:^. .J- -JC^ — Ti z^ -"■TQTPrtpTfiT Trr> J\ inriE ULLTSTE.AnPirm fiptej THE BOOK OF SCOTTISH BALLADS; COLLECTED A>'D ILLU.'^TKATKD HISTOEICAL XKB CPJTICAL IxOTICES. By ALEX. WHITELAW. BLACKIE AND SON, OLA:^GO"W, ED1>^BUEGH, AKD -VVAEWICK SQUARE LONDON. WDCCCXLY. ^^Q^--^^^< iBcrric if is in fjallf tc ijrar tf)t pjarpf, Cte iatiistrcUfs srr.fle, tlje Sogclours carpf. DATIE, {circ. 1312.) 'fisfeS^ PREFACE, It may be considered remarkable, that it was not till P'oglish 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, Daudie 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 Pepjs, the gossipping but delightful Diarist of the days of Charles II. and James Til., made a collection of ballads iu 5 vols., which is deposited in the Pepysian library, Mag- dalen College, Cambridge. f Before the beginning of the last century, ballads were usually printed on broaiUides, 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 sUll printed on single slips of paper. 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 Boimie 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 pubhshed 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 Uttle 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 publication of the 'Reliques;' but, it is well known, he had a great contempt for ballad verses, protesting they n ight be manufactured by the yard, without premeditation,— thus: ' I put my hat upon my head, Or, ' The tender infant, mesk 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 Shakspeare, Dr. Farmer, Steevens, Malone, and Reed. The MS. was mutilated in Tarious parts, and imperfectly penned in others, so that the E ditor was induced to follow his own taste in many instances, by suppljing- 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, botli 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 anti- 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 which 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, as one of the most beautiful and affecting which we have ever read: — 'To Elizabeth, late Duchess and Countess of ^Northumberland, in her O'.vn right Baiio:»bss Percy, &o., who, being sole heiress to many great families of our ancient nobility, employed the princely fortune, and sustained the illustrious honours, which she denved 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 little work WAS ORioiJTALLY DEDICATED : — And, OS U Sometimes ajffbrded her amusement, and rvas highly distinguished by her indulgent approbation, it it now, 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 influence which the perusal of Percy's ' Reliques' had on his young mind. ' The tree,' he says, ' is still in my recollection, beneath which I lay, and firat entered upon the 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, with 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 17S1 and 1783 collections of Scottish Ballads, several of Avhich 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 of 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 1803 ; 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 so 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 reseai-ch, 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 wUI be ^m3§t^^\^ lEEFACE. VU couned with feelings akin to religious enthusiasm — that their strange and nriystic lore will be treasured up io the 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 the depths of the ; jinb, 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 iVom the Ballantyne press in two octavo volumes, under the title of ' Popular Ii:»llad3 and Songs, from tradition, manuscripts, and scarce editions, with transla- tions of similar pieces from the ancient Danish language, by Robert Jamieson.' rtiis collection is one of great value, and is ably illustrated. Much of Mr. ' '.inioson's materials was obtained from the same source to which Scott was irgely indebted in collecting his Border Minstrelsy, namely, Mrs. Brown of : ilkland, 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 Motherwell, Mr. David Laisg, Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Mr. James Maid- ME.fT, Mr. Kixloch, and Mr. Peter Bucha.n. Of the lamented Motherwell, as a deeply-versed scholar in the poetical an- tiquities of Ills 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-fiowers. His collection, accordingly,* is one of the most valuable of which our balla 1 " ' Minstrels/, ancient and mcxJem, with aa Historical Introduction and >'ote3, Glasgow, 1337,' 4to. y^^'- 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 jind Notes are fi-aught with information and ing-enuity, which illustrate in the pleasantest manner the subjects they treat, and which 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 biillads not previously collected. To tlie same editor, we believe, we are indebted for another small volume, en- titled, '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.' This collection is edited with judgment. The recovered ballads chiefly belong 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 Baliath and Songs of the North of Scotland, hitherto unpublished, ^vith 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 coUection we could name. 3Ir. Buchan, indeed, has been by far the most successful ballad- lumter 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 Banffshire) 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 undubitably 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 eitiier 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 carrjnng out the design of the publica- tion, insomuch that, small as the volume is, it contains, as one of its items, the 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 the.=e gentlemen what seemed most appropriate to the present publication, specifying, of course, in all cases, the source whence each ballad was drawn X PREFACE. 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; bat 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 of Scottish Ballads embraces specimens of the best modern imitations of the olden 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. The Book of Scottish Ballads was designed as an accompanying volume to The Book of Scottish Song, recently published. Before its projection, two or three ballad-songs were inserted in the latter work, — viz. Barbara Allan, Captain Wedderburn, Gilderoy, and The House of Airly. These are not repeated in the Ballad Book. In other respects, the two works are independent of each other, and complete in themselves, — though, it is pre- sumed, most readers will be inclined to range them together as appropriate companion volumes, inasmuch as they are similar in size and typography, and both aim at a similar object, that of embodying and illustrating, under the separate classes of Ballad and Song, the ancient and modern lyric literatura of Scotland. CONTENTS. fi^ MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS. r^i Pag.. 4^ The Lass of Lochrj-an, . . . 1 | , Fair Annie of Lochrjan, two Venions, 3 , ^ The Gay Goss-Hawk, . . • ° , The Jolly Goss-Hawk, . . . 7 j vi Sir Patrick Spens, irvo Versions, . . Lidy Clare, .... 13 Earl Richard's Daughter, . . .13 The Bonnie Earl of Murmy, two Versions, 16 Young Waters, .... 17 Sir Arthur and Lady Anne, Fair Annet, Sweet WUUe and Fair Annie, Lord Beichan, Young Bekie, May Colvin, ttvo Versions, The Jew's Daughter, . The HartjT, Glasgow Pe;,'gy, The Keach i' the Creel, . The Angel Stars, The Drowned Lovers, Sir James the Eose, ttvo Versions, The Mermaid of Galloway, Fause Foodrage, Bonnie Lizie Lindsay, Lizzie Lindsay, Sir Eoland, Annan Water, Lady Margaret, Glenlogie, tno Versions, P,,» Glanflnlas, .... . 38 Young Peggy, 63 Katherine Janfarie, . 03 Catherine Johnstone, . 64 Lochinvar, .... . CO Lady Jean, 07 The Gardener, . 6S Clerk Saunders, irvo Versions, 69 Sweet "Willie and Lady Jlargerie, . 74 Sweet William and May Jlargaret 74 Sweet William's Ghost, 75 William and Marjorie, . . 76 Fair Margaret and Sweet William, 77 William and Margaret, 78 Watty and Madge, . 80 The Heir of Linne, 81 Athol Wood, . 84 The twa Martyrs' Widows, . 84 Christie's WUl, . .85 The :Master of Weemys, 89 The Marmaiden of CTyde, . 91 Jock Johnstone the Tinkler, 93 Bonnie Baby Livingstone, . 96 The Prophecy of Queen Emma, 9S Polydore, .... 100 The Lady and her Page, 103 Lord John's Murder, 104 The Duke of Athole's Xurse, 103 The Cruel Brother, 106 The Laird of Ochiltrie, 107 TheLairUofLogie, 108 Edom 0' Gordon, . 110 The Daemon-Lover, 112 l/6il Morice, .... . 113 Chield Morice, 117 Childe Maurice, . 120 Child Nor;, ce. 122 Hclenore, .... . 123 King Ulalcom and Sh- Colvin, 123 Young Aikin, . . 125 Rose the Red and White Lilly, t tvo Versio/is, 127 The Wedding of Eobiu Hood a nd Little John, . 133 HyndHorn, 134 Laird of Drum, . 136 The Battle of Harlaw, . 138 The King's Daughter, . 110 Earl Ricbai-d, 142 Lord William, . 143 Reedis lale and Wise TA'illiam, 144 Thomas o' Tonderdale, . 146 Earl Crawford, 147 John Thomson and the Turk, . 149 Earl Lindsaye, 151 The Orphan Maid, . 15G Through the Wood, 156 The twa Brothers, . . 157 The twa Magic:ans, 159 The Farted Lovers, . 159 Lord Ronald, 160 Proud Lady Margarut, . 161 The Courteous Knight, 162 Sir Hugh le Blond, . . 163 The 3Iillar's Son, 167 Bondsey and Maisry, . 169 Chil Ether, 170 Lord Thomas Stuart, . 171 Sir Maurice, 171 The Earl of Douglas and Dame Olif bant, 175 The Laird o' Meldrum and Peggy Dou- g\ns, .... . 177 The Wife of Usher's Well, . 177^ Burd Helen, .... Queen Eleanor's Confession, Lord Level, .... Lord Lovat, Lady Elspat, The Earl of liar's Daughter, Lady Jane, .... The Btnt sae Brown, Rosmer Hafniand, Marchioness cf Douglas, Jellon Grame, Lady Anne, Evlinton, .... Young Benjie, The Curse of Moy, Hardyknute, . . . The Duel of Wharton and Stuart Lady Maisry, . , Glenkindie, .... The IMurder of Caerlaveroc, The Fause Lover, Blancheflour and Jellj-fliorice, J.anies Herries, Cadyow Cast'e, Willie's Drowned in Gamery, Lord Barnaby, . The Clerk's twa Sons o' Owsenford The Gude Wallace, two Versions, Lord Randal, . . Lord Donald, Lammikin,j!i'e Versions, Burning of Auchindoun, trvo V The Warlock of Aikwood, Black Agnace of Dunbar, . Duncan, a Fragment, Memorablis of the Montgomerits, Highland Legend, The Young Johnstone, The Dowy Den, The Cruel Sister, The Queen's Marie, Mary Hamilton, . . Andrew Lammie, . Johnie Faa^ The Fire of Frendraught Frennet Hall, The Gray Brother, . The Blaeberries, . Lochaber no more. Earl Richard, AUan-a-Maut, two feriiop.s, John Barleycorn, Brown Adam, liord Spynie, ^ Edward, Edward, Son Davie, Son Dayie, CONTENTS. 276ii ■27S 2Sit 2yl The Broom of Cowdtnliiiows, Sir Xiel and 3Iac Van, Lizie Baillie, The Laird of Waristoun, The Weary Coble o' Cargill, Bonnie Susie Cleland, Baby Lon, or the Bonnie Banks o" Forlie, . . . 2ii-5 Prince Robert, . . . . £?<; Earl Robert, . . . . 2&7 Saint TJllin's Pilgrim, . . 298 The Battle of Luncarty, . . 300 Sir Gilbert Hamilton, . . 303 ir. BORDER BALLADS. Introduction, The Battle of Otterboume, The Outlaw Murray, Johnie Armstrang, Johnnie Armstrong's last Goodnight, Ajnnstrong's Goodnight, The Lochmaben Harper, . James Ttlfer of the Fair Dodhe.id, The Raid of the Reidswire, Kinmont Willie, . Dick o' the Cow, .... Jock o' the Side, HobleNobbie, .... Rookhope Ryde, Archie of Ca'field, Death of Featherstonhaugh, 305 Lord Maxwell's Goodnight, . 3S3 344 The Lads of Wamphray, 392 349 Barthram's Dirge, 394 355 303 : The Fray of Suport, . Aiild Maitland, . . , . 394 397 360 . Lord Ewrie, .... 404 360 ' \ Johnie of Breadislee, 40a 362 ' Johnie of Braidisbank, 407 36.5 370 Archie Armstrang's Aith, Lament of the Border Widow, 407 409 374 Hughie the Grame, 410 379 , Hughie Graham, 411 3S1 The Laird of Lairistan, or the Three 334 Champions of Liddisdale, 413 •iS7 The Tweeddale Raide, . 41.j CONTENTlf. III. BALLADS CONNECTED WITH FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. Introduction, The Young Tamlane, . '"T 419 . 449 Lyttil Pynkie, The AVitch of Fife, . Paw. . 478 483 Tom L'.nn, . 453 Lord Soulig, . 4S7 The Gloamyne Buciite, Alison Gross, . 45i 4G1 The Cout of Keeldar, The .Spirit of the Glen, . 493 . 497 The Wee Wee Man, . 462 The Last Fairy, 501 The Elfin Knicht, 463 The Brownie of Fearndcn, . 503 The Fairy Knight, . Sir Oluf, and the Elf King' Elfer Hill, .S;r Alan Mortimer, Thomas the Rhymer, . . . 464 Daughter, 465 . 466 467 . . . 469. The Tane-away, Water Kelpie, The Maid and Fairy, . May of the Moril Glen, . ; Kilmeny, .... 503 . 503 506 . 507 511 IV. BALLADS RELATING TO THE GREAT CIVIL WARS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. P.-.ee ^ ^ Pa-e. Introduction, . 517 1 Battle of Bothwell-Bridge, . 538 The Battle of Philiphaugh, . 525 Bothwell Brigg, . &44 The Gallant Grahams, 526^ Tlie Haughs of Cromdale, . 046 Battle of Pentland Hills, . . 531 ' Auchiudoun, . M3 The Battie of Loudon-HUl, . C33^ ? COXTEKTS. V. APPENDIX. Thb Raid of Glen Fruin, Lady Jean, .... Girtlee, or, the Hap of Hind Halbert, Cumnor Hall, .... The Battle of Corichie, TheDakeof Athol, Sir George ilaiwell, Knockespcck's Ladv, 557 5C.9^ Pare. The Greetin' Bairn, ... 560 The "Witch o- Pittenweem, . . 561 Bishop Thurstan, and the king of Scots, 563 The Duke of Gordon's three Daughters, 563 Geordie, irro Versions, . . 567 Young Handal, .... 568 Archy o' Kilspindie, . • , 569 The Birtwhiitle "Wlcht, . , .571 3>-^^{ % ^\j2 %zm of Eoj^xgaK. [The heautifal and pathetic ballad caUed | " The Lass of Lochryan," or " Fair Annie of , Lochryan," was first published in an imperfect ! state in Herd's Collection, and afterwards in a j more complete form in Scott's Minstrelsy of the | Scottish Border. Another version of the same j ballad was given in Jamieson's Popular Ballads , and Songs, (1806). As the versions of Scott and j Jamieson differ considerably from each other, and possess respectively beauties of their own, j we here quote both sets, placing Scott's first. It I will be recollected that Dr TVolcot (the well known Peter Pindar) and Burns wrote each a song for Thomson's Collection called "Lord Gregory," founded on the subject of the pre- sent ballad. Lochryan is a fine bay or loch, which projects from the Irish channel into Wig- tonshire or Galloway.] " O WHA will shoe my bonnie foot ? And wha will glove my hand ? And wha will lace my middle jimp Wi' a lang, lang linen band ? " O wha will kame my yellow hair "With a new-made silver kame ? And wha will father my young son Till lord Gregory come hame ?" " Thy fether wUl shoe thy bonnie foot. Thy mother will glove thy hand. Thy sister wUl lace thy middle jimp. Till lord Gtegoiy come to land. " Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair With a new-made silver kame. And God will be thy bairn's father Till lord Gregory come hame." " But I will get a bonnie boat. And I will sail the sea ; And I will gang to lord Gregory, Since he canna come hanie to jne. " Syne she's gar'd build a bonnie boat, To saU the salt, salt sea : The sails were o' the light green silk. The tows o' taffety. She hadna sailed but twenty leagues. But twenty leagues and three, When she met wi' a rank robber. And a' his company. "■ Now whether are ye the queen her- (For so ye weel might be) Or are ye the lass of Lochryan, Seeldn' lord Gregory ?" "01 am neither the queen," she s.r ' " Nor sic I seem to be ; But 1 am the lass of Lochryan , Scekin' lard Gregory." " see na thou yon bonnie bowe: , It's a' covered o'er wi' tin ? When thou hast sailed it round abnut. Lord Gregory is within." And when she saw the stately tower Shining sae clear and bright, Whiik stood aboon the jawing wave, BuUt on a rock of height ; Says — " Row the boat, my mariners. And bring me to the land .' For yonder I see my love's castle Close by the salt-sea strand." She sailed it round, and sailed it round. And loud, loud cried she — " Xow break, now break, ye fairy chariiii, And set my true love free '" SCOTTISH BALLADS. She's ta'en her young eon in her arms. And to the door she's gane ; And lon^ she knocked, and sair she ca'd. But answer got she nane. " O open the door, lord Gregory ! O open, and let me in ! For the wind blaws through my yellow hair. And the rain draps o'er my chin." " Awa, awa, ye ill woman ! Ye're no come here for good ! Te're but some witch or wil warlock, Or mermaid o' the flood." " I am neither witch, nor wil warlock. Nor mermaid o' the sea , But I am Annie of Lochryan ; O open the door to me ;" " Gin thou be Annie of Loehrj-an, (As I trow thou binna she) Now tell me some of the love tokens That past between thee and me." ''O dinna ye mind, lord Gregory, As we sat at the wine, "We changed the rings frae our fingers. And I can show thee thine ? When the cock had crawn, and the day did And the sun began to peep, [dawn, \f Then up and raise him lord Gregory, (^ And sair, sair did he weep. (/ " 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. " O I ha'e dreamed a dream, mother. The thought o't gars rne greet ! That fair Annie o' Lochryan Lay cauld dead at my feet." " 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." her, " O wae betide ye, ill woman An ill deid may ye die ! That wadna open the door to Xor yet wad wauken mp.'- O 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. " O yours was gude, and gude enough. But aye the best was mine ; For yours was o' the gude red gowd. But mine o' the diamond fine. " Now open the door, lord Gregory ; Open the door, 1 pray ! For thy young son is in my arms. And will be dead ere day." " If thou be the lass of Lochryan, (As 1 kennathoube) Tell me some mair o' the love tokens Past between me and thee." " And hey, Annie, and how, Annie ! O Annie, winna ye bide !" But aye the mair he cried Annie, The braider grew the tide. " And hey, Annie, and how, Annie ! Dear Annie, speak to me !" But aye the loudtr he cried Annie, The louder roared the sea. The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough. And dashed the boat on shore ; Fair Annie floated through the faem. But the babie raise no more. Fair Annie turned her round about — " Weel ! since that it be sae, May never a woman, tliat has borne a i Ha'e 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. Her bonnie young son was gone. " Take down, take down, that mast o' gowd I Set up a mast o' tree 1 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— Nae spark o' life was there. SCOTTISH BALLADS. «^ Cc^^ And first he kissed her cherry cheek. 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 Xear her true-lover's door. ' O wae betide my cruel mother : An ill death may she dee ! She turned my true love firae my door, Wha came sae far to me. " wae betide my cruel mother '. An ill death may she dee ! She turned fair Annie frae my door, ^"ha died for love o' me." FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHEYAN. [Jamiksos's version. Mr Jamieson says, that he frequently, when a boy, heard the following i set of the ballad chanted in Morayshire.] \ " O WHA will shoe my fair foot, I And wha will glove my han' ? And wha will lace my middle jimp Wi' a new-made London ban' ? " Or wha will kemb my yellow hair Wi' a new-made silver kemb ? Or wha'll be father to my young bairn. Till love Gregor come hame ?" " Your fkther'll shoe your fair foot. Your mother glove your han' ; Your sister lace your middle jimp Wi' a new-made London ban' ; " Your brethren will kemb your yellow hair Wi' a new-made silver kemb ; And the King o' Heaven will father your Till love Gregor come hame." [bairn " O gin I had a bonnie ship. And men to sail wi' me. It's 1 wad gang to my true love. Sin" he winna come to me !" Her father 's gi'en her a bonnie ship. And gent her to the stran' ; She's ta'en her young son in her arms. And tum'd her back to the Ian'. ^ 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. Lang stood she at her true-love's door, And lang tirl'd at the pin ; At length up gat his fause mother. Says, " AYha's that wad be in ?" " O, 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 o' the flude." " I'm nae a witch or vile warlock. Or mermaiden," said she,— " I'm but your Annie of Lochryan ; open the door to me 1" " O gin ye be Annie of Lochryan, As I trust not ye be, What taiken can ye gi'e that e'er 1 kept your companie ?" " dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, " ■V\Txan we sat at the wine. How we changed the napkins frae onr necks. It's nae sae lang sinsyne ? " And yours was gude, and gude enough. But nae sae gude as mine ; For yours was o' the cambric clear, But mine o' the silk sae fine. " And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she A _; "As we twa sat at dine, [saysX 'y How we chang'd the rings frae our fingers, \^^ :^ And I can show thee thine: r*|Q)e/ " And yours was gude, and gude enough. Yet nae sae gude as mine ; For yours was o' the gude red gold. But mine C the diamonds fine. SCOTTISH BALLADS. " ^ae open the door, now, love Gregor, And open it vd' speed ; Or jour young son, that is in my amis, For cauld will soon be dead." " Awa, awa, ye 111 woman ; Gae frae my door for shame, For I ha'e gotten anither feir love, .Sae ye may hie you hame." " O ha'e ye gotten anither fair love. For a' the oaths ye sware ? Then fare ye weel, now, iause Gregor, For me ye's never see mair !" O, hooly, hcoly gaed she back As the d.iy began to peep ; ."^he set her foot on good ship board. And sair, sair did she weep. " Taf down, tak' down the mast o' gou Set up the mast o' tree ; 111 sets it a forsaken lady To sail sae gallantlie. " Tak' down, tak' down the sails o' silk, Set up the sails o' skin ; 111 sets the outside to be gay, Whan there's sic grief within !" Love Gregor started frae his sleep. And to his mother did say, " I dreamt a dream this night, mither, That mak's my heart richt wae ; " I dreamt that Annie of Lochryan, The flower o' a' her kin, AVas standin' mournin' at my door, But nane wad let her in." " O there was a woman stood at the dcK Wi' a bairn intill her arms ; But I wadna let her within the bower, For fear she had done you harm." O quiekly, quickly raise he up, And fast ran to the strand ; And there he saw her, fair Annie, Was sailing frae the land. And " heigh, Annie," and " how, Ann; O, Annie, winna ye bide ?" But aye the louder he pried " Annie," The higher rair'd the tide. And " heigh, Annie !" and ' bow, Annie ! O, A nnie, sjjeak to me !" But aye the louder he cried " Annie," The louder raii'd the sea. The wind grew loud, the sea grew rough, And the ship was rent in twain ; And soon he saw her, fair Annie, Come floating o'er the main. He saw his ycung son in her arras, Baith tcSJ'd aboon the tide; He wrang his hands, and fast he ran And plung'd in the sea sae widf . He catch'd her by the yellow hair, And drew her to the strand ; But oauld and stifif was every Ihnb, Before he reach'd the land. first he kiss'd her cherry cheek. And syne he kiss'd her chin. And sair he kiss'd her ruby lips; But there was nae breath within. he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie, Till the sun was ganging down , Syne %vi' a sich his heart it brast. And his saul to heaven has flown. FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHRYAN. [In Allan Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, we have this set of " Fair Annie of Lochryan." We quote it as curiously illustrative of the liber- ties which " honest Allan" took with the songs and ballads of his country.] SwKET Annie built a bonnie ship. And set her on the sea ; The sails were a' of the damask'd silk. The masts of silver free. The gladsome waters sung below. And the sweet wind sung above — Make way for Annie of Lochryan, She comes to seek her love. A gentle wind came with a sweep. And stretched her silken sail. When up there came a reaver rude, Witli many a shout and hail ; SCOTTISH BALLADS. touch her not, my mariners a', Such loveliness goes firee ; Make way for Annie of Lochryan, Shft seeks Lord Gregorie. The moon look'd out with all her stars. The ship moved merrily on, tJntil she came to a castle high. That all as diamonds shone : On every tower there streamed a light. On the middle tower shone three — Move for that tower my mariners a", 3Iy love keejs watch for me. She took her young son in her arms. And on the deck she stood — The wind rose with an angry gust. The sea wave wakened rude. Oh open the door. Lord Gregory^ love. Oh open and let me in ; The sea foam hangs in my yellow hair. The surge dreeps down my chin. AU for thy sake. Lord Gregory, love, I've sailed a perilous way. And thy iair son is 'tween my breasts. And he'll be dead ere day. The foam hanjs on the topmast cUfif, The fires run on the sky. And hear ye not your true love's voice. And her sweet baby's cry ? Fair Annie turned her round about. And tears began to flow — May never a baby suck a breast Vrv a heart sae fou of woe. Take down, take down that silver mast. Set up a mast of tree. It does nae become a forsaken dame To sail sae royallie. Oh read my dream, my mother dear— I heard a sweet babe greet. And saw fair Annie of Lochryan Lie cauld dead at my feet. Ind loud and loud his mother laughed- Oh sight 's mair sure than sleep, 1 saw feir Annie, and heard her voice. And her baby waU and weep. ) he went down to yon sea side As fast as he could fare, ie saw fair Annie and her sweet babe. But the wild wind tossed them sair : And hey Annie, and how Annie, And Annie winna ye bide ? But aye the mair he called Annie, The broader grew the tide. And hey Annie, and how Annie, Dear Annie speak to me. But aye the louder he cried Annie, The louder roared the sea. The wind waxed loud, the sea grew re The ship sunk nigh the shore. Fair Annie floated through the foam. But the baby rose no more. Oh first he kiss'd her cherry cheek. And then he kiss'd her chin. And syne he kiss'd her rosie lips. But there was nae breath within. Oh my love's love was true as light. As meek and sweet was she — My m',ther"s hate was strong as der.th And fiercer than the sea. ^le Sag €&c.gg=^a&!fe« ; I [First published in Scott's Minstrelsy of the ; ! Scottish Border.] " O wAiv, waly, my gay goss-hawk. Gin your feathering be sheen !" " And waly, waly, my master dear, Gin ye look pale and lean ! " have ye tint, at totirnament. Your sword, or yet your spear? Or mourn ye for the Southern lass. Whom you may not win near ?" " I have not tint, at tournament. My sword, nor yet my spear ; But sair I mcum for my true love, Wi' mony a bitter tear. " But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawl Ye can baith speak and flee ; Te sail carry a letter to my love. Bring an answer back to me." i?h, r--^^ Wk .^-S) ^ SCOTTIriH BALLADS. iTk-'f^'^ •■' But how sail I your true love find. Or how suld I her know ? I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake. An eye that ne'er her saw." " O weel sail ye my true love ken, Sae sune as ye her see ; For, of a' the flowers of fair England, The fairest flower is she. " The red, that's on my true loves cheik. Is like blood drops on the snaw ; The white, that is on her breast bare, Like the down o' the white sea-maw. '• And ev„n ac my love's hour door There grows a flowering birk ; And ye maun sit and sing thereon As slie gangs to the kirk. " And four-and-twenty fair ladyes Will to the mass repair ; But well may ye my ladye ken, The fairest ladye there." Lord William has written a love letter. Put it under his pinion gniy ; And he is awa' to Southern land As fast as wings can gae. And even at that ladye's hour There grew a flowering bivk ; And he sat down and sung thereon As she gaed to the kirk. 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. He lighted at the ladye's yate. And sat him on a pin ; And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love, Till a' was cosh within. And first he sang a low low note. And syne he sang a clear; And aye the o'erword o' the sang Was — " Your love can no win here." " Feast on, feast on, my maidens a'. The wine flows you amang. While I gang to my shot-window. And hear yon bonnie bird's sang. " Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird. The sang ye sung yestreen ; For weel I ken, by your sweet singing. Ye are frae my true love seen." O first he sang a merry sang. And syne he sang a grave; And syne he peek'd his feathers gray. To her the letter gave. " Have there a letter from lord Willi.am : He says he's sent ye three. He canna wait your love langer. But for your sake he'll die." " Gae bid him bake his bridal bread. And brew his bridal ale ; And I shall meet him at M.iry's kirk, Lang, lang ere it be stale." The lady's gane to her chamber. And a moanfu' woman was she ; As gin Bhe had ta'en a sudden brash. And were about to die. " A boon, a boon, my father deir, A boon I beg of thee!" " Ask not that paughty Scottish lord. For him you ne'er shall see. " But, for your honest asking else Weel granted it shall be." " Then, gin I die in Southern land. In Scotland gar bury me. " And the first kirk that ye come to, Ye's gar the mass be sung ; And the next kirk that ye come to, Ye's gar the bells be rung. " And when ye come to St Mary's kirk, Ye's tarry there till night." And so her father pledged his word. And so his promise plight. She has ta'en her to her bigly hour As fast as she could fare; And she has dvank a sleepy draught, That she had mix'd wi' care. And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek. That was sae bright of blee, And she seemed to be as surely dead As any one could be. y-.rv^ Then spak' her cruel step-minnie, " Tak' ye the burning lead. And drap a drap on her bosome, Totrj-ifshebedead." They took a drap o' boiling lead. They drapp'd on her breast; " Alas 1 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 hewd 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 silier 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 kirlc, There stood spearmen aU in a raw ; And up and started lord William, The chieftane amang them a". '•■ Set down, set down the bier," he sai I ; " 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 fasted these three lang days, AU for your sake and mine. " Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld bro- Gae hame and blaw your horn I [thers ! I trow ye wad ha'e gi'en me the skaith. But I've gi'en you the scorn. ^ " Commend me to my grey Either, 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 woaian ! An ill death may you dee ! For we left £xther and sisters at hame Breaking their hearts for thee." THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. [Version- given by Motherwell in his Mii strelsy Ancient and Modern.] " O WELL is me my Jolly Goss-hawk, That ye can speak and flee ; For ye can carry a love letter. To my true love from me." '•' how can I carry a letter to her, AMian 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 Cice that's whito Is that of dove or maw ; The 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. .SCUTTlriH HALLADS. " Come hitherwarJ my maidens all, \ And sip red wine anon ; ■y Till I go to my west window, Zi And hear a birdie's moan." Mie's gane unto her west window And fiiinly aye it drew ; And soon into her white silk lap. The bird the letter threw : " Ye're bidden send your love a send, jy For he has sent you twa, j C^ And tell him where he can see you, jJJ Or he cannot live ava." .«.] " I send him the rings from my white lingers, / The garlands of my hair, I send him the heart that 's in my breast, What would my love have mair ? ADtl at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland, Ye'll bid him meet me there." She hied her to her father dear. As fast as gang could she ; " An asking, an asking, my father dear. An asking ye grant me, I That if I die in fair England, In Scotland gar bury me. " At the first kirk of fair Scotland, Yirti cause the bells be rung ; A t thf second kirk of fair Scotland, You cause the mass be sung. " At the third kirk of fair Scotland, :_ - ] You deal gold for my sake, >kj And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, ■pfj Oh I there you'll bury me at. °\ " And now, my tender father de;u-, t^ This asking grant you me ;" ^= " Your asking is but small," he said, i^^ " Weel granted it shall be. ' p^ [The lady asks the same boon and receives a =j similar answer, first from her mother, then from her sister, and lastly from her seven brothers.] -gl [(p- .\.--i Then down as dead that lady drapp'd. Beside her mother's knee ; Then out it spak' an auld witch wife. By the fire side sat she. G Says — " drap the hct lead on her cheek, And drap it on her chin ; And drap it on her rose red lips. And she will speak again ; For much a lady young will do. To her true love to win." They drapp'd the het lead on her chccl;. So did they on her chin ; They drapp'd it on her red rose lips. But they breathed none again. Her brothers they went to a room. To make to her a bier ; The boards of it were cedar wood. And the plates on it gold so clear. Her sisters they went to a room. To make to her a sark ; The cloth of it was satin fine. And the steeklng silken wark. " But well is me my Jolly Goss-hawk, That ye can speak and flee ; Come show to me any love tokens. That you have brought to me." " She sends you the rings from her fingers, (cV! The garlands from her hair , \ >^ She sends you the heart within her breaS't, And what would ye have mair H And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, She bids you meet her there." " Come hither all my merry young m.cii. And drink the good red wine. For we must ou to fair England, To free my love from pine." At the first kirk of fair Scotland, They gart the bells be rung ; At the second kirk of fair Scotland, They gart the mass be sung. At the third kirk of fair Scotland, They dealt gold for her sake ; And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, Her true love met them at. Set down, set down the corpse," he sii "Till I look on the dead; The last time that X saw her face. She ruddy was and red ; But now alas, and woe is me. She 's wallowed like a weed." J. SCOTTISH BALLADS. He rent the sheet upon her face, A little aboon her chin ; With 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. " Gae hame, gae hame my seven brothers, Gae hame and bkiw 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 I came here to Ciir 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." {The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Speru, as Coleridge calls it in one of his Odes, is generally placed Jirst in our baUad 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 Xor- way made by command of Alexander III, of Scotland, when bereaved of his own children, to bring home his grand-daughter, Margaret, c.-illed the 3Iaid of 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 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 i j claim of the ballad to such high antiquity from its mention of hais 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 Wardlaw, wife of Sir Henry AVardlaw of Pitreavie and Balmule, near Dunfermline, and daughter of Sir Charles Hal- ket of Pitferran. ThU lady, of whom we shaU 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 I to print Sir Patrick Spens in his Reliques, 1765, , j where he says that it is given from two JIS. ' I copies transmitted to him from Scotland. He j ; also remarks in a note, that " an ingenious 1 friend thinks the author of Hardyknute has 1 1 borrowed several expressions and sentiments i from the foregoing and other old Scottish songs ■ in this collection." Upon this hint and also j from the localities of Dunfermline and Aber- I dour, in the neighbourhood of Sir Henry "Ward- j ] law's seat, being mentioned in the ballad, Mr David Laing, in his Notes to the new edition of j I Johnson's Museum (1839,) was led to surmise I tliat Sir Patrick Spens might have been writ- I . ten by Lady Wardlaw herself, as well as Hardy - I I knute. A comparison of the two ballads will, , I we think, persuade every reader of the accuracy a; of this conjecture, confirmed as it is by other cir- SCOTTISH BALLADH "^pX cumstances. (See No. 588 of Chambers' Jour- SS %jy nal. May 6, 1S43, where this i)oint is handled at jVr:^ some length.) 0(50 The copy of Sir Patrick Spens given in the ^.5^ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border is more com- ^p J plete than that of Percy's — and we here follow ^M it. We also give Mr Peter Buehan's version of t^J^X t'.ie ballad, which differs materially from all ^-^ -/ others, and which he says was taken down from ^= - "a wight of Komer's craft." If, however. Lady r^^^x "XV'ardlaw was the author of the original ballad, \.cj / more reliance is to be placed on what is to be tv^3 found in Percy and Scott than on what is to be "'SVJ gathered from oral tradition.] ^ "a.j The king sits in Dunfermline town, •^ */ Drinking the blude-red wine ; ■>J5?\ " O whare will I get a skeely skipper, /^b^ To sail this new ship o' mine I"— O up and spake an eldern knight. Sat at the king's right knee, — " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor. That ever sail'd the sea."— They hadna been a week, a week. In Koroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say — " Ye Scottishmen spend a' our ki And a' our queenis fee." — " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! Fu' loud I hear ye lie; " For I ha'e brought as much white monie. As gane my men and me. And I ha'e brought a half-fou of gude red Out o'er the sea wi' me. [goud, " Make ready, make ready, ray merrymen a'! Our gude ship sails the morn." — " Now, ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm ! " I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm." Our king has written a braid letter. And seal'd it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. " To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame."- They hadna sail'd a league, a leagua, A league but barely three, [loud. When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm ; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship. Till a' her sides were torn. The fiKt word that Sir Patrick read, 1 Sae loud loud laughed he ; I The neist word that Sir Patrick read, ' | The tear blinded his e'e. | ' " O wha is this has done this deed. And tauld the king o' me, 1 1 To send us out, at this time of the year, | i To saU upon the sea ? ; I "Beit wind, beitweet, be it hail, be it sleet, [I Our ship must sail the faem ; i j The king's daughter of Noroway, I 'Tis we must fetch her hame." — " where will I get a gude sailor. To take my helm in hand. Till I get up to the tall top-mast. To see if I can spy land ?" " O here am I . a sailor gude. To take the helm in hand. Till you go up to the tall top-mast : But I fear you'll ne'er spy land." — He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane. When a boult flew out of our goodly sh:p. And the salt sea it came in. They hoysed their sails on Monenday Wi' a' the speed they may ; They ha'e landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday. " Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith. Another o' the twine. And wap them into our ship's s-.de, And let nae the sea come in." — SCOTTISH BALLADS. 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 feem ; And mony was the gude lord's son. That never mair cam bame. 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, ■WT 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 ! SIE PATKICK SPENS. [From Buchan's Ballads of the North.] The king sits in Dunfermline town, A' drinking at the wine. Says, Where wUl I get a good skipper Will saU the saut seas fine ? Out it speaks an eldren knight Amang the compsnie, — 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. 11 C^J W When Patrick look'd the letter upon I =^ A light laugh then ga'e he ; \^"ff But ere he read it till an end, iSi> The tear blinded his e'e. ^-^ Te'U eat and drink, my merry men a', C^H- An' see ye be weell thorn ; \p J For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind, '5^?\ ily guid ship sails the morn. {&^ Then out it speaks a guid auld man, 1 f^p A guid death mat he dee, — v=?~ "WTiatever ye do, my guid master, iS^ Tak' God your guide to bee. ^ r\ For late yestreen I saw the new moon, /^SJ The auld moon in her arm. ( '^^ Ohon, alas ! says Patrick Spens, ^tw' That bodes a deadly storm. But I maun saU the seas the mom. 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 rounV And wine in cans sae gay ; The pipe and harp sae sweetly play'd. The trumpets loudly soun' ; In every nail wherein they stay'd, Wi' their mirth did reboun'. m 12 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then out it spoaks an auld skipper. An inbearing dog was he, — Ye've stay'd ower lang in Noroway, Spending your king's monie. Then out it speaks Sir Patrick Spens,— O how can a' this be ? 1 ha'e a bow o' guid red gowd lutj my ship wi' nie. liut betide me well, betide me wae. This day I'se leave the shore ; And never spend my king's inonie 'Jlong Xoroway dogs no more. Young Patrick he is on the sea And even on the faem; AVi' five-an-fifty Scots lords' sons, That lang'd to be at hame. They hadna sail'd upon the sea A day but barely three ; Till loud and boisterous grew the wind. And stormy grew the sea. O where will I get a little wee boy Will tak' my helm in band. Till I gae up to my tapmast, -) And see for some dry land ? He hadna gane to his tapmast A step but barely three ; i:re thro' and thro' the bonnie ship's si'lt He saw the green haw-sea. There are five-an'-fifty feather beds Well packed in ae room ; And ye'U get as muckle guid canvas As wrap the ship a' roun' ; Ye'll piet her well, and spare her not, And mak" her hale and soun'. Uut ere he had the word well spoke The bonnie ship was down. O laith, laith were our guid lords' sons To weet their milk-white hands , /'■ But lang ere a' the play was ower f They wat their gowden bands. O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sons To weet their coiU-black shoon ; Uut lang ere a' the play was ower They wat their hats aboon. It's even ower by Aberdour It's fifty fathoms deep. And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spctj*, And a"s men at his feet. Its even ower by Aberdour, There's mony a craig and fin. And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' mony a guid lord's son, Lang, lang will the ladyes look Into their morning weed. Before they see young Patrick Spens Come sailing ower the flood. Lang, lang will the ladyes look Wi' their fans in their hand. Before they see him, Patrick Spens, Come sailing to dry land. [This fine modern ballad is by Alfred Tkn- NvsoN. The author says it was suggested by Miss Ferrier's novel, " The Inheritance."] LoBD Ronald courted Lady Clare, I trow they did not part in scorn ; Lord Ronald, her cousin, courted her, And they will wed the morrow morn. " He does not love me for my birth, Xor for my lands so broad and fair; He loves me for my own true worth. And that is well," said lady Clare. In there came old Alice the nurse. Said, " Who was this that went from "It was my cousin," said lady Ckire, [thee ?" " To-morrow he weds with me." " God be thank'd !" said Alice the nurse, " That all comes round so just and lair: Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands. And you are not the lady Clare.' " Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?" Said lady Clare, " that ye speak so wild ?" " As God 's above !" said Alice the nurse, " I speak the truth : you are my child. SCOTTISH BALLADS. " The old Earl's daughter died at my breast ; I speak the truth, as I live by bread ! 1 buried her like my own sweet child. And put my child in her stead." " Falsely, falsely have ye done, O mother," she said, " if this be trus. To keep the best man under the sun 60 many years from his due." " Xay now, my child, " said Alice the nurse, " But keep the secret for your life. And aU yoa have will be lord Ronald's, When you are tnan and wife." " If I'm a beggar bom," she said, " I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Poll off, pull off, the broach of gold. And fling that diamond necklace by.'- " Xay now, ray child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret all ye can." She said, " Xot so : but I will know If there be any faith in man." " ITay now, what faith ?" said Alice the nurse, " The man wiU cleave unto his right." " And he shall have it," the lady replietl, " Though I should die to-night." " Tet give one kiss to your mother dear ; AIa3, my child, I sinn'd for thee." " O mother, mother, mother," she said. " So strange it seems to me. " Tet 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." 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. Down stept lord Ronald from his tower: " O lady Clare, you shame your worth ! Why come you drest like a village maid. That are the flower of the earth ?" h " Play me no tricks," said lord Ronald, " For I am yours in word and in detd. I " Play me no tricks," said lord Ronald, " Tour riddle is hard to read." O 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. He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn : He turn'd, and kiss'd her where she stood, j " If you are not the heiress born, " And I," said he, " the next in blooi — " If you are not the heiress born, i And I," said he, " the lawful heir, I We two will wed to-morrow mom, I And you shall still be lady Clare." I Igsil sEk^sTli'0 llaiigpc:. i [From Buchan's Ballads of the North.] I Earl Richard had but ae daughter, j A maid o' birth and fame ; I , She loved her lather's kitchen boy,— ' The greater was her shame. But she could ne'er her true love see, Xor with him could she talk. In towns where she had wont to go, >"or fields where she could walk. But it fell acce upon a day. Her Cither went from home ,- She's call'd upon the kitchen boy. To come and clean her room. " Come sit ye down by me, Wiliie, Come sit ye down by me ; There's nae a lord in a' the north That I can love but thee." '^^J ^ " If I come drest like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are : I am a beggar bom," she said, " And not the ladv dare." " Let never the like be heard, lady, >'or let it ever be ; For if your father get word o' this, He will gar hang me hie." ^^ *• O ye shall ne'er be hang'd, "Willie, Your blude shall ne'er be drawn ; I'll '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 expir'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 ; I'll put you in a higher place Than any cook's degree. " I have a coffer full of gold, Another of white monie; And 1 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. And 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, Willi( 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." Kow he is to his bonnie ship. And merrily ta'en the sea ; Ihe lady lay o'er castle \va'. The tear blinded her e'e. They had not sail'd upon the sea A week but barely three. When came a prosperous gale of wind,- On Spain's coast landed he. 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 hei-e, my Jlaries a", 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 ; All clad in silk, and rich attire. And comely, comely's he. " busk, O 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 wliite bread. And drink the claret wine." " I thank you for your bread, lady, 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 says, " Your gay bride were I she; And then to live on a small portion. Contented 1 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 all my life,— I'll ne'er wed one but she." Then she's ta'en out a gay gold ring. And ga'e him presentlie ; j I " 'Twill mind you on the lady, young man, I That laid her love on thee." j ; " 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 small. As they stood on the shore ; Then hoist the mainsail to the wind. Adieu, for evermore ! " 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." " Tes, I'U come up to your castle With you, and take my dine ; For 1 would give my bonnie ship Were your fair daughter mine." " 1 would give all my lands," he said, " That your bride she would be ; Then to live on a smaU portion. Contented would I be." He had not sail'd upon the sea A week but barely three, TJntil 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, "Wliich did disguise him sair. Earl Richard lay o'er castle wa', Beholding dale and down ; And he beheld the bonnie ship Ck)me sailing to the town. " Come here, come here, my daughter dear. 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 bosk, 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 lax 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 Th^ day, and dine wi' me." As they gaed up from yon sea strand. And down the bowling green. He drew the mask out o'er his fiice. 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 no strange man Such freedom use with me." Her father tum'd him round about, A hght laugh then gave he ; " Stay, I'll retire a httle while. Perhaps you may agree." Now Willie's ta'en a gay gold ring. And gave her presentlie ; Says, " Take ye that, ye lady fair, A love token from me." " O got ye't on the sea sailing .' Or got ye't on the sand ? Or got ye't on the coast of Spain, Upon a dead man's hand .■"' " 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 pass'd by. But no remeid could he ; He gave me this token to bear Unto a &ir ladie. u; ^{>^^'( SCOTTISH BALLADS. " And by the marks he has descr.vv'd, I'm sure that you are she ; So take this token of free will. For him you'll never see." In sorrow she tore her mantle. With care she tore her hair ; " Now since I've lost my own true love, I'll ne'er love young men mair." He drew the mask from off his face, The lady sweetly smiled ; •' Awa', awa', ye Hiuse AVillie, How have you me beguiled ?" Earl Richard he went through the ha'. The wine glass in his hand ; Uut little thought his kitchen boy Was heir o'er a" his land. But tliis she kept within her heart, And never told to one ; I'ntil nine months they were expir'd That her young son came home. She told it to her father dear; He said, " Daughter, well won ; You've married for love, not for gold. Your joys will ne'er be done/' ^Iz Immt ^ad of §^mtni. ["James, Earl of Murray, the subject of this ballad, was a son of Lord Downe, but acquired the title of Jloray by marrying Elizabeth, eldest ; daughter of the celebrated Regent Moray. He I was thought to be the han'isomest man of his ' | time ; and it would appear from the ballad, that , he was skilled in those chivalric accomplishments i \ which are so well fitted to set off a good figure to advantage. There is even a suspicion that he was a gallant of the queen, Anne of Denmaik, ; then recently brought over to Scotland; butth s i seems to be countenanced by little else than the | ballad."— CAawier*. || "The 7 of F( bruarlj this zeire, 1592, the Eare '! of Murray was cruelly murthered by the Earle of Huntly, at his house in Dunibrissell, in Fyffe- shyre, and with him Dumbar, Shriffe of Murray ; i ' it [was] given out, and publickly talked that toe ^ Earle of Huntley was only the instrument of per- petratting this facte, to satisffie the Kinges jelosie of 3Iurray, quhom the Queine, more rash- lie than wyslie, some few dayes before had com- mendit in the Kinges heiringe, with too many epithetts of a proper and g.allant man . The res- sons of these surmisses proceidit from proclama- tione of the Kinges the 18 of Jtlarche following, inhibitting the younge Earle of Murray to per- sew the Earle of Huntley for his fathers slaugh- ter, in respecte he being wardit in the oastell of Blacknesse for the same murther, was willing to abyde his tryell; averring that he had done nothing, bot by the King's ma''«s commissione : and so was neither airt nor pairt of toe mur- ther." — Annates of Scotland by Sir James Bal- four, Vol. I. Ed in., 18-24.] Ye Highlands, and ye Law-lands, Oh ! quhair ha'e ye been ? They ha'e slaine the Earl of Murray, And ha'e lain him on the green. Now wae be to thee, Huntly! And quhairfore did you sae ? I bade you bring hira wi' you. But forbade you him to slay. 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. He was a braw gallant. And he play'd at the ba' : And the bonnie Earl of Murray Was the flower amang toem a". He was a braw gallant, And he play'd at the gluve ; And toe bonnie Earl of Murray, Oh ! he was the queenes luve. Oh ! lang will his lady Look owre the castle Downe,* Ere she see the Earl of Murray Cum sounding torough the towne. * Doune Castle, in Menteith, now in ruins, but still the property < f th.-! noble family of Moray. It may be mentioned, that Dunnibrissle, whero the murder happened, was the seat of the earl's mother; and that he was only there on a visit. Chambers. THE BOX^^E ZAEL OF MURRAY. [Anothek Version.] Opew the gates. And let him come in ; He is my brother Huntly, He"ll do him nae harm. The gates they were open't. They let him come in ; But Ciuse traitor Hantly, He did him great harm. He's ben and ben. And ben to his bed ; And with a sharp rapier. He stabbed him dead. The lady came down the stair. Wringing her hands : " He has slain the Earl o" Mormy, The flower o* Scotland." But Huntly lap on his horse; Eade to the king, " Ye're welcome hame, Huntly, And whare ha'e ye been ? " 'VVhare ha'e ye been ? And how ha'e ye sped ?" "I've killed the Earl o' Murray, Dead in his bed." " Foul ia' yon, Huntly, And why did ye so ; You might ha'e ta'en the Earl of Murray, And saved his life too." " Her bread it's to bake. Her yill is to brew ; My sister's a widow. And sair do I rue." " Her com grows ripe. Her meadows grow green ; But in bonnie Dinnibristle, I darena be seen." [Supposed, like the two former ballads, to refer to the fate of the unfortunate Earl of Murray.] About Zule qnhen the wind blew cule. And the round tables began ; A ! there is cum to our king's court. Money a well-favour'd man. The queen luikit owre the castle wa'. Beheld bait'a dale and down. And there she saw the young Waters, Cum riding to the town. His footmen they did rin before. His horsemen rade behind. And mantel of the burning gowd Did keep him frae the wind. Gowden graith'd his horse before. And siller shod behind; The horse young Waters rade upon Was fleeter than the wind. Out then spak' a wylie lord. Unto the queen said he ; " O teU me quha's the fairest face Rides in the company ?" " I've sene lord, and I've sene laird. And knights of high degree, But a fairer face than young Waters', Mine eyne did never see." Out than spak' the jealous king, (And an angry man was he): " O, if he had been twice as fair. You micht have excepted me." " Your neither laird nor lord," she says, " But the king that wears the crown; There's not a knight in fair Scotland, But to thee maun bow down." For a' that she couM do or say. Appeased he wadna be ; But for the words which she had said. Young ■\\'aters he maun die. They ha'e ta'en young Waters, and Put fetters to his feet ; They ha'e ta'en young Waters, ar.d Thrown him in dungeon deep. f SCOTTISH BALLADS. d .^ £^^ " Aft I have ridden throush Stirling town. In the wind bot and the weit ; But 1 ne'er rade thnmgh Stirling town Wi' fetters at my feet. " Aft I have ridden through Stirling town, In the wind bot 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 bot and tlie saddle. They ha'e ta'en to the heiding hill. His lady fair to see ; And for the words the queen had spobo Young Waters he did die. ?tf ^rtlur un^ Ea^u &ie. [MoDHRN Ballad. — Hugh Ai Sir 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 st*p 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 — i Our tree is bow'd, our flow'r is dow'd — >'S 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 fr.ie 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 him round about, 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 sma', Wi' the grip of a drowning man. " ! 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. " : I could reake a queen o' tliee, An' it would be my pride ; But, Lady Anne, it's no for thee To be an outlaw's bride." " Ha'e I left kith an' kin. Sir Knight, To turn about an' rue ? Ha'e I shared win' an' weet wi' thee. That I maun leave thee now ? "There's goud an' siller in this han' Will buy us mony a rigg ; There's pearlings in this other han' A stately tow'r to big. " 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 !" V> ^aii ilr,?.et. [From Percy's Collection. See the introduc- tion to the following ballad, " Sweet Willie and Fair Annie."] LoRS Thomas and feir Annet Sate a' day on a hill ; Whan night was cum, and sun was sett. They had not talkt their fill. Lord Thomas said a word in jest. Fair Annet took it ill : A". I will never wed a wife Against my ain friends will. Gil ye wuU nevir wed a wife, A wife wuU neir wed yee. Sae he is hame to tell his mither. And knelt ujMjn his knee : rede, O rede, mither, he says, A gude rede gi'e to mee : O sail I tak' the nut-browne bride. And let fair Annet bee ? The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, Fair Annet she's gat nane ; And the little beauty fair Annet has, O it wull goon be gane ! And he has till his brother gane : Ifow, brother, rede ye mee ; A' saU I raarrie the nut-browne bride. And let fair Annet bee .^ The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, r= The nut-browne bride has kye ; \JL 1 wad ha'e ye marrie the nut-browne bride, V: And cast fair Annet bye. : Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billie, ^ And her kye into the byre ; And I sail ha'e nothing to my sell, ^ Bot a fat fadge by the fyre. And he has tUl his sister gane : Now, sister, rede ye mee ; O sail I marrie the nut-browne brids. And set fiiir Annet free ? Ise rede ye tak' (air 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 o' hand ; And I will tak' the nut-browne bride Fair Annet may leive the land. Up then rose fair Annet's father Twa hours or it wer day. And he has gane into the bower, "Wherein fair Annet lay. 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. My maides, gae to my dressing-roome. And dress to me m-y hair ; Whair-eir yee laid a plait before. See yee lay ten times mair. My maides, gae to my dressing-roome. And dress to me my smock ; The one half is o' the holland fine. The other o' needle-work. The horse fair Annet rade upon. He amblit like the wind, Wi' siller he was shod before, Wi' burning gowd behind. Four-and-twanty siller bells Wei a' tjed till his mane. And yae tift o' the norland wind, They tinkled ane by ane. Four-and-twenty gay gude knichta Rade by fair Annet's side. And four-and-twenty fair ladies. As gin she had bin a bride. And whan she cam' to Marie's kirk, She sat on Slarle's stean ; The cleading that frJr Annet had on It skinkled in their een. And whan she cam' into the kirk. She shimmer'd like the sun ; The belt that was about her waist. Was a' wi' pearles bedone. She sat her by the nut-browne bride. And her een they were sae clear, Lord Thomas he clean forgat the brid?. When fair Annet she drew near. He had a rose into his hand. And he gave it kisses three. And reaching by the nut-browne bridG, Ijaid it on fkir Annet's knee. tTp than spak' the nut-browne bride ; She spak' wi' meikle spite ; And whar gat ye that rose-water, That does mak' yee sae white ? O I did get the rose-water "Whair ye wuU neir get nane. For I did get that very rose-water Into my mither's wame. The bride she drew a long bodkin, Frae out her gay head-gear. And strake fair Annet unto the heart. That word she nevir spak' mair. Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wax pale. And raarvelit what mote bee : But when ho saw her dear heart's blude, A' wood wroth wexed hee. He drew his dagger, that was sae sliarp. That was sae sharp and meet, And drave it into the nut-browne bride, That fell deid at his feit. Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed. Now stay, my dear, he cry'd ; Then strake the dagger until his heart, Ar.d fL'll deid by her side. Lord Thomas was buried without the Kirk, Fair Annet within the quiere; twaV And o' the tane there grew a birk. The other a bonnie briere. And aye they grew, and aye they threw. As they wad faine be neare; And by this ye may ken right weil. They were twa luvers deare. SWEET WILLIE, AND FAIR ANNIE. [From Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs. Three ballads," says Mr Jamieson, " all of I them of considerable merit, on the same subject I as the following, are to be found in vol. iii. of the 'Eeliques of Ancient English Poetry,' under the titles of Lord Thomas and Fair Elinor, Fair Margaret and Sweet William, and Lord Thomaa and Fair Annet, (see above) ; the latter of which is in that work given with some corrections ' from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland,' and supposed to be composed, not without im- provements, out of the two former ancient Eng- lish ones. At this distance of time, it would be in vain to attempt to ascertain which was the original, and which the imitation; and, I think it extremely probable, that, in their origin, they were perfectly independent of each other, and both derived from some one of those fableaux, romances, or tales, which, about four or five hundred years ago, were so familiarly known, in various forms, over a great part of Europe, that it would even then have been diflScult to say to i what country or language, they owed their birth. 1 The text of Lord Thomas and Fair Annet seems I to have been adjusted, previous to its leaving Scotland, by some one who was more of a scho- lar than the reciters of ballads generally are; ! and, in attempting to give it an antique cast, it j has been deprived of somewhat of that easy fia- I cility which is the distinguished characteristic of j the traditionary ballad narrative. With the ! tcxtof the following ditty, no such experiment j has been made. It is here given pure and en- I tire, as it was taken down by the editor, from ^ the recitation of a lady in Aberbrothick, {Mrs ^^ 'W. Arrot,) to whose politeness and friendship ^ this collection is under considerable obligations. "> She had no previous intimation of the compiler's \ visit, or of his undertaking; and the few hours ^ he spent at her friendly fire-side were very busily employed in writing. As she had, when a child, .; learnt the ballad from an elderly maid -servant, ; and probably had not repeated it for a dozen of # years before I had the good fortune to be intro- ^' duced to her; it may be depended upon, that ^ every line was recited to me as nearly as possible ,/ in the exact form in which she learnt it." In the notes to the ballad, Mr Jamieson con- . fesses that " line 3d of stanza 29, is an interpo- lation. Instead of stanzas 30 and 31, Mrs Ajrot ^ recited : ' Tak' up and wear your rose, Willie, \ And wear't wi' muckle care ; f For the woman sail never bear a son, = That will make my heart sae sair.' ' The whole of stanza 36— the second and third ) lines of stanza 40 — stanza 41, except the first line -, — and the whole of stanzas 43 and 44, were also supplied by the editor. In every other instance, 1 the purity and integrity of the text was scru- / pulously preserved."] / Sweet 'Willie and fair Annie Sat a' day on a hill ; And though they had sitten seven year, ) They ne'er wad had their fill. Sweet Willie said a word in haste. And Annie took it ill : " 1 ivinna wed a tocherless maid, Againit my parent's \vill." O Annie she's gane till her bower. And Willie down the den ; ' And he's come till his mither's bower. By the lei light C the moon. " sleep ye, wake ye, mither ?" he says, " Or are ye the bower within .^" " I sleep richt aft, I wake rieht aft;* What want ye wi' me, son ? " Whare ha'e ye been a' night, Willie; O wow ! ye've tarried lang !" " I have been courtin' fair Annie, And she is frae me gane. • Tiiat is, my slumbers are short, broken, and interrupted; a characteristic of age. < " There is twa maidens in a bower. Which o' them sail I bring hame ? The nut-brown maid has sheep and cohs, And fair Annie has nane." " It's an ye wed t'ae nut-brown maid, I'll heap gold wi' my hand ; But an ye wed her, faur Annie, I'll straik it wi' a wand. " The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows. And fair Annie has nane , And Will:e, for my benison. The nut-brown maid bring hame." "01 sail wed the nut-browne maid. And I sail bring har hame ; But peace nor rest between us twa, TiU death sinder's again. " But, alas, alas ;" says sweet WUlie, " O fair is Annie's £ice !" " But what's the matter, my son Willis, She has nae ither grace." "Alas, alas!" says sweet Willie ; " But white is Annie's hand !" " But what's the matter, my son WUlie, She hasna fur o' land." " Sheep will die in cots, mither. And owsen die in byre; And what's this warld's wealth to me. An I get na my heart's desire ? " Whar will I get a bonnie boy. That wad fain win hose and shoon. That will rin to fair Annie's bower, Wi' the lei light o' the moon ? Ye'U tell her to come to Willie's weddin'. The mom at twal at noon; Ye'U tell her to come to Willie's weddin'. The heir o' Duplin town.* * Duplin town. — Duplin is the seat of the earl of Kinnoul, from which he derives his title of viscount. It is in the neighbourhood of Perth. This copy of the ballad was taken from the cur- rent traditionary manner of reciting it in that part of the country ; and it is observable, that ballads are very frequently adapted to the meri- ! dian of the place where they are found ; so that ^ tae same parts and characters are given to per- -m SCOTTISH BALLADS. " She manna put on the black, the black, / Kor yet the dowie brown ; [white, > But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae ^ And her bonnie locks liangin' down." He is on to Annie's bower. And tirled at the pin ; And wha was sae ready as Annie hcrsel, To open and let him in. '• Ve are bidden come to Willie's weddin'. The morn at twal at noon ; Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin'. The heir of Duplin town. " Ye manna put on the black, the black. Nor yet the dowie brown ; [white. But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae ? And your bonnie locks hangin' down." " It's I will come to Willie's weddin", The mom at twal at noon ; Its I will come to Willie's weddin'. But I rather the mass had been mine " Slaidens, to my bower come. And lay gold on my hair; A nd whare ye laid ae plait before, Yfc'U now lay ten times raair. " Taylors, to my bower come. And mak' to me a weed ; And smiths unto my stable come. And shoe to me a steed." At every tatc o' Annie's horse' mane There hang a silver bell ; A nd there came a wind out frae the south. Which made them a' to knell. * And when she came to Mary-kirk, And sat down in the deas. The light that came frae fair Annie, F.iilighten'd a' the place. But up and stands the nut-brown bride. Just at her father's knee ; '• O wha is this, my father dear. That blinks in WiUie'a e'e ?" " O this is Willie's first true love. Before he loved thee." sons of different names and ranks in life in dif- ferent parts of the country. — Jamieson. i " If that be Willies first true love. He might ha'e latten me be ; She has as much gold on ae finger. As I'll wear till I die. " whare got ye that water, Annie, That washes you sae white ?" "I gotiti'mymither'8 wambe, Whare ye'U ne'er get the like. " For ye've been wash'd in Dunny's well. And dried on Dunny's dyke ; And a' the water in the sea Will never wash ye white." Willie's ta'en a rose out o' his hat. Laid it in Annie's lap; " The bonniest to the bonniest fa's, Hae, wear it for my sake." " Tak' up and wear your rose, Willie, As lang as it will last ; For, like your love, its sweetness a' Will soon be gane and past. " Wear ye the rose o" love, Willie, And I the thorn o' care ; For the woman sail never bear a son. That will mak' my heart sae sair." When night was come, and day was gane And al men boun' to bed. Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride In their chamber were laid. They werena weel lyen down. And scarcely fa'n asleep, Whan up and stands she, fair Annie, Just up at WiUie's feet. " Weel brook ye o* your brown brown bride, f^ Between ye and the wa' ; \_; And sae will I o' my winding sheet, That suits me best ava. " Weel brook ye o' your brown brov.n bride, Between ye and the stock ; And sae will I o' my black black kist. That has neither key nor lock. " Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride. And o' your bridal bed ; And sae wUl I o' the cald cald moole. That soon will hap my head." SCOTTISH BALLADS. Sad 'Willie raisa, put on his clais;. Drew till him his hose and shoon. And he is on to Annie's bower. By the lei light o' the moon. The firsten bower that he came till. There was right dowie wark ; Her mither and her three sisters TV'ere makin' to Annie a sark. ■ The nexten bower that he came till. There was right dowie cheir ; Her father and her seven brethren Were makin' to Annie a bier. The lasten bower that he came till, O, heavy was his care '. The waxen lights were burning bright. And fair Annie streekit there. He's lifted up the coverlet, "WTiere she, lair Annie, lay ; " Sweet was her smile, but wan her cheel Oh, wan, and cald as clay !" Pale Willie grew ; wae was his heart, And sair he sigh'd wi' teen ; " Oh, Annie ! had I kent thy worth, Ere it o'er late had been ! " It's I will kiss your bonnie cheek. And I will kiss your chin ; And I will kiss your clay-cald lip ; But I'U never kiss woman again. " And that I was in love out-doue. Sail ne'er be said o' me ; For, as ye've died for me, Annie, Sae will I do for thee. " The day ye deal at Annie's burial The bread but and the wine ; Before the mom at twall o'clock, They'll deal the same at mine." The tane was buried in Mary's kirk. The tither in Mary's quire ; And out o' the tane there grew a birk. And out o' the tither a brier. And aye they grew, and aye they grew, TTntill they twa did meet ; And every ane that past them by. Said, " Thae's been lovers sweet !" n^x^ ISek^an, /?' I [Tbe ballad of " Toung Beiehan and Susie Pye" is common to both England and Scotland, and several different readings of it exist. The following Scottish version is from Mr Kinloch's collection, London, 1827. Mr Jamieson gives two ballads founded on the same subject. The second of thes3, entitled " Young Bekie," as it differs materially from the present, we subjoin. The subject of the ballads, " Lord Beiehan" or " Young Bekie" is supposed, with great proba- bility, to have originated in the historical fact of Gilbert Becket, the father of the famous Tho- mas a Becket, having been enslaved by the Sara- cens, and liberated through the instrumentality of a governor's daughter, who sought him out afterwards in London through many dangers I and difficulties, and whom he made his wife. I Thomas a Becket was a son of this vinion.] Young Beiehan was in London bom, He was a man of hie degree ; He past through monie kingdoms great, Until he cam' unto grand Turkie. He view'd the fashions of that land, Their way of worship viewed he ; But unto onie of their stocks, ! I He wadna sae much as bow a knee : 1 1 Which made him to be taken straight, j j And brought afore their high jurie ; The savage Moor did speak upricht. And made him meilde Ul to dree. In Uka shoulder they've bor'd a hole. And in illia hole they've put a tree ; They've made him to draw carts and wains, Till he was sick and like to dee. But young Beiehan was a Christian born. And still a Christian was he ; - Which made them put him in prison Strang, : -^ And cauld and hunger sair to dree ; '< ^^ And fed on nocht but bread and water, ^C~ Untill the day that he mot dee. ^s§^^ wr In this prison there grew a tree. And it was unco stout and Strang ; Where he was chained by the middle. Until his life was almost gane. ^• IS m 21 The savage Moor had but ae dochter. And her name it was Susie Pye ; And ilka day as she took the air, The prison door slie passtd bye. But it fell ance upon a day. As she was walking, she heard him sing ; She listen 'd to his tale of woe, A happy day for young Beichan ! " My hounds they all go masterless, Jly hawks they flee frae tree to tree. My youngest brother will heir my lands. My native land I'll never see." " O were I but the prison -keeper, A3 I'm a ladie o' hie degree, I soon wad set this youth at large. And send him to his ain countrie." She went away into her chamber. All nicht she never closed her e'e; And when the morning begoud to dav.n. At the prison door alane was she. She gied the keeper a piece of gowd. And monie pieces o" white monie. To tak' her through the bolts and bars, The lord frae Scotland she lang'd to see :- She saw young Beichan at the stake. Which made her weep maist bitterlie. " O ha'e ye got onie lands," she says, " Or castles in your ain countrie ? It's what wad ye gi'e to the ladie fair Wha out o' prison wad set you free .-"' " It's I ha'e houses, and I ha'e lands, Wi' monie castles fair to see. And I wad gi'e a' to that ladie gay, Wha out o' prison wad set me free." The keeper syne brak aff his chains. And set Lord Beichan at libertie : — She fill'd his pockets baith wi' gowd. To tak' him till his ain countrie. She took him frae her father's prison. And gied to him the best o' wine; And a brave health she drank to him, — " I wish. Lord Ut-ichan, ye were mine ! It's seven lang years I'll mak' a vow. And seven lang years I'll keep it true ; If ye'll wed wi' na ither woman. It's I will wed na man but you." SCOTTISH BALLADS. She's tane him to her father's port. And gi'en to him a ship o' fame, — " Farewell, farewell, my Scottish lord, I fear I'll ne'er see you again." Lord Beichan tum'd him round about. And lowly, lowly, loutit he • — " Ere seven lang years come to an end, I'll tak' jou to mine ain countrie." Then whan he cam' to Glasgow town, A happy, happy, man was he ; The ladies a' around him thrang'd. To see him come frae slaverie. Uis mother she had died o' sorrow. And a' his brothers were dead but he ; His lands they a' were lying waste. In ruins were his castles free. Is a porter there stood at his yett ; Na human creature he could see ; Except the screeching owls and bats, Had he to bear him companie. But gowd will gar the castles grow. And he had gowd and jewels free; And soon the pages around him thrang'd. To serve him on their bended knee. His hall was hung wi' silk and satin. His table rung wi' mirth and glee; He soon forgot the lady fair. That lows'd him out o' slaverie. Lord Beichan courted a lady gay. To heir wi' him his lands sae free, yie'er thinking that a lady fair Was on her way frae grand Turkic. For Susie Pye could get nae rest, Nor day nor nicht could happy be. Still thinking on the Scottish lord. Till she was sick and like to dee. But she has builded a bonnie ship, Weel mann'd wi' seamen o' hie degree; And secretly she stept on board. And bid adieu to her ain countrie. But whan she cam' to the Scotti-h shore. The bells v.ere ringing sae merrilie ; It was Lord Beichan 's wedding day, Wi' a lad; £Eur o' hie degree. SCOTTISH BALLADS. But sic a vessel was never seen, The very masts were tapp'd wi' gold ! Her sails were made o' the satin fine, ilaist 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 .•' He surely lives in this coantrie." 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 guile rre 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 bread. But 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, — " Yon micht ha'e excepted our bonnie bride, Tho' she'd been three times as fair as she.' " My dame, your daughter's lait enough. And aye the fairer mot she be ; But the fairest time that e'er she was, She'll na compare wi' this ladle. '•' She has a gowd ring on Oka finger. And on her mid-finger she has three ; She has as meik'.e 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 -nine, V° = And bids you mind the lady's love /^>5& That ance did lowse ye out o' pyne." i;_\ Then up and started Lord Beichan, .-^^ I wat he made the table flee, — , J I " I wad gi'e a' ray yearlie rent ^^^-v' 'Twere Susie Pye come owre the sea." (Jd)' Syne up bespak' the bride's mither, — LTH She was ne'er heard to speak sae free, — V^ " Ye'U no forsake my ae dochter, /^'^ Though Susie Pye has cross'd the sea ?" k«\ " Tak' name, tak' hame, your dochter, madam, ' - f^^' 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 haUs 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; — Says, " 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 i gar a' our pipers play; And fy ! gar trumpets gae through the toan. That Lord Beichan's wedded twice in a day;" ¥euxig Wi'ku, [Fhom Jamieson's Collection. See Note previous Ballad.] YocKr, Beckib was as brave a knight As ever saU'd the sea; And he's dcen him to the court o' France, To serve for meat and fee. SCOTTISH BALLADS. He hadna been in the court o' France A twelvemonth nor sae lang, Till he fell in love wi' the king's daughter. And was thrown in prison Strang. The king he had but ae daughter, Burd Isbel was her name ; And she has to the prison gane. To hear the prisoner's mane. " O gin a lady wad borrow me. At her stirrup I wad rin ; O gin a widow wad borrow me, I wad swear to be her son. " O gin a virgin wad borrow me, I wad wed her wi' a ring ; I'd gi'e her ha's, I'd gi'e her bowers. The bonnie towers o' Linne." O barefoot barefoot gaed she but. And barefoot cam' she ben; It was na for want o' hose and shoon, Nor time to put them on ; But a' for fear that her father Had heard her makin' din ; For she's stown the keys of the prison. And gane the dungeon within. And when she saw him, young Bekie, Wow, but her heart was sair ! For the mice, but and the bauld rattons. Had eaten his yellow hair. She's gotten him a shaver for his beard, A comber till his hair; Five hundred pound in his pocket. To spend, and nae to spare. She's gi'en him a steed was good in need. And a saddle o' royal bane ; A leash o' hounds o' ae litter. And Hector called ane. Atween thir twa a vow was made, 'Twas made full solemlic, That or three years were come and gane, Weel married they should be. " Ochon, alas !" says young Bekie, " 1 kenna what to dee ; For I canna win to Burd Isbel, And she canna come to me." O it fell out upon a day Burd Isbel tell asleep, And up it starts the Billy Blin, And stood at her bed feet. " waken, waken, Burd Isbel; How can ye sleep so soun' ; "When this is Bekie's wedding day. And the marriage gaing on ? " Ye do ye till your mither's bower. As fast as ye can gang; And ye tak' three o' your mither's Marys, To baud ye unthocht lang. "Te dress yoursel' i' the red scarlet, And your l\Iarys in dainty green ; And ye put girdles about your middle Wad buy an earldome. " Syne ye gang down by yon sea-side. And down by yon sea-strand ; And bonnie will the Hollans boats Come rowin' till your hand. " Te set your milk-white foot on board. Cry, ' Hail ye, Domine !' And I will be the steerer o't. To row you o'er the sea." She's ta'en her till her mither's bower. As fast as she could gang; And she's ta'en twa o' her mither's Marys, To baud her unthocht lang. She's drest hersel' i' the red scarlet. Her Marys i' the dainty green ; And they've put girdles about their middle Would buy an earldome. And they gaed down by yon sea-side. And down by yon sea-strand ; And sae bonnie as the Hollans boats Come rowin' till their hand. He hadna been in's ain countrie A twelvemonth till an end. Till he's forced to marry a duke's daughter. Or than lose a' his land. She set her milk-white foot on board. Cried, " Hail ye, Domine I" And the Billy Blin was the steerer o't, To row her o'er the sea. SCOTTISH BALLADS Whan she cam' to young Bekie's gate, She heard the music play ; And her mind misga'e by a' she heard, That 'twas his wedding day. She's pitten her hand in her pocliet, Gi'en the porter markis three ; ■' Hae, take ye that, ye proud porter. Bid your master speake to me." 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 This thirty years and three ; But there are three ladies at them now. Their like I did never see. " There's ane o' them drest in red scarlet. And twa in dainty green ; And they ha'e girdles about their middles Would buy an earldome." Then out and spak' the bierdly bride. Was a' goud to the chin ; " Gin she be fine without," she says, " We's be as fine within." Then up it starts him, young Bekie, And the tear was in his e'e : " I'll lay my life it's Burd Isbel Come o'er the sea to me." O quickly he ran down the stair; And whan he saw 'twas she. He kindly took her in his arms. And kist her tenderlie. " ha'e ye forgotten now, young Bekie, The vow ye made to me, When I took you out of prison Strang, When ye was condemned to dee ? " I ga'e you a steed was good in need. And a saddle o' royal bane ; A leash o* hounds o' ae litter ; And Hector called ane." It was well kent what the lady said, That it was nae a lie ; For at the first word the lady spak'. The hound fell at her knee. " Tak' hame, tak' hame your daughter dear; A blessing gang her wi' ; For I maun marry my Burd Isbel, That's come o'er the sea to me." " Is this the custome o' your house. Or the fashion o' your land. To marry a maid in a May morning, And send her back a maid at e'en .■'" [Stall copies of May Colvin or Collean, under the title of " The Western Tragedy," exist of a date at least as far back as the middle of the last century. From these the ballad found its way into Herd's collection, and is reprinted by Motherwell with some alterations from a recited version. "The ballad finds locality," says Mr Chambers, " in that wild portion of the coast of Carrick, (Ayrshire,) which intervenes betwixt Girvan and Ballantrae. Carlton Castle, about two miles to the south of Girvan, (a tall old ruin situated on the brink of a bank which overhangs the sea, and which gives title to Sir John Cath- cart, Bart, of Carlton,) igaflarmed by the country people, who still remember the story with great freshness, to have been the residence of 'the fause Sir John;' while a tall rocky eminence, called Gamsloup, overhanging the sea about two miles still farther south, and over which the road passes in a style terrible to all travellers, is pointed out as the place where he was in the habit of dro^vning his -wives, and where he was finally drowned himself. The people, who look upon the ballad as a regular and proper record of an unquestionable fact, farther aflnrm that May Collean was a daughter of the family of Kennedy of Colzean, now represented by the Earl of Cassilis, and that she became heir to all the immense wealth which her husband had ac- quired by his former mal-practices, and accord- ingly lived happy all the rest of her days." We give here, first, the ballad as it appears in Motherwell, which differs little from Herd's version. We also give Mr Buchan's version, which, though similar in incident, is almost to- W tally different in language from the others.] 1 •Si M ^®s^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. & i '0 False Sir John a wooing came, % To a niiiid of beauty fair ; May Colvin was the 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 d.iy. 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, pS And lay it on this stone, iJ For it is too fine and o'er costly '^ To rot in the salt sea foam." A " O turn you about, thou false Sir John, y And look to the leaf o' the tree ; g For it never became a gentleman == A naked woman to see." (A He's turned himself straight round about, ^ ) To look to the leaf o' the tree ; She's twined her arii;s about his waist. And thrown him into the sea. •' O hold a grip of me. May Colvin, For fear that 1 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, he 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 yestrten ?" Up then spake the pretty parrot. In the bonnie cage where it lay : " O what ha'e ye done with the false Sir John That he behind you docs 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'."' " O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot. Lay not the blame upon me ; Your cage will be made of the beaten gold. And the spakes of ivorie." Up then spake the king himself. In the chamber where he lay: " Oh ! «hat 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 previous ballad. Binyan's Bay, mentioned in this 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 drovmed them in the sea. A a ladies of a gude accoant. As ever yet were known ; Tliis traitor was a barren knight. 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. Then art the darling of my heart, I say, &ir May Colvui ; So far exeells 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 dama come. Your parents' leave ye soon shall have. To this they wiU agree ; For I ha'e made a solemn vow. This nig'at ye'se gang wi' me. Frae below his arm he's pull'd a charm. And stuck it in her sleeve ; And he has made her gang wi' him. Without her parents' leave. >Iuch gowd and s'Uler 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, Jfae habitation nigh ; The fatal rocks were tall and steep. And nane could hear her cry. SCOTTISH BALLADS, Are these your bowers and lofty towers, Sae beautiful and gay ? Or is it for my gold, she says. You take r.;y life away ? Cast aff, cast aff your jewels fine, Sae costly, 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 aU 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 wi' 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 m.an 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's3 get your claise wi' thee. Then on she puts her jewels fine, Sae costly, rich, and brave ; And then wi' speed she mounts her steed, Sae weU's she did behave. 1 Light down, light down, fair Mary Colvin, Light down, and speak wi' me ; For here I've drown'd eight virgins brave. And you the ninth maun be. This maiden fair being void of fear, Tne steed was swift and free ; And she has reach'd her father's house Before the clock struck three. "^m^f^c^M^i^^ a1 30 SCOTTISH UALLADS. r^j First she call'd the stable groom, Who was her waiting man ; As soon's he heard his lady's word. He came wi' cap in han*. Where hast then been, fair May Colvin ■ ■VVho owes this dapple gray ? It is a found ane, she replied. That I got on the way. Then out it speaks the wylie parrot, Unto fair May Colvin; Wliat hast thou made o' fause Sir John, That ye went wi' yestreen ? O haud your tongue, my pretty parrot. And talk nae mair C me ; For when ye got ae meal a-fore, My parrot, ye'se ha'e three. Then out it speaks her father dear. In the chamber where he lay ; AVhat aileth thee, my pretty parrot. To chat sae lang ere day .•> The cat she scratch'd at my cage door. The thief I couldna see ; And I am calling on May Colvin, To take the cat frae me. But first she tauld her father dear. The deed that she had done ; Likewise unto her mother dear. Concerning fause Sir John. If that be true, fair May Colvin, That ye ha'e tauld to me ; The morn, ere I eat or drink. This fause Sir John I'll see. .Sae aff they went, wi" ae consent. By the dawning o' the day ; Until they came to Charlestown sands. And there his corpse it lay. His body tall, with that great fall, AVith waves t ss'd to and fro. The diamond ring that he had on. Was broken in pieces two. They ha'e taken up his corpse To yonder pleasant green ; And there they buried fause Sir John, For fear he should be seen. ^ Ye ladies a', wlierever you be. That read this mournful song; I pray you mind on Slay Colvin, And think on fause Sir John. Aff they've ta'en his jewels fine. To keep in memory ; And sae I end my mournful sang. And fatal tragedy. [" This ballad," says Dr Percy, " is founded upon the supposed practice of the Jews in cruci- fying or otherwise murdering Christian children, out of hatred to the religion of their parents: a practice which hath been always alleged in excuse for the cruelties exercised upon that wretched people, but which probably never happened in a single instance. For, if we consider, on the one hand, the ignorance and superstition of the times when such stories took their rise, the virulent prejudices of the monks who record them, and the eagerness with which they would be catched j up by the barbarous populace as a pretence for plunder; on the other hand, the gre.it danger incurred by the perpetrators, and the inadequate motives they could have to excite them to a crime of so much horror ; we may reasonably conclude I the whole charge to be groundless and malicious. ^ The ballad is probably built upon some Italian j Legend, and bears a great resemblance to the i Prioresse's Tale in Chaucer : the poet seems also j to have had an eye to the known story of Hugh ; of Lincoln, a child said to have been there mur- I dered by the Jews in the reign of Henry III." ' l)ifferent readings of the ballad are given in I different collections, but the variations are not ' material. In some copies the title is " Sir Hugh : or the Jew's Daughter;" in others, particularly ! Mr Jamiesou's, who accompanies his copy by a \ long and curious introduction on the state of the Jews in the middle ages, it is called " Hugh I of Lincoln." We follow here Motherwell's ver- : sion, as we consider it, on the whole, the best.] Yksterday was brave Hallowd.ay, And, above all days of the year. The schoolboys all got leave to play. And little Sir Hugh was there. r He kicked the ball with his foot. And kepped it w-ith his knee. And even in at the Jew's window. He gart the bonnie ba' flee. Out then came the Jew's daughter— " Will ye come in and dine ?" " I winna come in and I canna come in Till I get tliat baU of mine. " Throw down that ball to me, maiden. Throw down the ball to me." " I winna throw down your ball. Sir Hugh, TUl ye come up to me." She pu'd the apple frae the tree. It waa baith red and green. She gave it unto little Sir Hugh, With that his heart did win. She wiled him into ae chamber. She wiled him into twa, She wiled him into the third chamber, Ani that was waist o't a'. She took out a little penknife. Hung low down by her spare. She twined this young thing o' his life. And a word he ne'er spak' mair. And first came out the thick, thick blood. And syne canie out the thin. And syne came out the bonnie heart's bl - od — There was nae mair isithin. She laid him on a dressing table. She dress'd him like a swine. Says, " Lie ye there, my bonnie Sir Hugh, Wi' ye're apples red and green." She put him in a ease of lead. Says " Lie you there and sleep;" She threw him into the deep draw-well Was fifty fathoms deep. A schoolboy walking in the garden. Did grievously hear him moan, He ran away to the deep draw-well And fell down on his knee, Says," Bonnie Sir Hugh, and pretty Sir Hugh, I pray you speak to r.,e ; If you speak to any body in this world, I pray you speak to me." "When bells were rang and mass was s And every body went hame. Then every lady h.id her son. But lady Helen had nane. She rolled her mantle her about. And sore, sore did she weep ; She ran away to the Jew's castle When aU were fast asleep. She cries, " Bonnie Sir Hugh, O prettv Sir Hugh, I pray yon speak to me ; If you speak to any body in this warld, I pray you speak to me." " Lady Helen, if ye want your son, I'U tell you where to seek; lady Helen, if ye want your son. He's in the well sae deep." She ran away to the deep draw-well. And she fell down on her knee ; Saying, "Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir Hugh, I pray ye speak to me. If ye speak to any body in the world, I pray ye speak to me." " Oh ! the lead it is wondrous heavy, mother. The well it is wondrous deep. The little penknife sticks in my throat. And I downa to ye speak. " But lift me out o' this deep draw-well, ^ 3^=^ And bury me in yon church-yard; fC\ Put a bible at my head, he says, p5-^y/ And a testament at my feet, VA^^ And pen and ink at every side, p'ow, fare you well, my very bcnnie bride,' Cried the captain with disdain ; ' '^'hen I come back to the banks of Nith, I shall kiss you sweetly then. ' Your 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 !' " ily 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." " "^Miat's this I hear, bonnie Marley Eeid ? How could these woes betide ? For blyther you could not look this day, ■^Vere 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 Maijory Laing, And hear me out the rest ; Ton little ken what a bride will do. For the youth she likes the besti " 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' gowd. 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 tum'd me frae their doo: And swore that he was not there. j " I went away to the tyrant duke, W ho was my love's judge to be. And I proffer'd him a' my yellow store. If he'd grant his life to me. " He counted the red gowd slowly o'er. By twenties and by tens. And said 1 had taken the only means To attain my hopeful ends. (J^ ' And now,' said he, ' your husband's safe ; i'5 You may take this pledge of me : \sl And I'll teil you, fair one, where ye'll go /^<> To gain this certaintye,— '-^ ' Gang west the street and down the Bow, -^ And through the market place, f '-- 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 Maijory, 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 . " 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 oflBcer 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 delight. And begg'd him in his master's name. To take me to his sight. m w wv^i SCOTTISH BALLADS. " He ask'd me for his true addrt S3, With a voice at which I shook ; For 1 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 I saw my husband's head Fix'd high upon a pole ! J-aJ " His yellow hair waved in the wind. And far behind did flee, C^^ \ And his right hand hang beside his cheek, — ~ A waesome sight to see. '^pS, " His chin hang down on open spacs, ^— ' Yet comely waa 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, baud your tongue, ye heartless slave. For I downa answer you ; ^^" He was dear, dear to my heart before, rVf> 1 But never sae dear as now ! (^•^^\ * I see a sight you cannot see, ^^^ j Which man cannot efface ; p-^==.' I see a ray of heavenly love ^0J Beaming on that dear face. r C ) ' And weel 1 ken yon bonnie brent brow "^s^ Will smile in the walks on high, W — ' ■ And yon yellow hair, all blood-stain'd now, fSC^ 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, Kor a tear ran o'er my face. '0 ^ " Alaek, alack, bonnie Marley Reid, That sic days we ha'e lived to see ! For siccan 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, WTiich he gave not strength to bear." €&la0|§tiD iP^OT* [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 BONNIE 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 nane 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'U keep sight o' my ain lassie." But I bless'd my God, who had thus seen meet To take him from my aide, "^^ To call him home to the courts above, [ J And leave me a virgin bride." ^ " 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 Peg?)-." #--"^-^ m. SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then all his men thev boldly came, 4 rhat was to him baith true and steady ; And throu:h the ha' they quickly went. And lurth they carried bonnie Peggy. Her father gae mony shout and cry, j Her mother cursed the Highland laddie ; But he heard them as he heard them not. But fix'd his eye on bonnie Peggy. He set her on his milk-white steed. And he himsel' on his grey naigie , Still along the way they rode. And he"s awa' wi' bonnie Peggy. i Says, " I wad gi"e baith cow and ewe. And sae would I this tartan plaidie, | That I was fai into the north. And alang wi' me my bonnie Peggy." As they rode down yon pleasant glen. For trees and brambles were right mony. There they met the Earl o' Hume, And hia young son, were riding bonnie. Then out it spake the young Earl Hume, Dear but he spake wondrous gaudie ; "I'm wae to see sae fair a dame Eiding alang wi' a Highland laddie." " Hold your tongue,- ye young Earl Hume, O dear but ye do speak right gaudie ; There's nae a lord in a' the south, Dare e'er comi)ete wi- a Highland laddie." Then he rade five miles through the north. Through mony hills sae rough and scroggie , Till they came down to a low glen. And he lay down wi' bonnie Peggy. Then he enclosed her in his arms. And row'd her in his tartan plaidie; [house, " There are blankets and sheets in my father's How have I lien down wi' a' Highland laddie!" Says he, " There are sheep in my father's fhuld, A nd every year their wool is ready ; By the same our debts we pay. Although I be but a Highland laddie. "There are fifty cows- in my father's byre. That all are tyed to the stakes, and ready; Five thousand pounds I ha'e ilk year, Although I he but a Highland laddie. " My father has fifty weU shod horse. Besides your steed and my grey naigie ; I'm Donald o' the Isle o' Sky, AMiy may not you be ca'd a lady ? " See ye not yon fine castle. On yonder hill that stands sae gaudie ; And there we'll win this very night, ^\^le^e ye'll enjoy your Highland laddie.' [This genuine sample of the old humorous ballad was taken down from the recitation of a gentleman in Liddesdale, where it has long been popular. It is here first printed, with the excep- tion of a few copies for private distribution.] A FAIR young May went up the street. Some white fish for to buy ; And a bonnie clerk's fa'en in love wi' her. And he's followed her by and bv — hy; And he's followed her by and hy. " O where live ye, my bonnie lass, I pray thee tell to me ; For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk, I wad come and visit Ihee — thee; I wad come and visit thee." " O my father he aye locks the door. My mither keeps the key ; And gin ye were ever sic a wily wight. Ye canna win in to me — me; Te canna win in to me." But the clerk he had ae true brother. And a wUy wight was he ; And he has made a lang ladder "Was thirty steps and three- three; "Was thirty steps and three. He has made a cleek hut and a creel — A creel but and a pin ; And he's away to the chimley-top. And he's letttn the bonnie clerk in — in; And he's letten the bonnie clerk in. (& <^ <■ — V The aukl wife, being not asleep, Heard something that 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 1' our dochter's bed." The auld man he gat owre the bed. To see if the thing was true ; But she's ta'en the bonnie clerk in her arms. And cover'd him owre wi' blue — blue; And cover'd him owre wi' blue. " O where are ye gaun now, father," she says, " And where are ye gaun sae late ? Ye've disturb'd me in my evening prayers, And O but they were sweet- sweet ; And O but they were sweet." " ill betide ye, silly auld wife. And an ill death may ye die : She has the muckle bulk in her arms. And she's prayin' for you and me — me ; And she's prayin' for you and me." 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." 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 ? For into the creel she flew — flew; For into the creel she flew. The man that was at the chimley-top. Finding the creel was fu'. He wrappit the rape round his left shouther. And fast to him he drew — drew ; And fast to him he drew. " O help, O help, O hinny, now help; O help, hinny, now; For him that ye aye wished me to, He's carryin' me off just now — He's carryin' me off just now.' " O if the foul thiefs gotten ye, 1 wish he may keep his baud ; For a' the lee lang winter nicht. Ye '11 never lie in your bed- bed; Ye'U never lie in your bed." He's towed her up, he's towed her down. He's towed her through an' through : " O Gude, assist," quo' the silly auld wife; "For I'm just departin' now — now; For I'm just departin' now." He's towed her up, he's towed her down. He's gi'en her a richt down fa'. Till every rib i' the auld wife's side Play'd nick nack on the wa'— Play'd nick nack on the wa'. O the blue, the bonnie, bonnie blue ; And I wish the blue may do weel : And every auld wife that's sae jealous C her doehter. May she get a good keach i' the creel- creel; Jlay she get a gude keach i' the creel ! [Modern Ballad, written by William Oli- ver, of Langraw, in Roxburghshire, and here first printed.] There were twae lovers, lovers leal, Twae lovers leal and true ; But they wha love maist earnestly, Will oft the sairest rue. Oh sweet the time thae lovers dear Did spend wi' ane another ; Wherever ane o' them might be. There surely was the other. And a' was fresh, and a' was fair, Oh fair baith e'en and morn ; They thought to pu' life's budding rose, And never find its thorn. A' care was lost — a' thought of woe t Stem 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 tamed 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 fete;. 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 ports ; Grim thief, give back my love. Oh, is there nought, that man may do. That shall thy pity move .■'" AU 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, EecUning 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 : 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 pray'r can ne'er be heard ; I come no more to thee. " But, from my lattice in the sky, I 'il 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'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 fiae their graves. The night-clad lake moved in its depths, And heaved frae shore to shore. And rolled its flood in one wide wave. And gave one sullen roar. That dread unearthly yeU has ceased. And all again is 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. ^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. :^; m 'Tis there he lies, 'mong jagged rocks. That lost — misguided one. The mother, on whose breast he lay, flight fail to know her son. ^^2 lifstoiti ^tln^, [From Mr Buchan's Ballads. A fragment of this previously appeared in Mr Jamieson's col- Itction, under the title of " Willie and May -Margaret." The catastrophe of this rude but pathetic ballad, it will be seen, is brought about through means similar to those used in " Fair Annie of Lochryan" — the deception, namely, of a mother answering in the voice of a lover.] Willie stands in his stj^ble door. And clapping at his steed ; And looking o'er his white fingers. His nose began to bleed. " Gi'e corn to my horse, mother. And meat to my young man ; And I'll awa' to Meggie's bower, I'll win ere she lie down." " O bide this night wi' me, Willie, bide this night wi' me ; The best an' cock o' a' the reest At your supper shall be." " A' your cocks, and a" your reests, 1 value not a prin ; For I'll awa' to Sleggie's bower, 111 win ere she lie down." " Stay this night wi' me, 'V\'illie, stay this night v\i' me ; The best an' sheep in a' the flock At your supper shall be." " -\ ' your sheep, and a' your flocks, 1 value not a prin ; For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower, I'll win ere she lie down." " O an' ye gang to Meggie's bower, Sae sair against my will ; The deepest pot in Clyde's water. My malison ye's feel. ; " The guid steed that I ride upon, Cost me thrice thretty pound ; And I'll put trust in his swift feet. 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 Would fear'd five huner men. " roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud. Your streams seem wond'rous strar.g ; Make me your vn-eck as I come back. But spare me as I gang." Then he is on to Meggie's bower. And tirled at the pin ; " O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie," he said, " Ye'll open, lat me come in." " wha is this at my bower door. That calls me by my n.anie ?" " It is your first love, sweet Willie, This night newly come hame." " I ha'e few lovers thereout, thereout. As few ha'e I therein ; The best an' love that ever I had. Was here just late yestreen." " The warstan stable in a' your stables. For my pmr steed to stand ; The warstan bower in a' your bowers. For me to lie therein : My boots are fu' o' Clyde's water, I'm shivering at the chin." " My barns are fu' o' corn, Willie, My stables are fu' o' hay ; My bowers are fu' o' gentlemen. They'll nae remove till day." " fare-ye-well, my fause Meggie, O farewell, and adieu; I've gotten my mither's malison. This night coming to you." As he rode ower yon high, high hill. And down yon dowie den ; The rushing that was in Clyde's water. Took Willie's cane frae him. He lean'd him ower his saddle bow. To catch his cane again ; The rushing that was in Clyde's water. Took Willie's hat frae him. BORDER BALLA1>=. He lean'd him on-er his saddle bow, lo catch hi$ hat through fore:- ; The riLshing that was in Clyde s wat«r. Took Willie firae hi^ horse. His brither stood upo' the bank, Savs, " Fye, man, will ye drown ? Tell turn ye to your high horse heail. And learn how to sowm." " How can I turn to my horse head. And learn how to sowm ? I've gotten my mithers n-.a!ison. It's here that I maun droan :" The very hour this young man sank Into the pot sae deep, Vp waken'd his love, Meggie, Out o' her drowsy sleep. '•■ Come here, come here, my mither dea And read this dreary dream ; I dream'd my love was at our yates. And nane wad let him in." " Lye still, lye still now, my Meggie, Lye still and tak' your rest ; Sin' your true love was at our yates. It's but twa quarters past." Nimbly, nimbly, raise she up. And nimbly pat she on; And the higher that the lady cried. The louder blew the win'. The first an' step that she stepp'd ia. She stepped to the queet; ■ I )hon, alas !" said that lady, " This water's wond'rous deep." The next an' step that she wade in. She wadit to the knee ; Saya she, "I could wade Earther in. If I my love could see." The next an' step tliat she wade in. She wadit to the chin ; The deepest pot in Clyde's water She got sweet Willie in. " Tou've had a cruel mither, Willie, And I have had anither ; But we shall sleep in Clyde's water, Like sister an' like brither." [Th5 present copy of the original ballad ot Sir James the Eos3 is given chiefly firom oral re- citation, compared with Jlotherwell's and other versions.—" This old north country ballad," says Slotherwell, " which appears to be founded on fact, is well known in almost every corner of Scotland. Pinkerton printed it ia his Tragic Ballads, 1781, 'from,' as he says, 'a modern e For he has killed a gallant squiie, And we are sent to tak' him." " Yes, I ha'e seen Sir James," 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'U gi'e me a worthy meed, I'll tell ye whar to find him."" Then out and spak' Sir John the Graeme, Wha had the cliarge a-keeping, " It's ne'er be said, my stalwart feres, We killed him when a-sleeping." They seized his broadsword and his targe. And closely him surrounded ; And when he wakened out of sleep. His senses were confounded.} " 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'U get my purse, though fu' o' gowd, To tak' me to Loch Lagan." Syne they took out his bleeding heart. And set it on a speir ; 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 bl(jody tartan." " Sir James the Rose, oh, for thy sake. My heart is now a-breaking ; Cursed be the day 1 wrocht thy wae. Thou brave heir o' Buleichan !" f^K " O tell, fair maid, and, on our band, ^ J=-g ^ Ye'se get his purse and brechan." ' ^~g _y " He's in the bank abune the mill, f" --jT; In the lands o' Buleichan. k7'S\ " Ye must not a-wake him out of sleep, LLj J Nor in the least affright him ; U"^s ■ But through his heart ye'U run a dart, ^^.^ And through the body pierce him." (^^^ They sought the bank abune the mill, _^Pj In the lowlands of Buleichan, W-=J And there they found Sir James the Rose, \s(?/) Lying sleeping in his brechan. //*j\ • Another reading— / s=^ J As they rode on man after man, [ •■=^g'. Then she cried out behind them. If you do seek Sir James the Hose, I'U tell you where you'll find him." Then up she rase, and furth she gaes; 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 depend Can never be no better. t Another reading — They seized his braidsword and hia tar^e, And closely him surrounded : " O mercy, mercy, gentlemen !" He then fu' loudly sounded. " Sic as ye gae, sic ye sail ha'e; Ou nathiug less we reckon." SCOTTISH BALLADS. SIR JAMES THE ROSE. [This very popular modem ballad is said to have been written by Michael Bkuce, (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 Rose, A knicht of meikle fame. His growth was as the tufted Sr, That crowns the mountain's brow ; And, waving o'er his shoulders broad. His locks of yellow flew. The chieftain of the brave clan Ross, A firm undaunted band ; Five hundred warriors drew their s\vord. Beneath his high command. In bloody fight thrice had he stood, Against the English keen. Ere two and twenty opening springs This blooming youth had seen. The fair Matilda dear he loved, A maid of beauty rare ; 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, Bnchan'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 bum, A blooming saugh-tree stood. Concealed among the underwood. The crafty Donald lay. The brother of Sir John the Graeme ; To hear what they would say. 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 ; 2s'ocht 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 eSaeed : 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 trj- 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 kss In witness of my troth ; And every plague become my lot. That day I break my oath 1" They parted thus : the sun was set : Up hasty Donald flies ; And, " Turn thee, turn thee, beardless yo-. He loud insulting cries. Soon turn'd about t'ae 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. ^ '"-^i- 42 SCOTTISH BALLADS. -%] Returning swift, his hand he reaied, 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 hail ; And at Matilda's window stood. And thus iiegan to call : " Art thou asleep, Matilda dear:" AwaUe, my love, awake ! Thy luckless lover on thee calls, A long farewell to take. For I have slain fierce Donald Graeme ; His blood is on my sword : And distant are my faithful men. Nor can assist their lord. To Skye I'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 bush he laid him down. And wrapped him in his plaid ; ■While, trembling for her lover's fate. At distance stood the maid. Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale. Till, in a lonely glen, He met the furious Sir John Grseme, "With txventy 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 air 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 ! l " Tell me where is Sir James the Rose ; ' I will thee well reward." f " He sleeps into Lord Buchan's park ; )• 3Iatilda is his guard." '^ They spurred their steeds in furious mood, ; And scoured along the lee; \-i They reached Lord Buchan's lofty towers, \l By dawning of the day. ( JIatilda stood without the gate ; H To whom the Graeme did say, ^. " Saw ye Sir James the Rose last night? * Or did he pass this way ?" p " Last day, at noon," Matilda said, ; ^^ " Sir James the Rose passed by : x He furious pricked his sweaty steed, ; ,> And onward fast did hie. , ^ r\ " By this he is at Edinburgh, A If horse and man hold good." '^ ; " Tour page, then, lied, who said he was -^ Now sleeping in the wood." 3 yc She wrung her hands, and tore her hair: \4 " Brave Rose, thou art betrayed ; '^, And mined by those means," she cried, ( ^ " From whence I hoped thine aid !" :^ By this the valiant knight awoke ; t* The virgin's shrieks he heard ; ( And up he rose and drew his sword, /^ When the fierce band appeared. ^ 2 " Your sword last night my brother slew ; > ' His blood yet dims its shine : And, ere the setting of the sun. Tour blood shall reek on mine." " You word it well," the chief replied ; /^ " But deeds approve the man : ^^^ ■,. Set by your band, and, hand to hand, - We'll try what valour can. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 43 " Ort boasting hides a coward's heart ; My weighty sword you fear, TS'hich shone in front of Flodden-field, AVhen you kept in the rear." ■Ulth dauntless step he forward strode. And dared him to the fight : But Graeme gave back, and feared his arm ; For well he knew its might. Four of his men, the bravest four. Sunk down beneath his sword ; But still he scorned the poor revenge. And sought their haughty lord. Behind him basely came the Graeme, And pierc'd him in the side : Out spouting came the purple tide. And all his tartans dyed. But yet his sword quat not the grip, If or dropt he to the ground. Till through his enemy's heart his steel Had forced a mortal wound. Graeme, like a tree with wind o'erthrown. Fell breathless on the clay ; And down beside him sank the Eose, And faint and dying lay. The sad Matilda saw him fall : " Oh, spare his life !" she cried ; " Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life ; Let her not be denied I" Her well-known voice the hero heard ; He raised his death-closed eyes. And fixed them on the weeping maid. And weakly thus replies : " In vain Matilda begs the life. By death's arregt denied : My race is run — adieu, my love" — Then closed his eyes and died. The sword, yet warm, from his left side ■With frantic hand she drew : " I come. Sir James the Eose," she cried ; " I come to foUow you !" She leaned the hilt against the ground. And bared her snowy breast ; Then fell upon her lover's face. And sank to endless rest. 4 'E'tt §^2%naiti if SaI!©feiH: [MoDKRN Ballad. — Allan Ccnsinoham.— From Cromek's "Eemains of Ifithsdale and GaUoway Song," 1810.] There's a maid has sat o' the green merse side, Thae ten lang years and mair ; And, every first nicht o' the new mune, She kames her yellow hair. And aye, while she sheds the yellow burnins gowd, Fu' sweit she sings and hie ; Till the fairest bird in the green wood Is charmed wi' her melodic. But wha e'er listens to that sweet sang, Or gangs the fair dame te, Ne'er hears the sang o' the lark again, Nor waukens an earthlie e'e. It fell in about the sweet summer month, ' 1' the first come o' the mune. That she sat o' the tap o' a sea-weed rocl;, A-kaming her silk locks doun. Her kame was o' the whitely pearl. Her hand like new-won milk ; Her bosom was like the snawy curd, lu a net o' sea-green silk. She kamed her locks ower her white shoulders, A fleece baith wide and lang ; And, ilka ringlet she shed frae her brows. She raised a lichtsome sang. I' the very first hit o' that sweet sang. The birds forhood their young, And they flew i' the gate o' the grey ho'.\ii:t. To listen to the sweet maiden. I' the second lilt o' that sweet sang, O' sweetness it was sae fu'. The tod lap up ower our fauld-dike. And dichtit his red-wat mou'. 1' the very third lilt o' that sweet sang. Red lowed the neiv-woke moon; The stars drappit blude on the yellow gnwan Sax miles round that maiden. Uap, m ^^r a f^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. a) " I ha'e chvalt on the Nith," quotii 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, Whilk I am rad ye rede ; 1 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 I 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 foct- " If skaithless hame ye wad win. [page, " 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 fa's saft, fair maid, Aneath the siller mune ; But eerie is thy seat i' the rock, the white sea faem. ^^ir5\ " Come, wash me wi' thy lilie-white hand, L^. J Below and 'boon the knee; \ - = - And I'll kame thae linlis o' ycUow burning gowd, ^^.^ Aboon thy bonnie blue e'e. (^■^ " ^'^'^ '"^'^ *'"® *^y parting lips, , .•^-£ 1 How lihe-white thy skin ! ^^J And, weel I wat, thae kissing een V, (pfj Wad tempt a saint to sin !" rT^^s. " Tak' aff thae bars and bobs o' gowd, I ^r/ 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 weeds Wad harm her lilie skin." Syne eulst he aff his green mantle. Hemmed wi' the red gowd roun'; His costly doublet cuist he aff, Wi' red gowd flowered doun. " Now 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-hinnie sweet ! " O if ye'U 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'si ha'e the rosie wine ; And, a' for the water-Ulie white, Ye'se ha'e thae arms o' mine!" " But what will she say, your bonnie young Busked wi' the siller line ; [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 wi' luve's rose-knot kynde; Wy held is fu' o' burning pain ; Oh, saft ye maun it bind." SCOTTISH BALLADS. His 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." 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 lUie-white sheets, Doun-spread in ladie-bouir." And she has prinned the broidered silk About her white hause bane ; Her princely petticoat is on, Vi'V gowd can stand its lane. He faintUe, slowlie turned his cheek. And feintlie 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 hera ; Then took she up his silken cap. Rich wi' a siUer 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 Bat wi' the will o' me." She iaulded 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 ; WTiile the beauteous bride o' Gallowa' Looked for her blythe bridegroom. ^ Lythlie she sang, while the new mune rase, 1 1 Blythe as a young bryde may, ; When the new mune lichts her lamp o' luve, ; And blinks the brjde away. 1 " Ifithsdale, thou art a gay garden, I ! 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 snooJ, 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. nk breath o' wind 'mang the forest leaves She heard the bridegroom's tongue ; And she heard the brydal-ooming lilt. In every bird that sung. She sat high on the tap tower stane ; Xae waiting may was there ; She lowsed the gowd busk frae her breist, The kame frae 'mang her hair ; She wypit the tear-blobs frae her e'e. And lookit lang and sair ! First sang to her the blythe wee bird, Frae aff the hawthorn green ; J " Lowse out the love-curls frae your hair, 1 Ye plaited sae weel yestreen." r And the speckled wood-lark, frae 'mang the ,-'-: 0' heaven, came singing doun; [cluds ^ " Tak' out thae bride-knots frae your hair, .^ And let the locks hang down." \ X4 UK) 7^S " Come, byde wi' me, ye pair o' sweet birds. < Come doun and bide wi' me ; \ Ye sail peckle o' the bread, and drins o' the j And gowd your cage sail be." [wine, ? ^>5^ '?^^% SCOTTISH BALLADS. f "=1^ She laid the bride-cake 'neath her head, SX^y -^"'^ sy"^ below her feet ; (J^r^^ A nd laid her doun 'tween the lilie-white sheetSj ^(yy^ And soundly did she sleep 1 •^^S J It was in the mid hour o' the nicht, r^^y Her siller bell did ring ; r^^^l And soun't as if nae earthlie hand \^-^ Had pou'd the silken string. U'S^ There was a cheek touched that ladye's, VV')y Cauld as the marble stane ; rj^^s^ And a hand, cauld as the drifting snow, C 'S*J Was laid on her breist-bane. /^EXJ " O, cauld is thy hand, my dear AVillie, \^J/ 0, cauld, cauld is thy cheek ; (°^f\ And wring thae locks o' yellow hair, W^ -^ Frae which the cauld draps dreip." " O, seek another brydegroom, JIarie, On thae bosom faulds to sleep ; My bryde is the yellow water-lilie, Its leaves my bridal sheet !" Jpau^e Jf(0)®^oge. l^^-j [First printed in Scott's Border Minstrelsy. s=;^ — "This ballad," says Sir Walter, "has been f\r~ popular in many parts of Scotland. It is chiefly ^^ . L'iven from Mrs Brown of FalkLand's MSS.— V^A The expression, =7=,y ' The boy stared wild like a gray goss hawk,' v»jSO strongly resembles that in Hardyknute, /^^T^N ' Norse e'en like gray goss liank stared wild,' r^C,y a circumstance which led the editor to make the V^^r strictest inquiry into the authenticity of the fX^^^: song. But every doubt was removed by the evi- ><^^' dence of a lady of high rank, who not only recol- V^f-^ lected the ballad, as having amused her in in- ^^ 1 fency, but could repeat many of the verses : par- 2=~ ■"- ticularly those be.autiful stanzas from the 20th to ^ (2^,' the 25th. The editor is therefore compelled to *V— ^3 believe, that the author of Hardyknute copied //^ cj\ the old ballad ; if the coincidence be not altoge- I ^V ther accidental."— It is not unlikely but that the ^^^ authoress of Hardyknute (Lady Wardlaw) also r\\j J wrote Fause Foodrage. &> King Easter and king Wester, mentioned lu the first verse, " were probably," says Sir Wal- ter, "petty princes of Northumberland 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- cient English Poetry, vol. I. 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- I tive positions, as Essex, Wessex, Sussex. But I the geography of the metrical romances sets all i system at defiance ; and in some of these, as Cla- 1 riodus and Meliades, Estmureland undoubtedly j signifies the land of the Esterlings, 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- I marks by Mr Ritson, in opposition to the opinion I above expressed : — ' Estmureland and West- I mureland have no sort of relation to Northum- berland and Westmoreland. The former was j never called Eastmoreland, nor were there ever any kings of Westmoreland ; unless we admit the authority of an old rhj-me, 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 Wtstnesse and Est- nesse; and it is somewhat singular, that two j places, so called, actually exist in Yorkshire at this day. But ness, 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, andsome- 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, is called Westnesse, in the translation, in which Britain is named Sudene ; but here, again, it is inconsistent and confused. " ' It is, at any rate, highly probable, that the story, cited in the Complaynt of Scotland, was a axa ^-^ romance of King Horn, whether prose or verse ; S^ and consequently, that Estmureland and West- mureland should there mean England and Ire- land ; though it is possible that no other instance can be found of these two names occurring with the same sense."] Ki.vG Easter has courted her for her lands. King Wester for her fee ; King Honour for her comely face. And for her fair bodie. They had not been four months married. As I have heard them tell. Until the nobles of the land Against them did rebel. And they cast kevils - them amang. And kevils them between ; And they cast kevils them amang, Wha suld gae kill the king. O some said yea, and some said nay, Their words did not agree ; Till up and got him Fause Foodrage And swore it suld be he. "UTien bella were lung, and mass was sun?. And a' men bound to bed. King Honour and his gay ladye In a hie chamber were laid. Then up aad rase him, Fause Foodrage, "When a' were fast asleep. And slew the porter in his lodge. That watch and ward did keep. fonr-and-twenty silver keys Hang hie upon a pin; And aye, as ae door he did unlock. He has fastened it him behind. * Kevils.— Lots. Both words originally meant only a portion, or share of any thing.— Leges Burgorum, cap. 59, de lot, cut, or kavU. Statuta Gildse, cap. 20. IS'uUus emat lanam, &c. nisi fuerit confrater Gildse, &c. >eque lot neque cavil habeat cum aliquo confratre nostro. In both these laws, lot and cavil signify a share in trade.— .Scort.—MotherweU says, that in an in- ventory belonging to an ancestor of his, dated 1603, the word occurs as a verb — to cavell— to cast lots. Then up and raise him. King Honour, Says, " What means a' this din ? Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage, Or wha has loot you in ?" " O ye my errand weel sail learn. Before that I depart." Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp. And pierced him to the heart. Then up and got the queen hersel'. And fell low down on her knee : " O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage ! For I never injured thee. '•' O spare my Ufe, now, Fause Foodrage! Until I Ughter be ! And see gin it be lad or lass. King Honour has left m' me." " gin it be a la^," he says, " Weel nursed it sail be; But gin it be a lad bairn. He sail be hanged hie. " I winna spare for his tender age. Nor yet for his hie hie kin ; But soon as e'er he born is. He shall mount the gallows pin." four-and-twenty valiant knights "Were set the queen to guard ! And four stood aye at her boutr door. To keep both watch and ward. But when the time drew near an end. That she suld lighter be. She cast about to find a wile. To set her body free. O she has birled these merry young meu With the ale but and the wine. Until they were as deadly drunk As any wild wood swine. " O narrow, narrow, is this window. And big, big, am I grown !" Tet through the might of Our Ladye, Out at it she has gone. She wandered up, she wandered down. She wandered out and in ; And, at last, into the very s\vine's stythe. The qaeen brought forth a son. m LKi Wr K s ;-^jfs^-.^^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then they cast kevils them amatig, WTiich Buld gae seek the queen ; And the kevU fell upon Wise William, And he sent his wife for him. O when she saw Wise William's wife, The queen fell on her knee ; " Win up, win up, madam!" she says: " What needs this courtesie ?" " O out o' this I winna rise. Till a boon ye grant to me ; To change your lass for this lad bairn, King Honour left me wi'. " And ye maun learn my gay goss hawk Right weel to breast a steed ; And I sail learn your turtle dow As weel to write and read. " And ye maun learn my gay gcss hawk To wield baith bow and brand ; And I sail learn your turtle dow To lay gowd wi' her hand. " At kirk and market when we meet, We'll dare make nae avowe. But — ' Dame, how does my gay goss hawk ?'■ ' Madam, how does my dow ?' " ^) * This metaphorical language was customary among the northern nations. In 925, king Ad- clstein sent an embassy to Harold Harfagar, king of Norway, the chief of which presented ; that prince with an elegant sword, ornamented ^ -with precious stones. As it was presented by •^ the point, the Norwegian chief, in receiving it, unwarily laid hold of the hilt. The English - ambassador declared, in the name of his master, .. that he accepted the act as a deed of homage ; ' for touching the hilt of a warrior's sword was re- garded as an acknowledgment of subjection. The Norwegian prince, resolving to ch-cumvent _ his rival by a similar artifice, suppressed his re- J sentment, and sent, next summer, an embassy \ to Adelstein, the chief of which presented Haco, j the son of Harold, to the English prince; and, :/ placing him on his knees, made the following ] declaration: — " Haraldus, Normannorum rex, ci amice te salutat; albamque banc avem bene K institutam mittit, utque melius deineeps erudias, ) postulat." The king received young Haco on -• his knees; which the Norwegian ambassador When days were gane, and years came on. Wise William he thought lang : And he has ta'en king Honour's son A -hunting for to gang. It s.ae fell out at this hunting. Upon a simmer's day, That they came by a fair castell. Stood on a sunny brae. " dinna ye see that bonnie castell, Wi' halls and towers sae fair ? Gin ilka man had back his ain. Of it you suld be heir." " Ilow I suld be heir of that ( In sooth I canna see ; ^ For it belangs to Fause Foodrage, / And he is na kin to me." 1 " O gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, /■ You would do but what is right ; \^ For I wot he kill'd your father dear, ^ Or ever ye saw the light. / "And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, V There is no man durst you blame ; L For he keeps your mother a prisoner, I And she daurna take ye hame." g The boy stared wild like a gray goss hawk, f Says — " What may a' this mean ■'" " My boy, ye are king Honour's son, 1 And your mother's our lawful queen." f " O gin I be king Honour's son. By Our Ladye I swear. This night I will that traitor slay. And reUeve my mother dear I" He has set his bent bow to his breast, And leaped the castell wa' ; And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage, g Wha loud for help 'gan ca'. f " haud your tongue, now, Fause Foodrage, i; Frae me ye shanna flee." [ Syne pierc'd him thro' the fause fause heart, ^ And set his mother free. ter, as a declaration of inferiority; according to the proverb, " Is minor semper habetur, qui al- terius filium educat."— Pontoppidani Vestigia immediately accepted, in the name of his mas-^Danor. vol. II. p. %!.— Scott. SCOTTISH BALLADS. And he has rewarded Wise 'WiHir.m Wi' the best half of his land ; And sae has he the turtle dow, Wr the truth o' his right hand. iioxmi? Mik EiE^^ag, li [This is said to be a complete set of the old [ biUlad of " Lizie Lindsay." It is taken irom Buchan's Ballads of the Xorth, and, like others j in the same collection, abounds in north-country I provincialisms, especially in the use of the/ for nh, as /a for rrka,faer for rvhere : also sheen for j shfjon, seener for iooner, feel for fool, &c. King- | caussie, mentioned in the baUad, is on the south ( bank of the Dee, and at one time belonged to the famUy of Drum. In Jamieson's Popular Bal- lads, an imperfect version of Lizie Lindsay is given, beginning, Will ye zo to the Hig'alands. Lizie Lindsay, Will ye go to the Highlands wi' me? Will ye go^to the Highlands, Lizie Lindsay, And dine oa fresh cruds and green whey? Bat vre need not quote it, as it is mostly incor- porated in Buehan's version. Bums sent the tine old air of Lizie Lindsay to Johnson's Mu- seum, and intended to have furnished words for it, but never went beyond the opening verse. A j Hiodem song, however, has been constructed on j the subject, including that verse and three I others. See Book of Scottish Song, p. 29. In ; Chambers' collection, the ballads of Lizie Lind- say and Lizie Baillie are incorporated into one, ■ \ but we think without sufficient authority.] ! i Is Edinburgh lived a lady, . . Was ca'd Lizie Lindsay by name ; Was courted by mony fine suitors. And mony rich persons of fame. Though lords o' reno-wn had her courted. Yet none her favour could gain. Then spake the young laird o' Kingcaussie, And a bonnie young boy was he ; " Then let me a year to the city, J I'll come, and that lady wi' me." i 9 i: \ Then spake the auld laird o' Kingcaussie, I > A canty auld mannie was he ; ! I « What think ye by our little Donald, | J Sae proudly and crousely cracks he ? ;,7 But he's win a year to the city, [ ^^ j If that I be a living man ; /C*^ And what he can mak' o' this lady, €^^/vj We shall let him do as he can." (Jd) ^ He's stript aff his fine costly robes, L,^?" And put on the single liverie ; )c^^J With no equipage nor attendance, i^>^; To Edinburgh city went he. ^^g JTow there was a ball in the city, ' "^ V A ball o' great mirth and great fame ; !ii.S.5-D3A.T. [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, wp consider it superior to the North country version quoted above.] There was a braw ball in Edinburgh And mony braw ladies were there. But nae ane at a' the assembly Could wi' Lizzie Lindsay compare. In cam' the young laird o' Kincassle, An' a bonnie young laddie was he — " TTill 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 31'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'U go to the Hielands, bonnie Lizzie, Ye shall not want curds nor green whey." .^• In there cam' her auld mither, A jolly auld lady was she — " I wad like to ken whar she was ganging. And wha she was gaun to gang wi'- " " Jly 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. " 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 incline." " 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 I'll gang." They pack'd up her sUks and her satins. They pack'd up her hose and her shoon. And likewise her clothes in small bundles. And away with young Donald she's gane. When that they cam' to the Hielands, The braes they were baith lang and st«y, Bonnie Lizzie was wearied wi' ganging — She had travell'd a lang summer day. " are we near hame. Sir Donald, O are we near hame .•> 1 pray." " We're no near hame, bonnie Lizzie, iv'or 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." " O 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, come in," said he, " Although that our cottage be little Perhaps the better we'll 'gree." W^ ^^ ^■ '%/^)^7^ " O make us a supper, dear mother, And n^ake it of curds an' green whej ; And make us a bed o' green rushes, And cover it o'er \\V gi-ten hay. " Rise up, lise up, bonnie Lizzie, Why lie ye so long in the day ; Ye might ha'e been helping my mother To ruake the curds and green whey." " O haud your tongue. Sir Donald, U haud your tongue I pray ; 1 v.ish I had ne'er left my n^.other, I can neither make curds nor whey." " Else up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, And put on your satins so tine ; For we maun be at Kincassie llefore that the clock strikes nine." But -when they came to Kincassie The port-er was standing by; — " Ye're welconie home. Sir Donald, Ye've been so long away." It's down then came his auld niither, With all the keys in her hand, Baying, "Take you these, bonnie Lizzie, All under them 's at your comniaud." ^h sE©k!!u^. [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. Jlore sanguine anti- quaries than we are, might, from tlie similarity of names, imagine that he had in this ballad dis- covered the original romance whence Shakspeare had given this line — ' Child Rowland to tlie dark tower came.' Kin^' Lear, Act III. " 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 tancied neglect. Alarmed for her own safety, 4, she betakes herself to flight ; and, in the course " " of her journey, siie sees a stranger knight riding / slowly before her, whom she at first seeks to M shun, by pursuing an opposite direction ; but, on y- finding that wherescever she turned, he still (^ appeared between her and the moonlight, she p resolves to overtake him. This, however, she L finds in vain, till of his own accord, he stays for )J her at the brink of a broad river. They agree to =, cross it; and, when in the mid stream, she im- 1 plores his help to save her from drowning— to 1 her horror she finds her fellow-traveller to be no ( other than the gaunt apparition of her dead A lover."] / Whan he cam' to his ain luve's bouir / j He tirl'd at the pin, M And sae ready was liis fair fause luve )< To rise and let him in. i I " O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says, " Thrice welcome thou art to me. For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bou. And to-morrow we'll wedded be." -. /"! " This night is hallow-eve," he said, lli '■■ 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 I wish it may cum to gude : I dreameil that ye slew my best grew hound, And gied me his lappered blude." " Unbuckle your belt. Sir Roland," she siiid, " And set you safely down." " O your chamber 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, Slow riding o'er the plain. SCOTTISH BALLADS She turned her to the right about. Then to the left turn'd she. But aye 'tween her and the wan reoonlight, That tall knight did she see. And he was riding burd alane. On a horse as black as jet. But though she followed him last and fell, ifo nearer could she get. " O stop ! stop ! young man," she said, " Fur 1 in dule am dight; O 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 he blin ; Still slowly rode he on before. And fast she rade behind. She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed. Till hia breast was all a foam. But nearer unto that tall young knight. By our ladye, she could not come. " O if you be a gay young knight. As well I trow you be, PuU 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, Viuil he reached a broad river's side. And there he drew his rein. " O, is this water deep," he said, " As it is wond'rous dun ? Or is it sic as a saikless maid. And a leal true knight 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 knight may swim." The knight spurred on his tall black steed. The lady spurred on her brown ; And fast they rade into the fliod. And fait they baith swam down. " The water weets my tae," she said, " The water weets my knee. And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight. For the sake 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, TUl 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 mair wide. And aye the farther that we ride on. Farther off is the other side. " 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 laiiy. But loudly she did scream. " O this is hallow-morh," 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 Till the water comes o'er your For the bride maun ride deep, Wha rides this ford wi' me. Margaret ! (^s\ ur bree, \^-^ \ and deeper yet, '_^-~ y " Turn round, turn round, proud Margaitt '. Turn ye round and look on me. Thou hast killed a true knight under tru^t. And his ghost now links on with taee.' flnBa'n Eflsl^x. '^m.J [From Scott's Minstrelsy. — " The following ; verses," says Sir Walter, " are the original I 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 s- SCOTTISH BALLADS. V the ballad, in which the conclusion proves for- -^ tunate. By the Gatehope Slack, is perhaps i meant the Gate Slack, a pass in Annandale. ' r The Annan, and the Frith of Solway, into 1 1 which it tails, are the frequent scenes of tragical accidents. The editor trusts he will be pardoned 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 could not see) a traveller drowning; not in the Annan itself, but in the Frith of Sulway, 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 foot abreast. The traveller got upon a standing net, a little way from the sh'>re. There he lashed himself to the post, shouting for half an hour for assistance — 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. Ko 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.'*"] " Annan water's wading deep. And my love Annie's wond'rous bonnie; And I am laith she suld weet her feet. Because 1 love her best of ony. " An incident, some ven more awlully sin ■hat 1 liar to the above, but s character, is record- ed by Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, in his Account of the Great Floods of August, 1S29, in the province of Moray and adjoining districts. Edinburgh, 1830, 8vo. The sufl'erer in this instance was a toll-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 " fey." On his return home, he ivas overtaken by the flood, and sought refuge 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 1 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 w ould neither stint nor stay. For he was seeking his bonnie ladye. he has ridden ower field and fell. Through iiiuir and moss, and mony a mire; His spurs o' steel were sair to bide. And frae her fore-feet flew the tire. " 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 you 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! Put off your boat for gowden moiiie ! 1 cross the drumly stream the night. Or never mair I see my honey." "01 was sworn sae late yestreen. And not by ae aith, but by many ; And tor a' the gowd in fair Scotland, I 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 fur f.ar. For she heard the water kelpy roaring. O he has pou'd aff his dapperpyi coat. The silver buttons glanced bunnie; The waistcoat bursted aff his breast, He was sae full of melancholy. Warfrf«ti— Wagered. I t He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail ; I wot he swam both strong and steady ; But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail. And he never saw his bonnie ladye. " O wae betide the frush saugh wand ! And wae betide the bush of briar — It brake into my true love's hand. When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire. " And wae betide ye, Annan Water, This night that ye are a drumlie river ! For over thee I'll buUd a bridge. That ye never more true love may sever-" Ea^g #Eairgaift [ Wk find the present ballad in the Edinburgh ' ] Magazine for December, 1817. It is thus intro- ■ ' •uced — but of course we do not insist on the jl reader to believe in the statement. — "The fol- i '.owing fragments of a Scottish ballad were dis- , covered tied up with a number of law papers, i j principally dated 1590. Some lines, where it was deemed practicable, have been completed by J I'on.iecture ; the 313. is thus endorsed, in a male [ , -land, ' my umquhUl deir sister, my lady Eu- iame's sang, quhilk she would sing unto her 'rate.'"] Ij Ladt ilAKGAiiETTE was as feire a Slay, [ As won in the north countrie ; — I \ A lace ! that she luvit a pirate knicht, j "Wha wanderit o'er the sea ! i " Now WlUie, if you luve me weel. As aft you've said and sworn. Oh wedd me in yon halie kirk Before my babie's born !" " Now Margarett, if you luve me weel, Trge no such thing to be. Till I returne from my father's lande. That's farr beyond the sea." With flowing tide, and shipp of pride. That false knicht sail'd away. And many a tear his true love shedd, I wott, that drearie day. And many a langsome look she cast Atween the sea and the air. And all to descry that stately shipp, — In lyfe she ne'er saw mair. " I weipe by day, I weipe by nicht. The salt tearis drown my e'e ; I weary for my ain sweet luve. But his face I cannot see." ■Ulien six sad months were past and gone. Her cheeke wext pale and leanne ; Her golden belt was all too tight, Too short her robes of greene. To braid her hair she didna care. Nor sett her golden keU ; And the tears that cam' frae her downcast Dry'd aye just where they fell. [eyne, ^.^i She fand nae rest in the greene forest, /'^TN Nor yet in hall or bower, I'^-^J But she was pleased wi' the lonelie sandes, 1 ^~^ At the mirk and midnicht hour. .C^"^ They couldna meit in the greene forest, Nor yet in hall or bower, L'ut they'd walk on the lone sea sandes. At the mirk and midnicht hour. And they'd walk on the lonelie sandes. By the wann licht o' the moon. Till the sun raise red o'er yonder fell, And guttered the waves abune. Beware, beware, ye maidinnis feir. Of ugsome kelpie sprite !— But maist beware o' your ain sweet love. Gin ye walk by the pale moon licht ! There to the wave she'd fondly rave. And answere the sea-bird's en-; — " I see the mast — he coraes at last ; " He never mair cam' nigh. " I weipe by day, I weipe by nicht, I weipe false Willie's scorn ; But ne'er shall I weipe the world's spite When my poor babie's born." Now up and spak' her sister Anne In the chamber where she lay, — " I trow I heard fair Margarett cry On the shore, lang lang or day. ^S^"^ ' ^-^ - " The tide came on wi' the wild wind's moan I p^^ An hour I couldna sleip ; V:^]2^ I trow I heard a lady groan, ^ (S\ ^"* ^"^^ ^ babie weip." ^^ \ " Now hold your tongue, my sister Anne, f'^EJrJ Think no such things to be, lrfp< =Twas but the seugh o' the yew-tree boughs, i~^ k In the wild blast mournfullie." It was on a nicht, and a mitk mirk nicht. That forth would Margarett fare ; And she's gane to yon lone kirk-yard ; Hir kin lay buried there. Now she's gane to hir father's grave. And touchtd the marble chest : " Oh father deir, mak' room for mee, I fain wald find some rest." " Awa', awa', thou ill woman. An ill death may'st thou dee, AVere my coflfine all the warld wyde. There's nae room for such as thee." Now she's gane to her mother's tomb, And kiss'd the feet of stone ; " Oh, mother sweit, mak' room for mee,— My dayes on earth are done." " When I was in life. Lady iMargarett, Such kindnesse you did not keip. The ciadle you gave was a rocking wave. And the sea- gull to sing me asleip." " Thou sleip'st nott worse beneath the brj-ne. Than I on my silken bed ; I cannot rest for those hands of thine That freeze my brow to lead. " Thou sleip'st not worse beneath the sands. Than I amydd the down ; I cannot rest for thy little feet That patter my bed aroun'. " My days of youth are days of ruth, I've niiekle dreed o' pine ; And sorrow's cup whilk I've drunk up. Is bitterer far than bryne. "Soe I will take a plunge, babie, I'll take a plunge with thee. We'll soundlier sleep in others' arms. For all the roaringe sea." Now Willie was sailing his good shipp, 1 wot on a simmer's day. When up there rose a cloud i' the south, A dark and drumlie grey. r s? " Away, away, deir Margarett, Away, and lett mee sleip ; Thou must not stretch thee at my syJe, And I downa hear thee weip." Now she's gane to her brother's grave, Ance deir to him was shee ; — " Is there anie room in thy coffine, brother. For I fain would rest with thee." " There's no room in my coffine, sister. Save for my trustie brand. And that should strike thee to the heart. Had I now a fleshlie hand.' This ladye turn'd her by the shore. To reach her stately tower. And she was aware of a babie wan As the water-lilie flower. And howdinge saftlie o'er the waves. Between that cloud and the sea, Twa snow-white birds he thought cani' on. And marvel'd what they might be ! But when they nigh'd the statlis shipp. Pale grew the pirate band. For there stood a lady cladd in whyte, Wi' a young boy in her hand. "That shape is like my Margarett's, As like as like may be ; But wlien I look on that blue swollen lace, I canna think it she. " That neck is as white as Margarett' s. As lang that yellow hair; But how gat ye that bloodie wound. Bound up with green sea-ware >" He wore a garlande o* the green sea- And a robe o' the white sea-foam,- " Now faire befalle thee babie mine, I bidd thee welcome home." " Leap down, leap down, thou false trait(j Leap down, leap down, and see ; If tliou leaps't not down to me and my t;; We'll climb the shipp to thee." -wp/m"^^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. 57 [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 E. A. Smith," a work which extendei to six volumes in aU, the last of which was published in 1S34. Another version of Glenlogie is siven 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 rcay mention that the title of the ballad is sometimes printed Glenogie, not GUnlogi-r, but we adopt the latter reading.] Threescore o' nobles rade up the king's ha', But Bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a' ; Wi" his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e, " Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlcgie for me." " O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'U get better than he ;" " O say nae sae, mither, for that canna be. Though Drumlie is richer, and greater than he. Yet if I maun tak' him, I"ll certainly dee. " Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, "Will gae to Glenlogie, and cum shun again ?" " O, here am 1, a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, AVill 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 ; " O 'twas ne'er my father's cishicn, 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. E^' ^i^ "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; " binna feared, mither, I'U maybe no dee. " >-^-^r>-=i W ^m M GLENLOGIE. [Fboii Mr Sharpe's Ballad Book, Edinburgh, 1824.] FouR-AND-TWENTY 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 turned to his footran. 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 fether'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 Jlelville, 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 < [Sir Walter 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 of hunting,) and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, en- ter the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the sjTen, who attached 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 Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his 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. Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Cal- lender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inha- bited by the Maegregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Troshachs. Benledi, i Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in ^the same district, and at no great distance ftom SCOTTISH BALIAD? Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callander and ^ the castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whule forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery. This ballad first appeared in the Tales of Wonder. — Minstrelty of the Scottish Border.] O rtONE 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 ! O, sprung from great Macgillianore, The chief that never feared a foe. How matchless was thy broad claj-more. How deadly thine unerring bow ! Well can the ?axon widows tell.t How, on the Teith's resounding shore. The boldest Lowland warriors fell. As down from Lenny's pass you bore. But o'er his hills, on festal day. How blazed lord Ronald's beltane-tree ;i "V^Tiile 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 joys 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.— Scoft. t The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by the Highlanders to their low-country neigh- bours.— Scoft. I ; The fires lighted by the Highlanders on the I first of 3Iay, in compliance 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 I Scotland and in Wales.— Scott. ^ 'Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle The seer's prophetic spirit found^f 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. And 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. No vassals wait their sports to aid. To watch their safety, deck their board ; Their simple dress, theHighland plaid. Their trusty guard the Highland sword. Three summer days, through brake and dell. Their whistling shafts successful flew; And still, when dewy evening fell. The quarry to their hut they drew. In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook The solitary cabin stood. Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, WTiich murmurs through that lonely wooil. Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. When three successive days had flown ; And summer mist in dewy balm Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. § 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 which things distant and future are perceived and seen as if they were present." To which I would only add, that the spectral appearance, thus present- ed, usually presages 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.— Sco«.— The author himself, in his romantic legend of JI^ nt- rose, gives a beautiful illustration of this subject, in the character of Allan M'Aulay. x^ (B: lin The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes, Afer 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 Konald's eyes. As many a pledge he quaffs to Bloy. — " What lack we here to crown our bliss. While thus the pulse of jcy beats high J "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 Glengjle. " 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. " Hut thou may'st teach that guardian f;vir. While far with 3Iary 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 tale. 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- lumba, 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 obstructed the attempts of Colum- ba to build a chapel. C'olumba 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 I He had no time to make further discoveries, for C'olum- — " Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death. No more on me shall rapture rise, Eesponsive 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 ill to know. "The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn. So gaily part from Oban's bay, BIy 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 Downe, He left the skirts of huge Benniore. " 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 raark'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 Eonald, 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, an^ No more is given to gifted eye !" — " Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams. Sad prophet of the evil hour! Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams. Because to-morrow's storm may lour .•* however, and the cemetry, was called iJei.'i> Ouran; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, 1:0 I female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be ba caused the earth once more to be shovelled 1 1 buried, in that place. This is the rule alluded over him with the utmost dispatch. The chapel, ^to in the poem.— Scott. CI '• 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 raeet 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 liowl'd in melancholy sound. Then closely couch beside the seer. ^'o 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. .Sudden the hounds erect their ears. And sudden cease their moaning howl ; Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears By shivering limbs, and stifled growl. Untnuch'd, the harp began to ring. As softly, slowly, oped the door; And shook responsive every string. As light a footstep press'd the floor. Ar.d by the watch-fire's glimmering lieht, 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 ; ChiU'd was her cheek, her bosom bare, As bending o'er the djing gleam, She wTung the moisture from her hair. With maiden blush she softly said, " gentle huntsman, hast thou seen. In deep Glenfinlas' moon -light glade, A lovely maid in vest of green : "With her a chief in Highland pride ; Hia 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 pours her tide. Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle. Our father's towers o'erhang her side. The castle of the bold Glengyle. " To chase the dun Glenfinlas' deer. Our woodland course this morn we bore, And haply met, while wandering here. The son of great 3Iacgillianore. " O aid me, then, to seek the pair. Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; j Alone, I dare not venture there, I 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 mortaU 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 other's towers ere day.' " Fhrst, 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." " 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. " Xot so, by high Dunlathmon's fire. Thy heart was froze to love and joy. When gaily rung thy raptur'd lyre. To wanton Moma's melting eye." Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame. And high his sable locks arose. And quick his colour went and came. As fear and rage alternate rose. " And thou ! when by tlie blazing oak I lay, to her and love resign d. Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke. Or sailed ye on the midnight wind 1 " Not thine a race of mortal blood, Nor old Glengyie's pretended line ; Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood, Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine.' SCOTTISH BALLADS. n ^ &[ cvii He mutter'd thrice St Oran's rhyme. And thrice St Fillan's powerful pi-ayer ; 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 Camerarius, 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 the Scrip- tures, his left hand was oljserved to send forth such a splendour, as to afford light to that with which he 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 KilfiUan, in Renfrew, and St Phil- lans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7., tells I us, tliut 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 I the head of his army. Previous to the battle of Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, aman of little I faith, abstracted the relique, and deposited it in some place of security, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo! while Robert 1 was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, I it was observed to open and shut suddenly ; and, j on inspection, the saint was I'ound to have him- I self deposited his arm in the slirine, as an assur- | ance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed that the arm of St j Fillan should assist his own, he dedicated to 1 him, in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch i Tay. j In the Scots Magazine for July 1802, there is a [ copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 11th July, 1487, by which James HI. confirms to Malice Dore, an inhabitant of StrathfiUan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoy- ment of a relique of St Fillan, being apparently ! the head of a pastoral staff called the Quegrich, i which he and his predecessors are said to have i possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the 1 Quegrich was used to cure diseases, this docu- ' ment is, probably, the most ancient patent ever 1 granted for a quack medicine. The ingenious : correspondent, by whom it is furnished, further observes, that additional particulars, concerning St Fillan, are to be found in Ballenden's Boece, Book 4, folio ccxiii. and in Pennant's Tour in Scotland, 1773, pp. 11, H.— Scott. ^ And, bending o'er his harp, he flung His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; And loud, and high, and strange, they run_^' As many a magic change they find. Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form. Till to the roof her stature grew ; Then, mingling with the rising-storm. With one wild yell, away she flew. Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : The slender hut in fragments flew ; But not a lock of Moy's loose hair Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. Wild mingling with the howling gale. Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; High o'er the minstrel's head they sail. And die amid the northern skies. The voice of thunder shook the wood. As ceased the more than mortal yell ; And, spattering foul, a shower of blood Upon the hissing firebrands fell. Next, dropp'd from high a mangled arm , The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade : And last, the life-blood streaming warm. Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. Oft o'er that head, in battling field, Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore ; That arm the broad claymore could wield, AYhich dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! There never son of Albin's hills Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen. E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet At noon shall shun that sheltering den. Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet The wayward Ladies of the Glen. And we — behind the chieftain's shield. No more shall we in safety dwell ; None leads the people to the field — And we the loud lament must swell. O hone a rie' ! hone a rie" ! The pride of Albin's line is o'er. And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree; AVe ne'er shall see lord Ronald more ! SCOTTISH BALLADS. ¥0OTg iP^ggg* [This fragment is from Mr Kinloch's collec- tion of Ancient iScottish BrJlads, London, IS'27. From the pronunciation of some of the words, it would seem to telong to the North.] " O WHAKK ha'e ye been, Peggy, O whare ha'e ye been ? — I' the garden amang the gilly-floWrs, Atween twal hours and een." " Ye've na been there your leen, Peggy, Ye've na been there your leen ; Tour father saw you in Jamie's arms, Atween twal hours and een." " Tho' my fether saw me in Jamie's am.s, He'll see me there again ; Tor I will sleep in Jamie's arms, When his grave's growin' green.' " Your Jamie is a rogue, Peggy, Your Jamie is a loun. Tor trj-sting out our ae dochter. And her sae very young." " Lay no the wyte on Jamie, mither. The blame a' lies on me ; — For I will sleep in Jamie's arms. When your een winna see." Xow she has to her ain bouer gane, He was waiting there him leen ; — " I'm blythe to see ye, Jamie, here. For we maunna meet again." She's tane the wine glass in her hand, Pour'd out the wine sae clear ; Says, " Here's your health and mine, Jamie, And we maun meet na mair." She has tane him in her arms twa. And gi'en him kisses five ; Says, " Here's your health and mine, Jamie, I wish weel mote ye thrive." Whan bells war rung, and mass was sung, And a' men boun' for bed. She's kilted up her green claithing. And met Janiie in the wud. When bells war rung, and mass was : About the hour o' twa. It's up bespak her auld father. Says, " Peggy is awa' I Jng,- " Gae saddle to me the black, the black, Gae saddle to me the grey;" ] But ere they wan to the tap o" the hill, I The wedding was a' bye. ^atlnin? ^'^vJlnm. [This ballad was origlnaUy published in the ' first edition of the Border Minstrelsy, under I ; the title of the Laird of Larainton. In sabse- ] I quent editions it was given in a n ore perfect 1 1 state with the above title. " The residence of I the lady," says Sir Walter, " and the scene of I j the affray at her bridal, is said, by old people, I to have been upon the banks of the Cadden, near I to where it joins the Tweed.— Others s.iy the I skirmish was fought near Traquair, and Kathe- ' rine Janfarie's dwelling was in the glen about ! three miles above Traquair house."] There was a may, and a weel far'd may. Lived high up in yon glen ; • Her name was Katherine Jan&rie, She was courted by mony men. i Up then came lord Lauderdale, Up frae the Lawland border; And he has come to court this may, A' mounted in gttod order. 1 He told na her father, he told na her j mother. And he told na ane o' her kin ; But he whisper'd the bonnie lassie hersel'. And has her favour won. " Your father has a bonnie cock. Divides the nicht and day ; And at the middle watch o' the nicht. In greenwud ye'll meet me." But out then cam' lord Lochinvar, Out frae the EngUsh border. All for to court this bonnie may, Weil mounted »nd in order my He told her father, he told her mother, And a' the lave C her kin ; J5ut he told na the bonnie may hersel'. Till on her wedding e'en. f^he sent to the lord o' Lauderdale, Gin he wad come and see ; And he has sent word back again, W'eel answered she suUl be. And he has sent a messenger Bight quickly through the land, And raised mony an armed man To be at his command. The bride looked out at a high window. Beheld baith dale and down. And she was aware of her first true love. With riders mony a one. .She scoffed him, and scorned him. Upon her wedding day ; And said — " It was the Fairy court To see him in array ! " O come ye here to fight, young lord, Or come ye here to play ? Or come ye here to drink good wine Upon the wedding day?" " I come na here to fight," he said, " 1 come na here to play ; I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonnie bride. And mount, and go my way." It is a glass of the blood-red wine Was filled up them between. And aye she drank to Lauderdale, Wha her true love had been. He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, And by ths; grass-green sleeve; He's mounted her hie behind himsel'. At her kinsmen spear'd na leave. " Now take your bride, lord Lochinvar '. Now take her if you may ; But, if you take your bride again. We'll call it but foul play.'- There were four -and-tweuty bonnie boys, A' clad in Johnstone grey ; They said they would take the bride again. By the strong hand if they may. Some o' them were right willing men. But they were na' willing a' ; And four-and-twenty Leader lads Bid them mount and ride awa'. Then whingers flew frae gentles' sidei. And swords flew frae the shea's. And red and rosy was the blood Ran down the lily braes. The blood ran down by Caddon bank, And down by Caddon brae ; And, sighing, said the bonnie bride— " O waes me for foul play !" My bussing on your heart, sweet thing ! Wae to your wilfu- will 1 There's mony a gallant gentleman Whae's blude ye have garrd to spill. Now a' you lords of fair England, And that dweU by the English horde Come never here to seek a wife. For fear of sic disorder. They'll haik ye up, and settle ye bye. Till on your wedding day ; Tht-n gie ye frogs instead of fish. And play ye foul foul play. , CATHERINE JOHNSTONE. J [This is a somewhat different version of I Katherine Janfarie, frcm Motherwell's collec- f tion. Mr Motherwell says, " The present copy i was obtained from recitation, in the West of / Scotland, and is now given as exhibiting the \ state in which this popular ballad is there pre- v ser\'ed. The 10th stanza, | j seems to contain an allusion to the Knights of I the Round T.ible." In Mr P. Buchan's Glean- ings from scarce Old Ballads, another but infe- rior version of the same is given, which it is \ I unnecessary to quote. The highly spirited bal- •„ I lad of Lochinvar which occure in Sir Walter s ^' Scott's tale of Marmion, was founded in a slight ^ -M^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. degree on the ballad of Katherine Janfarie cr ^ Johnstone. We therefore give it in the next page, that the reader may contrast the old and | the modem production.] j I There was a lass as I heard say, : Lived low doun in a glen ; Her name was Catherine Johnstone, Weel known to many men. Doun came the laird o' Lamington, Doun from the south countrie ; And he is for this bonnie lass. Her bridegroom for to be. He's ask'd her lather and mother. The chief of a' her kin' ; And then he ask'd the bonnie lass. And did her favour win. Doun came an English gentleman. Doun from the English border ; He is for this bonnie lass, ' To keep his house in order. He ask'd her father and mother, As 1 do hear them say ; But he never ask'd the lass hersel". Till on her wedding day. But she has wTote a long letter. And seal'd it with h'^r hand : And sent it to lord Lamington, To let him understand. The first line o' the letter he read, \ He was baith glad and fain. But or he read the letter o'er. He was baith pale and wan. Then he has sent a messenger. And out through all his land : And four-and-twenty armed men, AV'ere all at his command. But he has left his nerr;- men !il! ; ) Left them on the lee; And he's awa' to the wedding house. To see what he could see. But when he came to the wedding house. As 1 do understand; There were four-and-twenty belted knights, I Sat at a table round. They rcse all to honour him. For he was of high renown ; They rose all for to welcome him, And bade him to sit down. O meikle was the good red wine. In silver cups did flow ; But aye she drank to Lamington, For with him would she go. O meikle was the good red wine, In silver cups gaed round : At length they began to whisper words. None could them understand. " O came ye here for sport, young man. Or came ye here for play ? Or came ye for our bonnie bride. On this her wedding day ?" " I came not here for sport," he said, " Neither did I for play ; But for one word o' your bonnie bride, I'll mount and go away." They set her maids behind her. To hear what they would say ; But the first question he ask'd at her, AVas always answered nay ; The next question he ask'd at h?r. Was, " Mount and come away -i" It's up the Coudcn bank, And doun the Couden brae ; And aye she made the trumpet sound, It's a weel won play. O meikle was the blood was shed. Upon the Couden brae ; And aye she made the trumpet s und. Its a' fair play. Come a' ye English gentlemen, That is of England bom : Come na doun to Scotland, For fear ye get the scom. They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words. And that's foul play ; And they'll dress you frogs instead of fish, 3 ust en your wedding day. i fed SCOTTISH BALLADS. LOCHINVAR. [Sir Waltbr Scott. — See the two previous ballads.] O ! YOUNG Loehinvar 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 hke the young Loehinvar. 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 Loehinvar. So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall. Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all; Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) " O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Loehinvar ?" " I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you deny'd ; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — And now I 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 woixld gladly be bride to the young Loehinvar. The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up. He quaffd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She look'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 Loehinvar. 