Chapter XXXV: Part 35

3
For I am forester o this wood,
And I hae power to pine
Your mantle or your maidenhead,
Which o the twa ye'll twine.

4
'My mantle is o gude green silk,
Another I can card an spin;
But gin ye tak my maidenhead,
The like I'll never fin.'

5
He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve,
And laid her low at the foot o a tree,
At her high kin spierd nae leave.

6
'I am bold Burnet's ae daughter,
You might hae lat me be:'
'And I'm bold Burnet's ae dear son,
Then dear! how can this dee?'

7
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jolly hind squire,
So loud's I hear you lie!
Bold Burnet has but ae dear son,
He's sailing on the sea.'

8
'Yesterday, about this same time,
My bonny ship came to land;
I wish she'd sunken in the sea,
And never seen the strand!

9
'Heal well this deed on me, lady,
Heal well this deed on me!'
'Although I would heal it neer sae well,
Our God above does see.'

10
She's taen her mantle her middle about,
And mourning went she hame,
And a' the way she sighd full sair,
Crying, Am I to blame!

11
Ben it came her father dear,
Stout stepping on the flear:
'Win up, win up, my daughter Janet,
And welcome your brother here.'

12
Up she's taen her milk-white hand,
Streakd by his yellow hair,
Then turnd about her bonny face,
And word spake never mair.

* * * * *

#A. b.#

1^2. fine silken.

1^3. She luikit out at her braw bower window.

#B.#

1^{1,2} _and 2 are joined in the MS._

5^{1,4} _joined with 4. 5^4. ~no leave of thee~, an
emendation by Motherwell, for rhyme._

9^4. He struck: _an emendation_.

10^{3,4} _are joined with 9._

13^3. That bruised by heart.

_After 13 is written_ A stanza wanting.

#D.#

_The first three stanzas are not properly divided in #a#,
and in #b# the first fourteen lines not divided at all._

#a.#

11^2. An stepping.

7^1. _~kind squire~ in both copies._

#b.#

5^4. kin's.

9^1. Heal well, heal well on me, Lady Janet.

11^2. Stout stepping.

12^3. She turned.

53

YOUNG BEICHAN

#A.# 'Young Bicham,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 13, c. 1783.

#B.# 'Young Brechin,' Glenriddell MSS, XI, 80, 1791.

#C.# 'Young Bekie.' #a.# Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 11, c.
1783. #b.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 127.

#D.# 'Young Beachen,' Skene MSS, p. 70, 1802-1803.

#E.# 'Young Beichan and Susie Pye,' Jamieson's Popular
Ballads, II, 117.

#F.# 'Susan Pye and Lord Beichan,' Pitcairn's MSS, III,
159.

#G.# Communicated by Mr Alex. Laing, of Newburgh-on-Tay.

#H.# 'Lord Beichan and Susie Pye,' Kinloch's Ancient
Scottish Ballads, p. 260.

#I.# Communicated by Mr David Loudon, Morham, Haddington.

#J.# Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 85.

#K.# Communicated by Mr David Loudon.

#L.# The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. Illustrated by
George Cruikshank, 1839.

#M.# 'Young Bondwell,' Buchan's MSS, I, 18. J. H. Dixon,
Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 1.

#N.# 'Susan Py, or Young Bichen's Garland.' #a.# Falkirk,
printed by T. Johnston, 1815. #b.# Stirling, M. Randall.

#A#, #B#, #D#, #F#, and the fragment #G# now appear for the first time in print, and the same is true of #I#, #J#, #K#, which are of less account. #C a# is here given according to the manuscript, without Jamieson's "collations." Of #E# and #C b# Jamieson says: This ballad and that which succeeds it are given from copies taken from Mrs Brown's recitation,[403] collated with two other copies procured from Scotland; one in MS.; another, very good, one printed for the stalls; a third, in the possession of the late Reverend Jonathan Boucher, of Epsom, taken from recitation in the north of England; and a fourth, about one third as long as the others, which the editor picked off an old wall in Piccadilly. #L#, the only English copy, was derived from the singing of a London vagrant. It is, says Dixon, the common English broadsheet "turned into the dialect of Cockaigne."[404] #M# was probably a broadside or stall copy, and is certainly of that quality, but preserves a very ancient traditional feature.

#D# and #M#, besides the name Linne, have in common a repetition of the song, a trait which we also find in one version of 'The Heir of Linne;'[405] see Dixon's Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 30, stanzas 2-6, Percy Society, vol. XVII.

In Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 68, it is remarked that #L#, "the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print," is one of the publications mentioned in one of Thackeray's catalogues of broadsides. The 'Bateman,' in Thackeray's list, is the title of an entirely different ballad, 'A Warning for Maidens, or Young Bateman,' reprinted from the Roxburghe collection by W. Chappell, III, 193.

"Young Beichan" is a favorite ballad, and most deservedly. There are beautiful repetitions of the story in the ballads of other nations, and it has secondary affinities with the extensive cycle of 'Hind Horn,' the parts of the principal actors in the one being inverted in the other.

The hero's name is mostly Beichan, with slight modifications like Bekie, #C#, Bicham, #A#, Brechin, #B#; in #L#, Bateman; in #M#, Bondwell. The heroine is Susan Pye in ten of the fourteen versions; Isbel in #C#; Essels, evidently a variety of Isbel, in #M#, which has peculiar relations with #C#; Sophia in #K#, #L#.

