51LIZIE WAN

'The Bonny Heyn,' I, 224.32.Should beIt's not for you a weed. Motherwell.43.The third copy omitswhen.43, 4. he lifted, He gae her.Motherwell.51, 2.The second copy hasthey.64.All havecourteth. Scott printswi' thee, with thee.73.The third copy hastower.

'The Bonny Heyn,' I, 224.

32.Should beIt's not for you a weed. Motherwell.

43.The third copy omitswhen.

43, 4. he lifted, He gae her.Motherwell.

51, 2.The second copy hasthey.

64.All havecourteth. Scott printswi' thee, with thee.

73.The third copy hastower.

103, 4.She's soakt it in her red heart's blood,And twin'd herself of life.Motherwell.

13, 14.The first copy omits these stanzas.

A. a.'Lizie Wan,' Herd's MSS, I, 151; II, 78.b.Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.B.'Rosie Ann,' Motherwell's MS., p. 398.

A. a.'Lizie Wan,' Herd's MSS, I, 151; II, 78.b.Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.

B.'Rosie Ann,' Motherwell's MS., p. 398.

A, first printed in Herd's Scottish Songs, ed. 1776, is here given from his manuscript copy.Bis now printed for the first time.

Ais translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og Skotske Folkeviser, No 50, who subjoins a Danish ballad, 'Liden Ellen og hendes Broder,' of similar character. Of this the editor had three versions, differing but little, and all of slight poetical value, and he prints one which was committed to writing some sixty or seventy years ago, with some readings from the others. Liden Jensen, having killed Liden Ellen in a wood, pretends to his mother that she has gone off with some knights. He is betrayed by blood on his clothes, confesses the truth, and is condemned to be burned. 'Herr Axel,' Arwidsson's Swedish collection, No 46, I, 308, under similar circumstances, kills Stolts Kirstin's two children, is asked by his mother why his hands are bloody, pretends to have slain a hind in the wood, and has his head struck off by order of his father.

'Herr Peder og hans Söster,' an unpublished Danish ballad, of which Grundtvig obtained a single traditional version, has also a slight resemblance to 'Lizie Wan.' Kirsten invitesSir Peter to her bed. He declines for various reasons, which she refutes. She discovers him to be her brother by her needle-work in his shirt. He draws his knife and stabs her. "This was also a pitiful sight, the twin children playing in the mother's bosom." Compare Kristensen, II, No 74A,D,E, at the end.

The conclusion,A11-12,B10-17, resembles that of 'The Twa Brothers,' No 49, but is poetically much inferior.

Herd's MSS, I, 151; stanzas 1-6, II, p. 78. Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.

1Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door,Weeping and making a mane,And by there came her father dear:'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'2'I ail, and I ail, dear father,' she said,'And I'll tell you a reason for why;There is a child between my twa sides,Between my dear billy and I.'3Now Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door,Sighing and making a mane,And by there came her brother dear:'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'4'I ail, I ail, dear brither,' she said,'And I'll tell you a reason for why;There is a child between my twa sides,Between you, dear billy, and I.'5'And hast thou tald father and mother o that?And hast thou tald sae o me?'And he has drawn his gude braid sword,That hang down by his knee.6And he has cutted aff Lizie Wan's head,And her fair body in three,And he's awa to his mothers bower,And sair aghast was he.7'What ails thee, what ails thee, Geordy Wan?What ails thee sae fast to rin?For I see by thy ill colourSome fallow's deed thou hast done.'8'Some fallow's deed I have done, mother,And I pray you pardon me;For I've cutted aff my greyhound's head;He wadna rin for me.'9'Thy greyhound's bluid was never sae red,O my son Geordy Wan!For I see by thy ill colourSome fallow's deed thou hast done.'10'Some fallow's deed I hae done, mother,And I pray you pardon me;For I hae cutted aff Lizie Wan's headAnd her fair body in three.'11'O what wilt thou do when thy father comes hame,O my son Geordy Wan?''I'll set my foot in a bottomless boat,And swim to the sea-ground.'12'And when will thou come hame again,O my son Geordy Wan?''The sun and the moon shall dance on the greenThat night when I come hame.'

1Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door,Weeping and making a mane,And by there came her father dear:'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'

2'I ail, and I ail, dear father,' she said,'And I'll tell you a reason for why;There is a child between my twa sides,Between my dear billy and I.'

3Now Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door,Sighing and making a mane,And by there came her brother dear:'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'

4'I ail, I ail, dear brither,' she said,'And I'll tell you a reason for why;There is a child between my twa sides,Between you, dear billy, and I.'

5'And hast thou tald father and mother o that?And hast thou tald sae o me?'And he has drawn his gude braid sword,That hang down by his knee.

6And he has cutted aff Lizie Wan's head,And her fair body in three,And he's awa to his mothers bower,And sair aghast was he.

7'What ails thee, what ails thee, Geordy Wan?What ails thee sae fast to rin?For I see by thy ill colourSome fallow's deed thou hast done.'

8'Some fallow's deed I have done, mother,And I pray you pardon me;For I've cutted aff my greyhound's head;He wadna rin for me.'

9'Thy greyhound's bluid was never sae red,O my son Geordy Wan!For I see by thy ill colourSome fallow's deed thou hast done.'

10'Some fallow's deed I hae done, mother,And I pray you pardon me;For I hae cutted aff Lizie Wan's headAnd her fair body in three.'

11'O what wilt thou do when thy father comes hame,O my son Geordy Wan?''I'll set my foot in a bottomless boat,And swim to the sea-ground.'

12'And when will thou come hame again,O my son Geordy Wan?''The sun and the moon shall dance on the greenThat night when I come hame.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 398. From the recitation of Mrs Storie, Lochwinnich.

1Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,Greitin and making grit mane,When down by cam her father, saying,What ails thee Rosie Ann?2'A deal, a deal, dear father,' she said,'Great reason hae I to mane,For there lyes a little babe in my side,Between me and my brither John.'3Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,Weeping and making great mane,And wha cam doun but her mither dear,Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?4'A deal, a deal, dear mither,' she said,'Great reason hae I to mane,For there lyes a little babe in my side,Between me and my brither John.'5Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,Greiting and making great mane,And wha came doun but her sister dear,Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?6'A deal, a deal, dear sister,' she said,'Great reason hae I to mane,For there lyes a little babe in my side,Between me and my brither John.'7Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,Weeping and making great mane,And wha cam doun but her fause, fause brither,Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?8'A deal, a deal, dear brither,' she said,'Great reason hae I to cry,For there lyes a little babe in my side,Between yoursell and I.'9'Weel ye hae tauld father, and ye hae tauld mither,And ye hae tauld sister, a' three;'Syne he pulled out his wee penknife,And he cut her fair bodie in three.10'O what blude is that on the point o your knife,Dear son, come tell to me?''It is my horse's, that I did kill,Dear mother and fair ladie.'11'The blude o your horse was neer sae red,Dear son, come tell to me:''It is my grandfather's, that I hae killed,Dear mother and fair ladie.'12'The blude o your grandfather was neer sae fresh,Dear son, come tell to me:''It is my sister's, that I did kill,Dear mother and fair ladie.'13'What will ye do when your father comes hame,Dear son, come tell to me?''I'll set my foot on yon shipboard,And I hope she'll sail wi me.'14'What will ye do wi your bonny bonny young wife,Dear son, come tell to me?''I'll set her foot on some other ship,And I hope she'll follow me.'15'And what will ye do wi your wee son,Dear son, come tell to me?''I'll leave him wi you, my dear mother,To keep in remembrance of me.'16'What will ye do wi your houses and lands,Dear son, come tell to me?''I'll leave them wi you, my dear mother,To keep my own babie.'17'And whan will you return again,Dear son, come tell to me?''When the sun and the mune meet on yon hill,And I hope that'll neer be.'

1Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,Greitin and making grit mane,When down by cam her father, saying,What ails thee Rosie Ann?

2'A deal, a deal, dear father,' she said,'Great reason hae I to mane,For there lyes a little babe in my side,Between me and my brither John.'

3Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,Weeping and making great mane,And wha cam doun but her mither dear,Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

4'A deal, a deal, dear mither,' she said,'Great reason hae I to mane,For there lyes a little babe in my side,Between me and my brither John.'

5Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,Greiting and making great mane,And wha came doun but her sister dear,Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

6'A deal, a deal, dear sister,' she said,'Great reason hae I to mane,For there lyes a little babe in my side,Between me and my brither John.'

7Rosie she sat in her simmer bower,Weeping and making great mane,And wha cam doun but her fause, fause brither,Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

8'A deal, a deal, dear brither,' she said,'Great reason hae I to cry,For there lyes a little babe in my side,Between yoursell and I.'

9'Weel ye hae tauld father, and ye hae tauld mither,And ye hae tauld sister, a' three;'Syne he pulled out his wee penknife,And he cut her fair bodie in three.

10'O what blude is that on the point o your knife,Dear son, come tell to me?''It is my horse's, that I did kill,Dear mother and fair ladie.'

11'The blude o your horse was neer sae red,Dear son, come tell to me:''It is my grandfather's, that I hae killed,Dear mother and fair ladie.'

12'The blude o your grandfather was neer sae fresh,Dear son, come tell to me:''It is my sister's, that I did kill,Dear mother and fair ladie.'

13'What will ye do when your father comes hame,Dear son, come tell to me?''I'll set my foot on yon shipboard,And I hope she'll sail wi me.'

14'What will ye do wi your bonny bonny young wife,Dear son, come tell to me?''I'll set her foot on some other ship,And I hope she'll follow me.'

15'And what will ye do wi your wee son,Dear son, come tell to me?''I'll leave him wi you, my dear mother,To keep in remembrance of me.'

16'What will ye do wi your houses and lands,Dear son, come tell to me?''I'll leave them wi you, my dear mother,To keep my own babie.'

17'And whan will you return again,Dear son, come tell to me?''When the sun and the mune meet on yon hill,And I hope that'll neer be.'

B.Written without division into stanzas.

A. a.'The King's Dochter Lady Jean,' Motherwell's MS., p. 657.b.'Lady Jean,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xxi.B.Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189 f.C.'Castle Ha's Daughter,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 241.D.'Bold Burnet's Daughter.'a.Buchan's MSS, I, 120.b.The same, II, 141.

A. a.'The King's Dochter Lady Jean,' Motherwell's MS., p. 657.b.'Lady Jean,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xxi.

B.Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189 f.

C.'Castle Ha's Daughter,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 241.

D.'Bold Burnet's Daughter.'a.Buchan's MSS, I, 120.b.The same, II, 141.

Bis the ballad referred to, and partly cited, in Motherwell's preface to 'The Broom blooms bonnie and says it is fair,' Minstrelsy, p. 189. This copy has been extremely injured by tradition; so much so as not to be intelligible in places except by comparison withA. The act described in stanza 9 should be done by the king's daughter's own hand; stanza 12 should be addressed by her to her sister; stanza 13 is composed of fragments of two.CandDhave suffered worse, for they have been corrupted and vulgarized.

At the beginning there is resemblance to 'Tam Lin' and to 'Hind Etin.'

a.Motherwell's MS., p. 657. From the recitation of Mrs Storie, Lochwinnich.b.Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xxi, No XXIII, one stanza.

1The king's young dochter was sitting in her window,Sewing at her silken seam;She lookt out o the bow-window,And she saw the leaves growing green, my luve,And she saw the leaves growing green.2She stuck her needle into her sleeve,Her seam down by her tae,And she is awa to the merrie green-wood,To pu the nit and slae.3She hadna pu't a nit at a',A nit but scarcely three,Till out and spak a braw young man,Saying, How daur ye bow the tree?4'It's I will pu the nit,' she said,'And I will bow the tree,And I will come to the merrie green wud,And na ax leive o thee.'5He took her by the middle sae sma,And laid her on the gerss sae green,And he has taen his will o her,And he loot her up agen.6'Now syn ye hae got your will o me,Pray tell to me your name;For I am the king's young dochter,' she said,'And this nicht I daurna gang hame.'7'Gif ye be the king's young dochter,' he said,'I am his auldest son;I wish I had died on some frem isle,And never had come hame!8'The first time I came hame, Jeanie,Thou was na here nor born;I wish my pretty ship had sunk,And I had been forlorn!9'The neist time I came hame, Jeanie,Thou was sittin on the nourice knee;And I wish my pretty ship had sunk,And I had never seen thee!10'And the neist time I came hame, Jeanie,I met thee here alane;I wish my pretty ship had sunk,And I had neer come hame!'11She put her hand down by her side,And doun into her spare,And she pou't out a wee pen-knife,And she wounded hersell fu sair.12Hooly, hooly rase she up,And hooly she gade hame,Until she came to her father's parlour,And there she did sick and mane.13'O sister, sister, mak my bed,O the clean sheets and strae,O sister, sister, mak my bed,Down in the parlour below.'14Her father he came tripping down the stair,His steps they were fu slow;'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' he said,'Ye're lying far ower low.'15'O late yestreen, as I came hame,Down by yon castil wa,O heavy, heavy was the staneThat on my briest did fa!'16Her mother she came tripping doun the stair,Her steps they were fu slow;'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said,'Ye're lying far ower low.'17'O late yestreen, as I cam hame,Down by yon castil wa,O heavy, heavy was the staneThat on my breast did fa!'18Her sister came tripping doun the stair,Her steps they were fu slow;'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said,'Ye're lying far ower low.'19'O late yestreen, as I cam hame,Doun by yon castil wa,O heavy, heavy was the staneThat on my breast did fa!'20Her brither he cam trippin doun the stair,His steps they were fu slow;He sank into his sister's arms,And they died as white as snaw.

