D

Motherwell's MS., p. 435; communicated by Peter Buchan, from a MS. which had been sent him.

1'O well is me, my jolly goshawk,That ye can speak and flee,For ye can carry a love-letterTo my true-love from me.'2'O how can I carry a letter to her,When her I do not knaw?I bear the lips to her never spake,And the eyes that her never saw.'3'The thing of my love's face is whiteIt's that of dove or maw;The thing of my love's face that's redIs like blood shed on snaw.4'And when you come to the castle,Light on the bush of ash,And sit you there and sing our loves,As she comes from the mass.5'And when she goes into the house,Sit ye upon the whin;And sit you there and sing our loves,As she goes out and in.'6And when he flew to that castel,He lighted on the ash;And there he sat and sang their loves,As she came from the mass.7And when she went into the house,He flew unto the whin;And there he sat and sang their loves,As she went out and in.8'Come hither, come hither, my maidens all,And sip red wine anon,Till I go to my west window,And hear a birdie's moan.'9She's gone unto her west window,And fainly aye it drew,And soon into her white silk lapThe bird the letter threw.10'Ye're bidden send your love a send,For he has sent you twa;And tell him where he can see you,Or he cannot live ava.'11'I send him the rings from my white fingers,The garlands 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 meet me there.'12She hied her to her father dear,As fast as gang could she:'An asking, an asking, my father dear,An asking ye grant me;That, if I die in fair England,In Scotland bury me.13'At the first kirk of fair Scotland,You cause the bells be rung;At the second kirk of fair Scotland,You cause the mass be sung.14'At the third kirk of fair Scotland,You deal gold for my sake;And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,O there you'll bury me at.15'And now, my tender father dear,This asking grant you me;''Your asking is but small,' he said,'Weel granted it shall be.'16She hied her to her mother dear,As fast as gang could she:'An asking, an asking, my mother dear,An asking ye grant me;That if I die in fair EnglandIn Scotland bury me.17'And now, my tender mother dear,This asking grant you me;''Your asking is but small,' she said,'Weel granted it shall be.'18She hied her to her sister dear,As fast as gang could she:'An asking, an asking, my sister dear,An asking ye grant me;That if I die in fair England,In Scotland bury me.19'And now, my tender sister dear,This asking grant you me:''Your asking is but small,' she said,'Weel granted it shall be.'20She hied her to her seven brothers,As fast as gang could she:'An asking, an asking, my brothers seven,An asking ye grant me;That if I die in fair England,In Scotland ye bury me.21'And now, my tender brothers dear,This asking grant you me:''Your asking is but small,' they said,'Weel granted it shall be.'22Then down as dead that lady drapd,Beside her mother's knee;Then out it spoke an auld witch-wife,By the fire-side sat she.23Says, Drap the hot lead on her cheek,And drop it on her chin,And drop it on her rose-red lips,And she will speak again:For much a lady young will do,To her true-love to win.24They drapd the het lead on her cheek,So did they on her chin;They drapt it on her red-rose lips,But they breathed none again.25Her brothers they went to a room,To make to her a bier;The boards of it was cedar wood,And the plates ow it gold so clear.26Her sisters they went to a room,To make to her a sark;The cloth of it was satin fine,And the steeking silken wark.27'But well is me, my jolly goshawk,That ye can speak and flee;Come shew to me any love-tokensThat you have brought to me.'28'She sends you the rings from her fingers,The garlands from her hair;She sends you the heart within her breast;And what would you have mair?And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,She bids you meet her there.'29'Come hither, all my merry young men,And drink the good red wine;For we must on to fair Scotland,To free my love frae pine.'30At the first kirk of fair Scotland,They gart the bells be rung;At the second kirk of fair Scotland,They gart the mass be sung.31At the third kirk of fair Scotland,They dealt gold for her sake;And the fourth kirk of fair ScotlandHer true-love met them at.32'Set down, set down the corpse,' he said,'Till I look on the dead;The last time that I saw her face,She ruddy was and red;But now, alas, and woe is me!She's wallowit like a weed.'33He rent the sheet upon her face,A little above her chin;With lily-white cheeks, and lemin een,She lookt and laughd to him.34'Give me a chive of your bread, my love,A bottle of your wine;For I have fasted for your loveThese long days nine;There's not a steed in your stableBut would have been dead ere syne.35'Go home, go home, my seven brothers,Go home and blow the horn;For you can say in the south of EnglandYour sister gave you a scorn.36'I came not here to fair ScotlandTo lye amang the meal;But I came here to fair ScotlandTo wear the silks so weel.37'I came not here to fair ScotlandTo ly amang the dead;But I came here to fair ScotlandTo wear the gold so red.'

