Chapter 7

"Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady; I winna come down to thee; For as ye have done to young Redin, Ye'd do the like to me."

O there came seeking young Redin Mony a lord and knight, And there came seeking young Redin Mony a lady bright.

They've called on Lady Catherine, But she sware by oak and thorn That she saw him not, young Redin, Since yesterday at morn.

The lady turned her round about, Wi' mickle mournfu' din: "It fears me sair o' Clyde water That he is drowned therein."

Then up spake young Redin's mither, The while she made her mane: "My son kenn'd a' the fords o' Clyde, He'd ride them ane by ane."

"Gar douk, gar douk!" his father he cried, "Gar douk for gold and fee! O wha will douk for young Redin's sake, And wha will douk for me?"

They hae douked in at ae weil-head, And out again at the ither: "We'll douk nae mair for young Redin, Although he were our brither."

Then out it spake a little bird That sate upon the spray: "What gars ye seek him, young Redin, Sae early in the day?

"Leave aff your douking on the day, And douk at dark o' night; Aboon the pool young Redin lies in, The candles they'll burn bright."

They left aff their douking on the day, They hae douked at dark o' night; Aboon the pool where young Redin lay, The candles they burned bright.

The deepest pool in a' the stream They found young Redin in; Wi' a great stone tied across his breast To keep his body down.

Then up and spake the little bird, Says, "What needs a' this din? It was Lady Catherine took his life, And hided him in the linn."

She sware her by the sun and moon, She sware by grass and corn, She hadna seen him, young Redin, Since Monanday at morn.

"It's surely been my bower-woman,-- O ill may her betide! I ne'er wad hae slain my young Redin, And thrown him in the Clyde."

Now they hae cut baith fern and thorn, The bower-woman to brin; And they hae made a big balefire, And put this maiden in; But the fire it took na on her cheek, It took na on her chin.

Out they hae ta'en the bower-woman, And put her mistress in; The flame took fast upon her cheek, Took fast upon her chin, Took fast upon her fair bodie, Because of her deadly sin.

* * * * *

WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET.

Willie stands in his stable, A-clapping of his steed; And over his white fingers His nose began to bleed.

"Gie corn to my horse, mither; Gie meat unto my man; For I maun gang to Margaret's bower, Before the night comes on."

"O stay at home, my son Willie! The wind blaws cold and stour; The night will be baith mirk and late, Before ye reach her bower."

"O tho' the night were ever sae dark, O the wind blew never sae cauld, I will be in May Margaret's bower Before twa hours be tauld."

"O bide this night wi' me, Willie, O bide this night wi' me! The bestan fowl in a' the roost At your supper, my son, shall be."

"A' your fowls, and a' your roosts, I value not a pin; I only care for May Margaret; And ere night to her bower I'll win."

"O an ye gang to May Margaret Sae sair against my will, In the deepest pot o' Clyde's water My malison ye's feel!"

He mounted on his coal-black steed, And fast he rade awa'; But ere he came to Clyde's water Fu' loud the wind did blaw.

As he rade over yon hie hie hill, And doun yon dowie den, There was a roar in Clyde's water Wad feared a hundred men.

But Willie has swam through Clyde's water, Though it was wide and deep; And he came to May Margaret's door When a' were fast asleep.

O he's gane round and round about, And tirled at the pin, But doors were steeked and windows barred, And nane to let him in.

"O open the door to me, Margaret! O open and let me in! For my boots are fu' o' Clyde's water, And frozen to the brim."

"I daurna open the door to you, I daurna let you in; For my mither she is fast asleep, And I maun mak' nae din."

"O gin ye winna open the door, Nor be sae kind to me, Now tell me o' some out-chamber, Where I this night may be."

"Ye canna win in this night, Willie, Nor here ye canna be; For I've nae chambers out nor in, Nae ane but barely three.

"The tane is fu' to the roof wi' corn, The tither is fu' wi' hay; The third is fu' o' merry young men, They winna remove till day."

"O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret, Sin' better it mauna be. I have won my mither's malison, Coming this night to thee."

He's mounted on his coal-black steed, O but his heart was wae! But e'er he came to Clyde's water, 'Twas half-way up the brae.

