of boiling seems to have been in use among the English at a very late period, as appears from the following passage in Stowe's Chronicle:—" The 17th March (1524), Margaret Davy, a maid, was boiled at Smithfield for poison- ing of three households that she had dwelled in." But unquestionably the usual practice of Smith" field cookery, about that period, was by a diffe- rent application of fire. — Scoti. I f Spreat — the spreat is a species of water-rush. Scott. ! ^ Deer-hair — the deer-hair is a coarse species of pointed grass, which, in May, bears a very a^ minute, but beautiful yellow flower. — Scott. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 493 Into hU castle of Hermitage, and insidiously^ f " No danger he fears, for a charm'd sword bo murdered at a feast. wears ; " The Keeldar Stone, by which the Northum- Ofadderstone the hilt; § brian chief passed in his incursion, U still pointed No Tynedale knight had ever such might. out, as a boundary mark, on the confines of Jed But his heart-blood was spilt." forest, and Northumberland. It is a rough in- sulated mass, of considerable dimensions, and it "In my plume la seen the holly green, is held unlucky to ride thrice mithershins* around With the leaves of the rowan tree ;|1 it. Keeldar Castle is now a hunting seat, be- And my casque of sand, by a mermaid's hand. longing to the duke of Northumberland. Was formed beneath the sea. " The Brown Man of the Muirs is a Fairy of the most malignant order, the genuine dutrgar. " Then, Margaret dear, have thou no fear Walsingham mentions a story of an unfortunate That bodes no ill to me. youth, whose brains were extracted from his Though never a knight, by mortal might. skull, during his sleep, by this malicious being. Could match his gramarye."— Owing to this operation, he remained insane many years, till the Virgin Mary courteously re- Then forward bound both horse and hound. stored his brains to their station."] And rattle o'er the vale; As the wintry breeze, through leafless trees. Tbb eiry blood-hound howled by night. Drives ou the pattering hail. The streamers! flaunted red. Till broken streaks of flaky light Behind their course the EnglUh fells O'er Keeldar's mountains spread. In deepening blue retire ; Till soon before them boldly swells The lady sigh'd as Keeldar rose : The muir of duu Eedswire. " Come tell me, dear love mine. Go you to hunt where Keeldar flows. And when they reached the Eedswire high. Or on the banks of Tyne ?" Soft beam'd the rising sun ; But formless shadows seemed to fly " The heath-bell blows where Keeldar flows. Along the muir-land dun. By Tyne the primrose pale ; But now we ride on the Scottish side. And when he reached the Eedswire high. To hunt in Liddesdale." His bugle Keeldar blew; And round did float, with clamorous note " Gin you will ride on the Scottish side. And scream, the hoarse curlew. Sore must thy Margaret mourn ; For Soulis abhorred is Lyddall's lord. The next blast that young Keeldar blew. And I fear youll ne'er return. The wind grew deadly still ; But the sleek fern, with fingery leaves. " The axe he bears, it hacks and tears; Waved wUdly o'er the hiU. 'Tis formed of an earth-fast flint; ^ No armour of knight, though ever so wight. § The adderstone, among the Scottish pea- Can bear ite deadly dint. santry, is held in almost as high veneration, as, among the Gauls, the ovum aiiguinum, described * WiddtrMnt.-Germtoi, tviddersins. A di- by Pliny.— Natural History, 1. xxix. c. 3. The rection contrary to the course of the sun ; from name is applied to celts, and other round perfo- left, namely, to right.— Sco«. rated stones. The vulgar suppose them to be 1 Streanurs—noTthern lights. perforated by the stings of adders.— Scott. ^ An earth-fast stone, or an insulated stone. g The rowan tree, or mountain ash, is still • inclosed in a bed of earth, is supposed to possess used by the peasantrj-, to avert the effects of peculiar properties. It is frequently applied to charms and witchcraft. An inferior degree of sprains and bruises, and used to dissipate swell- the same influence is supposed to reside in many ings; but its blow ig reckoned uncommonly evergreens ; as the holly and the bay. With tha severe.— Sco«. ^leaves of the bay, the English and Welch pe«.c ;^ 1 494 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The third blast that young Keeldar blew, ^ And still, when blood -drops, clotted thi n , Still stood the limber fern , Hang the grey moss upon. And a Wee Man, of swarthy hue. The spirit murmurs from within. Up started by a cairn. And shakes the rocking stone, f His russet weeds were brown as heath. Around, around, young Keeldar wound. That clothes the upland fell ; And called, in scornful tone. And the hair of his head was frizzly red. With him to pass the barrier ground. As the purple heather beU. The Spirit of the Stone. An urchin,* clad in prickles red. The rude crag rocked ; " I come for death. Clung cowering to his arm ; I come to work thy woe !" The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled. And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath, As struck by Fairy charm. That murmured from below. " Why rises high the stag-hound's cry. But onward, onward, Keeldar past. Where stag-hound ne'er should be ? Swift as the winter wind, Why wakes that horn the sUent mom. When, hovering on the driving blast. Without the leave of me?" The snow-flakes fall behind. " Brown dwarf, that o'er the mulrland strays. They passed the muir of berries blae. Thy name to Keeldar tell!"— The stone cross on the lee ; " The Brown Man of the Muirs, who stays They reached the green, the bonnie brae. Beneath the heather beU. Beneath the birchen tree. " 'Tis sweet, beneath the heather-beU, This is the bonnie brae, the green. To live in autumn brown ; Yet sacred to the brave. And sweet to hear the lav'rocks swell Where still of ancient size, is seen Far far from tower and town. "But woe betide the shrilling horn. Gigantic Keeldar's grave. The chace's surly cheer' f The rocking stone, conxmonly reckoned a And ever that hunter is forlorn. Druidical monument, has always been held in su- Whom first at morn I hear." perstitious veneration by the people. The popular opinion, which supposes them to be inhabited by Says, " Weal nor woe, nor friend nor foe. a spirit, coincides with that of the ancient Ice- In thee we hope nor dread." landers, who worshipped the dsemons, which But, ere the bugles green could blow. they believed to inhabit great stones. It is re- The Wee Brown Man had fled. lated in the Kristni Saga, chap. 2, that the first Icelandic bishop, by chaunting a hymn over one And onward, onward, hound and horse. of these sacred stones, immediately after his Young Keeldar's band have gone ; arrival in the island, split it, expelled the spirit. And soon they wheel, in rapid course. and converted its worshippers to Christianity. Around the Keeldar Stone. The herb vervain, revered by the Druids, was also reckoned a powerful charm by the common Green vervain round its base did creep. people; and the author recollects a popular A powerful seed that bore ; rhyme, supposed to be addressed to a young And oft, of yore, its channels deep woman by the devil, who attempted to seduce Were stained with human gore. her in the shape of a handsome young man : " Gin ye wish to be leman mine. Lay off the St. John's wort, and the vervine." sants were lately accustomed to adorn their doors at midsummer.— Vide Brand's Vulgar Antiquities.— Scoft. By his repugnance to these sacred plants, his * l/rcAin-hedge-hog. { ^mUtress discovered the cloven foot.— Sco«. I FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 495 The lonely shepherd loves to mark The daisy springing fair. Where weeps the birch of silver bark, "With long dishevelled hair. The grave is green, and round is spread The curling lady-fern ; That fatal day the mould was red. No moss was on the cairn. And next they passed the chapel there ; The holy ground was by. Where many a stone is sculptured fair. To mark where warriors lie. And here, beside the mountain flood, A massy castle ftown'd. Since first the Pictish race in blood* The haunted pile did found. The restless stream its rocky base Assails with ceaseless din ; And many a troubled spirit strays The dungeons dark within. Soon from the lofty tower there hied A knight across the vale ; " I greet your master well," he cried, " From Soulis of Liddesdale. " He heard your bugle's echoing call, In his green garden bower; And bids you to his festive hall. Within his ancient tower." Young Keeldar called his hunter train ; " For doubtful cheer prepare ! And, as you open force disdain. Of secret guile beware. * Castles remarkable for size, strength, and antiquity, are, by the common people, eommon- ly attributed to the Picts, or Pechs, who are not supposed to have trusted solely to their skill in masonry, in constructing these edifices, but are believed to have bathed the foundation-stone with human blood, in order to propitiate the spirit of the soil. Similar to this is the Gaelic tradition, according to which St. Columba is supposed to have been forced to bury St. Oran alive, beneath the foundation of his monastery, in order to propitiate the spirits of the soil, who demolished by night what was built during the day.— Scott. " 'Twas here for Mangerton's brave lord A bloody feast was set. Who, weetless, at the festal board. The bull's broad frontlet met. " Then ever, at uncourteous feast. Keep every man his brand ; And, as you 'mid his friends are placed. Range on the better hand. " And, if the bull's ill omen'd headf Appear to grace the feast. Your whingers, with unerring speed, Plunge in each neighbour's breast."— In Hermitage they sat at dine. In pomp and proud array And oft they filled the blood-red wine. While merry minstrels play. And many a hunting song they sang. And song of game and glee{ Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue, " Of Scotland's luve and lee."^: t To present a bull's head before a person at a feast, was, in the ancient turbulent times of Scotland, a common signal for his assassination. Thus, Lindsay of Pitscottie relates in his His- tory, p. 17, that " efter the dinner was endit, once alle the delicate courses taken away, the chancellor (Sir William Crichton) presentit the buUis head befoir the Earle of Douglas, in signe and toaken of condemnation to the death." Scott. i The most ancient Scottish song known is that which is here alluded to, and is thus given by Wintoun, in his Chronykil, vol. I. p. 401 :— Quhea Alysandyr our kyng wes dede, That Scotland led in luve and le. Away wes sons of ale and brede, Ot wyne and wax, of gamyu and gle : Oure gold wes changyd into lede, Cryst, borne into virgynyte. Succour Scotland and remede, That 8tad is iu perplexyte. That alluded to in the following verse, is a wild fanciful popular tale of enchantment, termed " The Black Bull of Noroway." The author is inclined to believe it the same story with the romance of the " Three Futtit Dog of Noroway," the title of which is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland.— Sco«. 1 496 SCOTTISH BALLADS. To wilder measares next they turn & Ah ! ne'er before in Border feud " The Black Black Bull of Noroway !" Was seen so dire a fray ! Sudden the tapers cease to burn. Through glittering lances Keeldar hewed The minstrels cease to play. A red corse-paven way. Each hunter bold, of Keeldar's train. His helmet, formed of mermaid sand. Sat an enchanted man ; No lethal brand could dint ; Tor cold as ice, through every yein. No other arms could e'er withstand The freezing life-blood ran. The axe of earth-fast flint. Each rigid hand the whinger wrung. In Keeldar's plume the holly green. Each gaied with glaring eye ; And rowan leaves, nod on. But Keeldar from the table sprung. And vain Lord Soulis's sword was seen. Unharmed by gramarye. Though the hUt was adderstone. He burst the doors ; the roofs resound ; Then up the Wee Brown Man he rose. With yells the castle rung ; BySoulisofLiddesdale; Before him, with a sudden bound. " In vain," he said, " a thousand blows His favourite blood-hound sprung. AssaU the charmed maU. Ere he could pass, the door was barr'd; And, grating harsh from under. With creaking, jarring noise, was heard A sound like distant thunder. "In vain by land your arrows glide. In vain your falchions gleam- No spell can stay the living tide.f Or charm the rushmg stream." And now, young Keeldar reached the stream. The iron clash, the grinding sound. Above the foamy lin ; Announce the dire sword-mill;* The Border lances round him gleam. The piteous bowlings of the hound And force the warrior in. The dreadful dungeon fiU. The hoUy floated to the side. With breath drawn in, the murderous crew And the leaf of the rowan pale . Stood listening to the yell; Alas ! no spell could charm the tide. And greater still their wonder grew. Nor the lance of Liddesdale. As on their ear it fell. Swift was the Cout o' Keeldar's course. They listen'd for a human shriek Along the my lee; Amid the jarring sound ; But home came never hound nor horse. They only heard in echoes weak. And never home came he. The murmurs of the hound. Where weeps the birch with branches green. The death-bell rung, and wide were flung Without the holy ground. Between two old gray stones is seen The castle gates amain ; The warrior's ridgy mound. While hurry out the armed rout. And marshal on the plain. And the hunters bold, of Keeldar's train. Within yon castle's waU, In deadly sleep must aye remain. * The author is unable to produce any au- Till the ruined towers down fall. thority that the execrable machine, the sword- mill, so well known on the continent, was ever t That no species of magic had any effect over employed in Scotland ; but he believes the ves- a running stream, was a common opinion tiges of something very similar have been dis- among the vulgar, and is alluded to in Burns's covered in the ruins of old castles.— Scott. { ^ admirable tale of Tarn o' Shanter.— Scott. 1 FAIET MYTHOLOGY. 497 ■Each in hU hunter's garb array'd. Each holds his bugle horn ; Their keen hounds at their feet are laid, Itiat ne'er shall walie the morn. ®^e ^|itiit of t^i €lm. tMoDKRN Ballad.— James Hooo.] " DEARBST Maijory, stay at home. For dark 's the gate yon have to go; And there 's a inaike adown the glen. Hath frighten'd me and many moe. " His legs are like two pillars tall. And still and stalwart is his stride ; His face is rounder nor the moon. And, och, his mouth is awesome wide 1 "I saw him stand, the other night, Yclothed in his grizly shroud ; With one foot on a shadow placed. The other on a misty cloud. " As far asunder were his limbs. On the first story of the air, A ship could have sail'd through between. With all her colours flying fair. " He nodded his head against the heaven. As if in reverend moekerye ; Then feuldit his arms upon his breast. And aye he shook his beard at me. " And he pointed to my Marjory's cot. And by his motion seem'd to say, " In yon sweet home go seek thy lot. For there thine earthly lot 1 lay.* " My very heart it quaked for dread. And turn'd as cold aa beryl stone. And the moudies cheipit below the swaird. For fear their little souls were gone. " The cushat and the corbie craw Fled to the highest mountain height; And the little birdies tried the same, Bttt fell down on the earth with fright. " But there was ane shameful heronshew. Was sitting by the plashy shore. With meagre eyne watching ponheads. And other fishes, less or more; " But when she saw that grizly sight Stand on the billow of the wind ; Grace, as she flapper'd and she flew, And left a streamoury track behind ! "And aye she ralr'd as she were wud. For utter terror and dismay ; And left a skelloch on the clud,— I took it for the milky way. " Had I not seen that hideous sight, AVhat I had done I could not say ; But at that heron's horrid fright, I'll laugh until my dying day. " Then, dearest Marjory, stay at home. And rather court a blink with me ; For, gin you see that awesome sight, Yourself again you will never be." " But I have made a tryst this night, I may not break, if take my life ; So I will run my risk and go : With maiden, spirits have no strife. " Have you not heard. Sir Dominie, That face of virgin bears a charm. And neither ghaist, nor man, nor beast. Have any power to do her harm ?" " Yes, there is one, sweet Maijorye, Will stand thy friend in darksome even } For virgin beauty is on earth The brightest type we have of heaven. " The colly cowers upon the swaird. To kiss her foot with kindly eye ; The maskis will not move his tongue. Bat wag lus tail, if she pass by ; " The adder hath not power to stang ; The slow-worm's harmless as an eel ; The burly toad, the ask, and snake. Cannot so much aa wound her heel. " The angels love to see her good. And watch her ways in bower and hall ; The devils pay her some respect. And God loves her,— that is test of aU." Si 493 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ' Then, sooth, I'll take my chance, and wend ^ Then next she met an eldrin dame. To keep my tryst, whate'er may be ; Why should a virtuous maiden dread The tale of a crazy Dominie ?" *• Ochon, ochon, dear Maigorye, But of your virtue you are vain! Yet you are in a wondrous haste. In running into toil and pain. " For maiden's virtue, at the best, (May He that made her kind, forgive her 1) Is like the blue-bell of the waste. Sweet, sweet a while, and gone for ever I * It is like what maiden much admires, — A bruckle set of china store ; But one false stumble, start, or step. And down it falls for evermore ! " It is like the florid Eden rose. That perisheth without recalling; And aye the lovelier that it grows. It wears the nearer to the falling. " It is like the flaunting morning sky. That spreads its blushes far before ; But plash there comes a storm of rain. And all its glory then in o'er. " Then be not proud, sweet Maijorye, Of that which hath no sure abode : Man little knows what lurks within ; The heart is only known to GrOd." But Marjory smiled a willsome smile. And drew her frock up to her knee ; And lightly down the glen she flew. Though the tear stood in the Dominie's e'e. She had not gone a mile but ane, Quhill up there starts a droichel man. And he lookit ruefully in her face. And says, " Fair maid, where be yougaun ?" " I am gaun to meet mine own true love. So, Maister Brownie, say your rede, I know you have not power to hurt One single hair of virgin's head." The Brownie gave a gousty laugh. And said, " What wisdom you do lack] For, if you reach your own true love, I may have power when you come back !" A weirdly witch I wot was she ; For though she wore a human face, It was a grousome sight to see ; " Stay, pretty maid, what is your haste ? Come, speak with me before you go ; For I have news to tell to you. Will make your very heart to glow : " Tou claim that virgins have a charm. That holds the universe at bay ; Alas 1 poor fool, to snare and harm. There is none so liable as they. " It is love that lifts up woman's soul. And gives her eyeo a heavenly sway; Then, would you be a blessed thing. Indulge in love without delay. " You go to meet your own true love, I know it well as well can be ; But, or you pass a bowshot on. You will meet ane thrice as good as he. " And he will press your lily hand. And he will kiss your cheek and chin. And you must go to bower with him. For he is the youth your love must win. " And you must do what he desires. And great good fortune you shall find ; But when you reach your own true love. Keep close your secret in your mind." Away went Marjory, and away With lighter step and blither smile; That night to meet her own true love. She would have gane a thousand mile. She had not pass'd a bowshot on Until a youth, in manly trim. Came up and press'd the comely May To turn into a bower with him. He promised her a gown of silk, A mantle of the cramosye. And chain of gold about her neck, For one hour of her companye. He took her lily hand in his. And kiss'd it with such fervencye. That the poor May began to blush. And durst not lift her modest e'e. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 4.99 Her little heart began to beat, i And flutter most disquietlye. She lookit east, she lookit west. And aU to see what she could see. ^ Keep aye the eyes on heaven aboon. Both of your body and your mmd ; For in the strength of God alone, A woman's weakness strength shaU find She lookit up to heaven aboon. Though scarcely knowing how or why ; She heaved a sigh— the day was won. And bright resolve beam'd in her eye. And when you go to bower or dell. And know no human eye can see. Think of an eye that never sleeps. And angels weeping over thee. The first stern that she look'd upon, A tear stood on its brow for shame; It drappit on the floor of heaven. And aye its blushes went and came. For man is but a selfish maike. And little recks of maiden's woe. And all his pride is to advise The gate she's far ower apt to go. Then Maijory, in a moment thought. That blessed angels might her see; And often said within her heart, " Do God's own planets blush for me? Away went bonnle Marjorye, With all her blossoms in the blight; She had not gone a bowshot on, Before she saw an awsome sight: " That they shall never do again — Leal virtue still shall be my guide. — Thou stranger youth, pass on thy way. With thee I will not turn aside. It was ane maike of monstrous might. The terror of the sons of men; That by Sir Dominie was hight. The Giant Spirit of the Glen. " The Angel of the Glen is wroth. And where shall maiden find remede ? See what a hideous canopy He is spreading high above our head !" His make was like a moonshine cloud That fili'd the glen with human form; With his gray locks he brush 'd the heaven And shook them far aboon Uie storm; " Take thou no dread, sweet Marjorye ; It is love's own curtain spread on high ; A tlmeous veil for maiden's blush. Yon litUe crumb-cloth of the sky. And gurly, gurly was his look. From eyne that seem'd two borels blue. And shaggy was his silver beard That down the air in streamers flew. " All the good angels Uke delight Sweet woman's happiness to see ; And where could thine be so complete As in the bower this night with me ?" Oh, but that maid was hard bested. And mazed and modderit in dismay 1 For both the gueste of heaven and hell Seem'd her fond passage to belay. Poor Maqory durst no answer make. But stood as meek as captive dove ; Her trust fix'd on her Maker kind,— Her eyes upon the heaven above. When the Great Spirit saw her dread, And that she wist not what to gay. His face assum'd a milder shade. Like midnight melting into day. That wicked wight (for sure no youth. But Demon of the Glen was he) Had no more power, but sped away. And left the maiden on her knee. " Poor wayward, artless, aimless thing. Where art thou going, canst thou teU?" The Spirit said,—" Is it thy will To run with open eyne to hell ? Then, all you virgins sweet and young. When the first whisperings of sin Begin to hanker on your minds. Or steal into the soul within, ^ " I am the guardian of this glen. And 'tis my sovereign joy to see The wicked man run on in sin, Hank, ruthless, gaunt, and greedlljwj 500 "But still to guard the virtuous heart From paths of danger and of woe. Shall bo my earnest, dearest part ; Then tell me, dame, where dost thou go ?" "I go to meet mine ain dear love. True happiness with him to seek, — The comeliest and kindest youth That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek." The Spirit shook his silver hair. That stream'd like sunbeam through the rain; But there was pity in his eyne. Though mingled with a mild disdain. He whipp'd the maid up in his arms As I would lift a trivial toy- Quod he, " The upshot thou shalt see Of this most pure and virtuous joy !" He took two strides, he took but two. Although ane mile it seem'd to be. And show'd the maid her own true love. With maiden weeping at his knee; And, oh ! that maiden's heart was sore. For still with tears she wet his feet; But then he mock'd and jeer'd the more. With threats, and langruage moat unmeet. 6he cried, " Oh, dear and cruel youth. Think of the love you vow'd to me. And all the joys that we have proved. Beneath the bield of birken tree < " Since never maid hath loved like me. Leave me not to the world's sharp scorn ; By your dear hand I'll rather die Than live forsaken and forlorn 1" " As thou hast said so shalt thou dree,' Said this most cursed and cruel hind ; " For I must meet ane May this night. Whom I love best of womankind ; "So I'U let forth thy wicked blood. And neither daunt, nor rue the deed. For thou art lost to grace and good. And ruin'd beyond all remede." She open'd up her snowy breast. And aye the tear blinded her e'e . Now take, now take mine harmless life. All guiltless but for loving thee !" SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then he took out a deadly blade. And drew it from its bloody sheath. Then laid his hand upon her eyne. To blind them from the stroke of death. Then, straight to pierce her broken heart. He raised his ruthless hand on high; But Marjory utter'd shriek so loud, It made the monster start and fly. " Now, maiden," said the mighty Shade, " Thou see'st what dangers waited thee ; Thou see'st what snares for thee were laid. All underneath the greenwood tree. " Yet straight on ruin wouldst thou run ! What think'st thou of thy lover meek,— The comeliest and the kindest youth That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek ?" Then sore, sore did poor Marjory weep And cried, " This world's a world of woe, A place of sin, of snare, and gin ; Alas ! what shall poor woman do ?" " Let woman trust in Heaven high. And be all ventures rash abjured; And never trust herself with man. Till of his virtue well assured." The Spirit turn'd him round about. And up the glen he strode amain, QuhiU his white hair along the heaven Stream'd like the comet's fiery train. High as the eagle's morning flight. And swift as is his cloudy way. He bore that maiden through the night, Enswathed in wonder and dismay ; And he flang her in the Dominie's bed,— Ane good soft bed as bed could be 1 And when the Dominie came home, Ane richt astounded man was he. Quod he, " My dear sweet Marjorye, My best beloved and dawted dame. You are welcome to my bed and board. And this brave house to be thine hame : " But not till we in holy church Be bound, never to loose again ; And then I will love you as my life. And long as life and breath remain." ' FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. gQl Then the Dominie took her to holy church, 4^ " The new-made mother need not fear. And wed her with a gowden ring ; To leave ajar the cottage door; And he was that day a joyful man. Alas ! we never shall come near. And happier nor a crowned king. To change the mortal's infiint more. 1 EaUe, &c. And more unsmirchit happiness Ne'er to an earthly pair was given ; " No more, when as the eddying wind And all the days they spent on earth. Shall whirl the autumn leaves in air. They spent in thankfulness to Heaven. ShaU there be dread, that elfin fiend. Or troop of wandering fays are there. Now, maidens dear, in greenwood shaw, EaUe, &c. Ere you make trystes with flattering men. Think of the sights poor Marjory saw. "In palaces beneath the lake. And the Great Spirit of the Glen. Within the rock, or grassy hill. No more the sounds of mirth we make. But aU are silent, sad, and still. EaUe, &o. '^^e %mt §Bh^, "FareweU the ring, where, through the dance, [This very beautiful piece is written by Mr. In win iing maze, we deftly flew. William Oliver, Langraw, Roxburghshire, Whilst flowing hair, and dress, would glance author of "Eight Months in Illinois." It is With sparkUng gems of moonUt dew. here printed for the first time.] Ealie, &c. • Thkbb was a voice heard on the fell. " We were ere mortals had their birth. Crying so sadly, " All are gone. And long have watched their growing day; And I must bid thU earth farewell ; The light now beams upon the earth, Oh why should I stay here alone ? And warns us that we must away. Ealie, ealie, oh fareweU ! Ealie, &c. " I've sought the brake, I've sought the hiU, " Oh where are Thor and Wodin now ? The haunted glen, and swelling river ; Where Elfin sprite and Duergar gone ? I've sought the fountain, and the rill. The great are fallen ; we needs must bow. And aU are left, and left for ever. I may not stay, not even alone. Ealie, &c. Ealie, &c. " Where'er the sunbeam tints the spray. " Ah me, the wandering sumuier broeze That rises o'er the falling waters. ShaU bear our sighs, where'er it goes. I've, needless, roamed the livelong day, Or floating 'mid the leafy trees. In search of some of Faerie's daughters. Or steaUng odours from the rose. Ealie, &c. Ealie, &c. "Each heather-bell, each budding flower. " These sighs, unknown s haU touch the heart That blooms in wold, or grassy lea, And with a secret language speak ; Each bosky shaw, each leafy bower. To joy a soothing care impart ; Is tenantless by all, save me. Add tears to smiles on beauty's cheek. EaUe, &c. Ealie, &o. " No more now, through the moonlit night. " FareweU, farewell, for I must go With tinkling bells, and sound of mirUi, To other realms, to other spheres ; We hie, and scare the peasant wight. This mortal earth 1 leave with wo. With strains by far too sweet for earth. 