20, And thus.
20, And thus.
This exceedingly pretty pastoral, the earliest poem of the kind in the Scottish language, is ascribed in the Bannatyne MS., where it is preserved, to Robert Henryson, who appears to have written in the latter half of the fifteenth century. All that is certainly known of the author is that he was chief schoolmaster of Dunfermline.
Robene and Makynewas first printed by Ramsay in hisEvergreen, (i. 56,) and afterwards by Lord Hailes, inAncient Scottish Poems published from the MS. of George Bannatyne, (p. 98.) Some freedoms were taken with the text by Ramsay, and one line was altered by Lord Hailes. Our copy is given from Sibbald'sChronicle of Scottish Poetry, (i. 115,) where the manuscript is faithfully adhered to.
Robene sat on gud grene hill,Keipand a flok of fie:Mirry Makyne said him till,"Robene, thow rew on me;I haif thé luvit, lowd and still,5Thir yeiris two or thré;My dule in dern bot gif thow dill,Doutles bot dreid I dé."Robene answerit, "Be the rude,Na thing of lufe I knaw,10Bot keipis my scheip undir yone wud;Lo quhair thay raik on raw.Quhat hes marrit thé in thy mude,Makyne, to me thow schaw;Or quhat is love, or to be lude?15Faine wald I leir that law.""At luvis lair gife thow will leir,Tak thair ane A, B, C;Be kynd, courtas, and fair of feir,Wyse, hardy, and fré.20Sé that no denger do thé deir,Quhat dule in dern thow dré;Preiss thé with pane at all poweir,Be patient and previe."Robene answerit her agane:25"I wait nocht quhat is luve,Bot I haif mervell in certaine,Quhat makis thé this wanrufe;The weddir is fair, and I am fane,My scheip gois haill aboif,30And we wald play us in this plane,They wald us bayth reproif.""Robene, tak tent unto my taill,And wirk all as I reid,And thow sall haif my hairt all haill,35Eik and my madinheid.Sen God sendis bute for baill,And for murning remeid,I dern with thé bot gif I daill,Dowbtles I am bot deid."40"Makyne, to morne this ilka tyde,And ye will meit me heir;Perventure my scheip ma gang besyd,Quhyll we haif liggit full neir:Bot maugre haif I, and I byd,45Fra they begin to steir;Quhat lyis on hairt I will nocht hyd;Makyne, than mak gud cheir.""Robene, thou reivis me roiss and rest;I luve bot thé allone."50"Makyne, adew, the sone gois west,The day is neirhand gone.""Robene, in dule I am so drest,That lufe will be my bone.""Ga lufe, Makyne, quhair evir thou list,55For leman I lue none.""Robene, I stand in sic a style,I sicht, and that full sair.""Makyne, I haif bene heir this quyle:At hame God gif I wair!"60"My hinny, Robene, talk ane quhyle,Gif thou wilt do na mair.""Makyne, sum uthir man begyle,For hamewart I will fair."Robene on his wayis went,65As licht as leif of tré;Makyne murnit in her intent,And trowd him nevir to sé.Robene brayd attour the bent;Than Makyne cryit on hie,70"Now ma thow sing, for I am schent!Quhat alis lufe with me?"Makyne went hame withouttin faill,Full werry eftir cowth weip:Than Robene in a ful fair daill75Assemblit all his scheip.Be that sum parte of Makyne's ailOut throw his hairt cowd creip;He followit hir fast thair till assail,And till her tuke gude keep.80"Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,A word for ony thing;For all my luve it sall be thyne,Withouttin departing.All haill! thy harte for till haif myne,85Is all my cuvating;My scheip to morn, quhill houris nyne,Will neid of no keping.""Robene, thou hes hard soung and say,In gestis and storeis auld,90The man that will not quhen he may,Sall haif nocht quhen he wald.I pray to Jesu every day,Mot eik thair cairis cauld,That first preissis with thé to play,95Be firth, forrest, or fawld.""Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,The wedder is warme and fair,And the grene woud rycht neir us byTo walk attour all quhair:100Thair ma na janglour us espy,That is to lufe contrair;Thairin, Makyne, bath ye and I,Unsene we ma repair.""Robene, that warld is all away,105And quyt brocht till ane end,And nevir again thereto, perfay,Sall it be as thou wend;For of my pane thou maide it play,And all in vane I spend:110As thou hes done, sa sall I say,Murne on, I think to mend.""Makyne, the howp of all my heill,My hairt on thé is sett,And evir mair to thé be leill,115Quhile I may leif but lett;Nevir to faill, as utheris faill,Quhat grace that evir I gett.""Robene, with thé I will not deill;Adew, for thus we mett."120Makyne went hame blyth anewche,Attoure the holtis hair;Robene murnit, and Makyne lewche;Scho sang, he sichit sair:And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch,125In dolour and in cair,Kepand his hird under a huche,Amang the holtis hair.
Robene sat on gud grene hill,Keipand a flok of fie:Mirry Makyne said him till,"Robene, thow rew on me;I haif thé luvit, lowd and still,5Thir yeiris two or thré;My dule in dern bot gif thow dill,Doutles bot dreid I dé."
Robene answerit, "Be the rude,Na thing of lufe I knaw,10Bot keipis my scheip undir yone wud;Lo quhair thay raik on raw.Quhat hes marrit thé in thy mude,Makyne, to me thow schaw;Or quhat is love, or to be lude?15Faine wald I leir that law."
"At luvis lair gife thow will leir,Tak thair ane A, B, C;Be kynd, courtas, and fair of feir,Wyse, hardy, and fré.20Sé that no denger do thé deir,Quhat dule in dern thow dré;Preiss thé with pane at all poweir,Be patient and previe."
Robene answerit her agane:25"I wait nocht quhat is luve,Bot I haif mervell in certaine,Quhat makis thé this wanrufe;The weddir is fair, and I am fane,My scheip gois haill aboif,30And we wald play us in this plane,They wald us bayth reproif."
"Robene, tak tent unto my taill,And wirk all as I reid,And thow sall haif my hairt all haill,35Eik and my madinheid.Sen God sendis bute for baill,And for murning remeid,I dern with thé bot gif I daill,Dowbtles I am bot deid."40
"Makyne, to morne this ilka tyde,And ye will meit me heir;Perventure my scheip ma gang besyd,Quhyll we haif liggit full neir:Bot maugre haif I, and I byd,45Fra they begin to steir;Quhat lyis on hairt I will nocht hyd;Makyne, than mak gud cheir."
