{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26788/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26788","id":"gutenberg_26788","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26788","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads","Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","English poetry"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\n                              BROWN WILLIAM\n                         THE POWER OF THE HARP\n                                   AND\n                              OTHER BALLADS\n\n\n                                    BY\n                              GEORGE BORROW\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                     PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION\n\n                                   1913\n\n               _Copyright in the United States of America_\n           _by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.\n\n\n\n\nBROWN WILLIAM\n\n\n_This ballad was written in consequence of the execution of William\nChristian_, _generally called William Donn_, _or Brown William_, _from\nthe darkness of his complexion_, _who was shot at Hango Hill_, _near\nCastletown_, _in the Isle of Man_, _shortly after the Restoration_, _for\nalleged treason to the Derby family_, _who long possessed the sovereignty\nof Man_. . . ._ The ballad of_ \u201c_Brown William_,\u201d _which gives an account\nof the betrayal of the poor patriot_, _and the vengeance taken by the\nhand of God upon his murderers_, _is the most popular of all the wild\nsongs of Ellan Vannin_.\n\nLet no one in greatness too confident be,\nNor trust in his kindred, though high their degree;\nFor envy and rage will lay any man low:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nThou wast the Receiver of Mona\u2019s fair state,\nThy conduct was noble, thy wisdom was great,\nAnd ne\u2019er of thy rule did she weariness show:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nThy right hand was Earley, and Theah thy right eye;\nThy state caused thy foemen with rage to swell high;\nAnd envy and rage will lay any man low:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nHow blest thy condition in fair Ronaldsway!\nThy mansion, how stately! thy garden, how gay!\nBut oh! what disasters from envy do flow:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\n\u2019Twas said at thy trial, by men void of faith,\nThe king, by a letter, demanded thy death;\nThe jury was frighten\u2019d, and dared not say \u201cNo!\u201d\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nThe clan of wild Colcad could ne\u2019er be at rest\nWhilst the race of Christeen their own acres possess\u2019d;\nAnd envy and spite will bring any man low:\nThy murder Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nA band of adulterers, curst and unholy,\nFor Ronaldsway lust, as they did for Logh Molley;\nOf Naboth, the tragedy\u2019s played here anew:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nNot one of the band but received his just meed,\nWho acted a part in that damnable deed;\nTo dwindle away the whole band was not slow:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nTo Callaghyn-doo, and to Vannyster roam,\nAnd call on the Colcad till hoarse ye become;\nGone, gone is the name so well known long ago:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nA cripple was Robin for many years long,\nWho troubled and bullied the island when strong;\nHis own friends of tending him weary did grow:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nSly Richard took ship with thy blood on his hand,\nBut God can avenge on the sea as on land;\nThe waves would not bear him, but whelm\u2019d him, I trow:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nAnd now, if a few of the seed do remain,\nThey\u2019re vile as the thistles and briars of the plain;\nThey ply for their neighbours the pick and the hoe:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nShould ye walk through all Man you\u2019ll find no one, I reckon,\nTo mourn for the name that was once in Beemachan;\nBut thousands of poor who rejoice that \u2019tis low:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nProceed to Creganyn, and Balla-logh green,\nBut where\u2019s there a Colcad to bid ye walk in?\nBy strangers their homes and their lands are held now:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nGreat Scarlett, in wealth who dwelt down by the bay,\nMust toil now with paupers for sixpence a-day;\nAnd oft, as I\u2019ve heard, has no morsel to chew:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nThe band by whose weapons the great C\u00e6sar died\nWere hunted by foes, and all peace were denied;\nNot one died the death of kind Nature, O, no!