d. In the preparation of the Irish group I have been very materially

assisted by Mr Alfred Percival Graves, who has advised my selection and given me the free use of all his own work; and by Mr David J. O'Donoghue, author of the _Dictionary of the Poets and Poetry of Ireland_, who has devoted much time to supplying me with information of all kinds, and directing me to the work of comparatively unknown authors.

For the use of copyright matter I am also indebted to Mrs Allingham; to Professor E. F. Savage-Armstrong, for his own work, and that of his brother, the late Edward J. Armstrong; to Lady Ferguson; Miss Emily H. Hickey; Mr Michael Hogan; Mr Wm. Winter and Messrs C. Scribner & Sons, for a poem by Fitzjames O'Brien; Messrs Routledge & Sons for poems by S. Lover; to Mr T. D. Sullivan, M.P.; Mrs K. Tynan (Hinkson); Mr Aubrey de Vere and his publishers, Messrs Macmillan & Co.; Mr W. B. Yeats; and Dr Sigerson.

Finally, I have to thank Mr Theodore Watts and Mr Alfred H. Miles, editor of _The Poets and Poetry of the Century_, for information on certain questions of copyright.

R. Brimley Johnson.

Llandaff House, Cambridge,

August 3rd, 1894.

THE THREE RAVENS

|There were three ravens sat on a tree,

_Downe, a downe, hay downe, hay downe_,

There were three ravens sat on a tree,

_With a downe,

There were three ravens sat on a tree,

They were as black as they might be,

_With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe.

The one of them said to his mate,

"Where shall we our breakfast take?"--

"Down in yonder green field,

There lies a knight slain under his shield.

"His hounds they lie down at his feet,

So well they can their master keep.

His hawks they flie so eagerly,

There's no fowl dare him come nigh."

Down there comes a fallow doe,

As great with young as she might go.

She lift up his bloody head,

And kist his wounds that were so red.

She got him up upon her back,

And carried him to earthen lake.

She buried him before the prime,

She was dead herself ere even-song time.

God send every gentleman,

Such hawks, such hounds, and such a leman.

(_lake_, grave.)

LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD

|As it fell one holy-day, _hay down_,

As many be in the year,

When young men and maids together did go

Their matins and mass to hear,

Little Musgrave came to the church door,

The priest was at private mass;

But he had more mind of the fair women,

Then he had of our lady's grace.

The one of them was clad in green,

Another was clad in pall;

And then came in my lord Barnards wife,

The fairest amonst them all.

She cast an eye on little Musgrave,

As bright as the summer sun,

And then bethought this little Musgrave,

"This lady's heart have I won."

Quoth she, "I have loved thee, little Musgrave,

Full long and many a day:"

"So have I loved you, fair lady,

Yet never word durst I say."

"I have a bower at Bucklesfordbery,

Full daintily it is dight;

If thou wilt wend thither, thou little Musgrave,

Thou's lig in mine arms all night."

Quoth he, "I thank ye, fair lady,

This kindness thou showest to me;

But whether it be to my weal or woe,

This night I will lig with thee."

With that he heard a little tiny page,

By his lady's coach as he ran:

"Allthough I am my lady's footpage,

Yet I am lord Barnard's man.

"My lord Barnard shall know of this,

Whether I sink or swim:"

And ever where the bridges were broke,

He laid him down to swim.

"Asleep, or wake! thou lord Barnard,

As thou art a man of life;

For little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery,

Abed with thy own wedded wife."

"If this be true, thou little tiny page,

This thing thou tellest to me,

Then all the land in Bucklesfordbery

I freely will give to thee.

"But if it be a lie, thou little tiny page,

This thing thou tellest to me,

On the highest tree in Bucklesfordbery

Then hanged shalt thou be."

He called up his merry men all:--

"Come saddle me my steed;

This night must I to Bucklesfordbery,

For I never had greater need."

And some of them whistl'd, and some of them sung,

And some these words did say,

And ever when my lord Barnard's horn blew,

"Away, Musgrave, away!"