1The king's young dochter was sitting in her window,Sewing at her silken seam;She lookt out o the bow-window,And she saw the leaves growing green, my luve,And she saw the leaves growing green.

2She stuck her needle into her sleeve,Her seam down by her tae,And she is awa to the merrie green-wood,To pu the nit and slae.

3She hadna pu't a nit at a',A nit but scarcely three,Till out and spak a braw young man,Saying, How daur ye bow the tree?

4'It's I will pu the nit,' she said,'And I will bow the tree,And I will come to the merrie green wud,And na ax leive o thee.'

5He took her by the middle sae sma,And laid her on the gerss sae green,And he has taen his will o her,And he loot her up agen.

6'Now syn ye hae got your will o me,Pray tell to me your name;For I am the king's young dochter,' she said,'And this nicht I daurna gang hame.'

7'Gif ye be the king's young dochter,' he said,'I am his auldest son;I wish I had died on some frem isle,And never had come hame!

8'The first time I came hame, Jeanie,Thou was na here nor born;I wish my pretty ship had sunk,And I had been forlorn!

9'The neist time I came hame, Jeanie,Thou was sittin on the nourice knee;And I wish my pretty ship had sunk,And I had never seen thee!

10'And the neist time I came hame, Jeanie,I met thee here alane;I wish my pretty ship had sunk,And I had neer come hame!'

11She put her hand down by her side,And doun into her spare,And she pou't out a wee pen-knife,And she wounded hersell fu sair.

12Hooly, hooly rase she up,And hooly she gade hame,Until she came to her father's parlour,And there she did sick and mane.

13'O sister, sister, mak my bed,O the clean sheets and strae,O sister, sister, mak my bed,Down in the parlour below.'

14Her father he came tripping down the stair,His steps they were fu slow;'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' he said,'Ye're lying far ower low.'

15'O late yestreen, as I came hame,Down by yon castil wa,O heavy, heavy was the staneThat on my briest did fa!'

16Her mother she came tripping doun the stair,Her steps they were fu slow;'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said,'Ye're lying far ower low.'

17'O late yestreen, as I cam hame,Down by yon castil wa,O heavy, heavy was the staneThat on my breast did fa!'

18Her sister came tripping doun the stair,Her steps they were fu slow;'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said,'Ye're lying far ower low.'

19'O late yestreen, as I cam hame,Doun by yon castil wa,O heavy, heavy was the staneThat on my breast did fa!'

20Her brither he cam trippin doun the stair,His steps they were fu slow;He sank into his sister's arms,And they died as white as snaw.

Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189. From Margery Johnston.

1Lady Margaret sits in her bow-window,Sewing her silken seam;. . . . . . .. . . . . . .2She's drapt the thimble at her tae,And her scissars at her heel,And she's awa to the merry green-wood,To see the leaves grow green.3She had scarsely bowed a branch,Or plucked a nut frae the tree,Till up and starts a fair young man,And a fair young man was he.4'How dare ye shake the leaves?' he said,'How dare ye break the tree?How dare ye pluck the nuts,' he said,'Without the leave of me?'5. . . . . . .. . . . . . .'Oh I know the merry green wood's my ain,And I'll ask the leave of nane.'6He gript her by the middle sae sma,He gently sat her down,While the grass grew up on every side,And the apple trees hang down.7She says, Young man, what is your name?For ye've brought me to meikle shame;For I am the king's youngest daughter,And how shall I gae hame?8'If you're the king's youngest daughter,It's I'm his auldest son,And heavy heavy is the deed, sister,That you and I have done.'9He had a penknife in his hand,Hang low down by his gair,And between the long rib and the short oneHe woundit her deep and sair.10. . . . . . .. . . . . . .And fast and fast her ruddy bright bloodFell drapping on the ground.11She took the glove off her right hand,And slowly slipt it in the wound,And slowly has she risen up,And slowly slipped home.* * * * *12'O sister dear, when thou gaes hameUnto thy father's ha,It's make my bed baith braid and lang,Wi the sheets as white as snaw.'* * * * *13'When I came by the high church-yardHeavy was the stain that bruised my heel,... that bruised my heart,I'm afraid it shall neer heal.'* * * * *

1Lady Margaret sits in her bow-window,Sewing her silken seam;. . . . . . .. . . . . . .

2She's drapt the thimble at her tae,And her scissars at her heel,And she's awa to the merry green-wood,To see the leaves grow green.

3She had scarsely bowed a branch,Or plucked a nut frae the tree,Till up and starts a fair young man,And a fair young man was he.

4'How dare ye shake the leaves?' he said,'How dare ye break the tree?How dare ye pluck the nuts,' he said,'Without the leave of me?'

5. . . . . . .. . . . . . .'Oh I know the merry green wood's my ain,And I'll ask the leave of nane.'

6He gript her by the middle sae sma,He gently sat her down,While the grass grew up on every side,And the apple trees hang down.

7She says, Young man, what is your name?For ye've brought me to meikle shame;For I am the king's youngest daughter,And how shall I gae hame?

8'If you're the king's youngest daughter,It's I'm his auldest son,And heavy heavy is the deed, sister,That you and I have done.'

9He had a penknife in his hand,Hang low down by his gair,And between the long rib and the short oneHe woundit her deep and sair.

10. . . . . . .. . . . . . .And fast and fast her ruddy bright bloodFell drapping on the ground.

11She took the glove off her right hand,And slowly slipt it in the wound,And slowly has she risen up,And slowly slipped home.

* * * * *

12'O sister dear, when thou gaes hameUnto thy father's ha,It's make my bed baith braid and lang,Wi the sheets as white as snaw.'

* * * * *

13'When I came by the high church-yardHeavy was the stain that bruised my heel,... that bruised my heart,I'm afraid it shall neer heal.'

* * * * *

Buchan's Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, I, 241.