1 With grief, with waUing, and with tears.' EaUe, &c. i ^ EaUe, &c. 502 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 4 Whan thair was corne to threshe or diehte. Or barne or byre to clene. W^e Mu^nu d JFeaw^em. He had ane bizzy houre at nicht, Atweene the twall and ane ; [MoDBRN Ballad.— Alexander Laino.— Here And thouoh the sna' was never so deip. printed for the first time.— In the notes to And never so weet the raine. CoUins's "Ode on the Popular Superstitions He ran ane errant in a whelp. of the Highlands" it is said that " The Brow- The Brownie of Pearnden ! nie formed a class of beings, distinct in habit and disposition from the freakish and mis- Ae nicht the gudewyfe of the house chievous elves or fairies. In the day time, he Fell sicke as sicke coud be. lurked in remote recesses of the old houses which And for the skilly mammy-wyfe. he delighted to haunt ; and in the night sedu- She wan tit them to gae; lously employed himself in discliarging any labo- rious task which he thought might be acceptable The nicht was darke, and never a sparke to the family, to whose service he had devoted Wald venture doun the glen. himself ;"— and service similar to that narrated For feir that he micht heir or see in this ballad was of very frequent occurrence. The Brownie of Fearnden 1 It is told of a Brownie, tliat on a certain occa- sion he had undertaken to gather the sheep into But Brownie was na far awa'. the bught by an early hour, and so zealously did For well he heard the stryfe ; he perform his task, that not only was there not And ablynis thocht, as well he saw. one sheep left on the hill, but he had also col- They sune wald tyne the wyfe : lected a number of hares, which were found fairly penned along with them ; upon being con- He afle and mountis the ridying mear. gratulated on his extraordinary success, he ex- And throch the winde and raine ; claimed, " confound thae wee grae anes, they And sune was at the skilly wyfe's. cost me mair trouble than u' the lave o' them." Wha livlt owre the den ! So disinterested was Brownie in his attachment. that any offer of reward, particularly of food or He pullit the sneke, and out he spak*. clothing, he invariably reckoned a hint from the That she micht bettere heir. family that they wished to dispense with his ser- " Thair is a mothere wald gj-ve byrth. vices, which he immediately transferred to ano- But hasna strengthe to beir ; ther. He has likewise been known to have aban- doned a beloved haunt, when often disturbed in ryse ! ryse ! and hape you well. his places of daily retirement, or when any ob- To keip you fra the raine"— servations were made on his appearance, which " Whaur do you want n,e ?" quoth the wyfe. was " meagre, shaggy, and wild." It is there- " whaur but owre the den I" fore very probable, as we have no later tradition respecting the Brownie of the ballad, that the Whan baythe waur mountit on the mear. question put to him by the lage femme at the And ridyng up the glen ; door of the farm-house, occasioned his departure " watt ye laddy," quoth the wyfe. from his favourite Fearnden for ever.] " Gyn we be neir the den f Thaib livit ane man on Norinsyde, "Are we com neir the den?" she said} Whan Jamis helde his aine ; " Just wysht ye fule 1" quoth he. He had ane maylen faire and wyde. " For waure than ye ha'e in your armis. And servants nyne or tene— This nicht ye wynna see 1" He had ane servant dwellying neir. They sune waur landit at the doore. Worthe all his maydis and men ; The wyfe he handit doun— And wha was this gyn ye wald speir. « I've lefte the house but ae haufe hou«^ The Brownie of Fearnden 1 « f lamadeverlounl"— 1 1 FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 503 "What maks your feit sae brayde?" quoth 4^ I croBS'd my brow, and I cross'd ifty breast. she. But that night my child departed; " What maks your een sae wan ?" They left a weakling in his stead. " I've wandert mony a weary foote. And I am broken-hearted. And unko sichtis I've seen 1 Oh I it cannot be my own sweet boy. •' But mynd the wyfe, and mynd the wean. For his eyes are dim and hoUow, And Bee that all gae richt ; My UtOe boy U gone to God, And I wyll tak' you hame agen. And hU mother soon wiU follow. Befbir the mornyng licht. The dirge for the dead will be sung for me. " And gyn they speir wha brocht you heir. And the mass be chanted meetly; Cause they waur soaunte of men- And 1 WiU sleep with my little boy. Even tell them that ye rade ahint In the moonliKht churchyard sweetly. The Brownie of Fearndeal" ^^e ^aEe-atoag, Water Md^ie, [This piece is by the Ebv. Dr. Jamibsow, [The woman, in whose character these Unes author of the Scottish Dictionary. It Brst ap- are written, supposes her child to be stolen by a peared in the Border Minstrelsy. We give it a fairy. The ballad here given is translated from place here as the Water Kelpie belongs to the the German, by John Anster, Esq.] genus Fairy. " The principal design of the author of this piece," says Sir Walter, " was to give a speci- Thb summer sun was sinking With a mild light calm and mellow. men of Scottish writing, more nearly approach- ing to the classical cumpositions of our ancient It shone on my little boy's bonnie cheeks. bards, than that which has been generally fol- And his loose locks of yellow. lowed for seventy or eighty years past. As the poem is descriptive of the superstitions of the The robin was singing sweetly. vulgar, in the county of Angus, the scene is laid And his song was sad and tender; on the banks of South Esk, near the rastle of And my Uttle boy's eyes, whUe he heard the Inverquharity, about five miles north from song. Forfar."] Smiled with a sweet soft splendour. My little boy lay on my bosom. Aft, owre the bent, with heather blent. While his soul the song was quaffing. And throw the forest brown. The joy of hU soul had tinged his cheek. I tread the path to yon green strath, And his heart and his eye were laughing. Quhare brae-bom Esk rins down. I sat alone in my cottage. Its banks alang, quhilk hazels thrang. The midnight needle plying; Quhare sweet-sair'd hawthorns blow. I feared for my child, for the rush's light I lufe to stray, and view the play In the socket now was dying. Of fleckit scales below. There came a hand to my lonely latch. Ae summer e'en, upon the green. Like the wind at midnight moaning; I laid me down to gaze ; I knelt to pray, but rose again. The place right nigh, quhare Oarity For I heard my Uttle boy groaning. \ His humble tribute pays : 604 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And Prosen proud, with rippet loud, Cums ravin' ft-ae his glen ; As gin he micht auld Esk affricht. And drive him back agen. An ancient tour appear't to lour Athort the neibourin plain, Qubais chieftain bauld, in times of auld. The kintrie call't his ain. Its honours oow't, its now forhow't. And left the houlat's prey ; Its skuggin' wude, aboon the flude. With gloom owrespreads the day. A dreary shade the castle spread. And mirker grew the lift ; The croonin' kie the byre drew nigh. The darger left his thrift. The lavrock shiU on erd was still. The westlin wind fell loun ; The fisher's houp forgat to loup, * And aw for rest made boan. f I aeem't to sloom, quhan throw the gloom I saw the river shak'. And heard a whush alangis it rush, Gart aw my members :iuak' , Syne, in a stound, the pool profound To cleave in twain appear'd ; And huly throw the frichtsom how His form a gaist uprear'd4 He rashes bare, and seggs, for hair, Quhare ramper-eels entwin'd ; Of filthy gar his e'e-brees war. With esks and horse-gells lin'd. * The fishes, the hope of the angler, no more rose to the fly. — Jamieson. f All commonly occurs in our old writers. But arv is here used, as corresponding with the general pronunciation in Scotland; especially as it has the authority of Dunbar, in his " La- ment for the Deth of the Makaris." — Jamieson. ^ It is believed in Angus, that the spirit of the waters appears sometimes as a man, with a very frightful aspect ; and, at other times, as a horse. The description, here given, must therefore be viewed as the oflspring of fancy. All that can be said for it is, that such attributes are selected as are appropriate to the scenery. — Jamieton. And for his een, with dowie sheen, Twa huge horse-mussels glar'd :§ From his wide mow a torrent flew. And soupt his reedy beard. Twa slauky stanes seemit his spule-banes ; His briskit braid, a whin ; Ilk rib sae bare, a skelvy skair ; Ilk arm a monstrous fin. He frae the wame a fish became, With shells aw coverit owre : And for his tail, the grislie whale Could nevir match its pow'r. With dreddour I, quhan he drew nigh. Had maistly swarflt outricht : Less fleyit at lenth I gatherit strenth, And speirt quhat was this wicht. Syne thrice he shook his fearsum bouk, And thrice he snockerit loud ; From ilka e'e the fire-fiauchts flee. And flash alangis the flude. Quhan words he found, their elritch sound Was like the norlan blast, Frae yon deep glack, at Catla's back.J That skeegs the dark-brown waste. The troublit pool conveyit the gowl Down to yon echoin rock ; And to his maik, with wilsum skraik. Ilk bird its terror spoke. The trout, the par, now hei-e, now thare. As in a widdrim bang ; The gerron gend gaif sic a stend. As on the yird him flang . And down the stream, like levin's gleam. The fleggit salmond flew ; The ottax yap his prey let drap. And to his hiddils drew. § South Esk abounds with the fresh-water oyster, vulgarly called the korte-mussel ; and, in former times, a pearl fishery was carried on here to considerable extent. — Jamieson. U Part of the Grampian mountains. Catla appears as a promontory, jutting out from the principal ridge towards the plain. The Esk, if I recollect right, issues from behind it. — Jamieton, FAIRY MTTHOLOGT. 505 " Vile droich," he said, " art nocht afraid ^ And mony a chiell has heard me squeal Thy mortal life to tyne ?* For sair-brizi'd back and banes.^ How dar'st thou seik with me to speik, Sae far aboon thy line? " Within flude-mark, I aft do wark Gudewillit, quhan I please; " Yet sen thou hast thai limits past. In quarries deep, quhile uthers sleep. That Binder sprites frae men. Greit blocks I win with ease. Thy life I'll spare, and aw declare. That worms like thee may ken. " Yon bonnie brig quhan folk wald big. To gar my stream look braw ; " In kintries nar, and distant far. A sair-toU'd wieht was I be nicht Is my renoun propall't; I did mair than thaim aw. As is the leid, my name ye'U reid. But here I'm KelpU call't. " And weel thai kent quhat help I lent. For thai yon image fram't. " The strypes and bums, throw aw their Aboon the pend whilk I defend ; turns. And it thai Kelpie nam't.§ As weel's the waters wide. My laws obey, thair spring-heads frae. " Quhan lads and lasses wauk the clais. Doun till the salt sea tide. Narby yon whinny hicht. The sound of me their daffln lays ; " Like some wild staig, I aft stravaig, Thai dare na mudge for fricht. And scamper on the wave r Qaha with a bit my mow can fit. " Now in the midst of them I scream. May gar me be his slave. Quhan toozlin' on the haugh ; Than quhihher by thaim doun the stream. " To him I'll wirk, baith mom and mirk, Loud nickerin in a laucb. Quhile he has wark to do; Gin tent he tak' I do nae shak' " Sicklike's my fixn, of wark quhan run : His bridle frae my mow.f Butldomeikle mair; In pool or ford can nane be smtur'd " Quhan Murphy's laird his biggin' rear'd, Gin Kelpie be nae there. Icarryitaw thestanes; " Fow lang, I wat, I ken the spai, Quhair ane sail meet his deid: Nor wit nor pow'r put aflf the hour. * The vulgar idea is, that a spirit, however For his wanweird decreed. frequently it appear, wiU not speak, unless pre- viously addressed. It is, however, at the same " For oulks befoir, alangis the shoir. time beUeved, that the person, who ventures to Or dancin' down the stream. speak to a ghost, forfeite his life, and wiU soon My Ijchts are seen to blaze at een. lose it, in consequence of his presumption. With wull wanerthly gleam. JamUson. t The popular tradition is here faithfully de- scribed ; and, strange to tell ! has not yet lost i It is pretended that Kelpie celebrated thli all credit. In the following verses, the principal ) memorable event in rhyme ; and that for a long articles of the vulgar creed in Angus, with time after he was often heard to cry, with a respect to this supposed being, are brought to- doleful voice. gether, and illustrated by such facts as are yet appealed to by the credulous. If I mistake not. " Sair back and sair banes, Carryin' the laird of Murphy's stanen I" none of the historical circumstances mentioned Jamieson. are older than half a century. It is only about § A head, like that of a gorgon, appears above thirty years since the bridge referred to was the arch of the bridge. This was hewn in honour built.— Jamieton. ^ ^ of Kelpie.— Jamieson. 1 506 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " The hind cams in, gif haim he win, ^ " The human schaip I somotimes aipt And cries, as he war wod, — As Prosenhaugh raid haim. Sum ane sail soon be carryit down Ae starnless nicht, he gat a fricht. ' By that wanchancy flude !' Maist crackt his bustuous frame. ' The taiken leil thai ken fow weel. " I, in a glint, lap on ahint. On water sides quha won ; And in my arms him fang't; And aw but thai, quha's weird I spae. To his dore-cheik I keipt the cleik Fast frae the danger run. The carle was sair bemang't. " But fremmit fouk I thus provoke " My name itseU wirks like a spell. To meit the fate thai flee And quiet the house can keep ; To wilderit wichta thai're waefow lichts. Qulian greits the wean, the nurse in vain. But Uchts of joy to me. Thoch tyke-tyrit, tries to aleip. " With ruefow cries, that rend the skies. " But gin scho say, ' Lie still, ye skrae. Thair fate I seem to mourn. There's Water-Kelpie's chap;' Like crocodile, on banks of Nile ; It's fleyit to wink, and in a blink For I still do the turn. It sleips as sound's a tap." " Douce, cautious men aft fey are seen ; He said, and thrice he rais't hU voice. Thai rin as thai war heyrt. And gaif a horrid gowl: Despise aU rede, and court their dede : Thrice with his t.ail, as with a flail. By me are thai inspir't. He struck the flying pool. " Yestreen the water was in spate. A thunderclap seem't ilka wap. The stanners aw war cur'd ; Kesoundin' throw the wude: A man, nae stranger to the gate. The fire thrice flash't; syne in he plash't. Eaid up to tak' the ford. And sunk beneath the flude. " The haill town sware it wadna ride ; And Kelpie had been heard: But nae a gliffin wad he bide. His shroud I had prepar'd. * W^t JMai^ B\i^ §mt^> * A very common tale in Scotland is here alluded to by the poet. On the banks of a rapid stream the Water Spirit was heard repeatedly [From Buchan'a Ballads.] to exclaim, m a dismal tone, " The hour is come. but not the man;' when a person coming up. contrary to all remonstrances, endeavoured to "0 OPKN the door, my honey, my heart. ford the stream, and perished in the attempt. open the door, my ain kind dearie; The original story is to be found in Gervase of For diuna ye mind upo- the time. Tilbury.— In the parish of Castleton, the same We met in the wood at the well sae wearie ? Btory is told, with this variation, that the bye- Btanders prevented, by force, the predestined " gi'e me my castick, my dow, my dow. individual from entering the river, and shut him gi'e me my castick, my ain kind dearie; up in the church, where he was next morning For dinna ye mind upo' the time. found suffocated, with his face lying immersed We met in the wood at the well sae wearie ? in the baptismal font. To a fey person, there- ore, Shakespeare's words Uterally apply: " gi'e me my brose, my dow, my dow. Put but a little water in a spoon. And it shall be as all the ocean. O gi'e me my brose, my ain kind dearie ; For dinna ye mind upo' the time. Enough to swallow such a being up.— Scott. ^ ft We met in the wood at the well sae wsarie ? 1 FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. QQ^ " gle me my kail, my dow, my dow, ^ And this May she had a snow-white bull. gi'o me my kail, niy ain kind dearie; The dread of the hail countrye. For dinna ye mind upo' the time. And three-and-thretty good milk kye. We met in the wood at the well sae wearie To bear him oompanye ; " lay me down, my dow, my dow. And she had geese and goslings too. lay me down, my ain kind dearie ; And ganders of muckil din. For dinna ye mind upo" the time. And peacocks, with their gaudy trains. "We met in the wood at the well sae And hearts of pride within ; wearie?" And she had cocks with curled kaims. " woe to you now, my dow, my dow. And hens, full crouse and glad. O woe to you now, my wile fause dearie j That chanted in her own stack-yard. And oh 1 for the time I had you again. And cackillit and laid like mad ; Plunging the dubs at the well sae wearie •■' But where her minnie gat all that gear And all that lordly trim. The Lord in Heaven he knew full well. But nobody knew but him ; IMffig of ftt JEodl mm. For she never yielded to mortal man, • To prince, nor yet to king- [From "The Mountain Bard," by James She never was given in holy church. HOOG.] Nor wedded with ane ring. I WILL tell you of ane wondrous tale. So all men wist, and all men said ; As ever was told by man, But the tale was in sore mistime. Or ever was sung by minstrel meet For a maiden she could hardly be. Since this base world began :— With a daughter in beauty's prime. It is of ane May, and ane lovely May, But this bonnie May, she never knew That dwelt in the Moril Glen, A father's kindly claim ; The fairest flower of mortal frame. She never was bless'd in holy church. But a devil amongst the men ; Nor ohristend in holy name. For nine of them sticket themselves for love. But there she lived an earthly flower And ten louped in the main. Of beauty so supreme. And seven-and-thretty brake their hearts. Some fear'd she was of the mermaid's brood, And never loved women again; Come out of the salt sea faeme. For ilk ane trowit she was in love. Some said she was found in a fairy ring. And ran wodde for a while — And born of the fairy queen ; There was siccan language in every look. For there was a rainbow behind the moon And a speire in every smile. That night she first was seen. And she had seventy scores of ewes. Some said her mother was a witch. That blett o'er dale and down. Come frae ane far countrye; On the bonnie braid lands of the MorUGlen, Or a princess loved by a weird warlock And these were all her own ; In a land beyond the seal And she ha'd stotts, and sturdy steers. Oh, there are doings here below And blithsome kids enew. That mortal ne'er should ken ; That danced as Ught as gloaming flies For there are things in this fair world Out through the faUing dew B Beyond the reach of men. 608 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Ae thing most sure and certain was — For the bedesmen told it me — That the knight who coft the Moril Glen Ne'er spoke a word but three. And the masons who biggit that wild ha' Ne'er spoke word good nor ill; [house They came like a dream, and pass'd away Like shadows o'er the hill. They came like a dream, and pass'd away Whither no man could tell ; But they ate their bread like Christian men. And drank of the crystal well. And whenever man said word to them, They stay'd their speech full soon ; For they shook their heads, and raised their And look'd to heaven aboon. [hands. And the lady came — and there she 'bade For mony a lonely day ; But whether she bred her bairn to God- To read but and to pray- There was no man wist, though all men And guess'd with fear and dread ; [guess'd. But oh she grew ane virgin rose. To seemly womanheidi And no man could look on her fece, And eyne that beam'd so clear. But felt a stang gang through his heart. Far sharper than a spear. It was not like ane prodde or pang That strength could overwin. But like ane red hot gaud of iron Reeking his heart within. So that around the Moril Glen Our brave young men did lie. With limbs as lydder, and as lythe. As duddis hung out to dry. And aye the tears ran down in streams Ower cheeks right woe-begone; And aye they gasped, and they gratte. And thus made piteous moan : — " Alake that I had ever been born. Or dandelit on the knee; Or rockit in ane cradle bed. Beneath a mother's e'e 1 " Oh : had I died before my cbeek To woman's breast had lain. Then had I ne'er for woman's love Endured this burning pain 1 " For love is like the fiery flame That quivers through the rain, And love is like the pang of death That splits the heart in twain. '• If I had loved earthly thing. Of earthly blithesomeness, I might have been beloved again, And bathed in earthly bliss. •♦ But I have loved ane freakish fey Of frowardness and sin. With heavenly beauty on the face. And heart of stone within. " O, for the gloaming calm of death To close my mortal day— The last benighting heave of breath. That rends the soul awayl" But word's gone east, and word's gone west, 'Mong high and low degree, Quhile it went to the king upon the throne. And ane wrothful man was he.— • " What !" said the king, " and shall we eit In sackcloth mourning sad, Quhille all mine lieges of the land For ane young quean run mad ? " Go saddle me my milk-white steed. Of true Megaira brode; I will go and see this wondrous dame. And prove her by the rode. " And if I find her elfin queen. Or thing of fairy kind, I will burn her into ashes small. And sift them on the wind 1" The Idng hath chosen fourscore knigbtu. All busked gallantlye. And he is away to the Moril Glen, As fast as he can dree. And when he came to the Moril Glen, Ae morning fair and clear. This lovely May on horseback rode To hunt the fallow deer. FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. 509 He? palfrey wag of snowy hue, A pale unearthly thing. That revell'd over hill and dale like bird upon the wing. Her screen was like a net of gold, That dazzled as it flew ; Her mantle was of the rainbow's red. Her rail of its bonnie blue. A golden comb with diamonds bright. Her seemly virgin crown. Shone like the new moon's lady light O'er cloud of amber brown. The lightning that shot from her eyne. Flickered like elfin brand ; It was sharper nor the sharpest spear In all Northumberland. The hawk that on her bridle arm Outspread his pinions blue, To keep him steady on the perch As his loved mistress flew. Although his een shone like the gleam, CTpon ane sable sea. Yet to the twain that ower them beam'd, Compared they could not be. Like carry ower the morning sun That shimmers to the wind, So flew her locks upon the gale. And stream'd afar behind. The king he wheel'd him round about. And calleth to his men, " Yonder she comes, this wierdly witch. This spirit of the glen i " Come rank your master up behind. This serpent to belay; 111 let you hear me put her down In grand polemic way." Swift eame the maid ower strath andstron — 2fae dantonit dame was siie — Until the king her path withstood. In might and majestye. The virgin cast on him a look. With gay and graceful air. As on some thing below her note, That ought not to have been there. The king, whose belt was like to burst. With speeches most divine. Now felt ane throbbing of the heart. And quaking of the spine. And aye he gasped for his breath. And gaped in dire dismay. And waved his arm, and smote his breast ; But word he could not say. The spankie grewis they scowr'd the dale. The dun deer to restrain ; The virgin gave her steed the rein. And foUow'd, might and main. " Go bring her back," the king he cried ; " This reifery must not be. Though you should bind her hands and feet Go bring her back to me." The deer she flew, the garf and grew They foUow'd hard behind; The milk-white palfrey brush'd the dew Far fleeter nor the wind. But woe betide the lords and knights. That taiglit in the dell ! For though with whip and spur they plied, FuU far behind they feU. They look'd outovn-e their left shoulders. To see what they might see. And there the king, in fit of love. Lay spurring on the lea. And aye he batter'd with his feet. And rowtea with despair. And pull'd the grass up by the roots. And flang it on the air! " What alls, what ails my royal liege ? Such grief I do deplore." " Oh I'm bewitched," the king replied, " And gone for evermore I " Go bring her back— go bring her back- Go bring her back to me ; For I must either die of love. Or own that dear ladye I " That god of love out through my soul Hath shot his arrows keen ; And I am enchanted through the heart. The liver, and the spleen." 