FOOTNOTES:

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 160.

1Clerk Sandy and a lady gayWhere walking in the garden green,And great and heavy was the loveThat hae befa'en these twa between.2'A bed, a bed,' said Clerk Sandy,'A bed, my love, for you and me;''O never a foot,' said the lady gay,'Till ance that we twa married be.3'My seven brithers will come in,And a' their torches burning bright;They'll say, We hae but ae sister,And here she's lying wi a knight.'4'Ye'll take my brand I bear in hand,And wi the same ye'll lift the gin;Then ye may swear, and save your oath,That ye neer let Clerk Sandy in.5'Ye'll take that kurchie on your head,And wi the same tie up your een;And ye will swear, and save your oath,Ye saw not Sandy sin yestreen.6'Ye'll lift me in your arms twa,And carry me unto your bed;Then ye may swear, and save your oath,Clerk Sandy in your bower neer tread.'7She's taen the brand he bare in hand,And wi the same lifted the gin;It was to swear, and save her oath,She never loot Clerk Sandy in.8She's taen the kurchie frae her head,And wi the same tied up her een;It was to swear, and save her oath,She saw not Sandy sin yestreen.9She's taen him in her arms twa,And she's carried him to her bed;It was to swear, and save her oath,Clerk Sandie in her bower neer tread.10They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,Like other lovers when they meet,Till in a quarter's space and lessThese two lovers fell sound asleep.11Then in it came her seven brothers,And a' their torches burning bright;They said, We hae but ae sister,And here she's lying wi a knight.12O out it speaks the first o them,'We will awa and lat them be;'Then out it speaks the second o them,'His father has nae mair but he.'13Out it speaks the third o them,For he was standing on the birk:'Nae sweeter coud twa lovers lye,Tho they'd been married in a kirk.'14Then out it speaks the fourth o them,Mair fair and lovely is his buke:'Our sister dear we cannot blame,Altho in him she pleasure took.'15Then out it speaks the fifth o them,'It were a sin to do them ill;'Then out it spake the sixth o them,'It's hard a sleeping man to kill.'16But out it speaks the seventh o them,I wish an ill death mat he dee!'I wear the sharp brand by my sideThat soon shall gar Clerk Sandy die.'17Then he's taen out his trusty brand,And he has stroakd it ower a strae;And thro and thro Clerk Sandy's middleI wat he's gart it come and gae.18The lady slept by her love's sideUntil the dawning o the day,But what was dune she naething knew,For when she wak'd these words did say:19'Awake, awake, now Clerk Sandy,Awake, and turn you unto me;Ye're nae sae keen's ye were at night,When you and I met on the lee.'20O then she calld her chamber-maidTo bring her coal and candle seen:'I fear Clerk Sandy's dead eneuch,I had a living man yestreen.'21They hae lifted his body up,They hae searched it round and round,And even anent his bonny heartDiscovered the deadly wound.22She wrung her hands, and tore her hair,And wrung her hands most bitterlie:'This is my fause brothers, I fear,This night hae used this crueltie.23'But I will do for my love's sakeWoud nae be done by ladies rare;For seven years shall hae an endOr eer a kame gang in my hair.24'O I will do for my love's sakeWhat other ladies woud think lack;For seven years shall hae an endOr eer I wear but dowie black.25'And I will do for my love's sakeWhat other ladies woudna thole;Seven years shall hae an endOr eer a shoe gang on my sole.'26In it came her father dear,And he was belted in a brand;Sae softly as he trad the floor,And in her bower did stately stand.27Says, Hold your tongue, my daughter dear,And ye'll lat a' your mourning be;I'll wed you to a higher matchOr eer his father's son coud be.28'Wed well, wed well your seven sons;I wish ill wedded they may be,Sin they hae killd him Clerk Sandy!For wedded shall I never be.'29His corpse was laid in the cauld clay,The bells went tinkling thro the town;'Alas! alas!' said the lady gay,'That eer I heard that waefu soun!'30When she had sitten intill her bowerA twalmonth lang and weary day,Even below her bower-windowShe heard a ghaist to knock an cry.31She says, Ye're thief or bauld robber,Or biggin come to burn or brake;Or are you ony masterfu man,That is come seeking ony make?32'I am not thief nor bauld robber,Nor bigging come to burn nor brake;Nor am I ony masterfu man,That is come seeking ony make;But I'm Clerk Sandy, your first love,And wants wi you again to speak.33'Gin ye're Clerk Sandy, my first love,And wants wi me to speak again,Tell me some o' the love tokensThat you and I had last between.'34'O mind not ye, ye gay lady,Sin last I was in bower wi thee,That in it came your seven brethren,The youngest gart me sairly dree?'Then sighd and said the gay lady,'Sae true a tale as ye tell me.'35Sae painfully she clam the wa,She clam the wa up after him;'T was not for want of stockings nor sheen,But hadna time to put them on;And in the midst o gude greenwood,'T was there she lost the sight o him.36The lady sat, and mourning there,Until she coudna weep nae mair;At length the cloks and wanton fliesThey biggit in her yellow hair.37'O had your peace, my dearest dear,For I am come to mak you wise;Or this night nine nights come and gang,We baith shall be in Paradise.'

