{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26790/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26790","id":"gutenberg_26790","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26790","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads","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                           THE BROTHER AVENGED\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\nTHE BROTHER AVENGED\n\n\nI stood before my master\u2019s board,\n   The skinker\u2019s office plying;\nThe herald-men brought tidings then\n   That my brother was murdered lying.\n\nI followed my lord unto his bed,\n   By his dearest down he laid him;\nThen my courser out of the stall I led,\n   And with saddle and bit arrayed him.\n\nI sprang upon my courser\u2019s back,\n   With the spur began to goad him;\nAnd ere I drew his bridle to,\n   Full fifteen leagues I rode him.\n\nAnd when I came to the noisy hall\n   Where the Kemps carouse were keeping,\nO then I saw my mother dear\n   O\u2019er the corse of my brother weeping.\n\nThen I laid an arrow on my good bow,\n   The bow that never deceived me;\nAnd straight I shot the King\u2019s Kempions twelve,\n   Of my brother who had bereaved me.\n\nAnd then to the Ting I rode away,\n   Where the judges twelve were seated;\nOf six to avenge my brother I begged,\n   And of six protection entreated.\n\nFor the third time rode I to the Ting,\n   For deep revenge I lusted;\nUp stood the liege-man of the King,\n   And at me fiercely thrusted.\n\nUp stood the liege-man of the King,\n   With a furious thrust toward me;\nAnd the Judges twelve rose in the Ting,\n   And an outlaw\u2019d man declared me.\n\nThen I laid an arrow on my good bow,\n   And the bow to its utmost bent I;\nAnd into the heart of the King\u2019s liege-man\n   The sharp, sharp arrow sent I.\n\nThen away from the Ting amain I sped,\n   And my good steed clomb in hurry;\nThere was nothing for me but to hasten and flee,\n   And myself \u2019mong the woods to bury.\n\nAnd hidden for eight long years I lay\n   Amid the woods so lonely;\nI\u2019d nothing to eat in that dark retreat\n   But grass and green leaves only.\n\nI\u2019d nothing to eat in that dark retreat,\n   Save the grass and leaves I devoured;\nNo bed-fellows crept to the place where I slept,\n   But bears that brooned and roared.\n\nSo near at hand was the holy tide\n   Of our Lady of mercies tender;\nThe King of the Swedes his followers leads,\n   And rides to the Church in splendour.\n\nSo I laid an arrow on my good bow,\n   As I looked from the gap so narrow;\nAnd into the heart of the Swedish King\n   I sent the yard-long arrow.\n\nNow lies on the ground the Swedish King,\n   And the blood from his death-wound showers;\nSo blythe is my breast, though still I must rest\n   Amid the forest bowers.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EYES\n\n\nTo kiss a pair of red lips small\n   Full many a lover sighs;\nIf I kiss anything at all,\n   Let it be Sophy\u2019s eyes.\nThe eyes, the eyes, whose witcheries\n   Have filled my heart with care;\nToo dear I prize the eyes, the eyes\n   Of Sophy Ribeaupierre.\n\nWere I the Czar, my kingly crown,\n   My troops and victories,\nAnd fair renown I\u2019d all lay down\n   To kiss but Sophy\u2019s eyes.\nThe charming eyes, whose witcheries\n   Have filled my heart with care;\nToo dear I prize the charming eyes\n   Of Sophy Ribeaupierre.\n\nPerhaps I\u2019ve seen a fairer face,\n   Though hers may well surprise;\nA form perhaps of lovelier grace,\n   But, oh! the eyes, the eyes!\nThe matchless eyes, whose witcheries\n   Have filled my heart with care;\nI well may prize the matchless eyes\n   Of Sophy Ribeaupierre.\n\nWhat with the polished diamond-stone\n   Can vie beneath the skies?\nOh, it is vied and far outshone\n   By Sophy\u2019s beaming eyes.\nBy Sophy\u2019s eyes, whose witcheries\n   Have filled my heart with care;\nWell may I prize the beaming eyes\n   Of Sophy Ribeaupierre.\n\nThe sun of June burns furiously,\n   And brooks and meadows dries;\nBut, oh, with more intensity\n   Burn cruel Sophy\u2019s eyes!\nThe wicked eyes, whose witcheries\n   Have filled my heart with care;\nToo dear I prize the wicked eyes\n   Of Sophy Ribeaupierre.\n\nO, soon beneath their piercing ray,\n   Like some parched plant which dies,\nWither shall I, poor youth, away?