196THE FIRE OF FRENDRAUGHT

A. a.‘The Fire of Frendraught,’ Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 161, 1827.b.‘Burning of Frendraught,’ Maidment’s North Countrie Garland, p. 4, 1824.

B.‘The Burning of Frendraught,’ Kinloch MSS, V, 399.

C.‘The Fire of Frendraught,’ from a note-book of Dr Joseph Robertson’s.

D.Ritson’s Scotish Songs, II, 35, 1794.

E.Kinloch MSS, VI, 27, one stanza.

A awas communicated to Motherwell by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe. (Corrections have here been adopted from Motherwell’s Errata: see also the Musical Museum, 1853, IV, 322*.)A b, says Motherwell, has the “disadvantage of containing a very considerable number of slight verbal and literal inaccuracies.” The implication is, or should be, that these variations are of editorial origin. Some of the readings ofbare in themselves better than those ofa.bis repeated in Buchan’s Gleanings, p. 165. The copy in Maidment’s Scotish Ballads, 1868, I, 267, is a with a reading or two fromb, arbitrary alterations, and some misprints.

Dr Joseph Robertson has, in one of his notebooks, “Adversaria,” p. 63, the two following stanzas, given him by a gentleman of Buchan as belonging to “The Burning of Frendraught House.”

‘Will ye play at the cards, Lord John?Will ye drink at the wine?Or will ye [gang] to a weel made bed,And sleep till it be time?’‘I’ll no play at the cards, ladie,I’ll no drink at the wine;But I’ll gang to a weel made bed,An sleep till it be time.’

‘Will ye play at the cards, Lord John?Will ye drink at the wine?Or will ye [gang] to a weel made bed,And sleep till it be time?’

‘Will ye play at the cards, Lord John?

Will ye drink at the wine?

Or will ye [gang] to a weel made bed,

And sleep till it be time?’

‘I’ll no play at the cards, ladie,I’ll no drink at the wine;But I’ll gang to a weel made bed,An sleep till it be time.’

‘I’ll no play at the cards, ladie,

I’ll no drink at the wine;

But I’ll gang to a weel made bed,

An sleep till it be time.’

Undoubtedly these stanzas may have occurred in a version of this ballad, but they are a commonplace, and sometimes an intrusive one. See II, 109, ‘Fair Janet,’F4, 5; 154, ‘Young Hunting,’K8, 9; 164, ‘Clerk Saunders,’F, 5, 6; 409, ‘Willie o Douglas Dale,’B20.

The modern, and extremely vapid, ballad of ‘Frennet Hall’ appeared originally (I suppose) in Herd’s Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 142, and was afterwards received into Ritson’s Scotish Songs, II, 31, The Musical Museum, No 286, etc.

James Crichton of Frendraught and William Gordon of Rothiemay (a neighboring estate[19]) had a fierce quarrel about fishing-rights pertaining to lands which Gordon had sold to Crichton. A legal decision was rendered in favor of Frendraught, who, however, pursued his adversary with excessive vigor and procured him to be outlawed. After this, Rothiemay would hear to no terms of peace, and collected a party of loose fellows with the intent to waste Frendraught’s lands. Frendraught obtained a commission to arrest Rothiemay, and on the first day of the year 1630 set out to put this in force, accompanied, among others, by his uncle (George Gordon) James Leslie, son of the laird of Pitcaple, and John Meldrum, who was married to young Leslie’s aunt. Rothiemay, hearing of Frendraught’s coming, rode out to meet him, and there was a fight, in which Rothiemay and George Gordon were mortallywounded, and Meldrum badly. The feud waxed hot, and Frendraught’s lands were in danger of being burned and ravaged by Highlanders, with whom John Gordon of Rothiemay, son to the slain laird, had combined for the purpose. But in the end, by the strenuous exertions of the Marquis of Huntly and others, a settlement was effected. The laird of Rothiemay and the children of George Gordon were “to remit their father’s slaughter mutually,” and in satisfaction thereof the laird of Frendraught was to pay a certain sum of money to young Rothiemay and to George Gordon’s children: “which both, Frendraught obeyed and performed willingly, and so, all parties having shaken hands, they were heartily reconciled.”

This broil was no sooner settled than another sprouted, a side-shoot from the same stem. Meldrum, who had been with Frendraught in the affray with Rothiemay, and had been wounded, was dissatisfied with such requital as he received, and, getting nothing more by his bickering and threats, helped himself one night to two of Frendraught’s best horses. Summoned to court for the theft, he “turned rebel” and did not appear. Frendraught obtained a commission to arrest him, and went to look for him at Pitcaple, a place belonging to John Leslie, Meldrum’s brother-in-law. He did not find Meldrum, but fell in with James Leslie, Pitcaple’s son, who had also been of Frendraught’s party at the encounter on New Year’s day. There was talk about Meldrum’s behavior, in which Frendraught comported himself forbearingly; but James Leslie and Robert Crichton, a kinsman of Frendraught, had hot words, which ended in Leslie’s getting a dangerous shot in the arm. Hereupon the larger part of the surname of Leslie rose in arms against the Crichtons. Frendraught, grieved for what had happened to James Leslie, betook himself to the Marquis of Huntly, and entreated him to make peace. The marquis sent for the Leslies, and did his best to reconcile them, but Pitcaple would listen to nothing until he knew whether his son James was to live or die. Huntly, fearing for Frendraught’s safety, kept him two days at the Bog of Gight, and then, hearing that the Leslies were lying in wait, sent his own son, Viscount Melgum, and the young laird of Rothiemay, to protect him on the way home. Arrived there, the laird and his lady begged these young gentlemen to remain overnight, “and did their best, with all demonstration of love and kindness, to entertain them, thinking themselves happy now to have purchased such friends who had formerly been their foes.” At about two in the morning the tower of Frendraught house, in which these guests lay, took fire, and they with four of their servants were burnt to death. This occurred on the eighth (ninth) of October.