1Clerk Sandy and a lady gayWhere walking in the garden green,And great and heavy was the loveThat hae befa'en these twa between.

2'A bed, a bed,' said Clerk Sandy,'A bed, my love, for you and me;''O never a foot,' said the lady gay,'Till ance that we twa married be.

3'My seven brithers will come in,And a' their torches burning bright;They'll say, We hae but ae sister,And here she's lying wi a knight.'

4'Ye'll take my brand I bear in hand,And wi the same ye'll lift the gin;Then ye may swear, and save your oath,That ye neer let Clerk Sandy in.

5'Ye'll take that kurchie on your head,And wi the same tie up your een;And ye will swear, and save your oath,Ye saw not Sandy sin yestreen.

6'Ye'll lift me in your arms twa,And carry me unto your bed;Then ye may swear, and save your oath,Clerk Sandy in your bower neer tread.'

7She's taen the brand he bare in hand,And wi the same lifted the gin;It was to swear, and save her oath,She never loot Clerk Sandy in.

8She's taen the kurchie frae her head,And wi the same tied up her een;It was to swear, and save her oath,She saw not Sandy sin yestreen.

9She's taen him in her arms twa,And she's carried him to her bed;It was to swear, and save her oath,Clerk Sandie in her bower neer tread.

10They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,Like other lovers when they meet,Till in a quarter's space and lessThese two lovers fell sound asleep.

11Then in it came her seven brothers,And a' their torches burning bright;They said, We hae but ae sister,And here she's lying wi a knight.

12O out it speaks the first o them,'We will awa and lat them be;'Then out it speaks the second o them,'His father has nae mair but he.'

13Out it speaks the third o them,For he was standing on the birk:'Nae sweeter coud twa lovers lye,Tho they'd been married in a kirk.'

14Then out it speaks the fourth o them,Mair fair and lovely is his buke:'Our sister dear we cannot blame,Altho in him she pleasure took.'

15Then out it speaks the fifth o them,'It were a sin to do them ill;'Then out it spake the sixth o them,'It's hard a sleeping man to kill.'

16But out it speaks the seventh o them,I wish an ill death mat he dee!'I wear the sharp brand by my sideThat soon shall gar Clerk Sandy die.'

17Then he's taen out his trusty brand,And he has stroakd it ower a strae;And thro and thro Clerk Sandy's middleI wat he's gart it come and gae.

18The lady slept by her love's sideUntil the dawning o the day,But what was dune she naething knew,For when she wak'd these words did say:

19'Awake, awake, now Clerk Sandy,Awake, and turn you unto me;Ye're nae sae keen's ye were at night,When you and I met on the lee.'

20O then she calld her chamber-maidTo bring her coal and candle seen:'I fear Clerk Sandy's dead eneuch,I had a living man yestreen.'

21They hae lifted his body up,They hae searched it round and round,And even anent his bonny heartDiscovered the deadly wound.

22She wrung her hands, and tore her hair,And wrung her hands most bitterlie:'This is my fause brothers, I fear,This night hae used this crueltie.

23'But I will do for my love's sakeWoud nae be done by ladies rare;For seven years shall hae an endOr eer a kame gang in my hair.

24'O I will do for my love's sakeWhat other ladies woud think lack;For seven years shall hae an endOr eer I wear but dowie black.

25'And I will do for my love's sakeWhat other ladies woudna thole;Seven years shall hae an endOr eer a shoe gang on my sole.'

26In it came her father dear,And he was belted in a brand;Sae softly as he trad the floor,And in her bower did stately stand.

27Says, Hold your tongue, my daughter dear,And ye'll lat a' your mourning be;I'll wed you to a higher matchOr eer his father's son coud be.

28'Wed well, wed well your seven sons;I wish ill wedded they may be,Sin they hae killd him Clerk Sandy!For wedded shall I never be.'

29His corpse was laid in the cauld clay,The bells went tinkling thro the town;'Alas! alas!' said the lady gay,'That eer I heard that waefu soun!'

30When she had sitten intill her bowerA twalmonth lang and weary day,Even below her bower-windowShe heard a ghaist to knock an cry.

31She says, Ye're thief or bauld robber,Or biggin come to burn or brake;Or are you ony masterfu man,That is come seeking ony make?

32'I am not thief nor bauld robber,Nor bigging come to burn nor brake;Nor am I ony masterfu man,That is come seeking ony make;But I'm Clerk Sandy, your first love,And wants wi you again to speak.

33'Gin ye're Clerk Sandy, my first love,And wants wi me to speak again,Tell me some o' the love tokensThat you and I had last between.'

34'O mind not ye, ye gay lady,Sin last I was in bower wi thee,That in it came your seven brethren,The youngest gart me sairly dree?'Then sighd and said the gay lady,'Sae true a tale as ye tell me.'

