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ANONYMOUS BALLADS
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Thomas the Rhymer
Binnorie
King Henry
The Wife of Usher's Well
The Twa Corbies
Tam Lin
Kemp Owyne
Sir Oluf and the Elf King's Daughter
The Gypsy Countess
May Colvin
The Earl of Mar's Daughter
Lord Lovel
THOMAS THE RHYMER
True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;
And there he saw a ladye bright
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.
Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilka tett o' her horse's mane
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.
True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
And louted low down to his knee:
"Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth I never did see."
"O no, O no, Thomas," she said,
"That name does not belang to me;
I am but the Queen of fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.
"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said,
"Harp and carp along wi' me;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your bodie I will be."
"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunten me."
Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.
"Now ye maun go wi' me," she said,
"True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;
And ye maun serve me seven years,
Thro' weal or woe, as may chance to be."
She's mounted on her milk-white steed,
She's ta'en True Thomas up behind;
And aye, whene'er her bridle rang,
The steed gaed swifter than the wind.
O they rade on, and farther on,
The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
Until they reach'd a desert wide,
And living land was left behind.
"Light down, light down now, True Thomas,
And lean your head upon my knee;
Abide ye there a little space,
And I will show you ferlies three.
"O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset wi' thorns and briers?
That is the Path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.
"And see ye not yon braid, braid road
That lies across that lily leven?
That is the Path of Wickedness,
Though some call it the Road to Heaven.
And see ye not yon bonny road
That winds about the fernie brae?
That is the Road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun gae.
"But Thomas, ye sall haud your tongue,
Whatever ye may hear or see;
For speak ye word in Elfyn land,
Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie."
O they rade on, and farther on,
And they waded rivers abune the knee;
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.
It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight,
They waded thro' red blude to the knee;
For a' the blude that's shed on earth
Rins through the springs o' that countrie.
Syne they came on to a garden green,
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree:
"Take this for thy wages, True Thomas;
It will give thee the tongue that can never lee."
"My tongue is mine ain," True Thomas he said;
"A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!
I neither drought to buy nor sell
At fair or tryst where I might be.
"I drought neither speak to prince or peer,
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye!" –
"Now haud thy peace, Thomas," she said,
"For as I say, so must it be."
He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair o' shoon of the velvet green;
And till seven years were gane and past,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.
BINNORIE
There were twa sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing.
The eldest she was vexèd sair,
And sair envìed her sister fair.
Upon a morning fair and clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:
"O sister, sister, tak my hand,
And we'll see our father's ships to land."
She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river-strand.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest cam and push'd her in.
"O sister, sister, reach your hand!
And ye sall be heir o' half my land:
"O sister, reach me but your glove!
And sweet William sall be your love." –
"Foul fa' the hand that I should take;
It twin'd me o' my warldis make.
"Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair
Gar'd me gang maiden evermair."
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
Until she cam to the miller's dam.
Out then cam the miller's son,
And saw the fair maid soummin' in.
"O father, father, draw your dam!
There's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan."
The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drown'd womàn.
You couldna see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.
You couldna see her lily feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.
You couldna see her yellow hair
For the strings o' pearls was twisted there.
You couldna see her fingers sma',
Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd a'.
And by there cam a harper fine,
That harpit to the king at dine.
And when he look'd that lady on,
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan.
He's made a harp of her breast-bane,
Whose sound wad melt a heart of stane.
He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare.
He went into her father's hall,
And there was the court assembled all.
He laid his harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play by lane.
"O yonder sits my father, the King,
And yonder sits my mother, the Queen;
"And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
And by him my William, sweet and true."
But the last tune that the harp play'd then –
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Was, "Woe to my sister, false Helèn!"
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
KING HENRY
Let never a man a wooing wend
That lacketh thingis three;
A routh o' gold, an open heart
And fu' o' courtesye.
As this I speak of King Henry,
For he lay burd-alone;
An' he's doen him to a jelly hunt's ha'
Was seven mile frae a town.
He's chased the deer down him before,
An' the roe down by the den,
Till the fattest buck in a' the flock
King Henry he has slain.
O he has doen him to his ha'
To make him bierly cheer;
An' in it came a griesly ghost
Staed stappin' i' the fleer.