\n   And all for Sophy\u2019s eyes.\nBut bless the eyes, whose witcheries\n   Have filled my heart with care;\nTill Death I\u2019ll prize and bless the eyes\n   Of Sophy Ribeaupierre.\n\n\n\n\nHARMODIUS AND ARISTOGITON\n_From the Greek_\n\n\nWith the leaves of the myrtle I\u2019ll cover my brand,\n   Like Harmodius and Aristogiton of yore;\nWhen the tyrant they slew, and their dear native land\n   They caused with just laws to be governed once more.\n\nO, beloved Harmodius! thou still art not dead,\n   In the Isles of the Blest thou still livest, they say;\nWhere the swift-heel\u2019d Achilles and bold Diomed\n   Through sweet flowery meadows continually stray.\n\nWith the leaves of the myrtle I\u2019ll cover my blade,\n   Like Harmodius and Aristogiton of yore;\nWho, whilst the high rites to Athena were paid,\n   The bold tyrant Hipparchus extended in gore.\n\nAnd on earth ever, ever your glory shall glow,\n   Harmodius and Aristogiton, sun-bright;\nBecause ye the damnable tyrant laid low,\n   And restored to your country her law and her right.\n\n\n\n\nMY DAINTY DAME\n\n\nMy dainty Dame, my heart\u2019s delight,\nStar of my watch, serene and bright;\nCome to the green wood, mild is May,\nCosy the arbours, come away!\n\nIn me thy spouse and servant see,\nTo silvan hall I\u2019ll usher thee;\nThy bed shall be the leaves heaped high,\nThy organ\u2019s note the cuckoo\u2019s cry.\nThy covert warm the kindly wood,\nNo fairer form therein e\u2019er stood.\nThy dress, my beauteous gem, shall be\nSoft foliage stript from forest tree;\nThe foliage best the forest bore,\nServed as a garb for Eve of yore.\nThou, too, throughout the summer day\nShalt rove around in Eve\u2019s array.\nMy Eve thou art, my ever dear,\nThy Adam I\u2019ll attend and cheer.\n\nCome to the green wood, come away,\nThe floor with grass and flowers is gay!\nThere \u2019neath no tree shalt thou descry\nIn churlish guise old jealousy.\nFear not my love, afar is now\nThe loon, thy tiresome lord, I trow;\nTo all a jest amidst his clan\nHe choler deals in Cardigan.\nHere, nestled nigh the sounding sea,\nIn Ifor\u2019s bush we\u2019ll ever be.\nMore bliss for us our fate propounds\nOn Taf\u2019s green banks than Teivi\u2019s bounds;\nThy caitiff wight is scarce aware\nWhere now we lurk, my little fair.\nAh! better here, in love\u2019s sweet thrall,\nTo hark the cuckoo\u2019s hearty call,\nThan pine through life in castle hall!\n\n\n\n\nGRASACH ABO\nOR\nTHE CAUSE OF GRACE\n\n\nO, Baillie Na Cortie! thy turrets are tall,\n   Descried from their top is the oncoming foe;\nThough numerous the warriors that watch on thy wall,\n   Thy hope and thy trust are in Grasach Abo.\n\nO, Baillie Na Cortie! thy chieftains abound\n   With courage no dangers can ever lay low;\nIn the day of the fight can their equals be found,\n   When is roared to the heaven\u2019s heights Grasach Abo?\n\nO, Baillie Na Cortie! brave helps thou hast nigh,\n   Will rise at thy summons full quickly I trow;\nThe Shortuls, Roothes, Shees, clans so mighty and high,\n   Will rise on the foemen of Grasach Abo.\n\nO, Baillie Na Cortie! thy banner shall bound\n   Blood red in the winds o\u2019er the battle that blow;\nWhen thy lion so gallant breathes terror around,\n   And thy soldiers are shouting out Grasach Abo.\n\nO, Baillie Na Cortie! thy armoury boasts\n   The arms of great chiefs on the wall in a row;\nGilliepatrick let fall, and O More of the hosts,\n   When they ran in red rout before Grasach Abo.\n\nO, Baillie Na Cortie! when blazed the bright swords,\n   Thy sons gave the Butlers a signal o\u2019erthrow;\nWhen Desmond was scattered with all his dark hordes,\n   He loathed the wild war whoop of Grasach Abo.\n\nO, Baillie Na Cortie! thou needest no aid\n   Of strangers the day when the blood torrents flow;\nThe Brennaghs, Powrs, Parcels with buckler and blade,\n   Shall triumph and feast with the Grasach Abo.\n\nO, Baillie Na Cortie! thy bards hope to praise\n   Thee, thee through long ages undarkened with woe;\nAnd him, thy brave chieftain, his bountiful ways,\n   And the heroes who bleed for the Grasach Abo.\n\n\n\n\nDAGMAR\n\n\nSick in Ribe Dagmar\u2019s lying,\n   Soon she\u2019ll be in Ringsted\u2019s wall;\nAll the Dames in Denmark dwelling\n   Unto her she bids them call.\n\n\u201cFetch me four, fetch five, I pray ye,\n   Fetch me those for wisdom famed;\nFetch Sir Carl of Haves\u2019 sister,\n   Little Kirstine is she named.