Chapter XV: Appendix: Annan Water (1)

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1833, III, 282; 1802, II, 138.

The first edition lacks stanzas 5, 6, 8, 9. Two of these were inserted “from another copy of the ballad in which the conclusion proves fortunate.”

“The ballad,” says Scott, “is given from tradition,” for which a more precise expression would perhaps be “oral repetition.” It is asserted in the Minstrelsy to be “the original words of the tune of ‘Allan Water,’ by which name the song is mentioned in Ramsay’s Tea-Table Miscellany” (‘Allan Water, or, My love Annie’s very bonny,’ T. T. M., vol. i, p. 105, of the Dublin edition of 1729). This assertion is not justified by any reasons, nor does it seem pertinent, if the Allan was originally the river of the ballad, to add, as the editor does, that “the Annan and the Frith of Solway, into which it falls, are the frequent scenes of tragical accidents.”

A song which may pass for the original Allan Water until an earlier is produced is among the Laing broadsides (now in the possession of Lord Rosebery), No 59. There is no date or place, but it is thought to have been printed toward the end of the seventeenth century, or the beginning of the eighteenth, and probably at Edinburgh.

The title is: ‘Allan Water, or, A Lover in Captivity.[111] A new song, sung with a pleasant new air.’ There are three eight-line stanzas, and it begins:

Allan Water’s wide and deep,
and my dear Anny’s very bonny;
Wide’s the straith that lyes above ‘t,
if ‘t were mine, I’de give it all for Anny.

Allan Cunningham says of the ballad, Songs of Scotland, II, 102: “I have heard it sung on the banks of the Annan. Like all traditional verses, there are many variations.” And he cites as “from an old fragment” these couplets:

O Annan water’s wading deep, [_i.e._ wide and]
Yet I am loth to weet my feet;
But if ye’ll consent to marry me,
I’ll hire a horse to carry thee.[112]

It is my conviction that ‘Anna Water,’ in Ramsay’s language, is one of the “Scots poems wrote by the ingenious before” 1800.

“By the Gatehope Slack,” says Sir Walter Scott, “is perhaps meant the Gate Slack, a pass in Annandale.”

1
‘Annan water’s wading deep,
And my love Annie’s wondrous bonny,
And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony.

2
‘Gar saddle me the bonny black,
Gar saddle sune, and make him ready,
For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
And all to see my bonny ladye.’

3
He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirrd him wi the spur right sairly;
But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.

4
He has loupen on the bonny grey,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.

5
O he has ridden oer field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;
His spurs o steel were sair to bide,
And frae her fore-feet flew the fire.

6
‘Now, bonny grey, now play your part!
Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
Wi corn and hay ye’se be fed for aye,
And never spur sall make you wearie.’

7
The grey was a mare, and a right good mare,
But when she wan the Annan water
She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair
Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.

8
‘O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
Put off your boat for gowden money!
I cross the drumly stream the night,
Or never mair I see my honey.’

9
‘O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
And not by ae aith, but by many;
And for a’ the gowd in fair Scotland
I dare na take ye through to Annie.’

10
The ride was stey, and the bottom deep,
Frae bank to brae the water pouring,
And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,
For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.

11
O he has poud aff his dapperpy coat,
The silver buttons glanced bonny;
The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
He was sae full of melancholy.

12
He has taen the ford at that stream tail;
I wot he swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny ladye!

13
‘O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
And wae betide the bush of brier!
It brake into my true-love’s hand,
When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.

14
‘And wae betide ye, Annan Water,
This night that ye are a drumlie river!
For over thee I’ll build a bridge,
That ye never more true love may sever.’

216

THE MOTHER’S MALISON, OR, CLYDE’S WATER

#A.# ‘Clyde’s Water,’ Skene MS., p. 50.

#B.# ‘Willie and May Margaret,’ Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, 1806, I,
135.

#C.# ‘The Drowned Lovers,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland,
I, 140; ‘Willie and Margaret,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 611; printed in
part in Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. iii.

Stanzas 1, 5, 6, 7, 16, of #B# were printed by Jamieson (under the title of Sweet Willie and May Margaret) in the Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 700, in the hope of obtaining a complete copy.

In notes to #B# are here given some various readings and supplementary verses which were entered by Motherwell in a copy of his Minstrelsy, without indication of their origin.[113] Motherwell made a few changes in transcribing #C# into his MS., and others in the verses which he printed in the appendix to his Minstrelsy.

The copy of this ballad in Nimmo’s Songs and Ballads of Clydesdale, p. 134, was compounded from #B# and #C#.

Willie orders his horse and his man to be fed, for he means to be that very night with his love Margaret. His mother would have him stay with her: he shall have the best bed in the house and the best hen in the roost, #A#; the best cock in the roost and the best sheep in the flock, #B#; a sour wind is blowing and the night will be dark, #C#. He cares for none of these, and will go. My malison drown thee in Clyde! says his mother. Clyde is roaring fearfully, but he wins through. Arrived at Margaret’s bower, he tirls at the pin and calls to her to open. A voice asks, Who is there? It is her lover, his boots full of Clyde’s water. An answer comes, as if from Margaret, that she has no lovers without and none within, and she will not open, #A#, #C#; her mother is fast asleep, and she dares make no din, #B#. Then he begs for some shelter for the night; but is told that one chamber is full of corn, another full of hay, and the third full of gentlemen, who will not go till morning. Farewell, then; he has won his mother’s malison by coming. Clyde’s water is half up over the brae, #B#, and sweeps him off his horse, #C#. Margaret wakens from a dreary dream that her love had been ‘staring’ (standing?) at the foot of her bed, #A#; had been at the gates, and nobody would let him in, #C#. Her mother informs her that her lover had really been at the gates but half an hour before. Margaret instantly gets up and goes after Willie, crying to him against the loud wind. She does not stop for the river. No more was ever seen of Willie but his hat, no more of Margaret but her comb and her snood, #A#, which might end well so, but has lost a few lines. #C# ends like the preceding ballad: Margaret finds Willie in the deepest pot in Clyde; they shall sleep together in its bed.

