Lord Lovel stands at his stable door,Mounted upon a grey steed;And bye came Ladie Nanciebel,And wish'd Lord Lovel much speed."O whare are ye going, Lord Lovel,5My dearest tell to me?""O I am going a far journey,Some strange countrie to see;"But I'll return in seven long years,Lady Nanciebel to see."10"O seven, seven, seven long years,They are much too long for me."* * * * * * *He was gane a year away,A year but barely ane,When a strange fancy cam into his head,15That fair Nanciebel was gane.It's then he rade, and better rade,Until he cam to the toun,And then he heard a dismal noise,For the church bells a' did soun'.20He asked what the bells rang for;They said, "It's for Nanciebel;She died for a discourteous squire,And his name is Lord Lovel."The lid o' the coffin he opened up,25The linens he faulded doun;And ae he kiss'd her pale, pale lips,And the tears cam trinkling doun."Weill may I kiss those pale, pale lips,For they will never kiss me;—30I'll mak a vow, and keep it true,That they'll ne'er kiss ane but thee."Lady Nancie died on Tuesday's nicht,Lord Lovel upon the niest day;Lady Nancie died for pure, pure love,35Lord Lovel, for deep sorray.
Lord Lovel stands at his stable door,Mounted upon a grey steed;And bye came Ladie Nanciebel,And wish'd Lord Lovel much speed.
"O whare are ye going, Lord Lovel,5My dearest tell to me?""O I am going a far journey,Some strange countrie to see;
"But I'll return in seven long years,Lady Nanciebel to see."10"O seven, seven, seven long years,They are much too long for me."
* * * * * * *
He was gane a year away,A year but barely ane,When a strange fancy cam into his head,15That fair Nanciebel was gane.
It's then he rade, and better rade,Until he cam to the toun,And then he heard a dismal noise,For the church bells a' did soun'.20
He asked what the bells rang for;They said, "It's for Nanciebel;She died for a discourteous squire,And his name is Lord Lovel."
The lid o' the coffin he opened up,25The linens he faulded doun;And ae he kiss'd her pale, pale lips,And the tears cam trinkling doun.
"Weill may I kiss those pale, pale lips,For they will never kiss me;—30I'll mak a vow, and keep it true,That they'll ne'er kiss ane but thee."
Lady Nancie died on Tuesday's nicht,Lord Lovel upon the niest day;Lady Nancie died for pure, pure love,35Lord Lovel, for deep sorray.
The following fragment was first published in Maidment'sNorth Countrie Garland, p. 10; shortly after, in Buchan'sGleanings, p. 161. A more complete copy, from Buchan's larger collection, is annexed.
* * * * * * *Ben came her father,Skipping on the floor,Said, "Jeanie, you're tryingThe tricks of a whore."You're caring for him5That cares not for thee,And I pray you take Salton,Let Auchanachie be.""I will not have Salton,It lies low by the sea;10He is bowed in the back,He's thrawen in the knee;And I'll die if I get notMy brave Auchanachie.""I am bowed in the back,15Lassie as ye see,But the bonny lands of SaltonAre no crooked tee."And when she was marriedShe would not lie down,20But they took out a knife,And cuttit her gown;Likewise of her staysThe lacing in three,And now she lies dead25For her Auchanachie.Out comes her bower-woman,Wringing her hands,Says, "Alas for the stayingSo long on the sands!30"Alas for the stayingSo long on the flood!For Jeanie was married,And now she is dead."
* * * * * * *
Ben came her father,Skipping on the floor,Said, "Jeanie, you're tryingThe tricks of a whore.
"You're caring for him5That cares not for thee,And I pray you take Salton,Let Auchanachie be."
"I will not have Salton,It lies low by the sea;10He is bowed in the back,He's thrawen in the knee;And I'll die if I get notMy brave Auchanachie."
"I am bowed in the back,15Lassie as ye see,But the bonny lands of SaltonAre no crooked tee."
And when she was marriedShe would not lie down,20But they took out a knife,And cuttit her gown;
Likewise of her staysThe lacing in three,And now she lies dead25For her Auchanachie.
Out comes her bower-woman,Wringing her hands,Says, "Alas for the stayingSo long on the sands!30
"Alas for the stayingSo long on the flood!For Jeanie was married,And now she is dead."
From Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland, ii. 133.
"Auchanachie Gordon is bonny and braw,He would tempt any woman that ever he saw;He would tempt any woman, so has he tempted me,And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie."In came her father, tripping on the floor,5Says, "Jeanie, ye're trying the tricks o' a whore;Ye're caring for them that cares little for thee,Ye must marry Salton, leave Auchanachie."Auchanachie Gordon, he is but a man,Altho' he be pretty, where lies his free land?10Salton's lands they lie broad, his towers they stand hie,Ye must marry Salton, leave Auchanachie."Salton will gar you wear silk gowns fring'd to thy knee,But ye'll never wear that wi' your love Auchanachie.""Wi' Auchanachie Gordon I would beg my bread,15Before that wi' Salton I'd wear gowd on my head;"Wear gowd on my head, or gowns fring'd to the knee,And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie;O Salton's valley lies low by the sea,He's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee."20"O Salton's a valley lies low by the sea;Though he's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee,Though he's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee,The bonny rigs of Salton they're nae thrawin tee.""O you that are my parents to church may me bring,25But unto young Salton I'll never bear a son;For son, or for daughter, I'll ne'er bow my knee,And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie."When Jeanie was married, from church was brought hame,When she wi' her maidens sae merry shou'd hae been,30When she wi' her maidens sae merry shou'd hae been,She's called for a chamber to weep there her lane."Come to your bed, Jeanie, my honey and my sweet,For to stile you mistress I do not think it meet.""Mistress, or Jeanie, it is a' ane to me,35It's in your bed, Salton, I never will be."Then out spake her father, he spake wi' renown,"Some of you that are maidens, ye'll loose aff her gown;Some of you that are maidens, ye'll loose aff her gown,And I'll mend the marriage wi' ten thousand crowns."40Then ane of her maidens they loosed aff her gown,But bonny Jeanie Gordon, she fell in a swoon;She fell in a swoon low down by their knee;Says, "Look on, I die for my love Auchanachie!"That very same day Miss Jeanie did die,45And hame came Auchanachie, hame frae the sea;Her father and mither welcom'd him at the gate;He said, "Where's Miss Jeanie, that she's nae here yet?"Then forth came her maidens, all wringing their hands,Saying, "Alas! for your staying sae lang frae the land:50Sae lang frae the land, and sae lang fra the fleed,They've wedded your Jeanie, and now she is dead!""Some of you, her maidens, take me by the hand,And show me the chamber Miss Jeanie died in;"He kiss'd her cold lips, which were colder than stane,55And he died in the chamber that Jeanie died in.
