Chapter VIII: Book I: The Boy and the Mantle (4)

"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch! 25
Haud far awa, and lat me be;
For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth
For a' the gifts that ye cou'd gie."

She's turned her richt and round about,
And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn; 30
And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon,
That she'd gar me rue the day I was born.

Then out has she ta'en a silver wand,
And she's turned her three times round and round;
She's mutter'd sic words, that my strength it fail'd, 35
And I fell down senseless on the ground.

She's turn'd me into an ugly worm,
And gar'd me toddle about the tree;
And ay, on ilka Saturday's night,
My sister Maisry came to me, 40

Wi' silver bason, and silver kemb,
To kemb my headie upon her knee;
But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth,
I'd rather hae toddled about the tree.

But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en, 45
When the Seely Court[L46] was ridin' by,
The queen lighted down on a gowan bank,
Nae far frae the tree whare I wont to lye.

She took me up in her milk-white hand,
And she straiked me three times o'er her knee; 50
She changed me again to my ain proper shape,
And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree.

46. _Seely Court_, i.e. "pleasant or happy court," or "court of the pleasant and happy people." This agrees with the ancient and more legitimate idea of Fairies. JAMIESON. See p. 120, v. 131, _et seq._

THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER.

From Buchan's _Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland_, (i. 49.)

It is much to be regretted that this piece has not come down to us in a purer and more ancient form. Similar ballads are found in Danish, Swedish, and Faroish. Several forms of the Danish are given by Grundtvig (_Ridderen i Fugleham_, No. 68), who also cites many popular tales which have the same basis, e.g. the Countess d'Aulnoy's fairy story of _The Blue Bird_.

It was intill a pleasant time,
Upon a simmer's day;
The noble Earl of Mar's daughter
Went forth to sport and play.

As thus she did amuse hersell, 5
Below a green aik tree,
There she saw a sprightly doo
Set on a tower sae hie.

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,
If ye'll come down to me, 10
Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowd
Instead o' simple tree:

"I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage,
And siller roun' your wa';
I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird 15
As ony o' them a'."

But she had nae these words well spoke,
Nor yet these words well said,
Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower,
And lighted on her head. 20

Then she has brought this pretty bird
Hame to her bowers and ha';
And made him shine as fair a bird
As ony o' them a'.

When day was gane, and night was come, 25
About the evening tide,
This lady spied a sprightly youth
Stand straight up by her side.

"From whence came ye, young man?" she said,
"That does surprise me sair; 30
My door was bolted right secure;
What way ha'e ye come here?"

"O had your tongue, ye lady fair,
Lat a' your folly be;
Mind ye not on your turtle doo 35
Last day ye brought wi' thee?"

"O tell me mair, young man," she said,
"This does surprise me now;
What country ha'e ye come frae?
What pedigree are you?" 40

"My mither lives on foreign isles,
She has nae mair but me;
She is a queen o' wealth and state,
And birth and high degree;

"Likewise well skill'd in magic spells, 45
As ye may plainly see;
And she transform'd me to yon shape,
To charm such maids as thee.

"I am a doo the live lang day,
A sprightly youth at night; 50
This aye gars me appear mair fair
In a fair maiden's sight.

"And it was but this verra day
That I came ower the sea;
Your lovely face did me enchant,-- 55
I'll live and dee wi' thee."

"O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,
Nae mair frae me ye'se gae."
"That's never my intent, my luve,
As ye said, it shall be sae." 60

"O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,
It's time to gae to bed."
"Wi' a' my heart, my dear marrow,
It's be as ye ha'e said."

Then he has staid in bower wi' her 65
For sax lang years and ane,
Till sax young sons to him she bare,
And the seventh she's brought hame.

But aye as ever a child was born,
He carried them away, 70
And brought them to his mither's care,
As fast as he cou'd fly.

Thus he has staid in bower wi' her
For twenty years and three;
There came a lord o' high renown 75
To court this fair ladie.

But still his proffer she refused,
And a' his presents too;
Says, "I'm content to live alane
Wi' my bird, Cow-me-doo." 80

Her father sware a solemn oath
Amang the nobles all,
"The morn, or ere I eat or drink,
This bird I will gar kill."

The bird was sitting in his cage, 85
And heard what they did say;
And when he found they were dismist,
Says, "Waes me for this day!

"Before that I do langer stay,
And thus to be forlorn, 90
I'll gang unto my mither's bower,
Where I was bred and born."

Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew
Beyond the raging sea;
And lighted near his mither's castle 95
On a tower o' gowd sae hie.

As his mither was wauking out,
To see what she coud see,
And there she saw her little son
Set on the tower sae hie. 100

"Get dancer here to dance," she said,
"And minstrells for to play;
For here's my young son, Florentine,
Come here wi' me to stay."

"Get nae dancers to dance, mither, 105
Nor minstrells for to play;
For the mither o' my seven sons,
The morn's her wedding-day."

"O tell me, tell me, Florentine,
Tell me, and tell me true, 110
Tell me this day without a flaw,
What I will do for you."

"Instead of dancers to dance, mither,
Or minstrells for to play,
Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men, 115
Like storks, in feathers gray;

"My seven sons in seven swans,
Aboon their heads to flee;
And I, mysell, a gay gos-hawk,
A bird o' high degree." 120

Then sichin' said the queen hersell,
"That thing's too high for me;"
But she applied to an auld woman,
Who had mair skill than she.