1As Annie sat into her bower,A thought came in her head,That she would gang to gude greenwood,Across the flowery mead.2She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower,Nor broken a branch but twa,Till by it came a gentle squire,Says, Lady, come awa.3There's nane that comes to gude greenwoodBut pays to me a tein,And I maun hae your maidenhead,Or than your mantle green.4'My mantle's o the finest silk,Anither I can spin;But gin you take my maidenhead,The like I'll never fin.'5He's taen her by the milk-white hand,And by the grass-green sleeve,There laid her low in gude greenwood,And at her spierd nae leave.6When he had got his wills o her,His wills as he had taen,She said, If you rightly knew my birth,Ye'd better letten alane.7'Is your father a lord o might?Or baron o high degree?Or what race are ye sprung frae,That I should lat ye be?'8'O I am Castle Ha's daughter,O birth and high degree,And if he knows what ye hae done,He'll hang you on a tree.'9'If ye be Castle Ha's daughter,This day I am undone;If ye be Castle Ha's daughter,I am his only son.'10'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jelly hind squire,Sae loud as I hear you lie,Castle Ha, he has but ae dear son,And he is far beyond the sea.'11'O I am Castle Ha's dear son,A word I dinna lie;Yes, I am Castle Ha's dear son,And new come oer the sea.12''Twas yesterday, that fatal day,That I did cross the faem;I wish my bonny ship had sunk,And I had neer come hame.'13Then dowie, dowie, raise she up,And dowie came she hame,And stripped aff her silk mantle,And then to bed she's gane.14Then in it came her mother dear,And she steps in the fleer:'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,What makes your lying here?'15'This morning fair, as I went out,Near by yon castle wa,Great and heavy was the staneThat on my foot did fa.'16'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers,Towers, or mony a town?Will not these cure your bonny foot,Gar you gae hale and soun?'17'Ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers,And towers, and mony a town,But nought will cure my bonny foot,Gar me gang hale and soun.'18Then in it came her father dear,And he trips in the fleer:'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,What makes your lying here?'19'This morning fair, as I went out,Near by yon castle wa,Great and heavy was the staneThat on my foot did fa.'20'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers,And towers, and mony a town?Will not these cure your bonny foot,Gar you gang hale and soun?'21'O ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers,And towers, and mony a town,But nought will cure my bonny foot,Gar me gang hale and soun.'22Then in it came her sister Grace;As she steps in the fleer,'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,What makes your lying here?23'Win up, and see your ae brother,That's new come ower the sea;''Ohon, alas!' says fair Annie,'He spake ower soon wi me.'24To her room her brother's gane,Stroked back her yellow hair,To her lips his ain did press,But words spake never mair.

1As Annie sat into her bower,A thought came in her head,That she would gang to gude greenwood,Across the flowery mead.

2She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower,Nor broken a branch but twa,Till by it came a gentle squire,Says, Lady, come awa.

3There's nane that comes to gude greenwoodBut pays to me a tein,And I maun hae your maidenhead,Or than your mantle green.

4'My mantle's o the finest silk,Anither I can spin;But gin you take my maidenhead,The like I'll never fin.'

5He's taen her by the milk-white hand,And by the grass-green sleeve,There laid her low in gude greenwood,And at her spierd nae leave.

6When he had got his wills o her,His wills as he had taen,She said, If you rightly knew my birth,Ye'd better letten alane.

7'Is your father a lord o might?Or baron o high degree?Or what race are ye sprung frae,That I should lat ye be?'

8'O I am Castle Ha's daughter,O birth and high degree,And if he knows what ye hae done,He'll hang you on a tree.'

9'If ye be Castle Ha's daughter,This day I am undone;If ye be Castle Ha's daughter,I am his only son.'

10'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jelly hind squire,Sae loud as I hear you lie,Castle Ha, he has but ae dear son,And he is far beyond the sea.'

11'O I am Castle Ha's dear son,A word I dinna lie;Yes, I am Castle Ha's dear son,And new come oer the sea.

12''Twas yesterday, that fatal day,That I did cross the faem;I wish my bonny ship had sunk,And I had neer come hame.'

13Then dowie, dowie, raise she up,And dowie came she hame,And stripped aff her silk mantle,And then to bed she's gane.

14Then in it came her mother dear,And she steps in the fleer:'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,What makes your lying here?'

15'This morning fair, as I went out,Near by yon castle wa,Great and heavy was the staneThat on my foot did fa.'

16'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers,Towers, or mony a town?Will not these cure your bonny foot,Gar you gae hale and soun?'

17'Ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers,And towers, and mony a town,But nought will cure my bonny foot,Gar me gang hale and soun.'

18Then in it came her father dear,And he trips in the fleer:'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,What makes your lying here?'

19'This morning fair, as I went out,Near by yon castle wa,Great and heavy was the staneThat on my foot did fa.'

20'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers,And towers, and mony a town?Will not these cure your bonny foot,Gar you gang hale and soun?'

21'O ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers,And towers, and mony a town,But nought will cure my bonny foot,Gar me gang hale and soun.'

22Then in it came her sister Grace;As she steps in the fleer,'Win up, win up, now fair Annie,What makes your lying here?

23'Win up, and see your ae brother,That's new come ower the sea;''Ohon, alas!' says fair Annie,'He spake ower soon wi me.'

24To her room her brother's gane,Stroked back her yellow hair,To her lips his ain did press,But words spake never mair.

a.Buchan's MSS, I, 120.b.The same, II, 141.

1The lady's taen her mantle her middle about,Into the woods she's gane,. . . . . . .. . . . . . .2She hadna poud a flower o gude green-wood,O never a flower but ane,Till by he comes, an by he gangs,Says, Lady, lat alane.3For I am forester o this wood,And I hae power to pineYour mantle or your maidenhead,Which o the twa ye'll twine.4'My mantle is o gude green silk,Another I can card an spin;But gin ye tak my maidenhead,The like I'll never fin.'5He's taen her by the milk-white hand,And by the grass-green sleeve,And laid her low at the foot o a tree,At her high kin spierd nae leave.6'I am bold Burnet's ae daughter,You might hae lat me be:''And I'm bold Burnet's ae dear son,Then dear! how can this dee?'7'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jolly hind squire,So loud's I hear you lie!Bold Burnet has but ae dear son,He's sailing on the sea.'8'Yesterday, about this same time,My bonny ship came to land;I wish she'd sunken in the sea,And never seen the strand!9'Heal well this deed on me, lady,Heal well this deed on me!''Although I would heal it neer sae well,Our God above does see.'10She's taen her mantle her middle about,And mourning went she hame,And a' the way she sighd full sair,Crying, Am I to blame!11Ben it came her father dear,Stout stepping on the flear:'Win up, win up, my daughter Janet,And welcome your brother here.'12Up she's taen her milk-white hand,Streakd by his yellow hair,Then turnd about her bonny face,And word spake never mair.

1The lady's taen her mantle her middle about,Into the woods she's gane,. . . . . . .. . . . . . .

2She hadna poud a flower o gude green-wood,O never a flower but ane,Till by he comes, an by he gangs,Says, Lady, lat alane.

3For I am forester o this wood,And I hae power to pineYour mantle or your maidenhead,Which o the twa ye'll twine.

4'My mantle is o gude green silk,Another I can card an spin;But gin ye tak my maidenhead,The like I'll never fin.'