Beichan is London born in #A#, #D#, [#E#], #H#, #I#, #N#, English born in #B#; London city is his own, #A# 6, #B# 7, #F# 7, or he has a hall there, #I# 7, #N# 27 f.; half Northumberland belongs to him, #L#; he is lord of the towers of Line, #D# 9, #C# 5, #M# 5, which are in London, #D# 15 f, but are transferred by reciters to the water of Tay, #M# 29, and to Glasgow, or the vicinity, #H# 20. #H#, though it starts with calling him London born, speaks of him thereafter as a Scottish lord, 12, 18, 31.[406]

Beichan has an Englishman's desire strange countries for to see, #A#, #D#, [#E#], #I#, #L#, #N#. In #C#, #M# he goes abroad, Quentin Durward fashion, not to gratify his taste for travel, but to serve for meat and fee. #F# makes him go to the Holy Land, without specifying his motive, but we may fairly suppose it religious. #C# sends him no further than France, and #M# to an unnamed foreign land. He becomes the slave of a Moor or Turk, #A#, #B#, #D#, #H#, #I#, #L#, #N#, or a "Prudent," #F#, who treats him cruelly. They bore his shoulders and put in a "tree," and make him draw carts, like horse or ox, #A#, #B#, #D#, [#E#], #H#; draw plough and harrow, #F#, plough and cart, #N#; or tread the wine-press, #I#. This is because he is a staunch Christian, and would never bend a knee to Mahound or Termagant, #E#, or onie of their stocks, #H#, or gods, #I#. They cast him into a dungeon, where he can neither hear nor see, and he is nigh perishing with hunger. This, also, is done in #H# 5, on account of his perseverance in Christianity; but in #C#, #M# he is imprisoned for falling in love with the king's daughter, or other lovely may.

From his prison Beichan makes his moan (not to a stock or a stone, but to the Queen of Heaven, #D# 4). His hounds go masterless, his hawks flee from tree to tree, his younger brother will heir his lands, and he shall never see home again, #E#, #H#. If a lady [earl] would borrow him, he would run at her stirrup; if a widow [auld wife] would borrow him, he would become her son; and if a maid would borrow him, he would wed her with a ring, #C#, #D#, #M#, #B#.[407] The only daughter of the Moor, Turk, or king (of a 'Savoyen,' #B# 5, perhaps a corruption of Saracen), already interested in the captive, or immediately becoming so upon hearing Beichan's song, asks him if he has lands and means at home to maintain a lady that should set him free, and is told that he has ample estates, all of which he would bestow on such a lady, #A#, #B#, #E#, #F#, #H#, #L#, #N#. She steals the keys and delivers the prisoner, #C#, #D#, #E#, #I#, #J#, #L#, #M#, #N#; refreshes him with bread and wine [wine], #A#, #D#, #E#, #F#, #J# 4, #K# 3, #B#, #H#, #L#; supplies him with money, #C# 9, #H# 15, #M# 12, #N# 14, and with a ship, #F# 9, #H# 18, #L# 9; to which #C#, #M# add a horse and hounds [and hawks, #M#]. She bids him mind on the lady's love that freed him out of pine, #A# 8, #D# 12, [#E# 13], #M# 14, #N# 15, and in #E# 16 breaks a ring from her finger, and gives half of it to Beichan to assist his memory. There is a solemn vow, or at least a clear understanding, that they are to marry within seven years, #A# 9, #B# 9, #E# 12 f., #H# 17, 19, #L# 8, #N# 11 [three years, #C# 11].

When seven years are at an end, or even before, Susan Pye feels a longing, or a misgiving, which impels her to go in search of the object of her affections, and she sets her foot on good shipboard, and turns her back on her own country, #A# 10, #B# 10, #D# 15, #L# 10, #N# 23.[408] #C# and #M# preserve here a highly important feature which is wanting in the other versions. Isbel, or Essels, is roused from her sleep by the Billy Blin, #C# 14, by a woman in green, a fairy, #M# 15, who makes known to her that that very day, or the morn, is Bekie's [Bondwell's] wedding day. She is directed to attire herself and her maids very splendidly, and go to the strand; a vessel will come sailing to her, and they are to go on board. The Billy Blin will row her over the sea, #C# 19; she will stroke the ship with a wand, and take God to be her pilot, #M# 19. Thus, by miraculous intervention, she arrives at the nick of time.

Beichan's fickleness is not accounted for in most of the versions. He soon forgot his deliverer and courted another, he was young, and thought not upon Susan Pye, say #H#, #N#. #C#, on the contrary, tells us that Beichan had not been a twelvemonth in his own country, when he was forced to marry a duke's daughter or lose all his land. #E# and #K# intimate that he acts under constraint; the wedding has lasted three and thirty days, and he will not bed with his bride for love of one beyond the sea, #E# 21, #K# 1.[409]

On landing, Susan Pye falls in with a shepherd feeding his flock, #E#, #K# [a boy watering his steeds, #M#]. She asks, Whose are these sheep, these kye, these castles? and is told they are Lord Beichan's, #G#. She asks the news, and is informed that there is a wedding in yonder hall that has lasted thirty days and three, #E#, #K#, or that there is to be a wedding on the morn, #M#; it seems to be a matter generally known, #N#. In other versions she comes directly to Young Beichan's hall, and is first informed by the porter, #A#, #B#, #F#, #H#, #L#, or the fact is confirmed by the porter, #E#, #M#, #N#; she hears the music within, and divines, #C#. She bribes the porter to bid the bridegroom come and speak to her, #A#, #B#, #C#, #D#, #J#, #N#; send her down bread and wine, and not forget the lady who brought him out of prison, #B#, #F#, #H#, #J#, #K#, #L#. In #E# 26 she sends up her half ring to the bridegroom [a ring in #N# 40, but not till Beichan has declined to come down].