So far Sir Robert Gordon, uncle of the lady of Frendraught and cousin of the Marquis of Huntly, who was perfectly acquainted with all the parties and circumstances. He goes on to say, with entire fairness: “The rumor of this unhappy accident did speedily spread itself throughout the whole kingdom, every man bewailing it, and constructing it diversly as their affections led them; some laying an aspersion upon Frendraught, as if he had wilfully destroyed his guests, who had come thither to defend him against his enemies; which carried no appearance of truth; for, besides the improbability of the matter, he did lose therein a great quantity of silver, both coined and uncoined, and likewise all his writs and evidents were therein burnt.”[20]

The monstrous wickedness of this act would not, in the light of the history of those times, afford an argument that would of itself avail to clear Frendraught; but what words could describe his recklessness and folly! Supposing him willing to set fire to his own house, and sacrifice his silver and securities, for the gratification of burning young Rothiemay with the rest, he knew very well what consequences he had to expect. He had been glad to compoundhis feud with the Rothiemays by the payment of money (some say the considerable sum of 50,000 merks). He had been alarmed, and with good reason, at the prospect of a feud with the Leslies. But what were these to a feud with the Marquis of Huntly, which would bring down upon him, and did bring down upon him, not only the reprisals of the Gordons, but spoliation from all the brigands of the country?[21]

‘Lewed people demen gladly to the badder ende,’

says Chaucer, and so it was with ballad-makers, and sometimes even with clerks; John Spalding, for instance, the other contemporary authority upon this subject, who gives a lively and detailed account of the burning of the tower, as follows.[22]

“The viscount was laid in a bed in the Old Tower, going off the hall, and standing upon a vault, wherein there was a round hole, devised of old, just under Aboyne’s[23]bed. Robert Gordon, born in Sutherland, his servitor, and English Will, his page, was both laid beside him in the same chamber. The laird of Rothiemay, with some servants beside him, was laid in an upper chamber just above Aboyne’s chamber; and in another room above that chamber was laid George Chalmer of Noth, and George Gordon, another of the viscount’s servants; with whom also was laid Captain Rollok, then in Frendraught’s own company. Thus all being at rest, about midnight that dolorous tower took fire in so sudden and furious manner, yea, and in a clap, that this noble viscount, the laird of Rothiemay, English Will, Colin Ivat, another of Aboyne’s servitors, and other two, being six in number, were cruelly burnt and tormented to the death, but help or relief; the laird of Frendraught, his lady and whole household looking on, without moving or stirring to deliver them from the fury of this fearful fire, as was reported. Robert Gordon, called Sutherland Robert, being in the viscount’s chamber, escaped this fire with his life. George Chalmer and Captain Rollok, being in the third room, escaped also this fire, and, as was said, Aboyne might have saved himself also if he had gone out of doors, which he would not do, but suddenly ran up stairs to Rothiemay’s chamber, and wakened him to rise, and as he is wakening him, the timber passage and lofting of the chamber hastily takes fire, so that none of them could win down stairs again; so they turned to a window looking to the close, where they piteously cried help, help, many times, for God’s cause! the laird and the lady, with their servants, all seeing and hearing this woeful crying, but made no help nor manner of helping;[24]which they perceiving, they cried oftentimes mercyat God’s hands for their sins, syne clasped in other arms, and cheerfully suffered this cruel martyrdom. Thus died this noble viscount, of singular expectation, Rothiemay, a brave youth, and the rest, by this doleful fire never enough to be deplored, to the great grief and sorrow of their kin, friends, parents, and whole country people, especially to the noble marquis, who for his goodwill got this reward.”

Spalding tells us that it was reported that, the morning after the fire, Lady Frendraught, riding on a small nag, and with no attendants but a boy to lead her horse, came weeping to the Bog, desiring to speak with the marquis, but was refused. The Huntly-Gordons, the Earl of Errol (brother of Viscountess Melgum), and many other friends held a council, and after serious consideration came to the conclusion that the fire “could not come by chance, sloth, or accident, but was plotted and devised of set purpose;” Frendraught, his lady, his friends and servants, one or other, knowing thereof. The marquis, however, was resolved not to revenge himself “by way of deed,” but to invoke the laws. Frendraught, as far as we can see, desired a legal inquiry no less than Huntly. He addressed himself to the Lord Chancellor and to the Privy Council, and offered to undergo any form of trial, and, delays occurring, he repeated to the Council his wish to have “that hidden mystery brought to a clear light.” Examinations and prosecutions, extended to the middle of the year 1634, failed to fix the guilt of the fire on him or anybody, although John Meldrum, on the strength of some threats which he had uttered, was wrongfully convicted of the act and was executed.[25]

A.The date is the eighteenth of October, new style for the eighth. When Gordon and Rothiemay (having convoyed Frendraught safely home) are on the point of returning, Lady Frendraught urges them to stay, in token of good feeling between Huntly and her husband. Lord John is quite disposed to comply, but Rothiemay says that his horse has been tampered with since their coming, and he fears that he is fey. After the regular evening-mass of ballads (which would have suited Lady Frendraught, a concealed Catholic, but not her husband), Lord John and Rothiemay are laid in one chamber, an arrangement which would have allowed both to escape, as Robert Gordon did, who slept in his master’s room. Lord John wakes with the smoke and heat, and rouses Rothiemay. The doors and windows are fastened. Rothiemay goes to the ‘wire-window,’ and finds the stanchions too strong to be dealt with. He sees Lady Frendraught below, and cries to her for mercy; her husband killed the father, and now she is burning the son. Lady Frendraught is sorry that she must burn Lord John in order to burn Rothiemay, but there is no help; the keys are cast in the deep draw-well.[26][Robert] Gordon, who has escaped though the keys were in the well, calls to his master to jump from the window; he will catch him in his arms. Hismaster answers that no fire shall part him and Rothiemay, and besides, the window is fast. He throws his finger-rings down, to be given to his lady. When the servant goes home to his mistress, she reproaches him for coming back alive and leaving his master dead. She tears off the clothes which her maid puts on her, exclaiming that she won a sore heart the day she was married, and that that day has returned (which is not easy to understand: see Appendix).