5He's taen her by the milk-white hand,And by the grass-green sleeve,And laid her low at the foot o a tree,At her high kin spierd nae leave.

6'I am bold Burnet's ae daughter,You might hae lat me be:''And I'm bold Burnet's ae dear son,Then dear! how can this dee?'

7'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jolly hind squire,So loud's I hear you lie!Bold Burnet has but ae dear son,He's sailing on the sea.'

8'Yesterday, about this same time,My bonny ship came to land;I wish she'd sunken in the sea,And never seen the strand!

9'Heal well this deed on me, lady,Heal well this deed on me!''Although I would heal it neer sae well,Our God above does see.'

10She's taen her mantle her middle about,And mourning went she hame,And a' the way she sighd full sair,Crying, Am I to blame!

11Ben it came her father dear,Stout stepping on the flear:'Win up, win up, my daughter Janet,And welcome your brother here.'

12Up she's taen her milk-white hand,Streakd by his yellow hair,Then turnd about her bonny face,And word spake never mair.

A. b.

12. fine silken.13. She luikit out at her braw bower window.

12. fine silken.

13. She luikit out at her braw bower window.

11,2and 2 are joined in the MS.51,4joined with 4. 54.no leave of thee, an emendation by Motherwell, for rhyme.94. He struck:an emendation.103,4are joined with 9.133. That bruised by heart.After 13 is writtenA stanza wanting.

11,2and 2 are joined in the MS.

51,4joined with 4. 54.no leave of thee, an emendation by Motherwell, for rhyme.

94. He struck:an emendation.

103,4are joined with 9.

133. That bruised by heart.

After 13 is writtenA stanza wanting.

The first three stanzas are not properly divided ina, and inbthe first fourteen lines not divided at all.

112. An stepping.71.kind squirein both copies.

112. An stepping.

71.kind squirein both copies.

54. kin's.91. Heal well, heal well on me, Lady Janet.112. Stout stepping.123. She turned.

54. kin's.

91. Heal well, heal well on me, Lady Janet.

112. Stout stepping.

123. She turned.

A.'Young Bicham,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 13, c. 1783.B.'Young Brechin,' Glenriddell MSS, XI, 80, 1791.C.'Young Bekie.'a.Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 11, c. 1783.b.Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 127.D.'Young Beachen,' Skene MSS, p. 70, 1802-1803.E.'Young Beichan and Susie Pye,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 117.F.'Susan Pye and Lord Beichan,' Pitcairn's MSS, III, 159.G.Communicated by Mr Alex. Laing, of Newburgh-on-Tay.H.'Lord Beichan and Susie Pye,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 260.I.Communicated by Mr David Loudon, Morham, Haddington.J.Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 85.K.Communicated by Mr David Loudon.L.The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. Illustrated by George Cruikshank, 1839.M.'Young Bondwell,' Buchan's MSS, I, 18. J. H. Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 1.N.'Susan Py, or Young Bichen's Garland.'a.Falkirk, printed by T. Johnston, 1815.b.Stirling, M. Randall.

A.'Young Bicham,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 13, c. 1783.

B.'Young Brechin,' Glenriddell MSS, XI, 80, 1791.

C.'Young Bekie.'a.Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 11, c. 1783.b.Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 127.

D.'Young Beachen,' Skene MSS, p. 70, 1802-1803.

E.'Young Beichan and Susie Pye,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 117.

F.'Susan Pye and Lord Beichan,' Pitcairn's MSS, III, 159.

G.Communicated by Mr Alex. Laing, of Newburgh-on-Tay.

H.'Lord Beichan and Susie Pye,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 260.

I.Communicated by Mr David Loudon, Morham, Haddington.

J.Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 85.

K.Communicated by Mr David Loudon.

L.The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. Illustrated by George Cruikshank, 1839.

M.'Young Bondwell,' Buchan's MSS, I, 18. J. H. Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 1.

N.'Susan Py, or Young Bichen's Garland.'a.Falkirk, printed by T. Johnston, 1815.b.Stirling, M. Randall.

A,B,D,F, and the fragmentGnow appear for the first time in print, and the same is true ofI,J,K, which are of less account.C ais here given according to the manuscript, without Jamieson's "collations." OfEandC bJamieson says: This ballad and thatwhich succeeds it are given from copies taken from Mrs Brown's recitation,[403]collated with two other copies procured from Scotland; one in MS.; another, very good, one printed for the stalls; a third, in the possession of the late Reverend Jonathan Boucher, of Epsom, taken from recitation in the north of England; and a fourth, about one third as long as the others, which the editor picked off an old wall in Piccadilly.L, the only English copy, was derived from the singing of a London vagrant. It is, says Dixon, the common English broadsheet "turned into the dialect of Cockaigne."[404]Mwas probably a broadside or stall copy, and is certainly of that quality, but preserves a very ancient traditional feature.

DandM, besides the name Linne, have in common a repetition of the song, a trait which we also find in one version of 'The Heir of Linne;'[405]see Dixon's Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 30, stanzas 2-6, Percy Society, vol.XVII.

In Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 68, it is remarked thatL, "the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print," is one of the publications mentioned in one of Thackeray's catalogues of broadsides. The 'Bateman,' in Thackeray's list, is the title of an entirely different ballad, 'A Warning for Maidens, or Young Bateman,' reprinted from the Roxburghe collection by W. Chappell, III, 193.

"Young Beichan" is a favorite ballad, and most deservedly. There are beautiful repetitions of the story in the ballads of other nations, and it has secondary affinities with the extensive cycle of 'Hind Horn,' the parts of the principal actors in the one being inverted in the other.

The hero's name is mostly Beichan, with slight modifications like Bekie,C, Bicham,A, Brechin,B; inL, Bateman; inM, Bondwell. The heroine is Susan Pye in ten of the fourteen versions; Isbel inC; Essels, evidently a variety of Isbel, inM, which has peculiar relations withC; Sophia inK,L.

Beichan is London born inA,D, [E],H,I,N, English born inB; London city is his own,A6,B7,F7, or he has a hall there,I7,N27 f.; half Northumberland belongs to him,L; he is lord of the towers of Line,D9,C5,M5, which are in London,D15 f, but are transferred by reciters to the water of Tay,M29, and to Glasgow, or the vicinity,H20.H, though it starts with calling him London born, speaks of him thereafter as a Scottish lord, 12, 18, 31.[406]

Beichan has an Englishman's desire strange countries for to see,A,D, [E],I,L,N. InC,Mhe goes abroad, Quentin Durward fashion, not to gratify his taste for travel, but to serve for meat and fee.Fmakes him go to the Holy Land, without specifying his motive, but we may fairly suppose it religious.Csends him no further than France, andMto an unnamed foreign land. He becomes the slave of a Moor or Turk,A,B,D,H,I,L,N, or a "Prudent,"F, who treats him cruelly. They bore his shoulders and put in a "tree," and make him draw carts, like horse or ox,A,B,D, [E],H; draw plough and harrow,F, plough and cart,N; or tread the wine-press,I. This is because he is a staunch Christian,and would never bend a knee to Mahound or Termagant,E, or onie of their stocks,H, or gods,I. They cast him into a dungeon, where he can neither hear nor see, and he is nigh perishing with hunger. This, also, is done inH5, on account of his perseverance in Christianity; but inC,Mhe is imprisoned for falling in love with the king's daughter, or other lovely may.

