Chapter VII: Part II

A Knight amongst the Scotts there was,
Which saw Erle Douglas dye,
Who streight in hart did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percye.

Sir Hugh Mountgomerye was he called,
Who, with a spere full bright,
Well mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran feircly through the fight,

And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare,
And through Erle Percyes body then
He thrust his hatfull spere,

With such a vehement force and might,
That his body he did gore,
The staff ran through the other side
A large cloth yard and more.

Thus did both those nobles dye,
Whose courage none cold staine,
An English archer then perceived
The noble Erle was slaine,

He had a good bow in his hand
Made of a trusty tree;
An arrow of a cloth yard long
To the hard head haled hee,

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye
His shaft full right he sett;
The grey goose winge that was there-on,
In his harts bloode was wett.

This fight from breake of day did last
Till setting of the sun,
For when they rung the Evening bell
The battele scarse was done.

With stout Erle Percy there was slaine
Sir John of Egerton,
Sir Robert Harcliffe and Sir William,
Sir James that bold barron;

And with Sir George and Sir James,
Both Knights of good account;
And good Sir Raphe Rebbye there was slaine,
Whose prowesse did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wayle
As one in doleful dumpes,
For when his leggs were smitten of,
He fought upon his stumpes.

And with Erle Douglas there was slaine
Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
And Sir Charles Morrell that from feelde
One foote wold never flee;

Sir Roger Hever of Harcliffe tow,--
His sisters sonne was hee,--
Sir David Lamb so well esteemed
But saved he cold not bee;

And the Lord Maxwell in like case
With Douglas he did dye;
Of twenty hundred Scottish speeres,
Scarce fifty five did flye;

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen
Went home but fifty three;
The rest in Chevy-Chase were slaine,
Under the greenwoode tree.

Next day did many widdowes come
Their husbands to bewayle;
They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
But all wold not prevayle.

Theyr bodyes bathed in purple blood,
They bore with them away,
They kist them dead a thousand times
Ere they were cladd in clay.

The newes was brought to Eddenborrow
Where Scottland’s King did rayne,
That brave Erle Douglas soddainlye
Was with an arrow slaine.

“O heavy newes!” King James can say,
“Scottland may wittenesse bee
I have not any captaine more
Of such account as hee!”

Like tydings to King Henery came
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slaine in Chevy-Chase.

“Now God be with him!” said our King,
“Sith it will noe better bee,
I trust I have within my realme
Five hundred as good as hee!

“Yett shall not Scotts nor Scottland say
But I will vengeance take,
And be revenged on them all
For brave Erle Percyes sake.”

This vow the King did well performe
After on Humble Downe;
In one day fifty Knights were slayne,
With Lords of great renowne,

And of the rest of small account,
Did many hundreds dye:
Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy-Chase
Made by the Erle Percye.

God save our King, and blesse this land
With plentye, joy, and peace;
And grant hencforth that foule debate
Twixt noble men may ceaze!

ffins.

THE BALLAD OF MEIKLE-MOUTHED MEG

BOLD WILLIE SCOTT

The moonbeam glints on tower and hill,
It’s hey! for the bonny moonlight!
“Go saddle my steed, I’ll ride betimes,
The English Border to-night.”

“Take tent, good lad, the Warder’s men
Are riding over the land.”
“Tuts! six Scotts lads will keep two score
Of such feckless loons at a stand!”

Oh! they were twenty stout and bold,
Mounted on active naigs;
Some armed wi’ guns and Jeddart staves,
Wi’ iron round their craigs.

Young Scott o’ Harden, led them on
To the lands o’ Elibank;
“Good faith, I wat Sir Gideon
Will no his kindness thank.”

He left his towers by Ettrick’s stream,
His minnie’s proverb scorning;
When Scotts set foot in the stirrup-ring,
The blood will flow ere morning.

Sir Gideon and young Willie Scott
Were ever deadly foes;
Ere they shall clasp each other’s hand,
The Gowan shall grow on the Rose.

