Part 25

7 Out it spake the bridegroom’s brother, Says, Margaret, I’ll tell you plainly; The knight ye should hae been wedded on Is drownd in the Water o Gamery.

8 She’s torn the ribbons aff her head— They were baith thick an mony— She kilted up her green claithing, And she has passed the Gamery.

9 She’s plunged in, so did she down, That was baith black an jumly, And in the middle o that water She found her ain sweet Willie.

10 She’s taen him in her arms twa And gied him kisses many: ‘My mother’s be as wae as thine! We’ll baith lie in the Water o Gamery.’

* * * * *

G

Motherwell’s MS., p. 637; from the recitation of the wife of James Baird, forester at Dalrymple.

1 ‘O stay at hame, my ain son Willie, And let your bride tak Johnie! O stay at hame, my ain son Willie! For my blessing gaes not wi thee.’

2 ‘I canna stay, nor I winna stay, And let my bride tak Johnie; I canna stay, nor I winna stay, Though your blessing gaes na wi me.

3 ‘I have a steed in my stable That cost me monie a pennie, And on that steed I winna dread To ride the water o Genrie.’

4 The firsten step that Willie stept, He steppit to the bellie; The wind blew loud, the stream ran proud, And awa wi it gaed Willie.

5 And when the bride gaed to the kirk, Into the kirk o Ganrie, She cuist her ee among them a’, But she sawna her love Willie.

6 Out and spak her auld brither, Saying, Peggie, I will tell thee; The man ye should been married till Lyes in the water o Genrie.

7 She tore the ribbons aff her head, That were baith rich and manie, And she has kiltit up her coat, And ran to the water o Ganrie.

8 She’s sought him up, sae did she doun, Thro a’ the water o Ganrie; In the deepest weil in a’ the burn, Oh, there she fand her Willie!

9 She has taen him in her arms twa, Sae fondly as she kisst him! Said, ‘My mither sall be wae as thine,’ And she’s lain doun aside him.

* * * * *

H

Campbell MSS, II, 78.

1 They were saddled a’, they were briddled a’, Bridegroom and a’ was ready; ‘Stop,’ says he, ‘my nobles a’, For I’ve left something behind me.

2 ‘It is your blessing, mother dear, To bound [to] the bride-styl with me:’ ‘God’s blessing now, my son,’ says she, ‘And mine and a’ gang wi ye!

3 ‘For ye are scarce nineteen years of age When ye met in wi bonny Maggie, And I’m sure, my dear, she’ll welcome you This day in the kirk o Gemrie.’

4 It’s they have ridden up, it’s they have ridden down, And joy was in their gallant company; It’s they have ridden up, and they have ridden down, Till they came to the water o Gemrie.

5 When they came to the water, it was flooded; In the middle Sweet William he fell; The spray brook over his horse’s mane, And the wind sang his funeral knell.

6 ‘O much is the pity! O much is the pity!’ Cried that joyful company; ‘O much is the pity! O much is the pity!’ But alas! now are woeful and wae.

7 Hame and hame came his stead, And ran to its ain stable; They’ve gien it corn and hay to eat, As much as it was able.

8 His mother she was a waefu woman, As dung as woman could be; ‘My son,’ says she, ‘is either hurt or slain, Or drowned in the waters of Gemrie.’

9 It’s up and spak her daughter Ann: ‘What needs be a’ this mourning? He’s lighted at yon bonny kirk-style, And his steed has run away from him.’

10 ‘O had yer tongue, my daughter Ann, Nor scold na me about mourning; Hadna my son there men enew To hae taken his steed from him?’

11 They’ve ridden up, they’ve ridden down, Till they came to the kirk o Gemrie; There they saw his winsome bride, Alone at the kirk-style standing.

12 ‘Where away is the man,’ says she, ‘That promised me fair wedding? This day he vowd to meet me here, But O he’s lang o coming!’

13 Up and spak his brother John, Says, ‘Meg, I’ll tell ye plainly; The stream was strang, and we rade wrang, And he’s drownd in the water o Gemrie.’

14 She’s torn the ribons frae her hair, That were baith thick and many; She’s torn them a’, lettin them fa’, And she’s away to the waters o Gemrie.

15 She[’s] sought him up, she’s sought him down, Until that she’s gotten his body, And she’s laid it on the green, green grass, And flung her mantle oer him.

16 ‘O Willie was red, but O now he’s white! And Willie was wondrous bonny, And Willie he said he’d marry me, Gin ere he married oney.