"Robene, thou reivis me roiss and rest;I luve bot thé allone."50"Makyne, adew, the sone gois west,The day is neirhand gone.""Robene, in dule I am so drest,That lufe will be my bone.""Ga lufe, Makyne, quhair evir thou list,55For leman I lue none."
"Robene, I stand in sic a style,I sicht, and that full sair.""Makyne, I haif bene heir this quyle:At hame God gif I wair!"60"My hinny, Robene, talk ane quhyle,Gif thou wilt do na mair.""Makyne, sum uthir man begyle,For hamewart I will fair."
Robene on his wayis went,65As licht as leif of tré;Makyne murnit in her intent,And trowd him nevir to sé.Robene brayd attour the bent;Than Makyne cryit on hie,70"Now ma thow sing, for I am schent!Quhat alis lufe with me?"
Makyne went hame withouttin faill,Full werry eftir cowth weip:Than Robene in a ful fair daill75Assemblit all his scheip.Be that sum parte of Makyne's ailOut throw his hairt cowd creip;He followit hir fast thair till assail,And till her tuke gude keep.80
"Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,A word for ony thing;For all my luve it sall be thyne,Withouttin departing.All haill! thy harte for till haif myne,85Is all my cuvating;My scheip to morn, quhill houris nyne,Will neid of no keping."
"Robene, thou hes hard soung and say,In gestis and storeis auld,90The man that will not quhen he may,Sall haif nocht quhen he wald.I pray to Jesu every day,Mot eik thair cairis cauld,That first preissis with thé to play,95Be firth, forrest, or fawld."
"Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,The wedder is warme and fair,And the grene woud rycht neir us byTo walk attour all quhair:100Thair ma na janglour us espy,That is to lufe contrair;Thairin, Makyne, bath ye and I,Unsene we ma repair."
"Robene, that warld is all away,105And quyt brocht till ane end,And nevir again thereto, perfay,Sall it be as thou wend;For of my pane thou maide it play,And all in vane I spend:110As thou hes done, sa sall I say,Murne on, I think to mend."
"Makyne, the howp of all my heill,My hairt on thé is sett,And evir mair to thé be leill,115Quhile I may leif but lett;Nevir to faill, as utheris faill,Quhat grace that evir I gett.""Robene, with thé I will not deill;Adew, for thus we mett."120
Makyne went hame blyth anewche,Attoure the holtis hair;Robene murnit, and Makyne lewche;Scho sang, he sichit sair:And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch,125In dolour and in cair,Kepand his hird under a huche,Amang the holtis hair.
From Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 260.
Young Beichan was in London born,He was a man of hie degree;He past thro' monie kingdoms great,Until he cam unto Grand Turkie.He view'd the fashions of that land,5Their way of worship viewed he;But unto onie of their stocksHe wadna sae much as bow a knee:Which made him to be taken straight,And brought afore their hie jurie;10The savage Moor did speak upricht,And made him meikle ill to dree.In ilka shoulder they've bor'd a hole,And in ilka hole they've put a tree;They've made him to draw carts and wains,15Till he was sick and like to dee.But young Beichan was a Christian born,And still a Christian was he;Which made them put him in prison strang,And cauld and hunger sair to dree;20And fed on nocht but bread and water,Until the day that he mot dee.In this prison there grew a tree,And it was unco stout and strang;Where he was chained by the middle,25Until his life was almaist gane.The savage Moor had but ae dochter,And her name it was Susie Pye;And ilka day as she took the air,The prison door she passed bye.30But it fell ance upon a day,As she was walking, she heard him sing;She listen'd to his tale of woe,A happy day for young Beichan!"My hounds they all go masterless,35My hawks they flee frae tree to tree,My youngest brother will heir my lands,My native land I'll never see.""O were I but the prison-keeper,As I'm a ladie o' hie degree,40I soon wad set this youth at large,And send him to his ain countrie."She went away into her chamber,All nicht she never clos'd her ee;And when the morning begoud to dawn,45At the prison door alane was she.She gied the keeper a piece of gowd,And monie pieces o' white monie,To tak her thro' the bolts and bars;The lord frae Scotland she lang'd to see;—50She saw young Beichan at the stake,Which made her weep maist bitterlie."O hae ye got onie lands," she says,"Or castles in your ain countrie?It's what wad ye gie to the ladie fair55Wha out o' prison wad set you free?""It's I hae houses, and I hae lands,Wi' monie castles fair to see,And I wad gie a' to that ladie gay,Wha out o' prison wad set me free."60The keeper syne brak aff his chains,And set Lord Beichan at libertie:—She fill'd his pockets baith wi' gowd,To tak him till his ain countrie.She took him frae her father's prison,65And gied to him the best o' wine;And a brave health she drank to him;"I wish, Lord Beichan, ye were mine!"It's seven lang years I'll mak a vow,And seven lang years I'll keep it true;70If ye'll wed wi' na ither woman,It's I will wed na man but you."She's tane him to her father's port,And gien to him a ship o' fame:—"Farewell, farewell, my Scottish lord,75I fear I'll ne'er see you again."Lord Beichan turn'd him round about,And lowly, lowly, loutit he:—"Ere seven lang years come to an end,I'll tak you to mine ain countrie."80* * * *Then when he cam to Glasgow town,A happy, happy man was he;The ladies a' around him thrang'd,To see him come frae slaverie.His mother she had died o' sorrow,85And a' his brothers were dead but he;His lands they a' were lying waste,In ruins were his castles free.Na porter there stood at his yettNa human creature he could see,90Except the screeching owls and bats,Had he to bear him companie.But gowd will gar the castles grow,And he had gowd and jewels free;And soon the pages around him thrang'd,95To serve him on their bended knee.His hall was hung wi' silk and satin,His table rung wi' mirth and glee;He soon forgot the lady fair,That lows'd him out o' slaverie.100Lord Beichan courted a lady gay,To heir wi' him his lands sae free,Ne'er thinking that a lady fairWas on her way frae Grand Turkie.For Susie Pye could get na rest,105Nor day nor nicht could happy be,Still thinking on the Scottish Lord,Till she was sick and like to dee.But she has builded a bonnie ship,Weel mann'd