"O well is me, my gay gos-hawk,That you can speak and flee;For you can carry a love-letterTo my true love frae me.""O how can I carry a letter to her,Or how should I her know?I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spak',And eyes that ne'er her saw.""The white o' my love's skin is whiteAs down o' dove or maw;The red o' my love's cheek is redAs blood that's spilt on snaw."When ye come to the castle,Light on the tree of ash,And sit you there and sing our lovesAs she comes frae the mass."Four and twenty fair ladiesWill to the mass repair;And weel may ye my lady ken,The fairest lady there."When the gos-hawk flew to that castle,He lighted on the ash;And there he sat and sang their lovesAs she came frae the mass."Stay where ye be, my maidens a',And sip red wine anon,Till I go to my west windowAnd hear a birdie's moan."She's gane unto her west window,The bolt she fainly drew;And unto that lady's white, white neckThe bird a letter threw."Ye're bidden to send your love a send,For he has sent you twa;And tell him where he may see you soon,Or he cannot live ava.""I send him the ring from my finger,The garland off my hair,I send him the heart that's in my breast;What would my love have mair?And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland,Ye'll bid him wait for me there."She hied her to her father dearAs fast as gang could she:"I'm sick at the heart, my father dear;An asking grant you me!""Ask me na for that Scottish lord,For him ye'll never see!""An asking, an asking, dear father!" she says,"An asking grant you me;That if I die in fair England,In Scotland ye'll bury me."At the first kirk o' fair Scotland,You cause the bells be rung;At the second kirk o' fair Scotland,You cause the mass be sung;"At the third kirk o' fair Scotland,You deal gold for my sake;At the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland,O there you'll bury me at!"This is all my asking, father,I pray you grant it me!""Your asking is but small," he said;"Weel granted it shall be.But why do ye talk o' suchlike things?For ye arena going to dee."The lady's gane to her chamber,And a moanfu' woman was she,As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash,And were about to dee.The lady's gane to her chamberAs fast as she could fare;And she has drunk a sleepy draught,She mix'd it wi' mickle care.She's fallen into a heavy trance,And pale and cold was she;She seemed to be as surely deadAs ony corpse could be.Out and spak' an auld witch-wife,At the fireside sat she:"Gin she has killed herself for love,I wot it weel may be:"But drap the het lead on her cheek,And drap in on her chin,And rap it on her bosom white,And she'll maybe speak again.'Tis much that a young lady will doTo her true love to win."They drapped the het lead on her cheek,They drapped it on her chin,They drapped it on her bosom white,But she spake none again.Her brothers they went to a room,To make to her a bier;The boards were a' o' the cedar wood,The edges o' silver clear.Her sisters they went to a room,To make to her a sark;The cloth was a' o' the satin fine,And the stitching silken-wark."Now well is me, my gay gos-hawk,That ye can speak and flee!Come show me any love-tokensThat you have brought to me.""She sends you the ring frae her white finger,The garland frae her hair;She sends you the heart within her breast;And what would you have mair?And at the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland,She bids you wait for her there.""Come hither, all my merry young men!And drink the good red wine;For we must on towards fair EnglandTo free my love frae pine."The funeral came into fair Scotland,And they gart the bells be rung;And when it came to the second kirk,They gart the mass be sung.And when it came to the third kirk,They dealt gold for her sake;And when it came to the fourth kirk,Her love was waiting thereat.At the fourth kirk in fair ScotlandStood spearmen in a row;And up and started her ain true love,The chieftain over them a'."Set down, set down the bier," he says,"Till I look upon the dead;The last time that I saw her face,Its color was warm and red."He stripped the sheet from aff her faceA little below the chin;The lady then she open'd her eyes,And lookèd full on him."O give me a shive o' your bread, love,O give me a cup o' your wine!Long have I fasted for your sake,And now I fain would dine."Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brothers,Gae hame and blaw the horn!And ye may say that ye sought my skaith,And that I hae gi'en you the scorn."I cam' na here to bonny ScotlandTo lie down in the clay;But I cam' here to bonny ScotlandTo wear the silks sae gay!"I cam' na here to bonny ScotlandAmang the dead to rest;But I cam' here to bonny ScotlandTo the man that I lo'e best!"Old Ballad.
"O well is me, my gay gos-hawk,That you can speak and flee;For you can carry a love-letterTo my true love frae me."
"O how can I carry a letter to her,Or how should I her know?I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spak',And eyes that ne'er her saw."
"The white o' my love's skin is whiteAs down o' dove or maw;The red o' my love's cheek is redAs blood that's spilt on snaw.
"When ye come to the castle,Light on the tree of ash,And sit you there and sing our lovesAs she comes frae the mass.
"Four and twenty fair ladiesWill to the mass repair;And weel may ye my lady ken,The fairest lady there."
When the gos-hawk flew to that castle,He lighted on the ash;And there he sat and sang their lovesAs she came frae the mass.
"Stay where ye be, my maidens a',And sip red wine anon,Till I go to my west windowAnd hear a birdie's moan."
She's gane unto her west window,The bolt she fainly drew;And unto that lady's white, white neckThe bird a letter threw.
"Ye're bidden to send your love a send,For he has sent you twa;And tell him where he may see you soon,Or he cannot live ava."
"I send him the ring from my finger,The garland off my hair,I send him the heart that's in my breast;What would my love have mair?And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland,Ye'll bid him wait for me there."