35Sae painfully she clam the wa,She clam the wa up after him;'T was not for want of stockings nor sheen,But hadna time to put them on;And in the midst o gude greenwood,'T was there she lost the sight o him.

36The lady sat, and mourning there,Until she coudna weep nae mair;At length the cloks and wanton fliesThey biggit in her yellow hair.

37'O had your peace, my dearest dear,For I am come to mak you wise;Or this night nine nights come and gang,We baith shall be in Paradise.'

A b,B b, Herd II,seem to be revisions, and to possess no authority.

A. a.

31. For an.42.ginhas been altered topin, according to a marginal suggestion, andpinstands at 72in my copy.61. taw. (?)144.Perhaps we should readbrand 'll.152. throi. (?)183. and awa.233. his. (?)After 184is written, but struck out:

31. For an.

42.ginhas been altered topin, according to a marginal suggestion, andpinstands at 72in my copy.

61. taw. (?)

144.Perhaps we should readbrand 'll.

152. throi. (?)

183. and awa.

233. his. (?)

After 184is written, but struck out:

O Sandie, ye are the sleepiest manThat ever I saw wi mine eeen.

And above the first verse of 19, also struck out:

Ye hae spoyled my sheets wi sweat, she said.

143, 4stand thus in the second copy:

I'se bear the brand into my handShall quickly gar Clark Sanders die.

20 is wanting.Stanzas 27-41 are transferred to'Sweet William's Ghost.'

20 is wanting.

Stanzas 27-41 are transferred to'Sweet William's Ghost.'

ais written in long lines, two to a stanza.

24. my bower-room ye.

12. "Recited as here written, but it was not thought to be right."152. And if.173. shall I come.

12. "Recited as here written, but it was not thought to be right."

152. And if.

173. shall I come.

After 20 Jamieson introduced these two stanzas of his own, "the idea of the rose being suggested by the gentleman who recited, but who could not recollect the language in which it was expressed:"

But up and spak her midmaist brother,And an angry laugh leugh he:'The thorn that dabs, I'll cut it down,Though fair the rose may be.'The flower that smelld sae sweet yestreenHas lost its bloom wi thee;And though I'm wae it should be sae,Clerk Saunders, ye maun die.'

But up and spak her midmaist brother,And an angry laugh leugh he:'The thorn that dabs, I'll cut it down,Though fair the rose may be.

'The flower that smelld sae sweet yestreenHas lost its bloom wi thee;And though I'm wae it should be sae,Clerk Saunders, ye maun die.'

After 23 follow ten stanzas, which are transferred to'Sweet William's Ghost.'

326. you to speak again.

FOOTNOTES:[101]But it is, of course, not impossible that there may have been such a conclusion to 'Clerk Saunders.' It may be mentioned, though not as an argument, that there was a ballad in Boccaccio's time (of which he cites the first two lines), on the story of G. iv, N. 5, of the Decamerone; a tale in which three brothers kill their sister's lover, and bury the body in a solitary place, and his ghost appears and informs the sister of what had happened.[102]Buchan 1, 2=B1, 2; 3-9=A3-9; 11=A10; 12=B11; 15 is made fromA12; 16=B16; 17=A15; 23-25=A21, 22, 20; 26-29 are made fromA24-26, 23. The fatuity of 132, 142is such as is found nowhere out of Buchan.The stanza given in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, xix, XVI, is Scott's 13.[103]We may suppose that all the three versions, two of them fragmentary, which Jamieson combined, contained the passage which furnishes the link: but it would be much more satisfactory if Jamieson had given us all three as he received them.[104]IcelandicA-Chave an introductory incident not found inE-H. There is a trace of this inD, and it occurs also in two other ballads,I,K, of the same series, which lack the feature thatA-Hand EnglishFhave in common. A king finds a young child that has been left on or in the cleft of a rock, takes it with him, and rides to his daughter's bower. He asks his daughter who the fair swain is that he has found, and how it comes to have her eyes. She feigns ignorance and indifference: many a man is like another. Then come the questions found in the other versions.[105]"Goes brain," perhaps, as the editors suggest, like Lady Maisry in 'Lord Ingram,' and others in Scottish ballads.[106]These are translated by Jamieson, Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 424, Prior, II, 378; W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 261.[107]Fernan Caballero had another Andalusian version besides this.

[101]But it is, of course, not impossible that there may have been such a conclusion to 'Clerk Saunders.' It may be mentioned, though not as an argument, that there was a ballad in Boccaccio's time (of which he cites the first two lines), on the story of G. iv, N. 5, of the Decamerone; a tale in which three brothers kill their sister's lover, and bury the body in a solitary place, and his ghost appears and informs the sister of what had happened.

[102]Buchan 1, 2=B1, 2; 3-9=A3-9; 11=A10; 12=B11; 15 is made fromA12; 16=B16; 17=A15; 23-25=A21, 22, 20; 26-29 are made fromA24-26, 23. The fatuity of 132, 142is such as is found nowhere out of Buchan.The stanza given in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, xix, XVI, is Scott's 13.