510 8C0TT1SH BALLADS. The deer was slain ; the royal train i Then closed the virgin round. And then her fair and lily hands Behind her back were bound. i There was one eye, and one alone. Beheld the deeds were done ; But the lovely queen of Fair Scotland Ne'er saw the morning sun ; But who should bind her winsome feet? That bred such strife and pain. That sixteen brave and belted knights Lay gasping on the plain. And seventy-seven wedded dames. As fair as e'er were bom. The very pride of all the land. Were dead before the morn. And when she came before the king, Ane ireful carle was he ; Saith he, " Dame, you must be my love. Or burn beneath ane tree. Then there was nought but mourning weeds. And sorrow, and dismay; While burial met with burial still, AndjosUedby theway. " For I am so sore in love with thee, I cannot go nor stand ; And thinks thou nothing to put down The king of fair Scotland?" And graves were howkit In green kirkyards. And howkit deep and wide; WhUe bediars swarflt for very toil. The comely corps to hide. " No, I can ne'er be love to thee, Nor any lord thou hast; For you are married men each one. And I a maiden chaste. The graves, with their unseemly jaws. Stood gaping day and night To swallow up the fair and young;— It was ane grievous sight ! " But here I promise, and I vow By Scotland's king and crown. Who first a widower shall prove. Shall claim me as his own." And the bonnie May of the Moril Glen Is weeping in despair. For she saw the hills of fair Scotland Could be her home nae mair. The king hath mounted his milk-white One word he said not more, — [steed, — And he is away from the Moril Glen, As ne'er rode king before. Then there were chariots came o'er night. As silent and as soon As shadow of ane little cloud In the war light of the moon. He sank his rowels to the naife. And scour'd the muir and dale. He held his bonnet on hU head. And louted to the gale. Some laid they came out of the rock. And some out of the sea ; And some said they were sent from heU, To bring that fair Udye. TiU wives ran skreighing to the door. Holding their hands on high; They never saw king in love before. In such extremitye. When the day sky began to frame The grizly eastern fell. And the Uttle wee bat was bound to seek His dark and eery ceU, And every lord and every knight Made off his several way. All galloping as they had been mad, Withouten stop or stay. The fairest flower of mortal frame Pass'd from the Moril Glen ; And ne'er may such a deadly eye Shine amongst Christian menl But there was never such dool and pain In any land befel ; For there is wickedness in man. That griereth me to teU. { In seven chariots, gilded bright. The train went o'er the fell, AU wrapt within a shower of hail ; f Whither no man could teU ; I FAIRY MTTHOLOaY. 511 But iheie was a ship !n the Firth of Forth, ^ > The like ne'er sail'd the faeme, For no man of her country knew Her colours or her name. Her mast was made of beaten gold. Her sails of the silken twine. And a thousand pennons stream'd behind. And trembled o'er the brine. As she lay mirror'd in the main. It was a comely view. So many rainbows round her play'd With every breeze that blew. And the hailstone shroud it rattled loud. Right over ford and fen. And swathed the flower of the Moril Glen From eyes of sinful men. And the hailstone shroud it wheel'd and As wan as death unshriven, [row'd. Like dead cloth of an angel grim. Or winding sheet of heaven. It was a fearsome sight to see Toil through the morning gray. And whenever it reach'd the comely slilp. She set sail and away. She set her sail before the gale. As it began to sing. And she heaved and rocked down the tide. Unlike an earthly tiling. The dolphins fled out of her way Into the creeks of Fife, And the blackguard seals they yowlit for And swam for death and life. [dread, But aye the ship, the bonnie ship, Outowre the green wave flew. Swift as the solan on the wing. Or terrified sea-mew. No billow breasted on her prow. Nor levell'd on the lee ; She seem'd to sail upon the air And never touch the sea. And away, and away went the bonnie sliip. Which man never more did see; But whether she went to heaven or hell. Was ne'er made known to me. lEilmeEg. [From "The Queen's Wake," by James Hogo. We give this the most beautiful perhaps of all the Ettrick Shepherd's productions, as an ap- propriate close to the Ballads on Fairy Mytho- logy.— " Besides the old tradition," says the au- thor, " on which this ballad is founded, there are some modern incidents of a similar nature, which cannot well be accounted for, yet are as well attested as any occurrence that has taken place in the present age. The relation may be amusing to some readers. A man in the parish of Traquair, and county of Peebles, was busied one day casting turf in a large open field opposite to the mansion-house — the spot is well known, and still pointed out as rather unsafe; his daughter, a child seven years of age, was playing beside him, and amusing him with her prattle. Chancing to ask a question at her, he was sur- prised at receiving no answer, and, looking be- hind him, he perceived that his child was nol there. He always averred that, as far as h« could remember, she had been talking to him about half a minute before; he was certain it was not above a whole one at most. It was in vain that he ran searching all about like one dis- tracted, calling her name ; — no trace of her re- mained. He went home in a state of mind that may be better conceived than expressed, and raised the people of the parish, who searched for her several days with the same success. Every pool in the river, every bush and den on the mountains around was searched in vain. It was remarked that the father never much encourag- ed the search, being thoroughly persuaded that she was carried away by some invisible being, else she could not have vanished so suddenly. As a last resource, he applied to the minister of Inverleithen, a neighbouring divine of exemplary piety and real in religious matters, who enjoined lum to cause prayers be oflered to God for her in seven Christian churches, next Sabbath, at the same instant of time ; ' and then,' said he, ' if she is dead, God will forgive our sin in pray- ing for the dead, as we do it through ignorance ; and if she is still alive, I will answer for it, that all the devils in hell shall be unable to keep her.' The injunction was punctually attended to. She was remembered in the prayers of all the i K neighbouring congregations, next Sunday, at the 512 SCOTTISH BALLADS. same hoar, and never were there such prayers for^ fervour heard before. There was one divine in particular, Mr. Davidson, who prayed in such a manner that all the hearers trembled. As the old divine foreboded, so it fell out. On that very day, and within an hour of the time on which these prayers were offered, the girl was found in the Flora wood, sitting, picking the bark from a tree. She could give no perfect ac- count of the circumstances which had befallen to her, but she said she did not want plenty of meat, for that her mother came and fed her with milk and bread several times a-day, and sung her to sleep at night. Her skin had ac- quired a bluish cast, which wore gradually off in the course of a few weeks. Her name was Jane Brown ; she lived to a very advanced age, and was known to many still sdlve. Every circum- stance of this story is truth, if the father's report of the suddenness of her disappearance may be relied on. " Another circumstance, though it happened still later, is not less remarkable. A shepherd of Tushilaw, in the parish of Ettrick, whose name was Walter Dalgleish, went out to the heights of that farm, one ciabbath morning, to herd the young sheep for his son, and let hiin to church. He took his own dinner along with itim, and his son's breakfast. When the sermon's were over, the lad went straight home, and did not return to his father. Night came, but nothing of the old shepherd appeared. When it grew very late his dog came home — seemed ter- rified, and refused to take any meat. The family were ill at ease during the night, especially as they never had known his dog leave him before ; and early next morning the lad arose and went to the height, to look after his father and his flock. He found his sheep all scattered, and his father's dinner unbroken, lying on the same spot where they had parted the day before. At the distance of twenty yards from the spot, the plaid which the old man wore was lying as if it had been flung from him, and a little farther on, in the same direction, his bonnet was found, but nothing of himself. The country people, as on all such occasions, rose in great numbers, and searched for hira many days. My father, and several old men still alive, were of the party. He could not be found or heard of, neither dead nor alive, and at length they gave up all thoughts of ever seeing him more. "On the twentieth day after his disappear- ance, a shepherd's wife, at a place called Berry- bush, came in as the family was sitting down to dinner, and said, that if it were possible to be- lieve that Walter Dalgleish was still in existence, she would say yonder was he coming down the hill. They all ran out to watch the phenome- non, and as the person approached nigher, they perceived that it was actually he, walking with- out his plaid and his bonnet. The place where he was first descried is not a mile dUtant from that where he was last seen, and there is neither brake, hag, nor bush. When he came into the house, he shook hands with them all — masked for his family, and spoke as if he had been absent for years, and as if convinced something had be- fallen them. As they perceived something sin- gular in hia looks and manner, they unfortu- nately forebore asking him any questions at first, but desired him to sit and share their dinner. This he readUy complied with, and began to sup some broth with seeming eagerness. He had only taken one or two spoonfuls when he sud- denly stopped, a kind of rattling noise was heard in his breast, and he sunk back in a faint. They put him to bed, and from that time forth he never spoke another word that any person could make sense of. He was removed to his own home, where he lingered a few weeks, and then died. What befell him remains to this day a mystery, and for ever must."] Bonk IE KUmeny gaed up the glen ; But it wasna to meet Duneira's men. Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see. For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. It was only to hear the Yorlin sing. And pu' the cress-flower round the spring; The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye. And the nut that hang frae the haztl tree; For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. But lang may her minny look o'er the wa'. And lang may she seek i' the green-wood shaw ; Lang the laird of Duneira blame. And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame I When many a day had come and fled. When grief grew calm, and hope was dead. When mess for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, When the bedes-man had prayed, and the dead bell rung. Late, late in a gloamin when all was still. When the fringe was red on the westlin hill. The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane. The reek o' the cot hung over the plain. Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. 5^3 When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, i ^ " Lang have I journeyed the world wide," Late, late in the gloamin Kilineny came hame ! A meek and reverend fere replied ; " Baith night and day I have watched the fail. " Kilraeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? Eident a thousand years and mair. Lang ha'e we sought baith holt and den ; Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree. By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree. Wherever blooms femenitye ; Yet you are halesome and fair to see. But sinless virgin, free of stain Where gat you that joup 0' the lily scheen ? In mind and body, fand I nane. That bonnie snood of the birk sae green ? Never, since the banquet of time. And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen ? Found I a virgin in her prime. Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ?" Till late this bonnie maiden I saw As spotless as the morning snaw : Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace. Full twenty years she has lived as free But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face ; As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye : As still was her look, and as still was her e'e. I have brought her away frae the snares of men. As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea. That sin or death she never may ken."— Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. For Kilmeny had been she knew not where. They clasped her waist and her hand sae fair. And Kilmeny had seen what she could not They kissed her cheek, and they kerned her hair. declare; And round came many a blooming fere. Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew. Saying, " Bonnie Kilmeny, ye're welcome here ! Where the rain never fell, and the wind never Women are freed of the littand scorn : blew; 0, blessed be the day Kilmeny was born ! But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung. Now shall the land of the spirits see. And the airs of heaven played round her tongue. Now shall it ken what a wuman may be ! When she spake of the lovely forms she had Many a lang year in sorrow and pain. And a land where sin had never been ; [seen. Many a lang year through the world we've gane. A land of love, and a land of light. Commissioned to watch fair womankind. W^ithouten sun, or moon, or night; For it's they who nourice the immortal mind. Where the river swa'd a living stream. We have watched their steps as the dawning And the light a pure celestial beam : shone. The land of vision it would seem. And deep in the green-wood walks alone; A still, an everlasting dream. By lUy bower and silken bed. The viewless tears have o'er them shed ; In yon green-wood ther<; is a walk. Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep. And in that walk there is a wene. Or left the couch of love to weep. And in that wene there is a maike. We have seen ! we have seen ! but the time That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane; must come. And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane. And the angels will weep at the day of doom ! " 0, would the fairest of mortal kind In that green wene Kilmeny lay. Aye keep the holy truths in mind. Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay ; That kindred spirits their motions see. But the air was soft and the silence deep. Who watch their ways with anxious e'e. And bonnie Kilmeny fell sound asleep ; And grieve for the guilt of humanitye ! She kend nae mair, nor opened her e'e. 0, sweet to heaven the maiden's prayer. Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye. And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair! And dear to heaven the words of truth, She 'wakened on a couch of the silk sae slim. And the praise of virtue fi-ae beauty's mouth J All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim ; And dear to the viewless forms of air, And lovely beings round were rife. The minds that kythe as the body fair • Who erst had travelled mortal life ; And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer. " 0, bonnie Kilmeny ! free frae stain. " What spirit has brought this mortal here ?"— ^ f If ever you seek the world again. 1 514: SCOTTISH BALLADS. That world of sin, of sorrow and fear, ^ They bore her far to a mountain green. O, tell of the joys that are waiting here ; To see what mortal never had seen ; And tell of the signs you shall shortly see ; And they seated her high on a purple sward. Of the times that are now, and the times that And bade her heed what she saw and heard. shaU be."- And note the changes the spirits wrought. For now she lived in the land of thought. They lifted KUraeny, they led her away. She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies. And she walked in the light of a sunless day : But a crystal dome of a thousand dies : The sky was a dome of crystal bright. She looked, and she saw nae land aright. The fountain of vision, and fountain of light: But an endless whirl of glory and light : The emerald fields were of daiiling glow. And radiant beings went and came And the flowers of everlasUng blow. Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame; Then deep in the stream her body they laid. She hid her een frae the dazzling view ; That her youth and beauty never might fade; Bhe looked again, and the scene was new. And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her 1 lie She saw a sun on a summer sky. In the stream of life that wandered bye. And clouds of amber sailing bye ; And she heard a song, she heard it sung. A lovely land beneath her lay. Bhe kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung. And that land had glens and mountains gray ; U fell on her ear like a dream of the morn : And that land had valleys and hoary piles. " O ! blest be the day Kilraeny was born! And marled seas and a thousand isles ; Now shall the land of the spirits see. Its fields were speckled, its forests green. Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen. The sun that shines on the world sae bright. Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light; The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray ; And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun. Which heaved and trembled, and genUy swung, Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun. On every shore they seemed to be hung ; Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair. For there they were seen on their downward And the angels shall miss them travelling the plain air. A thousand times and a thousand again ; But Ung, lang after baith night and day. In winding lake and placid firth. When the sun and the world have elyed away; Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth. When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom. Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve. KUmeny shall smile in eternal bloom 1"— For she found her heart to that land did cleave ; She saw the corn wave on the vale. They bore her away, she wist not how. She saw the deer run down the dale ; For she felt not arm nor rest below ; She saw the plaid and the broad claymore. But so swift they wained her through the And the brows that the badge of freedom bore ; light. And she thought she had seen the land before. 'Twaa like the motion of sound or sight; They seemed to split the gales of air. She saw a lady sit on a throne. And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. The fairest that ever the sun shone on ! Unnumbered groves below them grew, A Uon Ucked her hand of mUk, They came, they past, and backward flew. And she held him in a leish of sUk ; Like floods of blossoms gliding on. And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee. In moment seen, in moment gone. With "a silver wand and melting e'e; 0, never vales to mortal view Her sovereign shield tUl love stole In, Appeared like those o'er which they flew J And poisoned aU the fount within. That land to human spirits given. The lowermost vales of the storied heaven j Then a gruff untoward bedes-man came. From thence they can view the world below. And hundit the lion on his dame ; And heaven's blue gates with sapphires glow. And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless e'e. More glory yet unmeet to know. ; ; She dropped a tear, and left her knee ; FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. 515 And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled, i \ The singer's voice wad sink away. Till the bonniest flower of the world lay dead ; And the string of his harp wad cease to play. A cofiin was set on a distant plain. But she saw till the sorrows of man were bye. And she saw the red blood fall like rain : And all was love and harmony ; Then bonny Kilmeny'a heart grew salr. TiU the stars of heaven fell calmly away. And she turned away, and could look nae Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day. mair. Then Kilmeny begged again to see Then the gruff grim carle girned amain, The friends she had left in her own countrye. And they trampled him down, but he rose To tell of the place where she had been. again ; And the glories that lay in the land unseen ; And he baited the lion to deeds of weir. To warn the living maidens fair. Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear; The loved of Heaven, the spirits' care. And weening his head was danger-preef. That all whose minds unmeled remain When crowned with the rose and clover leaf, Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. He gowled at the carle, and chased him away To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray. With distant music, soft and deep. He guwled at the carle, and he gecked at They lulled KUmeny sound asleep; Heaven, And when she awakened, she lay her lane. But his mark was set, and his arles given. All happed with flowers in the green-wood wene. KUmeny a whUe her een withdrew ; When seven lang years had oome and fled; She looked again, and the scene was new. When grief was calm, and hope was dead ; When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, She saw below her fair unfurled Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny came hame • One half of all the glowing world. And 0, her beauty was fair to see. Where oceans rolled, and rivers ran. But still and steadfast was her e'e! To bound the aims of sinful man. Such beauty bard may never declare. She saw a people, fierce and fell. For there was no pride nor passion there t Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell j And the soft desire of maiden's een There lUies grew, and the eagle flew. In that mild face could never be seen* And she herked on her ravening crew. Her seymar was the lily flower, Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower. blaze. And her voice like the distant melodye. And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and That floats along the twilight sea. the seas. But she loved to raike the lanely glen. The widows they wailed, and the red blood ran. And keeped afar frae the haunts of men; And she threatened an end to the race of Her holy hymns unheard to sing. man: To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. She never lened, nor stood in awe. But wherever her peaceful form appeared. TiU caught by the lion's deadly paw. The wild beasts of the hill were cheered; Oh i then the eagle swinked for life. The wolf played blythely round the field. And brainzelled up a mortal strife ; The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ; But flew she north, or flew she south. The dun deer wooed with manner bland. She met wi" the gowl of the Uon's mouth. And cowered aneath her hly hand. And when at even the woolauds rung. With a mooted wing and waefu' maen. When hymns of other worlds she sung The eagle sought her eu^ again ; In ecstasy of sweet devotion. But lang may she cower in her bloody nest, O, then the glen was all in motion ! And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast. The wild beasts of the forest came. Before she sey another flight. Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame. To play wi' the norland Uon's might. And goTed around, charmed and amazed ; Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed. But to sing the gighu Kilmeny »aw. And murmured and looked with anxious pain So fur surpiiauug nature's law \ 51G SCOTTISH BALLADS. The buzzard came with the throstle-cock ; The corby left her houf in the rock ; The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew ; The hind came tripping o'er the dew; The wolf and the kid their raike began, And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; The hawk and the hem attour them hung. And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young} And all in a peaceful ring were hurled: It WB6 like »n eve iu a sinless world I ^ When a month and a day had come and gano, Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene; There laid her down on the leaves sae green. And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. But O, the words that fell from her mouth. Were words of wonder, and words of truth • But all the land were in fear and dread. For they kendna whether she was living or dead. It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain ; She left this world of sorrow and pain, Aad retarned to the laud of thought again. BALLADS RELATING TO THE GREAT CIVIL WARS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. [Eepkintkd ftom Sir Walter Scott's Minatrelsy of the Scottish Border.] •• But, O my country ! how •hall memory trace Thy glories, loat in either Charles's diyi, When through thy fields destructive rapine spread. Nor sparing infants' tears, nor hoary head ! In those dread days, the unprotected swain Mourn'd, in the mountains, o'er his wasted plain; Nor longer vocal, with the shepherd's lay. Were Yarrow's banks, or groves of Endermay." Lanqhorne— Genius and Valour. Sdch are the verses, in which a modem bard has painted the desolate state of Scotland, during a period highly unfavourable to poetical composi- tion. Yet the civil and religious wars of the seventeenth century have afforded some subjects for traditionary poetry, and the reader is here presented with the ballads of that disastrous sera. Some prefetory history may not be unac- ceptable. That the Eeformation was a good and a glori- ous work, few will be such slavish bigots as to deny. But the enemy came, by night, and sowed tares among the wheat ; or rather, the foul and rank soil, upon which the seed was thrown^ pushed forth, together with the rising crop, » plentiful proportion of pestilential weeds. The morals of the reformed clergy were severe; their learning was usually resx>ectable, sometimes pro- found ; and their eloquence, though often coarse, was vehement, animated, and popular. But they never could forget, that their rise had been achieved by the degradation, If not the fall, of the crown ; and hence, a body of men, who, in most countries, have been attached to monarchy, were in Scotland, for nearly two centuries, sometimes the avowed enemies, always the ambitious rivals, of their prince. The disciples of Calvin could scarcely avoid a tendency to democracy, and the republican form of church government was some* times hinted at, as no unfit model for the state} at least, the kirkmen laboured to impress, upon their followers and hearers, the fundamental principle, that the church should be solely gov- erned by those, unto whom God had given the spiritual sceptre. The elder Melvine, in a con- ference with James VI., seized the monarch by the sleeve, and, addressing him as " God's sillie vassal," told him, " There are two kings, and two kingdomes. There is Christ, and his kingdome, the kirke ; whose subject King James the Sixth is, and of whose kingdome he is not a king, nor 518 SCOTTISH BALLADS. a head, nor a lord, but a member; and they whom Christ hath called and commanded to watch ower his kirke, and govern his spiritual kingdome, have sufficient authoritie and power from him so to do ; which no Christian king, no prince, should controul or discharge, but fortifie and assist : otherwise they are not faithful sub- jects to Christ."— CaWerroood, p. 329. The dele- gated theocracy, thus sternly claimed, was exer- cised with equal rigour. The offences in the king's household fell under their unceremonious jurisdiction, and he was formally reminded of his occasional neglect to say grace before and after meat — his repairing to hear the word more rarely than was fitting— his proCine banning and swear- ing, and keeping of evil company — and, finally, of his queen's carding, dancing, night-walking, and such like profane pastimes. — Caldermood, p. 313. A curse, direct or implied, was formally denounced against every man, horse, and spear, who should assist the king in his quarrel with the earl of (Jowrie ; and from the pulpit, the favourites of the listening sovereign were likened to Haman, his wife to Herodiaa, and he himself to Ahab, to Herod, and to Jeroboam. These effusions of zeal could not be very agreeable to the temper of James : and accordingly, by a course of slow, and often crooked and cunning policy, he laboured to arrange the church-gov- ernment upon a less turbulent and menacing footing. His eyes were naturally turned towards the English hierarchy, which had been modelled, by the despotic Henry VIII., into such a form, as to connect indissolubly the Interest of the church with that of the regal power. * The Ke- formation, in England, had originated in the » Of this the Covenanters were so sensible, as to trace (what they called) the Antichristian hierarchy, with its idolatry, superstition, and human inventions, " to the prelacy of England, the fountain whence all these Babylonish streams issue unto ns."