She hied her to her father dearAs fast as gang could she:"I'm sick at the heart, my father dear;An asking grant you me!""Ask me na for that Scottish lord,For him ye'll never see!"
"An asking, an asking, dear father!" she says,"An asking grant you me;That if I die in fair England,In Scotland ye'll bury me.
"At the first kirk o' fair Scotland,You cause the bells be rung;At the second kirk o' fair Scotland,You cause the mass be sung;
"At the third kirk o' fair Scotland,You deal gold for my sake;At the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland,O there you'll bury me at!
"This is all my asking, father,I pray you grant it me!""Your asking is but small," he said;"Weel granted it shall be.But why do ye talk o' suchlike things?For ye arena going to dee."
The lady's gane to her chamber,And a moanfu' woman was she,As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash,And were about to dee.
The lady's gane to her chamberAs fast as she could fare;And she has drunk a sleepy draught,She mix'd it wi' mickle care.
She's fallen into a heavy trance,And pale and cold was she;She seemed to be as surely deadAs ony corpse could be.
Out and spak' an auld witch-wife,At the fireside sat she:"Gin she has killed herself for love,I wot it weel may be:
"But drap the het lead on her cheek,And drap in on her chin,And rap it on her bosom white,And she'll maybe speak again.'Tis much that a young lady will doTo her true love to win."
They drapped the het lead on her cheek,They drapped it on her chin,They drapped it on her bosom white,But she spake none again.
Her brothers they went to a room,To make to her a bier;The boards were a' o' the cedar wood,The edges o' silver clear.
Her sisters they went to a room,To make to her a sark;The cloth was a' o' the satin fine,And the stitching silken-wark.
"Now well is me, my gay gos-hawk,That ye can speak and flee!Come show me any love-tokensThat you have brought to me."
"She sends you the ring frae her white finger,The garland frae her hair;She sends you the heart within her breast;And what would you have mair?And at the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland,She bids you wait for her there."
"Come hither, all my merry young men!And drink the good red wine;For we must on towards fair EnglandTo free my love frae pine."
The funeral came into fair Scotland,And they gart the bells be rung;And when it came to the second kirk,They gart the mass be sung.
And when it came to the third kirk,They dealt gold for her sake;And when it came to the fourth kirk,Her love was waiting thereat.
At the fourth kirk in fair ScotlandStood spearmen in a row;And up and started her ain true love,The chieftain over them a'.
"Set down, set down the bier," he says,"Till I look upon the dead;The last time that I saw her face,Its color was warm and red."
He stripped the sheet from aff her faceA little below the chin;The lady then she open'd her eyes,And lookèd full on him.
"O give me a shive o' your bread, love,O give me a cup o' your wine!Long have I fasted for your sake,And now I fain would dine.
"Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brothers,Gae hame and blaw the horn!And ye may say that ye sought my skaith,And that I hae gi'en you the scorn.
"I cam' na here to bonny ScotlandTo lie down in the clay;But I cam' here to bonny ScotlandTo wear the silks sae gay!
"I cam' na here to bonny ScotlandAmang the dead to rest;But I cam' here to bonny ScotlandTo the man that I lo'e best!"
Old Ballad.
It was intill a pleasant time,Upon a simmer's day,The noble Earl of Mar's daughterWent forth to sport and play.And as she played and sportedBelow a green aik tree,There she saw a sprightly dooSet on a branch sae hie."O Coo-my-doo, my love sae true,If ye'll come doun to me,Ye'se hae a cage o' gude red goudInstead o' simple tree."I'll tak' ye hame and pet ye weel,Within my bower and ha';I'll gar ye shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'!"And she had nae these words weel spoke,Nor yet these words weel said,Till Coo-my-doo flew frae the branch,And lighted on her head.Then she has brought this pretty birdHame to her bower and ha',And made him shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'.When day was gane, and night was come,About the evening-tide,This lady spied a bonny youthStand straight up by her side."Now whence come ye, young man," she said,"To put me into fear?My door was bolted right secure,And what way cam' ye here?""O haud your tongue, my lady fair,Lat a' your folly be;Mind ye not o' your turtle-dooYe coax'd from aff the tree?""O wha are ye, young man?" she said,"What country come ye frae?""I flew across the sea," he said,"'Twas but this verra day."My mither is a queen," he says,Likewise of magic skill;'Twas she that turned me in a doo,To fly where'er I will."And it was but this verra dayThat I cam' ower the sea:I loved you at a single look;With you I'll live and dee.""O Coo-my-doo, my love sae true,Nae mair frae me ye'se gae.""That's never my intent, my love;As ye said, it shall be sae."There he has lived in bower wi' her,For six lang years and ane;Till sax young sons to him she bare,And the seventh she's brought hame.But aye, as soon's a child was born,He carried them away,And brought them to his mither's care,As fast as he could fly.Thus he has stay'd in bower wi' herFor seven lang years and mair;Till there cam' a lord o' hie renownTo court that lady fair.But still his proffer she refused,And a' his presents too;Says, "I'm content to live alaneWi' my bird Coo-my-doo!"Her father sware an angry oath,He sware it wi' ill-will:"To-morrow, ere I eat or drink,That bird I'll surely kill."The bird was sitting