Chapter XXXIV: Part 34

Such questions and answers as we have in #D# 20, #E# 17, #F# 24, are of the commonest occurrence in popular poetry, and not unknown to the poetry of art. Ballads of the 'Edward' class end generally or always in this way: see p. 168. We have again the particular question and answer which occur here in 'Lizie Wan' and in one version of 'The Trooper and Fair Maid,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 158. The question may be: When will you come back? When shall you cease to love me? When shall we be married? etc.; and the answer: When apple-trees grow in the seas; when fishes fly and seas gang dry; when all streams run together; when all swift streams are still; when it snows roses and rains wine; when all grass is rue; when the nightingale sings on the sea and the cuckoo is heard in winter; when poplars bear cherries and oaks roses; when feathers sink and stones swim; when sand sown on a stone germinates, etc., etc. See Virgil, Ecl. i, 59-63; Ovid, Met. xiii, 324-27; Wolf, Ueber die Lais, p. 433; 'Svend Vonved,' Grundtvig, I, 240, No 18, #A#, #D#; Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, 'Lord Jamie Douglas,' I, 232 f, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. vii, Kinloch, Finlay, etc.; Pills to Purge Melancholy, V, 37; 'Der verwundete Knabe,' 'Die verwundete Dame,' Mittler, Nos 49-53, Erk's Liederhort, pp 111-115, Wunderhorn, IV, 358-63, Longard, p. 39, No 18, Pröhle, Welt. u. geist. Volkslieder, p. 12, No 6; Meinert, pp 28, 60, 73; Uhland, p. 127, No 65; Wunderhorn (1857), II, 223, Reifferscheid, p. 23, Liederhort, p. 345, Erk, Neue Sammlung, ii, 39, Kretzschmer, I, 143; Zuccalmaglio, pp 103, 153, 595; Peter, Volksthümliches aus Öst.-schlesien, I, 274; Ditfurth, II, 9, No 10; Fiedler, p. 187; Des Turcken Vassnachtspiel, Tieck's Deutsches Theater, I, 8; Uhland, Zur Geschichte der Dichtung, III, 216 ff; Tigri, Canti popolari toscani (1860), pp 230-242, Nos 820, 822, 823, 832, 836-40, 857, 858, 862, 868; Visconti, Saggio dei Canti p. della Provincia di Marritima e Campagna, p. 21, No 18; Nino, Saggio di Canti p. sabinesi, p. 28 f, p. 30 f; Pitrè, Saggi di Critica letteraria, p. 25; Braga, Cantos p. do Archipelago açoriano, p. 220; Möckesch, Romänische Dichtungen, p. 6 f, No 2; Passow, p. 273 f, Nos 387, 388; B. Schmidt, Griechische Märchen, etc., p. 154, No 10, and note, p. 253; Morosi, Studi sui Dialetti greci della Terra d'Otranto, p. 30, lxxv, p. 32, lxxix; Pellegrini, Canti p. dei Greci di Cargese, p. 21; De Rada, Rapsodie d'un Poema albanese, p. 29; Haupt u. Schmaler, Volkslieder der Wenden, I, 76, No 47, I, 182, No 158, I, 299, No 300; Altmann, Balalaika, Russische Volkslieder, p. 233, No 184; Golovatsky, Narodnyya Piesni galitzskoy i ugorskoy Rusi, II, 585, No 18, III, i, 12, No 9; Maximovitch, Sbornik ukrainskikh Pyesen, p. 7, No 1, p. 107, No 30; Dozon, Chansons p. bulgares, p. 283, No 57; Bodenstedt, Die poetische Ukraine, p. 46, No 14; Jordan, Ueber kleinrussische Volkspoesie, Blätter für lit. Unterhaltung, 1840, No 252, p. 1014 (Uhland); Rhesa, Ueber litthauische Volkspoesie, in Beiträge zur Kunde Preussens, I, 523; Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, pp 147, 149: etc.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 168; Afzelius, III, 7; Grimm, Drei altschottische Lieder, p. 5; Talvi, Charakteristik, p. 567; Rosa Warrens, Schottische V. L. der Vorzeit, p. 91. Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 4, translates Aytoun, I, 193.

A

Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 56, No 19.

1
There were twa brethren in the north,
They went to the school thegither;
The one unto the other said,
Will you try a warsle afore?

2
They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till Sir John fell to the ground,
And there was a knife in Sir Willie's pouch,
Gied him a deadlie wound.

3
'Oh brither dear, take me on your back,
Carry me to yon burn clear,
And wash the blood from off my wound,
And it will bleed nae mair.'

4
He took him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon burn clear,
And washd the blood from off his wound,
But aye it bled the mair.

5
'Oh brither dear, take me on your back,
Carry me to yon kirk-yard,
And dig a grave baith wide and deep,
And lay my body there.'

6
He's taen him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon kirk-yard,
And dug a grave baith deep and wide,
And laid his body there.

7
'But what will I say to my father dear,
Gin he chance to say, Willie, whar's John?'
'Oh say that he's to England gone,
To buy him a cask of wine.'

8
'And what will I say to my mother dear,
Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar's John?'
'Oh say that he's to England gone,
To buy her a new silk gown.'

9
'And what will I say to my sister dear,
Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar's John?'
'Oh say that he's to England gone,
To buy her a wedding ring.'

10
'But what will I say to her you loe dear,
Gin she cry, Why tarries my John?'
'Oh tell her I lie in Kirk-land fair,
And home again will never come.'

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 259. From Widow McCormick, January
19, 1825.

1
There was two little boys going to the school,
And twa little boys they be,
They met three brothers playing at the ba,
And ladies dansing hey.