#C# 20, 21 absurdly represents Willie’s brother as standing on the river-bank and expostulating with him; this in the dead of night.[114]

The passage in two of the copies, #A# 10–16, #C# 11–15, 22–25, in which the mother, pretending to be her daughter, repels the lover, and the daughter, who has dreamed that her lover had come and had been refused admittance, is told by her mother that this had actually happened, and sets off in pursuit of her lover, seems to have been adopted from ‘The Lass of Roch Royal,’ No 76. Parts are exchanged, as happens not infrequently with ballads; in the ‘Lass of Roch Royal,’ the lass is turned away by her lover’s mother, pretending to speak in his person. There is verbal correspondence, particularly in #A# 16; cf. No 76, #D# 26, 27, #E# 22, 23. In #D# 19 of No 76 the professed Love Gregor tells Annie that he has another love, as the professed Meggie in #A# 11 (inconsistently with what precedes) tells Willie.

The three steps into the water, #C# 26–28, occur also in ‘Child Waters,’ No 63, #B# 7–9, #C# 6–8, #I# 3, 4, 6. Nose-bleed, #C# 1, is a bad omen; see No 208.

Verses #A# 8^{1,2}, #C# 10^{1,2},

Make me your wrack as I come back,
But spare me as I go,

are found in a broadside ‘Tragedy of Hero and Leander,’ Roxburghe Ballads, III, 152, etc., of the date, it is thought, of about 1650; Ebsworth’s Roxburghe Ballads, VI, 558, Collier’s Book of Roxburghe Ballads, 1847, p. 227. The conceit does not overwell suit a popular ballad. The original is Martial’s Parcite dum propero, mergite cum redeo, otherwise, Mergite me, fluctus, cum rediturus ero, Epigr. lib., 25 b, and lib. xiv, 181.

A very popular Italian ballad has some of the traits of ‘The Mother’s Malison,’ parts being exchanged and the girl drowned. A girl is asked in marriage; her mother objects, in most of the copies on the ground of her daughter’s youth; she goes off with her lover; the mother wishes that she may drown in the sea; arrived at the seashore her horse becomes restive, and the girl is drowned (or she goes down in mid-sea): ‘Maledizione della Madre,’ Nigra, Canti popolari del Piemonte, p. 151, No 23 #A#-#F#; ‘La Maledizione materna,’ Marcoaldi, p. 170, No 15; ‘La Maledetta,’ Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, p. 35, No 27; ‘Buona-sera, vedovella,’ Ferraro, C. p. del Basso Monferrato, p. 16, No 7; ‘La Figlia disobbediente,’ Bolza, C. p. comasche, No 55; ‘Amor di Fratello,’ Bernoni, C. p. veneziani, Puntata 9, No 4; Righi, C. p. veronesi, p. 30, No 93; Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, No 92 (a fragment). In ‘Marinai,’ Ferraro, C. p. di Ferrara, etc., p. 59, No 9, the suitor is a sailor, and the girl goes down in his ship, and so in ‘Il marinaro e la sua amorosa,’ No 94, Wolf, but in this last she is still told to stick to her horse. A fragment in Marie Aycard’s Bal-lades et ch. p. de la Provence, p. xix, repeated in Arbaud, II, 166, makes it probable that the Italian ballad was known in the south of France. (All the above are cited by Count Nigra.)

A mother’s curse upon her son, who is riding to fetch his bride, results in his breaking his neck, in a Bohemian ballad already spoken of under ‘Clerk Colvil,’ No 42; see #I#, 368 (where a translation by Wenzig, Slawische Volkslieder, p. 47, might have been noted).

A mother refuses to give her daughter in marriage because the girl is under age; the daughter is forcibly carried off; the mother wishes that she may not live a year, which comes to pass: ‘Der Mutter Fluch,’ Meinert, p. 246.

#B# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotshe Folkeviser, p. 64, No 10, and (with use of #C#), by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 26, Hausschatz, p. 203; Aytoun’s ballad (with use of #C#) by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 152, No 35; Allingham’s ballad by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 123.

* * * * *

A

Skene MS., p. 50; taken down from recitation in the north of
Scotland, 1802–3.

1
‘Ye gie corn unto my horse,
An meat unto my man,
For I will gae to my true-love’s gates
This night, gin that I can.’

2
‘O stay at hame this ae night, Willie,
This ae bare night wi me;
The best bed in a’ my house
Sall be well made to thee.’

3
‘I carena for your beds, mither,
I carena ae pin,
For I’ll gae to my love’s gates
This night, gin I can win.’

4
‘O stay, my son Willie, this night,
This ae night wi me;
The best hen in a’ my roost
Sall be well made ready for thee.’

5
‘I carena for your hens, mither,
I carena ae pin;
I sall gae to my love’s gates
This night, gin I can win.’

6
‘Gin ye winna stay, my son Willie,
This ae bare night wi me,
Gin Clyde’s water be deep and fu o flood,
My malisen drown ye!’

7
He rode up yon high hill,
An down yon dowie glen;
The roaring of Clyde’s water
Wad hae fleyt ten thousand men.

8
‘O spare me, Clyde’s water,
O spare me as I gae!
Mak me your wrack as I come back,
But spare me as I gae!’

9
He rade in, and farther in,
Till he came to the chin;
And he rade in, and farther in,
Till he came to dry lan.

10
An whan he came to his love’s gates,
He tirled at the pin:
‘Open your gates, Meggie,
Open your gates to me,
For my beets are fu o Clyde’s water,
And the rain rains oure my chin.’

11
‘I hae nae lovers therout,’ she says,
‘I hae nae love within;
My true-love is in my arms twa,
An nane will I lat in.’

