Chapter 3
“O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight, I wot the wild fowls are boding day; Give me my faith and troth again, And let me fare me on my way.”
“Thy faith and troth thou sall na get, And our true love sall 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.
“O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight, 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 wand, 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, Mag’ret, I’ll come for thee.”
It’s hosen and shoon, and gown alone, She climb’d 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? Is there ony room at your side, Saunders, Where fain, fain I wad sleep?”
“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.
“But plait a wand o’ bonnie 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, o’ veritie, Gin ere 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 the air, And she gaed weeping away.
WALY, WALY
(_Mackay_.)
O WALY, waly, up the bank, O waly, waly, down the brae. And waly, waly, yon burn side, Where I and my love wont to gae. I leaned my back unto an aik, An’ thocht it was a trustie tree, But first it bow’d and syne it brak, Sae my true love did lichtly me.
O waly, waly, but love is bonnie A little time while it is new, But when it’s auld it waxes cauld, And fades away like morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my head, O wherefore should I kame my hair, For my true love has me forsook, And says he’ll never love me mair.
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, Since my true love has forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree! O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie!
’Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw’s inclemencie, ’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love’s heart’s grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow toun We were a comely sicht to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel in cramasie.
But had I wist before I kist That love had been sae ill to win, I’d locked my heart in a case of gold, And pinned it wi’ a siller pin. Oh, oh! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse’s knee; And I myself were dead and gane, And the green grass growing over me!
LOVE GREGOR; OR, THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN
(_Child_, Part III., p. 220.)
“O WHA will shoe my fu’ fair foot? And wha will glove my hand? And wha will lace my middle jimp, Wi’ the new-made London band?
“And wha will kaim my yellow hair, Wi’ the new made silver kaim? And wha will father my young son, Till Love Gregor come hame?”
“Your father will shoe your fu’ fair foot, Your mother will glove your hand; Your sister will lace your middle jimp Wi’ the new-made London band.
“Your brother will kaim your yellow hair, Wi’ the new made silver kaim; And the king of heaven will father your bairn, Till Love Gregor come haim.”
“But I will get a bonny boat, And I will sail the sea, For I maun gang to Love Gregor, Since he canno come hame to me.”
O she has gotten a bonny boat, And sailld the sa’t sea fame; She langd to see her ain true-love, Since he could no come hame.
“O row your boat, my mariners, And bring me to the land, For yonder I see my love’s castle, Close by the sa’t sea strand.”
She has ta’en her young son in her arms, And to the door she’s gone, And lang she’s knocked and sair she ca’d, But answer got she none.
“O open the door, Love Gregor,” she says, “O open, and let me in; For the wind blaws thro’ my yellow hair, And the rain draps o’er my chin.”
“Awa, awa, ye ill woman, You’r nae come here for good; You’r but some witch, or wile warlock, Or mer-maid of the flood.”
“I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock, Nor mer-maid of the sea, I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal; O open the door to me.”
“Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal— And I trust ye are not she— Now tell me some of the love-tokens That past between you and me.”
“O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor, When we sat at the wine, How we changed the rings frae our fingers? And I can show thee thine.
“O yours was good, and good enough, But ay the best was mine; For yours was o’ the good red goud, But mine o’ the diamonds fine.
“But open the door now, Love Gregor, O open the door I pray, For your young son that is in my arms Will be dead ere it be day.”
“Awa, awa, ye ill woman, For here ye shanno win in; Gae drown ye in the raging sea, Or hang on the gallows-pin.”
When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn, And the sun began to peep, Then up he rose him, Love Gregor, And sair, sair did he weep.
“O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear, The thoughts o’ it gars me greet, That Fair Annie of Rough Royal Lay cauld dead at my feet.”
“Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal That ye make a’ this din, She stood a’ last night at this door, But I trow she wan no in.”
“O wae betide ye, ill woman, An ill dead may ye die! That ye woudno open the door to her, Nor yet woud waken me.”
O he has gone down to yon shore-side, As fast as he could fare; He saw Fair Annie in her boat, But the wind it tossd her sair.
And “Hey, Annie!” and “How, Annie! O Annie, winna ye bide?” But ay the mair that he cried “Annie,” The braider grew the tide.
And “Hey, Annie!” and “How, Annie! Dear Annie, speak to me!” But ay the louder he cried “Annie,” The louder roard the sea.
The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough, And dashd the boat on shore; Fair Annie floats on the raging sea, But her young son rose no more.
Love Gregor tare his yellow hair, And made a heavy moan; Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet, But his bonny young son was gone.
O cherry, cherry was her cheek, And gowden was her hair, But clay cold were her rosey lips, Nae spark of life was there,
And first he’s kissd her cherry cheek, And neist he’s kissed her chin; And saftly pressd her rosey lips, But there was nae breath within.
