Chapter XVI: Appendix (11)

11
When she had saild it round about,
She tirled at the pin:
'O open, open, Love Gregory,
Open, and let me in!
For I am the lass of Lochroyan,
Banisht frae a' my kin.'

12
'If thou be the lass of Lochroyan,
As I know no thou be,
Tell me some of the true tokens
That past between me and thee.'

13
'Hast thou na mind, Love Gregory,
As we sat at the wine,
We changed the rings aff ither's hands,
And ay the best was mine?

14
'For mine was o the gude red gould,
But thine was o the tin;
And mine was true and trusty baith,
But thine was fa'se within.

15
'If thou be the lass of Lochroyan,
As I know na thou be,
Tell me some mair o the true tokens
Past between me and thee.'

16
'And has na thou na mind, Love Gregory,
As we sat on yon hill,
Thou twin'd me of my [maidenhead,]
Right sair against my will?

17
'Now open, open, Love Gregory,
Open, and let me in!
For the rain rains on my gude cleading,
And the dew stands on my chin.'

18
Then she has turnd her round about:
'Well, since that it be sae,
Let never woman that has born a son
Hae a heart sae full of wae.

19
'Take down, take down that mast o gould,
Set up a mast of tree;
For it dinna become a forsaken lady
To sail so royallie.'

20
'I dreamt a dream this night, mother,
I wish it may prove true,
That the bonny lass of Lochroyan
Was at the gate just now.'

21
'Lie still, lie still, my only son,
And sound sleep mayst thou get,
For it's but an hour or little mair
Since she was at the gate.'

22
Awa, awa, ye wicket woman,
And an ill dead may ye die!
Ye might have ither letten her in,
Or else have wakened me.

23
'Gar saddle to me the black,' he said,
'Gar saddle to me the brown;
Gar saddle to me the swiftest steed
That is in a' the town.'

24
Now the first town that he cam to,
The bells were ringing there;
And the neist toun that he cam to,
Her corps was coming there.

25
'Set down, set down that comely corp,
Set down, and let me see
Gin that be the lass of Lochroyan,
That died for love o me.'

26
And he took out the little penknife
That hang down by his gare,
And he's rippd up her winding-sheet,
A lang claith-yard and mair.

27
And first he kist her cherry cheek,
And syne he kist her chin,
And neist he kist her rosy lips;
There was nae breath within.

28
And he has taen his little penknife,
With a heart that was fou sair,
He has given himself a deadly wound,
And word spake never mair.

C

Pitcairn's MSS, III, 1, from the singing of Widow
Stevenson.

* * * * * * *

1
She sailed west, she sailed east,
She sailed mony a mile,
Until she cam to Lord Gregor's yett,
And she tirled at the pin.

2
'It's open, open, Lord Gregory,
Open, and let me in;
For the rain drops on my gouden hair,
And drops upon your son.'

3
'Are you the Queen of Queensberry?
Or one of the marys three?
Or are you the lass of Ruchlaw hill,
Seeking Lord Gregory?'

4
'I'm not the Queen of Queensberry,
Nor one of the marys three;
But I am the bonny lass of Ruchlawhill,
Seeking Lord Gregory.'

5
'Awa, awa, ye fause thief,
I will not open to thee
Till you tell me the first token
That was tween you and me.'

6
'Do not you mind, Lord Gregory,
When we birled at the wine,
We changed the rings of our fingers,
And ay the best was mine?

7
'For mine was true and trusty goud,
But yours it was of tin;
Mine was of the true and trusty goud,
But yours was fause within.'

8
She turned about her bonny ship,
Awa then did she sail:
'The sun shall never shine on man
That made my heart so sare.'

9
Then up the old mother she got,
And wakened Lord Gregory:
'Awa, awa, ye fause gudeson,
A limmer was seeking thee.'

10
'It's woe be to you, witch-mother,
An ill death may you die!
For you might hae set the yet open,
And then hae wakened me.'

11
It's up he got, and put on his clothes,
And to the yet he ran;
The first sight of the ship he saw,
He whistled and he sang.

12
But whan the bonny ship was out o sight,
He clapped his hands and ran,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

13
The first kirktoun he cam to,
He heard the death-bell ring,
The second kirktoun he cam to,
He saw her corpse come in.

14
'Set down, set down this bonny corpse,
That I may look upon;
If she died late for me last night,
I'll die for her the morn.

15
'Be merry, merry, gentlemen,
Be merry at the bread and wine;
For by the morn at this time o day
You'll drink as much at mine.'

16
The one was buried in Mary's isle,
The other in Mary's quire;
Out of the one there grew a thorn,
And out of the other a brier.

17
And aye they grew, and aye they blew,
Till their twa taps did meet;
And every one that passed thereby
Might see they were lovers sweet.

D

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 27; Jamieson's Popular Ballads,
I, 36.

1
'O wha will shoe my fu fair foot?
An wha will glove my han?
An wha will lace my middle gimp
Wi the new made London ban?

2
'Or wha will kemb my yallow hair,
Wi the new made silver kemb?
Or wha'll be father to my young bairn,
Till Love Gregor come hame?'

3
Her father shoed her fu fair foot,
Her mother glovd her han;
Her sister lac'd her middle gimp
Wi the new made London ban.

4
Her brother kembd her yallow hair,
Wi the new made silver kemb,
But the king o heaven maun father her bairn,
Till Love Gregor come hame.

5
'O gin I had a bony ship,
An men to sail wi me,
It's I would gang to my true-love,
Since he winna come to me.'