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 Loehinvar. 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 swung. So light to the siddle before her he sprung ; She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; They'U have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Loehinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and ilusgraves, they rode and they ran ; There was racing and chacing, on Cannobie lee. But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Loehinvar .' SCOTTISH BALLADS Ha^g SJesm. [3I0DEKN Ballad. — Robert "\Vhite, — Origi- nally printed in the legendarj- department of a work entitled, "The Local Historian's Table Book for Xorthumberiand and Durham/' >"ew- castle, 1S42. — The scenery of this ballad is in Northumberland. Bothal Castle is beautifully i; situated on the Wansbeck, a few miles b;low j| Morpeth. At Otterbume stood a tower or castle ! which was long in possession of the TJmphrevilles, j I a distinguished family; and the place has ac- ]| quired great celebrity in Border history and song, | ' from the battle fought there in 1388 between the , ! heroes, Douglas and Percy.] ' 1 By Bothal Tower, sweet Wansbeck's stream Eins bickerin' to the sea ; Aloft, within the breeze o' mom. The banner's wavin' free. There's joy in Bothal's bonnie bowers ; There's mirth within the ha' ; But owre the cheeks o' Lady Jean, The tricklin' tear-draps fa'. She sits within her chamber high— Her cousin by her side ; Yet sweer is she to don the dress That's fitting for a bride. " haste ! lord Dacre's on his way ; Ye ha'e nae time to spare : Come let me clasp that girdle jimp. And braid your glossy hair. " Of a' the ladies i' the land, Ye'se be surpassed by nane ; The lace that's on your velvet robe, Wi" goud 'ill stand its lane. " This jewelled chaplet ye'U put on — That broidered necklace gay ; For we maun ha'e ye buskit weel On this — your bridal day." — " O ! Ellen, ye would think it hard To wed against your will ! I never loo'd lord Dacre yet; I dinna like him still. " He kens though oft he sued for love. Upon his bended knee, Ae tender word — ae kindly look. He never gat frae me. " And he has gained my mother's ear, — >Iy father's stem command ; Yet this fond heart can ne'er te his, AlthouL'h he claim my hand. " O Ellen, softly list to me ! I still may 'scape the snare . When morning raise owre Otterbume, The tidings would be there. "And hurrying on comes TJmphreville,— His spur is sharp at need ; There's nane in a' Northumberland, Can mount a fleeter steed. " Ah ! weel I ken his heart is true — He will— he must be here : Aboon the garden wa' he'll wave The pennon o' his spear.'' — " Far is the gate, the burns are deep, The broken muirs are wide ; Fair lady, ere your true love come, Yell be lord Dacre's bride. " "Wi' stately, solemn step the priest Climbs up the chapel stair: Alas ! alas : for ITmphreville ; His heart may weel be sair ; " Keep back ! keep back ! lord Dacre's steetl Ye maunna trot but gang : And haste ye ! haste ye ! rmphieville ! Your lady thinks ye lang."— In velvet sheen she wadna dress : Xae pearls owre her shone ; >'or broidered necklace, sparkling bright, Would lady Jean put on. Up raise she frae her cushioned seat. And tottered like to fa' ; Her cheek grew like the rose, and then Turned whiter than the sna'. " O Ellen, thraw the casement up ; Let in the air to me : Look down within the castle-yard. And tell me what ye see."— :^ r^Ji=^ ■^z " Your father's stanin' on the steps— Your mother's at the door ; Out through the postern comes the train - Lord Uacre rides before. " Fu' yauld an' gracefu' lichts he down, Sae does his gallant band ; And low he doffs his bonnet plume. And shakes your father's hand. " List ! lady, list a bugle note I It sounds not loud but clear ; — Up ! up ! I see aboon the wa". Your true love's pennon'd spear !" — An' up fu' quick gat lady Jean ; — >'ae ailment had she mair : Blythe was her look, an' firm her step. As she ran down the stair. An' through amang the apple trees. An' up the walk she flew : Until she reached her true love's side. Her breath she scarcely drew. Lord Dacre fain would see the briiie : He sought her bower alane ; But dowf an' blunkit grew his look, "When lady Jean was gane. Sair did her fiither stamp an' rage — Sair did her mother mourn ; She's up an' off wi' Umphreville, To bounie Otterburne. ^&J IFkom Messrs Kinloeh and Buchan's collections.] fF'^\ A MAIDEN stude in her bouir door, Li ^=- ) As jimp as a willow -wand ; \ - = ' When by there came a gardener lad, ^ .= Wi' a primrose in his hand. " O, ladye, are ye single yet. Or will ye marrj' me ? Ye'se get a' the flouirs in my garden To be a weed for thee." " I love your flouirs," the ladye said " But I winna marry thee : For I can live without man -kind, Aiid without man-kind I'll dte.' " You sliall not live without man-kind ; / But you shall marry me • \ And, an.ong the flouirs in my garden, ^ I'll shape a weed for tliee. ( " The lilye flouir to be your smock ; I It becomes your bodie best. ) Your heid sail be busket wi' the gtllye | flouir ; " 1 The primrose in your breist. ' " Your goun sail be o' the sweet willian: ; 1 Your coat o' the cammovine ; , Your apron o' the seel o' downs : J Come, smile, sweetheart o' mine ! [ " Your gloves sail be o' the green clover, All glitterin' to your hand ; ' Weil spread ower wi' the blue blawort, ] That grows among corn-land. ' • k'af,V " Your stockings shall be o' the cabbage I That is baith braid and lang ; (j Harrow, narrow, at the kute, / And braid, braid, at the branne. ( " Your shoon shall be o' the gude rue red ; ( 1 hope it bodes nae ill ; \ The buckles o' the marygold : ( Come, smile, sweetheart, your fill :" i " Young man, ye've shapit a weed for nv , . Amang the simmer flouirs ; 1 Kow I will shape anither for you, | Amang the winter shouirs.* " The snow so white shall be your shirt ; f It becomes your bodie best : ^ The cold east wind sail wrap your heiii, ' And the cold rain on your breist. ' " The steed that you shall ride upon. Shall be the weather snell ; 1 Weil bridled wi' the northern « ind, f And cold sharp shouirs o' hail. ] The hat you on your heid sail weai-, \ Sail be o' the weather grey ; ■. And, aye when ye come into my sigiit, r I'll wish ye were away." A verse resembling this is sung by Davie j Gellatley in Waverley. SCOTTISH BALLAD.- ^Uxh SauBlierg. [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 Jamieson, Kinloch, and Buchan. IJIother- well says that he has heard a version called The Seven Bluidy Brothers, but he does not quote it. "We can make room only here for two sets of the ballad — Scott's and Jamieson's, but we shall mark in a note the different readings of Kinloch and Buchan on the most striking passage in the story. Sir AValter's version owes much of its beauty and fine effect to the appropriation of some verses from a different ballad. Sweet Wil- liam's Ghost, hereafter to be given. He thus in- > troduees " Clerk Saunders" in the fifth edition of his Minstrelsy. — " This romantic ballad is taken from 3Ir Herd's MSS., with several corrections j from a shorter and more imperfect copy, in the same volume, and one or two conjectural emen- dations in the arrangement of the stanzas. The resemblance of the conclusion to the ballad, be- ginning, ' There came a ghost to Margaret's - door,' will strike every reader. The tale is un- N commonly wild and beautiful, and apparently , very ancient. The custom of the passing bell is L; still kept up in many villages in Scotland. The I sexton goes through the town, ringing a small I beU, and announcing the death of the departed, and the time of the funeral. The three con- ( eluding verses have been recovered since the first edition of this work : and I am informed by the reciter, that it was usual to separate from the -^ rest that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers, as belonging to another story. For this, however, there seems no neces- .■ sity, as other authorities give the whole as a i complete tale."] Ct-EKK Saunders and may Margaret Walked ower yon garden green ; And sad and heavy was the love That fell thir twa between, " A bed, a bed,'' Clerk Saunders said, " A bed for you and me !" " Fye na, fye na." said may Slargaret, " Till anes we married be. " For in may come my seven bauld brotht \Vi' torches burning bright ; They'll say — ' We ha'e but ae sister, And behold she's wi' a knight !' " " Then take the sword frae my scabbar !. And slowly lift the pin ; And you may swear, and safe your aith, Ye never let Clerk Saunders in. " And taVe a napkin in your hand. And tie up baith your bonnie een ; And you may swear, and safe your aith. Ye saw me na since late yestreen." It was about the midnight hour, WTien they asleep were laid, "UTien in and came her seven brothers, Wi' torches burning red. When in and came her seven brother^, ^ Wi' torches burning bright ; They said, " We ha'e but ae sister. And behold her lying with a knight ;" • Mr Kinloch's copy : Then in there cam' her firsten brother, Bauldly he cam' steppin' in : — " Come here, come here, see what I see, "We ha'e only but ae sister alive. And a knave is in bou'r her wi' !" Then in and cam' her second brither— Says, " Twa lovers aie ill to twin :" And'in and cam' her thirden brother, — •' O brother, dear, I say the same." Then in and cam' her fourthen brother,— •' It's a sin to kill a sicepin' man :" And in and cam' her fifthen brother, — " O brother, dear, I say the same. ' Then in and cam' her sixthen brother. — " I wat he's ne'er be steer'd by me :" But in and cam' her seventh brother, — " I bear the hand that sail ^ar him dee.' Mr Buchan's copy : Then in it came her seven brothers. And a' their torches burninj bright ; They said, " We ha'e but ae sister. And here she's lying wi' a knight." O, out it speaks the first o' them. "■\Ve wiU awa' and let them be;" Then out it speaks the second o' them , ■' His father has nae mair but he." © Then out and spake the first o' them, " I bear the sword shall gar him die ! And out and spake the second o' them, " His father has nae niair than he !" And out and spake the third o' them, " I wot that they are lovers dear !" And out and spake the fourth o" them, " They ha'e been in love this mony a year !" Then out and spake the fifth o' them, " It were great sin true love to twain !' And out and spake the sixth o' them, " It were shame to slay a sleeping man I" Then up and gat the seventh o' them. And never a word spake he ; But he has striped* his bright brov»-n brand Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye. Clerk Saunders he started and Margaret she turn'd Into his arms as asleep she lay ; And sad and silent was the night That was atween thir twae. And they lay still and sleeped sound. Until the day began to daw ; And kindly to him she did say, " It is time, true love, you were awa." But he lay still, and sleepit sound, Albeit the sun began to sheen ; She looked atween her and the wa', And dull and drowsie were his een. Out it speaks the third o' them, For he was standing on the birk ; " Nae sweeter could twa lovers lye, Though they'd been married in a kirk.' Then out it speaks the fourth o' them, " Mair fair and lovely is his buke; Our sister dear we canuot blame, Although in him she pleasure took." Then out it speaks the fifth o' them. It were a sin to do them ill ; Then out it spake the sixth o' thera, " It's hard a sleeping man to kill." But out it speaks the seventh o' them, (I wish an ill death mat he dee !) " I wear the sharp brand by my side, That soon shall gar Clerk Sandy die." * Striped— Thrust, yh Then in and came her father dear, ' Said — "Let a' your mourning be: I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay. And I'll come back and comfort thee." " Comfort weel your seven sons. For comforted will I never be : I ween 'twas neither knave nor lown Was in the bower last night wi' me." The clinking bell gaed through the town. To carry the dead corse to the clay ; And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret'^ window, I wot, an hour before the day. " Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says, " Or are ye waking presentlie ? Give me my faith and troth again, I wot, true love, I gied to thee." " Your feith and troth ye sail never get. Nor our true love sail never twin. Until ye come within my bower. And kiss me cheik and chin." " My mouth it is full cold, Margaret, I I has the smell now of the ground ; And if I kiss thy comely mouth. Thy days of life will not be lang. " O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight, I wot the wild fowls are boding day ; Crive me my faith and troth again. And let me fare me on my way." " Thy faith and troth thou sail na get. And our true love shall never twin. Until ye tell what comes of women, I wot, who die in strong traivelling ?" " Their beds are made in the heavens high, Down at the foot of our good lord's knee, Weel set about wi' gillyflowers ;* I wot sweet company for to see. a * From whatever source the popular ideas of I , heaven be derived, the mention of gillyflowers is ;=r not uncommon. Thus, in the Dead Men's Song — V The fields about this city faire /^ Were all with roses set; V Gillyflowers, and carn.itions faire, ^ Which canker could not fret. Bitson's Ancient Soags, p. 2S3. SCOTTISH BALLADS. '• O cocks are crowing a merry mM-night, I wot the wild fowl are boding day ; The psalms of heaven will soon be sung. And I, ere now, will be missed away." Then she has ta'en a crystal wan. And she has stroken her troth thereon ; She has given it him out at the shot-window, Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan. "I thank ye, Marg'ret; I thank ye, Marg'ret; And aye I thank ye heartilie ; Gin ever the dead come for the quick. Be sure, Marg'ret, I'll come for thee." Its hosen and shoon, and gown alone. She climbed the wall, and followed him. Until she came to the green forest. And there she lost the sight o' him. " Is there ony room at your head, Saunders ? Is there ony room at your feet y Or ony room at your side, Saunders, Where fain, fain, I wad sleep V' " There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret, There's nae room at my feet; My bed it is full lowly now : Amang the hungry worms I sleep. " Cauld mould is my covering now. But and my winding-sheet ; The dew it falls nae sooner down, Than my resting-place is weet. The description, given in the legend of Sir Owain, of the terrestrial paradise, at which the blessed arrive, after passing through purgatory, omits gillyflowers, though it mentions many others. As the passage is curious, and the legend lias never been published, many persons may not be displeased to see it extracted — Fair were her erbers with flowers. Rose and Uli divers colours, Primrol and ijarvink ; Mint, feverfoy, and eglenterre, Columbin, and mo ther wer Than aui man mai bithenke. It berth erbes of other maner. Than ani in erth gvoweth here, The that is lest of priis ; Evermore thai ^ene sprinjeth, I'or winter no somer it no clingeth ; And sweeter than licorice.— Scott. " But plait a wand o' 'ooimie birk,* And lay it on my breast ; And shed a tear upon my grave. And wish my saul gude rest. " And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg ret. And Marg'ret C veritie. Gin e'er ye love another man. Ne'er love him as ye did me." Then up and crew the milk-white cock, And up and crew the gray ; Her lover vanish'd in tlie air. And she gaed weeping away. CLERK SAUNDERS. [Jamiesos's version.— 3Ir Jamieson says that had he " been aware, in time, of the superiority 1 in contrivance and effect of Mr Scotfs copy, he \ would most cheerfully have given up his own for ' its fiirther improvement ; but that not having j been the case, as he is of opinion, that the fol- ' lowing variety of this affecting tale is still suffi- ciently curious to merit preservation, he has thought proper to adopt it, more from a hope of gratifying the curious antiquary, than of pre- [ senting the mere helles lettres critic with any I thing deserving of his notice or approbation. 1 Nothing could have been better imagined than the circumstance, in Mr Scotfs copy, of killing Clerk Saunders while his mistress "a? asleep ; nor can any thing be more natural or * The custom of binding the new-laid sod r.f the church yard with osiers, or other saplings, prevailed both in England and Scotland, an'l served to protect the turf from injury by cattle, nr otherwise. It is alluded to by Gay in the AN'h;it d'ye caU it— Stav, let me pledge, 'tis my last earthly liquor, When I am dead you'll bind my grave with wicker. In the Shepherd's 'Week, the same custom is alluded to, and the cause explained : — With wicker rods we fenced her tomb around. To ward, from man and beast, the hallowed ground. Lest her new grave the parson's cattle nue. For both his horse and cow the church -yard ?raze. > Fifth FastoraL-Scott. pathetic than the three stanzas that follow.' They might have channed a whole volume of bad poetry against the ravages of time ; in Mr Scott's volumes they shine but like pearls among diamonds. I 'Clerk Saunders he started, and Marg'ret she tuni'd Into his arms, as asleep she lay ; And sad and silent was the night That was atween thir twae. 'And they lay still and sleeped sound. Until the day began to daw; And kindly to him she did say, " It's time, true love, you were aw.i'." • But he lay still and sleeped sound. Albeit the sun be^an to sheen ; She lookit atween her and the wa', 1 And dull and drowsie were his een.' The following copy was transmitted by Mrs Arrott of Aberbrothick. The stanzas, where the seven brothers are introduced, have been enlarged from two fragments, which, although very defective in themselves, furnish lines which, when incorporated with the text, seemed to im- prove it. Stanzas 21 and 22 were written by the editor ; the idea of the rose being suggested by the gentleman who recited, but who could not recollect the language in which it was ex- . pressed."] Ci.EHK Saunders ^^as an earl's son. He lived upon sea-sand ; I May Margaret was a king's daughter. She lived in upper land. Clerk Saunders was an earl's son, "Weel learn'd at the scheel ; May Margaret was a king's daughtt'r;— j They baith lo'ed ither weel. He's throw the dark, and throw the ma/k, I And throw the leaves o' green ; Till he came to May Margaret's door. And tirled at the pin. :_ " O sleep ye, wake ye. May Margaret, Or are ye the bower within ?" , " O wha is that at my bower door, j Sae weel my name does ken?" "It's I, Clerk Saunders, your true love, ' You'll open and let me in." I " O will ye to the cards, Margaret, Or to the table to dine ? Or to the bed, that's weel down spread And sleep when we get time." " I'll no go to the cards," she says, " Nor to the table to dine ; But I'll go to a bed, that's weel down spread. And sleep when we get time." They were not weel leyn down. And no weel fa'en asleep, ■When up and stood May M.argaret's bre- Just up at their bed feet. [thren, " O tell us, tell us. May JIargaret, And dinna to us len,* O wha is aught yon noble steed, That stands your stable in ?" " The steed is mine, and it may be thine. To ride whan ye ride on hie — " But awa', awa', my bauld brethren, Awa', and mak' nae din ; For I am as sick a lady the nicht As e'er lay a bower within." " tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, wha is aught yon noble hawk. That stands your kitchen in ?" " The hawk is mine, and it may be thine. To hawk whan ye hawk in hie — '■' But awa', awa', my bald brethren ! Awa' and mak' nac din ; For I'm ane o' the sickest ladies this nicht That e'er lay bower within." " tell us, tell us. May Margaret, And dinna to us len, wha is that, May Margioret, You and the wa' between ?" " O, it is my bower-maiden," she s;iys, " As sick as sick can be ; 0, it is my bower-niaideu," she says, " And she's thrice as sick as me." * The term len, in this sense, is, so far as I know, now obsolete in Scotland. It here means to stop or hesitate, and is used in the same sense by Browne, in his "Britannia's Pastorals." It seems to be the same with the old English and ^' Scottish blin, to cease, or stop. — Jamieson. '■^^^/^ ; SCOTTISH BALLADS. ' ■ \Ve ha'e been east, and we've been nest, ^ And low beneath the moon ; But a* the bower-women e'er we saw Hadna goud buckles in their shoon." Then up and spak' her eldest brithcr, Aye in ill time spak' he ; " It is Clerk Saunders, your true love. And never mat I thee. But for this scorn that he has done. This moment he sail die." But up and spak' her youngest brother ; Aye in good time spak' he : " 0, but they are a gudelie pair ! — True lovers an ye be. The sword tliat hangs at my sword-belt ijhiall never sinder ye !" Syne up and spak' her nexten brother. And the tear stood in his e'e, '•You've lo'ed her lang, and lo'ed her weel. And pity it wad be. The sword that hangs at my sword-belt rihoud ever sinder ye !" But up and spak" her fiften brother, " -Sleep on your sleep for me ; Bat we baith sail never sleep again. For the tane of us sail die !" But up and spak' her midmaist brother ; And an angry laugh leuch he ; '• The thorn that dabs I'll cut it down. Though fair the rose may be. " The flower that smell'd sae sweet yestreen Has lost its bloom wi' thee ; And though I'm wae it should be sae, I Clerk Saunders, ye maun die." ' And up and spak' her thirden brother. Aye in ill tiir.e spak' he ; ■ Curse on his love and comeUness I — DishonouT'd as ye be. The sword that hangs at my sword-belt Sail quickly sinder ye !" Her eldest brother has drawn his sword ; Her second has drawn anither ; Between Clerk Saunders' hause and co".l;ir bane The cald iron met thcgither. i " O wae be to you, my fkuse brethren. And an ill death mat ye die ! Te mith slain Clerk Saunders in open field. And no in the bed wi' me." "When seven years were come and gane. Lady ilargaret she thought lang ; And she is up to the hichest tower. By the lee licht o" the moon. She was lookin' o'er her castle high. To see what she might fe.' ; And there she saw a grieved ghost Comin' waukin* o'er the wa'. " O, are ye a man of mean," she says, Seekin' ony o' my meat ? Or are you a rank robber. Come in my bower to break ?" " O, I'm Clerk Saunders, your true lov.,- ; Behold, Margaret, and see. And mind, for a' your melkle pride, Sae will become of thee." " Gin ye be Clerk Saunders, my t:ue love. This meikle marvels me — wherein is your bonnie arms That wont to embrace me y" "By worms they're eaten; in roods they're Behold, Margaret, and see ; [rotten ; And mind, for a' your mickle pride, Sae will become C thee ! " O bonnie, bonnie sang the bird. Sat on the coil o' hay ; But dowie dowie was the maid. That foUow'd the corpse o' clay. " Is there ony room at your head, Saunders, Is there ony room at your feet J Is there ony room at your twa sides For a lady to he and sleep ?" " There is nae room at my head, Margaret ; As Uttle at my feet ; There is nae room at ray twa sides For a lady to lie and sleep. " But gae hame, gae hame, now, May Marca- Gae hame and sew your soain ; [rtt; For if ye were laid in your weel-made bed. Your days will nae be lang." i^>ears, with whose grandmother it was a deserved favourite. It is now for the first time printed. It tears some resemblance to Clerk Saundere."] Sweet Willie was a widow's son. And he wore a milk-white weed, O ; And weel could Willie read and write. Far better ride on steed, O. Lady Margerie was the first ladye. That drank to him the wine, O ; And aye as the healths gaed round and round, " Laddy, your love is mine, O." Lady Margerie was the first ladye, That drank to him tlie beer, ; And aye as the healths gaed round and round, "Laddy, ye're welcome here, O." " You must come intill my bower. When the evening bells do ring, O ; And you must come intill my bower, ■Hten the evening mass doth sing, O." He's ta'en four-and-twenty braid arrows. And laced them in a whang, O ; And he's awa' to lady Margerie's tower, As fast as he can gang, O. He set his ae foot on the wa'. And the other on a stane, O ; And he's kill'd a' the king's life guards. He's kill'd them every man, O. "Oh open, open, lady Margerie, Open and let me in, O ; The weet weets a' my yellow hair, And the dew draps on my chin, O." With her feet as white as sleet. She strod her bower within, O ; And with her fingers lang and sma'. She's looten sweet Willie in, O. ft She's louted down unto his foot. To lowze sweet Willie's shoon, O ; I The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze, I The blood had frozen in, 0. " O Willie, O Willie, I fear that thou I Hast bred me dule and sorrow ; I The deed that thou hast done this nicht, AV ill ky the upon the morrow." In then came her father dear. And a braid sword by his gare, O : And he's gi'en AVillie, the widow's son, A deep wound and a sair, O " I-ye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, ! " Your sweat weets a' my side, O ; ; Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, I " For your sweat I downa bide, 0." j She turned her back unto the wa'. Her face unto the room, O ; I And there she saw her auld father, I Fast walking up and doun, O. " Woe be to you, father," she said, " And an iU deid may you die, O ; ! For ye've kiU'd WHUe, the widow's son. And he would have married me, O." I She turned her back unto the room. Her face unto the wa', ; ! And with a deep and heavy sich, i Her heart it brake in twa, O. B^ut milium m^ JEag [Fkom Mr Kinloch's collection.—" Though I this." says ilr Kinloch, "is evidently a distinct i baUad from ' Clerk Saunders,' yet the editor of \ the Border Minstrelsy has incorporated it with I that ballad; notwithstanding it appears that he was informed by the reciter, that it was usual to separate from the rest, that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers, as belong- ing to another story. ' For this, however,' says ^ he, ' there seems no necessity, as other authori- ;Tva SCOTTISH BALLADS. ties give the whole as a complete tale.' — Vol. II. s page 405. The editor has obtained 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 William's Ghost,' will be ' found in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, and a similar one in the ' Minstrelsy Ancient and Modem,' entitled AVilliam and Maijorie."] A s May Marg'ret sat in her bouerie, ' In her bouer all alone. At the very parting o' midnieht, .She heard a mournfu' moan. " is it my fiither, O is it my mother ? Or is it my brother John ? Or is it sweet "William, my ain true love. To Scotland new come home ?" " It is r.a your father, it is na your mother. It is na your brother John : But it is sweet WUliam, your ain true-love. To Scotland new come home." — " 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 ?" " I've brought ye na fine things at all, Xor onie new thing to wear, Xor ha'e I brought ye a braid of lace. To snood up your gowden hair. " But Margaret ! dear Margaret ! I pray ye speak to me ; O gi'e me back my faith and troth. As dear as I gied it thee." •'' Your faith and troth ye sanna get, Nor will I wi' ye twin, Till ye come within my bouer, And kiss me cheek and chin." ' ' Margaret ! dear Margaret ! I pray ye speak to me ; O gi'e me back my faith and troth, As dear as I gied it thee." " Your faith and troth ye sanna get, Xor will I wi' ye twin. Till ye tak' me to yonder kirk. And wed me wi' a ring." " O should I come within your bouer, I am na earthly man ; If I should kiss your red, red lips, Tour days wad na be lang. " My banes are buried in yon kirk -yard. It's fax ayont the sea ; And it is my spirit, Margaret, That's speaking unto thee." " 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." " The pleasvires of heaven I wat not of, But the pains of hell I dree ; There some are hie hang'd for huring. And some for adulterie." 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." [From the fourth volume of Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany. Kitson says, " The two last stanzas were probably added by Ramsay : they are evidently spurious."] There 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. " Is that my lather PhUip ? Or is't my brother John ? Or is't my true love Willie, From Scotland new come hoii.c ?" " 'Tis not thy father Philip, Nor yet thy brother John ; But 'tis thy true love Willie, From Scotland new come home. O sweet Marg'ret I dear Marg'ret ' I pray thee speak to n e ; Give me my faith and troth, Marg ret. As I gave it to thee." r^ i f\i^ Uhr " Thy faith and troth thou's never get, Nor yet will I thee lend. Till that thou come within my bower. And kiss my cheek and chin." " 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. " O sweet Marg'i-et ! dear Marg'ret ! I pray thee speak to me ; Give me my faith and troth, Marg'ret, As I gave it to thee." " Thy faith and troth thou's never g f , Nor yet wjU I thee lend, Till you take me to yon kirk -yard. And wed me with a ring." " My bones are buried in yon kirk -yard. Afar beyond the sea ; And it is but my spirit, Slarg'ret, Tliat's now speaking to thee." Ejhe stretch'd out her lilly-white hand, And for to do her best, " Hae, there's your faith and troth, "^A'illie, God send your soul good rest." Now she has kilted her robes of green, A piece below her knee. And a' the live-lang winter night. The dead corp followed she. " Is there any room at your head, "W'illie ? Or any room at your feet? Or any room at your side, Willie, Wherein that I may creep .3" " There's no room at my head, Marg ret. There's no room at my feet ; There's no room at my side, Marg'ret, My coffin 's made so meet." Then up and crew the red red cock, And up then crew the gray : " 'Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Marg'ret, That you were going away." No more the ghost to Marg'ret said. But with a grievous groan, Evanish'd in a cloud of mist. And left her all alone. " stay, my only true love, stay,"' The constant Marg'ret cry'd ; Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd lier een, Stretch'd her soft limbs and dy'd. Hilillfam unh ^ut]mk. [From Motherwell's Collection.] Lady Marjorik, lady Marjorie, Sat sewing her silken seam, And by her came a pale, pale ghost Wi" mony a sigh and mane. " Are je my father the king," she s;iys, " Or are ye my brither John ? Or are ye my true love sweet WilliaTii, From England newly come?" " I'm not your father the king," he says, " No, no, nor your brither John ; But I'm your true love sweet William, From England that's newly come." " Have ye brought me any scarlet sue red. Or any of the silks sae fine ; Or have ye brought me any precious things That merchants have for sale." " I have not brought you any scarlets ; red. No, no, nor the silks sae fine ; But I have brought you my winding-sheet Ower many a rock and hill. " Lady Marjorie, lady Marjorie ! For faith an' charitie. Will ye gi'e to me my faith and trotli That I gave once to thee ?" " O your faith and troth I'll not gi'e to the. No, no, that will not I, Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips. And in my arms you lye." " My lips they are sae bitter," he s-iys — " My breath it is sae Strang ; If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips, ^ Your days will not be lang. SCOTTISH BALLADS. " The cocks are crawing, Marjorie," he says— " The cocks are crawing again ; It's time the dead should part frae the quick— JEaijorie, I must be gane." She followed him high,— she followed him low TUl she came to yon churchyard green ; And there the deep grave opened up. And young William he lay down. ■■ A\'liat three things are these, sweet WiUiam, she says, " That stands here at your head ?" '■ O its three maidens, Maijorie," hi says, " That I promised once to wed." " What three things are these, sweet William," she says, "That stand close at your side?" " O ifs three babes, Marjorie," he says, " That these three maidens had." " What three things are these, sweet WiUiam," she says, " That lye close at your feet ?" '• O if s three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says, "' That's waiting my soul to keep." O she took up her white, white hand. And she struck him on the breast ; Sr.j-ing — '• Have there again your faith and troth, And I wish your saul gude rest." ?fes?t [From Percy's collection. — "This seems," says Dr Percy, " to be the old song quoted in Flet- cher's ' Knight of the Burning Pestle,' Acts 2d j and 3d ; altliough the sis lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the baUad, ] 33 it stands at present. The reader will not j wonder at this, when he is informed that this is : only given from a modem printed copy picked i up on a stall. Its full title is, ' Fair Slar- garefs Misfortunes ; or Sweet William's fright- ful dreams on his wedding night, with the sud- ! den death and burial of those nob'e lovers.' — S ^ The lines preser\-ed in the play are this distfi : ' You are no love for me, Margaret, I am no love for you.' And the following stanza, ^ ' When it was erovvn to dark midniglit, And .-dl were~fast asleep, In came Margaret's grimly ghort, t And stood at William's feet.' ■ ; These lines have acquired an importance by ' ' giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads I ! in our own or any other language," — (alluding to j! the ballad of "William and Margaret," given I afterwards.)] ]\ As it feU out on a long summer's day ' ■ I Two lovers they sat on a hUl ; They sat together that long summer's day. And could not talk their fill. I see no harm by you, Margaret, And you see none by mee ; Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock A rich wedding you shall see. Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window. Combing her yellow hair ; There she spyed sweet William and his bride. As they were a riding near. Then down she layd her ivory combe, And braided her hair in twain : She went alive out of her bower, But ne'er came alive in't again. When day was gone, and night was come. And all men fast asleep. Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, And stood at William's feet. " Are you awake, sweet William ?" she s;ud ; " Or, sweet William, are you asleep ? God give you joy of your gay bride-bed. And me of my winding sheet." When day was come, and night was goii And all men wak'd from sleep. Sweet William to his lady said, " My dear, I have cause to weep. " I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye, Such dreames are never good : I dreamt my bower was full of red ' win. And my bride-bed full of blood.' \^?^^''-'^-- 'Km SCOTTISH BALLADS. cy " Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir, ift They never do prove good ; To dream thy bower veas full of red ' wine,' And thy bride-bed fuU of blood." He called up his 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 Jlarg'ret's 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 ; Slethinks 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 thy pale wan lips. Though a smile I cannot win." "With that bespake the seven brethren. Making most piteous mone : " You may go kiss your jolly brown bride. And let our sister alone." " If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, I do but what is right ; I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse By day, nor yet by night. " Deal on, deal on, my merry men all. Deal on your cake and your wine : For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day. Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine." Fair Marg'ret dyed to-day, to-day. Sweet William dyed to-morrow : Fair Marg'ret dyed for pure true love. Sweet William dyed fur sorrow. Marg'ret was buryed in the lower chancel. And William in the higher : Out of her breast there sprang a rose. And out of his a briar. They grew till they grew unto the church top, And then they could grow no higher ; And there they 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. HEilliam m^ #ilaii:gairct» [" This ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, who in the edi- tion of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested by the stanza (quoted in the introduction to the previous ballad. Fair Margaret and Sweet William), which he suppos- ed to be the beginning of 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 wTitten many years ago.' The two introductory lines, and one or two others elsewhere, had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz. ' AMien all was wrapt in dark uiidnight, And all were fast asleep,' kc. " 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 JIallet's, and adapted the Unes 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 1734, that William and Margaret first appeared. Mallet was then a very young man, having been born about the beginning of the century. He died in 1765. He was a native of Crieff in Perthshire, and for some time tutor in the Montrose family, through whose influence he first got introduced into public life. Malloch was his original name, but after he took up his resi- dence in London, he changed it to Mallet, find- ing probably the och too much for Cockney utterance. William and Margaret has been ex- SCOTTISH BALLAD3. travagantly praised by some. Even the caustic a^ Eitaon calls it one of the finest ballads that was ever written. On the other hand, riir Walter , Scott says, " The ballad, though the best of 3Ial- ! ■ let's writing, is certainly inferior to its original, [ i which 1 presume to be the very fine and even terrific old Scottish tale, beginning, j ■ There came a ghost to Margaret's door.' " j : In the Harp of Renfrewshire, pp. 122-128, an elaborate but unsuccessful attempt is made to deprive Mallet of the authorship of the ballad. In an edition, also, of Andrew Marvell's Works, London 1776, the editor claims the ballad for Marvell, on the ground of an old MS. volume, in MarveU's own hand ; but Mr David Laing says the volume contains a number of pieces evidently transcribed forty years subsequent to Marrell's death.] 'TwAS at the silent solemn hour. When night and morning meet ; In glided Margaret's grimly ghost. And stood at William's feet. Her face was like an April mom. Clad in a wintry cloud : And clay-cold was her lily hand. That held her sable shrowd. So shall the fairest iace appear. When youth and years are flown : Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was Uke the springing flower. That sips the silver dew ; The rose was budded in her cheek, Just opening to the view. But love had, like the canker-worm, Consum'd her early prime : The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; She died before her time. " Awake !" she cried, " thy true love calls. Come from her midnight grave ; 2fow let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refused to save. " This is the dark and dreary hour When injur'd ghosts complain ; Now yawning graves give up their dead, To haunt the Ciithless swain. " Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Thy pledge and broken oath : And give me back my maiden vow. And give me back my troth. " Why did you promise love to me. And not that promise keep ? Why did you swear mine eyes were bright. Yet leave those eyes to weep ? " How could you say my face was fair And yet that face forsake ? How could you win my virgin heart, Tet leave that heart to break '■• " Why did you say my lip was sweet, And made the scarlet pale ? And why did I, young witless maid. Believe the flattering tale ? " That face, alas ! no more is fair ; These lips no longer red : Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in deatii. And every charm is fled. " The hungry worm my sister is ; This winding-sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night. Till that last mom appear. "But hark : the cock has wam'd me hence ! A long and last adieu : Come see, false man, how low she lies. Who died for love of you." The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'd With beams of rosy red : Pale William shook in ev'ry limb. And raving left his bed. He hied him to the fatal place Where Margaret's body lay : And stretch'd him on tlie grass-green turf. That vNTapt her breathless clay : And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name. And thrice he wept full sore : Then laid his cheek to her cold grave. And word spake never more. ¥ I p Watta ana JWaSge. [This parody on the foregoing ballad we find in the third volume of Ramsay's Tea Table Mis- oellany. It is also given in Herd's 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 WUliam and Mar- saret ; 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 of 12 pages, beginning with Clerk v^aunders, p. 69, 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 rugg'd at Watty's, bre.-xst, 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 spark, 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 cheeks, frae lug to lug. His bairdy bristles grew. But hunger, like a gnawing worm, Gade rumbling through his kjte, 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 saul With something that is fit to chew, !'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, " I but o'er justly trow'd Your love was thowless, and that ye For cake and pudding woo'd. " Bethink thee, Watty, on that night, When all were fast asleep. How ye kiss'd me frae cheek to cheek, Now leave these cheeks to dreep. " How could ye ca' my hurdles fet, And comfort of your sight ? How could ye roose my dimpled haii>l. 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 ment your sarks and hose ! For you how mony bannocks stown, How many cogues of brose. " But hark ! — the kail-bell rings, anii 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'J, 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 wai-m h.aggies stood. And gart his gooly through the bag. Let out its fat heart's blood. And thrice he cried, " Come eat, dear Man Of this delicious fare ; " Syne claw'd it aff most cleverly. Till he could eat nac mair. SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^^e ^m d %i7int. [This most instructivs ballad was first pub- lisht't! in Percy's collection, (1755,) fri-m the old folio its. in the editor's possession, to which he was so largely indebted in compiling his work, and the existence of which Eitson 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 " Keliques," where the ancient readings are restored. Bishop Percy says, " The original of this ballad is f und in the editor's folio MS. the breaches and defects in which render the inser- tion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon, as indeed the corapktion 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 laurd, whose title went along with his estate." Jlotherwell says, " The traditionaxj- version in Scotiiind begins thus : " The bonnie heir, the weel-fauved heir. And the wearie heir o' Liune; Yonder he stands pt his father's gate, And naebody bids him come in. O, see where he stands, and see where he g.">ngs, The weary heir o' Linne; O. see wlieie he stands on the cauld causey. Some ane wald tn.'en him in. ^ To spend the daye with merry chcare. To drinke and revell every n'ght. To card and dice from eve to tnorne. It was, I ween, his heart's delighte. To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare. To always spend and never spare, I wott, an' it were the k ng hiraselfe. 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. But if he had been hi! Or yet the heir o' L He wadna stand on th Some ane wad ta'en father's heir, nne, ? cauld caxisey. ■\Ve find in no collection a continuation of this version] Part the First. Lithe and listen, gentlemen. To sing a song I will beginne : It is of a lord of faire Scotland, Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne. His father was a right good lord. His mother a lady of high degree : But they, aK".s.' were dead, him froc, And he loved keeping companie. (:. Qr^' His father had a keen stewarde, And Jrhn o' the Scales was called hee: 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 ; I8f thou 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 me the golde, good John o' the Scales, And thine for aye my lande shall bic. " Then John he did him to record draw. And John he cast him a god's-pennie ;* But for every pounde that John agreed. The lande, I wis, was well worth three. He told him the g Id upon the borde, He was right glad his land to winne ; " The gold is thine, the land is mine. And now He be the lord of Lmne." Thus he hath sold his land soe broad. Both hill and holt, and moore and fcnne. All but a poore and l(inesome lodge. That stood far off in a lon>;ly glenne. * i. e. eamestmoney ; from the French Denier V^ ^ a Dieu. At this day, when application is maJe Q^«-^ to the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle to accept ^,-^5^ an exchanu-e of the tenant under one of their /v;\|A leases, a piece of silver is presented by the new \_-7-"-» | tenant, which is stUI called a " God's-penny." ? ^T"/ Perrtj. f - \ _ For soe he to his father hight : V = cy " My Sonne, when I am gonne," sayd hee, ^^Td " Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad, /«>(§r\ And thou wilt spend thy gold so free : ^^= J " But sweare me nowe upon the roode, r^^ That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; >"ow Christ's curse on my head," he sayd, " But I 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 I had it of thee.' " I drawe you to record, lords," he said. With that he cast him a God's-pennie : " Now by ray fay," said the heir of Linne, " And here good John is thy raonie." 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 mickle dinne. " The gold is thine, the Lind is mine. And now Ime againe the lord of Linne." Sayes, " Have thou here, thou good fellove. Forty pence thou didst lend mee : / Now I am againe the lord of Linne, \ And forty pounds I will give thee. " lie make thee keeper of my forest. Both of the wild deere ana the tame ; For but I reward thy bounteous heart, I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame." S^^f^^^^-^^r?. " Now well-a-day !" sayth Joan o' the Scales : " Now weU-a-day ! and woe is my life ! Yesterday I was lady of Linne, Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife." " Now f'are-thee well," sayd the heir of Linne ; " Farewell now, John o' the Scales," saic hee: " Christ's curse light on me, if ever again I bring my lands in jeopardy." ^t|0l Xm^. [Modern Ballad.— Mrs Johnstone.— Fron the novel of " Clan Albyn."] I'M weary o' your ha's, auld lord, Im weary o' your towers, The hours of grandeur unendear'd, O but they're lanely hours. My fingers shine wi' mony a ring, An' wi' jewels they deck my hair ; But the lichtsome glance o' leal young love Will never bliss me mair. 1 mind thee still thou Athol wood. And him on Lynedoch lea ; Wha pu'd my snood frae the scented birk. An' my beads frae the reddan tree. <) merrily sang the bonnie blackbird Aboon our hazel screen ; An' ilka leaf was stirr'd wi' joy. An' the blue lift danc'd between. ^^r5\ I mind thee still, thou fairy eve, ,h^ J Whan this tlichterin' heart was tint, r^^. An' how saft the sang o' the mavis rang, =s ^ Whan he tauld what its fiichterin' meant. -== -\ A witless bride ye bocht, auld lord, ^^j/^ An' he didna frown or fret ; W7=J But a breakin' heart was in his e'e, w f?f) ^^' '''^'^* looks before me yet ! r7^^ I'm lanely, lanely a' the day, i^- ) But the nicht is waur to bide, ,^^Q For the dream that brings n)e Athol brae, Wauks me by my auld lord's side ! i O ! there's mony a leaf in Athol wocd. An' mony a bird in its breast ; An' mony a pain, maun the heart sustain, ( Ere it sab itsel' to rest! | [Written by Robert Allan 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 landed at New York, when ho was carried off by a bilious fever, at the age of 67. J Sit down, sit down by thy martyr's side. And I'se sit down by mine ; And I shall speak o' him to my Gude, And thou may speak o' thine. It's wae to thee, and it's wae wi' me. For our day o' peace is gane. And we maun sit wi' a tearfu' e'e. In our bouroch-ha' alane. O Scotland ! Scotland, it's wae to thee. When thy lichts are ta'en awa' ; And it's wae, it's wae to a sinfu' Ian', When the richteous sae maun fa'. It was a halie covenant aith We made wi' our Gude to keep ; And it's for the halie covenant vow, That we maun sit and weep. O wha will gang to yon hill-side, To sing the psalm at e'en ? And wha will speak o' the luvo o' our Gude ? For the cov'nant reft hath been. The gerse may grow on yon bonnie hill-tap. And the heather sweetly blunie ; But there nae mair we sail sit at e'en. For our hearts are in the tomb. The hectic glow is upo' my cheek. And the lily hue on thine ; Thou sune will lie by thy martyr's side. And sune I sail sleep by mine. SCOTTISH BALLAD3. 85 €^ngtie'^ mill [This is a modern imitation of the ancient ballads by Sia Waltek Scott. The author thus introduces it in the Slinstrelsy of the Scot- tish Border In the reign of Charles 1., when the moss-trooping practices were not entirely discontinued, the tower of Gilnockie, in the parish of Cannoby, was occupied by William Armstrong, called, for distinction sake, Christie's Will, a lineal descendant of the famous John Armstrong, of Gilnockie, executed by James V. Tlie 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- oile colts at the end of them. The joke, such as it was, amused the earl, who exerted his interest, and succeeded in releasing Christie's AVill 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 Iiim out of the way, when the question should be tried. In this dilemma, the earl iiad 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 liim 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 ofl, with the luckless judge trussed up behind him. Will I crossed the country with great expedition, by '■> paths only known to persons of his description, and deposited his weary and terrified burden in an old castle, in Annandale, called the tower of Graham. The judge's horse being found, it wa» 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 f-male 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 montlis had elapsed, the law- suit was decided in favour of lord Traquair ; and W^iU was dirt-cted to s^t 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 fi-iends, and the less agreeable suri'riseof his suc- cess r, may be easily conceived, when he appear- ed in court, to reclaim his office and honours. I All 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 thess 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 extraopli- ■ nary stratagem was practis?d, was .Sir Alexan- der Gibson, lord Durie, collector of the report?, well known in the Scottish law, under the title of " Durie's Decisions." He was advanced to 1 the station of an ordinary lord of session, 10th I July 1621, and died, at his own house of Ihirit , ■ \ July l&i6. Betwixt these periods this whimsical ; adventure must have happened : a date which I corrrsponds with that of the tradition. I " We may frame," says Forbes, "a rational ' , conjecture of his great le.ai-ning and parts, not ;!=■ only from his collection of the decisions of the SCOTTISH BALLAD; f i f f session, from July 1621, till July 1642, 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, tinding 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 men 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 place where he had been taken up."— Forbes's Journal of the Session, Edin. 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 liis 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 difficult one, as the parliamentary leaders used their utmost en- (ieavours 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 undertook 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 CarUsle, 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 is was in high flood. Will sunk — the soldiers shouted — he emerged again, and guiding liis 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 wotVl.— Minstrelsy of the Scottis/i 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 si)eer for me !" " Good Christie's Will, now, have na fear I Kae harm, good AVill, 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 Moflat, SCOTTISH BALLADS. 87 ( "Bethink how ye sware by the salt and the ; bread. By the lightning, the wind, and the rain. That if ever of Christie's Will 1 bad ueed. He would pay me my ser\-ice again." " Gramercy, my lord," quoth Christie's Will, " Grameicr, my lord, for your grace to me '. "When 1 turn my cheek, and claw my neck, I think of Traquair, and the Jeddart tree." And he has opened the fair tower yate. To Traquair and a' his companie ; The spule o' the deer on the board he has set, j The fattest that ran on the Huttun Lee. i " Kow wherefore sit ye sad, my lord ? I And wherefore sit ye mcumfuUie ? ! And why eat ye not of the venison I shot, ; At the dead of night on Huttun Lee .^" " O weel may I stint of feast and sport, i And in my mind be vexed sair I ] A vote of the canker'd Session Court, i <-'f land and living will make me bare. " But if auld Durie to heaven were flown, I Or if auld Durie to hell were gane. Or ... if he could be but ten days stoun .... I 3Iy bonnie braid lands would still be my I ain." I \ " O monv a time, my lord,'- he said, i " I've stown the horse frae the sleeping loun; [ But for you I'll steal a beast as braid. For I'll steal lord Durie frae Edinburgh j town. I " O mony a time, my lord," he said, " Iv'e stown a kiss frae a sleeping wench ; But for you I'll do as kittle a deed. For I'll steal an auld lurdane aff the bench." And Christie's Will is to Edinburgh gane; At the Borough Muir then entered he ; And as he pass'd the gallow-stane, He cross'd his brow, and he bent his knee. He lighted at lord Durie's door. And there he knocked most manfulUe ; And up and spake lord Durie sae stour, " What tidings, thou stalward groom, t< " The fairest lady in Teviotdale Has sent, maist reverent sir, for tliee ; She pleas at the session for her land, a' haill, And fain she wad plead her cause to thee." " But how can I to that lady ride. With saving of my dignitie ?'• " O a curch and mantle ye may wear, And in my cloak ye shaU muffled be." Wi' curch on head, and cloak ower face, He mounted the judge on a palfrey fyne ; He rode away, a right round pace. And Christie's Will held the bridle reyn. The Lothian Edge they were not o'er. When they heard bugles bauldly ring. And, hunting over Middletcn Moor, They met, 1 v.een, our noble king. AATien Willie look'd upon our king, I wot a frighted man was he 1 But ever auld Durie was startled mair. For tyning of his dignitie. The king he cross'd himself, I wis, When as the pair came riding bye — " An uglier crone, and a sturdier lown, I think, were never seen with eye I" Willie has hied to the tower of Graenne, He took auld Durie on his back. He shot him down to the dungeon deep, Which garr'd his auld banes gi'e mony a crack. For nineteen days, and nineteen nights, Of sun, or moon, or midnight stem, Auld Durie never saw a blink. The lodging was sae dark and dern. He thought the warlocks o' the rosy cross* Had fang'd him in their nets sae feist ; ^% I * " As for the rencounter betwixt Mr Wil- ' liamson, schoolmaster at Cowper (who has j wrote agrammar,) and the Rosicrucians, I never I trusted it, till I heard it from his own ann, I that a stranger came to Cowper and called ; who is present minister of Kirkaldy. He tells, j for him: after they had drank a little, and the 1 1 reckoning came to be paid, he whistled for ^spirits; one, in the shape of a boy, came and Or that the gypsies' glamour'd gang* Had lair'd his learning at the last. w\ i^ -^ TS U) gave him gold in abundance; no servant was 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 Pope's cellar, and tell the freshest news then at Rome; 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 marveOed to see any know him there ; at last he found it was his Rosicrucian. He pointed to a tavern, and desired Mr Williamson tu 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 proposal, he falls a praying ; whereat they all disappear, and leave him alone. Then he began to forethink what would become of him, if he 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- 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." — Fountainhall's Decisions, Vol. I. p. 15. With great deference to the learned reporter, this story has all the appearance of a joke upon the poor schoolmaster, calculated at once to operate upon his credulity, and upon his fears of being left in pawn for the reckoning.— Sco^. * Besides the prophetic powers, ascribed to the ; 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 -. is not. Thus, in the old ballad of Johnnie Faa, ' the elopement of the countess of Gassillis, with a V gypsey leader, is imputed to fascination : ) As sune as they siiw her weel-far'd face, They cast their glamour ower her. " Hey ! Batty, lad ! far yaud ! far yaud !"f These were the morning sounds heard he ; And ever " Alack !" auld Dune cried, " The deil is hounding his tykes on me I" Mathematicians, as he is pleased to call them, who " per summam ludiflcandorum oculorum peritiam, proprios alienosque vultus, variis re- rum imaginibus, adumbrare callebant; illicibus- que foriiiis veros obscurare conspectus." Merlin, the son of Ambrose, was particularly skilled in this art, and displays it often in the old meti'ical romance of Arthour and Merlin. The Jongleurs 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 Jogulours and Enchantours of the Grete Chan ; " for they maken to come in the air the sone and the mone, beseminge to every mannes 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 pltsant, 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, fulle of mylke of diverse bestes; and geven drinke tolordesand toladyes; and than they maken knyghtes to justen in armies fulle lustyly ; and they rennen togidre a gret randoun, and they frusschen togidre full fiercely, and they broken ther speres so rudely, that the trenchounsflen 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 tliey 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 illuminatis of Germany could have matched the prodigies exhibited by Pacolet and Adramain, recorded in L'Historie des "Va- lentin et Orson, a Rouen, 1631. The receipt, to prevent the operation of these deceptions, was. f Far yaud— The signal made by a shepherd to , his dog, when he is to drive away some sheep at =. 7=% 8axo Grammaticus mentions a particular sect of ^ a distance. From Yoden, to. An. Sax.— Scott. SCOTTISH BALLADS. SO [111 whiles a voice on Baudrons cried, With sound uncouth, and sharp and hie; 1 have tar-barrell'J monjr a witch,* 13 ut now, I think, they'll clear scores wi' ^•^e JEa^tf r cf Mttm^^, [Modern Ballad. — Wm. JIothkbwbil. The king has caused a bill be wrote. And he has set it on the Tron, — " lie that will bring lord Dune 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 au!d brock out o' the poke; The land's my ain, and a's gane weel." V.'ill 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. The Master of Weemyss has biggit a ship, To saile upon the sea; And four-and-twenty bauld marineres. Doe beare him companie. They have hoistit sayte and left the Ian 1, They have saylit n.yUs three ; AVhen up there lap the bonnie mermayd. All in the Jforland sea. " O whare saile ye," quo' the bonnie memn;iva, " LT^pon the saut sea feem ?" " It's we are boundc until Norroway, God send us skaithless haine .'" He brought hi n ta the council stairs. And there full loudly shouted h', " Gi'e me my guerdon, my sovereign liege. And take ye back your auld Dune !" 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 a gypsey exercised his glamour over a number of people at Haddington, to whom he exhibited a comm; n dung hill cock, trailing, what appeared to the spectators, a massy oaken trunk. An old nan passed with a cart of clover ; he stopped, and picked out a f ur-leaved blade; the eyes of the spectators were orened, and the oaken tnxnk appeared to be a bulrush. — Scott. * Human nature shrinks from the brutal scenes produced by the belief in witchcraft. TTnder 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 was made before the Privy Council of Scotland, 11th September, 1678, by Catherine Lid Jell, 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, Ijt, She was searched by her own consent, et volenti non Jit injuria; 2d, The pricker had learned his trade J from Kincaid, a £kmed pricker; 3d, He never " Oh Norroway is a gay gay strande. And a merrie land I tiowe : But nevir nane snU s-?e Xorroway Gin the mermaid keeps her vowe !" Down doukit then, the mermayden, Deep intil the mid-lil S'.-a ; And merrie leuch that master bauld. With his jolUe companie. They saylit awa', and they sayUt awa'. They have saylit leagues ten ; TVhen lo ! uplap by the gude ship's side The self-same merir.ayden. acted; but when caUed upon by magistrates or clergymen, so what he did was auctore proton : 4th, His trade was lawful ; 5th, Perkins, Dtlrio, and all divines and lawyers, who treat of witcn- craft, assert the existence of the marks, or stig- mata sagarum ; and, 6thly, V\'ere it otherwise. Error communis facit jus. — Answeretl, 1st, De- nies consent ; 2d, Nobody can v.alidly consent to their own torture; for. Nemo est dominus mcm- brnrum tuorum ; 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 tiiem from sleep;" the council reserving aU 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. ; Scort. :■^^,- © Shee held a glass intil her richt hande, In the uthir shee held a kame. And shee kembit her haire, and aye she sung As shee flotterit on the f.ieni. And shee gliskit round and round about, Upon the waters wan ; O nevir againe on land or sea Shall be seen sik a fau-e woman. And shee shed her haire off her milk-white bree Wi' her fingers sae sma' and laug ; And fast as saylit that gude ship on, Sae louder was aye 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 If ye bee Christian men ; But an ye faile, though fast ye sayle Ye'll nevir see land agen I " 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 master bauld. But a loud laugh leuch the crewe : And in the deep then the merniayden Doun drappit frae their viewe. /\p\ But ilk ane kythit her bonnie face, V'^-'g^ How dark dark grew its lire ; ■ ^ -^ I And ilk ane saw her bricht bricht eyne fI3 Leming Uke coals o' fire. m And ilk ane saw her lang bricht hair Gae flashing through the tide. And the sparkles o' the glass shee brake Upon that gude ship's side. f_A-\ Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld, J^g?'^ The wind blaws unco hie;" W-'=J " O there's not a sterne in a' the lift f /^a/) To guide us through the sea I" " Creep up into the tallest n^ast, Gae up my ae best man ; Climb up until the tall top-mast 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 cute my bauldest maHj Looke oute unto the storme. And if ye cannot get sicht o' land. Do you see the dawin o' morn ?" " Oh alace, alace rr y 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 :" " 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 mornin' licht — In troth it can nevir bee." " O there is neither mune nor mornin' hcht, Nor ae star's blink on the sea ; But as I am a Christian man. That witch woman I see ! " 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 shrUl 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 drre : Tet, I reck not for my sinful self. But thou my trew companie I" • Steer on, steer on, thou master bauld The storm is coming fast ;" ' Then up, then up my bonnie boy Unto the topmost mast. SCOTTISH BALLADS. '^12 ^Isxmsit:?^ m ^l^U. [From the Edinbnrgh 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 StocebjTes-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 honj" 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- solved to encounter this dreadful fiend. He went one summer evening to the Clyde, tirlit aff his claes, as the countrj- narrators express it, grippit his aiken kent an' ploungit into the AVeel. He swam round and round, dived to the 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, when he fell 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 raou', an' his twa een shinin' with a dowie streamerlike Ucht. Eichtlie 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. Kelpie 1 Ever since the Gaun "Weel, except that it is dangerous to inexperienced bathers from its depth and swirling, is as safe as any other pool in Clyde."] 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' cnrl't it ower her eebree. s J An' the marmaid's goun was green as grass, In the cauld wall-ee that grows ; An' the croun on her brow was the sunny ra'ii Ower Stanebyres lin that glows. [Li^w The marmaid sat on the Carlin-stane, Sae sweetly as she sang. While through aiken wud an' birken sliaw The winsome echos rang. O sweetly sings the mavis mild. An' the merl on the thorn ; Mare sweetly still the laverock sings, Abune the e'e o' morn. The lintie's blythe on the gowden whin, An' the gowdspink on the spray ; But blyther far was the marmaid s sang, Aichan firae bank to brae. " My father is lord o' bonnie Clyde, And o' craigie Avon's shaws. An' my mither is lady o' >"eth;in water. An' wons in Craignethan ha's. " And I clad mysel' in the cramesie. But an' the silken pall ; And I was serv'd by seven maidens, "VMiane'er I sat in hall. " The buck and doe, the hart and roe, AVe huntit ower the lea. An' the gows-hawks flew wi' the mornin' dew, Whill the day had closed his e'e, " fleetly ran the coal-black steeds. Mare fleetly the steeds o' snaw ; But the dappl'd gray on whilk I rade. Had the heels afore them a'. " We huntit the stag o'er the Hawkshaw hills, And doun to the CarUn-stane, While sare forridden my merry menyie. Left me my Uvan" lane. " The bulleran' waves o' bludie Clyde, Swash't by wi' rowt and rair. An' the mune rase din through the mist o' the lii Wi' cauld and eerie glare. " Ower wud an' wauld, the rowkis cauld. Spread like a siller sea ; While a fcxuy inch seem't the lady's aik, Sae lanely still an' wee. m c/y Q^ " Auld Camie castle ower the rowk, Raise like a giant grim ; i An' the wilcat yowl't through its dowie vowts, I Sae g.iwstie, howch, and dim. | " The houlet hou't through the riftit rock, j The tod yowl t on the hill ; "Whan an eldritch whish soueh't through the lift, \ And a' feU deadly stiU. | " The trauchl't stag i' the wan waves lap. But huliness or hune, | While in mony a row, wi' jaup an' jow, ' They shimmert in the mune. j " An' sare he foeht, an' sare he swam, A'VTiill he wan to the Carlin-stane; "Whar he streek't himsel' i' the patients o' dead, i Wi' mony a waesome main. " I spurr'd my steed to tak' the flude. My steed he wadna steer. But stude an' swat frae head to hufe. We dredder an' wi' fear. " I flang the renyie on his neck, With a wiss that souldnae been. An' lap i' the pule frae my saddle-seat, Owercome wi' spite an' teen. " The water hadnae wat my fit. Nor yet my siller shune ; Whill an inky clud fell doun on the wud. An' blotted out the n.uue. " I saw nae mare, for a' the air Grew black as black could be ; An' bonnie Clyde, with its hills an' howns. Was tint afore mine e'e. " 1' the mirk in a stound, wi' rairan' sound, A spait the river rase. An' wi' swash an' swow, the angry jow. Cam' lashan' doun the braes. " I luikit richt, I luikit left. But a' was black as nicht; I luikit to the heavens hee, But no ae spark o' licht. " In a widdendreme, the thunder-leem Shot ower me blae as lead, | An' shaw't the black waves coman' rowan \ Abreast, abune my bead. [down,^ " I tirn't me richt, I tim't me lef^,, The craigs war in a low ; I tirn't rr.e roun' the river doun. Saw nocht but an ugsome how. " A blent o' fire soup't athort the flude. And ower the Carlin-stane ; In a suddentie, on the firie-flaucht. The stately stag is gane. " A stately stag — i' the spait he sank, A stalwart wicht he rase ; He wav'd his han"— the lichtenins blan— An' blackness cur't the braes. " A' was dead-lown, whan in a stouu', A whirlwind fell frae the air. And hou't through the wuds, and cloven craigs, Wi' weary waesume rair. " The knarlie aiks of a bunder years Cam' doupan to the grun'. While the brainches an' beuchs o' frusher trees War scatter'd on the win". " jS'ae lichtenin' gleam't out through themirk, Nor was heard the thunder's rair, But a leadlike low spi-ead ower the craigs Wi' dull and dowie glare. " The mirk cam' in gUffs — in gliflfs the mirk gaiie. While 1 saw frae the craigs an' eavts, Wi' mop an' mowr, an' glare an' glowr. Grim faces grin ower the waves. " I say't to flee, but couldnae steer Frae the stanners wharon I stude ; Whan the stiilwart gome strade ower the spait An' clasp'd me in the flude. " Wi' sweep an' sweel, in the black Gaun Wecl, We ploung't i' the wanvoch wave; An' held our way, 'neth rock an' brae. Till we cam' till an ugsome cave. " A grousome droich at the benner en' Sat on a bink o' stane. And a dowie sheen frae his austrous een Ga'e licht to the dismal wane. " The dead blue licht skim't alang the black Whar draps hang raw on raw, [rufe. An' twinkl't in the damp broun air. Whan pinkan' thay can fa'. SCOTTISH BALLADS. " The water-asks, sae cauld and saft. Crawl M ower the glittie flure. And a monstrous eel, wi' twist and tweel, The gapan' entrance wure; " ' An' tak' my bride, my bonnie bonnie biide,' To the dwerch the witch can say, 'An' wash awa' the changefu' life That lives in upper day; "' And dip her tirst in the Norroway sea, she's mine for evermare ; And dip her syne in the lammer-wine. Alike then sea and air; " ' And dip her last in Tinto dew That fell on Beltan-day, Whan a thousand years are come an' gane She'll be my bonnie May.' "Like clattie fins war the dwerch's twas arms — He laid them on my head. The Ucht forhou't my waiUand een, My brow grew cauld as lead. " A seikenan' grou cam' ower my heai"t, I swarft amang his hands. An' feelless lay, while the laidlie drcich Perform'd his lord's comn.ands. ' I swarTl in the mirk wi' dule and pine ; I cam' to mysel' i' the licht: I swarft in wae, a mortal may Cam' back a roarmaid bricht. " I swarf't amid an ugsome den ; Cam' back in a palace rare ; I swarft by a fien', whan I rase be my side Stude a stalwart knicht an' fair. " ' And dinna fear my winsome dear. Fear naething now ava ; You're a marmaid fair, for evermair, Your mortal hfe's awa'. " ' In lave an' lee — in game and gke — We'll ring ower bonnie Clyde, I'll aye to thee a bridegrume l>c. You aye to me a bride. "' Ai!' we'll hauld our court "mid the roaring lins. And daff in the lashan" tide. ^"'l big my halls o' the crystal clear, {{ And the rufe o' the gowden mine ; The stateliest courts o' the richest roys Are nocht compar'd t» mine. " ' The cowdlan' bells on the weelan' flude Are the ships Ahilk we sail in. Alike scartfree on the pule are we, And in the swechan' lin. " ' AVe beek oursells on the faimie heaps, Whan simmer suns are breem. Whan the year grown auld brings winter cauiil ■VN'e flee till our ha's sae queem. " ' A hunder kniehts at my behecht. The waters maun obey. An' twice twae hunder maries free Sail serve my winsome may. " ' There's no ae bum in braid Clydesdale But wimples at my will, Xor a scriJden broun that but my leave Comes tumbling doun the hill. i] "' 'Whan comes the landlash wi" rair an' s-.v.nsh j I cowd on the rowan" spait, I And airt its way by bank an' brae 1 1 FulfiUan' my luve or hate. " ' The thochtless wicht wha scorns our miriit, I visit in tliat hour. But the man I save frae the raging grave, Wha fears the marmen's power !' " [MonERX Ballad.— James Hogg.] " Oh, came ye ower by the Yoke-burn F rd. Or down the King's Road of the cleucti •" Or saw ye a knight and a lady bright, Wha ha'e gane the gate they baith sha! " I S.1W a knight and a lady brisht. Ride up the cleuch at the break of d.ny ; The knight upon a coal-black stetd. And the dame on one of the siWer gray. S^^ ;--^ *' And the lady's palfrey flew the first. With many a clang of silver bell : Swift as the raven's morning flight, The two went scouring ower the fell. " By this time they are man and wife. And standing in St Mary's fane ; And the lady in the grass-green silk A maid you will never see again." " But I can tell thee, saucy wight, — And that the runaways shall prove, — Revenge to a Douglas is as sweet As maiden charms or maiden's love." " Since thou say'st that, my Lord Douglas, Good feith some clinking there will be; Beshrew my heart, but and my sword. If I winna turn and ride with thee '." '-^^^ They whipp'd out ower the Shepherd Clench, And doun the links o' the C'orsecleuch Burn ; And aye the Douglas swore by his sword To win his love or ne'er return. QM) " First fight your rival, Lord Douglas, And then brag after, if you may ; For the earl of Ross is as brave a lord As ever gave good weapon sway. " But I for ae poor siller merk. Or thirteen pennies an' a bawbee. Will tak' in hand to fight you baith, Or beat the winner, whiche'er it be." The Douglas turn'd him on his steed, And I wat a loud laughter leuch he : — " Of a' the fools I have ever met, Man, I ha'e never met ane like thee. " Art thou akin to lord or knight. Or courtly squire or warrior leal ?" " 1 am a tinkler," quo' the wight, " But I like crown-cracking unco weel." "When they came to St Mary's kirk. The chaplin shook for very iear ; And aye he kiss'd the cross, and said, " What deevil has sent that Douglas here '. " He neither values book nor ban. But curses all without demur ; And cares nae mair for a holy man. Than I do for a worthless cur." ' Come here, thou bland and brittle priest. And tell to me without delay, I Where you have hid the lord of Ross, < And the lady that came at the break of day ? j " Ko knight or lady, good Lord Douglas, I Have 1 beheld since break of mom ; * And 1 never saw the lord of Ross, Since the woeful day that I was bom." Lord Douglas turn'd him round about. And look'd the Tinkler in the face ; Where he beheld a lurking smile. And a deevil of a dour gi-imace. " How's this, how's this, thou Tinkler loun ? Hast thou presumed to lie on me ?" " Faith that I have '." the Tinkler said, i " And a right good turn I have done to thee ; \ \ " For the lord of Ross, and thy own true love, . The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane, ( Rade west away, ere the break of day ; , And you'll never see the dear maid again : " So I thought it best to bring you here, \ On a wrang scent, of my own accord ; / For had you met the Johnstone clan, \ They wad ha'e made mince-mtat of a lord." , At this the Douglas was so wroth, i He wist not what to say or do ; But he strak the Tinkler o'er the croun, S Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow. | " Beshrew my heart," quo' the Tinkler lad, / " Thou bear'st thee most ungallantlye ! f If these are the manners of a lord, [me." \ They are manners that winna gang down wi' ( " Hold up thy hand,'- the Douglas cried, / " And keep thy distance, Tinkler loun !" \ " That will I not," the Tinkler said, [down !" \ " Though I and my mare should both go I " I have armour on," cried the Lord Douglas, / " Cuirass and helm, as you may see." [ " The deil me care !" quo' the Tinkler lad ; \ " 1 shall have a skelp at tliem and thee." \ " You are not horsed," quo' the Lord Douglas, t ** And no remorse this wpjinnn hronVc " ^ " Mine's a right good yaud," quo' the Tinkler lad " And a great deal better nor she looks. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 'JJ " So stand to thy weapons, thou haughty lord, ^ "VN'hat 1 have taken I needs must give ; - Thou shalt never strike a tinkler again, ' For the langeGt day thou hast to live." Then to it they fell, both sharp and sneU, Till the fire from both their weapons flew; But the ver>- first shock that they met with. The Douglas his rashness 'gan to rue. For though he had on a sark of mail, And a cuirass on his breast wore he. With a good steel bonnet on his head, Yet the blood ran trinkling to his knee. The Douglas sat upright and firm. Aye as together their horses ran ; But the Tinkler laid on like a very deil, — Siccan strokes were never laid on by man. ■ Hold up thy hand, thou Tinkler loun," Cried the poor priest, with whining din; " if thou hurt the brave Lord James Douglas, A curse be on thee and all thy kin !" ' I care no more for Lord James Douglas, Than Lord James Douglas cares for me ; But 1 want to let his proud heart know. That a Tinkler 's a man as well as he." ) they fought on, and they fought on. Till good Lord Douglas' breath was gone. And the Tinkler bore him to the ground, With rush, with rattle, and with groan. hon ! hon !" cried the proud Douglas, " That I th;s day should have lived t'-> see ! For sure my honour I have lost. And a leader again I can nevsr be ! But tell roe of thy kith and kin. And where was bred thy weapon hand ' For thou art the wale of tinkler louns That ever was bom in fair Scotland." ' 3Iy name's Jock Johnstone," quo' the wight,- " I winna keep in my name frae thee ; And here, tak' thou thy sword a?ain. And better friends we two shall be." But the D uglas swore a solemn oath. That was a debt he could never owe; He would rather die at the back of the dike. Than owe his sword to a man so low. " But if thru wilt ride under my banner. And bear my Uvery and my name, 3Iy right-hand warrior thou shalt be. And I'll knight thee on the field of fame." " Woe worth thy wit, good lord Douglas, To think I'd change my trade for thine ; Far better and wiser would you be, j To live as journeyman of mine, " To mend a kettle or a casque, Or c:out a goodwife's yettlin' pan, — Upon my life, good Lord Douglas, You'd make a noble tinkler man ! " I would give you drammock twice a-'lay. And sunkets on a Sunday mom ; And you should be a rare adept In steel and copper, brass and horn : "ITl fight you every day you rise. Till you can act the hero's part ; Therefore, I pray you, think of this, And lay it seriously to heart." The Douglas writhed beneath the lash, Answering with an inward curse, — Like salmon wriggling on a spe.ar. That makes his deadly wound the woret . But up there came two squires renown "d ; In 5i;arch of Lord Douglas they came ; And when they saw their master down, Theur spirits mounted in a flame. And they flew up.^n the Tinkler wight. Like perfect tigers on their prey ; But the Tinkler heaved his trusty sword. And made him ready for the fray. " Come one to one ye coward knaves, — Come hand to hand, and steed to steed, I would that ye were better men. For this is glorious work indeed !" Before you could have counted twelve. The Tinkler's wondrous chivalrje Had both the squires upon the sward, And their horses galloping o'er the lea. The Tinkler tied them neck and heel. And mony a biting jest g.ive he: " fie, for shame !" said the Tinkler lad, '• Siecan fighters 1 did never see !" ?>S''^ ftti5S fi:iiL 'm He slit one of their bridal reins, — O wliat disgrace the conquer'd feels, And he skelpit the squires with thatgood tawse. Till the blood ran off at baith their heels. The Douglas he was forced to laugh. Till dowu his cheek the salt tear lan : " I think the deevil be come here In the likeness of a tinkler man !" 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: " 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. " 'Tis true, Jock Johnstone is my name, I'm a right good tinkler as you see ; For 1 can crack a casque betimes. Or clout one, as my need njay be. " Jock Johnstone is my name, 'tis true,— But noble hearts are allied to me. For I am the Lord of Annandale, And a knight and earl as well as thei." Then Douglass strain'd the liero's hand. And took from it his sword .igain ; .Since thou art the lord of Annandale, Thou h.ist eased my heai-t of meiklc pain. " I might have known thy noble form. In that disguise thou'rt pleased to wear ; All Scotland knows thy matchless arm. And England by experience dear. " We have been foes as well as friends, And jealous of each other's sway ; But little can 1 compi-ehend Thy motive for these pranks to-day ?" " 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 : %_J'\ " For the lord i^f Ross is my brother, ^^^. By all the laws of chivalrye ; And I brought with me a thousand men ' J To guard him to my own countrye. " But I thought meet to stay behind. And try your lordship to waylay; Resolved to breed some noble sport. By k-ading you so far astray. "Judging it better some lives to spare, — Which fancy takes me now and then, — And SL-ttle our quarrel hand to hand. Than each with our ten thousand men. " 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." <^'einnie ^alig Eifcmg^tsn, [This ballad is given in Mr Jamieson's collee- V tion, where it is said to be taken from JIrs C Brown of Falkland's recitation.] / i' O BONNIE Baby Livingstone > Gaed out to view the hay ; [( And by it cam' him Glenlyon, \ Staw bonnie Baby away. € A nd fjrst he's ta'en her silken coat, V, And neist her satten gown ; (_ Synt row'd her in his tartan plaid, \ Anil b.'pp'd her round and roun'. f lie's mounted her upon a steed, h And roundly rade away ; \ And ne'er loot her look back again i The Ice-lang simmer day. \, lies carried her o'er yon hich hich hi.l, Intil a Higliland glen. And there he met his brother John W'v twenty armed men. And there were cows, and there w ere i v And there were Uids sae fair ; But sad and w.ae was bonnie Baby ; Her heart was fu' o' care. 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 smile frae thee to win !" " A smile frae me ye'se never win ; I'll ne'er look kind on thee ; Te've stown me awa' frae a' my kin", Frae a' that 's clear to me. " Dundee, kind sir, Dundee, kind sir, Tak' me to bonnie Dundee : For ve sail ne'er my favour win Till it ance mair I see." " Dundee, Baby! Dundee, Baby ! Dundee ye ne'er shall see ; But I will carry you to Glenlyon, Where you my bride shall be. " < )r will ye stay at Achingour, And eat sweet milk and cheese ; ' >r gang wi' me to Glenlyon, And there we'll live at our ease ?" Whan they cam' to Glenlyon c;*5tlfc, They lighted at the yttt ; And out they cam', liia three sisters. Their brother for to greet. And they have ta'en her, bonnie Ual.; And led her o'er tlie green ; And ilka lady spak' a word. But bonnie Baby spak' nane. Then out it spak' her, bonnie Jan.-, The youngest o' the three : " O lady, why look ye sae sad ' Come tell your grief to rac. ' " O wharefore should I tell ra-; srric!". Since lax I canna find ? I'm fer frae a' my kin and friends. And my love I left behind. 0K (K) " I wlnna stay at Achingour; I care neither for milk nor cheese: ^Jor gang wi' thee to Glenlyon ; For there I'll ne'er find ease :*" Then out it spak' his brother John,- '•' If I were in your place, I'd send that lady hame again. For a' her bonnie face. " 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 Dundtv, And come again wi' speed." " Commend me to the lass that 's kind. Though nae sae gently born ; And, sin her heart I couldna win. To take her hand I'd scorn." And they ha'e gotten a bonnie bi y. Their errand for to gang ; And bade him run to bonnie Dundt- And nae to tarry lang. ■' O hand 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 I canna fairly gain, Tu steal I think n.ie sin." The boy he ran o'er muir and dale As fast as he could flee ; And e'er the sun was twa hours hiicht. 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 lus e'e. ® * This is said in the true spirit of a Highland : Cath-er, "freebooter;" literally, soldier, or man I of tattle, 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.— J^amiejoii. " O wha is this, or what is that. Has stown my love frae me ? Although he were my ae brither. An ill dead sail he dee. "Gae, saddle to n-.e the black," he s.: " Gae, saddle to me the brown ; Gae, saddle to me the swiftest steei, That ever rade frae the town." ^^1 He's call'd upon his merry men a'. To follow him to the glen ; And he's vow'd he'd neither eat nor sleep Till he got his love again. 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. 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.'' She to the window fix'd her sheets. And slipped safely down ; And Johnnie catoh'd her in his arms, :Ne'er loot her touch the groun'. Glenlyon and his brother John Were hirling in the ha'. When they heard Johnnie's bridle ring As fast he rade awa'. " Rise Jock ; gang out and meet the priest, I hear his bridle ring ; My Baby now shall be my wife. Before the laverock sing." " O brither, this is nae the priest; I fear he'll come o'er late; For armed men wi' shining brands Stand at the castle yett." "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." The Highlandmen drew their claymores. And ga'e a warlike shout; But Johnnie's merry men kept the yett, Nae ane durst venture out. The lovers rade the lee-lang night. And safe got on their way ; And bonnie Baby Livingstone Has gotten Johnny Hay. ..^ " Awa' Glenlyon ! fy for s Gae hide you in some den ; You've latten your bride be stown frae you. For a' your armed men." J pe iPq:B)]p|)«g of (^MCE ^mroia. [Ballad of the last century, attributed to William Julius Mickle, the translator of the Lusiad, and reputed author of the popular Scotch song, " There 's nae luck about the house."] O'ER the hills of Cheviot beaming. Rose the silver dawn of May ; Hostile spears, and helmets gleaming, Swell'd along the mountains gray. Edwin's warlike horn resounded Through the winding dales below. And the echoing hills rebounded The dehance of the foe. O'er the downs, like torrents pourinu, Edwin's horsemen rush'd along ; From the hills like tempests lowering, "= Slowly march'd stern Edgar's throng. f<^ Spear to spear was now portended, /?i And the yew boughs half were drawn, I ^ When the female scream ascended, V= Shrilling o'er the crowded lawn. PS % While her virgins round her weeping, i Wav'd aloft their snowy hands, VJ From the wood queen Emma shrieking, "^ Ran between the dreadful bands. 4 " Oh, my sons, what rage infernal Bids you grasp the unhallow'd spear ; Heaven detests the ivar fraternal ; Oh, the impious strife forbear '. " Ah, how mUd and sweetly tender Flow'd your peaceful early days 1 Each was then of each defender. Each of each the pride and praise. s I SCOTTISH BALLADS. " O my first-born Edwin, soften, >'or invade tby brother's right ; 0, my Edsar, think how often Edwin dar'd for thee the fight. " Edgar, shall thy iinpiotis fury Dare thy guardian to the field ! O, my sons, let peace allure ye ; Thy stern claims, Edwin, yield. " Hah, what sight of horror waving. Sullen Edgar, clouds thy rear I Bring'st thou Denmark's banners, braving Thy insulted brother's spear ? " Ah, bethink how through thy regions Midnight horror fearful howl'd ; When, like wolves, the Danish legions Through thy tiembling forests prowl'd. " When, unable of resistance, Denmark's lance thy bosom gor'd — And shall Edwin's brave assistance Be repaid with Denmark's sword ! " With that sword shalt thou assail him. From whose point he set thee free, WTiile his warlike sinews fail him. Weak with loss of blood for thee : " Oh, my Edwin, timely hearken. And thy stern resolves forbear ! Shall revenge thy councils darken. Oh, my Edgar, drop the spear ! " Wisdom tells, and justice offers. How each wound may yet be balm'd , O, revere these holy proffers. Let the storms of hell be calm'd. " Oh, my sons"— but all her sorrows Fir'd their impious rage the more : From the bow-strings sprung the arrows ; Soon the valleys reek'd with gore. Shrieking wild, with horror shivering. Fled the queen all stain'd with blood. In her purpled bosom quivering. Deep a fcather'd arrow stood. L'p the mountain she ascended. Fierce as mounts the flame in air ; And her hands, to heaven extended. Scattered her uprooted hair. " Ah, my sons, how impious, cover d With each other's blood," she cried : While the eagles round her hover'd. And wild scream for scream replied — " From that blood around you streaming. Turn, my sons, your vengeful eyes ; See what horrors o'er you streaming, ifuster round th' offended skies. "See what burning spears portended, C'ouch'd by fire-ey'd spectres glare. Circling round you both, suspended On the trembling threads of air ! " 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. " Soon the Dane, the Scot, and Norman O'er your dales shall havoc pour. Every hold and city storming. Every herd and field devour. " Ha, what signal new arising Through the dreadful group prevails I 'Tis the hand of justice poising High aloft the eternal scales. " Loaded with thy base alliance. Rage and rancour all extreme, Faith and honour's foul defiance. Thine, O Edgar, kicks the beam : " Opening mild and blue, reversing O'er thy Ijrother's wasted hills. See the murky clouds dispersing. And the fertile show'r distils. " But o'er thy devoted valleys Blacker spreads the angry sky ; Through the gloom pale lightning sallies, Distant thunders groan and die. " O'er thy proudest castles waving. Fed by hell and magic power, Denmark tow'rs on high her raven, Hatch'd in freedom's moi tal hour. " ' Cursed be the day detested. Cursed be the fraud profound. When on Denmark's spear we rested." Through thy streets shall loud lesi'untl. " To thy brother sad imploring, >"ow I see thee turn thine eyes — Hah, in settled darkness lourinir. Now no more the visions rise ! " But thy ranc'rous soul deseendin:,' To tliy sons from age to age, Province then from province rending. War on war shall bleed and rage. " This thy freedom proudly Hapless Edgar," loud she cried — With her wounds and woes exhausted, Down on earth she sunk and died. [From the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1810.] On- Rimside Moor a tempest-c-Invi'l Its dreary shadows cast At midnight, and the desert flat Re-echoed to the blast ; AVhen a poor child of guilt came there With frantic step to range. For blood was sprinkled on the gar!) He dared not stay to change. " My God ! oh whither shall I turn ^ The horsemen press behind. Their hollo' and their horses' tramji 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 ? '■ Here's blood on every stone I meet, Bones in each glen so dim. And comrade Gregory that's dead : — But I'll not think of him. ;'ll seek that hut where I 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 more." Through well-known paths, though 1 The robber took his way, 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 chase sweet sleep away ; But sleep with toil prevail'd at last. And seized him where he lay. A knock comes thundering to the door, The robber's heart leaps high — " Now open quick, remember'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 I" " Now ope thy door nor parley more, Be sure I'm Gregory ! An 'twere not for the gibbet rope, ily voice were clear and free. '• The wind is high, the wind is loud. It bends the old elm tree ; The Mast has toss d my bones about This night most wearily, " The elm was dropping on my hair. The shackles gall'd my feet : To hang in chains is a bitter lair. And oh a bed is sweet .' .ng un- { [trod, : " For many a night I've borne my lot, Nor yet disturb'd thee here. Then sure a pillow thou wilt give Unto thy old compeer ?" " 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." — " Ah, comrade, you did not disown. Sot bid me brave the cold, Tlie door was open'd soon, when I Brought murder'd Mansell's gold. " 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. 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." 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. For now the one that stood without An entrance craved once more. And when no answer was return 'd, Ee struck— and burst the door. Some words he mutter'd o'er the latch, They were no words of good. And by the embers of the hearth, AU in his shackles stood. A wreath of rusted iron bound His grim unhallowed ht ad ; A daemon's spark was in his eye — Its mortal light was dead. " Why shrink'st thou thus, good comrade. With such a wilder'd gaze, [now, Dost fear my rusted shackles' clank. Dost fear my withered face J " But for the gallows rope, my face Had ne'er thus startled thee ; And the gallows rope, was't not the fruit Of thy foul treachery ? " But come thou forth, we'll visit n<.w The elm of the wither'd rind ; For though thy door was barr'd to me, Vet I will be more kind. " That is my home, the ravens thvre Are all my company ; And they and 1 will both rejoice- In such a guest as thee. " The wind is loud, but clasp my an.-. — Why, fool, dost thou delay ^ You did not fear to clasp that ami When my life was sold away." The midnight blast sung wild and UjuI Round trembling Folydore, As by his dead companion led He struggled o'er the moor. Soon had they reach'd a wilderness By human foot unpress'd. The wind grew cold, the he.ither jium •", As conscious of their gut-;:. Alone amid the dreary wast*" The wither'd elm reclined. Where a halter with a ready noose Hung dancing in the wind. Then turning round, his ghastly Cn-c- Was twisted with a smile — " Now living things are far remt i. , We'll rest us here awhile. " Brothers we were, false Polylore, We robb'd in company ; Brothers in life, and we in de.ath Shall also brothers be. " Behold the elm, behold the rove Which 1 prepared before — Art pale ? 'tis but a struggle, man. And soon that struggle 's o'er. Tremble no more, but freely comt-. And like a brother be ; I'll hold the rope, and in my arsis I'll help you up the tree." The eyes of Polydore grew dim. He roused himself to pray. But a heavy weight sat on his lre;ist And took aU voice away. .® m W^vf © The rope is tied — then from his lips A cry of anguish broke — Too powerful for the bands of sleep. And Polydore awoke. All vanish'd now the cursed elm, His dead companion gone. With troubled joy he found himself In darkness and alone. But still the wind with hollow gusts Fought ravening o'er the moor. And check'd his transports, while it shook The barricaded door. "2^ ^l^"^ "^u^i ami In iPagc. 0^1 [From the Scots Magazine for 1817.] It was a sweet and gentle hour, 'Twas the night of a summer day, "When a lady bright, on her palfrey white. Paced across the moorland grey. And oft she check'd her palfrey's rein. As if she heard footsteps behind, 'Twas her heart of fear that deceived her ear. And she heard hut the passing wind. There trips a page that lady beside, ,To guide the silken rein. And he holds up those, with duteous care, Her foot-cloth's sweeping train : And that page was a knight, who in menial plight. For love of that stately dame, liong serv'd at her board, though a high born lord. And a foe to her father's name. Across the haze there stream'd a pale blaze. And the page's cheek blanch'd with fear — " Oh, see, lady, see; at the foot of yon tree. The blue fire that burns sae clear ! 'Tis the prince of the night, 'tis the elfin sprite, "With his ghostly revelry : Sweet lady, stand with this cross in thine hand. Or thou and I must dis ! " For, as legends tell, an unseen spell Doth screen him from mortal wound ; Unless the steel be dipp'd in a well That holy wall doth bound." Sad was her heart when she saw her page part. And she fear'd she would see him no more ; For, in secret, long her soul was wrung "With a love that ne'er trembled before. % " Oh, what is that sound seems to come from / the ground, ( And now sweeps along on the air !" (T 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 ; And the lavender blue, all dropping with dew, Strew'd the ground at the lady's feet. " Fair maiden come to our twilling home, "V\'^here we'll sport so merrily : The glow-worm by night shall lend us a light. As we dance round the grey ash tree ; " Or, with unwet wings, we'll sport in th« springs That roll far beneath the sea ; Or to the bright moon we'll fly as soon. If my love thou wilt deign to be." Askance she gaz'd— and her eye she rais'd, A youth stood timidly nigh. And, of a truth, 'twas a lovely youth As ever met maiden's eye. His tresses brown, the same mantling down, Seem'd his snowy neck to veil ; P And with chrysolite eyes, his wings crimson "■ dyes, "Were stain'd like the peacock's tail. His eye was bright, as the northern streamer's light. But his cheek was sad and pale And as the lines of care that were written there, A spirit might read and wail : But his sky-tinctur'd vest to his eye-lids was prest. And his heart seem'd bursting with woe. And the white, white rose, that wreath'd his brows, Seem'd pale, and paler to glow. SCOTTISH BALLADS, 103 r\ " I've watch'd thee late and early, ■: I've wateh'd thee night and day; I've loved thee, lady, dearly. With love that can never decay : " I've heard thy aleepin? sigh, lady, I've heard thy waking prayer; Ko mortal loot was nigh, lady. But I was weeping there. " With an eye that no thought can deceive, lady, I've sfen love sweetly stealing on thee ; I know that young bosom can heave, ladv. And shall it not heave for me .•"' The lady stood — and her unchill'd blood Gave her lip its warmest hue ; But the cross to her breast was fervently press'd. And still her heart -was true. "Tet rest thee here, oh, lady, dear. And my minstrel spirits gay. With harp and lute, and fairy flute. Shall play thee a roundelay." All was hush'd and still on the elfin hill. All was hush'd in the evening vale ; ITot a whisper was heard, not a footstep stirr'd, Xot an aspen-leaf shook in the gale. Then soft and slow a note of woe Came far on the breathless air ; j 'Twas wild as the strain of a mermaid train j When they're combing their yellow hair ; •Twa'! wild as the dirge that floats o'er the surge, j The mariner's lonely grave, I All— while mortals sleep, they sing and they j weep, And they glide on the moonlight wave. \ Then it rose rich and high, like the chaunt of joy That breathes round the hermit bower; 'V^'hen cherubim bright leave their mansions of lisht, To soothe his dying hour. Oh, how the heart beat of the lady sweet. But her heart did not beat with fear ; The train so wild her senses had guil'd. And she loved, though she trembled to bear. But who is he that flies with his soul in hi« eyes. Wide waving a faulchion of steel ? But the flush on her cheek, ere a word she could A nursling babe might tell. [speak, 'Twas an urchin sprite, in the guise of her 'Twas a wile of the elfin king ; [knight. And the vision so quaint, in form and in teint. Her soul to her cheek did bring. " Hush'd, hush'd be your fear, for your true knight is near. With the brand that his patron saint gave, No elfin wight may dare its might. For 'tis dipp'd in St Angelo's wave : " And the cowl'd friar, and convent quire. Are waiting our nuptials to say ; Haste, lady, haste, for the night's fading fast. And the eastern cloud is grey. " But give me the cross that's hid in thy breast. And give me the rosarj- too ; And I'll lead thee o'er the perilous moor. On the faith of a knight so true." Oh, she gave up the cross that was laid in her breast. And she gave up the rosary too — As he grasp'd them, he frown'd, and he smote the ground. And out rush'd the elfin crew. And the goblin rout gave a maddening shout. And danc'd round them in many a wild ring. And the sl-.-nder waist of that lady chaste Was clasp'd by the elfin king. All loose was her hair, and her bosom was bare. And his eye it glar'd fierce and bold, And her wan lip be press'd, and her shuddering breast. And he grasped her locks of gold- Cut instant a blow made the caitiff forego His grasp of that victim fair. And deadly he groand, as he shrunk from the wound. And the phantom crew vanish'd in air. " I've sav'd thee, roy love I by help from above, I've sav'd thee from mortal harms !" And no word she spoke, but she gave him a look, And sunk in her true knight's arms. (pi, I m Jg.^ %m^ Si|)-R'0 #Ci:c^?f . [FiiOM Buchan's Ancient Ballads.—" A frag- ment of this pathetic ballad," says Mr Buchan, will 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 contains. 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 wound, think- ing it was one of the men come to appre- hend and secure him. On the discovery of his fatal 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 tigly bower. Desired him to bide. " How can I bide, how can I bide ? How shall I bide wi' thee ? When I ha'e kill'd your ae brother. You ha'e nae mair but he." " If ye ha'e kill'd my ae brother, Alas '. and wae is me ; If ye be well yoursel', my love. The less matter will it be ! " Ye'U do you to yon bigly bower. And take a silent sleep , And I'll watch in my highest tower. 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 could see. There she saw nine armed knights Come riding o'er the lea. " God make yon safe and free, lady, God make you safe and free I Did you see a bludy knight Come riding o'er the lea?" " O, what Uke was his hawk, his hawk - And what like 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 wine ; And aye the better ye'll pursue. The lighter that ye dine." " We thank you for your bread, lady. We thank you for the wine ; And I would gi'e my lauds 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 To wreak itself on me. When thus I strove to save thy liff , Yet served for sic a fee ?" " Ohon, alas ! my lady gay. To come so hastilie ; I thought it was my deadly Joe, Ye had trysted into me. " O live, O live, my gay lady. 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 Uve for thee ? Ye see my blude rins on the ground My heart's blude by your knee ! SCOTTISH BALLADS. " O take to flight, and flee, my love, o take to flight, and flee ! I wouJdna wish your fair body For to get harm for me." " Ae foot I winna flee, lady, Ae foot I winna flee ; I've dune the crime worthy o' def.th. 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 tim,', Ye'il deal the same at mine. [Fbosi Euchaa's Ballads.] A s I gaed in yon greenwood side, I heard a tair 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 gi'e a' my half-year's fee; ^ For ye maun to the king himsel', j , Toseek the life of young Logie." i May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding, j .\nd she has curl'd back her yellow 'nalr — j '* It" I canna gtt young L gie's life, | Fareweel to Scotland for evermair." [ * Twynlace, according to Spottiswoode. j t Sir John Carmichaei of Carmichael, the hero of the ballad called the Raid of the Eeid- ire, was appointed captain of the king's guard 158S, and usually had the keeping of state criminals of rank. — Scott. i "V^Tien she came before the king. She knelit lowly on her knee — " O what's the matter, may Margaret And what needs a' this courtesie ?" " A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee ; And the first boon that I come to crave. Is to grant me the life of young Logie." " () na, O na, may Margaret, Forsooth, and so it manna be ; For a' the gowd o' lair Scotland Shall not save the life of young Logie." But she has stown the king's redding kaim. Likewise the queen her wedding knife ; And sent the tokens to Carmichaei, To cause young Logie get his life. She sent him a purse o' the red gowd. Another o' the white monie; She sent him a pistol for each hand. And bade him shoot when he gat free. Wlien he came to the tolbooth stair. There he let his volley fiee ; It made the king in his chamber start. E'en in the bed where he might be. " Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a'. And bid Carmicliael come speak to rat ; For I'll lay rr.y life the pledge o' that. That yon's the shot o' young Logie." When Carmichaei came before the king. He fell k.vv down upon his knte ; The very first word that the king spake. Was, " Where's the laird of young Ll)^i; Carmichaei turn'd him round about, (I wot the tear blinded his e'e) " There came a token frae your grace. Has ta'en away the laird frae me." " Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichaei ■> / ~^ ) And hast thou play'd me that ?" quoth he ; ( ^^ The mom the justice court's to stand, \_^--^ And Logic's pLice ye maun supply." OS)*^ « m AS) 'S3 Carmichael's awa' to Margaret's bower. Even as Cast as he may drie — " O if young Logie be within, Tell him to cime and speak with nie 1 ilay Margaret turned her round about, (I wot a loud laugh laughed she) " The egg is chipped, the bird is flo^v^, Ye'U 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, ■vrho 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 Forbeses 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, but 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 le grand prevost de I'hotel, 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 first 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, [Eothes] 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 held. As fast as she could drie. To see if, by her fair speeches. She could with him agree. As sune 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 " 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 sjill be." " I winna corre doun, ye fause Gordon ; 1 winna come doun to thee ; I winna forsake my ain deir lord. That is sae far ftae me." " Gi'e up your house, ye fair ladye, Gi'e up your house to me ; Or I will bura 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 mysel' therein. But and my babies thrie. " And ein wae worth you, Jock, my man ! I paid ye weil 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 paid ye weil your hyre ; Why pou ye out my grund-wa-stane. To me lets in the fjTe .■'" " Ye paid me weil my hire, lady. Ye paid me weil my fee ; But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, Maun either do or die." O then bespake her youngest son, »at on the nurse's knee, " Dear mother, gi'e oweryour house," hesays, " 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." 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 jjhe gat a deidly fa'. bonnie, bonnie, was her mouth. And cherry were her cheik.s ; And cleir, cleir, was her yellow hair. Whereon the reid bludc dieips. Then wi' his speir he turned her ower, gin her face was wan ! He said, " You ar^ the first that eir 1 wist alyve again." He turned her ower and ower again, O gin her skin was wbyte ! He said, "I micht ha'e spared thy lyfe. To been some man's delyte. I " Backe and boun, my merrie-men all, ' For ill dooms 1 do guess ; 1 canna luik on that bonnie face, j -is it lies on the grass !" i ! " Them luiks to freits, my master deir. Then freits will fallow them ; Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon "VVas dauntit by a dame." then he spied her ain deir lord. As he came o'er the lea ; I He saw his castle in a fjTe, As for as he could see. ' " Put on, put on, my michtie men. As fust as ye can drie ; j 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 ; j But lang, lang, ere he could get up, I They a' were deid and slaiu. j But mony were the mudie men. Lay giisping 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 Uidyes, Lay lemanless at hame. And round and round the wa's he wi nt. Their :ishes for to view ; At last into the flames he ran, » And bade the world adieu. H^ (^^. cS^^ § [" This ballad, which contains some verses of merit, was taken down from recitation by Mr William Laidlaw, tenant in Traquair-knowe. It contains a legend, which, in various shapes, is current in Scotland. I remember to have heard a ballad, in which a fiend is introduced paying his addresses to a beautiftil maiden ; but discon- certed by the holy herbs which she wore in her bosom, makes the following lines the burden of his courtship : ' Gm ye wii^h to be layraan mine, Lay aside the St John's wort and the vervain." " The heroine of the following tale was unfor- tunately without any similar protection."— Scoft.] " O WHERE have you been, my long, long love. This long seven years and mair ?" " O I'm come to seek my former vows Ye granted me before." " O hold Your tongue of your former vows, For they will breed sad strife ; hold your tongue of your former vows For I am become a wife." He turned him right and round about, And the tear blinded his e'e; " I wad never ha'e trodden on Iri=h around If it had not been for thee. " I might ha'e had a king's daughter. Far, far beyond the sea ; 1 might have had a king's daughter. Had it not been for love o' thee." " If ye might have had a king's daughter, Yer sel' ye had to blame ; i Ye might have taken the king's daughter. For ye kend that I was nane." " O faulse are the vows of womankind. But fair is their faulse bodie ; I never wad ha'e trodden on Irish grouml. Had it not been for love o' thee." > " If I was to leave my husband dear. And my two babes also, O what have you to take me to. If with you I should go ?" " I ha'e seven ships upon the sea. The eighth brought me to land ; With four-and-twenty bold mariners, And music on every hand." She has taken up her two little babes, Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin ; " O fair ye weel, my ain two babes, For I'll never see you again." She set her foot upon the ship. No mariners could she behold ; But the sails were o' the tiiffetie. And the masts o' the beaten gold. She had not sailed a league, a league, A league but b.. e. A drinking cup of maple; other edit. j read ezar. — Percy. m< 116 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ~& The boy was clad in robes of greene, Sweete as the infant spring ; And like the mavis on the bush, He gart the rallies ring.] The baron came to the grene wode, "W'i' mickle dule and care ; And there he first spied Gil Morice, Kamelng 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 wonder, Gil Morice, 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 ze eir was born. That head sail gae wi' me." Now he has drawn his trusty brand, And slaited on the strae ; * And through Gil Morice fair body. He's gar cauld iron gae. And he has tain Gil Morice head, And set it on a speir; The meanest man in a' his train Has gotten that head to bear. And he has tain Gil Morice up. Laid him across his steid. And brocht him to his painted bowr. And laid him on a bed. The lady sat on the castil wa'. Beheld baith dale and down ; And there she saw Gil Morice head, Cum trailing to the town. " Far better I love that bluidy head, Bot, and that zellow hair. Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands. As they lig here and thair." * This line, to get at its meaning, should be printed, " And slait it on the strae." Mr Pin- kerton has a most ridiculous gloss on this pas- sage in his " Tragic Ballads." And she has tain her Gil Morice, And kissed baith mouth and chin ; I was once as fou of Gil Morice, As the hip is o' the stean. " I got ze in my father's house, Wi' mickle sin and shame ; 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 : " better I lo'e my Gil Morice, Than a' my kith and kin 1" " Away, away, ze ill wom-an. And an ill death niait ze dee ; Gin I had kend he'd bin zour s I never beare noe childe but one ' j and you have 3lain him trulye ^ ft sayes wicked be my meiry men all I gave meate drink and clothe but cold they not have holden me when I was in all that wrath ffor I have slaine one of the courteousest knights that ever betrode a steede 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 the 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, " Morice" 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 likely 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 monuments of early song, can furnish ample parallels. Again, its clear, straight-forward, rapid and succinct nar- rative — its extreme simplicity of style and utte • destitution 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 nothing that it should have, and having nothing that it should want. By testimony ofa most unexceptionable 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 Morice; and this with a poem which has been preserved but by oral tradition, is no mean positive antiquity. 1 f we imagine it a more ancient version than that contained in Dr Percy's MS., our sole means vf arriving at a satisfiictory conclusion must be de- rived from such internal evidence as the ballad itself affords; and, both versions being now bi - 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, I suspect, have deemed a very unimportant sul^ect. s^i 122 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 'JX In conclusion, it may be mentioned, that the ■ ~ ballad is exceedingly rare ; and, so far as tlie edi- tor has been able to learn, it has escaped the no- tice of our most eminent collectors of traditionary poetry. This may be ascribed to the refined and ornate paraphrase of Gil Morice, having sup- planted it in the affections of the vulgar, in the same way as the poem of " Sir J.imes the Rose," attributed to the pen of Michael Bruce, hath ab- sorbed, almost entirely, the memory of the old ballad on which it is founded. CHILD NOEYCE.* >J Child Norvce is a clever young man, ^ He wavers wi' the wind ; His horse was silver shod before, With the beaten gold beliind. He called to his little man John, Saying, " You don't see what I see ; For oh yonder 1 see the very first wo.i.an. That ever loved me. " Here is a glove, a glove," he said, " Lined with the silver grey ; You may tell her to come to the meiTj green wood, To speak to child Nory. " Here is a ring, a ring," he says, " Its all gold but the stane ; Tou may tell her to come to the merry green wood. And asli the leave o' uane." "So well do I love your errand, my master. But far better do I love my life ; O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's To betray away his wife ?" * That the reader may have no room to doubt the genuineness of a ballad for which a very high antiquity is claimed, the editor thinks it right to mention, that it is given verbatim as it was taken down from the singing of widow M'Cor- mick, who, at this date, (January, 1825,) resides in Westbrae Street of Paisley. " don't I give you meat," he says, " And don't I pay you fee ? How dare you stop my errand," he sayq, "My orders you must obey." Oh when he came to Lord Barnard's castel. He tinkled at the ring ; Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself,! To let this little boy in. " Here is a glove, a glove," he says, " Lined with the silver grey ; You are bidden to come to the merry green ( To speak to Child Nory. [wuo. " Here is a ring, a ring," he says, " Its all gold but the stane : You are bidden to come to the merry grte wood. And ask the leave o' nane."' Lord Barnard he was standing by, And an angi-y man was he : I " Oh, little did 1 think there was a lord in this ? world. My lady loved but me !" Oh he dressed himself in the hoUand snioeks, And garments that was gay ;* And he is away to the merry gre^n wood. To speak to Child Nory. Child Noryce sits on yonder tree He whistles and he sings ; " wae be to me," says Child Noryce, " Yonder my mother comes '." Child Noryce he came off the tree. His mother to take off the horse ; " Och, alace, alace," says Child Noryce, My mother was ne'er so gross." f This unquestionably should be Lady Bar- nard, instead of her Lord, see 3d stanza under; but as it was so recited, this obvious eiTor the editor did not conceive hims-lf wairanted to cor- rect, more especially as he has found it out of his power to obtain another copy of the ballad from any different quarter. ± This ballad more distinctly than cither Gil Morice or Chield Morice, announces the disguise resorted to by Lord Barnard, in order to surprise his supposed rival. SCOTTISH BALLAD3. 123 Lord Barnard he had a little small sword, That hung low down by his knee ; He cut the head off Child Nor/ce, And put the body on a tree. And when he came to his castel, And to his lady's hall. He threw the head iiitii her lap, Saying, " Lady, there is a ball !" She turned up the bloody head, She kiased it frae cheek to chin ; " Far bett r dc I love this bloody head. Than all my royal kin. " \Vhen I was in my father's casttll, In my virginitie ; There came a lord into the north. Gat Child Noryce wth me." " O wae be to thee, lady Margar. t," he said, " And an ill death may you die ; For if you had told me he was your son. He had ne'er been slain by me." i^cksneie. [A FRAGMKNT, in imitation of the old Scottish BalLid.— By Richard Gall] Ak' wiel 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 li, s, (Quhilk spak' sae tenderlie.) An' mony ane cam' thair, I trow, Quha did the tithings heir ; An' aye as they luiket on her bonnie fiice, Wi' sorro' drapt a teir. " heavin ! it brekes my very hairt, A face sae sweit to see ! But sure, sith nane a meith doth kna, O' fremit bluid she be." Sir Kenneth, knycht o' meikle fame, Luikt owre his castle wa' ; An' downe anethe the hingand heugh The gathert thrang he sa' : An' lang he ferlit at the sicht. An' sair he raxit his ein ; Syne hastenit fra his castle hie. An' to the howe bedein. " Quhat meins this thrang? Quhat mems this mane Amang baith yung an' aid ?" Syne he luikit at the deid lady. Lay on the yird sa cald. The warrior shuke — O sair he shuke '. — Furth sprang the gUtterand teir : " O Chryste ! Chryste ! it is Helenort- ; It is my dochter deir !" m [From Buchan's Northern Ballads. There ancc Uvd a king in (air Scotland King Malcolm called by name; Whom ancient history gives record, For valour, worth, and fame. And it ftU 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 \ow. 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 tc.\. Give it to Sir Colvin." Then gently did she bear the bre«il. Her page did carry the wine ; And set a table at his bed, — " Sur Colvin, rise and dine." /-^ 5; u " well love I the wine, lady. Come frae your lovely hand ; But better love 1 your fair body. Than all fair Scotland's strand." " O hold your tongue now. Sir Colvin, Let all your folly be ; 3Iy love must be by honour won. Or nane shall enjoy lue. " But on the head o' Elriok's hill. Near by yon sharp hawthoiTi, AVhere never a man with life etr came riin' our sweet Cluist was born ; " O ye 11 gang there and walk a' niijht, And boldly blaw your horn ; With honour that ye do return, Ye'll marry me the morn." Then up it raise him. Sir Colvin, And drCcS'd in armour keen; And he is on to Elrick's hiU, Without light o' the meen. At midnight mark the meen upstarts. The knight walk'd up and down ; While loudest cracks o' thunder roar"U, (^ut ower the bent sae brown. Then by the twinkling of an e"e. He spied an armed knight ; A fair lady bearing his biand, Wi' torches burning bright. Then he cried high as he came nigh, " Coward, thief, I bid you flee ! There is not ane comes to this hill, liut must engage wi" me. " Ye'll best take road befo:e I con;e. And best tiike foot and flee ; Here is a sword baith sharp and broad. Will quaiter you in three." Sir Colvin said, " I'm not afraid Of any here I see; You ha'e not ta'en your God before. Less dread ha'e 1 o' thee." Sir Colvin then he drew his sword. His foe he drew his brand ; And they fought there on Elrick's hill Till they were bluidy men. The first an' stroke the knigbt he strake, Ga'e Colv'n a slight wound ; The next an' stroke Lord Cob/in strake, Brought s foe unto the ground. " I yield, I yield," the knight he said, '■ 1 fairly yield to thee; ^'ae ane cait^e e'er to Kirick-hill E'er gaiu'd such victorie. " 1 and my forbears here did haunt Tbree hun^ired years and more; I'm safe to swear a solemn oath, We were never beat before." " An asking," said ihe lady gay, " An asking ye'll grant mt." " Ask on, ask on," said Sir Colvin, " What may your asking be ?" " Ye'll gi'e me hame my wounded knight. Let nie fare on my « ay ; And I'se ne'er be seen on Elrick's hill. By night, nor yet by day. And to this place we'll come nae mair. Could we win safe away. " To trouble any Christian one Lives in the righteous law ; We'll come nae mair unto this place. Could we win safe awa'." " ye'se get hame your wounded kniyht. Ye shall not gang alane ; But 1 maun hae a word o' hun. Before that we twa twine." Sir Colvin being a book-learn'd man, Sae gude in fencing tee ; He's drawn a stroke behind his hand. And followed in speedilie. Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colviu's drawn. And followed in speedilie; The knight's brand, and sword hand. In the air he gar'd them liee. It flew sae high into the sky. And lighted on the ground ; The rings that were on these fingers. Were worth five hundred pound. Up he has ta'en that bluidy hand. Set it before the king ; And the morn it was Wednesday, When he married his daughter Jean. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 125 Yiuig %iUn. [From Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs. — " In some late publications," says Mr Buchan, " I 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 Fergus II. It will be considered by all lovers of trcottish song, as a great acquisition to their store of traditionary poetry. The heroine lady Slargaret, a king's daughter, was stolen by her father's cup-bearer, who built for her a bower, in which she was so artfully confined, that no one couM have dis- covered the place of her residence. In this bower, she bare to her adopted husband seven sons, the oldest of whom was the means of re- leasing her from her dreary abode. On his arrival at the court of his grandfather, whither he had gene to reconnitre, the old monarch at once per- ceivL-d such a family likenes in the face of this •woodland boy, as made him inquire after the fete of his long lost daughter. She, with the rest of her son<, arrived at her father's palace ; and, like the prodigal, or long lost son, was welcomed with joy and gladness. The ballad concludes with the pardon of Young Akin, — his reception at the king's court, and the baptism of the children."] Ladv Margaret sits in her bower door sewing at her silken seam ; She heard a note in Elmond's-woe roe." And they ha'e chased la gude grene-wood, The buck but and the rae, TUl they drew near Brown Robin's bour. About the close o' day. Then out and spake the king himsel". Says — " Arthur, look and see. Gin yon be not your favourite page. That leans against yon tree." O Arthur's ta'en a bugle-hom. And blawn a blast sae shrill : Sweet Willie started to her feet. And ran him quickly till. " O wanted ye your meat, Wiilie, 1 1 Or wanted ye your fee i> '] Or gat ye e'er an ansry word, » That ye ran awa' frae me ?" (^^ Pm m " I wanted nought, my master dear; To me ye aye was good : I cam' to sea my ae brother. That wons in this grene-wood." Then out hespake the king again, — '• My boy, now tell to me, ■\^'ho dwells into yon bigly hour. Beneath yon green aik tree ?" " pardon me," said Sweet Willie, " My liege, I darena tell ; And gang nae near yon outlaw's hour For fear they suld ye kill." " haud your tongue, my bonnie boy : For I winna be said nay ; But I wUl gang yon hour within. Betide me weal or wae." They havelighted frae theirmilk-white steids. And saftlie entered in ; And there they saw her, "White Lilly, Nursing her bonnie young son. " Now, by the mass," the king he said, " This is a c imely sight; I trow, instead of a forester's man. This is a lady bright!" O out and spake her, Rose the Red, And fell low on her knee : — " O pardon us, my gracious liege. And our story I'll tell thee- " Our father is a wealthy lord. Lives into Barnisdale ; But we had a wicked step-mother. That wrought us meikle bale. " Tet had she twa as fu" fair sons. As e'er the sun did see ; And the tane o' them lo'ed my sister deir. And the tother said he lo'ed me." Then in and came him, Brown Eobii Frae hunting o' the king's deer. But when he saw the king him=er. He started back for fear. The king has ta'en Robin by the hand, A nd bade him nothing dread. But quit for aye the gude grene-wood. And come to the court wi' speed. The king has ta'en White Lilly's son, And set him on his knee ; Says, " Gin ye live to wield a brand, My bowman thou sail be." Then they have ta'en them to the holy chnpelle. And there had fair wedding ; And when they cam' to the king's court, / For joy the bells did ring. I ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILLIE. [The following version of " Rose the Red and \Miite Lilly" is from Buchan's Ballads of the Korth. It differs materially from the one given in Scott's Minstrelsy.] Now word is gane through a' the land, Gude seal that it sae spread ! To Rose the Red and White LilUe, Their mither dear was dead. Their father's married a bauld woman. And brought her ower the sea ; Twa sprightly youths, her ain young sons, Intill her companie. They fix'd their eyes on those ladies. On shipboard as they stood. And 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, — " Now, by the faith of my body. This suld be Rose the Red !" The king has sent for robes o' green. And girdles o" shining gold ; And sae sune have the ladyes busked them- &ie glorious to behold. [selves. But there was nae a quarter past, A quarter past but three. Till these young luvers a' were fond 0' others companie. The knights they harped i' their bower. The ladies sew'd and sang ; There was mair mirth m that chamer Than a' their father's Ian'. SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then out it spak' their step mither. At the stair-foot stood she ; "' I'm plasued wi' your troublesome noise, What makes your melodie ? " Rose the Red, ye sing too loud, "While Lillie your voice is Strang ; But gin I live and brook my life, I'se gar you change your sang." " We maunna change our loud, loud song For nae duke's son ye '11 bear; We winna change our loud, loud song. But aye ^ve'U sing the mair. " We never sung the sang, mither. But we'll sing ower again ; We'U take our harps into our hands, And we'll harp, and we'll sing." She's call'd upon her twa young sons. Says, " Boun' ye for the sea ; Let Rose the Red, and White LilUe, Stay in their bower wi' me." " O God forbid," said her eldest son, " Nor lat it ever be. Unless ye were as kind to our luves As gin we were them wi'." " Yet never the less, my pretty sons, Ye'U boun' you for the faem ; Let Rose the Red, and White LilUe, Stay in their bowers at hanie." " O 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."' Then wi' her harsh and boisterous word. She forc'd these lads away ; While Rose the Red and White Lillie Still in their bowers did stay. But there was not a quarter past, A quarter past but ane ; Til! Rose the Red in rags she gaed, White Lillie's cLiithing grew thin. Wi' bitter usage every day, Th> ladies they thought lang; " Ohjn, alas ! said Rose the Red, She's gar'd us change our sang. " But we will change our own fu" naniti. And we'll gang frae the town ; Frae Rose the Red and "White Lillie, To Nicholas and Roger Brown. " And we will cut our green claithini^ A little aboon our knee ; And we will on to gude greenwood. Twa bauld bowmen to be." " Ohon, alas '." said "White Lillie, " My fingers slts but sma' ; And though my hands would wield tht- 1 ow. They winna yield at a'." " O had your tongue now, "White Lillie, And let these fears a' be ; There's naething that ye're awkward in. But I will leam thee." Then they are on to gude greenwood As fast as gang could they ; O then they spied him, Robin Hood, Below a green aik tree. " Gude day, gude day, kind sir," they sar'U " God make you safe and free." " Gude day, gude day," said Robin Hood, " What is your wills wi' me.-'" " Lo here we are, twa banish'd knightii. Come firae our native hame ; We're come to crave o" thee service. Our king will gi'e us nane." " If ye be twa young banish'd kni?hts. Tell me frae what countrie ;" " frae Anster town into Fifeshiie, Ye know it as well as we." " if a' be true that ye ha'e said. And tauld just now to me; Ye're welcome, welcome, every one. Your master 1 will be. " Xow ye shall eat as X do eat. And lye as I do lye ; Ye salna wear nae waur claithing Nor my young men and I." Then they went to a ruinous bouse. And there they euter'd in ; And Nicholas fed wi' Robin Hood, And R -ger wi' little John. But it fell ance upon a day, They were at the putting-stane , When Rose the Red she vieWd them a". As they stood on the green. She hit the stane then wi' her foot, And kep'd it wi' her knee ; And spaces three aboon them a', I wyt€ she gar'd it flee. She set her back then to a tree, And gae a loud Ohon ! A Lid spak' in the companie, " I hear a woman's moan." Her luver looks her in the face, And thus to her said he ; " I think your cheeks are pale and v.iirt; Pray, what gaes warst wi' thee ? " O want ye roses to your breast. Or ribbons to your sheen ? Or want ye as muckle o' dear bought lu"/0 As your heart can conteen .-" "I want nae rosM to my breast, Nae ribbons to my sheen ; Nor want I as muckle dear bought lu"e As my heart can conteen. " How know you that, young man," she said, i | " How know you that o' me ? | Did e'er ye see me in that place, A'e foot my ground to flee ? " Or know ye by my cherry cheeks. Or by my yellow hair ? Or by the paps on my breast bane. Ye never saw them bare." " I know not by your cherry cheeks, ;S^or by your yellow hair ; But I know by your milk-white chin, > >n it there grows nae hair. " 1 never saw you in that cause A'e foot your ground to flee ; I've seen you stan' wi' sword in han' 'Mang men's blood to the knee. " But if I come your bower within. By night, or yet by day ; I shall know, before I go. If ye be man or may." " if you come my bower within. By night, or yet by day ; As soon's I draw my trusty brand, jS'ae lang ye'U wi' me stay." But he is haunted to her bower. Her bigly bower o' stane, Till he has got her big wi' bairn. And near sax months she's gane. "V\"hen three mair months were come .ind They gae'd to hunt the hynde ; [gane. She wont to be the foremost ane, But now stay'd far behynd. " I'd rather ha'e a fire behynd, Anither me before ; A gude midwife at my right side. Till my young babe be bore." " I'll kindle a fire wi' a flint stane. Bring wine in a horn green ; I'll be midwife at your right side. Till your young babe be bom." •' That was ne'er my mither's custom. Forbid that it be mine ! A knight stan' by a lady bright. Whan she drees a' her pine. " There is a knight in gude greenwood. If that he kent o' me ; Through stock and stane, and the hawthorn, Sae soon's he would come me tee." " If there be a knight in gude greenwof d Ye like better than me ; If ance he come your bower within , Ane o' us twa shall dee." She set a horn to her mouth, And she blew loud and s'nrill ; Thrcugh stock and stane, and the hawthor;:. Brave Roger eaiue her till. " Wha's here sae bauld," the youth replied, " Thus to encroach on me ?" " O here am I," the knight replied, " Ha'e as much right as thee." Then they fought up the gude greenwood, Sae did they down the plain ; They niddart ither wi' lang braid swordc-. Till thev were bleedy men. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 13; Then out it spak' the sick woman. Sat under the greenwood tree ; " had your han', young man," she said, " She's a woman as well as me." Then out it speaks anither youth, Amang the companie ; " Gin I had kent what 1 ken now, 'lis for her I wuuld dee." " O wae mat worth you. Rose the Red, An ill death mat ye dee '. Although ye tauld upo' yoursel'. Ye might ha'e heal'd on me." " for her sake I was content, For to gae ower the sta ; Tor her I left my mither's ha'. Though she proves fause to me." But whan these lovers were made known, They sung right joyfullie ; Jfae biyther was the nightingale. Nor bird that sat on tree. Now they ha'e married these ladies. Brought them to bower an ha'. And now a happy life they lead, 1 wish sae may we a". THE WEDDING OF ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN. lThis appears to be merely an imperfect ver- sion of the previous ballad. It is given in 3Ir Kinloch's collection.—" The fame," says Mr Kinloch, " of bold Robin Hood, (to whom tradi- tion has assigned the title of the Earl of Hunt- ington), and his bon camarado Little John, was not confined to England, but was well known in Scotland, where their gallant exploits are yet remembered, and have become still more fami- liar since the publication of 'Ivanhoe;' in which romance ' RoL.n Hood a:.d his merrj uiea' sustain a very prominent part. " Robin Hood was, anciently, celebrated in Scotland by an annual play or festival ; and the following extract, while it shows the estimation ^in which this festival was regarded by the popu- lace, displays at the same time their lawless con- duct, and the weakness of the civil power, in the : : city of Edinburgh in the fourteenth century. — I j • The game of Robin Hood was celebrated inthe ; . month of May. The populace assembled pre- ; j vious to the celebration of this festival, and chose I I some respectable member of the corporation to ! I officiate in the character of Robin Hood, and another in that of Little John, his squire. TTpon the day appointed, which was a Sunday or a holiday, the people assembled in military array, ' and went to some adjoining field, where, either I i as actors or spectators, the whole inhabitants of . j the respective towns were convened. In this I ] field they probably amused themselves with a ; representation of Robin Hood's predatory t-x- ■ ploits, or of his encounters with the officers nf I j justice. As numerous meetings lor disorderly I mirth are apt to engender tumult, when the , minds of the people came to be agitated with re- I ligicus controversy, it was found necessary to I repress the game of Robin Hood by public ' statute. The populace were by no means willing I to relinquish their favourite amusement. Year after year the magistrates of Edinburgh were obliged to exert their authority in repressing this game, often ineffectually. In the year 15 And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie \ " And she gave to me a gay gold ring, J With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, y With three shining diau.oiids set therein, = And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. "No news at all," said the auld beggar man, With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; But there is a wedding in the king's hall. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. " And I gave to her a silver wand. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, With three singing laverocks set thereon. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. " What if those diamonds lose their hue ? With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; Just when my love begins for to rue, And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. " There is a king's dochter in the west. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, And she has been married thir nine nights past And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. " Into the bridebed she winna gang. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; Till she hears tell of her ain Hynd Horn. ■f And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. W\ 136 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^^ vg: pr • t( -^iit thou give to me thy begging coat, "With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, And I'll give to thee my scarlet cloak. And the birk and the brume blooms bonni^ " Wilt thou give to me thy begging staff. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, And I'll give to thee my good gray steed. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." The auld beggar man cast off his coat. With a hey lillelu and a how lo lau. And he's ta'en up the scarlet cloak. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. The auld beggar man threw down his staff, With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, And he is mounted the gocd gray steed. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. The auld beggar man was bound for the mill. With a hey lOlelu and a how lo Ian ; But young Hynd Horn for the king's hall. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. The auld beggar man was bound for to ride. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; But young Hynd Horn was bound for the bride. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. When he came to the king's gate. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, Ke asked a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake, And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. These news unto the bonnie bride came. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, That at the yett there stands an auld man, And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. " There stands an auld man at the king's gate. With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, He asketh a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake. And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." " I'll go through nine fires so hot, With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; [sake. But I'll give him a drink for young Hynd Horn's And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." ' ^ 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 hand ? And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." " 1 got it not by sea, but I got it by laud, 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 bonnie." " 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 liUelu 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 Ullelu 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, Fori can 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. She went to the gate where the auld man did With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, [stand. And she gave him a drink out of her own hand, | { And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. ^ [From Mr Kinloch's Collection. — " Drum, the property of tlie ancient and once powerful family of Irwin or Irvine, is situated in the parish of Drumoal;, in Aberdeenshire. This ballad was composed on the marriage of Alex- ander Irvine of Drum to his second wife, Mar- garet Coutte, a woman of inferior birth and SCOTTISH BALLADS. 13< aanners, which step gave great offence to his ^ elations. He had previously, in 1643, married Jary, fourth daughter of George, second Mar- uUof Huntly."] i Thf Laird o' Drum is a-wooing gane, I It was on a morning early. And he has fawn in wi' a bonnie may | A-shearing at her barley. I " My bonnie may, my weel-^ur'd may, j will you Cincy me, O ; | And gae and be the lady o' Drum, i And lat your shearing abee, O." " It's I canna fancy thee, kind sir, 1 winna fency thee, 0, I winna gae and be lady o' Drum, And lat my shearing abee, 0. " But set your love on anither, kind sir. Set it not on me, O, For I am not fit to be your bride, ! And your hure I'll never be, 0. j " My father he is a shepherd mean, I Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O, And ye may gae and speir at him, i For I am at his will 0." i I Drum is to her father gane. Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O ; | And he has gotten his consent That the may was at his will, U. " But my dochter can neither read nor write. She was ne'er brought up at schcel, O , But weel can she milk cow and ewe. And mak' a kebbuck weel, O. " She'll win in your bam at bear-seed time. Cast out your muck at Yule, O, She'U saddle your steed in time o' need. And draw aff your boots hersel', O." " Have not I no clergymen ? Pay I no clergy fee, O ? I'll scheel her as I think fit. And as I think weel to be, O. , " I'll learn your lassie to read and write, I And 111 put her to the scheel, 0; j She'll neither need to saddle my steed, i if or draw aff my boots hersel', 0. a "But wha will bake my bridal bread. Or brew my bridal ale, O ; And wha will welcome my bonnie bride. Is mair than I can tell, U." Drum is to the hielands gane. For to mak" a' ready. And a' the gentry round about. Cried, " Vender's Drum and his lady ! " Peggy Coutts is a very bonnie bride. And Drum is a wealthy laddie. But he micht ha'e chosen a hier match. Than onie shepherd's lassie." Then up bespak' his brither John, Says, " Ye've deen us meikle wrang, 0, Ye've married een below our degree, Alake to a' our kin', U." '■ Hold your tongue, my brither John, I have deen you na wTang, 0, For I've married een to wirk and win, And ye've married een to spend, 0. " The first time that I had a wife. She was far abeen my degree, O ; I durst na come in her presence. But wi' my hat upo' my knee, O. " The first wife that I did wed. She was far abeen my degree, O, She wadna ha'e walk'd to the jetts o' Dru:: But the pearls abeen her bree, O. " But an she was ador'd for as much gold As Peggy's for beautie, O, She iiiicht walk to the yetts o' Drum Amang guet;d companie, O." There war four-and-twenty gentlemen Stood at the yetts o* Drum, O, There was na ane amang them a' * That welcom'd his lady in, O. He has tane her by the milk-white hand. And led lier in hinisel', O, And in through has, and in through bt aers,- " And ye're welcon.e, Lidy o' Drum, u.'" Thrice he kissed her cherry cheek. And thrice her cherry chin, O : And twenty times her comely mou', — " And ye're welcome, lady o' Drum, 0. " Ye sail be cook in my kitchen, Butler in my ha', O ; Ye sail be lady in my command. Whan I ride far awa', O." " 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 wai' tane up again, [O ?" Wha could distan your mouls frae mine. [This ballad relates very faithfully and cir- i cumstantially the cause and issue of this battle, fought in 1411, between Donald of the Isles and the Earl of Marr, nephew to the Duke of Al- bany, Eegent of Scotland during the captivity of James I. — In the " Complaynt of Scotland," pubUshed in 1549, a ballad, with this title, is mentioned as being then popular, but the pre- sent was first published by Allan Ramsay, and in all likelihood written by him.] Trae Dunideir as I cam' throuch, Doun 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, C'ryand the corynoch on hie, " Alas, alas, for the Harlaw." 1 marvlit what the matter meint. All folks war in a fiery fairy, I wist noeht 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 I went, I met a man, and bad him stay, Bequesting him to inak' me 'quaint Of the beginning and the event. That happenit thair at 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 Ross sum richt. And to the governour he came. Them for to half gif that he micht ; Quha saw his interest was but slicht. And thairfore answerit with disdain ; He hastit hame baith day and nicht. And sent nae bodword back again. " But Donald, richt impatient Of that answer duke Robert gaif. He vowed to God omnipotent. All the hale lands of Ross to half; 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 bocht. " 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, Eicht far and near, baith up and down ; Throw mount and muir, frae town to towi Allangst the land of Ross he roars. And all obeyed at his bandoun, Evin frae the north to suthren shoars. " Then all the cuntrie men did zield. For nae resistans 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. They sould him for thair chiftain tak'. Believing well he did them luve. " Then he a proclamation maid, 1 All men to meet at Inverness, I Throw Murray land to mak' a raid, & Frae Arthursyre unto Speyness; )ro> r SCOTTISH BALLADS. 139 r And, furthermair, he sent express To sehaw his collours and ensenzie, To all and sindry, mair and less, Throchout the boundis of Bovn and Enzie. "And then throw fair Strath bogie land. His purpose was for to pursew. And quhasoevir durst gainstand. That race they should full sairly rew ; Then he bad all his men be trew. And him defend by forss and slicht, And promist them rewardis anew. And mak' them men of meikle micht. " Without resistans," as he said, " Throw all these parts he stoutly past, Quhair sum war wae, and sum war glaid. But Garioch was aU agast ; Throw all these fields he sped him fast, For sic a sicht was never sene. And then, forsuith, he langd at last. To se the bruch of Aberdene. " To hinder this prowd enterprise. The stout and michty erle of Mar, With all his men in arms d:d ryse. Even frae Curgarf to Craigy var ; And down the syde of Don richt far, Angus and Meams did all convene To fecht, or Donald came fae nar The ryall bruch of Aberdene. " And thus the martial erle of Mar JIarcht with his men in richt array, Befoire the enen.ie was aware. His banner bauldly did display; For well enewch they kend the way. And all their semblance well they saw. Without all dangir or delay. Came hastily to the Harlaw. " With him the braif lord Ogilvy, Of Angus sheriff-pnncipall ; The constabill of gude Dunde, The vanguard led before them all ; Suppose in number they war small, Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew, And maid their faes befoir them fall, Quha then that race did salrly rew. " .\nd then the worthy lord Saltoun, The strong undoubted laird of Drum, The stalwart laird of Lawriestone, With ilk thalr forces all and sum ; Panmuir with all his men did cum; The provost of braif Aberdene, With trumpets, and with tuick of drum. Cam; shortly in their armour schene. " These with the erle of Mar came on. In the reir-ward richt orderlie. Their enemies to set upon In awful manner hardily; Togither vowit to live and die. Since they had marchit mony myles. For to suppress the tjTannie Of douted Donald of the Yles. " But he in number ten to ane, Eicht subtilie alang did ride. With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean, Vt'ith all thair power at thair syde ; Presumeand on thair strenth and pryds. Without all feir or ony aw, Eicht bauldlie battill did abyde. Hard by the town of fair Harlaw. " The armies met the trumpet sounds. The dandring drums alloud did touk, Baith armies byding on the bounds. Till ane of them the feild sould bruik ; Xae help was thairfor, nane wad jouk, Ferss was the fecht on ilka side. And on the ground lay mony a bouk. Of them that thair did battill byd. " With doutsum victorie they dealt. The bludy battill lastit lang ; Each man his nibours forss thalr felt, The weakest aft-times gat the wTang : Thair was nae mowis thair them anuuiu', 2saething was heard but heavy knocks, That echo maid a dulefuU sang, Thairto resounding firae the rocks. " But Donald's men at last gaif back, For they war all out or array ; The erle of Maris men throw them brak, Pursewing shairply in thair way. Their enemys to tak' or slay, ' 1 Be dynt of forss to gar them yield ; 1 1 Quha war richt blyth to win away, II And sae for feirdness tint the field. 1 1 " Then Donald fled, and that full fast. To mountains hich for all his micht ; 1 1 For he and his war all agast, » And ran till they war out v( sicht ; (W f5^ ^^ ?/ 140 SCOTTISH BALLADE. A od sae of Ross he lost bis richt, Th'Krh mony mi-n with hira he broeht ; TowanU the Yles fled day and nicht. And all he wan was deirlie bocht. •' This is," quod he, " the richt report Of all that I did heir and knaw; Thi)ch my discourse be suiiitbing schort, Tak' this to be a richt suthe saw. Contrairie God and the king's law Thjir was spilt niekle Christian blude, 1 II tu the battil of Haxlaw ; Tills is tlie sum, sae I conclude. " but lit a bonnie quhyle abide. And I sail muk' thee clearly ken, l^uhat slauchter was on ilkay syde, u{ Lowland and of Highland men ; Quha for their anin half evir bene; These laiie lowns micht well be gpaird, <'hi'ssit lyke deirs into thair dens. And gat thair wages for rewaird. " Malcomtosch of the clan heid cheif, Maclean with his grit hauchty held. With all thair succour and relief. War dulefully dung to the deid ; And now we are fteid of thair feid. And will not lang to come again; Thousands with them without remeid, < In Donald syd, that day war slain. ' " A nd on the uther syde war lost, Into the feild that dismal day, Lheif men of worth (of mekle cost) To be lamentit sair fc t ay ; The lord Saltoun of Rtithemay, A man of micht and mekle main. Grit dolour was for his decay, Tliat sae unhappylie was slain. " 'If the best men amang them was 1 he gracious gude lord 0;L) [Prom the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. | 4_0\ — " There are two ballads," says Sir Walter, "in Mr Herd's MSS. upon the following story, in j one of which the unfortunate knight is termed ; Young Huntin. A fragment, containing, from __ the sixth to the tenth verse, has been repeatedly . ^ ^a s. published. The bc-st verses are here selected from J-=\ both copies, and some trivial alterations have ^\')J been adopted from tradition."] r*vSy " O LADV, rock never your young son young, ^•= ^\ One hour langer for me ; ^S^'Jl For I have a sweetheart in Garlioch Wells, 1 "WA/ I love far better than thee. " The very sole o" that lady's foot Than thy face is far mair white."— " But nevertheless, now, Erl Richard, Ye will bide in my bower a' night ?" She birled him with the ale and wine, As they sat down to sup : A living man he laid him down. But I wot he ne'er rose up. Then up and spake the popinjay. That flew aboun her head; " Lady ! keep weel your green cleiding Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid." " O better I'll keep my green cleiding Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid. Than thou canst keep thy clattering toung. That trattles in thy head." She has call'd upon her bower n.aidens. She has call'd them ane by ane ; " There lies a dead man in my bower : 1 wish that he were gane !" They ha'e booted him, and spurred him. As he was wont to ride ; — A hunting-horn tied round his waist, -V sharpe sword by his side ; And they ha'e had him to the wan water. For a' men call it Clyde. Then up and spoke the popinjay. That sat upon the tree— What ha'e ye done wi' i';,l Richard ? Ye were his gay ladye." 4 " Come down, come down, my bonnie bird^ And sit upon my hand ; And thou shalt ha'e a cage o' gowd. Where thou hast but the wand." " Awa' ! awa' ! ye ill woman ! Nae cage o' gowd for me ; As ye ha'e dune to Erl Richard, Sae wad ye do to me." She hadna cross'd a rigg o' land, A rigg, but barely ane. When she met wi' his auld father, Came riding all alane. '■ Where ha'e ye been now, ladye fciir ? Where ha'e ye been sae late?" " We ha'e been seeking Erl Richard, But him we canna get." " Erl Richard kens a' the fords in Clyde, He'll ride them ane by ane. And though the night was ne'er sae mirk, Erl Richard will be hame." O it fell anes, upon a day. The king was boun' to ride ; And he has mist him, Erl Richard, Should ha'e ridden on his right side. The ladye turn'd her round about, Wi' meikle mournfu' din — "It fears me sair o' Clyde water. That he is drown'd therein." " Gar douk, gar douk," the king he cri.d, " Gar douk for gold and fee ; O wha will douk for Erl Richard's s;ike. Or wha will douk for me ?" They douked in at ae weil-head. And out aye at the other ; " We can douk nae maii- for Erl Richura, Although he were our brother." It fell that in that ladye's castle. The king was boun' to bed ; And up and spake the popinjay. That flew abune his head. " Leave off your douking on the day, And douk upon the night ; And where that sackless knight lies slain. The candles will burn bright." 143 r>^) " there's a bird within this bower. That sings baith sad and sweet; O there's a bird within your bower. Keeps me frae my night's sleep." They left the douking on the day. And douked upon the night ; And, where that sackless knight lay slai The candles burned bright.* The deepest pot in a' the l:nn,f They fand Erl Kichard in ; A grene turf tyed across his breast. To keep that gude lord down. Then up and spake the king himsel', "When he saw the deadly wound — " O wha has slain my right-hand man. That held my hawk and hound ?" Then up and spake the popinjay. Says — " "What needs a' this din ? " It was his light leman took his 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 Richard, Since Moninday at mcrn. -J * These are unquestionably the corpse lights, D called in Wales Canhrvyllan Cyrph, which are ' § sometimes seen to illuminate the spot where a dead body is concealed. The editor is informed, that, some years ago, the corpse of a man, ^ drowned in the Ettrick, below Selkirk, was dis- covered by means of these candles. Such lights j /'; are common in church-yards, and are probably of \ •g a phosphoric nature. But rustic superstition j )\ derives them from supernatural agency, and ' ) supposes, that, as soon as life has departed, a I y= pale flame appears at the window of the house, ' ^ in which the person had died, and glides towards ; the church-yard, tracing through every winding the rout of the future funeral, and pausing where I 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 I ^j eddies of a river, are called pots ; the motion of ; =^ the water having there some resemblance to a j ^ boiling cauldron. — Linn, means the pool beneath SJ a cataract — Scott. ^. " 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, 2soT yet upon her chin ; 2f or yet upon her yellow hair. To cleanse the deadly sin. The maiden touched the clay-cauld corpse, A drap it never bled ; ^ 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, Tmk fast upon her chin ; Tuik fast upon her faire bodye — She burn'd like hoUins green. Sqx^ WHUxBra. [" This ballad was communicated to me by 3Ir James Hoeg; and, although it bears a strong resemblance to that of Earl Richard, so strong. Indeed, as to warrant a supposition, that the one has been derived from the other, yet its in- trinsic merit seems to warrant its insertion. 3Ir Hogg has added the following note, which, + This verse, which is restored from tradition, refers to a superstition formerly received in most parts of Euroj*, and even resorted to by judicial authority, for the discovery of murder. In Ger- many, this experiment was called bahr-rechl, or the law of the bier ; because, the murdered body being stretched upon a bier, the suspected per- son was obliged to put one hand upon the wound, and the other upon the mouth of the deceased, and, in that posture, call upon heaven to attest his innocence. If, during this cere- mony, the blood gushed from the mouth, nose, or wound, a circumstance not unlikely to hap- pen in the course of shifting or stirring the body, it was held sufficient evidence of the guilt of the party. The same singular kind of evidence, al- though reprobated by Mathaeus and Carpzovius. was admitted in the Scottish criminal courts, at . the short distance of one century. — Scott. SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^^ 144 in the course of my inquiries, I have found amply ^k oi>rroborate(l.— ' I am fully convinced of the an- ] j tiquity of this song; for, although much of the language seems somewhat modernized, this must be attributed to its currency, being much liked, and very much sung in this neighbour- liood. I can trace it back several generations, but cannot hear of its ever having been in print. I have never heard it with any considerable variation, save that one reciter called the dwell- ing of the feigned sweetheart, Castlestva.'"] Scolt. Lord William was the bravest knight That dwalt in fair Scotland, And though renowned in France and Spain, Fell by a ladie's hand. As she was walking maid alone, Down by yon shady wood. She heard a smit* o" bridle reins, She wish'd might be for good. " Come to my arms, my dear Willie, You're welcome hame to me ; To best o' chcar, and charcoal red.f And candle burnin" free." " I winna light, I darena light, Xor come to your arms at a" ; A fairer maid than t<,'n o' you, I'll meet at Castle-law." " A fairer maid than me, Wiilie ! A fairer maid than me I A fairer maid than ten o' me. Your eyes did never see." He louted owr his saddle lap. To kiss her ere they part. And wi' a little keen bodkin, She pierced him to the heart. " Ride on, ride on, lord William, now. As fast as ye ain dree ! Your bonnie lass at Castle-law Will weary you to see." * Smi<— Clashing noise, from smite— hence also (perhaps) Smith and Smithy. — Scott. f Charcoal red — This circumstance marks the antiquity of the poem. While wood was plenty :n Scotland, charcoal was the usual fuel in the chambers of the wealthy.— Sco«. Out up then spake a bonnie bird. Sat high upon a tree, — " How could you kill that noble lord ? He came to marry thee." "Come down, come down, my bonnie bird. And eat bread aff my hand ! Your cage shall be of wiry goud, Whar now it's but the wand." "Keep ye your cage o' goud, lady. And 1 will keep my tree; As ye ha'e done to lord William, Sae wad ye do to me." She set her foot on her door step, A bonnie marble stane ; And carried him to her chamber, O'er him to make her mane. And she has kept that good lord's corpse Three quarters of a year, ( Until that word began to spread. Then she began to fear. Then she cried to her waiting maid, Aye ready at her ca' ; "There is a knight into my bower, 'Tis time he were awa." The ane has ta'en him by the head. The ither by the feet. And thrown him in the wan water. That ran baith wide and deep. " Look back, look hack, now, lady fair. On him that lo'ed ye weel ! A better man than that blue corpse IS'e'er drew a sword of steel." Met li^^ak $r mim mtllism J [First published in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, f to which collection it was communicated by Mr \ When Reedisdale and Wise William Were drinking at the wine ; There fell a roosing them amang. On an uni-uly time. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 115 For some o' them ha'e roos'd their hawks. And other some their hounds ; Aud other some their ladies fair. And their bowers whare they walli'd in. ■^^Tien out it spake him Eeedisdale, And a rash word spake he ; Says, " There is not a lady iair. In bower wherever she be, 2jut I could aye her favour win, Wi' ae blink o' my e'e." Then out it spake him, wise WiUiam, And a rash word spake he ; Says, " I have a sister of my own. In bower where ever she be. And ye wUl not her favour win. With three blinks of your ee." " What will ye wager, wise 'William ? 3Iy lands I'll wad with thee r' " I'll wad my head against your land. Till I get more monie." Then Eeedisdale took wise William, Laid him in prison Strang ; That he might neither gang nor ride, -\or ae word to her send. But he has written a braid letter. Between the night and day. And sent it to his own sister. By dun feather and gray. When she had read wise William's letter. She sii.iled and she leugh ; Said, " Very well, my dear brother. Of this 1 have eneuch." She looked out at her west window. To see what she could see ; And there she spied him Eeedisdale, Come riding ower the lea. Says, " Come to me, my maidens all, Curae hitherward to me ; For here it comes him Eeedisdale, Who comes a-courting me." "Come down, come down, my lady fair, A sight of you give me." " Go from my yetts now, Eeedisdale, For me you will not see." ''Come down, come down, my lady fair, A sight of you give me ; And bonnie are the gowns of silk That I will give to thee."' "If you have bonnie gowns of silk, mine is bonnie tee ; Go from my yetts now, Eeedisdale, For me you shall not see." " Come down, come down, my lady fair, A sight of you I'll see ; And bonnie jewels, brooches, and rings, 1 will give unto thee." " If you have bonnie brooches and rings, mine are bonnie tee ; Go from my yetts now, Eeedisdale, For me you shall not see." " Come down, come down, my lady fair. One sight of you I'll see ; And bonnie are the ha's and bowers That I will give to thee." " If you have bonnie ha's and bowers, O mine are bonnie tee; Go from my yetts now, Eeedisdale, For me you shall not see." " Come down, come down, my lady fair, A sight of you I'll see ; And bonnie are my lands so broad. That I will give to thee." " If you have bonnie lands so broad, mine are bonnie tee ; Go from my yetts now, Eeedisdale, For me ye will not see." " Come down, come down, my lady fair, A sight of you I'll see ; And bonnie are the bags of gold That I will give to thee." " If you have bonnie bags of gold, 1 have bags of the same ; Go from my yetts now, Eeedisdale, For down I will not come.' " Come down, come down, my lady fair. One sight of you I'll see ; Or else 111 set your house on fire. If better cannot be." 140 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then he has set the house on fira And all the rest it tuke; He turned his wight horse head about, Said, " Alas ! they'll ne'er get out." " Look out, look out, my maidens fair. And see what I do see; How Reedisdale has fired our house, And now rides o'er the lea. " Come hitherwards, my maidens fair. Come hither unto me ; For thro' this reek, and thro' this smeek, O through it we must be." They took wet mantles them about. Their coffers by the band ; And thro' the reek, and thro' the flame. Alive they all have wan. When they had got out through the fire. And able all to stand ; She sent a maid to wise William, To bruik Reedisdale's land. " Your land is mine now, Reedisdale, For I have won them free." " If there is a gude woman in the world. Your one sister is she." % o' ¥oEBei!:^alf, [First published in Buchan's Ballads of the North.] Lady Maisry lives intill a bower. She never wore but what she would ; Her gowns were o' the silks sae fine. Her coats stood up wi' bolts o' goid. Mony a knight there courted her. And gentlemen o' high degree ; But it was Thomas o' Yonderdale, That gain'd the love o' this ladie. Now he has hunted her till her bower, Baith late at night, and the mid -day ; But when he stole her virgin rose, Nae mair this maid he would come nigh. But it fell ance upon a time, Thomas, her bower he walked by , There he saw her, lady Maisry, Nursing her young son on her kne«;. " O seal on you, my bonnie babe. And lang may ye my comfort be ; Your father passes by our bower. And now minds neither you nor me." Now when Thomas heard her speak, The saut tear trinkled frae his e'e; To lady Maisry's bower he went. Says, " Now I'm come to comfort thee. ' " Is this the promise ye did make. Last when I was in your companie ^ You said before nine months were gane. Your wedded wife that I should be." " If Saturday be a bonnie day. Then, my love, I maun sail the sea ; But if I live for to return, O then, my love, I'll marry thee." " I wish Saturday a stormy day. High and stormy be the sea ; Ships may not sail, nor boats row, But gar true Thomas stay wi' me." Saturday was a bonnie day. Fair and leesome blew the wind ; Ships did sail, and boats did row. Which had true Thomas to unco ground. He hadna been on unco ground, A month, a month, but barely three, Till he has courted anither maid. And quite forgotten lady Maisry. Ae night as he lay on his bed. In a dreary dream dreamed he. That Maisry stood by his bedside. Upbraiding him for's inconstancie. He's call'd upon his little boy. Says, " Bring me candle, that I sce; And ye maun gang this night, boy, Wi' a letter to a gay ladie." " It is my duty you to serve. And bring you coal and candle light. And I would rin your errand, master. If 't were to lady Maisry bright. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 147 '• Though my legs were sair I couldna gang, ^ Tho' the night were dark I couldna see. Though I should creep on hands and feet, I would gae to Lady ilaisry." " Wm up, win up, my bonnie boy, And at my bidding for to he ; For ye maun quickly my errand rin. For it is to Lady ilaisry. " Te'U bid her dress in the gowns o' silk. Likewise in the coats o' cramasie ; Te'll bid her come alang wi' you. True Thomas's wedding for to see. " Te'U bid her shoe her steed before, And a' gowd graithing him behind ; On ilka tip o' her horse mane, Iwa bonnie belis to loudly ring. I " And on the tor o' her saddle, A courtly bird to sweetly sing ; I Her bridle reins o' silver fine. And stinups by her side to hing." She dress'd her in the finest silk, Her coats were o' the cramasie ; And she's awa' to unco land. True Thomas's wedding for to see. 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. 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." Out it speaks true Thomas's boy, " she maunna lii't her head sae hie ; But it's true Thomas's first love. Come here your wedding for to see." Then out bespake true Thomas's bride, I vryte the tear did llind her e'e; " If this be Thomas's first true love, I'm sair afraid he'U ne'er ha'e me." Tnen in it came her Lady Maisr)-, And aye as she trips in the fleer; " What is your will, Thomas," she said, " This day, ye know, ye call'd me here ■ " Come hither by rae, ye lily flower. Come hither, and set ye down by me ; For ye're the ane I've caU'd upon, And ye my wedded wife maun be." 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 haii.^ " Ye ha'e come on hired horseback. But ye'se gae hame In coach sae fret ; For here's the flower into my bower, I mean my wedded wife shall be." " 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." " I winna break my lands," he said, " For ony woman that I see; 3Iy brother's a knight o" wealth and mig Hell wed nane but he will for me." liad ^!caMoit). [Fkom Buchan's Bal'.ads of the North.j " VTE 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 befell to me. " 'When we had been married for some time. We walked in our garden green ; And aye he clapp'd his young son's he.id. And aye he made sae much o' him. " I turn'd me right and round about. And aye the blythe bUnk in my e'e ; Ye think as much o' your young son As ye do o' my iair body. US SCOTTISH BALLADS. ■' What need ye clap your young son's head, ^ ^\■hat need ye make so much o' him ^ | } \Vhat need ye clap your young son's head -f I'm sure ye gotua him your lane." '• •) if 1 gotna him my lane, ohow here the man that helped me ; And for tliese words your ain mouth spoke. Heir o' my land he ne'er shall be." He call'd upon his stable groom, To come to him right speedilie ; '• Gae saddle a steed to Lady Crawford, Be sure ye do it hastilie. ■' His bridle gilt wi' gude red gowd. That it may glitter in her e'u ; A '.id SL-nd her on to bonnie Stobhu', All her relations for to see." Her mother lay o'er the castle wa'. And she beheld baith dale and down And she beheld her. Lady Crawford, As she came riding to the town. " Come here, come here, my husband dear. This day ye see not what I see ; iHr here there comes her. Lady Crawford, Riding alane upon the lee." AVhen she came to her father's yates, sihe tirlcd gently at the pin ; " If ye sleep, awake, my mother dear, , Ye'U rise lat Lady Crawford in." " ^^^lat news, what news, ye Lady Crawford, That ye come here so hastilie .