\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nSo it fared with the band by whom Willie did die,\nTheir lands are a waste, their names stink to the sky;\nThey melted like rime in the ruddy sun\u2019s glow:\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nBut comfort I take, for \u2019tis common report\nThere are shoots of dear Will who are sitting at court,\nWho have punished his foes by king\u2019s mandate, although\nThy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.\n\nO, \u2019tis pleasant to think, when one\u2019s wither\u2019d and grey,\nThere\u2019s race of Brown William in fair Ronaldsway,\nThat his foemen are crush\u2019d, and their faces can\u2019t show,\nWhile the clan of Christeen have no trouble or woe. {10}\n\nTo the counsellors false, both in church and in state,\nBear the public of Mona both loathing and hate,\nWho set man against man, and the peace would break now,\nAs thy murder, Brown William, broke hearts long ago.\n\nThe lord of our island, Duke Athol the great,\nThey would gladly persuade, with their parle and their prate,\nThe corner-stones high of his house to lay low,\nAnd to King, Duke and Mona are foemen, I trow.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POWER OF THE HARP\n\n\nSir Peter would forth from the castle ride,\nGrieving and weeping did sit his young bride.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cArt grieving for saddle, or steed black or white,\nOr because I have wed thee art thou in this plight?\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cI grieve not for saddle, or steed black or white,\nNor because thou hast wed me am I in this plight.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cDost sorrow because little wealth I have got,\nOr dost sorrow because thine equal I\u2019m not?\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cI sorrow not because little of wealth thou hast got,\nNor grieve I because thou mine equal art not.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cDost sorrow because thy fond father is dead,\nOr dost sorrow because thou\u2019rt no longer a maid?\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cI grieve not because my dear father is dead,\nNor sorrow I because that I am not a maid.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cI grieve and I weep, and to grieve I have need,\nI know but too well what for me is decreed.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cFor the bridge, the broad bridge, I sorrow much more,\nFor oh! my five sisters together fell o\u2019er.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cI think of the stream, and I sorrow much more,\nMy sisters sank in it and never rose more.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cMy dearest, my dearest, cast sorrow aside,\nBefore thee shall twelve of my merry men ride.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cBefore thee shall twelve of my merry men speed,\nAnd I will myself hold the reins of thy steed.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nAnd when they arrived in the green forest shade\nA hart they beheld at gold tables that played.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nAll stopped at the strange brown hart to take heed,\nAnd allowed the young bride by herself to proceed.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nAnd as the broad bridge she went galloping o\u2019er,\nStumbled her steed on his golden shoes four.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nGolden shoes four, each with golden nails three,\nAnd the bride was cast into the boiling sea.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nSir Peter he turned at her terrified cry,\nBut the bride she had sunk \u2019neath the waters high.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nHe called to his men as their hands they wring:\n\u201cBring quickly my harp with the golden string!\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nSir Peter began with such sweetness to play,\nThat the birds all sang as they sat on the spray.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nThe Merman rose from the depths of the sea,\nAnd the fair young bride by the hand led he.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cSir Peter, Sir Peter, thy playing give o\u2019er,\nThy beautiful bride to thy arms I restore.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cFor my bonny bride only I will not give o\u2019er,\nHer five sisters also thou must restore.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nAnew \u2019gan Sir Peter so sweetly to play,\nThat the birds came down from their seat on the spray.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nThe Merman arose from the depth of the sea,\nFive pretty maids by the hand led he.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\u201cSir Peter, Sir Peter, thy playing give o\u2019er,\nFor in truth have I now no maidens more.\u201d\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\nFrom her anguish now is the Lady free,\nIn the arm of Sir Peter each night sleeps she.\n   _Belov\u2019d of my heart_, _wherefore sorrowest thou so_?