"Auchanachie Gordon is bonny and braw,He would tempt any woman that ever he saw;He would tempt any woman, so has he tempted me,And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie."
In came her father, tripping on the floor,5Says, "Jeanie, ye're trying the tricks o' a whore;Ye're caring for them that cares little for thee,Ye must marry Salton, leave Auchanachie.
"Auchanachie Gordon, he is but a man,Altho' he be pretty, where lies his free land?10Salton's lands they lie broad, his towers they stand hie,Ye must marry Salton, leave Auchanachie.
"Salton will gar you wear silk gowns fring'd to thy knee,But ye'll never wear that wi' your love Auchanachie.""Wi' Auchanachie Gordon I would beg my bread,15Before that wi' Salton I'd wear gowd on my head;
"Wear gowd on my head, or gowns fring'd to the knee,And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie;O Salton's valley lies low by the sea,He's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee."20
"O Salton's a valley lies low by the sea;Though he's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee,Though he's bowed on the back, and thrawin on the knee,The bonny rigs of Salton they're nae thrawin tee."
"O you that are my parents to church may me bring,25But unto young Salton I'll never bear a son;For son, or for daughter, I'll ne'er bow my knee,And I'll die if I getna my love Auchanachie."
When Jeanie was married, from church was brought hame,When she wi' her maidens sae merry shou'd hae been,30When she wi' her maidens sae merry shou'd hae been,She's called for a chamber to weep there her lane.
"Come to your bed, Jeanie, my honey and my sweet,For to stile you mistress I do not think it meet.""Mistress, or Jeanie, it is a' ane to me,35It's in your bed, Salton, I never will be."
Then out spake her father, he spake wi' renown,"Some of you that are maidens, ye'll loose aff her gown;Some of you that are maidens, ye'll loose aff her gown,And I'll mend the marriage wi' ten thousand crowns."40
Then ane of her maidens they loosed aff her gown,But bonny Jeanie Gordon, she fell in a swoon;She fell in a swoon low down by their knee;Says, "Look on, I die for my love Auchanachie!"
That very same day Miss Jeanie did die,45And hame came Auchanachie, hame frae the sea;Her father and mither welcom'd him at the gate;He said, "Where's Miss Jeanie, that she's nae here yet?"
Then forth came her maidens, all wringing their hands,Saying, "Alas! for your staying sae lang frae the land:50Sae lang frae the land, and sae lang fra the fleed,They've wedded your Jeanie, and now she is dead!"
"Some of you, her maidens, take me by the hand,And show me the chamber Miss Jeanie died in;"He kiss'd her cold lips, which were colder than stane,55And he died in the chamber that Jeanie died in.
A fragment obtained by Jamieson from the recitation of Mrs. Brown, of Falkland.Popular Ballads, i. 135. In connection with this we give the complete story from Buchan. Aytoun has changed the title toThe Mother's Malison. An Italian ballad, containing a story similar to that of this ballad and the two following (but of independent origin), isLa Maledizione Materna, in Marcoaldi'sCanti Popolari, p. 170.
"Gie corn to my horse, mither;Gie meat unto my man;For I maun gang to Margaret's bower,Before the nicht comes on.""O stay at hame now, my son Willie!5The wind blaws cald and sour;The nicht will be baith mirk and late,Before ye reach her bower.""O tho' the nicht were ever sae dark,Or the wind blew never sae cald,10I will be in my Margaret's bowerBefore twa hours be tald.""O gin ye gang to May Margaret,Without the leave of me,Clyde's water's wide and deep enough;—15My malison drown thee!"He mounted on his coal-black steed,And fast he rade awa';But, ere he came to Clyde's water,Fu' loud the wind did blaw.20As he rode o'er yon hich, hich hill,And down yon dowie den,There was a roar in Clyde's waterWad fear'd a hunder men.His heart was warm, his pride was up;25Sweet Willie kentna fear;But yet his mither's malisonAy sounded in his ear.O he has swam through Clyde's water,Tho' it was wide and deep;30And he came to May Margaret's door,When a' were fast asleep.O he's gane round and round about,And tirled at the pin;But doors were steek'd, and window's bar'd,35And nane wad let him in."O open the door to me, Margaret,—O open and lat me in!For my boots are full o' Clyde's water,And frozen to the brim."40"I darena open the door to you,Nor darena lat you in;For my mither she is fast asleep,And I darena mak nae din.""O gin ye winna open the door,45Nor yet be kind to me,Now tell me o' some out-chamber,Where I this nicht may be.""Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie,Nor here ye canna be;50For I've nae chambers out nor in,Nae ane but barely three:"The tane o' them is fu' o' corn,The tither is fu' o' hay;The tither is fu' o' merry young men;—55They winna remove till day.""O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret,Sin better manna be;I've win my mither's malison,Coming this nicht to thee."60He's mounted on his coal-black steed,—O but his heart was wae!But, ere he came to Clyde's water,'Twas half up o'er the brae.* * * * * * *—— he plunged in,But never raise again.
