BOOK IV.

KING ESTMERE.

From _Reliques of English Poetry_, i. 65.

"This romantic legend," says Percy, "is given from two copies, one of them in the Editor's folio MS., but which contained very great variations." This second copy has been conjectured to be of Percy's own making, the ballad never having been heard of by any one else, out of his manuscript. Judging from the internal evidence, the alterations made in the printed text were not very serious.

King Easter and King Wester have appeared in the ballad of _Fause Foodrage_, (vol. iii. p. 40.) In another version of the same, they are called the Eastmure king and the Westmure king, (Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. lix.) There is also a tale cited in the _Complaynt of Scotland_, (i. 98,) of a king of Estmureland that married the daughter of the king of Westmureland. This is plausibly supposed by Ritson to have been a romance of Horn, in which case the two countries should mean England and Ireland. King Esmer is one of King Diderik's champions (in the Danish ballad, _Kong Diderik og hans Kæmper_), and the father of Svend Vonved (in _Svend Vonved_). In the Flemish and German romances of _The Knight of the Swan_, Essmer, or Esmerés, is one of the seven sons of Oriant, and in _Le Dit de Flourence de Romme_ (Jubinal, _Nouveau Recueil de Contes_, etc., i. 88), Esmère is a Roman prince. (Grundtvig, i. 78, 236.) For the nonce, we are told that King Estmere was an English prince, and we may, perhaps, infer from the eighth stanza that King Adland's dominions were on the same island. But no subject of inquiry can be more idle than the geography of the romances.

Hearken to me, gentlemen, Come and you shall heare; Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren, That ever born y-were.

The tone of them was Adler yonge, 5 The tother was kyng Estmere; They were as bolde men in their deedes As any were, farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wine Within kyng Estmeres halle, 10 "When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, A wyfe to gladd us all?"

Then bespake him kyng Estmere, And answered him hartilye: "I knowe not that ladye in any lande, 15 That is able to marry with mee."

"Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother, Men call her bright and sheene; If I were kyng here in your stead, That ladye shold be queene." 20

Sayes, "Reade me, reade me, deare brother, Throughout merry England, Where we might find a messenger Betweene us two to sende."

Sayes, "You shall ryde yourselfe, brother, 25 Ile beare you companee; Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,[L27] And I feare lest soe shold wee."

Thus they renisht them to ryde On twoe good renisht steedes, 30 And when they came to kyng Adlands halle, Of red golde shone their weedes.

And when they came to kyng Adlands halle, Before the goodlye yate, Ther they found good kyng Adland, 35 Rearing himselfe theratt.

"Nowe Christ thee save, good kyng Adland, Nowe Christ thee save and see:" Sayd, "You be welcome, kyng Estmere, Right hartilye to mee." 40

"You have a daughter," sayd Adler yonge, "Men call her bright and sheene; My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe, Of Englande to be queene."

"Yesterdaye was att my dere daughter 45 The king his sonne of Spayn; And then she nicked him of naye; I feare sheele do youe the same."

"The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim, And 'leeveth on Mahound, 50 And pitye it were that fayre ladye Shold marrye a heathen hound."

"But grant to me," sayes kyng Estmere, "For my love I you praye, That I may see your daughter dere 55 Before I goe hence awaye."

"Althoughe itt is seven yeare and more Syth my daughter was in halle, She shall come downe once for your sake, To glad my guestès alle." 60

Downe then came that mayden fayre, With ladyes lacede in pall, And halfe a hondred of bolde knightes, To bring her from bowre to hall, And eke as manye gentle squieres, 65 To waite upon them all.

The talents of golde were on her head sette, Hunge lowe downe to her knee; And everye rynge on her small finger Shone of the chrystall free. 70

Sayes, "Christ you save, my deare madame," Sayes, "Christ you save and see:" Sayes, "You be welcome, kyng Estmere, Right welcome unto mee.

"And iff you love me, as you saye, 75 So well and hartilee, All that ever you are comen about Soone sped now itt may bee."

Then bespake her father deare, "My daughter, I saye naye; 80 Remember well the kyng of Spayne, What he sayd yesterdaye.

"He wold pull downe my halles and castles, And reave me of my lyfe: And ever I feare that paynim kyng, 85 Iff I reave him of his wyfe."

"Your castles and your towres, father, Are stronglye built aboute; And therefore of that foule paynim Wee neede not stande in doubte. 90

"Plyght me your troth nowe, kyng Estmere, By heaven and your righte hande, That you will marrye me to your wyfe, And make me queene of your land."

Then kyng Estmere he plight his troth 95 By heaven and his righte hand, That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe, And make her queene of his land.

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, To goe to his owne countree, 100 To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes, That marryed they might bee.

They had not ridden scant a myle, A myle forthe of the towne, But in did come the kynge of Spayne, 105 With kempès many a one:

But in did come the kyng of Spayne, With manye a grimme barone, Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter, Tother daye to carrye her home. 110

Then shee sent after kyng Estmere, In all the spede might bee, That he must either returne and fighte, Or goe home and lose his ladye.

One whyle then the page he went, 115 Another whyle he ranne; Till he had oretaken king Estmere, Iwis he never blanne.

"Tydinges, tydinges, kyng Estmere!" "What tydinges nowe, my boye?" 120 "O tydinges I can tell to you, That will you sore annoye.

"You had not ridden scant a myle, A myle out of the towne, But in did come the kyng of Spayne 125 With kempès many a one:

"But in did come the kyng of Spayne With manye a grimme barone, Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter, Tother daye to carrye her home. 130

"That ladye fayre she greetes you well, And ever-more well by mee: You must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and lose your ladye."

Sayes, "Reade me, reade me, deare brother, 135 My reade shall ryse at thee,[L136] Whiche way we best may turne and fighte, To save this fayre ladye."

"Now hearken to me," sayes Adler yonge, "And your reade must rise at me; 140 I quicklye will devise a waye To sette thy ladye free.

"My mother was a westerne woman, And learned in gramarye, And when I learned at the schole, 145 Something shee taught itt me.

"There groweth an hearbe within this fielde, And iff it were but knowne, His color which is whyte and redd, It will make blacke and browne. 150

"His color which is browne and blacke, Itt will make redd and whyte; That sword is not in all Englande, Upon his coate will byte.

"And you shal be a harper, brother, 155 Out of the north countree; And Ile be your boye, so faine of fighte, To beare your harpe by your knee.

"And you shall be the best harper That ever tooke harpe in hand; 160 And I will be the best singer That ever sung in this land.

"Itt shal be written in our forheads, All and in grammarye, That we towe are the boldest men 165 That are in all Christentye."

And thus they renisht them to ryde, On towe good renish steedes; And whan they came to king Adlands hall, Of redd gold shone their weedes. 170

And whan they came to kyng Adlands hall, Untill the fayre hall yate, There they found a proud porter, Rearing himselfe theratt.

Sayes, "Christ thee save, thou proud porter," 175 Sayes, "Christ thee save and see:" "Nowe you be welcome," sayd the porter, "Of what land soever ye bee."

"We been harpers," sayd Adler yonge, "Come out of the northe countree; 180 We beene come hither untill this place, This proud weddinge for to see."

Sayd, "And your color were white and redd, As it is blacke and browne, Ild saye king Estmere and his brother 185 Were comen untill this towne."

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,[L187] Layd itt on the porters arme: "And ever we will thee, proud porter, Thow wilt saye us no harme." 190

Sore he looked on kyng Estmere, And sore he handled the ryng, Then opened to them the fayre hall yates, He lett for no kind of thyng.

Kyng Estmere he light off his steede, 195 Up att the fayre hall board; The frothe that came from his brydle bitte Light on kyng Bremors beard.

Sayes, "Stable thy steede, thou proud harper, Go stable him in the stalle; 200 Itt doth not beseeme a proud harper To stable him in a kyngs halle."

"My ladd he is so lither," he sayd, "He will do nought that's meete; And aye that I cold but find the man, 205 Were able him to beate."

"Thou speakst proud words," sayd the paynim king, "Thou harper, here to mee; There is a man within this halle, That will beate thy lad and thee." 210

"O lett that man come downe," he sayd, "A sight of him wold I see; And whan hee hath beaten well my ladd, Then he shall beate of mee."

Downe then came the kemperye man, 215 And looked him in the eare; For all the gold that was under heaven, He durst not neigh him neare.

"And how nowe, kempe," sayd the kyng of Spayne, "And how what aileth thee?" 220 He sayes, "Itt is written in his forhead, All and in gramarye, That for all the gold that is under heaven, I dare not neigh him nye."

Kyng Estmere then pulled forth his harpe, 225 And played thereon so sweete: Upstarte the ladye from the kynge, As hee sate at the meate.

"Now stay thy harpe, thou proud harper, Now stay thy harpe, I say; 230 For an thou playest as thou beginnest, Thou'lt till my bride awaye."

He strucke upon his harpe agayne, And playd both fayre and free; The ladye was so pleasde theratt, 235 She laught loud laughters three.

"Nowe sell me thy harpe," sayd the kyng of Spayne, "Thy harpe and stryngs eche one, And as many gold nobles thou shalt have, As there be stryngs thereon." 240

"And what wold ye doe with my harpe," he sayd, Iff I did sell it yee?" "To playe my wiffe and me a fitt, When abed together we bee."

"Now sell me," quoth hee, "thy bryde soe gay, 245 As shee sitts laced in pall, And as many gold nobles I will give, As there be rings in the hall."

"And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay, Iff I did sell her yee? 250 More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye To lye by mee than thee."

Hee played agayne both loud and shrille, And Adler he did syng, "O ladye, this is thy owne true love; 255 Noe harper, but a kyng.

"O ladye, this is thy owne true love, As playnlye thou mayest see; And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim, Who partes thy love and thee." 260

The ladye looked, the ladye blushte, And blushte and lookt agayne, While Adler he hath drawne his brande, And hath the Sowdan slayne.

Up then rose the kemperye men, 265 And loud they gan to crye: "Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng, And therefore yee shall dye."

Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde, And swith he drew his brand; 270 And Estmere he, and Adler yonge, Right stiffe in stour can stand.

And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, Through helpe of gramarye, That soone they have slayne the kempery men, 275 Or forst them forth to flee.

Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye, And marryed her to his wiffe, And brought her home to merrye England, With her to leade his life. 280

27. MS. Many a man ... is.

136. MS. ryde, but see v. 140.

v. 187.

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold, Layd itt on the porters arme.

The rings so often used in ballads to conciliate the porter would seem to be not personal ornaments, but coins. For an account of Ring Money, see the paper of Sir William Betham, in the seventeenth volume of the _Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy_.

SIR CAULINE.

From _Reliques of English Poetry_, i. 44.

"This old romantic tale," says Percy, "was preserved in the Editor's folio MS., but in so very defective and mutilated a condition, (not from any chasm in the MS., but from great omission in the transcript, probably copied from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel,) that it was necessary to supply several stanzas in the first part, and still more in the second, to connect and complete the story."

Many of the interpolations acknowledged in such general terms might with some confidence be pointed out. Among them are certainly most, if not all, of the last twelve stanzas of the Second Part, which include the catastrophe to the story. It is difficult to believe that this charming romance had so tragic and so sentimental a conclusion.

The first part of this ballad is preserved in Scotland, under the title of _King Malcolm and Sir Colvin_, and is printed in our Appendix from Buchan's collection. In this, Sir Colvin weds the princess after his victory over the Elrick knight.

THE FIRST PART.

In Ireland, ferr over the sea, There dwelleth a bonnye kinge; And with him a yong and comlye knighte, Men call him Syr Cauline.

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 5 In fashyon she hath no peere; And princely wightes that ladye wooed To be theyr wedded feere.

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all, But nothing durst he saye, 10 Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, But deerlye he lovde this may.

Till on a daye it so beffell Great dill to him was dight; The maydens love removde his mynd, 15 To care-bed went the knighte.

One while he spred his armes him fro, One while he spred them nye: "And aye! but I winne that ladyes love, For dole now I mun dye." 20

And whan our parish-masse was done, Our kinge was bowne to dyne: He sayes, "Where is Syr Cauline, That is wont to serve the wyne?"

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, 25 And fast his handes gan wringe: "Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye, Without a good leechinge."

"Fetche me downe my daughter deere, She is a leeche fulle fine; 30 Goe take him doughe and the baken bread, And serve him with the wyne soe red: Lothe I were him to tine."

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes, Her maydens followyng nye: 35 "O well," she sayth, "how doth my lord?" "O sicke, thou fayr ladye."

"Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame, Never lye soe cowardlee; For it is told in my fathers halle 40 You dye for love of mee."

"Fayre ladye, it is for your love That all this dill I drye: For if you wold comfort me with a kisse, Then were I brought from bale to blisse, 45 No lenger wold I lye."

"Sir knighte, my father is a kinge, I am his onlye heire; Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte, I never can be youre fere." 50

"O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, And I am not thy peere; But let me doe some deedes of armes, To be your bacheleere."

"Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe, 55 My bacheleere to bee, (But ever and aye my heart wold rue, Giff harm shold happe to thee,)

"Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne, Upon the mores brodinge; 60 And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all nighte, Untile the fayre morninge?

"For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte, Will examine you beforne; And never man bare life awaye, 65 But he did him scath and scorne.

"That knighte he is a foul paynim, And large of limb and bone; And but if heaven may be thy speede, Thy life it is but gone." 70

"Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke, For thy sake, fair ladie; And Ile either bring you a ready token, Or Ile never more you see."

The lady has gone to her own chaumbere, 75 Her maydens following bright; Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone, And to the Eldridge hills is gone, For to wake there all night.

Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, 80 He walked up and downe; Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe Over the bents soe browne; Quoth hee, "If cryance come till my heart, I am ffar from any good towne." 85

And soone he spyde on the mores so broad A furyous wight and fell; A ladye bright his brydle led, Clad in a fayre kyrtell:

And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 90 "O man, I rede thee flye, For but if cryance come till thy heart,[L92] I weene but thou mun dye."

He sayth, "No cryance comes till my heart,[L94] Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee; 95 For, cause thou minged not Christ before, The less me dreadeth thee."

The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed; Syr Cauline bold abode: Then either shooke his trustye speare, 100 And the timber these two children bare Soe soone in sunder slode.

Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes, And layden on full faste, Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, 105 They all were well-nye brast.

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might, And stiffe in stower did stande; But Syr Cauline with an aukeward stroke He smote off his right-hand; 110 That soone he, with paine and lacke of bloud, Fell downe on that lay-land.

Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande All over his head so hye: "And here I sweare by the holy roode, 115 Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye."

Then up and came that ladye brighte, Faste ringing of her hande: "For the maydens love, that most you love, Withhold that deadlye brande: 120

"For the maydens love that most you love, Now smyte no more I praye; And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord, He shall thy hests obaye."

"Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 125 And here on this lay-land, That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye, And therto plight thy hand:

"And that thou never on Eldridge [hill] come To sporte, gamon, or playe; 130 And that thou here give up thy armes Until thy dying daye."

The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes, With many a sorrowfulle sighe; And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest, 135 Till the tyme that he shold dye.

And he then up, and the Eldridge knighte Sett him in his saddle anone; And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye, To theyr castle are they gone. 140

Then he tooke up the bloudy hand, That was so large of bone, And on it he founde five ringes of gold, Of knightes that had be slone.

Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, 145 As hard as any flint; And he tooke off those ringes five, As bright as fyre and brent.

Home then pricked Syr Cauline, As light as leafe on tree; 150 I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, Till he his ladye see.

Then downe he knelt upon his knee, Before that lady gay: "O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills; 155 These tokens I bring away."

"Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline, Thrice welcome unto mee, For now I perceive thou art a true knighte, Of valour bolde and free." 160

"O ladye, I am thy own true knighte, Thy hests for to obaye; And mought I hope to winne thy love!"-- No more his tonge colde say.

The ladye blushed scarlette redde, 165 And fette a gentill sighe: "Alas! syr knight, how may this bee, For my degree's soe highe?

"But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth, To be my batchilere, 170 Ile promise, if thee I may not wedde, I will have none other fere."

Then shee held forthe her liley-white hand Towards that knighte so free; He gave to it one gentill kisse, 175 His heart was brought from bale to blisse, The teares sterte from his ee.

"But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline, Ne let no man it knowe; For, and ever my father sholde it ken, 180 I wot he wolde us sloe."

From that daye forthe, that ladye fayre Lovde Syr Cauline the knighte; From that daye forthe, he only joyde Whan shee was in his sight. 185

Yea, and oftentimes they mette Within a fayre arboure, Where they, in love and sweet daliaunce, Past manye a pleasaunt houre.

92, MS. For if.

94, No inserted.

THE SECOND PART.

Everye white will have its blacke, And everye sweete its sowre: This founde the Ladye Christabelle In an untimely howre.

For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline 5 Was with that ladye faire, The kinge, her father, walked forthe To take the evenyng aire:

And into the arboure as he went To rest his wearye feet, 10 He found his daughter and Syr Cauline There sette in daliaunce sweet.

The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, And an angrye man was hee: "Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe 15 And rewe shall thy ladie."

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde, And throwne in dungeon deepe: And the ladye into a towre so hye, There left to wayle and weepe. 20

The queene she was Syr Caulines friend, And to the kinge sayd shee: "I praye you save Syr Caulines life, And let him banisht bee."

"Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent 25 Across the salt sea fome: But here I will make thee a band, If ever he come within this land, A foule deathe is his doome."

All woe-begone was that gentil knight 30 To parte from his ladye; And many a time he sighed sore, And cast a wistfulle eye: "Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte, Farre lever had I dye." 35

Fair Christabelle, that ladye bright, Was had forthe of the towre; But ever shee droopeth in her minde, As, nipt by an ungentle winde, Doth some faire lillye flowre. 40

And ever shee doth lament and weepe, To tint her lover soe: "Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, But I will still be true."

Manye a kinge, and manye a duke, 45 And lorde of high degree, Did sue to that fayre ladye of love; But never shee wolde them nee.

When manye a daye was past and gone, Ne comforte she colde finde, 50 The kynge proclaimed a tourneament, To cheere his daughters mind.

And there came lords, and there came knights, Fro manye a farre countrye, To break a spere for theyr ladyes love, 55 Before that faire ladye.

And many a ladye there was sette, In purple and in palle; But faire Christabelle, soe woe-begone, Was the fayrest of them all. 60

Then manye a knighte was mickle of might, Before his ladye gaye; But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, He wan the prize eche daye.

His acton it was all of blacke, 65 His hewberke and his sheelde; Ne noe man wist whence he did come, Ne noe man knewe where he did gone, When they came out the feelde.[L69]

And now three days were prestlye past 70 In feates of chivalrye, When lo, upon the fourth morninge, A sorrowfulle sight they see:

A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke, All foule of limbe and lere, 75 Two goggling eyen like fire farden, A mouthe from eare to eare.

Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, That waited on his knee; And at his backe five heads he bare, 80 All wan and pale of blee.

"Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, "Behold that hend Soldain! Behold these heads I beare with me! They are kings which he hath slain. 85

"The Eldridge knight is his own cousine, Whom a knight of thine hath shent; And hee is come to avenge his wrong: And to thee, all thy knightes among, Defiance here hath sent. 90

"But yette he will appease his wrath, Thy daughters love to winne; And, but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd, Thy halls and towers must brenne.

"Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee, 95 Or else thy daughter deere: Or else within these lists soe broad, Thou must finde him a peere."

The king he turned him round aboute, And in his heart was woe: 100 "Is there never a knighte of my round table This matter will undergoe?

"Is there never a knighte amongst yee all Will fight for my daughter and mee? Whoever will fight yon grimme Soldan, 105 Right fair his meede shall bee.

"For hee shall have my broad lay-lands, And of my crowne be heyre; And he shall winne fayre Christabelle To be his wedded fere." 110

But every knighte of his round table Did stand both still and pale; For, whenever they lookt on the grim Soldan, It made their hearts to quail.

All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 115 When she sawe no helpe was nye: She cast her thought on her owne true-love, And the teares gusht from her eye.

Up then sterte the stranger knighte, Sayd, "Ladye, be not affrayd; 120 Ile fight for thee with this grimme Soldan, Thoughe he be unmacklye made.

"And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde, That lyeth within thy bowre, I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende, 125 Thoughe he be stiff in stowre."

"Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde," The kinge he cryde, "with speede: Nowe, heaven assist thee, courteous knighte; My daughter is thy meede." 130

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists, And sayd, "Awaye, awaye! I sweare, as I am the hend Soldan, Thou lettest me here all daye."

Then forthe the stranger knight he came, 135 In his blacke armoure dight: The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, "That this were my true knighte!"

And nowe the gyaunt and knight be mett Within the lists soe broad; 140 And now, with swordes soe sharpe of steele, They gan to lay on load.

The Soldan strucke the knighte a stroke That made him reele asyde: Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 145 And thrice she deeply sighde.

The Soldan strucke a second stroke, And made the bloude to flowe: All pale and wan was that ladye fayre, And thrice she wept for woe. 150

The Soldan strucke a third fell stroke, Which brought the knighte on his knee: Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart, And she shriekt loud shriekings three.

The knighte he leapt upon his feete, 155 All recklesse of the pain: Quoth hee, "But heaven be now my speede, Or else I shall be slaine."

He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte, And spying a secrette part, 160 He drave it into the Soldans syde, And pierced him to the heart.

Then all the people gave a shoute, Whan they sawe the Soldan falle: The ladye wept, and thanked Christ 165 That had reskewed her from thrall.

And nowe the kinge, with all his barons, Rose uppe from offe his seate, And downe he stepped into the listes That curteous knighte to greete. 170

But he, for payne and lacke of bloude, Was fallen into a swounde, And there, all walteringe in his gore, Lay lifelesse on the grounde.

"Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 175 Thou art a leeche of skille; Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes Than this good knighte sholde spille."

Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye, To helpe him if she maye: 180 But when she did his beavere raise, "It is my life, my lord!" she sayes, And shriekte and swound awaye.

Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes, When he heard his ladye crye: 185 "O ladye, I am thine owne true love; For thee I wisht to dye."

Then giving her one partinge looke, He closed his eyes in death, Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 190 Begane to drawe her breathe.

But when she found her comelye knighte Indeed was dead and gone, She layde her pale, cold cheeke to his, And thus she made her moane: 195

"O staye, my deare and onlye lord, For mee, thy faithfulle feere; 'Tis meet that I shold followe thee, Who hast bought my love so deare."

Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, 200 And with a deep-fette sighe That burst her gentle heart in twayne, Fayre Christabelle did dye.

69. "Syr Cauline here acts up to the genuine spirit of perfect chivalry. In old romances no incident is of more frequent occurrence than this, of knights already distinguished for feats of arms laying aside their wonted cognizances, and, under the semblance of stranger knights, manfully performing right worshipful and valiant deeds. How often is the renowned Arthur, in such exhibitions, obliged to exclaim, "O Jhesu, what knight is that arrayed all in grene (or as the case may be)? he justeth myghtily!" The Emperor of Almaine, in like manner, after the timely succor afforded him by Syr Gowghter, is anxious to learn the name of his modest but unknown deliverer." [So in the romance of _Roswall and Lillian_, &c.]--MOTHERWELL.

FAIR ANNIE.

_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 252.

The story of _Fair Annie_ is widely disseminated. The substance of it is found in the beautiful romance of Marie de France, the _Lai le Frein_, of which an ancient English translation is printed in Weber's _Metrical Romances_, i. 357. The Swedish and Danish ballads go under the same name of _Fair Anna_, and may be seen in Arwidsson's _Svenska Fornsånger_, i. 291; Geijer's _Svenska Folk-Visor_, i. 24; and Nyerup's _Danske Viser_, iv. 59. Jamieson has rendered the Danish ballad very skilfully, in the Scottish dialect, from Syv's edition of the _Kæmpe Viser_. In Dutch, the characters are Maid Adelhaid and King Alewijn (Hoffmann's _Holländische Volkslieder_, 164.) The story as we have found it in German is considerably changed. See _Die wiedergefundene Königstochter_, in _Des Knaben Wunderhorn_, ii. 274, and _Südeli_, Uhland's _Volkslieder_, i. 273.

The Scottish versions of _Fair Annie_ are quite numerous. A fragment of eight stanzas was published in Herd's collection, (_Wha will bake my bridal bread_, ed. 1776, i. 167.) Sir Walter Scott gave a complete copy, from recitation in the _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_. Two other copies, also from oral tradition, were inserted by Jamieson in the Appendix to his _Popular Ballads_, (_Lady Jane_, ii. 371, _Burd Helen_, ii. 376,) and from these he constructed the edition of _Lady Jane_, printed at p. 73 of the same volume. Motherwell (_Minstrelsy_) affords still another variety, and Chambers has compiled a ballad from all these sources and a manuscript furnished by Mr. Kinloch, (_Scottish Ballads_, p. 186.)

In this collection we have adopted the versions of Scott and Motherwell, giving Jamieson's translation of _Skj[oe]n Anna_ in our Appendix.

"It's narrow, narrow, make your bed, And learn to lie your lane; For I'm gaun o'er the sea, Fair Annie, A braw bride to bring hame. Wi' her I will get gowd and gear; 5 Wi' you I ne'er got nane.

"But wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale? And wha will welcome my brisk bride, That I bring o'er the dale?"-- 10

"It's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale; And I will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring o'er the dale."--

"But she that welcomes my brisk bride 15 Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And braid her yellow hair."--

"But how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane? 20 Have I not born seven sons to thee, And am with child again?"--

She's ta'en her young son in her arms, Another in her hand; And she's up to the highest tower, 25 To see him come to land.

"Come up, come up, my eldest son, And look o'er yon sea-strand, And see your father's new-come bride, Before she come to land."-- 30

"Come down, come down, my mother dear, Come frae the castle wa'! I fear, if langer ye stand there, Ye'll let yoursell down fa'."--

And she gaed down, and farther down, 35 Her love's ship for to see; And the topmast and the mainmast Shone like the silver free.

And she's gane down, and farther down, The bride's ship to behold; 40 And the topmast and the mainmast They shone just like the gold.

She's ta'en her seven sons in her hand; I wot she didna fail! She met Lord Thomas and his bride, 45 As they came o'er the dale.

"You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas; You're welcome to your land; You're welcome, with your fair ladye, That you lead by the hand. 50

"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye, Your welcome to your bowers; You're welcome to your hame, ladye, For a' that's here is yours."--

"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie; 55 Sae dearly as I thank thee; You're the likest to my sister Annie, That ever I did see.

"There came a knight out o'er the sea, And steal'd my sister away; 60 The shame scoup in his company, And land where'er he gae!"--

She hang ae napkin at the door, Another in the ha'; And a' to wipe the trickling tears, 65 Sae fast as they did fa'.

And aye she served the lang tables With white bread and with wine; And aye she drank the wan water, To had her colour fine. 70

And aye she served the lang tables, With white bread and with brown; And ay she turn'd her round about, Sae fast the tears fell down.

And he's ta'en down the silk napkin, 75 Hung on a silver pin; And aye he wipes the tear trickling Adown her cheek and chin.

And aye he turn'd him round about, And smiled amang his men, 80 Says--"Like ye best the old ladye, Or her that's new come hame?"--

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men bound to bed, Lord Thomas and his new-come bride, 85 To their chamber they were gaed.

Annie made her bed a little forbye, To hear what they might say; "And ever alas!" fair Annie cried, "That I should see this day! 90

"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats, Running on the castle wa', And I were a grey cat mysell, I soon would worry them a'.

"Gin my seven sons were seven young hares, 95 Running o'er yon lilly lee, And I were a grew hound mysell, Soon worried they a' should be."--

And wae and sad fair Annie sat, And drearie was her sang; 100 And ever, as she sobb'd and grat, "Wae to the man that did the wrang!"--

"My gown is on," said the new-come bride, "My shoes are on my feet, And I will to fair Annie's chamber, 105 And see what gars her greet.--

"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie, That ye make sic a moan? Has your wine barrels cast the girds, Or is your white bread gone? 110

"O wha was't was your father, Annie, Or wha was't was your mother? And had you ony sister, Annie, Or had you ony brother?"--

"The Earl of Wemyss was my father, 115 The Countess of Wemyss my mother; And a' the folk about the house, To me were sister and brother."--

"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father, I wot sae was he mine; 120 And it shall not be for lack o' gowd, That ye your love sall tyne.

"For I have seven ships o' mine ain, A' loaded to the brim; And I will gie them a' to thee, 125 Wi' four to thine eldest son. But thanks to a' the powers in heaven That I gae maiden hame!"

FAIR ANNIE.

Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 327. Obtained from recitation.

"Learn to mak your bed, Annie, And learn to lie your lane; For I maun owre the salt seas gang, A brisk bride to bring hame.

"Bind up, bind up your yellow hair, 5 And tye it in your neck; And see you look as maiden-like As the day that we first met."

"O how can I look maiden-like, When maiden I'll ne'er be; 10 When seven brave sons I've born to thee, And the eighth is in my bodie?

"The eldest of your sons, my lord, Wi' red gold shines his weed; The second of your sons, my lord, 15 Rides on a milk-white steed.

"And the third of your sons, my lord, He draws your beer and wine; And the fourth of your sons, my lord, Can serve you when you dine. 20

"And the fift of your sons, my lord, He can both read and write; And the sixth of your sons, my lord, Can do it most perfyte.

"And the sevent of your sons, my lord, 25 Sits on the nurse's knee: And how can I look maiden-like, When a maid I'll never be?

"But wha will bake your wedding bread, And brew your bridal ale? 30 Or wha will welcome your brisk bride That you bring owre the dale?"

"I'll put cooks in my kitchen, And stewards in my hall, And I'll have bakers for my bread, 35 And brewers for my ale; But you're to welcome my brisk bride That I bring owre the dale."

He set his feet into his ship, And his cock-boat on the main; 40 He swore it would be year and day Or he returned again.

When year and day was past and gane, Fair Annie she thocht lang; And she is up to her bower head, 45 To behold both sea and land.

"Come up, come up, my eldest son, And see now what you see; O yonder comes your father dear, And your stepmother to be." 50

"Cast off your gown of black, mother, Put on your gown of brown, And I'll put off my mourning weeds, And we'll welcome him home."

She's taken wine into her hand, 55 And she has taken bread, And she is down to the water side To welcome them indeed.

"You're welcome, my lord, you're welcome, my lord, You're welcome home to me; 60 So is every lord and gentleman That is in your companie.

"You're welcome, my lady, you're welcome, my lady, You're welcome home to me; So is every lady and gentleman 65 That's in your companie."

"I thank you, my girl, I thank you, my girl, I thank you heartily; If I live seven years about this house, Rewarded you shall be." 70

She serv'd them up, she serv'd them down, With the wheat bread and the wine; But aye she drank the cauld water, To keep her colour fine.

She serv'd them up, she serv'd them down, With the wheat bread and the beer; 75 But aye she drank the cauld water, To keep her colour clear.

When bells were rung and mass was sung, And all were boune for rest, 80 Fair Annie laid her sons in bed, And a sorrowfu' woman she was.

"Will I go to the salt, salt seas, And see the fishes swim? Or will I go to the gay green wood, 85 And hear the small birds sing?"

Out and spoke an aged man, That stood behind the door,-- "Ye will not go to the salt, salt seas, To see the fishes swim; 90 Nor will ye go to the gay green wood, To hear the small birds sing:

"But ye'll take a harp into your hand, Go to their chamber door, And aye ye'll harp and aye ye'll murn, 95 With the salt tears falling o'er."

She's ta'en a harp into her hand, Went to their chamber door, And aye she harped and aye she murn'd, With the salt tears falling o'er. 100

Out and spak the brisk young bride, In bride-bed where she lay,-- "I think I hear my sister Annie, And I wish weel it may; For a Scotish lord staw her awa, 105 And an ill death may he die."

"Wha was your father, my girl," she says, "Or wha was your mother? Or had you ever a sister dear, Or had you ever a brother?" 110

"King Henry was my father dear, Queen Esther was my mother, Prince Henry was my brother dear, And Fanny Flower my sister."

"If King Henry was your father dear, 115 And Queen Esther was your mother, If Prince Henry was your brother dear, Then surely I'm your sister.

"Come to your bed, my sister dear, It ne'er was wrang'd for me, 120 Bot an ae kiss of his merry mouth, As we cam owre the sea."

"Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride, Awa, awa frae me; I wudna hear my Annie greet, 125 For a' the gold I got wi' thee."

"There were five ships of gay red gold Cam owre the seas with me; It's twa o' them will tak me hame, And three I'll leave wi' thee. 130

"Seven ships o' white monie Came owre the seas wi' me; Five o' them I'll leave wi' thee, And twa will take me hame; And my mother will make my portion up, 135 When I return again."

CHILD WATERS.

First published by Percy from his folio MS., _Reliques_, iii. 94. Several traditionary versions have since been printed, of which we give _Burd Ellen_ from Jamieson's, and in the Appendix, _Lady Margaret_ from Kinloch's collection. Jamieson also furnishes a fragment, and Buchan, (_Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 30,) a complete copy of another version of _Burd Ellen_, and Chambers (_Scottish Ballads_, 193,) makes up an edition from all the copies, which we mention here because he has taken some lines from a manuscript supplied by Mr. Kinloch.

Childe Waters in his stable stoode And stroakt his milke-white steede; To him a fayre yonge ladye came As ever ware womans weede.

Sayes, "Christ you save, good Childe Waters," 5 Sayes, "Christ you save and see; My girdle of gold that was too longe, Is now too short for mee.

"And all is with one childe of yours I feele sturre at my side; 10 My gowne of greene it is too straighte; Before, it was too wide."

"If the child be mine, faire Ellen," he sayd,[L13] "Be mine, as you tell mee, Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 15 Take them your owne to bee.

"If the childe be mine, faire Ellen," he sayd, "Be mine, as you doe sweare, Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, And make that child your heyre." 20

Shee sayes, "I had rather have one kisse, Childe Waters, of thy mouth, Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, That lye by north and southe.

"And I had rather have one twinkling, 25 Childe Waters, of thine ee, Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, To take them mine owne to bee."

"To morrowe, Ellen, I must forth ryde Farr into the north countree; 30 The fayrest lady that I can finde, Ellen, must goe with mee."

"Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre,[L33] Yet let me go with thee: And ever I pray you, Childe Waters, 35 Your foot-page let me bee."

"If you will my foot-page bee, Ellen, As you doe tell to mee, Then you must cut your gowne of greene An inch above your knee: 40

"Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes, An inch above your ee; You must tell no man what is my name; My foot-page then you shall bee."

Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, 45 Ran barefoote by his syde, Yet was he never soe courteous a knighte, To say, "Ellen, will you ryde?"

Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, Ran barefoote thorow the broome, 50 Yett was hee never soe courteous a knighte, To say, "put on your shoone."

"Ride softlye," shee sayd, "O Childe Waters: Why doe you ryde so fast? The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55 My bodye itt will brast."

Hee sayth, "seest thou yond water, Ellen, That flows from banke to brimme?" "I trust to God, O Childe Waters, You never will see me swimme." 60

But when shee came to the water side, She sayled to the chinne: "Now the Lord of heaven be my speede, For I must learne to swimme."

The salt waters bare up her clothes, 65 Our Ladye bare up her chinne; Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, To see faire Ellen swimme!

And when shee over the water was, Shee then came to his knee: 70 Hee sayd, "Come hither, thou fayre Ellen, Loe yonder what I see.

"Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? Of redd gold shines the yate: Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, 75 The fairest is my mate.

"Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? Of redd golde shines the towre: There are twenty four fayre ladyes there, The fayrest is my paramoure." 80

"I see the hall now, Childe Waters, Of redd golde shines the yate: God give you good now of yourselfe, And of your worldlye mate.

"I see the hall now, Childe Waters, 85 Of redd golde shines the towre: God give you good now of yourselfe, And of your paramoure."

There twenty four fayre ladyes were A playing at the ball, 90 And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there, Must bring his steed to the stall.

There twenty four fayre ladyes were A playinge at the chesse, And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there, 95 Must bring his horse to gresse.

And then bespake Childe Waters sister, These were the wordes sayd shee: "You have the prettyest page, brother, That ever I did see; 100

"But that his bellye it is soe bigge, His girdle stands soe hye; And ever, I pray you, Childe Waters, Let him in my chamber lye."

"It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105 That has run throughe mosse and myre, To lye in the chamber of any ladye, That weares soe riche attyre.

"It is more meete for a little foot-page, That has run throughe mosse and myre, 110 To take his supper upon his knee, And lye by the kitchen fyre."

Now when they had supped every one, To bedd they tooke theyr waye: He sayd, "Come hither, my little foot-page, 115 And hearken what I saye.

"Goe thee downe into yonder towne, And lowe into the streete; The fayrest ladye that thou canst finde, Hyre in mine armes to sleepe; 120 And take her up in thine armes twaine, For filing of her feete."

Ellen is gone into the towne, And lowe into the streete; The fayrest ladye that shee colde finde, 125 She hyred in his armes to sleepe; And tooke her up in her armes twayne, For filing of her feete.

"I praye you nowe, good Childe Waters, Let mee lye at your feete; For there is noe place about this house, 130 Where I may saye a sleepe."

He gave her leave, and faire Ellen[L133] Down at his beds feet laye; This done the nighte drove on apace, 135 And when it was neare the daye,

Hee sayd, "Rise up, my little foot-page, Give my steede corne and haye; And give him nowe the good black oats, To carry mee better awaye." 140

Up then rose the faire Ellen, And gave his steede corne and hay; And soe shee did the good black oates, To carry him the better awaye.