The stanza given in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, xix, XVI, is Scott's 13.

[103]We may suppose that all the three versions, two of them fragmentary, which Jamieson combined, contained the passage which furnishes the link: but it would be much more satisfactory if Jamieson had given us all three as he received them.

[104]IcelandicA-Chave an introductory incident not found inE-H. There is a trace of this inD, and it occurs also in two other ballads,I,K, of the same series, which lack the feature thatA-Hand EnglishFhave in common. A king finds a young child that has been left on or in the cleft of a rock, takes it with him, and rides to his daughter's bower. He asks his daughter who the fair swain is that he has found, and how it comes to have her eyes. She feigns ignorance and indifference: many a man is like another. Then come the questions found in the other versions.

[105]"Goes brain," perhaps, as the editors suggest, like Lady Maisry in 'Lord Ingram,' and others in Scottish ballads.

[106]These are translated by Jamieson, Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 424, Prior, II, 378; W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 261.

[107]Fernan Caballero had another Andalusian version besides this.

A.'Willie, the Widow's Son,' Motherwell's MS., p. 498; 'Sweet Willie and Lady Margerie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 370.B.'Willie and Lady Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I. 155.

A.'Willie, the Widow's Son,' Motherwell's MS., p. 498; 'Sweet Willie and Lady Margerie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 370.

B.'Willie and Lady Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I. 155.

'Willie and Lady Maisry' has much in common with 'Clerk Saunders.' The chief point of difference is that of Willie's killing Maisry's brother and the guard,B22-24. Here the ballad has probably been affected by another, now represented in English only by a very corrupt version, 'The Bent sae Brown,' which immediately follows.

Motherwell's MS., p. 498; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 370. From the recitation of Mrs Notman, then far advanced in years, with whose grandmother it was a favorite: September 9, 1826.

1Willie was a widow's son,And he wore a milk-white weed, OAnd weel could Willie read and write,Far better ride on steed. O2Lady Margerie was the first ladyThat drank to him the wine,And aye as the healths gade round and round,'Laddy, your love is mine.'3Lady Margerie was the first ladyeThat drank to him the beer,And aye as the healths gade round and round,'Laddy, you're welcome here.'4'You must come into my bowerWhen the evening bells do ring,And you must come into my bowerWhen the evening mass doth sing.'5He's taen four and twenty braid arrows,And laced them in a whang,And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower,As fast as he can gang.6He set ae foot on the wall,And the other on a stane,And he's killed a' the king's life-guards,And he's killed them every man.7'Oh open, open, Lady Margerie,Open and let me in;The weet weets a' my yellow hair,And the dew draps on my chin.'8With her feet as white as sleetShe strode her bower within,And with her fingers long and smallShe's looten Sweet Willie in.9She's louten down unto her footTo loose Sweet Willie's shoon;The buckles were sa stiff they wudna lowse,The blood had frozen in.10'O Willie, Willie, I fear that thouHas bred me dule and sorrow;The deed that thou has dune this nichtWill kythe upon the morrow.'11In then came her father dear,And a broad sword by his gare,And he's gien Willie, the widow's son,A deep wound and a sair.12'Lye yont, lye yont, Willie,' she says,'Your sweat weets a' my side;Lye yont, lie yont, Willie,' she says,'For your sweat I downa bide.'13She turned her back unto the wa,Her face unto the room,And there she saw her auld father,Walking up and down.14'Woe be to you, father,' she said,'And an ill deed may you die!For ye've killd Willie, the widow's sonAnd he would have married me.'15She turned her back unto the room,Her face unto the wa,And with a deep and heavy sichHer heart it brak in twa.

1Willie was a widow's son,And he wore a milk-white weed, OAnd weel could Willie read and write,Far better ride on steed. O

2Lady Margerie was the first ladyThat drank to him the wine,And aye as the healths gade round and round,'Laddy, your love is mine.'

3Lady Margerie was the first ladyeThat drank to him the beer,And aye as the healths gade round and round,'Laddy, you're welcome here.'

4'You must come into my bowerWhen the evening bells do ring,And you must come into my bowerWhen the evening mass doth sing.'

5He's taen four and twenty braid arrows,And laced them in a whang,And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower,As fast as he can gang.

6He set ae foot on the wall,And the other on a stane,And he's killed a' the king's life-guards,And he's killed them every man.

7'Oh open, open, Lady Margerie,Open and let me in;The weet weets a' my yellow hair,And the dew draps on my chin.'

8With her feet as white as sleetShe strode her bower within,And with her fingers long and smallShe's looten Sweet Willie in.

9She's louten down unto her footTo loose Sweet Willie's shoon;The buckles were sa stiff they wudna lowse,The blood had frozen in.

10'O Willie, Willie, I fear that thouHas bred me dule and sorrow;The deed that thou has dune this nichtWill kythe upon the morrow.'

11In then came her father dear,And a broad sword by his gare,And he's gien Willie, the widow's son,A deep wound and a sair.