"Gie corn to my horse, mither;Gie meat unto my man;For I maun gang to Margaret's bower,Before the nicht comes on."
"O stay at hame now, my son Willie!5The wind blaws cald and sour;The nicht will be baith mirk and late,Before ye reach her bower."
"O tho' the nicht were ever sae dark,Or the wind blew never sae cald,10I will be in my Margaret's bowerBefore twa hours be tald."
"O gin ye gang to May Margaret,Without the leave of me,Clyde's water's wide and deep enough;—15My malison drown thee!"
He mounted on his coal-black steed,And fast he rade awa';But, ere he came to Clyde's water,Fu' loud the wind did blaw.20
As he rode o'er yon hich, hich hill,And down yon dowie den,There was a roar in Clyde's waterWad fear'd a hunder men.
His heart was warm, his pride was up;25Sweet Willie kentna fear;But yet his mither's malisonAy sounded in his ear.
O he has swam through Clyde's water,Tho' it was wide and deep;30And he came to May Margaret's door,When a' were fast asleep.
O he's gane round and round about,And tirled at the pin;But doors were steek'd, and window's bar'd,35And nane wad let him in.
"O open the door to me, Margaret,—O open and lat me in!For my boots are full o' Clyde's water,And frozen to the brim."40
"I darena open the door to you,Nor darena lat you in;For my mither she is fast asleep,And I darena mak nae din."
"O gin ye winna open the door,45Nor yet be kind to me,Now tell me o' some out-chamber,Where I this nicht may be."
"Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie,Nor here ye canna be;50For I've nae chambers out nor in,Nae ane but barely three:
"The tane o' them is fu' o' corn,The tither is fu' o' hay;The tither is fu' o' merry young men;—55They winna remove till day."
"O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret,Sin better manna be;I've win my mither's malison,Coming this nicht to thee."60
He's mounted on his coal-black steed,—O but his heart was wae!But, ere he came to Clyde's water,'Twas half up o'er the brae.
* * * * * * *
—— he plunged in,But never raise again.
From Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland, i. 140. The copy in the Appendix to Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. iii., is nearly the same.
Willie stands in his stable door,And clapping at his steed;And looking o'er his white fingers,His nose began to bleed."Gie corn to my horse, mother;5And meat to my young man;And I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,I'll win ere she lie down.""O bide this night wi' me, Willie,O bide this night wi' me;10The best an' cock o' a' the reest,At your supper shall be."A' your cocks, and a' your reests,I value not a prin;For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,15I'll win ere she lie down.""Stay this night wi' me, Willie,O stay this night wi' me;The best an' sheep in a' the flockAt your supper shall be."20"A' your sheep, and a' your flocks,I value not a prin;For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,I'll win ere she lie down.""O an' ye gang to Meggie's bower,25Sae sair against my will,The deepest pot in Clyde's water,My malison ye's feel.""The guid steed that I ride uponCost me thrice thretty pound;30And I'll put trust in his swift feet,To hae me safe to land."As he rade ower yon high, high hill,And down yon dowie den,The noise that was in Clyde's water35Wou'd fear'd five huner men."O roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud,Your streams seem wond'rous strang;Make me your wreck as I come back,But spare me as I gang."40Then he is on to Meggie's bower,And tirled at the pin;"O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie," he said,"Ye'll open, lat me come in.""O wha is this at my bower door,45That calls me by my name?""It is your first love, sweet Willie,This night newly come hame.""I hae few lovers thereout, thereout,As few hae I therein;50The best an' love that ever I had,Was here just late yestreen.""The warstan stable in a' your stables,For my puir steed to stand;The warstan bower in a' your bowers,55For me to lie therein:My boots are fu' o' Clyde's water,I'm shivering at the chin.""My barns are fu' o' corn, Willie,My stables are fu' o' hay;60My bowers are fu' o' gentlemen;—They'll nae remove till day.""O fare-ye-well, my fause Meggie,O farewell, and adieu;I've gotten my mither's malison,65This night coming to you."As he rode ower yon high, high hill,And down yon dowie den;The rushing that was in Clyde's waterTook Willie's cane frae him.70He lean'd him ower his saddle bow,To catch his cane again;The rushing that was in Clyde's waterTook Willie's hat frae him.He lean'd him ower his saddle bow,75To catch his hat thro' force;The rushing that was in Clyde's waterTook Willie frae his horse.His brither stood upo' the bank,Says, "Fye, man, will ye drown?80Ye'll turn ye to your high horse head,And learn how to sowm.""How can I turn to my horse head,And learn how to sowm?I've gotten my mither's malison,85Its here that I maun drown!"The very hour this young man sankInto the pot sae deep,Up it waken'd his love, Meggie,Out o' her drowsy sleep.90"Come here, come here, my mither dear,And read this dreary dream;I dream'd my love was at our gates,And nane wad let him in.""Lye still, lye still now, my Meggie.95Lye still and tak your rest;Sin' your true love was at your yates,It's but twa quarters past."Nimbly, nimbly raise she up,And nimbly pat she on;100And the higher that the lady cried,The louder blew the win.'The first an' step that she stepp'd in,She stepped to the queet;"Ohon, alas!" said that lady,105"This water's wond'rous deep."The next an' step that she wade in,She wadit to the knee;Says she, "I cou'd wide farther in,If I my love cou'd see."110The next an' step that she wade in,She wadit to the chin;The deepest pot in Clyde's waterShe got sweet Willie in."You've had a cruel mither, Willie,115And I have had anither;But we shall sleep in Clyde's water,Like sister an' like brither."
Willie stands in his stable door,And clapping at his steed;And looking o'er his white fingers,His nose began to bleed.
"Gie corn to my horse, mother;5And meat to my young man;And I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,I'll win ere she lie down."
"O bide this night wi' me, Willie,O bide this night wi' me;10The best an' cock o' a' the reest,At your supper shall be.