She leaned her back to the manger side, 145 And grievouslye did groane; She leaned her back to the manger side, And there shee made her moane.

And that beheard his mother deare, Shee heard her woefull woe:[L150] 150 Shee sayd, "Rise up, thou Childe Waters, And into thy stable goe.

"For in thy stable is a ghost, That grievouslye doth grone; Or else some woman laboures with childe, 155 Shee is so woe-begone."

Up then rose Childe Waters soone, And did on his shirte of silke; And then he put on his other clothes, On his bodye as white as milke. 160

And when he came to the stable dore, Full still there hee did stand, That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen, Howe shee made her monand.

She sayd, "Lullabye, mine own dear childe, 165 Lullabye, deare childe, deare; I wolde thy father were a kinge, Thy mothere layd on a biere."

"Peace nowe," hee sayd, "good, faire Ellen, Bee of good cheere, I praye; 170 And the bridale and the churchinge bothe Shall bee upon one daye.

13, MS. be inne.

33, 34, supplied by Percy.

133, 134, supplied by Percy.

150, her woefull woe, Percy!

BURD ELLEN.

Printed from Mrs. Brown's recitation, in Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_, i. 117. We have restored the text by omitting some interpolations of the editor, and three concluding stanzas by the same, which, contrary to all authority, gave a tragic turn to the story.

Lord John stood in his stable door, Said he was boun to ride; Burd Ellen stood in her bower door, Said she'd rin by his side.

He's pitten on his cork-heel'd shoon, 5 And fast awa rade he; She's clad hersel in page array, And after him ran she:

Till they came till a wan water, And folks do call it Clyde; 10 Then he's lookit o'er his left shoulder, Says, "Lady, will ye ride?"

"O I learnt it wi' my bower woman, And I learnt it for my weal, Whanever I cam to wan water, 15 To swim like ony eel."

But the firsten stap the lady stappit, The water came till her knee; "Ochon, alas!" said the lady, "This water's o'er deep for me." 20

The nexten stap the lady stappit, The water came till her middle; And sighin says that gay lady, "I've wat my gouden girdle."

The thirden stap the lady stappit, 25 The water came till her pap; And the bairn that was in her twa sides For cauld began to quake.

"Lie still, lie still, my ain dear babe; Ye work your mother wae: 30 Your father rides on high horse back, Cares little for us twae."

O about the midst o' Clyde's water There was a yeard-fast stane; He lightly turn'd his horse about, 35 And took her on him behin.

"O tell me this now, good lord John, And a word ye dinna lie, How far it is to your lodgin, Whare we this night maun be?" 40

"O see na ye yon castell, Ellen, That shines sae fair to see? There is a lady in it, Ellen, Will sinder you and me.

"There is a lady in that castell 45 Will sinder you and I"-- "Betide me weal, betide me wae, I sall gang there and try."

"My dogs shall eat the good white bread, And ye shall eat the bran; 50 Then will ye sigh, and say, alas! That ever I was a man!"

"O I shall eat the good white bread, And your dogs shall eat the bran; And I hope to live to bless the day, 55 That ever ye was a man."

"O my horse shall eat the good white meal, And ye sall eat the corn; Then will ye curse the heavy hour That ever your love was born." 60

["O I shall eat the good white meal, And your horse shall eat the corn;][L62] I ay sall bless the happy hour That ever my love was born."

O four and twenty gay ladies 65 Welcom'd lord John to the ha', But a fairer lady than them a' Led his horse to the stable sta.'

O four and twenty gay ladies Welcom'd lord John to the green; 70 But a fairer lady than them a' At the manger stood alane.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men boun to meat, Burd Ellen was at the bye-table 75 Amang the pages set.

"O eat and drink, my bonny boy, The white bread and the beer."-- "The never a bit can I eat or drink, My heart's sae fu' o' fear." 80

"O eat and drink, my bonny boy, The white bread and the wine."-- "O how sall I eat or drink, master, Wi' heart sae fu' o' pine?"

But out and spak lord John's mother, 85 And a wise woman was she: "Whare met ye wi' that bonny boy, That looks sae sad on thee?

Sometimes his cheek is rosy red, And sometimes deadly wan; 90 He's liker a woman big wi' bairn, Than a young lord's serving man."

"O it makes me laugh, my mother dear, Sic words to hear frae thee; He is a squire's ae dearest son, 95 That for love has followed me.

"Rise up, rise up, my bonny boy, Gi'e my horse corn and hay."-- "O that I will, my master dear, As quickly as I may." 100

She's ta'en the hay under her arm, The corn intill her hand, And she's gane to the great stable, As fast as e'er she can.

"O room ye round, my bonny brown steeds, 105 O room ye near the wa'; For the pain that strikes me through my sides Full soon will gar me fa'."

She lean'd her back against the wa'; Strong travel came her on; 110 And e'en amang the great horse feet Burd Ellen brought forth her son.

Lord Johnis mither intill her bower Was sitting all alane, When, in the silence o' the nicht, 115 She heard Burd Ellen's mane.

"Won up, won up, my son," she says, "Gae see how a' does fare; For I think I hear a woman's groans, And a bairnie greetin' sair." 120

O hastily he gat him up, Staid neither for hose nor shoon, And he's doen him to the stable door Wi' the clear light o' the moon.

He strack the door hard wi' his foot, 125 Sae has he wi' his knee, And iron locks and iron bars Into the floor flung he: "Be not afraid, Burd Ellen," he says, "There's nane come in but me. 130

"Tak up, tak up my bonny young son; Gar wash him wi' the milk; Tak up, tak up my fair lady, Gar row her in the silk.

"And cheer thee up, Burd Ellen," he says, 135 "Look nae mair sad nor wae; For your marriage and your kirkin too Sall baith be in ae day."

62,63, according to Jamieson, the same as vv. 54, 55, but here formed on their model, from 57, 58.

ERLINTON.

First published in the _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, ii. 351,--"from the collation of two copies obtained from recitation."

_Erlinton_ and _The Child of Elle_ are corrupt varieties of _The Douglas Tragedy_. The passage referred to in vol. ii. p. 114, is remarked on in a note at the end of the ballad.

Erlinton had a fair daughter; I wat he weird her in a great sin, For he has built a bigly bower, An' a' to put that lady in.

An' he has warn'd her sisters six, 5 An' sae has he her brethren se'en, Outher to watch her a' the night, Or else to seek her morn an e'en.

She hadna been i' that bigly bower, Na not a night, but barely ane, 10 Till there was Willie, her ain true love, Chapp'd at the door, cryin', "Peace within!"

"O whae is this at my bower door, That chaps sae late, or kens the gin?" "O it is Willie, your ain true love, 15 I pray you rise an' let me in!"

"But in my bower there is a wake, An' at the wake there is a wane; But I'll come to the green-wood the morn, Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' dawn." 20

Then she's gane to her bed again, Where she has layen till the cock crew thrice, Then she said to her sisters a', "Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise."

She pat on her back her silken gown, 25 An' on her breast a siller pin, An' she's ta'en a sister in ilka hand, An' to the green-wood she is gane.

She hadna walk'd in the green-wood, Na not a mile but barely ane, 30 Till there was Willie, her ain true love, Wha frae her sisters has her ta'en.

He took her sisters by the hand, He kiss'd them baith, an' sent them hame, An' he's ta'en his true love him behind, 35 And through the green-wood they are gane.

They hadna ridden in the bonnie green-wood, Na not a mile but barely ane, When there came fifteen o' the boldest knights, That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane. 40

The foremost was an aged knight, He wore the grey hair on his chin: Says, "Yield to me thy lady bright, An' thou shalt walk the woods within."

"For me to yield my lady bright 45 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: 50 "Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright, Or here the tane of us shall die."

"My lady is my warld's meed;[L53] My life I winna yield to nane; But if ye be men of your manhead, 55 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, Untill ye see my body bleed." 60

He set his back unto an aik, He set his feet against a stane, An' he has fought these fifteen men, An' kill'd them a' but barely ane; For he has left that aged knight, 65 An' a' to carry the tidings hame.

When he gaed to his lady fair, I wat he kiss'd her tenderlie: "Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought; Now we shall walk the green-wood free." 70

53, Should we not read _warld's mate_?

NOTE to v. 59, 60.

"Say'n, 'See ye dinna change your cheer, Untill ye see my body bleed.'"

As has been remarked (vol. ii. p. 114), _Erlinton_ retains an important, and even fundamental trait of the older forms of the story, which is not found in any other of the English versions of the _Douglas Tragedy_. It was a northern superstition that to call a man by name while he was engaged in fight was a fatal omen, and hence a phrase, "to name-to-death." To avert this danger, Ribolt, in nearly all the Scandinavian ballads, entreats Guldborg not to _pronounce his name_, even if she sees him bleeding or struck down. In her agony at seeing the last of her brothers about to be slain, Guldborg forgets her lover's injunction, calls on him by name to stop, and thus brings about the catastrophe. Ignorant reciters have either dropped the corresponding passage in the English ballad, or (as in this case) have so corrupted it, that its significance is only to be made out by comparison with the ancient copies.

THE CHILD OF ELLE.

"From a fragment in the Editor's folio MS., which, though extremely defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited a strong desire to attempt the completion of the story. The reader will easily discover the supplemental stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same time be inclined to pardon it, when he considers how difficult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity and artless beauties of the original." PERCY, _Reliques_, i. 113. (See vol. ii. p. 114.)

It must be acknowledged that this truly modest apology was not altogether uncalled for. So extensive are Percy's alterations and additions, that the reader will have no slight difficulty in detecting the few traces that are left of the genuine composition. Nevertheless, Sir Walter Scott avers that the corrections are "in the true style of Gothic embellishment!"

On yonder hill a castle standes, With walles and towres bedight, And yonder lives the Child of Elle, A younge and comely knighte.

The Child of Elle to his garden wente, 5 And stood at his garden pale, Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence, Ywis he stoode not stille, 10 And soone he mette faire Emmelines page Come climbing up the hille.

"Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page, Now Christe thee save and see! Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye, 15 And what may thy tydinges bee?"

"My lady shee is all woe-begone, And the teares they falle from her eyne; And aye she laments the deadlye feude Betweene her house and thine." 20

"And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe, Bedewde with many a teare, And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her, Who loved thee so deare.

"And here shee sends thee a ring of golde, 25 The last boone thou mayst have, And biddes thee weare it for her sake, Whan she is layde in grave.

"For, ah! her gentle heart is broke, And in grave soone must shee bee, 30 Sith her father hath chose her a new, new love, And forbidde her to think of thee.

"Her father hath brought her a carlish knight, Sir John of the north countraye, And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 35 Or he vowes he will her slaye."

"Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, And greet thy ladye from mee, And telle her that I, her owne true love, Will dye, or sette her free. 40

"Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, And let thy fair ladye know, This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe, Betide me weale or woe."

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, 45 He neither stint ne stayd, Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre, Whan kneeling downe he sayd:

"O ladye, Ive been with thy own true love, And he greets thee well by mee; 50 This night will he bee at thy bowre-windowe, And dye or sette thee free."

Nowe daye was gone, and night was come, And all were fast asleepe, All save the ladye Emmeline, 55 Who sate in her bowre to weepe:

And soone shee heard her true loves voice Lowe whispering at the walle: "Awake, awake, my deare ladye, Tis I, thy true love, call. 60

"Awake, awake, my ladye deare, Come, mount this faire palfraye: This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, Ile carrye thee hence awaye."

"Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 65 Nowe nay, this may not bee; For aye sould I tint my maiden fame, If alone I should wend with thee."

"O ladye, thou with a knight so true Mayst safelye wend alone; 70 To my ladye mother I will thee bringe, Where marriage shall make us one."

"My father he is a baron bolde, Of lynage proude and hye; And what would he saye if his daughter 75 Awaye with a knight should fly?

"Ah! well I wot, he never would rest, Nor his meate should doe him no goode, Till he had slayne thee, Child of Elle, And seene thy deare hearts bloode." 80

"O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And a little space him fro, I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that he could doe.

"O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 85 And once without this walle, I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that might befalle."

Faire Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe: 90 At length he seizde her lilly-white hand, And downe the ladder he drewe.

And thrice he claspde her to his breste, And kist her tenderlie: The teares that fell from her fair eyes, 95 Ranne like the fountayne free.

Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle, And her on a faire palfraye, And slung his bugle about his necke, And roundlye they rode awaye. 100

All this beheard her owne damselle, In her bed whereas shee ley; Quoth shee, "My lord shall knowe of this, Soe I shall have golde and fee.

"Awake, awake, thou baron bolde! 105 Awake, my noble dame! Your daughter is fledde with the Childe of Elle, To doe the deede of shame."

The baron he woke, the baron he rose, And called his merrye men all: 110 "And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte; The ladye is carried to thrall."

Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, A mile forth of the towne, When she was aware of her fathers men 115 Come galloping over the downe.

And foremost came the carlish knight, Sir John of the north countraye: "Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure, Nor carry that ladye awaye. 120

"For she is come of hye lynage, And was of a ladye borne, And ill it beseems thee, a false churles sonne, To carrye her hence to scorne."

"Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 125 Nowe thou doest lye of mee; A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore, Soe never did none by thee.

"But light nowe downe, my ladye faire, Light downe, and hold my steed, 130 While I and this discourteous knighte Doe trye this arduous deede.

"But light now downe, my deare ladye, Light downe, and hold my horse; While I and this discourteous knight 135 Doe trye our valours force."

Fair Emmeline sighde, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe, While twixt her love and the carlish knight Past many a baleful blowe. 140

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well, As his weapon he wavde amaine, That soone he had slaine the carlish knight, And layde him upon the plaine.

And nowe the baron, and all his men 145 Full fast approached nye: Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe? Twere now no boote to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill, 150 And soone he saw his owne merry men Come ryding over the hill.

"Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron, I pray thee, hold thy hand, Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts, 155 Fast knit in true loves band.

"Thy daughter I have dearly lovde Full long and many a day; But with such love as holy kirke Hath freelye sayd wee may. 160

"O give consent shee may be mine, And blesse a faithfull paire; My lands and livings are not small, My house and lynage faire.

"My mother she was an earles daughter, 165 And a noble knyght my sire----" The baron he frownde, and turnde away With mickle dole and ire.

Fair Emmeline sighde, faire Emmeline wept, And did all tremblinge stand; 170 At lengthe she sprange upon her knee, And held his lifted hand.

"Pardon, my lorde and father deare, This faire yong knyght and mee: Trust me, but for the carlish knyght, 175 I never had fled from thee.

"Oft have you callde your Emmeline Your darling and your joye; O let not then your harsh resolves Your Emmeline destroye." 180

The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke, And turnde his heade asyde, To wipe awaye the starting teare, He proudly strave to hyde.

In deepe revolving thought he stoode, 185 And musde a little space; Then raisde faire Emmeline from the grounde, With many a fond embrace.

"Here take her, Child of Elle," he sayd, And gave her lillye hand; 190 "Here take my deare and only child, And with her half my land.

"Thy father once mine honour wrongde, In dayes of youthful pride; Do thou the injurye repayre 195 In fondnesse for thy bride.

"And as thou love her and hold her deare, Heaven prosper thee and thine; And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee, My lovelye Emmeline." 200

SIR ALDINGAR.

Of this very remarkable ballad two copies have been printed in English, _Sir Aldingar_, from the Percy MS. (_Reliques_, ii. 53), "with conjectural emendations and the insertion of some additional stanzas," and _Sir Hugh Le Blond_, by Scott, from recitation. The corresponding Danish ballad, _Ravengaard og Memering_, first published by Grundtvig, is extant in not less than five copies, the oldest derived from a MS. of the middle of the 16th century, the others from recent recitations. With these Grundtvig has given an Icelandic version, from a MS. of the 17th century, another in the dialect of the Faroe Islands, and a third half Danish, half Faroish, both as still sung by the people. The ballad was also preserved, not long ago, in Norway.--_Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser_, i. 177-213, ii. 640-645.

All these ballads contain a story one and the same in the essential features--a story which occurs repeatedly in connection with historical personages, in Germany, France, Italy, and Spain, as well as England,--and which has also furnished the theme for various modern romances, poems, and tragedies. The connection of the different forms of the legend has been investigated by the Danish editor at considerable length and with signal ability; and we shall endeavor to present the principal results of his wide research in the few pages which our narrow limits allow us to give to such questions.

The names of the characters in the Danish ballads are Henry (called Duke of Brunswick and of Schleswig in the oldest), Gunild (of Spires, called also Gunder), Ravengaard, and Memering. To these correspond, in the English story, King Henry, Queen Eleanor, Sir Aldingar (the resemblance of this name to Ravengaard will be noted), and a boy, to whom no name is assigned. Eleanor, it hardly need be remarked, is a queen's name somewhat freely used in ballads (see vol. vi. 209, and vol. vii. 291), and it is possible that the consort of Henry II. is here intended, though her reputation both in history and in song hardly favors that supposition.

The occurrence of Spires in the old Danish ballad would naturally induce us to look for the origin of the story in the annals of the German emperors of the Franconian line, who held their court at Spires, and are most of them buried in the cathedral at that place. A very promising clue is immediately found in the history of King (afterwards Emperor) Henry III., son of the Emperor Conrad II. Salicus. This Henry was married, in the year 1036, to Gunhild, daughter of Canute the Great. An English chronicler, William of Malmesbury, writing in the first half of the 12th century, tells us that after this princess had lived many years in honorable wedlock, she was accused of adultery. Being forced to clear herself by wager of battle, she found in all her retinue no one who was willing to risk a combat with her accuser, a man of gigantic stature, save a little boy whom she had brought with her from England. The issue of the duel established her innocence,--her diminutive champion succeeding by some miracle in ham-stringing his huge adversary; but it is alleged that the queen refused to return to her husband, and passed the rest of a long life in a monastery.[3]

[3] "Although there are seven centuries between William and our times," says Grundtvig, "and the North Sea between Jutland and the land of his birth, it almost seems as if he had taken his account from the very ballad which is at this day sung on the little island of Fuur in the Lym Fiord."

A Norman-French _Life of Edward the Confessor_, written about 1250, repeats this story, and adds the champion's name.[4]

[4] We have substituted this paragraph instead of a later chronicle cited by Grundtvig. The translation is that of the English editor: _Lives of Edward the Confessor_ (p. 39, 193), recently published by authority of the British government.

"A daughter had the king, Who was not so beautiful as clever. Gunnild her name; and he gave her To him who with love had asked for her,-- The noble Emperor Henry. She remained not long with him, Because by felons, who had no reason To blame her calumniously, She was charged with shame: To the Emperor was she accused. According to the custom of the empire, It behoved her to clear herself from shame By battle; and she takes much trouble To find one to be her champion: But finds no one, for very huge was The accuser,--as a giant. But a dwarf, whom she had brought up, Undertook the fight with him. At the first blow he hamstrung him; At the second he cut off his feet. Mimecan was the dwarf's name, Who was so good a champion, As the history, which is written, Says of him. The lady was freed from blame, But the lady the emperor No more will have as her lord."