\n\n\u201cFetch the old, and fetch the youthful,\n   Fetch the learned unto me;\nFetch the lovely little Kirstine,\n   Worthy all respect is she.\n\n\u201cCanst thou read and write, my darling?\n   Canst thou ease the pains I bear?\nThou shalt ride upon my coursers,\n   And the ruddy scarlet wear.\u201d\n\n\u201cCould I read and write, my lady,\n   Blythely I would do the same;\nThy pains are than iron harder,\n   \u2019Tis with grief I that proclaim.\u201d\n\n\u2019Twas the lovely little Kirstine,\n   Took the book and read a space\u2014\n\u201cAh, thy pains than steel are harder,\n   God Almighty help thy case!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELF BRIDE {21}\n\n\nThere was a youthful swain one day\n   Did ted the new mown grass;\nThere came a gay and lovely may\n   From out the nigh morass.\nClad in a dress of silk was she,\nGreen as the leaves which deck the tree,\nHer head so winsomely to see\n   With bulrush plaited was.\n\nThat lass he wooed, his suit she heeds,\n   And married are the pair;\nTo bridal bed his wife he leads\u2014\n   But what befell him there?\nHe found, fear-stricken and amaz\u2019d,\nThat he a rough oak trunk embrac\u2019d,\nInstead of the enchanting waist\n   Of his mysterious fair.\n\nThen straight abroad a voice he heard,\n   Which sang the window through;\nThese were the words the voice proffer\u2019d\n   If my report be true:\n\u201cCome out to her whom thou didst wed!\nUpon my mead thy couch is spread.\u201d\nFrom this he guessed with some elf maid\n   That he had had to do.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TREASURE DIGGER\n\n\nO, would that with last and shoe I had stay\u2019d,\n   Without wild desires;\nAnd, ah! no trust in Satan had laid,\n   That prince of liars!\n\nEach Saturday night, when slept the rest,\n   Away I stroll\u2019d\nTo the forest, so murky and drear, in quest\n   Of buried gold.\n\nAnd then I beheld the hopping fire glow\n   The briar behind;\nAnd down to the earth my wishing-rod low\n   Itself declin\u2019d.\n\nI dug then, and gripped the chest\u2019s ring amain,\n   And held it stout;\nBut the copper deceitful burst in twain,\n   And the fiends laughed out.\n\nJust, just as long was the treasure my own,\n   As I trembled with fright;\nBut soon as I held it secure, down, down\n   It sank from sight.\n\nYe devilish pack, what grin ye at?\n   I fell not your prey;\nI\u2019ll trust no more in old women\u2019s chat,\n   And in cross-shaped way.\n\nI go by my last and shoe to stay,\n   Without wild desires;\nAnd ne\u2019er more in Satan I trust will lay,\n   That prince of liars!\n\n\n\n\nTHE FISHER\n\n\nThe fisherman saddleth his good winged horse,\nTo be on the deep seems to him his best course.\n\nAgainst the white strand loud and hoarse the wave breaks,\nAnd towards the strand now the fisherman makes.\n\nAnd up when the fisher his fishing-line drew,\nA fine golden fish on the hook met his view.\n\nThen he laughed in his beard: \u201cI\u2019ve of fish seen a store,\nBut ne\u2019er one with golden cloth kirtle before.\n\n\u201cIf I a gold piece for each gold-scale possess\u2019d,\nWith poverty I should no more be distrest.\u201d\n\nWith its tail the fish \u2019gan the bench furious to smite,\nAnd a strange dance it seemed to the fisherman\u2019s sight.\n\n\u201cThou wealthy man, be not, I pray thee, so gay,\nA much quieter part a poor fisher should play.\u201d\n\nThe golden fish heard every word as it lay,\nBegan straight to talk and discourse in this way:\u2014\n\n\u201cI\u2019m full as rich, fisherman, as thou art poor,\nAnd soon for thee happiness I will procure.\n\n\u201cStraight cast me again in the ocean my home,\nAnd a well-doing man thou, I swear, shalt become.\n\n\u201cThe Queen of the ocean my mother is, know,\nShe linen and bolsters on thee shall bestow.\n\n\u201cMy father is King in the depths of the sea,\nAnd healthy and strong he shall cause thee to be.\n\n\u201cMy lover he sorrows for me in the brine,\nMy golden cloth kirtle shall also be thine.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor the sovereign of fishes I care not a straw,\nOn myself, if I did, I but laughter should draw.\n\n\u201cFor thy mother\u2019s fine cushions I care little more,\nMy own Queen could make better ware any hour.