12
‘Open your gates, Meggie, this ae night,
Open your gates to me;
For Clyde’s water is fu o flood,
An my mither’s malison’ll drown me.’

13
‘Ane o my chamers is fu o corn,’ she says,
‘An ane is fu o hay;
Anither is fa o gentlemen,
An they winna move till day.’

14
Out waked her May Meggie,
Out o her drousy dream:
‘I dreamed a dream sin the yestreen,
God read a’ dreams to guid!
That my true-love Willie
Was staring at my bed-feet.’

15
‘Now lay ye still, my ae dochter,
An keep my back fra the call,
For it’s na the space of hafe an hour
Sen he gad fra yer hall.’

16
‘An hey, Willie, an hoa, Willie,
Winne ye turn agen?’
But ay the louder that she crayed
He rod agenst the wind.

17
He rod up yon high hill,
An doun yon douey den;
The roring that was in Clid[e]‘s water
Wad ha flayed ten thousand men.

18
He road in, an farder in,
Till he came to the chine;
An he road in, an farder in,
Bat neuer mare was seen.

* * * * * *

19
Ther was na mare seen of that guid lord
Bat his hat frae his head;
Ther was na mare seen of that lady
Bat her comb an her sneed.

20
Ther waders went up an doun
Eadying Claid’s water
Hav don us wrang

* * * * *

B

Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 135; from Mrs Brown’s recitation,
apparently in 1800.

1
‘Gie corn to my horse, mither,
Gie meat unto my man,
For I maun gang to Margaret’s bower
Before the nicht comes on.’

2
‘O stay at hame now, my son Willie,
The wind blaws cald and sour;
The nicht will be baith mirk and late
Before ye reach her bower.’

3
‘O tho the nicht were ever sae dark,
Or the wind blew never sae cald,
I will be in my Margaret’s bower
Before twa hours be tald.’

4
‘O gin ye gang to May Margaret,
Without the leave of me,
Clyde’s water’s wide and deep enough,
My malison drown thee!’

5
He mounted on his coal-black steed,
And fast he rade awa,
But ere he came to Clyde’s water
Fu loud the wind did blaw.

6
As he rode oer yon hich, hich hill,
And down yon dowie den,
There was a roar in Clyde’s water
Wad feard a hunder men.

7
His heart was warm, his pride was up;
Sweet Willie kentna fear;
But yet his mither’s malison
Ay sounded in his ear.

8
O he has swam through Clyde’s water,
Tho it was wide and deep,
And he came to May Margaret’s door,
When a’ were fast asleep.

9
O he’s gane round and round about,
And tirled at the pin;
But doors were steekd, and windows barrd,
And nane wad let him in.

10
‘O open the door to me, Margaret!
O open and lat me in!
For my boots are full o Clyde’s water
And frozen to the brim.’

11
‘I darena open the door to you,
Nor darena lat you in,
For my mither she is fast asleep,
And I darena mak nae din.’

12
‘O gin ye winna open the door,
Nor yet be kind to me,
Now tell me o some out-chamber
Where I this nicht may be.’

13
‘Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie,
Nor here ye canna be;
For I’ve nae chambers out nor in,
Nae ane but barely three.

14
‘The tane o them is fu o corn,
The tither is fu o hay;
The tither is fu o merry young men;
They winna remove till day.’

15
‘O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret,
Sin better manna be;
I’ve win my mither’s malison,
Coming this nicht to thee.’

16
He’s mounted on his coal-black steed,
O but his heart was wae!
But, ere he came to Clyde’s water,
’Twas half up oer the brae.

* * * * * *

17
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . he plunged in,
But never raise again.

* * * * *

C

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 140.

1
Willie stands in his stable-door,
And clapping at his steed,
And looking oer his white fingers
His nose began to bleed.

2
‘Gie corn to my horse, mother,
And meat to my young man,
And I’ll awa to Maggie’s bower;
I’ll win ere she lie down.’

3
‘O bide this night wi me, Willie,
O bide this night wi me;
The best an cock o a’ the reest
At your supper shall be.’

4
‘A’ your cocks, and a’ your reests,
I value not a prin,
For I’ll awa to Meggie’s bower;
I’ll win ere she lie down.’

5
‘Stay this night wi me, Willie,
O stay this night wi me;
The best an sheep in a’ the flock
At your supper shall be.’

6
‘A’ your sheep, and a’ your flocks,
I value not a prin,
For I’ll awa’ to Meggie’s bower;
I’ll win ere she lie down.’

7
‘O an ye gang to Meggie’s bower,
Sae sair against my will,
The deepest pot in Clyde’s water,
My malison ye’s feel.’

8
‘The guid steed that I ride upon
Cost me thrice thretty pound;
And I’ll put trust in his swift feet
To hae me safe to land.’

9
As he rade ower yon high, high hill,
And down yon dowie den,
The noise that was in Clyde’s water
Woud feard five huner men.

10
‘O roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud,
Your streams seem wondrous strang;
Make me your wreck as I come back,
But spare me as I gang!’

11
Then he is on to Maggie’s bower,
And tirled at the pin;
‘O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie,’ he said,
‘Ye’ll open, lat me come in.’

12
‘O wha is this at my bower-door,
That calls me by my name?’
‘It is your first love, sweet Willie,
This night newly come hame.’

13
‘I hae few lovers thereout, thereout,
As few hae I therein;
The best an love that ever I had
Was here just late yestreen.’

14
‘The warstan stable in a’ your stables,
For my puir steed to stand!
The warstan bower in a’ your bowers,
For me to lie therein!
My boots are fu o Clyde’s water,
I’m shivering at the chin.’

15
‘My barns are fu o corn, Willie,
My stables are fu o hay;
My bowers are fu o gentlemen,
They’ll nae remove till day.’

16
‘O fare ye well, my fause Meggie,
O farewell, and adieu!
I’ve gotten my mither’s malison
This night coming to you.’

