Old Tales and Balladry
410
FLANNAN ISLE
“Though three men dwell on Flannan Isle
To keep the lamp alight,
As we steered under the lee, we caught
No glimmer through the night.”—
A passing ship at dawn had brought
The news; and quickly we set sail,
To find out what strange thing might ail
The keepers of the deep-sea light.
The Winter day broke blue and bright,
With glancing sun and glancing spray,
While o’er the swell our boat made way,
As gallant as a gull in flight.
But as we neared the lonely Isle,
And looked up at the naked height,
And saw the lighthouse towering white,
With blinded lantern, that all night
Had never shot a spark
Of comfort through the dark,
So ghostly in the cold sunlight
It seemed, that we were struck the while
With wonder all too dread for words.
And as into the tiny creek
We stole beneath the hanging crag,
We saw three queer, black, ugly birds—
Too big, by far, in my belief,
For cormorant or shag—
Like seamen sitting bolt-upright
Upon a half-tide reef:
But, as we neared, they plunged from sight,
Without a sound, or spurt of white.
And still too mazed to speak,
We landed; and made fast the boat;
And climbed the track in single file,
Each wishing he were safe afloat,
On any sea, however far,
So it be far from Flannan Isle:
And still we seemed to climb, and climb,
As though we’d lost all count of time,
And so must climb for evermore.
Yet, all too soon, we reached the door
The black, sun-blistered lighthouse-door,
That gaped for us ajar.
As, on the threshold, for a spell,
We paused, we seemed to breathe the smell
Of limewash and of tar,
Familiar as our daily breath,
As though ’twere some strange scent of death:
And so, yet wondering, side by side,
We stood a moment, still tongue-tied:
And each with black foreboding eyed
The door, ere we should fling it wide,
To leave the sunlight for the gloom:
Till, plucking courage up, at last,
Hard on each other’s heels we passed,
Into the living-room.
Yet, as we crowded through the door,
We only saw a table, spread
For dinner, meat and cheese and bread;
But, all untouched; and no one there:
As though, when they sat down to eat,
Ere they could even taste,
Alarm had come; and they in haste
Had risen and left the bread and meat:
For at the table-head a chair
Lay tumbled on the floor.
We listened; but we only heard
The feeble cheeping of a bird
That starved upon its perch:
And, listening still, without a word,
We set about our hopeless search.
We hunted high, we hunted low;
And soon ransacked the empty house;
Then o’er the Island, to and fro,
We ranged, to listen and to look
In every cranny, cleft or nook
That might have hid a bird or mouse:
But, though we searched from shore to shore
We found no sign in any place:
And soon again stood face to face
Before the gaping door:
And stole into the room once more
As frightened children steal.
Ay: though we hunted high and low,
And hunted everywhere,
Of the three men’s fate we found no trace
Of any kind in any place,
But a door ajar, and an untouched meal,
And an overtoppled chair.
And as we listened in the gloom
Of that forsaken living-room—
A chill clutch on our breath—
We thought how ill-chance came to all
Who kept the Flannan Light:
And how the rock had been the death
Of many a likely lad:
How six had come to a sudden end,
And three had gone stark mad:
And one whom we’d all known as friend
Had leapt from the lantern one still night,
And fallen dead by the lighthouse wall:
And long we thought
On the three we sought,
And of what might yet befall.
Like curs a glance has brought to heel,
We listened, flinching there:
And looked, and looked, on the untouched meal,
And the overtoppled chair.
We seemed to stand for an endless while,
Though still no word was said,
Three men alive on Flannan Isle,
Who thought on three men dead.
Wilfrid Gibson
411
THE GOLDEN VANITY
There was a gallant ship, and a gallant ship was she,
Eck iddle du, and the Lowlands low;
And she was called The Goulden Vanitie.
As she sailed to the Lowlands low.
She had not sailed a league, a league but only three,
When she came up with a French gallee.
As she sailed to the Lowlands low.
Out spoke the little cabin-boy, out spoke he;
“What will you give me if I sink that French gallee?
As ye sail to the Lowlands low.”
“I’ll give thee gold, and I’ll give thee fee,
And my eldest daughter thy wife shall be
If you sink her off the Lowlands low.”
“Then row me up ticht in a black bull’s skin,
And throw me oer deck-buird, sink I or swim.
As ye sail to the Lowlands low.”