Her head hat the roof-tree o' the house,
Her middle ye weel mot span;
He's thrown to her his gay mantle,
Says, "Lady, hap your lingcan."
Her teeth were a' like teather stakes,
Her nose like club or mell;
An' I ken naething she 'pear'd to be
But the fiend that wons in hell.
"Some meat, some meat, ye King Henry,
Some meat ye gie to me!" –
"An' what meat's in this house, ladye,
That ye're not welcome tae?" –
"O ye'se gae kill your berry-brown steed,
And serve him up to me."
O whan he slew his berry-brown steed,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She ate him a' up, skin an' bane,
Left naething but hide an' hair.
"Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henry,
Mair meat ye gie to me!" –
"An' what meat's in this house, ladye,
That ye're not welcome tae?" –
"O do ye slay your good grey-hounds
An' bring them a' to me."
O whan he slew his good grey-hounds,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She ate them a' up, skin an' bane,
Left naething but hide an' hair.
"Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henry,
Mair meat ye gie to me!" –
"An' what meat's in this house, ladye,
That ye're not welcome tae?" –
"O do ye kill your gay goss-hawks
An' bring them a' to me."
O whan he fell'd his gay goss-hawks,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She's ate them a' up, skin an' bane,
Left naethin' but feathers bare.
"Some drink, some drink, now, King Henry,
Some drink ye bring to me!" –
"O what drink's in this house, ladye,
That ye're not welcome tae?" –
"O ye sew up your horse's hide,
An' bring in drink to me."
O he's sew'd up the bluidy hide,
A puncheon o' wine put in;
She's drunk it a' up at a whaught,
Left na ae drap ahin'.
"A bed, a bed, now King Henry,
A bed ye mak' to me!" –
"An' what's the bed in this house, ladye,
That ye're not welcome tae?" –
"O ye maun pu' the heather green,
An' mak' a bed to me."
Syne pu'd he has the heather green,
An' made to her a bed,
An' up has he ta'en his gay mantle,
An' o'er it he has spread.
"Tak' off your claiths now, King Henry,
An' lie down by my side!" –
"O God forbid," says King Henry,
"That ever the like betide;
That ever a fiend that wons in hell
Shou'd streak down by my side!"
But whan day was come, and night was gane,
An' the sun shone thro' the ha',
The fairest ladye that ever was seen
Lay atween him and the wa'.
"O weel is me!" says King Henry,
"How lang'll this last wi' me?"
Then out an' spake that fair ladye,
"Even till the day you dee.
"For I've met wi' many a gentle knight
That's gien me sic a fill;
But never before wi' a courteous knight
That ga'e me a' my will."
THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL
There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sea.
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
Whan word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
Whan word came to the carline wife
That her sons she'd never see.
"I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood!"
It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o' the birk.
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o' Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.
"Blow up the fire, my maidens!
Bring water from the well!
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well."
And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide,
And she's ta'en her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bed-side.
Up then crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
"'Tis time we were away." –
The cock he hadna craw'd but once,
And clapp'd his wings at a',
When the youngest to the eldest said,
"Brother, we must awa'. –
"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin' worm doth chide;
Gin we be miss'd out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.
"Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire!"
THE TWA CORBIES
As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane:
The tane unto the tither did say,
"Whar sall we gang and dine the day?"
"– In behint yon auld fail dyke
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en anither mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.
"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en:
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
"Mony a one for him maks mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane:
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."
TAM LIN
"O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.
"For even about that knight's middle
O' siller bells are nine;
And nae maid comes to Carterhaugh
And a maid returns again."
Fair Janet sat in her bonny bower,
Sewing her silken seam,
And wish'd to be in Carterhaugh
Amang the leaves sae green.
She's lat her seam fa' to her feet,
The needle to her tae,
And she's awa' to Carterhaugh
As fast as she could gae.
And she has kilted her green kirtle
A little abune her knee;
And she has braided her yellow hair
A little abune her bree;
And she has gaen for Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.
And when she came to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
And there she saw his steed standing,
But away was himsell.
She hadna pu'd a rose, a rose,
A rose but barely ane,
When up and started young Tam Lin;
Says, "Ladye, let alane.
"What gars ye pu' the rose, Janet?
What gars ye break the tree?
What gars ye come to Carterhaugh
Without the leave o' me?"