Instead o' dancers to dance a dance, 125
Or minstrells for to play,
Four-and-twenty wall-wight men
Turn'd birds o' feathers gray;

Her seven sons in seven swans,
Aboon their heads to flee; 130
And he, himsell, a gay gos-hawk,
A bird o' high degree.

This flock o' birds took flight and flew
Beyond the raging sea;
And landed near the Earl Mar's castle, 135
Took shelter in every tree.

They were a flock o' pretty birds,
Right comely to be seen;
The people view'd them wi' surprise,
As they danc'd on the green. 140

These birds ascended frae the tree,
And lighted on the ha';
And at the last wi' force did flee
Among the nobles a'.

The storks there seized some o' the men, 145
They cou'd neither fight nor flee;
The swans they bound the bride's best man,
Below a green aik tree.

They lighted next on maidens fair,
Then on the bride's own head; 150
And wi' the twinkling o' an e'e,
The bride and them were fled.

There's ancient men at weddings been,
For sixty years or more;
But sic a curious wedding-day 155
They never saw before.

For naething cou'd the companie do,
Nor naething cou'd they say;
But they saw a flock o' pretty birds
That took their bride away. 160

When that Earl Mar he came to know
Where his dochter did stay,
He sign'd a bond o' unity,
And visits now they pay.

YOUNG AKIN.

Mr. Kinloch printed a fragment of this ballad under the title of _Hynde Etin_. (See Appendix.) The story was afterwards given complete by Buchan, (_Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 6,) as here follows. Buchan had previously communicated to Motherwell a modernized version of the same tale, in which the Etin is changed to a Groom. (See _post_.)

This ancient ballad has suffered severely in the course of its transmission to our times. Still there can be no doubt that it was originally the same as _The Maid and the Dwarf King_, which is still sung in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and the Faroe Islands. Numerous copies of the Scandinavian ballad have been given to the world: seven Danish versions, more or less complete, four Norse, nine Swedish, one Faroish, and some other fragments (Grundtvig, ii. 37, and note, p. 655). One of the Swedish ballads (_Bergkonungen_, Afzelius, No. 35) is translated in Keightley's _Fairy Mythology_, 103, under the title of _Proud Margaret_. Closely related is _Agnete og Havmanden_, Grundtvig, ii. 48, 656, which is found in several forms in German (e.g. _Die schoene Hannele_ in Hoffmann von Fallersleben's _Schlesische Volkslieder_, No. 1), and two in Slavic.

Lady Margaret sits in her bower door,
Sewing at her silken seam;
She heard a note in Elmond's-wood,
And wish'd she there had been.

She loot the seam fa' frae her side, 5
And the needle to her tae;
And she is on to Elmond-wood
As fast as she coud gae.

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,
Nor broken a branch but ane, 10
Till by it came a young hind chiel,
Says, "Lady, lat alane.

"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut,
Or why brake ye the tree?
For I am forester o' this wood: 15
Ye shou'd spier leave at me."

"I'll ask leave at no living man,
Nor yet will I at thee;
My father is king o'er a' this realm,
This wood belongs to me." 20

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,
Nor broken a branch but three,
Till by it came him Young Akin,
And gar'd her lat them be.

The highest tree in Elmond's-wood, 25
He's pu'd it by the reet;
And he has built for her a bower
Near by a hallow seat.

He's built a bower, made it secure
Wi' carbuncle and stane; 30
Tho' travellers were never sae nigh,
Appearance it had nane.

He's kept her there in Elmond's-wood,
For six lang years and one;
Till six pretty sons to him she bear, 35
And the seventh she's brought home.

It fell ance upon a day,
This guid lord went from home;
And he is to the hunting gane,
Took wi' him his eldest son. 40

And when they were on a guid way,
Wi' slowly pace did walk,
The boy's heart being something wae,
He thus began to talk:--

"A question I wou'd ask, father, 45
Gin ye wou'dna angry be?"
"Say on, say on, my bonny boy,
Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."

"I see my mither's cheeks aye weet,
I never can see them dry; 50
And I wonder what aileth my mither,
To mourn continually."

"Your mither was a king's daughter,
Sprung frae a high degree;
And she might hae wed some worthy prince, 55
Had she nae been stown by me.

"I was her father's cup-bearer,
Just at that fatal time;
I catch'd her on a misty night,
Whan summer was in prime. 60

"My luve to her was most sincere,
Her luve was great for me;
But when she hardships doth endure,
Her folly she does see."

"I'll shoot the buntin' o' the bush, 65
The linnet o' the tree,
And bring them to my dear mither,
See if she'll merrier be."

It fell upo' another day,
This guid lord he thought lang, 70
And he is to the hunting gane,
Took wi' him his dog and gun.

Wi' bow and arrow by his side,
He's aff, single, alane;
And left his seven children to stay 75
Wi' their mither at hame.

"O, I will tell to you, mither,
Gin ye wadna angry be:"
"Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy,
Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me." 80

"As we came frae the hynd hunting,
We heard fine music ring:"
"My blessings on you, my bonny boy,
I wish I'd been there my lane."

He's ta'en his mither by the hand, 85
His six brithers also,
And they are on thro' Elmond's-wood,
As fast as they coud go.

They wistna weel where they were gaen,
Wi' the stratlins o' their feet; 90
They wistna weel where they were gaen,
Till at her father's yate.

"I hae nae money in my pocket,
But royal rings hae three;
I'll gie them you, my little young son, 95
And ye'll walk there for me.