wi' seamen o' hie degree;110And secretly she stept on board,And bid adieu to her ain countrie.But whan she cam to the Scottish shore,The bells were ringing sae merrilie;It was Lord Beichan's wedding day,115Wi' a lady fair o' hie degree.But sic a vessel was never seen;The very masts were tapp'd wi' gold;Her sails were made o' the satin fine,Maist beautiful for to behold.120But whan the lady cam on shore,Attended wi' her pages three,Her shoon were of the beaten gowd,And she a lady of great beautie.Then to the skipper she did say,125"Can ye this answer gie to me—Where are Lord Beichan's lands sae braid?He surely lives in this countrie."Then up bespak the skipper bold,—For he could speak the Turkish tongue,—130"Lord Beichan lives not far away;This is the day of his wedding.""If ye will guide me to Beichan's yetts,I will ye well reward," said she,—Then she and all her pages went,135A very gallant companie.When she cam to Lord Beichan's yetts,She tirl'd gently at the pin;Sae ready was the proud porterTo let the wedding guests come in.140"Is this Lord Beichan's house," she says,"Or is that noble lord within?""Yes, he is gane into the hall,With his brave bride and monie ane.""Ye'll bid him send me a piece of bread,145Bot and a cup of his best wine;And bid him mind the lady's loveThat ance did lowse him out o' pyne."Then in and cam the porter bold,—I wat he gae three shouts and three,—150"The fairest lady stands at your yettsThat ever my twa een did see."Then up bespak the bride's mither,—I wat an angry woman was she,—"You micht hae excepted our bonnie bride,155Tho' she'd been three times as fair as she.""My dame, your daughter's fair enough,And aye the fairer mot she be!But the fairest time that e'er she was,She'll na compare wi' this ladie.160"She has a gowd ring on ilka finger,And on her mid-finger she has three;She has as meikle gowd upon her head,As wad buy an earldom o' land to thee."My lord, she begs some o' your bread,165Bot and a cup o' your best wine,And bids you mind the lady's loveThat ance did lowse ye out o' pyne."Then up and started Lord Beichan,—I wat he made the table flee,—170"I wad gie a' my yearlie rent'Twere Susie Pye come owre the sea."Syne up bespak the bride's mother,—She was never heard to speak sae free,—"Ye'll no forsake my ae dochter,175Tho' Susie Pye has cross'd the sea?""Tak hame, tak hame, your dochter, madam,For she is ne'er the waur o' me;She cam to me on horseback riding,And she sall gang hame in chariot free."180He's tane Susie Pye by the milk-white hand,And led her thro' his halls sae hie:"Ye're now Lord Beichan's lawful wife,And thrice ye're welcome unto me."Lord Beichan prepar'd for another wedding,185Wi' baith their hearts sae fu' o' glee;—Says, "I'll range na mair in foreign lands,Sin Susie Pye has cross'd the sea."Fy! gar a' our cooks mak ready;And fy! gar a' our pipers play;190And fy! gar trumpets gae thro' the toun,That Lord Beichan's wedded twice in a day!"
Young Beichan was in London born,He was a man of hie degree;He past thro' monie kingdoms great,Until he cam unto Grand Turkie.
He view'd the fashions of that land,5Their way of worship viewed he;But unto onie of their stocksHe wadna sae much as bow a knee:
Which made him to be taken straight,And brought afore their hie jurie;10The savage Moor did speak upricht,And made him meikle ill to dree.
In ilka shoulder they've bor'd a hole,And in ilka hole they've put a tree;They've made him to draw carts and wains,15Till he was sick and like to dee.
But young Beichan was a Christian born,And still a Christian was he;Which made them put him in prison strang,And cauld and hunger sair to dree;20And fed on nocht but bread and water,Until the day that he mot dee.
In this prison there grew a tree,And it was unco stout and strang;Where he was chained by the middle,25Until his life was almaist gane.
The savage Moor had but ae dochter,And her name it was Susie Pye;And ilka day as she took the air,The prison door she passed bye.30
But it fell ance upon a day,As she was walking, she heard him sing;She listen'd to his tale of woe,A happy day for young Beichan!
"My hounds they all go masterless,35My hawks they flee frae tree to tree,My youngest brother will heir my lands,My native land I'll never see."
"O were I but the prison-keeper,As I'm a ladie o' hie degree,40I soon wad set this youth at large,And send him to his ain countrie."
She went away into her chamber,All nicht she never clos'd her ee;And when the morning begoud to dawn,45At the prison door alane was she.
She gied the keeper a piece of gowd,And monie pieces o' white monie,To tak her thro' the bolts and bars;The lord frae Scotland she lang'd to see;—50She saw young Beichan at the stake,Which made her weep maist bitterlie.
"O hae ye got onie lands," she says,"Or castles in your ain countrie?It's what wad ye gie to the ladie fair55Wha out o' prison wad set you free?"
"It's I hae houses, and I hae lands,Wi' monie castles fair to see,And I wad gie a' to that ladie gay,Wha out o' prison wad set me free."60
The keeper syne brak aff his chains,And set Lord Beichan at libertie:—She fill'd his pockets baith wi' gowd,To tak him till his ain countrie.
She took him frae her father's prison,65And gied to him the best o' wine;And a brave health she drank to him;"I wish, Lord Beichan, ye were mine!
"It's seven lang years I'll mak a vow,And seven lang years I'll keep it true;70If ye'll wed wi' na ither woman,It's I will wed na man but you."
She's tane him to her father's port,And gien to him a ship o' fame:—"Farewell, farewell, my Scottish lord,75I fear I'll ne'er see you again."
Lord Beichan turn'd him round about,And lowly, lowly, loutit he:—"Ere seven lang years come to an end,I'll tak you to mine ain countrie."80
* * * *
Then when he cam to Glasgow town,A happy, happy man was he;The ladies a' around him thrang'd,To see him come frae slaverie.
His mother she had died o' sorrow,85And a' his brothers were dead but he;His lands they a' were lying waste,In ruins were his castles free.
Na porter there stood at his yettNa human creature he could see,90Except the screeching owls and bats,Had he to bear him companie.
But gowd will gar the castles grow,And he had gowd and jewels free;And soon the pages around him thrang'd,95To serve him on their bended knee.