6
Her father's gien her a bonny ship,
An sent her to the stran;
She's tane her young son in her arms,
An turnd her back to the lan.

7
She had na been o the sea saillin
About a month or more,
Till landed has she her bonny ship
Near her true-love's door.

8
The night was dark, an the win blew caul,
An her love was fast asleep,
An the bairn that was in her twa arms
Fu sair began to weep.

9
Long stood she at her true-love's door,
An lang tirld at the pin;
At length up gat his fa'se mither,
Says, Wha's that woud be in?

10
'O it is Anny of Roch-royal,
Your love, come oer the sea,
But an your young son in her arms;
So open the door to me.'

11
'Awa, awa, you ill woman,
You've na come here for gude,
You're but a witch, or wile warlock,
Or mermaid o the flude.'

12
'I'm na a witch, or wile warlock,
Nor mermaiden,' said she;
'I'm but Fair Anny o Roch-royal;
O open the door to me.'

13
'O gin ye be Anny o Roch-royal,
As [I] trust not ye be,
What taiken can ye gie that ever
I kept your company?'

14
'O dinna ye mind, Love Gregor,' she says,
'Whan we sat at the wine,
How we changed the napkins frae our necks,
It's na sae lang sin syne?

15
'An yours was good, an good enough,
But nae sae good as mine;
For yours was o the cumbruk clear,
But mine was silk sae fine.

16
'An dinna ye mind, Love Gregor,' she says,
'As we twa sat at dine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers,
But ay the best was mine?

17
'For yours was good, an good enough,
Yet nae sae good as mine;
For yours was of the good red gold,
But mine o the diamonds fine.

18
'Sae open the door now, Love Gregor,
An open it wi speed,
Or your young son that is in my arms
For cauld will soon be dead.'

19
'Awa, awa, you ill woman,
Gae frae my door for shame;
For I hae gotten another fair love,
Sae ye may hye you hame.'

20
'O hae you gotten another fair love,
For a' the oaths you sware?
Then fair you well now, fa'se Gregor,
For me you's never see mair.'

21
O heely, heely gi'd she back,
As the day began to peep;
She set her foot on good ship-board,
An sair, sair did she weep.

22
Love Gregor started frae his sleep,
An to his mither did say,
I dreamd a dream this night, mither,
That maks my heart right wae.

23
'I dreamd that Anny of Roch-royal,
The flowr o a' her kin,
Was standin mournin at my door,
But nane would lat her in.'

24
'O there was a woman stood at the door,
Wi a bairn intill her arms,
But I woud na lat her within the bowr,
For fear she had done you harm.'

25
O quickly, quickly raise he up,
An fast ran to the stran,
An there he saw her Fair Anny,
Was sailin frae the lan.

26
An 'Heigh, Anny!' an 'Hou, Anny!
O Anny, speak to me!'
But ay the louder that he cried Anny,
The louder roard the sea.

27
An 'Heigh, Anny!' an 'Hou, Anny!
O Anny, winna you bide?'
But ay the langer that he cried Anny,
The higher roard the tide.

28
The win grew loud, an the sea grew rough,
An the ship was rent in twain,
An soon he saw her Fair Anny
Come floating oer the main.

29
He saw his young son in her arms,
Baith tossd aboon the tide;
He wrang his hands, than fast he ran,
An plung'd i the sea sae wide.

30
He catchd her by the yallow hair,
An drew her to the strand,
But cauld an stiff was every limb
Before he reachd the land.

31
O first he kissd her cherry cheek,
An then he kissd her chin;
An sair he kissd her ruby lips,
But there was nae breath within.

32
O he has mournd oer Fair Anny
Till the sun was gaing down,
Then wi a sigh his heart it brast,
An his soul to heaven has flown.

E

#a.# Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 2, written
down from Mrs Brown's recitation in 1800. #b.# Scott's
Minstrelsy, II, 49, 1802.

1
'O wha will shoe my fu fair foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp,
Wi the new made London band?

2
'And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
Wi the new made silver kaim?
And wha will father my young son,
Till Love Gregor come hame?'

3
'Your father will shoe your fu fair foot,
Your mother will glove your hand;
Your sister will lace your middle jimp
Wi the new made London band.

4
'Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,
Wi the new made silver kaim;
And the king of heaven will father your bairn,
Till Love Gregor come haim.'

5
'But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea,
For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
Since he canno come hame to me.'

6
O she has gotten a bonny boat,
And sailld the sa't sea fame;
She langd to see her ain true-love,
Since he could no come hame.

7
'O row your boat, my mariners,
And bring me to the land,
For yonder I see my love's castle,
Closs by the sa't sea strand.'

8
She has taen her young son in her arms,
And to the door she's gone,
And lang she's knocked and sair she ca'd,
But answer got she none.

9
'O open the door, Love Gregor,' she says,
'O open, and let me in;
For the wind blaws thro my yellow hair,
And the rain draps oer my chin.'

10
'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
You'r nae come here for good;
You'r but some witch, or wile warlock,
Or mer-maid of the flood.'

11
'I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,
Nor mer-maid of the sea,
I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;
O open the door to me.'

12
'Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal--
And I trust ye are not she--
Now tell me some of the love-tokens
That past between you and me.'

13
'O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,
When we sat at the wine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers?
And I can show thee thine.

14
'O yours was good, and good enneugh,
But ay the best was mine;
For yours was o the good red goud,
But mine o the dimonds fine.

15
'But open the door now, Love Gregor,
O open the door I pray,
For your young son that is in my arms
Will be dead ere it be day.'

16
'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
For here ye shanno win in;
Gae drown ye in the raging sea,
Or hang on the gallows-pin.'