17 ‘He was red, he was white, he was my delight, And aye, aye I thought him bonny; But now since Willie has dy’d for me, I will sleep wi him in the same grave at Gemrie.’

* * * * *

#B. b.#

“The editor has often heard the following additional stanza [_the second_], though it is omitted by Thomson.”

2^1. links o her gowden locks.

2^3. She’s tied them about.

#D.#

_Not divided into stanzas in the MS._

#E.#

_Variations in Christie_, I, 66:

2^{1–3}. ye’ll.

6^1. O Willie’s.

7^3. And there were mair than threescore and ten.

14^4. at Gamery.

15^2. Where she had ribbons.

15^3. And tore them a’ and let.

15^4. And syne she ran.

16^4. ’Twas there.

17^1. She straiked back.

17^4. We’ll baith sleep.

#G.#

6^1. _Originally_ But out.

#H.#

2^2. bound the bridgestyle.

APPENDIX

ANNAN WATER

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1833, III, 282; 1802, II, 138.

The first edition lacks stanzas 5, 6, 8, 9. Two of these were inserted “from another copy of the ballad in which the conclusion proves fortunate.”

“The ballad,” says Scott, “is given from tradition,” for which a more precise expression would perhaps be “oral repetition.” It is asserted in the Minstrelsy to be “the original words of the tune of ‘Allan Water,’ by which name the song is mentioned in Ramsay’s Tea-Table Miscellany” (‘Allan Water, or, My love Annie’s very bonny,’ T. T. M., vol. i, p. 105, of the Dublin edition of 1729). This assertion is not justified by any reasons, nor does it seem pertinent, if the Allan was originally the river of the ballad, to add, as the editor does, that “the Annan and the Frith of Solway, into which it falls, are the frequent scenes of tragical accidents.”

A song which may pass for the original Allan Water until an earlier is produced is among the Laing broadsides (now in the possession of Lord Rosebery), No 59. There is no date or place, but it is thought to have been printed toward the end of the seventeenth century, or the beginning of the eighteenth, and probably at Edinburgh.

The title is: ‘Allan Water, or, A Lover in Captivity.[111] A new song, sung with a pleasant new air.’ There are three eight-line stanzas, and it begins:

Allan Water’s wide and deep, and my dear Anny’s very bonny; Wide’s the straith that lyes above ‘t, if ‘t were mine, I’de give it all for Anny.

Allan Cunningham says of the ballad, Songs of Scotland, II, 102: “I have heard it sung on the banks of the Annan. Like all traditional verses, there are many variations.” And he cites as “from an old fragment” these couplets:

O Annan water’s wading deep, [_i.e._ wide and] Yet I am loth to weet my feet; But if ye’ll consent to marry me, I’ll hire a horse to carry thee.[112]

It is my conviction that ‘Anna Water,’ in Ramsay’s language, is one of the “Scots poems wrote by the ingenious before” 1800.

“By the Gatehope Slack,” says Sir Walter Scott, “is perhaps meant the Gate Slack, a pass in Annandale.”

1 ‘Annan water’s wading deep, And my love Annie’s wondrous bonny, And I am laith she suld weet her feet, Because I love her best of ony.

2 ‘Gar saddle me the bonny black, Gar saddle sune, and make him ready, For I will down the Gatehope-Slack, And all to see my bonny ladye.’

3 He has loupen on the bonny black, He stirrd him wi the spur right sairly; But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack, I think the steed was wae and weary.

4 He has loupen on the bonny grey, He rade the right gate and the ready; I trow he would neither stint nor stay, For he was seeking his bonny ladye.

5 O he has ridden oer field and fell, Through muir and moss, and mony a mire; His spurs o steel were sair to bide, And frae her fore-feet flew the fire.

6 ‘Now, bonny grey, now play your part! Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary, Wi corn and hay ye’se be fed for aye, And never spur sall make you wearie.’

7 The grey was a mare, and a right good mare, But when she wan the Annan water She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.

8 ‘O boatman, boatman, put off your boat! Put off your boat for gowden money! I cross the drumly stream the night, Or never mair I see my honey.’

9 ‘O I was sworn sae late yestreen, And not by ae aith, but by many; And for a’ the gowd in fair Scotland I dare na take ye through to Annie.’

10 The ride was stey, and the bottom deep, Frae bank to brae the water pouring, And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear, For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.

11 O he has poud aff his dapperpy coat, The silver buttons glanced bonny; The waistcoat bursted aff his breast, He was sae full of melancholy.