■'" " Bad news, bad news, my mother dear, For my gude lord's forsaken me." " C) 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'U Lit a' your folly be; It was a word my merry mouth spake. That sinder'd my gude lord and me." Out it spake her brither then, Aye as he slept ben the Hour ; " My sister Llllic was but eighteen years When Earl Crawford wrong'd her sore. " But had your tongue, my sister dear. And ye'U lat a' your mourning bee; I'll wed you to as fine a knight. That is nine times as rich as hee." "O haud your tongue, my brither dear. And ye'U lat a' your folly bee ; I'd rather yae kiss o' Crawford's mouth Than a' his gowd and white monie. " But saddle to me my riding steed. And see him saddled speedilie ; And I will on to Earl Crawford's, And see if he will pity me." Earl Crawford lay o'er castle wa'. And he beheld baith dale and down ; And he beheld her. Lady Crawford, As she came riding to the town. He called ane o' his livery men To come to him right speedilie ; " Gae shut my yates, gae steek my doors. Keep Lady Crawford oat frae nie." When she came to Earl Crawford's yates. She tirled gently at the pin ; " 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 yoursel', Ye'U send your gentleman to me." " Indeed, 1 winna come mysei'. Nor send my gentleman to thee ; For I tauld you when we did part Nae mair my spouse ye'd ever bee.' She laid her mouth then to the yates, And aye the tears drapt frae her e'e ; Says, " Fare-ye-well, Earl Crawford's yates. You, again, I'll nae mair see." Earl Crawford call'd on his stable groom To come to him right speedilie ; And sae did he his waiting man, That did attend his fair bodie. " Y'e will gae saddle for me my steed. And see and saddle him speedUie ; And 111 gang to the Lady Crawford, And see if she will pitv me," SCOTTISH BALLADS. MO Lady Crawford lay o'er castle wa'. And she beheld baith dale and down ; And she beheld him. Earl Crawford, As he came riding to the town. Then she has call'd ane o' her maids To come to her right speedilie ; " Gae shut my yates, gae steek my doors, Keep Earl Crawford out frae me." When he came to Lady Crawford's yates. He tirled gently at the pin ; " Sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Crawford, Ye'U riae 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'll send your waiting-maid to me." " Indeed I winna come mysel'. Nor send my waiting-maid to thee ; Sae take your ain words harae again At Crawford castle ye tauld me. " mother dear gae make my bed. And ye will make it saft and soun'. And turn my face unto the west. That I nae mair may see the 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 a-e 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. 3Jo|e ^f;fiing®n k t|)c ^uxl. Sman,' the 4th line of each stanza lx.-ing ' Gol, gif ye war John Thomsoun, man '.' In his noti- on this poem, Mr Pinkerton says • ' This i» 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 tervanl,' 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 fool- ish conjecture. Colville in his %Vhig'8 Supplica- tion, or the Scotch Hudibras, alludes twice to John Thomson : • We read in greatest warriors' lives. They oft were ruled by their wives, Sec. And so the impenoua Roxalan Made the great Turt Johue Thomoon'^ mm. ' And the=e we ken. Have ever been Juhn Thomson's men. That is still ruled by their wives.' " Pennicuick, in his Linton address t" the Prince of Orange, also alludes to the proverlial expression — ' Our Lintoun wives shall blaw the coaJ. And women here, as weel we ken, Would have us all John Thomson's men.' " Two or three stanzas of the ballad were known to Dr Leyden when he publiahed his 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 roan 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 wile beats.' In the west country, my friend, Mr A. Crawford, informs me that when a company are sitting together, sociably, and a neighbour drt'fie in, it is usual to welcome him thus : — ' tfrue awa', we're a" John Tamson's bairns.' " There is a song about John T.imson's wal- let, but whether this was the Pahner's scrip, which the hero of the balUid must have borne. I know not. All that I have heard concemir.t; the wallet is contained in these two verses [" This curious ballad is of respectable anti- quity. Dunbar has written a piece entitled ' Prayer that the King war John Thomsoun 's ^ ' John Tamson's wallet frae end to end, John Tamson's wallet frae end to end , And what was in't ye fain would ken, Vhigmaleenei for ' 150 SCOTTIS}! BALLADS. About his wallet there was a dispute. Some .aid it was made C the skin o' a brute, Hut I believe its made o' the best o bend, John Ta*Bon'» waUet's irae end to end. There is a nursery ryme which runs thus : ' John Tamson and his man To the town ran ; They bou^'l.t and they sold And the penny down told. The kirk was ane, The quire was twai They gied a skclp, And cam' awa'.' AnJ thU exhausts all I know respecting this worthy wairior. "—ilothenvell.] John Thomson fought against the Turks Three years, intill a far countrie; And all that time and something mair. 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 fiir awa' from your ain countrie .•* Ive 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, " Farcweel, 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 ; riays, " My love beware of these savages bold. That's in your way as ye gang haiiie. •' Ye'U tak' the road, my lady fair. That Itaus you fair across the lea : Tiiat keeps you from wild Hind SolJaii, And Ukewise from base Vioientrie." Wi' heavy heart thir twa did pairt, .She niiutet as she wuld gae hame ; Hind Soldan by the Greeks was slain, but to base Violentrie she's gane. \N'hen 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 vesstl 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 Yiolentrie'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 wUl ask of thee — Of one of the chieftains that lies there. If he has lately seen his gay ladie." " It is twa months and something mair. Since we did pairt on yonder plain ; And now this knight has began to fear One of his foes he has her ta'en." " He has not ta'en me by force nor slight. It was a' by my ain free will ; He may tarry into the fight. For here I mean to tarry still. " And if John Thomson ye do see. Tell him I wish him silent sleep ; 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 dciwn in a dark cellar, Where there lay many a new-slain man. SCOTTISH BALLADS. lol Bat he hadDa in the cellar been, Xot an hour but barelv three. Then hideous wa? the noLs? he heard, AMien in at the gate cam' Tiolentrle. .S-iys, " I wish you well, my lady fair. Its time for us to sit to dine; C iiae, serve rae 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 zechins this day I'U give That I his face could only see." " Of that same gift wuld you give me. If I wuld bring him unto thee ? I fairly hold you at your word — C jme ben John Thomson to my lorl.'' Then from the vault John Thomson came. Wringing his hands most piteouslie, •' AVhat 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 knife 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 see ; 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 sehill: And then three thousand armed men Cam' tnpping 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 I 1 1 [Modern Ballad.— By John Neva v.— It is j well known in the north, that a deadly feud j existed between the Lindsays and OgUvies. The j story in the present ballad is an episode in the 1 1 hisfcjry of the rival houses.] ' "When, in yon dark -red mouldering towers, , By Lemla's n uddy bourne, I The fierce Lindsaye, with feudal sway, i 3Iade many a vassal mourn, ! Beliind Phinaven's fir-crown'd hill A shepherd's shieling stood ; I And with him wonnd his shepherdess. His ilarion, feir and good. ] To sing the lovely maiden's charms I Foil'd every minstrel's skill ; I And legend s.ays — there ne'er was lass Like Harion of the hill ! I No marvel then that she should be Her father's joy and pride ; I And though he wish'd, yet much he fear'd I To see his child a bride. ] Ely the tended she her happy flock j On yon green sunny brae ; j Blythe walk'd in harvest on yon hill j To pull the berries blae. I Oft by the fount, that from the rock j Still trickles cool and clear, I She sat and sang till echoes r-in?. I 'O'hich she much Uked to hear. I Earl Lindsaye, there, oft saw the fair As he rode hunting by ; And he would leave the knights and 'squires, (5 With passion in his eye — loi SCOTTISH BALLADS. " O, by the rood ! I have not seen, Amang our damsels bright, Such cyne as these, so formed to please. And give an earl delight!" The maiden blushed, and fixed her eyes Un 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; Hut dark his soul, as were his looks. He set that soul to plot. He loved no one upon the earth. And no one e'er loved him; Kven his own children, when they durst, ■\Vould 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 fate of men. She was a spinster of the sun. And 'rose with morning wan; Fine, as the gossamer, the threads Her bounie 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, Slight o'er yon dizzy craig be flung. Mangled among the gorse ! Nor vain his fears— old Janet had For him a secret curse. Young Duncan was the widow's son ; He loved the shepherd's child ; And he was blest iis blest could be When Jlarion 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; Uiicap'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 stili. 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 snare, to his foul lair, The shepherd's lovely child. I At last his heart devised an art, j A witching scheme, and rare : ' He had a harper of such power, ^ It joy gave to despair 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS 1.53 Young Marion loved the lark's love-song. Loved all the woodland quire ; But she had never heard the harp Whose strains the soul inspire ! 'Twist Catlaw and his brother-alp Shone eve's mild-raying sun ; And there was a soft golden light On vale and mountain dun. Penn'd was the flock — her care and joy; And, with her own £air lamb, Adown the footpath midst the broom. When all things breathed of balm. The maiden took her vesper walk ; The breeze was lull'd to sleep, And even the aspen rustled not; With soft and silvery sweep 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 ! She paused — she listened ; it was gone 1 And she resumed her walk : " O, could I hear that strain again '." Was Marion's mental talk. Of fays and fairies she had heard. Of their music sweet and bland ; It, haply, might be them, she thought, from happy fairy-land. 'Twas play'd again — and sweeter still The fascinating air! 'Twas in the wood, not distant far. And 3Iarion entered there. The summer sun, with setting beam. On the green trees shone bright ; Her silvan path was green and gold. And music gave delight. The damsel laid her down to rest. So charm'd, she almost wept ! The siren-harp play'd on and on — Her heart o'erpower'd, she slept ! For this the tjTant's vassal-slaves Prepared had duly been :— On eider-couch they bore her through The forest's deep serene. ^ Soon in the castle's gayest bower. And on the softest couch, The sleeping shepherdess was laid ; But no rude hand dare touch, — For, over sacred innocence May guardian angel be ; While guilt in his own snare is caught, His own ill destiny. The shepherd's daughter-child is lost ; And well might be surmise. That she is in Earl Lindsaye's jwwer. And sad in secret sighs. Now should he dare his plaint to make. The pit, the axe, and block, — The dungeon-cell, and gibbet-tree. His misery would mock ! He left his shieUng,— left his flock On the green hills to stray : His faithful dog tended the sheep For two nights and a day. 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. He claspt it in his arms, and took The silent mourner home : " O, now my mother I feed this lamb. For I again must roam '." " 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." Away, between the light and dark. The son and mother went ; And long ere yet the sun was in The mist-veiled firmament. By Lemla's sluggish stream they stood. Beneath the fatal tree. Whereon the husband— father died, But not for felony. " Look up, my boy ! there is the tower That choked thy father's breath ! Hew down that branch ! for it maun help To do a deed of death; 154 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " By dawn o' morn. Earl Lindsaye took Your father frae my side. Because I wadna sair his lust Whim I was a young bride. " He hangit your father on 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 ai-m 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 afar The sun was seen to break. Vp 'rose the kernes ; anon the reek From many a hut 'gan curl ; The strong and lusty steers were yoked By the bare-headed churl. Far west the hill a liom was blown, Till strath and mountain rang ; Another from Phinaven's towere 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 warders trode, the Lindsayes rode O'er dyke, and ditch, and ford. First on the green, in his clotted mail. Earl Lindsaye stood, with his bl.ack blood- He cursed the groom for a lazy loon, [hound; .\ nd fell'd the caitiff to the ground ! 4^ He chid the sun as his rising ray I Play'd on his 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 heai-ts and homes were dark. In breathless haste came from the west A simple peasant man : " Earl Airly is on Phinaven's hill, AVi' 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 head !" Loud from the western bartizan. The warder blew his horn ; Answered another from the hill. Bold sounding scorn for scorn. With Airly and his merry knights The good old shepherd stood ; He had sought their aid to retrieve the maid — His Marion fair and good. Many and oft have sought the aid Of the noble Ogilvie, Nor sought in vain — if gold or steel The applicant can free. 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 froii its cloud; It caught the bUize and fired the trees ; — The widow laugh'd aloud ! Thick from the den the adders sprang Across the beaten path ; Up rode the Liadsaye-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 me ; 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 clan ; \Miile Airly spoke : " Lord Lindsaye ! dost Thou ken ttiis good old man ? " KnoWst thou of his lost daughter fair ? If she be in thy power. Restore her to her father s heart Within this very hour '." " Ha ! ha ! 'tis easy so to vaunt I 1 love the peasant-girl. Proud Ogilvie ! be thine the plea 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 ! ■While mid the host the weird crone rushed. And gave a pause to death. " Yet hear my prayer, thou murderer ! My curse be on thy head ! Thou Shalt not die but by his hand "OTiam thou an orphan made '." As bounds the lion from the copse. Young Duncan forward rushed ! Thus challenged by a peasant youth. Blood-red the Lindsaye blushed. Jfow Airly's kinsmen laugh'd outright The unequal match to see ; "Which blew the fire 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'll 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. " Kow 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 1" 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 ir.aun follow it For my murdered father's sake !" And now they grappled stiff and stern— They knew 'twas life or death : But 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 trembUng 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 ! 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 s-'n. 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. But fly in his cloud above 1" In durance-bower the shepherd's flower Lone drooping sheds the tear ; The lover-youth, through ways uncouth Kuns quick as hunted deer. 15G SCOTTISH BALLADS. The Lindsnycs sly, in ambush lie: " He comes!" tluy soltly cried. Six arrows stuck round Duncan's heart ! Uejunip'd — hu loll— and died. >>tfl Airly, with his gallant knights. Stands by the castle-wall : Uy noble di'eU the maid is freed, — She saw the Lindsuyes fall. Airly, the grateful blushing maid. To her glad lather gave ; lie on his knee blest tlie Ogilvie, The generous and the brave. " Now drive your flocks to Airly's hills, A nd tend them there in peace ; Ami from this hour may tyrant power For aye in Scotland cease." " Haate 1 bum that clog and bloody axe. And shut that hell of death ! That block no n ore shall drink man's gore. That dark pond drown his breath !" So Airly spoke; then turned his steed From many a horrid sight. The battle won, o'er vale and dun fiode he with squire and knight. From war's alarms to love's soft charms Lady Airly luiil'd her lord ; And with her fair hand wreathed green bays Around the chieftain's sword, lu Airly's halls, in wassail glee. Is held thcfestol night; Along the hills the pibroch trills. The Highland chiefs delight. And in the hall the festival Is cheer'd by many a string: " In social life forget the strife," The wine-joy'd mii.strels sing. [From "A Legend of Montrose," where it is »:iid to be a translation from the Gaelic, with, | l-rhaps, almut the same truth as Ossian is a truji«lation.l i. November's hail-cloud drifts away, November's sunbeam wan Looks coldly on the castle grey. When forth comes lady Anne. The orphan by the oak was set, Her arms, lier feet, were bare. The hail-drops had not melted yet, Amid her raven hair. " And, dame," she said, " by all the ties That child and mother know, Aid one who never knew these joys, Relieve an orphan's woe." 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. " Twelve times the rolling year has sped, Since when from vengeance wild Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, Forth's eddies whelna'd my child." " Twelve times the year its course has born,' The wandering maid replied, " Since fishers on St Bridget's morn Drew nets on Campsie side. " St Bridget sent no scaly spoil;— An infant, wellnigh dead. They saved, and rear'd in want and tidl. To beg from you her bread," That orphan maid the lady kiss'd— " My husband's looks you bear ; St Bridget and her morn he bless'd ! You are his widow's heir." 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. ^iDicTOgl tie iiloi^. [Modern Ballad.— William Anderson.] Through the wood, through the wood. Warbles the merle '. SCOTTISH BALLAD3. Through the wood, through the wood. Gallops the earl ! Yet he heads not its song 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. AVhen her smile waxes sad, And her eyes become dim ; Her bosom is glad. If she gazes on him 1 Through the wood, through the wood. Over the wold, Eides 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 ; ^^'hile an old man sits smiling, In joy, by her side. W^e ijsa W^%Qt^tx%, [_" The domestic 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 (^d was displeased with the familie. The Lord Sommervill haveing come from Cowthally, earlie in the morning, in regaird the weather was hott, he had ridden hard to be at the Drum be ten a clock, which having done, he laid him^ lo7 9i down to rest. The servant, with his two sont-g, William Master of Sommervill, 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 wme meadow ground for grassing the horses, and willowes to shadow themselves from the heat. They had not long continued in this place, when the Slaster of rJomervUl 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 that his sorrowful brother never had one word from him, albeit he begged it with many teares.' — Memorie of the SoraervUles, Vol. I. 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, for the safety and fortunes of the truly WTetched 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 stanza in question i • " The addition t by crotchets. They warstled up, they ivarstled down, The lee lang simmer's day : [And nane was near to part the strife Th.it raise atween them tway. Till out and \\ illie's drawn the sword. And did his brother slay."J— Motherwell. 153 SCOTTISH BALLADS. tial featunt; hence the pretent copy, which ^ prricrvM the K^^nuine reading in the stanza rrferml to, though It might have derived con- (idrralile Iniprovementa in other particulars from the one given by Mr Jamieson, has, on the whole, been preferred."— Jtfo/A«-fi'f//.] TiiiRR were twa brothers at the scule. And when they got awa'— " Ifi will ye play at the stane-chucking. Or will ye play nt the ba", Or will ye gae up to yon hill head. And there we'll warsell a la'." " I winna play at the stane-chucking. Nor wiU 1 play at the ba'. But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill. And there we'll warsel a fa'." They waraled up, they warsled down, Till John fell to the ground ; A dirk fell out of \Yilliam's pouch. And gave John a deadly wound. " O lift me upon your back. Take me to yon well fair ; And wa«h my bloody wounds o'er and o'er, And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair." He's lifted his brother upon his back, Ta'en him to yon well fair; He's wash'd his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er. But they bleed ay mair and mair. " Tak' ye aff my Holland sark. And rive it gair by gair. And row it in my bluidy wounds. And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair." He's taken aff his Holland sark. And torn it gair by gair ; He's ruwit it in his bluidy wounds, But they bleed ay mair and mair. " Tak' now aff my green cleiding. And row me saftly in ; And tak' me up to yon ki: k style, Whare the grass grows tur and green." He's taken aff the green cleiding. And rowed him saftly in ; H"'! laid him down l-y yon kirk style, \> hare the grass grows tiir and green. ^ " What will ye say to your father dear When ye gae hame at e'en .•"' \ " I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk style, ^ Whare the grass grows fair and green." " O no, O no, my brother dear, , O you must not say so ; ^ But say that I'm gane to a foreign land, Whare nae man does me know." When he sat in his father's chair He grew baith pale and wan. " what bludfc's that upon your brow ;> O dear son tell to me." " It is the blude C my gude gray steed. He wadna ride wi' me." " thy steed's blude was ne'er sae red. Nor e'er sae dear to me : O what blude's this upon your cheek ? O dear son tell to me." " It is the blude of my greyhound. He wadna hunt for me." " O thy hound's blude was ne'er sae red. Nor e'er sae dear to me : O what blude's this upon your hand ? O dear son tell to me." " It is the blude of my gay goss hawk. He wadna flee for me." " O thy hawk's blude was ne'er sae red, Nor e'er sae dear to me : O what blude's this upon your dirk ? Dear Willie tell to me." " It is the blude of my ae brother, O dule and wae is me." " what will ye say to your £ather ? Dear Willie tell to me." " I'll saddle my steed, and awa' I'll ride To dwell in some far countrie." " O when will ye come hame again ? Dear Willie tell to me." " AVhen sun and mune leap on yon hill. And that will never be." She turn'd hersel' right round about. And her heart burst into three : " My ae best son is deid a-jd gane, And my tother ane I'll ne'er see." SCOTTISH BALLABS. ^5? ttoa JEaguisns, [First printed in 3Ir Buchan's Ancient Bal- lads and Songs.] The lady stands in her bower door. As straight as a willow wand ; The blacksmith stood a little forebye, Wi' hammer in his hand. " Weel may ye dress ye, lady £air. Into your robts o' red. Before the morn at this same time, I'll loose your silken snood." *' Awa', awa', ye eoal-tlack smith, "Would ye do me the wrang. To think to gain my virgin love. That 1 ha'e kept sae lang ?*' Then she has hadden up her hand. And she sware by the mold, " I wu''lDa be a blacksmith's wi.'e, For the full o' a chest o' goid. " I'd rather I were dead and gone. And my body laid in grave, Zre a rusty stock o' coal-black smith. My virgin love should have." But he has hadden up his hand. And he sware by the mass, I'll cause ye be my light leman. For the hauf o' that and less. Chorus. bile, lady, bide. And aye he bade her bide ; The rusty smith your leman shall be. Fur a" your muckle pride. Then she became a turtle dow. To fly up in the air ; And he became another dow. And they flew pair and pair. O bide, lady. Sec. She tum'd hersel" into an eel. To swim into yon bum ; And he became a speckled trout, lo qVe the eel a turn. bide, lady, &c. Then she became a duck, a duck, tJpon a reedy lake ; And the smith wi' her to soom or dlv Became a rose-kaim'd drakt. O bide, lady, &c. .Slie tumd hersel' into a hare. To rin ower hill and hollow, And he became a gude grty hound. And boldly he did follow. O bide, lady, &c. Then she became a gay grey maxe. And stood in yonder slack ; And he became a gilt saddle. And sat upon her back. Chorus. Was she wae, he held her sae. And still he bade her bide ; The rusty smith her leman was. For a' her muckle pride. Then she became a het girdle. And he became a cake ; And a' the ways she tumd hersel'. The blacksmith was her make. Was she wae. Sec. She tum'd hersel' into a ship, To sail out ower the flood , He ca'ed a nail in till her tail, And syne the ship she 6to<.-d. Was she wae, &c. Then she became a silken plaid. And stretch'd upon a bed . And he became a green covering. And thus the twa were wed. Was she wae, &c. ®-^e ^azU^ S.:tm. [Fraomebt of a Scottish Ballad, by Robeat TA!rSAflII.L.j " Wild drives the bitter northern blast. Fierce whirling wide the crispy snaw. Young lassie, turn your wand-nng steps. For e'ening's gloom begins to ta" ; Ul(» SCOTTISH BALLADS. "I'll take you to my father's ha'. And shield you from the wintry air, Kor, wand'ring through the drifting snaw, I foar ye'U sink to rise nae mair." '• Ah ! gentle lady, airt my way Across this langsome, lonely moor. For he wha's dearest to my heart. Now waits me on the western shore. " With morn he spreads his outward sail. This night 1 vow'd to meet him there, Ti> take ac secret fond fareweel. We majbe part to meet nae mair." " Pear lassie, turn— 'twiU be your dead ! The dreary waste lies far and wide ; .\ bide till morn, and then ye'U ha'e II y father's herd-boy for your guide." " 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." " Ah ' Donald, wherefore bounds thy heart! Why beams with joy thy wishful ee ? Yon '8 but thy true love's Heeling form. Thy true love mair thou'lt never see. " 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." l^oxti Eonal^. [^Modern Ballad. — Robert Am. an of barchan.] Lord Ro.nald cam' to his lady's bower. When the moon w.ns in her wane; Le maun wauken soon ! " Lord Ronald, stay till the early cock Sail flap his siller wing ! An' saftly ye maun ope the gate. An" loose the silken string." " O Ellenore, my fairest fair ! O Ellenore, my bride I How can ye fear, when my merry men a' Are on the mountain side ?" The moon was hid, the night was gane. But EUenore's heart was wae : She heard the cock flap his siller wing. An' she watch 'd the morning ray. " Rise up, rise up. Lord Ronald, dear ! The morning opes its e'e ; speed thee to thy father's tower. An' safe, safe may thou be I" But there was a page, a little fause page. Lord Ronald did espy. An' he has told his baron all Where the hind and liart did lye. " It isna for thee, but thine. Lord Ronald— Thy father's deeds o' weir ! But since the hind has come to my fauld. His blood shall dim my spear." Lord Ronald kissd fair Ellenore, An' press'd her lily hand ; Sic a stately knight an' comely dame Ke'er met in wedlock's band ; But the baron watch'd as he rais'd the latch An' kiss'd again his bride, An' with his spear, in deadly ire. He pierc'd Lord Ronald's side. The life-blood fled frae fair EUenore's cheek ; 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 kiss'd his lip. As she sigh'd her last adieu ; For never, O never did lady love Her lord with a heart so true ! IGl #ij3i:t ShIs #Iaig3i?t. [From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— "This Ballad," savs Sir Walter, "was com- municated to the editor by Mr Hamilton, music- seller, Edinburgh, with whose mother it had been a fevourite. Two verses and one line were wanting, which are here supplied from a diffe- rent Ballad, having a plot somewhat similar. These verses are the 6th and 9th."] 'TwAS on a night, an evening bright, ^'hen the dew began to fa'. Lady Margaret was walking up and down. Looking o'er her castle wa'. .She looked east, and she looked west. To see what she could spy. When a gallant knight came in her sight. And to the gate drew nigh. *' You seem to be no gentleman. You wear your boots so wide ; But you seem to be some cunning hunter. You wear the horn so syde." " 1 am no cunning hunter," he said, " Nor ne'er intend to be ; But I am come to this castle To seek the love of thee; And if you do not grant me love. This night for thee I'll die." " If you should die for me, sir knight. There's few for you n-ill mane. For mony a better has died for me. Whose graves are growing green. " But ye maun read my riddle," she said, " And answer my questions three; And but ye read them right," she said, " Gae stretch ye out and die. — " 2fow what is the flower, the ae first flower. Springs either on moor or dale .■' And what is the bird, the bonnie bonnie bird. Sings on the evening gale?" " The primrose is the ae first flower. Springs either on moor or dale ; And the thistlecock is the bonniest bird. Sings on the evening gale." " But what's the little coin," ghe said, " Wald buy my castle bound ? And what's the little boat," she nid, " Can sail the world all round ?" " O hey, how mony small pennies Make thrice three thousand pound ' Or hey, how mony small fishes Swim a' the salt sea round ?" " I think ye maun be my match,'' she s.iiJ, " My match, and something mair. You are the first e'er got the grant Of love firae my father's heir. " My father was lord of nine castles, My mother lady of three ; My fether was lord of nine castles. And there's nane to heir but me. " And round about a" thae castles. You may baith plow and saw. And on the fifteenth day of May, The meadows they will maw." " hald your tongue, lady Marg'ret," he For loud I hear you lie 1 [sa;d. Your father was lord of nine castles. Your mother was lady of three ; Your father was lord of nine castles. But ye fa' heir to but three. " And round about a' thae castles, You may baith plow and saw. But on the fifteenth day of May The meadows wUl not maw. " I am your brother Willie," he said, " I trow ye ken na me ; I came to humble your haughty heart. Has gar'd sae monie die." " If ye be my brother Willie," she said, " As I trow weel ye be. This night I'U neither eat nor drink. But gae alang wi' thee." " O hald your tongue, lady Marg'ret," he " Again I hear you lie ; [said, For je've unwashen hands, and ye've un- To gae to clay wi' nie. [washen feet,* ^ Xjnrvoihen hands and unrrathen feet — Allud- to the custom of washing and dreasiiig dead 10 J SCOTTISH BALLADS. " For the wee worms are my bed -fellows, ^b And cauld clay U my sheets ; And when the «tormy winds do blow. My body lies and sleeps." [Tills Uallail, similar in incident to the pre- lim;, but more complete in narrative, is given Mr Uueliau'c Collection.] TiiKRB was a knight, in a summer's night, Ai'pear'd in a lady's hall. As she was walking up and down. Looking o'er her castle wall. •• Gi*l make you safe and free, fair maid, <;od make you safe and free !" " O sae Ci' you, ye courteous knight, What are your wills wi' mei*" " My wills wi' you are not sma", lady. My wills wi' you nae sma'; And since there's nane your bower within, Ye'se ha'e my secrets a'. " For here am I a courtier, A courtier come to thet- ; And if ye winna grant your love, All lor your sake I'll dee." " If that ye dee for me, sir knight. Few for you will make nieen ; For mouy gude lord's done the same. Their graves are growing green." " O winna ye pity me, fair maid, o winna ye pity me ? winna ye pity a courteous knight, Whose love is laid on thee ?" " Ye say ye are a courteous knight, Uut I think ye are nane ; 1 think yere but a miller bred, by the colour o' your claithing. " You seem to be some false young man. You wear your hut sae wide ; You seem to be some false young man. You we^ir your boots sae side." " Indeed I am a courteous knight. And of great pedigree ; Nae knight did mair for a lady bright Than I wUl do for thee. " 0, I'll put smiths in your smithy. To shoe for you a steed ; And I'll put tailors ia your bower. To make for you a weed. " I will put cooks in your kitchen, And butlers in your ha' ; And on the tap o' your father's castle, I'll big gude coin and saw." " If ye be a courteous knight. As I trust not ye be ; Ye'II answer some o' the sma' questions That I wUl ask at thee. " What is the fairest flower, tell me. That grows in mire or dale ? Likewise, which is the sweetest bird Sings next the nightingale ? Or what's the finest thing," she says, " That king or queen can wale J" " The primrose is the fairest flower. That grows in mire or dale ; The mavis is the sweet st bird Kext to the nightingale ; And yellow gowd's the finest thing That king or queeu can wale. " Ye ha'e asked many questions, lady, I've you as many told ; But, how many pennies round Make a hundred pounds in gold ? " How many of the small fishes Do swim the salt seas round ? Or, what's the seemliest sight you'll see Into a May morning .■"' " Berry-brown ale and a birken speal, And wine in a horn green ; A milk-white lace in a fair maid's dress. Looks gay in a May morning." " Mony's the questions I've ask'd at thee. And ye've answer'd them a' ; Ye are mine, and I am thine, Amo' the sheets sae sma'. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 103 " Yoa may be my match, kind sir. You may be my matxjh and more ; There ne er was ane came sic a length, Wi' ii>.y 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, Xo 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 I doubt sair ye be ; But if it's true ye tell me now. This night I'll gang vii' thee." " Ye've ower ill washen feet, Janet, And ower ill washen hands. And ower coarse robes on your body, Alang wi" me to gang. " The worms they are my bed-fellows. And the cauld clay my sheet ; And the higher that the wind does blaw. The sounder I do sleep. " 3ily 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 cor.,e where I ha'e been You will repent it sair. " Cast aff, cast aff, sister," he says, " The gowd lace frae your cro^vn ; For if ye gang where I ha'e been, Ye'il 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 green. % " You're straight and tall, handsome withall. But your pride owergroes your wit ; But if ye do not your ways refrain. In Pirie s 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. ! [From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— ; " This ballad," says Sir Walter, " is a northern j composition, and seems to have been the original j of the legend called Sir Aldingar, which is print- I , ed in the Eeliques of Anticnt Poetry. The inci- I dents are nearly the same in both ballads, ex- ' cepting that, in Aldingar, an angel combats for I ' the queen, instead of a mortal champion. The j ! names of Aldingar and Rodingham approach ' ! near to each other in sound, though not in or- I ' thography, and the one might, by reciters, be ' easily substituted for the other. I think I have ; seen both the name and the story in an ancient I j prose chronicle, but am unable to make any re- '.\ ference in support of my belief. The tradition, ' j upon which the ballad is founded, is universally I i current in the Mearns ; and the editor is infontn- l ' ed, that, till very Lately, the sword, with which i 1 Sir Hugh le Blond was believed to have defended ' the life and honour of the queen, was carefully W preserved by his descendants, the viscounts of 1 Arbuthnot. That Sir Hugh of Arbuthnot lived ! in the thirteenth century, is proved by his hav- ; ing, in 12S2, bestowed the patron.ige of the church of Garvoch upon the monks of Aber- I brothnick, for the safety of his soul.— Register of j Aberbrothwick, quoted by Crawford in Peerage. But I find no instance in history, in w hich the honour of a queen of Scotland was committed t« ! ' the chance of a duel. It is true, that M.iry, wife of Alexander II., was, about 1242, somewhat ;, implicated in a dark story, concerning the mur- 1! der of Patrick, earl of Athole, burned in h.s a; lodging at Haddington, where he had gone t %re^, m it;4 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Ml a grvat tumament. The relations of 4^ champions against three Moors of Granada, lioron aecuscU of the murder Sir W.lliain Uisat, a powirful nobleman, who ap- j r< ar» to Jmve been in such high favour with the | >.>uiii; iiut-en, that she offered her oath, as a j . •iinpurgntor, to prove his innocence. Bisat IniiUfU stood upon his defence, and proffered tlio combat to his accusers; but he was obliged M Kive way to the tide, and was banished from ■- -utliind. Thi» affiiir interested all the northern I l.arv.ni; and it is not impossible, that some j shnre, taken in it by this Sir Hugh de Arbuth- not, may have given a slight foundation for the tradition of the counto'.— Wintoun, book vii. ! 'f Gcd. Arthurus regem Malcolm I'rMilituruj duello periit. t'hron. Sanctai Crucis, ap. Anglia Sacra, vol. I. p. 161. " Hut, true or false, the incident, narrated in the ballad, is in the genuine style of chivalry. Komaiiccs abound with similar instances, nor lire they wanting in real history. The most »olciim part of a knight's oath was to defend "all widows, orphclines, and maidens of gude f.ime.'*— Lindsay's Her.ildry, MS. The love of arms was a real passion of itself, which blazed yi't more fiercely when united with the enthusi- anlie adminition of the fair sex. The knight of Chaucer exclaims, with chivalrous energy. It wa» an argument, seriously urged by Sir Joiin of Heinault, for making war upon Edward II., in b.half of his banished wife, Isabella, that kiiiiihts 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 oxth is itill taken hy the Knights of the Il»th . Imt, I bclievr, few of that honourable brother- h"i>: . ■;r% It M a lunirient rea»on for having challenged . »rr. r«valier», that they had either snatched from a . L > l.'T )jou()uet, or ribband, or, by some di(.courtt-sy ; •imair iinp'Ttanco, pliced her, as hia lordship ' :w"t. 10 the predicuneat of a distreaxed damo- . ^ "tt. defence of the honour of the queen of Granada, wife to Mohammed Chiquito, the last monarch of that kingdom. But I have not at hand Las Guerras Civiles de Granada, in which that achievement is recorded. Raymond Berenger, count of Barcelona, is also said to have defended, in single combat, the life and honour of the empress Slatilda, 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 13S7, betwixt Jaques 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 advancenent 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 AlenQon within so short a space, that his absence had not been perceived. The lady abode within the donjon, weeping bitterly, and exclaiming, 'Ah JaqusI it was not well done thus to shame me ; but on you shall the shcime rest, if God send my husband safe home!' The lady kept secret this sorrowful deed until her hus- band's return from his voyage. The day passed, and night came, the knight went to bed ; but the lady would notj for ever she blessed herself, and walked up and down the chamber, studying I and musing, until her attendants had retired ; ' and then, throwing herself on her knees before the knight, she showed him all the adventure. Hardly would Carogne believe the treachery of his ! companion : but when convinced, he replied, I ' Since it is so, lady, I pardon you ; but the I knight shall die for this villanous deed. Ac- I cordingly, Jaques le Grys was accused of the crime, in the court of the earl of Alengon. But, I as he was greatly loved of his lord, and as the evidence was very slender, the earl gave judg- , ment against the accusers. Hereupon John Carogne appealed to the parliament of Paris ; I which court, after full consideration, appointed «; the case to be tried by mortal combat betwixt SCOTTISH BALLADS. ic: the parties, John Carogne appearing as the champion of his lady. If he failed in his com- bat, then was he to be hanged, and his laiJy burned, as false and unjust calumniators. This combat, under circumstances so very peculiar, attracted universal attention; in so much, that the king of France and his peers, who were then in Flanders, collecting troops for an invasion of England, returned to Paris, that so notable a duel might be fought in the royal presence. ' Thus the kynge, and his uncles, and the con- stable, came to Parjs. Then the lystes were made in a place called .Saynt Katheiyne, behinde the Temple. There was soo moche people, that it was mervayle to beholde ; and on the one side of the lystes there was made gret scaflfoldes, that the lordes might the better se the batayle of the ii champions ; and so they buthe came to the felde, armed at all peaces, and there eche of them was set in theyr chayre ; the erle of Saynt Poule gouvemed John Carongne, and the erle of Alanson's company with Jacques le Grjs ; and when the knyght entred in to the felde, he came to his wyfe, who was there syttyEge in a chayre, covered in blacke, and he sayd to her thus ; — " Dame, by your informacyon, and in your quarrell, 1 do put my lyfe in adventure, as to fyght with Jacques le Grjs ; ye knowe, if the cause be just and true." — " tfyr," said the lady, " it is as I have sayd ; wherefore ye may fyght surely ; the cause is good and true." With those wordes, the knyghte kissed the lady, and toke her by the hande, and then blessed hym, and soo entred into the felde. The lady sate styll in the blacke chajTe, in her prayers to God, and to the vjTgyne Jlary, humbly prayenge them, by theyr specyall grace, to send her husband the victor)', accordynge to the ryght. She was in gret hevy- nes, for she was not sure of her lyfe ; for, if her husbande sholde have been discomfyted, she was judged, without remedy, to be brente, and her husbande hanged. I cannot say whether she repented her or not, as the matter was so for- warde, that both she and her husbande were in grete peryll : howbeit, fynally, she must as then abyde the adventure. Then these two cham- pyons were set one against another, and so mounted on theyr horses, and behauved them nobly ; for they knewe what perteyned to deedes ofarmes. There were many lordes. and knyghtes of Fraunce, that were come thyder to se that batayle. The two champyons justed at theyr fyrst naetyng, but none of them dyd hurte other; I and, after the justes, they lyghted on foote to a ^perfourme theyr batayle, and soo fought t.-i1- { yauntly.— And fyrst, John of Carongne was hurt in the thyghe, whereby all his frendes were in grete fere; but, after that, he fought so val- jauntly, that he bette down his adversary to tu.- erthe, and threst his swerd in his body, and irm slew h)Tn in the felde; and then he demaundel, if he had done his devoyre or not? and they an- swered, that he had valyauntly atchieved his batayle. Then Jacques le Grys was delyuered to the hangman of Parys, and he drewe h>Tn to the gybbet of Mountfawcon, and there hanged him up. Then John of Carongne came before tli,- kynge, and kneled downe, and the kynge made him to stand up before hym; and, the sani.- daye, the kynge caused to be delyvred to hirr .i thousande franks, and rcteyned him to l>e of hs chambre, with a peneyon of ii hundred pounds by yere, durjnge the term of his lyfe. Then he thanked the kynge and the lordes, and went to his wyfe, and kissed her; and then they »*r,te togyder to the chjTche of our ladje in Parjs,anl made theyr offerynge, and then retoumed to theyr lodgynges. Then this Sir John of Carongne taryed not longe in Fraunce, but went, with pyr John Boucequant, Syr John of Bordes, and !^yr Loys Grat. All these went to se Lamorabaquyn , -' of whorae, in those dayes, there was moch spek- ynge.' "Such was the readiness, with which, in thos<- times, heroes put their lives in jeopardy, fur honour and lady's sake. But 1 doubt whether the fair dames of the present day will think, that the risk of being burned, upon every suspicion oi' frailty, could be altogether compensated by the probability, that a husband of good faith, like John de Carogne, or a disinterested champion, like Hugh le Blond, would take up the gauntltr in their behalf. 1 fear they will rather accord to the sentiment of the hero of an old romanct , who expostulates thus with a certain duke ' Certes, sir duke, thou doest unright. To ui;ike a ro.ast ol your iliughier bright ; I wot you ben unkind.' Amis and .Vme'.ion. " I was favoured with the following copy of Sir Hugh le Blond by K. Williamson Burnot. Esq. of Monboddo, who wrote it down from thL- recitation of an old woman, long in the scnicf « This name Froiss&rt gives to the famou. M» net, emperor of Turkev, called the (.real. It i» a c upuou of his Persian tiUe, Ameer Uddeea Kawu. u; SCOTTISH BALLADS. ■ i tliL- Arbuthnot family. Of course the diction: ., ».r) much humblml, and it has, in all proba- lilit), undcrKone many corruptions; but its an- t'.iuity if indubitable, and the story, though ii.difft-rcuUy tild, is in itself intertsting. It 1. bcUL-»t'ith Bodingham to talk. •' I loTc you well, my queen, my darae, •Hove land and nnts so clear. And for the love of you, my queen. Would thole pain most severe." •' If well you love me, Rodingham, I'm sure so do I thee : I love you well as any man. Save the king's Ciir bodye." " I love you well, my queen, my dame ; •Tis truth that I do tell : A nd for to lye a night with you. The salt sets I would sail." •' Away, away, O Rodingham! Vou are both stark and stoor ; Would you defile the king's own bed, A nd make his queen a whore J " To-morrow you'd be taken sure, .Vnd like a traitor slain ; .\nd I'd be burned at a stake. Although I be the queen." lie then stepp'd out at her room-door. All in an angry mood; I'ntil he met a leier-man,* Just by the hard way -side. He intoxicate the leper-man With liquors very sweet; And gave him more and niurc to drink, I'ntil he fell asleep. * Filth, poorness of living, and want of linen, made this horrible disease formerly very common HI .SMtland. Robert Bruce died of the leprosy ; .iiid, through all Scotland, there were hospitals • recteU fur the reception of lepers, to prevent their mingling with the community.— Scof<. He took him in his arms two, And carried him along. Till he came to the queen's own bed. And there he laid him down. He then stepp'd out of the queen's bower, As swift as any roe, 'Till he came to the very place Where the king himself did go. The king said unto Rodingham, " What news have you to me .•'" He said, " Your queen's a false wo.; an, As I did plainly see." He hasten'd to the queen's chamber. So costly and so fine. Until he came to the queen's own bed. Where the leper-man was lain. He looked on the leper-man. Who lay on his queen's bed ; He lifted up the snaw-white sheets. And thus he to him said : " Plooky, plooky, are your cheek?. And plooky is your chin. And plooky are your arms two My bonnie queen's layne in. " Since she has lain into your am,s, She shall not lye iu mine ; Since she has kiss'd your ugsome mouth. She never shall kiss mine ." In anger he went to the queen. Who fell upon her knee ; He said, "You false, unchaste wiman, What's this you've done to me ?" The queen then turn'd herself about, The tear blinded her e'e — " There's not a knight in a' your court Dare give that name to nie." He said, " 'Tis true that I do s:iy ; For I a proof did make : You shall be taken from my bower. And burned at a stake. " Perhaps I'll take my word again. And may repent the same. If that you'll get a Christian liian To fight that Ridingham." SCOTTISH BA1LAD3. 107 " Alas ! alas I" then cried our queen, " Alas, and woe to me I There's not a man in all Scotland Will fight with him for me." She breathed unto her messengers. Sent them south, east, and west ; They could find none to fight with him. Nor enter the contest. She breathed on her messengers, ~^ She sent them to the north ; And there they found Sir Hugh le Blond, To fight him he came forth. When unto him they did unfold The circumstance all right. He bade them go and tell the queen. That for her he would fight. The day came on that was to do That dreadful tragedy ; Sir Hugh le Blond was not come up To fight for our lady. " Put on the fire," the monster said ; " It is twelve on the bell !" " 'Tis scarcely ten, now," said the king;* " I heard the clock mysel'." Before the hour the queen is brought. The burning to proceed ; In a black velvet chair she's set, A token for the dead. She saw the flames ascending high. The tears blinded her e'e : " WTiere is the worthy knight," she said, " Who is to fight for me :■" Then up and spake the king himsel', ■■ 3Iy dearest liave no doubt, For jonder comes the man hi., sel', As bold as e'er set out." They then advanced to fight the duel With swords of temper'd steel. Till down the blood of Kodingham Came running to his heel. * In the romance of DooUn, called La Fleur des Battailles, a false accuser discovers a similar ;n;patience to hurry over the execution, before L arrival of the lady's champion.— Scort. Sir Hugh took out a lusty sword, 'Twas of the metal clear ; And he has pierced Eodingham Till's heart-blood did appear. " Confess your treachery, now," he said, " This day before you die !" " I do confess my tareachery, I shall no longer lye : " I like to wicked Haman am. This d:iy I shall be slain." The queen was brought to her chamber, A good woman again. The queen then said unto the king, " Arbattle's near the sea. Give it unto the northern knight. That this day fought for me." Then said the king, " Come here, sir kni^h And drink a glass of wine ; And, if Arbattle's not enough. To it we'll Fordoun join."f ^•^? muhf^ ^9n, [From Buchan's Collection.] " WOE is me, the time draws nigh My love and I must part ; No one doth know the cares and fears Of my poor troubled heart. "Already I have suffered much, Our parting cost me dear ; Unless I were to go with you, Or you to tarry here. " 3Iy heart is fixed within his breast. And that he knows right well ; I fear that I some tears will shed. When 1 bid you farewell. t Arbattle U the ancient name of the barony of Arbutbnot.— Fordun has long been the patri- mony of the same Cunily.— Sco«. 168 SCOTTISH BALLADS. '• U'hen I t.iJ j-ou larowell," she said, " This d»y, and woe is mc ; And cauld and shrill the wind blows still, U«twe«n my love and me. " The hat my love wears on his head, Its not made of the woo ; IJut it is u' the silk so fine. And becomes his noble brow. " His eye« do wink, and aye so jimp, His hair shines like the broom ; And I would not gi'e my laddie's love Fur a' the wealth in Rome." He said, " Farewell, ray dearest dear. Since from you 1 must go; Let ne'er your heart be full of grief, Hot anguish make you woe. " If life remains, I will return, And bear you companie ;" Niiw cauld and shrill the wind blows still lietween my love and me. " His bonnie middle is so well made. His shoulders brave and braid ; Out of my mind he'll never be Till in my grave I'm laid. " Till I'm in grave laid low," she says, " Alas ! and woe is me ; Now cauld and raw, the wind does blaw, Between my love and me. " Some do mourn for oxen," she said, " And others mourn for kye; And some do mourn for dowie death. Hut none for love but I. '■ U hat need I make all this din. For this will never det; ; And cauld and shrill the wind blaws still Between my love and me." .She's ta'en her mantle her about. And sat down by the shore. In hopes to meet with some relief, but still her grief grew more. " <» I'll sit here while my life's in. Until the day I die; 'o more from you I'll part ; I'm come to ease the cares and fears Of your poor troubled heart. " All for my sake ye've sufier'd much, I'm come to cherish thee ; And now we've met, nae mair to part. Until the day we die. " I wish'd your face was set in glass. That I might it behold ; And the very letters of your name. Were wrote in beaten gold. " That I the same might bear about. Through many strange countrie ; But now we're met, nae mair to part, tTntil the day we die. " Here is a ring the pledge of love, I stUl will you adore ; Likewise a heart that none can move, A prince can give no more. " A prince can give no more, my love. Than what 1 give to thee ; Now we are met, nae mair to part. Until the day we die. " I promised to send letters to thee. Ere six months they were gone ; But now nine months they are expired. And I'm returned home. " Now from the seas I am return 'd, ily dear, to comfort thee ; And now we're met, nao mair to part. Until the day we die. " Ye say I'm neither laird nor lord. Nor one of noble kin ; But ye say I'm a sailor bold, But and a millar's Sjti. " IrMien ye come to my father's mill, Ye shall grind muture free ; Now we're met, nae mair to part, Until the day we die. " Ye say I'm bound to leave the land, And cross the watery feem ; The ship that your true love commands. The Goldspink is her name " Though I were heir o'er all Scotland, Ye should be lady free ; And now we're met, nae mair to part. Until the day we die." [Fkom Bachan's Ancient Ballads and So of the North of Scotland.] " O COME along wi' me, brother. Now come along wi' me ; And we'll gae seek our sister Haisry Into the water o' Dee." The eldest brother he stepped in. He stepped to the knee; Then out he jump'd upo' the bank. Says, " This water's nae for me." The second brother he stepped in, He stepped to the quit ; Then out he jump'd upo' the bank. Says, " This water's wond'rous deep.' ■\Vhen the third brother stepped in. He stepped to the chin ; Out he got, and forward wade. For fear o' drowning him. The youngest brother he stepp'd in. Took 's sister by the hand ; rfiid, " Here she is my sister Maisry, i ^^"l' the hinny draps on her chin. SCOTTISH BALLADS. •• O if 1 wure in some bonnie ship, Aud ill some strange countrie, J-'cir to flnj out some conjurer. To gar Maisry speak to me." Then out it speaks an auld woman. As she was passing by ; "Ask of your sister what you want. And she will speak to thee." " <> sister, tell me who is the man That did your body win .■* And who is the wretch, tell me, likewise. That threw you in the lin i*" " o Bondsey was the only man That did my body win ; A nd likewise Bondsey was the man That threw me in the lin." " O will we Bondsey head, sister .■' «)r will we Bondsey han^ J • »r 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 Bondsey blind to gang. " Ye'Il put to the gate a chain o' gold, A rose garland gar make; And ye'U put that in Bondsey's head A' for your sister's sake." [From Buchan's Collection.] Thil Etiikr and lady Maisry Were buith born at ae birth ; They loVd each other tenderlie, •IJoon every thing on earth. Th«- ley likes na the summer shower, Sor girse the mornin' dew, -!■ ti«T, dear lady Maisry, i::iii Chil Ether loves you. The bonnie doo likes na its mate. Nor babe, 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 Paynimie. And he has been in Paynimie 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 him hame. She hadna sail'd the sea a month, A month but barely three ; Until she laiidit on Ciper's shore. By the moon-Iicht sae lie. Lady Maisry did on her green mantle. Took her purse in her hand ; 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 bitterlle. Then out it spake a sweet, sweet voice. Out ower the castell wa'; — " Now isna that lady Maisi7 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 l " 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 lovea you tenderlie." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 171 She's done her up to that castell, Paid down her gude monie ; And sae she's ransom'd Chil Ether, And brought him hame her wi'. [From " A North Countrie Garland," (Edin- burgh, 1323.) where the Editor says he is unac- >" quainted with the circumstances that gave rise J the balhid.] Thomas Stuart was a lord, A lord of mickle land ; He used to wear a coat of gold. But now his grave is green. Now he has wooed the young Countess, The Countess of Balquhin, And given her for a morning gift, Strathbogie and Aboyne. But woman's wit is aye wilful, Alas I that ever it was sae. She long'd to see the morning gift, That her good lord to her ga'e. i When steeds were saddled and weel bridled, | An' ready for to ride, 1 There came a pain on that gude lord, | His back likewise his side. I It had been gnde 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. " It had been gude for my wife, father. To me she'd borne an heir ; He would have got my lands and rents ■WTiere they lie fine and fair." The steeds they strave into their stabl- ,, The boys could not get them bound. The hounds lay howling on the beacri, 'Cause their master was behind. " I dream'd a dream since late yestreen, I wish it may be good, That our chamber was full of swine. An' our bed full of blood. " I saw a woman come from the west. Full sore wringing her hands. And aye she cried, Ohon, alas! Jly good lord's broken bands. " 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. " As she came by my gude lonl'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 I 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 i'' O leech is come and leech is gane. Yet, father, I'm aye waur ; There's not a leech in Edinhro' Can dtath from me debar. M JEauiuc. [JIoDERX Ballad.— JoAN->-A Bailme.] Sir Maubick was a wealthy lord. He lived in the north countrie, Well would he cope with foe-man's swi Or the glance of a lady's c'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 vass.ils wa: A staunch and burly band. Before his stately castle gate. Bound for the Holy Land. J '. 172 SCOTTISH BALLADS. AU>ve thf tpcarmpni Icngthen'd file, Arr flKur'i) fusions flviiig; strokM by thrir kwper"» hand the while. Are hamt-u'd chargen neighing. A ml looki of woe, and looks of cheer, And look* the two bvtwt^n, • mi nuny a warlike (ace appear, Whure tcan have lately bi-tn. Kor all they love is left l)ehind ; Hup«' Ikckont thcni iK'fore; The:r parting tail* spread to the wind, lilowD from their native shore. Then through the crowded portal pass'd bix goodly knighu and tall ; Sir Maurice hinuelf, who came the last. Was goodliest of them all. A nd proudly roved his h.-uty eye O'er all the warlike train ; — " Save ye, brave comrades! proap'rously, Ilcaren send us o er the main '. " Hut see I ris'ht ? an armed band Krom Moorham's lordless hall ; A nd he who bears the high command, Its ancient seneschal ! " Return ; your stately keep defend ; Defend your lady's bower, I.i«t rude and lawless hands should rend, I'jiat lone and lovely flower." — " (Jod will defend our lady dear, A nd we will cross the sea. From slav'ry's chain, his lot severe. Our noble lord to free." — "Nay, nay! some wand'ring minstrel's lluth fram'd a story vain ; [tongue. Thy loni, his liegemen brave among. Near Acre's wall was slain." — " Nay, good my lord ! for had his life U-va lost on battle-Kmuiid, Whin ceasd that 6 11 and fatal strife. His body had been founil." — " No (aith to such delusions give; Mis mortal term Is past."— " Not so! n'lt so! he U alive. And will be fouod at but!" These latter words right eagerly. From a slender stripling broke, Who stood the ancient warrior by. And trembled as he spoke. Sir Maurice started at the sound, A nd all from top to toe The stripling scann'd, who to the ground His blushing face bent low. " Is this thy kinsman, seneschal .•> Thine own or thy sister's son ? A gentler page, in tent or hall, >Iine eyes ne'er look'd upon. — " To thine own home return, fair youth ! To thine own home return. Give ear to likely sober truth, Nor prudent counsel spurn. " 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." He tum'd him from his liegemen all, Who round their chieftain press' J ; His very shadow on the wall His troubled mind express'd. As sometimes slow and sometimes fast. He paced to and fro, His plumy crest now upward cast In air, now drooping low. Sometimes like one in frantic mood. Short words of sound he utter'd, And sometimes, stopping short, he stood. As to himself he ni utter'd. " A daughter's love, a maiden's pride ! And may they not agree ? Cuuld man desire a lovelier bride, A truer friend than she ? " Down, cursed thought ! a boy's garb Betrays not wanton will. Yet, sharper than an arrow's barb. That fear might haunt me still." He mutter'd long, then to the gate, Return'd and look'd around, But the seneschal and his stripling mate. Were no where to be found. ■.^^^Jm7A SCOTTISH BALLADS. 17: ■\Vith outwar J cheer and inward smart, 4& In warlike fair array, i ] Did Maurice with his bands depart, 1 1 And shoreward bent his way. , | And when again days blessed light Did on his vision (all. There stood by his side — a wond'rou* sitrht I 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. And soon they saw the crowded strand AVear dimly from their view. And soon they saw the distant land, A line of hazy blue. The white-sail'd ship with fov'ring breez.', In all her gallant pride, Mov'd like the mistress of the seas. That rippled fiir and wide. Sometimes with steady course she went, O'er wave and surge careerincr, Sometimes with sidelong mast she bent, Her wings the sea-foam sheering. Sometimes, with poles and rigging bare. She scudded before the blast. But safely by the Syrian shore. Her anchor dropt at last. A\'hat martial honours Slaurice won, Join'd with the brave and great, From the fierce, faithless Saracen, I may not here relate. With boldest band on ridge or moat, AV'ith ch.ampion on the plain, I' th" breach with clusfring foes he fought, Chok'd up with grizly slain. 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. 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. He lay the heaps of dead beneath. As sunk life's flick'ring flame. And thought it was the trance of death. That o'er his senses ORme. He strove, but could no*, utter woni. His misty senses fled : Again he woke, and Moorham's lor I Was bending o'er his bed. A third time sank he, as if dead. And then, his eye-lids raisini?. He saw a chief with turban 'd hea !, Intently on him gazing. " The prophets zealous servant I : His battles I've fought and won Christians I scorn, their creeds deny. But honour Clary's son. " And I have wedded an English danu-. And set her parent free ; And none, who wears an English name Shall e'er be thrall'd by me. " For her dear sake I can endure All wrong, all hatred smothtr : Whate'er I feel, thou art secure, As though thou wert my brother.' — " And thou hast wedded an English dan- Sir Maurice said no more. For o'er his heart soft weakness came. He sigh'd and wept full sore. And many a dreary day and nieht With the Moslem chief stay 'd he. But ne'er could catch, to bless his sight, One glimpse of the fair lady. Oft gaz'd he on her lattice hiuh As he paced the court bolow. And tum'd his listn'ing ear to try If word or accent low Might haply reach him there ; and of: Traversed the garden green. Wotting her footsteps small and soft Might on the turf be seen. And oft to Moorham's lord he pare His list'ning ear who told. How he became a wretchei slav- Within that Syrian hold ; 171 SCOTTISH BALLADS. vrtukt time from liegemen parUil far, I'pon the battle flcM, I!y it*m and adverse fate of war lie wa* obliged to yield : And how his daughter did by stealth So l>olilly cross the sea With »ecrct store of gather'd wealth, To ict her Cither free : And how into the foemen's bands she ami her people fell ; \iid how (herself in captive bauds) .oy appear'd, Till grief her sex betray'd, And the fierce Saracen, so fear'd ! Spoke gently to the maid . IIdw for her plighted hand sued he. And solemn promise gave. Her noble father should be free With ev'ry Christian slave; ( Ki)r 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 wc-p ; He, waking, thought upon it still. And saw it in his sleep. Hut harness rings, and the trumpet's bray A^ain to battle calls; And Christian pow'rs, in grand array Are near those Moslem walls. Hir Maurice heard ; untoward fate ! Sad to be thought upon : But the castles lonl unlocked its gate. And bade his guest be gone. " Kight thou for faith by thee ador'd ; By thee so well niaintain'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 ; Thpn to the nearest Christian band With mingled feelings hied. The battle join 'd, with dauntless pride 'Gainst foemen, fiiemen stood; And soon the fatal field was dyed With many a brave man's blood. At length gave way the Moslem force; Their v.iliant chief was slain ; Jlaurice 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 dame Look'd calm and cheerfully ; Then Jlaurice 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 fieetingly) 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 Jloslem lord. And will never be bride to thee. So firm, though gentle, was her look. Hops 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. Wot 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. .^^r SCOTTISH BALlADS. 175 He still in warlike mail doth stalJi, In arms his prowess prove ; And oft of siege or battle talk. And sometimes of his love. She was the fairest of the fair. The gentlest of the kind ; Search ye the world wide every where, Her like ye shall not find. She was the fairest, is the best, Too good for a monarch's bride ; I would not give her in her nun's coif dress'd For all her sex beside. ^^2 ^stl rl M!siugla0 ant) [This Ballad is firom Mr Buchan's Collection. It bears the mark of considerable antiquity, though here and there betrajing the interpola- tions or imperfections of modem reciters.] I WiLLiB was an earl's ae son, [ And an earl's son was he ; i But he thought his father lack to sair. And his mother of low degiee. But he is on to fair England, To sair for meat and fee ; And all was for dame Oliphant, A woman of great beauty. He hadna been in fair England A month but barely ane. Ere he dream'd that fair dame Oliphant Gied him a gay gowd ring. He hadna been in fair England A month but barely four. Ere he dream'd that fair dame Oliphant Gied him a red rose flower. Well bet about wi' white lilies. Like to the paramour. It fell ance upon a day. Dame Oliphant thought lang; And she gaed on to gude greenwood, As fast as she could gang. As Willie stood in his chamber door. And as he thought it good ; There he beheld dame Oliphant, As she came through the wooeijuiles young ladies free." " I am not the Scottish knight, >'or ever thinks to be ; I am but Willie o' Douglas-dale, That serves for meat and fee." " If ye be WilUe o' Douglas dale, Ye're dearly welcome to me ; For aft in my sleep ha'e I thought on You and your merry winking e'e." But the cocks they crew, and the bonis blr.« And the lions took the hill ; And Willie he gaed hiune again, To his hard task and tile : And likewise did dame Oliphant, To her book and her seam. Till it fell ance upon a day. Dame Oliphant thought lang ; And she went on to Willie's bower j-etts As last as she could gang. " O, are ye asleep now^, squire Willie, O, are ye asleep ?" s.-iid she ; "0 waken, waken, squirt Willie, waken and speak to nie. " The gowns that were ower wide, Willie. They winna meet on me ; And the coats that were ower side, %ViIlie, They winna come to my koce : ^^^^^ -T SCOTTISH BALLADS. And if the knighU of my fathers court get woni. Tin iure they'll gar you dee." " name Oliphant, dame Oliphant, A king! daughter are ye; Uut would ye leave your father and mother, A Dd gang awa' wi' me ?" '• <), I would leave my father and mother, And the n-areet that e'er betide; And I would nae be fear'd to gang, 'iin ye war by my side." Hut »he'« ta'en a web o" the scarlet, And tare it fine and stna'; And even into Willie's arm* She lept the castle wa' ; And Willie was wi^tht and well able. And he keepit her frae a fa". Uut the c«ks they crew, and the horns Mew, -A nd the lions took the hill ; And WilUe'g Indy followed him, .Mid the tears did trinkle stUI. " O want ye ribbons to your hair, < )r nfles to your shoon ? Or want ye chains about your neck, Ye'se get mair ere that be done." " 1 want not ribbons to my feet, Nor roses to my shoon ; And there are mair chains about my net^k Than ever I'll see done: Uut 1 ha'e as nmch dear bought love As my heart can contain.' " Will ye gae to the cards or dice ? < >r to the tjible play ? Or to a l>ed sne well down spread. And sleep till it be day ?" ■' I've mair ni-ej o' the roddins, Willie, That krow on ytmder thorn ; Likewise a drink o' M.oryv.ell-water, Out o' your grass-grevn horn. '• I've ii.air need o' a Are, Willie, To baud me frae the cauld ; LiVewise a glans o' your red wine. Kre 1 bring my s'.n to the fnul He's got a bush C roddins till her. That grow on yonder thorn ; Likewise a drink o' Slarywell-water, Out o' his grass-green horn. He carried the match in his pocket, Tliat kindled to her the fire ; Well set about wi' oaken spails. That leam'd ower Lincolnshire. And he has bought to his lady. The white bread and the wine And the milk he milked frae the goats. He fed his young son on. Till it fell anee upon a day. Dame Oliphant thought lang ; " gin ye ha'e a being, Willie, I pray you ha'e me harae." He's ta'en his young son in his arms. His lady by the hand ; And they are down through guid green- wood. As fast as they could gang; Till they came to a shepherd may. Was feeding her flocks alone; ^^aid, " Will ye gang alang wi' me, A nd carry my bonnie young son ? " The gowns that were shapen for my back. They shall be sewed for thine; And likewise I'll gar squire Willie Gi'e you a braw Scots man." When they came on to Willie's bower yetts. And far beyond the sea ; rihe was hail'd the lady o' Douglas-dale, And Willie an earl to be. Likewise the maid they brought awa', tihe got a braw Scots man. And lang and happy did they live. But now their days are done ; And in the kirk o' sweet Saint Bride Their graves are growing green. SCOTTISH BALLADS [From Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs.] & When he had her up to yon itair 1 She was but a servant woman ; But lang, lang ere she came down again, She was getting baith mistress and nutd.-un. " Yestreen I sat by Meldrum's kitchen flre, Amang the rest C his servant lassc» ; But the night 1 will lye in his arras twa, And I'll wear the ribbons and laces." My father he left me twa ploughs and ; It was to begin my dowrie ; And what care I for ony o' them a'. If I be not brave Meldrum's ladie. ^|)e miU m m^Wi Meldrum, it stands on the head o' yon hill. And dear but it stands bonnie ; But what care I f >r this, if I had himsel". For to me he's the dearest o" ony. But how can 1 be the lady o' Argye, The lady o' Pitlays, or Pitloggan ? How can I expect to enjoy these estates, And I but a servant woman ? In climbing the tree It is too high for me. And seeking the firuit that's nae growing ; I'm seeking het water beneath cauld ice. And against the stream I am rowing. But Meldrum he stands on his ain stair head. And hearing his bonnie lassie mourning ; Says, " Cheer up your heart, my ain proper pink. Though ye be but a servant woman. " Ye're nae climbing a tree that's too high for thee, Nor seeking the fruit that's nae growing ; Xor seeking het water beneath cauld ice, It's wi' the stream that ye are rowing." " They ca' me Peggy Douglass the butt," she says, " They ca' me Peggy Douglass the ben, sir; And although I were your wedded wife, They would ca' me Peggy Douglass again, sir." [A FRAGMENT first published in the Minstrelqr of the Scottish Border.] There lived a wife at Usher's well, And a wealthy wife was she ; She had three stout and stalwart sonn. And sent them o'er the sea. They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane. When word came to the carline wife, That her three sons were gane. They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely three. When word came to the carline wife. That her sons she'd never see. " I wish the wind may never cease,* Nor fishes in the flood, Till my three sons come liame to nie, In earthly flesh and blood '." It fell about the Martinmas, When nights are lang and mirk, The carline wife's three sons came hame, And their hats were o' the birk.f " They ca' you Peggy Douglass the butt," he says, " They ca' you Peggy Douglass the ben, may; But the best that's in a' my father's ha", Darena ca' you Peggy Douglass again. * The sense of this verse is obscure, ownic. probably, to corruption by reciters. It woul.l ' I appear that the mother had sinned in the saju« ! degree with the celebrated Ltnort.ScM. 1 1 f The notion, that the souls of the Mnwd ;1 wear garlands, seems to bt- of Jewish origin. 1 1 At least in the Maase-book, there is a Rabbinic*! !| tradition to the following fffeot:— " It fell oat. i I that a Jew, whose name was Ponim, an ancient whoee business was altog«ther about " a: ITS It nrithfr prow in lyke nor ditch, Niir yit in ony ahcuKh ; liut iit the RttUa o' I'aradite, That birW jjrvw (kir eneugh. " lllow up the Are, my maiilenfl ! Uring water from the well ! for A' my hoiue ihall feut this night, Since my three sona are weU." SCOTTISH BALLAU: A a. ml, coming to the door of the school, saw one »uiiJing there, who had a garland upon his •••■ad. Then w.-u Balibi Ponira afraid, imagin- :ii« It wa« a »plrit. Whereupon he, whom the li.it.bi »;iw, allied out to him, saying, ' Be not .ifr.i:d, but ptui forward. Dost thou not know uiv" Th.n said Rabbi Ponim, ' Art not thou >i.- whom I buried yesterday?' And he was an- ^»r^t•d, ' Yea, I am he.' Upon which Rabbi Tonim said, ' Why comest thou hither? How i.m th it with thee in the other world ?' And tl..- ai'paritiun made answer, ' It goeth well with me, and I am in hi^h esteem in paradise.' Tliiii uiid the Rjibbi, ' Thou wert but looked 111'' n in the world as an insignificant Jew. ^Vhat good work didst thou do, that thou art tliui eau-emed?' The apparition answered, ' I will ull thee: the reason of the esteem I am in, n. thiit I rose every morning early, and with fervency uttered my prayer, and offered the grace from the bottom of my heart ; for which n-a^m I now pronounce grace in paradise, and am well ri-npected. If thou doubtest whether I .1111 the person, I will show thee a token that will i-unviuce Uiee of it. Yesterday, when thou ill lit clothe me in my funeral attire, thou did&t ujir my sleeve.' Then asked Rabbi Ponim, ' What u the meaning of that garland ?■ The appari- t:i>n answered, ' I wear it, to the end the wind • f the world may not have power over me ; for It c-onsisU of excellent herbs of paradise.' Then did Rabbi Ponim mend the sleeve of the de- > .aji-d ; (■ T the deceased had said, that if it was tiMt mended, he should be ashamed to be seen uiiionint others, whose apparel was whole. \ iid then the apparition vanished. Wherefore, 1. 1 c v.ry one utter his prayer with fervency ; r r tin n it shall go well with him in the other w.,rl.|. And let care be taken that no rent, nor t.ar;iii.', be b-fl in the apparel in which the de- ■ -. a». d ar»- inu-rred." — Jewish Traditions, abrjdg- tJ from builorf, London, 1733, Vol. 11. p. 19. SCU«. 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. Up then crew the red red cock. And up and crew the gray ; The eldest to the youngest said, " 'Tis time we were away." The cock he 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 C 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." I" 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 aftersvards pub- lished a Scottish version, under the title of ' Uurd 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 Aberbrothwick. Mr K iiiloch has more lately given, under the title of ' Lady Jlargaret,' an imperfect copy, superior in some points to that of Mr Jamieson ; and, more recently stUl, 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 different imperfect versions above enumerated.] SCOTTISH BALLADS. 17It Lord John stood in his stable door. Said he was boune to ride : Burd Helen stood in her bouir door. Said she'd run by hi^ side. " 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." " 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 C thee." "01 will be your httle foot-boy. To wait upon your steed ; And I will be your little foot-page. Your leish of hounds to lead." " But my hounds will eat the breid o' wheat. And ye the dust and bran ; Then will ye sit and sigh, Helen, That e'er ye lo'ed a man." " 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 lo'ed a man !" " 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." " 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." " Then if you'll be my foot-page, Helen, As you tell 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 : 3Iy foot-page then you'll be." Then he has luppen on his white steed. And straight awa' did ride ; Burd Helen, dress'd in men's array. She ran fast by his side. And he wag ne'er sae lack* a knieht, As ance wad bid her ride ; And she was ne'er sae mean a May, As ance wad bid him bide. Lord John he nule, Burd Helen ran, A Uve-lang summer day ; Until they cam* to Clyde-water, Was filled frae bank to brae. " Seest thou yon water, Helen," said he, " That flows from bank to brim ?" " I trust to Gkid, Lord John," she said, " You ne'er will see me swim !" But he was ne'er sae lack a knlcht. As ance wad bid her ride ; Kor did he sae much as reach his hand. To help her ower the tide. The firsten step that she waidef in. She wadit to the knee ; " Ochone, alas," quo' that ladye fair, " This water's no for me !" The second step that she waide in. She steppit to the middle : Then, sighing, said that fair ladye, " I've wet my gowden girdle." The tbirden step that she waide in. She steppit to the neck ; When that the bairn that she was wi'. For cauld began to quake. " Lie still, my babe ; lie still, my babt ; Lie still as tang's ye may : Your father, that rides on horseback high. Cares httle for us twae." And when she cam' to the other side. She sat down on a stane ; Says, " Them that made me, help me nc « For I am £ar frae hame : " Oh, tell me this, now, good Lord John . In pity tell to me; How far is it to your lodging. Where we this nicht maun be ? ' • In another version, ' courteous." t A preterite of wade, peculinr to ScoOanU. Sa m 180 SCOTTISH BALLADS. -^^ w. " O dinna )o *et yon ca»Ue, Hi'Un, Stand* on yon iunny lea? Tli;■« get ane o' my mother's men ; Yffo get nac mair o' me." " weel Me I your bonnic castcll, HIknd* on you sunny lea ; But I't h»'e nanc o' your mother's men, Though I ncTer get mair o' thee." " But there li in yon castle, Heleu, That itaiiJs on yonder lea ; There is a ludy in yon castle, WUl tiuder you and me." •• I wish nae ill to that ladye ; tihe comes na in my thocht : But I wish the niaiil maist o' your love, That dearest hat you bocht." When he cam' to the porter's yctt. He lirled at the pin ; And wha sau ready as the bauld porter, Tu open and let him in ? Mony a lord and lady bright Met Lord John in the doss; But the l>onniest lady amang them a' Was haudinK Lord John's horse. Kour and twenty gay ladyes Led him through bouir and ha' ; But the fairest lady that was there. Led bis horse to ttie sta*. Then up bespak' Lord John's sister ; These were the words spak' she : "You have the prettiest foot-page, brother. My eyea did ever see — " But that his middle is sae thick, Uis girdle sae wond'rous hie: Let him, I pray thee, good Lord John, To chamber go with me." " It Is not fit for a little foot-page. That has run through moss and mire. To go Into chamber with any ladye That wear» 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 douD by the kitchen flre." When bells were rung, and mass was rang. And a' men boune to meat, Burd Helen was, at the bye-table, Amang the pages set. " eat and drink my bonnie boy. The white breid and the beer." " The never a bit can I eat or drink ; My heart's sae fu" o' fear." " eat and drink, my bonnie boy, Tlie white breid and the wine." " O the never a bit can I eat or drink ; Jly heart's sae fu' o' pyne." But out and spak' Lord John his mother. And a skeely* woman was she: " Where met ye, my son, wi' tiiat bonnie b. .y. 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." " it maks 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. " Eise up, rise up, my bonnie hoy ; Gi'e my horse corn and hay." " that I will, my master deir. As quiclily as 1 may." She took the hay aneath her arm. The corn intill her hand; But atween the stable-door and the sta' 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, ; gar She lean'd her back again' the wa' ; Strong tmvail came her on ; And, e'en among the great horse' feet. She has brought forth her son. • Skilful— OT rather expressing that property in old women which makes them far-seen in matters connected with the physics of human nature. — Buchan, I BOEDER BALLADS. 181 When bells were rung, and mass was sung. 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 sheen : For I ha'e heard a bairn loud greet. And a woman's heavy moan !" Richt hastilie he rase him up, Socht neither hi;se nor sheen ; And he's doen him to the stable door. By the lee licht o' the mune. " open the door, Burd Helen," he said, " open and let me 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 mother laid on a beir \" " O open the door, Burd Helen," he saj-s, ' ' O open the door to me ; Or, as my sword hangs by my gair, I'll gar it gang in three !" " That 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. In splinders he part flee. " An askin', an askin'. Lord John," she says, " An askin' 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'll grant me ; The warsten bouir in a' your touirs. For thy young son and me !" " I grant, I grant your aikina, Helen, An' that and mair frae me ; The very best bouir in a' my tuuirs. For my young son and thee. " O have thou comfort, fair Helen Be of good cheer, I 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. (^ueeiiMeanoT'g ^onfe^^ion. [This is originally an English ba/lad, but the following Scottish version is given in .Mr Kinloch'i Ancient Scottish Ballads — " Henry II. 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 Lewia king of France, for consanguinity and suspicion of adultery, after she had born him two daugh- ters.' — Echard, b. ii. c. 1. The great disparity in age, and the moral taint which attached t^i 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 Rosamond," whom, it is said, Eleanor, in a fit of jealousy, caused to be poisonetl. Whilst our historians charge Eleanor with instigating her sons to rebel against their father, to which she was incited by jealousy and ill usage, thty do not breathe the slightest suspicion againK her conjugal honour while queen of England. It would, therefore, appear that the balUd has no foundation in truth, other than it m»y allude to her conduct whilst the wife of Louig VII." 1 5 SCOTTISH BALLADS H The (jueen fell sick, nnd verj-, very sick, She was aick and like to dee ; And ibc itnt for a friar oure frae France, Her confeMOur to be. King Henry when he heard o" that. An ungry man was he ; And he sent to the earl MarsluUI, Attendance for to gi'e. " The queen is sick," king Henry cried, •• Aud wants to be beshriven ; >he has sent for a friar oure frae France, Uy the rude* he were better in heaven. " Uut tak' you now a friar's guise. The voice and gesture feign. And when she has the pardon crav'd. Respond to her. Amen .' " And I will be a prelate old. And sit in a comer dark, To hear the adventures of my spouse, lly spouse, and her haly spark." "My liege ! my liege ! how can I betray ily mistress and my queen ! <> swear by the rude that no damage For this shall be gotten or be gi'en." ■ I swear by the rude," quoth king Henry, " No damage shall be gotten or gi'en ; tome, let us spare no cure nor care. For the conscience of the queen." • O fathers ! fathers ! I'm very, very sick I'm sick and like to dee; Some ghostly comfort to my poor soul O ttU if jecangi'el" ' '• Confess ! confess !" earl MarshaU cried, " And you shall pardon 'd be;" " ConfeM! confess;" the king repUed, " And we shaU comfort gi'e." " O how shall I tell the sorry, sorry tale ? How can the tale be told ! I pLay'd the harlot wi' the earl Marshall Beneath yon cloth of gold. ' • Rude—tixe CroM. ^ " Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? / I But I hope it will pardon'd be." \ " Amen 1 Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, ^ j And a very fear't heart had he. I " O down i' the forest, in a bower, | I Beyond yon dark oak-tree, ^ j I drew a penknife frae my pocket. To kiil king Henerie. " Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin But 1 hope it will pardon'd be." " Amen ! Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, And a very fear't heart had he. " O do you see yon pretty little boy. That's plajing at the ba' ? He is the earl JIarshaU's only son. And I loved him best of a*'. " Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? But I hope it will pardon'd be." " Amen ! Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, 'l And a very fear't heart had he. "And do you see yon pretty little girl That's a' beclad in green ? She's a fnar's daughter oure in France, And I hop'd to see her a queen. " Oh, wasna that a sin, and a very great sin ? But I hope it will pardon'd be." " Amen ! Amen !" quoth the earl Marshall, And a fear't heart still had he. " do you see yon other little boy. That's playing at the ba' ? He is king Henry's only son. And 1 like him warst of a'. " He's headed like a buck," she said, " And backed like a bear:" — " Amen !" quoth the king, in the king's ain voice, " He shall be my only heir !" The king look'd over his left shoulder. An angry man was he :— " An it werna for the oath I sware, Earl Marshall, thou should'st dee." ^^^^ Eot^ %qM, [Fbom Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads.— Taken down from the recitation of a lady of Eoxburghshire. Loie/e is the name of one of the heroes of Ott«rbum : • Si- Jorg the worthy Lovele A knjrght of ?reat renoiren, ir Raff the ryche Rugbe With dyntes wear beaten dowene."] Lady Tfancie died on Tuesday's nicht, Lord Lovel upon the neist day ; Lady Nancie died for pure, pure love, Lord Lovel, for deep sorray. Eoj^ Eeijat. [From a small volume, entitled, "The Ki mamock Annual for 1835."] Lord Lotel stands at his stable door. Mounted upon a grey steed ; And bye came Ladie ^'anciebel. And wish'd Lord Lovel much speed. '•' O whare are ye going, Lord Lovel, 3Iy dearest teU to me?" I "01 am going a far journey. Some strange countrie to see ; I " But I'll return in seven long years. Lady Jfanciebel to see." " : seven, seven, seven long years. They are much too long for me." He was gane a year away, A year but barely ane, I ■When a strange fancy cam' into his head, 1 That fair >"anciebel was gane. I It's then he rade, and better rade, i Until he cam' to the toon, ' And there he heard a dismal noise. For the church bells a' did soun'. He asked what the bells rang for, i They said, " It's for Xanciebel : She died for a discourteous squire. And his name is Lord LoveL" The lid o' the coflan he opened up, The linens he faulded doun ; And aye he kiss'd her pale, pale lips, ' ' And the tears cam' trinkling doun, ' 1, " Weill may I kiss those pale, pale lips, j ! For they will never kiss me ; — 'I I'll niak' a vow, and keep it true, | ! That they'll near kiss ane but thee." 96 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 was sleeping In springlight on his brow ; But dim and douie age was creeping Oot-owre its brentness noo. Oh ! many an eerie sight I Has prood Lord Lovat seen ; — The wild war flashing day and night, Unsparing men between : — The desert and the sun, Richt owre the blistering head ; The fearsome loch that gathered on The wrack o' cities dead. Lord Lovat's step was first ■WTien Ascalon was won ; , Lord Lovat's lance, the foremost burst Jerusalem's wa's upon. "What has he got ? — Thae wars Are no for pelf I trow ; But his boardlie breast is seamed with scais, And gashed his sunburnt brow. What has he got ?— The praise O' warl ringing fame. In minstrelsy a lordly place. And knighthood's proudest name I But he wad gi'e them a'— Them a', and muckle mair. For ae hour in his father's ha', Wi' the Leddy Maisrey there ! )yr>- m <^S\^^'\-l' A* hour ofauld Ungiyne, And langiyne'i bonnie (Ireams ; Ac daunder where U>e roiet ahine, Oot-owpe the laughing atreains. l»n — L.n I/orJ Lovat royne out and spak' the Lord-justice, I wat the t<:«r was in his c'e ; " I *r« nac but in this young man ; aao loose his bands, and set him free ; "And tak' your love, now, Lady Elspat; And my best bleasln" you baith upon ; For gin lie be your first true love, lie is my eldest sister's son. •• There stands a steed In my stable. Cost me baith gold and white mony ; Ye's get as mickic o" my free land As he'll ride about in a summer's day." ^U ?5atl of iMai'0 [From Mr Buchan's Collection.] It was intill a pleasant time, Upon a simmer's day, The noble carl 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 sprightly doo Set on a tower sae hie. " O cow-me-doo, my love sae true, If ye'U come down to me, Ye'se ha'e a cage o' guid red gowd Instead o' simple tree: " I'll put gowd hingcrs roun' your cage. And siller roun' your wa' ; I 11 gar ye shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a'." But she hadnae these words well spoke, N'or yet these words well said. Till cow-me-doo flew frae the tower. And lighted on her head. Then she lias brought this pretty bird Hame to her bowers and ha' ; And made him shine as (air a bird As ony o' them a'. VThen day w."is 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 : AVhat way ha'e ye come here .■"' " 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 ; WTiat 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 me 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 shall 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 bame. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 1^; But aye as ever a child was born. He carried them away ; And brought them to his mither's care. As fast as they could fly. Thus he has staid in bower wi' her For twenty years and three ; There came a lord o' high renown To court this fair ladie. But still his prefer she refused. And a' his presents too ; Says, " I'm content to live alane ■\Vi' my bird, coo-me-doo." Her father sware a solemn oath Amang the nobles all, " The mom, or ere I eat or drink. This bird I wUl gar kill." 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. " Before that I do langer stay. And thus to be forlorn, I'll gang unto my mither's bower, ^\'here I was bred and bom." Then cow-me-doo took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea ; And lighted near his mither's castle On a tower o' gowd sae hie. As his mither was wauking out. To see what she could see ; And there she saw her little son Set on the tower sae hie. " Get dancers here to dance," she said, '• And minstrells for to play ; For here's my young son, Florentine, Come here wi' me to stay." " Get nae dancers to dance, mither, >'or minstrells for to play ; For the mither o' my seven sons, The mom's her wedding-day." " O tell me, tell me, Florentine, Tell me, and tell me true ; Tell me this day without a flaw, "What I will do for you." J^i ^^C* ^V^^ri^, " Instead of dancers to dance, mither, Or minstrells for to play ; Turn (our-and-twenty wall-wight mtn Like storks, in feathers gray ; "My seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee ; And I, mysel', a gay gos-hawk, A bird o' high degree." Then sichin, said the queen hersel', "That thing's too high for me ;" But she applied to an auld woman, "VVho had mair skill than she. Instead o' dancers to dance a dance, Or minstrells for to play ; Four-and-twenty wall-wight men Tum'd birds o' feathers gray ; Her seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee ; And he, himsel', a gay gos-hawk, A bird o' high degree. This flock o' birds took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea ; And landed near the earl liar's castle, Took shelter in every tree. They were a flock o" pretty birds Right comely to be seen ; The people view'd them wi' surph.v As they danced on the grecu. These birds ascended frae the tn.t , And lighted on the ha' ; And at the last wi' force did flee Amang the nobles a'. The storks there seized some o' the i:.cn. They could neither fight nor flit? : The swans they bound the bride's bv st n.. Below a green aik tree. They lighted next on maidens fiUr, Then on the bride's o«n head ; And wi' the twinkling o' an e'e. The bride and them were fled. There's ancient men at weddings been. For sixty years or more ; But sic a curious wedding-dny They never saw before. ^. 1S8 SCOTTISH BALLADS. i.r nothing could the companie do, Nor naethiiig could they say; ut they saw a flock o' pretty birds That took tlieir bride away. k'hen that the earl Mar, he came to know, Whert his dochter did stay ; f lign'd a bond u' unity. And visit* now they pay. Ea^Jg 35anr. ^^: [O1VK.V in Mr Jamieson's Collection, ^m till- recitation of Mrs Urown.] •• 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 ale ; And I will welcome your bright bride. That you bring o'er the dale." " O she that welcomes my bright bride, .Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace her in her green clothing. And braid her yellow hair." " 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, dhe 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-motber him wi'.— " O you're welcome hame, my ain good lord. To your halls but and your bowers ; You are welcome harue, 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, " Tliat 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 fa'. 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 but 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. " seven full fair sons 1 have bom. To the good lord o' this ha'. To keep her colour fine — To presen-e her iplexlon ; to keep her from betraying the secret emotions of her heart by changing coun- And I wish that they were seTen rattons, To run the castle wa'. And I mysel' a good grey cat, ' And I wad worry them a". )" The earl o' Richmond was my father, And the lady was my mither ; And a' the bairns beside mysel' \ Was a sister and a brither." " Sing on, sing on, ye sad lady ; I I wat ye ha'e sung in time ; J Gin the earl o' Eichmond was your father I I wat sae was he mine." j " Rise up, rise up, my bierly bride, j I think my bed's but cald ; 1 wadna hear my lady lament I For your tocher ten times tald." ; " O seven ships did bring you here, I And ane sail tak' you hame ; ' The lave I'll keep to your sister Jane, ) For tocher she gat nane." \ / /^e ^ent 0ac ^l^isieTi, '; [This old and once popular ballad we give, 'i with some slight alterations, from ilr 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 times.] i There are sixteen lang miles I'm sure, ) Between my love and me ; , There are eight o' them in gude dry land, [ And other eight by sea. [ Betide me life, betide me death, \ My love I'll gang and see ; / Although her friends they do me hate, i Her love is great for me. SCOTTISH BALLADS ]>:< Of my coat I'll make a boat. And o' my sark a sail ; And o' my cane a gude tapmast. Dry land tiU I come till. Then o' his coat he's made a boat, And o' his sark a sail ; And o' his cane a gude tapmast, Dry land till he came till. He is on to Annie's bower door, And tirled at the pin ; — " O sleep ye, wake ye, my love Annie, Ye'U rise lat me come in." " O who is this at my bower door, Sae well that kens my name ?" "It is your true love, sweet Willie, For you I've cross'd the faem." " I am deeply s%vom, Willie, By father and by mother; At kirk or market where we meet. We darena own each other. " And I am deeply sworn, Willie, By my bauld brothers three ; At kirk or market where we meet, I darena speak to thee." " Ye take your red fan in your hand, Your white fan ower your een , And ye may swear, and save your oath. Ye saw nae me come in." She's ta'en her red fan in her hand. The white fan ower her een ; It was to swear and save her oath. She saw nae him 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. " Win up, win up, my three bauld sons, Win up and make ye houn' ; Your sister's lover's in her bower. And he's but new come in." Then up it raise her three bauld sons. And girt to them their brand ; And they are to their sister's bower As fast as they could gang. When they came to their sister's bower, They sought it up and down ; But there was neither man nor boy. In her bower to be foun'. m i iK^ %^) ^K% 100 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then out It (peaki the first o- them, " Well gang nnd Iftt her be; For tht-re la neither man nor boy III till her conij anie." Then nut tt speaks the second son, " Our travel's n' in vain ; Ilut mother dear, nor fiithor dear. Shall break our rest again. " Then out it speaks the third o' Uiom, ( An ill death mat he die .') •' Well lurk amang the bent sae brown, Tint Willie we may see." lie Ktood behind his love's curtJiins, 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 l>ower door. Her heart was like to bleed. I ye fur my coming, love i* Or for my short staying ? Or mourn ye for our safe sind'ring. Case we never meet again .J" " I mourn nae for your here coming, Nor for your staying laiig ; Nor mourn 1 for our sjife siud'ring, — I hope we'll meet again. " I wish ye may won safe away, And safely free the town ; I'or ki'n you not my brothers three Are 'iiiang the bent sae brown." " If I were on my berry-brown steed. And three miles frae the town, I w.iuldna fear your Uirce bauld brothers, Amang the bent sae brown." He lelnt him ower his saddle bow. Anil kiss'd her lips sae sweet; The tears that fell between these twn. They wat his great steed's feet. Hut he wosna on his lierry-brown steed. Nor twa miles frae the town, Till up It staru these thn.« fierce men, Aiiiuni; the bent sae bronn. Then up they came like three fierce men. \Vi' mony shout and cry ; " Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth. What makes you huste away .■* " For I must know before you go. Tell nie, and make nae lie ; — If ye've been in my sister's bower. My bands shall gar ye die." " Though I've been in your sister's bowir I have nae fear o" thee ; I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight. And shall gain victorie." " Now I entreat you for to stay. Unto us gi'e a wad ; If ye our words do not obey, I'se gar your body bleed." " 1 have nae wad," says sweet Willie, " Unless it be my brand ; And that shall guard my fair boily, Till I win frae your hand." Then twa o' them stcpt in behind, All in a furious meed ; The third o' tliem came him befon. 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 motlier, In bed where she slept soun'. That Willie had kiU'd her three bauld s^.. Amang tlie bent sae brown. Then she has cut the locks that hung Sae low down by her e'e ; Sae has she kiltit her green claithing A little aboon her knee. And she has on to the king's court, As fiist as gang could she ; When fair Annie got word o' that. Was tliere as soon as she. Her mother went before the king. Fell low down on her knee: " A>'in up, win up, my dame," he said, " What is your will wi' me f" <^^t7^. I SCOTTISH BALLAD3. 191 " 5Iy wills they are not sma', my liege. The truth I'll tell to thee- There is ane o' your courtly knights Laat night ha'e robVied 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 fi;e ; 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 bear you lie. " He has not broke your bigly bowers. Nor has he stole >our fee ; Nor made your daughter, Ann, his love, A good woman I'll be. " Although he slew your three bauld sons. He weel might be forgi'en ; Tht-y were well clad in armour bright. Whan my love was him lane." Ij " Well spoke, well spoke," the king replied, | , " This tauking pleases me ; i ' For ae kiss o' your lovely mouth, I'll set your true love free." 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.] TnFHE dwalls a lady in Danmarck, Lady Hillers lyle men her ca' ; And she's gar'd 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 land, 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 Lestow'd. She's followed her sons down to the strand, That chaste and noble fre ; And wull and waif for eight lang years They saii'd upon the sea. And eight years wull and waif they saild, 0' months that seem'd sae lang; Syne they saii'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 thijj night to guest '■"'* Then up and spak' her youngest brither, Sae wisely aye spak' he ; " We are a widow's three poor sons, Lang wUder'd on the sea. W • Snain*— In this, and the other from the Danish, the term *n^..n b. 11)1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " I leant inj back unto an aik ; I thouftht it was a trusty tree ; But first it bowed, and syne it brak. And sae did my fiiuse love to me. " My mother tauld me, -when I was young, That young man's love was ill to trow; liut untill hir I wald give nae ear. And, alace, my aiu wand dings me now I " O Kid I wist, before I kist. That love had been sae ill to win, 1 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 sec ; Wy love was clad in black 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 Well shall be my drink, tince my true-love has forsaken me.* Library. In the ordinary versions, it begins, " O waly, waly, but love be bonnie ;" and Allan luimsay gives this line as the title of the song, <.nly substituting the word " gin" [if] for " but." A third variation is quoted, in Lcyden's Intro- duction to the " Complaynt of Scotland," from a manuscript Cantus, or Collection of eiongs, dated 1 11 the latter part of the seventeenth century :— " Hey troly, loly ! love ia joly, A whyle, whill it is new; But when it's old, it grows full cold, \Voc worth the love untnie!" During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, IioUj " nonnie, nonnie," and " Troly, loly !" were common burdens of songs. A song under the title of " Trolec, lolee," is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland, 1548, and also in Lane- ham's Account of the receptiun of Queen Eliza- Uth at Kenilworth, 1575. Perhaps, the elegant modern burden, beginning, " Tol dc rol, lol de ml," m.iy be a genuine descendant of the " Troly, loly," of the two centuries before the last. Chambcrt. * A rthur's neat is a -.vcll-known liill ntar Edin- ( " Oh, Martimas 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 inclemencie; It's not sic cauld that makes me cry. But my love's heart's grown cauld to me. " And oh, an my young babe was bom. And set upon the nurse's knee. And I mysel' were deid and gane. And the green grass growing over me I " W^hen lords and lairds cam' to this toun. And gentlemen o' high degree, I took my auld son in my arms. And went to my chamber pleasantlie. " But when lords and lairds come neist to the And gentlemen o' high degree, [touu, " 0, I maun sit in the dark, alane, Wi' my young son on the nurse's knee.' 0, 1 maun sit in the dark, alane. And ne'er a ane to comfort me !" Part Second. " When I lay sick, and very sick, When X lay sick, and like to die, A 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 Uehtlie me. burgh, and St Anton's, or St Anthony's Well, a 1 fountain which springs from its side, near to the I ruins of a small chapel and hermitage, the ten- j ant of which it must hare supplied with water. The explanation here given of the occasion of the ballad is countenanced by local circumstances. The forlorn countess, in aUuding to the period when she was an honoured wife, speaks of a visit to Glasgow, a city near to her husband's residence and estates : in alluding to her present degraded condition, when residing with her father at Edinburgh, she introduces Arthur's Seat and St I Anthony's Well, two objects of note in the im- « mediate vicinity of the capital.— CAomier*. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 195 '■ Gae, little page, and tell your lord, Gin he'U come doun and dine wi' me, I'll set him on a chair o' gov.'d. And serve him on my bended knee." The little page gaed up the stair : " Lord Douglas, dine wi' your ladje; She'll set ye on a chair o' gowd. And serve ye on her bended knee." " When cockle shells turn silver balls, AVhen wine dreips red frae ilka tree. When frost and snaw will warm us a'. Then I'll come doun and dine *vi' 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 -n-hat 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 son. " But when my father got word o' this, what an 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, Jly goodly palace for to lea', I knocked at my lord's chamber door, But ne'er a word wad he speak to me. " Fare ye weel, then, Jamie Douglas; 1 need care as little as ye care for me : The Earl of Mar is my father dear, And I sune wUl see my ain countrie. " Ye thocht that I was like yo-orsel'. And loving ilk ane 1 did see ; But here I swear by the heavens clear, I never loved a man but thee. " Slowly, slowly, rase he up. And slowly, slowly cam' he doun ; And when he saw me set on his horse. He garred his drums and trumpets sound. " When 1 upon my horse was set. My tenants all were with me ta'en ; They set them doun upon their knees. And they begged me to came back agstin. "It's fare ye weel, my bonnie palace, And fare ye weel, my children three : God grant your father may get mair gnu*. And love ye b.-tter than lie has loveut bf spak' the foremost man ; And whaten a weel-spoken man was he ! " If the Lady Douglas be within, Ve'U bid her come doun and speak to me." Uut out bcspak' her lather then ; I wat an angry man was he ! " Vi- may gang back the gate ye cam', t\'T htr laoe again ye'U never see." " Now baud your tongue, my father," she s.iys, " A nd of your folly let me be ; For I'll gae back to my gude lord. Since his love has come back to me." Sae she has dressed hersel' fu" braw. And mounted on her dapple grey, And, like a quet- u, wi' her men behind, She has ridden gayly out the way. She laughed like ony new-made bride. When she took farewecio' her father's towers; Dut the tear, 1 wat, stude in her e'e. When she cam' in sicht o'her lover's bowers. As she cam' by the Orange gate, Whaten a blythe sicht did she see : UiT K'ude lord coming her to meet. And in his hand her baimies three '. " Go fetch to me a pint o' wine. That I may drink to my ladie :" bhe took the cup intUl her hand, liut her bonnie heart it brak' in three. 3JcMon ©rsme. [ First published in Scott's Minstrelsy.— "Jel- lon," says riir Walter, "seems to be the same name with Jyllian or Julian. ' Jyl of Drentford's Testament' is mentioned m Warton's History of r.xtry. Vol. II. p. 40. The name repeatedly • occurs in old ballads, sometimes as that of a man, at other times as tliat of a woman. Of the former is an instance in the ballad of ' The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter.' — Re- liques of Ancient Poetry, Vol. III. 72:— " "Witton Gilbert, a village four miles west of Durham, is, throughout the bishopric, pro- nounced Witton Jilbert. We have also the common name of Giles, always in Scotland pro- nounced Jill. For Gille, or Juliana, as a female name, we have Fair Gillian of Croyden, and a thousand authorities."] O Jellon Gbame sat in Silverwood,* He sharped his broad sword lang ,■ And he has called his little foot-page Au errand for to gang. " Win up, my bounie boy," he says, " As quickly as ye may ; For ye maun gang for Lillie Flower Before the break of day. The boy has buckled his belt about. And through the green-wood ran ; And he came to the ladye's bow er Before the day did dawn. " sleep ye, wake ye, Lillie Flower ? The red sun's on the rain ; Ye're bidden come to Silverwood, But I doubt ye'll ne'er win hame." She hadna ridden a mile, a mile, A mile but barely three. Ere she came to a new-made grave Beneath a green aik tree. O then up started Jellon Grame, Out of a bush thereby ; " Light down, light down, now, Lillie Flower, For it's here that ye maun lye." * Silverwood, mentioned in this ballad, occurs in a medley MS. song, which seems to have been copied from the first edition of the Aberdeen cantus, penes John G. Dalyell, Esq. advocate. One line only is cited, apparently the beginning of some song : — Silverwood, giu ye were mine.— Scott. SOTTISH BALLAD^. 197 She lighted afF her milk-white steed. And kneel'd upon her knee ; " O mercy, mercy, Jellon Grame, For I'm no prepared to dee ! '■■ Your bairn, that stirs between my sides, Maun shortly see the light ; But to see it weltering in my blood. Would be a piteous sight." •' O should I spare your life," he says, " UntU that bairn were born. Full weel I ken your auld father Would hang me on the mom." " O spare my life, now, Jellon Grame ! My father ye needna dread ; I'll keep my babe in gude green-wood. Or wi' it I'U beg my bread." He took no pity on Lillie Flower, Though she for her life did pray; But pierced her through the fair body As at his feet she lay. He felt nae pity for Lillie Flower, Where she was lying dead ; But he felt some for the bonnie bairn. That lay weltering in her bluid. Up has he ta'en that bonnie boy. Given him to nurses nine ; Three to sleep, and three to wake, And three to go between. And he bred up that bonnie boy. Called him his sister's son : And he thought no eye could ever see The deed that he had done. so it fell upon a day. When hunting they might be. They rested then in Silverwood, Beneath that green aik tree. And many were the green-wood flowers Upon the grave that grew. And marvell'd much that bonnie boy To see their lovely hue. " What's paler than the prymrose wan ? What's redder than the rose ? 1^ What's fairer than the lilye flower wtu On this wee know that grows ? " 1^ O out and answered Jellon Grame, And he spak' hastiiie — " Your mother was a fairer flower. And lies beneath this tree. " More pale she was, when she sought my grace, Than prymrose pale and wan ; And redder than rose her ruddy heart'* blood, That down my broad sword ran." AVi' that the boy has bent his bow, It was baith stout and lang ; And through and through him Jellon Grame. He gar'd an arrow gang. Says, — " Lie ye there, now, Jellon Grame: My malisoun gang you wi' ! The place that my mother lies buried in Is far too good for thee." [nv.t. [CoMMfNicATEu to the Border MinrtreUy iy Mr Kirkpatrick .•>haTpe of Hoddom, who men- tions having copied it from an old magazine. " Although it has probably receive-l some mo- dem corrections," says Sir Walter Scott, " the general turn seems to be ancient, and corre- sponds with that of a fragment, containing the following verses, which I have often heard sung in my childhood : She set her back ajainjt a thorn. And there she has aer >ouiig son born . " O smile nae sae. my boiimc babe '. An ye smile »ae aweet, ye'U smile me de»l. ' An' when that lady went to the church. She spied a naked boy in the porch. " O bonnie boy, an' ye were mine. I'd dead yc in'the silks sae fine." • O mither dear, when I was thine. To me ye were na half sae kind.' " Stories of this nature are very common ;n the annals of popular superstition. It it, for exami le, currently believed in Ettrick Forest, that a libertine, who had destroyed flflj-»:x inhabited houses, in order to throw the posse- sions of the cottagers into his estate, and whi. 10^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. ailtli-J, to this injur}', that of seducing their' >iaught'ived to extreme old age. When on his death-bed, he seemed much oppressed inmind, and sent for a clergyman to speak peace to his de- parting spirit : but, before the messenger return- ed, the man was in his last agony; and the terri- tied amisLints had fled from his cottage, unani- mously averring, that the wailing of murdered infants had ascended from behind his couch, and mingled with the groans of the departing sinner."] Fair lady Anne sate in her bower, Down by the greenwood side. And the flowers did spring, and the birds did sing, •Twas the pleasant May-day tide. Uut fair lady Anne on Sir AVilliaro call'd. With the tear grit in her e'e, "O though thou be fause, may heaven thee guard. In the wars ayont the sea !" < )ut of the wood came three bonnie boys. Upon the simmer's morn, And they did sing, and play at the ba'. As naked as they were boru. " O seven lang years wad I sit here, Ainang the frost and snaw, A' to ha"e but ane o' these honnie boys, A playing at the ba'." Then up and spake the eldest boy, " Now listen thou fair ladie, .\n.| ponder well the read that I tell, Then make ye a choice of the three. " 'Tis I am Peter, and this is Paul, And that ane, sae fair to see, Hut a twelve-month sinsyne to paradise came. To Join with our conipanie." ' O I will ha'e the snaw -white boy, The bonniest of the three." ' And if I were thine, and in thy propine, what wad ye do to me '" • 'Tis I wad dead thee in silk and gowd, I And nourice thee on my knee." I "0 mither! mither! when I was thine, I Sic kindness I couldna see. I " Beneath the turf, where now I stand. The fause nurse buried me ; The cruel penknife sticks still in my heart, ! And I come not back to thee." 1ErImt0E, [From the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— "This ballad," says Sir Walter, "is published from the collation of two copies, obtained from recitation. It seems to be the rude original, or perhaps a corrupted and imperfect copy, of The Child of Elle, a beautiful legendary tale, pub- lished in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry. It is singular, that this charming ballad should have been translated, or imitated, by the celebrated Burger, without acknowledgment of the English ^ original. As The ChUd of Elle avowedly received 1 j 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 an old romance :— The baron stroked his dark-brown cheek, And turned his face aside, To wipe away the starting tear He proudly strove to hide '. ChUd of EUe. The heathen Soldan, or Amiral, when about to slay two lovers, relents in a similar manner — Weeping, he turned his heued awai. And his swerde hit fel to grounde. V,' Florice and Blauncheflour.] • Propine— TTsually gift, but here the jowcrof giving or bestowing.— Sco«. SCOTTISH BALLADS i:-:i Ermxton had a fair daughter, s I wat he weird her in a great sin,* For he has built a bigly bower. An' a' to put that lady in. An' hs has wam'd her sisters six. An' sae has he her bretiiren se'en, nuther to watch her a' the night. Or else to seek her morn an' e'en. She hadna teen i' that bigly bower, >"a not a night, but barely ane. Till there was Willie, her ain true love, C'happ'd at the door, cryin', " Peace within !" " O whae is this at my bower door. That chaps sae late, or kens the gin ?"t ■'■■ O it is Willie, your ain true love, I pray you rise an' let me in !" " But in my bower there is a wake. An' at the wake there is a wane ; i But I'll come to the green-wood the morn, Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' dawn." Then she's gane to her bed again, AMiere she has layen till the cock crew thrice. Then she said to her sisters a', " ilaidens, 'tis time for us to rise." she pat on her back a silken gown. An' on her breast a siller pin. An" she's tane a sister in ilka hand, An' to the green-wood she is gane. She hadna walk'd in the green-wood, >'a not a inile but barely ane. Till there was Willie, her ain true love, Whae frae her sisters has her ta'en. He took her sisters by the hand. He kiss'd them baith, an' sent thsm hame. An' he's ta'en his true love him behind. And through the green- wood they are gane. Weird her in a great sin — Placed her in dan- j of committing a great sin.— Sco«. I Gin — The slight or trick necessary to open I ■ dcor ; from engine. — Scutt. \ tVane—A number of people — fiarft c Thej- hadna ridden in the bonnic green-voM, Sn not a mile but barely ane, AVhen there came fifteen o' the boldest knight- That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane. The foremost was an aged knight. He wore the grey hair on his chin. Says, " Yield to me tliy lady bright, An' thou ahalt walk the woods within." " For me to yield my lady bright To such an aged knight as thee, People wad think I war gane mad. Or a' the courage flown frae me." But up then spake the second knight, I wat he spake right boustouslie, " Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright, Or here the tane of us shall die." " My lady is my warld's meed : Jly life I winna yield to nane; But il" ye be men of your manhead, Ye'll only fight me ane by ane." He lighted aff his milk-white steed, An' gae his lady him by the head, Say'n, " See ye dinna change your cheer, UntiU ye see my body bleed." He set his back unto an aik, He set his feet against a stane. An' he has fought these fifteen men. An' kiU'd them a' but barely ane; For he has left that aged knight. An' a' to carry the tidings hame. When he gaed to his lady fair, I wat he kiss'd her t.uderlie ; '• Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought: Now we sh.all walk tlie treeu-wooU frte." [First published in the Border Minstrelsy. — "In this ballad," says Sir Walter, " tho nader will find traces of a singuliir superstition, uot yet altogether discredited in the wilder parts of Scotland. The lykewake, or watching n dea^l body, in itself a melancholy oflSce, is rendered , in the idea of the assistants, more disinallj awlu;. 200 SCOTTISH BALLABii by the mysterious horrors of superstition. In thesfe intervnl betwixt the death and interment, the | Uisemlmilied spirit is supposed to hover around i iu mortal habitation, and, if involied by certain ! ritci, rttains the power of communicating, | through its organs, the cause of its dissolution. , Such ini|uiries, however, are always dangerous, j and never to be resorted to, unless the deceased is suspected to have suffered foul play, as it is calletl. It is the more unsafe to t.ini(.er with this charm in an unauthorized manner, because the inhabitants of the infernal regions are, at such periods, peculiarly active. One of tlie most po- tent ceremonies in the ch.irm, for causing the dead body to speak, is, setting the door ajar, or | half open. On this account, the peasiints of I Scotland sedulously avoid leaving the do. r ajar, while a corpse lies in the house. The door must I 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 st^ry, which is frequently related by the peasants of ScotUmd, will illustrate the imaginary danger of leaving the door ajar. In former times, a man and his wife lived in a solitary cott;ige, on one of the extensive border fells. One day 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, she 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 fiiscination of the dead man's eye, and loo much terrified to break the sullen silence, till a catholic priest, passing over the wild, entered the cottage. He fii-st set the door quite open, then put his little finger in his mouth, and said the paternoster backwards; when the horrid look of the corpse 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 l*en 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 riv.-r Clyde. The chorus ' O Bothwell banks bloom bonnie,' and the watching of the dead corpse was said to have taken place iu Bothwell church."] Of a' the maids o' fair Scotland, The fairest was Maijorie ; And young Benjie was her ae true lov.-. And a dear true love was he. And wow ! but they were lovers dear. And loved fu' constantlie ; But ay the mair when they fell out. The s;urer was their plea.* And they ha"e quarrelled on a day. Till Marjorie's heart grew wae; And she said she'd chuse another luve. And let young Benjie gae. And he was stout.f and proud-hearted. And thought o"t bitterlie ; And he's gane by the wan moon-light. To meet his Marjorie. " O open, open, my true love, O open, and Itt me in !" " I darena open, young Benjie, My three brothers are witiiin." " Ye lied, ye lied, ye bonnie burJ, 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 feuse love. That 1 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 salt she smiled, and said to him, "O whataiha'eldone?" He took her iu his armis twa. And threw her o'er the linn. * Plea—Vsed obliquely for dispute. —Scott, i iioui-Through this whole ballad, (unless in one instance,) signifies huug/itij.—ScoH. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 2(11 The stream was Strang, the maid was stout, ^ And laith laith to be dang, 1 1 L'ut, ere she wan the Lowden banks, ; ] tier tV.ir colour was wan. Then up bespak' her eldest brother, i '■■ O see na ye what I see ?" 1 1 A iid out then spak' her second brother, " It's our sister Marjorie !" (Jut 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." Then they've ta'en up the comely corpse. And laid it on the ground — " O wha has kUled our ae sister. And how can he be found .■> " The night it is her low lykewake. The morn her burial day. And we maun watch at mirk midnight. And hear what she will say." Vt'V doors ajar, and candle light. And torches burning clear ; The streikit corpse, till still midnight. They waked, but naething hear. About the middle o' the night. The cocks began to craw ; And at the dead hour o' the night. The corpse began to thraw. ■ • O whae has done the wrang, sister, Or dared the deadly sin .■" AVhae was sae stout, and feared nae dout. As thraw ye o'er the linn ?" " Young Benjie was the first ae man I laid my love upon ; He was sae stout, and proud -hearted. He threw me o'er the linn." " Sail we young Benjie head, sister. Sail we young Benjie hang. Or sail we pike out his twa gray een. And punish him ere he gang ?' " Ye mauna Benjie head, brothers. Ye mauna Benjie hang. But ye maun pike out his twa gray een. And punish him ere he gang. " Tie a green gravat round his neck, And lead him out and in, And the best ae servant about your hous To wait young Benj:e ..n, " And aye, at every seven years' end, Yc'll tak' him to the linn ; For that's the penanca he maun drie. To scug« his deadly sin." ^^? €uzM of 0h^, [This was a contribution of J. B. Morritt t'> the Slinstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Mr Mur- ritt of Eokeby in Yorkshire, was one of Sir Walter Scott's most valued frienils. He died in 1843.—" The Castle of Moy is the ancient resi- dence of Mackintosh, the chief of the Clan-Chat- tan. It is situated among the mountains of Inverness-shire, not far from the military road that leads to Inverness. It stands in the hollow of a mountain, on the edge of a small gloomy lake, called Loch Moy, surrounded by a black 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 can reach. The tale is founded on an ancient Highland tradition ; that originated in a feud between the clans of Chattan and Grant. A small rocky island in Loch Moy is still shown, where stood the dungeon in which prisoner* were confined, by the former chiefs of Moy."] Loud in the gloomy towers of Jloy, The Chattan clan their carol raiv.'.t And far th' ascending flame of joy Shoots o'er the loch its trembling blaze. For long within her secret bower. In child-bed lay the lady fair, But now is come th' api ointid hour. And vassals shout, "An heir.' an heir:" * Scu^— shelter or expiate.— Sfo«. t The Chattan clan isa federal clan, oonsistini: of the families of Macintosh, Macphcrson, and some others of less consequence. The chief is the laird of Macintosh ; the Chattan country is io th« ^inland part of Invemess-shire.— Sro«. SCOTTISH BALLADS. And round the fire with many a tale, Tiic wcU-spiced bowl the diimts prolong, bave when the chieftains' shouts prevail, < »r war's wild chorus swells the song. Loud sound the pipes, the dancer's heel liounds 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.* VThea from the corner of the hearth, A figure crept, of all the train 3!o«t alien from a scene of mirth. And muttering sigh'd, " 'lis vain, 'tis vain!" Soon ceased the shout, a general thrill Setz'd cvcrj' heart; th' illomen'd voice Seem'd e't-n the warrior's breast to chill, Sor dared the trembling sire rejoice. He saw a pale and shiv'ring form. By age and frenzy haggard made; Her eyes, still wild with passion's storm. Belied the snows that shroud her head. Long had she wander'd on the heath. Or bcgg'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, N'T paustd to take a narrower sight. Hut cursed the witch and quick with- drew. Slowly she crawl'd before the throng, Fix'd on the chief her haggard eyes. Check 'd with a look the minstrel's song, " No more," she cried, " No more rejoice ! • The pibroch is a wild music, played by the piper at the assembling of a clan, in marches, &c. Kvery clan had ite own particular tune, which was played most scrupulously and indefatigably on all great and signal occasions.— Sco«, { " 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." The AVitch's Tai.e. " Full sixty fatal years have rull'd. Since clamour shook these gloomy towers ; ■When Moy's black chief, with Urquhart old,t 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 fatal flame. And dye the heath with blood no more. " Fair rose the morn, and Urquhart's pow'rs To Moray's hostile border flew,^ But ling'ring in the Chattan tow'rs. The aged chief the last withdrew. " Homewards he turned, some younger arm Shall lead the war on the banks of Spey ; 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' ss of the clan Chattan, with whom, of course, they were continually at variance.— Sco«. i 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 Grampians, was long expos- ed to the ravages and inroads of the Highland clans, who possessed the mountains on the border, and the upper part of Strathspey. — Scott. § Alva is an ancient possession of a chieftain of the famUy of Grant.— Sro«. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 203 So I'rquhart's trembling daughter praj'd, So Alva vow'd, who loved her dear. " But drear was Badenoch's wintry waste. And mirk the night that round them fell. As over their heads the night-raven past. And they enter'd Glen Iral's darkling dell.* " The raven scream'd, and a slogan yell Burst from Glen Iral's sable wood. They heard in the gale a bugle swell, They saw in the shade a man of blood. " Grimly he points, and a hundred hands Their horses seize ; in that fatal hour, Unariu'd, defenceless, Urquhart stands. But Alva has drawn his broad claymore. " ' Stand fest, Craig-Ellachie,' he cried,t As his stalwart stroke the foremost slew ; Alas ! no friendly voice replied. But the broad claymore in fragments flew. '•' And sad was the heart of Alva's heir. And he thought of Urquhart's scenes of joy, When instead of her smile that he loved so dear. He met the haughty scowl of Moy. " And far across the wintry waste. And far from Jlarg'iefs bow'r of joy. In silent haste, and in chains they past. To groan and despair in the towers of Moy. *' On yonder rock their prison stood, Deep in the dungeon's vault beneath, 'The pavement still wet with the rising flood. And heavy, and dank, is the fog they breathe. " Three days were past — with streaming eye. With bursting heart, and falfring breath, ■\\'hat maiden sues at the feet of Moy, To save their life, or to share their death ? " 'Tis Marg'ret ; in whose heart the tale Had waken'd the first sad sigh of grief. And wan and pale from f rquhart'a vale, rihe flew to the tow'r of the gloomy chief. =^' The Iral is a small stream that rises in the Cnattan country, and falls into the river of ^airn, between Moy and Loch Ness. — Scolt. t Craig-Ellachie, where was the place of as- " Beneath his darken'd brow, the smile Of pleas'd revenge with hatred strove. And he thought of the hours, perchanc*, the while When she slighted his threats, and scorn J his love. " And thus he spoke, with trait'rous voice, ' Oh ! not in vain can Margaret plead ; One life I spare — be her's the choice, And one for my clan and my kin shall bleem the sword of Hoy ? " ' Or will she not a father spare. But here his last spark of life destroy, And will she abandon his silvery hair, And wed her love in the halls of Moy ?' " Oh have you seen the shepherd swain, While heav'n is calm on the hills around. And swelling in old Coniri's plain, t Earth shakes, and thunders burst the groun. 1 ; " Like him aghast did Marg ret stand. Wild start her eyes from her burning head. Nor stirs her foot, nor lifts her hand ; The chastisement of heaven is sped. " Long mute she stands, %vhen before her eyes. From the dungeon's cave, from the gloi'my In the mournful wood two forms urise, [lake. And she of the two her choice must make. " And wildly she sought her lovers breast. And mally she kiss'd his clanking chain ; • Home, home,' she cried, ' be my sire releasd. While Alva and 1 in the grave remain. " 'And my father will rest, and our name be bitst , ■When Moy's vile limbs shiUl be strew d -ii the shore ; The pine tree shall wave o'er our peaceful grav. , Till together we wake to weep no more.' sembling of the clan of Grant, was also the slo- gan or wiir-cry of tlie clan.— Sco/<. * The vale of Comri, in Perthshire, when' earthquakes are still frequently felt, is in the higher part of Strathearn, ne.-u' Crieff.— ^».•f^ 201 SCOTTISH BALLAP-5. " The trar from X'rquhart'8 eye that stole, A» rung in his e:ir his daughter's cry, Ce»t.«-il on his furrow'J chcelt to roll, [Moy. \Vhen he markd the scorn of the gloomy •' And stately rose his stiffen'd form, And seemed to throw off the load of age. As gather'd in his eye the storm Of feudal bate, and a chieftain's rage. '• ' False traitor ! though thy greedy ear Hath drunk tlie groan of an enemy. Yet inly riiikle shame and fear. While raptun; and triumph smile on me. '"And thou, my best, my sorrowing child, \VhattVr my fate, thy choice recall ! I'liese towers, with human blood defiled. Shall hide my corse, and atone my fell. " ' VThy should I live the scorn of slaves ? From me no avenger shall I see, AVhere fair Lochness my castle laves. To load my clan to victory. " ' White are my hairs, my course is run, — To-murrow lays thy father low ; But Alva safe, with yonder sun He shall rise in blood on the hills of snow. '• ' If Alva falls, and falls for me, A father's curse is over thy grave; But safe and free k-t him wend with thee. And my dying blessing thou shalt have." " The maid stood aghast, and her tears fell fast, As t ) the wild heath she turn'd to flee ; ' Be Alva safe,' she sigh'd as she past, ' To Badenoch's height let him follow me.* " .She Bat her down on the blasted heath. And hollowly sounded the glen below ; ,f woe. She heard in the gale the groan of death. She answered the groan with a shriek ' And slowly tow'rds the mountain's head. With a sable bier four ruflians hied ; j And here,' they said, ' is thy father dead, | And thy lover's corse is cold at his side.' ' They laid the bodies on the bent, Kach in his bloody tartan roUd ; New sing Craig- Ellachie's lament, [cold.' For her chicls are dead, and her hopes are afi " She sigh'd not as she turned away, — No tear-drop fell from her frozen eye ; But a night and a day, by their side did stay. In stupid speechless agony. " And another she staid, and a caim she made, And piled it high, with many a groan ; As it rises white, on Badenoch's height. She mutters a prayer over every stone. "She pray'd, that, childless and forlorn The chief of iloy might pine away : That the sleepless night, and the careful morn, flight wither his Umbs in slow decay ; " That never the son of a chief of Moy Might live to protect his father's age. Or close in peace his dying eye. Or gather his gloomy heritage. " But, still as they fall, some distant breed. With sordid hopes, and with marble heart, By turns to the fatal towers succeed. Extinct by turns to the grave depart. " Then loud did she laugh, for her burning brain The soothing showers of grief denied ; And still, when the moon is on the wane. She seeks her hut on the mountain's side. " There sits she oft to curse the beam That vexes her brain with keener woe ; Full well the shepherd knows her scream. When he sinks on the moor in the drifted snow, " Seven times has she left her vrretched cell To cheer her sad heart with gloumyjoy. When the fury of heaven, or the blasts of hell. Have wither'd the hopes of the house of M oy. " And now '. at your feast, an unbidden guest. She bids you the present hour enjoy ; For the bl.ist of death is on the heath. And the grave yawns wide for the child of Moy." Here ceased the tale, and with it ceased The revels of the shuddering clan; Despair had seized on every breast. In every vein chill terrors ran. * A cairn is a heap of loose stones, the usual memorial of an ancient burying-place. — Scoit. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 205 To the mountain hut is Marg Kt spe>l, Yet her voice still rings in the ear of 3Ioy ; .Scarce shone the mom on the mountain's head. When the lady wept oer her dying Ley. And long in Moy's devoted tower !?hall Marg'i-fcfs gloomy curse prevail ; And mothers, in the child-bed hour, .Shall shudder to think on the witch's tale. >a?^gfenut?. [The author of this celebrated ballad w.as Lady Wardlaw, 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 Pitrivie. also in Fife. She died about the year 1727. This laJy, 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 Ilardyknute as a genuine fragment of ancient ballad. She ciused 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 uoet, ) with the following account : " In perfor- mance of my promise, I 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 ; and it was afterwards admitted by Eamsay into the Evergreen, as a composition of the antique nature proper to that collection. For many years, it was generally received as a genuine old ballad ; nor does any one ever seem to have questioned its pretensions to that character. Dr Percy at length, in his Eeliquc-s, published iu 1753, disclosed the real fact of its authorship, which has Litterly been confirmed beyond a doubt by other wTiters. Mr Hepburn of Keith, a gentleman well known in the early part of the , last century for high honour and probity of cha- racter often declared that he was in the house witii Lady Wardlaw at the time she wrote the S/ ballad; and Mrs Wedderburn of Gosfonl, Lady Wardlaw's daughter, and M« Menzie* of Woodend, her s.ster-in-law, used to be e'lually posiUve as to the fact. See Chalmers' edition of Eamsay's Works, London, 1800.— C/iam/-l partof 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 fleet at the Cumbras, whence he sent a detachment up the Clyde, which plundered the islands in Loch Lomond, at that time very populous. Hut before he had sufiicient time to carry his other plans into effect, a storm arose in which seve.-al of his ships were driven on shore near Largs, where the Scotch army had collected, and was watching his motions. Those vessels which ran aground were imme^orwegians is greatly under-rated in thi-> account, is evident from the course which Hi«i.f> found it necessary to follow a few days after th?- battle, for, notwithstanding his having l)e«'n joined by the det.ichment from Loch Lomond, he withdrew with his fleet to .Arran, which with the other islands that he had pillaged, he shortly after abandoned.] Stately stept he east the wa'. And stately sttpt he west : Full seventy yiers he now h;id scue. With skerss seven yiers of rist. He livit quhen Britons breach of faith Wriught Scotland mi-ikle wae: And ay his swonl tiuld, to their cu4t. He was their dead!; toe. 200 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Hie on a hill his castle studo, With halls and towirs a-hicht. And guidly chaniliers fair to see, Quhair he loUgit inony a knicht. His dame sae pierlcss anes and fair. For chast and bewtie deimt, Hue marrow had in all the land, iSaif Eledor the quene. Full thirtein sons to him scho bare. All men of valour stout. In bluidy fieht, with sword in hand, Nyne lost their lives but doubt ; Four yit remain, lang may they live To stand by liege and land ; Hie was their fame, hie was their micht, And hie was their corainaud. Great luve they bare to Fairly fair. Their sister saft and deir ; Her girdle shaWd her miildle jimp. And gowden glist her hair. Quhut waefou wae her bewtie bred! Waefou to young and auld ; Waefou, I trou, to kyth and kin. As story ever tauld. The king of Norse, in summer tyde, Puft up with powir and micht. Landed in fair Scotland the yle With niony a hardy knicht. The tydings to our gude Scots king Came as he sat at dyne, With noble chiefs in braif aray. Drinking the blude-reiu wyne. " To horse, to horse, my royal liege. Your faes 8t;ind on the strand ; Full twenty thousand glittering spears The king of Horse commands." " Bring me my steed. Mage, dapple gray. Our gude king niise and cryd ; A trustier beast in all the land, A Scots king never seyd. " Go, little page, tell H.irdyknute, That lives on hill so hie. To draw his sword, the dried of faes. And haste and follow me." 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." Then reid, reid grew his dark-brown chieks, Sae did his dark-bi-own brow ; His luiks grew kene as they were wont In dangers great to do. He lies 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 hill. His sons, in manly sport and glie. Had past that summer's morn, Quhen low doun in a grassy dale. They heard their fatheris horn. " That horn," quod they, " neir sounds in We liaif other sport to byde ; " [peace. And sune they heyd them up the hill. And sune were at his syde. " Late, late yestrene, I weind in peace To end my lengthened lyfe. My age micht well excuse my arm Frae manly feats of stryfe • " But now that Norse dois proudly boast Fair Scotland to inthiall. Its neir be said of Hardyknute, He feired to fieht or fall. " Robin of Kothsay, bend thy bow. Thy arrows schute sae leii. That mony a comely countenance They've turned to deidly pale. " Brade Thomas, tak' ye but your lance, Ye neid nae weapons mair, Gif ye fieht wi't as ye did anes 'Gainst Westmoreland's ferss heir. " Malcom, licht of foot as st-ig That runs in forest wyld. Get me my thousands thrie of men, Weil bred to sword and schield : " Bring me my horse and hamisino, My blade of mettal cleir;" If faes kend but the hand it bare. They sune had fled for feir. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 20: " Fareweil, my dame, sae peirless gude," 4) And tuke her by the hand, j " Fairer to me in age you seim, Than maids for bewtie £am'd : j " ily youngest son sail here remain, ! To guard these stately towirs, i And shut the sOver bolt that keips | Sae East your painted bowirs." i 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-warji sae rare. Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, Saif that of Fairly fair. And he has ridden owre muir and moss, OwTe hills and mony a glen, Quhen he cam' to a wounded knicht, Jlaking a heavy mane : — " Here maun I lye, here maun I die. By treachery's false gyles; Witless I was that eir gaif Eaith To wicked woman's smyles." " Sir knicht, gin ye were in my bowir. To lean on silken seat. My ladyis kyndlie care you'd prove, Quha neir kend deidly hate : '■ Hir self wald watch ye aU the day, Hir maids at deid of nicht ; And Fairly fair your heart wald cheir. As scho stands in your sicht. " Arise, young knicht, and mount your steid. Full lown's the schynand day ; Cheis frae my njenyie quhom ye pleis. To leid ye on the way." With smyless luke, and visage wan. The wounded knicht reply'd, " Kind chiftain, your intent pursue. For here I maun abyde. " To 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 nae pleiding micht prevail ; Braif Hardyknute to gain. With fairest words and reason strant', Straif courteously in vain. Syne he has gane far hynd attowre Lord Chattan's land sae wyde ; That lord a worthy wicht was ay, Quhen faes 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 unconquerit Scotish swaird. To try with us thair fate. " Mak' orisons to Him that saift Our sauls upon the rude ; * Syne braifly schaw your veins are fiUvi 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 niiustralls 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 sjde." Quhen bows were bent and darU werr thrawn. For thrang scarce could they Hie, The darts clove arrows as they mt t. The arrows dart the trie. •_>(»« PCOTTISH BALLADS. Uing did they rage, and fecht full fei-ss, ■,« With little skaith to man ; Hut bludy, bludy was the field < )r Uiat lang day was done 1 The king of Scr.ts that sindle* bruik'd The war that lukit lyke play, Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow, ? waefou chance ! there pinn"d his hand In midst betwene his een. " Kcvenge ! revenge !" cried Rothsay's heir, " Your mail-coat sail nocht byde The strength and sharpness of my dart," Then st-nt it through his syde. Another arrow neil he mark'd, it persit his neck in twa; H is hands then quat the silver reins. He law as eard uid la'. " Sair bleids my liege ! sair, sair he bleids I" i [ Again with micht he drew. And gesture dreid, his sturdy bow ; Fast the braid arrow flew : Wae to the knicht he ettled at ; Lament now queue Elgreid; Hie dames to wail your darling's fall. His yotfth and comely meid. " Take aff, take affhis costly jupe," i ( Uf gold w eU was it t vvy n'd. Knit like the fowler's net, throuch quhilk His steily harnes shynd.) •■^Woni. f Try the fight. t Milit.-ry vost. " Take, Norse, that gift fras me, and bij Him 'venge the blude it heirs j Say, if he face my bended bow- He sure nae weapon feirs." Proud Norse with giant body tall, Braid shoulder, and arms strong, Cry'd, " Quhair is Hardyknute sae fam'd. And feird at Britain's throne ? " Though Britons tremble at his name, I sune sail raak' him wail. That eir my sword was made sae sharp, Sae saft his coat of mail." That brag his stout heart couldaa byde. It lent him youthfou micht: "I'm Hardyknute. This day," he cry'd, " To Scotland's king I hecht§ " To lay thee law as horse's hufe. My word I mean to keep." Syne with the first strake eir he strak He gaiT'd his body bleid. Norse ene lyke gray gosehauk's staird w\Ki, He sicht with shame and spyte ; " Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd arm That left thee power to stryke." Then gaif his head a blaw sae fell. It made him doun to stoup. As law as he to ladies usit. In courtly gyse to lout. Full sune he rais'd his bent body ; His bow he marvell'd sair. Sen blaws till then on him but darr'd As touch of Fairly fair. Norse ferliet|l too as sair as he. To see his stately luke ; Sae sune as eir he strake a fae, Sae sune his lyfe he tuke. Quhair, lyke a fyre to hether set, Bauld Thomas did advance, A sturdy fae, with luke enrag'd. Up towards him did prance : § Promised. II Wondered. SCOTTISH BALLADS. lie spurM his steiil throw thickest rauks ^ The hardy youth to quell, j ! Quha stude unmuvit at his approach, j ! His furie torepell. j; ■ That schort brown shaft, sae meanly {■ trim'd, i; Lukis lyke poor Scot'.anrt's geir; But dreidfuU seinis the rusty poynt ;" And loud he leuch in jeir. " Aft Britons blade has dim'd its shyne. This poynt cut short their vaunt ;" \\ Syne pierc'd the boisteris bairded cheik, j] Kae tyme he tuke to taunt. | Schort (juhyle he in his sadill swang ; His stirrip w^as nae stay, Sae feible hang his unbent knie. Sure taken he was fey. Snith on the hardened cLiy he fell, Richt far was heard the thud, But Thomas luikt not as he lay All waltering in his blude. With cairles gesture, mind unmuvit. On raid he nurth the plain, He seimt in thrang of fiercest stryfe, Qahen winner ay the same. Is or yit his heart dames' dimpelit cheik Coud meise* safe luve to bruik; Till vengeful Ann returned his scorn, Then languid grew his Juke. In thrawis of death, with wallowit cheik. All panting on the plain. The fainting corps of warriours lay, Neir to aryse again : Xeir to return to native land ; Xae mair ^vith blythsom sounds To boist the glories of the day. And schaw their shyning woumis. On Norway's coast the widowit dame Jlay wash the rocks with teirs. May lang luke owre the schiples seis Befoir hir mate appeirs. Ceise, Emma, ceis.- to hope in vain. Thy lord lyis in the clay ; The valyiant Scots nae revers tholef To carry lyfe away There on a lie, quhair stands a cross Set up for monument. Thousands full fierce, that summer's day, Fill'd kene waris black intent. Let Scots, quhyle Scots, praise Hardy knui Let Norse the name aye dried ; Ay how he faucht, aft how he spaird, Sal latest ages reid. Full loud and chill blew westlin' wind, Sair beat the heavy showir, Mirk grew the nicht eir Hardyknute Wan neir his stately towir ■ His towir that usd with torches bleise To shyne sae far at nicht, Seim'd now as black as mourning weid ; Nae marvel sair he sich'd. " Thair's nae licht in my lady's bowir, Thair'a nae licht in my hall ; Nae blink shynes round my Fairly fair. Nor ward stands on my wall. " Quhat bodes it ? Eobert, Thomas, s<»y ; Nae answer fits their dreid. " Stand back my sons, I'll be your gyde ; ' But by they past with speid. " As fast I've sped owre Scotland's faes "- There ceist his brag of weir, Sair schamit to mynd ocht but his dame. And maiden Fairly fair. BLack feir he felt, but quhat to feir. He wist not yit with dreid: Sair schuke his body, sair his limbs. And all the warrior tied. t Suffer. r^c< Nc-^-=. 5>-5^ SCOTTXSn BALLADS ®fie Slurl of HEjbattOTt an^ ^tuatt. [FnoM Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.— "Duels," says Sir Walter Scott, "are derived from the times of chivalr>-. They succeeded to the combat at ouirancc, atiout the end of the six- teenth eentur> ; and, thouKh they were no longer cuuntenanccd by the laws, nor considered a , solemn appeal to the J)eity, nor honoured by the ' presence of applauding nionarchs and multi- tudes, yet they were authorised by the manners I of the a;^, and by the applause of the fair.' They long continued, they even yet continue, to be appealed to, as the test of truth ; since, by thrf code of honour, every gentleman is still bound to rerel a charge of fiUsehood with the point of his sword, and at the peril of his life. This peculiarity of manners, which would have surprised an ancient Koman, is obviously de- duced from the Gothic ordeal of trial by combat. Nevertheless, the custom of duelling was consi- dered, Ht its first introduction, as an innovation up«>n the law of arms ; and a book, in two huge Tolumes, entituled, Le vrai Theatre d' Hunneur el lit la Chivalerie, was written by a French nobleman, to support the venerable institutions liof chivalry against this unceremonious mode of I combat. He has chosen for his frontispiece two I figures; the first represents a conquering knight, trampling his enemy under foot in the lists, crowned by Justice with laurel, and preceded by Fame, sounding his praises. The other figure I presents a duellist, in his shirt, as was then the I fashion, (see the following ballad,) with his ! bloody rapier in his hand : the slaughtered com- batant is seen in the distance, and the victor is pursued by the Fui-ies. Nevertheless, the wise j will make some scruple, whether, if the warriors I were to change equipments, they might not also I exchange their emblematic attendants. The j modern mode of duel without defensive armour, I began about the reign of Henry 111. of France, I when the gentlemen of that nation, as we learn '■ 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 them 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 j shirts, and with the rapier only. To this custom I contributed also the art of fencing, then culti- j vated as a new study in Italy and Spain, by I which the sword became, at once, an offensive I and defensive weapon. The reader will see the j new ' science of defence,' as it was called, ridi- i culed by Shakspeare, in Ro)neo and Juliet, and • " All things being ready for the ball, and every one bting lu their place, and 1 myself being next to the <)uern (of Prance) expecting when the dancers would come in, une knockt at the door somewhat louder thnii became, ai I thought, a very civil person. When he came in, I remember there was a sudden whisper among the ladies, •.iying, 'C'est Monsieur Balagny,' nr, 'tis Monsieur Balagny ; whereupon, also, 1 saw the ladies and gentlewomen, one after another, invite kun to sit near them ; and, which is more, when one Udy had hi* company a while, another would say, 'you have enjoyed him loug enough ; 1 must have him DOW ,' at which bold civihty of theirs, though I were | wtoDished, yet it added unto my wonder, that his peraon could not be thought, at most, but ordinary handsome : his hair, which was cut very short, half rrey, hii> doublet but of sackcloth, cut to his shirt, and Ills breeches only of plain grey cloth. Informiiio' uiy- •rlf of some standers-by who he was, I wa» told he was one of the gallaulest men in the world, as having killed ei; f i^y ^ y^^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. by Don Quevedo, in some of his novels. But the "^ a certain grave. Must I ad.J, that even women more ancient customs continued for some time ' caught the phrenry, and thatdueU were fought, to maintain their ground. The sieur Colombiere mentions two gentlemen, who fought with equal advantage for a whole dxiy, in all the panoply of chivalry, and, the next day, had recourse to the modern mode of combat. By a still more extra- ordinary raixtureofancientand ruodem fashions. not only by those whose rank and charaettr ren- dered it little surprising, but by modest and well-born maidens [—Audiguier Traile de Duel. Theatre d'Honneur, vol. i. f We learn, from every authority, that dueU became nearly as common in England, after the two combatants on horseback ran a tilt at each accession of James VI., as they had ever been other with lances, without any covering but their shirts. AVhen 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- i gaged. Xor was this all : The seconds, who had nothing to do with the quarrel, fought stoutly, pour se desennuyer, and often sealed with their blood their friendship for their principal. A 1 desperate combat, fought between Messrs En- 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- I rowing monarch an edict against duelling, which was as frequently as fruitlessly renewed by his 1 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 j 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 he.art. Nay, sometimes the sword was altogether aban- I doned for the more sure and murderous dagger. A quarrel having arisen betwixt the vicompte d'Allemagne and the sieur de la Roque, the I former, alleging the youth and dexterity of his I 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 strugi-'le, 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 France. The point of honour, so fatal to the gallants of the age, was no where carried mor. highly than at the court of the pacific Solomon < f Britain. Instead of the feudal combata, up^-n the Hie-gate of Edinburgh, which bad often dis- turbed his repose at Holy-rood, his levees, at Theobald's, were occupied with listening to tht- detail of more polished, but net less sanguinar., contests. I rather suppose, that James never 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. Thepointofhonour wasa scienet. which a grown gentleman might stuJy under suitable professors, as well as dancing, or any other modish accomplishment. Nay, it would appear, that the ingenuity of the srvord-men, (su these military casuists were termed) might often accommodate a bashful combatant with an hon- ourable excuse for declining the combat : — Understand'st thou well nice point* of duel '•' Art bom of geutle blood and pure descent ' Were uone of all thy lineage hang'd. or cuckold? Bastard or bastinadoed ? Is thy pedigree As long, as wide as mine ? For othenrise 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, 1 am excused To fight on disadvant.i^e.— .\lbumaiar, Act IV. Sc. 7. In Be.iumont 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^< I t This folly ran to such a pitch, that no one w»» I thought worthy to be reckoned a gentleman, who had uot tried his valour in at lea.*t one duel ; of which lori I Herbert gives the following instance : .\ young genUe- • It appears from a line in the blacV -letter copy of II man, desiring to marry a niece of Monsieur Disaocour, the following ballad, that Wharton and Stuart fought II ecuyer to the duke de Montmorenci. recei-.ed this with rapier and dagger : i | answer : " Friend, it is not yet time to mirry , if you 1 1 will be abmve man, you must hrst kill, iu single com- With that stout Wharton was the first i bat, two or three men . then ra:irrj , and pet two or Took rapier and poniard there that day. three children ; otherwise the worlil will neither h»vr Ancient Songs, 1792, p. 204.— Scott. « ,auied or lost by you."— Herbert's Life, p. «H.-Sc..tl, '.'^. ^ i2 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Hut, IhouKh such shifts might occasionally be ^honour (being intimate friends,) took the fiolil rwortci to by tho faint-hearted, yet the fiery cnvnliem of the Knglish court were but little apt to pnjiit by them ; though their vengeance for intuited 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 Wiis provoking, lijt without remedy ; nor did lord Sanquhar think of it, unless with regret, until some years :ilt>r, when he chanced to be in the French f'urt. Henry the Gieat casually asked him. How he lost his eye ? ' Uy the thrust of a sword,' answered lord Sanquhar, not caring toenter into l>:irticular». The king, supposing the accident the consequence of a duel, immediately inquired, ' l»ws the man yet live .■>' These few words set the blood of the Scottish nobleman on fire; nor 'lid he rvst till he had taken the base vengeance of assassinating, by hired ruffians, the unfortu- nate fencing master. The mutual animosity, l>etwixt the Knglish and Scottish nations, had alri'aily occasioned much bloodshed among the ifentr)', 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 iinputntion of the grossest partiality. Lord .■•anquhar was condemned to be hanged, and suffered that ignominious punishment accord- ingly. Bj a circuitous route, we are now arrived at t)ie subject of our ballad ; for to the tragical' duel ■ ■I" Stuart and \\harton, and to other instances of Ijloody 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 liec.iuse he took it so. Mas- well, another of them, had bitten Hawley, a gentleman of the Temple, by the ear, which en- mged the Templars (in those times riotous, iulyect to tumults,) and brought it almost to a national quarrel, till the king stept in, and took it up him«elf. The lonl Bruce had summoned Mr Kdward .Sackville (afterw.trd earl of Dorset,) ;iito France, with a rat.il compliment to tiike Icath from his hand. And the much-lamented hand.' -Wi mbate, lately fought near Lon- ; • James Stewarde, and Sir George ( bts, who were both slain at that ^ and fell together by each other" 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 ^ir James Somervile, of Cambusnethan. Sir George Wharton was also a Knight of the Bath, anir James Stuart, one of the king's blood, and j ground) here-abouts, although possessed of many Mr Oeorge Wharton, the prime branch of that i^ original songs, traditions, .ind anecdotes, are _ noble family, for little worthless punctilios of^moat unreasonably partial when the valour or ^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. 21:] honour of a Scotsman is called in question.' I ife retain this note, because it is characteristic ; but I agree with my correspondent, there can be no foundation for the tradition, except in national partiality."* / Part First. i It (jrieveth me to tell you o' i Near London late what did befall, 'Twixt two young gallant gentlemen ; I It grieveth me, and ever shall. ) I 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. I "When first to court these nobles came, i 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 George Wharton on the face. ' Since the publication of the first edition of the Minitrelsy, I have seen cause to think that 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 »h?t is recorded of the admirable Creichton. Sir George Wharton is, on the other hand, affirmed to have been a man of a fierce and brutal temper, and to have provoked the quarrel, by wanton and intolera- ble reflections on the Scottish national character. " In the duel," her ladyship concludes, 'family tradi- tion does not allow Sir James to have been killed fau-ly." From an anecdote respecting Sir George Wharton's conduct in a quarrel with the earl of Pem- broke, there is room to suppose the imputations on his tetupsr were not without foundation. See Lodge's Illustrations of English History, vol. iii. p. 350. Lady Moira concludes, that she had seen a copy of the bal- lad diflferent from any one hitherto printed, in which the charge of foul play wag 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 playing, you lay it upon me either to leave to love you, or to leave to play with you ; wherefore, choosing to love you still, I wi" any more."— Lodge's Illustrations. Scott. lay witn you ; wnereiore, ^ will never play with you rations, vol. iii. p. 350.— I " What doth this moan," George Wharton said, " To strike in such unm.inly sort '■> Bat, that I take it at thy hands, The tongue of man sliall ne'er report I" " But do thy worst, then," said Sir Jainei, " Now do thy worst, ai point a day ! There's not a lord in England breathes Shall gjir me give an inch of way.' " Ye brag right weel," George IVhart-m said ; " Let our brave lords at large alanu, 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 fizht : There ane or both maun lose life and breath !" " We'll meet ne.-ir Waltham," said Sir Jam- e " 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 sho^ik, Without any envious sign : Then went to Ludgate, when- they lay, And each man drank his pint of » iiv . Ko kind of envy could be seen. No kind of malice th -y did betray ; But a' was clear and calm as death, AVhatever in their bosoms lay. Till parting time; and then, indeeur men shall se.-vrch our doublets, George, And see if one of us do lie ; Then will we prove wi" weapons sharp, ' urstlves true gallants for to be." Thi n they threw off their doublets both, A nd stood up in their sarks o' lawn ; " Now tike my counsel," said Sir James, •• Wharton, t» thee I'll make it knawn: " So lie we ftind, so will we fight ; Thus naked in our sarks," said he; " Ky no ! fy no !" George Wharton says ; "That ii the thing that must not be. " Were neither drinkers, quarrellers. Nor men that cares na for oursel ; Nor minds na what we'ere gaun about, < )r if we're gaun to heav'n or hell. '• Let us to God bequeath our souls, < (ur bodies to the dust and clay !" With that he drew his deadly sword, The first was drawn on field that day. >e'in bouUand turns these heroes hjid. Or e'l-r a drop o" blood was drawn ; •lur .*" " O whai-e will I get a boiinie boy, To help me in my need. To rin wi' haste to Lord Willlan;, And bid him come wi" gputi ?•• O out it spak' a bonnie boy, StorKi by her brother s side : " It's I wad rin your errand, lady. O'er a' the warld wide. " Aft ha'e I run your errands, lady, When blawin' baith wind and weet ; But now I'll rin your errand, lady, With saut tears on my cheek." whan he came to broken trif{;s. He bent his bow and swam ; And whan he came to the green gras', growin'. He slack'd his shoon and ran. And whan he came to Lord William'i yeats. He badena to chap or ca' : But set his bent bow to his breast. And lightly lap the wa' ; And, or tlie porter was at the yeat, The boy was in the ha'. " O is my biggins broken, boy ? Or is my towers won .J Or is my lady lighter yet, O' a dear daughter or son ?" "Your biggin isna broken, sir, Kor is your towers won ; But the fairest lady in a' the land This day for you maun burn." " O saddle to me the black, the black. Or saddle to rae the brown ; Or saddle to me the swiftest steed That ever rade frae a town.' Or he was near a mile awa". She heard his weir-horse sneeze , " >Mend up the fire, my fause brother, It's nae come to my knees." O, whan he lighted at the yeat. She heard his bridle ring : " Mend up the fire, my fause brothoi It's far yet frae my chin. :iG dCOXTlSH BALLADS. • Mind ujj the fire to me, brother, Mtiid up the fire to ine ; 1 .r I sie him comin" hard and fast, Will soon nien't up for thee. •■ <) gin my hands had been loose, Willy, .Sae hard as they are boun', 1 wadd lia'e turnd me free the gleed, \nd casten out your young son." •' (I 111 Kar burn for you, M.iisry, Your tattler and your mother; \ ml ril gar burn for you, Maisry, Vi>ur sister and your brother ; •• And I'll gar bum for you, Maisrj-, The chief o* a' your kin ; And the la«t bonfire thikt I come to, Mysel" 1 will CHit in." Gljnikin^ie. (Krom Janiieson's Collection. — "The hero of this Ule," siijs Jlr Jamieson, "seems t'> be the itltbrated Welsh bard, Glaskirion, or Kirion the ^'«llow, of whom some notice will be found in Owen's 'Cambrian biography." In Chaucer's ■ House of Fame,' he is classed with Orpheus, A riun, and Chiron : — There herde I play on a harpe. Thai kowued both well aud sharpe, Hym (Jrpheua fuU craltily : And un tbia bide fast by Sate the harper Orion, And Kaciile» Chiriun, And the Briton Gluk>'rion.* The Scottish writers, adapting the name to their own meridian, call him Glenkindy, Glenskeenie, &c. The copy herv given was taken from the recitation of un old woman, by Professor S?ott of .\berdeeij, and has been somewhat im- proved by a fragment communicated by the Rev. '! \Villuim tJray of Lincoln. tJtiU it must be con- fcased, that the garb u( this ' harper gude, that I liarped to the kinjt,' seems very unworthy of • the rank he once deservedly heM. For another ' I'ullail on this sulyect, see the ' Reliiiues of An- i I lent English Poetry,' edit. 4. Tol. lii. p. 43."] ^ Glbnkindik* was ance a harper gude. He harped to the king ; And Glenkindie was ance the best h;irpvr That ever harp'd on a string. He'd harpit a fish out o' saut wat^r. Or water out o' a stane ; Or milk out o' a maiden's breast. That bairn had never nane. He's ta'en his harp intil his hand, He harpit and he sang; And aye as he harpit to the king. To baud him unthought laug. " I'll gi'e you a robe, Glenkindie, A robe o' the royal pa'. Gin ye will harp i' the winter's night Afore my nobles a'." And the king but and his nobles a' Sat birling at the wine; And he wad ha'e but his ae dochter. To wait on them at dine.f He's ta'en his harp intUl his band. He's harpit them a' asleep. Except it was the young countess. That love did waukin keep. And first he has harpit a grave tunc. And syne he has harpit a gay ; And mony a sich atweeu hands I wat the lady gae.t * Glenkindie (qu. Glenkennedy >") is a beauti- fiill valley, watered by the river Don, in the neighbourhood of Glenbucket, and belongs to the Earl of Fife. — Jamiesun. t This stanza is found in the opening of '■ Urown Robin," which commeuces thuo. — " The king but and his nobles a' Sat birling at the wine, [bi>] He would h;i"e nane but his ae daughter To wait ou them at dine. " She served them but, she served them ben, IntiU a gown o' green : But her e'e was ay on Brown Robin, That stoodlow under the rain," &c. — .Tamieson. i The following stanza occurs in one of the copies of " The Gay Gosshawk ;" N??^^/ SCOTTISH BALLADS. •jr Says, " Whan day is dawen, and cocks ha'( crawen. And wappit their wings sae wide. It's ye may come to my bower door, And streek you by my side. " But look that ye tell na Gib your man. For naething tljat ye dee ; For, an ye tsU him, Gib your man. He'll beguile baith you and me." 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. " f) mith I tell you, Gib, my man. Gin 1 a man had slain ?" " () that ye micht, my gude master. Although ye had slain ten." " Then tak" ye tent now, Gib, my man, ily bidden for to dee ; And, but an ye wauken me in time. Ye sail be hangit hie. " Whan day has dawen, and cocks ha« crawn. And wappit their wings sae wide, I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower. And streek me by her side." " Gae hame to your bed, my good master ; Ye've waukit, I fear, o'er lang ; For I'U wauken you in as good time. As ony cock i' the land." He's ta'en his harp intill his hand. He harpit and he sang. Until he harpit his master asleep, i^yne fast awa' did gang. And he is tUl that lady's bower, As fast as he could rin ; V.'hen he cam' tUl that lady's bower. He chappit at the chin. " O wha is this," says that lady, " That opens nae and comes in ?" " It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love, O, open and lat me in '." .\nd then he pecked his featliers ^ray, Xo her the letter gave."— Jamieaon. She kent he was nae gentle knicht That she had latten in ; For neither whan he gaed nor cam', Kist he her cheek or chin. He neither kist her whan he cam'. Nor clappit her when he gaed ; And in at her bower window. The moon shone like the gleed. " 0, ragged is your hose, Glenkindie, And riven is your sheen. And reavel'd is your yellow hair That I saw late yestreen." " The stockings they are Gib my man -, They came first to my hand ; And this is Gib rny man's shoon ; At my bed feet they stand. I've reavel'd a' my yellow hair Coming against the wind." He's ta'en the harp intill his hand. He harpit and he sang. Until he cam' to his master. As fast as he could gang. " Won up, won up, my good master ; 1 fear ye sleep o'er lang ; There's nae a cock in a' the land Eat has wappit his wings and crawn. Glenkindie's tane his harp in hand ; He harpit and he sang. And he has reach'd the lady's bower. Afore that e'er he blan. When he cam' to the lady's bower. He chappit at the chin ; f " O, wha is that at at my bower door. That opens na and comes in ?" " It's 1, Glenkindie, your ain true K>v> , And in 1 canna win." " Forbid it, forbid it," says that U>ly, " That ever sic shame betide ; That I should first be a wild loon's Uv-s. And then a young knight's bridt." There was nae pity for that lady. For she lay cald and dead ; t " At the chin," ac.—Jamit»»M. tJ iliit II' w:is lor nun Gienknulif, Id bowLT he must go uiaU. l\v\\ lmri.it a flsh out o' snut water; The watiT out o' a stane ; The milk out o' a maiden's breast, That bairn had never uane. lie's ta'en his harp intill his haiihe'U never speak again. i li-'s ta'en his liarp 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, myman; Till I pay you your fee ; Come forth, come IVjrth, now, Gib, ray man ; Wetl 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. W)i SUmi^n d '^B2'dabnu. [MooBRN Ballad. — By Charles Kirkpatrick .^harpe. First published in the Minstrelsy of the ijcuttuh Border. — " The tragical event," says the editor of that work, "which preceded, or perhaps gave ri&e to, the successful insurrection ••f Robert Hruce, against the tyranny of Edward 1., is well known, lu the year 1304, Bruce ab- ruptly left the court of England, and held an Interview, in the Dominical church of Dumfries, with John, surnamcd, from the colour of his • Th;» stanza lias lieen altered, to introduce a little variety, and prevent the mouotouous tire- eiieu of repetition. — Jamieton. hair, the Bed 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 betwixt them, fur asserting the independence of sscotland. The | English writers maintain, that Bruce proposed such a plan to Cuming, which he rejected with scorn, as inconsistent with the fealty he liad sworu 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 I monarch of Scotland rushed out of the church, with the bloody poniard in his hand. Kirk- 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 1 have slain the Red Cuming." — " Doubtest thou H" exclaimed Kirkpatrick,"! make sure!"f 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 tiie 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 slaughtered baron was watched, during the night, by t'ne Domini- cans, with the usual rites of the church. But, I at midnight, the whole assistants fell into a dead I 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, Lord, ' shall vengeance be deferred ?" it was answered, j in an awful tone, " Endure with patience, until the anniversary of this day shall return for the fifty-second time." In the year 1357, fifty-two years after Cuming's death, James of Liudsiiy j was hospitably feasted in the castle of Caerlaveroc, j in Dumfries-shire, belonging to Roger Kirk- patrick. They were the sons of the murderers of the regent. In the dead of night, for some unknown cause, Lindsay arose, and poniarded in t Hence the crest of Kirkpatrick is a hand, grasping a dagger, distiUiug gouts of blood, proper : motto, " I imttf.lf 6i#»lf*»r ** — Scott. P m SCOTTISH BALLADS. LM9 hU bed his unsuspecting host He then mounted ^ his horse to fly ; but guilt and fear had so bewil- I dered his senses, that, after riding all night, he | was taken, at break of day, not three miles from j the castle, and was afterwards executed by order of King David II. The story of the murder is thus told by the prior of Lochlevin : — That ilk yhere in our kynryk Hoge was slayne of Kilpatrik Be schyr Jakkis the Lyndessay In-til Karlaveroc ; and away For til have bene with all his mycht This Lyndyssay pressyt all a nyclit Forth on hers rycht fast rydand. "Nevyrtheless ylut thai him faud Nocht thre myle fra that ilk place ; There tane and broucht agane he wis Til Karlaveroc, be thai men That frendis war till Kirkpatrik then ; Thare was he kepyd rycht straytly. His wyf * passyd till the king Dawy, And prayid him of his realte. Of Lauche that scho mycht serwyd be. The kyng Da?ry than also fast Till Dumfres with his curt he past, .