17
When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,
And the sun began to peep,
Then it raise him Love Gregor,
And sair, sair did he weep.

18
'O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,
The thoughts o it gars me greet,
That Fair Annie of Rough Royal
Lay cauld dead at my feet.'

19
'Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal
That ye make a' this din,
She stood a' last night at this door,
But I trow she wan no in.'

20
'O wae betide ye, ill woman,
An ill dead may ye die!
That ye woudno open the door to her,
Nor yet woud waken me.'

21
O he has gone down to yon shore-side.
As fast as he could fare;
He saw Fair Annie in her boat,
But the wind it tossd her sair.

22
And 'Hey, Annie!' and 'How, Annie!
O Annie, winna ye bide?'
But ay the mair that he cried Annie,
The braider grew the tide.

23
And 'Hey, Annie!' and 'How, Annie!
Dear Annie, speak to me!'
But ay the louder he cried Annie,
The louder roard the sea.

24
The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dashd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
But her young son raise no more.

25
Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
But his bonny young son was gone.

26
O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair,
But clay cold were her rosey lips,
Nae spark of life was there.

27
And first he's kissd her cherry cheek,
And neist he's kissed her chin;
And saftly pressd her rosey lips,
But there was nae breath within.

28
'O wae betide my cruel mother,
And an ill dead may she die!
For she turnd my true-love frae my door,
When she came sae far to me.'

F

Herd MS., I, 31, II, 65.

1
'O wha will lace my steys, mother?
O wha will gluve my hand?
O wha will be my bairn's father,
While my luve cums to land?'

2
'O sall I lace your steys, dochter,
O sall I gluve your hand;
And God will be your bairn's father,
While your luve cums to land.'

3
Now she's gard build a bonie schip,
Forbidden she wad nae be;
She's gane wi four score mariners,
Sailand the salt, salt sea.

4
They had nae saild but twenty legues,
Bot twenty legues and three,
When they met wi the ranke robers,
And a' their companie.

5
'Now whether are ye the Queen hersell?
For so ye weel micht bee,
Or are ye the lass o the Ruch Royal,
Seekand Lord Gregorie?'

6
'O I am neither the Queen,' she sed,
'Nor sick I seem to be;
But I am the lass o the Ruch Royal,
Seekand Lord Gregorie.'

* * * * * * *

7
And when she saw the stately tower,
Shynand sae cleere and bricht,
Whilk proud defies the jawing wave,
Built on a rock a hicht,

8
Sche sailed it round, and sailed it sound,
And loud, loud cried she,
'Now break, now break, ye fairy charms,
And let the prisoner free.'

G

Buchan's MSS. II, 149; Buchan's Ballads of the North of
Scotland, II, 198.

1
It fell on a Wodensday,
Love Gregory's taen the sea,
And he has left his lady Janet,
And a weary woman was she.

2
But she had na been in child-bed
A day but barely three,
Till word has come to Lady Janet
Love Gregory she would never see.

3
She's taen her mantle her middle about,
Her cane into her hand,
And she's awa to the salt-sea side,
As fast as she could gang.

4
'Whare will I get a curious carpenter,
Will make a boat to me?
I'm going to seek him Love Gregory,
In's lands where eer he be.'

5
'Here am I, a curious carpenter,
Will make a boat for thee,
And ye may seek him Love Gregory,
But him ye'll never see.'

6
She sailed up, she sailed down,
Thro many a pretty stream,
Till she came to that stately castle,
Where Love Gregory lay in.

7
'Open, open, Love Gregory,
O open, and lat me in;
Your young son is in my arms,
And shivering cheek and chin.'

8
'Had awa, ye ill woman,
Had far awa frae me;
Ye're but some witch, or some warlock,
Or the mermaid, troubling me.

9
'My lady she's in Lochranline,
Down by Lochlearn's green;
This day she wadna sail the sea,
For goud nor warld's gain.

10
'But if ye be my lady Janet,
As I trust not well ye be,
Come tell me oer some love-token
That past 'tween thee an me.'

11
'Mind on, mind on now, Love Gregory,
Since we sat at the wine;
The rings that were on your fingers,
I gied thee mine for thine.

12
'And mine was o the good red goud,
Yours o the silly tin,
And mine's been true, and very true,
But yours had a fause lynin.

13
'But open, open, Love Gregory,
Open, and let me in;
Your young son is in my arms,
He'll be dead ere I win in.'

14
'Had awa, ye ill woman,
Had far awa frae me;
Ye're but some witch, or some warlock,
Or the mermaid, troubling me.

15
'But if ye be my lady Janet,
As I trust not well ye be;
Come tell me o'er some love-token
That past tween thee and me.'

16
'Mind on, mind on, Love Gregory,
Since we sat at the wine;
The shifts that were upon your back,
I gave thee mine for thine.

17
'And mine was o the good holland,
And yours o the silly twine,
And mine's been true, and very true,
But yours had fause lynin.'

* * * * * * *

H

Communicated by Mr G. C. Mahon, of Ann Arbor, Michigan,
as sung by a laborer, at Tyrrelspass, West Meath,
Ireland, about 1830.

1
'Oh who'll comb my yellow locks,
With the brown berry comb?
And who'll be the child's father,
Until Gregory comes home?'

2
'Oh ...
. . . . . . .
And God will be the child's father,
Until Gregory comes home.'

* * * * * * *

3
'The dew wets my yellow locks,
The rain wets my skin,
The babe's cold in my arms,
Oh Gregory, let me in!'

4
'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,
As I suppose you not to be,
Come tell me the last token
Between you and me.'
The dew wets, etc.