THE RAID

They gained the lands o’ Elibank,
And gathered the gear together;
They counted tens, and came to scores,
And drove them out the heather.

There was not a Murray on the lea,
Young Scott his heart was light;
“There’ll be a dry breakfast at Elibank,
At Oakwood, a meal to-night.”

They got half way to Ettrick stream,
When they heard a sleuth-hound yell,
And Scott well kenned his mortal foe,
Pursued him o’er the fell.

Sir Gideon was a doure fierce man,
A terror to a foe;
He had a wife and daughters three,
Well dowered they were I trow.

He let young Harden steal his cows,
And, oh! his arm was slack;
But the grim old Knight was looking on
Wi’ fifty men at his back.

“I have thee now like a thief in a mill,”
Sir Gideon o’ Elibank said;
He gave the word to loose the hounds;
And the hot pursuit he led.

“Young Scott, yield quietly to me,”
Sir Gideon loudly cried,
“Or a thief’s death shall ye die,
If ye the onset bide.

“Ye’ve driven off my cows and sheep,
And byre and fold are toom,
The corbies and ye shall be acquaint,
For what this night ye’ve done.”

“Brag on! brag on! ye old greybeard!
While Scott o’ Harden stands,
No power on earth shall make him yield
To any o’ Murray’s bands.

“So do your best, and do your worst,
Here’s a hand and sword to fight;
I trow a Scott ne’er turned his back
Whilst a Murray was in sight.”

“Small mercy after what ye’ve stol’n,
I had designed for thee;
But, callant, after what ye’ve said,
I’ll prove your enemy.”

“Thou old man, measure weapons then,
And I would have ye leave
Your well-faured daughters to the world,
For your loss must they grieve.”

“Before sunrise,” quoth Gideon,
“You’ll speak less vauntingly;
Say what ye like of me, you dog,
But leave my bairnies be.”

The strife went high and bloodily,
They grappled at the throat;
And many was the Elibank,
The reavers deadly smote.

The guns banged off, the sleuth-hounds yelled,
The cattle rowted sore;
And many wights lay on the ground,
That up rose never more.

The fray went hard wi’ Willie Scott,
His horse fell wi’ a bound,
And many Murrays wi’ their swords
Bore him unto the ground.

THE GALLOWS OR MARRIAGE

Lady Murray came forth at noon,
To welcome her husband home;
And there she spied young Scott o’ Harden,
All bounden and his lone.

They thrust the Scott in a darksome room,
And left him to his thought;
But neither bread nor yet red wine
Unto the youth they brought.

“And what, Lord Gideon,” said his dame,
“Will ye do wi’ young Scott?”
“Do ye see yonder branch o’ the elm,
For that shall be his lot.”

“O goodman,” quo’ his pitying dame,
“Ye could not do this thing;
For lifting a pickle o’ your nowt,
So brave a lad to hing!”

“What mercy did ever a Scott o’ them
E’er show to me or mine?
The reaving Scotts shall surely weep,
The last of all their line.”

She said, “But we have daughters three,
And they are no well-faured,
When ye’ve a husband to your hand,
To hang him would be hard.”

“Sooth, goodwife, faith, but ye are right!
There’s wisdom in your say;
This birkie Scott shall have his choice,
To wed what one he may.

“We’ll give him respite to the morn,
Nor hang him ’gainst all law;
To marry our daughter Meikle-Mouthed Meg,
Or choke with the death-thraw.”

Quo’ she, “To marry our daughter Meg
More wiselike would it be,
Than kill the hope of an old, old House
And strap him to the tree.”

Quo’ he, “If I were in his place,
I would refuse I ween,
And die a death upon the tree,
Than wed what I’d ne’er seen.

“Go ye, and tell our daughter Meg,
That she’s be wived the morn;
And I will to this young gallant,
And see what he perform.”

* * * * *

She went unto her daughter Meg,
Who had a meikle mouth;
But her teeth were pearls, and her honey breath
Was like the wind from the South.

The mother sat by her daughter’s side;
“Sweet Meg, come tell me this,
Wouldst thou the rather be a bride,
Then live in singleness?