\t Lawcue wald. Qihat was thare mare? Tiiia Lyndessay to aeth he gert do thare. Wintownis C'ronykill, b. viii. c. 44."— Scott.] " Xow, come to me, my little page. Of wit sae wond'rous sly ! Ne'er under flower o' youthfu' age, Did mair destruction lie. " I'll dance and revel wi' the rest, Within this castle rare ; Yet he shall rue the drearie feast, Bot and his lady tiir. " For ye maun drug Kirkpatrick's wine, Wi' juice o' poppy flowers ; Nae mair he'll see the morning shine Frae proud Caerlaveroc's towers. " For he has twin'd my love and me. The maid of mickle scorn — She'll welcome, wi' a teart'u' e'e. Her widowhood the morn. " And saddle weel my milk-white steed. Prepare my harness bright ! Giff I can mak" my rival bleed, I'll ride awa' this night." * That is, Kirkpatrick's wife. " Now, haste ye, master, to the h;i' ! The gufsts are drinking there ; Kirkpatrick's pride sail be but sma", For a' his lady fair." In came the merry minstrelsy ; ShriU harps wi' tinkling string. And bag-pipes, lilting melody. Made proud Caerlaveroc ring. There gallant knights, and ladies bright. Did move to measures fine. Like frolic fiiiries, jimp and light, Wha dance in pale moonshine. The ladies glided through the ha', Wi' footing swift and sure — Kirkpatrick's dame outdid them a'. Whan she stood on the floor. And some had tyres of gold sae rare. And pendants t eight or nine ; And she, wi' but her gowdea hair. Did a' the rest outshine. And some, wi' costly diamonds sheen. Did warriors' hearts assail — But she, wi' her twa sparkling een, Pierc'd through the thickest mail. Kirkpatrick led her by the hand. With gay and courteous air : No stately castle in the land Could shew sae bright a pair. O he was young— and clear the day Of life to youth appcirs I Alas ! how soon his setting ray Was dimmd wi' show'ring tears : Fell Lindsay sicken'd at the sight. And sallow grew his cheek ; He tried wi' smiles to hide his spin-, But word he cou'dna speak. The gorgeous banquet was brought up. On silver and on gold : The page chose out a crystal cup, The sleepy juice to hold. i. M M i I f^ t Pfnrfan/i— Jewels on the ftorehead. -^'^^-;^^j •Jl'O SCOTTltiH BALLADS. Ami whAn Kirkpatrick call'd for wine, Thii page the drink wou'd bear ; Nor (lid the knif;ht or dame divinu cie bUuk det-eit was near. Then e»er>' '*^y sung a sang ; Some gay — some sad and sweet— Like tunefu' birds the woods amang, Till a* began to greet. )''cn cruel Lindsay shed a tear, Korletting malice deep^ As mermaids, wi tljeir warbles clear, (an sing the waves to sleep. \ lid now to bed they all are dight. Now steek they ilka do*>r : I ii-re's nought but stillness o' the night, Whare was sic din before. I "It Lindsay puts his harness on. His steed doth ready stand ; And up the stair-case is he gone, Wr poniard in his hand. The sweat did on his forehead break. He shook wi' guilty fear; In air he beard a joyfu" shriek — ^ Red Cumin's ghaist was near. Now to the chamber doth he cree;: — A lamp, of glimmering niy, f«liow'd youug Kirkpatrick fiist asleep. In arms of lady gay. lie lay wi' bare unguarded breast, 1 By sleepy juice beguil'd ; / And sometimes sigh'd, by dreams opprest. And sometimes sweetly smiled. 1'nclosed her mouth o' rosy hue. Whence issued fragrant air. That gently, In soft motion, blew .Stray ringlets o' her hair. " Sleep on, sleep on, ye luvers dear I The dame may wake to weep — )iut that day's sun maun shine fuu clear. That spills this warrior's sleep." Me loutetl down — her lips he pivst— I) : kiu, foreboding wiic ! Then struck on young Kirkpatriek's breast A deep and deadly blow. Sair, sair, and meikle, did he bleed : His lady slept till day. But dream't the Firth * flow'd o'er her head. In bride-bed as she lay. 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. Ae fire-flaught darted through the rain, AV'hare a* was mirk before. And glinted o'er the raging main. That shook the sandy shore. But mirk and mirker grew the night. And heavier beat the rain ; And quicker Lindsay urged his fli;-;ht. Some ha' or beild to gain. Lang did he ride o'er hill and dale. Nor mire nor flood he feai'd_^ I trow his courage 'gan to fail ^'t'hen morning light appear'd. For having hied, tlie live-lang night, Through hail and heavy showei-s. He fand himsel", at peep o' light. Hard by Caerlaveroc's towers. The castle bell was ringing out. The l;a' was all asteer ; And mony a scriech and waefu' shout Appall'd the murderer's ear. 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. " To sweet Lincluden'sf haly cells Fou dowie I'll repair ; There peace wi' gentle patience dwells, Nae deadly feuds are there. " 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. I t Lincluden Abbey is situated near Dumfries, S& on the banks of the river Cluden. It was founded SCOTTISH BALLAD.S. ^t}t §^-\xi2 E9tfX, [From Buchan's Collect!. li- .-ire to be found in Herd' n. — Eight lines , Collection.] A FAIR maid sat in her bower door, Wringing her lily hands ; And by it came a sprightly youth. Fast tripping o'er the strands. " WTiere gang ye, young John," she says, " Sae early in the day .•> It gars ine think, by your fast trip. Your journey's far away." He turn'd about wi' surly look. And said, " Whaf s that to thee ? I'm gaen to see a lovely maid, 3Iair fairer far than ye." " Now ha'e ye play'd me this., fause love. In simmer, 'mid the flowers :• I sail repay ye back again, In winter, 'mid the showers. ■■ But again, dear love, and again, dear love. Will ye not turn again ? For as ye look to ither women. Shall I to ither men." " 3take your choose o' whom you please. For I my choice will have ; I"ve chosen a maid mair fair than thee, I never wUl deceive." But she's kilt up her claithing fine. And after him gaed she ; But aye he said, " Ye'U turn back, Nae fiirder gang wi' me." " But again, dear love, and again, dear love. Will ye never love me again ? \lasl for loving you sae well. And you, nae me again." The first an' town that they came till, He bought her brooch and riaa; But aye he bade her turn azain. And gang nae farder wi' him. " But again, dear love, and afain, dear ; Will ye never love me again J Alas ! for loving you sae well, And you, nae me apiin." The neist an' town that they came till, His heart it grew mair fain ; And he was deep in love wi' her. As she was ower again. The neist an' town that they came till. He bought her wedding gown ; And made her lady o' ha's and bowers , In bonnie Berwick town. Mlunfijenmx k SJ^UgfloriccK^) and fiUcl with Benedictine nuns, in the time of Malcolm IT., by TJthred, father to Eoland, lord of Galloway — these were expelled by Archibald the Grim, earl of Douglas.— Tide Pennant.— Scott. [From Mr Buchan's Collect: n. There was a maid richly array'd, I n robes were rare to see : For seven years and something mair She serv'd a gay ladie. But being fond o' a higher plac>\ In service she thought L-ing: She took her m.antle her about. Her coffer by the band. And as she walk'd by the shore siJo As blythe's a bini on tree : Yet still she gaz'd her round al-^'i' To see what she could see. At last she spied a little c.a.stle. That stood near by the sea ; She spied it far, and drew it n.-.ir. To that castle went she. And when she came to that c;i.«* She tirled at the pin ; And ready stood a litUe ww b"v. To lat this fair maid in. %5 222 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " O who's the owner of this place, [KirU-r l>oy tell me ?" " This place bt'longs unto a queen O' birth and high degree " She put her hand in her pocket. And ga'e him shiUings three; " porter bear my message well. Unto the queen frae me." The porter's gane before the queen. Fell luw down on his knee ; " Win up, win up, my porter Iwy, What makes this courlesie ?" " I ha'e been porter at your yetts, My dame, these years full three; But see a ladie at your yetts. The fairest my eyes did see." " Cast up my yetts baith wide and braid, Lat her come into me ; And 111 know by her courtesie. Lord's daughter if she be." ■When she came in before the queen. Fell low down on her knee ; " dervice frae you, my dame, the queen, 1 pray you grant it me." " If that service ye now do want, Wh.nt station will ye be ? Can ye cjird wool, or spin, fair maid. Or milk the cows to me ?" " No, I can neither card nor spin, >or cows I can no' milk ; But sit int'j a lady's bower. And sew the seams o' silk." " What is your name, ye comely dnine. Pray ttU this unto me ?" " O BlancheHour, that is my name. Bum in a strange countrie !" " keep ye well frae Jellyflorice, My ain dear son is he ; When other ladies get a gift, O' that ye shall get three." It wosna tald into the bower, Till it went through the ha', i That Jellyflorice and Blancheflour Were grown owcr great witha'. WTien the queen's maids their visits p'or land ye'se nae mair see ; I brought you away to punish you. For the breaking your vows to me. " I said ye sh^^uld see the lilies grow, On the banks o' Italy ; But I'll let you see the fishes swim. In the bottom o' the sea." 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. The fatal flight o' this wretched m.i Did re.ich her ain countrie ; Her husband then distraotiHl mn. And this lament made he : — She's drawn the slippers on her feel Were cover'd o'er wi' gold ; Well lined within wi' velvet fine, To had her frae the cold. " o lonnip, bonnie was my luve, A pleasure to behold The very hair o' my love's head, Wa» like the threads o' gold. •• O bonnie was her cheek, her ch And bonnie was her chin; And bonnie was the bride she ws The day «he was made mine !" ^al>5o&j Ca^lk. (SCOTTISH liALLADS. ^ In detailing the death of the regent Murray, 1 1 which is made the subject of the following ballad, II it would be injustice to my reader to use other 1 1 words than those of Dr Robertson, whose account of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece j of historical painting. ; " Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person ! who committed this barbarous action. He had been condemned to death soon after the battle I of Langside, as we have already related, and i owed his life to the regent's clemency. But part I , of his estate had been bestowed upon one of the I j regent's favourites, f who seized his house, and I j turned out his wife, naked, in a cold night, into I I the open fields, where, before next morning, she i became furiously mad. This injury made a 11 deeper impression on him than the benefit h(- had received, and from that moment lie vowed [This beautiful ball.-ul is one of Sir Walter ! ■- irr'8 early productions. It appears in the y !i)rder Minstrelsy, addressed to the Right Hon. |' I..idy Anne Hamilton.— "The ruins of Cadyow, ] I ♦„,,„„„„„ , ,^. „ . .r Ca-lxow Castle," says the author, " theancien I i e^^^J^^f/ "^t^e regent. Party rage strength- .-.nial residence of ihe family of Hamilton, are ; ^^'^Zn th w u ^"^^*' resentment. His ' 'II k.nsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded the enter- prize. The maxims of that age j ustified the moat the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclusion ii iTefT".!;?? ^',T''' *^' ^ '"''^'° ''"" r the civil wars, during the rd.oa of the unfor- f„^°'' . He fo lowed the regent for some time, I and watched for an opportunity to strike the 1 blow. He resolved, at last, to wait till his enem\ situated upon the precipitous banks of the river Kvan, about two miles above its junction with , during the reign of the unfor. I n;it« Mary, to whose cause the house of Hamil- I ■:! devoted themselves with a generous zeal, « iiK-h oc»!.Tsione«l 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- in? torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. Ill the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove ■f immense oaks, the remains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the south of s-cotland, from the eastern to the At- lantic Oetan. Some of these trees measure twenty five foet, and upwards, in circumference ; and the state of decay, in which they now appear, shows, that they may have witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole scenery is included in the magnificent and extensive park of the duke <.f Hamilt^.n. There was long preserved in this forest the brptd of the .Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity occasioned their being extirpated, about forty years ago. Their appearance was l«autiful, being milk-white, with black muzzles, horns, and hools. The bulls are described by ancient authors as having white manes; hut tht«e of latter days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with the Ume breed.* • Tney wcrr formerly kept in thr- jarli at Dninila 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 galler}-,i; which had a window towards the street ; spread a feather-bed on the floor, to hinder the noUe of his feet from being heard ; hung up a black cloth behind him, that his shadow might not be ob- served from without ; and, after aU this preca- : ration, calmly expected the regent's approach, who had lodged, during the night, in a house not far distant. Some indistinct information of \ the danger which threatened him had been con- veyed to the regent, and he paid so much regard : to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate ; through which he had entered, and to fetch a , compass round the town. But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and he himself unac- quainted with fear, he proceeded directly along the street ; and the throng of people obliging t This was Sir James Ballenden, lord justice-clerk, whose shameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned tlie catastrophe in the textt— Spottiswoode.— Scott. t This projecting gallerj- is stiU shown. The house, to which it was attached, was the property of the '" archbishop of St Andrews, a natural brother to the ' duke of Chatelherault, and nncle to Bothwellhaugh. \ This, amon» many other circumstances, seems to 1 evince the aid which Bothwellhaugh received from his : ^ dan in effecting his purpose,— Scott. i SCOTTISH BALLADS. him to move very slowly, gave the assassin time ^made the grounil of a general national reflectii to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with a sinele bullet, throuzh 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.' — HUtory 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 1 kinsmen, tojustify his deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this fierce and determined man left 1 Scotland, and served in France, under the pa- tronage of the family of Guise, to whom he was ' 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 Gaspar 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 I commit murders in France ; he had avenged his • own just quarrel, but he would neither, for price nor prayer, avenge that of another man. — Thu- ^ anus, cap. 46. J " The regent's death happened 23d January, '; 1-569. 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 observes, 'satisfied, I with a single ounce of lead, him, whose sacrile- ; gious avarice had stripped the metropolitan ' church of St Andrews of its covering :' but he ascribes it to immediate divine inspiration, and i; the escape of Hamilton to little less than the ^ miraculous interft;rence of the Deity.— Jebb, vol. _, ii. p. 263. With equal injustice, it was, by others. for, when Mather urged Bemey to aasauinat>- Burleigh, and quot-d the example* of Poltrot and Bothwellhaugh, the other conspirator an- swered, 'that neyther Poltrot nor Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, without some rea- son or consideration to lead them to it : as th<- one, by hjTe, and promise of preferment or rt- warde ; the other, upon desperat u ^ lii ind of revenge, for a lytic wrong done unto him, ai the report goethe, accordinge to the vyl.- trayterous dysposysyon of the hoole natyon cf the >eottes.' " — Sturdin't State Papers, vol. :. p. 197.1 T\"he.n princely Hamilton's abode Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers. The song went round, the goblet floweil, And revel sped the laughing hours. Then, thrilUng 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. Tet 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 hirn. To draw oblivion's pall aside. And mark the long-forgotten urn. Then, noble mai 1 1 at thy command. Again the crumbled halls shall rise : Lo : as on E%-an'3 banks we stand. The past returns — the present Hies.— Where, with the rock's wood-cover'd siJt . Were blended late the ruins green. Eise turrets in fantastic pride, And feudal banners flaunt between "V^Tiere the rude torrents brawling course Was shaeg'd with thorn and tangling »!• r. The ashler buttress braves its force, } And tamparts frown in KittUxl roT. __u SCOTTISH BALLADS. 'Til night — the shade of keep and spire • 'bscurely dunce on Evan's strtain. And on the wave the ivarder's fire is chequering the moon-light beam. Fades slow their light ; the east is grey ; The weary warder leaves his tower ; HteedssDort; uncoupled stag-hounds Lay, And mfeiry hunters quit the bower. The draw-bridge fiills — they hurry out — t'btters each plank and swinging chain, .^s, dashing o'er, the jovial route Lrge the shy steed, and slack the rein. ?"ii8t 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 Kvandale, 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, Tliat roam in woody Caledon, Crashing the forest in his race. The Mountain liull comes 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 rear is sunk in hollow groan — sjound, merry huntsmen ! sound the Pryse ! \ • The head of the family of Hamilton, at this I>eriod, was James, earl of Arran, duke of Chatel- herault, in France, and first peer of the Scottish reiilm. In 15C9, he was appointed by Queen Mary her lieutenant-general in Scotland, under the singular title of her adopted father.— Seo«. f Prijx—lh^ note blown at the death of the •Tis noon— against the knotted oak The hunters rest the idle spear; Curls through the trees the slender smoke, "Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. Proudly the chieftain niark'd his elan, On greenwood lap all careless thrown. Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man. That bore the name of Hamilton. " Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place. Still wont our weal and woe to share ? Why conies he not our sport to grace ? Why shares he not our hunters' fare ?" Stern Claud replied, with darkening face, (Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he) j "At merry feast, or buxom chase. No more the warrior shalt thou see. " Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee § Saw Bothvvellhaugh's bright goblets foam. When to his hearths, in social glee. The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. % Lord Claud Hamilton, second son of the duke of Chatelherault, and commendator of the abbey of Paisley, acted a distinguished part during the troubles of Queen Mary's reign, and remained unalterably attached to the cause of that unfor- tunate princess. He led the van of her army at the fatal battle of Langside, and was one of the commanders at the Raid of Stirling, which had so nearly given complete success to the queen's faction. He was ancestor of the present marquis of Abercorn. — Scott. § This barony, stretching along the banks of the Esk, near Auchendinny, belonged to Both- wellhaugh, in right of his wife. The ruins of the mansion, from whence she was expelled in the brutal manner which occasioned her death, are still to be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. Popular report tenants them with the restless ghost of the lady Bothwellhaugh ; whom, how- ever, it confounds with lady Anne Bothwell, whose Lament is so popular. This spectre is so ; tenacious of her rights, that, a part of the stones of the ancient edifice having been employed in building or repairing the present Woodhouselee, , she has deemed it a part of her privilege to haunt that house also ; and, even of very late years, nas excited considerable disturbance and terror among the domestics. This is a more remarkable vindi- ; ■^ .^ '.i SCOTTISH BALLADS " There, wan from her maternal throes. His Margaret, beautiful and mild. Sate in htr bower, a pallid rose. And peaceful nursed her new-born child. " change aecurs'd I past are those days ; False ^lurray's ruthless sj-oilers came. And, for the hearth's domestic blaze. Ascends destruction's volumed flame. " ^^Tiat sheeted phantom wanders wild, Where mountain Eske through woodland Ker arms enfold a shadowy child — [fiows, Uh is it she, the pallid rose ? " The wildered traveller sees her glide. And hears her feeble voice with awe — ' Revenge,' she cries, 'on Murray's pride ! And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh '.' " He ceased — and cries of rage and grief Burst mingling from the kindred band. And half arose the kindling chief. And half unsheath'd his Arran brand. But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock, Eides headlong, with resistless speed, Whcse bloody poniard's frantic stroke Drives to the leap his jaded steed ; * Whose cheek is pale, whose eye-balls glare. As one, some visioned sight that saw, Whose hands are b'.oody, loose his hair ? — — 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 'tis Bothwellhaugh. From gory selle, f and reeling steed. Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound. And, reeking from the recent deed. He dashed his carbine on the ground. cation of the right of ghosts, as the present Wood- houselee, which gives his title to the honourable Alexander Fraser Tytler, a senator of the college of justice, is situated on the slope of the Pentland hills, distant at least four miles from her proper abode. She always appears in white, and with her child in her arms. — Scuff. * Birrel informs us, tliat Bothwellhaugh, being | closely pursued, " after that spur and wand had I ; fail'd him, he drew forth his dagger, and strocke \ hia horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap 1 1 a very brode stanke (i. e. ditch,) by whilk means ' he escapit, and gat away from all the rest cf the horses." — Birrel's Diary, p. IS. — Scott. J Selle — Saddle. A word used by Spenser, and other ancient authors. — Scott. St-'rnly he spoke—" 'Tis sweet to hear In good greenwood the bugle blowii. But sweeter to Revenge s ear. To drmk a tyrant's dying groan. " Your slaughtered quarry proudly truil. At dawning morn, o'er dale and dowi.. But prouder base-born Murray rode Thro' old Linlithgow's crowded towi. " From the wild Bor Jer's humbled side, In haughty triumph, marched he, i While Knox relaxed his bigot pride, And smiled, the traitorous pomp to sec " But can stem Power, with all his vaunt. Or Pomp, with all her courtly glart. The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, Or change the purpose of Despair ? "With hackbut bent, § my secret stand, J Dark as the purposed deed, I chose. And marked, where, mingling in his band, Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bcws. " Dark Morton, girt with many a spear, * Murder's foul minion, led the van ; And clashed their broad-swor s in the re.-ir. The wild Macfarianes' plaided clan. '* ± Murray's death took pLice shortly after ai. expedition to the borders; which is thus con>- memorated by the author of his eiegy ; " So having 'tablischt all thing in this tort, To LiddisdaiU agane he did re^ort, Throw Ewiadail, Eskdail, and aJ the daills rode he. And also lav three nights in Cannabie, Whair na prince lay ihir hundred >eiri« before. Nae thief durst stir, they did him feir to tair , And, that tliay snld na niair thair thift allege. Threescore and twelf he brucht of them m pledf:^. Svne w.-irdit thauie, whilk maid ihe ie»t keep fn;oa.. ihan mjcht the raach-but keep ky on the boH.n.r ' Scottish Poems, IGth century, p. 23:;. — Sco^t. § Hackbut bent — Gun cock'd, II The carbine, with which the regent »^s shot, is preserved at Hamilton palace. It is a br»si piece, of a middling length, very small in th. bore, and, what is rather extraoniinary. appears to have been riHed or indented in the harrvl. 1 1 had a match-lock, for which a modem flre-lock has been injudiciously substituted.— >o tt. «f Of this noted person, it is enough to M>. that he was active in the murder of lUvid Riwo. and at least privy to that of Damley.— S<»«. •' This clan of Lennox Highlanden were »l- SCOTTISH BALLADS. i;;<.iicairn and stout Parkhead were nighj UbiK-quioua at their regent's rein, ml lijiKKard Lindesiij's iron eye, Tluit bitw tuir Slary weep in vain, f :i.d pennonM spears, a steely grove, I'ruud Murray's plumage floated high ; r.ichtd to the regent Murray. Holinshed, speak- iiie of the battle of Langsyde, says, " in this Uiiayle the valiaucie of an heiland gentleman, nan.ed Mactirlane, stood the regent's part in great steede ; for, in the hottest brunte of the tighte, he came up with two hundred of his friciiats and countrymen, and so manfully gave in upon tlie Haukts of the queen's people, that he was a great cause of the disordering of them. This Macfailane had been lately before, as I have heard, condemned to die, for some outrage by him committed, and obtayning pardon through suyte of the countess of iluTay, he recompenced that cleinencie by this piece of service now at this batayle." Caldcrwoods account is less favourable to the Macfarlaues. Jle states that Jlacfarlane, with his highlaadmen, fled from the wing where they were stt. The lord Lindsay, who stood nearest to tl.em in the regent's battle, said, ' Let them go ! 1 shall fill their place better :' and so, stepping forward, with a company of fresh men, charged the enemy, whose spears were now spent, with long weapons, so that they were driven back by force, being before almost over- thrown by the avaunt-guard and harquebusiers, and so were turned to flight." — Caldertvuod's MS. ,iyud Keith, p. 4S0. llelville mentions the flight ol the vanguard, but states it to have been com- manded by Morton, and composed chiefly of commoners of the barony of Benfrew. — Scott. * The earl cf Gleucairn was a steady adherent . f the regent. George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the earl of Morton, whose l.orse was killed by the same ball by which Mur- ray Ml—Scutt. f Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most fertcious and brutal of the regent's faction, and, iu such, wascmployed to extort Mary's signature to ihe deed of resignation presented to her in Lochlevin castle. Uedischarged his commission with the most savage rigour: and it is even said, that when the weeping captive, in the act of a.miiijg, averted her eyes froiu the fatal deed, he p.iiehed her arm with the grasp cf his iron glove. Scarce could his trampling charger move. So close the minions crowded nigh, j " From the raised vizor's shade, his eye. Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks aloiii;. And his steel truncheon, waved on high, Seem'd marshalling the iron throng. " But yet his saJden'd brow confess'd A passing shade of doubt and awe ; Some fiend was whispering in his breast, •Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh !' " The death-shot parts— the charger springs- Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! And Murray's plumy helmet rings— — Rings on the ground, to riie no mcr. . " What joy tlie raptured youth can feel. To hear her love the loved one tell, Or he, who broaches on his steel The wolf, by whom his infant fell ! " But dearer, to my injured eye. To see in dust proud Murray roll ; And mine was ten times trebled joy. To hear him groan his felou soul. " My Margaret's spectre glided near ; With pride her bleeding victim saw ; And shrieked in his death-deafen'd ear, •Remember injured Bothwellhaugh !' •• Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ; Spread to the wind thy bannered tree I Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! — Murray is fallen, and Scotland free." Vaults every warrior to his steed ; Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — •'Murray is fallen, 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, alter such events have happened, he deemed it would be a suflicient precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous spot. But even this was prevented by the crowd ; so th.it Bothwellhaugh had time to take a de'.iberate a,iir..—Sputtiirvoude, p. 233. Buchanan, — Scott. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 229 But, see ! the minstrel vision fails — The glimmering spears are seen no more The shouts of war die on the gales. Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. For the loud bugle, pealing high. The blackbird whistles down the vale. And sunk in ivied ruins lie The banner'd towers of Evandale. For chiefs, intent on bloody deed. And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slain, 9 Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed, ) Or graceful guides the silken rein. And long may Peace and Pleasure own The maids, who list the minstrel's tale ; Xor e'er a ruder guest be known Oa the fair banks of Evandale ! [From Buehan's Ballads of the Xorth. Frag- ments of this are to be found in some song collec- tions, but here we have it complete. — "The unfortunate hero of this ballad," says Mr Buchan, "was a factor to the laird of Kinmundy. As the young woman to whom he was to be united m connubial wedlock resided in Gamery, a small fishing town on the east coast of the Murray Frith, the marriage was to be solemnized in the church of that parish, to which he was on his way, when overtaken by some of the heavy breakers which overflow a part of the road he had to pass, and dash, with impetuous fury, against the lofty and adamantine rocks with which it is skirted. The young damsel, in her fifteenth year, also met with a watery grave, being the wages of her mother's malison. This ballad will remind the reader of the Drowned Lovers, who shared the same fate in the river Clyde."] ^) . " O VViLLiB is fair, and Willie is rare, _J And Willie is wond'rous bonnie ; ^ And Willie says he'll marry me, V- Gin ever he marry ony." " O, ye'ss get Jameg, or ye'se get Georji , Or ye'se get bonnie Johnnie ; Ye'se get the flower o' a' my sons. Gin ye'll forsake my Willie." " O, what care I for James or George, Or yet for bonnie Peter? 1 dinna value their love a leek, An' I getna Willie the writer. " 0, Willie has a bonnie hand. And dear but it is bonnie ; He has nae mair for a' his land, Wliat wou'd ye do wi' Willie?" '0, Willie has a bonnie face. And dear but it is bonnie ; But Willie has nae other grace, What wou'd ye do ni' Willie ? 'Willie's fair, and Willie's rare. And Willie's wond'rous bonnie • There's nane wi' him that can conip-m . X love him best of ony." On Wednesday, that fatal day. The people were convening ; Besides all this, threescore and ten, To gang to the bndestool wi' him. "Eide on, ride on, my merry men a', I've forgot something behind me : I've forgot to get my mother's blc&iiaz, To gae to the bridestool wi' me." " Your Peggy she's but bare flfcteen. And ye are scarcely twenty : The water o' Gamery is wide and braiJ, My heavy curse gang wi' thee :" Then they rode on, and further on. Till they came on to Gamery ; The wind was loud, the stream was pru i And wi" the stream gaed Willie. Then they rode on, and further on. Till they came to the kirk o' Gamtr> And every one on high horse s-it, But Willie's horse rade toouily. When they were settled at that place. The people fell a mourning : Anil a council held amo' them a'. But sair, sair wept Kinmundy. 230 SCOTTISH BALLAD-!. Tli.-ii oot it speaks the bride hersel", s.Hjs, " What means a" this mourning ? Where is the man anio" them a', That should gi'e me fair wedding ?" Tlii-n out it speaks his brother John, Says, " Meg, I'll tell you plainly, Th" stream was strong, the clerk rade wrons. And Willie's drown'd in Gamery." Slie put her hand up to her head, Where wore the ribbons many ; She rave thorn a', let thera down fa'. And straightway ran to Gamery. Sh> e.iutrht it up, she sought it down. Till she was wet and weary ; And in the middle part o' it, Tht-re she got her deary. Th'^n she stroak'd back his yellow hair, Vnil kissM his mou' sae comely ; •' My mother's heart's be as wae as thine, We'se baith sleep in the water o' Gamery." [TiiR storj- of this ballad is the same with that ••!" •' Little Musgrave and Lord Barnard," in Dr Percy's Reliques, here altered by reciters to the nicruiian of Angus-shire.] " I HAVF a tiwer in Dalisbei-ry, \\'hicli now is dearly dight, An-l 1 will gi'e it to young Musgrave To lodge wi' me a' night." '• To lodge wi' thee a' night, fair lady, AVad breed baith sorrow and strife , For I see by the rings on your fingers. You're good Lord Bamaby's wife." " Lord Barnaby's wife although I be. Vet what is that to thee ? For we'll beguile him for this ae night- He's on to t. ir Dundee. " Come hr-re, come here, my little foot-piga, This goM I will give to thee. If ye will keep thir secrets close 'Tween you'ig MusRrave and me. " But here I have a little penknife. Hangs low down by my gare ; Gin ye winna keep tliir secrets close, Ye'U find it wonder sair." Then she's ta'en him to her chamb >r. 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 junip'd the wa'. " O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord. Waken, and come away !" " What ails, what ails my wee foot-pace. He cries sae lang ere day. " is my bowers brent, my boy ? Or is my castle won ? Or has the lady that I lo'e best Brought me a daughter or son ?" " Your ha's are snfe, your bowers are sale. 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 steeil. 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 ire frae the cold ; For it is but my father's shepherds Driving their flocks to therfbld." scottibh ballads 231 L'p they lookit, and down they lay, And they're fa 'en sound asleep ; Till up stood good Lord Bamaby, 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. Lies in your arms and sleeps?" " Weel like I your bed, my lord. And weel like I your sheets ; But ill like I your fair lady. Lies in my arms and sleeps." '• You got your wale o' se'en sisters. And I got mine o' five ; ?-ae tak' ye mine, and I's tak' thine. And we nae mair sail strive." " 0, my woman's the best woman That ever brak' worlds bread ; And your woman's the warst woman That ever drew coat o'er head." " I ha'e twa swords in ae scabbert. They are baith sharp and clear : Tak' ye the best, and I the warst. And we'll end the matter here. " But up, and arm thee, young 3Iusgrave, We'll try it han' to han' ; It's ne'er be said o' Lord Bamaby, He straek at a naked man." The first straik that young Slusgrave got. It was baith deep and sair ; And down he fell at Bamaby's feet. And a word spak' never malr. " A grave, a grave !" Lord Barnaby cried, " A grave to lay them in ; My lady shall lie on the sunny side. Because of her noble kin." But oh, how sorry was that good lord, For a' his angry mood, "VNTian he beheld his ain young son All welt'ring in his blood 1 [This affecting and highly poetical balla 1 u given in Mr Chambers' tolleetiou, chieHy froT:, the recitation of his grandmother, assisted l.j a fragment in the Border Minstrelsy, called " fh.- Wife of Usher's WeU," and Mr Buchang ><^r- sion of the ballad.] Part First. O I wir-L sing to you a sang. Will grieve your heart full s.<»ir ; How the Clerk's twa sons o' Owsenford Have to learn some unco lear. They hadna been in fair Parish,* A twelvemonth and a d;iy. Till the Clerk's twa sons fell deep in 1 jve, Wi' the Mayor's daucht.-rs twae. And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrute, The ladies sewed and sang; There was mair mirth in that chamber. Than in a' fair Ferrol's land. But word's gane to the miehty Mayor, As he sailed on the se.i. That the Clerk's twa sons made lichtlimars O' his fair dauchters twae. " If they ha'e wranged my twa dauchters. Janet and Maijorie, The morn, ere I taste meat <.r drink. Hie haugit they shall be." And word's gane to the Clerk himself. As he was drinking wine. That his twa sons at tiir Parish Were bound in prison strui.g. Then up and spak' the Clerk's '.;uiyc. And she spak' tenderl:o: " O tak' wi' ye a purse o' gowd. Or even tak' ye three ; And if ye c.inna get William, Bring Henry hame to me." • Paris. 1'32 O sweetly sang the nightingale. As 6he sat on the wand ; Uut sair, suir mourned Owsenford, As he gaeJ in the strand. AVhen he came to their prison Strang, He rade it round about. And at a little shot-window, His sons were looking out. " O lie ye there, my sons," he said, " For owsen or for kye ? Or what is it that ye lie for, riae sair bound as ye lie ?" " \\'e lie not here for owsen, father; Nor yet do we for kye ; Uut it's for a little o' dear-boucht love, £jae sair bound as we lie. " Oh, borrow us, borrow us,* father," they said, " For the luve we bear to thee !" " O never fear, my pretty sons, Weel borrowed ye sail be." Then he's gane to the michty Mayor, And he spak' courteouslie ; •' Will ye grant my twa sons' lives. Either fur gold vr fee ? Or will ye be sae gude a man. As grant them baith to me ?" " I'll no grant ye your twa sons' lives. Neither for gold nor fee; Nor will I be sae gude a man. As gi'e them baith to thee ; Uut before the morn at twal o'clock, Yt'll see them hangit hie!" IJen it came the Mayor's dauchters, Wi' kirtle coat alone ; Their eyes did sparkle like the gold. As they tripped on the stone. " Will ye gi'e us our loves, father ? For gold or yet for fee .-' Or will ye take our own sweet lives. And let our true loves be ? SCOTTISH BALLADS. He's ta'en a whip into his hand. And lash'd them wond'rous sair: " Gae to your bowers, ye vile liniineK, Ye'se never see them ma-r." Then out it speaks auld Owsenford ; A sorry man was he : " Gang to your bouirs, ye lilye flouirs; For a' this maunna be." Then out it speaks him Hynde Henry ; " Come here, Janet, to me ; "Will ye gi'e me my faith and troth. And luve, as 1 ga'e thee?" " Ye sail ha'e your faith and troth, Wi" God's blessing and mine." And twenty times she kissed his mouth, Her father looking on. Then out it speaks him gay "William, "Come here, sweet Slarjorie; Will ye gi'e me my faith and troth. And love, as 1 ga'e thee ?" " Yes, ye sail ha'e your faith and troth, Wi' God's blessing and mine." And twenty times she kissed his mouth. Her father looking on. " O ye'll tak' aff your twa black hats. Lay them down on a stone. That nane may ken that ye are clerks. Till ye are putten doun."f The bonnie clerks they died that morn ; Their loves died lang ere noun ; And the waefu' Clerk o' Owsenford To his lady has gane hame. Part Second. His lady sat on her castle wa'. Beholding dale and doun ; And thtre she saw her ain gude lord Come walking to the toun. " Ye're welcome, ye're welcome, my ain cude ;"" Ye're welcome hame to me; [lunl. But whereaway are my twa sons ? Ye suld ha'e brought them wi' ye." t Put to death. SCOTTISH BALLADS. 2y;3 ' ■ O liiey are puttea to a deeper lear, i And to a higher scule : Your ain twa sons will no be hame Till the hallow days o' Yule." " sorrow, sorrow, come mak' my bed ; And dole, come, lay me dotin ; For I will neither eat nor drink, Nor set a fit on groun' !" The hallow days o' Yule were come. And the nights were lang and mirk, AVhen in and cam' her ain twa sons, And their hats made o' the birk. It neither grew in syke nor ditch, >'or yet in ony sheuch ; But at the gates o' Paradise That birk grew Ciir eneuch. " Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine. Bring water from the well ; for a' my house shiall feast this night, aince my twa sons are weU. " O eat and drink, my merry-men a', The better shall ye fare ; For my twa sons they are come hame To me for evermair." And she has gane and made their bed. She's made it saft and fine ; And she's happit them wi" her gay mantil. Because they were her ain.* But the young cock crew in the merry Lin- And the wild fowl chirped for day; L^um, And the aulder to the younger said, " Brother, we maun away. " The cock doth craw, the day doth daw. The channerin worm doth chide ; Gin we be missed out o' our place, A sair pain we maun bide." " Lie stiU, Ue still a little wee whUe, Lie still but if we may ; Gin my mother should miss us when she She'll gae mad ere it be day." [wakes, * 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. Sat down at the bed side. it's they've ta'en up their mother's mant. And they've hung it on a pin : " O lang may ye hine, my mothers m.-»nt:l. Ere ye hap us again." [A yuAGMEjJT of this originally appeare«i in Johnson's Museum. It is here extended from two copies given by Mr Buchan. The subject of the ballad will be found in the 5th boo'i of Henry the ilinstrel's Wallace.] ■Wallace wicht, upon a nicbt. Cam' riding ower a linn ; And he is to his leman's bouir. And tirl d at the pin. " O sleep ye, or wake ye, lady .•>" he cried : " Ye'U rise and let me in." " wha is this at my bouir door, That knocks and knows my nan:p - ' " 3Iy name is William Wallace ; Ye may my errand ken." " The truth to yon I will rehearse — The secret I'll unlaulJ ; Into your enemies' hands, this niei.t. I fairly ha'e you sauld." " If that be true ye tell to me, Do ye repent it sair :>" " Oh, that I do," she said, " dear Wall Mt, And will do evermair ! " The English did surround my hou-t. And forcit me theretiU ; But for your sake, my dear Wallactr, I cjuld bum on a hUl." Then he ga'e her a loving kiss: The teir drapt frae his e'e : Says, " Fare ye weel for evenn*ir; Your face nae mair I'll see." She dress'd him in her ain claitbinir. And frae her house he came ; Which made the Englishmen admire 3 To see sic a stalwart dame! ~-w •J 3 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Now Wallace to the Uielands went, A\'here nae meat nor drink hail he ; r-aid, " I-'a' me life, or fa' me death, To some toun I maun drie." He steppit ewer the river Tay — On the North Inch* steppit he ; And there he saw a weel-faured May, Wiis washing ancath a trie. •' What news, what news, ye weel-faured What news lia'e ye to me ? [May ? "What news, what news, ye weel-faured May, What news in the south cnuntrie ?" " O see ye, sir, yon hostler-house That stands on yonder plain ^ This very day have lanclit in it Full fifteen Englishmen, "In search of Wallace, our champion. Intending he should dee !" " Then, by my sooth," says Wallace wicht, " These Englishmen I'se sec " If I had but in my pocket The worth of a single pennie, I wad gang to the hostler-house, These gentlemen to see." .She put her hand in her pocket, And pull'd out half-a-croun, .-^ays, " Tak' ye that, ye beltit knicht, And pay your lawin doun." As he went frae the weel-faured May, A beggar bold met he, AVas cover'd wi' a clouted cloke. In his hand a trustie tree. '• What news, what news, ye silly auld man:" What news ha'e ye to gie ?" " No news, no news, ye beltit knicht. No news ha'e I to thee, IJut fifteen lords in the hostler-house Waiting Wallace for to see." " Ye'll lend to me your clouted cloke. That kivers ye frae heid to shie ; And I'll go to the hostler-house. To ask for some supplie." * A beautiful plain, or common, lying along Oil- Tay, near Perth.— CAamier*. 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. Doun the stair the captain comes, The puir man tor to see : " If ye be cnptain as gude as ye look, You'll give me some supplie." " Where were ye born, ye cruikit carle ? Where, and in whatcountrie.->" "In fair Scotland, sir, was I born, Cruikit carle as ye ca' me." " O I wad give you fifty pounds Of gold and white monie ; O I wad give you fifty pounds. If Wallace ye would let me see." " Tell doun your money," quo' the cruikit " Tell douu your money good ; [carle, I'm sure I have it in my pouir. And never had a better bode." The money was told upon the table. Of silver pounds fiftie : " Now here I stand !" quo' the gude Wallace, And his cloke frae him gar'd flie. 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. " Get up, get up, gudewife," he says, " And get me some dinner in haste,- For it soon will be three lang days time. Sin a bit o' meat I did taste !" The dinner was na well readie. Nor yet on the table set. When other fifteen Englishmen Were lichtit at the yett. " Come out, come out, thou trai tor, Wallace ! H This is the day ye maun dee !' \^1 " I lippen nae sae little to God," he says, ^ " Although I be but ill wordie." ^ The gudewife had an auld gudeman; By gude Wallace he stiffly stude. Till ten o' the fifteen Englishmen Lay before the door in their blude. 1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 23.= 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 3Iay 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. [This is a modem extension by Mr Jamiesox, of a fragment given in Johnson's Museum. Tlie '-, / fragment, along wita 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 azes.] The Wallace wicht, wi' his merry men a', Frae Striveling is southward gane ; A nd he's got word that the Earl Percy AVas out wi' sax thousand Englishmen. H's 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 clac-s. 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; " Ur what ails thee to gar thee greet ? "Mair meet it wers in princely bower, Wi' noblest feres thy youtii 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 kUl'd my bri- ther. They herryit our Eild, and brent our ha' : Me they've — richon I my heart will brak : — My true love to England's reft awa'. "Yet hope, gin Wallace had thriven, I had, That I my lemraan yet mat see. Revenge on Cressingham to wrack. For a' the wTangs he's gart me dree. " But Pierey, wi' the fause earl Warren, And Cressingham (ill mat he speed 1) Are dackerin" wi' sax thousand mair, Frae Coupar to Berwick upon Tweed. " And down in yon wee ostler house >'ow ligs full fyftcen En^'Iish Strang, And they are seekin' the gude Wallace, Its hirn to tak', and him to hang." " There's nought in my purse," quo' euli- Wallace, " Sma' spulyie ha'e they to get frae me : But 1 will down to yon wee ostler house, Thir fxfteen 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 fhir, " And send us ten thousand sic as yoa :' And whan he cam' to yon wee ostler hoosp. He bade benediciU be there ; The gude-wife said, " Ye're welcome, c^m* ben, Mair welcome, I wat, nor twa r three n air. ' The gude-man syne came in frae the hill, A braw fat gimmer upon his back ; He ferlied to see that strange meniie. Sic cheer and mows at his ingle mak'. 230 SCOTTISH BALLADS. C^i! w pi •' Ye're hamelie fallows, to be sae frem ! I brewd nae browst for kettrin like ye ; (iixl svnd the days puir tfcotland has seen. And a bitter browst to you 'twill be !" " Welcome, auld carl !" said the captain ; " Auld cruikit carl, wi' your fat yow ; It weel will saur wi' the Rude brown yill ; And the four spawls o't I wat wes cow." " The spawls o' it gin ye should cow, 111 will 1 thole to brook the \vrang. But gin 1 had ye in gude Brae Slurray, I'd gar ye sing anither sang. " There Edderfs glaive and Eddert's goud Ha'e ettled at thirldome in vain ; And sair will England some day rue The wrangs we've a' frae Eddert ta'en. •' God red our Wallace wicht frae harm, And send our gude earl Kobert here ; For cowart art and lawless rief, We'll soon our score wi' Eddert clear." " O whare was ye born, auld cruikit earl ? Your leed saurs na o' this eountrie" — ** A true Murray Scott I'm born and bred. And an auld cruikit carl just sic as ye see." " I'll pie fyfteen shillins to thee, cruikit carl. For a friend to him ye kythe to me, Gin ye'll tak' me to the wicht Wallace ; For up-sides wi'm I mean to be." " I'm but an auld cruiWt carl, God wot, .Stiff and onfeirle to what I've been ; My glaive lang syne w.ns hung o' the knag. And three score and five thir haffets ha'e " But leal my heart beats yet, and warm ; Thoch auld onfeirie and lyart I'm now; Were wicht Wallace here, wi' nane but mysel'. For a' Eddert's kingdom I wadna be you!" A rung the Wallace had intill his han', A burly kent as well mat be. That ance afore redd him frae skaith, Whan tellin' his beads by the greenwood He hat the proud captain alang the chaft blade, That never a bit o' meal he ate mair; He stickit the laive at the buird whare they sat. And he left them a' lyin' sprawlin' there. " Sae God me shield," said the gude Wallace, " Though hard bested, I've done wi' tbae; Sae God me shield," said the gude Wallace, "And send me as mony sothroun mae." Bumbazed the gude-man glowr'd a wee. Syne hent the Wallace by the han' ; " Its he ! it can be nane but he !" The gude-wife on her knees had faun. " Hale be your hearts, ye couthie twa, I'm he, I'm Wallace, as ye trow ; But faut and mister ha'e done mair. Nor e'er could thae my head to bow. " Get up, gude-wife, gin Christ ye luve. Some meltith fess to me in haste ; For it will soon be three lang days Sin' 1 a bit o' meat did Uiste." I wat the gude-wife wasna sla ; But hardly on the buird 'twas set. Till ither fyfteen Englishmen Were a' lichted about the yett. " Come out, come out, thou fause Wallace, For weel we wat that here ye be ; Come out, come out, thou traitor Wallace ; Its o'er late now to flinch or fiee. " The tod is ta'en in his hole, Wallace ; This Is the day that thou maun die." " I lippen na sae little to God," he says, " Althoch that I be ill wordie." The gudeman lap to his braid claymore. That hang on the knag aside the speir ; A lance the wife hent down frae the baulc. That aft had shane fu' sharp in weir. His burly brand the Wallace drew. And out he braided at the door ; His stalwart back he turn'd to the wa'. And firmly set his foot before. His trusty-true twa-hannit glaive Afore him swang he manfuUie, While anger lucken'd his dark brow3, And like a wood-wolf glanst his e'e. SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Art thou that bousteous Bellamy," Bo'.vJen vd' rage, said the captain ; " That feiloun traitor, that sae fell douchty EDglishmen has slain ? " ifat &od assoile me, hut it glads Jly hart this tyde to meet thee sae ! My ae brither by the Earn lies dead ; But in thy heart's bluid I'll wrack my " I weird thee, to let me be were best ; Xocht do I grein thy bluid to spill ; Fierce as thy brither was, and fell, Southron, he was thy brither still ; "And liith were I," quotli the gude Wal- lace, Lowtrin' his glaive in mylder rauid, " 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." I " 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. i " Ya, wilt thou ?" said Wallace, " then tak' ; thee that I" I And derfly strak a dynt sae dour, i That thr. ugh the craig and shouther blade | At ance the trenchand weapon share.* i * This stroke of the wight Wallace is nothing to the following: — " One "iir David de Anand, a right valiant knight, chanced to be wounded by ' ne 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 his adversarie, 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 •t light upon the verie harde pavement, so as the '-:nt of the violente stroke remained to be sene aiong tyme after in one of the stones of the same pavement."— Holinshed '3 History of Scotland, F. JU, 1. % Agast the sothroun stood a stound : ' Syne hamphis'd him, pele-mele, am? .inil a', And vapourin" wi' bumist swerds, gan shout. " Eevenge, revenge I fy, tak' and ila '." The auld gude-:nan had the auld man's grip, Thoch nao sae ftirie as he had been ; Sae steevely he by the Wallace stood. Were few that to meet his glaive mat grein And bauld and bardach 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 W.illace, The auld guJe-man shure his craig in twa. " Weel doon, my fere I" said the Wallace then ; " Wi' thee 'twere a shame to tak' to tin. 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 dan;. Wi' deadly dynts the baldest ten O' the sothroun, that the starkest stuiii. The wicht Wallace and thir trusty t»a Ha'e laid o' the green dicht in their bluid. The tither five to the green-wood ran : On a grain they hav git thera 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 enehanu-d glaii - mor of Fingal, so famous in the tales of the flighlanders, that would by mere dint of iu own innate virtue, cut through any thing that wn* struck with it, and could not be stopt till it came to the gn^und. This unlucky propensity in the sword to go farther than was intendeil, onen occasioned sad mistakes and accidents, many ff which make the ground-work of ules which are still repeated by the winter's evening fine-side. 233 SCOTTISH BALLADS. [In Juhnson's Museum, a fragment of this ballad is given, under the title of " Lord Eonal.l my j>on."* This fragment was furnishid by Burns to that work, along with the air to which it is sung. Uuri'.s saj-8 that the air is a favourite one in AjTshire, and supposes that it is the original of Looha- ber. 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 1 willingly follow the authority of an Ettrick Forest copy for calling him Randal ; because, though the circumstances are so very different, I think it net impossible, that the ballad may have originally regardctj 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 rr.oment 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, bee 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 Hailes, in his Remarks on the History of Scot- land. The substitution of some venomous reptile for food, or putting it into liquor, was anciently suppo6ed to be a common 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 bir Walter refers runs as follows. It is called " The Croodlin' Doo,' (Cooing Pigeon.) " (jh, whaur ha'e ye been a' the day, my bonnie wee croodlin' doo?" " Oh, I've been at my grandmother's (step-mothers), mak' my bed mammie, doo '." " Oh, what gat ye at your grandmother's, my little wee croodlin' doo ?" " I got a bounie wee lishie, 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 f " She boiled it in a brass pan, ( " And what did ye do wi' the banes o't, my bonnie wee croodlin' doo?" " I gied them to my little dog, mak' my bed, mammie, noo." ** And what did your little doggie do, my bonnie wee croodlin' doo?" ** He stretched Iaria," &c. " It burst into a thousand pieces— alls," kc. " Maria, where shall I make thy bed — Maria, my only child V " In the churchyard shall thou make my bed — alas, lady mother, whit pain ! " O wHEBK ha'e ye been. Lord Randal, my son ? O where ha'e ye been, my handsome young man ?" " I ha'e been to the wUd wood ; mother, make my bed soon. For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." " 'WTiere gat ye your dinner. Lord Randal, my son ? \v here gat ye jour dinner, my handsome young man ?" " I din'd wi' my true-love ; mother, make my bed soon. For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." " What sat ye to your dinner. Lord Randal, my son ? "What eat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man ^" " I gat eels boU'd in broo' ; mother, make my bed soon. For I'm weary wi' hunting, and ikin wald lie down." "What became of your bloodhounds. Lord Randal, my son ? "^Vhat became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man " they swell'd and they died ; mother, make my bed soon. For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald Ue down." "01 fear ye are poison'd. Lord Randal, my son ! O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man !" " yes ! I 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 D&Ilkds, Lon- don, 1S27. It was procured in the ^'orth. " It would seem," says Mr Kinloch, " that Lord Donald had been poisoned by eating toads prepared as a dish of fishes. Though the frog is in »oino 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 offish," as meaning to substitute what is bad or disagreeable, for expected good, be viewed as allied to the idea of the venomous quality of the toad?" " O WHARE ha'e ye been a' day, Lord Donald, my son ■ O whare ha'e ye teen a' day, my joliie young m.^n ?" " I've been awa' courtin' ; mither, mak' my bed sune, Fop I'm sick at the heart, and I fiun wad lie doun." 40 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " What wad yc ha'e for your supper. Lord Donald, my son ? What wad ye ha'e for your supptr, my jollie young man ?" " I've gotten my supper ; mither, raak' my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and 1 fain wad lie doun." " What did ye get for your supper. Lord Donald, my son .- ^^'hat 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 Im sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." •' What like were your fishes, Lord Donald, my son ? Wh.-it 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 I fain wad lie doun." "01 fear ye are poison'd, Lord Donald, my son ! O I fear ye are poison'd, my jollie young man !" " O yes I I am poison'd ; mither, mak' my bed sune. For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." " What will ye leave to your father, Lord Donald, my son ? AVhat 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 fiain 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 ?" " My horse and the saddle ; mither, mak' my bed sune. For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." " What will ye leave to your sister. Lord Donald, my son ': \N'hat will ye leave to your sister, my jollie young man ?" " Uaith my gold box and rings ; mither, mak' my bed sun For I'm sick at the heart, and I 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 i*" " The tow and the halter, for to hang on yon tree, And lat her hang there for the poysoning o' me." ii EammiifeiTi* § D [Th^ ballad generally called "Lammikln" was at one time a popular one throughout Scot- land, and a number of different versions of it exist, in which both the names of the hero and the locality celebrated var>-. In the versions be- fore us, the hero figures under the different names of " Lammikin," " Lamkin," "Balcan- • lual," " Lambert Linkin," and " Bold Rankin," while the localities are also changed more or less. " Lammikin" is supposed to be an ironical de- signation of the blood-thirsty mason. The earliest printed copy of the ballad that can be traced is that in Herd's collection, 1776; a more complete and better copy is given in Jamieson's collection, 1806 ; another version by Finlay, in 1S08 ; and another by Motherwell in 1827. All these we reprint in the order in which we have specified them, and also add a version derived from oral tradition, which has not before been printed.] [Hfrd's copy, with additional verses by Finlay. " Yae night, yae night, Idreaint this Uwtr red red blade wa« fu" ; Gin ye gang to thij black hunting, 1 sail ha'e cause to rue." " Wha looks to dream», my winsome Lammikin was as gude a mason As ever hewed a stane ; He biggit Lord Weire's castle. But payment gat he nane. " Sen ye winna gi'e me my guerdon, lord. Sen ye winna gi'e me my hire. This gude castle, sae stately built, I sail gar rock wi' fire. " 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. — The Lammikin sair wroth, sair wroth, Returned again to Downe ; But or he gaed, he vow'd and voWd, The castle should sweep the ground.— " byde at hame, my gude Lord Weire, I weird ye byde at hame ; Gang na to this day's hunting. To leave me a' alane. " But Where's the lady o' this hoav^ Says the Lammikin ; " She is in her bower sewini;," The false nourice did sing. " Is this the bairn o' this house -" Says the Lammikin ; " The only bairn Lord Weire nuetit' The false nourice did sing. Lammikin ni; ped the bonnie b*bc. While loud false nourict? sings ; Lammikin nipped the bonnie b«b«-. Till high the red blude springs. " Still my bairn, nourice, O still him if ye can." " He w ill not still, madam. For a' his fathers Ian." Cheek a'i4 cAiii,— • proverbial phnar. «|rn<- ^ W at fying completely. '*«'^ ' ^ j>^v£<^'^-wy --■=-' "^ •' O, cetitle nourice, still my lairii, O still him wi' the keys;'" " He will not still, fair lady. Let me do what I please." " U still my bairn, kind nourice, O still him wi' the ring." " He will not still, my lady, Let me do any thing." " O still my bairn, gude nourice, O still him wi" the knife." " Ho will not still, dear mistress mine. Gin I'd lay down my life." " .Sweet nourice, loud loud cries my bairn, O still him wi' the bell." " He will not still, dear lady. Till ye cum down yoursel". The first step she stepped. She slipped on a stane. The next step she stepped. She met the Lammikin. And when she saw the red red blude, A loud skriech skrieched she, — " u monster, monster, spare my child, Vi'ho never skaithed thee .' " O spare, if in your bluidy breast Abides not heart of stane ! t» spare, an' ye sail ha'e o' gold That ye can carry hame !" " I carena for your gold," he said, " 1 carena for your fee, 1 ha'e been wranged by your lord. Black vengeance ye sail drie. " Here are nae serfs to guard your ha's, Nae trusty spearmen here ; In yon green wood they sound the horn. And chace the doe and deer. " Though merry sounds the gude green-wood Wi' huntsmen, hounds, and horn. Your lord 8.111 rue ere sets yon sun He has done me skaith and scorn." " O nourice, wanted ye your meat. Or wanted ye your fee. Or wanted ye for any thinj? A r.ur lady could gi'e.^" " I wanted for nae meat, ladie, I wanted for nae fee; But I wanted for a hantle A fair lady could gi'e." Then Lammikin drew his red red sword, And sharped it on a stane, And through and through this fair ladie, The cauld cauld steel is gane. Xor lang waa't after this foul deed, Till Lord Weire cumin hame, Thocht he saw his sweet bairn's bluid Sprinkled on a stane. " I wish a' may be weel," he says, " Wi' my ladie at hame ; For the rings upon my fingers Are bursting in twain." But mair he look'd, and dule saw he. On the door at the trance. Spots o' his dear lady's bluid Shining like a lance. — " There's bluid in my nursery. There's bluid in my ha', There's bluid in my fair lady's bower. An' that's warst of a'." O sweet sweet sang the birdie Upon the bough sae hie. But little cared false norice for that. For it wiis her gallows tree. Then out he set, and his braw men Rode a' the country roun'. Ere lang they fand the Lammikin Had shtltered near to Downe. They carried him a' airts o' wind. And mickle pain had he. At last before Lord Weire's gate They hanged him on the tree. [Jamieson's Version, who received Mrs Brown of Falkland.] It's Lamkin was a mason good. As ever built wi' stane ; Ho built lord Wearie's castle. But inyment got he nane. SCOTTISH BALLAUS. 240 " O pay me, lord Wearie ; Come, pay me my fee." "I canna pay you, Larr.kin, 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 'Weane 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'. " whare's a' the men o' this house. That ca' me Lamkin .■*" " They're at the barnweU thrashing, 'Twill be lang ere they come in." " And whare's the women o' this house. That ca' me L.amkin ?" " They're at the far well washing; 'Twill be laug ere they come in." " And whare's the bairns o' this house. That ca' me Lamkin ?" " They're at the school reading; 'TwUl 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." Tiien Lamkin's tane 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 rocker." But ere three months wire at an en 1. Lord Weare came again ; But dowie dowie was his heart When first he came hame. (^ m SCOTTISH BALLADS. e' " O, wha'8 blood is this," he says, " That lies in the chamer ?" " It is your lady's heart's blood ; 'Tis as clear as the lamer." " And wha's blood is this," he says, " That lies in my ha' ?" ■' It is your young son's heart's blood ; 'Tis the clearest ava." o, sweetly sang the black-bird That sat upim the tree; Hut sairer grat Lamkin, ^^'hen he was condemn'd to dii'. And bonnie sang the ma\'is Out o' the thorny brake ; But sairtr grat the nourice, When she was tied to the stakt. [FiNi.AY's copy, who gives it from a manu- script written by an old lady.] Whhen Balwearie and his train Gaed to hunt the wild boar. He gar'd bar up his castle Behind and before. Vj^Ti And he bade his fair lady r^n\ Guard weel her young sou. For wicked Balcanqual Great mischief had done. m So she closed a' the windows Without and within. But forgot the wee wicket. And Balcanqual crap in. Then up spak' fause nourice, " Haste up to the tower. Somebody knocks at the gate Bauldly and dowr." .Syne Balcanqual he rocked, And fause nourice sang. Till through a' the cradle The baby's blood sprang. " O please the bairn, nourice. And please him wi' the keys." " He'll no be pleased, madam. For a' that he sees." And Balcanqual ay rocked. While fause nourice sang. And through a' the cradle The baby's blood ran. Please the bairn, nourice. And please him wi' the knife." " He'll no be pleased, madam. Though I'd gi'e my life." And Balcanqual still rocked. And fause nourice sang. While through a' the cradle The baby's blood ran. " Now please the bairn, nourice, And please him wi' the bell." " He'll no be pleased, madam. Till ye come yoursel'." — Down came this fair lady. Tripping down the stair. To see her sick bairn. But returned never mair. — " Now scour the bason, Jenny, And scour't very clean, To haad this lady's blood. For she's of noble kin." She's lifted her baby, And kissed cheek and chin. And his ance rosy lips. But nae breath was within. — " Fare weel, my sweet baby, Ye've left me alane ; But I see my death coming, I needna make mane." They've ta'en this fair lady. And tied her wi' bands. And in her sweet heart's blond They've dipped their hands. For Balcanqual and nourice Had vow'd her to slae. Because their ill deeds Made Balwearie their £ae. SCOTTISH BALLAK.S. Balwearie and his train Cam' hame weary at e'en, Nae voice gied them welcome, Nae light could be seen. " Open, dear lady. My castle to me;" Nae voice gied an answer, Nae voice was to gf e. IV. [Motherwell's version.— "The present copy," says Mr Motherwell, " is given from recitation, and though it could have received additions, and perhaps improvements, from another copy, ob- tained from a similar source, and of equal au- thenticity, in his possession, the editor did not like to use the liberty which is liable to much abuse. To some, the present set of the ballad rr.ay be valuable, as handing down both name and nickname of the revengeful builder of Prime Castle; for there can be little doubt that the epithet Linkin, Mr Lambert acquired from the secrecy and address with which he insinuated himself into that notable strength. Indeed all the names of Lammerlinkin, Lammikin, Lam- kin, Lankin, Linkin, Belinkin, can easily be traced out as abbreviations of Lambert Linkin. In the present set of the ballad, Lambert Liakin and Belinkin are used indifferently, as the mea- sure of the verse may require ; in the other re- cited copy, to which reference has been made, it is Lammerlinkin, and Lamkin ; and the noble- man for whom he ' built a house,' is stated to be ' Lord Arran.' No allusion, however, is made here to the name of the owner of Prime Castle. Antiquaries, peradventure, may find it as dilH- eult to settle the precise locality of this fortalice, as they have found it to fix the topography of Troy."] Belinkin was as gude a mason As e'er pickt a stane ; He built up Prime Castle, But payment gat nane. The lord said to his lady, When he was going abroad, " O beware of BeUnkin, For he lies in the wood." The gates they were bolted Baith outiide and in ; And at the sma' peep ofa wind< Belinkin crap in. " Gude morrow, gude morrow," Said Lambert Linkin ; " Gude morrow to yoursel", sir," fsaid the fause nurse to him. " O whare is your gude lord ?" Said Lambert Linkin; " He's awa' to New England, To meet with his king." " O where is his auld son ? " Said Lambert Linkin ; " He's awa' to buy pearlinK^ Gin our Lady ly in." " Then she'll never wear thcru,' Said Lambert Linkin ; " And that is nae pity," Said the fause nurse to hiin. "■ where is your lady ?" Said Lambert Linkin ; " She's in her bouir sleepin'," Said the fause nurse to him. " How can we get at her ?" Said Lambert Linkin ; " Stab the babe to the htart Wi' a silver bu'kin." " That wud be a pity," Said Lambert Linkin ; " Nae pity, nae pity," Said the fause nurse to him Belinkin he rocked, And the fause nurse she sane. Till a' the tores* C the cradle, Wi' the red blude down ran. » Tores.— The projections or knobs at the oor ners of old-fashioned cradles, and the orniinu-n- tal balls commonly found surmounlinR tht backs of old chairs. Dr Jamioson doe* not tt-rm to have had a precise notion of this worrl. Vul. IV. Vol. of his Dictionary, voct Tort. MpOttrwtJ!. C>\,^^X^^- v'^. -->>^ ^'.0 • (» still my babe, nurice, () still him wi- tlie knife;" " He'll no be still, lady. Though 1 lay down my lif«-." " i» still my babe, nurice, <) still him wi' the kame; ■ " He'll no be still, lady. Till his daddy come hame." " <) still my babe, nurice, u still him wi' the bell ;" " He'll no be still, lady. Till ye come down yoursel'." " Its how can I come doun This cauld frosty nicht. Without e'er a coal ( )r a clear candle licht ?" " There's twa smocks in your cuffcr, jvs white as a swan, I'ut ane o' them about you, It will show you licht doun." She took ane o' them about her, And came tripping doun ; But as soon as she viewed, Itelinkin was in. " Gude morrow, gude morrow," Said Lambert Linkin; " Gude morrow to yoursel', sir," tjaid the lady to him. " Oh save my life, Belinkin, Till my husband come back. And I'll gi'e ye as much red golil As ye'll baud in your hat." "I'll no save your life, lady. Till your husband come back, Tho' you wud gi'e me as much red gold As 1 could baud in a sack. " Will I kill her?" quo" BeUnkin, " Will 1 kiU her, or let her be ?" " You may kill her," said the fause nurse " She was ne'er gude to me; And ye'll be laird o' the castle. And I'll be ladye." Then he cut aff her head P'nie her lily brtast bane. And he hung't up in the kitchen, It made a' the ha' shine. The lord sat in England A-drinking the wine : " I wish a' may be weel Wi' my lady at hame ; For the rings o' my fingers They're now burst in twain !" He saddled his horse. And he cam' riding doun ; But as soon as he viewed, Belinkin was in. He hadna weel stepped Twa steps up the stair. Till he saw his pretty young son Lying dead on the floor. He hadna weel stepped Other twa up the stair. Till he saw his pretty lady Lying dead in despair. He hanged Belinkin Out over the gate ; And he burnt the fause nurice Being under the grate. \1 ( f [From a MS. in the possession of W Logan, Esq., Edinburgh, derived from oral tra dition.] Said the lord to the lady— " Beware of Rankin, For I'm going to England To wait on the king." " No fears, no fears," Said the lady, said she, " For the doors shall be bolted. And the windows pindee. " Go bar all the windows Both outside and in. Don't leave a window open. To let bold Kankin in." She has barred up the windows All outside and in, But she left ane of them open To let bold Kankin in. -<, I " uh : where U the master of this house ? Said bold Rankin, " He's up in old England," Said the false nurse to him. " Oh ! where is the mistress of this house ? Said bold Eankin, " She's up in her chamber sleeping," Said the false nurse to him. " Oh ! how shall we get her down ?" Said bold Eankin, " By piercing the baby," Said the felse nurse to him. " Go please the baby, nursey oh ! Go please it with a bell;" " It will not be pleased, madam, Till ye come down yoursei*. " " How can I come down stairs. So late into the night, "\\'ithout coal and candle To show me the light ? " There is a silver bolt lies On the closet head. Give it to the baby. Give it sweet milk and bread." She rammed the silver bolt All up the baby's nose. Till the blood it came trickling down The baby's fine clothes. " Go please the baby, nursey. Go please it with the bell." It will not please, madam. Till you come down yoursei'." " It wi'J neither please with breast-milk, N^or yet with pap. But I pray, loving lady. Come and roU it in your L-»p." The first step she stepped. She stepped on a stane. And the next step she stepped. She met bold Eankin. " Oh ! Rankin, oh ! Eankin, Spare me till twelve o'clock. And I will give you as many guineas. As you can carry on your back." " What eare I fnr aa man; gulnerj As seeds into a sack. When I cannot keep my hands Off your lily-white ntck?" " Oh ! wUl I kill her, nuriey, Orlet h^rabee.■'•• " Oh ! kill her, " said the falic nune, " She was never good to roe.' " Go scour the l>asoD, lady, Both outside and in, To hold your mother's hoart '5 M • Sprung from a nobler kiuu;.' ■ "To hold my mothers heart's blo<..|, Would make my heart fall wue, Oh ! rather kill me, Rankin, And let my mother go." " Go scour the bason, servants. Both outside and in ; To hold your lady's heart's blood. Sprung from a nobler king." " To hold my lady's heart's blood, Would make my heart full woe. Oh ! rather kill me, Eankin, And let my lady go." " Go scour the bason, nursey. Both outside and in. To hold your lady's heart's blo.Kl, Sprung &om a nobler king." " To hold my lady's heart's blool . Would make my heart full gl.i . Earn in the knife, bold Rankin, And gar the blood to shed. " She's none of my comrades, She's none of my kin'.t Earn in the knife, bold Rankin, And gar the bluid hn." " Oh ! will I kill her, nursey, Orletherabee.5" " Oh ! kiU her, " said the "igg<.'r i hard, him got no friends beiv." •JIS SCOTTISH BALLADS. " I wish my wife and family May be all weU at haine; For the silver buttons of my coat They will not stay on." As Mary was looking O'er her window so high, She saw her dear father Come riding by. " Oh ! father, dear father ! Don't put the blame on me. It w.is false nurse and Rankin, That killed your Uulie." oh ; wasn't that an awful sight. When he came to the stair^ To see his fairest lady Lie bleeding there ? The false nurse was burnt On the mountain hill head. And Rankin was boiled In a pot full of lead. iiufHiEg ^l %Ml3m^nun. '^\ [This fragment, with the following note pre- fixed to it, was first printed in an Aberdeen newspaper about thirty years ago.—" In 1592 the Mackintoshes, or clan Chattan, having offended (Jordon of Huntly and Strathbogie, to whom thty were vassals, the latter vowed vengeance, which the fonner fearing, requested their chief fp proceed to Auchindoun Castle, the residence i.f their offended superior, and sue for peace. On his arrival there, Gordon was unfortunately irom home : he was however introduced to his lady, to whom he told on what errand he had .onie, and pleaded for her intercession; but she tuld him that she was sure her lord would not be satisfied until the head of the chief of the clan Lliiittan was fixed on the cjistle gate. The chief despising her threat, and bowing scornfully low =,.< l«fore he should depart, she snatched a sword ^/p/) from the wall, and severed his head from his 1 /^-^ liOdy. His clan, on hearing of the ' horrid deed,' '. •T< assembled under his son and successor, and ii.archcd to Auchindoun Castle in the dead of night, which they plundered and set on fire. 'Ihe lady made her escape, but several of the ^inmates perished in the flames. The ruins of thu baronial residence are still to be seen on the banks of the river Fiddach in Bamfshire."] " Turn, Willie Mackintosh, Turn, turn, 1 bid you ; If you burn Auchindoun, Huntly will head you." " Head me or h.ang me. That winna fiey me, I'll burn Auchindoun, Ere the life lea' me." Coming owre Cairn-croome,* And looking down, man ; I saw Willie Mackintosh Burn Auchindoun, man. Light was the mirk hour At the day dawing. For Auchindoun was in liames Ere the cock crawing. BURNING OF AUCHINDOUN. [MoDEKN Version. — Alexander Laij " Turn again, my gallant chief. Turn again, I bid you — If you burn Auchindoun, The Gordon will behead you." " The Gordon may behead me— I will think of turning When his haughty lady weeps — When Auchindoun is burning 1" The shepherd now had left the hill. The stormy wind was howling ; And on the brow of Cairn-croome, The cloud of night was scowling ; While on the deep and distant glen. The Fiddach, wildly wailing Of foes upon its woody banks — Of coming wae was telling ! A hill near Auchindoun. I'J Anon was seen along the sky A beam so bright approaching. That on the middle hour of night The day-light seem'd encroaching. Then faintly on the stormy heath Wa^ heard the voice of mourning— And then appeared the bursting flames— Auchindoun was burning ! ^ie WrBxhtk ©' ^iik&so^. [MoDEKN Ballad.— (See Vignette to the pre- sent volume.) — The tradition upon which the present 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 France satisfaction for certain piracies committed by his subjects upon those of Scot- 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 furced him to fly through the air towards France. As they crossed the sea, the devil insidiously asked his rider, what it was that the old women of Scotland muttered at bed -time ? A less experienced wizard might have answered, that it was the Pater Noster, which would have licensed the devil to precipitate him from his back. But Michael sternly replied, ' What is that to thee ? Mount, Diaboius, 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 not 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 sem his horse stamp three times. The first stamp shook every 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 hose to dismiss Michael with the most ample concessions, than to stand to the probable con- | bequences. i& " Sir Michael Scott," according to the »ain< II high authority, " nourished during the IZtit 1 1 century, and was one of the ambaMadon ient f[ to bring the Maid of N'orway to Scotland, upon the death of Alexander III. He wa* a man of ] much learning, chieHy acquired in foreign coun- tries. He wrote a commentary upon Ariitotk, printed at Venice in 1496 ; and several treati*-* upon natural philosophy, from which he appeare to have been addicted to the abstniae studiei of judicial astrology, alchymy, physiognomy, and chiromancy. Hence he passed among his con- temporaries for a skilful magician. Dempst*-r 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 opene'l without danger, on account of the fiends who were thereby invoked. — Dempster! Historia Kc- clesiastica, 1627, lib. xii. p. 495. Lesly charai- terises Michael Scott as ' singular! philoeophia.-, astronomiae, ac medicinse laude prsestans; diceba- tur penitissimos magise recessus indagaase.' A personage, thus spoken of by biugraphers and historians, loses little of his mystical Dune in vulgar tradition. Accordingly, the memory of Sir Michael Scott survives in many a legend, and in the south of Scotland, any work of grvat labour and antiquity is ascribed, either to thi- agency of Auid Michael, of Hii William Wall.n.-»r, or of the devil."] Ae gloamin, as the sinking sun Gaed owre the waatlin' braes. And shed on Aikwood's haunted towcr- His bright but fading rays ; Auld Michael sat his leafu' lane Down by the streamlet's side, Beneath a spreailing hazel bush, And watched the passing tide. Wi' mennons wee, that loup'd for ji'v. The water seemed a fry. And cross the stream, frae stane to st.ii. The trout gaed glancin" by. The sportive roaukin fme his form Cam' dancing o'er the lea. And cocked his lugs, and wagged his fn Sune 's Michael caught his e'e. The paitricks whirring nearer flew, — But, hark ! what ist I hear ■> The horse's tramp and trum;«fs now- To Aikwood diawiog near; /^^ SCOTTISH BALLAD?. 8 Auld Michael raisoae 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 sj^k' that nae man ken' I, 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 counfnance glow'd, for see he comes Home on the blast along, A tall black steed, with eyes of flame. And thews and sinews strong : " Xow 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, Xought 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 fi-emit 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 towrs Were seen far far below. The palace porters trembling scan'd The black steed and his master. The courtiers half partook their fear ; But all burst out in laughter At Michael's dress ; but soon with voice That made their (iuU 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 ft-el We're better than we seem !" The black horse stamp'd ; and lo ! the b. i Through all the town did sound. The steeple towers shock to their base As heaVd up from the ground. " What ! do ye still my suit refuse P Then stamp, my steed, once more 1" 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 glarJ, ^ And through the air did ride /^^:^<: SCOTTISH BALLADS. 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. The bell-man on a gargoyle's * back '.Vas 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 com ears in the sheaf. That Harvest reaper binds. The king firae 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'3 me on the day " He e'er cam' to our palace yett I" But Jlichael now nae langer "Wad 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." -Vn answer in hot haste was giv'n, And e'er you could say, whew ! The warlock had bestrode his steed. And through the air they flew. Gargoyle — A projecting water spout, eom- n to different styles of architecture, and fre- a^ntly sculptured into the shape of an open- liiouthed monster. t Xotre Dame, the principal cathedral in Paris, stands upon an island in the middle of the river Seine, which intersects the city. And as they pass'd o'er Dover itraiu. The horse to speak beean, A pawky beast, and, as he pleju'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 gun gaea dow: . Ere to their beds they gae ?" But Michael was oWre slee e'en Tt The cunning o' the de'il — " What's th.-it to thee, Diabolus ? Mount, or my wand thou'lt feel " But if indeed thou fain wadst ken AVhat's by the auld wives said, Then dam 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 through the blue, and sounds o' tt> Nae mair fa' on the ear " Then wilt thou see auld Scotia's iLim Kneel down to ane above. And name with reverence the namt- Of Him that's truth and love. " A name, Diabolus ! more dn-.id To thee and all thy firy Than is thy hideous native fomi To untaught mortal eye." By this time they h.'id Entrland cri«»M. And eke the Cheviots high ; The Pentlands had been left behind. And HoljTood was nigh. Here Michael parting frae his st»v.l Straight to the palace went. In haste before his soVreign lord Himself there to present. " What ho ! Sir Michael, art thou h, Which afterwarls he soon With the black Douglass did cxch;i-i. For Eastwood and Ponoon, Where many ages they did live, By king and country lov'd ; As men of valour and renown. Who were with honour movl To shun no hazard when they coul 1 To either senice do : Thus did they live, thus did they tpen : Their blood and money Uv. ( I >^-'' en f DugOtUe's Baronage, and Hiatarictof EngUi' i 25G SCOTTISH BALLADS. ''"W m k0, u. At last earl Douglass did inform, That to our king's disgrace, An English earl had deeply swori-. He'd hunt in Chevychase, And, maugre all that Scots could do, Would kill and bear away The choicest deer of Otterbum," And best of harts would slay. Our king sent his commands unto dir Hugh Montgomerie, And told him Douglass wanted men Who fight could, but not flee. The stout Sir Hugh f himself prepares, The Douglass to support ; And with him took his eldest son : Then did they all resort Unto the field, with their bi-ave men, Where most of them did die ; Of fifteen hundred warlike Scots Came home but fifty-three. Douglass was slain ; Sir Hugh again The battle did renew ; He made no stand, with his own hand The earl Percy he slew. Sir Hugh was slain. Sir John maintaind The honour of the day ; And with him brought the victory. And Percy's son away. He with his ransom built Ponooti, A castle which yet stands; The king well pleas'd as a reward Did therefore give him lands ; And some time after gave his niece. Of Eglintoun the heir. To Sir Hugh's representative ; Thus joined was this pair. As with her came a great estate. So by her did descend Her royal blood to Lennox^ house. Which did in Darnly end. * See Percy's Reliques, V( 1. I. p. IS, ed. 1794. t Histories of Scotland. i Earl of Lennox. Who father was to James the sixth. Of Britain the first king. Whose royal race unto this day Doth o'er Great Britain reign. Since you are come of royal blood. And kings are sprung from you ; See that with greatest zeal and lovu Those virtues ye pursue. Which to those honours rais'd your hous And shall without all stain. In heralds books your ensigns tlowr'd. And counter-flowr'd main. i^i||)laE5i Ecgrol, [Van Dyk.] Young Lamond, the pride of Argyleshin,', Was hunting the red red deer. And he saw a hart in his own Glenfine, And pierced him with his spear. The hart flew on with the lightning's speed, Though the shaft was in his side, Tni he came to a river's sloping bank. And plunged in the restless tide. The hunter follow'd «ith might and main. To the midst of the wild Olenstrae, Where the young Macgregor had thrown; lance. And wounded a hart that day. The deer o'er each other's path had cross'd, As they kept on their blood-track'd flight. Until one sunk down on the heather bed. And died in the hunter's sight. They met in a proud and angry mood. Who had never met before ; And a strife arose o'er the fallen prey. And each drew his broad claymore. In vain, in vain, did the Gregor's son On his rival hunter dart, For Lamond his shining weapon raised And buried it in his heart. t/m. ^CUTTISH RALLAD.S. ^ He fiefl, pursued by his foeman's clan, )Bul he soon outstript them all ; Arifl when he had wander'd long and far, ^ He eume to an ancient hall. A ml he lo.ik'd on the face of an aged man. And he told him of the fray ; ^ Xni the old man shelter'd and fed the youth J Till the close of that fatal day. C But soon he heard from a hundred lips ] That his only child was slain, )< That the last hope of a mighty clan ^? Wou'd never breathe again. He had fues around him— his strength was gone, ^ And his race was nearly run ; J Ami he wept with a lone and a desolate heart = O'er the fate of his noble son. D^ But his word was pass'd to the stranger youth. And he led him forth at night, / q Wliile the cUin of Macgregor dream 'd revenge. And grasp'd their weapons bright. He led him forth to broad Lochfine, AVhere a bark was seen to ride. And he soon was borne o'er the darkling waves, Once more to his own burn-side. ■ Henceforth," at parting, Macgregor said, •' Thou must know u.e for thy foe : ' 111 ! he well may fear a sire's revenge. Who has laid his hopes so low." The barque shot off, and the old man tum'd, With a feeble step, to roam Through the lonely glens and the misty braes, To his sad and childless home. !Lit evil days o'er the good laird came. And he lost that home for aye ; Vnd he left— and he left with a broken heart The scenes of his loved Glenstrae. V -'ung Lamond then sought the wand'ring man, And open'd his hall-door wide. And he tended his wants with filial care Till the aged chieftain died. Wot ¥oung IJolbnsJtor.; [" A FRAGMENT of thig fine old ballad hju N»n repeatedly published under the title <■{ ' lb' cruel Knight." The present editiun hai b.*ii completed from two recited copies. Y-judi? Johnstone's reason for being ' sa« late a cominK in,' has been suppressed, as well as a concludinK stanzaof inferior merit, in which the cat.-utroi.h- is described in a manner quite satisfactorj', I'ut not very poetical." — Finlay't Scottith Hiit.irifut and Romantic Ballads."] TotntG Johnstone and the young col'nel Sat drinking at the wine, " O gin ye wad marry my sister, Its I wad marry thine." " I wadna marry your sister. For a' your houses and land. But I'll keep her for my leman. When 1 come o'er the strand. " I wadna marry your sister, For a" your gowd and fee ; But I'll keep her for my leman, ■V\Tien 1 come o'er the sea." Young Johnstone had a nut-bro»vn swonl." Hung low down by his gair, f And he ritted it through the young c-iinrl. ; 1 That word he ne'er spak' mair. i I But he's awa' to his sister's bower, And he's tirled at the pin ; ! " Whar ha'e ye been, my dear Johnstnni", I Sae late a coming in ? * This was a feTOurite simUe with our .in.> - tors, and did not imply, as some suppi«\ iv- particularly a long note in Percy'.* n«lii«iay. t A gair is a piece of clotli in»crU>a Into a g»r- ment to widen it. Gair is 8ometim<« u*il for the whole dress, " Gaincst undor gore," the mo«t beautiful in dress ; a phnjse of romance.— F>«i»v. , t Thnirt it violenUy. The wo«U o«ur» ac* n nV-^-" SCOTTISH BALLADS. ! dreamed a dream this night," she says, ^ She hadna wcel gane up the stair % " I wish it may be good, They were seeking you with hawks and hounds, | And the young cornel was dead." — * " They are seeking me with hawks and hounds. As I trow well they be ; For I have killed the young col'nel. And thy own true love was he." " If ye ha'e killed the young col'nel, A dule and woe is nie ; But 1 wish ye may be hanged on a hie gal- lows. An" ha'e nae power to flee.''— And he's awa' to his lover's bower. He's tirled at the pin ; " TrVhar ha'e ye been, my dear Johnstone, Sae late a coming in ? " I've dreamed a dream, this night," she says, I wish it may be good, They were seeking you with hawks and hounds. And the young col'nel was dead." j I " They are seeking me with hawks and hounds, As 1 trow well they be, ! i For I have killed the young col'nel. And thy ae brother was he." " If ye ha'e killed the young col'uel, A dule and woe is me ; But I gi'e na sae much for the young col'ntl. If thy ain body is free. " Come in, come in, my dear Johnstone, Come in and take a sleep. And I wUl go to my casement, f And carefully I'll thee keep." in Sir Tristrem, but I believe nowhere else ; in Sir Tristrem it simply mtans cut.—Finlay. • Though the rhyme of this stanza may now appear licentious, it was not so formerly. Dead is to this day pronounced deed in Scotland, and good guede in Aberdeenshire. It seem.s indetd anciently to have been so pronounced univer- sally ; at least in the romance of Horn Child we reaJ, ■ His gifteii were nought guede.'— Finlay. 1 t So the word has been corrupted ; it should || be ca*emate, a loop-hole in a y/M,— Finlay. ^ And entered in her tower. Till four-and-twenty belted knights Came riding to the door. " did you see a bloody squire, A bloody squire was he ; did you see a bloody squire Come riding o'er the lea .•*" " What colour were his hawks ?" she cried, " ^Vhat colour were his hounds ? AVliat colour was the gallant steed. That bore him from the bounds ?" " Bloody, bloody were his hawks. And bloody were his hounds. And milk-white was the gallant steed. That bore him from the bounds." " Yes, bloody, bloody were his hawks. And bloody were bis hounds. And milk-white «as the gallant steed. That bore him from the bounds : " But light ye down, now, gentlemen. And take some bread and wine ; An' the steed be good he rides upon. He's past the bridge of Tyne." " We thank you for your bread, ladie. We thank you for your wine ; 1 w.id gi'e thrice three thousand pounds Your fair bodie was mine.'' — " Lie still, lie still, my dear Johnstone, Lie still and take a sleep. For there's four-and-twenty belted knights Just gone out at the gate." But young Johnstone had a wee penknife, Hung low down by his gair. And he ritted it through his dear ladie. And wounded her sae sair. " What aileth thee, now dear Johnstone ? What aileth thee at me ? Hast thou not got my father's gold, Bot and my mother's fee ?" " JTow live, now live, my dear ladie, ^'ow live but lialf an hour ; And there's no a leech in a' Scotland, But shall be in thy bower." ) SCOTTISH BALLADS. " How can I live, my dear Johnstone ? How can I live for thee ? O do ye na see ray red heart's blood Run trickling down my knee ? " But go thy way, my dear Johnstone, And ride along the plain ; And think no more of thy true love. Than she had never heen." ^■Jif Mleisg Wtn. [From Evars's Collection of Old Ballads.; " O sight of woe '." she cried and rm To where her lover lay, Then, like an aspin, quiVrin^ itood. And gaz'd on the cold clay. That breast where oft thou, lo»e-«u-k nm 3 Hast laid thy languid head. Doth now present the ghajtiy woun-l Made by the deathful blade. Those yellow locks, that oft with joy Thy lily hand hath bound, TossM by the wind, now loosely flow Neglected on the ground. How cold and wan at noon that chwX. ^\'here gloWd at mom the rose I Those beauteous eyes the sleep of death Doth now for ever clote. A lady hearing her lover had fallen in single ii i-oni bat with his rival, calls to her attendant Ij boy: — [i " O SEK you not yon bonnie stead, ' That eats beneath the tree ? O tarry not, my little boy, ; j But bring him fast to me." 1 1 The boy ran nimbly to the place, ' ■\^"he^e fed the milk-white steed, i i And brought him to the lady fiiir, I Who mounted him with speed. ' The whip she plied — the courser flew. The dust in clouds did rise, i And soon she spied the dowy Den Where her true lover lies. , ii But now the panting steed she stop'd. And on the ground she sprung. Then hied her to the fatal place. With trees and bushes hung. A dreary place, I ween, it was. And mournful to behold ; Above — the winds did doleful blow. Below — dark waters roU"d. All cold and pale the youth was laid Fast by the rueful flood ; A breathless corse outstretch'd he lay. And all besmear'd with blood. In silent anguish fix'd she stood. And o'er the body hung, Then stooping, grasp'd and kiss'd the haii'! And sighing, thus began : " Nor wealth nor grandeur pow'r could ha\ • >Iy faithful heart to shake : For thee it beat, O much lov'd boy : For thee it now doth break. '• Why did thy wTathful rival think Hia sword could us di^oin * Did he not know that love had matlc My life but one with thine ^ " Then, haughty baron, know it now. Kor hope 111 be thy brid« ; With this dear youth I joy to die. Contemn thy pomp and pride. " Aud thou, my father, come and »«« How low thy daughter lie* ; i'Tijm crossing virtuous love, behold What dire misfortune* rise. '• O haplesi youth I — But ah '. no morv Her fault'ring tongue could wy . Then softly sunk upon hi» brpMt, And breath d her soul away. -SK 2G0 SCOTTISH BALLAD; [This ballad differs essentially from that which iias been published in various collections, under ihe title of Binnorie. It is compiled from a copy in iMrs Brown's MSS., intermixed with a beauti- ful fragment, of fourteen vei-ses, transmitted to the . the man and the woman condcmneJ t» !• hanged in the publicke street of Edinburgh. T;> ; punishment was suitable, becau«> the cr.nif wo., haj-nous. But yet was not tne court p-irpr-! •■' I whores and whoredoms, which ■' ' taine of such enormities; for it " ■ that sh.-vme hasted marriage b-i-^ ' pill, called the Dancer, and .M .:. ; sirnamed the Lusty. What bruil tUo .\! < and the rest of the dancers of the c ^urt h.> : : j ballads of that age do witner*?. wh:i-h ». . modestie's sake, omit ; but this was the o»mmi :-, complaint of all godly and wise m«.n. that, if they thought such a court could long cont-nu-. and if they looked for no better life to con ». itfj would have wished their »onD«s »n«l dauxhtm SCOTTISH BALLADS. •JG2 rather to have been brought up with fiddlers^ and dancers, and to have been exercised with rlinging upon a floore, and in the rest that thereof foUowes, than to have been exercised in the company of the godly, and exercised in vir- tue, which in that court was hated, and filthe- nesse not only maintained, but also rewarded ; witnesse the abbey of Abercome, the barony of Auohvernmchtie, and divers others, pertaining 1 1 the patrimony of the crown, given in heritage t > skippers and dancers, and dalliers with dames. This was the beginning of the regiment of Mary, queen of Scots, and these were the fruits that slie brought forth of Prance.— Lord ! look on our iiiiseries '. and deliver us from the wickednesse of this corrupt court !"— Knox's History of the Re- f^i-raation, p. 373-4.* Such seems to be the subject of the following ballad, as narrated by the stern apostle of pres- liytery. It will readily strike the reader, that the tale has suffered great alterations, as handed down by tradition; the French waiting-woman lieing changed into Mary Hamilton, and the queen's apothecary into Henry Darniey. Tet this is less surprising, when we recollect, that one of the heaviest of the queen's complaints against her ill-fated husband, was his infidelity, and that even with her personal attendants. I have been enabled to publish the following com- ])lete edition of the ballad, by copies from various quarters ; that principally used was communi- .•ated to me, in the most polite manner, by Mr Kirkpatricke Sharpe, of Hoddom, to whom I am indebted for many similar favours. — Scott's Sliii- tirelty.] :>I ARiE Hamii-ton's to the kirk gane, , Wi' ribbons on her hair ; The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, Than ony that were there. 3Iarie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, Wi" ribbons on her breast ; The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, Tlian he listen'd to the priest. Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, Wi' gluves upon her hands; The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, Than the queen and a' her lands. She hadna been about the king's court A month, but barely one. Till she was beloved by a' the king's cmrt. And the king the only man. She hadna been about the king's court A month, but barely three. Till frae the king's court Marie Hamilton, Marie Hamilton durst na be. The king is to the Abbey gane, To pu' the Abbey tree. To scale the babe frae Jlarie's heart ; But the thing it wadna be. O she has row'd it in her npron, And set it on the sea, — " Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonnie babe, Ye's get na mair o' me." AVord is to the kitchen gane. And word is to the ha'. And word is to the noble room, Amang the ladyes a'. That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed. And the bonnie babe's mist and^wu'. Scarcely had she lain down again. And scarcely fa'n asleep. When up then started our gude queen. Just at her bed-feet ; Saying — " Marie Hamilton, where's your babe ? For I am sure I heard it greet." " O no, O no, my noble queen ! Think no such thing to be ; 'Twas but a stitch into my side. And sair it troubles me." " Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton : Get up, and follow me ; For I am going to Edinburgh town, A rich wedding for to soe." O slowly, slowly, raise she up. And slowly put she on ; And slowly rode she out the way, Wi' mony a weary groan. The queen was clad in scarlet. Her merry maids all in green ; And every town that they cam' to. They took Marie for the queen. SCOTTISH BALLADS. •' Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen, Bide hooly ncx wi' ice ! For nevtr, I am sure, a wearier burJ Rade in your cumpanie." Bjt iittie wist Marie Hamilton, When she rade on the brown, That she was gaen to Edinburgh town. And a' to be put down. '• \Vhy weep ye so, ye burgess wives. Why look ye so on me ? i 0, I am going to Edinbursh town, A rich wedding for to see." When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs, The corks frae her heels did flee ; And lang or e'er she cam' down again, .She was condemned to dee. When she cam' to the Xetherbow-port,' She laughed loud laughters three ; But when she cam' to the gallows foot. The tears blinded her e'e. " Yestreen the queen had four Maries, Jhe night she'U ha'e but three;! There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton, And Marie Carmichael, and me. " O, often hare I drcu'd my queung virgins, all of the name of 3Iary, viz. vingston, Fleming, Seaton, and Beatoun." - :.e queen's Maries are mentioned again by the -me author, p. 28S and 291, in the note. Kei- r.er Mary Livingston, nor Mary Fleming, are rntioned in the ballad; nor are the Mary J-imiiton, and Mary Carmichael, of the ballad. MAKY HAMILTON-. [FaoM Motherwell's Collection. A* t tionally preserved in the West of ScotUnd. Thebb lives a knight into the north. And he had daughters three ; The ane of them wa» a barbert wife, Tbeotheragay ladie; mentioned by Keith. But if thl« corj^- I tinued to consist of young virgin*, a^ •• ' originally raised, it could hardly have »o,-n-. i ' without occasional recruit* ; esfTr tm«M«i icto a geneml denomination for femal* attendanw Now bear a b»r.d taj .M»nM «'. .\nd bulk me br«T«, and m«kt io» «•» OUBallML-Scaci. 'i^^^^B^si^^^M 264 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Anil the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane The queen's Mary to be. And for a' that they could say or do Forbidden she wouldna be. The prince's bed it was sae saft. The spices they were sae fine. That out of it she could not lye While she was scarce fifteen. She's gane to the garden gay To pu' of the Savin tree, But for a' that she could say or do The babie it would not dee. She's rowed it in her handkerchief. She threw it in the sea. Says, — " Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe. For ye'll get nae mair of me." Queen Mary came tripping down the stair, Wi' the gold strings in her hair ; " O whare's the little babie," she says, " That I heard greet sae sair ?" " O 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." " hald your tongue, Blary Hamilton, Let all those words go free ; () where is the little babie That I heard weep by thee ?" " I rowed it in my handkerchief, A nd thrtw it in the sea ; I bade it sink, I bade it swim. It would get nae mair o" me." " O wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton, And an ill deid may you dee ; For if you had saved the babie's life. It might ha'e been an honour to thee. " Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton, () busk ye to be a bride ; For I am going to Edinburgh town Your gay wedding to bide. " Ye must not put on your robes of black. Nor yet your robes of brown ; But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs. To shine through Edinburgh town." " I will not put on my robes of Hack, Nor yet my robes of brown ; But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs. To shine through Edinburgh town." As she went up the Parliament Close, A riding on her horse. There she saw many a Burgess' lady Sit greeting at the cross. " O what means a' this greeting, I'm sure its nae for me. For I'm come this day to Edinbuigh town "Weel wedded for to be." When she gade up the Parliament stair. She gied loud lauchters three ; But ere that she had come down again. She was condemned to dee. " O little did my mother think The day she prinned my gown. That I was to come sae far frae hame To be hanged in Edinburgh town. " 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 That plough the raging main ; Let neither my mother nor father ken But I'm coming hame again. " Here's a health to the s^lors That sail upon the sea ; Let neither my mother nor father ken That I came here to dee. " Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, This night she'll ha'e but three ; There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seatun. And Mary Carmichael, and me." " hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, Let all those words go free ; This night ere ye be hanged. Ye shall gang hame wi' me." " O hald your tongue. Queen Mary, my dame. Let all those words go free. Since I have come to Edinburgh town. Its hanged I shall be ; For it shall ne'er be said that in your court 1 was condemned to dee." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 265 hi^u^ Eammu. [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 sj-mpathies from it. It is said to be founded on real circumstances : the daughter of the 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, I i some years afterwards, the melancholy fate of 1 1 Tifty's Annie being mentioned, and the ballad ' j sung in a company in Edinburgh where he was present, he remained silent and motionless, till I at length he was discovered by a groan suddenly bureting from him, and several of the buttons , j flying from his waistcoat. This will remind the 1 1 reader of King Lear calling to his attendants to ; I unbutton him, and also of a circumstance which 1 1 occurs in the beautiful ballad of " the Jlarchio- I ness cf Douglas." It would appear that, in | [ Allan Ramsay's day, " Bonnie Andrew Lam- ; i mie" was a person of traditional celebrity. In i i 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 — lave 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 !"— Chamber.-.; 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 Lammn' He had the art to gain the heart Of MUl o' Tlftie'3 Annie. Proper he was, both young and ^ay. His like was not in Fyrie ; No one was there that could compare With this same Andrew Lanimwr. Lord Fyvie he rode by the door, Where hved Tiftie's Annie ; His trumpeter rode him before, Even this same Andrew Lomrr.iv. 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 mon-, Alasl for bonnie Annie ; She durst not own her heart was wi.n By the trumpeter of Fyvie. At night when they went to their bru.- 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 possess'd my tender b^f;a^t, And love will waste my body. " The first time I and ray love met. Was in the woods of h'yvic ; His lovely form and speech so sw«t, Soon gain'd the heart if Annie. " He call'd me mistress, I said, >•'. I'm Tiftie's bonnie Annie: With apples sweet, he did me trr:i: . And kisses soft and many. " Its up and down in Tiftie's den. Where the bum rins clear and l-i :. I've often gone to meet my lovr, ily bonnie Andrew Lamm.v.' But now, alas ! her father htanl. That the trumpeter of Fyvie Had had the art to gain the ht .-ut Of Tiftie's bonnie Auiiir. 200 SCOTTISH BALLADS Her father soon a letter wrote, And sent it on to Fyvie, Tn tell his daughter was bewitch'd Hy his servant Andrew Lammie. When Lord Fyvie had this letter read, < ) dear ! but he was sorry ; The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land Is bewitched by Andrew Lammie. Thi. n up the stair his trumpeter He called soon and shortly ; " I'raytell me soon, What's this you've done. To Tiftie's bonnie Annie?" "In wicked art I had no part, Nor therein am 1 canny ; True love alone the heart has won, Of Tiftie's bonnie Annie. " 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. " Whore will I find a boy so kind. That '11 carry a letter canny. Who will run on to Tiftie's town. Give it to my love Annie ?" " Here you shall find a boy so kind, Viho '11 carry a letter canny ; Who will run on to Tiftie's town. And gi'e't to thy love Annie." " Its Tiftie he has daughters three, \\'iio all are wond'rous bonnie; But ye'U ken her o'er a' the lave, Gi'e that to bonnie Annie." " 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. " ^Tien wilt thou come, and I'll attend, Sly love I long to see thee?" '• Thou may'st come to the Bridge of Sleugh, And there I'll come and meet thee. ■ >Ty love, I go to Edinbro', And for a while must leave thee;" ^hit sighed sore, and said no more, " But I wish that I were wi' thee." " 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." "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." " 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." " Our time is gone and now comes on, BIy dear, that I must leave thee ; If longer here I should appear. Mill o' Tiftie he would see me." " 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." He hied him to the head of the house. To the house top of Fyvie ; He blew his trumpet loud and schill, 'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie. 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." " 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. " I would not for my braw new gown, And a' your gifts so many. That it were told in Fyvie's land. How cruel you are to Annie. " But if ye strike me I will cry. And gentlemen will hear me ; Lord Fyvie will be riding by. And he'll come in and see me." At the same time, the lord came in. He said, " What ails thee Annie ?" " 'Tis all for love now I must die. For bonnie Andrew Lammie." SCOTTISH BALLADS. 2r.7 " Pray Mill o' Tifty gi'e consent, And let your daughter marry." " It wiU 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." Lord Fyrie he did wring his handi. Said, " Alas! for Tiflici Ann:.-, The fairest flower's cut down by lore That e'er sprung up in Fyrie." " woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride. He might have let them mmrry • I should have given tbem both to liv Into the lands of Fyvie." " 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 father sorely now laments The lose of his dear Annie, And wishes he had gi'en consent. To wed with Andrew Lainmi«. Her mother grieves both air and late. Her sister's cause they scorn 'd her ; Surely her brother doth mourn and grift For the cruel usage he'd given her. Her brother struck her wond'rous sore, "With cruel strokes and many ; He brake her back in the hall door. For liking Andrew Lammie. " Was ! my father and mother dear, Why so cruel to your Annie .■' My heart was broken first by love, My brother has broken my body. " O mother dear make ye my bed. And lay my face to Fyvie ; Thus will I ly, and thus will die. For my love Andrew Lammie ! " Te neighbours hear both far and near, Te pity Tiftie's Annie ; "V^Tio dies for love of one poor lad. For bonnie Andrew Lammie. " Xo kind of vice e'er stain'd my life, 2«'or 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 Lammie. But the word soon went up and down. Through all the lands of Fyvie ; That she was dead and buried. Even Tiftie's bonnie Annie. I Bat now, alas ! it was too late, I I For they could noc recall her : ; j Through life, unhappy is their £»te. Because they did controul her. AVhen Andrew hame from Edinburgh tame. With meikle grief and sorrow ; " My love has died for me t>-day, I'll die for her to-: '•■ >'ow I will on to Tiftie's den, ■Where the bum rins clear and tKinni.- ; With tears I'll view the bridge of lilcunh. Where I parted last with Annie. " Then will 1 speed to the chuToh-ynr>!. To the green church-yanl of >"y»ie . With tears lU water my love's grjve. Till 1 follow Tiftie's Annie." Ye parents grave, who children hav . In crushing them be canny ; Lest when too late you do repent. Remember Tiftie's Annie. ' In one printed copy, thUis "Sheugh," And in a recited copy, it was called "' .-skew :" which is Ibr right reading, the cdiHr, fnvi hi" i^omn.-- .■• the topography of the UndsofFjvi,-, :» ur.i! ■ ■■- V say. It is a receivl^i suporsuti'^n m >- :-■ I that when friends or loren part at a t r .- ^ they shall never again nMCt. — MMttntll- 2GS SCOTTISH BALLADS. SJoi^we £br. [This ballad was first printed in an imperfect stiite 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 CassUis, 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 La«iy 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 dictated by policy; for Lord Haddington was anxious to lunnect himself with the older peers, and Lord Cussilis might have some such anxiety to be allied to his father-in-law's good estates; the religion and politics of the parties, moreover, were the same. It is therefure not very likely that Lady Jean herself had much to say in the bargain. On the contrary, says report, her affec- tions were shamefully violated. She had been 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 three 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, lour miles from Slaybole, then the principal residence ot the family, and which is still to be seen in its original state. He was disguised as a Kjpsy, and attended by a band of these desperate outcasts. In the words of the ballad, "They cuist 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 I 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, immediately 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 them 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 wliich was his gallows-in-ordinary, as the name testifies. As for the Countess, whose indiscretion occasioned all this waste of human life, she ^vas 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 perilled 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 Countesis Eoom." 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 stair-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, (otherwise ruined,) a few years ago, when sizt- paint had become a more fashionable thing in Maybole than tapestry. The efligies of tht 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, whicli 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. 2G0 The 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 ; -\ 5 sune as they saw her weel-fa'ured face. They cuist the glaumourye'^ ower her. " <> come with me," says Johnie Faa ; " O 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 gade wheit breid. And they ga'e her the ginger ; I ; But she gied them a far better thing. The gowd ring aff her finger. '■' Gae tak' frae me this gay mantil, | And bring to me a plaidie ; i For if kith and kin and a' had sworn, I I'U follow the gipsey laddie. ' " Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, ' : "VVi' my gude lord beside me ; 1 1 This night I'll lie in a tenant's bam, 1 Whatever shall betide me." " Come to your bed," says Johnie Faa ; " Come to your bed, my dearie ; For I vow and I swear by the hilt o' my sword. That your lord shall naemair come near ye." " I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faa ; I'll go to bed to my dearie ; For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand. That my lord shall nae naair 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 gaes round. And my lord shall nae mair come near me." And when our lord cam' hame at e'en. And speired for his lair 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. "Gae saddle to me the black tLv-k »U-eJ, Gae saddle and mak' him ready ; Before that I either eat or sleep, I'll gae seek n.y fair lady." And we were fifteen weel-made men , Although we were na bonnie ; And we were a put down for anc, A fair young wanton lady. %1'2 §iu d §UTvaivj.2i:. [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 havine arisen betwixt the Laird of Frendraught and the Lainl of Eothiemay, both gentlemen of Banffiihire, .i rencontre took place, at which the retainer? of both were present, on the Ist of January, IKiO ; when Eothiemay was killed, and several persons hurt on both sides. To staunch this bloody quarrel, the Marquis of Huntly, who was chief tn both parties, and who had therefore a right u< act as arbiter between them, ordered Frend- raught to pay fifty thousand merks to Rothir- may's widow. In the ensuing September, Frend- raught fell into another quarrel, in the cmrse of which James Lesly, son to Lesly of Pitcaple, wa» shot through the arm. Soon after the last im-i- dent, Frendraught having paid a visit to th- Marquis of HunUy at the Bor of Gight, th.- Laird of Pitcaple came up with thirty armed men to demand atonement for the wound of his ion. Huntly acted in this case with great discretion. Without permitting the two lairds to come to a conference, he endeavoured to persuade the c >m • plaining party that Frendraught was in reality innocent of his son's wound ; and, as PitcapU- went away vowing vengeance, he sent Frrml raught home under a strong escort, which w.v« commande'o," said Kothiemay; " rjy steed's trapann'd ; my bridle's broken ; 1 fear this day I'm fey." ' When mass was sung, and bells were rung. And all men bound for bed. Then good Lord John and Kothiemay In one chamber were laid. They had not long cast off their clothes. And were but new asleep. When the weary smoke began to rise, Likewise the scorching heat. " waken, waken, Eothiemay, O waken, brother dear ; And turn ye to our Saviour; There is strong treason here !" When they were dressed in their clothes. And ready for to boune. The doors and windows were all secured, The roof-tree burning down. He did him to the wire windoiv. As fast as he could gang ; Says, ■' Wae to the hands put in the Stan- cheons. For out we'll never win!" When he stood at the wire window. Most doleful to be seen. He did espy her. Lady Frendraught, Who stood upon the green. * Predestinated, or ordained to death. ^ Cried, " Mercy, mercy ! Lady Frendraught : Will ye not sink with sin .■* For tirst your husband kdl'd my lathtr. And now you burn his son !" O then out spoke her, Lady Frendiaugb:, And loudly did she cr)-, "It were great pitie for good Lord John, But none for Eothiemay. But the keys are casten in the deep dra.^ well— Ye cannot get away !"J- The reek it rose, and the flame it tlew. The fire augmented high, ITntU it came to Lord John's chamber win.iu And the bed wherein he lay. He lookit east, he lookit west. To see if any help was nigh; At length his little page he saw. Who to his lord did loudly crj-. " Oh, loup ! oh, loup ! my dear master ; Oh, loup 1 and come to me : I'll catch you in my amiis two ; One foot I will not flee. " Oh, loup, oh, loup : my dear master, Though the window's dreigh and higii ; I'll catch you in my armis two; But Kothiemay may lie 1" " The fish shall swim the flood nae mair, Kor the com grow through the cUii , Ere the fiercest fire that ever was kind ltd Twin me and Kothiemay. ; " But I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot win to thee ; My heid's £ist in the wire-window, And my feet's burning frae me : f In corroboration of the truth of this port of the ballad, opposed aa it is to probability, Mr Finlay mentions, aa a fact of which he was in- formed by a person residing near Frendraught. that many years .igo, when the well of the cutl. was cleared out, a bunch of keys was found at the bottom. — Chambers. i So altered from the oristnal. which .-.i: I thus;— SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^ n '■ .My eyes arc seething in my head, ^ -My ttesh roasting also ; : My bowels are boihng with my blood ; [ I'm sinking in the low ! * TRENKET HALL. •• Take here the rings frae my white finders, | [This Is a modern ballad founded on the same That are sae long and small ; | i subject as the preceding. It first appeared iu And give them to my lady fair, 1 1 Herd's Collection.] ^^Tiere she sits in her hall. [ i '■ I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot loup to thee; 3Iy earthly part is all consumed. My spirit but speiks thee!" Wringing her hands, tearing her hair. His lady she was seen ; Who thus address 'd his servant Gordon, As he stude on the green. " O wae be to you, George Gordon An ill death may you dee ! Sae safe and sound as ye stand there. And my lord bereaved from me !" " I bade him loup, I bade him come, I bade him loup to me ; I'd catch him in my arniis two, A foot 1 should not flee. " He threw me the rings from his white fingers. Which were sae long and small. To give to you his lady fair, AVhere you sit in your hall." Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay, O bonnie Sophia was her n.-tme ; Her waiting maid put on her clothes ; But I wat she tore them off again. A ml aft she cried, " Alas ! alas ! A sair heart's ill to win ; I wan a soir heart when I married him ; .\nd this day its weel return'd again !" " The fish shall never swim the flood, Xor corn grow through the clay. Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindled Twin me and Rothiemay."— Chambers, In the original, — "U not that a woeful woe!"— Chambert. When Frennet Castle's ivied walls Through yellow leaves were seen, AVhen birds forsook the sapless boughs, And bees the faded green ; Then Lady Frennet, vengefu' dame. Did wander frae the ha'. To the wide forest's dewie gloom. Among the leaves that fa'. Her page, the swiftest of her train. Had dumb a lofty tree, Whase branches to the angry blast Were soughing mournfullie. He turn'd his een towards the path That near the castle lay. Where good Lord John and Rothiem.ny Were riding down the brae. Swift darts the eagle through the sky, WTien prey beneath is seen : As quickly he forgot his hold. And perch'd upon the green. " O hie thee, hie thee, lady gay, Frae this dark wooa awa' ! Some visitors of gallant mein Are hasting to the ha'." Then round she row'd her silken pLiid, Her feet she did na spare. Until she left the forest's skirts A long bow-shot and mair. " O where, O where, my good Lord John, tell me where ye ride .■* Within my castle-wall this nicht 1 hope ye mean to bide. " Kind nobles, will ye but alicht. In yonder bower to stay. Soft ease shall teach you to forget Ihe hardness of the way." >C:^' >^:=5^^ '■■ Forbear entreaty, gentle dame, How can we here remain ? lull 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 bloo: saw him neither come in nor go out." — The Life and Prophecies 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 n..ij«. All on saint Peter's day, With the powsr to him given, by the saints in To wash men's sins away. [t The pope he was saying the bleascd mai And the people kneel'd around. And &om each man's soul hia sina dkl | As he kiss'd the holy ground. (;.) '>~"-i- .^^/■'v^ [ v^ And al;, among the crowded throng, V f^jj Was still, both limb and tongue, \^^-j While through vaulted roof, and aisles aloof, /•(§^ "^^^ '''■''y at^cents rung. £?;—-- I At the holiest word, he quiver'd for fear, r^ ' And faulter'd in the sound — )cLC-^ And, when he would the chalice rear, L^ ■ He dropp'd it on the ground. w -f"\ " The breath of one of evil deed i / Pollutes our sacred day ; ;i"5 He has no portion in our creed, 3- ) ^o part in what I say. "A being whom no blessed word To ghostly peace can bring ; A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd, Eecoils each holy thing. " Up ! up ; unhappy ! haste, arise ! Jly adjuration fear! I charge thee not to stop my voice, >'or longer tarry here !" Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd. In gown of sackcloth gray; Far journeying from his native field. He first saw Rome that day. For forty days and nights, so drear, 1 ween he had not spoke. And, save with bread and water clear. His fast he ne'er had broke. Amid the penitential flock, Seem'd none more bent to pray » But, when the holy father spoke. He rose and went his way. Again unto his native land. His weary course he drew. To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, And Pentland'd mountains blue. His unblest feet his native seat, Jlid Eske's fair woods, regain ; Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet Bolls to the eastern main. And lords to meet the pilgrim came, And vassals bent the knee ; For all raid Scotland's chiefs of fame, 'VVas none more filmed than he. And boldly for his country, stiU, In battle he had stood. Aye, even when, on the banks of Till, Her noblest pour'd their blood. Sweet are the paths, O passing sweet '. By Eske's fair streams that run. O'er airy steep, through copeswood deep. Impervious to the sua. There the rapt poet's step may rove, And yield the muse the day; There beauty, led by timid love. May shun the tell-tale ray ; From that fair dome, where suit is paid. By blast of bugle free," To Auchendinny's hazel glade,t And haunted Woodhouselee. i Who knows not Melville's beechy grove, § And Koslin's rocky glen, || * The barony of Pennycuick, the property of Sir George Clerk, Biirt., is held by a singular tenure ; the proprietor being bound to sit upon a large rocky fragment, called the Buckstane, and wind three blasts of a horn, when the Idng shall come to hunt on the Borough Muir, near Edinburgh. Hence, the family have adopted, as their crest, a demi-forester proper, winding a horn, with the motto, " Free for a Blast." The beautiful man- sion-house of Pennycuick is much admired, both on account of the architecture and surrounding scenery. — Scott. f Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below Pennycuick, the present residence of the inge- nious H. Mackenzie, Esq. author of " The Man of Feeling," SiC— Scott. ^ For the traditions connected with this ruinous mansion, see the ballad of " Cadyow Castle." Scott. § Melville Castle, the seat of the right honour- able Lord Melville, to whom it gives the title of viscount, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, near Lasswade.— Sco«. li The ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial resi- dence of the ancient family of 3t Clair; the Gothic chapel, which is still in beautiful preser- vation, with the romantic and woody dell in which they are situated, belong to the right honourable the Earl of Rosslyn, the representa- tive of the former lords of EosUn.— Sco«. .f^V ff =^^-~-^r'>:rv i^'V- SCOTTISH BALLADS. Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, * And classic Hawthomden ? \ Yet never a path, from day to day. The pilgrim's footsteps range. Save but the solitary way To Boradale's ruin'd grange. A woe.''ul place was that, I ween. As sorrow could desire ; For, nod*ng to the fall was each crumbling wall. And the roof was scathed with fire. It feU upon a summer's eve. While on Camethy's head. The last Cunt gleams of the sun's low beams Had streak'd the gray with red ; And the convent-bell did vespers tell, Newbottle's oaks among, And mingled with the solemn knell Our Ladye's evening song : % V V * The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged, of old, to the famous Earl of ilorton, but is now the residence of the noble family of Bucclcucb. The park extends along the Eske, which is there . joined by its sister stream, of the same name. j Scoti. I t Havrthomden, 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, ■ | 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, 'j Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who ] | joumied 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- nate use of the axe. The traveller now looks in vain for the leafy bower. ! Jonson sate in Drummond's social shade.' rpon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source, till it joins the sea at Musselburgh, no ' jtream in Scotland can boast such a varied sue- ! c.;s5ion of the most interesting objects, as well as j 1 of the most romantic and beautiful scenery. I ^J Scott. ^ The heavy knell, the choir's faint «nt!;. Came slowly down the wind. And on the pilgrim's ear they fell. As his wonted path be did find. Deep sunk in thought, I ween he »ai, Nor ever rais'd his eye, Until he came to that dreary place. Which did all in rums lie. He gazed on the walls, so scathed «ith fire. With many a bitter groan — And there was aware of a Gray Friar. Resting him on a stone. " Now, Christ thee save 1" said the gray brotii " Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." Bat in sore amaze did Lord Albert gan., Nor answer again made he. " O come ye from east, or come ye from wt-?; Or bring reliques from over the sea. Or come ye from the shrine of St Jamin • divine. Or St John of Beverly ? ' " I come not trom the shrine of St Jame* ' divine. Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; I bring but a curse from our father the pop' . Which for ever will cling to me." " Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so : But kneel thee down by me, And shrive thee so clean of thy dead!} > : . That absolved thou niaj'st be." " And who art thou, thou gray brolhtr That I should shrive to thee, ■When he, to whom are given the ktvs . ; •..: and heaven, Has no power to pardon me ' ' " O I am sent from a distant clime. Five thousand miles away. And all to absolve a foul, foul crime. Done her« 'twixt night and day. The pilgrim kneeld him on the sand. And thus began his save — When on his neck an ict-cvld hand Did that gray brother layr. I i) 376 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^ S W^2 Wlu^Mnu^. [Modern 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 sae fair !" " Wi' thee to the Hielands, love, I daurna gang ; The mountains are dreary, the journey is lang: 1 love this fair valley, an' sweet corn field, Mair than a' the blaeberries your wild forests yield." " O ! the Hielands are bonnie, when the heather's in bloom ; An' ilk strath, where you wander, smells sweet wi" perfume ; 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, 'raang wild Hieland fells, O' your walth o' blaeberries, and blue heather bells ! '& " 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 anither mair gentle an' likely than you." " My plaidie is broad, and has colours anew ; Gudeman, for your kindness, I'll leave it with you ! The cauld days o' winter are harmless to me. When I get blinks o' love frae your sweet daughter's e'e. " My flocks are but scanty, my lodgings but bare ; And you that ha'e plenty, the mair ye can spare : Te'll no send your lassie — your darling awa', A wife to the Hielands, wi' naething ava ?" Then ofif drew the father wi' her to advise : — " If ye think o' gaun wi' him you're surely not wise ! He's a rude Hieland fellow, as puir as a craw ; And the Ukest a cateran that ever I saw. "But if you determine his mistress to be, Ye'se get nought that I or your mither can gi'e ; Frae a' our possessions we bar you for aye. If aff to the Hielands wi' him you'll away." " Then keep, honoured father, whate'er you possese ; For all you say of him, I love him not less ; I value not riches, though tempting they be. If the wild Hieland hills are between him and me !" ^f^7S^£^^_, SCOTTISH BALLADS. Awa' she's 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, think 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 ; Sae £ar 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' dt«." " 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 tany here ; Oar 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' gieen tartan trews. And twa' bonnie lassies were bnchting his ewes ; They said, " Honoured master, fu' blessed may you K' ' Baith you an' your leddy we lang look'd 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. Yet 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 neiat morn to the hay field near by. And bade her look round her, far as she could «py — " These lands and possessions .are yours, love, (or 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 I" " Look up, winsome lassie, ye needna think shame : And call me not Allan, for sandy's my name : 2T: (^278 " O, don't you remember at school long ago, Your hard-hearted father was ever my foe ? And most of my comrades dealt harshly w'th me ■ Yet was I respected and loved by thee. " Are you then my 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, I ne'er closed an e'e." " Alas ! both my parents I lost when a child, And far from these valleys was I then exiled ; But years carne, 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 innocent 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." 'M With man and maid-servants, to wait them upon. Away to the Lowlands again are they gone ; They drove to the window before they wad stand ; AVhile 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 !" " Forbear, gentle Sandy, an' dinna taunt me : My Jean's 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 was spared ; An* now the auld farmer's a douce-looking laird @ Hciflalw E0 mme. m [Wrftten on hearing the following traditional account of one of the many predatory incursions of the Cateran into the low country, during the time, as Boss says in his tale of " Helenore or the Fortunate Shepherdess," " When tooming faiUds or scouring o' a glen, Was eveu deem'd the deed o' pretty men." A party of these marauders from Lochaber, consisting of some forty or fifty men, having reached, on an autumn afternoon, the summit of a hill immediately above Glenesk, the most northerly nansh in Forfarshire— seated themselves to take rest and refreshment, and to wait the fell of night before commencing the work of plunder ; being observed by the shepherds from the neighbouring '^X' ^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. O-f, g " t ■' \ heights, the aLarm was given, and by the evenin; the most effectlTe men of the (jlen wcr* in am •. ) and had met together for the protection of their property. After dark the Cat«ran dncro'l'i ai. i :• gave them battle, and in a short but severe skirmish which ensued five of the inhabitantt n. r \ killed, and about ten of them taken prisoners, who with the greater part of the cattle and or. • ■,■ A the parish were driven to the Highlands. The parishioners never heari more of their il. < , » ..i. : J herds; but early in the following year the captives were permitted to return home— a rar v, . j fifteen merks having been paid for each man. It is said that a ballad, giving the above parii.-ulAr. \ more in detail, was long popular in the glen ; but nothing more is now remembered of it, except lh»t § each verse ended with the words " Lochaber no more."] j MouKiBATTOCK,* how dark is the cloud on thy brow, 4 How grateful its gloom to the valley t«low ; ■n" For the hand of the reaver has smitten so sore. The days of our mourning will never be o'er. — He came in the night — he has taken and slain The wale of our flocks, and the flower of our men— 7 The maidens, the widows, and orphans deplore, i And the hollow wind murmurs — Lochaber no more ! )The fold now is silent, the sheiling is still, Ifo herd in the valley, no fleck on the hill ; No gay singing maiden a-milking the cows. No blythe whistling shepherd a-bughting the ewe;. The sward of Gleneffock f is shining in red ; The down of the thistle with crimson is dyed ; The bloom of the heather is steeping in gore — ^' And the wild bee is humming — Lochaber no more : / ^ * A high mountain on the north of Glenesk. J t The place of combat. The last incursion of the Cateran took place about 1703. Their l«*J*r ■- was John Macgregor, better known in the Low Country by the name of the " Red Bull of iWJr- r;och." He was a man of uncommon stature, strength, and daring, and with his ganjc »ii : • :;.e terror of Strathraore. The place of their attack was Fearn, a parish about ten miW» • .• vest of Glenesk, and contiguous to the Grampians. The assault, as usual, was made by nl^i.: .lu i = j complete was the work cf plunder that scarcely a single " huof or horn" was left in the pxr.th The ploughman raise to yoke his team, The team was stoun awa' ; The maiden raise to milk her kyc, X But toom waa ilka sla'. ! ' In the morning the parishioners assembled in the church-yard, having been c.ilUd tognher by l.V ringing of the kirk bell, and learning from each other the extent <.f tlic depredation, Ihry rr«>lvi~ attempt recovering their property. Having procured arms, and chosen for their captain John ilacintosh, farmer of Sedenberry, a bold active young man, they commenced pumiit, and a/V-r » c: ase of ten or twelve miles over high and rugged mountains, the thieves, with the sheep an'l • -ii: were overtaken at a place called the Water of .Saughs, where a furious skirmish eniucl. n. « . Macgregor was killed. When their chief fell the Highlanders immedi-itely fled, auU f.- :. want of a leader the band was broken up. The people of Fearn got possession again of »;i i».r • property, but lost one of their men in the combat. ""0 2S0 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^^? ^? -J mud Mt^M^. ["Tub locality of this ballad, Barnisdale, will bring to the remembrance of the reader, tales of Robin Hood and Little John, who, ac- cording to the testimony of that venerable chro- nicler, Andrew of Wyntown, Whether the ballad is originally the production of an English or a Scotch minstrel admits of question ; eerUiin, however, it is, that it has been received into both countries at a pretty early period. Hearne in his preface to Gul. Neubrigiensis Historia, Oxon. 1719, Vol. I. page Ixx, mentions, that the Knight and Shepherd's daughter was well known in the time of Queen Elizabeth. In Fletcher's Pilgrim, Act 4, Scene 2, a stanza of the same ballad is quoted. The English version of this ballad is given in the Reliques of English Poetry, Vol. III. There are various copies of it current in Scotland. The present version, obtained from recitation in one of the northern counties, is out of sight the most circumstantial and elaborated that has yet been printed. It possesses no small portion of humour, and appears to be of greater antiquity than the copy published in the Reliques. In one of the recited copies of this ballad. Earl Richard endeavours to shake the lady's convic- tion of his identity by using the same means as the Gaberlunzie man, who sang : — ' 111 bow my leg, and crook my knee, And draw a black clout owre my e'e, A cripple or blind they will ca' me.' But the eyes of love were too sharp to be de- ceived by such witty devices, for as the ballad has it, when ' He came hirplin' on a stick, And leaniii' on a tree,' The lady, with a hasty voice, in the face of all the court, immediately cries out, • Be he cripple, or be he blind, The same man is he : With my low silver e'e.' Earl Richard's unbridegroom-like behaviour tn his wedding night, and his agreeable dis- reader of the gentle Sir Gawaine who, when re- luctantly turning round to caress his lothly bride, much to his joy and contentment found her transformed into a most lovesome lady." Motherrvell.] Earl Richard once on a day, And all his valiant men so wight ; He did him down to Barnisdale, "Where all the land is fair and light. He was aware of a damosel, I wot fast on she did her bound, "With towers of gold upon her bead. As fair a woman as could be found. He said, " Busk on you, fair ladye. The white flowers and the red ; Por I would give ray bonnie ship. To get your maidenhead." " I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive. And drown you in the sea ; Eor all this would not mend the miss. That ye would do to me." " The miss is not so great ladye. Soon mended it might be. " 1 have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland Stand on the water Tay; You'll have them and as much flour As they'll grind in a day." " I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive. And drown you in the sea; For all that would not mend the miss. That ye would do for me." " The miss is not so great lady, Soon mended it will be. " 1 have four-and-twenty mUk white coivs All calved in a day ; "Vou'U have them and as much hained gra;5. As they all on can gae." •' I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive. And drown ye in the sea; For all that would not mend the miss, That ye would do to me." " The miss is not so great ladye. Soon mended it might be. '.( ^£^'^_ SCOTTldH BALLADS. " I have four-and-twenty milk white steeds, Al] foaled in one year ; You'll have them and as much red gold. As all their backs can bear." She turned her right and round about. And she swore by the mold, " I would not be your love," said shi, " For that church full of gold." He turned him right and round about. And he swore by the mass, t-ays, " Lady, ye my love shall be. And gold ye shall have less." She turned her right and round about. And she swore by the moon, " I would not be your love," says she, " For all the gold in Rome." He turned him right and round about. And he swore by the moon, S.iys, " Lady, ye my love shall be. And gold ye shall have none." He caught her by the milk-white hand. And by the grass-green sleeve; And there has taken his will of her. Wholly without her leave. The lady frowned and sadly blushed. And oh ! but she thought shame ; Says, " If you are a knight at all. You surely will tell me your name." " In some places they call me Jack, In other some they call me John ; But when into the queen's court. Oh then Lithcoek it is my name." " Lithcoek ! Lithcoek !" the lady said. And oft she spelt it over again ; " Lithcoek ! it's Latin," the lady said, " Richard's the English of that nan.e."' Th? knight he rode, the lady ran, A live long summer's day ; iUl they came to the wan water. That all men do call Tay. He set his horse head to the water. Just through it for to ride ; And the lady was as re.idy as him. The waters for to wade. For he bad never been u kind bearte-ou lady Uxx. You know not what I see ; There is a lady in that c.-utle. That will burn you and me." " Betide me weal, betide me wm-. That lady will I see." She took a ring from her finger. And gave't the porter for his fw . Says, " Tak' you th.it, my good porur. And bid the queen speak to nif." And when she came befure the queen. There she fell low down on her kon- Says, " There is a knight Into your court. This day has robbed me." " Oh, has he robbe»as he. u^^ He's taken out one hundred pounds. And told it in his glove ; Says, " Tak' you thrit, my lady fair, /o(^A And seek another love." " Oh no, oh no," the lady cried, " That's what shall never be ; I'll have the truth of your right hand, The queen it gave to me." " I wish I had drunk of your water, sister. When I did drink your w:ne ; That for a carle's fair daughter, It does gar me dree all this pine." " 3Iay be I am a carle's daughter. And may be never nane ; When ye met me in the green wcod, ^^^ly did you not let me alane ?" r'ith even i'our-and-twenty knots ; ' And in the morn at breakfast time, I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks. j " Late, late, at night I knit our pokes, ; i With even four-and-twenty strmgs ; ij And if you look to my white fingers, I They have as many gay gold rings." " Away ! away ! ye ill woman. And s .re your vile words grieveth me ; AVhen you heed so little for yourself, I'm sure ye'll heed far less for me. " Bat 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 ?" " My mother she's a poor woman. She nursed earl's children three ; And I get them from a foster sister, Eor to beguile such sparks as thee.' SCOTTISH BALLADS. 2S.3 *' Bat if you be a carle's daughter, As I believe you be : How did you learn the good Latin, In greea wood ye spoke to me ?" " My mother she's a mean woman, ?he nursed earl's children three ; I learned it from their chapelain. To beguile such sparks as ye." When mass was sung, and bells were rung, And all men boune for bed ; Then Earl Richard and this Ladye, In ane bed they were laid. He turned his face to the stock. And she hers to the stane ; And cauld and dreary was the luve. That was thir twa between. Great was the mirth in the kitchen. Likewise intill the ha' ; But in his bed lay Earl Eichard, Wiping the tears awa'. He wept till he fell fast asleep. Then slept till licht was come ; Then he did hear the gentlemen That talked in the room. Said, " Saw ye ever a fitter match. Betwixt the ane and ither ; The king o' sfcotland's fair dochter. And the queen of England's brither." •' And is she the king of Scotland's fair dochter ? This day, oh, weel is me ! For seven times has my stead been saddied. To come to court with thee ; And with this witty lady fair. How happy must I be 1" [From the Bannatyne MS., in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh.] QcHKN he wes zung, and cled in grene, Haitand his air about his ene, Baith men and nemen did him mene, Quhen he grew on zon hiliis he ; — i^uhy sowld not Allans honorit be ? Bis fostir taider fare of th« toun, To vissy Allane he maid hiia boun ; He saw him Ijane, allace ; In iwoun For fait of help, and Ijk to de ; — Quhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? Thay saw his heid begin to ryfe ; Syne for ane nurei&s thay tend belyfr, Quha brocht with hir f)fty-and-Ie is bening, courtas, and gude. And servis ws of our daly fude. And that with liberalise ;— yuhy sowld not Allane honorit be ? ALLAN O- MAUT. [From a copy furnished to Mr Jamieson's Collection by the Reverend William Gray of Lincoln.] Gude Allan o' Maut was ance cad Bear, And he was cadged frae wa' to wear. And dragglet wi' muck, and syne wi' rain. Till he diet, and cam' to life again. He first grew green, syne he grew white. Syne a" men thocht that he was ripe ; And wi' erookit gulUes and hafts o' tree They've hew'd him down right douchtilie. Syne they've set Allan up into stocks. And casten on him mony pleasant looks ; They've turss'd him up syne on a sled. Till in the grain -yard they made his bed. Then men clamb up upon a ladder. And happit his head frae wind and weather ; They've ta'en him neist up in their arms. And made his shak-down in the barns. The hoUin souples, that were sae snell, His back they loundert, mell for mell , ilell for mell, and baff lor baff. Till his hide flew about his lugs Uke caff. Then in cam' Jennie wi' her riddle. And she gae mony a fike and fiddle ; Set up the doors, loot in the win'. To see what faucity fell frae him. They stow'd him up intill a seek. And o'er the horse back brook his neck ; ■^yne bristled they him upon the kill. Till he was bane dry for the mill. They cowpit him then into the hopper. And brook his banes, gnipper for gnopper ; Syne put the burn untill the gleed. And leepit the een out o' his head. Till in cam' Barmy-breeks, his brither, Like ae gude neiber to crack wi' anither ; Says, " Allan o' Blaut, are ye gaun to dee ? Else up man, first, and dance wi' me." They danced about frae hand to hand. Till they danced o'er the working stand ; Syne in cam' Jennie wi' her dish, She gae mony a rummle and rush. And Uskie-bae ne'er bure the bell ' Sae bald as Allan bure himsel' ; Nor ever got his pride a fa'. Till carlies piss'd him at the wa'. JOHN BARLEYCORN. [Given by Mr Jamieson from his own recol- lection, as he learned it in Morayshire when he was a boy, and before the Poems of Burns were published. The two concluding stanzas are by Mr Jamieson.] There came three merry men from the east, And three merry men they be ; And they have sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn shall dee. They've ta'en a plough and plough'd him dow u. Put clods upon his head ; And they have sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the spring-time it came on at last. And showers began to fall ; John Barleycorn's sprung up again. Which did surprise them all. * Bearing the bell seems here to have a double meaning. The bell is the collection of bubbles that float on the surface of n-hisky, us froth does on ale, &c., when poured out ; and to bear the bell well, is accounted a good sign in whisky. This sign, however, is very deceitful, as it may be pro- duced without the assistance of Allan o' Maut. Jamieson. SCOTTISH BALLADS. Then the summer heat on him did beat, And he grew pale and wan ; John Barlevcorn has got a beard Like any other man. They've ta'en a hook, that was full sharp, And cut him above the knee ; And they've bound him intill a com cart. Like a thief for the gallow-tree. They've ta'en twa sticks, that were full stout. And sore they beat his bones ; The miller used him worse than that, And ground him between two stones. The browster-wife we'll not forget ; she well her tale can tell ; She's ta'en the sap out of his bodie. And made of it good ale. And they have fill'd it in a cap. And drank it round and round ; And ay the mair they drank o' it. The mair did joy abound. John Barleycorn is the wightfist man That ever throve in land ; For he could put a Wallace down Wi' the turning of his hand. He'll gar the huntsman shoot his dog ; His gold a miser scorn ; He'll gar a nmiden dance stark-nake 1 Wi' the tooming of a horn. He'll change a man into a boy, A boy into an ass ; He'll change your gold into silver. And your silver into brass. And here we have his very heart-blixtd, Sae bizzing bright and brown ; And ay we'll birl the tither stoup. And ay we'll bend it roun'. And ye will drink a health to me. And I'll drink ane to you ; For he never misses health or wealth That wi' Johny'a blood is fu'. %xobn ^Dam. [Faox the Border M\D*tre\aj.] O vrnA wad wish the wind to H»w, Or the green leaves W tbeivwith > Or wha wad wish a Icalcr love Than Brown Adam the Smith ' But they ha'e banish'd him, Brown Adani, Frae father and frae mother ; And they ha'e banish'd him, Brown Aur d- He stude a little forbye. And there be beard a fou (aiue knuiii Tempting bis gay ladye. For he's ta'en out a gay goud nn^■, Had cost him roony a poun "O grant me love for lovo, U (> And this sh.ill N< thv own. si 286 SCOTTISH BALLADS. £2) " I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she said, " I trew sae does he me ; I nadna gi'e Brown Adam's love For nae fause knight I see." Out has he ta'en a purse o" gowd. Was a' fou to the string ; " O grant me love for love, ladye, And a' this shall be thine." " I lo'e Brovra Adam weel," she says, " I wot sae does he me ; 1 wadna be your light leman. For mair than ye could gi'e. " Then out he drew his lang bright brand. And flash'd it in her een ; " Now grant me love for love, ladye. Or through ye this shall gang !" Then, sighing, says that ladye fair, " Brown Adam tarries lang !" Then in and starts him. Brown Adam, Pays, " I'm just at your hand." He's gar'd him leave his bonnie bow. And gar'd him leave his brand ; He's gar'd him leave a dearer pledge, — Four fingers o' his right hand ! [Eari.v in the seventeenth century, when the Lindsays of Ecbzell, a branch of the great Angus clan of that name, resided at Ecbzell Castle, the family then consisted, says the tradition on which the following verses are founded, of two brothers and their sister lady Jane, who it is said was very beautiful and highly accomplished. Among her many suitors was young Lord Spynie, a distant relation of her own ; but having gained her affections, he seduced and deserted her. Her elder brother, determined on revenging her wrongs, sought every opportunity of meeting the false lord. Sometime after he met him on the High Street of Edinburgh, and having told him that all the blood in his body could not wash out the stain in his sister's character, he plunged a dagger into his heart, and though the deed ■was done in open day and in the presence of several persons, he was allowed to escape home. On the following day a party of soldiers were sent to apprehend and bring him to justice, but on hearing of their approach, he removed from Ecbzell with a considerable number of adherents, to his castle of Glenmark, a building of some strength, and situated nearly in the centre of the Grampian mountains, where he proposed defending himself. This scheme, however, he abandoned when the military made their appear- ance, and dismissing his followers, he assumed the dress of a peasant, and fled to the northern isles of Scotland, where it is said he died in ob- scurity and want. What became of his sister tradition makes no mention. The lands of Ecb- zell were forfeited in 1716 by the adherence of the Lindsays to the house of Stewart, and are now the property of the Eight Honorable Lord Pan- mure.] Lord Spykte,* ye may pu' the rose. An' spare the lily flower. When ye gae through the garden green To woo in ladye bower ; And ye may pu' the lightsome thyme. An' leave the lonesome rue ; For lang and sair will the ladye mourn Tliat ye gae there to woo ! For ye will look an' talk of luve. An' kindly, kindly smile. An' vow by grace, an' a' that's gude. An' lay the luring wile. 'Tis sair to rob the bonnie bird That makes you melodie ; 'Tis cruel to win a woman's luve. An' no ha'e luve to gi'e ! I wadna ha'e your wilfu' hand Though a' the earth were thine ; Ye've broken many a maiden's peace, Ye've mair than broken mine. I wadna ha'e your faithless heart, 'Tis no your ain to gi'e ; But gin ye ever think o' he.iven. Oh ! ye maun think o' me ! •-■ This title has been dormant since the death ■ George, third lord, in 1672. SCOTTISH BALLADS. [This ballad was published by Dr Percy, from a manuscript which was transmitted to him, from Scotland, by Sir David Dalrjmple (Lord Hailes). From the source whence it proceeded, it was in all probability written by Lady Ward- " Why does your brand sae drap wi' blude, Edward, Edward ? ■\Vhy does your brand sae drap wi' blude. And why sae sad gang ye, O ?" " 0, I ha'e killed my hawk sae gude, Mother, mother; 0, 1 ha'e killed my hawk sae gude ; And 1 ha'e nae mair but he, 0." '• Your hawk's blude was never sae red, Edward, Edward ; Your hawk's blude was never sae red, 31y dear son, I tell thee, O." " 0, I ha'e killed my red-roan steed. Mother, mother ; O, I ha'e killed my red-roan steed. That was sae fkir and free, O.'- " Your steed was auld, and ye ha'e gat mair, Edward, Edward ; Your steed was auld, and ye ha'e gat mair ; :^ome other dule ye drie, O." '■0 1 ha'e killed my father dear. Mother, mother; 0, I ha'e killed my father dear, Alas ! and woe is me, O "' " And whatten penance will ye drie for that, Edward, Edward ? And whatten penance will ye drie for that i* My dear son, now tell me, O." " I'll set my feet in yonder boat. Mother, mother; I'll set my feet in yonder boat. And I'll fare over the sea, 0." " And what will ye do wi'your touirs and your Edward, Edward ? [ha'. And what will ye do wi' your touirs and your %"And what will ye leave to your bainu knO your wife, Edw»rrJ, Edward ' I And what will ye leave to your balm* ai>4 your wife, "When ye gang ower the •««, O ?•• " The warld's room : let them beg through llfr. Mother, mother ; : j The warld's room : let them beg through life ; I For them never mair will 1 kc, O." I " And what will you leave to yoor ain moUier : Edward, Edward f [dear. And what will you leave to your ain i I My dear son, now tell me, O." ! 1 " The curse of hell frae me ye sail beir, I J Mother, mother ; I j The cui3e of hell frae me ye sail beir ; ■ I Sic counsels ye gave to me, O :' That were sae fair to see, O ?" " I'll let them stand till they doun fa'. Mother, mother ; I'll let them stand till they doun fa' ; For here never mair maun I be, 0. [ha'. SOX DATIE, SON DAVIE. [From Slotherwell's Collection, where it if said to be given from the reciution of an olJ woman.] " What bluid's that on thy coat lap - Son Davie ! son Davie ; VThat bluid's that on thy coat lap ' And the truth come tell to me, o. ' " It is the bluid of my great hawk. Mother lady : mother lady : It is the bluid of my great hawk. And the truth 1 ha'e tald to tow. O. " Hawk's bluid was ne'er tae re«l. Son Davie ! son Davie ! Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red, And the truth come tell to me. O " " It is the bluid o' my ^nj hound. ilother lady ! mother lady .' It is the bluid o' my grey houml. And it wudna rtn for tne, O. " " Hound's bluid was ne'er mc red. Son Davie ! son Davie I Hounds bluid w.-u ne'er «ae red. 1 And the truth come tell U> n'», < >. ' i^Ai " It is the bluid o' my brother John, Mother lady ! mother lady ; It is the bluid o' my brother John, And the truth I ha'e tald to thee, 0." " What about did the plea begin ? Son Davie ! son Davie !" "It began about the cutting o' a willow wand. That would never ha'e been a tree, O." " What death dost thou desire to die ? Son Davie ! son Davie ! What death dost thou desire to die ? And the truth come tell to me, 0." " I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship, Mother lady I mother lady ! I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship, And ye'll never see mair o' me, O." " What will't thou leave to thy poor wife ? Son Davie ! son Davie !" " Grief and sorrow all her life. And she'll never get mair frae me, O." " What will't thou leave to thy auld son ? Son Davie ! son Davie !" " The weary warld to wander up and down. And he'll never get mair o' me, O." " What will't thou leave to thy mother dear ? Son Davie ! son Davie!" " A fire o' coals to burn her wi' hearty cheer, And she'll never get mair o' me, O." )^\J [" The beautiful air of Cowdenknows is well ^ A known and popular. In Ettrick Forest the fol- ^= j lowing words are uniformly adapted to the ^^l tun^j and seem to be the original ballad. An V. (^) edition of this pastoral tale, differing considera- V_^ bly from the present copy, was published by Mr iC 0\ Herd, in 1772. Cowdenknows is situated upon =/y the river Leader, about four miles from Melrose, ^^y and U now the property of Dr Hume.' — Mm- strelsy qfthe Scottish Border.] O THE broom, and the bonnie bonnie broom. And the broom of the Cowdenknows ! And aye sae sweet as the lassie sang, 1' the bought, milking the ewes. The hills were high on ilka side. An' the bought i' the lirk o' the hill. And aye, as she sang, her voice it rang, Out o'er the head o' yon hill. There was a troop o' gentlemen Came riding merrilie by. And one of them has rode out of the way. To the bought to the bonnie may. " Weel may ye save an' see, bonnie Liss, An' weel may ye save an' see." " An' sae wi' you, ye weel-bred knight. And what's your will wi' me ?" " The night is misty and mirk, fair may. And I have ridden astray. And will you be so kind, ikir may. As come out and point my way ? " " Ride out, ride out, ye ramp rider ! Your steed's baith stout and Strang ; For out of the bought I darna come. For fear 'at ye do me wrang." " O winna ye pity me, bonnie lass, O winna ye pity me ? An' winna ye pity my poor steed. Stands trembling at yon tree :»" " 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. And your merrie twinkling e'e. That ye're the laird o' the Oakland hills. An' ye may weel seem for to be." " But I am not the laird o' the Oakland hills, Ye're far mista'en o' me ; But I'm ane o' the men about his house. An' right aft in his companie." He's ta'en her by the middle jimp. And by the grass-green sleeve ; He's lifted her over the fauld dyke. And speer'd at her sma' leave. SCOTTISH BALLADS. O he's ta'en out a parse o' gowd, And streek'd her yellow hair, " Now, take ye that, my bonnie may. Of me till you hear niair." he's leapt on his berry-brown steed. An' soon he's o'erta'en his men ; And ane and a' cried out to hi n, " master, ye've tarry 'i long 1" " I hae been east, and I ha'e been west. An' I ha'e been tor o'er the know. But the bonniest lass that ever I saw Is i' the bought milking the ewes." She set the cog upon her head. An' she's gane singing hame — " O where ha'e ye been, my ae daughter ? Ye ha'e na been your lane." " naa body was wi' me, father, nae body has been wi' me ; The night is misty and niirk, father, Te may gang to the door and see. " But wae be to your ewe-herd, father. And an Ul deed may he dee ; He bug the bought at the back o' the know. And a tod has frighted me. '• There came a tod to the bought-door. The like I never saw; And ere he had tane the lamb 'ne did, 1 had lourd he had ta'en them a'." " Ye lied, ye lied, my very bonnie may, Sae loud as I hear you lie ; For dinna ye mind that mUty night I was i' the bought wi' thee ? " I ken you by your middle sac jimp. An' your merry twinkling c>, That ye're the bonnie las i' the Cowdenkne And ye may weel seem for to be." Then he's leapt off his berry-brown it<^i. An' he's set that fair may on— " Ca' out your kye, gude father, your* ! . For she's never ca' them out again. " I am the L-urd 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." nt Md ant) i^lsi Yr. [From Bnchan's CoUecton.] Far in yon Isles beyond Argyle, Where flocks and herds were pif : Liv'd a rich heir, whose sister (air Was flower ower a' that eonntr. . whan fifteen weeks was come and gane. Fifteen weeks and three, That laisie began to look thin and pale. An' to long for his merry twinkling e'e. 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' merrihe ridinj tye. " Weel may ye save an' see, bonnie may, W'eel may ye save and see ! Weel I wat, ye be a very bonnie may. But whae's aught that babe ye are wi' .'■ Kever 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 haine.*' A knight, Sir Kiel, had woo'd her Un?. Intending for to marry ; But when she saw the young Glengyl*. He wau her heart entirely. Then tidings to her brother came. Sir Niel had boasted proudly. In favours of his sister fair, This made him to swear roudly. Swearing for all the friendship p«st, Ifance he saw the mornini. This knight by him should brvathe hu ti' Or make him rue his scorning. Down on yon shore where wild wares n> A challenge he did tend him ; Before the sun, these two mm met. Kae seconds to attend them. -^ " What ails, what ails my dearest friend Why want you to destroy me ?" " 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 ; ^\nd if I aught to you have done, I'll own my fault, and mend it." " Does this become so brave a knight ? Dees blood sae much surprise you ? And if you do refuse to fight, I'll like a dog chastise you." '■ 0, foolish man don't tempt your fete. 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 btroke he darted. Into the breast of bold Mac 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 ycu wounded." Then saying so, he quit his ground, Glengyle with this advanced. And pierc'd the heart of brave Sir Niel Till 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. All in thy youthful blossom ; Nae mair I'll love that treach'rous man. That pierc'd thy manly bosom. " Thou tender-hearted 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." iXi|k ^ailMf* I " A Ballad under this name, and somewhat similar, was printed by Wotherspoon, in the second volume of his Collection : there are, how- vf* ever, some breaches in that one, which are now ^^, SCOTTISH BALLADS happily made up in this one. There is also a ' difference between them in the manner of de- tail. The Duncan Graeme mentioned in the ballad is only fictitious, to prevent the real name being known. " Lizie Baillie was a daughter of the Reverend Mr Baillie's, and lady's maid to the Countess of Saltoun, to whose son, Alexander, master of Saltoun, she bare a child. The young man wished to legitimatise the offspring of his unlaw- ful love, by marrying the mother of his child, but was prevented by Lord and Lady Sal- toun, his father and mother, as being below his degree; when he retorted by saying, — ' She was a minister's daughter, and he was but a minis- ter's grandson." He, on the mother's side, hav- ing descended from Dr James Siiarpe, Arch- bishop of St Andrews, who was assassinated in 1679. The young nobleman's mother's name was Margaret Sharpe, who married William, second Lord Saltoun, and he was the only issue. After having continued a considerable length of time a bachelor, he married Lady Mary Gordon, daughter of George Earl of Aberdeen, and Lizie Baillie was then forgotten. The late Mr Fraser, minister of Tyrie, was a grandson to Lizie Baillie, and great grandson to Alexander Fraser, third Lord Saltoun." — Buchan's Ballads of the North.} It fell about the Lammas time, ■yVTien flowers were fresh and green ; Lizie Baillie to Gartartan went. To see her sister Jean. She meant to go unto that placa. To stay a little while ; But mark what fortune her befcli. When she went to the isle. It fell out upon a day. Sheep-shearing at an end ; Lizie Baillie she walk'd out, To see a distant friend. But going down in a low glen. She met wi' Duncan Grasme, Who courted her along the way. Likewise conveyed her hame. " My bonnie Lizie Baillie, I'll row you in my plaidie ; If ye'll gang ower the hills wi' me. And be a Highland ladie." " I winna gang alani? wi" you. Indeed I maun confcM; I can neither milk cow nor ewe, Hot yet can I speak E.ar«e." " never fear, Lizie," he laid, " If ye will gan? wi' me ; All that is into my place. Can speak as gude Scotch u ttn-> . " But for a time, we now iraun pnr* I hinna time to tarrj ; Xext when we twa meet aj^n, AVill be in CaiUecary." ^^'hen Lizie tarried out her time. Unto her father's came; The very first night she arriTed, Wha conies but Duncan Gramr. ■^ays, " Bonny Lizie Baillie, A gude deed mat ye dee ; Although to me ye brake your t T»t, Now I am come for thee." " O stay at h.-ime, her lather said, " Tour mither cannot want th<>c : And gin ye gang awa' this night, Well ha'e a Killycrankie." " My bonnie Lizie Baillie, U come to me without delny ; O would ye h.i'e sae little wit. As mind what odd folks wad «} - She wouldna hn'e the LowUnJin.-»ii . That wears the coat sae blue : But she would hae the Highlan.lm," That wears the plaid and lr«w». Out it spake her mother then, A sorry heart had she ; Says, " Wac be to his Highland fj Xiiat's taen my lass frae nu • %^t 5lah^ of £5iaartgt: ["John Kincftid, Laltd of War ituatcd between the city of I ca, towards Leith,) «ai u.url I'Jl' SCOTTISH BALLADS. i.f July 1600, by a man named Rolert Weir, % who was 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 treatment on his part, and, in parti- cular, for a bite which he had inflicted on her arm . There was something extraordinary in tlie 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 Waristoun, 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 accomplice in the nurse of her child. It was th3n 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 tlie 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 chaml)er, Waristoun awoke with the noise, and leant inquiringly over tlie 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 measures: 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. ^ Weir made an immediate escape from j ustice; but Lady Waristoun and the nurse were appre- hended before the deed was half a day old. Being caught, as the Scottish law terms it, red-hand — 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 stake. The lady's 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 hei 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 pubUshed, and would be extremely amusing, were it not for the disgust which seizes the mind on beholding such an instance 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 of the 5th of July, at the Watergate, near Holy- roodhouse; 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." — Chambers.'] DoirN 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 BALLAIj.S. .