\n\n\u201cBut if thou to a wooer thy troth didst allot,\nThe repose of two lovers destroy I will not.\u201d\n\nThe trembling gold fish in the water placed he:\n\u201cFrom such wretched captures the Lord preserve me!\n\n\u201cIf to-morrow a like one upon my hook bite,\nI shall perish of hunger, poor miserable wight.\u201d\n\nHe the rest of the day sat at home by his hearth\nAnd spake not a word that repeating is worth.\n\nHe early next morn in his boat his seat took,\nAnd straightway adjusted a bait to his hook.\n\nAnd soon as he\u2019d overboard cast the fish-line,\nThe float it descended deep under the brine.\n\nThen he laughed in his beard, and with bitterness said:\n\u201cA catch of another gold fish I have made!\u201d\n\nThe thin lengthy line he up-drew half unwilling,\nAnd, behold! there upon the hook hung a gold shilling.\n\nAnd I can forsooth and for certainty say,\nThat he for delight had no rest the whole day.\n\nBut as oft as the line he up-drew from the tide,\nUpon the hook never a fish he descried.\n\nFor whene\u2019er for the fish he upon the hook sought,\nHe found that a shilling of gold he had caught.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CUCKOO\n\n\nAbiding an appointment made,\nUpon the weed-grown steep I stayed,\nOne morning mild when May was new,\nAnd fresh the down was fraught with dew.\nThe meads were flowering, bright the woods,\nThe branches yielding thousand buds.\nMy lips employed in song the while\nOn Morfydd of the merry smile.\n\u2019Twas then as round I cast my eye\nWith mighty wish the maid to spy;\nThough, howsoe\u2019er my sight I strained,\nNo glimpse of Morfydd I obtained.\nI heard the cuckoo\u2019s voice arise,\nSinging the song which most I prize.\nTo each Bard true most sweet I trow\nHis music on the mountain\u2019s brow.\nTherefore, as called by courtesy,\nI greeted him in poesy.\n\n\u201cGood day, dear Cuckoo, with thy strain\nA herald thou from heaven\u2019s domain;\nTo us the tidings thou dost bear\nOf summer, blissful season fair.\nOf summer which to greenwood shade\nEntices forth the Bard and maid;\nWhich decks with foliage dense the grove,\nAnd through all nature breathes of love.\nO, dear to me that note of thine,\nIt seasons love like choicest wine;\nWhilst, doating fondness to chastise,\nWhat cutting taunt in \u2018Cuckoo\u2019 lies!\nBut, pretty bird, I pray declare\nWhere lingereth now my lady fair?\u201d\n\n\u201cO, poet, what delusion great\nDoth fill this year thy foolish pate?\n\u2019Tis harbouring a useless pain\nOne thought of her to entertain.\nWith all her store of winning charms,\nShe weds her to another\u2019s arms.\nBelieve me, when I say to thee\nA mate of thine she may not be.\u201d\n\n\u201cHush, hush, I\u2019ll not believe thy voice,\nDare not defame my bosom\u2019s choice.\nThat nymph, the fairest \u2019neath the sun,\nHas sworn an oath, a solemn one;\nShe vowed by her baptismal rite,\nBeneath the bough one blessed night,\nHer hand my own enclasping hard,\nTo live and die with me, her Bard.\nThe minister that mystic night\nWas Madog Benfras, matchless wight.\nHer suitors all may vainly sigh,\nHow should she wed, whom wed have I?\n\u2019Tis false, O Bird, what thou dost state,\nAnd waste of time with thee to prate.\nFolly and drunkenness, \u2019tis plain,\nHave got possession of thy brain.\nHence with thy news, and get thee cool,\nThou art, I fear, a very fool!\u201d\n\n\u201cO, Dafydd, who the fool but thou,\nTalking this guise beneath the bough?\nAnother husband chooses she,\nWhose charms deceitful captured thee.\nThe Damsel of the neck of snow\nIs now another\u2019s wife, I trow.\nTo love another\u2019s looks not well,\nThe Bow Bach owns the blooming belle.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor what thou\u2019st sung within the grove,\nWith malice filled, about my love,\nMay days of winter come with speed,\nThe summer and the sun recede;\nHoar frost upon the foliage fall,\nThe wood and branches withering all.\nAnd thou with piercing cold be slain,\nThou horrid bird of hateful strain!\u201d\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n\n{21}  These stanzas should be compared with _The Elves_, printed in _The\nNightingale_, _The Valkyrie and Raven_, _and Other Ballads_, 1913, pp.\n25-26.","title":"The Brother Avenged, and Other Ballads","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2852}