Chapter XX: Part 20

4
'Ye'll steal your father's gowd, and your mother's money,
And I'll mak ye a lady in Ireland bonnie.'

5
She's stown her father's gowd, and her mother's money,
But she was never a lady in Ireland bonnie.

* * * * * * *

6
'There's fey fowk in our ship, she winna sail for me,
There's fey fowk in our ship, she winna sail for me.'

7
They've casten black bullets twice six and forty,
And ae the black bullet fell on bonnie Annie.

8
'Ye'll tak me in your arms twa, lo, lift me cannie,
Throw me out owre board, your ain dear Annie.'

9
He has tane her in his arms twa, lo, lifted her cannie,
He has laid her on a bed of down, his ain dear Annie.

10
'What can a woman do, love, I'll do for ye;'
'Muckle can a woman do, ye canna do for me.'

11
'Lay about, steer about, lay our ship cannie,
Do all ye can to save my dear Annie.'

12
'I've laid about, steerd about, laid about cannie,
But all I can do, she winna sail for me.

13
'Ye'll tak her in your arms twa, lo, lift her cannie,
And throw her out owre board, your ain dear Annie.'

14
He has tane her in his arms twa, lo, lifted her cannie,
He has thrown her out owre board, his ain dear Annie.

15
As the ship sailed, bonnie Annie she swam,
And she was at Ireland as soon as them.

16
He made his love a coffin of the gowd sae yellow,
And buried his bonnie love doun in a sea valley.

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 652. From the singing of a boy, Henry
French, Ayr.

1
Down in Dumbarton there wonnd a rich merchant,
Down in Dumbarton there wond a rich merchant,
And he had nae family but ae only dochter.
Sing fal lal de deedle, fal lal de deedle lair, O a day

2
There cam a rich squire, intending to woo her,
He wooed her until he had got her wi babie.

3
'Oh what shall I do! oh what shall come o me!
Baith father and mither will think naething o me.'

4
'Gae up to your father, bring down gowd and money,
And I'll take ye ower to a braw Irish ladie.'

5
She gade to her father, brought down gowd and money,
And she's awa ower to a braw Irish ladie.

6
She hadna sailed far till the young thing cried 'Women!'
'What women can do, my dear, I'll do for you.'

7
'O haud your tongue, foolish man, dinna talk vainly,
For ye never kent what a woman driet for you.

8
'Gae wash your hands in the cauld spring water,
And dry them on a towel a' giltit wi silver.

9
'And tak me by the middle, and lift me up saftlie,
And throw me ower shipboard, baith me and my babie.'

10
He took her by the middle, and lifted her saftly,
And threw her ower shipboard, baith her and her babie.

11
Sometimes she did sink, sometimes she did float it,
Until that she cam to the high banks o Yarrow.

12
'O captain tak gowd, O sailors tak money,
And launch out your sma boat till I sail for my honey.'

13
'How can I tak gowd, how can I tak money?
My ship's on a sand bank, she winna sail for me.'

14
The captain took gowd, the sailors took money,
And they launchd out their sma boat till he sailed for his honey.

15
'Mak my love a coffin o the gowd sae yellow,
Whar the wood it is dear, and the planks they are narrow,
And bury my love on the high banks o Yarrow.'

16
They made her a coffin o the gowd sae yellow,
And buried her deep on the high banks o Yarrow.

* * * * *

#A.#

_Printed by Kinloch in four-line stanzas._

16^1. coffin off the Goats of Yerrow.

#B.#

16. _Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. xcix_, 146, _gives the
stanza thus_:

They made his love a coffin of the gowd sae yellow,
They made his love a coffin of the gowd sae yellow,
And they buried her deep on the high banks of Yarrow.
Sing fal lal, de deedle, fal lal, de deedle lair, Oh a Day!

[206] Jonah is asleep below. This trait we find in several Norse ballads: see 'Brown Robyn's Confession.'

[207] A singular episode in the life of Saint Mary Magdalen in the Golden Legend, Grässe, c. xcvi, 2, p. 409 ff, indicates a belief that even a dead body might prejudice the safety of a ship. The princess of Marseilles, in the course of a storm, has given birth to a boy and expired. The sailors demand that the body shall be thrown into the sea (and apparently the boy, too), for, they say, as long as it shall be with us, this thumping will not cease. They presently see a hill, and think it better to put off the corpse, _and the boy_, there, than that these should be devoured by sea-monsters. Fear will fasten upon anything in such a case.

The Digby Mystery of Mary Magdalene has this scene, at p. 122 of the New Shakspere Society edition, ed. Furnivall.

25

WILLIE'S LYKE-WAKE

#A.# 'Willie, Willie,' Kinloch's MSS, I, 53.

#B. a.# 'Blue Flowers and Yellow,' Buchan's Ballads of the
North of Scotland, I, 185. #b.# 'The Blue Flowers and the
Yellow,' Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 120.

#C.# Motherwell's MS., p. 187.

#D.# 'Amang the blue flowers and yellow,' Motherwell's
Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xix, No XVII, one stanza.

This piece was first printed by Buchan, in 1828, and all the copies which have been recovered are of about that date. The device of a lover's feigning death as a means of winning a shy mistress enjoys a considerable popularity in European ballads. Even more favorite is a ballad in which the _woman_ adopts this expedient, in order to escape from the control of her relations: see 'The Gay Goshawk,' with which will be given another form of the present story.