17
As he rode ower yon high, high hill,
And down yon dowie den,
The rushing that was in Clyde’s water
Took Willie’s cane frae him.

18
He leand him ower his saddle-bow,
To catch his cane again;
The rushing that was in Clyde’s water
Took Willie’s hat frae him.

19
He leand him ower his saddle-bow,
To catch his hat thro force;
The rushing that was in Clyde’s water
Took Willie frae his horse.

20
His brither stood upo the bank,
Says, Fye, man, will ye drown?
Ye’ll turn ye to your high horse head
And learn how to sowm.

21
‘How can I turn to my horse head
And learn how to sowm?
I’ve gotten my mither’s malison,
It’s here that I maun drown.’

22
The very hour this young man sank
Into the pot sae deep,
Up it wakend his love Meggie
Out o her drowsy sleep.

23
‘Come here, come here, my mither dear,
And read this dreary dream;
I dreamd my love was at our gates,
And nane wad let him in.’

24
‘Lye still, lye still now, my Meggie,
Lye still and tak your rest;
Sin your true-love was at your yates,
It’s but twa quarters past.’

25
Nimbly, nimbly raise she up,
And nimbly pat she on,
And the higher that the lady cried,
The louder blew the win.

26
The first an step that she steppd in,
She stepped to the queet;
‘Ohon, alas!’ said that lady,
‘This water’s wondrous deep.’

27
The next an step that she wade in,
She wadit to the knee;
Says she, ‘I coud wide farther in,
If I my love coud see.’

28
The next an step that she wade in,
She wadit to the chin;
The deepest pot in Clyde’s water
She got sweet Willie in.

29
‘You’ve had a cruel mither, Willie,
And I have had anither;
But we shall sleep in Clyde’s water
Like sister an like brither.’

* * * * *

#A.#

_Not divided into stanzas in the MS.; sometimes not into verses._

15^3. For _is written after_ call _in the preceding line._

16^3. But ay _is written after_ agen _in the preceding line._

16^4. He _is written after_ crayed _in the preceding line._

18^2. Till _is written after_ in _in the preceding line._

19.
Ther was na mare seen of
that guid lord bat his hat
frae his head ther was na
mare seen of that lady bat
her comb an her sneed.

20^1. Doun _stands at the beginning of the next line_.

#A# 14–16 _might perhaps be better put after the drowning, as in_
#C#.

#B.#

_Readings inserted by Motherwell in a copy of his Minstrelsy._

4^{3,4}.
My malison and deidly curse
Shall bear ye companie.

_After 7_:

He swam high, and he swam low,
And he swam to and fro,
Until he gript a hazel-bush,
That brung him to the brow.

9^4. _Var._ But his mother answered him.

10.
O rise, O rise, May Marget, h[e says],
(_cut away by the binder_)
O rise and let me in,
For the very steed that I came on
Does tremble at every limb.

11^3. mither and father’s baith awauk.

12.
O hae ye neer a stable, he says,
Or hae ye neer a barn,
Or hae ye neer a wild-guse house,
Where I might rest till morn?

14^1. My barn is.

14^2. My stable is.

14^3. The house is fu o wild, wild gees.

14^4. They canna be moved.

15^4. Rides in my companie.

16^1. his milk-white.

16^2. And who could ride like him.

16^4. ’Twas far outowre the brim.

_After 16_:

He swam high, and he swam low,
And he swam to and fro,
But he neer could spy the hazel-bush
That would bring him to the brow.

_Comment_: The mother was a witch; made responses for Margaret;
met him in a green habit on his return home. He inquired for the
ford; she directed him to the deepest linn. When he got into the
water, two hounds seized on his horse, and left him to struggle
with the current.

_Willie’s mother had transferred herself to Margaret’s house
according to the variation in 9^4; so she is the witch._

_All this is very paltry. The mother’s curse was enough to drown
Willie without her bestirring herself further._

217

THE BROOM OF COWDENKNOWS

#A.# ‘The Laird of Knotington,’ Percy papers, 1768.

#B.# ‘Bonny May.’ #a.# Herd’s Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p.
308; 1776, I, 98. #b.# Johnson’s Museum, No 110, p. 113.

#C.# ‘Laird o Ochiltree,’ Kinloch MSS, VII, 143; Kinloch’s Ancient
Scottish Ballads, p. 160.

#D.# ‘The Laird o Ochiltree Wa’s,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 517.

#E.# Motherwell’s MS., p. 175.

#F.# ‘Bonny May,’ Gibb MS., p. 9.

#G.# ‘The Broom of Cowdenknows,’ Scott’s Minstrelsy, III, 280, 1803;
III, 37, 1833.

#H.# ‘The Maid o the Cowdenknows,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 137.

#I.# ‘Laird o Lochnie,’ Kinloch MSS, VII, 153; Kinloch’s Ancient
Scottish Ballads, p. 167.

#J.# Kinloch MSS, VI, 11.

#K.# ‘Maiden o the Cowdenknowes,’ Dr Joseph Robertson’s Journal of
Excursions, No 6.

#L.# ‘The Broom of the Cowden Knowes,’ Buchan’s MSS, II, 178.

#M.# ‘Broom o the Cowdenknowes,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of
Scotland, I, 172.

#N.# ‘The Laird of Lochinvar,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 145.

This ballad was widely diffused in Scotland. “It would be useless,” says Motherwell, “to enumerate the titles of the different versions which are common among reciters.” “Each district has its own version,” says Kinloch. So it must have done no little mischief in its day. The earliest known copies, #A#, #B#, are of the second half of the last century.

There is an English “ditty” (not a traditional ballad) of a northern lass who got harm while milking her father’s ewes, which was printed in the first half of the seventeenth century. It is here given in an appendix. This ditty is “to a pleasant Scotch tune called The broom of Cowden Knowes,” and the burden is:

With, O the broome, the bonny broome,
The broome of Cowden Knowes!
Fain would I be in the North Countrey,
To milk my dadyes ewes.