His hall was hung wi' silk and satin,His table rung wi' mirth and glee;He soon forgot the lady fair,That lows'd him out o' slaverie.100
Lord Beichan courted a lady gay,To heir wi' him his lands sae free,Ne'er thinking that a lady fairWas on her way frae Grand Turkie.
For Susie Pye could get na rest,105Nor day nor nicht could happy be,Still thinking on the Scottish Lord,Till she was sick and like to dee.
But she has builded a bonnie ship,Weel mann'd wi' seamen o' hie degree;110And secretly she stept on board,And bid adieu to her ain countrie.
But whan she cam to the Scottish shore,The bells were ringing sae merrilie;It was Lord Beichan's wedding day,115Wi' a lady fair o' hie degree.
But sic a vessel was never seen;The very masts were tapp'd wi' gold;Her sails were made o' the satin fine,Maist beautiful for to behold.120
But whan the lady cam on shore,Attended wi' her pages three,Her shoon were of the beaten gowd,And she a lady of great beautie.
Then to the skipper she did say,125"Can ye this answer gie to me—Where are Lord Beichan's lands sae braid?He surely lives in this countrie."
Then up bespak the skipper bold,—For he could speak the Turkish tongue,—130"Lord Beichan lives not far away;This is the day of his wedding."
"If ye will guide me to Beichan's yetts,I will ye well reward," said she,—Then she and all her pages went,135A very gallant companie.
When she cam to Lord Beichan's yetts,She tirl'd gently at the pin;Sae ready was the proud porterTo let the wedding guests come in.140
"Is this Lord Beichan's house," she says,"Or is that noble lord within?""Yes, he is gane into the hall,With his brave bride and monie ane."
"Ye'll bid him send me a piece of bread,145Bot and a cup of his best wine;And bid him mind the lady's loveThat ance did lowse him out o' pyne."
Then in and cam the porter bold,—I wat he gae three shouts and three,—150"The fairest lady stands at your yettsThat ever my twa een did see."
Then up bespak the bride's mither,—I wat an angry woman was she,—"You micht hae excepted our bonnie bride,155Tho' she'd been three times as fair as she."
"My dame, your daughter's fair enough,And aye the fairer mot she be!But the fairest time that e'er she was,She'll na compare wi' this ladie.160
"She has a gowd ring on ilka finger,And on her mid-finger she has three;She has as meikle gowd upon her head,As wad buy an earldom o' land to thee.
"My lord, she begs some o' your bread,165Bot and a cup o' your best wine,And bids you mind the lady's loveThat ance did lowse ye out o' pyne."
Then up and started Lord Beichan,—I wat he made the table flee,—170"I wad gie a' my yearlie rent'Twere Susie Pye come owre the sea."
Syne up bespak the bride's mother,—She was never heard to speak sae free,—"Ye'll no forsake my ae dochter,175Tho' Susie Pye has cross'd the sea?"
"Tak hame, tak hame, your dochter, madam,For she is ne'er the waur o' me;She cam to me on horseback riding,And she sall gang hame in chariot free."180
He's tane Susie Pye by the milk-white hand,And led her thro' his halls sae hie:"Ye're now Lord Beichan's lawful wife,And thrice ye're welcome unto me."
Lord Beichan prepar'd for another wedding,185Wi' baith their hearts sae fu' o' glee;—Says, "I'll range na mair in foreign lands,Sin Susie Pye has cross'd the sea.
"Fy! gar a' our cooks mak ready;And fy! gar a' our pipers play;190And fy! gar trumpets gae thro' the toun,That Lord Beichan's wedded twice in a day!"
"Given from the chanting of an old woman. It has never been before printed." Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. 307.
Other versions may be seen in that careless publication of the Percy Society,Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, vol. xvii. p. 57,Lord William, and in Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland, ii. 57,Lord Lundy.
Sweet William's gane over seas,Some unco lair to learn,And our gude Bailie's ae dochterIs awa to learn the same.In ae braid buik they learned baith,5In ae braid bed they lay;But when her father cam to know,He gart her come away."It's you must marry that Southland lord,His lady for to be;10It's ye maun marry that Southland lord,Or nocht ye'll get frae me.""I must marry that Southland lord,Father, an it be your will;But I'd rather it were my burial day,15My grave for to fill."She walked up, she walked down,Had nane to mak her moan,Nothing but the pretty birdSat on the causey stone.20"If thou could speak, wee bird," she says,"As weel as thou can flee,I would write a lang letterTo Will ayont the sea.""What thou wants wi' Will," it says,25"Thou'll seal it wi' thy ring;Tak a thread o' silk, and anither o' twine,And about my neck it hing."What she wanted wi' WillieShe sealed it wi' a ring;30Took a thread o' silk, anither of twine,About its neck did hing.This bird flew high, this bird flew low,This bird flew owre the sea,Until it entered the same chamber35Wherein was sweet Willie.This bird flew high, this bird flew low,—Poor bird, it was mista'en,—It loot the letter fa' on Baldie's breast,Instead of sweet William.40"Here's a letter, William," he says,"I'm sure it's not to me;And gin the morn gin twelve o'clockYour love shall married be.""Come saddle to me my horse," he said,45"The brown and a' that's speedie,And I'll awa' to Old England,To bring hame my ladie."Awa he gade, awa he rade,Awa wi' meikle speed;50He lichtit at every twa miles' end,Lichtit and changed his steed.When she entered the church style,The tear was in her e'e;But when she entered the church door,55A blythe sight did she see."O hold your hand, you minister,Hold it a little wee,Till I speak wi' the bonnie bride,For she's a friend to me.60"Stand off, stand off, you braw bridegroom,Stand off a little wee;Stand off, stand off, you braw bridegroom,For the bride shall join wi' me."Up and spak the bride's father,65And an angry man was he,—"If I had pistol, powther and lead,And all at my command,It's I would shoot thee stiff and dead,In the place where thou dost stand."70Up and spoke then sweet William,And a blithe blink from his e'e:"If ye ne'er be shot till I shoot you,Ye'se ne'er be shot for me."Come out, come out, my foremost man,75And lift my lady on;Commend me all to my goodmother,At night when you gang home."
Sweet William's gane over seas,Some unco lair to learn,And our gude Bailie's ae dochterIs awa to learn the same.
In ae braid buik they learned baith,5In ae braid bed they lay;But when her father cam to know,He gart her come away.
"It's you must marry that Southland lord,His lady for to be;10It's ye maun marry that Southland lord,Or nocht ye'll get frae me."