When down he rade to the river-flood, 'Twas fast flowing ower the brim; The rushing that was in Clyde's water Took Willie's rod frae him.

He leaned him ower his saddle-bow To catch his rod again; The rushing that was in Clyde's water Took Willie's hat frae him.

He leaned him ower his saddle-bow To catch his hat by force; The rushing that was in Clyde's water Took Willie frae his horse.

O I canna turn my horse's head; I canna strive to sowm; I've gotten my mither's malison, And it's here that I maun drown!"

The very hour this young man sank Into the pot sae deep, Up wakened his love, May Margaret, Out of her heavy sleep.

"Come hither, come hither, my minnie dear, Come hither read my dream; I dreamed my love Willie was at our gates, And nane wad let him in."

"Lie still, lie still, dear Margaret, Lie still and tak' your rest; Your lover Willie was at the gates, 'Tis but two quarters past."

Nimbly, nimbly rase she up, And quickly put she on; While ever against her window The louder blew the win'.

Out she ran into the night, And down the dowie den; The strength that was in Clyde's water Wad drown five hundred men.

She stepped in to her ankle, She stepped free and bold; "Ohone, alas!" said that ladye, "This water is wondrous cold."

The second step that she waded, She waded to the knee; Says she, "I'd fain wade farther in, If I my love could see."

The neistan step that she waded, She waded to the chin; 'Twas a whirlin' pot o' Clyde's water She got sweet Willie in.

"O ye've had a cruel mither, Willie! And I have had anither; But we shall sleep in Clyde's water Like sister and like brither."

* * * * *

YOUNG BEICHAN.

In London was young Beichan born, He longed strange countries for to see, But he was ta'en by a savage Moor, Who handled him right cruellie.

For he viewed the fashions of that land, Their way of worship viewed he, But to Mahound or Termagant Would Beichan never bend a knee.

So in every shoulder they've putten a bore, In every bore they've putten a tree, And they have made him trail the wine And spices on his fair bodie.

They've casten him in a dungeon deep, Where he could neither hear nor see, For seven years they've kept him there, Till he for hunger's like to dee.

This Moor he had but ae daughter, Her name was called Susie Pye, And every day as she took the air, Near Beichan's prison she passed by.

And so it fell upon a day, About the middle time of Spring, As she was passing by that way, She heard young Beichan sadly sing.

All night long no rest she got, Young Beichan's song for thinking on; She's stown the keys from her father's head, And to the prison strang is gone.

And she has opened the prison doors, I wot she opened two or three, Ere she could come young Beichan at, He was locked up so curiouslie.

But when she cam' young Beichan till, Sore wondered he that may to see; He took her for some fair captive: "Fair lady, I pray, of what countrie?"

"O have ye any lands," she said, "Or castles in your own countrie, That ye could give to a lady fair, From prison strang to set you free?"

"Near London town I have a hall, And other castles two or three; I'll give them all to the lady fair That out of prison will set me free."

"Give me the truth of your right hand, The truth of it give unto me, That for seven years ye'll no lady wed, Unless it be alang with me."

"I'll give thee the truth of my right hand, The truth of it I'll freely gie, That for seven years I'll stay unwed, For the kindness thou dost show to me."

And she has brib'd the proud warder, Wi' mickle gold and white monie, She's gotten the keys of the prison strang, And she has set young Beichan free.

She's gi'en him to eat the good spice-cake, She's gi'en him to drink the blude-red wine, She's bidden him sometimes think on her, That sae kindly freed him out o' pine.

And she has broken her finger-ring, And to Beichan half of it gave she: "Keep it, to mind you in foreign land Of the lady's love that set you free.

"And set your foot on good ship-board, And haste ye back to your ain countrie, And before that seven years have an end, Come back again, love, and marry me."

But lang ere seven years had an end, She longed full sore her love to see, So she's set her foot on good ship-board, And turned her back on her ain countrie.

She sailèd east, she sailèd west, Till to fair England's shore she came, Where a bonny shepherd she espied, Was feeding his sheep upon the plain.

"What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd? What news hast thou to tell to me?" "Such news I hear, ladie," he says, "The like was never in this countrie.