12 He has taen the ford at that stream tail; I wot he swam both strong and steady; But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail, And he never saw his bonny ladye!

13 ‘O wae betide the frush saugh wand! And wae betide the bush of brier! It brake into my true-love’s hand, When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.

14 ‘And wae betide ye, Annan Water, This night that ye are a drumlie river! For over thee I’ll build a bridge, That ye never more true love may sever.’

216

THE MOTHER’S MALISON, OR, CLYDE’S WATER

#A.# ‘Clyde’s Water,’ Skene MS., p. 50.

#B.# ‘Willie and May Margaret,’ Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, 1806, I, 135.

#C.# ‘The Drowned Lovers,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 140; ‘Willie and Margaret,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 611; printed in part in Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. iii.

Stanzas 1, 5, 6, 7, 16, of #B# were printed by Jamieson (under the title of Sweet Willie and May Margaret) in the Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 700, in the hope of obtaining a complete copy.

In notes to #B# are here given some various readings and supplementary verses which were entered by Motherwell in a copy of his Minstrelsy, without indication of their origin.[113] Motherwell made a few changes in transcribing #C# into his MS., and others in the verses which he printed in the appendix to his Minstrelsy.

The copy of this ballad in Nimmo’s Songs and Ballads of Clydesdale, p. 134, was compounded from #B# and #C#.

Willie orders his horse and his man to be fed, for he means to be that very night with his love Margaret. His mother would have him stay with her: he shall have the best bed in the house and the best hen in the roost, #A#; the best cock in the roost and the best sheep in the flock, #B#; a sour wind is blowing and the night will be dark, #C#. He cares for none of these, and will go. My malison drown thee in Clyde! says his mother. Clyde is roaring fearfully, but he wins through. Arrived at Margaret’s bower, he tirls at the pin and calls to her to open. A voice asks, Who is there? It is her lover, his boots full of Clyde’s water. An answer comes, as if from Margaret, that she has no lovers without and none within, and she will not open, #A#, #C#; her mother is fast asleep, and she dares make no din, #B#. Then he begs for some shelter for the night; but is told that one chamber is full of corn, another full of hay, and the third full of gentlemen, who will not go till morning. Farewell, then; he has won his mother’s malison by coming. Clyde’s water is half up over the brae, #B#, and sweeps him off his horse, #C#. Margaret wakens from a dreary dream that her love had been ‘staring’ (standing?) at the foot of her bed, #A#; had been at the gates, and nobody would let him in, #C#. Her mother informs her that her lover had really been at the gates but half an hour before. Margaret instantly gets up and goes after Willie, crying to him against the loud wind. She does not stop for the river. No more was ever seen of Willie but his hat, no more of Margaret but her comb and her snood, #A#, which might end well so, but has lost a few lines. #C# ends like the preceding ballad: Margaret finds Willie in the deepest pot in Clyde; they shall sleep together in its bed.

#C# 20, 21 absurdly represents Willie’s brother as standing on the river-bank and expostulating with him; this in the dead of night.[114]

The passage in two of the copies, #A# 10–16, #C# 11–15, 22–25, in which the mother, pretending to be her daughter, repels the lover, and the daughter, who has dreamed that her lover had come and had been refused admittance, is told by her mother that this had actually happened, and sets off in pursuit of her lover, seems to have been adopted from ‘The Lass of Roch Royal,’ No 76. Parts are exchanged, as happens not infrequently with ballads; in the ‘Lass of Roch Royal,’ the lass is turned away by her lover’s mother, pretending to speak in his person. There is verbal correspondence, particularly in #A# 16; cf. No 76, #D# 26, 27, #E# 22, 23. In #D# 19 of No 76 the professed Love Gregor tells Annie that he has another love, as the professed Meggie in #A# 11 (inconsistently with what precedes) tells Willie.

The three steps into the water, #C# 26–28, occur also in ‘Child Waters,’ No 63, #B# 7–9, #C# 6–8, #I# 3, 4, 6. Nose-bleed, #C# 1, is a bad omen; see No 208.

Verses #A# 8^{1,2}, #C# 10^{1,2},

Make me your wrack as I come back, But spare me as I go,

are found in a broadside ‘Tragedy of Hero and Leander,’ Roxburghe Ballads, III, 152, etc., of the date, it is thought, of about 1650; Ebsworth’s Roxburghe Ballads, VI, 558, Collier’s Book of Roxburghe Ballads, 1847, p. 227. The conceit does not overwell suit a popular ballad. The original is Martial’s Parcite dum propero, mergite cum redeo, otherwise, Mergite me, fluctus, cum rediturus ero, Epigr. lib., 25 b, and lib. xiv, 181.