— See their manifesto on entering England, in 1640. i arbitrary will of the prince; in Scotland, and in all other countries of Europe, it had commenced among insurgents of the lower ranks. Hence, the deep and essential difference which separated the Huguenots, the Lutherans, the Scottish Pres- byterians, and, in fine, all the other reformed churches, from that of England. But James, with a timidity which sometimes supplies the place of prudence, contented himself with gradu- ally imposing upon the Scottish nation a limited and moderate system of episcopacy, which, while it gave to a proportion of the churchmen a seat in the council of the nation, induced them to look up to the sovereign, as the power to whose influence they owed their elevation. But, iw other respects, James spared the prejudices of his subjects ; no ceremonial ritual was imposed upon their consciences ; the pastors were reconciled by the prospect of preferment ; f the dress and train of the bishops were plain and decent ; the system of tythes was placed upon a moderate and unop- pressive footing ; % and, perhaps, on the whole, the Scottish hierarchy contained as few objec- tionable points as any system of church-govern- ment in Europe. Had it subsisted to the present day, although its doctrines could not have been more pure, nor its morals more exemplary, than those of the present kirk of Scotland, yet its de- grees of promotion might have afforded greater encouragement to learning, and objects of laud- able ambition to those, who might dedicate themselves to its service. But the precipitate t Many of the preachers, who had been loudest in the cause of presbytery, were induced to accept of bishoprics. Such was, for example, William Cooper, who was created bishop of Galloway. This recreant Mass John was a hypochondriac, and conceived his lower extremities to be com- posed of glass ; hence, on his court advancement, the following epigram was composed : — " Aureus heu! fragilem confregit maJleus nmam." % This part of the system was perfected in the reign of Charles I. BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WARS. 519 bigotry of the unfortunate Charles I. was a blow^ to episcopacy in Scotland, Crom which it never perfectly recovered. It has frequently happened, that the virtues of the individual, at least their excess (if, indeed, there can be an excess in virtue,) have been fatal to the prince. Never was this more fully exem- plified than in the history of Charles I. His zeal for religion, his family affection, the spirit with which he defended his supposed rights, while they do honour to the man, were the fatal shelves upon which the monarchy was wrecked. Impa- tient to accomplish the total revolution, which his father's cautious timidity had left incomplete, Charles endeavoured at once to introduce into Scotland the church-government, and to renew, in England, the temporal domination, of his predecessor, Henry VIII. The furious temper of the Scottish nation first took fire ; and the Drandished footstool of a prostitute * gave the signal for civU dissension, which ceased not till the church was buried under the ruins of the constitution; till the nation had stooped to a military despotism ; and the monarch to the block of the executioner. The consequence of Charles' hasty and arbitrary measures was soon evident. The united nobility, gentry, and clergy of Scotland, entered into the SoLiMN Lbaouk and Covbnant, by which mem- orable deed, they subscribed and swore a national renunciation of the hierarchy. The walls of the prelatic Jericho (to use the language of the times) * " Out, false loon ! milt thou say the mass at my lug {ear,") was the well-known exclamation of Margaret Greddes, as she discharged her missile tripod against the bishop of Edinburgh, who, in obedience to the orders of the privy-council, was endeavouring to rehearse the common prayer. Upon a seat more elevated, the said Margaret had shortly before done penance, before the con- gregation, for the sin of fornication ; such, at least, is the Tory tradition.— ScoW. [Jenny Ged- des, not Margaret, is the name usually bestowed on this heroine. Burns had a favourite mare called after her.] were thus levelled with the ground, and the curse of Hiel, the Bethelite, denounced against those who should rebuild them. While the clergy thundered, from the pulpits, against the prelatists and malignants (by which names were distin- guished the scattered and heartless adherents of Charles,) the nobility and gentry, in arms, hur- ried to oppose the march of the English army, which now advanced towards their borders. At the head of their defensive forces they placed Alexander Lesly, who, with many of his best oflBcers, had been trained to war under the great Gustavus Adolphus. They soon assembled an army of 26,000 men, whose camp, upon Dunse- Law, is thus described by an eye-witness. " Mr Baillie acknowledges, that it was an agreeable feast to his eyes, to survey the place ; it is a round hill, about a Scots mile in circle, rising, with very little declivity, to the height of a bow-shot, and the head somewhat plain, and near a quarter of a mile in length and breadth ; on the top it waa garnished with near forty field-pieces, pointed towards the east and south. The colonels, who were mostly noblemen, as Rothes, Cassilis, Egling> ton, Dalhousie, Lindsay, Lowdon, Boyd, Sinclair, Balcarras, Flemyng, Kirkcudbright, Erskine, Montgomery, Tester, &c., lay in large tents at the head of their respective regiments ; their cap- tains, who generally were barons, or chief gentle- men, lay around them : next to these were the lieutenants, who were generally old veterans, and had served in that, or a higher station, over sea ; and the common soldiers lay outmost, all in huts of timber, covered with divot, or straw. Every company, which, according to the first plan, did consist of two hundred men, had their colours flying at the captain's tent door, with the Scota arms upon them, and this motto, in golden let- ters, 'For Christ's Crown and Covenant.'" Against this army, so well arrayed and disciplined, and whose natural hardihood was edged and ex- alted by a high opinion of their sacred cause, Charles marched at the head of a large force, but divided by the emulation of the commanders. 520 riCOTUSH BALLADS. and enervated by disuse of arms. A faintness of spirit pervaded the royal army, and the king stooped to a treaty with his Scottish subjects. This treaty was soon broken; and, in the fol- lowing year, Dunse-Law again presented the same edifying spectacle of a presbyterian array. But the Scots were not contented with remain- ing there. They passed the Tweed; and the English troops, in a skirmish at Newburn, showed either more disaffection, or cowardice, than had at any former period disgraced their national character. This war was concluded by the treaty of Rippon ; in consequence of which, and of Charles's concessions, made during his subsequent visit to his native country, the Scot- tish parliament congratulated him on departing " a contented king from a contented people." If such content ever existed, it was of short duration. The storm, which had been soothed to tempo- rary rest in Scotland, burst forth in England with treble violence. The popular clamour ac- cused Charles, or his ministers, of fetching into Britain the religion of Kome, and the policy of Constantinople. The Scots felt most keenly the first, and the English the second, of these aggres- sions. Accordingly, when the civil war of Eng- land broke forth, the Scots nation, for a time, regarded it in neutrality, though not with in- difference. But, when the successes of a prelatio monarch, against a presbyterian parliament, were paving the way for rebuUding the system of hierarchy, they could no longer remain inactive. Bribed by the delusive promise of Sir Henry Vane, and Marshall, the parliamentary commis- sioners, that the church of England should be reformed, " according to the word of God," which, they fondly believed, amounted to an adoption of presbytery, they agreed to send suc- cours to their brethren of England. Alexander Lesly, who ought to have ranked among the " contented " subjects, having been raised by the king to the honours of Earl of Leven, was, never- theless, readily induced to accept the command sfeof this second army. Doubtless, where insurrec- tion is not only pardoned, but rewarded, a monarch has little right to expect gratitude for benefits, which all the world, as well as the re- ceiver, must attribute to fear. Yet sometliing is due to decency ; and the best apology for Lesly, is his zeal for propagating presbyterianism in England, the bait which had caught the whole parliament of Scotland. But, although the Earl of Leven was commander-in-chief, David Lesly, a yet more renowned and active soldier than himself, was major-general of the cavalry, and, in truth, bore away the laurels of the expedition. The words of the following march, which was played in the van of this presbyterian crusade, were first published by Allan Ramsay, in his "Evergreen;" and they breathe the very spirit we might expect. Mr Ritson, in his collection of Scottish songs, has favoured the public with the music, which seems to have been adapted to the bagpipes. M&rch! march! Why the devil do ye n a march? Stand to your arms, my lad». Fight in good order ; Front about, ye musketeers all, "Till je come to the En, " " ' Stand til't, and fight True gospel to maintain. The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming. When to the kirk we come. We'll purge it ilka room, Frae popish reliques, and a' sic innovation. That a' the warld i There's nane in the right but we, Of the auld Scottish nation. Jenny shall wear the hood, Jocky the sark of God; And the kist-fou of whistles, That mak' sic a cleiro, Our pipers braw Shall ha'e them a', Whate'ercomeonit: Busk up your plaids, my lads ! Cock up your bonnets t Da Capo. The hatred of the old presbyterian s to the organ was apparently invincible. It is here vilified with the name of a " chest-full of whistles," as the episcopal chapel at Glasgow was, by the vul- gar, opprobriously termed the " Whistling Kirk." ^Yet, such is the revolution of sentiment upon BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WARS. 521 this, as upon more important points, that reports ', have lately been current, of a plan to introduce this noble instrument into presbyterian congre- gations. The share, which Lesly's army bore in the action of Marston Moor, has been exalted, or depressed, as writers were attached to the Eng- lish or Scottish nations, to the presbyterian or independent factions. Mr Laing concludes with laudable impartiality, that the victory was equally due to " Cromwell's Iron brigade of disciplined independents, and to three regiments of Lesly's horse."— "Vol. i. p. 244. In the insurrection of 1640, all Scotland, south from the Grampians, was actively and zealously engaged. But, after the treaty of Rippon, the first fury of the revolutionary torrent may be said to have foamed off its force, and many of the nobility began to look round, with horror, upon the rocks and shelves amongst which it had hur- ried them. Numbers regarded the defence of Scotland as a just and necessary warfare, who did not see the same reason for interfering in the affairs of England. The visit of King Charles to the metropolis of his fathers, in all probability, produced its effect on his nobles. Some were allied to the house of Stuart by blood ; all re- garded it as the source of their honours, and venerated the ancient hereditary royal line of Scotland. Many, also, had failed in obtaining the private objects of ambition, or selfish policy, which had induced them to rise up against the crown. Amongst these late penitents, the well- known marquis of Montrose was distinguished as the first who endeavoured to recede from the paths of rude rebellion. Moved by the enthusi- asm of patriotism, or perhaps of religion, but yet more by ambition, the sin of noble minds, Mon- trose had engaged, eagerly and deeply, upon the side of the covenanters. He had been active in pressing the town of Aberdeen to take the cove- nant, and his success against the Gordons, at the bridge of Dee, left that royal burgh no other means of safety from pillage. At the head of his i own battalion, he waded through the Tweed, in 1640, and totally routed the vanguard of the king's cavalry. But, in 1643, moved with resent- ment against the covenanters, who preferred, to his prompt and ardent character, the caution of the wily and politic earl of Argyle, or seeing, per- haps, that the final views of that party were in- consistent with the interests of monarchy, and of the constitution, Montrose espoused the falling cause of royalty, and raised the Highland clans, whom he united to a small body of Irish, com- manded by Alexander Macdonald, still renowned in the north, under the title of Colkitto. With these tumultuary and uncertain forces, he rushed forth, like a torrent from the mountains, and commenced a rapid and brilliant career of vic- tory. At Tipi)ermoor, where he first met the covenanters, their defeat was so effectual, as to appal the presbyterian courage, even after the lapse of eighty years. * A second army was de- * Upon the breaking out of the insurrection, in the year 1715, the earl of Rothes, sheriff and lord-lieutenant of the county of Fife, issued out an order for "all the fenciblemen of the countie to meet him at a place called Oashmoor. The gentlemen took no notice of his orders, nor did the commons, except those whom the ministers forced to go to the place of rendezvouse, to the number of fifteen hundred men, being all that their utmost diligence could perform. But those of that countie, having been taught by their ex- perience, that it is not good meddling with edge tools, especiallie in the hands of Highlandmen, were very averse from taking amies. No sooner they reflected on the name of the place of ren- dezvouse, Cashmoor, than Tippermoor was called to mind ; a place not far from thence, where Montrose had routed them, when under the com- mand of my great-grand-uncle, the earl of Wemyss, then general of Gud's armie. In a word, the unlucky choice of a place, called ' Moor,' appeared ominous; and that^ with the fiying report of the Highlandmen having made them- selves masters of Perth, made them throw down their armes, and run, notwithstanding the trou- ble that Rothes and the ministers gave themselves to stop them." — MS. JUemoiri qf Lord St Clair. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 622 feated under the walls of Aberdeen; and the 4 pillage of the ill-fated town was doomed to expi- ate the principles which Montrose himself had formerly imposed upon them. Argjleshire next experienced his arms ; the domains of his rival were treated with more than military severity; and Argyle himself, advancing to Inverlochy for the defence of his country, was totally and dis- gracefully routed by Montrose. Pressed betwixt two armies well appointed, and commanded by the most experienced generals of the Covenant, Montrose displayed more military skill in the astonishingly rapid marches, by which he avoided fighting to disadvantage, than even in the field of victory. By one of those hurried marches, from the banks of Loch K.itrine to the heart of Invemess-shire, he was enabled to attack, and totally to defeat, the Covenanters, at Aulderne, though he brought into the field hardly one-half of their forces. Baillie, a veteran oflScer, was next routed by him, at the village of Alford, in Strathbogie. Encouraged by these repeated and splendid successes, Montrose now descended into the heart of Scotland, and fought a bloody and decisive battle, near Kilsyth, where four thou- sand Covenanters fell under the Highland clay- more. This victory opened the whole of Scotland to Montrose. He occupied the capital, and marched forward to the border ; not merely to complete the subjection of the southern provinces, but with the flattering hope of pouring his victorious army into England, and bringing to the support of Charles the sword of his paternal tribes. Half a century before Montrose's career, the state of the borders was such as might have enabled him easily to have accomplished his daring plan. The marquis of Douglas, the earls of Hume, Roxburgh, Traquair, and Annandale, were all descended of mighty border chiefs, whose ancestors could, each of them, have led into the field a body of their own vassals, equal in numbers, and superior in discipline, to the army of Montrose. But the military spirit of ^ the borderers, and their attachment to their chiefs, had been much broken since the union of the crowns. The disarming acts of James had been carried rigorously into execution, and the smaller proprietors, no longer feeling the neces- sity of protection from their chiefs in war,had aspired to independence, and embraced the tenets of the Covenant. Without imputing, with Wishart, absolute treachery to the border nobles, it may be allowed, that they looked with envy upon Montrose, and with dread and aversion upon his rapacious and disorderly forces. Hence, had it been in their power, it might not have al- together suited their inclinations, to have brought the strength of the border lances to the support of the northern clans. The once formidable name of Douglas still sufficed to raise some bands, by whom Montrose was joined, in his march down the Gala. With these reinforcements, and with the remnant of his Highlanders (for a great num- ber had returned home with Colkitto, to deposit their plunder, and provide for their families,) Montrose, after traversing the border, finally encamped upon the field of Philiphaugh. The river Ettrick, immediately after its junc- tion with the Yarrow, and previous to its fiUling into the Tweed, makes a large sweep to the south- ward, and winds almost beneath the lofty bank, on which the town of Selkirk stands ; leaving, upon the northern side, a large and level plain, extending in an easterly direction, from a hill, covered with natural copse-wood, called the Hare- head-wood, to the high ground which forms the banks of the Tweed, near Sunderland-liail. This plain is called Philiphaugh: * it is about a mile and a half in length, and a quarter of a mile broid ; and, being defended, to the northward, by the high hills which separate Tweed from * The Scottish language is rich in words, ex- pressive of local situation. The single word haugh, conveys to a Scotsman almost all that I have endeavoured to explain in the text, by cir- cumlocutory description. BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WARS. Yarrow, by the river in front, and by the high grounds, already mentioned, on each flank, it forms, at once, a convenient and a secure field of encampment. On each flanlc Montrose threw up some trenches, which are still visible ; and here he posted his infantry, amounting to about twelve or fifteen hundred men. He himself took up bis quarters in the burgh of Selkirk, and, with him, the cavalry, in number hardly one thousand, but respectable, as being chiefly composed of gentlemen, and their immediate retainers. In this manner, by a fatal and unaccountable error, the river Ettrick was thrown betwixt the cavalry and in&ntry, which were to depend upon each other for intelligence and mutual support. But this might be overlooked by Montrose, in the conviction, that there was no armed enemy of Charles in the realm of Scotland ; for he is said to have employed the night in writing and dis- patching this agreeable intelligence to the king. Such an enemy was already within four miles of his camp. Kecalled by the danger of the cause of the Covenant, General David Lesly came down from England, at the head of those iron squadrons, whose force had been proved in the fatal battle of Long Marston Moor. His army consisted of from five to six thousand men, chiefly cavalry. Lesly's first plan seems to have been, to occupy the mid-land counties, so as to intercept the re- turn of Montrose's Highlanders, and to force him to an unequal combat. Accordingly, he marched along the eastern coast, from Berwick to Tranent : but there he suddenly altered his direction, and, crossing through Mid-Lothian, turned again to the southward, and, following the course of Gala water, arrived at Melrose, the evening before the engagement. How it is possible that Montrose should have received no notice whatever of the march of so considerable an army, seems almost inconceivable, and proves, that the country was strongly disuffccted to his cause, or person. Still more extraordinary does it appear, that, even with the advantage of a thick mist, Lesly should 523 ^ have, the next morning, advanced towarfl Mon- trose's encampment, without being descried by a single scout. Such, however, was the case, and it was attended with all the consequences of the most complete surprisal. The first intimation that Montrose received of the march of Lesly, was the noise of the conflict, or, rather, that which attended the unresisted slaughter of his infantry, who never formed a line of battle : the right wing alone, supported by the thickets of Harehead-wood, and by the entrenchments, which are there still visible, stood firm for some time. But Lesly had detached two thousand men who, crossing the Ettrick still higher up than his main body, assaulted the rear of Montrose's right wing. At this moment, the marquis himself ar- rived, and beheld his army dispersed, for the first time, in irretrievable rout. He had thrown him- self upon a horse the instant he heard the firing, and, followed by such of his disorderly cavalry, as had gathered upon the alarm, he galloped from Selkirk, crossed the Ettrick, and made a bold and desperate attempt to retrieve the fortune of the day. But all was in vain ; and, after cutting his way, almost singly, through a body of Lesly's troopers, the gallant Montrose graced by his ex- ample the retreat of the fugitives. That retreat he continued up Yarrow, and over Minch-moor; nor did he stop till he arrived at Traquair, six- teen miles from the field of battle. Upon Philip- haugh he lost, in one defeat, the fruit of six splendid victories : nor was he again able effectu- ally to make head, in Scotland, against the cove- nanted cause. The number slain in the field did not exceed three or four hundred j for the fugi- tives found refuge in the mountains, which had often been the retreat of vanquished armies, ami were impervious to the pursuer's cavalry. Lesly abused his victory, and dishonoured his arms, by slaughtering, in cold blood, many of the prisoners whom he had taken ; and the court-yard of Newark castle is said to have been the spot, upon which they were shot by his command. Many :f others are said, by Wishart, to have been preoi- o24 SCOTTISH BALLADS. pitated from a high bridge over the Tweed. This, as Mr Laing remarks, is impossible ; because there was not a bridge over the Tweed betwixt Peebles and Berwick. But there is an old bridge over the Ettrick, only four miles from Philip- haugh, and another over the Yarrow, both of which lay in the very line of flight and pursuit ; and either might have been the scene of the massacre. But if this is doubtful, it is too cer- tain, that several of the royalists were executed by the Covenanters, as traitors to the king and parliament. • I have reviewed, at some length, the details of this memorable engagement, which, at the same time, terminated the career of a hero, likened, by no mean judge of mankind, f to those of anti- quity, and decided the fate of his country. It is further remarkable, as the last field which was fought in Ettrick forest, the scene of so many bloody actions. The unaccountable neglect of patroles, and the imprudent separation betwixt the horse and foot, seem to have been the imme- diate causes of Montrose's defeat. But the ardent and impetuous character of this great warrior, corresponding with that of the troops which he commanded, was better calculated for attack than defence ; for surprising others, rather than for providing against surprise himself. Thus, he suffered loss by a sudden attack upon part of his forces, stationed at Aberdeen ; i and, liad he not • A covenanted minister, present at the exe- cution of these gentlemen, observed, " This wark gaes bonnilie on ! " an amiable exclamation, equivalent to the modern " ga ira," so often used on similar occasions. — Wishart's Memoirs of Mon- trose. f Cardinal du Betz. ^ Colonel Hurry, with a party of horse, sur- prised the town, while Montrose's Highlanders and cavaliers were " dispersed through the town, drinking carelessly in their lodgings ; and, hear- ing the horses' feet, and great noise, were aston- ished, never dreaming of their enemy. However, Honald Farquharson happened to come to the causey, where he was cruelly slain, anent the extricated himself with the most singular ability, he must have lost his whole army, when sur- prised by Baillie, during the plunder of Dundee. Nor has it escaped an ingenious modern historian, that his final defeat at Dunbeat so nearly resem- bles in its circumstances the surprise at Philip- baugh, as to throw some shade on his military talents. — Laing's History. The following ballad, which is preserved by tradition in Selkirkshire, coincides accurately with historical fact. This, indeed, constitutes its sole merit. The Covenanters were not, I dare say, addicted more than their successors, "to the profane and unprofitable art of poem-mak- ing." § Still, however, they could not refrain from some strains of exultation, over the defeat of the truculent tyrant, James Grahame. For, gentle reader, Montrose, who, with resources which seemed as none, gained six victories, and reconquered a kingdom ; who, a poet, a scholar. Court de Guard ; a brave gentleman, and one of the noblest captains amongst all the Highlanders of Scotland. Two or three others were killed, and some (taken prisoners) had to Edinburgh, and cast into irons in the tolbooth. Great lam- entation was made for this gallant, being still the king's man for life and death." — Spalding, vol. ii. p. 281. The journalist, to whom all mat- ters were of equal importance, proceeds to inform us, that Hurry took the marquis of Huntly's best horse, and, in his retreat through Montrose, seized upon the marquis's second son. He also expresses his regret, that "the said Donald Far- quharson's body was found in the street, stripped naked : for they tirr'd from off his body a rich stand of apparel, but put on the same day." — Ibid. § So little was the spirit of illiberal fanaticism decayed in some parts of Scotland, that so late as the year 1767, when Wilson, the ingenious author of a poem called " Clyde," now repub- lished, was inducted into the ofiBce of schoolmas- ter at Greenock, he was obliged formally, and in writing, to abjure the "profane and unprofita- ble art of poem-making." It is proper to add, that such an incident is norv as unlikely to hap- pen in Greenock as in London. BALLADS ON THE ClYIL WARS. 625 a cavalier, and a general, could hare graced alike ' a court, and governed a camp; * this Montrose | was numbered, by his covenanted countrymen, | among " the troublers of Israel, the fire-brands i of hell, the Corahs, the Balaams, the Doegs, the Kabshakahs, the Hamans, the Tobiahs, and San- ballats of the time." ^fjij mmh o! Riliplaigl), On Philiphaugh a fray began. At Hairhead wood it ended ; The Scots out o'er the Grsemes they ran, Sae merrily they l>ended. Sir David fVae the border came, Wi' heart an' hand came he ; Wi' him three thousand bonnie Scots, To bear him company, Wi' him three thousand valiant men, A noble sight to see ! A cloud o' mist them weel concealed. As close as e'er might be. When they came to the Shaw burn, f Said he, " Sae weel we frame, I think it is convenient. That we should sing a psalm." f When they came to the Lingly burn, | As day-light did appear. They spy'd an aged father, || And he did draw them near. • [Sir Walter's well-known predilections for Montrose and his party will, of course, warn the reader to take his estimate of that hero's conduct and character cum grano sails.] t A small stream, that joins the Ettrick, near Selkirk, on the south side of the river.