B.This fragment represents Lady Frendraught as being very importunate with Lord John: she presses him three times over to stay, and promises him a morning-gift of lands if he will comply; by a perversion of tradition, Strathbogie, which had been in his family three hundred years, and which, further on, he offers to give her if she will let him out. Finding that he cannot escape (perhaps stanza 7 should come later), Lord John takes out his psalm-book and sings three verses, with ‘God end our misery’ at each verse’s end. In 9 he sees his elder brother, Lord George, from the window, and asks what news he has, but a defect conceals from us the point of this passage. Stanza 16 seems to belong to Lord John’s wife.

C.When the gentlemen are in their saddles, ready to ride away, Lady Frendraught, on her bare knees, begs them to remain, and promises them a firlot of red gold if they will. When everybody has gone to bed, the doors are locked and the windows shut. The reek begins to rise and the joists to crack; Lord John betakes himself to the window, and finds the stanchions too strong to break. He goes back and wakens Rothiemay, and proposes to him to praise the Lord in the fifty-third psalm,[27]for there is treason about them. He calls to Lady Frendraught, walking on the green, for mercy; she replies that the keys are in the well, and the doors were locked yesterday. He reproaches her for burning her own flesh. George Chalmers (who really escaped, though lodged in the third story) is described as leaping the ditches and coming, from without, to Rothiemay’s help, and Colin Irving (the Colin Ivat of Spalding, who was burnt) as doing the same in behalf of Lord John, to whom he calls to jump into his arms. Lord John is burning, and there is little more left of him than his spirit; but he throws down a purse of gold for the poor and his rings for his wife. Lady Rothiemay comes in the morning to cry vengeance on Frendraught, who has betrayed the gay Gordons, killed her lord, and burnt her son.[28]

D.“‘There are some intermediate particulars,’ Mr Boyd says, ‘respecting the lady’s lodging her victims in a turret or flanker which did not communicate with the castle.’ ‘This,’ adds he, ‘I only have from tradition, as I never heard any other stanzas besides the foregoing.’ The author of the original, we may perceive, either through ignorance ordesign, had deviated from the fact in supposing Lady Frennet’s husband to have been slain by Lord John’s father.” Ritson, p. 36.@

It may be noted that three of the most tragical of the Scottish historical ballads are associated with the name of Gordon: the Burning of Towie, as we might call ‘Captain Car,’ No 178, through Adam Gordon, uncle of the first marquis of Huntly; the Burning of Donibristle, known as ‘The Bonny Earl of Murray,’ No 181, of which the responsibility is put upon the marquis (then earl) himself; and the Burning of Frendraught, in which his son perished.

a.Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 161, from a MS. of Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.b.Maidment’s North Countrie Garland, p. 4; “long preserved by tradition in Aberdeenshire, and procured from an intelligent individual resident in that part of Scotland.”

1The eighteenth of October,A dismal tale to hearHow good Lord John and RothiemayWas both burnt in the fire.2When steeds was saddled and well bridled,And ready for to ride,Then out it came her false Frendraught,Inviting them to bide.3Said, ‘Stay this night untill we sup,The morn untill we dine;‘Twill be a token of good greement’Twixt your good lord and mine.’4‘We’ll turn again,’ said good Lord John;‘But no,’ said Rothiemay,‘My steed’s trapand, my bridle’s broken,I fear the day I’m fey.’5When mass was sung, and bells was rung,And all men bound for bed,Then good Lord John and RothiemayIn one chamber was laid.6They had not long cast off their cloaths,And were but now asleep.When the weary smoke began to rise,Likewise the scorching heat.7‘O waken, waken, Rothiemay!O waken, brother dear!And turn you to our Saviour;There is strong treason here.’8When they were dressed in their cloaths,And ready for to boun,The doors and windows was all secur’d,The roof-tree burning down.9He did him to the wire-window,As fast as we could gang;Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons!For out we’ll never win.10When he stood at the wire-window,Most doleful to be seen,He did espy her Lady Frendraught,Who stood upon the green.11Cried, Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!Will ye not sink with sin?For first your husband killed my father,And now you burn his son.12O then out spoke her Lady Frendraught,And loudly did she cry;‘It were great pity for good Lord John,But none for Rothiemay;But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well,Ye cannot get away.’13While he stood in this dreadful plight,Most piteous to be seen,There called out his servant Gordon,As he had frantic been:14‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come to me!I’ll catch you in my arms two,One foot I will not flee.15‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come away!I’ll catch you in my arms two,But Rothiemay may lie.’16‘The fish shall never swim in the flood,Nor corn grow through the clay,Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindledTwin me and Rothiemay.17‘But I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot win to thee;My head’s fast in the wire-window,My feet burning from me.18‘My eyes are seething in my head,My flesh roasting also,My bowels are boiling with my blood;Is not that a woeful woe?19‘Take here the rings from my white fingers,That are so long and small,And give them to my lady fair,Where she sits in her hall.20‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot loup to thee;My earthly part is all consumed,My spirit but speaks to thee.’21Wringing her hands, tearing her hair,His lady she was seen,And thus addressed his servant Gordon,Where he stood on the green.22‘O wae be to you, George Gordon!An ill death may you die!So safe and sound as you stand there,And my lord bereaved from me.’23‘I bad him loup, I bad him come,I bad him loup to me;I’d catch him in my arms two,A foot I should not flee. &c.24‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers,Which were so long and small,To give to you, his lady fair,Where you sat in your hall.’ &c.25Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay,O bonny Sophia was her name,Her waiting maid put on her cloaths,But I wot she tore them off again.26And aft she cried, Ohon! alas! alas!A sair heart’s ill to win;I wan a sair heart when I married him,And the day it’s well returnd again.