2
'It's whether will ye play at the ba, brither,
Or else throw at the stone?'
'I am too little, I am too young,
O brother let me alone.'

3
He pulled out a little penknife,
That was baith sharp and sma,
He gave his brother a deadly wound
That was deep, long and sair.

4
He took the holland sark off his back,
He tore it frae breast to gare,
He laid it to the bloody wound,
That still bled mair and mair.

5
'It's take me on your back, brother,' he says,
'And carry me to yon kirk-yard,
And make me there a very fine grave,
That will be long and large.

6
'Lay my bible at my head,' he says,
'My chaunter at my feet,
My bow and arrows by my side,
And soundly I will sleep.

7
'When you go home, brother,' he says,
'My father will ask for me;
You may tell him I am in Saussif town,
Learning my lesson free.

8
'When you go home, brother,' he says,
'My mother will ask for me;
You may tell her I am in Sausaf town,
And I'll come home merrily.

9
'When you go home, brother,' he says,
'Lady Margaret will ask for me;
You may tell her I'm dead and in grave laid,
And buried in Sausaff toun.'

10
She put the small pipes to her mouth,
And she harped both far and near,
Till she harped the small birds off the briers,
And her true love out of the grave.

11
'What's this? what's this, lady Margaret?' he says,
'What's this you want of me?'
'One sweet kiss of your ruby lips,
That's all I want of thee.'

12
'My lips they are so bitter,' he says,
'My breath it is so strong,
If you get one kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be long.'

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 649. From the recitation of Mrs
Cunningham, Ayr.

1
There were twa brithers at ae scule;
As they were coming hame,
Then said the ane until the other
'John, will ye throw the stane?'

2
'I will not throw the stane, brither,
I will not play at the ba;
But gin ye come to yonder wood
I'll warsle you a fa.'

3
The firsten fa young Johnie got,
It brought him to the ground;
The wee pen-knife in Willie's pocket
Gied him a deadly wound.

4
'Tak aff, tak aff my holland sark,
And rive it frae gore to gore,
And stap it in my bleeding wounds,
They'll aiblins bleed noe more.'

5
He pouit aff his holland sark,
And rave it frae gore to gore,
And stapt it in his bleeding wounds,
But ay they bled the more.

6
'O brither, tak me on your back,
And bear me hence away,
And carry me to Chester kirk,
And lay me in the clay.'

7
'What will I say to your father,
This night when I return?'
'Tell him I'm gane to Chester scule,
And tell him no to murn.'

8
'What will I say to your mother,
This nicht whan I gae hame?'
'She wishd afore I cam awa
That I might neer gae hame.'

9
'What will I say to your true-love,
This nicht when I gae hame?'
'Tell her I'm dead and in my grave,
For her dear sake alane.'

10
He took him upon his back
And bore him hence away,
And carried him to Chester kirk,
And laid him in the clay.

11
He laid him in the cauld cauld clay,
And he cuirt him wi a stane,
And he's awa to his fathers ha,
Sae dowilie alane.

12
'You're welcome, dear son,' he said,
'You're welcome hame to me;
But what's come o your brither John,
That gade awa wi thee?'

13
'Oh he's awa to Chester scule,
A scholar he'll return;
He bade me tell his father dear
About him no to murn.'

14
'You're welcome hame, dear son,' she said,
'You're welcome hame to me;
But what's come o your brither John,
That gade awa wi thee?'

15
'He bade me tell his mother dear,
This nicht when I cam hame,
Ye wisht before he gade awa,
That he might neer return.'

16
Then next came up his true-love dear,
And heavy was her moan;
'You're welcome hame, dear Will,' she said,
'But whare's your brither John?'

17
'O lady, cease your trouble now,
O cease your heavy moan;
He's dead and in the cauld cauld clay,
For your dear sake alone.'

18
She ran distraught, she wept, she sicht,
She wept the sma brids frae the tree,
She wept the starns adoun frae the lift,
She wept the fish out o the sea.

19
'O cease your weeping, my ain true-love,
Ye but disturb my rest;'
'Is that my ain true lover John,
The man that I loe best?'

20
''T is naething but my ghaist,' he said,
'That's sent to comfort thee;
O cease your weeping, my true-love,
And 't will gie peace to me.'

D

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 59. From the recitation of
Mrs W. Arrott, of Aberbrothick.

1
'O will ye gae to the school, brother?
Or will ye gae to the ba?
Or will ye gae to the wood a-warslin,
To see whilk o's maun fa?'

2
'It's I winna gae to the school, brother,
Nor will I gae to the ba;
But I will gae to the wood a-warslin,
And it is you maun fa.'

3
They warstled up, they warstled down,
The lee-lang simmer's day;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

4
'O lift me up upon your back,
Tak me to yon wall fair;
You'll wash my bluidy wounds oer and oer,
And syne they'll bleed nae mair.

5
'And ye'll tak aff my hollin sark,
And riv 't frae gair to gair;
Ye'll stap it in my bluidy wounds,
And syne they'll bleed nae mair.'

6
He's liftit his brother upon his back,
Taen him to yon wall fair;
He's washed his bluidy wounds oer and oer,
But ay they bled mair and mair.

7
And he's taen aff his hollin sark,
And riven 't frae gair to gair;
He's stappit it in his bluidy wounds,
But ay they bled mair and mair.

8
'Ye'll lift me up upon your back,
Tak me to Kirkland fair;
Ye'll mak my greaf baith braid and lang,
And lay my body there.

9
'Ye'll lay my arrows at my head,
My bent bow at my feet,
My sword and buckler at my side,
As I was wont to sleep.