Finally, John Brompton, writing two hundred years after William of Malmesbury, repeats his account, and gives the names of _both_ the combatants,--"a youth called Mimicon, and a man of gigantic size, by name Roddyngar" (Raadengard = the Danish Ravengaard).

The story of William of Malmesbury and the rest, though it is sufficiently in accordance with the Danish and English ballads, is in direct opposition to the testimony of contemporary German chroniclers, who represent Queen Gunhild as living on the best terms with her husband, and instead of growing old in God's service in a nunnery, as dying of the plague in Italy two years after her marriage, and hardly twenty years of age. It is manifest, therefore, that the English chroniclers derived their accounts from ballads current at their day,[5] which, as they were not founded on any real passages in the life of Gunhild, require us to look a little further for their origin.

[5] William of Malmesbury refers to ballads which were made on the splendid nuptial procession, by which Gunhild was conducted to the ship that was to bear her to her husband, as still sung about the streets in his time.

The empress Gunhild was called by the German chroniclers of her day by various names--as Cunihild, Chunihild, Chunelind, and _Cunigund_, which last name she is said to have assumed at her coronation. This change of Gunhild's name accounts for the unfounded scandals which were in circulation about her in her native land, scarcely a hundred years after her death. Cunigund, wife of Henry III., was in fact confounded with a contemporary German queen and empress, _St. Cunigund_, widow of the Emperor Henry II. This mistake, which has been made more than once, will be acknowledged to be a very natural one (especially for foreigners), when it is considered that both queens not only bore the same name, but were married each to an emperor of the same name (Henry), both of whom again were sons of Conrads.[6]

[6] An argument in confirmation of what is here said is afforded by a German annalist of the 14th century, who states, under the date 1038, that the empress Cunigund died the 3d of March, and was buried at Spires. Now St. Cunigund actually did die the 3d of March, and that day is dedicated to her in the Roman calendar, but the year was 1040, and she was buried at Bamberg, while Gunhild died in 1038 (July 18), and was buried in the monastery of Limburg, near Spires.

Referring now to the history of St. Cunigund, we read in the papal bull of Innocent III., by which she was canonized in the year 1200, that "she consecrated her virginity to the Lord, and preserved it intact,--so that when at one time by the instigation of the enemy of mankind a suspicion had been raised against her, she, to prove her innocence, walked with bare feet over burning ploughshares, and came off unscathed." Again, we read in a slightly more recent German chronicle, as follows: "The Devil, who hates all the righteous, and is ever seeking to bring them to shame, stirred up the Emperor against his wife, persuading him, through a certain duke, that in contempt of her husband she had committed adultery with another man. The empress offered to undergo an ordeal, and a great many bishops came to see it carried out. Whereupon seven glowing ploughshares were laid on the ground, over which the empress was forced to walk in bare feet, to attest her innocence, ... which, when the king saw, he prostrated himself before her with all his nobles." Adalbert's Life of St. Henry (which is, at the latest, of the 12th century), agreeing in all essentials with these accounts, adds an important particular, explaining how it was that the Devil brought the queen's honor into question, namely, that he was seen by many to go in and out of her private chamber, in the likeness of a handsome young man.--St. Cunigund is said to have undergone the ordeal at Bamberg, in the year 1017. The story, however, is without foundation, not being mentioned by any contemporary writers, but first appearing in various legends, towards the year 1200.

But St. Cunigund is by no means the first German empress of whom the story under consideration is told. A writer contemporary with her, who has nothing to say about the miracle just recounted, relates something very similar of _another_ empress, one hundred and thirty years earlier, namely, of Richardis, wife of Charles III. The tale runs that this Charles, in the year 887, accused his queen of unlawful connection with a Bishop. Her Majesty offered to subject herself to the Judgment of God, either by duel or by the ordeal of burning ploughshares. It is not said that either test was applied, but only that the queen retired into a cloister which she had herself founded. This is the contemporary account. A century and a half later we are told that an ordeal by _water_ was actually undergone, which again is changed by later writers into an ordeal by _fire_,--the empress passing through the flames in a waxed garment, without receiving the least harm; in memory of which, a day was kept, five centuries after, in honor of St. Richardis, in the monastery to which she withdrew.

Several other similar cases might be mentioned, but it will suffice to refer to only one more, more ancient than any of those already cited. Paulus Diaconus (who wrote about the year 800) relates that a Lombard queen, Gundiberg (of the 7th century), having been charged with infidelity, one of her servants asked permission of the king to fight in the lists for his mistress's honor, and conquered his antagonist in the presence of all the people. The same story is told, more in detail, by Aimoin, a somewhat more recent writer, of another Gundeberg, likewise of the 7th century. A Lombard nobleman makes insolent proposals to his queen, and meets with a most emphatic repulse. Upon this he goes to the king with a story that the queen has been three days conspiring to poison her husband, and put her accomplice in his place. The tale is believed, and the queen shut up in prison. The Frankish king, a relation of the injured woman, remonstrates on the injustice of condemnation without trial, and the king consents to submit the question to a duel. The champion of innocence is victorious, and the real criminal is condignly punished. This form of the legend, the oldest of all that have been cited, approaches very near to the Danish and English ballads.

Our conclusion would therefore be, with Grundtvig, that the ballads of _Sir Aldingar_, _Ravengaard and Memering_, and the rest, are of common derivation with the legends of St. Cunigund, Gundeberg, &c., and that all these are offshoots of a story which, "beginning far back in the infancy of the Gothic race and their poetry, is continually turning up, now here and now there, without having a proper home in any definite time or assignable place." Many circumstances corroborative of this view might be added, but we must content ourselves with obviating a possible objection. An invariable feature in the story is the _judicium Dei_ by which the innocence of the accused wife is established, but there is much difference in the various forms of the legend as to the _kind_ of ordeal employed, and some minds may here find difficulty. A close observation, however, will show such a connection between the different accounts as to prove an original unity. Even the earlier legends of St. Cunigund do not agree on this point; one makes her to have walked over burning ploughshares, another to have carried red-hot iron in her hands. The Icelandic copy of the ballad has both of these: the queen "carries iron and walks on steel"; and there is also a "judgment by iron bands." All these three tests are found in the Faroe ballad, which brings in Memering besides, and thus furnishes a transition to the Danish, which says nothing about the trial by fire, and has only the duel. Finally the English ballad completes the circle with the pile at which the queen was to be burned, in case she should not be able to prove her innocence by the duel.

At a time uncertain, but earlier than the 14th century, this legend was transplanted into the literature of Southern Europe. It is found in various Spanish chronicles, the earliest the _Historia de Cataluña_ of Bernardo Desclot, written about 1300; also in a Provençal and a French chronicle of the 17th century. In most of these the part of the queen's champion is assigned to the well-known Raimund Berengar, Count of Barcelona, who, in the year 1113, took Majorca from the Moors. The popularity of the story is further proved by the Spanish romance, _El Conde de Barcelona y la Emperatriz de Alemania_; the French romance _L'Histoire de Palanus, Comte de Lyon_; and a novel of Bandello, the 44th of the Second Part. This last was re-written and published in 1713, with slight changes, as an original tale, by M^{me} de Fontaines (_Histoire de la Comtesse de Savoie_), whence Voltaire borrowed materials for two of his tragedies, _Tancrède_ and _Artémire_.

By the circuitous route of Spain the story returns to England in a romance of the 15th century, _The Erle of Tolous_ (Ritson, _Metr. Rom._ iii. p. 93). Nearly related with this romance is the German story-book (derived from the French) on which Hans Sachs founded his tragedy, _Der Ritter Golmi mit der Herzogin auss Britanien_. Another German popular story-book, _Hirlanda_, exhibits a close resemblance to our ballad of _Sir Aldingar_.[7]

[7] In § v. of his Introduction to _Ravengaard og Memering_, Grundtvig seeks to show that this ballad, though independent in its origin, was at one time, like many others, woven into the great South-Gothic epic of Diderik of Bern, and then, having divided the legend into two portions,--the Accusation and its Cause, the Vindication and its Mode,--he, in § vi. vii. traces out with wonderful learning and penetration the extensive ramifications of the first part, taken by itself, through the romance of the Middle Ages. The whole essay is beyond praise.

"This old fabulous legend is given from the editor's folio MS., with conjectural emendations, and the insertion of some additional stanzas to supply and complete the story. It has been suggested to the editor that the author of the poem seems to have had in his eye the story of Gunhilda, who is sometimes called Eleanor (?), and was married to the emperor (here called king) Henry."--PERCY.

Our king he kept a false stewarde, Sir Aldingar they him call; A falser steward than he was one, Servde not in bower nor hall.

He wolde have layne by our comelye queene, 5 Her deere worshippe to betraye; Our queene she was a good woman, And evermore said him naye.

Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind, With her hee was never content, 10 Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse, In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gate, A lazar both blinde and lame; He tooke the lazar upon his backe, 15 Him on the queenes bed has layne.

"Lye still, lazar, wheras thou lyest, Looke thou goe not hence away; Ile make thee a whole man and a sound In two howers of the day." 20

Then went him forth Sir Aldingar, And hyed him to our king: "If I might have grace, as I have space, Sad tydings I could bring."

"Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar, 25 Saye on the soothe to mee." "Our queene hath chosen a new, new love, And shee will have none of thee.

"If shee had chosen a right good knight, The lesse had beene her shame; 30 But she hath chose her a lazar man, A lazar both blinde and lame."

"If this be true, thou Aldingar, The tyding thou tellest to me, Then will I make thee a rich, rich knight, 35 Rich both of golde and fee.

"But if it be false, Sir Aldingar, As God nowe grant it bee! Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood, Shall hang on the gallows tree." 40

He brought our king to the queenes chamber, And opend to him the dore: "A lodlye love," King Harry says, "For our queene," dame Elinore!

"If thou were a man, as thou art none, 45 Here on my sword thoust dye; But a payre of new gallowes shall be built, And there shalt thou hang on hye."

Forth then hyed our king, iwysse, And an angry man was hee, 50 And soone he found queene Elinore, That bride so bright of blee.

"Now God you save, our queene, madame, And Christ you save and see! Here you have chosen a newe, newe love, 55 And you will have none of mee.

"If you had chosen a right good knight, The lesse had been your shame; But you have chose you a lazar man, A lazar both blinde and lame. 60

"Therfore a fyer there shall be built, And brent all shalt thou bee."-- "Now out, alacke!" said our comly queene, "Sir Aldingar's false to mee.

"Now out, alacke!" sayd our comlye queene, 65 "My heart with griefe will brast: I had thought swevens had never been true, I have proved them true at last.

"I dreamt in my sweven on Thursday eve, In my bed wheras I laye, 70 I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast Had carryed my crowne awaye;

"My gorgett and my kirtle of golde, And all my faire head-geere; And he wold worrye me with his tush, 75 And to his nest y-beare:

"Saving there came a little gray hawke, A merlin him they call, Which untill the grounde did strike the grype, That dead he downe did fall. 80

"Giffe I were a man, as now I am none, A battell wold I prove, To fight with that traitor Aldingar: Att him I cast my glove.

"But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, 85 My liege, grant me a knight To fight with that traitor, Sir Aldingar, To maintaine me in my right."

"Now forty dayes I will give thee To seeke thee a knight therin: 90 If thou find not a knight in forty dayes, Thy bodye it must brenn."

Then shee sent east, and shee sent west, By north and south bedeene; But never a champion colde she find, 95 Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.

Now twenty dayes were spent and gone, Noe helpe there might be had; Many a teare shed our comelye queene, And aye her hart was sad. 100

Then came one of the queenes damselles, And knelt upon her knee: Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, I trust yet helpe may be.

"And here I will make mine avowe, 105 And with the same me binde, That never will I return to thee, Till I some helpe may finde."

Then forth she rode on a faire palfraye, Oer hill and dale about; 110 But never a champion colde she finde, Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.

And nowe the daye drewe on apace, When our good queene must dye; All woe-begone was that fair damselle, 115 When she found no helpe was nye.

All woe-begone was that faire damselle, And the salt teares fell from her eye; When lo! as she rode by a rivers side, She met with a tinye boye. 120

A tinye boy she mette, God wot, All clad in mantle of golde; He seemed noe more in mans likenesse, Then a childe of four yeere olde.

"Why grieve you, damselle faire?" he sayd, 125 "And what doth cause you moane?" The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke, But fast she pricked on.

"Yet turne againe, thou faire damselle, And greete thy queene from mee; 130 When bale is at hyest, boote is nyest; Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.

"Bid her remember what she dreamt, In her bedd wheras shee laye; How when the grype and the grimly beast 135 Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,

"Even then there came the little gray hawke, And saved her from his clawes: Then bidd the queene be merry at hart, For heaven will fende her cause." 140

Back then rode that fair damselle, And her hart it lept for glee: And when she told her gracious dame, A gladd woman then was shee.

But when the appointed day was come, 145 No helpe appeared nye; Then woeful woeful was her hart, And the teares stood in her eye.

And nowe a fyer was built of wood, And a stake was made of tree; 150 And now queene Elinor forth was led, A sorrowful sight to see.

Three times the herault he waved his hand, And three times spake on hye; "Giff any good knight will fende this dame, 155 Come forth, or shee must dye."

No knight stood forth, no knight there came, No helpe appeared nye; And now the fyer was lighted up, Queene Elinor she must dye. 160

And now the fyer was lighted up, As hot as hot might bee; When riding upon a little white steed, The tinye boye they see.

"Away with that stake, away with those brands, 165 And loose our comelye queene: I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar, And prove him a traitor keene."

Forth then stood Sir Aldingar; But when he saw the chylde, 170 He laughed, and scoffed, and turned his backe, And weened he had been beguylde.

"Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar, And eyther fighte or flee; I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, 175 Thoughe I am so small to see."

The boye pulld forth a well good sworde, So gilt it dazzled the ee; The first stroke stricken at Aldingar Smote off his leggs by the knee. 180

"Stand up, stand up, thou false traitor, And fighte upon thy feete, For, and thou thrive as thou beginst, Of height wee shall be meete."

"A priest, a priest," sayes Aldingar, 185 "While I am a man alive; "A priest, a priest," sayes Aldingar, "Me for to houzle and shrive.

"I wolde have laine by our comlie queene, But shee wolde never consent; 190 Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge, In a fyer to have her brent.

"There came a lazar to the kings gates, A lazar both blind and lame; I tooke the lazar upon my backe, 195 And on her bedd had him layne.

"Then ranne I to our comlye king, These tidings sore to tell: But ever alacke!" sayes Aldingar, "Falsing never doth well. 200

"Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame, The short time I must live:" "Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar, As freely I forgive."

"Here take thy queene, our King Harrye, 205 And love her as thy life, For never had a king in Christentye A truer and fairer wife."

King Harrye ran to claspe his queene, And loosed her full sone; 210 Then turnd to look for the tinye boye:-- The boye was vanisht and gone.

But first he had touchd the lazar man, And stroakt him with his hand; The lazar under the gallowes tree 215 All whole and sounde did stand.

The lazar under the gallowes tree Was comelye, straight, and tall; King Henrye made him his head stewarde, To wayte withinn his hall. 220

SIR HUGH LE BLOND.

_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 51.

"The tradition, upon which the ballad is founded, is universally current in the Mearns; and the Editor is informed, that, till very lately, the sword, with which Sir Hugh le Blond was believed to have defended the life and honour of the Queen, was carefully preserved by his descendants, the Viscounts of Arbuthnot. That Sir Hugh of Arbuthnot lived in the thirteenth century, is proved by his having, 1282, bestowed the patronage of the church of Garvoch upon the Monks of Aberbrothwick, for the safety of his soul.--_Register of Aberbrothwick, quoted by Crawford in Peerage._

"I was favoured with the following copy of _Sir Hugh le Blond_, by K. Williamson Burnet, Esq. of Monboddo, who wrote it down from the recitation of an old woman, long in the service of the Arbuthnot family. Of course, the diction is very much humbled, and it has, in all probability, undergone many corruptions; but its antiquity is indubitable, and the story, though indifferently told, is in itself interesting. It is believed that there have been many more verses." SCOTT.

The birds sang sweet as ony bell, The world had not their make, The Queen she's gone to her chamber, With Rodingham to talk.

"I love you well, my Queen, my dame, 5 'Bove land and rents 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: 10 I love you well as any man, Save the King's fair bodye."--

"I love you well, my Queen, my dame; 'Tis truth that I do tell: And for to lye a night with you, 15 The salt seas I would sail."--

"Away, away, O Rodingham! You are both stark and stoor; Would you defile the King's own bed, And make his Queen a whore? 20

"To-morrow you'd be taken sure, And like a traitor slain; And I'd be burned at a stake, Although I be the Queen."--

He then stepp'd out at her room door, 25 All in an angry mood: Until he met a leper-man, Just by the hard way-side.

He intoxicate the leper-man, With liquors very sweet: 30 And gave him more and more to drink, Until he fell asleep.

He took him in his armis twa, And carried him along, Till he came to the Queen's own bed, 35 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. 40

The King said unto Rodingham, "What news have you to me?"-- He said, "Your Queen's a false woman, As I did plainly see."--

He hasten'd to the Queen's chamber, 45 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; 50 He lifted up the snaw-white sheets, And thus he to him said:--

"Plooky, plooky, are your cheeks, And plooky is your chin, And plooky are your armis twa, 55 My bonny Queen's layne in.

"Since she has lain into your arms, She shall not lye in mine; Since she has kiss'd your ugsome mouth, She never shall kiss mine."-- 60

In anger he went to the Queen, Who fell upon her knee; He said, "You false, unchaste woman, What's this you've done to me?"

The Queen then turn'd herself about, 65 The tear blinded her ee-- "There's not a knight in a' your court Dare give that name to me."

He said, "'Tis true that I do say; For I a proof did make: 70 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 man 75 To fight that Rodingham."--

"Alas! alas!" then cried our Queen, "Alas, and woe to me! There's not a man in all Scotland Will fight with him for me."-- 80

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, 85 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, 90 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 95 To fight for our ladye.

"Put on the fire," the monster said: "It is twelve on the bell." "'Tis scarcely ten, now," said the King; "I heard the clock mysell."-- 100

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, 105 The tears blinded her ee: "Where is the worthy knight," she said, "Who is to fight for me?"--

Then up and spak the King himsell, "My dearest, have no doubt, 110 For yonder comes the man himsell, 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 Rodingham 115 Came running to his heel.

