Chapter XXX: Appendix (6)

4
‘Your love was not riding, nor yet was he running,
But fast was he walking alone;
He says that he will be here this night to thee,
And forbids you to think long.’

5
Then Willie he has gane to his love’s door,
And gently tirled the pin:
‘O sleep ye, wake ye, my bonny Meggie,
Ye’ll rise, lat your true love in.’

6
The lassie being swack ran to the door fu snack,
And gently she lifted the pin,
Then into her arms sae large and sae lang
She embraced her bonny love in.

7
‘O will ye gang to the cards or the dice,
Or to a table o wine?
Or will ye gang to a well-made bed,
Well coverd wi blankets fine?’

8
‘O I winna gang to the cards nor the dice.
Nor yet to a table o wine;
But I’ll rather gang to a well-made bed,
Well coverd wi blankets fine.’

9
‘My braw little cock, sits on the house tap,
Ye’ll craw not till it be day,
And your kame shall be o the gude red gowd,
And your wings o the siller grey.’

10
The cock being fause untrue he was,
And he crew an hour ower seen;
They thought it was the gude day-light,
But it was but the light o the meen.

11
‘Ohon, alas!’ says bonny Meggie then,
‘This night we hae sleeped ower lang!’
‘O what is the matter?’ then Willie replied,
‘The faster then I must gang.’

12
Then Sweet Willie raise, and put on his claise,
And drew till him stockings and sheen,
And took by his side his berry-brown sword,
And ower yon lang hill he’s gane.

13
As he gaed ower yon high, high hill,
And down yon dowie den,
Great and grievous was the ghost he saw,
Would fear ten thousand men.

14
As he gaed in by Mary kirk,
And in by Mary stile,
Wan and weary was the ghost
Upon sweet Willie did smile.

15
‘Aft hae ye travelld this road, Willie,
Aft hae ye travelld in sin;
Ye neer said sae muckle for your saul
As My Maker bring me hame!

16
‘Aft hae ye travelld this road, Willie,
Your bonny love to see;
But ye’ll never travel this road again
Till ye leave a token wi me.’

17
Then she has taen him Sweet Willie,
Riven him frae gair to gair,
And on ilka seat o Mary’s kirk
O Willie she hang a share;
Even abeen his love Meggie’s dice,
Hang’s head and yellow hair.

18
His father made moan, his mother made moan,
But Meggie made muckle mair;
His father made moan, his mother made moan,
But Meggie reave her yellow hair.

256

ALISON AND WILLIE

#A.# ‘My luve she lives in Lincolnshire,’ Harris MS., fol. 18 b; Mrs
Harris. #b.# ‘Alison’ Buchan’s MSS., I, 231.

Alison gaily invites Willie to her wedding; he will not come unless to be the bridegroom, with her for bride. That day you will never see, says Alison; once on your horse, you will have no more mind of me than if I were dead. Willie rides slowly away, and his heart breaks with the pains of love; he dies by the way, and is left to the birds. A letter stops the wedding, and breaks Alison’s heart.

Stanza 7 must be left to those who can interpret Thomas of Erceldoune’s prophecies.

* * * * *

1
‘My luve she lives in Lincolnshire,
I wat she’s neither black nor broun,
But her hair is like the thread o gowd,
Aye an it waur weel kaimëd doun.’

2
She’s pued the black mask owre her face,
An blinkit gaily wi her ee:
‘O will you to my weddin come,
An will you bear me gude companie?’

3
‘I winna to your weddin come,
Nor [will] I bear you gude companie,
Unless you be the bride yoursell,
An me the bridegroom to be.’

4
‘For me to be the bride mysel,
An you the bonnie bridegroom to be—
Cheer up your heart, Sweet Willie,’ she said,
‘For that’s the day you’ll never see.

5
‘Gin you waur on your saiddle set,
An gaily ridin on the way,
You’ll hae nae mair mind o Alison
Than she waur dead an laid in clay.’

6
When he was on his saiddle set,
An slowly ridin on the way,
He had mair mind o Alison
Than he had o the licht o day.

7
He saw a hart draw near a hare,
An aye that hare drew near a toun,
An that same hart did get a hare,
But the gentle knicht got neer a toun.

8
He leant him owre his saiddle-bow,
An his heart did brak in pieces three;
Wi sighen said him Sweet Willie,
‘The pains o luve hae taen hald o me.’

9
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
There cam a white horse an a letter,
That stopped the weddin speidilie.

10
She leant her back on her bed-side,
An her heart did brak in pieces three;
She was buried an bemoaned,
But the birds waur Willie’s companie.

* * * * *

#a.#

2^3. Oh. 10^3. He was.

#b.#

But _wanting:_ threads.

2^1. She pu’d: mask aff.

2^2. blinked blythely.

2^3. Says, Will ye.

2^4. Or: gude _wanting_.

3^2. Nor will; gude wanting.

3^4. the bonny bridegroom be.

4^2. to _wanting_.

4^3. Sweet _wanting_.

5^2. And merry.

5^3. Ye’ll mind nae mair o.

5^4. When.

6^2. An weary.

7^1. He spied: draw till.

7^2. aye the.

7^3. An _wanting_.

8^1. leand his back to his.

8^3. said that sweet.

8^4. luve’s taen.

9^{1,2}. Their wedding-day it was well set, And a’ their friends
invited there.

9^3. While came.

9^4. wedding in prepare.

_Before 10^1_: She said, If Willie he be dead, A wedded wife I’ll
never be.

10^1. Then leand her back to her bed-stock.

10^2. Her heart in pieces broke in three.

10^3. then was.

257

BURD ISABEL AND EARL PATRICK

#A.# ‘Burd Bell,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 211.

#B.# ‘Burd Isbel and Sir Patrick,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of
Scotland, I, 76.

#C.# ‘Earl Patrick and Burd Isabel,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 440.

Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, II, 34, I, 42, says that an old woman in Buckie, Enzie, Banff, who died in 1866 at the age of nearly eighty, and whose father was a noted ballad-singer, sang him words which, so far as he could remember, were like those of #B#.

#A.# Unmarried Burd Isabel bears a son to Earl Patrick. He has passed his word to make her his wife in case the expected bairn should be a boy, but his mother objects. He now promises to bring her home after the demise of his parents, and in the mean while builds her a gold and silver bower (which for a reason inscrutable is ‘strawn round wi sand’). Father and mother die; Patrick takes no step to fulfil his engagement, and Isabel asks why. Patrick wishes that a hundred evils may enter him, and he ‘fa oure the brim,’ if ever he marries another; nevertheless he weds a duke’s daughter. His bride has a fancy to see his son, and Patrick sends his aunt (or his grand-aunt, or his great-grand-aunt) to fetch the boy. Isabel dares any woman to take the bairn away. Patrick comes in person. Isabel repeats the words she had used to his aunt, and reminds him of the curse which he had conditionally wished himself at their last interview. The perjured man turns to go away, the hundred evils enter him, and he falls ‘oure the brim.’

#B# has nearly the same story with additional circumstances. Patrick wishes that eleven devils may attend his last day should he wed another woman. When he goes to inquire how Isabel came to refuse the request he had made through his aunt, he takes the opportunity to make over to her child the third part of his land. She has two clerks, her cousins, at her call, who see to the legal formalities pertaining to this transfer; she commits the boy to one of these, and herself goes to an unco land to drive love out of her mind. We hear of nothing worse happening to Earl Patrick for selling his precious soul than his never getting further ben the church than the door.

#C# is a variety of #B#, but not half so long. Whether #B# has added or #C# omitted, no reader will much concern himself to know.

St. 7 (nearly) occurs in No 92, #B# 17, II, 313, and something similar in various ballads.

* * * * *

A

Kinloch MSS, I, 211; “obtained in the North Country, from the
recitation of Mrs Charles.”

1
There is a stane in yon water,
It’s lang or it grow green;
It’s a maid that maks her ain fortune,
It’ll never end its leen.

2
Burd Bell was na full fyfteen
Till to service she did gae;
Burd Bell was na full sixteen
Till big wi bairn was scho.

* * * * * *

3
‘Burd Bell she is a gude woman,
She bides at hame wi me;
She never seeks to gang to church,
But bides at hame wi me.’

4
It fell ance upon a day
She fell in travail-pain;
He is gane to the stair-head
Some ladies to call in.

5
‘O gin ye hae a lass-bairn, Burd Bell,
A lass-bairn though it be,
Twenty ploughs bot and a mill
Will mak ye lady free.

6
‘But gin ye hae a son, Burd Bell,
Ye’se be my wedded wife,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .’

7
The knichts they knack their white fingers,
The ladies sat and sang,
T was a’ to cheer bonnie Burd Bell,
She was far sunk in pain.

* * * * * *

8
Earl Patrick is to his mither gane,
As fast as he could hie:
‘An askin, an askin, dear mither,
An askin I want frae thee.

9
‘Burd Bell has born to me a son;
What sail I do her wi?’
‘Gie her what ye like, Patrick,
Mak na her your ladie.’

10
He has gane to bonnie Burd Bell,
Hir heart was pressd wi care:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

11
‘My father will dee, bonnie Burd Bell,
My mither will do the same,
And whan ye hear that they are gane
It’s then I’ll bring ye hame.’

12
Earl Patrick’s bigget to her a hour,
And strawn it round wi sand;
He coverd it wi silver on the outside,
Wi the red gowd within.

13
It happened ance upon a day
She was kaiming his yellow hair,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

14
‘Your father is dead, Earl Patrick,
Your mither is the same;
And what is the reason, Earl Patrick,
Ye winna tak me hame?’

15
‘I’ve bigget to you a bonnie bour,
I’ve strawn it round wi sand;
I’ve coverd it wi silver on the outside,
Wi gude red gowd within.

16
‘If eer I marry anither woman,
Or bring anither hame,
I wish a hundred evils may enter me,
And may I fa oure the brim!’

17
It was na very lang after this
That a duke’s dochter he’s wed,
Wi a waggon fu of gowd
. . . . . . .

18
Burd Bell lookit oure her castle-wa,
And spied baith dale and down,
And there she saw Earl Patrick’s aunt
Come riding to the town.

19
‘What want ye here, Earl Patrick’s aunt?
What want ye here wi me?’
‘I want Earl Patrick’s bonnie young son;
His bride fain wad him see.’

20
‘I wad like to see that woman or man,
Of high or low degree,
That wad tak the bairn frae my foot
That I ance for bowd my knee.’

* * * * * *

21
‘Burd Bell, she’s the bauldest woman
That ever I did see:’
‘It’s I’ll gang to bonnie Burd Bell,
She was never bauld to me.’

22
Burd Bell lookit oure her castle-wa,
Behauding brave dale and down,
And there she spied him Earl Patrick
Slowly riding to the town.

23
‘What said ye to my great-grand-aunt
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .’

24
‘I said nathing to your great-grand-aunt
But I will say to thee:
I wad like to see the woman or man,
Of high or low degree,
That wad tak the bairn frae my foot
I ance for bowd my knee.

25
‘O dinna ye mind, Earl Patrick,
The vows ye made to me,
That a hundred evils wad enter you
If ye provd fause to me?’

26
He’s turnd him richt and round about,
His horse head to the wind,
The hundred evils enterd him,
And he fell oure the brim.

* * * * *

B

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 76.

1
Take warning, a’ ye young women,
Of low station or hie,
Lay never your love upon a man
Above your ain degree.

2
Thus I speak by Burd Isbel;
She was a maid sae fair,
She laid her love on Sir Patrick,
She’ll rue it for evermair.

3
And likewise, a’ ye sprightly youths,
Of low station or hie,
Lay never your love upon a maid
Below your ain degree.

4
And thus I speak by Sir Patrick,
Who was a knight sae rare;
He’s laid his love on Burd Isbel,
He’ll rue it for evermair.