5
'Oh Gregory, don't you remember
One night on the hill,
When we swapped rings off each other's hands,
Sorely against my will?'
Mine was of the beaten gold,
Yours was but black tin.'
The dew wets, etc.

6
'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,
As I suppose you not to be,
Come tell me the last token
Between you and me.'
The dew wets, etc.

7
'Oh Gregory don't you remember
One night on the hill,
When we swapped smocks off each other's backs,
Sorely against my will?
Mine was of the holland fine,
Yours was but Scotch cloth.'
The dew wets, etc.

8
'Oh if you be the lass of Aughrim,
As I suppose you not to be,
Come tell me the last token
Between you and me.'
The dew wets, etc.

9
'Oh Gregory, don't you remember,
In my father's hall,
When you had your will of me?
And that was worse than all.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
The dew wets, etc.

I

Johnson's Museum, I, 5, No 5, 1787.

1
'Oh open the door, Lord Gregory,
Oh open, and let me in;
The rain rains on my scarlet robes,
The dew drops oer my chin.'

2
'If you are the lass that I lovd once,
As I true you are not she,
Come give me some of the tokens
That past between you and me.'

3
'Ah wae be to you, Gregory,
An ill death may you die!
You will not be the death of one,
But you'll be the death of three.

4
'Oh don't you mind, Lord Gregory,
'Twas down at yon burn-side
We changd the ring of our fingers,
And I put mine on thine?'

J

Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 12.

1
'O wha will shoe my pretty little foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And who will lace my middle jimp
Wi this lang London whang?

2
'And wha will comb my yellow, yellow hair,
Wi this fine rispen kame?
And wha will be my bairn's father,
Till Lord Gregory come hame?'

K

Stenhouse's Johnson's Museum, IV, *107, communicated by
Kirkpatrick Sharpe, "as generally sung by the people of
Galloway and Dumfriesshire."

'O open the door, Love Gregory,
O open, and let me in;
The wind blows through my yellow hair,
And the dew draps oer my chin.'

* * * * *

#A.#

8^2. kine.

11. His mother: _margin of the MS._

20. Mother: _margin_.

22. Lady.

23. Gregory: _margin_.

24. Mother: _margin_.

#B.#

1^3. who.

2^2, 4^2. _Herd prints_ Tabean birben.

12. His mother speaks to her from the house and she
thinks it him: _margin of the MS._

14^1. has (?).

_15 _follows_ 17 in the MS._

16^3. _Herd prints_ maidenhead.

20. The son speaks: _margin_.

25^1. corp(?).

#C.#

_After 2._ Then Lord Gregory's mother answers,
counterfeiting her son.

_After 4._ The mother, still counterfeiting her son, says.

_The old woman who sang the ballad, says Pitcairn_,
murmured over these words as a sort of recitative, and
then resumed the song, with a slight variation of voice.

#D.#

3^4. linnen; _probably a way of pronouncing_ London.

_Jamieson adopts several readings from_ #E# a, _besides
making some slight alterations of his own, and inserts
these two stanzas_, "from memory," _between 21 and 22_:

Tak down, tak down the mast o goud,
Set up the mast o tree;
Ill sets it a forsaken lady
To sail sae gallantlie.

Tak down, tak down the sails o silk,
Set up the sails o skin;
Ill sets the outside to be gay
Whan there's sic grief within.

_For the first of these see_ #B# 19.

#E. a.#

quha, ze, _etc._, _of the MS. are printed_ wha, ye, _etc._

#b.#

_Scott's version, described as composed from #B#, #E a#,
#F#, and two recited copies, is rather #E a#, excepting
6^{3, 4} and 16, interpolated with six stanzas from #B#,
five from #F#, and two lines from other sources, with
a few verbal changes. It is, neglecting these verbal
changes (also in part derived from #B#, #E a#, #F#), made
up thus_:

1-5==#E a# 1-5; 6==#F# 3^1 + #F# 3^4 + _two lines from
other sources_; 7-9==#F# 4-6; 10==#B# 10; 11==#F# 7;
12==#E a# 7; 13==#F# 8; 14-20==#E a# 8-14; 21==#B# 16;
22==#E a# 15; 23-25==#B# 15, 18, 19; 26==#E a# 17;
27==#B# 20; 28-38==#E a# 18-28; 39==#E a# 28^{1-3} + #B#
25^4.

_Scott has_ Lord Gregory _for_ Love Gregor, _or_ Love
Gregory, _throughout, and_ Lochroyan _for_ Rough (Roch)
Royal.

3^4. Till Lord Gregory come to land.

6^{3, 4}.

The sails were o the light-green silk,
The tows o taffety.

24^{3, 4}.
Fair Annie floated through the faem,
But the babie raise no more.

#G.#

4^4. Ands lands: _Buchan prints_ In's.

6^2. For mony: _Buchan prints_ Thro mony.

12^4. fause reason: _Buchan prints_ fause lynin.

14^3. _Buchan prints_ or vile warlock.

#H.#

"I find myself quite unable to arrange the fragments of
the 'Lass of Aughrim' in anything like decent symmetry.
The idea that I have of the arrangement is that the Lass
begins with a sort of soliloquy, lamenting her condition;
that she sings this at the door of a castle, shut
against her; that she hears Gregory's voice within, and
then appeals to him for admittance; and then comes the
dialogue between them.