in his cage,And heard what he did say;He jumped upon the window-sill:"'Tis time I was away."Then Coo-my-doo took flight and flewBeyond the raging sea,And lighted at his mither's castle,Upon a tower sae hie.The Queen his mither was walking out,To see what she could see,And there she saw her darling sonSet on the tower sae hie."Get dancers here to dance," she said,"And minstrels for to play;For here's my dear son FlorentineCome back wi' me to stay.""Get nae dancers to dance, mither,Nor minstrels for to play;For the mither o' my seven sons,The morn's her wedding day.""Now tell me, dear son Florentine,O tell, and tell me true;Tell me this day, without delay,What sall I do for you?""Instead of dancers to dance, mither,Or minstrels for to play,Turn four-and-twenty well-wight men,Like storks, in feathers gray;"My seven sons in seven swans,Aboon their heads to flee;And I myself a gay gos-hawk,A bird o' high degree."Then, sighing, said the Queen to hersell,"That thing's too high for me!"But she applied to an auld woman,Who had mair skill than she.Instead o' dancers to dance a dance,Or minstrels for to play,Were four-and-twenty well-wight menTurn'd birds o' feathers gray;Her seven sons in seven swans,Aboon their heads to flee;And he himsell a gay gos-hawk,A bird o' high degree.This flook o' birds took flight and flewBeyond the raging sea;They landed near the Earl Mar's castle,Took shelter in every tree.They were a flock o' pretty birds,Right wondrous to be seen;The weddin'eers they looked at themWhilst walking on the green.These birds flew up frae bush and tree,And, lighted on the ha';And, when the wedding-train cam' forth,Flew down amang them a'.The storks they seized the boldest men,That they could not fight or flee;The swans they bound the bridegroom fastUnto a green aik tree.They flew around the bride-maidens,Around the bride's own head;And, wi' the twinkling o' an ee,The bride and they were fled.There's ancient men at weddings beenFor eighty years or more;But siccan a curious wedding-dayThey never saw before.For naething could the company do,Nor naething could they say;But they saw a flock o' pretty birdsThat took their bride away.Old Ballad.
It was intill a pleasant time,Upon a simmer's day,The noble Earl of Mar's daughterWent forth to sport and play.
And as she played and sportedBelow a green aik tree,There she saw a sprightly dooSet on a branch sae hie.
"O Coo-my-doo, my love sae true,If ye'll come doun to me,Ye'se hae a cage o' gude red goudInstead o' simple tree.
"I'll tak' ye hame and pet ye weel,Within my bower and ha';I'll gar ye shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'!"
And she had nae these words weel spoke,Nor yet these words weel said,Till Coo-my-doo flew frae the branch,And lighted on her head.
Then she has brought this pretty birdHame to her bower and ha',And made him shine as fair a birdAs ony o' them a'.
When day was gane, and night was come,About the evening-tide,This lady spied a bonny youthStand straight up by her side.
"Now whence come ye, young man," she said,"To put me into fear?My door was bolted right secure,And what way cam' ye here?"
"O haud your tongue, my lady fair,Lat a' your folly be;Mind ye not o' your turtle-dooYe coax'd from aff the tree?"
"O wha are ye, young man?" she said,"What country come ye frae?""I flew across the sea," he said,"'Twas but this verra day.
"My mither is a queen," he says,Likewise of magic skill;'Twas she that turned me in a doo,To fly where'er I will.
"And it was but this verra dayThat I cam' ower the sea:I loved you at a single look;With you I'll live and dee."
"O Coo-my-doo, my love sae true,Nae mair frae me ye'se gae.""That's never my intent, my love;As ye said, it shall be sae."
There he has lived in bower wi' her,For six lang years and ane;Till sax young sons to him she bare,And the seventh she's brought hame.
But aye, as soon's a child was born,He carried them away,And brought them to his mither's care,As fast as he could fly.
Thus he has stay'd in bower wi' herFor seven lang years and mair;Till there cam' a lord o' hie renownTo court that lady fair.
But still his proffer she refused,And a' his presents too;Says, "I'm content to live alaneWi' my bird Coo-my-doo!"
Her father sware an angry oath,He sware it wi' ill-will:"To-morrow, ere I eat or drink,That bird I'll surely kill."
The bird was sitting in his cage,And heard what he did say;He jumped upon the window-sill:"'Tis time I was away."
Then Coo-my-doo took flight and flewBeyond the raging sea,And lighted at his mither's castle,Upon a tower sae hie.
The Queen his mither was walking out,To see what she could see,And there she saw her darling sonSet on the tower sae hie.
"Get dancers here to dance," she said,"And minstrels for to play;For here's my dear son FlorentineCome back wi' me to stay."
"Get nae dancers to dance, mither,Nor minstrels for to play;For the mither o' my seven sons,The morn's her wedding day."
"Now tell me, dear son Florentine,O tell, and tell me true;Tell me this day, without delay,What sall I do for you?"
"Instead of dancers to dance, mither,Or minstrels for to play,Turn four-and-twenty well-wight men,Like storks, in feathers gray;
"My seven sons in seven swans,Aboon their heads to flee;And I myself a gay gos-hawk,A bird o' high degree."
Then, sighing, said the Queen to hersell,"That thing's too high for me!"But she applied to an auld woman,Who had mair skill than she.
Instead o' dancers to dance a dance,Or minstrels for to play,Were four-and-twenty well-wight menTurn'd birds o' feathers gray;
Her seven sons in seven swans,Aboon their heads to flee;And he himsell a gay gos-hawk,A bird o' high degree.