"A' your cocks, and a' your reests,I value not a prin;For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,15I'll win ere she lie down."
"Stay this night wi' me, Willie,O stay this night wi' me;The best an' sheep in a' the flockAt your supper shall be."20
"A' your sheep, and a' your flocks,I value not a prin;For I'll awa' to Meggie's bower,I'll win ere she lie down."
"O an' ye gang to Meggie's bower,25Sae sair against my will,The deepest pot in Clyde's water,My malison ye's feel."
"The guid steed that I ride uponCost me thrice thretty pound;30And I'll put trust in his swift feet,To hae me safe to land."
As he rade ower yon high, high hill,And down yon dowie den,The noise that was in Clyde's water35Wou'd fear'd five huner men.
"O roaring Clyde, ye roar ower loud,Your streams seem wond'rous strang;Make me your wreck as I come back,But spare me as I gang."40
Then he is on to Meggie's bower,And tirled at the pin;"O sleep ye, wake ye, Meggie," he said,"Ye'll open, lat me come in."
"O wha is this at my bower door,45That calls me by my name?""It is your first love, sweet Willie,This night newly come hame."
"I hae few lovers thereout, thereout,As few hae I therein;50The best an' love that ever I had,Was here just late yestreen."
"The warstan stable in a' your stables,For my puir steed to stand;The warstan bower in a' your bowers,55For me to lie therein:My boots are fu' o' Clyde's water,I'm shivering at the chin."
"My barns are fu' o' corn, Willie,My stables are fu' o' hay;60My bowers are fu' o' gentlemen;—They'll nae remove till day."
"O fare-ye-well, my fause Meggie,O farewell, and adieu;I've gotten my mither's malison,65This night coming to you."
As he rode ower yon high, high hill,And down yon dowie den;The rushing that was in Clyde's waterTook Willie's cane frae him.70
He lean'd him ower his saddle bow,To catch his cane again;The rushing that was in Clyde's waterTook Willie's hat frae him.
He lean'd him ower his saddle bow,75To catch his hat thro' force;The rushing that was in Clyde's waterTook Willie frae his horse.
His brither stood upo' the bank,Says, "Fye, man, will ye drown?80Ye'll turn ye to your high horse head,And learn how to sowm."
"How can I turn to my horse head,And learn how to sowm?I've gotten my mither's malison,85Its here that I maun drown!"
The very hour this young man sankInto the pot sae deep,Up it waken'd his love, Meggie,Out o' her drowsy sleep.90
"Come here, come here, my mither dear,And read this dreary dream;I dream'd my love was at our gates,And nane wad let him in."
"Lye still, lye still now, my Meggie.95Lye still and tak your rest;Sin' your true love was at your yates,It's but twa quarters past."
Nimbly, nimbly raise she up,And nimbly pat she on;100And the higher that the lady cried,The louder blew the win.'
The first an' step that she stepp'd in,She stepped to the queet;"Ohon, alas!" said that lady,105"This water's wond'rous deep."
The next an' step that she wade in,She wadit to the knee;Says she, "I cou'd wide farther in,If I my love cou'd see."110
The next an' step that she wade in,She wadit to the chin;The deepest pot in Clyde's waterShe got sweet Willie in.
"You've had a cruel mither, Willie,115And I have had anither;But we shall sleep in Clyde's water,Like sister an' like brither."
39, 40. Found also inLeander on the Bay, and taken from the epigram of Martial:"Clamabat tumidis audax Leander in undis,Mergite me fluctus, cum rediturus ero."
39, 40. Found also inLeander on the Bay, and taken from the epigram of Martial:
"Clamabat tumidis audax Leander in undis,Mergite me fluctus, cum rediturus ero."
"Clamabat tumidis audax Leander in undis,Mergite me fluctus, cum rediturus ero."
From Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland, i. 245. A fragment, exhibiting some differences, is among those ballads of Buchan which are published in the Percy Society's volumes, xvii. 66. Four stanzas, of a superior cast, upon the same story, are printed in theTea-Table Miscellany, (ii. 141.)
Rare Willy drown'd in Yarrow."Willy's rare, and Willy's fair,And Willy's wond'rous bonny;And Willy heght to marry me,Gin e'er he married ony."Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,This night I'll make it narrow;For a' the livelang winter nightI ly twin'd of my marrow."O came you by yon water-side?Pou'd you the rose or lilly?Or came you by yon meadow green?Or saw you my sweet Willy?"She sought him east, she sought him west,She sought him braid and narrow;Syne in the cleaving of a craig,She found him drown'd in Yarrow.
Rare Willy drown'd in Yarrow.
"Willy's rare, and Willy's fair,And Willy's wond'rous bonny;And Willy heght to marry me,Gin e'er he married ony.
"Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,This night I'll make it narrow;For a' the livelang winter nightI ly twin'd of my marrow.
"O came you by yon water-side?Pou'd you the rose or lilly?Or came you by yon meadow green?Or saw you my sweet Willy?"
She sought him east, she sought him west,She sought him braid and narrow;Syne in the cleaving of a craig,She found him drown'd in Yarrow.
These stanzas furnished the theme to Logan'sBraes of Yarrow.