A #Danish# ballad answering to our Feigned Lyke-Wake is preserved, as I am informed by Professor Grundtvig, in no less than fourteen manuscripts, some of them of the 16th century, and is still living in tradition. Five versions, as yet unprinted, #A-E#, have been furnished me by the editor of the Ballads of Denmark.

#A#, from a manuscript of the sixteenth century. Young Herre Karl asks his mother's rede how he may get the maid his heart is set upon. She advises him to feign sickness, and be laid on his bier, no one to know his counsel but the page who is to do his errands. The page bids the lady to the wake that night. Little Kirstin asks her mother's leave to keep wake over Karl. The wake is to be in the upper room of Karl's house. The mother says, Be on your guard; he means to cheat you; but Kirstin, neither listening to her mother nor asking her father, goes to keep wake in the upper room. When she went in she could not see the lights for her tears. She begged all the good people to pray for Karl's soul, sat down by his head and made her own prayer, and murmured, While thou livedst I loved thee. She lifted the cloths, and there lay Karl wide awake and laughing. "All the devils in hell receive thy soul!" she cried. "If thou livedst a hundred years, thou shouldst never have my good will! "Karl proposed that she should pass the night with him. "Why would you deceive me!" Kirstin exclaimed. "Why did you not go to my father and betroth me honorably?" Karl immediately rode to her father's to do this, and they were married.

#B. a#, from MSS of 1610 and later, almost identical with #b#, 'Den forstilte Vaagestue,' Levninger, Part II, 1784, p. 34, No 7.[208] This version gives us some rather unnecessary previous history. Karl has sued for Ingerlille three years, and had an ill answer. He follows her to church one fine day, and, after mass, squeezes her fingers and asks, Will you take pity on me? She replies, You must ask my father and friends; and he, I have, and can get no good answer. If you will give me your troth, we can see to that best ourselves. "Never," she says. "Farewell, then; but Christ may change your mind." Karl meets his mother on his way from church, who asks why he is so pale. He tells her his plight, and is advised, as before, to use craft. The wake is held on Karl's premises.[209] Ingerlille, in scarlet mantle, goes with her maids. She avows her love, but adds that it was a fixed idea in her mind that he would deceive her. She lifts up the white cloth that covers the face. Karl laughs, and says, We were good friends before, so are we still. Bear out the bier, and follow me to bed with the fair maid. She hopes he will have respect for her honor. Karl reassures her, leaves her with his mother, rides to Ingerlille's house, obtains her parents' approbation, and buys wine for his wedding.

#C#, from manuscripts of the sixteenth century. Karl is given out for dead, and his pages ride to the convent to ask that his body may be laid in the cloister. The bier is borne in; the prioress comes to meet it, with much respect. The pages go about bidding maids to the wake. Ellin asks her mother if she may go. (This looks as if there had originally been no convent in the ballad.) Her mother tells her to put on red gold and be wary of Karl, he is so very tricky. When Ellin owns her attachment, Karl whispers softly, Do not weep, but follow me. Horses were ready at the portal--_black_ horses all!

Karl sprang from the bier, took Ellin, and made for the door. The nuns, who stood reading in the choir, thought it was an angel that had translated her, and wished one would come for them. Karl, with fifteen men who were in waiting, carried Ellin home, and drank his bridal with her.

#D#, from recent oral tradition. As Karl lay in his bed, he said, How shall I get the fair maid out of the convent? His foster-mother heard him, and recommended him to feign death and bid the fair maid to his wake. The maid asked her father's leave to go, but he said, Nay, the moment you are inside the door he will seize you by the foot. But when the page, who had first come in blue, comes back in scarlet, she goes. She stands at Karl's head and says, I never shall forget thee; at his feet, "I wished thee well;" at his side, "Thou wast my dearest." Then she turns and bids everybody good-night, but Karl seizes her, and calls to his friends to come drink his bridal. We hear nothing of the convent after the first stanza.

#E#, from oral tradition of another quarter. Karl consults his mother how he shall get little Kirstin out of the convent, and receives the same counsel. A page is sent to the convent, and asks who will come to the wake now Herr Karl is dead? Little Kirstin, without application to the prioress, goes to her mother, who does not forbid her, but warns her that Karl will capture her as sure as she goes into the room.

The maid has the door by the handle,
And is wishing them all good-night;
Young Karl, that lay a corpse on the bier,
Sprang up and held her tight.

'Why here's a board and benches,
And there's no dead body here;
This eve I'll drink my mead and wine,
All with my Kirstin dear.

'Why here's a board and beds too,
And here there's nobody dead;
To-morrow will I go to the priest,
All with my plighted maid.'

#F#, another copy from recent tradition, was published in 1875, in Kristensen's Jyske Folkeviser, II, 213, No 62, 'Vaagestuen.' There is no word of a convent here. The story is made very short. Kirsten's mother says she will be fooled if she goes to the wake. The last stanza, departing from all other copies, says that when Kirsten woke in the morning Karl was off.