"The [third] stanza, as I heard the thing sung, was
repeated as a burden after all the succeeding stanzas,
even when the Lad and not the Lass speaks; but I do not
think it followed the [first two] stanzas; they were a
sort of introduction." _Mr Mahon, December, 1884, May,
1885._

[125] Jamieson tells us, p. 44, that when a boy he had frequently heard the ballad chanted in Morayshire, and no mention was ever made of "fairy charms."

[126] #C# 3, 4 are evidently misplaced, and belong in that part of the story where #B# 8, 9 occur.

[127] Liebrecht has noted many of the above in his 'Volkskunde.' A man requires identification of a woman in a very ill preserved ballad in Motherwell's MS., p. 320.

77

SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST

#A.# 'Sweet William's Ghost,' Ramsay's Tea Table
Miscellany, "4th volume, 1740;" here from the London
edition of 1763, p. 324.

#B.# Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49, stanzas 27 ff.

#C.# 'Marjorie and William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 262,
'William and Marjorie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 186.

#D.# Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 86.

#E.# 'Sweet William and May Margaret,' Kinloch's Ancient
Scottish Ballads, p. 241.

#F.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, stanzas 26 ff.

#G.# Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 183, ed.
1833.

Ramsay's copy, #A#, was reprinted by Percy, Reliques, 1765, III, 128, and by Herd, 1769, p. 194, 1776, I, 76. Percy remarks that the concluding stanza seems modern. There can be no doubt that both that and the one before it are modern; but, to the extent of Margaret's dying on her lover's grave, they are very likely to represent original verses not remembered in form. #B# constitutes, in Herd's MSS, and #F#, in Jamieson's Popular Ballads, the termination of a copy of 'Clerk Saunders.' Scott appended the three stanzas given as #G# to the later edition of his _rifacimento_ of the copies of 'Clerk Saunders' in Herd's MSS, and says of them: "I am informed by the reciter that it was usual to separate from the rest that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers, as belonging to another story." The first part of #F# was evidently derived from 'Proud Lady Margaret,' No. 47.

Motherwell notes, Minstrelsy, p. lxiii, 6, that in recited copies he had heard this stanza repeated, "which does not occur in printed copies" (and can easily be spared), after #A# 14.[128]

My meikle tae is my gavil-post,
My nose is my roof-tree,
My ribs are kebars to my house,
And there is nae room for thee.

The story of this ballad seems to have become disordered in most of the versions. #A# alone, the first published, has perhaps retained the original form. The principal idea is, however, preserved in all the full versions, #A-E#; the dead lover returns to ask back his unfulfilled troth-plight. His mistress, not knowing that he is dead, demands that he shall first come within her bower and kiss her, #A#, #B#, #C#. He answers that if he does this her days will not be long. She persists; he shall take her to kirk,[129] and wed her with a ring, #A#, #E#. He then tells her distinctly that he is dead, and she returns to him his faith and troth. She streaks her troth on a long wand and gives it to him through a window, #B#. In #A# she stretches out her white hand, "to do her best;" in #C# "takes up" her white hand, and strikes him on the breast; in #E# takes her white hand and smooths it on his breast; all of which are possibly corruptions of the ceremony performed in #B#. In #D# she takes a silver key and strikes him three times on the breast. She follows the dead till he comes to his grave, #A#, #B#, #C#, #D# (?) #F#, which is wrongly said in #A#, #E# to be far beyond the sea. She asks if there is room for her in his grave, and is told there is not, #A#, #F# [there is room, #B#, #D#]. She dies at his grave, #A#; is told that her days will not be long, #F#; in #G#, goes weeping away.

Margaret will not give William back his faith and troth, in #B#, #D#, #E#, unless he resolves certain questions about the state of the dead; what becomes of women that die in travail; where the women go who hang themselves for sin; where unbaptized children. Mere curiosity does not sort well with this very seriously conceived ballad, and these passages have probably grown out of a not unnatural inquiry on the part of Margaret as to her lover's personal state, extended in #E# 12 to "tell me the pleasures o heaven, and pains o hell how they be." The scene at the grave in #C# 11-13 may be judged grotesque, but is not trivial or unimpressive. These verses may be supposed not to have belonged to the earliest form of the ballad, and one does not miss them from #A#, but they cannot be an accretion of modern date.

Sir Walter Scott informs us, in the Advertisement to The Pirate, that the lady whose affections had been engaged by Goff, the historical prototype of Cleveland, "went up to London to see him before his death, and that, arriving too late, she had the courage to request a sight of his body; and then touching the hand of the corpse, she formally resumed the troth-plight which she had bestowed." "Without going through this ceremony," Scott goes on to say, "she could not, according to the superstition of the country, have escaped a visit from the ghost of her departed lover, in the event of her bestowing upon any living suitor the faith which she had plighted to the dead."[130]

'Sweet William's Ghost' has much in common with one of the most beautiful and celebrated of the Scandinavian ballads, and may well be a different development of the same story:

#Danish.# 'Fæstemanden i Graven' ('Aage og Else'), Grundtvig, No 90, II, 492-97, III, 870-74, #A# from a manuscript of the seventeenth century, #B# from about 1700, #C# from recent tradition. #Swedish.# 'Sorgens Magt,' #A#, #B#, Afzelius, No 6, I, 29, II, 204; #C#, Arwidsson, No 91, II, 103; #D#, Wigström, Skånska Visor, No 8, the same, Folkdiktning, I, 17, No 6, 'Den döde brudgummen:' all from recent tradition.

