{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_63858/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_63858","id":"gutenberg_63858","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63858","summary":null,"tags":["American poetry -- Collections","Ballads, English -- England -- Texts","Ballads, Scots -- Scotland -- Texts","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Children's poetry, American","Children's poetry, English","English poetry -- Collections","Narrative poetry, American","Narrative poetry, English","Recitations"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file\n which includes the original illustrations in colour.\n See 63858-h.htm or 63858-h.zip:\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/63858/pg63858-images.html)\n or\n (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/63858/63858-h.zip)\n\n\n Images of the original pages are available through\n Internet Archive. See\n https://archive.org/details/storytellingball00olc\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note:\n\n Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).\n\n\n\n\n\nSTORY-TELLING BALLADS\n\n\n[Illustration: THE LIFT GREW DARK, AND THE WIND BLEW LOUD, AND GURLY\nGREW THE SEA (_page 5_)]\n\n\nSTORY-TELLING BALLADS\n\nSelected and Arranged for\nStory-Telling and Reading Aloud\nand for\nthe Boys\u2019 and Girls\u2019 Own Reading\n\nby\n\nFRANCES JENKINS OLCOTT\n\n\n[Illustration: Colophon]\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBoston and New York\nHoughton Mifflin Company\nThe Riverside Press Cambridge\n1920\n\nCopyright, 1920, by Frances Jenkins Olcott\n\nAll Rights Reserved\n\nThe Riverside Press\nCambridge . Massachusetts\nU . S . A\n\n\n\n\n TO MY SISTER\n\n VIRGINIA OLCOTT\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOREWORD\n\n\nHere are 77 story-telling ballads and narrative poems, that will make\nthe heart beat faster and the pulse bound, of any boy or girl from\ntwelve to fifteen years of age.\n\nThey offer a feast of good things--romances, hero-tales, Fa\u00ebrie\nlegends, and adventures of Knights and lovely Damsels. They sing\nof proud and wicked folk, of gentle and loyal ones, of Laidley\nWorms, Witches, Mermaids with golden combs, sad maidens, glad ones\nand fearless lovers, moss-troopers, border-rievers, and Kings in\ndisguise. All their doings are related in the stirring, leaping,\njoyous--or at times martial and mournful-ballad measure.\n\nThe ancient ballads are here presented exactly as when in days of\nold they were sung by minstrels and recited by gaffers and gammers.\nNo alterations are made in the texts of the ballad-collectors and\ncollators, except the changing of a few objectionable words. Two or\nthree of the less well-known ballads are done into modern spelling.\nA number, not hitherto found in children\u2019s collections, will be\ndelightfully new to young people. Some popular ballads, like \u201cKing\nJohn and the Abbot of Canterbury,\u201d and \u201cThe King and the Miller of\nMansfield,\u201d are omitted because they are in _Story-Telling Poems_.\n\nA goodly number of famous modern ballads are included; and at the end\nof the volume are 10 short narrative poems of \u201cPilgrimage and Souls\nso Strong.\u201d\n\nAt the end of the book are a Glossary and Indexes of subjects,\nauthors, titles, and first lines.\n\n\nTEACHERS, STORY-TELLERS, AND BALLADS\n\nSince great care has been taken to choose authoritative texts (see\nAcknowledgments, page xv and Suggestions for Teachers, page 363), the\nteacher will find this collection helpful when instructing classes in\nearly English literature or in ballad structure and measure.\n\nThe Glossary for classroom use is placed at the back of the book, not\nin footnotes, because children who are reading for enjoyment easily\nlearn new words from the context.\n\nThe collection may be used for story-hours; or, as older boys and\ngirls prefer being read aloud to, in it may be found an abundance of\nmaterial for weekly poetry hours and for memorizing.\n\n\nYOUTH IN THE BALLADS\n\nBallads are the natural heritage of every boy and girl. Ballads are\ntuned to the very pulse of Youth. They are red-blooded: joyous with\nthe freshness of Springtime, and robust with the early Summer of\nLife. They appeal with peculiar delight to growing boys and girls,\nsatisfying, as do no other poems, their craving for emotional\nexpression in quick, rhythmic form.\n\nBallads not only feed the romantic spirit of young people, but teach\nthem much homely wisdom. They are essentially democratic and human.\nIn them Kings and tinkers, Knights and shepherds, meet, talk, and\nfeast together like comrades.\n\nAnd because the vigour of Youth so animates the old ballads, young\nfolk read them eagerly, learn them almost without effort, and\nrecite them with gusto. The wild, free life in the good greenwood,\nthe chivalry, mystery, pathos, heroic deeds, and thrilling\nexperiences--in fact, Life itself running the whole gamut of human\nemotions--enthrall the ever eager, questioning, shifting moods of\nboys and girls.\n\n\nHOW THE BALLADS GREW\n\nThe human and universal in the ancient ballads, their eternal\nyouthful appeal, are rooted deepset in the daily life of the People.\nTheir very meter and airs are natural growths like the sheath of a\nwildflower. For in those good old ballad-making days, minstrels,\nthe welcome guests of rich and poor, wandered from castle to cot\nand inn, from eyrie-like retreats of Highland chiefs to fortified\nborder-towers of the Lowland or \u201cNorth Contraye.\u201d And as the\nminstrels rested their harps or bagpipes on the earthen floors of\ncottages, or while they sat feasting with nobles in baronial halls,\nthey heard peasants, working-folk, servitors, squires, ladies, and\nreturned Crusaders, telling of their adventures on land and sea, in\nfights, battles, border-raids, in abductions of lovely maidens, in\ncombats with Saracens and with Laidley monsters, in meetings with\nFa\u00ebrie Knights and Elfin Queens all under the greenwood-shade. They\nheard, also, tales of changelings and visits to Fairyland; stories of\nGhosts, Ghouls, and Witches; legends of the sea; and traditions of\nnational heroes.\n\nThis material, so varied, so freshly spontaneous and imaginative,\nthe minstrels shaped into ballads, setting them to music now wild\nand weird, now tragic and mournful, now sweet and debonair. So they\nplayed and sang the ballads in cottage, bower, and hall, moulding\nthem to the delight and humours of their hearers, changing them to\nsuit time and place. Thus there grew up many versions of a single\nballad.\n\nThe old folk, too, the gaffers and gammers by the fireside, learned\nthe ballads and recited or sung them to the children; who in their\nturn, when they became old, told them to other children. Thus the\nold songs were passed along by word of mouth from generation to\ngeneration, from countryside to countryside, and even from one land\nto another.\n\n\nMAKING A COLLECTION FOR CHILDREN\n\nAs was natural in those coarse old times, much that was unsuitable\nfor children was woven into the ballads; which to-day makes it a\ndifficult task to compile a representative juvenile collection.\nFor, as Spenser so aptly put it when writing of Irish bards, they\n\u201cseldom use to choose unto themselves the doings of good men for the\narguments of their poems, but whomsoever they find to be ... most\nbold and lawless in his doings, most dangerous and desperate in all\nparts of disobedience and rebellious disposition, him they set up and\nglorify in their rhymes, him they praise to the people, and to young\nmen make an example to follow.\u201d\n\nBut Spenser\u2019s criticism of the Irish bards is far too violent a\nstricture on all Scottish and English ballad literature. For there\nare Scottish and English ones, clean, merry, and nobly heroic; fine\nand wholesome reading for our boys and girls.\n\nFor Sir Walter Scott\u2019s romantic tastes and his interest in Highland\nand Border life were awakened and fired, when he was a boy, by\nreading ballads. And Sir Philip Sydney wrote in his _Defence of\nPoetry_, \u201cCertainly, I must confess mine own barbarousness; I never\nheard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart\nmoved more than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung but by some\nblind crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style ... In Hungary\nI have seen it the manner at all feasts, and all other such-like\nmeetings, to have songs of their ancestors\u2019 valour, which that right\nsoldier-like nation think one of the chiefest kindlers of brave\ncourage.\u201d\n\nBut in making a collection of ballads for modern boys and girls,\nit is not enough to choose those that will arouse only the higher\nemotions. The interests of young people have to be consulted; while\nnothing in extremely difficult Scottish dialect may be included, nor\nin very old English.\n\nThen there are many versions of individual ballads to choose from.\nOf \u201cHynd Horn\u201d there are eight or more; of \u201cYoung Beichan and Susie\nPye,\u201d fourteen or more; and of other ballads many versions. Next,\nauthoritative texts must be found, for some transcribers have made\nmistakes or have altered the originals. So it may be seen what\na painstaking task it is to compile a collection of ballads for\neducational purposes as well as for the boys\u2019 and girls\u2019 own reading.\n\nAs for this volume, it covers so wide a range of fascinating\nsubjects that it will surely entrance any lad or lass who, opening\nits pages for pleasure-reading, steps with Valentine and Ursine,\nRobin Hood and Clorinda, and the brave outlaw Murray, into\n\n _The gude green-wood amang the lily flower_.\n\n\n\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\n\nMy thanks are due Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company for the use of the\nfollowing modern ballads, \u201cThe Ballad of the Oysterman,\u201d by Oliver\nWendell Holmes; \u201cThe Luck of Edenhall,\u201d \u201cThe Three Kings,\u201d and \u201cThe\nSkeleton in Armour,\u201d by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; \u201cThe Singing\nLeaves,\u201d by James Russell Lowell; \u201cBarclay of Ury,\u201d by John Greenleaf\nWhittier.\n\nAmong the authoritative texts from which I have taken ancient and\npopular ballads, are Bell\u2019s _Early Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry\nof England_; Bishop Percy\u2019s _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_,\nand his _Folio Manuscript, edited by Hales and Furnivall_; _A\nCollection of Old Ballads_, London, 1723-25; Dixon\u2019s _Ancient Poems,\nBallads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England_ (Percy Society);\nJamieson\u2019s _Popular Ballads and Songs_; Monk Lewis\u2019s _Tales of\nWonder_; Motherwell\u2019s _Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern_; Nicholson\u2019s\n_Historical and Traditional Tales ... Connected with the South of\nScotland_; Ritson\u2019s _Robin Hood_; Sir Walter Scott\u2019s _Minstrelsy of\nthe Scottish Border_; Sheldon\u2019s _Minstrelsy of the English Border_;\nalso the scholarly collection of _English and Scottish Popular\nBallads_, compiled and edited by Professor Francis James Child, for\nthe use of which my acknowledgments are due its publishers, Messrs.\nHoughton Mifflin Company.\n\nThe best texts available have been followed for the original ballads\nby Sir Walter Raleigh, George Herbert, Hogg, Scott, Lover, Kingsley,\nTennyson, Campbell, and Keats.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nTHE SALT BLUE SEAS\n\n THE STORMY WINDS DO BLOW 2\n\n SIR PATRICK SPENS 3\n\n THE D\u00c6MON LOVER 7\n\n THE MERMAID _Dr. John Leyden_ 10\n\n\nA-HARROWING O\u2019 THE BORDER\n\n THE GALLOWAY RAID 20\n\n THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE 21\n\n THE BALLAD OF MEIKLE-MOUTHED MEG 32\n\n BELTED WILL _Frederick Sheldon_ 47\n\n\nBRAVE HEARTS AND PROUD\n\n EARL HALDAN\u2019S DAUGHTER _Charles Kingsley_ 58\n\n LADY CLARE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 59\n\n PROUD LADY MARGARET 62\n\n THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING-MEN 65\n\n COCHRANE\u2019S BONNY GRIZZY 70\n\n THE GREETING OF KYNAST _Charles T. Brooks, from R\u00fcckert_ 74\n\n\nLAYS O\u2019 FA\u00cbRIE\n\n THE FAIRY TEMPTER _Samuel Lover_ 80\n\n ALICE BRAND _Sir Walter Scott_ 81\n\n THE ERL-KING _Sir Walter Scott, from Goethe_ 86\n\n THE FAIRY THORN _Samuel Ferguson_ 87\n\n LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI _John Keats_ 91\n\n THOMAS THE RHYMER 93\n\n THE KELPIE OF CORRIEVRECKAN _Charles Mackay_ 97\n\n KILMENY _The Ettrick Shepherd_ 101\n\n\nLAYS O\u2019 WONDER\n\n THE WEE WEE MAN 114\n\n THE EARL OF MAR\u2019S DAUGHTER 115\n\n KEMP OWYNE 122\n\n THE LADY OF SHALOTT _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 124\n\n THE SINGING LEAVES _James Russell Lowell_ 131\n\n THE LUCK OF EDENHALL _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from Uhland_ 135\n\n MAY OF THE MORIL GLEN _The Ettrick Shepherd_ 138\n\n THE LAIDLEY WORM O\u2019 SPINDLESTON-HEUGHS 148\n\n\nMERRY GESTES\n\n A TRAGIC STORY _William Makepeace Thackeray, from Chamisso_ 158\n\n LITTLE BILLEE _William Makepeace Thackeray_ 159\n\n BRIAN O\u2019LINN 160\n\n DICKY OF BALLYMAN 162\n\n THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 164\n\n THE CINDER KING _Modern, anon._ 167\n\n THE FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR, THE TINKER\u2019S GOOD FORTUNE 169\n\n KING JAMES THE FIRST AND THE TINKLER 173\n\n KING ALFRED AND THE SHEPHERD 176\n\n\nSAD GESTES\n\n THE SANDS OF DEE _Charles Kingsley_ 190\n\n FAIR ANNY OF ROCH-ROYAL 191\n\n THE CRUEL SISTER 196\n\n BARBARA ALLEN\u2019S CRUELTY 201\n\n SONG: EARL MARCH LOOKED ON HIS DYING CHILD _Thomas Campbell_ 203\n\n LORD LOVEL 204\n\n\nPRETTY MAYS AND KNIGHTS SO BOLD\n\n THE NOBLE RIDDLE 208\n\n BLANCHEFLOUR AND JELLYFLORICE 209\n\n GLENARA _Thomas Campbell_ 212\n\n THE BEGGAR-MAID _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 214\n\n LOCHINVAR _Sir Waller Scott_ 215\n\n THE GAY GOSS-HAWK 218\n\n BONNY BABY LIVINGSTON 224\n\n HYND HORN 231\n\n YOUNG BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE 237\n\n THE CHILD OF ELLE 244\n\n\nFOR HALLOWEEN AND MIDSUMMER EVE\n\n THE SPELL _John Gay_ 254\n\n THE YOUNG TAMLANE 255\n\n THE WIFE OF USHER\u2019S WELL 263\n\n SIR ROLAND 265\n\n THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR _H. W. Longfellow_ 270\n\n SWEET WILLIAM\u2019S GHOST 276\n\n THE EVE OF ST. JOHN _Sir Walter Scott_ 279\n\n\nALL UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE\n\n THE BIRTH O\u2019 ROBIN HOOD 290\n\n ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN 291\n\n ROBIN HOOD AND CLORINDA 297\n\n SONG OF THE OUTLAW MURRAY 301\n\n VALENTINE AND URSINE 314\n\n\nO\u2019 PILGRIMAGE AND SOULS SO STRONG\n\n THE PILGRIM _John Bunyan_ 332\n\n THE HEART OF THE BRUCE _William Edmondstoune Aytoun_ 333\n\n BARCLAY OF URY _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 341\n\n THE TOUCHSTONE _William Allingham_ 347\n\n SIR GALAHAD _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 348\n\n PILGRIMAGE _Sir Walter Raleigh_ 351\n\n THE ROYAL COURT _Modern, anon._ 353\n\n TRUE VALOUR _John Bunyan_ 355\n\n PEACE _George Herbert_ 356\n\n THE THREE KINGS _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 357\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS 363\n\n PROGRAMME FOR A YEAR OF BALLAD-READING AND STUDY 366\n\n GLOSSARY 373\n\n SUBJECT INDEX 385\n\n INDEX OF FIRST LINES 390\n\n INDEX OF TITLES AND AUTHORS 392\n\n\n\n\n ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nTHE LIFT GREW DARK, AND THE WIND BLEW LOUD, AND GURLY\n GREW THE SEA _Frontispiece_\n\n\u201cI FEAR NOT SIGN,\u201d QUOTH THE GRISLY ELF, \u201cTHAT IS MADE\n WITH BLOODY HANDS\u201d 84\n\nHE TURNED HIM ROUND; BUT STILL IT HUNG BEHIND HIM 158\n\nBUT SPRINGING UP, HE RAISED HIS CLUB, AND AIMED A DREADFUL BLOW 318\n\n\n\n\nTHE SALT BLUE SEAS\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORMY WINDS DO BLOW\n\n _One Friday morn when we set sail,\n Not very far from land,\n We there did espy a fair pretty maid\n With a comb and a glass in her hand, her hand, her hand,\n With a comb and a glass in her hand._\n\n _While the raging seas did roar,\n And the stormy winds did blow,\n While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,\n And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,\n And the land-lubbers lying down below._\n\n _Then up starts the captain of our gallant ship,\n And a brave young man was he:\n \u201cI\u2019ve a wife and a child in fair Bristol town,\n But a widow I fear she will be.\u201d_\n\n _Then up starts the mate of our gallant ship,\n And a bold young man was he:\n \u201cOh! I have a wife in fair Portsmouth town,\n But a widow I fear she will be.\u201d_\n\n _Then up starts the cook of our gallant ship,\n And a gruff old soul was he:\n \u201cOh! I have a wife in fair Plymouth town,\n But a widow I fear she will be.\u201d_\n\n _And then up spoke the little cabin-boy,\n And a pretty little boy was he:\n \u201cOh! I am more grievd for my daddy and my mammy,\n Than you for your wives all three.\u201d_\n\n _Then three times round went our gallant ship,\n And three times round went she:\n For the want of a life-boat they all went down,\n And she sank to the bottom of the sea._\n\n _While the raging seas did roar,\n And the stormy winds did blow,\n While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,\n And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,\n And the land-lubbers lying down below._\n\n\nSIR PATRICK SPENS\n\n The king sits in Dunfermline town,\n Drinking the blude-red wine;\n \u201cO whare will I get a skeely skipper,\n To sail this new ship of mine?\u201d\n\n O up and spake an eldern knight,\n Sat at the king\u2019s right knee,--\n \u201cSir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,\n That ever sailed the sea.\u201d--\n\n Our king has written a braid letter,\n And seal\u2019d it with his hand,\n And sent it to sir Patrick Spens,\n Was walking on the strand.\n\n \u201cTo Noroway, to Noroway,\n To Noroway o\u2019er the faem;\n The king\u2019s daughter of Noroway,\n \u2019Tis thou maun bring her hame.\u201d\n\n The first word that sir Patrick read,\n Sae loud loud laughed he;\n The neist word that sir Patrick read,\n The tear blinded his ee.\n\n \u201cO wha is this has done this deed,\n And tauld the king o\u2019 me,\n To send us out, at this time of the year,\n To sail upon the sea?\n\n \u201cBe it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,\n Our ship must sail the faem;\n The king\u2019s daughter of Noroway,\n \u2019Tis we must fetch her hame.\u201d--\n\n They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,\n Wi\u2019 a\u2019 the speed they may;\n They hae landed in Noroway,\n Upon a Wodensday.\n\n They hadna been a week, a week,\n In Noroway, but twae,\n When that the lords o\u2019 Noroway\n Began aloud to say,--\n\n \u201cYe Scottishmen spend a\u2019 our king\u2019s goud,\n And a\u2019 our queenis fee.\u201d--\n \u201cYe lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!\n Fu\u2019 loud I hear ye lie:\n\n \u201cFor I brought as much white monie,\n As gane my men and me,\n And I brought a half-fou o\u2019 gude red goud,\n Out o\u2019er the sea wi\u2019 me.\n\n \u201cMake ready, make ready, my merrymen a\u2019!\n Our gude ship sails the morn,\u201d--\n \u201cNow, ever alake, my master dear,\n I fear a deadly storm!\n\n \u201cI saw the new moon, late yestreen,\n Wi\u2019 the auld moon in her arm;\n And, if we gang to sea, master,\n I fear we\u2019ll come to harm.\u201d\n\n They hadna sail\u2019d a league, a league,\n A league but barely three,\n When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,\n And gurly grew the sea.\n\n The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap,\n It was sic a deadly storm;\n And the waves cam o\u2019er the broken ship,\n Till a\u2019 her sides were torn.\n\n \u201cO where will I get a gude sailor,\n To take my helm in hand,\n Till I get up to the tall top-mast;\n To see if I can spy land?\u201d--\n\n \u201cO here am I, a sailor gude,\n To take the helm in hand,\n Till you go up to the tall top-mast;\n But I fear you\u2019ll ne\u2019er spy land.\u201d\n\n He hadna gane a step, a step,\n A step but barely ane,\n When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,\n And the salt sea it cam in.\n\n \u201cGae, fetch a web o\u2019 the silken claith,\n Another o\u2019 the twine,\n And wap them into our ship\u2019s side,\n And letna the sea come in.\u201d--\n\n They fetch\u2019d a web o\u2019 the silken claith,\n Another o\u2019 the twine,\n And they wapp\u2019d them round that gude ship\u2019s side,\n But still the sea cam in.\n\n O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords\n To weet their cork-heel\u2019d shoon!\n But lang or a\u2019 the play was play\u2019d,\n They wat their hats aboon.\n\n And mony was the feather bed,\n That flatter\u2019d on the faem;\n And mony was the gude lord\u2019s son,\n That never mair cam hame.\n\n The ladyes wrang their fingers white,\n The maidens tore their hair,\n A\u2019 for the sake of their true loves;\n For them they\u2019ll see na mair.\n\n O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit,\n Wi\u2019 their fans into their hand,\n Before they see sir Patrick Spens\n Come sailing to the strand!\n\n And lang, lang, may the maidens sit,\n With their goud kaims in their hair,\n A\u2019waiting for their ain dear loves!\n For them they\u2019ll see nae mair.\n\n O forty miles off Aberdeen,\n \u2019Tis fifty fathoms deep,\n And there lies gude sir Patrick Spens,\n Wi\u2019 the Scots lords at his feet.\n\n\nTHE D\u00c6MON LOVER\n\n \u201cO where have you been, my long, long love,\n This long seven years and mair?\u201d\n \u201cO I\u2019m come to seek my former vows\n Ye granted me before.\u201d\n\n \u201cO hold your tongue of your former vows,\n For they will breed sad strife;\n O hold your tongue of your former vows,\n For I am become a wife.\u201d\n\n He turned him right and round about,\n And the tear blinded his ee:\n \u201cI wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,\n If it had not been for thee.\n\n \u201cI might hae had a king\u2019s daughter,\n Far, far beyond the sea;\n I might have had a king\u2019s daughter,\n Had it not been for love o thee.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf ye might have had a king\u2019s daughter,\n Yer sel ye had to blame;\n Ye might have taken the king\u2019s daughter,\n For ye kend that I was nane.\n\n \u201cIf I was to leave my husband dear,\n And my two babes also,\n O what have you to take me to,\n If with you I should go?\u201d\n\n \u201cI hae seven ships upon the sea--\n The eighth brought me to land--\n With four-and-twenty bold mariners,\n And music on every hand.\u201d\n\n She has taken up her two little babes,\n Kissd them baith cheek and chin:\n \u201cO fair ye weel, my ain two babes,\n For I\u2019ll never see you again.\u201d\n\n She set her foot upon the ship,\n No mariners could she behold;\n But the sails were o the taffetie,\n And the masts o the beaten gold.\n\n She had not sailed a league, a league,\n A league but barely three,\n When dismal grew his countenance,\n And drumlie grew his ee.\n\n They had not saild a league, a league,\n A league but barely three,\n Until she espied his cloven foot,\n And she wept right bitterlie.\n\n \u201cO hold your tongue of your weeping,\u201d says he,\n \u201cOf your weeping now let me be;\n I will shew you how the lilies grow\n On the banks of Italy.\u201d\n\n \u201cO what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,\n That the sun shines sweetly on?\u201d\n \u201cO yon are the hills of heaven,\u201d he said,\n \u201cWhere you will never win.\u201d\n\n \u201cO whaten a mountain is yon,\u201d she said,\n \u201cAll so dreary wi frost and snow?\u201d\n \u201cO yon is the mountain of hell,\u201d he cried,\n \u201cWhere you and I will go.\u201d\n\n He strack the tap-mast wi his hand,\n The fore-mast wi his knee,\n And he brake that gallant ship in twain,\n And sank her in the sea.\n\n\nTHE MERMAID\n\n\n PART I\n\n On Jura\u2019s heath how sweetly swell\n The murmurs of the mountain bee!\n How softly mourns the writhed shell\n Of Jura\u2019s shore, its parent sea!\n\n But softer, floating o\u2019er the deep,\n The Mermaid\u2019s sweet sea-soothing lay,\n That charmed the dancing waves to sleep,\n Before the bark of Colonsay.\n\n Aloft the purple pennons wave,\n As parting gay from Crinan\u2019s shore,\n From Morven\u2019s wars the seamen brave\n Their gallant Chieftain homeward bore.\n\n In youth\u2019s gay bloom, the brave Macphail\n Still blamed the lingering bark\u2019s delay;\n For her he chid the flagging sail,\n The lovely Maid of Colonsay.\n\n \u201cAnd raise,\u201d he cried, \u201cthe song of love,\n The maiden sung with tearful smile,\n When first, o\u2019er Jura\u2019s hills to rove,\n We left afar the lonely isle!--\n\n \u201c\u2018When on this ring of ruby red\n Shall die,\u2019 she said, \u2018the crimson hue,\n Know that thy favourite fair is dead,\n Or proves to thee and love untrue.\u2019\u201d\n\n Now, lightly poised, the rising oar\n Disperses wide the foamy spray,\n And, echoing far o\u2019er Crinan\u2019s shore,\n Resounds the song of Colonsay.\n\n \u201cSoftly blow, thou western breeze,\n Softly rustle through the sail!\n Soothe to rest the furrowy seas,\n Before my Love, sweet western gale!\u201d\n\n Thus, all to soothe the Chieftain\u2019s woe,\n Far from the maid he loved so dear,\n The song arose, so soft and slow,\n He seemed her parting sigh to hear.\n\n The lonely deck he paces o\u2019er,\n Impatient for the rising day,\n And still, from Crinan\u2019s moonlight shore,\n He turns his eyes to Colonsay.\n\n The moonbeams crisp the curling surge,\n That streaks with foam the ocean green:\n While forward still the rowers urge\n Their course, a female form was seen.\n\n That Sea-maid\u2019s form, of pearly light,\n Was whiter than the downy spray,\n And round her bosom, heaving bright,\n Her glossy, yellow ringlets play.\n\n Borne on a foamy-crested wave,\n She reached amain the bounding prow,\n Then clasping fast the Chieftain brave,\n She, plunging, sought the deep below.\n\n Ah! long beside thy feigned bier,\n The monks the prayers of death shall say,\n And long, for thee, the fruitless tear\n Shall weep the Maid of Colonsay!\n\n\n PART II\n\n But downwards, like a powerless corse;\n The eddying waves the Chieftain bear;\n He only heard the moaning hoarse\n Of waters, murmuring in his ear.\n\n The murmurs sink, by slow degrees;\n No more the surges round him rave;\n Lulled by the music of the seas,\n He lies within a coral cave.\n\n In dreamy mood reclines he long,\n Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose,\n Till, warbling wild, the Sea-maid\u2019s song,\n Far in the crystal cavern, rose;\n\n \u201cThis yellow sand, this sparry cave,\n Shall bend thy soul to beauty\u2019s sway;\n Canst thou the maiden of the wave\n Compare to her of Colonsay?\u201d\n\n Roused by that voice, of silver sound,\n From the paved floor he lightly sprung,\n And, glancing wild his eyes around,\n Where the fair Nymph her tresses wrung,\n\n No form he saw of mortal mould;\n It shone like ocean\u2019s snowy foam;\n Her ringlets waved in living gold,\n Her mirror crystal, pearl her comb.\n\n Her pearly comb the Siren took,\n And careless bound her tresses wild;\n Still o\u2019er the mirror stole her look,\n As on the wondering youth she smiled.\n\n Like music from the greenwood tree,\n Again she raised the melting lay;\n \u201cFair Warrior, wilt thou dwell with me,\n And leave the Maid of Colonsay?\n\n \u201cFair is the crystal hall for me,\n With rubies and with emeralds set,\n And sweet the music of the sea\n Shall sing, when we for love are met.\n\n \u201cHow sweet to dance, with gliding feet,\n Along the level tide so green,\n Responsive to the cadence sweet,\n That breathes along the moonlight scene!\n\n \u201cAnd soft the music of the main\n Rings from the motley tortoise-shell,\n While moonbeams, o\u2019er the watery plain,\n Seem trembling in its fitful swell.\n\n \u201cThrough the green meads beneath the sea,\n Enamoured, we shall fondly stray--\n Then, gentle warrior, dwell with me,\n And leave the Maid of Colonsay!\u201d--\n\n \u201cThough bright thy locks of glistening gold,\n Fair maiden of the foamy main!\n Thy life-blood is the water cold,\n While mine beats high in every vein.\n\n \u201cThough all the splendour of the sea\n Around thy faultless beauty shine,\n That heart, that riots wild and free,\n Can hold no sympathy with mine.\n\n \u201cThese sparkling eyes, so wild and gay,\n They swim not in the light of love:\n The beauteous Maid of Colonsay,\n Her eyes are milder than the dove!\n\n \u201cEven now, within the lonely isle,\n Her eyes are dim with tears for me;\n And canst thou think that siren smile\n Can lure my soul to dwell with thee?\u201d\n\n An oozy film her limbs o\u2019erspread;\n Unfolds in length her scaly train:\n She tossed, in proud disdain, her head,\n And lashed, with webbed fin, the main.\n\n \u201cDwell here, alone!\u201d the Mermaid cried,\n \u201cAnd view far off the Sea-nymphs play;\n Thy prison-wall, the azure tide,\n Shall bar thy steps from Colonsay.\n\n \u201cWhene\u2019er, like Ocean\u2019s scaly brood,\n I cleave, with rapid fin, the wave,\n Far from the daughter of the flood,\n Conceal thee in this coral cave.\n\n \u201cI feel my former soul return;\n It kindles at thy cold disdain:\n And has a mortal dared to spurn\n A daughter of the foamy main!\u201d--\n\n She fled; around the crystal cave\n The rolling waves resume their road\n On the broad portal idly rave,\n But enter not the Nymph\u2019s abode.\n\n And many a weary night went by,\n As in the lonely cave he lay;\n And many a sun rolled through the sky,\n And poured its beams on Colonsay;\n\n And oft, beneath the silver moon,\n He heard afar the Mermaid sing,\n And oft, to many a melting tune,\n The shell-formed lyres of ocean ring:\n\n And when the moon went down the sky,\n Still rose, in dreams, his native plain,\n And oft he thought his love was by,\n And charmed him with some tender strain;\n\n And heart-sick, oft he waked to weep,\n When ceased that voice of silver sound,\n And thought to plunge him in the deep,\n That walled his crystal cavern round.\n\n But still the ring, of ruby red,\n Retained its vivid crimson hue,\n And each despairing accent fled,\n To find his gentle Love so true.\n\n\n PART III\n\n When seven long lonely months were gone,\n The Mermaid to his cavern came,\n No more misshapen from the zone,\n But like a maid of mortal frame.\n\n \u201cO give to me that ruby ring,\n That on thy finger glances gay,\n And thou shalt hear the Mermaid sing\n The song, thou lovest, of Colonsay.\u201d--\n\n \u201cThis ruby ring, of crimson grain,\n Shall on thy finger glitter gay,\n If thou wilt bear me through the main,\n Again to visit Colonsay.\u201d--\n\n \u201cExcept thou quit thy former Love,\n Content to dwell for aye with me,\n Thy scorn my finny frame might move,\n To tear thy limbs amid the sea.\u201d--\n\n \u201cThen bear me swift along the main,\n The lonely isle again to see,\n And, when I here return again,\n I plight my faith to dwell with thee.\u201d--\n\n An oozy film her limbs o\u2019erspread,\n While slow unfolds her scaly train.\n With gluey fangs her hands were clad,\n She lashed, with webbed fin, the main.\n\n He grasps the Mermaid\u2019s scaly sides,\n As, with broad fin, she oars her way;\n Beneath the silent moon she glides,\n That sweetly sleeps on Colonsay.\n\n Proud swells her heart! she deems, at last,\n To lure him with her silver tongue,\n And, as the shelving rocks she past,\n She raised her voice, and sweetly sung.\n\n In softer, sweeter strains she sung,\n Slow gliding o\u2019er the moonlight bay,\n When light to land the Chieftain sprung,\n To hail the Maid of Colonsay.\n\n Oh! sad the Mermaid\u2019s gay notes fell,\n And sadly sink remote at sea!\n So sadly mourns the writhed shell\n Of Jura\u2019s shore, its parent sea.\n\n And ever as the year returns,\n The charm-bound sailors know the day,\n For sadly still the Mermaid mourns\n The lovely Chief of Colonsay.\n\n _Dr. John Leyden. (Condensed)_\n\n\n\n\nA-HARROWING O\u2019 THE BORDER\n\n\n\n\nTHE GALLOWAY RAID\n\n _The reavers of Eskdale were mounted for weir,\n And Annandale moss-troopers grasped the spear;\n And the blades that they bore in the sun glittered bright;\n And breast-plate and helmet reflected the light._\n\n _They spurred the fleet charger thro\u2019 bog and thro\u2019 brake;\n To the yell of their slogan the echoes awake;\n The Johnstones and Jardines cry, \u201cLads, we\u2019ll away,\n And we\u2019ll foray the pastures of Fair Galloway!\u201d_\n\n _The men were determined--their steeds they were strong,\n And eager for plunder they pranced along;\n The clang of their weapons rung loud on the dale,\n And their helmet-plumes waving aloft an the gale._\n\n * * * * *\n\n _Beholdst thou the beacon-light gleaming afar,\n On misty Glenbennan, the signal of war?\n Bengairn and Caerlochan their blazes display,\n And they warn the bold spearmen of Fair Galloway._\n\n _But the damsels of Esk and of Annan may mourn,\n And in vain may they look for their lovers\u2019 return;\n On the green dale of Dryburgh they rest in their grave,\n And o\u2019er them the hemlock and rank nettles wave._\n\n _And few have escaped from the Galloway spear,\n That followed the flying and glanced in their rear,\n And the moss-troopers\u2019 widows are ruing the day\n Their husbands departed for Fair Galloway._\n\n (_Condensed_)\n\n\nTHE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE\n\n\n PART I\n\n God prosper long our noble King,\n Our liffes and saftyes all!\n A woefull hunting once there was\n In Chevy-Chase befall.\n\n To drive the deere with hound and horne,\n Erle Percy took the way;\n The child may rue that is unborne\n The hunting of that day!\n\n The stout Erle of Northumberland\n A vow to God did make,\n His pleasure in the Scottish woods\n Three sommers days to take;\n\n The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chase\n To kill and beare away.\n These tydings to Erle Douglas came,\n In Scottland where he lay,\n\n Who sent Erle Percy present word,\n He wold prevent his sport,\n The English Erle, not fearing that,\n Did to the woods resort,\n\n With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,\n All chosen men of might,\n Who knew ffull well in time of neede\n To ayme their shafts arright.\n\n The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran\n To chase the fallow deere;\n On Munday they began to hunt\n Ere daylight did appeare;\n\n And long before high noone they had\n A hundred fat buckes slaine.\n Then having dined, the drovyers went\n To rouze the deare againe;\n\n The bowmen mustered on the hills,\n Well able to endure;\n Theire backsids all with speciall care,\n That day were guarded sure.\n\n The hounds ran swiftly through the woods\n The nimble deere to take,\n That with their cryes the hills and dales\n An eccho shrill did make.\n\n Lord Percy to the quarry went\n To view the tender deere;\n Quoth he, \u201cErle Douglas promised once\n This day to meete me heere;\n\n But if I thought he wold not come,\n Noe longer wold I stay.\u201d\n With that, a brave younge gentlman\n Thus to the Erle did say,\n\n \u201cLoe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,\n His men in armour bright,\n Full twenty hundred Scottish speres\n All marching in our sight,\n\n \u201cAll men of pleasant Tivydale,\n Fast by the river Tweede:\u201d\n \u201cO ceaze your sportts!\u201d Erle Percy said,\n \u201cAnd take your bowes with speede.\n\n \u201cAnd now with me, my countrymen,\n Your courage forth advance!\n For there was never champion yett\n In Scottland nor in France,\n\n \u201cThat ever did on horsbacke come,\n But if my hap it were,\n I durst encounter man for man,\n With him to breake a spere.\u201d\n\n Erle Douglas on his milke white steede,\n Most like a Baron bold,\n Rode formost of his company,\n Whose armour shone like gold.\n\n \u201cShew me,\u201d sayd hee, \u201cwhose men you bee,\n That hunt soe boldly heere,\n That without my consent doe chase\n And kill my fallow deere.\u201d\n\n The first man that did answer make\n Was noble Percy hee,\n Who sayd, \u201cWee list not to declare,\n Nor shew whose men wee bee.\n\n \u201cYett wee will spend our deerest blood\n Thy cheefest harts to slay.\u201d\n Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,\n And thus in rage did say;\n\n \u201cEre thus I will outbraved bee,\n One of us tow shall dye!\n I know thee well! an Erle thou art,\n Lord Percy! Soe am I;\n\n \u201cBut trust me, Percye, pittye it were,\n And great offence, to kill\n Then any of these our guiltlesse men,\n For they have done none ill;\n\n \u201cLet thou and I the battell trye,\n And set our men aside.\u201d\n \u201cAccurst bee he!\u201d Erle Percy sayd,\n \u201cBy whome it is denyed.\u201d\n\n Then stept a gallant Squire forth,--\n Witherington was his name,--\n Who said, \u201cI wold not have it told\n To Henery our King, for shame,\n\n \u201cThat ere my captaine fought on foote,\n And I stand looking on:\n You bee two Erles,\u201d quoth Witherington,\n \u201cAnd I a Squier alone,\n\n \u201cIle doe the best that doe I may,\n While I have power to stand!\n While I have power to weeld my sword,\n Ile fight with hart and hand!\u201d\n\n Our English archers bend their bowes--\n Their harts were good and trew,--\n Att the first flight of arrowes sent,\n Full foure score Scotts they slew.\n\n To drive the deere with hound and horne,\n Douglas bade on the bent;\n Two captaines moved with mickle might\n Their speres to shivers went.\n\n They closed full fast on everye side,\n Noe slacknes there was found,\n But many a gallant gentleman\n Lay gasping on the ground.\n\n O Christ! it was great greeve to see\n How eche man chose his spere,\n And how the blood out of their brests\n Did gush like water cleare!\n\n At last these two stout Erles did meet\n Like captaines of great might;\n Like Lyons wood they layd on lode,\n They made a cruell fight.\n\n They fought untill they both did sweat,\n With swords of tempered steele,\n Till blood a-downe their cheekes like raine\n They trickling downe did feele.\n\n \u201cO yeeld thee, Percye!\u201d Douglas sayd,\n And infaith I will thee bringe\n Where thou shall high advanced bee\n By James our Scottish King;\n\n \u201cThy ransome I will freely give,\n And this report of thee,\n Thou art the most couragious Knight\n That ever I did see.\u201d\n\n \u201cNoe, Douglas!\u201d quoth Erle Percy then,\n \u201cThy profer I doe scorne;\n I will not yeelde to any Scott\n That ever yett was borne!\u201d\n\n With that there came an arrow keene\n Out of an English bow,\n Who scorke Erle Douglas on the brest\n A deepe and deadlye blow;\n\n Who never sayd more words then these,\n \u201cFight on my merrymen all!\n For why, my life is att an end,\n Lord Percy sees my fall.\u201d\n\n Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke\n The dead man by the hand;\n And said, \u201cErle Douglas! for thy sake\n Wold I had lost my land!\n\n \u201cO Christ! my verry hart doth bleed\n For sorrow for thy sake!\n For sure, a more redoubted Knight,\n Mischance cold never take!\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n A Knight amongst the Scotts there was,\n Which saw Erle Douglas dye,\n Who streight in hart did vow revenge\n Upon the Lord Percye.\n\n Sir Hugh Mountgomerye was he called,\n Who, with a spere full bright,\n Well mounted on a gallant steed,\n Ran feircly through the fight,\n\n And past the English archers all,\n Without all dread or feare,\n And through Erle Percyes body then\n He thrust his hatfull spere,\n\n With such a vehement force and might,\n That his body he did gore,\n The staff ran through the other side\n A large cloth yard and more.\n\n Thus did both those nobles dye,\n Whose courage none cold staine,\n An English archer then perceived\n The noble Erle was slaine,\n\n He had a good bow in his hand\n Made of a trusty tree;\n An arrow of a cloth yard long\n To the hard head haled hee,\n\n Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye\n His shaft full right he sett;\n The grey goose winge that was there-on,\n In his harts bloode was wett.\n\n This fight from breake of day did last\n Till setting of the sun,\n For when they rung the Evening bell\n The battele scarse was done.\n\n With stout Erle Percy there was slaine\n Sir John of Egerton,\n Sir Robert Harcliffe and Sir William,\n Sir James that bold barron;\n\n And with Sir George and Sir James,\n Both Knights of good account;\n And good Sir Raphe Rebbye there was slaine,\n Whose prowesse did surmount.\n\n For Witherington needs must I wayle\n As one in doleful dumpes,\n For when his leggs were smitten of,\n He fought upon his stumpes.\n\n And with Erle Douglas there was slaine\n Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,\n And Sir Charles Morrell that from feelde\n One foote wold never flee;\n\n Sir Roger Hever of Harcliffe tow,--\n His sisters sonne was hee,--\n Sir David Lamb so well esteemed\n But saved he cold not bee;\n\n And the Lord Maxwell in like case\n With Douglas he did dye;\n Of twenty hundred Scottish speeres,\n Scarce fifty five did flye;\n\n Of fifteen hundred Englishmen\n Went home but fifty three;\n The rest in Chevy-Chase were slaine,\n Under the greenwoode tree.\n\n Next day did many widdowes come\n Their husbands to bewayle;\n They washt their wounds in brinish teares,\n But all wold not prevayle.\n\n Theyr bodyes bathed in purple blood,\n They bore with them away,\n They kist them dead a thousand times\n Ere they were cladd in clay.\n\n The newes was brought to Eddenborrow\n Where Scottland\u2019s King did rayne,\n That brave Erle Douglas soddainlye\n Was with an arrow slaine.\n\n \u201cO heavy newes!\u201d King James can say,\n \u201cScottland may wittenesse bee\n I have not any captaine more\n Of such account as hee!\u201d\n\n Like tydings to King Henery came\n Within as short a space,\n That Percy of Northumberland\n Was slaine in Chevy-Chase.\n\n \u201cNow God be with him!\u201d said our King,\n \u201cSith it will noe better bee,\n I trust I have within my realme\n Five hundred as good as hee!\n\n \u201cYett shall not Scotts nor Scottland say\n But I will vengeance take,\n And be revenged on them all\n For brave Erle Percyes sake.\u201d\n\n This vow the King did well performe\n After on Humble Downe;\n In one day fifty Knights were slayne,\n With Lords of great renowne,\n\n And of the rest of small account,\n Did many hundreds dye:\n Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy-Chase\n Made by the Erle Percye.\n\n God save our King, and blesse this land\n With plentye, joy, and peace;\n And grant hencforth that foule debate\n Twixt noble men may ceaze!\n\n ffins.\n\n\nTHE BALLAD OF MEIKLE-MOUTHED MEG\n\n\n BOLD WILLIE SCOTT\n\n The moonbeam glints on tower and hill,\n It\u2019s hey! for the bonny moonlight!\n \u201cGo saddle my steed, I\u2019ll ride betimes,\n The English Border to-night.\u201d\n\n \u201cTake tent, good lad, the Warder\u2019s men\n Are riding over the land.\u201d\n \u201cTuts! six Scotts lads will keep two score\n Of such feckless loons at a stand!\u201d\n\n Oh! they were twenty stout and bold,\n Mounted on active naigs;\n Some armed wi\u2019 guns and Jeddart staves,\n Wi\u2019 iron round their craigs.\n\n Young Scott o\u2019 Harden, led them on\n To the lands o\u2019 Elibank;\n \u201cGood faith, I wat Sir Gideon\n Will no his kindness thank.\u201d\n\n He left his towers by Ettrick\u2019s stream,\n His minnie\u2019s proverb scorning;\n When Scotts set foot in the stirrup-ring,\n The blood will flow ere morning.\n\n Sir Gideon and young Willie Scott\n Were ever deadly foes;\n Ere they shall clasp each other\u2019s hand,\n The Gowan shall grow on the Rose.\n\n\n THE RAID\n\n They gained the lands o\u2019 Elibank,\n And gathered the gear together;\n They counted tens, and came to scores,\n And drove them out the heather.\n\n There was not a Murray on the lea,\n Young Scott his heart was light;\n \u201cThere\u2019ll be a dry breakfast at Elibank,\n At Oakwood, a meal to-night.\u201d\n\n They got half way to Ettrick stream,\n When they heard a sleuth-hound yell,\n And Scott well kenned his mortal foe,\n Pursued him o\u2019er the fell.\n\n Sir Gideon was a doure fierce man,\n A terror to a foe;\n He had a wife and daughters three,\n Well dowered they were I trow.\n\n He let young Harden steal his cows,\n And, oh! his arm was slack;\n But the grim old Knight was looking on\n Wi\u2019 fifty men at his back.\n\n \u201cI have thee now like a thief in a mill,\u201d\n Sir Gideon o\u2019 Elibank said;\n He gave the word to loose the hounds;\n And the hot pursuit he led.\n\n \u201cYoung Scott, yield quietly to me,\u201d\n Sir Gideon loudly cried,\n \u201cOr a thief\u2019s death shall ye die,\n If ye the onset bide.\n\n \u201cYe\u2019ve driven off my cows and sheep,\n And byre and fold are toom,\n The corbies and ye shall be acquaint,\n For what this night ye\u2019ve done.\u201d\n\n \u201cBrag on! brag on! ye old greybeard!\n While Scott o\u2019 Harden stands,\n No power on earth shall make him yield\n To any o\u2019 Murray\u2019s bands.\n\n \u201cSo do your best, and do your worst,\n Here\u2019s a hand and sword to fight;\n I trow a Scott ne\u2019er turned his back\n Whilst a Murray was in sight.\u201d\n\n \u201cSmall mercy after what ye\u2019ve stol\u2019n,\n I had designed for thee;\n But, callant, after what ye\u2019ve said,\n I\u2019ll prove your enemy.\u201d\n\n \u201cThou old man, measure weapons then,\n And I would have ye leave\n Your well-faured daughters to the world,\n For your loss must they grieve.\u201d\n\n \u201cBefore sunrise,\u201d quoth Gideon,\n \u201cYou\u2019ll speak less vauntingly;\n Say what ye like of me, you dog,\n But leave my bairnies be.\u201d\n\n The strife went high and bloodily,\n They grappled at the throat;\n And many was the Elibank,\n The reavers deadly smote.\n\n The guns banged off, the sleuth-hounds yelled,\n The cattle rowted sore;\n And many wights lay on the ground,\n That up rose never more.\n\n The fray went hard wi\u2019 Willie Scott,\n His horse fell wi\u2019 a bound,\n And many Murrays wi\u2019 their swords\n Bore him unto the ground.\n\n\n THE GALLOWS OR MARRIAGE\n\n Lady Murray came forth at noon,\n To welcome her husband home;\n And there she spied young Scott o\u2019 Harden,\n All bounden and his lone.\n\n They thrust the Scott in a darksome room,\n And left him to his thought;\n But neither bread nor yet red wine\n Unto the youth they brought.\n\n \u201cAnd what, Lord Gideon,\u201d said his dame,\n \u201cWill ye do wi\u2019 young Scott?\u201d\n \u201cDo ye see yonder branch o\u2019 the elm,\n For that shall be his lot.\u201d\n\n \u201cO goodman,\u201d quo\u2019 his pitying dame,\n \u201cYe could not do this thing;\n For lifting a pickle o\u2019 your nowt,\n So brave a lad to hing!\u201d\n\n \u201cWhat mercy did ever a Scott o\u2019 them\n E\u2019er show to me or mine?\n The reaving Scotts shall surely weep,\n The last of all their line.\u201d\n\n She said, \u201cBut we have daughters three,\n And they are no well-faured,\n When ye\u2019ve a husband to your hand,\n To hang him would be hard.\u201d\n\n \u201cSooth, goodwife, faith, but ye are right!\n There\u2019s wisdom in your say;\n This birkie Scott shall have his choice,\n To wed what one he may.\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll give him respite to the morn,\n Nor hang him \u2019gainst all law;\n To marry our daughter Meikle-Mouthed Meg,\n Or choke with the death-thraw.\u201d\n\n Quo\u2019 she, \u201cTo marry our daughter Meg\n More wiselike would it be,\n Than kill the hope of an old, old House\n And strap him to the tree.\u201d\n\n Quo\u2019 he, \u201cIf I were in his place,\n I would refuse I ween,\n And die a death upon the tree,\n Than wed what I\u2019d ne\u2019er seen.\n\n \u201cGo ye, and tell our daughter Meg,\n That she\u2019s be wived the morn;\n And I will to this young gallant,\n And see what he perform.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\n She went unto her daughter Meg,\n Who had a meikle mouth;\n But her teeth were pearls, and her honey breath\n Was like the wind from the South.\n\n The mother sat by her daughter\u2019s side;\n \u201cSweet Meg, come tell me this,\n Wouldst thou the rather be a bride,\n Then live in singleness?\n\n \u201cBefore I was your age, I trow,\n I was in a bride her place.\u201d\n \u201cAye, mother,\u201d quo\u2019 Meg, and sighed full sore,\n \u201cBut ye had a well-faured face.\n\n \u201cBut you shall see the Ettrick stream\n Run thro\u2019 the dells o\u2019 Yarrow,\n Before ye hear o\u2019 an offer to me,\n Or a man to be my marrow.