From his prison Beichan makes his moan (not to a stock or a stone, but to the Queen of Heaven,D4). His hounds go masterless, his hawks flee from tree to tree, his younger brother will heir his lands, and he shall never see home again,E,H. If a lady [earl] would borrow him, he would run at her stirrup; if a widow [auld wife] would borrow him, he would become her son; and if a maid would borrow him, he would wed her with a ring,C,D,M,B.[407]The only daughter of the Moor, Turk, or king (of a 'Savoyen,'B5, perhaps a corruption of Saracen), already interested in the captive, or immediately becoming so upon hearing Beichan's song, asks him if he has lands and means at home to maintain a lady that should set him free, and is told that he has ample estates, all of which he would bestow on such a lady,A,B,E,F,H,L,N. She steals the keys and delivers the prisoner,C,D,E,I,J,L,M,N; refreshes him with bread and wine [wine],A,D,E,F,J4,K3,B,H,L; supplies him with money,C9,H15,M12,N14, and with a ship,F9,H18,L9; to whichC,Madd a horse and hounds [and hawks,M]. She bids him mind on the lady's love that freed him out of pine,A8,D12, [E13],M14,N15, and inE16 breaks a ring from her finger, and gives half of it to Beichan to assist his memory. There is a solemn vow, or at least a clear understanding, that they are to marry within seven years,A9,B9,E12 f.,H17, 19,L8,N11 [three years,C11].

When seven years are at an end, or even before, Susan Pye feels a longing, or a misgiving, which impels her to go in search of the object of her affections, and she sets her foot on good shipboard, and turns her back on her own country,A10,B10,D15,L10,N23.[408]CandMpreserve here a highly important feature which is wanting in the other versions. Isbel, or Essels, is roused from her sleep by the Billy Blin,C14, by a woman in green, a fairy,M15, who makes known to her that that very day, or the morn, is Bekie's [Bondwell's] wedding day. She is directed to attire herself and her maids very splendidly, and go to the strand; a vessel will come sailing to her, and they are to go on board. The Billy Blin will row her over the sea,C19; she will stroke the ship with a wand, and take God to be her pilot,M19. Thus, by miraculous intervention, she arrives at the nick of time.

Beichan's fickleness is not accounted for in most of the versions. He soon forgot his deliverer and courted another, he was young, and thought not upon Susan Pye, sayH,N.C, on the contrary, tells us that Beichan had not been a twelvemonth in his own country, when he was forced to marry a duke's daughter or lose all his land.EandKintimate that he acts under constraint; the wedding has lasted three and thirty days, and he will not bed with his bride for love of one beyond the sea,E21,K1.[409]

On landing, Susan Pye falls in with a shepherd feeding his flock,E,K[a boy watering his steeds,M]. She asks, Whose are these sheep, these kye, these castles? and is told they are Lord Beichan's,G. She asks the news, and is informed that there is a wedding in yonder hall that has lasted thirty days and three,E,K, or that there is to be a wedding on the morn,M; it seems to be a matter generally known,N. In other versions she comes directly to Young Beichan's hall, and is first informed by the porter,A,B,F,H,L, or the fact is confirmed by the porter,E,M,N; she hears the music within, and divines,C. She bribes the porter to bid the bridegroom comeand speak to her,A,B,C,D,J,N; send her down bread and wine, and not forget the lady who brought him out of prison,B,F,H,J,K,L. InE26 she sends up her half ring to the bridegroom [a ring inN40, but not till Beichan has declined to come down].

The porter falls on his knee and informs his master that the fairest and richest lady that eyes ever saw is at the gate [ladies,C,M]. The bride, or the bride's mother more commonly, reproves the porter for his graceless speech; he might have excepted the bride, or her mother, or both: "Gin she be braw without, we's be as braw within." But the porter is compelled by truth to persist in his allegation; fair as they may be, they were never to compare with yon lady,B,D,E,H,M. Beichan takes the table with his foot and makes the cups and cans to flee,B18,D23,F28,G3,H47,J5,N42;[410]he exclaims that it can be none but Susie Pye,A,B,D,G,H,I[Burd Isbel,C], and clears the stair, fifteen steps, thirty steps, in three bounds,A19,D24,N43. His old love reproaches him for his forgetfulness,A,C,D,M,N;[411]she asks back her faith and troth,B21. Beichan bids the forenoon bride's mother take back her daughter: he will double her dowry,A22,D27,E39; she came on horseback, she shall go back in chariots, coaches, three,B22,D27[412][H49, in chariot free]. He marries Susie Pye, having her baptized by the name of Lady Jean,A,B,D, [E],F,I,J.[413]

This story of Beichan, or Bekie, agrees in the general outline, and also in some details, with a well-known legend about Gilbert Beket, father of St Thomas. The earlier and more authentic biographies lack this particular bit of romance, but the legend nevertheless goes back to a date not much later than a century after the death of the saint, being found in a poetical narrative preserved in a manuscript of about 1300.[414]

We learn from this legend that Gilbert Beket, in his youth, assumed the cross and went to the Holy Land, accompanied only by one Richard, his servant. They "did their pilgrimage" in holy places, and at last, with other Christians, were made captive by the Saracens and put in strong prison. They suffered great hardship and ignominy in the service of the Saracen prince Admiraud. But Gilbert found more grace than the rest; he was promoted to serve the prince at meat (in his chains), and the prince often would ask him about England and the English faith. Admiraud's only daughter fell in love with Gilbert, and when she saw her time, in turn asked him the like questions. Gilbert told her that he was born in London; told her of the belief of Christians, and of the endless bliss that should be their meed. The maid asked him if he was readyto die for his Lord's love, and Gilbert declared that he would, joyfully. When the maid saw that he was so steadfast, she stood long in thought, and then said, I will quit all for love of thee, and become Christian, if thou wilt marry me. Gilbert feared that this might be a wile; he replied that he was at her disposition, but he must bethink himself. She went on loving him, the longer the more. After this Gilbert and the rest broke prison and made their way to the Christians. The prince's daughter, reduced to desperation by love and grief, left her heritage and her kin, sparing for no sorrow, peril, or contempt that might come to her, not knowing whither to go or whether he would marry her when found, and went in quest of Gilbert. She asked the way to England, and when she had come there had no word but London to assist her further. She roamed through the streets, followed by a noisy and jeering crowd of wild boys and what not, until one day by chance she stopped by the house in which Gilbert lived. The man Richard, hearing a tumult, came out to see what was the matter, recognized the princess, and ran to tell his master.[415]Gilbert bade Richard take the lady to the house of a respectable woman near by, and presently went to see her. She swooned when she saw him. Gilbert was nothing if not discreet: he "held him still," as if he had nothing in mind. But there was a conference of six bishops just then at St. Paul's, and he went and told them his story and asked advice. One of the six prophetically saw a divine indication that the two were meant to be married, and all finally recommended this if the lady would become Christian. Brought before the bishops, she said, Most gladly, if he will espouse me; else I had not left my kin. She was baptized[416]with great ceremony, and the marriage followed.