“Before I was your age, I trow,
I was in a bride her place.”
“Aye, mother,” quo’ Meg, and sighed full sore,
“But ye had a well-faured face.

“But you shall see the Ettrick stream
Run thro’ the dells o’ Yarrow,
Before ye hear o’ an offer to me,
Or a man to be my marrow.

“My face is foul, my heart is large,
A kinder none there is;
And must I pass away my days,
In sullen loneliness?”

The mother told her of young Scott,
And waited her reply;
“O Mother, I’d rather marry him
Than ever he should die!”

But the tears rose welling from their spring,
And filled her cushat eyes;
“But, Mother, how if when we’re wed,
He should my heart despise?”

“Oh, marriage,” quo’ the wily dame,
“Is not that hard to snoove,
If ye should marry Willie Scott,
Ye’ll be like hand and glove.”

* * * * *

Sir Gideon entered young Scott’s dungeon;
“Thy death is at my hand,
Ye came as a thief in the dead o’ night,
And stole my cows from my land.

“But I’ll give ye a chance for life,
For all ye have said of me,
Either to marry my daughter Meg,
Or hang upon yonder tree.

“And the boldest Scott on the Border March,
Shall never take ye down,
Until your skeleton is seen
And ye drop away bone by bone.”

“And ye would spare my life,” he said,
“For all ye come so gleg,
If I would stoop and give my hand
To your bonny daughter Meg?

“Ye are the Murray of Elibank,
I Scott of Oakwood Tower,
I would not marry your daughter Meg,
Tho’ a kingdom were her dower;

“But little I fear to meet my death,
As I do to tell you this;
An ye had fallen in my hands,
Such were your fate, I wiss.

“Ye think that your winsome daughter Meg,”
Oh! he spoke so scornfully,--
“Will get a husband at the last,
But, faith, my lad, ye lie,

“I rather choose upon the gallows
To render up my breath;
I trow there will be Scots enough
Left to revenge my death.”

“There is my thumb, thou young braggart,”
Sir Gideon chafing cried,
“I wouldn’t hinder ye your choice
For death shall be your bride.

“And let the Scots o’ a’ the Border
Revenge your death that dare.”
He left young Scott unto himself,
And quit his dungeon stair.

YOUNG WILLIE’S MESSENGER

It was about the midnight time,
When his dungeon door ga’ed back;
And the sentinel who guarded it
Let in a woman in black.

“What want ye wi’ me, fair Maiden?”
The Scott o’ Harden said.
“I come to ask if thy dying wish
Can be by me obeyed?

“I am a lassie o’ the house,
And wait on Sir Gideon’s dame;
And tho’ ye have refused poor Meg,
Her prayers will be the same.”

“Why has Dame Murray sent thee here?”--
“She has a woman’s heart.
Ye have a mother and sisters twain,
From whom full soon ye part.

“If ye have anything to say,
Ye would have carried there,
I swear by all that’s good on earth,
To be your messenger.”

“Maiden,” quo’ he, and his voice was low,
“Of my mother do not speak;
I wish to die as my father’s son,
And yet her heart I break.”

“It cannot be,” then said the girl,
“Ye have rejected Meg,
Without the looking on her face?
I’m sure your life she’d beg.”

“I have not seen, but I have heard
Her face described to me;
And, by my faith, between the two,
I’ll chose the gallows-tree.”

The tears fell from that poor girl’s eyes,
In anger or in spleen?--
And ever and anon she sighed,
And deep sobs came between.

“Belike,” quo’ she, “they’ve painted her
Far worse than she may look;
Many a man has an ugly wife,
That the gallows could not brook.”

“I have no wish to see her face,
Far less to marry her;
But ye seem o’ a kindly heart,
And aiblins are as fair.

“So let me see your face, my joy,
And by your countenance,
I’ll see if I dare trust you with
A letter for my chance?”

She threw the veil from off her face,
“I’m no well faured I know;
But kernels lie inside hard shells,
And gold in the earth below.”