— Scott. ^ Various reading ; — " That we should take a dram."— Scott. § A brook, which falls into the Ettrick, from the north, a little above the Shaw burn.— Scott. II The traditional commentary upon the ballad states this man's name to have been Brydone, " Come hither, aged father I " Sir David he did cry, " And tell me where Montrose lies. With all his great army. " But, first, you must come tell to in If friends or foes you be ; I fear you are Montrose's men. Come frae the north country." ' ancestor to several &milies in the parish of Et- trick, particularly those occupying the farms of Midgehope and Redford Green. It is a strange anachronism, to make this aged father state him- self at the battle of " Solway flow," which was fought a hundred years before Philiphaugh ; and a still stranger, to mention that of Dunbar, which did not take place till five years after Montrose's defeat. A tradition, annexed to a copy of this ballad, transmitted to me by Mr James Hogg, bears, that the earl of Traquair, on the day of the bat- tle, was advancing with a large sum of money for the payment of Montrose's forces, attended by a blacksmith, one of his retainers. As they crossed Minch-mo(jr, they were alarmed by firing, which the earl conceived to be Montrose exercis- ing his forces, but which his attendant, from the constancy and irregularity of the noise, affirmed to be the tumult of an engagement. As they came below Broadmeadows, upon Yarrow, they met their fugitive friends, hotly pursued by the parliamentary troopers. The earl, of course, turned, and fled also: but his horse, jaded with the weight of dollars which he carried, refused to take the hill ; so that the earl was fain to ex- change with his attendant, leaving him with the breathless horse, and bag of silver, to shift for himself; which he is supposed to have done very effectually. Some of the dragoons, attracted by the appearance of the horse and trappings, gave chase to the smith, who fled up the Yarrow ; but finding himself, as he said, encumbered with the treasure, and unwilling that it should be taken, he flung it into a well, or pond, near the Tinnies, above Hangingshaw. Many wells were after- wards searched in vain ; but it is the general belief, that the smith, if he ever hid the money, knew too well how to anticipate the scrutiny. There is, however, a pond, which some peasants began to drain, not long ago, in hopes of finding the golden prize, but were prevented, as they ^ pretended, by supernatural interference.— Sco/<. 526 SCOTTISH BALLADS. •' No, we are nane o' Montrose's men, ^ The nether party flred brisk Nor e-er intend to be; Then turn'd and seem'd to rm ; I am Sir DaTid Lesly, And then they a' came frae the trench. That's speaking unto thee." And cry'd, " The day's our ain !" "If you're Sir David Lesly, The rest then ran into the trench. As I think weel ye he. And loos'd ti)eir cannons a' ; I'm sorry ye ha'e brought so few And thus, between his armies twa. Into yuur company. He made them fast to £»'. " There's fifteen thousand armed men. Now, let us a* for Lesly pray. Encamped on yon lee ; And his brave company ! Ye'U never be a bite to them. For they ha'e vanquish'd great Montrose, For aught that I can see. Our cruel enemy. " But, halve your men in equal parts. Your purpose to fulfil ; Let ae half keep the water side. The rest gae round the hill. " Your nether party fire must. ®|)e ©allawt ©icaliam^. Then beat a flying drum ; And then they'U th'nk the day's their ain. ["The preceding ballad," says Sir Walter And frae the trench they'll come. Scott, " was a song of triumph over the defeat of Montrose at Philiphaugh ; the verses, which fol- " Then, those that are behind them maun ! low, are a lamentation for his final discomfiture Gi'e shot, baith grit and sma' ; and cruel death. The present edition of ' The And BO, between your armies twa. Gallant Grahams' is given from tradition, en- Ye may make them to {&'." larged and corrected by an ancient printed edi- tion, entitled, ' The Gallant Grahams of Scot- " were ye ever a soldier ?" land,' to the tune of ' I will away, and I will nat Sir David Lesly said ; tarry,' of which Mr Ritson favoured the editor " yes ; I was at Solway flow. with an accurate copy. Where we were all betray 'd. " The conclusion of Montrose's melancholy his- tory is too well known. The Scottish army. " Again I was at curst Dunbar, which sold king Charles I. to his parlia.nent, had. And was a pris'ner ta'en : we may charitably hope, no idea that they were And many weary night and day. bartering his blood; although they must have In prison I ha'e Uen." been aware, that they were consigning him to perpetual bondage. * At least the sentiments of " If ye will lead these men aright. the kingdom at large differed widely from those Rewarded shall ye be ; of the military merchants, and the danger of But, if that ye a traitor prove. king Charles drew into England a well-appointed I'll hang thee on a tree." 1 Scottish army, under the command of the duke of Hamilton. But he met with Cromwell, and " Sir, I will not a traitor prove to meet with Cromwell was inevitable defeat. Montrose has plundered me ; The death of Charles, and the triumph of the In- I'll do my best to banish him dependents, excited still more highly the hatred Away frae this country and the fears of the Scottish nation. The out- witted Presbyterians, who saw, too late, that He halv'd his men in equal parts, HU purpose to fulfil ; The one part kept the water side. • " As Salmasius quaintly, but truly, expresses it, 1 'Presbyteriaui Ugaverunt, independautes trucidave- The other gaed round the hill. « fr.nu- I BALLADS OS THE CIVIL WARS. 527 their own hands had been employed in the hate- ^ ful task of erecting the power of a sect, yet more fierce and fanatical than themselves, deputed a commission to the Hague, to treat with Charles II., whom, upon certain conditions, they now wished to restore to the throne of his fathers. At the court of the exiled monarch, Montrose also offered to his acceptance a splendid plan of vic- tory and conquest, and pressed for his permission to enter Scotland ; and there, collecting the re- mains of the royalists, to claim the crown for his master, with the sword in his hand. An able statesman might perhaps have reconciled these jarring projects ; a good man would certainly have made adecided choice betwixt tiiera. Charles was neither the one nor the other ; and, while he treated with the Presbyterians, with a view of accepting the crown from their hands, he scru- pled not to authorise Montrose, the mortal enemy of the sect, to pursue his separate and inconsist- ent plan of conquest. "Montrose arrived in the Orkneys with six hundred Germans, was furnished with some re- cruits from those islands, and was joined by several royalists, as he traversed the wilds of Caithness and Sutherland ; but, advancing into Ross-shire, he was surprised, and totally defeated, by colonel Strachan, an officer of the Scottish parliament, who had distinguished himself in the civil wars, and who afterwards became a decided Cromwellian. Montrose, after a fruitless resist- ance, at length fled from the field of defeat, and concealed himself in the grounds of Macleod of Assaint, to whose fidelity he entrusted his life, and by whom he was delivered up to Lesly, his most bitter enemy. " He was tried for what was termed treason against the estates of the kingdom ; and, despite the commission of Charles for his proceedings, he was condemned to die by a parliament, who acknowledged Charles to be their king, and , whom, on that account only, Montrose acknow- I ledged to be a parliament. i " ' The clergy," says a late animated historian, I * whose vocation it was to persecute the repose of his last moments, sought, by the terrors of his sentence, to extort repentance ; but his behav- iour, firm and dignified to the end, repelled their insulting advances with scorn and disdain. He was prouder, he replied, to hare liis head affixed to the prison-walls, than to have his picture placed in the king's bed-chamber : "and, far from being troubled that my limbs are to be sent to jrour principal cities, I wish I had flesh enough ^ to be dispersed through Christendom, to attest my dying attachment to my king." It was the calm employment of his mind, that night, to re- duce this extravagant sentiment to verse. He appeared next day on the scaffold, in a rich habit, with the same serene and undaunted counte- nance, and addressed the people, to vindicate his dying unabsolved by the church, rather than to justify an invasion of the kingdom, during a treaty with the estates. The insults of his ene- mies were not yet exhausted. The history ew-town, I only observe, that he was, like all his clan, a steady loyalist, and a fol- lower of Montrose. — Scott. f Sir Francis Hay, of Dalgatie, a steady cava- lier, and a gentleman of great gallantry and accomplishment. He was a faithful follower of Montrose, and was taken prisoner with him at his last fiital battle. He was condemned to death, with his illustrious general. Being a Ro- man Catholic, he refused the assistance of the Presbyterian clergy, and was not permitted, even on the scaffjld, to receive ghostly eonifurt, in the only form in which his religion biught him to consider it as effectual. He kissed the axe, avowed his fidelity to his sovereign, and died like a soldier. — Montroae't Metnoiri, p. 3*22. — Scott, i 1 presume this gentleman to have been David Veitch, brother to Veitch of Dawick, who, with many other of the Peebles-shire gentry, was taken at Philiphaugh. The following curious accident took place, some years afterwards, in consequence ^> Now, fere ye weel, sweet Ennerdale ! Countrie and kin I quit ye free ; Chear up your hearts, brave cavaliers. For the Grahams are gone to high Germany Now brave Montrose he went to France, And to Germany, to gather fame ; And bold Aboyne is to the sea, § Young Huntly is his noble name. of his loyal zeal :— " In the year 1653, when the loyal party did arise in arms against the English, in the North and West Highlands, some noble> men, and loyal gentlemen, with others, were forward to repair to them, with such forces as they could make ; which the English with mar- velouse diligence, night and day, did bestir them- selves to impede ; making their troops of horse and dragoons to pursue the loyal party in all places, that they might not come to such a con siderable number as was designed. It happened, one night, that one Captain Masoun, commander of a troop of dragoons, that came from Carlisle, in England, marching through the town of San- quhar, in the night, was encountered by one Captain Palmer, commanding a troop of horse, that came from Ayr, marching eastward ; and, meeting at the tollhouse, or tolbooth, one David Veitch, brother to the lairJ of Dawick, in Tweed- dale, ami one of the loyal party, being prisoner in irons by the English, did arise, and came to the window at their ii eeting, and cryed out, that they e,hoi.\d fight valiaittlyfor King Charle*. Where-through, they, tatting each other for the loyal party, did begin a brisk fight, which con- tinued for a while, till the dragoons, havingspent their shot, and finding the horsemen to be too strong for them, did give ground : but yet retired, in some order, towards the castle of Sanquhar, being hotly pursued by the troop, through the whole town, above a quarter of a mile, till they came to the castle ; where both parties did, to their mutual grief, become sensible of their mis- take. In this skirmish there were several killed on both sides, and captain Palnier himself dan- gerously wounded, with many more wounded in each troop, who did peaceably dwell together afterward for a time, until their wounds were cured, in t-'anquhar castle." — Account vf Preiby- tery of PenpuiU, in Mucfirlane's MSS. — Scott. § James, earl of Abovne, who fled to France, and there died heart-broken. It is said, his death was accelerated by the news of King Charles's BALLADS- ON THE CIVIL WAES. 531 Montrose again, that chieftain bold. Back unto Scotland fair he came. For to redeem fair Scotland's land. The pleasant, gallant, worthy Graham. At the water of Carron he did begin. And fought the battle to the end; And there were killed, for our noble king, Two thousand of our Danish men. * Gilbert Menzies, of high degree. By whom the king's banner was borne ; f For a brave cavalier was he. But now to glory he is gone. Then woe to Strachan, and Racket baith 1 J And Lesly, ill death may thou die ! For ye have betrayed the jiallant Grahams, Who aye were true to raajestie. And the laird of Assint has seized Montrose, And had him into Edinburgh town. And frae his body taken the head. And quartered him upon a trone. And Huntly's gone the self-same way, § And our noble king is also gone ; He suffered death for our nation. Our mourning tears can ne'er be done. execution. He became representative of the Gordon family, or " Young Huntly," as the bal- lad expresses it, in consequence of the death of his elder brother, George, who fell in the battle of Alford.— Hi*alziel, who divided with Claverhouse the terror and hatred of the whigs, arrived in the camp, with a commission to supersede Mon- mouth, as commander-in-chief. He is said to have upbraided the duke, publicly, with his lenity, and heartily to have wished his own commission liad come a day sooner, when, as he expressed himself, ' These rogues should never more have troubled the kmg or country.' f But, notwith- • " There i* an accurate repKaentation of thi» part of the engagement in an oldpaintiog, of which there are two copies extant; one in the collection of his grace the duke of Hamilton, the other at Dalkeith house. The whole appearance of the ground, even including a few old housea, la the aame which the scene now preaenU: The removal of the porch, ot gateway, upon the bridge, ia the only perceptible dif- terence. The duke of Monmouth, on a white charger, directa the march of the party engaged in storming the bridge, while his artillery gall tue motley ranks oi the Covenanters."— Scott. t " Daliiel waa a man of aavage manners. A pri- soner having railed at him, while under examination before the privy council, calling him * a Muscovia beast, who used to roast men, the general, in a pas- uuu, struck him, with the pomel of his shabble, on the standing the merciful orders of the duke of Men ■ mouth, the cavalry made great slaughter among the fugitives, of whom four hundred were slain. Guild thus expresses himself :— Et ni Dux validus tenuisset forte catervas, Vix quisquam profugus vitain servasset inertem : Non audita Ducia verum mandata siipremi Omnibus, inaequitur fugientea plurima turba, Perque agros. passim, trepida formidine captoa Obtruncat, aievumque adigit per viecera ferrum. MS. Bellum Bothuellianum. " The same deplorable circumstances are more elegantly bewailed in ' Clyde,' a poem, reprinted in ' Scottish Descriptive Poems,' edited ty the late Dr. John Leyden, Edinburgh, 1803 :— Where Bothwell'a bridge connects the margin steep, And Clyde, below, run« ailent, strong, and deep, The hardy peasant. Iiy oppresaiou driven To battle, deemed his cauae the cause of heaven; Unskilled in arms, with useless courage stood. While gentle Monmouth grieved to shed liii. blood But fierce Dundee, inflamed with deadly hate. In vengeance lor tne great Montrose'a fate. Let loose the avrord, and to the hero'a shade A barbarous hecatomb of victims paid. " The object of Claverhouse's revengje, assigned by Wilson, is grander, though more remote and less natural, than that in the ballad, which im- putes the severity of the pursuit to his thirst to revenge the death of his cornet and kinsman, at Drumclog ; i and to the quarrel betwixt Claver- hed hia girdle, and, aa he wore always au fashioned buff coat, his appearance in London never tailed to attract the notice of the children and of the mob. King Charles II. used to swear at him, for bringing such a rabble of boys together, to be squeezed to death, while they gaped at his lung beard and an- tique habit, and exhorted him to shave and dress like a Christian, to keep the poor ' bairns,' as Dalziel ex- pressed it, out of danger. In compliance with this re- quest, he once appeared at court fashionably dressed, excepting the beard ; but. when the king had laughed sutiicieutly at the metamorphosis, he resumed his old dress, to the great joy of the boys, bi~ us ni atiendanth — Creichton's Memoirs, p. 102."— Scott. % " There is some reason to conjecture, that the rj- venge of the Cameroniaua, if auccessful, wuuidi i ■ been little leas sanguinary than that of the royalists, Creichton mentions, that they had erected, in theit camp, a high pair of gallows, and prepareil a quantity of halters, to haug such prisoners as might fall into their hands ; and he admires the forbearance of the king's soldiers, who, when they returned with their prisoners, brought them to the very spot where the gallows stood, and guarded them there, without offer- ing to hang a single individual. Guild, in the * Bellum Bothueiiiaaum,' alludes to the same story, which is BALLADS ON THK CIVIL WARS. 541 house and Monmouth, it ascribes, with great ^ scheme of invasion, which the unfortunate earl naivete, the bloody fate of the latter. Local tra- dition is always apt to trace foreign events to the domestic causes, wWch are more immediately in the narrator's view. There is said to be another song upon this battle, once very popular, but I have not been able to recover it. This copy is given from recitation. " There were two Gordons of Earlstoun, father and son. They were descended of an ancient of Argyle was then meditating. He was appre- hended upon his return to Scotland, tried, con- victed of treason, and condemned to die ; but his fate was postponed by a letter from the king, appointing him to be reprieved for a month, that he might, in the interim, be tortured for the discovery of his accomplices. The council had the unusual spirit to remonstrate against this illegal course of severity. On November 3, 1653, family in the west of Scotland, and their pro- 1 he received a farther respite, in hopes he would genitors were believed to have been favourers of the reformed doctrine, and possessed of a trans- lation of the Bible as early as the days of Wick- liffe. "William Gordon, the father, was, in 1603, summoned before the privy council, for keeping conventicles in his house and woods. By another act of council, he was banished out of Scotland, but the sentence was never put into execution. In 1667, Earlstoun w.as turned out of his house, which was converted into a garrison for the king's soldiers. He was not in the battle of Bothwell-bridge, but was met, hastening towards make some discovery. When brought to the bar, to be tortured (for the king had reiterated his commands), he, through fear, or distraction, roared like a bull, and laid so stoutly about him, that the hangman and his assistant could hardly master him. At last he fell into a swoon, and, on his recovery, charged general Dalziel and Drummond (violent tories), together with the duke of Hamilton, with being the leaders of the fanatics. It was generally thought that he affected this extravagant behaviour to invalidate all that agony might extort from him concerning it, by some English dragoons, engaged in the h his real .-iccomplices. He was sent, first, to Edin pursuit, already commenced. As he refused to surrender, he was instantly slain. — Wilson's His- tory nf Bothweil Rising — Life of Gordon of Earls ton, in Scottish Worthies — Wodrorvs History, vol. ii. The son, Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, I suppose to be the hero of the ballad. He was not a Cameronian, but of the more moderate class of Presbyterians, whose sole object was free- ! dom of conscience, and relief from the oppressive laws against non-conformists. He joined the insurgents shortly after the skirmish at Loudon- hill. He appears to have been active in forward- ing the supplication sent to the duke of Mon- mouth. After the battle, he escaped discovery, by flying into a house at Hamilton, belonging to one of his tenants, and disguising himself in female attire. His person was proscribed, and his estate of Earlstoun was bestowed upon col- onel Theophilus Ogilthorpe, by the crown, first in security for £5000, and afterwards in perpetu- ity.— Fountainhall, p. 390. The same author mentions a person tried at the circuit court, July 10, 1683, solely for holJing intercourse with Earlstoun, an inter-communed (proscribed) re- bel. As he had been in Holland after the battle of Bothweil, he was probably accessory to the I burgh castle, and, afterwards, to a prison upon the Bass island ; although the privy council more than once deliberated upon appointing his im- rendered probable by tlie character of Hamilto insurgent general. — Guild's MSS. — Creicliton's moiri, p. 61."— Scott. mediate death. On 22d August, 16S4, Earlstoun was sent for from the Bass, and ordered for exe- cution, 4th November, 1684. He endeavoured to prevent his doom by escape; but was dis- covered and taken, after he had gained the roof of the prison. The c mncil deliberated, whether, in consideration of this attempt, ho was not liable to instant execution. Finally, however, they were satisfied to imprison him in Blackness castle, where he remained till after the Revolu- tion, when he was set at liberty, and his doom of forfeiture reversed by act of parliament.— See Fountainhall, vol. i. pp. 238, 240, 245, 250, 301, 302."— Scott'4 Minstrelsy. 1 "O BiLLiE, billie, bonnie billie, Will ye go to the wood wi' me? We'll ca' our horse hame masterless. An" gar them trow slain men aie we." " O no, O no !" says Earlstoun, " For that's the thing that mauna be ; For I am sworn to Bothweil Hill, Where I maun either gae or die." So Earlstoun rose in the mornint. An' mounted by the break o' day ; 542 SCOTTISH BALLADS. An' he has joined our Scottish lads. As they were marching out the way. " Now, fereweel father, and fareweel mother, An* fare ye weel my sisters three ; An' fare ye weel my Earlstoun, For thee again I'll never see '." So they're awa' to Bothwell Hill, An' waly they rode bonnily I When the duke o' Monmouth saw them corain'. He went to view their company. " Ye're welcome, lads," then Monmouth said, " Ye're welcome, brave Scots lads, to me ; And sae are ye, brave Earlstoun, The foremost o' your company ! " But yield your weapons ane an' a" ; O yield your weapons, lads, to me ; For, gin ye'll yield your weapons up, Ye'se a' gae hame to your country." Out up then spak' a Lennox lad, And waly but he spak' bonnily 1 " I winna yield my weapons up, To you nor nae man that 1 see." Then he set up the flag o' red, A' set about wi' bonnie blue ; * " Since ye'll no cease, and be at peace, See that ye stand by ither true." • Blue was the favourite colour of the Cove- nanters ; hence the vulgar phrase of a true blue ■whig. Spalding informs us, that when the first army of Covenanters entered Aberdeen, few or none " wanted a blue ribband ; the lord Gordon, and some others of the marquis (of Huntly's) family had a ribband, when tliey were dwelling in the town, of a red fresh colour, which they wore in their hats, and called it the royal ribband, as a sign of their love and loyalty to the king. In d spite and derision thereof, this blue ribband was worn, and called the Covenanter's ribband, by the haill soldiers of the army, who would not hear of the royal ribband, such was their pride and malioe." — Vol. i. p. 123. After the departure of this first army, the town was occupied by the barons of the royal party, till they were once more expelled by the Covenanters, who plundered the burgh and country adjacent; "no fowl, cock, or hen, left uukilled, the hail house-dogs. They stell'd f their cannons on the height, And showrd their shot down in the how An' beat our Scots lads even down. Thick they lay slain on every know. As e'er you saw the rain down fa'. Or yet the arrow frae the bow, — Sae our Scottish lads fell even down. An' they lay slaiu on every know. " hold your hand," then Monmouth crj-'dj " Gi'e quarters to yon men for me 1" But wicked Claver'se swore an oath, His cornet's death reveng'd sud be. •' O hold your hand," then Monmouth cry'd, " If ony thing you'll do for me ; Hold up your hand, you cursed Grfeme, Else a rebel to our king yell be." i (i.e. lap-dogs), and whelps, within Aber- deen, killed upon the streets; so that neithet huund, messen, nor other dog, was left alve that they could see : the reason w.as this,— when the first army came here, ilk captain and soldier had a blue ribband about his craig (i. e. neck;) in despite and derision whereof, when tliey removed from Aberdeen, some women of Aberdeen, as wag alledged, knit blue ribbands about their niessens' cr.iigs, whereat their soldiers took off nee, and killed all their dogs for this very cause." — P. 160. I have seen one of the ancient banners of the Covenanters: it was divided into four copart- inents, inscribed with the words, Christ — Cove- nant — King — Kingdom. Similar standards are mentioned in Spalding's curious and minute nar- rative, vol. ii. pp. 182, 245.