"Weel may I pu' the rose," she says,
"And ask no leave at thee;
For Carterhaugh it is my ain,
My daddy gave it me."
He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve,
He's led her to the fairy ground
At her he ask'd nae leave.
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little abune her knee,
And she has snooded her yellow hair
A little abune her bree,
And she is to her father's ha'
As fast as she can hie.
But when she came to her father's ha',
She look'd sae wan and pale,
They thought the lady had gotten a fright,
Or with sickness she did ail.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba',
And out then came fair Janet
Ance the flower amang them a'.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess,
And out then came fair Janet
As green as onie grass.
Out then spak' an auld grey knight
'Lay o'er the castle wa',
And says, "Alas, fair Janet!
For thee we'll be blamèd a'."
"Hauld your tongue, ye auld-faced knight,
Some ill death may ye die!
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I'll father nane on thee."
Out then spake her father dear,
And he spak meik and mild,
"And ever, alas! my sweet Janet,
I fear ye gae with child."
"And if I be with child, father,
Mysell maun bear the blame;
There's ne'er a knight about your ha'
Shall hae the bairnie's name.
"And if I be with child, father,
'Twill prove a wonderous birth;
For weel I swear I'm not with bairn
To any man on earth.
"O if my love were an earthly knight,
As he is an elfin gay,
I wadna gie my ain true love
For nae laird that ye hae.
"The steed that my true-love rides on
Is fleeter nor the wind;
Wi' siller he is shod before,
Wi' burning gold behind."
Out then spak' her brither dear –
He meant to do her harm:
"There grows an herb in Carterhaugh
Will twine you an' the bairn."
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little abune her knee,
And she has snooded her yellow hair
A little abune her bree,
And she's awa' to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.
And when she came to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
And there she saw his steed standing,
But away was himsell.
She hadna pu'd a leaf, a leaf,
A leaf but only twae,
When up and started young Tam Lin,
Says, "Ladye, thou's pu' nae mae.
"How dar' ye pu' a leaf?" he says,
"How dar' ye break the tree?
How dar' ye scathe my babe," he says,
"That's between you and me?"
"O tell me, tell me, Tam," she says,
"For His sake that died on tree,
If ye were ever in holy chapel
Or sain'd in Christentie?"
"The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet,
Ae word I winna lee;
A knight me got, and a lady me bore,
As well as they did thee.
"Roxburgh he was my grandfather,
Took me with him to bide;
And ance it fell upon a day,
As hunting I did ride,
"There came a wind out o' the north,
A sharp wind an' a snell,
A dead sleep it came over me
And frae my horse I fell;
And the Queen o' Fairies she took me
In yon green hill to dwell.
"And pleasant is the fairy land
For those that in it dwell,
But ay at end of seven years
They pay a teind to hell;
I am sae fair and fu' o' flesh
I'm fear'd 'twill be mysell.
"But the night is Hallowe'en, Janet,
The morn is Hallowday;
Then win me, win me, an ye will,
For weel I wat ye may.
"The night it is gude Hallowe'en,
The fairy folk do ride,
And they that wad their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide." –
"But how should I you ken, Tam Lin,
How should I borrow you,
Amang a pack of uncouth knights
The like I never saw?" –
"You'll do you down to Miles Cross
Between twel' hours and ane,
And fill your hands o' the holy water
And cast your compass roun'.
"The first company that passes by,
Say na, and let them gae;
The neist company that passes by,
Say na, and do right sae;
The third company that passes by,
Then I'll be ane o' thae.
"O first let pass the black, ladye,
And syne let pass the brown;
But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
Pu' ye his rider down.
"For some ride on the black, ladye,
And some ride on the brown;
But I ride on a milk-white steed,
A gowd star on my crown:
Because I was an earthly knight
They gie me that renown.
"My right hand will be gloved, ladye,
My left hand will be bare,
And thae's the tokens I gie thee:
Nae doubt I will be there.
"Ye'll tak' my horse then by the head
And let the bridle fa';
The Queen o' Elfin she'll cry out
'True Tam Lin he's awa'!'
"They'll turn me in your arms, ladye,
An aske but and a snake;
But hauld me fast, let me na gae,
To be your warldis make.
"They'll turn me in your arms, ladye,
But and a deer so wild;
But hauld me fast, let me na gae,
The father o' your child.