"Ye'll gi'e the first to the proud porter,[L97]
And he will lat you in;
Ye'll gi'e the next to the butler boy,
And he will show you ben; 100

"Ye'll gi'e the third to the minstrel
That plays before the king;
He'll play success to the bonny boy
Came thro' the wood him lane."

He ga'e the first to the proud porter, 105
And he open'd an' let him in;
He ga'e the next to the butler boy,
And he has shown him ben;

He ga'e the third to the minstrel
That play'd before the king; 110
And he play'd success to the bonny boy
Came thro' the wood him lane.

Now when he came before the king,
Fell low down on his knee:
The king he turned round about, 115
And the saut tear blinded his ee.

"Win up, win up, my bonny boy,
Gang frae my companie;
Ye look sae like my dear daughter,
My heart will birst in three." 120

"If I look like your dear daughter,
A wonder it is none;
If I look like your dear daughter,
I am her eldest son."

"Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy, 125
Where may my Margaret be?"
"She's just now standing at your yates,
And my six brithers her wi'."

"O where are all my porter boys
That I pay meat and fee, 130
To open my yates baith wide and braid?
Let her come in to me."

When she came in before the king,
Fell low down on her knee:
"Win up, win up, my daughter dear, 135
This day ye'll dine wi me."

"Ae bit I canno' eat, father,
Nor ae drop can I drink,
Till I see my mither and sister dear,
For lang for them I think." 140

When she came before the queen,
Fell low down on her knee:
"Win up, win up, my daughter dear,
This day ye'se dine wi' me."

"Ae bit I canno' eat, mither, 145
Nor ae drop can I drink,
Until I see my dear sister,
For lang for her I think."

When that these two sisters met,
She hail'd her courteouslie: 150
"Come ben, come ben, my sister dear,
This day ye'se dine wi' me."

"Ae bit I canno' eat, sister,
Nor ae drop can I drink,
Until I see my dear husband, 155
For lang for him I think."

"O where are all my rangers bold
That I pay meat and fee,
To search the forest far an' wide,
And bring Akin to me?" 160

Out it speaks the wee little boy,--
"Na, na, this maunna be;
Without ye grant a free pardon,
I hope ye'll nae him see."

"O here I grant a free pardon, 165
Well seal'd by my own han';
Ye may make search for young Akin,
As soon as ever you can."

They search'd the country wide and braid,
The forests far and near, 170
And found him into Elmond's-wood,
Tearing his yellow hair.

"Win up, win up, now young Akin.
Win up, and boun wi' me;
We're messengers come from the court; 175
The king wants you to see."

"O lat him take frae me my head,
Or hang me on a tree;
For since I've lost my dear lady,
Life's no pleasure to me." 180

"Your head will nae be touch'd, Akin,
Nor hang'd upon a tree:
Your lady's in her father's court,
And all he wants is thee."

When he came in before the king, 185
Fell low down on his knee:
"Win up, win up now, young Akin,
This day ye'se dine wi' me."

But as they were at dinner set,
The boy asked a boun; 190
"I wish we were in the good church,
For to get christendoun.

"We ha'e lived in guid green wood
This seven years and ane;
But a' this time since e'er I mind, 195
Was never a church within."

"Your asking 's nae sae great, my boy,
But granted it shall be;
This day to guid church ye shall gang,
And your mither shall gang you wi'." 200

When unto the guid church she came,
She at the door did stan';
She was sae sair sunk down wi' shame,
She coudna come farer ben.

Then out it speaks the parish priest, 205
And a sweet smile gae he;---
"Come ben, come ben, my lily flower,
Present your babes to me."

Charles, Vincent, Sam, and Dick,
And likewise James and John; 210
They call'd the eldest Young Akin,
Which was his father's name.

Then they staid in the royal court,
And liv'd wi' mirth and glee;
And when her father was deceas'd, 215
Heir of the crown was she.

97. The regular propitiation for the "proud porter" of ballad poetry. See, e.g. _King Arthur and the King of Cornwall_, in the Appendix, v. 49: also the note to _King Estmere_, vol. iii. p. 172.

YOUNG HASTINGS THE GROOM.

(Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 287.)

"O well love I to ride in a mist,
And shoot in a northern wind;
And far better a lady to steal,
That's come of a noble kind."

Four-and-twenty fair ladies 5
Put on that lady's sheen;
And as many young gentlemen
Did lead her o'er the green.

Yet she preferred before them all
Him, young Hastings the Groom; 10
He's coosten a mist before them all,
And away this lady has ta'en.

He's taken the lady on him behind,
Spared neither the grass nor corn,
Till they came to the wood of Amonshaw, 15
Where again their loves were sworn.

And they have lived in that wood
Full many a year and day,
And were supported from time to time,
By what he made of prey. 20

And seven bairns, fair and fine,
There she has born to him,
And never was in good church door,
Nor never gat good kirking.

Once she took harp into her hand, 25
And harped them asleep;
Then she sat down at their couch side,
And bitterly did weep.

Said, "Seven bairns have I born now
To my lord in the ha'; 30
I wish they were seven greedy rats,
To run upon the wa',
And I mysel' a great grey cat,
To eat them ane an' a'.

"For ten long years now I have lived 35
Within this cave of stane,
And never was at good church door,
Nor got no good churching."

O then outspak her eldest child,
And a fine boy was he,-- 40
"O hold your tongue, my mother dear;
I'll tell you what to dee.