This flook o' birds took flight and flewBeyond the raging sea;They landed near the Earl Mar's castle,Took shelter in every tree.
They were a flock o' pretty birds,Right wondrous to be seen;The weddin'eers they looked at themWhilst walking on the green.
These birds flew up frae bush and tree,And, lighted on the ha';And, when the wedding-train cam' forth,Flew down amang them a'.
The storks they seized the boldest men,That they could not fight or flee;The swans they bound the bridegroom fastUnto a green aik tree.
They flew around the bride-maidens,Around the bride's own head;And, wi' the twinkling o' an ee,The bride and they were fled.
There's ancient men at weddings beenFor eighty years or more;But siccan a curious wedding-dayThey never saw before.
For naething could the company do,Nor naething could they say;But they saw a flock o' pretty birdsThat took their bride away.
Old Ballad.
God prosper long our noble king,Our lives and safeties all;A woful hunting once there didIn Chevy-Chace befall.To drive the deer with hound and hornEarl Percy took his way;The child may rue that is unbornThe hunting of that day.The stout Earl of NorthumberlandA vow to God did make,His pleasure in the Scottish woodsThree summer days to take,—The chiefest harts in Chevy-ChaceTo kill and bear away.These tidings to Earl Douglas came,In Scotland where he lay;Who sent Earl Percy present wordHe would prevent his sport.The English earl, not fearing that,Did to the woods resortWith fifteen hundred bowmen bold,All chosen men of might,Who knew full well in time of needTo aim their shafts aright.The gallant greyhounds swiftly ranTo chase the fallow deer;On Monday they began to huntEre daylight did appear;And long before high noon they hadA hundred fat bucks slain;Then having dined, the drovers wentTo rouse the deer again.The bowmen mustered on the hills,Well able to endure;And all their rear, with special care,That day was guarded sure.The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,The nimble deer to take,That with their cries the hills and dalesAn echo shrill did make.Lord Percy to the quarry went,To view the slaughtered deer;Quoth he, "Earl Douglas promisèdThis day to meet me here;"But if I thought he would not come,No longer would I stay;"With that a brave young gentlemanThus to the Earl did say:"Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,His men in armor bright;Full twenty hundred Scottish spearsAll marching in our sight;"All men of pleasant Teviotdale,Fast by the river Tweed;""Then cease your sports," Earl Percy said,"And take your bows with speed;"And now with me, my countrymen,Your courage forth advance;For never was there champion yet,In Scotland or in France,"That ever did on horseback come,But if my hap it were,I durst encounter man for man,With him to break a spear."Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed,Most like a baron bold,Rode foremost of his company,Whose armor shone like gold."Show me," said he, "whose men you be,That hunt so boldly here,That, without my consent, do chaseAnd kill my fallow-deer."The first man that did answer make,Was noble Percy he—Who said, "We list not to declare,Nor show whose men we be:"Yet will we spend our dearest bloodThy chiefest harts to slay."Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,And thus in rage did say:"Ere thus I will out-bravèd be,One of us two shall die;I know thee well, an earl thou art—Lord Percy, so am I."But trust me, Percy, pity it were,And great offence, to killAny of these our guiltless men,For they have done no ill."Let thou and I the battle try,And set our men aside.""Accursed be he," Earl Percy said,"By whom this is denied."Then stepped a gallant squire forth,Witherington was his name,Who said, "I would not have it toldTo Henry, our king, for shame,"That e'er my captain fought on foot,And I stood looking on.You two be earls," said Witherington,"And I a squire alone;"I'll do the best that do I may,While I have power to stand;While I have power to wield my sword,I'll fight with heart and hand."Our English archers bent their bows—Their hearts were good and true;At the first flight of arrows sent,Full fourscore Scots they slew.Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent,As Chieftain stout and good;As valiant Captain, all unmoved,The shock he firmly stood.His host he parted had in three,As leader ware and tried;And soon his spearmen on their foesBore down on every side.Throughout the English archeryThey dealt full many a wound;But still our valiant EnglishmenAll firmly kept their ground.And throwing straight their bows away,They grasped their swords so bright;And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,On shields and helmets light.They closed full fast on every side—No slackness there was found;And many a gallant gentlemanLay gasping on the ground.In truth, it was a grief to seeHow each one chose his spear,And how the blood out of their breastsDid gush like water clear.At last these two stout earls did meet;Like captains of great might,Like lions wode, they laid on lode,And made a cruel fight.They fought until they both did sweat,With swords of tempered steel,Until the blood, like drops of rain,They trickling down did feel."Yield thee, Lord Percy," Douglas said;"In faith I will thee bringWhere thou shalt high advancèd beBy James, our Scottish king."Thy ransom I will freely give,And this report of thee,Thou art the most courageous knightThat ever I did see.""No, Douglas," saith Earl Percy then,"Thy proffer I do scorn;I will not yield to any ScotThat ever yet was born."With that there came an arrow keenOut of an English bow,Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,A deep and deadly blow;Who never spake more words than these:"Fight on, my merry men all;For why, my life is at an end;Lord Percy sees my fall."Then leaving life, Earl Percy tookThe dead man by the hand;And said, "Earl Douglas, for thy lifeWould I had lost my land!"In truth, my very heart doth bleedWith sorrow for thy sake;For sure a more redoubted knightMischance did never take."A knight amongst the Scots there wasWho saw Earl Douglas die,Who straight in wrath did vow revengeUpon the Earl Percy.Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called,Who, with a spear full bright,Well mounted on a gallant steed,Ran fiercely through the fight;And past the English archers all,Without a dread or fear;And through Earl Percy's body thenHe thrust his hateful spear;With such vehement force and mightHe did his body gore,The staff ran through the other sideA large cloth-yard and more.So thus did both these nobles die,Whose courage none could stain.An English archer then perceivedThe noble Earl was slain.He had a bow bent in his hand,Made of a trusty tree;An arrow of a cloth-yard longTo the hard head haled he.Against Sir Hugh MontgomerySo right the shaft he set,The gray goose wing that was thereonIn his heart's blood was wet.This fight did last from break of dayTill setting of the sun:For when they rung the evening-bell,The battle scarce was done.With stout Earl Percy there was slainSir John of Egerton,Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,Sir James, that bold baròn.And with Sir George and stout Sir James,Both knights of good account,Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,Whose prowess did surmount.For Witherington needs must I wailAs one in doleful dumps;For when his legs were smitten off,He fought upon his stumps.And with Earl Douglas there was slainSir Hugh Montgomery,Sir Charles Murray, that from the field,One foot would never flee.Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too—His sister's son was he;Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,But saved he could not be.And the Lord Maxwell in like caseDid with Earl Douglas die:Of twenty hundred Scottish spears,Scarce fifty-five did fly.Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,Went home but fifty-three;The rest on Chevy-Chace were slain,Under the greenwood tree.Next day did many widows come,Their husbands to bewail;They washed their wounds in brinish tears,But all would not prevail.Their bodies, bathed in purple blood,They bore with them away;They kissed them dead a thousand times,Ere they were clad in clay.The news was brought to Edinburgh,Where Scotland's king did reign,That brave Earl Douglas suddenlyWas with an arrow slain:"Oh heavy news," King James did say;"Scotland can witness beI have not any captain moreOf such account as he."Like tidings to King Henry cameWithin as short a space,That Percy of NorthumberlandWas slain in Chevy-Chace:"Now God be with him," said our king,"Since 'twill no better be;I trust I have within my realmFive hundred as good as he:"Yet shall not Scots or Scotland sayBut I will vengeance take:I'll be revenged on them all,For brave Earl Percy's sake."This vow full well the king performedAfter at Humbledown;In one day fifty knights were slain,With lords of high renown;And of the rest, of small account,Did many hundreds die:Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,Made by the Earl Percy.God save the king, and bless this land,With plenty, joy and peace;And grant, henceforth, that foul debate'Twixt noblemen may cease!Old Ballad.
God prosper long our noble king,Our lives and safeties all;A woful hunting once there didIn Chevy-Chace befall.
To drive the deer with hound and hornEarl Percy took his way;The child may rue that is unbornThe hunting of that day.
The stout Earl of NorthumberlandA vow to God did make,His pleasure in the Scottish woodsThree summer days to take,—
The chiefest harts in Chevy-ChaceTo kill and bear away.These tidings to Earl Douglas came,In Scotland where he lay;
Who sent Earl Percy present wordHe would prevent his sport.The English earl, not fearing that,Did to the woods resort
With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,All chosen men of might,Who knew full well in time of needTo aim their shafts aright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ranTo chase the fallow deer;On Monday they began to huntEre daylight did appear;
And long before high noon they hadA hundred fat bucks slain;Then having dined, the drovers wentTo rouse the deer again.
The bowmen mustered on the hills,Well able to endure;And all their rear, with special care,That day was guarded sure.
The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,The nimble deer to take,That with their cries the hills and dalesAn echo shrill did make.
Lord Percy to the quarry went,To view the slaughtered deer;Quoth he, "Earl Douglas promisèdThis day to meet me here;
"But if I thought he would not come,No longer would I stay;"With that a brave young gentlemanThus to the Earl did say:
"Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,His men in armor bright;Full twenty hundred Scottish spearsAll marching in our sight;
"All men of pleasant Teviotdale,Fast by the river Tweed;""Then cease your sports," Earl Percy said,"And take your bows with speed;
"And now with me, my countrymen,Your courage forth advance;For never was there champion yet,In Scotland or in France,
"That ever did on horseback come,But if my hap it were,I durst encounter man for man,With him to break a spear."
Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed,Most like a baron bold,Rode foremost of his company,Whose armor shone like gold.
"Show me," said he, "whose men you be,That hunt so boldly here,That, without my consent, do chaseAnd kill my fallow-deer."
The first man that did answer make,Was noble Percy he—Who said, "We list not to declare,Nor show whose men we be:
"Yet will we spend our dearest bloodThy chiefest harts to slay."Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,And thus in rage did say:
"Ere thus I will out-bravèd be,One of us two shall die;I know thee well, an earl thou art—Lord Percy, so am I.
"But trust me, Percy, pity it were,And great offence, to killAny of these our guiltless men,For they have done no ill.
"Let thou and I the battle try,And set our men aside.""Accursed be he," Earl Percy said,"By whom this is denied."
Then stepped a gallant squire forth,Witherington was his name,Who said, "I would not have it toldTo Henry, our king, for shame,
"That e'er my captain fought on foot,And I stood looking on.You two be earls," said Witherington,"And I a squire alone;
"I'll do the best that do I may,While I have power to stand;While I have power to wield my sword,I'll fight with heart and hand."