"O Willie is fair, and Willie is rare,And Willie is wond'rous bonny;And Willie says he'll marry me,Gin ever he marry ony.""O ye'se get James, or ye'se get George,5Or ye's get bonny Johnnie;Ye'se get the flower o' a' my sons,Gin ye'll forsake my Willie.""O what care I for James or George,Or yet for bonny Peter?10I dinna value their love a leek,An' I getna Willie the writer.""O Willie has a bonny hand,And dear but it is bonny;""He has nae mair for a' his land;15What wou'd ye do wi' Willie?""O Willie has a bonny face,And dear but it is bonny;""But Willie has nae other grace;What wou'd ye do wi' Willie?"20"Willie's fair, and Willie's rare,And Willie's wond'rous bonny;There's nane wi' him that can compare,I love him best of ony."On Wednesday, that fatal day,25The people were convening;Besides all this, threescore and ten,To gang to the bridesteel wi' him."Ride on, ride on, my merry men a',I've forgot something behind me;30I've forgot to get my mother's blessing,To gae to the bridesteel wi' me.""Your Peggy she's but bare fifteen,And ye are scarcely twenty;The water o' Gamery is wide and braid,35My heavy curse gang wi' thee!"Then they rode on, and further on,Till they came on to Gamery;The wind was loud, the stream was proud,And wi' the stream gaed Willie.40Then they rode on, and further on,Till they came to the kirk o' Gamery;And every one on high horse sat,But Willie's horse rade toomly.When they were settled at that place,45The people fell a mourning;And a council held amo' them a',But sair, sair wept Kinmundy.Then out it speaks the bride hersell,Says, "What means a' this mourning?50Where is the man amo' them a',That shou'd gie me fair wedding?"Then out it speaks his brother John,Says, "Meg, I'll tell you plainly;The stream was strong, the clerk rade wrong,55And Willie's drown'd in Gamery."She put her hand up to her head,Where were the ribbons many;She rave them a', let them down fa',And straightway ran to Gamery.60She sought it up, she sought it down,Till she was wet and weary;And in the middle part o' it,There she got her deary.Then she stroak'd back his yellow hair,65And kiss'd his mou' sae comely;"My mother's heart's be as wae as thine;We'se baith asleep in the water o' Gamery."
"O Willie is fair, and Willie is rare,And Willie is wond'rous bonny;And Willie says he'll marry me,Gin ever he marry ony."
"O ye'se get James, or ye'se get George,5Or ye's get bonny Johnnie;Ye'se get the flower o' a' my sons,Gin ye'll forsake my Willie."
"O what care I for James or George,Or yet for bonny Peter?10I dinna value their love a leek,An' I getna Willie the writer."
"O Willie has a bonny hand,And dear but it is bonny;""He has nae mair for a' his land;15What wou'd ye do wi' Willie?"
"O Willie has a bonny face,And dear but it is bonny;""But Willie has nae other grace;What wou'd ye do wi' Willie?"20
"Willie's fair, and Willie's rare,And Willie's wond'rous bonny;There's nane wi' him that can compare,I love him best of ony."
On Wednesday, that fatal day,25The people were convening;Besides all this, threescore and ten,To gang to the bridesteel wi' him.
"Ride on, ride on, my merry men a',I've forgot something behind me;30I've forgot to get my mother's blessing,To gae to the bridesteel wi' me."
"Your Peggy she's but bare fifteen,And ye are scarcely twenty;The water o' Gamery is wide and braid,35My heavy curse gang wi' thee!"
Then they rode on, and further on,Till they came on to Gamery;The wind was loud, the stream was proud,And wi' the stream gaed Willie.40
Then they rode on, and further on,Till they came to the kirk o' Gamery;And every one on high horse sat,But Willie's horse rade toomly.
When they were settled at that place,45The people fell a mourning;And a council held amo' them a',But sair, sair wept Kinmundy.
Then out it speaks the bride hersell,Says, "What means a' this mourning?50Where is the man amo' them a',That shou'd gie me fair wedding?"
Then out it speaks his brother John,Says, "Meg, I'll tell you plainly;The stream was strong, the clerk rade wrong,55And Willie's drown'd in Gamery."
She put her hand up to her head,Where were the ribbons many;She rave them a', let them down fa',And straightway ran to Gamery.60
She sought it up, she sought it down,Till she was wet and weary;And in the middle part o' it,There she got her deary.
Then she stroak'd back his yellow hair,65And kiss'd his mou' sae comely;"My mother's heart's be as wae as thine;We'se baith asleep in the water o' Gamery."
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 282.
"The following verses are the original words of the tune ofAllan Water, by which name the song is mentioned in Ramsay'sTea-Table Miscellany. The ballad is given from tradition; and it is said that a bridge over the Annan, was built in consequence of the melancholy catastrophe which it narrates. Two verses are added in this edition, from another copy of the ballad, in which the conclusion proves fortunate. By theGatehope-Slack, is perhaps meant theGate-Slack, a pass in Annandale. The Annan, and the Frith of Solway, into which it falls, are the frequent scenes of tragical accidents. The Editor trusts he will be pardoned for inserting the following awfully impressive account of such an event, contained in a letter from Dr. Currie, of Liverpool, by whose correspondence, while in the course of preparing these volumes for the press, he has been alike honoured and instructed. After stating that he had some recollection of the ballad which follows, the biographer of Burns proceeds thus:—'I once in my early days heard (for it was night, and I could not see) a traveller drowning; not in the Annan itself, but in the Frith of Solway, close by the mouth of that river. The influx of the tide had unhorsed him, in the night, as he was passing the sands from Cumberland. The west wind blew a tempest, and, according to the common expression, brought in the waterthree foot a-breast. The traveller got upon a standing net, a little way from the shore. There he lashed himself to the post, shouting for half an hour for assistance—till the tide rose over his head! In the darkness of the night, and amid the pauses of the hurricane, his voice, heard at intervals, was exquisitely mournful. No one could go to his assistance—no one knew where he was—the sound seemed to proceed from the spirit of the waters. But morning rose—the tide had ebbed—and the poor traveller was found lashed to the pole of the net, and bleaching in the wind.'"
Scott.