"I must marry that Southland lord,Father, an it be your will;But I'd rather it were my burial day,15My grave for to fill."
She walked up, she walked down,Had nane to mak her moan,Nothing but the pretty birdSat on the causey stone.20
"If thou could speak, wee bird," she says,"As weel as thou can flee,I would write a lang letterTo Will ayont the sea."
"What thou wants wi' Will," it says,25"Thou'll seal it wi' thy ring;Tak a thread o' silk, and anither o' twine,And about my neck it hing."
What she wanted wi' WillieShe sealed it wi' a ring;30Took a thread o' silk, anither of twine,About its neck did hing.
This bird flew high, this bird flew low,This bird flew owre the sea,Until it entered the same chamber35Wherein was sweet Willie.
This bird flew high, this bird flew low,—Poor bird, it was mista'en,—It loot the letter fa' on Baldie's breast,Instead of sweet William.40
"Here's a letter, William," he says,"I'm sure it's not to me;And gin the morn gin twelve o'clockYour love shall married be."
"Come saddle to me my horse," he said,45"The brown and a' that's speedie,And I'll awa' to Old England,To bring hame my ladie."
Awa he gade, awa he rade,Awa wi' meikle speed;50He lichtit at every twa miles' end,Lichtit and changed his steed.
When she entered the church style,The tear was in her e'e;But when she entered the church door,55A blythe sight did she see.
"O hold your hand, you minister,Hold it a little wee,Till I speak wi' the bonnie bride,For she's a friend to me.60
"Stand off, stand off, you braw bridegroom,Stand off a little wee;Stand off, stand off, you braw bridegroom,For the bride shall join wi' me."
Up and spak the bride's father,65And an angry man was he,—"If I had pistol, powther and lead,And all at my command,It's I would shoot thee stiff and dead,In the place where thou dost stand."70
Up and spoke then sweet William,And a blithe blink from his e'e:"If ye ne'er be shot till I shoot you,Ye'se ne'er be shot for me.
"Come out, come out, my foremost man,75And lift my lady on;Commend me all to my goodmother,At night when you gang home."
Translated from theKjœmpeviser, inIllustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 335.
It was the young Child Dyring,Wi' his mither rede did he:"I will me out rideSir Magnus's bride to see."His leave the page takes to-day from his master."Will thou thee out ride,5Sir Magnus's bride to see?Sae beg I thee by Almighty GodThou speed thee home to me."His leave, &c.Syne answer'd young Child Dyrè;He rode the bride to meet;10The silk but and the black sendellHang down to his horse feet.His leave, &c.All rode they there, the bride-folk,On row sae fair to see,Excepting Sir Svend Dyrè,15And far about rode he.His leave, &c.It was the young Child Dyrè rodeAlone along the strand;The bridle was of the red goldThat glitter'd in his hand.20His leave, &c.'Twas then proud Lady Ellensborg,And under weed smil'd she;"And who is he, that noble childThat rides sae bold and free?"His leave, &c.Syne up and spak the maiden fair25Was next unto the bride;"It is the young Child DyrèThat stately steed does ride."His leave, &c."And is't the young Child DyrèThat rides sae bold and free?30God wot, he's dearer that rides that steedNor a' the lave to me!"His leave, &c.All rode they there, the bridal train,Each rode his steed to stall;All but Child Dyrè, that look'd whare he35Should find his seat in the hall.His leave, &c."Sit whare ye list, my lordings;For me, whate'er betide,Here I shall sickerly sit the day,To hald the sun frae the bride."40His leave, &c.Then up spak the bride's father,And an angry man was he;"Whaever sits by my dochter the day,Ye better awa' wad be."His leave, &c."It's I have intill Paris been,45And well my drift can spell;And ay, whatever I have to say,I tell it best my sell."His leave, &c."Sooth thou hast intill Paris lear'dA worthless drift to spell,50And ay, whatever thou hast to say,A rogue's tale thou must tell."His leave, &c.Ben stept he, young Child Dyrè,Nor reck'd he wha might chide;And he has ta'en a chair in hand,55And set him by the bride.His leave, &c.'Twas lang i' the night; the bride-folkIlk ane look'd for his bed;And young Child Dyrè amang the laveSpeer'd whare he should be laid.60His leave, &c."Without, afore the stair steps,Or laigh on the cawsway stane,And there may lye Sir Dyrè,For ither bed we've nane."His leave, &c.'Twas ate intill the evening;65The bride to bed maun ga;And out went he, Child Dyring,To rouse his menyie a'.His leave, &c."Now busk and d'on your harnass,But and your brynies blae,70And boldly to the bride-bowerFull merrily we'll gae."His leave, &c.Sae follow'd they to the bride-bowerThat bride sae young and bright,And forward stept Child Dyrè,75And quenched the marriage light.His leave, &c.The cresset they've lit up again,But and the taper clear,And followed to the bride-bowerThat bride without a peer.80His leave, &c.* * * * * *And up Child Dyrè snatch'd the bride,All in his mantle blae,And swung her all so lightlyUpon his ambler gray.His leave, &c.They lock'd the bower, they lit the torch,85'Twas hurry-scurry a',While merrily ay the lovers gayRode roundly to the shaw.His leave, &c.In Rosen-wood they turn'd aboutTo pray their bridal prayer;90"Good night and joy, Sir Magnus!For us ye'll see nae mair."His leave, &c.Sae rode he to the green wood,And o'er the meadow green,Till he came to his mither's bower,95Ere folks to bed were gane.His leave, &c.Out came proud Lady Metelild,In menevair sae free;She welcom'd him, Child Dyring,And his young bride him wi'.100His leave, &c.Now joys attend Child Dyring,Sae leal but and sae bold;He's ta'en her to his ain castell,His bride-ale there to hold.His leave the page takes to-day frae his master.
It was the young Child Dyring,Wi' his mither rede did he:"I will me out rideSir Magnus's bride to see."His leave the page takes to-day from his master.
"Will thou thee out ride,5Sir Magnus's bride to see?Sae beg I thee by Almighty GodThou speed thee home to me."His leave, &c.
Syne answer'd young Child Dyrè;He rode the bride to meet;10The silk but and the black sendellHang down to his horse feet.His leave, &c.
All rode they there, the bride-folk,On row sae fair to see,Excepting Sir Svend Dyrè,15And far about rode he.His leave, &c.