#G.# 'Klosterranet,' Levninger, I, 23, No 4 (1780), Danske Viser, IV, 261, No 212, a very second-rate ballad, may have the praise of preserving consistency and conventual discipline. The young lady does not slip out to see her mother without leave asked and had. It is my persuasion that the convent, with its little jest about the poor nuns, is a later invention, and that #C# is a blending of two different stories. In #G#, Herr Morten betroths Proud Adeluds, who is more virtuous than rich. His friends object; her friends do not want spirit, and swear that she shall never be his. Morten's father sends him out of the country, and Adeluds is put into a convent. After nine years Morten returns, and, having rejected an advantageous match proposed by his father, advises with his brother, Herr Nilaus, how to get his true love out of the cloister. The brother's plan is that of the mother and foster-mother in the other versions. Herr Nilaus promises a rich gift if Morten's body may be buried within the cloister. From this point the story is materially the same as in #C#.

#H.# A copy, which I have not yet seen, in Rahbek's Læsning i blandede Æmner (or Hesperus), III, 151, 1822 (Bergström).

* * * * *

'Hertugen af Skage,' Danske Viser, II, 191, No 88, has this slight agreement with the foregoing ballads. Voldemar, the king's youngest son, hearing that the duke has a daughter, Hildegerd, that surpasses all maids, seeks her out in a convent in which she has taken refuge, and gets a cold reception. He feigns death, desiring that his bones may repose in the cloister. His bier is carried into the convent church. Hildegerd lights nine candles for him, and expresses compassion for his early death. While she is standing before the altar of the Virgin, Voldemar carries her out of the church by force.

* * * * *

This, says Afzelius, 1814, is one of the commonest ballads in #Sweden#, and is often represented as a drama by young people in country places. #A a#, 'Herr Carl, eller Klosterrofvet,' Afzelius, I, 179, No 26, new ed. No 24; #b#, Afzelius, Sago-Häfder, ed. 1851, IV, 106. #B#, Atterbom, Poetisk Kalender for 1816, p. 63, 'Det Iefvande Liket.' #C#. Rancken, Några Prof af Folksång, o. s. v., p. 13, No 4. These differ but slightly from Danish #D#, #E#. All three conclude with the humorous verses about the nuns, which in Rancken's copy take this rollicking turn:

And all the nuns in the convent they all danced in a ring;
'Christ send another such angel, to take us all under his wing!'

And all the nuns in the convent, they all danced each her lone;
'Christ send another such angel, to take us off every one!'

Bergström, new Afzelius, II, 131, refers to another version in Gyllenmärs' visbok, p. 191, and to a good copy obtained by himself.

An Icelandic version for the 17th century, which is after the fashion of Danish #C#, #G#, is given in Íslenzk Fornkvæði, II, 59, No 40, 'Marteins kviða.' The lover has in all three a troop of armed men in waiting outside of the convent.

Professor Bugge has obtained a version in Norway, which, however, is as to language essentially Danish. (Bergström, as above.)

There is a very gay and pretty south-European ballad, in which the artifice of feigning death is successfully tried by a lover after the failure of other measures.

#A.# #Magyar.# Arany and Gyulai, I, 172, No 18, 'Pálbeli Szép Antal;' translated by Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, p. 80, 'Schön Anton.' Handsome Tony tells his mother that he shall die for Helen. The mother says, Not yet. I will build a marvellous mill. The first wheel shall grind out pearls, the middle stone discharge kisses, the third wheel distribute small change. The pretty maids will come to see, and Helen among them. Helen asks her mother's leave to see the mill. "Go not," the mother replies. "They are throwing the net, and a fox will be caught." Tony again says he must die. His mother says, not yet; for she will build an iron bridge; the girls will come to see it, and Helen among them. Helen asks to see the bridge; her mother answers as before. Tony says once more that he shall die for Helen. His mother again rejoins, Not yet. Make believe to be dead; the girls will come to see you, and Helen among them. Helen entreats to be allowed to go to see the handsome young man that has died. Her mother tells her she will never come back. Tony's mother calls to him to get up; the girl he was dying for is even now before the gate, in the court, standing at his feet. "Never," says Helen, "saw I so handsome a dead man,--eyes smiling, mouth tempting kisses, and his feet all ready for a spring." Up he jumped and embraced her.

#B.# #Italian.# Ferraro, Canti popolari monferrini, p. 59, No 40, 'Il Genovese.' The Genoese, not obtaining the beautiful daughter of a rich merchant on demand, plants a garden. All the girls come for flowers, except the one desired. He then gives a ball, with thirty-two musicians. All the girls are there, but not the merchant's daughter. He then builds a church, very richly adorned. All the girls come to mass, all but one. Next he sets the bells a ringing, in token of his death. The fair one goes to the window to ask who is dead. The good people ("ra bun-ha gent," in the Danish ballad "det gode folk") tell her that it is her first love, and suggest that she should attend the funeral. She asks her father, who consents if she will not cry. As she was leaving the church, the lover came to life, and called to the priests and friars to stop singing. They went to the high altar to be married.

#C.# #Slovenian.# Vraz, Narodne peśni ilirske, p. 93, 'Čudna bolezen' ('Strange Sickness'); translated by Anastasius Grün, Volkslieder aus Krain, p. 36, 'Der Scheintodte.' "Build a church, mother," cries the love-sick youth, "that all who will may hear mass; perhaps my love among them." The mother built a church, one and another came, but not his love. "Dig a well, mother, that those who will may fetch water; perhaps my love among them." The well was dug, one and another came for water, but not his love. "Say I am dead, mother, that those who will may come to pray." Those who wished came, his love first of all. The youth was peeping through the window. "What kind of dead man is this, that stretches his arms for an embrace, and puts out his mouth for a kiss?"