■^ne has twa weel-made feet, I truw ; ■ Fiir better is her hacd ; Siie is as jimp in the raiddla sae fine. As ony mllow wand. It was at dinner as they sat, And when they drank the wine. How happy were the laird and lady Of bonnie Waristoun ! But he has spoken a word in jest ; Her answer was not good ; And he has thrown a plate at her. Made her mouth gush out o' blude. She wasna fras her chamber door A step, but barely three. When up and at her richt hand There stood Man's Enemie ! " Gif ye will do my bidding, lady. At my bidding for to be, I'll learn you a richt skeely wile. Avenged for to be. " At evening, when ye sit and sup. And when ye drink the wine. See that ye fill the glass weel up To the Laird o' Waristoun." The Foul Thief ha has kuist the knot; she lift his head on hie ; And the fause nourice drew the knot. That Waristoun garr'd die. Then word has gane to Leith, to Leith, And up to Edinbro toun. That the lady she has slain the laird. The laird of Waristoun. And they've ta'en her and the Rtuse nourice. And in prison ha'e them boun'; The nourice she was hard of heart. But the lady fell in a swoom. In it came her brother dear ; A sorry man was he : '■ 1 wad gi'e a' the lands I ha'e, Bonnie Jean, to borrow thee. " borrow me, brother ! borrow me I borrowed sail I never be ; For I garr'd kill my ain gude lord, And life is nae pleasure to me." i In it came her mother dwir : I A sorry woman wiu ilie ; " I wad gi'e my white monry ami ?• w : . I Bjuuie Jean to borrow tbe«." I " Borrow me, mother ! borrow vnt ' 1 O borrowed sail I never be ; For I garr'd kill my ain gude lord. And life's nae pleasure to roe." Then in it came her father dear ; A sorry man was he : " Ochon, alas, my bonnie Jean : If I hud you at hame wi' me : "Seven daughters I ha'e left at ha;i • . As fair as fair can be ; But I would gi'e them a', ane by am, O Jean, to borrow thee." " borrow me, father ! b-rrow mt- B rrowed sail I never be ; I that is worthy o' the death It's richt that I suld dec. " O Warristoun, I was your wife These nine years, running t<»n ; And 1 never lo'ed ye half sac m-el As now when ye 're lying slain : " Cause tak' me out at nicht , at lucbt ; Let the sun not on me shinf : And ou yon heidiiig hill strik" .iff This dowie heid of mine. " But first tak' afT my gowd brocade . Let only n-y petticoat be ; And tie my mantle ower my head ; For my death I daurna see." Sae they've ta'en her to the heiding hi: . At morn, afore the sun ; A ud wi' mournfu' biiih* they've ta'en brr For the death o' Wunstiiun. ["This local ballad, which cMnnvetnoni>-i some real event, is given from Ox- triiuii n . an old wom.'vn, residing in the uil>liN .ir^i '■ Cambus Michpel, Portlishirv. 1 : ; •J'Ji SCOTTISH BALLADS. f^lcments 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 Very interesting and pathetic composition. " Kercock and Balathy are two small villages on the banks of the Tay ; the latter is nearly op- 1 osite 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 raying a visit to his Kercock love, that the .ie:\!ous dame in Balathy Toun, from a revengeful I' ling, scuttled the boat in which he was to re- . !o,3 the lay to Stobhall."— J/o^/jei-H.-f//.] I>AviD Drummokd's destinie, Gude man o' appearance o' Cargill ; I wat his blude rins in the flude, Sae sair against his parents' will. Jiae was the lass o' Balathy toun. And he the butler o' Stobhall ; And mony a time she wauked late^ To boi-e 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. liis bed was made in Balathy toun. Of the clean sheets and of the strae ; IJut 1 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, lor there she got the bonnie lad lost, ^Vi• the curly locks and the yellow hair. }le 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 ! " help I O help ! I can get nane, Xae help o' man can to me come !" This was about his dying words, When he was choaked up to the chin. " Gae tell my father and my mother. 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 age, Ke'er set a foot upon the plain ; His father to his mother said, " Oh sae sune as we've want.d him ! " I wat th?y had mair luve than this. When they were young and at the scule ; But for his sake she wauked late. And bored the coble C bonnie Cargill. " There's ne'er a clean sark gaeon 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 blink in my e'e; There's ne'er a ane shall say to anither. That's the lassie garr'd the young man dee.' Between the yetts o' bonnie Stobha', And the Kirkstyle o' bonnie Cargill ; There is mony a man and mother's son. That was at my luve's burial. <^0nTife ^ii^k (SDIdsB^, [FiKST published by Motherwell.] There lived a lady in Scotland, Hey my love and ho my joy ; There lived a lady 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 Dundee, (i I SCOTTISH BALLAS3. 2{k; The father unto the daughter came. Hey my love, &c. The father unto the daughter came, Who dearly, &c. The father unto the daughter came, laying, "Will you forsake that Englishman," And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt in Dundee ! " Ifyou will not that Englishman forsake. Key my love, &c. If you wUl not that Englishman forsake, Who dearly, &c. If you vf ill not that Englishman forsake, O I will bum you at a stake. And bonnie," &c. " I will not that Englishman forsake, H°y my lov?, &c. I will not that Englishman forsake. Who dearly, &c. I wUl not that Englishman forsake. Though you should burn me at a st.ike. And bonnie, &c. " where will I get a pretty little boy. Hey ray love, &c. O where will I get a pretty little boy. Who dearly, &c. where will I get a pretty little boy, AVho will carry tidings to my joy. And bonnie," &c. " Here am I a pretty little boy. Hey my love, &c. Here am I a pretty little boy. Who dearly loves thee ; Here am I a pretty little boy, ^Vho will carry tidings to thy joy, And bonnie," &c. " Give to him this right hand glove. Hey ray love, &c. Give to hira this right hand glove. Who dearly loved me ; Give to him this riglit hand glove. Tell him to get another love. For bonnie, &o. " Give to him this little pen-knife. Hey my love, &c. Give to him this little pen-knife. Who dearly, &c. Give to him tbia little pen-knif«. Tell him to get anotlxer wife. For bonnie, &c. " Give to him this gay gold rinr, Hey my love, &c. Give to him this gay goM rin?. Who dearly loves, &c. Give to him this gay gold ring, Tell him I'm going to my burato;. And bonnie," &c. Her Cither he ca'd up the stike, Hey my love, &c. Her father he ca'J up the stake. Who dearly, &c. Her father he ca'd up the stake. Her brother he the fire did make, And bonnie Susie Cleland was burnt in I)uti ; [From Motherwell's collection, where it said to be popular in the southern pan»hi-« Perthshire.] Thebb were three ladies lived in a bower. Eh vow bonnie. And they went out to pull a flower. On the bonnie banks o" ForJie. They hadna pu'ed a flower but ane. Eh vow bonnie, When up started to them a Uanltht man. On the bonnie bank* o' Kordi«. He's ta'en the first sister by hor will I die by your wee ken-knife. On the bonnie banks C Fordie. " For I ha'e a brother in this wood. Eh vow bonnie, -\ nd gin ye kill me, it's he'll kill thee. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." " ^yhat's thy brother's name, come tell to me ? Eh vow bonnie." X y brother's name is Baby Lon, On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." " O sister, sister, what have I dune. Eh vow bonnie, O have I done this ill to thee, On the bonnie banks o' JFordie ? j " O since I've done this evil deed. Eh vow bonnie. Good sail never be seen o' me. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie." He's taken out his wee peu-knitfe. Eh vow bonnie. And he's twyned himsel' o' his ain sweet life. On the bonnie banks o' Fordie. [From the Border Minstrelsy, where it is given from the recitation of a Lady.] Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye. He has wedded her with a ring; Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye. But he darna bring her hanie. " Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear! Your blessing now grant to me !" "Instead of a blessing ye sail have my curse. And you'll get nae blessing frae me." She has called upon her waiting maid. To fill a glass of wine ; She has called upon her false steward. To put rank poison in. She has put it to her roudes lip,* And to her roudes chin ; She has put it to her fause fause mouth, But the never a drap gaed in. He has put it to his bonnie mouth. And to his bonnie chin. He's put it to his cherry lip. And sae fast the rank poison ran in. " ye ha'e poisoned your ae son, mother. Your ae son and your heir ; O ye ha'e poisoned your ae son, mother. And sons you'll never ha'e mair. " O where will I get a little boy. That will win hose and shoou. To run sae fast to Darlinton, And bid fair Eleanor come ?" il&uiiei— haggard. SCOTTISH BALLAU-5. Then up and spake a little boy. That wad win hose and ahoon, — " O I'll away to Darlinton, And bid fair Eleanor come." he has run to Darlinton, A nd tirled at the pin ; And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sel' To let the bonnie boy in :* " 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 canua 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 fingor. An' your heart suld burst in three." • She's turned her back unt'i the w»-. And her face unto a rock ; And there, before the mother'! Cue, Her very heart it broke. The tane was buried in Mary t kirk. The tother in Mary'j quair ; And out o' the tane there tp ang a b;rk, And out o' the luther a bner. And thae twa met, and thae twa pUt. The birk but and the brier ; And by that ye may very weel k«rri They were twa lovers dear. ' EARL BOBEBT. [From Motherwell's crillection, where it said to be given from the recitation of an o woman, a native cf Bonhill, in Dumbart-i shire.] It's fifty miles to Sittangen'e rock«. 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, \ His mother she call'd t> her waiiiDa; maiu " O bring me a pint of wine. For I dinna weel ken what hour of tha i>) That my sou Earl Ruben shall duir.' She's put it to her Cause, fause check. But an' her fuusc, fauie chin : She's put it to her &use, faoae lips. But never a drap went In. But he's put it to his bonnie cbe«k, Aye and hid bonnie cliin ; He's put it to his red roty lip«, And the poison went merrily down. " where will I get a bonnl.> boy, That wi'U win hose and »h' on — That will gang quickly to Siucrj.-\i. • ' »». And bid my lady come r" • The last two ve.-»e» are coromo* » B>a»» ballads, and are probably derivrd tram wto* M.. 1 metrical romance, since we And tbt Mi* o»f>»r 298 It'9 out then speaks a bonnie boy, To Earl Robert was something a kin ; " Many a time here I run thy errand. But this day with the tears I'll rin." O when he cam' to Sittengen's rocks, To the middle of a' the ha'. There were bells a ringing and music playing. And ladies dancing a". " AVhat news, what news, my bonnie boy. What news have ye to me ; Is Earl Robert in very good health. And the ladies of your countrie .•"' " O Earl Robert is in very good health. And as weel as a man can be ; But his mother this night has a drink to be druken. And at it ye must be." She called to her waiting maid. To bring her a riding weed ; And she called to her stable groom. To saddle her milk white steed. But when she came to Earl Robert's bouir. To the middle of a' the ha'. There were bells a ringing and sheets down hinging. And the ladies murning a'. " I've come for none of his gold," she said, " Kor none of his white monie ; Excepting a ring of his smallest finger. If tliat you will grant me ?" "Thou'U no get none of his gold," she said, " Nor none of his white monie ; Thou'll no get a ring of his smallest finger. Though thy heart should break in three." She set her foot unto a stone. Her back unto a tree ; She set her foot unto a stone. And her heart it brak in three ! The one was buried in Mary's kirk. The other in Mary's quier ; Out of the one there grew a bush. From the other a bonnie brier. in the conclusion of the voluminous history of Sir Tristrem.— Sco«. And thir twa grew, and thir twa threw. Till this twa craps drew near ; So all the world may plainly see That they lov'd each other dear. [The following ballad, which is founded on a Highland tradition, and now given in a revised ' state, appeared first in the Newcastle Magazine for May, 1827. Its scene, Glenelchaig, in Kin- tail, Ross-shire, is, with the exception perhaps of Glencoe, the most rugged locality in the West Highlands. The author of the ballad is Mr James Tsi.fkr, Teacher, Castleton, Lang- " Remain with us, thou gentle guest. Remain with us, tUl morning stay ; The daylight's dying in the west. And long and lonesome is the way. " My sons to wake the deer are gone In far Glen Affric's wild wood glade ; Flora and I are left alone. Give us thy company, dear maid. " Think not that covert guile doth lie Disguised in garb of fair goodwill. The name of hospitality Is sacred on the Highland hill. " Wert thou the daughter of my fee, As thou'rt the Saxon stranger's child, I would not, could not let thee go To be benighted in the wild. " Flora, my darling, cheer prepare. And bid the maid our welcome prove ; Old Kenneth of the snowy hair. Is young to see his daughter's love." " Entreat me not, thou good old man," With falt'ring tongue the maid replied, " I must pursue my wayward plan, — I may not, cannot here abide." " Ah ! maiden wayward sure thou art, And if thou must, thou must be gone, Yet was it never Kenneth's part To send tlie helpless forth alone. " AU-bliijhting Time hath me subdued. Mine eyes are glazed and dim of ken. The way is rugged, waste and rude — GHenelchaig* is a dreary glen. " Yet Flora will her father aid. So speaks that bright expressive eye- Shall we desert the stranger raaid, Wlien other aid none else is nigh '" "0 kind old man," the maiden spoke, " All human aid I must forego, My sacred vow must not be broke — The vow the hving must not know. " Farewell I — entreat not, O ! farewell." So said, she sped away in haste ; Deep, deep the gloom of evening fell. And heaven and earth were all a waste. " Abate thy grief, thou white-hair'd man. And lovely Flora cease to weep ; For Heaven the heart can ti-uly scan. And doth of love remembrance keep. '■' For He who is our trust and might, And who is with his own alway. As nigh us is in shades of night. As in the brightest beams of day. " His presence shield the maiden's soul !"— The gloom now dark and darker hung, "With wild continuous fearful howl, Each glen, each cliff, each cavern rung. Yet held she on — avaunt, dismay ! — O'er sparry ledge and rolling stone ; Eude, dark, and toilsome was the way. And all untrod, yet held she on. Yet held she on, by hill and stream, Thro' tearing brakes and sinking swamps. While savage eyes around her gleam. Like half-extinguished cavern lamps. She heard the Glomah,|- ever dark, Like wakening thunder deeply moan ; • Glenelcliaig, in Kintail, Ross-shire, is about I j 10 miles in length, and inconceivably rugged. j t The Glomah is a water-fall from the moun- ' I tains on the southern side of Glenelchaig. It is ^ 29'.» And louder heard the howl and ti*rk, With scream, and bin, and ihrick, fti. 1 groan. She came beneath that fatal rock Where horror lower'd in tenfold wrath — A hamlet here.t— the mountain brokr, And life was overwhelmed in d«aith. She deem'd she heard the bunting cravh, The agonized and stiHed ihrlek ; Her senses reel, her ear-drums daih, Her eye-balls strain well nigh to break. Yet sped she on, her heart beat high, So loud it did itself aL-u-m ; She crossed at length the Altondye, Then lighter grew her thought* of harm. Still aped she on by rock and bush, Her tender limbs much grievance foun ! . She heard the streams of Fahda nub. And hollow tongues were whispering rQun»«- giving way in the night burie^l it and aU its m habitants. § KilulUn, literally the burying pUc of UUan. Ci^^^re 300 SCOTTISH BALLADS. She knelt her by the slumbering saint. Viper and toad around her crawl ; Yet swerv'd she not — her soul grew faint, lu prayer her lips did move — 'twas all. A languor chilled the living stream. She sunk upon the mould of death ; ."^ay did she sleep as thosa who dream, Or sleep as thosa who slept beneath ? 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. 'Twas wak'ning in another sphere, A fairer, purer, holier, higher ; Where all is eye, where all is ear, AVhere all is gratified desire. Burst on her sight that world of bliss. Where woe and death may never come ; .'^he heard the hymns of Paradise, Where not a tuneful breeze is dumb. ,-^he saw Life's river flowing wide With Love and Mercy on the brim, CVjmpared unto its crj'stal tide The splendour of our sun was dim. And on that tide were floating isles, AVith bowers of ever-verdant green, AVhere sate beneath th' Eternal's siniles Those who on earth had faithful been. tfhe heai-d the hallelujahs rise From those who stood before the throne ; She turned aside her mortal eyes From what they might not look upon. Her lovely face she strove to hide, It was, as angel's, mild and fair ; She felt a tear spontane us glide. She thought of one she saw not there. 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. " 'Twas seen your souls asunder rent Each to its better being lost ; In pity was a vision sent — You both are proved, and faith shall bciast. " Cease not to love whUe life shall last. And smooth your path shall love divine; And when your mortal time is past. This visioned blissful land is thine."— He ceased, — the maiden raised her eye. His radiant form she could not mark ; She heard the music fall and die— The vision pass'd, confused and dark. She felt her heart give fitful thrill- She felt the life stream slowly play — She thought she heard the lark sing shrill- She thought she saw the breaking day. 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 ! Can fleeting visions sense enslave ? Ko, these are past, she doth not sleep ; 'Tis he for whom she death could brave, — For whom her eyes in heaven could weep. The sun above the mountains bright Streamed liquid gold o'er land and sea ; Earth, ocean, sky did float in light. And Nature raised her hymns of glee. 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. [MoDBRN Ballad, by David Yedder.— "In the year 980, when the Danes had invaded Scot- land, and prevailed in the battle of Luiic.=ii-ty, near Perth, the Scots were worsted and gave way ; and in their flight through a narrow pass, were stopped by a countryman and his two sons, who encouraged them to rally and renew the fight ; ^ telling them that it was more honourable to die SCOTTISH BALLADS. in the field fighting for their king and country, ^ than to fly and be afterwards killed by the mer- i ] ciless Danes ; and upbraided those who would ' fly like cowards, when all was at stake. The j i more timorous stood still, and many of the stout men, who fled more by the desertion of their companions than want of courage, joined with the old man and his sons to stop the rest, till there was a good number together. The countrymen, who were armed with only what their ploughs furnished, leading them on, and returning upon the Danes, made a furious onset, crying alou', "Help is at hand!" The Danes, believing a tresh army was falling on them, the Scots thereby totally defeated them, and freed their own country from servitude. The battle being over, the old man, afterwards known by the name of Hay, was brought to the king, who, assembling a parliament at Scone, gave to the said Hay and his sons, as a just re- ward for their valour, so much land on the river Tay, in the district of Gowrie, as a falcon from a man's hand flew over till it settled ; which, being six mUes in length, was afterwards called Errol. And the king being walling to promote the said Hay and his sons from the rank of plebeians to the order of nobility, he assigned them a coat-of- arms, which was — argent, three escutcheons, gules— to intimate that the Cither and two sons had been the three- fortunate shields of Scotland ." Scottish Peerage, Art. Hay.] The beacon lights are blazing bright, The slogan's on the blast ; The clansmen muster rapidly. The fiery cross flies fast ; Chiefs hurry firom their towers of strength. And vassals from their shiels ; For Albyn's strand's polluted by An hundred hostile keels. Oh ! vermU cheeks shall pallid grow. And sunny eyes shall weep ; But not from fear nor sorrow, but From indignation deep ; To see these Scandinavian wolves, A wild unhallowed band. Like demons of destruction come To waste our father-land. The robber hordes are all debarked — Their raven -banners wave — Their sworda are out— anil bdr Strkthmon Is one promijcuou* grrnvt ; The Esk, the Brotheck, Lunan. Tay, Run ruddy to the aca ; "While altar, temple, tower, aud ^.l^n, Are levelled with the lea! Tlie hut, the cottage, and the ynuigf , Are blazing up to heaven ; Decrepit eld, and babes »likf. Are to this carnage given ; And beauteous maids and matroni C. r Leap from the diizy steep And pc-rish — pure as snow from hear- n Upon t!:e ocean deep. The spoilers move exultingly, O'er Govrrie's fertile fields, Their deadly spears a forest seen.c-l, A solid wall their shields; Like locusts in their mortal flight Upon the orient wind, A paradise before them l,iy, A blighted waste behind. Bathed in the setting light of hc.iv. r . Imperial Bertha * shone. Like some empurpled orient que^n Upon her emerald throne. The waving woods, her gor;:«ooi tm.n. Seemi d paying homage moct . And Tay, emitting silver sountU. Lay crouching at her ftet. "Now, by the sacretl mead that (! r i In Odin's palace high — And by the blessed light th.it N ! ( I ( JOS And high-bom dames, lit up with smiles Bright aa the milky way — But O I their smiles beamed brightest on The stalwart peasants Hay. Then royal Kenneth left hia throne. And laid his crown aside — " Are you the glorious peasants three That turned the battles tide ? " Tour patent of nobility Heaven gave you at your birth. Alas! a Kini? can only »da^ r^ appellant."^ At a later period, the Saxon larailipi. «ho (VM from the exterminating iword of the Conqurmr, with many of the Nonnani tfaemjelTe*, whom discontent and intestine feuds had driTcn iota exile, began to rise into eminence upon thr Scottish borders. They brought with thrm »rt.. both of peace andof war, unlcnown in ScoUanJ . and, among their descendants, we foon numbrr the most powerful border chieb. .'^uch , durin* t b« reign of the last Alexander, wcne Patrick, earl of March, and Lord Soulis, renowned in tradition ; mod nieh »frr also the powerful Comynt, who early »cqairr«l whelmed, the barriers of the Eoman power in |j ^^^ principal sway upon the SfotUUi marrh- [Rkprivtbd from the fifth Edition of Sir Walter Scott's 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 ovcr- A. I>. 14». Britain. The subsequent events, in which they were engaged, tended little to diminish their military hardihood, or to reconcile thera 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 diflRcult and vain. ] If we may trust the "Welch bards, in their account ofthe wars betwixt the Saxons and D-snes 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 deicribes^ In the civil wars betwixt Brucr and A. IV 13 ■ ) A. D. 570. Baliol, all those powerful chlcft*in» espoused the unsuccessful party. Thf-y wrrr f.>r- felted and exiled ; and upon their ruin* w»» founded the formidable houK of DousU*. "nx- borders, from sea to aea, were now at the drvo- tion of a succession of mighty chir? K^^^^KS^^ (? 306 dynasty upon BOEDER BALLADS. the Scottish throne. It is notvfe liberally distributed among his conquerors, and my intention to trace the dazzling career of this race of heroes, whose exploits were aUke 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 A T) liS^ exhorted him to commit his fate to the issue of a battle. The border chiefs, who longed for independence, showed I . T^ 1 .1?^ little inclination to follow the de- ! A. D. 1455. ,. . , clmmg tortunes of Douglas. On | the contrarj', the most powerful clans engaged | and defeated him, at Arkinholme, in Annan- i 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 D. 1457. 1 royal grants of his forfeited domains effectuallj i interested them in excluding his return. An j attempt on the east borders by "the Percy and the Douglas, both I 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 him, and he suffered a final defeat at A. D. t 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 Scotts, com- posed his army. Archibald, Earl of Murr.iy, brother to Dou;;ias, 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 the lands of Pittinane, upon CXy^e.—Godscroft, vol. i. p. 'i~ 5.— Balfour's MS. in the Advocate's Library, Edinburgh. Abcrcrombie's Achievements, vol. ii. p. 361. folio Ell.— The other chiefs were also distinguished by royal favour. By a charter, upon record, dated 2.5th February, 1548, the king grants to Walter •Scott of Kirkurd, ancestor of the house of Buc- e!euch, the lands of Abingtovm, Phareholm,^Edinburgh, 1773, p. 121 and Glentonan craig, in Lanarkshire, " Pro suo Jideli servitio nobis impenso et pro quod interfuit in conjlictu de Arkinholme in occisione et captione nostrorum rebellium quondam, Archibaldi et Hu- gonis de Douglas olim comitum Moraviae et de Ormond et aliorum, rebellium nostrorum in eorum comitivia existen : ibidem capforum et interfec- torum." Similar grants of land were made to Pinnart 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, whd 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. Ear); 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 of Scotland, BORDER BALLAIJS. Burnsivark, in Dumfriesshire. The aged earl was taken in the fight, by a son of Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, one of his own vassals. A grant of lands had been offered for his person : " Carry ( me to the king I " said Douglas to Kirkpatrick : ' "thou art well entitled to profit by my misfor- tune ; for thou wast true to me while I was true to myself." The young man wept bitterly, and offered to fly with the earl into England. But Douglas, weary of exile, refused his proffered liberty, and only requested, that Kirkpatrick would not deliver him to the king, till he had secured his own reward. f Kirkpatrick did more : he stipulated for the personal safety of his old master. His generous intercession prevailed; and the last of the Douglasses was permitted to die, in monastic seclusion, in the abbey of Lin- dorea. After the fall of the house of Douglas, no one chieftain appears to have enjoyed the same extensive supremacy over the Scottish borders. The various barons, who had partaken of the spoil, combined in resisting a succession of uncontrolled domination. The earl of Angus alone seems to have taken rapid steps in the same course of ambition, which had been pur- sued by his kinsmen and rivals, the earls of Douglas. Archibald, sixth earl of Angus, called Bell-the-Cai, was, at once, warden of the east and middle marches. Lord of Liddisdale, and Jedwood forest, and possessed of the strong castles of Douglas, Hermitage, and Tantallon. Highly, esteemed by the ancient nobility, a faction which he headed shook the throne of the feeble James III., whose person they restrained, and whose minions they led to an ignominious death. The king failed not to show his sense of these insults, though unable effectually to avenge them. This hastened his fate ; and the field of Bannockburn, once the scene of a more glorious conflict, beheld the combined chieftains of the t A grant of the king, dated 2d. October, 1484, bestowed upon Kirkpatrick, for this ac- ceptable service, the lands of Kirkmichael. ^ fe border connUe. arrayed againn th«ir •o««*t(t>. I under the banner* of hit o»n too. Tht kiac j was supporUd by alraott all the Uroo* of tiw I north; but the tumultuoai rank* of th* Hi^b- i landers were ill able to cndurt tU itcaJy aA4 I rapid charge of the men of Annandal* aod Lid I disdale,who bear spear* two tilt longer than wri» 1 used by the rest of their countrymen. Th* )•:>• with which they accompanied thttr oaert. caused the heart of Jame* to quail wtihln tun. j He deserted his host, and HeU to- I wards Stirling; but, (alhng fh)m •*■ ^- >♦** his horse, he was murdered by the punufri. James IV., a monarch of a tIkoti'u* aou energetic character, waa well aware of the dan- ger which his ancestors had experieocetl, frotzx the preponderance of one orertfrown &milj. \U is supposed to have gmilertsofehivalr\, by which hi« nup- tials were solemnized. Upon the waxinf pow»r of Angus he kepta wary eye ; and, embracing th« occasion of a casual slaughter, he compelled that earl and his son to exchange the lordthip of Lid- disdale, and the castle of HermitaKe, for the castleand lordship of Bothwell. t BythUpoUc7. % Spens of Kilspindie, a renowiMd mraUrr. bad been present in court, when the Karl c/ Angus was highly praiaed for itrenrth and valour. " It may be," an«wrird !»t rraaon had je.^ said the earl, "for makinfc quMtlon of tny irum- hood } thou art a tall fellow, and to am I : a«* best earl in .Scotland." With th «• «ur4. th.y encountered fleroly, t.ll .Vnirui. » th on* lJo». severed the thigh if h:» .\nt.ic : »t. who »y t/.I my gossip, the king, that h«r w»» innhin* tot fair play. 1 know my (Totstp *ill l» »*r.JnJ r-^:-^<^7^r^ / ;os BORDER BALLADS. he prevented the house of Angus, mighty as it^felt the truth of the adage, " that the country is was, from rising to the height, whence the elder branch of their family had been hurled. Xor did James fail in affording his subjects on the marches marks of his royal justice and pro- tection. The clan of TurnbuU 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 j erpetrated 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 dismissed, after they had given hostages for their future peaceable demeanour.— Ho/JnsAe«?'i Chionicle, Lesly. 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 flower of his nobles, precipitately rushed to the . ^ , „ , fatal field of FUdden, whence they A. D. 1513. ' ' were never to return. The minority of James V. presents a melan- choly scene. Scotland, through all its extent. but I will get me into Lidtlisdale, and remain in my castle of the Hermitage till his anger be abated." — Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 59. The price of the carl's pardon seems to have been the ex- change mentioned in the text. Bothwell is now the residence of Lord Douglas. The sword with I which Archibald, Bell-the-cat, slew Spens, was, by his descendant, the famous Earl of Morton, presented to Lord Lindsay of the Byres, when about to engage in single combat with Both- well, at CarberTj'-hill.— Go(i*cr.' banishment of Ani?u», and L) a d.-sultftrj war- fare with p:ngland, carried on with mutu»J m cursions. TwogallantamiiM, IctW<1 f^ AlUnj, were dismissed without any exploit worUty notice, while Surrey, at the bead of tni tho«- sand cavalry, burnedi4 tribute to the gallantry of the border chlefi 1 1 r terms them, "the boldeit men, and the hottest, that ever I taw any ■* ^ ' ■ ' "-^ nation." § ■z] A. D. 1530. i 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 of Scotland ; God sen' the Due hed byddin in France, And de la Bate had never corr.e V^a'ne. P. 1&.\ Edln. 1?01. t The particulars of this encounter are inter- esting. The Harailtons were the most numer- ous p.'irty, 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^ clatter: "Ah! my lord!" rvtorted Doa«la«. "your conscience sound* hoUow." He tkcv expostulated with the secular leaden, and hir Patrick Hamilton, brother to Arran, wa^ron- vinced by his remonstrances; but Sir Jantc*. the natural son of the earl, upbraided hi* uorW with reluctance to fight. " False bastard ' answered Sir Patrick, "I will flght to-day wh«T« thou darest not be seen." With tbeae «onl« they rushed tumultuously towanlf the hiKfa- street, where Angus, with the prior of Coidinir- ] hame, and the redoubted Wedderburn, waitrd their assault, at the head of four-hundrrd tfiear- I men, the flower of the east marches, who, ha<- ; ing broke down the gate of the Xetherbow, ha.1 ; arrived just in time to the carl'i aOTittaon- The advantage of the ground, and the dtsordrr ' of the Hamiltons, soon grave the day to .\n|ni«. Sir Patrick Hamilton, and the matt/-r of .Mont- gomery, were slain. Arn»n, and Sir Jam»< Hamilton, escap»Hl with d:ffi«-ultT: and mth no less difliculty was the miliuu? prrlate €>f Glasgow rescued from the frmoiom borOrrm. by the generous interposition of Uawin I>ouicU» The skirmish was long rerriemberrd in KUio burgh, by the name of "Clt-anse the Cau»«a; —Pinkerioni History, ro\. II. p.lH.—PUtci^tM. Edit. 172S, p. 120.— tif» ofGa'rim Dtmgt*'. r" Jired to hit Virgil. I Letter from thk earl or »ra«»T. t« nmrnr VIII. Giviso AX AccorxT or thu ttoun or JFDBIROH. Cetl. MSS. Ctiif. B. 111. fol. 29. " Pi.BisiTH It your grmre to l» advrrKw^l. li»at upon Fridaye, et x a clok at tircht. I trttacTT, in I ^' ^Of' 110 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Disgraced and detested, Albany bade adieu to ^ earl of Arran for some time swayed the king- Gotland for ever. The queen-mother and the dom. But their power was despised on the bor- •.vise, evrj- 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 fortereissis ; 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- )ieste. The towne was much bettir then I went (!. 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, sufiiciente 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 ieving, 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' I'nde a great mysfortune ded fal, onely by foly, that such ordere, as was commanded by me to lie kepte, was not observed, the manner whereof hereaftir shall ensue. Bifore myn entre into t^cotland, I appointed sir William Bulmer and sir William Evers to be marshallis of th' army ; sir William 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 counsalll 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 place of the said campe for my lord Dacre com- pany, next the water, and next my lord of ^Vestmoreland. And at suche t\-me as my lord Dacre came into the falde, I 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 lotiged himself with- out, wherewith, at my returne, I was not con- tente, but then it was too late to remove ; the nest 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 eortoute, and dyvers other good peces of ordynance for the feld (the seid Fern- herste stode marvelous strongly, within a grete woode) ; the seid twoo knights with the most part of their men, and Strickland, your grace sen-aunte, 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 theym ; 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 tj-me my lord Dacre, with part of his horsemen, lighted on fote ; and marvelously hardly handled himself, and fynally, with long skirmyshing, 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 I above xxxii Scottis slej-ne, and not passing n\] Englishmen, but above Ix hurt. Aftir that, my I 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 sodenlyran out of his feld, i in such nombre, that it caused a marvellouse I alarome in our feld; and our standing watche j being set, the horses cam ronnyng along the I campe, at whom were shot above one hundred ' shief of arrowes, and dyvers gonnys, thinking j they had been Scots, that wold have saulted the campe ; fynally, the horses were so madde, that j 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 ij c ran into the towne being on fire, and by the women taken, and carried awaye right evill brent, and many were j taken agayne. But, finally, by that I ean I esteme by the nombre of theym that I saw goo ' on foote the next daye, I think there is lost f above viij c horses, and all with foly for lak of BORDER BALLADS. ders, where Angus, thoagh banished, had many ^ power of the friends. Scott of Buccleuch even appropriated to himself domains belonging to the queen, worth 400 merka yearly; being probably the castle of Xewark, and her jointure lands in Ettrick forest, f— This chief, with Kerr of C«S3- ford, was committed to ward, from which they escaped, to join the partj- 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 311 DongUuKj," uyi the BecnraU hi*- A. D, 1525. l^per. not lying within the camp. 1 dare not write the wondres that my lord Dacre, and all his company, doo save they sawe that nyght, vj tyms of spirits end fereful sights. And unyver- sally all their company saye playnly, the deril was that nyght among theym vi tjTnys ; which mysfortune hath blemyshed the best journey that was made in Scotland many yeres. I assure your grace I found the Sc-ottes, 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 eontynuall skyimyshe, that I never saw the like. If they might assemble xl M as good men as I nowe sawe, XV c or i,) il, 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 sxvij of September. Your most bownden, T. SCEEET. t In a letter to the Duke of Xorfolk, October 3524, Queen Margaret says, " Sen that the Lari of Sessford and the Lard of Baclw vas put in the castell of Edinbrouh, the Erl of Lenness hath past hyz vay vythout lycyens, and in despy t ; 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 hj-z man, and dyd the gretyst ewelyz that myght be dwn.and twk part playnly vyth theffyi aii£ well known." — Ce<. AfSS. Oalig. B. I. * A. D. 1536. torian, whom I hare lo often ret>-md to, " Meat ed to have rerived ; and, after a dumber oT B«r a century, again to threaten deatfnctkm te the Scottiah monarchy."— Pi«Arrto«, rxA. U. » 277. In fact, the time now rvtnrced, wbea do t taken their leave of the king, when, to the grey of the morning, Buccleuch and hi* bftod ot ca\-alry were discovi-rcd, hanging. Lke a Ihun- der-cloud, upon the neighbouring hill of llali- den.$ A herald was se nt to Ji.'manJ hU p cf- i Near Darnick. By a corruption ftncn Ster- mish field, the spot is ttlll call.d Ih* .- 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 3 of Liddesdale, protected and bucklered by this f mighty chief. Repeated complaints are made by , the English residents, of the devastation occa- j sioned by the depredations of the Elliots, Scots, and Armstrongs, connived at and encouraged by ; Maxwell, Buccleuch, and Faimihirst. At a \ convention of border commissioners, it was "I 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 P Eger and Sir Grime. He shared, however, the fate of his chief, and, for many years, served in - France. "W'eary 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, y " Yonder is my Graysteil, Archibald of KUspin- =^ die 1 " 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 ste«p hill towards the castle. Kilspindie, though loaded with a hauberk under his clothes, kept pace with the horse, in vain '_ 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. : The king afterwards blamed their discourtesy : ^ but Kilspindie was obliged to return to France, ^ ' where he died of a broken heart : the same dis- 3 ease which afterwards brought to the grave his , unrelenting sovereign. Even the stern Henry Till, blamed his nephew's conduct, quoting the J: generous saying, " A king's face should give . grace."— Godfcrq^, toL ii. p. 107. ters of reprisal to hi* lojorid tut^ccta, (rutisc "power to invade the Biid inhAbitutt of Lid- desdale, to their »lauf?ht«rn, burning. h«ir«hlp*. robbing, reiflng, deipoiling, and drttnirtJoo, and so to continue the lame at hi* wrter't pk*- sure," till the attempU of the inhahitaau mrt% fully atoned for. ThU impolite exp(dien^ by which the Scottish prince, unable to execute justice on his turbulent lubjecta, committed to a rival sovereign the Power of unlimltid rha* tisement, was a principal cau*e of the «vac* 1 1 state of the borders. For the inhabitant*. (Slid- ing that the sword of reveoge wa* fub«Utatt4 for that of justice, were loocened from tbelr attachment to Scotland, and boldly thieattiMd to carry on their depredation*, in spite of the efforts of both kingdoms. James V., however, wa* not backward In using more honourable expedient* to quell the ' banditti on the borders. The im- . \ \ prisonment of their chie6, and a noted expedition, in which many of the prinrt- 1 pal thieves were executed (see introduction to ! the ballad, called Johnie Amutntn^,) produi-«d I : such good effects, that, according to an aocaral I ! picturesque historj-, " thereafter there wa* gna.t ! j peace and rest a long time, where throofh tb* j kmg had great profit . for he had ten tbooiaod sheep going in the Ettrick forwt. In ke«pln« ly I Andrew Bell, who made the king to (rood e««»t of them, as they had gone in the boaDd*or Flfc." Piticottie, p. 153. j A breach with England interruptwl the t/aa- i I quillity of the borders. The earl ^ ^ ^^^ ; of Northumberland, a formidable ! name to ."^xitUnd, rava^rd the middle marrltM. and burned Branxholm, the abode of Itocckwek. the hereditary enemy of the Etgll«h nan>». ' Buccleuch, with the baron* of C«««fart a«d . Faimihirst. retaliated by a raid Into Eii«Ui>"krdale. Laird of Kirkmighel, Rose, .... Hempsfield, Home Ends, Wamfrey, Dunwoddy, . ^ewby and Gratney, Tinnel, (Tinwald), Patrick Murray, .... Christie Urwin, (Irving), of Coveshawe Cuthbtrt Urwen of Robbgill, . Urwens of Sennersack, Wat Urwen, .... Jeffrey TJrwen, .... T. Johnston of Crackburn, James Johnston of Coites, . Johnstons of Crag2yland, Johnstons of Driesdell, Johnstons of Malinshaw, Gawen Johnston, Will Johnston, the laiid'a brother. cesses of the English. One by one, the fortresses which they occupied were recovered by force, or by stratagem ; and the vindictive cruelty of the Scottish borderers made dreadful retaliation for the iiyuries they had sustained. An idea may be conceived of thU horrible warfere, from Robin Johnston of Lochmaben, Laird of Gillersbie, Moffits, .... Bells of Tostints, Bells of Tindills, Sir John Lawson, Town of Annan, Booms of Tordephe, NlTHSDALK. Mr. Maxwell and more. Laird of Closcburn, . I^gj . . . . Cransfield, . Mr. Ed. Creighton, Laird of Cowhill, Maxwells of Brackenside, and vicar i verick, . . . . Annsrdalb akd Gal WAV. Lord Carlisle, .... Anxerdale and Ci.idsdale. Laird of AppUgirth, LiDDBSDALB AXD BKBATEAnrR Li Armstrongs, ..... Elwoods, (ElUots), Nixons, ...... Gali.owat. Laird of Dawbaylie, Orcherton, Carlisle, . . . . Loughenwar, . Tutor of Bombie, Abbot of Xewabbey, I Town of Dumfries, I Town of Kircubrie, . I TlVIDALE, I Laird of Drumlire, Caruthers, Trumbells, . . . , 1000 403 41 111 306 45 140 141 201 364 71 12 ESKDALE Battisons and Thomsons, ... 166 Total, 700S men under English assurance. Nicolson, from Bell'i MS. Introduction to Hit- ' tory ?J ravisher of his wife, approached him ere the j fj French oflBcer could guess his intention, and, at =; one blow, carried his head four paces from the O^v , trunk. Above a hundred Scots rushed to wash /'j '\ their hands in the blood of their oppressor, ban- ^p^'^ died about the severed head, and expressed their p- joy in such shouts, as if they had stormed the ci ty of London . The prisoners, who fell in to their merciless hands, were put to death, after their ote ,' 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, "Imy Bell sold them a prisoner for a small horse A. D. 1522. They laid him down upon the ground, galloped efe bateaWe Land ! 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 tyranniied 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." — Campagnes 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 tracl 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 laud of contention was separated by a line, drawn from east to west, betwixt the rivers. The upper half was adjudged to Scotland, and the more eastern part to England. Yet the Bebateable Land continued long after to be the residence of the thieves and banditti, to whom its dubious state had afforded a desirable refuge, t In 1557, a new war broke out, in which ren- counters on the borders were, as usual, numer- t These were the lairds of Buccleuch, Cessford, and Fairnihirst, Littleden, Grenehed, and Cold- ingknows. Buccleuch, whose gallant exploits we have noticed, did not long enjoy his new hon- 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, when a favourite cow had found her way from London, back to her native counti^ of Fife, observed, " that nothing surprised him so much as her passing uninterrupted through the De- BORDER BAI,LAT>g. 31' ona, and with varied success. In some of these, the too famous 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. M uch alarm was excited , lest the march - ers should intercept these weighty Protestant arffuments; 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.:; Tpon the arrival of the ill -feted Mary in her nntive country, she found the borders in a state f 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. 5S4. 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 isubjectis inhabiting the cuntreis lying ewest the marches of Ingland." — Keith, p. 38S. He appears actually to have defeated .Sir Henry Percy, in a skirmish, called the Raid of Halt- welUwire. ^ This nobleman had, shortly before, threa- tened to spoil the English east march ; "but," says the duke of Norfolk, " we have provided «uch 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 hlg own house." ■ of great disorder. The exertions of her natural brother (afterwards the famous regent Murray) 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 were also obliged to grant pledge* for their future obedienc?. A noted convention (for the particulars of which, see Border Lam, p. 84,) adopted various regulations, which were attended with great advantage to the marches.} The unhappy n^atch betwixt Henry Damley and his sovereign led to new dissensions on the borders. The Homes, Kerrs, and other ea.«t 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 > f 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 Elliots, to find Home business at home, in looking after his com 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 a6 Terreagles, and Sir John Bellenden. 'J ^^a. 318 SCOTTISH BALLADS. (his castle of Hermitage, the queen, upon hear- ^Herries.t But the defeat at Langside was a ing the tidings, hastened thither. A dangerous morass, still called the Queen'* Mire,i is pointed out by tradition as the spot where the lovely Mary, and her white palfrey, were in danger of perishing. The distance bet\vixt 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 chieftains 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 hersubjects; and.when she 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 t 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 j appear. There are two other passes ft-om Jed- | burgh to Hermitage castle ; the one by the Note of the Gate, the other over the mountain called ' Winburgh. 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- j ing directly into the disorderly province of Lid- ! desdale. death-blow to her interest in Scotland. Kot long afterwards occurred that period of general confusion on the borders, when the 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 AVestmoreland, 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. Robert Constable, a spy sent by Sir Ralph Sadler into Scotland, giv. s a lively account of the state of the borders at this time.f ± 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 Millheuch, (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 baron of Farnihirst :— " By the way as we rode, I tould my oste that the lord of Farne- herst, his master, had taken such an enterprise in hand as not a subject ;n 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 ow n rule, beside that his first wief, by whom he hed goodly children, wa. Dalyell, Esq. r'^ m U death. — BirreVi Diary, ad annum, 1578. The earl of Morton inarched against his foes as far as Falkuk, and a desperate action must have ensued, but for the persuasion of Bowes, the English ambassador. The only blood, then spilt, was in a duel betwixt Tait, a follower of Cesaford, and Johnstone, a west border man, attending upon Angus. They fought with lances, and on horseback, according to the fashion of the borders — The former was un- horsed and slain, the latter desperately wounded . —Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 261. The prudence of the late regent appears to have abandoned him, ■when he was decoyed into a treaty upon this occasion. It was not long before Morton, the veteran warrior, and the crafty statesman, was forced to bend his neck to an engine of death.f the use of which he himself had introduced into Scotland. Eeleased from the thraldom of Morton, the king, with more than youthful levity, threw his supren.e power into the hands of Lennox and Arran. The religion of the first, and the infa- mous character of the second favourite, excited the hatred of the commons, while their exclu- sive and engrossing power awakened the jea- lousy of the cth r nobles. James, doomed to be the sport of contending factions, was seized at Stirling by the nobles, confederated in what was termed the Raid of Ruthven. But the conspira- tors soon suffered their prize to escape, and were rewarded for their enterprize by exile or death. In 1585, an affray took place at a border meet- ing, in which lord Russel, the carl of Bedford's eldest son, chanced to be slain. Queen Eliza- beth imputed the guilt of this slaughter to Thomas Ker of Fairnihirst, instigated by Arran. Upon the imperious demand of the English am- bassador, both were committed to prison ; but the minion, Arran, was soon restored to liberty and favour ; while Fairnihirst, the dread of the t A rude sort of guillotine, called the maiden. The implement is now in possession of the So- ciety of Scottish Antiquaries. <^ English borderers, and the gallant defender of queen Mary, died in his confinement, of a bro- ken heart. — Spottisivoode, p. 3-il. The tyranny of Arran becoming daily more in- supportable, the exiled lords, joined by Maxwell, Home, Bothwell, and other border chieftains, seized the town of Stirling, which was pillaged by their disorderly followers, invested the castle, which surrendered at discretion, and drove the favourite from the king's council, i The king, perceiving the earl of Bothwell among the armed barons, to whom he surren- dered his person, addressed him in these pro- phetic words:—" Francis, Francis, what moved thee to come in arms against thy prince, who never wronged thee ? I wish thee a more quiet spurit, else I foresee thy destruction."— Sportji- woode, p. 343. In fact, the extraordinary enterprizes of this nobleman disturbed the next ten years of James's reign. Francis Stuart, son to a bastard of James V., had been invested with the titles and estates belonging to his maternal uncle, James Hepburn, earl of Bothwell, upon the for- feiture of that infamous man ; and consequently became loi d of Liddesdale, and of the castle o:' Hermitage. — This acquisition of power upon the borders, where he could easily levy followers willing to undertake the most desperate enter- prize, joined to the man's native daring and vio- lent spirit, rendered Bothwell the most turbulent insurgent that ever disturbed the tranquillity of a kingdom. During the king's absence in Denmark, Bothwell, swayed by the superstition of his age, had tampered with certain sooth- sayers and witches, by whose pretended art he hoped to foretell, or perhaps to achieve, the ± The associated nobles seem to have owed their success chiefly to the border spearmen ; for, though they had a band of mercenaries, who used fire-arms, yet they were such bad masters of their craft, their captain was heard to observe, " that those, who knew his soldiers as well as he did, would hardly chuse to march before them."—Godtcroft, v. ii. p. 368. BOEDER BALLADS. of^' death of his monarch. In one of the courts inquisition, which James delighted to hold upon the professors of the occult sciences, some of his cousin's proceedings were brought to light, for which he was put in ward in the castle of Edin- burgh. Burning with revenge, he broke from his confinement, and lurked for some time upon the borders, where he hoped for the counten- ance of his son-in-law, Buccleuch. Undeterred by the absence of that chief, who, in obedience to the royal command, had prudently retired to France, Bothwell attempted the desperate en- terprize of seizing the person of the king, while residing in his metropolis. At the dead of the "^ night, followed by a band of borderers, he occu- I pied the court of the palace of Holyrood, and ^' began to burst open the doors of the royal "\ a; artments. The nobility, distrustful of each ' other, and ignorant of the extent of the con- ' spiracy, only endeavoured to make good the J j defence of their separate lodgings ; but darkness / and confusion prevented the assailants from >j profiting by their disunion. Melville, who was / pressnt, gives a lively picture of the scene of dis- . order, transiently illuminated b7 the glare of J passing torches ; while the report of fire-arms, '. the clatter of armour, the din of hammers thun- I dering on the gates, mingled wildly with the way-cry of the borderers, who shouted inces- santly, " Justice ! Justice ! A Bothwell ! A Both- well!" The citizens of Edinburgh at length began to assemble for the defence of their sove- reign ; and Bothwell was compelled to retreat, which he did without considerable loss. — Mel- ville, p. 356. A similar attempt on the person of James, while residing at Faulkland, also mis- gave; but the credit which Bothwell obtained on the borders, by these bold and desperate enterprizes, was incredible. " All Tiviotdale," says Spc'ttiswcode, " ran after him ; " so that he finally obtained his object; and, at Edinburgh, in 1593, he stood before James, an unexpected apparition, with his naked sword in his hand. " Strike Strike, and end thy work! I will not survive my dishonour." But Bothwell, with unex- pected moderation, only stipulated for remission of his forfeiture, and did not even ii sist on remainingatcourt, 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.! '^n a subsequent day, Bothweil 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, whcst- 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 seizetl by Bothwell, describes "the king's majestie as flying down the back stair, with his breeches iu his hand, in great fear." — Birrell, apud Dalyell, p. 30. Such is the diSerence betwixt the narra- tive of the courtly arciibishop, and that of the Presbyterian burgess of Edinburgh. i This rencounter took place at Humbie, in East Lothian. Bothwell was attended by a s-Jrvant, called Gibson, and Cessford by one cf 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 writin? of Essex, then in prison, says, " Let the queen hold Both- fi'c// while she hath him."' — J/unfin, vol. ii. p. 812. It appears from Creichton's Memoirt, that said James, with royal dignity— ^ Bothwell's grandson, though so nearly related ?;^ m While these scenes were passing in the metro- polis, the borders were furiously agitated by civil discord. The families of Cessford and Fairni- hirst disputed their right to the wardenry of the middle marches, and to the provostry of Jed- burgh; and William Kerr of Aneram, a fol- lower of the latter, was murdered by the young chief of Cessford, at the instigation of his mother. SpoUismoode,-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's Good- night." Prefixed to that termed " Einmont 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- lization. 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 Moribus Scotorum, p. 7. But 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 sterility of the mountainous country, which they inhabited, offered little encouragement to in- dustry; 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 g^ interdicting the use of horses and arms upon the west border of England and Scotland . f The evil was found to require the radical cure of extirpation. Buceleuch 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 upon the continent, as Britain to congratulate herself upon their de- parture. It may be presumed, that few of this corps ever returned to their native country. The clan of Graeme, a hardy and ferocious 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. Againstother offen- ders, measures, equally arbitrary, were with(,ut hesitation pursued. Numbers 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- tice, which signifies, trial after execution.^ By to the royal family, actually rode a private in the Scottish horse guards, in the reign of Charles II. —Edinburgh, 1731. t " Proclamation shall be made, that all inha- biting with Tynedale and Riddesdale, in Nor- thumberland, Bewcastledale, Willgavey, the north part of Gilsland, Esk, and Leven, in Cum- berland ; east and west Tividale, Liddesdale, Eskdale, Ewsdale, and Annerdale, in Scotland (saving noblemen and gentlemen unsuspected of felony and theft, and not being of 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 shall not keep any horse, gelding, or mare, above the value of fifty shillings sterling, or thirty pounds Scots, upon the like pain of imprisonment." — Proceedings of the Border Commissioners, 1505 — Introduction to History of Cumberland, p. 127. :;: A similar proverb in England of the same interpretation is Lydford Latv, derived from 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 \ I.v 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 administration of jus- Uce prevailed. A burlesque copy of verses on this town begins, I oft have heard of Lydford Law, How in the mom they han» and draw. And sit in judz-ment after. See WestcoH's History of Devonshire. t See the acts 18 Cha. II. ch. 3. and 30 Cha. II. ch. 2. against the border moss-troopers, to which we may add the following curious extracts from Mercurius PolUicus, 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 murtherlng the English, whether soldiers or other, upon all opportunities, within these three weeks. AVe have had notice of several robberies and murders conmutted by them. Among the rest, a lieutenant, and one other of col. Overton's regiment, returning from Eng- land, were robbed 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 behind 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 ParUament, 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." 'JS)' tv, 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 )^._i which they were distinguished; and has viewed some of the scenes in which they acted ; 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, they 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 Httle to waste their time in cultivating crops, to be reaped by their foes. Their cattle was, there- fure, their chief property ; and these were nightly exposed to the southern borderers, as rapacious and active as themselves. Hence robbery 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, for 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. Ifational 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. :t ^ w i The armorial bearings, adopted by many of the border tribes, show how little they were \=e^' 326 Satchells, who lived when *he old border * iiiercS of r»eum and tuum were still in some force, ] ' fndeavours to draw a veiy nice distinction be- | , twixt a freebooter and a thief; and thus sings he | j of the Ai-nistrongs :— <)n that border was the Armstrongs, able men ; .Somewhat unruly, and very ill to tame. 1 would have none think that I call them thieves. For, if I did, it would be arrant lies. Kear a border 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's a 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, 1 3 no Freebooter, bat a T/iief. History of the Name of Scott. The inhabitants of the inland counties did not understand these subtle distinctions. Sir David Lindsay, in the curious drama, published by Mr Pinkerton, introduces, as one of his dramatis \ jiersontt. Common Thift, a borderer, who is sup- posed to come to Fife to steal the earl of Rothes' best hackney, and lord Lindsay's brown jennet. ashamed of their trade of rapine. Like Fahtajf, they were "Gentlemen of the night, minions of the moon," under whose countenance they com- mitti'd their depredations.— Hence, the emble- matic moons and stars so frequently charged in the arms of border families. Their mot^ies also l)earan allusion t9 their profession .—" Repara- liit cornua Phoebe," i. e. "We'll have moon-light again, " is that of the family of Harden. "Ye shall want, ere I want," that of Cranstoun. • ' Watch well," of Haliburton, &c. ■ Oppretsion, also (another personage there intro- duced), seems to be connected with the borders ; for, finding himself in danger, he exclaims,— War God that I were sound and haill, Now liftit into Liddesdail ; The Mers sowld fynd me beif and eaill. What rack of breid ? War I thair lyftit with my lyfe. The devill sowld styk me with a knyffe. An' ever I cum agane in Fyfe, Till I were deid — Pinkerton's Scotish Poems, vol. ii. p. 180. • Again, when Common Thift is brought to con- dign punishment, he remembers his border friends in his dying speech ■ — I The widdefow wardanis tuik my geir. And left me nowthir horse nor meir. Nor erJly guid that me belanglt; Xow, walloway i I mon be hangit. Adew ! my bruthir Annan thieves, That holpit me in my mischievis ; Adew! Grossars, Niksonis, and Bells, Oft have we fairne owrthreuch the fells : Adew ! Robsons, Howis, and Pylis, That in our craft hes mony wills : Littlis, Trumbells, and Armestranges ; Adew ; all theeves, that me belangis; Baileowes, Erewynis, and Elwandis, .Speedy of flicht, and slicht of handis The Scotts of Eisdale, and the Gramis, I half na time to tell your nameis. lb. p. 156. When Common Thift is executed (which is performed upon the stage), Falset (Falsehood), who is also brought forth for punishment, pro- n.^nces over him the following eulogy : — Waes me for thee, gude Common Thift ! Was never man made more honest chift. His living for to win : Thair wes not, in all Lid'iesdail, That ky mair craftelly could steil ^Ybar thou hingis on that pin ! lb. ]94. Sir Richard Maitland, incensed at the bold- ness and impunity of the thieves of Liddesdale in his time, has attacked them with keen iam- bicks. The borderers had, in fact, little reason to regard the inland Scots as their fel'.ow-subjects, or to respect the power of the crown. They were frequently resigned, by express compact, to the bloody retaliation of the English, without experiencing any assistance from their prince, and his more immediate subjects. If they be- held him, it was more frequently in the charac- ter of an avenging judge, than of a protecting sovereign. They were in truth, during the time of peace, a kind of outcasts, against whom the united powers of England and Scotland were often employed. Hence, the men of the borders had little attachment to the monarchs, whom they termed, in derision, the kings of Fife and Lothian ; provinces which they were not legally entitled to inhabit,f and which, therefore, they '» of a limited mediocrity, at the end of long labour, to the last degree tame, languid, and insipid. The interesting nature of their exploits may be conceived from the account of Camden. " What manner of cattle-stealers they are that inhabit these valleys in the marches of both kingdoms, John Lesley, a Scotchman him- self, and bishop of Eoss, will inform you. Thfv sally out of their own borders, in the night, in troops, through unfrequented bye-ways, and many intricate windings. AW the day-time they refresh themselves and their horses in lurk- ing holes they had pitched upon before, till they arrive in the dark at those places they have a design upon. As soon as they have seized upon .the booty, they, in like manner, return home in the night, through blind ways, and fetching many a compass. The more skilful any captain is to pass through those wild deserts, crooked turnings, and deep precipices, in the thickest mists and darkness, his reputation is the greater, and he is looked upon as a man of an excellent head. — And they are so very cunning, that they seldom have their booty taken from them, unless sometimes, when, by the help of bl; od-hounds following tliem exactly upon the pillaged with as Uttle remorse as if they had , tract, they may chance to fall into the hands of [ belonged to a foreign country. This strange, their adversaries. 'Whenbeing taken, they have J precarious, and adventurous mode of life, led by 1 1 so much persuasive eloquence, and so many \ the borderers, was not without its pleasures, and ] seems, in all probability, hardly so disaTreeable ■' to us, as the monotony of regulated society must ' have been to those who had been long accus- al tomed to a state of rapine. Well has it been / remarked, by the eloquent Burke, that the i shifting tides of fear and hope, the flight and = pursuit, the peril and escape, alternate famine and feast, of the savage and the robber, after a time render all course of slow, steady, progres- sive, unvaried occupation, and the prospect only h T Ey an act 1587, c. 96, borderers are expelled / from the inland counties, unless they can find s security for their quiet deportment. smooth insinuating words at command, that if they do not move their judges, nay, and even their adversaries (notwithstanding the severity of their natures) to have mercy, yet they incite them to admiration and compassion." — Cam- den's Britannia. The reader is requested to compare this curious account, given by Lesley, with the ballad called Bobbie Koble.^ yl i i The following tradition is also illustrative of Lesley's account. Veitch of Pan yk, a man of great strength and bravery, who flourished in the 16th century, is said by tradition to have been upon bad terms with a neighbouring pro- prietor, Tweedie of Drumnielzier. By some accident a flock of Dawyk's sheep had strayed ■M The inroads of the marchers, when stimulated only by the desire of plunder, were never marked ■ with cruelty, and seldom even vrith bloodshed, unless in the case of opposition. They held, I that property was common to all who stood in want of it; but they abhorred and avoided the crime of unnecessary homicide. — Lesley, p. 63. This was, perhaps, partly owing to the habits of intimacy betwixt the borderers of both king- doms, notwithstanding their mutual hostility and reciprocal depredations. A natural inter- course took place between the English and Scottish marchers, at border meetings, and dur- ing the short intervals of peace. They met fre- quently at parties of the chace and football ; and it required many and strict regulations, on both sides, to prevent them from forming intermar- riages, and from cultivating too close a degree of intimacy.— Scott/iA Acts, 1587, c. 105 ; Wharton's Regulations, 6th Edward VI. The custom, also, of paying black-mail, or protection rent, intro- duced a connection betwixt the countries; for a Scottish borderer, taking black-mail from an English inhabitant, was not only himself bound to abstain from injuring such person, but also to maintain his quarrel, and recover his pro- perty, if carried off by others. Hence, an union rose betwixt the parties, founded upon mutual interest, which counteracted, in many instances, over into Drummelzier's grounds, at the time when Dickie of the Den, a Liddesdale outlaw, was making his rounds in Tweeddale. Seeing this flock of sheep, he drove them off without ceremony. Xext morning, Teitch, perceiving his loss, summoned his servants and retainers, laid a blood-hound upon the traces of the rob- ber, by whom they were guided for many miles, till, on the banks of Liddel, the dog staid upon a very large hay-stack. The pursuers were a good deal surprised at the obstinate pause of the blood-hound, till Dawyk pulled down some of the hay, and discovered a large excavation, con- taining the robbers and their spoil. He in- stantly flew upon Dickie, and was about to poniard him, when the marauder, with the address noticed by Lesley, protested that he _ would never have touched a cloot (hoof) of them, ^ the effects of national prejudice. The similar- ity of their manners may be inferred from that of their language. In an old mystery, imprinted at London, 1654, a mendicant borderer is intro- duced, soliciting alms of a citizen and his wife. To a question of the latter he replies, " Savying your hoaour, good maistress, I was born m Eedesdale, in Northomberlande, and come of a wight riding sirname, call'd the Kobsons : gude honeste men, and true, savyng a little shiftynge for theyr livyng ; God help them, silly pure men." The wife answers, "What doest thou here, in this countrie? me thinke thou art a Scot by thy tongue." Be^g-ar.— " Trowe me never mair then, good deam ; I had rather be hanged in a withie of a cow-taile, for thei are ever fare and fause." — Appendix to Johiaon's Sad Shepherd, 1783, p. 188. From the wife's ( observation, as well as from the dialect of the . beggar, we may infer, that there was little dif- ference between the Northumbrian and the bor- y der Scottish; a circumstance interesting in itself, and decisive of the occasional friendly intercourse among the marchmen. From all these combining circumstances arose the lenity of the borderers in their incursions, and the equivocal moderation which they sometimes V observed towards each other in open war.f f had he not taken them for Drummelzier's pro- (' perty. This dexterous appeal to Veitch's pas- L sions saved the life of the freebooter. (' t This practice of the marchmen was observed t^ and reprobated by Patten. "Anoother manner (' have they (the English borderers) amoong them, V, of wearyng handkerchers roll'd about their s amies, and lettres brouder'd {embroidered) upon i- their cappes : they said themselves, the use '^ thearof was that eeh of them might knowe his ^ fellowe, and thearbye the sooner assemble, or in [ nede to ayd one another, and such lyke respectes ; ;-" howbeit, thear wear of the army amoong us \^ (sum suspicious men perchance) that thought t thei used them for collusion, and rather byeaus ;> thei might be knowen to the enemie, as tlie ene- \ mies are knowen to them (for thei have their j markes too,) and so in conflict either ech to spare f This humanity and moderation was, on cer- tain occasions, entirely laid aside by the border- ers. In the case of deadly feud, either against an Englishman, or against any neighbouring tribe, the whole force of the offended clan was bent to avenge the death of any of their num- ber. Their vengeance not only vented itself upon the homicide and his family, but upon all his kindred, on his whole tribe ; and on every one, in fine, whose death or ruin could afftct him with regret. — Lesley, p. 63; Border Laws, passim ; Scottish Acts, 1594, c. 231. The reader wUl find, in the following collection, many allu- sions to this infernal custom, which always overcame the marcher's general reluctance to shed human blood, and rendered him remorse- lessly savage. oother, or gently eche to take oother. Indede, men have been mooved the rather to thinke so, tycaus sum of their crosses {the English red cross) were so narrowe, and so singly set on, that a puffe of wynde might blowe them fi-om their breastes, and that thei wear found right often talking with the Skottish prikkers within less than their gad's (spears) length asunder; and when thei perceived thei had been espied, thei have be:;un one to run at anoother, but so ap- parently perlassent {in parley) as the lookers on resembled their chasyng lyke the running at base in an uplondish toun, whear the match is made for a quart of good ale, or like the play in Robin Cookes scole {a fencing school.) whear, bycaus the punies mey lerne, thei strike fewe strokes but by assent and appointment. I hard sum men say, it did mooch augment their s\is- picion that wey, bycaus at the battail they sawe these prikkers so badly demean them, more intending the taking of prisoners, than the surety of victorye ; for while oother men fought, thei fell to their prey ; that as thear wear but fewe of them but brought home his prisoner, so wear thear many that had sis or seven." — Pat- ten's Account vf Somerset's Expedition, apud DalyeU's Fragments, p. 76. It is singular that, about this very period, the same circumstances are severely animadverted upon by the strenuous Scottishman, who wrote the Complaynt of Scotland, as well as by the Snglish author above quoted : " There is nothing ■ 4i For fidelity to their word, Lesley ascribes high ; I praise to the inhabitants of the Scottish frontier. I Robert Constable (himself a traitorous spy) de- I scribes the outlaws, who were his guides into ;i Scotland, as men who would not hesitate to 1 steal, yet would betray no man, that trusted In ; I them, for all the gold in Scotland or France. I] "They are my guides," said he; "and outlaws who might gain their pardon by surrenderino me, yet I am secure of their fidelity, and have often proved it." Indeed, when an instance happened of breach of faith, the injured person, i at the first border meeting, rode through the field, displaying a glove (the pledge of faith) upon the point of his lance, and proclaiming the perfidy of the person who had broken his word. So great was the indignation of the that is occasione of your adhering to the opinion of Insland contrair your natife cuntre, hot the grit famili.irite that Inglis men and Scottes hes had on baith the bolrdours, ilk ane witht utheris, i in merchandeis, in selling and buying hors and ; i nolt, and scheip, outtang, and infang, ilk ane I amang utheris, the whilk familiarite is express contrar the lauis and consuetudis bayth of Ing- land and Scotland. In auld tyrnis it was deter- mit in the artiklis of the pace, be the twa war- danis of the boirdours of Ingland and Scotland, that there shuld be na femilLiritie betwix Scottia men and Inglis men, nor marriage to be con- . trakit betwls them, nor conventions on holy- dais at gammis and plays, nor merchaadres to I be maid amang them, nor Scottis men till enter ; on Inglis grond, witht out the king of Ingland's j [ save conduct, nor Inglis men til enter on Scottis j I grond, witht out the Kingof Scotland's save con- ' i duet, howbeit that ther war sure pace betwi.ic ' the twa realmes. Bot thir sevyn yeir bygane, I j thai statutis and artiklis of the pace are adnulUt, I for ther hes been as grit familiaritie, and conven- ■! tions, and makyng of merchandreis, on the ! j bi irdours, this lang tyme bet wis Inglis men and j [ Scottis men, baytht in pace and weir, as Scottis- I I men usis amang theme selfis witht in the reaime ; of Scotland : and sic familiarite has bene the cause that the kyng of Ingland gat intelligence witht divers gentlemen of Scotland." — Complaynt of Scotland, Edin. ISOl, p. 164. m m i i 330 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 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 behold the victors, after an engagement, dismiss their prisoners upon parole, who never failed either to transmit the stipulated 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 sjldom 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 rulers 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; lor, 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." — Stat. 1587, c. 95, and the Roll thereto annexed. Of course, these laws looked 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. 23], By the same statutes, the chieftains and Lmdlords, presiding over border clans, were obliged to find caution, and to grant host iges, that thty would subject themselves to the due course of law. Such clans, as had no chieftain of suffi- cient note to enter bail for their quiet conduct, liecarae broken men, outlawed to both nations. From these enactments, the power of the bor- der chieftains may be conceived; for it had been hard and useless to have punished them for the trespasses of tlieir tribes, unless they possessed overthem 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 Raby, and of Naviorth, 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 All that the land- lord could gain, from those residing upon his estate, was their personal service in battia, 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.^ 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 peaceable, as any part 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 very good and fruitefull, began to contende in lawe about their bounds, challenging then, that for tlieir hereditarie right, which formerly they disavowed, only to avoyde charge of common defence." ± '■ As for the humours of the people (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 tenants, 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."— .4cco!((i/ of Roxburgh- shire, by Sir William Scott of Harden, and Kerr qf^unlarvt, apud Macfarlane's MSS. BOEDER BALLADS. )31 of sheep, and with the black-mail, which he i 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 borders buildings of such extent and strength, as, being once taken by the foe, would have been capable of receiving a per- manent garrison.} 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- mented i. tower, called a keep, or peel; placed on a precipice, or on the banks of a torrent, and, f 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, " That they are neare hand the bordoure, are ordained to have gud househaldes, and abulzied men as effeiris : and to be reddie at their princi- pal place, and to pass, with the wardanes, quhen and quhairtheysall be charged." — Acts of James II., cap. 55, Of garriions to be laid upon the bor- ders. — Hence Buchanan has justly described, as an attribute of the Scottish nation, "Nee fussit nee tnuris patriam, sed Marte tueri." i I have observed a difference in architecture betwixt the English and Scottish towers. The latter usually have upon the top a projecting battlemeDt, with interstices, anciently called ' if the ground would permit, surrounded by a moat. In short, the situation of a border bouse, surrounded by woods, and rendered almost inac- cessible by torrents, by rocks, or by morasses, sufficiently indicated the pursuits and appre- hensions of its inhabitants." — " Lociu horrorU et rast e solitudinis, aplus ad prasdam, habilit ad rapinam, habitatoribus suis lapis erat oJfi:uiio>iit et petra scanda/i, utpvtequi stipendiis suis minime contenti, fotum de alieno, parum de sua, posside- bant—lotius prnvinci s spolium." No wonder, therefore, that James V., on approaching the castle of Lochwood, the ancient seat of the Johnstones, is said to have exclaimed, " tiiat 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 as:>ailants, was to expel the defenders, by setting fire to wet straw in the lower apartments. But the border chieftains stldom chose to abide in p.rson a siege of this nature; and I have not observed a single instance of a distingui-hed 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 unthatehed them, to prevent their being burned, and then abandoned them to the fee. — Stowe'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 ought to except the famous Band Ker, who was made prisoner in his castle of Fairnihirst after defending it bravely against lord Daci^Sj ^ , _^ • 24th September, 1523. [J^^ ■ i "^M m p. (iCJ. Their only treasures were, active horse, with the ornaments which their rapine had procured for tlie 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 been 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 stone, now bro- ken, and very much defaced, placed upon a mount on the lands of Haugh-head, neav 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 .tn attempt of the powerful family of Ker, to possess themselves of 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 ofifensive weapons were a lance of uncom- t The rude strains of the inscription little cor- respond with the gallantry of a village Hampden, who, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood. It is in these words : Here Hobbie Hall boldly maintained his right, 'Gainst reif, plain force, armed wi' awless might. Pull thirty pleughs, harnes'd in all their gear" Coidd not his valiant noble heart make fear ! But wi' his sword he cut the foremost's soam In two; and drove baith pleughs and pleughmen home, 1620. _ Soam means the iron links which fasten a yoke > J of oxen to the plough. ffV mon length; a sword, either two-handed, or of I the modern light size; sometimes a species of axe, called a Jedburgh-staff; and, lat- terly, dags, or pistols. Although so much accus- tomed to act on horseback, that they held it even mean to appear otherwise, the marchmen occasionally acted as infantry; nor were they inferior to the rest of Scotland in forming that impenetrable phalanx of spears, whereof 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 Slelrose, for example, Buccleuch's army fought upon foot. But the habits of the borderers fitted ' them particularly to distinguish themselves as light cavalry ; and hence the name of prickers and hobylers, 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 hobylers, or bor- der cavalry, executed their 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 mejTu time, while the wer thus lastyd, the kynge went agane into Skotlonde, that hitte was wonder for to wette, and bysechd the towne of Barwick; but the Skottes went over the ^ water of Sold, that was iii myle from the hoste, ( BORDER BALLADS. 333 and prively they stole away by nyghte, and •Jfe come into England, and robbed and destroyed all that they myght, and spared no manner thin^ til that they come to Yorke. And, whan the Englischemen, that were left at home, herd this tiding, all tho that myght well travell, so well monkys and priestis, and freres, and cha- nouns, and seculars, come and met with the Skottes at Mytone of Swale, the xii day of Octo- ber. Alias, for sorrow for the Englischemen ! housbondmen, that ccnld nothing in wer, ther were quelled and drenehyd in an arm of the see. And hyr chyftaines, sir William Jlilton, ersch-biishop of Yorke, and the abbot of Selby, ■with her stedes, fled and come into Yorke; and that was her owne folye that they had that misciiaunce ; tor the passyd the water of Swale, j and the Skottes set on fiir three stalkes of hey, and the smoke thereof was so huge, that the Englischemen might not see the Scottes; and whan the Englischemen were gon over the water, tho came the Skottes, with hir wyng, in maner of a sheld, and come toward the Englischemen in ordour. And the Englischemen fled for un- nethe they had any use of armes, for the kyng had hem al almost lost att the sege of Barwiek. Acd the Scotsmen hobylers went betwene the brigge and the Englischemen ; and when the gret hoste them met, the Englischemen fled be- tween the hobylers and the gret hoste ; and the Englischemen wer ther quelled, and he that myght wend over the water were saved, but many were drowned. Alas ! for there were slayn many men of religion, and seculars, and pristis, and clerks, and with much sorwe the i | erschbischope scaped from the Skottes ; and, j [ therefore, the Skottes called that battel the !| White Batlell." \ ' For smaller predatory expeditions, the bor- derers had signals, and places of rendezvous, peculiar to each tribe. If the party set forward before all the members had joined, a mark, cut , in the turf, or on the bark of a tree, pointed out to the stragglers the direction which the main ^ body had pursued.} Tlieir warlike convoai- tions were, also, frequently disguised, under pre- tence of meetings for the purpose of sport. The game of foot-ball, in particular, which was an- ciently, and stiU continues to be, a favourite border sport, was the means of collecting to- gether large bodies of moss-troopers, previous to any military exploit. "When Sir Robert Carey was warden of the east marches, the knowledge that there was a great match at foot -ball at Kelso, to be frequented by the principal Scot- tish riders, was sufficient to excite his vigilance and his apprehension.^ Previous also to th'' murder of Sir John Carmichael (see Notes on the Raid of ihe Reidirvire,) it appeared at the trial of the perpetrators, that they had assisted at a grand foot-ball meeting, where the crime was concerted. "Upon the religion of the borderers there can very little be said. "We have already nolaeed, that they remained attached to the Roman Catholic faith rather longer than the rest of Scotland. This probably arose from a total in- difference upon the subject ; for we no where find in their character the respect for the church, which is a marked feature of that religion. In 1528, Lord Dacre complains heavily to cardinal "VYcIsey, that, having taken a notorious free- booter, called DyU Irwen, the brother and friends of the outlaw had, in retaliation, seized a man of some property, and a relation of Lord Dacre, called Jeffrey Middle ton, as he returned from a pilgrimage to St Ninian's, in Galloway t and that, notwithstanding the sanctity of his character as a true pilgrim, and the Scottish f In the parish of Linton, in Roxburghshire, there is a circle of stones, surrounding a smooth plot of turf, called the Tryst, or place of appoint- ment, which tradition avers to have been the rendezvous of the neighbouring warriors. The name of the leader was cut in the turf, and the •irrangement of the letters announced to his fol- lowers the course which he had taken. See Statistical Account r,f the Parith of Linton. t See Appendix. ^.:) m "hi ^ '^ 334 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ® @7 monarch's safe conduct, they continued to detain hhn in their fastnesses, until he should redeem the said arrant thief, Djk Irwen. The abheys, which were planted upon the border, neither seem to have btcn much respected by the Eng- lish, nor by the Scottish barons. They were repeatedly burned by the former, in the course of the border wars, and by the latter they seem to have been regarded chiefly as the means of endowing a needy relation, or the subject of occasional plunder. Thus, Andrew Home of Fastcastle, about 1488, attempted to procure a perpetual feu of certain possessions belonging to the abbey of Coldinghame; and being baffled, by the king bestowing that opulent benefice upon the royal chapel at Stirling, the Humes and Hepburns started into rebellion ; asserting, that the priory should be conferred upon some younger son of their famihes, according to an- cient custom. After the fetal battle of Flodden, one of the Kers testified his contempt for cleri- cal immunities and privileges, by expelling from his house the abbot of Kelso. These bickerings betwixt the clergy and the barons were usually excited by disputes about their temporal inter- est. It was common for the churchmen to grant lands in feu to the neighbouring gentle- men, who, becoming their vassals, were bound to assist and protect them.f But, as the pos- sessions and revenues of the benefices became thus 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 warfere was carried on for years, betwixt James, abbot of Dryburyh, and the family of Halliburton of Mertoun, or Newmains, who held some lands from that abbey. These possessions were, under various ai pretexts, seized and laid waste by both parties ; and some bloodshed took place in the contest, I betwixt the lay vassals and their spiritual supe- rior. The matter was, at length, thought of sufficient importance to be terminated by a re- ference to his majesty; whose decree arbitral, , dated at Stirling, the 8th of May, 1535, proceeds j thus : " AVhereas we, having been advised and knowing the said gentlemen, the Halliburtons, to be leal and true honest men, long servants unto the saide abbeye, for the saide landis, stout [ men at armes, and goode borderers against Ingland ; and doe therefore decree and ordain, j that they sail be repossess'd, 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, Uke as they and their pre- decessours were to the said venerabil father, and his predecessours, and he a goud master to tliem." :{: It is unnecessary to detain the j 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 t These vassals resembled, in some degree, the Vidames in France, and the Vogten, or Tize- 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. i This decree was followed by a marriage be- twixt the abbot's daughter, Elizabeth Stewart, and Walter HalUburton, 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 Halhburtons 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.— il/S. History qf Halliburton ^ Fami'y, penes editorem. and civU dissensions were at the height in 1568, Drury writes to Cecil,—" Our trusty neighbours of Teviotdale are hoiden occupied only to attend to the pleasure and caliins of their own heads, to make some dirersion 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. —Caldem-ood, p. 129. We learn from a curirus passage in the life of Richard Cameron, a Cmutieal preacher during the time of what is caikd the "persecution," that some of the borderers retained to a late period their indifference about religious matters. After having been licensed at Haughhead, in Tevictdale, he was, acccrding 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, Eitchie, and set the fire of hell to their tails.'" He went; and, the first day, he preached upon that text, Horu shall 1 put thee among ike children, ifc. In the application, he said, ' Put you among the children ! the off- spring of 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 a minister preach in a tent, and i eopie sit on the ground."— ii/e of Richard Carfieron.f Cleland, an enthusiastic Cameronian, lieuten- ant-colonel of the regiment levied after the - vjiution from among that wild and fanatical :, claims to the wandering preachers of his This man was chaplain in the family of Sir iter Scott of Harden, who attended the -tings of the indulged presbyterians ; tut ■ .eron, considering this conduct as a cora- rnise with the foul fiend Episcopacy, was viissed from the family. He was slain in a niish at Airdsmoss, bequeathing his name :iie sect of fanatics still called Cameronians. • 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, fiirewell theift, the best of booting. .K_! And this ye see is very clear, C: Dayly experience makes it appear ; For instance, lately on the borders, I "WTiere there was nought but theft and murUe;-s, \ Rapine, cheating, and resetting, '. - 1 Slight of hand, and fortunes getting. Their designation, as ye ken, "Was all along the Tacking Men. ■"■ - >"ow, rebels more prevails with words, L^- ; Tiian drawgoons does with guns and swords, ^"i'' 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 Tea, those that were the greatest roguts. Follows them over hills and bogues, I Crying for mercy and for preaching, ^ For they'll now hear no others teaching." j Cleland's Pcemt, 1697, p. 30. ! The poet of the "Whigs might exaggerate the ^ - I success of their teachers ; yet it must be owned , l' . [ 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 Dalesn en,'"; says Lesley, "never count their beads with such = An epithet bestowed upon the borderers, ' from the names of the various districts ; as Ti- vjotdale, Liddesdale, Eskdale, Ewsdale, Annan- d.-»Ie, &c. Hence, an old ballad distinguishes the north as the country, " V. here every river gives nsme to a >i: 1 v" Ex-ale-tatioi of Alt. earnestness as when they set out upon a preda- 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 Dumfries-shire, 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. Such was the universal belief in spells, of which some traces may yet remain in the wild parts of the country. These were common in the time of the learned bishop 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 liairies 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 t This small church is founded upon a little hill of sand, in which no stone of the size 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, upon whose account much blood had been spilt in that spot; 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 church was to be erected. This story may, perhaps, have some foundation ; for, in the church-yard was discovered a single grave, containing no fewer than fifty skulls, most of which bore the marks of having been cleft by violence. neighbourhood, who showed me a book of spells, and magical receipts, taken, two or three days before, in the pocket of one of our moss-troopers; wherein, among many other conjuring feats, was prescribed a certain remedy for an ague, by applying a few barbarous characters to the body of the party distempered. These, methought, were very near a-kin to Wormius's Rain Runer, which, he says, differed wholly in figure and shape from the common runes. For, though he tells us that these Ram Runer were so called, Eo quod molestias, dolores, morbosqiie hisce injli- gere, inimicis soliti sunt magi ; yet his great friend, Arng. Jonas, more to our purpose, says that — His etiam usi sunt ad benefaciendum, ju- vandum, medicandum tarn animi quam corporis morbis ; atqiie ad ipsos cacodcemones pellendos et fugandos, I shall not trouble you with a draught 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 Cornelius Agrippa." — Letter from Bishop Nicolson 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, bums, or dislocations, to which popular credulity ascribed unfailing efficacy. ± Charms, however, against spiritual enemies, were yet more 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 resorting to which the peopIe^^ credulity is severely censured by a worthy phy- :}: Among these may be reckoned 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 Hibernia. A gen- tleman, bitten by some reptile, so as to occasion a great swelling, seriously assured the editor, that he ascribed his cure to putting the affected finger into the mouth of an Irish mare : ^^m BOBDEB BALLADS. 337 sioian of the seventeenth century, who himself ^ believed in a shower of living herrings having faUen near Dumfries. "Many run supersti- ti.:msly 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 3IS. cccurs the following passage: "In the lx)unds of the lands of Eccles, belonging to a lyneage of the name of Maitland, there is a loch called the Dowloch, of old resorted to with much supers tition,as medicinal both for men and b«asts, and that with such ceremonies, as are ihrendly suspected to have been begun with witchcraft, and increased 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 leather, 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 eptaking 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 j be as medicinal as these are, at this time begin to re-assume their former practice." — Account of j Presbytery of Penponl, in Macfarlane't MSS. i 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- j son has observed, common to the popular creed of all nations. The just and noble sentiment, f One of the most noted apparitions is sup- ( posed to haunt Spedlin's castle near Lochma- \ ben, the ancient baronial residence of the Jar- dines of Applegirth. It is said, that, in exercise ", f f his territorial jurisdiction, one of the ancient - lairds had imprisoned, in the Massy 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 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 rehgion. 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 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 appearances are directed to bring down ven- geance on its murderers ; or that, having left its terrestrial form in a distant clime, it glid«>s 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 receiveil with most unbounded faith. It is true, that these supernatural adversaries were no longer opposed by the sword and battle-aie, as among the unconverted Scandinavians. Prayers, 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 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 Ij-ing 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 u tragedy. Indeed its visits became so frequent, that a clergyman of eminence was employed to SCOTTISH BALLADS. 338 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 vyas usually 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- j 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 te^-fold noise ; and it is 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- eiser, and to have lost his life in a contest with an obstinate spirit. This was owing to the con- ceited rashness of a young clergj-man, 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 com- mission from the privy council.f Besides these grand articles of superstitious belief, the creed of the borderers admitted the existence of sundry classes of subordinate spirits, to whom were assigned peculiar employments. The chief of these were the Fairies, concerning whom the reader will find a long dissertation in Volume Second of the Minstrelsy [reprinted in the present work, as an Introduction to the 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 wiU, 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 dcemones quosdam habent, dcemo- nes, inquam, nescio dixerim, an secrete et ignotce generationis effigies, quos GaUi Nepiunos, Angli Portunos nominant. Istis insitum est quod sim- plicitatetn fortunatorum colonorum amplectuntur, et cum nociurnas propter domesticas operas agunt vigilias, suhito clausis januis ad ignem calejiunt, et ranunculos ex sinu projectos, prunis impositos concedunf, senili vultu, facie corrugata, statura pusilli, dimidium pollicis non habentes. Panni- culis cojisertis induuntur, et si quid gestandum in domofuerit, aut onerosi operis agendum, ad oper- andum se jungunt, citius humana facilitate expe- t 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. Js ner above mentioned. & c BOEDEE BALLADS, diunt. Id illis insitum est, ut obsequi possint et obesse non possint." — Otia Imp. p. 9S0. 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 latter, although, like Milton's lubbar fiend, he loves 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. ± We [■ how the drudging goblin swet, To earn the cream-bowl, diJy set : "When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His 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 strength : And, crop-full, out of doors he flings. Ere the first cocJi his mattin rings. S; L'Allegro. When the menials in a Scottish family pro- tracted their vigils around the kitcheu 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.)" i It is told of a Brownie, who haunted a bor- der family, now extinct, that the lady having fallen unexpectedly in labour, and the servant, who was ordered to ride to Jedburirh for the sage femme, showing no great alertness in set- 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 the midwife en croupe. During the short space of his absence, the Tweed, which they must neces- sarily ford, rose to a dangerous height. Bromaie, who transported his charge 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 put the horse into the stable (where it was after- wards found in a woeful plight), he proctedeJ 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 horse- mJ/G^ ^ learn from Olaus Magnus, that spirits, somewhat \ similar ia their operations to the Brownie, were supposed to haunt the Swedish mines. The- passage, in the translation of 1658, runs thus : " This is collected in briefe, that in cortheme kingdomes, there are great armies of devils, that have their services, which they perform with the inhabitants of these covmtries: but they are most frequently in rocks and mines, where they break, cleave, and make them hollow : whicn 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 (Joblin ; 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 Goodfellorr, though enlisted by Shakespeare among the fairy band of Oberon, properly belongs to this class of phantoms. Shellycoat, a spirit who resides ia 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 ; 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 Bodsbeck, a wild and solitary spot, where he exercised his functions undisturbed, till the scrupulous devotion of an old lady in- duced her to hire him atvay, 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 and cry, " Farewell to bonny Bodsbeck : " which he was compelled to abandon for ever. SCOTTISH BALLADS. aUo to the class of bogles, f ^Vhen he appeared, A general, observed, that their attachment was ^^^ 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 Barguest;^ but, in the countrj- villages, was more frequently termed Brag. He usually ended his mischievous frolics with a horse-laugh. Skellycoat must not be confounded with Kelpy, a water spirit also, but of a much more power- ful and malignant nature. His attributes have l>?en the subject of a poem in Lowland Scot- tish, by the learned Dr Jaraieson of Edinburgh, [aiven in the present collection.] Of Kelpy, therefore, it ia unnecessary to say anything at present. Of all these classes of spirits it may be, in I One of his pranks is thus narrated: Two men, in a very dark night, approaching the banlis of the Ettrick, heard a doleful voice from its waves repeatedly exclaim: — "Lost! Lost I" They followed the sound, which seemed to be the voice 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 mountain 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. 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, 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 BIo- 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 Tullochgorm, by May Moulach, a female figure, whose left hand and arm were covered with hair, who is also mentioned in Aubrey's Miscellanies, pp. 211, 212, as a 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 5ISS. : — "There is much talke of a spirit called Ly-erg, who frequents the Glenmore. He ap- pears 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 Slille Volke, or silent people. These they suppose to be at- tached to houses of eminence, and to consist of a number, corresponding to that of the mortal family, each person of which has thus his repre- sentative amongst these domestic spirits. When the lady of the family has a child, the queen of the silent people is delivered in the same moment, They endeavour to give warning when danger approaches the family, assist in warding it off, and are sometimes seen to weep and wTing their SS" hands before inevitable caliimity. BORDER BALLADS. Gil present, therefore, taking the advice of an old ^ ing liquors, and we are therefore left to c-ori>.c- Scottish rhymer, let ua "Leave bogles, brovv-nies, gyre carlinges, and ghaista." t Fhjting of Polwart 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.i 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 William Lithgow, a bon vivant, who appears to have been a native, or occasional inhabitant, cf Melrose, is celebrated by the pot-companion who composed his elegy, because He was food company at jeists. And waiiion when he came to feists. He tcorud the converse of ^eat bcAsts, O'er a sheep's head : He lacgu'd at stories about ghaists: Blvth Milie'^desd' Watson's Scottish Poems, Edin. 1706. ; We may form some idea of the style of life . aintained by the border warriors, from the i.eodotes, handed down by tradition, concern- , : - Walter Scott of Harden, who flourished to- .ris the middle of the sixteenth century. This I cient laird was a renowned freebooter, and ; ; 1 to ride with a numerous band of followers. ihe spoil, which they carried off firom England, ; or from their neigh- ours, was concealed in a , deep and imper\ious glen, on the brink of which I the old tower of Harden was situated. From j thence the cattle were brought out, one by one, as they were wanted, to supply the rude and plentiful table of the laird. When the last bul- , lock was killed and devoured, it was the lady's ' custom to place on the table a dish, which, on being uncovered, was found to contain a pair of clean spurs, a hint to the riders, that they must shift for their next meal, fpon one occasion, when the village herd was driving out the cattle to pasture, the old laird heard him call loudly, «» drive out Harden's com. " Harden'* com ! " -i ture how they occupied the time, when winter, or when accident, confined them to their habi- tations. The little learning, which existed in the middle ages, glimmered a dim and dy- ing flame in the religious houses ; and even in echoed the affronted chief—" Is it come to that pass? by my faith, they shall sune say Hardens kye," (cows.) Accordingly, he sounded his bugle, mounted his horse, set out with his followers, and returned next day with "a bom of kye, and « bassen'd (brindled) bull." On his return with this gallant prey, he passed a very large hay- stack. It occurred to the provident laird, tr.2t this would be extremely convenient to fodder his new stock of cattle ; but as no means of transporting it occurred, he was fain to take leave of it with this apostrophe, now proverbial : " By my soul, had ye but four feet, ye should not stand lang there." In short, as Froissart says of a similar class of feudal robbers, nothing came amiss to them, that was net too heavy, or tco hut. The same mode of house-keepine characterized most border families on both sides. A M:-. quoted in History of Cumberland, p. 466, con- cerning the Graemes of Netherby, and others c;" that clan, runs thus : "They were all stark moss- troopers and arrant thieves; both to England and Scotland outlawed ; yet sometimes connived at, because they gave intelligence forth of Scot- land, and would raise 400 horse at any time, upon a raid of the English into Scotland.'" A saying is recorded of a mother to her son (which is now become proverbial), "Ride, Aou/y (Row- land,) hough's i" the pot ; " that is, the last piece of beef was in the pot, and therefore it was high time for him to go and fetch more. To such men might with justice be applied the p<..tts description of the Cretan warrior, translated by my friend, Dr Leyden : Mv swotd, mv spear, my shaegy shield, With these'l UU, with these I sow . With these I reap my hardest field, The only wealth the gods bestow. ■With these I plant the purple vine, ■With these I press the luscious wine. My sword, my spear, mv shaggy shield, They make me lurd oi all below : For he who dreads the Unce to wield, Before my shajgy shield must bow. His lands, his lineyards, must resipi. And all that cowards h.->ve if mine. Hybriat (ap. Atken»mm.) SCOTTISH BALLADS. sixteenth century, when its beams became ^ heightened, and its tone becomes peculiarly de- more widely diffused, they were far from pene- trating the recesses of the border mountains. The talcs of tradition, the song, with the pipe or harp of the minstrel, were probably the sole resources against ennui, 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 have al- ready often quoted, notices particularly the taste of the marchmen for music and ballad poetry. " Placent admodum sibi sua musica, et rythmicis suis cantionibus, quas de majorum suo- rum gestis, aut ingeniosia prmdandi precandive stratagematis ipsi confingunL" — Leslseus, in ca- pitulo de morbis eormn, qui Scotice llmites Ang- liam versus 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 straam 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 exist 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 Ufe of danger and military adventure, this predisposition of a savage people. I s termined. It is not the peaceful Hindu at his loom, it is not the timid Esquimaux in his canoe, whom we must expect to glow at the war-song of TjTt, "Now that I see it moat be so > " " Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, Nor yet shalt thou yield to me ; But yield thee to the braken bush, f That grows upon yon lilye lee I " " I will not yield to a braken bush, Nor yet will I jield to a briar ; But I would yield to Earl Douglas, Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here." As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, He stuck his sword's point in the gronde ; And the Montgomery was a courteous kniuht. And quickly took him by the honde. This deed was done at Otterboume, About the breaking of the day ; Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush. And the Percy led captive away. ^ije Qu'thio JHutTE^: [From Scott's Minstrelsy.— " This ballad," says Sir Walter, "appears to have been composed about the reign of James V. It commemorates a transaction, supposed to have taken place be- twixt a Scottish monarch, and an ancestor u' the ancient family of Murray of Philiphaugh, in Selkirkshire. The editor is unable to ascertain the historical foundation of the tale; nor is it probable that any light can be thrown upon the subject, without an accurate examination of th.- family charter chest. It is certain, that, durincr the civil wars betwixt Bruce and Baliol, the family i^f Philiphaugh existed, and was power- ful ; for their ancestor, Archibald de Moravia, subscribes the oath of fealty to Edward I. a. d. 1296. It is, therefore, not unhkely, that, resid- ing in a wild and frontier country, they may have, at one period or other, during these com- motions, refused allegiance to the feeble mon- arch of the day, and thus extorted from him some grant of territory or jurisdiction. It is also certain, that, by a charter from James IV., t Braken— Tein. M^Mi /(< =^ !.-\l ^ V, SCOTTISH BALLADS. 350 dated November 30, 1509, John Murray of Phi- ^ liphaugh is vested with the dignity of heritable sheriff of Ettrick Forest, an office held by his descendants till the final abolition of such juris- dictions by 2Sth George II., cap. 23. But it seems difficult to believe, that the circumstances mentioned in the ballad could occur under the reign of so vigorous a monarch as James IV. It is true, that the Dramatis Personce introduced seem to refer to the end of the fifteenth, or be- ginning of the sixteenth century; but from this it can only be argued, that the author himself I lived soon after that period. It may, therefore, | be supposed (unless farther evidence can be pro- | duced, tending to invalidate the conclusion,) j that the bard, willing to pay his court to the j family, has connected the grant of the sheriff- ship by James IV., with some further dispute betwixt the Murrays of Philiphaugh and their sovereign, occurring, either wliile they were eniiaged upon the side of Baliol, or in the subse- quent reigns of David II. and Robert II. and III., when the English possessed great part of I the Scottish frontier, and the rest was in so law- | less a state as hardly to acknowledge any supe- j rior. At the same time, this reasoning is not absolutely conclusive. James IV. had particu- lar reasons for desiring that Ettrick Forest, ■which actually formed part of the jointure lands of Margaret, his queen, should be kept in a state of tranquilUty.— K:/mer, vol. XIII. p. 66. In | order to accomplish this object, it was natural for him, according to the policy of his predeces- sors, to invest one great family with the power of keeping order among the rest. It is even pro- bable, that the Philiphaugh family may have had claims upon part of the lordship of Ettrick Forest, wliich lay intermingled with their own extensive possessions; and, in the course of arranging, not indeed the feudal superiority, but the property, of these lands, a dispute may have i arisen, of sufficient importance to be the ground- work of a ballad.— It is farther probable, that ; the Murrays, like other border clans, were in a very lawless state, and held their lands merely by occupancy, without any feudal right. In- j deed, the lands of the various proprietors in Et- | trick Forest (being a royal demesne) were held I by the possessors, not in property, but as the ' kindly tenants, or rentallers, of the crown ; and ] it is only about 150 years since they obtained charters, striking the feu-duty of each proprietor, : at the rate of the quit-rent which he formerly paid. The state tf possession naturally led to a s» confusion of rights and claims. The kings of .■Scotland were often reduced to the humiliating necessity of compromising such matters with their rebellious subjects, and James himself even entered into a sort of league with Johnie Faa, the king of the gypsies.— Perhaps, therefore, the tradition handed down in this song, may have had more foundation than it would at present be proper positively to assert. The merit of this beautiful old tale, it is thought, will be fully acknowledged. It has been, for ages, a popular song in Selkirkshire. The scene is, by the common people, supposed to have been the castle of Newark upon Yarrow. This is highly improbable, because Xewark was always a royal fortress. Indeed, the late excel- lent antiquarian, Mr Plummer, sheriff-depute of Selkirkshire, has assured the editor, that he re- membered the insignia of the unicorns, &c., so often mentioned in the ballad, in existence upon the old tower at Hangingshaw, the seat of the Ph Jiphaugh family ; although, upon first perus- ing a copy of the ballad, he was inclined to sub- scribe to the popular opinion. The tower of Hangingshaw has been demolished for many years. It stood in a romantic and solitary situa- tion, on the classical banks of the Yarrow. When the mountains around Hangingshaw were covered with the wild copse which consti- tuted a Scottish forest, a more secure strong- hold for an outlawed baron can hardly be ima- gined. The tradition of Ettrick Forest bears, that the Outlaw was a man of prodigious strength, pos- sessing a tatton or club, with which he laid lee (i. e. waste) the country for many miles round; and that he was at length slain by Buccleuch, or some of his clan, at a little mount, covered with fir-trees, adjoining to Newark castle, and said to have been a part of the garden. A varjing tra- dition bears the place of his death to have been near to the house of the duke of Buccleuch's game-keeper, beneath the castle ; and that the fatal arrow was shot by Scott of Haining, from the ruins of a cottage on the opposite side of the Yarrow. There were extant, within these twenty years, some verses of a song on his death. The feud betwixt the Outlaw and the Scotts may serve to explain the asperity with which the chieftain of that clan is handled in the ballad. In publishing the following ballad, the copy principally resorted to is one, apparently of con- siderable antiquity, which was found among the papers of the late 3Irs Cockburn of Edinburgh, ^^ BOBBEB BALLADS. a lady whose memory will be long honoured by ^ all who knew her. Another copy, much more imperfect, is to be found in Glenriddel's MS3. The names are in this last miserably mangled, as is always the case when ballads are taken down from the recitation of persons living at a dis- tance from the scenes in which they are laid. Mr Plummer also gave the editor a few addi- tional verses, not contained in either copy, which are thrown into what seemed their proper place. There is yet another copy, in Mr Herd's M6S., which has been occasionally made use of. Two verses are restored in the present edition, from the recitation of Mr ilungo Park, whose toils, during his patient and intrepid travels in Af- rica, have not eradicated from his recollection the legendary lore of his native country. The arms of the Phiiiphaugh family are said by tradition to allude to their outlawed state. They are indeed those of a huntsman, and are blazoned thus: Argent, a hunting horn sable, stringed and garnished gules, on a chief azure, three stars of the first. Crest, a Demi Forester, winding his horn, proper. Motto, Hinc usque tuperna lenafior.] Ettricke Foreste is a feir foreste. In it grows manie a semelie trie ; There's hart and hynd, and dae and rae. And of a' Wilde beastes grete plentie. ) There's a feir castelle, bigged wi' Ij-me and stane ; 1 gin it stands not pleasauntUe ! In the forefront o' that castelle feir, Twa unicorns are bra' to see ; There's the picture of a knight, and a ladye bright. And the grene hollin abune their brie.f There an Outlaw keepis five hundred men ; He keepis a royaUe companie ! His merrjercen are a' in ae liverje clad, O' the Linkome grene saye g.i\e to see ; He and his ladye in purple clad, O ! gin they lived not royalUe ! "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, " fnto the man that deir bought me, I'se either be king of Ettricke Foreste, Or king of Sootlonde that Outlaw sail be ! " 1 t Brow. Then spak the lord, hight Hamilton.i And to the nobil king said he, " My sovereign prince, sura counsell take. First at your nobilis, syne at me. " I redd ye, send yon braw Outlaw till, , And see gif your man cum will he : DesjTe 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 : Or else, we'll throw his castell down. And make a widowe C 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 him on his kne. " Wellcum, Jamfs 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." % This is, in most copies, the earl hight Hamil- ton, which must be a mistake of the reciters, as the family did not enjoy that title till 1503. § Thomas Boyd, earl of Arran, ^vas forfeited, with his father and uncle, in 1469, for an attempt on the person of James III. He h.id a son, James, who was restored, and in favour with James IT. about 14S2. If this be the person here meant, we should read, "The Earl of Ar- ran his son was he." Glenriddel's copy reads, "a highland laird I'm sure w.is he." Reciters ^ sometimes call the n essenger the laird of Skene. 352 SCOTTISH BALLADS. James Boyd tuik his leave o' the nobil king, To Ettricke Foreste feir cam he ; Sown Birkendale Brae when that he cain f He saw the feir Foreste wi' his e'e. Baith dae and rae, and hart and hinde, And of a' wilde beastis great plentie ; He heard the bows that bauldly ring, And arrows whidderan' hym near b!. Of that feir castell he got a sight ; The like he neir saw wi' his e'e .' On the fore front o' that castell feir, Twa unicorns were gays to see ; The picture of a knight, and lady bright, And the grene hollin abune their brie. Thereat he spyed five hundred men, ' "W. Shuting with bows on Newark Lee ; ^^ ■'* They were a' in ae livery clad, O' the Lincome grene sae gaye to see. His men were a' clad in the grene. The knight was armed capapie. With a bended bow, on a milk-white steed ; And I wot they ranked right bonnilie. Therby Boyd kend he was master man. And serv'd him in his ain degre. " God mot thee save, braw Outlaw Murray ] Thy ladye, and all thy chyvalrie ! " " Marry, thou's wellcum, gentleman. Some king's messenger thou seemis to be.' ' The king of Scotlonde sent me here. And, gude Outlaw, I am sent to thee ; wad wot of whom ye hald your landis. Or man, wha may thy master be ? " KQT) "Thir landis are mine ! " the Outlaw said ; " I ken nae king in Christentie ; Frae Soudron ± I this Foreste wan. Whan the king nor his knightis were not to see." t Birkendale Brae, now commonly called Bir- kendailly, is a steep descent on the south side of Minch-moor, which separates Tweeddale from Ettrick Forest ; and from the top of which you have the first view of the woods of Hanging- shaw, the castle of Newark, and the romantic dale of Yarrow. Southern, or English. ^ "He desyres you'l cum to Edinburgh, And hauld of him this Foreste frie; And, gif ye refuse to do this. He'll conquess baith thy landis and thee. He hath vow'd to cast thy castell down. And mak a widowe o' thy gaye ladye ; "He'll hang thy merryemen, payr by payr. In ony frith where he may them finde." " Aye, by my troth ! " the Outlaw said, " Than wald I thinke me f;ir behinde. " Ere the king my feir countrie get, This land that's nativest to me ! Mony o' his nobliis sail be cauld. Their ladyes sail be right wearie." Then spak his ladye, feir of face. She seyd, "Without consent of me. That an Outlaw suld cum befor a king ; I am right rad § of treasonrie. Bid him 1 e gude to his lordis at hame. Tor Edinburgh my lord sail nevir see." James Boyd tuik his leave C the Outlaw kene. To Edinburgh boun is he ; When James he cam before the king. He knelit lowlie on his kne. " Welcum, James Boyd ! " seyd our nobil king ; " What Foreste is Ettricke Foreste frie ? " " Ettricke Foreste is the feirest foreste That evir man saw wi' his e'e. " There's the dae, the rae, the hart, the hynde. And of a' wild beastis grete plentie ; There's a pretty castell of lyme and stane, O gif it standis not pleasauntlie i " There's in the forefront o' that castell, Twa unicorns, sae Via.' to see ; There's the picture of a knight, and a ladye bright, ] Wi' the grene hollin abune their brie. " There the Outlaw keepis five hundred He keepis a royalle cumpanie ! His merrymen in ae Uvery clad, O' the Linkome grene sae gaye to see ; He and his ladye in purple clad ; O ! gin they live not royallie ! § Afraid. ■^f:^- BOEDER BALLADS. 353 " lie says, yon Foreste is his awin ; He wan it frae the Southronie ; Sae as he wan it, sae will he keep it, Contrair all kingis in Christentie." " Gar warn ine Perthshire, and Angus baith ; Fife up and downe, and Louthians three. And graith my horse I " said our nobil king, " For to Ettricke Foreste hie will I me." Then word is gane the Outlaw till. In Ettricke Foreste, where dwelleth he, That the king was cuming to his eountrie. To conquess baith his landis and he. " I mak a vow," the Outlaw said, " I mak a vow, and that truUe, "Were there but tiiree men to tak my pairt. Yon king's cuming full deir suld be ! " Tiien messengers he called forth. And bade them hie them speedilye — " Ane of ye gae to Halliday, The laird of the Corebead f is he. " He certain is my sister's son ; Bid him cum quick and succour me I The king cums on for Ettricke Foreste, And landless men we a' will be." " What news ? "What news ? " said Halliday, " JIan, frae thy master unto me ? " '■ Xot as ye wad ; seeking your aide; The king's his mortal enemie." •■ Aye, by my troth : " said Halliday, " Even for that it repenteth me ; For gif he lose feir Ettricke Foreste, He'll tak feir Hofiatdale fi-ae me. " I'll meet him wi' five hundred men. And surely mair, if raae may be ; And before he gets the Foreste feir. We a' will die on Newark Lee! " Tlie Outlaw cill'd a messenger. And bid him hie him speedilye. To Andrew Murray of Cockpool — % " That man's a deir cousin to me ; t This is a place at tlie head of Moffat-water, possessed of old by the family of Halliday. \ This family were ancestors of the Murrays, earls of Annandale ; but the name of the repre- ^ Desyre him cum, and mak me ayd. With a' the power that he may be.' "It stands me hard," Andrew Murray sail, '■'Judge gif it stand na hard wi' me ; To enter against a king wi' crown. And set my landis in jeopardie ! Yet, if I cum not on the day. Surely at night he sail me see." To Sir James Murray of Traquair,§ A message cam right speedilye — " What news? What news.^" James Murray said, " Man, frae thy master unto me ? " " What neids I tell ? for weell ye ken, The king's his mortal enemie ; And now he is coming to Ettricke Foreste, And landless men ye a' will be." "And, by my trothe," James Murray said, " Wi' that Outlaw will 1 live and die ; The king has gifted my landis lant: ?yne — It cannot be nae warse wi' me." sentative, in the time of James IV. was William, not Andrew. Glenriddel's M3. reads, " the country-keeper." § Before the barony of Traquair became the | property of the Stewarts, it belonged to a family of Murrays, afterwards Murrays of Black-barony. ' and ancestors of lord Elilank. The old castle was situated on the Tweed. The lands of Tra- quair were forfeited by Willielmus de Jloravia, previous to 1464 ; for, in that year, a charter, proceeding upon his forfeiture, was granted by the crown " Willielmo DougUis de Cluny." Sir James was, perhaps, the heir of William Mur- ray. It would farther seem, that the grant in 1464 was not made effectual by Douglas : for, another charter from the crown, dated the 3.1 February, 1478, conveys the estate of Traquair to James Stewart, earl of Buchan, son to the black knight of Lome, and maternal uncle to I James III., from whom is d seended the present earl of Traquair. The first royal grant not being followed by possession, it is very possible that the Murrays m.iy have continued to occupy Traquair long after tlie date of that charter. Hence, S.r James might have reason to say, as in the ballad, "The king has gifted my Unds lang ^ syne." ^ 'eX: The king was cuming through Caddon Ford,* And lull five thousand men was he ; They saw the derke foreste them before. They thought it awsome for to see. Then spak' the lord, hight Hamilton, And to the nohil king said he, " Jly sovereign liege, sum council tak'. First at your nobilis, syne at me. " Desyre him mete thee at Permanscore, And bring four in his cumpanie ; Five erles sail gang yoursel' befor, Gude cause that you suld honour'd be. " And, gif he refuses to do that, We'll couquess baith his landis and he; There sail nevir a Blurray, after liini, Hald land in Kttricke Foreste frie." Then spak' the kene laird of Buckscleuth, A stalworthye man, and sterne was he — " For a king to gang an outlaw till. Is beneath his state and his dignitie. " The man that wons yon foreste intill. He Uves by reif and felonie I /"^w Wherfore, brayd on, my sovereign liege ! Vw^ Wi' fire and sword we'll follow thee ; qJ_>'.. Or, gif your courtrie lords fa' back, esUg^s Our borderers sail the onset gi'e." i '^^v:' ' Then out and spak' the nobil king, And round him oast a wilie e'e — " Now had thy tongue, Sir Walter Scott, Nor speik of reif nor felonie : For, had everye honeste man his awin kye, A right pure clan thy name wad be 1" .^ ^,^ The king then call'd a gentleman, c^^'Ci-''^ Royal banner-bearer there was he ; f'^T^ James Hop Pringle of Torsonse, by name; f '., ^_ /' He cam' and knelit upon his knee. * A ford on the Tweed, at the mouth of the r Caddon Burn, near Yair.— Sco«. ■ -=|_-^, t The honourable name of Pringle, or Hop- ^g^"^ ] pringle, is of great antiquity in Roxburghshire ^W^J and Selkirkshire. The old tower of Torsonse is V, (pfi situated upon the banks of the Gala. I believe 9>/^ i the Pringles of Torsonse are now represented by r^^j' Sir John Pringle of Stitchell. There are three ' --- '' ether ancient and distinguished families of this name; those of Whitebank, Clifton, and Tor- woodlee.— Scu I'se make thee sheriffe 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 mtn-yeraen rebuked me." " Will your merryemen amend their lives ? And a' their p.irdons I grant thee — :^jw, name thy landis where'er they lie. And here I render them to thee." " Fair Philiphaugh* is mine by right. And Lewinshope still mine shall be; Xew.irk, Foulshiells, and Tinnies baith. My bow and arrow purchased me. " 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 kicg, Wi' the blessing o' his feir ladye ; He was made sherifie 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 Murray of the foreste frit ' ; [" The Armstrongs appear to have been at an 1 early period in possession of great part of Lid- i desdale, and of the Debateable Land. Their I : immediate neighbourhood to England rendered j them the most lawless of the border depreda- j I tors ; and, as much of the country possessed ly I them was claimed by both kingdoms, the inhabi- ' tants, protected from justice by the one nation, in oppositiun to the other, securely preyed upor. both. The chief was Armstrong of Mangertoun ; but, at a later period, they are declared a broken clan, ». e. one which had no lawful head, to become surety for their good behaviour. The ! rapacity of this clan, and of their allies, thr i Elliots, occasioned the popular saying, ' Elliots i and Armstrongs ride thieves all.' But to what i border family of note, in former days, would not I such an adage have been equally applicable? All along the river Liddel may still be discovered the ruins of towers, possessed by this numerous clan. They did not, however, entirely trust to these fastnesses ; but, when attacked by a supe- rior force, abandoned entirely their dwelUngs, and retired into morasses, accessible by paths known to themselves alone. One of their most noted places of refuge was the Tarras Moss, a desolate and horrible m.-irsh, through which a small river takes its course. Upon its banks In this and the following verse, the cere- PhiUphaugh are still possessed by the outlaw's mony of feudal investiture is supposed to be gone representative. Hangingshaw and Lewinshope through, by the outlaw resigning his possessions • were sold of late ye.ors. Newark, Foulshiels, into the hands of the king, and receiving them i and Tinnies, have long belonged to the foaiisly cf back to be held of him as superior. The lands of <^ Bucdeuch.— Seo«. ^' 356 are found some dry spots, which were occupied ! by these outlaws, and their families, in cases of pmergency. The stream runs furiously among huge rucks, which has occasioned a popular saying— Wiis ne'er ane drown'd in Tarras, nor yet in doubt. For e'er the head can win down, the harns (brains) are out. 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 foUov.'ing ballad, is a noted personage, both in history and tradition. He was, it would Bcem 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-booters, 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 earlof Bothwell was forfeited, and confined in Edinburgh castle. The lords 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- cated.— Lesley, 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 horse, 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 c. (A 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 / 3 service, on their own cost, without wronging V'"? any Scotchman : Secondly, that there was not a /"n^ subject in England, duke, earl, or baron, but, ^ within a certain day, he should bring him to his 1^ majesty, either quick or dead. At length he, /^ seeing no hope of favour, said very proudly, " It I o is folly to seek grace at a graceless face: but," '^ said he, " had I known this, I should have lived i upon the border in despite of king Harry and you both ; for I know king Harry would down-meigh U"; my best horse with gold, to know that I were con- \V| demned to die this day." ' — Pitscottie's History, f^ p. 145. Johnnie, with all his retinue, was accord- "|^ ingly hanged upon growing trees, at a place -^T 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 reliques, 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 !' Pinkerton's Scottish Poems, vol. II. p. 6!). In The Complaynt of Scotland, John Armi- strangis' dance, mentioned as a popular tune, has probably some reference to our hero. The common people of the high parts of Tiviotdale, f Liddesdale, and the country adjacent, hold the memory of Johnnie Armstrong in very high re- spect. They aflarm also, that one of his atten- dants broke through the king's guard, and car- ried to Gilnockie Tower the news of the bloody catastrophe. " This song was first published by Allan Eam- say, in his Evergreen, who says, he copied it from ^ the mouth of a gentleman, called Annstrong, M BORDER BALLAU3. 3n " I 11 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.' who was in the sixth generation from this John. ^V The reciter assured him, that this was the genuine old ballad, the common one false." — | Scoifs Minslrelsy.'l Some speikis of lords, some speikis 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 wrjtes a laving letter, )/' With his ain hand sae tenderly, "~ And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang, ti^) 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, ij And bring him safe to Gilnockie." ^' " Make kinnen and capon ready then, • J And venison in great plentie ; y We'll welcum here our royal king ; >3 1 hope he'll dine at Gilnockie !" ■"/ They ran their horse on the Langholme howm, -*>, And brak their spears wi' muckle main ; '^l The ladies lukit frae their loft windows — V " God bring our men weel back agen !" DWhen 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 me ? 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 gie to thee — Full four-and-twenty milk-white steids. Were a' foaled in ae year to me. 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 i" '' 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, thou traitor Strang 1 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 I And a great gift I'll gi'e 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 111 not begin wi' thee." " Grant me my life, my liege, my king ! And a brave gift I'U 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 soon 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 s;u?. " Although a king and prince ye lo : For I've luved naething in my life, I wcel dare say, but 'aoncsty — " Save a fat horse, and a feir woman, Twa bonnie dogs to kill a dcir ; But England suld have found me meal ami Gif I had lived this hundred yeir '. [mault, r^' W '• " 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. cotland's heart was ne'er sae wae. To see sae mony brave men dee — ^ Because they saved their country deir (^ ^ j Frae Englishmen ! Nane were sae bauld ^r- While Johnie lived on the border syde, ^ ^ Nane of them durst cum neir his hauld. (S: — t JOHNNIE AEMSTRONG'S LAST GOOD- I^ NIGHT. i^i [This is what Ramsay calls the " common" S^ ballad of Johnnie Armstrong. (See close of in- ^/c troduction to previous ballad.) Motherwell says ?| that he never heard the above set of Johnnie "i Armstrong sung or recited among the common " 1 people, but that he had often heard the present ' ' one. In old broadsides, the title of this ballad runs thus: "Johnnie Armstrong's last good- night, showing how John Armstrong with his eight -score men fought a bloody battle with the Scotch king at Edenborough." In English col- lections, there is another ballad wherein a Sir John Armstrong figures as the hero. This latter is entitled, " A pleasant Ballad, showing how two valiant knights. Sir John Armstrong and Sir Michael Musgrave, fell in love with the beau- tiful daughter of the Lady Dacres in the North, .. ' and of the great strife that happened between .'■"> them for her, and how they wrought the death of , "" one hundred men."J Is there ever a man in all Scotland, From the highest estate to the lowest de- \ gree. That can show himself before our king, Scotland is so full of treachery ? Yes, there is a man in Westmoreland, And Johnny Armstrong they do him call. He has no lands or rents coming in. Yet he keeps eight-score men within his hall. He has horses and harness for them all. And goodly steeds that be milk-white, With their goodly belts about their necks, With hats and feathers all aUke. The king he writes a loving letter. And with his own hand so tenderly. And hath sent it unto Johnny Armstrong, To come and speak with him speedily. i BORDER BALLADS, 350 When John he look'd this letter upon. He look'd as Wythe as a bird in a tree, I was never before a king in my life, 3Iy father, my grandfather, nor none of us three. i^iit seeing we must go before the king, Lord we will go most gallantly. Ye shall every one have a velvet coat. Laid down with golden laces three. And every one shall have a scarlet cloak. Laid down with silver laces five, AVith your golden belts about your necks, With hats and feathers all alike. T^ut when Johnny went from Gil tnock -hall. The wind it blew hard, and full fast it did rain, Kow fare thee well, thou Giltnock-hall, I fear I shall never see thee again. | Sow Johnny he is to Edenborough gone. With his eightscore men so gallantly. And every one of them on a milk-white steed, With their bucklers and swords hanging to their knee. But when John came the king before, Vi'ith his eightscore men so gallant to see. The king he mov'd his bonnet to him. He thought he had been a king as well as he. pardon, pardon, my sovereign liege. Pardon for my eightscore men and me ; i'oT my name it is Johnny Armstrong, And subject of your's, my liege, said he. Away with thee, thou false traitor, No pardon will I grant to thee. But to-morrow morning by eight of the clock, I wlU hang up thy eightscore men and thee. Then Johnny look'd over his left shoulder. And to his merry men thus said he, 1 have ask'd grace of a graceless face, No pardon there is for you and me. Then John pull'd out his gool broad sword. That was made of the mettle so free. Had not the king moved his foot as he did, John had taken his head from his fair body. ^ te Come, follow me, my merry men all, Vi'e will scorn one foot for to flee. It shall never be said we were hang'd like dogs. We will fight it out most manfully. Then they fought on like champions bold. For their hearts were sturdy, stout and free. Till they had kill'd all the king's good guard ; There were none left alive but one, two, or three. But then rose up all Edenborough, They rose up by thousands three, A cowardly Scot came John behind, ' " And run him through the fair body. Said John, Fight on, my merry men all, I am little wounded but am not slain, I will lay me down and bleed a-while. Then I'U rise and fight again. Then they fought on like mad men all, J^ Till many a man lay dead on the plain, ^\~ For they were resolved before they would yield, j .^ ' That every man would there be slain. J: So there they fought courageously, 'Till most of them lay dead there and slain, But little Musgrave, that was his foot-page, AVith his bonnie grissel got away unta'en. But when he came to Giltnock-hall, The lady spied him presently, AAHiat news, what news, thou little foot-page, , What news from thy master and his com- '' ; pany ? My news is bad, lady, he said, ^' ■ Which 1 do bring, as you may see ; - 3Iy m.aster Johnny Armstrong is slain. And all his gallant company. Yet thou art welcome home, my bonnie grissel, Full oft hast thou been fed with corn ani hay. Bat now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine , And thy sides shall be spurr'd no more, I ^ say. \;-^ O then bespoke his little son. As he sat on his nurso's knee. If ever I live to be a roan, My fether-s death reveng'd shall be. J'^^'- ^^ ARMSTEONGS GOODNIGHT. [The following verses are said to have been composed by one of the Armstrongs, executed for the murder of Sir John Cannichael 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 Minstrelsy.'] 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 1 have done through lack of wit, I never, never can recall ; I hope ye're a' my friends as yet; Goodnight and joy be with you all ! [This ballad (which, as Sir AValter 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- ated 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 alwajs 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 JIarch, 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- narj- and anomalous class of landed proprietors dwell in the neighbourhood of Lochmaben. These are the inhabitants of four small vilbges. ir the ancient castle, called the Four Towns I of Lochmaben. They themselves are termed the I King's Rentallers, or kindly tenants ; under I which denomination each of them has a right, of j an allodia] 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- i lers is, in essence, a right of property, 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 I of property, granted by a chief to his iaithful 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 Yiscount 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 acts of parliament, enacting, tliat 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 I 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 I is done by a simple deed of conveyance, without j charter or sasine. S The kindly tenants of Lochmaben live (or at [^^^ (W) s^/f^^ BOEDER BALLADS. !C1 _i least till lately) much sequestered from their ^ neighbours, marry among themselves, and are " ; distinguished from each other by soubriquets, j I according to the ancient border custom, re- , peatedly noticed. You meet among their writ- i ' iugs, with such names as John Out-bye, Will | In-bys, "White-fish, Eed-fish, Sec. They are ; ( tenaciously obstinate in defence of their privile- j 1 ges of commonty, &c. which are numerous. I Their lands are, in general, neatly inclosed, and ' I well cultivated, and they form a contented and ; industrious little community. j • Many of these particulars are extracted from '.' the MS3. of ilr Syme, writer to the signet. Those who are desirous of more information, may consult Craig de Feudis, Lib. II. 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 iate of mightier states ; for, in consequence of the in- crease of commerce, lands possessed under this angular tenure, being now often brought to sale, and purchased by the neighbouring proprietoi^, will, in process of time, be included in their in- vestitures, and the right of rentallage be entirely forgotten.— Scott.] HEABO 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 vnfe, \Ti" 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, Axid 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 !" " by my sooth," quo' the silly blind harper, "I 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 footed the floor; But an' the music 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 ojjened and gaed in. There he £and thirty steeds and thret. He took a cowt-halter frae his hose. And o' his purpose be 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 bait. 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 mony 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 through at the lock-hole — " O ! by my sooth," then cried the lass, " Our mare has gotten a braw brown fi'al !" " Come, haud thy tongue, thou silly wench I 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 tbat tbe day began to daw. (S :^.-^^r: km Hut on the morn, at fair day-light, When they had ended a' their cheer. Behold the Wanton Brown was gane. And eke the poor blind Harpers mare ! "AUaee! allaee!" quoth the cunning auld Harper, And ever allaee that I cam' here ; In Scotland I lost a bi-aw cowt foal. In England they've stown my gude gray " Come : cease thy allacing, thou silly blind Harper, And again of thy harping let us hear ; And weel payd sail thy cowt-foal be. And thou sail have a far better mare." Tlien aye he harped, and aye he carped ; Sae sweet were the harpings he let them hear I He was paid for the foal he had never lost. And three times ower for the gude gray mare. [From the Border Jlinstrelsy. — " There is 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 Slartin Elliot of the Preakin Tower, whose son, Simon, is said to have fallen in the action. It is very possible, that both the Tiviotdale Scotts, and the Elliots! were engaged in the affair, and that each claim ed the honour of the victory." — Sir Walter pre- sumes, that the Willie Scott, here mentioned must have been a natural son of the laird of Buccleuclu] It fell about the Martinmas tyde. When our border steeds get corn and hay. The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde, A nd he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey. The arst ae guide that they met wi". It was high up in Hardhaughswire ;* The second guide that we met wi'. It was laigh down in Borthwick water.} " What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide? " Nae tidings, nae tidings, 1 ha'e to thee ; But gin ye'U gae to the fair I)odhead,|: Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see." And whan they cam' to the fair Dodhead, Eight hastily they clam the peel ; They loosed the kye out, ane and a'. And ranshackled the house right weel. Now Jamie Telfev's heart was sair,§ The tear aye rowing in his e'e ; He pled wi' the captain to ha'e his gear. Or else revenged he wad be. The captain turned him round and leugh ; Said — " Man, there's naething in thy house, (i 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, Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-foot. Between the Dodhead and the Stob's Ila'.*' And whan he cam' to the fair tower yate. He shouted loud, and cried weel hie. Till out bsspak' auld Gibby Elliot— " Whae's this that brings the fraye to me ?" " It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be ! There's naething left at the fair Dodhead, But a waefu' wife and bairnies three." * Hardhaughswire is the pass from Liddesdale to the head of Tiviotdale. — Scott. f Borthwick water is a stream, which falls into the Tiviot three miles above Hawick.— Sco«. ^ The Dodhead, in Selkirkshire, near Singlee, where there are still the vestiges of an old tower. Scott. § There is still a family of Telfers, residing near Langholm, who pretend to derive their descent from the Telfers of the Dodhead,— Sco«. {{ Gryming — Sprinkling, «[f Stobs Hall, upon Slitterick. Jamie Telfer made his first application here, because he seems to have paid the proprietor of that castle black- mail, or protection money.— i>co«. BORDER BALLADS 363 " Gar seek your succour at Branksome Ha',* 5 For succour ye'se get naiie frae rce ! I Gae seek vour succour where ye paid black mail, | For, man ; ye ne'er paid money to me." Jamie has turned him round about, 1 wat the tear blinded his e'e — " I'll ne'er pay mail to FUiot again, And the lair 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 1 never be !" He has turned him to the Tiviot side. E'en as fast as he could drie, TiU 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 I 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 CatslockhiU to tak' the fray. And v.han he cam' to the CatslockhiU, 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 Buccleuch, near Hawick. — Scott. J t The Coultart Cleagh is nearly opposite " Alas for wae ! " quo' William's Wat, " Alack, for thee my heart is sair ! I 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 si)ak' him auld Buccleuch, Said — " Whae's this brings the fraye to me^ " It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, A nd a harried man 1 think I be ! There's nought left in the fair Dodhead, But a greeting wife and bairnies three." " Al.ick for wae I" quoth the gude auld lorU, 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.f Gar warn it sune and hastilie ! 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. "Bide by the gate at Priesthaughswire,* And warn the Currors o' the Lee ; As ye cum down the Hermitage black, Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinberry." Carlinrig, on the road between Hawick and Mosspaul. — Scott. t The water, in the mountainous districts of Scotland, is often used to express the banks of the river, which are the only inhabitable p.irts of the country. To raite the rvaier, therefore, was to alarm those who Uved along its side. Srott. + 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.— .Scort. § The pursuen seem to have taken the road The ijcots they rade, the Scots they ran, Sae starkly and sae steadilie ! And aye the ower-word o' the thrang Was — " Kise for Bi'anksome 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 outspeckle f o' me ?" " It's I, the captain o' Bewcnstle, Willie ; I winna layne my name f^r thee." " will ye let Telfer's kye gae back, Or will ye do aught for regard o' me ? r°^) Or, by the faith of my body," quo' Willie Scott, ^- -= " I'se ware my dame's caufs skin on thee !" " I winna let the kye gae back. Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear ; Eut 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 I For ere they win to the Kitterford, 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. But he's tane aff his gude steel cap, And thrice he's wav'd it in the air — The Dinlay || snaw was ne'er mair white, Kor the lyart locks of Harden's hair. " Revenge I revenge I" 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 ; But or they wan to the Kershope ford. The Scots had gotten the victory. John o' Brigham there was slane, T[ And John o' Barlow, as I hear say ; And thirty mae o' the captain's men. Lay bleeding on the grund that day. »: law, Philip Scott of Dryhope, was to find Harden in horse meat, and man's meat, at his tower of 1 1 Dryhope, for a year and a day ; but five barons i j pledge themselves, that at the expiry of that 1 1 period, the son-in-law should remove, without i I attempting to continue in possession by force ! ' I 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 I present Mr Scott of Harden. By the Flower of Yarrow the laird of Harden had six sons ; five of whom survived him, and founded the families of Harden (now extinct,) Highchesters (now repre- senting Harden,) Reaburn, Wool, and Synton. The sixth son was slain at a fray, in a hunting- match, by the Scotts of Gilmanseleugh. 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 offenders 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 ! tlie lands of Gilmanscleuch are well worth a dead son." The property thus 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. — Scott. II The Dinlai/ — is a mountain in Liddesdale. : brated in song by the title of the Flower of Yar- ■[[ Perhaps one of the ancient family of ^row. By their marriage-contract, the futher-in- ^Brougham, in Cumberland. The editor has used _ j 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- cast'.e. The Ritterford and Kershope-ford, after- mentioned, are noted fords on the river Liddel. * The Frostylee is a brcok, which joins the ^ i;i/' Tiviot, near Mosspaul. — Scott. \o(p/) t Outspeckle — Laughing-stock. (»)C^ i Knapscap — Headpiece. /^^~^ § Of this border laird, commonly called Auld j ^ ) Wat of Harden, tradition has preserved many \^^- s anecdotes. He was married to Mary Scott, cele- BOEDER BALLADS. 365 f; 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 had never been loved by woman again. "Hae back thy kye !" the captain said ; " Dear kye, I trow, to some they be i 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 Tividale he had led the way. " I wad lourd * have had a %vinding-sheet. And helped to put it ower his head. Ere he had been disgraced by the border Scot, "VMian he ower Liddel his men did lead !" There was a wild gallant amang us a'. His name was TTatty 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 — " AVhae 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 h^va vulnerata) is rather too naive for literal publication. — Scott. ' Lourd — Rather. t Wudspurs — Hotspur, or Jladspur. % 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 15S7, may relate to the subject of the fore- going ballad. October, 1.jS2. Thomas Mus- T "Walter Scott,") 200 kine grave, deputy of 1 laird of Buck- f and oxen, Bewcastle,andthe j luth, and his J 300 gait tenants, against (^complices ; for j and sheep. -Introduction to the History of Westnwreland and i Cumberland, p. ol— Scott. ^ " It's I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye ! I winna lajne 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, Baith wi' goud, and white monie ; And at the burial o' Willie Scott, 1 wat was mony a weeping e'e. W!)t Mal^ rl tit Mel^^fci: e. [From the Border Minstrelsy, where it is pub- ^^^^^ lished from a copy in the Bannatyne Ma. in the : . hand-writing of the Hon. Mr Carmichael, advo- cate. It first appeared inaccurately in Allan Ramsay's Evergreen, — "The skirmish of the Eeidswire," 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 iiiddle 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 (z. 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 .ivoil making compensation for the felony, bade him 'play fair!' to which the haughty English war- den retorted, by some injurious expressions re- specting Carmichael 's family, and gave other optn signs of resentment. His retinue, chiefly men uf Redesdale and Tynedale, the most ferocious t f 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 ; and a body of Jedburgh citizens .arriving at that I / instant, the skirmish terminated io a complete f^.^ \ ^t soners the English warden, James Ogle, Cuth- i] bert CoUingwood, Francis Eussell, son to the earl \ of Bedford, and son-in-law to Forster, some of the 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 them 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, is a part of the Carter Mountain, about ten miles from Jedburgh. — See, for these particulars, Go(/s- croft, Spotlisivoode, and Johnstone's History. " The modern spelling of the word Eeidswire is adopted, to prevent the mistake in pronunciation which might be occasioned by the use of the Scot- tish qit for w. The MS. reads Reidsquair. Smair, 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 affixed the day. And, as they promised, so they met. Alas ! that day I'll ne'er forgett ! Was sure sae fear'd, and then sae faine — j 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 which had been provided for him, till this "odious fact " had been inquired into. — Murdin's State Papers, vol. ii. p. 282.— Scott. f Green — Long. I 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- den's brother, to the heiress of Edrom, in the :| Merse, much contrary to the inclination of the jj lady and her friends. In like manner, he com- ' pelled another heiress, Jane Sleigh, of Cumlege, ! i to mai-ry Archibald, brother to Auchinleck of i Auehinleckj one of his dependants. By suchJ^- And the Laird's Wat, that worthie man, § 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, the earl of Angus, and his other friends, who had been established in the country forages. — Godscroft, vol, ii, pp. 238, 2-16. 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, called Ringan's Tarn, and Adam Scott, called the Pecket, were tried at Edinburgh, at the in- stance of Carmichael of Edrom. They were condemned to have their right hands struck off, 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 of Rotvanburn, and several others of that tribe, were executed for this and other excesses. — Books cf Adjournal of these dates.— Scott. § The chief who led out the sirname of Scott upon this occasion, was (saith Satchells) Walter Scott of Ancrura, a natural son of Walter of Buccleuch. The laird 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 genealogy, deduce their descent from the Scotts of Balwearie, in Fife, whom they represent. The first of this family, sett'ed 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 Laird's Wat, i. e. the Laird's son Wat ; notwithstanding which, it has always hitherto been printed the Laird Wat. If Douglas be accurate in his genealogy, the person meant must be the young laird of Buccleuch, afterwards distinguished for his surprise of Car- lisle Castle.— See Kinmont Willie. I am the more BOEDER BALLADS. The Armestranges, that aye ha'e been * 9i A bardie 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, G-ladstain, good at need, % Baith Eewle water, and Hawick town. Beanjeddart bauldly made him boun, Wi' a' the Tmmbills, 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 Eutherfords, and the tower of Ancrum given in keeping to the TurnbuUs, his hereditary enemies. His mother, however, a daughter of Home of Wedderburn, contrived to turn out the j lumbulls, and possess herself of the place by j surprise. — Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 2-30. — Scott. II Weil ieweii— Well appointed. The word | occurs in Morte Arthur: "And when Sir Per- ! cival saw this, he hied them thither, and found the ship covered with silke, more blacker than ; any beare ; and therein was a gentlewoman, of i great beautie, and she was richly beseem, that ' none might be better." — Scott. i * This clan are here mentioned as not being j hail, or whole, because they were outlawed or : broken men. Indeed, many of them had become I Englishmen, as the phrase then went. Accord- • ingly, we find, from Paton, that forty of them, ! under the laird cf ilangertoun, joined Somerset upon his expedition into Scotland. — Paton in \ DalyeWs Frui^ments, p. 1. There was an old \ alliance betwixt the F.Uiots and Armstrongs, I j here alluded to. For the enterprizes of the Arm- j strongs, against their native country, when under , , English assurance, see ilitrdin's State Papers, \ vol. i. p. 43. From which it appears, th.it, by j command of Sir Ralph Evers, this clan ravaged j 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 Douglas, at the battle of Otterbourne.— See the ' Ballad of that name.— Scott. '. i Cranstoun of that ilk, ancestor to lord Crans- toun; and Gladstain of Gladstains.— Scott. I These were ancient and powerful border I . clans, residing chiefly upon the river Jed. Hence, a 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 owcr the brae, Wi' Sir John Forster for their guyde, ^ 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 •■ He rewd the raid o' the Eeidswire. 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, Reeflsdaill, at his hand,ii Wi' Cukdaill, Gladsdaill on the lee, And Hebsrime, and Iforthumbeiland. they naturally convoyed the town of Jedburgh out. Although notorious freebooters, they were specially patronised by Morten, who, by their means, endeavoured ti counterpoise the power of Buccleuch and Femiherst, during the civil wars attached to the queen's faction. The following fragment of an old ballad i? quotal in a letter from an aged gentleman of th's name, rtsiding at New-York, to a friend in Scotland : "Bauld Rutherfurd, he was fow stout, Wi' a' his nine sons him round about ; He led the to\'m o' Jedburgh out. All bravely fought that day." II Pa^iona*— Tents. •[ This gentleman is called, erroneously, ii 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. if Cracking croiwe— Talking big. ii These are districts, or dales, on the English border. Hebsrime seems to be an error in the •f MS. for Hebburn upon the Till.— Sco/^ SCOTTISH BALLADS. Tett was our meeting meek enough. Begun wi' merriment and mowea. And at the brae, aboon the heugh, The Clark sat down to call the rowes. '' And some for kyne, and some for ewes. Called in of Dandrie, Hob, and Jock — "We saw, come marching ewer the knows. Five hundred Fennieks 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. Some gaed to drink, and some stude still, And some to cards and dice them sped ; Till on ane Farustein they fyled a bill. And he was fugitive and fled. Carmichael bade them speik out plainlie, And cloke no cause for ill nor good ; The other, answering him as vainlie. Began to reckon kin and blood : He raise, and raxed i him where he stood. And bade him match hiin with his marrows ; Then Tindaill heard them reasun rude. And they loot off a flight of aiTows. Then was there nought but bow and speir, And every man pulled out a brand ; "A Schaftan and a Fenwick" thare : Gude Symington was slain frae hand. The Scotsmen cried on other to stand, Frae time they saw John Robson slain— AVTiat should they cry? the king's command Could cause no cowards turn again. Up rose the laird to red the cumber, Which would not be for all his boast; — What could we doe with sic a number ? Fyve thousand men into a host. Then Henry Purdie proved his cost. And very narrovklie 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 I weel we had lost him there. Into my stomack it struck a knell . * Roives — Rolls. f The Fenwicks ; a powerful and numerous Korthumberland clan.— Sco«. t Raxed /iini— Stretched himself up. Tet 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— 5 [ "Fy, TindaUl, 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 V slughorn, and was always repeated at an onset, "And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, Withouten either dread or fear ? And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Can back a steed, or shake a spear ? " O were there war between the lands. As well I wot that there is none, I would slight Carlisle castell high, Tho' it were builded of marble stone. "I would set that castell in a low. And sloken it with English blood ! There's nevir a man in Cumberland, Should ken where CarUsle castell stood. " But since nae war's between the lands. And there is peace, and peace should be ; I'll neither harm English lad or lass. And yet the Kinmont freed shall be !" He has call'd him forty marchmen bauld, I trow they were of his ain name. Except Sir Gilbert Elliot calld. The laird of Stobs, I mean the same. He has call'd him forty marchmen bauld, 'V^''ere kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch ; With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, % And gleuves of green, and feathers blue. \ Splent oil sjiaiUd—Aimour on shoulder, B0R1>EE BALLAD3. 373 There vyere five and five before them a', \Vi' hunting horns and bugles bright; And five and five came wi' Buccleuch, Like warden's men, arrayed for fight : 4.nd five and five, hke a mason gang. That carried the ladders lang and hie ; And five and five, like broken men ; And so they reached the Woodhouselee. * And as we cross'd the Bateable Land, When to the English side we held. The first o' men that we met wi', "VVhae sould it be but fause Sakelde ? " Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen ?" Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me !" " We go to hunt an English stag, Has trespassed on the Scots cuuntrie." " Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men ?" Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell me true !" " We go to catch a rank reiver. Has broken faith wi' the Bauld Buccleuch.' * Woodhouselee ; a house on the border, be- longing to Buccleuch. The Salkeldes, or Sakeldes, were a powerful family in Cumberland, possessing, among other manors, that of Corby, before it came into the possession of the Howards, in the beginning of the seventeenth century. A strange stratagem was practised by an outlaw, called Jock Grame of the Peartree, upon Mr Salkelde, sheriff of Cumberland ; who is probably the person alluded to in the ballad, as the fact is stated to have hap- pened late in Elizabeth's time. The brother of this free-booter was lying in Carlisle jail for exe- cution, when Jock of the Peartree came riding past the gate of Corby castle. A child of the sheriff was playing before the door, to whom the outlaw gave an apple, saying, " Master, will you ' ride?" The boy willingly consenting', Grame j took him up before him, carried him into Scot- ' land, and would never part with him, till he had \ his brother safe {t> m the gallows. There is no historical ground for supposing, either that S.il- kelde, or any one else, lost his life in the raid of Carlisle. ' I In the list of Border clans, 1597, Will of Kin- month, with Kyrstie Armestrange, and John .■ikynb.ink, are mentioned as leaders of a band of Armstrongs called Sandies Barnes, inhabiting i the Bebateable Land.— Seoj*. ^ " Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie ?" " We gang to herry a corbie's nest. That wons not far frae Woodhouselee." " ^^'here be ye gaun, ye broken men ?" Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me !' Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band. And the never a word o' lear had he. " Why trespass ye on the English side ■• Row-footed outlaws, stand !" quo' he; The never a word had Dickie to say, S.ae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie. Then on we held for Carlisle toun. And at Staneshaw-Lank the Eden -.ve cross'd ; The water was great and meikle of spait. But the nevir a horse nor man we lost. And when we reached the Staneshaw-bank, The wind w.as rising loud and hie ; And there the ikstd garr'd leave our steeds. For fear that they should stamp and nie. And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, The wind began full loud to blaw ; But 'twas wind and we«t, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath tlie castle wa'. We crept on knees, and held our breath. Till we placed the ladders against the na' : And sae re.idy was Buccleuch himsell To mount the first, before us a'. He has ta'en the watchman by the throat. He flung him down upon the lead — " Had there not been peace between our km'., Upon the other side thou hadst gatd .'— " Xow sound out, trumpets !" quo' Buccleuch ^ " Lets waken Lord Scroop, right merrilie : Then loud the warden's trumpet blew — " O wha dare meddle wi' me ?" * Then spesdilie to work we gaed, .4nd raised the slogan ane and a'. And cat a hole thro' a sheet of lead, And so we wan to the castle ha'. The name of a border tune. m They thought King James and a* his men Had won the house wi' bow and spear ; It was but twenty .^cots and ten, That put a thousand in sic a st->?ar ! Wi' coulters, and wi' fore-hammers, We garr'd the bars bang mei rilie, I'ntil we cam' to the inner prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie. And when we cam' to the lower prison. Where Willie C Kinmont he did lie — " sleep ye, wal;e ye, Kinmont Willie, rpon the morn that thou's to die ?" "01 sleep saft, and I wake aft ; Ifs lang since sleeping was fleyed fi-ae me ! Cie my sirvice 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 Teviutdale— ■' Abide, abide now. Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroop I take farewell. " Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope ! >Iy gude Lord Scroope, farewell '." he cried- " I'll pay you for my lodging n ai!l, ^'hen first we me-;t on the border side." Then shoulder high, with sh'^ut and cr>'. We Lore him down the ladder laiiij ; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's aims played elnng < " mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, " 1 have ridden horse baith wild and wood ; Hut 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 b.acked a st«ed, I never wore sic cumbrous spurs I" We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, \Micn a' the Carlisle bells were rung. And a thousand men, in horse and fout. Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along. IJuccl-'ueh has turned to Eden water. Even where it flawed frae bauk 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 he— " If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me !" All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, He stood as still as rock of stane ; He scarcely dared to fe(*w his eyes, ■RTien thro' the water thf-y had gane. " He is either himsell a devil frae hell. Or tlse his mother a witch maun be ; I wad na have ridden that w.in water, For a' the gwrt in Christentie." WiA o' ilt SsSs. ["This ballad, and Jock o' the Side, which immediately follows it, were first published, 1784, in the Hawick Sluseum, a provincial miscellany, to which they were communicated by John Elliot, Esq. of Beidheugh, a gentleman well skilled in the antiquities of the western border, and to whose friendly assistance the editor is indebted for many valuable communications. These bal- V' lads are connected with each other, and appear 6^ to have been composed 1 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 ; v.hich offices he acquired upon the death ; of his father, about 1590, and retained till the union of the crowns. Dick of the Cow, from the privileged insolence which he assumes, seems 1 1 , ; have been lord Scroope's jester. In the prelimi- '.