It was the young Child Dyrè rodeAlone along the strand;The bridle was of the red goldThat glitter'd in his hand.20His leave, &c.
'Twas then proud Lady Ellensborg,And under weed smil'd she;"And who is he, that noble childThat rides sae bold and free?"His leave, &c.
Syne up and spak the maiden fair25Was next unto the bride;"It is the young Child DyrèThat stately steed does ride."His leave, &c.
"And is't the young Child DyrèThat rides sae bold and free?30God wot, he's dearer that rides that steedNor a' the lave to me!"His leave, &c.
All rode they there, the bridal train,Each rode his steed to stall;All but Child Dyrè, that look'd whare he35Should find his seat in the hall.His leave, &c.
"Sit whare ye list, my lordings;For me, whate'er betide,Here I shall sickerly sit the day,To hald the sun frae the bride."40His leave, &c.
Then up spak the bride's father,And an angry man was he;"Whaever sits by my dochter the day,Ye better awa' wad be."His leave, &c.
"It's I have intill Paris been,45And well my drift can spell;And ay, whatever I have to say,I tell it best my sell."His leave, &c.
"Sooth thou hast intill Paris lear'dA worthless drift to spell,50And ay, whatever thou hast to say,A rogue's tale thou must tell."His leave, &c.
Ben stept he, young Child Dyrè,Nor reck'd he wha might chide;And he has ta'en a chair in hand,55And set him by the bride.His leave, &c.
'Twas lang i' the night; the bride-folkIlk ane look'd for his bed;And young Child Dyrè amang the laveSpeer'd whare he should be laid.60His leave, &c.
"Without, afore the stair steps,Or laigh on the cawsway stane,And there may lye Sir Dyrè,For ither bed we've nane."His leave, &c.
'Twas ate intill the evening;65The bride to bed maun ga;And out went he, Child Dyring,To rouse his menyie a'.His leave, &c.
"Now busk and d'on your harnass,But and your brynies blae,70And boldly to the bride-bowerFull merrily we'll gae."His leave, &c.
Sae follow'd they to the bride-bowerThat bride sae young and bright,And forward stept Child Dyrè,75And quenched the marriage light.His leave, &c.
The cresset they've lit up again,But and the taper clear,And followed to the bride-bowerThat bride without a peer.80His leave, &c.
* * * * * *
And up Child Dyrè snatch'd the bride,All in his mantle blae,And swung her all so lightlyUpon his ambler gray.His leave, &c.
They lock'd the bower, they lit the torch,85'Twas hurry-scurry a',While merrily ay the lovers gayRode roundly to the shaw.His leave, &c.
In Rosen-wood they turn'd aboutTo pray their bridal prayer;90"Good night and joy, Sir Magnus!For us ye'll see nae mair."His leave, &c.
Sae rode he to the green wood,And o'er the meadow green,Till he came to his mither's bower,95Ere folks to bed were gane.His leave, &c.
Out came proud Lady Metelild,In menevair sae free;She welcom'd him, Child Dyring,And his young bride him wi'.100His leave, &c.
Now joys attend Child Dyring,Sae leal but and sae bold;He's ta'en her to his ain castell,His bride-ale there to hold.His leave the page takes to-day frae his master.
Motherwell'sMinstrelsy, p. 304, from recitation.
Four-and-twenty ladies fairWere playing at the ba',And out cam Barbara Livingston,The flower amang them a'.Out cam Barbara Livingston,5The flower amang them a';—The lusty Laird ofLinlyonHas stoun her clean awa'."The hielands is no for me, kind sir,The hielands is no for me;10But if you would my favour win,Ye 'll tak me to Dundee.""The hielands 'll be for thee, my dear,The hielands will be for thee;To the lusty Laird o' Linlyon15A-married ye shall be."When they cam to Linlyon's yetts,And lichtit on the green,Every ane spak Earse to her,—The tears cam trickling down.20When they went to bed at nicht,To Linlyon she did say,"Och and alace! a weary nicht,Oh! but it's lang till day.""Your father's steed 's in my stable,25He 's eating corn and hay,And you 're lying in my twa arms;What need you lang for day?""If I had paper, pen, and ink,And candle for to see,30I would write a lang letterTo my love in Dundee."They brocht her paper, pen, and ink,And candle for to see,And she did write a lang letter35To her love in Dundee.When he cam to Linlyon's yetts,And lichtit on the green;But lang or he wan up the stairHis love was dead and gane.40Woe be to thee, Linlyon,An ill death may thou die!Thou might hae ta'en anither woman,And let my lady be.
Four-and-twenty ladies fairWere playing at the ba',And out cam Barbara Livingston,The flower amang them a'.
Out cam Barbara Livingston,5The flower amang them a';—The lusty Laird ofLinlyonHas stoun her clean awa'.
"The hielands is no for me, kind sir,The hielands is no for me;10But if you would my favour win,Ye 'll tak me to Dundee."
"The hielands 'll be for thee, my dear,The hielands will be for thee;To the lusty Laird o' Linlyon15A-married ye shall be."
When they cam to Linlyon's yetts,And lichtit on the green,Every ane spak Earse to her,—The tears cam trickling down.20
When they went to bed at nicht,To Linlyon she did say,"Och and alace! a weary nicht,Oh! but it's lang till day."
"Your father's steed 's in my stable,25He 's eating corn and hay,And you 're lying in my twa arms;What need you lang for day?"
"If I had paper, pen, and ink,And candle for to see,30I would write a lang letterTo my love in Dundee."
They brocht her paper, pen, and ink,And candle for to see,And she did write a lang letter35To her love in Dundee.
When he cam to Linlyon's yetts,And lichtit on the green;But lang or he wan up the stairHis love was dead and gane.40
Woe be to thee, Linlyon,An ill death may thou die!Thou might hae ta'en anither woman,And let my lady be.
7. Mr. Jamieson has "Glenlyon," which is probably the right name. M.
7. Mr. Jamieson has "Glenlyon," which is probably the right name. M.
From Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland, i. 248.