“So sweet and sensible ye speak,
Ye almost make me wish,
Meikle-Mouthed Meg was like to you,
So kind, so young, so lish.”

He held the light within the cruse
Close to the maiden’s face,
Wi’ loof o’er e’en, he earnestly
Perused each simple grace.

He saw her face was fair and round,
Her lips like a large rose-leaf;
And her snow-white teeth so even showed,
Like ivory from their sheath.

There stood a tear in her dove-blue eye,
Her eye so mild and meek,
A large tear slowly left the lid,
And trickled down her cheek.

“Ye have the look that never lied,
And tho’ no fine your face,
Ye’ve pleasing sense and kindliness
Wi’ every modest grace.

“So bring to me the writing ink,
The paper and pen so fine;
And tho’ ye abide wi’ my enemy,
Ye’ll take my mother a line.”

She rolled it up so carefully,
The letter he writ so fair;
She had no silk, but she tied it with
A lock o’ her golden hair.

THE GALLOWS-TREE

It was by cock-crowing the morn,
When Meg wi’ crippled feet,
Like one that had a long way walked
Came in, her sire to greet.

“Grant me another day,” she cried,
“For young Willie Scott his life;
And throw not by the chance, your Meg
Has to become a wife.”

Sir Gideon rubbed his hands in glee,
“I grant it for your sake;
But if he then refuse your hand,
He shall his own way take.”

Much wondered the Laird o’ Oakwood Tower,
As fell the evening gloom,
They did not hang him in the morn,
As he had heard his doom.

He heard the sentry shoot the bolt,
And a kind o’ murmuring;
And then his mother and sisters two
Wi’ loud outcries break in.

And, “O my Son!” the mother cried,
“Is there no other way,
To save thee from a cruel death,
At the hands o’ a fierce Murray?

“Marry his daughter, Willie dear,
And save thy mother’s life;
Tho’ she be ugly--what of that?
She’ll make a frugal wife.”

“Mother, I will not take his terms.
Who brought ye here?” he said.
“Who, but your messenger so good,
That kind and sonsy maid.”

They passed the time in grief and woe,
Throughout the dead of night;
Nor ever they ceased to weep wi’ him,
Until the morning’s light.

The loud horn blew out o’er the lea,
Sir Gideon stood him before;
“What is thy choice, young man?” he cried,
“Or ere this deed be o’er.”

“The gallows still before the wife,”
Young Harden stoutly said.
“And wi’ the hemp around my throat,
I’ll spit on the ground ye tread.”

They led him forth to the gallows-tree;
When he saw that maiden there,
Who at her risk, unto his mother
Carried his last letter;

The thoughts o’ the gallows could not stir
The heart o’ that dauntless Chief,
But the weeping look of that young girl,
It pierced his soul wi’ grief.

And while the tear hung in her eye,
He took her lily hand;
And said, “Thy heart is far too meek,
For such a ruffian band.

“Hear me, Murray, speak my mind,
I care not for thy word,
I’d rather marry this poor maiden,
If should my life be spared,

“Then ever I’d wed thy daughter Meg.”--
Sir Gideon clapped his hand;
“A bargain! I take thee at thy word,
Young Scott where dost thou stand.”

* * * * *

They buckled them in holy bonds,
The priest he prayed the while;
And when the marriage knot was tied,
Sir Gideon blithe did smile.

His mother fell upon his neck,
“God bless my bairn, he’s free!
And bless the bonny lassie yet,
Who brought the word to me!”

“I give thee a father’s blessing, sir,”
The Murray blithely cried;
“For what?”--The lassie modest said,
“Meikle-Mouthed Meg’s your bride.”

Oh! then sore shame fell on the Scott,
And tears came in his eyes;
“And is my bride the scorned Meg,
That I did so despise?

“Let no man hate what he’s not seen,
The shame on me doth lay:--
I rose this morning for my death,
And it ends in my bridal day!”

(_Englished. Condensed_)

BELTED WILL

THE ROBBER BARON

The Baron of Thirlwall came from the wars,
Laden with treasure bold;
Among the which a fair table,
All of the beaten gold.