\n\n \u201cMy face is foul, my heart is large,\n A kinder none there is;\n And must I pass away my days,\n In sullen loneliness?\u201d\n\n The mother told her of young Scott,\n And waited her reply;\n \u201cO Mother, I\u2019d rather marry him\n Than ever he should die!\u201d\n\n But the tears rose welling from their spring,\n And filled her cushat eyes;\n \u201cBut, Mother, how if when we\u2019re wed,\n He should my heart despise?\u201d\n\n \u201cOh, marriage,\u201d quo\u2019 the wily dame,\n \u201cIs not that hard to snoove,\n If ye should marry Willie Scott,\n Ye\u2019ll be like hand and glove.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\n Sir Gideon entered young Scott\u2019s dungeon;\n \u201cThy death is at my hand,\n Ye came as a thief in the dead o\u2019 night,\n And stole my cows from my land.\n\n \u201cBut I\u2019ll give ye a chance for life,\n For all ye have said of me,\n Either to marry my daughter Meg,\n Or hang upon yonder tree.\n\n \u201cAnd the boldest Scott on the Border March,\n Shall never take ye down,\n Until your skeleton is seen\n And ye drop away bone by bone.\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd ye would spare my life,\u201d he said,\n \u201cFor all ye come so gleg,\n If I would stoop and give my hand\n To your bonny daughter Meg?\n\n \u201cYe are the Murray of Elibank,\n I Scott of Oakwood Tower,\n I would not marry your daughter Meg,\n Tho\u2019 a kingdom were her dower;\n\n \u201cBut little I fear to meet my death,\n As I do to tell you this;\n An ye had fallen in my hands,\n Such were your fate, I wiss.\n\n \u201cYe think that your winsome daughter Meg,\u201d\n Oh! he spoke so scornfully,--\n \u201cWill get a husband at the last,\n But, faith, my lad, ye lie,\n\n \u201cI rather choose upon the gallows\n To render up my breath;\n I trow there will be Scots enough\n Left to revenge my death.\u201d\n\n \u201cThere is my thumb, thou young braggart,\u201d\n Sir Gideon chafing cried,\n \u201cI wouldn\u2019t hinder ye your choice\n For death shall be your bride.\n\n \u201cAnd let the Scots o\u2019 a\u2019 the Border\n Revenge your death that dare.\u201d\n He left young Scott unto himself,\n And quit his dungeon stair.\n\n\n YOUNG WILLIE\u2019S MESSENGER\n\n It was about the midnight time,\n When his dungeon door ga\u2019ed back;\n And the sentinel who guarded it\n Let in a woman in black.\n\n \u201cWhat want ye wi\u2019 me, fair Maiden?\u201d\n The Scott o\u2019 Harden said.\n \u201cI come to ask if thy dying wish\n Can be by me obeyed?\n\n \u201cI am a lassie o\u2019 the house,\n And wait on Sir Gideon\u2019s dame;\n And tho\u2019 ye have refused poor Meg,\n Her prayers will be the same.\u201d\n\n \u201cWhy has Dame Murray sent thee here?\u201d--\n \u201cShe has a woman\u2019s heart.\n Ye have a mother and sisters twain,\n From whom full soon ye part.\n\n \u201cIf ye have anything to say,\n Ye would have carried there,\n I swear by all that\u2019s good on earth,\n To be your messenger.\u201d\n\n \u201cMaiden,\u201d quo\u2019 he, and his voice was low,\n \u201cOf my mother do not speak;\n I wish to die as my father\u2019s son,\n And yet her heart I break.\u201d\n\n \u201cIt cannot be,\u201d then said the girl,\n \u201cYe have rejected Meg,\n Without the looking on her face?\n I\u2019m sure your life she\u2019d beg.\u201d\n\n \u201cI have not seen, but I have heard\n Her face described to me;\n And, by my faith, between the two,\n I\u2019ll chose the gallows-tree.\u201d\n\n The tears fell from that poor girl\u2019s eyes,\n In anger or in spleen?--\n And ever and anon she sighed,\n And deep sobs came between.\n\n \u201cBelike,\u201d quo\u2019 she, \u201cthey\u2019ve painted her\n Far worse than she may look;\n Many a man has an ugly wife,\n That the gallows could not brook.\u201d\n\n \u201cI have no wish to see her face,\n Far less to marry her;\n But ye seem o\u2019 a kindly heart,\n And aiblins are as fair.\n\n \u201cSo let me see your face, my joy,\n And by your countenance,\n I\u2019ll see if I dare trust you with\n A letter for my chance?\u201d\n\n She threw the veil from off her face,\n \u201cI\u2019m no well faured I know;\n But kernels lie inside hard shells,\n And gold in the earth below.\u201d\n\n \u201cSo sweet and sensible ye speak,\n Ye almost make me wish,\n Meikle-Mouthed Meg was like to you,\n So kind, so young, so lish.\u201d\n\n He held the light within the cruse\n Close to the maiden\u2019s face,\n Wi\u2019 loof o\u2019er e\u2019en, he earnestly\n Perused each simple grace.\n\n He saw her face was fair and round,\n Her lips like a large rose-leaf;\n And her snow-white teeth so even showed,\n Like ivory from their sheath.\n\n There stood a tear in her dove-blue eye,\n Her eye so mild and meek,\n A large tear slowly left the lid,\n And trickled down her cheek.\n\n \u201cYe have the look that never lied,\n And tho\u2019 no fine your face,\n Ye\u2019ve pleasing sense and kindliness\n Wi\u2019 every modest grace.\n\n \u201cSo bring to me the writing ink,\n The paper and pen so fine;\n And tho\u2019 ye abide wi\u2019 my enemy,\n Ye\u2019ll take my mother a line.\u201d\n\n She rolled it up so carefully,\n The letter he writ so fair;\n She had no silk, but she tied it with\n A lock o\u2019 her golden hair.\n\n\n THE GALLOWS-TREE\n\n It was by cock-crowing the morn,\n When Meg wi\u2019 crippled feet,\n Like one that had a long way walked\n Came in, her sire to greet.\n\n \u201cGrant me another day,\u201d she cried,\n \u201cFor young Willie Scott his life;\n And throw not by the chance, your Meg\n Has to become a wife.\u201d\n\n Sir Gideon rubbed his hands in glee,\n \u201cI grant it for your sake;\n But if he then refuse your hand,\n He shall his own way take.\u201d\n\n Much wondered the Laird o\u2019 Oakwood Tower,\n As fell the evening gloom,\n They did not hang him in the morn,\n As he had heard his doom.\n\n He heard the sentry shoot the bolt,\n And a kind o\u2019 murmuring;\n And then his mother and sisters two\n Wi\u2019 loud outcries break in.\n\n And, \u201cO my Son!\u201d the mother cried,\n \u201cIs there no other way,\n To save thee from a cruel death,\n At the hands o\u2019 a fierce Murray?\n\n \u201cMarry his daughter, Willie dear,\n And save thy mother\u2019s life;\n Tho\u2019 she be ugly--what of that?\n She\u2019ll make a frugal wife.\u201d\n\n \u201cMother, I will not take his terms.\n Who brought ye here?\u201d he said.\n \u201cWho, but your messenger so good,\n That kind and sonsy maid.\u201d\n\n They passed the time in grief and woe,\n Throughout the dead of night;\n Nor ever they ceased to weep wi\u2019 him,\n Until the morning\u2019s light.\n\n The loud horn blew out o\u2019er the lea,\n Sir Gideon stood him before;\n \u201cWhat is thy choice, young man?\u201d he cried,\n \u201cOr ere this deed be o\u2019er.\u201d\n\n \u201cThe gallows still before the wife,\u201d\n Young Harden stoutly said.\n \u201cAnd wi\u2019 the hemp around my throat,\n I\u2019ll spit on the ground ye tread.\u201d\n\n They led him forth to the gallows-tree;\n When he saw that maiden there,\n Who at her risk, unto his mother\n Carried his last letter;\n\n The thoughts o\u2019 the gallows could not stir\n The heart o\u2019 that dauntless Chief,\n But the weeping look of that young girl,\n It pierced his soul wi\u2019 grief.\n\n And while the tear hung in her eye,\n He took her lily hand;\n And said, \u201cThy heart is far too meek,\n For such a ruffian band.\n\n \u201cHear me, Murray, speak my mind,\n I care not for thy word,\n I\u2019d rather marry this poor maiden,\n If should my life be spared,\n\n \u201cThen ever I\u2019d wed thy daughter Meg.\u201d--\n Sir Gideon clapped his hand;\n \u201cA bargain! I take thee at thy word,\n Young Scott where dost thou stand.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\n They buckled them in holy bonds,\n The priest he prayed the while;\n And when the marriage knot was tied,\n Sir Gideon blithe did smile.\n\n His mother fell upon his neck,\n \u201cGod bless my bairn, he\u2019s free!\n And bless the bonny lassie yet,\n Who brought the word to me!\u201d\n\n \u201cI give thee a father\u2019s blessing, sir,\u201d\n The Murray blithely cried;\n \u201cFor what?\u201d--The lassie modest said,\n \u201cMeikle-Mouthed Meg\u2019s your bride.\u201d\n\n Oh! then sore shame fell on the Scott,\n And tears came in his eyes;\n \u201cAnd is my bride the scorned Meg,\n That I did so despise?\n\n \u201cLet no man hate what he\u2019s not seen,\n The shame on me doth lay:--\n I rose this morning for my death,\n And it ends in my bridal day!\u201d\n\n (_Englished. Condensed_)\n\n\nBELTED WILL\n\n\n THE ROBBER BARON\n\n The Baron of Thirlwall came from the wars,\n Laden with treasure bold;\n Among the which a fair table,\n All of the beaten gold.\n\n And men will speak of the Baron\u2019s wealth,\n Whatever he may say,\n And how a grizzly Dwarf does guard\n His treasure night and day.\n\n Many a Border freebooter\n Eyed Thirlwall\u2019s good Castle,\n Thinking to win the bags of gold,\n And eke the fair table.\n\n But the Baron hath retainers bold,\n And swatchers many ane,\n And the Castle walls are high to win,\n Howe\u2019er they fidge and fain.\n\n The boldest one o\u2019 a\u2019 his men,\n Was Jockey of the Sheugh;\n The Baron loved him like a brother,\n And that was fair enoo.\n\n Jock could wrestle, run, or leap,\n Wi\u2019 ever a living man;\n Never a wight in Cumbernauld\n Could beat him at the span.\n\n But Thirlwall\u2019s Baron heeded not\n The word o\u2019 Belted Will,\n Who dwells within the dark Naworth,\n The Border March to still;\n\n He can rule all the Border round,\n Wi\u2019 a peeled willow-wand;\n But Thirlwall\u2019s Baron gecks at him,\n And all the laws o\u2019 the land.\n\n So fast come tidings of ravin wrong\n To Belted Willy\u2019s ear;\n Quo\u2019 he, \u201cBy my belt, I\u2019ll trap this man,\n If I catch him in effeir.\n\n \u201cBut he is like a wily fox,\n That taketh to his hole,\n An I can catch him on the turn,\n I\u2019ll smoke him from his bole.\n\n \u201cHe reaves and harrows every one,\n Tho\u2019 he has goups o\u2019 gold;\n I\u2019ll lay a trap for him bedeen,\n By which he shall be sold.\u201d\n\n Thirlwall\u2019s Baron heard his speech,\n Wi\u2019 scorn almost he burst;\n \u201cHis anger it is like a haggis,\n That\u2019s hottest at the first.\u201d\n\n Sore smiled the wily Belted Will,\n But in so dark a way;\n Better that smile were wanting there,\n Than on his lip to lay.\n\n\n THE TRAP O\u2019 BELTED WILL\n\n Jock o\u2019 the Sheugh tirled at the string,\n Of the Baron of Thirlwall\u2019s yett;\n \u201cUp, up, and rise, my noble Lord,\n Some plunder for to get.\n\n \u201cThere are a swatch o\u2019 Englishers\n Coming from Carlysle town,\n Well laden wi\u2019 the yellow gold,\n For Annan are they boun\u2019.\u201d\n\n \u201cGo, take a dozen o\u2019 my men,\n And brattle o\u2019er the lea,\n Lay wait, and watch until they pass\n The Bowness Witches\u2019 Tree.\n\n \u201cA dozen o\u2019 ye well may lick\n Three score o\u2019 English tikes,\n Take all they have, and leave them so\n To tell o\u2019 this who likes.\u201d\n\n Then Jock banged o\u2019er the broomy knoll,\n And reached the Witches\u2019 Tree,\n And wi\u2019 his dozen freebooters,\n Lay down on their bellie.\n\n There came on twenty Englishers,\n Wi\u2019 cloaks and saddlebags;\n There came on twenty travellers,\n Mounted on goodly nags.\n\n Came on those twenty travellers,\n With long cloaks flowing down,\n Came on these twenty travellers,\n All thro\u2019 the yellow broom.\n\n Then started up Jock and his men\n Wi\u2019 such an awful yell,\n Ye might have heard it at the top\n Of Skiddaw or Criffell.\n\n \u201cCome off your nags, ye sorning crew,\n Of Southron pock-puddings,\n Or ye shall have the good cold steel,\n So give us all your things!\u201d\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll give ye that,\u201d said one o\u2019 them,\n \u201cYe\u2019ll no forget, I wiss,\n This many a day, good Jock o\u2019 the Sheugh,\n And that my billie\u2019s this!\u201d\n\n They threw the cloaks from off their hides,\n And back and breastplate shone;\n They grippit their swords, the first blow struck\n Was echoed with a groan.\n\n Good faith! but Jock had found his match,\n For the Southrons hacked about;\n The Thirlwall boys were fain to fight,\n But soon put to the route.\n\n Of twelve o\u2019 Jock\u2019s good freebooters,\n But three fled o\u2019er the lea,\n The other nine lay still enough\n Beside the Witches\u2019 Tree.\n\n Poor Jock is down upon his back,\n Wi\u2019 a fair clour on the head;\n His billies all are stiffening,\n And three o\u2019 them are fled.\n\n Out spoke the twenty travellers,\n \u201cWhy, Jock, how\u2019s this of a\u2019,\n Ye bid us to a meal, good faith,\n And then ye run awa\u2019?\u201d\n\n Quo\u2019 Jock, as they bound fast his arms,\n And raised him from the lea,\n \u201cIf I had kenned ye were Belted Will\u2019s men,\n The Devil might stopped ye for me!\u201d\n\n\n THE GRIZZLY DWARF\n\n The Baron o\u2019 Thirlwall looked abroad,\n From out his strong Castle,\n And he saw three men come posting on,\n Out o\u2019er the fern and fell.\n\n \u201cI wad,\u201d said he, \u201cthey run a race,\n A thousand merks I lay\n Upon the wight in the red jerkin,\n He wins the race this day.\u201d\n\n The three men burst in on his room,\n \u201cMy Lord,\u201d then each one said,\n \u201cJock o\u2019 the Sheugh is wounded fair,\n And nine good fellows dead.\u201d\n\n The dark spot flew to the Baron\u2019s cheek,\n \u201cYe cowards, one and all!\n Go, join your bloody billies then,\n Whatever may befall!\u201d\n\n He struck each man the neck intil,\n And they fell on the floor;\n \u201cTo fly without a single blow,\n Shows valour to be poor!\n\n \u201cIf Belted Will should harm a hair\n O\u2019 Jock o\u2019 the Sheugh his head,\n I\u2019ll put the Border in such a blaze,\n Shall make him flee with dread.\n\n \u201cIf Jock o\u2019 the Sheugh hangs for this play,\n The whole of the March shall weep,\n No man shall waken in the morn,\n That goes alive to sleep.\u201d\n\n They brought these words to Belted Will\n As at racket-ball he played;\n But the only answer he let fall,\n \u201cWe\u2019ll soon see that,\u201d he said.\n\n * * * * *\n\n By Brampton\u2019s town there stands an oak,\n Upon a hill so high;\n And Jock was broughten there betimes\n Upon the tree to die.\n\n They strapped him to the highest branch\n Of all that goodly tree;\n And there the righteous chaplain prayed\n For Jock\u2019s soul solemnlie,\n\n Thirlwall\u2019s Baron saw the sight,\n And swore revenge to have;\n For better part o\u2019 a summer\u2019s day\n He nothing did but rave.\n\n He sent a messenger so bold\n To Will, who cried in scorn,\n \u201cBetter he looks unto his nest,\n I\u2019ll burn it ere the morn!\u201d\n\n The Baron fled to his Castle,\n And guarded it so grim,\n \u201cThe fiend take Belted Will,\u201d he cried,\n \u201c\u2019Tis word and blow wi\u2019 him.\u201d\n\n But scarcely had the midnight fell,\n When spite o\u2019 a\u2019 his care,\n Belted Will his Castle stormed,\n For a\u2019 he fought so fair.\n\n A tar barrel and reeking peat,\n They laid unto his nest,\n Threw open gates and wide windows,\n And the night wind did the rest.\n\n The Baron fled from room to room,\n By the flames of his own hall,\n \u201cHe\u2019s gi\u2019en me light to go to bed,\n Whatever may befall.\u201d\n\n He rushed into his inner room,\n Where his golden table lay;\n The Devil in likeness o\u2019 a Dwarf\n Kept watch there night and day.\n\n Belted Will pursued him hard,\n Amid the flame and stour,\n For he cut the skirt from the Baron\u2019s cloak,\n As he whisked through the door.\n\n \u201cSave me, now, thou gruesome Elf,\n And my soul and body\u2019s thine!\u201d\n The Dwarf he jabbered hideously,\n But never made a sign.\n\n Belted Will called for a ram,\n To bash the doorway down;\n The red flames thro\u2019 the keyhole flashed,\n And filled wi\u2019 reek the room.\n\n \u201cMy soul and body,\u201d the Baron said,\n Abjuring Christ His sign;\n The Devil he grippit him in his arms,\n \u201cNow, Baron, art thou mine.\u201d\n\n The door ga\u2019ed splintering from the posts,\n In rushed the enemy;\n But Baron, Dwarf, and gold table,\n I wat they could ne\u2019er see.\n\n And legends say the ugsome Dwarf\n Threw all into a well,\n And by the glamour o\u2019 his art\n Cast over all a spell;\n\n Which never may be rendered vain\n But by a Widow\u2019s Son;\n And he shall find the gold table,\n When years away have run.\n\n _Frederick Sheldon. (Condensed)_\n\n\n\n\nBRAVE HEARTS AND PROUD\n\n\n\n\nEARL HALDAN\u2019S DAUGHTER\n\n A.D. 1400\n\n _It was Earl Haldan\u2019s daughter,\n She looked across the sea;\n She looked across the water,\n And long and loud laughed she:\n \u201cThe locks of six Princesses\n Must be my marriage-fee,\n So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!\n Who comes a-wooing me!\u201d_\n\n _It was Earl Haldan\u2019s daughter,\n She walked along the sand;\n When she was aware of a Knight so fair,\n Come sailing to the land.\n His sails were all of velvet,\n His mast of beaten gold,\n And \u201chey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat,\n Who saileth here so bold?\u201d_\n\n _\u201cThe locks of five Princesses\n I won beyond the sea;\n I shore their golden tresses,\n To fringe a cloak for thee.\n One handful yet is wanting,\n But one of all the tale;\n So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!\n Furl up thy velvet sail!\u201d_\n\n _He leapt into the water,\n That rover young and bold;\n He gript Earl Haldan\u2019s daughter,\n He shore her locks of gold;\n \u201cGo weep, go weep, proud Maiden,\n The tale is full to-day.\n Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!\n Sail Westward ho, and away!\u201d_\n\n _Charles Kingsley_\n\n\nLADY CLARE\n\n It was the time when lilies blow,\n And clouds are highest up in air,\n Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe\n To give his cousin, Lady Clare.\n\n I trow they did not part in scorn;\n Lovers long-betrothed were they;\n They two will wed the morrow morn--\n God\u2019s blessing on the day!\n\n \u201cHe does not love me for my birth,\n Nor for my lands so broad and fair;\n He loves me for my own true worth,\n And that is well,\u201d said Lady Clare.\n\n In there came old Alice the nurse,\n Said, \u201cWho was this that went from thee?\u201d\n \u201cIt was my cousin,\u201d said Lady Clare;\n \u201cTo-morrow he weds with me.\u201d\n\n \u201cO God be thanked!\u201d said Alice the nurse,\n \u201cThat all comes round so just and fair!\n Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,\n And you are _not_ the Lady Clare.\u201d\n\n \u201cAre ye out of your mind, my Nurse, my Nurse,\u201d\n Said Lady Clare, \u201cthat ye speak so wild?\u201d\n \u201cAs God\u2019s above,\u201d said Alice the nurse,\n \u201cI speak the truth: you are my child.\n\n \u201cThe old Earl\u2019s daughter died at my breast;\n I speak the truth, as I live by bread!\n I buried her like my own sweet child,\n And put my child in her stead.\u201d\n\n \u201cFalsely, falsely have ye done,\n O Mother,\u201d she said, \u201cif this be true,\n To keep the best man under the sun\n So many years from his due.\u201d\n\n \u201cNay now, my Child,\u201d said Alice the nurse,\n \u201cBut keep the secret for your life,\n And all you have will be Lord Ronald\u2019s\n When you are man and wife.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf I\u2019m a beggar born,\u201d she said,\n \u201cI will speak out, for I dare not lie.\n Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,\n And fling the diamond necklace by.\u201d\n\n \u201cNay now, my Child,\u201d said Alice the nurse,\n \u201cBut keep the secret all ye can.\u201d\n She said, \u201cNot so; but I will know\n If there be any faith in man.\u201d\n\n \u201cNay now, what faith?\u201d said Alice the nurse;\n \u201cThe man will cleave unto his right.\u201d\n \u201cAnd he shall have it,\u201d the lady replied,\n \u201cTho\u2019 I should die to-night.\u201d\n\n \u201cYet give one kiss to your mother dear!\n Alas, my Child, I sinned for thee!\u201d\n \u201cO Mother, Mother, Mother,\u201d she said,\n \u201cSo strange it seems to me.\n\n \u201cYet here\u2019s a kiss for my mother dear,\n My mother dear, if this be so,\n And lay your hand upon my head,\n And bless me, Mother, ere I go.\u201d\n\n She clad herself in a russet gown,\n She was no longer Lady Clare;\n She went by dale, and she went by down,\n With a single rose in her hair.\n\n The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought\n Leapt up from where she lay,\n Dropt her head in the maiden\u2019s hand,\n And followed her all the way.\n\n Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:\n \u201cO Lady Clare, you shame your worth!\n Why come you drest like a village maid,\n That are the flower of the earth?\u201d\n\n \u201cIf I come drest like a village maid,\n I am but as my fortunes are;\n I am a beggar born,\u201d she said,\n \u201cAnd not the Lady Clare.\u201d\n\n \u201cPlay me no tricks,\u201d said Lord Ronald,\n \u201cFor I am yours in word and in deed.\n Play me no tricks,\u201d said Lord Ronald,\n \u201cYour riddle is hard to read.\u201d\n\n Oh, and proudly stood she up!\n Her heart within her did not fail;\n She looked into Lord Ronald\u2019s eyes,\n And told him all her nurse\u2019s tale.\n\n He laughed a laugh of merry scorn;\n He turned, and kissed her where she stood;\n \u201cIf you are not the heiress born,\n And I,\u201d said he, \u201cthe next in blood,--\n\n \u201cIf you are not the heiress born,\n And I,\u201d said he, \u201cthe lawful heir,\n We two will wed to-morrow morn,\n And you shall still be Lady Clare.\u201d\n\n _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_\n\n\nPROUD LADY MARGARET\n\n Fair Margret was a young ladye,\n An come of high degree;\n Fair Margret was a young ladye,\n An proud as proud could be.\n\n Fair Margret was a rich ladye,\n The king\u2019s cousin was she;\n Fair Margaret was a rich ladye,\n An vain as vain could be.\n\n She war\u2019d her wealth on the gay cleedin\n That comes frae yont the sea,\n She spent her time frae morning till night\n Adorning her fair bodye.\n\n Ae night she sate in her stately ha,\n Kaimin her yellow hair,\n When in there cum like a gentle knight,\n An a white scarf he did wear.\n\n \u201cO what\u2019s your will wi me, sir knight,\n O what\u2019s your will wi me?\n You\u2019re the likest to my ae brother\n That ever I did see.\n\n \u201cYou\u2019re the likest to my ae brother\n That ever I hae seen,\n But he\u2019s buried in Dunfermline kirk,\n A month an mair bygane.\u201d\n\n \u201cI\u2019m the likest to your ae brother\n That ever ye did see,\n But I canna get rest into my grave,\n A\u2019 for the pride of thee.\n\n \u201cLeave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret,\n Leave pride an vanity;\n Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen,\n Sair altered ye maun be.\n\n \u201cO ye come in at the kirk-door\n Wi the gowd plaits in your hair;\n But wud ye see what I hae seen,\n Ye maun them a\u2019 forbear.\n\n \u201cO ye come in at the kirk-door\n Wi the gowd prins i your sleeve;\n But wad ye see what I hae seen,\n Ye maun gie them a\u2019 their leave.\n\n \u201cLeave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret,\n Leave pride an vanity;\n Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen,\n Sair altered ye maun be.\u201d\n\n He got her in her stately ha,\n Kaimin her yellow hair,\n He left her on her sick sick bed,\n Sheding the saut saut tear.\n\n\nTHE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING-MEN\n\n\n PART I\n\n You beautious ladies, great and small,\n I write unto you one and all,\n Whereby that you may understand\n What I have suffered in this land.\n\n I was by birth a lady fair,\n My father\u2019s chief and onely heir,\n But when my good old father dy\u2019d,\n Then was I made a young knight\u2019s bride.\n\n And then my love built me a bower,\n Bedeckt with many a fragrant flower;\n A braver bower you never did see\n Then my true-love did build for me.\n\n But there came thieves late in the night,\n They rob\u2019d my bower, and slew my knight,\n And after that my knight was slain,\n I could no longer there remain.\n\n My servants all from me did flye,\n In the midst of my extremity,\n And left me by my self alone,\n With a heart more cold then any stone.\n\n Yet, though my heart was full of care,\n Heaven would not suffer me to despair;\n Wherefore in hast I chang\u2019d my name\n From Fair Elise to Sweet William.\n\n And therewithal I cut my hair,\n And drest my self in man\u2019s attire,\n My doublet, hose, and bever-hat,\n And a golden band about my neck.\n\n With a silver rapier by my side,\n So like a gallant I did ride;\n The thing that I delighted on,\n Was for to be a serving-man.\n\n Thus in my sumptuous man\u2019s array\n I bravely rode along the way;\n And at the last it chanced so\n That I unto the king\u2019s court did go.\n\n Then to the king I bowed full low,\n My love and duty for to show,\n And so much favour I did crave\n That I a serving-man\u2019s place might have.\n\n \u201cStand up, brave youth,\u201d the king replyd,\n \u201cThy service shall not be denyd;\n But tell me first what thou canst do;\n Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.\n\n \u201cWilt thou be usher of my hall,\n To wait upon my nobles all?\n Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,\n To wait on me when I shall dine?\n\n \u201cOr wilt thou be my chamberlain,\n To make my bed both soft and fine?\n Or wilt thou be one of my guard?\n And I will give thee thy reward.\u201d\n\n Sweet William, with a smiling face,\n Said to the king, \u201cIf\u2019t please your grace\n To show such favour unto me,\n Your chamberlain I fain would be.\u201d\n\n The king then did the nobles call,\n To ask the counsel of them all,\n Who gave consent Sweet William he\n The king\u2019s own chamberlain should be.\n\n\n PART II\n\n Now mark what strange things came to pass:\n As the king one day a hunting was,\n With all his lords and noble train,\n Sweet William did at home remain.\n\n Sweet William had no company then\n With him at home but an old man;\n And when he saw the coast was clear,\n He took a lute which he had there.\n\n Upon the lute Sweet William plaid,\n And to the same he sung and said,\n With a pleasant and most noble voice,\n Which made the old man to rejoyce:\n\n _My father was as brave a lord\n As ever Europe did afford;\n My mother was a lady bright,\n My husband was a valiant knight._\n\n _And I my self a lady gay,\n Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;\n The bravest lady in the land\n Had not more pleasures to command._\n\n _I had my musick every day,\n Harmonious lessons for to play;\n I had my virgins fair and free,\n Continually to wait on me._\n\n _But now, alas! my husband\u2019s dead,\n And all my friends are from me fled;\n My former joys are past and gone,\n For now I am a serving-man._\n\n At last the king from hunting came,\n And presently upon the same\n He called for the good old man,\n And thus to speak the king began.\n\n \u201cWhat news, what news, old man?\u201d quod he;\n \u201cWhat news hast thou to tell to me?\u201d\n \u201cBrave news,\u201d the old man he did say;\n \u201cSweet William is a lady gay.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf this be true thou tellest me\n I \u2019le make thee a lord of high degree;\n But if thy words do prove a lye,\n Thou shalt be hanged up presently.\u201d\n\n But when the king the truth had found,\n His joys did more and more abound;\n According as the old man did say,\n Sweet William was a lady gay.\n\n Therefore the king without delay\n Put on her glorious rich array,\n And upon her head a crown of gold,\n Which was most famous to behold.\n\n And then, for fear of further strife,\n He took Sweet William for his wife;\n The like before was never seen,\n A serving-man to be a queen.\n\n\nCOCHRANE\u2019S BONNY GRIZZY\n\n\n PART I\n\n Listen, now, both great and simple,\n Whilst I croon to you my song,\n Ere such another damsel \u2019pears,\n The world will cease to wag ere long:\n For she is the flower o\u2019er all the bower,\n _My blessings on Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy_!\n\n Her father lay long in the Embro jail,\n Wearing fast to his end,\n For his head must be swept clean from his shoulders,\n When the warrant the King shall send;\n Singing \u201cWoes me!\u201d wi\u2019 the tear in her e\u2019e,\n _Did Cochrane\u2019s bonny daughter mourn_!\n\n She kissed her father\u2019s lyart locks,\n Unkempt for many a day,\n And she said, \u201cTo save my father\u2019s life,\n I aiblins ken a way:\n Give me thy love, that I fortune prove?\u201d\n _Quo\u2019 Cochrane\u2019s bonny daughter!_\n\n She rode away thro\u2019 the stragglling town,\n Of beggart Hadingtown,\n Syne by Dunbar, thro\u2019 Coppersmith,\n Till to Berwick she has come:\n And she rapped right loud on the barred gates,\n _Did Cochrane\u2019s bonny daughter_!\n\n She slept all night and she rose betimes,\n And crossed the long bridge of the Tweed;\n And over the moor at Tweedmouth brae,\n Sore draggit was her woman\u2019s weed;\n And lightin\u2019 down by Haggerston Shaws,\n _Did Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy_!\n\n A cloak she drew from her saddlebag,\n With trunks and a doublet fair;\n She cut off with a folding knife,\n Her long and raven hair;\n And she dressed herself in laddie\u2019s clothes,\n _Did Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy_!\n\n The horseman rode into Belford town,\n Who carried the London mail,\n Bold Grizzy she sought the hostel out,\n And there with a couthy tale,\n Forgathered with the London Post,\n _Did Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy_!\n\n She roared the loudest of them a\u2019,\n Quo\u2019 the fellow, \u201cMy canty chiel,\n Deil blaw my pipes! yere the crack o\u2019 the wa\u2019,\n And the best amang the hail!\u201d\n In the dead of night did they go to their beds,\n _And so did Cochrane\u2019s daughter_!\n\n She rose over the bed ere the second cock,\n Went jimply along the floor;\n She\u2019s stown her father\u2019s death warrant,\n Whilst the lubber loud did snore.\n She\u2019s gained the hills ere the hue and cry\n _They raised on Cochrane\u2019s daughter_!\n\n\n PART II\n\n But the King can write another brief,\n For all the first be stown;\n And once again the fellow rode,\n With the warrant from London town.\n Now out and alas! What can she do?\n _For the heart of Grizzy sank!_\n\n The red sun went down o\u2019er the sea,\n And the wind blew stiff and snell,\n And as it shot by Grizzy\u2019s lugs,\n It sounded old Cochrane\u2019s knell.\n \u201cBut downa despair, \u2019tis a kittle carle!\u201d\n _Said Cochrane\u2019s Bonny daughter!_\n\n The larch and the tall fir shrieked with pain,\n As they bent before the wind,\n And down there fell the heavy rain,\n Till sense and eyes were blind;\n \u201cA lang night \u2019tis ne\u2019er sees a day,\u201d\n _Quo\u2019 Cochrane\u2019s undaunted Grizzy_!\n\n The Warlocks are dancing threesome reels,\n On Goswick\u2019s haunted links,\n The red fire shoots by Ladythorne,\n And Tam wi\u2019 the Lanthorne falls and sinks.\n On Kyloe\u2019s hills there\u2019s awful sounds,\n _But they frighted not Cochrane\u2019s Grizzy_!\n\n The moon beams shot from the troubled sky,\n In glints of flickering light,\n The horseman came skelping thro\u2019 the mire,\n For his mind was in affright:\n His pistol cocked he held in his hand,\n _But the sient a fear had Grizzy_!\n\n As he came fornents the Fenwicke woods,\n From the whin-bushes shot out a flame;\n His dappled filly reared up in affright,\n And backward over he came;\n There\u2019s a hand on his craig, and a foot on his mouth,\n _\u2019Twas Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy_!\n\n \u201cI will not take thy life,\u201d she said,\n \u201cBut give me thy London news;\n No blood of thine shall syle my blad,\n Gin me ye dinna refuse:\u201d\n She\u2019s prie\u2019d the warrant, and away she flew,\n _With the speed and strength of the wild curlew_!\n\n * * * * *\n\n Love will make a foe grow kind,\n Love will bring blossom where bud is naught.\n Love hath softened a kingly mind,\n Grizzy hath mercy to councillors taught.\n Her friends at Court have prieven the life\n _O\u2019 Grizzy\u2019s banished father_!\n\n She\u2019s wedded unto a German Knight,\n Her bairnies blithe with her sire remain,\n She\u2019s cast the laddie\u2019s clouts away,\n And her raven hair is growing again.\n What think ye, gentles o\u2019 every degree,\n _Of Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy_?\n\n _(Englished)_\n\n\nTHE GREETING OF KYNAST\n\n She said, \u201cThis narrow chamber is not for me the place,\u201d\n Said the Lady Kunigunde of Kynast!\n \u201c\u2019Tis pleasanter on horseback, I\u2019ll hie me to the chase,\u201d\n Said the Lady Kunigunde!\n\n She said, \u201cThe Knight who weds me, I do require of him,\u201d\n Said the Lady Kunigunde of Kynast!\n \u201cTo gallop round the Kynast and break not neck nor limb.\u201d\n\n A noble Knight came forward and galloped round the wall;\n The Lady Kunigunde of Kynast,\n The lady without lifting a finger saw him fall.\n\n And yet another galloped around the battlement;\n The Lady Kunigunde,\n The lady saw him tumble, yet did she not relent.\n\n And rider after rider spurred round his snorting horse;\n The Lady Kunigunde\n Saw him vanish o\u2019er the rampart, and never felt remorse.\n\n Long time the folly lasted, then came no rider more;\n The Lady Kunigunde,\n They would not ride to win her, the trial was too sore.\n\n She stood upon her towers, she looked upon the land,\n The Lady Kunigunde of Kynast:\n \u201cI\u2019m all alone at home here, will no one seek my hand?\n\n \u201cIs there none will ride to win me, to win me for his bride,\n The Lady Kunigunde of Kynast?\n Oh fie! the paltry rider who dreads the bridal ride!\u201d\n\n Then out and spake from Th\u00fcringen the Landgrave Adelbert,\n \u201cThe Lady Kunigunde of Kynast!\n Well may the haughty damsel her worthiness assert.\u201d\n\n He trains his horse to gallop on narrow walls of stone;\n The Lady Kunigunde of Kynast!\n \u201cThe lady shall not see us break neck or limb or bone.\n\n \u201cSee here, O noble Lady, I\u2019m he that dares the ride!\u201d\n The Lady Kunigunde,\n She looks in thoughtful silence, to see him sit in pride.\n\n She saw him now make ready, then trembled she and sighed\n The Lady Kunigunde:\n \u201cWoe\u2019s me that I so fearful have made the bridal ride!\u201d\n\n Then rode he round the Kynast; her face she turned away,\n The Lady Kunigunde:\n \u201cWoe\u2019s me, the Knight is riding down to his grave to-day!\u201d\n\n He rides around the Kynast, right round the narrow wall;\n The Lady Kunigunde!\n She cannot stir for terror her lily hand at all.\n\n He rides around the Kynast, dear round the battlement;\n The Lady Kunigunde!\n As if a breath might kill him, she held her breath suspent.\n\n He rode around the Kynast and straight to her rode he;\n Said the Lady Kunigunde of Kynast:\n \u201cThanks be to God in Heaven, who gave thy life to thee!\n\n \u201cThanks be to God that into thy grave thou didst not ride!\u201d\n Said the Lady Kunigunde:\n \u201cCome down from off thy horse now, O Knight, unto thy bride!\u201d\n\n Then spake the noble rider, and greeted, as he sate,\n The Lady Kunigunde:\n \u201cOh, trust a Knight for horsemanship! well have I taught thee\n that.\n\n \u201cNow wait till comes another who can the same thing do,\n O Lady Kunigunde of Kynast!\n I\u2019ve wife and child already, can be no spouse for you!\u201d\n\n He gave his steed the spur, now; rode back the way he came;\n The Lady Kunigunde!\n The lady saw him vanish, she swooned with scorn and shame.\n\n And she remains a virgin, her pride had such a fall,\n The Lady Kunigunde!\n Changed to a wooden image she stands in sight of all.\n\n An image, like a hedgehog, with spines for hair, is now\n The Lady Kunigunde of Kynast!\n The stranger has to kiss it, who climbs the Kynast\u2019s brow.\n\n We bring it him to kiss it; and if it shocks his pride,\n The Lady Kunigunde Kynast!\n He must pay down his forfeit, who will not kiss the bride,\n The Lady Kunigunde!\n\n _Charles T. Brooks, from R\u00fcckert_\n\n\n\n\nLAYS O\u2019 FA\u00cbRIE\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY TEMPTER\n\n _A fair girl was sitting in the greenwood shade,\n List\u2019ning to the music the spring birds made;\n When sweeter by far than the birds on the tree,\n A voice murmured near her, \u201cOh! come, Love, with me--\n In earth or air,\n A thing so fair\n I have not seen as thee!\n Then come, Love, with me.\u201d_\n\n _\u201cWith a star for thy home, in a palace of light,\n Thou will add a fresh grace to the beauty of night;\n Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold,\n I will show thee the birthplace of jewels and gold gold--\n And pearly caves\n Beneath the waves,\n All these, all these are thine,\n If thou will be mine.\u201d_\n\n _Thus whispered a Fairy to tempt the fair girl,\n But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl;\n For she said, \u201cTho\u2019 thy gifts to a poor girl were dear,\n My father, my mother, my sisters are here:\n Oh! what would be\n Thy gifts to me\n Of earth, and sea, and air,\n If my heart were not there?\u201d_\n\n _Samuel Lover_\n\n\nALICE BRAND\n\n\n I\n\n Merry it is in the good Greenwood,\n When the mavis and merle are singing,\n When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,\n And the hunter\u2019s horn is ringing.\n\n \u201cO Alice Brand, my native land\n Is lost for love of you;\n And we must hold by wood and wold,\n As outlaws wont to do.\n\n \u201cO Alice, \u2019t was all for thy locks so bright,\n And \u2019t was all for thine eyes so blue,\n That on the night of our luckless flight,\n Thy brother bold I slew.\n\n \u201cNow must I teach to hew the beech,\n The hand that held the glaive,\n For leaves to spread our lowly bed,\n And stakes to fence our cave.\n\n \u201cAnd for vest of pall, thy fingers small,\n That wont on harp to stray,\n A cloak must sheer from the slaughtered deer,\n To keep the cold away.\u201d--\n\n \u201cO Richard! if my brother died,\n \u2019T was but a fatal chance;\n For darkling was the battle tried,\n And fortune sped the lance.\n\n \u201cIf pall and vair no more I wear,\n Nor thou the crimson sheen,\n As warm, we\u2019ll say, is the russet grey,\n As gay the forest green.\n\n \u201cAnd, Richard, if our lot be hard,\n And lost thy native land,\n Still Alice has her own Richard,\n And he his Alice Brand.\u201d\n\n\n II\n\n \u2019Tis merry, \u2019tis merry, in good Greenwood,\n So blithe Lady Alice is singing;\n On the beech\u2019s pride, and oak\u2019s brown side,\n Lord Richard\u2019s axe is ringing.\n\n Up spoke the moody Elfin King,\n Who woned within the hill,--\n Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,\n His voice was ghostly shrill.\n\n \u201cWhy sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,\n Our moonlight circle\u2019s screen?\n Or who comes here to chase the deer,\n Beloved of our Elfin Queen?\n Or who may dare on wold to wear\n The Fairies\u2019 fatal green?\n\n \u201cUp, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,\n For thou wert christened man;\n For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,\n For muttered word or ban.\n\n \u201cLay on him the curse of the withered heart,\n The curse of the sleepless eye;\n Till he wish and pray that his life would part,\n Nor yet find leave to die.\u201d\n\n\n III\n\n \u2019Tis merry, \u2019tis merry, in good Greenwood,\n Though the birds have stilled their singing;\n The evening blaze doth Alice raise,\n And Richard is fagots bringing.\n\n Up Urgan starts, that hideous Dwarf,\n Before Lord Richard stands,\n And, as he crossed and blessed himself,\n \u201cI fear not sign,\u201d quoth the grisly Elf,\n \u201cThat is made with bloody hands.\u201d\n\n But out then spoke she, Alice Brand\n That woman void of fear,--\n \u201cAnd if there\u2019s blood upon his hand,\n \u2019Tis but the blood of deer.\u201d--\n\n \u201cNow loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!\n It cleaves unto his hand,\n The stain of thine own kindly blood,\n The blood of Ethert Brand.\u201d\n\n Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,\n And made the holy sign:\n \u201cAnd if there\u2019s blood on Richard\u2019s hand,\n A spotless hand is mine.\n\n \u201cAnd I conjure thee, Demon Elf,\n By Him whom Demons fear,\n To show us whence thou art thyself,\n And what thine errand here?\u201d\n\n \u201c\u2019Tis merry, \u2019tis merry, in Fairyland,\n When Fairy Birds are singing,\n When the Court doth ride by their Monarch\u2019s side,\n With bit and bridle ringing:\n\n \u201cAnd gaily shines the Fairyland--\n But all is glistening show,\n Like the idle gleam that December\u2019s beam\n Can dart on ice and snow.\n\n \u201cAnd fading, like that varied gleam,\n Is our inconstant shape,\n Who now like Knight and Lady seem,\n And now like Dwarf and Ape.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cI FEAR NOT SIGN,\u201d QUOTH THE GRISLY ELF, \u201cTHAT IS MADE\nWITH BLOODY HANDS\u201d]\n\n \u201cIt was between the night and day,\n When the Fairy King has power,\n That I sunk down in a sinful fray,\n And \u2019twixt life and death, was snatched away\n To the joyless Elfin Bower.\n\n \u201cBut wist I of a woman bold,\n Who thrice my brow durst sign,\n I might regain my mortal mould,\n As fair a form as thine.\u201d\n\n She crossed him once, she crossed him twice--\n That Lady was so brave;\n The fouler grew his goblin hue,\n The darker grew the cave.\n\n She crossed him thrice, that Lady bold;\n He rose beneath her hand\n The fairest Knight on Scottish mould\n Her brother, Ethert Brand!\n\n Merry it is in good Greenwood,\n When the mavis and merle are singing,\n But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey,\n When all the bells were ringing.\n\n _Sir Walter Scott_\n\n\nTHE ERL-KING\n\n Oh! who rides by night thro\u2019 the woodland so wild?\n It is the fond father embracing his child;\n And close the boy nestles within his loved arm,\n To hold himself fast and to keep himself warm.\n\n \u201cO Father, see yonder! see yonder!\u201d he says:\n \u201cMy boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?\u201d--\n \u201cOh! \u2019tis the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud,\u201d--\n \u201cNo, my Son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud.\u201d\n\n\n THE ERL-KING SPEAKS\n\n _\u201cOh! come and go with me, thou loveliest child;\n By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled;\n My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy,\n And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy.\u201d_\n\n \u201cO Father, my Father! and did you not hear\n The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear?\u201d--\n \u201cBe still, my heart\u2019s darling--my child, be at ease;\n It was but the wild blast as it sung thro\u2019 the trees.\u201d\n\n\n THE ERL-KING SPEAKS AGAIN\n\n _\u201cOh! wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy?\n My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy;\n She shall bear thee so lightly thro\u2019 wet and thro\u2019 wild,\n And press thee and kiss thee and sing to my child.\u201d_\n\n \u201cO Father, my Father, and saw you not plain,\n The Erl-King\u2019s pale daughter glide past thro\u2019 the rain?\u201d----\n \u201cOh, yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon:\n It was the grey willow that danced to the moon.\u201d\n\n\n THE ERL-KING SPEAKS AGAIN\n\n _\u201cOh! come and go with me, no longer delay,\n Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away.\u201d_--\n\n \u201cO Father! O Father! now, now keep your hold,\n The Erl-King has seized me--his grasp is so cold!\u201d\n\n Sore trembled the father; he spurred thro\u2019 the wild,\n Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child;\n He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread,\n But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was _dead_!\n\n _Sir Walter Scott, from Goethe_\n\n\nTHE FAIRY THORN\n\nAN ULSTER BALLAD\n\n \u201cGet up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel;\n For your father\u2019s on the hill, and your mother is asleep:\n Come up above the crags, and we\u2019ll dance a highland reel\n Around the Fairy Thorn on the steep.\u201d\n\n At Anna Grace\u2019s door\u2019t was thus the maidens cried,\n Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green;\n And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside,\n The fairest of the four, I ween.\n\n They\u2019re glancing thro\u2019 the glimmer of the quiet eve,\n Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare;\n The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave,\n And the crags in the ghostly air:\n\n And linking hand in hand, and singing as they go,\n The maids along the hill-side have ta\u2019en their fearless way\n Till they come to where the Rowan Trees in lonely beauty grow\n Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.\n\n The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim,\n Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee;\n The Rowan berries cluster o\u2019er her low head grey and dim,\n In ruddy kisses sweet to see.\n\n The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,\n Between each lovely couple a stately Rowan stem,\n And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds they go,\n Oh, never carolled bird like them!\n\n But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze\n That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,\n And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes,\n And dreamier the gloaming grows.\n\n And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky\n When the falcon\u2019s shadow saileth across the open shaw,\n Are hushed the maidens\u2019 voices as cowering down they lie\n In the flutter of their sudden awe.\n\n For, from the air above, and the grassy ground beneath\n And from the Mountain Ashes and the old Whitethorn between,\n A power of faint Enchantment doth through their beings breathe\n And they sink down together on the green.\n\n They sink together silent, and stealing side to side,\n They fling their lovely arms o\u2019er their drooping necks so fair,\n Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide,\n For their shrinking necks again are bare.\n\n Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed,\n Soft o\u2019er their bosoms beating--the only human sound--\n They hear the silky footsteps of the silent Fairy crowd,\n Like a river in the air, gliding round.\n\n Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say,\n But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three--\n For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,\n By whom they dare not look to see.\n\n They feel her tresses twine with their parting locks of gold,\n And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws;\n They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold,\n But they dare not look to see the cause:\n\n For heavy on their senses the faint Enchantment lies;\n Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze;\n And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes\n Or their limbs from the cold ground raise.\n\n Till out of Night the Earth has rolled her dewy side,\n With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;\n When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide,\n The maidens\u2019 trance dissolveth so.\n\n Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,\n And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain----\n They pined away and died within the year and day,\n And ne\u2019er was Anna Grace seen again.\n\n _Samuel Ferguson_\n\n\nLA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI\n\n Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,\n Alone and palely loitering?\n The sedge is withered from the lake,\n And no birds sing.\n\n Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,\n So haggard and so woe-begone?\n The squirrel\u2019s granary is full,\n And the harvest\u2019s done.\n\n I see a lily on thy brow,\n With anguish moist and fever dew;\n And on thy cheek a fading rose\n Fast withereth too.\n\n \u201cI met a lady in the meads,\n Full beautiful--a Faery\u2019s child;\n Her hair was long, her foot was light,\n And her eyes were wild.\n\n \u201cI set her on my pacing steed,\n And nothing else saw all day long;\n For sideways would she lean, and sing\n A Faery\u2019s song.\n\n \u201cI made a garland for her head,\n And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;\n She looked at me as she did love,\n And made sweet moan.\n\n \u201cShe found me roots of relish sweet,\n And honey wild, and manna dew;\n And sure in language strange she said,--\n \u2018I love thee true.