12'Lye yont, lye yont, Willie,' she says,'Your sweat weets a' my side;Lye yont, lie yont, Willie,' she says,'For your sweat I downa bide.'

13She turned her back unto the wa,Her face unto the room,And there she saw her auld father,Walking up and down.

14'Woe be to you, father,' she said,'And an ill deed may you die!For ye've killd Willie, the widow's sonAnd he would have married me.'

15She turned her back unto the room,Her face unto the wa,And with a deep and heavy sichHer heart it brak in twa.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 155.

1Sweet Willie was a widow's son,And milk-white was his weed;It sets him weel to bridle a horse,And better to saddle a steed, my dear,And better to saddle a steed.2But he is on to Maisry's bower-door,And tirled at the pin:'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry,Ye'll open, let me come in.'3'O who is this at my bower-door,Sae well that knows my name?''It is your ain true-love, Willie,If ye love me, lat me in.'4Then huly, huly raise she up,For fear o making din,Then in her arms lang and bent,She caught sweet Willie in.5She leand her low down to her toe,To loose her true-love's sheen,But cauld, cauld were the draps o bleedFell fae his trusty brand.6'What frightfu sight is that, my love?A frightfu sight to see!What bluid is this on your sharp brand?O may ye not tell me?'7'As I came thro the woods this night,The wolf maist worried me;O shoud I slain the wolf, Maisry?Or shoud the wolf slain me?'8They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,As lovers when they meet,Till up it starts her auld father,Out o his drowsy sleep.9'O what's become o my house-cock,Sae crouse at ane did craw?I wonder as much at my bold watch,That's nae shooting ower the wa.10'My gude house-cock, my only son,Heir ower my land sae free,If ony ruffian hae him slain,High hanged shall he be.'11Then he's on to Maisry's bower-door,And tirled at the pin:'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry,Ye'll open, lat me come in.'12Between the curtains and the waShe rowd her true-love then,And huly went she to the door,And let her father in.13'What's become o your maries, Maisry,Your bower it looks sae teem?What's become o your green claithing,Your beds they are sae thin?'14'Gude forgie you, father,' she said,'I wish ye be't for sin;Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me,But never found me wrang.'15He turnd him right and round about,As he'd been gaun awa;But sae nimbly as he slippet inBehind a screen sae sma.16Maisry, thinking a' dangers past,She to her love did say,'Come, love, and take your silent rest;My auld father's away.'17Then baith lockd in each other's arms,They fell full fast asleep,When up it starts her auld father,And stood at their bed-feet.18'I think I hae the villain nowThat my dear son did slay;But I shall be revengd on himBefore I see the day.'19Then he's drawn out a trusty brand,And stroakd it oer a stray,And thro and thro Sweet Willie's middleHe's gart cauld iron gae.20Then up it wakend Lady Maisry,Out o her drowsy sleep,And when she saw her true-love slain,She straight began to weep.21'O gude forgie you now, father,' she said,'I wish ye be't for sin;For I never lovd a love but ane,In my arms ye've him slain.'22'This night he's slain my gude bold watch,Thirty stout men and twa;Likewise he's slain your ae brother,To me was worth them a'.23'If he has slain my ae brither,Himsell had a' the blame,For mony a day he plots contriv'd,To hae Sweet Willie slain.24'And tho he's slain your gude bold watch,He might hae been forgien;They came on him in armour bright,When he was but alane.'25Nae meen was made for this young knight,In bower where he lay slain,But a' was for sweet Maisry bright,In fields where she ran brain.

1Sweet Willie was a widow's son,And milk-white was his weed;It sets him weel to bridle a horse,And better to saddle a steed, my dear,And better to saddle a steed.

2But he is on to Maisry's bower-door,And tirled at the pin:'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry,Ye'll open, let me come in.'

3'O who is this at my bower-door,Sae well that knows my name?''It is your ain true-love, Willie,If ye love me, lat me in.'

4Then huly, huly raise she up,For fear o making din,Then in her arms lang and bent,She caught sweet Willie in.

5She leand her low down to her toe,To loose her true-love's sheen,But cauld, cauld were the draps o bleedFell fae his trusty brand.

6'What frightfu sight is that, my love?A frightfu sight to see!What bluid is this on your sharp brand?O may ye not tell me?'

7'As I came thro the woods this night,The wolf maist worried me;O shoud I slain the wolf, Maisry?Or shoud the wolf slain me?'

8They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,As lovers when they meet,Till up it starts her auld father,Out o his drowsy sleep.

9'O what's become o my house-cock,Sae crouse at ane did craw?I wonder as much at my bold watch,That's nae shooting ower the wa.

10'My gude house-cock, my only son,Heir ower my land sae free,If ony ruffian hae him slain,High hanged shall he be.'

11Then he's on to Maisry's bower-door,And tirled at the pin:'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry,Ye'll open, lat me come in.'

12Between the curtains and the waShe rowd her true-love then,And huly went she to the door,And let her father in.

13'What's become o your maries, Maisry,Your bower it looks sae teem?What's become o your green claithing,Your beds they are sae thin?'