And men will speak of the Baron’s wealth,
Whatever he may say,
And how a grizzly Dwarf does guard
His treasure night and day.

Many a Border freebooter
Eyed Thirlwall’s good Castle,
Thinking to win the bags of gold,
And eke the fair table.

But the Baron hath retainers bold,
And swatchers many ane,
And the Castle walls are high to win,
Howe’er they fidge and fain.

The boldest one o’ a’ his men,
Was Jockey of the Sheugh;
The Baron loved him like a brother,
And that was fair enoo.

Jock could wrestle, run, or leap,
Wi’ ever a living man;
Never a wight in Cumbernauld
Could beat him at the span.

But Thirlwall’s Baron heeded not
The word o’ Belted Will,
Who dwells within the dark Naworth,
The Border March to still;

He can rule all the Border round,
Wi’ a peeled willow-wand;
But Thirlwall’s Baron gecks at him,
And all the laws o’ the land.

So fast come tidings of ravin wrong
To Belted Willy’s ear;
Quo’ he, “By my belt, I’ll trap this man,
If I catch him in effeir.

“But he is like a wily fox,
That taketh to his hole,
An I can catch him on the turn,
I’ll smoke him from his bole.

“He reaves and harrows every one,
Tho’ he has goups o’ gold;
I’ll lay a trap for him bedeen,
By which he shall be sold.”

Thirlwall’s Baron heard his speech,
Wi’ scorn almost he burst;
“His anger it is like a haggis,
That’s hottest at the first.”

Sore smiled the wily Belted Will,
But in so dark a way;
Better that smile were wanting there,
Than on his lip to lay.

THE TRAP O’ BELTED WILL

Jock o’ the Sheugh tirled at the string,
Of the Baron of Thirlwall’s yett;
“Up, up, and rise, my noble Lord,
Some plunder for to get.

“There are a swatch o’ Englishers
Coming from Carlysle town,
Well laden wi’ the yellow gold,
For Annan are they boun’.”

“Go, take a dozen o’ my men,
And brattle o’er the lea,
Lay wait, and watch until they pass
The Bowness Witches’ Tree.

“A dozen o’ ye well may lick
Three score o’ English tikes,
Take all they have, and leave them so
To tell o’ this who likes.”

Then Jock banged o’er the broomy knoll,
And reached the Witches’ Tree,
And wi’ his dozen freebooters,
Lay down on their bellie.

There came on twenty Englishers,
Wi’ cloaks and saddlebags;
There came on twenty travellers,
Mounted on goodly nags.

Came on those twenty travellers,
With long cloaks flowing down,
Came on these twenty travellers,
All thro’ the yellow broom.

Then started up Jock and his men
Wi’ such an awful yell,
Ye might have heard it at the top
Of Skiddaw or Criffell.

“Come off your nags, ye sorning crew,
Of Southron pock-puddings,
Or ye shall have the good cold steel,
So give us all your things!”

“We’ll give ye that,” said one o’ them,
“Ye’ll no forget, I wiss,
This many a day, good Jock o’ the Sheugh,
And that my billie’s this!”

They threw the cloaks from off their hides,
And back and breastplate shone;
They grippit their swords, the first blow struck
Was echoed with a groan.

Good faith! but Jock had found his match,
For the Southrons hacked about;
The Thirlwall boys were fain to fight,
But soon put to the route.

Of twelve o’ Jock’s good freebooters,
But three fled o’er the lea,
The other nine lay still enough
Beside the Witches’ Tree.

Poor Jock is down upon his back,
Wi’ a fair clour on the head;
His billies all are stiffening,
And three o’ them are fled.

Out spoke the twenty travellers,
“Why, Jock, how’s this of a’,
Ye bid us to a meal, good faith,
And then ye run awa’?”

Quo’ Jock, as they bound fast his arms,
And raised him from the lea,
“If I had kenned ye were Belted Will’s men,
The Devil might stopped ye for me!”

