Loude thai gun to crie;
"Alias! alias! that he was born!
"This ich night we have forlorn
"Out of our baylie."
[A]
Fewes—Probably contracted for fellows.
Fewes—Probably contracted for fellows.
[B]
The reader will probably search St Paul in vain, for the evidence here referred to.
The reader will probably search St Paul in vain, for the evidence here referred to.
The author of theLegend of Sir Owain, though a zealous catholic, has embraced, in the fullest extent, the Talmudic doctrine of an earthly paradise, distinct from the celestial abode of the just, and serving as a place of initiation, preparatory to perfect bliss, and to the beatific vision.—See the Rabbi Menasse ben Israel, in a treatise calledNishmath Chajim, i.e. The Breath of Life.
THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.
NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.
This ballad, which is a very great favourite among the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest, is universally believed to be founded in fact. The editor found it easy to collect a variety of copies; but very difficult, indeed, to select from them such a collated edition, as may, in any degree, suit the taste of "these more light and giddy-paced times."
Tradition places the event, recorded in the song, very early; and it is probable that the ballad was composed soon afterwards, although the language has been gradually modernized, in the course of its transmission to us, through the inaccurate channel of oral tradition.—The bard does not relate particulars, but barely the striking outlines of a fact, apparently so well known when he wrote, as to render minute detail as unnecessary, as it is always tedious and unpoetical.
The hero of the ballad was a knight of great bravery, called Scott, who is said to have resided at Kirkhope, or Oakwood castle, and is, in tradition, termed the Baron of Oakwood. The estate of Kirkhope belonged anciently to the Scotts of Harden: Oakwood is still their property, and has been so from time immemorial. The editor was therefore led to suppose, that the hero of the ballad might have been identified with John Scott, sixth son of the laird of Harden, murdered in Ettrick Forest by his kinsmen, the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh (see notes toJamie Telfer, Vol. I. p. 152). This appeared the more probable, as the common people always affirm, that this young man was treacherously slain, and that, in evidence thereof, his body remained uncorrupted for many years; so that even the roses on his shoes seemed as fresh as when he was first laid in the family vault at Hassendean. But from a passage in Nisbet's Heraldry, he now believes the ballad refers to a duel fought at Deucharswyre, of which Annan's Treat is a part, betwixt John Scott of Tushielaw and his brother-in-law Walter Scott, third son of Robert of Thirlestane, in which the latter was slain.
In ploughing Annan's Treat, a huge monumental stone, with an inscription, was discovered; but being rather scratched than engraved, and the lines being run through each other, it is only possible to read one or two Latin words. It probably records the event of the combat.—The person slain was the male ancestor of the present Lord Napier.
Tradition affirms, that the hero of the song (be he who he may) was murdered by the brother, either of his wife, or betrothed bride. The alleged cause of malice was, the lady's father having proposed to endow her with half of his property, upon her marriage with a warrior of such renown. The name of the murderer is said to have been Annan, and the place of combat is still called Annan's Treat. It is a low muir, on the banks of the Yarrow, lying to the west of Yarrow Kirk. Two tall unhewn masses of stone are erected, about eighty yards distant from each other; and the least child, that can herd a cow, will tell the passenger, that there lie "the two lords, who were slain in single combat."
It will be, with many readers, the greatest recommendation of these verses, that they are supposed to have suggested to Mr Hamilton, of Bangour, the modern ballad, beginning,
"Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride."
A fragment, apparently regarding the story of the following ballad, but in a different measure, occurs in Mr Herd's MSS., and runs thus:—
"When I look cast, my heart is sair,
"But when I look west, its mair and mair;
"For then I see the braes o' Yarrow,
"And there, for aye, I lost my marrow."
THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.
Late at e'en, drinking the wine,
And ere they paid the lawing,
They set a combat them between,
To fight it in the dawing.
"O stay at hame, my noble lord!
"O stay at hame, my marrow!
"My cruel brother will you betray
"On the dowie houms of Yarrow."
"O fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!
"O fare ye weel, my Sarah!
"For I maun gae, though I ne'er return,
"Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow.
She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair,
As oft she had done before, O;
She belted him with his noble brand,
And he's awa' to Yarrow.
As he gaed up the Tennies bank,
I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,
Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
"O come ye here to part your land,
"The bonnie forest thorough?
"Or come ye here to wield your brand,
"On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"
"I come not here to part my land,
"And neither to beg nor borrow;
"I come to wield my noble brand,
"On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.
"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;
"And that's an unequal marrow;
"Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,
"On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."
Four has he hurt, and five has slain,
On the bloody braes of Yarrow,
Till that stubborn knight came him behind,
And ran his bodie thorough.
"Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother[A]John,
"And tell your sister Sarah,
"To come and lift her leafu' lord;
"He's sleepin sound on Yarrow."——
"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream;
"I fear there will be sorrow!