The porter falls on his knee and informs his master that the fairest and richest lady that eyes ever saw is at the gate [ladies, #C#, #M#]. The bride, or the bride's mother more commonly, reproves the porter for his graceless speech; he might have excepted the bride, or her mother, or both: "Gin she be braw without, we's be as braw within." But the porter is compelled by truth to persist in his allegation; fair as they may be, they were never to compare with yon lady, #B#, #D#, #E#, #H#, #M#. Beichan takes the table with his foot and makes the cups and cans to flee, #B# 18, #D# 23, #F# 28, #G# 3, #H# 47, #J# 5, #N# 42;[410] he exclaims that it can be none but Susie Pye, #A#, #B#, #D#, #G#, #H#, #I# [Burd Isbel, #C#], and clears the stair, fifteen steps, thirty steps, in three bounds, #A# 19, #D# 24, #N# 43. His old love reproaches him for his forgetfulness, #A#, #C#, #D#, #M#, #N#;[411] she asks back her faith and troth, #B# 21. Beichan bids the forenoon bride's mother take back her daughter: he will double her dowry, #A# 22, #D# 27, #E# 39; she came on horseback, she shall go back in chariots, coaches, three, #B# 22, #D# 27[412] [#H# 49, in chariot free]. He marries Susie Pye, having her baptized by the name of Lady Jean, #A#, #B#, #D#, [#E#], #F#, #I#, #J#.[413]

This story of Beichan, or Bekie, agrees in the general outline, and also in some details, with a well-known legend about Gilbert Beket, father of St Thomas. The earlier and more authentic biographies lack this particular bit of romance, but the legend nevertheless goes back to a date not much later than a century after the death of the saint, being found in a poetical narrative preserved in a manuscript of about 1300.[414]

We learn from this legend that Gilbert Beket, in his youth, assumed the cross and went to the Holy Land, accompanied only by one Richard, his servant. They "did their pilgrimage" in holy places, and at last, with other Christians, were made captive by the Saracens and put in strong prison. They suffered great hardship and ignominy in the service of the Saracen prince Admiraud. But Gilbert found more grace than the rest; he was promoted to serve the prince at meat (in his chains), and the prince often would ask him about England and the English faith. Admiraud's only daughter fell in love with Gilbert, and when she saw her time, in turn asked him the like questions. Gilbert told her that he was born in London; told her of the belief of Christians, and of the endless bliss that should be their meed. The maid asked him if he was ready to die for his Lord's love, and Gilbert declared that he would, joyfully. When the maid saw that he was so steadfast, she stood long in thought, and then said, I will quit all for love of thee, and become Christian, if thou wilt marry me. Gilbert feared that this might be a wile; he replied that he was at her disposition, but he must bethink himself. She went on loving him, the longer the more. After this Gilbert and the rest broke prison and made their way to the Christians. The prince's daughter, reduced to desperation by love and grief, left her heritage and her kin, sparing for no sorrow, peril, or contempt that might come to her, not knowing whither to go or whether he would marry her when found, and went in quest of Gilbert. She asked the way to England, and when she had come there had no word but London to assist her further. She roamed through the streets, followed by a noisy and jeering crowd of wild boys and what not, until one day by chance she stopped by the house in which Gilbert lived. The man Richard, hearing a tumult, came out to see what was the matter, recognized the princess, and ran to tell his master.[415] Gilbert bade Richard take the lady to the house of a respectable woman near by, and presently went to see her. She swooned when she saw him. Gilbert was nothing if not discreet: he "held him still," as if he had nothing in mind. But there was a conference of six bishops just then at St. Paul's, and he went and told them his story and asked advice. One of the six prophetically saw a divine indication that the two were meant to be married, and all finally recommended this if the lady would become Christian. Brought before the bishops, she said, Most gladly, if he will espouse me; else I had not left my kin. She was baptized[416] with great ceremony, and the marriage followed.

The very day after the wedding Gilbert was seized with such an overmastering desire to go back to the Holy Land that he wist not what to do. But his wife was thoroughly converted, and after a struggle with herself she consented, on condition that Beket should leave with her the man Richard, who knew her language. Gilbert was gone three years and a half, and when he came back Thomas was a fine boy.

That our ballad has been _affected_ by the legend of Gilbert Beket is altogether likely. The name Bekie is very close to Beket, and several versions, #A#, #D#, #H#, #I#, #N#, set out rather formally with the announcement that Bekie was London born, like the Latin biographies and the versified one of Garnier de Pont Sainte Maxence. Our ballad, also, in some versions, has the Moor's daughter baptized, a point which of course could not fail in the legend. More important still is it that the hero of the English ballad goes home and forgets the woman he has left in a foreign land, instead of going away from home and forgetting the love he has left there. But the ballad, for all that, is not derived from the legend. Stories and ballads of the general cast of 'Young Beichan' are extremely frequent.[417] The legend lacks some of the main points of these stories, and the ballad, in one version or another, has them, as will be seen by referring to what has been said under 'Hind Horn,' pp 194 ff. Bekie and Beket go to the East, like Henry and Reinfrit of Brunswick, the Noble Moringer, the good Gerhard, Messer Torello, the Sire de Créqui, Alexander of Metz, and others. Like the larger part of these, they are made prisoners by the Saracens. He will not bow the knee to Mahound; neither will the Sire de Créqui, though he die for it.[418] Beichan is made to draw cart, plough, harrow, like a beast. So Henry of Brunswick in a Swedish and a Danish ballad,[419] and Alexander von Metz, or the Graf von Rom, in his most beautiful and touching story.[420] Henry of Brunswick is set free by a "heathen" lady in the Danish ballad. In one version of Beichan, #E#, the lady on parting with her love breaks her ring and gives him one half, as Henry, or his wife, Reinfrit, Gerhard, Créqui, and others do. At this point in the story the woman pursues the man, and parts are inverted. Susan Pye is warned that Beichan is to be married the next day, in #C# by a Billy-Blin, in #M# by a woman in green, or fairy, and is conveyed to Beichan's castle or hall with miraculous despatch, just as Henry and others are warned, and are transported to their homes by devil, angel, or necromancer. In #E# and #N# the old love is identified by a half ring or ring, as in so many of the stories of the class of Henry the Lion.