The very day after the wedding Gilbert was seized with such an overmastering desire to go back to the Holy Land that he wist not what to do. But his wife was thoroughly converted, and after a struggle with herself she consented, on condition that Beket should leave with her the man Richard, who knew her language. Gilbert was gone three years and a half, and when he came back Thomas was a fine boy.

That our ballad has beenaffectedby the legend of Gilbert Beket is altogether likely. The name Bekie is very close to Beket, and several versions,A,D,H,I,N, set out rather formally with the announcement that Bekie was London born, like the Latin biographies and the versified one of Garnier de Pont Sainte Maxence. Our ballad, also, in some versions, has the Moor's daughter baptized, a point which of course could not fail in the legend. More important still is it that the hero of the English ballad goes home and forgets the woman he has left in a foreign land, instead of going away from home and forgetting the love he has left there. But the ballad, for all that, is not derived from the legend. Stories and ballads of the general cast of 'Young Beichan' are extremely frequent.[417]The legend lacks some of the main points of these stories, and the ballad, in one version or another, has them, as will be seen by referring to what has been said under 'Hind Horn,' pp 194 ff. Bekie and Beket go to the East, like Henry and Reinfrit of Brunswick, the Noble Moringer, the good Gerhard, Messer Torello, the Sire de Créqui, Alexander of Metz, and others. Like the larger part of these, they are made prisoners by the Saracens. He will not bow the knee to Mahound; neither will the Sire de Créqui, though he die for it.[418]Beichan is made to draw cart, plough, harrow, like a beast. So Henry of Brunswick in a Swedish and a Danish ballad,[419]and Alexander von Metz, or the Graf von Rom, in his most beautiful and touching story.[420]Henry of Brunswick is set free by a "heathen" lady in the Danish ballad. In one version of Beichan,E, the lady on parting with her love breaks her ring and gives him one half, as Henry, or his wife, Reinfrit, Gerhard, Créqui, and others do. At this point in the story the woman pursues the man, and parts are inverted. Susan Pye is warned that Beichan is to be married the next day, inCby a Billy-Blin, inMby a woman in green, or fairy, and is conveyed to Beichan's castle or hall with miraculous despatch, just as Henry and others are warned, and are transported to their homes by devil, angel, or necromancer. InEandNthe old love is identified by a half ring or ring, as in so many of the stories of the class of Henry the Lion.

Norse, Spanish, and Italian ballads preserve a story essentially the same as that of 'Young Beichan.'

Scandinavian.

Danish.'Stolt Ellensborg,' Grundtvig, IV, 238, No 218, nine versions,A-G, from manuscripts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,H,I, from recent tradition.Bis previously printed (with alterations) in Levninger, 'Jomfrue Ellensborg,' I, 66, No 12, Danske Viser, III, 268, No 213; I, 'Stalt Ellen henter sin Fæstemand' is in Kristensen, I, 89, No 36. Of the older texts,A,B,Care absolutely pure and true to tradition,D-Gretouched or made over.

Icelandic, of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, as above, p. 259,M.

Swedish, from Cavallius and Stephens' collection, Grundtvig, p. 255,K.

Färöe, taken down in 1827, Grundtvig, p. 256,L.

Norwegian, 'Herre Per i Riki,' Landstad, p. 596, No 76,N.

The variations of these twelve versions are insignificant. The names Herr Peder den Rige and Ellensborg [Ellen] are found in nearly all. It comes into Sir Peter's mind that he ought to go to Jerusalem to expiate his sins, and he asks his betrothed, Ellensborg, how long she will wait for him. She will wait eight years, and marry no other, though the king should woo her [seven,L; nine,M, "If I do not come then, break the engagement;" eight, and not more,N]. The time passes and Peter does not come back. Ellensborg goes to the strand. Traders come steering in, and she is asked to buy of their ware,—sendal, linen, and silk green as leek. She cares not for these things; have they not seen her sister's son [brother], for whom she is grieving to death? They know nothing of her sister's son, but well they know Sir Peter the rich: he has betrothed a lady in the Øster-king's realm;[421]a heathen woman, "and you never came into his mind,"E13; he is to be married to-morrow,K6. A wee swain tells her,M14, 16, that he sits in Austurríki drinking the ale of forgetfulness, and will never come home; he shall not drink long, says she. Ellensborg asks her brother to undertake a voyage for her; he will go with her if she will wait till summer; rather than wait till summer she will go alone,A,D,G. She asks fraternal advice about going in search of her lover,A,E, the advice of her uncles,I; asks the loan of a ship,B,C,F,H,N. She is told that such a thing would be a shame; she had better take another lover; the object is not worth the trouble; the voyage is bad for a man and worse for a woman. Her maids give her advice that is more to her mind,E, but are as prudent as the rest in the laterI. She attires herself like a knight, clips her maids' hair,B,H,I,L,M, and puts them into men's clothes,D,L; sets herself to steer and the maids to row,A-G,L.[422]

The voyage is less than two months,B,C,E; less than three months,I; quite three months,L. It is the first day of the bridal when she lands,B22,E24,N14; inBEllensborg learns this from a boy who is walking on the sand. Sword at side, she enters the hall where Peter is drinking his bridal. Peter, can in hand, rises and says, Bless your eyes, my sister's son; welcome to this strange land. InBhe asks, How are my father and mother? and she tells him that his father lies dead on his bier, his mother in sick-bed. InL, waiting for no greeting, she says, Well you sit at the board with your wife! Are all lords wont thus to keep their faith? The bride's mother,D,G, the heathen bride,E, an unnamed person, probably the bride,A,B,F,N, says, That is not your sister's son, but much more like a woman; her hair is like spun gold, and braided up under a silk cap.