"Methinks I hear the thresel-cock,

Methinks I hear the jay;

Methinks I hear my Lord Barnard,--

And I would I were away."

(_thresel-cock_, thrush.)

"Lie still, lie still, thou little Musgrave,

And huggell me from the cold;

'Tis nothing but a shephard's boy,

A driving his sheep to the fold.

"Is not thy hawk upon a perch?

Thy steed eats oats and hay,

And thou a fair lady in thine arms,--

And wouldst thou be away?"

With that my lord Barnard came to the door,

And lit a stone upon;

He plucked out three silver keys,

And he open'd the doors each one.

He lifted up the coverlet,

He lifted up the sheet;

"How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,

Doest thou find my lady sweet?"

"I find her sweet," quoth little Musgrave,

"The more 'tis to my pain;

I would gladly give three hundred pounds

That I were on yonder plain."

"Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave,

And put thy clothés on;

It shall ne'er be said in my country,

I have killed a naked man.

"I have two swords in one scabbard,

Full dear they cost my purse;

And thou shalt have the best of them,

And I will have the worse."

The first stroke that little Musgrave stroke,

He hurt Lord Barnard sore;

The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke,

Little Musgrave ne'er struck more.

With that bespake this fair lady,

In bed whereas she lay;

"Although thou'rt dead, thou little Musgrave,

Yet I for thee will pray;

"And wish well to thy soul will I,

So long as I have life;

So will I not for thee, Barnard,

Although I am thy wedded wife."

He cut her paps from off her breast,

Great pity it was to see,

That some drops of this lady's heart's blood

Ran trickling down her knee.

"Woe worth you, woe worth, my merry men all,

You were ne er born for my good;

Why did you not offer to stay my hand,

When ye saw me wax so wood!

"For I have slain the bravest sir knight

That ever rode on steed;

So have I done the fairest lady

That ever did woman's deed.

"A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cried,

To put these lovers in;

But lay my lady on the upper hand,

For she came of the better kin,"

THE TWA SISTERS

|There was twa sisters in a bowr,

_Edinburgh, Edinburgh_,

There was twa sisters in a bow'r,

_Stirling for aye_,

There was twa sisters in a bowr,

There came a knight to be their wooer,

_Bonny Saint Johnston stands upon Tay_.

He courted the eldest wi' glove an' ring,

But he loved the youngest above a' thing.

He courted the eldest wi' brooch an' knife,

But loved the youngest as his life;

The eldest she was vexed sair,

An' much envied her sister fair;

Into her bower she could not rest,

Wi' grief an' spite she almost brast.

Upon a morning fair an' clear

She cried upon her sister dear:

O sister come to yon sea-stran',

And see our father's ships come to lan'.

She's ta'en her by the milk-white han',

And led her down to yon sea-stran'.

The youngest stood upon a stane,

The eldest came an' threw her in;

She took her by the middle sma',

An' dash'd her bonny back to the jaw;

O sister, sister, take my han',

An I'se make you heir to a' my lan'.

O sister, sister, take my middle,

And ye's get my gold and my golden girdle.

(_jaw,_ wave.)

O sister, sister, save my life,

And I swear I'se never be nae man's wife.

"Foul fa the han' that I should take,

It twin'd me an' my wardle's make."

"Your cherry cheeks and yallow hair,

Gars me gae maiden for evermair."

Sometimes she sank, an' sometimes she swam,

Till she cam down yon bonny mill dam;

O out it came the miller's son,

An' saw the fair maid swimmin' in.

"O father, father, draw your dam!

Here's either a mermaid, or a swan."

The miller quickly drew the dam,

An' there he found a drown'd woman;

(_twin'd_, deprived). _wardles make_, life-mate.)

You couldna see her yallow hair,

For gold and pearl that were sae rare;

You couldna see her middle sma,

For golden girdle that was sae braw;

Ye couldna see her fingers white

For golden rings that was sae gryte.

And by there came a harper fine,

That harped to the king at dine.