The tune was remarkably popular, and the burden is found, variously modified, in connection with several songs: see Chappell’s Popular Music, pp. 458–461, 613, 783. ‘The Broom of Cowdenknows,’ a “new” song, in the Tea-Table Miscellany, p. 22, Dublin, 1729, has the burden not greatly changed; also #G#, #L#, #M#, of this ballad.

There is very little story to the English ditty. A maid is beguiled by a shepherd-boy while milking her father’s ewes; the consequences are what might be expected; her mother puts her out of doors, and she ranges the world; a young man who hears her complaint offers to marry her, and go to the North Country with her to milk her father’s ewes. The Scottish ballad could not have been developed from a story of this description. On the other hand, it is scarcely to be believed that the author of the English ditty, if he had known the Scottish ballad, would have dropped all the interesting particulars. It is possible that he may have just heard about it, but much more likely that he knew only the burden and built his very slight tale on that. It may be observed that his maid, though she haunts Liddesdale, and should have belonged to Cowdenknowes, was born in Danby Forest, Yorkshire.

Two passages which do not occur in #A# may have been later additions: #D# 9, 10, #F# 5, 6, #G# 13, 14, #M# 19, 20, in which the laird, returning to his men, is told that he has tarried long, and answers that, east or west, he has never seen so bonny a lass as was in the ewe-buchts; and #H# 12–15, #J# 2–5, #L# 5–8, where the laird tries to pass himself off for one of his men, and the maid for one of her mother’s servants (found in part, also, in #G# 9, 10, #I# 5, #M# 12–14). “The maid of a place, such as the maid of the Cowdenknows,” as Dr Joseph Robertson remarks, “means the eldest daughter of the tenant or proprietor, who is generally called by the name of his farm.”[115]

It is obvious that the maid would keep her counsel when she came back to her father. She puts him off with a riddle, #C# 9, #D# 13, #E# 11, #F# 9, #G# 18, #H# 20, #J# 6, #L# 14, #M# 23, #N# 7, which it is the height of absurdity to make her explain, as is done in #A# 11, #B# 4, #C# 10, #D# 14, #E# 12; and so of the exclamation against the shepherd if uttered in the father’s presence, as in #F# 8, #H# 19, #I# 11, #L# 13, #N# 8.

#H# 10, 11 (cf. #D# 6), where the maid asks the man’s name, is a familiar commonplace: see No 39, I, 340 a; No 50, I, 444, 446; No 110, II, 458 ff. (especially p. 473, #H# 3, 4); No 111, II, 478 f.

#M# has many spurious stanzas of its own; as 3–5, 25, 30–32, 35. #N# is quite perverted from 9 to 28. It is impossible that 9–14 should follow upon 8, and stanzas 15–27 have not a genuine word in them.

Cunningham has rewritten the ballad, Songs of Scotland, II, 113. He says that through Dumfriesshire and Galloway the hero is always Lord Lochinvar, and cites this stanza, which he had heard sung:

For I do guess, by your golden-rimmed hat,
And by the silken string,
That ye are the lord of the Lochinvar,
Who beguiles all our young women.

‘Malfred og Sadelmand,’ Kristensen, I, 258, No 99, is an independent ballad, but has some of the traits of this: the maid, who is treated with great violence, asks the knight’s name, as in #H#, #D#; he comes back to marry her, after she has borne twins.

Cowdenknowes is on the east bank of Leader, near Earlston, and some four or five miles from Melrose. Auchentrone, in #B# #b# 11, Stenhouse conjectures to be a corruption of Auchentroich, an estate in the county of Stirling, and Oakland Hills, in #G#, to be Ochil Hills, in the same county: Musical Museum, IV, 112.

#B# is translated by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, p. 92, No 29.

* * * * *

A

Percy papers; communicated to Percy by R. Lambe, of Norham, August
17, 1768, and dated May, 1768.

1
There was a troop of merry gentlemen
Was riding atween twa knows,
And they heard the voice of a bonny lass,
In a bught milking her ews.

2
There’s ane o them lighted frae off his steed,
And has ty’d him to a tree,
And he’s gane away to yon ew-bught,
To hear what it might be.

3
‘O pity me, fair maid,’ he said,
‘Take pity upon me;
O pity me, and my milk-white steed
That’s trembling at yon tree.’

4
‘As for your steed, he shall not want
The best of corn and hay;
But as to you yoursel, kind sir,
I’ve naething for to say.’

5
He’s taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by the green gown-sleeve,
And he as led her into the ew-bught,
Of her friends he speerd nae leave.

6
He as put his hand in his pocket,
And given her guineas three:
‘If I dinna come back in half a year,
Then luke nae mair for me.

7
‘Now show to me the king’s hie street,
Now show to me the way;
Now show to me the king’s hie street,
And the fair water of Tay.’

8
She showd to him the king’s hie street,
She showd to him the way;
She showd him the way that he was to go,
By the fair water of Tay.

9
When she came hame, her father said,
‘Come, tell to me right plain;
I doubt you’ve met some in the way,
You have not been your lain.’

10
‘The night it is baith mist and mirk,
You may gan out and see;
The night is mirk and misty too,
There’s nae body been wi me.

11
‘There was a tod came to your flock,
The like I neer did see;
When he spake, he lifted his hat,
He had a bonny twinkling eee.’

12
When fifteen weeks were past and gane,
Full fifteen weeks and three,
Then she began to think it lang
For the man wi the twinkling eee.

13
It fell out on a certain day,
When she cawd out her father’s ky,
There was a troop of gentlemen
Came merrily riding by.

14
‘Weel may ye sigh and sob,’ says ane,
‘Weel may you sigh and see;
Weel may you sigh, and say, fair maid,
Wha’s gotten this bairn wi thee?’

15
She turned her sel then quickly about,
And thinking meikle shame,
‘O no kind sir, it is na sae,
For it has a dad at hame.’