— Sco«. t S< Ufe ; 4 Tl^en Janet she fell at her Lady's feet. And what were life to me f And she claspit them ferventlye. Wad ye save me frae the death of a man. And she steepit them a' wi' the tears o' Joy, To hang on a gallows tree ? TiU the good Lady wept to see. " ' I ha'e nae hame to fly to now. " Oh ye are an angel sent frae heaven. Nae country, and nae kin ; To lighten calamitye ! There is not a door in Fair Scotland For, in distress, a friend or foe Durst open to let me in. Is a' the same to thee. " ' But I ha'e a loving wife at hame. " If good deeds count in heaven, Ladye, And twa babies, dear to me ; Eternal bliss to share. They ha'e naebody now that dares favour them. Ye ha'e done a deed will save your soul. And of hunger they a' maun dee. Though ye should never do mair." " ' Oh for the sake of thy Saviour dear. " Get up, get up, my kind Janet, Whose mercy thou hopest to share. But never trow tongue or pen. Dear Lady, teke the sackleas things That a' the warld are lost to good. A wee beneath thy care 1 Except the Covenant men." " ' A lang fitfeweU. my kind Ladye 1 Wha wadna ha'e shared that Lady's joy O'er weel I ken thy worth. When watching the wounded hind. Gae send me a drink o* the water o' Clyde, Rather than those of the feast and the danoe. For my last drink on earth.' Which her kind heart resign'd ? " O dinna tell ony malr, Ladye, Wha wadna rather share that Lady's fate. For my heart is cauld as clay ; When the stars shall melt away. There is a spear that pierces here, Frae every word ye say." That can naething but graen and pray ? " He wasna fear'd to dee, Janet,— For he gloried in his death. And wish'd to be laid with those who bad bled For the same endearing faith. ^Iie i^aug^0 of (gPtom^altr. " There were three wounds in his boardly breast. And his limb was broke in twain. [" This is the worst specimen of the truth of And the sweat ran down wi' his red heart's Scottish song that U to be met with ; two events Wrung out by the deadly pain. [blood. being jumbled together in it, that happened at the distance of many years from each other. " I row'd my apron round his head. These seem to be, the battle of Auldearn, won For fear my men should tell. by Montrose and the clans; and that on the And 1 hid him in my Lord's castle. plains of Cromdale, in Strathspey, where the two And I nursed him there mysell. colonels, Buchan and Cannon, suffered them- selves to be surprised in their beds by Sir Thomas " And the best leeches in a' the land Livingston, and, though at the head of 1500 Have tended him as he lay. brave Highlanders, utterly defeated and scatter- And he never has lack'd my helping hand. ed. This latter is the only battle on record that By night nor yet by day. ever was really fought at Cromdale. It appears, therefore, more than probable, that on that " I durstna tell you before, Janet, action the original song has been founded; for For 1 fear'd his life was gane. the first twenty lines contain an exact and true But now he's sae weel, ye may visit him. description of that shameful defeat, and these And ye'se meet by yoursells alane." « ^ twenty lines mav be considered a« either the BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WAES. 547 whole or part of the original song ; and as they < i " The EnglUh horse they were bo mde. are middling good, and the air most beautiful. They bathd their hoofs in Highland blood. they had, of course, become popular. Some But our brave clans, they boldly stood bard who had been partial to the clans, fired Upon the haughs of Cromdale. with indignation at hearing the disgrace of his countrymen sung all over the land, had added " But, alas ! we oould no longer stay. to the original verses an overcharged account of For o'er the hills we came away. the battle of Auldearn, won by Montrose, their And sore we do lament the day favourite leader, against the Whigs : but, by a That e'er we came to Cromdale." vile anachronism, he has made it to happen on the day following the action at Cromdale, Thus the great Montrose did say. •whereas it happened just forty-five years before " Can you direct the nearest way. it. Although, therefore, I have placed the For I will o'er the hills this day. ballad among the songs of this early period, I am And view the haughs of Cromdale." persuaded it had its origin at a much later date ; but it would have been ridiculous to have placed " Alas, my lord, you're not so strong. a song that treated wholly of Montrose, subse- You scarcely have two thousand men. quent to events that happened long after his And there's twenty thousand on the plain. death. Yet the part of the ballad that describes Stand rank and file on Cromdale." the victory won by that hero cannot be the original part of it, else the writer would never Thus the great Montrose did say. have placed the action at Cromdale, which is " I say, direct the nearest way. almost a day's journey distant from Auldearn, For I will o'er the hills this day. and no way connected with the scene of that And see the haughs of Cromdale." engagement. It would never do now to sepa- rate this old and popular song into two parts ; They were at dinner, every man. hut nothing can be more evident, than that one When great Montrose upon them came; part of the song describes the battle won by A second battle then began. Montrose and the clans, on the 4th of May 1645 ; Upon the haughs of Cromdale. and the other part, that won by Livingston over the clans, on the 1st of May 1C90. The The Grant, Mackenzie, and M'Ky, names of the clans mentioned in the song Soon as Montrose they did espy. are those that were present with Montrose at then, they fought most valiantly! Auldearn; the rout that the defeated army Upon the haughs of Cromdale. took, together with the number of them that , reached Aberdeen, all accord with the truth of The M'Donalds they retum'd again, history : so that at whatever period the song was The Camerons did their standard join. made, it evidently alludes to that action." M'lntosh play'd a bloody game Boggi Jacobite Relies.] Upon the haughs of Cromdale. As I came in by Achindoun, The M'Gregors fought like lions bold. A little wee bit fi-ae the town. M'Phersons, none could them controul. When to the Highlands I was bound, M'Lauchlins fought, like loyal souls. To view the haughs of Cromdale, Upon the haughs of Cromdale. I met a man in tartan trews. M'Leans, M'Dougals. and M'Neils, I speer'd at him what was the news; So boldly as they took the field. Quo" he, " The Highland army rues, And made their enemies to yield. That e'er we came to Cromdale. Upon the haughs of Cromdale. " We were in bed. Sir, every man. The Gordons boldly did advance. When the English host upon us came; The Frasers fought with sword and lance. A bloody battle then began, The Grahams they made the heads to dance, Upon the haughs of Cromdale. { f Upon the haughs of Cromdale. Bi3 eCOTTISH BALLADS. The loyal Stewarts, with Montrose, So boldly set upon their foes. And brought them down with Highland blows. Upon the haughs of Cromdale. Of twenty thousand, Cromwell's men. Five hundred fled to Aberdeen, The rest of them lie on the plain, IJpoa the haughs of Cromdale. ^u(l)in!)oion. [This is snng to the well-known tune of " Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." it appears to allude to a festival held at Auchindown on the Chevalier de St. George's birth-day.] At Auchindown, the tenth of June, Sae merry, blythe, and gay. Sir, Each lad and lass did fill a glass. And drink a health that day. Sir. , We drank a health, and nae by stealth, 'Mang kimmers bright and lordly : "King James the Eighth I for him well fight. And down wi* cuckold Geordie !*• We took a spring, and danc'd a fling. And wow but we were vogie ! We didna fear, though we lay near The Campbells, in Stra'bogiei Nor yet the loons, the black dragoons, At Fochabers a-raising: If they durst come, we'd pack them home. And send them to their grazing. We fear'd no harm, and no alarm. No word was spoke of dangers ; We Join'd the dance, and kiss'd the lance. And swore us foes to strangers. To ilka name that dar'd disclaim Our Jamie and his Charlie. "King James the Eighth 1 for him we-U fight. And down the cuckold carlle I" 1 APPENDIX. ^ The haughty chieftain of Rossdhn me Mai^ of mm £xniu. Arous'd his clansmen near and far. With Lennox men, and Lomond* too. To turn a^ide clan Alpine's war. [MoDKRK Ballad. — Peter M'Arthbr.— For They meet ! and hark, the slogan cry ! an account of the battle of Glen Frnin, fought. Ah, who that onset could withstand ? In the reign of James VI., between the M'Gre- The Lennox men disordered fly. gors and Colquhouns, aided by the men of Len- And Lomonds too, a bleeding band. nox and Lomond, see Browne's History of the Highland Clans, or Sir Walter Scotfs introduc- The stainless banner of Rosshdu tion to the annotated edition of his celebrated Still floated o'er brave warrior men. novel of Bob Roy.] And still with dauntless hearts, and true. They barr'd the pass by Fruin's Glen. Thb last lone echo dies away. The claymore gleamed with reddening flash. Among yon mountains faint and fiu'. The battle-axes rose and fell. And the dim shades of sinkmg day Full on each foe with deadly crash. Light up the silent evening star. And hark ! the pibroch's mingling yelll Ko beacon light streams down the pass. But now the sweeping wild array We hear no answering pibroch ring. Of Alpine's bold unbroken band. In silence o'er the mountain mass. Scattered their foes, as ocean's spray See the pale moon in beauty hung. Is brokea on the rocky strand. Beflecting in the lake beneath And upward from the darksome glen. Her trembling rays of silvery sheen ; M'Gregors' shouts of triumph rose. And Uie night wind with balmy breath And the wild shrieks of dying men Scarce stirs the brackens bending green. Beneath the brands of conquering toe*. Ah ! who could think that scenes so fair Now, where the Fruin glides away E'er trembled to the warrior's tread. Around yon rocks and withered fern. Or that red heather blooming there Eossdhu again, in bold array. Waves o'er the warrior's narrow bed. Is mustering all his clansmen stem. Here Alpine's bands from wild glens stray. And well they fought, as men should fight. Triumphant wav'd their banner'd pine. Who strike for home and all that *s dear i >- Ajs on they swept on forray fray. But who could e'er withstand the might Adown Glen Fruin's deep ravine • * f Of Alpine in his wUd career ? ' 1 650 BCOTTISH BALLADS. Like torrent swollen by wintery rain, When tangled boughs impede its course. Bursting its barrier bold in twain. It sweeps the yale with treble force ; Bo burst clan Alpine's bands away ; But f&T more dire than wintery ffood. They left the wailings of dismay, And smouldering hamlets streak'd with blood. Even they with wondering look who staid* Apart, to view the deadly strife. Beneath brown Bougald's ruthless blade They cried, hut cried in vain for life J Where Fruin murmurs to the dell. Clear winding from yyn mountains lone. The traveller reads their moumful tale. But time hath scathed the lettered stone. Even yet, tradition tells the tale. And points the place near yonder height. Where mournful sounds and shadows pale Glide through the solemn gloom of night. That morn the sun rose redly rolled In crimson clouds foreboding woe. That morn Inch Hurrin's seer foretold His kinsman dear of coming wue ; And when the sun looked o'er Glengyle, On Lomond's hills in evening 'rayed, Olan Alpine bore Glen Luss's spoil. O'er the deep lake by Inversnaid. And many a banner by his blaze Was mirror'd in the lake below; And hark '. the shouts of juy they raise O'er the rich spoil and conquer'd foe. • Kear the scene of the contest, a large stone is shown, which receives the appellation of the Minister's Stone. It is said to have derived this name from the murder of a party of students at the spot by one of the M'Gregors, a man of great size and strength, named Dugald Ciar-Mhor, or the Mouse-Coloured. It is but right to say, that another account of the matter frees Dugald from the imputation of this crime. He was the immediate and indubitable ancestor of Bob Bojr. The mist wreathes vail'd Ben Lomond" brow. The sun withdrew his lurid light. The lake's broivd waves with sullen flow Heaved to the moaning winds of night ; And many a coronach arose. And many a shriek of wild despair Awoke the weary night's repose, Be-echoing through the starless air. But when the dawn from sable night Came heralding the chief of day. They said it was a mournful sight — Glen Luss in smouldering ruins lay. The pines were skalth'd by Bannochraie, lu vaulted halls and alder bowers. You'd thought that time and stern decay Had pnss'd fur a|;es o'er its towers. The eagle sailed the air on high. To stoop upon the warrior slain. Till startled by the widow's cry. He sought his eyried home again. For still the widow's cry arose. And the lone orphan's piteous wail. As from the dead in dull repose The night withdrew her sable vaiU Each matron true unbound the plaid, f That wrapt her silent warrior's breast, A bloody token — " Thus," they said, " Shall speak the woes of the oppress'd. f Eleven score women, widows of those slain in the engagement on the side of the Colquhouns, attired themselves in deep mourning, and ap- peared before the king, James VI., at Stirling, and demanded vengeance on the heads of the M'Gregors. To make the deeper impression on those to whom this supplication was made, each of the petitioners bore on a spear her husband's bloody shirt. The king was much affected. Measures of extreme severity were resorted to ; the execution of these measures was assigned to the earls of Argyle and Athol ; the very name of M'Gregor was abolished by an act of the Privy Council, Act 1603, and the chief of the clan was executed at Edinburgh. APPENDIX. fiSl " Ere night in Stlrllng'8 royal towerg, King James shall hear the widow's tale, Kre mom. In fair Loch Katrine's bowers, Red Alpine's chief shall tremble pale." They said it wag an earie sight, Lilie dusky shadows soil'd with gore ! They glided in the dawning light, Adown the glen to Lomond's shore. Away, away, o'er wares and spray. They sail'd by green Inch Murran's isle. Ere yet the sun with reddening ray Had shone upon its ruin'd pile. Away, away, o'er waves and spray. They lighted on the Endriok strand. By ancient cairn, and mountain grey. They crossed the dreary bleak moorland. To where yon castle braves the north. With clouded brows and warlike frown. Encircled by the winding Forth, In Stirling's old romantic town. They sought king James; he heard their cause, And when he heard their tale of grief, " Avenge," spid he, " our broken laws. And give the widow's woes relief," With reddening brow and flashing eye. He grasped the hilt of his good blade. Yet with demeanour calm and high. Thus to his western chieia he said, " Athol, Argyle, I hold you bound, A price is on M'Gregor's head ; With unsheathed sword and bloody hound. Avenge the widow and the dead 1" And dearly has M'Gregor paid. By name proscribed and haunted band. For dark Glen Fruin's lawless raid, — So more he rules Iioch Katrine's strand. l*a^g fleam. [MoDBRir Ballad by Jahss Lbmon, author of a volume of Poems and Songs, published at Glas- gow, in 1840.] Thbbb sits a lady in yon ha'. And the tear drap dims her e'e. She has gowd an' sil'er at her ca'. But nae joy or peace has she. The rose shone red upon her cheek. An' the sun frae her e'e broo. But the rose has left the lily meek. An' it is witherin' too. Then up and spoke her sister May, " O ! mother, mother dear. To-morrow is Jean's bridal day. An' I dream 'd 1 saw her bier." " O ! haud your tongue, ye croakin' thing. My malison on thee ! To-morrow eve, the bells shall ring. For the bride o' Louden lea." " O ! mother dear, I slept again, I'm wae to tell it thee, I saw Sir Bandal, who was slain. By Louden's treachery. " An' Louden gave our lady Jean Unto his rival there. Who stood beside his new grave green, Wi' his last look o' despair. " An' then I heard Death, mother dear. Pronounce the marriage creed. His altar was Sir Randal's bier. Where Jean and he were wed." Then up an' spoke her father fierce. An' angry man was he, " I out upon thee^ fause, ^uae one. Ye lee, it eanna be 1 " Thy goul it is the grave o' truth. Thy heart its dull tomb stane. Thy mouth the oracle o' death, «^ Thy Bel' its very lane 1 552 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " G«e dress, gae dress thy sister Jean In the sma" white satin fine; An' doff that star, thou fause, fause one, For it may ne'er be thine. " Gae doff, gae doff, that coronet. An' crown thy sister Jean ; For weel I read what thou'd be at Wi' thy invented dream. " But I ha'e sworn the maiden's mood Thy coronet shall be ; For as I live, an' by the rood, A maiden thou shalt dee." Ye've seen the sun in early spring Smile o'er the flowery lea. But ere auld time could lift his wing, The tear stood in its e'e. An' O ! 'twas sae wi' lady May, She biush'd and wept again i " It's no for my ain duom I'm wae. But 1 my sister Jean." " Away, away, thou evil ane. To-morrow at the fiine. The linkin' o' their hands in ane tiball widen my domain." To-morrow came, in sad sad wae. May stole to lady Jean ; They daurna speak, but fareweel aye Seems weiiin' frae their e'en. To-morrow came, wi' claspln's fine They deck'd young lady Jean ; Like an angel uewly left its shrine. She strangely gazed on men. O I secret love, what canst thou be, Thou'rt not a thing o' earth, Thou'rt pure as the light o' heaven hie. Whose rays have gi'en thee birth. Syne frae the castle barricade. Young May in tears alane, Look'd on the wedding cavalcade. As on some funeral train. The father and the mother there. In silk geir &iunted gay, Wi' mony an idle laugh and jeer They join'd in the deray. While mid the glare o' trapp'.n's rare. The once biythe sprightly Jean, Wi' listless air, and vacant stare. Ne'er wist what they could mean. Until they pass'd the lanely grove. Where young Lord Randal fell. Her e'e met Louden's— not in love- But who tliat look may tell ? Until they came to the kirk-yard, An' at Sir Randal's grave. Her steed stood still, nor whip nor word Could mak' him onward move. Ye've seen the red o' the pure rose leaf Lost in its purer white. So her fair cheek a moment brief Biush'd like the morning light. An' doon she drapp'd frae her saddle bow, And knelt by Randal's tomb. Saying, " i^oo, my love, I've kept my vow, O 1 tak' me to thy home." " Away," cried Louden lea, " Away An* bring the priest I crave; What better altar could we ha'e Than a vile rival's grave ?" The priest he came— the ritual flame, Alas! was her death-light; The priest he came— her eye's last gleam Had set in death's dark night. Noo, Louden lea, the cup o' wae Ye measured out in scorn. To thee is meted— frae this day Heart-stricken ye shall mourn. An' aye I hear a loun voice say, " An' ye her parents too. Shall sadly rue this waefu' day. The dregs shall £a' to you." An' lady May, in weeds o' wae. Mourns at'ten by their grave. That her proud parents scorned sae The warnin' Heaven gave. APPENDIX. 553 ^ Now they ha'e graith't them wond'rous grand. ©Ititlce, And sought Hind Halberfs bower : They kyth'd him breadth of SootUsh land. And yellow gowd for dower. OE, THE HAP OP HIND HALBERT. Gin he wad soothe her bosom's strife, [Modern Ballad, founded on an historical in- eident.— Thomas Dick.] And wed their sister dear; But her he wadna make his wife. For rank nor warld's gear. Thou blackbird in green Glrtlee, Sing on thy fav'rite sang ; Then they're awa' to green Girtlee Till drap the tear frae gloamin's e'e As fast as they may gang ; The wild wood flowers amang- And diggit by the birken tree A grave haith deep and lang. And when amang the leaves and flowers, That crystal tear shall fa'. Syne aff they hied to E'nburgh town. •Twill bathe the bell hy Monkland's towers. Wi' meikle rage and wrath : The daisy by Woodha*. Before the judge for Scotland's crown They've ta'en a deadly aith. Beside the roots that nurse thy birk. Beneath its branches' ehade. There gapes a grave, that in the mirk 0' night twa brithers made. And there they've sworn the faithless knav3 Design'd, when day was gane, To slay their sister, and that grave Their sister was a bonnie lass; Had made to bury her in. A bonnie lad she lo'ed ; And aft amang the planting's grass. Our gude king sat in Halyrood, This youthfu' couple wooed. Drinkin' the bluid-red wine; When he received a letter broad fond, fond were their looks o' love ; That hU ain judge did sign. Dear, dear the words they spake ; 1 As nought on earth, or even above, When he had read the foremost line. The vows they pledged could shake. His brow grew red wi' ire : When he had read the hindmost line. But though the simmer's sun be warm. He flang't into the fire. For aye it canna shine ; Tis foUoWd soon by autumn's storm.. And " Bind the traitor fast," he says, Syne winter s cauld and pine. " And quick to justice bring ; For he wad wrang a bonnie lass, Sae love did in Hind Halberfs breast Wad rebel against his king." By slow degrees decay ; Sweet Elis mark'd his change, distrest. But wistna why 'twas sae. The sea Is wide, but o'er its tide, The youth is far awa' ; Aye shyer was he when they met. And aye to part mair keen ; And friends he left o' hope bereft. Are laith and lauely a'. And ilka future tryste he set, Had langer aye between. When years C mingled grief and glee Had come and wearied past. meikle did she weep and wail. King James wad journey forth to see And meikle sigh'd and said : His islands in the west. She tauld her brithers a' the tale. His train twined down by green OirUee, And askit a' their aid. { A In Monkland-8 towers to rest. ! . ! 554 SCOTTISH BALLADS. If* up and sang the blackibird, i And he sang loud and clear ; And aye the o'erword chiefly hiard. Was " Jadge na till ye speer. ^ " Kot so the usage I receiv'd. When happy in my father's haU ; No faithless husband then me griev'd. No chiUing fears did me appal. " ! wae on fauae arbitrimtnt— On feuse accusers wae < They'Te banished the innocent, And let the guilty gae." " I rose up with the cheerful mom. No lark more blithe, no flow'r more gay ; And like the bird that haunts the thorn. So merrily sung the live-long day. The monarch turn'd him round about, Wi' sorrow in his look; And vow'd in midst o' a' hU »aite. By cross and haly book ! " If that my beauty U but small. Among court ladies all despis'd ; Why didst thou rend it from that hall. Where (scornful earl) it well was prij'd ? He gar'd gae hang the brithers bauld, "Wi- a' their perjurd band : And soon Hind Halbert was recall'd Frae far aff foreign land. " And when you first to me made suit, How fair I was you oft would say 1 And, proud of conquest— pluckd the fruit. Then left the blossom to decay. 1 " Yes, now neglected and despis'd The rose is pale— the lily's dead— But he that once their charms so priz'd, Is sure the cause those charms are fltd. [This is a production of W. J. Mkikls, the translator of the Lusiad. It first appeared in in Berkshire. — The history of the unhappy Countess of Leicester, who was murdered there in Queen Elizabeth's time, may be seen at large in Ashmole's Antiquities of Berkshire, in whose time the ruins of the hall were still standing.— Scott, in his romance of " Kenilworth," h:is Immortalized the story.] " For know, when sick'ning grief doth pny. And tender love 's repaid with scorn. The sweetest beauty will decay— What flow'ret can endure the storm ? " At court I'm told is beauty's throne. Where every lady 'a passing r,are ; That eastern floWrs, tliat shame the sun. Are not so glowing, not so fair. TiiK dews of summer night did fall, The moon (sweet regent of the sky) SUver'd the waUs of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby. " Then, earl, why didst thou leave the beds Where roses and where lilies vie. To seek a primrose, whose pale shades Must sicken— when those gaudes are by ? Now nought was heard beneath the skies, (The sounds of busy life were still,) Save an unhappy lady's sighs. That Usued from that lonely pile. " 'Mong rural beauties I was one. Among the fields wild floWrs are fair ; Some country swain might me have won. And thought my beauty passing rare. " Leicester," she cried, " is this thy lOTe " That thou so oft has sworn to me. To leave me in this lonely grove, Immur'd in shameful privity ? " But, Leicester, (or I much am wrong,) Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows ; Rather ambition "s gilded crown Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. " No more thou comett with lover's speed. Thy onoe beloved bride to see ; But be the alive, or be she dead, I ftar, stern earl, 's the same to tboe. " Then, Leicester, why, again I plead, (The injur'd surely may repine,) Why didst thou wed a country maid, ; When some fair princess might be thiue ? 1 APPENDIX. 5,55 " Why didst thou praise my humble charms, ^ The mastiff howl'd at village door. And, oh ! then leave them to decay ? The oaks were shatter'd on the green ; Why didst thou win me to thy arma. Woe was the hour— for never more Then leave me to mourn the live-long day ? That hapless countess e'er was seen. " The village maidens of the plain And in that manor now no more Salute me lowly as they go ; Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball ; Envious they mark my silken train. For ever since that dreary hour Nor think a countess can have woe. Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. " The simple nymphs ! they little know. The viUage maids, with fearful glance. How far more happy 's their estate — Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall ; —To smile for joy— than sigh for woe— Nor ever lead the merry dance, —To be content— than to be great. Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. " How far less blest am I than them ? Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd. Daily to pine and waste with care ! And pensive wept the countes*' fall. Like the poor plant, that from ite stem As wand'ring onwards they've espied Divided— feels the chUUng air. The haunted tow'rg of Cumnor HalU " Nor (cruel earl !) can I enjoy The humble charms of solitude ; Your minions proud my peace destroy. By sullen frowns or pratings rude. ®|j^ mmu of mmku^. " Last night, as sad I chanc'd to stray. The village death-bell smote my ear; [By John Fokbes, Schoolmaster at Mary. Culter, upon Deeside.J They wink'd aside, and seem'd to say. Morn ye Heighlands, and murn ye Leighlands, ' Countess, prepare— thy end is near.' I trow ye ha'e meikle need ; For the bonnie burn of Corichie " And now, while happy peasants sleep. Has run this day wi' bleid f ' Here 1 sit lonely and forlorn ; No one to soothe me as I weep. The hopeful laird o' Finliter, Save Phaomel on yonder thorn. Erie Huntlys gallant son. For the love he bare our beauteous quine. " My spirits flag— my hopes decay- His gart fair Scotland mone. Still that dread death-bell smites my ear; And many a boding seems to say, He has braken his ward in Aberdene ' Countess, prepare— thy end is near.' " Throu dreid o' this fause Murry ; And he 's gather't the gentle Gordon clan. Thus sore and sad the lady griev'd. An' his father auld Huntly. In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear ; And many a heartfelt sigh she heav'd. Ffcin wad he tak* our bonnie guide quine. And let fall many a bitter tear. An' beare hir awa' wi' him ; But Murry's slee wyles spoil't a' the spovt. And ere the dawn of day appear'd. An' reft him o' lyfe and him. In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear, Full many a piercing scream was heard. Murry gar't rayse the ttirdy Merns men, And many a cry of mortal fear. An Angis, an' mony ane mair ; Erie Morton, and the Byres lord Lindsay; The denth-bell thrice was heard to ring. An' campit at the hiU o' Fare. An aerial voice was heard to call And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing * This battle was fought on the Hill of Fair, Around the tow'rs of Cumnor Hall. i >C8th October, 1562. 