When he did look that lady upon,

He sigh'd and made a heavy moan;

He's taen three locks o' her yallow hair,

And wi' them strung his harp sae fair.

The first tune he did play and sing

Was--"Farewell to my father the king."

The nexten tune that he played syne

Was--"Farewell to my mother the queen."

The lasten tune that he play'd then

Was--"Wae to my sister, fair Ellen!"

(_gryte_, great.)

THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT

THE FIRST FIT.

|The Perse out of Northumberland,

And a vow to God made he,

That he would hunt in the mountains

Of Cheviot within days three,

In the magger of doughtè Douglas,

And all that ever with him be.

The fattest harts in all Cheviot

He said he would kill, and carry them away:

"By my faith," said the doughty Douglas again,

"I will let that hunting if that I may."

Then the Perse out of Banborowe came,

With him a mighty meany;

With fifteen hundrith archers bold of blood and bone,

They were chosen out of shires three.

This began on a Monday at morn,

In Cheviot the hillys so he;

The child may rue that is un-born,

It was the more pity.

(_in the magger_, in the maugre--i.e. in spite of. _let_, hinder.

_meany_, company. _so he_, so high.)

Then the wyld thorow the woodès went,

On every sydë shear;

Greyhounds thorow the grevis glent,

For to kill their deer.

Thus began in Cheviot the hills abone,

Early on a Monnyn day;

By that it drew to the hour of noon,

A hundrith fat harts dead there lay.

They blew a mort upon the bent,

They sembled on sydës shear;

(_byckarte_, hurried, _bent_, plain. _wyld_,deer. _shear_, at once.

_grevis_, groves, _glent_, glanced, _sembled shear_, assembled together.

_blew a mort_, sounded a horn for the dead.)

The drivers thorow the woodès went,

For to raise the deer;

Bowmen byckarte upon the bent

With their broad arrows clear.

To the quarry then the Perse went,

To see the brittling of the deer.

He said, "It was the Douglas promise

This day to meet me here;

But I wist he would fail, verament:"

A great oath the Perse swear.

At the last a squire of Northumberland

Looked at his hand full nigh;

He was ware o* the doughty Douglas coming,

With him a mighty meany;

Both with spear, bille, and brand;

It was a mighty sight to see;

Hardier men, both of heart nor hand,

Were not in Christiantè.

There were twenty hundrith spear-men good,

Withowtè any fail;

They were born along by the water o' Twyde,

Ith' bounds of Tividale.

"Leave of the brittling of the deer," he said,

"And to your bows look ye take good heed;

For never sith ye were on your mothers born

Had ye never so mickle need."

(_brittling_, cutting up. _ware_, aware. _meany_, company.

_bille_, battle-axe. _sith_, since.)

The doughty Douglas on a steed

He rode all his men beforne;

His armour glittered as did a glede;

A bolder bairn was never born.

"Tell me whose men ye are," he says,

"Or whose men that ye be:

Who gave you leave to hunt in this Cheviot chase,

In the spite of mine and me?"

The first man that ever him an answer made,

It was the good lord Perse:

"We will not tell thee whose men we are," he says,

"Nor whose men that we be;

But we will hunt here in this chase,

In the spite of thine and of thee.

"The fattest harts in all Cheviot

We have killed, and cast to carry them a-way:"

"Be my troth," said the doughty Douglas again,

"Therefore the one of us shall die this day."

Then said the doughty Douglas

Unto the lord Perse:

"To kill all these guiltless men,

Alas, it were great pity!

(_glede_, burning gold. _cast_, intend.)

"But, Perse, thou art a lord of land,

I am an Earl called within my contre -,

Let all our men upon a party stand,

And do the battle of thee and of me."

"Now Cristes corpse on his crown," said the lord Perse,

"Whosoever there-to says nay;

By my troth, doughty Douglas," he says,

"Thou shalt never see that day.

"Neither in England, Scotland, nor France,

Nor for no man of a woman born,

But, and fortune be my chance,

I dare meet him, one man for one."

Then bespake a squire of Northumberland,

Richard Wytharyngton was him name;

"It shall never be told in South-England," he says,

"To king Harry the fourth for shame.