According to the oldest version, Danish #A#,[131] from which the others do not materially vary, a man dies just as he is to be married. His love grieves for him passionately. The dead hears her under the ground, comes to her bower with his coffin on his back, and knocks. She lets him in after he has proved himself to be "a spirit of health" by uttering the name of Jesus, combs his hair, and asks him how it is under the black earth (cf. English, #E# 12). It is like the bliss of heaven. May she follow him into his grave? It is like blackest hell. Every time she weeps for him his coffin is filled with lappered blood. But when she sings and is happy, his grave is all hung with rose-leaves. The cock crows, the white, the red, the black; he takes up his coffin and goes wearily back to the graveyard. His love follows through the mirk wood (so Swedish #A# 9, cf. English #B# 11), to the churchyard, and into the church. Then his yellow hair falls away, his rosy color wans. He bids her go home and never weep for him more. "Look up at the sky, the night is going;" and as she looks he slips into his grave. She goes sadly home, prays God that she may not live out a year and a day, falls sick, and dies within a month.

The Scandinavian ballad agrees in many particulars with the conclusion of the second lay of Helgi Hundingsbani in the older Edda. Helgi, having been slain by Sigrún's brother, is bitterly bewailed by Sigrún. He quits his barrow to come to her. Sigrún will kiss him, but his hair is thick with hoar-frost, he is drenched in blood, and how is this? These are the grim tears that Sigrún has shed, every one of which falls on his breast. Sigrún says she will sleep in his arms as though he were alive, and goes into the barrow with him. The end of the story is lost; according to a prose tradition which professes to supply the close, Sigrún soon died of grief. The source of the later ballads is perceptible here.

In the English ballad the dead lover returns of his own motion, simply to ask back his troth; in the Scandinavian, his betrothed grieves him out of his grave, "hon sörjer sin fästeman ur graf," and the object of his visit is to admonish her to restrain her tears, which prevent his happy repose. A fragmentary story with this turn, which perhaps may even have been a variety of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' will be found in the ballad which follows this.

In a somewhat popular German ballad, 'Der todte Freier,' a dead man comes to the window of his betrothed in the night and calls her. She does not recognize him; says he smells of the ground. He has been eight years in the ground, and that may be. He bids her summon father, mother, and friends, for her bridegroom has come. She is decked as for her wedding; at the first sound of the bell makes her will or receives the sacrament, and dies at the second.[132]

A young man goes to the grave of his betrothed and asks his love-tokens back; she refers him to her mother, and tells him she will join him in a year: Haupt u. Schmaler, I, 88, No 55. This returning of gifts by the dead is not an infrequent phenomenon: Čelakowský, I, 4, No 2==Wenzig, Slawische Volkslieder, p. 57, and III, 16, No 6; Beaurepaire, p. 53, Le Héricher, Lit. pop. de Normandie, p. 160 f; Briz y Candi, I, 140, Milá, Observaciones, p. 155, No 50, Milá, Romancerillo, pp 320-22, No 337, #D#, #E#, #A#^{11}, #B#^{11}.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 34, No 4; by Herder, Book III, No 8; Bodmer, II, 36; Wackernagel, Altdeutsche Blätter, I, 189; Döring, p. 391; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 86, No 23; von Marées, p. 24. #C# by Grundtvig, p. 319, No 90; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 30, Hausschatz, p. 205; Knortz, as above, p. 179, No 49. A compound of #D#, #C#, #A#, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 53, No 12.

A

Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, "4th volume, 1740;" here
from the London edition of 1763, p. 324.

1
There came a ghost to Margret's door,
With many a grievous groan,
And ay he tirled at the pin,
But answer made she none.

2
'Is that my father Philip,
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true-love, Willy,
From Scotland new come home?'

3
''Tis not thy father Philip,
Nor yet thy brother John;
But 'tis thy true-love, Willy,
From Scotland new come home.

4
'O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.'

5
'Thy faith and troth thou's never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.'

6
'If I shoud come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man;
And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips,
Thy days will not be lang.

7
'O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.'

8
'Thy faith and troth thou's never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till you take me to yon kirk,
And wed me with a ring.'

9
'My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my spirit, Margret,
That's now speaking to thee.'

10
She stretchd out her lilly-white hand,
And, for to do her best,
'Hae, there's your faith and troth, Willy,
God send your soul good rest.'

11
Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee,
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corp followed she.

12
'Is there any room at your head, Willy?
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willy,
Wherein that I may creep?'

13
'There's no room at my head, Margret,
There's no room at my feet;
There's no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin's made so meet.'

14
Then up and crew the red, red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
'Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,
That you were going away.'

15
No more the ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous groan,
Evanishd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.

16
'O stay, my only true-love, stay,'
The constant Margret cry'd;
Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een,
Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy'd.

B

Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49, stanzas 27 ff.

1
Whan bells war rung, an mass was sung,
A wat a' man to bed were gone,
Clark Sanders came to Margret's window,
With mony a sad sigh and groan.

2
'Are ye sleeping, Margret,' he says,
'Or are ye waking, presentlie?
Give me my faith and trouthe again,
A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.'

3
'Your faith and trouth ye's never get,
Nor our trew love shall never twain,
Till ye come with me in my bower,
And kiss me both cheek and chin.'

4
'My mouth it is full cold, Margret,
It has the smell now of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
Thy life-days will not be long.

5
'Cocks are crowing a merry mid-larf,
I wat the wild fule boded day;
Gie me my faith and trouthe again,
And let me fare me on my way.'

6
'Thy faith and trouth thou shall na get,
Nor our trew love shall never twin,
Till ye tell me what comes of women
Awat that dy's in strong traveling.'

7
'Their beds are made in the heavens high,
Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,
Well set about wi gilly-flowers,
A wat sweet company for to see.