10
'Whan ye gae hame to your father,
He'll speer for his son John:
Say, ye left him into Kirkland fair,
Learning the school alone.

11
'When ye gae hame to my sister,
She'll speer for her brother John:
Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair,
The green grass growin aboon.

12
'Whan ye gae hame to my true-love,
She'll speer for her lord John:
Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair,
But hame ye fear he'll never come.'

13
He's gane hame to his father;
He speered for his son John:
'It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
Learning the school alone.'

14
And whan he gaed hame to his sister,
She speered for her brother John:
'It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
The green grass growin aboon.'

15
And whan he gaed home to his true-love,
She speerd for her lord John:
'It's I left him into Kirkland fair,
And hame I fear he'll never come.'

16
'But whaten bluid's that on your sword, Willie?
Sweet Willie, tell to me;'
'O it is the bluid o my grey hounds,
They wadna rin for me.'

17
'It's nae the bluid o your hounds, Willie,
Their bluid was never so red;
But it is the bluid o my true-love,
That ye hae slain indeed.'

18
That fair may wept, that fair may mournd,
That fair may mournd and pin'd:
'When every lady looks for her love,
I neer need look for mine.'

19
'O whaten a death will ye die, Willie?
Now, Willie, tell to me;'
'Ye'll put me in a bottomless boat,
And I'll gae sail the sea.'

20
'Whan will ye come hame again, Willie?
Now, Willie, tell to me;'
'Whan the sun and moon dances on the green,
And that will never be.'

E

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 60.

1
There were twa brothers at the scule,
And when they got awa,
'It's will ye play at the stane-chucking,
Or will ye play at the ba,
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head,
And there we'll warsel a fa?'

2
'I winna play at the stane-chucking,
Nor will I play at the ba;
But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill,
And there we'll warsel a fa.'

3
They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till John fell to the ground;
A dirk fell out of William's pouch,
And gave John a deadly wound.

4
'O lift me upon your back,
Take me to yon well fair,
And wash my bluidy wounds oer and oer,
And they'll neer bleed nae mair.'

5
He's lifted his brother upon his back,
Taen him to yon well fair;
He's wash'd his bluidy wounds oer and oer,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.

6
'Tak ye aff my holland sark,
And rive it gair by gair,
And row it in my bluidy wounds,
And they'll neer bleed nae mair.'

7
He's taken aff his holland sark,
And torn it gair by gair;
He's rowit it in his bluidy wounds,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.

8
'Tak now aff my green cleiding,
And row me saftly in,
And tak me up to yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.'

9
He's taken aff the green cleiding,
And rowed him saftly in;
He's laid him down by yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.

10
'What will ye say to your father dear,
When ye gae hame at een?'
'I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk-style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.'

11
'O no, O no, my brother dear,
O you must not say so;
But say that I'm gane to a foreign land,
Whare nae man does me know.'

12
When he sat in his father's chair,
He grew baith pale and wan:
'O what blude's that upon your brow?
O dear son, tell to me;'
'It is the blude o my gude gray steed,
He wadna ride wi me.'

13
'O thy steed's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your cheek?
O dear son, tell to me;'
'It is the blude of my greyhound,
He wadna hunt for me.'

14
'O thy hound's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your hand?
O dear son, tell to me;'
'It is the blude of my gay goss-hawk,
He wadna flee for me.'

15
'O thy hawk's blude was neer sae red,
Nor eer sae dear to me:
O what blude's this upon your dirk?
Dear Willie, tell to me;'
'It is the blude of my ae brother,
O dule and wae is me!'

16
'O what will ye say to your father?
Dear Willie, tell to me;'
'I'll saddle my steed, and awa I'll ride,
To dwell in some far countrie.'

17
'O when will ye come hame again?
Dear Willie, tell to me;'
'When sun and mune leap on yon hill,
And that will never be.'

18
She turnd hersel right round about,
And her heart burst into three:
'My ae best son is deid and gane,
And my tother ane I'll neer see.'

F

Buchan's MSS, I, 57; Motherwell's MS., p. 662.

1
There were twa brothers in the east,
Went to the school o Ayr;
The one unto the other did say,
Come let us wrestle here.

2
They wrestled up and wrestled down,
Till John fell to the ground;
There being a knife in Willie's pocket,
Gae John his deadly wound.

3
'O is it for my gold, brother?
Or for my white monie?
Or is it for my lands sae braid,
That ye hae killed me?'

4
'It is not for your gold,' he said,
'Nor for your white monie;
It is by the hand o accident
That I hae killed thee.'

5
'Ye'll take the shirt that's on my back,
Rive it frae gair to gair,
And try to stop my bloody wounds,
For they bleed wonderous sair.'

6
He's taen the shirt was on his back,
Reave it frae gare to gare,
And tried to stop his bleeding wounds,
But still they bled the mair.

7
'Ye'll take me up upon your back,
Carry me to yon water clear,
And try to stop my bloody wounds,
For they run wonderous sair.'

8
He's taen him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon water clear,
And tried to stop his bleeding wounds,
But still they bled the mair.

9
'Ye'll take me up upon your back,
Carry me to yon church-yard;
Ye'll dig a grave baith wide and deep,
And then ye'll lay me there.

10
'Ye'll put a head-stane at my head,
Another at my feet,
Likewise a sod on my breast-bane,
The souner I may sleep.

11
'Whenever my father asks of thee,
Saying, What's become of John?
Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea,
For a cargo of good wine.

12
'And when my sweetheart asks of thee,
Saying, What's become of John?
Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea,
To buy a wedding gown.

