264THE WHITE FISHER
‘The White Fisher,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 200.
‘The White Fisher,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 200.
‘The White Fisher,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 200.
A young lord, Willie, asks his ‘gay lady’ whose the child is that she is going with. She owns that a priest is the father, which does not appear to disconcert Willie. A boy is born, and the mother charges Willie to throw him into the sea, ‘never to return till white fish he bring hame.’ Willie takes the boy (now called his son) to his mother, and tells her that his ‘bride’ is a king’s daughter; upon which his mother, who had had an ill opinion of the lady, promises to do as well by Willie’s son as she had done by Willie. Returning to his wife, he finds her weeping and repining for the ‘white fisher’ that she had ‘sent to the sea.’ Willie offers her a cordial; she says that the man who could have drowned her son would be capable of poisoning her. Willie then tells her that his mother has the boy in charge; she is consoled, and declares that if he had not been the father she should not have been the mother.
To make this story hang together at all, we must suppose that the third and fourth stanzas are tropical, and that Willie was the priest; or else that they are sarcastic, and are uttered in bitter resentment of Willie’s suspicion, or affected suspicion. But we need not trouble ourselves much to make these counterfeits reasonable. Those who utter them rely confidently upon our taking folly and jargon as the marks of genuineness. The white fisher is a trumpery fancy; 2, 7, 8, 12 are frippery commonplaces.
1‘It is a month, and isna mair,Love, sin I was at thee,But find a stirring in your side;Who may the father be?2‘Is it to a lord of might,Or baron of high degree?Or is it to the little wee pageThat rode along wi me?’3‘It is not to a man of might,Nor baron of high degree,But it is to a popish priest;My lord, I winna lie.4‘He got me in my bower alone,As I sat pensively;He vowed he would forgive my sins,If I would him obey.’5Now it fell ance upon a dayThis young lord went from home,And great and heavy were the painsThat came this lady on.6Then word has gane to her gude lord,As he sat at the wine,And when the tidings he did hearThen he came singing hame.7When he came to his own bower-door,He tirled at the pin:‘Sleep ye, wake ye, my gay lady,Ye’ll let your gude lord in.’8Huly, huly raise she up,And slowly put she on,And slowly came she to the door;She was a weary woman.9‘Ye’ll take up my son, Willie,That ye see here wi me,And hae him down to yon shore-side,And throw him in the sea.10‘Gin he sink, ye’ll let him sink,Gin he swim, ye’ll let him swim;And never let him return againTill white fish he bring hame.’11Then he’s taen up his little young son,And rowd him in a band,And he is on to his mother,As fast as he could gang.12‘Ye’ll open the door, my mother dear,Ye’ll open, let me come in;My young son is in my arms twa,And shivering at the chin.’13‘I tauld you true, my son Willie,When ye was gaun to ride,That lady was an ill womanThat ye chose for your bride.’14‘O hold your tongue, my mother dear,Let a’ your folly be;I wat she is a king’s daughterThat’s sent this son to thee.15‘I wat she was a king’s daughterI loved beyond the sea,And if my lady hear of thisRight angry will she be.’16‘If that be true, my son Willie—Your ain tongue winna lie—Nae waur to your son will be doneThan what was done to thee.’17He’s gane hame to his lady,And sair mourning was she:‘What ails you now, my lady gay,Ye weep sa bitterlie?’18‘O bonny was the white fisherThat I sent to the sea;But lang, lang will I look for fishEre white fish he bring me!19‘O bonny was the white fisherThat ye kiest in the faem;But lang, lang will I look for fishEre white fish he fetch hame!20‘I fell a slumbering on my bedThat time ye went frae me,And dreamd my young son filld my arms,But when waked, he’s in the sea.’21‘O hold your tongue, my gay lady,Let a’ your mourning be,And I’ll gie you some fine cordial,My love, to comfort thee.’22‘I value not your fine cordial,Nor aught that ye can gie;Who could hae drownd my bonny young sonCould as well poison me.’28‘Cheer up your heart, my lily flower,Think nae sic ill o me;Your young son’s in my mother’s bower,Set on the nourice knee.24‘Now, if ye’ll be a gude woman,I’ll neer mind this to thee;Nae waur is done to your young sonThan what was done to me.’25‘Well fell’s me now, my ain gude lord;These words do cherish me;If it hadna come o yoursell, my lord,‘T would neer hae come o me.’