8
'O cocks are crowing a merry midd-larf,
A wat the wilde foule boded day;
The salms of Heaven will be sung,
And ere now I'le be misst away.'

9
Up she has tain a bright long wand,
And she has straked her trouth thereon;
She has given [it] him out at the shot-window,
Wi many a sad sigh and heavy groan.

10
'I thank you, Margret, I thank you, Margret,
And I thank you hartilie;
Gine ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Margret, I'll come again for thee.'

11
It's hose an shoon an gound alane
She clame the wall and followed him,
Untill she came to a green forest,
On this she lost the sight of him.

12
'Is their any room at your head, Sanders?
Is their any room at your feet?
Or any room at your twa sides?
Whare fain, fain woud I sleep.'

13
'Their is na room at my head, Margret,
Their is na room at my feet;
There is room at my twa sides,
For ladys for to sleep.

14
'Cold meal is my covering owre,
But an my winding sheet;
My bed it is full low, I say,
Down among the hongerey worms I sleep.

15
'Cold meal is my covering owre,
But an my winding sheet;
The dew it falls na sooner down
Then ay it is full weet.'

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 262, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p.
186, from the recitation of Mrs McCormick, and learned by
her in Dumbarton, from an old woman, thirty years before:
January 19, 1825.

1
Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,
Sat sewing her silken seam;
By her came a pale, pale ghost,
With many a sich and mane.

2
'Are ye my father, the king?' she says,
'Or are ye my brother John?
Or are you my true-love, Sweet William,
From England newly come?'

3
'I'm not your father, the king,' he says,
'No, no, nor your brother John;
But I'm your true love, Sweet William,
From England that's newly come.'

4
'Have ye brought me any scarlets so red?
Or any silks so fine?
Or have ye brought me any precious things,
That merchants have for sale?'

5
'I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,
No, no, nor the silks so fine;
But I have brought you my winding-sheet,
Oer many's the rock and hill.

6
'O Lady Marjory, Lady Marjory,
For faith and charitie,
Will you give to me my faith and troth,
That I gave once to thee?'

7
'O your faith and troth I'll not give thee,
No, no, that will not I,
Until I get one kiss of your ruby lips,
And in my arms you come [lye].'

8
'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.

9
'The cocks they are crowing, Marjory,' he says,
'The cocks they are crawing again;
It's time the deid should part the quick,
Marjorie, I must be gane.'

10
She followed him high, she followed him low,
Till she came to yon church-yard;
O there the grave did open up,
And young William he lay down.

11
'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,
'That stands here at your head?'
'It's three maidens, Marjorie,' he says,
'That I promised once to wed.'

12
'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,
'That stands here at your side?'
'It is three babes, Marjorie,' he says,
'That these three maidens had.'

13
'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says,
'That stands here at your feet?'
'It is three hell-hounds, Marjorie,' he says,
'That's waiting my soul to keep.'

14
She took up her white, white hand,
And she struck him in the breast,
Saying, Have there again your faith and troth,
And I wish your soul good rest.

D

From tradition: Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book,
"Adversaria," p. 86.

1
Lady Margaret was in her wearie room,
Sewin her silken seam,
And in cam Willie, her true-love,
Frae Lundin new come hame.

2
'O are ye my father Philip,
Or are ye my brither John?
Or are ye my true-love, Willie,
Frae London new come home?'

3
'I'm nae your father Philip,
Nor am I your brother John;
But I am your true-love, Willie,
An I'm nae a levin man.

4
'But gie me my faith and troth, Margrat,
An let me pass on my way;
For the bells o heaven will be rung,
An I'll be mist away.'

5
'Yere faith and troth ye'se never get,
Till ye tell me this ane;
Till ye tell me where the women go
That hang themsell for sin.'

6
'O they gang till the low, low hell,
Just by the devil's knee;
It's a' clad ower wi burnin pitch,
A dreadfu sicht to see.'

7
'But your faith and troth ye'se never get,
Till you tell me again;
Till you tell me where the children go
That die without a name.'

8
'O they gang till the high, high heaven,
Just by our Saviour's knee,
An it's a' clad ower wi roses red,
A lovelie sicht to see.

9
'But gie me my faith and troth, Margrat,
And let me pass on my way;
For the psalms o heaven will be sung,
An I'll be mist away.'

10
'But your faith and troth yese never get
Till ye tell me again;
Till ye tell me where the women go
That die in child-beddin.'

11
'O they gang till the hie, hie heaven,
Just by our Saviour's knee,
And every day at twal o clock
They're dipped oer the head.

12
'But gie me my faith and troth, Margret,
And let me pass on my way;
For the gates o heaven will be shut,
And I'll be mist away.'

13
Then she has taen a silver key,
Gien him three times on the breast;
Says, There's your faith and troth, Willie,
I hope your soul will rest.

14
'But is there room at your head, Willie?
Or is there room at your feet?
Or is there room at any o your sides,
To let in a lover sweet?'

15
'There is nae room at my head, Margrat,
There's nae room at my feet,
But there is room at baith my sides,
To lat in a lover sweet.'

E

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.

1
As May Margret sat in her bouerie,
In her bouer all alone,
At the very parting o midnicht
She heard a mournfu moan.

2
'O is it my father? O is it my mother?
Or is it my brother John?
Or is it Sweet William, my ain true-love,
To Scotland new come home?'

3
'It is na your father, it is na your mother,
It is na your brother John;
But it is Sweet William, your ain true-love,
To Scotland new come home.'

4
'Hae ye brought me onie fine things,
Onie new thing for to wear?
Or hae ye brought me a braid o lace,
To snood up my gowden hair?'