13
'And when my sister asks of thee,
Saying, William, where is John?
Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea,
To learn some merry sang.

14
'And when my mother asks of thee,
Saying, William, where is John?
Tell her I'm buried in green Fordland,
The grass growing ower my tomb.'

15
He's taen him up upon his back,
Carried him to yon church-yard,
And dug a grave baith wide and deep,
And he was buried there.

16
He laid a head-stane at his head,
Another at his feet,
And laid a green sod on his breast,
The souner he might sleep.

17
His father asked when he came hame,
Saying, 'William, where is John?'
Then John said, 'He is ower the sea,
To bring you hame some wine.'

18
'What blood is this upon you, William,
And looks sae red on thee?'
'It is the blood o my grey-hound,
He woudna run for me.'

19
'O that's nae like your grey-hound's blude,
William, that I do see;
I fear it is your own brother's blood
That looks sae red on thee.'

20
'That is not my own brother's blude,
Father, that ye do see;
It is the blood o my good grey steed,
He woudna carry me.'

21
'O that is nae your grey steed's blude,
William, that I do see;
It is the blood o your brother John,
That looks sae red on thee.'

22
'It's nae the blood o my brother John,
Father, that ye do see;
It is the blude o my good grey hawk,
Because he woudna flee.'

23
'O that is nae your grey hawk's blood,
William, that I do see:'
'Well, it's the blude o my brother,
This country I maun flee.'

24
'O when will ye come back again,
My dear son, tell to me?'
'When sun and moon gae three times round,
And this will never be.'

25
'Ohon, alas! now William, my son,
This is bad news to me;
Your brother's death I'll aye bewail,
And the absence o thee.'

G

#a.# Taken down lately from the singing of little girls in
South Boston. #b.# Two stanzas, from a child in New York,
1880. Communicated by Mr W. W. Newell.

1
As John and William were coming home one day,
One Saturday afternoon,
Says John to William, Come and try a fight,
Or will you throw a stone?
Or will you come down to yonder, yonder town
Where the maids are all playing ball, ball, ball,
Where the maids are all playing ball?

2
Says William to John, I will not try a fight,
Nor will I throw a stone,
Nor will I come down to yonder town,
Where the maids are all playing ball.

3
So John took out of his pocket
A knife both long and sharp,
And stuck it through his brother's heart,
And the blood came pouring down.

4
Says John to William, Take off thy shirt,
And tear it from gore to gore,
And wrap it round your bleeding heart,
And the blood will pour no more.'

5
So John took off his shirt,
And tore it from gore to gore,
And wrapped it round his bleeding heart,
And the blood came pouring more.

6
'What shall I tell your dear father,
When I go home to-night?'
'You'll tell him I'm dead and in my grave,
For the truth must be told.'

7
'What shall I tell your dear mother,
When I go home to-night?'
'You'll tell her I'm dead and in my grave,
For the truth must be told.'

8
'How came this blood upon your knife?
My son, come tell to me;'
'It is the blood of a rabbit I have killed,
O mother, pardon me.'

9
'The blood of a rabbit couldnt be so pure,
My son, come tell to me:'
'It is the blood of a squirrel I have killed,
O mother, pardon me.'

10
'The blood of a squirrel couldnt be so pure,
My son, come tell to me:'
'It is the blood of a brother I have killed,
O mother, pardon me.'

* * * * *

#A.#

1^2. _Var._ to the chase.

10^3. "As to Kirk-land, my copy has only kirk-yard, till
the last verse, where land has been added from
conjecture." _Sharpe's Ballad-Book, p. 56._

#D.#

1^3, 2^3. o Warslin.

#F.#

13^3. tell me free.

_Motherwell has Scotticised the spelling._

9^4. _Motherwell has_ leave.

11^1, 12^1, 13^1, 14^1. _Motherwell_, speirs at thee.

23^3. _Motherwell has_ my ae brother.

#G. b.#

1.
Jack and William was gone to school,
One fine afternoon;
Jack says to William, Will you try a fight?
Do not throw no stones.

2.
Jack took out his little penknife,
The end of it was sharp,
He stuck it through his brother's heart,
And the blood was teeming down.

[401] Mr Newell says: "I have heard it sung at a picnic, by a whole carful of little girls. The melody is pretty. These children were of the poorest class."

[402] "The house of Inchmurry, formerly called Kirkland, was built of old by the abbot of Holyrood-house for his accommodation when he came to that country, and was formerly the minister's manse." Statistical Account of Scotland, XIII, 506, cited by Jamieson, I, 62. There are still three or four Kirklands in Scotland and the north of England.

50

THE BONNY HIND

'The Bonny Hyn,' Herd's MSS, I, 224; II, fol. 65, fol. 83.

This piece is transcribed three times in Herd's manuscripts, with a note prefixed in each instance that it was copied from the mouth of a milkmaid in 1771. An endorsement to the same effect on the last transcript gives the date as 1787, no doubt by mistake. Scott had only MS. I in his hands, which accidentally omits two stanzas (13, 14), and he printed this defective copy with the omission of still another (4): Minstrelsy, II, 298, ed. 1802; III, 309, ed. 1833. Motherwell supplies these omitted stanzas, almost in Herd's very words, in the Introduction to his collection, p. lxxxiv, note 99. He remarks, p. 189, that tales of this kind abound in the traditionary poetry of Scotland. The two ballads which follow, Nos 51, 52, are of the same general description.