Our English archers bent their bows—Their hearts were good and true;At the first flight of arrows sent,Full fourscore Scots they slew.
Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent,As Chieftain stout and good;As valiant Captain, all unmoved,The shock he firmly stood.
His host he parted had in three,As leader ware and tried;And soon his spearmen on their foesBore down on every side.
Throughout the English archeryThey dealt full many a wound;But still our valiant EnglishmenAll firmly kept their ground.
And throwing straight their bows away,They grasped their swords so bright;And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,On shields and helmets light.
They closed full fast on every side—No slackness there was found;And many a gallant gentlemanLay gasping on the ground.
In truth, it was a grief to seeHow each one chose his spear,And how the blood out of their breastsDid gush like water clear.
At last these two stout earls did meet;Like captains of great might,Like lions wode, they laid on lode,And made a cruel fight.
They fought until they both did sweat,With swords of tempered steel,Until the blood, like drops of rain,They trickling down did feel.
"Yield thee, Lord Percy," Douglas said;"In faith I will thee bringWhere thou shalt high advancèd beBy James, our Scottish king.
"Thy ransom I will freely give,And this report of thee,Thou art the most courageous knightThat ever I did see."
"No, Douglas," saith Earl Percy then,"Thy proffer I do scorn;I will not yield to any ScotThat ever yet was born."
With that there came an arrow keenOut of an English bow,Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,A deep and deadly blow;
Who never spake more words than these:"Fight on, my merry men all;For why, my life is at an end;Lord Percy sees my fall."
Then leaving life, Earl Percy tookThe dead man by the hand;And said, "Earl Douglas, for thy lifeWould I had lost my land!
"In truth, my very heart doth bleedWith sorrow for thy sake;For sure a more redoubted knightMischance did never take."
A knight amongst the Scots there wasWho saw Earl Douglas die,Who straight in wrath did vow revengeUpon the Earl Percy.
Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called,Who, with a spear full bright,Well mounted on a gallant steed,Ran fiercely through the fight;
And past the English archers all,Without a dread or fear;And through Earl Percy's body thenHe thrust his hateful spear;
With such vehement force and mightHe did his body gore,The staff ran through the other sideA large cloth-yard and more.
So thus did both these nobles die,Whose courage none could stain.An English archer then perceivedThe noble Earl was slain.
He had a bow bent in his hand,Made of a trusty tree;An arrow of a cloth-yard longTo the hard head haled he.
Against Sir Hugh MontgomerySo right the shaft he set,The gray goose wing that was thereonIn his heart's blood was wet.
This fight did last from break of dayTill setting of the sun:For when they rung the evening-bell,The battle scarce was done.
With stout Earl Percy there was slainSir John of Egerton,Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,Sir James, that bold baròn.
And with Sir George and stout Sir James,Both knights of good account,Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,Whose prowess did surmount.
For Witherington needs must I wailAs one in doleful dumps;For when his legs were smitten off,He fought upon his stumps.
And with Earl Douglas there was slainSir Hugh Montgomery,Sir Charles Murray, that from the field,One foot would never flee.
Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too—His sister's son was he;Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,But saved he could not be.
And the Lord Maxwell in like caseDid with Earl Douglas die:Of twenty hundred Scottish spears,Scarce fifty-five did fly.
Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,Went home but fifty-three;The rest on Chevy-Chace were slain,Under the greenwood tree.
Next day did many widows come,Their husbands to bewail;They washed their wounds in brinish tears,But all would not prevail.
Their bodies, bathed in purple blood,They bore with them away;They kissed them dead a thousand times,Ere they were clad in clay.
The news was brought to Edinburgh,Where Scotland's king did reign,That brave Earl Douglas suddenlyWas with an arrow slain:
"Oh heavy news," King James did say;"Scotland can witness beI have not any captain moreOf such account as he."
Like tidings to King Henry cameWithin as short a space,That Percy of NorthumberlandWas slain in Chevy-Chace:
"Now God be with him," said our king,"Since 'twill no better be;I trust I have within my realmFive hundred as good as he:
"Yet shall not Scots or Scotland sayBut I will vengeance take:I'll be revenged on them all,For brave Earl Percy's sake."
This vow full well the king performedAfter at Humbledown;In one day fifty knights were slain,With lords of high renown;
And of the rest, of small account,Did many hundreds die:Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,Made by the Earl Percy.
God save the king, and bless this land,With plenty, joy and peace;And grant, henceforth, that foul debate'Twixt noblemen may cease!
Old Ballad.