\u2019\n\n \u201cShe took me to her Elfin grot,\n And there she gazed and sighed deep,\n And there I shut her wild sad eyes eyes--\n So kissed to sleep.\n\n \u201cAnd there we slumbered on the moss,\n And there I dreamed--Ah, woe betide!\n The latest dream I ever dreamed\n On the cold hill-side.\n\n \u201cI saw pale Kings and Princes too,\n Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;\n Who cried, \u2018La Belle Dame sans Merci\n Hath thee in thrall!\u2019\n\n \u201cI saw their starved lips in the gloom\n With horrid warning gaped wide,\n And I awoke, and found me here\n On the cold hill-side.\n\n \u201cAnd this is why I sojourn here,\n Alone and palely loitering,\n Though the sedge is withered from the lake,\n And no birds sing.\u201d\n\n _John Keats_\n\n\nTHOMAS THE RHYMER\n\n True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;\n A ferlie he spied wi his e\u2019e;\n And there he saw a lady bright,\n Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.\n\n Her shirt was o the grass-green silk,\n Her mantle o the velvet fyne;\n At ilka tett of her horse\u2019s mane,\n Hang fifty siller bells and nine.\n\n True Thomas he pull\u2019d aff his cap,\n And louted low down to his knee;\n \u201cAll hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!\n For thy peer on earth I never did see.\u201d--\n\n \u201cO no, O no, Thomas,\u201d she said,\n \u201cThat name does not belang to me;\n I am but the Queen of fair elfland,\n That am hither come to visit thee.\u201d\n\n \u201cHarp and carp, Thomas,\u201d she said;\n \u201cHarp and carp along wi me;\n And if ye dare to kiss my lips,\n Sure of your bodie I will be.\u201d--\n\n \u201cBetide me weal, betide me woe,\n That weird shall never daunton me.\u201d--\n Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,\n All underneath the Eildon Tree.\n\n \u201cNow, ye maun go wi me,\u201d she said;\n \u201cTrue Thomas, ye maun go wi me,\n And ye maun serve me seven years,\n Thro weal or woe as may chance to be.\u201d\n\n She mounted on her milk-white steed,\n She\u2019s ta\u2019en True Thomas up behind:\n And aye, whene\u2019er her bridle rung,\n The steed flew swifter than the wind.\n\n O they rade on, and farther on,--\n The steed gaed swifter than the wind:\n Until they reached a desart wide,\n And living land was left behind.\n\n \u201cLight down, light down, now, True Thomas,\n And lean your head upon my knee;\n Abide and rest a little space,\n And I will show you ferlies three.\n\n \u201cO see ye not yon narrow road,\n So thick beset with thorns and briers?\n That is the path of righteousness.\n Tho after it but few enquires.\n\n \u201cAnd see not ye that braid, braid road,\n That lies across the lily leven?\n That is the path of wickedness,\n Tho some call it the road to heaven.\n\n \u201cAnd see not ye that bonny road,\n That winds about the fernie brae?\n That is the road to fair Elfland,\n Where you and I this night maun gae.\n\n \u201cBut, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,\n Whatever ye may hear or see;\n For if you speak word in Elfyn land,\n Ye\u2019ll ne\u2019er get back to your ain countrie.\u201d\n\n O they rade on, and farther on,\n And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee,\n And they saw neither sun nor moon,\n But they heard the roaring of the sea.\n\n It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae stern-light,\n And they waded thro red blude to the knee;\n For a\u2019 the blude that\u2019s shed on earth\n Rins thro the springs o that countrie.\n\n Syne they came on to a garden green,\n And she pu\u2019d an apple frae a tree:\n \u201cTake this for thy wages, True Thomas;\n It will give the tongue that can never lie.\u201d\n\n \u201cMy tongue is mine ain,\u201d True Thomas said,\n \u201cA gudely gift ye wad gie to me!\n I neither dought to buy nor sell,\n At fair or tryst where I may be.\n\n \u201cI dought neither speak to prince or peer,\n Nor ask of grace from fair ladye.\u201d\n \u201cNow hold thy peace!\u201d the lady said,\n \u201cFor as I say so must it be.\u201d\n\n He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,\n And a pair of shoes of velvet green;\n And till seven years were gane and past,\n True Thomas on earth was never seen.\n\n\nTHE KELPIE OF CORRIEVRECKAN\n\n\n PART I\n\n He mounted his steed of the water clear,\n And sat on his saddle of sea-weed sere;\n He held his bridle of strings of pearl,\n Dug out of the depths where the sea-snakes curl.\n\n He put on his vest of the whirlpool froth,\n Soft and dainty as velvet cloth,\n And donned his mantle of sand so white,\n And grasped his sword of the coral bright.\n\n And away he galloped, a horseman free,\n Spurring his steed through the stormy sea,\n Clearing the billows with bound and leap--\n Away, away, o\u2019er the foaming deep!\n\n By Scarba\u2019s rock, by Lunga\u2019s shore,\n By Garveloch isles where the breakers roar,\n With his horse\u2019s hoofs he dashed the spray,\n And on to Loch Buy, away, away!\n\n On to Loch Buy all day he rode,\n And reached the shore as sunset glowed,\n And stopped to hear the sounds of joy\n That rose from the hills and glens of Moy.\n\n The morrow was May, and on the green\n They\u2019d lit the fire of Beltan E\u2019en,\n And danced around, and piled it high\n With peat and heather and pine-logs dry.\n\n A piper played a lightsome reel,\n And timed the dance with toe and heel;\n While wives looked on, as lad and lass\n Trod it merrily o\u2019er the grass.\n\n And Jessie (fickle and fair was she)\n Sat with Evan beneath a tree,\n And smiled with mingled love and pride,\n And half agreed to be his bride.\n\n The Kelpie galloped o\u2019er the green--\n He seemed a Knight of noble mien,\n And old and young stood up to see,\n And wondered who the Knight could be.\n\n His flowing locks were auburn bright,\n His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flashed light;\n And as he sprang from his good grey steed,\n He looked a gallant youth indeed.\n\n And Jessie\u2019s fickle heart beat high,\n As she caught the stranger\u2019s glancing eye:\n And when he smiled, \u201cAh, well,\u201d thought she,\n \u201cI wish this Knight came courting me!\u201d\n\n He took two steps towards her seat--\n \u201cWilt thou be mine, O Maiden sweet?\u201d\n He took her lily-white hand, and sighed,\n \u201cMaiden, Maiden, be my bride!\u201d\n\n And Jessie blushed, and whispered soft--\n \u201cMeet me to-night when the moon\u2019s aloft;\n I\u2019ve dreamed, fair Knight, long time of thee--\n I thought thou earnest courting me.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n When the moon her yellow horn displayed,\n Alone to the trysting went the maid;\n When all the stars were shining bright,\n Alone to the trysting went the Knight.\n\n \u201cI have loved thee long, I have loved thee well,\n Maiden, oh more than words can tell!\n Maiden, thine eyes like diamonds shine;\n Maiden, Maiden, be thou mine!\u201d\n\n \u201cFair Sir, thy suit I\u2019ll ne\u2019er deny--\n Though poor my lot, my hopes are high;\n I scorn a lover of low degree--\n None but a Knight shall marry me.\u201d\n\n He took her by the hand so white,\n And gave her a ring of the gold so bright;\n \u201cMaiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine--\n Maiden, Maiden, now thou\u2019rt mine!\u201d\n\n He lifted her up on his steed of grey,\n And they rode till morning away, away--\n Over the mountain and over the moor,\n And over the rocks, to the dark sea-shore.\n\n \u201cWe have ridden East, we have ridden West--\n I\u2019m weary, fair Knight, and I fain would rest,\n Say, is thy dwelling beyond the sea?\n Hast thou a good ship waiting for me?\u201d\n\n \u201cI have no dwelling beyond the sea,\n I have no good ship waiting for thee;\n Thou shalt sleep with me on a couch of foam,\n And the depths of the ocean shall be thy home.\u201d\n\n The grey steed plunged in the billows clear,\n And the maiden\u2019s shrieks were sad to hear.\n \u201cMaiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine--\n Maiden, Maiden, now thou\u2019rt mine!\u201d\n\n Loud the cold sea-blast did blow,\n As they sank \u2019mid the angry waves below--\n Down to the rocks where the serpents creep,\n Twice five hundred fathoms deep.\n\n At morn a fisherman, sailing by,\n Saw her pale corse floating high;\n He knew the maid by her yellow hair\n And her lily skin so soft and fair.\n\n Under a rock on Scarba\u2019s shore,\n Where the wild winds sigh and the breakers roar,\n They dug her a grave by the water clear,\n Among the sea-weed salt and seer.\n\n And every year at Beltan E\u2019en,\n The Kelpie gallops across the green,\n On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind,\n With Jessie\u2019s mournful ghost behind.\n\n I warn you, maids, whoever you be,\n Beware of pride and vanity;\n And ere on change of love you reckon,\n Beware the Kelpie of Corrievreckan.\n\n _Charles Mackay_\n\n\nKILMENY\n\n Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen;\n But it wasna to meet Duneira\u2019s men,\n Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see,\n For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.\n It was only to hear the yorlin sing,\n And pu\u2019 the cress-flower round the spring;\n The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye,\n And the nut that hang frae the hazel tree;\n For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.\n But lang may her minny look o\u2019er the wa\u2019,\n And lang may she seek i\u2019 the green-wood shaw;\n Lang the laird of Duneira blame,\n And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame!\n\n When many a day had come and fled,\n When grief grew calm, and hope was dead,\n When mess for Kilmeny\u2019s soul had been sung,\n When the bedes-man had prayed, and the dead bell rung,\n Late, late in a gloamin when all was still,\n When the fringe was red on the westlin hill,\n The wood was sere, the moon i\u2019 the wane,\n The reek o\u2019 the cot hung over the plain,\n Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;\n When the ingle lowed with a eiry leme,\n Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame!\n\n \u201cKilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?\n Lang hae we sought baith holt and den;\n By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree,\n Yet you are halesome and fair to see.\n Where gat you that joup o\u2019 the lily scheen?\n That bonny snood of the birk sae green?\n And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen?\n Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?\u201d\n\n Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,\n But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny\u2019s face;\n As still was her look, and as still was her e\u2019e,\n As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,\n Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.\n For Kilmeny had been she knew not where,\n And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare;\n Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,\n Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew;\n But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung,\n And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,\n When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,\n And a land where sin had never been;\n A land of love, and a land of light,\n Withouten sun, or moon, or night;\n Where the river swa\u2019d a living stream,\n And the light a pure celestial beam:\n The land of vision it would seem,\n A still, an everlasting dream.\n\n In yon green-wood there is a waik,\n And in that waik there is a wene,\n And in that wene there is a maik\n That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane;\n And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane.\n\n In that green wene Kilmeny lay,\n Her bosom happed wi\u2019 the flowerets gay;\n But the air was soft and the silence deep,\n And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep.\n She kend nae mair, nor opened her e\u2019e,\n Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye.\n\n She \u2019wakened on a couch of the silk sae slim,\n All striped wi\u2019 the bars of the rainbow\u2019s rim;\n And lovely beings round were rife,\n Who erst had travelled mortal life;\n And aye they smiled, and \u2019gan to speer,\n \u201cWhat spirit has brought this mortal here!\u201d\n\n \u201cLang have I journeyed the world wide,\u201d\n A meek and reverend Fere replied;\n \u201cBaith night and day I have watched the fair,\n Eident a thousand years and mair.\n Yes, I have watched o\u2019er ilk degree,\n Wherever blooms femenitye;\n But sinless virgin, free of stain\n In mind and body, fand I nane.\n Never, since the banquet of time,\n Found I a virgin in her prime,\n Till late this bonny maiden I saw\n As spotless as the morning snaw:\n Full twenty years she has lived as free\n As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye:\n I have brought her away frae the snares of men,\n That sin or death she never may ken.\u201d--\n\n They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair,\n They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair,\n And round came many a blooming Fere,\n Saying, \u201cBonny Kilmeny, ye\u2019re welcome here!\n Women are freed of the littand scorn:\n O, blessed be the day Kilmeny was born!\n Now shall the land of the spirits see,\n Now shall it ken what a woman may be!\n Many a lang year in sorrow and pain,\n Many a lang year through the world we\u2019ve gane,\n Commissioned to watch fair womankind,\n For it\u2019s they who nurice the immortal mind.\n We have watched their steps as the dawning shone,\n And deep in the green-wood walks alone;\n By lily bower and silken bed,\n The viewless tears have o\u2019er them shed;\n Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep,\n Or left the couch of love to weep.\n We have seen! we have seen! but the time must come,\n And the Angels will weep at the day of doom!\n\n \u201cO, would the fairest of mortal kind\n Aye keep the holy truths in mind,\n That kindred spirits their motions see,\n Who watch their ways with anxious e\u2019e,\n And grieve for the guilt of humanitye!\n O, sweet to Heaven the maiden\u2019s prayer,\n And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair!\n And dear to Heaven the words of truth,\n And the praise of virtue frae beauty\u2019s mouth!\n And dear to the viewless forms of air,\n The minds that kythe as the body fair!\n\n \u201cO, bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain,\n If ever you seek the world again,\n That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear,\n O, tell of the joys that are waiting here;\n And tell of the signs you shall shortly see;\n Of the times that are now, and the times that shall be.\u201d\n\n They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away,\n And she walked in the light of a sunless day:\n The sky was a dome of crystal bright,\n The fountain of vision, and fountain of light:\n The emerald fields were of dazzling glow,\n And the flowers of everlasting blow.\n Then deep in the stream her body they laid,\n That her youth and beauty never might fade;\n And they smiled on Heaven, when they saw her lie\n In the stream of life that wandered bye.\n And she heard a song, she heard it sung,\n She kend not where; but sae sweetly it rung,\n It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn--\n \u201cO, blest be the day Kilmeny was born!\n Now shall the land of the spirits see,\n Now shall it ken what a woman may be!\n The sun that shines on the world sae bright,\n A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light;\n And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun,\n Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun,\n Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair,\n And the Angels shall miss them travelling the air.\n But lang, lang after baith night and day,\n When the sun and the world have elyed away;\n When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom,\n Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!\u201d\n\n They bore her away, she wist not how,\n For she felt not arm nor rest below;\n But so swift they wained her through the light,\n \u2019T was like the motion of sound or sight;\n They seemed to split the gales of air,\n And yet nor gale nor breeze was there.\n Unnumbered groves below them grew,\n They came, they past, and backward flew,\n like floods of blossoms gliding on,\n In moment seen, in moment gone.\n O, never vales to mortal view\n Appeared like those o\u2019er which they flew!\n That land to human spirits given,\n The lowermost vales of the storied Heaven;\n From thence they can view the world below,\n And Heaven\u2019s blue gates with sapphires glow,\n More glory yet unmeet to know.\n\n They bore her far to a mountain green,\n To see what mortal never had seen;\n And they seated her high on a purple sward,\n And bade her heed what she saw and heard,\n And note the changes the spirits wrought,\n For now she lived in the Land of Thought.\n She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies,\n But a crystal dome of a thousand dies:\n She looked, and she saw nae land aright,\n But an endless whirl of glory and light:\n And radiant beings went and came\n Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame.\n She hid her e\u2019en frae the dazzling view;\n She looked again, and the scene was new.\n\n But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw,\n So far surpassing nature\u2019s law,\n The singer\u2019s voice wad sink away,\n And the string of his harp wad cease to play.\n But she saw till the sorrows of man were bye,\n And all was love and harmony;\n Till the stars of Heaven fell calmly away,\n Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day.\n\n Then Kilmeny begged again to see\n The friends she had left in her own countrye,\n To tell of the place where she had been,\n And the glories that lay in the land unseen;\n To warn the living maidens fair,\n The loved of Heaven, the spirits\u2019 care,\n That all whose minds unmeled remain\n Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane.\n\n With distant music, soft and deep,\n They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep;\n And when she awakened, she lay her lane,\n All happed with flowers in the green-wood wene.\n When seven lang years had come and fled;\n When grief was calm, and hope was dead;\n When scarce was remembered Kilmeny\u2019s name,\n Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny came hame!\n And O, her beauty was fair to see,\n But still and steadfast was her e\u2019e!\n Such beauty bard may never declare,\n For there was no pride nor passion there;\n And the soft desire of maiden\u2019s e\u2019en\n In that mild face could never be seen.\n Her seymar was the lily flower,\n And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;\n And her voice like the distant melodye,\n That floats along the twilight sea.\n But she loved to raike the lanely glen,\n And keeped afar frae the haunts of men;\n Her holy hymns unheard to sing,\n To suck the flowers, and drink the spring.\n But wherever her peaceful form appeared,\n The wild beasts of the hill were cheered;\n The wolf played blythely round the field,\n The lordly byson lowed and kneeled;\n The dun deer wooed with manner bland,\n And cowered aneath her lily hand.\n And when at even the woodlands rung,\n When hymns of other worlds she sung,\n In ecstasy of sweet devotion,\n O, then the glen was all in motion!\n The wild beasts of the forest came,\n Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame,\n And goved around, charmed and amazed;\n Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,\n And murmured and looked with anxious pain\n For something the mystery to explain.\n\n The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;\n The corby left her houf in the rock;\n The blackbird alang wi\u2019 the eagle flew;\n The hind came tripping o\u2019er the dew;\n The wolf and the kid their raike began,\n And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran;\n The hawk and the hern attour them hung,\n And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young;\n And all in a peaceful ring were hurled:\n It was like an eve in a sinless world!\n\n When a month and a day had come and gane,\n Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene;\n There laid her down on the leaves sae green,\n And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen.\n But, O, the words that fell from her mouth,\n Were words of wonder and words of truth!\n But all the land were in fear and dread,\n For they kendna whether she was living or dead.\n It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain;\n She left this world of sorrow and pain,\n And returned to the Land of Thought again.\n\n _The Ettrick Shepherd. (Condensed)_\n\n\n\n\nLAYS O\u2019 WONDER\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEE WEE MAN\n\n _As I was walking all alane,\n Between a water and a wa\u2019,\n And there I spied a wee wee man,\n And he was the least that e\u2019er I saw._\n\n _His legs were scarce a shathmont\u2019s length,\n And thick and thimber was his thie;\n Between his brows there was a span,\n And between his shoulders there was three._\n\n _He took up a meikle stane,\n And he flang\u2019t as far as I could see;\n Though I had been a Wallace wight,\n I couldna liften\u2019t to my knee._\n\n _\u201cO, wee wee man, but thou art strang!\n O tell me where thy dwelling be?\u201d\n \u201cMy dwelling\u2019s down by yon bonny bower,\n O will you go with me and see?\u201d_\n\n _On we lap, and awa\u2019 we rade,\n Till we came to yon bonny green;\n We lighted down to bait our horse,\n And out there came a lady fine._\n\n _Four-and-twenty at her back,\n And they were a\u2019 clad out in green;\n Though the King of Scotland had been there,\n The warst o\u2019 them might hae been his queen._\n\n _On we lap, and awa\u2019 we rade,\n Till we came to yon bonny ha\u2019,\n Where the roof was o\u2019 the beaten gowd.\n And the floor was o\u2019 the crystal a\u2019._\n\n _When we came to the stair foot,\n Ladies were dancing jimp and sma\u2019;\n But in the twinkling o\u2019 an ee,\n My wee wee man was clean awa\u2019._\n\n\nTHE EARL OF MAR\u2019S DAUGHTER\n\n\n PART I\n\n It was intill a pleasant time,\n Upon a simmer\u2019s day,\n The noble Earl of Mar\u2019s daughter\n Went forth to sport and play.\n\n As thus she did amuse hersell,\n Below a green aik tree,\n There she saw a sprightly doo\n Set on a tower sae hie.\n\n \u201cO Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,\n If ye\u2019ll come down to me,\n Ye\u2019se hae a cage o guid red gowd\n Instead o simple tree:\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll put gowd hingers roun your cage,\n And siller roun your wa;\n I\u2019ll gar ye shine as fair a bird\n As ony o them a\u2019.\u201d\n\n But she hadnae these words well spoke,\n Nor yet these words well said,\n Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower\n And lighted on her head.\n\n Then she has brought this pretty bird\n Hame to her bowers and ha,\n And made him shine as fair a bird\n As ony o them a\u2019.\n\n When day was gane, and night was come,\n About the evening tide,\n This lady spied a sprightly youth\n Stand straight up by her side.\n\n \u201cFrom whence came ye, young man?\u201d she said;\n \u201cThat does surprise me sair;\n My door was bolted right secure,\n What way hae ye come here?\u201d\n\n \u201cO had your tongue, ye lady fair,\n Lat a\u2019 your folly be;\n Mind ye not on your turtle-doo\n Last day ye brought wi thee?\u201d\n\n \u201cO tell me mair, young man,\u201d she said,\n \u201cThis does surprise me now;\n What country hae ye come frae?\n What pedigree are you?\u201d\n\n \u201cMy mither lives on foreign isles,\n She has nae mair but me;\n She is a queen o wealth and state,\n And birth and high degree.\n\n \u201cLikewise well skilld in magic spells,\n As ye may plainly see,\n And she transformd me to yon shape,\n To charm such maids as thee.\n\n \u201cI am a doo the live-lang day,\n A sprightly youth at night;\n This aye gars me appear mair fair\n In a fair maiden\u2019s sight.\n\n \u201cAnd it was but this verra day\n That I came ower the sea;\n Your lovely face did me enchant;\n I\u2019ll live and dee wi thee.\u201d\n\n \u201cO Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,\n Nae mair frae me ye\u2019se gae;\u201d\n \u201cThat\u2019s never my intent, my luve,\n As ye said, it shall be sae.\u201d\n\n \u201cO Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,\n It\u2019s time for us to wed;\u201d\n \u201cWi a\u2019 my heart, my dear marrow,\n It\u2019s be as ye hae said.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n Then he has staid in bower wi her\n For sax lang years and ane,\n Till sax young sons to him she bare,\n And the seventh she\u2019s brought hame.\n\n But aye as ever a child was born\n He carried them away,\n And brought them to his mither\u2019s care,\n As fast as he coud fly.\n\n Thus he has staid in bower wi her\n For twenty years and three;\n There came a lord o high renown\n To court this fair ladie.\n\n But still his proffer she refused,\n And a\u2019 his presents too;\n Says, \u201cI\u2019m content to live alane\n Wi my bird, Cow-me-doo.\u201d\n\n Her father sware a solemn oath\n Amang the nobles all,\n \u201cThe morn, or ere I eat or drink,\n This bird I will gar kill.\u201d\n\n The bird was sitting in his cage,\n And heard what they did say;\n And when he found they were dismist,\n Says, \u201cWae\u2019s me for this day!\n\n \u201cBefore that I do langer stay,\n And thus to be forlorn,\n I\u2019ll gang unto my mither\u2019s bower,\n Where I was bred and born.\u201d\n\n Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew\n Beyond the raging sea,\n And lighted near his mither\u2019s castle,\n On a tower o gowd sae hie.\n\n As his mither was wauking out,\n To see what she coud see,\n And there she saw her little son,\n Set on the tower sae hie.\n\n \u201cGet dancers here to dance,\u201d she said,\n \u201cAnd minstrells for to play;\n For here\u2019s my young son, Florentine,\n Come here wi me to stay.\u201d\n\n \u201cGet nae dancers to dance, mither,\n Nor minstrells for to play,\n For the mither o my seven sons,\n The morn\u2019s her wedding-day.\u201d\n\n \u201cO tell me, tell me, Florentine,\n Tell me, and tell me true,\n Tell me this day without a flaw,\n What I will do for you.\u201d\n\n \u201cInstead of dancers to dance, mither,\n Or minstrells for to play,\n Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men\n Like storks in feathers gray;\n\n \u201cMy seven sons in seven swans,\n Aboon their heads to flee;\n And I mysell a gay gos-hawk,\n A bird o high degree.\u201d\n\n Then sichin said the queen hersell,\n \u201cThat thing\u2019s too high for me;\u201d\n But she applied to an auld woman,\n Who had mair skill than she.\n\n Instead o dancers to dance a dance,\n Or minstrells for to play,\n Four-and-twenty wall-wight men\n Turnd birds o feathers gray;\n\n Her seven sons in seven swans,\n Aboon their heads to flee;\n And he himsell a gay gos-hawk,\n A bird o high degree.\n\n This flock o birds took flight and flew\n Beyond the raging sea,\n And landed near the Earl Mar\u2019s castle,\n Took shelter in every tree.\n\n They were a flock o pretty birds,\n Right comely to be seen;\n The people viewd them wi surprise,\n As they dancd on the green.\n\n These birds ascended frae the tree\n And lighted on the ha,\n And at the last wi force did flee\n Amang the nobles a\u2019.\n\n The storks there seized some o the men,\n They coud neither fight nor flee;\n The swans they bound the bride\u2019s best man\n Below a green aik tree.\n\n They lighted next on maidens fair,\n Then on the bride\u2019s own head,\n And wi the twinkling o an ee\n The bride and them were fled.\n\n There\u2019s ancient men at weddings been\n For sixty years or more,\n But sic a curious wedding-day\n They never saw before.\n\n For naething coud the companie do,\n Nor naething coud they say\n But they saw a flock o pretty birds\n That took their bride away.\n\n When that Earl Mar he came to know\n Where his dochter did stay,\n He signd a bond o\u2019 unity,\n And visits now they pay.\n\n\nKEMP OWYNE\n\n Her mother died when she was young,\n Which gave her cause to make great moan;\n Her father married the warst woman\n That ever lived in Christendom.\n\n She served her with foot and hand,\n In every thing that she could dee,\n Till once, in an unlucky time,\n She threw her in ower Craigy\u2019s sea.\n\n Says, \u201cLie you there, dove Isabel,\n And all my sorrows lie with thee;\n Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea,\n And borrow you with kisses three,\n Let all the warld do what they will,\n Oh borrowed shall you never be!\u201d\n\n Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang,\n And twisted thrice about the tree,\n And all the people, far and near,\n Thought that a savage beast was she.\n\n These news did come to Kemp Owyne,\n Where he lived, far beyond the sea;\n He hasted him to Craigy\u2019s sea,\n And on the savage beast lookd he.\n\n Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,\n And twisted was about the tree,\n And with a swing she came about:\n \u201cCome to Craigy\u2019s sea, and kiss with me.\n\n \u201cHere is a royal belt,\u201d she cried,\n \u201cThat I have found in the green sea;\n And while your body it is on,\n Drawn shall your blood never be;\n But if you touch me, tail or fin,\n I vow my belt your death shall be.\u201d\n\n He stepped in, gave her a kiss,\n The royal belt he brought him wi;\n Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,\n And twisted twice about the tree,\n And with a swing she came about:\n \u201cCome to Craigy\u2019s sea, and kiss with me.\n\n \u201cHere is a royal ring,\u201d she said,\n \u201cThat I have found in the green sea;\n And while your finger it is on,\n Drawn shall your blood never be;\n But if you touch me, tail or fin,\n I swear my ring your death shall be.\u201d\n\n He stepped in, gave her a kiss,\n The royal ring he brought him wi;\n Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,\n And twisted ance about the tree,\n And with a swing she came about:\n \u201cCome to Craigy\u2019s sea, and kiss with me.\n\n \u201cHere is a royal brand,\u201d she said,\n \u201cThat I have found in the green sea;\n And while your body it is on,\n Drawn shall your blood never be;\n But if you touch me, tail or fin,\n I swear my brand your death shall be.\u201d\n\n He stepped in, gave her a kiss,\n The royal brand he brought him wi;\n Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short,\n And twisted nane about the tree,\n And smilingly she came about,\n As fair a woman as fair could be.\n\n\nTHE LADY OF SHALOTT\n\n\n PART I\n\n On either side the river lie\n Long fields of barley and of rye,\n That clothe the wold and meet the sky;\n And thro\u2019 the field the road runs by\n To many-towered Camelot;\n And up and down the people go,\n Gazing where the lilies blow\n Round an island there below.\n The island of Shalott.\n\n Willows whiten, aspens quiver,\n Little breezes dusk and shiver\n Thro\u2019 the wave that runs for ever\n By the island in the river\n Flowing down to Camelot.\n Four grey walls, and four grey towers,\n Overlook a space of flowers,\n And the silent isle imbowers\n The Lady of Shalott.\n\n By the margin, willow-veiled,\n Slide the heavy barges trailed\n By slow horses; and unhailed\n The shallop flitteth silken-sailed\n Skimming down to Camelot;\n But who hath seen her wave her hand?\n Or at the casement seen her stand?\n Or is she known in all the land,\n The Lady of Shalott?\n\n Only reapers, reaping early\n In among the bearded barley,\n Hear a song that echoes cheerly\n From the river winding clearly,\n Down to towered Camelot;\n And by the moon the reaper weary,\n Piling sheaves in uplands airy,\n Listening, whispers \u201c\u2019Tis the Fairy\n Lady of Shalott.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n There she weaves by night and day\n A magic web with colours gay.\n She has heard a whisper say,\n A curse is on her if she stay\n To look down to Camelot.\n She knows not what the curse may be,\n And so she weaveth steadily,\n And little other care hath she,\n The Lady of Shalott.\n\n And moving thro\u2019 a mirror clear\n That hangs before her all the year,\n Shadows of the world appear.\n There she sees the highway near\n Winding down to Camelot;\n There the river eddy whirls,\n And there the surly village-churls,\n And the red cloaks of market-girls,\n Pass onward from Shalott.\n\n Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,\n An abbot on an ambling pad,\n Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,\n Or long-haired page in crimson clad,\n Goes by to towered Camelot;\n And sometimes thro\u2019 the mirror blue\n The Knights come riding two and two:\n She hath no loyal Knight and true,\n The Lady of Shalott.\n\n But in her web she still delights\n To weave the mirror\u2019s magic sights,\n For often thro\u2019 the silent nights\n A funeral, with plumes and lights\n And music, went to Camelot;\n Or when the moon was overhead,\n Came two young lovers lately wed:\n \u201cI am half sick of shadows,\u201d said\n The Lady of Shalott.\n\n\n PART III\n\n A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,\n He rode between the barley-sheaves,\n The sun came dazzling thro\u2019 the leaves,\n And flamed upon the brazen greaves\n Of bold Sir Lancelot.\n A Red-cross Knight for ever kneeled\n To a lady in his shield,\n That sparkled on the yellow field,\n Beside remote Shalott.\n\n The gemmy bridle glittered free,\n Like to some branch of stars we see\n Hung in the golden Galaxy.\n The bridle-bells rang merrily\n As he rode down to Camelot:\n And from his blazoned baldric slung\n A mighty silver bugle hung,\n And as he rode his armour rung,\n Beside remote Shalott.\n\n All in the blue unclouded weather\n Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather,\n The helmet and the helmet-feather\n Burned like one burning flame together,\n As he rode down to Camelot;\n As often thro\u2019 the purple night,\n Below the starry clusters bright,\n Some bearded meteor, trailing light,\n Moves over still Shalott.\n\n His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed;\n On burnished hooves his war-horse trode;\n From underneath his helmet flowed\n His coal-black curls as on he rode,\n As he rode down to Camelot.\n From the bank and from the river\n He flashed into the crystal mirror,\n \u201cTirra lirra,\u201d by the river\n Sang Sir Lancelot.\n\n She left the web, she left the loom,\n She made three paces thro\u2019 the room,\n She saw the water-lily bloom,\n She saw the helmet and the plume,\n She looked down to Camelot.\n Out flew the web and floated wide;\n The mirror cracked from side to side;\n \u201cThe curse is come upon me,\u201d cried\n The Lady of Shalott.\n\n\n PART IV\n\n In the stormy east-wind straining,\n The pale yellow woods were waning,\n The broad stream in his banks complaining,\n Heavily the low sky raining\n Over towered Camelot;\n Down she came and found a boat\n Beneath a willow left afloat,\n And round about the prow she wrote\n _The Lady of Shalott_.\n\n And down the river\u2019s dim expanse\n Like some bold se\u00ebr in a trance,\n Seeing all his own mischance--\n With a glassy countenance\n Did she look to Camelot.\n And at the closing of the day\n She loosed the chain, and down she lay;\n The broad stream bore her far away,\n The Lady of Shalott.\n\n Lying, robed in snowy white\n That loosely flew to left and right--\n The leaves upon her falling light--\n Thro\u2019 the noises of the night\n She floated down to Camelot;\n And as the boat-head wound along\n The willowy hills and fields among,\n They heard her singing her last song,\n The Lady of Shalott.\n\n Heard a carol, mournful, holy,\n Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,\n Till her blood was frozen slowly,\n And her eyes were darkened wholly,\n Turned to towered Camelot.\n For ere she reached upon the tide\n The first house by the water-side,\n Singing in her song she died,\n The Lady of Shalott.\n\n Under tower and balcony,\n By garden-wall and gallery,\n A gleaming shape she floated by,\n Dead-pale between the houses high,\n Silent into Camelot.\n Out upon the wharfs they came,\n Knight and burgher, lord and dame,\n And round the prow they read her name,\n _The Lady of Shalott_.\n\n Who is this? and what is here?\n And in the lighted palace near\n Died the sound of royal cheer;\n And they crossed themselves for fear,\n All the Knights at Camelot:\n But Lancelot mused a little space;\n He said, \u201cShe has a lovely face;\n God in his mercy lend her grace,\n The Lady of Shalott.\u201d\n\n _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_\n\n\nTHE SINGING LEAVES\n\n\n I\n\n \u201cWhat fairings will ye that I bring?\u201d\n Said the King to his daughters three;\n \u201cFor I to Vanity Fair am boun\u2019,\n Now say what shall they be?\u201d\n\n Then up and spake the eldest daughter,\n That lady tall and grand:\n \u201cOh, bring me pearls and diamonds great,\n And gold rings for my hand.\u201d\n\n Thereafter spake the second daughter,\n That was both white and red:\n \u201cFor me bring silks that will stand alone,\n And a gold comb for my head.\u201d\n\n Then came the turn of the least daughter,\n That was whiter than thistle-down,\n And among the gold of her blithesome hair\n Dim shone the golden crown.\n\n \u201cThere came a bird this morning,\n And sang \u2019neath my bower eaves,\n Till I dreamed, as his music made me,\n \u2018Ask thou for the Singing Leaves.\u2019\u201d\n\n Then the brow of the King swelled crimson\n With a flush of angry scorn:\n \u201cWell have ye spoken, my two eldest,\n And chosen as ye were born;\n\n \u201cBut she, like a thing of peasant race,\n That is happy binding the sheaves;\u201d\n Then he saw her dead mother in her face,\n And said, \u201cThou shalt have thy leaves.\u201d\n\n\n II\n\n He mounted and rode three days and nights\n Till he came to Vanity Fair,\n And \u2019t was easy to buy the gems and the silk,\n But no Singing Leaves were there.\n\n Then deep in the Greenwood rode he,\n And asked of every tree,\n \u201cOh, if you have ever a Singing Leaf,\n I pray you give it me!\u201d\n\n But the trees all kept their counsel,\n And never a word said they,\n Only there sighed from the pine-tops\n A music of seas far away.\n\n Only the pattering aspen\n Made a sound of growing rain,\n That fell ever faster and faster,\n Then faltered to silence again.\n\n \u201cOh, where shall I find a little foot-page\n That would win both hose and shoon,\n And will bring to me the Singing Leaves\n If they grow under the moon?\u201d\n\n Then lightly turned him Walter the page,\n By the stirrup as he ran:\n \u201cNow pledge you me the truesome word\n Of a King and gentleman,\n\n \u201cThat you will give me the first, first thing\n You meet at your castle-gate,\n And the Princess shall get the Singing Leaves,\n Or mine be a traitor\u2019s fate.\u201d\n\n The King\u2019s head dropt upon his breast\n A moment, as it might be;\n \u2019T will be my dog, he thought, and said,\n \u201cMy faith I plight to thee.\u201d\n\n Then Walter took from next his heart\n A packet small and thin,\n \u201cNow give you this to the Princess Anne,\n The Singing Leaves are therein.\u201d\n\n\n III\n\n As the King rode in at his castle-gate,\n A maiden to meet him ran,\n And \u201cWelcome, Father!\u201d she laughed and cried\n Together, the Princess Anne.\n\n \u201cLo, here the Singing Leaves,\u201d quoth he,\n \u201cAnd woe, but they cost me dear!\u201d\n She took the packet, and the smile\n Deepened down beneath the tear.\n\n It deepened down till it reached her heart,\n And then gushed up again,\n And lighted her tears as the sudden sun\n Transfigures the summer rain.\n\n And the first Leaf, when it was opened,\n Sang: \u201cI am Walter the page,\n And the songs I sing \u2019neath thy window\n Are my only heritage.\u201d\n\n And the second Leaf sang, \u201cBut in the land\n That is neither on earth nor sea,\n My lute and I are lords of more\n Than thrice this kingdom\u2019s fee.\u201d\n\n And the third Leaf sang, \u201cBe mine! Be mine!\u201d\n And ever it sang, \u201cBe mine!\u201d\n Then sweeter it sang and ever sweeter,\n And said, \u201cI am thine, thine, thine!\u201d\n\n At the first Leaf she grew pale enough,\n At the second she turned aside,\n At the third, \u2019t was as if a lily flushed\n With a rose\u2019s red heart\u2019s tide.\n\n \u201cGood counsel gave the bird,\u201d said she,\n \u201cI have my hope thrice o\u2019er,\n For they sing to my very heart,\u201d she said,\n \u201cAnd it sings to them evermore.\u201d\n\n She brought to him her beauty and truth,\n But and broad earldoms three,\n And he made her Queen of the broader lands\n He held of his lute in fee.\n\n _James Russell Lowell_\n\n\nTHE LUCK OF EDENHALL\n\n Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord\n Bids sound the festal trumpet\u2019s call;\n He rises at the banquet board,\n And cries, \u2019mid the drunken revellers all:\n \u201cNow bring me the Luck of Edenhall!\u201d\n\n The butler hears the words with pain,\n The house\u2019s oldest seneschal,\n Takes slow from its silken cloth again\n The drinking-glass of crystal tall;\n They call it the Luck of Edenhall.\n\n Then said the Lord: \u201cThis glass to praise,\n Fill with red wine from Portugal!\u201d\n The greybeard with trembling hand obeys;\n A purple light shines over all,\n It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.\n\n Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light:\n \u201cThis glass of flashing crystal tall\n Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite;\n She wrote in it, _If this glass doth fall,\n Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!_\n\n \u201c\u2019T was right a goblet the Fate should be\n Of the joyous race of Edenhall!\n Deep draughts drink we right willingly\n And willingly ring, with merry call,\n Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!\u201d\n\n First rings it deep, and full, and mild,\n Like to the song of a nightingale;\n Then like the roar of a torrent wild;\n Then mutters at last like the thunder\u2019s fall,\n The glorious Luck of Edenhall.\n\n \u201cFor its keeper takes a race of might,\n The fragile goblet of crystal tall;\n It has lasted longer than is right;\n Kling! klang!--with a harder blow than all\n Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!\u201d\n\n As the goblet ringing flies apart,\n Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall;\n And through the rift, the wild flames start;\n The guests in dust are scattered all,\n With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!\n\n In storms the foe, with fire and sword;\n He in the night had scaled the wall,\n Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord,\n But holds in his hand the crystal tall,\n The shattered Luck of Edenhall.\n\n On the morrow the butler gropes alone,\n The greybeard in the desert hall,\n He seeks his Lord\u2019s burnt skeleton,\u2019\n He seeks in the dismal ruin\u2019s fall\n The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.\n\n \u201cThe stone wall,\u201d saith he, \u201cdoth fall aside,\n Down must the stately columns fall;\n Glass is this earth\u2019s Luck and Pride;\n In atoms shall fall this earthly ball\n One day like the Luck of Edenhall!\u201d\n\n _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from Uhland_\n\n\nMAY OF THE MORIL GLEN\n\n\n PART I\n\n I will tell you of ane wondrous tale,\n As ever was told by man,\n Or ever was sung by minstrel meet\n Since this base world began:--\n\n It is of ane May, and ane lovely May,\n That dwelt in the Moril Glen,\n The fairest flower of mortal frame,\n But a devil amongst the men;\n\n For nine of them sticket themselves for love,\n And ten leaped in the main,\n And seven-and-thirty brake their hearts,\n And never loved women again.\n\n But this bonnie May, she never knew\n A father\u2019s kindly claim;\n She never was blessed in holy Church,\n Nor christened in holy name.\n\n But there she lived an earthly flower\n Of beauty so supreme,\n Some feared she was of the Mermaid\u2019s brood,\n Come out of the salt sea faeme.\n\n Some said she was found in a Fairy Ring,\n And born of the Fairy Queen;\n For there was a rainbow behind the moon\n That night she first was seen.\n\n And no man could look on her face\n And eyne that beamed so dear\n But felt a sting go through his heart,\n Far sharper than a spear.\n\n So that around the Moril Glen\n Our brave young men did lie,\n With limbs as lydder and as lithe\n As duddis hung out to dry.\n\n And aye the tears ran down in streams\n O\u2019er cheeks right woe-begone;\n And aye they gasped, and they gratte,\n And thus made piteous moan:--\n\n \u201cAlack! that I had ever been born,\n Or dandelit on the knee;\n Or rockit in ane cradle bed,\n Beneath a mother\u2019s e\u2019e!\n\n \u201cFor love is like the fiery flame\n That quivers through the rain,\n And love is like the pang of death\n That splits the heart in twain.\n\n \u201cIf I had loved earthly thing\n Of earthly blithesomeness,\n I might have been beloved again,\n And bathed in earthly bliss.\n\n \u201cBut I have loved ane freakish Fay\n Of frowardness and sin,\n With heavenly beauty on the face,\n And heart of stone within!\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n But word\u2019s gone East, and word\u2019s gone West,\n \u2019Mong high and low degree,\n While it went to the King upon the throne,\n And ane wrathful man was he.\n\n \u201cWhat!\u201d said the King, \u201cand shall we sit\n In sackcloth mourning sad,\n While all mine lieges of the land\n For ane young quean run mad?\n\n \u201cGo, saddle me my milk-white steed,\n Of true Megaira brode;\n I will go and see this wondrous dame,\n And prove her by the Rode.\n\n \u201cAnd if I find her Elfin Queen,\n Or thing of Fairy kind,\n I will burn her into ashes small,\n And sift them on the wind.\u201d\n\n The King hath chosen four-score Knights,\n All busked gallantlye,\n And he is away to the Moril Glen,\n As fast as he can dree.\n\n And when he came to the Moril Glen,\n Ae morning fair and clear,\n This lovely May on horseback rode\n To hunt the fallow deer.\n\n Her palfrey was of snowy hue,\n A pale unearthly thing,\n That revelled over hill and dale\n Like bird upon the wing.\n\n Her screen was like a net of gold,\n That dazzled as it flew;\n Her mantle was of the rainbow\u2019s red,\n Her rail of its bonny blue.\n\n A golden comb with diamonds bright,\n Her seemly virgin crown,\n Shone like the new moon\u2019s lady-light\n O\u2019er cloud of amber brown.\n\n The lightning that shot from her eyne,\n Flickered like Elfin brand;\n It was sharper nor the sharpest spear\n In all Northumberland.\n\n The King he wheeled him round about,\n And calleth to his men,\n \u201cYonder she comes, this wierdly Witch,\n This spirit of the glen!\n\n \u201cCome, rank your master up behind,\n This serpent to belay;\n I\u2019ll let you hear me put her down,\n In grand polemic way.\u201d\n\n Swift came the maid o\u2019er strath and stron--\n Nae dantonit dame was she,--\n Until the King her path withstood\n In might and majestye.\n\n The virgin cast on him a look,\n With gay and graceful air,\n As on something below her note,\n That ought not to have been there.\n\n The King, whose belt was like to burst,\n With speeches most divine,\n Now felt ane throbbing of the heart,\n And quaking of the spine.\n\n And aye he gasped for his breath,\n And gaped in dire dismay,\n And waved his arm, and smote his breast;\n But word he could not say.\n\n The spankie grewis they scoured the dale,\n The dun deer to restrain;\n The virgin gave her steed the rein,\n And followed, might and main.\n\n \u201cGo bring her back,\u201d the King he cried;\n \u201cThis reifery must not be.\n Though you should bind her hands and feet,\n Go, bring her back to me.\u201d\n\n The deer she flew, the garf and grew\n They followed hard behind;\n The milk-white palfrey brushed the dew\n Far fleeter nor the wind.\n\n But woe betide the Lords and Knights,\n That taiglit in the dell!\n For though with whip and spur they plied,\n Full far behind they fell.\n\n They looked out o\u2019er their left shoulders,\n To see what they might see,\n And there the King, in fit of love,\n Lay spurring on the lea.\n\n And, aye, he battered with his feet,\n And rowted with despair,\n And pulled the grass up by the roots,\n And flung it on the air!\n\n \u201cWhat ails, what ails my royal Liege?\n Such grief I do deplore.\u201d\n \u201cOh, I\u2019m bewitched,\u201d the King replied,\n \u201cAnd gone forevermore!\n\n \u201cGo, bring her back!--go, bring her back!--\n Go, bring her back to me!\n For I must either die of love,\n Or own that dear Ladye!\u201d\n\n The deer was slain; the royal train\n Then closed the virgin round,\n And then her fair and lily hands\n Behind her back were bound.\n\n But who should bind her winsome feet?