* * * * *

Danish #G# translated by the Rev. J. Johnstone, 'The Robbery of the Nunnery, or, The Abbess Outwitted,' Copenhagen, 1786 (Danske Viser, IV, 366); by Prior, III, 400. Swedish #A#, by G. Stephens, For. Quar. Rev., 1841, XXVI, 49, and by the Howitts, Lit. and Rom. of Northern Europe, I, 292. English #C#, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische V. 1., p. 144, No 33.

A

Kinloch's MSS, I, 53, from the recitation of Mary Barr,
Lesmahagow, aged upwards of seventy. May, 1827.

1
'Willie, Willie, I'll learn you a wile,'
And the sun shines over the valleys and a'
'How this pretty fair maid ye may beguile.'
Amang the blue flowrs and the yellow and a'

2
'Ye maun lie doun just as ye were dead,
And tak your winding-sheet around your head.

3
'Ye maun gie the bellman his bell-groat,
To ring your dead-bell at your lover's yett.'

4
He lay doun just as he war dead,
And took his winding-sheet round his head.

5
He gied the bellman his bell-groat,
To ring his dead-bell at his lover's yett.

6
'O wha is this that is dead, I hear?'
'O wha but Willie that loed ye sae dear.'

7
She is to her father's chamber gone,
And on her knees she's fallen down.

8
'O father, O father, ye maun grant me this;
I hope that ye will na tak it amiss.

9
'That I to Willie's burial should go;
For he is dead, full well I do know.'

10
'Ye'll tak your seven bauld brethren wi thee,
And to Willie's burial straucht go ye.'

11
It's whan she cam to the outmost yett,
She made the silver fly round for his sake.

12
It's whan she cam to the inmost yett,
She made the red gowd fly round for his sake.

13
As she walked frae the court to the parlour there,
The pretty corpse syne began for to steer.

14
He took her by the waist sae neat and sae sma,
And threw her atween him and the wa.

15
'O Willie, O Willie, let me alane this nicht,
O let me alane till we're wedded richt.'

16
'Ye cam unto me baith sae meek and mild,
But I'll mak ye gae hame a wedded wife wi child.'

B

#a.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 185.
#b.# Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 120.

1
'O Willie my son, what makes you sae sad?'
As the sun shines over the valley
'I lye sarely sick for the love of a maid.'
Amang the blue flowers and the yellow

2
'Were she an heiress or lady sae free,
That she will take no pity on thee?

3
'O Willie, my son, I'll learn you a wile,
How this fair maid ye may beguile.

4
'Ye'll gie the principal bellman a groat,
And ye'll gar him cry your dead lyke-wake.'

5
Then he gae the principal bellman a groat,
He bade him cry his dead lyke-wake.

6
This maiden she stood till she heard it a',
And down frae her cheeks the tears did fa.

7
She is hame to her father's ain bower:
'I'll gang to yon lyke-wake ae single hour.'

8
'Ye must take with you your ain brither John;
It's not meet for maidens to venture alone.'

9
'I'll not take with me my brither John,
But I'll gang along, myself all alone.'

10
When she came to young Willie's yate,
His seven brithers were standing thereat.

11
Then they did conduct her into the ha,
Amang the weepers and merry mourners a'.

12
When she lifted up the covering sae red,
With melancholy countenance to look on the dead,

13
He's taen her in his arms, laid her gainst the wa,
Says, 'Lye ye here, fair maid, till day.'

14
'O spare me, O spare me, but this single night,
And let me gang hame a maiden sae bright.'

15
'Tho all your kin were about your bower,
Ye shall not be a maiden ae single hour.

16
'Fair maid, ye came here without a convoy,
But ye shall return wi a horse and a boy.

17
'Ye came here a maiden sae mild,
But ye shall gae hame a wedded wife with child.'

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 187.

1
'O Willie, Willie, what makes thee so sad?'
And the sun shines over the valley
'I have loved a lady these seven years and mair.'
Down amang the blue flowers and the yellow

2
'O Willie, lie down as thou were dead,
And lay thy winding-sheet down at thy head.

3
'And gie to the bellman a belling-great,
To ring the dead-bell at thy love's bower-yett.'

4
He laid him down as he were dead,
And he drew the winding-sheet oer his head.

5 He gied to the bellman a belling-great,
To ring the dead-bell at his love's bower-yett.

* * * * * * *

6
When that she came to her true lover's gate,
She dealt the red gold and all for his sake.

7
And when that she came to her true lover's bower,
She had not been there for the space of half an hour,

8
Till that she cam to her true lover's bed,
And she lifted the winding-sheet to look at the dead.

9
He took her by the hand so meek and sma,
And he cast her over between him and the wa.

10
'Tho all your friends were in the bower,
I would not let you go for the space of half an hour.

11
'You came to me without either horse or boy,
But I will send you home with a merry convoy.'

D

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xix, No XVII.

'O Johnie, dear Johnie, what makes ye sae sad?'
As the sun shines ower the valley
'I think nae music will mak ye glad.'
Amang the blue flowers and the yellow

* * * * *

#B.#

#b# _is #a# with stanzas 3, 12-15 omitted, and_ "a few
alterations, _some_ of them given from the recitation of
an old woman." "Buchan's version differs little from the
way the old woman sang the ballad." _The old woman's
variations, so far as adopted, are certainly of the most
trifling._

1^2. I am.