1 5156 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Erie Huntl ie came wi' Haddo Gordone, 4 Fyve noble Gordones wi- liim hangit were. An' countit ane thusan men ; Upon the samen fatal playne ; But Murry had abien twal hunder. Crule Murry gar't the waefu' quine luke out. Wi' sax score horsemen and ten. And see bir lover an' liges slayne. They soundit the bougilU an' the tramplta. An" marchit on in brave array ; I WW our quine had better frinds, I wis our countrie better peice ; 1 wis our lords wid na discord. Till the spiers an' the axis forgatherit, An' than did begin the fray. I wis our weirs at hame may ceise. The Gordones sae fercelie did fecht it, Withouten terrer or dreid. m^ ^ukt of fltloL That mony 0' Murrj's men lay gaspin'. An' dyit the grund wi' theire bleid. [Pbom Mr. Kinloch's Collection, where It !s said to be taken from the recitation of an Idiot Then fause Murry feingit to flee them. boy in WUhaw.] An' they pursuit at his backe. Whan the haf 0' the Gordones desertit, " I AM gaing awa', Jeanle, Ao' turnit wi' Murray in a crack. I am gaing awa', I am gaing ayont the saut seas. Wf hether V thir bonnits they turnit, I'm gaing sae far awa." The traiter Haddo 0' their held. An' elaid theire brithers an' their fatheris, " Whan will ye marry me, Jamie, An' spoUit an' left them for deld. Whan will ye marry me ? Will ye tak' me to your countrie,— Than Murry cried to tak' the auld Gordone, Or will ye marry me ?" An' mony ane ran wi* speid ; " How can I marry thee, Jeanie, But Stuart 0' Inchbraik had him stickit. How can I marry thee ? An' out gushit the fat lurdane's bleid. Whan I've a wife and bairns three,— Than they tuke his twa sones quick an' hale. Twa wad na weill agree." An' bare thtm awa' to Aberdene; " Wae be to your fause tongue, Jamie, But sair did our guide quine lament Wae be to your fause tongue ; The waefu' chance that they were tane. Ye promised for to marry me. And has a wife at hame 1" Erie Murry lost mony n gallant stout man. The hopefu' laird o' Thomitune, " If my wife wad dee, Jeanie, Pittera's sons, an Egli's far fearit laird. And sae my bairns three. An' mair to mi unkend, feU doune. I wad tak' ye to my ain countrie. And married we wad be." Erie Huntly mist tenscore o' his bra' men, " an your head war sair, Jamie, an your head war sair, I'd tak' the napkin frae my neck. Sum 0' heigh, and sum o* le-gh degree; Skeenis youngest son, the pride 0' a' the clan. Was ther fun' dead, he widna flee. And tie doun your yellow hair." This bloody fecht wis fereely faucht " I ha'e na wife at a', Jeanie, Octobris aught an' twinty day. I ha'e na wife at a'. Crvstis fyfteen hundred thriscore yeir I ha'e neither wife nor bairns three. An' twa will mark the deidlie fray. I said it to try thee. But now the day maist waefu' came, "Blair in Athol is mine, Jeanie, That day the quine did grite her fill. Blair in Athol is mine ; For Huntlys gallant stalwart son Bonnie Dunkel is whare I dweU, Wis heidit on the heidin hiU. \ And the boats 0' Garry's mine." 1 i APPEIffDIX, 557 [MoDBBN Ballad.— Pktkr M'Arthur.— This ballad relates to an extraordinary case of witch- craft which occurred in Renfrewshire shortly before the Eevolution of 1688. Sir George Max- well, Bart., of Pollock House, being suddenly sened with grievous pains in his body, was per- suaded that he was labouring under the influence of witchcraft; and a young gipsy woman, who 0'.ved some of his tenants a grudge, undertook to point out the culprits who were tormenting him. She accordingly accused several of his tenants, and, to confirm her accusations, contrived, in one or two instances, to secrete small clay models of the human figure, stuck with pins, in the dwellings of the accused. A special commission was issued for the tr al of the case on the spot; and after a long investigation, at which were present, be- sides some of the lords of justiciary, most of the leading men of Renfrewshire, six or seven unfor- tunate creatures were condemned to be strani^ed and burned !— See the case recorded in the His- tory of the Renfrewshire Witches, and also in a work recently published at Paisley, entitled. The Philosophy of Witchcraft, by John Mitchell. In the ballad here given, the author follows a tale told him by his grandfather, who heard it, when a boy, from an old man who was butler in Pollock House during the time of the occur- rence.] Sir Gkoroe Maxwem, pining lay ; And all by his weary bed. The livelong night, and the livelong day. They waited to give him aid. Weary and worn wi' the burning pain, Wi' many a heavy moan ; He wearied till day was past away. And he long'd till night was gone. They sought the east, and they sought the west. To bring Sir George relief; But the tide of life seemd ebbing fast. Then heavy and sore was their grief. His hunting hounds howl'd to the winds. His steeds ueigh'd in the stall; The ranger grey, the groom, and hinds, Mourn'd round the baronet's hall. And aye they spake of bygone years. And of all hia deeds of yore ; And aye o'er their cheeks fell the briny tears. For they thought they should see him no more. Thus pass'd the time, till the autumn's breath Had wither'd the woodlands brown ; The lading sun from his cloudy path Look'd out wi' an angry frown. But darker grew his parting ray. An' darker lour'd the cloud ; And shorter grow the changing day. Till the tempest raved aloud. The lightning gleam'd, the thunder roar'd Through the heavens resounding far ; The flooding rain in torrents pour'd Through the winter's opening war. The Cart came down ft-ae bank to brae. While the broken boughs and leaves Arose and fell in the splashing spray, Wi' the harvest's scatter'd sheaves. They looked abroad Crom the baronet's tower On the dreary driving blast. As darkly the night began to lower. They thought it was his last. All mournfully silent around they stood. For the haly man was there ; They felt their despairing grief subdued By the sound of liia soothing prayer. Nor had he paused, when a gentle calm Fell o'er the earth and sky ; The woods seem'd sleeping in dusky balm. The moon shone fair and high. The baronet closed his eyes in rest— A repose sae calm and deep. His lady trembling touch'd his breast To liapw if 'twas death or sleep. The wond'ring lady saw with delight The change an hour had wrought. On the wasted cheek of her own tnie knight, And still as she wond'ring thought. 558 SCOTTISH BALLADS. A 80und was heard at the western door, A soft and gentle call ; Iiike music sweet on the midnight hour. It echoed through the hall. They open'd the door : a lady pass'd With noiseless step and light, •Neath many a curved arch, at last To the chamber door of the knight. Sir George awoke from an hour's repose — 'Twas an hour of blissful rest ; He felt relieved from the burning throes That had wrung his heaving breast. He gaz'd all around with wond'ring eye. And said with voice so bland — " is the troubled day of life gone by ? Do 1 wake in the happy land ? " Or do I dream ? — O ! it was but a dream. For I thought a stranger came, yVi' looks more mild than the moon's fair beam. And she sooth'd my weaiy frame. " She seem'd a thing too fiiir and bright For life's brief troubled span. From anotlier world a soothing light For the woes of sinful man." Sadly he paus'd, and around he gaz'd, £re a moment came and fled ; On the stranger's form they look'd amaz'd. In silence they stood by his bed. Her robe was white as the stainless light That beams on the wintry snow ; The streamers that play o'er the vault of night Was its thin and graceful flow. A dazzling ray, like the mists that play Bound the mountain's falling stream. When it wreathes aiiir its silvery spray On the morning's glit'ring beam. Around her dwelt; and no dark shade Betray'd that mortal was there ; Through the chamber fair she noiseless sped. As if borne on the yielding air. With soothing smile she look'd the while. As she said with heavenly air — " We have pitied Sir George's woeful toil. Heaven heard the good man's prayer. " On errands of love, for mortal weal, I journey from hall to bower; To wreck the wizard's enchanting spell. And spoil their revengeful power. " Deep in old Crookston's dreariest cell. There a wild and haggar'd band, With their incantations dark and fell Sits around the smouldering brand. " And there through many a dreary night They have wrought thee woe and scathe; But heaven has pitied thy woeful plight. And spoil'd their spiteful wrath." And still she stay'd with kindly aid Till the dawning morn arose. Till all the pains frae his bosom were fled. She soothed his soft repose ; Till the twilight grey was waning away. And the thin clouds flitted by ; And the silvery stars, with less'ning ray. Grew pale in the azure sky. And thrice she look'd, with lingering gaze. To the bed where the baronet lay ; Then wrapt in a veil of the morning haze She gUded in silence away. All mute and amaz'd the menials stay'd. They knew not whence nor where She came or went, but wond'ring, they said. She rais'd them from sad despair. Sir George arose, he trod the hall. And stretch'd his friendly hand To his trusty servants one and all. But he gave this stern command ; To range the country far and near. Each dingle and secret bower. Each mouldering vault, and dungeon drear Of Crookston's lonely tower: To wreck their haunts by craig and scaur. To drag the band to light. To bind them fast with lock and bar Ere the fall o' the coming night. They bound them all with hemp and chain. They've bound them firm and fiist ; O ne'er shall they trouble Sir George again, Nor ride on the midnight blast. 1 APPENDIX. 55Q For still it Is told by legends old, ^ " Aye whaur ye And the stoun, oh, Jean, And by wither'd dame and sire. Press tne your kindly ban"; When they sit secure from the wintei 's cold I wadna gi'e ae breath o" thee All around the evening fire. For a' else on my Ian'. How the fagots blaz'd on the gallow green. " Your eouthie words dreep medicine. Where they hung the witches high; Your very touch can heal ; And their smouldering forms were grimly An' oh, your e'e does mair for me Been, Than a' our doctor's skill !" TUl darken'd the lowering sky. She leant athwart his burnin' brow. Her tears lap lichtly doun ; Beneath her saft, saft, dautin' han* ^ 'W^mtkt^fun %uh^. Knockespock sleepit soun'. For woman's watch is holiness— [ William Thom of Inverury.— An ancestor of In woman's heart, sae rare. James Adam Gordon, Esq., the present laird of When a' the warld is cauld an' dark. Knockespock, about a century and a half ago. There's licht an' litheness there 1 In a second marriage, had taken to wife the lovely Jean Leith of Harthill. His aflfectionate What's yon that tints the deep dark brae, lady, notwithstanding their great disparity of An' flichers on the green ? age, watched the chamber of her sick husband It's no the rays o' morning grey, by day and by night, and would not divide her Nor yet the bonuie meen ! care with any one. Worn out and wasted from continued attendance on her husband, she fell That licht that flares on Benachie into a sleep, and was awakened only by the Knockespock weel may rue ; smoke and flames of their burning mansion ; Nor Gadie's stream would dit yon gleam the menials had fled— the doom of the dying That wraps his dwallin' now. laird and his lady seemed fixed. In her heroic affections she bore her husband from the burn- But what recks she how fast they flee— ing house— laid him in a sheltered spot, and The heartless hinds are sane ; forced through the very flames for " plaids to Are nane to help their listless laird ? wrap him in."] Their friendless lady ? Nane ! Ak wastefu' howl o'er earth an' sea. Yet woman's love, O, woman's love, Nae gleam o' heaven s licht The wide unmeasured sea Might mark the bounds o' Benachie Is nae so deep as woman's love, That black an' starless nicht. As her sweet sympathy 1 Siclike the nicht, siclike the hour. Upon the wet an' windy sward Siclike the wae they ken. She wadna let him down, Wha watch till those loVd eyes shall close But wiled an* wiled the lithest beild That ne'er may ope again. Wi' breckans happet roun'. As gin to tak' the last lang look, Knockespock's cauld, he's deadly cauld— Heraisedalichtlesse'e; Whaur has his lady gane ? Now list, 0, thou, his lady wife. How has she left him in the loan Knockespock speaks to thee ! A' tremblin' there alane ? " Sit doun, my Jeanie Gordon, love. An' has she gane for feckless gowd. Sit douD an' baud my head ; To tempt yon fearfu' lowe ? There's sic a lowe beneath my brow Or is her fair mind, wreck'd and wraog. Haun soon, soon be my dead. ^ \ Forgane its guidance now ? ' 560 SCOTTISH BALLADS. She fearless speels the reekin' tow'r, A 'Twas Yule's dread time, when the spirits ha'e Though red, red is the »n'. power An" braves the dearnin' din an' stour. Through the dark yetbi C death to return ;— Whiire cracklin- rafters fa'. •Twas Yule's dread time, and the mid-nicht hour It is na gowd, nor gallant robes. When the witches astride on the whirlwinds Gars Jeanie Gordon rin j ride But she has wiled the saftest plaids On their way to the Dennan Bum 1 To wrap her leal lord in. The ill-bodin' howlet screight eerily by. For woman's heart is tenderness. And loudly the tempest was ravin'. Yet woman weel may dare When shrill on the blast cam' the weary wo- The deftest deed, an' tremble nane. man's cry. Gin true love be her care. And the screams o' the greetin' b^rn 1 " The lowe has scaith'd your locks, my Jean, " 0, open the door, for I've tint my gate. An' scorch'd your bonnie brow; And the frost winds snelly blaw 1 The graceless flame consumes our hame — save my wee bairn frae a timeless fete. What thinks ray lady now ?" Or its grave is the driftin' snaw 1" " My locks will grow again, my love. " Now get on your gate, ye fell weird wife — My broken brow will men'. Ower my hallan ye sail na steer ; Your kmdly breasfs the lealest hame Though ye sicker can sweep through the tem- That I can ever ken; pest's strife. On my lintel-stane is the rowan-tree rife. " But, O, that waesome look o' thine. And ye daurna enter here !" Knockespock, I wad gi'e The livin' heart frae out my breast " nippin' and canld is the wintry blast. For aught to pleasure thee I" And sadly I'm weary and worn ; save my wee bairn— its blood's freezin' fast. Weel, woman's heart ! ay, woman's heart! And we'U baith live to bless ye the morn 1" There grows a something there. The sweetejt flower on tiaiik or bower " Now get on your gate, ye unco wife j Maun nane wi' that compare. Nae scoug to sic gentry I'll gi'e; On my lintel the red thread and rowan-tree in rife. And ye daurna lodge wi* me !" ®^e ^xutin' mmm. Sair, sair she prigget, but prigget in vain, For the auld carle drove her awa' ; [MODKRN Ballad — Erskinb Conolly.] And loud on the nicht breeze she vented her Why hies yonder wicht wi' sic tremblin' speed As she sank, wi' her bairn, ne'er to waken again Whar the saughs and the fir-trees grow ? Whar the burn ran dark through the snaw. And why sUnds he wi' sic looks o' dreid Whar the waters wimpUn' flow ? And aften sin' syne has her ghaist been seen Whar the burn winds down by the fern ; eerie the tale is that I could impart. And aft has the traveller been frighted at e'en. How at Yule's black and dreary return. By the screams o' the greetin' bairn. Cauld curdles the bluid at the bauldest heart. As it crosses the Uennan Burn 1* • A small stream that runs between Cr^ and KUrenoy, in Fifeshire. f 1 1 APPENDIX. 561 i ^ She's pierced a vein on her withered hide. As she pawned her sinful soul ; ®|r OTiicI) 0* fiittcEfei^jra. And with the blood whilk was nearest her heart She has signed the fearfu' scroll. [A Lbobndart Ballad, by David Tkddbb.] And when she delivered the fatal brief, Weel v/ritten, signed, an' sealed. Therb woned a wife in Pittenweem, A thousand phantoms, mirk as night. And a greusorae cummer was she ; A horrid anthem pealed. Nae glimpse o' grace was in her heart. Nor spark o' humanitie. And the screechin- o' the demons dark Seemed music tiU her ear; Her tawny face was furrowed ower And aye she called the Evil One Like a beggar's hoggart hose; Her lord and master dear. Nae tinkler's pike-staff had a cleek Ibat could match this carline's nose. And she has abjured the blessed sign. Which fiends an* demons fear ; Her een they goggled like a fiend's. And aye she called the Evil One Her chin was clad wi' hair. Her lord and master dear. And her crooked stumps pushed out her lips And the more to prove her allegiance true. Like the tusks o' a Lapland bear. Like a vassal gude an' leal. She has branded her banes wi' Sathan's mark. Her Toice was like the howlet's scream. And her flesh wi' his privy seal. Or like the carrion craw's ; An' the nails upon her finger-ends He's gi'en her seven deadly imps Were like a griffin's claws. As black as the midnight clud ; And he's bidden her suckle them at her teats. And ower her crooked shoulders hung And nourish them wi' her blood. A cloak that had ance been red; But the curch was as black as Acheron He's gi'en her a spindle ft-ae his belt. That covered the beldame's head. Whilk unto hers she hung; The whorle o't was a scaly snake She dearly loved the comet's glare. Lollia* out its forked tongue. But she hated the light o' day ; And she banned the beams o' the blessed He's gi'en her a staff intil her hand. sun Cut frae the gallows wood. As he rose ower the Isle C May. Weel virled about wi' murderer's banes. And Viirnished wi' felon's blood. She's hied her whar twa highways cross Low in a dreary dell. But the foul fiend snorted like a wolf. Far, far beyond the haly sound WI' dreddour an' wi' fear; 0' the abbey's kirsened bell. Syne flew to hell wi' an eldritch yell. For he scentit the morning air. And she's knelt upon a suicide's grave. And invokit Sathan's name; Neist night she proudly mounted her nag. And muttered mony a horrid spell. Like the queen o' hellish hags. Till the grisly monster came. While a' her imps, fu' coiilie. Lay nestled in her rags. And there she renonncit her mither's creed. Ower brake an' mould, ower heath an' wold. And eke her father's faith ; Fu'swiftliedidshefly; And there she made a solemn league An' the little wee starns crap in wi' fear. And covenant wi' Death. ? i As she glowered up to the sky. 1 1 562 SCOTTISH BALLADS. She's kiUed the heifer on the green, 4^ They tied her anru behind her back. The lamb upon the lea; An' twisted them with a pin ; An' the netlier millstane rare in twa And they dragged her to Kinnoquhar loch. Wi' the glamour o' her ee. An' coupit the limmer in— An' the swans flew screamin' to the hilU, And mony a blumin' bairnie pined Scared with the unhaly din. Upon its mither'g knee; An' glowered like an unearthly imp. When first she defiled the crjstal flood. An* wad neither live nor dee. She ga'e a gruesome scream. But like a bladder fu' o' air. An' mony a maiden for an* near. She floated on the tbam. Ai sweet as the rose in June, Spewt iron skeurs, and crooked preens. Ilk changin' o' the moon. And when the abbot saw her swim Like cork abune the flood. He breathed an Ave, crossed himsel'. The husbands sighed, the matron* cried. And kissed the haly rood ; "Avoid thee, Sathan !" the abbot said. Wi' grief the country rang ; " An' a' thy hellish brood." And they niummred at the haly monks For tholin' the limmer sae lang. An' monk an' layic, priest an' friar. Shrunk frae the polluted flood— The abbot assembled a' his monks " Avoid thee, Sathan !" was their cry, Upon St. Cleruent's day ; " And all thy sinfu' brood 1" " Mak' haste an' wash in Marie's weU, And likewise fast an' pray ; The abbot pronounced the fearfu' word Amidst hU monks' acclaims— •' Anoint your heads wi' haly oil. And the civil power has ta'en the witch. In haly robes be dight. And doomed her to the flames. An' trust in gude rft. Swjthin's strength. And sweet St. Marie's might; They harled the caitiff to the 6bor«, For a deed sail be dune, and that fu' sune. And smeared her ower wi' tar. That shall sere your souls wi' fright." An' chained her to an iron bolt. An' eke an iron bar. The sheriff has sent his scouts abroad. And they sought baith east an' wast. They biggit a pile around the hag, Twa Soats ells up an' higher ; TiU they cam' to a cave as mirk as the An' the hangman cam' wi' a lowin' torch. grave. Where they fand her sleeping fast. An' lighted the horrid pyre. But the gatherin' cluds burst out at hut. They trailed her to the abbey yetts. And loud the thuii'er roared ; And hemmed the hag about; The sun withdrew his beams o' light— An' they pricket her body ftae head to heel. To find the witch-mark out. The rain in torrents poured. It slockit at ance the witch's fire— A dreadfu' sight to see— And the wind was lown, an' wadna stir They bound the caitiff to a bolt. The leaves o' the aspen tree; Low in the dungeon-keep. An' monk an' layman crossed themeela. An' thrice three nights, an' thrice three days. They kept her een frae sleep; And prayed to Sanct Marie ! But there was a monk amang the rest. An' they scorched her soles wi' burnin" And ane cunning mouk was he. gauds. Renowned through a' the shire o' Fife But she wouldna or couldna weep. ^ For lear an' sanctitie. 1 APPENDIX. 563 He lighted his taper at the lamp 4 And many did bless that holy bishop. Before St. Marie's shrine ; As evermore they may ; An- reckless o' the foul fiend's powers— For well they knew 'twas for holy peaco Without a cross or sign- That he did wend that way. He stappit up to the witch's pile. And at the castle of fair Roxburgh An' applied the sacred light- The king and bishop drew near. An' the crackling flames blazed up to heaven Their horns resounding o'er the hills. Like whins on a summer night. Their banners shining fiir. An' when the flames had reached her heart " Now welcome, welcome holy Thurstan, She ga'e an awfu' yell. Right welcome unto me. An- her sinfu' spirit winged iU flight- And ever it cheers me sooth to say. But where — I darena tell. So holy a man to see." And aye the spot remained a blot " No king is welcome unto me. On nature's beauteous face ; Nor for him will I pray. For grass never grew, nor fell the dew. Who comes to ravage a helpless land. Upon the accursed place. When it's king is far away.' Oh then bespake king David, And full of wrath spake he : MH^e^ ^^umm, m^ t|)c " Now I swear by the rood, th' English king Hath evermore injur'd me. mn% of ^mU. " Fro* my son he keeps th' invesUture Of Northumberland, his right: [First printed in Evans's Collection. — " Soon And ever I'll harrow that unjust Ung, alter Stephen's departure for Normandy, (a. d. By Christ in heaven his might." U37,) the king of Scots entered England in a hostile manner.— Stephen's government was at Oh then bespake the h(jly Thurstan, this time in no condition to have resisted the And ftill of woe spake he : invasion, and nothing could have broke the *' Christ, thy kingdom of heaVnly bliss, storm, but the venerable Thurstan (Archbishop Alas ! when shall we see ? of York) working upon the piety of king David. Though this prelate was now very old, yet he •* For here on earth Is nought but sin. prevailed with David and his son to meet him at E'en kings for pride do ill ; Roxburgh, a caatle lying near the frontiers of And when they with each other war. both the kingdoms; where his remonstrances The poor folk's blood must spill. had such an efifect, that the Scottish princes generously put a stop to hostilities till Stephen " What hath the husbandman done wrong. should return to England, and be once more That ye must spoil his grain ; applied to for a definitive answer concerning the And what the poor widow, and what the child, investiture of Northumberland.— See Guthrie's Tiiat they must all be shiin ? History of England."— £t!an«.] Through the fair oountr)- of Tiviotdale, Kin- David marched forth , " And what is the simple maid to blame. To be made of lust the prey ; King David and hU princely son. The heroes of the north. And what the lowly village priest, Tliat ye so oft do slay ? And holy Thurstan fro* merry Carlisle, " Ah ! tyrant kings, shaU not the Lord In haste his way doth wind ; Revenge the poor distrest; With many a cross-bearer going before. The simple swain, the helpless maid. And many a knight behind. ^ ^ The widow, and the priest ? 1 561 SCOTTISH BALLADS. •* And when the doleful day of doom Shall call ye fro' the grave ; Fro' the crying blood of thow Innocents, What, tyrants, shall ye save ? " Think ye that Christ, (whose gentle laws Aye breathe so mild a strain,) Think you that Christ (of mercy king) Will free you fro' the pain f " Did he not die all on the rood. And all for the love of man ." And will he then save their guilty souls. Who so many men have slain i> " Far sooner, oh king 1 would I lay in mire. Than sit upon a throne ; Far sooner, oh king I would I beg my bread, Tlian wear a golden crown. "For shall not the Judge of all do right. At the doleful doom's day ? Then what will avail your crowns and thrones. And your states and courtiers gay ? "Now think thee well, oh mortal king J And thy proud misdeeds bemoan ; Oh think what will save thy hapless soul. When thy pomp shall all be gone. " Nor fancy that alms will save thy soul Though bounteous they be giv'n ; Nor the rearing of abbies, all rich endow'd. Will carry thy soul to heav'n. " Full well I know the craving monks Have many a one beguil'd ; And oft, when a man's laid on his death bed. They rob the widow and child. "But rouze thy reason, oh noble king ! Nor heed the cloister'd drone ; For nothing there is a man can do. For bloodshed shall atone : " Save the merits of him, who for our sins Died on the precious rood ; And ever the crime that most he hates. Is shedding of man's blood." All woe-begone then spoke the king. And the tears ran fro' his eyne : " And ever I thank thee, holy Thurstan, For thy counsel so divine. " But heaVn doth know tliat ttom my heart, I hate to kill and slay ; And ever I hinder my men at arms. As ever more I may. " And fain would I save the peasant swain. And the widow poor distrest; And the helpless maid and simple child. And eke the lowly priest." Oh then bespake prince Henry brare. As he stood by the king ; " Father, I know thy conscience clear As water fro' the spring, " And if, !n avenging of our wrongs Full many a one is slain. And the bloody warrior doth great spoil. Art thou, good king, to blame?" " Too hasty prince," the bishop cried, " To ravage is a shame ; And when the warriors do great tpoil. Their prbioe is all to blame. " Why not go meet your royal foe. Like men in open field ; And if he will not right your wrongs. Then take to sword and shield ? " And not when our king U tar away. To ravage the country o'er; To murder the weak and the innocent. And cruelly spoil the poor." Oh then bespake the Scottish king, Like a noble king spake he : " Oh, I will wait till your king Stephen Doth come fro' o'er the sea. " Then, reverend Thurstan, if thy king No more our right delays. But will invest my son in Northumberland, Then will we go our ways. *' But if, when he's coma to merry England, He will not do us right. Oh then will I harrow that unjust king. By Christ in heaven his might." " Now dost thou speak like a noble king," The holy Thurstan cried ; " And now do I welcome thee, royal king. Of Scotland aye the pride. APPENDIX. 565 " And when my liege shall oome again, i 1606 ; this lady Jean being his first wife, by whom Then may he do thee right 1" he seems to have had no Issue. See Gordon's His- •« Or he shaU rue," cried that valiant king. tory of the Gordons, and Douglas's Peerage, and " By Christ in heaVn hU might." Baronage.] And there, while the merry belU did ring. Tui duke of Grordon has three daughters. And the minstrels blith did play. Elizabeth, Margaret, and Jean ; The Scottish princes and the good bishop They would not stay in bonnie Castle-Gordon, Did feast for many a day. But they would go to bonnie Aberdeen. Full many did bless that holy man. They had not been in Aberdeen As he sat in the hall. A twelvemonth and a day. And merrily sang ; for well they knew. Till lady Jean fell in love with captain OgUvle, He had rescued them fro' thrall. And away with him she would gae. And many a husbandman was blith Word came to the duke of Gordon, As he did reap his grain ; In the chamber where he lay. " And but for Thurstau, that holy bishop. Lady Jean has fell in love with captain Ogihle^ This all away had been ta'en ; And away with him she would gae. " And I had been kiU'd, and many beside. •• Go saddle me the black horse. With our wives and children all : And you'll ride on the gray ; And may heav'n aye prosper that holy bishop. And I will ride to bonnie Aberdeen, That hath rescued us fro' thrall ;" Where I have been many a dsvy." They were not a mile from Alierdeen, A mile but only three, ©Ije mvkz of €&0f^oE'0 tfjice^ Till he met with his two daughters walWiifi. But away was lady Jean. MiauglUt^. " Where is your sister, maidens ? Where is your sister, now ? [A PORTION of thU ballad, with the original Where is your sister, maidens. tune, is given in Johnson's Museum. Ritson That she is not walking with you ?" quotes the whole from a stall copy. Burns, in speaking of it, gives the first line thus : " pardon us, honoured fether. •* The 'Lord' of Gordon had three daughters," pardon us, they did say ; Lady Jean U with captain Ogilvie. which is probably the original reading, as the And away with him she will gae." dukedom of Gordon was not created till the year 1684.