1The eighteenth of October,A dismal tale to hearHow good Lord John and RothiemayWas both burnt in the fire.

The eighteenth of October,

A dismal tale to hear

How good Lord John and Rothiemay

Was both burnt in the fire.

2When steeds was saddled and well bridled,And ready for to ride,Then out it came her false Frendraught,Inviting them to bide.

When steeds was saddled and well bridled,

And ready for to ride,

Then out it came her false Frendraught,

Inviting them to bide.

3Said, ‘Stay this night untill we sup,The morn untill we dine;‘Twill be a token of good greement’Twixt your good lord and mine.’

Said, ‘Stay this night untill we sup,

The morn untill we dine;

‘Twill be a token of good greement

’Twixt your good lord and mine.’

4‘We’ll turn again,’ said good Lord John;‘But no,’ said Rothiemay,‘My steed’s trapand, my bridle’s broken,I fear the day I’m fey.’

‘We’ll turn again,’ said good Lord John;

‘But no,’ said Rothiemay,

‘My steed’s trapand, my bridle’s broken,

I fear the day I’m fey.’

5When mass was sung, and bells was rung,And all men bound for bed,Then good Lord John and RothiemayIn one chamber was laid.

When mass was sung, and bells was rung,

And all men bound for bed,

Then good Lord John and Rothiemay

In one chamber was laid.

6They had not long cast off their cloaths,And were but now asleep.When the weary smoke began to rise,Likewise the scorching heat.

They had not long cast off their cloaths,

And were but now asleep.

When the weary smoke began to rise,

Likewise the scorching heat.

7‘O waken, waken, Rothiemay!O waken, brother dear!And turn you to our Saviour;There is strong treason here.’

‘O waken, waken, Rothiemay!

O waken, brother dear!

And turn you to our Saviour;

There is strong treason here.’

8When they were dressed in their cloaths,And ready for to boun,The doors and windows was all secur’d,The roof-tree burning down.

When they were dressed in their cloaths,

And ready for to boun,

The doors and windows was all secur’d,

The roof-tree burning down.

9He did him to the wire-window,As fast as we could gang;Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons!For out we’ll never win.

He did him to the wire-window,

As fast as we could gang;

Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons!

For out we’ll never win.

10When he stood at the wire-window,Most doleful to be seen,He did espy her Lady Frendraught,Who stood upon the green.

When he stood at the wire-window,

Most doleful to be seen,

He did espy her Lady Frendraught,

Who stood upon the green.

11Cried, Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!Will ye not sink with sin?For first your husband killed my father,And now you burn his son.

Cried, Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!

Will ye not sink with sin?

For first your husband killed my father,

And now you burn his son.

12O then out spoke her Lady Frendraught,And loudly did she cry;‘It were great pity for good Lord John,But none for Rothiemay;But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well,Ye cannot get away.’

O then out spoke her Lady Frendraught,

And loudly did she cry;

‘It were great pity for good Lord John,

But none for Rothiemay;

But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well,

Ye cannot get away.’

13While he stood in this dreadful plight,Most piteous to be seen,There called out his servant Gordon,As he had frantic been:

While he stood in this dreadful plight,

Most piteous to be seen,

There called out his servant Gordon,

As he had frantic been:

14‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come to me!I’ll catch you in my arms two,One foot I will not flee.

‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!

O loup and come to me!

I’ll catch you in my arms two,

One foot I will not flee.

15‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!O loup and come away!I’ll catch you in my arms two,But Rothiemay may lie.’

‘O loup, O loup, my dear master!

O loup and come away!

I’ll catch you in my arms two,

But Rothiemay may lie.’

16‘The fish shall never swim in the flood,Nor corn grow through the clay,Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindledTwin me and Rothiemay.

‘The fish shall never swim in the flood,

Nor corn grow through the clay,

Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindled

Twin me and Rothiemay.

17‘But I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot win to thee;My head’s fast in the wire-window,My feet burning from me.

‘But I cannot loup, I cannot come,

I cannot win to thee;

My head’s fast in the wire-window,

My feet burning from me.

18‘My eyes are seething in my head,My flesh roasting also,My bowels are boiling with my blood;Is not that a woeful woe?

‘My eyes are seething in my head,

My flesh roasting also,

My bowels are boiling with my blood;

Is not that a woeful woe?

19‘Take here the rings from my white fingers,That are so long and small,And give them to my lady fair,Where she sits in her hall.

‘Take here the rings from my white fingers,

That are so long and small,

And give them to my lady fair,

Where she sits in her hall.

20‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come,I cannot loup to thee;My earthly part is all consumed,My spirit but speaks to thee.’

‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come,

I cannot loup to thee;

My earthly part is all consumed,

My spirit but speaks to thee.’

21Wringing her hands, tearing her hair,His lady she was seen,And thus addressed his servant Gordon,Where he stood on the green.

Wringing her hands, tearing her hair,

His lady she was seen,

And thus addressed his servant Gordon,

Where he stood on the green.

22‘O wae be to you, George Gordon!An ill death may you die!So safe and sound as you stand there,And my lord bereaved from me.’

‘O wae be to you, George Gordon!

An ill death may you die!