14'Gude forgie you, father,' she said,'I wish ye be't for sin;Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me,But never found me wrang.'

15He turnd him right and round about,As he'd been gaun awa;But sae nimbly as he slippet inBehind a screen sae sma.

16Maisry, thinking a' dangers past,She to her love did say,'Come, love, and take your silent rest;My auld father's away.'

17Then baith lockd in each other's arms,They fell full fast asleep,When up it starts her auld father,And stood at their bed-feet.

18'I think I hae the villain nowThat my dear son did slay;But I shall be revengd on himBefore I see the day.'

19Then he's drawn out a trusty brand,And stroakd it oer a stray,And thro and thro Sweet Willie's middleHe's gart cauld iron gae.

20Then up it wakend Lady Maisry,Out o her drowsy sleep,And when she saw her true-love slain,She straight began to weep.

21'O gude forgie you now, father,' she said,'I wish ye be't for sin;For I never lovd a love but ane,In my arms ye've him slain.'

22'This night he's slain my gude bold watch,Thirty stout men and twa;Likewise he's slain your ae brother,To me was worth them a'.

23'If he has slain my ae brither,Himsell had a' the blame,For mony a day he plots contriv'd,To hae Sweet Willie slain.

24'And tho he's slain your gude bold watch,He might hae been forgien;They came on him in armour bright,When he was but alane.'

25Nae meen was made for this young knight,In bower where he lay slain,But a' was for sweet Maisry bright,In fields where she ran brain.

24, 34.Ladyin MS.,Laddyin Minstrelsy.91.his footin Minstrelsy:cf.B51.103.hastin both.Several slight changes are made by Motherwell in printing.

24, 34.Ladyin MS.,Laddyin Minstrelsy.

91.his footin Minstrelsy:cf.B51.

103.hastin both.

Several slight changes are made by Motherwell in printing.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 30.

'The Bent sae Brown' combines the story of 'Clerk Saunders' with that of another ballad, not found in an independent form in English, but sufficiently common in Danish and Swedish; whence the non-tragical conclusion, for the killing of a certain number of brothers is not regarded as a very serious matter by the heroine, whether in English or Norse. The introduction and conclusion, and some incidental decorations, of the Scottish ballad will not be found in the Norse, but are an outcome of the invention and the piecing and shaping of that humble but enterprising rhapsodist who has left his trail over so large a part of Buchan's volumes.[108]

Stanzas 21-34 contain the substance of the Norse ballad referred to, which has been printed in the following versions, and exists in others not yet given to the world, Danish, Norwegian, and Icelandic.

Swedish.A.'Unger Sven,' Arwidsson, I, 295, No 43.B.'Ung Hillerström,' Afzelius, II, 180, No 55.

Danish.A.An unpublished version, found in two manuscripts of the 17th century, communicated to me by Grundtvig.B.'Jomfruen i Skoven,' "Tragica, No 15," Danske Viser, III, 99, No 123.[109]C.'Kjærligheds Styrke,' Kristensen, I, 109, No 43.D,E,F. 'Jomfruens Brødre,' Kristensen, II, 276, No 80 A, B, C.G.Madsen, Folkeminder fra Hanved Sogn, p. 88, No 5.

A youth has passed the night with his love, either in her bower or in a wood. When they are about to part in the morning, she begs him to be on his guard against her seven brothers, on his way through the wood and over the heath. He makes light of the danger, and in the wood meets the seven brothers. They demand how he comes to be there, and he feigns to have been out with his hawk and hound, to have been coursing hares. No, they say, you were with our sister last night, and asked no read of us. He makes no denial; but her will was as good as his. They ask whether he will fly or fight. He has no thought of flight, kills all seven, and goes back to his love. She will not forsake him for killing her brothers; nor would she, DanishA,C,F, had he killed her father too.[110]