THE GRIZZLY DWARF

The Baron o’ Thirlwall looked abroad,
From out his strong Castle,
And he saw three men come posting on,
Out o’er the fern and fell.

“I wad,” said he, “they run a race,
A thousand merks I lay
Upon the wight in the red jerkin,
He wins the race this day.”

The three men burst in on his room,
“My Lord,” then each one said,
“Jock o’ the Sheugh is wounded fair,
And nine good fellows dead.”

The dark spot flew to the Baron’s cheek,
“Ye cowards, one and all!
Go, join your bloody billies then,
Whatever may befall!”

He struck each man the neck intil,
And they fell on the floor;
“To fly without a single blow,
Shows valour to be poor!

“If Belted Will should harm a hair
O’ Jock o’ the Sheugh his head,
I’ll put the Border in such a blaze,
Shall make him flee with dread.

“If Jock o’ the Sheugh hangs for this play,
The whole of the March shall weep,
No man shall waken in the morn,
That goes alive to sleep.”

They brought these words to Belted Will
As at racket-ball he played;
But the only answer he let fall,
“We’ll soon see that,” he said.

* * * * *

By Brampton’s town there stands an oak,
Upon a hill so high;
And Jock was broughten there betimes
Upon the tree to die.

They strapped him to the highest branch
Of all that goodly tree;
And there the righteous chaplain prayed
For Jock’s soul solemnlie,

Thirlwall’s Baron saw the sight,
And swore revenge to have;
For better part o’ a summer’s day
He nothing did but rave.

He sent a messenger so bold
To Will, who cried in scorn,
“Better he looks unto his nest,
I’ll burn it ere the morn!”

The Baron fled to his Castle,
And guarded it so grim,
“The fiend take Belted Will,” he cried,
“’Tis word and blow wi’ him.”

But scarcely had the midnight fell,
When spite o’ a’ his care,
Belted Will his Castle stormed,
For a’ he fought so fair.

A tar barrel and reeking peat,
They laid unto his nest,
Threw open gates and wide windows,
And the night wind did the rest.

The Baron fled from room to room,
By the flames of his own hall,
“He’s gi’en me light to go to bed,
Whatever may befall.”

He rushed into his inner room,
Where his golden table lay;
The Devil in likeness o’ a Dwarf
Kept watch there night and day.

Belted Will pursued him hard,
Amid the flame and stour,
For he cut the skirt from the Baron’s cloak,
As he whisked through the door.

“Save me, now, thou gruesome Elf,
And my soul and body’s thine!”
The Dwarf he jabbered hideously,
But never made a sign.

Belted Will called for a ram,
To bash the doorway down;
The red flames thro’ the keyhole flashed,
And filled wi’ reek the room.

“My soul and body,” the Baron said,
Abjuring Christ His sign;
The Devil he grippit him in his arms,
“Now, Baron, art thou mine.”

The door ga’ed splintering from the posts,
In rushed the enemy;
But Baron, Dwarf, and gold table,
I wat they could ne’er see.

And legends say the ugsome Dwarf
Threw all into a well,
And by the glamour o’ his art
Cast over all a spell;

Which never may be rendered vain
But by a Widow’s Son;
And he shall find the gold table,
When years away have run.

_Frederick Sheldon. (Condensed)_

BRAVE HEARTS AND PROUD

EARL HALDAN’S DAUGHTER

A.D. 1400

_It was Earl Haldan’s daughter,
She looked across the sea;
She looked across the water,
And long and loud laughed she:
“The locks of six Princesses
Must be my marriage-fee,
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Who comes a-wooing me!”_

_It was Earl Haldan’s daughter,
She walked along the sand;
When she was aware of a Knight so fair,
Come sailing to the land.
His sails were all of velvet,
His mast of beaten gold,
And “hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat,
Who saileth here so bold?”_

_“The locks of five Princesses
I won beyond the sea;
I shore their golden tresses,
To fringe a cloak for thee.
One handful yet is wanting,
But one of all the tale;
So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Furl up thy velvet sail!”_

_He leapt into the water,
That rover young and bold;
He gript Earl Haldan’s daughter,
He shore her locks of gold;
“Go weep, go weep, proud Maiden,
The tale is full to-day.
Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Sail Westward ho, and away!”_

_Charles Kingsley_

LADY CLARE

It was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn;
Lovers long-betrothed were they;
They two will wed the morrow morn--
God’s blessing on the day!