So they’ve rowed him up ticht in a black bull’s skin,
And have thrown him oer deck-buird, sink he or swim.
As they sail to the Lowlands low.
About, and about, and about went he,
Until he cam up with the French gallee.
As they sailed to the Lowlands low.
O some were playing cards, and some were playing dice,
The boy he had an auger bored holes two at twice;
He let the water in, and it dazzled in their eyes,
As they sailed to the Lowlands low.
Then some they ran with cloaks, and some they ran with caps,
To try if they could stap the saut-water draps.
As they sailed to the Lowlands low.
About, and about, and about went he,
Until he cam back to The Goulden Vanitie.
As they sailed to the Lowlands low.
“Now throw me oer a rope and pu me up on buird,
And prove unto me as guid as your word.
As ye sail to the Lowlands low.”
“We’ll no throw ye oer a rope, nor pu you up on buird,
Nor prove unto you as guid as our word.
As we sail to the Lowlands low.”
“You promised me gold, and you promised me fee,
Your eldest daughter my wife she should be.
As ye sail to the Lowlands low.”
“You shall have gold, and you shall have fee,
But my eldest daughter your wife shall never be.
As we sail to the Lowlands low.”
Out spoke the little cabin-boy, out spoke he;
“Then hang me, I’ll sink ye as I sunk the French gallee.
As ye sail to the Lowlands low.”
The boy he swam round all by the starboard side,
When they pu’d him up on buird it’s there he soon died;
They threw him o’er deck-buird to go down with the tide,
And sink off the Lowlands low.
412
BROWN ROBYN
It fell upon a Wodensday
Brown Robyn’s men went to sea,
But they saw neither moon nor sun,
Nor starlight with their ee.
“We’ll cast kevels us amang,
See wha the unhappy man may be:”
The kevel fell on Brown Robyn,
The master-man was hee.
“It is nae wonder,” said Brown Robyn,
“Altho I dinna thrive;
[For if the deidly sins be seven,
Befallen me hae five.]
“But tie me to a plank o wude,
And throw me in the sea;
And if I sink, ye may bid me sink,
But if I swim, lat me bee.”
They’ve tyed him to a plank o wude,
And thrown him in the sea;
He didna sink, tho they bade him sink;
He swimd, and they lat him be.—
He hadna been into the sea
An hour but barely three,
Till by and came Our Blessed Lady,
Her dear young son her wi.
“Will ye gang to your men again?
Or will ye gang wi me?
Will ye gang to the high heavens,
Wi my dear son and me?”
“I winna gang to my men again,
For they woud be feared at mee;
But I woud gang to the high heavens,
Wi thy dear son and thee.”
“It’s for nae honour ye did to me, Brown Robyn,
It’s for nae guid ye did to mee;
But a’ is for your fair confession
You’ve made upon the sea.”
413
ONE FRIDAY MORN
One Friday morn when we set sail,
Not very far from land,
We there did espy a fair pretty maid
With a comb and a glass in her hand, her hand, her hand,
With a comb and a glass in her hand.
While the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow,
While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,
And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,
And the land-lubbers lying down below.
Then up starts the captain of our gallant ship,
And a brave young man was he:
“I’ve a wife and a child in fair Bristol town,
But a widow I fear she will be.”
And the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow.
Then up starts the mate of our gallant ship,
And a bold young man was he:
“Oh! I have a wife in fair Portsmouth town,
But a widow I fear she will be.”
And the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow.
Then up starts the cook of our gallant ship,
And a gruff old soul was he:
“Oh! I have a wife in fair Plymouth town,
But a widow I fear she will be.”
And the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow.
And then up spoke the little cabin-boy,
And a pretty little boy was he;
“Oh! I am more grieved for my daddy and my mammy
Than you for your wives all three.”
And the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow.
Then three times round went our gallant ship,
And three times round went she;
And three times round went our gallant ship,
And she sank to the bottom of the sea....
And the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow.
While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,
And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,
And the land-lubbers lying down below.
414
THE SHIP
There was no song nor shout of joy
Nor beam of moon or sun,
When she came back from the voyage
Long ago begun;
But twilight on the waters
Was quiet and grey,
And she glided steady, steady and pensive,
Over the open bay.
Her sails were brown and ragged,
And her crew hollow-eyed,
But their silent lips spoke content
And their shoulders pride;
Though she had no captives on her deck,
And in her hold
There were no heaps of corn or timber
Or silks or gold.