2^1. Is she.

7^1. And she.

16^1. Ye've come.

16^4. And ye.

17. _Evidently by Christie_:

'Fair maid, I love thee as my life,
But ye shall gae hame a lovd wedded wife.'

#C.#

_Burden. The lines are transposed in the second stanza,
but are given in the third in the order of the first._

3^1, 5^1. _MS._ belling great.

11^2. you come.

[208] But #a# has two stanzas more: the first a stev-stamme, or lyrical introduction (see p. 7), the other, 31, nearly a repetition of Sandvig's 29.

[209] After the page has bidden Ingerlille to the wake, we are told, #a# 27, 28, #b# 26, 27: all the convent bells were going, and the tidings spreading that the knight was dead; all the ladies of the convent sat sewing, except Ingerlille, who wept. But Ingerlille, in the next stanza, puts on her scarlet cloak and goes to the höjeloft to see her father and mother. The two stanzas quoted signify nothing in this version.

26

THE THREE RAVENS

#a.# Melismata. Musicall Phansies. Fitting the Court,
Cittie, and Countrey Humours. London, 1611, No 20.[210]
[T. Ravenscroft.]

#b.# 'The Three Ravens,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy,
Appendix, p. xviii, No XII.

#a# was printed from Melismata, by Ritson, in his Ancient Songs, 1790, p. 155. Mr. Chappell remarked, about 1855, Popular Music of the Olden Time, I, 59, that this ballad was still so popular in some parts of the country that he had "been favored with a variety of copies of it, written down from memory, and all differing in some respects, both as to words and tune, but with sufficient resemblance to prove a similar origin." Motherwell, Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxxvii, note 49, says he had met with several copies almost the same as #a.# #b# is the first stanza of one of these (traditional) versions, "very popular in Scotland."

The following verses, first printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, and known in several versions in Scotland, are treated by Motherwell and others as a traditionary form of 'The Three Ravens.' They are, however, as Scott says, "rather a counterpart than a copy of the other," and sound something like a cynical variation of the tender little English ballad. Dr Rimbault (Notes and Queries, Ser. V, III, 518) speaks of unprinted copies taken down by Mr Blaikie and by Mr Thomas Lyle of Airth.

THE TWA CORBIES.

#a.# Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 239, ed.
1803, communicated by C. K. Sharpe, as written down from
tradition by a lady. #b.# Albyn's Anthology, II, 27, 1818,
"from the singing of Mr Thomas Shortreed, of Jedburgh, as
sung and recited by his mother." #c.# Chambers's Scottish
Ballads, p. 283, partly from recitation and partly from
the Border Minstrelsy. #d.# Fraser-Tytler MS., p. 70.

1
As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
'Where sall we gang and dine to-day?'

2
'In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

3
'His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.

4
'Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We' theek our nest when it grows bare.

5
'Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
Oer his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.'

'The Three Ravens' is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 145, No 23; by Henrietta Schubart, p. 155; Gerhard, p. 95; Rosa Warrens, Schottische V. l. der Vorzeit, p. 198; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 12, Hausschatz, p. 205.

'The Twa Corbies' (Scott), by Grundtvig, p. 143, No 22; Arndt, p. 224; Gerhard, p. 94; Schubart, p. 157; Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 194; Rosa Warrens, p. 89. The three first stanzas, a little freely rendered into four, pass for Pushkin's: Works, 1855, II, 462, xxiv.

1
There were three rauens sat on a tree,
Downe a downe, hay down, hay downe
There were three rauens sat on a tree,
With a downe
There were three rauens sat on a tree,
They were as blacke as they might be.
With a downe derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe

2
The one of them said to his mate,
'Where shall we our breakefast take?'

3
'Downe in yonder greene field,
There lies a knight slain vnder his shield.

4
'His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they can their master keepe.

5
'His haukes they flie so eagerly,
There's no fowle dare him come nie.'

6
Downe there comes a fallow doe,
As great with yong as she might goe.

7
She lift vp his bloudy hed,
And kist his wounds that were so red.

8
She got him vp vpon her backe,
And carried him to earthen lake.

9
She buried him before the prime,
She was dead herselfe ere euen-song time.

10
God send euery gentleman,
Such haukes, such hounds, and such a leman.

* * * * *

#b.#

Three ravens sat upon a tree,
Hey down, hey derry day
Three ravens sat upon a tree,
Hey down
Three ravens sat upon a tree,
And they were black as black could be.
And sing lay doo and la doo and day

_Variations of The Twa Corbies._

#b.#

1.
As I cam by yon auld house end,
I saw twa corbies sittin thereon.

2^1. Whare but by yon new fa'en birk.

3.
We'll sit upon his bonny breast-bane,
And we'll pick out his bonny gray een;
We'll set our claws intil his yallow hair,
And big our bowr, it's a' blawn bare.

4.
My mother clekit me o an egg,
And brought me up i the feathers gray,
And bade me flee whereer I wad,
For winter wad be my dying day.

5.
Now winter it is come and past,
And a' the birds are biggin their nests,
But I'll flee high aboon them a',
And sing a sang for summer's sake.

#c.#

1.
As I gaed doun by yon hous-en,
Twa corbies there were sittand their lane.

2^1. O down beside yon new-faun birk.