1‘It is a month, and isna mair,Love, sin I was at thee,But find a stirring in your side;Who may the father be?2‘Is it to a lord of might,Or baron of high degree?Or is it to the little wee pageThat rode along wi me?’3‘It is not to a man of might,Nor baron of high degree,But it is to a popish priest;My lord, I winna lie.4‘He got me in my bower alone,As I sat pensively;He vowed he would forgive my sins,If I would him obey.’5Now it fell ance upon a dayThis young lord went from home,And great and heavy were the painsThat came this lady on.6Then word has gane to her gude lord,As he sat at the wine,And when the tidings he did hearThen he came singing hame.7When he came to his own bower-door,He tirled at the pin:‘Sleep ye, wake ye, my gay lady,Ye’ll let your gude lord in.’8Huly, huly raise she up,And slowly put she on,And slowly came she to the door;She was a weary woman.9‘Ye’ll take up my son, Willie,That ye see here wi me,And hae him down to yon shore-side,And throw him in the sea.10‘Gin he sink, ye’ll let him sink,Gin he swim, ye’ll let him swim;And never let him return againTill white fish he bring hame.’11Then he’s taen up his little young son,And rowd him in a band,And he is on to his mother,As fast as he could gang.12‘Ye’ll open the door, my mother dear,Ye’ll open, let me come in;My young son is in my arms twa,And shivering at the chin.’13‘I tauld you true, my son Willie,When ye was gaun to ride,That lady was an ill womanThat ye chose for your bride.’14‘O hold your tongue, my mother dear,Let a’ your folly be;I wat she is a king’s daughterThat’s sent this son to thee.15‘I wat she was a king’s daughterI loved beyond the sea,And if my lady hear of thisRight angry will she be.’16‘If that be true, my son Willie—Your ain tongue winna lie—Nae waur to your son will be doneThan what was done to thee.’17He’s gane hame to his lady,And sair mourning was she:‘What ails you now, my lady gay,Ye weep sa bitterlie?’18‘O bonny was the white fisherThat I sent to the sea;But lang, lang will I look for fishEre white fish he bring me!19‘O bonny was the white fisherThat ye kiest in the faem;But lang, lang will I look for fishEre white fish he fetch hame!20‘I fell a slumbering on my bedThat time ye went frae me,And dreamd my young son filld my arms,But when waked, he’s in the sea.’21‘O hold your tongue, my gay lady,Let a’ your mourning be,And I’ll gie you some fine cordial,My love, to comfort thee.’22‘I value not your fine cordial,Nor aught that ye can gie;Who could hae drownd my bonny young sonCould as well poison me.’28‘Cheer up your heart, my lily flower,Think nae sic ill o me;Your young son’s in my mother’s bower,Set on the nourice knee.24‘Now, if ye’ll be a gude woman,I’ll neer mind this to thee;Nae waur is done to your young sonThan what was done to me.’25‘Well fell’s me now, my ain gude lord;These words do cherish me;If it hadna come o yoursell, my lord,‘T would neer hae come o me.’
1‘It is a month, and isna mair,Love, sin I was at thee,But find a stirring in your side;Who may the father be?
1
‘It is a month, and isna mair,
Love, sin I was at thee,
But find a stirring in your side;
Who may the father be?
2‘Is it to a lord of might,Or baron of high degree?Or is it to the little wee pageThat rode along wi me?’
2
‘Is it to a lord of might,
Or baron of high degree?
Or is it to the little wee page
That rode along wi me?’
3‘It is not to a man of might,Nor baron of high degree,But it is to a popish priest;My lord, I winna lie.
3
‘It is not to a man of might,
Nor baron of high degree,
But it is to a popish priest;
My lord, I winna lie.
4‘He got me in my bower alone,As I sat pensively;He vowed he would forgive my sins,If I would him obey.’
4
‘He got me in my bower alone,
As I sat pensively;
He vowed he would forgive my sins,
If I would him obey.’
5Now it fell ance upon a dayThis young lord went from home,And great and heavy were the painsThat came this lady on.
5
Now it fell ance upon a day
This young lord went from home,
And great and heavy were the pains
That came this lady on.
6Then word has gane to her gude lord,As he sat at the wine,And when the tidings he did hearThen he came singing hame.
6
Then word has gane to her gude lord,
As he sat at the wine,
And when the tidings he did hear
Then he came singing hame.
7When he came to his own bower-door,He tirled at the pin:‘Sleep ye, wake ye, my gay lady,Ye’ll let your gude lord in.’
7
When he came to his own bower-door,
He tirled at the pin:
‘Sleep ye, wake ye, my gay lady,
Ye’ll let your gude lord in.’
8Huly, huly raise she up,And slowly put she on,And slowly came she to the door;She was a weary woman.
8
Huly, huly raise she up,
And slowly put she on,
And slowly came she to the door;
She was a weary woman.