1'There are sixteen lang miles, I'm sure,Between my love and me;There are eight o them in gude dry land,And other eight by sea.2'Betide me life, betide me death,My love I'll gang and see;Altho her friends they do me hate,Her love is great for me.3'Of my coat I'll make a boat,And o my sark a sail,And o my cane a gude tapmast,Dry land till I come till.'4Then o his coat he's made a boat,And o his sark a sail;And o his cane a gude tapmast,Dry land till he came till.5He is on to Annie's bower-door,And tirled at the pin:'O sleep ye, wake ye, my love, Annie,Ye'll rise, lat me come in.'6'O who is this at my bower-door,Sae well that kens my name?''It is your true-love, Sweet Willie,For you I've crossd the faem.'7'I am deeply sworn, Willie,By father and by mother;At kirk or market where we meet,We darna own each other.8'And I am deeply sworn, Willie,By my bauld brothers three;At kirk or market where we meet.I darna speak to thee.'9'Ye take your red fan in your hand,Your white fan ower your een,And ye may swear, and save your oath,Ye sawna me come in.10'Ye take me in your arms twa,And carry me to your bed;And ye may swear, and save your oath,Your bower I never tread.'11She's taen her red fan in her hand,The white fan ower her een;It was to swear, and save her oath,She sawna him come in.12She's taen him in her arms twa,And carried him to her bed;It was to swear, and save her oath,Her bower he never tread.13They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,As lovers do when they meet,Till up it waukens her mother,Out o her drowsy sleep.14'Win up, win up, my three bauld sons,Win up and make ye boun;Your sister's lover's in her bower,And he 's but new come in.'15Then up it raise her three bauld sons,And girt to them their brand,And they are to their sister's bower,As fast as they coud gang.16When they came to their sister's bower,They sought it up and down;But there was neither man nor boyIn her bower to be foun.17Then out it speaks the first o them:'We'll gang and lat her be;For there is neither man nor boyIntill her companie.'18Then out it speaks the second son:'Our travel's a' in vain;But mother dear, nor father dear,Shall break our rest again.'19Then out it speaks the third o them,An ill death mat he die!'We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown,That Willie we may see.'20He stood behind his love's curtains,His goud rings showd him light;And by this ye may a' weell guessHe was a renowned knight.21He's done him to his love's stable,Took out his berry-brown steed;His love stood in her bower-door,Her heart was like to bleed.22'O mourn ye for my coming, love?Or for my short staying?Or mourn ye for our safe sindring,Case we never meet again?'23'I mourn nae for your here coming,Nor for your staying lang;Nor mourn I for our safe sindring,I hope we'll meet again.24'I wish ye may won safe away,And safely frae the town;For ken you not my brothers threeAre mang the bent sae brown?'25'If I were on my berry-brown steed,And three miles frae the town,I woudna fear your three bauld brothers,Amang the bent sae brown.'26He leint him ower his saddle-bow,And kissd her lips sae sweet;The tears that fell between these twa,They wat his great steed's feet.27But he wasna on his berry-brown steed,Nor twa miles frae the town,Till up it starts these three fierce men,Amang the bent sae brown.28Then up they came like three fierce men,Wi mony shout and cry:'Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth,What makes your haste away?29'For I must know before you go,Tell me, and make nae lie;If ye 've been in my sister's bower,My hands shall gar ye die.'30'Tho I've been in your sister's bower,I have nae fear o thee;I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight,Aud shall gain victorie.'31'Now I entreat you for to stay,Unto us gie a wad;If ye our words do not obey,I'se gar your body bleed.'32'I have nae wad, says Sweet Willie,Unless it be my brand,And that shall guard my fair body,Till I win frae your hand.'33Then two o them stept in behind,All in a furious meed;The third o them came him before,And seizd his berry-brown steed.34O then he drew his trusty brand,That hang down by his gare,And he has slain these three fierce men,And left them sprawling there.35Then word has gane to her mother,In bed where she slept soun,That Willie had killd her three bauld sons,Amang the bent sae brown.36Then she has cut the locks that hungSae low down by her ee,Sae has she kiltit her green claithingA little aboon her knee.37And she has on to the king's court,As fast as gang coud she;When Fair Annie got word o that,Was there as soon as she.38Her mother, when before the king,Fell low down on her knee;'Win up, win up, my dame,' he said,'What is your will wi me?'39'My wills they are not sma, my liege,The truth I'll tell to thee;There is ane o your courtly knightsLast night hae robbed me.'40'And has he broke your bigly bowers?Or has he stole your fee?There is nae knight into my courtLast night has been frae me;41'Unless 't was Willie o Lauderdale,Forbid that it be he!''And by my sooth,' says the auld woman,'That very man is he.42'For he has broke my bigly bowers,And he has stole my fee,And made my daughter Ann a whore,And an ill woman is she.43'That was not all he did to me,Ere he went frae the town;My sons sae true he fiercely slew,Amang the bent sae brown.'44Then out it spake her daughter Ann,She stood by the king's knee:'Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear,Sae loud 's I hear you lie.45'He has not broke your bigly bowers,Nor has he stole your fee,Nor made your daughter Ann a whore;A good woman I'll be.46'Altho he slew your three bauld sons,He weel might be forgien;They were well clad in armour bright,Whan my love was him lane.'47'Well spoke, well spoke,' the king replied,'This tauking pleases me;For ae kiss o your lovely mouth,I'll set your true-love free.'48She 's taen the king in her arms,And kissd him cheek and chin;He then set her behind her love,And they went singing hame.

1'There are sixteen lang miles, I'm sure,Between my love and me;There are eight o them in gude dry land,And other eight by sea.

2'Betide me life, betide me death,My love I'll gang and see;Altho her friends they do me hate,Her love is great for me.

3'Of my coat I'll make a boat,And o my sark a sail,And o my cane a gude tapmast,Dry land till I come till.'

4Then o his coat he's made a boat,And o his sark a sail;And o his cane a gude tapmast,Dry land till he came till.

5He is on to Annie's bower-door,And tirled at the pin:'O sleep ye, wake ye, my love, Annie,Ye'll rise, lat me come in.'