J. C. Squire
415
THE MOON-CHILD
A little lonely child am I
That have not any soul:
God made me as the homeless wave,
That has no goal.
A seal my father was, a seal
That once was man;
My mother loved him tho’ he was
’Neath mortal ban.
He took a wave and drownèd her,
She took a wave and lifted him:
And I was born where shadows are
In sea-depths dim.
All through the sunny blue-sweet hours
I swim and glide in waters green:
Never by day the mournful shores
By me are seen.
But when the gloom is on the wave
A shell unto the shore I bring:
And then upon the rocks I sit
And plaintive sing.
I have no playmate but the tide
The seaweed loves with dark brown eyes:
The night-waves have the stars for play,
For me but sighs.
“Fiona Macleod” (William Sharp)
416
THE MERMAID
To yon fause stream that, by the sea,
Hides mony an elf and plum,162
And rives wi’ fearful din the stanes,
A witless knicht did come.
The day shines clear. Far in he’s gane,
Whar shells are silver bright;
Fishes war loupin’163 a’ aroun’
An’ sparklin’ to the light.
When, as he laved, sounds came sae sweet
Frae ilka rock ajee;164
The brief165 was out; ’twas him it doomed
The mermaid’s face to see.
Frae ’neath a rock sune, sune she rose,
An’ stately on she swam,
Stopped i’ the midst, and becked and sang
For him to stretch his han’;
Gowden glist the yellow links
That roun’ her neck she’d twine;
Her een war o’ the skyie blue,
Her lips did mock the wine.
The smile upon her bonnie cheek
Was sweeter than the bee;
Her voice excelled the birdie’s sang
Upon the birchen tree.
Sae couthie, couthie did she look,
And meikle had she fleeched;166
Out shot his hand—alas! alas!
Fast in the swirl he screeched.
The mermaid leuched;167 her brief was dane;
The kelpie’s blast was blawin’:
Fu’ low she dived, ne’er cam’ again;
For deep, deep was the fawin’.
Aboon the stream his wraith was seen:
Warlocks tirled lang at gloamin’:
That e’en was coarse;168 the blast blew hoarse
Ere lang the waves war foamin’.
417
QUO’ THE TWEED
Quo’ the Tweed to the Till,
“What gars ye gang sae still?”
Quo’ the Till to the Tweed,
“Though ye rin wi’ speed,
And I rin slaw,
For ilka are that ye droon,
I droon twa.”
418
SIR PATRICK SPENCE
The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
“O whar will I get ae guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?”
Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the king’s richt kne;
“Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That sails upon the se.”
The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.
“O wha is this has done this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o’ the yeir,
To sail upon the se!
“Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne.”
“O say na sae, my master deir,
Fir I feir a deadlie storme.
“Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi’ the auld moone in hir arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will cum to harme.”
O our Scots nobles wer richt laith169
To weet170 their cork-heil’d schoone;
Bot lang owre171 a’ the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.
O lang, lang may their ladies sit
Wi’ thair fans into their hand
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi’ thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they’ll se thame no mair.
Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,
It’s fiftie fadom deip,
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi’ the Scots lords at his feit.
419
ALLISON GROSS
O Allison Gross, that lives in yon towr,
The ugliest witch i the north country,
Has trysted me ae day up till her bowr,
An monny fair speech she made to me.
She stroaked my head, an she kembed my hair,
An she set me down saftly on her knee;
Says, Gin172 ye will be my luver so true,
Sae monny braw things as I woud you gi’e.
She showd me a mantle o red scarlet,
Wi gouden flowrs an fringes fine;
Says, Gin ye will be my luver so true,
This goodly gift it sal be thine.
“Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
Haud far awa, an lat me be;
I never will be your luver sae true,
An I wish I were out o your company.”
She neist brought a sark o the saftest silk,
Well wrought wi pearles about the ban;
Says, Gin you will be my ain true love,
This goodly gift you sal comman.
She showd me a cup of the good red gold,
Well set wi jewls sae fair to see;
Says, Gin you will be my luver sae true,
This goodly gift I will you gi’e.
“Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
Haud far awa, and lat me be;
For I woudna ance kiss your ugly mouth
For a’ the gifts that ye could gi’e.”
She’s turnd her right and roun about,
An thrice she blaw on a grass-green horn,
An she sware by the moon and the stars aboon,
That she’d gar me rue the day I was born.