Norse, Spanish, and Italian ballads preserve a story essentially the same as that of 'Young Beichan.'

#Scandinavian.#

#Danish.# 'Stolt Ellensborg,' Grundtvig, IV, 238, No 218, nine versions, #A-G#, from manuscripts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, #H#, #I#, from recent tradition. #B# is previously printed (with alterations) in Levninger, 'Jomfrue Ellensborg,' I, 66, No 12, Danske Viser, III, 268, No 213; I, 'Stalt Ellen henter sin Fæstemand' is in Kristensen, I, 89, No 36. Of the older texts, #A#, #B#, #C# are absolutely pure and true to tradition, #D-G# retouched or made over.

#Icelandic#, of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, as above, p. 259, #M#.

#Swedish#, from Cavallius and Stephens' collection, Grundtvig, p. 255, #K#.

#Färöe#, taken down in 1827, Grundtvig, p. 256, #L#.

#Norwegian#, 'Herre Per i Riki,' Landstad, p. 596, No 76, #N#.

The variations of these twelve versions are insignificant. The names Herr Peder den Rige and Ellensborg [Ellen] are found in nearly all. It comes into Sir Peter's mind that he ought to go to Jerusalem to expiate his sins, and he asks his betrothed, Ellensborg, how long she will wait for him. She will wait eight years, and marry no other, though the king should woo her [seven, #L#; nine, #M#, "If I do not come then, break the engagement;" eight, and not more, #N#]. The time passes and Peter does not come back. Ellensborg goes to the strand. Traders come steering in, and she is asked to buy of their ware,--sendal, linen, and silk green as leek. She cares not for these things; have they not seen her sister's son [brother], for whom she is grieving to death? They know nothing of her sister's son, but well they know Sir Peter the rich: he has betrothed a lady in the Øster-king's realm;[421] a heathen woman, "and you never came into his mind," #E# 13; he is to be married to-morrow, #K# 6. A wee swain tells her, #M# 14, 16, that he sits in Austurríki drinking the ale of forgetfulness, and will never come home; he shall not drink long, says she. Ellensborg asks her brother to undertake a voyage for her; he will go with her if she will wait till summer; rather than wait till summer she will go alone, #A#, #D#, #G#. She asks fraternal advice about going in search of her lover, #A#, #E#, the advice of her uncles, #I#; asks the loan of a ship, #B#, #C#, #F#, #H#, #N#. She is told that such a thing would be a shame; she had better take another lover; the object is not worth the trouble; the voyage is bad for a man and worse for a woman. Her maids give her advice that is more to her mind, #E#, but are as prudent as the rest in the later #I#. She attires herself like a knight, clips her maids' hair, #B#, #H#, #I#, #L#, #M#, and puts them into men's clothes, #D#, #L#; sets herself to steer and the maids to row, #A-G#, #L#.[422]

The voyage is less than two months, #B#, #C#, #E#; less than three months, #I#; quite three months, #L#. It is the first day of the bridal when she lands, #B# 22, #E# 24, #N# 14; in #B# Ellensborg learns this from a boy who is walking on the sand. Sword at side, she enters the hall where Peter is drinking his bridal. Peter, can in hand, rises and says, Bless your eyes, my sister's son; welcome to this strange land. In #B# he asks, How are my father and mother? and she tells him that his father lies dead on his bier, his mother in sick-bed. In #L#, waiting for no greeting, she says, Well you sit at the board with your wife! Are all lords wont thus to keep their faith? The bride's mother, #D#, #G#, the heathen bride, #E#, an unnamed person, probably the bride, #A#, #B#, #F#, #N#, says, That is not your sister's son, but much more like a woman; her hair is like spun gold, and braided up under a silk cap.

#A# tells us, and so #F#, #G#, that it was two months before Ellensborg could speak to Peter privately. Then, on a Yule day, when he was going to church, she said, It does not occur to you that you gave me your troth. Sir Peter stood as if women had shorn his hair, and recollected all as if it had been yesterday. In #B-E#, #H#, #I#, #L#, #M#, #N#, this incident has, perhaps, dropped out. In these immediately, as in #A#, #F#, #G#, after this interview, Sir Peter, recalled to his senses or to his fidelity, conceives the purpose of flying with Ellensborg. Good people, he says, knights and swains, ladies and maids, follow my bride to bed, while I take my sister's son over the meads, through the wood, #B-E#, #H#, #I#, #N#. In #A#, #F#, Sir Peter asks the bride how long she will bide while he takes his nephew across the kingdom; in #G# begs the boon that, since his sister's son is going, he may ride with him, just accompany him to the strand and take leave of him; in #L#, #M#, hopes she will not be angry if he convoys his nephew three days on his way. (It is at this point in #C#, #H#, #I#, #L#, that the bride says it is no sister's son, but a woman.) The bride remarks that there are knights and swains enow to escort his sister's son, and that he might more fitly stay where he is, but Sir Peter persists that he will see his nephew off in person.

Sir Peter and Ellensborg go aboard the ship, he crying, You will see me no more! When they are at sea Ellensborg lets out her hair, #A#, #B#, #C#, #H#; she wishes that the abandoned bride may now feel the grief which she herself had borne for years. The proceeding is less covert in #I#, #L#, #M# than in the other versions.