Sir Hugh took out a lusty sword, 'Twas of the metal clear, And he has pierced Rodingham Till's heart-blood did appear. 120

"Confess your treachery, now," he said, "This day before you die!"-- "I do confess my treachery, I shall no longer lye:

"I like to wicked Haman am, 125 This day 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; 130 Give it unto the northern knight, That this day fought for me."

Then said the King, "Come here, Sir Knight, And drink a glass of wine; And, if Arbattle's not enough,[L135] 135 To it we'll Fordoun join."

135. Arbattle is the ancient name of the barony of Arbuthnot. Fordun has long been the patrimony of the same family. S.

THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.

"This ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some corrections) was popular in the time of Queen Elizabeth, being usually printed with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface to Gul. Neubrig, _Hist. Oxon_, 1719, 8vo. vol. i. p. lxx. It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the _Pilgrim_, act 4, sc. 2." PERCY'S _Reliques_, iii. 114.

The Scottish ballad corresponding to Percy's has been printed by Kinloch, p. 25. Besides this, however, there are three other Scottish versions, superior to the English in every respect, and much longer. They are _Earl Richard_, Motherwell, p. 377; (also in Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 81;) a ballad with the same title in Kinloch's collection, p. 15; and _Earl Lithgow_, Buchan, ii. 91. In all these, the futile attempts of the knight to escape marrying the lady, and the devices by which she aggravates his reluctance to enter into the match, are managed with no little humour. We give Motherwell's edition a place next to Percy's, and refer the reader for Kinloch's to the Appendix.

There was a shepherds daughter Came tripping on the waye, And there by chance a knighte shee mett, Which caused her to staye.

"Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide," 5 These words pronounced hee; "O I shall dye this daye," he sayd, "If Ive not my wille of thee."

"The Lord forbid," the maide replyd, "That you shold waxe so wode!" 10 But for all that shee could do or saye,[L11] He wold not be withstood.

"Sith you have had your wille of mee, And put me to open shame, Now, if you are a courteous knighte, 15 Tell me what is your name?"

"Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart, And some do call mee Jille; But when I come to the kings faire courte, They calle me Wilfulle Wille." 20

He sett his foot into the stirrup, And awaye then he did ride; She tuckt her girdle about her middle, And ranne close by his side.

But when she came to the brode water, 25 She sett her brest and swamme; And when she was got out againe, She tooke to her heels and ranne.

He never was the courteous knighte, To saye, "Faire maide, will ye ride?" 30 And she was ever too loving a maide To saye, "Sir knighte, abide."

When she came to the kings faire courte, She knocked at the ring; So readye was the king himself 35 To let this faire maide in.

"Now Christ you save, my gracious liege, Now Christ you save and see; You have a knighte within your courte This daye hath robbed mee." 40

"What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart? Of purple or of pall? Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring From off thy finger small?"

"He hath not robbed mee, my liege, 45 Of purple nor of pall; But he hath gotten my maidenhead, Which grieves mee worst of all."

"Now if he be a batchelor, His bodye Ile give to thee; 50 But if he be a married man, High hanged he shall bee."

He called downe his merrye men all, By one, by two, by three; Sir William used to bee the first, 55 But nowe the last came hee.

He brought her downe full fortye pounde, Tyed up withinne a glove: "Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee; Go, seeke thee another love." 60

"O Ile have none of your gold," she sayde, "Nor Ile have none of your fee; But your faire bodye I must have, The king hath granted mee."

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 65 Five hundred pound in golde, Saying, "Faire maide, take this to thee, Thy fault will never be tolde."

"Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt," These words then answered shee, 70 "But your own bodye I must have, The king hath granted mee."

"Would I had drunke the water cleare, When I did drinke the wine, Rather than any shepherds brat 75 Shold bee a ladye of mine!

"Would I had drank the puddle foule, When I did drink the ale, Rather than ever a shepherds brat Shold tell me such a tale!" 80

"A shepherds brat even as I was, You mote have let mee bee; I never had come to the kings faire courte, To crave any love of thee."

He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85 And himself upon a graye; He hung a bugle about his necke, And soe they rode awaye.

But when they came unto the place, Where marriage-rites were done, 90 She proved herself a dukes daughter, And he but a squires sonne.

"Now marrye me, or not, sir knight, Your pleasure shall be free: If you make me ladye of one good towne, 95 Ile make you lord of three."

"Ah! cursed bee the gold," he sayd; "If thou hadst not been trewe, I shold have forsaken my sweet love, And have changed her for a newe." 100

And now their hearts being linked fast, They joyned hand in hande: Thus he had both purse, and person too, And all at his commande.

11, 12, Percy's.

EARL RICHARD (B).

Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 377. From recitation.

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, 5 I wot fast on she did her bound, With towers of gold upon her head, As fair a woman as could be found.

He said, "Busk on you, fair ladye, The white flowers and the red; 10 For I would give my bonnie ship, To get your maidenhead."

"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive, And drown you in the sea; For all this would not mend the miss 15 That ye would do to me." "The miss is not so great, ladye, Soon mended it might be.

"I have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland, Stands on the water Tay; 20 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 25 That ye would do for me." "The miss is not so great, lady, Soon mended it will be.

"I have four-and-twenty milk-white cows, All calved in a day; 30 You'll have them, and as much hained grass 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 35 That ye would do to me." "The miss is not so great, ladye, Soon mended it might be.

"I have four-and-twenty milk-white steeds, All foaled in one year; 40 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 she, 45 "For that church full of gold."

He turned him right and round about, And he swore by the mass, Says,--"Lady, ye my love shall be, And gold ye shall have less." 50

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, 55 And he swore by the moon, Says,--"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; 60 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, 65 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 Lithcock it is my name." 70

"Lithcock! Lithcock!" the lady said, And oft she spelt it over again; "Lithcock! it's Latin," the lady said, "Richard's the English of that name."

The Knight he rode, the lady ran,[L75] 75 A live long summer's day; Till they came to the wan water That all men do call Tay.

He set his horse head to the water, Just thro' it for to ride; 80 And the lady was as ready as him The waters for to wade.

For he had never been as kind-hearted As to bid the lady ride; And she had never been so low-hearted 85 As for to bid him bide.

But deep into the wan water There stands a great big stone; He turned his wight horse head about, Said, "Lady fair, will ye loup on?" 90

She's taken the wand was in her hand, And struck it on the foam, And before he got the middle stream, The lady was on dry land. "By help of God and our Lady, 95 My help lyes not in your hand.

"I learned it from my mother dear,-- Few is there that has learned better-- When I came to a deep water, I can swim thro' like ony otter. 100

"I learned it from my mother dear,-- I find I learned it for my weel; When I came to a deep water, I can swim thro' like ony eel."

"Turn back, turn back, you lady fair, 105 You know not what I see; There is a lady in that castle, That will burn you and me." "Betide me weal, betide me wae, That lady will I see." 110

She took a ring from her finger, And gave't the porter for his fee: Says, "Tak you that, my good porter, And bid the Queen speak to me."

And when she came before the Queen, 115 There she fell low down on her knee: Says, "There is a knight into your court, This day has robbed me."

"O has he robbed you of your gold, Or has he robbed you of your fee?" 120 "He has not robbed me of my gold, He has not robbed me of my fee; He has robbed me of my maidenhead, The fairest flower of my bodie."

"There is no knight in all my court, 125 That thus has robbed thee, But you'll have the truth of his right hand, Or else for your sake he'll die, Tho' it were Earl Richard, my own brother; And oh forbid that it be!" 130 Then, sighing, said the lady fair, "I wot the samen man is he."

The Queen called on her merry men, Even fifty men and three; Earl Richard used to be the first man, 135 But now the hindmost was he.

He's taken out one hundred pounds, And told it in his glove: Says, "Tak you that, my lady fair, And seek another love." 140

"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, 145 When I did drink your wine; That for a carle's fair daughter, It does gar me dree all this pine."

"May be I am a carle's daughter, And may be never nane; 150 When ye met me in the green wood, Why did you not let me alane?"

"Will you wear the short clothes, Or will you wear the side; Or will you walk to your wedding, 155 Or will you till it ride?"

"I will not wear the short clothes, But I will wear the side; I will not walk to my wedding, But I to it will ride." 160

When he was set upon the horse, The lady him behind, Then cauld and eerie were the words The twa had them between.

She said, "Good e'en, ye nettles tall, 165 Just there where ye grow at the dike; If the auld carline my mother was here, Sae weel's she would your pates pike.

"How she would stap you in her poke, I wot at that she wadna fail; 170 And boil ye in her auld brass pan, And of ye mak right gude kail.

"And she would meal you with millering That she gathers at the mill, And mak you thick as any daigh; 175 And when the pan was brimful,

"Would mess you up in scuttle dishes, Syne bid us sup till we were fou; Lay down her head upon a poke, Then sleep and snore like any sow." 180

"Away! away! you bad woman, For all your vile words grieveth me; When ye heed so little for yourself, I'm sure ye'll heed far less for me.

"I wish I had drunk your water, sister, 185 When that I did drink of your wine; Since for a carle's fair daughter, It aye gars me dree all this pine."

"May be I am a carle's daughter, And may be never nane; 190 When ye met me in the good green wood, Why did you not let me alane?

"Gude e'en, gude e'en, ye heather berries, As ye're growing on yon hill; If the auld carle and his bags were here, 195 I wot he would get meat his fill.

"Late, late at night I knit our pokes, With even four-and-twenty knots; And in the morn at breakfast time, I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks. 200

"Late, late at night I knit our pokes, With even four-and-twenty strings; And if you look to my white fingers, They have as many gay gold rings."

"Away! away! ye ill woman, 205 And sore your vile words grieveth me; When you heed so little for yourself, I'm sure ye'll heed far less for me.

"But if you are a carle's daughter, As I take you to be, 210 How did you get the gay clothing, In green wood ye had on thee?"

"My mother she's a poor woman, She nursed earl's children three; And I got them from a foster sister, 215 For to beguile such sparks as thee."

"But if you be a carle's daughter, As I believe you be, How did ye learn the good Latin, In green wood ye spoke to me?" 220

"My mother she's a mean woman, She 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, 225 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; 230 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 Richard, 235 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: 240

Said,--"Saw ye ever a fitter match, Betwixt the ane and ither; The King o' Scotland's fair dochter, And the Queen of England's brither?"

"And is she the King o' Scotland's fair dochter? 245 This day, oh, weel is me! For seven times has my steed been saddled, To come to court with thee; And with this witty lady fair, How happy must I be!" 250

75 et seq. This passage has something in common with _Child Waters_ and _Burd Ellen_.

THE GAY GOSS-HAWK.

From _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 151.

"This Ballad is published, partly from one under this title, in Mrs. Brown's collection, and partly from a MS. of some antiquity, _penes_ Edit. The stanzas appearing to possess most merit have been selected from each copy."--SCOTT.

Annexed is another version from Motherwell's collection. A third, longer than either, is furnished by Buchan, _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 245, _The Scottish Squire_.

"O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk, Gin your feathering be sheen!" "And waly, waly, my master dear, Gin ye look pale and lean!

"O have ye tint, at tournament, 5 Your sword, or yet your spear? Or mourn ye for the southern lass, Whom ye may not win near?"

"I have not tint, at tournament, My sword nor yet my spear; 10 But sair I mourn for my true love, Wi' mony a bitter tear.

"But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk, Ye can baith speak and flee; Ye sall carry a letter to my love, 15 Bring an answer back to me."

"But how sall 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." 20

"O weel sall ye my true love ken, Sae sune as ye her see; For, of a' the flowers of fair England, The fairest flower is she.

"The red, that's on my true love's cheek, 25 Is like blood-drops on the snaw; The white, that is on her breast bare, Like the down o' the white sea-maw

"And even at my love's bouer-door There grows a flowering birk; 30 And ye maun sit and sing thereon As she gangs to the kirk.

"And four-and-twenty fair ladyes Will to the mass repair; But weel may ye my ladye ken, 35 The fairest ladye there."

Lord William has written a love-letter, Put it under his pinion gray; And he is awa to southern land As fast as wings can gae. 40

And even at the ladye's bour There grew a flowering birk; And he sat down and sung thereon As she gaed to the kirk.

And weel he kent that ladye fair 45 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; 50 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 55 Was--"Your love can no win here."--

"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', The wine flows you amang, While I gang to my shot-window, And hear yon bonny bird's sang. 60

"Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird, The sang ye sung yestreen; For weel I ken, by your sweet singing, Ye are frae my true love sen."

O first he sang a merry sang, 65 And syne he sang a grave; And syne he pick'd his feathers gray, To her the letter gave.

"Have there a letter from Lord William; He says he's sent ye three; 70 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 Mary's kirk, 75 Lang, lang ere it be stale."

The lady's gane to her chamber, And a moanfu' woman was she; As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash, And were about to die. 80

"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, 85 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; 90 And the next kirk that ye come to, Ye's gar the bells be rung.

"And when you come to St. Mary's kirk, Ye's tarry there till night." And so her father pledg'd his word, 95 And so his promise plight.

She has ta'en her to her bigly bour As fast as she could fare; And she has drank a sleepy draught, That she had mix'd wi' care. 100

And pale, pale, grew her rosy cheek, That was sae bright of blee, And she seem'd to be as surely dead As any one could be.

Then spake her cruel step-minnie, 105 "Tak ye the burning lead, And drap a drap on her bosome, To try if she be dead."

They took a drap o' boiling lead, They drapp'd it on her breast; 110 "Alas! alas!" her father cried, "She's dead without the priest."

She neither chatter'd with her teeth, Nor shiver'd with her chin; "Alas! alas!" her father cried, 115 "There is nae breath within."

Then up arose her seven brethren, And hew'd to her a bier; They hew'd it frae the solid aik, Laid it o'er wi' silver clear. 120

Then up and gat her seven sisters, And sewed to her a kell; And every steek that they put in Sewed to a siller bell.

The first Scots kirk that they cam to, 125 They garr'd the bells be rung; The next Scots kirk that they cam to, They garr'd the mass be sung.

But when they cam to St. Mary's kirk, There stude spearmen all on a raw; 130 And up and started Lord William, The chieftane amang them a.'

"Set down, set down the bier," he said, "Let me look her upon:" But as soon as Lord William touch'd her hand, Her colour began to come. 136

She brightened like the lily flower, Till her pale colour was gone; With rosy cheek, and ruby lip, She smiled her love upon. 140

"A morsel of your bread, my lord, And one glass of your wine; For I hae fasted these three lang days, All for your sake and mine.--

"Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers, Gae hame and blaw your horn! 146 I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith, But I've gi'en you the scorn.

"Commend me to my grey father, That wished my saul gude rest; 150 But wae be to my cruel step-dame, Garr'd burn me on the breast."--

"Ah! woe to you, you light woman! An ill death may ye die! For we left father and sisters at hame 155 Breaking their hearts for thee."

v. 26. This simile resembles a passage in a MS. translation of an Irish Fairy tale, called _The Adventures of Faravla, Princess of Scotland, and Carral O'Daly, Son of Donogho More O'Daly, Chief Bard of Ireland_. "Faravla, as she entered her bower, cast her looks upon the earth, which was tinged with the blood of a bird which a raven had newly killed: 'Like that snow,' said Faravla, 'was the complexion of my beloved, his cheeks like the sanguine traces thereon; whilst the raven recalls to my memory the colour of his beautiful locks.'" There is also some resemblance in the conduct of the story, betwixt the ballad and the tale just quoted. The Princess Faravla, being desperately in love with Carral O'Daly, despatches in search of him a faithful confidante, who, by her magical art, transforms herself into a hawk, and, perching upon the windows of the bard, conveys to him information of the distress of the Princess of Scotland. SCOTT.

THE JOLLY GOSHAWK.

Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 353.

"O well is me, my jolly goshawk, That ye can speak and flee; For ye can carry a love-letter To my true love from me."

"O how can I carry a letter to her, 5 When her I do not know? I bear the lips to her never spak, And the eyes that her never saw."

"The thing of my love's face that's white Is that of dove or maw; 10 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, 15 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." 20

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, 25 He flew unto the whin; And there he sat and sung their loves, As she went out and in.

"Come hitherward, my maidens all, And sip red wine anon, 30 Till I go to my west window, And hear a birdie's moan."

She's gane unto her west window, And fainly aye it drew; And soon into her white silk lap 35 The bird the letter threw.

"Ye're bidden send your love a send, For he has sent you twa; And tell him where he can see you, Or he cannot live ava." 40

"I send him the rings from my white fingers, The garlands off my hair; I send him the heart that's in my breast: What would my love have mair? And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland, 45 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,-- 50 That, if I die in fair England, In Scotland gar bury me.

"At the first kirk of fair Scotland, You cause the bells be rung; At the second kirk of fair Scotland, 55 You cause the mass be sung;

"At the third kirk of fair Scotland, You deal gold for my sake; And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, Oh there you'll bury me at! 60

"And now, my tender father dear, This asking grant you me:" "Your asking is but small," he said, "Weel granted it shall be."

[_The lady asks the same boon and receives a similar answer, first from her mother, then from her sister, and lastly from her seven brothers._]

Then down as dead that lady drapp'd, 65 Beside her mother's knee; Then out it spak an auld witch wife, By the fire-side sat she:

Says,--"Drap the het lead on her cheek, And drap it on her chin, 70 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 cheek, 75 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; 80 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, 85 And the steeking silken wark.

"But well is me, my jolly goshawk, That ye can speak and flee; Come shew to me any love tokens That you have brought to me." 90

"She sends you the rings from her fingers, The garlands from her hair; She sends you the heart within her breast: And what would you have mair? And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland, 95 She bids you meet her there."

"Come hither, all my merry young men, And drink the good red wine; For we must on to fair England, To free my love from pine." 100

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, 105 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 said, "Till I look on the dead; 110 The last time that I saw her face, She ruddy was and red; But now, alas, and woe is me! She's wallowed like a weed."

He rent the sheet upon her face, 115 A little aboon her chin; With lily 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; 120 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, 125 Gae hame and blaw the horn; For you can say in the South of England, Your sister gave you a scorn.

"I came not here to fair Scotland, To lye amang the meal; 130 But I came here to fair Scotland, To wear the silks so weel.

"I came not here to fair Scotland, To lye amang the dead; But I came here to fair Scotland, 135 To wear the gold so red."

APPENDIX.

YOUNG HUNTING. See p. 3.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 118.

Lady Maisry forth from her bower came, And stood on her tower head; She thought she heard a bridle ring, The sound did her heart guid.

She thought it was her first true love, 5 Whom she loved ance in time; But it was her new love, Hunting, Come frae the hunting o' the hyn'.

"Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry, God make you safe and free! 10 I'm come to take my last farewell, And pay my last visit to thee."

"O stay, O stay then, young Hunting, O stay with me this night; Ye shall ha'e cheer, an' charcoal clear, 15 And candles burning bright."

"Have no more cheer, you lady fair, An hour langer for me; I have a lady in Garmouth town I love better than thee." 20

"O if your love be changed, my love, Since better canno' be, Nevertheless, for auld lang syne, Ye'll stay this night wi' me.