--\n That bred such strife and pain,\n That sixteen brave and belted Knights\n Lay gasping on the plain.\n\n And when she came before the King,\n Ane ireful carle was he;\n Saith he, \u201cDame, you must be my love,\n Or burn beneath ane tree.\u201d\n\n \u201cNo, I can ne\u2019er be love to thee,\n Nor any lord thou hast;\n For you are married men each one,\n And I a maiden chaste.\n\n \u201cBut here I promise, and I vow\n By Scotland\u2019s King and Crown,\n Who first a widower shall prove,\n Shall claim me as his own.\u201d\n\n The King hath mounted his milk-white steed,--\n One word he said not more,--\n And he is away from the Moril Glen,\n As ne\u2019er rode King before.\n\n And every Lord and every Knight\n Made off his several way,\n All galloping as they had been mad,\n Withoutten stop or stay.\n\n But there was never such dole and pain\n In any land befel;\n For there is wickedness in man,\n That grieveth me to tell.\n\n There was one eye, and one alone,\n Beheld the deeds were done;\n But the lovely Queen of Fair Scotland\n Ne\u2019er saw the morning sun.\n\n And seventy-seven wedded dames,\n As fair as e\u2019er were born,\n The very pride of all the land,\n Were dead before the morn.\n\n\n PART III\n\n And the bonny May of the Moril Glen\n Is weeping in despair,\n For she saw the hills of fair Scotland,\n Could be her home nae mair.\n\n Then there were chariots came o\u2019er night,\n As silent and as soon\n As shadow of ane little cloud\n In the wan light of the moon.\n\n Some said they came out of the rock,\n And some out of the sea;\n And some said they were sent from Hell\n To bring that fair Ladye.\n\n The fairest flower of mortal frame\n Passed from the Moril Glen;\n And ne\u2019er may such a deadly eye\n Shine amongst Christian men!\n\n In seven chariots, gilded bright,\n The train went o\u2019er the fell,\n All wrapt within ane shower of hail;\n Whither no man could tell.\n\n But there was a Ship in the Firth of Forth,\n The like ne\u2019er sailed the faeme,\n For no man of her country knew,\n Her colours, or her name.\n\n Her mast was made of beaten gold,\n Her sails of the silken twine,\n And a thousand pennons streamed behind,\n And trembled o\u2019er the brine.\n\n As she lay mirrored in the main,\n It was a comely view,\n So many rainbows round her played\n With every breeze that blew.\n\n And the hailstone shroud it rattled loud,\n Right over ford and fen,\n And swathed the flower of the Moril Glen\n From eyes of sinful men.\n\n And the hailstone shroud it wheeled and rowed,\n As wan as death unshriven,\n Like dead cloth of ane Angel grim,\n Or winding sheet of Heaven.\n\n It was a fearsome sight to see\n Toil through the morning grey,\n And whenever it reached the comely Ship,\n She set sail and away.\n\n She set her sail before the gale,\n As it began to sing,\n And she heaved and rocked down the tide,\n Unlike an earthly thing.\n\n The dolphins fled out of her way\n Into the creeks of Fife,\n And the blackguard seals, they yowlit for dread,\n And swam for death and life.\n\n But aye the Ship, the bonny Ship\n Out o\u2019er the green wave flew,\n Swift as the solan on the wing,\n Or terrified sea-mew.\n\n No billow breasted on her prow,\n Nor levelled on the lee;\n She seemed to sail upon the air,\n And never touch the sea.\n\n And away, and away went the bonny Ship,\n Which man never more did see;\n But whether she went to Heaven or Hell,\n Was ne\u2019er made known to me.\n\n _The Ettrick Shepherd. (Condensed)_\n\n\nTHE LAIDLEY WORM O\u2019 SPINDLESTON-HEUGHS\n\n\n PART I\n\n The King is gone from Bambrough Castle,\n Long may the Princess mourn;\n Long may she stand on the Castle wall,\n Looking for his return.\n\n She has knotted the keys upon a string,\n And with her she has them taen,\n She has cast them o\u2019er her left shoulder,\n And to the gate she is gane.\n\n She tripped out, she tripped in,\n She tript into the yard;\n But it was more for the King\u2019s sake,\n Than for the Queen\u2019s regard.\n\n It fell out on a day, the King\n Brought the Queen with him home;\n And all the Lords in our country,\n To welcome them did come.\n\n \u201cOh welcome, Father!\u201d the Lady cries,\n \u201cUnto your halls and bowers;\n And so are you, my Stepmother,\n For all that is here is yours.\u201d\n\n A Lord said, wondering while she spake,\n \u201cThis Princess of the North\n Surpasses all of female kind\n In beauty and in worth.\u201d\n\n The envious Queen replied, \u201cAt least,\n You might have excepted me:\n In a few hours I will her bring\n Down to a low degree.\n\n \u201cI will her liken to a Laidley Worm,\n That warps about the stone,\n And not till Childy Wynd comes back,\n Shall she again be won.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n The Princess stood at the bower-door,\n Laughing, who could her blame?\n But e\u2019er the next day\u2019s sun went down,\n A long Worm she became.\n\n For seven miles East, and seven miles West,\n And seven miles North, and South,\n No blade of grass or corn could grow,\n So venomous was her mouth.\n\n The milk of seven stately cows--\n It was costly her to keep--\n Was brought her daily, which she drank\n Before she went to sleep.\n\n At this day may be seen the cave\n Which held her folded up,\n And the stone trough--the very same--\n Out of which she did sup.\n\n Word went East, and word went West,\n And word is gone over the sea,\n That a Laidley Worm in Spindleston-Heughs,\n Would ruin the North Countrie.\n\n Word went East, and word went West,\n And over the sea did go;\n The Child of Wynd got wit of it,\n Which filled his heart with woe.\n\n He called straight his merry men all,\n They thirty were and three:\n \u201cI wish I were at Spindleston,\n This desperate Worm to see.\n\n \u201cWe have no time now here to waste,\n Hence quickly let us sail:\n My only sister Margaret\n Something, I fear, doth ail.\u201d\n\n They built a ship without delay,\n With masts of the Rowan-Tree,\n With fluttering sails of silk so fine,\n And set her on the sea.\n\n They went aboard; the wind with speed,\n Blew them along the deep;\n At length they spied an huge square tower\n On a rock high and steep.\n\n The sea was smooth, the weather clear;\n When they approached nigher,\n King Ida\u2019s Castle they well knew,\n And the banks of Bambroughshire.\n\n\n PART III\n\n The Queen looked out at her bower-window,\n To see what she could see;\n There she espied a gallant ship\n Sailing upon the sea.\n\n When she beheld the silken sails,\n Full glancing in the sun,\n To sink the ship she sent away\n Her Witch Wives every one.\n\n Their spells were vain; the Hags returned\n To the Queen in sorrowful mood,\n Crying, that Witches have no power\n Where there is Rowan-Tree wood.\n\n Her last effort, she sent a boat,\n Which in the haven lay,\n With armed men to board the ship,\n But they were driven away.\n\n The Worm leapt up, the Worm leapt down,\n She plaited round the stane;\n And aye, as the ship came to the land,\n She banged it off again.\n\n The Child then ran out of her reach\n The ship on Budle-sand;\n And jumping into the shallow sea,\n Securely got to land.\n\n And now he drew his berry-brown sword,\n And laid it on her head;\n And swore, if she did harm to him,\n That he would strike her dead.\n\n \u201cOh! quit thy sword, and bend thy bow,\n And give me kisses three;\n For though I am a poisonous Worm,\n No hurt I will do to thee.\n\n \u201cOh! quit thy sword, and bend thy bow,\n And give me kisses three;\n If I am not won e\u2019er the sun go down,\n Won I shall never be.\u201d\n\n He quitted his sword, he bent his bow,\n He gave her kisses three:\n She crept into a hole a Worm,\n But stept out a Lady.\n\n No clothing had this Lady fine,\n To keep her from the cold;\n He took his mantle from him about,\n And round her did it fold.\n\n He has taken his mantle from him about,\n And it he wrapt her in,\n And they are up to Bambrough Castle,\n As fast as they can win.\n\n\n PART IV\n\n His absence and her serpent-shape,\n The King had long deplored;\n He now rejoiced to see them both\n Again to him restored.\n\n The Queen they wanted, whom they found\n All pale and sore afraid,\n Because she knew her power must yield\n To Childy Wynd\u2019s, who said:--\n\n \u201cWoe be to thee, thou wicked Witch,\n An ill death mayest thou dee;\n As thou my sister hast likened,\n So likened shalt thou be.\n\n \u201cI will turn you into a Toad,\n That on the ground doth wend;\n And won, won, shalt thou never be,\n Till this world hath an end.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\n Now on the sand near Ida\u2019s tower,\n She crawls a loathsome Toad,\n And venom spits on every maid\n She meets upon her road.\n\n The virgins all of Bambrough town,\n Will swear that they have seen\n This spiteful Toad, of monstrous size,\n Whilst walking they have been.\n\n All folks believe within the shire,\n This story to be true;\n And they all run to Spindleston,\n The cave and trough to view.\n\n This fact now Duncan Frasier,\n Of Cheviot, sings in rhyme,\n Lest Bambroughshire men should forget\n Some part of it in time.\n\n\n\n\nMERRY GESTES\n\n\n\n\nA TRAGIC STORY\n\n _There lived a sage in days of yore,\n And he a handsome pigtail wore;\n But wondered much, and sorrowed more,\n Because it hung behind him._\n\n _He mused upon this curious case,\n And swore he\u2019d change the pigtail\u2019s place,\n And have it hanging at his face.\n Not dangling there behind him._\n\n _Says he, \u201cThe mystery I\u2019ve found,--\n I\u2019ll turn me round,\u201d--he turned him round;\n But still it hung behind him._\n\n _Then round and round, and out and in,\n All day the puzzled sage did spin;\n In vain--it mattered not a pin--\n The pigtail hung behind him._\n\n _And right, and left, and round about,\n And up, and down, and in, and out\n He turned; but still the pigtail stout\n Hung steadily behind him._\n\n _And though his efforts never slack,\n And though he twist, and twirl, and tack,\n Alas! still faithful to his back,\n The pigtail hangs behind him._\n\n _William Makepeace Thackeray\n From Chamisso_\n\n[Illustration: HE TURNED HIM ROUND; BUT STILL IT HUNG BEHIND HIM]\n\n\nLITTLE BILLEE\n\n There were three sailors of Bristol city,\n Who took a boat and went to sea.\n But first with beef and captain\u2019s biscuits\n And pickled pork they loaded she.\n\n There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy,\n And the youngest he was little Billee.\n Now when they got as far as the Equator\n They\u2019d nothing left but one split pea.\n\n Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,\n \u201cI am extremely hungaree.\u201d\n To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy,\n \u201cWe\u2019ve nothing left, us must eat we.\u201d\n\n Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,\n \u201cWith one another we shouldn\u2019t agree!\n There\u2019s little Bill, he\u2019s young and tender,\n We\u2019re old and tough, so let\u2019s eat he.\n\n \u201cOh! Billy, we\u2019re going to kill and eat you,\n So undo the button of your chemie.\u201d\n When Bill received this information,\n He used his pocket handkerchie.\n\n \u201cFirst let me say my catechism,\n Which my poor mammy taught to me.\u201d\n \u201cMake haste, make haste,\u201d says guzzling Jimmy,\n While Jack pulled out his snickersnee.\n\n So Billy went up to the main top-gallant mast,\n And down he fell on his bended knee.\n He scarce had come to the twelfth commandment\n When up he jumps. \u201cThere\u2019s land I see:\n\n \u201cJerusalem and Madagascar,\n And North and South Amerikee:\n There\u2019s the British flag a-riding at anchor,\n With Admiral Napier, K. C. B.\u201d\n\n So when they got aboard of the Admiral\u2019s,\n He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee;\n But as for little Bill he made him\n The Captain of a Seventy-three.\n\n _William Makepeace Thackeray_\n\n\nBRIAN O\u2019LINN\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn was a gentleman born,\n His hair it was long and his beard unshorn,\n His teeth were out and his eyes far in,--\n \u201cI\u2019m a wonderful beauty,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn was hard up for a coat,\n He borrowed the skin of a neighbouring goat,\n He buckled the horns right under his chin,--\n \u201cThey\u2019ll answer for pistols,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn had no breeches to wear,\n He got him a sheepskin to make him a pair,\n With the fleshy side out and the woolly side in,--\n \u201cThey are pleasant and cool,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn had no hat to his head,\n He stuck on a pot that was under the shed,\n He murdered a cod for the sake of his fin,--\n \u201c\u2019T will pass for a feather,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn had no shirt to his back,\n He went to a neighbour and borrowed a sack,\n He puckered a meal-bag under his chin,--\n \u201cThey\u2019ll take it for ruffles,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn had no shoes at all,\n He bought an old pair at a cobbler\u2019s stall,\n The uppers were broken and the soles were thin,--\n \u201cThey\u2019ll do me for dancing,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn had no watch for to wear,\n He bought a fine turnip, and scooped it out fair,\n He slipped a live cricket right under the skin,--\n \u201cThey\u2019ll think it is ticking,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn was in want of a brooch,\n He stuck a brass pin in a big coackroach,\n The breast of his shirt he fixed it straight in,--\n \u201cThey\u2019ll think it\u2019s a diamond,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn went a-courting one night,\n He set both the mother and daughter to fight,--\n \u201cStop! stop!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cif you have but the tin,\n I\u2019ll marry you both,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn went to bring his wife home,\n He had but one horse, that was all skin and bone,\n \u201cI\u2019ll put her behind me, as nate as a pin,\n And her mother before me,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn.\n\n Brian O\u2019Linn and his wife and wife\u2019s mother,\n They all crossed over the bridge together,\n The bridge broke down and they all tumbled in,--\n \u201cWe\u2019ll go home by water,\u201d says Brian O\u2019Linn!\n\n\nDICKY OF BALLYMAN\n\n On New Year\u2019s Day, as I heard say,\n Dicky he saddled his dapple grey;\n He put on his Sunday clothes,\n His scarlet vest, and his new made hose.\n _Diddle dum di, diddle dum do,\n Diddle dum di, diddle dum do!_\n\n He rode till he came to Wilson Hall,\n There he rapped, and loud did call;\n Mistress Ann came down straightway,\n And asked him what he had to say.\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t you know me, Mistress Ann?\n I am Dicky of Ballyman;\n An honest lad, though I am poor,--\n I never was in love before.\n\n \u201cI have an uncle, the best of friends,\n Sometimes to me a fat rabbit he sends;\n And many other dainty fowl,\n To please my life, my joy, my soul.\n\n \u201cSometimes I reap, sometimes I mow,\n And to the market I do go,\n To sell my father\u2019s corn and hay,--\n I earn my sixpence every day!\u201d\n\n \u201cOh, Dicky! you go beneath your mark,--\n You only wander in the dark;\n Sixpence a day will never do,\n I must have silks, and satins, too!\n\n \u201cBesides, Dicky, I must have tea\n For my breakfast, every day;\n And after dinner a bottle of wine,--\n For without it I cannot dine.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf on fine clothes our money is spent,\n Pray how shall my lord be paid his rent?\n He\u2019ll expect it when \u2019tis due,--\n Believe me, what I say is true.\n\n \u201cAs for tea, good stirabout\n Will do far better, I make no doubt;\n And spring water, when you dine,\n Is far wholesomer than wine.\n\n \u201cPotatoes, too, are very nice food,--\n I don\u2019t know any half so good:\n You may have them boiled or roast,\n Whichever way you like them most.\u201d\n\n This gave the company much delight,\n And made them all to laugh outright;\n So Dicky had no more to say,\n But saddled his dapple and rode away.\n _Diddle dum di, diddle dum do,\n Diddle dum di, diddle dum do!_\n\n\nTHE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN\n\n It was a tall young Oysterman lived by the riverside,\n His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;\n The daughter of a Fisherman, that was so straight and slim,\n Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.\n\n It was the pensive Oysterman that saw a lovely maid,\n Upon a moonlight evening, a-sitting in the shade;\n He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,\n \u201cI\u2019m wide awake, young Oysterman, and all the folks away.\u201d\n\n Then up arose the Oysterman, and to himself said he,\n \u201cI guess I\u2019ll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should\n see;\n I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear,\n Leander swam the Hellespont,--and I will swim this here.\u201d\n\n And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,\n And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam;\n Oh! there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain,--\n But they have heard her father\u2019s step, and in he leaps again!\n\n Out spoke the ancient Fisherman,--\u201cOh! what as that, my daughter?\u201d\n \u201c\u2019T was nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water.\u201d\n \u201cAnd what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?\u201d\n \u201cIt\u2019s nothing but a porpoise, sir, that\u2019s been a swimming past.\u201d\n\n Out spoke the ancient Fisherman,--\u201cNow bring me my harpoon!\n I\u2019ll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon.\u201d\n Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb,\n Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like seaweed on a clam.\n\n Alas, for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound,\n And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned;\n But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe,\n And now they keep an oyster-shop for Mermaids down below.\n\n _Oliver Wendell Holmes_\n\n\nTHE CINDER KING\n\n Who is it that sits in the kitchen and weeps,\n While tick goes the clock, and the tabby-cat sleeps,--\n That watches the grate, without ceasing to spy\n Whether purses or coffins will out of it fly?\n\n \u2019Tis Betty; who saw the false tailor, Bob Scott,\n Lead a bride to the altar, which bride she was not.\n \u2019Tis Betty, determined love from her to fling,\n And woo, for his riches, the dark Cinder-King.\n\n Now spent tallow-candle-grease fattened the soil,\n And the blue-burning lamp had half wasted its oil,\n And the black-beetle boldly came crawling from far,\n And the red coals were sinking beneath the third bar;\n\n When _\u201cone!\u201d_ struck the clock--and instead of the bird\n Who used to sing cuckoo whene\u2019er the clock stirred,\n Out burst a grim raven, and uttered _\u201ccaw! caw!\u201d_\n While Puss, though she woke, durst not put forth a claw.\n\n Then the jack fell a-going as if one should sup,\n Then the earth rocked as though it would swallow one up;\n With fuel from Hell, a strange coal-scuttle came,\n And a self-handled poker made fearful the flame.\n\n A cinder shot from it, of size to amaze,\n With a bounce, such as Betty ne\u2019er heard in her days,\n Thrice, serpent-like, hissed as its heat fled away,\n And, lo! something dark in a vast coffin lay!\n\n \u201cCome, Betty,\u201d quoth croaking that nondescript thing,\n \u201cCome, bless the fond arms of your true Cinder-King!\n Three more Kings, my brothers, are waiting to greet ye,\n Who--don\u2019t take it ill--must at four o\u2019clock eat ye.\n\n \u201cMy darling! it must be, do make up your mind;\n We element brothers, united, and kind,\n Have a feast and a wedding, each night of our lives,\n So constantly sup on each other\u2019s new wives.\u201d\n\n In vain squalled the cook-maid, and prayed not to wed;\n Cinder crunched in her mouth, cinder rained on her head.\n She sank in the coffin with cinders strewn o\u2019er,\n And coffin nor Betty saw man any more.\n\n _Modern, anon._\n\n\nTHE FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR, THE TINKER\u2019S GOOD FORTUNE\n\n Now, as fame does report, a young Duke keeps a Court,\n One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport:\n But amongst all the rest, here is one, I protest,\n Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:\n A poor Tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground,\n As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound.\n\n The Duke said to his men, \u201cWilliam, Richard, and Ben,\n Take him home to my palace; we\u2019ll sport with him then.\u201d\n O\u2019er a horse he was laid, and with care soon conveyed\n To the palace, altho\u2019 he was poorly arrai\u2019d:\n Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes, and hose,\n And they put him to bed for to take his repose.\n\n Having pulled off his shirt, which was all over durt,\n They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:\n On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,\n They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.\n In the morning, when day, then admiring he lay,\n For to see the rich chamber, both gaudy and gay.\n\n Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,\n Till at last Knights and Squires they on him did wait;\n And the chamberling bare, then did likewise declare,\n He desired to know what apparel he\u2019d ware:\n The poor Tinker amazed, on the gentleman gazed,\n And admired how he to this honour was raised.\n\n Tho\u2019 he seemed something mute, yet he chose a rich suit,\n Which he straitways put on without longer dispute;\n With a star on his side, which the Tinker off\u2019t eyed,\n And it seemed for to swell him no little with pride;\n For he said to himself, \u201cWhere is Joan my sweet wife?\n Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.\u201d\n\n From a convenient place, the right Duke, his good grace,\n Did observe his behaviour in every case.\n To a garden of state, on the Tinker they wait,\n Trumpets sounding before him: thought he, \u201cThis is great!\u201d\n Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view,\n With Commanders and Squires in scarlet and blew.\n\n A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests,\n He was placed at the table above all the rest,\n In a rich chair or bed lined with fine crimson red,\n With a rich golden canopy over his head:\n As he sat at his meat, the musick played sweet,\n With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat.\n\n While the Tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,\n Rich canary, with sherry and tent superfine.\n Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl.\n Till at last he began for to tumble and roul\n From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,\n Being seven times drunker than ever before.\n\n Then the Duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,\n And restore him his old leather garments again:\n \u2019T was a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,\n And they carryed him strait where they found him at first:\n Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might;\n But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.\n\n For his glory to him so pleasant did seem,\n That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;\n Till at length he was brought to the Duke, where he sought\n For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought:\n But his Highness he said, \u201cThou\u2019rt a jolly bold blade:\n Such a frolick before, I think, never was plaid.\u201d\n\n Then his Highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,\n Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak:\n Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of ground:\n \u201cThou shalt never,\u201d said he, \u201crange the counteries round,\n Crying \u2018old brass to mend,\u2019 for I\u2019ll be thy good friend,\n Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my Duchess attend.\u201d\n\n Then the Tinker replyed; \u201cWhat! must Joan my sweet bride\n Be a Lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?\n Must we have gold and land ev\u2019ry day at command?\n Then I shall be a Squire, I well understand:\n Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace;\n I was never before in so happy a case!\u201d\n\n\nKING JAMES THE FIRST AND THE TINKLER\n\n And now, to be brief, let\u2019s pass over the rest,\n Who seldom or never were given to jest,\n And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne,\n A pleasanter Monarch sure never was known.\n\n As he was a-hunting the swift fallow-deer,\n He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear,\n In hope of some pastime away he did ride,\n Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side.\n\n And there with a Tinkler he happened to meet,\n And him in kind sort he so freely did greet:\n \u201cPray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug,\n Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?\u201d\n\n \u201cBy the mass!\u201d quoth the Tinkler, \u201cit\u2019s nappy brown ale,\n And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail;\n For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine,\n I think that my twopence as good is as thine.\u201d\n\n \u201cBy my soul! honest fellow, the truth thou hast spoke,\u201d\n And straight he sat down with the Tinkler to joke;\n They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other;\n Who\u2019d seen \u2019em had thought they were brother and brother.\n\n As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say,\n \u201cWhat news, honest fellow? come tell me, I pray?\u201d\n \u201cThere\u2019s nothing of news, beyond that I hear\n The King\u2019s on the border a-chasing the deer.\n\n \u201cAnd truly I wish I so happy may be\n Whilst he is a-hunting the King I might see;\n For although I\u2019ve travelled the land many ways\n I never have yet seen a King in my days.\u201d\n\n The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, replied\n \u201cI tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride,\n Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring\n To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.\u201d\n\n \u201cBut he\u2019ll be surrounded with nobles so gay,\n And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?\u201d\n \u201cThou\u2019lt easily ken him when once thou art there;\n The King will be covered, his nobles all bare.\u201d\n\n He got up behind him and likewise his sack,\n His budget of leather, and tools at his back;\n They rode till they came to the merry Greenwood,\n His nobles came round him, bareheaded they stood.\n\n The Tinkler then seeing so many appear,\n He slily did whisper the King in his ear;\n Saying, \u201cThey\u2019re all clothed so gloriously gay,\n But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?\u201d\n\n The King did with hearty good laughter, reply,\n \u201cBy my soul! my good fellow, it\u2019s thou or it\u2019s I!\n The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round\u201d--\n With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground,\n\n Like one that was frightened quite out of his wits,\n Then on his knees he instantly gets,\n Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said,\n \u201cThou art a good fellow, so be not afraid.\n\n \u201cCome, tell thy name.\u201d \u201cI am John of the Dale,\n A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.\u201d\n \u201cRise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here,--\n I make thee a Knight of three thousand a year!\u201d\n\n This was a good thing for the Tinkler indeed;\n Then unto the Court he was sent for with speed,\n Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen,\n In the royal presence of King and of Queen.\n\n Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee,\n At the Court of the King who so happy as he?\n Yet still in his hall hangs the Tinkler\u2019s old sack,\n And the budget of tools which he bore at his back.\n\n\nKING ALFRED AND THE SHEPHERD\n\n\n PART I--WHEREIN KING ALFRED FIGHTS FOR HIS DINNER\n\n In elder time there was of yore,\n When gibes of churlish glee\n Were used among our country carles,\n Tho\u2019 no such thing now be:\n\n The which King Alfred liking well,\n Forsook his stately Court,\n And in disguise unknown went forth\n To see that jovial sport;\n\n How Dick and Tom in clouted shoon,\n And coats of russet grey,\n Esteemed themselves more brave than them\n That went in golden ray.\n\n In garments fit for such a life\n The good King Alfred went,\n Ragged and torn as from his back\n The beggar his clothes had rent.\n\n A sword and buckler good and strong,\n To give Jack Sauce a rap;\n And on his head, instead of a crown,\n He wore a Monmouth cap.\n\n Thus coasting thorough Somersetshire:\n Near Newton-Court he met\n A shepherd swain of lusty limb,\n That up and down did jet:\n\n He wore a bonnet of good grey,\n Close-buttoned to his chin;\n And at his back a leather scrip,\n With much good meat therein.\n\n \u201cGod speed, good Shepherd,\u201d quoth the King\n \u201cI come to be thy guest,\n To taste of thy good victuals here,\n And drink that\u2019s of the best.\n\n \u201cThy scrip, I know hath cheer good store\u201d:\n \u201cWhat then?\u201d the Shepherd said,\n \u201cThou seem\u2019st to be some sturdy thief,\n And mak\u2019st me sore afraid.\n\n \u201cYet if thou wilt thy dinner win,\n Thy sword and buckler take:\n And, if thou canst, into my scrip\n Therewith an entrance make.\n\n \u201cI tell thee, roister, it hath store\n Of beef and bacon fat,\n With sheaves of barley-bread to make\n Thy chaps to water at!\n\n \u201cHere stands my bottle, here my bag,\n If thou canst win them, roister;\n Against thy sword and buckler here,\n My sheep-hook is my master.\u201d\n\n _\u201cBenedicite!\u201d_ quoth our good King\n \u201cIt never shall be said,\n That Alfred, of the Shepherd\u2019s hook,\n Will stand a whit afraid.\u201d\n\n So foundly thus they both fell to \u2018t,\n And giving bang for bang;\n At ev\u2019ry blow the Shepherd gave\n King Alfred\u2019s sword cried _twang_!\n\n His buckler proved his chiefest fence;\n For still the Shepherd\u2019s hook\n Was that the which King Alfred could\n In no good manner brook.\n\n At last, when they had fought four hours,\n And it grew just midday,\n And wearied both, with right good will,\n Desired each other\u2019s stay:\n\n \u201cA truce, I crave,\u201d quoth Alfred then\n \u201cGood Shepherd, hold thy hand,\n A sturdier fellow than thyself\n Lives not within the land!\u201d\n\n \u201cNor a lustier roister than thou art,\u201d\n The churlish Shepherd said;\n \u201cTo tell thee plain, thy thievish look\n Now makes my heart afraid.\n\n \u201cElse sure thou art some prodigal,\n Which hast consumed thy store,\n And now com\u2019st wand\u2019ring in this place\n To rob and steal for more.\u201d\n\n \u201cDeem not of me, then,\u201d quoth our King,\n \u201cGood Shepherd, in this sort.\n A gentleman well known I am\n In good King Alfred\u2019s Court.\u201d\n\n\n PART II--WHEREIN KING ALFRED BECOMES A SHEPHERD\n\n \u201cThe Devil thou art!\u201d the Shepherd said,\n \u201cThou go\u2019st in rags all torn;\n Thou rather seem\u2019st, I think, to be\n Some beggar basely born.\n\n \u201cBut if thou wilt mend thy estate,\n And here a shepherd be;\n At night, to Gillian, my sweet wife,\n Thou shalt go home with me:\n\n \u201cFor she\u2019s as good a toothless dame\n As mumbleth on brown bread;\n Where thou shalt lie in hurden sheets,\n Upon a fresh straw bed.\n\n \u201cOf whig and whey we have good store,\n And keep good pease-straw fire;\n And now and then good barley cakes,\n As better days require.\n\n \u201cBut for my master, which is Chief\n And Lord of Newton-Court,\n He keeps, I say, his shepherd swains\n In far more braver sort;\n\n \u201cWe there have curds and clouted cream\n Of red cow\u2019s morning milk;\n And now and then fine buttered cakes\n As soft as any silk.\n\n \u201cOf beef and reifed bacon store,\n That is most fat and greasy,\n We have likewise, to feed our chaps\n And make them glib and easy.\n\n \u201cThus if thou wilt my man become,\n This usage thou shalt have;\n If not, adieu; go hang thyself;\n And so farewell, Sir Knave.\u201d\n\n King Alfred hearing of this glee\n The churlish Shepherd said,\n Was well content to be his man;\n So they a bargain made;\n\n A penny round the Shepherd gave\n In earnest of this match,\n To keep his sheep in field and fold,\n As shepherds use to watch.\n\n His wages shall be full ten groats,\n For service of a year,\n Yet was it not his use, old lad,\n To hire a man so dear:\n\n \u201cFor, did the King himself,\u201d quoth he,\n \u201cUnto my cottage come,\n He should not, for a twelve-month\u2019s pay,\n Receive a greater sum.\u201d\n\n\n PART III--WHEREIN KING ALFRED BURNS THE CAKES\n\n Hereat the bonny King grew blithe,\n To hear the clownish jest;\n How silly sots, as custom is,\n Do descant at the best.\n\n But not to spoil the foolish sport,\n He was content, good King,\n To fit the Shepherd\u2019s humour right\n In ev\u2019ry kind of thing.\n\n A sheep-hook then, with Patch his dog,\n And tar-box by his side;\n He, with his master, cheek by jowl,\n Unto old Gillian hied,\n\n Into whose sight no sooner come,\n \u201cWhom have you here?\u201d quoth she,\n \u201cA fellow, I doubt, will cut our throats,\n So like a knave looks he.\u201d\n\n \u201cNot so, old Dame,\u201d quoth Alfred straight,\n \u201cOf me you need not fear;\n My master hired me for ten groats,\n To serve you one whole year:\n\n \u201cSo, good Dame Gillian, grant me leave\n Within your house to stay;\n For, by St. Anne, do what you can,\n I will not yet away.\u201d\n\n Her churlish usage pleased him still,\n And put him to such proof,\n That he at night was almost choked\n Within that smoky roof.\n\n But as he sat with smiling cheer\n The event of all to see,\n His dame brought forth a piece of dough\n Which in the fire throws she.\n\n Where lying on the hearth to bake,\n By chance, the cake did burn:\n \u201cWhat! canst thou not, thou lout,\u201d quoth she,\n \u201cTake pains the same to turn?\n\n \u201cThou art more quick to take it out,\n And eat it up half dough,\n Than thus to stay till\u2019t be enough,\n And so thy manners show!\n\n \u201cBut serve me such another trick,\n I\u2019ll thwack thee on the snout:\u201d\n Which made the patient King, poor man,\n Of her to stand in doubt.\n\n\n PART IV--WHEREIN KING ALFRED BLOWS HIS BUGLE-HORN\n\n But, to be brief, to bed they went\n The old man and his wife;\n But never such a lodging had\n King Alfred in his life!\n\n For he was laid in white sheep\u2019s wool,\n New-pulled from tanned fells;\n And o\u2019er his head hanged spiders\u2019 webs\n As if they had been bells.\n\n \u201cIs this the country guise?\u201d thought he,\n \u201cThen here I will not stay,\n But hence be gone, as soon as breaks\n The peeping of next day!\u201d\n\n The cackling hens and geese kept roost,\n And perched at his side;\n Where, at the last, the watchful cock\n Made known the morning tide.\n\n Then up got Alfred, with his horn,\n And blew so long a blast,\n That it made Gillian and her groom,\n In bed, full sore aghast.\n\n \u201cArise,\u201d quoth she, \u201cWe are undone!\n This night we lodged have,\n At unawares, within our house,\n A false dissembling knave.\n\n \u201cRise! husband, rise! he\u2019ll cut our throats!\n He calleth for his mates.\n I\u2019d give, old Will, our good cade lamb,\n He would depart our gates!\u201d\n\n But still King Alfred blew his horn,\n Before them, more and more,\n Till that an hundred Lords and Knights\n All lighted at the door.\n\n Who cried, \u201cAll hail! all hail, good King!\n Long have we sought your Grace!\u201d\n \u201cAnd here you find, my merry men all,\n Your Sov\u2019reign in this place.\u201d\n\n \u201cWe surely must be hanged up both,\n Old Gillian, I much fear,\u201d\n The Shepherd said, \u201cfor using thus,\n Our good King Alfred here.\u201d\n\n \u201cOh, pardon, my Liege!\u201d quoth Gillian then,\n \u201cFor my husband, and for me.\n By these ten bones, I never thought\n The same that now I see!\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd by my hook,\u201d the Shepherd said,\n \u201cAn oath both good and true!\n Before this time, O noble King,\n I ne\u2019er your Highness knew!\n\n \u201cThen pardon me and my old wife,\n That we may after say,\n When first you came into our house,\n It was a happy day.\u201d\n\n \u201cIt shall be done,\u201d said Alfred straight,\n \u201cAnd Gillian, thy old dame,\n For this her churlish using me,\n Deserveth not much blame;\n\n \u201cFor \u2019tis thy country guise, I see,\n To be thus bluntish still,\n And where the plainest meaning is,\n Remains the smallest ill.\n\n \u201cAnd, Master, lo! I tell thee now;\n For thy late manhood shown,\n A thousand wethers I\u2019ll bestow\n Upon thee, for thy own;\n\n \u201cAnd pasture-ground, as much as will\n Suffice to feed them all:\n And this thy cottage, I will change\n Into a stately hall.\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd for the same, as duty binds,\u201d\n The Shepherd said, \u201cgood King,\n A milk-white lamb, once ev\u2019ry year,\n I\u2019ll to your Highness bring:\n\n \u201cAnd Gillian, my wife, likewise,\n Of wool to make you coats,\n Will give you as much at New Year\u2019s tide,\n As shall be worth ten groats.\n\n \u201cAnd in your praise my bag-pipes shall\n Sound sweetly once a year,\n How Alfred, our renowned King,\n Most kindly hath been here.\u201d\n\n \u201cThanks, Shepherd, thanks,\u201d quoth he again:\n \u201cThe next time I come hither,\n My Lords with me, here in this house,\n Will all be merry together.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSAD GESTES\n\n\n\n\nTHE SANDS OF DEE\n\n _\u201cO Mary, go and call the cattle home,\n And call the cattle home,\n And call the cattle home\n Across the sands of Dee;\u201d\n The western wind was wild and dank wi\u2019 foam,\n And all alone went she._\n\n _The western tide crept up along the sand.\n And o\u2019er and o\u2019er the sand,\n And round and round the sand,\n As far as eye could see.\n The rolling mist came down and hid the land--\n And never home came she._\n\n _\u201cOh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair--\n A tress o\u2019 golden hair,\n A drowned maiden\u2019s hair\n Above the nets at sea?\n Was never salmon yet that shone so fair\n Among the stakes on Dee.\u201d_\n\n _They rowed her in across the rolling foam.\n The cruel crawling foam.\n The cruel hungry foam\n To her grave beside the sea:\n But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home\n Across the sands of Dee!_\n\n _Charles Kingsley_\n\n\nFAIR ANNY OF ROCH-ROYAL\n\n\n PART I\n\n \u201cO wha will shoe my fu fair foot?\n An wha will glove my han?\n An wha will lace my middle gimp\n Wi the new made London ban?\n\n \u201cOr wha will kemb my yallow hair,\n Wi the new made silver kemb?\n Or wha\u2019ll be father to my young bairn,\n Till Love Gregor come hame?\u201d\n\n Her father shoed her fu fair foot,\n Her mother glovd her han;\n Her sister lac\u2019d her middle gimp\n Wi the new made London ban.\n\n Her brother kembd her yallow hair,\n Wi the new made silver kemb,\n But the king o heaven maun father her bairn,\n Till Love Gregor come hame.\n\n \u201cO gin I had a bony ship,\n An men to sail wi me,\n It\u2019s I would gang to my true-love,\n Since he winna come to me.\u201d\n\n Her father\u2019s gien her a bonny ship,\n An sent her to the stran;\n She\u2019s tane her young son in her arms,\n An turnd her back to the lan.\n\n She had na been o the sea saillin\n About a month or more,\n Till landed has she her bonny ship\n Near her true-love\u2019s door.\n\n The night was dark, an the win blew caul,\n An her love was fast asleep,\n An the bairn that was in her twa arms\n Fu sair began to weep.\n\n Long stood she at her true-love\u2019s door,\n An lang tirld at the pin;\n At length up gat his fa\u2019se mither,\n Says, \u201cWha\u2019s that woud be in?\u201d\n\n \u201cO it is Anny of Roch-royal,\n Your love, come oer the sea,\n But an your young son in her arms;\n So open the door to me.\u201d\n\n \u201cAwa, awa, you ill woman,\n You\u2019ve na come here for gude;\n You\u2019re but a witch, or wile warlock,\n Or mermaid o the flude.\u201d\n\n \u201cI\u2019m na a witch, or wile warlock,\n Nor mermaiden,\u201d said she;\n \u201cI\u2019m but Fair Anny o Roch-royal;\n O open the door to me.\u201d\n\n \u201cO gin ye be Anny o Roch-royal,\n As I trust not ye be,\n What taiken can ye gie that ever\n I kept your company?\u201d\n\n \u201cO dinna ye mind, Love Gregor,\u201d she says,\n \u201cWhan we sat at the wine,\n How we changed the napkins frae our necks,\n It\u2019s na sae lang sin syne?\n\n \u201cAn yours was good, an good enough,\n But nae sae good as mine;\n For yours was o the cumbruk clear,\n But mine was silk sae fine.\n\n \u201cAn dinna ye mind, Love Gregor,\u201d she says,\n \u201cAs we twa sat at dine,\n How we changed the rings frae our fingers,\n But ay the best was mine?\n\n \u201cFor yours was good, an good enough,\n Yet nae sae good as mine;\n For yours was of the good red gold,\n But mine o the diamonds fine.\n\n \u201cSae open the door now, Love Gregor,\n An open it wi speed,\n Or your young son that is in my arms\n For cauld will soon be dead.\u201d\n\n \u201cAwa, awa, you ill woman,\n Gae frae my door for shame;\n For I hae gotten another fair love,\n Sae ye may hye you hame.\u201d\n\n \u201cO hae you gotten another fair love,\n For a\u2019 the oaths you sware?\n Then fair you well now, fa\u2019se Gregor,\n For me you\u2019s never see mair.\u201d\n\n O heely, heely gi\u2019d she back,\n As the day began to peep;\n She set her foot on good ship-board,\n An sair, sair did she weep.\n\n\n PART II\n\n Love Gregor started frae his sleep,\n An to his mither did say,\n \u201cI dreamd a dream this night, mither,\n That maks my heart right wae.\n\n \u201cI dreamd that Anny of Roch-royal,\n The flowr o a\u2019 her kin,\n Was standin mournin at my door,\n But nane would lat her in.\u201d\n\n \u201cO there was a woman stood at the door,\n Wi a bairn intill her arms,\n But I woud na lat her within the bowr,\n For fear she had done you harm.\u201d\n\n O quickly, quickly raise he up,\n An fast ran to the stran,\n An there he saw her Fair Anny,\n Was sailin frae the lan.\n\n An \u201cHeigh, Anny!\u201d an \u201cHou, Anny!\n O Anny, speak to me!\u201d\n But ay the louder that he cried \u201cAnny,\u201d\n The louder roard the sea.\n\n An \u201cHeigh, Anny!\u201d an \u201cHou, Anny!\n O Anny, winna you bide?\u201d\n But ay the langer that he cried \u201cAnny,\u201d\n The higher roard the tide.\n\n The win grew loud, an the sea grew rough,\n An the ship was rent in twain,\n An soon he saw her Fair Anny\n Come floating oer the main.\n\n He saw his young son in her arms,\n Baith tossd aboon the tide;\n He wrang his hands, than fast he ran,\n An plung\u2019d i the sea sae wide.\n\n He catchd her by the yallow hair,\n An drew her to the strand,\n But cauld an stiff was every limb\n Before he reachd the land.\n\n O first he kissd her cherry cheek,\u2019\n An then he kissd her chin;\n An sair he kissd her ruby lips,\n But there was nae breath within.\n\n O he has mournd oer Fair Anny\n Till the sun was gaing down,\n Then wi a sigh his heart it brast,\n An his soul to heaven has flown.\n\n\nTHE CRUEL SISTER\n\n There were two sisters sat in a bour,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n There came a knight to be their wooer;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n He courted the eldest with glove and ring,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n But he lo\u2019ed the youngest abune a\u2019 thing;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n He courted the eldest with broach and knife,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n But he lo\u2019ed the youngest abune his life;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n The eldest she was vexed sair,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And sore envied her sister fair;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n The eldest said to the youngest ane,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n \u201cWill ye go and see your father\u2019s ships come in?\u201d--\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n She\u2019s ta\u2019en her by the lily hand,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And led her down to the river strand;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n The youngest stude upon a stane,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n The eldest came and pushed her in;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n She took her by the middle sma\u2019,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And dash\u2019d her bonny back to the jaw;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cO sister, sister, reach your hand,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And ye shall be heir of half my land.\u201d--\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cO sister, I\u2019ll not reach my hand,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And I\u2019ll be heir of all your land;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cShame fa\u2019 the hand that I should take,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n It\u2019s twin\u2019d me, and my world\u2019s make.\u201d--\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cO sister, reach me but your glove,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And sweet William shall be your love.\u201d--\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cSink on, nor hope for hand or glove!\n Binnorie, O Binnorie:\n And sweet William shall better be my love,\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cYour cherry cheeks and your yellow hair,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n Garr\u2019d me gang maiden evermair.\u201d--\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n Until she cam to the miller\u2019s dam;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cO father, father, draw your dam!\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n There\u2019s either a mermaid, or a milk-white swan.\u201d--\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n The miller hasted and drew his dam,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And there he found a drown\u2019d woman;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n You could not see her yellow hair,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n For gowd and pearls that were sae rare;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n You could na see her middle sma\u2019.\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n Her gowden girdle was sae bra\u2019;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n A famous harper passing by,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n The sweet pale face he chanced to spy;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n And when he looked that lady on,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n He sigh\u2019d and made a heavy moan;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n He made a harp of her breast-bone,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n The strings he framed of her yellow hair,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n Whose notes made sad the listening ear;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n He brought it to her father\u2019s hall,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And there was the court assembled all;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n He laid this harp upon a stone,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And straight it began to play alone!\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cO yonder sits my father, the king,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And yonder sits my mother, the queen;\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n \u201cAnd yonder stands my brother Hugh,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n And by him my William, sweet and true.\u201d--\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n But the last tune that the harp play\u2019d then,\n Binnorie, O Binnorie;\n Was--\u201cWoe to my sister, false Helen!\u201d--\n By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.\n\n\nBARBARA ALLEN\u2019S CRUELTY\n\n In Scarlet Town, where I was bound,\n There was a fair maid dwelling,\n Whom I had chosen to be my own,\n And her name it was Barbara Allen.\n\n All in the merry month of May,\n When green leaves they was springing,\n This young man on his death-bed lay,\n For the love of Barbara Allen.