As Ellensborg and Peter are making for the ship in #D# 30, 31 (and #G# 36, 37, borrowed from #D#), she says, Tell me, Sir Peter, why would you deceive me so? Sir Peter answers that he never meant to deceive her; it was the lady of Østerland that did it; she had changed his mind. A magical change is meant. This agrees with what is said in #A# 24, 25 (also #F#, #G#), that when Ellensborg got Peter alone to herself, and said, You do not remember that you plighted your troth to me, everything came back to him as if it had happened yesterday. And again in the Färöe copy, #L# 49, Ellensborg, from the prow, cries to Ingibjörg on the strand, Farewell to thee with thy _elf-ways_, við títt elvargangi! I have taken to myself my true love that I lent thee so long; implying that Sir Peter had been detained by Circean arts, by a sleepy drench of óminnis öl, or ale of forgetfulness, Icelandic #M# 14, which, in the light of the other ballads, is to be understood literally, and not figuratively. The feature of a man being made, by magical or other means, to forget a first love who had done and suffered much for him, and being suddenly restored to consciousness and his original predilection, is of the commonest occurrence in traditional tales.[423]

Our English ballad affords no other positive trace of external interference with the hero's will than the far-fetched allegation in #C# that the choice before him was to accept a duke's daughter or forfeit his lands. The explanation of his inconstancy in #H#, #N#, that young men ever were fickle found, is vulgar, and also insufficient, for Beichan returns to his old love _per saltum_, like one from whose eyes scales have fallen and from whose back a weight has been taken, not tamely, like a facile youth that has swerved. #E# and #K#, as already said, distinctly recognize that Beichan was not acting with free mind, and, for myself, I have little doubt that, if we could go back far enough, we should find that he had all along been faithful at heart.

#Spanish.# #A.# 'El Conde Sol,' Duran, Romancero, I, 180, No 327, from tradition in Andalusia, by the editor; Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, II, 48, No 135. In this most beautiful romance the County Sol, named general in great wars between Spain and Portugal, and leaving a young wife dissolved in tears, tells her that she is free to marry if he does not come back in six years. Six pass, and eight, and more than ten, yet the county does not return, nor does there come news of him. His wife implores and obtains leave of her father to go in search of her husband. She traverses France and Italy, land and sea, and is on the point of giving up hope, when one day she sees a herdsman pasturing cows. Whose are these cows? she asks. The County Sol's, is the answer. And whose these wheat-fields, these ewes, these gardens, and that palace? whose the horses I hear neigh? The County Sol's, is the answer in each case.[424] And who that lady that a man folds in his arms? The lady is betrothed to him and the county is to marry her. The countess changes her silken robe for the herdsman's sackcloth, and goes to ask an alms at the county's gate. Beyond all hope, the county comes out himself to bring it. "Whence comest thou, pilgrim?" he asks. She was born in Spain. "How didst thou make thy way hither?" She came to seek her husband, footing the thorns by land, risking the perils of the sea; and when she found him he was about to marry, he had forgotten his faithful wife. "Pilgrim, thou art surely the devil, come to try me." "No devil," she said, "but thy wife indeed, and therefore come to seek thee." Upon this, without a moment's tarrying, the county ordered his horse, took up his wife, and made his best speed to his native castle. The bride he would have taken remained unmarried, for those that put on others' robes are sure to be stripped naked.

#B.# 'Gerineldo,' taken down in Asturias by Amador de los Rios, Jahrbuch für romanische u. englische Literatur, III, 290, 1861, and the same year (Nigra) in Revista Iberica, I, 51; a version far inferior to #A#, and differing in no important respect as to the story.

#C.# 'La boda interrumpida,' Milá, Romancerillo Catalan, p. 221, No 244, seven copies, A-G, none good. A, which is about one third Castilian, relates that war is declared between France and Portugal, and the son of Conde Burgos made general. The countess his wife does nothing but weep. The husband tells her to marry again if he does not come back in seven years. More than seven years are gone, and the lady's father asks why she does not marry. "How can I," she replies, "if the count is living? Give me your blessing, and let me go in search of him." She goes a hundred leagues on foot, in the disguise of a pilgrim. Arrived at a palace she sees pages pass, and asks them for whom a horse is intended. It is for Count Burgos's son, who marries that night. She asks to be directed to the young count, is told that she will find him in the hall, enters, and begs an alms, as coming from Italy and without a penny. The young man says, If you come from Italy, what is the news? Is Conde Bueso's wife living? The pilgrim desires some description of the lady. It seems that she wore a very costly petticoat on her wedding-day. The pilgrim takes off _her glove_ and shows her ring; she also takes off and shows the expensive petticoat. There is great weeping in that palace, for first wives never can be forgotten. Don Bueso and the pilgrim clap hands and go home.

#Italian: Piedmontese.# #A.# 'Moran d'Inghilterra,' communicated to Rivista Contemporanea, XXXI, 3, 1862, by Nigra, who gives the variations of four other versions. The daughter of the sultan is so handsome that they know not whom to give her to, but decide upon Moran of England. The first day of his marriage he did nothing but kiss her, the second he wished to leave her, and the third he went off to the war. "When shall you return?" asked his wife. "If not in seven years, marry." She waited seven years, but Moran did not come. His wife went all over England on horseback, and came upon a cowherd. "Whose cows are these?" she asked. They were Moran's. "Has Moran a wife?" This is the day when he is to marry, and if she makes haste she will be in time for the wedding. She spurs her horse, and arrives in season. They offer her to drink in a gold cup. She will drink from no cup that is not her own; she will not drink while another woman is there; she will not drink till she is mistress. Moran throws his arms round her neck, saying, Mistress you ever have been and still shall be.