6'O who is this at my bower-door,Sae well that kens my name?''It is your true-love, Sweet Willie,For you I've crossd the faem.'

7'I am deeply sworn, Willie,By father and by mother;At kirk or market where we meet,We darna own each other.

8'And I am deeply sworn, Willie,By my bauld brothers three;At kirk or market where we meet.I darna speak to thee.'

9'Ye take your red fan in your hand,Your white fan ower your een,And ye may swear, and save your oath,Ye sawna me come in.

10'Ye take me in your arms twa,And carry me to your bed;And ye may swear, and save your oath,Your bower I never tread.'

11She's taen her red fan in her hand,The white fan ower her een;It was to swear, and save her oath,She sawna him come in.

12She's taen him in her arms twa,And carried him to her bed;It was to swear, and save her oath,Her bower he never tread.

13They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,As lovers do when they meet,Till up it waukens her mother,Out o her drowsy sleep.

14'Win up, win up, my three bauld sons,Win up and make ye boun;Your sister's lover's in her bower,And he 's but new come in.'

15Then up it raise her three bauld sons,And girt to them their brand,And they are to their sister's bower,As fast as they coud gang.

16When they came to their sister's bower,They sought it up and down;But there was neither man nor boyIn her bower to be foun.

17Then out it speaks the first o them:'We'll gang and lat her be;For there is neither man nor boyIntill her companie.'

18Then out it speaks the second son:'Our travel's a' in vain;But mother dear, nor father dear,Shall break our rest again.'

19Then out it speaks the third o them,An ill death mat he die!'We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown,That Willie we may see.'

20He stood behind his love's curtains,His goud rings showd him light;And by this ye may a' weell guessHe was a renowned knight.

21He's done him to his love's stable,Took out his berry-brown steed;His love stood in her bower-door,Her heart was like to bleed.

22'O mourn ye for my coming, love?Or for my short staying?Or mourn ye for our safe sindring,Case we never meet again?'

23'I mourn nae for your here coming,Nor for your staying lang;Nor mourn I for our safe sindring,I hope we'll meet again.

24'I wish ye may won safe away,And safely frae the town;For ken you not my brothers threeAre mang the bent sae brown?'

25'If I were on my berry-brown steed,And three miles frae the town,I woudna fear your three bauld brothers,Amang the bent sae brown.'

26He leint him ower his saddle-bow,And kissd her lips sae sweet;The tears that fell between these twa,They wat his great steed's feet.

27But he wasna on his berry-brown steed,Nor twa miles frae the town,Till up it starts these three fierce men,Amang the bent sae brown.

28Then up they came like three fierce men,Wi mony shout and cry:'Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth,What makes your haste away?

29'For I must know before you go,Tell me, and make nae lie;If ye 've been in my sister's bower,My hands shall gar ye die.'

30'Tho I've been in your sister's bower,I have nae fear o thee;I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight,Aud shall gain victorie.'

31'Now I entreat you for to stay,Unto us gie a wad;If ye our words do not obey,I'se gar your body bleed.'

32'I have nae wad, says Sweet Willie,Unless it be my brand,And that shall guard my fair body,Till I win frae your hand.'

33Then two o them stept in behind,All in a furious meed;The third o them came him before,And seizd his berry-brown steed.

34O then he drew his trusty brand,That hang down by his gare,And he has slain these three fierce men,And left them sprawling there.

35Then word has gane to her mother,In bed where she slept soun,That Willie had killd her three bauld sons,Amang the bent sae brown.

36Then she has cut the locks that hungSae low down by her ee,Sae has she kiltit her green claithingA little aboon her knee.

37And she has on to the king's court,As fast as gang coud she;When Fair Annie got word o that,Was there as soon as she.

38Her mother, when before the king,Fell low down on her knee;'Win up, win up, my dame,' he said,'What is your will wi me?'

39'My wills they are not sma, my liege,The truth I'll tell to thee;There is ane o your courtly knightsLast night hae robbed me.'

40'And has he broke your bigly bowers?Or has he stole your fee?There is nae knight into my courtLast night has been frae me;

41'Unless 't was Willie o Lauderdale,Forbid that it be he!''And by my sooth,' says the auld woman,'That very man is he.

42'For he has broke my bigly bowers,And he has stole my fee,And made my daughter Ann a whore,And an ill woman is she.

43'That was not all he did to me,Ere he went frae the town;My sons sae true he fiercely slew,Amang the bent sae brown.'

44Then out it spake her daughter Ann,She stood by the king's knee:'Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear,Sae loud 's I hear you lie.

45'He has not broke your bigly bowers,Nor has he stole your fee,Nor made your daughter Ann a whore;A good woman I'll be.

46'Altho he slew your three bauld sons,He weel might be forgien;They were well clad in armour bright,Whan my love was him lane.'

47'Well spoke, well spoke,' the king replied,'This tauking pleases me;For ae kiss o your lovely mouth,I'll set your true-love free.'

48She 's taen the king in her arms,And kissd him cheek and chin;He then set her behind her love,And they went singing hame.

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