16
‘O hawd your tongue, my bonny lass,
Sae loud as I hear you lee!
For dinna you mind that summer night
I was in the bught wi thee?’

17
He lighted off his milk-white steed,
And set this fair maid on;
‘Now caw out your ky, good father,’ he said,
‘She’ll neer caw them out again.

18
‘I am the laird of Knottington,
I’ve fifty plows and three;
I’ve gotten now the bonniest lass
That is in the hale country.’

* * * * *

B

#a.# Herd’s Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 308. #b.#
Johnson’s Museum, No 110, p. 113.

1
It was on an evning sae saft and sae clear
A bonny lass was milking the kye,
And by came a troup of gentlemen,
And rode the bonny lassie by.

2
Then one of them said unto her,
‘Bonny lass, prythee shew me the way:’
‘O if I do sae, it may breed me wae,
For langer I dare nae stay.’

* * * * * *

3
But dark and misty was the night
Before the bonny lass came hame:
‘Now where hae you been, my ae doughter?
I am sure you was nae your lane.’

4
‘O father, a tod has come oer your lamb,
A gentleman of high degree,
And ay whan he spake he lifted his hat,
And bonny, bonny blinkit his ee.’

5
Or eer six months were past and gane,
Six months but and other three,
The lassie begud for to fret and to frown,
And think lang for his blinkin ee.

6
‘O wae be to my father’s shepherd,
An ill death may he die!
He bigged the bughts sae far frae hame,
And trysted a gentleman to me!’

7
It fell upon another fair evening
The bonny lassie was milking her ky,
And by came the troop of gentlemen,
And rode the bonny lassie by.

8
Then one of them stopt, and said to her,
‘Whae’s aught that baby ye are wi?’
The lassie began for to blush, and think,
To a father as good as ye.

9
‘O had your tongue, my bonny may,
Sae loud I hear you lie!
O dinnae you mind the misty night
I was in the bught with thee?’

10
Now he’s come aff his milk-white steed,
And he has taen her hame:
‘Now let your father bring hame the ky,
You neer mair shall ca them agen.

11
‘I am a lord of castles and towers,
With fifty ploughs of land and three,
And I have gotten the bonniest lass
That is in this countrie.’

* * * * *

C

Kinloch MSS, VII, 143, from the recitation of Jenny Watson, 24
April, 1826; Clydesdale.

1
It was on a day whan a lovely may
Was cawing out her father’s kye,
And she spied a troop o’ gentlemen,
As they war passing bye.

2
‘O show me the way, my pretty maid,
O show me the way,’ said he;
‘My steed has just now rode wrong,
And the way I canna see.’

3
‘O haud you on the same way,’ she said,
‘O haud ye on ‘t again,
For, if ye haud on the king’s hieway,
Rank rievers will do ye na harm.’

4
He took her by the milk-white hand,
And by the gerss-green sleeve,
And he has taiglet wi the fair may,
And of her he askd na leave.

5
Whan ance he got her gudwill,
Of her he craved na mair,
But he poud out a ribbon frae his pouch,
And snooded up the may’s hair.

6
He put his hand into his pouch,
And gave her guineas three:
‘If I come na back in twenty weeks,
Ye need na look mair for me.’

7
But whan the may did gang hame,
Her father did her blame;
‘Whare hae ye been now, dame?’ he said
‘For ye’ve na been your lane.’

8
‘The nicht is misty and mirk, father,
Ye may come to the door and see;
The nicht is misty and mirk, father,
And there’s na body wi me.

9
‘But there cam a tod to your flock, father,
The like o him I never saw;
Or he had tane the lambie that he had,
I wad rather he had tane them aw.

10
‘But he seemd to be a gentleman,
Or a man of some pious degree;
For whanever he spak, he lifted up his hat,
And he had [a] bonnie twinkling ee.’

11
Whan twenty weeks were come and gane,
Twenty weeks and three,
The lassie began to grow thick in the waist,
And thoucht lang for his twinkling ee.

12
It fell upon a day whan bonnie may
Was cawing out the kye,
She spied the same troop o gentlemen,
As they war passing bye.

13
‘O well may you save, my pretty may,
Weill may you save and see!
Weill may ye save, my lovely may!
Go ye wi child to me?’

14
But the may she turnd her back to him,
She begoud to think meikle shame;
‘Na, na, na, na, kind sir,’ she said,
‘I’ve a gudeman o my ain.’

15
‘Sae loud as I hear ye lie, fair may,
Sae loud as I hear ye lee!
Dinna ye mind o yon misty nicht
Whan I was in the bucht wi thee?’

16
He lichted aff his hie, hie horse,
And he set the bonnie may on:
‘Now caw out your kye, gud father,
Ye maun caw them out your lone.

17
‘For lang will ye caw them out,
And weary will ye be,
Or ye get your dochter again
. . . . . . .

18
He was the laird o Ochiltree,
Of therty ploughs and three,
And he has stown awa the loveliest may
In aw the south cuntree.

* * * * *

D

Motherwell’s MS., p. 517; from the singing of Mrs Storie, of
Lochwinnoch.

1
O bonnie May is to the yowe-buchts gane,
For to milk her daddie’s yowes,
And ay she sang, and her voice it rang
Out-ower the tap o the knows, knows, knowes,
Out-owr the tap o the knowes.

2
Ther cam a troop o gentilmen,
As they were rydand by,
And ane o them he lichtit doun,
For to see May milkand her kye.

3
‘Milk on, milk on, my bonnie lass,
Milk on, milk on,’ said he,
‘For out o the buchts I winna gang
Till ye shaw me owr the lee.’

4
‘Ryde on, ryde on, ye rank rydars,
Your steeds are stout and strang,
For out o the yowe-buchts I winna gae,
For fear that ye do me some wrang.’

5
He took her by the milk-white hand,
And by the green gown-sleive,
And thare he took his will o her,
Bot o her he askit nae leive.