"Take you the youngest in your lap,
The next youngest by the hand;
Put all the rest of us you before, 45
As you learnt us to gang.

"And go with us into some good kirk,--
You say they are built of stane,--
And let us all be christened,
And you get good kirking." 50

She took the youngest in her lap,
The next youngest by the hand;
Set all the rest of them her before,
As she learnt them to gang.

And she has left the wood with them, 55
And to a kirk has gane;
Where the good priest them christened,
And gave her good kirking.

CLERK COLVILL, OR THE MERMAID.

This ballad exemplifies a superstition deeply rooted in the belief of all the northern nations,--the desire of the Elves and Water-spirits for the love of Christians, and the danger of being exposed to their fascination. The object of their fatal passion is generally a bridegroom, or a bride, on the eve of marriage. See, in the Appendix, _Sir Oluf and the Elf-King's Daughter_, for further illustrations; also the two succeeding pieces.

_Clerk Colvill_ was first printed in Herd's _Scottish Songs_, (i. 217,) and was inserted, in an altered shape, in Lewis's _Tales of Wonder_, (No. 56.)

Clerk Colvill and his lusty dame
Were walking in the garden green;
The belt around her stately waist
Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen.

"O promise me now, Clerk Colvill, 5
Or it will cost ye muckle strife,
Ride never by the wells of Slane,
If ye wad live and brook your life."

"Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame,
Now speak nae mair of that to me: 10
Did I ne'er see a fair woman,
But I wad sin with her fair body?"

He's ta'en leave o' his gay lady,
Nought minding what his lady said,
And he's rode by the wells of Slane, 15
Where washing was a bonny maid.

"Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid,
That wash sae clean your sark of silk;"
"And weel fa' you, fair gentleman,
Your body's whiter than the milk." 20

* * * * *

Then loud, loud cry'd the Clerk Colvill,
"O my head it pains me sair;"
"Then take, then take," the maiden said,
"And frae my sark you'll cut a gare." 25

Then she's gi'ed him a little bane-knife,
And frae her sark[L27] he cut a share;
She's ty'd it round his whey-white face,
But ay his head it aked mair.

Then louder cry'd the Clerk Colvill, 30
"O sairer, sairer akes my head;"
"And sairer, sairer ever will,"
The maiden crys, "till you be dead."

Out then he drew his shining blade,
Thinking to stick her where she stood; 35
But she was vanish'd to a fish,
And swam far off, a fair mermaid.

"O mother, mother, braid my hair;
My lusty lady, make my bed;
O brother, take my sword and spear, 40
For I have seen the false mermaid."

27, his sark.

LADY ISABEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 22, where it is entitled _The Gowans sae gay_, from the burden.

The hero of the first of the two following ballads would seem to be an Elf, that of the second a Nix, or Merman, though the punishment awarded to each of them in the catastrophe, as the ballads now exist, is not consistent with their supernatural character. It is possible that in both instances two independent stories have been blended: but it is curious that the same intermixture should occur in Norse and German also. See Grundtvig's preface to _Noekkens Svig_, ii. p. 57. The conclusion in all these cases is derived from a ballad resembling _May Colvin_, vol. ii. p. 272.

We have had the Elf-Knight introduced under the same circumstances at page 128; indeed, the first three or four stanzas are common to both pieces.

Fair lady Isabel sits in her bower sewing,
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_;
There she heard an elf-knight blawing his horn,
_The first morning in May_.

"If I had yon horn that I hear blawing," 5
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_;
"And yon elf-knight to sleep in my bosom,"
_The first morning in May_.

This maiden had scarcely these words spoken,
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_; 10
Till in at her window the elf-knight has luppen,
_The first morning in May_.

"Its a very strange matter, fair maiden," said he,
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_,
"I canna' blaw my horn, but ye call on me," 15
_The first morning in May_.

"But will ye go to yon greenwood side,"
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_?
"If ye canna' gang, I will cause you to ride,"
_The first morning in May_. 20

He leapt on a horse, and she on another,
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_;
And they rode on to the greenwood together,
_The first morning in May_.

"Light down, light down, lady Isabel," said he, 25
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_;
"We are come to the place where ye are to die,"
_The first morning in May_.

"Ha'e mercy, ha'e mercy, kind sir, on me,"
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_; 30
"Till ance my dear father and mother I see,"
_The first morning in May_.

"Seven king's-daughters here hae I slain,"
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_;
"And ye shall be the eight o' them," 35
_The first morning in May_.

"O sit down a while, lay your head on my knee,"
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_;
"That we may hae some rest before that I die,"
_The first morning in May_. 40

She stroak'd him sae fast, the nearer he did creep,
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_;
Wi' a sma' charm she lull'd him fast asleep,
_The first morning in May_.

"Wi' his ain sword belt sae fast as she ban' him, 45
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_;
With his ain dag-durk sae sair as she dang him,
_The first morning in May_.

"If seven kings' daughters here ye ha'e slain,"
_Aye as the gowans grow gay_, 50
"Lye ye here, a husband to them a',"
_The first morning in May_.

THE WATER O' WEARIE'S WELL.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 201. Repeated in Scottish _Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads_, Percy Society, xvii. 63.