-f nary dissertation, the reader will find the border V^ custom of assuming nommes de guerre particu- V; larly noticed. It is exemplified in the following ( ballad, where one Armstrong is called the Laird's '■ Jf ck [i. e. the laird's son Jock), another Fair "p: Johnie, a third Billie Willie (brother Willie), &c. F^ The Laird's Jock, son to the laird of Mangerton, V- appears, as one of the men of name in Liddesdale, i'^.. In the list of border clans, 1597. Pick of the Cow y la erroneously supposed to have been the same r\. .9. with one RicardusColdall, dePlumpton, 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 S£ Cumberland, vol. ii. p. 40S. This ballad is very M BORDEE BALLADS. popular in LiJdeadale ; ami the reciter always^ adJs, at the conclusion, that poor Dickie's cau- tious removal to Burgh under fitanemore did not save him from the clutches of the Armstrongs ; i for that, having fallen into their power several j years after this exploit, he was put to an inhuman death. The ballad was well known in England | so early as 1596. An allusion to it likewise occurs j in Parrot's Laqu^i Eidiculosi, or Springes for I AVoodcocks: London, 1613. i Oivenus wondreth since he came to Wales, What the description of this isle should be, That nere had seen but mountains, hiUs, and dales, Yet wciUd he boast, and stand on pedigree, From Rice ap Kichaid, sprung from Dicka Coiv, Be cod, was right gud gentleman, look ye now I Border Minstrelsy.] Now Liddesdale has layen lang in. There is na ryding there at a' ; The horses are a' gron-n sae lither fat. They downa stir out o' the sta". Fair Johnie Armstrang to Willie did say — " BUly, a riding we will gae ; Kngland and us have been lang at feid ; Ablins we'll light on some bcotie." Then they are come on to Button Ha' ; They rade that proper place about ; But the laird he was the wiser man. For he had left nae gear without. For he had left nae gear to steal. Except sax sheep upon a lee : Quo' Johnie — " I'd rather in England die. Ere thir sax sheep gae to Liddtsdale wi' me. " But how ca' they the man we last met, Billie, as we cam owre the know ?" " That same he is an innocent fule. And men they call him Dick o' the Cow." " That fule has three as good kye o' his ain. As there are in a' Cumberland, bUlie," quo' he: " Betide me life, betide me death, The=e kye shall go to Liddesdale wi' me," Then on the morn when the day was Ight, The shouts and cries rase loud and hie : " baud thy tongue, my wife," he says. " And o' thy crying let me be ! " O, had thy tongue, my wife," he say- " And o' thy crying let me be ; And ay where thou hast lost ae cow. In gude suith I shall Iring thee thr.o.- Now Dickie's gane to the gude lord Scroope, And 1 wat a dreirie fule was he ; " Now baud thy tongue, my fule," he says, "For 1 may not stand to jest wi' thee. ' " Shame fa' your jesting, n^y lord :" qu..' Dickie, " For nae sic jesting grees wi" me ; Liddesdale's been in my house last night, And they ha'e awa' my three kye frae me. " But I may nae Linger in Cumberland dwell, To be your puir fule and your leal, Unless you gi'e me leave, my lord To gae to Liddesdale and steal." " I gi'e thee leave, my fule !" he says ; " Thou speakest against my honour and me, Unless thou gi'e me thy trowth and thy hand, Thou'lt steal frae nane but whae sta" frae thee.' " There is my trowth, and my right hand : W' =^J My head shall hang on Hairibee ; ^ '^/'•, I'll ne'er cross Carlisle sands again, "VA^^ If I steal frae a man but whae sta' frae me.' y^fc-^ Dickie's ta'en leave o' lord and master ; \_^^ I wat a n.erry fule was he ! CQ"^ He's bought a bridle and a pair o' new spurs, tSisT And packed them up in his breek thie. /'^si Then Dickie's come on to Pudding- burn -^-^sy house, * '§^^-p\ E'en as fast as he might drie ; \^^^ Then Dickie's come on to Pudding-burn. Where there were thirty Armstrangs ani three. m Then they have come on to the pure fule's house. And they ha'c broken his wa'ssae wide; i * This was a house of strength, held by the They have loosed out Dick o' the Cow's three ; Armstrongs. The ruins at present form a shevp- kye, ! fold, on the farm of lieidsmoss, belonging to the And ta'en three co'erlets frae his wife's bed. aS Duke of Buccleuch.— Sco«. ' what's this come o' me now ?" quo' Dickie ; " What mickle wae is this ?" quo' he ; " For here is but ae innocent fule, And there are thirty Armstrangs and three !" Yet he has come up to the fair ha' board, Sae wcil he's become his courtesie ; " Weil may ye be, my gude Laird's Jock ! But the de'U bless a' your cumpanie. "I'm come to 'plain o' your man, fair Johnie Armstrang, And syne o' his billie Willie," quo' he ! " How they've been in my house last night. And they ha'e ta'en my three kye frae me." "Hal" quo' fair Johnie Armstrang, " we will him hang." " Na," quo' Willie, " we'll him slae." Then up and spak' another young Armstrang, " We'll gae him his batts, and let him gae." But up and spak' the gude Laird's Jock, The best falla in a' the cumpanie ; " Sit down thy ways a little while, Dickie, [ye." And a piece o' thy ain cow's hough I'll gi'e But Dickie's heart it grew sae grit. That the ne'er a bit o't he dought to eat- Then he was aware of an auld peat-house. Where a' the night he thought for to sleep. Then Dickie was aware of an auld peat -house. Where a' the night he thought for to lye— And a' the prayers the pure fule prayed AVere, " I wish 1 had amends for my gude three kye !" It was then the use of Pudding-burn house. And the house of Mangerton, all hail. Them that cam' na at the first ca'. Gat nae mair meat till the neist meal. Tiie lads, that hungry and weary were, Abune the door-head they threw the key : Dickie he took gude notice o' that. Says — " There will be a bootie for me." Then Dickie has in to the stable gane. Where there stood thirty horses and three ; He has tied them a wi' St Mary's knot, A' these horses but barely three. Gft'e him his iafts— Dismiss him with a beating. He has tied them a' wi' St Mary's knot, t A' these horses but barely three ; He's loupen on ane, ta'en another in hand, And away as fast as lis can hie. But on the morn, when the day grew light. The shouts and cries raise loud and hie — "Ah! whae has done this.'" quo' the gude Laird's Jock, " Tell me the truth and the verity !" "Whae has done this deed?" quo' the gude Laird's Jock ; " See that to me ye dinna lie I" " Dickie has been in the stable last night. And has ta'en my brother's horse and mine frae me." " Ye wad ne'er be tald," quo' the gude Laird's Have ye not found my tales fu' leil ? [Jock; Ye ne'er wad out o' England bide, Till crooked, and blind, and a' would steal." " But lend me thy bay," fair Johnie can say ; " There's nae horse loose in the stable save he; And I'll either fetch Dick o' the Cow again. Or the day is come that he shall die." " To lend thee my bay !" the Laird's Jock can say, " He's baith worth gowd and gude monie ; Dick o' the Ctw has awa' twa horse ; I wish na thou may make him three." He has ta'en the laird's jack on his back, A twa-handed sword to hang by his thie ; He has ta'en a steil cap on his head. And gallopped on to follow Dickie. Dickie was na a mile frae aff the town, I wat a mile but barely three. t Hamstringing a horse is termed, in the bor- der dialect, tying him with St Iilary's knot. Dickie used this cruel expedient to prevent a I pursuit. It appears from the narration, that I the horses, left unhurt, belonged to fair Johnie j Armstrang, his brother Willie, and the Laird's Jock, of which Dickie carried off two, and left j that of the Laird's Jock, probably out of grati- _ i tude for the protection he had afforded him on ^ r, his arrival.— .Seo«. \_^?. ft (^. i- N^ A^^^en he was o'erta'en by fair Johnie Arm- strang. Hand for hand, on Cannobie lee.* " Abide, abide, thou traitour thief! The day is come that thou maun die." Then Dickie look't ov.Te his left shoulder, caid — " Johnie, hast thou nae mae in cum- panie ? " There is a preacher in our cbapell. And a' the live lang day teaches he : When (lay is gane and night is come. There's ne'er ae word 1 aiiuk but three. " The first and second is — Faith and Conscience ; The third — Xe'er let a traitour tree : But, Johnie, what faith and conscience was thine. When thou took awa' my three kye frae me ? " And when thou had ta'en awa' my three kye. Thou thought in thy heart thou wast not well sped. Till thou sent thy billie Willie ower the know. To tak' thrie coverlets off my wife's bed I" Then Johnie let a speir fa' laigh by his thie. Thought well to ha'e slain the innocent, I trow ; But the powers above were mair than he. For he ran but the pure fide's jerkin through. Together they ran, or ever they blan ; This was Dickie the fule and he ! Dickie could na win at him wi' the blade o' the swoid, Butfelldhim wi' the plummet under thee'e. Thus Dickie has fell'd fair Johnie Armstrang, The prettiest man in the south country — " Gramercy !" then can Dickie say, " X had but twa horse, thou hast made me thrie i" lie's ta'en the steil jack aff Johnie's back, Xhe twa-handed sword that hang low by his thie ; He's ta'en the steil cap aff his head^ " Johuie, I'll tell my master 1 met wi' thee." • A rising-ground on Cannobie, on the borders ofLiddesdale.— Sco«. .i When Johnie wakened out o' hia dream, I wat a dreirie man was he : " And is thou gane ? Now, Dickie, than The shame and dule is left wi' me. " And is thou gane ? Kow, Dickie, than The de'il gae in thy cumpanie ! For if I should live these hundred years, 1 ne'er shall fight wi' a fule after thee." — Then Dickie's come hame to the gude Lord Scroope, E'en as fast as he might hie ; " Now, Dickie, I'll neither eat nor drink, TUI hie hangf d thou shalt be." "The shame speed the liars, my lord!" quo' Dickie ; This was na the promise ye made to n.e : For I'd neer gane to Liddesdale to steal, Had 1 not got my Itave frae thee." " But what garr'd thee steal the Laird s Joes s horse ? And, limmer, what garr'd ye steal him ?" quo' he ; For lang thou mightst in Cumberland dwelt. Ere the Laird's Jock had stown frae thee."f- I f The commendation of the Laird's Jock's hon- esty seems but indifferently founded ; for, in July 15S6, a bill was fouled .against him, Dick of Dry- up, and others, by the deputy of Bewcastle, at a warden-meeting, for 400 head of cattle taken in open forray from the Drysike in Bewcastle : and in Septeinbc-r 15S7, another complaint appears at the instance of one Andrew Rutledge of the Nook, against the Laird's Jock, and his accompUces, for 50 kine and oxen, besides furniture, to tlie amount of 100 meiks sterling. See Bell's MS:?., as quoted in the History of Cumberland and Wesln:oreland. In Sir Richard Maitland s poem against the thieves of Liddesdale, ho thus com- memorates the Laird's Jock : They spuilye puir men of tliair pakis. They leif them nocht ou bed nor bakisj Baith hea ai.d r<>I , With red and rok, The La^rd » Joc-v Alt with h m takis. Those, who plundered Dick, had been bred up under an t.xptrt teacher. Tradition reports, that the Laird 8 Jock sur- .r;^M M " Indeed I wat ye lied, my lord ! And e'en sae loud as 1 hear ye lie ! I wan the horse frae fair Johnie AmiBtrang, • Hand to hand, on Cannobie lee. ] " There is the jack was on his hack ; ' This twa-handed s^^ ord hang laigh by his thie, And ther>;'s the stcil cap was on his head ; , ' 1 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, j i Weil tald on thy cloak lap shall be. j " I'll gi'e thee ane o' my best milk kyo, | To maintain thy wife and children thrie ; And that may be as gude, I think, I ' As ony twa o' thine wad be." I "The shame speed the liars, my lord!" quo' | Dickie ; j " Trow ye aye to make a fule o' me ? | I'll either ha'e twenty puiids for the gude horse, | Or he's gae to Jlortan fair wi' me." j He's gi'en him twenty punds for the gude horse, | A' in goud and gude raonie ; | He's gi'en him ane o' liis best milk kye, | To maintain his wife and children thrie. Tived 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 Scottish 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 ( Id 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 slain, 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 boi der poet (though of these later days) has composed a poem on this roman- tic incident. The stone on which the Laird's i Jock sat to behold the duel, was in existence till I 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. E'en as f;ist 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 Scroope 1" " Welcome, my brother's fule !" quo' he : " Where didst thou get fair 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'It tell me the monie on my cloak For there's never ae penr.y 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 twentypunds for the gude horso, Caith 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 I He has gi'en her twa score English punds. For the thrie auld coverlets ta'en aff her ired. "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 Armstrangs they would hang me hie." So Dickie's ta'en leave at lord and master. And at Burgh under Stanmuir there dwells he. BOEDER BALLAD.^. S5tc!^ o' tit ^\lt. [" The subject of Uiis ballad," says Sir "Walter ?ef>tt, ' being a common event in those trouble- some and diiorderly times, became a favourite theme of the ballad-makers. Jock o' the Sif'e seems to have been nephew to the la'rd 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, 1507. Like the Lairi's Jock, he also is com- memorated by Sir Eichard Ma'tland. — .^ee the Introduction. He i3 well kend, ,'o'ire of the Syde, A greater thief did never ryde ; He never tj-ris, For to brek brri", Our muir and myris Ouir jiide ane iruiJe. 370 #i moreland, to be the more unknown, changed h» coat of plate and sword w ith John of the Side, and departed like a Sc ttish br.rderer."— AdTtr- tisem.ents from Hexham, 23d December, 1569, in the Caba'.a, p. 160. The land -Serjeant, mentioned in this ballad, and also that of Hobble Noble, was an officer under the warden, to whom was con?mitt«d the apprehending of delinquents, and the care of the public peace."] Now Liddesdale has riddf>n a raid. But I wat they had better ha'e staid at hame ; For Michael o' Winfield he is dead. And Jock o' the Side is prisoner ta'en. For Mangerton house Lady Downie hts gan ■, Her coats she has kilted up to her knee ; And down the water wi* sp-ed she rins. While tears in spaits Ii»' fast frae her eV. Then up and spoke our gude auld lord — " What newS; what news, sister Downie, to Jf^ck o' the Side appears to have assisted the earl of Westmoreland in h's 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 (Eliiot) and others, th.-tt have given pledges to the regent of Scotland, did raise their forces against them ; being conducted by black Ormes- t n, 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, Ellwocd said to Orraes- tein, he would be scrry to enter deadly ftud 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 Kitable (dc- bateable land) on the borders between Liddes- dale and England. The same day the Liddesdale men stole the horses of the ccuntessof Xcrth- umt'erland, and of her two women, and ten others of their company; so as, the earls being gone, the lady of Northumberland was left there on f. ot, at John of the Side's house, a cottage not to be compared to many a dog -kennel in i shod; England. At their departing from her, they I Like gentlemen ye maun a seim, went not above fifty horse, and the earl of West- ^ But look like corn-caugers ga'en the wmA m " Bad news, bad news, my Lord Mangerton ; Michael is killed, and they ha'e ta'cn my son Johnie." "Ne'er fear, sister Downie," quo' Mangeitcn ; "I have yokes of ousen, eighty and three ; My b.irr.s, my bjTes, and my fauldsa' weil fiU'd, I'll part wi' them a' ere Johnie shall die. "Three men I'll send to set him free, A' harneist wi' the best o" steil ; The English louns may hear, and drie The weight o' their braid-swords to fttl. " The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat tw i, O Hobbie Noble, thou ane maun be ! Thy coat is blue, thou hast been true, Since England banish'd thee to me." Now Hobbie was an English man. In Bewcastle diile was bred and bom : But his misdeeds they were s.ie great, They banish'd him ne'er to return. Lord Srangert^n them orders gave, "Your horses the wrang way maun le L2^i m o3 = , J 0^^ " Your armour gude ye ntiauna shaw. Nor yet appear like men o' weir ; As country lads be a' array'd, Wi' branks and brecham on each mare." Sae now their horses are the wrang way shod. And Hobbie has mounted his grey sae fine; Jock his lively bay, AVat's on his white horse behind. And on they rode for the water of Tyne. At the Cholerford they all light down, [moon. And there, wi' the help of the light o' the A tree they cut, wi' fifteen nogs on each side. To climb up the wa' of Newcastle toun. But when they came to Newcastle toun. And were alighted at the wa'. They fand their tree three ells ower laigh. They fand their stick baith short and sma'. Then up and spak' the Laird's ain Jock ; "There's naething for't; the gates we maun But when they cam" the gate uiitill, [force." A proud porter withstood baith men and horse. His neck in twa the Armstrangs wraug ; Wi' fute or hand he ne'er play'd pa ! His life and his keys at anes they ha'e ta'en, And cast the body ahind the wa'. Now sune they reach Newcastle jail, And to the prisoner thus they call ; " Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side, Or art thou weary of thy thrall ?" Jock answers thus, wi' dulefu' tone ; " Aft, aft, 1 wake— 1 seldom sleep : But whae's this kens my name sae weil. And thus to mese* my waes does seik ?" Then out and spak' the gude Laird's Jock, " Now fear ye na, my billie," quo' he ; "For here are the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, And Hobbie Noble, come to set thee free." "Now haud thy tongue, my gude Laird's Jock, For ever, alas ! this canna be ; For if a' Liddesdale were here the night. The morn's the day that 1 maun die. "Full fifteen stane o' Spanish iron. They ha'e laid a' right sair on me ; "Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound Into this dungeon dark and dreirie." " Fear ye na' that," quo' the Laird's Jock "A faint heart ne'er wan a fair ladie ; Work thou within, we'll work without. And I'll be sworn we'll set thee free." The first strong door that they cam' at. They loosed it without a key ; The next chain'd door that they cam' at. They garr'd it a' to flinders flee. The prisoner now upon his back, The Laird's Jock has gotten up fu' hie ; And down the stairs, him, aims and a' Wi' nae sma' speid and joy, brings he. "Now, Jock, my man," quo' Hobbie Noble, " Some o' his weight ye may lay on me. " I wat weil DO i" quo' the Laii'd's ain Jock, "I count him lighter than a flee." Sae out at the gates they a' are gane. The prisoner's set on horseback hie ; And now wi' speid they've ta'en the gate. While Uk an e jokes fu' wantonlje : " O Jock ! sae winsomely's ye ride, Wi' baith your feet upon ae side ; Sae weel ye're harniest, and sae trig. In troth ye sit like ony bride I" The night, tho' wat, they did na mind. But hied them on fu' merrilie. Until they cam' to Cholerford brae,* Where the water ran like mountains hie. But when they cam' to Cholerford, There they met with an auld man ; Says — "Honest man, will the water ride r* TeU us in haste, if that ye can." "I wat weel no," quo' the gude auld man ; " 1 ha'e lived here thretty years and thrie. And 1 ne'er yet saw the Tyne sae big. Nor i-unning anes sae like a sea." * Cholerford brae — A ford upon the Ty r.e, above Hexham, ^ T'n.-^n out and spoke the Laird's saft Wat, The greatest coward in the cumpanie ; " Xow halt, now haltl we need na try't ; The day is come we a' maun die :" ■' Pair faint-hearted thief I" cried the Laird's ain Jock, " There'l nae man die but him that's fie ; ' I"il guide ys a' right safely thro' ; Lift ye the pris'ner on ahiut me." Vi'V 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-seijeant 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 weil 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 fiae thee." Sae now they are on to Liddesdale, E'en as fast as they could them hie ; The prisoner is brought to's aia fire-side. And there o's aims they mak' him free. ">"ow, Jock, my billie," quo' a" the three, " The day is com'd thou was to die ; But thou's as weil at thy ain ingle side, >'ow sittin;;, I think, "twist thee and me." Wziii: '^zllt. [" VTb 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- strongs made him for his faithful Krvices. f Halbert, or Ilobbie >'oble, appears to have b«n 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 oflacers of justice, by whom he was conducted to Carlisle, and executed next morning. The laird of Mangerton, with whom 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 Haynes, 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 ilaynes appears among the Armstrongs of Whitauch, in Liddes- dale, in the list of clans so often alluded to. Kershope-bum, where Hobbie met his trea- Fie— Predestined. t The original editor of the Reliques of Ancient Poetry has noticed the perfidy of this clan in another instance ; the delivery of the banished earl of Xorth- umberland into the hands of the Scottish regent, by Hector of Haie^aw, an Arm?trong, with whom he hail taken refuse.— Reliques o! Ancient Poetry, voL i. p. 2S3. — This Hector of Harelaw seems to have been ui Enjlishman, or under English as>urauce ; for he is one of those against whom bills were exhibited by the Scottish commissioners, to the lord-bishop of CarWle. — Introduction to the Histon. of Westmoreland and Cumberland, p. 81. In the 'list of borderers, 139T, Hector of Harelaw, with the Gnefs and Cuts of Han- law, also figures as an inhabitant of the Uebateable Land. It would appear, from a spirited invective in 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 hi* peaceable demeanour. The poet s.iys that the perfidy of Morton and Lochlevin was worse than even that of- — the traitonr Eckie of Harelaw, That s.iys he sould him to redeem his pledge : Your deed is war, as all the world doe» know — You nothing can but covatice a'.ledge. Pinkerton's Maitland Poems, vol. i. p. 290. Eckie ia the contraction of Hector among the x'hcse little memoranda m.iy serve still farther to illustrate the be.iuiiful ballads, upon that aobject, a^publiahed in the Kelique*. '^i« 3 I mil SCOTIISH BALLADS. cherous companions, fells into the Liddel, from ■^ the English side, at a place called Turnersholm, I -where, according to tradition, tourneys and garaes of chivalry were often solemnized. The Mains was anciently a border-keep, near Castle- I 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 Dorth-east of Carlisle, amidst that moun- tainous and desolate tract of country bordering upon Liddesdale, emphatically termed the Waste of Be weastle. Conscouthart Green, and Roderic- haugh, and the Foulbogshiel, are the names of places in the same wilds, through which the Scottish plunderers generally made their raids upon England ; as appears from the following passage in a letter from William, lord Bacre, to cardinal Wolsey, ISth July, 152S ; Appendix to Pinkerton's Scotland, v. 13, No. six. "Like it also your grace, seeing the disordour within Scotlaund, and that all the mysguyded men, borderers of the same, inhabiting within Eskdale, Ewsdale, Walghopedale, Liddesdale, and a part of Tividale, foranempt Bewcastelldale, and a part of the middle marches of this the king's bordours, entres not this west and middle marches, to do any attemptate to the king our said soverainc's subjects : but thaye come thorow Bewcastelldale, and retornes, for the most part, the same waye agayne." '■ Willera and Speir Edom are small districts in Bewcastledale, through which also the HartUe- ! burn takes its course. Of tlie castle of Slangertoune, so often men- ' tioned in these ballads, there are very few Tes- tiges. It was situated on the banks of the Liddel, below Casteltoun. In the wall of a neighbouring mill, which has been entirely built ' from the ruins of the tower, there is a remarka- I ble stone, bearing the arms of the lairds of ' Mangertoun, and a long broad-sword, with the ! figures 1583 ; probably the date of tuUding, or 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 EUiot. Such is the only memorial of the laird of Man- gertoun, except those rude ballads, which the editor now offers to the public] lC'J\ ^°^*- *"*' t^6 breast first treason bred fe/y That Liddesdale may safely say : \^^y For in it there was baith meat and d; #v;7^, -'^^^ «;o™ unto our geldings gav. And we were a' stout-hearted men. As England she might often say ; But now we may turn our backs and fl.e. Since brave Noble is sold away. Now Hobble was an English man. And born into Beweastle 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 Hobbie has graithed his body fair, Baith wi' the iron and w:' the steil ; And he has ta'en out his fringed grey, And there, brave Hobbie, he raJe him weel. Then Hobbie is down the water gane. E'en as fast as he could hie ; [hearts, Tho' a' should ha'e bursten and broken their Frae that riding tryst 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 lores not me. For I gat twa drifts o' his sheep ; The great earl of Whitfield ) loves me not, For nae geer frae me he e'er could keep. " But will ye stay till the day gae duw n. Until! the night come o'er the giuaJ, And 111 be a guide worth ony twa. That may in Liddesdale be found ? * Feres — Companions. ^ Earlqf Whitfield— The editor does not know who is here meant. It should perhaps be Ralph "V\'hitfield.— Sco«, BOEDER BALLADS. 3>;3 "Though the night be black as pick and tar, I'll guule ye o'er yon hill sae hie A nd bring ye a' in safety back. If ye'll be true, and follow me.'- He has guided them o'er moss and muir. O'er hill and hope, and mony a down ; I'ntil they came to the Foulbogshiel, And there, brave Xoble, he lighted do\vn. But word is gane to the land-seijeant. In Askerton where that he lay — " The deer, that ye ha'e hunted sae lang. Is seen into the Waste this day." " Then Hobbie Xoble is that deer ! I wat he carries the style fu' hie ; Aft has he driven our bluidhounds back,* And set ourselves at little lee. " Gar warn the bows of Hartlie burn ; See they sharp their arrows on the wa' ; Warn WUleva and Speir Edom, And see the mom they meet me a'. " Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh, And see it be by break o' day ; And we wiU on to Conscouthart-green, For there, I think, we'U get our prey." ' The russet bloodhound, wont, near Annand's Our ancient statutes inform us, that the blood- hound, or sluith-houud (so called from its quality of tracing the sljt, or track, of men and animals), was early used in the pursuit and detection of narauders. l\u!lusperturbet,aui impediat canem irassantem, out homines trassantes cum ipso, ad equendum latrones. — Regiam JIajestatem, Ub. 4tu3, cap. 35. And, so late as 1616, there was an order from the king's commissioners of the lorthem counties, that a certain number of slough-hounds should be maintained in every district of Cuiiiberland, bordering upon Scotland. I They were of great value, being sometimes sold j for a hundred crowns.— Exposition of Bleau's i Atlas, voce Jsithsdale. The breed of this saga- j cious animal, which could trace the human foot- step with the moit unerring accuracy, is now neiurly extinct. — ic««. Then Hobbie Noble has dreimit a dreim. In the Foulbogshiel, where that ht lay ; He dreimit his horse was aneith him shot. And he himsc-lf got hard away. The cocks could craw, the day could daw. And 1 wot sae even fell down the rain , Had Hobbie na wakened at that time. In the Foulbogshiel he had been ta'e:. .^r slain. " Awake, awake, my f.'res five 1 I true here makes a fu' ill day ; Yet the worst cloak o' this company, 1 hope, shall cross the Waste this day.- Now Hobbie thought the gates were cleiir But, ever alas ! it was na sae : They were beset by cruel men and keen. That away brave Hobbie might na gae. " Yet follow me, my feres five. And see ye kelp of me guid ray ; And the woi^t cloak o' this company Even yet may cross the Waste this day." But the land-serjeant's men came Holbie before. The traitor Sim came Hobbie behin'. So had Xoble been wight as W.%llace w:.s. Away, alas I he might na win. Then Hobbie had but a laddie's sworl ; But he did mair than a laddie's dte"evil, earl of Westmoreland, who, on the 15th of November, « fe " There we shall get gear enough. For there is nane but women at hani' : I The sorrowful fend that they can makt-. Is loudly cries i as they were slain." Then in at Rookhope-hcad they came. And there they thought tul a' had their pr y But they were spy'd coming over the Dry-ru', i Soon upon .Saint Nicholas" day. § ! Then in at Rookhope-head they came, ' They ran the furrst but a mile ; They gather'd together in four hours Six hundred sheep within a while. And horses I trow they gat. But either ane or twa, j And they gat them aU but ane I That belanged to great Rowley. That Rowley was the first man that did thei.i spy. ! With that he raised a mighty cry ; The cry it came down Eookhope-burn, And spread through Wcardale hastejly. Ti-.en word came to the bailif s house At the East-gat., where he did dwill ; f, 1569, at the head of their tenantry and others, took arms for the purpose of liberating Mary, queen of Scots, and restoring the eld religion. They besieged Bernard-castle, which was, for eleven days, stoutly defended by Sir Georju Bowes, who, afterward, bting appc inted tlie queen 's marshal, hanged the poor constables and peasantry by dozens in a day, to the amount of 800. The earl i f 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 su'.<- joet, in Percy's Collection, (i. 271, 281), .ind con- sider whether they be genuine.— fli7*o»«.—Sc.'/<. % This is sti.I the phraseology of Westmoreland; a foorti] man, a ><\flly day, and the hke.— iV.^/. § The 6th of December. II Nuw a straggling village so called; originally, it would seem, the pate-house, or ranger's lod.f.', at the cast entrance of Stanhope-park. Atsomt- 386 SCOTTISH BALLADS. D Ha was walk'd out to the Smale-burns, Which stands above the Hanging-well. * His wife was wae when she heard tell, So well she wist her husband wanted gear ; She gar'd saddle him his horse in haste, And neither forget sword, jack, f nor spear The bailif got wit before his gear came. That such news was in the land. He was sore troubled in his heart, That on no earth that he could stand. distance from this place is West-gate, so called f(ir a similar reason. — Ritson, " Th - mention of the bailiPs house at tlie East- ::ate is (were such a proof wanting) strongly indicative of the authenticity of the ballad. The family of Emerson of East-gatli, a fief, if I may so call it, held under the bishop, long exercised the office of bailiff of Wolsingham, the chief town and borough of Weardale, and of Forster, &c., under successive prelates; and the present bi- shop's gamekeeper and ranger within Weardale, may be said to claim his office by maternal descent, being Emerson Muschamp (another ancient name) and, though somewhat shorn of his beams, the lineal heir of the old bailiffs of Weardale. " Rob. Emerson Parcarius de Stanhopp 13 Aug. 7 Kob. Kevin Epi. " Cuthb. Emerson de Eastgat sub Forestar. Parci de Stanhopp 1 Wolsey. " Lease of the East-gate to Jlr George Emerson for 30 years, 10/. p. ann. 4. Ed. C. Bp. Tunstall. "Rob. Emerson de Eastgat. sede vacante p. depriv. Tunstall parear. Dne Regine. " Geo. et Ric. Emerson Ballivi de Wolsingham p. palens. 12 Sept. 1616, sicut Geo. RoUi vel EoUands Emerson olira tenuere." — Suriees. — Scoil. ' A place in the neighbourhood of East-gate, known at present, as well as the Dry-rig, or Smale-burns : being the property of Mr Robert Richardson, by inheritance, since before 1583 — Ritson. — Scott. t A jacket, or short coat, plated or instiched with small pieces of iron, and usually worn by 1 the peasantry of the border in their journeys [ from place to place, as well as in their occasional j skirmishes with the moss-troopers, who were most probably equipped with the same sort of | harness.— /ii7so't.—Sco«. His brother was hurt three days before. With limmer thieves that did him prick Nineteen bloody wounds lay him upon, What ferly was't that he lay sick ? But yet the bailif shrinked nought. But fast after them he did hye. And so did all his neighbours near. That went to bear him company. But when the bailif was gathered. And aU his company. They were number'd to never a man But forty under fifty. The thieves was numbered a hundred men, ' I wat they were not of the worst ; That could be choosed out of Thirhvall anl Willie-haver I trow they were the very first. ? But all that was in Rookhope-head, And all that was i' Nuketon-cleugh, Where Weardale-men o'crtook the thieves, And there they gave them fighting eneugti. So so;e they made them fain to flee. As many was a' out of hand, And, for tul have been at home again. They would have been in iron bands. And for the space of long seven years As sore they mightena' had their lives, But there was never one of them That ever thought to have seen their wi-,-ei. About the time the fray began, I trow it lasted but an hour. Till many a man lay weaponless, And was sore wounded in that stour. Also before that hour was done, Four of the thieves were slain, Besides all those that wounded were. And eleven prisoners there was ta'tn. George Carrick, and his brother Edie, Them two, I wot, they were both slain ; Harry Corbyl, and Lennie Carrick, Bore them company in their pain. ^ The reciter, from his advanced age, could not recollect the original line thus imperfectly 1 I r- sj^ supplied. — Ri BORDER BALLAD3. 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 "11 not depart "OTiile we have one :— Speed back 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, 2lf ever 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 foils 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, j belonging ofold to the Armstrongs. Intheaccount ■ betwixt the English and Scottish marches, Jock | and Geordie of Ca'field, there called Calfhill, are \ repeatedly marked as delinquents. — History of West)noreland and Cumberland ,vo\. i. Introduction, p. 33. " Jlettled John Hall, from the laigh Tiviot- dale," is perhaps John HallofXewbigging, men- tioned in the list of border clans, as one of the chief men of name residing on the middle marches , in 1597.— Scott.] ^ 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 thty '\A «.i;. . The youngest to the elder said, " Blythe and merrie how can we be •' There were three brithren of us bom. And ane of us is condemned to die." " An' ye wad be merrie, an' ye wad be sati, What the better wad billie Archie I ' - Unless I had thirty men to mysell. And a' to ride in my cumpanie. " Ten to hald the horses' beads. And other ten the watch to be. And ten to break up the strong priscr. . AYhere billy Archie ' he does lie." Then up and spak' him mettled John Hai., (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 hr) " Thirty men is few anew. And a' to ride in our cum.panie." There was horsing, horsing in haste. And there was marching on the kt ; Until they cam' to ilurraywhate, And tiiey lighted there right speedil.' . " A smith I a smith I" Dickie he cries. " A smith, a smith, right speedilie. To turn back the caukers of our horses' shcvM For it's unkensome t we wad be." " There lives a smith on the water sidi-. AVill shoe my little black mare for I'li : And I've a crown iu my pocket. And every groat of it 1 wad gie.' •' The night is mirk, and its verj- 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 Pr nit. ' z;i%— Brother. t t/nArenwme— Unknown. 383 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Sliame fa' you and your trade baith, 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 hoKing, horsing in haste. And there was marching upon the lee; T'ntil they cam' to Dumfries port. And they lighted there right fpeeuilie. ■' There's five 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 ?" O 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 : Be of gude cheir, now, dear billie ! AVork thou within, and we v.itbout, . And the morn thouse dine at Ca'field wi' me.' O Jcckie Hall stepped to the door, And he bended low back his knee ; And he made the bolts, the door hang on, lioup frae the wa' right wantonlie. He took the prisoner on his back, And down the Tolbooth stair cam' he ; The black mare stood ready at the door, I wot a foot ne'er stirred she. Tkey laid the links out ower her neck. And that was her gold twist to be ; § And they cam' do«-n thro' Dumfries toun. And wow but they cam' speedilie. The live lang night these twelve men rade, And aye till they were right wearie, Tntil they came to the JIurraywhate, And they lighted there right speedilie. "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." They had na filed a shackle of iron, A shaek:e of iron but barely thrie, When out and spak' young Simon brave, " O dinna ye see what I do see ? t Berf— Abet, aid. i i%su donot, [ful sight. I'll lay my best bonnet. Thou gets a new gade-man afore it be u'ght. Hoo away, lads, hoo away, Wi's a' be hangid if we stay. [the bigging : Tak' up the dead man, and lay him aner.t Here's the Bailey o' Haltw liistle, Wi' his great bull's pizzle, [pigifin. That supp'd up the broo", and s;. ne — iu th-r 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 hame. f * Pronounced Arvbony. t fValtonnng—iieUiiyrinn. [FiKST printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. — " This bt.iutiful ballad," says Scott, " is published from a copy in Glenriddeli'a 31SS., with some slight variations from tradi- tion. It alludes to one of the moat remar'^abie feuds upon the west-marches. In 1585, John, lord llaxwell, or as he styled himself, earl of Morton, having quarrelled with the earl ct Arran, reigning favourite of James VI., and fal- len, of course, under the displeasure of the court, was 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 hi use. Two bands of mercenaries, commanded by captains Cranstoun and Lammie, who were gent from Edinburgh to support Johnstone, were attackerl and cut to pieces at Crawford-muir, by Eobert 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 h:-r 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 ni>hed, that thi» Lamtuir (who was killed iu the skirmish) m.iy hive beeu the same miscreant, who, ia the days ol queen Mary » distresses, 'hea ensigne being of quhyt taffilae, hid painted on it ye cruell murther of king Henry, aud layed down before her majestie, at quhat time she pre- sented herseU as prisoner to ye lordio.'— Birrel's Uiarj . I June 15, 1567. It would be some satisfaction to know, II that the grey hairs of this worthy persoiu^e did not go " down to the grave in peace." 5;>0 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " By one of the revolutions common in those ^ liajs. Maxwell was soon after restored to the | king's favour, in his turn, and obtained the | wardenr.v 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 Jived 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 Blaxwell would not cordially embrace their f ause, 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 iiegemen; he, on the other hand, granting to them a bond of maintenance, or protection, by ■^ hich he bound himself, in usual form, to main- tain their quarrel against all mortals, saving his loyalty. Thus, the most powerful and respecta- lile families in Dumfries-shire became, for a time. The vassals of lord Max\vell. This secret alliance was discovered to Sir James Johnstone by the laird of Cummertrees, one of his own clan, rhough a retainer to Maxwell. Cummertrees -ven contrived to possess himself of the bonds of inanrent, 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 wan-iors among the border tribes.' "With Buccleuch also came the Elliots, Armstrongs, and Graemes. 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 rt-nowned in tradition, took place at the Drj-ffe .-'ands, 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 fW>m 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, Closeburn, 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 horror, pro- per to a barbarous age. " John, lord Maxwell, with whose Goodnight the reader is here presented, was son to him who fell at the battle of Drj-ffe Sands, and is said to liave 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, ho^^•ever, 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 Robert Maxwell, of Orehardstane (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 fouU 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 Shr Robert Max- well of Orchyardtoun, knight, presuming that y^^Tv-. "rf^- BOEDEE BALLADS. 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 special! 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 rebel! 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 pretenc^, 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 wit'u 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 vrith opprobrious and malicious speeches to Sir James his servant, "V\'illiam Johnstoune of Gun- menlie, and before he was aware shott him v.ith 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 tyine, and persued him farder, vowing to use hina 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 fuU 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 m.uch 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 seerrs 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 fire-raising, which, according to the ancient Scottish Law, if periietratcd 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, ar. 1 beheaded, 21st May, 1613. Sir Gideon Mur- if^ray, treasurer-depute, had a great share of h - forfeiture; but the attainder was .ifterwards n - versed, and the honours and the estate W(.r- conferred upon the broth-r of the deceased.— Laings History of Scotland, vol. I. p. ®. John- stoni Historia, p. 493. ; " The lady, n:entioned in the ballad, was sis- ter to the marquis of Hamilton, and, acconiir..- to Johnstone the historian, had little rrasun t.) regret being separated from her husband, whr = • 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 : ' as the active share, taken by the marquis ■•: Hamilton in favour of Maxwell, isacircumstane,- inconsistent with such a report. " Thus was finally ended, by a salutary exam- ple of severity, the ' foul debate' betwixt the Maxwells and Johnstones, in the course of whicii : j each family lost two chieftains : one dying of a I broken heart, one in the field of battle, one by assassination, and one by the sword of the ex>?- , cutioner. " It seems reasonable to believe, that the fo!- ! lowing ballad must have been written before the ■ death of lord Maxwell, in 1613 ; otherwise there I would have been some allusion to that event. It ■ m.ust therefore have been composed betwixt '. 160S and that period."] I " Adieu, madame, my mother de.nr, j But and my sisters three ! I Adieu, fair Eol>ert of OrcharJstane '. iMy heart is wae fnr thee. Adieu, the lily and the rose. The primrose fair to see : Adieu, my ladye, and only joy ! For I may not stay with thie. " Though I ha'e slain the Lord Johnstor. v. What care I for their feid ? My noble mind their wrath disJains : He was my father's deid. Both night and day I laboured oft Of him avenged to be ; But now I've get what lang I sru:?!i;. And 1 may not stay >vith thee. " .\dieu! Drumlaurig, false wert aye, And Closebum in a band ! The laird of Lag, frae my father that fled. When the Johnstone struck aff his band. SCOTTISH BALLADS. Tiey were three brethren in a band- Joy may they never see ! Tiieir treacherous art, and cowardly heart. Has twin'd my love and me. " Adiiu ! Dumfries, my proper place. But and Carlaverock fair! -\ liou ! my castle of the Thrieve, Wi' a' my buildings there: " Ailieu ! Lochmaben's gates sae fair, The Langholm-holm, where birks there be; Adieu ! my ladye, and only joy. For, trust me, I may not stay wi' thee. " Adieu ! fair Eskdale up and down, A^■here my puir friends do dwell ; Th^ bangister will ding them down, And will them sair compeU. 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, '• 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 ray dame. But I 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. Thpy drank the wine, they'did na spair. Even in that gude lord's sight— Sas now he's o'er the flcods sae gray. And Lord Maxwell has ta'en his Good- ©■^1? %K^% of Wampliicffi^. [" 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 celebr.ates the sliirmish, in 1593, betwixt the Johnstones and Crichtons, which led to the revival of the ancient quan-el betwixt Johnstone and Maxwell, and finally to : I the battle of Dryffe Sands, in which the latter i I lost his life. Wamphray is the name of a parish I in Annandale. Lethenhall was the abode of ': , Johnstone of AVamphray, and continued to be so till of late years. William Johnstone of ; Wamphray, called the Galliard, was a noted ; , freebooter. A place, near the head of Tiviot- ! I dale, retains the name of the Galliard's Faulds, I j (folds, ) being a valley where he used to secrete and I divide his spoil, with his Liddesdale and Eskdale 1 associates. His nom de guerre seems to have I been derived from the dance called the Galliard. I The word is still used in Scotland, to express an j active, gay, dissipated chai-acter.* Willie of the Kirkhill, nephew to the Galliard, and his aven- _ ger, was also a noted border robber. Previous I to the battle of Drjffe Sands, so often mention- I ed, tradition reports, that ilaxwell had offered i a ten -pound-land to any of his party, who should I 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 I should that day cut off the head or hand of lord Maxwell. Willie of Ku-khill, 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 au;ong the moun- tains on the confines of Kithsdale and Annan- dale. The Vi'ellpath is a pass by which the Johnstones were retreating to their fastnesses in * Cleveland applies the phrase in a \ety different manner, in treating of the assembly of Divines at Westminster, lS4i: And Selden is a Galliard by himself. And wel might be; there's moi-e divines in him, Than in all this their Je>vish Sanhedrim. Skelton, ia his railing poem against James IV terms him Sir SkjT Galyerd. BORDER BALLADS. 393 Aanandale. Eicklaw-holm is a place upon the Evan water, which falls into the Annan, below Moffat. "V^"a^lphray-gate was in those days an ale-house. With these local explanations, it is hoped the following ballad will be easily under- stood. •' From a pedigree in the appeal case of Sir James Johnstone of Westeraw, claiming the honours and titles of Annandale, it appears that the Johnstonts of Wamphray were descend- ed from James, sixth son of the sixth ban n of Johnstone. The male became extinct in 1657." — Scotts MitistreUy.] T-.vixT Girth -head and the Langwood end, Lived the Galliard, and the Galliard's men ; But and the lads of Leverhay, That drove the Crichton's geiir away. It is the lads of Lethenha', The greatest rogues amang them a' : Eut and the lads of Stefenbiggin, They broke the house in at the rigging. The lads of Fingland, and Helbeck-hill, They were never for good, but aye for ill ; •Twixt the Staywood bush and Langside-hill, They stealed the brucked cow and the branded bull. It is the lads of the Girth-head, The deil's in them for pride and greed ; For the Galliard, and the gay Galliard's men. They ne'er saw a horse but they made it their ain. The Galliard to Nithsdale is gane, 1 To steal Sim Crichton's winsome dun ; The Galliard is unto the stable gane. But instead of the dun, the blind he has ta'en. *' Now Simmy, Simmy of the Side, Come out and see a Johnstone ride ! Here's the bonniest horse in a' Nithsiue, And a gentle Johnstone aboon his hide." ■\ Simmy Crichton's mounted then. And Crichton has raised mony a ane; The Galliard trowed his horse had been wight. But the Crichtons beat him out o' sight. " O Simmy, Simmy, now let me gang. And I'll ne'er mair do a Crichton wrai - . O Simmy, Simmy, now let me be. And a peck o' gowd 111 give to thee ! " O Simmy, Simmy, now let me gang. And my wife shall heap it with her hand.'' But the Crichtons wad na let the Galliard Li But they hanged him hie upon a tree. think then 'Willie he was right wae, "When he saw his uncle guided sae ; " But if ever I live Wamphray to see, My uncle's death .ivenged shall be V Back to 'VN'amphray he is gane. And riders has raised mony a ane ; Saying—" My lads, if ye'll be true. Ye shall a' be clad in the noble blue." Back to 2fithsdale they have gane, And awa' the Crichtons' nowt ha'e ta'en ; But when they cam' to the AVellpath-head, The Crichtons bade them 'light and lead. And when they cam' to the Biddcs bum, The Crichtons bade them stand and turn ; And when they cam' to the Biddes str.md, The Crichtons they were hard at hand. But when they cam' to the Biddes law. The Johnstons bade them stand and draw : " AVe've done nae ill, we'll thole nae wrang, But back to W'amphray we will gang." And out spoke "Willie of the Kirkhill, " Of fighting, lads, ye'se ha'e your fill." And from his horse Willie he lap. And a bumiahed brand in his hand he tr..:. I Out through the Crichtons WiUie be ran, ' And dang them down baith horse and man ; j O but the Johnstones were wondrous rud« , When the Biddes burn ran three days tiu^d. " Xow, sirs, we have done a noble deed ; We have revenged the GiUliard's bleid : For every finger of the Galliard's hand, 1 vow this day I've killed a r..an." As soon as the Galliard the Crichton saw, j As they cam' in at Evan-head, Behind the saugh-bush he did draw ; I '^^ Rick -law holm they spread abread ; And there the Crichtons the Galliard hae ta'en, [j " Drive on, my lads ! it will be late ; Ani nane wi' him but Willie alane. ^ We'll ha'e a pint at Waniphray gate. 094 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 9^ " For where'er 1 gang or eer 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 ir.en." )Mt|)tffiW'^ Mlitg€« [Tne following beautiful fragment was taken lown by Mr Surtees, from the recitation of Anne Douglas, an old woman, who weeded in his gar- ilen. It is imperfect, and the words within brackets were inserted by my correspondent, to suipply such stanzas as the chauntress's mem.ory 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 l,".id not in holy ground, but beside the burn. The name of B.'>.rthram, 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 Eig, 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 .Vorthumbrian. They certainly did bury in for- mer days near the Kine-Stane Burn ; 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.— iHe»sIy weel-riuJen gelding, and a white quey. But a toom byre and a \vide. And the twelve nogs on ilka side. Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a". My gear's a' gane. ■\Veel may ye ken. Last night 1 was right scarce o' men : But Toppet Hob C the Mains had guesten'd in my house by chance ; I set him to wear the fore-door wi' the speir, while I kept the back door wi' the lance ; But they ha'e run him through the thick o' the thie, and broke his knee-pan, And the nierghf o' his shin bane has run down on his spur leather whang : He's lame while he lives, and where'er he may gang. Fy lads : shout a' a' a' a' a". My gear's a" gane. But Peenye, my gude son, is out at the Ha^- but-head. His e'en gUtteritig for anger like a fiery glced; Crying—" Mak' sure the cooks Of Maky's-muir crooks ; For the wily Scot takes by nooks, hooks, and crooks. Gin \xe meet a' together in a head the mom, We'll be merry men." Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a'. My gear's a' gane. There's doughty Cuddy in the Heugh-hca.I, Thou was aye gude at a need : With thy brock-skin bag at thy belt, Aye ready to mak' a puir man help. Thou maun awa' out to the cauf-craigs, (Where anes ye lost your ain twa naigs) And there toom thy brock-skin bag. ' Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a" a'. My gear's a taen. Doughty Dan o' the Houlet Hirst, Thou was aye gude at a hirst : Gude wi' a bow, and better wi' a speir. The bauldest marck-man that e'er follow^ i gear; Come thou here. Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', My gear's a' gane. Rise, ye carle coopers, frac making o" kiriis and tubs. In the N'icol forest woods. f Your craft has na left the value cf an oa's rod. But if you had had ony fear o' God, Last night ye had na slept s.ae sound. And let my gear be a' ta'en. Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', My gear's a' ta'en. Ah ! !ads, we'll fong them a' in a net ! For I ha'c a' the fords o' Liddel set ; ; yngs — Stakes. ' The badger-skin pouch was used for carrj ini; amm unition. — Scott. t A wood in Cumberland, tuated.— Sco«. which ^^uport t Mergh—liaxioyr. i Watching fords was a ready mode of int'.r- ;ceptiog the marauders; the names of the most 300 SCOTTlr H BALLADS. The Dunkin and the Door-loup, The Willie-ford, and the Water-Slack, The Black-rack and the Trout-dub of Lid- del ; There stands John Fovster wi' five men at his back, Wi' buft coat and cap of steil : Boo ; ca' at them een, Jock ; That ford's sicker, I wat weil. Fy lads i shout a" a' a' u' a'. My gear's a' ta'en. Hog ! hoo ! gare raise the Eeid Souter, and Ringan's Wat, Wi' a broad elshin and a wicker ; I wat weil they'll mak' a ford sicker. Sae whether thty be Elliots or Armstrangs, Or rough riding Scots, or rude Johnstones, Or whether they be frae the Tarras or Ewa- dale^ They n-.aun turn and fight, or try the deeps o' Liddel. Fy lads ! shout a' a' a' a' a', Jly gear's a' t;ve:i. " Ah 1 but they will play you another jigg, Fi r 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 Yv'at, 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 iu this verse. — Scott. * Fergus Grame of Sowport, as one of the chief men of that clan, became security to Lord !>croope for the good behaviour of his friends and dependants, 8th January, 1662. — Introduc- tion to History of "Westmoreland and Cumber- laud, p. 111.— ScoW. 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 Kioholson's Border Laws, and Lord Wharton's Regulations, in the 6th of Edward VI. Of the blood -hound we have said something in the notes on Hobble Noble ; but we may, in ad- dition, refer to the following poetical description of the qualities and uses of th:vt singular 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' My ge;u''a a' ta'en. Ha ! boys— I see a party appeal yon ? 3K'lhinks it's the captain of Bev Jephtha's John, ^ ing — wha'i castle, ai!^: ' Upon the banks Of Tweed, slow winding tin ougli the vale, tlie teat Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew The sv.-eets of peace, or Anna's dread commands To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awed, There dwelt a pilfering race, well train'd and bkiil'a In all the mysteries ot theft, the spoil Tlieir only substance, feuds and war their sport. Not more expert in every IVaudful art The arch felon was ot old, who by the tail Drew back his lowing prize : in vain his wiles, In vain the shelter of ibe covering rock. In vain the sooty cloud and ruddy Hames, 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, tlie ford the Then, prowling far and near, whate'er they seize Becomes their prey : nor flocks nor herds are safe, Nor stalls protect the steer, nor strong ban'd doors Secure the favourite horse. Soon as the morn Keveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan The plunder'd owner stands, and from his lips A thousand thronging curses burst their way. He calls his stout allies, and in a Une His faithful hounds he leads; then with a voice That utters loud his rage, attenli\ e cheers. Soon the sagacious brute, his C-ul.ng tail Flourish'd in air, low bending, plies around His busy nose, the steaming vapour snutfs Inquisitive, nor le.ives one tuif untried : Till, conscious of the recent stains, his heart i Beats quick, his snuffling nose, his active tail. Attest his joy; then, with deep- opening mouth I 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 wateiy ford, Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hills. O'er beaten tracks, with men and beast distain'd, TJnen-ing he pursues : till, at the cot Arrived, and seizing by his guilty throat The caitiif vile, redeems the captive prey : So exquisitely delicate his sense ! Symerville's Chase. \ i According to the late Glenriddell's notes on * this ballad, the oflSce 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.— .St o«. >,C-2'^,.rf^ >^^^ '^^Kxf^} BORDER BALLADS. 3 (j y ming down by the foul steps of Catlowdic's^ in possession of his estate about 1250; «o 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 oilier-strand. And the rauckle toun-bell o' Carlisle is rung ; My gear was a' weel won. And befor.» it's carried o'er the border, mony a man's ?ae down. Fy lads I shout a' a' a' a' a', My gear's a' gane. %yiX\ JMaitlanti, [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 3Ir James Hogg. She learned the ballad from a blind man, who died at the advanced age of ninety, and is said to have been posseted 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 modem bahad-raaker. 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 bailad 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 Jfusgrave, who had charge of the watch along the Cryssop, or Kershope, as appears from the order of the watches appointed by Lord WTiar- ton, when deputy-warden-general, in the 6th Edward YL— Scott. Sj he survived the commencement of the wars Y^- twixt England and Scotland, in 1296, hi« prowess against the English, in defence of his caatle of Lauder or Thirlstane, must have been exerted daring his extreme old age. He seems to have been distinguished for devotion as well as valour ; for, A. D. 1349, Dominus Ricardus de Mautlant gave to the abbey of Dryburgh, " Terras suas de Haubentside, in territorio suo de Thirlestane, pro salute aniir.se sasa, et sponsie su.-c, antecesso- rum suorum et suecessorum suorum, in perpe- tuum." He also gave, to the same convent, " Omnes terras, qaas 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 Litter authority, that only one survived him, who was thenci; sumamed 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 Richarl, ratified and confirmed, to the Monks of Dry- burgh, "Omncs 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 situate^l 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 LauJerd.-iI , occupies the site of the ancient castle, I do n. t know ; but it still merits the epithet of a dark - some house. 1 find no notice of the siege in his- tory : but there is nothing improbable in suppo.=- ing, that the castle, during the stormy perio.! - of the sorj is preserved in Scot- i laud by two trilling circumstances. The name i given to an oblong hay-stack, is a hay-sow ; 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. 3Iy companions, at the High School of Edinburgh, will remember what ■was meant by herrying a soruie. It is strange to i find traces of military antiquities in the occupa- 1 tion of the husbandman and the sports of chil- ' dren. The pitch and tar-barrels of ilaitland were in- . tended to consume the formidable machines of ! the English. j The springalds, us«d in defence of the castle j of Lauder, were halUtce, or large cross-bows, ' wrought by machinerj-, and capable of throwing i stones, beams, and huge darts. They were j numbered among the heavy artillery of the age ; i " 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, springalls, 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. lOS. 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, Full fifteen days that braid host lay, Sieging AuIJ Maitlaod 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 ladi; with as much s^oil As they could bear away. " England's our aln by heritage ; And what can us withstand, >row we hae conquer'd fair Scotland, V\'ith buckler, bow, and brand ?" Then they are on to the Lind o' FrariC=. Where auld king Edward lay. Burning baith castle, tower, and tow... That he met in his way. Untill he came unto that town, Which some call Billop-Grace ; ' There were Auld Maitland's sjhs, a' thrct, Learning at school, alas I The eldest to the youngest s.iid, "0 see ye what I see ? Gin a' be trew yon standard says, f We're fetherlesse a' three. " For Scotland's conquer'd, up and duwu Landmen we'll never be : guns, though these became so common in tlie 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 crest= for helmets, were first seen by the Scottish, in their skirmishes with Edward the Third's hust, 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 Scotlai:d to France, excites a suspicion that some verses may have been lost in this place. — ScoH. I Edward had quartered the arms of Scotland ■^^^-gr^/^''- --<' _>-. e:c;'»^^ ^-^ 400 SCOTTISH BALLAD?. Now, will ye go, my brethren two. And try some jeopardy?"* Thon they ha'e saddled twa black horsp, Twa black horse, and a Krey ; 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 — " AVilt 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, j nnd 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 nmiance of Erec and Eneide, that an adventure, the accf ss 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 Coiir. 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 his spurs ; 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 l>ecame conspicuous. These chains are noticed in the romance of Jeliati de Saintre. In the language of German chivalry, they were called Ketten des Gelubdes (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 bis 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. t In all ages, and in almost all countries, the military stand.^.rdshave been objects of respect to Where was thou bred ? where was thou born ? A^Tiere, or in what country ?" the soldiery, whose duty it is to range beneath ( them, and, if necessary, to die in their defence. In the ages of chivalry, these ensigns were dis- tinguished by their shape, and by the various ' names of b.-inners, pennons, penoncelles, &c., according to the number of men who were to fight under them. They were displayed, on the day of battle, with siii-ular so 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, 1 thanke God and you, I have land and heritage sufiyciente 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 pyle 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, aadyoures ; kepeitasyourowne." 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 handes f of a good English? squyer, called William Alei-j', \ who bare it that day, and acqua\tted himself ( right nobly."— Froissart, vol. I. ch. 23". 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 con;- batants, on each side, were engaged in th- att-ick and defence of the banner of the captall ot 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 v many gret strokes given, with good axes of steel, t that it was wonder to behold." The battle did I not cease untill the captall's standard was taken J ? and torn to pieces. ^ BOEDEE BALLADS. •10 I " 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 crowne." " He ne'er came of an Englishman, Had sic an e'e or bree But thou art the likest Auld Maitlanil, 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 ! 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. " >fow, is't na time, brothers," he cried, " Now, is't na time to flee ?" " Ay, by my sooth !" they baitb 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. Till back the lave did stand. "VN'e learn, from the following passage in Stowe's Chronicle, that the standard of Edward vas a golden dragon. " The king entred Wales with an army, 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 .oucdtd and wearied might repair." — Scott. ' Stratagems such as that of Slaitland, were frequently practised with success, in consequence of the complete armour worn by the knights of the middle ages. — Scott. He spurr'd the grey into the path. Till baith his sides they bled— . " Grey ! thou maun carry me away. Or my Lfe lies in wad." The captain lookit ower the wa". About the break o' day ; There he beheld the throe Scots lads. Pursuing along the way. " Pull up portcullize ! down draw-brig,' ! My nephews are at hand ; And they sail lodge wi' me to-night, In spite of all England." Whene'er they came within the yatc. They thrust their horse them frae, t And took three lang spears in their hands Saying, " Here sail come nae mae !" 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 Uiy. The king, at his pavilion door, Was heard aloud to say, " Last night, three o' the lads o' France My standard stole away. " Wi' a fause tale, disguisetl, they Cftnie, And wi' a fauscr 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. Reproved s;ill he be.- t " The lord of Hangcst (pursued by the En- glish) came so to the barrjTS (of Vandonnc) that were open, as his happc was, and so entred in therat, and than toke his speare, and turned him to defence, right valianUy."— Eroissart, vol. I. cliap. 307.— Scort. 2c ^1/ ^ 402 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He went before king Edward strait. And kneel'd low on his knee ; " I wad ha'e leave, my lord," he said, " To speak a word wl' thee." The king he turn'd him round about, And wistiia what to say — Quo' he, " JIan, thou's ha'e leave to speak, Though thou should speak a' day." " Ye said, that three young lads o' France Your standard stole away, Wi' a fause tale, and fauser trayue. And mony men did slay : " But we are nane the lads o' France, ]S or e'er pretend to be ; TVe are three lads o' fair Scotland, Auld Maitland's sons are we ; " Nor is there men, in a' your host, Daur fight us three to three." " Now by my sooth," young Edward said, " Weel fitted ye sail be ! " Piercy sail with the eldest fight, And Ethert Lunn with thee ; Willwm of Lancaster the third. And bring your fourth to me ! " Kemember, Piercy, aft the Scot* Has cow'rd beneath thy hand : For every drap of JIaitland blood, I'll gi'e a rig of land." He clanked Piercy ower the head, A deep wound and a sair. Till the best blood o' his bodie Cam' rinning down his hair. " Now I've slayne ane ; slay ye the twa ; And that's gude companye; And if the twa suld slay ye baith, Ye'se get na help frae me." f * The two first lines are modem, to supply an imperfect stanza. — Scolt. t According to the laws of chivalry, laws which were also for a long time observed iu duels, when two or more persons were engaged on each side, he, who first conquered his immediate antago- nist, was at liberty, if he pleased, to come to the I assistance of his companions. The play of the - But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear. Had many battles seen ; He set the youngest wonder sail-, TUl the eldest he grew keen — " I am nae king, nor nae sic thing : My word it shanua stand !i For Ethert sail a buffet bide. Come he beneath my brand." He clankit Ethert ower the head, A deep wound and a sair, TUl the best blood of his bodie Cam' rinning ower his hair. " Now I've slajTie twa ; slaye ye the ant , Is na that gude companye ? And though the ane suld slay ye baith, Ye'se get na help C me." The twa-some they ha'e slayne the ane ; They maul'd him cruellie ; § Then hung them over the draw-brigg. That all the host might see. Little French Lawyer turns entirely upon this circumstance ; and it maybe remarked through- out the poems of Boiardo and Ariosto : particu- larly in the combat of three Christian and three Pagan champions, in the 42d canto of Orlando Furioso. But doubtless a g.allant knight was often unwilling, like young Blaitland, to avail himself of this advantage. Something of this kind seems to have happened in the celebrated combat, fought in the presence of James II. at Stirling, 1449, between three French, or Flemish, warriors, and three noble Scottishmen, two of whom were of the house of Douglas. The reader will find a literal translation of Oliver de \n Marcbe's account of this celebrated tourney, in Pinkerton's History, vol. I. p. 428.— Scort. " t ^Maitland's apology for retracting his pro- mise to stand neuter, is as curious as his doing so is natural. The unfortunate John of France ■was wont to say, that, if truth and faith were banished from all the rest of the universe, they should still reside in the breast and the mouth of kings. — Scott. § This is a vulgar sound, but is actually a phrase of romance. Taut frappant et maillent lex deux vassaux I'un »ur I'autre, que leurs heaumes, et leurs hauberts, sont tons castez et rompiiz, — La fleur des Battailes. — Scott. BOEDER BALLADS. i03 1 hey rade their horse, tliey ran their horse. Then hovered on the lee ; * " AVe be three lads o' fair Scotland, That fain would fighting see." Zhii boasting when young Edward heard. An angry man was he I • I'll t-Ji' yon lad, I'll bind yon lad. And bring him bound to thee !" •• Now, God forbid," King Edward said, " That ever thou suld try ! Three worthy leaders we ha'e lost. And thou the fourth wad lie. '• Ii thou shculd'st hang on you 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, i)r barriers, of the town. The former, as the more desperate rlace 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 Nithisdale, upon the draw -bridge of the town of Carlisle, consisting cf 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. 51. 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 inhabitints of a besieged town to this sort of contest, was highly fashionable in the middle aces ; 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 the middle ages, as well in single combat as in battle. " And also there was a younge baehe- , lor, ealled Bertrande of Glesguyne, who, duryng } the seige, fought wyth an Englyshman called Sir The first stroke that young Edward g He struck wi' might and mayn ; He clove the ilaitlan's helmet stout, And bit right nigh the brayn. "V^Tien Maitland saw his ain blood (a An angry man was he '.i He let his weapon frae him fa' ; And at his throat did flee. And thrice about he did him swinf. Till on the grund he light. Where he has halden young Edward, Though he was groat 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 thej-me \\-ythyii , and they wythout." This happened at the sieL^t.- of Eennes, by the Duke of Lancaster, in 1357. — Froissart, vol. I. cap. 175. Witli the same w ta- pon Godfrey of Harcourt long defended himseli, when surprised and defeated by the French. " And Sir Godfraye's men keptc no good array, nordyd nat as they had promysed; moost part of theyme fledde; whan Sir Godfraye sawe that, he sayde tohymselfe, how he had rather there le .slayne than be taken by the Frenchmen ; ther. he toke hys axe in hys handes, and set fast tiiv one legge before the other, to stonde the inort. surely; for hys one legge was a lytcU crooked, but he was strong in the armes. Ther he fought valyantly and long: none durste well abyde by^s strokes ; than two Frenchmen mounted on thejr horses, and ranne both with their speares at ones at hyni, and so bare him to the yerth ; thai, other, that were a-fote, came wj th thejT swerdes . and strake hym into the body, under his hamcy.-, so that ther he was slayne." — Ibid. chap. 17i. The historian throws Sir Godfrey into a striking attitude of desperation. — Scott. ^ There is a saying, that a Scottishman fights best after seeing his own blood. Camcranus ha* contrived to hitch this foolish proverb into .%. n.ation.il compliment ; for he quotes it ns an in- stance of the persevtriug gallantry of his ccar- tr)-men. " Si in pugna proprium effundi san?u> nem vidissent, non statim prostrato anirao ci :, - cedebant, sed ixato potius in hoetes velut furt- n- ' tes omnibus viribus incurrehant." — ScoH, w " Kow let him up," King Edward cried, " And let him come to me ! And for the deed that thou hast done. Thou Shalt ha'e erldomes three !" " Its ne'er be said in France, nor e'er In Scotland, when I'm hame, That Edward once lay under me. And e'er gat up again 1"^ He pierced him thro' and thro' the heart; He maul'd him cruellie ; Then hung him ower the draw-hrigg. Beside the other three. " Now, take frae me that feather-bed : JIake 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 be, I never niair suld gang frae hame. Till borne on a bier-tree." • Some reoiters repeat it thus; " I'Uat Englishman lay under me" wliich is in the time spirit of Blind Harry, who makes Wallace say, '■ I like better to see the sotitlieroii die, Tliau gold or land, tliat they can gi'e to lue." In slaying Edward, Maitland acts pitilessly, 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 spears 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 prisoner, 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 ["Sir Ralph EvRn, or E\^Tie, or Evcrs, commemorated in the following lines, was one the bravest men of a military race. He was sju of the first, and father of the second Lord Ewrie ; and was himself created a lord of parliament during his father's lifetime, in the 3Dth year of Henrj' Till. The ballad is apparently a strain of gratulation upon that event. The poet, or more probably the reciter, has made some confusion in the lineage, by declaring that his hero was " married upon a Willoughbe." His m.other, however, was of that family, and he was " kin to the Kevil 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 Jlers 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 Kichard Surtees, Esq. of Mainsforth, from the recitation of Rose 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."— Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.} Lord Ewrie was as brave a man, As ever stood in his degree ; The king has sent him a broad letter. All f jr his courage and loyalty, f Lord Ewrie is of a gentill blode, A Unighte'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 Nejara, 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 dreiv it out, and struck this Martyne so in the 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 *o better capten there was seen. I He led the men of Bisfaopricke, I \Vlien Thomas Euthal bore the sway ; j The the Scottish Habsf were stout and true, ! The English bowmen wan that day. j 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. j The country then lay in great peace, ; And grain and grass was sown and won ; | Then plenty fiUed the market crosse, | Vr'heu Lord Ewrie kept Berwick town. I Vvith our queen's brother he hath been, i And rode rough shod through Scotland of late ; ; They have burned the Mers and Tiviotdale, | And knock fuU loud at Edinburgh gate. \ Now the king hath sent him a broad letter, A lord of parliament to be ; It were well if every noblem-in 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- dsnfield, 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 command of lord Home, made an excursion into >'orthumber!and, previous to the battle of Flod- den. He is mentioned in the Metrical History c!' the battle, v. 105, &c. In the present ballad, ■' he is erroneously denominated Sir Ealph Bulmer. Scott. t Bubs — contracted for Ealbert, or Hubbie, oucs a common name in Scotland. — Scott. i^ The carl of Hartford, afterwards duk^ of ) Somerset, and brother of queen Jane Seymour, ) made a furious incursion into Scotland, in 15i5. Scoff. 405 i5o|)nie of ^xeaWUt, [" Thb hero of this ballad appears to hare been an outlaw and deer-stealer — probably one of the broken men residing up in the torder. There are several different copies, in one of which the principal personage is called Johnie of Cockielaw. The stanz.13 of greatest merit have been selected from each copy. It is sometimes said, that this outlaw possessed the old castle of Morton, in Dumfriesshire, now ruinous: — 'Near to this castle there was a park, built by Sir Thomas Randolph, on the face of a very (freat and high hill ; so artificially, that, by the advantage of the hill, all wild beasts, such as deers, harts, and roes, and hares, did easily leap in, but could not get out again ; and if any other cattle, such as cows, sheep, or goats, did voluntarily leap in, or were forced to do it, it is doubted if their owners were permitted to get them out again.' — Account of Presbytery of Penpont, apud Macfarlace's SISS. Such a paik would fonn a convenient domain to an outlaw's castle, and the mention of DurrisJeer, a neighbouring parish, adds weight to the tradition, I have seen, on a mountain near Callendar, a sort of pinfold, composed of immense rocks, piled upon each other, which, I was told, was anciently constructed for the above-mentioned purpose. The mountain is thence called Vah var, or the Cove of the Giant." Border iliruirelty.] JoHME rose up in a May morning, Called for water to wash his hands— " Gar loose to me the gude graie dogs That .are bound wi' iron bands." When Johnie's mother gat word o' that, Her hands for dole she wrang — " U Johnie ! for my benison. To the greenwood dinna gang ! " Eneugh ye ha'e o' gude wheat bread. And eneugh o" the b!ude-red wine ; And, therefore, for nae renison, Johnie, 1 pray ye, stir frae hame." But Johnie's busk't up his gude bend Jjow, His arrows, ane by ane ; And he has gane to Durriideer ';■ To hunt the dun deer down. a ^ 406 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^'d' 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 ; Hut, atween tiie water and the brae. His hounds they laid her pride. ^ Cut up and spak' the sixth forester, 1 1 (His sister's son was he) 1 1 "If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, I We soon shall gar him dee !" weel. And Johnie has bryttledf the deer i That he's had out her liver and lungs ; A nd 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 C 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 ! Por he's awa' to Hislinton, AVhere the seven foresters did lie. " What news, what news, ye gray-headed What news bring ye to me?" [carle, "I bring nae news," said the gray-headed " Save what these eyes did see. [carle, " As I came down by Merriemass, And down amang the scroggs.i 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 Lincome twine. ' The buttons tiiat were on his sleeve ^^ j Were o' the goud sae gude ; ■-^^j 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' — W-=J " If this be Johnie o' Breadislee, L,/o/) >'ae nearer will we draw." fC°d) ' Ling— he'IE OF BEAIDISBAJXK. LThe following fragments are given by Mother- well. They appear to belong to an older copy of tlie preceding ballad.] JoHxiE rose up in a May morning, CaUed for water to wash his hands hands ; And he is awa' to Braidisbanks, To ding the dun deer do'mi down. To ding the dun deer down. Johnie lookit east and Johnie lookit west. And its lang before the sun sun ; And there did he spy the dun deer lie. Beneath a bush of brume brume. Beneath a bush o' brume. Johnie shot, and the dun deer lap. And he's woundither in the side side; Out then spake his sister's son, " And the neist will lay her pride pride. And the neist wUl lay her pride." They've eaten sae meikle o' the gudeyenison. And they've drunken sae mucUe o' the Mude blude. That they've fallen into as sound a sleep As gif that they were dead dead. As gif that they were dead. " Its doun, and its doun, and its doun doun. And its doun amang the scrogs scrogs ; And there ye'U espy twa bonnie boys he. Asleep amang their dogs dogs. Asleep amang their dogs." They waukeued Johnie out o' his sleep. And he's drawn to him his coat coat ; " My fingers five save me alive. And a stout heart fail me not not. And a stout heart fail me notl" [This is a contribution by the Eev. John Mar- riott, A. M., to the Border Minstrelsy.—" The hero of this ballad," says Sir Walter, " was a 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 KUiota could dispute. He lived at the Stubholm, imme- diately below the junction of the Wauchope and the Eske; and there distinguished himself so much by zeal and assiduity in his professional duties, that at length he found it expedient to emigrate, his neighbours not having learned from Sir John Falstaff, ' that it is no sin for a man to labour in his vocation." He afterwards became a celebrat- ed jester in the English ci^urt. In more m.odern times, he might have found a court iu which his virtues would have entitled him to a higher station. He was dismissed in disgrace in the year 1637, for his insolent wit, of which the fol- lowing may serve as a specimen. One day, when archbishop Laud was just about to say grac« before dinner, Archie begged permission of the king to perform that office in his stead ; and having received it, said, ' All praise to God, and Uttle Laud to the deil.' The exploit detailed in this ballad has been preserved, with many others of the same kind, by tradition, and is at this time current in E=kdale."] As Archie passed the Brockwood leys. He cursed the blinkau mooD, For shouts were borne upo' the breeze Frae a' the hills aboon. A herd had marked his lingering pace. That e'enin' near the fauld. And w.irned his fellows to the chace. For he kenn'd him stout and bauld. A light shone frae Gilnockie tower; He thought, as he ran past, — " O Johnie ance was stiff in stour. But hangit at the kist !"— His load was heavy, and the way Was rough, and ill to find ; But ere he reached the Stubholm brae His foee were t»i behind. m Ue clanib the trae, and frae his br The drapa fell fast and free ; And when he heard a loud halloo, A waefu' man was he. O'er his left shoutlier, towards tlie niuir. An anxious e'e he cast; And oh ! when he stepped o'er tlie door. His wiie she looked aghast. " 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."— " Nov/ baud your tongue, ye prating wife. And help me as ye dow ; I wad be laith to lose my life For ae poor sii;y yowe."— They stript awa' the skin afif ban :, AVi' a' the woo' aboon. There's ne'er a flesher i' the land Had done it half sae soon. They took the haggis-bag and heart, The heart but and the liver ; Alake, that sicean a nobie part Should win intuU the river ! But Archie he has ta'en them a'. And wrapt them i' the skin ; And he has thrown them o'er the wa'. And sicht whan they fell in. The cradle Stan's by the ingle toom. The bairn >vi' auntie stays ; They elapt the carcase in its room. And smoored it wi' the claos. And down sat Archie daintilio. And rocked it wi' his hand ; Sicean a rough nourice as he Vi'as 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 '. " Aft ha'e ye thinned our master's herds. And elsewhere cast the blame ; Now ye may spare your wilie words. For we have traced ye hanie."— " Your sheep for warlds I wadua take ; Deil ha'e me if I am lying ; But baud your tongues for mercie's s^ike. The bairn's just at the dying. " If e'er I did sae fause a feat. As tliin my neebor's faulds. May I be doomed the flesh to eat This vera cradle halds ! " But gin ye reck na what I swear. Go search the biggin thorow. And if ye find ae trotter there. Then hang me up the morrow." — 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. And what to think they couldna tell. They glowred at ane anither ,— " Sure, Patie, 'twas the dei! himsel' That ye saw rinning hither. " Or aiblins Maggie's ta'en the yowe,' And thus beguiled your e'e." — " Hey, Robbie, man, and like enowo. For I ha'e nae rowan tree."— Awa' they went wi' muckle haste, Convinced 'twas Maggie Brown ; And Maggie, ere eight days were past. Got mair nor ae new gown. Then Archie turned him on his heel. And gamesomelie did say, — " I didna think that half sae weel The nourice 1 could play." * There is no district wherein witches seem to have maintained a more extensive, or more re- cent influence than in Eskdale. It is not long V 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.— Scort. BORDER BALLADS. 400 Q An. I Archie didna break his aith. He ate the cradlt-d sheep ; 1 trow he wasna very laith diccan a vow to keep. And aft sinsyne to England's kin? The story he has told ; And aye when he 'gan rock and sing Charlie his sides wad hold. ;King of the Border, and som-jtinaes the King of Thieves. A path through the mountains, wiiioh separate the vale of Ettrick from the head of Yam.w, is still called the A'i»<-i Rood, and (/2^"\ seems to have beon the mute whi-h he followed. /^^ ^ The remains of the tower of Tushielaw are jct ( .^t^ visible, overhanging the wild banks of tho C^J Ettrick ; and are an object of terror to the b-- i*^"^^ flighted peasant, from an idea of their bein^r % = W haunted by spectres. Fronn these heights, and '"^^^ through the adjacent county of Peebles, passes a /'^J= I wild path, called still the Thi.-fi Road, frciii \ r ^ [" This frag;ment, obtained from recitation in j the Forest of Ettrick, is said to relate to the ex- j ' ecuticn of Cockbume of Heuderland, a torder 1 1 freebooter, hanged over the gate of his o%vii ' ' tower, b} James Y., in the course of that memo- i ruble expedition, in 1529, which was fatil to ' Johnie Annstrang, Adam Scott of Tushielaw, ; and many other marauders. The vestiges of the ! castle of Henderiand are still to be traced upon the farm of that name, belonging to Mr Murray of Henderland. They are situated nearthe mouth of the river Meggat, which falls into the lake of .St Mary, in Selkirkshire. The adjacent country, which now hardly bears a single tree, Ls cele- brated by Lesly, as, in his time, affording shelter to the largest stags in .Scotland. A mountain ' torrent, called Henderland Bum, rushes impe- : j 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 i-xecution of her husband; and a place, culled the Lady's Sea*, is still shown, where she is said I to have striven to drown, amid the roar of a j foaming cataract, the tumultuous noise, which .j announced the close of his existence. In a I deserted burial-place, which once surrounded ! the chapel of the castle, the monument of CocU- ! lorne and his lady is still shown. It is a Uirge I stone, broken in three parts; but some armorial 1 bearings may yet be traced, and the following inscription is stiU legible, though defaced : | , ' He£e lvbs Perys of Cokbubke aj>d his I ■ WVPZ MARJORY.' Ij "Tradition says, that Cockburne was surprised I by the king, while sitting at dinner. After the ' execution, James marched rapidly forward, to '! surprise Adain Scott of Tushielaw, called tbcWi border."— Sco«'« Minilretsy.'\ IIy 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 nigiu. Who brake my bower, and slew my kiiigbt. He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; He slew my knight, and poin'J his gear ; My servants all for life did flee. And left me in extreniitie. I sew'd his sheet, making my mane ; I watched the corpse, myself alane ; I watched his body, night and day ; >o living creature came that way I took his body on my back. And whiles I gaed, and whiles 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 he.»rt was sair, "When I laid the moul' on his yellow hiiir . O think na ye my heart was wae, AVhen I turn'd about, away to gae - Nae living man I'll love again. Since that my lively knight b slain; ■Wi* ae lock of his yellow hair 1"U chain my heart for evermair. "5 ^^1 i ^S^ ^ < — -^. ' -^-y 410 SCOTTISH BALLADS. [" The Grfemes were a powerful ana 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 Strathcrne. In military 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 for each other's peaceable demeanour; from which bond, their numbers appear to have exceeded four hundred men.— See Introduction to I^icolson'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 accompanied 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. ■\Vhereupon fell out ii 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 j Richard Graham tells the marquis (of Bucking- 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, Richard," says he, " do you think you may prac- i tise here your old tricks upon the borders.'" "Upon which words, they, in the first place, gave i the goat-herd good contentment; and then, i 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.— "^\'hich 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 ofUuckingham. " 1 find no traces of this particular Hughie Graeme, 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. — Xicol- 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, ' Ritchie Grame of Bailie, "Will's Jock Grame, Fargue's Willie Grame, Muckle WiUie Grame, "Will Grame of Rosetiees, Kitchie Grame, younger, of Netherby, "Wat Grame, called Flaughtail, "Will Grame, Nimble WilUe, "WiU Grahame, Jlickle "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 Bayne, Esq. — Tlie learned editor mentions another copy, beginning, ' Good Lord John has a-hunting gone.' The present edition was procured for me by my friend Mr "^^'illL^m Laidlaw, in Blackhouse, and has been long current in Selkirkshire. Mr Ritson's copy has occasionally been resorted to for better readings." — Scott's Minstrelsy.} GuDK Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane. He has ridden o'er moss and muir; And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme, For steaUng 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 tr^tor thief; Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme, I'll 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 can ; 1 It shall be tried within an hour, ^ Wliich of us two is the better man.'' -J n- BORDER BALLADS. 411 Biit as they were dealing their blows so free. And both so bloody at the time. Over tiie moss came ten yeomen so tall. All for to take brave Hughie the Grseme. Then they ha'e grippit Hughie the Grseme, And brought him up through Carlisle town ; The lasses and Lids stood on the walls, Crjing, " Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er gae down !" Then ha'e they chosen a jury of men. The best that were in Carlisle* town ; And twelve of them cried out at once, " Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae down !" Then up bespak' him gude Lord Hume, f As he sat by the judge's knee, — " Twenty white owsen, my gude lord, J f you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." " O no, no, my gude lord Hume ! Forsooth and sae it roauna be ; For were there but three Graemes of the name. They suld be hanged a' for me." 'Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume, As she sat by the judge's knee, — " A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge. If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." " no, O no, my gude Lady Hume ! Forsooth and so it mustna be ; "VV'ere he but the one Graeme of the name. He suld he hanged high for me." " If 1 be guilty," aid Hughie the Graeme, " Of me my friends shall have small talk ;" And he has louped fifteen feet and three, Tho' his hands they were tied behind his back. He looked ever his left shoulder. And for to see what he might see ; There was he aware of his auld father, Came tearing his hair most piteously. * Of the morality of Robert Aldrige, bishop of Carlisle, we know but little ; but his political and religious faith were of a stretching and .ic- commodating texture. Anthony a Wocd ob- serves, that there were many changes in his time, both in church and state ; but that the worthy prelate retained his offices and prefer- ments during the.m a 1. — ScoH. j * Oarlard—Anc. Songs, j Boles— Anc. Songs, ar. § Border— ±nc. Songs. " O hald your tongue, my father," he says, " And see that ye dinna weep for me 1 For they may ravish me o' my life. But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie. " Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife ! The Last time we came ower the muir, 'I'was thou bereft me of my life. And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore, r "Here, Johnie Armstrang, take thou mysworl. That is made o' the metal sae fine ; And when thou comest to the English side.j Remember the death of Uughie the Graeme." HUGHIE GRAHAM. [The following version of Hughie Graham, Burns transmitted to Johnson's Museum. He says he obtained it from oral tradition in Ayr- shire. In this version it will be seen that Stir- ling, not Carlisle, is made the locality of th-.- song.] Our lords are to the mountains cane, A-hunting o' the fallow deer. And they ha'e grippit Hughie Graham For stealing o' the bishop's mare. And they ha'e tied him hand and foot, And led him up through Stirling town ; The lads and lasses met him there. Cried, " Hughie Graham thou art a loun." " O lowse my right hand free," he says, " And put my braid sword in the same ; He's no in Stirling town this day. Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graham." Up then bespake the brave Whitefoonl, As he sat by the bishop's knee, " Five hundred white stots I'll gi e you, If ye'U let Hughie Graham gae free." ^^ " O haud your tDngue," 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 bespake the fair AA'hitefoord, 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." " haud your tongue now lady fair. And wi' your pleading let it be, Although ten Grahams were in his coat. Its for my honour he 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. " haud your tongue, my father dear. And wi' your weeping let it be ; Thy weeping 's sairer on my heart, Thau a' that they can do to me. " And ye may gi'e my brother John aiy 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 svvord that's bent 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 nelst time ye gang o'er the mocr. Tell her she staw the bishop's mare. Tell her she was the bisliop'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 THE THREE CHAMPIOXS OP LIDDISDALE. [From "The Mountain Bard," by James Hogg. — " The scene of this ballad," says the Shepherd, 1 1 "is laid in the upper parts uf Liddisdale, in I j which district the several residences of the three ! 1 champions are situated, as is also the old castle ' of Hermitage, with the farm-houses of Saughen- tree and Eougliley. As to the authenticity of the story, all that I can say of it is, that I used to hear it U-'ld when I was a boy, by William Seott, a joiner of that country, and was much taken with some of tlie 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."] "0 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, I I We'll drive the holm of the Saughentree." ' The moon had turned the roof of he.aven ; 1 1 The ground lay deep in drifted snaw ; j The Hermitage bell had rung eleven, ; I And our yeomen watched behind the ha' ! j ' The deer was skight, and the snaw was light, 1 1 And never a blood-drap could they draw, i 1 " Kow by my sooth," cried Dickie then, " There's something yonder will fear us a.' I i " Eight owre the knowe where Liddel lies, — ! I Nae wonder that it derkens my e'e, j See yonder's a thing of fearsome size. And its moving this wny hastilye. " Say, what is yon, my brother John ? The Lord pi-eserve baith you and me .' But our hearts .ire the same, and sure our aim. And he that comes near these bullets shall prie." " O haud your tongue, my brother dear. Let us survey't wi' steady e'e ; 'Tis a dead man they are carrying here, i And 'tis fit that the family warned should be." V v: BORDEB BALLADS. 413 They ran to the ha', and they waksned them a', 9i " Kow wae be to thee, Armstrong o' llillburn : 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 lest her sight in the fiiir moon-light. And one of them fainted where they stood. Fuur stalwart men, on arms so bright. Came bearing a corpse with many a wound ; His habit bespoke him a lord or kuight ; And his fiur ringlets swept the ground. Thoy heard one to another say— " A place to leave him will not be found ; The door is locked, and the key away. In the byre will we lay him down." Then into the byre the corpse they bore, And away they fled right speedilye ; Thf rest took shelter behind the door. In wild amazement as well might be. Ami into the byre no ane durst gang, So, 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. X-'xt 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, ALd how or why no living knew. Buccleuch has moanted his milk-white steed, With fifty knights in his company ; T'-> Hermitage castle they rode with speed, WTiere all the dale was summoned to be. And srxm they came, a numerous host. And they swore and touched the fair bodye ; But .locky o' Millbum he was lost. And could not be found in the halecountrve. And an ill death may'st thou dee ! Thou hast put down brave Lairistan, But his equal thou wilt nerer be. "The Bewcastle men may ramp and rave. And drive away the Li.'ldisdale kye : For now is our puardian Laid in his gravp, And Branxholm and Thirlestane disUnt .) 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, i Buccleuch must bear him companye ; And Thirlestane's all to flinders gone, I And who shall our protector be ? 1 " And jealous of the Stuart race, j The English lords besin to thraw ; I The land is in a piteous case, When subjects rise against the law. " Our grief and ruin .ire forespoke. The nation has received a stain — A stain like that on Sandup's cloak. That never will wash out again." I Amazement kythed in the shepherd's face. His month to open wide besnn ; He stared and looked from place to place. As things across his mem'r}- ran. The brojdeied cloak of g.\udy green. WTiich Sundup wore, and was sae gay. For three lang ycirs had ne'er been seen. At chapel, raid, nor holiday. Once on a night he overheard, From two old dames of southron land, A tide the which he greatly feared. But ne'er could thoroughly understand " Now teil me, neighbour, tell me true : Your sim"iie bodes us little good : I fear the cloak you mentioned now, — I fear "tis stained with noble blood '." i s " Indeed, my friend, you've guessed aright ; I never meant to tell to man That tale ; but crimes will come to light. Let human vvits 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 Liddisdale, 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 hit h ? If that be Elliot's blood we view, False Sundup ! thou shalt surely die !" 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." " ever-alack !" said good Buccleuch, " If that be true thou tell'st to me. On the highest tree in Branxholm-heuch, Stout Sundup, thou must hangit be." " 'Tis Elliot's blood, my lord, 'tis true ; And Elliot's death was wrought by nie ; And were the deed again to do, I'd do't in spite of hell and thee. " My sister, brave Jock Armstron.si's bride. The fairest flower of Liddisdale, ]3y 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, ye'll truly say. In rage from Laws of arms we swerve d : 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 hira in his sark. Yet gave him room to fight or flee. " ' Come on then,' gallant Millburn 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 Jlillbum 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 stren-th the bison's strength outvied ; His courage like the mountain rock; For sldll 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 J I could not stand And see the base deceiver win. " ' Now turn,' I cried, ' Thou limmer loun ! Turn round and change a blow with ii e, Or by the righteous Powers aboon, I'll hew the arm from thy bodye.' " He turned witli many a haughty word. And lounged and passed most furiouslye ; But, with one slap of my broad sword, «^ I brought the traitor to his knee. " ' Xow 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'3 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 Millbum mourned. And wished him to enjoy his own ; But Millbum 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 dififrent parties ran. The nobles join the royal train. And soon his ranks with grandeur fill ; They sought their foes w ith might and main. And found them lying on Eilgshill. The trumpets blew, the bullets flaw. And long and bloody was the fray ; At length o'erpowered, the rebel crew Before the royal troops gave way. " TMio 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, ■VVhen we were on the point to flee." Then up there spoke a man of note, ■Who stood beside his majestye, " My liege, the man's a Border .Scot, VTbo volunteered to fight for thee. " He says you're kind, but counselled ill. And sit unstable on your throne. Cut 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 ; ■\\"hen we have all cur foes subdued. The lord of Liddel he shall 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. m^ ^i02iltBU ^aile. '] ["This ballad," says the Ettrick Shepherd, " was written by my nephew, Robert Hogg, stu- dent in the College of Edinburgh, on purp. s^ for insertion in the Edinbur-'h Annual E.gister He brought it to me, and I went over it w:tii him, and was so delighted with the humour «; , the piece, that I advised him to send it with his i name. The editor, however, declined insertini: l| it; and it is here published, word for word, a^ I sent to him. A natural inclination to admire ij youthful efforts may make me judge parti.ally; ] but, I think, if it is not a good imitation of th.- ! old Border ballad, I never saw one. The old i castle of Uawkshaw was situated in a wild del!, 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- i trict. A knight of the name of Sir Patrick Por- j teous of Hawkshaw was living in a. n. 1600. His ; ^ eldest daughter Janet was married to Scott " " 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." The Southron turned him round about, An' lightly on the ground lap he ; " I rede thee, Scot, thou meet'st thy death If thou dar'st cross a sword wi' me ; BOEDER BALLADS 417 ■' Ha%-e ye ne'er heard i' reife or raide, 0' Eingan's Eab o' Thorlberrye ? If ye ha'e not, ye ha'e excuse For cracking here sae crabbedlye. " But I can tell thee, muirland Pate, "VVi' hingin' mou' an' blirtit e'e, Ye'll tell your wife an' bairns at hame. How Eingan's Eobin yerkit thee. ' Pate Porteous was a buirdly wight. An arm o' strength an' might had he, He brooked nae fear, but made his bragg la deeds o' desperate devilrye. cried. Thou stalwart " Have done," lown. Thou Southron thief o' gallows fame, I only ken that I am wranged. An' thou Shalt answer for the same." They tied their horses to the bir'i, An' drew their swords o' mettle keen ; But sic a fray, as chanced that ilay. On Border-side was never seen. Pate Porteous was the first ae man That shawed the red blude to the e'e. Out o' the Southron's brawny thigh He carved a slice right dextrouslye. " Now tak' thou that, fause Eingan's Eab, An' muckle good inay't do to thee, 'Twill learn ye how to slice the hams 0' my guid kye at Thorlberrye." " It's but a scart," quo' Eingan's E.ab, " The stang o' a wasp is waur to bide But, or that we twa part again, I'U pay it on thy ain backside." " Now, fy lay on I" quo' Hawkshaw Pate, " >"ow, fy lay on, an' dinna spare; If frae a Southron e'er I flinch, I'se never wield a weapon mair." They fought it l.ing, they fought it sair. But scarcely doubtfu' was the day, When Southrons round their captain closed, i An' shouted for the gen'ral fray. i Clash went the swords along the van ; i It was a gallant sight to see : "Lay on them, lads," cried Hawkshaw Pate, | " Or, faith, we'll sup but sparinglye." ^ " Now, fy lay on !" quo' Eingan's Bab, " Lay on them, lads o' English blude, The Scottish brand i' dalesmen's band 'Gainst Southland weapon never stude. ' " Lay on them, lads," cried Hawkshaw Pate, " Our horses lack baith hay an' corn ; An' we maun a' ha'e EncUsh naigs Out owre the Penraw Cross the mom." The Tweedies gart their noddles crack. Like auld pot -metal, yank for yank ; Montgomery, wi' his spearmen guid. He bored them trimly i' the flank. An' Sandy 'Welsh, he fought an' swore, An' swore an' fought fu' desf>eratelye ; But Jockie o' Talla got a skelp That cluve him to the left e'e-bree. The ilurrays fought like dalesmen true, An' stude i' reid blude owre the shoon ; The Johnstons, an' the Frazers too, Made doughty wark or a' was done. The Tods an' Kerrs gaed hand an' gluve. An' bathed i' blude their weapons true ; An' Jamie o' Carterhope was there. An' Harstane stout, an' young Badlewe. Brave Xorman Hunter o' Polmood, He stood upon the knowe sae hie. An', wi' his braid-bow in his hand. He blindit u.ony a Southron e'e. The blude ran down the Tarras bank. An' reddened a" the Tarras burn ; " Now, by my sooth," said Hawkshaw Pate, I never stood sae hard a turn. " I never saw the Southrons stand An' brave the braidsword half so weel." " Deil tak' the dogs !" cried Sandy Welsh, " 1 trow their hides are made o' steel. " 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." They beat them up the Tarras bank. An' down the back o' Birkhof e brae ; Had it not been the Tarras flow, Nae Englishman had 'scaped that day 2d Hi 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 Penraw Cross. The Tweeddaie 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. t Pate Porteous drave his ewes an' kye Back to their native hills again ; He hadna lost a man but four. An' Jockie o' Talla he was ane. Stout Eingan's Eab gat hame wi' life, O he was yetherit an' yerkit sair ; But he came o«re the Penraw Cross To herry Tv.ecddale glens nae mair. BALLADS CONNECTED WITH FAIRY MYTHOLOGY ON THE FAIRIES POPULAR SUPERSTITION. Bi- Sir "WALTER SCOTT. [From Jlinstrelsy of the Scottish Border.] " Of airy elves, by moonlight shadows Been, The silver token, and the circled green."— Pope. Is 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 makin? some observations upon so interesting an article of the popular creed, as that concerning the Elve^, or Fairies. The een- 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 religion, which has occurred ia Europe, renders it difficult to trace the origin of the names which have been bestowed upon such spirits, and the primary ideas which were entertained concerning their manners and habits. The word elf, 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 ovJx dun-elfen, berg-eifen, and ^ munt-elfen, spirits of the downs, hills, and moun- tains; but also feld-e'fen, wudu-elfen, sae-tljen. and water-e/fen ; spirits of the fields, of the woodr , of the sea, and of the waters. Ia Low German , the same latitude of expression occurs ; for nigh t I hags are termed aluinnen and aluen, which is 1 1 sometimes Latinized elitac. But the prototype • ' 1 j the English eU" is to te sought chiefly in the ber^-- ;| elfen, or duergar, of the Scandinavians. Frorr j the most early of the Icelandic Sagas, as weil ..> I j from the Edda itself, we learn the belief of tne northern nations in a race of dwarfish spirits, j inhabiting the rock}- mountains, and approach - 'I ing, in some respects, to the human nature. ' Their attributes, amongst which we recognize the ' features of the modem Fairy, were, supernatural i wisdom and prescience, and skill in the mechani- cal arts, especially in the fabrication of arm?. I They are farther described, as capricious, vinJ .. - I tive, and easily irritated. The story of the elrni sword, Tyrfing, may be the most pleasing iliU.<- , tration of this position. Suafurlami, a Scanc.- j navian monarch, returning from hunting, b»- j wildered himself among the mountains. Abuu: sun-set he beheld a large rock, and two dwarfs \\ sitting before the mouth of a cavern. The kinj; j drew his sword, and intercepted their retreat, by I springing betwixt them and their recess, and imposed upon them the following condition oi" safety; — that they should make for him a faul- ts chioD, with a baldric and scabbani of pure gold. 420 SCOTTISH BALLADS. and a blade which should divide stones and iron i 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 s^vord 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 aU against whom it was brandished ; it divided steel like water, and was never unsheathed without slaying a man.— /Terrarar Saga, p. 9. Similar to this was the enchanted sword, Skojfnung, 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 Torfieus to the history of Hrolf Kraka, who cites a dissertation by Einar Gudraund, 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 subject 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 duergar. 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 cl.aimed 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 offering —Historia Hrolji Kraka:, 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 existence 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 the 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 yetso firmly rooted, thatthe Laps of Finland, at this day, boast of an intercourse -nith these beings, in banquets, dances, and magical cere- monies, and even in the more intim.ate commerce of gallantry. They talk, with triumph, of the feasts which they have shared in the 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 coun- sel, has been conducted to his tent under an escort of his supernatural entertainers. — Jeasens, de Lapponibiii. ^ The superstitions of the islands of Feroe, con- FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 421 cerning their Froddentkemen, or under-ground i people, are derived from the duergar of Scandi- navia. These beings are supposed to inhabit the interior recesses of mountains, which they enter by invisible passages. Like the Fairies, they are supposed to steal human beings. "It happened," 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 shape 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 the shore of the Feroes, is termed, by the natives, I " the Fairie's kidney." In these traditions of the Gothic and Finnish | tribes, we may recognize, with certainty, the I rudiments of elfin superstition ; but we must I look to various other causes for the modifications which it has undergone. These are to be sought, 1st, in the traditions of the east ; 2d, in the wreck and conftision of the Gothic mj-thology ; 3d, in the tales of chivah-y ; 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 ^ 5 causes, before stating the popular belief of our own time, regarding the Fairies. I. To the traditions of the east, the Fairies cf Britain owe, 1 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 Fraccica, MS. Pliuiers parlent de Guenart, Du Lou, de L'.Vsce. Je Rcnart, De Faeries et de Sonjes, Ue phantosmes e: de mensonges. The Lay le Frain, enumerating the subjects of the Breton Lays, informs us expressly. Many ther bclU of faery. By some etymologists of that learned class, who not only know whence words come, but al=o whither they are going, the terra Fairy, or Faerie, is derived from Fae, which is again dcrivcl from Nympha. It is more probable the term is of oriental origin, and is derived from the Persic, through the medium of tiie Arabic. In Persic, the term Peri expresses a species of im.iginary being which resembles the Fairy in some of its qualities, and is one of the fairest creatures cf romantic fancy. This superstition must have been known to the Arabs, among whom the Persian tales, or romances, even as early as tht- time of JIahomet, were so popular, that it re- quired the most terrible denunciations of that legisLitor to proscribe them. >'ow, in the enun- ciation of the Arabs, the term Peri would sound Fairy, the letter p not occurring in the alphal>et of that nation ; and, as the chief intercourse cf 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 tliis opinion, that in Hesychius, the Ioni.in term PKereat, or Pheres, denotes the satjTS of classical antiquity . 422 SCOTTISH BALLADS. if the number of words of oriental origin in that lexicographer be recollected. Of the Persian Peris, Ouseley, in his "Persian Sliscellanies," 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. Kone of them are mis- chievous or malignant : none of them are de- formed or diminutive, like the Gothic fairy. Though they correspond in beauty with our ideas of angels, their employments are dissimilar ; and, as they have no place in heaven, their abode is •iifferent, Neither do they resemble those intel- ligences, whom, on account of their wisdom, the Platonists denominated Daemons ; nor do they correspond either to the guardian Genii of the Eomans, or the celestial virgins of paradise, whom the Arabs denominate Houri. But the Peris hover in the balmy clouds, live in the colours of the rainbow, and, as the exquisite purity of their nature rejects all nourishment grosser than the odours of flowers, they subsist by inhaling the fragrance of the jessamine and rose. Though their existence is not commen- surate with the bounds of human life, they ai-e 2:ot exempted from the common fate of mortals. — With the Peris, in Persian mythologj-, are contrasted the Dives, a race of beings, w ho 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, great fangs, ugly paws, long tails, with such hor- rible difformity and deformity, that I wonder the 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. Froir '■^^ malignancy of their nature, they not only wage war with mankind, but persecute the Peri* with unremitting ferocity. Such are J ^ 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 Fi-ance 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. ^Tay, it seems sufficiently clear, that the romancers borrowed from the Arabs, not merely the general idea concerning those spirits, 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 Mourgne La Faye, sister to King Arthur; Urgande La Deconnue, protectress of Amadis 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 Launful, in Way's Fabliaux, as well as in that of Sir Gruelan, in the same interesting collection, the reader will find the fairy of Kor- mandy, or Bretagne, adorned with all the splen- dour of eastern description. The isary ilelusina, 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, untU the prying husband broke the conditions of their union, by concealing himself, to behold his wife make use of her enchanted bath. Hardly had Melusina discovered the indiscreet intruder. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY 423 than, transforming 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 niay consult the Bibliotheque des Romans.'" i — Gervase of Tilbury (pp. 895 and 989,) assures 1 , 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 affair. , 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. I He adds, that Jlerlin, the prophet, was the first who adopted this cognizance, because he was j " 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."— 3IS. on Heraldry, Advocates' Library, w. 4. 13. I AVhile, however, the Fairy of warmer climes was thus held up as an object of desire and of affec- i « 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." : —ForduH, Citron, lib. 9, cap. 6. The lord of a i certain castle, called Espervel, was unfortunate i 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 firce ; 'of which the j consequence was, that, unable to support the i elevation of the host, she retreated through the air, carrying with her one side of the chapel, and | several of the congregation. «J- tiOD, those of Britain, and more especially those of Scotland, were far from being so fortunate : but, retaining the unamiable quaUties, 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 attribute* of several other classes of suborlinate spirits, ac- knowledged by the nations of the north. The abstraction of children, for example, the well- known practice of the modem Fairy, seems, by the ancient Gk)thic nations, to have rather been ascribed to a species of night-mare, or hag, than to the berg-elfin, or duergar. In the ancient legend of St Margaret, of which there is a Saxo- Xorman copy in Hickes' Thesaurus Linguar. Sepien. 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 /mpfria.'ia, mentions certain hags, or Larnia, 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 Draae, a sort of water spirits, who in- veigle women and children into the recessef which they inhabit, Iwneath 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 w.ashing clothes in a river Being seized as soon as she reached the depths, she was conducted into one of these subterranean 424 SCOTTISH BALLADS. recesses, which she described as very magnificent, 4 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 draco:, 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 storj-, 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 dracoe, and the cavern of a hill for that of a river. * These water fiends are thus charac- terized by Heywood, in the Hierarchic — " 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 enhabit 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 tiling, which they may happen to find, without 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 emplo)-ment 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. Ko 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 fatje name, Fee the French, we sybils, and the same ; Others white nymphs, and those that have them seen. Night ladies some, of which Habundia queen. Hierarchic 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 dracce of Gervase, or the water-spirits of Thomas Heywood. — " In the time of the emperor Lotharius, in S30," says he, " many spectres infested Friesland, particularly the white nymphs of the ancients, which the mo- derns denominate witte rviven, who inhabited a subterraneous cavern, formed in a wonderful manner, without human art, on 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 e.x- 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-ilaid," we still recognize the ancient traditions of the Goths, concerning the nald-elven, and the dracos. A similar superstition, concerning abstraction by dsemons, seems, in the time of Gervase of Til- bury, to have pervaded the greatest part of Eu- rope. " In Catalonia," says the author, "there is a lofty mountain, named Cavagum, at the foot ^ of which runs a river with golden sands, in the rAimr mythology. 425 vicinity of which there are likewise mines of sil- a lead to the subterranean habitations of the ver. This mountain is steep, and almost inac- 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 demons. 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 being 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 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 di«- , 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- j 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, I in a field in the vicinity of Carleol, which, as he relates, was denominated Laikibraine, or Lai ki brait. 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 bereft of understanding, was wafted to him in a ! chivalry, combined to add to the Fairies certain 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 ot serve, 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 quahties, less atrocious indeed, but equally for- midable, with those which they derived fr<.im the last-mentioned source, and alike inconsistent with the powers of the duergar, whom we may term their primitive prototype. From an early period, the daring temper of the northern tribes urged them to defy even the supernatural powers. In the days of Csesar, the Suevi were described, by their countrymen, as a people with whom the immortal gods dared not venture to contend. At a later period, the histori.ans of Scandinavia paint their heroes and champions, not as bend- the top of high hills, were likewise supposed to »^ing at the altar of their deiUes, but wandering 42G SCOTTISH BALLADS into remote forests and caverns, descending into the recesses of the tomb, and extorting boons, alike from gods and dfcmons, 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 Blagnus, Torfseus, 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. AVith 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 (Of la Imperial, ap. Script, rer. Brunsvic, vol. i. p. 797,) relates the following popular story concerning a Fairy Knight. " Os- bert, a bold and powerful baron, ^'isited a noble family in the vicinity of Wandelburj-, 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. During this operation, his ghostly opponent sprung up,e ^and, darting his spear, like a javelin, at Osbert, wounded him in the tliigh. 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, Osbert 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 mangled corpse of the knight and steed.— ///frarc/ize of Blessed Angels, p. 554. To the same cuiTent of warlike ideas, we may safely attribute the long train of military pro- * The unfortunate Chatterton was not, proba- bly, acquainted with Gervase of Tilbury ; yet he seems to allude, in the " Battle of Hastings," to some modification of Sir Osbert's adventure : — So who they he that ouohaut fairies strike, Their souls shall wander to king Offa's (like. The entrenchment, ^vhich served as lists for the combatants, is said by Gervase to have been the work of the Pagan invaders of Britain. In the metrical romance of " Arthour and Merlin," we have also an account of Wandlesbury being occu- pied by the Sarasins, i. e. the Saxons; for all pagans were Saracens with the romancers. I presume the place to have been Wodnesbury, in ■Wiltshire, situated on the remarkable mound, called Wandsdike, which is obviously a Saxon work. — Gough's Camden's Britannia, pp. 87 — 95. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. J27 cessions which the Fairies are supposed occasion- ally to exhibit. The elves, indeed, seem in this point to be identified with the aerial host, termed, during the middle ages, the MU'Ues Her- likini, or HeWeunn/, celebrated by Pet. Blesensis, and termed, in the life of St Thomas of Canter- bury, the Familia HeUi']uinu. The chief of this band was originally a gallant knight and warrior; but, having spent his whole possessions in the service of the emperor, and being rewarded with scorn, and abandoned to subordinate oppression, he became desperate, and, with his sons and fol- lowers, formed a band of robbers. After com- mitting many ravages, and defeating all the forces sent against him, Hellequin, with his whole troop, fell in a bloody engagement with the Im- perial host. His foi-mer good life was supposed to save him from utter reprobation ; but he and his followers were condemned after death, to a state of wandering, which should endure till the last day. Ketaining their military habits, they were usually seen in the act of justing together, or in similar warlike employments. See the ancient French Romance of Richard sans Peur. Similar to this was the Nacht Lager, or midnight camp, which seemed nightly to beleaguer the walls of Prague, " With ghastly faces thronged, and fiery arms," but which disappeared upon recitation of the magical words, Vezele, Vezele,ho! ho! ho! — For similar delusions, see Delrius, pp. 294, 295. The martial spirit of our ancestors led them to defy these aerial warriors ; and it is still currently believed, that he who has courage to rush upon a fairy festival, and snatch from them their drinking cup, or horn, shall find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune, if he can bear it in safety acroM a running stream. Such a horn is | said to have been presented to Henry I., by a lord \ j of Colchester.— Geria*. Tilb. p. 9S0. A goblet is : i still carefully preserved in Edenhall, Cumberland, ] which is supposed to have been seized at a ban- i , quet of the elves, by one of the ancient family of* Musgrave ; or, aa others say, by one of their domestics, in the manner above described. Too Fairy train vanished, crying aloud. The goblet took a name from the prophecy, under which it is mentioned in the burlesque ballad, commonly attributed to the duke of Wharton, but in reality composed by Lloyd, one of his jovial companions. The duke, after taVung a draught, had nearly terminated the " luck of Edenhall," had not the butler caught the cup in a napkin, as it dropped from his grace's hands. I understand it is not now subjected to such risques, but the lees of wine are still apparent at the bottom. Some faint traces yet remain, on the borders, of a conflict of a mysterious and terrible nature, between mortals and the spirits of the wilds. The superstition is incidentally alluded to by Jackson, at the beginning of the 17th century. The fern seed, which is supposed to become visi- ble only on St John's Eve, * and at the very moment when the Baptist was bom, is held by the vulgar to be under the special protection of the queen of Faery. But, as the seed was sup- posed to have the quality of rendering the pos- • Ne'er he I found by thee unawed, On that three hallowed eve abroad, M'hen goblins haunt, from fire and fen. And wood and lake, the steps of men. CoUins's Ode to Fear. The whole history of St John the Baptist was, by our ancestors, accounted mysterious, and con- nected with their own superstitions. The fiiiry queen was sometimes identified with Herodias. — Delrii Diiquisittones Magicir, pp. 1(3;>, 607. It is amusing to observe with what gravity the learned Jesuit contends, that it is heresy to be- lieve that this celebrated figurante {saltatricula) still leads choral dances upon earth : 428 SCOTTISH BALLADS. sessor invisible at pleasure, * and to be also of sovereign use in charms and incantations, persons of courage, addicted to these mysterious arts, were wont to watch in solitude, to gather it at the moment when it should become visible. The particular charms, by which they fenced them- selves during this vigil, are now unknown ; but it was reckoned a feat of no small danger, as the person undertaking it was exposed to the most dreadful assaults from spirits, who dreaded the effect of this powerful herb in the hands of a cabalist. " JIuch discourse," says Richard Bovet, "hath been about gathering of fern -seed, (which is looked upon as a magical herb) on the night of Midsummer-eve ; and I remember I was told of one who went to gather it, and the spirits whisk't by his ears like bullets, and sometimes struck his hat, and other parts of his body : in fine, though he apprehended he had gotten a quantity of it, and secured it in papers, and a box besides, when he came home he found all empty. But, most probable, this appointing of times and hours is of the devil's own institution, as well as the fast, that, having once ensnared people to an obedience to his rules, he may with more facility oblige them to a stricter vassa.lase."—Panda:mo7iium., Lond. 1634, p. 217. Such were the shades, which the original superstition, concerning the Fairies, received from the chivalrous sentiments of the middle ages. IV. An absurd belief in the fables of classical antiquity lent an additional feature to the char- acter of the woodland spirits of whom we treat. Greece and Rome had not only assigned tutelary deities to each province and city, but had peopled, with peculiar spirits, the seas, the rivers, the woods, and the mountains. The memory of the pagan creed was not speedily eradicated, in the extensive provinces through which it was once S universally received; and, in many particulars, I it continued long to mingle with, and influence, the original superstitions of the Gothic nations. Hence, we find the elves occasionally arrayed in the costume of Greece and Rome, and the Fairy Queen and her attendants transformed into Diana and her nymphs, and invested with their attri- butes and appropriate insignia.— Cf/Win, pp. 16S, 807. According to the same author, the Fairy Queen was also called Habundia. Like Diana, who, in one capacity, was denominated Hecate, the goddess of enchantment, the Fairy Queen is identified, in popular tradition, with the Gyre- Carline, Gay-Carline, or mother witch, of the Scottish peasantry. Of this personage, as an in- dividual, we have but few notices. She is some- times termed Xicneven, and is mentioned in tlie Complaynt qf Scotland, by Lindsay in his Dnme, p. 225, edit. 1590, and in his Interludes, apud Pinkerton's Scottish Poems, vol. ii. p. 18, But the traditionary accounts regarding her are too ob- scure to admit of explanation. In the burlesque fragment subjoined, which is copied from the Bannatyne 5IS., the Gyre Carline is termed the Queen of Jonis ( Jovis, or perhaps Jews,) and is, with great consistency, married to Mohammed, f But chiefly in Italy were traced many dim " This is alluded to by Shaiespeare, and other authors of his time :— " Me have the receipt of fern-seed : we walk invisible." Henry IV. Part 1st, Act 2d, So. 3. t In Tyberius tj-me, the trew imperatour, UuUen Tynto hiils fra skraiping of toun-henis was keipit, Thaii- dwelt ane grit Gyre Carling in awld Betokis bour. That le\-it upoun Christiaue menis flesche, and ren-heids uuleipit; Thair mnit ane hir bv, on the west sj-de, callit Blasour, For luve of hir lauchaue Uppis, he walit and he He gadderit ane menzie of modwartis to warp doun the tour : The Carling with ane yren club, quhen yat Blasour sleipit, Behind the heil scho hat him sic ane blaw, Qiihii Blasour bled ane quart Off milk pottage inwart. The Carling luehe, and lut a fart North Benvik Law. The king of fary than come, with elfis many ane, And sett ane seke, and ane salt, with grit pensalUs And a'l the doggis fra Dunbar was thair to Dumblane, With all the tj kis of Tervey, come to thame that tyd ; FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 429 characters of ancient mythology, in the creed of tradition. Thus, so lately as 1536, Vulcan, with twenty of hia Cyclops, is stated to have presented himself suddenly to a Spanish merchant, travel- ling in the night, through the forests of Sicily ; an apparition, which was followed by a dreadful eruption of Mount ^tna. — Hierarchie of Blessed Angels, p. 5i>i. Of this singular mixture, the reader will find a curious specimen in the follow- ing tale, wherein the Venus of antiquity assumes the manners of one of the Fays, or Fata, of ro- mance. "In the year 1058, a young man of noble birth had been married at Eome, and, during the period of the nuptial feast, having gone with his companions to play at ball, he put his marriage ring on the finger of a broken statue of Venus in the area, to remain, while he was engaged in the recreation. Desisting from the exercise, he found the finger, on which he had put his ring, contracted firmly against the palm, and attempted in vain either to break it, or to disengage his ring. He concealed the circum- star.ce from his companions, and returned at night with a servant, when he found the finger extended, and his ring gone. He dissembled the loss, and returned to his wife ; but, whenever he attempted to embrace her, he found himself pre- vented by something dark and dense, which was gane, Oruntiag our the Greik sie, and durst na linger bjd, For bnikiyng of bargane, and brciking of broivii : The Carling now for dispjte la mareit with Mahomyte, And will the doggis int'erdyte. For scho ia quene of Jowis. Sensyne the cockis of Crawmouud crew nevir at day, Por dule of that devillisch deme wea with Mahoua mareit. And the henis of Hadingtoun sensyne wald not lay, For this wild wibroun "with thame widlet sa and wareit ; And the same North Bcrwik Law, as I heir wyvis say, This Carling, with a fals cast, wald away careit; For to luck on quha sa lykis, na langer scho tareit ; All this languor for love before tymes fell, Lang or Betok was bom, Scho bred of ane accorue ; The laif of the story to monie, To you I sail telle. A tangible, though not visible, interposing between them : and he heard a voice saying, ' Embrace me ! for I am Venus, whom thi« day you wedded, and I will not restore your ring." Aa thi» was constantly repeated, he consulted his relations, who had recourse to Palumbus, a priest, skilled in necromancy. He directed the young man to go, at a certain hour of night, to a spot among the ruins of ancient Rome, where four roads met, and wait silently till he saw a company pass by, and then, without uttering a word, to deliver a letter, which he gave him, to a majestic being, who rode in a chariot, after the rest of the com- pany. The young man did as he was directed ; and saw a company of all ages, sexes, and ranks, on horse and on foot, some joyful and others sad, pass along ; among whom he distinguished a woman in a meretricious dress, who, itom the tenuity of her garments, seemed almost naked. She rode on a mule ; her long hair, which flowed over her shoulders, was bound with a golden fil- let ; and in her hand was a golden rod, with which she directed her mule. In the close of the pro- cession, a tall majestic figure appeared in a chariot, adorned with emeralds and pearls, who fiercely asked the young man, ' What he did there ?' He presented the letter in silence, which the daemon dared not refuse. As soon as he had read, lifting up his hands to he.iven, he exclaimed, 'Almighty God ! how long wilt thou endure the iniquities of the sorcerer Palumbus I' and imme- diately dispatched some of his attendants, who, with much difficulty, extorted the ring from Ven us, and restored it to its owner, whose inf.. rnal banns were thiu dissolved." — Forduni Scotich roni- con, vol. i. p. 407, cura Goodall. But it is rather in the classical character of an inftrnal dtity, th.it the elfin queen may be consi- dered, than as Hecate, the patroness of magic ; for nut only in the romance wTiters, but even in Chaucer, are the fiiiries identified with the an- cient inhabitants of the classical hell. Thus Chaucer, in his " Marchands Tale," mentions Pluio th:\t is kir." ol fa.N rio-and ^y Proserpine and ul her faync. 430 SCOTTISH BALLADS In the " Golden Terge" of Dunbar, the same phraseology is adopted : Thus, Even so late as 1602, in Harsenet's " Declara- tion of Popish Imposture," p. 57, Mercury is called Prince of the Fairies. But Chaucer, and those poets who have adopted his phraseology, have only followed the romance writers ; for the same substitution occurs in the romance of " Orfeo and Heurodis," in which the story of Orpheus and Eurydice is transformed Into a beautiful romantic tale of faery, and the Gothic mythology engrafted on the fables of Greece. Heurodis is represented as wife of Orfeo, and queen of Winchester, the ancient name of which city the romancer, with unparalleled in- genuity, discovers to have been Traciens, or Thrace. The monarch, her husband, had a sin- gular genealogy : — His fader was comen of kin? Pluto, And his moder of king Juno; That sum time were as godes y-holde, For aventours that thai dede and tolde. Reposing, unwarily, at noon, under the shade of an ymp tree,* Heurodis dreams that she is accosted by the king of Fairies, M'ith an hundred knights and mo, And damsels an hundred also, Al on snowe white stedes ; As white as milk were her wedes; Y m seigh never jete bifore, So fair creatours y core : The kinge hadde a croun on hede, It nas of silver, no of golde red, Ac it was of a precious ston : As bright as the sonne it schon. The king of Fairies, who had obtained power over the queen, perhaps from her sleeping at noon in his domain, orders her, under the penalty * Ymp His owen quen, dam Heurodis ; Gem hi biheld her, and sche him eke, Ac nouther to other a word no speke ; For messais that sche on him seighe. That had ben so riche and so heighe. The teres fel out of her eighe; The other leuedis this y-seighe, And maked hir oway to ride, Sche most with him no longer obide. " Alias '." quoth he, " nowe is mi woe, "Whi nil deth now me slo ! Alias '. too long last mi liif, ■When y no dare nought with mi wit. Nor hye to me o word speke; AUas whi nil miin hert breke ! Par fay," quoth he, " tide what betide, Whider to this leuedis ride, The selve way Ichil streche ; Of liif, no dethe, me no reche." In consequence, therefore, of this discovery, On'eo pursues the hawking damsels, among whom he has descried his lost queen. They enter a rock, the king continues the pursuit, and arrives* 431 Si at Fairy-land, of which the following very poeti i I cal description i« given : — I In ata roche the leuedis ridetb, i And he afier and nought abidcth, ; ■R'hen he was in the roche y-go, Wele thre mile other mo, i I He com into a fair cuntray. As bright soonne somers day, Smothe and plain and al grene, Hil! no dale nas none vsene. Amiddle the lond a castel he seighe. Rich and leale and wonder heighe , Al the utmast wal "W'as cler and schine of crista! ; An hundred tours ther were about, Degiseiich and bataild itout ; The bntrass come out of the dicbe. Of rede gold y-arched riche ; The bousour was anowed al. Of ich maner deuers animal; ■Within ther wer wide wones Al of precious stones. The werss piler onto bibolde, ■Was al of bitmist gold : Al that lond was ever light. For when it schuld be therk and night. The riche stonnes light gonne, Bright as doth at nonne'the sonne : No man may tel, no thenke in though; The riche werk that ther was rought. Than he gan biholde about al. And seighe ful bggeand with in the wjI. Of folk that wer thidder y-brought. And thought dede and nere nought ; Sum stode with outen hadde ; And some none armes nade; And sum thurch the bodi hadde irounde ; And sum lay wode y-boimde ; And sum armed on hors sete; And sum astrangled as thai ete; And stun war in water adreynt ; And sum with fire all for schreynt ; ■V\ives ther lay on childe bedde. Sum dede, and sum awedde ; And wonder fele ther lay besides. Right as thai slepe her undertides; Eche was thus in this warld y-nome. With fairi thider y-come." There he seize his owhen niif, D,ime Heurodis, his Uif liif, Slepe under an ympe tree; Bi her clothes be k'newe that it was he. And when be had bihold this merralis alie. He went into the kinges halle; Then seigh he there a semly sight, A tabernacle blisseful and bright; Ther in her maister king sete, And her quen fair and swete ; Her crounes, her clothes schine so bright. That umiethe bihold he hem might. Orfeo and Heurodis, MS. • It was perhaps from such a descripti adopted his idea of the Lunar Paradise, - ?th:ng that on earth was stolen or lost 43- SCOTTISH BALLABS. Orfeo, as a minstrel, so charms the Fairy King with the music of his harp, that he promises to grant him whatever he should ask. He imme- diately demands his lost Heurodis; and, return- ing safely with her to Winchester, resumes his authority ; a catastrophe, less pathetic indeed, but more pleasing, than that of the classical story. The circumstances, mentioned in this romantic legend, correspond very exactly with popular tradition. Almost all the writers on daemonology mention, as a received opinion, that the power of the daemons is most predominant at noon and midnight. The entrance to the Land of Faery is placed in the wilderness; a circum- stance which coincides with a passage in Lindsay's "Complaint of the Papingo :" — ]Jot sea my spreit mon from my bodye go, 1 recommend it to the quene of Fary", Eternally into her court to tarry In wilderness amang the holtis hail'. Lindsay's Works, 1592, p. 222. Chaucer also agrees, in this particular, with our romancer : — In his sadel he clombe anon, And prikedover stile and ston, An elf quene for to espie ; Til he so long had riden and gone That he fond in a privie wone The countree of Taeae. Wherein he soughte north and south, pired with his m I foreste wilde ; lor in that ( That to him dorst ride or gon, Neither wife ne childe. Kime of Sir Thopas. V. Other two causes, deeply affecting the super- stition of which we treat, remain yet to be noticed. The first is derived from the Christian religion, which admits only of two classes of spurits, exclusive of the souls of men— angels, namely, and devils. This doctrine had a neces- sary tendency to abolish the distinction among subordinate spirits, which had been introduced by the superstitions of the Scandinavians. The existence of the Fairies was readily admitted ; but, as they had no pretensions to the angelic character, they were deemed to be of infernal ^ origin. The union, also, which had been formed betwixt the elves and the Pagan deities, was probably of disservice to the former ; since every one knows that tlie whole synod of Olympus were accounted daemons. The fulminations of the church were, therefore, early directed against those who consulted or consorted with the Fairies; and, according to the inquisitorial logic, the innocuous choristers of Oberon and Titania were, without remorse, con- founded with the sable inhabitants of the ortho- dox Gehennim ; while the rings, which marked their revels, were assimilated to the blasted sward on which the witches held their infernal sabbath. — Delrii Disq. Mag. p. 179. This transformation early took place ; for, among the many crimes for which the famous Joan of Are was called upon to answer, it was not the least heinous, that she had frequented the Tree and Fountain, near Dompre, which formed the rendezvous of the Fairies, and bore their name ; that she had joined in the festive dance with the elves, who haunted this charmed spot; had accepted of their magical bouquets, and availed herself of their talismans, for the deliverance of her country. — Vide Acta Judiciaria contra Johannam D'Arceam, vulgo vocatam Johanne la Pucelle. The Reformation swept away many of the cor- ruptions of the church of Rome ; but the purify- ing torrent remained itself somewhat tinctured by the superstitious impurities of the soil over wliich it had passed. The trials of sorcerers and witches, which disgrace our criminal records, become even more frequent after the Reformation of the church ; as if human credulity, no longer amused by the miracles of Rome, had sought for food in the traditionary records of popular superstition. A Judaical observation of the precepts of the Old Testament also characterized the Presbyterian reformers ; " Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live," was a text, which at once (as they con- ceived) authorized their belief in sorcery, and sanctioned the penalty which they denounced ^against it. The Fairies were, therefore, in no -o^ FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. (Hotter credit after the Beformatioii than before,^ Neither was the judgment of the crlrr.in^ being still regarded as actual damons, or some- ! court of Scotland less severe against another thicg very little better. A famous divine. Doctor ! familiar of the Fairies, whose supposed corrt- Jasper Brokeman, teaches us, in his system of I spondence with the court of Elfland seems to ha v« divinity, " that they inhabit in those places that are polluted with any crying sin, as effusion of blixxl, or where unbelief or superstitione have gotten the upper hand." — Deicription of Feroe. The Fairies being on such bad terms with the divines, those who pretended to intercourse with them, were, without scruple, punished as sorcer- ers ; and such absurd charges are frequently stated as exaggerations of crimes, in themselves sufficiently heinous. ::uch is the case in the trial of the noted major Weir, and his sister ; where the following mum- msry interlards a criminal indictment, too infa- mously flagitious to be farther detailed: "9th April, 1670. Jean Weir, indicted of sorceries, committed by her when she lived and kept a school at Dalkeith : that she took employment from a woman, to speak in her behalf to the Queen of Fairii, meaning the devil; and that another woman gave her a piece of a tree, or root, the next day, and did teU her. that as long as she kept the same, she should be able to do what she pleased ; and that same woman, from whom she got the tree, caused her spread a cloth before her door, and set her foot upon it, and to repeat thrice, in the posture foresaid, these wurds, ' All her loises and crones go aloitgst to the doors,' which was truly a consulting with the devil, and an act of sorcerj-, &c. That after the spirit, in the shape of a woman, who gave her the piece of tree, had removed, she, addressing herself to spinning, and haring spun but a short time, foimd more yam upon the pirn than could possibly have come there by good means."* — Books qf Adjournal. 1 1 « It is observed in the record, that major i Weir, a man of the most vicious character, was I at the same time .ambitious of api>earing emi- I nently godly ; and used to frequent the beds of sick persons, to assist tliem wiih his prayers. On | such occasions, he put to his mouth a long staff, ^ constituted the sole crime for which she was burned alive. Her name was Alison Pearson, and she seems to have been a very noted person. In a bitter satire against Adamson, bishop of sit Andrews, he is accused of consulting with sor- cerers, particularly with this very woman ; and an account is given of her travelling through Breadalbane, in the company of the Queen of Faery, and of her descrj ing, in the court of Elf- land, many persons, who had been suppcaed at rest in the peaceful grave, f Among these we find two remarkable personages, the secretarj-. which he usually carried, and expressed himstlf with uncommon energy and fluency, of which he was utterly incapable when the inspiring ro-i wa* withdrawn. This circumstance, the result, pro- bably, of a trick or habit, appearing suspicious to the judges, the staff of the sorcerer was burned along with his person. One hundred and thirty years have elapsed since his execution, yet no one has, during that space, ventured to inhabit the house of this celebrated criminal. t For oght the lurk culd him forbid, Pie tped him sone, and gat the third ; Ane carling of the tiueue of Phareia, Th*t ewill win geir to elpbyne careu : Through all Brade Abane scho ha* bene, On horsbak on UaUow ewin ; Aud ay in seiking certayne uightis. As scho sayis with sur tiUv wjchin And names out nyboiirs sex or tewin, TLat we bele\ ic had bene in heairin -, Scho said i>cho .>a'ow being tane, axid apprehendit, Scho being in the biscfaopis cure. And keipit in his castle sure. Without respect of wor.dlie glamer. He past into the witchts cbalmer. Scottish Foema of XVI. Centur}, Edin. 1901, lol. ii. p. 3iO. "?^ iU SCOTTISH BALLADS. ycung Maitlaud of Lethington, and one of the uld lairds of Buceleuch. The cause of their being stationed in Elfland probably arose from the r.;anuer of their decease ; ivhich, being uncom- mon and violent, caused the vulgar to suppose tliat they had been abstracted by the Fairies. Lethington, as is generally supposed, died a Ro- man death during his imprisonment in Leith ; and the Buceleuch, whom I believe to be here meant, was slain in a nocturnal scuffle by the KerSjhis hereditary enemies. Btsides, they were 1'. th attached to the cause of queen Mai-y, and to the ancient religion ; and were thence, proba- bly, considered as more immediately obnoxious to the assaults of the powers of darkness. * The indictment of Alison Pearson notices her inter- c^urss with the archbishop of St Andrews, and contains some particulars, worthy of notice, re- garding the court of Elfland. It runs thus :— " 2Sth May, 15S6. Alison Pearson, in Byrehill, convicted of witchcraft, and of consulting «ith evil spirits, in the form of one Mr William Symp- sone, her cosin, who she affirmed was a gritt schollar, and doctor of medicine, that healed her • It her diseases when she was twelve years of age ; having lost the power of her syde, and having a laniiliaritie with him for divers years, dealing with charms, and abuseing the common people by her arts of witchcraft, thir divers jeares by- l-ast. '•Item, For banting and repairing with the irude neighbours, and queene of Elfland, thir divers years by-past, as she had confest ; and that she had friends in that court, which were of * Buceleuch was a violent enemy to the Eng- lish, by whom his lands had been repeatedly plundered, (See Introduction, p. xxvi.) and a great advocate for the marriage betwixt JIary and the dauphin, 1549. According to John Knox, he had rcc ^urse even to threats, in urging the par- liament to agree to the French matcli. " The L-iird of Balcleuch," says the Reformer, "a bloady man, with many Gods wounds, swore, they that would not consent should do worse." a* her own blude, who had gude acquaintance of the 1 , queene of Elfland, which might have helped her ; I '■ but she was whiles well, and whiles ill, sometimes I I wth them, and other tin.es away frae them ; and I j that she would be in her bed haille and feire, and I ' would not wytt where she would be the morn ; I I and that she saw not the queene this seven years, I and that she was seven years ill handled in the I j court of Elfland ; that, however, she had gude ' ' friends there, and that it was the gude neighbours ! that healed her, under G-od ; and that she was coming and going to St Andrews to heale folkes thir many years past. " Item, Convict of the said act of witchcraft, in as far as she confest that the said Mr William Sympsoune, who was her guidsir sone, born in Stirleing, who was the king's smith, who, when about eight years of age, was taken away by ane Egyptian into Egypt ; which Egyptian was a gyant, v.'here he remained twelve years, and then came home. "Item, That she being in Grange JIuir, with some other folke, she, being sick, lay duwue ; aj;d, when alone, there came a man to her, clad in green, who said to her, if she would be faithful, he would do her good ; but she, being feared, cried cut, but naebodye came to her ; so she said, if he came in God's name, and for the gude of her I saule, it was well ; but he gaid away : that he appeared to her another time hke a lustie man, and many men and women with him ; that, at seeing him, she signed herself and prayed, ani past with them, and saw them making merrie with pypes, and gude cheir and wine, and that she was carried with them ; and that when she telled any of these thin s, she was sairhe tor- mentit by them ; and that the first time she gaed with them, she gat a sair straike frae one of them, which tojk all the poustie\ of her syde frae her, and left ane ill-far'd mark on her syde. "Item, That she saw the gude neighbours make their sawes ^ with pannes and tytes, and a& t PotutU—Foiset. t Saw«-Salv FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. that they gathered the horbs before the sun was i up, and they came verie fearful sometimes to her, and flajde * her very sair, which made her cry, and threatened they would use her worse than before ; and, at last, they took away the power of her haile syile frae her, which made her lye many weeks. Sometimes they would come and sitt by her, and promise all that she should never want, if she would be faithful, but if she would speak and telle of them, they should murther her ; and that 3Ir WUlir.m Sympsoune is with them, who healed her, and telt her all things ; that he is a young man not six years older than herself, and that he will appear to her before the court con.es ; that he told her he was taken away by them, and hi bid ht-r sign herself that she be not taken away, for the teind of them are tane to hell everie year. •'Item, That the said ilr ^Vimam told her what herbs were fit to cure every disease, and how to use them ; and particularlie tauld, that the bishop of St Andrews laboured under sindrie diseases, sic as the ripples, trembling, feaver, flux, &c. and bade her make a sawe, and anoint several I'arts of his body therewith, and gave directions for making a posset, which she made and gave him." For this idle story, the poor woman actually suffered death. Yet, notwithstanding the fervent arguments thus liberally used by the orthodox, the common people, though they dreaded even to think or speak about the Fairies, by no means unanimously acquiesced in the doctrine which consigned them to eternal perdition. The inha- bitants of the Isle of Man call them the "good yeople, and say they live in wUds and forests, and on mountains, and shun great cities, because of the wickedness acted therein : all the houses are blessed where they visit, for they tly vice, A person would be thought imprudently profane, who should suff.-r his family to go to bed, without having first set a tub, or pail, full of clean water, * Flaide—ScaxeA. for those guests to bathe themselves in, which the natives aver they constantly do, as soon as ever the eyes of the family are c!o»ed, wherever they vouchsafe to come."— H'aWron'* Workt, p. 126. There are some curious, and perhaps anom- alous facts, concerning the hist^r}- of Faines, in a sort of Cock-lane narrative, contained in a letter from Moses Pitt to Dr Edward Fowler, lord bishop of Gloucester, printed at London in 13&ii, and preserved in Morgan's Phanix Britanniau, 4to, London, 1732. Anne Jefferies was born in the parish of 3t Teath, in the county of Cornwall, in 1626. Being j the daughter of a poor man, she resided as servant in the house of the narrator's father, and waited j upon the narrator himself, in his childhoo'i. As I she was knitting stockings in an arbour of the I garden, "six small people, all in green clothes," j came suddenly over the garden wall ; at the sight I of whom, being much frightened, she was seized I with convulsions, and continued so longsick, that she became as a channeling, and was unable to walk. During her sickness, she frequently ex- claimed, " They are just gone out of the window .' I they are just gone out of the window ! do you not j see them ? " These expressions, as she afterwards declared, related to their disappearing. During ! the harvest, when every me was employed, her j n.istress walked out ; and dreading that Anne, I who was extremely weak and silly, might injure herself, or the house, by the fire, with some diffi- culty persuaded her to walk in the orchard vM her return. She accidentally hurt her leg, am:, at her return, Anne cured it, by stroking it with her hand, !^he api>eared to be informed of every ' particular, and asserted, that she had this infor- mation from the Fairies, who had caused the ' misfortune. After this, she performed numerous cures, but would never receive money for the::.. From harvest time to Christmas, she was fed I y '. the Fiuries, and eat no other victuals but their*. The narrator affirms, that, koking one day through the key-hole of the door of her chamber, £ he saw her eating ; and that she gave him a 436 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ■E^ piece of bread, which was the most delicious he ^ ever 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 sufficient 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 iu the orchard among the trees, and that she informed him she was then dancing with the Fairies. The report of the strange cures which 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 not every spirit, but try the spirits, rvhelher they are of God, S(C. Though Anne Jeflferies 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. "VMien this account was given, on May 1, 1696, she was still alive ; but refused to relate any particulars of her connection wth 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 • may judge from the following succinct and busi- ness-like memorandum of a ghost-seer. " Anno 1670. Xot 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. 51. W. Lily believes it was a fairie. So Proper- tius, " ' Omnia finierat ; tenues seoessit In auras, Mansit odor, possia scire fui?se Deam ! ' " Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. 8il. 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- g 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 cloaths, 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 ba ^rT^-'-^-^^- FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. \:\- a.'raid. Thereupon she led him to a little hill, $i owed hi3 prophetic visions to their interren- and she knocked three times, and the hill opened, ] tion. and they went in, and came to a fair hall, wherein was a queen sitting in great state, and many people about her, and the gentlewoman i 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 fuU 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 they parted. And, being asked by the judge, whether the place 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 everj- time, I 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 I remember the j judge said, when all the evidence was heard, that t if he were to assign his punishment, he should be ! whipped from thence to Fairj'-haU ; and did seem to judge it to be a delusion, or an impos- , ture." — Webster'! Displaying of supposed fVitch- crajt, p. 301. A rustic, also, whom Jackson taxed with VI. There remains yet another cause to be noticed, which seems to have induced a consi- derable alteration into the popular creed of En^{- land, respecting Fairies. Many poets of the sixteenth century, and, above all, our immortal Shakspeare, deserting the hackneyed fictions of Greece and Rome, sought for machinery in tiie superstitions of their native countr>-. " The ta,yi, which nightly dance upon the wolJ," were an interesting subject ; and the creative imagiuatiuu of the bard, improving upon the vulgar belief, assigned to them many of thuse fanciful attribuu. and occupations, which posterity have since asso- ciated with the name of Fairy. In such emploi- roents, as rearing the drooping flower, and arranging the disordered chamber, the Fairies of riouth 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 dhakspeare, 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 I • Robin Goodfellow, or Hobgoblin, possesai-s the frolicksome qualities of the French Latin ] For his full character, the reader is referred lo \\ the "Reliques of Ancient I'oetr)." The piopcr ' livery of this sylvan Momus is to be found iu uu I J old play. " Enter Robin Goodfellow, in a sii.t ' of leather, close to his body, his hands and £»«.■« , . , ' coloured russet colour, with a flail." — Grim the magical practices, about lb20, obstmately denied , , p^„ .^^ ^,^ Croydon, Act i, Sce,u 1. At other times, that the good king of the Fairies had any con- however, he is presented in the venial livery of the elves, his associates : — nection w ith the devil ; and some of the Highland 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 Samsay, of Ocbt«rtyi«, that be^ f The Fairy land, and Fairies of Spenser, have Tim. " I have made Some speeches. Sir. in verse, which have been »poVe By a ^eeu RoLiu Goodfelloir, (rum Cbeapude con- duit. To my Father's company." The City Match, Act 1. Scene 6. ^2J^^^^MMz>^ SCOTTISH BALLADS, 433 While the fays of South Britain received such ^ attractive and poetical embellishments, those of Scotland, who possessed no such advantage, re- tained more of their ancient and appropriate | character. Perhaps, also, the persecution which ; these sylvan deities underwent, at the instance of | the stricter presbyterian clergy, had its usual effect in hardening their dispositions, or at least ; j in rendering thera more dreaded by those among whom they dwelt. The face of the country, too, might have some effect; as we should naturally attribute a less malicious disposition, and a less frightful appearance, to the fays who glide by j moon-light through the oaks of Windsor, than ; i to those who haunt the solitary heaths and lofty ! I mountains of the IS'orth. The fact at least is ;' certain ; and it has not escaped a late ingenious ' | traveller, that the character of the Scottish Fairy j j is more harsh and terrific than that which is j] ascribed to the elves of our sister kingdom. — See Stoddart's View of Scenery and Manners in Scot- land. Some curious particulars concerning the Daoine ■ ' Shie, or Men of Peace, for so the highlanders call Fairies, may be found in Dr Grahame s " Sketches ' of Picturesque Scenery on the Southern Confines !, of Perthshire." They are, though not absolutely j malevolent, believed to be a peevish, repining, I } and envious race, who enjoy, in the subterranean I recesses, a kind of shadowy splendour. The ' highlanders are at all times unwilling to speak \ no connection with popular superstition, being only words used to denote an Utopian scene of action, and imaginary and allegorical characters ; i ! and the title of the " Fairy Queen " being proba- ; ! bly suggested by the elfin mistress of Chaucer's - ! "~ir Thopas." The stealing of the Red Cross Knight, while a child, is the only incident in the poem which approaches to the popular character of the Faiiy :— A Fairy thee unweeting reft, There as thou s'.eptst in tender swadUng band, And her base elfin brood there for thee left : Such men do changelings call, so chans'd by Fairies theft. Book i. Canto 10. of them, but especially on Friday, when their influence is supposed to be particularly exten- sive. As they are supposed to be invisibly pre- sent, they are at all times to be spoken of with respect. The Fairies of Scotland are represented as a diminutive race of beings, of a mixed, or rather dubious nature, capricious in their dispositions, and mischievous in their resentment. They in- habit the interior of green hills, chiefly those of a conical form, in Gaelic termed Sighan, on which they lead their dances by moon-light ; impressing upon the surface the marks of circles, which some- times appear yellow and blasted, sometimes of a deep green hue ; and within which it is dangerous to sleep, or to be found after sun-set. The re- moval of those large portions of turf, which thun- derbolts sometimes scoop out of the ground with singular regularity, is also ascribed to their agency. Cattle, which are suddenly seized with the cramp, or some similar disorder, are said to be elf-shot ; and the approved cure is, to chafe the parts affected with a blue bonnet, which, it may be readily believed, often restores the circu- lation. The triangular flints, frequently found in Scotland, with which the ancient inhabitants probably barbed their shafts, are supposed to be the weapons of Fairy resentment, and are termed elf -arrow heads. The rude brazen battle-axes of the ancients, commonly called celts, are also ascribed to their manufacture. But, like the Gothic duergar, their skill is not confined to the fabrication of arms ; for they are heard sedulously hammering in linns, precipices, and rocky or cavernous situations, where, like the dwarfs of the mines, mentioned by Georg. Agricola, they busy themselves in imitating the actions and the 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 the perforated and rounded stones, which are formed by trituration in its channel, are termed, by the vulgar, fairj- cups and dishes. A beautiful reason FAIRY 3ITTH0L0GY. 13 :• is assigned by Fletcher for the fays frequenting 4^ streams and foantaiHS : He tells us of A virtaous well, about whose flowerj- banks The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds, By the pale moon-sliine, dipping oftentimes Their stolen children, so to make them free From dying flesh and dull mortahty. Faith/td Shepherdess. It is sometimes accounted unlucky to pass such pliices, 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, because, 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 preces- 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, 1 presume, often find this a convenient excuse for their situation ; as the common belief of the elves quaffing the choicest liquors in the celLirs of the rich (see the story of Lord Duffus, below,) might t/ccasional y cloak the delinquencies of an unfiuth- lul 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 3Ian, to visit bis sister, residing in Kirk ilerlugh, heard the noise of horses, the holla of a huntsman, and the j i sound of a horn. Immediately afterwards, thir- teen horsemen, dressed in green, and gallantly * Hence the hero of the ballad is termed an " elfin grey." mounted, swept past him. Jack wa« so much delighted with the sport, that he followed them, and enjoyed the sound of the horn for some miUs ; and it was not till he arrived at his sister's hoi*e that he learned the danger which he had incur- red. I must not omit to mention, that thtse little personages are expert jockeys, and scrn *.'> ride the little Jlanks ponies, though apparently well suited ta their siz-?. The exercise, there- fore, falls heavily upon the English and Irish horses brought into the Isle of Man. 3Ir AVrJ- dron was assured by a gentleman of Ballafletch'ir, that he had lost three or four capital hunters ly these nocturnal excursions. — Waldron'i Worki, p. 132. From the same author we learn, thnt the Fairies sometimes take more legitimate mo '.cs 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, wh> pricel his horse, cheapened him, and, after some chaffering, finally purchased him. No sooner had the buyermountel, and paid the price, than he sunk through the earth, horse ana man, to the astonishment and terror of the seller ; wh) experienced, however, no inconvenience from dealing with so extraordinary a purchaser.— /6i. ■ In this passage there is a curious picture of the contagious effects of a superstitious atmosphere. Waldron had lived so long among the ilanks, that he was almost persuaded to believe their legends. The worthy captain George Burton communi- cated to Richard Bovet, gent., author cf the > interesting work, entitled, " Pandsemoniuni, or ?SQ' ^K t the Devil'8 Cloister Opened," the following sin- ' gular account of a lad called the Fairy Boy of Leith, who, it seems, acted as a drummer 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 /^j J presence of divers people, I demanded of him ^ •,^==~, several astrological questions, which he answered ^--^ with great subtilty; and, through all his dis- W^S! y course, carried it with a cunning much above his r^Vi^ years, which seemed not to exceed ten or eleven. ^^g ! " He seamed to make a motion like drumming T"/^'] "P°° t^^ table with his fingers, upon which I sy£>'^ asked him. Whether he could beat a drum ? To /?d \ which he replied. Yes, Sir, as well as any man in r'^.J Scotland ; for every Thursday night I beat all ^^ points to a sort of people that used to meet under O^) yonder hill, (pointing to the great hill between \^fi^\ Edenborough and Leith.) How, boy ? quoth I, w^ What company have you there ? There are. Sir, ^ _/"i (said he) a great company both of men and wo- (a2~3 men, and they are entertained with many sorts fC^^\ of musick, besides my drum; they have, besides. night, and return again, and whilst we are (^ there, we enjoy all the pleasures the country 'X doth afford. I 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 .R asked him. How I should know what he said to ! be true ? 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 bim. 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 couM 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 appointed, 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 Cloyster. By \ Richard Bovet, Gent. Lond. 16S4, p. 172. ^ From the " History of the Irish Bards," by Mr I Walker, and from the glossary subjoined to the plenty of variety of meats and wine, and many ^1 times we are carried into France or Holland in a^ lively and ingenious Tale of " Castle Eackrent," r^^' '--Li Oi -, PAIET HTTHOLOOT. 441 >wi we learn, that the same ideas, concerning Fairies, a are current among the vulgar in that country. The latter authority mentions their inhabiting the ancient tumuli, called Barrorvi, 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- j 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 oflBces. In this j 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 s 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 iritc-rpretations, according to the places where it is used, so, in the Scottish dialect, the goodman (J" such a place signifies the tenant, or Ufe-renter, in opposition to the laird, or proprietor. Hence, the devil is termed the good-man, or tenant, of the infernal regions. In the book of the Univer- sal Kirk, 13th ilay, lo&i, mention is made of " tlie 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 Crojl." Lord Hailes conjectured this to have been the tcne/ws 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 folminations of the General Assembly of the Kirk to aboUsh 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 th.