5
Burd Isbel was but ten years auld,
To service she has gane;
And Burd Isbel was but fifeteen
Whan her young son came hame.

6
It fell ance upon a day
Strong travelling took she;
None there was her bower within
But Sir Patrick and she.

7
‘This is a wark now, Sir Patrick,
That we twa neer will end;
Ye’ll do you to the outer court
And call some women in.’

8
He’s done him to the outer court,
And stately there did stand;
Eleven ladies he’s calld in,
Wi ae shake o his hand.

9
‘Be favourable to Burd Isbel,
Deal favourable if ye may;
Her kirking and her fair wedding
Shall baith stand on ae day.

10
‘Deal favourable to Burd Isbel,
Whom I love as my life;
Ere this day month be come and gane,
She’s be my wedded wife.’

11
Then he is on to his father,
Fell low down on his knee;
Says, Will I marry Burd Isbel?
She’s born a son to me.

12
‘O marry, marry Burd Isbel,
Or use her as ye like;
Ye’ll gar her wear the silks sae red
And sae may ye the white.
O woud ye marry Burd Isbel,
Make her your heart’s delight?

13
‘You want not lands nor rents, Patrick,
You know your fortune’s free;
But ere you’d marry Burd Isbel
I’d rather bury thee.

14
‘Ye’ll build a bower for Burd Isbel,
And set it round wi sand;
Make as much mirth in Isbel’s bower
As ony in a’ the land.’

15
Then he is to his mother gane,
Fell low down on his knee:
‘O shall I marry Burd Isbel?
She’s born a son to me.’

16
‘O marry, marry Burd Isbel,
Or use her as ye like;
Ye’ll gar her wear the silks sae red,
And sae may ye the white.
O would ye marry Burd Isbel,
Make her wi me alike?

17
‘You want not lands and rents, Patrick,
You know your fortune’s free;
But ere you marry Burd Isbel
I’d rather bury thee.

18
‘Ye’ll build a bower to Burd Isbel,
And set it round wi glass;
Make as much mirth in Isbel’s bower
As ony in a’ the place.’

19
He’s done him down thro ha, thro ha,
Sae has he in thro bower;
The tears ran frae his twa grey eyes,
And loot them fast down pour.

20
‘My father and my mother baith
To age are coming on;
When they are dead and buried baith,
Burd Isbel I’ll bring home.’

21
The words that passd atween these twa
Ought never to be spoken;
The vows that passd atween these twa
Ought never to be broken.

22
Says he, If I another court,
Or wed another wife,
May eleven devils me attend
At the end-day o my life.

23
But his father he soon did die,
His mother nae lang behind;
But Sir Patrick of Burd Isbel
He now had little mind.

24
It fell ance upon a day,
As she went out to walk,
And there she saw him Sir Patrick,
Going wi his hound and hawk.

25
‘Stay still, stay still, now Sir Patrick,
O stay a little wee,
And think upon the fair promise
Last year ye made to me.

26
‘Now your father’s dead, kind sir,
And your mother the same;
Yet nevertheless now, Sir Patrick,
Ye’re nae bringing me hame.’

27
‘If the morn be a pleasant day,
I mean to sail the sea,
To spend my time in fair England,
All for a month or three.’

28
He hadna been in fair England
A month but barely ane
Till he forgot her Burd Isbel,
The mother of his son.

29
Some time he spent in fair England,
And when returnd again
He laid his love on a duke’s daughter,
And he has brought her hame.

30
Now he’s forgot his first true love
He ance lovd ower them a’;
But now the devil did begin
To work between them twa.

31
When Sir Patrick he was wed,
And all set down to dine,
Upon his first love, Burd Isbel,
A thought ran in his mind.

32
He calld upon his gude grand-aunt
To come right speedilie;
Says, Ye’ll gae on to Burd Isbel,
Bring my young son to me.

33
She’s taen her mantle her about,
Wi gowd gloves on her hand,
And she is on to Burd Isbel,
As fast as she coud gang.

34
She haild her high, she haild her low,
With stile in great degree:
‘O busk, O busk your little young son,
For he maun gang wi me.’

35
‘I woud fain see the one,’ she said,
‘O low station or hie,
Woud take the bairn frae my foot,
For him I bowed my knee.

36
‘I woud fain see the one,’ she said,
‘O low station or mean,
Woud take the bairn frae my foot
Whom I own to be mine.’

37
Then she has done her hame again,
As fast as gang coud she;
‘Present,’ said he, ‘my little young son,
For him I wish to see.’

38
‘Burd Isbel’s a bauld woman,’ she said,
‘As eer I yet spake wi;’
But sighing said him Sir Patrick,
She ne’er was bauld to me.

39
But he’s dressd in his best array,
His gowd rod in his hand,
And he is to Burd Isbel’s bower,
As fast as he coud gang.

40
‘O how is this, Burd Isbel,’ he said,
‘So ill ye’ve used me?
What gart you anger my gude grand-aunt,
That I did send to thee?’

41
‘If I hae angerd your gude grand-aunt,
O then sae lat it be;
I said naething to your gude grand-aunt
But what I’ll say to thee.

42
‘I woud fain see the one, I said,
O low station or hie,
Wha woud take this bairn frae my foot,
For him I bowed the knee.

43
‘I woud fain see the one, I said,
O low station or mean,
Woud take this bairn frae my foot
Whom I own to be mine.’

44
‘O if I had some counsellers here,
And clerks to seal the band,
I woud infeft your son this day
In third part o my land.’

45
‘I hae two couzins, Scottish clerks,
Wi bills into their hand,
An ye’ll infeft my son this day
In third part o your land.’

46
Then he calld in her Scottish clerks,
Wi bills into their hand,
And he’s infeft his son that day
The third part o his land.