1'O well is me, my jolly goshawk,That ye can speak and flee,For ye can carry a love-letterTo my true-love from me.'

2'O how can I carry a letter to her,When her I do not knaw?I bear the lips to her never spake,And the eyes that her never saw.'

3'The thing of my love's face is whiteIt's that of dove or maw;The thing of my love's face that's redIs like blood shed on snaw.

4'And when you come to the castle,Light on the bush of ash,And sit you there and sing our loves,As she comes from the mass.

5'And when she goes into the house,Sit ye upon the whin;And sit you there and sing our loves,As she goes out and in.'

6And when he flew to that castel,He lighted on the ash;And there he sat and sang their loves,As she came from the mass.

7And when she went into the house,He flew unto the whin;And there he sat and sang their loves,As she went out and in.

8'Come hither, come hither, my maidens all,And sip red wine anon,Till I go to my west window,And hear a birdie's moan.'

9She's gone unto her west window,And fainly aye it drew,And soon into her white silk lapThe bird the letter threw.

10'Ye're bidden send your love a send,For he has sent you twa;And tell him where he can see you,Or he cannot live ava.'

11'I send him the rings from my white fingers,The garlands 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 meet me there.'

12She hied her to her father dear,As fast as gang could she:'An asking, an asking, my father dear,An asking ye grant me;That, if I die in fair England,In Scotland bury me.

13'At the first kirk of fair Scotland,You cause the bells be rung;At the second kirk of fair Scotland,You cause the mass be sung.

14'At the third kirk of fair Scotland,You deal gold for my sake;And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,O there you'll bury me at.

15'And now, my tender father dear,This asking grant you me;''Your asking is but small,' he said,'Weel granted it shall be.'

16She hied her to her mother dear,As fast as gang could she:'An asking, an asking, my mother dear,An asking ye grant me;That if I die in fair EnglandIn Scotland bury me.

17'And now, my tender mother dear,This asking grant you me;''Your asking is but small,' she said,'Weel granted it shall be.'

18She hied her to her sister dear,As fast as gang could she:'An asking, an asking, my sister dear,An asking ye grant me;That if I die in fair England,In Scotland bury me.

19'And now, my tender sister dear,This asking grant you me:''Your asking is but small,' she said,'Weel granted it shall be.'

20She hied her to her seven brothers,As fast as gang could she:'An asking, an asking, my brothers seven,An asking ye grant me;That if I die in fair England,In Scotland ye bury me.

21'And now, my tender brothers dear,This asking grant you me:''Your asking is but small,' they said,'Weel granted it shall be.'

22Then down as dead that lady drapd,Beside her mother's knee;Then out it spoke an auld witch-wife,By the fire-side sat she.

23Says, Drap the hot lead on her cheek,And drop it on her chin,And drop it on her rose-red lips,And she will speak again:For much a lady young will do,To her true-love to win.

24They drapd the het lead on her cheek,So did they on her chin;They drapt it on her red-rose lips,But they breathed none again.

25Her brothers they went to a room,To make to her a bier;The boards of it was cedar wood,And the plates ow it gold so clear.

26Her sisters they went to a room,To make to her a sark;The cloth of it was satin fine,And the steeking silken wark.

27'But well is me, my jolly goshawk,That ye can speak and flee;Come shew to me any love-tokensThat you have brought to me.'

28'She sends you the rings from her fingers,The garlands from her hair;She sends you the heart within her breast;And what would you have mair?And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,She bids you meet her there.'

29'Come hither, all my merry young men,And drink the good red wine;For we must on to fair Scotland,To free my love frae pine.'

30At the first kirk of fair Scotland,They gart the bells be rung;At the second kirk of fair Scotland,They gart the mass be sung.

31At the third kirk of fair Scotland,They dealt gold for her sake;And the fourth kirk of fair ScotlandHer true-love met them at.

32'Set down, set down the corpse,' he said,'Till I look on the dead;The last time that I saw her face,She ruddy was and red;But now, alas, and woe is me!She's wallowit like a weed.'

33He rent the sheet upon her face,A little above her chin;With lily-white cheeks, and lemin een,She lookt and laughd to him.

34'Give me a chive of your bread, my love,A bottle of your wine;For I have fasted for your loveThese long days nine;There's not a steed in your stableBut would have been dead ere syne.

35'Go home, go home, my seven brothers,Go home and blow the horn;For you can say in the south of EnglandYour sister gave you a scorn.

36'I came not here to fair ScotlandTo lye amang the meal;But I came here to fair ScotlandTo wear the silks so weel.