- air on horseback, near his own house, he was sud- denly accosted by a little old man, arrayed iu green, and mounted upon a white palfrey. After mutual salutation, the old man gave Sir Godfrey to xinderstand, that he resided under hia habiu- tiOD, and that he bad 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 Maculloch was a good de:il 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- ft^rtune to kill, in a fray, a gentleman of the neighbourhood. He was apprehended, tried, and condemned. • The scaffold, upon which his head %vas to be struck cff, was erected on the Castle-hill of Edinburgh; but hardly had be reached the fatal spot, when the old man, upon his white palfrey, pressed through the crowd, with the rapidity of lightning. Sir Goifrey, 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, wa« their practice of carrj-ing 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 dait, 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 t<;ra.ed the daU. i In thia particular, tradition coincide* with the real fact ; the trial took place in 16??. ^'^^^^>V 44-2 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^^! Moray, " that, in a consumptive disease, the Fairies steal away the soul, and put the soul of a i'aiiy in the room of it." This belief prevails oliieliy along the eastern coast of Scotland, where a practice, apparently of druidical origin, is used to avert the danger. In the increase of the !Maroh moon, withies of oak and ivy are cut, and twisted into wreaths or circles, which they pre- serve till nest 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 iif Suddie (in Inverness-shire,) which I think proper to mention. There is a smal! hill N. "W. from the church, commonly called Therdy Hill, ur Hill of Therdie, as some term it; on the top of which there is a well, which I 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 me 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 weU, 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 ho was, but he conjured him to loose him, and out of sympathy he was pleased to slacken that wherein 5^ he was, as I may so apeak, swaddled ; but, if I right remember, he signified, he did not recover." Account of the Parish of Suddie, apud Macfar- lane's MSS. According to the earlier doctrine, concerning the original corruption of human nature, the power of dtemons over infants had been Ions 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 chiefly dreaded the substitution ol 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 used. 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 dasmons, and other dangers inci- dental to their situation. It has been carefully preserved for several generations, was often j pledged for considerable sums of money, and ^ uniformly redeemed from a belief in its efficacy. s,^(s<^:^^^M^' FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 413 cIiiM ; be pleased to bestow something on a poor man.' 'Ah! 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 make a clear fire, sweep the hearth very clean, and place the child fast in his chair, that he might not fall before it, and break 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 spoke, 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. The woman, hav- ing done all things according to these words, heard the child say, ' Seven years old was I before 1 came to the nui-se, and four years have I lived since, and never saw so many milk pans before. So ths 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 Plesant Treatise on Witch- crf-ft.- The most minute and authenticated account of an exchanged child is to be found in Waldron'a " Isle of Man," a book from which I have de- rived much legendary information. " I was prevailed upon myself," says that author, "to go and see a child, who, they told me, was one of these 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 v\-ere vastly long fur his age, but smaller than any infant's of six months ; his complexion was per- fectly deUcate, and he had the finest hair in the world. He never spoke nor cried, ate scarce any w thing, and was very seldom seen to smile ; bat it any one called him afairytlf, he would frown, and fix his eyes so earnestly on those who said it, as if he would look them through. His mother, or at least his supposed mother, being very poor, firequently went out a chareing, and left him a whole day together. The neighbours, out if curiosity, have often looked in at the window, to see how he behaved while alone ; which, when- ever they did, they were sure to find him laugh- ing, and in the utmost delight. This made them judge that he was not without company, more 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 hm with a cleaii face, and his hair combed with the utmcst exact- ness and nicety." — P. 128. Waldron gives another account of a poor wo- man, to whose ofifspring, it would seem, the Fairies had taken a special fancy. A few nights after she was delivered of her first child, the family were alarmed by a dreadful cry of " Fire : ' All flew to the door, while the mother lay trem- bling in bed, unable to protect htr infant, which was snatched from the bed by an invisible hand. Fortunately, the return of the gossips, after the causeless alarm, disturbed the Fairies, who drop- ' ped the child, which was found sprawling and shrieking upon the threshold. At the gi-.>ii 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 I lo ! the second child had been carried fVom the bed, and dropped in the middle of the lane. But, ' upon the third occurrence of the same kind, the j company were again decoyed out of the sick wo- I man's chamber by a felse alarm, leaving only a I nurse, who was detained by the bonds of sleep. '■ On this last occasion, the mother pkiinly saw her child removed, though the means were invisible. i She screamed for assistance to the nurse; butth»- old lady had partaken too deeply of the c<^rliaU 444 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ^o9 f;^-^ which circulate upon such j ')f ul occasions, to be ^ easily awakened. In short, the child was this time fairly carried off, and a withered, deformed creature Itft in its stead, quite naked, with the clothes of the abstracted infant, rolled in a bun- dle, by its side. This creature lived nine ye.irs, ate nothing but a few herbs, and neither spoke, stood, walked, nor performed any other func- tions of mortality ; resembling, in all respects, the changeling already mentioned. — Waldron'a 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, cr 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 Dufifus, who, " walking abroad in the fields, near to his own bouse, was suddenly carried away, and found the next day at Paris, in the French king's cell.ir, with a silver cup in his hand. Being brought into the king's presence, and questioned by him who he was, and how he carae 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 Selavic origin. Tooke {History of Russia, vol. i. p. 100,) relates, that the Russian peasants believe the nocturnal dse- 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 chila 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, c.ying, ' 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 afiarms, " 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 wind, 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 rvith 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 15th Slarch, 1695, pubUshed in Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. 15S. 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 disappeared, after which they were seldom seen among mor- «^(s-^^ FAIET MYTHOLOGY. 445 tals. The accounts they gave of their situation differ in some particulars. Sometimes they were represented as leading a life of constant restless- nesSj 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 Tale of the Young Tarn- lane, where it is termed, " the paying the kane to hell," or, according to some recitations, "the teiud," or tenth. Tliis 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- loween, at the great annual procession of the Fairy court. * Of this procession the following description is found in Montgomery's Flyting against Poltvart, apud Watson's Collection of Scots Poems, 1709, Part iii. p. 12. In the hinder end of hardest, on All-hallowe'en, AVhen our good ueighbuurs dois ride, if I 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-=tcdi, hovand to the bight; The king of PUarie and his court, with the Elf queen, With many elfish incubus was ridand that night. There an eif'on an ape, an unsel begat, Into a pot by Pomathorne ; That bratchart in a busse was bom; 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 iitately coursers prance," &c.— Burns. ^ The catastrophe of Tamlane terminated more 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 year of probation, repeatedly appeared on Sunday, in the midst of her children, combing their hair. On one of these occasions she was accosted by her husband ; when she related to him the unfortunate event which had separated them, instructed him by what means he might win her, and exhorted him to exert all his 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. At the ringing of the Fairy bridles, and the wUd unearthly sound which accompanied the cavalcade, his heart failed him, and he suffered the ghostly train to j ass 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 lamily, 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 tliis opinion .at the time. Thebody 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 {i&young woman in the neighbourhood. The re- 4^6 SCOTTISH BALLADS. collection, however, of his former wife, whom 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 .ibstracted person was then to become complete. • To these I have now to add the following instance of redemption from Fairy Land. The legend is printed from a broadside still popular in Ireland :— " Near the town of Aberdeen, in Scotland, !:ved James Campbell, who had one daughter i.amed 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 lovir.g 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 calLd HI the neighbours, who, after striking up lights, :ind looking towards the lying-in woman, found her a corpse, which caused great confusion in the family. There was no grief could exceed that of ■■ her husband, who, next morning, prepared or- naments for her funeral ; people of all sects came to her wake, amongst others came the reverend Mr Dodd, who, at first sight of the corpse, said, it's not the body of any Christian, but that Mrsi A The minister, a sensible man, argued with his '■ I parishioner upon the indecency and absurdity of j j what was proposed, and dismissed him. Kext j j Sunday, the banns being for the first time pro- ] I claimed betwixt the widower and his new bride. I his former wife, very naturally, took the oppor- I tunity of the following night to make hira ] another visit, yet more terrific than the former. j She upbraided him with his incredulity, his flokle- I ness, and his want of affection ; and, to convince? him that her appearance was no aerial illusion, i she gave suck, in his presence, to her youngest child. The man, under the greatest horror of I mind, had again recourse to the pastor; and his I ghostly counsellor fell upon an admirable expe- : j dient to console him. This was nothing less tlian dispensing with the former solemnity of banns, I and marrying him, without an hour's delay, tu j the young woman to whom he was affianced ; ; ] after which no spectre again disturbed his rej.ost. IJ 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, beine riding in his own field, heard a most pleasant concert of music, and s>on after espied a woman coming towards him drest in white ; she beinL' 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 si late in the evening - at which she unveiled her face, and burst into tears, saying, I am not permitted to tell you whi. I am. He knowing her to be his wife, askeil 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 liuned, 1 am not, but was taken away by the Fairies tiie night of my dehvery ; you only buried a piece of wood in my place ; I can be recovered if you take proper means ; a« for my child, it has three nurses to attend it, but 1 fear it cannot be brought home; the greatest dependence I have on any person is my brother Robert, who is a captain of a merchant ship, and will be home in ten days ' hence. Her husband asked her what means he FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. Having concluded these general observations « uninteresting, I proceed to the i on the Fairy superstition, which, although linute, may not, I hope, be deemed altogether should take to win her ? She told him he should find a letter, the Sunday morning folloviring, on the desk in his own room, directed to her brother, wiierein there wculd 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. '•' r'he 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 fcar it is an impossibility to win you from such a p!ace ; no, savs she, were my brother Robert here in your place, he would bring me hoHie; but let it net 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 ;■ ou ; but, to prevent that, do you ride up to the moat, where (suppose you wUl see no person), all you now see will be near you, and do you threaten to burn all the old thorns and brauibles that is round the moat, if you do not get a firm promise that I shall get n J 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 he would burn all about it if he w uld not get a promise that his wife should get no hurt; a voice desired him to cast away a took was in his pocket, and then demand his request ; he an- swered he would not part his book, but grant his request, or they should find the efftct of his rage ; the voice answered, that upon hou'^ur she should tie forgave that fault, but for him to suffer no prejudice to come to the moat, which he pro- ii.ised to fulfil, at which he heard a mcst pleasant music. He then returned home, and sent for the reverend Mr Dodd, and related to him what he had seen ; Mr Dodd staid with him till Sunday morning following, when, as Mr Xelson 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 : more particular iUustraticns, relating to " The Tale of the Y( ung Tamlane." ' Deae Brother,— My husband can relate U' you my present circumstances. I request that you will (the first night after you see this) come- to the moat where I parted my bosband ; let nothing daunt you, but stand in the centre of th^ moat at the hour of twelve at night, and call me. when I with several others will surround y.u ; I shall have on the whitest dress of any in comtaiiy, then take hold of me, and do not forsake me ; ai: the fr;ghtful methods they shall use let it not sur- prize you, but keep your hold, suppose they con- tinue tdl cock-crow, when they shall vanish all of a fudden, 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 Xeiso-v.' " Xo sooner had he read the letter than cc vowed to win his sister and her child, or perL-h in the attempt ; he returned to his ship, and rt- i lated to his sailors the consequence of the letter ; i he delayed till ten at night, when hfs lo)-al sailors j offered to go wiUi him, v.hich he recused, think- 1 ing it best to go alone. As he left his ship .i I frightful lion came roaring toivards him ; h-, 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 so. ®^e ¥ottttg '^nmlans. O I forbid ye, maidens a". That wear gowd on your hair. To come or gae by Carterhaugh For young Tamlane is there. There's nane, that gaes by Carterhaugh, But maun leave him a wad. Either goud rings, or green mantles, Or else their maidenheid. Xow, gowd rings ye may buy, maidens. Green mantles ye may spin ; But, gin ye lose your maidenheid, Te'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." Janet has kilted her green kirtle, • A little abune her knee ; And she has braided her yellow hair, A little abune her bree. And when she came to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well ; And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsell. 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. Says — " Why pu' ye the rose, Janet ? What gars ye break the tree ? Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, Wi thou ten leave o' me ?" • The ladies are always represented, in Dun- bar's Poems, with green mantles and yellow hair. — Maitfand Vnems, vol. !. p. 45. <^^ -r&a-' s^*v£:<^-w '=^ Says — " Carterhaugh It is mine ain ; Sly 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, Nor make meikle o' her heid ; And ilka thing that lady took, Was like to be her deid. It's four and twenty ladles fair 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 fair 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 baud your tongue, ye auld giay knightl 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. And he spak' meik and mUd — "And ever, alas ! my sweet Janet, I fear ye gae with child." "And, if I be with child, father, Mysell maun bear the blauie ; There's ne'er a knight about your ha' 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 hinisell. She hadna pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twae. When up and started young Tamlaue, Says — " Lady, thou pu's nae mae ! " Why pu' ye the rose, Janet, Within this garden grene. And a' to kill the bonnie babe. That we got us l>etween ? " " The truth ye'll tell to me, Tamlaue ; A word ye mauna lie ; Gin e'er ye was in haly chapel. Or sained * in Christentie." " The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet, A word I winna lie; A knight me got, and a lady me bore. As well as they did thee. " Eandolph, 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 i 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 still PAIRT MTTHOIOGY. 4.-,l " When I was a boy just turned of nine. My uncle sent for me. To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him, And keep him cumpanie. " There came a wind out of the north, A sharp wind and a snell ; And a dead sleep came over me. And frae my horse I fell. " The Queen of Fairies keppit me. In yon green lull to dwell ; And I'm a fairy, lyth and limb ; Fair lady, view me well. " But we, that live in Fairy-land, No sickness know, nor pain ; I quit my body when I will. And take to it again. " I quit my body when I please, Or unto it repair ; "W'e can inhabit, at our ease. In either earth or air. " Our shapes and size we can convert To either large or small ; An old nut-sheU's the same to us. As is the lofty hall. " We sleep in rose-buds, soft and sweet. We revel in the stream ; We wanton lightly on the wind. Or glide on a sun-beam. " And all our wants are well supplied. From every rich man's store. Who thankless sins the gifts he gets, * And vainly grasps for more. called Randall's Walls. Patrick of Dunbar, earl of March, is said, by Henry the Minstrel, to have retreated to Ettrick Forest, after being defeated by Wallace.— Sco«. * To sin cur giftt or mercies, means, ungrate- fully to hold them in slight esteeni. The idea, that the possessions of the wicked are most ob- noxious to the depredations of evil spirits, may be illustrated by the following tale of a Butlcry Spirit, extracted from Thomas Heywood ; — An ancient and virtuous monk came to visit his nephew, an innkeeper, and, after other dis- course, enqiuired into his circumstanoes. Mine " Then I would never tire, Janet, In elfish land to dwell ; But aye at every seven years, They pay the teind to hell ; And I am sae fat, and fair of fl«h, I fear 'twill be mysell. " This night is Hallowe'en, Janet, The morn is Hallowday ; And, gin ye dare your true love win, Ye ha'e na time to stay. " The night it is good Hallowe'en, When fairy folk will ride ; And they, that wad their true love win. At Miles Cross they maun bide." " But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane ? Or how shall I thee knaw, Amang so many unearthly knights. The like I never saw ? " host confessed, that, although he practised all the unconscionable tricks of his trade, he was still j miserably poor. The monk shook his head, and \ asked to see his buttery, or larder. As they looked into it, he rendered visible to the aston- I ished host an immense goblin, whose paunch, and whole appearance, bespoke his being gorged with food, and who, nevertheless, was gorman- dizing at the innkeeper's expense, emptying whole shelves of food, and washing it down with entire hogsheads of liquor. " To the depredation of this visitor will thy viands be exposed," quoth the uncle, "until thou shalt abandon Craud.and false reckonings." The monk returned in a ye.ar. The host having turned over a new leaf, and given Christian measu; e to his customers, was now a thriving man. AVhen they again inspected ti;e larder, they saw the same spirit, but wofjUy re- duced in size, and in vain .attempting to rc-ich at the full plates ami bottles, which stood around him ; starving, in short, like Tantalus, in the midst of plenty. Honest Heywood sums up the tale thus :— In this diacoiu^e, far be it we «hould mean Spirits by meat are fatted made, or iean , yet certain 'tis, by God's peimistion, toty May, over goods extorted, bear like sway. All such as study fraud, and practise e\-U, Do only suirve themselves to pl.impe the devi'J. merarchie of the Ble»»ed Angel*, p. S77. \^':i^^^ 452 UJ '& " The first company, that passes by. Say na, and let them gae ; The next company, that passes by. Say na, and do right sae ; The third company, that passes by. Than I'll be ane o' thae. " First let pass the black, Janet, And syne let pass the brown ; But grip ye to the milk-white steed. And pu' the rider down. " For I ride on the milk-white steed. And aye nearest the to^^-n ; Because I was a christened knight. They gave me that renown. " My right hand will be gloved, Janet, My left hand will be bare ; And these the tokens I gi'e thee, Nae doubt I will be there. " They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake ; But had me fast, let me not pass. Gin ye wad be my maike. " They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an ask ; They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, A bale * that bums fast. " They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, A red-hot gad o' aim ; But had me fast, let me not pass. For I'll do you no harm. " First dip me in a stand o* milk. And then in a stand o' water ; But had me fast, let me not pass — I'll be your bairn's father. "And, next, they'll shape me in your arms, A tod, but and an eel ; But had me fast, nor let me gang, As you do lore me weel. "They'll shape me in your arms, Janet, A dove, but and a swan ; And, last, they'll shape me in your arms, A mother-naked man : Bale— A faggot. Cast your green mantle over me — I'll be myself again." Gloomy, gloomy, was the night. And eiry f was the way. As fair Janet, in her green mantle. To Miles Cross she did gae. The heavens were black, the night was dark. And dreary was the place ; But Janet stood, with eager wish. Her lover to embrace. Betwixt the hours of twelve and one, A north wind tore the bent; And straight she heard strange elritch sounds Upon that wind which went. About the dead hour o' the night. She heard the bridles ring ; And Janet was as glad o" that. As any earthly thing ! Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill. The hemlock small bli-w clear ; And louder notes from hemlock large. And bog -reed struck the ear ; But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts. The Fairies cannot bear. They sing, inspired with love and joy. Like sky-larks in the air ; Of solid sense, or thought that's grave. You'll find no traces there. Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved. The dreary heath upon ; And louder, louder wax'd the sound. As they came riding on. "Will o' "Wisp before them went. Sent forth a t^vinkling light ; And soon she saw the Fairy bands All riding in her sight. And first gaed by the black black steed And then gaed by the brown ; But fast she gript the milk-white steed. And pu'd the rider down. t JE;?^— Producing superstitious dread. ■^^-^^ FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 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' !" They shaped him in fair Janet's arms. An esk, [■ 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." Up then spake the Queen of Fairies, Out o' a bush of rye — "She's ta'en awa' the bonniest knight In a' my cumpanie. " 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 o' stane. " Had I but 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 diffei-s 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, "i For Tomlin will be there. { * Erlish— Elntch, ghastly. ^ t Elk— Newt. i Cqfl—Bonsht. ^ Fair Jl.irgaret 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 flowers. She puU'd both red and green ; Then by did come, and by did go. Said, " Fair maid let abene. " O ! why pluck you the flowers, lady, Or why climb you the tree ; Or why come ye to Chaster's wood Without the leave of ine ?" " ! I will puU the flowers," she saiJ, " 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, Tomliu has always been my nanne. " So do not pluck that flower, lady. That has these pimples 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 Foulis's son, The heir of all his land. K _ .^, SCOTTISH BALLADS. " But it fell once upon a day, As hunting I did ride; As I rode east and west yon hill. There woe did me betide, " : drowsy, drowsy as I was. Dead sleep upon me fell ; TVie Queen of fairies she was there. And took me to hersel. "The morn at even is Hallowe'en, Our fairy court will ride Through England and Scotland both. Through all the world wide ; And if that ye would me borrow, At Eides Cross ye may bide. " You 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. You'll let them all pass by; The next court that comes along. Salute them reverently. " The next court that comes along, Is clad in robes of green ; And it's the head court of them all. For in it rides the Queen. " And I upon a milk white steed. With a gold star in my crown ; Because I am an earthly man, I'm next the Queen in renown. " Then seize upon me with a spring. Then to the ground I'll fa'; And then you'll hear a rueful crj-. That Tomlin is awa'. "Then I'll grow in your arms two. Like to a savage wild ; But hold me fivst, let me not go, I'm father of your child. " I'll grow into your arms two Like an adder, or a snake ; But hold me fast, let me not go, I'll be your earthly maik. " I'll grow into your arms two. Like ice on frozen lake; ^ But hold me fast, let me not go. Or from your goupen break. " I'll grow into your arms two, Like iron in strong fire ; But hold me fast, let me not go. Then you'll have your desire." And its next night into Miles Moss, Fair Margaret has gone ; When lo she stands beside Rides Cross, Between twelve hours and one. There's holy water in her hand. She casts a compass round ; And presently a fairy band Comes riding o'er the mound. [A Ballad by Jambs Telfer, with an Intro- duction by Robert White, of Newcastle-upon- Tyne ; printed in the legendary portion of " The Local Historian's Table Book for Northumber- land and Durham, 1843." The ballad itself ori- ginally appeared in a small volume, published at Jedburgh in 1824.] [Although the light of knowledge has, to a considerable degree, dispersed innumerable sha- dows which the vivid imagination of our ances- tors invested with the attributes of reality, a belief in Fairy Mythology still lingers \vith those who reside in the unfrequented recesses of the Border Hills. Simple, pious men, attending their hirscls, and occasionally carrying the bible in their plaid neuks, will, on going their rounds, point out some green knoll or level haugh bounded by a slender brook, where the "good neighbours " were, in former times, wont to hold their joyous revelry. Not one may acknowledge he ever saw, a fairy ; but many will admit that such beings have been seen : and, rather than yield up this point of credence, some would even be more ready to swerve from faith in matters of infinitely higher importance. Much light, I am aware, has been thrown on this department of superstition by the pens of far abler commentators ; yet as I intend to make thereon some additional observations, by way of illustrating both the following ballad and similar pieces of fiction, I shall endeavour to confine myself to those opinions of the subject whioh prevailed on the boundaries of England and Scotland, handling them, if possible, in a ivay that may possess some slight interest to the generality of readers. Without either searching from whence the vrotd 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 nee, 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, wall nor stream stayed them, nor could the sUghtest 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 of day. On the evening preceding the first of ilay, 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 Eoodsmass, a kind of anniversary or general I meeting of the whole fraternity usually t ok ' place, after which it was no uncommon circum- s stance if they mounted on horseback, and tra- 1 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 1 lamp, moon, or sun was shed continually th: ough- out their halls and chambers, which, in point of decoration, outvied the gorgeous magnificence of Eastern palaces. Sometimes they preferred to live near, and indeed almost under human habi- tations ; but they were more at home when at a distance from mankind, and they held their meetings of merry revelry always in wild unfre- quented places. Beautiful and romantic spots, such as a smooth opening in a forest, a piece of level sward with a hoary hawthorn in the centre, the vicinity of a gushing spring sarrounded by verdant banks, a wild ser 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 bum. 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 obsen- able in the course of the H-ir; near Rothloy. In Redesilale also, as our beloved and venerable Bard sings, * the " train " were accustomed to dance at the Howestane-mouth, near Rochester, and at tlie Dow-craig top, a solitary spot ab-^ut a mile noi-th 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. I Several places, likewise, derive their names i from the circumstanceof having been repeatedly i 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- j ley, the Dancing Green at Detidon in Rothburr ; forest, and the Elf Hills near Cambo, point out ^Koxby • See " Lay of the Reedw^ter Minstrel by Robt. ".h- NewCMUe, ISOO." how firmly amongst our fathers the belief in fairy mythology was established. Even in the present day, theie 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 intercouree 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 80 as to afford the employer the utuiost satisfixc- tion. They were also much addicted to borrow such aiticles as are chiefly required about a house — meal, for instance, kitchen utensils, &e., 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 e.xperienced, and which he could not possibly dtsctibe. Hence it will be ssen that their processions on horseback, their amuse- ments, their meetings at stated periods, their places of abode, their difF.'rence 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 aneut them arose from the belief that they stole away unchristened means, substituting at the same time their own tiny, sickly children : hence, mothers 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 j 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, I discontented, yammering creature : the mother 1 who reared it had neither " night's rest nor day's j ease ;" and when it had lain years in the cradle, j it was merely a cunning, ricketty, stunted, sem- blance of humanity. * If the mother came to [ know that it belonged to the invisible world, i tricks and spells were practised to get quit of the thing, and receive back her own child ; but as these varied considerably, it is perhaps unneces- j sary here to b ring them before the reader. Salves, [ seeds and herbs of various kinds were likewise supposed to be efficacious in enabling the pos- sessor both to discover the fiiiry people, and to I ward off their offensive designs ; yet as an enu- I 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 i charge of not only falling in love with the finest and fairest specimens of the sous and daughters of men, but of carrying them away to their own regions, and detaining them there for an inde- • At Byerholm, near Newcastleton in Liddesdale, within the last twenty years, a dwarf called Robert EUiot, but more frequently "Little Hobbie o' the Casitletou " was alive, and reputed to be a fairy change- ling. He was a most irascible creature; and when insulted, as he frequently was, by boys and others, he never hesitated a moment to draw his gully or dirk, lor the purpose of sacrificing them ; but as he was woefully short legged, they generally escaped by flight. He was revengelul, and by no means deficieui in courage. On heariog that a neighbour, William Scott of Kirudean, an able, stout, brave borderer, who stood Git. 3iu. high, had been spreading reports calculated to injure his reputation, the little man iniited 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- pointment of his host. He confessed afterwards that powerful as he was, his heart nearly failed him when the defoimed being so suddenly disclosed his plan of ;eallemanly adjustment. -c/=C^". FAIRY MTTHOLOOT. 4.3- 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 within '. the bounds of certain charmed rings, either ' would, on awaking, discover they had been con- I veyed to fairy land. If any friend or relation ! volunteered to win them back, the feat, accord- 1 ing to current opini n, had to be performed on ■] the 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 which, they very rarely quitted their adopted country. Still, however plea-^ing and agreeable its verJant lawns, shady groves, and delightful valleys may have been, together with the soothing, unaff-eted 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 deUvered 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 dcsiruus 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 account. Yet such a pint in the popular creed deserves to be noticed, from its beautilul 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 fairies from this countrj-. "Whenever a divine stationed himself on a fine green knoll, or within some sylvan boundary, I 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, ir.ay also be added the circulation of knowledge, and the advancement of mathematical learning which 60 admirably cxualifies 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- 6ing deeply of its wave ; ami thij too often engen- ! ders a species of doubt and denial of all ewences \ or things which cannot be distinctly either felt or i seen. These, with probably other cauiet, drove : from amongst ua the light-footed, aerial el»e», I who for many ages inhabited our pastoral soli- j tudes, and which tradition says they quitted with the utmost regret. On the night when the chief I number were supposed to take their departure, the air was filled from " dusky eve " till " dewy morn " with wailing and lamentation. ] After the general dispersion of the fairies, a ; few would seem to have remained h-?re even until a con;paratively recent date. Having already ' entered upon this subject at considerable length, ; I may be justifietl in bringing together some no- ; tices chiefly illustrative either of them, or what i they were supposed to perform, which have ieen : attested by veritable people, the greater number I <.f whom were living within the mem'>ry of man. j I know that modem examples of this kind lie under the disadvantage of h.-vving to be placed, like a picture or cartoon, cea-er to the spectator than the distance at which they are best seen, and must therefore be more palpable than cou'.d be wished ; yet the reader will, it is hoped, be liieral enough to make sufficient allowance for the experiment. They are the last, faint gli:r.ps«.-* [ 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 rained 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 Redesd.ile in Northumberland, «-a* 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 strams were delightfully mingled with the babbling of the brook which lapsed away l>eyond them, within a good bow-shot ft-om th-.- roail. He turned his horse's head, and r<^'de towards the place ; but in advancing, he o'js rved the otyecta of his curiosity befc»ke themselves ti Hight over a slight bank which inter>-ened between him and the stream, and on arriving at a spot from which the whole ilot of ground could be distinguished, they were no wh.rv" to be seen. No reasoning or I I argument afterwar^ls could sluike the reverend ^ geutleman's opinion that ' there are more thingi 458 SCOTTISH BALLADS. in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in our •, 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, "Aw'U nit believe but there's fairies, though they dinnit kythe to e'en like ours. Aw mind nicely o' what happent, yin bonnie Spring gloamin', when we hed Tosson mill. The gudo- man 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 stanniu again, an' efturwaitin forhaufan hour, or sey, he went in, an' faund a' reet as he hed left it, except that the moutar dish was nearly fou iv a' kinds iv grain but yits. 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 neiat day. " Anithurtime the gudeman was plewin out at yin iv the hie fields ; and when the gadsman cam' tiv the landiu', what soud 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 b.iith tasted it, an' gae the owsen pairt tey. Od, but yin o' them turnt away its head, an' wad hev nane, for a' they could dey. Weel, that neet, seest tu, the animal grew bad, and dee't within twey days, — a wairnin' tiv us a' that neythur body nor beast soud be owre positive i' their ain way. Nevur doubt, hinnies, iv theye things : doutin' 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 e.or of any other person than one of strong mind and strict veracity, what excellent scope it would have furnished towards the shadowing forth of supernatural existence ; An old shepherd who lived at a solitary spot called the Swyrefoot on Hyndlee farm in Rule- water, Roxburgshire, had, on a time, the charse 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 o\vre, an' then there was sic a queer eiry nicher, as o' some hundreds o' creatures laughin', cam' frae the upper liun, as left me i' nae doubt that if fairies were still i' the land, they were at the Swyre-foot that night." I 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. I give it in the words of another old shepherd, Robert Oliver, by n.ame, who lived at .--outhdean 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' tiiae days, and my f;vither was buchtin' the Hrockalaw yowes to twae young, lish, clever hizzies ae night after sunset. JS'ae little ' daffin ' and gabbin,' as the sang sings, gaed on amang the threesome, Ise warrant ye, till at last, just as 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 aye atween hands raisin' a queer, unyirth y cry — >^ ' Ha' ye seen Hewie MiUburn ? ha' ye seen V, 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 | "^ lad ! ' quo' Bessie Elliot, a free-spoken Liddesdale FAIBT MYTHOtOOT. hempy, ' there's a wife com'd for ye the night, ^ material " things ; " and if the leaAeM Patielad." ' A wife,' said my faither, ' may the ' barren rock nreserved thpn .. .,«™ 4.39 my taither, may 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 rise hke 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 fece was the doonright perfection o' beauty; only there was something wild and unyerthly in its e'en— they couldna be lookit at, and less be de^cribit — weel as I was sayin', it didna molest them farther than it taiglet on about the buchte, ay now and then repeatin' its crj-, • 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 kftchen, where the kitchen-woraan 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 offendit, for it left the house and gaed away down the bum side, crying its auld cry, eeryer and waesomer than ever, till it came to a bush o' seggs f 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 I 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 present day, 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 enjo>-ment ? Amongst our forefathers, it was like the breath of Spring to nature, quickening into life not only " mute," but im- ' Hedgehog. t Sedges. , , , tree and barren rock preserved then, as now, their ap- , pearance unchange'ow, dearest, sing to me ! The angels will listen at yon little holes, And witness my vowes to thee. 1 mayna refuse, quo' bonnye Jeanye Boole, Sae weel ye can n-.e wiune ; 460 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And she satte in his armis, and sweetly she sang, -.1 \ ^ , ■ ; And her voice rang frae the ly nne. 1 (^^) The liltings o' that sylver voice '- ' --'^ Slight weel the wits beguile ; They clearer were than shepherd's pipe Heard o'er the hylls a mile. The liltings o' that sylver voice. That rose an' fell so free. They softer were than lover's lute Heard o'er a sleeping sea. The liltings C that sylver voice Were melody sae true ; They sprang up-through the welkin wide To the heaven's key-stane blue. Sing on, sing on, my bonnye Jeanye Roole, Sing on your sang sae sweet ; — \ =" Now Chryste me save ! quo' the bonnye lass, "'^©^ Whence comes that waesome greete ? (/p^^ ] They turned their gaze to the Mourning Cleuch, | V-— -"/ WTiere the greeting seemed to be, (/£\A And there beheld a little greene bairne VVy^y Come o'er the darksome lea. •^^9;'~^ And aye it raised a waesome greete, '' ""=" ■ Butte and an eiry crye, Untille it came to the buchte fauld ende. Where the wynsome pajT did lye. It lookit around with its snail-cap eyne. That made their hearts to grou. Then turned upright its grass-green face, f "^^, . And opened its goblyne mou' ; t\ Then raised a youle, sae loude and lange- ) Sae yerlish and sae shrille. As dirled up throwe the twinkling holes ;:-;■ --% The second lifte untille, I tell the tale as tolde to me, I swear so by my faye ; F — And whether or not of glamourye, ^ p In soothe I cannot say. i^J-'] That youling yowte sae yerlish was, \ ^fc< Butte and sae lang and loude, ''^ The rysing moone like saffron grewC; j And holed ahint a cloude And round the boddome o' the lifte. It rang the worikl through. And boomed against the nulkye waye. Afore it closed its mou". Then neiste it raised its note and sang Sae witchinglye and sweete. The moudies powtelit out o' the yirth. And kyssed the synger's feete. The waizle dunne frae the auld grey cairn, The theiffe foulmart came nighe ; The hureheon raxed his scory chafts. And gepit wi' girning joye. The todde he came frae the Screthy holes. And courit fou cunninglye ; The stinkan brocke wi' his lang lank lyske, Shotte up his gruntle to see. The kidde and martyne ranne a race Amang the dewye feme ; j I The mawkin gogglet i' the synger's face, Th' enchaunting notes to learne. The pert little eskis they curlit their tails. And danced a myrthsome reele ; The tiide held up her auld dunne lufes, She lykit the sang sae weele. The herone came frae the Witch-pule tree, The houlet frae Deadwood-howe ; The auld gray corbie hoverit aboone, While tears downe his cheeks did flowa. The yowes they lap out owre the bucht«. And skippit up and downe ; And bonnye Jeanye Roole, i' the shepherd's Fell back-out-owre in a swoone. [armis. It might be glamourye or not. In sooth I cannot say. It was the witching time of night— The hour o' gloamyne gray. And she that lay in her loveris armis I wis was a weel-faured Maye. Her pulses all were beatinge trewe. Her heart was loupinge lighte. Unto that wondrous melody— That simple song of mighte. 461 Thb Sosgb. O where U tinye Hewe ? O where is little Lenne? And where is bonny Lu ? And 3Ienie o' the glenne ? And Where's the place o' rest ? The ever changing hame — Is it the go wan 's breast. Or 'neath the bell o' faem ? Chorus — Ay lu Ian, Ian dil y'u, &c. The fiiipest rose you finde. May have a taint withinne ; The flower o' womankinde. May ope her breast to sinne. — The fvx-glove cuppe you'll bring, The taile of shootinge sterne. And at the grassy ring, We'll pledge the pith o' feme. Chor. — Ay lu Ian, Ian dil y'u, &c. And when the blushing moone Glides down the western skye. By streamer's wing we soon Upon her top wiU lye ; — Her hichest horn we'll ride. And quaffe her yellowe dewe ; And frae her skaddowye side. The burning daye we'll viewe. Chor.— Ay lu Ian, Ian dil y'u, &c. The straine raise high, the straine fell low. Then fainted fitfullye ; And bonnye Jeanye Eoole she looklt up. To see what she might see. She lookit hiche to the bodynge hille. And laighe to the darklynge deane; — She heard the soundis still ringin' i' the lifte, But naethinge could be seene. She held her breathe with anxious eare. And thought it all a dreame ; — But an eiry nicher she heard i' the linne. And a plitch-pLitch in the streime. Xever a word said bonnye Jeanye Koole, Butte, shepherd, lette us gange ; And never mair, at a Gloamyne Buchte, Wald she singe another sange. ^ligon ©xc$0. I [From Mr Jamieson's collection, where it it said to be given from the recitation of Ua.* Brown.] Alison Gross, that lives in yon tower. The ugliest witch in the north countric. Has trysted me ae day up till her bower. And mony fair speech she made to me. She straiked my head, and she kern led my hair. And she set me down saftly on her knee. Says, — " Gin ye will he my lemman sae true, Sae mony braw things as I would you gi'e." She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet, ■Wi' gouden flowers and fringes fine, Says, " Gin ye will be my lemman sae true. This goodiy gift it sail be thine." " Awa', awa', ye ugly witch, Haud far awa", and lat me be ; 1 never will be your lemman sae true. And I wish I were out of your company." She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk, Weel wrought wi' pearU about the band ; 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 goud. Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see ; Says,—" Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, This goodly gift I wiU you gie." "Awa', awa', ye ugly witch : Haud far awa', and lat me be ; For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth For a" the gifts that ye cou'd gie." She's turned her richt and round about. And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn ; And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon. That she'd gar me rue the day I was bom. Then out has she ta'en a silver wand, [round: And she's turned her three times round and She's mutter'd sic words, that my strength it fail'd, And I fell down senseless on the ground. 463 SCOTTISH BALLADS. -^N She's turn'd lue into an ugly worm, * k T^„'^,' And gar'd me toddle about the tree ; ' -^ ■ And ay, on ilka Saturday's night, My sister Maisry came to me, Wi' silver bason, and silver kemb, (^^^ To kemb my headie upon her knee ; }^Xp'\ But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth, %=->-::' I'd rather ha'e toddled about the tree. But as it fell out on last Hallovt'e'en, When the Seely Court f was ridin' by, r,' V— -' The queen lighted down on a gowan bank, f *£0 ^ae ^0.1 frae the tree whare I wont to lye. ^^g~- j She took me up in her milk-white hand, [knee ; y^^ And she straiked me ttiree times o'er her ^^>^P\ She changed me again to my ain proper shape, ._ /^ _-i And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree. ®^e mu mu m^n. [This fragment was published by David Herd in the first edition of his collection, 17G9. It was also given in Johnson's Museum, along with the old melody to which it is sung, from which work it was copied by Kitson, words and music. Eit- sun supposes the ballad to be a portion of an old poem of the time of Edward I. or II. in the C'jtton MSri., beginning, " iUa y yod on ay Mounday." This poem will be found in Finlay's collection (Edinburgh, 1808, vol. ii.) with a commentary and glossary.] As I was walking all alane Between the water and the wa'. There I spyed a wee wee man. And he was the least that e'er I saw. » The term tvorm formerly signified, like ser- pent, "a reptile of any kind that made its way without legs." Here, it signifies a snake. Piers Plowman, using it in the same sense, lor a ser- pent, speaks of " Wyld wormes in woodes " &c. ed. 1561. F. O. iii. 1. t Seely Court, i. e. " pleasant or happy court," or " court of the pleasant and happy people." This agrees with the ancient and more legitimate idt-a of Fairies. His legs were scarce a shathniont's length, i And thick and thimber was his thigh ; Between his brows there was a span. And between his shoulders there was three. § He took up a meikle stane. And he flang't as far as I could see ; Though I had been a Wallace wight, I coudna liften't to my knee. " O, wee wee man, but thou be Strang .' O tell me where thy dwelling be ?" " My dwelling's down by yon bonnie bower, O will you go with me and see ?" On we lap, and awa' we rade. Till we came to yon bonnie green ; We lighted down to bate our horse. And out there came a lady sheen. Four-and-twenty at her back, z' And they were a' clad out in green ; ' Though the king of Scotland had been there. The warst o' them might ha'e been his queen. On we lap, and awa' we rade, Till we came to yon bonnie ha'. Where the roof was o' the beaten gould, And the floor was o' the crystal a'. || When we came to the stair foot, Latlies were dancing jimp and sma' ; But in the twinkling of an e'e. My wee wae man was clean awa'. % t Shathmont, in old Scottish, means the flst closed, with the thumb extended, and may be considered a measure of about six inches. § Variation in Motherwell's copy :— His leg was scarce a shathmont lang, Both thick and nimble was his knee; Between his e'eu there was a span, Betwixt his shoulders there were ells three. II Variation in Motherwell :— ^ Variation in Motherwell's copy ; — There were pipers playing in every neuk, And ladies dancing jimp and sma'. And aye the owerturn o' their tune M'as, Our wee wee man has been lang awa' TAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 463 Wbi ^vu m-mit [In the collection in the Pepysean library, Cambridge, may be found a ditty with the fol- lowing title, " A Proper -S'ew Ballad, entituled. The Wind hath blown my Plaid away, or A dis- course betwixt a Young Maid and the Elphin- Kuight. To be sung with its own pleasant tune." It is just a different version of the following bal- lad, which is given in Mr Kinloch's collection, from the recitation of a native of Mearns-shire.] There stands a knicht at the tap o' yon hill, * Oure the hills and far awa' — He has blawn his horn loud and shill, Tiie cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa." " If I had the horn that I hear blawn, Oure the hills and far awa'— And tiie knicht that blaws that horn,"— The Ciiuia winds 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 neelH'urs."— 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 fiiir maiden near the hill of Bennochie, in Aberdeenshire, in the form and dress of a handsome young man ; and so lax gained her aflft^tions as to get her consent to be- come his wi:e. It happened, however, on the day appointed for the nuptials, which were to le celebrated in a distant part of the country, where the devU said he resided, that she accidentally rliscovered 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 were 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 for 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' — \Vi' onie young man doun to lie,"— I The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa . I " I have a sister younger th.in I,— I Oure the hills and far awa' — And she was married yesterday," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa' 1 " ilarried wi' me, ye sail ne'er 1* nane,— \ Oure the hills and far awa' — I Till ye mak' to me a sark but \ a seam,"— The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa' " And ye maun shape it, knife, sheerless, t Oure the hills and tir awa' — And ye maun sew it, needle, threedless," t The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. emptorily insisted on her going with him. At last, every delay and excuse being exhausle<.. she, as a last resource, told him she would volun- tarily fulfil her proii.ise, provided he would ma'Ke a caiuey 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. Tht devil consented, and immediately commenced his labour ; while the maid went as quickly U> work. But just as she was baking the last cake, the devil, who had concluded his task, appeared, and claimed her according to barg^n. Being unwilling to comply, she resisted with all her might ; but he carried her off by force : and in passing Bennochie, the struitgle between them becime so great, that the devil, enraged at ht r obduracy, and in order to punish her falsehiMx!. transformed her, with her girdlf HDii ipnrtte (the baking implements, which she had taken with her in the hurry) into three grey itones, 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 ineviuble fate of those who have connection with the evil one ; — thus verify- ing the proverb, " They wha deal wi' the deil will aye get a dear pennyworth." — Kinloch. t /}!<<— without. t I. e. Withiul h knife, or scissors, needle, or thnf.id. 4G1 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " And ye maun wash it in yon cistran, — Oure the hills and far awa' — Whare water never stood nor ran," — 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". " Gin that courtesie I do for thee,— Oure the hills and far awa' — Ye maun do this for me," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " Ye'U get an acre o" gude red-land, * — Oure the hills and far awa', — Atween the saut sea and the sand," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " I want that land for to be corn, — Oure the hills and far awa' — And ye maun aer [ it wi' your horn," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun saw it without a seed,— Oure the hills and far awa' — And ye maun harrow it wi' a threed,"— The cauld wind's blawa my plaid awa'. " And ye maun shear it wi' your knife, — Oure the hills and far awa'— And na tyne a pickle o't for your life,"— The cauid wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun moue ^ it in yon mouse-hole,- Oure the hills and far awa' — And ye maun thrash it in your shoe-sole," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa". " And ye maun fan it wi' your luves, §— Oure the hills and far awa'— And ye maun sack it in your gloves," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun bring it oure the sea, — Oure the hills and far awa' — Fair and clean, and dry to me," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. • Red land—tilled land. f -^er— till, t Moue — put it up in ricks. § Fan itjvi' your luves — winnow it with your palms. i "And whan that your wark is weill deen, Oure the hills and far awa' — Ye'se get your sark without a seam," — The cauld wind's blawn my plaid awa'. THE FAIRY KNIGHT. [This is another version of " The Elfin Kn icht ' taken from Mr Buchan's collection.] The Elfin knight stands on yon hill, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! Blawing his horn loud and shrill. And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " If I had yon horn in my kist, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! And the bonnie laddie here that I luve best,"— And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " I ha'e a sister eleven years auld, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! And she to the young men's bed has madi bauld," And the wind has blawn my plaid awa". " And I mysell am only nine, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! I And oh ! sae fain, luve, as I wou'd he thine,"- And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " Ye maun make me a fine Holland sark, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw I Without ony stitching, or needle wark," — And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun wash it in yonder well, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! Where the dew never wat, nor the rain eve fell,"— And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun dry it upon a thorn, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! That never budded sin Adam was born,"— And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'." P Weill deen— well done ; the pronunciation of the North. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY 40.-, " Now sin' ye've ask'd some things o' me, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! It s right I ask as mony o' thee,"— And the wind has blawn my plaid awa.' '' Jly father he ask'd me an acre o' land, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw : Between the saut sea and the strand," — And the wind has blawn my plaid awa". •■ And ye maun plow't wi' your blawing horn, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! And ye maun saw't wi' pepper corn," — And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " And ye maun harrow't wi' a single tyne, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw! [ban?,'— And ye maun shear't wi' a sheep's s'nank And the wind has blawn my plaid awa". '■■ And ye maun big it in the sea, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw I And bring the stathle dry to me,'' — And the wind has blawn my plaid awa', " And ye maun tarn't in yon mouse hole, j Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! 1 And ye maun thrash't in your shee sole," — And the wind has blawn my plaid awa". " .4 nd ye maun sack it in your gluve, i Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! And ye maun winno't in your leuve," — i And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. | '• And ye maun dry't without candle or coai, ' Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! -A nd grind it without quim or mill," — [ And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. 4 " Ye'll big a cart o' stane and lime, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw 1 Gar Eobin Eedbreast trail it syne," — And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'. " When ye've dune and finish'd your waik, Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw ! Ye'll come to me, luve, and get your sark,"- And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.' [Translated by Mr Jamieson from the Dan • ish, and published in his collection, Edinburci. 1806.] Sib OruF the hend has ridden sac wide, All unto his bridal feast to bid. And lightly the elves, sae feat and free. They dance all under the greenwood tree ' • And there danced four, and there danced fire ; The Elf- Bang's daughter she reekit bilive. Her hand to Sir Oluf sae fair and firee : "0 welcome. Sir Oluf, come dance wi' mel "0 welcome. Sir Oluf! now lat thy love e.iy. And tread wi' me in the dance sae gay." "To dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may The morn it is my bridal day." " O come. Sir OInf, and dance wi' me ; Twa buckskin boots I'll give to thee ; " Twa buckskin boots, that sit sae fiiir, "Wi" gilded spurs sae rich and rare. "And hear ye. Sir Oluf! come dance wi' And a silken sark I'll give to thee ; "A silken sark sae white and fine. That my mother bleached in the moonshine. « In the original this burden seems to hare b^- ll longed to some elder ball.id, which was fune to the same tune ; but as it makes someth-n? like .t ! i connection between the first and second couplet, ' I 1 have introduced it as characteristically as I ;: could. The greater part of the ballads in the ,i " K. Viser," as well as many of the traditionary I Scottish ones, have burdens of this kind, which I have no relation to the sense of the stanzas to j which they are anne.ted ; although they are such ! as may be supposed to have continued the scnsr, as well as the sound, in the pieces to which they as originally belonged. — Jamiuon. ^ ' 2o 466 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " I dareca, I maunna come dance wi' thee ; For the mora n)y bridal day maun be." " O hear ye. Sir Oluf ! come dance wi' me. And a helmet o' goud I'll give to thee." " A helmet o' goud 1 well may ha'e ; But dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may." " And winna thou dance. Sir Oluf, wi' me ? Then sickness and pain shall follow thee ! " She's smitten Sir Oluf— it strak to his heart; He never before had kent sic a smart ; Then lifted him up on his ambler red ; " And now. Sir Oluf, ride hame to thy tride." And whan he came till the castell yett. His mither she stood and leant thereat. " O hear ye. Sir Oluf, my ain dear son, "VVhareto is your lire sas blae and wan ?" " O well may my lire be wan and blae. For 1 ha'e been in the elf-women's play." " hear ye. Sir Oluf, my son, my pride. And what shall I say to thy young bride?" " Te'U say, that I've ridden but into the wood. To prieve gin my horse and hounds are good." Ear on the morn, whan night was gane. The bride she cam' wi' the bridal train. They skinkeJ the mead, and they skinked the " U whareis Sir Oluf, bridegroom mine?" [wine: " Sir Oluf has ridden but into the wood. To prieve gin his horse and hounds are good." And she took up the scarlet red. And there lay Sir Oluf, and he was dead ; E.ir on the morn, whan it was day, TiiTee Ukes were ta'en frae the castle away ; >ir Oluf the leal, and his bride sae fair. And his mither, that died wi' sorrow and care. And lightly the tlves sae feat and free. They dance all under the greenwood tree I mikt mil [This is another translation by Mr Jamieson from the Danish, and published in his collection. Edinburgh, 1S06.] I LAID my haffet on Elfer Hill ; Saft slooming clos'd my e'e ; And there twa selcouth * ladies came, Sae fain to speak to me. Ane clappit me then, wi' cheek sae white, Ane rown'd in till mine eur: " Rise up, fair youth, and join our dance ; Rise up, but doubt or fear ! " AVake up, fair youth, and join the dancc^ And we will tiead the ring. While mair nor eardly melody My ladies for thee sing." Syne ane, the fairest may on mold, Sae sweet a sang began ; The hurling stream was still'd therewi', Sae fast afore that ran. The striving stream was still'd theren i', Sae fast that wont to rin ; The sma* fish, in the fliiod that swam.. Amo' their faes now bUn.' The fishes a' in flood that were. Lay still, baith fin and tail ; The sma' fowls in the shaw began To whitter f in the dale. " O hear, thou fair, thou young swaiu. And thca wi' us will dwell ; Then will we teach thee book and rune. To read and write sae well. "I'll lear thee how the bear to bind. And fasten to the aik tree ; The dragon, that iiggs on miclde goud, Afore thee fast shall flee." ■* Selcouth, i. e. seld-couth, seldom known, strange, uncommon. — Jamieson. f To whitter, i. e. to warble in a low voice, as singing birds always do at first, when they set about imitating any sweet music, which pai'ticu- larly attracts their attention. — Janution. FAIRY MTTHOLOG : They danced out, and they danced in. In the Elfer ring sae green ; All silent sat the fair young swain. And on his sword did lean. " X3W hear, thou fair, thou young swain. But and thou till us speak. Then shall on sword and sharp knife Thy dearest heart-blood reik." 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 Eifer HiU, Sot Sleep upon its side." [3I0DKB.V ballad, by David Vedder. — Sir Alan ilortinier was a potent chieftain, of Nor- man descent, whose lands lay in the vicinity of Absrdour in Fifeshire. Haughty and irascible, he lived at feud with many of the neighbouring Thanes, but more especixUiy with the Abbot of a wealthy Augustine monastery, situate on the small island of Inch Colm, about a mile distant from his castle. In order to reconcile her fathsr to the Church, Emma Mortiir.er 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 thi old baron impressed with the whole operation of restoring his daughter, that in the fulness of his heart, he Sare the western part of the parish of Aberdour to the monastery on the island, for the privilege of being interred in the Church.] The morning's e'e saw mirth an' glee I' the hoary feudal tower O bauld Sir Alan Mortimer, The lorii 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 daui;fatc-r wai His darling frae infancie ; She bloomed in her bower a lily W-jwor, Beneath the light o' his e'e ; She equalled Eve's majestic form. Saint Mary's matchless grace ; An' the heavenly hues o' paradise O'erspread her beauteous (ace. The diamond grew dim compared wi' her e'e. The gowd, compared wi' her hair, — \Vi' the magic o' h-r bewitching smile There was naething on earth to coropar. ; An' the dulcet music o' her voice Excelled the harmonie Which Elve an' Fay sae deftly pl.<»y Wlien halding high jubilee : The woodbine an' the jessamine Their tendrils had entwined ; A bower was formed, 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 sp^rt TTpon the daisied Ua, While the gossamer strings 0' their virginals Wi' fairy melodie. [rai g That night the king had convoked his court Upon the enamelled green. To pick an' wale thro' his beauties a' For a blu uin' fairy queen ; An' ere ever he wist, he spied a form That rivalled his beauties a' ; 'Twni Emma — Sir AUin Mortimer's pr:iii — Coming bame to her father's ha'. Quick as the vivid lightning gleams Amidst a thunder storm, As rapidly the elve assun.cd 9^ Lord Bethune's manly form : 16S SCOTTISH I3ALLADS. As rties the cushat to her mate, SOj to meet his embrace she flew ; — Like a feathered shaft frae a yeoman's bow nhe vanished frae human view ! His Saint-like mien, his radiant een. An' his tresses o' siller grey, Jlight ha'e driven to flight the demons o' night. But rood or rosarie ! The abbey bell, on the sacred isle. Had told the vesper hour ; >"o footsteps are heard, no Emma appeared. Sir Alan rushed from his tower ; — The messenger dropt upon his knee, An' humbly this he said ;— " My master, a faithfu' son o" the kirk. Implores your ghostlie aid ; The warders they ha'e left their posts, An' ta'en them to the bent; Tiie portirs 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 g- la'j: period, the practice of distinguishing the partiti, even in formal writings, by the epitheU w;....fi had been bestowed on them from personal c.r- cumstances, instead of the proper aimames i^; their families, was common, and indeed neci:s- sary, among the border clans. So early as the end of the thirteenth century, when girDam>.-« were hardly introduced in Scotland, this cuiloiu must have been universal. There is, ther.iurc, nothing inconsistent in supposing our poet's Uiimc to have been actually Learmont, although, in this charter, he is distinguished by the popuku: appellation of The Rhymer. " We are better able to ascertain the period at which Thomas of Ercildoun hved, being the iatttr end of the thirteenth centur>-. I am inclined : . place his death a little farther back than Mr r.n- kerton, who supposes that he was alive m 1'JOj : (List of ScoHUh Poet* ;) which is hardly, I thia*, consistent with the charter already quoted, t / 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 inheritance iheretlitarie) in Ercildoun, with all claim which he, or his predecessors, could pretend thereto. From this we may infer, that the Rh.vmer was now dead, since we find his son disposing of the family property. Still, however, the argument of the learned historian will remain uniiupeaehe^l as to the time of the poet's birth. For if, as »e learn from Barbour, his prophecies were held ai reputation f as early as 130tJ, when Bruce slew the Red Cummin, the sanctity, and (let me .idd to Mr Pinkerton'8 words) the uncertainty of an- tiquity, must have already iavolvi-d his character t The lines alluded to are lhe»e ;— thope that Tnoma»'» prophei Of Erceldouu, th.vll truly It, In luin, &c. 470 SCOTTISH BALLADE. 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 I a witness. — Cartulary of Me/rose. '. "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. Whctherhehimself made any pretensions I to the first of these characters, or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the creduiity cf posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may believe Mackenzie, Learmont only versified the prophecies delivered by Eliza, an inspired nun, of a convent at Haddington. But of this there seems not to be the most distant proof. On the contrary, all ancient authors, who quote the Rhymer's prophecies, uniformly suppose them ■o have been emitted by himself. Thus, in Win- town's Chronicle — Of this fjcht quilum spak' Thomas Of Ersyldoune, that sayd in deine, Thare suld melt stalwaitly, starke and sterne. He sayd it in his prophecy ; But how he wist it was ferly. Book viii. chap. 32, There could have been no ferly (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, it cannot 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 Rhymer's prophetic skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the whole to the intercourse between the bard and the queen of Faery. The popuLir tale bears, that Thomas was carried ofi", at an early age, to the Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge. * Heni-y the Minstrel, who introduces Thomas into ihe history of Wallace, expresses the same doubt as to tiie source of his prophetic 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 that they bless or ban, W'iiich happened sooth in many divers case ; I cannot say by \vrong or righteousness, lu rule of war v.hether they tint or wan : It may be deemed by division of grace, &e. History of Waliace, 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 pleasure. Ac- cordingly, while Thomas was making merry with his friends in the tower of Ercildoun, a person came running in, and told, with marks 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. \ The prophet instantly 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 INIurray, a kind of herbalist ; who, ; by dint of some knowledge in simples, the pos- [ session of a musical clock, an electrical machine, and a stuffed 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 Tiec. 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 bells 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 I For thy peer on earth I never did see." t There is a singular resemblance betwixt t':iis tr.-ich tion, and an incident occurring in the life of Meihi CaleJonius. FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. 4 71 " no, O no, Thomas," she said ; " That name does not belang to nie j I am but the queen of fair ElfianJ, That am hither come to visit thee. " Harp and carp, Thomas," she said ; " Harp and carp along wi' rp.e ; And if ye dare to kiss my lips. Sure of your bodie I will be." " Betide me weal, betide me woe. That weird * shall never danton me." Syne he has kissed her rosy lips. All underneath the Eildon Tree. " Xow, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; " True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; And ye maun serve me seven years. Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." she mounted on her milk-white steed ; She's ta'en true Thomas up behind : And aye, whene'er her bridle runs. The steed flew swifter than the wind. they rade on, and farther on ; The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; Until they reached a desart wide. And living land was left behind. "Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, And lean your head upon my knee : Abide and rest a little space. And I will show you ferlics three. " O see you not yon narrow road. So thick beset with thorns and briers ? That is the path of righteousness. Though after it but few enquires. " And see not ye that braid braid road, liiat lies across that lily leven ? That is the path of wickedness. Though some call it the road to heaven. " And see not ye that bonnie road. That winds about the femie brae ? That is the road to fair Elfland, Where thou and I this night maun gae. * That neird, &c. — That destiny sliall ighten me.— .S'coW. " But, Thonuks, yi maun hold yoor tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see ; For, if yon speak word in Elflyn land, Ye'U ne'er get back to your ain count.-ie." they rade on, and farther on. And they waJtd through rivers aboon the knee. And they saw neither sun nor moon. But they beard the roaring of the sea. It was mirk mirk night, and thne was no? stem light. And they waded through red bluie to tue knee; For a' the blude, that's shed on earth, Rins through the springs o' that countrie. Syne they came on to a garden green. And she pu'd an apple frae a tree j — " Take this for thy wages, true Thomas : It will give thee the tongue that can never lie." " My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas sai J ; " A gudely gift ye wad gi'e to me '. 1 neither dought to buy nor sell. At fair or tryst where I may b^. " I dought neither spe.ik to prince or peer, Kor ask of grace from fair ladye." " Now hold thy peace i" the lady saiJ, " For as I say, so must it be." He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; And, till seven years were gane and past. True Thomas on earth was never seen, j + The traditional commentary upon this bal- lad infonns us, that the apple was the produce of the t*t-xl Tree of Knowledge, and that tiie garden was the terrestrial paradise. The repug- nance of Thomas to be dtbarrtd the use of Cilse- hood, when he might find it convenient, has a comic effect. — Scott. % The above ballad is given in the Border Min- strelsy from a copy obtained from a lady, t^^ ; ;i not far from Ercildoun, corrected and ci. ..r, ! by one in Mrs Brown's MSS. In Mr Jair.:< s r. - collection of Popular Ballads and Sonps, the ori- irinal old romance upon which this 1 .illad it pi'ouuded is given from a MS. said to be of the 472 SCOTTISH BALLADS ALTERED rilOM A^•CIEI^^ PROPHECIES. [" The 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 cui- rent of ideas respecting antitiuity, which causes "Virgil to be regarded as a magician by the Laza- roni of Naples, had not exalted the bard of Er- eildoune to the prophetic cliaracter. Perhaps, indeed, he himself affected it during his life. We know at least, for certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge was current soon after his death. His prophecies are alluded to by Harbour, 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 vaticin.ations, but merely narrate, historically, his having predicted the events of which they speak. " ripottiswoode, an honest, but credukus his- torian, seems to have been a firm believer in the authenticity of the prophetic wares, vended in the naine of Thomas of Ercildoun. ' The pro- phecies, yet extant in Scottish rhymes, where- upon he was commonly called Thomas the Rhymer, may justly be admired ; having foretold, so many ages before, the union of England and fifteenth century, in the public library at Cam- bridge, collated with a MS. in the library of the cathedr.d 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 certain details in the narrative might call forth, make us refrain from quoting it \ Scotland in the ninth degree of the Bruce's blood, 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 j the king his sudden death. Then, siud Thoma?, I this is the tempest I foretold ; and so it shall I prove to Scotland. Whence, or how, he had this j knowledge, can hardly be affirmed ; but sure it j is, that he did divine and answer truly of many things to come.' — Spoltimvoode, p. 47. Besides that notable voucher, master Hector Boeca, 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 ' ruralis ille rates.' — 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, which, with niany other compositions of the same na- ture, healing 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 Ercildouue as a brother-professr.r of his art, founding upon the various allegorical and emblematical allusions to heraldry) intimates the existence of some earlier 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 I 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, that 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 from 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 the prophecies of Berhngton, con- tained in the same collection, and runs thus;— FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. ! 7' 5 or Bruce's left side shall spring out a IhaU, As neere as the ninth dc^ee ; And shall be fleemed of laire Scotland, In France farre beyond the sea. And then shall come ajaine rjdiuj, With eyes that many men may see. At Aberladie he shall light, Wjih hempen helteres and horse of tre. However it happen for to fall. The iyon shall be lord of all ; The French queu shall bearre the sonne, Shal rule all Britainne to the sea ; Ane from the Bnice's blood shal come also, As neere as the ninth de^ee. Yet shal there come a keene knight over the salt sea, A keene man of courage and bold man of annes; A duke's sou dowbled (i. e. dubbed,) a borne man in France, That shall our mirths augment, and mend all our harmes After the date of our Lord, 1313, and thrice three thereafter ; Which shall brooke all the broad ble to himself, Betiveea 13 and thrice three the threip shal be ended, The Saxons shall never recover ?,ftcr. ' " There cannot be any doubt that this pro- phecy was intended to excite the confidence of the Scottish nation in the duke of Albany, regent of Scotland, who arrived fr.m France in 1.315, two years after the death of James IV. in the fatal 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 mast necessarily be by sea, and his landing was expected at Aberlady, in the Frith c f Forth, He was a duke's sou, dubbed knight ; and nine years, from 1513, are allowed him, by the pretended prophet, for the accomplishment ' f the salvation of his country, and the exaltation of Scotland over her sister and rival. AH this was a pious fraud, to excite the confidence and jpirit of the country. "The prophecy, put in the name of our Thomas the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, T'-Jers to a later period. The narrator meets the Rhymer u^.on a land beside a lee, who shows him many emblematical visions, described in no i;;ean stnaa of poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Flodden 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 establish this fully :— Our Scottish king sal come ful keene, the led iyou beareta he ; Ui A feddercd mow •htrp, I weene. Shall make him winke anl warre to >. r. Out of the 6eld he oball be led. When he i« bludie and woe for blood . Yet to his men shall be %xy, ' For God's luve, turn you ag&ine. .\.nd give ynu suthernc folk a frcjr ' Why should I loie the right it miot - My date in not to die lhi> day.' " Who can doubt, for a moment, that thi* re- fers to the battle of Flmlden, and to the popular reports concerning the doubtful fate of Jamt* 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 aims of the Douglas family are the heart and three stars. In another placf , the battle of Pinkie is expressly mentioned by At Pinken Cinch there ah«ll be spilt Much seutle blood that day ; There shall the bear lose the guilt, And the esgill bear it away. " To the end of all this allegorical and mystical rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by Andro Hart, a new edition of Berlington's verse* , before quoted, altered and manufactured so as to bear reference to the accession of James VI., which had just then taken place. The insertiiu is made with a pecul ar degree i f awkw.-irdnes?. betwixt a question, put by the narrator, c-.>i:- eerning the name and abode of the ftrson wh" showed him these strange matters, and ti.t; answer of the prophet to that question : • Then to the Heime could I s.iy, Where dwells thou, or in what oai.tiK - [Or »ho shall rule the isle of Uitanc. From the north to the »auth cey ■ A French queene shall beare tie sonnt , Shall rule all Britaine to the »e« . Wuich of the Bruce'> blood shall c~'Uj<-. As neere as the nint degr. e -. I framed fast what wss his name, Wlere that he came, from what counu> In ErsUugtouu I dwell at h»me, Thomas Kyinoor men cal» iiis.' " There is surely no one, who will not conclude. with lord Hailes.'that the eight Hnes, inclt»,d in brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, KTrowe^l from Berlington, with such alterations as micht render the supposed irophecy applicable t" thu union of the crowns. 474 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ■ While we are on this subject, it may be pro- ^ that, as in the case of Sir John Cutler's transmi- 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 regency of Al- bany, so those of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to that of the earl of Arran, afterwards duke of Chatelherault, during the minority of Mary, a period of similar calamity. This is obvious from the following verses ; — Take a thousand in calculation, And the longest of the lyon, Four crescents under oue croivne, With Samt Andrew's croce thiise, Then threescore and thrise three : Take tent to Merling tritely. Then shall the wa:res ended be, And never againe rise. Ill that yere there shall a king, A duke, and no crowned king; Becaus the prince shall be yong. And tender of yeares. " 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 s.ame 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, created duke 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 to ascribe to some of them an earlier date than the reign of James T., did we not know that 'Sir Gallorau 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 t'ne names of those celebrated soothsayers, have been current in Scotland, yet those published by Hart have obviously been so often vamped and re- vainpe.d, to serve the political purposes of differ- 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 those 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 difficult 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 upoa Mass Robert Fleming. For example : — ' But then the lilye shall be loused when they least think; Then clear king's blood shal quake fcr fear of death ; For churls shal chop off heads of iheir chief beims, And carie of tUe crowns that Christ hath appointed. Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal arise; The barges of clear bavons down shal be sunken ; Seculars shall sit in spiiitual seats. Occupying offices auoiuted eis 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 predio- 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 have prophesied of the very ancient family of Haig of Bemerside, Betide, betide, whate'er betide, Haig shall be Haig of Bemer.side. The grandfather of the present [1812] proprie- tor of Bemerside had twelve daughters, before his lady brought him a male heir. Tlie common people trembled for the credit of their favourite riods, that it maybe siirewdly suspected,^ soothsayer. The late Mr Haig was at length FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. •175 born, and their belief in the prophecy confirmed beyond a shadow of doubt. "Another memorable prophecy b'jre, that the Old Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the ruins of the abbey, should 'fall when at the fullest.' At a very croivded 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 tuiabling upon a full congregation. I hope, for the sake of a beautiful specimen of Saxo- Gothic architecture, that the accomplishment of this prophecy is far distant. "Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, seeir.s 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 ii you shall be, A brig^ ower Tweed you there 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 £ict, you now see no less than three bridges from that elevated situation. " Corspatrick (Comes Patrick,) Earl of iMarch, 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 fcimous prophecy of King Alexander's death, the e Jitor has chosen to introduce him into the P'l- lowing ballad. AH the prophetic verjes are selected from Hart's publication." — ilinstrrlsy of the Scotthh Border.'^ AVhe.v seven years were come and gane, The sun blinked fair on pool and stream ; And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank. Like one awakened from a dream. He heard the trampling of a steed. He sa^v the flash of armour flee. And he beheld a gallant knight Come riding down by the E:ldon-tree. He was a stalwart knight, and strong ; Of giant make he 'peared to be : He stirr'd his horse, as he were w.rle, Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion fri"^. 4^ Says—" Well met, well met, true Thoma* : I Some uncouth ferlies show to me." I S.^y3 — " Christ thee gave, Corspatrick brave : j Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me I j "Light down, light down, Corspatrick bravr I A nd 1 will show thee curses three, I Shall gar fair Scotland greet and (rrane. And change the green to the black liv-rj. " A storm shall roar this very hour, From Eossi-'s Hills to Solway se.i." " Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar ! For the sun shines sweet on fauld and 1m He put his hand on th<' earlie's head : He showed him a rock, beside the sea, Vrhere a king lay stiff, beneath his stee'o after bard might e'er avail Those numbers to prolong. Yet fragments of the lofty strain Float down the tide of years. As buojant on the stormy main, A parted wreck appeai-s. He sang 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 melodiwis swell ; ^'>'as none excell'd, in Arthur's days. The knight of Lionelle. J or Marke, his cowardly uncle's rljht, A venomed wound he bore ; ^^'hen fierce Horholde he slew in fi?ht, Upon the Irish shore. Xr, art the poison might withstand ; Xo medicine could be found, Till lovely Isolde's Uly 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 Fabliaux of Monsieur le Grand, elegantly translated by the late Gregory Way, F.sq. the tale of the "Knight and the Sword." — Scutf. I t Thomas the Rhymer U the- reputed author of ] the celebrated romance of " Sir Tristrem," the j earliest specimen of Scottish poetry extant, an edition of wbich was pubUshed by Sir Walter i Scott, in ISO i, 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. Jl Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard In fairy tissue wove; Where lords, and knight*, and ladies Irgh in gay confusion ttrove. 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 Segrainori". And fiend-born Merlin's gramarj'- ; Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, O who cuuld sing but he ^ Through many a maze the winning son . In changeful passion lest-. Lord DougliU, in his lofty tent, Dream'd o'er the woeful tal« ; When footsteps light, acr« the I'-'nt, The warrior's ears assail. 478 SCOTTISH BALLADS. He starts, he wakes ;— " What, Eichard, ho ! Arise, my page, arise ! What venturous wight, at dead of night. Dare step where Douglas lies I" Then forth they rusli'd : by Leader's tide, A sslcouth * sight they see — A hart and hind pace side by side. As white as snow on Fairualie. 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 cloatlis did on. First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; Never a word he spake but tiir-f; " 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 ; On the grey tower, in lustre soft. The autumn moon-beams fall. And Leader's waves, like silver sheen. Danced shimmering in the ray ; In deepening mass, at distance seen. Broad Soltra's mtuntains lay. " Farewell, my father's ancient tower ! A long farewell," said he: " The scene of pleasui-e, pomp, or power. Thou never more shalt be. ** Selcoiith — Wondrous, t An ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirk- shire. In a popular edition of the first part of ! Thomas the Rliymer, the Fairy Queen thus ad- ' dresses him : — i " Gin ye wad meet wi' me again, I Gang to the bunnie banks of Faimalie."— Scott. Cj " To Learmont's name no foot of eartli Shall here again belong, And, on thy hospitable hearth. The hare shall leave her young. "Adieu ! adieu !" ag.-iin he cried. All as he turned him roun' — " Farewell to Leader's silver tide ! Farewell ta Ercildoune !" The hart and hind approach'd the pla^^c. 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 sUv<- 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. %^Uil ^^nkk. [Modern Ballad. — James Hogg.] LYTTfi, PvNKiE caime to Kilbogye yett. It wals on ane hallow-day; And the ladye babyis with her mctte. To heirre quhat sho wolda say. For Pynkie wals the lyttilest bairns, That ever dancit on the greinne ; And Pynkie wals the bonnyest thynge That evir on yirthe wals seinne. Hir faice 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 faice Wals comely to be scene, And the bonnye blue that dyit the heviu Wals nevir lyke Pynkie's eeyue. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 4 70 Thre spannis from heele to hei Me siio stcJe, But all so meitte to se, 1-io icayden in hir myldest mode Ane lovelier forme colde bee. Quhaevir lokit at hir ane spaice, Colde nevir calle to mynde That she possesait not fralme and graice Of stateliest womankynde. The Baronne caime forth to the greene. And hee toke hir be the hande : " Lyttil Pynkie, you are welcome heirre, The flower of fiayre Scotlande. " You are welcome to myne bowris, Pynkie, And to myne hallis so gaye. And you shalle bs myne lammie deirre. And 111 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 nevir wynne." " But I will taike myne chaunct, Pynkie, For lofe is sore to thole ; The joie of m.aydenis leifu" charmis Can nev;r stayne the soule." " Better to thole than wynne the goale, Quhare prj-ze is nonne before ; The man quha wynnis myne lofe and mee. Will nevir knowe mayden more. " But I will syng ane sang to you. And daunce ane fairye qubeille. Till you and all youre bonnie may baimi^ Can daunce it wonder weiile." Were I to telle Lyttil Pynkie's sang. It mighte doo muckle ill ; For it wals not firamit of yirthly wordis. Though it soundit sweitte and shrill. '• ^ But aye the owerworde of the sang, I Which ladyis lemit to syng, ' ] Wals, " Rounde and rounde, and sevin tymis The elfynis fairje ryng !" [rounde, ' The firste moove that Lyttil Pynkie maide, Wals gen til, softe, and sweitte; .i But the second* rounde Lyttil Pynkie maiJe, | Theye colde not kenne hir leitte. a^ The thrydde rounde that Lyttil J'>u».> maide, Sho shyramerit ala lycht and gaye AU dauncynij of the wiry lycbtis On warme and sonnjc Jaye. And aye sho sang, with twyrlc and ipen?. Arounde them on the plaync, Quhille hir feitte theye ihymmerit a!- '■< theyre hedis, Then kyssit the swairde a«ayn?. Then the Baronne hee begoude to bob;--, >'o longer colde hee sUnde, And his lyttil renydenls in ane rynj Theye joynit him hande to hande. And rounde and rounde, and (aster ro-iriUt The fairye ryng theye flewe ; And aye the langer that theye daunsit, The madder on fonne theye grewe. And Lyttil Pynkie in the middia Bobliyt lyke ane flee in 31 aye. And eveiilk sprjng LytUl Pynkie ga:f. The Baronne he crjit, " Hurraye 1" And rounde and rounde the fairye ryng They lyltit and they sang. And rounde and rounde tlie fairye ryng They caiperit and they ttang ; Quhille the Baronne hee begoude to gaii<-. And his eeyne sette in his heidde ; Hee colde not dragg ane odcr lymbe. So neirlye he wals deidde, And downe he felle upon the pUyne, Prone lyke ane forme of leidde. But aye quhan Pynkie made ane sprang Betweisine him and the daye, Hee maide a pauUe with handis and fi-iL' , And gaif ane Ciynte " Hurraye !' Hee streikit out his Ij-mbis in dcthe, Unpytied and unblcste ; But " Hurraye !" it wals thcao U»t s-iunJ* That gurglit in his breste. The maydis theye dnunsit and caiperit on In madnesse and in blaime ; For lofe or stryffe, or dcthe or lylTtf, To them wall all the saime. 480 SCOTTISH BALLADS Hut rounde and rcunde the ryng theye flewe, ^ And rounde and rounde the deidde Baronn.- Swyfte als sevin burdis on wyng ; Kegairdyng the deidde man no more Than any yirthly thyng. The nienialis gadderit lounde and sawe In terrour and dismaye. Them dauncying rounde theyre deidde fader, And Pynkie wals awaye. " Och-on, och-on," the Chaiplyng cryit, " There's some enchauntmente heirre ; Hniste, haiste awaye, myne maydinis gaye, Tills shaimefulle course forbeirre." The maidinis lefte the fairye ryng. And ceissit theyre lychtsome fonne, But they colde not comprehende one thyng Of all that had beinne donne. The Chaiplyng ranne into the ryng To lifte his maisteris heidde. And callit on six young bordlye wychtis, To beirre awaye the deidde ; Quhan Lyttil Pynkie in the myddis Stode lofelye als the sonne ; Sho sang ane staife, and dauncit it rounde, And all theyre grieffe wals donne. The Chaiplyng hee begoude to bobbe, And wagg his heede aniayne. For the lyttil kymmeris lythlye lyrabis Had veirlye turnit his brayne. And rounde, and rounde, the deidde Baronne, With caiper and with squealle, The Chaiplyng and his six young menne Wente lyke aiie spynnyng quheille. And ay they sang Lyttil Pynkie's sang, Als loudde als they colde braye ; But saife the burden of that sang. The wordis 1 daurna saye. But ay quhan Pynkie made ane ryse, With fitfulle fairye flyng ; " Agayne, agayne '." the Chaiplyng cryit, " WeUle profen, myne bonnye thyng ! "Agayne, agayne ! Agayne, agayne !" In maddenyng screimme cryit hee, " Och, let mee se that spryng agayne. That I oflofemayede!" ' i They flapperit and they flewe ; And rounde and rounde the deidde Baron. They bunipyt and theye blewe. Quhill the Chaiplyng hee hegoude to gnsp- 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 n fi Quhill after hee wals deidde. Then all the lande t 'gedder 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 houssa Lyttil Pynkie keepit the ke. So wordis gone eiste and wordis gone west<' From Solwaye unto the Clyde, And wordis gone to the greate ^lass John That livit on Cloudan syde. So he is awaye to Kilbogye halle These lordlys maidis to saive, And conjure that wylde thyng away Into the Eeidd Sea's wave. Quhan he 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 half 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 awayo, A regioune caulme and sweitte. For all the sternis of the milky waye Were farre benethe our feitt. " But I half remit this yirthlye sphere Some vyrgin soulis to wynne, !~jnce maydis were born the slaives of lovc^, Of sorrowe, and of synne. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 431 " By nychte and daye and glomyng graye. By grofe and greinwode tree; Oh if you kennit quhat I half donne To keippe them fejTe and free : " I half satte upon theyre waifyng lockis AIs daunceyng on the greinne. And watchit the blushes of the eheeke And glances of the eeyue. " I have wbysi)erit dremys into theyre eirris. Of all the snairis of lofe ; And eoolit theyre yong and hopyng brestis With dewia distyllit abofe." " But O thou w\-lde and wyeked thyng, Thynk of this virgyn bande, Thou'st taiken theyre fader from theyre heid, Theyre pastor from theyre hand." " That fader wals ane man so wylde, Disgraice of human fraime ; Hee kepit sevin lemanis in his halle, And maide it house of shaime ; And his fat Chaiplyng— worste of alle, Theyre dedis I maye not naime. " Before ane of those maydis had blomit In lofely laidyhode, Each wold haif loste hir quhite cleethyng. But and hir sylken snode. " Tiien blaime me not now, good Mass ' John, For workyng of this skaithe ; It wals the mennis besettyng synne liiat tested them to dethe. " But now, Mass John, I know you are A gude man and ane true ; Therefore I yield my vyrgin chairge With plesure up to you. " For O there is moche for me to doo 'Mong maydenis mylde and meike ; 3Ien are so wyeked heire belowe. And wemyug are so weake. " But I will baithe yovir eeyne. Mass John, With unguent of the skye ; And you shall heirre with oder eirre, And se with oder eye. ^ "And you shall se the richte and »t< ng, With soule of dredde withynoe; Quhat habitaiitis you dwelle aniang, Quhat worlde you tojoume in." Sho touchit his eye, »ho tnuchit hi» eirre, With unguent of the »kye, Distillit from flowria of hevinlye boweri*. That nevir nevir die. Mass John hee turnit him roande aboute, To ae quhat hee colde se ; " Quhafs this ! quhafs this !" cryit goode Mm " Quhat hath befailen mee ! [John, " For outhir I am sounde asleippe. And in ane feirsome dreime; Or else I'm deidd, and gane to herin. Which raither wolde beteime. " For spyritis come and spjTitis go. Of eviry shaipe and shaide. With ghostis and demonis not ane few, Sothe I am sore afrayde ! " Quhare is— quhare is Lyttil Pynkie gone ■> 1 cannot brooke this ; ayr.e, — Oh ! talk this oyntment off ni>ne eejTie, And maike mee blynde agayne. " How can I lire, or moove, or thynk With spiritis to congree ; I no acquaintance haif of them. And they haif nonne of mee I" But Lyttil Pynkie she wals gane Awaye by daille and glenne. To guarde the vyrginis of the lande From vi\ Us of wyeked menne. And goode Mass John is lefte alone '3Iang spyritis of everilk hue; There were spyritis blacke, and spyr.tis quh.. •<• . And spjTitis greene and blue. And theye were moovyng to and f.o '^lang thyngis of mortal biithe. AIs thicke als bardis upon the bou^h, Or huu.an thingis on jirth. Eache vyrgin had ane guardian fere, AIs faj-re as tlowir of Maye; Ami hee himself ane great blacke dougge That wolde not pnss awaye. 482 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And some had devilis to bee theyre niaitis, And some had two or thre, That playit soche prankis with nmidis and Sanctis, As wals ane shaime to se. And then the dougge — the great blacks dougge. Kept lukyng in his faice, "With many a dark and raeanyng scowlle. And many a sly grimaiee. It wals ane lyffo hee colde not brooke. He wals so hard bestedde ; He colde not preiohe, hce colde not praye — He colde not sleippe in bedde. For evin within the haly kirke. By that amaizyng spelle, He saw some seen is before his faice AIs I can hardlye telle. Soohe als ane spyrit spreddyng clothe Before ane tailoris eeyne ; And hee wals steillyng in his herte. Trowing hee wals not seene. And some wolde shaike ane mychtie purse Before the courtieris sychte, Quha solde his countrye for the saime With very gre.ate delychte. And some were throwyng cairdis 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 tyckelling maydinis oulde With thoughtis of manlye youth ; Yea, half the scenis the kirke withynne Were synnfuUe and uncouthe. ilass John aft tryit to close his eeyne And shutte them from his sychte ; For there were prankis so vei7 drolle, Thcye maide him laugh outrychte. There wals no thoughtis withynne the hertis, Though secrete and untolde. But thcye were acted in his sycht« By spyritis manifolde. He W7shed for dethe, and colde not lie Suche strange enchantment under. Thus wanderyng with a spyritis eye Amid a worlde of wonder. For manne most be ane mortyl thyng. With ane immortyl mynde. Or passe tlie dore of dethe, and leive Mortalitye behynde. So goode Mass John longit ferventlye 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 douage. Wals ever in his plaice ; Evin at the altar there it stode, And stajrit him in the faice. Mass John wente home and layit him downe. And soon wals with the deidde. And the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye Are lefte withoute ane heidde. Quhan sevin long yeris had come and passit. With blynke and showir awaye, Then Lyttil Pynkie sho caime backe Upon ane hallow-daye. But the straynis that Lyttil Pynkie sung At sottying of the sonne. Were nevir forgotte by old or young, Quhill lyffe with them wals done. Quhat then wals sayit, or quhat was donne, No mynstrelle evir knewe ; But th? bonnye maydis of Kilbogye With beauty blomit anewe. Some demyt that theye wolde pass awaye To Oder lande tlian this ; But they lyvit the lyvis that wemyng lofe. Of sooiale yirthlie blisse. But many a taille in westlande daille, Quainte rhyme and fairye laye, There yet remaynis of Pynkie's straynis. Upon the hallow-daye. FAIRY MYTUOLOGY. 483 ^le maeo of §iu. [F'r.oM " The Queen's "Wake," by James Hogg.] " Quhare haif ye been, ye ill womyne, These three lang nightis fra hame Quhat garris the sweit drap fra yep brow. Like clotis of the saut sea faem ? •'' It fearis me muckil ye haif seen Quhat guid man never knew ; It fearis me muckil ye haif been Quhare the gray cock never crew. " Bat the spell may crack, and the brydel breck, Then sherpe yer wenle will be ; Ye had better sleippe in yer bed at batne, Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me."— " Sit doune, sit doune, my leil auld man. Sit doune, and listen to ine ; I'll gar the hayre stand on yer crown. And the cauld sweit blind yer e'e. " But tell nae wordis, my guid auld man. Tell never word again ; Or deire shaU be yer courtisye. And driche and aair yer pain. " The first leet night, quhan the new moon set, Quhan all was douffe and mirk. We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern leif, And rode fra Kilmerrin kirk. " Some horses ware of the brume-cow firamit. And some of the greine bay tree ; ; j But mine was made of ane humloke schaw. And a stout stallion was he. ! I ii " We raide the tod doune on the hill, ' ; The martin on the law ; i And we huntyd the hoolct out of brethe, ! ' And forcit him doune to fa'."— ' [ " Quhat guid was that, ye ill womyne ? ' ' Quhat guid was that to thee ? j j Ye wald better baif been in yer bed at harae, | j Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me."— ^ ^ " And aye we raide, and se merrily we raid«r. Throw the merkiit giofflj of the night ; A nd we swam the floode, and we damit ti.-- woode. Till we cam' to the Lommond height. " And quhan we cam" to the Lommon>: height, Se lythlye we lychtid doone ; And we drank fra the homi* that never grew, The beer that was never browin. " Then up there raise ane wee wee man, Fra nethe the moss-gray stane ; His fece was wan like the coUifloure, For be noutbir bad blude nor bane. " He set ane reid-pipe til bis mutbe. And he playit se bonnilye. Till the gray curlew and the black-cock flew To listen his mel dye. "It rang se gweit through the grein Lom- mond, That the nycht-winde lowncr blew ; And it soupit alang tbe Loch Leveo, And wakinit the white sea-mew. " It rang se sweit through the grein Lommond, Se sweitly butt and se shill. That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy holis. And dancit on the mydnycht bill. " The corby craw cam' gled-'in' near. The em ged veerjng bye; And the troutis laup out of the Lcvcn Locli. Cbarmit with the melodye. "And aye we dancit on the grein Lommond, Till the dawn on the ocean grew ; Ne wonder I was a weary wycht Quhan I cam' bame to you." "Quhat guid, quhat guid, my weird weiril wyfe, Quhat guid was that to thoe ? Ye wald better haif bein in ytr be«J at bamt . Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me." " The second nycht, quhan the new moon »et. O'er the roarjng s<;a we fl.w ; The cockle-shell our trusty bark. Our sailis of the grein sea -rue. 484 SCOTTISH BALLADS. " And the bauld viindis blew, and the fire- « flauchtis flew. And the sea ran to the skie ; And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs howlit, As we gaed scouryng bye. " And aye we mountit the sea-grein hillis, Quhill we brushit through the cludis of the hevin ; Than sousit dounright like the stem-shot light, Fra the liftis blue casement driven. " But our taickil stood, and our bark was good, And se pang was our pearUy prowe ; Quhan we culdna speil the brow of the wavis. We needUit them throu' belowe. " As fast as the hail, as fast as the gale, As fast as the mydn\cht leme. We borit the breiste of the burstyng swale. Or fluffit i' the flotyng faem. " And quhan to the Norraway shore we wan. We muntyd our steedis of the wynde, And we splashit the floode, and we darnit the woode. And we left the shouir behynde. '•■ Fleit is the roe on the grein Lommond, And swift is the couryng grew. The rein-deir dun can eithly run, Quhan the houndis and the hornis pursue. " But nowther the roe, nor the reia-deir dun, The hinde nor the couryng grew, Culde fly owr wontiiine, muir, and dale. As our braw steedis they flew. " The dales war deep, and the Doffrinis steep. And we raise to the skyis ee-bree ; Quhite, quhite was our rode, that was never trode, Owr the snawis of eternity ! " And quhan we cam' to the Lapland lone, The fairies war all in array ; For all the genii of the north War keipyng their holeday. " The warlock men and the weird wemyng. And the fays of the wood and the sti-ip. And the phantom hunteris all war there. And the mermaidis of the deip. " And they washit us all with the witch-water, Distillit fra the muirland dew, Quhill our beauty blumit like the Lapland rose. That wylde in the foreste grew." — " Ye lee, ye lee, ye iU womyne, Se loud as I heir ye lee 1 For the warst-faurd wyfe on the shoris of Fyfe Is cumlye comparit wi' thee." — " Then the mermaidis sang and the woodlandi? Se sweitly swellit the quire ; [rang, On every cliff a herpe they hang. On every tree a lyre. " And a; e the sang, and the woodlandis rang, And we drank, and we drank se deip : Then saft in the armis of the warlock men. We laid us doun to sleip." — " Away, away, ye ill womyne, An ill deide met ye dee ! Quhan ye ha'e pruvit se false to yer God, Ye can never pruve true to me."— " And there we learnit fra the fairy foke. And fra our master true. The wordis that can beire us throu' the air. And lokkis and barris undo. " Last nycht we met at Slaisry's cot ; Richt well the wordis we knew ; And we set a foot on the black cruik-shell, And out at the lum we flew, " And we flew owr hill, and we flew owr dale. And we flew owr firth and sea. Until we cam' to merry Carlisle, Quhare we lightit on the lea. ' We gaed to the vault beyound the towir, Quhare we enterit free as ayr ; And we drank, and we drank of the bishopis Quhill we culde drynk ne mair." — [wine " Gin that be true, my guid auld wyfe, Whilk thou hast tauld to me. Betide my death, betide my lyfe, 1 11 beire thee companye. " Neist tyme ye gaung to merry Carlisle To drynk of the blude-reid wyne, Beshrew my heart, I'll fly with tliee. If the deil should fly behynde." II 'GT^^ FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 435 " Ah ! little do ye ken, my silly auld man. The daingeris we maun dree ; Last nychte we drank of the bishopia wyne, Quhill near near ta'en war we. " Afure we wan to the Sandy Ford, The gor-cockis nichering flew; The lofty crest of Ettrick Pen Was wavit about with blue. And, flichttring throu' the ajT, we fand The chill chill mornyng dew. " As we flew ower the hillis of Braid, The sun raise fair and cleir ; There gurly James, and his baronis braw. War out to hunt the deir. " Their bowis they drew, their arrowis flew. And piercit the ayr with speide, Quliill purpil fell the mornyng dew Wi' witch-blude rank and reide. " Littil do ye ken, my silly auld man. The daingeris we maun dree ; Ne wonder I am a weary wycht Quhan I come hame to thee." — " But tell me the word, my guid auld wyfe. Come tell it speedUye : For I lang to drynk of the guid reide wyne, And to wyug the ajT with thee. " Yer hellish horse I wilna ryde, ^tjT sail the seas in the wynde ; But I can flee as weU as thee. And I'll drynk quhiU ye be blynd." — " O fy- ! O fy ! my leil auld man. That word I darena tell ; It wald turn this warld all upside down. And make it warse than hell. " For all the lasses in the land Waid munt the wynde and fly; And the men wald doff their doublets syde. And after them wald ply." — But the auld guidman was ane cunnyng auld man. And ane cunnyng auld man was he ; And he watchit, and he watchit for mony a uychi9. The witches' flychte to see. Ane nycht he darnit in Maijry's cot ; The fe.vles8 haggs cam' in ; And he heard the word of awaoma weird. And he saw their deidia of tynn. Then ane by ane they said that word, As fast to the fire they drew ; Then set a foot on the black cruik-thell. And out at the lum they flew. The auld guidman cam' fra his hole With fcire and muckil dreide. But yet he culdna think to rue. For the wyne cam' in his head. He set his foot in the black cruik-thell, With ane fiiit and ane wawlying e'e ; And he said the word that I darena say, And out at the lum flew he. The witches skaht the moon-beam pale : Deep groanit the trembling w^nde ; But they never wist till our auld guidman Was hoveryng them bchynde. They flew to the vaultis of merry Carlisle, Quhare they enterit free as nyt ; And they drank and they drank of the biahopis Quhill they culde drynk ne mair. [w7ne The auld guidman he grew se crouse, He dauncit on the mouldy ground. And he sang the bonniest sangs of Fyfe, And he tuzzlit the kerlyngs round. And aye he piercit the tither butt. And he suckit, and he suckit sae laog, Quhill his een they closit, and his voice grew And his tongue wald hardly gang. [lu». The kerlyngs drank of the bishopis wyne Quhill they scentit the morning wynde ; Then clove again the yielding ayr. And left the auld man bebyndc. And aye he sleipit on the damp damp fli-or, He sleipit and he snorit anuiia ; He never dreamit he was lar fra hame. Or that the auld wyvis war gano. And aye he sleipit on the damp damp flotjr, Quhill past the mi.l-day highto, Quhan wakenit by five rough Englishmtu That trailit him to the lychtc. 48G SCOTTISH BALLADS. " Kow quha are ye, ye silly auld man, That sleipis se sound and se weil ? Or how gat ye into the bishopis vault Throu' lokkis and ban-is of steel ?" The auld guidman he tryit to speak. But ane word he culdna fynde ; He tryit to think, but his head whirlit round. And ane thing he culdna niynde : — " I cam' fra Fyfe," the auld man cryit, " And 1 cam' on the mydnioht wynde." They nickit the auld man, and they prickit the auld man. And they yerkit his limbia with twine, Quhill the reiile blude ran in his hose and shoon, But some cryit it was wyne. They lickit the auld man, and they prickit the auld man, And they tyit him till ane stone ; And they set ane bele-fire him about. To burn him skin and bone. " O wae to me !" said the puir auld man, " That ever I saw the day ! And wae be to all the ill wemyng That lead puir men astray ! " Let nevir ane auld man a/ter this To lawless greide inclyne ; Let nevlr ane auld man after this Bin post to the deil for wyne." The reike flew up in the auld manis face. And choukit him bitterlye ; And the lowe cam' up with ane angry blese. And it syngit his auld breek-knee. He lukit to the land fra whence he cam'. For lukis he culde get ne mae ; And he thochte of his deire little bairnis at hame. And O the auld man was wae ! But they turnit their facis to the sun. 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' Fyfe, And it cam' rycht tymeouslye. For quha was it but the auld manis wife, J'.ut oomit his dethe to see. Scho put ane reide cap on hia heide, And the auld guidman lookit fain. Then ivhisperit ane word intil his lug. And tovit to the ayr again. The auld guidman he ga'e ane bob, I' the mids o' the burnyng lowe; And the sheklis that band him to the ring. They fell fra his armis like towe. He drew his breath, and he said the word, And he said it with muckil glee. Then set his fit on the burnyng pile. And away to the ajT flew he. Till aince he cleirit the swirlyng reike. He lukit beth ferit and sad ; But whan he wan to the lycht blue ayT, He lauchit as he'd been mad. His armis war spred, and his heid v,a- hiche. And his feite stack out behynde ; And the laibies of the auld manis cote War wauflBng in the wynde. And aye he neicherit, and aye he flew, For he thochte the ploy se raire ; It was like the voice of the gainder blue, Quhan he flees throu' the ayr. He lukit back to the Carlisle men As he borit the norlan sky ; He noddit his heide, and ga'e ane girn. But he nevir said guid-bye. They vanisht far i' the liftis blue wale, Ne mair the English saw. But the auld manis lauche cam' on the gale. With a lang and a loud gafla. May evir ilke man in the land of Fyfe Bead what the drinkeris dree ; And nevir curse his puir auld wife, Eychte wicked altho' scho be. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 487 EotIi ^©iiSi^, [Modern Ballad. — John Leyden. — From the Border Minstrelsy. " The hero of this bal- lad was William, lord Soulis, who appears to iiave possessed the whole district of Liddesdale, with Westerkirk and Kirkandrews, in Dumfries- shire, the lands of Gilmertoun, near Edinburgh, and the rich baronies of Xisbet, Longnewton, Taverton, Maxtoun, and Mertoun, in Koxburgh- shire. He was of royal descent, being the grand- son of Nichulas de Soulis, who claimed the crown of Scotland, in right of h;3 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, -n-ith fifty borderers, defeated and made prisoner Sir Andrew Harclay, at the head of | three hundred Englishmen ; and wiis himself slain fighting in the cause of Edward the Bruce, at the battle of Dtindalk, in Ireland, 1313. 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 Kutherglen, in the ninth year of his reign (1302,) styles him ' Gustos regni nostri." The treason of William, his successor, occasioned the downfall of the family. This powerful baron entered into a conspiracy against Robert the Bruce, in which iiiany 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 txecuted; among others, i the gallant David de Brechin, nephew to the king, whose sole crime was having concealed the treason, in which he disdained to participate.* • 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 coiTespond with that character. His portrait is by no means ilattering ; uniting every quality which could render strength furmidable, 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 Si-irits, 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, irrit;ited by reiterated complaints, peevish- ly exclaimed to the petitioners, " Boil him if 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 ^ ine-stane Rig, in a cauldron, said to have been long preserved at Sktlf-hill, a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. Messen- gers, it is said, were immediately dispatched by the king, to prevent the efl'ects of such a hasty declaration; but tbej only arrived in time to i the people thronged to the execution of the wallatit youth, they were bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram ile Umlraville, au English or Xoruian kuight, then a favouiite follower of Kobert Bruce. " M'hy press you," said he, " to see the dismal citasirophe of so jene- rous a knight? I have seen ye throng as eagerly around hioi'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 le.ive to sell his Scottish possessions, and to retire from the country. "My heart," said VmfraviUe, "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 lat Js, and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautifuliy told bv Barbour, book 19tlu— Scoil. rC/v, 483 SCOTTISH BALLADS. witness the conclusion of the ceremony. The castle of Hermitage, unable to support the load of iniquity, which had long been accumulating within its walls, is supposed to have partly sunk beneath the ground ; and its ruins are still re- garded by the peasants with peculiar aversion and terror. The door of the chamber, where Lord S. ulis 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 keys, by throwing tbem over his left shoulder, and desiring it to keep them tUl 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 Kine-stane Rig, where Lord Snulis 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 fatal cauldron was suspended. "The formation of ropes of sand, according to popular tradition, was a work of such diflSculty, that it was assigned by Michai-d Scot to a num- ber of spirits, for which it was necessary f. r 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."— Bort/er Mimtrelsy. Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle. And beside him Old Redcap sly ; — " Now, tell me, thou sprite, who ai t meikle of might. 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, TiU thrt efold ropes of sifted sand Around thy body twine. "If danger press fast, knock thrice on the chest. With rusty padlocks bound ; Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall ; ise. And listen to the sound." Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle. And Redcap 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 corr.e ttU to me. What troopers haste along the waste. And what may their livery be." 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, I wist, he saw. Till a horseman gray, in the royal array, Rjde down the Hazel-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 thrcugh the key-stone of the vault. They plunged him, horse and man. 1? Skrieh— Veep, FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 489 O May she came, and May she gaed. By Goranberry green ; And May she was tho fiiirest maid, Thac ever yet was seen. O May she came, and May she gaed. By Goianberry tower ; A nd who was it but cruel Lord Soulig, Tiiat cariied her frjiu her bower He brought her to his castle gray. By Hermitages side ; Sa;.s — " He content, my lovely ilay, ±'or tli^a Shalt be loy bride." AVith her yellow hr.ir, that glittered fair, she dried the trickling tear; She s-ghfed the name of Branxholm's heir, Ihe youth that loved her dear. " Now, be content, ir.y bonnie May, And fctke it for your hame ; Or ever and aye shall je rue the day. You heard young IJransbolm's name. "O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning hour. When the lift is like lead so blue. The a: .oke shall roll white on the weary night. And the flame shine dimly through." .Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red, A sturdy kemp was he ; From friend or foe, in Iwrder feid. Who never a foot would flee. Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led, Cp Goranberry Slack ; Aye, many a wight, unmatched in fight. Who never more came back. And bloody set the westering sun. And bloody rose he up ; But little thought young Branxholm's heir. Where he that uii^ht should sup. He shot the roe-buck on the lee. The dun deer on the law ; The glamour ■ sure was in his e'e. When Ringan nigh did diaw. G/amoitr— magical delusion. 4fe O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge, j ; He sped till day was set ; And he thought it was his merry men true, I AAhen he the spearmen met. Far from relief, they seized the chief; His men were far away ; Thro' Hermitage Slack, they sent him back. To Soulis' castle gray ; Syne onward lure for Branxholm tower. Where all his merry men lay. " Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir ! Thrice weicouie," quoth rioulis to me i " Say, dost thou repair to my castle lair. My wedding guest to be ^ And lovely May deserves, per fey, A brideman such as thee I" And broad and bloody rose the sun. And on the barmkin shone ; When the page was aware of Red Ringan Who came riding all alone. [there, To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he speeds, As he hghted at the wall. Says — " Where did ye stable my stalwarc steeds. And where do they tarry all ?" " We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir, We stabled them sure," quoth he: " Before we could cross that quaking moss. They ail were lost but me." He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the And he heard a stifled groan ; [chest. And at the third knock, each rusty lock Did open one by one. He turned away his eyes, as the lid did rise. And he listened silentlie; And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs lo v. " Beware of a coming tree '." In muttering sound the rest was drowned ; No other word heard he ; But slow as it rose, the hd did close. With the rusty padlocks three. Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother. The Teviot, high and low ; Bauld Walter by name, of meikle tarn, For none could bend his bow. 490 SCOTTISH BALLADS. O'er glen and giacle, to Soulis there sped The ftune 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'en 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. t The circumstance of Lord Soulis having thrown the key over his left shoulder, and bid the fiend keep it till his retui-n, is noted in the introduction, as a part of his traditionary his- tory. In the course of this autumn (1S06J the Karl 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 .■vscertain its ancient dimensions and archittc- 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 dae- 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 And still, when seven years are o'er, Is beard the jarring sound ; WTien slowly opes the charmed door Of the chamber under ground. And some within the chamber door Have cast a curious eye ; But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell. The fearful sights they spy. When Soulis thought on his merrj* men now, A 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 Braux- holm. Gin ye had me, as I liave thee I" " I would take you to the good greenwood, And gar your aia hand wale t the tree." " Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree. For all thy mirth and meikle pride ; And }Llay shall chuse, if my love she refuse, A scrog bush thee Leside." They carried him to the good greenwood, Where the green pines grew in a row ; And they heard the cry, from the branches highj 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 tha reliques ar j now in Lord Dalkeith's possession. In the summer of 1805, another discovery wa= 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, u boy, seeking for birds' nests, found a very curious antique silver ring, embossed with hearts, tlic well-known cognisance of the Douglas family, placed interchangeably with quatre-foils a'.l round the circle. The workmanship has an un- commonly rude and ancient appearance, and warrants our beheving that it may have belong- ed to one of the earls of Angus, who carried the j heart and quatre-foils in their arms. They part- I ed with the castle and lordship of Liddesdale, in ' exchange for that of Bothwell, in the beginning of the 16th century. — Scctt. '^ i Wale— choose-. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY, 401 They carried him on from tree to tree. The spiry boughs below; '■ Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine. To feed the hooded crow ?" " The 6r-tops fall by Branxholm wall, "When the night blast stirs the tree. And it shall not be mine to die on the pine, 1 loved in infencie." Young Branxholm turned him, and oft looked back. And aye he passed from tree to tree ; Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly* spake, " sic a death is no for me i" And next they passed the aspin gray. Its leaves were rustling moumfullie : " Now, chuse thee, chu-e thee, Branxholm Say, wilt thou never chuse the tree ?" [gay ! " ilore dear to me is the aspin gray, More dear tlian any other tree ; For beneath the shade, that its branches made. Have past the vows of my love and me." Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly spake. Until he did his ain men see. With vritches' hazel in each steel cap, In scorn of Soulis' gramarj-e ; Then shoulder height for glee he lap, " Methinks I spye a coming tree ;" '•' Aye, many may come, but few return," Quo' Soulis, the lord of gramarye ; " Xo warrior's hand in feir Scotland Shall ever dint a wound on me !" " Jfow, by my sooth," quo' bauld 'Walter, " If that be true we soon shall see." His bent bow he drew, and the arrow was true. But never a wound or scar had he. Then up bespake him true Thomas, He was the lord of Ersyltoun : " The wizard's spell no steel can quell. Till once your lances bear him down." They bore him down with lances bright. But never a wound or scar had he ; With hempen bands they bound him tight. Both hands and feet on the Kine-stane lee. * Pujr/y— softly. That wizard accurst, the bands he burst ; They moulJered at his magic spell ; And neck and heel, in the forged steel. They bound him against the charms of hell. That wizard accurst, the bands he burst ; Jso forged steel his charms could bide ; Then up bespake him true Thomas, " We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide." The black spae-book from his breast he took, Impressed with many a warlock spell : And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott, ■Who held in awe the fiends of hell. They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep. That mortal man might never it see : But Thomas did save it from the grave, "UTien he returned from Faerie. The black spae-book from his breast he took, And turned the leaves with curious hand ; Xo ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind. But threefold ropes of sifted sand. They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane burn. And shaped the ropes so curiouslie ; But the ropes would neither twist nor twine. For Thomas true and his gramarye. The black spae-book from his breast he took. And again he turned it with his hand ; And he bade each lad of Teviot add The barley chaff to the sifted sand. The barley chaff to the sifted sand They added still by handfuUs nine ; But Redcap sly unseen was by. And the ropes would neither twist nor twine. And still beside the Nine-stane bum, Ribbed like the sand at n ark of sea The ropes, that would not twist nor turn. Shaped of the sifted sand you see. The black spae-book true Thomas he took; Again its magic leaves he spread ; And he found that to quell the powerful spell. The wizard must be boiled in lead. On a circle of stones they placed the pot. On a circle of stones but barely nine ; They heated it red and fiery hot, [shine. Till the burnished brass did glimmer .ind 492 SCOTTISH BALLADS. rhey rolled him up in a sheet of lead, A sheet of lead for a funeral pall ; They plunged him in the cauldron red, And melted him, lead, and bunes, and all.* ^At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still I The men of Liddesdale can show ; I And on the spot, where they boiled the pot, I The spreat+ and the deer-hair^ ne'er shall grow. • The tradition, regarding the death of Lord Soulis, however singular, is nut without a paral- lel in the real history of tjcotland. The same extraordinary mode of cookery was actually prac- tised {horresco referens) upon the body of a sheriff 1 1 of the Mearns. This person, whose name was | ' Melville of Gleubervie, bore his faculties so ' I harshly, that he became detested by the barons j of the country. Reiterated complaints of his ji conduct having been made to James I. (or, as 1 1 others say, to the duke of Albany,) the monarch i answered, in a mon.ent of unguarded impa- | tiencc, " Sorrow gin the sheriff were sodden, j and supped in broo '." 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- j j vuck, above Lawrencekirk, under pretence of a j grand hunting party. Upon this place (still called the Sherijf's Pot,) 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 Jlathers, which stands 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 o;" 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."— dee Fellow's Travels in douth Barbary. And we may add, ^ ^le C©it rf ^ei l^ar* [Modern Ballad.— J. Leydbn.— " 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, adjacent 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 tiieir lances till he died; and the eddy, in which he perished, is still called the Cout of Keeidar'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 hkewise 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 Zenghis Khan, who immersed seventy Tartar Khans 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 Miirch (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. — Scofl. f Spreat— the spreat is a species of water-rush. Scott. i Deer-hair — the deer-hair is a coarse species of pointed grass, which, in May, bears a very minute, but beautiful yellow flower.— Sci^tt. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 4'J3 into his castle of Hermitage, and insidiously ^ murdered at a feast. " The Keeldar Stone, by which the Northum- brian chief passed in his incursion, is still pointed out, as a boundary mark, on the confines of Jed forest, and Northumberland. It is a rough in- sulated mass, of considerable dimensions, and it is held unluckyto ride thrice nithershim* a,ro\xnii it. Keeldar Castle is now a hunting seat, be- longing to the duke of Northumberland. " The Brown Man of the Muirs is a Fairy of the most malignant order, the genuine duergar. Walslngham mentions a story of an unfortunate youth, whose brains were extracted from his skull, during his sleep, by this malicious beii Owing to this operation, he remained 'A many years, till the Virgin Mary courteously re- '/ stored his brains to their station."] The eiry blood-hound howled by night, The streamers! flaunted red. Till broken streaks of flaky light O'er Keeldar's mountains spread. The lady sigh'd as Keeldar rose : " Come tell me, dear love mine. Go you to hunt where Keeldar flows. Or on the banks of Tyne ?" " The heath-bell blows where Keeldar flows. By Tyne the primrose pale ; But now we ride on the Scottish side. To hunt in Liddesdale." " Gin you will ride on the Scottish side, Sore must thy Margaret mourn ; For Soulis abhorred is Lyddall's lord. And I fear you'll ne'er return. '•■ The axe he bears, it hacks and tears; 'Tis formed of an earth-fast flint; ^ No armour of knight, though ever so wight. Can bear its deadly dint. * Widdershiits. — German, widdersint. A di- rection contrary to the course of the sun ; from left, namely, to right. — Scott. t Streamers — northern lights. i An earth-fast stone, or an insulated stone, inclosed in a bed of earth, is supposed to possess peculiar properties. It is frequently applied to sprains and bruises, and used to dissipate swell- ings ; but its blow is reckoned uncommonly severe. — Scott. " No danger he fears, for a charm 'd sword he wears ; Of adderstone the hilt ; § No Tynedale knight had ever such might, But his heart-blood was spilt." " In my plume is seen the holly green, With the leaves of the rowan tree ; || And H.y casque of sand, by a mermaid's hand. Was formed beneath the sea. " Then, Margaret dear, have thou no fear That bodes no ill to me. Though never a knight, by mortal might. Could match his gramarye."— Then forward bound both horse and hound, And rattle o'er the vale ; As the wintry breeze, through leafless trets. Drives ou the pattering hail. Behind their course the English fells In deepening blue retire ; Till soon before them boldly swells The muir of dun Eedswire. And when they reached the Eedswire high. Soft beam'd the rising sun ; But formless shadows seemed to fly Along the muir-land dun. And when he reached the Eedswire high, His bugle Keeldar blew ; And round did float, with clamorous note And scream, the hoarse curlew. The next blast that young Keeldar blew, The wind grew deadly still ; But the sleek fern, with flngery leaves. Waved wildly o'er the hiU. § The adderstone, among the Scottish pea- santry, is held in almost as high veneration, as, among the Gauls, the ovum anguinum, dtscriltt-d by Pliny.— Natural History, 1. xxix. c. 3. Tlie name is applied to celts, and other round perfo- rated stones. The vulgar suppose them to be perforated by the stings of adders. — Scott. II The rowan tree, or mountain ash, is still used by the peasantry-, to avert the tfl'i'Cts of charms and witchcraft. An inferior degree of the same influence is supposed to reside in many evergreens ; as the holly and the bay. With the Heaves of the bay, the English and Welch pea- 494 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The third blast that young Keeldar blew. Still stood the limber fern , And a Wee 3Ian, of swarthy hue, Vp started by a cairn. His russet weeds were brown as heath, That clothes the upland fell ; And the hair of his head was frizzly red. As the purple heather bell. An urchin,* clad in prickles red. Clung cowering to his arm ; The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled, As struck by Fairy charm. " Why rises high the stag-hound's cry. Where stag-hound ne'er should be ? "VMiy wakes that horn the sUent morn. Without the leave of me ?" " Brown dwarf, that o'er the muirland strays. Thy name to Keeldar tell!"— " The Brown Man of the Muii-s, who stays Beneath the heather bell. " 'Tis sweet, beneath the heather-bell. To live in autumn brown ; And sweet to hear the lav'rocks swell Far far from tower and town. "But woe betide the shrilling horn. The chace's surly cheer '. And ever that hunter is forlorn. Whom first at mom I hear." Says, " Weal nor woe, nor friend nor foe. In thee we hope nor dread." But, ere the bugles green could blow, The Wee Brown Man had fled. And onward, onward, hound and horse. Young Keeldar's band have gone ; And soon they wheel, in rapid course. Around the Keeldar Stone. Green vervain round its base did creep, A powerful seed that bore ; And oft, of yore, its channels deep Were stained with human gore. sants were lately accustomed to adorn their doors at midsummer.— Tide Brand's Vulgar A n tiquities. — Scott. *■ Urchin — hedge-hog. And still, when blood-drops, clotted thin, Hang the grey moss upon, The spirit murmurs from within. And shakes the rocking stone, j- Around, around, young Keeldar wound, And called, in scornful tone. With him to pass the barrier ground. The Spirit of the Stone. The rude crag rocked ; " I come for death, I come to work thy woe !" And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath, That murmured from below. But onward, onward, Keeldar past, Swift as the winter wind. When, hovering on the driving bkast. The snow-fLakes fall behind. They passed the muir of berries blae. The stone cross on the lee ; They reached the green, the bonnie bra*. Beneath the birchen tree. This is the bonnie brae, the green, Yet sacred to the brave. Where still of ancient size, is seen Gigantic Keeldar's grave. f The rocking stone, commonly reckoned a Druidical monument, has always been held in su- perstitious veneration by the people. The popular opinion, which supposes them to be inhabited by a spirit, coincides with that of the ancient Ice- landers, who worshipped the daemons, which they believed to inhabit great stones. It is re- lated in the Kristni Saga, chap. 2, that the first Icelandic bishop, by chaunting a hymn over one of these sacred stones, immediately after his arrival in the island, split it, expelled the spirit, and converted its worshippers to Christianity. The herb vervain, revered by the Druids, was also reckoned a powerful charm by the common people; and the author recollects a popular rhyme, supposed to be addressed to a young woman by the devil, who attempted to seduce her in the shape of a handsome young man i " Gin ye wish to be leman mine, Lay off the St. John's wort, and the vervine." By his repugnance to these sacred plants, hi^ ; mistress discovered the cloven foot.— Sci.^^. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 495 The lonely shepherd loves to mark The daisy springing fair, Where weeps the birch of silver bark. With long dishevelled haur. The grave is green, and round is spread The curling lady-fern ; That fatal day the mould was red, >^o 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 he-e, beside the mountain flood, A massy castle frown'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. " lie 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. " 'Twas here for Mangerton's brave l->rU 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, Eange on the better hand. I " And, if the bull's ill omen'd headf I Appear to grace the feast, ; Your whingers, with unerring speed, i Plunge in each neighbour's breast."— I In Hermitage they sat at dine. In pomp and proud array; And oft they tilled the blood-red wine. While merry minstrels play. And many a hunting song they sung. And song of game and glee ; Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue, " Of Scotland's luve and lee."i ^ Castles remarkable for size, strength, and utiquity, are, by the common people, common- 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 leen forced to bury tt. 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 daj.—Scotl. t To present a bull's head before a person at a I feast, was, in the ancient turbulent times cf ' Scotland, a common signal for his assassination. I Thus, Lindsay of Pitscottie relates in his Bis- 1 tory, p. 17, that " efter the dinner was endii, > once alle the delicate cours:s taken aw.iy, the chancellor (Sir William Crichttin) presentit the I bullis head befoir the Earle of Douglas, in signe I and toaken of condemnation to the death." I Scott. I i The most ancient Scottish song known :« that which is here alluded to, and is thus given by Wintoun, in his C'iironykil, vol. I. p. iul : — Quhea A'.ysandyr our kynj wes dede. That Scotland led in luve sod le. Away wea sons of ale and brede, OI n'} ae and wax, uf gamyn and g\e : Cure gold wes chanjyd into lede, Crj"st, borne into v.r^j-nyte. Succour Scotland and feinede, That atad is in peryleiyte. That alluded to in the following verse, is r. wild fanciful popular tale of enchantment, termed " The CL-tek UuU of Xoroway." The author is inclined to believe it the same story I with the romance of the " Three Futtlt Dog of I jS'oroway," the title of which is mentioned in the v(6 Complaynt of Scotland. — Scoii. 496 SCOTTISH BALLABS. To wilder measures next they turn " The Black Black Bull of Noroway !" Sudden the tapers cease to burn. The minstrels cease to play. Each hunter bold, of Keeldar's train, Sat an enchanted man ; Tor cold as ice, through every vein. The freezing lile-blood ran. Each rigid hand the whinger virung. Each gazed with glaring eye ; But Keeldar from the table sprung. Unharmed by gramarye. He burst the doors ; the roofs resound ; With yells the castle rung ; Before him, with a sudden bound. His favourite blood-hound sprung. 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. The iron clash, the grinding sound. Announce the dire sword-mill ;* The piteous bowlings of the hound The dreadful dungeon fill. With breath drawn in, the murderous crew Stood listening to the yell ; And greater still their wonder grew. As on their ear it fell. They listen'd for a human shriek Amid the jarring sound ; They only heard in echoes weak. The murmurs of the hound. The death-bell rung, and wide were flung The castle gates amain ; While hurry out the armed rout. And marshal on the plain. * The author is unable to produce any au- thority that the execrable machine, the sw rd- mill, 80 Well known on the continent, was ever employed in Scotland ; but he believes the ves- tiges of something very similar have been dis- covered in the ruins of old castles.— Sfo«. Ah ! ne'er before in Border feud Was seen so dire a fray ! Through glittering lances Keeldar hewed A red corse -pa ven way. His helmet, formed of mermaid sand, No lethal brand could dint; No other arms could e'er withstand The axe of earth-fast flint. In Keeldar's plume ths holly gi'een, And rowan leaves, nod on, And vain L' rd Soulis's sword was seen. Though the hilt was adderstone. Then up the Wee Brown JIan he rose. By Soulis of Liddesdale ; " In vain," he said, " a thousand blows Assail the charmed mail. "In v.iin by land your arrows glide. In vain your falchions gleam — No spell can stay the living tide.f Or charm the rushing stream." And now, young Keeldar reached the stream. Above the foamy lin ; The Border lances round him gle.T.n, And force thi warrior in. j The holly floated to the side, j And the leaf of the rowan pale . Alas I no spell could charm the tide. Nor the lance of Liddesdale. Swift was the Cout o' Keeldar's course. Along the lily lee; But home came never hound nor horse. And never home came he. Where weeps the birch with branches gretn, AVithout the ln.ly ground. Between two old gray stones is seen The warrior's ridgy mound. And the hunters bold, of Keeldar's train, AVithin yon castle's wall. In deadly sleep must aye remain, Till the ruined towers down ftxil. t That no species of magic had any effect over a running stream, was a common opinion among the vulgar, and is alluded to in Burns's ■ admirable tale of Tam o' Bhavter.—ScoU. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 497 Each in his hunter's garb array'd. Each holds his bugle horn ; Their keen hounds at their feet are laid. That ne'er shall wake the mom. '^^« ^pult ©-I t^e @!o. [Modern Ballad.— James Hogg.] " DEAREST Marjory, stay at home, For dark '3 the gate you 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 ! " 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, AVith all her colours flying fair. " He nodded his head against the heaven. As if in reverend mockerye ; Then fauldit his arms upon hie breast. And aye he shook his beard at me. " And he pointed to my Maijory'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 as 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, But fell down on the earth with fright. " But there was ane shameful heronshew, AVas 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 1 "And aye she rair'd as she were wud. For utter terror and dismay ; And left a skelloch on the clud, — 1 took it for the milky way. " Had I not seen that hideous sight, What I had done I could not say ; But at that heron's horrid fright, I'll laugh until my dying day. " Then, dearest ^larjory, 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 lile ; 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 niaskis will not move his tongue. But wag his tail, if she pass by ; " The adder hath not power to stang ; The slow-wonn's harmless as an ee! ; The burly toad, the ask, and snake. Cannot so much as 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 best of all." 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 j Why should a virtuous maiden dread The tale of a crazy Dominie ?" " Ochon, ochon, dear Marjorye, But of your virtue you are vain ! Tet 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 !) Is like the blue-bell of the waste. Sweet, sweet a while, and gune for ever ! " 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 is o'er. " Then be not proud, sweet Marjorye, Of that which hath no sure abode : Man little knows what lurks within ; The heart is only known to God." 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 you gaun ?" " 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, 1 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 m.aid, what is your haste ? Come, speak with me before you go ; For I have news to tell to you, AYill make your ver> heart to glow : " Tou claim that virgins have a charm. That holds the universe at bay ; Alas ! 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 eyes a heavenly sway ; Then, would you be a blessed thing. Indulge in love without delay. " You go to meet your own ti-ue 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 JIaijory, and away With lighter step and Wither 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 ciamosye. 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. FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. VjO Her little heart began to beat. And flutter most disquietlye. She lookit east, she lookit west. And all to see what she could see. 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. 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. Then Marjory, in a moment thought. That blessed angels might her see ; And often said within her heart, " Do God's own planets blush for me ? " 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. " 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 !" " Take thou no dread, sweet Marjory e ; It is love's own curtain spread on high; A tiraeous veil for maiden's blush. Yon little crumb-cloth of the sky. " All the good angels take delight Swfctt woman's happiness to see ; And where could thine be so complete As in the bower this night with me .■"' Poor Marjory durst no answer make. But stood as meek as captive dove ; Her trust fix'd on her Maker kind,— Her eyes upon the heaven abave. 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. 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. 4^ Keep aye the eyes on heaven aboon. Both of your body and your mind ; For in the strength of God alone, A woman's weakness strength shall find 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. 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. Away went honnb Maijorje, With all her blossoms in the blight ; She had not gone a bowshot on. Before she saw an an some sight : It was ane maike of monstrous mighty The terror of the sons of men ; That by Sir Dominie was hight. The Giant Spirit of the Glen. His make was like a moonshine cloud That fiU'd the glen with human f ^rm ; With his gray locks he brush'd the heaven And shook them far aboon the sU^rm ; And gurly, gurly was his look. From eyne that s.em'd two borels blue , And shaggy was his silver beard That down the air in streamers flew. Oh, but that maid was hard bested, And mazed aiul rnvdderit in d.smay : For both the guests of heaven and hell Seem'd her fond passage to belay, ■VNTien the Great Spirit saw her dread. And that she wist not what to say. His face assum'd a milder shade. Like midnight melting into day. " Poor wayward, artless, aimless thing. Where art thou going, canst thou tell?" The Spirit said,—" Is it thy will To run with open eyne to hell ? " I am the guardian of this glen. And 'tis my sovereign joy to see The wicked man run on in sin. Rank, ruthless, gaunt, and greedilye; 500 SC0TTIf5H BALLADS. " But still to guar>l the virtuous heart From paths of danger and of woe. Shall be 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 eomeliest 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 lut twn. 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 vrith tears she wet his feet ; But then he mock'J and jeer'd the more, With threats, and language most unmeet. She 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 hve forsaken and forlorn !" " As thou hast said so shalt thou dree," Said tliis most cursed and cruel hind ; " For I must meet ane May this night, Whom 1 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 reinede." She open'd up her sno^vy breast. And aye the tear blinded her e'e ; Now take, now tal^e mine harmless life. All guiltless but for loving thee '." 4^ Then he took out a deadly blade, And drew it from its bloody sheath. Then laid his hand upon her eyne. To bhnd them from the stroke of death. Then, straight to pierce her broken heart, He raised his ruthless hand on high ; But 3Iarjoiy 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 wouMst thou run : T\Tiat think'st thou of thy lover meek,— The eomeliest and the kindest youth That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek ?" Then sore, sore did poor iiarjory 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, Quhill 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 i 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 be 1 and board. And this brave house to be thine hame . " But not till we in holy church Be bound, never to loose again ; I ' And then I will love you as my life, ^ And long as life and breath remain." FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 501 Then the Dominie took her to holy church, ^ And wed her with a gowden ring ; i , And he was tliat day a joyful man. And happier nor a crowned king. And more unsniirchit happiness Xe'er to an earthly pair was given ; And all the days they spent on earth, Ihey spent in thankfulness to Heaven. Sow, maidens dear, in greenwood shaw. Ere you make trystes with flattering men, Think of the sights poor Maigory saw. And the Great Spirit of the Glen. ^■^e Es^t ^shg' [This very beautiful piece is written by Mr. William Oliveb, Langraw, Eoxburghshire, author of "Eight Months in lllinoia." It is here printed for the first time.] There was a voice hf-ard on the fell. Crying so sadly, " All are gone. And I must bid this earth farewell ; Oh why should I stay here alone ? Ealie, ealie, oh farewell ! "I've sought the brake, I've sought the hill, li The haunted glen, and swelling river ; I've sought the fountain, and the rill. And all are left, and left for ever. Eahe, &c. " AVhere'er the sunbeam tints the spray. That rises o'er the falling waters, I've, needless, roamed the livelong day. In search of some of Faerie's daughters. Eahe, &c. " Each heather-bell, each budding flower. That blooms in wold, or grassy lea. Each bosky shaw, each leafy bower. Is tenantless by all, save me. E.-Uie, &c. •' Xo more now, through the moonlit night, With tinkling bells, and sound of mirth, "We hie, and scare the peasant wight. With strains by £ir too sweet for eartli. Zalie, &c. " The new-made mother need not fear, To leave ajar the cottage door ; AUis ! we never shall come near. To change the mortal's infant more. Ealie, &c. " Xo more, when as the eddying wind Shall whirl the autumn leaves in air. Shall there be dread, that elfin fiend. Or troop of wandering Ciys are there. Ealie, &c. " In palaces beneath the lake. Within the rock, or jrassy hill, Ifo more the sounds of mirth we make. But all are silent, sad, and stiil. Ealie, Sec. " Farewell the ring, where, through the dance. In win ling maze, we deftly flew, Whilst flowing hair, and dress, would gl.ince AVith sparkling gems of moonlit dew. Ealie, &c. " We were ere mortals had their birth. And long have watched their growing Jay; The light now beams upon the e.irth. And warns us that we must away. Ealie, &c. " Oh where are Thor and Wodin now ? Where Elfin sprite and Duergar gone ? The great are fallen ; we needs must bow, I may not stay, not even alone. Ealie, &c. " Ah me, the wandering summer broeze Shall Lear our sighs, where'er it goes, Or floating 'mid the leafy trees. Or steaUng odours from the rose. Ealie, &c. " These sighs, unknown shall touch the heart. And with a secret language speak ; To joy a soothing care impart ; Add tears to smiles on beauty's cheek. Eahe, &c. "Farewell, farewell, for I must go To other realms, to other spheres ; This mortal earth 1 leave with wo, With grief, with wailing, and with tears." Ealie, Stc. Sv -502 SCOTTISH BALLADS. ]t '^tu'muu rl J^^aCT^fE* [Modern Ballad.— Alexander Laing.— Here printed for the first time. — In the notes to Collins'3 "Ode on the Popu'ar Superstitions of the Highlands" it is said that "The Brow- nie formed a class of beings, distinct in habit and disposition from the freakish and mis- chievous elves or fairies. In the day time, he lurked in remote recesses of the old houses which he delighted to haunt ; and in the night sedu- lously employed himself in discharging any labo- rious task which he thought might be acceptable to the famUy, to whose service he had devoted himself;" — and service similar to that narrated in this ballad was of vei7 frequent occurrence. It is told of a Brownie, that on a certain occa- sion he had undertaken to gather the sheep into the bught by an early hour, and so zealously did he perform his task, that not only was there not one sheep left on the hill, but he had also col- lected a number of kares, which were found fairly penned along with them ; upon being con- gratulated on his extraordinary success, he ex- claimed, " confound thae wee grae anes, they cost me mair trouble than a' the lave o' them." So disinterested was Brownie in his attachment, that any offer of reward, particularly of food or clothing, he invariably reckoned a hint from the family that they wished to dispense with his ser- vices, which he immediately transferred to ano- ther. He has likewise been known to have aban- doned a beloved haunt, when often disturbed in his places of daily retirement, or when any ob- servations were made on his appearance, which was " meagre, shaggy, and wild." It is there- fore veiy probable, as we have no later tradition respecting the Brownie of the ballad, that the question put to him by the sage femme at the door of the farm -house, occasioned his departure from his favourite Fearnden for ever.] Thair livit ane man on Norinsyde, Whan Jamis helde his aine ; He had ane maylen faire and w^de. And servants nyne or tene— He had ane servant dwellying neir, Worthe all his maydis and men ; And wha was this gyn ye wald speir. The Brownie of Fearnden ! i "Whan thair was come to threshe or diehte. Or barne or byre to clene. He had ane bizzy houre at nicht, Atvveene the twall and ane ; And thouch the sna' was never so deip. And never so weet the raine. He ran ane errant in a wheip. The Brownie of Fearnden ! Ae nicht the gudewyfe of the house Fell sicke as sicke coud be. And for the skilly mammy-wyfe. She wantit them to gae ; The nicht was darke, and never a sparke AVald venture doun the glen. For feir that he micht heir or see The Brownie of Fearnden ! But Brownie was na fiir awa'. For well he heard the stryfe ; And ablynis thocht, as well he saw. They sune wald tyne the wj-fe : He affe and mountis the ridying mear. And throeh the winde and raine ; And sune was at the skilly wyfe's, Wha livit owre the den ! He pullit the sneke, and out he spak'. That she micht bettere heir, " Thair is a inothere wald gj-ve byrth. But hasna strengthe to beir ; O rjse ! ryse ! and hape you weil. To kelp you fra the raine" — " Whaur do you want me ?" quoth the wy "e " whaur but owre the den !" Whan baythe waur mountit on the mear. And ridyng up the glen ; " O watt ye laddy," quoth the wyfe, " Gyn we be neir the den ? " Are we com neir the den?" she said ; " Just wysht ye fule!" quoth he, " For waure than ye ha'e in your armis. This nicht ye wynna see !" They sune waur landit at the doore. The wyfe he handit doun — " I've lefte the house but ae haufe houre, I am a clever loun !"— FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. )03 "What maks your feit sae brayde?" quoth ife she, '• Wliat maks your een sae wan ?" " I've wandert mony a weary foote. And unko sichtis I've seen I " But mynd the wyfe, and mynd the wean. And see that all gae rlcht ; And I wyll tak' you hame agen, Befoir the mornyng licht. " And gyn they speir wha brocht you heir, Cause they waur scaunte of men — Even tell them that ye rade abint Ihe Brownie of Fearnden I" n ^aM=H&ag, [The woman, in whose character these lines are written, supposes her child to be stolen by a fairy. The ballad here given is translated from the German, by John Anster, Esq.] The summer sun was sinking With a mild light calm and mellow. It shone on my little boy's bounie cheeks, And his loose locks of yellow. The robin was singing sweetly. And his song was sad and tender ; And my little boy's eyes, while he heard the song. Smiled with a swett soft splendour. Mj little boy lay on my bosom. While his soul the song was quaflBng, The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek. And his heart and his eye were laughing. I sat alone in my cottage. The midnight needle plying; I feared for my child, for the rush's light In the socket now was dying. There came a hand to my lonely latch. Like the wind at midnight moaning; I knelt to pray, but rose again. Fur I heard my little boy groaning. I cross'd my brow, and 1 cross'd my breast. But that night ray child departed ; They left a weakling in hia stead. And I am broken-hearted. Oh ! it cannot be my own sweet boy, For his eyes are dim and hollow. My little boy is gone to God, And hia mother soon will follow. The dir.e for the dead will be sung for me, And the mass be chanted ineetly; And I will sleep with my little boy. In the moonlight churchyard eweetlj'. [This piece is by the Eev. Dr. Jamibson, author of the Scottish Dictionary, It first ap- peared in the Border Minstrelsy. We give it a place here aa the Water Kelpie belongs to the genus Fairy. " The principal design of the author of this piece," says Sir Walter, " was to give a speci- men of Scottish writing, more nearly approach- ing to the classical compositions of our ancient bards, than that which has been generally fol- lowed for seventy or eighty years past. As the poem is descriptive of the superstitions of the vulgar, in the couuty of Angus, the scene is laid on the banks of South Esk, near the castle of Inverquharity, about five nulea north Crom Forfar."] Aft, owre the bent, with heather blent. And throw the forest brown, I tread the path to yon green strath, Quhare brae-born Esk rins down. Its banks alang, quhilk hazels thrang, Quhare sweet-sair'd hawthorns blow, 1 lufe to stray, and view the play Of fleckit scules below. Ae summer e'en, upon the green, I laid me down to gaze ; The place right nigh, quhare Carity His humble tribute paj-s : 501 SCOTTISH BALLADS. And Prosen proud, with rippet loud, Cums ravin' frae his glen ; As giu he micht auld Esk aflfricht. And drive him back agen. An ancient tour appear't to lour Athort the neibourin plain, Quhais chieftain bauld, in times of auld. The kin trie call't his ain. Its honours cow't, its now forhow't. And left the houlat's prey ; Its skuggin' wude, aboon the flude, With glooai owrespreads the day. A dreary shade the castle spread. And mirker grew the lift; The crooniu' kie the byre drew nigh. The darger left his thrift. The lavrock shill on erd was still. The westlin wind fell loun ; The fisher's houp forgat to loup, * And aw for rest made boun. f 1 seem't to sloom, quhan throw the gloom I saw the river shak', And heard a whush alangis it rush, Gart aw my members quak' ; Syne, in a stound, the pool profound To cleave in twain appear'd ; And huly throw the frichtsora how His form a gaist uprear'd.i Ke 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. 4 * The fishes, the hope of the angler, no more rose to the fly. — Jamieson. i All commonly occurs in our old writers. But aw is here used, as corresponding with the general pronunciation in Scotland ; especially as it has the authority of Bunbar, in his " La- ment for the Deth of the Makuris."— 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 offspring of fiincy. All that can be said for it is, that such attributes are selected Hi are appropriate to the scenery .—Jamieson. 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-banee ; His briskit braid, a whin ; Ilk rib sae bare, a skelvy skair ; Ilk arm a monstrous fin. Ke 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 swarfit 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-flauchts flee, And flash alangis the flude. Quhan words he found, their elritch sound Was Uke the norlan blast, Frae yon deep glack, at Catla's back,|| That skeegs the dark-brown waste. The troublit pool conveyit the gowl Down to yon echnin rock ; And to his maik, with wilsum skraik, Ilk bird its terror spoke. The trout, the par, now here, 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 ottar yap his prey let drap. And to his hiddils drew. § South Esk abounds with the fresh-water oyster, vulgarly called the horse-mussel ; and, in former times, a pearl fishery was carried on here to considerable extent. — Jamieson. II 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. — Jamieson. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 505 " Tile droich," he said, " art nocht afraid Thy mortal life to tyne ?* How dar'st thou seik with me to speik, .Sae far aboon thy line ^ " Yet sen thou hast thai limits past. That sinder sprites frae men. Thy life I'll spare, and aw declare. That worms like thee may ken. " In kintries nar, and distant tar, Is my renoun propall't; A s is the leid, my name ye'll reid. But here I'm Kelpie call't. " The strj-pes and bums, throw aw their turns. As weel's the waters wide. My laws obey, thair spring-heads frae, Doun till the salt sea tide. " Like some wild sfciig, I aft stravaig, And scamper on the wave : Quha with a bit my mow can fit, :>Iay gar nie be his slave. " To him I'll wirk, baith mom and mirk, Quhile he has wark to do ; Gin tent he tak' I do nae shak' His bridle frae my mow.f " Qahan Murphy's Liird his biggin' rear'd, I carryit aw the stanes ; * The vulgar idea is, that a spirit, however frequently it appear, will not si>eak, unless pre- viously addressed. It is, however, at the s;ime time believed, that the person, who ventures to speak to a ghost, forfeits his life, and will soon l.jse it, in consequence of his presumption. Jamieson. t The popular tradition is here faithfully de- scribed ; and, strange to tell 1 has not yet lost all credit. In the following verses, the principal articles of the vulgar creed in Angus, with respect to this supposed being, are brought to- gether, and illustrated by such facts as are yet appealed to by the credulous. If I mistake not, none of the historical circumstances mentioned are older than half a century. It is only about tiiirty years since the bridge referred to was ';ailt. — Jamieson, « And mony a chicll has heard me squeal For sair-brizi'd back and banes.^ " Within flude-mark, I aft do wark Gudewillit, quhan I please; In quarries deep, quhile uthers sleep, Greit blocks I win with ease. " Yon bonnie brig quhan folk wald big. To gar my stream look braw ; A sair-toil'd wicht was I be nicht I did mair than tbaim aw. " And weel thai kent quhat help I lent. For thai yon image fram't, Aboon the pend whilk I defend ; And it thai Kelpie nam't.§ " Quhan lads and lasses wauk the clais, Narby yon whinny hicht. The sound of me their daffin lays ; Thai dare na mudge for fricht. " Now in the midst of them 1 scream, Quhan toozlin' on the haugh ; Than quhihher by thaim doun the stream. Loud nickerin in a lauch. " Sicklike's my fun, of wark quhan run : But I do ineikle mair; In pool or ford can nane be smur"d Gin Kelpie be nae there. " Fow lang, I wat, I ken the spat, Quhair ane sail meet his deid: Nor wit nor pow'r put aff the hour. For his wanweird decreed. " For oulks befoir, alangis the dioir. Or diinciu' down the stream. My lichts are seen to bUaze at een. With wuU wanerthly gleam. \ It is pretended that Kelpie celebrated this memorable event in rhyii^e ; and that Ibr a lon^ time after he was often heard to cry, with a doleful voice, ■' Sair back and saut banes, Canyin' the laird of Murphy's stanes \" Jamieson. § A head, like that of a gorgon, appears above the arch of the bridge. This was hewn in honour of Kelpie. — Jamieson. 506 " The hind cums in, gif haim he win, And cries, as he war wod, — Sum ane sail soon be carryit down ' By that wanchaney flude !' " The taiken leil thai ken fow weel. On water sides quha won ; And aw but thai, quha's weird I spae. Fast fi-ae the danger run. " But fremmit fouk I thus provoke To meit the fate thai flee To wilderit wiohts thai're waefow lichts. But lichts of joy to me. ^ " With ruefow cries, that rend the skies, -^2 '■ Thair fate I seem to mourn, VXK Like crocodile, on banks of Nile ; ,y^^ For I still do the turn. " Douce, cautious men aft fey are seen ; Thai rin as thai war heyrt. Despise all rede, and court their dede : By me are thai inspu-'t. " Yestreen the water was in spate, d^x The stanners aw war cur'd ; ^^Y°l -^ man, nae stranger to the gate, r ' ' Raid up to tak' the ford. " The haill town sware it wadna ride ; And Kelpie had been heard : But nae a gliflBn wad he bide. His shroud I had prepar'd. * ^ A very common tale in Scotland is here alluded to by the poet. On the banliLs of a rapid stream the AVater Spirit was heard repeatedly to exolaim, in a dismal tone, " The hour is come, but not the man ;'■ when a person coming up, contrary to all remonstrances, endeavoured to ford the stream, and perished in the attempt. The original story is to be found in Gervase of Tilburj'.— In the parish of Castleton, the same atory is told, with this variation, that the bye- standers prevented, by force, the predestined individual from entering the river, and shut him up in the church, where he was next morning found suffocated, with his face lying immersed in the baptismal font. To a fey person, there- fore, Shakespeare's words literally apply : SCOTTISH BALLADS. B Put but a little . spoon. And it shall be as all the ocean, Enough to swallow such a being up.— Scott. •'The human schaip I sometimes aip: As Prosenhaugh raid haim, Ae starnless nicht, he gat a fricht, Maist crackt his bustuous frame. " I, in a glint, lap on ahint. And in my arms him fang't; To his dore-cheik I keipt the cleik The carle was sair bemang't. " My name itsell wirks like a spell. And quiet the house can keep ; Quhan greits the wean, the nurse in vain, Thoch tyke-tyrit, tries to sleip. " But gin scho say, ' Lie still, ye skrae. There's Water-Kelpie's chap;" It's fleyit to wink, and in a blink It sleips as sound's a tap." He said, and thrice he rais't his voice. And gaif a horrid gowl : Thrice with his tail, as with a flail. He struck the flying pool. A thunderclap seem't ilka wap, Eesoundin' throw the wude: The Are thrice flash't; syne in he plash't. And sunk beneath the flude. Wl)t JMai^ m% §mt^. [From Buchan's Ballads.] " OPEN the door, my honey, my heart, O open the door, my ain kind dearie; For dinna ye mind upo' the time. We met in the wood at the well sae wearie ? " O gi'e me my castick, my dow, my dow, O gi'e me my castick, my ain kind dearie ; For dinna ye mind upo' the time. We met in the wood at the well sae wearie ? " O gi'e me my brose, my dow, my dow, O gie me my brose, my ain kind dearie ; For dinna ye mind upo' the time. We met in the wood at the well sae wearie ? FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 507 •■■ gi'e me my kail, my dow, my dow, O gi'c me my kail, my ain kind dearie ; For dinna ye mind upo' the time. We met in the wood at the well sae wearie " O lay me down, my dow, my dow, lay me down, my ain kind dearie ; For dinna ye mind upo' the time. We met in the wood at the well sae wearie?" " O woe to you now, my dow, my dow, O woe to you now, my wile fause dearie ; And oh ! for the time I had you again. Plunging the dubs at the well sae wearie :" Mm ®'^ ^l5^ 0iwil &m. [From HOGG.1 'The Mountain Bard," by James I WILL tell you of ane wondrous tale. As ever was told by man, Or ever was sung by minstrel meet Since this base world began : — It is of ane May, and ane lovely May, That dwelt in the Moril Glen, The fairest flower of mortal frame. But a devil amongst the men ; For nine of them sticket themselves for love, And ten louped in the main. And seven-and-thretty brake their hearts. And never loved women again; For ilk ane trowit she was in love. And ran wodde for a while — There was siccan language in everj- look, And a speire in every smile. And she had seventy scores of ewes, Tiiat blett o'er dale and down, On the bonnie braid lands of the Moril Glen, And these were all her own ; And she had stotts, and sturdy steers. And blithsome kids enew. That danced as light as gloaming flies Out through the idling dew. And this May she had a snow-white bull. The dread of the hail countrye. And three-and-thretty good milk kye. To bear him oompanye ; And she had geese and goslings too. And ganders of muckil din. And peacocks, with their gaudy trains, And hearts of pride within ; And she had cocks with curled kaims. And hens, full crouse and glad, Ihat chanted in her own stack-yard, And cackillit and laid like mad ; But where her minnie gat all that gear And all that lordly trim, The Lord in Heaven he knew fuU weU, But nobody knew but him ; For she never yielded to mortal man. To prince, nor yet to king- She never was given in holy church, Nor wedded with ane ring. So all men wist, and all men said ; But the tale was in sore mistime. For a maiden she could hardly be. With a daughter in beauty's prime. But this bonnie May, she never knew A father's kindly claim ; She never was bless'd in holy church. Nor christen'd in holy name. But there she lived an earthly flower Of beauty so supreme. Some fear'd she was of the mermaid's brood. Come out of the salt sea faemc. Some said she was found in a fairy ring, And born of the fairy queen ; For there was a rainbow behind the moon That night she first was seen. Some said her mother was a witch. Come fr.ae ane far countrye ; Or a princess loved by a weird warlock In a land beyond the sea ! Oh, there are doings here below That mortal ne'er should ken ; For there are things in this f:iir world Beyond the reach of men. 508 SCOTTISH BALLADS A8 thing most sui-e and certain was— • For the bedesmen told it me — That the knight who coft the Moril Glen >'e'er spoke a word but three. And the masons who biggit that wild ha' Ne'er spoke ^vord good nor ill ; [house They came like a dream, and pass'd away Like shadows o'er the hUl. They came like a dream, and pasa'd away ■\Vhither 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 Grod— 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 womanheid ! And no man could look on her face. 