In the first half of the story 'The Bonny Hind' comes very near to the fine Scandinavian ballad of 'Margaret,' as yet known to be preserved only in Färöe and Icelandic. The conclusions differ altogether. Margaret in the Färöe ballad, 'Margretu kvæði,' Færöiske Kvæder, Hammershaimb, No 18, is the only daughter of the Norwegian king Magnus, and has been put in a convent. After two or three months she longs to see her father's house again. On her way thither she is assaulted by a young noble with extreme violence: to whom she says,

Now you have torn off all my clothes, and done me sin and shame,
I beg you, before God most high, tell me what is your name.

Magnus, he answers, is his father, and Gertrude his mother, and he himself is Olaf, and was brought up in the woods. By this she recognizes that he is her own brother. Olaf begs her to go back to the convent, and say nothing, bearing her sorrow as she may. This she does. But every autumn the king makes a feast, and invites to it all the nuns in the cloister. Margaret is missed, and asked for. Is she sick or dead? Why does she not come to the feast, like other merry dames? The wicked abbess answers, Your daughter is neither sick nor dead; she goes with child, like other merry dames. The king rides off to the cloister, encounters his daughter, and demands who is the father of her child. She replies that she will sooner die than tell. The king leaves her in wrath, but returns presently, resolved to burn the convent, and Margaret in it, Olaf comes from the wood, tired and weary, sees the cloister burning, and quenches the flames with his heart's blood.

The Icelandic ballad, 'Margrètar kvæði,' Íslenzk Fornkvæði, Grundtvig and Sigurðsson, No 14, has the same story. It is, however, the man who brings on the discovery by asking the woman's parentage. The editors inform us that the same subject is treated in an unprinted Icelandic ballad, less popular as to style and stanza, in the Arne Magnussen collection, 154.

The story of Kullervo, incorporated in what is called the national epic of the Finns, the Kalevala, has striking resemblances with the ballads of the Bonny Hind class. While returning home in his sledge from a somewhat distant errand, Kullervo met three times a girl who was travelling on snow-shoes, and invited her to get in with him. She rejected his invitation with fierceness, and the third time he pulled her into the sledge by force. She angrily bade him let her go, or she would dash the sledge to pieces; but he won her over by showing her rich things. The next morning she asked what was his race and family; for it seemed to her that he must come of a great line. "No," he said, "neither of great nor small. I am Kalervo's unhappy son. Tell me of what stock art thou." "Of neither great nor small," she answered. "I am Kalervo's unhappy daughter." She was, in fact, a long-lost sister of Kullervo's, who, when a child, had gone to the wood for berries, and had never found her way home. She had wept the first day and the second; the third and fourth, the fifth and sixth, she had tried every way to kill herself. She broke out in heart-piercing lamentations:

'O that I had died then, wretched!
O that I had perished, weak one!
Had not lived to hear these horrors,
Had not lived this shame to suffer!'

So saying she sprang from the sledge into the river, and found relief under the waters.

Kullervo, mad with anguish, went home to his mother, and told her what had happened. He asked only how he might die,--by wolf or bear, by whale or sea-pike. His mother vainly sought to soothe him. He consented to live only till the wrongs of his parents had been revenged. His mother tried to dissuade him even from seeking a hero's death in fight.

'If thou die in battle, tell me,
What protection shall remain then
For the old age of thy father?'
'Let him die in any alley,
Lay his life down in the house-yard.'
'What protection shall remain then
For the old age of thy mother?'
'Let her die on any straw-truss;
Let her stifle in the stable.'
'Who shall then be left thy brother,
Who stand by him in mischances?'
'Let him pine away in the forest,
Let him drop down on the common.'
'Who shall then be left thy sister,
Who stand by her in mischances?'
'When she goes to the well for water,
Or to the washing, let her stumble.'

Kullervo had his fill of revenge. Meanwhile father, brother, sister, and mother died, and he came back to his home to find it empty and cold. A voice from his mother's grave seemed to direct him to go to the wood for food: obeying it, he came again to the polluted spot, where grass or flowers would not grow any more. He asked his sword would it like to feed on guilty flesh and drink wicked blood. The sword said, Why should I not like to feed on guilty flesh and drink wicked blood, I that feed on the flesh of the good and drink the blood of the sinless? Kullervo set the sword hilt in the earth, and threw himself on the point. (Kalewala, übertragen von Schiefner, runes 35, 36.)

The dialogue between Kullervo and his mother is very like a passage in another Finnish rune, 'Werinen Pojka,' 'The Bloody Son,' Schröter, Finnische Runen, 124, ed. 1819; 150, ed. 1834. This last is a form of the ballad known in Scottish as 'Edward,' No 13, or of 'The Twa Brothers,' No 49. Something similar is found in 'Lizie Wan,' No 51.

The passage 5-7 is a commonplace that may be expected to recur under the same or analogous circumstances, as it does in 'Tam Lin,' #D#, 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter,' 'The Maid and the Magpie,' and in one version of 'The Broom of Cowdenknows.' These are much less serious ballads, and the tone of stanza 5, which so ill befits the distressful situation, is perhaps owing to that stanza's having been transferred from some copy of one of these. It might well change places with this, from 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter,' #A#:

Sith you have had your will of me,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knight,
Tell me what is your name.

Much better with the solemn adjuration in the Färöe 'Margaret,' or even this in 'Ebbe Galt,' Danske Viser, No 63, 8:

Now you have had your will of me,
To both of us small gain,
By the God that is above all things,
I beg you tell your name.

Herd's MSS, II, fol. 65. "Copied from the mouth of a
milkmaid, by W. L. in 1771."

1
O may she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon gardens green,
And there she spied a gallant squire
As squire had ever been.

2
And may she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon hollin tree,
And there she spied a brisk young squire,
And a brisk young squire was he.