37'I came not here to fair ScotlandTo ly amang the dead;But I came here to fair ScotlandTo wear the gold so red.'

Motherwell's Note-Book, pp 27-30, Motherwell's MS., pp 415-17; from Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.

1'O where'll I get a pretty little birdThat'll go my errand soon,That will fly to the Queen of England's dochter,And bid my trew-luve come?'2'Here am I, a pretty little bird,That'll go your errands soon,That will fly to the Queen of England's daughter,And bid your trew-luve come.'3This wee birdie's taken its flight,And it's flown owre the sea,Until it cam to the Queen of England's daughter;She's sitting in her bower-windie.4Then out bespoke these nine ladies,As they sat in a ring:'O we'll awa to the west window,To hear this birdie sing.'5This wee birdie's taken its flight,And it's flown owre them a',And at the lady's left shoulderIt loot a letter fa.6She has taken the letter up,And read it speedilie:'O mother, the queen, O mother, the queen,Grant this request to me;Whenever I do chance for to die,In Scotland gar bury me.'* * * * *7'Bring to me the red, red lead,And rub it on her chin;It's Oh and alace for my dochter Janet!But there is not a breath within.8'Bring to me the red, red lead,And rub it on her toe;It's Oh and alace for my daughter Janet!To Scotland she must go.'9'Rise up, rise up, ye seven sisters,And make her winding sheet,With the one side of the beaten gold,And the other o the needle-wark.10'Rise up, rise up, ye seven brethren,And make her carriage-bier,With the one side of the beaten gold,And the other o the silver clear.'11They've carried east, they 've carried west,They've carried her high and low,Until that they came to the king of Scotland,Was sitting in his bower-window.12'Here is a token of your trew-love,And here is a token come down,For she is dead, and she's ready to be buried,And she wants to be laid in your ground.'13He's taen out his mickle knife,And tore her winding sheet,And there she lay like the crimson red,And she smiled in his face so sweet.14'Go home, go home, you seven brethren,Go home and saw your corn,For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,And she's gien you the scorn.15'Go home, go home, you seven sisters,Go home and sew your seam,For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,And she's ready to be my queen.'

1'O where'll I get a pretty little birdThat'll go my errand soon,That will fly to the Queen of England's dochter,And bid my trew-luve come?'

2'Here am I, a pretty little bird,That'll go your errands soon,That will fly to the Queen of England's daughter,And bid your trew-luve come.'

3This wee birdie's taken its flight,And it's flown owre the sea,Until it cam to the Queen of England's daughter;She's sitting in her bower-windie.

4Then out bespoke these nine ladies,As they sat in a ring:'O we'll awa to the west window,To hear this birdie sing.'

5This wee birdie's taken its flight,And it's flown owre them a',And at the lady's left shoulderIt loot a letter fa.

6She has taken the letter up,And read it speedilie:'O mother, the queen, O mother, the queen,Grant this request to me;Whenever I do chance for to die,In Scotland gar bury me.'

* * * * *

7'Bring to me the red, red lead,And rub it on her chin;It's Oh and alace for my dochter Janet!But there is not a breath within.

8'Bring to me the red, red lead,And rub it on her toe;It's Oh and alace for my daughter Janet!To Scotland she must go.'

9'Rise up, rise up, ye seven sisters,And make her winding sheet,With the one side of the beaten gold,And the other o the needle-wark.

10'Rise up, rise up, ye seven brethren,And make her carriage-bier,With the one side of the beaten gold,And the other o the silver clear.'

11They've carried east, they 've carried west,They've carried her high and low,Until that they came to the king of Scotland,Was sitting in his bower-window.

12'Here is a token of your trew-love,And here is a token come down,For she is dead, and she's ready to be buried,And she wants to be laid in your ground.'

13He's taen out his mickle knife,And tore her winding sheet,And there she lay like the crimson red,And she smiled in his face so sweet.

14'Go home, go home, you seven brethren,Go home and saw your corn,For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,And she's gien you the scorn.

15'Go home, go home, you seven sisters,Go home and sew your seam,For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,And she's ready to be my queen.'

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 7, 1802; III, 151, 1833.