So safe and sound as you stand there,

And my lord bereaved from me.’

23‘I bad him loup, I bad him come,I bad him loup to me;I’d catch him in my arms two,A foot I should not flee. &c.

‘I bad him loup, I bad him come,

I bad him loup to me;

I’d catch him in my arms two,

A foot I should not flee. &c.

24‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers,Which were so long and small,To give to you, his lady fair,Where you sat in your hall.’ &c.

‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers,

Which were so long and small,

To give to you, his lady fair,

Where you sat in your hall.’ &c.

25Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay,O bonny Sophia was her name,Her waiting maid put on her cloaths,But I wot she tore them off again.

Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay,

O bonny Sophia was her name,

Her waiting maid put on her cloaths,

But I wot she tore them off again.

26And aft she cried, Ohon! alas! alas!A sair heart’s ill to win;I wan a sair heart when I married him,And the day it’s well returnd again.

And aft she cried, Ohon! alas! alas!

A sair heart’s ill to win;

I wan a sair heart when I married him,

And the day it’s well returnd again.

Kinloch MSS, V, 399, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.

* * * * * *1‘Ye’ll stay this night wi me, Lord John,Ye’ll stay this night wi me,For there is appearence of good greementBetwixt Frendraught and thee.’2‘How can I bide, or how shall I bide,Or how can I bide wi thee,Sin my lady is in the lands of Air,And I long till I her see?’3‘Oh stay this night wi me, Lord John,Oh stay this night wi me,And bonny[’s] be the morning-giftThat I will to you gie.4‘I’ll gie you a Strathboggie lands,And the laigh lands o Strathray,. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .5‘Ye’ll stay this night wi me, Lord John,Ye’ll stay this night wi me,And I’ll lay you in a bed of down,And Rothiemay you wi.’6When mass was sung, and bells were rung,And a’ men bun to bed,Gude Lord John and RothiemayIn one chamber were laid.* * * * * *7Out hes he taen his little psalm-buik,And verses sang he three,And aye at every verse’s end,‘God end our misery!’8The doors were shut, the keys were thrownInto a vault of stone,. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .9He is dune him to the weir-window,The stauncheons were oer strong;There he saw him Lord George GordonCome haisling to the town.10‘What news, what news now, George Gordon?Whats news hae you to me?. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .11He’s dune him to the weir-window,The stauncheons were oer strang;And there he saw the Lady Frendraught,Was walking on the green.12‘Open yer doors now, Lady Frendraught,Ye’ll open yer doors to me;And bonny’s be the mornin-giftThat I shall to you gie.13‘I’ll gie you a’ Straboggie lands,And the laigh lands o Strathbrae,. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .14‘Now there’s the rings frae my fingers,And the broach frae my breast-bone;Ye’ll gae that to my gude ladye. . . . . . .* * * * * *15‘How can I loup, or how shall I loup?How can I loup to thee?When the blood is boiling in my body,And my feet burnin frae me?’* * * * * *16‘If I was swift as any swallow,And then had wings to fly,I could fly on to fause FrendraughtAnd cry vengeance till I die.’

* * * * * *

1‘Ye’ll stay this night wi me, Lord John,Ye’ll stay this night wi me,For there is appearence of good greementBetwixt Frendraught and thee.’

‘Ye’ll stay this night wi me, Lord John,

Ye’ll stay this night wi me,

For there is appearence of good greement

Betwixt Frendraught and thee.’

2‘How can I bide, or how shall I bide,Or how can I bide wi thee,Sin my lady is in the lands of Air,And I long till I her see?’

‘How can I bide, or how shall I bide,

Or how can I bide wi thee,

Sin my lady is in the lands of Air,

And I long till I her see?’

3‘Oh stay this night wi me, Lord John,Oh stay this night wi me,And bonny[’s] be the morning-giftThat I will to you gie.

‘Oh stay this night wi me, Lord John,

Oh stay this night wi me,

And bonny[’s] be the morning-gift

That I will to you gie.

4‘I’ll gie you a Strathboggie lands,And the laigh lands o Strathray,. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .

‘I’ll gie you a Strathboggie lands,

And the laigh lands o Strathray,

. . . . . . . .

5‘Ye’ll stay this night wi me, Lord John,Ye’ll stay this night wi me,And I’ll lay you in a bed of down,And Rothiemay you wi.’

‘Ye’ll stay this night wi me, Lord John,

Ye’ll stay this night wi me,

And I’ll lay you in a bed of down,

And Rothiemay you wi.’

6When mass was sung, and bells were rung,And a’ men bun to bed,Gude Lord John and RothiemayIn one chamber were laid.

When mass was sung, and bells were rung,

And a’ men bun to bed,

Gude Lord John and Rothiemay

In one chamber were laid.

* * * * * *

7Out hes he taen his little psalm-buik,And verses sang he three,And aye at every verse’s end,‘God end our misery!’

Out hes he taen his little psalm-buik,

And verses sang he three,

And aye at every verse’s end,

‘God end our misery!’

8The doors were shut, the keys were thrownInto a vault of stone,. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .

The doors were shut, the keys were thrown

Into a vault of stone,

. . . . . . . .

9He is dune him to the weir-window,The stauncheons were oer strong;There he saw him Lord George GordonCome haisling to the town.

He is dune him to the weir-window,

The stauncheons were oer strong;

There he saw him Lord George Gordon

Come haisling to the town.

10‘What news, what news now, George Gordon?Whats news hae you to me?. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .

‘What news, what news now, George Gordon?

Whats news hae you to me?

. . . . . . . .

11He’s dune him to the weir-window,The stauncheons were oer strang;And there he saw the Lady Frendraught,Was walking on the green.