"I wot you bin great lordes twa,

I am a poor squire of land;

I will never see my captain fight on a field,

And stand myself, and lookè on,

But while I may my weapon wield,

I will not [fail] both heart and hand."

That day, that day, that dreadfull day!

The first fit here I find;

And you will hear any more a' the hunting a' the Cheviot,

Yet is there more behind.

The English men had their bows yebent,

Their hearts were good enough;

The first of arrows that they shot off,

Seven score spear-men they slough.

Yet bides the Earl Douglas upon the bent,

A captain good enough,

And that was seenè verament,

For he wrought home both woe and wouche.

The Douglas parted his host in three,

Like a cheffe chieftan of pride,

With sure spears of mighty tree,

They come in on every side:

Through our English archery

Gave many a wound full wide;

Many a doughty they gard to die,

Which gained them no pride.

(_find,_ end. And, if. _slough_, slew. wouche, injury. _tree_, wood. _gard_, made.)

THE SECOND FIT.

|The English men let their bows be,

And pulled out brands that were bright;

It was a heavy sight to see

Bright swords on basnets light.

Thorow rich mail and maniple,

Many sterne the stroke down straight;

Many a freyke that was full free,

There under foot did light.

(_basnets_, helmets. _light,_ alight.

_sterne_, drove. _freyke_, warrior. _free_, noble.)

At last the Douglas and the Perse met,

Like to captains of might and of main;

They swept together till they both swat,

With swords that were of fine myllàn.

These worthè freykes for to fight,

There-to they were full fain,

Till the blood out of their basnets sprent,

As ever did hail or rain.

"Yield thee, Perse," said the Douglas,

"And i' faith I shall thee bring

Where thou shalt have an earl's wages

Of Jamy our Scottish king.

"Thou shalt have thy ransom free,

I hight thee here this thing,

For the manfullest man yet art thou,

That ever I conquered in field fighting."

"Nay," said the lord Perse,

"I told it thee beforne,

That I would never yielded be

To no man of a woman born."

With that there cam an arrow hastely,

Forth of a mighty wane;

It hath striken the earl Douglas

In at the breast bane.

(_myllan_, steel, _sprent_, spurted, _hight,_ promise, _wune_, crowd (?))

Thorow liver and lungs, baith

The sharp arrow is gane,

That never after in all his life-days,

He spake mo words but ane:

That was, "Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may,

For my life-days ben gane."

The Perse leaned on his brand,

And saw the Douglas dee;

He took the dead man by the hand,

And said, "Woe is me for thee!

"To have saved thy life, I would have parted with

My landes for years three,

For a better man, of heart nor of hand,

Was not in all the north contre."

Of all that see a Scottish knight,

Was called Sir Hew the Monggombyrry;

He saw the Douglas to the death was dight,

He spended a spear, a trusty tree:--

He rode upon a courser

Through a hundrith archery:

He never stinted, nor never blane,

Till he came to the good lord Perse.

(_dight_, disposed of, __spended, grasped. _blane_. stopped.)

He set upon the lord Perse

A dint that was full sore;

With a sure spear of a mighty tree

Clean thorow the body he the Persè bare,

A'the tother side that a man might see

A large cloth yard and mair:

Two better captains were not in Christiantè,

Than that day slain were there.

An archer of Northumberland

Sae slain was the lord Persè;

He bare a bend-bow in his hand,

Was made of trusty tree.

An arrow, that a cloth yard was lang,

To th' hard steel haled he;

A dint that was both sad and sore,

He set on Sir Hewe the Monggomberry.

The dint it was both sad and sore,

That he of Monggomberry set;

The swan-feathers, that his arrow bore,

With his heart-blood they were wet.

There was never a freyke one foot would flee,

But still in stour did stand,

Hewing on each other, while they might dree,

With many a baleful brand.

(_bend-bow,_ bent bow. _freyke_, warrior. _stour_, fight.

_dree_, endure.)