47
To ane o these young clerks she spoke,
Clerk John it was his name;
Says, Of my son I gie you charge
Till I return again.

48
‘Ye’ll take here my son, clerk John,
Learn him to dance and sing,
And I will to some unco land,
Drive love out of my mind.

49
‘And ye’ll take here my son, clerk John,
Learn him to hunt the roe,
And I will to some unco land;
Now lat Sir Patrick go.

50
‘But I’ll cause this knight at church-door stand,
For a’ his noble train;
For selling o his precious soul
Dare never come farther ben.’

* * * * *

C

Motherwell’s MS., p. 440.

1
All young maidens fair and gay,
Whatever your station be,
Never lay your love upon a man
Above your own degree.

2
I speak it all by Bird Isabel;
She was her father’s dear,
She laid her love on Earl Patrick,
Which she rues ever mair.

3
‘Oh, we began a wark, Patrick,
That we two cannot end;
Go you unto the outer stair
And call some women in.’

4
He’s gone unto the outer stair,
And up in it did stand,
And did bring in eleven ladies,
With one sign of his hand.

5
He did him to the doctor’s shop,
As fast as he could gang,
But ere the doctor could get there
Bird Isabel bore a son.

6
But he has courted a duke’s daughter,
Lived far beyont the sea;
Burd Isabel’s parents were but mean,
They had not gear to gie.

7
He has courted a duke’s daughter,
Lived far beyond the foam;
Burd Isabel was a mean woman,
And tocher she had none.

8
Now it fell once upon a day
His wedding day was come;
He’s hied him to his great-grand-aunt,
As fast as he could gang.

9
Says, Will you go this errand, aunt?
Go you this errand for me,
And if I live and bruick my life
I will go as far for thee.

10
‘Go and bring me Bird Isbel’s son,
Dressed in silks so fine,
And if he live to be a man
He shall heir all my land.’

11
Now she went hailing to the door,
And hailing ben the floor,
And Isabel styled her madame,
And she, her Isabel dear.

12
‘I came to take Earl Patrick’s son,
To dress in silks so fine;
For if he live to be a man
He is to heir his land.’

13
‘Oh is there ever a woman,’ she said,
‘Of high station or mean,
Daur take this bairn from my knee?
For he is called mine.

14
‘Oh is there ever a woman,’ she said,
‘Of mean station or hie,
Daur tak this bairn frae my foot?
For him I bowed my knee.’

15
His aunt went hailing to his door,
And hailing ben the floor,
And she has styled him, Patrick,
And [he] her, aunty dear.

16
She says, I have been east and west,
And far beyond the sea,
But Isabel is the boldest woman
That ever my eyes did see.

17
‘You surely dream, my aunty dear,
For that can never be;
Burd Isabel’s not a bold woman,
She never was bold to me.’

18
Now he went hailing to her door,
And hailing ben the floor,
And she has styled him, Patrick,
And he her, Isabel dear.

19
‘O ye have angered my great-grand-aunt;
You know she’s a lady free;’
‘I said naught to your great-grand-aunt
But what I’ll say to thee.

20
‘Oh is there ever a woman, I said,
Of high station or mean,
Daur tak this bairn from my knee?
For he is called mine.

21
‘Oh is there ever a woman, I said,
Of mean station or hie,
Daur tak this bairn from my foot?
For him I bowed my knee.

22
‘But I’ll cause you stand at good church-door,
For all your noble train;
For selling of your precious soul,
You shall not get further ben.’

258

BROUGHTY WA’S

#a.# ‘Helen,’ Buchan’s MSS, I, 233.

#b.# ‘Burd Hellen,’ or, ‘Browghty Wa’s,’ Harris MS., fol. 17 b; from
Mrs Harris.

A young woman is carried off from Broughty Castle, near Dundee, by a body of armed Highlanders. Her lover, who is making her a visit at the time, is either taken along with her—an unnecessary incumbrance, one would think—or follows her. The pair go out to take the air; she throws herself into a river; her lover leaps in after her and is drowned. She kilts up her clothes and makes her way to Dundee, congratulating herself that she had learned to swim for liberty.

Stanza 9, as it runs in #b#, is a reminiscence of ‘Bonny Baby Livingston,’ and 13 recalls ‘Child Waters,’ or ‘The Knight and the Shepherd’s Daughter.’

* * * * *

1
Burd Helen was her mother’s dear,
Her father’s heir to be;
He was the laird of Broughty Walls,
And the provost o Dundee.

2
Burd Helen she was much admired
By all that were round about;
Unto Hazelan she was betrothed,
Her virgin days were out.

3
Glenhazlen was a comely youth,
And virtuous were his friends;
He left the schools o bonny Dundee
And on to Aberdeen.

4
It fell upon a Christmas Day
Burd Helen was left alone
For to keep her father’s towers;
They stand two miles from town.

5
Glenhazlen’s on to Broughty Walls,
Was thinking to win in;
But the wind it blew, and the rain dang on
And wat him to the skin.

6
He was very well entertaind,
Baith for his bed and board,
Till a band o men surrounded them,
Well armd wi spear and sword.

7
They hurried her along wi them,
Lockd up her maids behind;
They threw the keys out-ower the walls,
That none the plot might find.

8
They hurried her along wi them,
Ower mony a rock and glen,
But, all that they could say or do,
From weeping would not refrain.

9
‘The Hiland hills are hie, hie hills,
The Hiland hills are hie;
They are no like the banks o Tay,
Or bonny town o Dundee.’

10
It fell out ance upon a day
They went to take the air;
She threw hersell upon the stream,
Against wind and despair.

11
It was sae deep he coudna wide,
Boats werna to be found,
But he leapt in after himsell,
And sunk down like a stone.

12
She kilted up her green claiding
A little below her knee,
And never rest nor was undrest
Till she reachd again Dundee.

13
‘I learned this at Broughty Walls,
At Broughty near Dundee,
That if water were my prison strong
I would swim for libertie.’