#B.# 'Morando,' Ferraro, Canti popolari monferrini, p. 42, No 32, from Alessandria. Murando d'Inghilterra, of the king's household, fell in love with the princess, for which the king sent him off. The lady knocked at his door, and asked when he would come back. In seven years, was the answer, and if not she was to marry. The princess stole a hundred scudi from her father, frizzled her hair French fashion, bought a fashionable suit, and rode three days and nights without touching ground, eating, or drinking. She came upon a laundryman, and asked who was in command there. Murando. She knocked at the door, and Murando asked, Have you come to our wedding? She would come to the dance. At the dance she was recognized by the servants. Murando asked, How came you here? "I rode three days and three nights without touching ground, eating, or drinking." This is my wife, said Murando; and the other lady he bade return to her father.

It is possible that this ballad may formerly have been known in France. Nothing is left and known that shows this conclusively, but there is an approach to the Norse form in a fragment which occurs in several widely separated localities. A lover goes off in November, promising his love to return in December, but does not. A messenger comes to bid the lady, in his name, seek another lover, for he has another love. "Is she fairer than I, or more powerful?" She is not fairer, but more powerful: she makes rosemary flower on the edge of her sleeve, changes the sea into wine and fish into flesh. Bujeaud, I, 203. In 'La Femme Abandonnée,' Puymaigre, I, 72, the lover is married to a Fleming:

Elle fait venir le soleil
A minuit dans sa chambre,
Elle fait bouiller la marmite
Sans feu et sans rente.

In a Canadian version, 'Entre Paris et Saint-Denis,' Gagnon, p. 303, the deserted woman is a king's daughter, and the new love,

Ell' fait neiger, ell' fait grêler,
Ell' fait le vent qui vente.
Ell' fait reluire le soleil
A minuit dans sa chambre.
Ell' fait pousser le romarin
Sur le bord de la manche.

Puymaigre notes that there is a version very near to the Canadian in the sixth volume of Poésies populaires de la France, cinquième recueil, Ardennes, No 2.[425]

A broadside ballad, 'The Turkish Lady,' 'The Turkish Lady and the English Slave,' printed in Logan's Pedlar's Pack, p. 16, Christie, I, 247, from singing, and preserved also in the Kinloch MSS, V, 53, I, 263, from Elizabeth Beattie's recitation, simply relates how a Turkish pirate's daughter fell in love with an Englishman, her slave, offered to release him if he would turn Turk, but chose the better part of flying with him to Bristol, and becoming herself a Christian brave.

Sir William Stanley, passing through Constantinople, is condemned to die for his religion. A lady, walking under the prison walls, hears his lament, and begs his life of the Turk. She would make him her husband, and bring him to adore Mahomet. She offers to set the prisoner free if he will marry her, but he has a wife and children on English ground. The lady is sorry, but generously gives Stanley five hundred pounds to carry him to his own country. Sir William Stanley's Garland, Halliwell's Palatine Anthology, pp 277 f.

Two Magyars have been shut up in a dungeon by the sultan, and have not seen sun, moon, or stars for seven years. The sultan's daughter hears their moan, and offers to free them if they will take her to Hungary. This they promise to do. She gets the keys, takes money, opens the doors, and the three make off. They are followed; one of the Magyars kills all the pursuers but one, who is left to carry back the news. It is now proposed that there shall be a duel to determine who shall have the lady. She begs them rather to cut off her head than to fight about her. Szilágyi Niklas says he has a love at home, and leaves the sultan's daughter to his comrade, Hagymási László. Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, p. 93: see p. 107 of this volume.

* * * * *

#C b# is translated by Loève-Veimars, p. 330; #E# by Cesare Cantù, Documenti alla Storia Universale, Torino, 1858, Tomo V^o, Parte III^a, p. 796; #E#, as retouched by Allingham, by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 18.

A

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 13.

1
In London city was Bicham born,
He longd strange countries for to see,
But he was taen by a savage Moor,
Who handld him right cruely.

2
For thro his shoulder he put a bore,
An thro the bore has pitten a tree,
An he's gard him draw the carts o wine,
Where horse and oxen had wont to be.

3
He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep,
Where he coud neither hear nor see;
He's shut him up in a prison strong,
An he's handld him right cruely.

4
O this Moor he had but ae daughter,
I wot her name was Shusy Pye;
She's doen her to the prison-house,
And she's calld Young Bicham one word by.

5
'O hae ye ony lands or rents,
Or citys in your ain country,
Coud free you out of prison strong,
An coud mantain a lady free?'

6
'O London city is my own,
An other citys twa or three,
Coud loose me out o prison strong,
An coud mantain a lady free.'

7
O she has bribed her father's men
Wi meikle goud and white money,
She's gotten the key o the prison doors,
An she has set Young Bicham free.

8
She's gi'n him a loaf o good white bread,
But an a flask o Spanish wine,
An she bad him mind on the ladie's love
That sae kindly freed him out o pine.

9
'Go set your foot on good ship-board,
An haste you back to your ain country,
An before that seven years has an end,
Come back again, love, and marry me.'

10
It was long or seven years had an end
She longd fu sair her love to see;
She's set her foot on good ship-board,
An turnd her back on her ain country.

11
She's saild up, so has she doun,
Till she came to the other side;
She's landed at Young Bicham's gates,
An I hop this day she sal be his bride.

12
'Is this Young Bicham's gates?' says she,
'Or is that noble prince within?'
'He's up the stairs wi his bonny bride,
An monny a lord and lady wi him.'

13
'O has he taen a bonny bride,
An has he clean forgotten me!'
An sighing said that gay lady,
I wish I were in my ain country!