"I dream'd, I pu'd the heather green,
"Wi' my true love, on Yarrow.
"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,
"From where my love repaireth,
"Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,
"And tell me how he fareth!
"But in the glen strive armed men;
"They've wrought me dole and sorrow;
"They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain—
"He bleeding lies on Yarrow."
As she sped down yon high high hill,
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,
And in the den spyed ten slain men,
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.
She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
She search'd his wounds all thorough;
She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
"Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear!
"For a' this breeds but sorrow;
"I'll wed ye to a better lord,
"Than him ye lost on Yarrow."
"O haud your tongue, my father dear!
"Ye mind me but of sorrow;
"A fairer rose did never bloom
"Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."
[A]
Good-brother—Beau-frere, Brother-in-law.
Good-brother—Beau-frere, Brother-in-law.
NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.
This Ballad is published, partly from one, under this title, in Mrs.BROWN'SCollection, and partly from a MS. of some antiquity,penes Edit.—The stanzas appearing to possess mo st merit have been selected from each copy.
"O waly, waly, my gay goss hawk,
"Gin your feathering be sheen!"
"And waly, waly, my master dear,
"Gin ye look pale and lean!
"O have ye tint, at tournament,
"Your sword, or yet your spear?
"Or mourn ye for the southern lass,
"Whom you may not win near?"
"I have not tint, at tournament,
"My sword, nor yet my spear;
"But sair I mourn for my true love,
"Wi' mony a bitter tear.
"But weel's me on ye, my gay goss hawk,
"Ye can baith speak and flee;
"Ye sall carry a letter to my love,
"Bring an answer back to me."
"But how sall I your true love find,
"Or how suld I her know?
"I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake,
"An eye that ne'er her saw."
"O weel sall ye my true love ken,
"Sae sune as ye her see;
"For, of a' the flowers of fair England,
"The fairest flower is she.
"The red, that's on my true love's cheik,
"Is like blood drops on the snaw;
"The white, that is on her breast bare,
"Like the down o' the white sea-maw.
"And even at my love's bour door
"There grows a flowering birk;
"And ye maun sit and sing thereon
"As she gangs to the kirk.
"And four-and-twenty fair ladyes
"Will to the mass repair;
"But weel may ye my ladye ken,
"The fairest ladye there."
Lord William has written a love letter,
Put it under his pinion gray;
And he is awa' to Southern land
As fast as wings can gae.
And even at that ladye's bour
There grew a flowering birk;
And he sat down and sang thereon
As she gaed to the kirk.
And weel he kent that ladye fair
Amang her maidens free;
For the flower, that springs in May morning,
Was not sae sweet as she.
He lighted at the ladye's yate,
And sat him on a pin;
And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love,
Till a' was cosh[A]within.
And first he sang a low low note,
And syne he sang a clear;
And aye the o'erword o' the sang
Was—"Your love can no win here."
"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a':
"The wine flows you amang:
"While I gang to my shot-window,
"And hear yon bonny bird's sang.
"Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,
"The sang ye sung yestreen;
"For weel I ken, by your sweet singing,
"Ye are frae my true love sen'."
O first he sang a merry sang,
And syne he sang a grave;
And syne he peck'd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.
"Have there a letter from Lord William;
"He says he's sent ye three:
"He canna wait your love langer,
"But for your sake he'll die."
"Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,
"And brew his bridal ale;
"And I sall meet him at Mary's kirk
"Lang, lang ere it be stale."
The ladye's gane to her chamber,
And a moanfu' woman was she;
As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash,[B]
And were about to die.
"A boon, a boon, my father deir,
"A boon I beg of thee!"
"Ask not that paughty Scottish lord,
"For him you ne'er shall see.
"But, for your honest asking else,
"Wee! granted it shall be."
"Then, gin I die in Southern land,
"In Scotland gar bury me.
"And the first kirk that ye come to,
"Ye's gar the mass be sung;
"And the next kirk that ye come to,
"Ye's gar the bells be rung.
"And, when ye come to St Mary's kirk,
"Ye's tarry there till night."
And so her father pledged his word,
And so his promise plight.
She has ta'en her to her bigly bour
As fast as she could fare;
And she has drank a sleepy draught,
That she had mixed wi' care.
And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,
That was sae bright of blee,
And she seemed to be as surely dead
As any one could be.
Then spak her cruel step-minnie,
"Take ye the burning lead,
"And drap a drap on her bosome,
"To try if she be dead."
They took a drap o' boiling lead,
They drap'd it on her breast;
"Alas! alas!" her father cried,
"She's dead without the priest."
She neither chatter'd with her teeth,
Nor shiver'd with her chin;
"Alas! alas!" her father cried,
"There is nae breath within."
Then up arose her seven brethren,
And hew'd to her a bier;
They hew'd it frae the solid aik,
Laid it o'er wi' silver clear.
Then up and gat her seven sisters,
And sewed to her a kell;