* * * * *

#a.#

7^2. Tuckd.

#b.#

1^4. the _wanting_.

2^3. But to Hunglen.

3^2. were _wanting_.

4^1. fell oot once upon a time.

4^3. All for.

4^4. stand ten.

5^1. Glenhazlen he cam ridin bye.

5^2. An thinkin to get in.

7^1, 8^1. They hies̄ēd.

7^2. Locked up.

7^3. An flang.

8^4. To weep she wald.

9^{3,4}. An if you wald my favour gain, Oh, tak me to Dundee!

10^1. once upon a time.

10^2. went oot to.

10^3. into the.

10^4. Between.

11^1. The stream was deep.

11^2. So he: after her himsell.

_After 11_:

‘The Highland hills are high, high hills,
The Highland hills are hie;
They’re no like the pleasant banks o Tay,
Nor the bonnie town o Dundee’.

13^3. water waur my prison-walls.

13^4. I could.

259

LORD THOMAS STUART

Maidment’s North Countrie Garland, p. 1.

Lord Thomas Stuart has married a young countess, and has given her Strathbogie and Aboyne for a morning-gift. The lady has a desire to see these places. As they are on their way thither (from Edinburgh), her husband is attacked with a pain which obliges him to turn back; he tells her to ride on, and she seems so to do. The pain proves to be beyond the skill of leeches. Lord Thomas begs his father to see that his wife gets what he has given her. He dies; the horses turn wild in the stables, the hounds howl on the leash. Lady Stuart has the usual dream (No 74, #A# 8, #B# 11, etc.). She comes back wringing her hands; she knows by the horses that are standing about the house that the burial is preparing.

* * * * *

1
Thomas Stuart was a lord,
A lord of mickle land;
He used to wear a coat of gold,
But now his grave is green.

2
Now he has wooed the young countess,
The Countess of Balquhin,
An given her for a morning-gift
Strathboggie and Aboyne.

3
But women’s wit is aye willful,
Alas that ever it was sae!
She longed to see the morning-gift
That her gude lord to her gae.

4
When steeds were saddled an weel bridled,
An ready for to ride,
There came a pain on that gude lord,
His back, likewise his side.

5
He said, Ride on, my lady fair,
May goodness be your guide!
For I’m sae sick an weary that
No farther can I ride.

6
Now ben did come his father dear,
Wearing a golden band;
Says, Is there nae leech in Edinburgh
Can cure my son from wrang?

7
‘O leech is come, an leech is gane,
Yet, father, I’m aye waur;
There’s not a leech in Edinbro
Can death from me debar.

8
‘But be a friend to my wife, father,
Restore to her her own;
Restore to her my morning-gift,
Strathboggie and Aboyne.

9
‘It had been gude for my wife, father,
To me she’d born a son;
He would have got my land an rents,
Where they lie out an in.

10
‘It had been gude for my wife, father,
To me she’d born an heir;
He would have got my land an rents,
Where they lie fine an fair.’

11
The steeds they strave into their stables,
The boys could’nt get them bound;
The hounds lay howling on the leech,
Cause their master was behind.

12
‘I dreamed a dream since late yestreen,
I wish it may be good,
That our chamber was full of swine,
An our bed full of blood.’

13
I saw a woman come from the West,
Full sore wringing her hands,
And aye she cried, Ohon, alas!
My good lord’s broken bands.

14
As she came by my good lord’s bower,
Saw mony black steeds an brown:
‘I’m feared it be mony unco lords
Havin my love from town!’

15
As she came by my gude lord’s bower,
Saw mony black steeds an grey:
‘I’m feared it’s mony unco lords
Havin my love to the clay!’

260

LORD THOMAS AND LADY MARGARET

#A. a.# ‘Lord Thomas,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 407. #b.# ‘Lord Thomas and
Lady Margaret,’ the same, p. 71.

#B.# ‘Clerk Tamas,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 43.

Christie, who gives #B#, “epitomized and slightly changed,” under the title ‘Clerk Tamas and Fair Annie,’ Traditional Ballad Airs, II, 12, says that he can trace the ballad, traditionally, far into the last century.

#A.# Lord Thomas goes a-hunting, and Lady Margaret rides after him; when he sees her following, he orders his servants to hunt her far from him, and they hunt her high and low. She comes upon a tall young man, and begs ‘relief’ from him for a lady wronged in love and chased from her ‘country.’ No relief is to be had from him unless she will renounce all other men and be his wife. After a time, Lady Margaret, sewing at her window, observes a vagrant body, who turns out to be Lord Thomas, reduced to beggary; he has been banished from his own country, and asks relief. No relief from her; she would hang him were he within her bower. Not so, says Lord Thomas; rather he would kill her lord with his broadsword and carry her off. Not so, says Lady Margaret, but you must come in and drink with me. She poisons three bottles of wine, and pretends to be his taster. Lord Thomas drinks away merrily, but soon feels the poison. I am wearied with this drinking, he says. And so was I when you set your hounds at me, she replies; but you shall be buried as if you were one of my own.

#B# has Clerk Tamas for Lord Thomas, and Fair Annie for Lady Margaret. Tamas has loved Annie devotedly, but now hates her and the lands she lives in. Annie goes to ask him to pity her; he sees her coming, as he lies ‘over his shot-window,’ and orders his men to hunt her to the sea. A captain, lying ‘over his ship-window,’ sees Annie driven from the town, and offers to take her in if she will forsake friends and lands for him. The story goes on much as in #A#.

#A# 8 is borrowed from ‘The Douglas Tragedy,’ see No 7, #C# 9. #B# 14^{3,4} is a commonplace, which, in inferior traditional ballads, is often, as here, an out-of-place. #B# 15, 16 is another commonplace, of the silly sort: see No 87, #B# 3, 4, #D# 4, 5, and Buchan’s ‘Lady Isabel,’ 20, 21.