"Annan water's wading deep,And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;And I am laith she suld weet her feet,Because I love her best of ony."Gar saddle me the bonny black,5Gar saddle sune, and make him ready;For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,And all to see my bonny ladye."—He has loupen on the bonny black,He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;10But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,I think the steed was wae and weary.He has loupen on the bonny grey,He rade the right gate and the ready;I trow he would neither stint nor stay,15For he was seeking his bonny ladye.O he has ridden o'er field and fell,Through muir and moss, and mony a mire:His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.20"Now, bonny grey, now play your part!Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,And never spur sall make you wearie."—The grey was a mare, and a right good mare;25But when she wan the Annan water,She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,Had a thousand merks been wadded at her."O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!Put off your boat for gowden money!30I cross the drumly stream the night,Or never mair I see my honey."—"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,And not by ae aith, but by many;And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,35I dare na take ye through to Annie."The side was stey, and the bottom deep,Frae bank to brae the water pouring;And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.40O he has pou'd aff his dapperby coat,The silver buttons glanced bonny;The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,He was sae full of melancholy.He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;45I wot he swam both strong and steady;But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,And he never saw his bonny ladye!"O wae betide the frush saugh wand!And wae betide the bush of brier!50It brake into my true love's hand,When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire."And wae betide ye, Annan Water,This night that ye are a drumlie river!For over thee I'll build a bridge,55That ye never more true love may sever."—
"Annan water's wading deep,And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;And I am laith she suld weet her feet,Because I love her best of ony.
"Gar saddle me the bonny black,5Gar saddle sune, and make him ready;For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,And all to see my bonny ladye."—
He has loupen on the bonny black,He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;10But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,I think the steed was wae and weary.
He has loupen on the bonny grey,He rade the right gate and the ready;I trow he would neither stint nor stay,15For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
O he has ridden o'er field and fell,Through muir and moss, and mony a mire:His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.20
"Now, bonny grey, now play your part!Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,And never spur sall make you wearie."—
The grey was a mare, and a right good mare;25But when she wan the Annan water,She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!Put off your boat for gowden money!30I cross the drumly stream the night,Or never mair I see my honey."—
"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,And not by ae aith, but by many;And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,35I dare na take ye through to Annie."
The side was stey, and the bottom deep,Frae bank to brae the water pouring;And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.40
O he has pou'd aff his dapperby coat,The silver buttons glanced bonny;The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,He was sae full of melancholy.
He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;45I wot he swam both strong and steady;But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,And he never saw his bonny ladye!
"O wae betide the frush saugh wand!And wae betide the bush of brier!50It brake into my true love's hand,When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
"And wae betide ye, Annan Water,This night that ye are a drumlie river!For over thee I'll build a bridge,55That ye never more true love may sever."—
"From a stall copy published at Glasgow several years ago, collated with a recited copy, which has furnished one or two verbal improvements." Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. 239.
Mr. Jamieson has published two other sets of this simple, but touching ditty, (i. 126, ii. 382,) one of which is placed after the present. Motherwell's text is almost verbatim that of Buchan'sGleanings, p. 98. TheThistle of Scotlandcopies Buchan and Jamieson without acknowledgment.
The story has been made the foundation of a rude drama in the North of Scotland. For a description of similar entertainments, see Cunningham's Introduction to hisSongs of Scotland, i. 148.
The unfortunate maiden's name, according to Buchan, (Gleanings, p. 197,) "was Annie, or Agnes, (which are synonymous in some parts of Scotland,) Smith, who died of a broken heart on the 9th of January, 1631, as is to be found on a roughly cut stone, broken in many pieces, in the green churchyard ofFyvie." "What afterwards became of Bonny Andrew Lammie," says Jamieson, "we have not been able to learn; but the current tradition of the 'Lawland leas of Fyvie,' says, that some years subsequent to the melancholy fate of poor Tifty's Nanny, her sad story being mentioned, and the ballad sung in a company in Edinburgh when he was present, he remained silent and motionless, till he was discovered by a groan suddenly bursting from him, andseveral of the buttons flying from his waistcoat."
At Mill o' Tifty liv'd a man,In the neighbourhood of Fyvie;He had a lovely daughter fair,Was called bonny Annie.Her bloom was like the springing flower5That salutes the rosy morning;With innocence and graceful mienHer beauteous form adorning.Lord Fyvie had a trumpeterWhose name was Andrew Lammie;10He had the art to gain the heartOf Mill o' Tiftie's Annie.Proper he was, both young and gay,His like was not in Fyvie;No one was there that could compare15With this same Andrew Lammie.Lord Fyvie he rode by the door,Where lived Tiftie's Annie;His trumpeter rode him before,Even this same Andrew Lammie.20Her mother call'd her to the door:"Come here to me, my Annie;Did you ever see a prettier manThan this Trumpeter of Fyvie?"She sighed sore, but said no more,25Alas, for bonny Annie!She durst not own her heart was wonBy the Trumpeter of Fyvie.At night when they went to their beds,All slept full sound but Annie;30Love so opprest her tender breast,Thinking on Andrew Lammie."Love comes in at my bed side,And love lies down beyond me;Love has possess'd my tender breast,35And love will waste my body."The first time I and my love metWas in the woods of Fyvie;His lovely form and speech so sweetSoon gain'd the heart of Annie.40"He called me