9‘Ye’ll take up my son, Willie,That ye see here wi me,And hae him down to yon shore-side,And throw him in the sea.
9
‘Ye’ll take up my son, Willie,
That ye see here wi me,
And hae him down to yon shore-side,
And throw him in the sea.
10‘Gin he sink, ye’ll let him sink,Gin he swim, ye’ll let him swim;And never let him return againTill white fish he bring hame.’
10
‘Gin he sink, ye’ll let him sink,
Gin he swim, ye’ll let him swim;
And never let him return again
Till white fish he bring hame.’
11Then he’s taen up his little young son,And rowd him in a band,And he is on to his mother,As fast as he could gang.
11
Then he’s taen up his little young son,
And rowd him in a band,
And he is on to his mother,
As fast as he could gang.
12‘Ye’ll open the door, my mother dear,Ye’ll open, let me come in;My young son is in my arms twa,And shivering at the chin.’
12
‘Ye’ll open the door, my mother dear,
Ye’ll open, let me come in;
My young son is in my arms twa,
And shivering at the chin.’
13‘I tauld you true, my son Willie,When ye was gaun to ride,That lady was an ill womanThat ye chose for your bride.’
13
‘I tauld you true, my son Willie,
When ye was gaun to ride,
That lady was an ill woman
That ye chose for your bride.’
14‘O hold your tongue, my mother dear,Let a’ your folly be;I wat she is a king’s daughterThat’s sent this son to thee.
14
‘O hold your tongue, my mother dear,
Let a’ your folly be;
I wat she is a king’s daughter
That’s sent this son to thee.
15‘I wat she was a king’s daughterI loved beyond the sea,And if my lady hear of thisRight angry will she be.’
15
‘I wat she was a king’s daughter
I loved beyond the sea,
And if my lady hear of this
Right angry will she be.’
16‘If that be true, my son Willie—Your ain tongue winna lie—Nae waur to your son will be doneThan what was done to thee.’
16
‘If that be true, my son Willie—
Your ain tongue winna lie—
Nae waur to your son will be done
Than what was done to thee.’
17He’s gane hame to his lady,And sair mourning was she:‘What ails you now, my lady gay,Ye weep sa bitterlie?’
17
He’s gane hame to his lady,
And sair mourning was she:
‘What ails you now, my lady gay,
Ye weep sa bitterlie?’
18‘O bonny was the white fisherThat I sent to the sea;But lang, lang will I look for fishEre white fish he bring me!
18
‘O bonny was the white fisher
That I sent to the sea;
But lang, lang will I look for fish
Ere white fish he bring me!
19‘O bonny was the white fisherThat ye kiest in the faem;But lang, lang will I look for fishEre white fish he fetch hame!
19
‘O bonny was the white fisher
That ye kiest in the faem;
But lang, lang will I look for fish
Ere white fish he fetch hame!
20‘I fell a slumbering on my bedThat time ye went frae me,And dreamd my young son filld my arms,But when waked, he’s in the sea.’
20
‘I fell a slumbering on my bed
That time ye went frae me,
And dreamd my young son filld my arms,
But when waked, he’s in the sea.’
21‘O hold your tongue, my gay lady,Let a’ your mourning be,And I’ll gie you some fine cordial,My love, to comfort thee.’
21
‘O hold your tongue, my gay lady,
Let a’ your mourning be,
And I’ll gie you some fine cordial,
My love, to comfort thee.’
22‘I value not your fine cordial,Nor aught that ye can gie;Who could hae drownd my bonny young sonCould as well poison me.’
22
‘I value not your fine cordial,
Nor aught that ye can gie;
Who could hae drownd my bonny young son
Could as well poison me.’
28‘Cheer up your heart, my lily flower,Think nae sic ill o me;Your young son’s in my mother’s bower,Set on the nourice knee.
28
‘Cheer up your heart, my lily flower,
Think nae sic ill o me;
Your young son’s in my mother’s bower,
Set on the nourice knee.
24‘Now, if ye’ll be a gude woman,I’ll neer mind this to thee;Nae waur is done to your young sonThan what was done to me.’
24
‘Now, if ye’ll be a gude woman,
I’ll neer mind this to thee;
Nae waur is done to your young son
Than what was done to me.’
25‘Well fell’s me now, my ain gude lord;These words do cherish me;If it hadna come o yoursell, my lord,‘T would neer hae come o me.’
25
‘Well fell’s me now, my ain gude lord;
These words do cherish me;
If it hadna come o yoursell, my lord,
‘T would neer hae come o me.’
73. Ye sleep ye, wake ye.