"There is a wedding in yonder hall, And ever the bells ring merrilie; It is Lord Beichan's wedding-day Wi' a lady fair o' high degree."

She's putten her hand into her pocket, Gi'en him the gold and white monie; "Hay, take ye that, my bonny boy, All for the news thou tell'st to me."

When she came to young Beichan's gate, She tirlèd saftly at the pin; So ready was the proud porter To open and let this lady in.

"Is this young Beichan's hall," she said, "Or is that noble lord within?" "Yea, he's in the hall among them all, And this is the day o' his weddin."

"And has he wed anither love? And has he clean forgotten me?" And sighin said that ladie gay, "I wish I were in my ain countrie."

And she has ta'en her gay gold ring That with her love she brake sae free; Says, "Gie him that, ye proud porter, And bid the bridegroom speak wi' me."

When the porter came his lord before, He kneeled down low upon his knee: "What aileth thee, my proud porter, Thou art so full of courtesie?"

"I've been porter at your gates, It's now for thirty years and three; But the lovely lady that stands thereat, The like o' her did I never see.

"For on every finger she has a ring, And on her mid-finger she has three, And meikle gold aboon her brow. Sae fair a may did I never see."

It's out then spak the bride's mother, And an angry woman, I wot, was she: "Ye might have excepted our bonny bride, And twa or three of our companie."

"O hold your tongue, thou bride's mother, Of all your folly let me be; She's ten times fairer nor the bride, And all that's in your companie.

"And this golden ring that's broken in twa, This half o' a golden ring sends she: 'Ye'll carry that to Lord Beichan,' she says, 'And bid him come an' speak wi' me.'

"She begs one sheave of your white bread, But and a cup of your red wine, And to remember the lady's love That last relieved you out of pine."

"O well-a-day!" said Beichan then, "That I so soon have married me! For it can be none but Susie Pye, That for my love has sailed the sea."

And quickly hied he down the stair; Of fifteen steps he made but three; He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms And kist and kist her tenderlie.

"O hae ye ta'en anither bride? And hae ye clean forgotten me? And hae ye quite forgotten her That gave you life and libertie?"

She lookit o'er her left shoulder, To hide the tears stood in her ee: "Now fare thee well, young Beichan," she says, "I'll try to think no more on thee."

"O never, never, Susie Pye, For surely this can never be, Nor ever shall I wed but her That's done and dreed so much for me."

Then out and spak the forenoon bride: "My lord, your love it changeth soon. This morning I was made your bride, And another chose ere it be noon."

"O hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride, Ye're ne'er a whit the worse for me, And whan ye return to your ain land, A double dower I'll send with thee."

He's ta'en Susie Pye by the milkwhite hand, And led her thro' the halls sae hie, And aye as he kist her red-rose lips, "Ye're dearly welcome, jewel, to me."

He's ta'en her by the milkwhite hand, And led her to yon fountain-stane; He's changed her name from Susie Pye, And call'd her his bonny love, Lady Jane.

* * * * *

GILDEROY.

Gilderoy was a bonnie boy, Had roses till his shoon, His stockings were of silken soy, Wi' garters hanging doun: It was, I ween, a comely sight, To see sae trim a boy; He was my joy and heart's delight, My winsome Gilderoy.

O sic twa charming e'en he had, A breath as sweet as rose, He never ware a Highland plaid, But costly silken clothes; He gained the love of ladies gay, Nane e'er to him was coy; Ah, wae is me! I mourn this day For my dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I were born Baith in one toun together, We scant were seven years beforn We 'gan to luve each ither; Our daddies and our mammies they Were fill'd wi' meikle joy, To think upon the bridal day Of me and Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy, that luve of mine, Gude faith, I freely bought A wedding sark of Holland fine, Wi' dainty ruffles wrought; And he gied me a wedding-ring, Which I received wi' joy; Nae lad nor lassie e'er could sing Like me and Gilderoy.

Wi' meikle joy we spent our prime, Till we were baith sixteen, And aft we passed the langsam time Amang the leaves sae green; Aft on the banks we'd sit us there, And sweetly kiss and toy; Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair My handsome Gilderoy.