14
But she's pitten her han in her pocket,
An gin the porter guineas three;
Says, Take ye that, ye proud porter,
An bid the bridegroom speak to me.

15
O whan the porter came up the stair,
He's fa'n low down upon his knee:
'Won up, won up, ye proud porter,
An what makes a' this courtesy?'

16
'O I've been porter at your gates
This mair nor seven years an three,
But there is a lady at them now
The like of whom I never did see.

17
'For on every finger she has a ring,
An on the mid-finger she has three,
An there's as meikle goud aboon her brow
As woud buy an earldome o lan to me.'

18
Then up it started Young Bicham,
An sware so loud by Our Lady,
'It can be nane but Shusy Pye,
That has come oer the sea to me.'

19
O quickly ran he down the stair,
O fifteen steps he has made but three;
He's tane his bonny love in his arms,
An a wot he kissd her tenderly.

20
'O hae you tane a bonny bride?
An hae you quite forsaken me?
An hae ye quite forgotten her
That gae you life an liberty?'

21
She's lookit oer her left shoulder
To hide the tears stood in her ee;
'Now fare thee well, Young Bicham,' she says,
'I'll strive to think nae mair on thee.'

22
'Take back your daughter, madam,' he says,
'An a double dowry I'll gi her wi;
For I maun marry my first true love,
That's done and suffered so much for me.'

23
He's take his bonny love by the han,
And led her to yon fountain stane;
He's changd her name frae Shusy Pye,
An he's cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.

B

Glenriddell MSS, XI, 80.

1
In England was Young Brechin born,
Of parents of a high degree;
The selld him to the savage Moor,
Where they abused him maist cruellie.

2
Thro evry shoulder they bord a bore,
And thro evry bore they pat a tree;
They made him draw the carts o wine,
Which horse and owsn were wont to drie.

3
The pat him into prison strong,
Where he could neither hear nor see;
They pat him in a dark dungeon,
Where he was sick and like to die.

4
'Is there neer an auld wife in this town
That'll borrow me to be her son?
Is there neer a young maid in this town
Will take me for her chiefest one?'

5
A Savoyen has an only daughter,
I wat she's called Young Brichen by;
'O sleepst thou, wakest thou, Brichen?' she says,
'Or who is't that does on me cry?

6
'O hast thou any house or lands,
Or hast thou any castles free,
That thou wadst gi to a lady fair
That out o prison wad bring thee?'

7
'O lady, Lundin it is mine,
And other castles twa or three;
These I wad gie to a lady fair
That out of prison wad set me free.'

8
She's taen him by the milk-white hand,
And led him to a towr sae hie,
She's made him drink the wine sae reid,
And sung to him like a mavosie.

9
O these two luvers made a bond,
For seven years, and that is lang,
That he was to marry no other wife,
And she's to marry no other man.

10
When seven years were past and gane,
This young lady began to lang,
And she's awa to Lundin gane,
To see if Brechin's got safe to land.

11
When she came to Young Brechin's yett,
She chappit gently at the gin;
'Is this Young Brechin's yett?' she says,
'Or is this lusty lord within?'
'O yes, this is Lord Brechin's yett,
And I wat this be his bridal een.'

12
She's put her hand in her pocket,
And thrawin the porter guineas three;
'Gang up the stair, young man,' she says,
'And bid your master come down to me.

13
'Bid him bring a bite o his ae best bread,
And a bottle o his ae best wine,
And neer forget that lady fair
That did him out o prison bring.'

14
The porter tripped up the stair,
And fell low down upon his knee:
'Rise up, rise up, ye proud porter,
What mean you by this courtesie?'

15
'O I hae been porter at your yett
This thirty years and a' but three;
There stands the fairest lady thereat
That ever my twa een did see.

16
'On evry finger she has a ring,
On her mid-finger she has three;
She's as much gold on her horse's neck
As wad by a earldom o land to me.

17
'She bids you send o your ae best bread,
And a bottle o your ae best wine,
And neer forget the lady fair
That out o prison did you bring.'

18
He's taen the table wi his foot,
And made the cups and cans to flee:
'I'll wager a' the lands I hae
That Susan Pye's come oer the sea.'

* * * * * * *

19
Then up and spak the bride's mother:
'And O an ill deid may ye die!
If ye didna except the bonny bride,
Ye might hae ay excepted me.'

20
'O ye are fair, and fair, madam,
And ay the fairer may ye be!
But the fairest day that eer ye saw,
Ye were neer sae fair as yon lady.'

21
O when these lovers two did meet,
The tear it blinded baith their ee;
'Gie me my faith and troth,' she says,
'For now fain hame wad I be.'

22
'Tak hame your daughter, madam,' he says,
'She's neer a bit the war o me;
Except a kiss o her bonny lips,
Of her body I am free;
She came to me on a single horse,
Now I'll send her hame in chariots three.

23
He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
And he's led her to a yard o stane;
He's changed her name frae Susan Pye,
And calld her lusty Lady Jane.

C

#a.# Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. II. #b.# Jamieson's Popular
Ballads, II, 127.

1
Young Bekie was as brave a knight
As ever saild the sea;
An he's doen him to the court of France,
To serve for meat and fee.

2
He had nae been i the court of France
A twelvemonth nor sae long,
Til he fell in love with the king's daughter,
An was thrown in prison strong.

3
The king he had but ae daughter,
Burd Isbel was her name;
An she has to the prison-house gane,
To hear the prisoner's mane.

4
'O gin a lady woud borrow me,
At her stirrup-foot I woud rin;
Or gin a widow wad borrow me,
I woud swear to be her son.

5
'Or gin a virgin woud borrow me,
I woud wed her wi a ring;
I'd gi her ha's, I'd gie her bowers,
The bonny towrs o Linne.'