“O wae betide my cruel mother, And an ill dead may she die! For she turnd my true-love frae my door, When she came sae far to me.”
THE QUEEN’S MARIE
(_Child_, vi., _Border Minstrelsy_.)
MARIE HAMILTON’S to the kirk gane, Wi ribbons in her hair; The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton, Than ony that were there.
Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane, Wi ribbons on her breast; The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton, Than he listend to the priest.
Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane, Wi gloves 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 court, 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 Marie’s heart; But the thing it wadna be.
O she has rowd it in her apron, And set it on the sea: “Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe, Ye’s get na mair o me.”
Word 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 bonny babe’s mist and awa.
Scarcely had she lain down again, And scarcely faen 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 see.”
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.
“Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen, Ride hooly now wi’ me! For never, I am sure, a wearier burd Rade in your cumpanie.”
But little wist Marie Hamilton, When she rade on the brown, That she was ga’en to Edinburgh town, And a’ to be put down.
“Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives, Why look ye so on me? O, I am going to Edinburgh town, A rich wedding for to see!”
When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs, The corks frae her heels did flee; And lang or eer she cam down again, She was condemned to die.
When she cam to the Netherbow Port, She laughed loud laughters three; But when she cam to the gallows-foot, The tears blinded her ee.
“Yestreen the queen had four Maries, The night she’ll hae but three; There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaten, And Marie Carmichael, and me.
“O, often have I dressd my queen, And put gold upon her hair; But now I’ve gotten for my reward The gallows to be my share.
“Often have I dressd my queen, And often made her bed: But now I’ve gotten for my reward The gallows-tree to tread.
“I charge ye all, ye mariners, When ye sail ower the faem, Let neither my father nor mother get wit, But that I’m coming hame.
“I charge ye all, ye mariners, That sail upon the sea, Let neither my father nor mother get wit, This dog’s death I’m to die.
“For if my father and mother got wit, And my bold brethren three, O mickle wad be the gude red blude, This day wad be spilt for me!
“O little did my mother ken, The day she cradled me, The lands I was to travel in, Or the death I was to die!”
KINMONT WILLIE
(_Child_, vol. vi.)
O HAVE ye na heard o the fause Sakelde? O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop? How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie, On Hairibee to hang him up?
Had Willie had but twenty men, But twenty men as stout as be, Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen Wi eight score in his companie.
They band his legs beneath the steed, They tied his hands behind his back; They guarded him, fivesome on each side, And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
They led him thro the Liddel-rack. And also thro the Carlisle sands; They brought him to Carlisle castell. To be at my Lord Scroope’s commands.
“My hands are tied; but my tongue is free, And whae will dare this deed avow? Or answer by the border law? Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?”
“Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver! There’s never a Scot shall set ye free: Before ye cross my castle-yate, I trow ye shall take farewell o me.”
“Fear na ye that, my lord,” quo Willie: “By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope,” he said, “I never yet lodged in a hostelrie— But I paid my lawing before I gaed.”
Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper, In Branksome Ha where that he lay, That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie, Between the hours of night and day.
He has taen the table wi his hand, He garrd the red wine spring on hie; “Now Christ’s curse on my head,” he said, “But avenged of Lord Scroope I’ll be!
“O is my basnet a widow’s curch? Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree? Or my arm a lady’s lilye hand, That an English lord should lightly me?
“And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie, Against the truce of Border tide? And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch Is keeper here on the Scottish side?
“And have they een taen him, Kinmont Willie, Withouten either dread or fear, And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch 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 Carlisle 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 calld 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 calld him forty marchmen bauld, Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch, With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.
There were five and five before them a’, Wi hunting-horns and bugles bright; And five and five came wi Buccleuch, Like Warden’s men, arrayed for fight.
And five and five, like 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 crossd the Bateable Land, When to the English side we held, The first o men that we met wi, Whae 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 countrie.”
“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.”
“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.”
“Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?” Quo fause Sakelde; “come tell to me?” Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the nevir a word o lear had he.
“Why trespass ye on the English side? Row-footed outlaws, stand!” quo he; The neer a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie.
Then on we held for Carlisle toun, And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossd; The water was great and meikle of spait, But the nevir a horse nor man we lost.
And when we reachd the Staneshaw-bank, The wind was rising loud and hie; And there the laird garrd 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 weet, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath the castell-wa.
We crept on knees, and held our breath, Till we placed the ladders against the wa; And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell To mount she first, before us a’.
He has taen the watchman by the throat, He flung him down upon the lead: “Had there not been peace between our lands, Upon the other side thou hadst gaed.
“Now sound out, trumpets!” quo Buccleuch; “Let’s waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!” Then loud the warden’s trumpet blew “O whae dare meddle wi me?”