He’s dune him to the weir-window,

The stauncheons were oer strang;

And there he saw the Lady Frendraught,

Was walking on the green.

12‘Open yer doors now, Lady Frendraught,Ye’ll open yer doors to me;And bonny’s be the mornin-giftThat I shall to you gie.

‘Open yer doors now, Lady Frendraught,

Ye’ll open yer doors to me;

And bonny’s be the mornin-gift

That I shall to you gie.

13‘I’ll gie you a’ Straboggie lands,And the laigh lands o Strathbrae,. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .

‘I’ll gie you a’ Straboggie lands,

And the laigh lands o Strathbrae,

. . . . . . . .

14‘Now there’s the rings frae my fingers,And the broach frae my breast-bone;Ye’ll gae that to my gude ladye. . . . . . .

‘Now there’s the rings frae my fingers,

And the broach frae my breast-bone;

Ye’ll gae that to my gude ladye

. . . . . . .

* * * * * *

15‘How can I loup, or how shall I loup?How can I loup to thee?When the blood is boiling in my body,And my feet burnin frae me?’

‘How can I loup, or how shall I loup?

How can I loup to thee?

When the blood is boiling in my body,

And my feet burnin frae me?’

* * * * * *

16‘If I was swift as any swallow,And then had wings to fly,I could fly on to fause FrendraughtAnd cry vengeance till I die.’

‘If I was swift as any swallow,

And then had wings to fly,

I could fly on to fause Frendraught

And cry vengeance till I die.’

From a note-book of Dr Joseph Robertson: “procured in the parish of Forgue by A. Scott; communicated to me by Mr John Stuart, Aberdeen, 11 October, 1832.”

1It was in October the woe began—It lasts for now and aye,—The burning o the bonny house o fause Frendraught,Lord John and Rothiemay.2When they were in their saddles set,And ready to ride away,The lady sat down on her bare knees,Beseeching them to stay.3‘Ye’s hae a firlot o the gude red gowd,Well straiket wi a wan;And if that winna please you well,I’ll heap it wi my han.’4Then out it spake the gude Lord John,And said to Rothiemay,‘It is a woman that we’re come o,And a woman we’ll obey.’5When a’ man was well drunken,And a’ man bound for bed,The doors were lockd, the windows shut,And the keys were casten by.6When a’ man was well drunken,And a’ man bound for sleep,The dowy reek began to rise,And the joists began to crack.7He’s deen him to the wire-window,And ruefu strack and dang;But they would neither bow nor brack,The staunchions were so strang.8He’s deen him back and back again,And back to Rothiemay;Says, Waken, waken, brother dear!Waken, Rothiemay!9‘Come let us praise the Lord our God,The fiftieth psalm and three;For the reek and smoke are us about,And there’s fause treason tee.10‘O mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!As ye walk on the green:’‘The keys are in the deep draw-well,The doors were lockt the streen.’11‘O woe be to you, Lady Frendraught!An ill death may you die!For think na ye this a sad tormentYour own flesh for to burn?’12George Chalmers was a bonny boy;He leapt the stanks so deep,And he is on to Rothiemay,His master for to help.13Colin Irving was a bonny boy,And leapt the stanks so deep:‘Come down, come down, my master dear!In my arms I’ll thee kep.’14‘Come down? come down? how can I come?How can I come to thee?My flesh is burning me about,And yet my spirit speaks to thee.’15He’s taen a purse o the gude red gowd,And threw it oer the wa:‘It’s ye’ll deal that among the poor,Bid them pray for our souls a’.’16He’s taen the rings off his fingers,And threw them oer the wa;Says, Ye’ll gie that to my lady dear,From me she’ll na get more.17‘Bid her make her bed well to the length,But no more to the breadth,For the day will never dawnThat I’ll sleep by her side.’18Ladie Rothiemay came on the morn,She kneeled it roun and roun:‘Restore your lodgers, fause Frendraught,That ye burnd here the streen.19‘O were I like yon turtle-dove,Had I wings for to flie,I’d fly about fause FrendraughtCrying vengeance till I die.20‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s,Both back and every side;For ye’ve betrayd the gay Gordons,And lands wherein they ride.21‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s;I wish you’d sink for sin;For first you killd my own good lord,And now you’ve burnd my son.22‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lordI saw him in battle slain,But a’ is for my own son dear,The heir o a’ my lan.23‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lordI saw him laid in clay,But a’ is for my own son dear,The heir o Rothiemay.’

1It was in October the woe began—It lasts for now and aye,—The burning o the bonny house o fause Frendraught,Lord John and Rothiemay.

It was in October the woe began—

It lasts for now and aye,—

The burning o the bonny house o fause Frendraught,

Lord John and Rothiemay.

2When they were in their saddles set,And ready to ride away,The lady sat down on her bare knees,Beseeching them to stay.

When they were in their saddles set,

And ready to ride away,

The lady sat down on her bare knees,

Beseeching them to stay.

3‘Ye’s hae a firlot o the gude red gowd,Well straiket wi a wan;And if that winna please you well,I’ll heap it wi my han.’

‘Ye’s hae a firlot o the gude red gowd,

Well straiket wi a wan;

And if that winna please you well,

I’ll heap it wi my han.’

4Then out it spake the gude Lord John,And said to Rothiemay,‘It is a woman that we’re come o,And a woman we’ll obey.’

Then out it spake the gude Lord John,

And said to Rothiemay,

‘It is a woman that we’re come o,

And a woman we’ll obey.’

5When a’ man was well drunken,And a’ man bound for bed,The doors were lockd, the windows shut,And the keys were casten by.

When a’ man was well drunken,

And a’ man bound for bed,

The doors were lockd, the windows shut,

And the keys were casten by.

6When a’ man was well drunken,And a’ man bound for sleep,The dowy reek began to rise,And the joists began to crack.

