THE GAY GOSS-HAWK
“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 ye 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 sail 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 cheek,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-doorThere grows a flowering birk;And ye maun sit and sing thereonAs she gangs to the kirk.“And four-and-twenty fair ladyesWill to the mass repair;But weel may ye my ladye ken,The fairest ladye there.”
“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 ye 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 sail 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 cheek,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-doorThere grows a flowering birk;And ye maun sit and sing thereonAs she gangs to the kirk.“And four-and-twenty fair ladyesWill to the mass repair;But weel may ye my ladye ken,The fairest ladye there.”
“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 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 ye may not win near?”—
“O have ye tint, at tournament,
Your sword, or yet your spear;
Or mourn ye for the southern lass,
Whom ye 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.
“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 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.”
“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 sail ye my true love ken,Sae sune as ye her see;For, of a’ the flowers of fair England,The fairest flower is she.
“O weel sail 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 cheek,Is like blood-drops on the snaw;The white that is on her breast bare,Like the down o’ the white sea-maw.
“The red that’s on my true love’s cheek,
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-doorThere grows a flowering birk;And ye maun sit and sing thereonAs she gangs to the kirk.
“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 ladyesWill to the mass repair;But weel may ye my ladye ken,The fairest ladye there.”
“And four-and-twenty fair ladyes
Will to the mass repair;
But weel may ye my ladye ken,
The fairest ladye there.”
Lord Williamhas written a love-letter,Put it under his pinion gray;And he is awa to Southern landAs fast as wings can gae.And even at that ladye’s bourThere grew a flowering birk;And he sat down and sung thereonAs she gaed to the kirk.And weel he kent that ladye fairAmang 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 within.And first he sang a low low note,And syne he sang a clear;And aye the o’erword o’ the sangWas—“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 pecked 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 dee.”—“Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,And brew his bridal ale;And I shall meet him at Mary’s kirk,Lang, lang ere it be stale.”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.“A boon, a boon, my father dear,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,Weel 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 pledg’d his word,And so his promise plight.
Lord Williamhas written a love-letter,Put it under his pinion gray;And he is awa to Southern landAs fast as wings can gae.And even at that ladye’s bourThere grew a flowering birk;And he sat down and sung thereonAs she gaed to the kirk.And weel he kent that ladye fairAmang 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 within.And first he sang a low low note,And syne he sang a clear;And aye the o’erword o’ the sangWas—“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 pecked 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 dee.”—“Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,And brew his bridal ale;And I shall meet him at Mary’s kirk,Lang, lang ere it be stale.”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.“A boon, a boon, my father dear,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,Weel 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 pledg’d his word,And so his promise plight.
Lord Williamhas written a love-letter,Put it under his pinion gray;And he is awa to Southern landAs fast as wings can gae.
Lord Williamhas 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 bourThere grew a flowering birk;And he sat down and sung thereonAs she gaed to the kirk.
And even at that ladye’s bour
There grew a flowering birk;
And he sat down and sung thereon
As she gaed to the kirk.
And weel he kent that ladye fairAmang her maidens free;For the flower, that springs in May morning,Was not sae sweet as she.
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 within.
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 within.
And first he sang a low low note,And syne he sang a clear;And aye the o’erword o’ the sangWas—“Your love can no win here.”
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.
“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.”
“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 pecked his feathers gray,To her the letter gave.
O first he sang a merry sang,
And syne he sang a grave;
And syne he pecked 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 dee.”—
“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 dee.”—
“Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,And brew his bridal ale;And I shall meet him at Mary’s kirk,Lang, lang ere it be stale.”
“Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,
And brew his bridal ale;
And I shall meet him at Mary’s kirk,
Lang, lang ere it be stale.”
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 chamber,
And a moanfu’ woman was she;
As gin she had ta’en a sudden brash,
And were about to dee.
“A boon, a boon, my father dear,A boon I beg of thee!”—“Ask not that paughty Scottish lord,For him you ne’er shall see.
“A boon, a boon, my father dear,
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,Weel granted it shall be.”—“Then, gin I die in Southern land,In Scotland gar bury me.
“But, for your honest asking else,
Weel 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 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 pledg’d his word,And so his promise plight.
“And when ye come to St. Mary’s kirk,
Ye’s tarry there till night.”
And so her father pledg’d his word,
And so his promise plight.
Shehas ta’en her to her bigly bourAs fast as she could fare;And she has drank a sleepy draught,That she had mix’d wi’ care.And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,That was sae bright of blee,And she seem’d to be as surely deadAs any one could be.Then spak her cruel step-minnie,“Tak 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 drapp’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;And every steek that they put inSewed to a siller bell.The first Scots kirk that they cam to,They garr’d the bells be rung;The next Scots kirk that they cam to,They garr’d the mass be sung.But when they cam to St. Mary’s kirk,There stude spearmen all on a raw;And up and started lord William,The chieftane amang them a’.“Set down, set down the bier,” he said,“Let me look her upon:”But as soon as lord William touch’d her hand,Her colour began to come.She brightened like the lily flower,Till her pale colour was gone;With rosy cheik, and ruby lip,She smiled her love upon.“A morsel of your bread, my lord,And one glass of your wine;For I hae fasted these three lang days,All for your sake and mine.—“Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,Gae hame and blaw your horn!I trow ye wad hae gi’en me the skaith,But I’ve gi’en you the scorn.“Commend me to my gray father,That wished my saul gude rest;But wae be to my cruel step-dame,Garr’d burn me on the breast.”—“Ah! woe to you, you light woman!An ill death may you dee!For we left father and sisters at hameBreaking their hearts for thee.”