Then out has she taen a silver wand,
An she’s turnd her three times roun an roun;
She’s mutterd sich words till my strength it faild,
An I fell down senceless upon the groun.
She’s turnd me into an ugly worm,
And gard me writhle about the tree;
An ay, on ilka Saturdays night,
My sister Maisry came to me,
Wi silver bason an silver kemb,
To kemb my heady upon her knee;
But or I had kissd her ugly mouth,
I’d rather a writhled about the tree.
But as it fell out on last Hallow-even,
When the seely court was ridin by,
The queen lighted down on a gowany bank,
Nae far frae the tree where I wont to lye.
She took me up in her milk-white han,
An she’s stroakd me three times oer her knee;
She chang’d me again to my ain proper shape,
An I nae mair maun writhle about the tree.
420
SIR HUGH, OR, THE JEW’S DAUGHTER
Four and twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba’,
And by it came him sweet Sir Hugh,
And he playd o’er them a’.
He kicked the ba’ with his right foot,
And catchd it wi’ his knee,
And throuch-and-thro the Jew’s window
He gard the bonny ba’ flee.
He’s doen him to the Jew’s castell,
And walkd it round about;
And there he saw the Jew’s daughter,
At the window looking out.
“Throw down the ba’, ye Jew’s daughter,
Throw down the ba’ to me!”
“Never a bit,” says the Jew’s daughter,
“Till up to me come ye.”
“How will I come up? How can I come up?
How can I come to thee?
For as ye did to my auld father
The same ye’ll do to me.”
She’s gane till her father’s garden,
And pu’d an apple red and green;
’T was a’ to wyle him—sweet Sir Hugh,
And to entice him in.
She’s led him in through ae dark door,
And sae has she thro nine;
She’s laid him on a dressing-table,
And stickit him like a swine.
And first came out the thick, thick blood,
And syne came out the thin,
And syne came out the bonny heart’s blood;
There was nae mair within.
She’s rowd him in a cake o’ lead,
Bade him lie still and sleep;
She’s thrown him in Our Lady’s draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep.
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a’ the bairns came hame,
When every lady gat hame her son,
The Lady Maisry gat nane.
She’s ta’en her mantle her about,
Her coffer173 by the hand,
And she’s gane out to seek her son,
And wanderd o’er the land.
She’s doen her to the Jew’s castell,
Where a’ were fast asleep:
“Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak.”
She’s doen her to the Jew’s garden,
Thought he had been gathering fruit:
“Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak!
She neard Our Lady’s deep draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep:
“Whareer ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak.”
“Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
Prepare my winding sheet,
And at the birks174 o’ merry Lincoln
The morn I will you meet.”
Now Lady Maisry is gane hame,
Made him a winding sheet,
And at the birks o’ merry Lincoln
The dead corpse did her meet.
And a’ the bells o’ merry Lincoln
Without men’s hands were rung,
And a’ the books o’ merry Lincoln
Were read without man’s tongue,
When bells war rung, and mass was sung
And a’ men bound for bed,
Every mither had her son,
But sweet Sir Hugh was dead.
421
EDWARD
“Why does your brand so drop wi’ blood,
Edward, Edward,
Why does your brand so drop wi’ blood,
And why so sad go ye O?”
“O I have killed my hawk so good,
Mother, mother,
O I have killed my hawk so good,
And I had no more but he O.”
“Your hawk’s blood was never so red,
Edward, Edward,
Your hawk’s blood was never so red,
My dear son I tell thee O.”
“O I have killed my red-roan steed,
Mother, mother,
O I have killed my red-roan steed,
That erst was so fair and free O.”
“Your steed was old, and ye have got more,
Edward, Edward,
Your steed was old, and ye have got more,
Some other grief you bear O.”
“O I have killed my father dear,
Mother, mother,
O I have killed my father dear,
Alas, and woe is me O!”
“And what penance will ye do for that,
Edward, Edward?
And what penance will ye do for that?
My dear son, now tell me O.”
“I’ll set my foot in yonder boat,
Mother, mother,
I’ll set my foot in yonder boat,
And I’ll fare over the sea O.”
“And what will ye do wi’ your towers and your hall,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye do wi’ your towers and your hall,
That were so fair to see O?”
“I’ll let them stand till they down fall,
Mother, mother,
I’ll let them stand till they down fall,
For here never more may I be O.”