When a’ man was well drunken,

And a’ man bound for sleep,

The dowy reek began to rise,

And the joists began to crack.

7He’s deen him to the wire-window,And ruefu strack and dang;But they would neither bow nor brack,The staunchions were so strang.

He’s deen him to the wire-window,

And ruefu strack and dang;

But they would neither bow nor brack,

The staunchions were so strang.

8He’s deen him back and back again,And back to Rothiemay;Says, Waken, waken, brother dear!Waken, Rothiemay!

He’s deen him back and back again,

And back to Rothiemay;

Says, Waken, waken, brother dear!

Waken, Rothiemay!

9‘Come let us praise the Lord our God,The fiftieth psalm and three;For the reek and smoke are us about,And there’s fause treason tee.

‘Come let us praise the Lord our God,

The fiftieth psalm and three;

For the reek and smoke are us about,

And there’s fause treason tee.

10‘O mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!As ye walk on the green:’‘The keys are in the deep draw-well,The doors were lockt the streen.’

‘O mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!

As ye walk on the green:’

‘The keys are in the deep draw-well,

The doors were lockt the streen.’

11‘O woe be to you, Lady Frendraught!An ill death may you die!For think na ye this a sad tormentYour own flesh for to burn?’

‘O woe be to you, Lady Frendraught!

An ill death may you die!

For think na ye this a sad torment

Your own flesh for to burn?’

12George Chalmers was a bonny boy;He leapt the stanks so deep,And he is on to Rothiemay,His master for to help.

George Chalmers was a bonny boy;

He leapt the stanks so deep,

And he is on to Rothiemay,

His master for to help.

13Colin Irving was a bonny boy,And leapt the stanks so deep:‘Come down, come down, my master dear!In my arms I’ll thee kep.’

Colin Irving was a bonny boy,

And leapt the stanks so deep:

‘Come down, come down, my master dear!

In my arms I’ll thee kep.’

14‘Come down? come down? how can I come?How can I come to thee?My flesh is burning me about,And yet my spirit speaks to thee.’

‘Come down? come down? how can I come?

How can I come to thee?

My flesh is burning me about,

And yet my spirit speaks to thee.’

15He’s taen a purse o the gude red gowd,And threw it oer the wa:‘It’s ye’ll deal that among the poor,Bid them pray for our souls a’.’

He’s taen a purse o the gude red gowd,

And threw it oer the wa:

‘It’s ye’ll deal that among the poor,

Bid them pray for our souls a’.’

16He’s taen the rings off his fingers,And threw them oer the wa;Says, Ye’ll gie that to my lady dear,From me she’ll na get more.

He’s taen the rings off his fingers,

And threw them oer the wa;

Says, Ye’ll gie that to my lady dear,

From me she’ll na get more.

17‘Bid her make her bed well to the length,But no more to the breadth,For the day will never dawnThat I’ll sleep by her side.’

‘Bid her make her bed well to the length,

But no more to the breadth,

For the day will never dawn

That I’ll sleep by her side.’

18Ladie Rothiemay came on the morn,She kneeled it roun and roun:‘Restore your lodgers, fause Frendraught,That ye burnd here the streen.

Ladie Rothiemay came on the morn,

She kneeled it roun and roun:

‘Restore your lodgers, fause Frendraught,

That ye burnd here the streen.

19‘O were I like yon turtle-dove,Had I wings for to flie,I’d fly about fause FrendraughtCrying vengeance till I die.

‘O were I like yon turtle-dove,

Had I wings for to flie,

I’d fly about fause Frendraught

Crying vengeance till I die.

20‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s,Both back and every side;For ye’ve betrayd the gay Gordons,And lands wherein they ride.

‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s,

Both back and every side;

For ye’ve betrayd the gay Gordons,

And lands wherein they ride.

21‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s;I wish you’d sink for sin;For first you killd my own good lord,And now you’ve burnd my son.

‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s;

I wish you’d sink for sin;

For first you killd my own good lord,

And now you’ve burnd my son.

22‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lordI saw him in battle slain,But a’ is for my own son dear,The heir o a’ my lan.

‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lord

I saw him in battle slain,

But a’ is for my own son dear,

The heir o a’ my lan.

23‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lordI saw him laid in clay,But a’ is for my own son dear,The heir o Rothiemay.’

‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lord

I saw him laid in clay,

But a’ is for my own son dear,

The heir o Rothiemay.’

Ritson’s Scotish Songs, 1794, II, 35; remembered by the Rev. Mr Boyd, translator of Dante, and communicated to the editor by J. C. Walker.

1The reek it rose, and the flame it flew,And oh! the fire augmented high,Until it came to Lord John’s chamber-window,And to the bed where Lord John lay.2‘O help me, help me, Lady Frennet!I never ettled harm to thee;And if my father slew thy lord,Forget the deed and rescue me.’3He looked east, he looked west,To see if any help was nigh;At length his little page he saw,Who to his lord aloud did cry:4‘Loup doun, loup doun, my master dear!What though the window’s dreigh and his?I’ll catch you in my arms twa,And never a foot from you I’ll flee.’5‘How can I loup, you little page?How can I leave this window hie?Do you not see the blazing low,And my twa legs burnt to my knee?’

1The reek it rose, and the flame it flew,And oh! the fire augmented high,Until it came to Lord John’s chamber-window,And to the bed where Lord John lay.

The reek it rose, and the flame it flew,

And oh! the fire augmented high,

Until it came to Lord John’s chamber-window,

And to the bed where Lord John lay.

2‘O help me, help me, Lady Frennet!I never ettled harm to thee;And if my father slew thy lord,Forget the deed and rescue me.’

‘O help me, help me, Lady Frennet!