3
'Give me your green manteel, fair maid,
Give me your maidenhead;
Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel,
Gi me your maidenhead.'

4
He has taen her by the milk-white hand,
And softly laid her down,
And when he's lifted her up again
Given her a silver kaim.

5
'Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,
Perhaps there may be nane;
But if you be a courtier,
You'll tell to me your name.'

6
'I am nae courtier, fair maid,
But new come frae the sea;
I am nae courtier, fair maid,
But when I court 'ith thee.

7
'They call me Jack when I'm abroad,
Sometimes they call me John;
But when I'm in my father's bower
Jock Randal is my name.'

8
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
Ffor I'm Lord Randal's yae daughter,
He has nae mair nor me.'

9
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
For I'm Lord Randal's yae yae son,
Just now come oer the sea.'

10
She's putten her hand down by her spare,
And out she's taen a knife,
And she has putn't in her heart's bluid,
And taen away her life.

11
And he's taen up his bonny sister,
With the big tear in his een,
And he has buried his bonny sister
Amang the hollins green.

12
And syne he's hyed him oer the dale,
His father dear to see:
'Sing O and O for my bonny hind,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'

13
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you needna care;
There's aught score hyns in yonder park,
And five score hyns to spare.

14
'Four score of them are siller-shod,
Of thae ye may get three;'
'But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'

15
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you need na care;
Take you the best, gi me the warst,
Since plenty is to spare.'

16
'I care na for your hyns, my lord,
I care na for your fee;
But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath the hollin tree!'

17
'O were ye at your sister's bower,
Your sister fair to see,
Ye'll think na mair o your bonny hyn
Beneath the hollin tree.'

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

'The Bonny Heyn,' I, 224.

3^2. _Should be ~It's not for you a weed~. Motherwell._

4^3. _The third copy omits ~when~._

4^{3, 4}. he lifted, He gae her. _Motherwell._

5^{1, 2}. _The second copy has ~they~._

6^4. _All have ~courteth~. Scott prints ~wi' thee, with
thee~._

7^3. _The third copy has ~tower~._

10^{3, 4}.
She's soakt it in her red heart's blood,
And twin'd herself of life. _Motherwell._

13, 14. _The first copy omits these stanzas._

51

LIZIE WAN

#A. a.# 'Lizie Wan,' Herd's MSS, I, 151; II, 78. #b.#
Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.

#B.# 'Rosie Ann,' Motherwell's MS., p. 398.

#A#, first printed in Herd's Scottish Songs, ed. 1776, is here given from his manuscript copy. #B# is now printed for the first time.

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og Skotske Folkeviser, No 50, who subjoins a Danish ballad, 'Liden Ellen og hendes Broder,' of similar character. Of this the editor had three versions, differing but little, and all of slight poetical value, and he prints one which was committed to writing some sixty or seventy years ago, with some readings from the others. Liden Jensen, having killed Liden Ellen in a wood, pretends to his mother that she has gone off with some knights. He is betrayed by blood on his clothes, confesses the truth, and is condemned to be burned. 'Herr Axel,' Arwidsson's Swedish collection, No 46, I, 308, under similar circumstances, kills Stolts Kirstin's two children, is asked by his mother why his hands are bloody, pretends to have slain a hind in the wood, and has his head struck off by order of his father.

'Herr Peder og hans Söster,' an unpublished Danish ballad, of which Grundtvig obtained a single traditional version, has also a slight resemblance to 'Lizie Wan.' Kirsten invites Sir Peter to her bed. He declines for various reasons, which she refutes. She discovers him to be her brother by her needle-work in his shirt. He draws his knife and stabs her. "This was also a pitiful sight, the twin children playing in the mother's bosom." Compare Kristensen, II, No 74 #A#, #D#, #E#, at the end.

The conclusion, #A# 11-12, #B# 10-17, resembles that of 'The Twa Brothers,' No 49, but is poetically much inferior.

A

Herd's MSS, I, 151; stanzas 1-6, II, p. 78. Herd's
Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.

1
Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door,
Weeping and making a mane,
And by there came her father dear:
'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'

2
'I ail, and I ail, dear father,' she said,
'And I'll tell you a reason for why;
There is a child between my twa sides,
Between my dear billy and I.'

3
Now Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door,
Sighing and making a mane,
And by there came her brother dear:
'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'

4
'I ail, I ail, dear brither,' she said,
'And I'll tell you a reason for why;
There is a child between my twa sides,
Between you, dear billy, and I.'

5
'And hast thou tald father and mother o that?
And hast thou tald sae o me?'
And he has drawn his gude braid sword,
That hang down by his knee.

6
And he has cutted aff Lizie Wan's head,
And her fair body in three,
And he's awa to his mothers bower,
And sair aghast was he.

7
'What ails thee, what ails thee, Geordy Wan?
What ails thee sae fast to rin?
For I see by thy ill colour
Some fallow's deed thou hast done.'

8
'Some fallow's deed I have done, mother,
And I pray you pardon me;
For I've cutted aff my greyhound's head;
He wadna rin for me.'

9
'Thy greyhound's bluid was never sae red,
O my son Geordy Wan!
For I see by thy ill colour
Some fallow's deed thou hast done.'

10
'Some fallow's deed I hae done, mother,
And I pray you pardon me;
For I hae cutted aff Lizie Wan's head
And her fair body in three.'

11
'O what wilt thou do when thy father comes hame,
O my son Geordy Wan?'
'I'll set my foot in a bottomless boat,
And swim to the sea-ground.'

12
'And when will thou come hame again,
O my son Geordy Wan?'
'The sun and the moon shall dance on the green
That night when I come hame.'