* * * * *

A

#a.# Motherwell’s MS., p. 407; from the recitation of Mrs Parkhill,
Maxweltown, 28 September, 1825 (with variations, furnished by
another person of the same neighborhood, interlined). #b.#
Motherwell’s MS., p. 71; from Miss ——, Glasgow.

1
Lord Thomas is to the hunting gone,
To hunt the fallow deer;
Lady Margaret’s to the greenwood shaw,
To see her lover hunt there.

2
He has looked over his left shoulder,
To see what might be seen,
And there he saw Lady Margaret,
As she was riding her lane.

3
He called on his servants all,
By one, by two, by three:
‘Go hunt, go hunt that wild woman,
Go hunt her far from me!’

4
They hunted her high, they hunted her low,
They hunted her over the plain,
And the red scarlet robes Lady Margaret had on
Would never be mended again.

5
They hunted her high, they hunted her low,
They hunted her over the plain,
Till at last she spy’d a tall young man,
As he was riding alane.

6
‘Some relief, some relief, thou tall young man!
Some relief I pray thee grant me!
For I am a lady deep wronged in love,
And chased from my own countrie.’

7
‘No relief, no relief, thou lady fair,
No relief will I grant unto thee
Till once thou renounce all the men in the world
My wedded wife for to be.’

8
Then he set her on a milk-white steed,
Himself upon a gray,
And he has drawn his hat over his face,
And chearfully they rode away.

9
Lady Margaret was at her bower-window,
Sewing her silken seam,
And there she spy’d, like a wandering bodie,
Lord Thomas begging alane.

10
‘Some relief, some relief, thou lady fair!
Some relief, I pray thee grant me!
For I am a puir auld doited carle,
And banishd from my ain countrie.’

11
‘No relief, no relief, thou perjured man,
No relief will I grant unto thee;
For oh, if I had thee within my bower,
There hanged dead thou would be.’

12
‘No such thing, Lady Margaret,’ he said,
‘Such a thing would never be;
For with my broadsword I would kill thy wedded lord,
And carry thee far off with me.’

13
‘Oh no, no! Lord Thomas,’ she said,
‘Oh, no such things must be;
For I have wine in my cellars,
And you must drink with me.’

14
Lady Margaret then called her servants all,
By one, by two, by three:
‘Go fetch me the bottles of blude-red wine,
That Lord Thomas may drink with me.’

15
They brought her the bottles of blude-red wine,
By one, by two, by three,
And with her fingers long and small
She poisond them all three.

16
She took the cup in her lilly-white hand,
Betwixt her finger and her thumb,
She put it to her red rosy lips,
But never a drop went down.

17
Then he took the cup in his manly hand,
Betwixt his finger and his thumb,
He put it to his red rosy lips,
And so merrily it ran down.

18
‘Oh, I am wearied drinking with thee, Margaret!
I am wearied drinking with thee!’
‘And so was I,’ Lady Margaret said,
‘When thou hunted thy hounds after me.’

19
‘But I will bury thee, Lord Thomas,’ she said,
‘Just as if thou wert one of my own;
And when that my good lord comes home
I will say thou’s my sister’s son.’

* * * * *

B

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 43.

1
Clerk Tamas lovd her fair Annie
As well as Mary lovd her son;
But now he hates her fair Annie,
And hates the lands that she lives in.

2
‘Ohon, alas!’ said fair Annie,
‘Alas! this day I fear I’ll die;
But I will on to sweet Tamas,
And see gin he will pity me.’

3
As Tamas lay ower his shott-window,
Just as the sun was gaen down,
There he beheld her fair Annie,
As she came walking to the town.

4
‘O where are a’ my well-wight men,
I wat, that I pay meat and fee,
For to lat a’ my hounds gang loose
To hunt this vile whore to the sea.’

5
The hounds they knew the lady well,
And nane o them they woud her bite,
Save ane that is ca’d Gaudywhere,
I wat he did the lady smite.

6
‘O wae mat worth ye, Gaudywhere!
An ill reward this is to me;
For ae bit that I gae the lave,
I’m very sure I’ve gien you three.

7
‘For me, alas! there’s nae remeid,
Here comes the day that I maun die;
I ken ye lovd your master well,
And sae, alas for me! did I.’

8
A captain lay ower his ship-window,
Just as the sun was gaen down;
There he beheld her fair Annie,
As she was hunted frae the town.

9
‘Gin ye’ll forsake father and mither,
And sae will ye your friends and kin,
Gin ye’ll forsake your lands sae broad,
Then come and I will take you in.’

10
‘Yes, I’ll forsake baith father and mither,
And sae will I my friends and kin;
Yes, I’ll forsake my lands sae broad,
And come, gin ye will take me in.’

11
Then a’ thing gaed frae fause Tamas,
And there was naething byde him wi;
Then he thought lang for Arrandella,
It was fair Annie for to see.

12
‘How do ye now, ye sweet Tamas?
And how gaes a’ in your countrie?’
‘I’ll do better to you than ever I’ve done,
Fair Annie, gin ye’ll come an see.’

13
‘O Guid forbid,’ said fair Annie,
‘That e’er the like fa in my hand!
Woud I forsake my ain gude lord
And follow you, a gae-through-land?

14
‘Yet nevertheless now, sweet Tamas,
Ye’ll drink a cup o wine wi me,
And nine times in the live lang day
Your fair claithing shall changed be.’

15
Fair Annie pat it till her cheek,
Sae did she till her milk-white chin,
Sae did she till her flattering lips,
But never a drap o wine gaed in.

16
Tamas pat it till his cheek,
Sae did he till his dimpled chin;
He pat it till his rosy lips,
And then the well o wine gaed in.

17
‘These pains,’ said he, ‘are ill to bide;
Here is the day that I maun die;
O take this cup frae me, Annie,
For o the same I am weary.’

18
‘And sae was I o you, Tamas,
When I was hunted to the sea;
But I’se gar bury you in state,
Which is mair than ye’d done to me.’