6
O barefoot, barefoot gaed she but,
An barefoot came she ben;
It was no for want o hose an shoone,
Nor time to put them on.

7
But a' for fear that her father dear
Had heard her making din:
She's stown the keys o the prison-house dor
An latten the prisoner gang.

8
O whan she saw him, Young Bekie,
Her heart was wondrous sair!
For the mice but an the bold rottons
Had eaten his yallow hair.

9
She's gien him a shaver for his beard,
A comber till his hair,
Five hunder pound in his pocket,
To spen, an nae to spair.

10
She's gien him a steed was good in need,
An a saddle o royal bone,
A leash o hounds o ae litter,
An Hector called one.

11
Atween this twa a vow was made,
'Twas made full solemnly,
That or three years was come an gane,
Well married they shoud be.

12
He had nae been in 's ain country
A twelvemonth till an end,
Till he's forcd to marry a duke's daughter,
Or than lose a' his land.

13
'Ohon, alas!' says Young Beckie,
'I know not what to dee;
For I canno win to Burd Isbel,
And she kensnae to come to me.'

14
O it fell once upon a day
Burd Isbel fell asleep,
An up it starts the Belly Blin,
An stood at her bed-feet.

15
'O waken, waken, Burd Isbel,
How [can] you sleep so soun,
Whan this is Bekie's wedding day,
An the marriage gain on?

16
'Ye do ye to your mither's bowr,
Think neither sin nor shame;
An ye tak twa o your mither's marys,
To keep ye frae thinking lang.

17
'Ye dress yoursel in the red scarlet,
An your marys in dainty green,
An ye pit girdles about your middles
Woud buy an earldome.

18
'O ye gang down by yon sea-side,
An down by yon sea-stran;
Sae bonny will the Hollans boats
Come rowin till your han.

19
'Ye set your milk-white foot abord,
Cry, Hail ye, Domine!
An I shal be the steerer o 't,
To row you oer the sea.'

20
She's tane her till her mither's bowr,
Thought neither sin nor shame,
An she took twa o her mither's marys,
To keep her frae thinking lang.

21
She dressd hersel i the red scarlet,
Her marys i dainty green,
And they pat girdles about their middles
Woud buy an earldome.

22
An they gid down by yon sea-side,
An down by yon sea-stran;
Sae bonny did the Hollan boats
Come rowin to their han.

23
She set her milk-white foot on board,
Cried, Hail ye, Domine!
An the Belly Blin was the steerer o 't,
To row her oer the sea.

24
Whan she came to Young Bekie's gate,
She heard the music play;
Sae well she kent frae a' she heard,
It was his wedding day.

25
She's pitten her han in her pocket,
Gin the porter guineas three;
'Hae, tak ye that, ye proud porter,
Bid the bride-groom speake to me.'

26
O whan that he cam up the stair,
He fell low down on his knee:
He haild the king, an he haild the queen,
An he haild him, Young Bekie.

27
'O I've been porter at your gates
This thirty years an three;
But there's three ladies at them now,
Their like I never did see.

28
'There's ane o them dressd in red scarlet,
And twa in dainty green,
An they hae girdles about their middles
Woud buy an earldome.'

29
Then out it spake the bierly bride,
Was a' goud to the chin;
'Gin she be braw without,' she says,
'We's be as braw within.'

30
Then up it starts him, Young Bekie,
An the tears was in his ee:
'I'll lay my life it's Burd Isbel,
Come oer the sea to me.'

31
O quickly ran he down the stair,
An whan he saw 't was shee,
He kindly took her in his arms,
And kissd her tenderly.

32
'O hae ye forgotten, Young Bekie,
The vow ye made to me,
Whan I took you out o the prison strong,
Whan ye was condemnd to die?

33
'I gae you a steed was good in need,
An a saddle o royal bone,
A leash o hounds o ae litter,
An Hector called one.'

34
It was well kent what the lady said,
That it wasnae a lee,
For at ilka word the lady spake,
The hound fell at her knee.

35
'Tak hame, tak hame your daughter dear,
A blessing gae her wi,
For I maun marry my Burd Isbel,
That's come oer the sea to me.'

36
'Is this the custom o your house,
Or the fashion o your lan,
To marry a maid in a May mornin,
An send her back at even?'

D

Skene MSS, p. 70. North of Scotland, 1802-3.

1
Young Beachen was born in fair London,
And foreign lands he langed to see;
He was taen by the savage Moor,
An the used him most cruellie.

2
Through his showlder they pat a bore,
And through the bore the pat a tree;
They made him trail their ousen carts,
And they used him most cruellie.

3
The savage Moor had ae daughter,
I wat her name was Susan Pay;
An she is to the prison house,
To hear the prisoner's moan.

4
He made na his moan to a stocke,
He made na it to a stone,
But it was to the Queen of Heaven
That he made his moan.

5
'Gin a lady wad borrow me,
I at her foot wad run;
An a widdow wad borrow me,
I wad become her son.

6
'But an a maid wad borrow me,
I wad wed her wi a ring;
I wad make her lady of haas and bowers,
An of the high towers of Line.'

7
'Sing oer yer sang, Young Beachen,' she says,
'Sing oer yer sang to me;'
'I never sang that sang, lady,
But I wad sing to thee.

8
'Gin a lady wad borrow me,
I at her foot wad run;
An a widdow wad borrow me,
I wad become her son.

9
'But an a maid wad borrow me,
I wad wed her wi a ring;
I wad make her lady of haas and bowers,
An of the high towers of Line.'

10
Saftly, [saftly] gaed she but,
An saftlly gaed she ben,
It was na for want of hose nor shoon,
Nor time to pet them on.