6
But whan he gat his will o her
He loot her up again,
And a’ this bonny maid said or did
Was, Kind sir, tell me your name.

7
He pou’t out a sillar kame,
Sayand, Kame your yellow hair;
And, gin I be na back in three quarters o a year,
It’s o me ye’ll see nae mair.

8
He pu’t out a silken purse
And he gied her guineas thrie,
Saying, Gin I may na be back in three quarters o a year,
It will pay the nourice fee.

9
He put his fut into the stirrup
And rade after his men,
And a’ that his men said or did
Was, Kind maister, ye’ve taiglit lang.

10
‘I hae rade east, I hae rade wast,
And I hae rade owr the knowes,
But the bonniest lassie that I ever saw
Was in the yowe-buchts, milkand her yowes.’

11
She put the pail upon her heid,
And she’s gane merrilie hame,
And a’ that her faither said or did
Was, Kind dochter, ye’ve taiglit lang.

12
‘Oh, wae be to your men, faither,
And an ill deth may they die!
For they cawit a’ the yowes out-owre the knowes,
And they left naebody wi me.

13
‘There cam a tod unto the bucht,
The like I never saw,
An, afore that he took the ane that he took,
I wad leifar he had tane ither twa.

14
‘There cam a tod unto the bucht,
The like I never did see,
And, ay as he spak, he liftit his hat,
And he had a bonnie twinkland ee.’

15
It was on a day, and it was a fine simmer day,
She was cawing out her faither’s kye,
There cam a troup o gentilmen,
And they rade ways the lass near by.

16
‘Wha has dune to you this ill, my dear?
Wha has dune to you this wrang?’
And she had na a word to say for hersell
But, ‘Kind sir, I hae a man o my ain.’

17
‘Ye lie, ye lie, bonnie May,’ he says,
‘Aloud I hear ye lie!
For dinna ye mind yon bonnie simmer nicht
Whan ye war in the yowe-buchts wi me?

18
‘Licht doun, licht doun, my foremaist man,
Licht doun and let her on,
For monie a time she cawit her faither’s kye,
But she’ll neir caw them again.

19
‘For I am the laird o Ochiltree Wawis,
I hae threttie pleuchs and thrie,
And I hae tane awa the bonniest lass
That is in a’ the north countrie.’

* * * * *

E

Motherwell’s Manuscript, p. 175; “from the recitation of Mrs
Thomson, Kilbarchan, a native of Dumbartonshire, where she learned
it.”

1
There was a may, and a bonnie may,
In the bught, milking the ewes,
And by came a troop of gentlemen,
And they rode by and by.

2
‘O I’ll give thee my milk-white steed,
It cost me three hundred pound,
If ye’ll go to yon sheep-bught,
And bring yon fair maid doun.’

3
‘Your steed ye canna want, master,
But pay to ane a fee;
Fifty pound of good red gold,
To be paid down to me.’

4
‘Come shew me the way, pretty may,’ he said,
‘For our steeds are quite gone wrong;
Will you do to me such a courtesy
As to shew us the near-hand way?’

5
‘O go ye doun to yon meadow,
Where the people are mowing the hay;
Go ye doun to yon meadow,
And they’ll shew you the near-hand way.’

6
But he’s taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He’s bowed her body to the ground,
Of her kin he asked no leave.

7
When he lifted her up again
He’s gien her guineas three:
‘If I be na back gin three quarters o a year,
Ye need neer think mair on me.’

* * * * * *

8
‘O where hast thou been, bonnie may,’ he said,
‘O where hast thou been sae lang?
O where hast thou been, bonnie may?’ he said,
‘Thou hast na been sae lang thy lane.’

9
‘O come to the door and see, father,
O come to the door and see,
And see such a weety and a windy night;
There were nobody wi me.

10
‘But wae be to your herd, father,
And an ill death may he die!
For he left the ewes strayed owre the knowes,
And he left naebody wi me.

11
‘But there came a tod to your bught, father,
The like o him I neer saw;
For or he had taen the bonnie lamb he took,
Ye had as weel hae gien them a’.

12
‘There came a tod to your bught, father,
The like o him I neer did see;
For aye when he spak he lifted up his hat,
And he had a bonnie twinkling ee.’

13
But when twenty weeks were come and gane,
Aye, twenty weeks and three,
This lassie began to spit and to spew,
And to lang for the twinkling ee.

14
It fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day,
She was ca‘ing out her father’s kye,
And by came a troop of gentlemen,
And they rode by and by.

15
‘O wha got the bairn wi thee, bonnie may?
O wha got the bairn wi thee?’
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

16
She turned hersell right round about.
She began to blush and think shame,
And never a word this bonnie lassie spok
But ‘I have a good-man at hame.’

17
‘Thou lie, thou lie, my bonnie may,
Sae loud I hear thee lie!
Do ye mind o the weety and windy night
When I was in the ewe-bught wi thee?

18
‘Light off, light off, the gentlest of my men,
And set her on behind,
And ca out your kye, good father, yoursell,
For she’ll never ca them out again.’

19
He was the laird o twenty plough o land,
Aye, twenty plough and three,
And he’s taen awa the bonniest lass
Was in a’ the south countrie.

* * * * *

F

Gibb MS., p. 9. “From recitation; traced to Mary Jack, Lochlee,
Forfarshire, died 1881, aged 94.”

1
Bonny may has to the ewe-bughts gane,
To milk her father’s ewes,
An aye as she milked her bonny voice rang
Far out amang the knowes.

* * * * * *

2
‘Milk on, milk on, my bonny, bonny may,
Milk on, milk on,’ said he;
‘Milk on, milk on, my bonny, bonny may;
Will ye shew me out-ower the lea?’

3
‘Ride on, ride on, stout rider,’ she said,
‘Yere steed’s baith stout and strang;
For out o the ewe-bught I daurna come,
For fear ye do me wrang.’