The three ballads which follow, diverse as they may now appear, after undergoing successive corruptions, were primarily of the same type. In the first (which may be a compound of two ballads, like the preceding, the conclusion being taken from a story of the character of _May Colvin_ in the next volume) the Merman or Nix may be easily recognized: in the second he is metamorphosed into the Devil; and in the third, into a ghost. Full details upon the corresponding Scandinavian, German, and Slavic legends, are given by Grundtvig, in the preface to _Noekkens Svig, Danmarks G. Folkeviser_, ii. 57: translated by Jamieson, i. 210, and by Monk Lewis, _Tales of Wonder_, No. 11.

There came a bird out o' a bush,
On water for to dine;
And sighing sair, says the king's daughter,
"O waes this heart o' mine!"

He's taen a harp into his hand, 5
He's harped them all asleep;
Except it was the king's daughter,
Who ae wink cou'dna get.

He's luppen on his berry-brown steed,
Taen her on behind himsell; 10
Then baith rade down to that water,
That they ca' Wearie's well.

"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
Nae harm shall thee befall;
Aft times hae I water'd my steed, 15
Wi' the water o' Wearie's well."

The first step that she stepped in,
She stepped to the knee;
And sighing sair, says this lady fair,
"This water's nae for me." 20

"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
Nae harm shall thee befall;
Aft times hae I water'd my steed,
Wi' the water o' Wearie's well."

The next step that she stepped in, 25
She stepped to the middle;
And sighing, says, this lady fair,
"I've wat my gowden girdle."

"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
Nae harm shall thee befall; 30
Aft times hae I water'd my steed,
Wi' the water o' Wearie's well."

The niest step that she stepped in,
She stepped to the chin;
And sighing, says, this lady fair, 35
"They shou'd gar twa loves twine."

"Seven king's-daughters I've drown'd there,
In the water o' Wearie's well;
And I'll make you the eight o' them,
And ring the common bell." 40

"Sin' I am standing here," she says,
"This dowie death to die;
Ae kiss o' your comely mouth
I'm sure wou'd comfort me."

He louted him ower his saddle bow, 45
To kiss her cheek and chin;
She's taen him in her arms twa,
And thrown him headlang in.

"Sin' seven king's daughters ye've drown'd there,
In the water o' Wearie's well, 50
I'll make you bridegroom to them a',
An' ring the bell mysell."

And aye she warsled, and aye she swam,
Till she swam to dry land;
Then thanked God most cheerfully, 55
The dangers she'd ower came.

THE DAEMON LOVER.

This ballad was communicated to Sir Walter Scott, (_Minstrelsy_, iii. 195,) by Mr. William Laidlaw, who took it down from recitation. A fragment of the same legend, recovered by Motherwell, is given in the Appendix to this volume, and another version, in which the hero is not a daemon, but the ghost of an injured lover, is placed directly after the present.

The Devil (Auld _Nick_) here takes the place of the Merman (Nix) of the ancient ballad. See p. 198, and the same natural substitution noted in _K.u.H._--_Maerchen_, 3d ed. iii. 253.

"O where have you been, my long, long love,
This long seven years and more?"--
"O I'm come to seek my former vows
Ye granted me before."--

"O hold your tongue of your former vows, 5
For they will breed sad strife;
O hold your tongue of your former vows,
For I am become a wife."

He turn'd him right and round about,
And the tear blinded his ee; 10
"I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,
If it had not been for thee.

"I might hae had a king's daughter,
Far, far beyond the sea;
I might have had a king's daughter, 15
Had it not been for love o' thee."--

"If ye might have had a king's daughter,
Yer sell ye had to blame;
Ye might have taken the king's daughter,
For ye kend that I was nane."-- 20

"O faulse are the vows of womankind,
But fair is their faulse bodie;
I never wad hae trodden on Irish ground,
Had it not been for love o' thee."--

"If I was to leave my husband dear, 25
And my two babes also,
O what have you to take me to,
If with you I should go?"--

"I hae seven ships upon the sea,
The eighth brought me to land; 30
With four-and-twenty bold mariners,
And music on every hand."

She has taken up her two little babes,
Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin;
"O fair ye weel, my ain two babes, 35
For I'll never see you again."

She set her foot upon the ship,
No mariners could she behold;
But the sails were o' the taffetie,
And the masts o' the beaten gold. 40

She had not sail'd a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,
And drumlie grew his ee.

The masts that were like the beaten gold, 45
Bent not on the heaving seas;
But the sails, that were o' the taffetie,
Fill'd not in the east land breeze.--

They had not sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three, 50
Until she espied his cloven foot,
And she wept right bitterlie.

"O hold your tongue of your weeping," says he,
"Of your weeping now let me be;
I will show you how the lilies grow 55
On the banks of Italy."--

"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?"--
"O yon are the hills of heaven," he said,
"Where you will never win."-- 60

"O whaten a mountain is yon," she said,
"All so dreary wi' frost and snow?"--
"O yon is the mountain of hell," he cried,
"Where you and I will go."

And aye when she turn'd her round about, 65
Aye taller he seem'd for to be;
Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
Nae taller were than he.

The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud,
And the levin fill'd her ee; 70
And waesome wail'd the snaw-white sprites
Upon the gurlie sea.

He strack the tap-mast wi' his hand,
The fore-mast wi' his knee;
And he brake that gallant ship in twain, 75
And sank her in the sea.

JAMES HERRIES.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, (i. 214.)

(See the preface to the last ballad but one.)

"O are ye my father, or are ye my mother?
Or are ye my brother John?
Or are ye James Herries, my first true love,
Come back to Scotland again?"