A very popular Italian ballad has some of the traits of ‘The Mother’s Malison,’ parts being exchanged and the girl drowned. A girl is asked in marriage; her mother objects, in most of the copies on the ground of her daughter’s youth; she goes off with her lover; the mother wishes that she may drown in the sea; arrived at the seashore her horse becomes restive, and the girl is drowned (or she goes down in mid-sea): ‘Maledizione della Madre,’ Nigra, Canti popolari del Piemonte, p. 151, No 23 #A#-#F#; ‘La Maledizione materna,’ Marcoaldi, p. 170, No 15; ‘La Maledetta,’ Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, p. 35, No 27; ‘Buona-sera, vedovella,’ Ferraro, C. p. del Basso Monferrato, p. 16, No 7; ‘La Figlia disobbediente,’ Bolza, C. p. comasche, No 55; ‘Amor di Fratello,’ Bernoni, C. p. veneziani, Puntata 9, No 4; Righi, C. p. veronesi, p. 30, No 93; Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, No 92 (a fragment). In ‘Marinai,’ Ferraro, C. p. di Ferrara, etc., p. 59, No 9, the suitor is a sailor, and the girl goes down in his ship, and so in ‘Il marinaro e la sua amorosa,’ No 94, Wolf, but in this last she is still told to stick to her horse. A fragment in Marie Aycard’s Bal-lades et ch. p. de la Provence, p. xix, repeated in Arbaud, II, 166, makes it probable that the Italian ballad was known in the south of France. (All the above are cited by Count Nigra.)

A mother’s curse upon her son, who is riding to fetch his bride, results in his breaking his neck, in a Bohemian ballad already spoken of under ‘Clerk Colvil,’ No 42; see #I#, 368 (where a translation by Wenzig, Slawische Volkslieder, p. 47, might have been noted).

A mother refuses to give her daughter in marriage because the girl is under age; the daughter is forcibly carried off; the mother wishes that she may not live a year, which comes to pass: ‘Der Mutter Fluch,’ Meinert, p. 246.

#B# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotshe Folkeviser, p. 64, No 10, and (with use of #C#), by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 26, Hausschatz, p. 203; Aytoun’s ballad (with use of #C#) by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 152, No 35; Allingham’s ballad by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 123.

* * * * *

A

Skene MS., p. 50; taken down from recitation in the north of Scotland, 1802–3.

1 ‘Ye gie corn unto my horse, An meat unto my man, For I will gae to my true-love’s gates This night, gin that I can.’

2 ‘O stay at hame this ae night, Willie, This ae bare night wi me; The best bed in a’ my house Sall be well made to thee.’

3 ‘I carena for your beds, mither, I carena ae pin, For I’ll gae to my love’s gates This night, gin I can win.’

4 ‘O stay, my son Willie, this night, This ae night wi me; The best hen in a’ my roost Sall be well made ready for thee.’

5 ‘I carena for your hens, mither, I carena ae pin; I sall gae to my love’s gates This night, gin I can win.’

6 ‘Gin ye winna stay, my son Willie, This ae bare night wi me, Gin Clyde’s water be deep and fu o flood, My malisen drown ye!’

7 He rode up yon high hill, An down yon dowie glen; The roaring of Clyde’s water Wad hae fleyt ten thousand men.

8 ‘O spare me, Clyde’s water, O spare me as I gae! Mak me your wrack as I come back, But spare me as I gae!’

9 He rade in, and farther in, Till he came to the chin; And he rade in, and farther in, Till he came to dry lan.

10 An whan he came to his love’s gates, He tirled at the pin: ‘Open your gates, Meggie, Open your gates to me, For my beets are fu o Clyde’s water, And the rain rains oure my chin.’

11 ‘I hae nae lovers therout,’ she says, ‘I hae nae love within; My true-love is in my arms twa, An nane will I lat in.’

12 ‘Open your gates, Meggie, this ae night, Open your gates to me; For Clyde’s water is fu o flood, An my mither’s malison’ll drown me.’

13 ‘Ane o my chamers is fu o corn,’ she says, ‘An ane is fu o hay; Anither is fa o gentlemen, An they winna move till day.’

14 Out waked her May Meggie, Out o her drousy dream: ‘I dreamed a dream sin the yestreen, God read a’ dreams to guid! That my true-love Willie Was staring at my bed-feet.’

15 ‘Now lay ye still, my ae dochter, An keep my back fra the call, For it’s na the space of hafe an hour Sen he gad fra yer hall.’