“He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well,” said Lady Clare.

In there came old Alice the nurse,
Said, “Who was this that went from thee?”
“It was my cousin,” said Lady Clare;
“To-morrow he weds with me.”

“O God be thanked!” said Alice the nurse,
“That all comes round so just and fair!
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are _not_ the Lady Clare.”

“Are ye out of your mind, my Nurse, my Nurse,”
Said Lady Clare, “that ye speak so wild?”
“As God’s above,” said Alice the nurse,
“I speak the truth: you are my child.

“The old Earl’s daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead.”

“Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O Mother,” she said, “if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.”

“Nay now, my Child,” said Alice the nurse,
“But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald’s
When you are man and wife.”

“If I’m a beggar born,” she said,
“I will speak out, for I dare not lie.
Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by.”

“Nay now, my Child,” said Alice the nurse,
“But keep the secret all ye can.”
She said, “Not so; but I will know
If there be any faith in man.”

“Nay now, what faith?” said Alice the nurse;
“The man will cleave unto his right.”
“And he shall have it,” the lady replied,
“Tho’ I should die to-night.”

“Yet give one kiss to your mother dear!
Alas, my Child, I sinned for thee!”
“O Mother, Mother, Mother,” she said,
“So strange it seems to me.

“Yet here’s a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, Mother, ere I go.”

She clad herself in a russet gown,
She was no longer Lady Clare;
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,
Dropt her head in the maiden’s hand,
And followed her all the way.

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:
“O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you drest like a village maid,
That are the flower of the earth?”

“If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are;
I am a beggar born,” she said,
“And not the Lady Clare.”

“Play me no tricks,” said Lord Ronald,
“For I am yours in word and in deed.
Play me no tricks,” said Lord Ronald,
“Your riddle is hard to read.”

Oh, and proudly stood she up!
Her heart within her did not fail;
She looked into Lord Ronald’s eyes,
And told him all her nurse’s tale.

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn;
He turned, and kissed her where she stood;
“If you are not the heiress born,
And I,” said he, “the next in blood,--

“If you are not the heiress born,
And I,” said he, “the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare.”

_Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

PROUD LADY MARGARET

Fair Margret was a young ladye,
An come of high degree;
Fair Margret was a young ladye,
An proud as proud could be.

Fair Margret was a rich ladye,
The king’s cousin was she;
Fair Margaret was a rich ladye,
An vain as vain could be.

She war’d her wealth on the gay cleedin
That comes frae yont the sea,
She spent her time frae morning till night
Adorning her fair bodye.

Ae night she sate in her stately ha,
Kaimin her yellow hair,
When in there cum like a gentle knight,
An a white scarf he did wear.

“O what’s your will wi me, sir knight,
O what’s your will wi me?
You’re the likest to my ae brother
That ever I did see.

“You’re the likest to my ae brother
That ever I hae seen,
But he’s buried in Dunfermline kirk,
A month an mair bygane.”

“I’m the likest to your ae brother
That ever ye did see,
But I canna get rest into my grave,
A’ for the pride of thee.

“Leave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret,
Leave pride an vanity;
Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen,
Sair altered ye maun be.

“O ye come in at the kirk-door
Wi the gowd plaits in your hair;
But wud ye see what I hae seen,
Ye maun them a’ forbear.

“O ye come in at the kirk-door
Wi the gowd prins i your sleeve;
But wad ye see what I hae seen,
Ye maun gie them a’ their leave.

“Leave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret,
Leave pride an vanity;
Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen,
Sair altered ye maun be.”

He got her in her stately ha,
Kaimin her yellow hair,
He left her on her sick sick bed,
Sheding the saut saut tear.

THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING-MEN