"Silver, silver shall be your wage, 25 And gowd shall be your fee; And nine times nine into the year, Your weed shall changed be.

"Will ye gae to the cards or dice, Or to a tavern fine? 30 Or will ye gae to a table forebye, And birl baith beer and wine?"

"I winna gang to the cards nor dice, Nor to a tavern fine; But I will gang to a table forebye, 35 And birl baith beer and wine."

Then she has drawn for young Hunting The beer but and the wine, Till she got him as deadly drunk As ony unhallowed swine. 40

Then she's ta'en out a trusty brand, That hang below her gare; Then she's wounded him, young Hunting, A deep wound and a sair.

Then out it speaks her comrade, 45 Being in the companie: "Alas! this deed that ye ha'e done, Will ruin baith you and me."

"Heal well, heal well, you Lady Katharine, Heal well this deed on me; 50 The robes that were shapen for my bodie, They shall be sewed for thee."

"Tho' I wou'd heal it never sae well, And never sae well," said she, "There is a God above us baith, 55 That can baith hear and see."

They booted him and spurred him, As he'd been gaun to ride; A hunting-horn about his neck, A sharp sword by his side. 60

And they rode on, and farther on, All the lang summer's tide, Until they came to wan water, Where a' man ca's it Clyde.

The deepest pot in Clyde's water,[L65] 65 There they flang him in,[L66] And put a turf on his breast bane, To had young Hunting down.

O out it speaks a little wee bird, As she sat on the brier: 70 "Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry, And pay your maiden's hire."

"O I will pay my maiden's hire, And hire I'll gi'e to thee; If ye'll conceal this fatal deed, 75 Ye's ha'e gowd for your fee."

Then out it speaks a bonny bird, That flew aboon their head; "Keep well, keep well your green claithing Frae ae drap o' his bluid." 80

"O I'll keep well my green claithing Frae ae drap o' his bluid, Better than I'll do your flattering tongue, That flutters in your head.

"Come down, come down, my bonny bird, 85 Light down upon my hand; For ae gowd feather that's in your wing, I wou'd gi'e a' my land."

"How shall I come down, how can I come down, How shall I come down to thee? 90 The things ye said to young Hunting, The same ye're saying to me."

But it fell out on that same day, The king was going to ride, And he call'd for him, young Hunting, 95 For to ride by his side.

Then out it speaks the little young son, Sat on the nurse's knee, "It fears me sair," said that young babe, "He's in bower wi' yon ladie." 100

Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Katharine, And she sware by the thorn, That she saw not him, young Hunting, Sin' yesterday at morn.

Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Maisry, 105 And she sware by the moon, That she saw not him, young Hunting, Sin' yesterday at noon.

"He was playing him at the Clyde's water, Perhaps he has fa'en in:" 110 The king he call'd his divers all, To dive for his young son.

They div'd in thro' the wan burn-bank, Sae did they out thro' the other: "We'll dive nae mair," said these young men, 115 "Suppose he were our brother."

Then out it spake a little bird, That flew aboon their head: "Dive on, dive on, ye divers all, For there he lies indeed. 120

"But ye'll leave aff your day diving, And ye'll dive in the night; The pot where young Hunting lies in, The candles they'll burn bright.

"There are twa ladies in yon bower, 125 And even in yon ha', And they ha'e kill'd him, young Hunting, And casten him awa'.

"They booted him and spurred him, As he'd been gaun to ride; 130 A hunting horn tied round his neck, A sharp sword by his side.

"The deepest pot o' Clyde's water, There they flang him in, Laid a turf on his breast bane, 135 To had young Hunting down."

Now they left aff their day diving, And they dived on the night; The pot that young Hunting lay in, The candles were burning bright. 140

The king he call'd his hewers all, To hew down wood and thorn, For to put up a strong bale-fire, These ladies for to burn.

And they ha'e ta'en her, Lady Katharine, 145 And they ha'e pitten her in; But it wadna light upon her cheek, Nor wou'd it on her chin, But sang the points o' her yellow hair, For healing the deadly sin. 150

Then they ha'e ta'en her, Lady Maisry, And they ha'e put her in: First it lighted on her cheek, And syne upon her chin, And sang the points o' her yellow hair, 155 And she burnt like keckle-pin.

65, And the.

66, And there. See 133, 134.

YOUNG WATERS.--See p. 88.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. p. 15.

It fell about the gude Yule time, When caps and stoups gaed roun', Down it came him young Waters, To welcome James, our king.

The great, the great, rade a' together, 5 The sma' came a' behin'; But wi' young Waters, that brave knight, There came a gay gatherin'.

The horse young Waters rade upon, It cost him hunders nine; 10 For he was siller shod before, And gowd graith had behin'.

At ilka tippit o' his horse mane There hang a siller bell; The wind was loud, the steed was proud, 15 And they gae a sindry knell.

The king he lay ower's castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down; And he beheld him, young Waters, Come riding to the town. 20

He turn'd him right and round about, And to the queen said he,-- "Who is the bravest man, my dame, That ever your een did see?"

"I've seen lairds, and I've seen lords, 25 And knights o' high degree; But a braver man than young Waters My e'en did never see."

He turn'd him right and roun' about, And ane angry man was he; 30 "O wae to you, my dame, the queen; Ye might ha'e excepted me!"

"Ye are nae laird, ye are nae lord, Ye are the king that wears the crown; There's nae a lord in fair Scotland, 35 But unto you maun a' bow down."

"O lady, for your love choicing, Ye shall win to your will; The morn, or I eat or drink, Young Waters I'll gar kill." 40

And nevertheless, the king cou'd say, "Ye might ha'e excepted me; Yea for yea," the king cou'd say, "Young Waters he shall die.

"Likewise for your ill-wyled words 45 Ye sall ha'e cause to mourn; Gin ye hadna been sae big wi' child, Ye on a hill su'd burn."

Young Waters came before the King, Fell low down on his knee; 50 "Win up, win up, young Waters, What's this I hear o' thee?"

"What ails the king at me," he said, "What ails the king at me?" "It is tauld me the day, sir knight, 55 Ye've done me treasonie."

"Liars will lie on sell gude men, Sae will they do on me; I wudna wish to be the man That liars on wudna lie." 60

Nevertheless, the king cou'd say, "In prison strang gang ye; O yea for yea," the king cou'd say, "Young Waters, ye shall die."

Syne they ha'e ta'en him, young Waters, 65 Laid him in prison strang, And left him there wi' fetters boun', Making a heavy mane.

"Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town Thro' heavy wind and weet; 70 But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town Wi' fetters on my feet.

"Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town, Thro' heavy wind and rain; But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town 75 But thought to ridden't again."

They brought him to the heading-hill, His horse, bot and his saddle; And they brought to the heading-hill His young son in his cradle. 80

And they brought to the heading-hill, His hounds intill a leish; And they brought till the heading-hill, His gos-hawk in a jess.

King James he then rade up the hill, 85 And mony a man him wi', And called on his trusty page, To come right speedilie.

"Ye'll do' ye to the Earl o' Mar, For he sits on yon hill; 90 Bid him loose the brand frae his bodie, Young Waters for to kill."

"O gude forbid," the Earl he said, "The like su'd e'er fa' me, My bodie e'er su'd wear the brand 95 That gars young Waters die."

Then he has loos'd his trusty brand, And casten't in the sea; Says, "Never lat them get a brand, Till it come back to me." 100

The scaffold it prepared was, And he did mount it hie; And a' spectators that were there, The saut tears blint their e'e.

"O had your tongues, my brethren dear, 105 And mourn nae mair for me; Ye're seeking grace frae a graceless face, For there is nane to gie.

"Ye'll tak' a bit o' canvas claith, And pit it ower my ee; 110 And Jack, my man, ye'll be at hand, The hour that I su'd die.

"Syne aff ye'll tak' my bluidy sark, Gie it fair Margaret Grahame; For she may curse the dowie dell 115 That brought King James him hame.

"Ye'll bid her mak' her bed narrow, And mak' it naeways wide; For a brawer man than young Waters Will ne'er streek by her side. 120

"Bid her do weel to my young son, And gie him nurses three; For gin he live to be a man, King James will gar him die."

He call'd upon the headsman then, 125 A purse o' gowd him gae; Says, "Do your office, headsman, boy, And mak' nae mair delay."

"O head me soon, O head me clean, And pit me out o' pine; 130 For it is by the king's command; Gang head me till his min'.

"Tho' by him I'm condemn'd to die, I'm lieve to his ain kin; And for the truth, I'll plainly tell, 135 I am his sister's son."

"Gin ye're my sister's son," he said, "It is unkent to me." "O mindna ye on your sister Bess, That lives in the French countrie?" 140

"Gin Bess then be your mither dear, As I trust well she be, Gae hame, gae hame, young Waters, Ye'se ne'er be slain by me."

But he lay by his napkin fine, 145 Was saft as ony silk, And on the block he laid his neck, Was whiter than the milk.

Says, "Strike the blow, ye headsman, boy, And that right speedilie; 150 It's never be said here gaes a knight, Was ance condemn'd to die."

The head was ta'en frae young Waters, And mony tears for him shed; But mair did mourn for fair Margaret, 155 As raving she lyes mad.

LAMMIKIN. See p. 94.

Finlay's _Scottish Ballads_, ii. 47.

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 gie me my guerdon, lord, 5 Sen ye winna gie me my hire, This gude castle, sae stately built, I sall gar rock wi' fire.

"Sen ye winna gie me my wages, lord, Ye sall hae cause to rue:" 10 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 vow'd, 15 The castle should sweep the ground.

"O 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. 20

"Yae night, yae night, I dreamt this bower O red, red blude was fu'; Gin ye gang to this black hunting, I sall hae cause to rue."

"Wha looks to dreams, my winsome dame? 25 Nae cause hae ye to fear:" And syne he kindly kissed her cheek, And syne the starting tear.

Now to the gude green-wood he's gane, She to her painted bower; 30 But first she closed the windows and doors Of the castle, ha', and tower.

They steeked doors, they steeked yetts, Close to the cheek and chin; They steeked them a' but a wee wicket, 35 And Lammikin crap in.

"Where are the lads o' this castle?" Says the Lammikin; "They are a' wi Lord Weire, hunting," The false nourice did sing. 40

"Where are the lasses o' this castle?" Says the Lammikin; "They are a' out at the washing," The false nourice did sing.

"But where's the lady o' this castle?" 45 Says the Lammikin; "She is in her bower sewing," The false nourice did sing.

"Is this the bairn o' this house?" Says the Lammikin; 50 "The only bairn Lord Weire aughts," The false nourice did sing.

Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, While loud false nourice sings; Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, 55 Till high the red blude springs.

"Still my bairn, nourice, O still him if ye can:" "He will not still, madam, For a' his father's lan'." 60

"O gentle nourice, still my bairn, O still him wi' the keys:" "He will not still, fair lady, Let me do what I please."

"O still my bairn, kind nourice, 65 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:" 70 "He 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, 75 Till ye cum down yoursell."

The first step she stepped, She stepped on a stane, The next step she stepped, She met the Lammikin. 80

And when she saw the red, red blude, A loud skriech skrieched she: "O monster, monster, spare my child, Who never skaithed thee!

"O spare, if in your bluidy breast 85 Abides not heart of stane! O spare, an' ye sall hae o' gold That ye can carry hame!"

"I carena for your gold," he said, "I carena for your fee: 90 I hae been wranged by your lord, Black vengeance ye sall drie.

"Here are nae serfs to guard your haa's, Nae trusty spearmen here; In yon green wood they sound the horn, 95 And chace the doe and deer.

"Tho merry sounds the gude green wood Wi' huntsmen, hounds, and horn, Your lord sall rue ere sets yon sun He has done me skaith and scorn." 100

"O nourice, wanted ye your meat, Or wanted ye your fee, Or wanted ye for any thing, A fair lady could gie?"

"I wanted for nae meat, ladie, 105 I wanted for nae fee; But I wanted for a hantle A fair lady could gie."

Then Lammikin drew his red, red sword, And sharped it on a stane, 110 And through and through this fair ladie, The cauld, cauld steel is gane.

Nor lang was't after this foul deed, Till Lord Weire cumin' hame, Thocht he saw his sweet bairn's bluid 115 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." 120

But mair he look'd, and dule saw he, On the door at the trance, Spots o' his dear ladys bluid Shining like a lance.

"There's bluid in my nursery, 125 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, 130 But little cared false nourice for that, For it was her gallows tree.

Then out he set, and his braw men Rode a' the country roun'; Ere lang they faud the Lammikin 135 Had sheltered 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. 140

LONG LONKIN. See p. 94.

From Richardson's _Borderer's Table-Book_, viii. 410.

The lord said to his ladie, As he mounted his horse, "Beware of Long Lonkin That lies in the moss."

The lord said to his ladie, 5 As he rode away, "Beware of Long Lonkin That lies in the clay."

"What care I for Lonkin, Or any of his gang? 10 My doors are all shut And my windows penned in."

There are six little windows, And they were all shut, But one little window, 15 And that was forgot.

* * * * * * * * * * * * And at that little window Long Lonkin crept in.

"Where's the lord of the hall?" Says the Lonkin; 20 "He's gone up to London," Says Orange to him.

"Where's the men of the hall?" Says the Lonkin; "They're at the field ploughing," 25 Says Orange to him.

"Where's the maids of the hall?" Says the Lonkin; "They're at the well washing," Says Orange to him. 30

"Where's the ladies of the hall?" Says the Lonkin; "They're up in their chambers," Says Orange to him.

"How shall we get them down?" 35 Says the Lonkin; "Prick the babe in the cradle," Says Orange to him.

"Rock well my cradle, And bee-ba my son; 40 Ye shall have a new gown When the lord he comes home."

Still she did prick it, And bee-ba she cried; "Come down, dearest mistress, 45 And still your own child."

"O still my child, Orange, Still him with a bell;" "I can't still him, ladie, Till you come down yoursell." 50

* * * * * *

"Hold the gold basin, For your heart's blood to run in,"

* * * * * * * * * * * * "To hold the gold basin, It grieves me full sore; Oh kill me, dear Lonkin, 55 And let my mother go."

* * * * * *

THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN. See p. 107.

"John Kincaid, Laird of Waristoun, (an estate situated between the city of Edinburgh and the sea, towards Leith,) was murdered, on the 2d of July, 1600, by a man named Robert Weir, who was employed to do so by his wife, Jean Livingstone, daughter of the Laird of Dunipace. The unfortunate woman, who thus became implicated 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 particular, for a bite which he had inflicted on her arm. There was something extraordinary in the deliberation with which this wretched woman approached the awful gulf of crime. Having resolved on the means to be employed in the murder, 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 admitted. 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 introduced to her presence. Before this time she had found an accomplice in the nurse of her child. It was then arranged, that Weir should be concealed 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 tragedy was acted precisely in accordance with this plan. Weir was brought up, at midnight, from the cellar to the hall by the lady herself, and afterwards went forward alone to the laird's bedroom. As he proceeded to his bloody work, she retired to her bed, to wait the intelligence of her husband's murder. When Weir entered the chamber, Waristoun awoke with the noise, and leant inquiringly over the side of the bed. The murderer then leapt upon him; the unhappy man uttered a great cry; Weir gave him several dreadful blows on vital parts, particularly one on the flank vein. But as the laird was still able to cry out, he at length saw fit to take more effective 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 repentance, and descended to the hall: but she made no effort to countermand her mission of destruction. She waited patiently till Weir came down to inform her that all was over.

"Weir made an immediate escape from justice; but Lady Waristoun and the nurse were apprehended 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 magistrates of Edinburgh, and sentenced to be strangled and burnt at a stake. The lady's father, the Laird of Dunipace, was a favourite of King James VI., and he made all the interest he could with his majesty to procure a pardon; but all that could be obtained from the king, was an order that the unhappy lady should be executed by decapitation, and that at such an early hour in the morning as to make the affair as little of a spectacle as possible.

"The space intervening between her sentence and her execution was only thirty-seven hours; yet, in that little time, Lady Waristoun contrived to become converted from a blood-stained and unrelenting murderess into a perfect saint on earth. One of the then ministers of Edinburgh has left an account of her conversion, which was lately published, and would be extremely amusing, were it not for the disgust which seizes the mind on beholding such an instance of perverted religion. She went to the scaffold with a demeanour which would have graced a martyr. Her lips were incessant in the utterance of pious exclamations. 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 salutary horror for her crime, were engrossed in admiration of her saintly behaviour, and greedily gathered up every devout word which fell from her tongue. It would almost appear from the narrative 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 Holyroodhouse; 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'S _Scottish Ballads_, p. 129.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 56.

My mother was an ill woman, In fifteen years she married me; I hadna wit to guide a man, Alas! ill counsel guided me.

O Warriston, O Warriston, 5 I wish that ye may sink for sin; I was but bare fifteen years auld, Whan first I enter'd your yates within.

I hadna been a month married, Till my gude lord went to the sea; 10 I bare a bairn ere he came hame, And set it on the nourice knee.

But it fell ance upon a day, That my gude lord return'd from sea; Then I did dress in the best array, 15 As blythe as ony bird on tree.

I took my young son in my arms, Likewise my nourice me forebye, And I went down to yon shore side, My gude lord's vessel I might spy. 20

My lord he stood upon the deck, I wyte he hail'd me courteouslie; "Ye are thrice welcome, my lady gay, Whase aught that bairn on your knee?"

She turn'd her right and round about, 25 Says, "Why take ye sic dreads o' me? Alas! I was too young married, To love another man but thee."

"Now hold your tongue, my lady gay, Nae mair falsehoods ye'll tell to me; 30 This bonny bairn is not mine, You've loved another while I was on sea."

In discontent then hame she went, And aye the tear did blin' her e'e; Says, "Of this wretch I'll be revenged, 35 For these harsh words he's said to me."

She's counsell'd wi' her father's steward, What way she cou'd revenged be; Bad was the counsel then he gave,-- It was to gar her gude lord dee. 40

The nourice took the deed in hand, I wat she was well paid her fee; She kiest the knot, and the loop she ran, Which soon did gar this young lord dee.

His brother lay in a room hard by, 45 Alas! that night he slept too soun'; But then he waken'd wi a cry, "I fear my brother's putten down.

"O get me coal and candle light, And get me some gude companie;" 50 But before the light was brought, Warriston he was gart dee.

They've ta'en the lady and fause nourice, In prison strong they ha'e them boun'; The nourice she was hard o' heart, 55 But the bonny lady fell in swoon.

In it came her brother dear, And aye a sorry man was he; "I wou'd gie a' the lands I heir, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee." 60

"O borrow me brother, borrow me,-- O borrow'd shall I never be; For I gart kill my ain gude lord, And life is nae pleasure to me."