1'O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,Gin your feathering be sheen!''And waly, waly, my master dear,Gin ye look pale and lean!2'O have ye tint at tournamentYour sword, or yet your spear?Or mourn ye for the southern lass,Whom you may not win near?'3'I have not tint at tournamentMy sword, nor yet my spear,But sair I mourn for my true-love,Wi mony a bitter tear.4'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.'5'But how sall I your true-love find,Or how suld I her know?I bear a tongue neer wi her spake,An eye that neer her saw.'6'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.7'The red that's on my true-love's cheikIs like blood-drops on the snaw;The white that is on her breast bareLike the down o the white sea-maw.8'And even at my love's bouer-doorThere grows a flowering birk,And ye maun sit and sing thereon,As she gangs to the kirk.9'And four-and-twenty fair ladyesWill to the mass repair,But weel may ye my ladye ken,The fairest ladye there.'10Lord 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.11And even at that ladye's bourThere grew a flowering birk,And he sat down and sang thereon,As she gaed to the kirk.12And weel he kent that ladye feirAmang her maidens free,For the flower that springs in May morningWas not sae sweet as she.13[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.]14And first he sang a low, low note,And syne he sang a clear,And aye the oerword of the sangWas, Your love can no win here.15'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.16'Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,The sang ye sung yestreen;For weel I ken by your sweet singingYe are frae my true-love sen.'17O first he sang a merry sang,And syne he sang a grave,And syne he peckd his feathers gray,To her the letter gave.18'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.'19'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.'20The lady's gane to her chamber,And a moanfu woman was she,As gin she had taen a sudden brash,And were about to die.21'A boon, a boon, my father deir,A boon I beg of thee!''Ask not that paughty Scotish lord,For him you neer shall see.22'But, for your honest asking else,Weel granted it shall be:''Then, gin I die in southern land,In Scotland gar bury me.23'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.24'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.25She has taen her to her bigly bour,As fast as she could fare,And she has drank a sleepy draught,That she had mixed wi care.26And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,That was sae bright of blee,And she seemed to be as surely deadAs any one could be.27They drapt a drap o the burning red gowd,They drapt it on her chin;'And ever alas,' her mother cried,'There is nae life within!'28They drapt a drap o the burning red gowd,They drapt it on her breast-bane;'Alas,' her seven bauld brothers said,'Our sister's dead and gane!'29Then up arose her seven brethren,And hewd to her a bier;They hewd it frae the solid aik,Laid it oer wi silver clear.30Then up and gat her seven sisters,And sewed to her a kell,And every steek that they pat inSewd to a siller bell.31The first Scots kirk that they cam to,They gard the bells be rung;The next Scots kirk that they cam to,They gard the mass be sung.32But when they cam to St Mary's kirk,There stude spearmen all on raw,And up and started Lord William,The chieftane amang them a'.33'Set down, set down the bier,' he said,'Let me looke her upon:'But as soon as Lord William touched her hand,Her colour began to come.34She brightened like the lily-flower,Till her pale colour was gone;With rosy cheek, and ruby lip,She smiled her love upon.35'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.36'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,Gae hame and blaw your horn;I trow you wad hae gien me the skaith,But I've gien you the scorn.37'Ah woe to you, you light woman,An ill death may you die!For we left father and mother at hameBreaking their hearts for thee.'

1'O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,Gin your feathering be sheen!''And waly, waly, my master dear,Gin ye look pale and lean!

2'O have ye tint at tournamentYour sword, or yet your spear?Or mourn ye for the southern lass,Whom you may not win near?'

3'I have not tint at tournamentMy sword, nor yet my spear,But sair I mourn for my true-love,Wi mony a bitter tear.

4'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.'

5'But how sall I your true-love find,Or how suld I her know?I bear a tongue neer wi her spake,An eye that neer her saw.'

6'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.

7'The red that's on my true-love's cheikIs like blood-drops on the snaw;The white that is on her breast bareLike the down o the white sea-maw.

8'And even at my love's bouer-doorThere grows a flowering birk,And ye maun sit and sing thereon,As she gangs to the kirk.

9'And four-and-twenty fair ladyesWill to the mass repair,But weel may ye my ladye ken,The fairest ladye there.'

10Lord 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.

11And even at that ladye's bourThere grew a flowering birk,And he sat down and sang thereon,As she gaed to the kirk.

12And weel he kent that ladye feirAmang her maidens free,For the flower that springs in May morningWas not sae sweet as she.

13[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.]

14And first he sang a low, low note,And syne he sang a clear,And aye the oerword of the sangWas, Your love can no win here.

15'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.

16'Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,The sang ye sung yestreen;For weel I ken by your sweet singingYe are frae my true-love sen.'

17O first he sang a merry sang,And syne he sang a grave,And syne he peckd his feathers gray,To her the letter gave.

18'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.'

19'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.'

20The lady's gane to her chamber,And a moanfu woman was she,As gin she had taen a sudden brash,And were about to die.

21'A boon, a boon, my father deir,A boon I beg of thee!''Ask not that paughty Scotish lord,For him you neer shall see.

22'But, for your honest asking else,Weel granted it shall be:''Then, gin I die in southern land,In Scotland gar bury me.