"They'll shape me in your arms, ladye,
A hot iron at the fire;
But hauld me fast, let me na gae,
To be your heart's desire.
"They'll shape me last in your arms, Janet,
A mother-naked man;
Cast your green mantle over me,
And sae will I be won."
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little abune her knee;
And she has snooded her yellow hair
A little abune her bree,
And she is on to Miles Cross
As fast as she can hie.
About the dead hour o' the night
She heard the bridles ring;
And Janet was as glad at that
As any earthly thing.
And first gaed by the black, black steed,
And syne gaed by the brown;
But fast she gript the milk-white steed
And pu'd the rider down.
She's pu'd him frae the milk-white steed,
An' loot the bridle fa',
And up there rase an eldritch cry,
"True Tam Lin he's awa'!"
They shaped him in her arms twa
An aske but and a snake;
But aye she grips and hau'ds him fast
To be her warldis make.
They shaped him in her arms twa
But and a deer sae wild;
But aye she grips and hau'ds him fast,
The father o' her child.
They shaped him in her arms twa
A hot iron at the fire;
But aye she grips and hau'ds him fast
To be her heart's desire.
They shaped him in her arms at last
A mother-naked man;
She cast her mantle over him,
And sae her love she wan.
Up then spak' the Queen o' Fairies,
Out o' a bush o' broom,
"She that has borrow'd young Tam Lin
Has gotten a stately groom."
Out then spak' the Queen o' Fairies,
And an angry woman was she,
"She's ta'en awa' the bonniest knight
In a' my companie!
"But what I ken this night, Tam Lin,
Gin I had kent yestreen,
I wad ta'en out thy heart o' flesh,
And put in a heart o' stane.
"And adieu, Tam Lin! But gin I had kent
A ladye wad borrow'd thee,
I wad ta'en out thy twa grey e'en,
Put in twa e'en o' tree.
"And had I the wit yestreen, yestreen,
That I have coft this day,
I'd paid my teind seven times to hell
Ere you had been won away!"
KEMP OWYNE
Her mother died when she was young,
Which gave her cause to make great moan;
Her father married the warst woman
That ever lived in Christendom.
She servèd her wi' foot and hand
In everything that she could dee,
Till once, in an unlucky time
She threw her owre a craig o' the sea.
Says, "Lie you there, dove Isabel,
And all my sorrows lie wi' thee!
Till Kemp Owyne come to the craig,
And borrow you wi' kisses three."
Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang
And twisted thrice about the tree,
And all the people, far and near,
Thought that a savage beast was she.
And aye she cried for Kemp Owyne
Gin that he would but com' to her hand: –
Now word has gane to Kemp Owyne
That siccan a beast was in his land.
"Now by my sooth," says Kemp Owyne,
"This fiery beast I'll gang to see";
"And by my sooth," says Segramour,
"My ae brother, I'll gang you wi'."
O they have biggit a bonny boat,
And they have set her to the sea;
But a mile before they reach'd the shore
I wot she gar'd the red fire flee.
"O brother, keep my boat afloat,
An' lat her na the land so near!
For the wicked beast she'll sure go mad,
An' set fire to the land an' mair."
Syne he has bent an arblast bow
And aim'd an arrow at her head,
And swore, if she didna quit the land,
Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.
"O out o' my stythe I winna rise –
And it is na for the fear o' thee –
Till Kemp Owyne, the kingis son,
Come to the craig an' thrice kiss me."
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang
And twisted thrice about the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
"Come to the craig, an' kiss with me!
"Here is a royal belt," she cried,
"That I have found in the green sea;
And while your body it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my belt your death shall be."
He's louted him o'er the Eastmuir craig,
As out she swang and about the tree;
He steppèd in, gave her a kiss,
The royal belt he brought him wi'.
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang
And twisted twice about the tree,
As awa' she gid, and again she swang –
"Come to the craig, an' kiss with me!
"Here is a royal ring," she said,
"That I have found in the green sea;
And while your finger it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my ring your death shall be."
He's louted him o'er the Eastmuir craig,
As out she swang and about the tree;
He steppèd in, gave her a kiss,
The royal ring he brought him wi'.
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang
And twisted ance about the tree,
As awa' she gid and again she swang –
"Come to the craig, an' kiss with me!