In it came her mother dear, 65 I wyte a sorry woman was she; "I wou'd gie my white monie and gowd, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee."

"Borrow me mother, borrow me,-- O borrow'd shall I never be; 70 For I gart kill my ain gude lord, And life's now nae pleasure to me."

Then in it came her father dear, I wyte a sorry man was he; Says, "Ohon, alas! my bonny Jean, 75 If I had you at hame wi' me.

"Seven daughters I ha'e left at hame, As fair women as fair can be; But I wou'd gi'e them ane by ane, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee." 80

"O borrow me father, borrow me,-- O borrow'd shall I never be; I that is worthy o' the death, It is but right that I shou'd dee."

Then out it speaks the king himsell, 85 And aye as he steps in the fleer; Says, "I grant you your life, lady, Because you are of tender year."

"A boon, a boon, my liege the king, The boon I ask, ye'll grant to me:" 90 "Ask on, ask on, my bonny Jean, Whate'er ye ask it's granted be."

"Cause take me out at night, at night, Lat not the sun upon me shine; And take me to yon heading hill, 95 Strike aff this dowie head o' mine.

"Ye'll take me out at night, at night, When there are nane to gaze and see; And ha'e me to yon heading hill, And ye'll gar head me speedilie." 100

They've ta'en her out at nine at night, Loot not the sun upon her shine; And had her to yon heading hill, And headed her baith neat and fine.

Then out it speaks the king himsell, 105 I wyte a sorry man was he; "I've travell'd east, I've travell'd west, And sailed far beyond the sea, But I never saw a woman's face I was sae sorry to see dee. 110

"But Warriston was sair to blame, For slighting o' his lady so; He had the wyte o' his ain death, And bonny lady's overthrow."

MARY HAMILTON. See p. 113.

A "North Country" version from Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 252. The Editor furnishes the two following stanzas of another copy:--

My father is the Duke of Argyle, My mother's a lady gay, And I mysel am a daintie dame, And the king desired me.

He shaw'd me up, he shaw'd me doun, He shaw'd me to the ha', He shaw'd me to the low cellars, And that was warst of a'.

In one of Motherwell's copies, and in Buchan's, the heroine calls herself daughter of the Duke of York.

"Whan I was a babe, and a very little babe, And stood at my mither's knee, Nae witch nor warlock did unfauld The death I was to dree.

"But my mither was a proud woman, 5 A proud woman and a bauld; And she hired me to Queen Mary's bouer When scarce eleven years auld.

"O happy, happy, is the maid, That's born of beauty free! 10 It was my dimpling rosy cheeks That's been the dule o' me; And wae be to that weirdless wicht, And a' his witcherie."

Word's gane up and word's gane doun, 15 And word's gane to the ha', That Mary Hamilton was wi' bairn, And na body ken'd to wha.

But in and cam the Queen hersel, Wi' gowd plait on her hair;-- 20 Says, "Mary Hamilton, whare is the babe That I heard greet sae sair?"

"There is na babe within my bouer, And I hope there ne'er will be; But it's me wi' a sair and sick colic, 25 And I'm just like to dee."

But they looked up, they looked down, Atween the bowsters and the wa', It's there they got a bonnie lad-bairn, But it's life it was awa'. 30

"Rise up, rise up, Mary Hamilton, Rise up, and dress ye fine, For you maun gang to Edinbruch, And stand afore the nine.[L34]

"Ye'll no put on the dowie black, 35 Nor yet the dowie brown; But ye'll put on the robes o' red, To sheen thro' Edinbruch town."

"I'll no put on the dowie black, Nor yet the dowie brown; 40 But I'll put on the robes o' red, To sheen thro' Edinbruch town."

As they gaed thro' Edinbruch town, And down by the Nether-bow, There war monie a lady fair 45 Siching and crying, "Och how!"

"O weep na mair for me, ladies, Weep na mair for me; Yestreen I killed my ain bairn, The day I deserve to dee. 50

"What need ye hech! and how! ladies, What need ye how! for me; Ye never saw grace at a graceless face,-- Queen Mary has nane to gie."

"Gae forward, gae forward," the Queen she said, "Gae forward, that ye may see; 55 For the very same words that ye hae said, Sall hang ye on the gallows tree."

As she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs, She gied loud lauchters three; 60 But or ever she cam down again, She was condemn'd to dee.

"O tak example frae me, Maries, O tak example frae me, Nor gie your luve to courtly lords, 65 Nor heed their witchin' ee.

"But wae be to the Queen hersel, She micht hae pardon'd me; But sair she's striven for me to hang Upon the gallows tree. 70

"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, The nicht she'll hae but three; There was Mary Beatoun, Mary Seaton, And Mary Carmichael, and me.

"Aft hae I set pearls in her hair, 75 Aft hae I lac'd her gown, And this is the reward I now get, To be hang'd in Edinbruch town!

"O a' ye mariners, far and near, That sail ayont the faem, 80 O dinna let my father and mither ken, But what I am coming hame.

"O a' ye mariners, far and near, That sail ayont the sea, Let na my father and mither ken, 85 The death I am to dee.

"Sae, weep na mair for me, ladies, Weep na mair for me, The mither that kills her ain bairn, Deserves weel for to dee." 90

* * * * * * * *

34. Anciently the supreme criminal court of Scotland was composed of nine members, viz. the Justiciar, or Justice General, and his eight Deputes. KINLOCH.

MARY HAMILTON. See p 113.

Maidment's _North Countrie Garland_, p. 19.

Then down cam Queen Marie Wi' gold links in her hair, Saying, "Marie mild, where is the child, That I heard greet sair sair?"

"There was nae child wi' me, madam, 5 There was nae child wi' me; It was but me in a sair cholic, When I was like to die."

"I'm not deceived," Queen Marie said, "No, no, indeed, not I! 10 So Marie mild, where is the child? For sure I heard it cry."

She turned down the blankets fine, Likewise the Holland sheet, And underneath, there strangled lay 15 A lovely baby sweet.

"O cruel mother," said the Queen, "Some fiend possessed thee; But I will hang thee for this deed, My Marie tho' thou be!" 20

* * * * * *

When she cam to the Nether-Bow Port, She laugh't loud laughters three; But when she cam to the gallows foot, The saut tear blinded her ee.

"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, 25 The night she'll hae but three; There was Marie Seton, and Marie Beaton, And Marie Carmichael and me.

"Ye mariners, ye mariners, That sail upon the sea, 30 Let not my father or mother wit The death that I maun die.

"I was my parents' only hope, They ne'er had ane but me; They little thought when I left hame, 35 They should nae mair me see!"

SIR HUGH, OR THE JEW'S DAUGHTER.

See p. 136.

From Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 51; taken down from recitation.

Yesterday was brave Hallowday, And, above all days of the year, The schoolboys all got leave to play, And little Sir Hugh was there.

He kicked the ball with his foot, 5 And kepped it with 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?" 10 "I winna come in and I canna come in Till I get that ball of mine.

"Throw down that ball to me, maiden, Throw down the ball to me." "I winna throw down your ball, Sir Hugh, 15 Till ye come up to me."

She pu'd the apple frae the tree, It was baith red and green, She gave it unto little Sir Hugh, With that his heart did win. 20

She wiled him into ae chamber, She wiled him into twa, She wiled him into the third chamber, And that was warst o't a'.

She took out a little penknife, 25 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 came out the thin, 30 And syne came out the bonnie heart's blood,-- There was nae mair within.

She laid him on a dressing table, She dress'd him like a swine, Says, "Lie ye there, my bonnie Sir Hugh, 35 Wi' ye're apples red and green!"

She put him in a case of lead, Says, "Lie ye there and sleep!" She threw him into the deep draw-well Was fifty fathom deep. 40

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, 45 I pray you speak to me; If you speak to any body in this world, I pray you speak to me."

When bells were rung and mass was sung, And every body went hame, 50 Then every lady had 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, 55 When all were fast asleep.

She cries, "Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir Hugh, I pray you speak to me; If you speak to any body in this world, I pray you speak to me." 60

"Lady Helen, if ye want your son, I'll tell ye 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, 65 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." 70

"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, 75 And bury me in yon churchyard; "Put a Bible at my head," he says, "And a testament at my feet, And pen and ink at every side, And I'll lie still and sleep. 80

"And go to the back of Maitland town, Bring me my winding sheet; For it's at the back of Maitland town That you and I shall meet."

O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, 85 The broom that makes full sore, A woman's mercy is very little, But a man's mercy is more.

SIR HUGH. See p. 136.

From Hume's _Sir Hugh of Lincoln_, p. 35; obtained from recitation, in Ireland.

'Twas on a summer's morning, Some scholars were playing at ball; When out came the Jew's daughter And lean'd her back against the wall.

She said unto the fairest boy, 5 "Come here to me, Sir Hugh." "No! I will not," said he, "Without my playfellows too."

She took an apple out of her pocket, And trundled it along the plain; 10 And who was readiest to lift it, Was little Sir Hugh, again.

She took him by the milk-white han', An' led him through many a hall, Until they came to one stone chamber, 15 Where no man might hear his call.

She sat him in a goolden chair, And jagg'd him with a pin; And called for a goolden cup To houl' his heart's blood in. 20

She tuk him by the yellow hair, An' also by the feet; An' she threw him in the deep draw well, It was fifty fadom deep.

Day bein' over, the night came on, 25 And the scholars all went home; Then every mother had her son, But little Sir Hugh's had none.

She put her mantle about her head, Tuk a little rod in her han', 30 An' she says, "Sir Hugh, if I fin' you here, I will bate you for stayin' so long."

First she went to the Jew's door, But they were fast asleep; An' then she went to the deep draw-well, 35 That was fifty fadom deep.

She says, "Sir Hugh, if you be here, As I suppose you be, If ever the dead or quick arose, Arise and spake to me." 40

Yes, mother dear, I am here, I know I have staid very long; But a little penknife was stuck in my heart, Till the stream ran down full strong.

And mother dear, when you go home, 45 Tell my playfellows all, That I lost my life by leaving them When playing that game of ball.

And ere another day is gone, My winding-sheet prepare, 50 And bury me in the green churchyard Where the flowers are bloomin' fair.

Lay my Bible at my head, My testament at my feet; The earth and worms shall be my bed, 55 Till Christ and I shall meet.

SIR PATRICK SPENS. See p. 147.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 1.

The King sits in Dunfermline town, A-drinking at the wine; Says, "Where will I get a good skipper Will sail the saut seas fine?"

Out it speaks an eldren knight 5 Amang the companie,-- "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; 10 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 15 This letter did convoy.

When Patrick look'd the letter upon A light laugh then ga'e he; But ere he read it till an end, The tear blinded his e'e. 20

"Ye'll eat and drink, my merry men a', An' see ye be weell thorn; For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind, My guid ship sails the morn."

Then out it speaks a guid auld man, 25 A guid death mat he dee,-- "Whatever ye do, my guid master, Tak' God your guide to bee.

"For late yestreen I saw the new moon, The auld moon in her arm." 30 "Ohon, alas!" says Patrick Spens, "That bodes a deadly storm.

"But I maun sail the seas the morn, And likewise sae maun you; To Noroway, wi' our king's daughter,-- 35 A chosen queen she's now.

"But I wonder who has been sae base, As tauld the king o' mee: Even tho' hee ware my ae brither, An ill death mat he dee." 40

Now Patrick he rigg'd out his ship, And sailed ower the faem; But mony a dreary thought had hee, While hee was on the main.

They hadna sail'd upon the sea 45 A day but barely three, Till they came in sight o' Noroway, It's there where they must bee.

They hadna stayed into that place A month but and a day, 50 Till he caus'd the flip in mugs gae roun', And wine in cans sae gay.

The pipe and harp sae sweetly play'd, The trumpets loudly soun'; In every hall where in they stay'd, 55 Wi' their mirth did reboun'.

Then out it speaks an auld skipper, An inbearing dog was hee,-- "Ye've stay'd ower lang in Noroway, Spending your king's monie." 60

Then out it speaks Sir Patrick Spens,-- "O how can a' this bee? I ha'e a bow o' guid red gowd Into my ship wi' mee.

"But betide me well, betide me wae, 65 This day I'se leave the shore; And never spend my king's monie 'Mong Noroway dogs no more."

Young Patrick hee is on the sea, And even on the faem, 70 Wi' five-an-fifty Scots lords' sons, That lang'd to bee at hame.

They hadna sail'd upon the sea A day but barely three, Till loud and boistrous grew the wind, 75 And stormy grew the sea.

"O where will I get a little wee boy Will tak' my helm in hand, Till I gae up to my tapmast, And see for some dry land?" 80

He hadna gane to his tapmast A step but barely three; Ere thro' and thro' the bonny ship's side, He saw the green haw sea.

"There are five-an-fifty feather beds 85 Well packed in ae room; And ye'll get as muckle guid canvas As wrap the ship a' roun';

"Ye'll pict her well, and spare her not, And mak' her hale and soun'." 90 But ere he had the word well spoke The bonny 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 95 They wat their gowden bands.

O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sons To weet their coal-black shoon; But lang ere a' the play was ower They wat their hats aboon. 100

It's even ower by Aberdour It's fifty fathoms deep, And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens, And a's men at his feet.

It's even ower by Aberdour, 105 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, 110 Before they see young Patrick Spens Come sailing ower the fleed.

Lang, lang will the ladyes look Wi' their fans in their hand, Before they see him, Patrick Spens, 115 Come sailing to dry land.

LORD LIVINGSTON.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 39.

It fell about the Lammas time, When wightsmen won their hay; A' the squires in merry Linkum, Went a' forth till a play.

They play'd until the evening tide, 5 The sun was gaeing down; A lady thro' plain fields was bound, A lily leesome thing.

Two squires that for this lady pledged, In hopes for a renown; 10 The one was call'd the proud Seaton, The other Livingston.

"When will ye, Michaell o' Livingston, Wad for this lady gay?" "To-morrow, to-morrow," said Livingston, 15 "To-morrow, if you may."

Then they hae wadded their wagers, And laid their pledges down; To the high castle o' Edinbro' They made them ready boun'. 20

The chamber that they did gang in, There it was daily dight; The kipples were like the gude red gowd, As they stood up in hight; And the roof-tree like the siller white, 25 And shin'd like candles bright.

The lady fair into that ha' Was comely to be seen; Her kirtle was made o' the pa', Her gowns seem'd o' the green. 30

Her gowns seem'd like green, like green, Her kirtle o' the pa'; A siller wand intill her hand, She marshall'd ower them a'.

She gae every knight a lady bright, 35 And every squire a may; Her own sell chose him, Livingston, They were a comely tway.

Then Seaton started till his foot, The fierce flame in his e'e: 40 "On the next day, wi' sword in hand, On plain fields, meet ye me."

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' man bound for bed; Lord Livingston and his fair dame 45 In bed were sweetly laid.

The bed, the bed, where they lay in, Was cover'd wi' the pa'; A covering o' the gude red gowd, Lay nightly ower the twa. 50

So they lay there, till on the morn The sun shone on their feet; Then up it raise him, Livingston, To draw to him a weed.

The first an' weed that he drew on, 55 Was o' the linen clear; The next an' weed that he drew on, It was a weed o' weir.

The niest an' weed that he drew on, Was gude iron and steel; 60 Twa gloves o' plate, a gowden helmet, Became that hind chiel weel.

Then out it speaks that lady gay, A little forbye stood she; "I'll dress mysell in men's array, 65 Gae to the fields for thee."

"O God forbid," said Livingston, "That e'er I dree the shame; My lady slain in plain fields, And I coward knight at hame!" 70

He scarcely travelled frae the town A mile but barely twa, Till he met wi' a witch woman, I pray to send her wae.

"This is too gude a day, my lord, 75 To gang sae far frae town; This is too gude a day, my lord, On field to make you boun'.

"I dream'd a dream concerning thee, O read ill dreams to guid! 80 Your bower was full o' milk-white swans, Your bride's bed full o' bluid."

"O bluid is gude," said Livingston, "To bide it whoso may; If I be frae yon plain fields, 85 Nane knew the plight I lay."

Then he rade on to plain fields, As swift's his horse cou'd hie; And there he met the proud Seaton, Come boldly ower the lee. 90

"Come on to me now, Livingston, Or then take foot and flee; This is the day that we must try Who gains the victorie."

Then they fought with sword in hand, 95 Till they were bluidy men; But on the point o' Seaton's sword Brave Livingston was slain.

His lady lay ower castle wa', Beholding dale and down, 100 When Blenchant brave, his gallant steed, Came prancing to the town.

"O where is now my ain gude lord, He stays sae far frae me?" "O dinna ye see your ain gude lord, 105 Stand bleeding by your knee?"

"O live, O live, Lord Livingston, The space o' ae half hour; There's nae a leech in Edinbro' town But I'll bring to your door." 110

"Awa' wi' your leeches, lady," he said, "Of them I'll be the waur; There's nae a leech in Edinbro' town, That can strong death debar.

"Ye'll take the lands o' Livingston, 115 And deal them liberallie; To the auld that may not, the young that cannot, And blind that does na see; And help young maidens' marriages, That has nae gear to gie." 120

"My mother got it in a book, The first night I was born, I wou'd be wedded till a knight, And him slain on the morn.

"But I will do for my love's sake 125 What ladies woudna thole; Ere seven years shall hae an end, Nae shoe's gang on my sole.

"There's never lint gang on my head, Nor kame gang in my hair, 130 Nor ever coal nor candle light, Shine in my bower mair."

When seven years were near an end, The lady she thought lang; And wi' a crack her heart did brake, 135 And sae this ends my sang.

CLERK TAMAS.

Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 43.

Clerk Tamas lov'd her, fair Annie, As well as Mary lov'd her son; But now he hates her, fair Annie, And hates the lands that she lives in.

"Ohon, alas!" said fair Annie, 5 "Alas! this day I fear I'll die; But I will on to sweet Tamas, And see gin he will pity me."

As Tamas lay ower his shott-window, Just as the sun was gaen down, 10 There he beheld her, fair Annie, As she came walking to the town.

"O where are a' my well-wight men, I wat that I pay meat and fee, For to lat a' my hounds gang loose, 15 To hunt this vile whore to the sea!"

The hounds they knew the lady well, And nane o' them they wou'd her bite; Save ane that is ca'd Gaudy-where, I wat he did the lady smite. 20

"O wae mat worth ye, Gaudy-where, An ill reward this is to me; For ae bit that I gae the lave, I'm very sure I've gi'en you three.

"For me, alas! there's nae remeid, 25 Here comes the day that I maun die; I ken ye lov'd your master well, And sae, alas for me, did I!"

A captain lay ower his ship window, Just as the sun was gaen down; 30 There he beheld her, fair Annie, As she was hunted frae the town.

"Gin ye'll forsake father and mither, And sae will ye your friends and kin, Gin ye'll forsake your lands sae broad, 35 Then come and I will take you in."