mistress; I said, No,I'm Tiftie's bonny Annie;With apples sweet he did me treat,And kisses soft and many."It's up and down in Tiftie's den,45Where the burn runs clear and bonny,I've often gone to meet my love,My bonny Andrew Lammie."But now, alas! her father heardThat the Trumpeter of Fyvie50Had had the art to gain the heartOf Tiftie's bonny Annie.Her father soon a letter wrote,And sent it on to Fyvie,To tell his daughter was bewitch'd55By his servant Andrew Lammie.When Lord Fyvie had this letter read,O dear! but he was sorry;The bonniest lass in Fyvie's landIs bewitched by Andrew Lammie.60Then up the stair his trumpeterHe called soon and shortly:"Pray tell me soon, what's this you've doneTo Tiftie's bonny Annie?""In wicked art I had no part,65Nor therein am I canny;True love alone the heart has wonOf Tiftie's bonny Annie."Woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride,For it has ruin'd many;70He'll no ha'e 't said that she should wedThe Trumpeter of Fyvie."Where will I find a boy so kind,That'll carry a letter canny,Who will run on to Tiftie's town,75Give it to my love Annie?""Here you shall find a boy so kind,Who'll carry a letter canny,Who will run on to Tiftie's town,And gi'e 't to thy love Annie."80"It's Tiftie he has daughters three,Who all are wondrous bonny;But ye'll ken her o'er a' the lave,Gi'e that to bonny Annie.""It's up and down in Tiftie's den,85Where the burn runs clear and bonny;There wilt thou come and meet thy love,Thy bonny Andrew Lammie."When wilt thou come, and I'll attend?My love, I long to see thee."90"Thou may'st come to the bridge of Sleugh,And there I'll come and meet thee.""My love, I go to Edinbro',And for a while must leave thee;"She sighed sore, and said no more95But "I wish that I were wi' thee.""I'll buy to thee a bridal gown,My love, I'll buy it bonny;""But I'll be dead, ere ye come backTo see your bonnie Annie."100"If you'll be true and constant too,As my name's Andrew Lammie,I shall thee wed, when I come backTo see the lands of Fyvie.""I will be true, and constant too,105To thee, my Andrew Lammie;But my bridal bed will ere then be made,In the green churchyard of Fyvie.""Our time is gone, and now comes on,My dear, that I must leave thee;110If longer here I should appear,Mill o' Tiftie he would see me.""I now for ever bid adieuTo thee, my Andrew Lammie;Ere ye come back, I will be laid115In the green churchyard of Fyvie."He hied him to the head of the house,To the house top of Fyvie;He blew his trumpet loud and schill;'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie.120Her father lock'd the door at night,Laid by the keys fu' canny;And when he heard the trumpet sound,Said, "Your cow is lowing, Annie.""My father dear, I pray forbear,125And reproach no more your Annie;For I'd rather hear that cow to low,Than ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie."I would not, for my braw new gown,And a' your gifts sae many,130That it were told in Fyvie's landHow cruel you are to Annie."But if ye strike me, I will cry,And gentlemen will hear me;Lord Fyvie will be riding by,135And he'll come in and see me."At the same time, the Lord came in;He said, "What ails thee, Annie?""'Tis all for love now I must die,For bonny Andrew Lammie."140"Pray, Mill o' Tifty, gi'e consent,And let your daughter marry.""It will be with some higher matchThan the Trumpeter of Fyvie.""If she were come of as high a kind145As she's adorned with beauty,I would take her unto myself,And make her mine own lady.""It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide,And they are rich and bonny;150I would not leave my own true love,For all the lands of Fyvie."Her father struck her wondrous sore,And also did her mother;Her sisters always did her scorn;155But woe be to her brother!Her brother struck her wondrous sore,With cruel strokes and many;He brake her back in the hall door,For liking Andrew Lammie.160"Alas! my father and mother dear,Why so cruel to your Annie?My heart was broken first by love,My brother has broken my body."O mother dear, make ye my bed,165And lay my face to Fyvie;Thus will I ly, and thus will die,For my love, Andrew Lammie!"Ye neighbours, hear, both far and near;Ye pity Tiftie's Annie,170Who dies for love of one poor lad,For bonny Andrew Lammie."No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life,Nor hurt my virgin honour;My youthful heart was won by love,175But death will me exoner."Her mother then she made her bed,And laid her face to Fyvie;Her tender heart it soon did break,And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie.180But the word soon went up and down,Through all the lands of Fyvie,That she was dead and buried,Even Tiftie's bonny Annie.Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands,185Said, "Alas, for Tiftie's Annie!The fairest flower's cut down by love,That e'er sprung up in Fyvie."O woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride!He might have let them marry;190I should have giv'n them both to liveInto the lands of Fyvie."Her father sorely now lamentsThe loss of his dear Annie,And wishes he had gi'en consent195To wed with Andrew Lammie.Her mother grieves both air and late;Her sisters, 'cause they scorn'd her;Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve,For the cruel usage he'd giv'n her.200But now, alas! it was too late,For they could not recal her;Through life, unhappy is their fate,Because they did controul her.When Andrew hame from Edinburgh came,205With meikle grief and sorrow,"My love has died for me to-day,I'll die for her to-morrow."Now I will on to Tiftie's den,Where the burn runs clear and bonny;210With tears I'll view the bridge ofSleugh,Where I parted last with Annie."Then will I speed to the churchyard,To the green churchyard of Fyvie;With tears I'll water my love's grave,215Till I follow Tiftie's Annie."Ye parents grave, who children have,In crushing them be canny,Lest when too late you do repent;Remember Tiftie's Annie.220
At Mill o' Tifty liv'd a man,In the neighbourhood of Fyvie;He had a lovely daughter fair,Was called bonny Annie.
Her bloom was like the springing flower5That salutes the rosy morning;With innocence and graceful mienHer beauteous form adorning.
Lord Fyvie had a trumpeterWhose name was Andrew Lammie;10He had the art to gain the heartOf Mill o' Tiftie's Annie.
Proper he was, both young and gay,His like was not in Fyvie;No one was there that could compare15With this same Andrew Lammie.
Lord Fyvie he rode by the door,Where lived Tiftie's Annie;His trumpeter rode him before,Even this same Andrew Lammie.20
Her mother call'd her to the door:"Come here to me, my Annie;Did you ever see a prettier manThan this Trumpeter of Fyvie?"
She sighed sore, but said no more,25Alas, for bonny Annie!She durst not own her heart was wonBy the Trumpeter of Fyvie.
At night when they went to their beds,All slept full sound but Annie;30Love so opprest her tender breast,Thinking on Andrew Lammie.
"Love comes in at my bed side,And love lies down beyond me;Love has possess'd my tender breast,35And love will waste my body.