"I am not your father, I am not your mother, 5
Nor am I your brother John;
But I'm James Herries, your first true love,
Come back to Scotland again."

"Awa', awa', ye former lovers,
Had far awa' frae me; 10
For now I am another man's wife,
Ye'll ne'er see joy o' me."

"Had I kent that ere I came here,
I ne'er had come to thee;
For I might hae married the king's daughter, 15
Sae fain she wou'd had me.

"I despised the crown o' gold,
The yellow silk also;
And I am come to my true love,
But with me she'll not go." 20

"My husband he is a carpenter,
Makes his bread on dry land,
And I hae born him a young son,--
Wi' you I will not gang."

"You must forsake your dear husband, 25
Your little young son also,
Wi' me to sail the raging seas,
Where the stormy winds do blow."

"O what hae you to keep me wi',
If I should with you go? 30
If I'd forsake my dear husband,
My little young son also?"

"See ye not yon seven pretty ships,
The eighth brought me to land;
With merchandize and mariners, 35
And wealth in every hand?"

She turn'd her round upon the shore,
Her love's ships to behold;
Their topmasts and their mainyards
Were cover'd o'er wi' gold. 40

Then she's gane to her little young son,
And kiss'd him cheek and chin;
Sae has she to her sleeping husband,
And dune the same to him.

"O sleep ye, wake ye, my husband, 45
I wish ye wake in time;
I woudna for ten thousand pounds,
This night ye knew my mind."

She's drawn the slippers on her feet,
Were cover'd o'er wi' gold; 50
Well lined within wi' velvet fine,
To had her frae the cold.

She hadna sailed upon the sea
A league but barely three,
Till she minded on her dear husband, 55
Her little young son tee.

"O gin I were at land again,
At land where I wou'd be,
The woman ne'er shou'd bear the son,
Shou'd gar me sail the sea." 60

"O hold your tongue, my sprightly flower,
Let a' your mourning be;
I'll show you how the lilies grow
On the banks o' Italy."

She hadna sailed on the sea 65
A day but barely ane,
Till the thoughts o' grief came in her mind,
And she lang'd for to be hame.

"O gentle death, come cut my breath,
I may be dead ere morn; 70
I may be buried in Scottish ground,
Where I was bred and born."

"O hold your tongue, my lily leesome thing,
Let a' your mourning be;
But for a while we'll stay at Rose Isle, 75
Then see a far countrie.

"Ye'se ne'er be buried in Scottish ground,
Nor land ye's nae mair see;
I brought you away to punish you,
For the breaking your vows to me. 80

"I said ye shou'd see the lilies grow
On the banks o' Italy;
But I'll let you see the fishes swim,
In the bottom o' the sea."

He reached his band to the topmast, 85
Made a' the sails gae down;
And in the twinkling o' an e'e,
Baith ship and crew did drown.

The fatal flight o' this wretched maid
Did reach her ain countrie; 90
Her husband then distracted ran,
And this lament made he:--

"O wae be to the ship, the ship,
And wae be to the sea,
And wae be to the mariners, 95
Took Jeanie Douglas frae me!

"O bonny, bonny was my love,
A pleasure to behold;
The very hair o' my love's head
Was like the threads o' gold. 100

"O bonny was her cheek, her cheek,
And bonny was her chin;
And bonny was the bride she was,
The day she was made mine!"

* * * * *

*** The following stanzas from a version of this ballad printed at Philadelphia (and called _The House Carpenter_) are given in Graham's _Illustrated Magazine_, Sept. 1858.

"I might have married the king's daughter dear;"
"You might have married her," cried she,
"For I am married to a House Carpenter,
And a fine young man is he."

"Oh dry up your tears, my own true love,
And cease your weeping," cried he;
"For soon you'll see your own happy home,
On the banks of old Tennessee."

THE KNIGHT'S GHOST.

From _Buchan's ballads of the North of Scotland_, (i. 227.)

"There is a fashion in this land,
And even come to this country,
That every lady should meet her lord,
When he is newly come frae sea:

"Some wi' hawks, and some wi' hounds, 5
And other some wi' gay monie;
But I will gae myself alone,
And set his young son on his knee."

She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
And nimbly walk'd by yon sea strand; 10
And there she spy'd her father's ship,
As she was sailing to dry land.

"Where hae ye put my ain gude lord,
This day he stays sae far frae me?"
"If ye be wanting your ain gude lord, 15
A sight o' him ye'll never see."

"Was he brunt, or was he shot?
Or was he drowned in the sea?
Or what's become o' my ain gude lord,
That he will ne'er appear to me?" 20

"He wasna brunt, nor was he shot,
Nor was he drowned in the sea;
He was slain in Dumfermling,
A fatal day to you and me."

"Come in, come in, my merry young men, 25
Come in and drink the wine wi' me;
And a' the better ye shall fare,
For this gude news ye tell to me."

She's brought them down to yon cellar,
She brought them fifty steps and three; 30
She birled wi' them the beer and wine,
Till they were as drunk as drunk could be.

Then she has lock'd her cellar door,
For there were fifty steps and three;
"Lie there wi' my sad malison, 35
For this bad news ye've tauld to me."

She's ta'en the keys intill her hand,
And threw them deep, deep in the sea;
"Lie there wi' my sad malison,
Till my gude lord return to me." 40

Then she sat down in her own room,
And sorrow lull'd her fast asleep;
And up it starts her own gude lord,
And even at that lady's feet.