“And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
When ye go over the sea O?”
“The world’s wide, let them beg their life,
Mother, mother,
The world’s wide, let them beg their life,
For them never more will I see O.”
“And what will ye leave to your own mother dear,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your own mother dear?
My dear son, now tell me O.”
“The curse of hell from me shall ye bear,
Mother, mother,
The curse of hell from me shall ye bear,
Such counsels ye gave to me O.”
422
THE LAIRD O’ LOGIE
I will sing, if ye will hearken,
If ye will hearken unto me;
The King has ta’en a poor prisoner,
The wanton laird of Young Logie.
Young Logie’s laid in Edinburgh chapel,
Carmichael’s the keeper o’ the key;
I heard a may175 lamenting sair
A’ for the laird of Young Logie.
“Lament, lament na, May Margaret,
And o’ your weeping let me be;
For ye maun to the king your sell,
And ask the life of Young Logie.
May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,176
And she’s currlld back her yellow hair;
“If I canna get young Logie’s life,
Farewell to Scotland for ever mair!”
When she came before the king,
She knelit low doon on her knee:
“It’s what’s your will wi’ me, May Margaret,
And what needs a’ this courtesie?”
“A boon, a boon, my noble liege,
A boon, a boon, I beg o’ thee!
And the first boon that I come to crave,
It’s to grant me the life o’ Young Logie.”
“O na, O na, May Margaret,
Na, in sooth it mauna177 be;
For the178 morn, ere I taste meat or drink,
Hee179 hangèd shall Young Logie be.”
She has stolen the king’s redding-kaim,180
Likewise the queen her wedding-knife;
And sent the tokens to Carmichael,
To cause Young Logie get181 his life.
She sent him a purse o’ the red gowd,
Another o’ the white monie;
And sent him a pistol into each hand,
And bade him shoot when he gat free.
When he came to the Tolbooth stair,
There he let his volley flee,
It made the king in his chamber start,
E’en in the bed where he might be.
“Gae out, gae out, my merrie men a’,
And gar Carmichael come speak wi’ me,
For I’ll lay my life the pledge o’ that,
That yon’s the volley of Young Logie.”
When Carmichael came before the king,
He fell low down upon his knee;
The very first word that the king spake,
Was, “Where’s the laird o’ Young Logie?”
Carmichael turn’d him round about,
I wat the salt tear blinded his ee,
“There came a token frae your grace,
Has ta’en the laird awa frae me.”
“Mast thou played me that Carmichael?—
Hast thou played me that?” quoth he;
“The morn the Justice Court’s to stand,
And Logie’s place ye maun supplie.”
Carmichael’s awa to May Margaret’s bower,
Even as fast as he may dree;
“O if Young Logie be within,
Tell him to come and speak with me.”
May Margaret’s turn’d her round about,
I wat a loud laughter gae she:
“The egg is chipp’d, the bird is flown,
Ye’ll see nae mair o’ Young Logie.”
Tane182 is shipped at the pier o’ Leith,
T’other at the Queen’s Ferrie,
And she’s gotten a father to her bairn,
The wanton laird of Young Logie.
423
FAIR ANNIE
The reivers183 they stole Fair Annie,
As she walked by the sea;
But a noble knight was her ransom soon,
Wi’ gowd and white monie.184
She bided in strangers’ land wi’ him,
And none knew whence she cam;
She lived in the castle wi’ her love,
But never told her name.—
“It’s narrow, narrow, mak your bed,
And learn to lie your lane;185
For I’m gaun owre the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw Bride to bring hame.
Wi’ her I will get, gowd and gear,
Wi’ you I ne’er gat nane.
“But wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my bright Bride,
That I bring owre the dale?”
“It’s I will bake your bridal bread,
And brew your bridal ale;
And I will welcome your bright Bride,
That you bring owre the dale.”
“But she that welcomes my bright Bride
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And comely braid her hair.
“Bind up, bind up your yellow hair,
And tie it on your neck;
And see you look as maiden-like
As the day that first we met.”
“O how can I gang maiden-like,
When maiden I am nane?
Have I not borne six sons to thee,
And am wi’ child again?”
“I’ll put cooks into my kitchen,
And stewards in my hall,
And I’ll have bakers for my bread,
And brewers for my ale;
But you’re to welcome my bright Bride,
That I bring owre the dale.”
Three months and a day were gane and past,
Fair Annie she gat word
That her love’s ship was come at last,
Wi’ his bright young Bride aboard.