"The first time I and my love metWas in the woods of Fyvie;His lovely form and speech so sweetSoon gain'd the heart of Annie.40
"He called me mistress; I said, No,I'm Tiftie's bonny Annie;With apples sweet he did me treat,And kisses soft and many.
"It's up and down in Tiftie's den,45Where the burn runs clear and bonny,I've often gone to meet my love,My bonny Andrew Lammie."
But now, alas! her father heardThat the Trumpeter of Fyvie50Had had the art to gain the heartOf Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Her father soon a letter wrote,And sent it on to Fyvie,To tell his daughter was bewitch'd55By his servant Andrew Lammie.
When Lord Fyvie had this letter read,O dear! but he was sorry;The bonniest lass in Fyvie's landIs bewitched by Andrew Lammie.60
Then up the stair his trumpeterHe called soon and shortly:"Pray tell me soon, what's this you've doneTo Tiftie's bonny Annie?"
"In wicked art I had no part,65Nor therein am I canny;True love alone the heart has wonOf Tiftie's bonny Annie.
"Woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride,For it has ruin'd many;70He'll no ha'e 't said that she should wedThe Trumpeter of Fyvie.
"Where will I find a boy so kind,That'll carry a letter canny,Who will run on to Tiftie's town,75Give it to my love Annie?"
"Here you shall find a boy so kind,Who'll carry a letter canny,Who will run on to Tiftie's town,And gi'e 't to thy love Annie."80
"It's Tiftie he has daughters three,Who all are wondrous bonny;But ye'll ken her o'er a' the lave,Gi'e that to bonny Annie."
"It's up and down in Tiftie's den,85Where the burn runs clear and bonny;There wilt thou come and meet thy love,Thy bonny Andrew Lammie.
"When wilt thou come, and I'll attend?My love, I long to see thee."90"Thou may'st come to the bridge of Sleugh,And there I'll come and meet thee."
"My love, I go to Edinbro',And for a while must leave thee;"She sighed sore, and said no more95But "I wish that I were wi' thee."
"I'll buy to thee a bridal gown,My love, I'll buy it bonny;""But I'll be dead, ere ye come backTo see your bonnie Annie."100
"If you'll be true and constant too,As my name's Andrew Lammie,I shall thee wed, when I come backTo see the lands of Fyvie."
"I will be true, and constant too,105To thee, my Andrew Lammie;But my bridal bed will ere then be made,In the green churchyard of Fyvie."
"Our time is gone, and now comes on,My dear, that I must leave thee;110If longer here I should appear,Mill o' Tiftie he would see me."
"I now for ever bid adieuTo thee, my Andrew Lammie;Ere ye come back, I will be laid115In the green churchyard of Fyvie."
He hied him to the head of the house,To the house top of Fyvie;He blew his trumpet loud and schill;'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie.120
Her father lock'd the door at night,Laid by the keys fu' canny;And when he heard the trumpet sound,Said, "Your cow is lowing, Annie."
"My father dear, I pray forbear,125And reproach no more your Annie;For I'd rather hear that cow to low,Than ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie.
"I would not, for my braw new gown,And a' your gifts sae many,130That it were told in Fyvie's landHow cruel you are to Annie.
"But if ye strike me, I will cry,And gentlemen will hear me;Lord Fyvie will be riding by,135And he'll come in and see me."
At the same time, the Lord came in;He said, "What ails thee, Annie?""'Tis all for love now I must die,For bonny Andrew Lammie."140
"Pray, Mill o' Tifty, gi'e consent,And let your daughter marry.""It will be with some higher matchThan the Trumpeter of Fyvie."
"If she were come of as high a kind145As she's adorned with beauty,I would take her unto myself,And make her mine own lady."
"It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide,And they are rich and bonny;150I would not leave my own true love,For all the lands of Fyvie."
Her father struck her wondrous sore,And also did her mother;Her sisters always did her scorn;155But woe be to her brother!
Her brother struck her wondrous sore,With cruel strokes and many;He brake her back in the hall door,For liking Andrew Lammie.160
"Alas! my father and mother dear,Why so cruel to your Annie?My heart was broken first by love,My brother has broken my body.
"O mother dear, make ye my bed,165And lay my face to Fyvie;Thus will I ly, and thus will die,For my love, Andrew Lammie!
"Ye neighbours, hear, both far and near;Ye pity Tiftie's Annie,170Who dies for love of one poor lad,For bonny Andrew Lammie.
"No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life,Nor hurt my virgin honour;My youthful heart was won by love,175But death will me exoner."
Her mother then she made her bed,And laid her face to Fyvie;Her tender heart it soon did break,And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie.180
But the word soon went up and down,Through all the lands of Fyvie,That she was dead and buried,Even Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands,185Said, "Alas, for Tiftie's Annie!The fairest flower's cut down by love,That e'er sprung up in Fyvie.
"O woe betide Mill o' Tiftie's pride!He might have let them marry;190I should have giv'n them both to liveInto the lands of Fyvie."
Her father sorely now lamentsThe loss of his dear Annie,And wishes he had gi'en consent195To wed with Andrew Lammie.
Her mother grieves both air and late;Her sisters, 'cause they scorn'd her;Surely her brother doth mourn and grieve,For the cruel usage he'd giv'n her.200
But now, alas! it was too late,For they could not recal her;Through life, unhappy is their fate,Because they did controul her.
When Andrew hame from Edinburgh came,205With meikle grief and sorrow,"My love has died for me to-day,I'll die for her to-morrow.
"Now I will on to Tiftie's den,Where the burn runs clear and bonny;210With tears I'll view the bridge ofSleugh,Where I parted last with Annie.
"Then will I speed to the churchyard,To the green churchyard of Fyvie;With tears I'll water my love's grave,215Till I follow Tiftie's Annie."
Ye parents grave, who children have,In crushing them be canny,Lest when too late you do repent;Remember Tiftie's Annie.220