Chapter 3
“TELL me, O Muse of the Shifty, the Man who wandered afar,” So have I chanted of late, and of Troy burg wasted of war— Now of the sorrows of Menfolk that fifty years have been, Now of the Grace of the Commune I sing, and the days of a Queen! Surely I curse rich Menfolk, “the Wights of the Whirlwind” may they— This is my style of translating ‘Αρπυίαι,—snatch them away! The Rich Thieves rolling in wealth that make profit of labouring men, Surely the Wights of the Whirlwind shall swallow them quick in their den! O baneful, O wit-straying, in the Burg of London ye dwell, And ever of Profits and three per cent. are the tales ye tell, But the stark, strong Polyphemus shall answer you back again, Him whom “No man slayeth by guile and not by main.” (By “main” I mean “main force,” if aught at all do I mean. In the Greek of the blindfold Bard it is simpler the sense to glean.) You Polyphemus shall swallow and fill his mighty maw, What time he maketh an end of the Priests, the Police, and the Law, And then, ah, who shall purchase the poems of old that I sang, Who shall pay twelve-and-six for an epic in Saga slang? But perchance even “Hermes the Flitter” could scarcely expound what I mean, And I trow that another were fitter to sing you a song for a Queen.
FOLK SONGS
_French Peasant Songs_.
I.
OH, fair apple tree, and oh, fair apple tree, As heavy and sweet as the blossoms on thee, My heart is heavy with love. It wanteth but a little wind To make the blossoms fall; It wanteth but a young lover To win me heart and all.
II.
I send my love letters By larks on the wing; My love sends me letters When nightingales sing.
Without reading or writing, Their burden we know: They only say, “Love me, Who love you so.”
III.
And if they ask for me, brother, Say I come never home, For I have taken a strange wife Beyond the salt sea foam.
The green grass is my bridal bed, The black tomb my good mother, The stones and dust within the grave Are my sister and my brother.
BALLADS
_The Young Ruthven_.
THE King has gi’en the Queen a gift, For her May-day’s propine, He’s gi’en her a band o’ the diamond-stane, Set in the siller fine.
The Queen she walked in _Falkland_ yaird, Beside the Hollans green, And there she saw the bonniest man That ever her eyes had seen.
His coat was the Ruthven white and red, Sae sound asleep was he The Queen she cried on May Beatrix, That seely lad to see.
“Oh! wha sleeps here, May Beatrix, Without the leave o’ me?” “Oh! wha suld it be but my young brother Frae _Padua_ ower the sea!
“My father was the Earl Gowrie, An Earl o’ high degree, But they hae slain him by fause treason, And gar’d my brothers flee.
“At _Padua_ hae they learned their leir In the fields o’ _Italie_; And they hae crossed the saut sea-faem, And a’ for love o’ me!”
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The Queen has cuist her siller band About his craig o’ snaw; But still he slept and naething kenned, Aneth the Hollans shaw.
The King he daundered thro’ the yaird, He saw the siller shine; “And wha,” quoth he, “is this galliard That wears yon gift o’ mine?”
The King has gane till the Queen’s ain bower, An angry man that day; But bye there cam’ May Beatrix And stole the band away.
And she’s run in by the dern black yett, Straight till the Queen ran she: “Oh! tak ye back your siller band, Or it gar my brother dee!”
The Queen has linked her siller band About her middle sma’; And then she heard her ain gudeman Come rowting through the ha’.
“Oh! whare,” he cried, “is the siller band I gied ye late yestreen? The knops was a’ o’ the diamond stane, Set in the siller sheen.”
“Ye hae camped birling at the wine, A’ nicht till the day did daw; Or ye wad ken your siller band About my middle sma’!”
The King he stude, the King he glowered, Sae hard as a man micht stare. “Deil hae me! Like is a richt ill mark,— Or I saw it itherwhere!
“I saw it round young Ruthven’s neck As he lay sleeping still; And, faith, but the wine was wondrous guid, Or my wife is wondrous ill!”
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There was na gane a week, a week, A week but barely three; The King has hounded John Ramsay out, To gar young Ruthven dee!
They took him in his brother’s house, Nae sword was in his hand, And they hae slain him, young Ruthven, The bonniest in the land!