She’s ta’en her young son in her arms,
Anither in her hand;
And she’s gane up to the highest tower,
Looks over sea and land.
“Come doun, come doun, my mother dear,
Come aff the castle wa’!
I fear if langer ye stand there,
Ye’ll let yoursell doun fa’.”
She’s ta’en a cake o’ the best bread,
A stoup o’ the best wine,
And a’ the keys upon her arm,
And to the yett is gane.186
“O ye’re welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
To your castles and your towers;
Ye’re welcome hame, my ain gude lord,
To your ha’s,187 but and your bowers.
And welcome to your hame, fair lady!
For a’ that’s here is yours.”
“O whatna lady’s that, my lord,
That welcomes you and me?
Gin188 I be lang about this place,
Her friend I mean to be.”—
Fair Annie served the lang tables
Wi’ the white bread and the wine;
But ay she drank the wan water
To keep her colour fine.
And she gaed by the first table,
And smiled upon them a’;
But ere she reached the second table,
The tears began to fa’.
She took a napkin lang and white,
And hung it on a pin;
It was to wipe away the tears,
As she gaed out and in.
When bells were rung and mass was sung,
And a’ men bound for bed,
The bridegroom and the bonny Bride
In ae189 chamber were laid.—
Fair Annie’s ta’en a harp in her hand,
To harp thir twa190 asleep;
But ay, as she harpit and she sang,
Fu’ sairly did she weep.
“O gin my sons were seven rats,
Rinnin’ on the castle wa’,
And I mysell a grey grey cat,
I soon wad worry them a’!
“O gin my sons were seven hares,
Rinnin’ owre yon lily lea,
And I mysell a good greyhound,
Soon worried they a’ should be!”—
Then out and spak the bonny young Bride,
In bride-bed where she lay:
“That’s like my sister Annie,” she says;
“Wha is it doth sing and play?
“I’ll put on my gown,” said the new-come Bride
“And my shoes upon my feet;
I will see wha doth sae sadly sing,
And what is it gars her greet.191
“What ails you, what ails you, my housekeeper,
That ye mak sic a mane?192
Has ony wine-barrel cast its girds,
Or is a’ your white bread gane?”
“It isna because my wine is spilt,
Or that my white bread’s gane;
But because I’ve lost my true love’s love,
And he’s wed to anither are.”
“Noo tell me wha was your father?” she says,
“Noo tell me wha was your mother?
And had ye ony sister?” she says,
“And had ye ever a brother?”
“The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
The Countess of Wemyss my mother,
Young Elinor she was my sister dear,
And Lord John he was my brother.”
“If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
I wot sae was he mine;
And it’s O my sister Annie!
Your love ye sallna tyne.193
“Tak your husband, my sister dear;
You ne’er were wrangd for me,
Beyond a kiss o’ his merry mouth
As we cam owre the sea.
“Seven ships, loaded weel,
Cam owre the sea wi’ me;
Ane o’ them will tak me hame,
And six I’ll gie to thee.”
424
HELEN OF KIRCONNELL
... I wish I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirconnell lea!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
And died for sake o’ me!
O think na but my heart was sair
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair;
I laid her down wi’ meikle care
On fair Kirconnell lea.
As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell lea;
I lighted down, my sword to draw,
I hackèd him in pieces sma’,
I hackèd him in pieces sma’,
For her that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare,
I’ll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair,
Until the day I die.
O that I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, “Haste and come to me!”
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen’s arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my love died for me.
425
THE BONNIE BOWER
The Lament of the Border Widow
My love he built me a bonnie bower,
And clad it a’ wi’ lily flower;
A brawer bower ye ne’er did see,
Than my true-love he built for me.
There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport, and went away;
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.
He slew my knight, to me sae dear;
He slew my knight, and poin’d his gear:194
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.
I sewed his sheet, making my mane;
I watched the corpse, mysel alane;
I watched his body night and day;
No living creature came that way.
I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;
I digged a grave, and laid him in,
And happed him with the sod sae green.
But think na’ ye my heart was sair,
When I laid the moul’ on his yellow hair?
O, think na’ ye my heart was wae,
When I turned about, away to gae?
Nae living man I’ll love again,
Since that my lovely knight is slain;
Wi’ ae lock o’ his yellow hair
I’ll chain my heart for evermair.