"Yes, I'll forsake baith father and mither, And sae will I my friends and kin, Yes, I'll forsake my lands sae broad, And come, gin ye will take me in." 40

Then a' thing gaed frae fause Tamas, And there was naething byde him wi'; Then he thought lang for Arrandella, It was fair Annie for to see.

"How do ye now, ye sweet Tamas? 45 And how gaes a' in your countrie?" "I'll do better to you than ever I've done, Fair Annie, gin ye'll come an' see."

"O Guid forbid," said fair Annie, "That e'er the like fa' in my hand; 50 Wou'd I forsake my ain gude lord, And follow you, a gae-through-land?

"Yet nevertheless now, sweet Tamas, Ye'll drink a cup o' wine wi' me; And nine times in the live lang day, 55 Your fair claithing shall changed be."

Fair Annie pat it till her cheek, Sae did she till her milk-white chin, Sae did she till her flattering lips, But never a drap o' wine gaed in. 60

Tamas pat it till his cheek, Sae did he till his dimpled chin; He pat it till his rosy lips, And then the well o' wine gaed in.

"These pains," said he, "are ill to bide; 65 Here is the day that I maun die; O take this cup frae me, Annie, For o' the same I am weary."

"And sae was I, o' you, Tamas, When I was hunted to the sea; 70 But I'se gar bury you in state, Which is mair than ye'd done to me."

JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK.

From Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, Appendix, p. ix. The same in Buchan's collection, ii. 159.

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, 5 As this young chieftain sat alane, He spied his lady in rich array, As she walk'd ower a rural plain.

"What brought ye here, my lady gay, So far awa from your ain countrie? 10 I've thought lang, and very lang, And all for your fair face to see."

For some days she did with him stay, Till it fell ance upon a day, "Fareweel, for a time," she said, 15 "For now I must boun hame away."

He's gi'en to her a jewel fine, Was set with pearl and precious stane; Says, "My love, beware of these savages bold That's in your way as ye gang hame. 20

"Ye'll tak the road, my lady fair, That leads you fair across the lea: That keeps you from wild Hind Soldan, And likewise from base Violentrie."

Wi' heavy heart thir twa did pairt, 25 She mintet as she wuld gae hame; Hind Soldan by the Greeks was slain, But to base Violentrie she's gane.

When a twelvemonth had expired, John Thomson he thought wondrous lang, 30 And he has written a braid letter, And sealed it weel wi' his ain hand.

He sent it with a small vessel That there was quickly gaun to sea; And sent it on to fair Scotland, 35 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. 40

Then he put on a palmer's weed, And took a pike-staff in his hand; To Violentrie's castell he hied; But slowly, slowly he did gang.

When within the hall he came, 45 He jooked and couch'd out ower his tree: "If ye be lady of this hall, Some of your good bountith gie me."

"What news, what news, palmer," she said, "And from what countrie cam ye?" 50 "I'm lately come from Grecian plains, Where lies some of the Scots armie."

"If ye be come from Grecian plains, Some mair news I will ask of thee,-- Of one of the chieftains that lies there, 55 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." 60

"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, 65 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; 70 Said, "Hide me now, my lady fair, For Violentrie will soon be hame."

"For the love I bore thee ance, I'll strive to hide you, if I can:" Then she put him down in a dark cellar 75 Where there lay many a new slain man.

But he hadna in the cellar been, Not an hour but barely three, Then hideous was the noise he heard, When in at the gate cam Violentrie. 80

Says, "I wish you well, my lady fair, It's time for us to sit to dine; Come, serve me with the good white bread, And likewise with the claret wine.

"That Scots chieftain, our mortal fae, 85 Sae aft frae the field has made us flee, Ten thousand zechins this day I'll give That I his face could only see."

"Of that same gift wuld ye give me, If I wuld bring him unto thee? 90 I fairly hold you at your word;-- Come ben, John Thomson, to my lord."

Then from the vault John Thomson came, Wringing his hands most piteouslie: "What would ye do," the Turk he cried, 95 "If ye had me as I hae 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 greenwood, And cause your ain hand wale the tree. 100

"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; 105 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; 110 But little did his false faes ken He meant them any injurie.

He set his horn unto his mouth, And he has blawn baith loud and schill: And then three thousand armed men 115 Cam tripping all out ower the hill.

"Deliver us our chief," they all did cry; "It's by our hand that ye must die;" "Here is your chief," the Turk replied, With that fell on his bended knee. 120

"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, 125 That stood upon yon hill so hie; John Thomson's gay ladie they took And hanged her on yon greenwood tree.

LORD THOMAS STUART.

From Maidment's _North Countrie Garland_, p. 1.

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, 5 The Countess of Balquhin, An' given her for a morning gift, Strathboggie and Aboyne.

But women's wit is aye willful, Alas! that ever it was sae; 10 She longed to see the morning gift That her gude lord to her gae.

When steeds were saddled an' weel bridled, An' ready for to ride, There came a pain on that gude lord, 15 His back, likewise his side.

He said, "Ride on, my lady fair, May goodness be your guide; For I'm sae sick an' weary that No farther can I ride." 20

Now ben did come his father dear, Wearing a golden band; Says, "Is there nae leech in Edinburgh, Can cure my son from wrang?"

"O leech is come, an' leech is gane, 25 Yet, father, I'm aye waur; There's not a leech in Edinbro' Can death from me debar.

"But be a friend to my wife, father, Restore to her her own; 30 Restore to her my morning gift, Strathboggie and Aboyne.

"It had been gude for my wife, father, To me she'd born a son; He would have got my land an' rents, 35 Where they lie out an' in.

"It had been gude for my wife, father, To me she'd born an heir; He would have got my land an' rents, Where they lie fine an' fair." 40

The steeds they strave into their stables, The boys could'nt get them bound; The hounds lay howling on the leech, 'Cause their master was behind.

"I dreamed a dream since late yestreen, 45 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, 50 And aye she cried, 'Ohon alas! My good lord's broken bands.'

"As she came by my good lord's bower, Saw mony black steeds an' brown; I'm feared it be mony unco lords 55 Havin' my love from town."

As she came by my gude lord's bower, Saw mony black steeds an' grey; "I'm feared its mony unco lords Havin' my love to the clay." 60

THE SPANISH VIRGIN.

From Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 316.

The three following pieces are here inserted merely as specimens of a class of tales, horrible in their incidents but feeble in their execution, of which whole dreary volumes were printed and read about two centuries ago. They were all of them, probably, founded on Italian novels.

"The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories, entitled, _The Theatre of God's Judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor_, 1642. Pt. 2, p. 89. The text is given (with corrections) from two copies; one of them in black-letter in the Pepys Collection. In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way of burden:

Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell: Depart from hence, and therein dwell."

All tender hearts, that ake to hear Of those that suffer wrong; All you that never shed a tear, Give heed unto my song.

Fair Isabella's tragedy 5 My tale doth far exceed: Alas, that so much cruelty In female hearts should breed!

In Spain a lady liv'd of late, Who was of high degree; 10 Whose wayward temper did create Much woe and misery.

Strange jealousies so filled her head With many a vain surmize, She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, 15 And did her love despise.

A gentlewoman passing fair Did on this lady wait; With bravest dames she might compare; Her beauty was compleat. 20

Her lady cast a jealous eye Upon this gentle maid, And taxt her with disloyaltye, And did her oft upbraid.

In silence still this maiden meek 25 Her bitter taunts would bear, While oft adown her lovely cheek Would steal the falling tear.

In vain in humble sort she strove Her fury to disarm; 30 As well the meekness of the dove The bloody hawke might charm.

Her lord, of humour light and gay, And innocent the while, As oft as she came in his way, 35 Would on the damsell smile.

And oft before his lady's face, As thinking her her friend, He would the maiden's modest grace And comeliness commend. 40

All which incens'd his lady so, She burnt with wrath extreame; At length the fire that long did glow, Burst forth into a flame.

For on a day it so befell, 45 When he was gone from home, The lady all with rage did swell, And to the damsell come.

And charging her with great offence And many a grievous fault, 50 She bade her servants drag her thence, Into a dismal vault,

That lay beneath the common-shore,-- A dungeon dark and deep, Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55 Offenders great to keep.

There never light of chearful day Dispers'd the hideous gloom; But dank and noisome vapours play Around the wretched room: 60

And adders, snakes, and toads therein, As afterwards was known, Long in this loathsome vault had bin, And were to monsters grown.

Into this foul and fearful place, 65 The fair one innocent Was cast, before her lady's face; Her malice to content.

This maid no sooner enter'd is, But strait, alas! she hears 70 The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss: Then grievously she fears.

Soon from their holes the vipers creep, And fiercely her assail, Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75 And her sad fate bewail.

With her fair hands she strives in vain Her body to defend; With shrieks and cries she doth complain, But all is to no end. 80

A servant listning near the door, Struck with her doleful noise, Strait ran his lady to implore; But she'll not hear his voice.

With bleeding heart he goes agen 85 To mark the maiden's groans; And plainly hears, within the den, How she herself bemoans.

Again he to his lady hies, With all the haste he may; 90 She into furious passion flies, And orders him away.

Still back again does he return To hear her tender cries; The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn, 95 Which fill'd him with surprize.

In grief, and horror, and affright, He listens at the walls But finding all was silent quite, He to his lady calls. 100

"Too sure, O lady," now quoth he, "Your cruelty hath sped; Make haste, for shame, and come and see; I fear the virgin's dead."

She starts to hear her sudden fate, 105 And does with torches run; But all her haste was now too late, For death his worst had done.

The door being open'd, strait they found The virgin stretch'd along; 110 Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round, Which her to death had stung.

One round her legs, her thighs, her waist, Had twin'd his fatal wreath; The other close her neck embrac'd, 115 And stopt her gentle breath.

The snakes being from her body thrust, Their bellies were so fill'd, That with excess of blood they burst, Thus with their prey were kill'd. 120

The wicked lady, at this sight, With horror strait ran mad; So raving dy'd, as was most right, 'Cause she no pity had.

Let me advise you, ladies all, 125 Of jealousy beware: It causeth many a one to fall, And is the devil's snare.

THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.

"This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 263, folio. It is there entitled, _The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty; being a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed on the body of the Lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble Duke, &c. To the tune of The Lady's Fall_. To some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, entitled, _The Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation_." Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 199.

The copy in Durfey's _Pills to Purge Melancholy_, v. 53, is nearly _verbatim_ the same.

There was a lord of worthy fame, And a hunting he would ride, Attended by a noble traine Of gentrye by his side.

And while he did in chase remaine, 5 To see both sport and playe, His ladye went, as she did feigne, Unto the church to praye.

This lord he had a daughter deare, Whose beauty shone so bright, 10 She was belov'd, both far and neare, Of many a lord and knight.

Fair Isabella was she call'd, A creature faire was shee; She was her fathers only joye; 15 As you shall after see.

Therefore her cruel step-mother Did envye her so much, That daye by daye she sought her life, Her malice it was such. 20

She bargain'd with the master-cook To take her life awaye; And taking of her daughter's book, She thus to her did saye:--

"Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 25 Go hasten presentlie, And tell unto the master-cook These wordes that I tell thee.

"And bid him dresse to dinner streight That faire and milk-white doe 30 That in the parke doth shine so bright, There's none so faire to showe."

This ladye fearing of no harme, Obey'd her mothers will; And presentlye she hasted home, 35 Her pleasure to fulfill.

She streight into the kitchen went, Her message for to tell; And there she spied the master-cook, Who did with malice swell. 40

"Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe, Do that which I thee tell: You needes must dresse the milk-white doe, Which you do knowe full well."

Then streight his cruell bloodye hands, 45 He on the ladye layd; Who quivering and shaking stands, While thus to her he sayd:

"Thou art the doe that I must dresse; See here, behold my knife; 50 For it is pointed presently To ridd thee of thy life."

"O then," cried out the scullion-boye, As loud as loud might bee, "O save her life, good master-cook, 55 And make your pyes of mee!

"For pityes sake do not destroye My ladye with your knife; You know shee is her father's joye; For Christes sake save her life!" 60

"I will not save her life," he sayd, "Nor make my pyes of thee; Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye, Thy butcher I will bee."

Now when this lord he did come home 65 For to sitt down and eat, He called for his daughter deare, To come and carve his meat.

"Now sit you downe," his ladye sayd, "O sit you downe to meat; 70 Into some nunnery she is gone; Your daughter deare forget."

Then solemnlye he made a vowe Before the companie, That he would neither eat nor drinke, 75 Until he did her see.

O then bespake the scullion-boye. With a loud voice so hye; "If now you will your daughter see, My lord, cut up that pye: 80

"Wherein her fleshe is minced small, And parched with the fire; All caused by her step-mother, Who did her death desire.

"And cursed bee the master-cook, 85 O cursed may he bee! I proffered him my own heart's blood, From death to set her free."

Then all in blacke this lord did mourne, And for his daughters sake, 90 He judged her cruell step-mother To be burnt at a stake.

Likewise he judg'd the master-cook In boiling lead to stand. And made the simple scullion-boye 95 The heire of all his land.

THE CRUEL BLACK.

_A Collection of Old Ballads_, (1723,) ii. 152: also Evans's _Old Ballads_, iii. 232. Entered in the Stationers' _Registers, 1569-70_. A writer in the _British Bibliographer_, (iv. 182,) has pointed out that this is only one of Bandello's novels versified. The novel is the 21st of the Third Part, (London, 1792.)

_A lamentable Ballad of the tragical End of a gallant Lord and virtuous Lady; together with the untimely Death of their two Children: wickedly performed by a Heathenish and Blood-thirsty Black-a-moor, their Servant; the like of which Cruelty and Murder was never before heard of._

In Rome a nobleman did wed A virgin of great fame; A fairer creature never did Dame Nature ever frame: By whom he had two children fair, 5 Whose beauty did excel; They were their parents only joy, They lov'd them both so well.

The lord he lov'd to hunt the buck, The tiger, and the boar; 10 And still for swiftness always took With him a black-a-moor: Which black-a-moor within the wood His lord he did offend, For which he did him then correct, 15 In hopes he would amend.

The day it grew unto an end; Then homewards he did haste, Where with his lady he did rest, Until the night was past. 20 Then in the morning he did rise, And did his servants call; A hunting he provides to go: Straight they were ready all

To cause the toyl the lady did 25 Intreat him not to go: "Alas, good lady," then quoth he, "Why art thou grieved so? Content thyself, I will return With speed to thee again." 30 "Good father," quoth the little babes, "With us here still remain."

"Farewel, dear children, I will go A fine thing for to buy;" But they, therewith nothing content, 35 Aloud began to cry. The mother takes them by the hand, Saying, "Come, go with me Unto the highest tower, where Your father you shall see." 40

The black-a-moor, perceiving now, Who then did stay behind, His lord to be a hunting gone, Began to call to mind: "My master he did me correct, 45 My fault not being great; Now of his wife I'll be reveng'd, She shall not me intreat."

The place was moated round about; The bridge he up did draw; 50 The gates he bolted very fast; Of none he stood in awe. He up into the tower went, The lady being there; Who, when she saw his countenance grim, 55 She straight began to fear.

But now my trembling heart it quakes To think what I must write; My senses all begin to fail, My soul it doth affright. 60 Yet must I make an end of this Which here I have begun, Which will make sad the hardest heart, Before that I have done.

This wretch unto the lady went, 65 And her with speed did will, His lust forthwith to satisfy, His mind for to fulfil. The lady she amazed was, To hear the villain speak; 70 "Alas," quoth she, "what shall I do? With grief my heart will break."

With that he took her in his arms; She straight for help did cry; "Content yourself, lady," he said, 75 "Your husband is not nigh: The bridge is drawn, the gates are shut, Therefore come lie with me, Or else I do protest and vow, Thy butcher I will be." 80

The crystal tears ran down her face, Her children cried amain, And sought to help their mother dear, But all it was in vain; For that egregious filthy rogue 85 Her hands behind her bound, And then perforce with all his might, He threw her on the ground.

With that she shriek'd, her children cried, And such a noise did make, 90 That town-folks, hearing her laments, Did seek their parts to take: But all in vain; no way was found To help the lady's need, Who cried to them most piteously, 95 "O help! O help with speed!"

Some run into the forest wide, Her lord home for to call; And they that stood still did lament This gallant lady's fall. 100 With speed her lord came posting home; He could not enter in; His lady's cries did pierce his heart; To call he did begin:

"O hold thy hand, thou savage moor, 105 To hurt her do forbear, Or else be sure, if I do live, Wild horses shall thee tear." With that the rogue ran to the wall, He having had his will, 110 And brought one child under his arm, His dearest blood to spill.

The child, seeing his father there, To him for help did call: "O father! help my mother dear, 115 We shall be killed all." Then fell the lord upon his knee, And did the moor intreat, To save the life of this poor child, Whose fear was then so great. 120

But this vile wretch the little child By both the heels did take And dash'd his brains against the wall, Whilst parent's hearts did ake: That being done, straightway he ran 125 The other child to fetch, And pluck'd it from the mother's breast, Most like a cruel wretch.

Within one hand a knife he brought, The child within the other; 130 And holding it over the wall, Saying, "Thus shall die thy mother," With that he cut the throat of it; Then to the father he did call, To look how he the head did cut, 135 And down the head did fall.

This done, he threw it down the wall Into the moat so deep; Which made the father wring his hands, And grievously to weep. 140 Then to the lady went this rogue, Who was near dead with fear, Yet this vile wretch most cruelly Did drag her by the hair;

And drew her to the very wall, 145 Which when her lord did see, Then presently he cried out, And fell upon his knee: Quoth he, "If thou wilt save her life, Whom I do love so dear, 150 I will forgive thee all is past, Though they concern me near.

"O save her life, I thee beseech; O save her, I thee pray, And I will grant thee what thou wilt 155 Demand of me this day." "Well," quoth the moor, "I do regard The moan that thou dost make: If thou wilt grant me what I ask, I'll save her for thy sake." 160

"O save her life, and then demand Of me what thing thou wilt." "Cut off thy nose, and not one drop Of her blood shall be spilt." With that the lord presently took 165 A knife within his hand, And then his nose he quite cut off, In place where he did stand.

"Now I have bought my lady's life," He to the moor did call; 170 "Then take her," quoth this wicked rogue, And down he let her fall. Which when her gallant lord did see, His senses all did fail; Yet many sought to save his life, 175 But nothing could prevail.

When as the moor did see him dead, Then did he laugh amain At them who for their gallant lord And lady did complain: 180 Quoth he, "I know you'll torture me, If that you can me get, But all your threats I do not fear, Nor yet regard one whit.

"Wild horses shall my body tear, 185 I know it to be true, But I prevent you of that pain:" And down himself he threw.

Too good a death for such a wretch, A villain void of fear! 190 And thus doth end as sad a tale As ever man did hear.