I never ettled harm to thee;

And if my father slew thy lord,

Forget the deed and rescue me.’

3He looked east, he looked west,To see if any help was nigh;At length his little page he saw,Who to his lord aloud did cry:

He looked east, he looked west,

To see if any help was nigh;

At length his little page he saw,

Who to his lord aloud did cry:

4‘Loup doun, loup doun, my master dear!What though the window’s dreigh and his?I’ll catch you in my arms twa,And never a foot from you I’ll flee.’

‘Loup doun, loup doun, my master dear!

What though the window’s dreigh and his?

I’ll catch you in my arms twa,

And never a foot from you I’ll flee.’

5‘How can I loup, you little page?How can I leave this window hie?Do you not see the blazing low,And my twa legs burnt to my knee?’

‘How can I loup, you little page?

How can I leave this window hie?

Do you not see the blazing low,

And my twa legs burnt to my knee?’

Kinloch MSS, VI, 27, in the handwriting of Joseph Robertson when a youth.

Now wake, now wake you, Rothiemay!I dread you sleep oer soun;The bed is burnin us aboutAnd the curtain’s faain down.

Now wake, now wake you, Rothiemay!

I dread you sleep oer soun;

The bed is burnin us about

And the curtain’s faain down.

A. a.

23, 24.The&c.at the end denote that the servant repeated the substance of 15–18 and of 20, which, however, was not written out.

11. day of.

14. Were. 21, 51, 54, 83. were.

23. out there came the.

62. but new.

63. thewanting.

73. to your.

81. dressed wi.

91. did flee to.

101. While he.

103, 121. theforher.

111. Criedwanting.

125. The keys were casten.

126. win away.

133. Then called.

154. may lay.

171. Butwanting.

181. are southering.

192. Which are.

201. Sowanting.

204. butwanting.

212. fairforshe.

213. Calling unto his.

224. lord burned.

232. come to.

234. would not:no&c.

244. sit:no&c.

252. Owanting.

254. I watwanting.

261.Onealaswanting.

262. heart’s easy wan.

264. And, wellwanting.

Some readings ofbare preferable, as in 62, 181, 213, 224; others also, which may be editorial improvements.

16. “This is another stanza which I afterwards received.”

41.A small stroke betweenoutandit.

A26And aft she cried, ‘Ohon! alas! alas!A sair heart’s ill to win;I wan a sair heart when I married him,And the day it’s well returned again.’

A26

And aft she cried, ‘Ohon! alas! alas!

A sair heart’s ill to win;

I wan a sair heart when I married him,

And the day it’s well returned again.’

My friend the late Mr Norval Clyne thought that this obscure stanza might perhaps be cleared up by the following verses, communicated to him in 1873 by the Rev. George Sutherland, Episcopal clergyman at Tillymorgan, Aberdeenshire.

YOUNG TOLQUHON

Word has come to Young Tolquhon,In his chamber where he lay,That Sophia Hay, his first fair love,Was wedded and away.‘Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay,My love, Sophia Hay,I wish her anes as sair a heartAs she’s gien me the day.‘She thinks she has done me great wrang,But I don’t think it so;I hope to live in quietnessWhen she shall live in woe.‘She’ll live a discontented lifeSince she is gone from me;Ower seen, ower seen, a wood o greenWill shortly cover me.‘When I am dead and in my grave,Cause write upon me so:“Here lies a lad who died for love,And who can blame my woe.”’

Word has come to Young Tolquhon,In his chamber where he lay,That Sophia Hay, his first fair love,Was wedded and away.

Word has come to Young Tolquhon,

In his chamber where he lay,

That Sophia Hay, his first fair love,

Was wedded and away.

‘Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay,My love, Sophia Hay,I wish her anes as sair a heartAs she’s gien me the day.

‘Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay,

My love, Sophia Hay,

I wish her anes as sair a heart

As she’s gien me the day.

‘She thinks she has done me great wrang,But I don’t think it so;I hope to live in quietnessWhen she shall live in woe.

‘She thinks she has done me great wrang,

But I don’t think it so;

I hope to live in quietness

When she shall live in woe.

‘She’ll live a discontented lifeSince she is gone from me;Ower seen, ower seen, a wood o greenWill shortly cover me.

‘She’ll live a discontented life

Since she is gone from me;

Ower seen, ower seen, a wood o green

Will shortly cover me.

‘When I am dead and in my grave,Cause write upon me so:“Here lies a lad who died for love,And who can blame my woe.”’

‘When I am dead and in my grave,

Cause write upon me so:

“Here lies a lad who died for love,

And who can blame my woe.”’

Mr Sutherland wrote: This fragment I took down from the recitation of my mother, twenty or twenty-five years ago. She was born in 1790, and her great-grandmother was a servant of the last Forbes of Tolquhon. She had a tradition that Sophia Hay was one of the Errol family, and marriedLord John Gordon, who was burned at Frendraught. Mr Clyne remarked: The Young Tolquhon at the time of this marriage, about 1628, was Alexander Forbes, eldest son of William Forbes of Tolquhon. Alexander is recorded to have died without issue, and the following additional particulars, singularly suggestive of a determination on the unfortunate lover’s part to renounce the world, have been communicated to me by Dr John Stuart. In 1631 William Forbes granted a charter of the lands of Tolquhon to his second son Walter and his heirs male, and in 1632 another deed of the same sort to Walter, with the express consent of Alexander, his elder brother. In 1641 Alexander is supposed to have been dead, as Walter is then styled “of Tolquhon.” The lady’s somewhat enigmatical exclamation,

‘I wan a sair heart when I married him,And the day it’s well returned again,’

‘I wan a sair heart when I married him,

And the day it’s well returned again,’

may have its explanation in the words of Young Tolquhon,

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