O that he still had been content Wi' me to lead his life! But ah, his manfu' heart was bent To stir in feats of strife. And he in many a venturous deed His courage bold wad try; And now this gars my heart to bleed For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he took, The tears they wat mine e'e; I gied him sic a parting look: "My benison gang wi' thee! God speed thee weel, my ain dear heart, For gane is all my joy; My heart is rent sith we maun part, My handsome Gilderoy."

The Queen of Scots possessèd nought That my luve let me want; For cow and ewe he to me brought, And e'en when they were scant: All these did honestly possess, He never did annoy Who never failed to pay their cess To my luve Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy, baith far and near, Was fear'd in every toun, And bauldly bare awa' the gear Of many a lawland loun: For man to man durst meet him nane, He was sae brave a boy; At length with numbers he was ta'en, My winsome Gilderoy.

Wae worth the loun that made the laws, To hang a man for gear; To reive of life for sic a cause, As stealing horse or mare! Had not these laws been made sae strick, I ne'er had lost my joy, Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheek, For my dear Gilderoy.

Gif Gilderoy had done amiss, He might have banished been. Ah, what sair cruelty is this, To hang sic handsome men! To hang the flower o' Scottish land, Sae sweet and fair a boy! Nae lady had so white a hand As thee, my Gilderoy.

Of Gilderoy sae 'fraid they were, They bound him meikle strong, To Edinburgh they took him there, And on a gallows hung: They hung him high aboon the rest, He was sae trim a boy; There died the youth whom I lo'ed best, My handsome Gilderoy.

Sune as he yielded up his breath, I bare his corpse away, Wi' tears that trickled for his death, I wash'd his comely clay; And sicker in a grave sae deep I laid the dear-lo'ed boy; And now forever I maun weep My winsome Gilderoy.

* * * * *

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN.

It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a falling, That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country, Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his men down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling: "O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly, hooly rose she up, To the place where he was lying, And when she drew the curtain by, "Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick, And it's a' for Barbara Allan;" "O the better for me ye's never be, Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she, "When ye was in the tavern a drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?"

He turned his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing; "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan."

And slowly, slowly raise she up, And slowly, slowly left him, And sighing said, she could not stay, Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell gied, It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!

"O mother, mother, make my bed! O make it saft and narrow! Since my love died for me to-day, I'll die for him to-morrow."

* * * * *

THE GARDENER.

The gard'ner stands in his bower door, Wi' a primrose in his hand, And by there cam' a leal maiden, As jimp as a willow wand.

"O ladie, can ye fancy me, For to be my bride? Ye'se get a' the flowers in my garden, To be to you a weed.

"The lily white sail be your smock; It becomes your bodie best; Your head sail be buskt wi' gilly-flower, Wi' the primrose in your breast.

"Your goun sall be the sweet-william; Your coat the camovine; Your apron o' the sallads neat, That taste baith sweet and fine.

"Your hose sall be the brade kail-blade, That is baith brade and lang; Narrow, narrow at the cute, And brade, brade at the brawn.

"Your gloves sail be the marigold, All glittering to your hand, Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort, That grows amang corn-land."

"O fare ye well, young man," she says, "Fareweil, and I bid adieu; If you can fancy me," she says, "I canna fancy you.

"Sin' ye've provided a weed for me Amang the simmer flowers, It's I'se provide anither for you, Amang the winter-showers:

"The new fawn snaw to be your smock; It becomes your bodie best; Your head sall be wrapt wi' the eastern wind, And the cauld rain on your breast."

* * * * *

ETIN THE FORESTER.

Lady Margaret sits in her bower door, Sewing her silken seam; She heard a note in Elmond's wood, And wished she there had been.

She loot the seam fa' frae her side, And the needle to her tae, And she is aff to Elmond's wood As fast as she could gae.

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but ane, Till by there cam' a young hynd chiel, Says, "Lady, lat alane.

"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut, Or why brake ye the tree? For I am forester o' this wood: Ye should spier leave at me."

"I'll spier leave at na living man, Nor yet will I at thee; My father is king o'er a' this realm, This wood belangs to me."

"You're welcome to the wood, Marg'ret, You're welcome here to me; A fairer bower than e'er you saw. I'll bigg this night for thee."

He has bigged a bower beside the thorn, He has fenced it up wi' stane, And there within the Elmond wood, They twa has dwelt their lane.