\n\n He sent his man unto her then,\n To the town where she was dwelling:\n \u201cYou must come to my master dear,\n If your name be Barbara Allen.\n\n \u201cFor death is printed in his face,\n And sorrow\u2019s in him dwelling,\n And you must come to my master dear,\n If your name be Barbara Allen.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf death be printed in his face,\n And sorrow\u2019s in him dwelling,\n Then little better shall he be\n For bonny Barbara Allen.\u201d\n\n So slowly, slowly she got up,\n And so slowly she came to him,\n And all she said when she came there,\n \u201cYoung man, I think you are a dying.\u201d\n\n He turnd his face unto her then:\n \u201cIf you be Barbara Allen,\n My dear,\u201d said he, \u201ccome pitty me,\n As on my death-bed I am lying.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf on your death-bed you be lying,\n What is that to Barbara Allen?\n I cannot keep you from your death;\n So farewell,\u201d said Barbara Allen.\n\n He turnd his face unto the wall,\n And death came creeping to him:\n \u201cThen adieu, adieu, and adieu to all,\n And adieu to Barbara Allen!\u201d\n\n And as she was walking on a day,\n She heard the bell a ringing,\n And it did seem to ring to her\n \u201cUnworthy Barbara Allen.\u201d\n\n She turnd herself round about,\n And she spy\u2019d the corps a coming:\n \u201cLay down, lay down the corps of clay,\n That I may look upon him.\u201d\n\n And all the while she looked on,\n So loudly she lay laughing,\n While all her friends cry\u2019d out amain,\n \u201cUnworthy Barbara Allen!\u201d\n\n When he was dead, and laid in grave,\n Then death came creeping to she:\n \u201cO mother, mother, make my bed,\n For his death hath quite undone me.\n\n \u201cA hard-hearted creature that I was,\n To slight one that lovd me so dearly;\n I wish I had been more kinder to him,\n The time of his life when he was near me.\u201d\n\n So this maid she then did dye,\n And desired to be buried by him,\n And repented her self before she dy\u2019d,\n That ever she did deny him.\n\n\nSONG: EARL MARCH LOOKED ON HIS DYING CHILD\n\n Earl March looked on his dying child,\n And, smit with grief to view her,\n \u201cThe youth,\u201d he cried, \u201cwhom I exiled\n Shall be restored to woo her.\u201d\n\n She\u2019s at the window many an hour\n His coming to discover:\n And her Love looked up to Ellen\u2019s bower,\n And she looked on her Lover.--\n\n But ah! so pale, he knew her not,\n Though her smile on him was dwelling.\n \u201cAnd am I then forgot--forgot?\u201d\n It broke the heart of Ellen.\n\n In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs;\n Her cheek is cold as ashes;\n Nor Love\u2019s own kiss shall wake those eyes\n To lift their silken lashes.\n\n _Thomas Campbell_\n\n\nLORD LOVEL\n\n Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate,\n Combing his milk-white steed;\n When up came Lady Nancy Belle,\n To wish her lover good speed, speed,\n To wish her lover good speed.\n\n \u201cWhere are you going, Lord Lovel?\u201d she said,\n \u201cOh! where are you going?\u201d said she;\n \u201cI\u2019m going, my Lady Nancy Belle,\n Strange countries for to see, to see,\n Strange countries for to see.\u201d\n\n \u201cWhen will you be back, Lord Lovel?\u201d she said;\n \u201cOh! when will you come back?\u201d said she;\n \u201cIn a year or two--or three, at the most,\n I\u2019ll return to my fair Nancy-cy,\n I\u2019ll return to my fair Nancy.\u201d\n\n But he had not been gone a year and a day,\n Strange countries for to see,\n When languishing thoughts came into his head,\n Lady Nancy Belle he would go see, see,\n Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.\n\n So he rode, and he rode on his milk-white steed,\n Till he came to London-town;\n And there he heard St. Pancras\u2019 bells,\n And the people all mourning round, round,\n And the people all mourning round.\n\n \u201cOh! what is the matter?\u201d Lord Lovel he said,\n \u201cOh! what is the matter?\u201d said he;\n \u201cA Lord\u2019s Lady is dead,\u201d a woman replied,\n \u201cAnd some call her Lady Nancy-cy,\n And some call her Lady Nancy.\u201d\n\n So he ordered the grave to be opened wide,\n And the shroud he turned down,\n And there he kissed her clay-cold lips,\n Till the tears came trickling down, down,\n Till the tears came trickling down.\n\n Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day,\n Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow;\n Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,\n Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, sorrow,\n Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.\n\n Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras\u2019 church,\n Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;\n And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,\n And out of her lover\u2019s a brier, brier,\n And out of her lover\u2019s a brier.\n\n They grew, and they grew, to the church steeple, too,\n And then they could grow no higher;\n So there they entwined in a true lover\u2019s knot,\n For all lovers true to admire-mire,\n For all lovers true to admire.\n\n\n\n\nPRETTY MAYS AND KNIGHTS SO BOLD\n\n\n\n\nTHE NOBLE RIDDLE\n\n _\u201cIf thou canst answer me questions three,\n This very day will I marry thee.\u201d_\n\n _\u201cKind sir, in love, O then,\u201d quoth she,\n \u201cTell me what your three questions be.\u201d_\n\n _\u201cO what is longer than the way,\n Or what is deeper than the sea?_\n\n _\u201cOr what is louder than the horn,\n Or what is sharper than a thorn?_\n\n _\u201cOr what is greener than the grass,\n Or what is worse than a woman was?\u201d_\n\n _\u201cO love is longer than the way,\n And hell is deeper than the sea._\n\n _\u201cAnd thunder is louder than the horn,\n And hunger is sharper than a thorn._\n\n _\u201cAnd poyson is greener than the grass,\n And the Devil is worse than woman was.\u201d_\n\n _When she these questions answered had,\n The knight became exceeding glad._\n\n _And having truly try\u2019d her wit,\n He much commended her for it._\n\n _And after, as it is verifi\u2019d,\n He made of her his lovely bride._\n\n _So now, fair maidens all, adieu,\n This song I dedicate to you._\n\n _I wish that you may constant prove\n Vnto the man that you do love._\n\n\nBLANCHEFLOUR AND JELLYFLORICE\n\n\n PART I\n\n There was a maid, richly arrayd,\n In robes were rare to see,\n For seven years and something mair\n She servd a gay ladie.\n\n But being fond o a higher place,\n In service she thought lang;\n She took her mantle her about,\n Her coffer by the band.\n\n And as she walkd by the shore-side,\n As blythe\u2019s a bird on tree,\n Yet still she gaz\u2019d her round about,\n To see what she could see.\n\n At last she spied a little castle,\n That stood near by the sea;\n She spied it far and drew it near,\n To that castle went she.\n\n And when she came to that castle\n She tirled at the pin,\n And ready stood a little wee boy\n To lat this fair maid in.\n\n \u201cO who\u2019s the owner of this place,\n O porter-boy, tell me;\u201d\n \u201cThis place belongs unto a queen\n O birth and high degree.\u201d\n\n She put her hand in her pocket,\n And gae him shillings three:\n \u201cO porter, bear my message well\n Unto the queen frae me.\u201d\n\n The porter\u2019s gane before the queen,\n Fell low down on his knee:\n \u201cWin up, win up, my porter-boy,\n What makes this courtesie?\u201d\n\n \u201cI hae been porter at your yetts,\n My dame, these years full three,\n But see a ladie at your yetts\n The fairest my eyes did see.\u201d\n\n \u201cCast up my yetts baith wide and braid,\n Lat her come in to me,\n And I\u2019ll know by her courtesie\n Lord\u2019s daughter if she be.\u201d\n\n When she came in before the queen,\n Fell low down on her knee:\n \u201cService frae you, my dame the queen,\n I pray you grant it me.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf that service ye now do want,\n What station will ye be?\n Can ye card wool, or spin, fair maid,\n Or milk the cows to me?\u201d\n\n \u201cNo, I can neither card nor spin,\n Nor cows I canno milk,\n But sit into a lady\u2019s bower\n And sew the seams o silk.\u201d\n\n \u201cWhat is your name, ye comely dame?\n Pray tell this unto me:\u201d\n \u201cO Blancheflour, that is my name,\n Born in a strange countrie.\u201d\n\n \u201cO keep ye well frae Jellyflorice--\n My ain dear son is he--\n When other ladies get a gift,\n O that ye shall get three.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n It wasna tald into the bower\n Till it went thro the ha,\n That Jellyflorice and Blancheflour\n Were grown ower great witha.\n\n When the queen\u2019s maids their visits paid,\n Upo the gude Yule-day,\n When other ladies got horse to ride,\n She boud take foot and gae.\n\n The queen she calld her stable-groom,\n To come to her right seen;\n Says, \u201cYe\u2019ll take out yon wild waith steed\n And bring him to the green.\n\n \u201cYe\u2019ll take the bridle frae his head,\n The lighters frae his een;\n Ere she ride three times roun the cross,\n Her weel-days will be dune.\u201d\n\n Jellyflorice his true-love spy\u2019d\n As she rade roun the cross,\n And thrice he kissd her lovely lips,\n And took her frae her horse.\n\n \u201cGang to your bower, my lily-flower,\n For a\u2019 my mother\u2019s spite;\n There\u2019s nae other amang her maids,\n In whom I take delight.\n\n \u201cYe are my jewel, and only are,\n Nane\u2019s do you injury;\n For ere this-day-month come and gang\n My wedded wife ye\u2019se be.\u201d\n\n\nGLENARA\n\n Oh! heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,\n Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?\n \u2019Tis the Chief of Glenara laments for his dear,\n And her sire and the people are called to her bier.\n\n Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud;\n Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud.\n Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;\n They marched all in silence,--they looked on the ground.\n\n In silence they reached, over mountain and moor,\n To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;\n \u201cNow here let us place the grey stone of her cairn;\n Why speak ye no word?\u201d--said Glenara the stern.\n\n \u201cAnd tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse,\n Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?\u201d\n So spake the rude chieftain:--no answer is made,\n But each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed.\n\n \u201cI dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,\u201d\n Cried a voice from the kinsmen all, wrathful and loud:\n \u201cAnd empty that shroud and that coffin did seem;\n Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!\u201d\n\n Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,\n When the shroud was unclosed and no lady was seen;\n When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn,--\n \u2019Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn,--\n\n \u201cI dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief;\n I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous Chief;\n On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem;\n Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!\u201d\n\n In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground;\n And the desert revealed where his lady was found;\n From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne,--\n Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!\n\n _Thomas Campbell_\n\n\nTHE BEGGAR-MAID\n\n Her arms across her breast she laid;\n She was more fair than words can say;\n Barefooted came the Beggar-maid\n Before the King Cophetua.\n\n In robe and crown the King stept down,\n To meet and greet her on her way;\n \u201cIt is no wonder,\u201d said the Lords,\n \u201cShe is more beautiful than day.\u201d\n\n As shines the moon in clouded skies,\n She in her poor attire was seen;\n One praised her ankles, one her eyes,\n One her dark hair and lovesome mien.\n\n So sweet a face, such angel grace,\n In all that land had never been.\n Cophetua sware a royal oath:\n \u201cThis Beggar-maid shall be my Queen!\u201d\n\n _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_\n\n\nLOCHINVAR\n\n Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the West;\n Through all the wide border his steed was the best;\n And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,\n He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.\n So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,\n There never was Knight like the young Lochinvar.\n\n He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,\n He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;\n But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,\n The bride had consented, the gallant came late;\n For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,\n Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.\n\n So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,\n Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all,\n Then spoke the bride\u2019s father, his hand on his sword,\n --For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word--\n \u201cOh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,\n Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?\u201d\n\n \u201cI long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;--\n Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide--\n And now am I come with this lost love of mine,\n To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine,\n There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,\n That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.\u201d\n\n The bride kissed the goblet; the Knight took it up,\n He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.\n She looked down to blush, and she looked up tosigh,\n With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.\n He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,--\n \u201cNow tread we a measure,\u201d said young Lochinvar.\n\n So stately his form, and so lovely her face,\n That never a hall such a galliard did grace;\n While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,\n And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;\n And the bride-maidens whispered, \u201c\u2019T were better by far,\n To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.\u201d\n\n One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,\n When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;\n So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,\n So light to the saddle before her he sprung!\n \u201cShe is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, andscaur;\n They\u2019ll have fleet steeds that follow,\u201d quoth young Lochinvar.\n\n There was mounting \u2019mong Gr\u00e6mes of the Netherby clan;\n Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;\n There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea,\n But the lost bride of Netherby ne\u2019er did they see.\n So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,\n Have ye e\u2019er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?\n\n _Sir Walter Scott_\n\n\nTHE GAY GOSS-HAWK\n\n\n PART I\n\n \u201cO waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,\n Gin your feathering be sheen!\u201d--\n \u201cAnd waly, waly, my master dear,\n Gin ye look pale and lean!\n\n \u201cO have ye tint, at tournament,\n Your sword, or yet your spear;\n Or mourn ye for the southern lass,\n Whom ye may not win near?\u201d--\n\n \u201cI have not tint, at tournament,\n My sword, nor yet my spear;\n But sair I mourn for my true love,\n Wi\u2019 mony a bitter tear.\n\n \u201cBut weel\u2019s me on ye, my gay goss-hawk,\n Ye can baith speak and flee;\n Ye sall carry a letter to my love,\n Bring an answer back to me.\u201d--\n\n \u201cBut how sall I your true love find,\n Or how suld I her know?\n I bear a tongue ne\u2019er wi\u2019 her spake,\n An eye that ne\u2019er her saw.\u201d\n\n \u201cO weel sail ye my true love ken,\n Sae sune as ye her see;\n For, of a\u2019 the flowers of fair England,\n The fairest flower is she.\n\n \u201cThe red that\u2019s on my true love\u2019s cheek,\n Is like blood-drops on the snaw;\n The white that is on her breast bare,\n Like the down o\u2019 the white sea-maw.\n\n \u201cAnd even at my love\u2019s bour-door\n There grows a flowering birk;\n And ye maun sit and sing thereon\n As she gangs to the kirk.\n\n \u201cAnd four-and-twenty fair ladyes\n Will to the mass repair;\n But weel may ye my ladye ken,\n The fairest ladye there.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n Lord William has written a love-letter,\n Put it under his pinion gray;\n And he is awa to Southern land\n As fast as wings can gae.\n\n And even at that ladye\u2019s bour\n There grew a flowering birk;\n And he sat down and sung thereon\n As she gaed to the kirk.\n\n And weel he kent that ladye fair\n Amang her maidens free;\n For the flower, that springs in May morning,\n Was not sae sweet as she.\n\n He lighted at the ladye\u2019s yate,\n And sat him on a pin;\n And sang fu\u2019 sweet the notes o\u2019 love,\n Till a\u2019 was cosh within.\n\n And first he sang a low low note,\n And syne he sang a clear;\n And aye the o\u2019erword o\u2019 the sang\n Was--\u201cYour love can no win here.\u201d\n\n \u201cFeast on, feast on, my maidens a\u2019,\n The wine flows you amang,\n While I gang to my shot-window,\n And hear yon bonny bird\u2019s sang.\n\n \u201cSing on, sing on, my bonny bird,\n The sang ye sung yestreen;\n For weel I ken, by your sweet singing,\n Ye are frae my true love sen.\u201d\n\n O first he sang a merry sang,\n And syne he sang a grave;\n And syne he pecked his feathers gray,\n To her the letter gave.\n\n \u201cHave there a letter from lord William;\n He says he\u2019s sent ye three;\n He canna wait your love langer,\n But for your sake he\u2019ll dee.\u201d--\n\n \u201cGae bid him bake his bridal bread,\n And brew his bridal ale;\n And I shall meet him at Mary\u2019s kirk,\n Lang, lang ere it be stale.\u201d\n\n The lady\u2019s gane to her chamber,\n And a moanfu\u2019 woman was she;\n As gin she had ta\u2019en a sudden brash,\n And were about to dee.\n\n \u201cA boon, a boon, my father dear,\n A boon I beg of thee!\u201d--\n \u201cAsk not that paughty Scottish lord,\n For him you ne\u2019er shall see.\n\n \u201cBut, for your honest asking else,\n Weel granted it shall be.\u201d--\n \u201cThen, gin I die in Southern land,\n In Scotland gar bury me.\n\n \u201cAnd the first kirk that ye come to,\n Ye\u2019s gar the mass be sung;\n And the next kirk that ye come to,\n Ye\u2019s gar the bells be rung.\n\n \u201cAnd when ye come to St. Mary\u2019s kirk,\n Ye\u2019s tarry there till night.\u201d\n And so her father pledg\u2019d his word,\n And so his promise plight.\n\n\n PART III\n\n She has ta\u2019en her to her bigly bour\n As fast as she could fare;\n And she has drank a sleepy draught,\n That she had mix\u2019d wi\u2019 care.\n\n And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,\n That was sae bright of blee,\n And she seem\u2019d to be as surely dead\n As any one could be.\n\n Then spak her cruel step-minnie,\n \u201cTak ye the burning lead,\n And drap a drap on her bosome,\n To try if she be dead.\u201d\n\n They took a drap o\u2019 boiling lead,\n They drapp\u2019d it on her breast;\n \u201cAlas! alas!\u201d her father cried,\n \u201cShe\u2019s dead without the priest.\u201d\n\n She neither chatter\u2019d with her teeth,\n Nor shiver\u2019d with her chin;\n \u201cAlas! alas!\u201d her father cried,\n \u201cThere is nae breath within.\u201d\n\n Then up arose her seven brethren.\n And hew\u2019d to her a bier;\n They hew\u2019d it frae the solid aik,\n Laid it o\u2019er wi\u2019 silver clear.\n\n Then up and gat her seven sisters,\n And sewed to her a kell;\n And every steek that they put in\n Sewed to a siller bell.\n\n The first Scots kirk that they cam to,\n They garr\u2019d the bells be rung;\n The next Scots kirk that they cam to,\n They garr\u2019d the mass be sung.\n\n But when they cam to St. Mary\u2019s kirk,\n There stude spearmen all on a raw;\n And up and started lord William,\n The chieftane amang them a\u2019.\n\n \u201cSet down, set down the bier,\u201d he said,\n \u201cLet me look her upon:\u201d\n But as soon as lord William touch\u2019d her hand,\n Her colour began to come.\n\n She brightened like the lily flower,\n Till her pale colour was gone;\n With rosy cheik, and ruby lip,\n She smiled her love upon.\n\n \u201cA morsel of your bread, my lord,\n And one glass of your wine;\n For I hae fasted these three lang days,\n All for your sake and mine.--\n\n \u201cGae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,\n Gae hame and blaw your horn!\n I trow ye wad hae gi\u2019en me the skaith,\n But I\u2019ve gi\u2019en you the scorn.\n\n \u201cCommend me to my gray father,\n That wished my saul gude rest;\n But wae be to my cruel step-dame,\n Garr\u2019d burn me on the breast.\u201d--\n\n \u201cAh! woe to you, you light woman!\n An ill death may you dee!\n For we left father and sisters at hame\n Breaking their hearts for thee.\u201d\n\n\nBONNY BABY LIVINGSTON\n\n\n PART I\n\n O bonny Baby Livingston\n Went forth to view the hay,\n And by it came him Glenlion,\n Sta bonny Baby away.\n\n O first he\u2019s taen her silken coat,\n And neest her satten gown,\n Syne rowd her in a tartan plaid,\n And hapd her round and rown,\n\n He has set her upon his steed\n And roundly rode away,\n And neer loot her look back again\n The live-long summer\u2019s day.\n\n He\u2019s carried her oer hills and muirs\n Till they came to a Highland glen,\n And there he\u2019s met his brother John,\n With twenty armed men.\n\n O there were cows, and there were ewes,\n And lasses milking there,\n But Baby neer anse lookd about,\n Her heart was filld wi care.\n\n Glenlion took her in his arms,\n And kissd her, cheek and chin;\n Says, \u201cI\u2019d gie a\u2019 these cows and ewes\n But ae kind look to win.\u201d\n\n \u201cO ae kind look ye neer shall get,\n Nor win a smile frae me,\n Unless to me you\u2019ll favour shew,\n And take me to Dundee.\u201d\n\n \u201cDundee, Baby? Dundee, Baby?\n Dundee you neer shall see\n Till I\u2019ve carried you to Glenlion\n And have my bride made thee.\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll stay a while at Auchingour,\n And get sweet milk and cheese,\n And syne we\u2019ll gang to Glenlion,\n And there live at our ease.\u201d\n\n \u201cI winna stay at Auchingour,\n Nor eat sweet milk and cheese,\n Nor go with thee to Glenlion,\n For there I\u2019ll neer find ease.\u201d\n\n Than out it spake his brother John,\n \u201cO were I in your place,\n I\u2019d take that lady hame again,\n For a\u2019 her bonny face.\n\n \u201cCommend me to the lass that\u2019s kind,\n Tho na so gently born;\n And, gin her heart I coudna gain,\n To take her hand I\u2019d scorn.\u201d\n\n \u201cO had your tongue now, John,\u201d he says,\n \u201cYou wis na what you say;\n For I\u2019ve lood that bonny face\n This twelve month and a day.\n\n \u201cAnd tho I\u2019ve lood her lang and sair\n A smile I neer coud win;\n Yet what I\u2019ve got anse in my power\n To keep I think nae sin.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n When they came to Glenlion castle,\n They lighted at the yate,\n And out it came his sisters three,\n Wha did them kindly greet.\n\n O they\u2019ve taen Baby by the hands\n And led her oer the green,\n And ilka lady spake a word,\n But bonny Baby spake nane.\n\n Then out it spake her bonny Jean,\n The youngest o the three,\n \u201cO lady, dinna look sae sad,\n But tell your grief to me.\u201d\n\n \u201cO wherefore should I tell my grief,\n Since lax I canna find?\n I\u2019m stown frae a\u2019 my kin and friends,\n And my love I left behind.\n\n \u201cBut had I paper, pen, and ink,\n Before that it were day,\n I yet might get a letter sent\n In time to Johny Hay.\u201d\n\n O she\u2019s got paper, pen, and ink,\n And candle that she might see,\n And she has written a broad letter\n To Johny at Dundee.\n\n And she has gotten a bonny boy,\n That was baith swift and strang,\n Wi philabeg and bonnet blue,\n Her errand for to gang.\n\n \u201cO boy, gin ye\u2019d my blessing win\n And help me in my need,\n Run wi this letter to my love,\n And bid him come wi speed.\n\n \u201cAnd here\u2019s a chain of good red gowd,\n And gowdn guineas three,\n And when you\u2019ve well your errand done,\n You\u2019ll get them for your fee.\u201d\n\n The boy he ran oer hill and dale,\n Fast as a bird coud flee,\n And eer the sun was twa hours height\n The boy was at Dundee.\n\n And when he came to Johny\u2019s door\n He knocked loud and sair;\n Then Johny to the window came,\n And loudly cry\u2019d, \u201cWha\u2019s there?\u201d\n\n \u201cO here\u2019s a letter I have brought,\n Which ye maun quickly read,\n And, gin ye woud your lady save,\n Gang back wi me wi speed.\u201d\n\n O when he had the letter read,\n An angry man was he;\n He says, \u201cGlenlion, thou shalt rue\n This deed of villany!\n\n \u201cO saddle to me the black, the black,\n O saddle to me the brown,\n O saddle to me the swiftest steed\n That eer rade frae the town.\n\n \u201cAnd arm ye well, my merry men a\u2019,\n And follow me to the glen,\n For I vow I\u2019ll neither eat nor sleep\n Till I get my love again.\u201d\n\n He\u2019s mounted on a milk-white steed,\n The boy upon a gray,\n And they got to Glenlion\u2019s castle\n About the close of day.\n\n As Baby at her window stood,\n The west wind salt did bla;\n She heard her Johny\u2019s well-kent voice\n Beneath the castle wa.\n\n \u201cO Baby, haste, the window jump!\n I\u2019ll kep you in my arm;\n My merry men a\u2019 are at the yate,\n To rescue you frae harm.\u201d\n\n She to the window fixt her sheets\n And slipped safely down,\n And Johny catchd her in his arms,\n Neer loot her touch the ground.\n\n When mounted on her Johny\u2019s horse,\n Fou blithely did she say,\n \u201cGlenlion, you hae lost your bride!\n She\u2019s aff wi Johny Hay.\u201d\n\n\n PART III\n\n Glenlion and his brother John\n Were birling in the ha,\n When they heard Johny\u2019s bridle ring,\n As first he rade awa.\n\n \u201cRise, Jock, gang out and meet the priest,\n I hear his bridle ring;\n My Baby now shall be my wife\n Before the laverocks sing.\u201d\n\n \u201cO brother, this is not the priest;\n I fear he\u2019ll come oer late;\n For armed men with shining brands\n Stand at the castle-yate.\u201d\n\n \u201cHaste Donald, Duncan, Dugald, Hugh!\n Haste, take your sword and spier!\n We\u2019ll gar these traytors rue the hour\n That eer they ventured here.\u201d\n\n The Highland men drew their claymores,\n And gae a warlike shout,\n But Johny\u2019s merry men kept the yate,\n Nae are durst venture out.\n\n The lovers rade the live-lang night,\n And safe gat on their way,\n And bonny Baby Livingston\n Has gotten Johny Hay.\n\n \u201cAwa, Glenlion! fy for shame!\n Gae hide ye in some den!\n You\u2019ve lettn your bride be stown frae you,\n For a\u2019 your armed men.\u201d\n\n\nHYND HORN\n\n Near the King\u2019s Court was a young child born,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And his name it was called Young Hynd Horn,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n Seven lang years he served the King,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And it\u2019s a\u2019 for the sake o\u2019 his daughter Jean,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n The King an angry man was he,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n He sent Young Hynd Horn to the sea,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n Oh! his Love gave him a gay gold ring,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n With three shining diamonds set therein,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n \u201cAs lang as these diamonds keep their hue,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_,\n Ye\u2019ll know I am a lover true,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n \u201cBut when your ring turns pale and wan,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_,\n Then I\u2019m in love with another man,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\u201d\n\n He\u2019s gone to the sea and far away,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And he\u2019s stayed for seven lang years and a day,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_:\n\n Seven lang years by land and sea,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And he\u2019s aften looked how his ring may be,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n One day when he looked this ring upon,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_,\n The shining diamonds were pale and wan,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n He hoisted sails, and hame cam\u2019 he,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n Hame unto his ain countrie,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n He\u2019s left the sea and he\u2019s come to land,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And the first he met was an auld beggar-man,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n \u201cWhat news, what news, my silly auld man?\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n For it\u2019s seven lang years since I saw this land,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\u201d\n\n \u201cNo news, no news,\u201d doth the beggar-man say,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n \u201cBut our King\u2019s ae daughter she\u2019s wedded to-day,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\u201d\n\n \u201cWilt thou give to me thy begging coat?\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And I\u2019ll give to thee my scarlet cloak,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n \u201cGive me your auld pike-staff, and hat,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And ye sall be right weel paid for that,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\u201d\n\n The auld beggar-man cast off his coat,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_,\n And he\u2019s ta\u2019en up the scarlet cloak,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n He\u2019s gi\u2019en him his auld pike-staff and hat,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And he was right weel paid for that,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n The auld beggar-man was bound for the mill,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n But Young Hynd Horn for the King\u2019s ain hall,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n When he came to the King\u2019s ain gate,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_,\n He asked a drink for Young Hynd Horn\u2019s sake,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n These news unto the bonny bride cam\u2019,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_,\n That at the gate there stands an auld man,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n There stands an auld man at the King\u2019s gate,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n He asketh a drink for Young Hynd Horn\u2019s sake,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n The Bride cam\u2019 tripping down the stair,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n The combs o\u2019 fine goud in her hair,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_;\n\n A cup o\u2019 the red wine in her hand,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And that she gave to the beggar-man,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n Out o\u2019 the cup he drank the wine,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And into the cup he dropt the ring,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n \u201cO gat thou this by sea or by land?\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_.\n Or gat thou it aff a dead man\u2019s hand?\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.\u201d_.\n\n \u201cI gat it neither by sea nor land,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_,\n Nor gat I it from a dead man\u2019s hand,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n \u201cBut I gat it at my wooing gay,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n And I gie it to you on your wedding-day,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.\u201d_\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll cast aside my satin goun,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_.\n And I\u2019ll follow you frae toun to toun,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll tak\u2019 the fine goud frae my hair,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_,\n And follow you forevermair,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\u201d\n\n He let his cloutie cloak doun fa\u2019,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n Young Hynd Horn shone above them a\u2019,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_,\n\n The bridegroom thought he had her wed,\n _With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan_;\n But she is Young Hynd Horn\u2019s instead,\n _And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie_.\n\n _Arranged by William Allingham_\n\n\nYOUNG BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE\n\n\n PART I\n\n In London was young Beichan born,\n He longed strange countries for to see;\n But he was taen by a savage Moor,\n Who handled him right cruellie;\n\n For he viewed the fashions of that land;\n Their way of worship viewed he;\n But to Mahound, or Termagant,\n Would Beichan never bend a knee.\n\n So in every shoulder they\u2019ve putten a bore;\n In every bore they\u2019ve putten a tree;\n And they have made him trail the wine\n And spices on his fair bodie.\n\n They\u2019ve casten him in a dungeon deep,\n Where he could neither hear nor see;\n For seven years they kept him there,\n Till he for hunger\u2019s like to die.\n\n This Moor he had but ae daughter,\n Her name was called Susie Pye;\n And every day as she took the air,\n Near Beichan\u2019s prison she passed by.\n\n O so it fell, upon a day\n She heard young Beichan sadly sing:\n _My hounds they all go masterless;\n My hawks they flee from tree to tree;\n My younger brother will heir my land;\n Fair England again I\u2019ll never see!_\n\n All night long no rest she got,\n Young Beichan\u2019s song for thinking on;\n She\u2019s stown the keys from her father\u2019s head,\n And to the prison strong is gone.\n\n And she has opend the prison doors,\n I wot she opend two or three,\n Ere she could come young Beichan at,\n He was locked up so curiouslie.\n\n But when she came young Beichan before,\n Sore wonderd he that may to see;\n He took her for some fair captive;--\n \u201cFair Lady, I pray, of what countrie?\u201d\n\n \u201cO have ye any lands,\u201d she said,\n \u201cOr castles in your own countrie,\n That ye could give to a lady fair,\n From prison strong to set you free?\u201d\n\n \u201cNear London town I have a hall,\n With other castles two or three;\n I\u2019ll give them all to the lady fair\n That out of prison will set me free.\u201d\n\n \u201cGive me the truth of your right hand,\n The truth of it give unto me,\n That for seven years ye\u2019ll no lady wed,\n Unless it be along with me.\u201d\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll give thee the truth of my right hand,\n The truth of it I\u2019ll freely gie,\n That for seven years I\u2019ll stay unwed,\n For the kindness thou dost show to me.\u201d\n\n She\u2019s gi\u2019en him to eat the good spice-cake,\n She\u2019s gi\u2019en him to drink the blood-red wine;\n She\u2019s bidden him sometimes think on her,\n That sae kindly freed him out of pine.\n\n She\u2019s broken a ring from her finger,\n And to Beichan half of it gave she:\n \u201cKeep it, to mind you of that love\n The lady bore that set you free.\n\n \u201cAnd set your foot on good ship-board,\n And haste ye back to your own countrie;\n And before that seven years have an end,\n Come back again, love, and marry me.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n But long ere seven years had an end,\n She longd full sore her love to see;\n For ever a voice within her breast\n Said, \u201cBeichan has broke his vow to thee.\u201d\n So she\u2019s set her foot on good ship-board,\n And turnd her back on her own countrie.\n\n She sailed east, she sailed west,\n Till to fair England\u2019s shore she came;\n Where a bonny shepherd she espied,\n Feeding his sheep upon the plain.\n\n \u201cWhat news, what news, thou bonny shepherd?\n What news hast thou to tell to me?\u201d\n \u201cSuch news I hear, ladie,\u201d he says,\n \u201cThe like was never in this countrie.\n\n \u201cThere is a wedding in yonder hall,\n Has lasted these thirty days and three;\n Young Beichan will not wed his bride,\n For love of one that\u2019s yond the sea.\u201d\n\n She\u2019s put her hand in her pocket,\n Gi\u2019en him the gold and white monie;\n \u201cHae, take ye that, my bonny boy,\n For the good news thou tell\u2019st to me.\u201d\n\n When she came to young Beichan\u2019s gate,\n She tirled softly at the pin;\n So ready was the proud porter\n To open and let this lady in.\n\n \u201cIs this young Beichan\u2019s hall,\u201d she said,\n \u201cOr is that noble lord within?\u201d\n \u201cYea, he\u2019s in the hall among them all,\n And this is the day o\u2019 his weddin.\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd has he wed anither love?\n And has he clean forgotten me?\u201d\n And sighin\u2019 said that gay ladie,\n \u201cI wish I were in my own countrie!\u201d\n\n And she has taen her gay gold ring,\n That with her love she break so free;\n Says, \u201cGie him that, ye proud porter,\n And bid the bridegroom speak to me.\u201d\n\n When the porter came his lord before,\n He kneeled down low on his knee:\n \u201cWhat aileth thee, my proud porter,\n Thou art so full of courtesie?\u201d\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve been porter at your gates,\n It\u2019s thirty long years now and three;\n But there stands a lady at them now,\n The like o\u2019 her did I never see;\n\n \u201cFor on every finger she has a ring,\n And on her mid-finger she has three,\n And as meickle gold aboon her brow\n As would buy an earldom to me.\u201d\n\n Its out then spak the bride\u2019s mother,\n Aye, and an angry woman was shee;\n \u201cYe might have excepted our bonny bride,\n And twa or three of our companie.\u201d\n\n \u201cO hold your tongue, thou bride\u2019s mother,\n Of all your folly let me be;\n She\u2019s ten times fairer nor the bride,\n And all that\u2019s in your companie.\n\n \u201cShe begs one sheave of your white bread,\n But and a cup of your red wine;\n And to remember the lady\u2019s love,\n That last reliev\u2019d you out of pine.\u201d\n\n \u201cO well-a-day!\u201d said Beichan then,\n \u201cThat I so soon have married thee;\n For it can be none but Susie Pye,\n That sailed the sea for love of me.\u201d\n\n And quickly hied he down the stair;\n Of fifteen steps he made but three;\n He\u2019s taen his bonny love in his arms,\n And kist and kist her tenderlie.\n\n \u201cO hae ye taen anither bride?\n And hae ye quite forgotten me?\n And hae ye quite forgotten her,\n That gave you life and libertie?\u201d\n\n She looked o\u2019er her left shoulder,\n To hide the tears stood in her e\u2019e:\n \u201cNow fare thee well, young Beichan,\u201d she says,\n \u201cI\u2019ll try to think no more on thee.\u201d\n\n \u201cO never, never, Susie Pye,\n For surely this can never be;\n Nor ever shall I wed but her\n That\u2019s done and dree\u2019d so much for me.\u201d\n\n Then out and spak the forenoon bride,\n \u201cMy lord, your love it changeth soon;\n This morning I was made your bride,\n And another chose ere it be noon.\u201d\n\n \u201cO hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride,\n My true love, thou canst never be;\n And whan ye return to your own countrie,\n A double dower I\u2019ll send with thee.\u201d\n\n He\u2019s taen Susie Pye by the white hand,\n And gently led her up and down;\n And ay as he kist her red rosy lips,\n \u201cYe\u2019re welcome, jewel, to your own.\u201d\n\n He\u2019s taen her by the milk-white hand,\n And led her to yon fountain stane;\n He\u2019s changed her name from Susie Pye,\n And he\u2019s call\u2019d her his bonny love, Lady Jane.\n\n (_Condensed_)\n\n\nTHE CHILD OF ELLE\n\n\n PART I\n\n On yonder hill a castle stands,\n With walls and towers bedight,\n And yonder lives the Child of Elle,\n A young and comely Knight.\n\n The Child of Elle to his garden went,\n And stood at his garden pale,\n When, lo! he beheld Fair Emmeline\u2019s page\n Come tripping down the dale.\n\n The Child of Elle he hied him thence\n Y-wis he stood not still,\n And soon he met Fair Emmeline\u2019s page\n Come climbing up the hill.\n\n \u201cNow Christ thee save, thou little foot-page!\n Now Christ thee save and see!\n Oh! tell me how does thy Lady gay,\n And what may thy tidings be?\u201d\n\n \u201cMy Lady, she is all woe-begone,\n And the tears they fall from her eyne;\n And aye she laments the deadly feud\n Between her house and thine.\n\n \u201cAnd here she sends thee a silken scarf,\n Bedewed with many a tear,\n And bids thee sometimes think on her,\n Who loved thee so dear.\n\n \u201cAnd here she sends thee a ring of gold,\n The last boon thou mayst have,\n And bids thee wear it for her sake,\n When she is laid in grave.\n\n \u201cFor, ah! her gentle heart is broke,\n And in grave soon must she be,\n Sith her father hath chose her a new, new love,\n And forbid her to think of thee.\n\n \u201cHer father hath brought her a carlish Knight,\n Sir John of the North Countraye,\n And within three days she must him wed,\n Or he vows he will her slay.\u201d\n\n \u201cNow, hie thee back, thou little foot-page,\n And greet thy Lady from me,\n And tell her that I, her own true love,\n Will die or set her free.\n\n \u201cNow, hie thee back, thou little foot-page,\n And let thy fair Lady know,\n This night will I be at her bower-window\n Betide me weal or woe!\u201d\n\n The boy he tripped, the boy he ran,\n He neither stint nor stayed\n Until he came to Fair Emmeline\u2019s bower,\n When kneeling down he said:--\n\n \u201cO Lady, I\u2019ve been with thy own true love,\n And he greets thee well by me;\n This night will he be at thy bower-window,\n And die or set thee free.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n Now day was gone, and night was come,\n And all were fast asleep,\n All save the Lady Emmeline,\n Who sate in her bower to weep:\n\n And soon she heard her true love\u2019s voice\n Low whispering at the wall,\n \u201cAwake! awake! my dear Lady,\n \u2019Tis I, thy true love call.\n\n \u201cAwake! awake! my Lady dear,\n Come, mount this fair palfray;\n This ladder of ropes will let thee down,\n I\u2019ll carry thee hence away.\u201d\n\n \u201cNow nay, now nay, thou gentle Knight,\n Now nay, this may not be,\n For aye should I tint my maiden fame,\n If alone I should wend with thee.\u201d\n\n \u201cO Lady, thou with a Knight so true,\n Mayst safely wend alone;\n To my lady-mother I will thee bring,\n Where marriage shall make us one.\u201d\n\n \u201cMy father he is a Baron bold,\n Of lineage proud and high;\n And what would he say, if his daughter\n Away with a Knight should fly?\n\n \u201cAh! well I wot, he never would rest,\n Nor his meat should do him no good,\n Till he had slain thee, Child of Elle,\n And seen thy dear heart\u2019s blood!\u201d.\n\n \u201cO Lady, wert thou in thy saddle set,\n And a little space him fro,\n I would not care for thy cruel father,\n Nor the worst that he could do.\n\n \u201cO Lady, wert thou in thy saddle set,\n And once without this wall,\n I would not care for thy cruel father,\n Nor the worst that might befall.\u201d\n\n Fair Emmeline sighed, Fair Emmeline wept,\n And aye her heart was woe:\n At length he seized her lily-white hand,\n And down the ladder he drew.\n\n And thrice he clasped her to his breast,\n And kissed her tenderly,\n The tears that fell from her fair eyes,\n Ran like the fountain free.\n\n He mounted himself on his steed so tall,\n And her on a fair palfray,\n And slung his bugle about his neck,\n And roundly they rode away.\n\n All this beheard her own damsel,\n In her bed whereas she lay,\n Quoth she, \u201cMy Lord shall know of this,\n So I shall have gold and fee!\u201d\n\n \u201cAwake! awake! thou Baron bold!\n Awake! my noble Dame!\n Your daughter is fled with the Child of Elle\n To do the deed of shame!\u201d\n\n The Baron he woke, the Baron he rose,\n And called his merry men all:\n \u201cAnd come thou forth, Sir John the Knight,\n The Lady is carried to thrall!\u201d\n\n\n PART III\n\n Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,\n A mile forth of the town,\n When she was aware of her father\u2019s men\n Come galloping over the down.\n\n And foremost came the carlish Knight,\n Sir John of the North Countraye,\n \u201cNow stop! now stop! thou false traitor,\n Nor carry that Lady away!\n\n \u201cFor she is come of high lineage,\n And was of a Lady born,\n And ill it beseems thee, a false churl\u2019s son,\n To carry her hence to scorn!\u201d\n\n \u201cNow loud thou liest, Sir John the Knight,\n Now thou dost lie of me,\n My father\u2019s a Knight, a Lady me bore,\n So never did none by thee!\n\n \u201cBut light now down, my Lady fair,\n Light down, and hold my steed;\n While I and this discourteous Knight\n Do try this arduous deed.\n\n \u201cBut light now down, my dear Lady,\n Light down, and hold my horse;\n While I and this discourteous Knight\n Do try our valour\u2019s force.\u201d\n\n Fair Emmeline sighed, Fair Emmeline wept,\n And aye her heart was woe,\n While twixt her love and the carlish Knight\n Passed many a baleful blow.\n\n The Child of Elle, he fought so well,\n As his weapon he waved amain,\n That soon he had slain the carlish Knight,\n And laid him upon the plain.\n\n And now the Baron and all his men\n Full fast approached nigh:\n Ah! what may Lady Emmeline do?\n \u2019Twere now no boot to fly!\n\n Her lover, he put his horn to his mouth,\n And blew both loud and shrill,\n And soon he saw his own merry men\n Come riding over the hill.\n\n \u201cNow hold thy hand, thou bold Baron,\n I pray thee, hold thy hand,\n Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts\n Fast knit in true love\u2019s band.\n\n \u201cThy daughter I have dearly loved,\n Full long and many a day;\n But with such love as holy Kirk\n Hath freely said we may.\n\n \u201cOh! give consent she may be mine,\n And bless a faithful pair;\n My lands and livings are not small,\n My house and lineage fair.\n\n \u201cMy mother she was an Earl\u2019s daughter,\n And a noble Knight my sire--\u201d\n The Baron he frowned, and turned away\n With mickle dole and ire.\n\n Fair Emmeline sighed, Fair Emmeline wept,\n And did all trembling stand;\n At length she sprang upon her knee,\n And held his lifted hand.\n\n \u201cPardon, my Lord and Father dear,\n This fair young Knight and me!\n Trust me, but for the carlish Knight,\n I never had fled from thee.\n\n \u201cOft have you called your Emmeline,\n Your darling and your joy;\n Oh! let not then your harsh resolves\n Your Emmeline destroy.\u201d\n\n The Baron he stroked his dark-brown cheek,\n And turned his head aside\n To wipe away the starting tear,\n He proudly strave to hide.\n\n In deep revolving thought he stood,\n And mused a little space:\n Then raised Fair Emmeline from the ground,\n With many a fond embrace.\n\n \u201cHere, take her, Child of Elle,\u201d he said\n And gave her lily hand:\n \u201cHere, take my dear and only child,\n And with her half my land.\n\n \u201cThy father once mine honour wronged\n In days of youthful pride;\n Do thou the injury repair\n In fondness for thy bride.\n\n \u201cAnd as thou love her, and hold her dear,\n Heaven prosper thee and thine;\n And now my blessing wend wi\u2019 thee,\n My lovely Emmeline.\u201d\n\n _Attributed in part to Bishop Percy_\n (_In modern spelling_)\n\n\n\n\nFOR HALLOWEEN AND MIDSUMMER EVE\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPELL\n\n _At eve last Midsummer, no sleep I sought,\n But to the field a bag of Hempseed brought;\n I scattered round the seed on every side,\n And three times in a trembling accent cried:\n \u201cThis Hempseed with my virgin hand I sow,\n Who shall my True-love be, the crop shall mow!\u201d\n I straight looked back, and if my eyes speak truth,\n With his keen scythe behind me came the youth!\n With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,\n And turn me thrice, around, around, around!_\n\n _Last May-day Fair, I searched to find a Snail,\n That might my secret Lover\u2019s name reveal.\n Two Hazel-nuts I threw into the flame,\n And to each nut I gave a sweetheart\u2019s name.\n This with the loudest bounce me sore amazed,\n That in a flame of brightest colour blazed.\n With my sharp heel, I three times mark the ground,\n And turn me thrice, around, around, around!