\n\n\n\n\nTHE UNFORTUNATE MARRIAGE\n\n\nHildebrand gave his sister away,\nCausing her many a mournful day.\n\nShe was given away and evilly wed,\nJoy from her bosom quickly fled.\n\nOn Sunday she was a graceful bride,\nOn Monday a prisoner sad she sigh\u2019d.\n\n\u201cO what, my Lord, have I done to thee?\u201d\n\u201cWoman, I had no gold with thee.\n\n\u201cThis have I, Dame, to say to thee,\nThou brought\u2019st no silver home to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou knowest I brought thee as my dower\nEight full coffers to thy bower.\n\n\u201cTwo filled with silver, white to see,\nAnd two with gold so ruddy of blee.\n\n\u201cTwo filled with sable and mard skins rare,\nAnd two with pelts of deer and of bear.\n\n\u201cUpon thy father I bestow\u2019d\nGilded saddle and courser proud.\n\n\u201cUpon thy mother did I bestow\nScarlet to place her feet below.\n\n\u201cTo thy brother a ship from off the wave,\nTo your sister gold from my breast I gave.\n\n\u201cAll thy courtiers I have dight\nWith little shirts as ivory white.\n\n\u201cNo serving lass in the house is there\nBut I gave her silk to snood her hair.\n\n\u201cWith what, my Lord, canst me upbraid,\nAnd why in durance am I laid?\u201d\n\n\u201cWoman, to thee I\u2019ve this to say,\nThy brothers my father slew in fray.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf my brothers a deed so dire did dare,\nI in that deed did in no ways share.\n\n\u201cAnd thou for thy father\u2019s death wast paid\nSeven tons of silver, and golden braid.\n\n\u201cWhat more, my Lord, canst thou require,\nTo remove from me thy anger dire?\u201d\n\n\u201cWoman, with this I thee upbraid,\nThou cam\u2019st not into my bed a maid.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo lend me, God, in my trouble aid,\nAs I came into thy bed a maid!\n\n\u201cAnd may God never give me grace,\nIf I came not a maid to thy embrace.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo-day thou shall sit within and mourn,\nTo-morrow at dawn on faggots burn.\u201d\n\nThere she sits and her hands she wrings,\nTill she heard the clang of the Raven\u2019s wings.\n\n\u201cO Raven, Raven, stay thy wing,\nCan\u2019st thou the tune of the watchman sing?\u201d\n\n\u201cO well can I, and well I ought,\nSo little was I when the tune I caught.\u201d\n\n\u201cWilt fly for me, Raven, to Tonne town,\nFor there my friends and kindred wone?\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll give thee, Raven, a red gold band,\nTo carry my message to Hildebrand.\n\n\u201cA red gold band I\u2019ll give to thee,\nTo tell him the tale of my misery.\u201d\n\n\u201cThy gold will do me little good,\nDearer to me my raven food.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Raven, if thou wilt fly for me,\nMy husband\u2019s eyes shall be thy fee.\u201d\n\nAbroad his black wings the Raven threw,\nAnd over three kingly realms he flew.\n\nThe Raven into the chamber sped,\nWhere Hildebrand drank the wine so red.\n\n\u201cHear thou, Hildebrand the young,\nThy sister\u2019s into durance flung.\n\n\u201cHere art thou sitting and drinking wine,\nTo-morrow they\u2019ll burn sweet sister thine.\u201d\n\nHildebrand sprang the table o\u2019er,\nDashing the wine on the marble floor.\n\nHildebrand hies him into the stall,\nThere he beholds the coursers all.\n\nHe viewed the brown, and the gray as well,\nOn the black he laid the gilded selle.\n\n\u201cBlacklille, Blacklille, if me thou\u2019lt bear,\nThou on winnowed wheat all thy days shalt fare.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen willingly, willingly, thee I\u2019ll bear,\nBut to breathe my name thou must not dare.\u201d\n\nHe placed himself Blacklille\u2019s back upon,\nAnd across the sea then away he ran.\n\nAnd when to the midst of the Sound they came,\nHe in evil hour uttered Blacklille\u2019s name.\n\nBlacklille quickly swam to the land,\nBut down to the bottom sank Hildebrand.\n\nOn the Ting stood the damsel at break of day,\nThen heard she afar off Blacklille neigh.\n\nBlacklille ran towards the Ting in wrath,\nBack scattered both women and men from his path.\n\nBlacklille he kicked, the Raven he hewed,\nWith the blood of men was his beak embrued.\n\nBlack took on his back the fair young dame,\nHe went from the Ting and with her was tame.\n\nAnd when they reached the yellow sand,\nUpon it was standing Hildebrand.\n\n\u201cWelcome, sweet Kirsten, dear sister mine,\nWhy is so pallid that cheek of thine?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe reason my cheek so pale is seen,\nIs because I\u2019ve far from my dear home been.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow let no honest man,\u201d she said,\n\u201cInto foreign lands his daughter wed.\n\n\u201cOf gold perhaps he may get a store,\nBut her happiness goeth for evermore.\u201d\n\nHildebrand kissed her o\u2019er and o\u2019er:\n\u201cMy darling sister, pray sorrow no more.\n\n\u201cKirsten, I pray thee, pardon me\nFor bringing thee into this misery.