23'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.

24'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.

25She has taen her to her bigly bour,As fast as she could fare,And she has drank a sleepy draught,That she had mixed wi care.

26And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,That was sae bright of blee,And she seemed to be as surely deadAs any one could be.

27They drapt a drap o the burning red gowd,They drapt it on her chin;'And ever alas,' her mother cried,'There is nae life within!'

28They drapt a drap o the burning red gowd,They drapt it on her breast-bane;'Alas,' her seven bauld brothers said,'Our sister's dead and gane!'

29Then up arose her seven brethren,And hewd to her a bier;They hewd it frae the solid aik,Laid it oer wi silver clear.

30Then up and gat her seven sisters,And sewed to her a kell,And every steek that they pat inSewd to a siller bell.

31The first Scots kirk that they cam to,They gard the bells be rung;The next Scots kirk that they cam to,They gard the mass be sung.

32But when they cam to St Mary's kirk,There stude spearmen all on raw,And up and started Lord William,The chieftane amang them a'.

33'Set down, set down the bier,' he said,'Let me looke her upon:'But as soon as Lord William touched her hand,Her colour began to come.

34She brightened like the lily-flower,Till her pale colour was gone;With rosy cheek, and ruby lip,She smiled her love upon.

35'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.

36'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,Gae hame and blaw your horn;I trow you wad hae gien me the skaith,But I've gien you the scorn.

37'Ah woe to you, you light woman,An ill death may you die!For we left father and mother at hameBreaking their hearts for thee.'

From Miss Margaret Reburn, as sung in County Meath, Ireland, about 1860.

* * * * *1She got three drops of boiling lead,And dropped them on her hand:'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,I'd rather all my land!'2She got three drops of boiling lead,And dropped them on her chin:'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,There is no life within!'3She got three drops of boiling lead,And dropped them on her toe:'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,To fair Scotland you must go!'* * * * *4'Give me a cake of the new made bread,And a cup of the new made wine,For for your sake, Lord Thomas,' she said,'I fasted those days nine.'

* * * * *

1She got three drops of boiling lead,And dropped them on her hand:'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,I'd rather all my land!'

2She got three drops of boiling lead,And dropped them on her chin:'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,There is no life within!'

3She got three drops of boiling lead,And dropped them on her toe:'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,To fair Scotland you must go!'

* * * * *

4'Give me a cake of the new made bread,And a cup of the new made wine,For for your sake, Lord Thomas,' she said,'I fasted those days nine.'

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 245, "from recitation."