_\n\n _This mellow Pippin which I pare around,\n My Shepherd\u2019s name shall flourish on the ground.\n I fling the unbroken paring o\u2019er my head,\n Upon the grass a perfect L is read.\n Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen\n Than what the paring marks upon the green.\n With my sharp heel, I three times mark the ground,\n And turn me thrice, around, around, around!_\n\n _John Gay. (Condensed)_\n\n\nTHE YOUNG TAMLANE\n\n\n PART I\n\n \u201cO I forbid ye, maidens a\u2019,\n That wear gowd on your hair,\n To come or gae by Carterhaugh,\n For young Tamlane is there.\u201d\n\n But up then spake her, fair Janet,\n The fairest o\u2019 a\u2019 her kin;\n \u201cI\u2019ll cum and gang to Carterhaugh,\n And ask nae leave o\u2019 him.\u201d\n\n Janet has kilted her green kirtle,\n A little abune her knee;\n And she has braided her yellow hair,\n A little abune her bree.\n\n And when she came to Carterhaugh,\n She gaed beside the well;\n And there she fand his steed standing,\n But awa was himsell.\n\n She hadna pu\u2019d a red red rose,\n A rose but barely three;\n Till up and starts a wee wee man,\n At lady Janet\u2019s knee.\n\n Says--\u201cWhy pu\u2019 ye the rose, Janet?\n What gars ye break the tree?\n Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,\n Withouten leave o\u2019 me?\u201d--\n\n Says--\u201cCarterhaugh it is mine ain;\n My daddie gave it me:\n I\u2019ll come and gang to Carterhaugh,\n And ask nae leave o\u2019 thee.\n\n \u201cThe truth ye\u2019ll tell to me, Tamlane:\n A word ye mauna lie;\n Gin e\u2019er ye was in haly chapel,\n Or sained in Christentie?\u201d--\n\n \u201cThe truth I\u2019ll tell to thee, Janet,\n A word I winna lee:\n My father\u2019s a knight, a lady me bore,\n As well as they did thee.\n\n \u201cRandolph, earl Murray, was my sire,\n Dunbar, earl March, is thine;\n We loved when we were children small,\n Which yet you well may mind.\n\n \u201cWhen I was a boy just turn\u2019d of nine,\n My uncle sent for me,\n To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,\n And keep him cumpanie.\n\n \u201cThere came a wind out of the north,\n A sharp wind and a snell;\n And a dead sleep came over me,\n And frae my horse I fell.\n\n \u201cThe Queen of Fairies keppit me\n In yon green hill to dwell;\n And I\u2019m a fairy, lyth and limb;\n Fair ladye, view me well.\n\n \u201cBut we, that live in Fairy-land,\n No sickness know nor pain,\n I quit my body when I will,\n And take to it again.\n\n \u201cI quit my body when I please,\n Or unto it repair;\n We can inhabit at our ease,\n In either earth or air.\n\n \u201cOur shapes and size we can convert\n To either large or small;\n An old nut-shell\u2019s the same to us\n As is the lofty hall.\n\n \u201cWe sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet,\n We revel in the stream;\n We wanton lightly on the wind,\n Or glide on a sunbeam.\n\n \u201cAnd all our wants are well supplied\n From every rich man\u2019s store,\n Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,\n And vainly grasps for more.\n\n \u201cThen I would never tire, Janet,\n In Elfish land to dwell;\n But aye, at every seven years,\n They pay the teind to hell;\n And I am sae fat and fair of flesh,\n I fear\u2019t will be mysell.\n\n \u201cThis night is Hallowe\u2019en, Janet,\n The morn is Hallowday;\n And, gin ye dare your true love win,\n Ye na hae time to stay.\n\n \u201cThe night it is good Hallowe\u2019en,\n When fairy folk will ride;\n And they that wad their true love win\n At Miles Cross they maun bide.\u201d--\n\n \u201cBut how shall I thee ken, Tamlane?\n Or how shall I thee knaw,\n Amang so many unearthly knights,\n The like I never saw?\u201d--\n\n \u201cThe first company that passes by,\n Say na, and let them gae;\n The next company that passes by,\n Say na, and do right sae;\n The third company that passes by,\n Then I\u2019ll be ane o\u2019 thae.\n\n \u201cFirst let pass the black, Janet,\n And syne let pass the brown;\n But grip ye to the milk-white steed,\n And pu\u2019 the rider down.\n\n \u201cFor I ride on the milk-white steed,\n And aye nearest the town;\n Because I was a christen\u2019d knight,\n They gave me that renown.\n\n \u201cMy right hand will be gloved, Janet,\n My left hand will be bare;\n And these the tokens I gie thee,\n Nae doubt I will be there.\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll turn me in your arms, Janet,\n An adder and a snake;\n But haud me fast, let me not pass,\n Gin ye wad be my maik.\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll turn me in your arms, Janet,\n An adder and an ask;\n They\u2019ll turn me in your arms, Janet,\n A bale that burns fast.\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll turn me in your arms, Janet,\n A red-hot gad o\u2019 airn;\n But haud me fast, let me not pass,\n For I\u2019ll do you no harm.\n\n \u201cAnd, next, they\u2019ll shape me in your arms,\n A tod, but and an eel;\n But haud me fast, nor let me gang,\n As you do love me weel.\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll shape me in your arms, Janet,\n A dove, but and a swan;\n And, last, they\u2019ll shape me in your arms\n A mother-naked man:\n Cast your green mantle over me--\n I\u2019ll be myself again.\u201d--\n\n\n PART II\n\n Gloomy, gloomy, was the night,\n And eiry was the way,\n As fair Janet in her green mantle,\n To Miles Cross she did gae.\n\n The heavens were black, the night was dark,\n And dreary was the place;\n But Janet stood, with eager wish,\n Her lover to embrace.\n\n Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,\n A north wind tore the bent;\n And straight she heard strange elritch sounds,\n Upon that wind which went.\n\n About the dead hour o\u2019 the night,\n She heard the bridles ring;\n And Janet was as glad o\u2019 that\n As any earthly thing.\n\n Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill.\n The hemlock small blew clear;\n And louder notes from hemlock large,\n And bog-reed, struck the ear;\n But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts,\n The Fairies cannot bear.\n\n They sing, inspired with love and joy,\n Like skylarks in the air;\n Of solid sense, or thought that\u2019s grave,\n You\u2019ll find no traces there.\n\n Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,\n The dreary heath upon;\n And louder, louder wax\u2019d the sound,\n As they came riding on.\n\n Will o\u2019 Wisp before them went,\n Sent forth a twinkling light;\n And soon she saw the fairy bands\n All riding in her sight.\n\n And first gaed by the black, black steed,\n And then gaed by the brown;\n But fast she gript the milk-white steed,\n And pu\u2019d the rider down.\n\n She pu\u2019d him frae the milk-white steed,\n And loot the bridle fa\u2019;\n And up there raise an erlish cry--\n \u201cHe\u2019s won amang us a\u2019!\u201d--\n\n They shaped him in fair Janet\u2019s arms,\n A tod, but and an eel;\n She held him fast in every shape--\n As she did love him weel.\n\n They shaped him in her arms at last,\n A mother-naked man;\n She wrapt him in her green mantle,\n And sae her true love wan!\n\n Up then spake the queen o\u2019 fairies,\n Out o\u2019 a bush o\u2019 broom--\n \u201cShe that has borrow\u2019d young Tamlane,\n Has gotten a stately groom.\u201d--\n\n Up then spake the queen o\u2019 Fairies,\n Out o\u2019 a bush o\u2019 rye--\n \u201cShe\u2019s ta\u2019en awa the bonniest knight\n In a\u2019 my cumpanie.\n\n \u201cBut had I kenn\u2019d, Tamlane,\u201d she says,\n \u201cA ladye wad borrow\u2019d thee--\n I wad ta\u2019en out thy twa grey een,\n Put in twa een o\u2019 tree.\n\n \u201cHad I but kenn\u2019d, Tamlane,\u201d she says,\n \u201cBefore ye came frae hame--\n I wad ta\u2019en out your heart o\u2019 flesh,\n Put in a heart o\u2019 stane.\u201d\n\n \u201cHad I but had the wit yestreen\n That I hae coft the day--\n I\u2019d paid my kane seven times to hell\n Ere you\u2019d been won away!\u201d\n\n (_Condensed_)\n\n\nTHE WIFE OF USHER\u2019S WELL\n\n There lived a wife at Usher\u2019s Well,\n And a wealthy wife was she,\n She had three stout and stalwart sons,\n And sent them o\u2019er the sea.\n\n They hadna been a week from her,\n A week but barely ane,\n When word came back to the carline wife,\n That her three sons were gane.\n\n They hadna been a week from her,\n A week but barely three,\n When word came to the carline wife,\n That her sons she\u2019d never see.\n\n \u201cI wish the wind may never cease,\n Nor fashes in the flood,\n Till my three sons come hame to me,\n In earthly flesh and blood!\u201d--\n\n It fell about the Martinmas,\n When nights are lang and mirk,\n The carline wife\u2019s three sons cam hame,\n And their hats were o\u2019 the birk.\n\n It neither grew in syke nor ditch,\n Nor yet in ony sheugh;\n But at the gates o\u2019 Paradise,\n That birk grew fair eneuch.\n\n * * * * *\n\n \u201cBlow up the fire, my maidens!\n Bring water from the well!\n For a\u2019 my house shall feast this night,\n Since my three sons are well.\u201d--\n\n And she has made to them a bed,\n She\u2019s made it large and wide;\n And she\u2019s ta\u2019en her mantle her about,\n Sat down at the bedside.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Up then crew the red red cock,\n And up and crew the gray;\n The eldest to the youngest said,\n \u201c\u2019Tis time we were away.\u201d--\n\n The cock he hadna craw\u2019d but ance,\n And clapp\u2019d his wings at a\u2019,\n When the youngest to the eldest said,\n \u201cBrother, we must awa.--\n\n \u201cThe cock doth craw, the day doth daw\n The channerin\u2019 worm doth chide;\n Gin we be mist out o\u2019 our place,\n A sair pain we maun bide.\n\n \u201cFare ye weel, my mother dear!\n Fareweel to barn and byre!\n And fare ye weel, the bonny lass,\n That kindles my mother\u2019s fire.\u201d\n\n\nSIR ROLAND\n\n Whan he cam to his ain luve\u2019s bouir,\n He tirled at the pin;\n And sae ready was his fair fause luve\n To rise and let him in.\n\n \u201cOh! welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,\u201d she says,\n \u201cThrice welcome thou art to me;\n For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir\n And to-morrow we\u2019ll wedded be.\u201d\n\n \u201cThis night is Hallow Eve,\u201d he said,\n \u201cAnd to-morrow is Hallow-day;\n And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,\n That has made my heart fu\u2019 wae.\n\n \u201cI dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,\n And I wish it may come to gude;\n I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound,\n And gied me his lappered blude.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\n \u201cUnbuckle your belt, Sir Roland,\u201d she said,\n \u201cAnd set you safely down.\u201d\n \u201cOh! your chamber is very dark, fair maid,\n And the night is wondrous lown.\u201d\n\n \u201cYes, dark dark is my secret bowir,\n And lown the midnight may be;\n For there is none waking in a\u2019 this tower\n But thou, my true love, and me.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\n She has mounted on her true love\u2019s steed,\n By the ae light o\u2019 the moon;\n She has whipped him and spurred him,\n And roundly she rade frae the toun.\n\n She hadna ridden a mile o\u2019 gate,\n Never a mile but ane,\n Whan she was aware of a tall young man,\n Slow riding o\u2019er the plain.\n\n She turned her to the right about,\n Then to the left turned she;\n But aye \u2019tween her and the wan moonlight\n That tall Knight did she see.\n\n And he was riding burd alane,\n On a horse as black as jet;\n But tho\u2019 she followed him fast and fell,\n No nearer could she get.\n\n \u201cOh stop! Oh stop! young man,\u201d she said;\n \u201cFor I in dule am dight;\n Oh stop, and win a fair lady\u2019s luve,\n If you be a leal true Knight.\u201d\n\n But nothing did the tall Knight say,\n And nothing did he blin;\n Still slowly rode he on before\n And fast she rade behind.\n\n She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed,\n Till his breast was all a foam;\n But nearer unto that tall young Knight,\n The Lady, she could not come.\n\n \u201cOh, if you be a gay young Knight,\n As well I trow you be,\n Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay\n Till I come up to thee.\u201d\n\n But nothing did that tall Knight say,\n And no whit did he blin,\n Until he reached a broad river\u2019s side\n And there he drew his rein.\n\n \u201cOh, is this water deep?\u201d he said,\n \u201cAs it is wondrous dun?\n Or is it sic as a saikless maid\n And a leal true Knight may swim?\u201d\n\n \u201cThe water it is deep,\u201d she said,\n \u201cAs it is wondrous dun;\n But it is sic as a saikless maid\n And a leal true Knight may swim.\u201d\n\n The Knight spurred on his tall black steed;\n The Lady spurred on her brown;\n And fast they rade into the flood,\n And fast they baith swam down.\n\n \u201cThe water weets my tae,\u201d she said;\n \u201cThe water weets my knee;\n And hold up my bridle reins, Sir Knight,\n For the sake of Our Ladye.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf I would help thee now,\u201d he said,\n \u201cIt were a deadly sin;\n For I\u2019ve sworn neir to trust a fair may\u2019s word,\n Till the water weets her chin.\u201d\n\n \u201cOh! the water weets my waist,\u201d she said;\n \u201cSae does it weet my skin;\n And my aching heart rins round about,\n The burn maks sic a din.\n\n \u201cThe water is waxing deeper still,\n Sae does it wax mair wide;\n And aye the farther that we ride on,\n Farther off is the other side.\n\n \u201cOh, help me now, thou fause fause Knight!\n Have pity on my youth;\n For now the water jawes owre my head,\n And it gurgles in my mouth.\u201d\n\n The Knight turned right and round about,\n All in the middle stream;\n And he stretched out his head to that Ladie\n But loudly she did scream!\n\n \u201cOh, this is Hallow-morn,\u201d he said,\n \u201cAnd it is your bridal day;\n But sad would be that gay wedding,\n If bridegroom and bride were away.\n\n \u201cAnd ride on, ride on, proud Margaret!\n Till the water comes o\u2019er your bree;\n For the bride maun ride deep and deeper yet,\n Wha rides this ford wi\u2019 me!\n\n \u201cTurn round, turn round, proud Margaret!\n Turn ye round, and look on me!\n Thou hast killed a true Knight under trust,\n And his Ghost now links on with thee.\u201d\n\n\nTHE SKELETON IN ARMOUR\n\n \u201cSpeak! speak! thou fearful guest!\n Who, with thy hollow breast\n Still in rude armour drest,\n Comest to daunt me!\n Wrapt not in Eastern balms,\n But with thy fleshless palms\n Stretched, as if asking alms,\n Why dost thou haunt me?\u201d\n\n Then, from those cavernous eyes\n Pale flashes seemed to rise,\n As when the Northern skies\n Gleam in December;\n And, like the water\u2019s flow\n Under December\u2019s snow,\n Came a dull voice of woe\n From the heart\u2019s chamber.\n\n \u201cI was a Viking old!\n My deeds, though manifold,\n No Skald in song has told,\n No Saga taught thee!\n Take heed, that in thy verse\n Thou dost the tale rehearse,\n Else dread a dead man\u2019s curse;\n For this I sought thee.\n\n \u201cFar in the Northern Land,\n By the wild Baltic\u2019s strand,\n I, with my childish hand,\n Tamed the gerfalcon;\n And, with my skates fast-bound,\n Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,\n That the poor whimpering hound\n Trembled to walk on.\n\n \u201cOft to his frozen lair\n Tracked I the grisly bear,\n While from my path the hare\n Fled like a shadow;\n Oft through the forest dark\n Followed the were-wolf\u2019s bark,\n Until the soaring lark\n Sang from the meadow.\n\n \u201cBut when I older grew,\n Joining a corsair\u2019s crew,\n O\u2019er the dark sea I flew\n With the marauders.\n Wild was the life we led;\n Many the souls that sped,\n Many the hearts that bled,\n By our stern orders.\n\n \u201cMany a wassail-bout\n Wore the long Winter out;\n Often our midnight shout\n Set the cocks crowing,\n As we the Berserk\u2019s tale\n Measured in cups of ale,\n Draining the oaken pail,\n Filled to o\u2019erflowing.\n\n \u201cOnce as I told in glee\n Tales of the stormy sea,\n Soft eyes did gaze on me,\n Burning yet tender;\n And as the white stars shine\n On the dark Norway pine,\n On that dark heart of mine\n Fell their soft splendour.\n\n \u201cI wooed the blue-eyed maid,\n Yielding, yet half afraid.\n And in the forest shade\n Our vows were plighted.\n Under its loosened vest\n Fluttered her little breast,\n Like birds within their nest\n By the hawk frighted.\n\n \u201cBright in her father\u2019s hall\n Shields gleamed upon the wall,\n Loud sang the minstrels all,\n Chanting his glory;\n When of old Hildebrand\n I asked his daughter\u2019s hand,\n Mute did the minstrels stand\n To hear my story.\n\n \u201cWhile the brown ale he quaffed,\n Loud then the champion laughed,\n And as the wind-gusts waft\n The sea-foam brightly,\n So the loud laugh of scorn,\n Out of those lips unshorn,\n From the deep drinking-horn\n Blew the foam lightly.\n\n \u201cShe was a Prince\u2019s child,\n I but a Viking wild,\n And though she blushed and smiled,\n I was discarded!\n Should not the dove so white\n Follow the sea-mew\u2019s flight,\n Why did they leave that night\n Her nest unguarded?\n\n \u201cScarce had I put to sea,\n Bearing the maid with me,\n Fairest of all was she\n Among the Norsemen!\n When on the white sea-strand,\n Waving his armed hand,\n Saw we old Hildebrand,\n With twenty horsemen.\n\n \u201cThen launched they to the blast,\n Bent like a reed each mast,\n Yet we were gaining fast,\n When the wind failed us;\n And with a sudden flaw\n Came round the gusty Skaw,\n So that our foe we saw\n Laugh as he hailed us.\n\n \u201cAnd as to catch the gale\n Round veered the flapping sail,\n \u2018Death!\u2019 was the helmsman\u2019s hail,\n \u2018Death without quarter!\u2019\n Mid-ships with iron keel\n Struck we her ribs of steel;\n Down her black hulk did reel\n Through the black water!\n\n \u201cAs with his wings aslant,\n Sails the fierce cormorant,\n Seeking some rocky haunt,\n With his prey laden,--\n So toward the open main,\n Beating to sea again,\n Through the wild hurricane,\n Bore I the maiden.\n\n \u201cThree weeks we westward bore,\n And when the storm was o\u2019er,\n Cloud-like we saw the shore\n Stretching to leeward;\n There for my lady\u2019s bower\n Built I the lofty tower,\n Which, to this very hour,\n Stands looking seaward.\n\n \u201cThere lived we many years;\n Time dried the maiden\u2019s tears;\n She had forgot her fears,\n She was a mother;\n Death closed her mild blue eyes,\n Under that tower she lies;\n Ne\u2019er shall the sun arise\n On such another!\n\n \u201cStill grew my bosom then,\n Still as a stagnant fen!\n Hateful to me were men,\n The sunlight hateful!\n In the vast forest here,\n Clad in my warlike gear,\n Fell I upon my spear,\n Oh, death was grateful!\n\n \u201cThus, seamed with many scars,\n Bursting these prison bars,\n Up to its native stars\n My soul ascended!\n There from the flowing bowl\n Deep drinks the warrior\u2019s soul,\n _Skoal!_ to the Northland! _skoal!_\u201d\n Thus the tale ended.\n\n _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_\n\n\nSWEET WILLIAM\u2019S GHOST\n\n There came a ghost to Margret\u2019s door,\n With many a grievous groan,\n And ay he tirled at the pin,\n But answer made she none.\n\n \u201cIs that my father Philip,\n Or is\u2019t my brother John?\n Or is\u2019t my true-love, Willy,\n From Scotland new come home?\u201d\n\n \u201cTis not thy father Philip,\n Nor yet thy brother John;\n But tis thy true-love, Willy,\n From Scotland new come home.\n\n \u201cO sweet Margret, O dear Margret,\n I pray thee speak to me;\n Give me my faith and troth, Margret,\n As I gave it to thee.\u201d\n\n \u201cThy faith and troth thou\u2019s never get,\n Nor yet will I thee lend,\n Till that thou come within my bower,\n And kiss my cheek and chin.\u201d\n\n \u201cIf I shoud come within thy bower,\n I am no earthly man;\n And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips,\n Thy days will not be lang.\n\n \u201cO sweet Margret, O dear Margret,\n I pray thee speak to me;\n Give me my faith and troth, Margret,\n As I gave it to thee.\u201d\n\n \u201cThy faith and troth thou\u2019s never get,\n Nor yet will I thee lend,\n Till you take me to yon kirk,\n And wed me with a ring.\u201d\n\n \u201cMy bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,\n Afar beyond the sea,\n And it is but my spirit, Margret,\n That\u2019s now speaking to thee.\u201d\n\n She stretchd out her lilly-white hand,\n And, for to do her best,\n \u201cHae, there\u2019s your faith and troth, Willy,\n God send your soul good rest.\u201d\n\n Now she has kilted her robes of green\n A piece below her knee,\n And a\u2019 the live-lang winter night\n The dead corp followed she.\n\n \u201cIs there any room at your head, Willy?\n Or any room at your feet?\n Or any room at your side, Willy,\n Wherein that I may creep?\u201d\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s no room at my head, Margret,\n There\u2019s no room at my feet;\n There\u2019s no room at my side, Margret,\n My coffin\u2019s made so meet.\u201d\n\n Then up and crew the red, red cock,\n And up then crew the gray:\n \u201cTis time, tis time, my dear Margret,\n That you were going away.\u201d\n\n No more the ghost to Margret said,\n But, with a grievous groan,\n Evanishd in a cloud of mist,\n And left her all alone.\n\n \u201cO stay, my only true-love, stay,\u201d\n The constant Margret cry\u2019d;\n Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een,\n Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy\u2019d.\n\n\nTHE EVE OF ST. JOHN\n\n\n PART I\n\n The Baron of Smaylho\u2019me rose with day,\n He spurred his courser on,\n Without stop or stay, down the rocky way,\n That leads to Brotherstone.\n\n He went not with the bold Buccleuch,\n His banner broad to rear;\n He went not \u2019gainst the English yew,\n To lift the Scottish spear.\n\n Yet his plate-jack was braced, and his helmet was laced,\n And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore;\n At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe,\n Full ten pound weight and more.\n\n The Baron returned in three days\u2019 space,\n And his looks were sad and sour;\n And weary was his courser\u2019s pace,\n As he reached his rocky tower.\n\n He came not from where Ancram Moor\n Ran red with English blood;\n Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch,\n \u2019Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.\n\n Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed,\n His acton pierced and tore,\n His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,--\n But it was not English gore.\n\n He lighted at the Chapellage,\n He held him close and still;\n And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,\n His name was English Will.\n\n \u201cCome thou hither, my little foot-page,\n Come hither to my knee;\n Though thou art young, and tender of age,\n I think thou art true to me.\n\n \u201cCome, tell me all that thou hast seen,\n And look thou tell me true!\n Since I from Smaylho\u2019me tower have been,\n What did thy Lady do?\u201d--\n\n \u201cMy Lady, each night, sought the lonely light,\n That burns on the wild Watchfold;\n For, from height to height, the beacons bright\n Of the English foemen told.\n\n \u201cThe bittern clamoured from the moss,\n The wind blew loud and shrill;\n Yet the craggy pathway she did cross,\n To the eiry Beacon Hill.\n\n \u201cI watched her steps, and silent came\n Where she sat her on a stone;--\n No watchman stood by the dreary flame,\n It burned all alone.\n\n \u201cThe second night I kept her in sight,\n Till to the fire she came,\n And, by Mary\u2019s might! an armed Knight\n Stood by the lonely flame.\n\n \u201cAnd many a word that warlike lord\n Did speak to my Lady there;\n But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast,\n And I heard not what they were.\n\n \u201cThe third night there the sky was fair,\n And the mountain blast was still,\n As again I watched the secret pair,\n On the lonesome Beacon Hill.\n\n \u201cAnd I heard her name the midnight hour,\n And name this holy eve;\n And say, \u2018Come this night to thy Lady\u2019s bower;\n Ask no bold Baron\u2019s leave.\n\n \u201c\u2018He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch;\n His Lady is all alone;\n The door she\u2019ll undo, to her Knight so true,\n On the Eve of good St. John.\u2019--\n\n \u201c\u2018I cannot come; I must not come;\n I dare not come to thee;\n On the Eve of St. John I must wander alone:\n In thy bower I may not be.\u2019--\n\n \u201c\u2018Now, out on thee, faint-hearted Knight!\n Thou shouldst not say me nay;\n For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet,\n Is worth the whole summer\u2019s day.\n\n \u201c\u2018And I\u2019ll chain the bloodhound, and the warder shall not sound,\n And rushes shall be strewed on the stair;\n So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John,\n I conjure thee, my Love, to be there!\u2019--\n\n \u201c\u2018Though the bloodhound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot,\n And the warder his bugle should not blow,\n Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the East,\n And my footstep he would know.\u2019--\n\n \u201c\u2018O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the East!\n For to Dryburgh the way he has ta\u2019en;\n And there to say mass, till three days do pass,\n For the soul of a Knight that is slain.\u2019--\n\n \u201cHe turned him around, and grimly he frowned;\n Then he laughed right scornfully--\n \u2018He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that Knight,\n May as well say mass for me:\n\n \u201c\u2018At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power,\n In thy chamber will I be.\u2019--\n With that he was gone, and my Lady left alone,\n And no more did I see.\u201d\n\n Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron\u2019s brow,\n From the dark to the blood-red high,\n \u201cNow, tell me the mien of the Knight thou hast seen,\n For, by Mary, he shall die!\u201d--\n\n \u201cHis arms shone full bright, in the beacon\u2019s red light;\n His plume it was scarlet and blue;\n On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound,\n And his crest was a branch of the yew.\u201d\n\n \u201cThou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page,\n Loud dost thou lie to me!\n For that Knight is cold, and low laid in the mould,\n All under the Eildon Tree.\u201d--\n\n \u201cYet hear but my word, my noble Lord!\n For I heard her name his name;\n And that Lady bright, she called the Knight\n Sir Richard of Coldinghame.\u201d--\n\n The bold Baron\u2019s brow then changed, I trow,\n From high blood-red to pale--\n \u201cThe grave is deep and dark--and the corpse is stiff and stark--\n So I may not trust thy tale.\n\n \u201cWhere fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,\n And Eildon slopes to the plain,\n Full three nights ago, by some secret foe,\n That gay gallant was slain.\n\n \u201cThe varying light deceived thy sight,\n And the wild winds drowned the name;\n For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing,\n For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n He passed the court-gate, and he oped the tower-grate,\n And he mounted the narrow stair,\n To the bartizan seat, where, with maids that on her wait,\n He found his Lady fair.\n\n That Lady sat in mournful mood;\n Looked over hill and vale;\n Over Tweed\u2019s fair flood, and Mertoun\u2019s wood,\n And all down Teviotdale.\n\n \u201cNow hail, now hail, thou Lady bright!\u201d--\n \u201cNow hail, thou Baron true!\n What news, what news, from Ancram fight?\n What news from the bold Buccleuch?\u201d--\n\n \u201cThe Ancram Moor is red with gore,\n For many a Southern fell;\n And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore,\n To watch our beacons well.\u201d--\n\n The Lady blushed red, but nothing she said:\n Nor added the Baron a word:\n Then she stepped down the stair to her chamber fair,\n And so did her moody lord.\n\n In sleep the Lady mourned, and the Baron tossed and turned,\n And oft to himself he said,--\n \u201cThe worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep,\n It cannot give up the dead!\u201d--\n\n\n PART III\n\n It was near the ringing of matin-bell,\n The night was wellnigh done,\n When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell,\n On the Eve of good St. John.\n\n The Lady looked through the chamber fair,\n By the light of a dying flame;\n And she was aware of a Knight stood there--\n Sir Richard of Coldinghame!\n\n \u201cAlas! away, away!\u201d she cried,\n \u201cFor the holy Virgin\u2019s sake!\u201d--\n \u201cLady, I know who sleeps by thy side;\n But, Lady, he will not awake.\n\n \u201cBy Eildon Tree, for long nights three,\n In bloody grave have I lain;\n The mass and the death-prayer are said for me,\n But, Lady, they are said in vain.\n\n \u201cBy the Baron\u2019s brand, near Tweed\u2019s fair strand,\n Most foully slain, I fell;\n And my restless sprite on the beacon\u2019s height,\n For a space is doomed to dwell.\n\n \u201cAt our trysting-place, for a certain space,\n I must wander to and fro;\n But I had not had power to come to thy bower,\n Hadst thou not conjured me so.\u201d--\n\n Love mastered fear--her brow she crossed;\n \u201cHow, Richard, hast thou sped?\n And art thou saved, or art thou lost?\u201d\n The vision shook his head!\n\n \u201cWho spilleth life, shall forfeit life;\n So bid thy lord believe:\n That lawless love is guilt above,\n This awful sign receive.\u201d\n\n He laid his left palm on an oaken beam:\n His right upon her hand;\n The Lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,\n For it scorched like a fiery brand.\n\n The sable score, of fingers four,\n Remains on that board impressed;\n And for evermore that Lady wore\n A covering on her wrist.\n\n There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,\n Ne\u2019er looks upon the sun;\n There is a monk in Melrose tower,\n He speaketh word to none.\n\n That nun, who ne\u2019er beholds the day,\n That monk, who speaks to none--\n That nun was Smaylho\u2019me\u2019s Lady gay,\n That monk the bold Baron.\n\n _Sir Walter Scott_\n\n\n\n\nALL UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE\n\n\n\n\nTHE BIRTH O\u2019 ROBIN HOOD\n\n _And mony ane sings o\u2019 grass, o\u2019 grass,\n And mony ane sings o\u2019 corn;\n And mony ane sings o\u2019 Robin Hood,\n Kens little whare he was born._\n\n _It wasna in the ha\u2019, the ha\u2019,\n Nor in the painted bower;\n But it was in the gude green wood,\n Amang the lily flower._\n\n\nROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN\n\n When Robin Hood was about twenty years old,\n With a hey down down and a down\n He happend to meet Little John,\n A jolly brisk blade, right fit for the trade,\n For he was a lusty young man.\n\n Tho he was calld Little, his limbs they were large,\n And his stature was seven foot high;\n Where-ever he came, they quak\u2019d at his name,\n For soon he would make them to fly.\n\n How they came acquainted, I\u2019ll tell you in brief,\n If you will but listen a while;\n For this very jest, amongst all the rest,\n I think it may cause you to smile.\n\n Bold Robin Hood said to his jolly bowmen,\n \u201cPray tarry you here in this grove;\n And see that you all observe well my call,\n While thorough the forest I rove.\n\n \u201cWe have had no sport for these fourteen long days,\n Therefore now abroad will I go;\n Now should I be beat, and cannot retreat,\n My horn I will presently blow.\u201d\n\n Then did he shake hands with his merry men all,\n And bid them at present good b\u2019w\u2019ye;\n Then, as near a brook his journey he took,\n A stranger he chancd to espy.\n\n They happend to meet on a long narrow bridge,\n And neither of them would give way;\n Quoth bold Robin Hood, and sturdily stood,\n \u201cI\u2019ll show you right Nottingham play.\u201d\n\n With that from his quiver an arrow he drew,\n A broad arrow with a goose-wing:\n The stranger reply\u2019d, \u201cI\u2019ll liquor thy hide,\n If thou offerst to touch the string.\u201d\n\n Quoth bold Robin Hood, \u201cThou dost prate like an ass,\n For were I to bend but my bow,\n I could send a dart quite thro thy proud heart,\n Before thou couldst strike me one blow.\u201d\n\n \u201cThou talkst like a coward,\u201d the stranger reply\u2019d;\n \u201cWell armd with a long bow you stand,\n To shoot at my breast, while I, I protest,\n Have nought but a staff in my hand.\u201d\n\n \u201cThe name of a coward,\u201d quoth Robin, \u201cI scorn,\n Wherefore my long bow I\u2019ll lay by;\n And now, for thy sake, a staff will I take,\n The truth of thy manhood to try.\u201d\n\n Then Robin Hood stept to a thicket of trees,\n And chose him a staff of ground-oak;\n Now this being done, away he did run\n To the stranger, and merrily spoke:\n\n \u201cLo! see my staff, it is lusty and tough,\n Now here on the bridge we will play;\n Whoever falls in, the other shall win\n The battel, and so we\u2019ll away.\u201d\n\n \u201cWith all my whole heart,\u201d the stranger reply\u2019d;\n \u201cI scorn in the least to give out;\u201d\n This said, they fell to\u2019t without more dispute,\n And their staffs they did flourish about.\n\n And first Robin he gave the stranger a bang,\n So hard that it made his bones ring:\n The stranger he said, \u201cThis must be repaid,\n I\u2019ll give you as good as you bring.\n\n \u201cSo long as I\u2019m able to handle my staff,\n To die in your debt, friend, I scorn:\u201d\n Then to it each goes, and followd their blows,\n As if they had been threshing of corn.\n\n The stranger gave Robin a crack on the crown,\n Which caused the blood to appear;\n Then Robin, enrag\u2019d, more fiercely engag\u2019d,\n And followd his blows more severe.\n\n So thick and so fast did he lay it on him,\n With a passionate fury and ire,\n At every stroke, he made him to smoke,\n As if he had been all on fire.\n\n O then into fury the stranger he grew,\n And gave him a damnable look,\n And with it a blow that laid him full low,\n And tumbld him into the brook.\n\n \u201cI prithee, good fellow, O where art thou now?\u201d\n The stranger, in laughter, he cry\u2019d;\n Quoth bold Robin Hood, \u201cGood faith, in the flood,\n And floating along with the tide.\n\n \u201cI needs must acknowledge thou art a brave soul;\n With thee I\u2019ll no longer contend;\n For needs must I say, thou hast got the day,\n Our battel shall be at an end.\u201d\n\n Then unto the bank he did presently wade,\n And pulld himself out by a thorn;\n Which done, at the last, he blowd a loud blast\n Straitway on his fine bugle-horn.\n\n The eccho of which through the vallies did fly,\n At which his stout bowmen appeard,\n All cloathed in green, most gay to be seen;\n So up to their master they steerd.\n\n \u201cO what\u2019s the matter?\u201d quoth William Stutely;\n \u201cGood master, you are wet to the skin:\u201d\n \u201cNo matter,\u201d quoth he; \u201cthe lad which you see,\n In fighting, hath tumbld me in.\u201d\n\n \u201cHe shall not go scot-free,\u201d the others reply\u2019d;\n So strait they were seizing him there,\n To duck him likewise; but Robin Hood cries,\n \u201cHe is a stout fellow, forbear.\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s no one shall wrong thee, friend, be not afraid;\n These bowmen upon me do wait;\n There\u2019s threescore and nine; if thou wilt be mine,\n Thou shalt have my livery strait.\n\n \u201cAnd other accoutrements fit for a man;\n Speak up, jolly blade, never fear;\n I\u2019ll teach you also the use of the bow,\n To shoot at the fat fallow-deer.\u201d\n\n \u201cO here is my hand,\u201d the stranger reply\u2019d,\n \u201cI\u2019ll serve you with all my whole heart;\n My name is John Little, a man of good mettle;\n Nere doubt me, for I\u2019ll play my part.\u201d\n\n \u201cHis name shall be alterd,\u201d quoth William Stutely,\n \u201cAnd I will his godfather be;\n Prepare then a feast, and none of the least,\n For we will be merry,\u201d quoth he.\n\n They presently fetchd in a brace of fat does,\n With humming strong liquor likewise;\n They lovd what was good; so, in the greenwood,\n This pretty sweet babe they baptize.\n\n He was, I must tell you, but seven foot high,\n And, may be, an ell in the waste;\n A pretty sweet lad; much feasting they had;\n Bold Robin the christning grac\u2019d,\n\n With all his bowmen, which stood in a ring,\n And were of the Nottingham breed;\n Brave Stutely comes then, with seven yeomen,\n And did in this manner proceed.\n\n \u201cThis infant was called John Little,\u201d quoth he,\n \u201cWhich name shall be changed anon;\n The words we\u2019ll transpose, so where-ever he goes,\n His name shall be calld Little John.\u201d\n\n They all with a shout made the elements ring,\n So soon as the office was ore;\n To feasting they went, with true merriment,\n And tippld strong liquor gillore.\n\n Then Robin he took the pretty sweet babe,\n And cloathd him from top to the toe\n In garments of green, most gay to be seen,\n And gave him a curious long bow.\n\n \u201cThou shalt be an archer as well as the best,\n And range in the greenwood with us;\n Where we\u2019ll not want gold nor silver, behold,\n While bishops have ought in their purse.\n\n \u201cWe live here like squires, or lords of renown,\n Without ere a foot of free land;\n We feast on good cheer, with wine, ale, and beer,\n And evry thing at our command.\u201d\n\n Then musick and dancing did finish the day;\n At length, when the sun waxed low,\n Then all the whole train the grove did refrain,\n And unto their caves they did go.\n\n And so ever after, as long as he livd,\n Altho he was proper and tall,\n Yet nevertheless, the truth to express,\n Still Little John they did him call.\n\n\nROBIN HOOD AND CLORINDA\n\n When Robin Hood came into merry Sherwood,\n He winded his bugle so clear;\n And twice five and twenty good yeomen and bold,\n Before Robin Hood did appear.\n\n \u201cWhere are your companions all?\u201d said Robin Hood,\n \u201cFor still I want forty and three.\u201d\n Then said a bold yeoman, \u201cLo, yonder they stand,\n All under the green-wood tree.\u201d\n\n As that word was spoke, Clorinda came by,\n The queen of the shepherds was she;\n And her gown was of velvet as green as the grass,\n And her buskin did reach to her knee.\n\n Her gait it was graceful, her body was straight,\n And her countenance free from pride;\n A bow in her hand, and quiver and arrows\n Hung dangling by her sweet side.\n\n Her eye-brows were black, ay, and so was her hair,\n And her skin was as smooth as glass;\n Her visage spoke wisdom, and modesty too;\n Sets with Robin Hood such a lass!\n\n Said Robin Hood, \u201cLady fair, whither away?\n O whither, fair lady, away?\u201d\n And she made him answer, \u201cTo kill a fat buck;\n For to-morrow is Titbury day.\u201d\n\n Said Robin Hood, \u201cLady fair, wander with me\n A little to yonder green bower,\n There set down to rest you, and you shall be sure\n Of a brace or a lease, in an hour.\u201d\n\n And as we were going towards the green bower,\n Two hundred good bucks we espy\u2019d;\n She chose out the fattest that was in the herd,\n And she shot him through side and side.\n\n \u201cBy the faith of my body,\u201d said bold Robin Hood,\n \u201cI never saw woman like thee;\n And com\u2019st thou from east, ay, or com\u2019st thou from west,\n Thou needst not beg venison of me.\n\n \u201cHowever, along to my bower you shall go,\n And taste of a forrester\u2019s meat:\u201d\n And when we come thither we found as good cheer\n As any man needs for to eat.\n\n For there was hot venison, and warden pies cold,\n Cream clouted, with honey-combs plenty;\n And the sarvitors they were, besides Little John,\n Good yeomen at least four and twenty.\n\n Clorinda said, \u201cTell me your name, gentle sir:\u201d\n And he said, \u201c\u2019Tis bold Robin Hood:\n Squire Gamwel\u2019s my uncle, but all my delight\n Is to dwell in the merry Sherwood;\n\n \u201cFor \u2019tis a fine life, and \u2019tis void of all strife.\u201d\n \u201cSo \u2019tis, sir,\u201d Clorinda reply\u2019d.\n \u201cBut oh!\u201d said bold Robin, \u201chow sweet would it be,\n If Clorinda would be my bride!\u201d\n\n She blusht at the motion; yet, after a pause,\n Said, \u201cYes, sir, and with all my heart.\u201d\n \u201cThen let us send for a priest,\u201d said Robin Hood,\n \u201cAnd be married before we do part.\u201d\n\n When dinner was ended, Sir Roger, the parson\n Of Dubbridge, was sent for in haste:\n He brought his mass-book, and he bade them take hands,\n And joyn\u2019d them in marriage full fast.\n\n And then, as bold Robin Hood and his sweet bride\n Went hand in hand to the green bower,\n The birds sung with pleasure in merry Sherwood,\n And \u2019t was a most joyful hour.\n\n And when Robin came in the sight of the bower,\n \u201cWhere are my yeomen?\u201d said he:\n And Little John answer\u2019d, \u201cLo, yonder they stand,\n All under the green-wood tree.\u201d\n\n Then a garland they brought her, by two and by two,\n And plac\u2019d them upon the bride\u2019s head:\n The music struck up, and we all fell to dance,\n So the bride and bridegroom were wed.\n\n (_Condensed_)\n\n\nSONG OF THE OUTLAW MURRAY\n\n\n PART I\n\n Ettrick Forest is a fair forest,\n In it grows many a seemly tree;\n There\u2019s hart and hind, and dae and rae,\n And of a\u2019 wild beasts great plentie.\n\n There\u2019s a fair Castle, bigged wi\u2019 lime and stane;\n O gin it stands not pleasantlie!\n In the fore front o\u2019 that Castle fair,\n Twa unicorns are bra\u2019 to see;\n There\u2019s the picture of a Knight and a Lady bright,\n And the green hollin abune their bree.\n\n There an Outlaw keeps five hundred men,\n He keeps a royal company;\n His merrymen a\u2019 in ae livery clad,\n O\u2019 the Lincoln green sae gay to see;\n He and his Lady in purple clad,\n O gin they live not royallie!\n\n Word is gane to our noble King,\n In Edinburgh where that he lay,\n That there was an Outlaw in Ettrick Forest,\n Counted him nought, nor a\u2019 his courtrie gay.\n\n \u201cI make a vow,\u201d then the gude King said,\n \u201cUnto the Man that dear bought me,\n I\u2019se either be King of Ettrick Forest,\n Or King of Scotland that Outlaw sall be!\u201d\n\n Then spake the Lord hight Hamilton,\n And to the noble King said he,\n \u201cMy sovereign Prince, some counsel take,\n First at your nobles, syne at me.\n\n \u201cI rede ye, send yon braw Outlaw till,\n And see gif your man come will he:\n Desire him come and be your man,\n And hold of you yon forest free.\n\n \u201cGif he refuses to do that,\n We\u2019ll conquer baith his lands and he!\n Or else we\u2019ll throw his Castle down,\n And mak\u2019 a widow o\u2019 his gay Ladye.\u201d\n\n The King then called a gentleman,\n James Boyd (the Earl of Arran\u2019s brother was he);\n When James he came before the King,\n He kneeled before him on his knee.\n\n \u201cWelcome, James Boyd!\u201d said our noble King,\n \u201cA message ye maun gang for me;\n Ye maun hie to Ettrick Forest,\n To yon Outlaw, where bideth he.\n\n \u201cAsk him of whom he holds his lands,\n Or man wha may his master be,\n And desire him come and be my man,\n And hold of me yon forest free.\n\n \u201cTo Edinburgh to come and gang,\n His safe warrant I sall gie;\n And gif he refuses to do that,\n We\u2019ll conquer baith his lands and he.\n\n \u201cThou mayst vow I\u2019ll cast his Castle down,\n And mak\u2019 a widow o\u2019 his gay Ladye;\n I\u2019ll hang his merrymen, pair by pair,\n In ony frith where I may them see.\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n James Boyd took his leave o\u2019 the noble King,\n To Ettrick Forest fair cam\u2019 he;\n Down Birkendale Brae when that he cam\u2019,\n He saw the fair forest wi\u2019 his ee.\n\n Baith dae and rae, and hart and hind,\n And of a\u2019 wild beasts great plentie;\n He heard the bows that boldly ring,\n And arrows whidderan\u2019 him near by.\n\n Of that great Castle he got a sight;\n The like he ne\u2019er saw wi\u2019 his ee!\n On the fore front o\u2019 that Castle fair,\n Twa unicorns were bra\u2019 to see;\n The picture of a Knight, and Lady bright,\n And the green hollin abune their bree.\n\n Thereat he spyed five hundred men,\n Shooting with bows on Newark Lee;\n They were a\u2019 in ae livery clad,\n O\u2019 the Lincoln green sae gay to see.\n\n His men were a\u2019 clad in the green,\n The Knight was armed capapie,\n With a bended bow, on a milk-white steed;\n And I wot they ranked right bonnilie.\n\n Thereby Boyd kend he was master man,\n And served him in his ain degree.\n \u201cGod mote thee save, brave Outlaw Murray!\n Thy Ladye, and all thy chivalrie!\u201d\n \u201cMarry, thou\u2019s welcome, gentleman,\n Some King\u2019s messenger thou seems to be.\u201d\n\n \u201cThe King of Scotland sent me here,\n And, gude Outlaw, I am sent to thee;\n I wad wot of whom ye hold your lands,\n Or man wha may thy master be?\u201d\n\n \u201cThir lands are mine,\u201d the Outlaw said;\n \u201cI ken nae King in Christentie;\n Frae Soudron I this forest wan,\n When the King nor his Knights were not to see.\u201d\n\n \u201cHe desires you\u2019ll come to Edinburgh,\n And hauld of him this forest free;\n And, gif ye refuse to do this thing,\n He\u2019ll conquer baith thy lands and thee.\n He hath vowed to cast thy Castle down,\n And mak\u2019 a widow o\u2019 thy gay Ladye;\n\n \u201cHe\u2019ll hang thy merrymen, pair by pair,\n In ony frith where he may them find.\u201d\n \u201cAy, by my troth!\u201d the Outlaw said,\n \u201cThan wauld I think me far behind.\n\n \u201cEre the King my fair country get,\n This land that\u2019s nativest to me,\n Mony o\u2019 his nobles sall be cauld;\n Their ladies sall be right wearie.\u201d\n\n Then spak\u2019 his Lady, fair of face:\n She said, \u201c\u2019T were without consent of me,\n That an outlaw suld come before a King;\n I am right rad of treasonrie.\n Bid him be gude to his lords at hame,\n For Edinburgh my Lord sall never see.\u201d\n\n\n PART III\n\n James Boyd took his leave o\u2019 the Outlaw keen,\n To Edinburgh boun\u2019 is he;\n When James he cam\u2019 before the King,\n He kneeled lowly on his knee.\n\n \u201cWelcome, James Boyd!\u201d said our noble King,\n \u201cWhat forest is Ettrick Forest free?\u201d\n \u201cEttrick Forest is the fairest forest\n That ever man saw wi\u2019 his ee.\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s the dae, the rae, the hart, the hind,\n And of a\u2019 wild beasts great plentie;\n There\u2019s a pretty Castle of lime and stane,\n Oh! gin it stands not pleasantlie!\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s in the fore front o\u2019 that Castle\n Twa unicorns, sae bra\u2019 to see;\n There\u2019s the picture of a Knight, and a Lady bright\n Wi\u2019 the green hollin abune their bree.\n\n \u201cThere the Outlaw keeps five hundred men,\n He keeps a royal companie;\n His merrymen in ae livery clad,\n O\u2019 the Lincoln green sae gay to see:\n He and his Lady in purple clad;\n Oh! gin they live right royallie!\n\n \u201cHe says, yon forest is his awn;\n He wan it frae the Southronie;\n Sae as he wan it, sae will he keep it,\n Contrair all Kings in Christentie.\u201d\n\n \u201cGar warn me Perthshire, and Angus baith,\n Fife, up and down, and Lothians three,\n And graith my horse!\u201d said our noble King,\n \u201cFor to Ettrick Forest hie will I me.\u201d\n\n Then word is gane the Outlaw till,\n In Ettrick Forest, where dwelleth he,\n That the King was coming to his countrie,\n To conquer baith his lands and he.\n\n \u201cI mak\u2019 a vow,\u201d the Outlaw said,\n \u201cI mak\u2019 a vow, and that trulie:\n Were there but three men to tak\u2019 my part,\n Yon King\u2019s coming full dear suld be!\u201d\n\n Then messengers he called forth,\n And bade them hie them speedilye:\n \u201cAne of ye gae to Halliday,\n The Laird of the Corehead is he.\n\n \u201cHe certain is my sister\u2019s son;\n Bid him come quick and succor me;\n The King comes on for Ettrick Forest,\n And landless men we a\u2019 will be.\u201d\n\n \u201cWhat news? what news?\u201d said Halliday,\n \u201cMan, frae thy master unto me?\u201d\n \u201cNot as ye would, seeking your aid;\n The King\u2019s his mortal enemie.\u201d\n\n \u201cAy, by my troth!\u201d said Halliday,\n \u201cEven for that it repenteth me;\n For gif he lose fair Ettrick Forest,\n He\u2019ll tak\u2019 fair Moffatdale frae me.\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll meet him wi\u2019 five hundred men,\n And surely mair, if mae may be;\n And before he gets the forest fair,\n We a\u2019 will die on Newark Lee!\u201d\n\n The Outlaw called a messenger,\n And bid him hie him speedilye\n To Andrew Murray of Cockpool:\n \u201cThat man\u2019s a dear cousin to me;\n Desire him come and mak\u2019 me aid\n With a\u2019 the power that he may be.\u201d\n\n \u201cIt stands me hard,\u201d Andrew Murray said,\n \u201cJudge gif it stand na hard wi\u2019 me;\n To enter against a King wi\u2019 crown,\n And set my lands in jeopardie!