"Here is a royal brand," she said,
"That I have found in the green sea;
And while your body it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my brand your death shall be."
He's louted him o'er the Eastmuir craig,
As out she swang and about the tree;
He steppèd in, gave her a kiss
That royal brand he brought him wi'.
Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short,
And twisted nane about the tree,
As awa' she gid and again she came
The fairest lady that ever could be.
"O was it a wer-wolf into the wood,
Or was it a mermaid into the sea,
Or was it a man or a vile woman,
My true love, that mis-shapit thee?" –
"It was na wer-wolf into the wood,
Nor was it mermaid into the sea,
But and it was my vile stepmother,
And wae and weary mote she be!"
"O a heavier weird shall light her on,
Her hair sall grow rough an' her teeth grow lang
And aye on her four feet sall she gang,
And aye in Wormeswood sall she won!"
SIR OLUF AND THE ELF-KING'S DAUGHTER
Sir Oluf the hend has ridden sae wide,
All unto his bridal feast to bid.
And lightly the elves, sae feat and free,
They dance all under the greenwood tree!
And there danced four, and there danced five;
The Elf-King's daughter she reekit bilive.
Her hand to Sir Oluf sae fair and free:
"O welcome, Sir Oluf, come dance wi' me!
"O welcome, Sir Oluf! now lat thy love gae,
And tread wi' me in the dance sae gay."
"To dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may;
The morn it is my bridal day."
"O come, Sir Oluf, and dance wi' me;
Twa buckskin boots I'll give to thee;
"Twa buckskin boots, that sit sae fair,
Wi' gilded spurs sae rich and rare.
"And hear ye, Sir Oluf! come dance wi' me;
And a silken sark I'll give to thee;
"A silken sark sae white and fine,
That my mother bleached in the moonshine."
"I darena, I maunna come dance wi' thee;
For the morn my bridal day maun be."
"O hear ye, Sir Oluf! come dance wi' me,
And a helmet o' goud I'll give to thee."
"A helmet o' goud I well may ha'e;
But dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may."
"And winna thou dance, Sir Oluf, wi' me?
Then sickness and pain shall follow thee!"
She's smitten Sir Oluf – it strak to his heart;
He never before had kent sic a smart;
Then lifted him up on his ambler red;
"And now, Sir Oluf, ride hame to thy bride."
And whan he came till the castell yett,
His mither she stood and leant thereat.
"O hear ye, Sir Oluf, my ain dear son,
Whareto is your lire sae blae and wan?"
"O well may my lire be wan and blae,
For I ha'e been in the elf-womens' play."
"O hear ye, Sir Oluf, my son, my pride,
And what shall I say to thy young bride?"
"Ye'll say, that I've ridden but into the wood,
To prieve gin my horse and hounds are good."
Ear on the morn, whan night was gane,
The bride she cam wi' the bridal train.
They skinked the mead, and they skinked the wine:
"O whare is Sir Oluf, bridegroom mine?"
"Sir Oluf has ridden but into the wood,
To prieve gin his horse and hounds are good."
And she took up the scarlet red,
And there lay Sir Oluf, and he was dead!
Ear on the morn, whan it was day,
Three likes were ta'en frae the castle away;
Sir Oluf the leal, and his bride sae fair,
And his mither, that died wi' sorrow and care.
And lightly the elves sae feat and free,
They dance all under the greenwood tree!
THE GYPSY COUNTESS
There cam' seven Egyptians on a day,
And wow, but they sang bonny!
And they sang sae sweet, and sae very complete,
Down cam' Earl Cassilis' lady.
She cam' tripping down the stair,
And a' her maids before her;
As soon as they saw her weel-faur'd face
They cast the glamourie owre her.
They gave to her the nutmeg,
And they gave to her the ginger;
But she gave to them a far better thing,
The seven gold rings off her fingers.
And when the Earl he did come home,
Enquiring for his ladie,
One of the servants made this reply,
"She's awa' with the gypsie laddie."
"Come saddle for me the brown," he said,
"For the black was ne'er so speedy,
And I will travel night and day
Till I find out my wanton ladie."
"Will you come home, my dear?" he said,
"Oh will you come home, my honey,
And by the point of my broad sword,
A hand I'll ne'er lay on you."
"Yestreen I rade this water deep.