3^1. His horse.

3^2. His hounds to bring the wild deer hame.

4.
O we'll sit on his bonnie breist-bane,
And we'll pyke out his bonnie grey een.

#d.#

1^1. walking forth.

1^2. the ither.

1^3. we twa dine.

3^2. wild bird.

5^2. naebody kens.

5^3. when we've laid them bare.

5^4. win may blaw.

[210] Misprinted 22.

27

THE WHUMMIL BORE

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 191. #b.# Motherwell's
Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xvi, No III.

This ballad, if it ever were one, seems not to have been met with, or at least to have been thought worth notice, by anybody but Motherwell. As already observed in the preface to 'Hind Horn,' stanza 2 seems to have slipped into that ballad, in consequence of the resemblance of stanza 1 to #F# 2, #H# 3 of 'Hind Horn.' This first stanza is, however, a commonplace in English and elsewhere: e. g., 'The Squire of Low Degree:'

He served the kyng, her father dere,
Fully the tyme of seven yere. vv 5, 6.

He loved her more then seven yere,
Yet was he of her love never the nere. vv 17, 18.

Ritson, Met. Rom. III, 145 f.

1
Seven lang years I hae served the king,
Fa fa fa fa lilly
And I never got a sight of his daughter but ane.
With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle,
Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally

2
I saw her thro a whummil bore,
And I neer got a sight of her no more.

3
Twa was putting on her gown,
And ten was putting pins therein.

4
Twa was putting on her shoon,
And twa was buckling them again.

5
Five was combing down her hair,
And I never got a sight of her nae mair.

6
Her neck and breast was like the snow,
Then from the bore I was forced to go.

* * * * *

#a.#

2^2. _Variation_: And she was washing in a pond.

6^2. _Variation_: Ye might have tied me with a strae.

#b.#

_Burden_:

Fa, fa, falilly
With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle,
Lillum too a tee too a tally.

28

BURD ELLEN AND YOUNG TAMLANE

Maidment's North Countrie Garland, 1824, p. 21.
Communicated by R. Pitcairn, "from the recitation of a
female relative, who had heard it frequently sung in her
childhood," about sixty years before the above date.

Motherwell informs us, Minstrelsy, p. xciv of Introduction, note to 141, that 'Burd Helen and Young Tamlene' is very popular, and that various sets of it are to be found traditionally current (1827). Still I have not found it, out of Maidment's little book; not even in Motherwell's large folio.

I cannot connect this fragment with what is elsewhere handed down concerning Tamlane, or with the story of any other ballad.

1
Burd Ellen sits in her bower windowe,
With a double laddy double, and for the double dow
Twisting the red silk and the blue.
With the double rose and the May-hay

2
And whiles she twisted, and whiles she twan,
And whiles the tears fell down amang.

3
Till once there by cam Young Tamlane:
'Come light, oh light, and rock your young son.'

4
'If you winna rock him, you may let him rair,
For I hae rockit my share and mair.'

* * * * * * *

5
Young Tamlane to the seas he's gane,
And a' women's curse in his company's gane.

29

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE

Percy MS., p. 284. Hales & Furnivall, II, 304.

This ballad and the two which follow it are clearly not of the same rise, and not meant for the same ears, as those which go before. They would come down by professional rather than by domestic tradition, through minstrels rather than knitters and weavers. They suit the hall better than the bower, the tavern or public square better than the cottage, and would not go to the spinning-wheel at all. An exceedingly good piece of minstrelsy 'The Boy and the Mantle' is, too; much livelier than most of the numerous variations on the somewhat overhandled theme.[211]

Of these, as nearest related, the fabliau or "romance" of Le Mantel Mautaillié, 'Cort Mantel,' must be put first: Montaiglon et Raynaud, Recueil Général des Fabliaux, III, 1, from four manuscripts, three of the thirteenth century, one of the fourteenth; and previously by Michel, from the three older manuscripts, in Wolf, Ueber die Lais, p. 324. A rendering of the fabliau in prose, existing in a single manuscript, was several times printed in the sixteenth century: given in Legrand, ed. Renouard, I, 126, and before, somewhat modernized, by Caylus, 'Les Manteaux,' Œuvres Badines, VI, 435.[212]

The story in 'Cort Mantel' goes thus. Arthur was holding full court at Pentecost, never more splendidly. Not only kings, dukes, and counts were there, but the attendance of all young bachelors had been commanded, and he that had a _bele amie_ was to bring her. The court assembled on Saturday, and on Sunday all the world went to church. After service the queen took the ladies to her apartments, till dinner should be ready. But it was Arthur's wont not to dine that day until he had had or heard of some adventure;[213] dinner was kept waiting; and it was therefore with great satisfaction that the knights saw a handsome and courteous varlet arrive, who must certainly bring news; news that was not to be good to all, though some would be pleased (cf. stanza 5 of the ballad). A maid had sent him from a very distant country to ask a boon of the king. He was not to name the boon or the lady till he had the king's promise; but what he asked was no harm. The king having said that he would grant what was asked, the varlet took from a bag a beautiful mantle, of fairy workmanship. This mantle would fit no dame or damsel who had in any way misbehaved towards husband or lover; it would be too short or too long; and the boon was that the king should require all the ladies of the court to put it on.