Shehas ta’en her to her bigly bourAs fast as she could fare;And she has drank a sleepy draught,That she had mix’d wi’ care.And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,That was sae bright of blee,And she seem’d to be as surely deadAs any one could be.Then spak her cruel step-minnie,“Tak 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 drapp’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;And every steek that they put inSewed to a siller bell.The first Scots kirk that they cam to,They garr’d the bells be rung;The next Scots kirk that they cam to,They garr’d the mass be sung.But when they cam to St. Mary’s kirk,There stude spearmen all on a raw;And up and started lord William,The chieftane amang them a’.“Set down, set down the bier,” he said,“Let me look her upon:”But as soon as lord William touch’d her hand,Her colour began to come.She brightened like the lily flower,Till her pale colour was gone;With rosy cheik, and ruby lip,She smiled her love upon.“A morsel of your bread, my lord,And one glass of your wine;For I hae fasted these three lang days,All for your sake and mine.—“Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,Gae hame and blaw your horn!I trow ye wad hae gi’en me the skaith,But I’ve gi’en you the scorn.“Commend me to my gray father,That wished my saul gude rest;But wae be to my cruel step-dame,Garr’d burn me on the breast.”—“Ah! woe to you, you light woman!An ill death may you dee!For we left father and sisters at hameBreaking their hearts for thee.”
Shehas ta’en her to her bigly bourAs fast as she could fare;And she has drank a sleepy draught,That she had mix’d wi’ care.
Shehas ta’en her to her bigly bour
As fast as she could fare;
And she has drank a sleepy draught,
That she had mix’d wi’ care.
And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,That was sae bright of blee,And she seem’d to be as surely deadAs any one could be.
And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,
That was sae bright of blee,
And she seem’d to be as surely dead
As any one could be.
Then spak her cruel step-minnie,“Tak ye the burning lead,And drap a drap on her bosome,To try if she be dead.”
Then spak her cruel step-minnie,
“Tak 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 drapp’d it on her breast;“Alas! alas!” her father cried,“She’s dead without the priest.”
They took a drap o’ boiling lead,
They drapp’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.”
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 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;And every steek that they put inSewed to a siller bell.
Then up and gat her seven sisters,
And sewed to her a kell;
And every steek that they put in
Sewed to a siller bell.
The first Scots kirk that they cam to,They garr’d the bells be rung;The next Scots kirk that they cam to,They garr’d the mass be sung.
The first Scots kirk that they cam to,
They garr’d the bells be rung;
The next Scots kirk that they cam to,
They garr’d the mass be sung.
But when they cam to St. Mary’s kirk,There stude spearmen all on a raw;And up and started lord William,The chieftane amang them a’.
But when they cam to St. Mary’s kirk,
There stude spearmen all on a raw;
And up and started lord William,
The chieftane amang them a’.
“Set down, set down the bier,” he said,“Let me look her upon:”But as soon as lord William touch’d her hand,Her colour began to come.
“Set down, set down the bier,” he said,
“Let me look her upon:”
But as soon as lord William touch’d her hand,
Her colour began to come.
She brightened like the lily flower,Till her pale colour was gone;With rosy cheik, and ruby lip,She smiled her love upon.
She brightened like the lily flower,
Till her pale colour was gone;
With rosy cheik, and ruby lip,
She smiled her love upon.
“A morsel of your bread, my lord,And one glass of your wine;For I hae fasted these three lang days,All for your sake and mine.—
“A morsel of your bread, my lord,
And one glass of your wine;
For I hae fasted these three lang days,
All for your sake and mine.—
“Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,Gae hame and blaw your horn!I trow ye wad hae gi’en me the skaith,But I’ve gi’en you the scorn.
“Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,
Gae hame and blaw your horn!
I trow ye wad hae gi’en me the skaith,
But I’ve gi’en you the scorn.
“Commend me to my gray father,That wished my saul gude rest;But wae be to my cruel step-dame,Garr’d burn me on the breast.”—
“Commend me to my gray father,
That wished my saul gude rest;
But wae be to my cruel step-dame,
Garr’d burn me on the breast.”—
“Ah! woe to you, you light woman!An ill death may you dee!For we left father and sisters at hameBreaking their hearts for thee.”
“Ah! woe to you, you light woman!
An ill death may you dee!
For we left father and sisters at hame
Breaking their hearts for thee.”