16 ‘An hey, Willie, an hoa, Willie, Winne ye turn agen?’ But ay the louder that she crayed He rod agenst the wind.

17 He rod up yon high hill, An doun yon douey den; The roring that was in Clid[e]‘s water Wad ha flayed ten thousand men.

18 He road in, an farder in, Till he came to the chine; An he road in, an farder in, Bat neuer mare was seen.

* * * * * *

19 Ther was na mare seen of that guid lord Bat his hat frae his head; Ther was na mare seen of that lady Bat her comb an her sneed.

20 Ther waders went up an doun Eadying Claid’s water Hav don us wrang

* * * * *

B

Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 135; from Mrs Brown’s recitation, apparently in 1800.

1 ‘Gie corn to my horse, mither, Gie meat unto my man, For I maun gang to Margaret’s bower Before the nicht comes on.’

2 ‘O stay at hame now, my son Willie, The wind blaws cald and sour; The nicht will be baith mirk and late Before ye reach her bower.’

3 ‘O tho the nicht were ever sae dark, Or the wind blew never sae cald, I will be in my Margaret’s bower Before twa hours be tald.’

4 ‘O gin ye gang to May Margaret, Without the leave of me, Clyde’s water’s wide and deep enough, My malison drown thee!’

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

6 As he rode oer yon hich, hich hill, And down yon dowie den, There was a roar in Clyde’s water Wad feard a hunder men.

7 His heart was warm, his pride was up; Sweet Willie kentna fear; But yet his mither’s malison Ay sounded in his ear.

8 O he has swam through Clyde’s water, Tho it was wide and deep, And he came to May Margaret’s door, When a’ were fast asleep.

9 O he’s gane round and round about, And tirled at the pin; But doors were steekd, and windows barrd, And nane wad let him in.

10 ‘O open the door to me, Margaret! O open and lat me in! For my boots are full o Clyde’s water And frozen to the brim.’

11 ‘I darena open the door to you, Nor darena lat you in, For my mither she is fast asleep, And I darena mak nae din.’

12 ‘O gin ye winna open the door, Nor yet be kind to me, Now tell me o some out-chamber Where I this nicht may be.’

13 ‘Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie, Nor here ye canna be; For I’ve nae chambers out nor in, Nae ane but barely three.

14 ‘The tane o them is fu o corn, The tither is fu o hay; The tither is fu o merry young men; They winna remove till day.’

15 ‘O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret, Sin better manna be; I’ve win my mither’s malison, Coming this nicht to thee.’

16 He’s mounted on his coal-black steed, O but his heart was wae! But, ere he came to Clyde’s water, ’Twas half up oer the brae.

* * * * * *

17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . he plunged in, But never raise again.

* * * * *

C

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 140.

1 Willie stands in his stable-door, And clapping at his steed, And looking oer his white fingers His nose began to bleed.

2 ‘Gie corn to my horse, mother, And meat to my young man, And I’ll awa to Maggie’s bower; I’ll win ere she lie down.’

3 ‘O bide this night wi me, Willie, O bide this night wi me; The best an cock o a’ the reest At your supper shall be.’

4 ‘A’ your cocks, and a’ your reests, I value not a prin, For I’ll awa to Meggie’s bower; I’ll win ere she lie down.’

5 ‘Stay this night wi me, Willie, O stay this night wi me; The best an sheep in a’ the flock At your supper shall be.’

6 ‘A’ your sheep, and a’ your flocks, I value not a prin, For I’ll awa’ to Meggie’s bower; I’ll win ere she lie down.’

7 ‘O an ye gang to Meggie’s bower, Sae sair against my will, The deepest pot in Clyde’s water, My malison ye’s feel.’

8 ‘The guid steed that I ride upon Cost me thrice thretty pound; And I’ll put trust in his swift feet To hae me safe to land.’

9 As he rade ower yon high, high hill, And down yon dowie den, The noise that was in Clyde’s water Woud feard five huner men.

10 ‘O roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud, Your streams seem wondrous strang; Make me your wreck as I come back, But spare me as I gang!’

11 Then he is on to Maggie’s bower, And tirled at the pin; ‘O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie,’ he said, ‘Ye’ll open, lat me come in.’

12 ‘O wha is this at my bower-door, That calls me by my name?’ ‘It is your first love, sweet Willie, This night newly come hame.’

13 ‘I hae few lovers thereout, thereout, As few hae I therein; The best an love that ever I had Was here just late yestreen.’