5
'I've brought ye na fine things at all,
Nor onie new thing to wear,
Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace,
To snood up your gowden hair.

6
'But Margaret, dear Margaret,
I pray ye speak to me;
O gie me back my faith and troth,
As dear as I gied it thee.'

7
'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,
Nor will I wi ye twin,
Till ye come within my bouer,
And kiss me, cheek and chin.'

8
'O should I come within your bouer,
I am na earthly man;
If I should kiss your red, red lips,
Your days wad na be lang.

9
'O Margaret, dear Margaret,
I pray ye speak to me;
O gie me back my faith and troth,
As dear as I gied it thee.'

10
'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,
Nor will I wi ye twin,
Till ye tak me to yonder kirk,
And wed me wi a ring.'

11
'My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard,
It's far ayont the sea;
And it is my spirit, Margaret,
That's speaking unto thee.'

12
'Your faith and troth ye sanna get,
Nor will I twin wi thee,
Till ye tell me the pleasures o heaven,
And pains of hell how they be.'

13
'The pleasures of heaven I wat not of,
But the pains of hell I dree;
There some are hie hangd for huring,
And some for adulterie.'

14
Then Margret took her milk-white hand,
And smoothd it on his breast:
'Tak your faith and troth, William,
God send your soul good rest!'

F

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, stanzas 26 ff.

1
When seven years were come and gane,
Lady Margaret she thought lang;
And she is up to the hichest tower,
By the lee licht o the moon.

2
She was lookin oer her castle high,
To see what she might fa,
And there she saw a grieved ghost,
Comin waukin oer the wa.

3
'O are ye a man of mean,' she says,
'Seekin ony o my meat?
Or are you a rank robber,
Come in my bower to break?'

4
'O I'm Clerk Saunders, your true-love,
Behold, Margaret, and see,
And mind, for a' your meikle pride,
Sae will become of thee.'

5
'Gin ye be Clerk Saunders, my true-love,
This meikle marvels me;
O wherein is your bonny arms,
That wont to embrace me?'

6
'By worms they're eaten, in mools they're rotten,
Behold, Margaret, and see,
And mind, for a' your mickle pride,
Sae will become o thee.'

* * * * * * *

7
O, bonny, bonny sang the bird,
Sat on the coil o hay;
But dowie, dowie was the maid
That followd the corpse o clay.

8
'Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?
Is there ony room at your feet?
Is there ony room at your twa sides,
For a lady to lie and sleep?'

9
'There is nae room at my head, Margaret,
As little at my feet;
There is nae room at my twa sides,
For a lady to lie and sleep.

10
'But gae hame, gae hame now, May Margaret,
Gae hame and sew your seam;
For if ye were laid in your weel made bed,
Your days will nae be lang.'

G

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 183, ed. 1833,
the last three stanzas.

* * * * * * *

1
'But plait a wand o bonny birk,
And lay it on my breast,
And shed a tear upon my grave,
And wish my saul gude rest.

2
'And fair Margret, and rare Margret,
And Margret o veritie,
Gin eer ye love another man,
Neer love him as ye did me.'

3
Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
And up and crew the grey;
The lover vanishd in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.

* * * * *

#A.#

8^3. yon kirk-yard.

#B.#

1^2, _~And every one~ is substituted for ~A wat a' man~,
no doubt by a reviser._

1^4, 9^4. grown.

5^1, 8^1. _~mid larf~, ~midd larf~ I retain, though I do
not understand ~larf~._

9^2. _~on it~ struck out at the end of the line, and
~thereon~ written over. Qy ~it on~?_

14^4. _A line is drawn through ~Down~ and ~the~._

15^1. _~is my bed~, written after ~weet~, is struck out._

_The copy in Herd's second volume is a transcript of the
other, and its variations have no apparent authority._

#C.#

7^4. _MS. ~come (lye)~._

9^4. _~away~ written over ~be gane~._

10^2. _Motherwell prints ~churchyard green~._

14^1. _~white~ thrice._

_Motherwell makes not a few slight changes in printing._

#D.#

15^1. at my head, Willie.

#E.#

_8 follows 10 in Kinloch._

[128] Motherwell probably meant 13.

[129] So #E# 10; #A# 9 has, in Ramsay, kirk-yard, which obviously requires to be corrected.

[130] In a note in the Kinloch MSS, VII, 277, Kinloch says that Sir Walter Scott told him that he had received this story from an old woman in Shetland.

[131] The ballad has been often translated, mostly after the compounded form in the Danske Viser, No 29: Prior, III, 76 (Danish #A#), 81; "London Magazine, 1820, I, 152;" Borrow, Foreign Quarterly Review, 1830, VI, 62, and p. 47 of his Romantic Ballads; Buchanan, p. 112.

[132] Hoffmann von Fallersleben in Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 162==Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 73, and Liederhort, p. 75, No 24^a, Mittler, No 545; Wagner in Deutsches Museum, 1862, II, 802, 803; Liederhort, No 24, p. 74; Ditfurth, II, 1, No 2; Meier, p. 355, No 201; Peter, I, 199, No 14; A. Müller, p. 95; Meinert, p. 3==Erlach, IV, 196, Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 74, Liederhort, p. 76, No 24^b, Zuccalmaglio, p. 130, No 60, Mittler, No 544; Schleicher, Volkstümliches aus Sonneberg, p. 112, No 22.

78

THE UNQUIET GRAVE

#A.# 'The Unquiet Grave,' Folk-Lore Record, I, 60, 1868.

#B.# Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 486.

#C.# Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.

#D.# 'The Ghost and Sailor,' Buchan's MSS, I, 268.