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 Tliat strength could overwin. But like ane red hot gaud of iron Eeekiug 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 ! " Oh : had I died before my cheek To woman's breast had lain. Then had I ne'er for woman's love Endured this burning pain ! " For love is like the fiery flame That quivers through the rain, And love is like fne pang of death That splits the heart in twain. " If I had loved earthly thing. Of earthly blithesomeness, 1 might have been beloved again, And bathed in earthly bliss. " But I have loved ane freakish fay Of frowardness and sin, With heavenly beauty on the face, And heart of stone within. " 0, for the gloaming calm of death To close my mortal day — The last benighting heave of breath. That rends the soul away !" 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 sliall we sit 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 tills 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 !" The king hath chosen fourscore knights. 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. FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 509 Her palfrey was of snowy hue, A pale unearthly thics, That revell'd over hill and dale Like bird upon the wins. 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 Tirgin crown. Shone like the new moon's lady light O'er cloud of amber brown. The lightning that shot from her eyne, Flicker'd like elfin brand ; It was sharper nor the sharpest spear In all ^Northumberland. The hawk that on ker 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. Upon 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'u him round about. And calleth to his men, •' Yonder she comes, this wierdly witch. This spirit of the glen ! " Come rank your master up behind. This serpent to belay ; I'll let you hear me put her down In grand polemic way." Swift came the maid ower strath and strou- Xae dantonit dame was she — T"ntil 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, liiat ought not to have been there. The king, whose belt waa like to bur^i, With speeches most difine, 2»ow felt ane throbbing of the heart. And quaking of the gfine. And aye he gasped for his brtoth. And gaped in dire dismay. And waved his arm, and smote his bre.ai: But word he could not say. The spankie grew is they scowr'd the dai,-, The dun deer to restrain ; The virgin gave her steed the rein, And foUow'd, might and main. " Go bring her back, " the king be crlcu ; " This reifery must not be. Though you should bind her hands and ;-.:, Go bring her back to me." The deer she flew, the garf and grew They foUow'd hard behind ; The milk-white palfrey bnish'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 fell. They look'd outowre 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 rontea with despair. And puU'd the grass up by the rooti. And flang it on the air : " What ails, what ails my royal lie^e ' Such grief I do deplore." " Oh I'm bewitched," the king repUod, " And gone for evermore '. " Go bring her back — ^go bring her back — Go bring her back to roe ; For I must either die of love. Or own that dear ladye ! " That god of love out through my scu! Hath shot his arro\vs keen ; And I am ench.inted through the heart. The liver, and the spleen." -2 510 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The deer was slain ; the royal traia Then closed the virgin round. And then her fair and lily hands Behind her back were bound. 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 when she came before the king, Ane ireful carle was he; Saith he, " Dame, you must be my love, Or burn beneath ane tree. " 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 ?" " 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. " 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." 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. He sank his rowels to the naife. And scour'd the muir and dale. He held his bonnet on his head. And louted to the g.ale. Till wives ran skreighing to the door. Holding their hands on high ; They never saw king in love before. In such extremitye. And every lord and every knight Made off his several way. All galloping as they had been mad, Withouten stop or stay. But there was never such dool and pain In any land befel ; For there is wickedness in man. That grieveth me to tell. 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 ; And seventy-seven wedded dames. As fair as e'er were born. The very pride of all the land. Were dead before the mom. Then there was nought but mourning weed?, And sorrow, and dismay ; "While burial met with burial still. And jostled by the way. And graves were howkit in green kirkyards. And howkit deep and wide ; While bedlars swarfit for very toil. The comely corps to hide. The graves, with their unseemly jaws. Stood gaping day and night To swallow up the fair and young; — It was ane grievous sight ! 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. Then there were chariots came o'er night. As silent and as soon As shadow of ane little cloud In the wan light of the moon. Some said they came out of the rock, And some out if the sea; And some said they were sent from hell. To bring that fair ladye. When the day sky began to frame The grizly eastern fell. And the little wee bat was bound to seek His dark and eery cell. The fairest flower of mortal frame Pass'd from the Moril Glen ; And ne'er may such a deadly eye Shine amongst Christian men ! In seven chariots, gilded bright. The train ^^ent o'er the fell. All wrapt within a shower of hail ; Whither no man could tell ; %^:'^r^ FAIRT MTTHOLOGY, o\ But there was a ship in the Firth of Forth, The like ne'er saii'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 plaj'd "With every breeze that blew. And the hailstone shroud it rattled loud, Ei--ht over ford and fen. And swathed the flo^ser of the iloril Glen From eyes of sinful men. And the hailstone shroud it wheel'd and As wan as death nnshriven, [roWd, Like dead cloth of an angel grim. Or winding sheet of heaven. It was a fearsome sight to see Toil tlirou^h the morning gray. And whenever it reach'd the comely ship, s'he 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 thing. The dolphins fled out of her way Into the creeks of Fife, And the blacliguard 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. =r No biUow breasted en her prow, fe" Xor levell'd on tlie lee ; •^^ She seem'd to sail upon the air ^ And never touch the sea. ^ c' And away, and away went the bonnie ship, L' "Which n^an never more did see ; ^^ But whether she went to heaven or hell, ^" "V\'as ne'er made known to me. [Feoji "The Queen's Wake," by James He,'.. "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 modem 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 U amusing to some readers. A man in the pariah 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 rathir unsafe; his daughter, a child seven years of age, w.is playing beside Uira, 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 not there. He always averred that, as far as h-. could remember, she had been talking to him a"uout half a minute before; he was certain it was not above a whole one at most. It w.is in vain that he ran searching all about like one dis- tracted, calling her nane; — no trace of her re- m.ained. He went home in a state of mind that may be better conceived than expreise 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 nigber, 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 distant 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— asked 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 lin- gular in his looks and manner, they unfortu- nately forebore asking him any questions at first, but desired him to sit and share their dinner. This he readily con plied 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."] Bonnie Kilmeny 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 hazel 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 ! 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 w.ts 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, f Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; FAIRY MYTHOLOGY, 513 When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, -^ late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame ! " Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? Lang ha'e we sought baith holt and den ; By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree. Yet you are halesome and f;iir to see. AVhere gat you that joup o' the lily scheen ? Tiiat bonnie snood of the birk sae green ? And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen ? Kiimeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ?" Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace. Eat nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face ; As still was her look, and as still was her e'e, ■' = the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, 'lie mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. - Kilmeny had been she knew not where, : 1 Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare ; JCiimeny had been where the cock never crew, Vi'heie the rain never fell, and the wind never blew ; I3ut it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, A nd the airs of heaven played round her tongue, T\"hen she spake of the lovely forms she had -Vn d a land where sin had never been ; [seen, A land of Jove, and a land of light, ">'>"■ tiiouten sun, or moon, or night : " :.-Te the river swa'd a Uving stream, I the light a pure celestial beam : .-: land of vision it would seem, A itill, an everlasting dream. In yon green-wood ther,- is a walk, • A in that walk there is a wene, Vnd in that wene there is a inaike, - ...tt neither has flesh, blood, nor bane : And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane. In that green wene Kilmeny 'ay, ' r bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay ; l: the air was soft and the silence deep, . ;; ; bonnie Kilmeny fell sound asleep ; 6he kend nae mair, nor opened her e'e. Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye. She 'wakened on a couch of the silk sae slim. All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim ; And lovely beings round were rifa. Who erst had travelled mortal life ; And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, " What spirit has brought tiiis mortal here ?" — " Lang have I journeyed the world wide," A meek and reverend fere replied ; " Baith night and day I have watched the fair, Kident a thousand years and mair. Yes, 1 have watched o'er ilk degree, AVherever blooms femenitye; But sinless virgin, free of stain In mind and body, fand I nane. Never, since the banquet of time. Found I a virgin in her prime, Till late this bonnie maiden I saw As spotless as the morning snaw : Full twenty years she has lived as free As the spirits that sojourn in this countrje : I have brought her away frae the snares of nu i , That sin or death she never may ken."— They clasped her waist and her hand sac fair. They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair, And round came many a blooming fere, Saying, " Bonnie Kilraeny, ye're welcome here : Women are freed of the littand scorn : O, blessed be the day Kilraeny wa^ born 1 Now shall the land of the spirits see, Now shall it ken what a w..inan may be : Slany a lang year in sorrow and pain. Many a lang year through the world we've gane. Commissioned to watch fair womankind, For it's they who nourice the immortal mind. We have watched their steps as the dawniu; shone. And deep in the green-wood walks alone ; By lily bower and silken bed. The viewless te.ars have o'er them shed ; Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep. Or left the couch of love to wtep. AVe have seen ! we have seen ! but the tine must come. And the angels will weep at the day of d oiu ' " O, would the direst of mortal kind Aye keep the holy truths in mind. That kindred spirits their motions see, AVho watch their ways with anxious eo. And grieve for the guilt of humanitye I O, sweet to heaven the maiden's prayer. And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae f;iir ! And dear to heaven the words of truth, And the prais3 of virtue frae beauty's mouth : And dear to the viewless forms of air. The minds that k^the as the body Our ! " O, bonnie Kilmeny ! free frae sUin, If ever v u seek the world again, 2 k 514 SCOTTISH BALLADS. That world of sin, of sorrow and fear, i 0, tell of the joys that are waiting here ; And tell of the signs you sliall shortly see ; Of the times that are now, and the times that shall he."— They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away. And she walked in the light of a sunless day : The sky was a dome of crystal bright. The fountain of vision, and fountain of light: The emerald fields were of dazzling glow. And the flowers of everlasting blow. Then deep in the stream her body they laid. That her youth and beauty never might fade ; And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her lie In the stream of life that wandered bye. And she heard a song, she heard it sung. She kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung. It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn : " ! blest be the day Kilmeny was born ! Now shall the land of the spirits see. Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! The sun that shines on the world sae bright, A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light ; And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun. Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun. Shall wear away, and be seen iiae mair. And the angels shall miss them travelling the air. But lang, lang after baith night and day. When the sun and the world have elyed away ; When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom, Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom !"— They bore her away, she wist not how. For she felt not arm nor rest below ; But so swift they wained her through the light, 'Twas Uke the motion of sound or sight; They seemed to split the gales of air. And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. Unnumbered groves below them grew. They came, they past, and backward flew. Like floods of blossoms gliding on. In moment seen, in moment gone. O, never vales to mortal view Appeared like those o'er which they flew ! That land to human spirits given, The lowermost vales of the storied heaven ; From thence they can view the world below. And heaven's blue gates with sapphires glow, Slore glory yet unmeet to know. r They bore her far to a mountain green. To see what mortal never had seen ; And they seated her high on a purple sward. And bade her heed what she saw and heard, And note the changes the spirits wrought, For now she lived in the land of thought- She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies. But a crystal dome of a thousand dies: She looked, and she saw nae land aright. But an endless whirl of glory and light : And radiant beings went and came F.ar swifter than wind, or the linked flame ; She hid her een frae the dazzling view ; She looked again, and the scene was new. She saw a sun on a summer sky. And clouds of amber saihng bye ; A lovely land beneath her lay. And that land had glens and mountains gray ; And that laud had valleys and hoary piles. And marled seas and a thousand isles ; Its fields were speckled, its forests green. And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen. Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray ; Which heaved and trembled, and gently swung, On every shore they seemed to be hung; For there they were seen on their downward plain A thousand times and a thousand again ; In winding lake and placid firth. Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth. Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve. For she found her heart to that land did cleave ; She saw the corn wave on the vale, She saw the deer run down the dale ; She saw the plaid and the broad claymore. And the brows that the badge of freedom bore ; And she thought she had seen the land before. She saw a lady sit on a throne. The fairest that ever the sun shone on ! A lion licked her hand of milk. And she held him in a leish of silk ; And a leifa' maiden stood at her knee. With a silver wand and melting e'e ; Her sovereign shield till love stole in. And poisoned all the fount within. Then a gruff untoward bedes-man came. And hundit the lion on his dame ; And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless e'e. She dropped a tear, and left her knee ; FAIEY MYTHOLOGY. 515 And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled, i Till the bonniest flower of the woild lay dead ; j A coiHn was set on a distant plain, I And she saw the red blood fall like rain : | Then bonny Kilmeny's heart grew sair. And she turned away, and could look nae mair. j Then the gruff grim carle girned amain, | And they trampled him down, but he rose ; again ; , And he baited the lion to deeds of weir, ' T]ll he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear; -And weening his head was danger-preef, A^'hen crowned with the rose and clover leaf. He gowled at the carle, and chased him away To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gray. He gowled at the carle, and he gecked at Heaven, But his mark was set, and his arles given. KUmtny a while her een withdrew ; she looked again, and the scene was new. She saw below her fair unfurled One half of all the glowing world. Where oceans rolled, and rivers ran. To bound the aims of sinful man. She saw a people, fierce and fell. Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell ; i There lilies grew, and the eagle flew, j And she herked on her ravening crew, ! Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a blaze. And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and the seas. , The widows they wailed, and the red blood ran. And she threatened an end to the race of man : She never lened, nor stood in awe, I Till caught by the lion's deadly paw. '• Oh ! then the eagle swinked for Ufe, And brainzelled up a mortal strife ; But flew she north, or flew she south, [ She met wi' the gowl of the lion's mouth. , With a mooted wing and waefu' maen. The eagle sought her eiry again ; I But lang may she cower in her bloody nest, j And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast. Before she sey another flight. To play wi' the norland lion's might. But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw. So far surpassing nature's law. The singer's voice wad sink away. And the string of hig harp wad cease to play. But she saw till the sorrow 8 of man were bye. And all was love and harmony ; Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away. Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day. Then Kilmeny begged again to gee The friends she had left in her own countrye. To tell of the place whore she hrid been. And the glories that lay in the Uind unaeen ; To warn the living maidens fair. The loved of Heaven, the spirits' care, That all whose minds unmeled remain Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. With distant music, soft and deep. They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; And when she awakened, she lay her lane. All happed with flowers in the green-wood wene. When seven lang years had come and fled ; When grief was calm, and hope was dead ; When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny came hame : And 0, her beauty was fair to see. But still and steadfast was her e'e! Such beauty bard may never declare. For thtre was no pride nor passion there ; And the soft desire of maiden's een In that mild face could never be seen. Her sej-mar was the lily flower. And her cheek the moss-rose in the ghower ; And her voice like the distant melodye. That floats along the twilight sea. But she loved to raike the lanely glen. And keeped a(ar frae the haunts of n.en ; Her holy hymns unheard to sing. To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. But wherever her peaceful f^irm appeared. The wild beasts of the hill were cheered ; The wolf played blythely round the field. The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ; The dun deer woocd with manner bland, And cowered aneath her lily hand. And when at even the woolands rung, When hymns of other worlds she sung In ecstasy of sweet devotion, O, then the glen was all in motion ! The wild beasts of the forest came. Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame. And goved around, clvarmed and amazed ; Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, And murmured and looked with anxious paiu For something the mystery to explain. 516 SCOTTISH BALLADS. The buzzard came with the throstle-oock ; The corby left her houf in the rock ; The blackbird alang wl' 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 hern attour them hung. And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young; And all in a peaceful ring were hurled •■ It was like an eve in a sinless world ! "When a month and a day had come and gane, 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 tlie land were in fear and dread. For they kendna whether she was living or C dead. % It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain ; She left this world of sorrow and pnln. And returned to the land of thought au'ain. m^^M^: BALLADS RELATING TO THE GREAT CIVIL WARS OF THE SEVENTEEXTH CENTURY. lEtr0^mtt9?5. [RBPRisTKDfrom Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.] ■ Eu", O my country! how ehall raemoiy trace Try glories,' lost in either Charles's dsys, ^'. nen through thy fields destructive rapine spread, Xor sparing infants' tears, nor hoary head ! In those dread days, the unprotected swaio jloum'd, in the mountains, o'er his wasted plain ; Nor longer voc«l, with the shepherd's lay, 'Were Yarrow's banks, or groves of Enderm->.y." Xasghorse— Genius and Valour. - H are the verses, in which a modern bard has . nted the desolate state of Scotland, during a ; riod 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 hero presented with the ballads of that disastrous arra. Some prefatory history may not be unac- ceptable. That the Reformation was a good and a glori- c us work, few will be such slavish bigots as to decy. But the enemy came, by night, and sowed tares among the wheat ; or rather, the foul and ■Mn'ii soil, upon which the seed was thrown,. pushed forth, together with the rising crop, ;» plentiful proportion of pestilential weeds. Th-. morals of the reformed clergy were severe; their learning was usually respectable, sometimes pro- found ; and their eloquence, though often cuarsr . was vehement, animated, and popular. But they never coiJd forget, that thi:ir rise had bet:-, achieved by the degradation, ::' not the till, of tii-. crown ; and hence, a body of men, who, in mo' THE CIVIL WAE3. 19 bigotry of the unfortunate Charles I. was a blow^ were thus levelled with the ground, and the carse to episcopacy in Scotland, from which it never perfectly recovered. It has frequently happened, that the virtues of :he individual, at l3ast their excess (if, indeed, .ere can be an excess in virtue,) have been fatal ■ J the prince. Never was this more fully exem- ;.lified than in the history of Charles 1. 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 chorch-govemment, and to renew, :n England, the temporal domination, of his predecessor, Henry Till. The furious temi)er of the Scottish nation first took fire ; and the ^randished footstool of a prostitute* gave the s .jnal for civil dissension, which ceased not till the church was buried under the ruins of the : oastitution ; 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 Solemn Leagce and Covenant, by which mem- orable deed, they subscribed and swore a national renunciation of the hierarchy. The walls of the r.relatie Jericho (to use the language of the times) ' " Out, false lixin ! rvilt thou say the mass at my lui£ [ear,") was the well-known exclamation of Margaret Gteddes, as she discharged her missile tripod against the bishop of Edinburgh, who, in obedience to the orders of the privy -council, w.",s endeavouring to rehearse the common prayer. Upon a seat more elevated, the said Slargaret had shortly before done i>enanee, before the con- gregation, for the sin of fornication ; such, at least, is the Tory tradition. — Scott. [Jenity GeJ- des, not Margaret, is the name usually bestowed < n this heroine. Burns h."»d a favourite mare tailed after her.J of Hiel, the Bethelite, denounced against thoic 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 be*t oflBcers, had been trained to war under the great Gustavus Adolphns. 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 I 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 bcw-shot, and the head somewhat plain, and near a quarter of a mUe in length and breadth ; on the top it was garnished with near forty field-pieces, pointed towards the east and south. The colonels, who were mostly noblemen, as Rothes, Cassilis, Egiing- ton, Dalhousie, Lindsay, Lowdon, Boyd, Sinclair, Balcarras, Flemyng, Kirkcudbright, Erskine, Montgomerj-, 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 hati of timber, covered with divot, or straw. Every company, which, according to the first plan, did consist of two hundred men, had their colour, flying at the captain's tent door, with the SccU arms upon them, and this motto, in golden let- ters, ' For Christ's Crown- and Covenant." " Against this army, so well arrayed .in J discplined, and whose natural hardihood was edged and ex- alted by a high opinion of their s-icred cau^e, Charles marched at the head of a large force, but ^- divided by the emulation of the commanders. 2iJ SCOTTISH BALLADS. and enervated by disuse of arms. A faintness of ^ spirit pervaded tlie royal army, and the king ! stooped to a treaty with his Scottish subjects. This treaty was soon broken ; and, in the fol- j lowing year, Dunse-Law again presented the I Bame edifying spectacle of a presbyterian army. ' But the .^cots were not contented with remain- ing there. Tliey 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 Eippon ; 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 Idng firom a contented people." i If such content ever existed, it was of short duration. I The storm, which had been soothed to tempo- rarj- 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 Home, and the policy of Constantinople. The Scots felt most keenly the first, and the English the second, of these aggres- ; sioDS. 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 prelatic monarch, against a presbyterian parliament, '■ were paving the way for rebuilding the system of hierarchy, they could no longer remain inactive. Bribed by the delusive promise of Sir Henry t Vane, and JlarshaU, the parliamentary commis- I sioners, that the church of England should be reformed, " according to the word of God," which, they fondly believed, amounted to an auoption 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- I theless, readily induced to accept the command i of 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 weU as the re- ceiver, must attribute to fear. Yet something is due to decency; and the best apologj- 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 Eitson, in his collection of Scottish songs, has favoured the public with the music, which seems to have been adapted to the bagpipes. March! march! ■Why the devil do ye na march ? Stand to your arms, my lads, Fight ia good order ; Front about, ye musketeers all, Till ye come to the English border: I Stand til't, and fight like men, ' True g?*pel to maintain. The pariiaiaent's b'ythe to see us a' comin;. i When to the kirk ^ve come, ' TTe'il purge it ilka loom, Frae popish reliques, and a' sic innovaticn, I That a' the warld may see, I There's nana in the right but we, J Of the auld Scottish nation. 1 Jenny shall wear the hood, ! Jocky the sark of God; I And the kist-fou of whistles, j That mak' sic a cieiro, I Our piners braw Shah ha'e them a', ■Whate'er come on it : Busk up your plaids, my lads ! Cock up your bonnets '. Da Capo. The hatred of the old presbyterians to the organ was apparently invincible. It is here vilified with the name of a " chest-full of whistles," as j the episcopal chapel at Glasgow wa.s, by the vul- i gar, opprobriously termed the " Whistling Kirk." ^Yet, such is the revolution of sentiment upon BALLAD3 OX THE CIVIL WARS. 521 •.his, as upon more important points, thatreport3 ; ave lately been current, of a plan to introduce I'l.is noble instrument into presbyterian congre- ;:auon=. The share, which Leslys army bore in the tion of ilarston Mocr, has been exalted, or irpressed, as writers were attached to the Eng- .:=h or Scottish nations, to the presbyterian or .. lependent factions. iMr Laing concludes with : Addable impartiality, that the victory was equally due to " Cromwell's iron brigade of discipUned independents, and to three regiments of Lesly's horse."— Tol. i. p. Ui. In the insurrection of 16iO, all Scotland, south :iom the Grampians, was actively and zealously ngaged. But, after the treaty cf Kippon, the iirst fury of the revolutionary torrent may be said to have foamed off its force, and many of the iiobihty began to look round, with horror, upon the rocks and shelves amongst which it had hur- ried them. Ifumbers regarded the defence of r^cotland as a just and necessary warfiire, who liid not see the same reason for interfering in the uffairs of England. The visit cf King Ciiarles to the metropolis of his fathers, in all probability, produced its efifect 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 :rcotland. Many, also, had failed in obtaining the private objects of ambition, or selfish policy, V. hieh had induced them to rise up against the rown. Amongst these late penitents, the well- ;^:iown marquis of Montrose was distinguished as the first who endeavoured to recede from the paths of rude rebellion. Moved by the enthusi- i :m of patriotism, or perhaps of religion, but yet :..cre by ambition, the sin of noble minds, Mon- tr se had engaged, eagerly and deeply, upon the side of the covenanters. He had been active in rressing the town of Aberdeen to take the cove- : ant, and his success against the Gordons, at the rijge of Dee, left that royal burgh no other : eans of safety from pillage. At the head of his; own battalion, he waded through the Tweed, in 1610, and totally routed the Tanguard of the- king's cavalry. But, in 16i3, moTcd with resent- ment against the covenanters, who preferrtd, t-j his prompt and ardent character, the caution ot the wjiy 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 l&Uing cause of royalty, and raised the Highland clan», whom he united to a small body of Irish, com- manded by Alexander 3[acdonald, still renown' d in the north, under the title of Culkitto. Willi these tumultuary and uncertain forces, he rushei forth, like a torrent from the mountains, anJ commenced a rapid and brilliant career of vic- tory. At Tippermoor, where he first met tht covenanters, their defeat was so effectual, as lu appal the presbyterian courage, even after ttv lapse of eighty years. * A second army was J. ■ * Upon the breaking out of the insurrectioc . in the year 1715, the earl of Eothes, sheriff an.! lord-lieutenant of the county of Fife, issued out I an crder (■.■! " all the fencible men of the countc to meet him at a place called Cashmoor. The i gentlemen to-.k no notice of his orders, nor diiJ I the comiiions, except those whom the minister? I j forced to go to the place of rendervouse, to ti.i. I ; number of fifteen hundred men, being all that ; ' their utmost diligence could perfurm. But thos. I of that countif, having been taught by their e\- 1 ' perienee, that it is not good meddling with eu^< I tools, espjciallie in the hands of Highlandmci. were very averse from taking armes. >"'o socu'. -- they reflected on the name of the place of n n- deivouse, Cashmoor, than Tippermoor was called to mind ; a place not far fixim thence, whert Montrcse had routed them, when under the com • mand of my gieat-grand-uncle, the earl o:' Wemyss, then general of G^d's armie. In ;i word, the unlucky choice cf a place, called ' Moor, appeared ominous; and that, with the flying roportof 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 themselvr> to stop them."— JII5. Jffmoiri of Lord SI C/uiV. 522 SCOTTISH BALLADS. feated under the walls of Aberdeen; and thei pillage of the ill-fated town was doomed to expi- ate the principles which Montrose himself had formerly imposed upon them, Argyleshire 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 Katrine 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. BailUe, a veteran officer, 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 victury opened the whole of Scotland to Montrose. He occupied the capital, and marched forward to the border ; not merely to complete the subjection cf 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 accomplislied 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 cliiefs in war, had aspired to independence, and embraced the tenets of the Covenant. Without imputing, with ■\Vishart, 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 N their plunder, and provide for their families,) [ I Montrose, after traversing the border, finally encamped u:^on the field of Philiphaugh. ! I The rivir Ettrick, immediately after its junc- j I tion with the Yarrow, and previous to its falling 1 1 into the Tweed, makes a large sweep to the south- I ward, and winds almost beneath the lofty bank, I j on which the town of Selkirk stands ; leaving, ii upon the northern side, a large and level plain, I I extending in an easterly direction, from a hill, 1 1 covered with natural copse-wood, called the Hare- I head-wood, t» the high ground which forms the ' ! banks of the Tweed, near Sunderland-hall. This plain is called Philiphaugh: * it is about a mile 1 1 and a half in length, and a quarter of a mi'.e i| broad; 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 kaugh, conveys to a Scotsman almost all that I have endeavoured to explain in the text, by cir- ^ cumlocutory description. BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WARS. 523 V.irrow, by ths river in front, and by the high ^. have, the next morning, adrnnced toward Mon- grounJs, already mentioned, on each flank, it forms, at once, a convenient and a secure field of encampment. On each flank ilontrose threw up some trenches, which are still visible ; and here he posted his infantr>-, 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 infantry, 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 I his camp. Recalled 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 fatil battle of Long Marston Moor. His army consisted of from five to six thousand men, chiefly aivalry. 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 disaffected to his cause, or person. Still more extraordinary does it appear, that, even with the advantage of a thick mist, Lesly should trose's encampment, without being descried by a single scout. Such, however, was the ca>:e, and it was attended with all the consequences of tlic most complete surprisal. The first intimation that Montrose received of the march of L»«!y, was the noise of the conflict, or, rather, th.it which attended the unresisted slaughter of his infantry, who never formed a line of battle : the right wing alone, supporte vindicate hi* 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 of his exploits was attached to his neck by the public executioner ; but he smiled at their inventive malice ; declared, that he wore it %vith more pride than. he had done the garter ; and, when his devotions were finished, demanding if any more indignities remained to be practised, sub- mitted calmly to an unmerited fate.' — Liing't Uistonj qf Scotland, vol. i. p 404. "Such was the death of James Graham, the great marquis of Montrose, over whom some lowly bard has poured forth the following elegiac verses. To say, that they are lar unworthy of the subject, is no great reproach ; for a nobler poet might have failed in the attempt. Indiffer- ent as the ballad is, we may regret its being stiil more degraded by many apparent corruptions. There seems an attempt to trace Montrose's career, from his first raising the royal standard, to his second expedition and death , but it is in- terrupted and imperfect. From the concluding stanza, I presume the song was composed upon the arriv.il of Charles in Scotland, which S" speedily followed the execution of Montrose, that the king entered the city while the head of his most faithful and m .st successful adherent was still blackening in the sun."] JTow, fere thee well, sweet Ennerdale ; * Baith kith and countrie I bid adieu ; For I maun away, and I may not stay, To some uncouth land which I never knew. To wear the blue I think it best. Of all the colours that I see ; And 1 11 wear it for the gallant Grahams, That are banished from their cjuntrie. • A corruption of Endrickdale. The principal and most ancient possessions of the Hontroee family lie along the water of Eadrick, in Dum- bartonshire.— Scy«. 528 SCOTTISH BALLADS. tt I have no gold, I have no land, 1 have no pearl nor precious stane ; But I wald sell my silken snood. To see the gallant Grahams come hame. In "Wallace' days, ■nhen they began. Sir John the Graham did bear the gree * Through all the lands of Scotland wide ; He was a lord of the south countrie. And so was seen full many a time ; For the summer flowers did never spring But every Graham, in armour bright, "V^"ould then appear before the king. They all were drest in armour sheen, L'pon the pleasant banks of Tay ; Before a king they might be seen, These gallant Grahams in their array. At the Goukhead our camp we set. Our leaguer down there for to lay ; And, in the honnie summer light, "We rode our white horse and our gray. Our false commander sold our king L^nto his deadly enemie, Who was the traitor, Cromwell, t then ; So I care not what they do with me. * The faithful friend and adherent of the im- mortal Wallace, slain at the battle of Falkirk. — Scott. t This extraordinary character, to whom, in crimes and in success, our days only have pro- duced a parallel, " was no favourite in Scotland. There occurs the following invective against him, in a MS. in the Advocates' Library. The humour consists in the dialect of a Highlander, speaking English, and confusing Cromwell with Gramach, ugly:— Te commonweU, tat Gramagh tin», Gar brek hem's word, gar de hem's king ; Gar pay hem's sesse, or take hem's (geers) We'l no de at, del come de leers ; ^'e'l bide a file amang te crowes, (i. e. in t'ne woods) We'l scor te sword, and whiake te oowes j And fen her nen-sel se te re, (the king) To del my care for Gromaghee. • [Sir Walter here alludes to Napoleon, who, at the tme these Xotes were written, was an object of dread lid hatred to the legitimists of Europe.] a^ They have betrayed our noble prince. And banish'd him from his royal crown ; But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in hand, For to command those traitors down The following tradition, concerning Cromwell, is preserved by an uncommonly direct line of traditional evidence ; being narrated (as I am informed) by the grandson of an eye-witness. "Wlien CromweU, in 1650, entered Glasgow, he attended divine service in the high church: but the Presbyterian divine, who officiated, poured forth, with more zeal than prudence, the vial of his indignation upon the person, principles, and cause, of the independent general. One of Crom- well's officers rose, and whispered his com- mander; who seemed to give him a short and stern answer, and the sermon was concluded without interruption. An ong the crowd, who were assembled to gaze at the general, as he came out of the church, was a shoemaker, the son of one of James the Sixth's Scottish footmen. This man had been born and bred in England, but, after his father's death, had settled in Glasgow. Cromwell eyed him among the crowd, and im- mediately called him by his nan.e — the n^.an fled : ' but, at Cromwell's command, one of his retinue followed him, and bri^ught him to the general's lodgings. A number of the inhabitants re- : roained at the door, waiting the end of this ex- traordinary scene. The shoemaker soon came out, in. high spirits, and, showing some gold, declared, he was going to diink Cromwell's I health. Many attended him to hear the parti- i culars of his interview; an.ong others the grand- j fether of the narrator. The shoemaker said, that he had been a playfellow of Cromwell, when they I were both boys, their parents residing in the same street ; that he had fled, when the general first called to him, thinking he might owe him some ill-will, on account of his father being in the service of the royal family. He added, that Cromwell had been so very kind and familiar with him, that he ventured to ask him, wliat the offi- cer had said to him in the church. " He pro- posed," said Ciomwell, " to pull forth the min- ister by the ea:s; and I answered, that the preacher was one fool and he another.'' In the j course of the day, Cromwell held an interview with the minister, and contrived to satisfy his 1 scruples so effectually, that the evening discourse, i by t'ne same man, was tuned to the praise and f glory of the victor of Kass'oy. — Scott. BALLADS ON THE CI VIE ■WAES. 520 I ;ien-Pro3en * we rendezvous?-!, >[arch"d to (ilenshie by night and day, . : 1 took the town of Abf r.leen. And met the Campbells in their array. ■ • thousand men, in armour strong, i>!d meet the gullant Grahams that day - laverlochie, where war began. And scarce two thousand men were they. iant Jlontros?, that chieftain bold. Courageous in the best degree, D:d for the king fight well that day ; The lord preserve his majestie. Nathaniel Gordon, stout and bold. Did for king Charles wear the blue ; f But the cavaliers they all were «old. And brave Hartbiil, a cavalier too. J ^"7 ' Glen-Prosen, in Angus-shire. — Scott. ! pN t This gentleman was of the ancient family of >. ) Gordon of Gight. He had served, as a soldier, JTc) upon the continent, and acquired great military VK skill. When his chief, the marquis of Huntly, ' ^_- j took up arms in 16^0, Nathaniel Gordon, then r^' called Major Gordon, joined him, and was of [ v^' essential service during that short insurrection. Z , But, being checked .'or making prize of a Danish | j/~, fishing buss, he left the service of the marquis, in ^v. son e disgust. In 1644, he assisted at a sharp ^J and dexterous cam:Va(/e (as it was then called,) W-^ when the barons of HadJo, of Gight, of Drum, W and other gentlemen, with only sixty men under P>T their standard, g.iIlopeU through the old town of i ^ Aberdeen, and, entering the burgh itself, about I j i.?v\ seven in the morning, made prisoners, and car- 1 1 g" ; ried off, four of the covenanting magistrates, and '^J effected a safe retreat, though the town was then ^' under the domination of the opposite party. 1 ^ After the death of tho baron of Haddo, and the f\ severe treatment of Sir George Gordon of Gight, I ^ his cousin-gorman, 3r;.jrr Nathaniel Gordon], g seems to have taken arms, in desp.air of finding , ~^ mercy at the covenanters" hr.nds. On the 24th } p( of July, 1645, he came down, with a band of '-jA horsemen, upon the town of Elgin, whi'e St ; %J James' fair was held, and pillaged the merchants ^. of 14,000 merks of money and merchandize. He iZ seems to have joined Slontrose, as so)n as he [ JV raised the royal standard ; and, as a bold ard j ! • ) active partizan, rendered him great service. But, i g_; in November 1614, Gordon, now a colonel, sud- [ ^ denly dese ted Montrose, aMed the escape of ^ Forbes of Craigitvar, one of liis prisoners, and ^ reconciled himself to the kirk, by doin? pen.aDC] for adultery, ami for the almost equally heinrus crira'3 of h.av!ng scared Mr. Andrew Cant, th« famous apostle of the covenant. This, however, seems to have been an artifice, to arrange a cor- respondenc.' betwixt Jlontroaeand Lord Gordon, a gallant yvung nobleman, represent.-itive of the Huntly fani!y, and inheriting; their lo)al spiric, though hitherto engaged in the service of the coven.int. Colonel Gordon was sueccssfil, and returned t > the royal camp with his convcrtel chief. Bo expiate with their blood the crime of fidelity to their king. Nevertheless, the c. venat u^ ncbVs would have probai'Iy been satisfied with the death of the gallant Rollock, sharer of Montrose's dan- gers and glory, of Ojiilvy, a youth of eighteen, whose crime was the hereJitary feud betwixt h:« family and Areyle, and of Sir Philip Nisbet, a cavalier of the ancient stati p, had not the pul- pits resoundfd with the cry, th:it G" I require'l the blood of the malign.ints, to expiate the sins of the pf-ople. " What meant th,'ex'-i i:ncd tlm ministers, in the pervert&l l.-\ng<^->«c of Mripture — " What meaneth, then, this bleating of tlie sheep in my ears, and the lowini; of the ox. n - • Tiie appeal to the judgment of .-^an.uel wr-g tk- cisive, and the shambles were instantly opene'l. Nathaniel Gonlcm was broucht first to executi jp. He lamented the sins of his youth, onee ni.re (and probahly with greater sincerity) requested absolution from the sentence of excoNimunicatioT pronounced on account of adultery, and was be- headed 6th January, 1646. — Scott. + Leith, of Ilarthill, was a determined loyalist, and hated the covenanters, not with ut reason. His father, a hauehty high-spirite-1 baron, aud chief of a clan, happened, in lt>3i). to sit down in the >lesk of Provost Lesly, in the high kirk < f AlKrd^en. He was disgracefully thrust out by theoflScers, and, using ?ome threatening lang to the provost, was impris -ne.!, like a fe'.on, for many months, till he leearre furii us, and nearly mad. Havin? p-t fKe of the shackles, with which he was Ic-uJeil, hi used his liberty by t ii!g to the tedtiOPth window, wbtre be utt^rvd f^-s )30 SCOTTISH BALLADS. \ And Newton Gordon, burJ -alone, • y And Dalgatie, both stout and keen, f '^ And gallant Yeitch upan the field, :|: A braver face was never seen. the most violent and horrible threats against provost Lesly, and the other covenanting magis- trates, by whom he had been so severely treated. Under pretence of tliis new off -nee, he was sent to Edinburgh, and lay long in prison there; for, 60 fierce was his temper, that no one would give surety for his keeping the peace with his enemies, if set at liberty. At length he was delivered by Montrose, when he made himself master of Edin- burgh.— S/)aW/«^, vol. i. pp. 201, 266. His house of HarthiU was dismantled, and miserably pi'.- laged by Forbes of Craigievar, who expelled his wife and children, ^^ith the most relentless inhu- manity. — Ibid, vol. ii. p. 225. Meanwhile, young Harthill was the companion and associate of Nathaniel Gordon, whom he accompanied at plundering the fair of Elgin, and at most of Montrose's engagements. He retaliated severely on the covenanters, by rav.a'-;ing and burning their lands.— liid. vol. ii. p. 301. His fate has escaped my notice. — Scott. « Kewton, for obvious reasons, was a common appellation of an estate, or barony, where a new edifice had been erected. Hence, f jr distinction's sake, it was anciently compounded with the name of the proprietor; as, Newton-Edmon- stone, Newton-D )n, Kewton-Gordon, &c. Of Gordon of ^■ew-town, I only observe, that he was, like all his clan, a steady loyalist, and a fol- lower of Montrose. — Scott. t Sir Francis Hay, of Balgatie, 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 fatal battle. He was cond-jmned 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 scaffold, to receive ghostly comfort, in the only form in which his rjligion taught him to consider it as effectual. He kissed the axe, avowed his fidelity to his sovereign, and died like a soldier. — Montruse's Memoirs, p. 3"22. — Scott. i^ I presume this gentleman to have been Bavid Veitch, brother to Veitch of Dawick, who, with many other of the Peebles-shire gentry, was taken at Philiphaugh. The following curious accident tQok place, some years afterwards, in consequence * a^ Now, fare ye weel, sweet Ennerdale I Countrie and kin I quit ye free ; \a Chear up your hearts, brave cavaliers, ^^ For the Grahams are gone to high Germany. ^ Now bvave 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 tiiey 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, th it they might not come to such a con- siderable nuxnberas 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 Ca;itain 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 laird of Dawick, in Tweed- dale, and one of the loyal party, being prisoner in irons by the English, did arise, and came to the window at their n eeting, and crycd out, that they sho\x\a fight valiantltjfor King Charles. "Where-through, they, taking each other for the loyal party, did begin a brisk fight, which con- tinued for a while, till the dragoons, havingspsnt their shot, and finding the horsemen to be ton strong for them, did give ground : but yet retired, in some order, towards the castle of Sanquhar, bieing 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 sensiMe of their mis- take. In this skirmish there were several killed on both sides, and captain Palmer himself dan- gerously wounded, with many more wounded in each troop, who did peaceably dwell together afterward for a ti ne, until their wounds were cured, in Sanquhar castle." — Accovnt vf Presby- tery ofPenponl, in Macfurlane's MSS.— Scott. § James, earl of Aboyne, who fled to Prance, and there died heart-broken. It is said, his dei' h was accelerated by the news of King Charles's > BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WAE3. 0.3 1 i UoDtrose again, that chieftain bold. Back unto Scotland fair he came, For to redeem fair Scotland's land, The pleasant, ga'lant, worthy Graham ! At the water of Carron he did begin. And fjught the battle to the end; And there were killed, for our noble king, TWO th usand of our Danish men, * Gilbert llenzies, of high degree. By wh )m the king's b.mner was borno ; f For a brave cavalier was he. But now to glory he is gone. Then woe to Strachan, and Hacket baith ! ^ And Lesly, ill death may thou die I For ye have betrayed the gallant Grahams, ■Who aye were true to majestie. And the laird of Assint has seized Montrose, And had him into Edinburgh to-.vn. And frae his body taken the head. And quartered him upon a trone. And Huntly's gone the self-sa-r.e way, 5 And our noble king is also gone; He suffered death fur our nation. Oar mourning tears can ne'er be done. But our brave young king is now come home, King Charles the Second in degree ; The Lord send peace into his ti i e, And God preserve his majestic : ^atiSc o-I Pfntlant) ^iiU. [" We have observed the early an iipathy," oay ; Sir Walter, "mutually entertained by the Scot- tish Presbyterians and the house of Stuart. It seems to have glowentr-:- 'I buted greatly to Montrose's sacccs- ; forthegrn- I tlemen of that name, with th' brave and loyai [ Ogilvies, composed the principal part of his cavaliy. — Scott. II " Among other ridiculous occurrences, it is , that some of Charles's g.-Olantrics were di«- eaus^. As a man of pleasure, he hated their stern and inflexible rigour, which stigmatised i follies even more deeply than crimes ; and he whispered to his confidants, that 'presbytery was no religion for a gentleman.' It is not; therefore, wonderful, that, in the first year of his ! restoration, he for.iially re-established prelacy in Scotland; but it is surprising, that, with his | father's example before his eyes, he should not | have been satisfied to leave at freedom the con- sciences of those who could not reconcile them- selves to the new system. The religious opinions of sectaries have a tendency, like the water of some springs, to become soft and mild, when freely exposed to the open day. Who can recog- nise, in the decent and industrious quakers, and anabaptists, the wild and ferocious tenets which distinguished their sects, while they were yet honoured with the distinction of the scourge and the pillory ? Had the system of coercion against the Presbyterians been continued until our day, Blair and Robertson would have preached in the wilderness, and only discovered their powers of eloquence and compositiLn, by rolling akng a deeper torrent of gloomy fanaticism. " The western counties distinguished them- selves by their opposition to the prelatic system. Three hundred and fifty ministers, ejected from their churches and livings, wandered through the mountains, sowing the seeds of covenanted doctrine, while multitudes of fan.atical followers pursued them, to reap the forbidden crop. These conventicles, as they were called, were denounced by the law, and their frequenters dispersed by military force. The genius of the persecuted be- came stubborn, obstinate, and ferocious ; and, although indulgencies were tardily granted to some Presbyterian ministers, few of the true covenanters or whigs, as they were called, would condescend to compound with a prelatic govern- ment, cr to listen even to their own favourite dcctrine under the auspices of the king. From Eichard Cameron, their apostle, this rigid sect acquired thenameof Cameronians. They preach- ^ j king for this heinous scandal. Being introduced ■ ^=j/ into the royal presence, he limited his commission (?)) to a serious admonition, that, upon such occa- ^^ sions, his majesty shiuld always shut the win- ^ J\ dows. The king is said to have recompensed thi« ^J unexpected lenity after the Restoration. Ke ^^ probably remembered the joke, though he might S have forgotten the sernce."— Scott. I and prayed against the indulgence, and again?t I the Presbyterians who availed themselves of it, I because their accepting this royal boon was a tacit acknowledgment of the king's supremacy in ecclesiastical matters. " The insurrection, commeruorated and mag- nified in the following ballad, as indeed it has been in some histories, was, in itself, no very im- portant affair. It began in Bumfries-shire, where Sir James Turner, a soldier of fortune, was employed to levy the arbitrary fines imposed for not attending the episcopal churches. The people rose, seized his person, disarmed his sol- diers, and, having continued together, resolved I to march towards Edinburgh, expecting to be I joined by their friends in that quarter. In this j they were disappointed; and, being now dimin- ] ished to half their numbers, they drew up on the Pentland hills, at a place called Kuliien Green. They were commanded by one Wallace ; and here they awaited the approach of General Dal- ziel, of Binns; who, having marched to Caldcr, t» meet them on the Lanark road, and finding, that, by passing through Collington, they had get to the other side of the hills, cut through the mountains, and approached them. Wallace showed both spirit and judgment: he drew up his men in a very strong situation, and withstood two charges of Dalziel's cavalry ; but, upon the third shock, the insurgents were broken, and utterly dispersed. There was very little slaugh- ter, as the cavalry of Dalziel were chiefly gentle- men, who pitied their oppressed and misguided countrymen. There were about fifty killed, and as many made prisoners. The battle was fought on the 2Sth November, 1666; a day still observed by the scattered remnant of the Camcronian sect, who regularly hear a field-preaching upon the field of battle. " I am obliged for a copy of the ballad to Mr. Livingston of Airds, who took it down from the recitation of an old woman residing on his estate. " The gallant Grahair.s, mentioned in the text, are Graham of Claverhouse's horse."] The gallant Grahams cum from the west, Wi' their horses black as ony cnaw ; The Lothian lads they marched fast. To be at the Ehyns o' Gallowa'. Betwixt Dumfries town and Argyle, The lads they marched mony a mile ; Souters and taylors unto them drew, Their covenants for to renew. BALLADS OX THE CIVIL WAK3. The whigs, they, wi' their merry cracks, Car'd the poor pedlars Lay dowa their piicks ; But aye sinsyne they do repent The renewing o' their covenant. At the Mauchline muir, where they were re- viewed. Ten thousand men in armour showed : But, ero they came to the Brockie's barn. The half o' them did back return. General Dalyell, as I hear tell, "Was our lieutenant-general; And captain Vrelsh, wi' his wit and skill. Was to guide them oa to the PentLiiiu hiU. General Dalyell held to the hill, AsJiing at them what was their will ; And who gave them this protestation. To rise in arms against the nation ? " Although we all in armour be. It's not against his majesty ; Kor yet to spill our neighbour's bluiJ, But wi' the country we 11 conclude." " Lay down your arms, in the king's name. And ye shall a' gae safely hame ;' But they a' cried out, wi' a? consent, " We'll fight a broken covenant." " well," says he, "since it is so, A willfu' man never wanted woe;" He then gave a sign unto iiis lads. And they drew up in their brigades. The trumpets blew, and the colours flew. And every man to his armour drew ; The wiiigs were never so much aghast. As to see their saddles toom sae fast. The cleverest men stood in the van, The whigs they took their heels and ran ; But such a raking was never seen. As the raking o' the Bullien Green. W^t battle of Eou^8n=5i!L [" Thb whigs," (continues Sir Walter, in his valuable historical introductions to the ballads • " In the year 105+, Pedeu, one of the Cimeronikri preachers, about tea o'clocli at n^ht, littin^ at th- ere-tide, started up to bis feet, ana said, 'Flee, an: ! Saudie. ('.hu> he deai^ed himself,) and hide yoursr.: for colonel is c>>iiiin; to this houM to apj>: ■ head you; and I advise you ail to do the like, for l will be here tvithiu an hour,' which came to pa.- and when they had made a rery narrow search, wiihtn and witQout the house, and went round the thora- bush, uiider which he was lyiu* praying, they wen: off without their prey. Ue cime in, and saij, 'And haa this ^ntleman (de*i»ued by his name) given ;''^ r I Sandie, and thir poor thia^ such a fright = For t . . night's work. God shall give him such a blow, wit.. a few days, that all the physicians on etrth shall n I be able to cure / which came to pa<% for he died in I great miaeo'- — L'fe of .Vlesauder Peden."— Scott t " See the Ufe of tliis booted apostle to prelacy, written by Swift, who had collected a.l his ivnesdaie* of persecution, and appears to have enjjjed I cordingly."— Scott. 1 t " 'Tney raved,' s.iysPeden's historian, 'like fleshly devils, when the mist shrouded from their pur»uit the j windering whigs.' One gentleman closed a decan- I tion of vengeance against the conveotiders, with this I strange imprecation, ' Or may the de^il qiake my nb» a gridiron to my soul 1' — MS. Account of\he Pres.iy- tery of Penpont. Our armies swore temltily in f Uu- Seott. /^ r i^ impartial in their statements, although tb* [- I j writer's sympathies lean to the high church ani . ' ' tory party)— "the whigs, now become desp-irat*, \ \ adopted the most d,.^3perate principles ; and re- (y i ] taliating, as far as they could, the intolerating f j persecution which they endured, they openly dia- \__ clai.ued allegiance to any monarch who ihoold not profess presbytery, and subscribe the cuTe- nant. — These principles were not likely to conci- liate the favour of government ; ani us we waJ-- onward in the history of the times, the scene* become yet darker. At length, one would ima- .^ I gine the parties had agreed to divide the k'ngdot.n ' of vice betwixt them; the hunters assuming to / themselves open profligacy and legalized oppres- j sion ; and the hunted, the opp site attributes of \-; hypcrisy, fanaticism, disloyalty, and midnight )• assa-sination. The troopers and cavaliers became '-^ enthusiasts in the pursuit of the oov-;nanters. If =- 3Iessrs Kid, King, Cameron, Peden, &e. boasted -^ of prophetic powers, and were often warned of Z' the approach of the soldiers, by supernatural im- V pulse, i capLiin John Creichton, on the other i. side, dreamed dreams, and saw visions, (chiefly, , • indeed, after having drunk hard,) in which the , - lurking holes of the rebels were discovered to h's inugination. f Our ears are scarcely more shocked with the profane e.xecrations of the persecutors, r than with the strange and insolent familiarity used towards the Deity by tiie persecuted fiuiatics. r.- cu the civil wars, — valuable, and, on the whole, sjpders, but nothing to ^^^M. 534 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Their indecent modes of prayer, their extrava- • gant expectations of miraculous assistance, and their supposed inspirations, might easily furnish out a tale, at which the good would sigh, and the gay would laugh. * " In truth, extremes always approach each other; and the superstition of the Roman Ca- tholics was, in some degree, revived, even by their most deadly enemies. They are ridiculed, by the cavaliers, as wearing the relics of their saints by way of amulet ; — " She showed to me a box, wheiein lay hid The pictures of Cargil and Mr. Kid ; A sphnter of the tree on which they were slain ; A double inch of Major Weir's best cane ; Rathillet'3 sword, beat down to table knife ; Which took at Magus' Muir a bishop's life ; The worthy Welch's spectacles, who saw. That windle-striws would fight against the law; They, windle-straws, were stoutest of the two. They kept their ground, away the prophet flew; And lists of all the prophets' names were seen At Pentland HiUs, Aird Mos?, i nd RuUen Green. ' Don't think,' she says, • these holy things aie foppery ; They're precious antidotes against the power of popery.' The Cameronian Tooth.— Pennycidck's Poems, p. 110." " The militia and standing army soon became unequal to the task of enfoicing conformity, and suppressing conventicles. In their aid, and to force compliance with a test, proposed by govern- ment, the Highland clans were raised, and poured down into Ayrshire, f An armed host of uniiis- ciplined mountaineers, speaking a different lan- guage, and professing, many of them, another religion, were let loose, to ravage and plunder this unfortunate country ; and it is truly aston- ishing to find how few acts of cruelty they per- petrated, and how seldom they added murder to pillage, j Additional levies of horse were also • [Many years after this was written. Sir AA'alter ex- emplified in his own masterly tale of " Old Mortality " how much might be made of the subject— a tale which has been considered by some as bearing hard upon the Covenanters, but which, notwithstanding some draw- hacks on this head, has been instrumental in making their cause and heroic suSerings known to tens < f thousands, both in the old and new world, who «ould never otherwise have heaid of their name.] f " Peden complained heavily, that, after a heavy struggle with the devil, he had got above him, spur- galled him hard, and obtained a wind to cany him irom Ireland to Scotland, when, behold ! another per- son had set sail, and reaped the advantage of his 'prayer-wind' before he could embark."— Scott. J " Cleland thus describes this extraordinary army; raised, under the name of Independent Troop*, ( and great part of them placed under the com- mand of James Graham of Claverhouse, a man well knuwn to fame, by his subsequent tit!e of viscount Dundee, but better remembered, in the western shires, under the designation of the Bloody Clavers. In truth, he appears to have combined the virtues and vices of a savage chie'. Fierce, unbending, and rigorous, no emotion of compassion prevented his commanding and wit- nessing every detail of military execution against the non-confonnists. Undauntedly brave, and steadily faithful to his prince, he sacrificed him- self in the cause of James, when he was deserted by all the world. If we add, to these attributes, a goodly person, complete skill in martial exer- cises, and that ready and decisive ch.aracterj so essential to a commander, we may form some idea of this extraordinary character. The whigs, whom he persecuted, daunted by his ferocity and courage, conceived hiin to be impassive to their bullets, § and that he had sold himself, for tem- < —Those, who were their chief commanders, As such who bore the pirnie standaits. Who led the van, and drove the rear, Were right weel mounted of their gear ; With brogues, and trews, and pirnie plaids, With good blue bonnets on their heads. Which, on the one side, had a flipe, Adorn'd with a tobacco-pipe. With durk, and snap-work, and snuff-mill, A bag which they with onions fill; And, as their strict observers say, A tup-horn filled with u^quebay ; A slasht out coat beneath her plaidos, A targe of timber, nails, and hides ; With a long two-handed sword, 4s good's the country can afford. Had they not need of bulk and bones. Who fought with all these arms at ence ? Of moral honestie they're clean, Nought like religion they retain ; In nothing they'ie accounted sharp, Except in bag-pipe, and in harp; For a misobhging word, She'll durk her neighbour o'er the boord, And then she'll flee like fire from flint, She'll scarcely ward the second dint ; If any ask her of her thrift, Forsooth her nainsell bves by thift.' Cleland's Poems, Edin. 1697, p. 12."— Scott § " It was, and is believed, that the devil furnished his favourites, among the persecutors, with what is called proof against leaden bullets, but against those only. During the battle of Pentlaud-hills, Paton ui Meadowhead conceived he saw the balls hophaim- lessly down from General Dalziel's boots, and, to counteract the spell, loaded his pistol with a piece of silver cciu. But Ualziel, having his eye on him, diew poral greatness, to the seducer of mankind. It 4ino otherevidence than Creichton's a«ertiou, and u still believed, that a cup of wine, presented to I; a hint in Wodrow. Burly (for that is his most him by his butler, changed into clotted blood; h common designation) was brother in-law to and that, when he plunged his feet into cold water, their touch caused it to boil. The steed, which bore him, was supposed to be the gift of Satan ; and precipices are shown, where a fox could hardly keep his feet, down which the infer- nal charger conveyed him safely, in pursuit of the wanderers. It is remembered, with terror, th;«t Claverhouse was successful in every engagement with the whigs, except that at Drumclog, or Loudon-hill, which is the subject of the fuUowing ballad. The history of Burly, - the hero of the piece, will bring us immediately to the causes and circumstances of that event. ' John Balfour of Kinloch, commonly called Uackston of Rathillet, a wild enthusi.istic ch.ir- acter, who joined daring courage and skill in the sword to the fiery zeal of his sect. Burly, him- self, was less eminent for religious fervour, thaa for the active and violent share which he had ia the most desjierate enterprizes of his party. Hia name does not appear among the covenanterB, who were denounced for the affair of Pentland. But, in 1677, Robert Hamilton, aftervvards com- mander of the insurgents at Loudon-hill, and Bothwell Bridge, with several other non-con- 'brmists, were assembled at this Bui ly's house, in Fife. There they were attacked by a party of soldiers, commanded by captain Carstairs, whom \ Burly, was one of the fiercest of the prescribed I' i^^y beat off, wounding desperately one of hu sect. A gentleman by birth, he was, says his biographer, 'zealous and honest-hearted, coura- geous in every enterprize, and a brave soldier, seldom any escaping that came in his hands.' — Life of John Balfour. Creichton says, tliat he was ones chamberlain to Archbishop Sharpe, party. For this resistance to authority, they were declared rebels. The next exploit in which Burly was engaged, was of a bl jodier complexion and more dreadful celebrity. It is well known, that James Sharpe, archbishop of St. Andrews, was regarded by the rigid Presbyterians, not only and, by negligence, or dishonesty, had incurred ! i ^ » renegade, who had turned back from the a large arrear, which occasioned his being active 1 ' spiritual plough, but as the principal author of in his master's assassination. But of this I know the rigours exercised against their sect. He em- ployed, as an agent of his oppression, one C.anni- chael, a decayed gentleman. The industry of this man, in procuring inform.ation, and m en- forcing the severe peniilties against con venticlers, having excited the resentment of the Cameron- ians, nine of their number, of whom Burly and his brother-in-law, Hackston, were the leaders, assembled, with the purpose of way-l.iying .and murdering Carmichael ; but, while they searched for him in vain, they received tidings that the archbishop himself was at hand. The party re- sorted to prayer ; after which, they agreed unani- mously, that the Lord had delivered the wicked Haman into their hand. In the execution of the supposed will of heaven, they agreed to put them- selves under the command of a leader; and they I requested ll.tckston of EathiUet to accejt the : office, which he declined, alleging, that, should I he comply with their request, the slaughter might be imputed to a private qu.irrel, which existed betwixt him and the archbishop. The command ' was then offered to Burly, who .iccepted it with- out scruple ; and they g.iUoped off in pursuit of the archbishop's carriage, which contained him- I self and his daughter. Being well mounted, they easily overtook and dis-irmed the prelate's attend- ^auts. Burly, crying out 'Judas betaken!' Kxii back behind his senant, who was shot dead.— Paton's Life. At a skirmish, in Ayrshire, some of the wan- derers defended themselves in a sequestered house, by the side of a lake. They aimed repeatedly, but in vain, at the commander of the assailants, an EngUsh officer, until, their ammunition running short, one of them loaded his piece with the ball at the head of the tongs, and succeeded in shooting the hitherto impenetrable captain. To accommodate Dundee's fate to their own hypothesis, the Cameronian tradition runs, that, in the battle of Killicrankie, he fell, not by the enemy's fire, but by the pistol of one of his own servants, who, to avoid the spe.l, had loaded it with a silver button from his coat. One of their writers argues thus: ' Perhaps, some nny think this, anent proof-shot, a paradox, and be ready to object here, as formeily con- cerning Bishop Sharpe and Dalziel— How can the devil have, or give, power to save life ? Wilhout en- tering upon the thing iu its reality, I shall only ob- serve, 1. That it is neither in his power, or of hi> nature, to be a saviour of men's lives ; he is called ApoUyon, the destroyer. 2. That, even in this case, he is said only to give enchantment against one kind of metal, and this does not save life ; for, though lead could not take Sharpe and Claverhouse's lives, yet steel and silver coiUd do it ; and, for Dalziel, though he died not on the field, yet he did not escape the ar- rows of the Almighty.'— God's Judsjement against Persecutors. If the reader be not now convinced of the thing in its reaUty, 1 have nothing to add to such exquisite reasoning."- Scott. • [.\/terwards to be immortalized in the tale of "' Old Mortality," q. v.] «i^aA<^ up to the carriage, wounded the postillion, and ham-strung one of the horses. He then fired into the coach a piece, charged with several bul- lats, so near, that the archbishop's gown was set on fire. The rest, coming up, dismounted, and dragged him out of the carriage, when, fright- ened and wounded, he crawled towards Hacks- ton, who still remained on horseback, and bagged for mercy. The stern enthusiast contented him- self with answering, that he would not himself lai) a hand on him. Burly and h.s men again fired a volley upon the kneeling old man ; and ■were in the act of riding off, when one, who re- mained to girth his horse, unfortunately heard the daughter of their victim call to the servant for help, exclaiming, that his master was still ahve. Burly then again dismounted, struck off the prelate's hat with his foot, and split his skull with his shable (broad sword,) although one of the party (probably Eathillet) exclained, ' Spare Ihete ^ray hairs'.' * The rest pierced him with rep eated wounds. They plundered the carriage, and rode off, leaving, beside the mangled corpse, the daughter, who was herself wounded, in her pious endeavour to interpose betwixt her father and his murderers. The murder is accurately represented, in has relief, upon a beautiful monu- ment, erected to the memo'.-y of archbishop Sharpe, in the metropolitan church of St. An- drews. This memorable example of fanatic re- venge was acted upon Magus Muir, near St. Andrews, 3a May, 1679. f * " They be'.ieved Sharpe to be proof against shot ; for one of the niurdereis told Wodrow, that, at the sight of coid iron, bis courage fell. Tney no longeiL doujted this, when they found in his pocket a small ciue of silk, roLied round a bit of parchment, marked with two lun^' words, iu Hebrew or Caaldaic charac- ters. Accordingly, it is sti.l averred, that the balls only left blue marks on the prelate's neck and breast, tJthough the discharge was so near as to burn his clothes."— Scott. t "The question, whether the bishop of St. Andrews' death was murder, was a shibboleth, or expe.imeatum crucis, frequently put tc> the apprehended conrenti- c:ers. Isabel Alison, executed at i-dinburgli, 26ih January, 1681, was interrogated, before the privy council, if she conversed with David Hackston? '1 answered, I did converse with him, and I bless the Lord that ever I saw him; for I never saw ought in him but a godly pious youth They asked, if the kill- ing of the bishop of St Andrews was a pious act ? I answered, I never heard him say he kiJed him; but, if God moved any, and put it upon them to execute his righteous judgment upon him, I h.we nothing to say tj that. 'I'liey asked uie, when saw ye John Bal- fjur (Burly,) that pious youth? 1 answered, I have seen kirn. They asked, waeu? I ans.veied, these are " Burly was, of course, obliged to leave Fife ; and, upon the 2oth of the same month, he arrived in Evandale, in Lanarkshire, along with Hacks- ton, and a fellow called Diiigwall, or Daniel, one of t!ie same bloody band. Here he j^iined his old friend Ha'.nilton, already mentioned; and, as they resolved to take up arms, they were soon at the head of such a body of the ' chased and toss?il western men,' as they thought equal to ke.p the fiold. They resolved to comm.ence their exploits upon the £9th of May, 1379, being the anniversary of the Restoration, appointed to be kept as a hohday, by act of parliament ; an insti- tution v.-hich they esteemed a presumptuous and unholy soL-mnity. Accordingly, at the head of eighty horee, tolerably appointed, Hamilton, Burly, and Hackston, entered the royal burgh of Ku'he:glen, extinguished the bonfires made in honour of the day, burned at the cross the acts of parliament in favour of prelacy, and for sup- pression of conventicles, as well as those acts-of council, which regulated the indulgence grantc-J to Presbyterians. Against all th;se acts they entered their solemn protest, or testimony, as they called it ; and, having affixed it to the cross, cone uded with pi-ayer and psalms. Being now joined by a large body of foot, so tiiat their strength seems to have amounted to five or six hundred men, tiiough very indifferently armed, they encamped upon Loudon-hill. Claverhouse, who was in garrison at Glasgow, inst.antly marched agains. the insurgents, at the head of his own troop of cavalry and others, amounting to about one hundred and fifty men. He arrived at Hamilton on the 1st of June, so unexpectedly, as to make prisoner J ohn King, a famous preacher among the wanderers; and rapidly continued his march, carrying his c.iptive along with him, till he came t j the vtUage of Drumclog, about a mile east of Loudon-hill, and twelve miles s mth- west of Hamilton. At some distance fr„m this place, the insurgents were skilfully posted in a boggy strait, almost inaccessible to cavalry, hav- ing a broad ditch in their front. Claverhouse "s dragoons discharged their carabines, and made an attempt to charge ; bat the nature of the gi-ound tiu'ew them into total disorder. Burly, who commanded the handful of horse belonging to the whigs, instantly led them down on thc- disordered squadrons of Ciaverh use, who were, at the same time, vigorously assaulted by the foot. h m m f r ivolous questions ; 1 am n Cioud 01 liViinesSiS, p. 85 ; bound tj answer t headed by the gallant Oelind, * and the enthusi- ast:c UackstoQ. Claverhoase hiniself was forced t) Sr, and was in the utmost danger of being t&kea ; hU horse's belly being cat open by the ttruke of a scyths, so that the poor animal trailed his bowels fir more than a mile. In his flight, he parsed King, the minister, Lit?ly his prisoner, but now deserted by his guard, in the general confusion. The preacher hollowed to the H\ing com.Tiauder, to ' halt, an 1 take his prisoner with him;' or, as others say, 'to stay, and take the afternoon's preaching.' Claverhjuse, at length remounted, continued his retreat to Glasgow, lie lost, in the skirmish, about twenty of his troopei-s, and his own cornet and kiusinaii, Ro- bert Gr^Uiam, wh jse fate is alluded to in the bal- lad. Only fjur of the other side were killed, among whom was Dingwall, or Danijl, an asso- ciate of Burly in ^harpe's murder. ' The rebels,' says Crichton, ' finding the cornet's body, and supposing it to be that of Clavers, because the uame of Graham was wrought iti the shirt-neck, treated it with the utmost inhumanity; cutting off the cose, picking out the eyes, and stabbing it through in a huudred places.' Tre same charge is brought by Guild, in his ' Belium Bothuelli- auum.' "Although Burly was among the most active leaders in the action, he was not the commander- in-chief, as one would conceive from the ballad. That honour belonged to Kobert Hamilton, brother to Sir William Hamilton of Preston, a gentljman, who, like most of those at Drumclog, had imbibed the very wildest principles of lanati- • " William Cleland, a man of considerable genius, was an:hor of several poems, puH shed in 1037. His Hudibrasiic verses are poor scurrilous trash, as the reader may judge £rom the de^cripuon of the High- landers, already quoted. Cut, in a wi:d rhapiody, e i- titled, 'HoUo, my Fancy,' he displays some imagina- tion. His anti-monarcaical principles seem to break out in the foUo«ijig lines . He was a strict non-conformist, and after the Revolu- tion, became lieutenant-colonel of the eari of .\!igus'» regiment, called the Cameroniau regiment. He was killed 2Ut A'jjust, 1639, in the chuichjard of Dau- keld, which his corps manfully and successfu ly de- fended against a superior body of Uig:hlanders. His son was the author of the letter prefixed to the Dun- ciad, aud is said to have been the notorious Clel.iuti, who, in circumstances of pecuniary embar.'assmcut, prostituted his talenu to the composition of indecent and infamous wor'^s i but this seems inconsistent with dates, and the latter personage was probably the gracdsoa of colonel Cielacd."— Scott. cism. The Cameronian account of the insurrcc- ^ I tion states, that ' -Mr. Hamilton discovered a , I gieut deal of bravery and valour, both in the ' - I onaict with, and pursuit of the enemy; bat ' I when he and soins others were pursuing the I enemy, others flew too greedily upon the spoil. ! small as it was, instead of pursuing the v'ctory ; ' and some, without Mr. Hamilton's knowledze, i [ and against his strict command, gaxe five of the^i ' bloody enemies qu-^rt-rs, and then kt them go ; I this greatly grieved Mr. Hamilton, when he svw s.jme of Babels brats spared, a.^ter th-; Lord had delivered them to their hands, that they might " I dash th^ra ajainst the stones.' — Pjo/m cxxxvii. 9. 1 In his own account of this, ' he reckons the spar- i I ing of thesi tnemies, and letting the-n go, to t= ' ! among their first stepping aside ; for which he I fiared that the Lord would not honour them to / do much more for him ; and says, that he was neither for taking favou-s from, nor giving fa- - vours to, the Lord's enemies-' Burly was not a , likely man to fall into this sort of backslidmg. He disarmed one of the duke of Hamilton's ser- vants, who had been in the action, and desired him to teil his master, he wou'd keep, till meet- ing, the pistols he h:td taken from him. The man describ.-d Burly to the duke .is a little stout man, squint-eyed, and of a most ferocious aspect : from which it appears that Burly's figure corre- . sponded t> his manners, and perhaps gave rise t" his nickname. Burly, signifying ttrung. He w..» with the insurgents till the battle of Bothwell - Brilge, and afterwards fled tn Holland. He \ joined the prince of Orange, but died at sea, -f during the ctpediti Jn. The Camtr nians sliii ' , belirve he had obtained liberty from tho jirijce to ' be avenged of those who had prosecut-ni the Lord s ' people; but, through his death, the laudable \ design of purging the land with their blood, b \ ' supposed t > have fallen to the ground.— LiTi of '^T- balfour of Kinloih. { ' " The consequences of the battle of Loudon- \ bill will be detailed in the introduction to tue ~ ni.xt ballad."] r Vol 'I. marvel when I tell ye o' . Our noble Burly, aud his train ; \ "When last he march 'd up thro' the laud, AVi* sax-aud-twenty wtsUand uitu. Th.in they I ne'er o" br.iver heard, For th;;y had a' baith wit .itid skil ; They proved right will, as 1 heard tell. As thef cam' up o'er Louduu-Uill. :-J Weel prosper a' the gospel lads. That are into the west countrie; Ay wicked Claver'se to demean. And ay an ill dead may he die ! For he's drawn up i' battle rank. An' that baith soon an' hastilie ; But they wha live till simmer come. Some bludie days for this will see. But up spak' cruel Claver'se then, Wi' hastie wit, an' wicked skill ; " Gi'e fire on yon westlan' men ; I think it is my soVreign's will." But up bespake his cornet, then, " It's be wi' nae consent C me ! I ken I'll ne'er come back again. An' mony mae as weel as me. " There is not ana of a" yon men. But wha is worthy other three ; There is na ane amang them a'. That in his cause will stap to die. " An' as for Burly, him I knaw ; He's a man of honour, birth, an' fame ; Gi'e him a sword into his hand. He'll fight thystp an' other ten." But up spake wicked Claver'se then, I wat his heart it raise fu' hie '. And he has cry'd that a" might hear, " Man, ye ha'e sair deceived me. •■' I never ken'd the like afore, Na, never since I came frae hanie. That you sae cowardly here suld prove. An' yet come of a noble Graeme." But up bespake his cornet, then, " Since that it is your honour's will, Mysel' shall be the foremost man. That shall gi'e fire on Loudon-hill. "At your command I'll lead them on, But yet wi' nae consent o' me; For weel I ken I'll ne'er return. And mony mae as weel as me." Then up he drew in battle rank ; I wat he had a bonnie train I But the first time that bullets flew. Ay he lost twenty o' his men. Then back he came the way he gaed, I wat right soon and suddenly ! He gave command amang his men. And sent them back, and bade them fl Then up came Burly, bauld an' stout, Wi's little train o' AVestland men ; ^Yha rnair than eitlier aince or twice In Edinburgh confined had been. They ha'e been up to London sent. An' yet they're a' come safely down ; Sax troop o' horsemen they ha'e beat. And chased them into Glasgow town. I" It has been often remarked, that the Scot- tish, notwithstanding their national courage, were always unsuccessful when fighting fur their religion. The cause lay, not in the principle, but in the mode of its application. A leader, like JIahomet, who is at the same time the prophet i tf his tribe, may avail himself of religious enthu- siiism, because it comes to the aid of discipline, and is a powtrful means of attaining the despotic i command essential to the success of a general. ' But, among the insurgents, in the reigns of the Last Stuarts, were mingled preachers, who taught different shades of the Presbyterian doctrine; and, minute as these shades sometimes were, neither the several shepherds, nor their flecks, i could cheerfully unite in a common cause. This ' will appear from the transactions leading to the battle of Bothwell-bridge. " We have seen, that the party which defeated Claverhouse at Loudon-hill, were Cameron ians, whose principles consisted in disowning all tem- poral authority, which did not flow from and through the Solemn League and Covenant. This ■ doctrine, which is still retained by a scattered remnant of the sect in Scotland, is in theory, ard ! would be in practice, inconsistfnt with the safety of any well-regulated government, because the Covenanters deny to their governors that tolera- tion, which was iniquitously refused to them- selves. In many respects, therefore, we cannot be surprised at the anxiety and rigour with which ^ the Cameron ians were persecuted, although ua : BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WAR3. ..30 i; be of opinion, that milder means would have . j'^ed a melioration of their principles. These n, as already noticed, exceptcl against such - -r.yterians as were contented to exercise their rihip under the indulgence granted by gov- nient, or, in other words, who would have ;i satisfied with tolerati'^n for themselves, :iiout insisting upon a revolution in the state, ven in the church government. ^Mien, however, the success at Loudon Hill i spread abroad, a number of preachers, gen- :: ID, and common people, who had embraced more moderate doctrine, joined the army of . .ilton, thinking that the difference in their ; !.ions ought not to prevent their acting in the r.mon cause. The insurgents were repulsed in "1 . attack upon the town of Glasgow, which, how- ler, Claverhouse, shortly afterwards, thought it necessary to evacuate. They were now nearly in full possession of the wtst of ?"cot!and, and pitched their camp at Hamilton, where, instead of modelling and disciplining their army, the Cameronians' an! Erastians (for so the violent insurgents chose to call the more moderate Pres- byterians) only debated, in council of war, the real cause of their being in arms. Hamilton, their general, was the leader of the first party ; Mr. John Walsh, a minister, headed the Eras- tians. The Litter so far prevailed, as to get a declaration drawn up, in which they owned the king's government ; but the publication of it gave rise to new quarrels. Each factiDn had its own set of leaders, all of whom aspired to be officers ; and there were actually two councils of war issuing contrary orders and declarations at the same time ; the one owning the king, and the other designing him a malignant, bloody, and pe jured tyrant. " Meanwhile, their numbers and zeal were magnified at Edinburgh, and great al.irm ex- cited lest they should march eastward. Xot only was the foot mili:ia instantly calle-l out, but pro- clamations were issued, directing all the heritors, in the eastern, southern, and northern shires, to repair to the king's host, with thtir best horses, arms, and retainers. In Fife, and other coun- ties, where the Presbyterian doctrines prevailed, many gentlemen disobeyed this order, and were afterwards severely fined. 3Iost of them alleged, in excuse, the apprehension of disquiet from their wives. * A respectable force was soon as- Sfesembled; and James, duke of Baocleuch «nd Monmouth, was sent down, by Charle*, to take the command, furnished with instructions, not unfavourable to Pr.'sbyterians. The royal army now moved slowly forwards towards Hamilton, and reached Bothwell-moor on the 22d of June, 1679. The insurgents were encampe*! chiefly In the duke of Hamilton's park, along the Clyde, whch separated the two armies. Bothwei:- bridge, which is long and narrow, had then a portal in the middle, with gates, which the Covenanters shut, and barrica/loe force the bridge. Here Hackston maintained his post with zeal and courage ; nor was it until .all his .ammu- nition was expended, and every support denied tion, for fear of disquiet from hi> write. Younj of Kirkton— his I«dye» ilangrrou* ucknru, ind h.tter curses if he ahould leave her, and the appearance at a'mrtian on hi» offering to go from her. And many others pled, in general term*, that their wires opposed or contradicted their goin^. But the justiciary court found this defence totally irTclerant.'— f ountaibhall'i Decisions, voL i. p. " ■■ 3^-^ 6i0 SCOTTISH BALLADS. him by the general, that he reluctantly aband jned the important pass. * When his party were drawn back the duke's anny, slowly, and with their cannon in front, defiled along the bridge, and formed in line of battle, as thay cama over the river; the duke commanded the foot, and Claverhouse the cavalry. It would seem, that these movements could not have been performed without at least some loss, had the enemy been serious in opposing thom. But the insurgents ware otherwisa employed. 'With the strangest delusion that ever fell upon devoted beings, they chose these precious moments to cashier their officers, and elect others in their room. In this important operation, they were at length dis- turbed by the duke's cannon, at the very first discharge of which, the horse of the Covenanters wheeled, and rode off, breaking and trampling down the ranks of their infantry in their flight. The Cameronian account blames \\'cir of Green- ridge, a commander of the horse, who is termed a sad Achan in the camp. The more moderate party lay the whole blame on Hamilton, whose conduct, they say, left the world to debate whether he was most traitor, coward, or fool. The generous Monmouth was anxious to spare the blood of his infiituated countrymen, by which he incurred much blame among the high-flying royalists. Lucky it was for the insurgents that the battle did not happen a day later, when old Keneral Dalziel, who divided with Claverhouse the t.rror and hatred of the whigs, arrived in the camp, with a commission to supersede Mon- mouth, as cjmmander-in-chief. He is said to have upbr.aided the duke, publicly, with his lenity, and heartily to have wished his own commission had come a day sooner, when, as he expressed himself, ' These rogues should never more have troubled the king or coantry ' f But, notwith- * " There is an accm-ate representation of this part of the eiigageoient in an old painting, of whicli tiieie are two copies extant; one in tlie collection of his grace the duke of Hamilton, the other at Dalkeith house. The whole appearance of the grouud, even including a few old houses, is the same «hicli tlie scene now presents : The removal of the porch, oi gateway, upon the britige, is the ouly perceptible dif- terence. The duke of Monmouth, oii awhile charger, directs the march of the party engaged in sloi ming the bridge, while his artillery gall the motley ranks of the Covenanters."— Scott. t " Dalziel was a man of savage manners. A pri- soner having railed at him, while under examination before the privy council, calling him 'a Muscovia beast, who u»ed to roast men, the general, in a pas- :-u, struck him, with the pomel of his shabble, on the Standing the merciful orders of the duke of Mon ■ f mouth, the cavalry made great slaughter among V the fugitives, of whom four hundred were slain, f Guild thus expresses himself: — ' Et ni Dux validus tenuisset forte cater^■a9, i Vix quisquam profugus vitam servasset inertem : V^. Non audita Ducis verum mandata supremi \ Omnibus, insequitur fugieutes plurima turba, i ~ Perque agros, passim, trepitia formidine captoa ^-- Obiruncat, sjenrmque ad. git per viscera ferram. t MS, Bel'.um Both elliauum. " The same deplorable circumstances are more elegantly bewailed in ' Clyde,' a poem, reprinted in ' Scottish Descriptive Poems,' edited by tae late Dr. John Leyden, Edinburgh, 1803 :— Where Bothwell's bridge connects the margin sleep, And Ciyie, below, rung silent, stron;^, and deep, Tne hai dy peasant, l-y oppression driven To battle, deemed his cause the cause of heaven ; Unskilled in arms, with useless courage stood, AVhile gentle Monm(-utli grieved to shed his blood: But fierce Dundee, inflamed with deadly hate. In vengeance for the great Montrose's fate, Let loose the sword, and to the hero's shade A h.irbarous hecatomb of victims paid. " The object of Claverhouse 's revenge, 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 ; ^ and to the quarrel betwixt Claver- face, till the blood sprung,'— Fountaiuhall, vol. i. p. 159. He had sworn never to shave his beard after the death of Charles the First. This venerable appendage reached his girdle, and, as he wore always au old- fashioned bull coat, his appear.ince in London never failed to attract the notice of the children and of the mob. King Charles II. \ised to swear at him, for bringing such a rabble of boys together, to be squeezed to death, while they gaped at his iong beard and an- j^ tique habit, and exhorted him to shave and dress like v^ a Christian, to keep the poor ' bairns,' as Dalziel ex- £^ pressed it, out of danger. In compliance with this re- /' quest, he once api>eared at court fashionably dressed, ' excepting the beard; but when the king had laughed ^ sufficiently at the metamorp .osis, he resumed his old g d;ess,to the great joy of the bojs,hik us ,«! aiiendants. = — Creichtou's Memoirs, p. 102."— ?cott. ? J " There is some reason to conjecture, that the re- - venge of the Cameroniaus, if successful, would have been little less sanguinary than that of the rojaiist,-. Creichton mentions, that they had etecteH, in theij '_ camp, a high pair of gallows, and prepare 1 a quantity of halters, to hang 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 stooJ, and guarded them there, without offer I ig to hang a single individual. Guild, in the ' Bellun BothueUianum,' alludes to the same stoiy, which i BALLAD3 ON THE CIVIL WAE3. 541 houss and ifonmouth, it ascribes, with great i naivete, the biooJy fate of the latter. Local tra- dition is always apt to trace foreiga events to the domestic causes, which are itiore 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 family in the west of ScHlaud, and their pro- genitors were believed tJ have been favourers of the ref jrmed doctrine, and possessed of a trans- lation of the Bible as early as the days of VVick- liffe. "William Gordon, the father, was, in 1663, summoned before the pri\'y council, for keeping conventicles in his house and woods. By another act of council, hs was banished out of Scotland, but the sentence was never put into execution. In 1667, Earlstoun was turned out of his house, which was converted into a garrison for the king's s-ldiers. He was not in the battle of Bothwell-bridge, but was rr.et, hastening towards it, by some English dragoons, engaged in the pursuit, already commenced. As he refused to surrender, he was instantly slain. — Wilson's His- tory nf Bothrveil Rising— Life of Gordon of Earls- ton, in Scoflish Worthies— Wodr'nv's History, v.;I. ii. The son, Alexander Gordon of Ear-stoun, I suppose to be the hero of the bailad. He was not a Cameronian, but of the more moderate class cf Presby teru-ins, whose sole object was free- dom of eonscience, 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 for*vard- I ing the supplication sent to the duke of Mon- ' mouth. After the battle, he escaped discovery, by flying into a house .at Hamilt n, belonging to one of his tenants, .ind disguising himself in female attire. His person was proscribed, and his estate of Earlstoun was bestowed upon col- ■ onel Theophilus Ogilthorpe, by the crown, drst , in security f.r £3000, and afterwards in perpetu- : ity.— Fountainh \11, p. 390. The same author , mentions a person tried at the circuit court, July j 10, 16S3, solely f.r holling intercourse with ' Earlstoun, an inter-comrauned (proscribed) re i bel. As he had been in Holland after the battle ) of Bothwell, he was probably accessory to the g_' rendered probfible bv the charterer of Ham Uor, I'le r=i, insurgent geiier.Vi.— Guild's MSS — CreicUtou'a Me- J moirs, p. 61."— Scott. ie scheme of invasion, which the unfortunate e.irl of -Vrgyle was then meditating. He was appre- hended upon his return to .Scotland, trie " Ye're welcome, lads," then Monmouth said, h^, \ '■ Ye're welcome, brave Scots lads, to me ; W'ij -Anti sae are ye, brave Earlstoun, v^^^ The foremost C your company ! s.^§ " 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 ! " I winna yield my weapons up. To you nor nae man that I 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 they 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 s-ildiers of the army, who would not hear of the royal ribband, such was their pride .ind malice." — Vol. i. p. 123 After the departure of this first army, the town was occupied by the barons of the royal party, till they wore once more expelled by the Covenanters, who plundered the burgh and country adjacent ; " no fowl, cook, or hen, left uukilled, the hail house-dogs, They stell'df their cannons on the height. And showr'd their shot down in the how; An' beat our Scots lads even down, "i^-m Thick they lay slain on every know. f\^ 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 slain on every know. "0 hold your hand," then Monmouth cry'd, " Gi'e quarters to yon men for me !" 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 Grpeme, Else a rebel to our king ye'll be." i messens (;. e. lap-dogs), and whelps, within Aber- deen, killed upon the streets; so that neither h lund, messen, nor othsr dog, was left alive that they could see: the reason was this,— when the first army came here, ilk captain and soldier had a blue ribband about his craig (('. e. neck;) in despite and derision whereof, when they removed from Aberdeen, some women of Aberdt;en, as was alledged, knit blue ribbands about their messens' craigs, whereat their soldiers took ofif.nce, 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 eopart- ments inscribed with the words, Christ— Cove- nant— Kiag—Kingdoyn. Similar standards are mentioned in Spalding's curious and minute nar- rative, vol. ii. pp. 183, %i5.— Scoff. t Sfeird—P\a.nted. t It U very extraordinary, that, in April, 16S5, Claverhouse was left out of the new commission of privy council, as being too favourable to the fanatics. The pretence was his having married into the Presbyterian family of lord Dundonald. An aot of council was also past, regulating the payment of qu.arters, which is stated by Fouu- tainhall to have been done in odium of Claver- I house, and in order to excite complaints against him. This charge, so inconsistent with the na- ture and conduct of Claverhouse, seems to have * been the fi-uit of a quarrel betwixt him and the lord high treasurer. — Founfainhall, vol. i. p. 360. That CLaverhouse was most unworthily accused of mitigating the persecution of the Covenanters, ." BALLADS ON THE CIVIL WAR3. 543 Then wicked Claver'se turn'd about, 1 wot an angry man was he ; And he has lifted up his hat. And crjM, " G^d bless his majesty : Then he's awa' t J London town. Ay e'en as fast as he can dree ; Fause witness ?s he has wi* him tiVn, An' ta'en Monmouth's head frae his bod^. will appear from the following simple, but very affecting narrativ-', extracted from one of tha little publications which appeared soon after the Eevolution, while the facts were fresh in the memory of the sufferers. The imitation of the scriptural style produces, in some passages of these works, an effc-ct not unlike what we feel in reading the beautiful book of Iluth. It is taken from the life of Mr. Alexander Peden, * printed about 1720. "In the beginning of May, 168-5, he came to the house of John Brown and >Iarion Weir, whom he married before he went to Ireland, i where he stayed all night; and, in the morning, when he took farewell, he came out of the door, saying to himself, ' Poor woman, a fearful morn- ing,' twice over. ' A dark misty morning !' The nest morning, between five and six hours, the said John Browa having performed the wur=hip of Go^l in his family, was going, with a spade in his hand, to make ready some peat grouaJ : the mist being veo' dark, he knew not until cni»I and bloody Claverhouse compassed him with three troops of horse, brought hi-n to his house, and th^^re examined him ; who, though he was a man of a stammering speech, yet answered him distinctly and solid'y ; which made Claverhous? to examine those whom he had taken to be his guides through the muirs, if ever they hearil him preach ? They answered, ' Xo, no, he was nerer a preacher.' II ■ said, ' If he has never preached, meikle he has prayed in his time;' he sail to John, ' Go to y -lur prayers, for you shall imme- diately die !' When he was praying, Claverho ise interrupted him three times ; one time, that he stopt him, he was pleading that the Lord would spare a remnant, and not make a full end in the day of his anger, Claverhouse said, ' I gave yon time to pray, and ye are begun to preach ;' he ■~ I! turned about upon his knees, and said, ' ^ir, you •"The enthusiasm of this personsge, and of his || know neither the nature of preaching or praying, followers, Invested him, as has been already noticed, i. that calls this preaching." Then continued wHth- with prophetic powers ; bat hardly any of the stories out c mfusion. "VMien ended, Claverhouse said . told of him exceeds that sort of gloomy conjecture of , ,„ , , ■ ■u^ r ■, . l, . misfortune, which the precarious sitaatioii of his sect |] Take g.Kxloight of your wife and children.' to greatly fostered. The foUowing passage relates to i His wife, standine by with her child in her arms fne battle of BothweU-bridge : ' That dismal day, 22,\ j that she had brought forth to him, and another of June, 16T9, at Bothweil-bndge, when the Lord's , .,, ... a .. -r . i » ■ i ■■ people feU and fled before the enemy, he was forty child of h'.s first wife s, he came t > her, and sud. miles dist.mt, near the border, and kept himself retired !! ' Xow, Marion, the day is cime, tliat I told you until the middle of the day, when some friends said to j j would come, when I sp.lke first to you of mar- him, ' Sir, the people are waiting for sermon.' He i _. . . oi,„ ,„:j < t_j.„4 t_v_ i _i answered, -Let them go to their prayers; for me. I 1 1 >■>'"? "'^- '^'^^ ^"^' Indeed, John, I can w.I- neither can norwUl preach .any this day, for our frieuds '| Imglj' part With y..>u.'— ' Then,' he said, thu is all are fa Jen and fled befoie the enemv, at Hamilton, and ] , 1 desire, I have no more to do but die." He kiss»d ^Z^^:i^e^:^'^::iJ^^^^ W '^'^-'^l,-,? '^----^ wished purch.^.Hl and thus commemorated by Fountainhall, 27th of March, jj promised blessings to be multipl.ed upon them, 1r G'vJ, I will ^ take him in my own hand." Cbv^rh'^ure mounted ^\ Alang the brae, beyond the brig, V^'y Mony brave man lies cauld and still ; ^r^^ But Ian? we'll mind, and sair we'll rue, >f30 The bloody battle of Both well Hill. ^ his horse, and marched, and left her with the corpse of her dead husband lying there ; she set the bairn on the ground, and gathered his brains, and tied up his head, and straighted his body, and covered him in her plaid, and sat down, and wept over him. It being a very desert place, where never victual grew, and far from neigh- bours, it was some time before any friends came to her ; the first that came was a very fit hand, that old singular Ciiristian woman, in the Cum- merhead, named Elizabeth Jlenzies, three miles distant, who had been tried with the violent death of her husband at Pentland, afterwards of two worthy sons, Thomas Weir, who was killed at Drumelog, and David St°el, who was suddenly shot afterwards when taken. The said Marion "Weir, sitting upon her husband's grave, told me, that before that, she could see no blood but she was in danger to faint ; and yet she was helped to be a witness to all this, without either fainting or confusion, except when the shots were let off her eyes dazzled. His corpse was buried at the end of his house, where he was slain, with this inscription on his grave-stone : — In earth's cold bed, t'ne dusty part here Ue3, Of one who did the earth as"du?t despij-e ! Here, in this p'ace, from earth lie took dapirture j Now, he has got the garland of the martyrs. " This murder was committed betwixt six and seven in the morning : Mr. Peden was about ten [ or eleven miles distant, having been in the fields all night : he came to the house betwixt seven and eight, and desired to call in the family, that he miyht pray amongst them ; when praying, he said, ' Lord, when wilt thou avenge Crown's blood ? Oh, let Brown's blood be preeious in thy sight ! and hasten the day when thou wilt avenge it, with Cameron's, Cargiil's, and many others of our martyrs' names ; and oh ! for that day, when the Lord would avenge all their bloods 1' When ended, John iluirhead enquired what he meant by Brown's blood ? He said twice over, ' What do I mean .■• Claverhouse has been at the Preshil this morning, and has cruelly murdered John Brown; his corpse is lying at the end of his house, and his poor wife sitting ■weeping by his corpse, and n^t a soul t:- spta'.i a j word comfortably to her.' " BOTHWELL BRIGG. [Modern Ballad.— James Hogg.] "Oh what is become o' your leal goodtnan. That now you are a' your lane ? If he h.as join'd wi' the rebel gang You will never see him again." " O say nae ' the rebel gang,' Ladye ; It's a term nae heart can thole. For them wha rebel against their God, It is justice to control. " 'VMien rank oppression rends the hc;art. And rules wi' stroke o' death, Wha wadna sjwnd their dear heart's blood For the tenets of their faith ? While we read this dismal story, we must re- member Brown's situation was that of an avowed and determined rebel, (?) liable as such to mili- tary execution ; so that the atrocity was more that of the times than of Claverhouse. That general's gallant adherence to his m.aster, the misguided James VII., and his glorious death on the field of victory, at Killicrankie, have tended to preserve and gild h":s memory. He is still re- membered in the Highlands as the most success- ful leader of their clans. An ancient gentleman, who had borne arras for the cause of Stuart, in 1715, told the editor, that, when the armies met on the field of battle, at Sheriff-muir, a vet»ran chief (I think he named Gordon of Glenbucket,) covered with scars, came up to the earl of Mar, and earnestly pressed him to order the High- landers to charge, before the regul.^.r army oi Argyle had completely formed their line, and at a moment when the rapid and furious onset of the clans might have thrown them into total disorder. Mar repeatedly answered, it was not yet time ; till the chieftain turned from him in disdain and despair, and, stamping with rage, exclaimed aloud, " O for one hour of Dundee !■' Claverhouse's sword (a strait eut-and-thmst blade) is in the possession of lord Woodhouselee. In Pennycuik-house is preserved the buff-coat which he wore at the battle of Killiecrankie. The fat il shot-hole is under the arm-pit, so that the ball must have been received while his arm > was raised to direct the pursuit. — Scott. BALLADS OX THE CIVIL WAR-S 64.5 " Tlien say na ' the rebel gang,' Ladve, For it gi'es me muckle pain ; ilj- John went away with Earlston, And I'll never see either again." " O wae is my heart for thee, Janet, O sair is my heart for thee ! These Covenant men were ill advls?d ; They are fools, you may credit me. " Where 's a' their hoastfu" preachin? now. Against their king and law, AVhen mony a head in death lies low. And mony mae maun fa' ?" " Ay, but death lasts no for aye, Ladyc, For the grave maun yield its prey ; And when we meet on the verge of heaven. We'll see wha are fools that day : " We'll see wha looks in their Saviour's face. With holiest joy and pride, Whether they who shed his servants' blood. Or those that for him died. " I wadna be the highest dame That ever this country knew. And take my chance to share the doom Of that persecuting crew. ' Then ca' us na ' rebel gang," Ladye, Nor take us fools to l>e, For there isna ane of a' that gang. Wad change his state wi' thee." " Oh weel may you be, my pior Janet, May blessings on you combine I The better you are in either state. The less shiill I repine ; " But wi' your fightings and your faith. Your ravings and your rage. There you have lost a leal helpmate. In the blossom of his age. " And what's to come o' ye, my poor Janets Wi' these twa babies sweet ? Ye ha'e naebody now to work for them. Or bring you a meal o' meat ; '* It is that which makes my heart sae wae. And gars n'.e, while scarce aware. Whiles say the things I wadna say. Of them that can err nae mair." Poor Janet kiss'd b r youngest babe. And the tears fell on his check. And they fell upon his swaddling bands, For her heart was like to break. " Oh little do I ken, my dear, dear babes, WTiat misery's tJ be mine ! But for the cause we ha'e espoused, I will yield my life and thine. " Oh had I a friend, as I ha'e none, — For nane dare own me now, — That I might send to Bothwcll Urigg, If the killers wad but allow, " To lift the corpse of my brave Jo'.in : I ken where they will him find,— He wad meet his God's fi>?s face t > Ui^, And he'll ha'e nae wound behind. " " But I went to Bothwell Brigg, Janet,— There was nane durst hinder me, — For I wantit to hear a' I could hear. And to see what I could see ; "And there I found your brave husband. As viewing the dead my lane ; He u-as lying in the very foremost rank. In the midst of a heap o' slain." Then Janet held up h-r hands to heaven, And she grat, and she tore her hair, " O sweet Ladye, O dear Ladye, Binna tell me ony mair '. " There is a hope will lincrer within, AVhen earthly hope is vain. But, when ane kens the very worst. It turns the heart to stane !" " ' Oh wae is my heart, John Can-,' sai-l I, ' That I this sight should see !' But when I said these waefu' words. He lifted his eyne to me. " ' O art thou there my kind Lvlye, The l>est o' this warld's breed. And are you ganging your leifou lane, Amang the hapless dead ? * " ' I ha'e servants within my ca', John Carr, And a chariot in the dell. And if there is ony hope o' life, 1 will carry you hame mjsell.' ilG SCOTTISH BALLADS. " ' Lady, thjre is n^e hops o' life ; And wliat were life to me ? Wa.d ye save me frae the death of a man. To hang on a gallows tree ? " ' I ha'e nae harae to fly to now, iTae country, and nae kin ; There is not a door in Fair Scotland Durst open to let me in. " ' But I ha'e a loving wife at hame, And twa babies, dear to me ; They ha'e naebody now that dares favour them. And of hunger they a' maun dee. '■■ ' Oh far the sake of thy Saviour dear, "W'hose moroy thou hopest to sliai'e. Dear Lady, take the saekless things A wee beneath thy care ! " ' A lang farewell, my kind Ladye i O'er weel I ken thy worth. Cae send me a drink o' the water o' Clyde, For my last drink on earth.' " dinna tell ony mair, Ladye, For my heart is cauld as clay ; Tiieie is a spear that pierces here, Frae every word ye say." ' ■ lie wasna fear'd to dee, Janet, — For he gloried in his deatli. And wisli'd to be laid with tiiose who had bled For the same endearing foith. " There were three wounds in his boardly breast. And his limb was broke in twain. And the sweat ran down wi' his red heart's Wrung out by the deadly pain. [iJood, " 1 row'd my apron round his head. For fear my men should tell. And 1 hid him in my Lord's castle. And I nursed him there mysell. "And the best leeches in a' the land Have tended liim as he lay. And he never has lack'd my helping hand. By night nor yet by day. " I durstna tell you before, Janet, For I fear'd his life was gane, Out now he's sae weel, ye may visit him, And ye's3 meet by yoursells alane.'' ^ Then Janet she fell at her Lady's ftjet. And she claspit them ferventlye. And she steepit them a' wi' the tears o' joy, Till the good Lady wept to see. " Oh ye are an angel sent frae heaven. To lighten calamitye ! For, in distress, a friend or foe Is a' the game to thee. " If good deeds count in heaven, Ladye, Eternal bliss to share. Ye ha'e done a deed will save your soul. Though ye should never do mair." " Get up, get up, my kind Janet, But never trow tongue or pen. That a' the warld are lost to good. Except the Covenant men," WTia wadna ha'e shared that Lady's joy When watching the wounded hind. Rather than those of the feast and the danc-? Which her kind heart resign'd ? Wha wadna rather share that Lady's fate. When the stars sliall melt away. Than that of the sternest anchorite. That can naething but graen and pray ? Q. [" Tins is the worst specimen of the truth of t^ Scottish song that is to be met with ; two events ;^. ^ being jumbled together in it, that happened at the distance of many years from each other. These seem to be, the battle of Auldearn, wuu by Montrose and the clans; and that on the plains of Cromdale, in Strathspey, where the two colonels, Buehan and Cannon, suffered them- selves to be surprised in their beds by Sir Thomas Livingston, and, though at the head of 1500 brave Highlanders, utterly defeated and scatter- ed. This latter is the only battle on record that ever was really fought at Cromdale. It appears, therefore, more than probable, that on that action the original song has been founded ; for the fii-st twenty lines contain an exMt and true description of that shameful defeat, and these twenty lines may be considered as either the BALLADS OX THE CIVIL WXT.S. Sir hole or part of the original song ; and as they ^ ,«V are middling good, and the air most Leautiful, they had, of course, become popular. Some bard who had been partial to the clans, fired with indignation at hearing the disgrace of hia countrymen sung all over the land, had added ; ' to the original verses an overcharged account of : I the battle of Auldearn, won by Montrose, then- i favourite leader, against the AVhigs : but, by a vUe anachronism, he has made it to happen on the day following the action at Cromdale, whereas it happened just forty-five years before it. Although, therefore, I have placed the ballad among the songs of this early period, I am persuaded it had its origin at a much later date; but it would have been ridiculous to have placed a song that treated wholly of Montrose, subse- j Quent to events that happened long after his death. Yet the part of the ballad that describes , the victory won by that hero cannot be the | original part of it, else the writer would never ; have placed the action at Cromdale, which is 1 almost a day's journey distant from Auldearn, I and no way connected with the scene of that engagement. It would never do now to sepa- ' rate this old and popular song into two parts; but nothing can be more evident, than that one part of the song describes the battle won by Monti-ose and the clans, on the 4th of ilay 1645 ; and the other part, that won by Livingston | over the clans, on the 1st of Slay 1690. The j Dames of the clans mentioned in the song are those that were present with Montrose at | Auldearn ; the rout that the defeated army j took, together with the number of them that i reached Aberdeen, all accord with the truth of history : so that at whatever period the song was made, it evidently alludes to that action." i 20 Hogg's Jacobite Relics.] As I came in by Achindoun, A little wee bit fVae the town. When to the Highlands I was bound, To view the haughs of Cromdale, I met a man in tartan trews, I speer'd at him what was the news ; Quo' he, " The Highland army rues, That e'er we came to Cromdale. " We were in bed. Sir, every man. When the English host upon us came ; A bloody battle then bi'gan, Upon the haughs of Cromdale. " The English horEC they were so nide. They bathd their hoofs in Highland blood. But our brave clans, they boldly stood Upon the haughs of Cromdale. " But, alas ! we oould no longer st-iy. For o'er the hills we came away. And sore we do lament the day That e'er we came to Cromdalv." Thus the great Montrose did say, " Can you direct the nearest way. For I will o'er the hills this day. And view the haughs of Cromdale." " Alas, my lord, you're not so strong. You scarcely have two thousand men. And there's twenty thousand on the pL-vir, Stand rank and file on Cromdale." Thus the great Montrose did say, " I say, direct the nearest way, For I will o'er the hills this day. And see the haughs of Cromdale." They were at dinner, every man. When great Montrose upon them came; A second battle then began, Upon tiie haughs of Cromd.ile. The Grant, Mackenzie, and M'Ky, Soon as Montrose they did espy, O then, they f.ught most valiantly! Upon the haughs of Cromdale. The M'Donalds they retum'd again. The Camerons did their standard join, M'lutosh play'd a bloody game Upon the haughs of Cromdale. The MGregors fought like lions bold. M'Phersons, none could them controul, H'Lauehlins fought, like loyal souls. Upon the haughs of Cromd.-\lo. M'Leans, M'Doug.als, and M'Xeils, So boldly as they took the field, And made their entmus to yi<.ld. Upon the haughs of Cromdale. The Gordons boldly did advance. The Frasers fought with sword .ind I.ancv, The Gr.-Uiams they made tlie heads to dance. Upon the haugha of Cromdale. SiS SCOTTISH BALLADS. The loyal Stewarts, with Montrose, So boldly sst upon their foes. And brought them down with Highland blows. Upon the liaughs of Gromdale. Of twenty thousand, Cromwell's men. Five hundred fled to Aberdeen, The rest of them lie on the plain. Upon the haughs of Cromdale. ®lu:l])te|i^bE. [This is sung 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, Pae 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 ! for him we'll fight. And down wi' cuckold Geordie !" V>'e 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'bogie } 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. AVe fear'd no harm, and no alarm. No word was spoke of dangers ; Ti'e 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 far him we'll fight, And down the cuckold carlie 1" r4^ APPENDIX, ^J^Msi^efSfrn Sx-^iiv,, !i :i [MoDERX Ballad.— Peter M'ARTRrK.— Fur an account of the battle of Glen Fruin, fought, in the reign of James VI., bi.t"een the >l'Gre- gors and Colquhouns, aided by the men of Len- nox and Lomond, see Browne's Historj- of the Highland Clans, or Sir "Walter Scotfs introduc- tion to the annotated edition of his celebrated novel of Eob E^'j'.] The last lone echo dies away, An-.ong yon mountains faint and far. And the dim shades of sinking day Light up the sUeut evening sUir. No leacon light streams down the pass, TVe hear no answering pibroch ring. In silence o'er the mountain mass. See the pale moon in be^iuty hung, Eeflecfing in the lake beneath Her trembling rays of silvery sheen ; And tlie night wind ^ith balmy breath Scarce stirs the brackens bending green. Ah ! who could think that scenes so fair E'er trembled to the warrior's tread. Or that red heather blooming there Waves o'er the warrior's narrow bed. Here Alpine's bands from wild glens stray. Triumphant wav'd their banr.er'd pine, As on they swept on forray fray, Aduwu Glen Fruin's deep raviue • The haughty chieftain of Rossdhn Arons'd his clansmen near and far, With Lennox men, and Lomonds too. To turn aside clan Alpine's war. They mett ! and hark, the slr.gan cry • Ah, who that onset could withstand ? The Lennox men disordered fly. And Lomonds too, a bleeding band. The stainless banner of Rosshdu Still floated o'er brave warrior men, And still with dauntless hearts, and true. They barr'd the pass by Fruiu's Glen. The claymore g'eamed with reddening flAsh, Tlie battle-axes r.^se and fell. Full on each foe with deadly crosh. And hark ! the pibroch's mingling jcU ! Cut now the sweeping wild array Of Alpine's bold unbroken band. Scattered their foes, as ocean's spray Is b:oken on the rocky strand. And upward from the darksome g!en, M'Grej;ors' shouts of triumph rose, And the wild shrieks of dying men Beneath the brands of conquering foe*. Now, where the FruIn glides away Around yon rocks and nitherwl fern, Eossdhu again. In Ivld array. Is mustering all his clansmen ittrn. And well they fought, as men should fi^bt. Who strike for home and iUl that 's >\>-at i Bat who could e'er withstjuid the i. i^lit Of Alpine In his w ild career ? ^^^^' 650 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Like torrent swollen by wlntery rain. When tangled boughs impede its course, Bursting its barrier bold in twain. It sweeps the vale with treble force j Bo burst elan Alpine's bands away ; But far more dire than wintery flood. 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 Dougald's rutliless blade Ihey cried, Lut cried in vain for Lfe ! "Where Fruin murmurs to the dell. Clear winding from yon mountains lone. The traveller reads their mournful tale. But time hath scathed the lettered stone. Even yet, tradition tells the tale. And I'Oints the place near yonder height. Where niuurnful sounds and shadows pale Olide through the solemn gloom of night. That morn the sun rose redly roUed In crimson clouds foreboding woe. That morn Inch Murrin's seer foretold His kinsman dear of coming woe ; A nd when the sun looked o'er Glengyle, On Lomond's hills in evening 'rajed. Clan 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 joy they raise O'er the rich spoil and conquered foe. The mist wreathes vail'd Ben Lomond's brow. The sun withdrew his lurid light. The lake's broad waves with sullen flow Heaved to the moaning winds of night ; And many a coronach arose. And many a shriek of wild desjvair Awoke the weary night's repose, Ee-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 — Gleu Luss in smouldering ruins lay. The pines were skaith'd by Bannochraie, Its vaulted halls and alder bowers, Tou'd thought that time and stern deciy Had pass'd for ages 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 ejTied 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 vail. Each matron true unbound the plaid, f That wrapt her silent warrior's breast, A bloo-ly 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 XL, 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 aflTected. Measures of extreme severity were resorted to; • Near the scene of the contest, a large stone is shown, which receives the appellation of the Ministers 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 maja of great size and streugtli, named Dugald Ciar-Mhor, or the Mouse-Coloured. It is but right to say, that j | the execution of these measures was assigned to another account of the matter frees Dugald I the earls of Argyle and Athol; the very name from the imputation of this crime. He was the I of M'Gregor was abolished by an act of the immediate and indubitable ancestor of Eob I' Privy CouncH, Act 1603, and the chief of the ^"y- aSclan was executed at Edinburgh. 551 '•' Ere night in Stirling's royal towers, <% King James shall hear the widow's tale, - 1 Kre morn, in fair Loch Katrine's bowers, ] j Red Alpine's chief shall trtinble pale." They said it was an earie sisrht, i j^ Like dusky shadows soild with gore ! J^J They glided in the da^vning light, _^ Adown the glen to Lomond's shore. '^ ] Away, away, o'er waves and spray, ■^' They sail'd by green Inch Murrans is'.e. 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 Endrick 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," s?id he, " our broken laws. And give the widow's woes relief," With reddening brow and flashing eye. He graspe 1 the hilt of his good blade. Yet with demeanour calm and high. Thus to his western chiefs he said, " Athol, Argyle, I hold you bound, A price is on M'Gregor's head ; \\"\\.h. unsheathed sword and blootly hound. Avenge the widow and the deadl" And dearly has M'Gregor paid, By name proscribed and haunted band. For dark Glen Fruin's lawless raid,— 2ho more he niles Loch Katrine's stran J. IIXh^s ^?; [MoDKRX Ballad by Jamm Lemow, author of a volume of Poems and Songs, publi«h.- " And when you first to me made suit, How fair I was you oft would say ! And, proud of conquest — pluck'd the fruit. Then left the blossom to decay. " 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 fled. " For know, when sick'ning grief doth prey. 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 's passing rare ; That eastern flow'rs, that shame the sun. Are not so glowing, not so fair. " 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 ? " 'Mong rural beauties I was one. Among the fields wild flow'rs are fair ; Some country swain might me have won. And thought my beauty passing rare. " But, Leicester, (or I much am wrong,) Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows ; Kather ambition's gilded crown Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. " Tlien, Leicester, why, again I plead, (The injur'd surely may repine,) "Why didst thou wed a country maid, "When some fciir princeK might be tiiiue ? " %Vhy didst thou praise ray humble charms, ^ And, oh ! theu leave them to decay ? Why didst thou win me to thy arms, Then leave me to mourn the live -long day " The village maidens of the plain Salute me lowly as they go ; Envious they mark my silken train, Nor think a countess can have woe. " The simple nymphs ! they little know. How far more happy 's their estate — — To smile for joy — than sigh for woe — —To be content— than to be great. " Hew far less blest am I than them ? Daily to pine and waste with care ! Like the poor plant, that from its stem Divided— feels the chilling air. " 2for (cruel earl !) can I enjoy The humble charms of solitude ; Tour minions proud my p^ice destroy. By sullen frowns or pratings rude. " Last night, as sad I chanc'd to stray, The village death-beU smote my ear ; They wink'd aside, and seem'd to say, ' Countess, prepare— thy end is near." " And now, while happy peasants sleep. Here I sit lonely and forlorn ; Kg one to soothe me as I weep, Save Philomel on yonder thorn. " iTy spunts flag— my hopes decay- Still that dread death-beU smites ray ear ; And many a boding seems to say, ' Countess, prepare— thy end is near." " Thus sore and sad the lady grieVd, In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear ; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaVd, And let fall many a bitter tear. And ere the dawn of day appear'd, In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear. Full many a piercing scream was heard. And many a cry of mortal fear. The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, An aerial voice was heard to c-Ul, And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing Around the tow'rs of Cumnor Hall. The mastiff howl'd at village door. The ouks were shatter'd on the green ; "Woe was the hour — for never more That hapless counteai e'er wat seea. And in that manor now no more Is che<:rful featt and sprightly ball ; For ever since that dreary hour Have spirits liaunteU Cumnor Hall. The village maids, with fearful glance, Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall ; Kor ever lead the merry dance, Among the groves of Cumnor Ball. Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd, And pensive wept the countesi' fiill, As wand'ring onwards they've espie.1 The haunted tow'rg of Cumnor Uall. [By Jons Forbes, Schoolmaster at Mary Culter, upon Deeside.J MuRx ye Heighlands, and mum ye Leighl&nd*, I trow ye ha'e meikle naed ; For the bonnie burn of Corichie Has run this day wi' bleid?* The hopeful laird o' Finliter, Erie Huntly's gallant son. For the love he bare our beauteoua qulne. His gart Cair Scotland mont. He has braken his wanl in Aberdene Throu dreid o' this fnuse Slurry ; And he 's gather't the gentle Gordon clan. An' bis Cather auld Uuntly. Fnin wad he tak' our bonnie guide quine. An' beare hir awa' wi' him ; But Murrj's slee w)le« spoilt a" the sport. An' reft him o' lyfe and him. Murry gar't rayse the tardy Moms men, An Angis, an' mony ane mair ; Erie Morton, and the Byres lord Lindsay ; An' cunpit at the hill o' Fare. * This battle was fought on the UiU of Fair, ^ Seth Ottobtr, 1£6£. "^--T*^^"^^.-? i ' 656 SCOTTISH BALLADS. Erie Huntlie came wi' Haddo Gordone, An' countit ana thusan men ; But Murry had abien twal hunder, Wi" sas score horsemen and ten. They soundit the bougills an' the trumpits. An' marchit on in brave array; Till the spiers an' the axis forgatherit, An' than did begin the fray. The Gordones sae fercelie did fecht it, AVithouten terrer or dreid. That mony o' Hurry's men lay gaspin'. An' dyit the grund wi' theire bleid. Then fause Murry feingit to flee them. An' they pursuit at his backo. Whan the haf o' the Gordones desertit, An' turnit wi' Murray in a crack. Wi' hether i' thir bonnits they turnit. The traiter Haddo o' their heid. An' olaid theire brithers an' their fatheris. An' spoilit an' k-ft them for deid. Than Murry cried to tak' the au]d Gordone, An' mony ane ran wl' speid ; But Stuart o' Inchbraik had him stic'Kit, An' out gushit the fat lurdaue's bleid. Than they tuke his twa sones quick an' hale, An' bare them awa' to Aberdene; f^= But sair did our guide quine lament «■% The waefu' chance that they were tane. E e \ Erie Murry lost mony a gallant stout man, ^ J The hopefu' laird o' Thornitune. ^j Pittera's sons, an Egli's far fearit laird, "3^ An' reair to mi unkend, fell doune. " <=■ ^ Erie Huntly mist tenscore o' his bra' men, '%y Sum o' heigh, and sum o' leigh degree; ^= Bkeenis youngest son, the pride o' a' the clan, ^~% Was ther fun' dead, he widna flee. f- cA This bloody fecht wis fercely faucht ^7 Octobris aught an' twinty day, r\ Crystis fyfteen hundred thriscore yeir £/ An' twa will mark the deidlie fray. ^t^ But now the day maist waefu' came, gX That day the quine did grite her fill, -j^ For Huntlys gallant stalwart sou Wis heidit on the heidin hill. Fyve noble Gordones wi' him hangit were. Upon the samen fatal playne ; Crule Murry gar't the waefu' quine \uke out. And see hir lover an' liges slayne. I wis our quine had better frinds, I wis our couctrie better peice ; I wis our lords wid na discord, I wis our weirs at hame may ceise. [From Mr. Kinloch's Collection, where it is said to be taken from the recitation of an Idiot boy in AVishaw.] " I AM gaing awa', Jeanie, I am gaing awa', I am gaing ayont the saut seas, I'm gaing sae far awa." " Whan will ye marry me, Jamie, Whan will ye marry me ? Will ye tak' me to your countrie, — Or will ye marry me ?" " How can I marry thee, Jeanie, How can I marry thee ? Whan I've a wife and bairns three, — Twa wad na weill agree." " Wae be to your fause tongue, Jamie, Wae be to your fause tongue ; Te promised for to marry ine. And has a wife at haine !" " If my wife wad dee, Jeanie, And sae my bairns three, I wad tak' ye to my ain countrie. And married we wad be." " O an your head war sair, Jamie, an your head war sair, I'd tak' the napkin frae my neck. And tie doun your yellow hair." " I ha'e na wife at a', Jeanie, 1 ha'e na wife at a', I ha'e neither wife nor bairns three, I said it to try thee. " Blair in Athol is mine, Jeanie, Blair in Athol is mine ; Bonnie Dunkel is whare I dwell. And the boats o' Garry's mine." i [Modern Ballad. — Peter M'Arthcr. — This Ixillad relates to an extraordinary case of witch- craft which occurred in Renfrewshire shortly before the Eerolution of IfiSS. Sir George Max- well, Bart., of Pollock House, being suddenly seized with grievous pains in his body, was per- suaded that he was labouring under the influence of witchcraft; and a young gipsy woman, who owed soir,e of his tenants a grudge, undertook to point out the culprits who were tormenting hiiu. 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 cf 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 Kenf.-ewsbire, six or seven unfor- tunate creatures were condemned tobs stranded and burned '. — .See the case recorded in the His- tory of the Eenfrewshire "Witches, and also in a work recently published at Paisley, entitled. The PbUosophy of AYitchcraft, by John Hitchell. ^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.] SiB Georoe 5IAXWEI.I. pining lay ; And all by his weary bed. The livelong night, and the livelong day, Xhey 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 se^md ebbing fast. Then heavy and sore was their grief. HLi hunting hounds howl'd to the winds. His steeds neigh 'd in the stall; The ranger grey, the groom, and hinds, Moum'd round the baronet's hr>JI. And aye they epakc of bygone yeara, And of all hlg deeds of jore ; And aye o'er their cheeks fell the briny tears. For they thought they should »c« Iiun no more. Thus pass'd the time, till the autumn i breath Had wither'd the wocllands brown ; The Ci ling sun from his cl'iU'Iy path Louk'd out wi" an angry frown. But d.arker grew his parting ray, An' darker lour'd the cloud ; And shorter grow the changing day, Till the tempe=t raved aloud. The lightning gleam'd, the thunder roar'd Through the heavens resounding fiir; The flooding rain in torrents pour'd Through the winters opening war. The Cart came down frae bank to brae, While the broken boughs and leaves Arose and fell in the splashing s^ny, "Wi" the harvest's scatter'd sheaves. They looked abroad fh)in the baronet's tower On the drear}- driving bla.<;t. As darkly the night began to lower. They thought it was bis last. All mournfully silent around they stood. For the haly man was there ; They felt their despairing crief suUlueU By the sound of his soothing pra)-er. Nor had he paused, when a gentle calm Fell o'er the earth and s'»y ; The woods seem'd sleeping in dusky I aim. The moon shone fair and high. The baronet closed his eye* in rest— A repose sae calm and deep, His lady trembling touch'd his brpa«t To know if 'twas death or sleep. The wond'ring lady saw with delight The change an hour had wrought, On the wasted chc«k of her own true knight, And still ns she wond'ring thought. do:: SCOTTISH BALLADS. A sound was heard at the western door, A s ft and gentle call ; Like music sweet on the midnight hour. It echoed through the hall. Tiiey open'd the door : a lady pass'd 'iVith 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 witli wond'ring eye. And said with voice so bland — '• Is the troubled day of life gone by ? Do I wake in the happy land ? " Or do I dream ? — O ! it was but a dream. For I thought a stranger came, W'l' looks more mild than the moon's fair beam. And she sooth'd my weary frame. " She seem'd a thing too fair and bright For life's brief troubled span. From another world a soothing light For the woes of sinful man." Sadly he paus'd, and around he gaz'd. Ere 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 beanis 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 Round the mountain's falling stream. When it wreathes alar 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 whUe, 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 ^vreck 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 smouMering brand. " And there through many a dreary night They have wrought thee woe and scathe ; But heaven has pitied thy woeful plight. And spoU'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 fied. She soothed his soft repose ; Till the twiUght grey was waning away. And the thin clouds flitted by ; And the silvery stars, with lessening 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, hut wond'ricg, they said. She rais'd them from sad despair. Sir George arose, he trod tlie hall. And stretch'd his friendly hand To his trusty servanb: one and all. But he gave t'.iis stern conunand ; 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 eraig 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 fast ; O ne'er shall they trouble Sir Get rge again. Nor ride on the midnight blast. For still it is told by legends old. And by wither'd dame and sire, TVhen they sit secure from the winter's cold All around the evening fire. How the fagots blaz'd on the gallow green, "Where they hung the witches high; And their smouldering forms were grimly seen. Till darken 'd the lowering sky. ^TM'ki^-^m'k'^ Ea^-g, . Wii.LiAM Thom of Inverury. — An ancestor of 'Lines Adam Gordon, Esq., the present laird of Ivnockespock, about a centuiy and a half ago, 1 a second marriage, had taken to wife the ■vely Jean Leith of Harthill. Kis affectionate idy, notwithstanding their great disparity of ;e, watched the chamber of her sick husband 7 day and by night, and would not divide her -ire with any one. "Worn out and wasted from )nUnued attendance on her husband, she fell ito a sleep, and was awakened only by the :v.oke and flames of their burning mansion; >.e menials had fled — the doom of the dying .\ri and his lady seemed fixed. In her heroic ffiCtiuns she bore her husband from the burn- rig house — laid him in a sheltered spot, and ■rtsd tlirough the very flames for "plaids to vrr.p him in."] Ae wastefa' howl o'er earth an' sea, Kae gleam o' heaven's licht 3il!ght mark the bounds o' Benachie That black an' starless nicht. Siclike the nicht, sielike the hour, Siclike the wae they ken, Wha watch till those loVd eyes shall close That ne'er may ope again. As gin to ta'i' the last lang look. He raised a lichtless e'e; IJow list, O, thou, his lady wife, Knoekespock speaks to thee ! " Sit doun, my Jeanie Gordon, love. Sit doun an' baud my head ; There's sic a lowe beneath my brow Maun soon, soon be my dead. " Aye whftur ye find the ttoun, oh, Jean, Pre. O pcrie the talc is that I could impart. How at Yule's black and dreary return, Cauld curdles the bluid at the bauUlest heart. As it crosses the Dennan Burn !* * A small stream that runs between Crail and Kilrenny, in Fifeshire. ^B 'Twas Yule's dread time, when the spirits ha'e power Through the dark yetta o' death to return ;— 'Twas Y'ule's dread time, and the mid-nicht hour When the witches astride on the whirlwinds ride On their way to the Dennan Burn ! The ill-bodin' howlet screight eerily by. And loudly the tempest was ravin'. When shrill on the blast cam' the weary wo- man's cry. And the screams o' the greetin' bairn ! " O, open the door, for I've tint my gate. And the frost winds snelly blaw ! save my wee bairn frae a timeless fate, Or its grave is the driftin' snaw !" " Now get on your gate, ye fell weird wife— Ower my hallan ye sail na steer ; Though ye sicker can sweep through the tem- pest's strife. On my lintel-stane is the rowan-tree rife. And ye daurna enter here I" " O nippin' and cauld is the wintry blast. And sadly I'm weary and worn ; O save my wee bairn — its blood's freezin' fast. And we'll baith live to bless ye the morn !" " Now get on your gate, ye unco wife : Nae scoug to sic gentry I'll gi'e; On my lintel the red thread and rowan-tree is rife. And ye daurna lodge wi' me !" Sair, sair she prigget, but prigget in vain. For the auld carle drove her awa' ; And loud on the nicht breeze she vented her mane. As she sank, wi' her bairn, ne'er to waken again, Whar the burn ran dark through the snaw. And aften sin' syne has her ghaist been seen Whar the burn winds down by the fern ; And aft has the traveller been frighted at e'en, By the screams o' the greetin' bairn. ^ K,.^<^ii.^^ APPENDIX. 661 M j [A Lkgexdaey Ballad, by David Tbddkb.] LA There woned a wife in Pittenweem, _^ And a greusome cummer was she ; ^P. Nae glimpse o' grace was in her heart, =A Nor spark o" humanitie. ^*^ Her tawny face was furrowed ower 5; J Like a beggar's hoggart hose ; ^^ Nae tinkler's pike-staff had a cleek 17, J That could match this carline's nose. fy ^?\ Her een they goggled like a fiend's, vij Her chin was clad wi' hair, jy And her crooked stumps pushed out her ^M Like the tusks 0' a Lapland bear. ^^ Her voice was like the howlet's scream, K' \ Or like the carrion craw's ; i^J An' the nails upon her finger-ends ^^ Were like a griffin's claws. *ri "V And ower her crooked shoulders hong R^ A cloak that had ance been red ; ^M But the curch was as black as Acheron &y That covered the beldame's head. •■■^ She dearly loved the comet's glare, ^J But she hated the light o' day ; 2^ And she banned the beams o' the blessed g s'\ sun '^k_l As he rose ower the Isle o' Slay. *E^ She's hied her whar twa highways cross r^\ Low in a dreary deU, •^ ) Far, far beyond the haly sound ^. O' the abbey's kirsened bell. s^vj And she's knelt upon a suicide's grave, ^^ And invokit Sathan's name ; ^' ) And muttered mony a horrid spell, =ri / jyj jjjg grisjy monster came. And there she renouncit her mither's creed, 1^ ^ And eke her father's faith ; ^^ And there she made a solemn league c o" -^nd covenant wi' Death. She's pierced a vein on her withered hide. As she pawned her giuful soul ; And with the blo-jd whilk vtas nearest her heart She has signed the fearfu' scroll. And when she delivered the fatal brief, AVeel vTritten, signed, an' s<.'aled, A thousand phantoms, niirk as uight, A horrid anthem pealed. And the screechin' o' the demons dark Seemed music till her ear ; Anil aye she called the Evil One Her lord and master dtar. And she has abjured the blessed sign, Which fiends an' demons fear ; And aye she called the Evil One Her lord and master dear. And the more to prove her aUegiance true, L'lke a vassal gude an' leal. She has branded her banes wi' Sathan's mark. And her fiesh wi' his privy seaL He's gi'en her seven deadly imps As black as the midnight clud ; And he's bidden her suckle them at her te&te. And nourish them wi' her blood. He's gi'en her a spindle frae his belt, ■yVhilk unto hers she hung; The whorle o't was a scaly snake LoUia' out its forked tongue. He's gi'en her a staff intil her hand. Cut frae the gp.Uuws wood, Weel virled about wi' murderer's bancs. And varnished wi' felon's blood. But the foul fiend snorted hke a wolf, Wi' dredd' ur an' wi' fear ; Syne flew to hell wi' an eldritch yell. For he scentit the morning air. Neist night she proudly mounted her nag, Like the queen o' hellish hags. While a' her imps, fu' coiihe. Lay nestled in her rags. Ower brake an' mould, ower heath an' woU. Fu' swiftlie did she fly ; An' the little wee staras crap in wi' fear. As she glowered up to the sky. She's killed the heifer on the green. The lamb upon the lea ; Au* the netlier luUlstane rave in twa Wi' the glamour o" her e'e. And mony a blumin' baimie piced Upon its rnithei"s knee; An' glowered like an unearthly imp. An' wad neither live nor dee. An' mony a maiden far an' near. As sweet as the rose in June, Spewt iron skeurs, and crooked preens. Ilk changin' o' the moon. The husbands sighed, the matrons cried, Wi' grief the country rang ; And they nturmured at the haly monks For tholin' the limmer sae lang. The abbot assembled a' his monks TTpon St. Clement's day ; " Mak' haste an' wash in Marie's well. And likewise fast an' pray ; " Anoint your heads wi' haly oil. In haly robes be dight. An' trust in gude St. Swithin's strength. And sweet St. Marie's might; For a deed sail be dune, and that fu' sune. That shall sere your souls wi' fright." The sheriff has sent his scouts abroad. And they sought Laith east an' wast. Till they cam' to a cave as mirk as the grave. Where they fand her sleeping fast. They trailed her to the abbey yetts. And hemmed the hag about ; An' they pricket her body frae head to heel. To find the witch-mark out. They bound the caitiff to a bolt. Low in the dungeon-keep. An' thrice three nights, an' thrice three days. They kept her een frae sleep ; An' they scorched her soles wi' burnin' gauds. But she wouldna or couldna weep. They tied her arms behind her back, An' twisted them with a pin; And they dragged her to Kinnoquhar lecli. An' coupit the limmer in — An' the swans flew screamin' to the hills. Scared with the unhaly din. When first she defiled the crystal flood. She ga'e a graesome scream. But like a bladder fu' o' air. She floated on the feam. And when the abbot saw her swim Like cork abune the flood. He breathed an Ave, crossed himsel'. And kissed the haly rood; "Avoid thee, Sathan !" the abbot said, " An' a' thy hellish brood." An' monk an' layic, priest an' friar. Shrunk frae the polluted flood — "Avoid thee, Sathan !" was their cry, " And all thy sinfu' brood !" The abbot pronounced the fearfu' word Amidst his monks' acclaims — And the civil power has ta'en the witch. And doomed her to the flames. They harled the caitiff to the shore. And smeared her ower wi' tar. An' chained her to an iron bolt. An' eke an iron bar. They biggit a pile around the hag, Twa Soots ells up an' higher; An' the hangman cam' wi' a lowin' torch. An' lighted the horrid pjTe. But the gatherin' cluds burst out at last. And loud the thun'er roared ; The sun withdrew his beams o' light — 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 The leaves o' the aspen tree ; An' monk an' layman crossed themsel's. And prayed to Sanct Marie ! But there was a monk amang the rsst. And ane cunning monk was he, Eenowned througli a' the shire o' Fife For lear an' sanctitie. APPENDIX. 563 He lighted his taper at the lamp Before St. 3[arie'3 shrine ; An' reckless o' the foul fiend's powers— Without a cross or sign — He stappit up to the witch's p:le. An* applied the sacred light — An' the crac'iling flames blazed up to heayen Like whins on a summer night. An' when the flames had reached her heart She ga'e an awfu' yell. An' her sinfu' spirit winged its flight — But where — I darena tell. And aye the spot remained a blot On cature's beauteous face ; For grass never grew, nor fell the dew. Upon the accursed place. [FiHST printed in Evans's Collection. — " Soon | after Stephen's departure for Xomiandy, (a. n. j 1137,) the king of Scots entered England in a i hostile manner. — Stephen's government was at ; this time in no condition to have resisted the ' . invasion, and nothing could have broke the , ftorm, but the venerable Thurstan (Archbishop i : i-f York) working upon the piety of king David. I Tiiough this prelate was now very old, yet he J revailed with David and his son to meet him at I P.oxburgh, a castle lying near the frontiers of : both the kingdoms; where his remonstrances ] had such an effect, that the Scottish prinCv.-3 I generously put a stop to hostilities till Stephen 1 should return to England, and be onc3 more I applied to for a definitive answer concerning the | investiture of Northumberland. — See Guthrie's \ History of England." — Evans.} ! Through the fair country of Tiviotdale, Kin.; David marched forth ; ! King David and his princely son, I [ The heroes of the north. ! 1 And holy Thurstan fro' merry Carlisle, In haste his way doth wind ; With many a cross-bearer going before, And many a knight behind. And many did bless that holy bishop. As evermore they may ; For well they knew 'twas for holy peaM That he did wend that way. And at the castle of fair Eoxbargh The king and b'lshop drew near. Their horns resounding o'er the hiUs, Their banners shining far. " Xow welcome, welcome holy Thurstan, Eight welcome unto me. And ever it cheers me sooth 1 So holy a man to see." say. " No king is welcome unto me, Nor fur him will I pray. Who comes to ravage a helpless land, Wh.n it's king is far away." Oh then bespake king David, And full of wrath spake he : " Now I swear by the rood, th' English king Hath evermore injur'd me. " Fro' my son he keeps th' investiture Of Northumberland, his right: And ever I'll harrow that unjust king. By Christ in heaven his might." Oh then bespake the holy Thurstan, And full of woe spake he : " O Christ, thy kingdom of heav'nly bliss, Alas ! when shall we see ? " For here on earth is nought but sin. E'en kings for pride do ill ; And when they with each other war. The poor folk's blood must spill. " W'nat hath the husbandman done wrone, That ye must spoil his grain ; And what the poor widow, and what the child, Tiiat they must all be shuQ ? " And what is the simple maid to b'.ame. To be made of lust the prey ; And what the lowly village priest, Tliat yc so oft do slay ? " Ah ! tyrant kings, shall not the Lord RiVenge the poor distrcst ; The simple swain, the helpless maid, The widow, and the priest ? f ^ " And when the doleful day of doom ) Shall call ye fro' the grave ; ^ Fro' the crying blood of those innocents, ^ What, tyrants, shall ye save ? \ " Think ye that Christ, (whose gentle lawa J Aye breathe so mild a strain,) "^ Think you that Christ (of mercy king) J Will free you fro' the pain ? S " Did he not die all on the rood, J And all for the love of man ? 1) And will he then save their guilty souls, ^ Who so many men have slain ? " Far sooner, oh king ! would I lay in mire. Than sit upon a throne ; Far sooner, oh king ! would I beg my bread. Than 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! 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 endo-n '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. 5 "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 heav'n doth know that from 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 brave. As he stood by the king ; " Father, I know thy conscience clear As water fro' the spring, " And if, in avenging of our WTonga 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 slmme ; And when the warriors do great spoil. Their prince 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 is fer away. To ravage the country o'er ; To murder the weak and the innocent. And cruelly sx)oil 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 oar ways. " But if, when he's come to meriy 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. ^^ " And when my liege shall oome again. Then may he do thee right I" " Or he shall rue," cried that valiant king, " By Christ in heav'n his might." And there, while the merry bells did rinj. And the minstrels blith did play. The Scottish princes and the good bishop Did feast for many a day. Full many did bless that holy man. As he sat in the hall. And merrily sang ; for well they knew. He had rescued them fro' trirall. And many a husbandman was blith As he did reap his grain ; " And but for Thurstau, that holy bishop. This all away had been ta'en ; " And I had been kill'd, and many beside, With our wives and children all : And may heav'n aye prosper that holy bishop. That hath rescued us fto' thrall :" ^5? W::%z zi ©sivon'-^ t^xu [A PORTION of this ballad, with the original tune, is given in Johnson's Museum. Eitson quotes the whole from a stall copy. Burns, in speaking of it, gives the first line thus : •' Ihe 'Lord' of Gordon had three daughte-.-s," which is probally the original reading, as the dukedom of Gordon was not created tUl the year 1684.— George (Gordon) fourth carl of Huntly, who succeeded his grandfather, earl Alexander, in IdiS, and was killed at the battle of Coricbie, in 1563, had actually three daughters : lady Elizabeth, the eldest, married to John earl of Athole ; lady ilargaret, the second, to John lord Torbes; and lady Jean, the youngest, to the famous James earl of Bothwell, from whom being divorced, anno 1568, she married Alexan- der earl of Sutherland, who died in 1594, and, surviving him, Alexander OgUvie of Boyne. As for Alexander Ogilvie, he appears to have suc- ceeded his father. Sir Walter Ogilvie, in the barony of Boyne, about 15G0, and to have died in m this lady Jean being hla flret wife, by whonn he seems to have had no issue. See Gordon's His- tory of the Gordons, and Douglas's Peerage, and Baronage.] TuK duke of Gordon has three daughters, Elizabeth, ilargaret, and Jean ; They would not stay in bonnie Castle-Gordon, But they would go to bonnie Aberdeen. They had not been in Aberdeen A twelvemonth and a day. Till lady Jean fell in love with captain Ogilvie, And away with him she would gae. Word came to the duke of Gordon, In the chamber where he lay, lady Jean has fell in love with captain Ogilvie, And away with him she would gae. " Go saddle me the black horse. And you'll ride on the gray ; And I will ride to bonnie Aberdeen, Where I have been many a diy." They were not a mile from Aberdeen, A mile but only three. Till he met with his two daughters walUiig, But away was lady Jean. " Where is your sister, maidens ? Where is your sister, now ? Where is your sister, maidens, That she is not walking with you ?" " pardon us, honoured father, pardon us, they did say ; Lady Jean is with captain Ogilvie, And away with him she will gae." When he came to .Aberdeen, And down upon the green, ThMC did he see captain Ogilvie, Ti-aining up his men. " wo to you, captain Ogilvie, And an ill death thou shalt die ; For taking to my daughter. Hanged thou shalt be." Duke Gordon has wrote a hroftd letter. And sent it to the king. To cause hang captain Ogilvie, If ever be banged a roan. I ♦' I will not hang captain Ogilvie, For no lord that I see ; But I'll cause him to put off the lace and sciirlet. And put on the single livery." Word came to captain Ogilvie, In the chamber where he lay. To cast off the gold lace and scarlet. And put on the single liverv-. " If this be for bonnie Jeany Gordon, This pennance I'll take wi'; If this be bonnie Jeany Gordon, All this I will dree." Iiftdy Jean had not been married. Not a year but three. Till she had a babe in every arm. Another upon her knee. " but I'm weary of wandering ! O but nay fortune is bad ! It sets not the duke of Gordon's daughter To follow a soldier lad. " O but I'm weary of wandering ! O but I think lang ! It sets not the duke of Gordon's daughter To follow a single man." " you are welcome, bonnie Jeany Gordon, You are dear welcome to me ; You are welcome, dear Jeany Gordon, But away with your captain Ogilvie." Now over seas went the ciptnin. As a soldier under command j 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 ; Come home, ye pretty captain Ogilvie, Be earl of Northumberland." " ! whiit does this mean ?" says the captain, " Where's my brother's children thi-ee ?" " They are dead and buried. And the lands they are ready for thee." " Then hoist up your sails, brave captain, Iiet'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-GorJon, And down upon the green ; The porter gave out with a loud shout, " Here comes ciptain Ogilvie." When they came to the Highland hills. Cold was the frost and snow ; Lady Jean's shoes they were all torn. No ferther could she go. " O ! 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 if I 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-Gordon, And down upon the green, The porter gave out a loud shout, " O yonder comes lady Jean." " Your we'.come, pretty captain Ogilvie, Your fortune's advanced 1 hear ; No stranger can come into my gates. 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 chUdren, No friendship else I claim." " Come in pretty captain Ogilvie, And diink of the beer and the wine; And thou shalt 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 stair. With the tear into her eye ; One babe was at her foot. Another upon her knee. 667 " You're -welcome, bonnie Jeany Gordon, WitU rej young family; Mount and go to Xorthumb:-rland, There a countess thcu shall be." fe0!c^ie» [BiKNS sent this old fragment of a ballad to Johnson's Museum. He had heard it sung to the tune of " A Country Lass, " and it is accordingly givfcn with that air.] TuEBE was a battle in the ^'orth. And nobles there were many. And they ha'e kill'd Sir CharUe Hay, And they laid the wyte on Geordie. O he has written a lang letter. He sent it to his lady ; " Ye maun cum up to E'nbrugh town. To see what word's o' Geordie." v^ - , "When first she look'd the letter on, C^\ She was baith red and rosy ; ^,'S j But she hadna read a word but twa, V-'- Till she wallowt like a lily. "Gar get to me my gude grey steed. My menzie a' gae wi' me; For I shall neither eat nor drink. Till E'nbrugh town shall see me." i ;^ And she has mountit her gude grey steed, ]=- y Her menzie a' gaed wi' her ; ^g J And she did neither eat nor drink ~ T> Till E'nbrugh town did see her. !^7~5-x And first appear'd the fatal block, ^- And syne the aix to head him ; And Geordie cumin down the stair. And bands o' airn upon him. But tho' he was chain'd in fetters strauj, 0' airn and steel sae heavy. There was nae aue in a" the court, Pae bra' a man as Geordie. O she's down on her bended knee, I wat she's pale and weary, " pardon, pardon, noble king. And gi'e me back my dearie ! " 1 ba'e born seven sons to my Geordie dear. The seventh ne'er saw his daddie ; O pardon, pardon, noble king. Pity a waefu' laJy!" " Gar bid the headin' man mak' haste," Our king reply'd fu' lordly : " noble king, tak' a' that's mine. But gi'e me back my Geordie." The Gordons cam' and the Gordons ran. And they were stark and stl it \ras ; • !| uncommon thing after the Un.-.lioti. n at :).• [ close of the prayers, to he.-\r the clerk bawl out. I; "Sheep Stealing! Where.is, iVc, I'cc." ^Jvi I unseemly exhibitions have been very prop At the mirk hour C midnicht, he'll cross the ' dark fen. He knows every windin' o' valley and glen ; Unscathd he can roam, though na star shed its ; Ucht, I For wha wad dare question the Birtwhistle wicht? ' ! He prays to the Virgin to shield him throug nicht. From the powers C heil, and the Birtwhistle wicht ! The proud lord o' Dilston has deer in his park, 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 wicht I The prior o' Brinkburn 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; Fair lasses o' Cheviot, he bodes ye na gude, , He'll ne'er kneel at altar, nor bow to the roode : But tell ye, your eyne ha' the gowan's bright ] ] The whiles he's preparin' your mantles o' green. He'll grieve ye, and leave ye — alas, for the plicht ! For reckless in love is the Birtwhistle wicht. ! 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 knichts ' from 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 51st Psalm, " Miserere mei," &c. Hairibee was i the common place of execution for all 1 order 'y- — ^marauders. (t^. fV ^^^^^^^M^ INDEX TO THE BALLADS. In consulting this Index, care must be taken not to overlook the titles beginning with ibc article " The," which are given in alphabetical order under the letter T.] ALISON GROSS, ALLAX-A-MAn, (3 sets) A^-DEEW LAilMIE, AXXAX "WATER, ARCHIE OF CA'FIELP, . ARCHIE AEMSTRAXG'S AITH ARCHIE 0' bj;lspixdie, ARMSTROXG'3 GOODNIGHT, ATHOL WOOD, ArCHIXDOWN, . AULD MAITIAND, 461 283,4 265 1 . 53 3S7 , . 407 i BABY LON-, OR THE BONNIE BANKS 0- FORDIE, .... BARTHEAM'S DIRGE, . BISHOP THURSTAN, AND THE KING OF SCOTS, .... BLACK AGNACE OF DUNBAR, . BLANCHEFLOUR AND JELLYFLO- RICE, BONDSEY AND MAISRY, . BONNIE BABY LIVINGSTONE, BONNIE LIZIE LINDSAY, . BONNIE SrSIE CLELAND, BOTHWELL BRIGG, BROWN ADAM, BrRD HELEN, . , . . BURNING OF AUCHINDOUN, (3 gets) t I CADYO W CASTLE, ... i;. CATHERINE JOHNSTONE, . CHIL ETHER, 17 CHIELD 3I0RICE, . . U7 CHILDE MAURICE, .... l^J CHILD NORVCE, . . . . lii: CHRISTIE'S WILL, . . . . S5 CLERK SAUNDERS, (3 sets) . . 09-71 CUMNORHALL, ."i D DEATH OF FEATHEKSTONHAUGH, 36S DICK O' THE COW, . . . 37i DUNCAN, a Fragment, . . CX EARL CRAWFORD, I-.: EAKL LINDSAYE, . . i:i EARL RICHARD 142 EARL RICHARD, . £sO EARL RICHARDS DAUGHTEK. 13 EARL ROBERT, . i,7 EDOM 0' GORDON, 11) EDWARD, EDWARD, •-'7 ELFIRHILL, .... ^> ERLINGTON, F . V.e FAIRANNET, iFAIR ANNIE OF LOCHRYAN, INDEX TO THE BALLADS. FAIR MAKGARET AND SWEET TV'IL Page. ,% LIAM, , 77 FAUSEFOODRAGE, 46 FRENNET HALL, . • 272 G GEOEDIE (2 sets), 567 GIL 5I0EICE, 113 GIETLEE, OR THE HAP OF HIND HALBERT, . 553 GLASGOW PEGGY, . . 34 GLENFINLAS, . . 58 GLENKINDIE, 216 GLENLOGIE (2 sets), H HARDYKNUTE, HELENORE, HIGHLAND LEGEND, HOBBIE NOBLE, HUGHIE THE GE^HI HUGHIE GRAHAM, HYND HORN, JAMES HERRIES, .... JAMES TELFER OF THE FAIR DOD- HEAD, . . - . JELLON GR^ME, .... JOCK O' THE SIDE, JOCK JOHNSTONE THE TINKLER, . JOHN BARLEYCORN, . JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK, . JOHNIE OF BRAIDISBANK, JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE, JOHNIE ARMSTRANG, . JOHNNIE ARMSTRONG S LAST GOOD- NIGHT, JOHNIE FAA. .... KATHERINE JANFARIE, . . 63 I KILMENY, oil ■ KING MALCOM AND SIR COLTIN, 123 ' KINMONT WILLIE, KNOCKESPOCK'S LADY, LADY ANNE, LADY CLARE, .... LADY ELSPAT, .... LADY JANE, .... LADY JEAN, LADY JEAN, .... LADY MAISRY, .... LADY MARGARET, . LAIRD OF DRUM, .... LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW, LAMMIKIN (5 sets), LIZIE BAILLIE, .... LIZZIE LINDSAY, LOCHABER NO MORE, LOCHINYAE, .... LORD BARNABY, LORD BEICHAN, .... LORD DONALD, LORD EWRIE, .... LORD JOHN'S MURDER, . LORD LO VAT, .... LORDLOTEL, .... LORD MAXWELL-S GOODNIGHT, LORD RANDAL, .... LORD RONALD, L0RDS0ULI3, .... LORD SPYNIE, .... LORD THOMAS STUART, LORD WILLIAM, LA^TTIL PYNKIE, ^&!- ^^^ Page. 370 m. . 559 "dii 197 m . 13 h 183 . ISS 67 . 551 214 . 55 136 % 40!) i ;;-\* . 241 i^ 290 51 V -; 404 104 183 183 31 MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS, . MARY HAMILTON, MAY OF THE MOEIL GLEN, MAY COLVIN (2 sets), . . . ! MEM0RABLE3 OF THE MONTGO- MERIES, 171 >t^ 143 [^? 478 ^^ 193 \^r= -^^■ INDEX TO THE BALLADS. 6Y5 S POLTDORE, PRINCE ROBERT, PROFD LADY MARGARET, Fa7 100 296 ^THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURKE, 4 Q^EE^' ELEANOR'S COXFEtSIOX, 181 R REEDISDALE AND WISE "V\'ILLIAM, 144 EOOKHOPE RYDE, . . . 3S4 ROSE THE RED AND TVHITE LILLY (2 sets), . . . 127-130 EOSMER HAFMAND, 191 SAINT ULIN'S PILGRIM, . . 208 SIR ALAN MORTIMER, , . .467 SIR ARTHUR AND LADY ANNE, . 18 SIR GEORGE ilAXWELL, . . 557 SIR GILBERT HA3IILT0N, . . 303 -IR HEGH LE BLOND, . . .103 SIR JAMES THE ROSE (2 sets), . 39—41 SIR MAURICE, 171 SIR NIEL AND MAC TAN, . . 289 SIR OLEF, AND THE ELF KINGS DAUGHTER, . . . 465 SIR PATRICK SPENS (2 sets), . 9—11 SIR ROLAND, 62 SON DAVIE, SON DAVIE, . . 287 SWEET WILLIE AND FAIR ANNIE, 20 SWEET WILLIE .IND LADY M ARGE- RIE, 74 SWEET WILLIAM AND MAY 3IAR- GARET, .... 74 SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST, . 75 THE ANGEL STARS, ... 36 THE BATTLE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE, 538 THE BATTLE OF CORICHIE, . . 555 THE BATTLE OF HARLAW, . 13S THE BATTLE OF LOUDON-HILL, . 533 THE BATTLE OF LUNCARTY, THE BATTLE OF PENTLAND HILLS, , THE BATTLE OF PHILIPHAUGH, THE BENT SAE BROWN, . THE BIRTWHI3TLE WIGHT, THE BLAEBERRIES, THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY. THE BROOM OF C0WDENKN0W3, THE BROWNIE OF FEARNDEN, . THE CLERK'S TWA SONS 0' 0W5EN- FORD, .... THE COURTEOUS KNIGHT, THE GOUT OF KEELDAR, THE CRUEL BROTHER, THE CRUEL SISTER, THE CURSE OF MOY, THE D-EMON-LOVER, . THE DOWY DEN. .... THE DROWNED LOVERS, THE DUEL OF WHARTON AND STU- ART, THE DUKE OF ATHOLE'S NURSE, THE DUKE OF ATHOL, THE EARL OF DOUGLAS AND DAME OLIPHANT, . THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER, THE ELFIN KNICHT, . THE FAIRY KNIGHT, THE PAUSE LOVER, THE FIRE OF FRENDRAUGHT, THE FRAY OF SUPORT, THE GALLANT GRAHAMS. THE GARDENER, .... THE GAY GOSS-HAWK, . THE GLOAMVNE BUCHTE, . THE GRAY BROTHER, THE GEEETIN' BAIRN, THE GUDE WALLACE (2 sets), ! THE HAUGHS OF CROMPALE. THEHEIROFLINNE, . THE JEW'S DAUGHTER, . THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK, THE KEACH I' THE CREEL, 210 1"5 OO'J 175 ISO 300 ^ THE KING'S DAUGHTER, fsg m THE LADS OF WAMPHEAY, . THE LADY AND HER PAGE, THE LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN, OR THE THREE CHAMPIONS OF LID- DISDALE, .... THE LAIED OF LOGIE, . THE LAIRD O' MELDEUM AND PEGGY DOUGLAS, . THE LAIRD OF OCHILTRIE, THE LAIRD OF WAEISTOUN, THE LASS OF LOCHRYAN, THE LAST FAIRY, THE LOCHMABEN HARPER, . THE MAID AND FAIRY, THE MARMAIDEN OF CLYDE, THE MARTYR, THE MASTER OF WEEMYS, THE MERMAID OF GA.LLOT/AY THE MILLAR'S SON, . THE MURDER OF CAEELAVEROC THE ORPHAN MAID, THE OUTLAW MURRAY, . THE PARTED LOVERS, THE PROPHECY OF QUEEN EMMA THE QUEEN'S MARIE, THE RAID OF GLEN FRUIN, . THE RAID OF THE EEIDSWIRK THE SPIRIT OF THE GLEN, . THE TANE-AWAY, . THE TWA BROTHERS, . THE TWA MAGICIANS, . THE TWA MARTYRS' WIDOWS, 415 THE TWEEDDALE EAIDE, THE WARLOCK OF AIKWOOD, . THE WEARY COBLE 0' CARGILL, . THE WEDDING OF ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN, THE WEE WEE MAN, . THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL, . 177 THE WITCH OF FIFE, . . <, 483 THE WITCH OF PITTENWEEN, . 561 I THE YOUNG JOHNSTONE, . . 257 ' THE YOUNG TAMLANE, , . ,449 TOM LINN, .... THOMAS O' YONDERDALE, THOMAS THE RHYMER, THROUGH THE WOOD, . . . 1. w WATER KELPIE, . . . 503 WATTY AND MADGE, ... SO WILLIAM AND MARGARET, . 78 WILLIAM AND MAEJORIE, . . 7fi WILLIE'S DROWNED IN GAMEEY, 22U YOUNG AIKIN, YOUNG BEKIE, YOUNG BENJIE, YOUNG PEGGY, YOUNG RANDAL, YOUNG WATERS, . 17 Cgi W. G. BLACKIE & CO., PEINTEES, GLASGOW. ® UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. "KTD L£M«l OCTSfiS^ 1 B 000 018 715 3 I