1When grass grew green on Lanark plains,And fruit and flowers did spring,A Scottish squire in cheerfu strains,Sae merrily thus did sing:2'O well fails me o my parrotThat he can speak and flee;For he will carry love-lettersBetween my love and me.3'And well fails me o my parrotHe can baith speak and gang;And he will carry love-lettersTo the maid in South England.'4'O how shall I your love find out?Or how shall I her know?When my tongue with her never spake,Nor my eyes her ever saw.'5'O what is red of her is redAs blude drappd on the snaw;And what is white o her is whiteAs milk, or the sea-maw.6'Even before that lady's yettsYou'll find a bowing birk;And there ye'll sit, and sing thereon,Till she gaes to the kirk.7'Then even before that lady's yettsYou'll find a bowing ash;And ye may sit and sing thereon,Till she comes frae the mass.8'And even before that lady's windowYou'll find a bed o tyme;And ye may sit and sing thereon,Till she sits down to dine.9'Even abeen that lady's windowThere's fixd a siller pin;And a' these words that I tell you,Ye'll sit and sing therein.10'Ye'll bid her send her love a letter,For he has sent her five;And he'll never send anither ane,To nae woman alive.11'Ye'll bid her send her love a letter,For he has sent her seven;And he'll never send anither send,To nae maid under heaven.'12This little bird then took his flight,Beyond the raging sea,And lighted at that lady's yetts,On tower o gowd sae hie.13Even before that lady's yettsHe found a bowing birk;And there he sat, and sang thereon,Till she went to the kirk.14Even before that lady's yettsHe found a bowing ash;And then he sat and sang thereon,Till she came frae the mass.15Even before that lady's windowHe found a bed o tyme;And then he sat and sang thereon,Till she sat down to dine.16Even abeen that lady's windowWas fixd a siller pin;And a' the words that were tauld him,He sat and sang them in.17'You're bidden send your love a letter,For he has sent you five;Or he'll never send anither send,To nae woman alive.18'You're bidden send your love a letter,For he has sent you seven;And he'll never send anither send,To nae maid under heaven.'19'Sit in the hall, good ladies all,And drink the wine sae red,And I will to yon small window,And hear yon birdie's leed.20'Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,The sang ye sung just now;''I'll sing nae mair, ye lady fair,My errand is to you.'21'If ye be my true-lovie's bird,Sae well's I will you ken;You will gae in at my gown-sleeve,Come out at my gown-hem.'22'That I am come frae your true-love,You soon shall see right plain;And read these lines below my wing,That I hae brought frae him.'23When she looked these lines upon,She read them, and she leuch:'O well fails me, my true-love, now,O this I hae eneuch.24'Here is the broach on my breast-bane,The garlings frae my hair,Likewise the heart that is within;What woud my love hae mair?25'The nearest kirk in fair Scotland,Ye'll bid him meet me there:'She has gane to her dear father,Wi heart perplexd and sair.26When she came to her auld father,Fell low down on her knee:'An asking, asking, father dear,I pray you grant it me.'27'Ask what you will, my dear daughter,And I will grant it thee;Unless to marry yon Scottish squire;That's what shall never be.'28'O that's the asking, father,' she said,'That I'll neer ask of thee;But if I die in South England,In Scotland ye'll bury me.'29'The asking's nae sae great, daughter,But granted it shall be;And tho ye die in South England,In Scotland we'll bury thee.'30She has gane to her step-mother,Fell low down on her knee:'An asking, asking, mother dear,I pray you grant it me.'31'Ask what ye please, my lily-white dove,And granted it shall be:''If I do die in South England,In Scotland bury me.'32'Had these words spoke been in again,I woud not granted thee;You hae a love in fair Scotland,Sae fain's you woud be tee.'33She scarce was to her chamber ganeNor yet was well set down,Till on the sofa where she satFell in a deadly swoon.34Her father and her seven brithers,They made for her a bier;The one half o't was gude red gowd,The other siller clear.35Her seven sisters were employedIn making her a sark;The one half o't was cambric fine,The other needle-wark.36Then out it speaks her auld step-dame,Sat on the sofa's end:Ye'll drap the het lead on her cheek,Sae do you on her chin;For women will use mony a wileTheir true-loves for to win.37Then up it raise her eldest brither,Into her bower he's gane;Then in it came her youngest brither,The het leed to drap on.38He drapt it by her cheek, her cheek,Sae did he by her chin;Sae did he by her comely hause;He knew life was therein.39The bier was made wi red gowd laid,Sae curious round about;A private entrance there contriv'd,That her breath might win out.40The first an kirk in fair Scotland,They gard the bells be rung;The niest an kirk in fair Scotland,They causd the mass be sung.41The third an kirk in fair Scotland,They passd it quietly by;The fourth an kirk in fair Scotland,Clerk Sandy did them spy.42'O down ye'll set this corpse o clay,Lat me look on the dead;For I may sigh, and say, alas!For death has nae remeid.'43Then he has cut her winding sheetA little below her chin,And wi her sweet and ruby lipsShe sweetly smil'd on him.44'Gie me a sheave o your white bread,A bottle o your wine;For I hae fasted for your sakeFully these lang days nine.45'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brithers,Gae hame and blaw your trumpet;And ye may tell to your step-dameThis day she is affronted.46'I camna here to fair ScotlandTo lye amo the dead;But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,And lay gowd on my head.47'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brithers,Gae hame and blaw your horn;And ye may tell in fair EnglandIn Scotland ye got the scorn.48'I came not here to fair ScotlandTo mix amang the clay;But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,And wear gowd to my tae.'49'Sin ye hae gien us this ae scorn,We shall gie you anither;Ye shall hae naething to live uponBut the bier that brought you hither.'

1When grass grew green on Lanark plains,And fruit and flowers did spring,A Scottish squire in cheerfu strains,Sae merrily thus did sing:

2'O well fails me o my parrotThat he can speak and flee;For he will carry love-lettersBetween my love and me.

3'And well fails me o my parrotHe can baith speak and gang;And he will carry love-lettersTo the maid in South England.'

4'O how shall I your love find out?Or how shall I her know?When my tongue with her never spake,Nor my eyes her ever saw.'

5'O what is red of her is redAs blude drappd on the snaw;And what is white o her is whiteAs milk, or the sea-maw.

6'Even before that lady's yettsYou'll find a bowing birk;And there ye'll sit, and sing thereon,Till she gaes to the kirk.

7'Then even before that lady's yettsYou'll find a bowing ash;And ye may sit and sing thereon,Till she comes frae the mass.

8'And even before that lady's windowYou'll find a bed o tyme;And ye may sit and sing thereon,Till she sits down to dine.

9'Even abeen that lady's windowThere's fixd a siller pin;And a' these words that I tell you,Ye'll sit and sing therein.