426
WEEP NO MORE
Weep no more, nor sigh nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that’s gone:
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again;
Trim thy locks, look chearfully,
Fate’s hidden ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.195
John Fletcher
427
THE TWA SISTERS
There were twa sisters sat in a bowr;
Binnorie, O Binnorie:
There came a knight to be their wooer
By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie.
He courted the eldest wi’ glove an ring,
But he lov’d the youngest above a’ thing.196
He courted the eldest wi’ brotch an knife,
But lov’d the youngest as his life.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
An’ much envi’d her sister fair.
Into197 her bow’r she could not rest,
Wi’ grief an spite she almos brast.
Upon a morning fair an’ clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:—
“O sister, come to yon sea stran,
An see our father’s ships come to lan.”
She’s ta’en her by the milk-white han,
An led her down to yon sea stran.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest came an threw her in.
She tooke her by the middle sma,’
An dashed her bonny back to the jaw.198
“O sister, sister, tak my han,
And Ise mack199 you heir to a’ my lan.
“O sister, sister, tak my middle,
An yes get200 my goud and my gouden girdle.
“O sister, sister, save my life,
An I swear Ise never be nae man’s wife.”
“Foul fa’ the han that I should tacke,
It twin’d me an my wardles make.201
“Your cherry cheeks an yallow hair
Gars me gae maiden for evermair.”
Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she swam,
Till she came 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.
You coudna see her yallow hair
For gold and pearle that were so rare.
You coudna see her middle sma’
For gouden girdle that was sae braw.
You coudna see her fingers white,
For gouden rings that was sae gryte.202
An 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,
An wi’ them strung his harp sae fair.
The first tune he did play and sing,
Was, “Farewell to my father the king.”
The nextin tune that he play’d syne,
Was, “Farewell to my mother the queen.”
The lastin tune that he play’d then,
Was, “Wae to my sister, fair Ellen.”
428
SWEET WILLIAM AND MAY MARGARET
There came a ghost to Margret’s door,
With many a grievous groan;
And aye he tirlèd at the pin,
But answer made she none....
“Is that my father Philip?
Or is’t my brother John?
Or is’t my true-love Willie,
From Scotland new come home?”
’Tis not thy father Philip,
Nor yet thy brother John,
But’ tis thy true-love Willie,
From Scotland new come home.
“O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.”
“Thy faith and troth thou’s never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower
And kiss me cheek and chin.”
“If I shou’d come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man;
And shou’d I kiss thy ruby lips,
Thy days would not be lang.
“O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.”
“Thy faith and troth thou’s never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till thou take me to yon kirk-yard,
And wed me with a ring.”
“My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard
Afar beyond the sea;
And it is but my spirit, Margret,
That’s now speaking to thee.”
She stretched out her lily-white hand,
And, for to do her best:
“Hae, there’s your faith and troth, Willie;
God send your soul good rest.”...
Now she has kilted her robes o’ green
A piece below her knee,
And a’ the live-lang winter night
The dead corp followed she.
“Is there any room at your head, Willie,
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?”
“There’s nae room at my head, Margret,
There’s nae room at my feet;
There’s nae room at my side, Margret,
My coffin’s made so meet.”
Then up and crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the grey;
“’Tis time, ’tis time, my dear Margret,
That you were gane awa’.”
429
THE WIFE OF USHER’S WELL
There lived a wife at Usher’s Well
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o’er the sea.
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
Whan word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
Whan word came to the carline wife
That her sons she’d never see.
“I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood.”—
It fell about the Martinmass,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife’s three sons came hame,
And their hats were o the birk.
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o’ Paradise
That birk grew fair eneugh....
“Blow up the fire, my maidens,
Bring water from the well;
For a’ my house shall feast this night
Since my three sons are well.”
And she has made to them a bed,
She’s made it large and wide;
And she’s ta’en her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bedside.
“Lie still, lie still but a little wee while,
Lie still but if we may;
Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes
She’ll go mad ere it be day.
“Our mother has nae mair but us;
See where she leans asleep;
The mantle that was on herself,
She has happ’d it round our feet.”
Up then crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the grey;
The eldest to the youngest said,
“’Tis time we were away!”
The cock he hadna crawed but once,
And clapped his wings at a’,
When the youngest to the eldest said,
“Brother, we must awa’.
“The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin worm doth chide;
Gin we be mist out o’ our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.
“Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother’s fire!”