\n Yet, if I come not on the day,\n Surely at night he sall me see.\u201d\n\n To Sir James Murray of Traquair,\n A message came right speedilye:\n \u201cWhat news? what news?\u201d James Murray said,\n \u201cMan, frae thy master unto me?\u201d\n\n \u201cWhat needs I tell? for weel ye ken\n The King\u2019s his mortal enemie;\n And now he is coming to Ettrick Forest,\n And landless men ye a\u2019 will be.\u201d\n\n \u201cAnd, by my troth,\u201d James Murray said,\n \u201cWi\u2019 that Outlaw will I live and dee;\n The King has gifted my lands lang syne,--\n It cannot be nae warse wi\u2019 me.\u201d\n\n\n PART IV\n\n The King was coming thro\u2019 Caddon Ford,\n And full five thousand men was he;\n They saw the dark forest them before,\n They thought it awsome for to see.\n\n Then spak\u2019 the Lord hight Hamilton,\n And to the noble King said he,\n \u201cMy sovereign Liege, some counsel tak\u2019,\n First at your nobles, syne at me.\n\n \u201cDesire him meet thee at Permanscore,\n And bring four in his companie;\n Five Earls sall gang yoursell before,\n Gude cause that you suld honoured be.\n\n \u201cAnd, gif he refuses to do that,\n We\u2019ll conquer baith his lands and he;\n There sall never a Murray, after him,\n Hold land in Ettrick Forest free.\u201d\n\n The King then called a gentleman,\n Royal banner-bearer there was he,\n James Hoppringle of Torsonse by name;\n He cam\u2019 and kneeled upon his knee.\n\n \u201cWelcome, James Pringle of Torsonse!\n A message ye maun gang for me:\n Ye maun gae to yon Outlaw Murray,\n Surely where boldly bideth he.\n\n \u201cBid him meet me at Permanscore,\n And bring four in his companie;\n Five Earls sall come wi\u2019 mysell,\n Gude reason I suld honoured be.\n\n \u201cAnd gif he refuses to do that,\n Bid him look for nae good o\u2019 me;\n There sall never a Murray, after him,\n Have land in Ettrick Forest free.\u201d\n\n James cam\u2019 before the Outlaw keen,\n And served him in his ain degree:\n \u201cWelcome, James Pringle of Torsonse!\n What message frae the King to me?\u201d\n\n \u201cHe bids ye meet him at Permanscore,\n And bring four in your company;\n Five Earls sall gang himsell before,\n Nae mair in number will he be.\n\n \u201cAnd gif you refuse to do that,\n (I freely here upgive wi\u2019 thee,)\n He\u2019ll cast yon bonny Castle down,\n And mak\u2019 a widow o\u2019 that gay Ladye.\n\n \u201cHe\u2019ll loose yon bloodhound Borderers,\n Wi\u2019 fire and sword to follow thee;\n There will never a Murray, after thysell,\n Have land in Ettrick Forest free.\u201d\n\n \u201cIt stands me hard,\u201d the Outlaw said,\n \u201cJudge gif it stands na hard wi\u2019 me:\n What reck o\u2019 the losing of mysell,\n But a\u2019 my offspring after me!\n\n \u201cAuld Halliday, young Halliday,\n Ye sall be twa to gang wi\u2019 me;\n Andrew Murray and Sir James Murray,\n We\u2019ll be nae mae in companie.\u201d\n\n When that they cam\u2019 before the King,\n They fell before him on their knee:\n \u201cGrant mercy, mercy, noble King!\n E\u2019en for His sake that dyed on tree.\u201d\n\n \u201cSicken like mercy sall ye have,\n On gallows ye sall hangit be!\u201d\n \u201cOver God\u2019s forbode,\u201d quoth the Outlaw then,\n \u201cI hope your Grace will better be!\n Else, ere you come to Edinburgh port,\n I trow thin guarded sall ye be.\n\n \u201cThir lands of Ettrick Forest fair,\n I wan them from the enemie;\n Like as I wan them, sae will I keep them,\n Contrair a\u2019 Kings in Christentie.\u201d\n\n All the nobles the King about,\n Said pity it were to see him dee.\n \u201cYet grant me mercy, sovereign Prince,\n Extend your favour unto me!\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll give thee the keys of my Castle,\n Wi\u2019 the blessing o\u2019 my gay Ladye,\n Gin thou\u2019lt make me sheriff of this forest,\n And a\u2019 my offspring after me.\u201d\n\n \u201cWilt thou give me the keys of thy Castle,\n Wi\u2019 the blessing of thy gay Ladye?\n I\u2019se make thee sheriff of Ettrick Forest,\n Surely while upward grows the tree;\n If you be not traitor to the King,\n Forfaulted sall thou never be.\u201d\n\n \u201cBut, Prince, what sall come o\u2019 my men?\n When I gae back, traitor they\u2019ll ca\u2019 me.\n I had rather lose my life and land,\n Ere my merrymen rebuked me.\u201d\n\n \u201cWill your merrymen amend their lives,\n And a\u2019 their pardons I grant thee?\n Now, name thy lands where\u2019er they lie,\n And here I render them to thee.\u201d\n\n \u201cFair Philiphaugh is mine by right,\n And Lewinshope still mine shall be;\n Newark, Foulshiells, and Tinnies baith,\n My bow and arrow purchased me.\n\n \u201cAnd I have native steads to me,\n The Newark Lee and Hanginshaw;\n I have mony steads in Ettrick Forest,\n But them by name I dinna knaw.\u201d\n\n The keys of the Castle he gave the King,\n Wi\u2019 the blessing o\u2019 his fair Ladye;\n He was made sheriff of Ettrick Forest,\n Surely while upward grows the tree;\n And if he was na traitor to the King,\n Forfaulted he suld never be.\n\n Wha ever heard, in ony times,\n Sicken an outlaw in his degree\n Sic favour get before a King,\n As did Outlaw Murray of the forest free?\n\n _Englished by William Allingham_\n\n\nVALENTINE AND URSINE\n\n\n PART I\n\n When Flora \u2019gins to deck the fields\n With colours fresh and fine,\n Then holy clerks their matins sing\n To good Saint Valentine!\n\n The King of France that morning fair\n He would a-hunting ride:\n To Artois forest prancing forth\n In all his princely pride.\n\n To grace his sports a courtly train\n Of gallant peers attend;\n And with their loud and cheerful cries\n The hills and valleys rend.\n\n Through the deep forest swift they pass,\n Through woods and thickets wild;\n When down within a lonely dell\n They found a new-born child;\n\n All in a scarlet kercher laid\n Of silk so fine and thin;\n A golden mantle wrapt him round,\n Pinned with a silver pin.\n\n The sudden sight surprised them all;\n The courtiers gathered round;\n They look, they call, the mother seek;\n No mother could be found.\n\n At length the King himself drew near,\n And as he gazing stands,\n The pretty babe looked up and smiled,\n And stretched his little hands.\n\n \u201cNow, by the rood,\u201d King Pepin says,\n \u201cThis child is passing fair;\n I wot he is of gentle blood;\n Perhaps some Prince\u2019s heir.\n\n \u201cGo bear him home unto my Court\n With all the care ye may:\n Let him be christened Valentine,\n In honour of this day.\n\n \u201cAnd look me out some cunning nurse;\n Well nurtured let him be;\n Nor aught be wanting that becomes\n A bairn of high degree.\u201d\n\n They looked him out a cunning nurse,\n And nurtured well was he;\n Nor aught was wanting that became\n A bairn of high degree.\n\n\n PART II\n\n Thus grew the little Valentine,\n Beloved of King and peers;\n And showed in all he spake or did\n A wit beyond his years.\n\n But chief in gallant feats of arms\n He did himself advance,\n That ere he grew to man\u2019s estate\n He had no peer in France.\n\n And now the early down began\n To shade his youthful chin;\n When Valentine was dubbed a Knight,\n That he might glory win.\n\n \u201cA boon, a boon, my gracious Liege,\n I beg a boon of thee!\n The first adventure that befalls\n May be reserved for me.\u201d\n\n \u201cThe first adventure shall be thine;\u201d\n The King did smiling say.\n Nor many days, when lo! there came\n Three palmers clad in gray.\n\n \u201cHelp, gracious Lord,\u201d they weeping said;\n And knelt, as it was meet;\n \u201cFrom Artois forest we be come,\n With weak and weary feet.\n\n \u201cWithin those deep and dreary woods\n There wends a savage boy;\n Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield\n Thy subjects dire annoy.\n\n \u201c\u2019Mong ruthless bears he sure was bred;\n He lurks within their den:\n With bears he lives; with bears he feeds,\n And drinks the blood of men.\n\n \u201cTo more than savage strength he joins\n A more than human skill;\n For arms, nor cunning may suffice\n His cruel rage to still.\u201d\n\n Up then rose Sir Valentine\n And claimed that arduous deed.\n \u201cGo forth and conquer,\u201d said the King,\n \u201cAnd great shall be thy meed.\u201d\n\n Well mounted on a milk-white steed,\n His armour white as snow;\n As well beseemed a virgin Knight,\n Who ne\u2019er had fought a foe,\n\n To Artois forest he repairs\n With all the haste he may;\n And soon he spies the savage youth\n A-rending of his prey.\n\n His unkempt hair all matted hung\n His shaggy shoulders round;\n His eager eye all fiery glowed;\n His face with fury frowned.\n\n Like eagles\u2019 talons grew his nails;\n His limbs were thick and strong;\n And dreadful was the knotted oak\n He bare with him along.\n\n Soon as Sir Valentine approached,\n He starts with sudden spring;\n And yelling forth a hideous howl,\n He made the forests ring.\n\n As when a tiger fierce and fell\n Hath spied a passing roe,\n And leaps at once upon his throat;\n So sprung the savage foe;\n\n So lightly leaped with furious force\n The gentle Knight to seize;\n But met his tall uplifted spear,\n Which sunk him on his knees.\n\n A second stroke so stiff and stern\n Had laid the savage low;\n But springing up, he raised his club\n And aimed a dreadful blow.\n\n[Illustration: BUT SPRINGING UP, HE RAISED HIS CLUB AND AIMED A\nDREADFUL BLOW]\n\n The watchful warrior bent his head,\n And shunned the coming stroke;\n Upon his taper spear it fell,\n And all to shivers broke.\n\n Then lighting nimbly from his steed,\n He drew his burnisht brand.\n The savage quick as lightning flew\n To wrest it from his hand.\n\n Three times he grasped the silver hilt;\n Three times he felt the blade;\n Three times it fell with furious force;\n Three ghastly wounds it made.\n\n Now with redoubled rage he roared;\n His eye-ball flashed with fire;\n Each hairy limb with fury shook;\n And all his heart was ire.\n\n Then closing fast with furious gripe\n He clasped the champion round,\n And with a strong and sudden twist\n He laid him on the ground.\n\n But soon the Knight, with active spring,\n O\u2019erturned his hairy foe;\n And now between their sturdy fists\n Past many a bruising blow.\n\n They rolled and grappled on the ground,\n And there they struggled long:\n Skillful and active was the Knight;\n The savage he was strong.\n\n But brutal force and savage strength\n To art and skill must yield:\n Sir Valentine at length prevailed,\n And won the well-fought field.\n\n Then binding straight his conquered foe\n Fast with an iron chain,\n He ties him to his horse\u2019s tail,\n And leads him o\u2019er the plain.\n\n To Court his hairy captive soon\n Sir Valentine doth bring;\n And kneeling down upon his knee,\n Presents him to the King.\n\n With loss of blood and loss of strength\n The savage tamer grew;\n And to Sir Valentine became\n A servant, tried and true.\n\n And \u2019cause with bears he erst was bred,\n Ursine they call his name;\n A name which unto future times\n The Muses shall proclaim.\n\n\n PART III\n\n In high renown with Prince and peer\n Now lived Sir Valentine;\n His high renown with Prince and peer\n Made envious hearts repine.\n\n It chanced the King upon a day\n Prepared a sumptuous feast;\n And there came lords and dainty dames,\n And many a noble guest.\n\n Amid their cups that freely flowed,\n Their revelry and mirth,\n A youthful Knight taxed Valentine\n Of base and doubtful birth.\n\n The foul reproach, so grossly urged,\n His generous heart did wound;\n And strait he vowed he ne\u2019er would rest\n Till he his parents found.\n\n Then bidding King and peers adieu,\n Early one summer\u2019s day,\n With faithful Ursine by his side,\n From Court he took his way.\n\n O\u2019er hill and valley, moss and moor,\n For many a day they pass;\n At length, upon a moated lake,\n They found a bridge of brass.\n\n Beyond it rose a Castle fair,\n Y-built of marble-stone;\n The battlements were gilt with gold,\n And glittered in the sun.\n\n Beneath the bridge, with strange device,\n A hundred bells were hung;\n That man, nor beast, might pass thereon\n But strait their larum rung.\n\n This quickly found the youthful pair,\n Who boldly crossing o\u2019er,\n The jangling sound bedeafed their ears,\n And rung from shore to shore.\n\n Quick at the sound the castle-gates\n Unlocked and opened wide,\n And strait a Giant huge and grim\n Stalked forth with stately pride.\n\n \u201cNow yield you, caitiffs, to my will!\u201d\n He cried with hideous roar;\n \u201cOr else the wolves shall eat your flesh,\n And ravens drink your gore.\u201d\n\n \u201cVain boaster,\u201d said the youthful Knight,\n \u201cI scorn thy threats and thee;\n I trust to force thy brazen gates,\n And set thy captives free.\u201d\n\n Then putting spurs unto his steed,\n He aimed a dreadful thrust;\n The spear against the Giant glanced\n And caused the blood to burst.\n\n Mad and outrageous with the pain,\n He whirled his mace of steel;\n The very wind of such a blow\n Had made the champion reel.\n\n It haply missed; and now the Knight\n His glittering sword displayed,\n And riding round with whirlwind speed\n Oft made him feel the blade.\n\n As when a large and monstrous oak\n Unceasing axes hew,\n So fast around the Giant\u2019s limbs\n The blows quick-darting flew.\n\n As when the boughs with hideous fall\n Some hapless woodman crush,\n With such a force the enormous foe\n Did on the champion rush.\n\n A fearful blow, alas! there came;\n Both horse and Knight it took,\n And laid them senseless in the dust;\n So fatal was the stroke.\n\n Then smiling forth a hideous grin,\n The Giant strides in haste,\n And, stooping, aims a second stroke:\n \u201cNow caitiff breathe thy last!\u201d\n\n But ere it fell, two thundering blows\n Upon his skull descend;\n From Ursine\u2019s knotty club they came,\n Who ran to save his friend.\n\n Down sunk the Giant gaping wide,\n And rolling his grim eyes;\n The hairy youth repeats his blows;\n He gasps, he groans, he dies.\n\n\n PART IV\n\n Quickly Sir Valentine revived\n With Ursine\u2019s timely care;\n And now to search the castle walls\n The venturous youths repair.\n\n The blood and bones of murdered Knights\n They found where\u2019er they came;\n At length within a lonely cell\n They saw a mournful dame.\n\n Her gentle eyes were dimmed with tears;\n Her cheeks were pale with woe;\n And long Sir Valentine besought\n Her doleful tale to know.\n\n \u201cAlas! young Knight,\u201d she weeping said,\n \u201cCondole my wretched fate;\n A childless mother here you see;\n A wife without a mate.\n\n \u201cThese twenty winters here forlorn\n I\u2019ve drawn my hated breath;\n Sole witness of a monster\u2019s crimes,\n And wishing aye for death.\n\n \u201cKnow, I am sister of a King,\n And in my early years\n Was married to a mighty Prince,\n The fairest of his peers.\n\n \u201cWith him I sweetly lived in love\n A twelvemonth and a day;\n When, lo! a foul and treacherous priest\n Y-wrought our loves\u2019 decay.\n\n \u201cWith treason, villainy, and wrong,\n My goodness he repayed;\n With jealous doubts he filled my Lord,\n And me to woe betrayed;\n\n \u201cBut, \u2019cause I then was ill, my Lord\n At length my life he spared;\n But bade me instant quit the realm,\n One trusty Knight my guard.\n\n \u201cForth on my journey I depart,\n Oppressed with grief and woe,\n And tow\u2019rds my brother\u2019s distant Court,\n With breaking heart, I go.\n\n \u201cLong time thro\u2019 sundry foreign lands\n We slowly pace forlorn,\n At length within a forest wild,\n I had two babies born.\n\n \u201cThe eldest fair and smooth, as snow\n That tips the mountain hoar;\n The younger\u2019s little body rough\n With hairs was covered o\u2019er.\n\n \u201cBut here afresh begin my woes:\n While tender care I took\n To shield my eldest from the cold,\n And wrap him in my cloak,\n\n \u201cA prowling bear burst from the wood,\n And seized my younger son;\n Affection lent my weakness wings\n And after them I run.\n\n \u201cBut all forewearied, weak and spent,\n I quickly swooned away;\n And there beneath the greenwood shade\n Long time I lifeless lay.\n\n \u201cAt length the Knight brought me relief,\n And raised me from the ground;\n But neither of my pretty babes\n Could ever more be found.\n\n \u201cAnd, while in search we wandered far,\n We met that Giant grim,\n Who ruthless slew my trusty Knight,\n And bare me off with him.\n\n \u201cBut charmed by Heaven, or else my griefs,\n He offered me no wrong;\n Save that within these lonely walls\n I\u2019ve been immured so long.\u201d\n\n \u201cNow, surely,\u201d said the youthful Knight,\n \u201cYou are Lady Bellisance,\n Wife to the Grecian Emperor;\n Your brother\u2019s King of France.\n\n \u201cFor in your royal brother\u2019s Court\n Myself my breeding had;\n Where oft the story of your woes\n Hath made my bosom sad.\n\n \u201cIf so, know your accuser\u2019s dead,\n And dying owned his crime;\n And long your Lord hath sought you out\n Thro\u2019 every foreign clime.\n\n \u201cAnd when no tidings he could learn\n Of his much-wronged wife,\n He vowed thenceforth within his Court\n To lead a hermit\u2019s life.\u201d\n\n \u201cNow Heaven is kind!\u201d the Lady said;\n And dropt a joyful tear;\n \u201cShall I once more behold my Lord?\n That Lord I love so dear?\u201d\n\n \u201cBut, Madam,\u201d said Sir Valentine,\n And knelt upon his knee;\n \u201cKnow you the cloak that wrapt your babe,\n If you the same should see?\u201d\n\n And pulling forth the cloth of gold\n In which himself was found,\n The Lady gave a sudden shriek,\n And fainted on the ground.\n\n But by his pious care revived,\n His tale she heard anon;\n And soon by other tokens found\n He was indeed her son.\n\n \u201cBut who\u2019s this hairy youth?\u201d she said;\n \u201cHe much resembles thee;\n The bear devoured my younger son,\n Or sure that son were he.\u201d\n\n \u201cMadam, this youth with bears was bred,\n And reared within their den.\n But recollect ye any mark\n To know your son again?\u201d\n\n \u201cUpon his little side,\u201d quoth she,\n \u201cWas stamped a bloody rose.\u201d\n \u201cHere, Lady, see the crimson mark\n Upon his body grows!\u201d\n\n Then clasping both her new-found sons,\n She bathed their cheeks with tears;\n And soon towards her brother\u2019s Court\n Her joyful course she steers.\n\n What pen can paint King Pepin\u2019s joy,\n His sister thus restored!\n And soon a messenger was sent\n To cheer her drooping Lord,\n\n Who came in haste with all his peers,\n To fetch her home to Greece;\n Where many happy years they reigned\n In perfect love and peace.\n\n To them Sir Ursine did succeed,\n And long the sceptre bare.\n Sir Valentine he stayed in France,\n And was his uncle\u2019s heir.\n\n _Attributed in part to Bishop Percy\n (Done into modern spelling)_\n\n\n\n\nO\u2019 PILGRIMAGE AND SOULS SO STRONG\n\n\n\n\nTHE PILGRIM\n\n _What Danger is the Pilgrim in?\n How many are his Foes?\n How many ways there are to Sin,\n No living Mortal knows._\n\n _Some of the Ditch shy are, yet can\n Lie tumbling on the Myre,\n Some, tho\u2019 they shun the Frying-Pan,\n Do leap into the Fire._\n\n _John Bunyan_\n\n\nTHE HEART OF THE BRUCE\n\n\n PART I\n\n The good Lord Douglas paced the deck,\n And oh, his face was wan!\n Unlike the flush it used to wear\n When in the battle-van.--\n\n \u201cCome hither, come hither, my trusty Knight,\n Sir Simon of the Lee;\n There is a freit lies near my soul\n I fain would tell to thee.\n\n \u201cThou know\u2019st the words King Robert spoke\n Upon his dying day:\n How he bade me take his noble Heart\n And carry it far away;\n\n \u201cAnd lay it in the holy soil\n Where once the Saviour trod,\n Since he might not bear the blessed Cross,\n Nor strike one blow for God.\n\n \u201cLast night as in my bed I lay,\n I dreamed a dreary dream:--\n Methought I saw a Pilgrim stand\n In the moonlight\u2019s quivering beam.\n\n \u201cHis robe was of the azure dye,\n Snow-white his scattered hairs,\n And even such a cross he bore\n As good Saint Andrew bears.\n\n \u201c\u2018Why go ye forth, Lord James,\u2019 he said,\n \u2018With spear and belted brand?\n Why do you take its dearest pledge\n From this our Scottish land?\n\n \u201c\u2018The sultry breeze of Galilee\n Creeps through its groves of palm,\n The olives on the Holy Mount\n Stand glittering in the calm.\n\n \u201c\u2018But \u2019tis not there that Scotland\u2019s Heart\n Shall rest by God\u2019s decree,\n Till the great Angel calls the dead\n To rise from earth and sea!\n\n \u201c\u2018Lord James of Douglas, mark my rede!\n That Heart shall pass once more\n In fiery fight against the foe,\n As it was wont of yore.\n\n \u201c\u2018And it shall pass beneath the Cross,\n And save King Robert\u2019s vow;\n But other hands shall bear it back,\n Not, James of Douglas, thou!\u2019\n\n \u201cNow, by thy knightly faith, I pray,\n Sir Simon of the Lee--\n For truer friend had never man\n Than thou hast been to me--\n\n \u201cIf ne\u2019er upon the Holy Land\n \u2019Tis mine in life to tread,\n Bear thou to Scotland\u2019s kindly earth\n The relics of her dead.\u201d\n\n The tear was in Sir Simon\u2019s eye\n As he wrung the warrior\u2019s hand--\n \u201cBetide me weal, betide me woe,\n I\u2019ll hold by thy command.\n\n \u201cBut if in battle-front, Lord James,\n \u2019Tis ours once more to ride,\n Nor force of man, nor craft of fiend,\n Shall cleave me from thy side!\u201d\n\n\n PART II\n\n And aye we sailed and aye we sailed,\n Across the weary sea,\n Until one morn the coast of Spain\n Rose grimly on our lee.\n\n And as we rounded to the port,\n Beneath the watch-tower\u2019s wall,\n We heard the clash of the atabals,\n And the trumpet\u2019s wavering call.\n\n \u201cWhy sounds yon Eastern music here\n So wantonly and long,\n And whose the crowd of armed men\n That round yon standard throng?\u201d\n\n \u201cThe Moors have come from Africa\n To spoil and waste and slay,\n And King Alonzo of Castile\n Must fight with them to-day.\u201d\n\n \u201cNow shame it were,\u201d cried good Lord James,\n \u201cShall never be said of me,\n That I and mine have turned aside\n From the Cross in jeopardie!\n\n \u201cHave down, have down, my merrymen all--\n Have down unto the plain;\n We\u2019ll let the Scottish lion loose\n Within the fields of Spain!\u201d\n\n \u201cNow welcome to me, noble Lord,\n Thou and thy stalwart power;\n Dear is the sight of a Christian Knight,\n Who comes in such an hour!\n\n \u201cIs it for bond or faith you come,\n Or yet for golden fee?\n Or bring ye France\u2019s lilies here,\n Or the flower of Burgundie?\u201d\n\n \u201cGod greet thee well, thou valiant King,\n Thee and thy belted peers--\n Sir James of Douglas am I called,\n And these are Scottish spears.\n\n \u201cWe do not fight for bond or plight,\n Nor yet for golden fee;\n But for the sake of our blessed Lord,\n Who died upon the tree.\n\n \u201cWe bring our great King Robert\u2019s Heart\n Across the weltering wave,\n To lay it in the holy soil\n Hard by the Saviour\u2019s grave.\n\n \u201cTrue Pilgrims we, by land or sea,\n Where danger bars the way;\n And therefore are we here, Lord King,\n To ride with thee this day!\u201d\n\n The King has bent his stately head,\n And the tears were in his eyne--\n \u201cGod\u2019s blessing on thee, noble Knight,\n For this brave thought of thine!\n\n \u201cI know thy name full well, Lord James;\n And honoured may I be,\n That those who fought beside the Bruce\n Should fight this day for me!\n\n \u201cTake thou the leading of the van,\n And charge the Moors amain;\n There is not such a lance as thine\n In all the host of Spain!\u201d\n\n The Douglas turned towards us then,\n Oh, but his glance was high!--\n \u201cThere is not one of all my men\n But is as bold as I.\n\n \u201cThere is not one of all my Knights\n But bears as true a spear--\n Then onwards, Scottish gentlemen,\n And think King Robert\u2019s here!\u201d\n\n\n PART III\n\n The trumpets blew, the cross-bolts flew,\n The arrows flashed like flame,\n As spur in side, and spear in rest,\n Against the foe we came.\n\n And many a bearded Saracen\n Went down, both horse and man;\n For through their ranks we rode like corn,\n So furiously we ran!\n\n But in behind our path they closed,\n Though fain to let us through,\n For they were forty thousand men,\n And we were wondrous few.\n\n We might not see a lance\u2019s length,\n So dense was their array,\n But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade\n Still held them hard at bay.\n\n \u201cMake in! make in!\u201d Lord Douglas cried--\n \u201cMake in, my brethren dear!\n Sir William of Saint Clair is down;\n We may not leave him here!\u201d\n\n But thicker, thicker grew the swarm,\n And sharper shot the rain,\n And the horses reared amid the press,\n But they would not charge again.\n\n \u201cNow Jesu help thee,\u201d said Lord James,\n \u201cThou kind and true Saint Clair!\n An\u2019 if I may not bring thee off,\n I\u2019ll die beside thee there!\u201d\n\n Then in his stirrups up he stood,\n So lionlike and bold,\n And held the precious Heart aloft\n All in its case of gold.\n\n He flung it from him, far ahead,\n And never spake he more,\n But--\u201cPass thee first, thou dauntless Heart,\n As thou wert wont of yore!\u201d\n\n The roar of fight rose fiercer yet,\n And heavier still the stour,\n Till the spears of Spain came shivering in,\n And swept away the Moor.\n\n \u201cNow praised be God, the day is won!\n They fly o\u2019er flood and fell--\n Why dost thou draw the rein so hard,\n Good Knight, that fought so well?\u201d\n\n \u201cOh, ride ye on, Lord King!\u201d he said,\n \u201cAnd leave the dead to me,\n For I must keep the dreariest watch\n That ever I shall dree!\n\n \u201cThere lies, above his master\u2019s Heart,\n The Douglas, stark and grim;\n And woe is me I should be here,\n Not side by side with him!\u201d\n\n The King he lighted from his horse,\n He flung his brand away,\n And took the Douglas by the hand,\n So stately as he lay.\n\n \u201cGod give thee rest, thou valiant soul!\n That fought so well for Spain;\n I\u2019d rather half my land were gone,\n So thou wert here again!\u201d\n\n We bore the good Lord James away,\n And the priceless Heart we bore,\n And heavily we steered our ship\n Towards the Scottish shore.\n\n No welcome greeted our return,\n Nor clang of martial tread,\n But all were dumb and hushed as death\n Before the mighty dead.\n\n We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk,\n The Heart in fair Melrose;\n And woeful men were we that day--\n God grant their souls repose!\n\n _William Edmondstoune Aytoun. (Condensed)_\n\n\nBARCLAY OF URY\n\n Up the streets of Aberdeen,\n By the kirk and college green,\n Rode the Laird of Ury;\n Close behind him, close beside,\n Foul of mouth and evil-eyed,\n Pressed the mob in fury.\n\n Flouted him the drunken churl,\n Jeered at him the serving-girl,\n Prompt to please her master;\n And the begging carlin, late\n Fed and clothed at Ury\u2019s gate,\n Cursed him as he passed her.\n\n Yet, with calm and stately mien,\n Up the streets of Aberdeen\n Came he slowly riding;\n And, to all he saw and heard,\n Answering not with bitter word,\n Turning not for chiding.\n\n Came a troop with broadswords swinging,\n Bits and bridles sharply ringing,\n Loose and free and froward;\n Quoth the foremost, \u201cRide him down!\n Push him! prick him! through the town\n Drive the Quaker coward!\u201d\n\n But from out the thickening crowd\n Cried a sudden voice and loud;\n \u201cBarclay! Ho! a Barclay!\u201d\n And the old man at his side\n Saw a comrade, battle-tried,\n Scarred and sunburned darkly,\n\n Who with ready weapon bare,\n Fronting to the troopers there,\n Cried aloud: \u201cGod save us!\n Call ye coward him who stood\n Ankle deep in L\u00fctzen\u2019s blood,\n With the brave Gustavus?\u201d\n\n \u201cNay, I do not need thy sword,\n Comrade mine,\u201d said Ury\u2019s lord;\n \u201cPut it up, I pray thee:\n Passive to His holy will,\n Trust I in my Master still,\n Even though He slay me.\n\n \u201cPledges of thy love and faith,\n Proved on many a field of death,\n Not by me are needed.\u201d\n Marvelled much that henchman bold,\n That his Laird, so stout of old,\n Now so meekly pleaded.\n\n \u201cWoe\u2019s the day!\u201d he sadly said,\n With a slowly shaking head,\n And a look of pity;\n \u201cUry\u2019s honest lord reviled,\n Mock of knave and sport of child,\n In his own good city!\n\n \u201cSpeak the word, and, master mine,\n As we charged on Tilly\u2019s line,\n And his Walloon lancers,\n Smiting thro\u2019 their midst we\u2019ll teach\n Civil look and decent speech\n To these boyish prancers!\u201d\n\n \u201cMarvel not, mine ancient friend,\n Like beginning, like the end,\u201d\n Quoth the Laird of Ury;\n \u201cIs the sinful servant more\n Than his gracious Lord who bore\n Bonds and stripes in Jewry?\n\n \u201cGive me joy that in His name,\n I can bear, with patient frame,\n All these vain ones offer;\n While for them He suffereth long,\n Shall I answer wrong with wrong,\n Scoffing with the scoffer?\n\n \u201cHappier I, with loss of all,\n Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall,\n With few friends to greet me,\n Than when reeve and squire were seen,\n Riding out from Aberdeen,\n With bared heads to meet me.\n\n \u201cWhen each goodwife, o\u2019er and o\u2019er,\n Blessed me as I passed her door;\n And the snooded daughter,\n Through her casement glancing down,\n Smiled on him who bore renown\n From red fields of slaughter.\n\n \u201cHard to feel the stranger\u2019s scoff,\n Hard the old friend\u2019s falling off,\n Hard to learn forgiving;\n But the Lord His own rewards,\n And His love with theirs accords,\n Warm and fresh and living.\n\n \u201cThrough this dark and stormy night\n Faith beholds a feeble light,\n Up the blackness streaking;\n Knowing God\u2019s own time is best,\n In a patient hope I rest\n For the full day-breaking!\u201d\n\n So the Laird of Ury said,\n Turning slow his horse\u2019s head,\n Towards the Tolbooth prison,\n Where through iron gates he heard\n Poor disciples of the Word\n Preach of Christ arisen!\n\n Not in vain, Confessor old,\n Unto us the tale is told\n Of thy day of trial;\n Every age on him who strays\n From its broad and beaten ways\n Pours its seven-fold vial.\n\n Happy he whose inward ear\n Angel comfortings can hear,\n O\u2019er the rabble\u2019s laughter;\n And while Hatred\u2019s fagots burn,\n Glimpses through the smoke discern\n Of the good hereafter.\n\n Knowing this, that never yet\n Share of Truth was vainly set\n In the world\u2019s wide fallow;\n After hands shall sow the seed,\n After hands from hill and mead\n Reap the harvests yellow.\n\n Thus, with somewhat of the Seer,\n Must the moral pioneer\n From the future borrow;\n Clothe the waste with dreams of grain,\n And, on midnight\u2019s sky of rain,\n Paint the golden morrow!\n\n _John Greenleaf Whittier_\n\n\nTHE TOUCHSTONE\n\n A Man there came, whence none could tell,\n Bearing a Touchstone in his hand,\n And testing all things in the land\n By its unerring spell.\n\n A thousand transformations rose\n From fair to foul, from foul to fair;\n The golden crown he did not spare,\n Nor scorn the beggar\u2019s clothes.\n\n Of heirloom jewels, prized so much,\n Were many changed to chips and clods;\n And even statues of the gods\n Crumbled beneath its touch.\n\n Then angrily the people cried,\n \u201cThe loss outweighs the profit far;\n Our goods suffice us as they are:\n We will not have them tried.\u201d\n\n And, since they could not so avail\n To check his unrelenting quest,\n They seized him, saying, \u201cLet him test\n How real is our jail!\u201d\n\n But though they slew him with the sword,\n And in a fire his Touchstone burned,\n Its doings could not be o\u2019erturned,\n Its undoings restored.\n\n And when to stop all future harm,\n They strewed its ashes on the breeze,\n They little guessed each grain of these,\n Conveyed the perfect charm.\n\n _William Allingham_\n\n\nSIR GALAHAD\n\n(_The Quest of the Holy Grail_)\n\n My good blade carves the casques of men,\n My tough lance thrusteth sure,\n My strength is as the strength of ten,\n Because my heart is pure.\n The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,\n The hard brands shiver on the steel,\n The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly,\n The horse and rider reel;\n They reel, they roll in clanging lists,\n And when the tide of combat stands,\n Perfume and flowers fall in showers,\n That lightly rain from ladies\u2019 hands.\n\n How sweet are looks that ladies bend\n On whom their favours fall!\n For them I battle till the end,\n To save from shame and thrall;\n But all my heart is drawn above,\n My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine,\n I never felt the kiss of love,\n Nor maiden\u2019s hand in mine.\n More bounteous aspects on me beam,\n Me mightier transports move and thrill;\n So keep I fair thro\u2019 faith and prayer,\n A virgin heart in work and will.\n\n When down the stormy crescent goes,\n A light before me swims,\n Between dark stems the forest glows,\n I hear a noise of hymns.\n Then by some secret shrine I ride;\n I hear a voice, but none are there;\n The stalls are void, the doors are wide,\n The tapers burning fair.\n Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,\n The silver vessels sparkle clean,\n The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,\n And solemn chaunts resound between.\n\n Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres\n I find a magic bark.\n I leap on board; no helmsman steers;\n I float till all is dark.\n A gentle sound, an awful light!\n Three Angels bear the Holy Grail;\n With folded feet, in stoles of white,\n On sleeping wings they sail.\n Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!\n My spirit beats her mortal bars,\n As down dark tides, the glory slides,\n And starlike mingles with the stars.\n\n When on my goodly charger borne\n Thro\u2019 dreaming towns I go,\n The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,\n The streets are dumb with snow.\n The tempest crackles on the leads,\n And, ringing, springs from brand and mail\n But o\u2019er the dark a glory spreads,\n And gilds the driving hail.\n I leave the plain, I climb the height;\n No branchy thicket shelter yields;\n But blessed forms in whistling storms\n Fly o\u2019er waste fens and windy fields.\n\n A maiden Knight--to me is given\n Such hope, I know not fear;\n I yearn to breathe the airs of Heaven\n That often meet me here.\n I muse on joy that will not cease,\n Pure spaces clothed in living beams,\n Pure lilies of eternal peace,\n Whose odours haunt my dreams;\n And, stricken by an Angel\u2019s hand,\n This mortal armour that I wear,\n This weight and size, this heart and eyes,\n Are touched, are turned to finest air.\n\n The clouds are broken in the sky,\n And thro\u2019 the mountain-walls\n A rolling organ-harmony\n Swells up and shakes and falls.\n Then move the trees, the copses nod,\n Wings flutter, voices hover clear;\n \u201cO just and faithful Knight of God!\n Ride on! the prize is near.\u201d\n So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;\n By bridge and ford, by park and pale,\n All-armed I ride, whate\u2019er betide,\n Until I find the Holy Grail.\n\n _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_\n\n\nPILGRIMAGE\n\n Give me my Scallop-shell of Quiet,\n My Staff of Faith to walk upon;\n My Scrip of Joy, immortal diet;\n My Bottle of Salvation.\n My Gown of Glory, (Hope\u2019s true Gage)\n And thus I\u2019ll take my Pilgrimage.\n\n Blood must be my Bodie\u2019s only Balmer,\n Whilst my Soul like a quiet Palmer,\n Travelleth towards the Land of Heaven,\n No other Balm will there be given.\n\n Over the Silver Mountains,\n Where spring the Nectar Fountains,\n There will I kiss the Bowl of Bliss,\n And drink mine everlasting fill\n Upon every milken Hill.\n My Soul will be a-dry before,\n But after, it will thirst no more.\n I\u2019ll take them first, to quench my Thirst,\n And taste of Nectar\u2019s Suckets,\n At those clear Wells\n Where Sweetness dwells,\n Drawn up by Saints in crystal buckets.\n\n More peaceful Pilgrims I shall see,\n That have cast off their Rags of Clay,\n And walk apparelled fresh like me,\n And when our Bodies and all we\n Are filled with Immortality,\n Then the blessed Parts we\u2019ll travel,\n Strowed with Rubies thick as Gravel,\n Ceilings of Diamonds, Saphire Flowers,\n High Walls of Coral, and pearly Bowers.\n\n From thence to Heaven\u2019s bribeless Hall,\n Where no corrupted Voices brawl,\n No Cause deferred, no vain spent Journey,\n For there _Christ_ is the King\u2019s Attorney,\n Who pleads for all without Degrees,\n And He hath Angels, but no Fees.\n\n And this is mine eternal Plea,\n To Him that made Heaven, Earth and Sea,\n That since my Flesh must die so soon,\n And want a Head to dine next Noon,\n Just at the Stroke, when my Veins start and spread,\n Set on my Soul an everlasting Head.\n Then am I ready, like a Palmer fit,\n To tread those blest Paths which before I writ.\n\n _Sir Walter Raleigh._ (_Condensed_)\n\n\nTHE ROYAL COURT\n\n In Royal Courts my Soul hath slept,\n On royal meats I\u2019ve fed;\n Royal favour sheltered me,\n My Soul was wellnigh dead.\n\n The royal eye\u2019s now turned away,\n And scorn and dearth are mine;\n False-hearted friends are fled afar,\n My Soul awakes to pine.\n\n \u201cOh! where, my Soul, seek refuge now,\n While mocking foes pursue?\n Oh! whither shall I flee away,\n Thou Soul so full of rue?\u201d\n\n \u201cTurn, turn unto this greenwood shade,\n And rest beneath His Tree,\n With little birds on every bough\n To sing His peace to thee.\n\n \u201cA loyal King doth here abide,\n Here is his Royal Court;\n His carpet green\u2019s enamelled bright\n With flowers of every sort.\n\n \u201cHis subjects, all the wildwood things,\n He feedeth from His hand;\n His messengers are birds and winds,\n His will they understand.\n\n \u201cHis table is bedecked with moss;\n His almoners are bees,\n The berry-vine, the leaping stream,\n And all the fruitful trees.\n\n \u201cHere shalt thou find a Royal Court\n Where flatt\u2019ry holds no sway;\n And gentle is the royal eye,\n Here friendship comes to stay.\n\n \u201cTurn, turn unto the sweet greenwood,\n O happy One! and sing\n Praise with the birds and all good life,\n To Christ who is our King!\u201d\n\n _Modern, anon._\n\n\nTRUE VALOUR\n\n _Who would true Valour see,\n Let him come hither;\n One here will constant be,\n Come Wind, come Weather.\n There\u2019s no_ Discouragement,\n _Shall make him once_ Relent,\n _His first avow\u2019d_ Intent,\n To be a Pilgrim.\n\n _Who so beset him round,\n With dismal_ Storys,\n _Do but themselves confound;\n His Strength the_ more is.\n _No_ Lyon _can him fright,\n He\u2019l with a_ Gyant _Fight,\n But he will have a right_,\n To be a Pilgrim.\n\n Hobgoblin, _nor foul_ Fiend,\n _Can_ daunt _his Spirit:\n He knows, he_ at the end,\n Shall Life Inherit.\n _Then Fancies fly away,\n He\u2019l fear not what men say_,\n He\u2019l _labor Night and Day_,\n To be a Pilgrim.\n\n _John Bunyan (from reprint of first edition)_\n\n\nPEACE\n\n Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell, I humbly crave?\n Let me once know.\n I sought thee in a secret cave,\n And asked if Peace were there.\n A hollow wind did seem to answer, \u201cNo!\n Go seek elsewhere.\u201d\n\n I did; and going did a Rainbow note:\n \u201cSurely,\u201d thought I,\n \u201cThis is the lace of Peace\u2019s coat;\n I will search out the matter.\u201d\n But while I looked the clouds immediately\n Did break and scatter.\n\n Then went I to a garden, and did spy\n A gallant flower,--\n The Crown-Imperial. \u201cSure,\u201d said I,\n \u201cPeace at the root must dwell.\u201d\n But when I digged, I saw a worm devour\n What showed so well.\n\n At length I met a rev\u2019rend, good, old man;\n Whom, when for Peace\n I did demand, he thus began:\n \u201cThere was a Prince of old\n At Salem dwelt, Who lived with good increase\n Of flock and fold.\n\n \u201cHe sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save\n His life from foes.\n But after death, out of His grave\n There sprang twelve stalks of Wheat;\n Which many wondering at got some of those\n To plant and set.\n\n \u201cIt prospered strangely, and did soon disperse\n Through all the Earth;\n For they that taste it do rehearse\n That virtue lies therein,--\n A secret virtue, bringing Peace and Mirth\n By flight of Sin.\n\n \u201cTake of this grain, which in my garden grows,\n And grows for you:\n Make bread of it; and that repose\n And Peace, which ev\u2019ry where\n With so much earnestness you do pursue,\n Is only there.\u201d\n\n _George Herbert_\n\n\nTHE THREE KINGS\n\n Three Kings came riding from far away,\n Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;\n Three Wise Men out of the East were they,\n And they travelled by night and they slept by day,\n For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful Star.\n\n The Star was so beautiful, large, and clear,\n That all the other stars of the sky,\n Became a white mist in the atmosphere,\n And by this they knew that the coming was near\n Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.\n\n Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,\n Three caskets of gold with golden keys;\n Their robes were of crimson silk with rows\n Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,\n Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.\n\n And so the Three Kings rode into the West,\n Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell.\n And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,\n And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,\n With the people they met at some wayside well.\n\n \u201cOf the Child that is born,\u201d said Baltasar,\n \u201cGood people, I pray you, tell us the news;\n For we in the East have seen his Star,\n And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,\n To find and worship the King of the Jews.\u201d\n\n And the people answered, \u201cYou ask in vain;\n We know of no King but Herod the Great!\u201d\n They thought the Wise Men were men insane,\n As they spurred their horses across the plain,\n Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.\n\n And when they came to Jerusalem,\n Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,\n Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;\n And said, \u201cGo down unto Bethlehem,\n And bring me tidings of this new King.\u201d\n\n So they rode away; and the Star stood still,\n The only one in the grey of morn;\n Yes, it stopped--it stood still of its own free will,\n Right over Bethlehem on the hill,\n The City of David, where Christ was born.\n\n And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,\n Through the silent street, till their horses turned\n And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;\n But the windows were closed and the doors were barred,\n And only a light in the stable burned.\n\n And cradled there in the scented hay,\n In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,\n The little Child in the manger lay,\n The Child, that would be King one day\n Of a Kingdom not human but divine.\n\n His mother Mary of Nazareth\n Sat watching beside his place of rest,\n Watching the even flow of his breath,\n For the joy of life and the terror of death\n Were mingled together in her breast.\n\n They laid their offerings at his feet:\n The gold was their tribute to a King,\n The frankincense, with its odour sweet,\n Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,\n The myrrh for the body\u2019s burying.\n\n And the mother wondered and bowed her head,\n And sat as still as a statue of stone;\n Her heart was troubled yet comforted,\n Remembering what the Angel had said\n Of an endless reign and of David\u2019s throne.\n\n Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,\n With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;\n But they went not back to Herod the Great,\n For they knew his malice and feared his hate,\n And returned to their homes by another way.\n\n _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\n\n\nSUGGESTIONS\n\nFOR TEACHERS AND LEADERS OF POETRY HOURS\n\n _Primitive ballads have a straightforward felicity; many of them\n a conjuring melody as befits verse and music born together. Their\n gold is virgin, from the rock strata, and none the better for\n refining and burnishing. No language is richer in them than the\n English._\n\n EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN\n\n _The old song of Chevy-Chase is the favourite ballad of the Common\n People of England; and Ben Jonson used to say, he had rather have\n been the author of it than of all his works.... For my own part, I\n am so professed an admirer of this antiquated song, that I shall\n give my reader a critic upon it._\n\n JOSEPH ADDISON\n\n\nBallads are living organisms.[1] If a teacher requires a pupil\nto analyze minutely a ballad according to rules of prosody and\nliterary criticism, the analysis ruthlessly destroys its spontaneous\nfolk-spirit. To dissect a ballad is literary slaughter.\n\nWe all know how the cold-blooded analysis of choice masterpieces\ndestroys forever a pupil\u2019s pleasure in reading them. The teacher of\nballad-literature should use the opposite method to that of literary\ncriticism. She should make her pupil delight in a ballad for its\nown sake; for its unity, its swinging rhythm, its unself-conscious\nexpressions of emotion, and for the human life within it.\n\nA ballad treated in this sympathetic manner will become a thrilling\nmemory for the pupil to carry through the years. A ballad presented\nthus has educational values besides that of giving joy. It may be\nused to develop the pupil\u2019s sense of time and rhythm; to enlarge his\nvocabulary; to teach him to express his thoughts without affectation;\nto give him ease in sight-reading of Scottish dialect and old English\nspelling and to accustom him to obsolete words. As a memory exercise\nfor the pupil, the learning and recitation of ballads is unrivaled;\nbecause young people memorize them without effort. And furthermore,\nballads have dramatic qualities that hold and move a mixed audience\nof boys and girls of all ages--and of grown folk, too, for that\nmatter.\n\nBut perhaps the most important educational function of ballad-literature\nis that of being a safety-valve for the escape of new, fast-rising\nfeelings and enthusiasms of growing boys and girls, feelings that\nthrong and press for utterance. Young people do not know how to put\nthem into their own words, but find a wholesome and satisfying means\nof expressing their emotions through learning and reciting ballads or\nby reading them aloud.\n\n\nTHE BALLADS IN THIS BOOK\n\nThere are many versions of old ballads, of some as many as twenty or\nmore; those most suitable for young people are given here.\n\nThere are included here ballads in Scottish dialect, and in old\nEnglish wording with obsolete spelling and capitalization. These\nversions may be used with confidence by the teacher, because no pains\nhave been spared in collating them by authoritative texts.[2]\n\nEven such differing forms as _o\u2019_ or _o_; _wi\u2019_ or _wi_; _e\u2019e_\nor _ee_; _then_ for _than_ or _than_ for _then_; and variations\nof proper names, as in \u201cProud Lady Margaret,\u201d have been followed\naccording to the text used.\n\nQuotation marks, only, have been added for the convenience of the\nyoung folk. A few objectionable, but unimportant, words have been\nchanged. In the version of \u201cChevy-Chase,\u201d Bishop Percy\u2019s _Folio\nManuscript_ has been followed with a few emendations from his\n_Reliques_, including the capitalization of the first letter of\neach line. The _Folio Manuscript_ is more authoritative than the\n_Reliques_.\n\nSome of the ballads and verses which follow the old forms given\nby collectors are: \u201cThe Stormy Winds Do Blow,\u201d p. 2; \u201cSir Patrick\nSpens,\u201d p. 3; \u201cThe D\u00e6mon Lover,\u201d p. 7; \u201cChevy-Chase,\u201d p. 21; \u201cProud\nLady Margaret,\u201d p. 62; \u201cThe Famous Flower of Serving-Men,\u201d p. 65;\n\u201cThe Young Tamlane,\u201d p. 255; \u201cThomas the Rhymer,\u201d p. 93; \u201cThe Wee Wee\nMan,\u201d p. 114; \u201cThe Earl of Mar\u2019s Daughter,\u201d p. 115; \u201cKemp Owyne,\u201d p.\n122; \u201cFair Anny of Roch-royal,\u201d p. 191; \u201cThe Cruel Sister,\u201d p. 196;\n\u201cBlancheflour and Jellyflorice,\u201d p. 209; \u201cThe Gay Goss-Hawk,\u201d p. 218;\n\u201cBonny Baby Livingston,\u201d p. 224; \u201cYoung Beichan and Susie Pye,\u201d p.\n237; \u201cThe Wife of Usher\u2019s Well,\u201d p. 263; \u201cSir Roland,\u201d p. 265; the\nRobin Hood ballads, p. 290 ff.; \u201cTrue Valour,\u201d p. 355; \u201cPilgrimage,\u201d\np. 351; \u201cPeace,\u201d p. 356.