4
But he’s tane her by the milk-white hand,
An by the green gown-sleeve,
An he’s laid her low on the dewy grass,
An at nae ane spiered he leave.

5
Then he’s mounted on his milk-white steed,
An ridden after his men,
An a’ that his men they said to him
Was, Dear master, ye’ve tarried lang.

6
‘I’ve ridden east, an I’ve ridden wast,
An I’ve ridden amang the knowes,
But the bonniest lassie eer I saw
Was milkin her daddie’s yowes.’

7
She’s taen the milk-pail on her heid,
An she’s gane langin hame,
An a her father said to her
Was, Daughter, ye’ve tarried lang.

8
‘Oh, wae be to your shepherds! father,
For they take nae care o the sheep;
For they’ve bygit the ewe-bught far frae hame,
An they’ve trysted a man to me.

9
‘There came a tod unto the bucht,
An a waefu tod was he,
An, or ever he had tane that ae ewe-lamb,
I had rather he had tane ither three.’

10
But it fell on a day, an a bonny summer day,
She was ca’in out her father’s kye,
An bye came a troop o gentlemen,
Cam ridin swiftly bye.

11
Out an spoke the foremost ane,
Says, Lassie hae ye got a man?
She turned herself saucy round about,
Says, Yes, I’ve ane at hame.

12
‘Ye lee, ye lee, ye my bonny may,
Sae loud as I hear ye lee!
For dinna ye mind that misty nicht
Ye were in the ewe-bughts wi me?’

13
He ordered ane o his men to get down;
Says, Lift her up behind me;
Your father may ca in the kye when he likes,
They sall neer be ca’ed in by thee.

14
‘For I’m the laird o Athole swaird,
Wi fifty ploughs an three,
An I hae gotten the bonniest lass
In a’ the north countrie.’

* * * * *

G

Scott’s Minstrelsy, III, 280, 1803; from Ettrick Forest.

1
O the broom, and the bonny, bonny broom,
And the broom of the Cowdenknows!
And aye sae sweet as the lassie sang,
I the bought, milking the ewes.

2
The hills were high on ilka side,
An the bought i the lirk o the hill,
And aye, as she sang, her voice it rang
Out-oer the head o yon hill.

3
There was a troop o gentlemen
Came riding merrilie by,
And one o them has rode out o the way,
To the bought to the bonny may.

4
‘Weel may ye save an see, bonny lass,
An weel may ye save an see!’
‘An sae wi you, ye weel-bred knight,
And what’s your will wi me?’

5
‘The night is misty and mirk, fair may,
And I have ridden astray,
And will ye be so kind, fair may,
As come out and point my way?’

6
‘Ride out, ride out, ye ramp rider!
Your steed’s baith stout and strang;
For out of the bought I dare na come,
For fear at ye do me wrang.’

7
‘O winna ye pity me, bonny lass?
O winna ye pity me?
An winna ye pity my poor steed,
Stands trembling at yon tree?’

8
‘I wadna pity your poor steed,
Tho it were tied to a thorn;
For if ye wad gain my love the night
Ye wad slight me ere the morn.

9
‘For I ken you by your weel-busked hat,
And your merrie twinkling ee,
That ye’re the laird o the Oakland hills,
An ye may weel seem for to be.’

10
‘But I am not the laird o the Oakland hills,
Ye’re far mistaen o me;
But I’m ane o the men about his house,
An right aft in his companie.’

11
He’s taen her by the middle jimp,
And by the grass-green sleeve,
He’s lifted her over the fauld-dyke,
And speerd at her sma leave.

12
O he’s taen out a purse o gowd,
And streekd her yellow hair:
‘Now take ye that, my bonnie may,
Of me till you hear mair.’

13
O he’s leapt on his berry-brown steed,
An soon he’s oertaen his men;
And ane and a’ cried out to him,
O master, ye’ve tarryd lang!

14
‘O I hae been east, and I hae been west,
An I hae been far oer the knows,
But the bonniest lass that ever I saw
Is i the bought, milkin the ewes.’

15
She set the cog upon her head,
An she’s gane singing hame:
‘O where hae ye been, my ae daughter?
Ye hae na been your lane.’

16
‘O nae body was wi me, father,
O nae body has been wi me;
The night is misty and mirk, father,
Ye may gang to the door and see.

17
‘But wae be to your ewe-herd, father,
And an ill deed may he die!
He bug the bought at the back o the know
And a tod has frighted me.

18
‘There came a tod to the bought-door,
The like I never saw;
And ere he had taken the lamb he did
I had lourd he had taen them a’.’

19
O whan fifteen weeks was come and gane,
Fifteen weeks and three,
That lassie began to look thin and pale,
An to long for his merry-twinkling ee.

20
It fell on a day, on a het simmer day,
She was ca’ing out her father’s kye,
By came a troop o gentlemen,
A’ merrilie riding bye.

21
‘Weel may ye save an see, bonny may!
Weel may ye save and see!
Weel I wat ye be a very bonny may,
But whae’s aught that babe ye are wi?’

22
Never a word could that lassie say,
For never a ane could she blame,
An never a word could the lassie say,
But, I have a good man at hame.

23
‘Ye lied, ye lied, my very bonny may,
Sae loud as I hear you lie!
For dinna ye mind that misty night
I was i the bought wi thee?

24
‘I ken you by your middle sae jimp,
An your merry-twinkling ee,
That ye’re the bonny lass i the Cowdenknow,
An ye may weel seem for to be.’

25
Than he’s leapd off his berry-brown steed,
An he’s set that fair may on:
‘Caw out your kye, gude father, yoursel,
For she’s never caw them out again.

26
‘I am the laird of the Oakland hills,
I hae thirty plows and three,
An I hae gotten the bonniest lass
That’s in a’ the south country.’

* * * * *

H

Kinloch MSS, I, 137; from Mrs Boutchart.