"Take here the keys, Janet," he says, 45
"That ye threw deep, deep in the sea;
And ye'll relieve my merry young men,
For they've nane o' the swick o' me.

"They shot the shot, and drew the stroke,
And wad in red bluid to the knee; 50
Nae sailors mair for their lord coud do,
Nor my young men they did for me."

"I hae a question at you to ask,
Before that ye depart frae me;
You'll tell to me what day I'll die, 55
And what day will my burial be?"

"I hae nae mair o' God's power
Than he has granted unto me;
But come to heaven when ye will,
There porter to you I will be. 60

"But ye'll be wed to a finer knight
Than ever was in my degree;
Unto him ye'll hae children nine,
And six o' them will be ladies free.

"The other three will be bold young men, 65
To fight for king and countrie;
The ane a duke, the second a knight,
And third a laird o' lands sae free."

THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL.

_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 258.

That the repose of the dead is disturbed by the immoderate grief of those they have left behind them, is a belief which finds frequent expression in popular ballads. Obstinate sorrow rouses them from their grateful slumber; every tear that is shed for them wets their shroud; they can get no rest, and are compelled to revisit the world they would fain forget, to rebuke and forbid the mourning that destroys their peace.

"Ice-cold and bloody, a lead-weight of sorrow, falls on my
breast each tear that you shed,"

says the ghost of Helgi in the _Edda_ to his lamenting wife (_Helgak. Hundingsb._ II.) The same idea is found in the German ballad, _Der Vorwirth_, Erk's _Liederhort_, No. 46, 46 a, and in various tales, as _Das Todtenhemdchen_, (_K.u.H. Maerchen_, No. 109, and note), etc. In like manner Sir Aage, in a well-known Danish ballad (Grundtvig, No. 90), and the corresponding _Sorgens Magt, Svenska F.V._, No. 6.

"Every time thou weepest for me,
Thy heart makest sad,
Then all within, my coffin stands full
Of clotted blood."

Rarely is the silence of the grave broken for purposes of consolation. Yet some cases there are, as in a Lithuanian ballad cited by Wackernagel, _Altd. Blaetter_, i. 176, and a Spanish ballad noticed by Talvj, _Versuch_, p. 141. The present ballad seems to belong to the latter class rather than the former, but it is so imperfect that its true character cannot be determined.

Chambers maintains, we think erroneously, that this ballad is a fragment of _The Clerk's Twa Sons o' Owsenford_. See the second volume of this collection, page 63.

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, 5
A week but barely ane,
When word came to the carline wife,
That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three, 10
When word came to the carline wife,
That her sons she'd never see.

"I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fishes[L14] in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me, 15
In earthly flesh and blood."--

It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o' the birk. 20

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! 25
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; 30
And she's ta'en her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bed-side.

* * * * *

Up then crew the red red cock, 35
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
"'Tis time we were away."--

The cock he hadna craw'd but once,
And clapp'd his wings at a', 40
Whan 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, 45
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." 50

14. Should we not read, for _fishes_ here, _fashes_-- i. e. troubles?--LOCKHART.

THE SUFFOLK MIRACLE:

_Or, a relation of a young man, who, a month after his death, appeared to his sweetheart, and carried her on horseback behind him for forty miles in two hours, and was never seen after but in his grave._

From _A Collection of Old Ballads_, i. 266. In Moore's _Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry_ (p. 463) is a copy from a broadside in the Roxburghe collection.

_The Suffolk Miracle_ has an external resemblance to several noble ballads, but the likeness does not extend below the surface. It is possible that we have here the residuum of an old poem, from which all the beauty and spirit have been exhaled in the course of tradition; but as the ballad now exists, it is a vulgar ghost-story, without any motive. Regarding the external form alone, we may place by its side the Breton ballad, _Le Frere de Lait_, in Villemarque's _Chants Populaires de la Bretagne_, vol. i. No. 22 (translated by Miss Costello, _Quart. Review_, vol. 68, p. 75), the Romaic ballad of _Constantine and Arete_, in Fauriel's _Chants Populaires de la Grece Moderne_, p. 406 (see Appendix), and the Servian ballad (related to the Romaic, and perhaps derived from it), _Jelitza and her Brothers_, Talvj, _Volkslieder der Serben_, i. 160, all of them among the most beautiful specimens in this kind of literature; and also Buerger's _Lenore_. It has been once or twice most absurdly suggested that _Lenore_ owed its existence to this _Suffolk Miracle_. The difference, indeed, is not greater than between a "Chronicle History" and _Macbeth_; it is however certain that Buerger's ballad is all his own, except the hint of the ghostly horseman and one or two phrases, which he took from the description of a Low German ballad. The editors of the _Wunderhorn_ claim to give this ballad, vol. ii. p. 19. An equivalent prose tradition is well known in Germany. Most of the ballads relating to the return of departed spirits are brought together in an excellent article by Wackernagel in the _Altdeutsche Blaetter_, i. 174.

A wonder stranger ne'er was known
Than what I now shall treat upon.
In Suffolk there did lately dwell
A farmer rich and known full well.

He had a daughter fair and bright, 5
On whom he placed his chief delight;
Her beauty was beyond compare,
She was both virtuous and fair.

There was a young man living by,
Who was so charmed with her eye, 10
That he could never be at rest;
He was by love so much possest.

He made address to her, and she
Did grant him love immediately;
But when her father came to hear, 15
He parted her and her poor dear.