* * * * *

#A. a.#

12^1. (no such thing) _a second time_; _inserted apparently by
Motherwell_.

_Interlineations_: 2^2. what he might spy. 2^4. riding by.

8^3. his broadsword from his side.

8^4. And slowly.

9^2. To see what she might spy.

9^3. spy’d Lord Thomas.

9^4. A begging along the highway.

10^3. puir oppressed man.

15^1. They glowred, but they brought the blude-red wine.

#b.#

1^1. is a.

1^2. the green wood oer.

1^3. Lady Margaret has followed him.

1^4. To seek her own true-love.

2. _Wanting._

3^1. He has called up his merrie men all.

3^3. Hunt away, hunt away this.

3^4. her away from.

4^1, 5^1. and they.

4^2, 5^2. Till she ran quite over.

4^3. The scarlet robes.

4^4. They can never.

5^3. And there she spied.

5^4. Just as.

6^2. Some relief, some relief grant me.

6^3. lady that is deep, deep in.

6^4. And I am banished from.

7^1. fair ladie.

7^2. No relief, no relief I’ll grant thee.

7^3. Unless you forsake: in this.

7^4. And my: you will be.

8^1. He has mounted her.

8^2. And himself on a dapple.

8^3. The buglet horn hung done by there side.

8^4. And so slowly as they both.

9^1. One day L. M. at her castle-window.

9^2. Was sewing.

9^3. espied L. T.

9^4. A begging all.

10^1. fair ladie.

10^2. Some relief, some relief grant me.

10^{3,4}, 11. No relief, no relief, Lord Thomas, she said, But
hanged thou shalt be.

12^1. O no, O no, Lady.

12^2. For no such things must be.

12^3. But with: I will.

12^4. And I’ll ride far off with thee.

13^1. O no, O no.

13^2. O no: must not.

14^1. She has called up her.

14^2, 15^2. and by.

14^3. Go bring to me a bottle of wine.

15^1. her up a bottle of wine.

15^3. so long.

15^4. The rank poison in put she.

16, 17. _Wanting._

18^1. I’m wearied, I’m wearied, Lady Margaret, he said.

18^2. O I’m: talking to.

18^3. I, Lord Thomas, she.

18^4. you hounded your dogs.

19^1. bury you as one of my own.

19^2. And all in my own ground.

19^4. say you’re.

261

LADY ISABEL

‘Lady Isabel,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 129.

Lady Isabel’s step-mother accuses her of being her father’s leman; he gives her finer gowns than he gives his wife. Isabel replies that, in the first place, she is young, which is reason enough why her gowns should be fairer; but that, as a matter of fact, a lover of hers over seas sends her ten gowns to one that her father buys her. The step-mother invites Isabel to take wine with her. Isabel wishes first to go to a church. At this church she sees her own mother, and asks whether she shall flee the country or drink what has been prepared for her. Her mother enjoins her to drink the dowie drink; before she is cold she will be in a better place. Upon returning, Isabel is again pressed to take wine, and again begs to be excused for the moment; she wishes to see her maids in the garden. She gives her maids ring and brooch. A third time the step-mother proposes that they shall take wine together; the daughter, with due courtesy, begs the elder to begin. The step-mother goes through certain motions customary in ballads of this description, and swallows not a drop; Isabel duly repeats the mummery, but drinks. She has time to tell this wicked dame that their beds will be made very far apart. The step-mother goes mad.

Stanzas 20, 21, as has already been intimated, are a commonplace, and a foolish one. Stanza 24, in various forms, not always well adapted to the particular circumstances, ends several ballads: as No 64, #F#; No 65, #H#; No 66, #A# 28, 29, #B# 20, 21; No 67, #B#; No 70, #B#.

Translated by Gerhard, p. 161.

* * * * *

1
‘T was early on a May morning
Lady Isabel combd her hair;
But little kent she, or the morn
She woud never comb it mair.

2
‘T was early on a May morning
Lady Isabel rang the keys;
But little kent she, or the morn
A fey woman she was.

3
Ben it came her step-mother,
As white ‘s the lily flower:
‘It’s tauld me this day, Isabel,
You are your father’s whore.’

4
‘O them that tauld you that, mother,
I wish they neer drink wine;
For if I be the same woman
My ain sell drees the pine.

5
‘And them that’s tauld you that, mother,
I wish they neer drink ale;
For if I be the same woman
My ain sell drees the dail.’

6
‘It may be very well seen, Isabel,
It may be very well seen;
He buys to you the damask gowns,
To me the dowie green.’

7
‘Ye are of age and I am young,
And young amo my flowers;
The fairer that my claithing be,
The mair honour is yours.

8
‘I hae a love beyond the sea,
And far ayont the faem;
For ilka gown my father buys me,
My ain luve sends me ten.’

9
‘Come ben, come ben now, Lady Isabel,
And drink the wine wi me;
I hae twa jewels in ae coffer,
And ane o them I’ll gie [ye].’

10
‘Stay still, stay still, my mother dear,
Stay still a little while,
Till I gang into Marykirk;
It’s but a little mile.’

11
When she gaed on to Marykirk,
And into Mary’s quire,
There she saw her ain mother
Sit in a gowden chair.

12
‘O will I leave the lands, mother?
Or shall I sail the sea?
Or shall I drink this dowie drink
That is prepar’d for me?’

13
‘Ye winna leave the lands, daughter,
Nor will ye sail the sea,
But ye will drink this dowie drink
This woman’s prepar’d for thee.

14
‘Your bed is made in a better place
Than ever hers will be,
And ere ye’re cauld into the room
Ye will be there wi me.’

15
‘Come in, come in now, Lady Isabel,
And drink the wine wi me;
I hae twa jewels in ae coffer,
And ane o them I’ll gie [ye].’

16
‘Stay still, stay still, my mother dear,
Stay still a little wee,
Till I gang to yon garden green,
My Maries a’ to see.’