10'Ye'll bid her send her love a letter,For he has sent her five;And he'll never send anither ane,To nae woman alive.

11'Ye'll bid her send her love a letter,For he has sent her seven;And he'll never send anither send,To nae maid under heaven.'

12This little bird then took his flight,Beyond the raging sea,And lighted at that lady's yetts,On tower o gowd sae hie.

13Even before that lady's yettsHe found a bowing birk;And there he sat, and sang thereon,Till she went to the kirk.

14Even before that lady's yettsHe found a bowing ash;And then he sat and sang thereon,Till she came frae the mass.

15Even before that lady's windowHe found a bed o tyme;And then he sat and sang thereon,Till she sat down to dine.

16Even abeen that lady's windowWas fixd a siller pin;And a' the words that were tauld him,He sat and sang them in.

17'You're bidden send your love a letter,For he has sent you five;Or he'll never send anither send,To nae woman alive.

18'You're bidden send your love a letter,For he has sent you seven;And he'll never send anither send,To nae maid under heaven.'

19'Sit in the hall, good ladies all,And drink the wine sae red,And I will to yon small window,And hear yon birdie's leed.

20'Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,The sang ye sung just now;''I'll sing nae mair, ye lady fair,My errand is to you.'

21'If ye be my true-lovie's bird,Sae well's I will you ken;You will gae in at my gown-sleeve,Come out at my gown-hem.'

22'That I am come frae your true-love,You soon shall see right plain;And read these lines below my wing,That I hae brought frae him.'

23When she looked these lines upon,She read them, and she leuch:'O well fails me, my true-love, now,O this I hae eneuch.

24'Here is the broach on my breast-bane,The garlings frae my hair,Likewise the heart that is within;What woud my love hae mair?

25'The nearest kirk in fair Scotland,Ye'll bid him meet me there:'She has gane to her dear father,Wi heart perplexd and sair.

26When she came to her auld father,Fell low down on her knee:'An asking, asking, father dear,I pray you grant it me.'

27'Ask what you will, my dear daughter,And I will grant it thee;Unless to marry yon Scottish squire;That's what shall never be.'

28'O that's the asking, father,' she said,'That I'll neer ask of thee;But if I die in South England,In Scotland ye'll bury me.'

29'The asking's nae sae great, daughter,But granted it shall be;And tho ye die in South England,In Scotland we'll bury thee.'

30She has gane to her step-mother,Fell low down on her knee:'An asking, asking, mother dear,I pray you grant it me.'

31'Ask what ye please, my lily-white dove,And granted it shall be:''If I do die in South England,In Scotland bury me.'

32'Had these words spoke been in again,I woud not granted thee;You hae a love in fair Scotland,Sae fain's you woud be tee.'

33She scarce was to her chamber ganeNor yet was well set down,Till on the sofa where she satFell in a deadly swoon.

34Her father and her seven brithers,They made for her a bier;The one half o't was gude red gowd,The other siller clear.

35Her seven sisters were employedIn making her a sark;The one half o't was cambric fine,The other needle-wark.

36Then out it speaks her auld step-dame,Sat on the sofa's end:Ye'll drap the het lead on her cheek,Sae do you on her chin;For women will use mony a wileTheir true-loves for to win.

37Then up it raise her eldest brither,Into her bower he's gane;Then in it came her youngest brither,The het leed to drap on.

38He drapt it by her cheek, her cheek,Sae did he by her chin;Sae did he by her comely hause;He knew life was therein.

39The bier was made wi red gowd laid,Sae curious round about;A private entrance there contriv'd,That her breath might win out.

40The first an kirk in fair Scotland,They gard the bells be rung;The niest an kirk in fair Scotland,They causd the mass be sung.

41The third an kirk in fair Scotland,They passd it quietly by;The fourth an kirk in fair Scotland,Clerk Sandy did them spy.

42'O down ye'll set this corpse o clay,Lat me look on the dead;For I may sigh, and say, alas!For death has nae remeid.'

43Then he has cut her winding sheetA little below her chin,And wi her sweet and ruby lipsShe sweetly smil'd on him.

44'Gie me a sheave o your white bread,A bottle o your wine;For I hae fasted for your sakeFully these lang days nine.

45'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brithers,Gae hame and blaw your trumpet;And ye may tell to your step-dameThis day she is affronted.

46'I camna here to fair ScotlandTo lye amo the dead;But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,And lay gowd on my head.

47'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brithers,Gae hame and blaw your horn;And ye may tell in fair EnglandIn Scotland ye got the scorn.

48'I came not here to fair ScotlandTo mix amang the clay;But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,And wear gowd to my tae.'