— George (Gordon) fourt;h eari of When he came to Aberdeen, Huntly, who succeeded his grandfather, earl And down upon the green, Alexander, in 1523, and was killed at the batUe There did he see captain OgUvie, of Coricbie. in 1563, had actually three daughters : Training up his men. lady Elizabeth, the eldest, married to John earl of Athole ; lady Margaret, the second, to John *' wo to you, captain Ogilvie, lord Forbes; and lady Jean, the youngest, to And an ill death thou shalt die ; the famous James earl of Bothwell, from whom For taking to my daughter. being divorced, anno 1568, she married Alexan- Hanged thou shalt be." der eari of Sutheriand, who died in 1594, and. surviving him, Alexander Ogilvie of Boyne. As Duke Gordon lias wrote a broad letter. for Alexander Ogilvie, he appears to have suc- And sent it to the king, ceeded his fatlier. Sir Walter Ogilvie, in the To cause hang captain Ogilvie, barony of Bcyne, about 1560, and to have died in » y If ever he hanged a man. _ 566 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ** I will not hang captain Ogilvle, i For no lord that I see ; But I'll cause him to put off the Iftoe and sairlet. And put on the single livwy." Word came to captain OgUvie, In the chamber where he lay. To cast off the gold lace and scarlet. And put on the single livery. "If this be for bonnle Jeany Qordon, This pennance I'll take wi' ; If this be bonnie Jeany Gordon, AU this I will dree." LAdy Jean had not been married. Not a year but thrte. Till she had a babe in every arm. Another upon her knee. " O but I'm weary of wandering ! O but my fortune is bad ! It sets not the duke of Gordon's daughter To follow a soldier lad. " O but I'm weary of wandering 1 O but I think lang ! It sets not the duke of Gordon's daughter To follow a single man." When they came to the Highland hills. Cold was the frost and snow ; Lady Jean's shoes they were all torn, No farther could she go. " ! wo to the hills and the mountains! Wo to the wind and the rain ! My feet is sore with going barefoot. No further am I able to gang. " Wo to the hills and the mountains ! Wo to the frost and the snow ! My feet is sore with going barefoot. No farther am I able for to go." " O I ifl were at the glens of Foudlen, Where hunting I have been, I would find the way to bonnie Castle-Gordon, Without either stockings or shoon." When she came to Castle-Grordon, And down upon the green. The porter gave out a loud shout, " O yonder comee lady Jean." " you are welcome, bonnie Jeany Gonlon, You are dear welcome to me ; You are welcome, dear Jeany Gordon, But away with your captain Ogilvie." Now over seas went the captain. As a soldier under command; A message soon followed after. To come and heir his brother's land. " Come home, you pretty captain Ogilvie, And heir your brother's land j Come home, ye pretty captain Ogilvie, Be earl of Northumberland." " O ; what does this mean ?" says the cnptnio, " Where's my brother's children three P" " They are dead and buried. And the lands they are ready for thee." " Then hoist up your sails, brave captain. Let's be jovial and free ; I'll to Northumberland, and heir my estate. Then my dear Jeany I'll see." He soon came to Castle-Goriion, And down upon the green ; The porter gave out with a loud shout, " Here comes c<\ptiun Ogilvie." "Your welcome, pretty captain Ogilvie, Your fortune's advanced 1 hear ; No stranger can come into my gutcs. That I do love so dear." " Sir, the last time I was at your gates. You would not let me in ; I'm come for my wife and children. No friendship else I claim." " Come in pretty captain Ogilvie, And drink of the beer and the winej And thou slialt have gold and silver. To count till the clock strike nine." " I'll have none of your gold and silver. Nor none of your white money ; But I'll have bonnie Jeany Gordon, And she shall go now with me." Then she came tripping down the staLr, With the tear into her eye ; One babe was at her foot, Another upon her knoe. 1 APPENDIX. 56 Y You're welcome, bonnle Jeany Gordon, ^ "1 ha'e bom seven sons to my G«ordie dear. With my young family ; The seventh ne'er saw his daddie ; Mount and go to Northumberland, pardon, pardon, noble king, There a countess thou shall be." Pity a waefu' lady !" " Gar bid the headin' man mak' haste," Our king reply'd fu* lordly : ^tmUu " noble king, tak' a' that's mine. But gi'e me back my Geordie." [BoRNS sent thU old fragment of a ballad to The Gordons cam' and the Gordons ran. Johnson's Museum. He had heard it sung to the And they were stark and steady ; tune of " A Country Lass," and it is accordingly given with that air.] Was, " Gordons keep you ready." Thbre was a battle in the North, An aged lord at the king's right hand And nobles there were many. Says, " Noble king, but hear me ; And they ha'e kill'd Sir Charlie Hay, Gar her teU down five thousand pound. And they laid the wyte on Geordie. And gi'e her back her dearie." he has written a lang letter. He sent it to his lady ; Some ga'e her dollars many ; " Ye maun cum up to E'nbrugh town. And she's tell'd down five thousand pound. To see what word's o" Geordie." And she's gotten again her dearie. When first she look'd the letter on. She blinkit blythe in her Geordle's face. She was baith red and rosy ; Says, "Dear I've bought thee, Geordie; But she hadna read a word but twa. But there sud been bluidy bouks on the green . TiU she wallowt like a lily. Or I had tint my laddie." " Gar get to me my gude grey steed. He claspit her by the middle sma'. My menzie a' gae wi' me; And he kist her lips sae rosy : For I shall neither eat nor drink. " The fairest flower o' woman-kind Till E'nbrugh town shall see me." Is my sweet, bonnie lady !" And she has mountit her gude grey steed. Her menzie a' gaed wi' her ; And she did neither eat nor drink GEOEDIE. TUl E'nbrugh town did see her. [Anothss version, from Mr. Kinloch's Col- And first appear'd the fatal block. lecOoQ.-Mr. Kinloch is inclined to assign the And syne the aix to head him ; sixteenth century as the date of this production. And Geordie cumin down the stair, " It appears," he says, " to have originated in And bands o' aim upon him. the factions of the family of Huntly, during the reign of Queen Mary; and the following passage But tho' he was chmn'd in fetters Strang, lu Buchanan, relates to a transaction which pro- O' airn and steel sae heavy. 1 bably gave rise to this ballad.—' After this, when There was nae ane in a" the court. the state of the public seemed to be somewhat Sae bra' a man as Geordie. settled, the Queen-regent (as now she was called) sent out George Gordon, earl of Huntly, to ap- she's down on her bended knee. prehend John Muderach, chief of the feraUy of I wat she's pale and weary. the M'Bonalds, a notorious robber who had " pardon, pardon, noble king. played many foul and monstrous pranks. It is And gi'e me back my dearie 1 * thought that Gordon did not play fair in this 668 SCOTTISH BALLADS. expedition ; go that when he returned without doing the business he was sent about, he wa« kept prisoner till the time appointed for his an- swer. Gordon being in prison, the Queen- regent's council were of different opinions as to his punishment. Some were for his banishment for several years into France ; others for putting him to death ; but both these opinions were re- jected by Gilbert, earl of Cjissils, the chief of hU enemies. For he foreseeing by the present state of things, that the peace between the Scots and the French would not be long-lived, was not for his banishment into France; for he knew a man of so crafty a spirit, and so spiteful at those who blamed or envied him, would, in the war which the insolence of the French was Uke speedily to occasion, be a perfect incendiary, and perhaps a general for the enemy. And he was more against putting him to death, because he thought no private offence worthy of so great punishment, or to be so revenged, as to inure the French to spill the blood of the nobility of Scotland. And therefore he went a middle way, that he should be fined and kept in prison till he yielded up the right which he pretended to have over Murray, &c. Upon these conditions he was dismissed.' — Hist. Scot. 1799, Vol. II. p. 222."] Thkkk was a battle in the North, And rebels there were monie; And nionie ane got broken bead*. And taken was my Geordie. My Geordie O, my Geordie O, O the love I bear to Geordie ; For the very grund I walk upon Bears witness I lo'e Geordie. As she gaed up the tolbooth stair. The cripples there stood monie ; And she dealt the red gowd them among. To pray for her love Geordie. And whan she cam' into the hall. The nobles there stood monie,— And ilka ane stood hat on head. But hat in hand stood Geordie. Up bespak' a Norlan' lord, I wat he spak' na bonnie, — *' If ye'U stay here a little while, Ye'll see Geordie hangit shortly." ♦^ Then up bespak' a baron bold. And O but he spak' bonnie ;— " If ye'll pay doun five hundred erowu», Ye'se get you true-love Geordie." Some lent her guineas, some lent her crowns. Some lent her shillings monie; And she's paid doun five hundred crowns. And she's gotten her bonnie love Geordie. When she was mounted on her hie steed. And on ahint her Geordie; Na bird on the brier e'er sang sae clear. As the young knight and his ladie :— " My Geordie O, my Geordie O, O the love I bear to Geordie , The very stars in the firmament. Bear tokens I lo'e Geordie." Young MiE^aL [MoDKRjc Ballad.— Robert Cbambbrs.] TouNo Eandal was a bonnie lad, when he gaed awa'. Young Eandal was a bonnie lad, when he gaed awa'; 'Twas in the sixteen hundred year o' grace and thretty-twa. That Randal, the Laird's youngest son, gaed awa'. It was to seek his fortune in the High Germanic, To fecht the foreign loons in the High Germanic, That he left his father's tower o' sweet WUlanslee, And mony wae friends i' the North Countrie. He left his mother in her bower, his father in the ha'. His brother at the outer yett, but and his sisters twa. And his bonnie cousin Jean, that look'd owre the castle wa'. And, mair than a' the lave, loot the tears down fa'. " Oh, whan will ye be back," sae kindly did she spier, " Oh, whan will ye be back, my hinny and my dear?" " "Whenever I can win eneuch o' Spanish gear m To dress ye out in pearlins and silks, my dear," APPENDIX. 669 Oh, Randal's hair was coal-black when he gaedgk awa'. Oh, Bandal's cheeks were roses red, when he gaed awa'. And in his bonnie e'e, a spark glintit high, Like the merrie, merrie look, in the morning sky. Oh, Randal was an altert man whan he came hame, A sair altert man was he, whan he came hame ; Wi' a ribbon at his breast, and a Sir at his name. And grey, grey cheeks, did Randal come hame. He lichtit at the outer yett, and rispit wi' the ring.* And down came a ladye to see him come in. And after the ladye came bairns feiteen — " Can this muckle wife be my true love, Jean ?" " Whatna stoure carl is this," quo' the dame ; •' Sae gruff and sae grand, and sae feckless and sae lame ?" " Oh, tell me, fair madam, are ye bonnie Jeanie Grahame ?" " In troth," quo' the ladye, " Sweet sir, the very He turned him about, wi' a waeful e'e. And a heart as sair as sair could be ; He lap on his horse, and awa' did wildly flee. And never mair came back to sweet Willanslee. Oh, dule on the poortith o' this countrie. And dule on the wars o' the High Germanie, And dule on the love that forgetfu' can be — For they've wreck'd the bravest heart in this hale countrie. ilwlg 0* ^tl^pk^ie. [MoDESK Ballad.— John Fiklay. — " About this time, the king (James V.) resolves to be- siege Tantallon Castle, in Lowthian, some six- teen miles from Edinburgh ; and for that pur- pose causes bring ordinance, powder, and bullet, from Dumbar, which was then kept by the ser- vants of the late governour the duke of Albanie, as a portion of his patrimony. There was in Tantallon one Simeon Panangoe, with a compe- tent number of men, well furnished, and pro- vided both with victuals and munition. The earl himself (Angus) remained at Billie in the Merse, within his baronie of Bonkle, not willing to shut himself up within the wals of any strength ; hav- ing ever in his mouth this maxirae, (which he had received from his predecessors,) ' That it was better to hear the lark sing than the mouse cheep.' The castle was well defended for certain dayes, none hurt within ; many without were wounded with shot from the castle, and some burnt and scalded with their own powder, which took fire unawares, and divers killed. The besiegers were troubled without by the horsemen, who assaulted them daily at their trenches ; so that seeing no hope of carrying it, they raised their siege, and retired. In their retreat, they were set upon in the reare by Angus his horsemen, and one David Falconer (a principall cannonier) slain, with some hired muskiteers, and two of the cannons cloyed. This the king took so highly, (esteeming it an affront and scorn put upon him,) that he swore openly, that, so long as he lived, the Douglasses should never be received into favour. ' ■ " His implacabilitie did also appear in his carriage to- ward Archibald of Kilspindie, whom he (when he was a childe) loved singularly well for his abilitie of body, and was wont to call him his Gray Steell. Archibald, being banished into England, could not well comport with the humour of that nation, which he thought to be too proud, and that they had too high a conceit of themselves, joyned with a contempt and de- spising of all others. Wherefore, being wearied of that life, and remembring the kings favour of old toward him, he determined to trie the king's inercifulnesse and clemency. So he comes into Scotland, and taking occasion of the kings hunt- ing in the park at Stirlin, he casts himsBlf to be in his way, as he was coming home to the castle. So soon as the king saw him afar off, ere he came near, he ghessed it was he, and said to one of his courtiers. Yonder is my Gray Steell, Archibald of Kilspindie, if he be alive. The other answer- ed that it could not be he, and that he durst not come into the kings presence. The king ap- proaching, he fell upon his knees, and craved pardon, and promised from thenceforward to abstain from all meddling in publick affairs, and to lead a quiet and a private life. The king went by without giving him any answer, and trotted a good round pace up the hill. Kilspindie follow- ed, and (though he wore on him a secret, or shirt of maile, for his particular enemies) was as soon at the castle gate as the king. There he sat 570 SCOTTISn BALLADS, him down upon a stone without, and entreated 4^ An' the king frae that day grew dowie an' some of the kings servants for a cup of drink being wearie and thirstie ; but they, fearing the kings displeasure, durst give him none. When the king was sat at his dinner, he asked what he had done, what he had said, and whither he was gone ? It was told him he had desired a cup of drink, and had gotten none. The king reproved them very sharply for their discourtesie, and told them, that if he had not taken an oath that no Douglas should ever serve him, he would have received him into his service; for he had seen I him some time a man of great abilitie. Then he sent him word to go to Leith, and expect his farther pleasure. Then some kinsmen of David Falconer (the cannonier that was slain at Tan- tallon) began to quarrel with Archibald about the matter, wherewith the king shewed himself not well pleased when he heard of it. Then he commanded him to go to France for a certain space, till he heard farther from him ; and so he did, and died shortly after. This gave occasion to the king of England (Henry the Till.) to blame his nephew, alledging the old saying, 'That a king's tace should give grace.' For this Archibald (whatsoever were Anguses or Sir George his fault) had not been principal actor of any thing, nor no counsellour, or stirrer up, but onely a follower of his friends, and that no ways cruelly disposed."— Hume of Godscroft. Gray Steel was the name of one of the heroes in the romance of " Sir Egeir." Douglas of KiU spindie was not the only person who was hon- oured with the designation. It seems to have been anciently a popular epithet; for one of the earls of £glinti>un, a man of great bodily strengh, was so nicknamed, as Grauford calls it. Bee his Peerage of Scotland. — Finlat/.] Wab worth the heart that can be glad, Wae worth the tear that winna fa'. For justice is fleemyt frae the land, An' the faith o' auld times is clean awa'. Our nobles they ha'e sworn an aith. An' they gart our young king swear the same. That as lang as the crown was on his head. He wad speak to nane o' the Douglas name. An' wasna this a wearifou aith ; For the crown frae liis head liad been tint an' gane. Gin the Douglas' hand hadna held it on. Whan anither to help him there was nane. For he Uked in his heart the Douglas weel ; For his foster-brither was Jamie o' Parkhead, An' Archy o' Kilspindie was his Gray Steel. But Jamie was banisht an' Archy baith, Ani'they lived lang, lang ayont the sea. Till a' had forgotten them but the kin:; ; An' he whiles said, wi' a watery e'e, — "Gin they think on me as I think on them, I wot their life is but dreerie."— Itc It chanced he rode wi' hound an' horn To hunt the dun and the red deer down. An' wi' him was mony a gallant earl. And laird, and knight, and bold baron. But nane was wi' him wad ever compare Wi' the Douglas so proud in tower and town. That were courtliest all in bower and hall. And the highest ever in renown. — It was dawn when the hunters sounded the horn. By Stirlin's walls, sae &ir to see ; But the sun was far gane down i' the west When they brittled the deer on Torwood-lee. And wi' jovial din they rode hame to the town Where Snawdon* tower stands dark an' hie ; Frae least to best they were plyin' the jest. An' the laugh was gaun round richt merrily : When Murray cried loud, — " Wha's yon I see ? Like a Douglas he looks, baith dark and grim ; And for a' his sad and weary pace, Like them he's richt stark o' arm and limb." The king's heart lap, and he shouted wi' glee,— " Yon stal worth makedomf I ken richt weel ; And I'se wad in pawn the hawk on my han'. Its Archie Kilspindie, my ain Gray Steel : We maun gi'e him grace o' a' his race. For Kilspindie was trusty aye, and leal." But Lindsay spak' in waefou mood, — " Alas; my liege, that mauna be." And stout Kilmaurs cries,—" He that dares. Is a traitor to his ain countrie." • Snawdon, an ancient name of Stirling, t Stalrvort makedom, stout body. APPENDIX. s-n And Glencairn, that aye was dowre and stem, 4^ Says, — " Where's the aith ye sware to me ? Gin ye speak to a man o' the Douglas clan, A gray groat for thy crown and thee." — "When Kilspindie took haud o' the king's bridle reins. He louted low down on his knee ; The king a word he durstna speak. But he looked on him wistfullie. He thocht on days that lang were gane, Till his heart was yearnin' and like to brast : As he turned hira round, his barons frowned ; But Lindsay was dichtin' his e'en fu' Cast. When he saw their looks, his prouct heart rose. An' he tried to speak richt hauchtillie ; — " Gae tak' my bridle frae that auld man's grip ; What sorrow gars him haud it sae sickerlie." An' he spurred his horse wi' gallant speed. But Archy followed him manfuUie, And, though cased in steel frae shoulder to heel. He was first o* a' his companie. As they passed, he sat down on a stane in the yett. For a' his gray hair there was nae ither biel; The king staid the hindmost o' the train. And he aft looked back to his auld Gray Steel. Archy wi' grief was quite fordone. An' his arm fell weak that was anes like An' he sought for some cauld water to drink. But they durstna for that dowre Glencairn. When this was tald to our gracious king, A redwood furious man woxe he ; He has ta'en the mazer cup in his han'. And in flinders a' he gart it flee : — " Had I kend my Gray Steel wanted a drink. He should ha'e had o' the red wine free." And fu' sad at the table he sat him down. An' he spak' but ae word at the dine : — "01 wish my warst fae were but a king, Wi' as cruel counsellours as mine." ^|)e l^iftSoltok Wiidjt [A BoKDBR Ballad by Jambs Hbnrt Dixon. ] —Few families have been more celebrated for j raids and forays, than the border clan of Birt- I wnistle. The one who is the subject of the fol- I lowing ballad, appears to be Andro o' the Birt- 1 whistle, as he was called. If not altogether a , traditionary personage, he lived in the reign of I Henry VII., and his character has been handed \ down to us, as a man fkmed for deeds of gallan- : try, as well as of foraging. In fact he was a sort j of border Du Val. His descendants are said, in every respect, to have trod in his footsteps, even ; to the close of the 18th century ; and there are I now old border farmers, who will speak of losing ' cattle in their young days, and end the narration i by saying, " it was done by the Birtwhistles." ; The present descendants of the clan are potters and tinklers, well known in all the northern dales.] I RKDB ye tak' tent o' the Birtwhistle wicht. He forays by day, and he raids by the nicht; He caresna for warden, for baillie, or reeve, Te may post him at kirk,* and he'll laugh in his sleeve ; He'd harry, though Hairibee tree were in sicht. So daring a chiel is the Birtwhistle wicht I * The door of a northern village church, is not merely used for the purpose of posting parochial or parliamentary notices ; it is the place for an- nouncements of every description requiring pub- licity, and placards of charity sermons will be often found there, along with those of auctions, tradesmens' advertisements, rewards for disco- very of malefactors, &c., &c. These latter used formerly, and indeed within the memory of man, to be read aloud in the chuich, and it was no uncommon thing after the benediction at the close of the prayers, to hear the clerk bawl out, " Sheep Stealing ! Whereas, &o., &c." Such unseemly exhibitions have been very properly prohibited by act of parliament. By a figure of speech, a worthy who had had a reward offered for his apprehension, was said to have been " posted at kirk." 672 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The Tyne, and the Tarras, the Tweed, and the^He prays to the Virgin to shield him through Till, They never could stop him, and troth! never will; At the mirk hour o" mldnicht, he'll cross the dark fen. He knows every windin' o' valley and glen ; Unscath'd he can roam, though na star shed its licht. For wha wad dare question the Birtwhistle wlcht? nicht, Trom the powers o' hell, wichtl and the Birtwhistle ! Fair lasses o' Cheviot, he bodes ye na gude. I He'll ne'er kneel at altar, nor bow to the roode ; But tell ye, your eyne ha' the gowan's bright I sheen, i The whiles he's prcparin' your mantles o' green. He'll grieve ye, and leave ye— alas, for the plicht ■ The proud lord o' Dilston has deer in his park, \ | For reckless in love is the Birtwhistle wioht. He has keepers to watch them, and ban -dogs to bark; The baron o' Thirlwall has owsen and kye, And auld Gaffer Featherstone's pigs i' the stye — The priest canna claim them, or tythe them of richt. But they a' will pay tythe to the Birtwhistle wichtl The prior o' Brinkbum is telling his beads. He patters his aves, and mutters his creeds ; At each pause o' the choir, he starts, when the breeze Booms its dirge through the tower, or sichs through the trees; i I O ! gin he were ta'en to the Hairibee tree, [ There'd be starers and gazers, of every degree ; There'd be shepherds from shielings, and kniohti frorJ their ha's. And his neck-verse* would gain him unbounded applause ; But it's na in a hurry ye'll witness that sicht. For wary and cute is the Birtwhistle wicht! • The " neck-verse" was the beginning of the 61st Psalm, " Mitcrere mei," &c. Hairibee was the common place of execution for all l-arder I marauders. ^ or THE- UNIVERSITY Of INDEX TO THE BALLADS. In consulting this Index, care must be taken not to overlook the titles beginning with the article " Thb," which are given in alphal)etical order under the letter T.] ^»S1 A ALISON GEOSS, ALLAN- A-MAUT, (2 sets) ANDEEW LAMMIE, ANNAN WATER. ARCHIE OF CA'FIELD, . ARCHIE ARMSTEANG'S AITH ARCHIE O- KILSPINDIE, ARMSTRONG'S GOODNIGHT ATHOL WOOD, AUCHINDOWN, . AULD MAITLAND, BABT LON, OR THE BONNIE BANKS OTOBDIE, . . . .295 BAETHRAM'S DIRGE, ... 394 BISHOP THTJR3TAN, AND THE KING OF SCOTS, .... 563 BLACK AGNACE OF DUNBAR, . 252 BLANCHEFLOUR AND JELLYFLO- RICE, 221 BONDSEY AND MAISRY, . . 169 BONNIE BABY LIVINGSTONE, . 96 BONNIE LIZIE LINDSAY, . . 49 BONNIE SUSIE CLELAND, . . 294 BOTHWELL BRIGG, ... 544 BROWN ADAM, 285 BURD HELEN, .... 178 BURNING OF AUCHINDOUN, (2 sets) 248 O P«ar8 CADYOW CASTLE, .... 224 CATHERINE JOHNSTONE, . . 64 CHIL ETHER, 170 CHIELD MORICE, .... 117 CHILDE MAURICE, . . . .120 CHILD NOEYCE, .... 122 CHEISTIE'S WILL, .... 85 CLERK SAUNDERS, (2 sets) . . 69—71 CUMNOEHALL, 554 D DEATH OF FEATHERST0NHAU6H, 389 DICK O' THE COW, ... 374 DUNCAN, a Fragment, . . .233 EARL CEAWFOED, 147 EAEL LINDSAYE, . 151 EAEL EICHAED, 142 EARL EICHAED, . 280 EAEL EICHAED'S DAUGHTEE, . 13 EAELEOBEET, .... . 297 EDOM 0' GOEDON, 110 EDWAED, EDWAED, . 287 ELFIEHILL, 4GS EELINGTON, F . 198 FAIEANNET, . . . . 19 FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHEYAN, 574 INDEX TO TUJB BALLADS. P»g«.A Paje PAIR MARGAEET AKD SWEET WIL- KINMONT WILLIE, 870 LIAM 77 KNOCKESPOOK'S LADY, . 559 FAUSE FOODBAGE, . . .46 FRENNETHALL, .... 272 X. G LADY ANNE, 197 GEOEDIE (2 sets), . . . .667 LADY CLARE 12 GILMORICE, . . . . U3 LADYELSPAT, .... 185 6IRTLEE, OR THE HAP OF HIJSD LADY JANE, .... 188 HALBERT, .... 553 LADY JEAN, 67 GLASGOW PEGGY, ... 34 LADY JEAN, .... 651 GLENFINLA8, 58 LADY MAISRY, .... 214 GLENKINDIE, ... 216 LADY MARGARET, . 65 GLKNLOGIE (2 sets), . . . 57,58 LAIRD OF DRUM, .... 136 LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW, 409 LAMMIKIN (5 sets), . 241 HAEDYKNUTE, .... 205 LIZIE BAILLIE. .... 290 HELENOEE, I^ LIZZIE LINDSAY, 61 HIGHLAND LEGEND, ... 256 LOCHABER NO MORE, 278 HOBBIE NOBLE, . . . .381 LOCHINVAR, .... 66 HUGHIE THE GE^ME, . . 410 LORDBARNABY, 230 HUGHIEGEAHAM, . . . .411 LOEDBEICHAN, .... 23 HYND HOEN, .... 134 LOED DONALD, 239 S LOEDEWEIE, .... 404 LOED JOHN'S MUEDEE, . . 104 JAMES HEERIES, .... 222 LOED LO VAT, .... 183 JAMES TELFEE OF THE FAIR DOD- LORDLOVEL. .... . 183 HEAD, .... 362 LORD MAXWELL'S GOODNIGHT, 389 JELLON GEJEME, . . . .196 LORD RANDAL, .... 238 JOCK 0* THE SIDE, ... 379 LORD RONALD. . 160 JOCK JOHNSTONE THE TINKLEE, . 93 LORDSOULIS, .... 487 JOHN BAELEYCORN, ... 284 LORD SPYNIE, .... . 2S6 JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK, . 149 LORD THOMAS STUART, 171 JOHNIE OF BRAIDISBANK, . 407 LORD WILLIAM, 143 JOHNIEOFBREADISLEE, . . 405 LYTTIL PYNKIE, 478 JOHNIE ARMSTRANG, ... 355 JOHNNIE ARMSTRONG'S LAST GOOD- H NIGHT, 358 1 JOHNIE FAA, . . . . 2«» / I r>889(> I