Atells us, and soF,G, that it was two months before Ellensborg could speak to Peter privately. Then, on a Yule day, when he was going to church, she said, It does not occur to you that you gave me your troth. Sir Peter stood as if women had shorn his hair, and recollected all as if it had been yesterday. InB-E,H,I,L,M,N, this incident has, perhaps, dropped out. In these immediately, as inA,F,G, after this interview, Sir Peter, recalled to his senses or to his fidelity, conceives the purpose of flying with Ellensborg. Good people, he says, knights and swains, ladies and maids, follow my bride to bed, while I take my sister's son over the meads, through the wood,B-E,H,I,N. InA,F, Sir Peter asks the bride how long she will bide while he takes his nephew across the kingdom; inGbegs the boon that, since his sister's son is going, he may ride with him, just accompany him to the strand and take leave of him; inL,M, hopes she will not be angry if he convoys his nephew three days on his way. (It is at this point inC,H,I,L, that the bride says it is no sister's son, but a woman.) The bride remarks that there are knights and swains enow to escort his sister's son, and that he might more fitly stay where he is, but Sir Peter persists that he will see his nephew off in person.

Sir Peter and Ellensborg go aboard the ship, he crying, You will see me no more! When they are at sea Ellensborg lets out her hair,A,B,C,H; she wishes that the abandoned bride may now feel the grief which she herself had borne for years. The proceeding is less covert inI,L,Mthan in the other versions.

As Ellensborg and Peter are making for the ship inD30, 31 (andG36, 37, borrowed fromD), she says, Tell me, Sir Peter, why would you deceive me so? Sir Peter answers that he never meant to deceive her; it was the lady of Østerland that did it; she had changed his mind. A magical change is meant. Thisagrees with what is said inA24, 25 (alsoF,G), that when Ellensborg got Peter alone to herself, and said, You do not remember that you plighted your troth to me, everything came back to him as if it had happened yesterday. And again in the Färöe copy,L49, Ellensborg, from the prow, cries to Ingibjörg on the strand, Farewell to thee with thyelf-ways, við títt elvargangi! I have taken to myself my true love that I lent thee so long; implying that Sir Peter had been detained by Circean arts, by a sleepy drench of óminnis öl, or ale of forgetfulness, IcelandicM14, which, in the light of the other ballads, is to be understood literally, and not figuratively. The feature of a man being made, by magical or other means, to forget a first love who had done and suffered much for him, and being suddenly restored to consciousness and his original predilection, is of the commonest occurrence in traditional tales.[423]

Our English ballad affords no other positive trace of external interference with the hero's will than the far-fetched allegation inCthat the choice before him was to accept a duke's daughter or forfeit his lands. The explanation of his inconstancy inH,N, that young men ever were fickle found, is vulgar, and also insufficient, for Beichan returns to his old loveper saltum, like one from whose eyes scales have fallen and from whose back a weight has been taken, not tamely, like a facile youth that has swerved.EandK, as already said, distinctly recognize that Beichan was not acting with free mind, and, for myself, I have little doubt that, if we could go back far enough, we should find that he had all along been faithful at heart.

Spanish.A.'El Conde Sol,' Duran, Romancero, I, 180, No 327, from tradition in Andalusia, by the editor; Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, II, 48, No 135. In this most beautiful romance the County Sol, named general in great wars between Spain and Portugal, and leaving a young wife dissolved in tears, tells her that she is free to marry if he does not come back in six years. Six pass, and eight, and more than ten, yet the county does not return, nor does there come news of him. His wife implores and obtains leave of her father to go in search of her husband. She traverses France and Italy, land and sea, and is on the point of giving up hope, when one day she sees a herdsman pasturing cows. Whose are these cows? she asks. The County Sol's, is the answer. And whose these wheat-fields, these ewes, these gardens, and that palace? whose the horses I hear neigh? The County Sol's, is the answer in each case.[424]And who that lady that a man folds in his arms? The lady is betrothed to him and the county is to marry her. The countess changes her silken robe for the herdsman's sackcloth, and goes to ask an alms at the county's gate. Beyond all hope, the county comes out himself to bring it. "Whence comest thou, pilgrim?" he asks. She was born in Spain. "How didst thou make thy way hither?" She came to seek her husband, footing the thorns by land, risking the perils of the sea; and when she found him he was about to marry, he had forgotten his faithful wife. "Pilgrim, thou art surely the devil, come to try me." "No devil," she said, "but thy wife indeed, and therefore come to seek thee." Upon this, without a moment's tarrying, the county ordered his horse, took up his wife, and made his best speed to his native castle.The bride he would have taken remained unmarried, for those that put on others' robes are sure to be stripped naked.

B.'Gerineldo,' taken down in Asturias by Amador de los Rios, Jahrbuch für romanische u. englische Literatur, III, 290, 1861, and the same year (Nigra) in Revista Iberica, I, 51; a version far inferior toA, and differing in no important respect as to the story.

C.'La boda interrumpida,' Milá, Romancerillo Catalan, p. 221, No 244, seven copies, A-G, none good. A, which is about one third Castilian, relates that war is declared between France and Portugal, and the son of Conde Burgos made general. The countess his wife does nothing but weep. The husband tells her to marry again if he does not come back in seven years. More than seven years are gone, and the lady's father asks why she does not marry. "How can I," she replies, "if the count is living? Give me your blessing, and let me go in search of him." She goes a hundred leagues on foot, in the disguise of a pilgrim. Arrived at a palace she sees pages pass, and asks them for whom a horse is intended. It is for Count Burgos's son, who marries that night. She asks to be directed to the young count, is told that she will find him in the hall, enters, and begs an alms, as coming from Italy and without a penny. The young man says, If you come from Italy, what is the news? Is Conde Bueso's wife living? The pilgrim desires some description of the lady. It seems that she wore a very costly petticoat on her wedding-day. The pilgrim takes offher gloveand shows her ring; she also takes off and shows the expensive petticoat. There is great weeping in that palace, for first wives never can be forgotten. Don Bueso and the pilgrim clap hands and go home.

Italian: Piedmontese.A.'Moran d'Inghilterra,' communicated to Rivista Contemporanea, XXXI, 3, 1862, by Nigra, who gives the variations of four other versions. The daughter of the sultan is so handsome that they know not whom to give her to, but decide upon Moran of England. The first day of his marriage he did nothing but kiss her, the second he wished to leave her, and the third he went off to the war. "When shall you return?" asked his wife. "If not in seven years, marry." She waited seven years, but Moran did not come. His wife went all over England on horseback, and came upon a cowherd. "Whose cows are these?" she asked. They were Moran's. "Has Moran a wife?" This is the day when he is to marry, and if she makes haste she will be in time for the wedding. She spurs her horse, and arrives in season. They offer her to drink in a gold cup. She will drink from no cup that is not her own; she will not drink while another woman is there; she will not drink till she is mistress. Moran throws his arms round her neck, saying, Mistress you ever have been and still shall be.

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