"Oh, it's Hynde Horn fair, and it's Hynde Horn free;Oh, where were you born, and in what countrie?""In a far distant countrie I was born;But of home and friends I am quite forlorn."Oh, it's seven long years he served the king,But wages from him he ne'er got a thing:Oh, it's seven long years he served, I ween,And all for love of the king's daughter Jean.Oh, he gave to his love a silver wand,Her sceptre of rule over fair Scotland;With three singing laverocks set thereon,For to mind her of him when he was gone.And his love gave to him a gay gold ring,With three shining diamonds set therein;Oh, his love gave to him this gay gold ring,Of virtue and value above all thing;Saying—"While the diamonds do keep their hue,You will know that my love holds fast and true;But when the diamonds grow pale and wan,I'll be dead, or wed to another man."Then the sails were spread, and away sail'd he;Oh, he sail'd away to a far countrie;And when he had been seven years to sea,Hynde Horn look'd to see how his ring might be.But when Hynde Horn look'd the diamonds upon,Oh, he saw that they were both pale and wan;And at once he knew, from their alter'd hue,That his love was dead or had proved untrue.Oh, the sails were spread, and away sail'd heBack over the sea to his own countrie;Then he left the ship when it came to land,And he met an auld beggar upon the strand."What news, thou auld beggar man?" said he;"For full seven years I've been over the sea."Then the auld man said—"The strangest of allIs the curious wedding in our king's hall."For there's a king's daughter, came frae the wast,Has been married to him these nine days past;But unto him a wife the bride winna be,For love of Hynde Horn, far over the sea.""Now, auld man, give to me your begging weed,And I will give to thee my riding steed;And, auld man, give to me your staff of tree,And my scarlet cloak I will give to thee."And you must teach me the auld beggar's role,As he goes his rounds, and receives his dole."The auld man he did as young Hynde Horn said,And taught him the way to beg for his bread.Then Hynde Horn bent him to his staff of tree,And to the king's palace away hobbled he;And when he arrived at the king's palace gate,To the porter he thus his petition did state:"Good porter, I pray, for Saints Peter and Paul,And for sake of the Saviour who died for us all,For one cup of wine, and one bit of bread,To an auld man with travel and hunger bestead."And ask the fair bride, for the sake of Hynde Horn,To hand them to one so sadly forlorn."Then the porter for pity the message convey'd,And told the fair bride all the beggar man said.And when she did hear it, she tripp'd down the stair,And in her fair hands did lovingly bearA cup of red wine, and a farle of cake,To give the old man, for loved Hynde Horn's sake.And when she came to where Hynde Horn did stand,With joy he did take the cup from her hand;Then pledged the fair bride, the cup out did drain,Dropp'd in it the ring, and return'd it again."Oh, found you that ring by sea or on land,Or got you that ring off a dead man's hand?""Oh, I found not that ring by sea or on land,But I got that ring from a fair lady's hand."As a pledge of true love she gave it to me,Full seven years ago, as I sail'd o'er the sea;But now that the diamonds are chang'd in their hue,I know that my love has to me proved untrue.""Oh, I will cast off my gay costly gown,And follow thee on from town unto town,And I will take the gold combs from my hair,And follow my true love for ever mair.""You need not cast off your gay costly gown,To follow me on from town unto town;You need not take the gold combs from your hair,For Hynde Horn has gold enough, and to spare."He stood up erect, let his beggar weed fall,And shone there the foremost and noblest of all;Then the bridegrooms were chang'd, and the lady re-wed,To Hynde Horn thus come back, like one from the dead.Old Ballad.
"Oh, it's Hynde Horn fair, and it's Hynde Horn free;Oh, where were you born, and in what countrie?""In a far distant countrie I was born;But of home and friends I am quite forlorn."
Oh, it's seven long years he served the king,But wages from him he ne'er got a thing:Oh, it's seven long years he served, I ween,And all for love of the king's daughter Jean.
Oh, he gave to his love a silver wand,Her sceptre of rule over fair Scotland;With three singing laverocks set thereon,For to mind her of him when he was gone.
And his love gave to him a gay gold ring,With three shining diamonds set therein;Oh, his love gave to him this gay gold ring,Of virtue and value above all thing;Saying—"While the diamonds do keep their hue,You will know that my love holds fast and true;But when the diamonds grow pale and wan,I'll be dead, or wed to another man."
Then the sails were spread, and away sail'd he;Oh, he sail'd away to a far countrie;And when he had been seven years to sea,Hynde Horn look'd to see how his ring might be.
But when Hynde Horn look'd the diamonds upon,Oh, he saw that they were both pale and wan;And at once he knew, from their alter'd hue,That his love was dead or had proved untrue.
Oh, the sails were spread, and away sail'd heBack over the sea to his own countrie;Then he left the ship when it came to land,And he met an auld beggar upon the strand.
"What news, thou auld beggar man?" said he;"For full seven years I've been over the sea."Then the auld man said—"The strangest of allIs the curious wedding in our king's hall.
"For there's a king's daughter, came frae the wast,Has been married to him these nine days past;But unto him a wife the bride winna be,For love of Hynde Horn, far over the sea."
"Now, auld man, give to me your begging weed,And I will give to thee my riding steed;And, auld man, give to me your staff of tree,And my scarlet cloak I will give to thee.
"And you must teach me the auld beggar's role,As he goes his rounds, and receives his dole."The auld man he did as young Hynde Horn said,And taught him the way to beg for his bread.
Then Hynde Horn bent him to his staff of tree,And to the king's palace away hobbled he;And when he arrived at the king's palace gate,To the porter he thus his petition did state:
"Good porter, I pray, for Saints Peter and Paul,And for sake of the Saviour who died for us all,For one cup of wine, and one bit of bread,To an auld man with travel and hunger bestead.
"And ask the fair bride, for the sake of Hynde Horn,To hand them to one so sadly forlorn."Then the porter for pity the message convey'd,And told the fair bride all the beggar man said.
And when she did hear it, she tripp'd down the stair,And in her fair hands did lovingly bearA cup of red wine, and a farle of cake,To give the old man, for loved Hynde Horn's sake.
And when she came to where Hynde Horn did stand,With joy he did take the cup from her hand;Then pledged the fair bride, the cup out did drain,Dropp'd in it the ring, and return'd it again.