And my own gude lord beside me;
But this night I maun wet my little pretty feet
With a wheen blackguards to wade me.
"Yestreen I lay on a good feather-bed,
And my own wedded lord beyond me,
And to-night I'll lie in the ash-corner,
With the gypsies all around me.
"They took off my high-heeled shoes,
That were made of Spanish leather,
And I have put on coarse Lowland brogues,
To trip it o'er the heather.
"The Earl of Cassilis is lying sick;
Not one hair I'm sorry;
I'd rather have a kiss from Johnny Faa's lips
Than all his gold and his money."
MAY COLVIN
False Sir John a-wooing came
To a maid of beauty fair;
May Colvin was this lady's name,
Her father's only heir.
He woo'd her but, he woo'd her ben,
He woo'd her in the ha';
Until he got the lady's consent
To mount and ride awa'.
"Go fetch me some of your father's gold,
And some of your mother's fee,
And I'll carry you into the north land,
And there I'll marry thee."
She's gane to her father's coffers
Where all his money lay,
And she's taken the red, and she's left the white,
And so lightly she's tripp'd away.
She's gane to her father's stable
Where all the steeds did stand,
And she's taken the best, and she's left the warst
That was in her father's land.
She's mounted on a milk-white steed,
And he on a dapple-grey,
And on they rade to a lonesome part,
A rock beside the sea.
"Loup off the steed," says false Sir John,
"Your bridal bed you see;
Seven ladies I have drownèd here,
And the eighth one you shall be.
"Cast off, cast off your silks so fine
And lay them on a stone,
For they are too fine and costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.
"Cast off, cast off your silken stays,
For and your broider'd shoon,
For they are too fine and costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.
"Cast off, cast off your Holland smock
That's border'd with the lawn,
For it is too fine and costly
To rot in the salt sea foam."
"O turn about, thou false Sir John,
And look to the leaf o' the tree;
For it never became a gentleman
A naked woman to see."
He turn'd himself straight round about
To look to the leaf o' the tree;
She's twined her arms about his waist
And thrown him into the sea.
"O hold a grip o' me, May Colvin,
For fear that I should drown;
I'll take you home to your father's gates
And safe I'll set you down."
"No help, no help, thou false Sir John,
No help, no pity thee!
For you lie not in a caulder bed
Than you thought to lay me."
She mounted on her milk-white steed,
And led the dapple-grey,
And she rode till she reach'd her father's gates,
At the breakin' o' the day.
Up then spake the pretty parrot,
"May Colvin, where have you been?
What has become o' false Sir John
That went with you yestreen?" –
"O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot!
Nor tell no tales o' me;
Your cage shall be made o' the beaten gold
And the spokes o' ivorie."
Up then spake her father dear,
In the bed-chamber where he lay:
"What ails the pretty parrot,
That prattles so long ere day?" –
"There came a cat to my cage, master,
I thought 't would have worried me,
And I was calling to May Colvin
To take the cat from me."
THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER
It was intill a pleasant time,
Upon a simmer's day,
The noble Earl Mar's daughter
Went forth to sport and play.
And while she play'd and sported
Below a green aik tree,
There she saw a sprightly doo
Set on a tower sae hie.
"O Coo-me-doo, my love sae true,
If ye'll come doun to me,
Ye'se hae a cage o' gude red gowd
Instead o' simple tree.
"I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage,
And siller roun' your wa';
I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird
As ony o' them a'."
But she had nae these words well spoke,
Nor yet these words well said,
Till Coo-me-doo flew frae the tower
And lichted on her head.
Then she has brought this pretty bird
Hame to her bowers and ha',
And made him shine as fair a bird
As ony o' them a'.
When day was gone, and night was come,
About the evening-tide,
This lady spied a gallant youth
Stand straight up by her side.
"From whence cam' ye, young man?" she said;
"That does surprise me sair;
My door was bolted right secure,
What way hae ye come here?" –
"O haud your tongue, ye lady fair,
Lat a' your folly be;
Mind ye not o' your turtle-doo
Ye wiled from aff the tree?" –
"What country come ye frae?" she said,
"An' what's your pedigree?" –
"O it was but this verra day
That I cam' ower the sea.