He kept her in the Elmond wood, For twelve lang years and mair; And seven fair sons to Hynd Etin, Did that gay lady bear.

It fell out ance upon a day, To the hunting he has gane; And he has ta'en his eldest son, To gang alang wi' him.

When they were in the gay greenwood, They heard the mavis sing; When they were up aboon the brae, They heard the kirk bells ring.

"O I wad ask ye something, father, An' ye wadna angry be!" "Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."

"My mither's cheeks are aft-times weet, It's seldom they are dry; What is't that gars my mither greet, And sob sae bitterlie?"

"Nae wonder she suld greet, my boy, Nae wonder she suld pine, For it is twelve lang years and mair, She's seen nor kith nor kin, And it is twelve lang years and mair, Since to the kirk she's been.

"Your mither was an Earl's daughter, And cam' o' high degree, And she might hae wedded the first in the land, Had she nae been stown by me.

"For I was but her father's page, And served him on my knee; And yet my love was great for her, And sae was hers for me."

"I'll shoot the laverock i' the lift, The buntin on the tree, And bring them to my mither hames See if she'll merrier be."

It fell upon anither day, This forester thought lang; And he is to the hunting gane The forest leaves amang.

Wi' bow and arrow by his side, He took his path alane; And left his seven young children To bide wi' their mither at hame.

"O I wad ask ye something, mither, An ye wadna angry be." "Ask on, ask on, my eldest son; Ask ony thing at me."

"Your cheeks are aft-times weet, mither; You're greetin', as I can see." "Nae wonder, nae wonder, my little son, Nae wonder though I should dee!

"For I was ance an Earl's daughter, Of noble birth and fame; And now I'm the mither o' seven sons Wha ne'er gat christendame."

He's ta'en his mither by the hand, His six brithers also, And they are on through Elmond-wood As fast as they could go.

They wistna weel wha they were gaen, And weary were their feet; They wistna weel wha they were gaen, Till they stopped at her father's gate.

"I hae nae money in my pocket, But jewel-rings I hae three; I'll gie them to you, my little son, And ye'll enter there for me.

"Ye'll gie the first to the proud porter, And he will lat you in; Ye'll gie the next to the butler-boy, And he will show you ben.

"Ye'll gie the third to the minstrel That's harping in the ha', And he'll play gude luck to the bonny boy That comes frae the greenwood shaw."

He gied the first to the proud porter, And he opened and lat him in; He gied the next to the butler-boy, And he has shown him ben;

He gied the third to the minstrel Was harping in the ha', And he played gude luck to the bonny boy That cam' frae the greenwood shaw.

Now when he cam' before the Earl, He louted on his knee; The Earl he turned him round about, And the saut tear blint his e'e.

"Win up, win up, thou bonny boy, Gang frae my companie; Ye look sae like my dear daughter, My heart will burst in three!"

"If I look like your dear daughter, A wonder it is nane; If I look like your dear daughter, I am her eldest son."

"O tell me soon, ye little wee boy, Where may my Margaret be?" "She's e'en now standing at your gates. And my six brithers her wi'."

"O where are a' my porter-boys That I pay meat and fee, To open my gates baith braid and wide, And let her come in to me?"

When she cam' in before the Earl, She fell doun low on her knee: "Win up, win up, my daughter dear; This day ye'se dine wi' me."

"Ae bit I canna eat, father, Ae drop I canna drink, Till I see Etin, my husband dear; Sae lang for him I think!"

"O where are a' my rangers bold That I pay meat and fee, To search the forest far and wide, And bring Hynd Etin to me?"

Out it speaks the little wee boy: "Na, na, this maunna be; Without ye grant a free pardon, I hope ye'll na him see!"

"O here I grant a free pardon, Well sealed wi' my ain han'; And mak' ye search for Hynd Etin, As sune as ever ye can."

They searched the country braid and wide, The forest far and near, And they found him into Elmond-wood, Tearing his yellow hair.

"Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin, Win up and boun' wi' me; For we are come frae the castle, And the Earl wad fain you see."

"O lat him tak' my head," he says, "Or hang me on a tree; For sin' I've lost my dear lady, My life's nae worth to me!"