49'Sin ye hae gien us this ae scorn,We shall gie you anither;Ye shall hae naething to live uponBut the bier that brought you hither.'

Written in stanzas of two long lines.1.In the Tytler-Brown MS.

Written in stanzas of two long lines.

1.In the Tytler-Brown MS.

O well's me o my gay goss hawkeThat he can speake and flee,Will carry a letter to my love,Bring another back to me.

201. Oh.241. by brothers.

201. Oh.

241. by brothers.

21. Oh.122. shee.After 16: etc., repeated as above.After 182: etc., as above.After 20: etc., as to father, mother, etc.The verses not written out (and not printed in the Minstrelsy) have been supplied accordingly.302. bellsaltered in the MS. frommass.263. clothe.293.In the Minstrelsy Motherwell has substitutedEnglandforScotland.346.Motherwell printsdead ere syne.

21. Oh.

122. shee.

After 16: etc., repeated as above.

After 182: etc., as above.

After 20: etc., as to father, mother, etc.The verses not written out (and not printed in the Minstrelsy) have been supplied accordingly.

302. bellsaltered in the MS. frommass.

263. clothe.

293.In the Minstrelsy Motherwell has substitutedEnglandforScotland.

346.Motherwell printsdead ere syne.

In his Note-Book, p. 27, Motherwell says that he got this copy of the ballad fromAgnes Laird; in the MS., p. 415, fromAgnes Lyle. Page 26 of the Note-Book shows thatLairdis right.

The edition of 1833 inserts stanza 13, and substitutes for 27, 28 the following:

Then spake 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 drappd it on her breast;'Alas, alas,' her father cried,'She's dead without the priest!'She neither chatterd with her teeth,Nor shiverd with her chin;'Alas, alas,' her father cried,'There is nae breath within!'

Then spake 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 drappd it on her breast;'Alas, alas,' her father cried,'She's dead without the priest!'

She neither chatterd with her teeth,Nor shiverd with her chin;'Alas, alas,' her father cried,'There is nae breath within!'

After 36 is inserted:

'Commend me to my grey father,That wished my saul gude rest,But wae be to my cruel step-dame,Garrd burn me on the breast.'

Andmother, 373, is changed tosisters. The step-mother clearly does not belong to this ballad.

FOOTNOTES:[160]Or her soul, in a copy which terminates with a miracle, Victor Smith, Chansons du Velay, etc., Romania, IV, 114: where see note 2.[161]See Uhland, III, 109 f, 171.[162]The contrast presented by darker ages, when cheap literature was unknown, may be seen from these verses:Ma mie reçoit de mes lettresPar l'alouette des champs;Elle m'envoie les siennesPar le rossignol chantant.Sans savoir lire ni écrireNous lisons ce qui est dedans;Il y a dedans ces lettres,'Aime moi, je t'aime tant.'(Le Moniteur, May 27, 1853.)[163]The "red, red lead" ofD7, 8 I had at first supposed to show a carelessness about epithets, like the "roses blue" of a Danish ballad. But considering that the red lead is to berubbed on, one may ask whether some occult property of minium may have been known to the mother.

[160]Or her soul, in a copy which terminates with a miracle, Victor Smith, Chansons du Velay, etc., Romania, IV, 114: where see note 2.

[161]See Uhland, III, 109 f, 171.

[162]The contrast presented by darker ages, when cheap literature was unknown, may be seen from these verses:Ma mie reçoit de mes lettresPar l'alouette des champs;Elle m'envoie les siennesPar le rossignol chantant.Sans savoir lire ni écrireNous lisons ce qui est dedans;Il y a dedans ces lettres,'Aime moi, je t'aime tant.'(Le Moniteur, May 27, 1853.)

[162]The contrast presented by darker ages, when cheap literature was unknown, may be seen from these verses:

Ma mie reçoit de mes lettresPar l'alouette des champs;Elle m'envoie les siennesPar le rossignol chantant.Sans savoir lire ni écrireNous lisons ce qui est dedans;Il y a dedans ces lettres,'Aime moi, je t'aime tant.'

Ma mie reçoit de mes lettresPar l'alouette des champs;Elle m'envoie les siennesPar le rossignol chantant.

Sans savoir lire ni écrireNous lisons ce qui est dedans;Il y a dedans ces lettres,'Aime moi, je t'aime tant.'

(Le Moniteur, May 27, 1853.)

[163]The "red, red lead" ofD7, 8 I had at first supposed to show a carelessness about epithets, like the "roses blue" of a Danish ballad. But considering that the red lead is to berubbed on, one may ask whether some occult property of minium may have been known to the mother.

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