The ladies were still waiting dinner, unconscious of what was coming. Gawain was sent to require their presence, and he simply told them that the magnificent mantle was to be given to the one it best fitted. The king repeated the assurance, and the queen, who wished much to win the mantle, was the first to try it on. It proved too short. Ywain suggested that a young lady who stood near the queen should try. This she readily did, and what was short before was shorter still. Kay, who had been making his comments unguardedly, now divulged the secret, and after that nobody cared to have to do with the mantle. The king said, We may as well give it back; but the varlet insisted on having the king's promise. There was general consternation and bad humor.

Kay called his mistress, and very confidently urged her to put on the mantle. She demurred, on the ground that she might give offence by forwardness; but this roused suspicion in Kay, and she had no resource but to go on. The mantle was again lamentably short. Bruns and Ydier let loose some gibes. Kay bade them wait; he had hopes for them. Gawain's _amie_ next underwent the test, then Ywain's, then Perceval's. Still a sad disappointment. Many were the curses on the mantle that would fit nobody, and on him that brought it. Kay takes the unlucky ladies, one after the other, to sit with his mistress.

At this juncture Kay proposes that they shall have dinner, and continue the experiment by and by. The varlet is relentless; but Kay has the pleasure of seeing Ydier discomfited. And so they go on through the whole court, till the varlet says that he fears he shall be obliged to carry his mantle away with him. But first let the chambers be searched; some one may be in hiding who may save the credit of the court. The king orders a search, and they find one lady, not in hiding, but in her bed, because she is not well. Being told that she must come, she presents herself as soon as she can dress, greatly to the vexation of her lover, whose name is Carados Briebras. The varlet explains to her the quality of the mantle, and Carados, in verses very honorable to his heart, begs that she will not put it on if she has any misgivings.[214] The lady says very meekly that she dare not boast being better than other people, but, if it so please her lord, she will willingly don the mantle. This she does, and in sight of all the barons it is neither too short nor too long. "It was well we sent for her," says the varlet. "Lady, your lover ought to be delighted. I have carried this mantle to many courts, and of more than a thousand who have put it on you are the only one that has escaped disgrace. I give it to you, and well you deserve it." The king confirms the gift, and no one can gainsay.

A Norse prose translation of the French fabliau was executed by order of the Norwegian king, Hákon Hákonarson, whose reign covers the years 1217-63. Of this translation, 'Möttuls Saga,' a fragment has come down which is as old as 1300; there are also portions of a manuscript which is assigned to about 1400, and two transcripts of this latter, made when it was complete, besides other less important copies. This translation, which is reasonably close and was made from a good exemplar, has been most excellently edited by Messrs Cederschiöld and Wulff, Versions nordiques du Fabliau Le Mantel Mautaillié, Lund, 1877, p. 1.[215] It presents no divergences from the story as just given which are material here.

Not so with the 'Skikkju Rímur,' or Mantle Rhymes, an Icelandic composition of the fifteenth century, in three parts, embracing in all one hundred and eighty-five four-line stanzas: Cederschiöld and Wulff, p. 51. In these the story is told with additions, which occur partially in our ballad. The mantle is of white velvet. Three elf-women had been not less than fifteen years in weaving it, and it seemed both yellow and gray, green and black, red and blue: II, 22, 23, 26. Our English minstrel describes these variations of color as occurring after Guenever had put the mantle on: stanzas 11, 12. Again, there are among the Pentecostal guests a king and queen of Dwarf Land; a beardless king of Small-Maids Land, with a queen eight years old; and a King Felix, three hundred years old, with a beard to the crotch, and a wife, tall and fat, to whom he has been two centuries married,--all these severally attended by generous retinues of pigmies, juveniles, and seniors: I, 28-35; III, 41. Felix is of course the prototype of the old knight pattering over a creed in stanzas 21-24 of the ballad, and he will have his representative in several other pieces presently to be spoken of. In the end Arthur sends all the ladies from his court in disgrace, and his knights to the wars; we will get better wives, he says: III, 74, 75.

The land of Small-Maids and the long-lived race are mentioned in a brief geographical chapter (the thirteenth) of that singular gallimaufry the saga of Samson the Fair, but not in connection with a probation by the mantle, though this saga has appropriated portions of the story. Here the mantle is one which four fairies have worked at for eighteen years, as a penalty for stealing from the fleece of a very remarkable ram; and it is of this same fleece, described as being of all hues, gold, silk, _ok kolors_, that the mantle is woven. It would hold off from an unchaste woman and fall off from a thief. Quintalin, to ransom his life, undertakes to get the mantle for Samson. Its virtue is tried at two weddings, the second being Samson's; and on this last occasion Valentina, Samson's bride, is the only woman who can put it on. The mantle is given to Valentina, as in the fabliau to Carados's wife, but nevertheless we hear later of its being presented by Samson to another lady, who, a good while after, was robbed of the same by a pirate, and the mantle carried to Africa. From Africa it was sent to our Arthur by a lady named Elida, "and hence the saga of the mantle."[216] Björner, Nordiska Kämpa Dater, cc 12, 14, 15, 21, 22, 24.