There lives a man in Rynie's land,Anither in Auchindore;The bravest lad amo' them a',Was lang Johnny Moir.Young Johnny was an airy blade,5Fu' sturdy, stout, and strang;The sword that hang by Johnny's side,Was just full ten feet lang.Young Johnny was a clever youth,Fu' sturdy, stout, and wight;10Just full three yards around the waist,And fourteen feet in hight.But if a' be true they tell me now,And a' be true I hear,Young Johnny's on to Lundan gane,15The king's banner to bear.He hadna been in fair LundanBut twalmonths twa or three,Till the fairest lady in a' LundanFell in love wi' young Johnny.20This news did sound thro' Lundan town,Till it came to the king,That the muckle Scot had fa'in in loveWi' his daughter, Lady Jean.When the king got word o' that,25A solemn oath sware he;"This weighty Scott sall strait a rope,And hanged he shall be."When Johnny heard the sentence past,A light laugh then gae he;30"While I hae strength to yield my blade,Ye darena a' hang me."The English dogs were cunning rogues;About him they did creep,And ga'e him draps o' lodomy35That laid him fast asleep.Whan Johnny waken'd frae his sleep,A sorry heart had he;His jaws and hands in iron bands,His feet in fetters three.40"O whar will I get a little wee boyWill work for meat and fee,That will rin on to my uncle,At the foot of Benachie?""Here am I, a little wee boy,45Will work for meat and fee,That will rin on to your uncle,At the foot of Benachie.""Whan ye come whar grass grows green,Slack your shoes and rin;50And whan ye come whar water's strong,Ye'll bend your bow and swim."And whan ye come to Benachie,Ye'll neither chap nor ca';Sae well's ye'll ken auld Johnny there,55Three feet abeen them a'."Ye'll gie to him this braid letter,Seal'd wi' my faith and troth;And ye'll bid him bring alang wi' himThe body, Jock o' Noth."60"Whan he came whar grass grew green,He slack't his shoes and ran;And whan he came whar water's strong,He bent his bow and swam.And whan he came to Benachie,65Did neither chap nor ca';Sae well's he kent auld Johnny there,Three feet abeen them a'."What news, what news, my little wee boy?Ye never were here before;"70"Nae news, nae news, but a letter fromYour nephew, Johnny Moir."Ye'll take here this braid letter,Seal'd wi' his faith and troth;And ye're bidden bring alang wi' you75The body, Jock o' Noth."Benachie lyes very low,The tap o' Noth lyes high;For a' the distance that's between,He heard auld Johnny cry.80Whan on the plain these champions met,Twa grizly ghosts to see,There were three feet between her brows,And shoulders were yards three.These men they ran ower hills and dales,85And ower mountains high;Till they came on to Lundan town,At the dawn o' the third day.And whan they came to Lundan town,The yetts were lockit wi' bands;90And wha were there but a trumpeter,Wi' trumpet in his hands."What is the matter, ye keepers all,Or what's the matter within,That the drums do beat, and bells do ring,95And make sic dolefu' din?""There's naething the matter," the keeper said,"There's naething the matter to thee;But a weighty Scot to strait the rope,And the morn he maun die."100"O open the yetts, ye proud keepers,Ye'll open without delay;"The trembling keeper smiling said,"O I hae not the key.""Ye'll open the yetts, ye proud keepers,105Ye'll open without delay;Or here is a body at my backFrae Scotland hae brought the key.""Ye'll open the yetts," says Jock o' Noth,"Ye'll open them at my call;"110Then wi' his foot he has drove inThree yards braid o' the wall.As they gaed in by Drury-lane,And down by the town's hall;And there they saw young Johnny Moir,115Stand on their English wall."Ye're welcome here, my uncle dear,Ye're welcome unto me;Ye'll loose the knot, and slack the rope,And set me frae the tree."120"Is it for murder, or for theft?Or is it for robberie?If it is for ony heinous crime,There's nae remeid for thee.""It's nae for murder, nor for theft,125Nor yet for robberie;A' is for the loving a gay lady,They're gaun to gar me die.""O whar's thy sword," says Jock o' Noth,"Ye brought frae Scotland wi' thee?130I never saw a Scotsman yet,But coud wield a sword or tree.""A pox upo' their lodomyOn me had sic a sway;Four o' their men, the bravest four,135They bore my blade away.""Bring back his blade," says Jock o' Noth,"And freely to him it gie;Or I hae sworn a black Scot's oath,I'll gar five million die."140"Now whar's the lady?" says Jock o' Noth,"Sae fain I would her see;""She's lock'd up in her ain chamber,The king he keeps the key."So they hae gane before the king,145With courage bauld and free;Their armour bright cast sic a light,That almost dim'd his e'e."O whar's the lady," says Jock o' Noth,"Sae fain as I wou'd her see;150For we are come to her wedding,Frae the foot o' Benachie.""O take the lady," said the king,"Ye welcome are for me;I never thought to see sic men155Frae the foot o' Benachie.""If I had ken'd," said Jock o' Noth,"Ye'd wonder'd sae muckle at me,I wou'd hae brought ane larger farBy sizes three times three."160"Likewise if I had thought I'd beenSic a great fright to thee,I'd brought Sir John o' Erskine park;He's thretty feet and three.""Wae to the little boy," said the King,165"Brought tidings unto thee;Let all England say what they will,High hanged shall he be.""O if ye hang the little wee boyBrought tidings unto me,170We shall attend his burial,And rewarded ye shall be.""O take the lady," said the king,"And the boy shall be free:""A priest, a priest," then Johnny cried,175"To join my love and me.""A clerk, a clerk," the king replied,"To seal her tocher wi' thee."Out it speaks auld Johnny then,These words pronounced he:180"I wantnae lands and rents at hame,I'll ask nae gowd frae thee;I am possess'd o' riches great,Hae fifty ploughs and three;Likewise fa's heir to ane estate185At the foot o' Benachie."Hae ye ony masons in this place,Or ony at your call,That ye may now send some of them,To build your broken wall?"190"Yes, there are masons in this place,And plenty at my call;But ye may gang frae whence ye came,Never mind my broken wall."They've ta'en the lady by the hand,195And set her prison free;Wi' drums beating, and fifes playing,They spent the night wi' glee.Now auld Johnny Moir, and young Johnny Moir,And Jock o' Noth, a' three,200The English lady, and little wee boy,Went a' to Benachie.
There lives a man in Rynie's land,Anither in Auchindore;The bravest lad amo' them a',Was lang Johnny Moir.
Young Johnny was an airy blade,5Fu' sturdy, stout, and strang;The sword that hang by Johnny's side,Was just full ten feet lang.