\u201d\n\nThen spake Blacklille as he stood:\n\u201cI\u2019ve saved thee by shedding human blood.\n\n\u201cGive me, Kirsten, one little kiss,\nAnd the Raven one on that beak of his.\u201d\n\nOn their mouths she kissed them both with glee\u2014\nFrom hideous thrall were they both set free.\n\nShe kissed them both with good will, I ween,\nThey changed to her brothers who lost had been.\n\nThey all pressed her fondly to their breast,\nFrom sorrow and woe she is now at rest.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WRESTLING-MATCH\n\n\nAs one day I wandered lonely, in extreme distress of mind,\nI a pleasant garden entered, hoping comfort there to find.\nUp and down I paced the garden till an open space I spied,\nThere I saw a crowd of people, and I heard a voice that cried:\n\u201cCome and see what Love is doing, here is Love performing more\nWondrous feats than e\u2019er were witnessed at Olympian games of yore:\nThis he conquers, that he conquers, young and old before him lie,\nGreat and small alike he conquers, none with him a fall must try.\n\nHearing this at once I entered \u2019midst the crowd collected there,\nSome of whom no doubt were eager like myself to banish care.\nI would fain behold this being, this same wondrous lad survey,\nWho \u2019twas said in each encounter bore with ease the prize away.\nQuickly I the crowd divided, soon I pierced the multitude,\nAnd this Love stood full before me, and what think you \u2019twas I view\u2019d?\nWhy a boy, a little darling, full of captivating grace,\nRather roguish were his glances, but how lovely was his face!\n\nSoon as I beheld this warrior gibings I began to throw\nAt the wretches who had suffered fell defeat from such a foe.\nThen, to me his visage turning, of the conquered standing by\nOne replied, and in replying tears he shed abundantly:\n\u201cO, poor youth,\u201d \u2019twas thus he answered, \u201clittle, little dost thou know\nThat in coming here thou comest not to joy, but bitter woe.\nTears, and pains, and wounds most ghastly, wounds for which there is no\ncure,\nEvery kind of evil treatment such as no one can endure.\u201d\n\nWhen these words I heard him utter I was filled with bitter rage,\nAnd forthwith made preparation with the warrior to engage.\n\u201cHearken, Master Love,\u201d I shouted, \u201cfrom this spot stir not away,\nYou and I must have a battle, must engage in deadly fray;\nThat it may be known for certain which is strongest of us two.\u201d\nThen into the arena bounding there I stood in all men\u2019s view,\nIn the midst of it expecting firm the onset of the foe,\nDoubting not should he attack me him at once to overthrow.\nLove he was not slow to follow with a blythe and joyous air,\nCrying out, \u201cMy dearest fellow, for the fight yourself prepare!\nRound the waist each other clasping now let\u2019s strive like wrestlers true,\nDo your best and I will show you what young Master Love can do.\u201d\n\nThen around the waist I clasped him, he his arms around me wound,\nLong we hugged and hugged each other, each his match in t\u2019other found.\nSaid at length the urchin to me: \u201cSadly tired, friend, am I,\nVery much fatigued and weary, really friend just fit to die.\nTherefore take from me, I prythee, what thou anxiously hast sought,\nAnd for which in this arena with me gallantly hast fought.\u201d\n\nThen a blast of wild consuming fire he breathed into my breast,\nStraight my breast it quick enkindled, all deprived was I of rest,\nThen he ran away exulting to some other wretched wight,\nSuch a zest he has for conflict, in such fray is his delight.\n\nAs for me I fell half senseless on the fatal, fatal spot,\nFierce consuming fire within me, never sure was one so hot.\nRising up I followed shrieking, \u201cOh have mercy, Love, on me!\nSee my tears, my sad affliction, cure me of my misery!\u201d\n\nThen he cried, \u201cDost not remember all the boasts thy lips out-pour\u2019d?\nKnow henceforth in every region Love is Conqueror and Lord.\u201d\n\nThus he cried, and proudly left me, and wherever now I rove,\nI reproach myself for thinking I could vanquish mighty Love.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WARRIOR\n_From the Arabic_.\n\n\nThou lov\u2019st to look on myrtles green,\n   And the narcissus bright of hue;\nI love the blaze of sabres keen,\n   I love the dagger\u2019s flash to view.\n\nThou, thou may\u2019st drink the rosy wine\n   From golden goblets sculptured o\u2019er;\nFrom foemen\u2019s skulls the joy be mine\n   To drink my foemen\u2019s reeking gore.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                  LONDON\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n\n{10}  Here the old ballad\u2014I speak of the original Manx\u2014concludes.  The\ntwo following stanzas are comparatively modern.","title":"Brown William, The Power of the Harp, and Other Ballads","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":3155}