"My mither lives on foreign isles,
A queen o' high degree;
And by her spells I am a doo
With you to live an' dee." –
"O Coo-me-doo, my love sae true,
Nae mair frae me ye'se gae." –
"That's never my intent, my love;
As ye said, it shall be sae."
Then he has stay'd in bower wi' her
For six lang years and ane,
Till six young sons to him she bare,
And the seventh she's brought hame.
But aye, as ever a child was born,
He carried them away,
And brought them to his mither's care
As fast as he could fly.
When he had stay'd in bower wi' her
For seven lang years an' mair,
There cam' a lord o' high renown
To court this lady fair.
But still his proffer she refused
And a' his presents too;
Says, "I'm content to live alane
Wi' my bird Coo-me-doo."
Her father swore a michty oath
Amang the nobles all,
"The morn, or ere I eat or drink,
This bird I will gar kill."
The bird was sitting in his cage
And heard what they did say;
Says, "Wae is me, and you forlorn,
If I do langer stay!"
Then Coo-me-doo took flight and flew
And afar beyond the sea,
And lichted near his mither's castle
On a tower o' gowd sae hie.
His mither she was walking out
To see what she could see,
And there she saw her one young son
Set on the tower sae hie.
"Get dancers here to dance," she said,
"And minstrels for to play;
For here's my young son Florentine
Come hame wi' me to stay." –
"Get nae dancers to dance, mither,
Nor minstrels for to play;
For the mither o' my seven sons,
The morn's her wedding-day." –
"O tell me, tell me, Florentine,
Tell me, an tell me true;
Tell me this day without a flaw
What I will do for you?" –
"Instead of dancers to dance, mither,
Or minstrels for to play,
Turn four-and-twenty well-wight men
Like storks in feathers gray:
"My seven sons in seven swans
Aboon their heads to flee;
And I mysell a gay goshawk,
A bird o' high degree."
Then siching said the Queen hersel',
"That thing's too high for me!"
But she applied to an auld woman
Wha had mair skill than she.
Instead o' dancers to dance a dance,
Or minstrels for to play,
Four-and-twenty well-wight men
Turn'd birds o' feathers gray.
Her seven sons in seven swans,
Aboon their heads to flee;
And he himsel' a gay goshawk,
A bird o' high degree.
This flock o' birds took flight and flew
Beyond the raging sea,
And landed near the Earl Mar's castle,
Took shelter in every tree.
They were a flock o' pretty birds
Right comely to be seen;
The people view'd them wi' surprise
As they dancèd on the green.
These birds flew out frae every tree
And lichted on the ha',
And frae the roof with force did flee
Amang the nobles a'.
The storks there seized ilk wedding-guest
– They could not fight nor flee;
The swans they bound the bridegroom fast
Below a green aik tree.
They lichted next on the bride-maidens,
Then on the bride's own head;
And wi' the twinkling o' an e'e
The bride an' them were fled.
There's ancient men at weddings been
For sixty years or more,
But siccan a curious wedding-day
They never saw before.
For naething could the companie do,
Nor naething could they say;
But they saw a flock o' pretty birds
That took their bride away.
LORD LOVEL
Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate,
Combing his milk-white steed,
When up came Lady Nancy Belle,
To wish her lover good speed.
"Where are you going, Lord Lovel?" she said,
"Oh where are you going?" said she.
"I'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle,
Strange countries for to see."
"When will you be back, Lord Lovel?" she said,
"Oh when will you come back?" said she.
"In a year, or two, or three at the most,
I'll return to my fair Nancy."
But he had not been gone a year and a day,
Strange countries for to see,
When languishing thoughts came into his head,
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.
So he rode, and he rode, on his milk-white steed,
Till he came to London town,
And there he heard St. Pancras' bells,
And the people all mourning round.
"Oh what is the matter?" Lord Lovel he said,
"Oh what is the matter?" said he;
"A lord's lady is dead," a woman replied,
"And some call her Lady Nancy."
So he order'd the grave to be open'd wide,
And the shroud he turnèd down,
And there he kiss'd her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears came trickling down.
Lady Nancy she died, as it might be, today,
Lord Lovel he died as tomorrow;
Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.
Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' Church,
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,
And out of her lover's a briar.
They grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple top,
And then they could grow no higher;
So there they entwined in a true-lovers' knot,
For all lovers true to admire.