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 398. From the recitation of Mrs
Storie, Lochwinnich.

1
Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,
Greitin and making grit mane,
When down by cam her father, saying,
What ails thee Rosie Ann?

2
'A deal, a deal, dear father,' she said,
'Great reason hae I to mane,
For there lyes a little babe in my side,
Between me and my brither John.'

3
Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,
Weeping and making great mane,
And wha cam doun but her mither dear,
Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

4
'A deal, a deal, dear mither,' she said,
'Great reason hae I to mane,
For there lyes a little babe in my side,
Between me and my brither John.'

5
Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,
Greiting and making great mane,
And wha came doun but her sister dear,
Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

6
'A deal, a deal, dear sister,' she said,
'Great reason hae I to mane,
For there lyes a little babe in my side,
Between me and my brither John.'

7
Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,
Weeping and making great mane,
And wha cam doun but her fause, fause brither,
Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

8
'A deal, a deal, dear brither,' she said,
'Great reason hae I to cry,
For there lyes a little babe in my side,
Between yoursell and I.'

9
'Weel ye hae tauld father, and ye hae tauld mither,
And ye hae tauld sister, a' three;'
Syne he pulled out his wee penknife,
And he cut her fair bodie in three.

10
'O what blude is that on the point o your knife,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'It is my horse's, that I did kill,
Dear mother and fair ladie.'

11
'The blude o your horse was neer sae red,
Dear son, come tell to me:'
'It is my grandfather's, that I hae killed,
Dear mother and fair ladie.'

12
'The blude o your grandfather was neer sae fresh,
Dear son, come tell to me:'
'It is my sister's, that I did kill,
Dear mother and fair ladie.'

13
'What will ye do when your father comes hame,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'I'll set my foot on yon shipboard,
And I hope she'll sail wi me.'

14
'What will ye do wi your bonny bonny young wife,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'I'll set her foot on some other ship,
And I hope she'll follow me.'

15
'And what will ye do wi your wee son,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'I'll leave him wi you, my dear mother,
To keep in remembrance of me.'

16
'What will ye do wi your houses and lands,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'I'll leave them wi you, my dear mother,
To keep my own babie.'

17
'And whan will you return again,
Dear son, come tell to me?'
'When the sun and the mune meet on yon hill,
And I hope that'll neer be.'

* * * * *

#B.#

_Written without division into stanzas._

52

THE KING'S DOCHTER LADY JEAN

#A. a.# 'The King's Dochter Lady Jean,' Motherwell's MS.,
p. 657. #b.# 'Lady Jean,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy,
Appendix, p. xxi.

#B.# Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189 f.

#C.# 'Castle Ha's Daughter,' Buchan's Ballads of the North
of Scotland, I, 241.

#D.# 'Bold Burnet's Daughter.' #a.# Buchan's MSS, I, 120.
#b.# The same, II, 141.

#B# is the ballad referred to, and partly cited, in Motherwell's preface to 'The Broom blooms bonnie and says it is fair,' Minstrelsy, p. 189. This copy has been extremely injured by tradition; so much so as not to be intelligible in places except by comparison with #A#. The act described in stanza 9 should be done by the king's daughter's own hand; stanza 12 should be addressed by her to her sister; stanza 13 is composed of fragments of two. #C# and #D# have suffered worse, for they have been corrupted and vulgarized.

At the beginning there is resemblance to 'Tam Lin' and to 'Hind Etin.'

A

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 657. From the recitation of Mrs
Storie, Lochwinnich. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy,
Appendix, p. xxi, No XXIII, one stanza.

1
The king's young dochter was sitting in her window,
Sewing at her silken seam;
She lookt out o the bow-window,
And she saw the leaves growing green, my luve,
And she saw the leaves growing green.

2
She stuck her needle into her sleeve,
Her seam down by her tae,
And she is awa to the merrie green-wood,
To pu the nit and slae.

3
She hadna pu't a nit at a',
A nit but scarcely three,
Till out and spak a braw young man,
Saying, How daur ye bow the tree?

4
'It's I will pu the nit,' she said,
'And I will bow the tree,
And I will come to the merrie green wud,
And na ax leive o thee.'

5
He took her by the middle sae sma,
And laid her on the gerss sae green,
And he has taen his will o her,
And he loot her up agen.

6
'Now syn ye hae got your will o me,
Pray tell to me your name;
For I am the king's young dochter,' she said,
'And this nicht I daurna gang hame.'

7
'Gif ye be the king's young dochter,' he said,
'I am his auldest son;
I wish I had died on some frem isle,
And never had come hame!

8
'The first time I came hame, Jeanie,
Thou was na here nor born;
I wish my pretty ship had sunk,
And I had been forlorn!

9
'The neist time I came hame, Jeanie,
Thou was sittin on the nourice knee;
And I wish my pretty ship had sunk,
And I had never seen thee!

10
'And the neist time I came hame, Jeanie,
I met thee here alane;
I wish my pretty ship had sunk,
And I had neer come hame!'

11
She put her hand down by her side,
And doun into her spare,
And she pou't out a wee pen-knife,
And she wounded hersell fu sair.

12
Hooly, hooly rase she up,
And hooly she gade hame,
Until she came to her father's parlour,
And there she did sick and mane.

13
'O sister, sister, mak my bed,
O the clean sheets and strae,
O sister, sister, mak my bed,
Down in the parlour below.'

14
Her father he came tripping down the stair,
His steps they were fu slow;
'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' he said,
'Ye're lying far ower low.'

15
'O late yestreen, as I came hame,
Down by yon castil wa,
O heavy, heavy was the stane
That on my briest did fa!'