17
To some she gae the broach, the broach,
To some she gae a ring;
But wae befa her step-mother!
To her she gae nae thing.

18
‘Come in, come in now, Lady Isabel,
And drink the wine wi me;
I hae twa jewels in ae coffer,
And ane o them I’ll gie [ye].’

19
Slowly to the bower she came,
And slowly enterd in,
And being full o courtesie,
Says, Begin, mother, begin.

20
She put it till her cheek, her cheek,
Sae did she till her chin,
Sae did she till her fu fause lips,
But never a drap gaed in.

21
Lady Isabel put it till her cheek,
Sae did she till her chin,
Sae did she till her rosy lips,
And the rank poison gaed in.

22
‘O take this cup frae me, mother,
O take this cup frae me;
My bed is made in a better place
Than ever yours will be.

23
‘My bed is in the heavens high,
Amang the angels fine;
But yours is in the lowest hell,
To drie torment and pine.’

24
Nae moan was made for Lady Isabel
In bower where she lay dead,
But a’ was for that ill woman,
In the fields mad she gaed.

262

LORD LIVINGSTON

‘Lord Livingston,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II,
39.

As far as can be made out, Livingston and Seaton engage themselves to play against one another at some game, the victor expecting to stand the better in the eyes of a lady. They then proceed to Edinburgh castle, where a lady, whose ‘gowns seem like green,’ marshals the company in pairs, and chooses Livingston for her own partner. This preference enrages Seaton, who challenges Livingston to fight with him the next day. Up to this point the pairing may have been for a dance, or what not, but now we are told that Livingston and the fair dame are laid in the same bed, and further on that they were wedded that same night. In the morning Livingston arms himself for his fight; he declines to let his lady dress herself in man’s clothes and fight in his stead. On his way ‘to plain fields’ a witch warns him that she has had the dream which Sweet William dreams in No 74, and others elsewhere. Livingston is ‘slain,’ but for all that stands presently bleeding by his lady’s knee: see No 73, #B# 34, #D# 17. She begs him to hold out but half an hour, and every leech in Edinburgh shall come to him: see No 88, #A# 12, etc. He orders his lands to be dealt to the auld that may not, the young that cannot, etc.: see No 92, #A# 10, #B# 15. The lady declares that it was known from her birth that she was to marry a knight and lose him the next day. She will now do for his sake what other ladies would not be equal to (and which nevertheless many other ballad-ladies have undertaken, as in No 69 and elsewhere). When seven years are near an end her heart breaks.

This ballad, or something like it, was known at the end of the last century. The story has a faint resemblance to that of ‘Armstrong and Musgrave,’ a broadside printed in the last quarter of the seventeenth century: Crawford Ballads, No 123, Old Ballads, 1723, I, 175; Evans, Old Ballads, 1777, II, 70. Pinkerton acknowledges that he composed the ‘Lord Livingston’ of his Tragic Ballads, 1781, p. 69, but he says that he had “small lines from tradition.” (Ancient Scotish Poems, 1786, I, cxxxi.) Pinkerton’s ballad is the one which Buchan refers to, II, 308. It is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 139, No 21.

* * * * *

1
It fell about the Lammas time,
When wightsmen won their hay,
A’ the squires in merry Linkum
Went a’ forth till a play.

2
They playd until the evening tide,
The sun was gaeing down;
A lady thro plain fields was bound,
A lily leesome thing.

3
Two squires that for this lady pledged,
In hopes for a renown,
The one was calld the proud Seaton,
The other Livingston.

4
‘When will ye, Michaell o Livingston,
Wad for this lady gay?’
‘To-morrow, to-morrow,’ said Livingston,
‘To-morrow, if you may.’

5
Then they hae wadded their wagers,
And laid their pledges down;
To the high castle o Edinbro
They made them ready boun.

6
The chamber that they did gang in,
There it was daily dight;
The kipples were like the gude red gowd,
As they stood up in hight,
And the roof-tree like the siller white,
And shin’d like candles bright.

7
The lady fair into that ha
Was comely to be seen;
Her kirtle was made o the pa,
Her gowns seemd o the green.

8
Her gowns seemd like green, like green,
Her kirtle o the pa;
A siller wand intill her hand,
She marshalld ower them a’.

9
She gae every knight a lady bright,
And every squire a may;
Her own sell chose him Livingston,
They were a comely tway.

10
Then Seaton started till his foot,
The fierce flame in his ee:
‘On the next day, wi sword in hand,
On plain fields meet ye me.’

11
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a’ man bound for bed,
Lord Livingston and his fair dame
In bed were sweetly laid.

12
The bed, the bed where they lay in
Was coverd wi the pa;
A covering o the gude red gowd
Lay nightly ower the twa.

13
So they lay there, till on the morn
The sun shone on their feet;
Then up it raise him Livingston
To draw to him a weed.

14
The first an weed that he drew on
Was o the linen clear;
The next an weed that he drew on,
It was a weed o weir.

15
The niest an weed that he drew on
Was gude iron and steel;
Twa gloves o plate, a gowden helmet,
Became that hind chiel weel.

16
Then out it speaks that lady gay—
A little forbye stood she—
‘I’ll dress mysell in men’s array,
Gae to the fields for thee.’

17
‘O God forbid,’ said Livingston,
‘That eer I dree the shame;
My lady slain in plain fields,
And I coward knight at hame!’

18
He scarcely travelled frae the town
A mile but barely twa
Till he met wi a witch-woman,
I pray to send her wae!

19
‘This is too gude a day, my lord,
To gang sae far frae town;
This is too gude a day, my lord,
On field to make you boun.

20
‘I dreamd a dream concerning thee,
O read ill dreams to guid!
Your bower was full o milk-white swans,
Your bride’s bed full o bluid.’

21
‘O bluid is gude,’ said Livingston,
‘To bide it whoso may;
If I be frae yon plain fields,
Nane knew the plight I lay.’