There is also an incomplete German version of the fabliau, now credibly shown to be the work of Heinrich von dem Türlin, dating from the earliest years of the thirteenth century.[217] Though the author has dealt freely with his original, there are indications that this, like the Möttulssaga, was founded upon some version of the fabliau which is not now extant. One of these is an agreement between vv 574-6 and the sixth stanza of our ballad. The mantle, in English, is enclosed between two nut-shells;[218] in German, the bag from which it is taken is hardly a span wide. In the Möttulssaga, p. 9, l. 6, the mantle comes from a púss, a small bag hanging on the belt; in Ulrich von Zatzikhoven's Lanzelet, from ein mæzigez teschelîn, and in the latter case the mantle instantaneously expands to full size (Warnatsch); it is also of all colors known to man, vv 5807-19. Again, when Guenever had put on the mantle, st. 10 of our ballad, "it was from the top to the toe as sheeres had itt shread." So in 'Der Mantel,' vv 732, 733:

Unde [==unten] het man in zerizzen,
Oder mit mezzern zesnitten.[219]

The Lanzelet of Ulrich von Zatzikhoven, dating from the first years of the thirteenth century, with peculiarities of detail and a partially new set of names, presents the outline of the same story. A sea-fairy sends a maid to Arthur with a magnificent gift, which is, however, conditioned upon his granting a boon. Arthur assents, and the maid takes, from a small bag which she wears at her girdle, a mantle, which is of all colors that man ever saw or heard of, and is worked with every manner of beast, fowl, and strange fish. The king's promise obliges him to make all the court ladies don the mantle, she to have it whom it perfectly fits. More than two hundred try, and there is no absolute fit.[220] But Iblis, Lanzelet's wife, is not present: she is languishing on account of his absence on a dangerous adventure. She is sent for, and by general agreement the mantle is, on her, the best-fitting garment woman ever wore. Ed. Hahn, vv 5746-6135.

The adventure of the Mantle is very briefly reported to Gawain, when on his way with Ydain to Arthur, by a youth who had just come from the court, in terms entirely according with the French fabliau, in Messire Gauvain, ou La Vengeance de Raguidel, by the trouvère Raoul, ed. Hippeau, p. 135 ff, vv 3906-55, and in the Dutch Lancelot, ed. Jonckbloet, Part II, p. 85, vv 12,500-527, poems of the thirteenth century. The one lady whom the mantle fits is in the latter Carados vrindinne, in the other l'amie Caraduel Briefbras.

The Scalachronica, by Sir Thomas Gray of Heton, a chronicle of England and Scotland, 1066-1362, begun in 1355, gives the analysis of many romances, and that of the adventure of the Mantle in this form. There was sent to Arthur's court the mantle of Karodes, which was of such virtue that it would fit no woman who was not willing that her husband should know both her act and her thought.[221] This was the occasion of much mirth, for the mantle was either too short, or too long, or too tight, for all the ladies except Karodes' wife. And it was said that this mantle was sent by the father of Karodes, a magician, to prove the goodness of his son's wife.[222]

Two fifteenth-century German versions of the Mantle story give it a shape of their own. In Fastnachtspiele aus dem fünfzehnten Jahrhundert, II, 665, No 81, 'Der Luneten Mantel,' the amiable Lunet, so well and favorably known in romances, takes the place of the English boy and French varlet. The story has the usual course. The mantle is unsuccessfully tried by Arthur's queen, by the wife of the Greek emperor, and by the queen of Lorraine. The king of Spain, who announces himself as _the oldest man_ present, is willing to excuse his wife, who is the youngest of the royal ladies. She says, If we lack lands and gold, "so sei wir doch an eren reich," offers herself to the test with the fearlessness of innocence, and comes off clear, to the delight of her aged spouse. A meistergesang, Bruns, Beiträge zur kritischen Bearbeitung alter Handschriften, p. 143,[223] 'Lanethen Mantel,' again awards the prize to the young wife of a very old knight. Laneth, a clean maid, who is Arthur's niece, having made herself poor by her bounty, is cast off by her uncle's wife and accused of loose behavior. She makes her trouble known to a dwarf, a good friend of her father's, and receives from him a mantle to take to Arthur's court: if anybody huffs her, she is to put it to use. The queen opens upon Laneth, as soon as she appears, with language not unlike that which she employs of Cradock's wife in stanzas 33, 34 of the ballad. The mantle is offered to any lady that it will fit. In front it comes to the queen's knee, and it drags on the ground behind. Three hundred and fifty knights' ladies fare as ill as the sovereign.[224]

The Dean of Lismore's collection of Gaelic poetry, made in the early part of the sixteenth century, contains a ballad, obscure in places, but clearly presenting the outlines of the English ballad or French fabliau.[225] Finn, Diarmaid, and four other heroes are drinking, with their six wives. The women take too much, and fall to boasting of their chastity. While they are so engaged, a maid approaches who is clad in a seamless robe of pure white. She sits down by Finn, and he asks her what is the virtue of the garment. She replies that her seamless robe will completely cover none but the spotless wife. Conan, a sort of Kay, says, Give it to my wife at once, that we may learn the truth of what they have been saying. The robe shrinks into folds, and Conan is so angry that he seizes his spear and kills his wife.[226] Diarmaid's wife tries, and the robe clings about her hair; Oscar's, and it does not reach to her middle; Maighinis, Finn's wife, and it folds around her ears. MacRea's wife only is completely covered. The 'daughter of Deirg,' certainly a wife of Finn, and here seemingly to be identified with Maighinis, claims the robe: she has done nothing to be ashamed of; she has erred only with Finn. Finn curses her and womankind, "because of her who came that day."