Forty miles distant was she sent,
Unto his brother's, with intent
That she should there so long remain,
Till she had changed her mind again. 20

Hereat this young man sadly grieved,
But knew not how to be relieved;
He sighed and sobbed continually
That his true love he could not see.

She by no means could to him send, 25
Who was her heart's espoused friend;
He sighed, he grieved, but all in vain,
For she confined must still remain.

He mourned so much, that doctor's art
Could give no ease unto his heart, 30
Who was so strangely terrified,
That in short time for love he died.

She that from him was sent away
Knew nothing of his dying day,
But constant still she did remain, 35
And loved the dead, although in vain.

After he had in grave been laid
A month or more, unto this maid
He came in middle of the night,
Who joyed to see her heart's delight. 40

Her father's horse, which well she knew,
Her mother's hood and safe-guard too,
He brought with him to testify
Her parents order he came by.

Which when her uncle understood, 45
He hoped it would be for her good,
And gave consent to her straightway,
That with him she should come away.

When she was got her love behind,
They passed as swift as any wind, 50
That in two hours, or little more,
He brought her to her father's door.

But as they did this great haste make,
He did complain his head did ake;
Her handkerchief she then took out, 55
And tied the same his head about.

And unto him she thus did say:
"Thou art as cold as any clay;
When we come home a fire we'll have;"
But little dreamed he went to grave. 60

Soon were they at her father's door,
And after she ne'er saw him more;
"I'll set the horse up," then he said,
And there he left this harmless maid.

She knocked, and straight a man he cried, 65
"Who's there?" "'Tis I," she then replied;
Who wondred much her voice to hear,
And was possessed with dread and fear.

Her father he did tell, and then
He stared like an affrighted man: 70
Down stairs he ran, and when he see her,
Cried out, "My child, how cam'st thou here?"

"Pray, sir, did you not send for me,
By such a messenger?" said she:
Which made his hair stare on his head, 75
As knowing well that he was dead.

"Where is he?" then to her he said;
"He's in the stable," quoth the maid.
"Go in," said he, "and go to bed;
I'll see the horse well littered." 80

He stared about, and there could he
No shape of any mankind see,
But found his horse all on a sweat;
Which made him in a deadly fret.

His daughter he said nothing to, 85
Nor none else, (though full well they knew
That he was dead a month before,)
For fear of grieving her full sore.

Her father to the father went
Of the deceased, with full intent 90
To tell him what his daughter said;
So both came back unto this maid.

They ask'd her, and she still did say
'Twas he that then brought her away;
Which when they heard they were amazed, 95
And on each other strangely gazed.

A handkerchief she said she tied
About his head, and that they tried;
The sexton they did speak unto,
That he the grave would then undo. 100

Affrighted then they did behold
His body turning into mould,
And though he had a month been dead,
This handkerchief was about his head.

This thing unto her then they told, 105
And the whole truth they did unfold;
She was thereat so terrified
And grieved, that she quickly died.

Part not true love, you rich men, then;
But, if they be right honest men 110
Your daughters love, give them their way,
For force oft breeds their lives decay.

SIR ROLAND.

From Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 124.

This fragment, Motherwell tells us, was communicated to him by an ingenious friend, who remembered having heard it sung in his youth. He does not vouch for its antiquity, and we have little or no hesitation in pronouncing it a modern composition.

Whan he cam to his ain luve's bouir,
He tirled at the pin,
And sae ready was his fair fause luve
To rise and let him in.

"O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says, 5
"Thrice welcome thou art to me;
For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir,
And to-morrow we'll wedded be."

"This night is hallow-eve," he said,
"And to-morrow is hallow-day; 10
And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
That has made my heart fu' wae.

"I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
And I wish it may cum to gude:
I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound, 15
And gied me his lappered blude."

* * * * *

"Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland," she said,
"And set you safely down."
"O your chamber is very dark, fair maid,
And the night is wondrous lown." 20

"Yes, dark, dark is my secret bowir,
And lown the midnight may be;
For there is none waking in a' this tower,
But thou, my true love, and me."

* * * * *

She has mounted on her true love's steed, 25
By the ae light o' the moon;
She has whipped him and spurred him,
And roundly she rade frae the toun.

She hadna ridden a mile o' gate,
Never a mile but ane, 30
Whan she was aware of a tall young man,
Slow riding o'er the plain.

She turned her to the right about,
Then to the left turn'd she;
But aye, 'tween her and the wan moonlight, 35
That tall knight did she see.

And he was riding burd alane,
On a horse as black as jet;
But tho' she followed him fast and fell,
No nearer could she get. 40

"O stop! O stop! young man," she said,
"For I in dule am dight;
O stop, and win a fair lady's luve,
If you be a leal true knight."

But nothing did the tall knight say, 45
And nothing did he blin;
Still slowly rode he on before,
And fast she rade behind.

She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed,
Till his breast was all a foam; 50
But nearer unto that tall young knight,
By Our Ladye, she could not come.

"O if you be a gay young knight,
As well I trow you be,
Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay 55
Till I come up to thee."

But nothing did that tall knight say,
And no whit did he blin,
Until he reached a broad river's side,
And there he drew his rein. 60

"O is this water deep," he said,
"As it is wondrous dun?
Or it is sic as a saikless maid
And a leal true knight may swim?"

"The water it is deep," she said, 65
"As it is wondrous dun;
But it is sic as a saikless maid
And a leal true knight may swim."