"Oh, found you that ring by sea or on land,Or got you that ring off a dead man's hand?""Oh, I found not that ring by sea or on land,But I got that ring from a fair lady's hand.
"As a pledge of true love she gave it to me,Full seven years ago, as I sail'd o'er the sea;But now that the diamonds are chang'd in their hue,I know that my love has to me proved untrue."
"Oh, I will cast off my gay costly gown,And follow thee on from town unto town,And I will take the gold combs from my hair,And follow my true love for ever mair."
"You need not cast off your gay costly gown,To follow me on from town unto town;You need not take the gold combs from your hair,For Hynde Horn has gold enough, and to spare."
He stood up erect, let his beggar weed fall,And shone there the foremost and noblest of all;Then the bridegrooms were chang'd, and the lady re-wed,To Hynde Horn thus come back, like one from the dead.
Old Ballad.
There was monie a braw nobleCame to our Queen's ha';But the bonnie GlenlogieWas the flower of them a'.And the young Ladye Jeanie,Sae gude and sae fair,She fancied GlenlogieAboon a' that were there.She speired at his footman,That ran by his side,His name, and his sirname,And where he did bide."He bides at Glenlogie,When he is at hame;He's of the gay Gordons,And George is his name."She wrote to Glenlogie,To tell him her mind:"My love is laid on you,Oh, will you prove kind?"He turn'd about lightly,As the Gordons do a':"I thank you, fair Ladye,But I'm promis'd awa."She call'd on her maidensHer jewels to take,And to lay her in bed,For her heart it did break."Glenlogie! Glenlogie!"Glenlogie!" said she;"If I getna Glenlogie,I'm sure I will dee.""Oh, hold your tongue, daughter,And weep na sae sair;For you'll get Drumfindlay,His father's young heir.""Oh, hold your tongue, father,And let me alane;If I getna Glenlogie,I'll never wed ane."Then her father's old chaplain—A man of great skill—He wrote to Glenlogie,The cause of this ill;And her father, he sent offThis letter with speed,By a trusty retainer,Who rode his best steed.The first line that he read,A light laugh gave he;The next line that he read,The tear fill'd each e'e:"Oh, what a man am I,That a leal heart should break?Or that sic a fair maidShould die for my sake?"Go, saddle my horse,Go, saddle him soon,Go, saddle the swiftestE'er rode frae the toun."But ere it was saddled,And brought to the door,Glenlogie was on the roadThree miles or more.When he came to her father's,Great grief there was there;There was weepin' and wailin',And sabbin' full sair.Oh, pale and wan was sheWhen Glenlogie gaed in;But she grew red and rosyWhen Glenlogie gaed ben.Then out spake her father,With tears in each e'e:"You're welcome, Glenlogie,You're welcome to me."And out spake her mother:"You're welcome," said she;"You're welcome, Glenlogie,Your Jeanie to see.""Oh, turn, Ladye Jeanie,Turn round to this side,And I'll be the bridegroom,And you'll be the bride."Oh, it was a blythe wedding,As ever was seen;And bonnie Jeanie MelvilleWas scarcely sixteen.Old Ballad.
There was monie a braw nobleCame to our Queen's ha';But the bonnie GlenlogieWas the flower of them a'.And the young Ladye Jeanie,Sae gude and sae fair,She fancied GlenlogieAboon a' that were there.
She speired at his footman,That ran by his side,His name, and his sirname,And where he did bide."He bides at Glenlogie,When he is at hame;He's of the gay Gordons,And George is his name."
She wrote to Glenlogie,To tell him her mind:"My love is laid on you,Oh, will you prove kind?"He turn'd about lightly,As the Gordons do a':"I thank you, fair Ladye,But I'm promis'd awa."
She call'd on her maidensHer jewels to take,And to lay her in bed,For her heart it did break."Glenlogie! Glenlogie!"Glenlogie!" said she;"If I getna Glenlogie,I'm sure I will dee."
"Oh, hold your tongue, daughter,And weep na sae sair;For you'll get Drumfindlay,His father's young heir.""Oh, hold your tongue, father,And let me alane;If I getna Glenlogie,I'll never wed ane."
Then her father's old chaplain—A man of great skill—He wrote to Glenlogie,The cause of this ill;And her father, he sent offThis letter with speed,By a trusty retainer,Who rode his best steed.
The first line that he read,A light laugh gave he;The next line that he read,The tear fill'd each e'e:"Oh, what a man am I,That a leal heart should break?Or that sic a fair maidShould die for my sake?
"Go, saddle my horse,Go, saddle him soon,Go, saddle the swiftestE'er rode frae the toun."But ere it was saddled,And brought to the door,Glenlogie was on the roadThree miles or more.
When he came to her father's,Great grief there was there;There was weepin' and wailin',And sabbin' full sair.Oh, pale and wan was sheWhen Glenlogie gaed in;But she grew red and rosyWhen Glenlogie gaed ben.
Then out spake her father,With tears in each e'e:"You're welcome, Glenlogie,You're welcome to me."And out spake her mother:"You're welcome," said she;"You're welcome, Glenlogie,Your Jeanie to see."
"Oh, turn, Ladye Jeanie,Turn round to this side,And I'll be the bridegroom,And you'll be the bride."Oh, it was a blythe wedding,As ever was seen;And bonnie Jeanie MelvilleWas scarcely sixteen.
Old Ballad.