This battle began in Cheviot

An hour befor the noon,

And when even-song bell was rang,

The battle was not half done.

They took... on eithar hand

By the light of the moon;

Many had no strength for to stand,

In Cheviot the hills aboun.

Of fifteen hundrith archers of England

Went away but seventy and three;

Of twenty hundrith spear-men of Scotland,

But even five and fifty:

But all were slain Cheviot within;

They had no strength to stand on high;

The child may rue that is unborn,

It was the more pity.

There was slain with the lord Perse,

Sir John of Agerstone,

Sir Roger, the hind Hartly,

Sir William, the bold Hearone.

Sir Jorg, the worthè Loumle,

A knight of great renown,

Sir Raff, the rich Rugbè,

With dints were beaten down.

For Wetharryngton my heart was woe,

That ever he slain should be;

For when both his legs were hewn in two,

Yet he kneeled and fought on his knee.

There was slain with the doughty Douglas,

Sir Hew the Monggomberry,

Sir Davy Lydale, that worthy was,

His sisters son was he:

Sir Charls o' Murrè in that place,

That never a foot would flee;

Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was,

With the Douglas did he dee.

So on the morrow they made them biers

Of birch and hazel so gray;

Many widows with weepng tears

Came to fetch their makes away.

Tivydale may carp of care,

Northumberland may make great moan,

For two such captains as slain were there,

On the March-party shall never be none.

Word is commen to Eddenburrow,

To Jamy the Scottish king,

That doughty Douglas, lieu-tenant of the Merches

He lay slain Cheviot with-in.

(_makes_, husband. _carp_, talk.)

His handes did he weal and wring,

He said, "Alas, and woe is me!"

Such an other captain Scotland within,

He said, i-faith should never be.

Word is commen to lovely London,

Till the fourth Harry our king,

That Lord Persè, lieu-tenant of the Marches

He lay slain Cheviot within.

"God have mercy on his soul," said king Harry,

"Good lord, if thy will it be!

I have a hundrith captains in England," he said,

"As good as ever was he:

But Persè, and I brook my life,

Thy death well quit shall be."

As our noble king made his a-vow,

Like a noble prince of renown,

For the death of the lord Persè

He did the battle of Hombyll-down:

Where six and thirty Scottish knights

On a day were beaten down:

Glendale glittered on their armour bright,

Over castle, tower, and town.

(_weal,_ wring (?). _brook_, preserve. _quit_, requited.)

This was the Hunting of the Cheviot;

That tear began this spurn:

Old men that knowen the ground well enough,

Call it the battle of Otterburn.

At Otterburn began this spurn

Upon a Monnyn day:

There was the doughty Douglas slain,

The Perse never went away.

There was never a time on the March-partys

Sen the Douglas and the Perse met,

But it was marvel, and the red blude ran not,

As the rain does in the street.

Jesu Christ our bales bete,

And to the bliss us bring!

Thus was the Hunting of the Cheviot:

God send us all good ending!

(_tear_, injury (?). _spurn_, retaliation. _sen_, when.

_bales bete_, sufferings better.)

THE BLIND BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL GREEN

|This song's of a beggar who long lost his sight,

And had a fair daughter, most pleasant and bright;

And many a gallant brave suitor had she,

And none was so comely as pretty Bessee.

And though she was of complexion most fair,

Yet seeing she was but a beggar his heir,

Of ancient housekeepers despised was she,

Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee.

Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessee did say,

"Good father and mother, let me now go away,

To seek out my fortune, whatever it be;"

This suit then was granted to pretty Bessee.

This Bessee, that was of a beauty most bright,

They clad in gray russet, and late in the night

From father and mother alone parted she,

Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee.

She went till she came to Stratford-at-Bow,

Then she knew not whither or which way to go;

With tears she lamented her sad destiny,

So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee.

She kept on her journey until it was day,

And went unto Rumford along the highway;

And at the King's Arms entertained was she,

So fair and well-favoured was pretty Bessee.

She had not been there one month at an end,

But master and mistress and all was her friend;

And every brave gallant that once did her see

Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee.

Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,

And in their songs daily her love they extoll'd;

Her beauty was blazed in every degree,

So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.

The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;

She shewed herself courteous, but never too coy,

And at their commandment still she would be,

So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.

Four suitors at once unto her did go,

They craved her favour, but still she said no;

"I would not have gentlemen marry with me,"--

Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee.

Now one of them was a gallant young knight,

And he came unto her disguised in the night;

The second, a gentleman of high degree,

Who wooed and sued for prétty Bessee.

A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small,

Was then the third suitor, and proper withal;

Her master's own son the fourth man must be,

Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee.

"If that thou wilt marry with me," quoth the knight,

"Ill make thee a lady with joy and delight;

My heart is enthralled in thy fair beauty,

Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee."

The gentleman said, "Come marry with me,

In silks and in velvets my Bessee shall be;

My heart lies distracted, oh hear me!" quoth he,

"And grant me thy love, my dear pretty Bessee."

"Let me be thy husband," the merchant did say,

"Thou shalt live in London most gallant and gay;

My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee,

And I will for ever love pretty Bessee."

Then Bessee she sighed, and thus she did say;

"My father and mother I mean to obey;

First get their goodwill, and be faithful to me,

And you shall enjoy your dear pretty Bessee."

To every one of them that answer she made;

Therefore unto her they joyfully said,

"This thing to fulfill we all now agree;

But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?"

"My father," quoth she, "is soon to be seen;

The silly blind beggar of Bednall Green,

That daily sits begging for charity,

He is the kind father of pretty Bessee.

"His marks and his token are knowen full well;

He always is led by a dog and a bell;

A poor silly old man, God knoweth, is he,

Yet he is the true father of pretty Bessee."

"Nay, nay," quoth the merchant, "thou art not for me;"

"She," quoth the innholder, "my wife shall not be;"

"I loathe," said the gentleman, "a beggar's degree,

Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee."

"Why then," quoth the knight, "hap better or worse,

I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse,

And beauty is beauty in every degree;

Then welcome to me, my dear pretty Bessee.

"With thee to thy father forthwith I will go."

"Nay, forbear," quoth his kinsman, "it must not be so:

A poor beggar's daughter a lady sha'nt be;

Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee."

As soon then as it was break of the day,

The knight had from Rumford stole Bessee away;

The young men of Rumford, so sick as may be,

Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee.

As swift as the wind to ride they were seen,

Until they came near unto Bednall Green,

And as the knight lighted most courteously,

They fought against him for pretty Bessee.

But rescue came presently over the plain,

Or else the knight there for his love had been slain;

The fray being ended, they straightway did see

His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee.

Then bespoke the Blind Beggar, "Altho' I be poor,

Rail not against my child at my own door;

Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl,

Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl;

"And then if my gold should better her birth,

And equal the gold you lay on the earth,

Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see

The Blind Beggar's daughter a lady to be.

"But first, I will hear, and have it well known,

The gold that you drop it shall be all you own;"

"With that," they replied, "contented we be;"

"Then here's," quoth the beggar, "for pretty Bessee."

With that an angel he dropped on the ground,

And dropped, in angels, full three thousand pound;

And oftentimes it proved most plain,

For the gentleman's one, the beggar dropped twain.

So that the whole place wherein they did sit

With gold was covered every whit;

The gentleman having dropt all his store,

Said, "Beggar, your hand hold, for I have no more.

"Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright;"

"Then marry my girl," quoth he to the knight;

"And then," quoth he, "I will throw you down,

An hundred pound more to buy her a gown."

The gentlemen all, who his treasure had seen,

Admired the Beggar of Bednall Green.

And those that had been her suitors before,

Their tender flesh for anger they tore.

Thus was the fair Bessee matched to a knight,

And made a lady in others' despite:

A fairer lady there never was seen

Than the Blind Beggar's daughter of Bednall Green.

But of her sumptuous marriage and feast,

And what fine lords and ladies there prest,

The second part shall set forth to your sight,

With marvellous pleasure, and wished for delight.-