16
Her mother she came tripping doun the stair,
Her steps they were fu slow;
'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said,
'Ye're lying far ower low.'

17
'O late yestreen, as I cam hame,
Down by yon castil wa,
O heavy, heavy was the stane
That on my breast did fa!'

18
Her sister came tripping doun the stair,
Her steps they were fu slow;
'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said,
'Ye're lying far ower low.'

19
'O late yestreen, as I cam hame,
Doun by yon castil wa,
O heavy, heavy was the stane
That on my breast did fa!'

20
Her brither he cam trippin doun the stair,
His steps they were fu slow;
He sank into his sister's arms,
And they died as white as snaw.

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189. From Margery Johnston.

1
Lady Margaret sits in her bow-window,
Sewing her silken seam;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

2
She's drapt the thimble at her tae,
And her scissars at her heel,
And she's awa to the merry green-wood,
To see the leaves grow green.

3
She had scarsely bowed a branch,
Or plucked a nut frae the tree,
Till up and starts a fair young man,
And a fair young man was he.

4
'How dare ye shake the leaves?' he said,
'How dare ye break the tree?
How dare ye pluck the nuts,' he said,
'Without the leave of me?'

5
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Oh I know the merry green wood's my ain,
And I'll ask the leave of nane.'

6
He gript her by the middle sae sma,
He gently sat her down,
While the grass grew up on every side,
And the apple trees hang down.

7
She says, Young man, what is your name?
For ye've brought me to meikle shame;
For I am the king's youngest daughter,
And how shall I gae hame?

8
'If you're the king's youngest daughter,
It's I'm his auldest son,
And heavy heavy is the deed, sister,
That you and I have done.'

9
He had a penknife in his hand,
Hang low down by his gair,
And between the long rib and the short one
He woundit her deep and sair.

10
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And fast and fast her ruddy bright blood
Fell drapping on the ground.

11
She took the glove off her right hand,
And slowly slipt it in the wound,
And slowly has she risen up,
And slowly slipped home.

* * * * * * *

12
'O sister dear, when thou gaes hame
Unto thy father's ha,
It's make my bed baith braid and lang,
Wi the sheets as white as snaw.'

* * * * * * *

13
'When I came by the high church-yard
Heavy was the stain that bruised my heel,
... that bruised my heart,
I'm afraid it shall neer heal.'

* * * * * * *

C

Buchan's Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, I,
241.

1
As Annie sat into her bower,
A thought came in her head,
That she would gang to gude greenwood,
Across the flowery mead.

2
She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower,
Nor broken a branch but twa,
Till by it came a gentle squire,
Says, Lady, come awa.

3
There's nane that comes to gude greenwood
But pays to me a tein,
And I maun hae your maidenhead,
Or than your mantle green.

4
'My mantle's o the finest silk,
Anither I can spin;
But gin you take my maidenhead,
The like I'll never fin.'

5
He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve,
There laid her low in gude greenwood,
And at her spierd nae leave.

6
When he had got his wills o her,
His wills as he had taen,
She said, If you rightly knew my birth,
Ye'd better letten alane.

7
'Is your father a lord o might?
Or baron o high degree?
Or what race are ye sprung frae,
That I should lat ye be?'

8
'O I am Castle Ha's daughter,
O birth and high degree,
And if he knows what ye hae done,
He'll hang you on a tree.'

9
'If ye be Castle Ha's daughter,
This day I am undone;
If ye be Castle Ha's daughter,
I am his only son.'

10
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jelly hind squire,
Sae loud as I hear you lie,
Castle Ha, he has but ae dear son,
And he is far beyond the sea.'

11
'O I am Castle Ha's dear son,
A word I dinna lie;
Yes, I am Castle Ha's dear son,
And new come oer the sea.

12
''Twas yesterday, that fatal day,
That I did cross the faem;
I wish my bonny ship had sunk,
And I had neer come hame.'

13
Then dowie, dowie, raise she up,
And dowie came she hame,
And stripped aff her silk mantle,
And then to bed she's gane.

14
Then in it came her mother dear,
And she steps in the fleer:
'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,
What makes your lying here?'

15
'This morning fair, as I went out,
Near by yon castle wa,
Great and heavy was the stane
That on my foot did fa.'

16
'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers,
Towers, or mony a town?
Will not these cure your bonny foot,
Gar you gae hale and soun?'

17
'Ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers,
And towers, and mony a town,
But nought will cure my bonny foot,
Gar me gang hale and soun.'

18
Then in it came her father dear,
And he trips in the fleer:
'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,
What makes your lying here?'

19
'This morning fair, as I went out,
Near by yon castle wa,
Great and heavy was the stane
That on my foot did fa.'

20
'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers,
And towers, and mony a town?
Will not these cure your bonny foot,
Gar you gang hale and soun?'

21
'O ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers,
And towers, and mony a town,
But nought will cure my bonny foot,
Gar me gang hale and soun.'

22
Then in it came her sister Grace;
As she steps in the fleer,
'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,
What makes your lying here?

23
'Win up, and see your ae brother,
That's new come ower the sea;'
'Ohon, alas!' says fair Annie,
'He spake ower soon wi me.'

24
To her room her brother's gane,
Stroked back her yellow hair,
To her lips his ain did press,
But words spake never mair.

D

#a.# Buchan's MSS, I, 120. #b.# The same, II, 141.

1
The lady's taen her mantle her middle about,
Into the woods she's gane,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

2
She hadna poud a flower o gude green-wood,
O never a flower but ane,
Till by he comes, an by he gangs,
Says, Lady, lat alane.