Young Johnny was a clever youth,Fu' sturdy, stout, and wight;10Just full three yards around the waist,And fourteen feet in hight.
But if a' be true they tell me now,And a' be true I hear,Young Johnny's on to Lundan gane,15The king's banner to bear.
He hadna been in fair LundanBut twalmonths twa or three,Till the fairest lady in a' LundanFell in love wi' young Johnny.20
This news did sound thro' Lundan town,Till it came to the king,That the muckle Scot had fa'in in loveWi' his daughter, Lady Jean.
When the king got word o' that,25A solemn oath sware he;"This weighty Scott sall strait a rope,And hanged he shall be."
When Johnny heard the sentence past,A light laugh then gae he;30"While I hae strength to yield my blade,Ye darena a' hang me."
The English dogs were cunning rogues;About him they did creep,And ga'e him draps o' lodomy35That laid him fast asleep.
Whan Johnny waken'd frae his sleep,A sorry heart had he;His jaws and hands in iron bands,His feet in fetters three.40
"O whar will I get a little wee boyWill work for meat and fee,That will rin on to my uncle,At the foot of Benachie?"
"Here am I, a little wee boy,45Will work for meat and fee,That will rin on to your uncle,At the foot of Benachie."
"Whan ye come whar grass grows green,Slack your shoes and rin;50And whan ye come whar water's strong,Ye'll bend your bow and swim.
"And whan ye come to Benachie,Ye'll neither chap nor ca';Sae well's ye'll ken auld Johnny there,55Three feet abeen them a'.
"Ye'll gie to him this braid letter,Seal'd wi' my faith and troth;And ye'll bid him bring alang wi' himThe body, Jock o' Noth."60
"Whan he came whar grass grew green,He slack't his shoes and ran;And whan he came whar water's strong,He bent his bow and swam.
And whan he came to Benachie,65Did neither chap nor ca';Sae well's he kent auld Johnny there,Three feet abeen them a'.
"What news, what news, my little wee boy?Ye never were here before;"70"Nae news, nae news, but a letter fromYour nephew, Johnny Moir.
"Ye'll take here this braid letter,Seal'd wi' his faith and troth;And ye're bidden bring alang wi' you75The body, Jock o' Noth."
Benachie lyes very low,The tap o' Noth lyes high;For a' the distance that's between,He heard auld Johnny cry.80
Whan on the plain these champions met,Twa grizly ghosts to see,There were three feet between her brows,And shoulders were yards three.
These men they ran ower hills and dales,85And ower mountains high;Till they came on to Lundan town,At the dawn o' the third day.
And whan they came to Lundan town,The yetts were lockit wi' bands;90And wha were there but a trumpeter,Wi' trumpet in his hands.
"What is the matter, ye keepers all,Or what's the matter within,That the drums do beat, and bells do ring,95And make sic dolefu' din?"
"There's naething the matter," the keeper said,"There's naething the matter to thee;But a weighty Scot to strait the rope,And the morn he maun die."100
"O open the yetts, ye proud keepers,Ye'll open without delay;"The trembling keeper smiling said,"O I hae not the key."
"Ye'll open the yetts, ye proud keepers,105Ye'll open without delay;Or here is a body at my backFrae Scotland hae brought the key."
"Ye'll open the yetts," says Jock o' Noth,"Ye'll open them at my call;"110Then wi' his foot he has drove inThree yards braid o' the wall.
As they gaed in by Drury-lane,And down by the town's hall;And there they saw young Johnny Moir,115Stand on their English wall.
"Ye're welcome here, my uncle dear,Ye're welcome unto me;Ye'll loose the knot, and slack the rope,And set me frae the tree."120
"Is it for murder, or for theft?Or is it for robberie?If it is for ony heinous crime,There's nae remeid for thee."
"It's nae for murder, nor for theft,125Nor yet for robberie;A' is for the loving a gay lady,They're gaun to gar me die."
"O whar's thy sword," says Jock o' Noth,"Ye brought frae Scotland wi' thee?130I never saw a Scotsman yet,But coud wield a sword or tree."
"A pox upo' their lodomyOn me had sic a sway;Four o' their men, the bravest four,135They bore my blade away."
"Bring back his blade," says Jock o' Noth,"And freely to him it gie;Or I hae sworn a black Scot's oath,I'll gar five million die."140
"Now whar's the lady?" says Jock o' Noth,"Sae fain I would her see;""She's lock'd up in her ain chamber,The king he keeps the key."
So they hae gane before the king,145With courage bauld and free;Their armour bright cast sic a light,That almost dim'd his e'e.
"O whar's the lady," says Jock o' Noth,"Sae fain as I wou'd her see;150For we are come to her wedding,Frae the foot o' Benachie."
"O take the lady," said the king,"Ye welcome are for me;I never thought to see sic men155Frae the foot o' Benachie."
"If I had ken'd," said Jock o' Noth,"Ye'd wonder'd sae muckle at me,I wou'd hae brought ane larger farBy sizes three times three."160
"Likewise if I had thought I'd beenSic a great fright to thee,I'd brought Sir John o' Erskine park;He's thretty feet and three."
"Wae to the little boy," said the King,165"Brought tidings unto thee;Let all England say what they will,High hanged shall he be."
"O if ye hang the little wee boyBrought tidings unto me,170We shall attend his burial,And rewarded ye shall be."
"O take the lady," said the king,"And the boy shall be free:""A priest, a priest," then Johnny cried,175"To join my love and me."
"A clerk, a clerk," the king replied,"To seal her tocher wi' thee."Out it speaks auld Johnny then,These words pronounced he:180
"I wantnae lands and rents at hame,I'll ask nae gowd frae thee;I am possess'd o' riches great,Hae fifty ploughs and three;Likewise fa's heir to ane estate185At the foot o' Benachie.
"Hae ye ony masons in this place,Or ony at your call,That ye may now send some of them,To build your broken wall?"190
"Yes, there are masons in this place,And plenty at my call;But ye may gang frae whence ye came,Never mind my broken wall."
They've ta'en the lady by the hand,195And set her prison free;Wi' drums beating, and fifes playing,They spent the night wi' glee.
Now auld Johnny Moir, and young Johnny Moir,And Jock o' Noth, a' three,200The English lady, and little wee boy,Went a' to Benachie.
From Buchan'sBallads of the North of Scotland, ii. 173.