Chapter II: Appendix: Suggestions for Teachers 363

PROGRAMME FOR A YEAR OF BALLAD-READING AND STUDY 366

GLOSSARY 373

SUBJECT INDEX 385

INDEX OF FIRST LINES 390

INDEX OF TITLES AND AUTHORS 392

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE LIFT GREW DARK, AND THE WIND BLEW LOUD, AND GURLY
GREW THE SEA _Frontispiece_

“I FEAR NOT SIGN,” QUOTH THE GRISLY ELF, “THAT IS MADE
WITH BLOODY HANDS” 84

HE TURNED HIM ROUND; BUT STILL IT HUNG BEHIND HIM 158

BUT SPRINGING UP, HE RAISED HIS CLUB, AND AIMED A DREADFUL BLOW 318

THE SALT BLUE SEAS

THE STORMY WINDS DO BLOW

_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.”_

_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.”_

_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 then up spoke the little cabin-boy,
And a pretty little boy was he:
“Oh! I am more grievd for my daddy and my mammy,
Than you for your wives all three.”_

_Then three times round went our gallant ship,
And three times round went she:
For the want of a life-boat they all went down,
And she sank to the bottom of the sea._

_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._

SIR PATRICK SPENS

The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine;
“O whare will I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this new ship of mine?”

O up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the king’s right knee,--
“Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,
That ever sailed the sea.”--

Our king has written a braid letter,
And seal’d it with his hand,
And sent it to sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

“To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o’er the faem;
The king’s daughter of Noroway,
’Tis thou maun bring her hame.”

The first word that sir Patrick read,
Sae loud loud laughed he;
The neist word that sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.

“O wha is this has done this deed,
And tauld the king o’ me,
To send us out, at this time of the year,
To sail upon the sea?

“Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king’s daughter of Noroway,
’Tis we must fetch her hame.”--

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,
Wi’ a’ the speed they may;
They hae landed in Noroway,
Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week,
In Noroway, but twae,
When that the lords o’ Noroway
Began aloud to say,--

“Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our king’s goud,
And a’ our queenis fee.”--
“Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!
Fu’ loud I hear ye lie:

“For I brought as much white monie,
As gane my men and me,
And I brought a half-fou o’ gude red goud,
Out o’er the sea wi’ me.

“Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a’!
Our gude ship sails the morn,”--
“Now, ever alake, my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm!

“I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
Wi’ the auld moon in her arm;
And, if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we’ll come to harm.”

They hadna sail’d a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap,
It was sic a deadly storm;
And the waves cam o’er the broken ship,
Till a’ her sides were torn.

“O where will I get a gude sailor,
To take my helm in hand,
Till I get up to the tall top-mast;
To see if I can spy land?”--

“O here am I, a sailor gude,
To take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall top-mast;
But I fear you’ll ne’er spy land.”

He hadna gane a step, a step,
A step but barely ane,
When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,
And the salt sea it cam in.

“Gae, fetch a web o’ the silken claith,
Another o’ the twine,
And wap them into our ship’s side,
And letna the sea come in.”--

They fetch’d a web o’ the silken claith,
Another o’ the twine,
And they wapp’d them round that gude ship’s side,
But still the sea cam in.

O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heel’d shoon!
But lang or a’ the play was play’d,
They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather bed,
That flatter’d on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord’s son,
That never mair cam hame.

The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair,
A’ for the sake of their true loves;
For them they’ll see na mair.

O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit,
Wi’ their fans into their hand,
Before they see sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang, may the maidens sit,
With their goud kaims in their hair,
A’waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they’ll see nae mair.

O forty miles off Aberdeen,
’Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude sir Patrick Spens,
Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet.

THE DÆMON LOVER

“O where have you been, my long, long love,
This long seven years and mair?”
“O I’m come to seek my former vows
Ye granted me before.”

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

He turned him right and round about,
And the tear blinded his ee:
“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,
Had it not been for love o thee.”

“If ye might have had a king’s daughter,
Yer sel ye had to blame;
Ye might have taken the king’s daughter,
For ye kend that I was nane.

“If I was to leave my husband dear,
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--
With four-and-twenty bold mariners,
And music on every hand.”

She has taken up her two little babes,
Kissd them baith cheek and chin:
“O fair ye weel, my ain two babes,
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.

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

They had not saild a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
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 shew you how the lilies grow
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.”

“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.”

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

THE MERMAID