And they hae slain his fair brother, And laid him on the green, And a’ for a band o’ the siller fine And a blink o’ the eye o’ the Queen!
Oh! had they set him man to man, Or even ae man to three, There was na a knight o’ the Ramsay bluid Had gar’d Earl Gowrie dee!
_The Queen O’ Spain and the Bauld Mclean_.
A BALLAD OF THE SOUND OF MULL.
1588.
THE Queen o’ Spain had an ill gude-man. The carle was auld and grey. She has keeked in the glass at Hallow-een A better chance to spae.
She’s kaimit out her lang black hair, That fell below her knee. She’s ta’en the apple in her hand, To see what she might see.
Then first she saw her ain fair face, And then the glass grew white, And syne as black as the mouth o’ Hell Or the sky on a winter night.
But last she saw the bonniest man That ever her eyes had seen, His hair was gold, and his eyes were grey, And his plaid was red and green.
“Oh! the Spanish men are unco black And unco blate,” she said; “And they wear their mantles swart and side, No the bonny green and red.”
“Oh! where shall _I_ find sic a man? That is the man for me!” She has filled a ship wi’ the gude red gold, And she has ta’en the sea.
And she’s sailed west and she’s sailed east, And mony a man she’s seen; But never the man wi’ the hair o’ gold, And the plaid o’ red and green.
And she’s sailed east and she’s sailed west, Till she cam’ to a narrow sea, The water ran like a river in spate, And the hills were wondrous hie.
And there she spied a bonny bay, And houses on the strand, And there the man in the green and red Came rowing frae the land.
Says “Welcome here, ye bonny maid, Ye’re welcome here for me. Are ye the Lady o’ merry Elfland, Or the Queen o’ some far countrie?”
“I am na the Lady o’ fair Elfland, But I am the Queen o’ Spain.” He’s lowted low, and kissed her hand, Says “They ca’ me the McLean!”
“Then it’s a’ for the aefold love o’ thee That I hae sailed the faem!” “But, out and alas!” he has answered her, “For I hae a wife at hame.”
“Ye maun cast her into a massymore, Or away on a tide-swept isle;” “But, out and alas!” he’s answered her, “For my wife’s o’ the bluid o’ Argyll!”
Oh! they twa sat, and they twa grat, And made their weary maen, Till McLean has ridden to Dowart Castle, And left the Queen her lane.
His wife was a Campbell, fair and fause, Says “Lachlan, where hae ye been?” “Oh! I hae been at Tobermory, And kissed the hand o’ a Queen!”
“Oh! we maun send the Queen a stag, And grouse for her propine, And we’ll send her a cask o’ the usquebaugh, And a butt o’ the red French wine!”
She has put a bomb in the clairet butt, And eke a burning lowe, She has sent them away wi’ her little foot-page That cam’ frae the black Lochow.
* * * *
The morn McLean rade forth to see The last blink o’ his Queen, There stude her ship in the harbour gude, Upon the water green.
But there cam’ a crash like a thunder-clap, And a cloud on the water green. The bonny ship in flinders flew, And drooned was the bonny Queen.
McLean he speirit nor gude nor bad, His skian dubh he’s ta’en, And he’s cuttit the throat o’ that fause foot-page, And sundered his white hausebane.
_Keith of Craigentolly_.
O KEITH o’ Craigentolly! Ye sall live to rue the day When ye brak the berried holly Beside St. Andrew’s bay! When Pitcullo’s kine Card down to the brine, And were drooned in the driving spray!
In the bower o’ Craigentolly Is a wan and waefu’ bride, Singing, _O waly_! _waly_! Through the whole country side; And a river to wade For a dying maid, And a weary way to ride!
O Keith o’ Craigentolly, The bairn’s grave by the sea! O Keith o’ Craigentolly, The graves of maidens three! And a bluidy shift, And a sainless shrift, For Keith o’ Craigentolly!
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PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
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FOOTNOTES
{11} One verse and the refrain are of 1750 or thereabouts. At Laffen, where William, Duke of Cumberland, was defeated and nearly captured by the Scots and Irish in the French service, Prince Charles is said to have served as a volunteer.
{32} So Nyren tells us.