Then speedilie to wark we gaed, And raised the slogan ane and a’, And cut a hole through a sheet of lead, And so we wan to the castel-ha.
They thought King James and a’ his men Had won the house wi bow and speir; It was but twenty Scots and ten That put a thousand in sic a stear!
Wi coulters, and wi fore-hammers, We garrd the bars bang merrilie, Until we came to the inner prison, Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie.
And when we came to the lower prison, Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie, “O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, Upon the morn that thou’s to die?”
“O I sleep saft, and I wake aft, It’s lang since sleeping was fley’d frae me; Gie my service back to my wyfe and bairns And a’ gude fellows that speer for me.”
Then Red Rowan has hente him up, The starkest man in Teviotdale: “Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.
“Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!” he cried; “I’ll pay you for my lodging-maill, When first we meet on the border-side.”
Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, We bore him down the ladder lang; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont’s airms playd clang!
“O mony a time,” quo Kinmont Willie. “I have ridden horse baith wild and wood; But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, I ween my legs have neer bestrode.
“And mony a time,” quo Kinmont Willie, “I’ve pricked a horse out oure the furs; But since the day I backed a steed I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs!”
We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, When a’ the Carlisle bells were rung, And a thousand men, in horse and foot, Cam wi the keen Lord Scroope along.
Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water, Even where it flowd frae bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi a’ his band, And safely swam them thro the stream.
He turned him on the other side, And at Lord Scroope his glove flung 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 trew his eyes, When thro the water they had gane.
“He is either himsell a devil frae hell, Or else his mother a witch maun be; I wad na have ridden that wan water For a’ the gowd in Christentie.”
JAMIE TELFER
(_Child_, vol. vi. Early Edition.)
IT fell about the Martinmas tyde, When our Border steeds get corn and hay The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde, And he’s ower to Tividale to drive a prey.
The first ae guide that they met wi’, It was high up 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, I hae to thee; But, gin ye’ll gae to the fair Dodhead, Mony a cow’s cauf I’ll let thee see.”
And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead, Right hastily they clam the peel; They loosed the kye out, ane and a’, And ranshackled the house right weel.
Now Jamie Telfer’s heart was sair, The tear aye rowing in his e’e; He pled wi’ the captain to hae his gear, Or else revenged he wad be.
The captain turned him round and leugh; Said—“Man, there’s naething in thy house, But ae auld sword without a sheath, That hardly now wad fell a mouse!”
The sun was na up, but the moon was down, It was the gryming o’ a new fa’n snaw, Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot, Between the Dodhead and the Stobs’s Ha’
And whan he cam to the fair tower yate, He shouted loud, and cried weel hie, Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot— “Wha’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.
“Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha’. For succour ye’se get nane frae me! Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail, For, man! ye ne’er paid money to me.”
Jamie has turned him round about, I wat the tear blinded his e’e— “I’ll ne’er pay mail to Elliot again, And the fair Dodhead I’ll never see!
“My hounds may a’ rin masterless, My hawks may fly frae tree to tree; My lord may grip my vassal lands, For there again maun I never be.”
He has turned him to the Tiviot side, E’en as fast as he could drie, Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh And there he shouted baith loud and hie.
Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve— “Wha’s this that brings the fray 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 câ’s stand in the sta’, A’ routing loud for their minnie.”
“Alack a wae!” quo’ auld Jock Grieve, “Alack! my heart is sair for thee! For I was married on the elder sister, And you on the youngest of a’ the three.”
Then he has ta’en out a bonny black, Was right weel fed wi’ corn and hay, And he’s set Jamie Telfer on his back, To the Catslockhill to tak’ the fray.
And whan he cam to the Catslockhill, He shouted loud and weel cried he, Till out and spak him William’s Wat— “O wha’s this brings the fraye to me?”
“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ 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!”
“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 spak him auld Buccleuch, Said—“Wha’s this brings the fray to me?
“It’s I, Jamie Telfer o’ the fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be! There’s nought left in the fair Dodhead, But a greeting wife and bairnies three.”
“Alack for wae!” quoth the gude auld lord, “And ever my heart is wae for thee! But fye gar cry on Willie, my son, And see that he come to me speedilie!
“Gar warn the water, braid and wide, Gar warn it soon and hastily! They that winna ride for Telfer’s kye, Let them never look in the face o’ me!
“Warn Wat o’ Harden, and his sons, Wi’ them will Borthwick water ride; Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh, And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.
“Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire, And warn the Currors o’ the Lee; As ye come down the Hermitage Slack, Warn doughty Willie o’ Gorrinbery.”
The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran, Sae starkly and sae steadilie! And aye the ower-word o’ the thrang, Was—“Rise for Branksome readilie!”
The gear was driven the Frostylee up, Frae the Frostylee unto the plain, Whan Willie has looked his men before, And saw the kye right fast driving.