\n\nIn striking and pleasing contrast to the old ballads are the modern\nones with capitalization to please modern children. It may be\nnoted that the texts of Keats\u2019s \u201cLa Belle Dame,\u201d and Campbell\u2019s\n\u201cEarl March,\u201d are different from the versions usually included in\nchildren\u2019s ballad-books. The texts followed here are those most\nlately approved by literary critics.\n\n\nPROGRAMME\n\nFOR A YEAR OF BALLAD-READING AND STUDY\n\nONE PERIOD A WEEK FOR FORTY WEEKS\n\nWays in which ballads may be used in the classroom or during Poetry\nHours:\n\n1. _Reading aloud for development of literary taste._ This is the\nmost important educational use of ballads. The teacher should read\nthem aloud to the class, giving them all their native swing and quick\npulsation. The minstrels, who composed them, often accented words to\nsuit the length of their lines; so if the reader will lend her voice\nto the rhythm of the verse, the accents will fall where they belong.\nSuch words as _country_, _harper_, _singer_, _damsel_, _lady_, and\n_battle_ should sometimes be accented on the last syllable, as\n_countr\u00fd_, _sing\u00e9r_, _harp\u00e9r_, _lad\u00fd_.\n\n2. _Memorizing and reciting._ Boys and girls enjoy learning ballads\nby heart. They do so with astonishing ease. The teacher may assign\none ballad to the whole class; or she may divide the class into\nsections and assign a ballad to each section. This should be done\nat least two or three weeks before the period for recitation. The\nteacher may then call on one or more of the pupils to recite.\n\n3. _Story-telling from the ballads._ The teacher may read aloud a\nballad. She should read it two or three times to the class. Then the\npupils may retell it in story form either orally or in writing.\n\n4. _Dramatization._ Ballads are so dramatic and simple in their\nmovement that they may be easily acted in the schoolroom with or\nwithout improvised scenery and costumes. The teacher or pupil may\nread aloud the ballad, while some of the boys and girls act it out\nin dumb show; or, better yet, the actors may recite the lines that\nbelong to their parts, and the teacher may read aloud the descriptive\nparts only. Whenever a refrain occurs, as in \u201cThe Stormy Winds Do\nBlow,\u201d the whole class may join in reciting it.\n\n5. _Writing from memory._ The teacher may assign a ballad to the\nclass to learn by heart; and then she may have the class write it out\nfrom memory following closely the spelling, punctuation, and dialect\nof the text.\n\n6. _Original ballad-writing._ Young people are natural ballad-makers.\nAt the end of the year, after memorizing and reciting ballads and\nlistening to them read aloud, the pupils will be so saturated with\nballad-spirit and meter, that ballad-writing will be a second nature.\nThe teacher may then tell, very briefly but interestingly, the\nplot of a ballad, and let the pupils put it into original verses,\ngiving them a week or two in which to do so. After this exercise the\nteacher may assign a local legend or story for practice in original\nballad-writing.\n\nThe Programme that is given here is merely suggestive. All the\nballads in the book are good to read aloud, and most of them may be\ndramatized or memorized. The course presented below shows a teacher\nhow she may, by progressive steps, develop her pupils\u2019 taste for\nballad-literature, and prepare them to appreciate more mature forms\nof narrative poetry, such as metrical romances and epics.\n\n\nCOURSE FOR FORTY WEEKS--ONE PERIOD A WEEK\n\n _1st Week. Reading aloud:_ The Laidley Worm O\u2019 Spindleston-Heughs,\n p. 148.\n\n _2d Week. Reading aloud:_ Little Billee, p. 159; Brian O\u2019Linn, p.\n 160; Dicky of Ballyman, p. 162; The Cinder King, p. 167.\n\n _3d Week. Dramatization:_ The Stormy Winds Do Blow, p. 2; The Noble\n Riddle, p. 208; \u201cEarl March looked on his dying child,\u201d p. 203.\n\n _4th Week. Reading aloud:_ The Lady of Shalott, p. 124; The Singing\n Leaves, p. 131.\n\n _5th Week. Dramatization:_ Kemp Owyne, p. 122; The Erl-King, p. 86.\n\n _6th Week. Reading aloud:_ Robin Hood and Little John, p. 291;\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, p. 297.\n\n _7th Week. Dramatization:_ Ballad of the Oysterman, p. 164; Earl\n Haldan\u2019s Daughter, p. 58; The Greeting of Kynast, p. 74; A Tragic\n Story, p. 158.\n\n _8th Week. Reading aloud (Halloween Week):_ The Spell, p. 254; Sir\n Roland, p. 265; The Cruel Sister, p. 196; The Skeleton in Armour,\n p. 270.\n\n _9th Week. Dramatization:_ Glenara, p. 212; The D\u00e6mon Lover, p. 7.\n\n _10th Week. Reading aloud:_ King Alfred and the Shepherd, p. 176.\n\n _11th Week. Story-telling from the Ballads:_ Young Beichan and\n Susie Pye, p. 237.\n\n _12th Week. Reading aloud:_ The Fairy Thorn, p. 87; The Kelpie of\n Corrievreckan, p. 97.\n\n _13th Week. Memorizing and reciting:_ True Valour, p. 355; The\n Touchstone, p. 347; Barclay of Ury, p. 341; Pilgrimage, p. 351.\n\n _14th Week. Reading aloud:_ The Heart of the Bruce, p. 333.\n\n _15th Week. Memorizing and reciting (for Christmas):_ The Royal\n Court, p. 353; Peace, p. 356; The Three Kings, p. 357.\n\n _16th Week. Reading aloud:_ Lady Clare, p. 59; Sir Galahad, p. 348.\n\n\n _17th Week. Story-telling from the Ballads:_ The Earl of Mar\u2019s\n Daughter, p. 115.\n\n _18th Week. Reading aloud:_ Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, p. 32.\n\n _19th Week. Dramatization:_ The Gay Goss-Hawk, p. 218; Thomas the\n Rhymer, p. 93.\n\n _20th Week. Reading aloud:_ Young Tamlane, p. 255.\n\n _21st Week. Memorizing and reciting:_ Lord Lovel, p. 204; The\n Beggar-Maid, p. 214; The Sands of Dee, p. 190; Lochinvar, p. 215.\n\n _22d Week. Reading aloud:_ Fair Anny of Roch-royal, p. 191; Bonny\n Baby Livingston, p. 224.\n\n _23d Week. Story-telling from the Ballads:_ Blancheflour and\n Jellyflorice, p. 209.\n\n _24th Week. Reading aloud:_ The Child of Elle, p. 244.\n\n _25th Week. Writing from memory:_ The Birth o\u2019 Robin Hood, p. 290;\n The Wee Wee Man, p. 114.\n\n _26th Week. Reading aloud:_ More Modern Ballad of Chevy-Chase, p.\n 21.\n\n _27th Week. Story-telling from the Ballads:_ Cochrane\u2019s Bonny\n Grizzy, p. 70; The Frolicksome Duke, p. 169.\n\n _28th Week. Reading aloud:_ May of the Moril Glen, p. 138.\n\n _29th Week. Writing from memory:_ The Wife of Usher\u2019s Well, p. 263.\n\n _30th Week. Reading aloud:_ Sir Patrick Spens, p. 3; Hynd Horn, p.\n 231.\n\n _31st Week. Writing from memory:_ Proud Lady Margaret, p. 62.\n\n _32d Week. Reading aloud:_ Song of the Outlaw Murray, p. 301.\n\n _33d Week. Original ballad-writing:_ Barbara Allen\u2019s Cruelty, p.\n 201; Alice Brand, p. 81; The Famous Flower of Serving-Men, p. 65.\n\n _34th Week. Reading aloud:_ The Eve of St. John, p. 279.\n\n _35th Week. Memorizing and reciting:_ The Fairy Tempter, p. 80; The\n Luck of Edenhall, p. 135; La Belle Dame sans Merci, p. 91.\n\n _36th Week. Reading aloud:_ The Mermaid, p. 10.\n\n _37th Week. Original ballad-writing:_ King James the First and the\n Tinkler, p. 173; Valentine and Ursine, p. 314; Belted Will, p. 47.\n\n _38th Week. Reading aloud:_ Kilmeny, p. 101.\n\n _39th Week. Original ballad-writing:_ The teacher may assign\n a subject for this--a local legend or story of a patriotic or\n historical event.\n\n _40th Week. Entertainment for Parents and Friends of Pupils:_ The\n ballad-course may close with an afternoon or evening entertainment.\n This may be made delightful. All the pupils should take part in the\n exercises.\n\nMany of the old ballads are set to charming ancient tunes, and may be\nsung by the whole school. Banjo or guitar accompaniment is specially\nappropriate to ballad airs. Musical scores for some of the ballads in\nthis book--\u201cThe Cruel Sister\u201d (\u201cThe Twa Sisters\u201d), \u201cHynd Horn,\u201d \u201cSir\nPatrick Spens,\u201d \u201cYoung Beichan,\u201d \u201cProud Lady Margaret,\u201d \u201cThe Famous\nFlower of Serving-Men,\u201d and \u201cLord Lovel\u201d--may be found in Professor\nChild\u2019s _English and Scottish Popular Ballads_, large edition, part\n10. If the music of old ballads is not obtainable, then popular,\nwell-known ballads, such as \u201cAnnie Laurie,\u201d \u201cBen Bolt,\u201d and \u201cLoch\nLomond,\u201d may be sung in their stead.\n\nThe following outline for an entertainment may be varied to suit the\nabilities and interests of the boys and girls who are to take part:\n\n\nPROGRAMME FOR AN ENTERTAINMENT\n\n One or more ballads sung by the pupils.\n Recitation.\n Dramatization.\n Ballad-reading.\n A ballad solo.\n Recitation.\n Reading of the best original ballad composed by a pupil.\n Dramatization.\n Recitation.\n Close: the audience and pupils may sing one or more popular,\n well-known American ballads, such as may be found in any good\n song-collection.\n\nIn making up her Programme, the teacher should avoid selecting very\nlong ballads for memorization and recitation. It is best to let\nthe pupils who are to recite, choose the ballads they like best.\nShe should be careful to balance her Programme with verses of all\nkinds--grave and gay, sad and weird, romantic and historical. She\nshould so artistically compose her Programme that it will play on the\nemotions of her audience, moving it from laughter to tears, from awe\nto the heroic. That is what ballads are for, to touch the heart, as\nwell as the head.\n\n\nFOR LIBRARIANS AND SOCIAL WORKERS\n\nThis entire course, as outlined for forty weeks, may be followed\nby Librarians and Social Workers. They may, however, shorten the\nProgramme or alter it to suit the occasion.\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY AND INDEXES\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY\n\n\n=A\u2019=, all\n\n=Aboon=, above\n\n=Abune=, above\n\n=Acton=, stuffed leather jacket worn under coat-of-mail\n\n=Ae=, one, single, sole, mere\n\n=Aff=, off, oft\n\n=Aften=, often\n\n=Aiblins=, perhaps\n\n=Aik=, oak\n\n=Ain=, own\n\n=Airn=, iron\n\n=Alake=, alas!\n\n=Alane=, alone\n\n=Amang=, among\n\n=An=, and\n\n=Ance=, once\n\n=Ane=, one\n\n=Ankers=, anchors\n\n=Anse=, once\n\n=Ask=, newt, lizard\n\n=Atabal=, Moorish kettledrum\n\n=Attour=, above\n\n=Auld=, old\n\n=Awa\u2019= _or_ =awa=, away\n\n=Awn=, own\n\n=Ayme=, aim\n\n\n=Bairn= _or_ =bairnie=, child\n\n=Baith=, both\n\n=Bale=, fire, faggot\n\n=Ban=, band\n\n=Bane=, bone\n\n=Bartizan=, a small overhanging turret jutting out from the top of\n a tower\n\n=Bash=, beat, smash in\n\n=Beacon=, a fire lighted on a height as a danger signal to call\n together warriors to repel the enemy\n\n=Bedeen=, immediately, forthwith; often used as an expletive, or as\n a rhyme-word at the end of a line\n\n=Belay=, lie in the way for\n\n=Beltan= _or_ =Beltane=, a Celtic pagan festival celebrated on May\n Day or May 3d, by lighting bonfires on hilltops\n\n=Bent=, coarse grass, open field, sandy knoll covered with coarse\n grass, the hollow of a hill\n\n=Berserk=, ancient Norse warrior who raged with fury in battle\n\n=Bigged=, built\n\n=Bigly=, pleasant to live in, spacious\n\n=Billie=, comrade, brother\n\n=Birk=, birch\n\n=Birkie=, lively\n\n=Birling=, drinking\n\n=Bla=, blow\n\n=Black Rood Stone=, The Black Rood of Melrose, a crucifix of\n supposedly great sanctity\n\n=Blee=, colour, complexion\n\n=Blew=, blue\n\n=Blin=, cease, stop\n\n=Blude=, blood\n\n=Borrow=, set free, deliver, ransom\n\n=Boud=, behoved, was obliged\n\n=Bouir=, bower\n\n=Boun\u2019=, bound, bound home\n\n=Bour=, bower\n\n=Bout=, bolt\n\n=Bower= _or_ =bowir=, lady\u2019s chamber, a house, a rustic cottage\n\n=Bra\u2019=, fine, handsome, brave\n\n=Brae=, down, a slope of a hill\n\n=Braid=, broad. \u201cA braid letter\u201d; a letter on a broad sheet, or a\n long letter\n\n=Brak=, broke\n\n=Brake=, thicket, a place overgrown with ferns, shrubs, and brambles\n\n=Brash=, sickness\n\n=Brast=, burst\n\n=Brattle=, race, hurry\n\n=Braw=, comely, handsome, well-dressed\n\n=Bree=, brows, eyebrows\n\n=Brode=, breed\n\n=Broom=, the Genista, a shrub with bright golden flowers\n\n=Bughts=, pens\n\n=Burd alone=, by himself, solitary\n\n=Burn=, brook\n\n=Busked=, dressed, adorned\n\n=But and=, and also\n\n=Bygane=, gone by\n\n=Byre=, cow-house\n\n\n=Cade lamb=, lamb brought up by hand, pet lamb\n\n=Callant=, lad\n\n=Cam\u2019= _or_ =cam=, came\n\n=Capapie=, cap-\u00e0-pi\u00e9, from head to foot. Armed cap-\u00e0-pi\u00e9, armed\n from head to foot\n\n=Carl= _or_ =carle=, churl\n\n=Carline=, old woman, peasant woman\n\n=Carlish=, churlish, uncivilized\n\n=Carp=, tell tales, sing or chant ballads\n\n=Castle-yate=, castle-gate\n\n=Caul= _or_ =cauld=, cold\n\n=Channerin\u2019=, fretting\n\n=Chaps=, jaw, chops\n\n=Cheik=, cheek\n\n=Child= _or_ =childe=, a youth of gentle birth\n\n=Christentie=, Christendom\n\n=Claith=, cloth\n\n=Claymore=, large sword\n\n=Cleedin=, clothing\n\n=Clour=, bump on the head from a heavy blow\n\n=Clouted=, heavy and patched\n\n=Clouted cream=, clotted cream\n\n=Cloutie=, patched, ragged\n\n=Coft=, bought\n\n=Cold=, could\n\n=Contrair=, contrary, opposed\n\n=Corbie=, raven\n\n=Cosh=, quiet\n\n=Coud=, could\n\n=Couldna=, could not\n\n=Couthy=, friendly, kind, loving\n\n=Cow-me-doo=, Coo-my-dove, loving name for a dove\n\n=Craig=, neck, throat\n\n=Craw=, crow\n\n=Crawed=, crowed\n\n=Cum=, come, came\n\n=Cumbruk=, cambric\n\n=Cushat=, ring-dove, wood-pigeon\n\n\n=Dae=, doe\n\n=Dantonit=, daunted\n\n=Daunton=, daunt, subdue\n\n=Daw=, dawn\n\n=Dean= _or_ =den=, dell, narrow glen\n\n=Death-thraw=, death-struggle\n\n=Dee=, do, die\n\n=Degree=, rank. \u201cServed him in his own degree,\u201d offered him respect\n according to his rank\n\n=Deil=, Devil\n\n=Dinna=, do not\n\n=Dochter=, daughter\n\n=Doo=, dove\n\n=Dought=, should be able tot can\n\n=Doun=, down\n\n=Dour= _or_ =doure=, hard, severe, savage\n\n=Dove=, word of endearment for one pure and gentle\n\n=Downa=, cannot\n\n=Drap=, drop\n\n=Drapp\u2019d=, dropped\n\n=Dree=, be able, stand. \u201cAs fast as he might dree,\u201d as fast as he\n could, undergo, suffer\n\n=Drumlie=, gloomy\n\n=Duddis=, poor clothes, tatters, duds\n\n=Dule=, grief\n\n=Dun=, dark coloured, of a dull brown colour\n\n=Dune=, done\n\n\n=Eccho=, echo\n\n=Eche=, each\n\n=E\u2019e= _or_ =ee=, eye\n\n=Effeir=, pomp, circumstance, bearing, garb, panoply\n\n=Eident=, unrestingly\n\n=Eildon=, a high hill with three-pointed summit, overlooking\n Melrose town. Eildon Tree, the spot where Thomas the Rhymer is\n supposed to have uttered his prophecies\n\n=Eiry=, eery, weird, dreary, gloomy, fear-inspiring\n\n=Eldern=, old\n\n=Elritch=, elvish\n\n=Elyed=, vanished\n\n=Eneuch=, enough\n\n=Enoo=, enough\n\n=Ere=, ever\n\n=Erle=, earl\n\n=Erlish=, elvish\n\n=Erst=, first, formerly\n\n=Even cloth=, smooth cloth, with nap well shorn\n\n=Eve of St. John=, Midsummer Day, June 24\n\n=Eyne=, eyes\n\n\n=Fa\u2019= _or_ =fa=, fall, befall\n\n=Faem= _or_ =faeme=, foam\n\n=Fairing=, gift, present given at a fair\n\n=Fallow deer=, small European deer, of a fallow, or pale yellow\n colour\n\n=Fand=, found\n\n=Fa\u2019se=, false\n\n=Fashes=, troubles\n\n=Faulds=, folds\n\n=Faured=, favoured\n\n=Fause=, false\n\n=Feckless=, weak, feeble, silly\n\n=Fee=, wealth\n\n=Feircly=, fiercely\n\n=Fell=, sharply, severely, keen, eager\n\n=Fere=, mate, consort, companion\n\n=Ferlie=, marvel, wonder\n\n=Fidge=, fidget\n\n=Flang=, flung about, skipped\n\n=Flatter=, float\n\n=Flee=, flay\n\n=Flude=, flood\n\n=Forbode=, \u201cOver God\u2019s forbode\u201d; God forbid!\n\n=Forfaulted=, forfeited\n\n=Forgather=, meet\n\n=Forhooyed=, forsook\n\n=Fornenst=, opposite to\n\n=Fou=, full\n\n=Frae=, from\n\n=Freit=, a good or bad omen\n\n=Frith=, wood, enclosed land\n\n=Fu\u2019= _or_ =fu=, very, full, very much, fully\n\n\n=Gad=, bar\n\n=Gae=, go\n\n=Galliard=, an old-time brisk dance\n\n=Gane=, suffice, gone\n\n=Gang=, go\n\n=Gar=, make, cause, do\n\n=Garr\u2019d=, made, caused\n\n=Gear=, possessions, property, cattle\n\n=Geck=, mock\n\n=Gerfalcon=, large falcon of the Northlands\n\n=Gi\u2019d=, went\n\n=Gie=, give\n\n=Gien=, given\n\n=Gif=, if\n\n=Gillore=, gallore, in plenty\n\n=Gimp=, jimp, slender\n\n=Gin=, if, suppose, granted it be so, whether\n\n=Glaive=, sword\n\n=Gleg=, spry, quick\n\n=Gleid=, spark\n\n=Gloamin=, twilight\n\n=Good b\u2019w\u2019 ye=, good be with ye, good-bye, derived from the phrase\n \u201cGod be with you,\u201d or \u201cwith ye\u201d\n\n=Gos-hawk= _or_ =goss-hawk=, large hawk\n\n=Goud=, gold\n\n=Gouden=, golden\n\n=Goun=, gown\n\n=Goups=, handfuls\n\n=Goved=, stared\n\n=Gowan=, daisy\n\n=Gowd=, gold\n\n=Gowdn=, golden\n\n=Graith=, make ready\n\n=Grange=, farmhouse with outer buildings\n\n=Gratte=, wept, cried\n\n=Greet=, weep\n\n=Grew hound=, greyhound, grey\n\n=Grewis=, greyhounds\n\n=Groat=, old English silver coin worth fourpence issued from\n 1351-1662\n\n=Gude=, good\n\n=Gudely=, goodly\n\n=Guid=, good\n\n=Guise=, manner, behaviour\n\n=Gurly=, grim, growling, surly\n\n=Gyant=, giant\n\n\n=Ha\u2019= _or_ =ha=, hall\n\n=Had=, hold\n\n=Hadna= _or_ =hadnae=, had not\n\n=Hae=, have\n\n=Haggis=, Scotch dish made of a sheep\u2019s maw filled with minced\n meat, onions, and other ingredients mixed and cooked with oatmeal\n\n=Hail=, whole\n\n=Half-fou=, two pecks, half a bushel\n\n=Haly=, holy\n\n=Hame=, home\n\n=Han=, hand\n\n=Hap=, chance, fortune\n\n=Happed=, covered, wrapped\n\n=Haud=, hold, keep\n\n=Hauld=, hold\n\n=Hay=, \u201cWent forth to view the hay,\u201d went to see how the hay was\n coming on\n\n=Heely=, slowly, gently\n\n=Her lane=, by herself\n\n=Heugh=, steep hill, glen with overhanging sides\n\n=Hie=, haste, high\n\n=Hindberrye=, wild raspberry\n\n=Hing=, hang\n\n=Hingers=, hangers\n\n=Hinny= _or_ =hinnie=, honey\n\n=His lane=, by himself\n\n=Holland= _or_ =hollin=, coarse linen, unbleached or dyed brown\n\n=Holt=, piece of woodland, a woody hill\n\n=Holy Grail=, the holy cup, used by the Lord Christ at the Last\n Supper, was called in medieval romances, \u201cThe Holy Grail\u201d\n\n=Houf=, haunt\n\n=Hoysed=, hoisted\n\n=Hurden=, coarse linen or hempen fabric\n\n=Hye= _or_ =hie=, haste\n\n=Hynd=, =Hynde=, _or_ =Hind=, young, courteous, gracious, gentle\n\n=Hypp=, fruit of the dog-rose\n\n\n=I\u2019= _or_ =i=, in\n\n=Ilk= _or_ =ilka=, every, each\n\n=Intill=, into, in\n\n=Its lane=, by itself\n\n\n=Jaw=, wave\n\n=Jawes=, surges\n\n=Jet=, strut\n\n=Jimp=, slender, slim\n\n=Jimply=, barely, scarcely, hardly, narrowly\n\n=Joup=, petticoat\n\n\n=Kaim=, comb\n\n=Kaimin=, combing\n\n=Kane=, tribute\n\n=Kell=, a cap of network for a woman\u2019s hair\n\n=Kemb=, comb\n\n=Kemed=, combed\n\n=Ken=, know\n\n=Kendna=, did not know\n\n=Kenned= _or_ =kend=, knew\n\n=Kep=, catch, stop\n\n=Keppit=, caught\n\n=Kirk=, church\n\n=Kittle=, difficult to manage, risky, ticklish\n\n=Knaw=, know\n\n=Kynast=, castle in Northern Germany\n\n=Kythe=, appear\n\n\n=Laddie=, diminutive of lad\n\n=Laidley=, loathly, loathsome\n\n=Laird=, squire, lord of the manor, owner of lands\n\n=Laith=, loath\n\n=Lan=, land\n\n=Lane=, lone\n\n=Lanely=, lonely\n\n=Lang=, long\n\n=Lap=, sprang, leaped\n\n=Lappered=, clotted\n\n=Lat=, let\n\n=Laverock=, lark\n\n=Lax=, relief\n\n=Lease=, lease (of bucks), three bucks\n\n=Leme=, gleam\n\n=Lend=, grant, give\n\n=Lettn=, let\n\n=Leven=, lawn, glade, open ground in the forest\n\n=Leveret=, hare\n\n=Liffe=, life\n\n=Lift=, air, sky\n\n=Liften=, lifted\n\n=Lighters=, horse-blinders or blinkers\n\n=Liken=, make like\n\n=Lish=, lithe, supple, agile\n\n=Lither=, lazy, idle, worthless, wicked\n\n=Littand=, staining, defiling\n\n=Live-lang=, live-long\n\n=Lo\u2019ed=, loved\n\n=Lood=, loved\n\n=Loof=, palm of the hand\n\n=Loon=, fellow, rogue\n\n=Loot=, let, allowed\n\n=Lout=, bend, bow, lean\n\n=Lowed=, glowed\n\n=Lown=, calm, serene, silent, quiet\n\n=Lug=, ear\n\n=Luve=, love\n\n=Lyart=, grey, hoary\n\n=Lydder=, lazy, idle, loathsome\n\n=Lyon\u2019s moods=, this possibly means like the mood or pluck of\n lions; authorities differ as to readings\n\n=Lyth=, member, joint\n\n\n=Mae=, more\n\n=Maik= _or_ =maike=, mate\n\n=Mair=, more\n\n=Make=, mate, consort\n\n=March= _or_ =Marches=, border-frontier, the boundary between\n England and Scotland. Warden of the March, governor of the Scotch\n Border\n\n=Marrow=, mate, wife, husband\n\n=Martinmas=, mass or feast of St. Martin, November 11\n\n=Maun=, must\n\n=Maunna=, must not\n\n=Mavis=, thrush\n\n=May=, maid\n\n=Meet=, scant, close\n\n=Meikle=, much, great\n\n=Merl= _or_ =merle=, blackbird\n\n=Merk= _or_ =mark=, about 13s. 4d. in the English money of the time\n\n=Mess=, mass\n\n=Mickle=, much, great\n\n=Middle=, waist\n\n=Midsummer Day=, June 24\n\n=Minny= _or_ =minnie=, mother\n\n=Mirk=, dark\n\n=Mither=, mother\n\n=Monmouth Cap=, flat round cap formerly worn by English soldiers\n and sailors. Shakespeare mentions it in _Henry V_\n\n=Mony= _or_ =monie=, many, money\n\n=Mote=, may\n\n=Mountain-mere=, mountain-lake\n\n=Muir=, moor\n\n\n=Na=, no, not\n\n=Nae=, no\n\n=Naething=, nothing\n\n=Nane=, none\n\n=Nappy=, heady, strong\n\n=Neer=, never, ne\u2019er\n\n=Neest=, nearest, next\n\n=Neir=, never, ne\u2019er\n\n=Neist=, next\n\n=Nicht=, night\n\n=Nowt=, neat cattle\n\n=Nurice= _or_ =nourice=, nurse\n\n\n=O\u2019= _or_ =o=, of\n\n=O\u2019erword=, refrain, call, cry\n\n=Ony=, any\n\n=Ower=, over\n\n=Owre=, before, over\n\n\n=Palfray=, small saddle-horse for ladies, palfrey\n\n=Pall=, cloak, mantle\n\n=Palmer=, Pilgrim returned from Holy Land bearing, as a badge, a\n branch of palm\n\n=Paughty=, haughty\n\n=Philabeg=, highland kilt\n\n=Pibroch=, a Highland dirge or martial air, a kind of wild,\n irregular music, performed on the bagpipe\n\n=Pickle=, choice\n\n=Pin=, an implement for raising the latch of a door, _see_ tirled\n\n=Pine=, suffering, pain\n\n=Plait=, fold, plate\n\n=Plate-jack=, coat-armour\n\n=Pock-puddings=, bag-puddings\n\n=Prie=, attain\n\n=Prieven=, attained\n\n=Prin=, pin\n\n=Pu\u2019= _or_ =pu=, pull\n\n=Pu\u2019d=, pulled\n\n=Putten=, put\n\n\n=Quarry=, slaughtered game\n\n=Quean=, saucy girl or young woman\n\n\n=Rad=, afraid\n\n=Rade=, rode\n\n=Rae=, roe\n\n=Raike=, range\n\n=Rail=, woman\u2019s jacket\n\n=Ravin=, violent\n\n=Raw=, row\n\n=Ray=, array\n\n=Reavers=, robbers\n\n=Reaving=, thieving, robbing\n\n=Rede=, counsel\n\n=Reek=, smoke\n\n=Reifed=, stolen, plundered\n\n=Reifery=, robbery, plundering\n\n=Rife=, abounding\n\n=Rins=, runs\n\n=Rock=, distaff used in spinning\n\n=Rode= _or_ =Rood=, Holy Cross, crucifix, _see also_ Black Rood of\n Melrose\n\n=Roul=, roll\n\n=Roun\u2019= _or_ =roun=, round, around about\n\n=Rowan Tree=, mountain ash, which is also called the Fairies\u2019 tree\n because Witches and Evil Spirits are said to fear it\n\n=Rowed=, rolled, wound\n\n=Rowt=, roar\n\n\n=St. John\u2019s Eve=, Midsummer Day, June 24\n\n=Sae=, so\n\n=Saft=, soft, softly\n\n=Saikless=, innocent\n\n=Sained=, crossed, blessed, hallowed\n\n=Sair=, sore, painful, very much\n\n=Sail=, shall\n\n=Satten=, satin\n\n=Saul=, soul\n\n=Saut=, salt\n\n=Sax=, six\n\n=Scallop-shell=, a small fluted shell. In the middle ages, Pilgrims\n used to wear scallop-shells as badges of their pilgrimage\n\n=Scaur=, steep bank overhanging a river, a cliff\n\n=Scorke=, struck\n\n=Scot-free=, the word \u201cscot\u201d means payment, fine, reckoning, tax.\n Scot-free means free from payment; also, without harm, unhurt, safe\n\n=Screen=, plaid, cloak, large scarf thrown over the head\n\n=Scrip=, small bag, Pilgrim\u2019s pouch\n\n=Sea-maw=, gull, sea mew\n\n=Sen=, sent\n\n=Sets with=, suits\n\n=Seymar=, loose robe\n\n=Share of Truth=, ploughshare of Truth--used as figurative language\n\n=Shathmont=, measure from top of extended thumb to the extremity of\n palm--six inches\n\n=Shaw=, thicket, copse\n\n=Sheave=, slice.\n\n=Sheen=, bright, shining\n\n=Sheugh=, trench, ditch, furrow\n\n=Shoon=, shoes\n\n=Shot-window=, projecting window in the stair case of old Scotch\n wooden house\n\n=Sic=, such\n\n=Sichin=, sighing\n\n=Sicken=, such\n\n=Siller=, silver\n\n=Simmer=, summer\n\n=Sin=, since\n\n=Sin=, \u201cThankless sins the gifts he gets,\u201d probably means to hold\n them in slight esteem. (Footnote in Scott)\n\n=Skaith=, harm, an injury\n\n=Skald=, ancient Scandinavian poet or bard\n\n=Skaw=, promontory or low cape\n\n=Skeely=, skilful\n\n=Skelping=, moving rapidly\n\n=Skoal=, hail!\n\n=Sleeks=, makes smooth\n\n=Slogan=, war-cry of the Scottish Highlanders\n\n=Sma= _or_ =sma\u2019=, small\n\n=Snaw=, snow\n\n=Snell=, sharp, keen, shrill, bitter\n\n=Snickersnee=, sailor\u2019s sheath-knife or bowie knife\n\n=Snood=, hair-band\n\n=Snoove=, go smoothly and constantly\n\n=Solan=, gannet, solan-goose\n\n=Solempne=, solemn\n\n=Sommer=, summer\n\n=Sonsy= _or_ =Sonsie=, plump\n\n=Sorning=, spunging, obtruding\n\n=Soudron= _or_ =Southron=, southern, the English\n\n=Spak=, spake, spoke\n\n=Spankie=, sprightly, friskly, smart\n\n=Speer=, ask\n\n=Sperthe=, battle-axe\n\n=Spier=, spear\n\n=Sta=, stole\n\n=Stane=, stone\n\n=Stead=, dwelling-place\n\n=Steek=, stitch\n\n=Step minnie=, stepmother\n\n=Stern-light=, starlight\n\n=Stour= _or_ =stoure=, dust, skirmish, struggle, battle\n\n=Stown=, stolen\n\n=Strack=, struck\n\n=Stran=, strand\n\n=Strang=, strong\n\n=Strath=, valley thro\u2019 which a river runs\n\n=Stron=, the end of a ridge of hills\n\n=Stude=, stood\n\n=Sucket=, sugar-plum\n\n=Suld=, should\n\n=Sune=, soon\n\n=Swa\u2019d=, swelled\n\n=Syke=, marsh\n\n=Syle=, soil\n\n=Syne=, then, afterward, since\n\n\n=Tae=, toe\n\n=Ta\u2019en= _or_ =taen=, taken\n\n=Taffetie=, taffeta\n\n=Taiglit=, tarried\n\n=Taiken=, token\n\n=Tak=, take\n\n=Tald=, told\n\n=Tale=, number, count\n\n=Tane=, taken\n\n=Tauld=, told\n\n=Teind=, tithe\n\n=Tent=, take care of, watch, guard\n\n=Tent=, Spanish wine of a deep red colour\n\n=Termagant=, a pagan deity, whom the Crusaders said was worshipped\n by the Mohammedans\n\n=Tett=, lock of hair or of a mane\n\n=Thae=, thesef those\n\n=Then=, than\n\n=Thie=, thigh\n\n=Thimber=, heavy, massive\n\n=Thir=, those, these\n\n=Thysell=, thyself\n\n=Till=, to\n\n=Tinkler=, tinker\n\n=Tint=, lost\n\n=Tirled= _or_ =tirld=, twist or rattle. \u201cTirld at the pin,\u201d _see_\n Pin\n\n=Tod=, fox\n\n=Toom=, empty\n\n=Touchstone=, a kind of compact stone used to test gold and silver\n\n=Toun=, hamlet, farmhouse\n\n=Trailed=, dragged\n\n=Tree=, wood, made of wood\n\n=Trow=, trust, believe, think\n\n=Tryst=, appointed place of meeting, also appointment to meet\n\n=Turtle-doo=, turtle-dove\n\n=Twa=, two\n\n=Twae=, two\n\n=Twin\u2019d=, deprived, parted\n\n\n=Ugsome=, exciting disgust, abhorrent\n\n=Ummeled=, unmixed, pure\n\n=Upgive=, avow, own up\n\n=Upo=, on, to, with, at, in\n\n\n=Vair=, squirrel-fur\n\n=Vaunt-brace=, armour for the body\n\n=Verra=, very\n\n\n=Wa\u2019= _or_ =wa=, wall\n\n=Wad=, would\n\n=Wae=, woe\n\n=Waik=, glade\n\n=Wained=, carried, removed\n\n=Waith=, wandering, roaming, straying\n\n=Wall-wightmen=, picked, strong men\n\n=Waly=, exclamation of admiration\n\n=Wan=, won\n\n=Wap=, wrap, stuff\n\n=War\u2019d=, expended, used\n\n=Warden=, keeper, guardian. Warden of the March, governor of the\n Scotch Border\n\n=Warden Pies=, pies made of warden pears--large pears\n\n=Warld=, world\n\n=Warlock=, sorcerer, wizard\n\n=Warse=, worse\n\n=Warst=, worst\n\n=Wasna=, was not\n\n=Wassail-bout=, drinking revel, carouse\n\n=Wat=, wet\n\n=Wauking=, watch, walk\n\n=Weel=, well\n\n=Weet=, wet\n\n=Weir=, to collect and drive cattle\n\n=Weird=, Destiny, Fate, Fortune\n\n=Well-kent=, well-known\n\n=Wene=, recess\n\n=Wer-wolf=, person transformed into a wolf\n\n=Westlin=, Western\n\n=Wha=, who\n\n=Whare=, where\n\n=Whaten=, what sort, what kind\n\n=Whidderan=, whizzing\n\n=Whin-bushes=, furze, gorse\n\n=Wi\u2019= _or_ =wi=, with\n\n=Win=, wind\n\n=Win in=, get in\n\n=Winna=, will not\n\n=Wis=, know\n\n=Withouten= _or_ =withoutten=, without\n\n=Wodensday=, Wednesday, derived from the name of the Anglo-Saxon\n god, Woden; which name meant \u201cthe furious\u201d or \u201cthe mighty warrior\u201d\n\n=Wold=, would\n\n=Wold=, open tract of country\n\n=Woned=, dwelt\n\n=Wot=, know\n\n=Wud=, would\n\n\n=Y= _or_ =I=, a prefix to many Middle English words, often used\n (specially with past-participles) to intensify their meanings\n\n=Yallow=, yellow\n\n=Yate=, gate\n\n=Y-built=, _see above_ Y or I\n\n=Yer sel=, yourself\n\n=Yett=, gate\n\n=Yont=, beyond\n\n=Yorlin=, yellow-hammer\n\n=Yoursell=, yourself\n\n=Yowlit=, yowled, howled, yelped\n\n=Y-wis=, =i-wis=, certainly, surely, truly, to wit, indeed\n\n=Y-wrought=, _see above_ Y or I\n\n\n\n\nSUBJECT INDEX\n\n\nAFFECTION:\n Child of Elle, 244;\n Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy, 70;\n Fairy Tempter, 80.\n\nALFRED THE GREAT:\n King Alfred and the Shepherd, 176.\n\n\nBALLADS, EDUCATIONAL USE:\n Foreword, vii;\n Suggestions for Teachers, 363.\n\nBALLADS, LITERARY COMMENT ON:\n Addison, 363;\n Spenser, xi;\n Stedman, 363;\n Sydney, xii.\n\nBALLADS, PROGRAMME FOR TEACHING:\n Suggestions for Teachers, 363.\n _See also_ DRAMATICS.\n\nBELTAN;\n _see_ MAY DAY.\n\nBIRD FRIENDS:\n Earl of Mar\u2019s Daughter, 115;\n Gay Goss-Hawk, 218;\n Singing Leaves, 131.\n\nBORDER BALLADS:\n Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32;\n Belted Will, 47;\n Chevy-Chase, 21;\n Galloway Raid, 20.\n\nBROTHERS AND SISTERS:\n Fairy Tempter, 80;\n Laidley Worm, 148;\n Proud Lady Margaret, 62;\n Valentine and Ursine, 314.\n\nBRUCE, ROBERT, KING OF SCOTLAND:\n Heart of the Bruce, 333.\n\n\nCAKES, BURNING OF:\n King Alfred and the Shepherd, 176.\n\nCHEVY-CHASE:\n Chevy-Chase, 21.\n\nCHIVALRY:\n Blancheflour and Jellyflorice, 209;\n Child of Elle, 244;\n Sir Galahad, 348;\n Valentine and Ursine, 314.\n\nCHRIST:\n Barclay of Ury, 341;\n Heart of the Bruce, 333;\n Pilgrimage, 351;\n Royal Court, 353;\n Sir Galahad, 348.\n\nCHRIST-CHILD:\n Three Kings, 357.\n\nCHRISTMAS:\n Sir Galahad, 348;\n Three Kings, 357.\n\nCLORINDA:\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, 297.\n\nCONSTANCY:\n Bonny Baby Livingston, 224;\n D\u00e6mon Lover, 7;\n \u201cEarl March Looked on his Dying Child,\u201d 203;\n Fair Anny of Roch-royal, 191;\n Gay Goss-Hawk, 218;\n Hynd Horn, 231;\n Lady Clare, 59;\n Lord Lovel, 204;\n Mermaid, 10;\n Sweet William\u2019s Ghost, 276;\n Young Beichan and Susie Pye, 237.\n\nCOPHETUA:\n Beggar-Maid, 214.\n\nCORRIEVRECKAN:\n Kelpie of Corrievreckan, 97.\n\nCOURAGE AND HEROISM:\n Alice Brand, 81;\n Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32;\n Chevy-Chase, 21;\n Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy, 70;\n Famous Flower of Serving-Men, 65;\n Heart of the Bruce, 333;\n Kemp Owyne, 122;\n Laidley Worm, 148;\n Pilgrim, 332;\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291;\n Sir Patrick Spens, 3;\n Song of the Outlaw Murray, 301. _See also_ MAIDS AND LASSIES, BRAVE\n AND TRUE.\n\nCRUELTY;\n _see_ RETRIBUTION.\n\n\nDEE:\n Sands of Dee, 190.\n\nDEMOCRATIC BALLADS:\n Frolicksome Duke, 169;\n King Alfred and the Shepherd, 176;\n King James the First and the Tinkler, 173.\n\nDRAMATICS, BALLADS SUITABLE FOR:\n Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32;\n Ballad of the Oysterman, 164;\n Beggar-Maid, 214;\n Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy, 70;\n D\u00e6mon Lover, 7;\n Earl Haldan\u2019s Daughter, 58;\n \u201cEarl March Looked on his Dying Child,\u201d 203;\n Erl-King, 86;\n Gay Goss-Hawk, 218;\n Glenara, 212;\n Greeting of Kynast, 74;\n Kemp Owyne, 122;\n King James the First and the Tinkler, 173;\n Lady of Shalott, 124;\n Laidley Worm, 148;\n Noble Riddle, 208;\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291;\n Stormy Winds Do Blow, 2;\n Thomas the Rhymer, 93;\n Tragic Story, 158;\n Young Tamlane, 255. _Many other ballads in this book may be\n dramatized._\n\nDWARFS:\n Alice Brand, 81;\n Belted Will, 47.\n\n\nEDENHALL:\n Luck of Edenhall, 135.\n\nEILDON TREE:\n Eve of St. John, 279;\n Thomas the Rhymer, 93. _See also_ GLOSSARY _under_ EILDON TREE,\n p. 377.\n\nELVES;\n _see_ FAIRIES.\n\nENCHANTMENT AND MYSTERY:\n Alice Brand, 81;\n Earl of Mar\u2019s Daughter, 115;\n Fairy Thorn, 87;\n Kemp Owyne, 122;\n La Belle Dame sans Merci, 91;\n Lady of Shalott, 124;\n Laidley Worm, 148;\n Luck of Edenhall, 135;\n May of the Moril Glen, 138;\n Mermaid, 10. _See also_ FAIRIES AND FAIRYLAND.\n\nENDURANCE:\n King Alfred and the Shepherd, 176;\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291.\n\nERL-KING:\n Erl-King, 86.\n\nETTRICK:\n Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32;\n Song of the Outlaw Murray, 301.\n\nEVE OF ST. JOHN;\n _see_ MIDSUMMER DAY AND ST. JOHN\u2019S DAY.\n\n\nFAIRIES AND FAIRYLAND:\n Alice Brand, 81;\n Erl-King, 86;\n Fairy Tempter, 80;\n Fairy Thorn, 87;\n Kilmeny, 101;\n La Belle Dame sans Merci, 91;\n May of the Moril Glen, 138;\n Thomas the Rhymer, 93;\n Young Tamlane, 255.\n\nFAIR PLAY:\n King Alfred and the Shepherd, 176;\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291.\n\nFARM CUSTOMS:\n King Alfred and the Shepherd, 176.\n\nFATHERS:\n Child of Elle, 244;\n Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy, 70;\n Erl-King, 86.\n\nFOREST;\n _see_ GREENWOOD.\n\nFRIENDSHIP:\n Royal Court, 353.\n\n\nGHOST-STORY BALLADS;\n _see_ HALLOWEEN AND GHOST STORIES.\n\nGIANTS:\n Valentine and Ursine, 314.\n\nGOSS-HAWKS:\n Gay Goss-Hawk, 218.\n\nGREENWOOD:\n Alice Brand, 81;\n Birth o\u2019 Robin Hood, 290;\n Fairy Tempter, 80;\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, 297;\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291;\n Royal Court, 353;\n Song of the Outlaw Murray, 301;\n Valentine and Ursine, 314.\n\n\nHALLOWE\u2019EN AND GHOST STORIES:\n D\u00e6mon Lover, 7;\n Eve of St. John, 279;\n Proud Lady Margaret, 62;\n Sir Roland, 265;\n Skeleton in Armour, 270;\n Sweet William\u2019s Ghost, 276;\n Wife of Usher\u2019s Well, 263;\n Young Tamlane, 255.\n\nHAUGHTINESS;\n _see_ PRIDE AND VANITY.\n\nHAWTHORN:\n Fairy Thorn, 87.\n\nHEROISM;\n _see_ COURAGE AND HEROISM.\n\nHOLY GRAIL:\n Sir Galahad, 348.\n\nHUMOUR:\n Ballad of the Oysterman, 164;\n Brian o\u2019Linn, 160;\n Cinder King, 167;\n Dicky of Ballyman, 162;\n Frolicksome Duke, 169;\n Greeting of Kynast, 74;\n King Alfred and the Shepherd, 176;\n King James the First and the Tinkler, 173;\n Little Billee, 159;\n May of the Moril Glen, 138;\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291;\n Tragic Story, 158.\n\nHUNTING:\n Chevy-Chase, 21;\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, 297.\n\n\nJAMES THE FIRST, KING OF ENGLAND:\n King James the First and the Tinkler, 173.\n\n\nKELPIES:\n Kelpie of Corrievreckan, 97.\n\nKNIGHTS AND LADIES:\n Alice Brand, 81;\n Earl Haldan\u2019s Daughter, 58;\n Famous Flower of Serving-Men, 65;\n Gay Goss-Hawk, 218;\n Greeting of Kynast, 74;\n Kemp Owyne, 122;\n Lady Clare, 59;\n Laidley Worm, 148;\n Lochinvar, 215;\n Lord Lovel, 204;\n Proud Lady Margaret, 62.\n\nKUNIGUNDE:\n Greeting of Kynast, 74.\n\nKYNAST:\n Greeting of Kynast, 74.\n\n\nLABOUR DAY;\n _see_ DEMOCRATIC BALLADS.\n\nLAIDLEY WORMS:\n Kemp Owyne, 122;\n Laidley Worm, 148.\n\nLITTLE JOHN:\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291.\n\n\nMAGI:\n Three Kings, 357.\n\nMAIDS AND LASSIES, BRAVE AND TRUE:\n Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32;\n Blancheflour and Jellyflorice, 209;\n Bonny Baby Livingston, 224;\n Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy, 70;\n Lady Clare, 59;\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, 297;\n Sweet William\u2019s Ghost, 276;\n Young Beichan and Susie Pye, 237;\n Young Tamlane, 255.\n\nMARTINMAS (NOVEMBER 11):\n Wife of Usher\u2019s Well, 263.\n\nMAY DAY OR BELTAN (MAY 1):\n Kelpie of Corrievreckan, 97;\n The Spell, 254.\n\nMERMAIDS:\n Mermaid, 10;\n Stormy Winds Do Blow, 2.\n\nMIDSUMMER DAY AND ST. JOHN\u2019S DAY (JUNE 24):\n Eve of St. John, 279;\n The Spell, 254.\n\nMOORS:\n Heart of the Bruce, 333;\n Young Beichan and Susie Pye, 237.\n\nMORAL COURAGE:\n Barclay of Ury, 341;\n Lady Clare, 59;\n True Valour, 355.\n\nMOTHERS:\n Lady Clare, 59;\n Valentine and Ursine, 314;\n Wife of Usher\u2019s Well, 263.\n\nMOUNTAIN ASH;\n _see_ ROWAN TREE.\n\nMYSTERY BALLADS;\n _see_ ENCHANTMENT AND MYSTERY;\n _also_ HALLOWEEN AND GHOST STORIES.\n\n\nOUTLAWS:\n Birth o\u2019 Robin Hood, 290;\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, 297;\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291;\n Song of the Outlaw Murray, 301.\n\n\nPALMERS;\n _see_ PILGRIMS AND PILGRIMAGE.\n\nPEACE:\n Peace, 356;\n Pilgrimage, 351;\n Royal Court, 353.\n\nPILGRIMS AND PILGRIMAGE:\n Heart of the Bruce, 333;\n Pilgrim, 332;\n Pilgrimage, 351;\n Sir Galahad, 348;\n True Valour, 355.\n\nPRIDE AND VANITY:\n Earl Haldan\u2019s Daughter, 58;\n Greeting of Kynast, 74;\n Kelpie of Corrievreckan, 97;\n Proud Lady Margaret, 62.\n\nPUNISHMENT;\n _see_ RETRIBUTION.\n\nPURITY:\n Kilmeny, 101;\n Sir Galahad, 348.\n\n\nQUAKERS:\n Barclay of Ury, 341.\n\n\nRAIDS AND REAVING;\n _see_ BORDER BALLADS.\n\nRELIGIOUS BALLADS AND VERSES:\n Barclay of Ury, 341;\n Heart of the Bruce, 333;\n Pilgrim, 332;\n Pilgrimage, 351;\n Royal Court, 353;\n Sir Galahad, 348.\n\nRETRIBUTION:\n Belted Will, 47;\n Cruelty of Barbara Allen, 201;\n D\u00e6mon Lover, 7;\n Earl Haldan\u2019s Daughter, 58;\n Eve of St. John, 279;\n Greeting of Kynast, 74;\n Kelpie of Corrievreckan, 97;\n Laidley Worm, 148;\n Sir Roland, 265.\n\nROBIN HOOD:\n Birth o\u2019 Robin Hood, 290;\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, 297;\n Robin Hood and Little John, 291.\n\nROMANCE AND LOVERS:\n Alice Brand, 81;\n Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32;\n Blancheflour and Jellyflorice, 209;\n Bonny Baby Livingston, 224;\n Child of Elle, 244;\n Cruel Sister, 196;\n \u201cEarl March Looked on his Dying Child,\u201d 203;\n Earl of Mar\u2019s Daughter, 115;\n Famous Flower of Serving-Men, 65;\n Hynd Horn, 231;\n Kelpie of Corrievreckan, 97;\n Lady Clare, 59;\n Lochinvar, 215;\n Lord Lovel, 204;\n May of the Moril Glen, 138;\n Noble Riddle, 208;\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, 297;\n Singing Leaves, 131;\n Skeleton in Armour, 270;\n Sweet William\u2019s Ghost, 276;\n Young Beichan and Susie Pye, 237;\n Young Tamlane, 255.\n\nROWAN TREE OR MOUNTAIN ASH:\n Fairy Thorn, 87;\n Laidley Worm, 148.\n\n\nSAILORS:\n D\u00e6mon Lover, 7;\n Little Billee, 159;\n Sir Patrick Spens, 3;\n Stormy Winds Do Blow, 2.\n\nST. JOHN\u2019S EVE;\n _see_ MIDSUMMER DAY AND ST. JOHN\u2019S DAY.\n\nSALEM:\n Peace, 356.\n\nSEA BALLADS:\n D\u00e6mon Lover, 7;\n Earl Haldan\u2019s Daughter, 58;\n Fair Anny of Roch-royal, 191;\n Heart of the Bruce, 333;\n Kelpie of Corrievreckan, 97;\n Kemp Owyne, 122;\n Laidley Worm, 148;\n Little Billee, 159;\n Mermaid, 10;\n Sands of Dee, 190;\n Sir Patrick Spens, 3;\n Stormy Winds Do Blow, 2.\n\nSHEPHERDS:\n King Alfred and the Shepherd, 176.\n\nSHERWOOD FOREST:\n Robin Hood and Clorinda, 297.\n\nSPINDLESTON-HEUGHS:\n Laidley Worm, 148.\n\n\nTAMLANE:\n Young Tamlane, 255.\n\nTINKERS:\n Frolicksome Duke, 169;\n King James the First and the Tinkler, 173.\n\nTHREE WISE MEN:\n Three Kings, 357.\n\nTRUE THOMAS:\n Thomas the Rhymer, 93.\n\n\nVALENTINE DAY:\n Valentine and Ursine, 314. _See also_ ROMANCE AND LOVERS.\n\nVALOUR;\n _see_ COURAGE AND HEROISM.\n\nVANITY;\n _see_ PRIDE AND VANITY.\n\nVIKINGS:\n Skeleton in Armour, 270.\n\n\nWITCHES:\n Laidley Worm, 148.\n\nWOMANLINESS:\n Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32;\n Beggar-Maid, 214;\n Child of Elle, 244;\n Kilmeny, 101;\n Singing Leaves, 131.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX OF FIRST LINES\n\n\nA fair girl was sitting in the greenwood shade, 80\n\nA Man there came, whence none could tell, 347\n\nAh, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 91\n\nAnd mony ane sings o\u2019 grass, o\u2019 grass, 290\n\nAnd now, to be brief, let\u2019s pass over the rest, 173\n\nAs I was walking all alane, 114\n\nAt eve last Midsummer, no sleep I sought, 254\n\n\nBonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen, 101\n\nBrian O\u2019Linn was a gentleman born, 160\n\n\nEarl March looked on his dying child, 203\n\nEttrick Forest is a fair forest, 301\n\n\nFair Margret was a young ladye, 62\n\n\n\u201cGet up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel,\u201d 87\n\nGive me my Scallop-shell of Quiet, 351\n\nGod prosper long our noble King, 21\n\n\nHe mounted his steed of the water clear, 97\n\nHer arms across her breast she laid, 214\n\nHer mother died when she was young, 122\n\n\n\u201cIf thou canst answer me questions three,\u201d 208\n\nIn elder time there was of yore, 176\n\nIn London was young Beichan born, 237\n\nIn Royal Courts my Soul hath slept, 353\n\nIn Scarlet Town, where I was bound, 201\n\nIt was a tall young Oysterman, 164\n\nIt was Earl Haldan\u2019s daughter, 58\n\nIt was intill a pleasant time, 115\n\nIt was the time when lilies blow, 59\n\nI will tell you of ane wondrous tale, 138\n\n\nListen, now, both great and simple, 70\n\nLord Lovel he stood at his castle gate, 204\n\n\nMerry it is in the good greenwood, 81\n\nMy good blade carves the casques of men, 348\n\n\nNear the King\u2019s Court was a young child born, 231\n\nNow, as fame does report, a young Duke keeps a Court, 169\n\n\nO bonny Baby Livingston, 224\n\n\u201cO I forbid ye, maidens a\u2019,\u201d 255\n\n\u201cO Mary, go and call the cattle home,\u201d 190\n\n\u201cO waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,\u201d 218\n\n\u201cO wha will shoe my fu fair foot,\u201d 191\n\n\u201cO where have you been, my long, long love,\u201d 7\n\nOf Edenhall, the youthful Lord, 135\n\nOh! heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, 212\n\nOh! who rides by night thro\u2019 the woodland so wild, 86\n\nOh! young Lochinvar is come out of the West, 215\n\nOn either side the river lie, 124\n\nOn Jura\u2019s heath how sweetly swell, 10\n\nOn New Year\u2019s Day, as I heard say, 162\n\nOn yonder hill a castle stands, 244\n\nOne Friday morn when we set sail, 2\n\n\nShe said, \u201cThis narrow chamber is not for me the place,\u201d 74\n\n\u201cSpeak! speak! thou fearful guest!\u201d 270\n\nSweet Peace, where dost thou dwell, I humbly crave, 356\n\n\nThe Baron of Smaylho\u2019me rose with day, 279\n\nThe Baron of Thirlwall came from the wars, 47\n\nThe good Lord Douglas paced the deck, 333\n\nThe King is gone from Bambrough Castle, 148\n\nThe king sits in Dunfermline town, 3\n\nThe moonbeam glints on tower and hill, 32\n\nThe reavers of Eskdale were mounted for weir, 20\n\nThere came a ghost to Margret\u2019s door, 276\n\nThere lived a sage in days of yore, 158\n\nThere lived a wife at Usher\u2019s Well, 263\n\nThere was a maid, richly arrayd, 209\n\nThere were three sailors of Bristol city, 159\n\nThere were two sisters sat in a bour, 196\n\nThree Kings came riding from far away, 357\n\nTrue Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, 93\n\n\nUp the streets of Aberdeen, 341\n\n\nWhan he cam to his ain luve\u2019s bouir, 265\n\nWhat Danger is the Pilgrim in, 332\n\n\u201cWhat fairings will ye that I bring,\u201d 131\n\nWhen Flora \u2019gins to deck the fields, 314\n\nWhen Robin Hood came into merry Sherwood, 297\n\nWhen Robin Hood was about twenty years old, 291\n\nWho is it that sits in the kitchen and weeps, 167\n\nWho would true Valour see, 355\n\n\nYou beautious ladies, great and small, 65\n\n\n\n\nINDEX OF TITLES AND AUTHORS\n\n_With references from titles of other ballad-versions_\n\n\nAlice Brand, 81\n\nAllingham, Touchstone, 347\n\nAnnie Livingston, _see_ Bonny Baby Livingston, 224\n\nAnnie of Loch Royan, _see_ Fair Anny of Roch-royal, 191\n\nAytoun, Heart of the Bruce, 333\n\n\nBallad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32\n\nBallad of the Oysterman, 164\n\nBarbara Allen\u2019s Cruelty, 201\n\nBarclay of Ury, 341\n\nBeggar-Maid, 214\n\nBeichan and Susie Pye, _see_ Young Beichan and Susie Pye, 237\n\nBelle Dame sans Merci, _see_ La Belle Dame sans Merci, 91\n\nBelted Will, 47\n\nBinnorie, _see_ The Cruel Sister, 196\n\nBirth o\u2019 Robin Hood, 290\n\nBlancheflour and Jellyflorice, 209\n\nBonnie Milldams o\u2019 Binnorie, _see_ The Cruel Sister, 196\n\nBonny Baby Livingston, 224\n\nBonny Barbara Allan, _see_ Cruelty of Barbara Allen, 201\n\nBonny Kilmeny, _see_ Kilmeny, 101\n\nBrian O\u2019Linn, 160\n\nBunyan, The Pilgrim, 332\n\nBunyan, True Valour, 355\n\n\nCampbell, Glenara, 212\n\nCampbell, Song,--Earl March Looked on his Dying Child, 203\n\nChevy-Chase, _see_ More Modern Ballad of Chevy-Chase, 21\n\nChild of Elle, 244\n\nCinder King, 167\n\nCochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy, 70\n\nCruel Sister, 196\n\nCruelty of Barbara Allen, _see_ Barbara Allen\u2019s Cruelty, 201\n\n\nD\u00e6mon Lover, 7\n\nDicky of Ballyman, 162\n\n\nEarl Haldan\u2019s Daughter, 58\n\nEarl March Looked on his Dying Child, 203\n\nEarl of Mar\u2019s Daughter, 115\n\nErcildoune, Thomas of, _see_ Thomas the Rhymer, 93\n\nErl-King, 86\n\nEttrick Shepherd, Kilmeny, 101\n\nEttrick Shepherd, May of the Moril Glen, 138\n\nEve of St. John, 279\n\n\nFair Anny of Roch-royal (_same as_ Annie of Loch Royan), 191\n\nFairy Tempter, 80\n\nFairy Thorn, 87\n\nFamous Flower of Serving-Men, 65\n\nFerguson, Fairy Thorn, 87\n\nFrolicksome Duke; or, The Tinker\u2019s Good Fortune, 169\n\n\nGalloway Raid, 20\n\nGay, The Spell, 254\n\nGay Goss-Hawk, 218\n\nGlenara, 212\n\nGoethe, Erl-King, 86\n\nGreeting of Kynast, 74\n\nGrizzy Cochrane\u2019s Ride, _see_ Cochrane\u2019s Bonny Grizzy, 70\n\n\nHeart of the Bruce, 333\n\nHerbert, Peace, 356\n\nHind Horn, _see_ Hynd Horn, 231\n\nHogg, Kilmeny, 101\n\nHogg, May of the Moril Glen, 138\n\nHolmes, Ballad of the Oysterman, 164\n\nHunting of the Cheviot, _see_ More Modern Ballad of Chevy-Chase, 21\n\nHynd Horn, 231\n\n\nJolly Goss-Hawk, _see_ Gay Goss-Hawk, 218\n\n\nKeats, La Belle Dame sans Merci, 91\n\nKelpie of Corrievreckan, 97\n\nKemp Owyne (_same as_ Kempion), 122\n\nKilmeny, 101\n\nKing Alfred and the Shepherd, 176\n\nKing James the First and the Tinkler, 173\n\nKingsley, Earl Haldan\u2019s Daughter, 58\n\nKingsley, Sands of Dee, 190\n\nKynast, _see_ Greeting of Kynast, 74\n\n\nLa Belle Dame sans Merci, 91\n\nLady Clare, 59\n\nLady of Shalott, 124\n\nLady Turned Serving-Man, _see_ Famous Flower of Serving-Men, 65\n\nLaidley Worm o\u2019 Spindleston-Heughs, 148\n\nLass of Lochroyan, _see_ Fair Anny of Roch-royal, 191\n\nLeyden, Mermaid, 10\n\nLittle Billee, 159\n\nLochinvar, 215\n\nLongfellow (from Uhland), Luck of Edenhall, 135\n\nLongfellow, Skeleton in Armour, 270\n\nLongfellow, Three Kings, 357\n\nLord Beichan, _see_ Young Beichan and Susie Pye, 237\n\nLord Lovel, 204\n\nLover, Fairy Tempter, 80\n\nLowell, Singing Leaves, 131\n\nLuck of Edenhall, 135\n\n\nMackay, Kelpie of Corrievreckan, 97\n\nMay of the Moril Glen, 138\n\nMeikle-Mouthed Meg, _see_ Ballad of Meikle-Mouthed Meg, 32\n\nMermaid, 10\n\nMore Modern Ballad of Chevy-Chase, 21\n\n\nNoble Riddle, 208\n\n\nOutlaw Murray, _see_ Song of the Outlaw Murray, 301\n\nOysterman, Ballad of, 164\n\n\nPeace, 356\n\nPilgrim, 332\n\nPilgrimage, 351\n\nProud Lady Margaret, 62\n\n\nRaleigh, Pilgrimage, 351\n\nRobin Hood and Clorinda, 297\n\nRobin Hood and Little John, 291\n\nRoyal Court, 353\n\nR\u00fcckert, Greeting of Kynast, 74\n\n\nSands of Dee, 190\n\nScott, Alice Brand, 81\n\nScott, Eve of St. John, 279\n\nScott, Lochinvar, 215\n\nSheldon, Belted Will, 47\n\nSinging Leaves, 131\n\nSir Galahad, 348\n\nSir Patrick Spens, 3\n\nSir Roland, 265\n\nSkeleton in Armour, 270\n\nSkipper Patrick, _see_ Sir Patrick Spens, 3\n\nSong: Earl March Looked on his Dying Child, 203\n\nSong of the Outlaw Murray, 301\n\nSpell, 254\n\nStormy Winds do Blow, 2\n\nSweet William\u2019s Ghost, 276\n\n\nTamlane (or Tamlin), _see_ Young Tamlane, 255\n\nTennyson, Beggar-Maid, 214\n\nTennyson, Lady Clare, 59\n\nTennyson, Lady of Shalott, 124\n\nTennyson, Sir Galahad, 348\n\nThackeray, Little Billee, 159\n\nThackeray, Tragic Story, 158\n\nThomas the Rhymer (or Thomas of Ercildoune), 93\n\nThree Kings, 357\n\nTinker\u2019s Good Fortune, _see_ The Frolicksome Duke, 169\n\nTouchstone, 347\n\nTragic Story, 158\n\nTrue Thomas, _see_ Thomas the Rhymer, 93\n\nTrue Valour, 355\n\nTwa Sisters, _see_ The Cruel Sister, 196\n\n\nUhland, Luck of Edenhall, 135\n\n\nValentine and Ursine, 314\n\n\nWee Wee Man, 114\n\nWhittier, Barclay of Ury, 341\n\nWife of Usher\u2019s Well, 263\n\n\nYoung Beichan and Susie Pye, 237\n\nYoung Bondwell, _see_ Young Beichan and Susie Pye, 237\n\nYoung Hynd Horn, _see_ Hynd Horn, 231.\n\nYoung Lochinvar, _see_ Lochinvar, 215\n\nYoung Tamlane, 255\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] See Foreword, page vii.\n\n[2] See Acknowledgments, p. xv, and Foreword, p. vii.\n\n\n\n\n * * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note:\n\n Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.\n\n Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.\n\n Obvious printer and scanning errors have been silently corrected.\n\n Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation such as\n \u201cgreen-wood/greenwood\u201d have been maintained.\n\n Page 62: \u201ccoud\u201d changed to \u201ccould\u201d.","title":"Story-Telling Ballads: Selected and Arranged for Story-Telling and Reading Aloud and for the Boys' and Girls' Own Reading","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":62032}